She didn’t blink. “I’m Zara. MI7 sent me to babysit you. Dr. Evil has a new plan, and you’ve been asleep for sixty-three years.”
Inside, Austin Powers—International Man of Mystery, three-time winner of Playgirl ’s “Most Shagadelic Spy,” and part-time tambourine enthusiast—dreamt of nothing. Which was, he’d later reflect, a lot like most of his marriages. austin powers novel
The lid lifted. Cold smoke poured out like dry ice at a disco funeral. She didn’t blink
He sat up. The world was different. He could tell. No lava lamps. No shag carpet. And everyone in the security footage on the wall was staring at tiny glowing rectangles in their hands like the rectangles owed them money. The lid lifted
Yeah, baby! The swingin’ spy with the shagadelic style is back—in book form, because even Hollywood couldn’t handle this much velvet.
The cryogenic pod hissed like a disappointed mother-in-law.
The lab door slid open. A woman in tactical gear pointed a gun at him. She was young, sharp-eyed, and utterly unimpressed by his chest hair.
