Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Part I - Discovery

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We must not make a scarecrow of the law
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
Their perch, and not their terror.

Measure for Measure

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Norfolk Naval Base
Norfolk, Virginia
Thursday, January 16, 1997
8:16 am

Ensign Richard Palmer sighed as he lifted another report in a red striped cover off the pile. Okay, what's out of date about this one, I wonder? It looks like it has never been opened. Oh! He didn't expect to be handed anything this old. This was his first assignment in Document Control, and his job was to sanitize one copy of old classified documents before they were scanned for records-keeping, then stored in a warehouse in rural West Virginia.

Why not scan them first, then sanitize them? He had posed this question to his superior officer, Lieutenant Commander Charles Scully, when he was being briefed for the assignment. The answer made sense, in a government sort of way, so he had nodded. There was always a chance that the classified portions of the files could be accessed by clever hackers prior to deletion, or could somehow be retrieved from temporary files stored on disk. Here he sat, then, day after day, indelible black marker in hand, wiping out random words and phrases, or sometimes entire sections, that matched a numbered list he was handed separately from the documents.

Don't complain, Rick, Norfolk's one of your better tours of duty. His girlfriend, Lorena, was not more than an hour away, working in Richmond, so he would visit her whenever he could take leave. Cleansing reports like this wasn't nearly as taxing as some of his other potential assignments. He had read some dull stuff, and some really clever ideas as well. It was a shame that because they were classified, the remaining copies were all dumped into burn bags for destruction afterward. But, with the end of the Cold War, some of the extensive Black World would inevitably be affected. Out-of-date documents that had collected dust in safes and warehouses for years were a perfectly good place to start.

This is odd. He frowned at the list on the sheet. What's classified about 'merchandise'? Oh, well, follow orders. He opened the report, entitled 'Preliminary Relocation Plan for Test Subjects', and began reading.

Norfolk Naval Base
Thursday, 11:58 am

"Hey, Palmer, shake a leg! You don't want to be late for chow!"

Looking over at the door, Palmer smiled at two of his buddies from ROTC in college who were waiting there. With his superior officer away, a long lunch seemed like a good break. He stuck a piece of paper in his place, right beside the heading 'Procedures for Identity Reassignment,' then swept the pile of documents and sheets into a thick carry-all. Lugging the pack to the safe, he grumbled about the weight before setting it down, and racked his brain for the new combination. Spinning the dial first several times to the left, then the right, then the left again, he was relieved when the mechanism clicked so he could rotate the handle.

"No sweat. I'll lock this stuff up and be right with you." The report he had been working on sometimes read like science fiction, so he made a mental note to check with his supervisor about it when Commander Scully returned from the shock trial. After all, it might be a hoax or something, or, worse yet, a check by Security to ensure we are following procedures and regulations for disposing of this stuff properly. Finished, he spun the dial four times, and once more for good measure, then hurried into the hallway.

King Street
Alexandria, Virginia
Thursday, January 23, 1997
6:57 pm

The well-dressed African-American with the closely trimmed beard stepped out of the narrow alley between the townhouses. The Old Men were all gone now, forcing him to cast his lot where he could find it. He watched the red-haired agent leave the restaurant, wondering how this least likely of assistants had ended up as one of the four in charge of the Organization. Why did he go after Mulder and Scully on his own? There were many people willing to take that responsibility, himself included, since transitions of power were a chance for advancement, or, especially here, a opportunity for permanent removal.

When he remembered Mulder's name for him, X, a flash of mirth crossed his stoic features as a tightening of his forehead. A tribute to his invisibility or anonymity, he couldn't tell which, but the Man with the Morleys had entrusted certain facts to him, prior to his untimely demise. In the recesses of his own convoluted mind, he referred to the new leaders as the Gang of Four. But for the Gang to continue to function viably and fulfill the required preparations, they needed to know what he knew.

And that might, just might, save my own brain from an assassin's bullet. He had been too late to save his white-haired superior, holding his smooth white hand as he bled to death on a Miami street. Fulfilling the man's final request, he had seen to an anonymous cremation, before scattering his ashes over the Bas- Armangac region of France. X hoped there would be someone there for him, if his own end came unawares. Ah, good, here he comes.

"'Andrew' McConnell?"

The man froze, neither acknowledging nor denying the combination of cover and actual names.

X stepped in front of him. "I am in possession of certain facts that may be of interest to you." The red curls dipped once, so the two men fell in step, parting to pass a young, smiling couple pushing a double-wide stroller.

"Yes?" McConnell eyed his older associate. He knew who he was, of course, and knew where the bearded man had stood in the previous order. I should have had him terminated, but he knows too much about the FBI to eliminate him, yet. "What can you tell me about Mulder?"

Shrugging, X stopped at the light. "That's not what you need to hear right now." He focused on the unlined face. I wonder how long that will last. "Much of the Organization's information was never written down. The real secrets were only passed orally to a few."

Impatient, McConnell waved his hand. "Don't waste my time with riddles. What do you know about Mulder?"

"Mister Mulder is *not* the issue here!" X's eyes glowed. "I have more than enough to deliver him to you, when the time is right."

As they stepped up on the curb after crossing Fairfax Street, McConnell lost his temper, growling under his breath, "Get this straight. *We* say when the time is right, not you! Mister Coal Factory gave you far too much latitude."

X moved into his face. "Maybe, maybe not. But secrets are being destroyed as we speak."

Now the younger man was shocked. "What?"

X nodded. "Without certain protocols in place, old information is being found and liquidated. You know the rules and regulations as well as anyone else. Now, while the People's government is very slow to move, when it does, everything is steamrollered that is in its path."

They resumed their walk up and away from the Potomac.

"So?"

"What is old may be of no interest to anyone except ourselves; however, there are trails some intrepid idiots should not start down."

McConnell nodded. "Very well. I'll make some calls. I know where to reach you, should your services be required."

X bowed slightly, since they were at the door of McConnell's apartment building. "Sleep well, Mr. McConnell."

The younger man snorted, observing X closely while he spun and left. I wish.

X-files Offices
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Thursday, January 30, 1997
11:23 am

Doctor Andrea Rosen regarded the dark-haired man across the desk inquisitively. The question he had just thrown at her would have made her laugh, had it not been the exact topic she was here to discuss, and that elicited her deepest interest.

Both feet propped on the desk-top, Mulder waited.

The brunette decided it was best to ignore the tiny hole under the ball of his foot in her potential boss's left sole, so she could provide the answer. "Do I *believe* in extraterrestrial life?" Crossing her arms, she mentally arranged the parts of her response. "Well, Agent Mulder, I'm not sure *belief* has much to do with whether extra-terrestrial life exists or not."

He raised an eyebrow. No wonder Scully wants you.

She steepled her fingers. "You see, life formed on this planet through a series of discrete events, based on an exactly correct combination of circumstances: this planet's orbit lies, first of all, not so close to the Sun that radiation would break down the chemical bonds between sections of amino acids. Nor, is it so far away that the Earth receives too little energy to sustain that life."

Waving his hand, he nodded. "I know, not too hot, and not too cold, not too big, not too small. It has just enough active tectonism to develop oxygen in the atmosphere, but not so much the crust turns over too rapidly, as it does on Venus. So?"

She leaned forward. He's done some reading, just as she said. "So, there is no reason why this exact combination of conditions could not have been met elsewhere in the Universe, and life could have developed on many different worlds."

Mulder stopped fidgeting. A Rational Believer? This I have to see.

Rosen interlaced her fingers in her lap. "If all went well on those planets, and evolution were permitted, through lack of a astronomical catastrophe - "

"Like an asteroid collision."

She nodded. "Or a stellar explosion, to operate, sentient life might have evolved elsewhere in the Universe, or perhaps even in this Galaxy."

Rising, Mulder walked around to the front of his desk, crossing his arms as he leaned against the hefty oak box. "But, Dr. Rosen, what do you *believe* about extraterrestrials?"

She frowned. "Let me be explicit, Agent Mulder. I accept the possibility that sentient extraterrestrial life may exist. Except for the first few fractions of a second of the Universe's existence, the Laws of Physics, even though we may not understand them all, remain constant. If life, and sentient life, could develop on this planet, it may have elsewhere."

I heard that from Scully the first day too. I want more! He bent down into her face. "That's a good, rational answer. But what do you *believe*?"

