(a/n: as i was travelling, i couldn't post yesterday, so here's chapter two. i might be travelling tomorrow, as well (we're visiting milan for the day :)) so i updated chapter three too!)
TWO
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Conversation in the conference room ceased abruptly, eyes swinging her way. Her heart thrummed, uncomfortable at the attention. The room felt even smaller, and Quinn mumbled a half-assed apology.
"Let's get back to it, gentlemen. I'm sure Agent O'Reilly didn't mean to be late," remarked a familiar voice.
Imani Sarraf, head to toe draped in gold jewelry, had an unmistakable lilt to her voice that commanded the attention of every room she graced with her presence. Quinn sent a grateful look her way, to which the seasoned field agent rolled her eyes.
Quinn regarded Imani as the tough-guy, balls-to-the-walls field agent who got shit done. She wasn't sure if Special Agent Sarraf had ever delivered an unsatisfactory result to any mission, which made her all the more awe-inducing. To Quinn, the woman was terrifying. Her figure was steeped in a boldly orange suit, a black silk shirt unbuttoned by her tan throat. Her fingers, capable of such deadly violence, were adorned with glinting gold rings. They were more often than not shaped like snakes, swirling around her hands. The woman positively oozed danger, according to Quinn.
Once more, she was grateful to simply be the Agency equivalent of a fly on the wall.
" — the situation in Berlin has worsened. It's come to the point we might have to intervene. Recent intelligence reports show an increased activity in known trafficking sectors, hitting the Eastern European countries —"
As Quinn inched her way to the only remaining seat, her eyes scanned the room. Her own boss, Chief Tibble, had chosen to not attend. Additionally, Quinn noted that the brooding, obnoxious Agency hothead — Special Agent Locke — was missing. Quinn could feel her frazzled heart slowing.
"I do believe we should focus on the chaos in Catalonia, agents," started another suit-clad schmoozer, " — it's not easing anytime soon. Who's in charge of regional intelligence?"
Quinn nearly jolted off of her chair, but settled for raking a shaking hand through her hair as she drew a breath.
"I am." Her voice carried strongly across the room. Finally, a subject she could ease into — talking of work never made her heart race, nor her palms sweat. It was most likely the only subject she could tolerate discussing with others, as any attempt at socialization had gone awry for her.
Probably because I never finished The Introvert Advantage. Another book that's had to wait until that elusive someday.
As Quinn dug out files from her bag, she continued describing the latest reports. A big part of her intelligence work was scouring the internet, especially the economical records of banks, looking for signs of any suspicious activity. Another part was acting very much like a Lord Varys, collecting tidbits of information from various little birds.
Her job was a lot like making puzzles, piecing together part after part until it assembled into a picture that made sense. In this case, it was a picture that had to give the Agency the ability to assess whether or not a certain individual or group was enough of a threat to be stopped or not. Other times, it meant tracking down said criminals who'd already committed a crime.
It required hours of hours of combing through political, geographical, historical and economical maps of vast regions. It was big data crunching, through and through. Quinn loved it.
As she hooked her laptop to the TV screen at both sides of the room, Quinn stood up.
" — here's a complete threat assessment. Individuals of interest are displayed and noted, prominent convictions listed beside. You may know of some of them, as they showed up on the intelligence report touching on the issues in Berlin at the moment. Active agent in the vicinity is Special Agent Davidson. His primary partner has been briefed as well. "
Quinn finished, eyes darting around the room. She really wanted to double check, and make sure Agent Locke was nowhere in the vicinity.
The briefing continued in much of the same way. When Quinn finished her assessment, another intelligence analyst took her place. The briefing reports gave some of the present higher-ups, and a few of the top agents, a chance to survey whatever assignments they might be given.
The usual agents present were Sarraf, Davidson, Gavin fucking Locke, and Kent. They were the cream of the crop, the most efficient in terms of successful hits. Whenever all of them were present, there was a different energy in the room. An almost palpable fear. Now that only Sarraf was present, it was miles more tolerable.
Quinn had even managed to make her heart-rate slow from 197 to roughly 100, which boded well for her future cardiac health.
