CART (Computer Analysis and Response Team) quickly retrieved the surveillance footage from the house. The video showed that just before 7:00 AM that morning, a man wearing a ski mask had broken into Lucas Caldwell's home.
A few minutes later, Lucas reappeared on camera with a gun pressed to his back. The masked man used Lucas's car keys to unlock the trunk of the gray BMW and forced him inside before driving off.
When Jack and his team returned to the operations center, the place was bustling. Agents were coming and going, and the atmosphere was tense with activity.
"Alright," Jubal said, pacing back and forth. "So now we've got ourselves a second victim. In under two hours, this guy kidnapped two doctors. But why? One's an internist, and the other's an anesthesiologist. That's an odd combination.
Internists typically don't step into operating rooms, and anesthesiologists practically live in them. Other than the fact that they're both doctors, I'm not seeing any obvious connection."
Jubal absentmindedly tapped a pencil against his palm, frustration etched on his face.
"Have we done a background check on Lucas Caldwell? Is there any connection between him and Dr. Nicole Wright?" Hannah asked.
Jubal, clearly having already done his homework, answered immediately. "He's single, did his undergrad at Yale, then went to Harvard Medical School. He completed his residency at Massachusetts General Hospital. No criminal record—not even a traffic ticket."
Alice Taylor, the ever-efficient tech specialist, added, "Based on everything I've checked so far, there's no indication they know each other. No mutual friends, no shared social circles, they live in completely different neighborhoods, and they're from different age groups. At least for now, I can't find a link."
Jack, who had been deep in thought, looked up. "Hold on. Let's rewind for a second. I remember we mentioned earlier that Lucas Caldwell runs a private internal medicine clinic in Manhattan, right? What kind of services does the clinic provide?"
He was reminded of those shady clinics in Chinatown that operated under the guise of being "legitimate" but secretly catered to illegal activities.
"I looked into it briefly—it's one of those exclusive medical concierge services for the wealthy. They're on call 24/7," Jubal explained. As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes lit up, and he slapped his forehead.
"I should've realized sooner. Alice, check Lucas Caldwell's professional history. Did he ever have surgical training?"
"Bingo. You're onto something." Alice's fingers flew across her keyboard. Moments later, she turned back to the group. "Lucas Caldwell spent two years as a surgical resident at Massachusetts General before switching to internal medicine. Five years later, he co-founded the concierge clinic with another doctor named Terrence Nelson."
Before Jack could say anything, Jim Aubrey, who had been listening quietly, jumped in excitedly. "Let me guess—the co-founder, Terrence Nelson, just happens to be an anesthesiologist, doesn't he?"
The sound of rapid typing filled the room. Alice didn't need to say anything; her expression confirmed the guess. "Looks like today's our lucky day. Yes, Terrence Nelson is an anesthesiologist, and he was recently in a serious car accident. He's currently in a coma."
"Well, now we know why Nicole Wright was targeted," Jubal said, glancing around at the team. "The real question is, who's desperate enough to kidnap two doctors in broad daylight, and who are they planning to operate on?"
In the break room, Jack was enjoying a rare moment of peace, sipping tea and indulging in a slice of Black Forest cake. It was the product of a late-night baking session—a skill he liked to brag about, though few believed he actually had the time for it.
"You know," Hannah said as she sat down beside him, also holding a plate of cake. "Sending the newbie out to work while you hide in here eating dessert... doesn't that make you feel even a little guilty?"
Hannah, of course, was shamelessly digging her spoon into Jack's plate as she spoke, despite having her own slice. Her protests about her weight while standing on the scale the night before seemed like a distant memory.
"This," Jack said, pointing to his tea and cake with an air of superiority, "is exactly why we recruit newbies. Besides, I saved him a slice in the fridge."
He wasn't wrong. Most of the information they needed was still being gathered, and all they could do for now was be prepared to act as soon as leads came in. Jack had only just sat down after finishing some legwork earlier. Aubrey, meanwhile, had been sent to investigate the concierge clinic run by Lucas Caldwell and Terrence Nelson. Meanwhile, the analysts were busy digging into the two doctors' histories to figure out why they were being targeted.
"Guys, we've got something," Jubal said, poking his head into the break room.
"Coming!" Hannah quickly polished off her cake, tossed the paper plate into the trash, and darted out the door. Jack, on the other hand, leisurely picked up his tea, took a slow sip, and followed at his own pace.
Alice Taylor was already at her workstation, waiting for them.
"Aubrey sent back all the phone records and electronic files from the clinic. We cross-referenced the call logs from both doctors' personal phones and the clinic's landline. Over the past two years, one specific number has shown up repeatedly—sometimes as many as five or six times a day, almost daily.
I traced the number. It belongs to a man named Lorenzo Santos."
She pulled up the man's profile on the big screen. He was a Latino male in his early 30s, with a criminal record a mile long.
"Quite the rap sheet," Jack remarked. "What gang is he with?"
"'Lok-25S,' a Mexican street gang," one of the analysts answered.
"A street gang?" Jubal frowned, clearly puzzled. "Why would a high-end medical concierge service have any connection to a small-time gang? Even if one of their members got shot, they'd usually go to some underground clinic, not a legitimate, high-priced operation like this. Most gang leaders wouldn't even be able to afford their fees."
"He matches the height and build of our suspect," Hannah said, practically itching to get moving. "Should we bring him in for questioning?"
"Phone tracking shows his device is near the corner of Powell Avenue and 140th Street. At least, that's where his phone is. You might need extra manpower for a proper search," Alice added, already pulling up the location on the map.
"Get the NYPD to send an undercover team over," Jack said, setting down his tea. He grabbed his soft body armor from the back of his chair and slipped it on. He then threw on a jacket to conceal the large FBI letters, ready to flash his badge when needed.
"Wait, we're heading out again?" Aubrey, who had just returned from the clinic, almost collided with Jack and Hannah as they were leaving. He sighed and did an immediate about-face.
"Welcome to the pace of our job, rookie," Jack said with a mischievous grin.
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