Andrea shrank back in her chair. Agent Scully was right about the Old World manners. Some of my French colleagues don't even get this close. She spread her hands. "Very little, Agent Mulder. I accept many concepts and theories as proven to be true. I've studied so many ideas that seem, at first glance, to be impossible. For instance, who could accept that due to barrier tunneling, an automobile could, as a one in a few trillion occurrence, be translated outside the garage in which it sits?"

Mulder cocked his head, waiting for the rest.

Rosen leaned forward. "However, the mechanism is there from Quantum Mechanics, and likewise the possibility also exists. If one person were to report such an event, I would thoroughly question him, inspect the vehicle, check his character and past behavior, and say, based on what I learn, 'Yes, this *may* have happened.'" She stood, unable to contain herself. "However, if all the cars on one block in a single night shift out of place, I would be more inclined to look for an extremely clever hoax."

While she scanned the room, he nodded. Open to extreme possibilities, but skeptical. "But, the extraterrestrials, what if I were to tell you I have seen them with my own eyes?"

She turned to face him. "I would want proof. Eyewitness testimony is the least reliable of all, as every trained investigator knows." She shrugged. "It's nothing personal, Agent Mulder. You have your ideas, and when dealing with unknown phenomena, it's best to keep an open mind. But, there are standards the supporting evidence has to meet for any concept to be accepted as valid. I'd like to see that data, to be there to gather and analyze it myself."

He chewed his lip. That's more than Scully was willing to admit to.

She began pacing, taking in the basketball hoop and the 'I want to believe' poster over the computer. "Until that time, I would neither accept or deny their existence. If there is a simpler theory that accounts for what you've seen, then until you come up with proof that supports your ideas, I would suggest, by Ockham's Razor, that the less cumbersome hypothesis is the best explanation of the facts."

Mulder regarded the slender woman with brown waves, cut just below the hairline. She was a few inches shorter than himself, and equally taller than his partner. He knew from her curriculum vitae that in her recent Astronomy PhD from Cornell, an analysis of the COBE data, she had pointed out and modeled some unusual features in the spectrum of the Cosmic Background.

Standing in front of her, he crossed his arms, then edged into her personal space. "But what if the simplest explanation is the one that involves the paranormal?"

She met his eyes, sensing he was admiring the blue and green flecks in irises that were hazel like his own. What is he looking for me to say? "Then, with sufficient supporting evidence, I would accept it. As a scientist, I can do no other."

Mulder arched one eyebrow. I think I want you here too.

She stepped back. "However, one *could* argue that finding reliable data which verify a paranormal theory will move it, de facto, from the realm of the paranormal to the normal."

Grinning, he returned to lean against his desk. This will be fun. "So, if you lose, you coopt?"

Smiling, she unbuttoned the grey wool suit jacket to rest one hand on her hip and the other on the chair back, revealing an off-white silk blouse and an emerald and gold scarf. Good, he wants to discuss possibilities, not demand I conform to some rigid code of New Age beliefs.

Mulder noted her apparel. Like his partner, she chose sensible professional clothing, the matching grey wool A-line skirt hemmed to just below her knee. Unlike the diminutive Scully, she could wear flat black pumps without fear of ridicule.

He found himself rising to the challenge. "Rosen?"

She expelled her breath in a sigh. "You could put it that way if you want. I prefer to think of it as the difference between seeing the cup as half empty or half full. We can say the probability extraterrestrial life may exist is vanishingly small, but that the possibility remains, nonetheless. Besides, if we could explain everything, there would be no need for science and exploration, would there?" She tipped her head to one side. "My problem with most alien abduction stories, Agent Mulder, is rather simple, if I may reply directly to your implied question."

He shrugged. Here it comes.

"Even in the cases of so-called missing time, where subjects, usually after multiple hypnosis sessions, report fantastic tales of medical procedures and trips in spaceships, there is no supporting physical evidence. Now, no one can have organs removed, limbs detached, or give birth, without some physical scarring resulting, especially on the microscopic level. The human body simply is incapable of that degree of perfect regeneration. Yet, to my knowledge, and perhaps my work here will change that, no such supporting medical evidence has ever been produced." She paused, closing her eyes briefly. "If you want to know what I postulate is happening, alien abduction stories share many similarities with false child abuse accounts, or shamanistic trances."

Pacing in front of her, he frowned. At least she's read and considered, but remember, she hasn't seen what we have. "Trances? You mean you think they are making it up?"

She shook her head. "Not purposeful prevarication, although that does happen. I'm talking about the people who genuinely believe they have been abducted, and fear that if they were not, then they must be insane. In a way, we are back to one of the great unknowns of human evolution, specifically, the development of our tremendous brains."

He waved his hand. "Yeah, right, we don't need to be as smart as we are just to find food and reproduce. So you think these unsubstantiated alien encounters are all a class of trance state that results from some unique aspect of the mind?" She really has thought carefully about this. Mulder stepped close to the applicant.

She cocked her head before replying. "The lucid dreaming state is so common, except in Western Culture, that it *must* be a feature of the human brain, that for whatever reason, some people are more capable of inducing in themselves than others. Usually, the trance has a religious overtone, as it does for Native Americans or Buddhist monks. But, the major religions of our civilization rely on rational thought."

He snorted, barely concealing his total disdain for conventional Christianity. "However *rational* it is to *believe* in the Resurrection of the Dead at some distant Day of Judgement."

She smiled up at him. "That's a debate we could have for years, Agent Mulder. But, notice that Scholastic theology or midrash halakhah all rely on rational extrapolation from sometimes irrational assumptions, not on mystical searches for spiritual enlightenment. So, when an untrained or a not very religious Westerner experiences what would in other cultures be considered a vision quest, we don't know what to do with the person."

His eyes came unfocused. She takes the data seriously, just looks at it differently. "Or we label them as crazy."

As she returned to her chair, she snapped her fingers once. I could argue with this guy for days. "Exactly. I have read of cases of people falling into trances in front of witnesses, awakening after a few minutes, and reporting abduction accounts on the spot, all without their physical bodies having moved." Rosen shrugged. "I'll bring you the books I have on the subject, if you like. Then there are cases like your sister's and Agent Scully's."

He narrowed his eyes. "You and Scully talked about this?"

Rosen rested her chin in her hand. "Yes. It would be foolhardy of me to deny that terrible things were done by someone to both of them." She stood to resume pacing, so he moved closer to her. "Now, she suspects, and I am inclined to agree, that the kidnapping was performed by groups in the government for some ignominious purpose. After all, we, the great and noble United States of America, have watched venereal disease kill African American men under the pretense of treating them, tested LSD on soldiers, radiation on unsuspecting citizens, and who can say what on our Native American populations."

He stood in front of her. "But why?"

Shaking her head, her lip curled in deep disgust. "I couldn't begin to supply reasons. Human depravity knows no bounds at times, and there is usually some twisted justification for it. All it takes is for some group to feel challenged, and they turn on the least powerful members of their culture. Sometimes the danger is contained, as we in America contained the Ku Klux Klan, but sometimes, it rages out of control."

He grimaced, but the hunter in him took charge. "So you don't believe aliens are testing on humans?"

Wondering how much more plainly she needed to speak, she shook her head. "No, it's not *belief*, Agent Mulder, it's choosing the simplest hypothesis that explains all the facts. Why *should* we postulate aliens abducting people, taking them for rides in fantastic spaceships, and diddling with their insides when similar stories are reported throughout history and in other cultures, that are all the result of witnessed trance states, either self or externally induced? Why *should* we say aliens are crossing vast interstellar distances to torture a culture's unwanted when many national governments are doing exactly that, and leaving a paper trail to boot?" She stepped up to his face, grasping her left wrist with her right hand, behind her back.

Mulder opened his mouth to release a torrent of protest, stopping as the woman in front of him set an eyebrow in an eerily familiar slant.

"But, *but*, what you need to do is show me some hard, unequivocal, *physical* evidence that the tests and abductions are the result of the actions of aliens, rather than humans. Then, I'll lick the envelopes for the letters you write your congressman, demanding increased military spending for planet-wide defensive measures."

As she tossed her head, he broke into one of his broad grins. Can't ask for more than that, G-man.

Assuming he was mocking her, Rosen frowned. "Look, I want to join the FBI specifically to work in this section. I'm interested in the new and unknown, as is every scientist. But, it's tough out there for young researchers, getting grants and proposals funded. Further, ideas like what you and Agent Scully explore here aren't studied in many other places."

