"Are you telling me," Tyrone searched for the words and spoke slowly, "that a computer broadcasts what's going on inside it? That anyone can read anyone else's computer?"
"In a sense yes."
Tyrone looked out the window as they passed through Yonkers, New
York. He whistled quietly to himself.
"How did you find out? Where did you . . .?" The questions spewed forth.
"There was a wreak, midtown, and there was a bunch of equipment in it. Then I checked it out with a couple of . . .engineer friends who are more up on this than I am. They confirmed it."
"This stuff was in a van? How far away does this stuff work?"
Duncan gave away his concern.
"According to my sources, with the proper gear, two or three miles is not unreasonable. In New York, maybe only a half a mile. Interference and steel buildings and all. Manhattan is a magnetic sewer, as they say."
"Shit, this could explain a lot." The confident persona of the FBI professional returned. "The marks all claim that there was no way for the information to get out, yet it did. Scott, is it possible that . . .how could one person get all this stuff? From so many companies?" The pointed question was one of devil's advocacy.
"That's the scary part, if I'm right. But this is where I need your help." Scott had given his part, now to complete the tale he needed the cooperation of his friend. The story was improv- ing.
"Jesus," Duncan said quietly contemplating the implications.