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E-mail: [email protected]
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program, "The X-Files" are the creation and property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. They have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This work must not be used for profit.
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"Antonio, my father, is deceased; and I have thrust myself into this maze, Haply to wive and thrive as best I may: Crowns in my purse I have and goods at home, And so am come abroad to see the world."
Taming of the Shrew
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Downtown Manhattan, New York City Wednesday February 7, 1996 7:30 am
A soft hum filled the office as indigo and saffron-shaded brocade draperies slid open. Light spilled over an antique Venetian table positioned, as a desk would have been, in front of full height windows. Rich gold and silver threads reflected tiny glints of light out of the backs and seats of intricately carved mahogany chairs on either side of the desk. A Florentine marble table top, polished smooth as glass and resting on gilded legs, glowed in the soft light. Florescent tubes winked, then gently set crystal and rare porcelains sparkling in display cases along the walls.
To the owner of the office, whose entrance had activated the motion of the draperies, these precious items were old friends. His grandfather had acquired them, his father had treasured them, both telling Guiliano, as a child, their history until the boy could recite the stories by heart. All had come from the home country, from Tuscany or Padua or Sicily or any of the places he now told his own three children about, hoping to keep fourth generation ties alive.
However, the business to which this tall, strikingly handsome man in his forties had to attend was neither precious nor lovely. It concerned the future of a young drug lord, Daniel Gordon. As he settled into the tall chair behind the table, he thought of his father, rising early, working in this same room, struggling to lift the family's fortunes out of the muck into which this Gordon had so willingly sunk.
Guiliano opened the top folder before him, the one containing his latest intelligence on Gordon. Abandoning a career in law enforcement, Gordon had slowly taken control of cocaine distribution to the wealthy and bored in cities from Jacksonville to Bangor. Subtle, too, was his acquisition of power. So subtle that until just last week, Guiliano D'Amato had caught only glimpses of his operation. Sudden appearances in Puerto Rico, Haiti, and last spring, New Mexico. There, it was rumored, he had died.
Guiliano pushed his jet-black hair off his forehead, unconsciously smoothing
it over his ears, where a few strands of grey had appeared.
Had Guiliano been aware of this man's talents, he would have removed him
earlier, but now, he had changed his mind.
Guiliano shifted the folder, revealing rosewood parquet in the tabletop.
In one smooth, practiced motion, he lifted the chair off the floor, hearing
his father's voice cautioning him about the delicate legs. He rotated on
the carpet until he faced the skyscrapers beyond, and settled back to read.
Turning pages, he frowned.
Daniel Gordon had insisted, when challenged, that he was still in his old
profession. He had asserted, even after having been savagely beaten, that
he was another man. Fox.
Rising from his seat, he toggled a switch under the table, holding it until
the drapes closed. He slipped a key into the lock on, and dialed in the
combination of, an antique Mantuan safe to his right. From the safe, he took
a frayed notebook, then scanned a list of names typed on a yellowed page.
--o-0-o--
Room 521 Arlington Hospital Saturday February 10, 1996 2:15 am
"Sam! No! Sam!"
Hearing her partner's nightmare begin again, Scully awoke.
"Sam! Hang on!" His arms snaked out one last time, pulling Scully to him.
"I got you!"
His strength surprised her, reminding her, painfully, that Fox Mulder wasn't
the only patient in the room. "Mulder, it's okay. It's me, it's okay."
"Scully?" He was waking now. "Oh, no. Are you okay?" He released her and
sat up as she settled on the edge of his bed.
She rubbed her right side, trying to dull the throbbing.
He ducked down to look into her face. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, placing
his left hand lightly on her shoulder.
She glanced at him.
He watched her, her arms crossed, looking out over the city.
"Hum?"
"How come you didn't get one of those funny hospital gowns? You can actually
walk to the bathroom if you want."
She turned, stepped back toward him, and bent down until they were almost
nose to nose. "Doctor's Privileges." The gleam in her eye radiated pure delight
at his discomfort, then she grimaced, pushing her hands against her stomach.
"Oof. I'd better sit." The pain in her abdomen eased. "No bending or lifting
for six weeks. Ugh."
Mulder sympathized. "No jogging for six weeks for me either. Weights. Dull."
He frowned. "Scully?"
"Yes?"
"All the time I've been lying here with my back to the door, have I been,
well, well..."
Scully covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. "No, Mulder, that's what partners
are for, remember?"
He thought back to their conversation in his apartment.
"Oh, it wasn't without protest, I can tell you that."
His eyes widened when he realized what she meant.
"But I thought nurses had seen it all and were professionals?" He had been
slowly edging away from the door as the conversation continued.
She patted his shoulder before walking back to her own bed. If she had to
look him in the eye now, she might hurt herself laughing. "They *have* seen
it all. That's why they're such good judges. Did you think all those numbers
on your chart were *really* for tracking heart rate and BP?"
"What? Skinner was here? When?"
"While you were visiting with Good King Henry. I had warned him that those
vigilantes thought he was involved with drugs, too, so he and Sharon stayed
at a motel after escorting us to the hospital. When he checked his house
on Thursday, it had been ransacked like your apartment was."