He walked back to prop himself against his desk. "Well, you'll have no trouble passing the physical requirements. I've never met a triathelete before."

Raising an eyebrow, she surveyed his relaxed posture. A seeker at rest, or an athlete in repose? "Agent Scully tells me you jog and swim, Agent Mulder. In many ways, the cycling's the easy part. All you need to do is set the seat right, and you use the same sets of muscles you do for running."

He held up one hand. "No thanks, I can find other ways to torture myself than that. A marathon and a century and how many miles in the water?" She shrugged. "Aren't my speed." He waved at the chair as he sat behind his desk again. "Scully tells me you have some ideas about how you'd like to change things."

Nodding as she settled down, she crossed her legs, then met his eyes. "Not change, *supplement*. I know this group doesn't do research per se, however, there are analysis techniques and equipment that could help you determine what some of these phenomena are, Agent Mulder. You do very little with radiative or electromagnetic probing, for instance. Unlike a few years ago, now there are commercially available units we could purchase and utilize, in the grand FBI tradition of developing new crime- fighting capabilities."

He leaned back in his chair. "But, in many of our cases, there is little to no physical evidence, Rosen."

She shrugged. It's never easy. "Then we develop new tools so we have the capacity to look for it, Agent Mulder. My interest is in determining whether any of the phenomena exist or not, and that means sometimes looking at the world in new and different ways. I know perfectly well that lack of evidence does not constitute disproof, nor are all supporting data equally useful." She leaned forward. "Hey, if you want to explore a 'haunted house' and I walk in there, loaded to bear with gizmos like one of the Ghostbusters, I don't care, as long as I walk out with some proof one way or the other."

Grinning, he stood to reach across the desk's expanse, extending his hand. "I think you'll be a welcome addition to the group, Doctor Rosen. And I'm just Mulder."

She took his hand in a firm clasp. "I'm looking forward to it, Mulder. I guess that makes me just Rosen."

Walking around the desk to the door between his office and Scully's, he held it open for her, waiting for her to pass through. Scully looked up from her autopsy report, raising an eyebrow. Mulder gave her a thumbs up as he turned to the younger woman. "We look forward to seeing you in June, Rosen." He remained standing, waiting for the younger woman to leave. After slouching into one of the visitor's chairs in front of his partner's desk, he proceeded to prop his feet on her folders, then drop his chin to his chest.

X-Files Offices
Second Floor
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Thursday, 11:47 am

After stapling the pages of her report together, Scully smiled at the distant expression he wore while he focused on the fingers interlaced on his stomach. "Is it love, Mulder?"

His trickster side replaced the serious thinker, so he raised his face to focus on hers. "Nah. I'm just used to arguing with gorgeous skeptics at work." His eyes twinkled at her groan, before sobering. "But, I want her here. We need her ideas and enthusiasm. What did you think of Nichols? Agent Woo-woo or what?"

"Woo-woo is right. I thought he had an Ouija board in his briefcase that he would use to tell my fortune if I let the interview last any longer."

Her partner smirked. "He's my kinda guy. I need someone to balance out all the reason and logic the resolute distaff side of the Section will be throwing at us believers. Between you dissecting everything, and Rosen hitting our cases with all the frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum, not even Tooms would stand a chance."

She wrinkled her nose at his arched eyebrows. "*Right*. He'll be a good counterpoint to Rosen, which is what we wanted." Rising, she took the other chair. "How much do we tell them?"

They locked eyes, then he dropped his feet to the floor. "How much would you have believed when you first came to work with me?" His voice subdued, she could read his vulnerability.

Crossing her legs, she leaned against the back and considered. For every honest admission, give him one back, Dana. "I'm probably not the best judge of that."

Knowing he was about to learn something new about his partner, he held his tongue.

"In a military family, and in medicine, you're taught to accept and trust authority. But, Rosen's an astronomer, and part of doing research in the physical sciences is not accepting conventional wisdom, so she won't necessarily be limited. What about Nichols?"

He replied with half-lidded eyes. "He's willing to believe the Government's developed phaser technology for shooting down aliens if there are enough lights in the sky."

She blinked in surprise. How far you and I have come, Mulder; five years ago, that would have been you. "So we'll wait and see, I guess. But, with Rosen still needing to complete her training and Nichols tied up with the Phillips case, we have a few weeks to decide."

Mulder slapped a hand on each of his knees. "So, are you ready for our first non-working lunch?"

Scully raised one corner of her mouth at her partner's eager expression. "Where did you have in mind?"

He leaned into her face, mimicking her. "Wait and see."

Lifting her chin, she frowned. "Now, this isn't a date, you know."

He sighed exaggeratedly. "Ah, I'll have to cancell the Limo then."

"Mulder!" She rolled her eyes as they walked into the reception room to collect their coats.

Cynthia waved as they went by, wondering, not for the first time, how two such different people could work together so well.

Trader Vic's
Washington, D.C.
Thursday, 12:01 pm

Lindhauer snarled at his cohort across the linen-covered table, and McConnell glared back. They were seated in a private booth in one of the District's poshest dining spots. The waiters were discrete, the lighting subdued, in contrast to the heated tempers within.

Lindhauer clenched his fists. "I can't believe you want to trust him. Don't you know he's been feeding Mulder information for the past few years?"

'Charlie' and 'Ace' were startled but it was the programmer who reacted verbally first. "What?"

The bespectacled, pudgy man leaned forward. "Old Black Lung thought he was indispensable!"

Lindhauer nodded, his long, hawk-like nose standing out in sharp relief with the dim illumination. "The old men had him tailed, and that's how they found out. If we hadn't seized control when we did, they were planning to terminate him. We may have to toy with Mulder and Scully a little longer, but there's no reason to keep a known informer alive."

McConnell shook his head. "Wrong, wrong, wrong. If he knows details about the Organization that are still important, we need to extract those before we finish him."

'Ace' frowned at both of them. "So, what's the problem here? We just call him in and hand him over to the experts; let them pull what he knows out and replace it with nonsense for him to keep feeding Mulder. A little brainwashing worked on Scully; she'll never be able to remember what really happened to her after the Psych Unit worked her over."

'Charlie' leaned close to the brunette. So smart and gorgeous. Don't look at the Viking like that. I want you for myself. "It won't work, 'Ace', and that's why he was so trusted." The other three focused on him. "He has an eidetic memory, like Mulder, but unlike him, he isn't vulnerable to suggestion or mind control. He's one of those few people who totally fails to respond to hypnosis and thiopental sodium."

Lindhauer was enraged. "So we have to kow-tow to him, too?"

McConnell nodded. "Unfortunately, I think so. I trust him as little as you do, but, we need him. He knows the game, so we can expect him to release only as much information as he feels will keep us interested, but never all of it." He shrugged. "This brings me to our other problem."

'Ace' leaned towards Lindhauer. "Do you have the job yet?"

The blond head wagged. "Not that one; we need more recruits. With the end of the old men, we lost access to the overseas black units provided by the Japanese and the Germans."

McConnell fingered the rim of his plate. "I think I can bring in all the recruits we need. The good thing is they're all Americans, and willing to follow orders."

'Charlie' stared at him. "We don't need weekend warriors, we need trained soldiers and assassins, but the Germans and Japanese were the best."

'Ace' touched his arm, the contact sending a shiver through 'Charlie'. "The right-wing groups train regularly as if they were preparing for war. All we need to do is to feed the real fanatics among them a line about freedom fighting, and they'll charge off like lemmings." She shrugged. "Not all of them, to be sure, but enough for our purposes."

McConnell waved his hand at her, acknowledging her support. "Exactly. Within the next few weeks, I should have replacements for all the soldiers we've lost." He looked around the table. The four had been united in purpose while the Old Men were bumbling around, sipping tea and buying art with the Organization's funds. Now, little cracks were appearing that worried him. None of them disagreed with the goals, only the methods, but they needed to be unified when they spoke with the other Shadow governments. A peace offering, then. "So, dessert, anyone?"

Frowning, the brunette groaned. "This place is too rich for me. Sorry."

When the other two shook their heads as well, McConnell sighed. A few weeks ago, you would have loved it.

Delhi Dhaba
Washington, D.C.
Thursday, 12:31 pm

The obvious relish with which Dana Scully had dug into the exotic dishes set before her had Mulder wiggling with contentment. The meal concluded, he leaned over the table towards her. "So, did I do all right?"

