"Sir! We have a situation!"
"What is it?"
"The signal you're tracking just vanished from the map!"
"Vanished?"
Vincent immediately stared at the laptop screen showing the map of northern Los Angeles. The red dot representing Donnie's location was completely gone.
"What happened? Is there a tunnel out there?"
A tracker essentially broadcasts a signal at set intervals. If it enters an area where the signal can't penetrate, it gets physically blocked.
Caves, tunnels, or deep underground basements, for example.
"Sir, there are no caves or tunnels in that area. I suspect they've pulled into an underground structure."
"Possible. Lock onto the last known coordinates and step on it!"
Several SWAT trucks accelerated, tearing toward the last ping location. Vincent cursed relentlessly under his breath.
If Donnie had just sent a warning message beforehand, Vincent wouldn't be scrambling like this.
The risk of the case blowing up in his face was skyrocketing. In his mind, Vincent was already pinning all the blame on Donnie.
But a few minutes later, the tracker signal reappeared on the map—in a completely different location.
"What the hell is this?"
Vincent stared at the laptop screen, eyes wide.
The red dot was moving again, entirely destroying his previous theory.
"I... I don't know, sir!"
Vincent felt a knot of unease forming in his stomach. But with no other leads, he had no choice but to chase the dot.
Finally, the signal stopped completely at the northern base of Mount San Antonio.
When the SWAT trucks arrived at the coordinates, they didn't find a bank robber's hideout. They found a mountain biking competition, swarming with spectators and media crews.
"Damn it! Lock down the area! Halt the race!"
Vincent knew there was a high probability Donnie had played him. But he refused to let the case slip away, so he issued the lockdown order.
"Sir, shutting down the event is going to cause a massive media backlash!"
Vincent grabbed the officer by the collar, his eyes bloodshot and manic.
"This is the only way we find a lead! You want those bastards to get away? Shut down the damn race!"
The officers complied, halting the competition and cordoning off the area.
The sudden arrival of heavily armed SWAT teams had already confused the crowd. When the race was stopped and police began checking IDs, everyone realized something serious was going down. The media and spectators immediately shifted into gossip-and-record mode.
Sure enough, the police sweep triggered panic in a few unlucky attendees who immediately bolted.
These were guys with active warrants or holding illegal substances. Seeing the cops run a dragnet, they panicked and ran.
Naturally, they didn't get far against a perimeter of SWAT officers. But the ensuing tackles and arrests sparked minor riots in the crowd.
Eyes red, Vincent dialed Donnie's number and strained his ears, listening for a ringtone.
The GPS tracker wasn't pinpoint accurate; it only gave a general radius. Vincent was forced to use this primitive method to find the phone.
For once today, Vincent actually got lucky. As he walked past a parked news van, he heard the faint buzzing of a vibrating phone.
"Fox News? Whose vehicle is this? Find the owner, right now!"
Officers quickly located the three-person Fox News crew: blonde anchor Megyn Kelly, middle-aged white cameraman Michael De Santa, and a young Black driver named Franklin Clinton.
(Yep, that's a hell of a name. Combining an American Founding Father's first name with a President's last name).
Megyn Kelly recognized Vincent immediately. Vincent recognized her, too.
Just a week ago at the press conference, Megyn had publicly questioned the suspect presented in the LA freeway chase case, only to be shot down by Vincent.
Vincent had then abruptly ended the presser, which only deepened Megyn's suspicions.
Technically, they had bad blood.
So now, Megyn strongly suspected Vincent was abusing his power to harass her out of personal spite.
"It's you."
"Fox News. Megyn Kelly."
Her professional instincts kicked in, allowing her to quickly cool her temper. She looked at Vincent with cold detachment.
"Officer Vincent. Is there a problem?"
Vincent pointed at the news van, his expression equally unfriendly.
"Is this your vehicle?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Open it. I'm conducting a search."
Vincent's aggressive attitude pissed Megyn off. She refused without a second thought.
"Why? If you want to search our vehicle, you need probable cause."
"I suspect your vehicle is connected to a bank robbery! Open the doors, now!"
That statement only annoyed Megyn more. As a journalist, she knew there hadn't been any bank robberies reported in LA recently. Her instinct told her Vincent was just making up an excuse to mess with her.
"Where's your evidence? Do you have any? Michael, roll camera. Let's record Officer Vincent's heroic conduct for the evening broadcast!"
Vincent glared at Megyn, then at Michael, who was hoisting the heavy broadcast camera onto his shoulder.
"Confiscate that camera. I suspect it's evidence in an ongoing criminal investigation!"
SWAT officers rushed forward and snatched the camera from Michael's hands, making the middle-aged cameraman sweat profusely.
"Hey, wait! That equipment is incredibly expensive! Don't break it!"
"Ms. Kelly, this is your final warning. Open the vehicle, or I will arrest you on suspicion of participating in organized crime and hold you for 48 hours!"
That threat broke Franklin, the Black driver.
"Megyn, if we go to lockup, we're screwed! They got a million ways to mess with us in there!"
From Franklin's tone, it was obvious he had suffered at the hands of the police before.
Honestly, as a Black man in America, the fact that he hadn't already had a magazine emptied into him was considered lucky.
Megyn bit her lip and nodded sharply.
"Officer Vincent, if you cannot provide a reasonable explanation for this, I will exercise my right to file a formal complaint with the LAPD! Franklin, open the van."
Vincent didn't care about Megyn's threats. The moment the doors opened, he climbed inside and started tearing through the equipment.
Within seconds, tucked among some cables, he found a cell phone and a device that looked like a walkie-talkie—an ECM Jammer.
Megyn stared at the phone and the jammer in surprise.
"Franklin, is that your phone?"
Franklin shook his head. Megyn looked at Michael.
"Hey! Do I look like a guy who uses a fancy new phone like that?"
Vincent grabbed the phone, stepped out of the van, and confronted Megyn.
"Before you arrived here... who else was in this vehicle?"