But unlike those fancy ones in the movies, here little attention had been paid to the human component. A half-dozen small flat-screen monitors were mounted on the right wall. Five were receiving signals from the ten cameras back at the church, each monitor assigned to two cameras, and automatically toggling back and forth every five seconds. The sixth monitor was digitally divided into four smaller screens displaying different views of the surveillance van and the surrounding area. Below the monitors, twenty-eight digital recorders—each no larger than a paperback book—were hung in portable racks. Two recorders per feed, in case one crapped out.

And as if that wasn’t enough, there was a satellite link sending a real-time signal back to the Office’s headquarters in Washington, D.C.

State-of-the-art equipment all. It was the two plastic chairs and the banged-up portable ice chest that seemed out of place.

“You check in with Peter?” Quinn asked. Peter was the head of the Office, and the man who had hired them.

“Fifteen minutes ago,” Nate said as he settled into the chair nearest the back of the van. “We did another connection test. Signal strength is steady. I flipped it to black, so they’re not getting anything at the moment.”

“Any more interference from the cameras?” Quinn said.

Nate shook his head. “Everything seems fine now. I think we’re ready.”

“Keep an eye on them,” Quinn said, nodding toward the monitors. “If anything acts up again, let me know.”

“You going somewhere?”

Quinn pushed the empty plastic chair toward the equipment rack, then stretched out on the floor. “As far away from here as I can,” he said as he closed his eyes. “Wake me in two hours if there aren’t any more problems.”

“Yeah, sure,” Nate said. “I’ll just… stay here.”

“Stay alert.” Quinn tapped the cooler with his foot. “Have a Red Bull, if you need one.”

Nate said something under his breath.