"The entire bus and everyone on it? What exactly happened? Doesn't the bus have GPS tracking?" Hannah asked, her eyes filled with worry.
"We're still piecing it together. The bus didn't arrive as scheduled, and at 7:41 AM, all phones on board went offline, along with the bus's GPS tracker. I've already dispatched helicopters to assist with the search.
Whether this is a mass kidnapping or a terrorist attack, we need to consider all possibilities," Dana Moreau said rapidly, her tone sharp and urgent. She gestured for Hannah to follow her. "Hannah, come with me to Taft Elementary School. Jubal, coordinate with domestic intelligence agencies and cross-reference recent terrorist threats. Jack, you're in charge of the field search."
With that, she turned and left. Hannah glanced back at Jack with concern before hurrying to catch up. Jack checked his phone. It had been less than 30 minutes since the incident was reported. He immediately called Frank Reagan.
Westchester County, a suburban area north of New York City, bordered Connecticut to the east. Despite its rural charm, it was an affluent region known for its strong economy and top-tier schools. Crime was rare, making the area a magnet for wealthy families seeking safety and quality education.
Though outside the NYPD's jurisdiction, Jack knew that the local county police and FBI field agents wouldn't have the manpower for a search operation of this scale—especially one requiring experienced K9 units. Luckily, the NYPD boasted the largest and most advanced police dog training program in the country, making their K9 teams an invaluable resource.
After hanging up, Jack glanced at Jubal, who was staring at the large monitor with a vacant expression. The operations center was now bustling as analysts arrived one after another. The screen displayed the faces of the 26 missing children—innocent, cheerful little faces, their diversity evident in their skin tones: black, white, Asian, and more. Each face was labeled with the word "MISSING," a sight that weighed heavily on everyone in the room.
Jack stepped forward and lightly tapped Jubal on the shoulder. "You should call your ex-wife."
Jubal snapped out of his daze, visibly startled. He looked at Jack with gratitude before stepping aside to make the call. As Jack had come to learn over the past few months, Jubal's two children lived with his ex-wife in Westchester County, and his eldest daughter was about the same age as the missing children.
"Samantha, it's me. Did you take the kids to school yet? Maybe keep them home today—just in case. No, everything's fine, just a precaution. You know how it is. Okay, talk later."
The operations center grew louder as more personnel arrived. Jack left the main office and took the elevator to the rooftop. Driving out of the city at this hour would be a nightmare; taking a helicopter was far more efficient.
One FBI helicopter had already departed, and another had been dispatched to pick him up. Jack wasted no time. As soon as he boarded, he began coordinating with the local county sheriff's department over the radio.
Fifteen minutes later, the helicopter landed on a rural road, where a white sheriff with curly black hair in his early 30s greeted him.
"I've arranged for K9 units from the NYPD to assist—they should arrive in about 10 minutes. Is there anything else I can help with?" Jack asked after they exchanged introductions, instantly earning the goodwill of Sheriff Mayer Shawn.
Shawn had been dreading the FBI's arrival, expecting them to come in and take over the case, adding more stress to an already chaotic situation. As a local sheriff in a tight-knit community, he faced immense pressure—not just from the scale of the incident but from the familiarity of everyone involved. In a town where everyone knew each other, the disappearance of a school bus carrying local children was nothing short of a catastrophe.
But hearing Jack's cooperative tone, Shawn's attitude shifted dramatically.
"Thank you. Right now, we have three helicopters searching the area—two from the state police and one from the FBI. I've sent my deputies to set up roadblocks and question passing drivers, but we haven't found anything yet."
"No witnesses?" Jack asked as they walked together. He scanned the surroundings: a quiet two-lane road bordered by sparse woodland. Most of the leaves had fallen, which was fortunate—if this were summer, the dense foliage would have made aerial searches much harder.
"None so far. The nearest residence is half a mile away," Shawn said, gesturing toward a cluster of police cars.
"The bus's last known GPS coordinates put it right here. We've been using this as the center of our search radius."
Jack glanced at the handful of police cars—only five in total. With such limited manpower, their search efforts were akin to finding a needle in a haystack. He could only hope the K9 units would arrive soon.
He crouched by the roadside, carefully inspecting the ground. There were no obvious skid marks or bloodstains, which was both a relief and a frustration. "Mind filling me in on what you know so far? Are you a local?"
Sheriff Shawn frowned, his face a mix of worry, urgency, and confusion. "Yes, I grew up here. One of the missing kids is my neighbor's son, and I know the bus driver, Mike McCabe. He's a good man."
Jack's steady gaze prompted Shawn to elaborate. "I mean, really, Mike's one of the good ones. Born and raised here. He has a loving family and no reason to hurt anyone. This is a small town—if there were any trouble, we'd have heard about it."
Sensing Shawn's defensiveness, Jack nodded understandingly. "Got it. Anything unusual happen around here recently?"
"Nothing. The people here are well-educated. The most excitement we get is the occasional fight involving out-of-towners. We haven't had a murder in years," Shawn said, looking dazed. Since becoming sheriff, the most serious cases he'd dealt with were bar fights.
It all sounded too idyllic to be real—almost like a fantasy version of America. Jack shared Shawn's bewilderment as he looked around. This was just an ordinary stretch of rural road with no surveillance cameras.
He'd have to gamble on luck and request satellite imagery, though the odds weren't promising. This area was far from any major city, and low-earth-orbit satellites only passed by every few hours. The chances of a satellite capturing images at the exact time of the incident were slim.
Fortunately, the K9 units lived up to their reputation. Within minutes of their arrival, six police dogs spread out along the road and into the surrounding woods. Less than ten minutes later, one of the dogs signaled a discovery. Over the radio, a deputy excitedly reported a find.
A Labrador had uncovered a pile of smashed phones and tablets buried under a layer of dead leaves. The colorful cases and childlike stickers made it clear they belonged to the missing students.
Jack stopped Sheriff Shawn, who had instinctively started toward the scene. "Don't touch anything. Set up a perimeter and avoid disturbing any potential footprints."
As Jack reached for his phone to call CSI Lab's Mac Taylor, something under a nearby tree caught his eye—a dark green knitted glove.
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