Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 2

The sun was barely cutting through the fog rolling over Langley as Quinn Reeds stepped through the tinted glass doors of the CIA's headquarters. Dressed in a black suit with a pressed white shirt and narrow navy tie, he looked every bit the part of the polished operative—clean-shaven, with a squared jaw, short chestnut brown hair combed with precision, and that ever-present alertness in his icy blue eyes. He moved with a soldier’s grace—calculated, steady, always aware of exits. His large frame—muscled from years of military and field work—drew attention when he walked into a room, even when he wasn’t trying to.

Security cleared him in seconds. Everyone knew Quinn Reeds. Decorated Marine. One of the CIA’s top field agents. He didn’t just follow the rules—he made the rules work for him. A Boy Scout with an edge.

The conference room was already buzzing when he entered. A wall-mounted screen showed a paused frame of the smuggler he’d apprehended the night before—bloodied, bruised, scowling into the lens of an interrogation camera. Quinn glanced at the screen briefly, then sat at the long glass table as the briefing began.

Director Mason, a stern woman in her fifties with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a tight bun, stood at the head. "This man is Anton Vega. Arms runner, money launderer, and one hell of a ghost. We’ve been tracking him for nearly a decade."

Quinn crossed his arms. “He got sloppy.”

“Or desperate,” Mason replied, tapping a remote. The screen changed to an image of a digital hard drive encased in clear plastic. "We recovered this from his safehouse. It’s encrypted, but we’ve made progress."

Right on cue, the conference room door opened and in walked a man who looked like he’d stepped off the set of a British hacker movie—sandy blonde hair in a messy sweep, slim black-rimmed glasses, a dark hoodie under a blazer, and worn jeans that somehow passed agency dress code. He carried a tablet and a mischievous grin.

“Ladies, gents… and Quinn,” Gary Smith greeted with a smirk.

“Gary,” Quinn said, his tone dry but amused. “You still dress like you work in your mom’s basement.”

“She’s got great Wi-Fi,” Gary shot back, sliding into the chair next to him. “Also, I cracked Vega’s hard drive. You’re welcome.”

Gary was 37, same age as Quinn, but with a personality that made him seem a decade younger. A wiry build, slightly hunched posture from too much time behind computers, and a face that always looked like it was about to laugh—even when it shouldn’t. They’d been friends since middle school, served together in the military—Gary as a tech and field medic, Quinn as the elite operator—and joined the CIA not long after. They were opposites in every way, and yet, they clicked like magnets.

Director Mason gestured. “Go ahead, Mr. Smith.”

Gary pulled up files on the screen. “So this little brick of secrets? Turns out it’s loaded with more than just financial trails. It’s got encrypted communication logs, access points to black market weapon shipments, a handful of false IDs, and—wait for it—government clearance codes.”

Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Our government?”

Gary nodded, the grin fading. “Somebody high up is helping these guys. And I don’t mean low-level corruption. I’m talking about access to defense satellite schedules, federal safehouse coordinates, surveillance blind spots. This isn’t petty crime. This is tactical infiltration.”

Mason’s jaw clenched. “We need to find out who gave them access—and why.”

Quinn leaned forward. “Any leads on where the data originated?”

Gary scrolled through his tablet. “Some of it’s been rerouted through proxies in Eastern Europe, Africa, and parts of Asia. But the core? It started right here. D.C.”

The room went quiet.

“Vega said nothing during interrogation,” Quinn added. “Not a word. Either he’s terrified, or he’s loyal. Possibly both.”

Mason nodded. “We’ll keep pressure on him. Quinn, you’re on point. I want a full trace run on those clearance codes. Find out who had access and how it got leaked.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Quinn replied, already mentally compiling the list.

The briefing wrapped quickly. As the others filed out, Gary lingered behind with Quinn.

“So,” Gary said, tilting his head, “wanna tell me what’s actually bothering you?”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Besides national betrayal and internal leaks?”

Gary gave him a look. “Don’t dodge me. We’ve known each other too long. Something’s off.”

Quinn exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s Alicia. Last night… we talked about kids.”

Gary’s tone shifted immediately—softer, more sincere. “Yeah?”

“I brought up adoption,” Quinn said, his voice low. “She… wasn’t into it. Said she doesn’t think she wants kids anymore.”

Gary frowned. “That’s… out of the blue. I thought she did.”

“So did I.”

There was a long pause. Gary sat back, thinking. “Maybe she’s scared. I mean, being married to a guy who disappears for weeks and might not come home… not exactly the dream family setup.”

“I know,” Quinn said. “But I want a legacy, Gary. Something beyond this job. I want to teach my kid how to fish. How to be better than me. Alicia knows that.”

Gary nodded. “Maybe you two need time. Talk it out again. Figure out where her head really is.”

“I don’t think she’s telling me everything.”

Gary gave him a sympathetic look. “Quinn… if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you don’t give up. Not in the field, and not at home. You’ll figure this out. You always do.”

Quinn nodded, but the weight in his chest remained. He glanced back at the encrypted files still glowing on the screen. “One crisis at a time, I guess.”

Gary grinned. “That’s the spirit. Also, don’t forget—tonight’s poker night. Don’t bail.”

“I’ll try not to get shot first,” Quinn said dryly.

Gary winked. “That’s the attitude.”

As they left the conference room, neither of them realized just how deep the rabbit hole of betrayal and secrets would go—or how soon the line between loyalty and love would blur.