The penthouse office was still and dark, the only illumination from the data router.  The door handle shuddered slightly as the lock was expertly picked, and a frame of light from the hallway briefly outlined the woman in her stylish evening gown as she noiselessly slipped into the office and shut the door behind her.

A narrow shaft of light from her fist heralded her arrival at the desk.  After a minute of increasingly frustrated searching, she suddenly froze and switched off her flashlight.  A silhouette stepped in front of the window and she turned, pistol in hand.

“Looking for something?” asked a familiar masculine voice.  He toggled the overhead lights.

Ingrid Avellan, agent of the O.S.S., kept her weapon trained on her confronter.  Her scarlet dress held her breasts tightly but loosened as it swirled around her hips before halting completely mid-calf.  Where she carried her agency-issued equipment was one of her closest-held professional secrets.

Gregorio Cortez, agent of the O.S.S., ignored Ingrid’s weapon but nevertheless held very still.  He was dressed much more practically, all-black climbing gear and plenty of pockets.  In his right hand he held a stack of 3.5” floppy disks.

“That’s my target,” she said.  “Devlin assigned it to me.”

“He was concerned at how much time you were taking,” he said.  “It was suggested that he send you some backup.”

“Suggested by whom?”

"I might have suggested it.”

Her face, already sour, became caustic.  “Give me the disks.”

A klaxon sounded throughout the building, and jackboots echoed in the hall.  Gregorio tilted his head wryly, then turned to escape via the window he had used to enter.

Ingrid made her pistol vanish and somehow replaced it with a leather-and-lead sap, then hid behind the door.  When the first guard burst into the office, she whipped the base of his skull and relieved him of his assault rifle as he crumpled.

She knew she could make her way out of the building without having to kill anyone, but nothing could remove the bitterness of seeing her rival agent drop effortlessly into the night with her mission objective.

Director Devlin appeared by video, as always.  Ingrid was in a smart pantsuit, but she couldn’t resist one-inch heels.  Gregorio wore a jacket but forgot the tie.

“Good work, both of you,” said Devlin.

“If Spider-Man here hadn’t tripped the window alarm,” protested Ingrid, “I would have gotten the disks out undetected.”

“If you had taken less than three days to penetrate the office,” countered Gregorio, “I wouldn’t have had to get involved.”

“While the issues of detection and timeliness are not wholly immaterial,” interrupted Devlin, “I don’t much care who brought the disks out.  What really matters is that they provided the confirmation we need to proceed with the next mission.”

“I volunteer,” said Gregorio confidently, “what is it?”  Ingrid glared at him.

“It’s an extraction,” replied Devlin.  “A research scientist is on the verge of a revolutionary breakthrough, one that could radically upset the balance of power.”

“What’s the scientist’s name?” asked Ingrid.

“Kaspar Figura,” said Devlin.

“Never heard of him,” said Gregorio.

“That’s funny,” replied Devlin, “because he’s heard of you.  He’s let us know that he won’t consider helping us unless we demonstrate our commitment by sending our best agent, whom he identified as ‘Gregorio Cortez’.”

Gregorio beamed at Ingrid.

“That’s it,” she said, standing up.  “I’m outta here.”

“Sit down,” ordered Devlin.  “You’re going too.”

“What?” sputtered Gregorio.  Ingrid kept her feet, waiting.

“Figura’s research facility is in Caracas,” explained Devlin.  “I trust you remember your last visit to Venezuela, Agent Cortez?”

Gregorio shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Well, the local security certainly remember,” continued Devlin.  “You’re much too hot to handle the mission by yourself.”

“How is sending Agent Avellan along going to keep their surveillance from spotting me?” protested Gregorio.  “Is she going to distract them with her slow-motion tradecraft?”

“I’m not working with this clown,” said Ingrid, turning and walking toward the door.  “Find yourself another decoy.”

“You won’t be a decoy, Agent Avellan,” called Devlin impatiently.  Ingrid halted at the door, her hand on the knob.

“You’ll be calling the shots on this one,” continued Devlin.

