Chapter 18

"How did the breach occur, Mr. Quinn?"

Quinn swallows and steadies himself before answering. He's done this before. Just stick to the script.

"As we now know, the ambassador's husband was selling secrets to the Pakistani intelligence agency, which was working with—protecting—Mr. Haqqani. Of course, we didn't know this at the time."

The next question comes faster than expected. "You were close to the ambassador, were you not?"

Quinn pauses, his throat tight. "I'm not sure how to answer that question, Senator Lane. I knew her, of course. We worked together, along with then-station chief Sandy Bachman, to identify ways to improve our standing with the Pakistanis. But I… I didn't interact with her any more than I did with other embassy personnel."

"Sandy Bachman—who was killed on your watch."

Quinn hesitates. "Yes, Senator Lane. I was driving the car when we were—when we were ambushed."

There's a slight tilt to the senator's head, a sharpness in her eyes. "And the ambassador—who relied on you to protect Mr. Bachman," her voice drips with contempt—"also relied on you to retrieve her husband on multiple occasions when he was inebriated at the embassy bar, yes?"

Quinn's fingers twitch, a brief crack in his otherwise composed exterior. "Yes, Senator, that's correct. There were occasions where I… helped her with this particular… issue."

A pause. A beat. Then: "He never aroused your suspicion?"

"No, Senator, he didn't. He seemed… he seemed sad. Out of place." Quinn smiles tightly, forcing himself to look her in the eye. "Not an uncommon reaction for newcomers in Islamabad."

"And yet, he was secretly passing on sensitive intelligence to the enemy."

Quinn's jaw tightens, but he keeps his voice steady. "Yes, Senator. In hindsight, there were signs—there always are. But at the time, I—we—didn't see them."

The next question comes like a shot to the chest. "How did you become aware that the embassy had been breached?"

Quinn rubs his forehead, fighting the knot that tightens there. He takes a sip of water, his throat dry. "From the ambassador. She—she called me. Let me know her husband had given Pakistani intelligence a map of the embassy. Which meant they knew about the tunnel… the one leading from the economics section to the city."

"And why were you unable to secure protection for the embassy at that time?"

Quinn swallows again, an uncomfortable heat creeping up the back of his neck. "I'm—I'm sorry, Senator. The Marines had been—deployed to assist former acting Director Berenson. And Ms. Mathison, who was serving as Kabul station chief at the time. Ms. Mathison was leading an exchange which involved the swapping of Mr. Berenson for… for several Taliban prisoners being held by the US in Afghanistan. They were ambushed on the way back to the embassy."

A brief, clipped response from Senator Lane: "Which, in hindsight, was an obvious plot to draw all of the Marines away from the embassy itself."

Quinn's hands twitch at his sides. He pushes down a surge of frustration. "Yes, ma'am, in hindsight, that seems obvious."

The senator's voice sharpens, her tone accusing. "Who, Mr. Quinn—in your view—is responsible for the colossal failure that occurred at the embassy that day?"

Quinn's chest tightens, his pulse quickening. The eyes of the room feel like they're pinning him to the chair. He takes a slow breath, trying to steady the storm building inside. His answer is measured, but there's a flicker of something darker in his gaze. "Senator, I—I don't think I'm in a position to assign blame. I can only speak for myself. Whatever role I played in the breakdown of order that day, I fully accept."

"Thank you, Senator Lane. Your time is up."

Quinn's shoulders drop in a subtle release, the tension temporarily ebbing, as the Chair brings Senator Lane's questioning to a merciful conclusion. Quinn's fingers briefly brush against the glass of water in front of him. He has to shake off the sharp sting of that last question.

"Thank you, I yield back to the Chair."

"Senator Johnson."

Quinn exhales quietly. Senator Johnson, at least, isn't looking to crucify him. The man's friendly enough—nothing flashy, just the type who prefers to be seen as reasonable.

"Thank you, Chairman. Mr. Quinn, I'd like to use my time to thank you for your service to this country, including that horrific day in Islamabad where so many brave American men and women lost their lives during the worst terror attack on a U.S. embassy in American history."

Quinn nods, keeping his gaze steady. "Thank you, Senator."

"For the record, Mr. Quinn, you received the Presidential Medal of Freedom—the highest honor an active-duty officer can receive from this government—for your actions on that day. Isn't that correct?"

Quinn's lips tighten into a thin smile. "Senator, I leave it to those more expert than I to weigh in on the hierarchy of honors awarded to active-duty officers, but yes, I did receive a commendation from President Woodson. I was honored, of course. Grateful."

"We are grateful to you, Mr. Quinn, for the many lives you single-handedly saved that day, including those of the CIA Director, the Ambassador to Pakistan, and countless other CIA agents and embassy employees. The survivors of that unspeakable attack bore witness to your remarkable heroism on that day, and I think it bears repeating—" he directs this remark toward Senator Lane—"that, but for your actions in that embassy on that day, this would have been a slaughter of mass proportions." He pauses.

Quinn swallows, looking down at his notes. He doesn't speak.

"And," Senator Johnson continues, "we are grateful for your service in Syria, where you led many strategically critical missions against—frankly—overwhelming odds."

"Thank you, sir."

"If I may say, this administration and this country will be fortunate to have someone of your caliber leading our most elite unit of our most elite intelligence agency."

"Thank you, Senator, I will do my best to bring honor to an agency that means very much to me personally."

Senator Johnson gives Quinn a warm nod, before turning back to the Chair. "I yield the rest of my time, Chair."

"Thank you, Senator Johnson…. Senator Crowley."

The room shifts. Quinn feels the weight of the moment settle over him again. He's getting through it—but the real test is still ahead. It's not about surviving this hearing. It's about surviving the job. His jaw clenches as he prepares for what's to come.