In a few minutes, we were on the entrance ramp to the tunnel.
There are no toll booths in this direction so traffic was moving quickly into the tunnel entrance. I passed on a tidbit to Ms. Sims: 'Almost none of these dip cars has E-ZPass-they don't want their movements recorded-so when there's a toll booth, they're in the cash lane, which is very slow, and if you go through the E-ZPass lane, you'll be ahead of them, which you don't want.'
She nodded.
Unit Two was in the tunnel and we followed.
Inside the long tunnel, Ms. Sims asked again, 'Where do you think he's going?'
This time I knew. 'New Jersey.' I explained, 'That's where the tunnel goes.'
She didn't respond to that bit of Zen, but she informed me, 'Iranian diplomats may not travel more than a twenty-five-mile radius from Manhattan.'
'Right.' I think I knew that.
She had no further information for me, so we continued on in golden silence. The tunnels under the rivers around Manhattan Island are, of course, A-list targets for our Mideast friends, but I didn't think Big Bird was going to blow himself up in the tunnel. I mean, why put on such a nice suit for that? Plus, you need a big truck bomb to actually open the tunnel up to the river. Right?
We exited the tunnel, and it took me awhile to adjust my eyes to the sunlight. I couldn't see the Mercedes, but I did spot Unit Two, and I pointed them out to Ms. Sims, who followed. Unit Two reported the subject in sight.
We were in Jersey City now, and we got on to the Pulaski Skyway, from which we had a scenic view of belching smokestacks.
I asked Ms. Sims, 'Where do you think he's going?'
She recognized the question, smiled, and replied, 'How do I know?'
We approached the interchange for Interstate 95, and I said, 'Ten bucks says he goes south.' I added, 'Newark Airport.'
She asked, 'What's to the north?'
'The North Pole. Come on. You betting?'
She thought a moment, then said, 'Well, he's been traveling south, but he has no luggage for the airport- unless it's in the trunk.'
'So, you pick north?'
'No. I say he's going south, but not to the airport. To Atlantic City.'
I wasn't following the train of thought that led Ms. Sims to Atlantic City, but I said, 'Okay. Ten bucks.'
'Fifty.'
'You're on.'
Unit Two radioed, 'Subject has taken the southbound entrance to Ninety-five.'
'Copy.' So it was either Newark Airport or maybe Atlantic City. I mean, these guys did go down to AC to gamble, drink, and get laid. Not that I would know about any of that firsthand. But I have followed Abdul down there on a number of occasions.
I could still see Unit Two, and they could see the subject vehicle, and Jacobs radioed, 'Subject passed the exit for Newark Airport.'
Ms. Sims said to me, 'You can pay me now.'
I said, 'He could be going to Fort Dix. You know, spying on a military installation.' I reminded her, 'He's a military intel guy.'
'And the chauffeur and Mercedes are cover for what?'
I didn't reply.
We continued on, hitting speeds of eighty miles an hour on Route 95, known here as the New Jersey Turnpike.
Ms. Sims announced, 'He's past the twenty-five-mile limit.'
'Good. Do you want to keep following him, or kill him?'
'I'm just making an observation.'
'Noted.'
We continued on, and I said to Ms. Sims, 'You know, maybe I should call for air.'
She didn't reply, so I further explained, 'We have an air spotter we can use. Makes our job easier.' I started to switch the frequency on the radio, but Ms. Sims said, 'He's booked at the Taj Mahal.'
I took my hand off the dial and inquired, 'How do you know?'
'We got a tip.'
I inquired, 'And when were you going to share this with me?'
'After I had my muffin.'
I was a little pissed off. Maybe a lot.
A few minutes later, she asked me, 'Are you, like, not speaking to me?'
In fact, I wasn't, so I didn't reply.
She said, 'But we've got to follow him down there to see that he actually goes to the Taj and checks in.' She informed me, 'We have a team down there already, so after they pick him up we can turn around and head back to the city.'
I had no reply.
She assured me, 'You don't owe me the fifty dollars. In fact, I'll buy you a drink.'
No use staying mad, so I said, 'Thank you.' I mean, typical FBI. They wouldn't tell you if your ass was on fire. And the Special Agents, like Ms. Sims and my wife, are all lawyers. Need I say more?
I radioed Unit Two with my new info, though I advised Mel and George to stay with us in case our info was wrong and Big Bird was heading elsewhere.
Mel asked, 'How did you find this out?'
'I'll tell you later.'
We continued on, and Ms. Sims said, 'We have about two hours. Tell me all you know about surveillance. I'd like to know what you've learned in the last forty years.'
It hasn't been quite that long, and Ms. Sims I'm sure knew that; she was just making an ageist joke. She actually had a sense of humor, a rarity among her colleagues, so to show I was a good sport, and to demonstrate to her the spirit of joint FBI/NYPD cooperation, I said, 'All right. I talk, you listen. Hold your questions.'
'Will there be a test?'
'Every day.'
She nodded.
I settled back and imparted my extensive knowledge of surveillance techniques, interspersed with anecdotal and personal stories of surveillances, even the ones that went bad.
The criminals I've followed over the years were all pretty dumb, but when I got to the Task Force, I realized that the guys we were following-diplomats and terrorist suspects-were not quite as dumb. I mean, they're certainly not smart, but they are paranoid, partly because most of them come from police states, and that makes them at least savvy that they're under the eye.
Ms. Sims, true to her word, did not interrupt as I held her spellbound with my stories. I really don't like to brag, but this was a teaching moment, so how could I avoid it? And, as I say, I was honest about the screw- ups.
On that subject, and on the subject of smart bad guys, I've run into only two evil geniuses in my three years with the Task Force. One was an American, and the other was a Libyan guy with a very big grudge against the USA, and not only was he evil and smart, he was also a perfect killing machine. My experience with the Libyan had less to do with surveillance than it did with hunter and hunted, and there were times when I wasn't sure if I was the hunter or the hunted.
This episode did not have a happy ending, and even if there were any lessons to be learned or taught, the whole case was classified as Top Secret and need-to-know, meaning I couldn't share it with Ms. Sims, or with anyone, ever. Which was fine with me.
But someday, I was sure, there would be a rematch. He promised me that.
