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Author's Chapter Notes:
Warning: contains some vore.
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MACAO, CHINA, 1973

Domiku Gutierrez had come a long way since he and his mother had fled to Cuba in 1910. His father had been hanged, that same year, for being one of Francisco Ferrer's lieutenants in the ill-fated Barcelona Revolt. By 1936, Domiku, himself, was serving in the Spanish Civil War...as a member of the forces _opposed_ to Francisco Franco!

Like all other such Spaniards, he was punished by being forced to serve with the Wehrmact, in Russia, during WWII. Somehow, though, he managed to defect to the Soviet side. Eventually, he became known as "the Stalingrad Grenadier," for his use of a jai alai cesta in throwing Molotov cocktails at the enemy during the siege of that city.

He became a soldier-of-fortune, after the war. Sometimes, bounty-hunting Nazi war criminals for the Israelis. Other times, running guns to left-wing guerrillas like the Vietminh. Nowadays, however, he lived and worked in Macao as "Don Vasco Morais;" an information-broker for the highest bidders.

For Domiku had gradually come to realize that knowledge was not only power. It could also be very lucrative! At least with regard to the controlled dispensing of it, in variously-sized pieces, for the right price. Of course, he dared not voice that sentiment in front of his daughter. Not with her being such a devout Marxist, these days.

Which is precisely why he was so surprised to get a call from her via scrambled radiophone.

"Papa? Esta Dolores. I wish to contact Park Kim Jung for a special assignment."

* * * * *

THREE DAYS LATER

The meztico houseboy knocked on the doorframe of his employer's private office, carefully and respectfully.

"Pardon, senhor."

"Sih, Joao?"

"Park Kim Jung es aqui."

"Ah! Obrigado, Joao. Show him in."

"Sih, senhor."

The dark-suited North Korean looked around, after the houseboy had dutifully closed the doors to the sound-proof room. The last time they had worked together, the Basque had resembled "Che" Guevara, and had fought like a true warrior of world socialism. Yet, now? He dressed like a typical capitalistic imperialist of the time: white Nehru jacket; black ascot, matching shoes and slacks; and, a hairpiece that was nowhere near as curly as his salt-and-pepper beard.

"Bienvenidos, companero! 'Long time/no see,' as the yanqui gringos say. But, what are you doing here? I thought you would be in Moscow by now, being briefed by mi hija!"

"My mission is geographically convenient to your hacienda. So, I thought I would simplify my task by seeking your help."

The North Korean sat down in the chair that was proffered him. Only then did he note the occupants of the glass aquarium behind the Basque's desk.

tbc
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