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The Vltava Protocol

"Milicent is thrust into a European mystery of intrigue and lust"

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Author's Notes

"The Vltava Protocol is based on actual historical events, starting in 1938, regarding Czechoslovakia's main bank and its submission to Nazi Germany."

December 1992, Prague

Standing in the magnificent aura of Prague, recently unshackled from the oppressive regime by the fall of the Soviet Union, Millicent heartily breathed in the fresh, clear cold air. The city was shown in all its glory: the fairy-tale architecture of St. Vitus cathedral, the National Museum, even the Old Bridge Tower presented themselves straight out of a photography portrait. A year ago, even a month, Millicent would have allowed herself to be immersed in its beauty. A rueful smile came over her, as she was in a race for time. Unbeknownst to Millicent, The Vlatava Protocol, named after the very river seen from her vantage point snaking through the “City of a Hundred Spires” had already claimed dozens of lives. With the disruption of several families and even a patriarchy, the discovery of its location was a key to riches, of which value was unknown.

Despite the urgency, Millicent took in the scene with adoration from her perch at the Vysehrad Castle. Her winter outfit abated the bitter, frigid climate, from her wool red turtleneck and gray woolen jacket provided by her host, Tat’jana Rovnak. With her golden locks emanating from the confines of a teal beanie, her long blonde hair happily flowing down her head in two long Swedish braids, Millicent looked more like a happy tourist than a woman out to solve a dark, terrifying mystery. Adorned in a colorful scarf, Millicent looked back to her map acquired in the castle shop. She verified the mark that would indicate her next step.

The circumstances of its acquisition still troubled her. Straight out of an old Robert Ludlum novel, the sequence of events that preceded had upended her life. The terrifying thought of sudden death will do that, even more so than sudden attraction, sexual and romantic…and Millicent had experienced a lifetime of experiences in three short days. Exhilaration, ecstasy, fear, trepidation; all while the urgency of her quest was thrust upon her. But the mark was real, to find it a step towards the finish.

Tat’jana suddenly appeared, a smile on her face. “I found it!” She gleefully embraced Millicent, so excited she almost tackled her to the ground. But Millicent held on tight, her face millimeters from Tat’jana’s, and in a voice just above a whisper, exulted, “We did it.” They smiled, and suddenly both proclaimed loudly, “We DID IT!” They briefly danced, then went to the mark that was found, hand-in-hand. The keystone bearing the mark of the lion head.

Was it this easy? Millicent couldn’t believe her luck, but with Tat’jana’s lithe body pressed against her back, she shook with anticipation. As inopportune as it was, she felt the sexual urges from Tat’jana’s hands around her stomach, and amazingly felt her nipples pressed against her back through several layers of winter wear. But the time for sex and celebration was later. The target of generations through tragic cacophony was finally in sight.

The keystone was old, weathered but solid, overlooked by the thousands of people who undoubtedly noticed its innocuous display. But with its discovery, Tat’jana brought forth a small chisel and started to wear away the grout. Millicent removed her jacket and scarf, ignoring the sudden cold drift of the frigid Czech wind.

They didn’t have to exert much effort. Though solid, the grout easily came out with centuries of wear. Joy! Removing the keystone ornament, the uncovered an old, metal box, rusty but serviceable, gleamed lightly in the winter sun. As Millicent retrieved the box, the dreaded sound of a cocking revolver permeated the air. They turned around to face the gun, their eyes widened in frightened terror. Not just at gun, but at the gun holder. How could this be?


March 1938, Prague

Within the Živnostenská banka, the major bank in Czechoslavakia during the Nazi occupation era, there were a variety of vacant, spacious cubbyholes and closets that had met more than their share of illicit encounters. While making deals to subvert the national economy with the incoming Anschluss expansion, Ignác Veselý courted the secretarial pool with grace and platitudes in the public halls. A outwardly decent gentleman, Ignác never pursued their maidenhood while they succumbed to the occasional oral tryst. While financial deals fed Ignác’s lust for the luxuries fast disappearing within the winds of war over the country, the prim, proper ladies provided for his physical lust in his city apartment, or, more intensely, within the nooks and crannies of the bank itself.

When Zuzana Bajčík entered the steno/typing pool at Ziba’s main branch, she had always cast a cool eye toward Ignác. Zuzana was an enigma; a beauty of regal elegance, but an attitude of cold, calculated dissonance. Other men quickly dismissed her, as her immediate sexuality was not forthcoming, and who wanted to wait out a cold, hard bitch? Even Ignác had shied away from her dragon-like persona, instead calling on the typing and oral services of the choice selection of the general pool. It worked out well. Office jobs were scarce in Prague; to keep such jobs one had to perform the occasional perk. Zuzana had a knack, however, of gently rejecting such advances to send the aspiring Romeo’s on their merry little way. Light references to knowledge of indiscretions beyond the office, for instance, has a sobering effect on the masses.

In addition, Zuzana had a hearing problem - or so it appeared. She wore an earpiece connected to a bulky component in her upper jacket. Her CV had indicated massive hearing loss due to a civilian bomb explosion back in the Great War, as a child, but over time the hearing came back, and while she had her hearing aid apparatus, she was able to listen on a near-normal basis. More than one person in the pool had indicated this led to Zuzana’s proficiency on the typewriter. Zuzana never bothered to correct them.

For Zuzana was a spy. With the winds of war about to envelope the European continent, governments were compromised at all levels. Whom were patriots, and whom were traitors? Zuzana hated traitors with a passion. Enemies are one thing; at least they are upfront about their intentions. The real damage, as in any human confrontation, are those that are done by people who are ostensibly in positions of trust. Unfortunately, the entire management of the garden branch of the Živnostenská banka were prone to the dark side.

Zuzana concentrated on her general typing tasks. Her efficiency was well-noted, but that was not on her mind. Her hearing aid was actually a phone transmitter. Two months ago, she had infiltrated the utility room and ran an obscure wire from the connection nodes to a hidden, permanently wired transmitter, plastered into the wall for concealment. Her “hearing aid” allowed her to switch between telephone stations, periodically checking in on all the managers. The excuse of erratic volume control masked her process of periodically checking on all phone calls.

And she found her traitor. Now it was a matter of waiting for the payoff, the contact, where she would gather all the information and pass it on to her control. Undoubtedly, it would lead to his capture, the breakup of the operation, and the justified torture-death of the traitor. During troubled times, both sides had to play the cad.

