24
“Max and Josef dead?” Ernst said. “Both of them?”
Szeto stood stiff and straight, almost at attention, on the far side of the office desk.
“Yes.”
This was terrible. They’d had her in hand. And now . . .
“How is that possible?”
Szeto shook his head. “I do not know. Is mystery for now. Security was there and then police come. I was prevented from scene. I stay as long as I dare, then I must leave.”
Anger quickly overwhelmed bafflement.
“What did she do? Grab one of their guns?”
“I do not know. Max’s weapon was missing. One of our brothers in NYPD tells me each shot twice—two kill shots each.”
“That sounds like she’s trained.”
“Very possible. We have investigated this Louise Myers. Very little is available about her. We know her husband is dead. We find much about him but almost nothing about her. That is suspicious. It means she has kept herself secret. Why do that unless she is hiding something?”
“Like past training?”
“Is possible she is intelligence operative. We had no idea. If Max and Josef did not suspect . . .”
Ernst reined in his fury. “They got careless. I’ll bet she grabbed Max’s gun. He’s done nothing right. He chased her into the path of a car. Then he lost track of her brother. And now he got himself and Josef killed.”
He saw Szeto’s lips tighten. “We do not know that.”
. . . possible she is intelligence operative . . .
If true, this was bad. It made eliminating her much more difficult.
“Who do you think she’s with? CIA?”
Szeto shrugged. “We do not know.”
“No.” Ernst let his voice rise, but not too much. No use letting any Kickers out in the hall know he was upset. “We don’t know much of anything, do we?”
“We know that Max and Josef had her and were transporting her to truck. We know both shot dead. We know truck taken. We do not know for sure she took it but we assume.”
“So if we find the truck, we find her. Are you looking for the truck?”
Szeto smiled. “No need. We know where is truck.”
“Explain.”
And he did.