Chapter 1048: Tangled Clues (Patreon)

The only unlocked device on site was a child’s phone. Hannah opened it and browsed for a while, eventually finding a bunch of playful selfies in the photo album.

“This likely belonged to the youngest of the missing 23—Nicholas. He’s only seven years old, the son of a single mother, Rebecca. The local pastor from the small town where they volunteered remembered him well.”

“Bringing a child all the way from the U.S. to Africa—this mother must have a lot of courage,” Aubrey said with a sigh.

Clay, however, was more blunt. “I’d call it irresponsible.”

Since the Most Wanted Task Force had agreed months ago to take on cases for the International Division, everyone on the team had begun receiving a wide range of vaccinations—hepatitis of various types, yellow fever, MMR, meningitis, and more.

Even with all that, they still got a cholera shot right before boarding the plane and packed a full arsenal of antimalarials—artemisinin, quinine, mefloquine, artemether, primaquine—as well as other antibiotics and enough mosquito repellent to outfit a platoon.

Africa may be one of humanity’s cradles, but it’s also a hotbed of deadly bacteria and viruses.

Over 4.6 million children under five die here every year—not just from malnutrition caused by hunger, but also due to infectious diseases.

No one knew whether Rebecca had arranged the proper vaccinations for her son before traveling. Even if she had, malaria remained impossible to prevent outright. There was only one available vaccine for children, and its protection was partial at best.

To this day, on this very continent, a child still dies every minute from malaria-induced fever or related complications.

And now the boy was likely a hostage. Considering the high mortality rate for children in kidnapping cases and the fact that over 36 hours had already passed since the incident, everyone’s expression turned grim.

“They traveled with the church, like one big family. Maybe that helps,” Hannah murmured softly, as if trying to console herself.

“That’s exactly the problem. I’m more worried they trust their God more than they do science or medicine.”

Jack sighed and didn’t press the issue. Anyone who knew about American churches knew the deal. On that “free” land, anyone—be they saint or scam artist—could register a church and name themselves pastor. Congregations could range from a handful to thousands, and there were virtually no restrictions.

As long as they didn’t do anything morally outrageous or start some mass suicide ritual, nobody really cared about these self-contained spiritual bubbles. And yet, there were still over 1,000 groups officially listed as cults in the U.S., and over 5,000 suspected cults on the FBI’s watchlist—many of which began as “harmless” charitable organizations.

Just organizing and cataloging the missing persons’ belongings would take a while. The team first gathered all the electronics on site and packed them up. Someone would later transport them to New York via the fastest means possible.

Even though Rossi had given them only 24 hours, things still needed to be handled methodically.

The 24-hour limit didn’t mean Jack and his team had to leave once time was up—it referred to the official deadline to go public with the missing persons announcement.

In the context of the entire African continent, Tanzania was considered remarkably stable. In fact, in terms of public safety, it was arguably better than places like South Africa, where racial tensions ran high.

But even so, there were still small armed groups in the region—especially with Somalia just across the border from northeastern Tanzania, separated only by unstable Kenya, and war-torn Congo on the western side.

As soon as the disappearance of 23 Americans made international headlines, it was inevitable that countless factions, big and small, would jump into the chaos—some claiming responsibility, others demanding ransoms. Just sorting through those would burn through massive manpower.

At that point, it would no longer be just the FBI’s problem. Agencies like the CIA would surely get involved, and the operational cost would be enough to buy several brand-new Bombardier jets.

Jack walked to the end of the train car and tugged on the corridor door. It didn’t budge. He turned to the black police detective who had been watching them with interest since they boarded.

“Detective Paulino, did you or your people lock this door, or has it been like this since the beginning?”

These corridor doors weren’t complicated, but they were deliberately designed to be large and clunky, typically requiring a special key to unlock.

Jack did a quick inspection and found signs of tampering—not an attempt to unlock it, but deliberate damage to the lock core, likely to prevent it from being opened from the other side.

“Maybe you should talk to the conductor who reported the incident. He’s a devout believer and kept muttering about ‘ascension.’ Very cooperative, but the only help he could offer was a bunch of rambling nonsense. Hopefully you can get something more useful out of him.”

Jack immediately felt a headache coming on. Zealots were the worst. He shot a pleading look at Jubal—who happened to be the only one in the group who still went to church every Sunday.

Jubal, knowing exactly how his team worked, took the responsibility without hesitation.

Meanwhile, Jack turned back to Detective Paulino. “I’d like to speak with your search and rescue team.”

“They should be arriving soon,” Paulino said, glancing at his Swiss Titoni watch. “I’ve also deployed officers along the railway line, but there’s been no word yet.

We reached out to you mainly to help narrow the search area.”

The team exchanged looks at that. It had been 36 hours, and they hadn’t even assembled a proper rescue team. When it came to laid-back attitudes, the French might only come in second.

Jack decided to make do and continued gathering information from the detective.

Apparently satisfied with how the American agents were handling things, Paulino’s attitude became increasingly cooperative, and he began sharing more details.

“This was an overnight train, originally scheduled to depart at 8 p.m. and arrive in Arusha the next morning. But it was delayed. The train didn’t reach the town until 2 a.m., and the tourists boarded then. It made no stops afterward.”

“Six hours late?” Aubrey, who was helping sort and pack items nearby, looked up in surprise.

“Mm, twenty years ago that wouldn’t have happened. Back then, rail staff were well-trained, and no one dared steal signal cables…”

At this point, Paulino’s expression grew a little awkward—a mix of pride and embarrassment. Most of the team didn’t quite follow, but Jack had an idea what he meant.

Tanzania is known for its tourism, with one-third of the country designated as national parks, wildlife sanctuaries, and forest reserves. Though it has mineral resources, it's not as rich as some neighbors.

Southwest of Tanzania is Zambia, a landlocked country with vast copper reserves—2.8% of the global total buried across a 220-kilometer-long and 65-kilometer-wide “super copper belt,” containing over 150 discovered deposits and many more unconfirmed sites.

But being landlocked and with apartheid-era South Africa to the south, Zambia was forced to look northeast for a trade route to the sea.

Thus was born the legendary TAZARA railway. Even though the Eastern power that helped build it was broke at the time, it pushed through the 1,860-kilometer project out of geopolitical necessity.

Unfortunately, it had overestimated the operational capacity of its African partners. From the day it opened, the railway operated at a loss. Though designed to carry 2 million tons per year, it peaked at 1.27 million and eventually dwindled to just 600–700 thousand tons annually.

After the initial wave of well-trained technicians retired, the railway became plagued with frequent accidents and fell into a downward spiral.

Though the train line Jack’s team was investigating wasn’t the TAZARA, it suffered from the same problems: poor education leading to a talent shortage, and a lack of talent meaning a lack of everything.

Even just counting the number of missing people had taken Garcia hours of back-and-forth communication. As Rossi explained, the locals were simply not very sensitive to numbers—a telling sign.

From all of this, Jack already had a sinking feeling that trying to search the railway line on a large scale would be a waste of time. They’d need to find another way.

“Are there any armed groups or local factions operating along the railway?” Jack decided not to beat around the bush. Some things were too deeply rooted to change—better to adapt. Luckily, this black officer had turned out to be unexpectedly cooperative.

“There are some so-called legendary figures in the area,” Paulino said, “but all they do is petty theft from tourists—claiming to rob from the rich to give to the poor. No cases of kidnapping.”

He muttered a few words in Swahili under his breath, not realizing Jack understood them. But it was nothing more than calling them a bunch of cowardly weaklings.