"You heard them talk about Skinner? I couldn't really tell if you were alive
or - " He paused, contemplating the full horror of what he was about to say.
" - dead." He swallowed quickly.
Scully chewed her lower lip for a moment before responding. "Oh, I heard
you. I heard everything. I think I just dissociated from what was happening.
I remember calling out for help, thinking someone had heard." She frowned.
"But no one was there."
"Your sister told me ..."
"Yes, I've heard all Mel's theories about my family. But telepathy?" She
shook her head. "No, not that. Repeated empirical tests of so-called remote
viewing and mind reading have shown no statistical correlations higher than
random chance."
"Scully! How can you say that after what we've been through?" He threw up
both hands in exasperation, then, grunting, grabbed his left side.
"No heavy lifting, remember?" She rearranged her pillows, then settled back
against them. "You should try to get some more sleep."
He nodded before he turned away from her, carefully arranging the sheet over
himself. "Scully?"
"Mmm?"
"How did I rate?"
"Off the scale, Mulder. Go to sleep."
"Yes, Ma'am, Dr. Scully."
--o-0-o--
Room 521 Saturday 7:30 am
"Honey? It's Mom. Wake up, Dana."
Dana Scully rolled onto her back. "Mom? Why are you here now? I thought you
had gone home yesterday evening with..." She glanced over at her partner.
She grew serious. "Didn't Mrs. Mulder
have to go back to Chilmark?"
Margaret Scully looked Mulder over carefully before responding. "She left
the house just as I started back here. Dana, she's really frightened."
She paused, both women remembering Caroline Mulder's strange visit to her
son's bedside Friday evening. He had been too groggy from the pain pills
Scully had finally convinced him to take to fully awaken when his mother
had arrived. She had proclaimed herself just as breathless and shaken then
as when Margaret had first called her.
Margaret placed several sheets of paper, folded into a packet, on Scully's
bed. "She gave me something for you. She spent most of the night working
on this." Leaning close to her daughter's ear, she whispered, "She wants
you to read this, try to get Fox to read it, then destroy it. What's going
on here?"
Scully turned her mother's ear close to her mouth before responding. "I don't
know. I'm don't understand anything that has happened to us over the past
week. I hope Mulder and I can work this out before someone else is hurt.
Assistant Director Skinner's home was ransacked, too. Be careful, Mom. I
love you."
The two women embraced tenderly.
Margaret straightened up, heading toward the door. "Take care, honey. I love
you, too." Then she was gone.
Scully sat up and opened the packet. The weak light of the rising winter
sun illuminated the top page. She was surprised to see she was the addressee.
--o-0-o--
"Mulder, wake up." Scully gently shook her partner's shoulder. "Mulder, this
is important, rise and shine."
He turned his head toward the sound of her voice before opening his eyes.
"What, Dr. Scully? You just told me to go to sleep."
"Mulder! That was six hours ago."
He heard the latch on the door to the hall click shut.
"I have a letter from your Mother you need to read. Now."
"She was here? What did she want?"
Scully paused to stare at him before she answered.
"What did she say, Scully?"
His partner closed her eyes.
Mulder leaned toward her. "Scully, what did she say?"
"Mulder, my mom and I left. She wanted to be alone with you."
He took the packet from her. "Why did you read my letter?"
She leaned in toward her partner's right ear. "She asked me to. She knows
something, but she's afraid to tell us outright."
Mulder unfolded the sheets, reading the contents hungrily.
Scully found herself wondering if this had been the first significant
communication from his mother her partner had received since Bill Mulder's
death.
As Mulder finished the first page, he dropped it onto his lap.
Scully lifted the paper away to begin to tear it into small pieces.
Mulder glared at her. "That's mine!"
She hit him with her patented 'I know what I'm doing don't argue with me'
look.
He read the first line on the second page. "Oh. I see."
Each page was shredded and flushed as he finished, except the last, which
Scully pressed into his hand. "Mulder, keep this. I hardly think your Mother's
love for you is something that needs to be concealed."
The paper slid off his palm, unacknowledged.
Since he was staring out the window, lost in thought, Scully shrugged, then
walked back to her bed, tucking the paper in the bag of clothes Margaret
had brought her.
When Mulder finally turned away from the window to look at her, tears had
formed in his eyes.
She crossed back to him, taking his hand in both of hers. "I'm sorry. I didn't
know both of her parents were lost in the Holocaust."
"Why is she telling me this now? Why? What can I do about it? What does it
have to do with me? What does it have to do with Sam's disappearance?" He
rubbed his eyes with his free hand.
"Maybe nothing. Maybe she's afraid of dying with no one knowing."
The depth of the pain behind the hazel eyes he fixed on her seemed unfathomable.
--o-0-o--
Downtown Manhattan Thursday February 8, 1996 9:00 pm
Guiliano D'Amato stood, his hands linked behind his back, gazing at the skyline
of the city. As the door to his office opened, he turned from the window.
The man who had entered seemed a giant, muscles rippling as he walked past
the marble table, past the cases with their treasures. Perusing the man
thoughtfully, from the blond crew-cut to the heavy boots, Guiliano saw all
the evils his father had told him to avoid.
