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Chapter Text

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Part V - "Aqhat"

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She raised her voice and cried, "Listen, O hero Aqhat!
Ask for silver and I will give it to you,
gold, and I will bestow it to you!
Just give your bow to Maiden Anat,
your arrows to Ybmt Limm!"
But the hero Aqhat answered,
"Most splendid cedars from Lebanon,
most splendid sinews from wild oxen,
most splendid horns from wild rams,
tendons from bull's legs,
most splendid reeds from a vast bed,
Give these to Kothar-wa-Hasis!
He will construct a bow for Anat,
arrows for Ybmt Limm."
Then Maiden Anat replied,
"Ask for life, O hero Aqhat;
ask for life and I will give it to you,
immortality, and I will bestow it to you.
I will cause you to count years with Baal,
with the sons of El you will count months.
Like Baal when he gives life,
he provides a banquet for the living one,
he provides a banquet and serves him drink,
The singer chants and sings over him,
and they respond to him;
Thus will I myself give life to the hero Aqhat."
But the hero Aqhat answered,
"Do not deceive me, O Maiden,
for to a hero your lies are loathsome.
A man, what does he receive in the end;
what fate does a man receive?
Glaze will be poured on my head,
lime on the top of my pate.
Surely the death of all will I die;
most certainly will I die.
And further words now will I speak;
Bows are for warriors,
Will womenfolk now hunt with one?"
Loudly laughed Anat, but in her heart
she devised a plan.
"Hearken to me, O hero Aqhat,
hearken to me and to you will I speak.
If indeed I encounter you on the road of rebellion,
...on the road of pride,
I myself will trample you under my feet,
most charming and strongest of men!"

"The Cycle of Anat and the Bow of Aqhat"
translated by Neal H. Walls

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Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
7:12 am

With a sigh, Max stepped out of his and Caroline's bedroom. While the past few months had certainly been an adventure, he found himself longing for the quiet days when it had simply been himself and his dignified white-haired wife. Then, he had been the island's eccentric, the crazy American with the big ideas, while Caroline had been serene, at peace with the misfortunes of her younger days.

He nodded to his stepson's auburn-haired partner as she left her own private space. "How long did you sleep, Dana?"

She had just caught her hair in one hand to fasten a barrette around the lengthening, still-damp curls. "Sleep? With the Gunmen here?" One corner of her mouth twitched. "I've only now had a break for a quick shower."

His gaze fell on the fresh bandages on her cheek. "How does your face feel?"

Finished adjusting the clip, she tapped her jaw gingerly. "It pulls a bit, but, it's healing well. The hormones seem to have helped in the recovery." She took a step back to look him squarely in the eye. "Do you know who is responsible for policing and protecting antiquities here on Santorini?"

Max sighed. "I'm afraid that was a rather heated topic of discussion a few days ago. Brother Petras from the Monastery was extremely concerned that nothing serious was being done. It seems the matter is left to the island's police, or what few hired guards the municipalities occasionally provide."

She crossed her arms. "Do you still have any contacts in the art world? Someone who could take a look at some artifacts to determine their authenticity?"

He chewed his white mustache for a moment before he responded. "I think I still have friends in out of the way places. What do you think you have?"

She eyed him intently, as if considering something, then turned toward the study. "Follow me."

Still feeling muzzy from the hour's nap he had caught in his room, Mulder frowned at the quiet conversations he could barely discern, let alone understand. As he walked down the hall, his partner's words floated out. "According to Spyridon Marinatos' original excavation notes, they found niches for statuettes, which he thought were an Egyptian influence on the culture - "

He hear Max’s voice. "But no statuettes. So he concluded the inhabitants had been able to evacuate before the final explosion and ash fall, but he wasn't certain to where."

Mulder turned into the study. His partner, her reading glasses perched on her nose, was frowning at what he presumed was text on the computer monitor. His stepfather had images of several of the items from Andrews' catalog spread across the desk in front of him.

Caroline looked up from her seat on the couch. "Ah, Fox, good morning." Tucking a slim paperback under her right arm, she crossed the room to hug him momentarily with the left, before she turned to Scully. "It puts me very much in mind of the recent discoveries at Herculaneum." She curled the left cover back without bending the spine, then pointed.

Scully pushed up her glasses to peruse the images. "Yes. If these are authentic, then the purported discovery location makes a good deal of sense."

"What makes sense?" Mulder eyed the three in the room in turn.

Max held up one of the print-outs. "That these were found at Exomitis Cape." He walked to the shelves to take down a small, and well-thumbed, guide to Santorini. "It's the southernmost part of the island, and a launching point that would take voyagers by sea to the nearest island, Anaphi." He opened the book to the center map, then tapped the glossy paper. "We all live on the rim of what was once a circular volcanic cone, Mulder." He turned the page. "Prior to the final eruption, there were probably several smaller ones. That last was cataclysmic, though, lifting the center of the island clean off the face of the earth. Thirasia, Aspro Nisi, and the main island of Thera are all that remains from before the eruption."

Mulder nodded. He vaguely remembered parts of this from the tour at Akrotiri. "So, some of the occupants had time to leave and take their possessions with them, or - "

"Hide them in hopes of an eventual return." Scully nodded. "But, the island was buried in ash so deeply that any who did try to come back lost of hope of reclaiming their homes. The island wasn't inhabited again, on a large scale, until Hellenic times, as you know." She took off her glasses. "So, if this cache does indeed turn out to be authentic, it would be an incalculable addition to the archaeological record."

Caroline sighed. "We shouldn't, unfortunately, forget what probably is motivating all this: greed. Those same wonderful artifacts would make whoever could sell them very wealthy. Look at what happened to Schleimann's gold."

Scully cocked her head. "It might be locals here. After all, that's exactly how most of the pre-Columbian pottery ended up in museums in Mexico, because residents were grave-robbing from their ancestors."

Mulder stood by her. "So, you think the tour guide's family was working with Stuart and Andrews to smuggle these off the island?"

"Or, they're cooperating in the perpetration of a very elaborate fraud to sell fakes," Max’s hazel eyes twinkled at Caroline.

She smiled back knowingly. "But, that, my dear, is why you're about to make some calls, now isn't it?"

Mulder found himself wondering at the exchange, but after the long dark years with his mother, chose not to probe, so turned to his white-haired step-father. "You know someone who could have these evaluated?"

Max walked over to clap his stepson on the shoulder. "One could say that." With another odd smirk at the dark-haired agent, he picked up the phone to tap out a series of numbers. "Eric! Sorry to call so early in the morning. It's Max Lowenberg. Hello!"

Mulder watched the older man conduct an animated conversation with his caller, but tuned out of the specifics related to pigments and clays. Scully would keep those straight in that precisely compartmented mind of hers, until the details impacted their case. He sensed the conversation winding down as Max began asking about shows and commissions, social niceties that he always seemed to bobble.

He let his attention wander, as it often did these past few weeks, to his auburn-haired partner. He found himself awash in a profound sense of relief that she had decided to remain with the X-Files. It was as he had tried to tell her, over and over; she had become essential, both professionally and personally, to their joint work. But she hadn't slept the previous night, nor had he. Despite her keen focus on the case, he knew she still needed rest to continue her healing.

He had also been secretly thrilled, when she reaffirmed, however briefly, that her life and career were so intertwined with his that she would never leave. She might one day, he constantly reminded himself, find a man who would love her in a way he knew he could not consider; he would, with some trepidation, be genuinely happy for her then. But, as his partner, they would remain united for the duration of their careers at the Bureau, thus mooting most of his concerns. In a way, it was a great relief that Samantha was whole, healthy, and self-sufficient. He understood now that for the immediate future, the focus of his attentions should remain on the red-haired woman speaking quietly with his mother.

That was, until three words slipped past his stepfather's lips to penetrate his consciousness. "How is Phoebe?" Then all certainty collapsed as shining dust into a golden heap at his feet.

Scully had been watching her partner drift mentally as Max had continued his conversation. It was, she had become aware during countless interminable meetings in Skinner's office, his way of resting without sleep. At the word 'Phoebe,' his left cheek had ticked, then his eyelids had dropped into hoods which provided little cover for the implosion she knew was occurring. She began walking around the desk to him, but stopped when Caroline's fingers landed on her arm. She glanced down into a grateful pair of hazel eyes, then smiled gently at the nod giving her permission. Scully understood that, despite the older woman's emotional paralysis during her partner's childhood, her powers of observation were the equal of those of her son.

Feeling her actions bearing the increased weight of maternal approval, the auburn-haired agent reached out to grasp her partner's wrist as he bent close. "Mulder, we need to talk."

A slight stiffening of his thin jaw, a moment's hesitation, then he allowed himself to be led down the hall into the living room. When she stopped, he exploded. "Why her? Why is he talking about *her*?" He huddled over his partner. "Are you the only one I can trust?"

She shook her head. "That's Eric Connors Max is talking to. Remember? He helped them with the art thefts while we were on the homeless virus case."

He blinked. "Oh. Right. With all the work Max has put into finding Sam, he probably - " He narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"

She was rubbing his elbow with her palm. "You weren't paying attention, were you?"

He stared uncomfortably at his feet.

"Eric has a show in San Diego in two weeks. To contact James Andrews on a business pretext would be neither inconvenient nor suspicious." She tipped her head under his down-turned face.

He grinned shakily. "Yeah, you caught me."

Her hand moved up to his shoulder. "So, what were you thinking about, Mulder?"

He raised his head to study her carefully. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

She leaned closer. "Just wanting to vet a paranoid suspicion about Doctor Ishimaru."

He broke into a full lop-sided grin. "Agent Scully, I'm grinding crystal under my heel as we speak." He dropped an arm around her shoulders. "Enlighten me, please."

She stretched up to reach his ear. "You haven't talked to Max much about what he was doing while we were roaming the streets of Baltimore, have you?"

He shook his head.

"He and Phoebe - " She held up the hand not currently pinned against his side. " - Sorry, were attempting to sell Lindhauer a fake painting. It seems our former conspirator liked breaking into art museums for a hobby."

His hazel eyes twinkled. "So, if some of the Consortium members were involved, you're wondering if their Japanese contingent has some connection to this case?" He bit his lower lip as he considered. "It would at least be a possible explanation for the attack on you, as well as why we couldn't find anything on this guy."

She nodded. "If our corpse had been law enforcement internal affairs, someone would have stepped forward, under some pretext, to attempt to claim him. That no one has tells you he's either - "

"An employee of some deeply covert organization, or with the Consortium. I'll leave some porridge for Goldilocks and the Two Bears to set them to running through Saunders' testimony, just to see what they can dig up." A quick squeeze of her shoulders, then Mulder was leaping down the hall as Scully reentered the study.

142 Curie Avenue, University City
San Diego, California
Tuesday, May 26, 1998
8:12 pm

From across the oak kitchen table, Sandra studied the thick-chested detective. "Jerry, will you be all right?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Sure. Right now, this is a lot to process. First, I have this high-priced land shark volunteer to defend me, then the Feds step in, on *my* side, nonetheless, then we find out you have family in the Bureau. *Then*, I lose my lawyer, who for all I know, may have been only interested in covering up his own involvement with Evans. Nothing would surprise me." He sipped the cinnamon tea. "So, what next?"

She eyed him. "Jerry..."

He blinked at her. "What? You're not planning on bursting out with something, are you?"

She cocked one dark, too-heavy eyebrow. "Other than an offer to use my spare bedroom, no."

He gripped the mug with both hands. "Oh. Thanks."

She reached over to grasp his wrist. "Unless you want to go back to your own place, that is."

He shook his head. "That dump? It was my apartment in college, believe it or not. I mostly stash my clothes there, nothing more." His brown eyes canting toward the red tabby lapping water from a bowl. "But, would it disturb the Inquisitor's routine?"

Her slightly oversized lips stretched into a full, lop-sided grin. "To have two prewarmed beds to choose from? I doubt it." She drained the last of her tea. "Seriously, though, should we run you by your place to pick up a new set of those stashed clothes?"

"Nah. Johnson packed some extras in that bag of mine. He guessed, I suppose, that I might be headed elsewhere once I was released."

"Okay." She rolled the crockery between her palms. "The guest bedroom has its own bathroom. And if you have company, don't think too much of it." Her lips twitched at his slight gasp. "For some incomprehensible feline reason, Salazar loves to watch the drops run down the glass."

Jerry found himself smiling as he scrubbed under a stream of blisteringly hot water. He had suddenly realized where he was, what was about to happen. He would be spending his first night with Sandra Miller, although not exactly where he hoped to spend the rest of them. He stepped back to lather up the curls on his scalp.

As Sandra has warned him, there was a round dark form planted outside the stall, its shape distorted by the facets in the glass. He was also faintly aware of a harpsichord, Bach, he thought, coming from somewhere in the house. After the underworld of the prison, the serenity he felt here nearly made him want to weep. He reminded himself that a good night's sleep in a comfortable bed would make all the difference in the world to his outlook. Finished with his ablutions, he turned off the water.

Pushing the door aside, he found that Salazar had planted himself squarely in the center of the bath mat to blink up at him. Donato grinned down at the marmalade eyes. "Show's over, Seignior."

"Urr." The orange tabby rose, then strolled to the bathroom door, which had somehow come unlatched while Jerry had been inside. A flick of a golden paw, them the round feline was easing his girth through the opening.

Jerry chuckled as the white tip of Salazar's tail disappeared through the dark slit. He could certainly get used to living here.

Donato sighed. He had finally convinced Sandra that he really was fine, that he didn't need extra pillows, or a blanket, or, as she had popped in to offer only a few moments earlier, a night light. She had been tentative in her suggestion, shy, almost. It had set him wondering, in the interim, whether she had been looking for some response other than an 'I'll be all right.' Finally, as he heard her own shower start up, his mind drifted to speculations of a more sensual nature.

It was a shock, then, when the chanting began. Very softly, of course; he knew she was making an effort not to wake him, but he strained to listen anyway. She was probably sending up her own memorial to her day, using the time to wind down. He wondered briefly whether she, as did so many of his women friends from college, suffered from insomnia. But, the quiet incantations, as intriguing as they were, acted upon him as something of a lullaby, an eerie contrast to the moans and shouts which had filled the jail at night time. Before he knew it, Jerry Donato was asleep.

"Daddy! No! It's not his fault! Daddy!"

Jerry was stumbling down the hall before he was fully awake.

"Daddy! Stop!"

Donato pushed his way into the darkened bedroom. "Sandra! Wake up!" He froze. She was huddled in the blackest corner, shivering and sweating.

"Don't hurt him. Please!" She was sobbing now.

Jerry knelt in front of her. "Sandra?"

Although her eyes were wide open, she was still in the dream. "Fox." She whispered the name several times, the word fading on her breath. With a shudder, she awoke. "Jerry?" She pulled herself to the foot of her bed. "Jerry?"

He slid a chair over to sit. "Sandra. Tell me about your families."

She was silent for a moment, leading Donato to conclude she was collecting her thoughts. "What do you want to know? I barely remember the Silverbergs." She frowned. "All that really stays with me from my time with them is sun, dust, classes." She gazed down at her fingers. "Oh, and water. Running my hands through water as I irrigated plants. Then how fast they would dry. Instantly, almost."

He shook his head. "Before that. Do you remember anything before that?"

She shrugged. "Why? And what are you doing here?"

He clasped his hands in his lap to stare at them for a moment. "I think you were right earlier."

"What?"

Donato rubbed the back of his neck. "When we find this family member, we'll know."

Sandra reached out to grasp his hand. "Jerry! Tell me!"

He licked his lips. "Do you remember any pets?"

She frowned. "Pets? The Millers had a golden retriever, Rex." She threw him a full lopsided grin. "The best dog, ever. The Silverbergs didn't have any, though. There were animals on the Kibbutz, but none were our pets. Why?"

"You were asking, no, *begging*, your Father not to hurt someone, or something. I think it was 'Fox,' whoever or whatever this Fox was or is. You mentioned a 'Fox' earlier, when you were remembering."

The chestnut-haired woman chewed her lower lip. "That FBI Agent said the family member was in the Bureau. Do you have his card?"

Jerry shook his head. "Perhaps there's a reason to run by my place after all."

Sandra rose before he could extend a hand to help. "Why stop there? I hate being out of control of my life. If he can verify that my memories mean something, then I want to know, and I want to know now."

Donato sighed. The forthright woman he so admired was taking charge, as she was wont to do. "Okay, but let's at least take the time to change into something slightly more presentable, all right?"

Nichols Residence
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
1:11 am

Phil Nichols stumbled on the entrance rug as he reached for the hall light switch. "Okay, okay, I'm coming." The pounding continued until he began unlocking the door. "I wondered when you would appear." The dry comment to the two waiting without was followed by a flash of a grin. "You have more questions, right?" He stepped back to admit them.

