Winner The Crystal Awards 2016, Best Multimedia Story (3d Place).
A spinster doctor rents her spare room to a brain-damaged patient who doesn't know he is a former undercover agent targeted for execution by a powerful criminal.
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While Mandy Stone was on a mission to give aid and comfort to Jean in his hospital room that morning, Mitchell Oberon was on a mission of her own: to give grief and trouble to Frank Stone at his office.
Stone was still at home, finishing his leisurely breakfast, unaware of his impending doom, when Doctor Oberon marched into the office of Agent Stone's superior officer at the Department of Homeland Security's Miami office.
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Doctor Oberon knew how to appear formidable, and she had dressed for battle in her most expensive, best-fitting business suit – a pencil skirt and matching jacket over a dignified, yet stunningly feminine, silk blouse. Her helmet was her perfect chignon, her combat boots were her leg-enhancing pumps with three-inch heels. She carried a tasteful leather briefcase, tinted lavender. She wore more makeup than was typical of her, but then, it was not easy to cover the bruises of kidnapping and violent rescue plus the dark eye-circles from an all-night emergency project.
After she had intimidated her way into the captain's office – mostly with intense fearless stares and an obstinate refusal to accept "no" for an answer – Mitchell was ushered into the superior officer's inner sanctum and introduced to Captain Boone. He motioned for her to take a chair across the desk from him.
Before her full weight rested on the chair, she was pulling a packet of papers from her briefcase. She placed them in front of her on the desk and laid a hand on top of the stack.
"Thank you for seeing me without an appointment, Captain," she snapped briskly, sounding like a five-star general.
"I have to say, Doctor, that you have impressed me. Not many people even know where we are, let alone find their way inside and all the way to my office."
"Yes, well, an intelligent, well-educated person with a computer and sufficient motivation can accomplish almost anything," she said. "I have a report for you on your agent, Frank Stone, which I believe will alarm you and prompt you to take immediate action."
"Really," the captain said. He leaned back in his chair as if settling in to hear a story. "Am I correct in assuming that you have documentation to back up this 'report'?"
Mitchell patted the stack of papers resting beneath her palm on the desk. "I have names, dates, places, and as many verbatim conversations as I could remember. I have had to paraphrase here and there, of course, inasmuch as the events span several months. Whatever proof is not within these documents is easily obtainable based on the information provided herein."
"Very well," said Boone. "May I record our conversation?"
"Oh, I insist on it!"
"Outstanding," he said, and he reached across the corner of his desk to punch a button on his electronic phone console. A red light began flashing atop the console. The captain leaned slightly toward the console and spoke clearly, giving the names of parties present, the date, place, and time of the interview. Then he nodded to Mitchell. "Proceed, Doctor."