Speak of the devil, the traitor showed up, Ignác smiled assuredly, handing Zuzana a handwritten document to type up, preening his interest in her other assets. Zuzana looked up, ignored his discreetly leering eyes, and smiled. “Děkuji, pane Veselý.” Thank you, indeed.

For Ignác Veselý was in contact with the Nazi economic controller. Not the minister, at the time Hermann Goring, but the man who handled the illicit funding, Walther Funk. (He would later take over Goring’s post.)  Funk was responsible for the confiscation of Jewish businesses and the acquisition of national treasures and artistic works, of which liquidation went into armaments and other military budgets. Veselý knew this, and was led to believe that he would be installed within the Czechoslovakian occupation liaison. Little did he know of the game he was attempting to play.

A week later, Zuzana was typing a request for funds of a project in Benešov, a hospital wing for orphaned children. Zuzana knew, though, the actual monies would be directed to a third-party source for purchase of a love-nest for the vice-president in the nearby mountains. However, what she heard on her earpiece made her stop in mid-sentence. Veselý had been on the phone with Montagu Norman, the esteemed British banker, who secretly was administering the overseas laundering of Nazi assets. He was accompanied by Hjalmar Schacht, the Nazi representative of Funk. She listened intently.

After the conversation, she Zuzana noticed Veselý leave his office. She started to get up, but Veselý came right to her and said he needed to get the conference room ready within the hour, as he had a very important meeting. Zuzana’s own pulse raced. This was it! But the conference room was in the prohibited area, and she would have to accompany Veselý. A good sign. She had prepared the room electronically for this very moment.

The two headed up the stairs, and past the security guard. Such restrictions were now normal, and the ramifications of dodging security was dangerous. But the guard barely gave her a nod as they went into the conference room. Hastily noticing the table location, Zuzana placed the materials at the end of the table nearest the wall, where a serene picture of the Vtalva River was mounted. Behind the majestic canvas, in the wall, was the secreted microphone placed three weeks prior.

Zuzana made her move while leaving the room. She discretely popped the button of her blouse, simultaneously unclasping her Fay-Miss brassiere; its front clasp design imported from America precisely for this very reason. Most European brassieres lacked such clasps.

So Ignác Veselý could not help but notice the lovely, perfect left breast pop out of Zuzana’s blouse, her right breast similarly released but still hidden beneath the fabric. But what he also noticed was that Zuzana didn’t react with overwhelming embarrassment, but with a come-hither look, one that instantly sent Ignác’s libido into instant overdrive. Power not only awakens, but pulsifies the desire for intensive sexual conquest. The meeting was in an hour, and they were alone in the conference room.

Ó můj bože… what an incredible body, Slečna Bajčíková! You are fantastic!” Ignác took her in his arms. Zuzana did not resist, instead, she leaned up, pressing her breast against his fine-tailored suit from Seville Row, and kissed him. She closed her eyes, mustering all her sensuality, simultaneously disgusted at the traitor she was seducing. But with long hours of practice, she willed herself to exude arousal, and Ignác needed no more incentive. His bulge grew faster than normal, already pulsating with accelerated passion.

They couldn’t stay in the conference room, and instead Ignác coaxed her into the nearby supply closet. An unusual design, the closet actually opened both into the conference room as well as a side room, currently unused. She let herself be swayed into the closet, the shutting of the door with a clamor that signified the extent of Ignác’s sexual heat.

Furiously they embraced, their hands moving freely up and down from their hair to their buttocks. Zuzana immediately upped her own sensuality to meet Ignác’s. She let her bra be slipped off completely while leaving on her blouse. It dropped to the floor while Ignác’s jacket came off, its expensive threads thrown amidst the mothballs. She unbuttoned his shirt and licked down his front, from his face, over his chest, sparsely covered with matted, brown hair, his chest showing the middle-aged sagging of skin. Zuzana ignored the imperfections as she went down his body, and finally reached his belt.

She started to slow the pace down. She needed at least twenty-five minutes; the meeting was scheduled to start in thirty. She took the zipper with her teeth, gazing up into Ignác’s face, utterly consumed with his own arousal. Zuzana smiled to herself as she reached up to unbutton Ignác’s trousers, letting them fall to the closet floor. She moved her hands with skill, up and down both his legs, his calves, his thighs, finger tracing over the throbbing protrusion of his boxer shorts. Zuzana slowed her movements, as she had to pace for as long as possible.

She moaned, almost shouting in surprise, at her own arousal. She pulled down his boxers, exposing a hard, thick cock, uncircumcised, and red with the intensity of his erection. His balls were huge and hairy, but Zuzana started to work on his shaft. Ignác was breathing heavily, reacting to every touch by Zuzana on his groin, as she started to lick the front of his shaft. She used her fingers to massage his balls, and with one hand reached around and inserted a finger into his anus, to which Ignác let out a huge “OH!!” She looked up and smiled, perhaps with a tad too much evil. This was going to be Ignác’s last sexual conquer, if the events she expected to occur indeed occur.

After a minute of teasing his cock with her tongue, slurping around the base, underneath the foreskin, and up and down the shaft, she took it with both hands and inserted her mouth over his bulbous head. She licked the top of his cock, precum seeping out of his pinhole-sized orifice, salting Zuzana’s lips with its gritty goo. She moaned over his cock, moving her lips down, holding his buttocks intently as she controlled the movements down his shaft. His breathing was now out of control as she urged his cock down her throat, temporarily blocking her air, then pulling out. Her throat lubed, she could now move with greater control and arousing stimulation.

His moans were more audible. Privately, Zuzana worried; not so much being caught for this activity was not out of the ordinary. But she had a far more important objective, so she kept on sucking. She lowered her head onto his cock, which went back down her throat. She started to move up and down with intense, consistent movements, controlling his libido with precision.

Or so she thought. Suddenly, Ignác moved with staccato-like movements. His arousal at winning over Zuzana had overcome his libido; he couldn’t control himself. His moans were intense, yet low enough to stay within the confines of the moldy closet. His teeth clenched, he thrust his hips upwards, his cock fully engulfed by Zuzana’s soft, firm throat, lips, and tongue; teeth grazing his shaft with exquisite, slightly painful, fully erotic movements. He stifled another shout as he pushed a final time, and ejaculated.

