"Yes, Owen Jamerson. I took the statement from his parents myself. They're a wealthy white family. The father owns a hedge fund, and the mother is a homemaker. They're the richest family among the students' parents. I even made a special note about it."
Hannah lowered her head and pulled out her notebook, flipping to her notes from earlier in the morning. She continued, "At the time, I specifically asked if their family had recently received any threatening messages. Oh, right, Owen's mother was the first to mention seeing a green sedan following the school bus."
"Did the conversation include anything about Owen Jamerson knowing sign language?" Jack's question caught Hannah off guard and drew everyone else's attention.
Everyone present was sharp, and as soon as Jack said this, their eyes turned to the video footage, focusing on the little boy's timid right hand resting on his chest.
"Play the video again," Jubal ordered loudly, and everyone crowded around.
In the video, the man in the black hood finished his threats and yanked the back of little Owen's shirt collar, pushing him closer to the camera. Owen, appearing frightened, instinctively raised his right hand to his chest. However, his fingers moved quickly, making two distinct gestures.
First, his index finger extended while his middle finger curled down, touching his thumb. Then, he clenched his hand into a fist, with his thumb trapped between his index and middle fingers, the tip of his thumb barely visible.
"It's been confirmed. Owen Jamerson's mother said his cousin Pepper has a hearing impairment and taught Owen some sign language," Hannah said, putting down her phone.
"What a clever little boy. These two gestures represent the letters 'P' and 'T.' But what could PT stand for?" Jubal wrote the two letters on a piece of paper and frowned.
"We don't know yet, but we'll figure it out. The NYPD has just located that dark gray Chevrolet belonging to Givens. I'm video conferencing with them now. Can you connect me to the screen?" Jack handed his phone to a technician, and soon Danny's familiar face appeared on the screen.
"Hi, everyone. Oh, Ms. Moret, it's been a while," Danny greeted everyone briefly, then turned his phone's camera toward the car the NYPD had just found. "Hannah, is this the Chevrolet you saw earlier?"
"At least the model and color match, but I can't be completely certain. I didn't even see the license plate clearly at the time," Hannah said awkwardly. Jack, who had been spinning around in the emergency stairwell at the time, just rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
"No worries. I found a lot of blood inside the car. The tech team is collecting fingerprints, so we'll confirm it soon. Let me walk you through my findings."
Danny moved the camera around the area. "First, this is Queens. This car is at least ten blocks from the dumpster where we think Givens was hiding."
"Second, all the blood is concentrated on the passenger seat. The driver's seat is clean. And here…" He pointed the camera at the edge of the passenger seat near the door. "Can you see this? The blood pattern here clearly shows signs of dragging."
"So, Givens was disposed of like trash. After Jack injured him, it was actually his accomplice driving the car during their escape," Jubal said with a grin.
"Can CSI confirm the driver's identity through fingerprints and DNA quickly? If we can identify this person, we might be able to find the children. Do I need to send an ERT team?"
"That won't be necessary. I've found something better." The camera shook violently for a moment, then zoomed in awkwardly on two large nostrils. This was followed by more dizzying movements and Danny's frustrated voice. "Jackie? How the hell do I switch this camera back?"
Just as everyone in the operations center was on the verge of getting motion sickness, someone else took over the phone. The camera finally switched to the rear lens, focusing on a white surveillance camera mounted on a nearby building wall. It was fully intact.
"I've got the surveillance footage. Sending it over now. It's very clear."
The surveillance footage Danny sent was indeed high-resolution, but its content was surprising. The person who got out of the driver's seat turned out to be a white woman in her thirties.
Half an hour later, in a private conference room at the Federal Building, Dana Moret sat at the head of the table. Beside her were NYPD Commissioner Frank Reagan, Danny Reagan, Jubal, LaCroix, Jack, and Hannah, as well as an unfamiliar face—the suited, politician-like Ron Drexler, a representative from the New York State Governor's Office.
All eyes were on the screen at the other end of the conference room, which was playing a video.