Sandra nodded. "This relative in the Bureau. I'm remembering someone or something named 'Fox.' Can he tell me who that is?"

The older man glanced sharply at her. "This way." Once he had them settled in his living room, he disappeared into the darkness, to return moments later with two folders. He handed the top one to her wordlessly. He watched as she read, her eyes having flared momentarily at the first page. The rest she absorbed without visible reaction.

She handed the papers to Donato, then looked up at Nichols. "So, this is who I am." The conclusion was offered in flat, lifeless tones. "Samantha Ann Mulder." She shook her head. "At least the middle name stayed the same."

"And the 'Fox' you remember is your brother." Jerry leaned toward the greying agent. "So, where is he? When can we meet him?" He stopped when a hand landed on his arm. "What?"

Sandra sighed. "This guy is a nut case who believes in ghosts and little green men. He's spent his career chasing things that don't exist! I'm not ready for this. Not now." She had her teeth clenched, attempting to suppress her visceral reaction.

Nichols settled, finally, on a side table, as he decided to bypass the issue of the X-Files for now. "I know this comes as something of a shock. You'll need the time to process it. Talk it over with Jerry, some of your friends. It wouldn't be possible for you to see him soon anyway. He's in Santorini with his FBI partner, Dana Scully." He passed her the second folder.

Jerry waited until she had perused the contents. "You should go, Sandie. You should meet him." He waved the first folder. "According to this, he's been looking for you all his life."

She crossed her arms, then slumped back against the cushions. "No."

The two men exchanged a glance, then Donato pressed his palm down on her wrist. "Why not?"

She glared at him. "We have to clear you of this little thing called a murder charge, Jerry."

The detective rose to begin pacing the room. "That." He turned to the FBI Agent. "Can you help up on that?"

Nichols nodded. "We have someone coming out to check into Evans' other business dealings. But we will want to have Doctor Miller around to answer questions. So, she'll need to stay right here." He rose. "I was serious about what I said earlier. Sandra, you need to talk to someone. Your life is about to change drastically, and you need to be prepared for it." He offered her a card.

She glanced at it, then handed it back to him. "I don't need a shrink. I'm not the one who's insane. I'll take what comes; I always have."

The agent sighed. "I don't think this will be that simple, Doctor Miller, so I'll keep the reference until you ask for it again. And, I'm more than willing to talk to you, should you want a non-professional ear."

Sandra found her feet. "This Fox. Did you know him? Or know of him?"

The balding Montanan shrugged. "We have worked together on a few cases."

She waved a hand. "So, what's he really like? Is he completely crazy?"

The older man chewed his mustache for a moment. "He was one of the best criminal profilers the Bureau's produced. So much so that it earned him the nickname of 'Spooky'." He extended the papers again. "Now, take the folder, please. It's a copy of his official file, as is the one on Scully. You'll want to think these over, very carefully."

Jerry grasped Sandra's elbow firmly. "He's right, Sandie, we should go."

The two men exchanged a nod, then Donato escorted Sandra out the door.

Once they were gone, Phil Nichols dropped against the oak, then sighed. He needed to call the Mediterranean to update Mulder. But, first, he needed to touch base with his own partner. He crossed to the phone in the kitchen, then tapped out a number by memory. After the second ring elicited a response, he was surprised to realize he was tired. "Cary? Sorry to call this late at night. Give your star-lady a nudge there, will you? We need to talk."

Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
10:12 am

Dana Scully glanced over at her partner as they waited in the convertible for Max to back out the Alpha-Romeo. After much debate, they had agreed to leave the sleeping Gunmen behind. The four were off to investigate possible sites for the artifacts without informing Patikopolis, or any of the other local officials. But, whether their potential adversaries were selling an undiscovered cache of antiquities, or generating their own, they were not going unprepared. She shifted to face Mulder, easing away from the surprisingly unfamiliar pressure of her SIG, which was strapped into her back holster for this present excursion. The tall agent behind the wheel was, she knew, carrying his usual double armament. Even Caroline, over Max's vociferous protests, had a loaded revolver in her purse.

Mulder’s dark eyes never left the emerging sedan. "He has nightmares, you know."

"I'm not surprised. How did you first find out?"

Now, he looked over at her. "When we were in Athens and you were back in the States. He tried to talk to me about religion afterward." He guided the Fiat into the narrow lane behind Max and Caroline.

Scully simply nodded, bracing herself for the denunciation she expected to follow. But, her partner's reticence surprised her. "Mulder?"

He canted his eyes toward the passenger seat, then sighed. "He seems to have such strength. Nothing bothers him."

She stared at him for a long moment. "You didn't know him before. Many concentration camp - "

He was shaking his head. "No, I don't mean about that." He bit his lower lip for a moment. "I mean, most religious people are such frauds. They use their idea of God to try to force their will on other people. Like Reverend Hartley. But, not Max. I know he prays. He disappears into the study in the early hours to spend time reading Torah. I hear him then, too. But, he's never forced it on me, or on Mom. We talked in Athens, but that was all."

She continued watching him in silence.

He glanced at her. "Look, as a kid, I blamed God for what happened with Sam."

She reached over to touch his wrist. "I thanked you then, and I thank you now, for having shared that with me, Mulder."

He flashed her a pensive grin. "But, so much has changed since then, Scully." He pointed in a general southward direction. "We've met extraterrestrials, have their DNA under study, and they aren't at all what I believed they would be originally. I believed the UFO-MUFON line about their being here, performing tortuous medical experiments on humans for nefarious ends. But, the shape-shifters see us as just another species here on this planet. They detected us, investigated us, and left. They have their own agenda, one in which we don't play a significant part. Whether we succeed or fail is entirely up to us."

"I think that's always been the case." She sighed, then they exchanged a glance. "Mulder, based on what they told us, there are a multiplicity of sentient life forms in the universe. We can't know that there isn't at least some one or two which might resemble, however superficially, those greys of yours."

Now his eyes danced happily. "This is where I pull over and go down on bended knee, isn't it, Doctor?"

One cheek creased. "I've always been open to extreme possibilities, just so long as they were testable ones." She pointed. "Look, Max is signaling. You'll need to turn right there."

His hands flew over the wheel. "Thanks. With Sam having been raised on a Kibbutz, I'm certain she's found something worthwhile in my ancestors' religion." He gripped the steering wheel, until Scully could see his knuckles turning white. "So, maybe it's time I took Judaism seriously, at least long enough to learn something about it."

She sent him one of her full-wattage smiles. "Mulder, I'd enjoy learning a little more about Judaism myself. I've long ago learned that the truth requires more than one viewpoint to uncover. Besides, there's too much of myself Catholicism asks me to surrender."

His eyebrows threw a canted question at her.

She held up one hand. "Oh, I'm not thinking of converting. But, it's as I said about different viewpoints. Unless I'd read Missy's books on the Magna Mater, I wouldn't have been able to contribute so fully to this investigation, now would I?"

Mulder reached over to clasp her fingers quickly. "Thanks. I'm glad I'm not being forced to make these journeys on my own."

They settled back to finish the drive in silence.

El Camino Memorial Park
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
6:03 am

Jerry Donato picked his way listlessly between the grey and rust headstones. He had left Sandra a note, in hopes that his departure during what few hours of sleep she had been able to catch wouldn't send her charging off on her bike to find him. But, he needed to come here, to be in this place for a while. A fine mist gave the lawns an unnatural chill for an early summer morning, but it suited his mood. No matter what the season, it always seemed as if it were still that awful late autumn afternoon when he had buried her. He shook his head. It wasn't a bad place, as cemeteries go, just one Maria never needed to be in, or, this soon in her beautiful life.

He stopped in front of a simple salt and pepper granite marker set level with the ground, where the bare facts of her life were still inscribed, sharp and fresh. "Maria Margaret Hernandez. June 12, 1964-November 30, 1997. Serve and Protect." He knew the words preserved in quartz and mica; he had murmured them over and over again in his nightmares. Closing his eyes, he waited while the hillside mentally repopulated itself. The Chief of Police had come, which he had expected, but so had the mayor and most of the city council. A police officer shot in the line of duty was as unpleasant as it was uncommon, but he'd never seen a politician yet who could pass up a photo-op with a grieving family. Maria's mother and sisters, six in all, as she had complained during a too-rare Christmas shopping excursion they had taken together, had been given center-stage.

That was how it should be, he knew, but it still stung. Maria's death had left a gaping hole in his life that would never heal, no matter how much time had passed. He could still see the priest standing over the coffin, hear the salute fired to a fallen colleague, smell the sharpness of the spent rounds. This ground had been heaped with flowers, from fellow officers, her family, her friends, the kids she had helped. He had contributed a cascade of daisies for the coffin. He remembered seeing them wave in the air as he had marched, still numb with disbelief, first pallbearer on the right.

With a sigh, he forced himself to look down at the stone again. Only a shriveled stem remained from his last visit, so he knelt to remove it, then position the amaryllis he had brought in its place. It was a single ruby trumpet, he realized, proclaiming silently the glory of the woman he had known and loved so fiercely. He wondered in passing if she would have liked something else, a clutch of tulips for the spring, or roses for summer. Did she even like flowers? Theirs had not been the sort of relationship where such things were discussed, filled as their days were with arrest forms and stake-outs. A white lily would have been most appropriate, he concluded, since it was the symbol of the woman for whom she had undoubtedly been named.

Tracing the letters with his thumb, he began speaking without thinking. "Maria, you need to come back and keep me straight. Evans was killed this week, and I was arrested for his murder. You remember him; you've called him a sanctimonious pig a time or two, as I recall." He grinned at the memory. "Maybe you can ask the Big Guy up there why. I don't know." He ran the back of his hand over his face, then sank on the ground, legs crossed. "I've been put on administrative leave until the matter is settled. Me, your partner. The smart one. Johnson shoved us together for a while, but it didn't work out." He glanced at her name. "You remember my complaining about him, I'm sure."

A noise startled him, pulling him to his feet to reach for the spot on his belt where he kept his gun, bare now that he was relieved of duty. But it was only a white-haired woman, weeding around a headstone on a distant hill.

"I'm working with Richard Gonzales now, or, I will be when all this is over." He sat again. "He's better, but he's not like you. He tolerates my flaws, but you, you seemed to enjoy them. The Wilton murder's still unsolved, officially, that is. If John Williams ever wakes up, there are a bunch of questions he probably won't be able to answer. He hasn't checked in with you, has he?" He look down, but there was no response, as if he had expected any. Uncomfortable now, he shifted to wrap his hands around his shins. "You kept telling me I needed a girlfriend, well, with luck, I may be able to prove you right. I told you about - "

An engine turning over broke the stillness of the morning.

Donato knees creaked as he stood. "I'll be back, Maria." Before he moved away, however, he collected the brown stem from his last visit.

Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
2:49 pm

John Byers staggered out of his bedroom. He wanted to give Vicky, whom he knew to be making one of her lightning visits to DC, a quick call, but there was no phone in the spare bedroom he was using. He was forcing his sleep-fogged, jet-lagged brain to remember the way to the study when he heard the door to the next room crack open.

"Byers!" It was Langly, his long blond hair as disheveled as the bearded Gunman felt. "What has you up, man?"

"Vicky. Sorry." He stepped away. Checking back over his shoulder, he smiled as he watched Langly disappear in the direction of the kitchen. That hollow leg of his friend's had to fill up one of these days. The thought carried him down the hall, still smirking as he tapped out his rarely used home phone number, hoping to, at least, reach Vicky's answering machine. Before he entered the last digit, however, he spied Mulder's note, laid out across the computer's keyboard.

"What's that?" Frohike was in the door. Byers shrugged a greeting to the third Gunman, who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he crossed the room.

"From our hyperkinetic G-man." The bearded Gunman handed over the single sheet.

Frohike was still reading when Langly, his cheeks as full of turkey and rye as was the freshly-prepared sandwich in his left hand, entered. "Whazzup?" he managed to work out around the impromptu lunch, before wiping mustard off his chin with his thumb.

The round-faced Gunman frowned. "What *is* it with this guy? He'll wear Dana out before she's fully recovered."

Byers, a quiet conversation with his wife now obviously a hopeless cause, sighed. "She wouldn't go if she didn't think she was up to it." He waved away Frohike's objection. "They're off to Exomitis Cape to look for the purported source of the artifacts Andrews was selling."

The phone buzzed, silencing them all. The bearded Gunman reached for it, but stopped when Langly pointed to the answering machine. They waited through Max's recorded message only to hear an unfamiliar voice. "Hiram. I'll call." Then there was a click.

Langly swallowed the bite he had been chewing. "Hiram? Is that who I think that is?"

Frohike was regarding the unassuming black box at the other side of the desk with pure venom. "Yes, it is."

Byers remembered his friend commiserating with Mulder about the Mossad Agent's attempted intrusion into Scully's life, then held up his hand tiredly. "We *know*, Frohike. But, Agent Scully has more sense than that. If he's calling, it must have something to do with the Bern bank problems."

Frohike spun. "But they - " He pointed. " - They *use* people like Max for their own purposes. Why are they trusting him?"

Langly patted his friend's arm. "If it had anything to do with the State of Israel, they'd find out eventually. They're almost as good as we are."

Another ring from the phone had the round-faced Gunman stalking over to it.

"Mister Lowenberg," I need to speak with Mulder. He has my number here on the West Coast." The voice was much older, and gravelly.

Frohike grabbed the receiver before the call disconnected. "Nichols? Is that you? I'll call you back once we go silent." He nodded to Langly, who stuffed the last of the sandwich in his mouth so he could plug the phone into a silver box propped against the far wall. He replaced the receiver, then waited, holding the remaining bread in one hand as he worked.

Once the blond Gunman signaled the all-clear with a nod that sent waves up and down the coiled cord of the headphones he had donned, Frohike tapped out the number. "Nichols?"

"You ready?"

"We are."

"Good. You three are in Santorini? I just wanted to update Mulder on Sandra. She's beginning to remember snatches of her childhood with him, so I gave her copies of the official folders on himself and Scully. I'll fax a duplicate of the contents your way so those two can prepare."

"Sure, we'll wait." Frohike waved to Byers, who rose to catch the pages as they spit out of the Fax machine. "So, What's she like?" That exact question had been the subject of much speculation over the past few weeks. The bearded Gunman listened carefully as he assembled the sheets, while Langly stopped chewing to hear the answer.

"As impatient as he is, actually. And as loyal. She seems to have developed some sort of bond with this Detective Donato, who was helping her on the Wilton case."

The round-faced Gunman smoothed his hair off his forehead. "Ah. A hint. Don't ask, don't analyze."

"You don't have to tell me."

"Thanks for the documents. They seem to all be here. Hang tight. We'll be sending an E-mail with two attachments your way. The first is some software you'll need to install. The second contains our latest on the Evans death." He waited through a low chuckle.

"You know I'm no good with this twenty-first century stuff. I'll have to get Ros over here. Thanks for the updates."

After brief salutations, they concluded the call.

El Camino Memorial Park
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
6:31 am

With a grunt, Jerry Donato staggered away from Maria's tombstone to trot to the next hill. A backhoe had just bit into the soil over undisturbed ground, breaking more than just earth when he reached the solitary figure. HE blinked with surprise at the figure he slipped up behind. "Sir?"

Sergeant Johnson turned. "Good morning, Detective." His dark eyes dropped to the brown flower in Donato's hand. "So, you're the one who leaves those. I had thought, but I wasn't sure."

Sudden tears of gratitude stung the thick-chested detective's eyes, so he turned to read the headstone. "I didn't realize Evans was buried here." He studied the bare tombstone, the grass just beginning to sprout over the grave. "It looks so forlorn." He winced at the reference to the rough stem in his hand.

Johnson shrugged. "I knew him from when I first joined the force. He was a different man then, Jerry. His sister wants us to redo the investigation."

"Oh?" Donato stopped when the African-American waved curtly.

"Detective, you know I can't discuss details with you."

Jerry shrugged. "Yeah, but if it clears me, who am I to argue?"

The African-American attempted a smile. "I thought you would see it that way. Mike had a fine career in the Department, but I think you're right about his mental state at the end there. With all the long hours and bad food, he probably had a touch of arteriosclerosis, which might have accounted for his strange behavior."

The detective rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, that would make sense. He didn't take good care of himself. A sister, you say?"

"What?" Johnson turned. "Jerry, if you know something..."

Donato shook his head. "I wish I did, Sir." He reached out to pat his Sergeant's shoulder, but at a grunt from Johnson, dropped his hand. With a nod, the thick-chested detective turned to head back to Maria's grave.

Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
11:43 am

Dana Scully checked her partner's face. "Mulder? You okay?"

