“She wasn’t there,” said Mr. Mulligan, the thug with the Irish accent.

The one who was also missing most of the pinky finger on his left hand.

“The place was empty,” said his partner, Mr. Hoffman. His accent was slightly German. When he was angry, like he was now, the tiger tattooed on his neck seemed to pounce in time to his pulse.

“You gentlemen are not at fault,” said their boss, a bald scientist with sharp teeth too large for his sneer. “We were operating with outdated data from an unreliable source.”

They were meeting at the scientist’s high-tech research facility outside of Boston.

“We know you want her bad, Dr. Zimm,” said Mulligan.

“It’s not just for me, gentlemen,” said Dr. Zimm, rubbing his skeletal hands together. “It’s for the future of Western civilization. With Max Einstein on the Corp’s team, we can build better, smarter weapons that will keep the world safer and more secure. With her brain, mankind’s potential will know no bounds. She is the key to unleashing new sources of wealth and well-being.”

Mulligan looked at Hoffman, who was looking at Mulligan.

“Isn’t she, like, twelve years old, sir?” said Mulligan.

“How’s she gonna do all that?” asked Hoffman.

Dr. Zimm’s grin grew wider, like the one carved into a jack-o’-lantern that’s started to rot a few days after Halloween.

“Her age imposes no limit on her mental capacity or her monetary potential, gentlemen. There is a reason her last name is Einstein.”

Hoffman arched an eyebrow. “You know her family?”

“What I know, Herr Hoffman, is none of your concern. This, however, is.”

He tapped the Return key on his computer.

“I received a Google alert early this morning, for any internet activity related to ‘child prodigy,’ ‘Einstein,’ ‘physics,’ ‘quantum theory’—I’ve cast quite a wide net with my parameters and keywords….”

“And?” said Mulligan. “You found the girl?”

“Oh, yes.”

He clicked his mouse a few times. The screen filled with a full-color photo of a “child prodigy” named Paula Ehrenfest who had been lecturing on “Einstein” in a “physics” class at Columbia University. She was standing back while two burly bodyguards wrestled an unruly student to the floor of a lecture hall.

“You hit the trifecta,” said Mulligan. “Three key words or phrases in one news story.”

“Sweet,” added Hoffman.

“It was on the front page of the Columbia University student newspaper,” Dr. Zimm said proudly. “That, my friends, is Max Einstein. Even the alias she is using is a giveaway. Paul Ehrenfest was one of Albert Einstein’s closest associates.”

“You want we should head back to New York, Dr. Z?” asked Mulligan.

“Yes, Pinky. And take some additional associates with you. We don’t want her slipping through our fingers again, do we?”

“No, sir.”

“According to this article, Dr. Paula Ehrenfest is a resident of John Jay Hall on the Columbia campus. I’ve already sent a map and directions to your phones. We must retrieve Max Einstein, re-educate her, and have her recommit to her true calling. We must help her realize who and where she is meant to be! She and I will do great work together. Great work indeed!”