Frank glanced up at the door, which was far above both their heads. Only the secret agent could climb up easily, and he was in no condition to do anything. “I’m afraid we’ll have to ram it, Meme. Heads down.”
Just as the doors began to open, both Frank and Meme charged with a wild bleat of determination – directly into the poor, stunned emergency worker who’d been trying to get them out. “Are you folks okay?” he wheezed out from his new position flat on his back on the floor, staring up at the two.
Meme let out a worried bleat. “Did we hurt you?”
“Nothing permanent,” the man murmured as Frank tugged him to his feet by the shirtsleeve. “You two pack quite a wallop between you.”
Meme ducked her head and Frank hooved the ground sheepishly. “Look, we need some help,” Frank said. “Our friend hit his head when the elevator stopped, and – “
“Say no more,” the man said, pushing past the two of them into the elevator. “He’s had quite a nasty fall, the poor chap.”
As Frank and Meme watched on in horror, the emergency worker slipped an ID and a gun out of his pocket, both of which he pointed at the two. “MI6,” he said in a crisp accent. “And I’m afraid I and your friend need to have a few words. In private.” He hit something on the elevator, and it started up again. “Don’t worry,” he added, just as his face was obscured by the closing doors. “I’m sure he’ll be in excellent shape when I’m done.”
He paused. “Well. Mostly excellent shape.”
Oh no! Could their agent friend be on the wrong side of MI6? Is the new agent MI6? And what about the woman in Frank and Meme's room?