If his visitor availed himself of any of the seats in the room, the careful
work of forgotten woodcarvers would have been reduced to kindling. Guiliano
stepped around the Venetian table to shake his hand in the center of the
room. "Thank you for coming."
The giant nodded. He never knew the man rumored to be funding their efforts
to clean up America's streets had such wealth. He felt edgy, out of place,
as if he were a guest in the home of someone's grandmother.
Guiliano crossed his arms. "The man you visited two nights ago, Daniel Gordon.
Tell me about him. Tell me exactly what happened."
'Joe' sighed. "There was something wrong with the whole thing."
Guiliano smiled. "Don't worry, friend. Take your time. Start at the beginning."
--o-0-o--
J. Edgar Hoover Building Sunday February 25, 1996 9:15 am
Tap. Click. Tap.
Dana Scully looked up in surprise as her partner walked into the basement
office. She had alternately cajoled and scolded, but he had refused crutches
when he began walking again, relying on an old cane instead. "Mulder, you
shouldn't be coming in yet. That leg isn't healed enough for you to be on
it all day long."
The muscles in his face worked as he crossed the room to his chair. "Neither
should you, Scully, but there you sit. Three more weeks of no lifting and
bending, as I recall."
She picked up the mouse and dropped it back on a pad emblazoned with the
slogan 'Linux inside'. "See, doesn't hurt a bit. I needed to swap my disks
for a 1.2 Gig, and I wanted to get a new kernel compiled on this machine.
There are too many interruptions to do this on a regular workday. I need
to be ready by tomorrow."
Wincing as he lowered himself to the hard oak seat, Mulder shook his head.
His partner took to computers like a duck to water, but he was happy if they
didn't eat his reports before Skinner yelled for them. "What's so special
about tomorrow?"
"The evidence lab puts their database online here in the building. With the
extra disk space, we can sit here and access their data without running up
and down stairs or cramming into elevators. So why are you here?"
"My tapes." He blinked nervously. "When you told me my tapes and the aahh...
handcuffs were the best source of fingerprints from my place for the lab,
I started thinking."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. If they lifted better prints from Skinner's entranceway and the prints
in both places match, why is the evidence from my place still here? They
could have watched all my tapes at least three times by now."
She stared. "Three times? That's all, Mulder? You really haven't a clue as
to what goes on around here, so you? For the past week..."
Now it was his turn to look over in surprise.
His partner continued, "no one, and I *mean* no one, has talked to me in
the cafeteria. I either get deeply sympathetic looks or snickers as I walk
past. It's worse than 'Mrs. Spooky'." She leaned toward him. "I heard from
the Domestic Crimes Unit that copies have leaked to the CIA."
"Argh!" He covered his face with his hands. "I should just resign now, right?
Conduct Unbecoming of an Agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigations. No
pension, no Health Care."
Scully pushed herself to her feet. "But, we do have a lead. None of the
fingerprints matched any criminals in Federal, State, or Regional Databases.
However, some Security Services load their job applicants into the systems
when they check for previous crimes. Sometimes the fingerprints aren't removed.
Look familiar?" Walking over, she held up a glossy of a man with long black
hair.
Mulder took the picture and considered. "I think he was there. My photographic
memory isn't so perfect when my ribcage is being used for percussion lessons.
You obviously remember him though."
Scully nodded. "He called himself Reno, although I doubt that was his real
name. He did say his mother was Cheyenne. The company requesting the background
check is in Falls Church. The home address on the application," she explained,
waving a FAX at him, "is in Springfield." She paused, considering. "Mulder,
how did you get here today?"
"Metro. Why?"
"My car has independently adjustable seats. I know it's small, but I think
you can get enough room to stretch that leg of yours."
He eyed her.
She lifted one corner of her mouth as they proceeded slowly to the elevator.
"I thought you didn't have a reputation, Mulder."
His ability to hover over his partner's shoulder hampered by the cast, Mulder
contented himself with arching his eyebrows. "Well, if my collection is anywhere
as popular as it seems to be, I do now."
--o-0-o--
Springfield, VA Sunday 9:45 am
"Looks like they packed up and left in a hurry." Mulder picked through the
trash while his partner stepped up on the air compressor to peer into the
house.
When the window Scully was leaning on suddenly gave under her weight, she
grimaced, covering her head with her arms. Opening her eyes, she found her
shoulders hanging over a dusty kitchen sink.
Mulder hobbled up to her. "Scully? I heard a crash." He reached up to guide
her back to the ground. "You okay?"
She brushed glass and wood out of her hair. "Yes, thanks. I know it's illegal,
but, if you give me a hand, I can get to the back door through the kitchen."
She looked up at him, waiting.
He bent over her, concern creasing his brow. "You'll be okay?"
She nodded. "Dr. Scully says thumbs up." She patted her gun before slipping
on a pair of latex gloves and wiggling into the window. Sitting in the sink,
she drew the Sig out before moving to the back door.
Once her partner was inside, they moved from room to room, the jumbled contents
of which all appeared to verify Mulder's original observation. They holstered
their Sigs once they were sure the house was empty.
