<![CDATA[Date: Wed, 20 May 1998 15:48:06 -0500
From: "Kronos" <clb@eng.buffalo.edu>
Subject: 'and then there was one', parts 1-8
Title: And Then There Was One - Part 1 of 8 (1/8)
Author: Kronos
E-Mail Address: clb@eng.buffalo.edu
Rating: R
Category: XA
Spoilers: Through Fifth Season to Travelers
Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST, Mulder/Scully/Skinner Friendship
Summary: Mulder and Scully race to uncover the mystery behind the
deaths of eight FBI agents - all linked to three cases from the 1970's in
which Skinner was also involved - and now the only one left alive. The
three must first determine which case is the link, and then attempt to
identify who is behind the subtle yet deadly eliminations, all the while
evading being targets themselves.
Disclaimer: The characters herein belong to 1013 Productions and Fox
Broadcasting. Usage is made without authorization but with utmost
respect.
Archive: Anywhere appropriate with notice to author and name attached.
Author Notes: This is my second story and exists due completely to the
positive response from readers to my first -- 'The Abyss Looks Back'.
Sincerest thanks to Heidi, Jan, Kristina, and Melanie for beta reading.
Feedback kindly appreciated.
*******************************************
And Then There Was One - Part 1 of 8 (1/8)
by Kronos
*******************************************
Saturday, 7:01 a.m.
Washington, DC, Fox Mulder Residence
There was a shrill ringing that wouldn't stop. It would scream out for a
piercing moment only to go away again, leaving blessed silence, lulling
him into a false sense of security. And then the sound would return,
demanding, insistent, way too close to his ear.
"Unnnggghhh. Wha.....?"
An eye cracked open and blearily took in the sun pouring through cracks
in the blinds. He decided that maybe it wasn't such an ungodly hour after
all, regardless of the objections of his sleep-deprived body. He turned to
his right side, the leather of his couch making noises of disapproval in
consonance with his various body parts, and then reached his left arm
across the open space to the coffee table where the offending item lay.
Mulder fumbled with the phone, finally managed to get it to his ear, and
mumbled out a barely recognizable "Mulder."
Silence reined for about five seconds, long enough for Mulder to write
the call off as a wrong number, when he heard a voice that yanked him to
a sitting position.
"Agent Mulder, I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I ...."
And then there was silence again and Mulder could swear that his boss
was actually apprehensive about something.
"Sir?"
"Yes, I'm sorry."
Damn, the man did it again. Skinner apologized to him twice in a span of
thirty seconds. This must really be bad. He could think of only one
thing that would cause his boss to hesitate in this way.
"Sir, is it Scully? Has something happened to her?"
Mulder was sitting on the edge of the couch now, tense, alert, barely able
to await the older man's response. His heart had gone from resting state
to an adrenaline-induced pounding that threatened to send him into cardiac
arrest in a span of about ten seconds.
"No, no, Mulder, it's nothing like that. Scully's fine. That is ... I guess
she is. I mean ... I haven't spoken to her but I assume ..."
Mulder took a shaky breath, consciously tried to make his muscles relax,
and realized his boss also seemed to be breathing somewhat unevenly.
He couldn't recall Skinner ever stuttering and stammering before. Mulder
swallowed hastily, cleared his throat, and tried to focus on the situation.
He still had no idea what was going on, but he knew that whatever it
was, it was big.
"What is it, sir?"
"Mulder, I need your help with something. Both you and Scully.
There's .... a case."
Mulder had moved quickly from confused to concerned. He added the
word 'cryptic' to the mental list he'd been compiling to explain Skinner's
behavior. It came right after 'nervous', 'anxious', and 'agitated'.
"What case, sir?"
"Not on the phone. Could you possibly meet me? Scully, too."
"Well ..." Mulder paused for a moment, unwilling to answer for a
partner who had told him the previous day that she had plans for the
weekend.
"I'll call her, sir. It might help if I had something a little more
concrete to
tell her, though. I'm pretty sure she had plans for this weekend."
Silence, again. Four seconds, five, six, and Mulder couldn't take it any
more.
"Sir, what the hell is going on?"
He heard the explosive breath at the other end of the line, signifying a
frustration barely contained. Frustration at whom? At what?
"Sir, I'll call her and tell her it's important. We'll meet you at your
office
in ..."
Mulder was interrupted by a definitive, "No."
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Not at the office, Agent Mulder. Let's meet ... where you told me that
you and Agent Scully would sometimes meet when the X-Files were
closed down."
Mulder added the words 'paranoid' and 'obscure' to his mental list and
replied, "Okay, sir. We'll be there in an hour."
This time the sigh at the other end sounded relieved but Mulder was more
alarmed than ever. He slowly lowered the phone from his ear, turned it
off and sat staring at it for several long seconds. Staring, but not really
seeing.
Shaking his head slightly, Mulder decided he needed to get a move on in
order to make the rendezvous in time. He raised the phone once again,
turned it on, punched in the appropriate speed dial setting, and then took a
deep breath. He wasn't pleased about the conversation he was about to
have.
*******************************************
Saturday, 7:54 a.m.
Washington, DC, Reflecting Pool
He stood in shadows, leaning against a pillar of granite. It was cool
against the bare skin on his arm, despite the already eighty-one degree
sultry summer morning. It felt as if the man's eyes were staring at his
back, looking into him and through him, seeing everything he was.
Skinner turned and looked up at the image of the 16th President of the
United States. Lincoln had not been good looking, was not particularly
refined, would certainly never have been elected to even a much lesser
position in the superficial climate that reined supreme in Washington
today. But there was something about him. Something that radiated
knowledge and quiet power, understanding and justice.
Skinner considered the word -- justice. Considered whether true justice
could ever be achieved in reality. The word had no meaning without it's
companion word -- law. The one was the measure of the other. But who
the hell really had the audacity to determine whether justice was ever
served, could be served. Justice -- the administering of punishment or
reward according to the law. Man's law. Man's administration of the
law. If justice depended on men's interpretation and implementation of
the law, then justice would never be attainable.
Skinner knew, intimately knew, that 'the law' was merely a set of
conduct rules manufactured in a desperate attempt to ensure a civilized
society. But when those who are supposed to enforce the law operate
outside it, twist it to meet their own ends, 'justice' becomes an empty
word, a word without meaning and without hope.
He looked again at the towering figure, who wore wisdom as if a coat,
shedding it's tendrils to those who would learn sagacity's lessons well.
But even as Skinner recognized the majesty, he knew also the human
fallibility. Lincoln was only a man, even if a great one. And even the
greatest of men have the capacity to lie to themselves, to rationalize. How
could he, Skinner, such a lesser man, be any different?
Skinner turned away from the statue and looked down at the Reflecting
Pool. They were there, sitting on a bench beside the pool. His agents
had come for him. It was time to ask for their help.
*******************************************
Skinner observed his agents as he approached from the side. They could
be a young married couple, out enjoying the beautiful Saturday morning.
Perhaps visitors to the capitol wanting to get a jump on sight-seeing.
Skinner had chosen to dress casually for this meeting, not wanting to
draw attention by wearing a suit that screamed 'Federal Agent, look at
me'. He wore jeans and a light cotton shirt tucked in at the waist. He
was pleased to see that both his agents had chosen similar attire.
Mulder was a cross between yuppie and scruffy in well-worn jeans, loose
pale green golf shirt with the collar raised slightly at the neck, and
running shoes. He'd evidently passed on shaving that morning, leaving a
fine stubble approaching Don Johnson proportions. Scully was slightly
more coifed, but also casual in tan pants, white T-shirt tucked in and
comfortable loafers. Both wore fashionable sun glasses against the glare
of the day.
Mulder sat comfortably against the bench, left arm lying along the length
of the back, right leg crossed with ankle resting loosely on the left knee.
Scully sat next to him, about a foot away, leaning forward with elbows
on splayed knees, hands hanging between them. Skinner realized that if
she were to sit back she would find Mulder's arm around her shoulders.
He doubted she or Mulder realized it, at least consciously.
His foot hit a small rock when he was about twenty feet from them and it
was enough to cause both heads to turn in his direction. They weren't
surprised. They'd known he was coming. Skinner nodded and gestured
for them to stay where they were. He was slightly amused that neither of
them moved or betrayed the curiosity they must be feeling. Skinner
panned his sight to the right, over the Reflecting Pool, up, then down its
length, reassured when he saw no one. He stopped in front of his
agents, and casually turned his head in the direction from which he'd just
come, again making sure they were unobserved. Finally satisfied, he
took the couple steps necessary to bring him to the end of the bench and
sank down onto it, next to Scully.
Skinner looked to his right to take in both his agents and was surprised to
find both of them looking across the water, eyes focused on a jogger who
had just come over the slight hill paralleling the pool. Evidently his
agents had caught his own paranoia. He dismissed the jogger as just that
at the same time his agents did. They turned towards him,
simultaneously, expressions equal parts confused and concerned.
"Scully, Mulder, thank you for coming."
Both heads nodded slightly, but his agents remained silent. He'd have to
do this by himself. Skinner took a deep breath, decided just to spill it.
"There's a case I'd like you both to work on with me. It's unofficial,
though, at least for now. The Director and I have determined that it has to
stay that way for a while."
Mulder was surprised. He'd already decided that this was something
personal for Skinner, something that would perhaps cause
embarrassment, but the fact that the Director was in on this subterfuge
challenged his assumptions. He sat up a little straighter and turned
sideways, eyes scanning behind them, as he asked the obvious, "What,
sir? What's the case?"
Mulder had been searching his memory, trying to come up with a
recollection of anything that had been going on in the Bureau that might
cause his boss to act so surreptitiously. A glance at Scully suggested she
was doing the same. Her forehead was creased and she was squinting in
concentration.
"It involves the murder of eight agents over the past four years."
At that, both Mulder and Scully sat up straight, thoroughly surprised by
the news. They hadn't heard about such a case. How was it possible
that they hadn't heard?
"No one's put it together, yet. Each death was written off as accidental,
by natural causes or otherwise explainable. I know they weren't."
Scully spoke then, for the first time. "But, sir, how can you be so sure?"
A faint grimace crossed over Skinner's features as he considered her
question. How indeed? He'd asked himself the very same thing enough
times lately.
"Scully, I know because I worked with all these agents, on three different
cases, twenty some years ago, when I was just starting out. Since then,
we've completely scattered. But, I knew these men well, a few of them I
knew very well, and came in contact with them often until their deaths. I
believe it statistically improbable, to say the least, that all of them could
have died of natural causes or simple accidents. It's outside any
insurance bell curve, even for our profession."