"What has our American Dream become? Work, hope for the future—all of it has been taken away by those lofty politicians, by outsiders, by immigrants. These parasites cling to the body of this nation. We must take this country back for true Americans. We need a moment of violence and transformation. Only then can white Americans rise again in this country. This is no easy task, but it concerns everyone in this room."
On the screen, a middle-aged white man with a square face, blond hair, and blue eyes was giving a passionate speech from a podium adorned with the Stars and Stripes. His words were empty, a mix of cheap rhetoric and incitement. His gestures and tone mimicked a certain mustachioed figure from history, but without the weight of German, his delivery fell far short.
Jubal looked thoroughly disgusted as he shut off the video and stood up to explain. "This man is Tyger Kane, the leader of a violent, extremist white supremacist organization. We believe the kidnapped children are in his hands. This clip is from a public speech he gave two years ago."
"We ran a voice comparison between his speech and the ransom video. As you just heard, the results match."
"According to DHS (Department of Homeland Security), Tyger Kane has orchestrated and organized a series of illegal gatherings in recent years. He incites violence and advocates for attacks on non-Christian religious sites," Jubal continued, then switched to another video—this time, the surveillance footage Danny had sent.
"This is his wife, Emma Kane. She was driving that dark gray Chevrolet. She has no criminal record, but we believe she participated in the kidnapping. Fifteen minutes ago, our facial recognition system identified her."
"I don't understand. Why hasn't someone like him been arrested before?" Ron Drexler from the governor's office asked, confused.
"Obviously, he wasn't a priority on the domestic terrorist list, and he went underground early. According to the NSA, they've recently heard rumors that Tyger Kane is planning something big," Dana Moret explained, closing the file in her hand and rubbing her temples.
Frank Reagan's Poirot-like mustache twitched as he spoke. "So, it's highly likely that Tyger Kane is demanding one million dollars from the governor to fund a large-scale terrorist attack?"
"And maybe keep some money to fund their future operations. After all, explosives on the black market aren't too expensive these days," Jack added. Despite ongoing tensions and skirmishes at certain borders, there hadn't been an all-out war yet.
"What's your plan? If we don't deliver the ransom, that's 26 children's lives at stake. It's no different from a terrorist attack," Ron Drexler said anxiously.
"Of course, we'll deliver the ransom," Frank Reagan replied flatly, casting him a sidelong glance.
"We just need to proceed cautiously. Their operation is well-planned, yet they're asking for cash when there are better options, like overseas transfers or cryptocurrency. Something's off.
It's likely they've prepared everything and are waiting for the cash to immediately acquire the materials they need for their attack. Whether it's explosives or firearms, we might be so focused on rescuing the children that a larger crisis erupts in New York City."
The room fell silent. Frank's words hit the nail on the head.
Before anyone else could speak, LaCroix, who had been jotting down notes, suddenly broke the silence. "What if we focus on their base of operations?"
Seeing the puzzled looks directed at him, he explained, "Givens seems like a new recruit. His tiny apartment clearly couldn't accommodate a group of extremists. That would draw too much attention."
"So, they need a secluded enough location where people coming and going wouldn't raise suspicion. But it's obvious they're not flush with cash—if they were, they wouldn't need to fund their attack through ransom.
Could we investigate the known members of this group, especially any properties they own? We're looking for a place large enough to hide a school bus and 26 crying children without arousing suspicion."
Jubal nodded in agreement and picked up his tablet to begin typing. "Makes sense. I'll start working on that now."
The group continued their discussion until a knock on the conference room's glass door interrupted them. A visibly tense analyst peeked in. "Everyone, we've received another video."
On the operations center's large screen, Tyger Kane appeared once again, still wearing his black hood and standing against a white sheet backdrop. His tone was arrogant.
"I know the FBI is involved now, so I want an FBI agent to personally deliver the ransom—one million dollars in cash, all in hundred-dollar bills—to the alley between Brixton and Reeves Streets.
Come alone. No trackers, no tricks. Don't let me see SWAT, or all the children will die. You have 30 minutes.
Not a second more."
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I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
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