His jaw flexed before he answered. "Pardon me for being confused, but we seem to be doing a lot of climbing. I thought Exomitis Cape was on the water, near Ancient Thira."

Once cheek creased. How out of it are you? Perhaps more importantly, what’s really on your mind? Certainly not the possibility of reading Torah occasionally.

"Scully?"

She pointed her chin at him fondly. "We're not headed to Exomitis, Mulder."

"Oh? When did this happen?"

She cocked her head at his sudden attack of paranoia. "We're stopping at the Monastery of Prophet Illias first. Max knows that one of the brothers has made an especial study of the antiquities uncovered here on the island. If anyone's heard anything, either about frauds or secret discoveries, he will have." She touched his arm. "Tell me, what are you really thinking about?"

He smiled at her for the first time during the drive. "You, Scully."

Both eyebrows arched. "Me? Why?"

"I know you probably don't want to talk about this, but, your brothers have treated you like dirt these past few months." His thumbs drummed out an unsteady rhythm on the steering wheel. "You shouldn't be so passive about the whole thing." He canted his eyes toward her. "It isn't fair."

A shrug. "Life isn't fair, Mulder. You ought to know that by now." He cut her a hard glare, which surprised her, until she realized this was her partner, champion of lost causes, beside her. She hastened to reassure him, but he spoke first.

"I called your Mother while you were in the hospital in Athens."

Scully blinked. "What? But she never..."

Mulder licked his lips angrily. "Exactly. I had to do all the calling. She never once called the hospital, even after I gave her the number and told her I would pick up all the charges. What's happened in your family, Scully? Have they turned you away for good?"

She watched, wondering if this would lead him to another bout of self-recrimination. But, his eyes were clear and focused, so she knew she was dealing with Mulder the Crusader, not the Flagellant who so often surfaced. "Mulder, that's not how we do things in our house."

He let out a burst of air. "What? You just don't speak for years? When you were returned, I picked up on those *vibes* between Mrs. Scully and Melissa. Was religion so big a deal that they never wanted to see each other again?"

She crossed her arms. "Mulder, that was different. Mel and Mom were always disagreeing. As eldest daughter, there were just responsibilities to be assumed that she simply didn't want. She was supposed to be Mom's second in command when Ahab was away."

He was fidgeting now. "So, what did Bill and Charlie do? Play pool in the garage?"

Equally frustrated, she tucked her hair behind her ear. "It's not *like* you're thinking it was."

"Ah. So what *was* it like, Scully? Did you set your shoulders and take her place? Scrubbing toilets and picking up just like you were told? Then burying your nose in your homework just to have a little time to yourself?"

"Mulder! You make it sound like slavery. It wasn't. There were responsibilities to be assumed, duties to be performed. I did it then because it needed to be done, but now it's over and behind me." She softened her tone. "I'm free. I can have the kind of life I want to have. Bill and Charlie have their own families to take care of them, and Mom, she's okay. It isn't easy without Ahab, but she's strong."

"So?" It was spoken in that peeved, demanding voice of his, which he used when he thought she had missed the point.

She blinked over at him. "So? What?"

He gripped the steering wheel. "So, duties are reciprocal. She left you hanging. That's not right."

She brushed his knee with her fingertips. "Mom doesn't have that much money, and she knew you were watching out for me, Mulder. What I asked her to do was very, very hard for her, going to my brothers to get DNA samples like she did. I know her. It must have taken nearly every ounce of courage she has to have done that. She doesn't like conflicts, over anything."

"Oh, Scully."

She felt the words, rather than heard them. "It's my family. We'll settle up eventually."

He glared a final time, then sighed. "I just don't want to see you drift away from them. You've put yourself on the line too often to keep them safe."

Thinking of a long drive up a dark highway, then surrendering their hopes for finding Samantha in an empty parking lot, she clutched his hand. "As have you, Mulder. I appreciate what you're proposing, but it really isn't necessary."

He waited until they had spun around a particularly sharp curve before he continued. "Why? My family was broken by the Consortium for its own ends. There's no reason yours should be."

She dropped her left hand into the cradle of her right, both resting in the space between her pinched knees. "Oh, we make our own families. Not all the members are related by blood."

His grasp and release of her wrist came and went lightning-fast. She appreciated his deep and genuine concern, which she shared, but there was more involved than he understood. A covert international organization was something they could, with time and effort, ferret out, expose to justice, eliminate. But, who could fathom the years of silence, or the endless meaningless conversations that tap-danced around unspoken suffering in the same way? She had been, as Mulder pointed out so incisively, forced to take over a job that had not been hers, had shouldered more responsibility than her brothers. But, even if she had been the eldest, if she had chosen the life with the husband and the babies and the perfect yellow house behind a white picket fence in the suburbs, she was uncertain she would have been accepted fully by her family. She was simply too different. She closed her eyes momentarily, aware as she was of her partner's continued scrutiny.

"Scully, whatever I can do to help, I will."

She attempted a shaky smile. "I know that, Mulder, and I appreciate it. More than you know. Sometimes, just by you listening when I need to talk - " She pointed to the convertible in front of them. "It looks like we're here."

She fell silent to gaze in wonder at the cluster of bright white buildings topping the hill. If she never returned to this jewel-like place, she would always remember the beauty of this retreat, with its blue domes covered in gilded stars.

El Camino Memorial Park
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
6:58 am

Martin Johnson sighed as he opened his car door, then slammed it shut. The investigation into Evans' death could proceed without his presence for a few hours. Right now, one of his officers needed his attention, more than he had realized until this morning. He glanced over toward the hill where Maria Hernandez was buried. As he expected, a dark shape topped it, so he trotted away from the road, ignoring the nagging voice that was still scolding him to return to the precinct house. Evans had never mentioned a family, ever, in the years he had been on the force. So, for one to show up now, demanding and accusing, told him a guilty conscience was working, more than sisterly concern. In Jerry Donato, he had enough self-imposed penitence to deal with.

His musings carried him to the younger detective's side. Donato was sprawled over Maria's headstone, his eyes sunken closed above tracks of moisture. Johnson found himself wondering if his officer had spent nights here before. If he had, then the situation was far worse than the police sergeant had imagined it was. He knelt to shake a wool-clad shoulder gently. "Jerry? You okay?" It was a foolish thing to say, but the younger man was stirring.

"Sorry, Sir. I didn't get much sleep last night. With it being quiet and all, I just, went out, I guess." Donato rubbed his eyes. "Sandra remembered more of her childhood, so we stopped by to see that FBI agent, Nichols. He gave us - Sir? What is it?"

Johnson was shaking his head. "Detective Donato, I owe you an apology."

"Sir?" Jerry blinked up at him.

"I came here in the early morning when there are the fewest visitors. But I didn't realize you were one of them. Nor was I aware how close the two graves were to each other."

Donato climbed slowly to his feet. "That's all right, Sir. I'm just glad someone else remembers her. And him."

Johnson chuckled. "Believe me, Detective, she's not likely to be forgotten anytime soon."

Donato, his eyes on the horizon, nodded. "I suppose I just messed this up, big-time, Sir. Internal Affairs will be all over us both."

A long dark hand rose. "Not a problem, Jerry, I'll see to that. But, I do have a question for you. Did Evans ever mention a sister to you? I'd never heard him discuss family, at all."

The thick-chested detective rubbed the back of his neck. "To be honest, Sir, he told me he was an only child." He rolled his eyes. "Among many, many other personal details I never needed to hear from him." He clicked into investigator mode. "So, you think this woman is somehow connected with those properties?"

"I think she might be. But, until this - " The sergeant waved his hand dismissively. " - business is cleared up, I can't use one of my best people to look into the matter."

Jerry smiled in acknowledgment of the compliment. "What about Gonzales? He's a good detective, Sir."

Johnson nodded. "I have him on it already. If IA has a problem with that, I don't care. I won't let my officers be railroaded for a quick conviction."

Jerry sighed. "He hadn't been working with me long enough for me to contaminate him, obviously."

The Sergeant's gaze dropped to the headstone. "Do you come here often, Detective?"

Donato shoved both hands in his pockets. "About once a week or so. Not as frequently as I should, Sir." He squared his shoulders. "I miss her every day."

"As do we all, Jerry." The African-American pointed toward the front entrance. "But, she wouldn't want you to suffer like this. Go home and get some sleep. I'll alert you if anything new turns up, all right?"

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that." Donato knelt to straighten the amaryllis, then, as a sudden thought struck him, glanced up. "Sir, how far away did you park?" He rose to point to his Ford. "I could give you a lift?"

Johnson rubbed his chin. "Thanks for the offer, but, no. It's better this way. Besides, I'm not completely desk-bound."

"Yeah." Jerry extended his hand. "Thank you, Sir." A brief shake, then the two men separated.

Johnson watched Donato's back recede as he pulled out his cell. The sooner this business could be concluded, the better, for his officers, and the department.

Monastery of the Prophet Illias
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
12:01 pm

Scully's green-blue eyes settled on a tall, emaciated figure in black waiting in front of the closest building. Both his black robes and his long grey beard billowed in the mountain breeze, unlike his stiff sable hood that covered his ears to his neck. That began moving only as he nodded a greeting at their approach. The tall square shape, widening to a mortarboard at the top, told her the wearer belonged to an Orthodox, rather than a Roman, order.

But, his grey eyes were dancing as they emerged from their vehicles. "Max!" He extended his hand to Mulder's white-haired stepfather, then the two embraced with the exuberance Scully had learned to accept in the Mediterranean. The monk surprised her when he did not ignore her and Caroline, but instead, bowed deeply to Mulder's mother. "I didn't expect to see either of you again so soon after the town meeting. It's a rare pleasure."

Mulder, his fingers clutching Scully's elbow, pulled them both forward. She could feel the tension flowing from him, whether as a result of their discussions in the car, or, due to their current location, was difficult to say.

Max placed a gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder. "This is my stepson, Mulder, the FBI agent, and his partner at the Bureau, Dana Scully."

"Brother Petras." He examined them closely as he shook their hands. "You must forgive me. I've never met agents of the United States Government before. You're somehow different from what I expected."

Scully tucked her chin, then pointed to her partner's tie. "I'm sure we are. I warn him they'll scare people one day, but he doesn't listen."

Throwing his head back, Petras let loose a deep, joyful laugh. "Ah, my dear, at least you don't have to look at black all day long." He patted his cassock.

Mulder released an impatient huff at them, then stepped up to the monk. "You've seen this before?"

Scully noted the cold look the bearded man shot him. It was obvious her partner was oblivious to the relaxed pace of lives, other than their own, here. She leaned out of his hand.

"Brother Petras, I'm certain Max has explained our interests in this visit to your lovely retreat." She was taken aback by the startled flash in the grey eyes staring down at her. Perhaps their host was less used to Americans than even she expected.

But he surprised her again. "Yes, he has. I'm happy to have others to help me in my attempts to keep this island free of theft and crime. This way, please."

As they walked, she glanced curiously through what few door were open. But, despite the glimpses of halls, libraries, gardens, and the one chapel she caught, there were no other monks visible. Perhaps they were forbidden to speak with outsiders, except by special permission of their Father. It would not have been like the American monastics she had read about, but, this was another world altogether. Her musings lasted until Petras halted in front of a locked wooden door.

"Scullee." Mulder bent down to hiss in her ear. "Don't you think it's odd we haven't seen anyone else?"

"Who?" She stretched up to avoid being overheard.

"The other monks." Any tone had dropped from the words.

"Not at all, my friend," Petras was searching for his key in the ring hanging from his belt. "They're meditating or at prayer."

"Our apologies for keeping you from your order's routine, Brother." Caroline held up both hands. "If there had been a better time - "

He shook his head. "No. No, you misunderstand. A monk is supposed to be meditating when his body is at rest. Our duties will commence soon enough." He pushed the door open to reveal a flight of stairs, which were cut into the rock of the hillside. "This way." He held it back on the hinges long enough for Max to guide Caroline through, then for Scully to step out ahead of Mulder. "It's on the third floor, I'm afraid. And locked as well." They fell silent until they were at the top.

Once inside, Petras waved them to a thick-legged table. "As you can see, the monastery has had artifacts, both authentic and fraudulent, brought here before." The cedar surface was strewn with pot shards, fragmented figurines, and an assortment of clay tablets.

Scully reached for one of the red plaques. "If these are real, then why are you hiding them away here?" She peered at the markings closely. "Oh, I see. They aren't real. The writing is neither Linear A nor Linear B."

The monk sighed. "Indeed, Agent Scully."

Mulder bent over her shoulder. "What? The characters are too small?" At her backwards glance, he huffed. "I took a few turns through the Ashmolean." He then cocked an eyebrow at Petras, who was blinking in surprise at his words.

"And too many." The monk was expounding enthusiastically on the subject. "If the tablet were an authentic relic like those dating back to the height of the palace of Knossos, there would be perfectly stenciled rows of proto-Greek letters, nearly always on one side."

Scully nodded. "These were official documents, so except for a few rough drafts, the scribes attempted to be penman-perfect. There wasn't the freedom to develop individual writing styles, as there was for the Maya scribes."

Caroline lifted another off the table. "On this one, the creators gave themselves away as moderns by inserting spaces for word breaks, though I doubt these assemblages of characters are anything other than random."

A broad smile stretching his lips, Petras turned to the white-haired man beside him. "To think, Maximilian, you've kept these two scholars a secret from me." He thumped his back stoutly, then handed Mulder a different tablet. "This one is even better. It was the first one the monastery received, right after Ventris and Chadwick finished translating Linear B."

Mulder frowned. "Hieroglyphics?" He looked over at his partner for a confirming nod. "But, why here?"

She tugged his arm lower so she could examine the surface. "Whoever did it must have read the speculations on the Egypt-Crete connection. The frescoes we saw at Akrotiri were considered at one time to show Egyptian influences."

Petras waved them to scattered chairs whose construction was as rustic as that of the table. "So, what have you brought me?"

Caroline dug the catalog out of her bag to hand to him. "It's not what we have, it's what we've discovered is being sold."

While the monk peered at the images on the thick pages, Scully glanced over at her partner. His hazel eyes were flitting from one dusty fragment to another. She wondered how long he would wait for their expert to finish before he exploded. Although she knew their conversation about her family and their futures together was far from concluded, she was glad for the temporary distraction. But, when Mulder shoved his hands in his pockets, then began chewing his lower lip, she knew she had to act. She grasped his elbow lightly while she whispered his name.

When he glanced down, she could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was edging toward a theory relating the flotsam and jetsam on the table to their case, but before he could throw out a playful quip, Petras shouted and ran out the door. He bent over her. "And here you were worried about me, Scully."

She leaned until her shoulder contacted his chest. "I'm always worried about you, Mulder."

Caroline turned to her husband. "I wonder where he's off to."

Max was equally confused. "I don't know."

"Excuse me." Mulder rose. He was almost to the door through which Petras had departed so precipitously when he had to take a step back, or be struck in the face as it was flung open.

The monk held out two figurines, one in each hand. "I knew I'd seen this before!" The one in his left was identical to many of the images Scully had seen in her reading. It was also a near-copy of the goddess she had dreamed had spoken to her several months earlier.

The auburn-haired pathologist frowned. "I didn’t think all these are fakes?"

"No." The monk was solemn as he carefully positioned the statuette that had caught her eye on the table. "This one was found over two hundred years ago, well before Evans had even thought of uncovering Minos' palace." He slammed the one in his right grip down behind it. "But, this one is a fraud. Observe."

Scully reached in her briefcase for her hand lens, but Caroline had pulled out her over-sized magnifier first.

"I see." The white-haired woman was delicately rotating the authentic statuette. "These finely detailed lines in the mesh of her skirt are different. On the original, they've been scored into the clay, then filled with pigment." She shifted to study the modern copy. "On the fake, one can make out the brush-strokes if one is careful." She bent, finally, over an image in the book. "I can make out the brush-strokes here as well. This Andrews is selling fakes."

Petras nodded. "Good quality copies, for all that. Whoever is doing this is skilled at the craft, yet someone who hasn't had an original in his or her hands to work from. It's too bad he or she got greedy. There's plenty of money to be had in the sales of museum-quality replicas. A high-quality duplicate can go for thousands of dollars."

Max shook his head. "But, a fake, if successfully passed as an original, would bring several hundred times the amount. You know that, Brother Petras."

"So I do." The monk looked to each of them in turn. "So I do."

Mulder began pacing. "Okay, we've stumbled onto antiquities fraud. As did our stiff, probably. But, why would that lead him to attempt to kidnap a small child?"

Caroline regarded him solemnly. "Sometimes, Fox, people use children to achieve their own ends."

Mother and Son stared at each other, then Mulder nodded. "There was evidence hidden in the boy's clothing. It would have been perfectly easy to get past customs. They don't search children, just adults and luggage." He retreated into himself. "I don't... I don't remember feeling any strange lumps when I held the boy."