Ingrid glanced at Gregorio to see that he didn’t receive this last remark at all well.

“As to your question, Agent Cortez,” proceeded Devlin, “both of you are to report to Dr. Francesca Giggles in R&D.  She has all the details.”

“Don’t you mean Francesca Kahlo?” asked Ingrid.

“She and Agent Donnagon Giggles got married while you were on assignment,” replied Devlin.

Looking again at Gregorio, Ingrid returned to her chair.  “If I’m in charge of this mission,” she said to Devlin, “what assurances do I have that Agent Cortez will follow my direction?”

“Trust me:  he will,” replied Devlin, breaking into a wide grin.

Ingrid and Gregorio took the intra-agency tram directly to Francesca’s lab.  The large stainless steel worktable was largely taken up by what looked like a wide, white wooden box or crate that was perforated with several finely-cut square openings.

Francesca herself came around the table.  Like Ingrid, she wore heels whenever she could, but even her three-inchers couldn’t prevent the crate from obscuring her petite frame from the door.  Stockings and a knee-length skirt disappeared into her flowing lab coat, which wasn’t flowing enough to hide her buxom curves.  Her deep brown eyes and game-show-hostess smile lit on Ingrid.

“Congratulations, Cesca!” squealed Ingrid, who hugged the brunette scientist and kissed her cheek.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was very sudden,” said Francesca.  She looked at Gregorio.  “So you’re going to bring Dr. Figura over to the O.S.S.  Do you think you can handle the kind of opposition we expect?”

“Well, he asked for me by name, so it seems I’m the only one qualified,” he said, giving Ingrid a sour look.  “I’m ready for any situation.  Now, how are we going to get me past the heightened security?”

“Like this,” replied Francesca, reaching into her coat pocket and withdrawing what looked like a small flashlight.  She shined the beam on him and Gregorio’s world rushed away from him.

Gregorio blinked several times before his vision could re-focus.  When he could see clearly again, he didn’t quite believe his eyes.  Everything was gigantic.  The worktable, the lab equipment, the trash can by the door, and, most dauntingly, his colleagues.  He had to tilt his head back to take in the full height of Francesca and Ingrid, whose legs now loomed over him like redwoods.  A hundred feet up he could see Ingrid’s face in open-mouthed shock, and Francesca gave him a satisfied smile before she walked over to him.  Her unforgiving heels thundered on the floor, reverberating in his guts.  He was mesmerized by the sway of her shapely stockinged legs, which folded as she lowered herself and reached out for him with her giant hand.  His instinct to flee melted away when he looked into her beautiful round face and let her utility-pole-sized fingers curl around his body.

Francesca straightened up and held Gregorio out to Ingrid, her palm open flat.  Gregorio struggled to his feet on the uncertain surface, and he estimated his new height to be no more than three inches.  Looking up at his captress, he lost himself in Francesca’s enormous brown eyes and impossibly full lips.

“Do you think you could stash him somewhere now?” Francesca asked Ingrid.

“This mission just got a lot more interesting,” said Ingrid, a smirk creeping across her face.  Gregorio turned to look up at his giant rival, whose expression was becoming one of sublime mastery.

Francesca slowly turned and walked to the worktable and lowered Gregorio next to the large wooden crate, which he now realized were accommodations for people of his scale.  He stepped out of Francesca’s palm onto a small balcony.  Out of an opening to the interior stepped Agent Donnagon Giggles, the same size as Gregorio, who did a double-take.  “Donnagon?  What’s going on?”

Donnagon chuckled.  “We’re pushing the envelope of espionage technology, that’s what’s going on.”

“Congratulations, Donnagon!” boomed Ingrid, who along with Francesca had leaned down to bring her colossal face next to the miniaturized agents.

“We’re not there yet,” shouted Donnagon.  “That’s what this mission is about.”

“I meant congratulations on getting married,” laughed Ingrid, joshingly rubbing shoulders with Francesca.

