a/n: decided to update again hehe, hope you enjoy
THIRTY-SEVEN
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Imani received the dreaded summon two days later.
"The Director wants to see you," said one of Kimmel's assistants, nervously buzzing by the door of Sarraf's office.
All Special Agents had official offices, not that they were ever used. Hers was a shrine of dust and shredded pieces of paper, which she honestly was not upset about — she did her work in the field, after all. She had no use for an actual desk, or file cabinets, or coffee mugs, of 'hang-in-there' kitty posters.
Imani arched a brow at the nervous young adult by her doorway.
"Now?"
The boy swallowed hard, then nodded.
"Why?"
"Director Kimmel didn't say. She simply asked for your presence in her office."
Imani glanced at her metallic timepiece. The only reason she'd gone into the office at all was to acquire some more of O'Reilly's classified files, and the only reason she'd even stayed at the Knightsbridge HQ was because checking out classified information and bringing it home really wasn't the move these days.
Flicking a stray curl behind her ear, Imani stood up and tugged her dark wool coat off her chair. It was chilly out, and she'd opted for a silky shirt and cuffed slacks today that did little to actually keep her warm. It was very much still barely easing into the summer, the winter cold digging its claws into the air and keeping every bud from blooming.
Sarraf was tired of the weather, truly. She longed for the hot, dry summers she'd grown up with, but at least the cold weather was an excuse to break out her more expensive coats.
"I know the way to her office," Sarraf started, noting the nervous assistant vibrating in her doorway, " — you can scurry along now."
"Thank you, Special Agent." He bowed his head, then vanished from the doorway with all of the refinery of a fly clumsily darting away from a spider's web.
Sarraf rolled her eyes. She didn't follow the man immediately — a foolish way of proving she wasn't here to exist at the beck and call of Director Kimmel — and took her time packing her files. They could remain in her office overnight, without a doubt. She definitely wouldn't miss them, considering O'Reilly's files were more than a little detailed.
They're disgustingly clean, Sarraf had thought as she read them. Her motivation to read them didn't exactly grow, either, because of the sheer tediousness of analyst work. Special Agents usually disliked kill orders, because it meant they had significantly less manpower from the Intelligence department to help them. Now, Sarraf had to work as both her own analyst and a Special Agent, combing through files in an attempt to clue herself in on wherever the bloody hell O'Reilly could've ended up.
Thus far, nothing. The woman kept her work clean and separate, and if she used informants they were not listed, though that wasn't exactly surprising.
Sighing, Sarraf reached for her sleek bag, hoisting it over her shoulder before pushing out of her office. The floor belonging to the Department of Operations was quiet, and only a handful milled around. Sarraf locked her door swiftly, before crossing the hallway toward the elevator.
It would take a few minutes to get to the Director's office, minutes spent pondering what Director Kimmel might wish to talk about. Imani guessed she wanted a status update on the kill order.
Heels clicking softly against the stone flooring, Imani headed right for the front door of Kimmel's office. She knocked briefly, if only not to incur the wrath of Kimmel in advance by breaking any etiquette rules, before entering the office.
Kimmel looked up, expression flat. The Director rarely stepped into the Knightsbridge HQ wearing anything other than a power suit, and today was no exception. Her suit was a stormy grey, a dark blue shirt tucked into her slacks. Platinum earrings glinted in her ears, while the light caught along the various expensive bracelets adorning her wrist as she gestured for Sarraf to sit down.
"Director Kimmel," Sarraf started, crossing over to the armchairs by the desk, " — you called me."
"I did. I heard you were in office, so I wished to receive a status update on the case."
Status update it is, then.
Sarraf crossed one leg above the other, placing her bag on the armchair beside her. Kimmel leaned back in her chair, cold eyes scrutinizing Sarraf's behavior as she started relaying the details to her boss.
"The investigative work has been slow, unsurprisingly. O'Reilly is an analyst, so it is no surprise she knows how to cover up."
Kimmel didn't move a muscle that gave Sarraf an inkling of what she was thinking, so she guessed it was appropriate for her to continue.
"However, I did receive word from one of my contacts that some organization is looking for her, placing a bounty on her head."
The Director's eyes shot up, interest evidently piqued.
"How much?"
"Five million."
Kimmel nodded somberly, "And your thoughts?"
