She had lost the coin toss.  It was as simple as that.  Three people, three quarters, odd man goes.  That's why she was standing at the Arriving Passengers pickup area, holding a sign saying "Cousin Paul" on it.  She had never before met the man coming in on this flight.  She had never imagined she would.  Company brass of his mythic proportions were not generally picked up by Communications Room Technicians.  But these were no ordinary times. 

The normal routine at Berlin Station had ended in the early hours of the morning when the Station Chief and three top aides had died in a flaming crash on the Autobahn.   Authorities had declared nothing suspicious about the crash.  Four men, four open bottles of scotch, a new sports car, and rainy weather, an accident looking for a place to happen.   Then came word that the big man from European headquarters was coming in to "clean house" and prevent any further embarrassment to the Company.  So, while the few remaining people made sure everything was ready for an inspection, she had "won" the pleasure of going to the airport and meeting the brass.  Gosh, could life get any better?

Searching the faces of the new wave of passengers exiting the terminal in front of her, her attention was instantly caught by the tall, ruggedly handsome man carrying his own bag.  He had the intense eyes she would expect from a high company superior and he seemed to be looking for someone.  As she approached, his attention locked on her and a puzzled look came over his face.  She started her introduction, "Cousin Paul?  Welcome!  I'm cousin" but before she could finish, his face contorted into a frightening mask. Then, without warning, he vomited down the front of her blouse.  "Ah, it's nice to meet you too," she finished lamely.

The next few minutes went by in a blur.  She grabbed his bag and led him by the arm to her car. Still gasping from his nausea, he muttered one apology after another.  Throwing the bag into the back seat, she helped him in front and secured his seat belt.  "Safety first" was her fathers motto!  Then she rolled the passenger window down and handed him the litterbag she kept in the glove compartment. 

As she walked around the car, she wondered aloud why she ever bothered to make an effort to dress up and look presentable, to try and make a good impression to the visiting personage.  It never failed.  She always ended up looking like something the cat didn't want.  Taking a rag from the back seat floor, she wiped as much of the chunky stuff off as was possible before getting into the driver's seat.  

Her passenger was again trying to apologize when another eruption began. Grabbing the bag from his hands, she managed to catch most of the flow.  She got out of the car and deposited the bag in a nearby refuse basket and returned to the driver's seat wondering which one of her childhood transgressions she was paying for now. 

The mythic company big man was breathing hard, explaining to the windshield how he didn't know what was wrong with him.  Pressing her wrist to his forehead, she calculated a temperature of about 101.5 to 102 and decided that a doctor's visit was called for.   

Deftly swinging the car into the flow of departing traffic, she warned Mr. Big that the window was open for one reason and one reason only.  If the mood came over him again, out the window, not in her car!  Before leaving the airport environs, she also made the decision that a man in this condition did not belong in the office. 

Picking up her car phone, she dialed the number for "Mother", the answering service used when in the field.  Briefly, she advised "Mother" that "Cousin Paul" was not well and that she was taking him to the safety of home, a safe house, in company parlance.

It was no easy task getting the illustrious visitor into the house.   He was tall.   She was short.  He was dizzy.  She was staggering from his weight on her shoulders.   Leading him into the bedroom, she asked him if he would be able to undress himself and get into bed.  He did sit down on the bed, but before he did anything else, he passed out.  "Thanks for at least hitting the bed," she said aloud to the unconscious figure before her.

'Well, now what?' she asked herself after watching his inert figure for a few seconds.  The little voice of common sense answered her, "You grew up with seven brothers.   You know the drill.  He is just another man, nothing you haven't seen or touched before."  'Yes, keep telling yourself that,' she admonished herself.  But it was true, old habits come to the fore in times of need.  Many a night she had put one or more of her brothers quietly to bed to keep mom and dad from finding out about one of the under age, macho drinking parties the boys would attend.  This would be nothing new. 

She retrieved his travel bag from the car and searched through it to see what she could change him in to. He was a pajama man, she learned.  After bringing in a basin of hot water, soap, and towels, she set about the task of undressing her six-foot tall patient and cleaning him up. 

Deciding on the best plan of attack, she began from the top down.  Pulling him up to a sitting position, she braced him against herself as she removed his tie and pulled his arms out of his suit jacket one at a time.  He did not resist; but then again, he didn't help any.  And if her father or any of her brothers had walked in and seen her standing there undressing a man whose face was flush in her breasts... No, better not finish that thought! 

She laid him back down and started undoing the buttons of his shirt.  He felt much warmer now than he did at the airport.  She covered him with a towel and phoned the company sponsored doctor.  After hearing only a few short words, he said he would come immediately.

Returning to her patient, she managed to wrestle him out of his dress shirt and T-shirt, again by propping him up against her, and then slip his arms in the pajama top.  Laying him down again, she took the warm washcloth and began washing his chest.  He was well built, muscled, and she noticed two separate scars marring his smooth, hard body.   One of them was on his left shoulder and one on his right side. Both appeared to be from bullet wounds.  While buttoning the buttons of the pajama top, she took a closer look at his face.  He was handsome, with hooded blue eyes, square jaw and a sensual mouth.   Quite handsome, she revised her rating upward.  In a way, he reminded her of her third brother, Douglas...  "Well, that effectively kills any further romantic fantasies," she said to his unresponsive form.

She undid the button and zipper of his pants and draped part of the coverlet over his hips for both of their modesty.  Then, using the well-practiced bounce and pull technique she had developed with her siblings, she managed to remove both trousers and underwear in one operation.  "Just like riding a bicycle, you never forget," she told him.  While quickly washing his thighs and legs, she noticed the presence of a few more scars.  "You were a busy boy, weren't you?  Wonder what stories you could tell?" she asked as she pulled the pajama pants up his legs and bounced-pulled them up to his hips.