My god… my GOD! That was…!!! Ignác couldn’t even come up with the thoughts as his expedited orgasm kept pulsating down Zuzana’s sultry throat. She swiftly took every drop of his sour, acid sperm, simultaneously moaning around his shaft. In other circumstances, with more prolific partners, Zuzana would be in heaven, in angelic lust, as sperm leaked down her lips, intermingling with her lipstick, the red wax and white milky compound finally meeting its end on the musty floor. Ignác’s breathing slowed down, but his heart kept racing. This traitor, by God, was absolutely stupendous!

However, Zuzana was concerned. She had expected to keep it up another ten minutes, as it was imperative that she stay in the supply cabinet. Ignác had come out of his stupor to start getting dressed, his cock still half hard from his massive orgasm. But Zuzana instinctively knew what would keep him in the closet. She moaned again, holding onto Ignác, her breasts wavering just in front of his face. To hell with discretion, she thought, and removed her blouse, while shimmering out of her gray, woolen dress, leaving her with stockings and black, lacy panties. Finally, her breathing pulsated with desire, as she reached down into her panties and started to masturbate herself, her breath stuttering and moaning, sperm still seeping out the corner of her mouth, eking out Ignác’s arousal so soon after his massive orgasm.

Ignác was surprised; usually the girls were ready to move on after the event, even the ones who enjoyed giving their oral service. But Zuzana wanted it all. Still frigging her pussy, she pressed her breasts against Ignác’s chest, and kissed him deeply, his sperm still permeating her lips and her chin.

And so his own desire, quenched but one minute prior had started to reemerge. Ignác reeled from the kiss, looking at Zuzana’s body, its beauty juxtaposed to the mire of the supply closet. She took his hands and moved them to her waistband of her panties, then took his half-hardened cock to skillfully reengage his erection. His breathing hastened as he reached under her panties, over her firm, hardened but rubbery buttocks, and finally down her front. His eyes widened as he felt her clit. No hair, completely bare… Můj bože! His fingers lustily penetrated her clitoris, as she exuded her juices enough to rouse his libido. His cock followed suit, urged to full mast with her skillful fingers.

He was ready. Ignác’s arousal completely overrode his sense of time, his mind, his eyes, and his libido fixated on his lust alone. Hard as a rock, he took Zuzana’s body and roughly turned her toward the damp, dirty wall of the closet, against a board peculiarly mounted at eye level. He yanked her panties down over her pale, slightly plumped thighs, then pulled his own pants down. His cock sprang to life as he gazed down at Zuzana’s buttocks. He grunted, loud enough to be heard down the hall; luckily, nobody was around to hear it as he guided his large, throbbing cock to the wetness of Zuzana’s thighs. He thrust a couple of times, and finally the tip of his cock found its target, the wet recess of Zuzana’s vagina, her clitoris protruding, hungrily gobbling Ignác’s cock into its lair.

Having just ejaculated five minutes ago, Ignác’s arousal was nevertheless hardened with lust. Stroking his cock in Zuzana’s pussy was even more intense than his fantasies, his hips bucking up and down, sheer explosiveness in his movements as his cock drilled Zuzana from behind. Her buttocks pummeled Ignác’s tight stomach, his hands around her breasts, fingering and pinching her nipples. Her hair flailed, whipping back to graze Ignác’s face and his chest, its minute caresses adding to the entire experience of the fuck.

All the while, Zuzana kept herself on schedule. She was even able to see her watch, so she could time her own movements. Ignác was easy to control, but she needed to be precise. It was absolutely imperative that she remain in the closet during the meeting. Even so, she was not totally averse to the intense sexual ambiance. Admitting that Ignác’s skills as a rough lover were top-notch, her own nipples hardened under the manipulation by his fingers, triggering her own libido. She would have no problem with her orgasm, no need to fake it.

Zuzana glanced at her watch through her glazed, highly aroused eyes. Now was the time! She moaned a little harder, a pitch higher, and shook her body with trained, controlled passion. She contracted her pussy to squeeze Ignác’s cock on the out-strokes, each time increasing the sensation to his libido. Pounding her pussy, and wanting to yell, he settled for burying his mouth onto Zuzana’s shoulder, shouting his silence as his orgasm was imminent. Zuzana unleashed a torrent of juice, seeping down his cock, to his balls, down her thighs, all over the floor, the start of multiple orgasms, induced to trigger Ignác’s massive explosion. And explode he did: His sperm completely engulfed Zuzana’s pussy, while his body shuddered. Grunting audibly, he pushed his hips with every ejaculation, Zuzana gamely taking his thrusts, pushing her buttocks onto his stomach.

Sounds could be heard down the hall as the group of men headed toward the conference room. Ignác’s grinned, he knew he would be cutting it close. Pulling out of Zuzana’s pussy, he ejaculated two more spurts; one flew and landed on Zuzana’s left nipple. Quickly he donned his pants and jacket, while Zuzana looked up with faux fear in her eyes. “Oh my god, what do I do? I don’t have time to dress and leave?”

Ignác adjusted his tie, gazing down at the woman he just bedazzled. He had no intention of getting her in trouble, not his new protege. “Just stay in the closet, for now. Get dressed, and once the meeting is over, we will make our way back.” With one more look at a grateful-looking typing pool girl, he cannily smiled and left the closet. Hurrying to the room, he was just in time to greet the arriving men. Zuzana stayed leaning at the wall, panting in sexual relief, until he left the closet.

Once the door was closed, Zuzana instantly sprang into action. Reaching down to pick up a conveniently placed screwdriver, she pried the peculiarly mounted piece of wood from the wall, coincidentally located opposite a painting of the Vltava River on the other side of the wall. A quirky-looking miniaturized microphone, spirited across the Atlantic from a Pinkerton security source in America, was secured in position. Zuzana extracted the loose cord and let it dangle from the wall. Next, she pulled an obscure box buried underneath some old tools in the corner. She removed a long cord from the box, and speedily hooked it up to the microphone.

Zuzana pulled another box off the shelf, marked “cleaning towels.” It was remarkably heavy for such rags, and for good reason. She pulled a couple of rags from the top of a large, heavy battery, which she expertly attached to the box. A dim whir of electric current emanated from the box. It was, in fact, a recording machine she had obtained through her contact in Warsaw. The Wilcox-Gay Recordio prototype had just been developed in the United States and would not be sold for another year. Zuzana had a surprising but substantial variety of contacts.

