Chapter 9
It's six o'clock, and Quinn's sitting in a BND ops room across town, with Carrie and Saul at the table beside him. Five screens show live footage of Allison Carr—her movements, her meetings, her every step scrutinized. Astrid is here, too, along with three other BND officers. Quinn stretches, then walks over to the back table where a plate of stale donuts sits next to two urns of coffee. He grabs a cup, the bitter smell already making his stomach turn.
He's fucking exhausted. Comes with the territory, he supposes. A night spent doing anything but sleeping. He smiles to himself. He's supposed to meet Lily in a couple hours. He needs to go back to his apartment, change, throw together an overnight bag. He wonders if it'll look too obvious—too eager—showing up to her hotel with a bag in tow. But the alternative—another morning without fresh clothes or a toothbrush—is unthinkable. He'll risk it.
The thought of spending the next twelve hours with Lily makes his heart pick up its pace. But first, he needs to get the hell out of here.
Quinn pours his coffee, closes his eyes for a beat. An averted sarin attack. An explosion at the S-Bahn. A mole in the CIA who might have put a hit on Carrie. And now, a new job hanging over him like a guillotine. Add to that an incredibly beautiful distraction named Lily Taylor. It's a lot for anyone.
"Peter," he feels a hand on his back.
"Hi," he turns around to find Astrid standing behind him, her gaze soft and concerned.
"You okay?" she asks, her voice gentle but cautious.
Astrid is always cautious, always gentle with him. Maybe that's why he doesn't have the heart to tell her that he can't give her what she really wants. Even though he's often wished he could.
"Yeah," Quinn says, taking a sip of coffee. "Just tired."
"It's a lot—the explosion, this..." She gestures toward the screens, her eyes searching his face, as if she knows exactly what's weighing on him.
"Yeah," he mutters.
"Do you think it was the men you were working with?" she asks.
Quinn exhales, staring down at his coffee, the question stirring up memories. "Yeah. I do. Hassan, their leader, was paranoid from the start. He didn't trust the sarin would work. I was supposed to be their test. It only got worse after I got out. The kid who helped me—I don't even want to know what happened to him. Carrie and I spent hours looking through files today. Found jack shit."
Astrid sighs, her eyes scanning the room. "We've got men all over the city looking for them. It's possible they've already left the country."
"Possible, or probable?" Quinn mutters to himself.
"Right." She pours herself a cup of coffee, her movements calm, deliberate.
Quinn watches her for a moment, then shifts his attention to the screens again.
"Your girlfriend… working with the CIA again, huh?" Astrid's voice is teasing, but there's an edge to it.
Quinn doesn't take the bait. He knows exactly what she's getting at. It's not hard to read between the lines with Astrid. She's never liked Carrie. Maybe it's the history. Maybe it's something deeper, something unspoken. Quinn could try to reassure her—tell her that Carrie's not the threat she thinks she is—but that would mean confronting something he's not ready to face.
"For now, anyway," he says, looking back at her with a half-smile.
Astrid raises an eyebrow, her expression somewhere between amusement and suspicion. "Maybe Otto During isn't all he's cracked up to be," she suggests with a sly smile.
Quinn grins, shaking his head. "Who the hell knows."
"And you?" she presses, her voice playful. "What happens when this—" she gestures toward the screen again, "—is over? Will you go back to Syria, or stay with the civilized for a while?"
"That's cute," Quinn says, chuckling. "I think I'm heading back to the U.S., actually."
"Really." Astrid sounds surprised. "Good for you." She pauses. "Although I'll miss your random appearances in restaurants on my date nights."
"That last one couldn't have been much of a date," he shoots back with a grin.
"It was good enough not to take you up on your offer," she counters, eyebrow raised.
"Ouch," Quinn laughs.
"You see?" she teases, "You're not so irresistible."
"I've got some work to do," Quinn grins, leaning back slightly.
She laughs, then her smile fades a little. "I've missed you. Glad you're okay."
"Thanks, Astrid," he says quietly, looking at her for a long moment. "I appreciate that."
She nods toward the screens. "Better get back to it, then?"
"Yeah," Quinn mutters, as he watches Allison make her rounds. It's endless—every step, every transaction meticulously cataloged. And still, nothing solid.
As if on cue, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He checks the screen. Max.
His heart skips a beat.
"Yeah?" he answers, already heading toward the exit.
"Hey, can you talk?" Max's voice comes through, low and direct.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"I ran the check."
"And?"
"Your girl's clean. Also, way too good for you."
Quinn laughs despite himself. "Fuck you. Tell me."
"Born in Chicago. One sibling, older brother. Dad's an investment banker with Morgan Stanley. Mom's a pediatrician. Did undergrad at the University of Chicago, graduated with honors—economics, if you're wondering. Played varsity soccer, maybe she can teach you."
"Max—"
"Yale Law School after that. Worked for a big New York firm, then moved to DC, DOJ—standard clearance, no red flags. She left DOJ for YouGo two years ago, you already know that. Two speeding tickets, four parking tickets, no arrests. She's donated to both parties. By the way, did you know the motto of Chicago is 'where fun goes to die?'"
"I didn't."
"What you've got here, my friend, is a super nerd who could probably beat the pants off of you on a soccer field. She's legit."
Quinn chuckles, feeling a mix of relief and surprise. "Thanks for this, Max. I appreciate it."
"Anytime. Any leads on the explosion?"
"Maybe. But it's... a mess," Quinn admits, looking back at the team still watching the screens. "I gotta go. I'm heading back to Langley soon. I'll see you there, yeah?"
"Yeah. Take care."
"You too. And, Max—don't say anything about this to anyone."
"Obviously."