“NM,” mused the Professor aloud. “Very mysterious! Whatever can it mean?”
Squinting more closely at the stylized lettering on the container of worms, he discovered that it was the trade name for the new food source: Nematode Meal.
“Ach so!” said the Professor. “Nematode backwards is Edotamen! Unglaublich!”
“Come, my little bouncy one,” whispered Hilde from the doorway, “I must take you to your brother!”
Everyone was stunned…there was silence while they stood and stared at Hilde.
There was a popping noise and the Professor had a red hole in his forehead as a hole appeared in Hilde’s purse. “Gucci, dammit! Come with me, we have to get you out before the KGB find you!”
Blood from the professor’s forehead gushed out like a crimson geiser as he crumpled to the ground while Imogene clasped her hands against her face and screamed in pure horror right when Hilde calculated to just grab the nubile young coed and run or whether she should grab some worms for a snack later.
“He was KGB” muttered Hilde as she shoved the student into her dark Opel and drove calmly towards the Safe House, taking a route to check for followers.
Back at the safe house, Karl wondered where his caseworker Hilde went.
“Not to worry,” said Horst, cleaning his Walther PPK in the corner. “You know she is a trained professional. She can drive a Porsche down the Autobahn at top speed, no sweat!”
“But it’s a Goddam Opel!” protested Karl.
Horst looked up as he slipped the magazine back into the butt of the Walther. “You know, Karl,” he said, frowning, “you’re really starting to piss me off!”
Max rolled its eyes as if to say Here we go again
Suddenly, a car pulled up outside. Peeking through the blinds, Horst exclaimed “Ach du lieber mein Gott im Himmel! It’s Duquesne of MI-6!”
Hilde backed into Duquesne’s Jaguar while parking. Karl took his head in his hands. “Shit” he said quietly.
Hilde and Duquesne got out of their respective vehicles and eyed each other warily. “The last time I saw you was in Istanbul,” the Englishman said. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
“Keeping your butt out of zeh fire,” Hilde growled a she reached into the passenger’s seat of her car and grabbed an unusual bag.
“Oh, nein!” cried Imogene, desperately trying to extricate herself from the tiny Opel. “Please, don’t!”
A week later, Duquesne slowly blinked and tried to focus his eyes as he awoke from his coma.
He looked ate the date on his watch. “Shit! I almost missed the Olympics!”