She drops like a cat onto the highrise balcony, skillfully jimmies the french doors open and creeps into the lair of the international bad guy. With a spin of her fingers she opens the safe and the secret documents are exposed. Does she steal them? Oh, no. Our secret agent relies on the Rosetta Stone of spy gadgets, the micro-camera.   Slightly larger than a lipstick, always in Deco or post-Modern chrome, it captures on film the plans for global domination, the secret location of mighty explosives, the financial guts of the evil operation. For those of us not working as operatives, this teeny photographic device can be tucked into a pocket or bra for carrying past concert security. You never know when you might need to snap a photo of a rock legend, nefarious or not. MO

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