"Check this, Scully." He pointed to a stack of storage boxes in the main
bedroom, whose contents were detailed records of drug dealings on the East
Coast dating back to 1985. They settled side by side on the floor, passing
the stacks of files back and forth.
"Mulder, look at this. This guy, is - you!"
Mulder turned to his partner, leaning over her to see the photo she held.
"He may be a good copy, but you have the original," he joked as he lifted
the paper off her lap to read the record.
Daniel Gordon had a life much similar to his own. Oxford, a First in Physics,
Scully pushed her hair behind her ear. "When I began examining these files,
I thought maybe we should go back, get a Search Warrant sworn out, and come
back to legally claim these. Now, I don't think so. How many innocent people
would end up in jail if these fell in the wrong hands?"
Mulder rubbed the cast on his left shin. "How many will end up getting their
bodies and houses rearranged is more like it. I don't like this. Either the
vigilantes left in such a hurry they abandoned these detailed records, or
they were planted here for us to find to discredit their group."
Scully shook her head. "I think this is a trap. All the bedrooms had bare
mattresses, broken furniture, then we find this in here, new, clean, and,"
she mused, swiping her latex-encased fingers over the lid from the top box,
"dust free?"
The agents stood, replaced all the files but the ones pertaining to Mulder
and Skinner, then left by the back door, locking it behind them. As they
drove away, a hidden camera concealed in the shrubbery recorded images of
their departure.
"Scully, I think we need to access some unofficial channels."
"Great minds, Mulder. Besides, I should thank Frohike in person for all those
flowers."
--o-0-o--
Southeast Washington DC Office of the Lone Gunmen Sunday 9:00 pm
Mulder and Scully had returned to the Gunmen's office at the end of the day.
Byers was examining the photo of Skinner under a table-mounted illuminated
lens. "I don't get it, Mulder. There is nothing unique about any of the materials
that could identify or eliminate any of the agencies or organizations we
keep track of."
Langly held the paper up to the light. "The paper has no watermarks or
manufacturer indications. It's like someone bought some cheap paper at Staples
to run through a laser printer."
Scully pushed her hair behind her ear. "That would be consistent with the
actions of a small vigilante group. But all the folders were new and uncreased.
If a small group had been maintaining records since 1985, and since Daniel
Gordon here," she commented, glancing in Mulder's direction, who smirked
in response, "has been such a busy boy, wouldn't there be more data, smudge
marks, or something?"
"Hah!" Frohike interjected. "Byers, bring that photo of Skinner over here."
The four converged on the light table in the corner where he sat.
"And you thought he was just enraptured by the vision of your loveliness,"
Mulder whispered to Scully, who elbowed him gently in response.
Accepting the image, Frohike, his nose trailing across the print as he slid
the hand lens back and forth, checked Mulder's, then pored over Skinner's.
"I thought so. See this line here, and there?"
When he sat up and pointed, Byers nodded. "Enhancement, and not a very good
job, either. If any secret government organization were trying to frame you,
*Daniel*, you wouldn't see these grey areas. We'd have to decompose the image
in a computer before we saw any mismatches in shading. This is an amateur
job, at best."
Mulder thought for a moment before he queried. "So what does this mean? Are
we looking at some kind of vigilante war? Planting evidence in each other's
files for authorities to find?"
"No, Mulder, I think this is a dead end." Scully rubbed the back of her neck,
pacing. "Instead of trying to see where these guys are going, I think we
should begin to work backwards." She paused as the four men focused on her.
"If this guy Reno signed up, as he put it, to work against drugs in this
area, and earned his keep as a security guard, isn't it possible he's done
the same thing elsewhere? If we could track him back to when he joined the
group, wouldn't we have a better idea how the group was formed in the first
place?" She stopped pacing when she passed her partner.
He turned, moving close to her, and stayed there.
The pair were face to face, one looking up, the other down.
Mulder shoved his hands in his pockets. "What about the employment history
on the job application?"
She shook her head. "The company didn't ask for employment history, just
whether the applicant is conviction-free. They're Rent-A-Cops." She waved
her hand. "Here today, gone tomorrow."
Mulder chewed his lower lip. "Tell me again what he said to you, something
about Reservation life?"
"Mm-hm. But I don't think he was raised on the reservation. He said his mother's
people were Cheyenne, and that when he saw how bad life was there, he vowed,
well, you know the rest."
Mulder tipped his head. "So you think he was raised off the Reservation,
but went back as a young adult?"
"Yes, Mulder, I do."
He crossed his arms, his focus narrowing only to the investigation developing.
"But how would a young man with no education decide to go into Security work
while on a Reservation?"
Scully squared her shoulders, feeling herself drawn into the hunt. "Well,
there are Native Police forces on Reservations. Some are real law enforcement
agencies, but some are little more than gangs. Once he was employed in a
group like that, he would either live relatively well, or fall out and end
up dead."
"No, Scully, no." Mulder leaned back against the light table. "We're missing
something here too. From what you said, he saw this as a cause. Also, cheap
alcohol is readily available, has been for years. Drugs require money, cash.
Reservations are dirt poor places to live."