Scully smiled contentedly at her partner. "If you find more places with menus like this, I may never cook again, just live from Thursday to Tuesday on salads." Sighing, she wiped her plate with the last corner of flat, still-warm Naan. "I really expected a hot dog stand in a traffic circle, Mulder."

He licked his fingers clean of the spices and saffron-colored yogurt from the Tandoori chicken. "I'll save that for the next snowstorm." Sobering, he framed his words carefully. "You notice I chose a place well-away from our usual lunching spots." He watched her nod. "You were right earlier, this isn't a date, nor do either of us intend for these to turn into such. There are enough rumors flying around the building about us as it is. I don't want to add fuel to the fire, so to speak."

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "Thanks, I appreciate that. Scuttlebutt just gets started when a man and a woman work together on their own as long as we have, I guess."

He ran one hand through his hair. "Of course, it helps that I've only had two partners in my years at the Bureau who lasted more than a month, Jerry and you."

As a cell phone buzzed, each reached for their jackets.

While Scully lifted her unit to her ear, Mulder leaned back in his seat, gesturing to the waiter for the bill, half concentrating on his partner as she began speaking.

"Mom?" Her forehead crinkled. "Mom, slow down, okay?"

Concerned, Mulder rested his crossed arms on the table.

She listened thoughtfully before she queried, "Did Val call you?" A pause. "When did this happen?"

As Scully waved her hand impatiently, unable to slow the torrent of words, Mulder read over the charges.

"Okay, Mom, okay. Let me talk this over with Mulder."

After she terminated the call, he dropped his credit card on the blue tray, then looked across the table at his partner. I was hoping for no more bad news. "What's wrong?"

"Apparently, Charlie's been in a automobile accident. Val wants my Mom and me to come down."

Frowning at the amount, Mulder dug in his wallet for a few seconds, then replaced the plastic with a pile of dog-eared bills. "Well then, go." He rose, shrugging into his coat. "All we're doing for the next few days is paperwork, and with Cynthia's help, it won't take long." As she stood, he held her wool long-coat open for her.

Once she had slipped in and fastened it shut, she swiveled, her arm brushing his chest. "Are you sure? The Fordyce case report is done, but we usually handle the expense forms together. It's not like I can do much to help out down there."

He stepped aside, touching her back to guide her to the door. "Yeah, I'm sure." Once they had exited, they fell in step. "If your family needs you, you ought to be there, even if you're not the one working the scalpel in the operating room." He unlocked the car door, then opened it for her. "Sometimes just a soothing voice makes all the difference." He arched an eyebrow at her quick upward glance.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
Thursday, 12:47 pm

Mulder checked his partner's face after the midnight blue Toyota pulled into the underground lot. They had completed the trip back to the FBI building in silence. "Go, Scully, or is something else bothering you?" As he circled the lot, he grew concerned at her lack of response, so, after parking, he touched her hand.

She jumped, turning to him while they unfastened their lap belts. Starting right now, Dana. "Yes, there is, Mulder. This isn't it, but, make sure you stop by the Infirmary to have those bandages changed tomorrow, all right?"

He cocked his head at her over the car's roof. "I'm a big boy, Doctor Scully." He smirked. "Besides, I thought you'd cornered the market on silver bullets by now. What is it, really? Are you still upset about your Mom, or is it just that it's Charlie?"

She pursed her lips. "It's more than that, Mulder, Val is extremely, ... *domestic*. I feel so unwanted, like a fifth wheel. They don't need another woman around the place, especially one who has such little interest in children or crafts, as myself."

He glanced down at her as they walked to the elevator. "But they do need a man in the house."

"Hum?" She punched the up button.

"Well, with Charlie in the hospital, your Mom will be worried about him, Val will be worried about him and *John*?" He could tell by the slight widening of her eyes that she was surprised he knew so much about the rest of her family, even though he had met Bill Jr. only briefly. "Who will worry about Val and your Mom?"

"Oh." The deep doors rolled apart and they entered.

"Have Cynthia make some flight reservations for you for this afternoon. I'll drive you home and to the airport if you need it." After pushing the two button, a sharp thunk sounded in the small space as Mulder's knuckles accidentally rapped the metal corner of the hand-rail.

X-Files Offices
Second Floor
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Thursday, 3:51 pm

Cynthia and Mulder looked up as the crisp crack interrupted their sorting of receipts, forms, and travel orders. He had slid one of his partner's extra chairs into the tiny front reception area to sit beside their secretary. After a rocky start, the little brunette had adjusted to him, had even taken a liking to his Kenya AA, freshly ground and at full strength. She would stop by Starbucks to pick up a pound or so, as needed. Mulder had been attempting to puzzle out Abner Fortner's handwriting on the room receipt when Walter Skinner had appeared.

"Yes, Sir?" He waved the Assistant Director towards the coffee-pot. Perhaps I *won't* be roasted alive over accounting numbers today.

"You wanted to pass me a message from Agent Scully?"

Laying the papers aside, Mulder stood and approached his boss. "She had to leave unexpectedly on an urgent family matter, Sir. Apparently, her brother has been in a car crash, and it's not entirely clear when she'll be able to return."

Skinner nodded, reminding himself, that in times of trouble, the Scully family closed ranks. "Very well. Walk with me, Agent Mulder. We need to discuss your new hires."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "In your office?" At his superior's motion of negation, the Agent reached for his coat.

North side of the National Archives
Thursday, 4:03 pm

Two tall men in dark trenchcoats shivered as a sudden gust of frigid air whipped around the temple structure that housed the nation's most significant documents. The younger man with unkempt brown hair clasped the coat shut around his neck, while the older man gripped the tweed riding cap perched on his nearly-bald head.

"What is it, Sir?" They had made their way purposefully from their offices, so Mulder knew Skinner wanted to communicate with him away from hovering ears.

The older man's nostrils flared slightly. "Why are you and Agent Scully hiring duplicates of yourselves?"

Linguists and technicians, employed in task of reconstructing crumbling manuscripts, hurried down the marble stairs, past them, then across the street to the Metro. But Mulder had stopped in the middle of the wide sidewalk. The Assistant Director faced him, having come to the point in that plain-spoken, ex-Marine fashion his agent so respected.

A taxi driver honking at a bicycle messenger claimed Mulder's attention, so he glanced at the roadway before he replied. "We aren't, Sir."

Skinner turned the corner to walk south, away from Pennsylvania Avenue, over to the wide green way of the Mall.

Mulder trotted after him, speaking again when they were side by side. "Rosen and Scully are both Skeptics, yes, but Scully lacks the skills and expertise Rosen has in the Physical Sciences, so she'll complement her knowledge of Medicine and Biology."

The older man waited for the light on Constitution Avenue to change, moving out of the handicapped ramp as a man in a wheelchair rolled up behind them. "Ah. And Nichols?"

Mulder focused on the line of visitors standing on the warmer south steps of the Archives, waiting to view the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. "He balances Rosen, Sir."

The two men eyed each other, Skinner waiting for his agent's explanation, setting Mulder wondering, as he always did, just how much he could trust his superior. The white symbol of a striding figure glowed, so the two men quickly crossed the broad avenue.

Mulder glanced over at his superior once they were past a knot of Smithsonian visitors. "May I speak freely, Sir?"

Skinner waited until after they were south of the National Gallery of Art, stepped across the low chain fence, and were walking down the center of the Mall towards the obelisk that is the Washington Monument, to respond. "I think it's probably safe to do so now." Both thought of the shadowy forces each, in his own way, was working against.

Having chosen this open ground to safeguard their communications, Mulder proceeded, oblivious to the domed temple of Democracy behind him. "When Agent Scully was assigned to me, the Shadows had the aim of discrediting my work through her reports and observations. But, she was, and is, one of the most rational people I know. Somehow, I've been able to convince her that there might be something in what I say, even though we can document and verify so very little of it."

Skinner nodded.

Mulder continued. "I want to change the focus here; I don't want the X-Files Section to be just two pairs of agents sent willy- nilly across the country. I want us to be a tight group that performs careful, directed, *searches* for the extra-normal, looking for evidence of something beyond what we understand, while we continue the investigations sent down by the Bureau. Our enemies have had years to plan, and if we continue to merely react, they will always have the upper hand." The two men faced each other.

"How do you intend to use Rosen?"

