* * * * *
M.A.C.H.O. HQ.
(MAY 25, 2009)
MILES STONE'S P.O.V.
The cabbie dropped off Eric Bravo and Naomi Watanabe at Lyndon Pindling International Airport, New Providence, the Bahamas, where they subsequently boarded a Cessna Caravan amphibian disguised as a pair of Red Cross doctors carrying an organ transplant cooler. If some anal-retentive customs inspector had wanted to verify that fact, he or she would've been allowed to open the lid. Because, all that inspector would have found was a surgically removed heart (that was being electrically kept beating) atop a pile of crushed ice!
In reality, though, it was just an audio-animatronic replica of such a heart. And, the "crushed ice" was merely bubble wrap coated with aerosol snow. You know; like the kind that simulates frosted glass, on department store windows, at Christmas time! Beneath all that bubble wrap was a false compartment. And, within that false compartment (in addition to myself) were the microndos; Gladys Crabtree; and Okada Takeo.
Within an hour, we were back inside headquarters, being separately debriefed.
Twenty-three hours after that, we were rejoined by Ned Fogarty and Melissa Belmondo. Accompanying them were Hana Nozama and Detective Sergeant Lori Dillinger of the LAPD. Being normal-sized, of course, the lovely young sergeant had to spend most of the trip eastward blindfolded. And, just like the rest of us, she was debriefed in a one-on-one interview. So that there could be no comparing of notes before the fact.
Basically, Okada's story confirmed what Nozama had told Mel. She had shrunken the young creep in revenge for what she had been forced to do to the only shrunken man she had ever loved. And, Nozama's story--about "donating" Josh Buckler to a Chinese all-girl high school band in Taiwan--was quickly confirmed, as well. The little guy was living among them as their willing, naked foot-slave!
So, Myron Meriwether acceded to his request...and just left him there.
The rest of Nozama's story was also confirmed when normie agents followed her directions to that old sub-basement, at Cal-Tech, and found the shrinkie town set up within it. The statements obtained from the latter confirm that this bee-yotch has a lot to answer for! And, she knows it. So, she didn't kick up any fuss about being sentenced to life-without-parole in our R&D Division. Trying to help our resident eggheads find a way to safely re-enlarge the poor bastards.
As for Okada? Agent Watanabe and her grandfather have personally taken him to the Japanese embassy in Washington, D.C. I don't know how the rest of his Yakuza clan will react when they get a load of him. But, I wouldn't want to be the Earth Tiger Tong after they do!
You see, it turns out that Mel's hunch was right. The Ghost Spider punks who tried to waste her, in Los Angeles, _were_ part of a pre-arranged precaution that Nozama had set up with their tong bosses, shortly after selling Okada to the management at the Hotel Lilliput. If anybody but cops came asking questions about the little guy? Sayonara, sucker!
Speaking of the Hotel Lilliput; it was raided over Memorial Day weekend by the DEA in concert with the Bahamian Constabulary. It seems the former had received an anonymous tip about a load of heroin that had been smuggled to the hotel, for trans-shipment to Florida, via a large consignment of Japanese electronic toys. They didn't find any China white! But, they found something even more ominous. A bunch of gunmetal-gray oil drums with Cyrillic lettering on the outside of each one.
And, some kind of fluorescent-green fluid inside each one.
At the same time, out west, the DEA and the LVPD raided the hotel-casino owned by Mark Tolliver, Junior, for similar reasons. Unfortunately, their raid would prove less fruitful than the one on Paradise Island.
As for Chet Northfield? He's disappeared...as only a ninja can. My best guess is that he's resumed his personal crusade against the Heikegani-ryu. So, Meriwether will just have to take Watanabe-sensei's word for it that the guy will keep his mouth shut about M.A.C.H.O.'s existence. Even so, Sgt. Dillinger--who did agree to being our newest police contact on the West Coast--has likewise agreed to keep her eyes and ears peeled for Northfield's next appearance.
* * * * *
SOMEWHERE NEAR RACHEL, NEVADA
Dr. Ezra Long had been born Ezio Cristoforo Longobardi in Chicago, Illinois, on October 12, 1930. His father, Dr. Enrico Longobardi (from the Swiss canton of Ticino via Corsica) had been serving as Red Cross liason to the U.S. Public Health Service, and the American Medical Association, since the Spanish flu pandemic of twelve years earlier. While his mother--a Red Cross nurse of French-Canadian parentage (nee Marie-Marguerite Rivois of Woonsocket, Rhode Island)--had spent six of those years serving as the good doctor's interpreter, prior to their marriage in 1925!
With a background like that, it came as no surprise to them that he chose to serve in the Korean War as a U.S. Army medic. Nor did it greatly surprise them when he told them, following his honorable discharge, that he was legally changing his name in order to become a psychiatrist! And, thereby, treat American ex-prisoners of war still suffering the after-effects of North Korean pyschological warfare. What would have shocked them, however, was the truth behind his recruitment, by the CIA, in the fall of 1962.
Namely; helping one Pepe Garcia (a Mexican fighter-pilot during World War II; and a Company operative since the Berlin Airlift) adjust to spending the rest of his life at only FOUR INCHES TALL!!
By the tenth anniversary of the Cuban Missile Crisis, Long had succeeded his original recruiter, Bryce Paxton, as head of Miniscule Operations. It would be another seventeen years before he named his own successor in the form of Myron Meriwether. During the interim, he spent a great deal of time involving himself in the covert operations at the Nevada research facility code-named "Dreamland."
Better known to the rest of the world as Area 51.
A white Learjet landed upon the main runway of this facility, and gradually decelerated. Coming to a complete stop next to an electrically motorized golfcart. Dr. Long, its sole passenger, descended the hatch way steps with great care. Subsequently demonstrating why, as he limped towards the cart, while leaning on his cane of fire-hardened and polished oak as he did so.
The octagenarian gentleman was just as careful in climbing on to the shotgun seat of the cart. Shaking hands with the USAF officer seated behind the steering wheel.
"Nice to see you again, General Consternation."
Lt. General Raphael Considine quickly withdrew his hand from the other's grip.
"You _know_ I hate that nickname, Long!!!"
The older (and balder) man chuckled...like a shamelessly mischievous little boy.
"So sorry. But, it's true what they say. You can take the man out of the psychiatrist's office. But, you can't take away his love for pushing emotional buttons."
"Whatever! Let's get going."
The golfcart promptly made its way down a subterranean ramp. Not stopping until it reached a section with white double doors. Each door bearing what looked like a ship's porthole. And, with the wall above the doorway bearing just one word in impossible-to-miss capital letters.
"QUARANTINE"
Considine helped Long into a haz-mat suit, before donning his own. Only after that did the identically-clad armed guards on the other side of the door let this pair enter.
Almost immediately, they heard a voice within their heads, telepathically demanding a report.
"Joshua Buckler is alive and well, master," replied Long: "He was shrunken, as we thought! As it was by a process other than yours, however, I am uncertain if we should risk retrieving him from his current captors for re-enlargement."
"It matters not," replied Emissary Zudar of the C.U.P. Council: "The plan proceeds as scheduled. And, Supervisor Barton assures us that it will be _implemented_ on schedule. Five Earth-years from today? Mankind, as a race of self-destructive individuals,..."
"...will be no more."
THE END?
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
Epilogue