Waiting for the recorder to warm up, she slipped on her clothes. Her bra was torn in haste from Ignác’s brutal, forceful fuck, but luckily the only damage to her blouse was a torn button. Her gray dress was still presentable as she smoothed it out the best she could. She heard the muffled sounds of people entering the conference room, while the Recordio’s final warm-up hum signaled its ready for use. The discs she used were not the normal, 4-minute-length records, but special 12-minute versions that her electronics contact was able to muster. She had five of them, enough for an hour, barring lapses during the changeovers, and lined them up for use.

The people had settled into their seats in the conference room. Zuzana put the disc on the recorder and settled to listen. For the next hour, she listened with great intensity. Even as a cold, hard-hearted bitch, a spy with seven confirmed kills, Zuzana’s heart raced as she heard the conversation. Even her eyes widened in surprised, in terror.

For it was the capitulation of the top managers of the top Czechoslovakian bank, the Živnostenská banka, had just arranged with the newly-installed Nazi financial minister, Hjalmar Schacht, along with the Governor of the Bank of England, Montagu Norman, both on orders with their respective bosses, Nazi chancellor Adolf Hitler and British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain. Essentially, they had arranged to turn over billions of karunas to the German Nazis, funneled through the Bank of England. As frightening as this agreement turned out to be for the world, what she heard next was stunning. Absolutely earth-shattering!

As she listened, swiftly making the record changes, she mentally arranged her schedule for the next two weeks. It would involve travel, danger, perhaps a premature death, but it couldn’t be helped. As the meeting devolved away from the revelation, and the vast conspiracy that she had to unravel, even beyond that to the upcoming takeover of Czechoslovakia that had been decided in Munich, London, and now Prague, Zuzana took her disks and secreted them in her bag. Swiftly she destroyed the recording device, scattering its parts in the canvas trash holder and covered them with soiled discards.

Catching her breath, to keep up the facade, she waited for Ignác’s return. He may even expect an encore of his prior sexual escapade, and Zuzana would be more than willing. A content traitor was the safest traitor, and though time was of the essence, Zuzana need to keep Ignác’s mind at ease. As the meeting was breaking up, however, a person had entered the conference room. Breathlessly, he stated, “Your excellencies: There is a spy! We have to find her!”

“HER??” The Nazi minister was irate. Details of this meeting were not to be discussed beyond the walls. Not even back to Herr Hitler, nor Neville Chamberlain, certainly not to the likes of Franklin Roosevelt or Joseph Stalin. His English counterpart, Baron Norman, likewise had an ashen look on his face.

“Yes. Our agents traced her to Prague; in fact, this very bank. Here’s her picture.”

Zuzana knew what was coming. Even as Veselý exhorted “Why, that’s Zuzana! Zuzana Bajcik, in the steno pool!” Zuzana swiftly left the closet into the spare room, exited the door, and headed down the hall. Breezing past the surprised hall guard, who was yet unaware to her outlaw status, she ignored the lift and ran down the wide, barristered stairwell to make her exit. Suddenly, armed guards at the bottom of the stairwell yelled out at her and yelled, “Vy, zastavte! Halt!”

Without stopping, Zuzana exited through the second-floor door to the hallway. Running past executives and workers alike, she ran through the broad office floor, instinctively running to a window she had mentally noted weeks before. As people stupefyingly watched her unlatch the window, the guards entered the room, guns drawn. Zuzana quickly stepped out on the ledge, intentionally tearing her dress to allow her to move more agilely.

A shot rang out, missing her by a foot, as she leaped off the rail and grabbed the fragile, metal drain pipe attached precariously to the building. Shimmering down, the pipe broke, and in one terrifying moment, Zuzana thought the worst. The pipe swayed downward, and with fortunate happenstance, deposited her on top of the bank entrance canopy, which in turn disintegrated, with Zuzana ending up on the sidewalk. Without missing a beat, she scurried down the sidewalk.

A guard on the second floor fired from the window and fired wildly toward her. Fortunately for Zuzana, she wasn’t hit, but a bystander was not so lucky as he took a bullet in the leg. Zuzana’s heart raced, but she kept her wits and ran down the sidewalk as guards poured out of the bank. In addition, other soldiers started after her. The word had spread fast! But Zuzana had already mapped out five escape plans, including the route that resulted from a possible scurried exit down a dilapidated drain pipe.

Briefly out of sight of her pursuers, she entered her usual book store. Her dress torn, a blouse now containing two missing buttons, Zuzana acted nonplussed. Fortunately, the staff did not look up as she headed to the rear of the store. She made the decision to remove the discs, and placed them in a previously prepared nook, one of her several drops around the Ziba bank. Quickly taking a piece of paper, she wrote down as much information that she could muster in thirty seconds, knowing her pursuers would reach her soon. She knew she couldn’t get away now; what was important was that the information be passed. She looked for the copy of the store bible, the one that was on display and not for sale and hadn’t been for sale for over 20 years. But it was not there.

Now a bit frantic, she pulled a random book from the shelf, a book that had resonated in her childhood: Tiché Dívky, Silent Girls, by Božena Benešová. She hurriedly folded the paper, inserted it into the truncated binder, expertly reattaching it so its new contents could not be discerned through the fabric of the old book cover. Quickly, she left the store through the rear door and started to run down the alley leading to rich residences but was seen by the guards. A shot rang out, ricocheting off a nearby stone front, as she scurried down another alley.

Fortunately, she had done her exigency preparations well. Turning a corner, she ducked into a stairwell hidden by a pile of refuge, ducking below a dilapidated piece of wood. The guards ran by, not even looking around, while Zuzana stayed crouched without making a sound. She waited two hours in this position, making certain that nobody was around. She reached into a crevice and pulled out a worn bag and removed the items. 

Zuzana changed, discarding her torn clothing, and replacing them with a loose-fitting, functional dress, sensible shoes, and a dark scarf. Completing her gear was a woman’s purse with tools, and notes for her pre-planned drop. As she hastened to her objective to her drop in a castle several kilometers away, Zuzana was thinking of the words; those terrifying words uttered in the meeting, summarized in one title: Vltavský Protokol.

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The Vltava Protocol.