"She wants to determine whether these phenomena we've been reporting exist, so she's open-minded about the whole matter. She wants proof before she'll accept what I believe; but she's willing to work to obtain that evidence, and will bring fresh ideas to help us acquire it, if we can." They resumed their progress to the west.

Skinner squinted at the lowering sun. "So her approach will be different from Agent Scully's, but what about Nichols?"

Mulder shrugged. "I'm a Section Head now. I have responsibilities to my partner and the agents I've been given charge over, to you, the Bureau, and Senator Matheson. I have to stop behaving like a tripped-out lone wolf, take care of my people, and make the most of this opportunity I've been given, Sir. But at times, someone in the group will have to be the figure on the margins, and Nichols is willing to do that."

Skinner faced the younger man, watching as another gust of wind dropped his dark hair into his eyes. You've grown, Mulder. "I'm relieved to hear you have a plan. Where do you want to put them?"

Mulder shoved his bangs off his forehead. "I'd like to set them up in our old basement office, if we can keep the room from reverting back to storage. For Nichols and Rosen to become effective partners, they need to spend time together, away from Scully and me. We were able to hash out our differences in privacy for several years down there, and that space is one of the things that helped us become the team we are today."

Skinner's eyes narrowed. "So you plan to give them their own office. Good. I'm relieved to hear you thinking this through, Agent Mulder. Senator Matheson was wondering how your plans to expand the group were coming, so I'll be able to report some success to him when we meet tomorrow morning." They paused as they stepped over another low chain to the Fourteenth Street sidewalk.

"So, Sir, you approve?"

Before they turned north again, hunkering into their wool wraps, Skinner nodded. "I'll make sure the space is held and outfitted for you, Agent Mulder. I presume you and your helpers will see to it that it is free of unwanted monitoring?" While he moved into the roadway, he checked for the younger man's affirmation.

Mulder's response was to grab his AD's arm before he was struck by a swerving, Porsche, which had roared around the corner. The impatient, self-absorbed driver had chosen a course that was against traffic and through briefcase-carrying pedestrians. As he stepped up onto the curb, Skinner thanked his agent with a quick nod, but Mulder's mind was with his partner and friend, wondering how her flight had gone.

Scully Home
Norfolk, VA
Thursday, 4:39 pm

As the rented Taurus pulled into the driveway, then she heard the engine cease, Margaret Scully turned from the window to the door. "Dana!" She ran down the lawn to hug her only daughter around the neck. "Fox phoned to say you were on your way." The two women stepped apart. "Why didn't you call? One of us could have met you at the airport."

Scully shook her head. "I'm a big girl, Mom." The unintentional repetition of her partner's words made her duck her face. "You needed to be here for Val and John. How's Charlie?"

Margaret walked beside her daughter to the back of the rental car. "Well, the doctors say he will recover just fine..."

Scully eyed her Mother as she unlocked the trunk to retrieve her luggage. "But?"

The older woman put one hand to her chin. "He keeps asking for you, Dana."

She slammed the trunk shut without removing her bag. "Then let's go, Mom."

Nodding, Margaret hurried back to the house to lock up.

Room 327
Portsmouth Naval Hospital
Thursday, 7:13 pm

Three heads turned as the lever on the door rotated.

"Gamma!" Little John Scully ran over to hug his grandmother's knees. Scully nodded to her sister-in-law, noting as she did that the dark patches on Val's hands and arms, a common side-effect of pregnancy, nearly matched her straight brunette page-boy. Valerie Scully, in her eighth month of pregnancy with what amniocentesis had revealed would be yet another nephew for Scully, remained seated when the other women entered.

Charles looked his visitors over. "Dana." There was no inflection of joy or relief, merely recognition in the tone.

Scully strode across the room to her brother's bedside, where she crossed her arms. "Charlie, what happened?"

He glanced down at the cast on his leg. "Oh, this? Just a hit and run, nothing major."

Scully sat on the edge of the bed. Now was not the time for old sibling rivalries. "*Charlie*, what?"

He turned to his wife. "Val, would you take your Mom and John home, please?" Val frowned, but her husband had set his face in an expression of non-negotiable determination Scully knew all too well. The two women made their farewells, then left before he turned to his sister. "Dana, we were being followed."

"Who's we?"

"Ensign Palmer and myself. He had stopped by with a document he wanted to show me. His apartment was only a few blocks away, so Palmer had walked over, and after we talked, I was accompanying him home. I think you'd be interested in it, Dana, it contained some really strange stuff."

"What?" As he sat up, Scully pulled the pillow straight behind his back.

"We'd been assigned the task of sanitizing a bunch of classified papers that had been found stashed in some dusty warehouse. Our unit is on shore duty for a while, and I guess the Navy figured on giving a bunch of dumb sailors some work to do. Palmer was originally concerned that it was a hoax, or a false document planted by security to test our procedures. If Mom hadn't told me about some of those strange cases you and that lunatic partner - "

She frowned at her brother's obvious low opinion of Mulder.

" - of yours investigate, I would have agreed." He grasped her arm. "I think it's for real. Anyway, I hid the report."

She shook her head and leaned forward until his lips were by her ear. After he finished whispering, she stood. "Where's Palmer?" She watched Charlie's face darken. "Oh." She enclosed her brother's hand in both of hers. "How soon can you be out of here?"

"Saturday. I'll have to take leave for a few days. "

Scully began to depart, then turned back. "Charlie?" He looked over. "Thanks for talking to me."

Confused, he shrugged. "Hey, Sis, no sweat. What?"

"Can you ask for a guard?"

"Sure, but why?"

She shook her head. "I'd just feel you were safer, that's all."

As she left, Charles Scully picked up the hand unit on the table by the bed.

Dark Apartment
Arlington, VA
Thursday, 8:47 pm

At the first buzz, a long hand lifted a cell phone to the right ear above an equally long jaw.

"Yes?" The man pressed the pause button on the remote, and the buxom nymphet on the screen froze in mid-writhe, her fingers entwined in the golden hair of some equally idealized Adonis. A man has to relax sometime.

"The information is disappearing."

He pulled himself upright off the couch, the end of his loosened tie sliding over the untucked white shirt, falling forward just as his blond curls descended down his forehead. "Stop playing with me! What information?"

"Whole warehouses are being incinerated as we speak."

Now he shoved himself off the couch, pacing, with his cell phone at his ear. "All you ever do is speak in riddles! Give me something I can use, or,..."

The cool voice assumed a barbed undertone. "Or what? Don't threaten me, or I'll take what I know to other ears, who won't turn away from me, but accept my help eagerly."

"All right, all right." Lindhauer sank back onto the couch. "Talk to me. What information?"

"From the earliest days, when routes for moving the merchandise were laid down, and the first procedures were instituted. The policies that are still in use today."

His mouth suddenly went dry, so Lindhauer licked his lips. "Who?" He rose again. "Who has them?"

"The wrong people."

Now he was truly angry. "How?"

The voice dropped lower. "As I said, the time had long passed since official orders were issued for the documents' destruction, but now, those directives are being implemented, by people who are no longer alive."

"What?"

"The one who has read the unaltered reports can not tell what has passed into his mind and memory. He was struck by an out of control automobile while on his way home, and, sadly, bled to death from multiple lacerations before help arrived. In such a way, old servants prove their worth to the new Organization."

"You killed this man?"

"I am a loyal, old servant."

Lindhauer's blue eyes hardened. "Do you have the document?"

"It can be retrieved."

"I will be in touch, after I speak with the others. Do nothing further until you have heard from me again."

"As you wish, Mr. Lindhauer."

Lindhauer shifted the phone to hit the END button, stopping when the voice continued. "What?"

"As I said at my last meeting with your associate, it must not be allowed to fall into the possession of certain persons, who would understand its worth."

"No, no, we'll tail them for a while to find out what they know. If they are interfered with now, they can call on more aid than they should have available to them. We can't touch them until they are isolated again."

"An excellent analysis of the situation."

Lindhauer terminated the call, then released the tape to advance. But, as he settled on his sofa, his mind drifted through several possible courses of action. The acrobatics on the screen retreated from his mind until they were only background, like the wallpaper or the mangrove monitor lizard warming himself under the lamp in his cage.