"Not any more." Byers interrupted. "Do Indian gambling casinos ring a bell
with either of you?" The two agents looked over, surprised.
Scully nodded. "Yes, they do. I should have thought of that. It would be
perfect. Lots of ready cash. They try to hire Natives so their people have
honest work."
"Well, how many are there?" Mulder looked back at Byers, who shrugged.
Scully sighed and reached for the edge of a desk for support. "Mulder, if
you don't mind, I'd like to check this out in the morning."
"Sure, Scully. Thanks, guys." He touched her arm as they walked to the door.
"Agent Scully?" Frohike called out. "What do you want us to do with these
files?"
The partners stopped, then Mulder responded, "Lock those in your safe, or
put them under your pillow, or however you guys hide stuff around here. They
may tell us something later."
The door closed behind them.
Langly chuckled and turned to Byers. "Think they're getting along better
now than recently?"
Byers nodded in agreement, then punched Frohike on the shoulder playfully.
"Tough luck, old man."
--o-0-o--
Palazzo De Medici Outside Phoenix, Arizona Saturday March 2, 1996 12:30 pm
As the helicopter's shadow passed over the desert, Guiliano smiled at the
approaching mountain. Behind it, he knew, was a recreation of one of the
wonderful palazzos his family had visited when he took his first trip to
Firenze. Tony D'Amato had used the last of the money from Prohibition days
to construct this vision. Water pumped from deep below the surface maintained
cedars, poplars, and orange trees from Sicily.
This was also the most secure building in his family's vast holdings. Behind
and beneath the Palazzo was a state of the art communications complex, and
it was from here that he wanted to conduct a conversation with an old friend,
safe from outside monitoring.
Daniel Gordon was Fox Mulder. He knew that, now. When his people had retrieved
the files his contacts had stored in an abandoned house in Springfield, VA,
they had been baffled. The drop location had been concealed as an employment
application and saved in supposedly secure government fingerprint archives.
No one should have known the records were there, but the boxes had been opened
and the contents rearranged.
He had set the documents on ahead to the lab down below to be examined for
fingerprints. On the box parts and pages were those of Special Agents Fox
Mulder and Dana Scully. Stranger still, the file on Daniel Gordon was among
those rearranged in the box. This Mulder had a checkered history at the FBI.
Brilliant and wayward, he had soared early in his career when profiling serial
killers in the Behavioral Sciences Section, but then, nothing. The helicopter
touched down on the landing pad, beside which sat a jeep that he hoped would
take him to some answers.
--o-0-o--
Ashland, Montana Saturday, 1:30 pm
The blue Ford Taurus rental crunched down the flat gravel road, rolling to
a stop in front of a white, two story building. The two agents stepped out
of the car, Mulder leaning on a cane to help him stand, while Scully opened
the trunk to lift out two small overnight bags.
Several attempts to obtain information by phone Monday afternoon proved to
be a complete failure, but each call had been disturbingly similar. Initially,
the casino employees had offered information willingly. But, at the words,
'Federal Agent' any further questions were met with minimal responses. The
partners had decided they would have success only with in-person interviews.
Mulder walked back to take his from her. "Last chance, Scully. If we don't
find anything here, it's back to the Vigilante War theory. Let's check in
now, then drive directly to the Casino."
Scully shivered.
Mulder studied her face.
The motor lodge was almost deserted. So, for the rate of two singles, the
agents had their pick, opting for suite with two bedrooms, sharing a single
washroom.
After the partners staggered in, Scully immediately checked the bathroom,
where she was pleasantly surprised to see an antique claw-footed tub like
hers at home.
The shared space was arranged for long term occupation. On one side was a
small kitchen with table and chairs, where Mulder had set up the laptop computer.
On the other was a living area, with a long couch and two overstuffed chairs,
arranged facing a 36" television screen.
Scully arched an eyebrow at the set.
Mulder stood in front of her. "Well, I did okay this time, right?" His head
bowed, he waited for her approval.
She tapped his shoulder so he would look up to see her smiling at him.
Together, they walked to the car as she replied, "Looks good. Tonight though,
the ghosts of General Custer and Chief Sitting Bull will probably decide
to re-fight the Battle of the Little Big Horn upstairs."
"Better than what's on cable, Scully."
"What, no Playboy Channel, Mulder?"
They drove away.
--o-0-o--
Palazzo De Medici Saturday 2:00 pm
Guiliano D'Amato's guest had arrived in his underground office, where Guiliano
was opening one of his favorite Italian wines to share with him.
"So, Guiliano, to what do I owe your fine hospitality today?"
"Well, Senator, in your capacity overseeing the FBI, I was wondering if you
could explain some puzzling information I have recently uncovered. Off the
record, of course."
Senator Matheson, Mulder's mentor on the Hill, took the goblet extended to
him. He tasted the wine, nodding his approval.
Guiliano poured more of the deep magenta Cabernet. "What can you tell me
about the X-files?"
Matheson slowly sipped the wine, then gingerly placed the glass on the table.
"Guiliano, my friend, I'll let you in on a secret. There are no X-files.