Now came the hard part, actually getting him into bed, under the blankets.  He was beginning to shiver now, so she had to hurry.  She found a clean sheet and, folding it lengthwise, put it around his chest, crossing it evenly behind his back, and pulling it up around his shoulders.  Then, after pulling the blankets and coverlet down and turning them under, she went around to the other side of the bed to prepare for the next part of the operation.  Taking the sheet ends in both hands and finding a firm stance, she began pulling the illustrious personage towards her.   She then stepped up on the bed and pivoted his inert weight and pulled until his head was actually on the pillow.  Catching her breath for a moment, she sat down next to him on the bed and looked around the room.  'Just my luck, there's a hidden camera somewhere in here and the boys at the station are rolling out of their chairs right now,' she thought.  'Or even worse, copies of these pictures will soon be available on the company black market.'  A few seconds later, she had removed the sheet and had him tucked warmly under the covers.

She retrieved the T-shirt and jeans she always kept in the car and silently thanked her tradecraft lessons for always being prepared. You never knew when, where, or why you might need to change into a new persona, or in this case, might want to smell better than you did.  Then she bundled up her sodden garments and his sad looking business suit.  She added "dry cleaners" to the mental list of things she needed to do. 

The doctor arrived, and after grunting his way through the examination of the still unconscious patient, decreed it only a good case of something common.   I.V. fluids, antibiotics, and rest, that was his prescription.  'Thanks for stating the obvious,' she thought.

By this time, Warren had also arrived.  He was, by default, the next in line to head the Station.  What he had to say to her, she didn't like hearing.   Since she was doing such a great job, since she had some nurse's training, since she had a top security clearance in case her patient talked in his delirium, since she survived growing up with so many brothers, since... "Yes, but, WHY ME?" she asked him.

Promising to send over any supplies she needed or wanted, he grabbed the bundle of clothes by the door and fled.   Less than an hour later, the medical supplies arrived and she busied herself with patient care. The only problem was, the patient did not want to be cared for.

It is a documented fact that the higher the temperature, the more uncooperative the patient.  This was no exception.  Before that night was to end, the illustrious visitor would acquire his I.V. line and tied sheet restraints on both his arms and legs. For her efforts, she would be rewarded with a blackened and amazingly swollen right eye, a fat lip, a loose tooth, a number of colorful bruises, and a definite deterioration in her attitude towards her patient and her own abilities.

She had been just starting to get the I.V. line set up when the illustrious patient had begun thrashing about and mumbling. In her best soothing nurse voice, she had tried to reassure him that he was somewhere safe, and that he would feel better in a few days time.  As she had wrapped the tourniquet around his arm to bring up a vein, the left hook he threw had caught her totally by surprise.  It had been a direct hit to her right eye. 

The next thing she knew, she had been sprawled on the floor, and brightly colored stars were shooting from her eye.  She pulled herself up, shook the fuzziness from her head, and returned to the bed.  She was trying to tuck his left arm under him to prevent any more sucker punches from landing when he had jerked his right knee up and smacked her directly in the mouth. 

That time, she ended up on the night table, knocking over the lamp and medical supplies.  'This is not going well,' she had thought to herself as she slid down to the floor. She didn't get up as fast the second time, but sat still a moment to plan her next move.  She had not liked the idea of putting restraints on him, but considering the ratio of him to her, she had no choice.  Finding a few more sets of sheets, she had begun the process of restraining his agitated limbs.

It had been a nightmarish struggle, the delirium adding to his strength and resistance to her actions.  At one point, she had even thought of calling the station and asking for reinforcements, but she was afraid his thrashing would cause further injuries to him, or to her, while she had to wait for help to arrive.

By the time she had finished the job, night had fallen.  She realized she hadn't eaten all day, and her eye desperately needed an ice bag.  After making a sandwich and cup of tea from the supplies Warren had sent over, she settled in a comfy chair next to her patient's bed to keep her remaining good eye on him.  His eminence was still agitated and in his delirium, seemed to be reliving one of his previous exploits.  Shouted warnings, called names, and mumbled curses all spun out of his fevered mind.  Though exhausted, she spent the entire night sitting by her patient's bedside, talking softly to him in an attempt to calm his demons, and her own growing feelings of helplessness.

The next four days and nights saw no improvement, either to the patient or the nurse.  Periods of restful sleep were punctuated by frenzied thrashing and shouting, leaving the patient weaker and weaker, and the nurse more exhausted and bruised.

Warren would arrive each day to check on them both, bringing changes of clothes for each, food and medical supplies, much needed chocolate for the battered nurse, a genuinely kind word for her efforts, and his itinerary for the day in case she needed to find him in a hurry. 

Finally, mercifully, the temperature that had soared to 104 started to come down. 

As learned at her mother's knee many years ago, between pushing fluids, alcohol rubs for the fever, and warmed blankets for the inevitable chills, she made her patient a pot of chicken soup.  In his few waking moments, she would spoon a few teaspoons into him before he drifted back to sleep.

On the seventh day, the doctor advised that the I.V. could come out the next day and that the rapidly recovering patient could get up as soon as he felt strong enough. When Warren returned that day, cleaning in hand, he was surprised by the vast improvement in the illustrious visitor. Though still weak and very sleepy, the patient had many questions to ask the Acting Station Chief, the first being, "What happened?" and, "How did I get here?" 

Before the explanation began, the exhausted nurse came in with some hot tea for the patient and coffee for the visitor.  Looking intently at this one-eyed caregiver, the illustrious patient asked, "Have we been introduced already?"  Warren with great formality said, "Control, it's my pleasure to introduce one of our best intelligence technicians.  This is Corrie, Corrie Murchison.  Corrie, this is Control."