Special Agent | ✓

Fifty-Six

"I believe it was the tip of the iceberg," Tibble started, pouring the final drink for herself, " — we vetted him before employment, and he was clean. He must have used the underground contacts from his initial work here to start gambling again."

Nodding in agreement, Vahid sipped at her drink before she spoke up:

"I think he found a thrill in it, too. What they were doing — it was a number of risks, and the possibility of huge profits. A lot like gambling if you think about it."

Imani frowned, twirling her glass in her hand.

"Not a drinker, Sarraf?"

Imani looked up, met Adina's even gaze.

"Not tonight, no." She placed the glass on the low table in front of the sofa, " — some black tea would be more fitting."

"I think I can rummage out some tea from my kitchen. The least I can do." Adina rose after yet another sip at her drink, before striding into the kitchen.

Quinn glanced at the wall-mounted clock, at the hand that was steadily closing in on nine o'clock. The evening had just started settling outside, a smudge of colors blotting the sky outside Adina's wide windows.

Fingers tapping her thigh, Quinn's heart thrummed in time with the hand showing the seconds ticking by on Tibble's clock.

Locke reached for her hand, stilling its movements. Quinn looked away from the clock, focusing on Gavin.

"They'll believe you." He said, calmly.

It's not that, Quinn wanted to say, but she bit her lip and stopped herself, remembering the Director's words.

"A lot of things can happen between now and tomorrow morning," Quinn replied instead, choosing her words carefully.

She hated the feeling of not disclosing the truth to him, after all they'd been through. She hoped he'd understand, at the end of it all, why she'd done it. Either way, what she'd said was believable enough — they remaining Chiefs would discuss the events until they reached a decision, delivered no later than by the morning the day after. Most likely they'd remain locked inside the Knightsbridge HQ for the better part of the night, flinging words at one another until their ears fell off.

Tibble and Vahid had been more than glad to be excused, though if they believed any doubts remained as to Quinn's innocence they would've argued the head off of every Chief in the conference room.

Adina returned from the kitchen, holding a steaming cup of tea. She handed it to Sarraf, who mumbled a quick thanks.

They passed the time chatting quietly, exchanging silly stories, avoiding the topic of Quinn's misadventures through Europe, of how Kent and Davidson had almost succeeded. Instead, they spoke of what they'd do after all this — what they wished to do, where they wanted to go.

At nine o'clock, that discussion was broken by the sound of Quinn's phone buzzing. She answered it swiftly, heart beating hard.

"I need you at the office," Director Irene Kimmel ordered, " — come alone. Twenty minutes."

Kimmel paused for a mere second, then spoke again:

"Remember to trust the plan, no matter what happens."

"Alright," Quinn said, voice shaking, before the call ended.

The other occupants of the living room stared at her expectantly.

"Kimmel called me back to the HQ," Quinn offered, already standing up.

"All of us?" Tibble said, though her eyes were tipped down, watching the swirl of whiskey in her crystal glass.