"Wait, monsieur," said the French heiress from the boudoir, her hair a tangled post-coital mess. "You mustn't tell my husband. He'll go mad with jealousy." Agent 33 sized up his mark from the bathroom, adjusting his tie before re-entering the costume ball downstairs. He had the nuclear codes, the key to the helicopter, and incredibly efficient sex. Why dither? But he couldn't help himself. "I don't think I'll need to tell him, madam," he smirked through his pearly white veneers. "Becau-" Then the whole room exploded.