Mulder understood the implications immediately. A glance at his partner
revealed that she'd made the same conclusions. "You think you're next."
It wasn't really a question, but Skinner felt compelled to respond. He
looked at both his agents, searchingly, praying he wasn't making a
mistake in involving them in this.
"Yes, I'm pretty sure I'm next."
Scully understood the reasoning but not the approach he'd chosen to deal
with the situation. "But, sir, why isn't this investigation official? There
should be a team assigned to it and you should have protection until it's
resolved."
Skinner smiled kindly at his agent before replying.
"Under normal circumstances that's exactly what we'd do, Scully. But
..."
And Mulder understood again, somehow, what was coming. "You think
it's someone with the Bureau? One of our own?"
Skinner nodded wearily, and looked around them once again for anyone
that might not belong, anyone who might be watching.
Scully could understand the dilemma and a part of her was honored by
the implicit trust her boss had demonstrated in calling them in on this, but
she couldn't help but wonder whether he was correct.
"Why, sir? What is it about the deaths or the case that leads you to that
conclusion?"
Skinner was shaking his head again, in denial, in frustration, wishing he
were wrong. "The killer has intelligence that would be ... difficult to
obtain for an outsider. The manner of a couple of the deaths required in-
depth knowledge of victim habits that would be impossible to pick up or
discover unless coming into contact with them in a work environment.
And some of the victims had to have allowed their attacker to get close.
They had to have trusted him for some reason. But, mostly, it's a
feeling. I just .... know it's someone affiliated with the Bureau."
Mulder had been listening carefully, all the while searching around them
for anything amiss. He had developed a process. Lean forward, prop
arms on knees and look to the right, up to the Lincoln Memorial, across
the pool and down to the left, then sit back, turn slightly so he could look
behind them, naturally, so as not to draw any attention. And this time
someone was there.
Skinner and Scully both stiffened as they noticed the jerk of his leg.
Trying to remain casual, despite the sudden alarm, Skinner looked
towards Mulder and asked, "What? What is it?"
Mulder had his head propped on his left hand, which rested on the back
of the bench. He'd turned his head at an angle to the bench in such a way
as to allow him an almost full view to their rear. His eyes had narrowed
dangerously and he now flicked them to Skinner, not moving his head,
and spoke quietly behind his hand.
"Someone's there. Seems to be watching us. Can't have been there but
for a couple minutes. He's pulling something out of a backpack.
Binoculars. Shit."
Mulder sat a little straighter and moved as if stretching his back, turned
his head forward so his mouth would not be obvious to the watcher.
"So, what do you want to do?" He then went back to his angled position,
watching the watcher peripherally.
Skinner leaned forward over his knees slightly, made sure no one would
be able to view his words, and said, "Let's get out of here. It's too open,
too visible. We need to discuss this in a secure location."
Scully leaned back against the bench, feeling like a target and wanting
nothing more than to leave then and there. But she understood the need
to appear nonchalant. "Mulder, how about the Lone Gunmen?"
Mulder couldn't help the smile that worked its way to his face. He even
allowed a small chuckle to escape at the thought of using the Gunmen's
hideaway to plan a strategy for discovering a killer run amok in the halls
of the FBI. Talk about your conspiracy theories.
Skinner had turned towards his agents slightly and now had eyebrows
raised. He knew Mulder had numerous contacts outside the Bureau and
knew that some of them were .... odd, to say the least. He'd met one of
them once leaving a hospital room during one of Mulder's many stays.
His agent seemed to be seriously considering his partner's suggestion.
"That would work. But we have to get there, first."
Mulder was still watching the man with the binoculars. He couldn't
decide what the guy was up to, what his plan was.
"Let's sit for a minute. Let me get a reading on this guy."
And so they sat, quietly, tensely, not knowing what would happen but all
praying that nothing would. After five minutes of the strained silence,
both Scully and Skinner jumped at the abrupt laugh Mulder released.
They looked at him as if he'd lost his senses when he stood and reached a
hand out to Scully, offering her a hand up.
"False alarm, folks. Looks like our man's a birdwatcher."
Scully and Skinner both stood then and turned boldly now to see what
Mulder was seeing. Two young women had evidently been lying on a
blanket, originally hidden from the agent's sight. One of them was up
now and yelling at the man with the binoculars, who was looking
appropriately chastised for his voyeurism.
Scully turned to her partner to see he was doing some 'birdwatching'
himself, admiring the short shorts and bikini tops. He evidently realized
she was looking at him and turned an interesting shade of pink. He
opened his mouth to say something, anything, and then just snapped it
shut again at his partner's grin. He didn't have to apologize to Scully.
She'd forgive him just about anything even without asking.
The light mood was broken when Skinner reminded them once again
what they were there for.
"I think we're probably clear to leave together. Agents, let's go."
*******************************************
Saturday, 9:16 a.m.
Washington, DC, Lone Gunmen Headquarters
Langley held the door open, gesturing for them to get in quickly. After
Skinner entered, the man peered outside, searching from left to right one
last time, then shut the door securely behind them.
Skinner was amused by the gesture while simultaneously recognizing the
need in this circumstance. The man in front of him was far scruffier than
Mulder, rumpled T-shirt looking slept in, jeans appearing ready to fall
into their constituent threads at any moment.
Both Skinner and Mulder stood in the center of the room, holding boxes
filled with pertinent case files. Skinner's gaze panned the room,
searching for a clear surface on which he could dump his valuable
burden. He mused at the mess around them, wondering whether the
scruffy man at the far end of the room really knew how to use the
sophisticated equipment lining the tables and shelves. His musing was
cut short when the man under consideration spoke out.
"All right, the place is clean. We checked before you got here. Mulder,
I'm afraid you're on your own this time. The guys and I are outta here.
We decided we'd pass on getting involved in an internal Fed War."
Mulder couldn't really blame them. He'd come to them often enough in
the past, and they'd always come through. But it had always been for
Mulder or Scully personally or there had been something in it for them --
a conspiracy to unearth for the greater good. Skinner was something else
entirely. Mulder understood that to the Lone Gunmen, Skinner was still
one of 'Them'. This was a situation they wisely wanted nothing to do
with.
Mulder nodded to his acquaintance, letting him know he understood, and
watched as Langley headed to the back door.
Once there the man turned, and said, "Oh, hey, Mulder, don't forget to
lock up when you leave." He had a set of keys that he held up in front of
him, then tossed across the room when he saw he had Mulder's attention.
Mulder awkwardly angled the box in his arms to catch the keys inside and
shot a look of irritation at the grinning man. Langley waved quickly,
turned, and then he was gone, leaving the three agents to themselves.
Mulder hauled the box he'd retrieved from Skinner's car over to a table.
His boss had a matching box in his own arms and both had to wait until
Scully cleared a spot.
Skinner decided to give a broad overview of what the boxes contained
before getting to the details.
"There are two different sets of case files here. In this box is everything I
could get, quietly, pertaining to the deaths of the eight agents over the
past four years. Over here are the files from three different cases the team
worked back in 1976. I was fresh out of the academy and at the time it
was typical to keep a group of agents together as a team that was then
assigned to different cases. About seven months after that, the Bureau
made a change in their teaming strategies and went to an approach similar
to what's done now, with teams being put together on a more ad hoc
situational basis to reflect the various strengths of individual members."
The AD saw that both his agents were with him. Mulder's eyes were
focused on the box sitting in front of Skinner. He was reaching towards
it as he spoke.
"Sir, I suggest we begin with the present deaths. If we can develop a
profile of the person committing those murders, this might enable us to
identify which specific case of the three under question is pertinent."
Both Scully and Skinner nodded and then turned to the table to clear the
entire surface. They'd need the room to fully review the files.
Scully could feel it. Knew with certainty, to the depths of her caffeine-
deprived toes. It was going to be a very long morning.
*******************************************
Saturday, 1:23 p.m.
Washington, DC, Lone Gunmen Headquarters
Scully had felt it creeping up on her for hours now. Had felt the
frustration of the lost weekend coupled with lack of caffeine coupled with
the dim lighting of the closed in room, all of which combined to create
one massive bubble of irritation that had to be released before the pressure
became too great.
"I can't take it anymore. I need a break. I need to eat. I need coffee."
She looked over at her partner to find him smiling at her with that smug
little grin he adopted whenever he thought she was being silly. Okay,
maybe not really smug, but in her present state of mind it sure seemed
that way. Luckily, their boss agreed with her.
"Why don't we take a break? Let's head out and get something to eat ..."
Skinner turned to Scully with a smile and added, "... and drink."
Mulder released an exaggerated sigh of martyrdom, rolled his eyes as if to
say 'Why Lord must I have to deal with such weenies', and tossed a file
onto the table.
"All right, all right, I give. I want to take a couple files with us to
discuss, though."
*******************************************
Saturday, 2:41 p.m.
Washington, DC, Diner
They'd chosen a corner booth by the back and side walls that was
oriented in such a way that they'd have a clear view of the entire diner.
Mulder sat in the V of the corner, turned slightly with his back against the
walls, right arm stretched out along the length of the seat back, the other
propped on the table in front of him. Scully sat next to him, leaning
forward over the table, staring at a file on the latest victim. Skinner sat
across from them and recognized the similarity of his agents' positions to
those of the morning.
Skinner couldn't get the image out of his mind. The image of Mulder and
Scully sitting on the bench by the Reflecting Pool, looking casual and
comfortable, and even content, despite the worry they must have been
experiencing on being called by their boss in such an odd way so early on
a Saturday morning. They were so different, these two. Different in all
the right ways. Skinner's thoughts were thrown back to a quote he'd
come across once by a Greek philosopher, written some 2300 years ago.
"The whole is greater than the sum of the parts." Mulder and Scully's
partnership was not just a sum of the parts. Truth was truth in any
millennium.
He turned his sight from Scully, who was still totally absorbed in the case
file, to his other maverick agent. Other. Hmmm. When had he started
thinking of Scully in those terms? Mulder had his head back now, with
eyes closed, and appeared to be taking the opportunity to gather his
thoughts. The man opened his eyes and self-consciously sat straighter
when he realized his boss was staring at him. Skinner couldn't help
smiling a bit as he dropped his eyes down to his coffee cup and then
looked over at Scully once again.
"So, Agent Scully, what do you think?"
Scully glanced up at him, then turned her head slightly to include her
partner in her gaze.
"You're right. This wasn't accidental."
Both Skinner and Mulder jerked upright in their seats. Perhapses and
Possibles they'd been ready for, but this was definitive. Mulder was the
first to speak.
"Why do you say that? What have you found?"
Scully sat up straighter, stretched her back, then rotated her neck from left
to right.
