"It's pretty low-end this time, Sterling. No living the high life in Monte Carlo, I'm afraid. The enemy is smart, keeping under the radar by operating from, well, dives."
"Dives?" You raise an eyebrow.
"Many low-scale organisations owe their budget to the corporation, and in return send a cut of their illegal proceeds back to their parent. Drugs, prostitution..."
"Ah. Dives."
"Indeed. All attempts to get a mole inside on even one of these lower steps of the pyramid have failed miserably. They're all like a family, built up from people who've grown up together on the streets, and no outsiders are trusted with membership of their exclusive club. We've lost five good agents trying already."
"I hope to avoid filling the sixth body bag."
"Don't worry," Miss Hensley purrs from behind you. "Once you've undergone the procedure to be reduced in height, a body bag would be something of a waste of space."
"What she means," Control cuts in, "is that you'll be beneath notice. Miss Hensley here will smuggle you into the nightclub that serves as the face of the local branch of this evil empire. Once inside, it'll be up to you to somehow get to the top of the food chain, reporting back to us on the internal organisation. Names, locations, shipments..."
"The whole works. Don't worry sir, I'm sure I'll be able to ignore the drugs and prostitution for long enough to contact you."
"Damnit, this is no laughing matter! For once, can't you-"
You're no longer listening as Miss Hensley guides you outside, on the way to wherever it is in the cavernous building that the shrinking machine is kept.
"Don't mind him," she says, "he's as enthusiastic about all the missions."
"You don't have to remind me. So you've been on other missions for him, eh? How could I have not seen you until today?"
"My mother always told me to avoid suspicious men, and I can't think of anyone more suspicious than a spy for Her Majesty's Secret Service."
"Point taken. Still, once this is over I'll have to convince you why not everything your mother says should be taken as gospel."
"I look forward to it." She smiles, and then you reach your destination.
The machine is certainly a piece of work. There is a platform for the target to stand on and, suspended above it, an unbelievably baroque mass of cables, wiring and pistons.
"Now I have seen everything."
"And soon you'll be able to see it all from a new perspective."
The new voice is that of Quentin, head scientist here at the home office. He steps out from behind his contraption, putting his goggles onto his forehead and wiping oil from his hands onto his tweed jacket.
You follow his instructions, standing directly in the middle of the platform, on the great, big 'X" that has been marked there in white paint. Without further ado, Quentin throws the lever and you are enveloped in light.
When your vision clears, you are still without your equilibrium, stumbling to one side. Your eyes focus on the titanic forms of Miss Hensley and Quentin, staring down at you, and only now do you begin to appreciate how different this mission will be.
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