Oh, there were, many years ago, but, now... Now they are just paper, collecting
dust in the basement." He leaned forward. "Stick to your War on Drugs. You,
perhaps more than anyone but myself realizes, have done more good than a
gaggle of Presidential Commissions to save our young people."
Guiliano frowned.
--o-0-o--
Northern Cheyenne Indian Reservation, Montana Lame Deer Casino Saturday 4:30
pm
Leaning heavily on his cane, Mulder entered a large gaming room, while around
him, preparations were underway for the night's activities. He was stiff
from the long drive, the casino having been on the far side of the reservation
from their hotel. They had subjected themselves to a week of endless hours
behind the wheel, cris-crossing the flat, wide terrain. Raised as he was
in coastal Massachusetts, he had always assumed distances here were like
those in the small states of New England. He had made the common mistake
Easterners often do, of assuming that the open roads of the water-free West
made for faster travelling.
Scully had already passed through the main room to the offices in the rear.
"In here, Mulder!" His partner called to him from behind a large mural of
Native American life on the Great Plains. When he reached her, she stood
before a simple white door, knocking.
"Yes?" It was a woman's voice. "Who is it?"
"We're with the FBI, and we have a few questions we'd like to ask you about
a former employee. May we come in?"
The door was opened by a tiny woman with black hair that cascaded to her
knees. While her clear skin, sparkling brown eyes, and strong features proclaimed
her a Native American, her grey tailored suit and pearls bespoke a no-nonsense
professional like Scully. "Come in, please, we want no trouble with the
government. I'm Deborah Walking-Star." She looked up at Mulder. "Have we
met before?"
Mulder shook his head, noting that the two women, even with their heels,
reached up only to his shoulder.
As the agents followed her in, Scully whispered to Mulder. "I thought that
was your line."
"Never seen her before in my life, Scully."
"Or out of it, Mulder?"
They sat in wobbly chairs before a tiny desk, for which a stack of newspapers
served as a replacement leg. As a prelude to beginning the interview, Scully
placed the picture of "Reno" on the desk.
Ms. Walking-Star examined it, then looked up. "What has he done?"
"Nothing, Ma'am." Mulder took up the interrogation. "He is involved in an
anti-drug organization that acted on some faulty information. We're trying
to track the bad data to its source. We think," he explained, looking at
Scully, "that he may have worked here as a security guard, or been a member
of your Native Police force. We know his mother is Cheyenne, but we have
no information on his father."
The woman studied Mulder.
Mulder slumped down in the chair, leaning back while rubbing his eyes. "How
are you holding up, Scully?"
"Hmm?" She was hunching forward, her elbows on her knees, massaging her temples.
"I'll live. I never thought we could cover so much territory in such a short
period of time. I'm beginning to think you were right to track those files
we found in Springfield. If we were in DC, I'd be on my way home, looking
forward to curling up on the sofa with Mr. Fuzz Face."
He smiled at the new pet name for her dog.
She threw him a silent "Mulder!" as the Cheyenne woman returned.
"Well, I have good news and bad news." She handed Scully the photo. "He worked
here for two weeks last year, but he has no other history in our records,
and no forwarding address. This isn't like a city place, you know; we accept
all the help we can get. Just to have our young men in here for a little
while is better than no work for them at all."
Scully nodded. "We've heard that at nearly every Casino we've visited over
the past few days."
They rose to leave.
Mulder leaned forward to shake her hand. "Thank you for your time, Ma'am."
After they walked out into the late afternoon light, Scully stopped at the
driver's side of the car. "You drove over here, I'll drive back. Stretch
out on the back seat and sleep, if you'd like."
"But won't you miss my scintillating conversation?"
The only response was a tired over-the-shoulder glance.
He settled down on the back seat for the long ride back. The road was mostly
paved, with few curves or stops, so before he knew it, he was asleep.
--o-0-o--
Mulder was walking alongside a shallow river. His leg didn't hurt anymore,
which surprised him. In fact, he felt triumphant, as he had when he had graduated
from Oxford. The air was warm. He heard a nearby conversation, spoken in
a language he didn't recognize, but understood plainly, the voices coming
from people on the other side of a stand of trees. When he had a clear view,
he could see little groups of buffalo skin lodges covering the plain.
He looked down at himself. Gone was the wool suit and tie. Instead, he was
wearing leather leggings and moccasins and his chest was bare.
A group of men his age ran past him whooping, shooting rifles, and throwing
paper in the air. He found himself running with them, exultant. No, this
was better than getting his degree. His people had won a great victory, and
could return to the old ways. He caught one of the pieces of paper and stared
at it for a long time. It had green lines on one side, and black lines on
the other. All of Long Hair's men had carried papers like it in thick wads
stuffed in their clothes. He thought he should know what it was, but he felt
like he was between two worlds, that he was two people. In one world, these
little pieces of paper were very important, but he couldn't figure out why.
In this world, he felt free, freer than he had ever been. In the other world,
he only knew pain, long days and hopeless nights of pain.
Suddenly, he was standing by the river again. A group of small children had
torn up the papers, mixed them with mud to sculpt animal shapes, and were
pretending to be hunters. A little boy took the paper from his hand, to stretch
it lengthwise over the back of a mud horse so it hung down like a saddle
blanket.
