But then it licked its lips and went back to its incessant snoring, and the staff breathed again.

Sherman wasn’t going to wait around for the scientists to scold him like a child. He stormed through the exit doors and nearly ran straight into his boss, Dave Hobin. Dave was a short, dumpy man with a full mustache.

Several nights a month, he and Sherman got together to play a card game called euchre.

“Sherman, why are you leaving the holding cell? Are you not feeling well?” Sherman’s answer came in the form of a punch to Dave’s nose.

“You wouldn’t listen to my ideas, and you laughed at me! All of you laughed at me!”

“What ideas?” Dave cried as he held his sore snout. “Is this about wanting Cheese Curls in the employee snack machine? I told you I’d look into it.”

For a moment the anger faded and Sherman realized what he had done to his friend. He was horrified and wanted to apologize. But before he could, Andrea rushed into the hall and helped Dave to his feet. Sherman could see the hurt and confusion in their eyes.

“Sherman, explain yourself!” Andrea cried.

Sherman’s tongue felt as if it were in the grip of a boa constrictor. He couldn’t form an explanation, and even if he could, his actions were just as baffling to him as they were to Andrea and Dave. Why was he so angry at his friends? Why was he so angry at his life?

And then the fever returned and his regret turned to scorn. These two simpletons should have been apologizing to him for masquerading as his friends. They were no different than the others—just trying to keep him down.

“You are all going to pay!” he shouted as he stomped away. “I’ve already begun work on a plan that will show the world my brilliance, and everyone will beg for mercy when I take my rightful place as their ruler.”

“Did you eat at the Goulash Hut again?” Dave shouted after him. “I told you that place has about a thousand health code violations. You probably have food poisoning. Come on, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

Sherman turned one last time. “My name is not Sherman! From this day forth, those who are lucky enough to live will call me Captain Kapow!”

“Captain who?” Andrea asked.

But Sherman did not reply. He stormed away, his brain hard at work on complex math equations and chemical formulas. His ideas had never been so clear, so crisp, so brilliantly dangerous! All he needed were the materials to construct his inventions and the money to buy the parts. But that wouldn’t be a problem. He knew exactly where to turn for the cash. All he had to do was find the man in the skull mask. Sherman’s dreams the night before had been filled with the mysterious stranger. Whoever he was, Sherman was certain the masked man would help him take over the world.

But first he was going to stop by the Goulash Hut. He was starving.

NO WAY! YOU’RE BACK! GEEZ! I CAN’T GET RID OF YOU. EITHER YOU REALLY WANT TO BE A SECRET AGENT OR YOU’RE JUST A GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT. YOU ARE AWARE THAT THIS LINE OF WORK HAS A HIGH DEATH RATE, CORRECT? YOU COULD BE KILLED IN A NUMBER OF TERRIBLE WAYS! PLUS, YOU HAVE TO BUY YOUR OWN TUXEDO!

FINE! THERE’S NO TALKING YOU OUT OF IT. I GUESS THAT’S HOW IT SHOULD BE. MEMBERS OF NERDS ARE MENTALLY TOUGH AND AREN’T SWAYED BY A LITTLE THING LIKE EXCRUCIATING DEATH. STILL, DON’T COME CRYING TO ME IF YOU GET YOURSELF KILLED, ’CAUSE ALL YOU’LL GET FROM ME IS AN “I TOLD YOU SO.”

OK, PAL! LET’S GET STARTED. FIRST, TELL ME YOUR CODE NAME.

HA! THAT CODE NAME IS DOWNRIGHT GOOFY. YOU SHOULD HAVE A SUPERCOOL CODE NAME LIKE MINE: BEANPOLE. THAT’S THE KIND OF NAME THAT STRIKES FEAR IN A VILLAIN’S HEART. YEAH, BEANPOLE! WHAT’S SO FUNNY?

GRRR. ENOUGH WITH THE GIGGLING! I HEARD YOU WERE BELLYACHING BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T BEEN SENT ON ANY MISSIONS YET. WELL, THERE’S A PERFECTLY GOOD REASON FOR THAT. YOU HAVEN’T SIGNED THE WAIVER. WHAT’S A WAIVER? IT’S A LEGAL DOCUMENT THAT FREES OUR ORGANIZATION OF ANY RESPONSIBILITY IF YOU HAPPEN TO SUFFER A LOSS OF LIMB OR DIE. YOU NEED TO SIGN IT BEFORE WE CAN GET STARTED.