"Could be some organizations she worked with wanted her to end up dead, severing any potential leakage."
"That does sound logical." Kimmel stated, though Sarraf wasn't sure why the Director didn't sound quite as firm as she usually did.
"Aside from that, there are unfortunately no other developments. I am thinking of going back to O'Reilly's apartment, though I highly doubt she'd leave something behind to clue anyone in on her location. She left on the mission to retrieve Kent before all of this happened, so I think I'm stuck evaluating her past missions."
"We'll see about putting an analyst on your case with you," said Kimmel, " — though finding an appropriate one might take some time."
"How so?" Sarraf raised a brow, lips pursed.
Kimmel met her glance head-on, "Because our best one is currently the target of a kill order."
There was no emotion in the Director's voice, but the firmness was very much there.
"There is a very real risk these criminal organizations will find her before we do," continued Kimmel, brows furrowing, " — I do not want Analyst O'Reilly to end up in their hands before we have a chance to properly handle the situation."
"What will you have me do, Kimmel?" Sarraf asked, " — I can't think of any more efficient way to find O'Reilly."
Kimmel leaned back, eyeing her Special Agent.
"If we go by the logic used in the mission we sent out to retrieve Kent, there is. We sent Analyst O'Reilly along because she knew Special Agent Kent's personality, and their case history."
Sarraf felt her heart climb into her throat.
"You want to send Special Agent Kent along with me?"
Kimmel met Sarraf's eyes, noted the volatility with which Sarraf had responded.
"I assume Special Agent Kent has already cornered you about this?"
When Imani didn't respond, a cold expression spread across Kimmel's face.
"Two Special Agents are not allowed to work on the same kill order," said Imani, finally, " — it causes too much disruption, and it produces no results."
"There are no rules against it," clarified Kimmel, " — it has just never been done, because of your aforementioned reasons. Now, with the bounty ..."
Kimmel trailed off, fingers drumming against the desk.
" — it might just be our best shot at finding her before the syndicates do. Do they know she's Agency-employed?"
Sarraf shook her head, "That information isn't out yet."
Kimmel's lips flattened, "If it comes out, we'll find ourselves in a fine situation. I don't believe Analyst O'Reilly will find her loyalty to the Agency strengthened by the kill order passed by the Committee of Chiefs, and having any information leak will be fatal for every agent in field."
Unfortunately, Imani had to agree with the Director's assessment. She'd led the Agency for a good while, and though she usually remained carefully neutral this case required special attention. She couldn't afford to jeopardize the Agency over a case such as this, not when it already sent ripples of unease through all of the Chiefs and Departments who'd heard of it.
"I know it can feel uneasy to have another Special Agent jump onto the mission with you, but it might prove efficient."
Sarraf nodded stiffly, expression flat. She was not too thrilled, and usually hated working together with other people — mostly because their performance never quite measured up to hers. Aside from that, her and Kent were and had always been some type of frenemies. At times they were friendly, at times they could be at each other's throats when it came to mission assignments and Agency work.
"If it's what the Director orders," said Sarraf, finally.
"I will draft an official mission order with Chief Masters and Chief Sanders."
Kimmel saw that Sarraf shifted in her chair, eager to get up.
"Special Agent Sarraf — " continued Kimmel, " — I advise you to leave any bruised pride out of this. You are both accomplished Special Agents, and will continue to do great work the sooner you move past this kill order."
"Understood, Director," replied Sarraf, eyeing Kimmel with an interesting mix of respect and dislike.
You couldn't be the Director of the Agency without having some ice in your heart and steel in your backbone, so Kimmel didn't fret over it.
"Have a good night, Special Agent." Kimmel called, watching Sarraf.
Imani nodded briefly, reaching for her bag on the floor. Straightening up, she shrugged into her coat once more and exited the Director's office.
*
"My apartment has never been this clean," started Kat, " — really, I think you might have an issue, kiska."
"There is nothing else to do here," replied Quinn, " — and I have to wait for my Chief to send word of any new developments."
"That is good news." Kat stood by the oven, stirring some type of soup she'd tossed together.
"How so?"
Quinn was seated by the table, browsing through Kat's computer. She was actively trying to upgrade its digital defenses, attempting to find a way into the Agency's servers. It would take a good while to do so, however, as she would have to avoid any of the people in Department of Technology noticing it.