Suddenly recalling the flannel horse, Scully cradled one of the smaller figurines in the palm of her hand. "But, something like this could be hidden inside a stuffed animal." She looked down at the caption on the image. "It's the right size, just over four inches tall. She had a bag of toys on her shoulder."

"Perhaps you should finally visit the Akrotiri store that belongs to that tour guide's family?" Max caught the gaze of each partner.

Scully nodded, but it was Mulder who replied. "Perhaps we should."

142 Curie Avenue, University City
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
8:27 am

Jerry Donato turned the engine off, then rubbed his eyes for a long moment. He should be returning to his own apartment, to catch up on sleep in his own bed. But, thoughts of that dingy room with the broken air conditioner and the mildewed bathroom were more than he was ready to handle. He needed to be outside, so he had steered the car toward this house. He half-hoped Sandra wasn't home, so he could stretch out under one of her maples to nap. The weather would be perfect for it, not too hot, no threat of rain.

But, just as he was emerging from the driver's side, he heard the side gate creak open. "Sandra!" There was no answer.

Then, a red ball of fuzz shot through the slit in the gate, so Donato, arms wide, knelt. "Seignior, you know better than this."

"Salazar! Come back here!" The red slats of the door slammed on those of the fence, the professor intent on rescuing her charge.

Jerry edged to one side, them waited. The tabby had decided his break for freedom would wait long enough to chew a blade or two of grass, so the detective used the opportunity to shift between the cat and any passing cars.

Sandra snatched him up into her arms. "Alonzo, you had Mommy worried."

Jerry hurried to her side. "I thought you'd be at school today."

She cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you'd be here." She slid a leaf out of Salazar's fur. "Was someone bothering you?"

He shook his head. "Not at all. I just needed to talk to an old friend."

She nodded. "Oh."

He gazed over at her. "I was visiting Maria's grave. I go there sometimes when I need to think."

"Ah."

Her reticence surprised him. "Sergeant Johnson showed up to visit Evans' grave while I was there. Apparently, his sister showed up and wants a more thorough examination."

She stepped in front of him. "Well, if it clears you, it's a good thing. She wasn't there at his funeral?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Given the circumstances, I didn't figure it was wise of me to attend."

She nodded. "Imagine that. A sister showing up out of the blue."

As they tracked back up the concrete, he repeated his question. "So, why are you here?"

She clutched the red body tightly. "I needed a mental health day. Normally, I'd be working on my research, but, with no classes to teach, I just called in and informed Jeanette."

He nodded. "I'm certain she understood." After they were through, he made a point of latching the gate behind them.

Sandra let Salazar leap out of her arms. "Not meaning this as anything other than curiosity, but, why did you come back here?"

He smiled. "I wanted to take a nap."

"Ah. In my backyard?"

A shrug, then they waited while the supine tabby wiggled under the round bench. "It works for him."

She chuckled. "You wouldn't fit."

He sobered. "Sandra, you need to go meet your real family. That's where your future lies, not here in San Diego."

A snort. "Who's to say where my real family is? The FBI? You? I make my own family. This is my life. With family..." She knelt at the edge of the walkway. "Have I told you about my garden?"

Jerry sighed, recognizing a diversionary tactic when he saw one. "No, you haven't." If he kept at her, she might open up about what was really bothering her. Most amnesiacs were ecstatic about recovery of their pasts.

She pointed to the furthest corner of the walled space. "This is what is known as a witches' garden. I have laid it out in four quadrants, one for each function: healing, nourishing, cleansing, attracting. I laid the stones for the circular walk myself. Tom and Judy helped me with the crosswalks, though."

Since her face was coloring, he waved his hands. "So, where's the nightshade? The belladonna?"

A sharp glare. "I don't mean it literally. I couldn't plant anything that would be poisonous to a certain fuzzy person here. There's catnip in the healing corner, between ginger and garlic. He can munch on those all he wants to. Along the walk, I've planted borage and germander."

He nodded.

"The nourishing corner has those herbs you know from cooking: thyme, mint, parsley, basil, and rosemary." She pointed to each as she named them. "I have three varieties of thyme: English, lemon, and silver. The basil has just started, so it's the low plants in front. The mints are three as well: peppermint, spearmint, and lemon balm."

She was relaxing visibly, so he wanted her to continue. "What constitutes a cleansing herb?"

Her hazel eyes sparkling, she hurried to the furthest corner. "Those which can be used to refresh or disinfect, like the sages, chamomile, hyssop, and lemon verbena."

He pointed to the remaining quadrant. "That's the corner we were working on, right?"

She nodded. "Yes, it was. Thanks. The attracting corner is for birds and butterflies. I have lavender, rosemary, artimesia, marigolds, and roses. Salazar loves to watch them."

Donato dropped onto the bench as she hopped along tan pavers in the beds. "Sandra, just thinking about all the work you must do to keep this up is wearing me out."

She had been weeding without conscious thought. "Oh, it's not so bad. I sometimes come home for lunch just to enjoy the space. If you check under the bench, you'll see I've installed an outlet to plug in my laptop. I get much work done out here."

His ears pressed against his skull, Salazar charged around the bench twice, then, tail turned over at the tip, dove into the mint bushes. A pair of sparrows flew out, complaining as they went.

Jerry smiled. "The king of beasts in action."

She settled beside him. "I see he has you convinced." She fidgeted for a moment, then began pacing along one crosswalk again.

He watched her. Whatever was on her mind would come out, soon. "Sandra, talk to me."

She stopped at the far end of one of the arms of the walk, then sank to the ground, tucking her feet up by her hips. "I like being on my own."

"Oh? All the time?"

She crossed her arms over her head. "More than you think. For being a farm, the Kibbutz was one of the noisiest places I know."

He smiled. "That was what Maria's family was like. Everyone talking all the time."

Sandra shuddered. "I can't take too much of that."

"Nor can I. After one Thanksgiving, that was enough. I enjoyed working with Maria, but, with her family, you couldn't even sit on the porch and have quiet."

She crossed her legs at the ankles. "Yes. I know what you mean. At the Kibbutz, there were always new people, coming in and out. Every space was shared; there was no privacy."

"I'm sorry."

She blinked at him in surprise. "For what?"

"For invading your space." He struggled to his feet. "I should go."

"No!" The speed with she reached his side startled them both. She grasped his wrist. "I like having you here. Really. I do. I like having my own place, but I like being able to share it when I want to." She ran her hand up his arm tentatively. "And I do like it when you're here."

He stepped up next to her, holding her gaze as he moved closer than he had thought possible. "I..." He cupped her cheeks in his hands. "I like being here, too, Sandra. Thanks for letting me stay." His nose was so close to her face he could catch a whiff of the cinnamon he knew she used to flavor her coffee.

Her tapered fingers floated up to his jaw, stroking the stubbled face gently. "Jerry. I'm glad I could help. I..." She ran her thumb over his lower lip, then leaned down toward him.

He gulped. "Sandra, I don't..."

"Shh." She ran her tongue over her own lips.

A police siren cut through the air.

"No." Jerry winced. "Not now."

She pulled away. "I'm afraid so." She rubbed her hand over her eyes, then looked around for Salazar.

Swishing his tail, the round tabby was glaring at the blinking lights at the end of the driveway.

A uniformed officer was about to knock of the gate when Sandra opened it. "Yes?"

Jerry, his arms full of perturbed red cat, stepped up beside her. "What's happened?"

"Detective Donato? Sergeant Johnson wanted me to have you come down to the station. There's been a break in the case."

Sandra exchanged a glance with the thick-chested detective. "Which case? Is John Williams conscious?"

The uniform blanched. "No, Ma'am. And you'd better come along, too."

With a sigh, Donato passed Salazar to Sandra. "I suppose the Seignior will simply have to come along afterward to straighten us all out, won't he?"

The officer looked from one to the other in confusion, then waited for her to deposit the cat inside the back door before the three drove away.

Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
11:51 am

"Line-chen, you really should let Mulder and Dana handle things from here." Max turned off the engine.

She shook her head. "No, that's not right, Maximilian. I'm perfectly capable of handling a weapon."

Her use of his full first name telling him this was not a discussion to be concluded easily, Max turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Langly's grin died when he saw how serious they were.

Mulder trotted over to the long-haired Gunman. "It's okay. We were just discussing our next move."

Max was helping Caroline out of the convertible while he kept his attention on their enlarged group of guests.

He heard Langly’s voice. "We have an identity for the man who attacked the Doc."

"Oh?" Scully had joined her partner. "How did you find that out?"

"Byers finally called Vicky. She had been getting the run-around looking into the guy, until she happened to mention that it was for a case the Bureau was working on. Then, everything fell into place. It seems that tripped protocols going back to the time of Frances Knight and Hoover."

Max watched his stepson fidget. It was obvious the Gunman was taking too long to explain.

The dark-haired agent could no longer contain himself. "So, who is he?"

The white-haired man glanced down at his wife, who was smiling at the clipped question as well.

The long-haired Gunman looked to Scully, who nodded her support.

She took a breath. "We may be running out of time here."

"Okay." Langly sighed. "They got a match between the one you sent and the guy's passport photo. He was Robert Chapman, a private detective working out of San Diego. It seems he was hired by a very exclusive law firm to look into those same land deals we uncovered. Byers has the name of the firm. It's a cast of thousands."

"It usually is." Max had joined the three.

The long-haired Gunman grinned at the older couple. "Hey, Mister L., Mrs. L. He had an open round-trip ticket, which he used the outbound half of back in April. The return trip was never used, obviously."

"That at least explains why we couldn't track the credit cards. But why did they let one show up under Evans' name?"

"Who knows?" Langly looked up to focus on the white mustache. "But, we need to talk inside. Frohike has some ideas as to how we should proceed."

Mulder had bent over his partner. "Let me guess. You and he take it from here."

Max smiled as he held the door for the rest of the group. He would certainly miss the excitement his stepson seemed to generate, whenever they were together. But, as the ache in his shoulders reminded him, not right away.

Androkiri Shop
Akrotiri Town
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
12:34 pm

After a long discussion, Caroline had been persuaded to remain behind. However, the agents were not, at this juncture, alone. Three odd-looking shadows trailed along behind them as they approached the Androkiri store.

"I *still* think, that we three should go in as loud Americans. We can take Mulder, for protection." Frohike had defended this point with the others, but lost.

Scully sighed. "That would only work if they didn't know who we were. Mulder and I will go in, as ourselves, ask a few questions, keep them occupied while you three poke around back."

"Yes, Your Worship." The round-faced Gunman stared at his feet.

Scully rolled her eyes at her partner, who had lapsed into an uneasy silence. "Mulder?"

He bent over her. "I don't trust Petras."

She stopped in her tracks. "Mulder?"

Byers reached out to stop Langly from crashing into the dark-haired agent's back. "Mulder?"

The agent held up a long index finger. "A minute, guys." The three backed off to check on a nearby bakery. "He's not what he pretends to be. He was just too helpful, Scully." He watched as fires sparked and died in her green-blue eyes.

"Okay." She blew out a long breath. "More helpful than a monk should be? Monastic institutions have often been the repositories of rare and valuable books and art. In fact - "

He shook his head. "During the Middle Ages, I know. But that's exactly why I don't trust him. Why would a place with so little space hang onto that many fakes? Why not throw them out? What good are they?"

She crossed her arms. "They might be using them for comparison purposes when other frauds turn up."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "They might. But why not just save photographs?"

Seeking to lighten the mood, she unclenched her arms, then tossed her head. "On a Linux box in his frigid cell?"

A lightning-quick grin crossed his face. "That's exactly what I'd expect in this technological hot-spot of the Mediterranean."

She tucked her hair behind her ear, then paced for a few steps. Resolved, she crossed her arms as she looked up at him. "Okay. Your instincts are good enough that I'll go with them, Mulder. Although we need more evidence before we could proceed against Petras legally."

He found a secret thrill shooting through him at her words. They were back to working together as a team. "Oh?"

She pointed in the general direction of the bakery. "Let's put the guys to some good use."

He found himself suppressing the urge to lick his lips. "The Doctor has a plan, methinks."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Only, no blue police boxes involved." She bent under his chin to whisper, "or black leather," before she headed back to the bakery.

Northern Precinct
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
8:23 am

"So, you're not planning on telling me what this is all about?" Donato quizzed Peterson, the uniformed officer who was just now pulling the black and white into the station garage.

"No. Jerry, it's a good thing, okay?"

The thick-chested detective looked at Sandra, then nodded. "Yeah. You keep saying that. But, I'm not up to handling surprises, regardless, on an hour or two of sleep."

"Not a problem."

As they slid out of the black and white, one of the mechanics called out, "Way to go, Jerry!"

Donato waved back uneasily. "I wonder what that's all about?"

Sandra trotted ahead of them toward the door to the station proper. "We'll found out soon enough."

There was a general burst of applause as they entered the station, then Donato found himself surrounded by his fellow officers, all of them offering hearty congratulations.

Johnson stepped out of his office, wading through the crowd to latch onto his arm. "We'll talk about this inside, Detective. Doctor Miller, this way." Once they were separated from the noise by the thick glass of his office door, the sergeant placed Jerry's gun and badge in his hand. "You'll be needing these."

Confusion distorting his features, Donato clipped on his weapon, then tucked the ID in his pocket. "Sir? Do you mind?"

Johnson held up both long hands. "You've been cleared of the charge relating to Evans' death."

Sandra crossed her arms. "Is this based on results from the Internal Affairs investigation?" Her puckered expression conveyed her sense of disbelief.

Wearing a genuine smile for the first time since the Wilton murder, Johnson nodded. "Yes. A witness has come forward who overheard Evans arguing with another man after you left, Jerry."

"Oh?" Donato looked from Johnson's relieved face to Sandra's puzzled one. "Sir?"

The sergeant was sliding a cassette into the tape recorder he kept on his desk. "Listen, both of you. I think you'll find this very interesting." He pressed the play button.

Donato frowned when he heard the voice. "Hey, that's the neighbor who yelled out the door!" At Johnson's wave, he fell silent.

"Jerry," Sandra laid a hand on his arm.

The white wheels of the recorder began rotating. "I didn't know what to make of it, really. I knew Evans hit the bottle on occasion, but he was always a quiet drunk, you know? Kept it inside. Whatever a man does in his own house is nobody's business but his own. That's how I was raised, anyway."

"Go on, Mister Luciano." The voice belonged to Gonzales.

"Well, here he is, drunk as a skunk, staggerin' around in his underwear, shoutin' about his retirement. Yeah, okay, I'm as worried about my pension as the next guy, but I don't spread it all over the neighborhood. A few mutual funds, an IRA, maybe, but - "

"So, Sir, what did you overhear?"

The three who were listening smiled at the impatience they heard in the Detective's tone.

"Well, first, Evans calls for this other cop. I remember seeing him around once or twice. Recent, you know? Like they hadn't worked together too long. The other cop, he always had this, this *look*, like he just lost a friend, and Evans, well, I could tell Evans was rubbing him up all the wrong ways. I said to my wife, I says, 'Gloria, he's gonna go through another one, you just watch.'"

Donato stared as his feet. "I didn't..."

Sandra just squeezed his hand.

"So, what did they argue about?" It was a different voice, one Jerry recognized as belonging to Patricia Marks, who was recently promoted from the South Precinct to Internal Affairs.

"Like I said, his pension. Kept calling him College Boy. Said he wanted to fix his face. Or something."

"He - " Jerry pointed to the black box.

Johnson held up a hand.

"That went on until the cops showed up. I was glad they did. The sad guy wasn't putting up much of a struggle with Evans. Not like the other guy."

"Other guy?" Both Gonzales and Marks exclaimed simultaneously.

"Sure, the one I thought you guys wanted to hear about. Gloria didn't want me to come forward to tell what I had heard."

"Just for the record, Gloria is your wife, Sir?" The voice was the contralto of Marks.

"Yeah. Yeah she is. A sweetheart, but a scardy cat. I kept tryin' to tell her it was obstruct, obfus, anyway, it was wrong of me not to come forward. I oughta give you the evidence you need to lock him up."

"Lock up whom?" The fatigue in her tone was obvious.

There was a long pause. "What? You didn't know about him?" A longer silence. "You thought the sad guy did it? You got it all wrong, if you do."

"Mister Luciano," Gonzales cautioned.

"Oh, man, I thought with all the stuff in the papers about having found the killer and all."

"Mister Luciano," Marks repeated. "Please, tell us about this other man."

"Well, he looked like a cop, too, so when the papers were going on about the cop you arrested, well, I said to Gloria, I says, 'See, they got him.' She was happy. So was I. I mean, I love her and all, but when she gets a bug in her hair, I mean to tell you..."