THE “I KNOW I COULD DIE” WAIVER

I, __________________________________,

AM PERFECTLY AWARE THAT THE LIFE OF A SPY IS ONE WHERE I COULD BE KILLED IN A NUMBER OF VIOLENT AND TOTALLY GROSS WAYS, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO:

A BEAR ATTACK; A KILLER BEE ATTACK; FALLING OUT OF A PLANE; BEING PUSHED OUT OF A PLANE; FALLING THROUGH THE GLASS ROOF OF A SWORD FACTORY; A RACE CAR ACCIDENT; A MOTORCYCLE ACCIDENT; A GOLF CART ACCIDENT; AN ATTACK BY MUTATED OR HYBRID CREATURES; BEING BEATEN TO DEATH BY GOONS, THUGS, TOADIES, MINIONS, OR OTHER LARGE-MUSCLED CHARACTERS; A SPEED BOAT CRASH; DROWNING; BEING FED TO: SHARKS, PIRANHAS, ELECTRIC EELS, ANY OF THE GREAT CATS, OR ANY OF THE LESSER CATS; BEING LOCKED IN A SAFE AND TOSSED INTO THE OCEAN; A LASER BLAST TO THE FACE; BEING TIED TO A ROCKET AND LAUNCHED INTO SPACE; BEING VAPORIZED; BEING DISINTEGRATED; BEING RUN OVER BY A TANK; BEING RUN OVER BY A BUS; BEING RUN OVER BY ANYTHING; HAVING MY HEAD CHOPPED OFF; BEING BLOWN UP; AND PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING ELSE I CAN IMAGINE AND QUITE A NUMBER OF THINGS I CAN’T.

I AM ALSO AWARE THAT I COULD BE TERRIBLY INJURED IN A HOST OF TROUBLING SCENARIOS THAT WOULD CAUSE MY OWN FAMILY TO AVERT THEIR EYES FROM MY HORRIBLY DISFIGURED FACE AND BODY, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, BEING: BURNED, PUSHED INTO A TUB OF ACID, DRAGGED BY A SPEEDBOAT ACROSS A CORAL REEF, USED AS A GUINEA PIG BY AN EVIL SCIENTIST, USED AS A GUINEA PIG BY A GOOD SCIENTIST WHO IS FORCED BY SOMEONE ELSE TO PERFORM EVIL SCIENCE, MELTED, PUSHED INTO A WOOD CHIPPER, STRAPPED TO AN OUTRAGEOUSLY LARGE PENDULUM FEATURING AN ALMOST RIDICULOUSLY GIGANTIC RAZOR AND THEN SLICED IN HALF, ATTACKED BY VARMINTS, DUNKED IN HONEY AND BURIED NEAR A FIRE-ANT COLONY, PLUS SUBJECTED TO A WHOLE HOST OF REALLY GROSS THINGS I WOULDN’T EVEN FIND IN A HORROR MOVIE.

I AM ALSO AWARE THAT IN THE LINE OF DUTY I COULD BE SO BADLY MAIMED THAT I WOULD STRIKE FEAR INTO BABIES AND PETS OR I COULD SUFFER MALADIES, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO: FACE-THIEVERY, HAVING MY ARM EATEN BY AN INSANE BEAVER-CHAINSAW HYBRID, PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING EATING A PART OF MY BODY, AND HAVING MY NOSE CUT OFF IN A SWORD FIGHT. (I THINK YOU GET THE IDEA—AND I DIDN’T EVEN INCLUDE ALL THE NORMAL WAYS A PERSON CAN DIE.)

BEING FULLY INFORMED OF ANY POSSIBLE DAMAGES TO LIFE AND LIMB, BOTH REALISTIC OR SOMETHING THAT I COULD NEVER IMAGINE WOULD BE POSSIBLE BUT THEN ONE DAY I GO TO WORK AND—BAM!—IT’S VERY MUCH POSSIBLE, I RELIEVE THE NATIONAL ESPIONAGE, RESCUE, AND DEFENSE SOCIETY OF ANY RESPONSIBILITY AND CLAIMS TO DAMAGES. ’CAUSE, LIKE … THIS IS A DANGEROUS JOB NOT MEANT FOR CRYBABIES.

SO SWEARETH YE,

__________________________________

NOW THAT THE LEGAL STUFF IS TAKEN CARE OF, LET’S GET STARTED. THE BOOK YOU HAVE IN YOUR HANDS IS A NERDS CASE FILE. READ IT CAREFULLY AND DON’T SKIP OVER ANYTHING. AT ANY MOMENT, A QUIZ COULD HAPPEN, AND THEN YOU’LL WISH AN INSANE BEAVER-CHAINSAW WAS ATTACKING YOU.

Secret Agent Alexander Brand was a man of danger, action, and intrigue. He once subdued a raging elephant with nothing but a dress shoe and an apple pie. He incapacitated a dozen trained jujitsu fighters while simultaneously deactivating a bomb. He hang-glided into a raging forest fire to recover the plans for a deadly laser cannon. All this and more had earned him the title of America’s Greatest Secret Agent.