Chris stared at Morin for a long time.
He stared so hard that Morin started to wonder if the man was still dizzy or if his soul hadn't fully returned to his body yet.
"...You know," Chris finally said, rubbing his temples, "every time I think I've figured you out, you say something that makes me question all my life choices."
Morin smiled politely. "That means I'm doing my job well."
"No, that means you're dangerous," Chris corrected him bluntly. "And not in the usual way."
Morin shrugged and leaned against the desk. "Danger is relative. Compared to me, the CIA is far more dangerous."
Chris snorted. "That's the first time I've heard someone say that so casually."
Morin zipped up his bag and tapped it lightly. "That list you mentioned-the one involving all CIA agents. You already know what kind of chaos it would cause if it leaked."
Chris's expression darkened. "International chaos. Trust collapses. Allies start suspecting each other. Agents get burned overnight."
"Exactly," Morin said. "Which is why I'm not the one stealing it."
Chris frowned. "You keep saying that, but you're the one walking into Langley."
"Yes," Morin agreed. "With a badge that says IRS."
Chris's mouth twitched. "You make it sound like a universal skeleton key."
Morin raised a finger. "Not universal. Just... extremely persuasive."
Chris sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair.
"You realize," he said slowly, "that if anything goes wrong, the first people they'll investigate are us."
Morin nodded. "Which is why it won't go wrong."
"That's not reassuring."
"It should be," Morin said calmly. "Because if something does go wrong, it means things have already gone so far off the rails that an investigation won't matter anymore."
Chris went quiet.
After a few seconds, he muttered, "...I hate that I understand what you mean."
Morin grinned.
Chris flipped through the remaining documents, then shoved them back into the drawer and locked it.
"Fine," he said. "I'll authorize temporary access credentials. Limited scope. Limited time."
"That's all I need," Morin replied.
Chris hesitated, then asked, "You still haven't answered my question."
"Which one?"
"Who's the guy on the inside?" Chris asked. "The one you're providing cover for."
Morin paused at the door.
For a brief moment-just a fraction of a second-his usual relaxed expression vanished, replaced by something sharp and unreadable.
"A professional," Morin said at last. "Someone who does impossible things for a living."
Chris raised an eyebrow. "That narrows it down to half the intelligence community."
Morin smiled again, the easy smile returning. "Then you'll never guess correctly."
He opened the door, then stopped and glanced back.
"Oh, and Chris?"
"...What now?"
Morin gestured vaguely toward the window, where the distant echo of sirens could still be heard.
"Next time you pick me up," he said sincerely, "you might want to fasten your seatbelt a little tighter."
Chris's eye twitched.
"Get out."
Morin chuckled and stepped into the hallway.
Behind him, Chris sank back into his chair, staring at the ceiling.
"...An IRS agent providing cover for a CIA break-in," he muttered.
After a moment, he added:
"I really should've retired earlier."