Jerry could tell from the sound that Gonzales' teeth were gritted in frustration. "Mister Luciano, you've done the right thing. Please, continue."

There was a creak of metal. "She didn't want me to come forward to testify, you see. She's got this brother, he's a gambler. Now, now, nothing bad or anything, a little too much on the ponies, a little too much for poker with the boys."

"Mister Luciano!" Gonzales was now clearly upset. "If you would just *tell* us about the other man!"

"Hey, hey, hold on, I'm gettin' there. Gloria always tells me I ramble. Anyway, after the other cop, the sad guy, leaves, this other man shows up. Come to think of it, he was dressed too good to be a cop. Musta been a lawyer. Good suit. Tall, grey hair. Talked real soft, at least at first. Then they're shoutin', then wrestlin', just like with the sad guy. Only the suit, he, he can hold his own. Not like the sad guy."

"Okay, Mister Luciano, so they were fighting. Then what happened?" Marks was even more out of patience than Gonzales.

"Well, I hadn't been spyin' up til I heard this crack. I'd been listenin' at the window. Gloria, she's, she's squeamish. From Ohio. Anyway. I'm gettin' there! Keep your shirt on. Sounded bad. Like a bone breakin'. So, I peek out through the curtains, only the suit is carryin' old Evans over his shoulder, like a sack a' potatoes or somethin'. Evans is all limp."

"And?" Gonzales had obviously given up hope on a quick summation.

"Well, the suit carries him inside the house. I think, good, he's gonna splash some water in his face, call an ambulance, something. Anyway, not my business, not anymore. It's inside. Like I said earlier."

They heard the click of high heels on the concrete floor. "How much time passed between visits, Mister Luciano?"

"How long? About two hours. The sad guy drove off. I got through CNN once, then fell asleep. The clock said 7:43 when I woke up and heard the guy, the suit, drive up."

"Mister Luciano, was the volume up on the television during the conversations you overheard?" Gonzales was excited, but contained.

"Nah. Had it down for both. Why watch the tube when there's the real thing? Now, now Gloria, she would just have turned the box up, drowned out the whole thing. But, not me. Somebody has to keep an eye on the neighborhood."

They heard the sound of a throat clearing, by the timbre, Gonzales. "Mister Luciano, do you think you could recognize the man if you saw him again?"

"Recognize? Sure thing."

"Would you be able to work with a police artist to put together a composite sketch?" It was Marks who asked.

"Sure. Yeah."

Johnson stopped the tape. "Well, Jerry, after this, we knew you were in the clear. I'm certain Doctor Miller can testify that you were with her at all times between when you left Evans and when you received the call about his death."

Donato laughed. "Oh, yes."

Sandra nodded. "And, if you want to check further, we were at Kung Food. We had reservations and paid with a credit card." She dug in her pocket to wave a slip of paper. "I recovered this after our last meeting." She eyed Johnson significantly. "Both of which will verify the times."

"Sir!" Peterson pushed his way into the office to claim their attentions. "They just brought in another one!"

"Another one what?" The African-American Sergeant’s voice was gruff.

"One of those environmentalists who has been picketing Scripps. He had handcuffed himself to the bio-lab doors, claiming he would starve himself until the 'Evil work of Wilton and Miller was stopped.'"

"Evil work?" Sandra wondered. "What on earth?"

"Let's go," Johnson commanded. "Doctor Miller, there's a room where you can wait. It's behind one-way glass, so you can see and hear everything, but not be seen or heard yourself. With luck, we may be able to wrap up two cases today."

-

Androkiri Shop
Akrotiri Town
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
12:48 pm

Once the four were huddled around her, Scully looked each of the Gunmen in the eye. "You up for a little undercover work, Gentlemen?"

Frohike waggled his eyebrows, but kept silent at a glare from Mulder.

"We're instituting a change to our plans. Mulder and I aren't going to question, we're going to accuse. We'd like you to follow whoever emerges first and see where they go."

Byers nodded solemnly. "Agent Mulder? Do you have any ideas about this?"

He spread his hands. "I'm with her. We're not certain whom we can trust on this island."

She nodded. "The head of police here is either unprepared to, incapable of, or unwilling to cooperate fully with us. Mulder has some reservations about an art expert we consulted here on the island. Max and Caroline are too well-known to be involved. That leaves you three."

Frohike stuck his chest out. "Ready and able, Agent Scully."

Langly nodded. "Glad to see things are back to normal."

"What if there is more than one of them?" Byers frowned.

"We split up." Langly held up a hand. "And I have just the thing to keep us in contact." He loped back to their rented van, returning with five black wristbands. "These have a range of two miles or so." He tapped the lozenge-shaped watch face. "It's just a glue-on, but unless we're stopped, no one will know."

"Hey, where's the TV screen?" The dark-haired agent was twiddling a knob on the left side of the dial.

"Mulder," Langly scolded, "this isn't to NASA spec. All you need to know is that, going clockwise around the face, the six bevels are for the other units. Yours is number four, the hour you see the watch set to. I've distributed the units in alphabetical order, so the knob beside the one calls unit number one, Byers' unit. The bevels beside one, two, three, and five activate the send/receive for the corresponding unit, and the one beside nine sends to all. Okay?"

A collective nod. As Mulder and Scully stepped away, he bent over her. "So, these loud accusations?"

"That's your department. I can't think of everything on the fly."

He touched her back just before they headed into the Androkiri shop. Once inside, Scully watched her partner begin pacing the short aisles, taking deeper and deeper breaths. As he perambulated, the locals began slipping quietly away. At the same time, the store's proprietors started gathering behind the counter. First was the woman who had spoken to them at the police station, although she gave no sign that she recognized them. Then a middle-aged man Scully assumed was her brother materialized. When a grey-haired man, his beard bushier than Petras' but only about half the length, appeared to take the space behind the woman, Mulder began raging.

"Why are you people endangering my sister?"

The white-haired senior grasped both of his children's shoulders, then stepped around to face the agent. "I don't know what you mean, Sir." He pointed to the two behind the counter. "Family is very important to me."

Mulder ran his hands through his hair several times, then, his eyes as wild as his bangs, he began shouting. "My sister in San Francisco has been stalked by a man the police believe has ties back to this island, and to Akrotiri in specific!"

Scully cocked an eyebrow at this. She hadn't expected her partner to weave a story so close to the truth. But there was no reaction from the three locals.

"You don't understand!" The dark-haired agent was now waving his arms. "She's been attacked. She's in the hospital."

She blanched, surprised he was working in the details of her own stay on the island.

The bearded man moved behind his offspring to clasp their shoulders once more. "I could not abide the loss of either one of my children. You are the FBI agents from America, yes?"

Mulder nodded, searching for some sign of recognition from the woman, but her face remained impassive.

"Then we shall call you." Androkiri Senior pulled both children close. "There are people we need to speak to about these accusations."

Backs straight, the three disappeared into the rear of the store.

Scully walked up beside her partner to touch his arm. "You seem to have struck a nerve. We need to alert Caroline and Max, just to be on the safe side."

His eyes were still on the open door. "Yeah." He raised his fist to his lips.

She rested her hand on his back, hoping to calm him after the display of emotions he had called out of himself.

Interrogation Room
Northern Precinct
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
9:03 am

Sandra paced in the long, narrow room, watching as the interrogation proceeded. The investigative team had been augmented by Phil Nichols, whom Jerry Donato had called. The ASAC was now perched on a stool in the corner. The suspect, one Spotted Owl Moonray, as he identified himself, had spent a good half an hour raving about the evils of the medical community. It had taken Sandra less than a minute to identify him as the man who had called her 'Killer Miller' back at the university. She had passed a note to a policewoman, who had carried it in for Donato to read. She noted that Jerry's interrogation seemed to have doubled in intensity after he had scanned the words on the sheet, balled the paper up, then shoved it in his pocket.

Moonray turned to point to the agent in the corner. "Who is he? I've seen you and all your friends while you were driving around downtown in those pollution machines you call police cars. At least Killer Miller uses a bike."

Johnson pursed his lips. "Is that a threat, Mister... Moonray?" He leaned across the table. "If it is, I want you to know you have a long list of priors. We can put you away for quite some time."

"Yeah, right." The bearded man snorted, then looked back at Nichols. "Who are you? I've got a right to know my accusers."

After a glance at the agent, Johnson shook his head, but Nichols rose to approach the table.

"Yes, you do. I'm ASAC Phillip Nichols, FBI."

The suspect brightened visibly. "Oh, Bureau, hunh? I didn't know I attracted that kind of attention. Spinney warned me - "

"Murder attracts everyone's attention, Sir." Gonzales leaned over the table.

Nichols held up his hand. "You were saying? Who is this Spinney?"

A furtive smile. "Doug Spinney. One of the best. He died a few years ago protecting old-growth forests from logging."

Sandra watched Nichols frown, as if the case were sparking some old memory. She'd have to ask him about it later.

Jerry bent down into the bearded man's face. "Tell us how you killed Tom Wilton."

Sandra arched a brow at the surprised glances from the other officers present. Apparently, Donato either wasn't supposed to take a lead in the questioning, or he was approaching the witness far too abruptly for procedural tastes. She, however, had been fidgeting with impatience at the lack of progress.

But Moonray was laughing out loud. "Kill? Is this like 'when did you stop beating your wife?'" He shook his head. "I got nothing to do with his death. Although, it was worth the good scare he had when we rigged the tunnel with those microphones."

Sandra's fists clenched.

"So, you *did* sabotage the tunnel?" The Latino detective glared.

The witness shook his head. "Not sabotage. We installed a radio-controlled remote microphone by the sensors, then hid up on the roof. We wanted to play with his head a bit. Once the Killer pulled him out of there, we yanked our stuff out, too."

Gonzales shook his head. "But you left your climbing tackle behind. Or, did you forget that?"

Moonray smiled, revealing twisted yellow teeth. "Forget? Nah. We wanted to play with that brain the Killer's so proud of."

Donato leaned into the bearded man's face. "We took partial prints off that rope. If yours match, it's Murder One. I'll push the prosecutor to ask for the death penalty."

Now their witness laughed out loud. "Ooh, that scares me. I went to law school, little man. You have *nothing* that links me directly to Wilton's death. Nothing."

Johnson crossed his arms. "But I still don't understand why you went to all this trouble. Why wasn't protest good enough?"

The activist licked his lips. "Oh, that wasn't getting us anywhere. They deserved to suffer for their good fortune. Sitting fat and happy while animals suffered and died to pay for their leisure."

At that, Sandra had had enough. She burst out of the observation room, then roared as she flung wide the door to join the interrogation. "What the blazing Hades are you talking about! We never took any money from that company! And now Tom's dead because of you!" She had Moonray flung supine across the table before the others could react.

The bearded man's limbs were flailing. "Hey! Get her off me! I know my rights! Help! Police Brutality! Help!"

The room exploded. Johnson began shouting instructions to the other officers in the room. Gonzales attempted to slide the witness table out from under Moonray, hoping that by sending the pair crashing to the floor, they could break Sandra's grip.

Jerry locked his arms around the professor's waist to pull her off the witness. "Sandra! Don't do this! Let us handle it!"

The officers froze at the loud crack as the table yielded under the combined weight of the three. For a moment, all was silent until the chestnut-haired woman pulled herself free to shake Moonray. "These officers have to obey the law when it comes to handling witnesses, but I don't! In the Kibbutz, I learned eye for eye! You killed my friend! You deserve to suffer a little of what he did!"

Breaking away, the bearded man ran to the far corner of the room, where he collapsed into a crouch. "What! I didn't kill him! How do they know *you* didn't kill him in a jealous rage!" He shook a finger at her. "I saw the two of you together, always happy and laughing. You were fooling around with each other, weren't you?"

She hauled him to his feet. "You were *spying* on us? For how long? What did you do, hide in the bushes?"

He pushed at her shoulders. "What would you know of that? I saw a lot that I wasn't supposed to see."

Johnson peered around Sandra's arm. "What did you see? Tell us! If you know anything, it may clear you of a murder charge."

At Jerry's insistent tugging on her waist, Sandra released the witness. "Or convict you out of your own mouth."

"Sandra!" Donato tightened his grip. "You could be charged with obstruction of justice here."

She looked down at him. "We'll see about that." Her alto was calm and even, so they exchanged small smiles.

Moonray had edged away from the chestnut-haired woman. "Yes, I saw someone leave Wilton's house when we drove past there."

Johnson blocked Sandra's view of the witness. "You went there? After the accident?"

The bearded man nodded. "Yeah. We wanted to gloat, but that Nixon kid wouldn't let us come in. We argued for a while outside the house, which is when I saw her leave. He went in and came out, all down and mopey."

"Who?" Gonzales frowned. "Who left?"

"Dunno who she is, exactly. She's a little woman with white hair. I've seen her come and go out of the Physics building."

Sandra crossed her arms. "The only woman I know who meets that description is Elizabeth Williams. Elizabeth?" She frowned.

Donato turned to the professor. "What reason would Elizabeth Williams have for visiting Tom Wilton?"

The chestnut-haired woman flopped into one of the wooden chairs. "I wish I knew. Wait!" She began prowling the periphery of the interrogation room. "That must be it! Judy and Elizabeth both painted." She pounced on Donato. "You've been to the Williams home. You must have seen some of her works."

The thick-chested detective nodded. "You think there was some sort of rivalry between them? But how would that affect how she felt about Tom?"

Sandra blanched. "It was the joint exhibition. Judy and Elizabeth rented a hall, an expensive one, to display their works together. I remember Judy telling me that Elizabeth's pieces didn't do as well as hers. I wonder..."

Donato and Gonzales exchanged a glance. "Then I think it's she we need to interview next." Jerry pointed to the door.

Johnson nodded his approval as he took Moonray by the arm.

-

Androkiri Shop
Akrotiri Town
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
12:52 pm

Scully reached down to grasp her partner's wrist, only to be surprised to feel him still shaking. "Mulder, it's okay."

He closed his eyes momentarily. "Yeah. Don't volunteer me for this performance art stuff again anytime soon, Doctor."

"I won't." She pressed her shoulder against his arm. "Sam will be all right. She has your brains and wits."

She felt his reply on her cheek. "It wasn't Sam I was concerned about, Scully."

She blanched, then slid away to look up into his eyes. "I suppose I should just get used to you worrying about me, even when I don't need it."

"Yeah." He pressed his hand into her back. "That would be a start."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "As long as you know it works both ways."

He tossed her a full grin. "Oh, yeah."

His wrist crackled. "G-man!" It was Frohike, attempting to whisper. "We have them. They're leaving together. Head back to the van."

With a nod, Scully followed her partner out.

Northern Precinct
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
9:21 am

"Well, you certainly scared them," Jerry Donato guided Sandra Miller to his police car.

She shrugged, but said nothing.

As he rested a hand on her back while he unlocked the passenger door, he realized she was still trembling slightly. That surprised him. She had been the picture of intensity as she had forced first, himself, then, Richard Gonzales, and, finally, Martin Johnson, to acquiesce in her wish to accompany them to this, with luck, final interview.

Her arms were still crossed as he slid into the driver's seat. "What?" She met his dark eyes.

He grinned. "If you ever want a job on the Force, just let me know. You'd set anybody straight."

"Sorry." She rubbed her face with both hands. "I've just learned I need to be as forceful as possible to make myself clear and heard. Men, regardless of their education, can be remarkably deaf when they so choose."

"Yeah." They drove on in silence, until, without taking his hands off the steering wheel, he lifted one finger to point at the next street. "This is it. Get ready."

"Yes. I see the lights in the studio. Elizabeth must still be home."

Akrotiri Town
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
1:14 pm

The Gunmen and the Agents converged on the van from opposite directions.

"They're headed east!" Frohike unlocked the driver's door.

Once the five were settled, Mulder stumbled up behind him. "Is this east as in along a street, or out of the city?"

Byers nodded. "We heard them talking. Something about a site on the Bay."

"Then it's Exomitis, as we thought." Scully raised her voice to be heard from the back seat.

Langly adjusted his glasses, which had been knocked askew in the hustle. "Okay, I'm on it." He flipped open a laptop, then, after a few keyclicks, announced, "take a left through the alley coming up."

"Got it," Frohike rejoined.

Mulder stared over the longhaired Gunman's shoulder. "What is this?"

"Soviet technology, for sale to whomever will pay, no questions asked." Byers spoke from the front passenger side. "We found out about it through one of those European groups we made contact with for you." He hung onto his seat cushion as the tires squealed. "Commercial maps of the Med aren't good enough. Due to certain minor conflagrations they used to be involved in, our former enemies mapped the Cyclades to a decimeter, so we can follow the streets exact-"

"Okay, two blocks down this street, the right through the next alley. Sorry." Langly apologized without lifting his nose from the flat screen.