“Oh, thanks,” said Donnagon, beaming up at Francesca.  Gregorio looked up at the giant scientist, hovering over her tiny husband, and his gaze couldn’t help disappearing down her unobscurable cleavage.

Gregorio turned back to Donnagon and shook his hand.  “Yeah, congratulations,” he said.  “How long have you been...” Gregorio trailed off, looking around and gesturing at the giant worktable.

“How long have I been miniaturized?” prompted Donnagon.  “We ran the experiment right after the wedding, so it’s been seven days.”

“After the wedding?” asked Gregorio.

“Yes, we wanted to settle all the arrangements first in case something went wrong with the experiment.”

“You mean you’re the first human subject?” asked Gregorio.

“Someone had to be,” replied Donnagon.

“That’s my brave husband,” doted Francesca.  Donnagon reddened.

“Come inside,” he said to Gregorio.  “This is pretty slick.”

Gregorio followed Donnagon into the structure and down a flight of stairs to his workshop.  In the middle of the floor was a large cylindrical object.  To Gregorio, it looked about eight feet long and three feet in diameter.  It had squared flanges at each end to prevent it from rolling.  A seam ran lengthwise along the middle of the tube, and Donnagon unlatched it to reveal a cushioned cockpit.  It looked like a cross between a coffin and a torpedo.

“This is where you’ll be when Ingrid takes you through security,” said Donnagon.  “The comm link in the lid is patched into the O.S.S. net, and we’re issuing Ingrid a purse that has 360-degree AV sensors so you can see and hear everything outside.  She’s also getting a neck pendant with a mike and camera so you can see and hear what she does, and you can talk to her via the standard agency earring-phones.”

Gregorio knelt down next to the capsule as Donnagon continued his presentation.  “There’s emergency rations and a waste disposal unit for prolonged sequestration.  It even has an airtight seal and air supply should that need arise.  The whole thing is shielded, and on an x-ray scanner it looks like a toothbrush kit.”

Gregorio was fascinated by the technological marvel, but he was reminded that he was standing in a dollhouse when the wall swung away and the titanic figures of Francesca and Ingrid filled the space.  Ingrid had already been issued her purse.

Francesca brought her enormous face down next to Gregorio.  “Ready to go?” she asked, her sultry voice washing over him.

“Just to be clear,” he shouted up at her, “once we’re through customs, Ingrid will re-enlarge me, yes?”

A pitying look came over Francesca’s features.

“Sorry, Gregorio,” said Donnagon.  “We haven’t figured out the re-enlargement process yet.”

“Haven’t figured it out?” repeated Gregorio, wilting.

“That’s why we need Dr. Figura,” said Francesca.  “His theories on molecular compression are way ahead of everyone else.”

“If you don’t succeed in extracting Figura,” said Donnagon, “you and I will be miniaturized for good.”

Gregorio didn’t notice Ingrid’s giant hand reach into the workshop until it was too late.  She scooped him up and brought him to her grinning face.  He lay in her palm, looking up into her enormous mischievous eyes.

“It sounds like a perfect opportunity for my patented ‘slow-motion tradecraft’,” she purred.

Ingrid gingerly hefted her purse strap over her shoulder, although she knew Gregorio was strapped down inside the capsule.  During the flight to Caracas, Gregorio had exited the capsule to stretch his limbs within the confines of her purse, and twice Ingrid had forgotten the tiny unsecured agent and jolted the purse without warning.

Security prior to boarding in Miami had been cursory, but now Ingrid was headed up the ramp to the Venezuelan Immigration Control.  “Fasten your seat belts,” she said, loud enough for only her pendant mike to pick up.

A weaselly officer with a pencil-thin mustache awaited her at the end of the long queue, and as he examined her fake passport with myopic scrutiny a gorilla in a matching uniform spotted her and picked up a phone.  Twenty inaudible words later, the gorilla found a partner and instructed Ingrid to step into a nearby examination room.

Alone with Ingrid and the door closed, the gorilla grunted, “Levanta los brazos.”

“I don’t think so,” said Ingrid.

