The Enemy Inside: A Novel of the War on Terror by Christie William

Author:Christie, William [Christie, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780786032662
Amazon: B011JTQ7FC
Goodreads: 26077539
Publisher: Open Road Distribution
Published: 2006-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

“You know, these Chechens don’t rattle easy,” Troy was saying. “If the guy running my safe house didn’t show for two whole days, I think I’d be shitting the bed right about now.”

“But you’re a well-known spaz,” said Storey.

Troy just swung off onto a different riff. “Maybe. All I know is, I hate vans. Pete, how can you stand being cooped up in vans all the time?”

“Better than freezing my ass off on top of some Afghan mountain,” Lund replied, bent over his screens.

“I’ll take the mountain anytime,” Troy grumbled.

“Here we go,” Lund announced. “Just turned their phone on. Eighteen hundred megahertz, GSM cellphone.”

Whenever a cellular phone is turned on it emits a control signal, called a handshake, that identifies itself to the nearest network base station. The network determines if the signal is coming from a legitimate registered user by comparing it to its subscriber list. When that’s done, the network emits a control signal through the base station that allows the subscriber to place calls at will. All these signals were visible on Lund’s screen, and recorded onto his computer drive.

“They’re dialing out,” he said.

Cellular providers like to tell their customers that, unlike the old days of analog phones that anyone with a scanner could listen to, their modern digital encrypted phones could not be monitored. Which was not true. Radio Shack scanners didn’t work anymore, but Pete Lund’s million dollars’ worth of portable electronics did. The antenna, receiver, and laptop computer fit neatly inside a briefcase.

A ring tone went off in the van, startling everyone.

“Shit,” said Troy.

Storey glanced at Jan Mohammad’s cell phone before showing the number to Lund.

“That’s it,” Lund said. “They’re calling Jan Mohammad.”

“Jan Mohammad ain’t going to be answering,” said Story.

“I love this,” said Troy.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Fuck you, I do,” Troy retorted. “I love seeing the terrorists get terrorized for a change.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” said Storey.

Jan Mohammad’s cell phone stopped ringing.

Storey checked the screen. No voice mail. “Okay,” he commanded the Chechens inside the house. “Now yell at each other a while, then call your emergency number.”

“You want to hear?” Lund asked. “They left their phone on.”

Troy answered for everyone. “Shit, yes.”

Now that he had the International Mobile Subscriber Identity, the fifteen-digit number that was the country, network, and station identification number; and the International Mobile Equipment Identity, which was that phone’s unique identification code, Lund sent the unit inside the house a maintenance command on its control channel. This placed the phone in diagnostic mode. Which effectively turned it into a microphone, transmitting all nearby sounds over the voice channel.

All cell phones were capable of this, and there was no way for anyone to tell that their phone was in diagnostic mode until they tried to place a call.

Lund tapped a key, and over the laptop speakers they could hear the Chechens talking.

“I guess they’re speaking Chechen,” said Troy. “What the hell is that language called anyway?”

“Chechen,” said Storey.

“You fucking with me now?” Troy demanded.

“You?” said Storey.

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