December 1992, Austin, Texas, United States

As a butterfly flits its wings hither, a hurricane happens thither, and there was no way to predict that the happenstance of an accidental nudge on the street precipitated this moment of bliss. Millicent walked down the busy Austin, Texas sidewalk, looking down at the brochure she just acquired from her recent interview at the Mellencamp Foundation for International Studies.

Ironically, it was a butterfly that had fluttered erratically in front of Millicent, distracting her as she walked down the sidewalk in front of the Olde Tyme Book Emporium. A girl with lustrous black hair was hurriedly exiting the bookstore, just enough so that a small nudge was inevitable. The girl’s book purchases tumbled to the ground, including three paperbacks, a magazine, and a small vintage tome with an interesting cover.

Millicent exclaimed her surprise, and tried to apologize, but the girl was gracious. She even smiled, with a maturity years beyond her gorgeous, feminine persona. And a stunning, melodious Eastern European accent. “Relax, you’re fine. No need to apologize. Here, you have some lint in your hair.” The girl removed the lint.

“Thanks. I’m sorry for your books, they don’t look damaged.” Millicent reached down to pick them up, but her gaze into the girl’s eyes were unwavering. The girl knelt, they picked up her books, the girl smiling at her the whole time.

“I’m Tat’jana. Tat’jana Rovnak.” Shaking Millicent’s delicate hand, her boyish smile charmed Millicent instantly, along with nipples happily pressed against her New York Yankees shirt, draped by a light. Definitely a young tourist, particularly in Austin, though she had an unusual scholarly ambiance about her. And definitely an unstated sexuality.

“Tatiana, I’m Millicent. Very happy to meet you.” Smiling back, she flushed inside. The attraction was obvious. Never one to be flummoxed by attractive women, Tat’jana leaned over and half-whispered into her ear. “Tat-YA-na… like “y” in “yellow.” Impulsively she kissed her cheek, turned, and started to walk off, then turned back.

“Millicent, would you like a coffee?”

It was a whirlwind attraction. Over coffee, they exchanged pleasant but banal conversation, the content insignificant, the delivery unforgettable. Millicent felt a sensual awareness with Tat’jana that she rarely felt with other women, whom were either too snobby or too narcissistic. Relaxation and understated intelligence were just as powerful to attraction as physical beauty, particularly with simmering exuberance that Millicent found a joy to be around. Initial blushes turned into relaxed smiles; heartbeats normalized, then quickened with anticipation.

Within another hour, they were chatting with the intimacy usually found only among life-long friends and intimate lovers. Although Tat’jana was only nineteen, her worldviews had transcended even those of Millicent, including her views on sex. And it was unmistakable: Sexuality was at the forefront of both their minds right now.

They first kissed fully and intimately after getting into Millicent’s car; Millicent reaching over the handbrake of her Honda, joyfully taking in the soft, succulent lips of Tat’jana’s darkly-colored lips. Her hand stroked Tat’jana’s long, straight dark hair, Tat’jana’s hand boldly caressing and grabbing Millicent’s breasts through her light red blouse. After a minute, Millicent drove back to her house, conversation non-existent yet communication sparkling with the intensity of attraction between them.

Once inside, Millicent poured two small glasses of California white wine, and sat down with Tat’jana on the couch. The talked for a few more minutes, each voice emanating audio foreplay on the other’s ear. A few more sips and a few more kisses were all that was needed to take them over the arousal horizon. Millicent stood up, took Tat’jana’s hand, and took her to the jacuzzi onto her secluded, heavily vegetated patio.

Millicent flicked on the jacuzzi switch, the jets churning with rapid intensity, producing white, sensuous foam patterns on the water surface. Turning back to Tat’jana, they feverishly kissed as they removed each other’s clothes, mixing them on the patio deck. Tat’jana wore no bra, her small breasts like hardened apples with perky nipples, while Millicent’s red blouse and matching red bra took more time. Tat’jana kissed Millicent’s neck, reaching around to unclasp Tat’jana’s bra, expertly working the intricate clasp until her bra straps loosened and lifted it over Millicent’s head.

Topless, they let their hands run each other’s body, paying particular attention to their aureoles and nipples. Though her breasts were small, Tat’jana’s nipples were unusually lengthy, and very hardened by her arousal. Millicent’s larger breasts were softer to the touch, her nipples more velvety and pliable. Fondling each other, instinctively knowing how to turn each other on, intuitive touches sparking more desires.

Presently, they each removed their jeans and panties, savoring each other’s nude body, a brief moment of immodesty that was quickly vanquished with the smile of lustful appreciation. Tat’jana reached down and started to twaddle Millicent’s already-drenched labia, her fingers lightly massaging her clit, and finally sticking more digits into her vulva, lightly massaging the inside until Millicent’s hips start to squirm.

Millicent took Tat’jana’s arm and guided her into the jacuzzi. They stepped into the deep tub as the water lapped around their thighs, their asses, and their stomachs while their hands continued to touch each other. They sat down on the jacuzzi seat in the deep jacuzzi, low enough so that the blistering jets sprayed fully on both their breasts and nipples. With the sensuality of the water, the proximity of their nude presence, and finally, their hot, feminine desire for each other, they took each other into their grasp, along with their minds, their emotions, and their souls.

Although the jacuzzi was only lightly heated, the steam that was generated rose rapidly and fully, ensconcing the tub with a swirling, erotic fog. They brought each other to several orgasms, using their fingers, their lips, their tongues, their teeth; even knees, elbows and toes, along with chins and teeth, were generously used to extract orgasm after pent-up orgasm from each other. Hair plastered wet, their moans were audible, they cared not who heard them beyond the back-yard fence. The residents would be nonplussed; for they knew their own sexuality was not muted.

Finally, it got so hot they left to go to Millicent’s bedroom. Lying next to each other, they sat on the richly-carpeted floor, both soaking wet yet with no desire to towel themselves off. The heater permeated the air of the room, allowing them to lounge comfortably naked with another glass of wine.

They talked more with less sexual intensity. About Tat’-jana’s strict Catholic upbringing, illegal yet tolerated during the glasnost period of 1980’s Eastern Europe, and her intense desire to see the world. The U.S. state of Texas was a secret indulgence that most Europeans disdained, though many secretly envied and even desired its most audacious social and ecological politics. They laughed at the common tropes of the state, immersed in each other’s culture.