"There!" The bearded Gunman pointed.

Frohike gunned the engine. "You have a lock on them yet, Mister Clean?"

Mulder exchanged a glance with Scully, who shrugged. "Byers? What's he saying?"

The bearded Gunman dropped open the glove compartment to reveal a silver box, a single green light blinking in the center. "Of course we do." He twisted around to face the auburn-haired agent. "We installed a homing device on their station wagon before we headed back to the van."

"That's one of mine." Langly grinned. "I built a GPS receiver into the unit. And not just an off-the-shelf model."

Scully chuckled, bringing several pairs of eyes around to her face. "Are you sure he's not Bureau material, Mulder?"

The dark-haired agent shook his head. "He'd have to lower his standards."

Langly tapped his screen. "Okay, the differential GPS overlay is coming in. They're still moving at a high velocity."

He continued issuing occasional updates, while the rest remained silent so Frohike could negotiate the unfamiliar streets.

Mulder took the opportunity to curl in the back seat beside his partner. "You okay?" His hazel gaze, full of warmth and concern, fell on her face.

Scully nodded. "We'll all be."

"Hang on, they've turned north and started to climb." The blond Gunman was jabbing the glass in his excitement.

"They've headed to Illias." She looked up at her partner. "You were right, Mulder."

He smirked. "Reputation, Scully."

Once the van had wound up the mountain road, almost to the Monastery, Byers began fishing in one of their equipment boxes behind his seat. "Yeah, okay, this should do." He clapped a helmet with thick goggles over his head. "Pull behind that stand of trees." He pointed.

Frohike complied, then killed the engine.

As the wait lengthened, Mulder began to fidget. "What's going on? Why are we sitting here?" His answer came in a churn of gravel as the battered station wagon shot by them.

"Okay." Byers rotated a lens, then shifted it back to its original position. "There are four heat sources in the vehicle. They've picked up a passenger."

Mulder shook Frohike by the shoulder. "What are we waiting for?"

The round-faced Gunman held up a hand. "To make certain there's not another vehicle with them. They can only go down from here." After a few moments of silence, he turned over the engine. "We need to stay covert, G-man. Surprise is our only weapon. Hang on."

The dark-haired agent found himself thrown against the forward passenger bench. "Yeah, right." He had his teeth gritted.

"They're picking up speed as they descend." Langly had resumed his hunch over the screen.

"Back to Exomitis." Scully gripped the seat.

"I think so, Most Radiant One." Frohike’s hands flew over the steering wheel.

Williams Residence
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
9:42 am

Jerry was at the brunette professor’s side as they worked their way through the rose garden to approach an enclosed room on the north side of the house. "I'll be right outside the window."

Still agitated, she looked down at him. "You'll be able to hear everything?"

He shrugged. "Of course." He adjusted the volume on his earpiece. "Maria and I pulled in several collars like this. If she tries to break away, we have both ends of the street closed off."

Another unconvinced glance. "I'll maneuver her close to the bay window there, just to be certain."

After they parted, he crept to the sill. There was a gap in the curtains through which he could espy most of the room. He strained forward as he heard Sandra's knock. When Elizabeth was out of the room momentarily, he took the cover of silence to chamber a round, reminding himself to leave the safety off, for once.

"Yes?" Elizabeth set down her easel to approach the rear door. "Sandra? What brings you here?"

Sandra began prowling along the unframed canvases, edging her way along the wall to the window. "I wanted to check on how John was coming. The hospital said there was no change in his condition. What have you seen?"

Jerry grinned as she leaned against the wall. The professor had concocted the most reasonable of prevarications, so he knew they, too, would make a good team together.

Elizabeth crossed her arms, squaring her shoulders as she stood. "Oh, I haven't seen much. He's squeezed my hand on occasion, but I can't tell whether he's really aware of me or if it's something autonomic. I needed to take a break here." She waved to the half-finished canvas.

Donato strained to see it, but, since the surface was nearly at right angles to his view, he could only make out a blob of blue.

Sandra nodded as she looked it over. "A quiet resting place. How appropriate. I only hope that's where Tom is."

The thick-chested detective reached unconsciously for his weapon when he saw the white-haired woman’s fists clench.

The professor plunged on ahead. "There were things the police couldn't figure out about the murder, you know."

"Oh?" Elizabeth sank into the chair. "Such as?"

Sandra was by the window again. "Such as, how someone could steal the hard drives out of Tom's machine while he was still alive, or without disturbing the body, if he were already dead."

The white-haired woman shook her head. "Such small things. John would always say, 'the devil is in the details,' when he would attempt to explain why he needed to work late on yet another paper. Sometimes he missed what was important." She lifted her chin defiantly. "As do you, Professor Miller."

"Oh?" Sandra tossed her head. "What am I missing? I was there with Jeanette and the police as they worked over Tom's study. Whoever killed him didn't leave any fingerprints." She stared pointedly at the latex gloves on the older woman's hands.

"Ah, but some of us must keep up appearances, you know, even at my age," Elizabeth lilted. "I didn't have the luxury you have, Sandra, of letting myself go. A professor's wife must always look her best."

The chestnut-haired woman shrugged. "Life's not always fair. But times have changed for the better."

Elizabeth smiled. "Have they, really? Look at Hillary Clinton, if you must. All those brains, forced to 'stand by her man' through the biggest embarrassment a First Lady has endured yet."

Sandra tossed her hair back over one shoulder. "But she's running for the Senate."

"And if she makes it, she'll only hear that she won the seat because her husband was the President. For women, you see, the world hasn't changed all that much. Look at you, Sandra, how far do you think you will go now that Tom is dead? Whom do you think was really respected in the Department, yourself or he?"

Sandra stalked over to her. "I've earned my own way, Elizabeth. I don't need to recite my CV to you."

A tight grimace. "Oh, I think you should, Sandra. The name Wilton appears on every paper where Miller does. Now, who do you think will earn the credit for the research when the day is done? Look at Lise Meitner. She was treated as Otto Hahn's assistant by the Nobel Committee, who couldn't see awarding its prize to another woman working in radioactivity. It was Tom who was discussed as a replacement Department Head, not yourself."

From outside the house, Donato wondered how Sandra had let the interview get so far off-track as this. He might be forced to step in after all.

The brunette professor shook her head. "Elizabeth, that's an interesting history lesson. But what does it have to do with me? This is almost the Twenty-First Century."

A tinkling laugh. "Human nature doesn't change, my dear. I know if my husband were spending his time with a beautiful colleague, I might be worried."

"Judy had *nothing* to be concerned for, if that's what you mean. Tom was faithful to her, body and soul."

"But not in mind." The older woman minced to the window. "That's what irked her the most, you see, that Tom stopped talking about your work together once you two got that tunnel built. She *liked* hearing about his research, even if she didn't understand it."

Sandra towered over Elizabeth. "When did she tell you this? You're making all this up!"

"No, I'm not." The white-haired woman glared back fiercely. "You were never around when she was painting. She poured herself into those works, but you two only thought of them as a pleasant little diversion."

"That's not true!" It was Sandra's fists that were clenched. "Art is *never* a diversion! Art is a necessity of life!"

"Perhaps for some. It certainly is for me. But for Judy, it was only a way to make more money. No wonder she kept track of it so precisely."

"She?" Sandra shook her head again. "Judy really wasn't good at math. She couldn't fathom the simplest equation."

"Oh, she could add well enough. Her records on the computer said as much."

Sandra went still. "Records on the computer? What are you talking about, Elizabeth?"

The white-haired woman chuckled. "Oh, the ones on Tom's computer, of course. You think I hadn't seen those? Judy showed them to me once while I was visiting. She had them in a hidden file on her hard drive. All her expenses were in there, including the rental of the hall for our exhibition. The *real* rental, not what she told John. As if John would notice when he was being lied to by someone as attractive as - "

"Elizabeth, what are you saying?"

Donato leaned a bit further into the room.

"Oh, not what you think I am. Judy was as faithful to Tom as he was to her. But John always had a bit of a roving eye. He thought it was my fault we never had children. Well, had he been home more often, it might have been possible. He may have them, for all I know. But, John willingly paid whatever he thought would assuage his guilty conscience. If that meant keeping me in art supplies and out of his hair, well, he would. But, I found out, upon closer examination if those records, that Judy had over-stated the costs of that exhibition hall."

Sandra walked over to her. "But, Elizabeth, how did you get a closer look at Judy's records? You were never in the house, as far as I know."

"No." Elizabeth shook her head. "Not as far as you know. Tom was so helpful, finding those hidden files like I asked. But, people, even deaf people, generally are." Her tone was studied, casual, as she reached behind her into a drawer. "Especially when they have a gun on them." She pointed the service revolver at Sandra, who held up both hands, then began backing away.

"Elizabeth, what are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing, Professor? Use those brains of yours. Cleaning up loose ends. I'm not stupid. I knew someone would come around asking questions eventually. I didn't expect it to be you, Sandra, but I don't mind that it is. You need to be set down a notch."

"So, you're going to kill me, like you killed Tom?"

"Of course I am. It's time to finish what I started in your office. Then I disappear. Who would suspect the perfect little professor's wife?"

"Okay, Mrs. Williams, that's enough!" Jerry Donato stood to aim his weapon in through the window. "You're under arrest for the murder of Tom - "

Elizabeth fired two shots at Jerry, then ran for the front door.

As Donato pulled himself into the room, Sandra tackled the slight woman from behind, sending the revolver spinning across the oak floorboards.

Jerry had one cuff on the arm reaching for the gun as he began Mirandizing Elizabeth Williams.

Sandra released the older woman, then shoved the revolver further away with her foot. "You'll need this for evidence, right?"

"Yeah." Donato helped Elizabeth to her feet. "I think I owe your husband an apology. I hope he wakes up so I can give it to him. Let's go."

As the three emerged together into the sunshine, police cruisers converged from both sides of the street.

Akrotiri Town
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
1:54 pm

Scully attempted to peer out the darkened windows of the van. "If we know they're headed to Exomitis, do we have any idea exactly where they'd be going, or do we simply have to rely on following them?"

The bearded Gunman looked over. "Well, we'd been working on that. There was another group in Greece that was very helpful in supplying land ownership records for Santorini. How they're getting them, even *we* couldn't figure out." He dug in the pack by his seat to pass her a satellite image. "Once we knew where the Androkiris owned land, we spent a little money in France to buy SPOT imagery of their holdings. That one circled shows evidence of having been worked recently." Since they had just hit a rut in the road, his attempt to point succeeded only in knocking the image out of Scully's hand, then onto Mulder's leg. "Sorry."

The dark-haired agent pulled the sheet away from his partner to wave it out of her arm's reach, before she, with a frustrated grunt, reached across his lap to tug it free.

She ignored his smirk as she settled down to peer at the image. "These violet blotches and green squares?"

"Exactly." Langly lifted his face from the computer screen long enough to nod. "We had been cross-correlating the imagery against properties owned by the same real estate group Evans had been involved in. Those were part of them."

Mulder cocked an eyebrow at the long-haired Gunman. "Why didn't you show us this earlier?"

Byers' fingers dug into the back cushion as he pulled himself around to face them. "Because it was only this morning that we knew Exomitis was significant. We culled the rest once we saw your note."

"That's not important," Scully interceded. "Can we get there before they do?"

"Working on it." Langly was stroking the rollerball in the mouse pad. "Yeah, we can." He proceeded to rattle off a series of directions to Frohike, who grunted, then spun the van sharply to the left.

"Let's hope the Russkies knew their stuff." The rest of the round-faced Gunman’s comments were lost as he muttered under his breath.

Exomitis Cape
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
2:44 pm

Scully looked over as Mulder touched her back, before he dropped behind the rocks of the top of a jagged hill. "If the French are right about this, the excavation should be over there." She pointed.

"I *just* don't want to see any talking stags right now." Mulder smirked.

"Not a problem." She sent him a quick twitch of her cheek. "There aren't any wolves on Santorini."

"Who says we're still on Santorini, Scully?" They exchanged a quick grin before a loud noise had them both ducking their heads.

"You can't destroy this!" The shout came from below, Scully quickly recognizing the voice as belonging to the helpful monk they had interviewed earlier.

"Ah, it *was* real." Mulder had clenched his teeth.

"No, it can't be uncovered. If our work is exposed, we'd lose everything!" The voice belonged to Androkiri Senior.

"Or, maybe not." The auburn-haired pathologist shook her head.

"There's only one way to find out." The dark-haired agent began slithering forward, but stopped when Scully grabbed his arm.

"Remember what happened the last time you did that." She waggled her SIG for emphasis. "Besides, they'll be distracted enough in a few minutes."

"This is an archaeological treasure!" Petras was shouting in his frustration.

"You fool! It's a fake! My family has been preparing this for decades!" The voice belonged to the older Androkiri.

The remainder of their words were lost in scuffles of feet and the thumps of exchanged blows, then in the shouts in Greek of the son and daughter.

"Okay." Mulder had his lips on his wrist."You ready, guys?"

"Yes, we are." The voice that emerged, slightly tinny, belonged to Byers.

"Go!"

The agents scrambled over the top of the hill, but their appearance had gone completely unnoticed. A flare had shot into the air from the far side of the valley, setting the conspirators below shouting and pointing. By the time the four were aware of the partners' presence, Mulder and Scully had their weapons leveled.

"Federal Agents! We're armed!" Scully’s tucked her chin so her voice sounded as if she were much larger than she actually was. She forced down an incongruous chuckle when she realized how little her title meant here on the island.

"I think we've reached the end of this charade." Mulder waved his SIG.

"I agree," Petras shouted. A revolver appeared from behind his back.

"Drop it!" Scully was shifting to aim at him.

"Let me introduce myself." The monk pointed the weapon at the Androkiris. He took a few steps back to form a loose triangle with the agents. "I work for the Ministry of Culture in Athens. We noticed a slow, but even stream of Minoan-styled pottery coming in from Santorini several years back. Most of it was obviously fake, but some of it was very high-quality work, if modern. What puzzled us were a few pieces, less than a half a dozen, that we couldn't prove were frauds. So, I was placed undercover here. When you stopped by with your step-father - "

"Halt!" Scully was focused on the junior Androkiri, who had attempted to break away from his huddle with his family while their attention was drawn elsewhere.

Mulder used the muzzle of his gun to wave the man back beside his father and sister. "Are we to assume you have counterparts on the other islands of the Cyclades? Delos, Naxos, and the like?"

"I'd rather not comment." The non-monk never took his gaze off the Androkiris.

"What's going to happen to us?" The Androkiri sister was sobbing as she clutched her brother's arm.

"We shall see." Scully found she could summon no sympathy for the distraught woman.

Petras stalked over to the three. "You'll be taken to the local police, but I'll have other agents from Culture here within two hours."

Once the three were securely tied with rope stored in the back of the Androkiri's station wagon, Scully turned to her partner. "I want to check out this site."

"You're not the only one." He grinned down at her.

"You had back-up?" The non-monk was still holding his aim on the three.

"Yes." Mulder raised his wrist to his face. Once the Gunmen had emerged, he pointed. "They have secure communications, if you want to call Athens from here."

"Ah. Good." Petras waved at the cave. "Just don't touch anything, all right?"

The pair nodded before they entered.

Exomitis Cape
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
3:12 pm

"No labyrinth, Mulder." Scully ducked rather than hurtle head-first into a support beam.

After crawling under the same barrier, the dark-haired agent tossed her a grin. "I think once is enough, Scully." The interior was sparely lit, but gave the appearance of an archaeological excavation. There were tables with painted pot shards, even a few damaged figurines. Along the far wall, two square shafts pointed into the blackness.

"I think I see what Petras meant." She turned over one of the statuettes. "There's just enough uncertainty here to fool even the best expert."

Mulder nodded. "I certainly would be." After a glance around, he stepped in front of her. "I guess the operative question would be, if this is all a fake, then where are the purported artifacts being manufactured? Somewhere down here, or in one of the shops in your little list?"

"I don't know." Scully fell silent as she moved around the space. "The interior here looks completely undisturbed. I'll bet the answer lies through one of those shafts there." She bent down to peer into one. "I can tell you that you won't fit, Mulder. These are barely a foot high, and less than two feet wide."

"But, I would." Frohike was in the doorway. "Petras is driving the Androkiris back to Thira in their own station wagon." He waved over his shoulder.

"Is that wise?" Scully walked over to him.

A shrug. "He didn't seem to have a problem with it. The father's tied up in the back, the kids are lashed into their seats. He seems rather inventive for a government type." The little man bowed his head. "Present company excepted, of course." He held up two flashlights by way of apology. "I thought you might need these."

Scully pointed toward the shafts. "Which would you like?"