"According to the police report, Agent Hendricks was killed by a hit and
run driver after he'd left work late one night. No witnesses. The injuries
are consistent with a pedestrian vs. auto accident. Except, this car didn't
hit him just once."
She had their attention. Both men were staring at her intently now,
waiting for the rest of it. She realized suddenly that no one was watching
the diner. Moving her head in a procedural sweep from left to right,
Scully reassured herself that they were still unobserved and then
continued. Mulder had evidently caught her concern and she saw was
once again sitting back slightly, eyes sweeping the environs, acting as
look-out.
"I can see why it was missed. It would have been natural to assume,
based on the injuries, that this was simply the result of a hit-and-run
accident. Unless I'd been warned before that it might not be accidental, I
probably wouldn't have caught it either."
Scully felt the need to defend the pathologist who'd performed the
autopsy, as if her entire profession were under fire.
Skinner realized that a small part of him had hoped, prayed, that his agent
would determine there was nothing to his theory. He sighed deeply
before speaking.
"Are you sure, Scully?"
Scully looked at him kindly, realizing that she'd just confirmed his worst
fears.
"Absolutely, sir. It's really very clear once you get past the superficial
injuries. There are two clear impact sites. The first hit him from behind,
causing massive contusions to his back and legs. I would guess, without
seeing the body myself, that he was propelled over the hood and roof of
the car to land in the road. Amazingly, nothing was broken at this point,
except perhaps his left arm, although I believe several of the internal
injuries could be attributed to this first impact. Then, he must have tried
to get up, to stand."
Scully stopped for a second, looked down at the autopsy photo again and
shook her head at the tragedy.
"He had to have made it to a standing position based on the locations of
the impact points of the second hit. I can't tell whether the car turned
around or just came at him in reverse, but he was facing the car for the
second impact, which resulted in the injuries that eventually killed him."
The silence that had fallen after Scully's pronouncement was becoming
uncomfortable for Mulder. He recognized that Anthony Hendricks had
been a friend of Skinner's and further that the verification of his murder
quite likely meant that Skinner would be next on the killer's list. Mulder
cleared his throat and glanced at the two other agents before returning to
his sweep of the diner.
"So now we're sure. Nothing's really changed. The question is --
what's the best approach from here?"
Mulder turned his head towards his boss then and said, "Sir, I think you
should reconsider keeping this off the record. This is too big for just us
to handle. There have to be others who we can involve -- who can be
trusted."
Skinner was shaking his head emphatically before Mulder was even
halfway through his argument.
"Sir, your life is in danger."
"I know that, Mulder. But anyone who I choose to involve in this is also
going to be in danger."
Skinner looked at his two agents, one then the other, his forehead creased
in concern.
"Your lives are at risk now, just from talking with me."
Skinner turned away from them, glanced around the near empty diner and
considered once again what he was doing here. Whether he had the right.
He had asked and they'd come. But did he have the right to ask them to
become involved when he was setting them up for target practice?
"Maybe this was a mistake. I shouldn't have brought you into this."
Scully had been getting more and more irritated with the turn of the
conversation.
"Look, sir, your instincts were right about Hendricks' death not being an
accident. I believe that an in-depth examination of the others will further
support the hypothesis that someone is killing off the team members. If
that someone is with the Bureau, we have to find him as quickly as
possible and the three of us will not be able to do that alone."
Scully saw it happen and knew immediately what it meant. Her boss
straightened in his seat, set his jaw, and crossed his arms on the table in
front of him. Could he really be that stubborn?
"Sir, this is insane."
Now she'd done it. She could tell by the flared nostrils that he wasn't
amused. Scully heard a snort from her partner. He'd just been sitting
there, quietly, letting her make the much needed arguments, leaving her to
take the heat. Wimp. Scully shot him a look dripping in venom before
continuing.
"Okay, fine. If this is the way you want to play it, for whatever reason,
then we'll do it this way. But we're going to need help along the way
and you're going to have to make sure the right people respond at the
right time."
Skinner had relaxed somewhat and was back to being slightly amused by
this woman across the table. This woman who worked for him,
supposedly, this woman who was telling him the way it was going to be.
"I'll make sure -- as long as I agree they can be trusted."
Mulder decided it was safe to re-enter the conversation so started making
'ready to get going' motions.
"We need to start making some plans. We don't have much time. We
have to figure out how to pull this off without the entire Bureau knowing.
Let's head back."
*******************************************
Saturday, 4:46 p.m.
Washington, DC, Lone Gunmen Headquarters
"All right, it looks like he's been taking them out at an average of two a
year, with several months at the minimum between each. If he holds to
that, we should have a few months lee-way. Unless he's alerted to the
fact we're after him. I understand now why you want to keep this quiet."
Skinner merely nodded at his agent. He'd made the date connections
long ago. Mulder waved at the various files arranged on the table in front
of them.
"We have Valentino George, the first victim, age 52 at time of death, 34
when he was on the team, died of apparent heart attack while running,
four years ago. No witnesses. Scully, what do you think?"
Scully flipped the file open to the autopsy report, pointed to what
appeared to be a small discoloration on the man's inner left arm.
"Toxicology was clean, but this could be due to an injection. Perhaps
something fast acting that isn't on the normal screens. We can have them
re-run for more esoteric drugs if they still have samples. There are
several pharmaceutical agents that would induce heart failure, leaving
signs of apparent heart attack. Few doctors would question it. He was at
the right age for it, not in as good shape as he should have been."
Mulder couldn't help the slight smile that came to his face at his partner's
use of the term 'pharmaceutical agents'. Only Scully could get away with
having that tongue twister sound so natural.
"So, Scully, do you know anyone at the Seattle coroner's office who
could check into it, quietly?"
Skinner and Mulder waited patiently as she mentally sorted through her
medical acquaintances. When she started shaking her head, both felt the
disappointment.
"Okay, we'll put that one on hold for now. Number two was Roger
Sargeant, 61 years old, 42 when on the team, murdered during a robbery
gone bad three and a half years ago in New York city. Half year from
retirement. No one apprehended. No suspects. No witnesses. Scully?"
"I'm afraid I can't add much, Mulder. Except ... it was almost an
execution style murder, practically point blank to the forehead then
another to the chest. A bit overkill for a robber. I doubt I could really
tell
you any more on this one."
Mulder merely nodded, having already come to the same conclusion. He
gestured to the next set of files, then.
"Okay, number three, the leader of the team, Jake Price, age 66 at death,
retired, 47 years old while on the team, drowned while sailing his boat
off the harbor in San Diego, three years ago."
Scully didn't need the prompt, she already had the case file open to
refresh her memory.
"This is an interesting one. He had a bump and a cut on the back of his
head that bled profusely. The police had hypothesized that he'd moved
forward in the boat for some reason and a change in wind caused the
boom to rotate, hitting him on the head and forcing him into the water
where he drowned while unconscious. It's very unlikely. The man was
an experienced sailor, knew the waters around the harbor, the day was
calm with good wind. No experienced sailor would have allowed himself
to get in that kind of situation. It's quite likely he was hit from behind
and thrown overboard."
Mulder nodded at the assessment and moved on to the next.
"Richard Valez, age 65, second in command of the team, 45 years old
back then, died two and a half years ago during a skiing accident in
Denver. Broken neck while falling off a well-marked escarpment on a
double black diamond run."
"This is one that could go either way. It could have been a legitimate
accident. I can't find anything that would refute it. Of course, someone
could have helped him with the broken neck or the fall off the cliff.
Statistically, death resulting from ski accidents is quite rare. I think
something like two or three times as many people die by lightning every
year than they do by ski accidents."
Mulder sighed heavily, feeling a creeping frustration at having to do with
supposition and conjecture. He'd made a career out of it. He was used
to accepting on faith alone. But hard evidence would be nice for a
change. He looked back to the files.
"Next, Philip Holben, 57 years old, broke his neck from a fall off his
house where he was supposedly repairing a hole in the roof, two years
ago. Two broken necks in a row?"
"This one is different. There's a very clear bruise next to his left carotid
artery that suggests a possible hand print."
"Possible?"
"Sorry, Mulder, nothing clear. Just a possible. Probably a likely, but I
wouldn't swear to it in court."
"Number six, Matthew Dryer, age 52, 31 while on the team, shot to death
during a chase of a suspect in Boston. There were several witnesses,
including his partner. Suspect was apprehended, still awaiting trial. This
one might be a legitimate death in the line of duty."
He glanced at Scully, curious to see what she might have to say.
"If so, it's awfully convenient, Mulder."
She took in her partner's and boss' raised eyebrows.
"Perhaps our guy just took advantage of the situation. The case Dryer
was working was a narcotics case. The guy they were chasing wasn't
found with a weapon and the witnesses never actually saw the man with a
gun. Sure, they're claiming now he just tossed it down a gutter or
something while he was running from them, but no one saw it. Besides,
from the retrieved slug, it's clear that the weapon used was not the typical
weapon of a drug runner."
"You're right, of course. Our killer must have been shadowing Dryer for
a while before the right situation presented itself."
Mulder glanced over at his boss, took in the pale face, the clenched jaw,
and knew this dry recitation of facts concerning the deaths of these men
he had known for twenty some years, had worked with and probably
liked and admired, had to be getting to him. Mulder decided to wrap this
up quickly if they could.
"Next was Leonard Ambrus, approximately seven months ago, age 54,
died of a heart attack at home in Jacksonville, Florida. No witnesses."
"I know someone in Jax. I'll have them run a more intricate tox analysis.
He'll be quiet."
"The last one we already discussed, Anthony Hendricks."
Mulder stretched out tired muscles, strained from sitting in the same
position for hours, and considered their next step.
"There's no real MO here, except that this guy takes advantage of each
victim's situation in order to make the deaths appear to be from natural
causes, accidents, or otherwise unsuspecting circumstances. I don't
know if anything here will help us identify which of the three cases that
you all worked on together is the link."
Evidently with the same thought in mind, all three turned to the other box,
which had been waiting patiently for them all day. In it were the twenty-
two year old case files that would hopefully hold the clue to the killer's
identity.
Scully decided to take advantage of the lull by saying, "I think this is a
good time for a break. Also, I can't help thinking we're being overly
paranoid here. In each of these deaths, there was a span of four to even
eight months separating them. It's only been a little more than a week
since Hendricks died. AD Skinner, you haven't done anything yet that
would alert this man to the fact that you're on to him, correct?"
She went on after the brief shake of his head.
"Then I suggest that we move this to my apartment. It's secure, no one
would think to look for you there, sir. It would be much more
comfortable, and most of all, I have coffee."