After they sipped their last, they kissed again, a long, soulful kiss by lovers who had recently and passionately spent themselves. The kiss brought back those lusty, lusty feelings that Millicent dearly loved. Tat’jana was similarly affected, and now their desires were more selfish, more intense. Tat’jana leaned to Millicent’s ear, nibbled on her lobe, and lisped, “I wanna fuck you. Fuck you so hard you will scream!”

Millicent moaned and answered by getting up, half-lifting and half-pulling Tat’jana on top of her on the bed, kissing deeply, their breasts pressed against each other their legs interlocked, their pussies enmeshed, and undulated their hips to push each other’s labia. Unabashedly moaning, working an erotic rhythm, they met each other’s push by opening their clits, their inner floral petals joyously exposed to each other’s movements.

Millicent pressed her pussy harder onto Tat’jana’s thigh, her arousal soaring through the roof. In response Tat’jana kissed her hard, her tongue probing inside her mouth, her small breasts caressing Millicent’s chest with the feeling of fine, soft velvet. The scent of Millicent’s queen-sized bed permeated with coconut musk, jacuzzi water residue, and feminine excretions, invigorating the senses of both women, as Tat’jana shifted her own pussy to Millicent’s protruding clitoris. Tat’jana raised her body straight up, rotating and grinding her labia into Millicent’s. Each woman savored the shooting sensations of their feminine fuck, their sexual passion advancing rapidly to the start of a long string of firecracker-level orgasms.

“Fuck me, babe! God, you are incredi-FUCKING INCREDIBLE!” Millicent’s eyes closed as she exulted passion amid her moans. Tat’jana responded by putting her mouth on Millicent’s neck, kissing it, grazing her teeth up and down, nibbling as her own orgasms started to mount.

“Oh. MY. GOD!!!” And scream she did. Millicent couldn’t hold back now as she pressed her hips upwards, her thighs gripping Tat’jana’s thighs, with Tat’jana’s long, lustrous black hair whipped around at each convulsion of orgasmic bliss that exuded from her libido, her mind, her soul. A rippling wave of smaller orgasms followed, slowly but deliciously abating, both women shaking, mutually slowing their movements until they ceased, then clenched each other in sheer post-lust exhaustion.

Finally, Tat’jana just lay in Millicent’s embrace, her hair sprawled over Millicent’s head, her shoulders, and her neck. Their breathing subsided, the juices still flowing freely from their now thoroughly soaked labia, thighs, and stomachs, the sweet goo curdling down onto the sheet, a legacy of their incredibly torrid tryst. Contented, their breathing slowed, their eyes closed, and they lightly snoozed, their breathing coordinated as one.


“This book feels strange.” Millicent was looking through Tat’jana’s book from her shop bag. Although it was old, the pages and cover were intact with very little wear, but the binding seemed off. Sitting on her couch in a short robe that barely covered her vagina, still emanating juices from their torrid tryst, she gratefully took one of the cups of coffee from Tat’jana. Wearing one of Millicent’s long teeshirts that went down to her knees, Tat’jana sat down next to her and took the book from Millicent to feel the binder herself.

“Yes, it does feel odd.” Using her fingernail, Tat’jana flicked the binder, and a slit appeared above the title, Tiché Dívky. She stuck her finger down the slit, tightly hampered, but still enough to extract a slim piece of paper. Unfolding it, she and Millicent looked at the text, an elusive, hurriedly-written note in Czech:

12. března 1938
Pan Montagu Norman (Velká Británie)
Herr Hjalmar Schacht (Německo)
Pan Ignác Veselý

ZIBA-VB banka
Přenos 1: 3.2 miliardy Kčs
Přenos 2: 1 miliardy Kčs

Vltavský protokol!
Lví hlavu klíčový kámen

“Certainly not a grocery list! Let’s see… 12-Brez-na?” Millicent was familiar with French and Spanish, somewhat capable in German, her language skills terminated at the Czechoslovakian border.

“March 12, 1938. It’s a date. Pan and Herr are honorifics for ‘Mister.’ ‘Německo’ is Germany, while (Velká Británie) is, of course, the UK.” Tat’jana frowned slightly. “The next name is Czech, as is the writer I assume, but the first two names are slightly familiar while the last name is not.”

When Tat’jana had mentioned the date, something jiggered in Millicent’s mind. “And the rest?”

“There are money transfers, presumably the main Czech bank, ZIBA, to the British bank. 3.2 billion karunas, then 1 billion more, in two transfers. Then, the Vysehrad, which is a castle near Prague, and the words ‘lion head’ and ‘key stone.’” She looked thoughtfully at Millicent.

The young historian grad shrugged her shoulders. “Now I remember the date. In March 1938, the banks in Czechoslovakia were trying to avoid any problems with the Nazi presence. This looked like a reference to a meeting, one of several in Europe, that facilitated the transfer of nations’ wealth to a centralized Nazi bank, prior to the invasion of Eastern Europe and France by Hitler. I don’t see any real mystery in this note, but…” Millicent’s thoughts trailed off. “What about the castle, the lion head, and the key stone?”

Tat’jana looked at Millicent, a smiling thought entering her mind. “Millicent, is your passport up to date? Come with me to Prague and lets find out.”

Millicent smiled. She just made a decision to travel to Europe. What the hell, why not? Kissing Tat’jana, longingly and deeply, she couldn’t think of a better Christmas treat. The settled into the comfy confines of her sofa, unaware of the long, dark-haired lurker outside of her condo. A lurker who had been following Tat’jana since her exit from the Olde Tyme Book Emporium, where he had watched her bump into another girl.


Their airline route took them through continental Europe’s main hub, Frankfurt, Germany. They decided to take advantage of their booking, which allowed them several hours layover. From there, they visited the Bahnhofsviertel, the local restaurant scene, newly renovated from its reputation as a seedy bar district. After a delicious vegetarian dinner, they sat in the lounge having some wine, contemplating a walk in the cold, still-snowless district, when a waitress brought them two drinks. “Höflichkeit dieser beiden Männer an der Bar.” Looking at the bar, two extremely fit, long-haired men raised their beer glasses, and smiled in the charming, condescendingly sweet manner that only European men can pull off.

Tat’jana looked at Millicent mischievously. “Shall we?”

Millicent smiled back. The walk in the cold would not happen. They turned to the men, raised their glasses, and motioned them over to their table. The men instantly got up and strode over. Except for the discrete nod of one of the men, to a dark-haired lurker at an obscure table by the kitchen door, their focus was on the women.

