Milo sat across from the director, a glass of Single Malt in his left hand. He took a swig, closed his eyes, and let his head rest on the back of the chair. He let the drink burn his tongue, his lips and then he swallowed.
“By Jaysus tha’ is good!” The Scotsman nodded as he eyed his glass, “Especially after spending nearly a year as a damned cat. Next time, perhaps send me to Africa to roam the wilds, eh?”
“And waste your talents, I think not,” said The Director.
“Wha’ of John, then?” Milo placed the glass on The Director’s desk.
“In our hospital. He will be attended to. Paula will see to him.”
“Paula? I thought I was to be his handler!!!” Milo scratched through his rusty-blonde curls, “I mean, I know him best, ya?”
The Director smiled, “We will see. For now, we wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“The other side.”
“Why?”
“Because this time, they got too close. They could have taken John if not for Paula.”
Milo cursed under his breath. “One of the EMT’s”
“Yes.”
“Shaite!”
“There is another, Milo. A girl in New York!”