"Agent O'Reilly? You're the primary on Special Agent Kent. Updates?" Imani's intensely green eyes stared Quinn down, and she forced her knees to quit shaking as she leaned back in her chair.
"Scheduled contact tonight," started Quinn. " — she remains in Shanghai, on target and gathering intel. Last contact suggested possible hit within four months. Cameron's uncovered a number of sources connecting the Triad to the networks in question."
Sarraf drummed her manicured nails on the glass table, eyes narrowed on Quinn. She nodded slightly, as if acknowledging the intel. For what it was worth, a niggle of pride inched its way into Quinn's soul as she leaned back once more.
"I assume you'll have more info at the next briefing," started another Agency drone. Quinn nodded despite the fact that he'd barely glanced her way. Most Agency agents — and drones — were quick to disregard the intelligence work as little more than internet sleuthing.
Gavin fucking Locke.
Some, however, were grateful. It was why Quinn felt semi-indebted to Cameron Kent — by choosing Quinn as her primary partner, Cam had essentially saved Quinn from the monotony of being assigned any other case as the usual analysts. Partnering up with one of the Agency's top performing agents had been an undeniable promotion.
They'd surely yield further result after their scheduled contact. Quinn had files of information to offer Cam regarding the Shanghai-situation, and Cameron would surely have more info to pass onto her partner for analysis. Whenever the Agency made a decision to place a hit, or bring down a syndicate, it was well-backed. The intelligence department made sure of it. It was most likely why they clashed so violently with the cocky field agents who, on occasion, swarmed the HQ — the field agents were quick to pin medals to their chest and claim fame for whatever hit they'd carried out, while the hundreds of analysts rolled their eyes and did their work in silence. It was hubris, pure and simple. While Kent and Sarraf lacked it, it was certainly found in the self-conceived swagger of the male top agents: Gavin Locke and Scott Davidson.
As the meeting wrapped, Quinn heaved her files back in her bag. The vivid, orange-clad Imani stayed back and spoke to a few of the top brass. As Quinn fled the room, she could almost feel the searing gaze of Agent Sarraf laser two holes through the back of her head.
Because she had work waiting, Quinn headed for the elevator and went back down to the second floor with a tangle of other Agency employees. The Agency was a big organization, with offices all over the world, yet London remained its HQ. As Quinn was an introvert extraordinaire she rarely attended the after-works and corporate Christmas parties, but she wasn't above smiling timidly whenever someone vaguely familiar called a hello her way.
It was what she had to contend with as she ducked through the analyst floors on her way to her office, clutching her bag to her chest as if it were a social-interaction proof shield. Being one of the primary partners to the renowned Cameron Kent had its perks, if you considered eager ladder-climbers perks. They were more than usual eager to grab her shoulder, or hound her over her coffee breaks, badgering her about the most recent briefings. Most wondered how well she knew Special Agent Kent, because how else would she get to attend the mysterious top brass briefings of the Agency.
The only reason Quinn sat in on those meetings was because she was damn good at her job, and that was that. Not that she'd ever say that to the desperate drones hounding her heels whenever she stepped outside for some coffee, no. Instead, Quinn offered bitter smiles and quickened her pace.
Just for a few hours — contact isn't until ten P.M.
Right as Quinn heard someone else calling for her, she slammed her office door shut behind her and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her glasses had slipped from the bridge of her nose, so she took a second to right those before scooping her hair up in another updo. Her office was sequestered in a corner of the London HQ, a small window offering glimpses of the prestigious Knightsbridge neighborhood right outside.
Her desk was heavy oak, groaning under the weight of monitors and a tangle of cords. A stack of books rested on one side of the desk, all half-read and not quite yet finished. There was also a cactus in her windowsill, one of the few living things surrounding her that didn't leave whenever she forgot to attend to it for a while.
Sinking into her comfortable desk chair, Quinn glanced at the coffee cups lining the bookshelf on the other side of the room. There was a part of her aching for some good coffee, just a steaming hot cup of brew, but then she thought of her annoyingly active club of devotees outside and discarded the idea. No, she'd be a good adult today. She'd crush the day's work, then get home early and make a nutritious dinner before finally clearing out her closet, maybe even finishing one of her nightstand books.
