Sofia (7) | (55.06)

[mragland]

07.13.2055 – Brooklyn, New York

Sofia is back in the office for the first time in months. How many months she didn't like to dwell on. She is under doctor's orders to take it easy, so she didn't come in until nine in the morning. Her first meeting is with her chief of security.

Seymour knocks on the open door and steps through, closing it behind him. He carries a manila folder in his right hand. “Good to have you back, Sofia,” he says by way of greeting, taking his seat across from his boss.

“It's good to be back, Sy,” she says with smile. “Let's get started. What have you learned?”

“The picture's still cloudy, we're sifting through a lot of data points, trying to sort through signal and noise, as usual.”

“And?”

“Remember the episode we had in Valencia?”

“The famous case of the baseball spy that got away, sure.”

“Well, you had your, uh, episode after coming back from the winter meetings, right?”

“You mean when I went a little cuckoo?” says Sofia, making a circular motion with her index finger next to her right temple.

Seymour sighs. “Sure. You remember drafting this email?” he asks, handing Sofia a sheet of paper.

Sofia glances at it for a moment and nods. “I do. Our man in Valencia had been asking for more money, as usual, and I gave him some of what he wanted. We agreed on a 2055 budget.”

“Right,” says Seymour. “One-hundred and fifty-two million.” He reaches into his folder and produces another sheet of paper. “And then you got back to New York and drafted this. Do you remember this one?”

Sofia examines the second printout and scowls. “I certainly do not. Is this a joke?”

"No joke, Sofia. You apparently changed your mind and revised the team's 2055 budget downward, to one-hundred and sixteen million."

"This must have happened after my screw came lose,” says Sofia. “My goodness. How did the club take it?”

"Not well, I'm told. Your club president threatened to walk.”

"I see. It looks like we've got some fences to mend there.”

“Getting back to the time in question. I asked you to think about what you remember about the winter meetings. What did you do on the day you left?”

Sofia leans back in her chair and looks up at the ceiling. “I remember having lunch with John Hough. He insisted. Wanted to show off his personal chef, as I recall. Insisted that I try the poke.”

Seymour nods. “We've had our eye on that organization. I can't quite pin the mole on them, but there's been smoke there. And your lunch was the last meeting you took before boarding your plane for home. How was the poke?”

“It was good, I guess,” says Sofia. “Are you saying they took me down with tainted tuna?”

“Our Chinese friends are doing amazing things with neurotoxins these days.”

Sofia leans forward, clutching the edge of her desk with both hands, her head swimming, and suddenly very heavy.

“Sofia?” Seymour exclaims, jumping out of his seat.

She waves him off. Takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly. “It's okay. I'm okay. A little vertigo. It'll be okay. We're fine.”

Seymour sits back down, a look of concern on his face.

Sofia sits up and gathers herself. “If you've got something solid, Sy, let's hear it.”

[RonCo]

The truth, when it comes, is irrefutable.

[Jwalk100]

Poor Sofia! Another victim of Operation Typhoid Mary.