Apartment 42
Arlington, Virginia
Thursday 9:11 pm

The tall agent sprawled on his futon, restlessly changing channels. Usually, he would have found some reason to call or visit his partner, such as a run in the cold that would have ended at her place so she could fuss at him over his masochistic tendencies. Don't get too used to that, G-man. Or, one of them would initiate a phone conversation that could only be concluded in person, and immediately.

After all these years, he had admitted one truth about himself to her in Miami; he was tired of being alone. Except, that is, when one of his moods kicked in, but she had worked with him long enough to know how to recognize their onset. Blessedly, she had taken it upon herself to jog him back to reality if they went on for more than a day or so.

Right now, he was itching to call her and tell her about Nichols' idea that poltergeists were the trapped souls of suicides, just to hear her groan and systematically rip the thought to shreds. He could hardly wait for their new recruits to join the Section. There was enough overlap and difference among the four of them to make a dynamic and invigorating team. Rosen was more ruthlessly logical than Scully, if that were possible, yet she was more immediately open to extreme possibilities. Although, she would *demand* proof and rigorous support for his ideas. Nichols was a different animal altogether. Both the partners expected he would sweep the crime scene for vibrations, something like the Stupendous Yappi had done. He'll make me look sane.

The first buzz had him reaching for the phone on the coffee table. "Mulder." His name emerged in a deep growl. When he heard the voice on the other end, he pointed the remote at the screen and pressed the power button.

"It's me. You okay?"

He coughed and sat up. "Yeah, great. Hang on." He held the unit away from his head and shouted into his empty kitchen. "Hey, Frohike, tell the girls to keep it down!" He smirked at the bark he could hear even a foot away.

"Mulder!"

"What's up, Scully?"

Her voice dropped to a deep alto purr. "Obviously not you, partner."

His eyebrows shot under his flopped-down hair. "Ooh, but that's because I'm by myself tonight." We'll really have to be careful about joking like this. One wiretap ... "How's your brother?" Silence. "Scully, you there?"

"We need to secure our communications. Call me." Click.

Office of the Lone Gunmen
Alexandria, Virginia
Thursday, 9:36 pm

Mulder surveyed the unwieldy stack of electronics, all blinking lights and wiggling oscilloscope traces, interconnected by a dense web of cables. A thick trunk of hastily tie-wrapped wires extended from a home-made connector box to an unassuming black ISDN phone. He hadn't seen so much technology focused on a single problem since he had interrupted his three friends descrambling one of the European adult channels for Frohike a few years earlier.

Langly was replacing the cover on the mouthpiece. "We can monitor any signals from the digital line two ways, G-man. But, if the Doc takes the call on her cell phone, the signal's loose on the airwaves, and anyone can pull it down."

The agent nodded. "Then I'll call into a stationary set." He consulted his black address book before entering the number. Frohike, noting the page was open at S, leaned over, but Mulder shut the notebook with a snap. After two rings, the call was answered.

"Mrs. Scully? May I speak with Scully?" He stopped pacing to sit.

"Hey." When Byers began waving frantically, the tall man frowned. "I T-hought S-uch T-alk A-bout P-olitical P-roblems E-nds D-aily."

The voice in his ear responded, "I-t's L-oosly L-ost C-harm A-nd L-ets L-ong B-oring A-narchists C-all K-ings." Another click.

Thursday, 10:48 pm

Mulder grabbed the phone before the first ring ended.

"Hey." He had been pacing and chewing his lip almost since the previous call concluded.

"It's me."

He stared at Frohike, waiting for the short man's nod before continuing. The Gunman was listening holding a hand over each earpiece of his headphones while he gave the all-clear signal. Mulder's pupils widened slightly as his concentration shifted to the woman at the other end of the conversation. "You're clean, Scully. What's happening?"

"I'd like you to come down here, Mulder. I'm be at the South Entrance of Lynnhaven Mall, waiting. Don't worry about packing, just head out. I don't want to say anymore over the phone."

Frohike's motions caught his eye. "Okay. See you." Two clicks, and the agent focused on each of his three friends in turn. "Guys, go over my car. I want a secure place where Scully and I can talk down there."

Byers and Langly responded, digging through a massive pile of cables for a long broomstick with a loop of wire nailed to one end.

Frohike detached himself from the monitoring equipment. "This is serious, Mulder. You weren't even tailed this closely over the D'Amato papers."

The Agent looked down at his short friend. "I know. I don't like it that Scully's family is being pulled into this maze. My Mom and Max can look after themselves, but Mrs. Scully is lost without a clue. She still votes Republican and longs for Ike."

As Frohike shook his head, Byers and Langly departed to inspect the car. Upon their return, two somber and very worried Gunmen faced Mulder.

Byers stuck his hand in his right suit jacket pocket. "You were right to have us check." He held up a small disk by one of several multicolored wires. In response to the Agent's cocked eyebrow, he simply stated: "Car radio."

Langly patted Mulder's shoulder. "We took the liberty of filling the gas tank, G-man. Government surplus from Operation Desert Storm."

Mulder grunted as he stepped into the hallway. "If it's good enough to stop Saddam, it's good enough for me."

Lynnhaven Mall
Friday, January 31, 1997
3:26 am

Dana Scully nodded to the security guard as a familiar Toyota pulled up to the curb.

Her partner leaned over from the driver's side to push the passenger door open. "You okay?"

She dropped the shopping bags in the back, then slid in beside him. "Yes. I turned the rental in at the airport and had a cab drive me out here. The guys swept the car?"

He waited to reply until they moved back into traffic. "Yeah. They almost caught you on that last phone call. What's all the sound and fury about?"

She reached through the gap between the seats, retrieving a brown and green gift box. "This." She lifted off the top, pushed the tissue paper aside, and tapped the red striped cover of a report. "The title is 'Preliminary Plan for Relocation of Test Subjects'. It's dated June 13, 1953, Mulder."

The unspoken conclusions hung in the air, as his jaw tightened, Test subjects like Scully. and she replaced the lid on the carton. Test subjects like Samantha.

"No wonder they wanted it so badly, Scully. How did it come to you?" He checked her face.

Scully's expression set into porcelain. "Charlie's unit was assigned to sanitize materials prior to declassification. This copy has already been worked over, though." This last was offered softly, in apology.

He shook his head. "It's no problem for the guys. Where can we hide it?"

She shrugged. "I don't think we can. The Group knows our methods, so I think we'll have to keep it in our personal possession at all times."

"I'll have one of them come down and retrieve it. Are there any more like this one sitting around?"

"Apparently there was a whole warehouse of reports they were working through, and this document scared one of the young ensigns under Charlie's command."

"If the information on those pages is what I think it is, I can understand why. What happened to the kid?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "He was killed in the hit and run that broke my brother's leg, Mulder."

"Oh." In the light from the tall street lamps, he saw her redden, so he changed the subject. "What's in the other bags?"

She rubbed her face. "Clothes." Since the car was stopped at an intersection, they faced each other. "For you, Mulder. I don't know how long it will take to go through Charlie's basement, and I had asked you to come down here unprepared, so I figured it was the least I could do."

At the change of signals, he shifted, then stepped on the gas. "You mean there's more?"

She nodded. "I don't want to say this until I'm sure, which is why I asked you to come down, but I think Charlie's tangled himself up with some of the right-wing groups McConnell's attached to."

"Okay. Tell me how to get to his and Val's place." She directed him though a few turns and lights, then, once they had settled on a longer stretch of road, he glanced at her sober face. Lighten up, Scully. "So, how many size forties did you pick up for me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Mulder, we've done wash together so many times, what kind of an FBI Agent do you take me for? I *know* it's 32-34 for the jeans, larges for the sweats, and 16 longs for the shirts. I also took the liberty of buying you suitable neckwear for a Section Head." Punching a button in the overhead, she activated a spotlight, then held a slip of red silk covered with tiny gold dots in the narrow beam.

He grimaced. "First, a power tie, next, all my hair falls out, right?"

"Or this?" She held out a royal purple number with a single row of sunflower seeds running down the center axis.

His eyes glowed as if he were a little kid at Christmas. "Ah, Scully, I knew I could bring you around to my way of thinking if I only tried hard enough." He smirked at her groan. "And the rest?"

She tossed her head. Back at you, partner. "Well, I stopped by the Warner Brothers Outlet ..."

"*Scully*." The menacing undertone was barely a ripple.

She spoke to the glass of the side window to conceal her grin. "But they didn't have any that came with extra ventilation." As he choked and sputtered, she pointed primly at the next intersection. "Turn right at the light. We can call the guys from the pay phone inside that convenience store."