Yes, Quinn thought as she powered up her screens, that sounds about right.
*
"I'm such a bad adult."
The words were heard by no one, as Quinn watched her own scowling reflection in the warm tint from her microwave. Inside, a dish of ready-to-eat noodles circulated mockingly. There had been no cleaning of her closet, no finishing of any book. Instead, she'd dug her heels into an obtuse firewall blocking her from some bank records, finally leaving the office at 7 p.m. Quinn had scowled and cursed all the way from the HQ to her apartment, angrily tossing her coat onto a hanger before stalking into the kitchen. She'd retained that anger as she'd thrown her frozen dinner into the microwave, which was where she stood as of now.
Her forgotten dishes from her stressed morning remained in the sink, mocking her. Quinn scowled again, eyes returning to her rotating dinner. She was one of the best analysts of the Agency, providing valuable information which contributed to successfully unravelling dangerous nets of criminals — yet she still couldn't function like a 'good' adult.
Perhaps I'll sit down and pay some bills, just because I can. Adulting's easy. Maybe I'll read about politics. Quinn did have one or another semi-finished book about politics and governments on her nightstand.
Yanking her dinner out as her microwave beeped, Quinn tossed it onto a plate before grabbing a bottle of soy sauce and marching to her single kitchen chair. She washed her dinner down with some water, scarfing it down as the clock ticked closer to ten. The documents prepared for Cameron were already neatly assembled in a folder by her desk, listing the info she considered vital enough to pass on. One area where Quinn didn't dare be messy was her job, and it showed.
Because there were already shit to do in the sink, she settled with dumping her dirty dinner plates there as well. As she turned away from it, a guilty conscience gripped and tugged at her mind.
"Shit," Quinn pinched her nose. Seven minutes to ten.
At two minutes to ten, the kitchen had been properly cleaned. Quinn carried a mug of ginger tea over to her small home office, adjacent to her bedroom, where she woke her monitors. She reached up, flicking the light on, then organized her papers. Spreadsheets and neatly printed notes dotted her documents, and Quinn briefly flicked her eyes over the information as she waited for the encrypted communication device to power up.
When it did, Quinn leaned back and waited for Cameron's call to come through. The analyst sipped at her tea, fingered her documents. Her eyes flicked to the watch again. A few minutes late. Not to worry — it was around three o'clock in Shanghai. Kent was probably a little tired, or the program was booting up. It wouldn't be a problem.
Ten minutes later, Quinn had drained a third of her tea and had unknowingly bent one of her papers enough for a neat line to run through the text. Another ten minutes passed. Quinn drank more tea, eyes darting to the clock.
She's never late. Something's wrong.
But something couldn't be wrong, or Kent would've pressed her emergency beacon. It was standard issue for all agents — a button hidden somewhere, equipped with a GPS. It was to be pressed whenever there was not only a threat to the mission, but to their life. It happened very rarely — the Agency did their jobs cleanly.
Not to worry. She got the wrong time.
The niggle of doubt remained, and grew even stronger. Every possible explanation was met with an unshakable logic. Top agents never got scheduled contact times wrong, since they were the only possibilities they had to safely pass information to the Agency. The mug was empty by now, Quinn's heart drumming hard in her ribcage.
Eleven o'clock came, then went. Five more minutes ticked by. Her computer stared back at her, unbothered.
23:06.
Then her monitors flashed violently, and Quinn jerked forward as her screen turned red. Bright words crossed her vision, and a loud alarm echoed from the program as a map displayed over all monitors in the vicinity. The alarm rang loud and true in her ears, enough to make Quinn wince if she hadn't been so shell-shocked. All she could do was stare at the words, printed in all caps across her screen.
EMERGENCY BEACON: SPECIAL AGENT CAMERON KENT.
"This can't be possible," mumbled Quinn, "This isn't happening."
But it very much was — and it'd only just started.
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a/n: hope you rookies enjoyed. im not sure if you're okay with being called rookies, but i think its fitting and aren't we all just rookies in this life (r/im14andthisisdeep)
anyway, be sure to check out the next chapter as i updated that one, as well :)
xo, cleo