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Krycek pulled off the headphones and threw them to the floor. Some fucking asshole doctor in Chicago was fucking with his plans. Goddamnit.
Krycek pushed the chair back from the table, but left the tape running. He would need to know Skinner's flight plans, and with any luck he'd make them tonight. Clearly he was going to have to go to Chicago and deal with this situation himself. If Skinner got outed he'd be useless, a total waste of the damned nanocytes. Krycek needed Skinner in the FBI. He needed his access to Mulder and Scully. And now some stupid, fuckhead, jerkass, asshole doctor in Chicago was fucking everything up.
The tape clicked on again. Krycek grabbed up the headphones and held one side to his ear. Skinner was making a reservation. A five-thirty flight. He'd be in Chicago by six-thirty. Then a reservation for a car. The tape stopped again and Krycek laid the headphones down on the table next to the recorder.
John Carter became a bigger liability to Skinner every day. And that meant he became a bigger liability to Krycek. He should have let him die. That way Skinner would have never known for sure it was him that had done it. It'd be yet another mystery, like Mulder's father and Scully's sister.
Unfortunately he hadn't thought it all through. He'd been winging it and he'd made a mistake. He'd thought Carter was worth something alive.
But now, if he killed Carter now, Skinner would know. Some mistakes really came back to haunt you.
"Fuck." Krycek picked up his cellular phone from the desk. "Fucking Chicago."