Seven-Eleven
Arlington, VA
Friday, 3:53 am

Lindhauer canted his gaze to the front of the store when the bells on the entrance chimed. A lone red-haired man entered, then the two made eye contact, but no more. Each appeared to wander aimlessly through the aisles, until finally, as if by chance, they crossed paths by the beer freezer.

Popping the door open, McConnell selected a six-pack of Rolling Rock before he faced the blond man. "What's going on?"

Lindhauer shook his head before taking a single of Sam Adams for himself. After they paid and left, he pointed to his Mercedes, and the two climbed in. "I think I'm being followed, 'Andrew', but I need you to check for me."

McConnell nodded, watching in the rear-view mirror as Lindhauer made several turns, finally doubling back to the parking lot. "You are." They locked eyes. "But who?"

"Not our bearded informer. He's been asleep since ten, according to his tail. Mulder and Scully are in Norfolk."

McConnell frowned. "So you think it's their three strange friends?"

"Was it a van?"

McConnell shrugged. "It was too dark for me to tell, but it was large."

Lindhauer nodded. "Then it probably was. Mulder and Scully know who you are, so it was only a matter of time before they worked out who the rest of us were." The two men glowered at each other.

"We'll tell 'Charlie' and 'Ace' to watch themselves."

"Right, but for now, turnabout is fair play. I'll set Luther and a few of our men on the denizens of the fringe media." Waving as McConnell returned to his own vehicle, Lindhauer punched a button on his cell phone. "I have some troublemakers I'd like for you to tail, starting tonight."

Scully Residence
Norfolk, Virginia
Friday, 4:11 am

Margaret followed the partners into the basement, which had been finished with variegated industrial carpet and nut brown paneling as a rumpus room by the previous owners. Her son had been assigned to Norfolk less than six months earlier, after a four-year stay in Charleston. With Val's pregnancy, many little-used items were still in their packing boxes. The unmarked cardboard cartons, stacked in the far corner of the basement behind her stationary bicycle and little John's playpen, were a silent testament to the mobility of life in the Navy.

Closer to the rough, open stairway, which was attached to the west wall, were the pieces of furniture Charlie had organized into a quiet space for himself. At the foot of the stairs was a beaten-up grey metal desk, and at an angle to it, a gaudy plaid acrylic sofa, facing the few feet of wall beyond the landing. On the dark paneling, he had mounted an old dart board, so he could buy himself some privacy from his rambunctious child by claiming it was too dangerous to have him downstairs. Scully wondered how many games her partner had played in the pubs around Oxford. She had her answer when he plucked a feathered projectile out of one of the sectored circles and lofted it experimentally. You really *did* do more in England than chase Phoebe, didn't you?

Her Mother's frustration at being left out had reached the breaking point, so she stood in front of Scully. "Fox, Dana, will one of you *please* tell me what's happening to my family? First, I find out my house is wiretapped, then you start waking up with nightmares again, now Charlie is in an accident. Once you're here, we discover the phones may be monitored!"

Shaking his head, Mulder touched a finger to his lips.

Margaret was horrified. "You think this place is bugged, too?" She looked from one nodding head to the other.

Scully linked arms with her Mother. "It's a safe bet, so please, let us work down here. Just show you know who down when he arrives. You didn't see anyone?"

The older woman mouthed no, then gasped as Mulder rolled up his sleeves, revealing arms swathed in a thick layer of white gauze. "That happened down in Arkansas?"

Scully nodded in response.

He smirked when he saw that his partner was frowning at the bandages. "Not up to the standards of my personal physician? We'll just have to change the hiring criteria for the nurses at the Infirmary."

Turning to her Mother, Scully waved her hand at the verbal challenge. "Yes. We had a run-in with a pack of coyotes on our last case, Mom. I have them too, see?" She nonchalantly dropped her coat on the chair, then held out her arms as well. She had not bothered to change out of her dark tan wool suit and sleeveless pale green blouse before boarding the plane at National.

Shaking her head, Margaret ascended the basement stairs.

Scully looked over at Mulder. "Before himself arrives, sit and look through the package."

He held out his hand for the box. "Yeah. You never know." He settled at the desk, turning the report's cover, as Scully stepped out of her heels to begin riffling through flyers and announcements of meetings on the bookshelf.

Friday, 7:23 am

"Thank you, Mrs. Scully!" The agents stopped working as the door to the basement opened, then Byers tripped his way on down.

Mulder replaced the report in the box to hold it out silently.

The Gunman beckoned them up and out of the house. "Check it out, Agents." They had purchased and outfitted a van for their roving surveillance activities. Mulder offered Scully a hand up to climb into the rear.

"Wow!" She took in the video monitors, the computers, the test equipment, and the rack of recording devices. "Mulder, this is better than Max's truck."

Frohike beamed. "All paid for courtesy of Uncle Sam."

"What?" She stepped closer to the little man, who held perfectly still, as if she were a wild doe nibbling his shoelaces in the forest.

Langly piped up. "You remember that 1.3 Billion the NSA was hiding?"

Mulder nodded. "You guys apply for a grant or something?"

The long-haired Gunman grinned. "Almost, G-man. The money was concealed from the usual government oversight through a bit of creative accounting, and with the right access..."

Scully spun on her heel, ignoring Frohike's sigh as she moved away. "Are you saying you stole the money?"

Mulder rose to their defense. "It's the people's money, Scully, the guys are just using it to monitor what the people's government is doing with it."

Byers placed the package on a worktable screwed to the floor. "Freedom of the Press. Shall we send you a digitized copy of the pages once we desanitize the sanitization?"

The tall agent frowned. "No. The Shadows are too much on top of this one. I've read the pages until I can't see, so why don't you scan the document as is and leave that with us?"

Frohike began to set up the recording system Mulder recognized from Phoenix. "We'll do this two ways." He removed a spy camera from a cabinet, "One, high tech, and one, low tech. You'll keep the film, just in case. Then we'll head back to DC. How is it with your brother, Agent Scully?"

She shrugged. "Charlie will be fine. It's just a broken leg, and he'll be home tomorrow, so Val can look after him."

The group settled down to work, but Mulder, who knew he would be useless for the next few hours, began roaming the van. He found he was attempting to puzzle out the functions of the equipment his friends had mounted on the racks bolted to the floor. A tube in the rear right corner of the vehicle caught his eye. "Hey, Frohike, what's the periscope for?"

The little man raised his head then, with a smile, handed the camera to Scully, who continued snapping photos of the pages for him. He walked back to stand beside the tall man. "What all periscopes are for, Mulder, covert monitoring of the surrounding territory."

The agent grinned. "I didn't see it from the outside."

The Gunman beamed. "Yes you did, but, Mister Smart, you didn't know it."

Scully frowned. "It's one of the decorative stacks you have on the back of the van, isn't it?"

Frohike patted Mulder's arm before he called to her over his shoulder, "Good guess, Agent 99, it's both of them, actually. With the connecting cable, we can use the stacks as line antennas to detect low frequency RF signals." The Gunman pointed to a control panel with several switches and signal cables running to the rack-mounted Pentium. It was beside the tube for the eyepiece, which could be adjusted in height to accommodate Frohike or Mulder. "We have rigged it for 360 degree viewing on either side of the van, or we can feed video from both into the computer to calculate distance to a target."

Mulder shook his head. "How?"

Scully growled. "The same way our eyes do, through stereo imaging. Mulder! You should know that!"

He winced. "Sorry. I'll pay more attention the next time, teacher."

His eyes glowing, Frohike walked forward to her. "It was my idea, Agent Scully."

Silently, she handed him the camera, pointedly ignoring his attempt to win her favor.

Friday, 9:13 am

Mulder accepted the leaflet from his partner.

"That's it, Mulder." Since the Gunmen had departed a few minutes earlier, she was updating him on her findings.

He turned it over, reading the sponsor list carefully."I see, Scully. It's this 'Sons of White America' group that McConnell was involved with." He glanced up to catch her nod.

She sighed. "Mom and Val won't be ready for this right now, as much as Mom wants to know what we've discovered."

As she leaned against the back of his chair, he rubbed his face. "Yeah, I know." Mulder checked his partner over carefully. "Look, we've both been up all night, and I couldn't string two intelligent sentences together if Skinner were standing over me with a shillelagh."

