My heart raced, and I could feel the cool moist sweat accumulating on my palms. One mistake meant death for me and several others; however, so I kept quiet and stealthily peeked around the corner. Sure enough, there sat Rapunzel admiring her reflection in the mirror as her undercover hairstylist added extensions in a shady salon East of Dark Chocolate Lane.

This did not surprise me at all. Rapunzel would do anything to get the attention of “her one true love” that, I might add, changes every fairy tale. I was not surprised at her disguise though.

After working in the Undercover Gnome Spy Services for as long as I have, one learns to appreciate a good disguise. Rapunzel’s billowy dress was very last season: something she wouldn’t be caught dead in. She also sported cotton candy pink lipstick which did not make her face look as pale as the deep red color she normally coats on her lips. The strangest thing about her disguise was the wig that lay beside her on the floor. It was carefully stowed away under her chair, but the label inside was undeniable: UGSS.

I felt a sudden shock of fear. Had I been set up? The UGSS captain did treat me rather strange at lunch. Maybe that new commander, Gary, is in on this. These accusations and doubts swam through my mind until I felt dizzy. One thing was for sure. There was a story here, and it was my job to get to the bottom of it.

Carefully, I took one last picture and began to tiptoe away. With each step, I paused anxiously expecting the “creak” in the floorboards to betray me.

I finally left the shop, without a sound. For a split second I had a chance to process what I had seen. The image of the wig had barely entered my mind when I saw something every spy prays she won’t have to see in her lifetime.

A news helicopter seemed to suck the air from the dark street and chop at it mercilessly. News helicopters meant journalists. Journalists bring articles, news coverage, and worst of all, attention to the area. It doesn’t matter if they are reporting on a story about a boy whose pet ostrich ate him; journalists can smell the stench of any secret. The situation I was dealing with was plenty stenchy without the arrogant smirk of a reporter.

I had to act fast. Faster than ever before. Faster than that time in Berlin when the gargoyles took my partner hostage. Much faster than the time the Mer-King kidnapped my family. I had to make my reaction time when I was nearly thrown off Cinderella’s castle look like the rate of a turtle. Yes, this situation was very different from ever before.

Obviously, I needed to snatch the wig before I did anything else. I snatched the latest Cosmofairytan and shielded my face. Utilizing the skills I learned in Spy School, I tip toed quieter than ever before. When I was within reach, I reached for my Selenator. The Selenator was far from the newest model, but it accomplished the job. It scanned the wig, documented the evidence, and vacuumed the wig into its tightly packed storage space. With a quiet burp, the Selenator replaced the wig with a replica made using the documented evidence.

As I snuck out the back door, I was rather grateful I caved in and let Walter, from engineering, convince me to carry technology with me. Usually, I prefer not to use it. Despite my hate for short cuts, I thanked my lucky stars that I had my Selenator with me that day.