Special Agent | ✓

Two

(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.