Which is very hard. I'm no Liza Jaeger at this stuff, unfortunately.
"It means you don't have to worry about it, until you do." Kat dumped some salt into the pot, " — and you can relax in the meantime."
"That makes no sense." Quinn frowned.
Besides, I don't have time to relax. I have a bloody kill order on my head.
Kat gave Quinn a long look, "It does, you just don't want to see it, kiska."
"I can't relax, Kat. I can't just sit back and ... eat soup." Quinn gestured weakly to the pot on the stove.
"Unfair, because this is great soup." Kat shook her head, then turned back to her friend again, " — and if you don't relax, you'll get yourself killed before any agent even gets here."
"My time will run out here soon enough," Quinn said, " — and until then I have to find another place, make sure I get there without being shot in the head, make sure you don't get shot in the head in the process —"
Quinn felt her heart kicking up, adrenaline thrumming through her body. She hadn't slept well, only catching three to four hours at most and spending the rest on the computer. Her mind was used to the constant buzz of work activity, and forcing it to be silent wouldn't work. She itched to do something productive, to get out of Prague and back to her life.
Whatever my life is now.
"Quinn — I would not have helped you if I was not aware of and willing to take the risks."
Kat's voice was sharp. She removed the soup from the stovetop, before angrily dumping some other spice into it.
"What if I'm not willing for you to take the risks," continued Quinn, " — I can't sit still and do nothing while every day passing means my chances of surviving are minimized."
"You're not seeing yourself, Quinn." Kat replied, turning to face Quinn fully, " — you barely sleep. You look like a ghost. You've been maniacally cleaning the apartment — " Kat gestured to the immaculate room, " — for the past few days. You're not fine, and you need to rest."
"I am fine. My wounds are healed —"
"You're not fine." Kat bit back, tone increasing, "Why can't you see that?"
"I'm perfectly normal —" Quinn started, annoyance bubbling within her.
"No! No, no, no." Kat's hands fisted, tone growing angry, " — you're not rationalizing this to me, Quinn. You have to listen to me."
Quinn felt temper bubbling, worked hard to reign it in.
"You may be better physically, but you're not doing well mentally. That's ok, that's fine and normal, but what's not ok is your absolute refusal to see it."
"I am fine." Quinn said, tone sharp, "You're not letting me do my work, and that's what's making me anxious."
Kat chuckled hollowly, "Oh, that's rich. Quinn, you haven't been doing anything but work since leaving Hypatia. You can't step away from it, and now that you have to it's crushing you."
Pride and self-respect swirled with the anger, kicking up an ugly storm.
"You're completely wrong."
"You know I'm not," Kat shot back, " — I know you, Quinn, and that's what makes me right. You can't control what's happening to you now, and it unsettles you. Just admit it."
"Admit what? That I'm a little anxious that I have a kill order on my head? Is that what you want to hear?" Quinn's tone climbed higher and higher.
"Once again, you're rationalizing. You can't reason with your own destructive behavior, Quinn." Kat shook her head violently, "I'm your friend, and I care about you. That's why I'm calling you out."
Quinn felt her chest turning, anger brewing stronger. It knocked aside the part of her that'd commandeered her entire personality for the past years — her logical side. Unsettling that balance always evoked more emotion than Quinn was used to, than Quinn knew how to process.
"If you were my friend, you'd let me go out and do my work."
"Do you even hear yourself?" Kat's eyes turned to slits, " — you're not you, Quinn. None of this is, and you need to take the time to get back to you before anything else happens."
Quinn turned silent, turning her face away from her friend. She didn't want to say anything she would regret. Kat sighed. A quiet settled in the kitchen.
"Fine." Kat said, finally, "You don't want to talk? I'll leave you to brew. I'm going to practice."
Kat abandoned the soup, striding out of the kitchen with firm steps. She fished up her dance bag from the floor, snatched her keys from the bowl by the door before it opened and then slammed shut behind her.
Quinn sank to the table in front of her, a migraine brewing.
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a/n: happy friday people! a lot of stuff happening this chapter! much to process, truly.
questions of the chapter:
1. how will kent influence the kill order? will she manage to switch it up?
2. quite an argument between kat + quinn .. who's right? who's wrong?
3. what do you guys think happens next?
xo, cleo