Chapter 27

The cool air of the Mossad safe house is a welcome relief after the stifling humidity of Tel Aviv. Quinn settles into his seat at the conference table, his eyes scanning the latest reports as Ari Rosen talks through overnight developments. Quinn's mind is already shifting to what he needs to accomplish in the next few days before he heads back to DC.

These whirlwind trips—6,000 miles there and back—are definitely starting to take their toll. Military transport is a small mercy; still, there's really no great way to log that many miles twice in as many weeks and not feel like shit.

Carrie is sitting at the far end of the table, her posture straight, her attention fixed on the screen in front of her. She's a remarkably quick study, having already tapped into her old network to find additional intelligence on two hard-to-find targets that Mossad has been chasing for months. Quinn shouldn't be surprised—Carrie is always singularly obsessed with the mission—but still... the time away from the agency hasn't dulled her senses at all. It's part of what makes her so damn impressive, despite her complete inability to follow any chain of command.

Ari's voice cuts through his thoughts. "We've shifted resources to intercepting weapons shipments along the border. Iran is reinforcing Hamas with heavier equipment. We're trying to assist IDF in tracking those shipments."

"Fine," Quinn leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "Where are we on Diafah?"

Carrie leans forward, her voice steady. "He's mine. We've got multiple case officers tracking confirmed sitings—as of this morning, three in Rafah in the last 48 hours."

"What are we doing about it?"

"We have a high accuracy bomb," Ari interjects, "but we need to get close to his vehicle. It'll be tough, but my guys can handle it."

"Good," Quinn nods, his mind turning to the next problem.

Preston looks up from his tablet, adding in his measured tone, "What about the comms? Last I heard, Hezbollah intercepted some of our transmissions—we need to be sure our channels are secure."

Carrie glances at him, then back at Quinn. "I've spoken to the tech team about rerouting comms through a different relay. Should have that set up by tonight. About tech support, though..." she shoots Quinn a pointed look.

"Max?" he answers before she can finish.

She rewards him with smile, a genuine one—and in that moment, it does actually feel like they're operating like a team again. Saul would be proud.

"Yeah, I'll call him," Quinn stands and grabs his laptop. "Anything else? I have to report in to Kristoff in two hours."

"We'll have talking points on your desk," Preston assures him.

"Great, thanks," Quinn heads for the door. "Good work, guys. Ari—let's touch base later."

Ari nods and turns back toward Carrie and Preston. "I need to keep you two for a few minutes."

Quinn lets the sound of their hushed voices fade as he steps into the hallway, pulling out his phone. The usual flood of messages. He doesn't bother checking. No time for distractions. The mission is everything right now.

The phone rings a few times before Max picks up. The familiar sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard echoes through the line, as per the norm.

"Quinn," Max's voice is laced with the kind of skepticism that only several years of partnership can breed. "I'm going to assume this is a business call, not a 'Hey, let's grab a beer' kind of situation."

Quinn chuckles, but it's strained; he's been on the clock for 17 hours straight and it's past 2 a.m. in Tel Aviv. His body is running on fumes, but there's no time to rest. Not yet.

"Wish I were available for a beer, but seeing that I'm in Tel Aviv..."

"I could be there tomorrow night," Max deadpans.

"That would be great, actually," Quinn says slowly. "That's why I'm calling."

"You want to take me out for a beer tomorrow night in Tel Aviv."

"Sure. When can you be here?"

"Humor's not your strong suit, Quinn."

"I take offense at that. Anyway, I need you."

Max snorts. "You need me for what? Some covert hacking job, or you planning to get me tangled up in another embassy breach?"

Quinn can't help but smile. Max never changes. "Hopefully not the latter. But we've got a situation here, and I do need you—we need you. Carrie's here, too," he pauses, hoping this will tip the tables in his favor.

He knows how close Carrie and Max are. "We're working on secure comms, data encryption, some covert surveillance—some of our comms have been breached, and really, you're the only one I trust to make sure our shit is secure."

"Such a flatterer," Max replies, his voice dry. He pauses. "Carrie's there?"

"Yup," Quinn grins, practically hearing the gears turn in Max's head. "It'll be just like the good old days."

"Yeah, well," Max finally says, "last time I checked, 'the good old days' were full of people in body bags. No one shoots at me at Langley."

"That's true," Quinn muses. "But there's no excitement there either."

"Says the guy who took the big job at headquarters..."

Quinn can't help but smile. Max isn't wrong. "Look," Quinn says firmly. "We need you here. I'll buy you a beer—here—tomorrow night. Personally. Get on a fucking plane, Max."

Max laughs again, but it's tinged with resignation. "Alright, alright, fine. I'll come out. But just a short trip. I'm not signing up for a month of dodging rockets and IEDs, okay?"

Quinn's smile returns, a satisfied nod. "Great. Carrie and I will see you tomorrow."

"Right. Sure. Stay safe, big shot." Max sounds half-mocking, half-exhausted.

"You, too, Max," Quinn says with a smirk. "And thanks."

Max hangs up without saying goodbye, and Quinn leans back in his chair, relieved. Another piece of the puzzle falls into place.

Now, it's just a matter of getting through the next few days.