Wait, there was someone calling him, someone who was deeply worried about
him. He thought of those women in the lodge. He should find her, let her
know he was safe here.
"Mulder? Mulder! Agent Mulder! Wake up!"
He opened his eyes.
Scully was bending over him from the front seat, shivering, resting her hand
on his chest, where he had grasped her wrist in his sleep. She had the driver's
door open, so he could tell that the temperature, already cold at the Casino,
had dropped during the drive.
"Scully? Where are we?"
"We're back at the motor lodge. For the past half an hour, you've been muttering
about money. You keep asking, 'Where did all the paper come from?' I thought
you were hallucinating, but you don't have a fever."
He sat up in the back of the car, confused, the dream was receding. "They
didn't know what it was, Scully. I kept wondering where they got all the
money."
"Mulder, what are you *talking* about? *Who* didn't know? *What* money?"
Her teeth were chattering now. "Please, let's talk about this inside, okay?"
She helped him out of the car.
He draped his right arm over her shoulders. "It was warm there, like summer.
I felt happy."
She looked really worried.
--o-0-o--
Ashland, Montana Room 105 8:30 pm
Scully had not had her long soak, settling for a brief, but hot, shower.
She was sitting at the table in the common room, watching her partner talking
on the cel phone while she combed out her hair.
Mulder was frowning. "Yeah, Frohike, the Lame Deer Casino on the Northern
Cheyenne Reservation. Find out where they got the seed money to start the
place up. I don't think it was a grant from the Bureau of Indian Affairs."
He glanced at Scully and rolled his eyes. The Gunman was a nonstop gabber
after 10:00 pm. He lifted the phone away from his ear to cover the receiver.
"He wants to talk to you, lovely lady."
Rolling her eyes in response, Scully took the phone. Cradling the unit between
her shoulder and chin, she disconnected the set on the table, plugged the
phone line into her modem port, and typed several commands. "Okay, start
your download. Looks like 2 hours. Good. Good. I'm receiving. Thanks, *Mulder*
owes you, not I. Right. Bye." She ended the call. "What's he sending us?"
She rubbed her face with the hand not holding the unit out for her partner.
He took the phone from her. "Data on how the casinos in the area are set
up and funded. He thinks he's found a connection to organized crime, but
he's not sure."
Scully narrowed her eyes at him. "The Mob?"
He bent over her. "Yeah. You know, where J. Edgar won't let his good little
G-men and women look?." After they both smiled at the thought, Mulder stifled
a yawn. "Hungry?"
Scully found herself yawning back. "A little. I'll see if we can get a pizza
delivered. I don't want to see the inside of an automobile again tonight."
He headed for his room. "I think I need to hit the shower, too." He scratched
his chin, trying to think of a quip about the Pomeranian, but failing.
--o-0-o--
Room 105 9:00 pm
Mulder stepped out of the bathroom, wearing an old pair of FBI sweatpants.
"Scully?"
"Don't turn the lights on, Agent Mulder." It was the mysterious Mr. X. "I've
come to warn you. Your actions are under scrutiny at very high levels. The
course you are on will lead to death. Accept what has happened to you and
Agent Scully and move on. That's all I can tell you." Fabric rustled. "Stay
where you are, Agent Mulder."
He heard the outside door open and close.
After a few moments, someone knocked, only it was on the door to the common
area. "Mulder? Are you okay?" He opened it.
She stepped in, noting the pocket of cold air in the otherwise warm room
as she stood close to him, speaking softly. "Was that him?" She waited while
he nodded. "What did he want?"
"What he usually wants. To tell me to do nothing, to not pursue this case."
Scully regarded him sadly. "He's probably right, you know. He was the one
who pulled you out of the boxcar in Iowa and let me know which hospital you
were in."
"Scully! Don't you want to know who attacked us and why?"
She walked to the back door to check outside.
He turned to stand beside her.
She was leaning on the door frame. "You ran off then. I couldn't find you.
You ran off. I'd rather...I'd rather not know than..." She looked up at him.
He understood, finally, how fragile the healing of their rift was, so he
took her shoulders in his hands to hold her out at arm's length. "Don't start.
We made a deal, remember? Starting over?"
She reached up to clasp her left hand over his forearm, nodding. "When you
have to run, don't leave me behind." Her lips fluttered in a failed attempt
at a smile.
"Is this an addendum to our deal, Agent Scully?"
Now she lifted one corner of her mouth. "I'll have my lawyers draw up the
papers in the morning, Agent Mulder."
--o-0-o--
Room 105 11:00 pm
Scully had curled in one of the overstuffed chairs, reading the latest New
England Journal of Medicine until it became so heavy it slipped from her
fingers and off her lap. She startled when the computer beeped once, signaling
the end of successful transmission and normal file termination. So as not
to block his view of CNN, she walked behind her partner sprawled out on the
sofa. "Mulder, it's done!" she announced as she tapped the bare toe sticking
out of the cast. Once she sat, she hit a few keys, then opened the file from
the Gunmen. "The guys were thorough on this one." Lines of information scrolled
up the screen.
