Tom Bishop: Happy?
Nathan Muir: Seventy-four casualties, an apartment block leveled, one dead terrorist? Yeah, happy.
Tom Bishop: We have some fucked up barometer for success, don't we?
Anna Cathcart: The Scotch is older than she is.
Nathan Muir: Am I supposed to feel bad about that?
Nathan Muir: We didn't know when the Doc was going to be giving the Sheik his physical but it was our one and only opportunity to take him out. So I didn't have the usual time to butter him up. Which means we needed twice the sex with half the foreplay.
Nathan Muir: You go off the reservation, I will not come after you.
Nathan Muir: She had worked both ends against the middle for so long, the middle decided to give up and go home.
Tom Bishop: Vodka did me in, I'm comin' home.
Nathan Muir: Throw out the bottle. They know.
Tom Bishop: Fuck your rules, Nathan.
Nathan Muir: Okay, but tonight they saved your life.
Charles Harker: So, sir, you and Muir came up together, right?
Troy Fogler: Mmm-hmm.
Charles Harker: How well do you know him?
Troy Fogler: No one knows Nathan, not really.
Charles Harker: Do you trust him?
Troy Fogler: He's a man who got the job done.
Tom Bishop: She's just someone I used to get to the camp.
Nathan Muir: She gonna be of any more use to us?
Tom Bishop: Not to us.
Chosen answer: He might have taken a medical equivalent to a regulated dose of Curare, which can suspend the body temporarily in a coma-like state, while keeping the mind active and perceptive. It could also have been tetrodotoxin, which has remarkably similar effects, but lasts longer. In either case, they were specifically engineered for his physiology, indicating a pharmacologist's aid in their endeavor.