How could he resist such a well-thought out argument? Skinner smiled
fondly at her when he replied.
"All right, Agent Scully. We'll go to your apartment. But the coffee
better be worth the risk."
*******************************************
Saturday, 7:23 p.m.
Washington, DC, Dana Scully Residence
Mulder lay flat on his back on Scully's couch, shoeless feet propped
against one couch arm, head propped by pillows at the other. His head
was starting to pound and his stomach was urging him to seek
sustenance. He dropped the file he'd been scanning to the floor beside
him, sat up and swung his feet to the floor. After rubbing his eyes almost
violently he launched himself up and headed for the kitchen, barely
managing to avoid banging his shins on the coffee table.
Scully had hardly moved, even at his abrupt departure. She sat in her
comfortably stuffed chair, with feet tucked under her to the side, reading
a file in the last of the cases Skinner had been involved in with the team.
She raised her eyes to track her partner. Watched as he moved to the
kitchen. Hungry, probably. She flicked her eyes to the dining room
table where her boss still sat, evidently unaware of the banging sounds
emanating from the kitchen behind him. She decided to check on Mulder.
No telling what he was doing to her kitchen.
After unfolding from the chair and getting to her feet, Scully headed after
her partner. She found him rummaging around in her cabinets and was
slightly irritated that he'd take the liberty while simultaneously pleased
that he felt comfortable enough to do so. *Make up your mind, Dana.*
"Mulder, can I help you find something?"
"Hey. Sorry. I'm starving. Do you have anything? I'll cook or I can
call out."
She immediately felt guilty at having been irked with him. Only Mulder
could make her swing from one extreme to the other on her emotional
scale so quickly.
"What do you feel like? I have a few things that wouldn't be too hard to
put together."
Mulder had sensed his partner's irritation at him when she entered the
kitchen. He was pleased that her last question seemed sincere.
"Anything. Food."
Mulder wiggled his eyebrows, leered suggestively and said, "You know
what I like." He had to dodge quickly to avoid the punch aimed at his
arm.
Skinner was vaguely aware of the gentle laughter coming from the room
behind him. It wasn't enough, however, to fully pull him from his
reverie. Before him lay fourteen files pertaining to the case that he was
sure was the link they were looking for. He remembered the case as if it
had been just yesterday. Remembered the months of strain, of sleepless
nights, and endless work to find the bomber. Remembered the man
when they caught him. Remembered him yelling out that they'd made a
mistake. That he'd been framed. That he was innocent. Remembered
his face when the jury read the verdict. Remembered the screams of the
man's wife. Remembered the sick feeling in the pit of his own stomach
when he realized he wasn't sure about the man's guilt. Remembered
discussing the concept of justice with his boss, Jake Price, over beers the
night the man was sent to jail for seven consecutive life terms. He
wondered again, as he had then, whether justice had actually been served
all those years ago.
*******************************************
Saturday, 9:52 p.m.
Washington, DC, Dana Scully Residence
Mulder closed the file, ran his fingers over the cover almost gently, then
slapped his hand down lightly on the top of it. He looked across the table
to his boss, eyes searching for some sign, some indication of what
Skinner thought. The man's face was entirely lacking in expression,
nonjudgemental. Mulder sighed, then returned his gaze to the stacks of
files.
"It has to be the bombing case. The others were too cut and dried."
Scully was nodding in agreement, evidently having reached the same
conclusion. Both agents looked to their boss, saw him nod slightly in
confirmation.
"I agree."
Mulder sensed that something was going on, that Skinner was holding
back on them.
"Sir, is there anything else you know about this case? Anything that
might not be in the files?"
Mulder and Scully waited patiently, watched as Skinner seemed to be
fighting an internal battle. Finally the man slumped slightly and dropped
the mask of impassivity, his forehead creased in distress.
"I always wondered if we'd caught the right man. I always wondered if
... if we'd allowed an innocent man to go to jail for the rest of his life.
As the years went by and there were no more bombings that fit the MO, I
became more and more certain that we had caught the right man. Now
..."
Skinner took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free
hand, then looked across the table to his two agents. Mulder completed
the thought for him.
"Now you're not sure again. You think the wrong man's been in prison
for twenty-two years."
The look of guilt on Skinner's face was enough confirmation.
"Sir, do you know whether he's still in prison? Perhaps..."
"No, Agent Mulder, I checked. He's still there. Still professing his
innocence to anyone who'll listen. He claims he was framed, that we
manufactured evidence."
Skinner said this last in a voice that was almost questioning, obviously
struggling with how it could be possible for the man to be telling the
truth. Skinner knew that he had done nothing wrong in the handling of
the evidence of the case and he couldn't see any of the other men doing so
either. He waved his right hand in the air in front of him, and said, "I
don't see how it could have happened."
Mulder exchanged a quick glance with his partner, realizing that Jose
Alvarez' innocence would quite possibly mean the wrong-doing of one of
the team members.
"Sir, how well did you know these men? Was it possible that one of
them ..."
"I don't know, Mulder. I've asked myself that question so many times
over the years. But I've never managed to come up with a reasonable
answer. I thought I knew them. I thought I knew them well. But now I
just don't know."
The frustration in the room was palpable. It wasn't doing much to help
the headache Mulder'd been contending with all day. He stretched his
neck, rested both elbows on the table, then propped his head on linked
hands. He closed his eyes and concentrated on banishing the headache to
the nether-regions so he could think uncluttered thoughts. After several
more moments of tense silence, Mulder opened his eyes, ran hands
through his hair, and rested his arms on the table once more.
"Sir, I'm not sure how important it is, at this point. If this case is the
link
to the team members' deaths, which I concur is most likely, then either
Jose Alvarez has somehow managed to reach out from behind prison
walls after twenty years, or the real bomber is the killer. Whichever is the
truth, we're going to have to reinvestigate the original case. We're going
to have to go to Dallas. The last bombing occurred in Ft. Worth and
Alvarez was tried there. And it'll give Scully an opportunity to find out
more about Hendricks' death. Maybe it's not a coincidence that these
events all occurred in or near the same city."
Skinner nodded agreement.
"I don't want us traveling together, though. You and Scully go out
separately. I'll assign you to a case, something as a cover. We can make
sure the paperwork's in order. I know the SAC in Dallas. I trust him.
I'll give him a call and let him know he's to help you in any way
possible. I'll take a different route and meet up with you there --
unofficially. I'll take vacation days. Say I'm going to Vegas or
something. The Director will know the truth."
Scully felt she should object but saved her breath. She knew it would do
no good.
"Okay, sir, but ... be careful."
It sounded lame, even to Scully's ears, but she couldn't think of what
else to say. How do you protect yourself from a ghost who could kill
eight Federal Agents with no one the wiser? Almost no one.
"I will, Scully. I'll head out tomorrow. When do you two think you can
leave?"
Mulder and Scully exchanged glances and Skinner knew he was being
allowed to see something few others could. They turned back to him
after their silent communication and Mulder answered for both.
"We'll leave tomorrow. Where should we meet up? And when?"
Skinner considered quickly. His agents would head straight to Dallas,
would probably arrive early afternoon at the latest. He thought about his
more circuitous route and did the math.
"Early evening perhaps. I won't go to the Bureau office there."
He didn't have to finish the thought -- that if the killer were with the
Bureau he had to remain out of sight.
"Let me know what hotel you'll be at and I'll catch up with you there. In
fact, I know Dallas pretty well. Why don't you stay at the Marriot
Courtyard right outside the city. It's convenient to the city and the
Bureau, as well as Ft. Worth, where the last bombing took place."
Scully tried to mentally place it based on her one trip to Dallas and wasn't
successful. She saw that her partner was nodding, though, and decided
not to pursue it further. They'd find the place.
"Sir, will you be able to call the SAC tonight to make arrangements?
We'll probably want to get started at the local Bureau office tomorrow
afternoon."
"I'll do it tonight, Scully. His name's Harry Delano. He's a good man.
You can trust him."
Mulder couldn't help the frown. He'd caught Skinner's paranoia and
didn't like the idea of trusting anyone on this case. Didn't like the idea at
all.
*******************************************
Sunday, 8:24 a.m.
Washington, DC, National Airport
Scully glanced at the board again, frustrated that the hour's delay due to
weather had already caused them to miss their connecting flight in
Chicago. They'd definitely have to rebook now. She stood up and
slapped her partner on the shoulder lightly to get his attention.
Mulder was stretched out across four seats, fast asleep, feet hanging off
the end of the bank of chairs. He was, of course, totally unaware of the
murderous looks sent his way on occasion by those being forced to stand
around him. Scully had considered waking him, then decided against it.
He got little enough sleep as it was. For the past hour she had pretended
that she had no idea who the inconsiderate man was. Simply shrugged
her shoulders helplessly whenever anyone had approached. A couple of
those people were now including her in their angry stares and she had the
good grace to flush red.
"Come on, Mulder. Get up and let's get out of here before the horde
attacks."
Mulder was confused. Who was attacking who? Whom? What? He
looked around, took in the crowded lobby, the disgusted look of the old
woman standing against the wall and immediately understood he was in
trouble. He swung his legs down and sat up, then turned to his partner,
wondering what had possessed her to let him sleep through it all. Scully
merely smiled slightly at him and gestured towards the ticket counter.
"Come on, we have to rebook our flight. There's no way to make our
connection at this point."
Mulder nodded, grabbed his bags off the floor and sent an apologetic
look around the room. He was going to get Scully for this.
*******************************************
Sunday, 5:23 p.m.
Somewhere over Pennsylvania, USAirways Flight
Scully was not a happy camper.
"I can't believe this. I could have stayed in bed for another four hours.
At this rate, Skinner might get there before we do."
Mulder didn't look up from his files, merely nodded at his partner's
words, understanding the frustration. With all the time they spent waiting
in airports for one thing or another, he would have thought Scully would
be used to delays. Not the case. She still surprised him.
He turned to get a good look at her, then, and was somewhat alarmed by
the weariness he saw. Concerned by it, frustrated that he could do
nothing about it. Well, there was one thing.
"Scully, why don't you try to sleep for awhile? There's nothing here you
can't go over later. It might be your last chance to catch up."
Scully was grateful for the suggestion. She turned to her partner and
smiled in appreciation, then passed her stack of files over to him. She
had volunteered to take the center seat to allow him the extra leg room the
aisle seat afforded. Unfortunately , the man to the right of her at the
window seat had no scruples about taking over the arm rest between
them. Reading the case files had been awkward. The flight was filled to
capacity due to the storms wreaking havoc up and down the Eastern
seaboard, so she and Mulder had been unable to spread out. Scully put
her glasses away, reclined her seat, and tried to think sleepy thoughts.
