The Missing Pattern

Into the Darkness Part 6

The FBI command center hummed with frantic energy, a nervous buzz that could only come from a case this urgent. Phones rang incessantly, each call carrying with it the potential to break this nightmare wide open—or deepen it. Agents scurried from desk to desk, their eyes never leaving their screens as they cross-referenced reports, followed leads, and connected dots that, at times, felt too far apart to ever meet. Yet even in this frenzy, I couldn't shake the gnawing sense that we were still missing something. Something crucial. And the weight of those twelve missing girls pressed down on me, a constant reminder of how high the stakes were.

I walked through the center, my eyes scanning every inch of the room. Calvin was at the map again, studying the locations of every disappearance. Reese and Yang were working their angles, tracking down possible sources, verifying tips. Every move they made was calculated, precise. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.

I glanced up at the main board, where the faces of the twelve missing girls were pinned like ghosts. Li Ming Yen, fourteen, Asian, was the latest to be added to the haunting collection. Her face was frozen in time—a face that should have been filled with laughter and promise, not plastered to a wall with the word "missing" in bold black letters next to it. Every name on that board felt like a punch to the gut. I traced my fingers over her photo, willing my mind to work faster, to catch up with the trail that was quickly vanishing.

Then my phone rang, breaking my concentration. I snapped it up, already anticipating what I might hear. "Agent Harper," I said, my voice sharp, betraying the tension I was carrying.

"Agent Harper, this is Detective Dale Davis from Porterville PD. We've got something you'll want to know. One of my officers spotted a van pulling away from a loading dock near the train yard. He checked it out and found a school jacket in the trash. We're running tests, but it looks like it's from a local high school."

My heart skipped a beat. A van at a loading dock. A school jacket. Concrete. Finally, something concrete. I could feel the pulse of urgency building. "Did he get the plates?"

"Partial plates," Davis replied. "We've got traffic cam footage pulling in now, and my team is combing through it."

"Good. Send me everything you have as soon as you get it. And keep your team on high alert. Whoever's behind this is organized. They could be watching every move we make. Be careful."

I hung up, the first spark of hope igniting in me. But just as quickly, Calvin was at my side, holding up a tablet.

"Kitty, you need to see this," he said, his voice tense.

I followed him to the monitor where he had already pulled up a map. "I've cross-referenced school activity reports, bus routes, and neighborhood surveillance footage," Calvin explained, his finger tracing a path across the map. "Every girl disappeared between 4 and 6 p.m., and there's a secondary window in the mornings between 8 and 9 a.m. within a specific radius from their schools."

I leaned in, scanning the map with my gut tightening. This wasn't a coincidence.

"I also mapped out known trafficking routes along California highways," he continued, zooming in on a stretch of road. "Look at this."

My stomach dropped. The disappearances lined up perfectly with a known trafficking corridor. The same stretch of highway that's been infamous for years—used to transport victims. The pieces were coming together, too perfectly. They were using the highways as a conduit. A terrifying thought.

"We need roadblocks," I said quickly, turning to Calvin. "I want surveillance along every major exit from Bakersfield and surrounding towns. Get CHP on board. And I want drones for aerial surveillance. We need to close in on every possible exit. We're missing something here."