Chapter Seven - Around the World In Eighty Hours
Kirk was sitting on a plane to Heathrow, excited to be helping Mrs Kim on another mystery. He still hadn't gotten over the rush of helping her on what was now known as Kimchigate; he doubted Caesar had gotten over it either.
As he fiddled with the air conditioning, he wondered whether this case would bring him fame and fortune. Maybe he'd finally found his forte, or maybe, as he suspected, everything was his forte.
The flight seemed to take forever, but finally he was back on terra firma, walking through security. He could smell the mystery in the air, he was on the case, he was a jetsetting spy and Mrs K needed him.
Finally he met the immigration lady, asking him the reason for his visit.
He smiled. "The name's Gleason, Kirk Gleason," he said coolly, as he got ready to explain his mission, even though he wasn't quite sure what it was. Hopefully dropping the name Mrs Kim would be enough.
Just saying the name Mrs Kim had been enough. Kirk found himself rushed through immigration and straight into a private limousine. Half an hour later, he was in a darkened theater, as Mrs Kim laid out her plans.
Before him was a map of the world, strings pinned to it, showing their planned journey, criss-crossing the world, hunting down their targets.
He listened to Mrs Kim intently, taking in everything, and then, for security reasons, forgetting it all again immediately after. When she asked him if he'd understood, he nodded, and prepared himself for their over-land undercover mission.
The only thing he could remember was that she'd set them a schedule of eighty hours. Mrs Kim had to be back for her tambourine-band practice in just over three days.
"Now Kirk, there's something I want you to swallow," Mrs Kim said.
Kirk looked at her. "Is it a cyanide pill, in case we get caught?"
"No, it's kimchi. You need to keep strength up, have good gut health."
And so it was that, two hours later, before he even had the chance to say jetlag, Kirk found himself and Mrs Kim floating over the English Channel in a giant hot air balloon, on route to Paris (the place not the person).
"So, Mrs Kim, why are we going to Paris again?" asked Kirk.
Mrs Kim looked at Kirk through her fogged-up goggles. "We look for suspect, Kirk. The potential filth piglet is international supermodel, who stayed at Dragonfly Inn, unlikely I know."
"So, what we do?"
"We remain inconspicuous, blend in. Do you speak French?"
"I know mime," said Kirk.
Mrs Kim nodded. "Good enough."
Unbeknownst to Mrs Kim, far far away in another land entirely, someone was tracking her every move, and gloating.
Just as James Bond had a Blofeld and Sherlock Holmes had a Moriarty, Mrs Kim had an arch-nemesis, someone who was prepared to do the unthinkable, even if it meant breaking and not buying something.
Mrs Kim's arch-nemesis laughed a malevolent laugh. The game was afoot, it had been for days, and Mrs Kim was nowhere nearer finding out the truth.
And so it was, over the next eighty hours, her arch-nemesis kept tabs on Mrs Kim.
On the first day, Mrs Kim crossed Europe, blending in on Paris catwalks, Venice gondolas, Munich Bierfests, and numerous ski slopes, her faithful mime Kirk in tow.
On the second day, Mrs Kim and Kirk travelled through jungles, rode camels through deserts, and sought out numerous holy men, just in case they'd smashed the vase.
On the third day, undaunted, Mrs Kim and Kirk crossed the arctic tundra, every step they were taking being a step further from finding out the truth.
Finally, Mrs Kim and Kirk returned to Stars Hollow, to defeat and tambourine-practice and amateur dramatic shadow puppets. The arch-nemesis laughed another malevolent laugh, thinking they'd defeated Mrs Kim. What they didn't realise was that Mrs Kim, and Kirk, were barely getting started.