A half hour later, Mulder gestured to the flight attendant and requested a
blanket. The woman kindly helped him open the package and drape it
over his partner, since one of his arms was otherwise engaged as pillow.
Mulder looked down at the top of his partner's head fondly, tilting his
own head forward so he could see her face. He grinned at the small smile
she wore in sleep and was pleased that she seemed to be having good
dreams. God knew she deserved them after the last few months. So did
he, come to think of it. Actually, best not to think about it.
Mulder turned his attention back to the case file, trying to understand
enough about the bomber that he might be able to develop a profile that
would help them now. It was fascinating, really. Something he hadn't
seen during his time with Behavioral Sciences and hadn't ever heard of
before or since. This bomber and the Unabomber had acted during the
same time period, with practically the same MO. The targets were
similar, the bombs were similar, the delivery agent similar. In fact, the
first four bombings had originally been attributed to the Unabomber. It
wasn't until late 1975 that someone had figured it out. Had recognized
that there were two distinct individuals operating simultaneously, but not
in concert. It was certain that the two were not partners, were not
competitors. In fact, each seemed oblivious of the other, a sign of the
egocentric personality so typical in violent criminals.
Mulder shut the file and leaned his head back against the seat. He closed
his eyes and tried to recall everything he knew about Ted Kaczynski and
the case against him. Kaczynski himself was something of an enigma.
Brilliant mathematician turned techno-abhorrer. A man who turned away
from everything that defined civilization to the mass majority of
humankind. A man who sequestered himself from anything smacking of
the technological achievements of which Americans were so proud.
He'd attacked those who represented users and abusers of technology.
And this other bomber, Skinner's bomber from the '70's, this man also
seemed to target the same people. Each of the eight bombings he was
responsible for occurred on college campuses somewhere in the
Engineering School. A materials laboratory at MIT, an aerospace
structures lab at Stanford, an instrumentation lab at Cal Tech, an
aerodynamics wind tunnel at Georgia Tech. This guy certainly didn't
mess around when it came to targets. He went for the best.
Mulder opened his eyes at the thought. He didn't know a great deal about
Engineering schools in the United States, but certainly those had to be
somewhere at the very top of the list. He made a mental note to cross-list
the targets and have a computer analyst friend of his at the Bureau try to
find a common denominator.
For now, though, all he wanted to do was catch a couple hours sleep.
Mulder closed the file and added it to the stack in his lap, then raised them
all up high enough to avoid the tray he lowered from the seat back in front
of him. Placing the stack on the tray, he slowly reclined his seat, making
sure not to wake his partner as his shoulder moved back. Finally
comfortable, Mulder dropped his head back, closed his eyes, and
concentrated on sleep, blessed sleep.
When the flight attendants passed through the cabin offering beverages an
hour later, one woman smiled at the sight of the nice couple curled
together in peaceful sleep.
*******************************************
Sunday, 8:37 p.m. (Eastern Standard Time)
Dallas-Ft. Worth International Airport, Dallas, Texas
Mulder and Scully fought their way through the crowds after arriving in
the terminal. It never failed. They were as far from the exit as possible.
It only seemed to happen when they were carrying their luggage. And
this time, both agents had chosen to carry all the case files with them.
Scully fought her way over to the wall and dropped her shoulder bag to
floor next to her more sensible wheeled bag. "Mulder, I think we need a
cart. Do you see one?"
Being over six foot tall had advantages and Mulder quickly spied an
abandoned cart across the terminal walkway. He dropped both bags at
Scully's feet and started dodging deplaning passengers. An elderly
gentleman also seemed to be making his way towards it, albeit quite
slowly, and Mulder picked up his pace. Grabbing the handle, he quickly
turned the cart in the right direction and headed back to Scully. He had
the grace to flush when he caught sight, peripherally, of the older man
stop in his tracks. He silently promised he'd help an elderly couple
across the street some day to make up for it and pushed his way back to
where his partner stood.
She was staring at him, an odd look on her face, and suddenly he
couldn't go through with it. Dropping his head in defeat, Mulder silently
turned back around, spied the old man and brought the cart over to him.
Damn Scully anyway for making him feel so guilty. What ever happened
to 'first come, first serve'? He dredged up a smile for the old man and
turned yet again, hopefully for the last time, towards his partner. This
was making him dizzy.
She was grinning at him, trying not to, but being entirely unsuccessful.
"Yeah, well, don't expect me to carry your bags for you, Scully. I've got
my own problems."
Mulder bent down and draped the handle of one bag over his right
shoulder while gripping the other tightly in his left hand. He couldn't
help feeling lighthearted, even though weighed down by some fifty
pounds of paper. He smiled at his partner to let her know he was okay
with it and nodded down the very long walkway that stretched out in
front of them, seemingly endlessly.
"Ladies, first, Scully. I'm being a gentleman this half hour."
She laughed and Mulder decided that sacrificing the cart had been worth it
-- worth the aching back, the protesting muscles in his shoulder -- worth
all the discomfort to hear his partner's carefree laugh. He watched as she
struggled in front of him to balance her own paper-laden shoulder bag
along with the pull bag. She didn't complain, never asked for help, just
kept going, despite the awkwardness. Mulder shook his head slightly,
admiring once again her perseverance.
After five long minutes, Mulder called a rest outside a snack bar. They'd
made quite a bit of progress towards the terminal, but he could tell the
weight was bothering his partner. It wasn't doing him any good either.
"Hey, Scully, I have a better idea. Why don't you watch our bags and
I'll run out to the concourse and get a cart. It makes a bit more sense than
both of us becoming debilitated by our luggage. I don't really want to be
the one to tell Skinner that I put my back out while picking up my
suitcase."
Scully nodded towards him in thanks and sank into a nearby chair,
pulling the various bags closer to her feet.
"Okay, Mulder. Thank you. I'll be here."
She watched as her partner made his way quickly up the crowded
walkway, noticed the two young women who turned to look at him, then
lean in close to each other, giggling behind raised hands. Scully couldn't
help but smile. She'd seen the response often enough over the years and
could certainly understand it herself. In the right suit, her partner could
easily compete with any of the cover boys on GQ.
Scully sat straighter in the chair, stretched her neck from side to side.
Gods, she was tired. She thought about her aborted weekend plans and
realized she needed to call her mother. She'd do it when her partner got
back. She let her mind wander, and her body relax. Some ten minutes
later, she started getting worried at what seemed to be an excessive delay.
Where was Mulder?
As Scully turned her gaze once more up the walkway, she realized that
something was wrong. Something was odd. People were running.
They seemed to be running towards the windows. And then she saw her
partner and he was running as well -- running towards her with some kid,
some teenager in tow, struggling to keep up.
Scully jumped to her feet, wondering what was happening. She watched
her partner slide to a stop and gesture towards the bags.
"Here. Arrange for them to be taken to the office. We'll be there
eventually." He turned abruptly from the kid to face his partner, laid his
hand on her shoulder, then leaned close by her ear, almost whispering.
"There's a plane coming in that's lost two engines from a bomb explosion
in the passenger compartment. Several passengers were killed when the
cabin lost air pressure at 15,000 feet."
Mulder was pulling her along now, up the walkway, but was still
speaking, urgently.
"The flight's from Las Vegas. I haven't confirmed yet that Skinner was
on it. We need to get to the tower. I alerted them that we're on our way
and might have some insight as to who's responsible."
Scully nodded at him then and gestured for him to lead the way. Both
agents jogged quickly towards the terminal and were met by a police
officer who fell in line in front of them. Scully realized that Mulder had
acted quickly to arrange so much in such little time. Her stomach was a
knot of fear and anxiety. Would this bomber of theirs really take out an
entire airplane filled with innocent people just to get to Skinner? Scully
reminded herself that crazy people rarely acted rationally, by definition.
After a tense seven minute jog, stair climb, drive across tarmac, and
elevator ride they were finally led to the tower. The cop gestured them to
the side, out of the way of the frantic movement of those attempting to
shut down the airport for an emergency landing. Planes had already been
and were still being rerouted. Emergency equipment was being directed
to the outermost runway.
Mulder could see the entire airport from the tower. It seemed almost
dead, with no movement on the ground except near the terminal itself.
The emergency equipment, fire engines and ambulances, sat waiting
patiently towards the end of the runway where the damaged plane would
attempt to land. Mulder heard the captain of the flight giving an update on
their condition. Mulder was amazed at how calm the man sounded as he
relayed the damage that had been inflicted upon his aircraft.
"Tower, I repeat. We have flutter in 4 and may take it off-line as well.
We'll hold on that for now."
Mulder caught the jerks around the room and understood that this would
not be a good thing.
"We have eyesight confirmation now of structural damage to the
starboard spar at the root. It is unclear at this time whether the wing will
hold during landing."
Mulder heard the muted "Fuck" coming from the controller to the right.
Still the Captain's voice was calm and clear.
"We appear to still have hydraulics, at least for now. Flaps are
responsive. I repeat, flaps are responsive."
Nods and a sick smile or two.
"Both horizontal and vertical stabilizers are responsive."
This time a muffled "Thank God".
Mulder turned to his partner, raised his eyebrows slightly. She moved
closer to him, took his hand in hers. He was thankful for it and squeezed
her hand gently in acknowledgment. He needed the physical connection,
himself. He turned again at the next words that came over the speaker.
"Tower, I'd like to request a fuel dump at twenty out. Repeat, request
fuel dump at twenty out."
Mulder tried to work out what it meant and finally decided the Captain
was requesting that he be allowed to dump some or most of his fuel at
twenty miles outside the airport. He saw the frowns on the men and
women in the room. Gathered from the tense silence that this wasn't a
typical request. Of course, landing with two or three engines out and a
hole in the side of the plane couldn't have been all that typical either. He
heard the controller say, "Hold on that a moment. Hold, Flight 72."
To the side Mulder saw two men conferring. They seemed to be arguing
and only occasional words could be made out. Finally, one of them
yelled, "Fuck the environmentalists. There are 193 lives at stake here.
We'll apologize to them later."
The man who'd evidently won the argument picked up a headset then and
spoke into it calmly and quietly, as if he were having a conversation about
the latest football game. "Flight 72, Flight 72. You are clear to dump
twenty out at present heading. Do not diverge from present vector.
Repeat, do not diverge from your vector."
The Captain's voice came over the speaker once again, sounding
somewhat relieved. It was the first emotion Mulder had actually
identified from the man.
"Tower, that is a 10-4. We will dump at present heading, twenty out. I
make that five minutes. Confirm?"
"Flight 72, we do confirm."
