“Ah, so it’s paranoia, is it?” he scoffs. “Is that how I’m being regarded these days? As delusional?”
“Not at all!” denies Mrs. Pearbottom. “We don’t use such terms anymore. They’re officially offensive.”
Mrs. Pearbottom reaches into Herbert’s breast pocket and produces his cell phone. “You led them here.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. This thing could have put a man on the moon. It wouldn’t betray my whereabouts. My privacy
matters to these companies.”
“Oh, please ignore this, Frank! Pink Wednesday deal
coming up.”
“Your secret is good with me,” replies his tired colleague. He wouldn’t dream of stopping and filing a report. “Don’t stray too late!”
He turns and almost bowls over the cleaning woman and her cart. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
She smiles and watches him go. “They never do.”
“I knew it! You’re checking up on me! MI-5? MI-6?”
“Emotionally, maybe.”
Claire chimes in, “Being here is like giving back to my great, great grandfather and other Veterans of the Great War.”
Herbert looks devastated. “That’s not the war you think it is.”
Herbert ponders his name. “Reisenschein?
Don’t tell me you’re a peppy German in the morning.”
“Nein! I am from Austria! And I have cramps in zeh morning!”
“I see. Where exactly?”
“My stomach, my back, my feet.”
“No, I mean, where in Austria?”
“But Olga, surely you have to abide by a professional code of ethics?”
“Fortunately, you are not my client.”
“I think the spirit of the law applies here.”
“You can run, Mr. Bigglesby, but hiding from Olga? Not possible!”
The Lead Agent acknowledges their failure. “We’re too late. He seems to have eluded us.”
“He’s probably halfway to the Caveman Islands by now in some untraceable vehicle.”
“Unless he just went to the bathroom.” This comes from the intern, who clearly does not know his place.