Scully wondered vaguely whether she should treat that statement as a quip or an honest confession. Given her own mental state, she chose disclosure over witticism. "Let's take a break, Mulder; there's not much more we can do here. I need a shower, and those bandages..." Grimacing, she pulled her suit jacket back on, buttoned it, then wiggled into her shoes.

He stepped aside to let her up the stairs first. "But Nurse Jennifer was so concerned and careful."

As she opened the door at the top of the stairs, she felt she had to rise to the bait. "This is the blonde aerobics instructor?"

Mulder nodded.

She glanced over her shoulder. "Cradle robber."

He smirked.

She continued. "Let me guess, due to your irresistible manly charms, she offered to stop by this evening to look after you personally?"

"Scully! What kind of a callous knave do you take me for?" They fell in step as they walked through the hallway to the flight to the second floor. He caught her suddenly serious face out of one corner of his eye. We'll be all right, Scully. "Besides, it's not like there are any available *older* women out there, right?"

She shot him a Look, then slapped his stomach with the back of her hand.

He wrapped his arms around his waist. "Ow! Harassment! Sue! Sue!"

Margaret shook her head as she heard them pass the kitchen.

Val smiled. "Are they always like that, Mom?"

The older woman nodded. "Usually. Fox longs for his missing sister, and Dana missed out on a close relationship with Bill Jr. and Charlie, so they fill a void each is only sometimes aware exists."

The younger woman stood, moving slowly to the sink. "But?"

Margaret joined her, taking the dishrag away, then pointing at the chair. "But nothing, unfortunately. They have their own little world, and not even Caroline can get in all the time."

"Well, I suppose, to be a surrogate sister is a good thing, considering how alone Dana always was otherwise."

Pensive, Margaret nodded. "I just worry what will happen if Fox does find Samantha." Before she began washing the breakfast dishes, she reached for the boom-box over the sink, hoping Val had set the station to something relaxing.

Interstate 95 south of Massaponax, VA
Friday, 11:23 am

Byers tuned the microwave receiver to 9.375 GHz. They had timed their return after the end of the DC rush hour, rather than during it, when they could have concealed themselves from a possible tracker in a packed mass of commuters. Now, not only were they proceeding unimpeded, but the State Police were standing down from the accidents and arguments. It would be less likely that their black van would be stopped and ticketed. However, it never hurt to check, so the bearded Gunman waited for a tell-tale blip indicating a police radar in operation.

Frohike caught sight of Byers' actions in the rear-view mirror. "Anybody have their ears on out there?"

"Nope. I think we'll be clear until Potomac Mills."

Langly lifted his nose out of the report. "Good. The sooner we get this Little Red Book out of sight the better. I think Mulder and Scully will want to know what was blacked out as soon as they hit the Beltway." He had been carefully removing the indelible ink with acetone, so the interior of the van reeked with its pungent odor.

Byers leaned over. "What does it say?"

Frohike monitored the conversation in the back while changing lanes. "Anything about what happened to Agent Scully?"

The two other Gunmen rolled their eyes, then Langly glanced towards his friend at the wheel. "It happened to a lot of people, Frohike, not just the Doc. But it talks about the special signals for pick-up and transfer at out-of-the-way train stations, or how to move a subject without detection through the normal passenger rail system."

Byers nodded. "We always knew there was a reason the Government wanted to keep Amtrack going."

Langly looked him in the eye. "It's everywhere, man. But now we know why the boxcars were so important."

Frohike glanced back over his shoulder. "A dependence on mass transportation, something else Klemper and Company brought over from the Thousand Year Reich."

Byers turned back to the oscilloscope patched into the receiver output. "No wonder it broke down eventually. Now, had they had the foresight to move the subjects by Interstate, they wouldn't have to depend on Special Forces. Hum, that's interesting."

"What?" Two voices chimed together.

"I set the dial to tens of megahertz by mistake, rather than gigahertz, and I'm picking up signals."

"What!" Two speakers again, but Langly continued, "There shouldn't be anything operating that low, unless it's covert."

Frohike moved over into the right-most lane. "Should I pull us off at Fredericksburg? It's only another two miles ahead."

Langly tucked the report inside a hidden compartment in the roof of the vehicle before joining Byers at the equipment. "Maybe. The signal's stronger now. It's Nemo time, guys." Holding onto the racks of equipment, he moved to the back of the van, dropping down the eyepiece for the periscope. Punching some keys to activate the distance calculation software, he scanned the lanes behind them. "There are three out there, Frohike, about a quarter-mile back."

The round-faced Gunman grinned. "No problem. These guys drive like little old ladies in Beantown." He slowed the van, dropping back until he was in a clear patch of traffic. "No reason for civilian casualties."

Langly rotated the eyepiece. "There's one on your left now, in the far lane."

Frohike steered the van until he had drifted alongside the black sedan, cutting slowly into the speed lane. Although the tinted glass kept him from looking the other driver in the eye, he delivered a verdict on his manhood with a piquant non-ASL hand gesture. The engine of the sleek car raced momentarily, then Frohike cut his wheel sharply to the left. Distracted and enraged, the driver of the low vehicle overcompensated, sending it skidding off the road into a tree.

Langly released his grip of the rack. "That's one, guys. I expect the others to use a few fireworks, now that we've thrown down the gauntlet."

Byers set the receiver to gigahertz, then turned the volume on the speaker to maximum before he climbed to the front of the van. Once there, he strapped himself into the passenger seat before he commented to Frohike. "I suppose it just gets wilder from here, right Bandit?"

Langly spun the periscope again. "They're both on your right bumper now, man, one behind the other in the center lane."

Frohike pushed the gas pedal to the floor, pulling the drivers behind him into accelerating. When Langly shouted the all clear, he moved into the center lane directly in front of the lead vehicle, still increasing his speed.

"Have they caught me yet?" He lifted his eyes from the road to the side-view mirror. "Tell me when they do, so we can play with their heads a little."

The long-haired Gunman nodded. After a minute or so, he shouted, "Bogeys on your tail, man!"

Now the little man growled. "Let's see if these slicked-down boys are ready for the big time." Tapping the brakes once, he heard the squeal of radials behind them, then the crunch of metal colliding with metal.

Byers glanced in the side-view mirror. "That's two. You took out the one in the rear."

Frohike shifted into the right-hand lane again. "Highway billiards."

Langly focused on their remaining opponent. "They're bringing out the heat!"

The passenger window descended, then a semiautomatic rifle materialized outside the vehicle. The Gunmen heard several thumps as projectiles harmlessly struck the thick steel of the van sides and rear.

Byers grinned. "Buy American, now and forever."

Langly groaned, "Oh, bummer, man, they got the scope! Can you fly on instruments only?"

Frohike glanced in his side view mirror. "I can see him coming up beside me. I think he wants to play bumper cars. Hang on, guys, it's time we used the rest of our custom-built sixteen cylinders." He waited until the sedan's front fender was even with the back of the side door, then, accelerated slowly, forcing the other driver to concentrate on catching him, rather than taking over control of the chase. When Frohike had reached the maximum speed he considered safe to maneuver, he slammed on the brakes, setting the van fishtailing, but not skidding. The other driver overshot them, but retained control of the car, as the Gunman had planned he would fail to do.

Langly had strapped himself into a seat behind Byers, and was hanging onto the headrest. "Ooh, a MIB with wits. What's next?"

Frohike shrugged. "At least he can't aim backwards. Shall we give him a kiss?" Grinning, they waved in exaggerated romantic gestures as their driver pulled into the middle lane. He drove forward again, boxing the black sedan on the right. "I'm betting there are only two people in that car, so if we can keep them bottled up, we can,... Holy Mother of George!"

As they crested a hill, Frohike saw that the maneuvers had caught them back up to the packet of traffic in front of them. The van and sedan were approaching two gasoline tankers from the rear. He stomped on the brakes. They were moving too fast, so the van began skidding out of control, across the highway towards the forested center swath.

The sedan's driver reacted just as quickly, but with the damage to his rear brakes, failed to stop before slamming into the back of the right-hand container. The resulting fireball rose three stories in the air.

The Gunmen, however, were safely out of range. The skid had carried them off the road on the left side of the interstate, the descending terrain rolling the van over several times before it came to rest against a guard rail. In the back, the computer began beeping as it detected a police radar, but the sound was quickly lost in the wail of sirens.