Frohike smiled beatifically. "Whichever one you're in, my dear."

She plucked one black lamp from his hand before she stalked away from him. "I'll take the left, you take the right."

"Hey, don't I get a say in this?" Mulder pouted.

"No!" The Gunman and Agent responded together.

He hunched to stare into the left shaft. "I don't like the thought of either of you going in there." He glared at his partner. "Especially you, Scully."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, then she grasped his wrist placatingly. "That's why we have these, Mulder."

The round-faced Gunman looked from one to the other. "You two okay with this?"

With a sigh, the dark-haired agent stepped back. "Yeah, I guess."

As Scully pulled herself into the opening she had chosen, she glanced back over her shoulder to see he had already begun pacing.

Northern Precinct
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
10:27 am

Sandra Miller stalked over as Whittington entered the precinct room. "So, it's you. We wondered when her lawyer would show up."

He bowed his grey head with precision. "You say that as if you're surprised to see me. Am I not an officer of the court?"

Johnson stepped out of his office. "Yes, Sir, you certainly are. Detective Donato will show you to your client." He waved at the thick-chested man.

Jerry held the door for the lawyer. "It seems I owe Doctor Williams an apology."

Whittington glared down at him. "You most certainly do. As you will his wife, I'm sure."

Gonzales fell in step beside Sandra, who had been following the two men. "Oh, I don't think so. Your client was extremely helpful."

"Indeed. Elizabeth can be most accommodating when she wishes to." He waited while Donato let him into the interrogation room.

Elizabeth Williams ran over to the lawyer. "Charles! I'm so glad you're here! What can you do to get me out of this?"

He patted her back for a moment, then guided her back into the chair. "What did you say, my dear?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, really."

Donato crossed his arms. "She confessed to the killing of Tom Wilton."

Whittington frowned. "An admission procured while under duress, no doubt."

Jerry recounted the conversation between Elizabeth and Sandra, the chestnut-haired professor nodding her assent at specific points. When he stopped, Whittington began rubbing his face. "Well, that certainly puts a whole new light on the matter." He disentangled himself from the white-haired woman's grasp. "I suggest you get yourself a new attorney, Madam."

"Charles! You can't leave me! You can't! You promised!"

He had stalked out the door, only to be blocked by Sandra Miller. "I believe your business here is not concluded, Sir. I knew I was right not to trust you, now or ever."

Whittington threw back his head and roared with laughter. "And what, pray tell, could you possibly accuse me of now, Professor?"

"Just the murder of Michael Evans." Donato was standing behind him.

The grey-haired lawyer snorted. "Your evidence?"

"The account of an eyewitness who saw you with the deceased officer at the moment of his collapse." Gonzales lifted the police artist's rendering up to mirror Whittington's face. "Once it was done, we all recognized you immediately."

"I'll see your doodler and trump you both, gentlemen, and you, Doctor Miller." He waved expansively, a gesture Sandra expected he used often in the courtroom. "Have you bothered to check the 911 tape where Officer Evans' debility was reported?" He looked at the three confused faces. "No, I thought not. Would a murderer place the emergency phone call to obtain aid for his victim? I should think not." He strode down the hall, sweeping the others along in his wake. "Let me tell you how Michael Evans died, and you tell me if I have it right. There were excessive levels of testosterone found in his body after exhumation, were there not?"

"But, how did you know," Gonzales blurted out, before a glance from Donato silenced him.

Whittington looked back over his shoulder. "Yes, I thought so. That little tete a tete we had with that exceptionally helpful FBI agent was what I needed to conclude a small internal investigation I was conducting. The older fellow, Nichols, was it?" He glanced back at Sandra, who nodded. "Agent Nichols showed me papers that indicated land deals were being run through my firm, deals which resulted directly in real estate fraud. I had suspected a younger colleague, one Gary Toloso. A fine fellow, from a good school, but with a touch too much larceny in his soul and a shade too little agility in his wits to succeed in our profession. His wife, you see, is a nurse, who would know about testosterone poisoning. I had a private detective following up on things from the Mediterranean side, but I haven't been able to contact him for several weeks now."

Donato glared at the older man. "So, why did you run when the Bureau presented you with evidence? What do you have to hide?"

Whittington rounded on Jerry, using his far superior height in an attempt to cow the thick-chested man. "Detective Donato, you are more stupid than a Doberman with an old shoe. If I had anything to hide, do you think I would be here volunteering as much as I am?"

Gonzales dropped a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Jerry, take it easy."

Having reached Donato's desk, the attorney dropped his briefcase on it, then flicked open the locks to hand the stunned detective a file. "I believe you'll find all the evidence you need in here. I shall return to my office to await your rather predictably boisterous arrival. My colleague shall be prepared for you, a veritable lamb to the slaughter. He's tarrying in my office as we speak, as a matter of fact." He closed and locked the satchel, then spun on his heel. "Never let it be said that justice is not my paramount concern. If you have any questions, you know where to reach me. Good Day, Gentlemen, Lady." With a half-bow, he was out the door and gone.

Donato began turning the pages over. "It's as he said, all the documentation is here. If our witness happened to see Toloso meet with Evans, then it's a done deal." He passed the photograph to his partner.

"Jerry, you didn't get much sleep last night, did you?" Gonzales rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Why don't you call it a day?" He smiled over at the chestnut-haired woman. "You, too, Doctor Miller."

She had been propped against the desk. "I think so. That would be good."

Donato grasped the professor’s fingers lightly. "Sandra, let me buy you some lunch, hum?"

She gave him a full lop-sided grin. "That would be good, too. But, after we make a stop by the office to pick up Jeannette's keys to Doctor Williams' house. She usually feeds their cat when they're away, but with her sick little girl, she can't take in another boarder. I can, and that dear little animal shouldn't have to suffer because she's lost both her people."

Jerry tightened his grip on her hand. "Will do, Professor. But you'll have to clear it with the Inquisitor, you know."

"Who shall not be amused." Sandra chuckled.

As the pair left, oblivious to the watchful eyes at the surrounding desks, Sandra saw Johnson step up to engage Gonzales in some deep discussion. But, with the murder of Tom Wilton finally solved, there were other matters that would engage her full attention. She glanced down at the thick-chested detective, who was beaming as he held her hand. "We need to talk, Jerry."

"That we do." He held the outer door for her.

Exomitis Cape
Santorini, Greece
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
3:23 pm

Mulder pressed down on the bevel beside the nine. "What do you see?"

"What do you mean?" The voice was Byers' as he entered, not either of the persons for whom he had intended the message.

"Who's looking at what?" Langly called from the doorway behind the bearded man.

Mulder spun. "Scully and Frohike are investigating those two shafts." He pointed. "They've been in there for - "

"What?" The blond hair waved. "All of two minutes?" He stepped over to pat Mulder's shoulder. "G-man, you gotta learn to chill. Instant results only happen on the tube."

All three turned as they heard stones peppering the beaten dirt. Frohike's boots emerged from the right shaft, followed by the rest of him. "Dead-end." He brushed himself off.

"Mulder?" Scully's voice crackled from the agent's wrist.

"Yeah, Scully, what's happening with you? Frohike's side didn't go anywhere."

All four paled at the sound of falling earth.

"Scully!" Mulder shouted.

"I'm okay!" Her voice was muffled. Then, slightly more loudly, she explained, "The soil is much looser this far in. Hang on, I see a light. Let me do some digging." The men listened through several thumps and grunts.

"Scully!" Mulder was kept from crawling head-first into the shaft only because Frohike was blocking the way.

"Agent Scully?" Byers emphasized.

"I'm into a chamber. Langly, too bad you couldn't Dick Tracy a video feed onto these wristbands. You should see all of this! There's whole pottery and completed statuettes here. Wait." They heard clunks and scratching. "These are more fakes. No indentations in the figurines."

"Scully!" Mulder had pressed the little man hard against the opening to shout past him. "You saw a light? Where?" The vibrations pulled loose a cascade of rocks and dirt.

"Mulder! Stop!"

He propped himself against the back wall to begin speaking into his wrist again. "Talk to me, Scully."

"I had to push the back wall of the tunnel free. This is definitely a workshop. It looks like they've been preparing fake artifacts to insert in the dirt out there. Can one of you bring me a camera? I'd like to record this for Petras as evidence."

"Okay, Scully, I'm on it." Mulder spun to face the three men. "What do you guys have?"

Langly trotted out of the cave without comment. When he returned, he was carrying another black hard-sided case. "I could probably fit in there."

Mulder shook his head. "This isn't your job, guys. This is mine."

Byers activated his unit. "Agent Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Agent Mulder would fit in there?"

"No! Definitely not! The shaft opening looks like he could fit, but all bets are off once you get into the loose stuff. Petras is about Stone's size, which is probably what kept him from getting back here to see this for the fraud that it is. Don't let Mulder in here, guys."

The dark-haired agent was actively shoving on Frohike while he talked. "No way, Scully, *I'm* your partner. Besides, I'm smaller than either Jarred or Petras. I'll fit."

"Mul-derrr. Don't *argue* on this one. I might not be able to pull you free if you get wedged in about halfway down. I'm an expert at crawling through tunnels now, okay?"

Frohike pushed him back. "G-man, she means as much to you as she does to all of us. Let me."

The agent shook his head. "Scully's in there." He turned to Langly. "Well?"

With a sigh, the longhaired Gunman held out a grey box with a tiny lens on one end. "Okay, let me just get you set up." He rotated the BNC connector until it clicked in place. "In a minute, we'll have you on your way."

Mulder was reduced to blinking in frustration as Byers looped the cable over his arm, then set the camera in a mesh cap that was fastened onto the Agent's head. "What's happened to the gizmo we used in Arizona?"

Frohike sighed. "You broke it when D'Amato's place collapsed on you. This may be clunky, but it'll survive being bashed around in a tunnel." He gripped the agent's arms. "Mulder, I can *do* this. You are a big guy."

"No!" The dark-haired man drew himself up to his straightest. "Scully." He looked over at Langly. "You guys ready?"

The blond Gunman snapped the other end of the cable to the flat-screen monitor in the black case. "Hang on and we'll have this all on videotape. You can't bring out evidence based just on what you see." After sliding a cassette in the recorder built into the briefcase, he nodded. "That should do it."

After Byers handed Mulder Frohike's discarded flashlight, the agent slithered into the hole. "You getting all this?"

Frohike was pacing nervously. "Yeah." He activated the bevel by the nine. "Just start crawling, Mulder."

"Mulder?" Scully's voice sounded from all their wrists. "Guys, you're not really letting him in here, are you?"

Byers sighed into his unit. "I'm afraid so, Agent Scully."

"But, it isn't stable for someone as big as he is!"

"Too late." Frohike was glum.

"Oh, Mulder. What do you think you're doing now?"

The agent smirked at his partner's tone, something between amusement and resignation. They were definitely back on track. "You still seeing everything, guys?"

"Yeah, G-man, we are." It was Langly who responded. "We can see all kinds of dirt."

"Now you're really trying to muscle me out of a job." The dark-haired man flicked on his light. A shower of soil slumped out of the wall where his elbow had hit it.

"Mulder! Hang on, I can see you." She was crouched at the far wall, waving her lamp.

The tall agent held up his hand. "Watch it, Doctor, you're blinding me."

"Sorry." The beam dropped to the floor of the tunnel. "You're almost to where the loose stuff begins."

He wiggled his shoulders experimentally. "Yeah, and it's narrower here, as well. You're right, Scully. Petras wouldn't have fitted in here." He poked a finger into the side wall of the tunnel. "I see what you mean about the artifacts, too. The fragments are just tossed around. If this were a cache of valuables, like the Dead Sea Scrolls, you would have seen better preservation, no matter how rushed the owners were for time. If we were talking a trash heap, there would be more than just pottery here. You'd find animal bones. If we were talking a place buried suddenly, you'd see pots all in rows." He worked loose a fragment of a base to sniff it. "And we'd expect the containers to hold something, grain or spices." He dropped the shard to keep on crawling. "With the Androkiris doing all the digging, they'd probably pull these things out, then tell Petras or foreigners looking at the site some pretty lie or whatever they wanted to hear."

"Or both." She leaned in to the tunnel. "Mulder, when did you become an expert on excavation techniques?"

He chuckled. "Back when I was touring the Nile with a bunch of Israeli forensic archaeologists. Besides, I have a partner who is one. I have to keep up, now don't I?" He flinched at a suspicious rumble by his ear, then began crawling faster. "I don't like the sound of that."

He was close enough that he could see her silhouette clearly against the dim light at the far end. "This tunnel, Scully." He had abandoned the communication device to shout down the corridor to her while he pulled himself along by his hands. As his heart began racing, he chided himself with the admonition that she had handled far worse only a few months earlier.

"Mulder! Stop flailing! Concentrate on only moving forward or backward. The sides aren't that well-packed."

"C'mon, my technique isn't that bad, Doctor."

"What are you guys talking about?" The voice that emerged from Mulder's wrist belonged to Byers.

"You're a married man. You ought to know." The dark-haired agent hoped his wrist was far enough away his mutter would be lost. But more dirt was falling in his eyes, which only made him throw his elbows further out for a better grip of the loose surface.

"Mulder! Take it easy there, G-man." Frohike’s voice sounded shrill from the small unit. "All we can see is dirt."

"Then your camera's working." Mulder chose not to respond further, but found himself wondering why shaking earth was such a recurring theme in his life.

"Hang on, Mulder, you're almost there!" Scully's voice sounded very close now.

But that was all he could detect, with the soil cascading nearly continuously. He no longer bothered with shouting; he just kept pushing the clumps out of his way. He gasped when something small and strong clamped onto his wrist. "Scully?" But the question only insured his mouth filled up with the dirt he was attempting to work his way through. He was horrified to find himself reduced to coughing helplessly. If he were to get out of this, he knew he was literally in the hands of his partner.

"Hang on, Mulder!" The words were muffled, but he distinctly felt the thump of one of her boots, where, in his last moment of clarity, he understood she was bracing herself to tug him free. Then, he was sliding, out of control, his head held up by the signal cable looped around his arm. The tunnel disappeared from beneath him, but in his present oxygen-deprived state, he could only collapse limply.

He blinked the soil away to glimpse two black circles staring up at him. "Scully?"

The floor beneath him wiggled. "If you were expecting it to be Sigorney Weaver, here to help you with your *technique*, think again, partner." She rolled him onto his back, unclipped the mesh headset, then began brushing dirt off his face with her fingers.

He shifted to huddle against her and cough into her shoulder until he could shake the terror that had immobilized him. He chided himself that this was the worst possible moment to realize he had developed a confinement phobia.

Patting his spine patiently, she waited until he began breathing easily. "Mulder, you okay?"

With a nod, he sat up. Scully was still working on his hair, fluffing it to clear it of the last of the soil. He decided a few moments of pampering were entirely justified, at least until he could collect his thoughts.

"Mulder?"

He slipped an arm around her back. "I'm okay, Sigorney." He grinned as she blinked at him. He could almost see the Doctor in her trying to gauge the severity of his latest head injury. "Where's the camera, Scully?"

Relieved, she sat back on her ankles. "It was on the headpiece, but the cable must have worked loose when I was freeing you."

"Mulder?" Byers' shout startled them both. "What happened to you? We lost the video feed!"

The dark-haired agent allowed her to help him to his feet. After she handed him the headset, he chuckled, watching her climb up the pile of soil, pebbles, and pottery shards. "We'll get you guys hooked back up." He carried the camera to her as she blew more dirt out of the silver connector. "It's okay?"

She held out her hand for the camera. "Let's find out." Once they heard a click, he lifted his wrist to his lips. "You guys see that?"

"Yes." Langly sounded exceedingly happy. "Things are working again. How are you two?"

"Fine." Scully pointed the camera at her partner, then at herself.

"Stop scaring us, Divinity." Frohike’s words were halfway between a scold and a tease. "Use that word again and we'll be renting bulldozers to get you out of there."

"Frohike." She growled audibly. "I'm panning around the interior." She fell silent until she had pointed the camera at all angles of the room. "You getting all this?"

"Sure are." Byers sounded relieved. "Audio and video tape."

"Sorry to bring this up, Doc, but how are you two planning on getting out of there?" Langly sounded hesitant.

"Not a problem." Mulder waited until his partner had turned the camera on him to point to a weathered door in the far corner of the chamber. "You see that back there? We're going to give it a shot."

"Not literally." Scully waggled the cable. "I'll give the interior another once-over, then set the camera up where you guys can record all this, okay?"

"Right." The bearded Gunman sighed. "Just don't take too long. If that door doesn't lead anywhere, you two will need to conserve your oxygen."

She propped the camera up on the back of one of the chairs in the space. "You have everything you need?"

"Yeah, sure, just get that door open." Frohike’s response came a bit too quickly.