In the early 1990’s, English was rapidly becoming the linga franca of the day, and the German men were reasonably fluent. The conversation was insignificant, the company pleasant. One drink turned into three, flirtations turned into touches, then light kisses, then slow dancing with longer kisses. Ralf and Gunther were very good, very masculine. Tat’jana and Millicent were in a mood for pleasure, for male pleasure, even in the few hours of the layover.

The men signaled the waitress to pay the bill, along with one other item. The waitress delivered the receipt, along with a key, whispering "third floor" with a knowing smile. Although the Bahnhofsviertel was gentrified, discretion was still in favor. The four people ascended the steps outside of the restaurant lobby to the third-room flat, which held a spacious, ugly king-sized bed. Nobody saw them enter, save a dark-haired lurker in a janitor cap, idly wiping the hall mirror with a glass rag.

While Ralf had originally had eyes on Millicent, he paired with Tat’jana on the edge of the king-sized bed. His ruddy square-jawed face and gruff-looking lips took in Tat-jana’s lips, taking in her musky feminine coconut smell. Gunther, with his light-colored mane sprawling over his shoulders, presented an androgynous look, though his own demeanor was decidedly masculine. Placing his hands around Millicent, he reached down and grabbed her ass, firmly squeezing them as he brought Millicent’s body close to his.

After Gunther kissed Millicent, she let his hands wander over her body, deftly unbuttoning her blouse, her jeans unbuttoned with the same deft fingers of the sensuous German. She unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his pants with the same furvor, while Tat’jana and Ralf similarly doffed their own apparel, until everyone was delicoiusly nude in the small room with the ugly big bed.

Millicent closed her eyes as she sat next to the light-haired, light-bodied Hessen. Gunther would be the first man she would be with since the jerk back home, and the thought of seeing Tat’jana with another man added to her increasingly erotic state. Gunther kissed her cheek, her earlobe, then moved down to her neck, her shoulder, her soft, velvety nipple. Gently guiding her onto her back, Gunther let his lips lick her aureole, his teeth lightly grazing her nipple, sensations flowing like lightning throughout her body. Millicent arched her legs, feeling the flow already moving down her labia.

Meanwhile, Tat’jana had found her own lover quite amorous, with Ralf’s lips all over her ears, his hands stroking her long, dark hair. Her sharp nipples scraped Ralf’s chest, leaving a trail of light red imprints. Her own mouth gaped wide as Ralf’s hands moved over her body as well, electric sensations of micro-orgasmic pleasure emanating throughout her chest. Her own hands moved through his thick mane, its lustrous softness contrasted with his overall ruggedness and masculine ambiance. His cock hardened to its full length, 18 centimeters; with a girth wider than a small apple. Tat’jana moved her mouth down to his cock, placing her lips over his bulbous, pulsating head.

On the other side of the creaking bed, Gunther moved his head steadily down Millicent’s body until his lips reached her clit. Expertly sticking his tongue into her vulva, Gunther maneuvered it like a precision probe, electrifying Millicent’s libido with each new inner touch of rose-petaled sanctum. She arched her back, pressing her loins into Gunther’s face, her breasts heaving as she took in the delights of his oral manipulations.

Meanwhile, Tat’jana was only able to take in half of Ralf’s large cock in her mouth, none in her throat. Her hands fondled the exposed part of his shaft along with his balls, while her tongue licked the gland on the backside of his shaft, her teeth grazing it as she bobbed her head up and down. Ralf’s body undulated as he received the best felatio he had had for a long time, while next to him Millicent was receiving the most intense cunnilingus that kept sending shockwaves over her entire body.

Their writhing bodies tested the limits of the ancient springs of the bed, never intended to endure dual sexual pounding. After Millicent and Ralf came very hard, Millicent’s juices flowing onto the color pattern of the blanket while Ralf’s cum spurted like a grape burst past Tat’Jana’s lips, some ending up on Millicent as she made her final pulsations on her intense orgasm. After catching their breath, they switched positions, Millicent taking on Gunther’s thin, snake-like cock while Ralf grabbed Tat’jana’s ass and started to tongue her mons venus. Lying next to each other, Gunther and Tat’jana kissed deeply and passionately while their partners orally brought them to extremely intense orgasms.

For the rest of the afternoon, the four people interchanged with each other, fucking and sucking bodies at random. Even Ralf and Gunther, normally straight males, fondled each other’s cocks to the delight of Millicent and Tat’jana, who rewarded the men with their own scissoring encounter, their bodies replicating their pulsating, erotic motions from a couple days before in Austin. While Ralf excused himself to rejuvenate his batteries, Gunther fucked Tat’jana hard, his cock pounding her pussy with deep, slithery thrusts, her dark hair flailing all over Gunther’s head and upper torso. Even Millicent’s glistening thighs and stomach endured Tat’jana’s whipping hair as she lay back to receive Gunther’s mouth on her pussy. The threesome culminated in an explosive torrent orgasmic thunder as Gunther’s sperm shot like a hot glue gun into Tat’jana’s churning pussy, while Millicent expressed her own juices onto Gunther’s face.

While the torrid threesome was going on, Ralf had looked through the handbags, out of sight in the alcove. He found the obscured zipper in Tat’jana’s purse, amusingly promoted as a “security feature” but the first place most experienced pilferers searched. The paper with the code was inside, which Ralf extracted. Closing the door in the small washroom, Ralf took a Spectra Pro camera and took the picture of the paper, its loud click obscured by the arousing moans of Gunther and Millicent. He extracted the polaroid film from the housing, waited a minute to allow the print to develop, then pulled the negative sheet from the print. After ensuring the print showed the accurate details of the page, he balled the negative and tossed it into the toilet, then returned the paper to the handbag. After flushing the toilet, he quietly opened the hotel room door out of sight from the bed, saw the dark-haired lurker, and handed him the print, then returned to the bedroom to watch to watch Millicent shouting, pushing her pussy into Gunter’s face. He let Tat’jana take his cock in her mouth again and savored her touches until he was fully erect once more. Mein Gott!

At seven, Tat’jana and Millicent shared a shower, washing all body fluids and sweat off each other’s body, occasionally kissing but staying pleasantly under-aroused. With a plane to catch in two hours, they could ill-afford to lose any more time for their flight to Czechoslovakia. After they dressed, they kissed their two German knights goodbye. Gunther slept with the feeling of sexual conquer, while Ralf smiled at the 2,500 marks he had received in exchange for the photo of the paper.