Mulder limped over after her, then while reading over her shoulder, bent
to point to the text. "Stop, Scully. There." His finger moved under a Corporate
Title, 'Resurrection Industries'.
Scully typed the name into the search window, and several entries were displayed,
including the Lame Deer Casino.
For some of the Reservations, Resurrection Industries was the sole source
of funding. Tracking the company over time, the agents discovered that it
had branched out until, large or small, there was Resurrection money in nearly
every Native Casino west of the Mississippi.
Mulder shook his head. "The Mob. That's how they operate."
Scully chewed her lower lip as she prepared to run another search. Half to
herself, she queried, "I wonder who runs Resurrection?"
"The man upstairs?"
She groaned.
Searching the database again, the name 'Antonia D'Amato Trust' appeared,
so Scully instructed the program to display all data on the Trust. It had
been established in 1965 to honor the mother of one Guiliano D'Amato, heir
to the D'Amato fortune, and was a regular source of grants for minority
businesses and charitable causes.
"That's it!" He straightened up, his eyes wide. "I attended some function
about two years ago - "
" - where this guy was honored for some campaign to reduce drugs on the streets."
Mulder limped around the room, remembering. "It was one of those stuffed
shirt things. Skinner made me go in his place. He droned on and on about
using all the resources at the nation's disposal to end this horrible menace."
Scully stood to walk over to her partner, standing before him. "You could
be right, but we should be careful. Someone with that amount of money will
have friends in high places, and won't like it if you impugn his family honor
by linking him to the mob."
A curt nod. "Agreed, we need more proof.
A groggy Langly answered. "That you, Mulder?"
Mulder snorted. "Who else? I think we have the man, but we need more information
on a Guiliano D'Amato."
Langly was instantly awake. "Whoa there, G-man, you really land some whoppers,
don't you? Do you have any idea how big this guy is?"
Mulder sat on the window sill. "Well, he has his finger in most of the Indian
Casinos in the area, based on what you sent us. What else?"
"What else? Try *everything*, man."
Wincing, Mulder pulled the phone away from his ear.
Langly continued. "Computers, telecommunications, wait, let me get Byers."
There was the sound of Langly opening a door, then shouting, "Hey man, get
up. Mulder thinks he's hooked Guiliano D'Amato."
Mulder smirked upon hearing Byers mumble about never getting enough sleep.
Taking the receiver, the bearded Gunman announced to the tall agent, "Don't
even go there, Mulder. That guy's connections go back two generations to
Sicily. He tried to hire me last year to work at his *dream* computer complex
in Arizona. He acts like Mr. Squeaky Clean, shedding great tears about organized
crime, but with all his money, you have to wonder."
"Well, could you send me some data on him? Yeah, here's Scully."
She took the phone. "Mm-hum. That big, huh? Same protocol? Sure, got it."
The modem beeped and rang as she handed the phone back.
Mulder sent his farewells to the men at the other end.
She turned to him. "This will take about six hours. As your ever- attendant
physician, I suggest you get off that leg and rest."
He leaned close to her ear. "Make me, Dr. Scully."
She gave him the Look.
He limped to the sofa and lay down. "Good enough?"
"It'll have to do. Good night, Mulder."
--o-0-o--
Room 105 Sunday, March 3, 1996 4:30 am
Be-ep. Beep, beep, beep.
Dana Scully sat up in bed.
"Scully?" Mulder poked his head over the sofa, peering at the computer. "It's
broken, I think."
Finally, a breathless Frohike answered. "What!?"
Mulder frowned. "Are you guys okay? We got cut off out here." In the background,
he could hear table legs scraping the floor, then he heard the phone bounce
across a desk.
The next voice was Langly's. "It's the Apocalypse, G-man! We've been hacked!
Gotta go!"
Mulder ended the call. "Someone broke in, Scully." He rose to look over her
shoulder. "How much did we get?"
"Nearly all of it. The transmission was down to the last 3K when the connection
was lost." She leaned forward to concentrate on the text. "He may not be
as difficult to find as we thought, since that *dream* computer complex is
under an estate outside of Phoenix. Just before the data drop, the file was
explaining about a giant party/fund-raiser he throws there every year on
his birthday, which is, ... Wednesday."
They locked eyes.
Scully stood, whispering intensely. "We could get to him. Find out what he
knows."
Her partner groaned and flopped back on the sofa. "No, it's too early in
the morning for a road trip."
She had to agree, so she turned to head back to her room. However, she couldn't
resist a parting shot as she left. "Good night, Mr. Fuzz Face."
"Woof."
--o-0-o--
Washington, D. C. Sunday 8:00 am
The cigarette rested on the edge of the ashtray. He loved the silence in
the building on Sunday morning. His operatives had detected Guiliano's hired
brains accessing the FBI data base, and Mulder's squires accessing Wall Street's.
The two knights were aware of each other, circling to find an advantage.
All that remained was to throw down the gauntlet, and the mayhem would begin.
At the end, only one would remain. Or perhaps, neither. And his secrets would
be safe.
--o-0-o--
END - SINS OF THE FATHERS - INTRODUCTION AND DANCE