The gorilla stepped closer and said something inarticulate, but then the door opened and in walked a female officer carrying Ingrid’s passport.  The gorilla gave Ingrid a narrow look and backed against the wall.

The female officer put her file on the table and walked over to Ingrid and said, “Please raise your arms and spread your legs.”

“Why?” asked Ingrid.

“Surely your State Department advised you of our border security protocols, Ms...” replied the officer, flipping the passport open, “...Ms. Chavez?”

Ingrid glanced at the gorilla, who smiled thinly at her.  “Alright,” she said, complying with the officer’s directions.

The officer was professional, neither lingering pruriently or overlooking potential caches.  Ingrid ignored the gorilla’s leer as she submitted to the frisking.  When it was over, they sat at the table for the questioning.

“What is your purpose in Venezuela?”

“Tourism.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Real.”

“Do you like to gamble?”

“I like to watch.”

The moment Ingrid had been dreading came when the officer picked up her purse.  She tried not to wince as the officer spilled the contents onto the table.  She sifted through the items, went through Ingrid’s wallet, then selected the capsule containing Gregorio.

“What’s this, your dildo?”

“No, my dildo is twice that size.”

The officer looked over the items on the table, then peered into the empty purse.

“I left it at home,” said Ingrid, “but even if I hadn’t, I still wouldn’t let you borrow it.”

The officer pursed her lips and tossed the capsule onto the table.  She didn’t look at Ingrid as she initialed some form twice, then stamped Ingrid’s passport.

“Enjoy your stay in Venezuela,” she said with cold smile, handing Ingrid her papers.

“I’m gonna kill that dyke bitch,” fumed Gregorio as Ingrid made her way out of the airport and hailed a cab.

“I highly doubt that,” she said to her pendant.

“I’m lucky she didn’t break anything.”

“Oh, be quiet.  We’re through, aren’t we?”

“Says the person who’s not being used as a pinball.”

“That frisking was no picnic.  I should have let her confiscate you.”

After Ingrid had checked in, they had about an hour to freshen up before their next contact.  Ingrid started to change in the main suite until she remembered the cameras on her purse.  The hotel bathroom was bigger than her first apartment, so she collected her clothes and closed the door behind her.

When she returned to the bedroom area, she stopped at the vanity to select from those few pieces of jewelry she brought that were not agency-issue.  Something descended from the ceiling and stopped next to her head, hanging in her peripheral vision.  “Hi there,” it chirped.

She leaped back in alarm, until she recognized Gregorio and his miniaturized climbing gear.  “Don’t startle me like that again,” warned Ingrid.  “Spiders don’t last long in my house.”  She rolled up a nearby tabloid for emphasis.

Gregorio ascended rapidly as he engaged the motorized reel on his harness.  When he reached the ceiling, he retrieved his anchor and launched it with his compressed-air pistol at a lamp halfway across the room.  The anchor adhered, and Gregorio jumped out, again reeling in his line so he swung in a low arc behind Ingrid, uncoupling when he reached the apex and planting a two-foot landing on the foot of the bed.  “You’ll have to catch me first,” he said, stowing his climbing gear.

Ingrid grabbed her three-inch stilettos and walked to the foot of the bed, looming over Gregorio, the pumps dangling from her hips where she rested her hands.

“It’s still a dangerous world, bug,” she said, turning to sit on the bed and don her shoes.  The sight of Ingrid’s enormous ass descending on him froze Gregorio for a half-second before he dove clear.  He rode out the tremors in the mattress, then stood up.

“I think I should make my own way to the contact,” he said.

“Wrong,” she said, without looking at him.  “We can’t risk you even being seen, let alone falling into a roulette wheel.”

“Who’s going to see me?”

“No one, because you’ll be in my purse.”

“I’ve had more experience with this sort of thing.”

“And yet Devlin put me in charge,” she said, standing and walking over to the table.  She took the capsule out of her purse and twirled it in her fingers.  “Which means it’s the tampon case for you,” she said, reaching for him and smiling.