* * * * *
RUSSIAN CONSULATE, HONG KONG
(11 APRIL, 1964)
Vassily Alexandrov was naturally startled by the older of the two people who suddenly barged into his office. Namely; General Sergei Yerkov of the GRU (Soviet Army Intelligence). The former waited until the latter had gestured to his secretary to leave the three of them alone. Alexandrov then exclaimed (as cheerily as possible):
"Tovarisch General! To what do I owe the honor of this most...unexpected visit?"
"To put it bluntly, Tovarisch Alexandrov? You are under arrest. For conspiring with certain other neo-Stalinists in the recent death of the American President Kennedy. Nyet! Please, do not trouble to deny it."
Alexandrov had started to raise his right hand, prepatory to an instinctive protest.
"We have all the evidence-to-the-contrary we need. Courtesy of your late mentor; Tovarisch Berkov."
The bearded Eurasian clenched his fists in helpless fury, as he saw that the older man was not bluffing.
"That Old Bolshevik fossil was a traitor," he then growled: "It was he who leaked word to the CIA, ten years ago, about the plot against Eisenhower! Leading to the pre-emptive strike against Stalin, himself!!"
Yerkov ruefully smiled.
"A clear case of doing the wrong thing for the right reason. For, how is Communism to change the world for the better...if there is no world left to change? We both know that Eisenhower's assassination would have led to nuclear conflict, in which the only true victor is Death, itself! Contemplate this, during the final moments of your own life."
Whereupon, Comrade Sergeant Olga Makarova drew a snub-nose semi-automatic pistol from the left inner pocket of her uniform jacket. Seeing this, Alexandrov dove in near-panic for the Tokarev TT-30 in his top desk drawer! Albeit, in vain, as Makarova wounded him, behind his left knee, with a special kind of dum-dum bullet. One that did not possess an exposed core of soft lead. But, rather, one made of frozen nolongitol!
Consequently, Alexandrov began to shrink. And, at a rate proportionate to how swiftly the biochemical was being thawed out by his body temperature. It was, therefore, not long at all before Alexandrov was...
...no longer tall.
Whereupon, Makarova permanently silenced his shrill pleas for mercy beneath the sole of her right boot.
"Spashiba, Tovarisch Sergeant," praised the elderly general.
A second later, Alexandrov's secretary began insistenly knocking on the office door. Prompting Yerkov to personally re-open it.
"Tovarisch General! Is everything all right?"
Yerkov smiled and nodded: "Da! But, please, to inform the Consul-General that the position of commercial agent has suddenly become...vacant."
* * * * *
SOMEWHERE IN THE PENTAGON
(THREE YEARS LATER)
"His name is Little Jimmy Locke," said Bryce Paxton: "During World War II, he was part of the Flea Circus. A troupe of refugee circus performers who used their collective talents to steal Nazi military secrets on behalf of British Military Intelligence! Little Jimmy being the resident dwarf clown of English Gypsy descent."
"After 1945, though, they went free-lance. More specifically; they became high-end cat burglars. Jewelry; fine art. You name it, they'll steal it."
Major General Phillips studied the surveillance photograph more closely.
"The taller man he's talking to; is that who I think it is?"
Paxton smiled and nodded: "Kamerad Petermann. Back on American soil, again."
The general looked at the head of Mini-Ops.
"You know the standing order. Carry it out."
"Yes, sir."
* * * * *
SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE
(THE VERY NEXT DAY)
Myron Meriwether slowly sauntered past all the exhibits. The female operative, posing as his wife, struck what felt like her one hundredth pose since they had entered. Whereupon, Meriwether snapped her picture with the Polaroid Instamatic.
Juanita Cierva half-seriously frowned as she examined it.*
"Yet another one that makes me look fat!"
"Must be a defect in how they ground the lens," Myron replied.
Pepe Garcia (hiding beneath the strands of long black hair falling across Juanita's right shoulder) chuckled as he whispered in her right ear.
"He certainly knows how to flatter like a true husband."
"Quiet, you!" she harshly whispered back: "Or you sleep in the hamper, tonight. In a smelly white sock!"
As good-natured as that threat was, Pepe quickly grew serious, again.
"It still doesn't make any sense to me. Why would an East German hit man be meeting up with a capitalistic jewel thief? The two seem...mutually exclusive."
"Paxton thinks the Flea Circus might've been hired to go after the Smithsonian's newest acquisition," replied his giantess bodyguard: "The centerpiece of a private collection recently donated to them by the Estate of the late Howard Ashton Phillips, Junior."
Juanita heard her shrunken partner gasp in astonishment.
"You mean...?"
"Yep," she whispered back: "The Golden Dagger-axe of Hsia Jie."
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
I do so hope I worded the Cold War rhetoric, used herein, correctly.
Chapter End Notes:
*Juanita Cierva: literally Spanish for "Jane Doe."