There was silence then and Mulder didn't know how these people could
take it. The pressure was going to kill him. He turned again to Scully,
saw her lick her lips, then glance up at him when she realized he'd been
staring. He saw her eyes fill with unshed tears and understood that they
weren't just for Skinner. They didn't even know yet whether he was on
this flight. Rather they were for the 193 people on board the flight who
might not live beyond the next ten minutes. Mulder raised her hand to his
chest, gripped his other hand around it tightly and leaned down close to
her ear. "It'll be okay, Scully. These people know what they're doing.
It'll be all right."
Scully knew he was trying to convince himself as much as her, but was
grateful all the same. She leaned against her partner's arm and closed her
eyes, sending a silent prayer to God above to take care of those on the
plane that was now plummeting towards the earth.
An agonizing several minutes later they heard the Captain's voice again.
"Tower, we have dumped. Please inform appropriate agencies. I offer
apologies in advance for all the bureaucratic shit you'll have to deal with."
There was chuckling from around the room.
"Flight 72 you are looking good. We see landing gear. Repeat, we do
confirm landing gear."
Mulder realized then that there had been a question as to whether the
landing gear were still operational. There were two people at any time,
standing at the windows with binoculars, and even he could see the lights
in the night sky, signaling that the aircraft was close.
"We'll need all the runway you've got Dallas. Reverse thrusters limited
due to loss of engines 2 and 3. Engine 4 still holding."
"You're looking good Flight 72. Keep apprised."
Another tense minute and then the plane was almost there, seemed to be
gliding in smoothly for a textbook landing. But the Captain disabused
them of such notions.
"Dallas, we have lost engine 4. I repeat, we have lost engine 4. Am
attempting to compensate with cycling of remaining engine. We have
yaw. I suggest you move the equipment off the runway."
Suddenly there was a frantic yelling to the side and Mulder could see the
fire engines and ambulances now racing across the tarmac, away from the
far runway. It was obvious to him now, obvious that the plane was
skewed and starting also to roll slightly. Still, the Captain's voice was
calm and Mulder had an all new appreciation for these men and women in
the pilot's seat whom he never even saw.
"Dallas we are landing. Can not make another approach. This'll be as
good as it gets. We will attempt to compensate for the weakened spar at
landing."
The plane was almost on the ground now and miraculously yawed back
to centerline just before touching down. The plane had rolled to one side,
though, causing the leeward wheel to hit first. It dawned on Mulder then
that this was intentional. This was what the Captain had meant by
compensating for the weakened wing. Because as soon as the other
wheels hit, the starboard wing cracked at the root. The tip of the wing
crashed towards the ground, the entire thing looking as if it were on a
hinge.
Sparks flew and the wing caught fire, leaving a blazing trail of debris
down the runway. Amazingly, the plane was still on its wheels and the
Captain was continuing to drone on with his updates.
"We have reverse thruster of number one on full. We are at fifty-four and
dropping..... Slowly. Very slowly."
Mulder released one hand from the death-grip of Scully's fingers and
wiped the sweat from his forehead. Had it really only been ten minutes
ago that this all started?
"Flight 72, aim right if you can. We have a nice stretch of flat ground in
that direction."
"Got that, Dallas. Will try our best."
The plane still plummeted down the quickly disappearing runway and
Mulder realized the controller had just given directions for what to do
when the plane ran out of pavement. It was obviously slower now and
still upright. But the dragging wing was also still engulfed in flames.
Mulder knew these planes carried the bulk of their fuel reserve in the
wings and shuddered to think what would have happened if the Captain
had not dumped the extra fuel. He was sure they'd be seeing a ball of fire
instead of a still relatively intact aircraft.
The plane ran out of runway and hit the dirt and grass. Suddenly the
nose pitched forward and the abused starboard wing sheared away in a
shower of red and yellow fireworks. The violence of the separation
coupled with the rough ground was just too much for landing gear that
hadn't been designed with these types of dynamic loadings in mind.
The gear collapsed, almost in slow motion it seemed, sending the plane to
its belly. It was a wounded animal now, in the final throws of its battle
against fate. Incredibly, the plane still did not ignite. It slid another
fifty
feet and then came to a gentle stop, rolling leeward to lay propped on the
remaining wing tip at a twenty degree or so angle. The Captain's voice
came over the speaker, loud and clear.
"Dallas, I think it's safe to send the equipment out now."
Mulder and Scully stood frozen for another half moment, along with
everyone else, waiting for time to start again. Suddenly, everyone in the
control room let out an incredible whoop. Mulder found his arms around
Scully, realized she was hugging him back, and couldn't find the energy
to be self-conscious about it. This had to have been the most incredible
thing he'd ever witnessed in his life. And that was saying an awful lot
after five years of working on the X-Files.
They heard the controller in the background speaking loudly, practically
yelling to be heard over the impromptu celebration that had erupted in the
control room at the Captain's words.
"Flight 72, welcome to Dallas."
*******************************************
End Part 1 of 8
*******************************************
And Then There Was One - Part 2 of 8 (2/8)
by Kronos
*******************************************
Sunday, 9:24 p.m. (EST)
Dallas-Ft. Worth International Airport, Dallas, Texas
They'd forced the issue and now stood on the tarmac, just fifty feet from
the still smoking aircraft. Passengers were being led away, carefully,
gingerly. Those who were injured were brought to the waiting
ambulances. And still Mulder and Scully waited for a familiar face. They
had confirmed within minutes of the plane landing safely that Skinner
had, indeed been on the flight. Had, in fact, been seated in the row
where the bomb had supposedly been triggered. They hadn't been able to
confirm whether he was alive or not.
And then he was there. They saw him in the open doorway, helping a
flight attendant down the slide. Of course. An Assistant Director of the
FBI wouldn't cut and run. He'd wait until everyone else was safe. And
he had.
Mulder heaved a relieved sigh, glanced at his partner and knew by the
smile that she'd seen him as well.
"Come on, Scully. Let's go."
They made their way to the base of the slide, using their badges to get
close. A minute later, their boss stood next to them, clothes somewhat
tattered, gripping his shoes tightly in his hands, obviously the worse for
wear.
"Sir, are you all right?"
Scully immediately went into Doctor mode at the sight of the bruises and
blood that dotted their boss' forehead and shirt.
"I'm fine. But I need to get out of here. Now."
Mulder nodded and gestured to the left.
"We know, sir. We've already arranged it with all the right people.
We'll owe them some pretty hefty explanations tomorrow, but they're
willing to let you go tonight."
Mulder leaned closer and spoke softly.
"Delano's here with about five agents so far. He's keeping them back
until we're clear."
Mulder saw his boss nod in understanding. The younger agent gestured
to a small cart where the same kid who'd handled their luggage sat.
"Not quite what you're used to, I know, but the best I could do on short
notice."
Skinner couldn't help but laugh. Jesus, Mulder was warped. Who the
hell could think of joking at a time like this.
"Mulder, shut up and get me the hell out of here."
Mulder turned serious again, not offended by his boss' solemn
demeanor. He understood. He watched as Skinner and Scully slid into
the back seat, and made sure that neither needed his help. He then
climbed in the front and waved at the kid to start driving.
Mulder turned in the seat so he could see the two agents behind him. He
took in Skinner's slightly shaking form, the blood, the scorch marks on
the white tattered shirt, the abandoned shoes in his lap, and knew they
needed to get to a hotel soon, if not a hospital. Mulder was well-
acquainted with shock.
"We've arranged for transportation. We're going to have to go through
the terminal for about a hundred yards. There's no way around it. I'll go
first and make sure the car's ready out front. You two follow in about ten
minutes."
Mulder turned to look at his partner full on, then reached one hand out to
touch her arm. "Scully, bring him straight through to the door by the
Hertz counter. That's where I'll be."
He saw his partner nod, then looked closely at the man beside her yet
again. Mulder was concerned. Skinner had closed his eyes and sat with
his head bobbing slightly at every bump. He looked as if he would fall
out of the cart if it took a turn too quickly. Mulder looked back at his
partner and saw a matching concern. She had their boss' right arm
gripped tightly in hers, her thoughts obviously paralleling Mulder's own.
He spoke softly, his words intended for his partner's ears only.
"Scully, he's here. He has to be. Be careful."
She didn't need to hear the unsaid words. 'Have your weapon ready.'
Scully nodded at her partner, silently relaying her understanding.
Mulder turned forward again and was pleased to see the terminal just
ahead. He gave Scully one more forced smile and then was out of the
cart and was running for the door, even before it had come to a full stop.
Scully spoke softly to the young man who had gotten them this far.
"Could you please arrange for our bags to be delivered to the Marriot
Courtyard outside of Dallas as soon as possible?"
She thanked him at his nod and turned to her boss, grateful that he
seemed aware of where he was and what was happening.
"Sir, we'll wait here for several minutes and then we'll head out. It'll
take us a bit longer to make it to the front than it will Mulder."
She smiled at Skinner before continuing.
"Mulder didn't get a chance to run this morning and I think he's just
taking this opportunity to stretch his legs."
Skinner forced a small smile, understanding his agent's need for small
talk. He opened his eyes and turned to look at her.
"I'm all right, Scully."
Scully felt embarrassed suddenly. She hadn't meant to be condescending
or patronizing. Certainly not to Skinner. She opened her mouth to
apologize and was stopped when he took her hand in his for a moment
and said, "But thank you for worrying."
Scully grinned at him.
"It's what doctors do best, sir. Come on, I think we're safe to follow
Mulder now."
Scully stood by the cart as her boss slipped his shoes on and dragged
himself out to stand next to her. She positioned herself on Skinner's
right side so she would have her right hand free to draw her weapon if
necessary. She prayed it wouldn't be. Scully walked beside her boss,
slowly, making sure to stay close by in case he needed any assistance.
She was dreading the next five minutes.
Scully recalled her partner's words -- 'He's here. He has to be.' Was
the bomber inside the terminal now? Waiting for Skinner to appear so he
could take him out? Or would that be too easy? Anticlimactic after the
plane bombing. Was he already making back-up plans? Trying to come
up with something even more flamboyant than a plane crash?
Scully reached down to adjust her weapon in the holster, making sure
there would be no impediments if it came down to gun fire. She stopped
in front of the door, turned to her boss and nodded. Grabbing the
handle, she opened it wide and entered first, scanning left to right to
ensure it was clear. She led the way, trying to appear as innocuous as
possible, despite her obviously furtive actions. She felt eyes staring from
all about them. But were they 'his' eyes?
