I'm a spy in the film

The old agent pressed his hand downwards, and the scene fell silent. Everyone became serious and looked at Agent Hammer to see if he could provide any useful clues.

"We tried to have Plant contact the instigator, but the other party seemed to have a special information channel. Since Plant was arrested, there has been no news until--" Agent Hammer opened a short video:

In the video, in the dim sky, a man in a black windbreaker turned his back to the camera and walked in one direction. Suddenly, he turned his head and seemed to have discovered something. Then he swung his right hand, the muzzle of the gun burst into flames, a bullet flew in, and the screen suddenly went black. The camera must have been destroyed by the bullet. Fortunately, the camera recorded the man's profile, slicked back hair, and unruly eyes a second before it was destroyed.

"This man shot Plant to death when we were trying to transfer him." Agent Hammer spread his hands and said in an unbelievable and helpless tone, "The man captured by the camera was several cars away from our escort team. Although it is logical that he could never kill Plant, there was no one else around at that time, or other cameras were destroyed. We checked all the surrounding camera recordings and found no signs of modification. This is simply a shot from God!"

Agent Hammer shook his head repeatedly, as if his confidence was shattered. He sighed and continued to speak amid the confusion of the crowd:

"Afterwards, the suspect Plant's attorney also died, also shot in the head, and no one saw the murderer. We don't have any information about this person in our criminal database. We have been looking for this guy and suspect that he has returned to New York, so we have been in contact with your bureau until a few days ago, when you reported these two murders."

Agent Hammer played two more pictures, which were also pictures of two homicide scenes. There were four dead bodies in one picture and five dead bodies in the other. All of them were killed by one shot. It was a very ordinary homicide scene, but Hammer's next words were not ordinary.

"The two cases happened last week and this week respectively. The deceased both had regular jobs and ordinary life trajectories. However, we found a secret room at the scene. There were a large number of weapons and ammunition and passports of different countries of the deceased at the scene. Therefore, we concluded that the identity of the deceased was definitely not ordinary and should be a professional killer. These two locations should be the safe houses of a professional killer organization.

The reason why we connect the Slicked-back Killer to these two cases is that ballistic analysis shows that the killer only fired from one location each time, but killed two people behind the wall, which is exactly the same method as the one used to kill the suspect Plant. Even if it was done by two killers, they must be from the same organization. If this method of killing people through objects exists, it is definitely not something that ordinary people can master!"

"Alright, alright," team leader Hank clapped his hands, attracting the attention of the whispering team members below, and said loudly, "The security situation in New York has been very bad recently. The higher-ups are very dissatisfied with this situation. Everyone should put aside other cases on hand and focus on catching murder cases. Aren't they going to hold a competition? Let's also hold a competition to see who can catch more bastards. Our boss has said that the group that catches the most will also get a surprise prize!"

"Hahaha!"

There was laughter from the audience. Everyone, who had been a little nervous because of the opponent's killer's strange shooting skills, finally relaxed a little. This is New York, our home court. No matter what serial killer or killer, they will have to kneel down in front of us!

The two agents Lao and Qing from Los Angeles saw their New York counterparts perk up so quickly and didn't take the other side seriously at all. They sighed in their hearts that this is worthy of being the center of the world. Their counterparts here are indeed more demanding than those in the comfortable Los Angeles.

At the same time as Hank's team was holding a meeting, in an office building opposite the Metropolitan Building in Manhattan, New York, a man in a black suit, black windbreaker, and a slicked-back hair took the elevator to the top floor.

He put his left hand on his belly pocket and walked aggressively towards the largest and best-lit office at the end of the corridor. Although there was nothing special about it, the employees passing by were forced to make way for him by his momentum.

The man with the slicked-back hair didn't ask anyone to pass the message. He just gently pushed open the white door and walked straight into the office without making any sound.

An Indian woman with a red mole on her forehead was sitting in the office. She was arguing with the person on the phone. But when she noticed something was wrong and looked up to see the man with the slicked-back hair, she couldn't help but tremble all over. She dropped the phone on the table without even realizing it. There was only one look in her eyes, and that was fear. She didn't respond to the calls coming from the microphone on the table.

The man with the slicked-back hair walked to the floor-to-ceiling window of the office. Through the clean and transparent glass window, he could clearly see several construction workers working on the rooftop of the Metropolitan Building opposite.

"Don't worry, if your name appeared, you would have died long ago!" The man with slicked back hair didn't even turn his head, but he could understand the Indian woman's feelings, because every time he visited someone, they were either members of the organization who gave him a killing mission, or targets to be eliminated, and the woman knew this very well.

The Indian woman finally regained some consciousness. She tried her best to control her trembling hands, hung up the phone, and sat up straight. Now there was nothing more important than receiving the man with his slicked-back hair in front of her.

The man with the slicked-back hair took out a strangely shaped bullet and placed it on the Indian woman's desk, saying, "We have had some unexpected losses recently, and we want to know where our enemies got the ammunition from."

The woman picked up a magnifying glass and carefully observed the special bullet with a spiral pattern engraved on it. After a while, she said, "It's very clean."

"What do you mean?" asked the man with slicked-back hair, leaning back in the soft-backed sofa.

"It means that there is no way to trace the source. Your enemy is very smart."

The Indian woman raised her head, and in an instant, the red mole on her forehead turned into two, which were slightly misaligned, but slowly overlapped again, as if it was all an illusion.

The man with the slicked-back hair didn't think it was an illusion, he shouted:

"Lie down!"

But his words were too late. The Indian woman had been hit by a bullet from somewhere and had a red mole between her eyebrows. The bullet penetrated the Indian woman's head and painted a large patch of bright red on the wall behind her.

"The bullets were shot from the building opposite. They were shot by those construction workers!" The man with the slicked-back hair leaned over to take a look and confirmed his judgment. At this time, the killer on the opposite side had already aimed his crosshairs at him and was shooting in this direction.

The man with the slicked-back hair glanced at them with disdain, a sinister smile on his lips. Thinking of the massacre that was about to take place, his anger over the killing of the Indian woman eased a little.

He walked quickly to the end of the corridor, measured the distance of the passage with his eyes, felt it was not enough, cursed, opened the elevator door, stood in the elevator, made a preparatory posture for starting, and pushed his heels on the inner wall of the elevator. This time he measured the distance again. Good, perfect!

The man with the slicked-back hair suddenly exerted force with his legs, and his right heel left a footprint on the inner wall of the elevator made of stainless steel plates. He ran forward along the aisle like a sprinter in a 100-meter sprint. The strong wind he brought with him blew away the documents stapled on the walls of the aisle, and finally he crashed into the glass of the large floor-to-ceiling window in the Indian woman's office, smashing it to pieces.