The girls quietly exited the hotel, scurrying toward a taxi stand to meet their flight, unaware of the dark-haired lurker taking the next taxi in the stand, following their own path.


In 1992, Prague was still undergoing its transformation from communist control to self-governing democracy. Even then, the transformation was far from finished; it was in the process of a mutual secession within its borders. In a year, Czechoslovakia would be two countries.

But even in this mild chaos, there was a sense of happiness emerging from the populace missing for so many decades. Prague Ruzyně International Airport’s employees were bustling with increased tourism from Western Europe, North America; even East Asians were traveling by the dozens. Light snow had not deterred its efficient ground crews from maintaining safe operations on the airfield.

Millicent and Tat’jana hurried through the early morning crowds. Tat’jana was happy to be home, while Millicent was still amazed at the adventure that awaited. Both were still basking in the aftermath of the intense sexual encounter the previous afternoon in a gentrified hotel in Frankfurt. They were followed by a dark-haired traveler, seemingly occupied by his itinerary notebook.

The massive privilege of young, feminine beauty can be found in many ways. One of them is swift, courteous processing through international customs points. While other travelers were subject to long, laborious inspections, the two customs agents processing Millicent and Tat’jana were more interested in inspecting their personal attributes than those of the bags. Hence, the girls emerged within twenty minutes of arrival with all their belongings, while a disgruntled dark-haired man was unceremoniously shuttered to a slow line. To add to the tumult, he couldn’t even make a phone call from the public booths, just meters away, on the other side of the customs point. He sighed to settle in, and only hoped that he could make his call within the hour.

The airport taxi took them through Prague’s streets until they reach Tat’jana’s flat. Even though it was early morning, the girls felt a sense of urgency as they planned their trip to the Vysehrad castle. The flat had as slightly musty, unused smell, which was quickly dispersed by the fresh cold breeze from an open window. Tired but alert, Tat’jana heated two cups of water for tea, then retrieved her notes on local castles.

Within five minutes she located the Vysehrad architectural information. They looked for likely structures to where the lionhead keystone could be located, if indeed the notes from the paper extracted from the book were correct. Although they had a few dozen photos of the castle to look through, only three of them held any hint of a clue: the main portal, which they discounted as the stones lacked a doorway; the arboretum, which had stone walls but fabricated steel frame doors; and finally, the four turrets. Three of them were not in service for over a century, but one turret was transformed into a security storage unit, with an intact original structure. That was their only chance.

They went to Tat’jana’s room to change, where Millicent accepted her host’s offer of her wardrobe, with her gray dress, colorful turtleneck and scarf. After they quickly changed, Tat’jana called the cab company. Pleasantly surprised to see the same, courteous driver show up at her door so quickly, they entered the vehicle and gave the name of the castle. Taking the microphone, the driver announced his fare’s destination. A harsh male voice had acknowledged the transmission and they started for the castle. Tat’jana and Millicent held hands in anticipation of the adventure.

They arrived at the Vysehrad Castle, its area extensive and covered in snow. Their first stop was the information office. Though currently closed for tourists, a gracious older gentleman opened the door and gave them a map of the castle grounds. After referring to Tat’jana’s notes, Millicent marked the map at the turret location on the boundary, overlooking the Vltava River. Their hearts jumped with anticipation, with a long secret to be unveiled.

They traipsed through the light snowfall toward the boundary. Once at the turret, Millicent looked again at the magnificent view of Prague and the Vltava River, and referred back to the map. And there it was, the lion head over the keystone, just above head height over the curiously low frame. Millicent took the chisel and, with Tat’jana eagerly looking on, removed the keystone to expose a rusty metal box. The mystery of the Vltava Protocol was about to be solved—perhaps.

But their elation immediately changed to terror when they heard the cocking revolver behind them. Turning around, they found a man pointing the menacing weapon at them, shocked at their captor — the driver of the cab! “Vložte krabici na zem. Nyní!

Millicent needed no translation from Tat’jana; the motions and demeanor of the man was enough. She placed the box on the ground, and the man motioned them to turn around. He switched to English. “Kneel toward the wall, put your hands behind your head. Both of you!”

Terrified, thoughts hurtling through their minds, their impending doom awaiting, they closed their eyes. The taxi driver picked up the box, then said, “I cannot risk being exposed. Sorry.” He raised the gun and pointed it directly at Millicent’s head. A shot rang out.

Millicent’s mind wondered, Am I dead? But the cold, snowy air swirled around her, Tat’jana’s breathing was still present next to her. And then she heard the thump of a body falling behind her, the would-be killer’s gun scattered in the broken asphalt of the turret base. Still terrified, they turned around, looked at the body on the ground, then looked up. The shooter came their way.

If was the dark-haired lurker.

He put his gun away in a pocket and came to check the man. He reached under the man’s collar, felt his neck, and confirmed his death. Millicent and Tat’jana, still frightened, hugged each other, but the man looked at them and spoke in English. “Thank you! You have helped right a wrong that my family…and our country…endured.” He reached down to the box. “Would you like to see what’s in the box?”

Without waiting for an answer he opened it. He removed a large stone, engraved with an intricate lion’s head, the same pattern more crudely etched on the keystone above the short door. Underneath was an old dossier packet, of which he removed several papers. Most of them were certificates of the old Czechoslovakian currency, worth a billion karunas. Looking into the questionable eyes of Millicent, he stated, “Forty million US dollars. But worthless today. However, there is one more thing…”

Tat’jana took the page from the man. Her eyes widened. “Another mystery?”

Millicent looked at Tat’jana, then at the man. “It is, isn’t it?”

The man nodded his head. “Ladies, this is but the start. But for now, let’s retreat. You have led me this far, let’s see if, together, we can solve the rest of this mystery. But no mention to anyone yet, not even the police.” He frowned. “Not even them, yet. We must find out who the real enemy is.” He looked down. "The Vltava Protocol must be deciphered, for the world is still in danger. A mystery uncovered by my grandmother, and expanding in the years following World War 2, still remains."

Together, arm in arm, the three scurried back to his car. In the distance, the Vltava River silently flowed through the shimmering city, its name ensconced in one of history’s greatest mystery, one still remaining to be solved.


Written by LongBeachShaker
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