They finally made it through the terminal and headed out front, through
the door Mulder had specified. And he was there, waiting for them in the
maroon midsize rental car, the inevitable Ford Taurus. He leaned across
the front seats and had the back door open, then stretched to open the
front, eyes searching beyond them continuously. Scully helped Skinner
into the back seat, slammed the door, and almost threw herself into the
front seat.
"Go. Go, Mulder."
He didn't need to be told again. He put his foot to the pedal, careful not
to hit any pedestrians, but not particularly worrying about speed limits.
He kept glancing into the rearview mirror, half expecting to see another
car tearing out of the queue to follow them. They seemed to be in the
clear. He looked over to his partner, and saw that she was staring in the
side mirror. She glanced over and met his gaze.
"I think we're okay."
Mulder nodded to her, then looked in the rearview again. Still nothing
behind them. He tilted the mirror to get a look at his boss and saw the
man was stretched out as flat as was possible in the back seat, with legs
bent and splayed awkwardly. It didn't look at all comfortable.
Scully was also looking back at the man. She turned to Mulder and
shrugged slightly.
"We need to get somewhere soon."
He understood what she meant. Get us somewhere so I can check on
how bad off he is. Mulder nodded again and started looking for the right
road signs. They were only about twenty minutes out from the hotel.
He'd get them there in fifteen or less.
*******************************************
Sunday, 10:13 p.m. (EST)
Dallas, Marriot Courtyard
They had two connecting rooms and Mulder wasn't happy. His partner's
logic had finally won out, but it didn't really help in the grand scheme of
things. He needed his privacy and sharing a room with your boss just
didn't cut it. He didn't particularly care that some crazy person was
hunting down Skinner (and possible Scully and him now). He didn't
really care that Skinner was possibly injured and needed someone to keep
an eye on him. Mulder just didn't care at this point. He only knew that
he wanted a room to himself.
Scully walked in and stopped abruptly two strides into the room. Mulder
had glared at her before. In fact, she had thought she'd seen all his best
work. But this. This glare was the creme de la creme of all glares. The
piece de resistance. She immediately felt guilty but, by God, was it her
fault she was female? Did she ask the Bureau to require separate rooms
for agents of differing gender?
Mulder was literally throwing files from his suitcase onto the bed closest
to the door. He would occasionally look up at his partner, expression
offering mute testimony to the anger with which he still struggled.
Skinner was in the bathroom, showering away the evidence of the violent
aftermath of a bomb exploding within five feet of him. The bags had
been delivered, including Skinner's. Evidently Delano had pulled
strings. Mulder had rummaged through his boss' suitcase and pulled out
sweats for the man to change into. He had passed them in five minutes
before and was now waiting, not so patiently, for his turn at the shower.
He wasn't used to having to wait.
"Mulder, I'm sorry. What do you want me to do?"
Mulder paused in removing yet another stack of files from the open
suitcase, head still hung low, not looking at his partner. He closed his
eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath. It wasn't Scully's fault. She
couldn't help the circumstances. She'd merely been the one to point out
that it made sense. But, dammit, he just wanted a little privacy. How
could he get any sleep with his boss just seven or eight feet away?
Mulder dragged his eyes up to his partner's and attempted to be civil.
"Look, Scully, I'm just tired. I just need to get some sleep. That's all. I
don't expect you to do anything. There's nothing to do anything about."
Well, it made sense when he'd originally thought it. Scully would just
have to make do with that logic. It was as much of an apology as he
could muster. Right now, all he wanted was to take a shower and go to
bed. He felt her at his side and looked up from the files once again.
God, why'd she have to look at him like that? So worried about him. So
concerned. She'd had just as stressful a weekend as he'd had, yet here
she was, emanating concern. He didn't deserve her.
Mulder stood straight and dropped the file to the bed. Raised his right
hand to push a stubborn lock of hair out of her eyes, continued the
gesture, lightly caressing her hair, then dropped his hand back to his side.
"It's okay, Scully. I'll be fine. You know me, just a little crazy about
this whole sleeping thing."
Scully smiled at him then. Smiled at the 'sleeping thing' comment. But
behind the smile was the concern she couldn't hide. She knew why he
wanted privacy, understood that any nightmares were his own, that he
wasn't prepared yet to share them with their boss, even though Scully
had been let in long ago. She put her hand to her partner's arm and
squeezed slightly.
"Listen. This is just for tonight. We'll figure something out tomorrow,
okay?"
He looked back down at the files covering his bed, then glanced at his
now empty suitcase. He nodded back to her and said, "I know. It's
okay. Really."
Their boss chose that moment to exit the bathroom. He stopped abruptly
in the doorway as he sensed the tension in the room, unsure whether he
was the cause of it or was just guilty of bad timing.
"Mulder, Scully. Thank you for getting us here so quickly."
He'd seen Scully drop her hand from Mulder's arm, then cross both
arms, creating a wall of seclusion. Seen Mulder move a step forward to
abut the bed, effectively putting distance between him and his partner.
Skinner couldn't help but wonder what was happening .... what had
happened while he was in the shower.
"Everything all right here?"
Mulder jerked slightly at the question. He hadn't been aware that he was
so obvious.
"Yes, of course, sir. I think ..." Mulder paused, glanced at his partner
briefly. "Sir, I think Scully wants to check you over. If you don't mind,
I'll hit the shower now."
Skinner nodded and watched silently as Mulder opened his other suitcase
and grabbed some clothes, seemingly at random, then made his way to
the bathroom. The door shut with a decisive click, leaving Scully and
Skinner alone.
Scully looked absolutely miserable. The woman stood staring after her
partner at the now closed door. What the hell had Mulder done or said
now?
"Scully?"
She jerked her eyes from the shut door towards her boss. Scully flushed
red as she realized how all this might look to her boss. If he only knew
what was really going on. Actually, he might end up finding out quite
abruptly in just a few hours. She shook her head, trying to banish the
thought and focused on the condition of the man standing across the room
from her.
"Sir, I'd like to check you over. Make sure there's no serious damage."
Skinner still couldn't move. Was, in fact, assaulted by the feeling that
he'd just witnessed the aftermath of a lover's spat. But that wasn't
possible. Was it? Was it possible he had so misjudged his agent's
intentions? No, it had to be something else. They were too professional.
They wouldn't let their feelings for one another interfere with their job --
ever. And he was pretty damned sure their feelings didn't run in that
way. Love, yes. He knew they loved each other, would do absolutely
anything to ensure the other was safe and happy. But not physical love.
Not even romantic love. No way. Skinner hastily cleared his throat
when he realized Scully was staring at him expectantly, had been, in fact,
for many heartbeats during the uncomfortable silence.
"I'm fine, Scully. I wasn't really that close. I think some flying debris
hit me. That's pretty much it."
Scully gestured for him to sit on the bed and pulled a chair over to sit in
front of him. This was new. She'd gone through this routine God knew
how many times with her partner, but this man in front of her wearing a
United States Marine Corps sweatshirt and FBI sweatpants, this man was
her boss.
"I'd just like to make sure, sir."
She proceeded to take his pulse, check out the scrapes and bruises, made
sure there was no chance of concussion. Finally satisfied after her
cursory review of his condition, she nodded, then pushed the chair back
and stood.
He'd sat patiently, submitting to her exam, still watching his agent for
signs of anything amiss. But she was completely consumed by her
actions, totally unaware of his observation of her. Scully was becoming
almost as much of an enigma as her obscure partner.
"Everything looks okay, sir. You need to take it easy for a few days."
He still sat on the bed, silently, watching as she repacked the few items
she'd withdrawn from her medical bag, merely nodding in acceptance.
She didn't seem particularly upset. Perhaps he'd completely
misunderstood the earlier tension.
Scully stood straight then, doctor's bag in hand, doctor's professional
mask in place.
"I think I'm going to turn in. Good night, sir. Sleep well."
And then she was gone. She passed through the connecting door to her
room, not even giving him the chance to say good night in return. He
shook his head lightly, trying to comprehend Scully in particular and
women in general. Damn, they could be so difficult to understand
sometimes. He suddenly felt slightly sorry for Mulder.
Before he'd done more than stand and pull the covers down on the bed,
the object of his consideration came out of the bathroom, hair still
obviously wet, dressed in white boxers and a baggy gray T-shirt, proudly
proclaiming him to be a member of Gold's Gym. Skinner couldn't help
the smile that came to his face then and turned his head back down to the
bed to avoid being seen. He seriously doubted that the man in front of
him had ever done more than accompany a friend on a dare to such a
place. Skinner knew that tracks and swimming pools were more his
agent's style, evidenced further by the man's long and lanky frame.
Skinner dropped into bed, suddenly consumed by exhaustion, completely
debilitated. He couldn't summon the energy to even say good night,
much less turn out any lights. He was vaguely aware, as he drifted off,
of his agent's mumbled "Good night, sir" and the darkening in the room
that must have resulted from lights being turned off.
*******************************************
Mulder couldn't sleep. He'd been tossing and turning for more than an
hour now. Every time he was almost ready to drop off, to fall asleep,
some part of his mind reminded him that he wasn't alone, that there was a
stranger in the room, that his boss was there. And he would jerk fully
awake, heart racing, muscles tense. And then it would start all over
again.
He couldn't take it any more. This was making him even more tired.
Mulder threw off the sheet and sat at the side of the bed, then leaned
forward slightly with head hanging down almost to his chest. It was dark
in the room but a few stray rays of light from the street lamp outside
found their way through a crack in the curtain over the sliding glass door
and lit a patch on the carpet to his left. Mulder allowed his eyes to adjust
to the near darkness, then raised his head to look across the three foot
span separating his bed from the other in the room.
His boss hadn't moved in the past hour, as far as he could tell. The man
still lay flat on his back, head tilted slightly towards Mulder, mouth open,
emitting a gentle snore. Mulder looked at the clock, then shook his head
at the thought of the long night stretching out in front of him. He
couldn't read because that would require turning a light on. Couldn't
watch television, since the noise might wake his boss. Couldn't work,
the light thing again. No one to talk to, nothing to do.
He couldn't help the frustration at being so constrained in this way. The
last time he'd shared a room as an adult -- with another man, that is --
was back when he was in the VCS. And then, at least, the other guy was
as screwed up as he was. Well, almost. At least that man had
understood. Understood when the mind couldn't be turned off, when the
nightmares came, when the demons awoke and ruled the night.
Mulder stood up suddenly, the softly muttered "Fuck this" escaping into
the night. He made his way carefully to the connecting door. Maybe
Scully was awake. They could discuss the case. He cracked the door
open -- an inch, then two, slowly and carefully, finally enough to stick
his head in. She lay on her side, facing him, curled slightly with her
hands folded on the pillow beside her head as if praying. Her hair fanned
out around her, a fiery halo of innocence.