Mulder moved over to the opening, where he grasped the rope which appeared to serve as a handle. He gave it a stout yank, then grunted, "must be an innie, not an outie." He waited until Scully had her SIG aimed in a firing stance, before he shoved.

The door barely budged.

"Something's blocking it." The auburn-haired pathologist exchanged her weapon for her flashlight. "Let me try." She wedged herself between her partner and the opening. "Okay, together." They both struggled with the door, until she managed to squeeze through.

"Scully?" Mulder was attempting to push his way into the blackness.

"Mulder! You should see this!"

"Scully? The door?"

"Oh, sorry."

He heard scraping as something heavy was dragged away, then he pushed on the slats again, only to have the hinges give way altogether. He blinked up at his partner, who was seated on the bottom step of a flight of stairs. "Hey."

She reached down for him. "Got away this time."

He gripped her hand firmly. "But not for good."

The diminutive agent waved at their surroundings. "Does any of this look familiar?"

Mulder took a moment to study the blocks of stone. He spoke to his wrist. "It looks like Akrotiri, Scully."

She nodded as she lifted her wrist to her chin. "I think we're both right here."

He bent over her shoulder. "Ooh, you mean this isn't Disneyland in the Med?"

She arched an auburn brow at his joke. "I *think*, that the Androkiris happened upon a ruin that had been looted in antiquity, then decided, why not put it to good use?"

Mulder straightened. "So, they added their fakes to the remnants of what the ancients had left behind, then began showing it off to a chosen few. They went so far as to open connections to America, which is what attracted Evans and his real estate consortium. Which then attracted our stiff."

She nodded. "Who thought I was part of the conduit for their illegal export. Which is why he attacked me."

"G-man! What's happening with you?" Langly sound completely frustrated with them.

"We're okay. Let us give you a run down on where we are." Scully began speaking as she walked around the space, describing the sand-colored blocks, the winding street.

Mulder just stood back to watch her, delighted that they had come this far, that they were ready to meet whatever challenges would be thrown at them together.

After several minutes of description, she concluded. "That's about it, guys."

He walked over to her. "I suggest we look for the way out of here."

She pointed up the flight of stairs back where he had first seen her seated. "I think that's it, Mulder."

He peered into the semi-darkness. "Looks like a regular twentieth-century dead-bolt to me."

She tossed her head. "Good. We won't need Napier's constant to get through."

While tugging his picklocks out of his pocket, he trotted up the stairs. A few snicks, then he had the door unlatched. "Probably not." The wood slid away easily, to reveal the interior of a small home. "Ah, just like walking through the back of the wardrobe after all."

She had joined him. "So, that's what became of the lamppost." She waved her fingers at the bare bulb overhead.

He grinned. "No doubt."

The agents wandered around the whitewashed first floor, finally meeting up in the kitchen.

"Now, all we need to do is find a kiln, take some samples, and match them with the ones taken from the corpse. Then, we've pretty much wrapped this case up." The pathologist crossed her arms.

Mulder pointed out the back window. "You mean, like that?"

She smiled at the bee-hive shaped dome. "Exactly like that, Mulder."

He dropped a hand to her back. "Score one for the good guys, Scully." He held the rear door for her.

She was inspecting the interior of the kiln while he scouted the surroundings. "Mulder, come take a look at this."

He bent over her. "Ah, the blue and orange pots?"

"That's part of it. Back here." She indicated several scrapes in the rust on a vent pipe. "These look suspiciously like teeth marks. I think I can put together a scenario for our private detective's death."

He patted her shoulder. "So can I. He followed the Androkiris to their home, where they caught him spying at them. When he ran, he hit his head on that pipe as he struggled to escape. They brought him back here, probably to incinerate him."

"Then to bury his charred remains to be uncovered as part of the 'archaeological dig'."

"But he woke up, so they smothered him back there." Mulder grimaced. "A horrible way to go."

"Agreed." Scully pulled open the kiln door. "But, once he was dead, they realized he wouldn't fit whole in there. So, being out of ideas, they stripped him of his identity and threw him in the ocean."

"Which is where we came in." Mulder trotted to the fence along the back of the yard. "Looks like we came full circle in more ways than one." He pointed downward.

She joined him. "I think we have, Mulder." She pressed the bevel beside the nine. "Guys, one of you walk outside, okay?"

"Right." Langly sounded puzzled. When he stepped, blinking and scowling, into the sunlight, he stared at the land around him. "What am I supposed to see?"

"Look up behind you." The tall agent was smirking.

When the Gunman turned, he threw his hands up in the air. "Hey, guys, get out here!" Once Byers and Langly joined him, the trio below began waving to the partners above.

"Shall we?" Mulder held out his hand.

"Good." She rested her fingers on his supine palm. "I can get what I need to collect our evidence and we can be gone."

"Gone back to Atlantis, or gone back to the States?" He bent over her.

"Both." She offered a slight smile. "I'll always love it here in the sun. I want to come back for a real break someday, but right now, I'm ready to move on."

"Okay, Doctor." He dropped an arm around her shoulders.

She hugged him tightly around the waist. "Thanks for sticking with me through all this, Mulder."

He clutched her just as fiercely, savoring the moments while she leaned against him. "Anytime, Scully. Every time."

After they separated, the agents slithered down the hillside together.

Outside the Northern Precinct
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Wednesday, May 27, 1998
11:03 am

From the deep seat of his limousine, Whittington watched Jerry and Sandra depart. "Ah. Was that a complication you had planned on?" He looked to the left, where a man sat in half-shadow.

"No, it wasn't." The attorney's companion lifted a white cylinder out of a cellophane-wrapped packet. "Toloso will protest that he was merely acting under your orders."

The lawyer spread his hands. "But all the evidence points to his acting alone. With that wretched private detective having unfortunately expired, there will be no one to testify otherwise, now will there?"

"Ah." A match was held to the tip of the cigarette.

"Must you smoke those infernal things? Don't you know they'll kill you?"

An grey brow arched as the orange ring at the end flared. "I've survived worse. But, surely you know that."

"I do. What's happening on the Washington end?"

The old spy rolled the window down an inch. "My young colleagues are working very, very hard on discovering just what connections, if any, James Andrews has to our compatriots in the Orient, which is all you need to know. You can deal with Elizabeth?"

"Of course. She might have an accident in prison, without ever coming to trial. She might develop Alzheimer's. She might even have a stroke. These things happen to older women, unfortunately."

"Ah. Good. I like a man who approaches these things from on high, rather than giving in to messy entanglements stemming from a, shall we say, lower source?"

"As always." Whittington gestured for the driver to proceed. "And Caroline's children? What are your plans for them?"

A hard glare.

The lawyer leaned over. "Now, just a minute ago, you told me it was best not to take direction from lower sources."

"That is *not* the purpose of my visit to you! Agent Mulder *shall* marshal his forces to pursue the eastern branches of the Association. Once they are exposed, and I have full confidence he and Agent Scully shall have success in their future endeavors - "

"Aided by you, no doubt."

"Only if the situation calls for it." The words were clipped.

"Yes, of course."

The old spy grimaced. "We will be the only group with any hope of leading the Organization. As it should be. We are working under a deadline, so it would be futile to waste our time with petty squabbles about titles."

"But Agent Scully is remaining with the Bureau?"

"She is. I have it on good authority."

Whittington let out a snort. "And this based purely on an intellectual union? After all they have been through - ."

"Ah." A puff. "But, for our purposes, that is the best course of all."

"What? Surely - "

A lone shake of the grey head. "Were Agent Mulder to attempt a *realignment*, it would, before the operations in the Orient could be exposed, lead to a termination of their partnership. Caroline's son, for all the stability he claims now to profess, is burdened with a past that would ruin any personal relationship. If he keeps his head, as Agent Scully will most certainly keep hers, they will proceed as I have predicted. Once they have served their purpose, then we shall see. That may be the best way to remove them from the playing field. Are we almost to your office?"

The lawyer nodded.

"Then, this is where I depart." He waited for the driver to pull to the side of the road, then shook hands with Whittington. "I look forward to our next meeting." He straightened his suit jacket, then left.

Somewhere over Europe
Hellenic Airways Flight 2016
Sunday, May 31, 1998
11:43 pm

After a quick glance around the cabin at the other sleeping passengers, Fox Mulder shifted on his cushions, then sighed. The events of the past few days were keeping him awake, so he set about to review them, clearing his mind. He and Scully were on their way back to the States, in the First Class compartment, at his Mother's insistence, but at his stepfather's expense. The size of the seat mattered not to him, only that the flame-haired woman sleeping easily beside him was comfortable on the passage. There was much ahead of them, long hours and a different set of opponents, undertakings he knew she would not shirk. But, the last thing he wanted was for the immensity of the effort to cause her to burn out and fail. He knew that he would follow her into decline, all too easily.

He looked to his left, where she was curled up in her seat, her forehead barely clear of his shoulder, the backs of her fingers resting limply against his arm. He grinned softly, remembering that she had been reluctant to leave his mother, just as Caroline and Max had been loath to see either of them go so suddenly. When they had explained their need to return, the white-haired woman had nodded her understanding, but late that night, she had crept into his room to clutch him tightly in the darkness. They had said nothing to each other, but he had felt her tears on his shoulder. He clucked softly when fingers twitched against his arm.

"Mulder?" She was blinking sleepily at him.

"Not this time. Odysseus, son of Laertes, at your service, Ma'am."

She stretched both legs out in front of her. "Oh, that's too bad. My partner has a good heart and forgives me my flaws, even if he's not the most wily man of twists and turns."

Stunned at her unadorned praise, he found himself at a loss for a witty riposte.

"How are you feeling?" She tucked her hair behind her ear as she waited for a response.

He cocked an eyebrow at the question. "Good, actually."

She tucked her feet under her. "Oh? I'm sorry stopping by Athens Hospital meant you couldn't spend this morning with your Mom. I'm afraid I've monopolized entirely too much of your time on Santorini."

He emitted a rueful chuckle. "No, you didn't. Mom and I will see more of each other now that we know where Sam is."

She brushed her shoulder against his arm. "You'll be bringing her out to the Mediterranean, won't you? It isn't safe for them to come to the States, is it?"

Appreciating her clear-headed appraisal, he bent to look into her face. "That would probably be best. Max has enough pull with the Greek government to keep them safe here, and with the Smoker running things again, who knows what he has planned as far as Mom is concerned."

"But, she's built some safeguards in with what she knows."

He nodded. "That will only work as long as she's not a threat. If she becomes one, then no quantity of triggered revelations are sufficient." He leaned down, the tip his nose almost touching hers. "We put years of effort into exposing the Four, but the Organization has just regrouped."

Her fingertips swept lightly over his bare arm. "Then all we can do is see to the creation of a group strong enough to counter whatever they might think of, with the purpose to do in public what they think must be veiled in secrecy."

"Hum?" He grasped her fingers to press them flat against his arm. "So, you have no problem working with Matheson?"

She cocked her head. "You think that's what we should do, don't you?"

He nodded.

She smiled up at him, letting her delight spread across the length of her face. "I've come to agree with you on that. We know he's a master politician, Mulder, he wouldn't be where he is with the power he has if he weren't. But, if he can put planetary exploration, exobiology, astrophysics, and more SETI programs in the public eye, then any covert effort will be superseded. We can either retreat to stare inward, or look out and up. Think of how impossible it was to keep atomic knowledge secret."

"Either from our own media, or from our Cold War enemies."

"Do you think this would be any different?" She shifted again, moving slightly away from him. "Give scientists a chance to do their work, unfettered and in the public eye, and we'll be further ahead in fifty years than the Consortium ever dreamed possible."

Overjoyed at the gleam in her eyes, he leaned even further into her face. "Good to have you back, Doctor."

She tucked her chin for a moment. "Glad to be back, Mulder." She lapsed into silence again. "Mulder?"

He had settled back in his seat. "Hum?"

"The evidence from Benner suggested several new avenues of investigation I'd like to pursue."

He shifted to face her. "Oh? You want to drop by Old Smokey's and ask for a tissue sample?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Nothing quite that dramatic. We have three cases we can pursue already."

He nodded. "Walter Skinner."

"For one, yes. The ability to insert genetic markers has to have come recently, possibly after he was assigned to be our AD. Either way, we should know. I'm certain he would want to get to the truth on this as well." She straightened on the wide cushions.

His hazel eyes sparkling, he leaned over her again. "You said three, Scully. Do I get to guess the other two?"

She closed her eyes momentarily. "If you want."

"William Mulder and Samantha Ann Mulder."

"Yes. Although I was thinking of another candidate."

He touched her wrist. "Ah. Fox William Mulder?"

She met his gaze. "I think that's an extreme possibility."

He nodded. "Yeah. We should look into my father's murder, Scully. I owe Sam a complete answer as to why her father is dead."

She sighed. "Mulder, I know that will be difficult for you."

He clutched her hand. "That's not important. We'll face it. And win."

Her fingers closed around his palm. "Yes, we will."

-----o-------------------------------o-----

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep,
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess, excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear, when day did close;
Bless us then with wish'ed sight,
Goddess, excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal-shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short 'soever;
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess, excellently bright.

From "Cynthia's Revels"
Ben Jonson, 1600

-----o------------------------------o-----

Just a few words to close. I haven't employed the services of beta readers prior to "Anath," basically because these novels have become quite lengthy, and call for some dedication of what has become in anyone's busy life, far too much free time. But, this go-around I was fortunate to have two, David S. Raley, one of my few RL friends who has read my stories, and Florens de Wit, who posts somewhat regularly to ATXC. Both offered significant suggestions for improvements, and both prompted me regularly for updates. It was a privilege to work with these fine gentlemen. They prodded and suggested, but let me tell my own story. David, especially, being a Washington, DC area resident like myself, was peppered with phone calls about the finer technical points of creative writing, for which he dutifully provided excellent answers. We also worked ourselves into a fine fever about the blood type distribution of the populations in and around the Mediterranean region, among other arcane trivia. I should also add the obvious disclaimer that any difficulties you might have with the text are my responsibility alone. David and Florens were diligent in their efforts to keep me on the straight and narrow.

And so it begins... This was the transition story from the Dana Scully Trilogy to the Sandra Ann Miller Trilogy, and it presented several challenges for me as a storyteller. First, I wanted it to introduce you to Samantha as she exists in my universe. Now, I'm not Mister Carter, so this isn't the old myth-arc bait-and-switch flim-flam I'm pulling on my readers. The Samantha you have met here is the real deal, not some Consortium clone, nor an alien abductee, nor, well, you get the idea. To do this, I wanted to give you, my readers, a sense of her life before Fox Mulder crashes back into it. That meant probably the biggest hurdle I've faced yet as a writer: creating a completely original set of characters in their own universe. More on this later. Second, as I mentioned at the end of "Zurvan," what happens inside the Consortium and the FBI, now that part of the Organization has been revealed, and now that everyone is working on something of a deadline vis-a-vis the shape-shifters? I made some efforts in suggesting new directions, but there is plenty of story to be told yet, so hang tight. Third, where do Mulder and Scully go with themselves, now that Samantha has been discovered, and the Consortium is on the run? Part of this story sets up the future for each of them, which will have its share of ups and downs.

One issue I didn't want to leave hanging any longer was that of Scully and the long-term physical effects of having a hysterectomy at a very young age. About 50% of the women who undergo premature menopause end up on HRT of some type, some with greater success than others. Premarin, the most widely-prescribed hormone medication for post-menopausal symptoms, is problematic at best, but replacement drugs are slow to come on the market. Many women have difficulties adjusting to it, as did Scully. It's best, as she did, to do research and find a doctor who will work with his or her patient to find the kindest treatment possible, since all women are different, and have different problems.

Back to the issue of the challenges in writing in one's own stand-alone universe. It was both simpler, yet more difficult, than I had imagined. There are no pre-set expectations to try to meet, other than that this is a piece of fan-fiction, so I couldn't veer off and write *just* about the adventures of Sandra, Jerry, Judy, and Seignior Salazar, et al., as much as I wanted to at times. I could make them whatever I wanted. But, they had to be whole in and of themselves. Fortunately, there has been much good advice to be had in this regard on the various mailing lists, not the least Loch Ness's kind posting, many months ago, of a character checklist. While I didn't fill out every last detail, I did have enough of the backgrounds of the main characters in California complete in my mind that one of my beta readers (Florens) remarked that he felt like he could walk down the streets of San Diego and meet them. At that point, I felt my job was done. I *also* set myself the challenge of writing two genuine, and intertwined, murder mysteries. Mulder and Scully are perfectly excellent investigators (at least in this little pocket of the X-F fan-dom), who relished the challenges I gave them. As did Sandra, who is, in every sense, Fox's little sister.