Mulder smiled and slowly pulled the door closed again, not even upset at
the prospect of going back to the drawing board for entertainment ideas.
Turning back to his room with a sigh, his gaze fell on the stack of files
he'd thrown to the floor by his bed. His eyes flicked left to the bathroom
and he considered the thought for another five seconds before making his
move.
Mulder quickly gathered two handfuls of files, pads of paper, pencils,
and portable computer, and headed to the bathroom, juggling carefully.
Light behind a closed door would be okay. Actually, this would be better
anyway. Someone had to make plans so they could start quickly
tomorrow. The guy was out there somewhere. Mulder knew it. He
realized that was how he was thinking of the bomber -- 'The Guy'. And
right now, the guy probably knew Skinner was alive, probably knew he
had company, probably knew who they were, probably knew where they
were. The guy would go after Skinner again and he wouldn't care if
Mulder and Scully or any number of others were in the way. The guy
would come. And Mulder had to plan for it.
*******************************************
Monday, 6:07 a.m.
Dallas , Marriot Courtyard
Skinner was getting perturbed. Enough was enough already. He'd
awoken a good half an hour ago needing to use the bathroom but Mulder
was there. He was still there. Just what the hell was he doing in there
for so long, anyway? Skinner sat up finally, slowly stretching protesting
muscles. He hadn't realized just how banged up he was until he'd tried
to move. He forced himself to his feet, stretched right, then left, and then
slowly started making his way to the bathroom. He stopped when he got
there, and found himself actually trying to breathe more quietly so he
could listen for any unusual sounds. Of course, this was Mulder. No
telling what constituted unusual with him.
Skinner raised his hand to knock and then stopped. Thought again about
whether he wanted to disturb the man, then realized he really didn't have
any choice. He needed in there .... now. He completed the gesture he'd
started a moment ago and knocked lightly. Waited a heartbeat, then two,
and realized there was no movement, no sound whatsoever and knocked
again. Now he was feeling silly. Maybe Mulder wasn't in there at all.
Skinner found his glance straying to the connecting room door and
immediately banished the thought. No, he wouldn't be there either.
Skinner sighed deeply and then grabbed the knob, discovered it was
unlocked, and turned slowly, pushing the door inward when he was able.
He saw Mulder in the mirror first, then took a careful step into the room
far enough so he could see behind the door. His agent was in the empty
bathtub, still wearing the clothes he'd changed into the night before,
towel under his rear and behind his back, legs bent up with knees splayed
awkwardly. Files were everywhere -- on the floor, the rim of the tub, the
lowered toilet seat, and beside and on top of Mulder. The laptop
computer lay open on his lap, resting in the V between stomach and
upraised legs. The younger man was fast asleep, his head tilted back and
to the right at an angle that seemed impossible to Skinner.
Skinner felt a flush of embarrassment at the realization that Mulder had
most likely spent the night working -- working in what appeared to be
incredibly uncomfortable circumstances -- while he had slept undisturbed
in the other room. But then he felt something else. He still needed to get
in here and he'd really prefer if Mulder weren't present, asleep or
otherwise. He'd have to wake the man. Skinner leaned forward slightly,
speaking softly. "Mulder."
The younger man didn't stir. Didn't even twitch. What happened to
those lightening fast responses and quick reactions?
"Mulder."
This time he said it much more forcefully. Still nothing from the
bathtub. Okay, now he was getting irritated. Skinner leaned over a bit
more and grabbed his agent's shoulder, shaking lightly. Finally, a
response, but an unfortunate one for Mulder.
Mulder's head flew back against the tiled wall as he jerked awake. He
sensed something sliding on his lap and his hands reached instinctively to
grab it. It was the computer and it was heading for the porcelain. He
grabbed it in time but unfortunately slammed his right knee against the
soapdish in the process. His left hand was now jammed between the tub
side and the computer and throbbed with the impact. All in all, this really
sucked as a way to wake up.
Mulder looked blearily up at the man standing over him. The image
wavered, shimmered slightly, and Mulder realized he was looking at his
boss through eyes that had watered of their own accord in response to the
overwhelming numbers and painful degrees of stimuli that had assaulted
various parts of his body in a span of about four seconds.
"Ow."
It was all he could manage without cursing. Was, in fact, the only word
that had come to mind that was not profane. And Skinner was laughing
at him. Skinner did this to him and now the man stood there, after a
comfortable nights sleep, laughing at him.
For his part, Skinner was horrified. Horrified that he'd been the trigger
for such an event and, even more, that he had laughed. But he couldn't
help it. The sight of Mulder, looking like a little kid who'd just bumped
his head, tears in his eyes, saying 'Ow' for Christ's sake - it was just too
much. But, he felt horrible even as he fought to wipe the grin from his
face.
"Mulder, I'm sorry."
Mulder looked murderous. He'd evidently gotten over the initial pain and
now was just angry. It was clear from the squinted eyes, to the furrowed
brow, to the flared nostrils, to the clenched grip on the computer.
Skinner was finally able to control his initial response and decided to try
again.
"Mulder, I knocked. Then I called your name - twice. I'm sorry."
His agent had been waging his own internal battle for control and finally
managed to look at him with some degree of civility.
"Look. I really need to get in here. Would you mind?"
Oh, sure, it wasn't enough that the man had caused him injury, had then
laughed at him, but now he was kicking Mulder out. The younger man
fought yet again the impulse to curse. Instead he carefully picked up the
computer, leaned over and placed it on the floor next to the bathtub. He
then gathered the files from on and around his body, stacked them
concisely, and laid them on top of the computer.
Mulder had to fight to stand, would have been unable to if it weren't for
the conveniently placed hand hold on the tiled wall to the right. Every
muscle ached from a night spent sitting on bone-chilling porcelain in a
cramped position. His left hand was throbbing from being jammed in his
frantic attempt to save the computer, his right knee ached from being
slammed against the corner of the soapdish, and his head - Jesus Christ,
his head felt like it was going to explode. He could feel his eyes watering
once again as he finally attained a vertical stance and refused to allow
them to betray him. Mulder stepped gingerly from the tub, becoming
aware that his left big toe was also protesting now. What the hell had
happened to his toe? Or did it just feel left out and had decided to join in
the cacophony of aches and pains now causing him such agony?
He nodded slightly to his boss, refusing to meet the man's eyes, and said
merely, "All yours."
*******************************************
Mulder knew he needed to get away for a bit. He was still pissed, even
though his boss had apologized. And in truth, Skinner hadn't really done
anything. Mulder was the one who slammed his head against the wall
after all. He was the one who'd chosen to spend the night in the God
damned bathtub. Mulder dragged his suitcase to the bed, rummaged until
he found what he'd been looking for and finally pulled out his running
shorts and running shoes. He just needed to get out of here for a few
minutes and a little run would help to clear his head.
He was leaned over, tying his shoes when Skinner came out. He still
refused to look at the man, realized he was being juvenile, but just
couldn't help it.
Skinner took in the closed expression, the weary features, the jerky
movements, and suddenly was concerned for his agent. It was obvious
the younger man planned on going for a run, but the killer was out there
somewhere and Skinner wasn't sure whether Mulder was in shape to
handle anything unexpected or strenuous.
"Mulder, are you sure you'll be all right by yourself? I don't think this is
a good idea."
Skinner knew as soon as he said it that it had come out wrong. Now he
had insulted his agent's judgment, on top of laughing at him. He might
as well have thrown down the gauntlet. Mulder froze for a span of
several seconds, seemed to not even breathe in fact. Maybe it wasn't too
late to correct this.
"I mean, going out by yourself when this killer is on the loose."
Mulder looked up at him then for the first time, even as his hands worked
to complete tying his shoes. He appeared incredibly unhappy and angry
under the frozen features.
"Sir, I'll be fine. But I think it's time to abandon this idea of not
bringing
in more people on this. I spent all night reviewing the files of the original
bomber as well as the agents he's taken out so far. The only real
motivation for not bringing in the Bureau was that it might buy some time
to track him down quietly. Well, I think it's pretty clear that that doesn't
make sense any more."
Mulder was still angry and could hear it leaking out in every word he
said. But Jesus, this was his and Scully's life now, too. Mulder finished
with his shoes and stood, only a couple feet from his boss, straight and
challenging. Challenging Skinner to disagree with him.
"The fact is that the three of us can not do an adequate job and you're
going to get Scully or me fucking killed if we don't have help."
He didn't really mean for it to sound so harsh. He had meant to say 'it'
will get us killed - not 'you'. He hadn't meant to make it personal,
certainly hadn't meant to curse at the man, but he was tired and hungry
and his head pounded and his body ached and he couldn't figure out what
was happening with this case even after pouring over files for six hours
straight.
Evidently he had made it too personal, though, because suddenly he felt
his head explode again, coupled this time with an all new sensation - his
jaw felt as if it had been ripped from it's socket and the pain was almost
unbearable. He was on the ground and had no recollection of how he'd
gotten there. He was half lying on a chair, the arm sticking in his back,
and he couldn't figure out what had happened. But after a few moments,
comprehension came. Skinner had punched him. The asshole had
punched him in the jaw. Had hit him!
Mulder was still in shock but coming out of it fast. He was preparing to
launch himself up off the floor when the connecting room door slammed
open, causing him to arrest his movement. Scully stood in the doorway,
gun extended into the room, swinging quickly from left to right,
obviously searching for the bad guy.
Scully got a flash of impressions that made no sense. She had heard the
crash, grabbed her weapon and come running, fully expecting to find the
killer attacking her boss and partner. And instead she found.... Actually,
she wasn't sure.
"What happened? What's going on?"
Scully took in the sights of the room and tried to absorb them. Mulder
lay sprawled on the floor amidst turned over furniture, breathing in
heaving spurts. Skinner was a few feet away, looking just as enraged,
standing stiffly with arms to his side, one foot out ahead of the other as if
ready to move. It looked like they were ready to attack each other. She
turned to her partner, wanting answers -- hoping he'd be able to give
them to her.
"Mulder, what the hell is going on?"
Her partner was overtly furious, quite possibly more angry than she'd
seen him in years. His left hand was up to his jaw, cupping it gingerly.
His response, when it came, sent her reeling with bafflement.
He turned his head towards her and spit out, "He hit me."
Scully couldn't believe it. This was their boss Mulder was talking about.
The man who oozed decorum and protocol, who'd saved their butts on
any number of occasions, who'd been almost killed more than once
because of them. She could only manage a single word of bewildered
query, "What?"
"He hit me."
And now it was a little kid sitting on the floor in front of her, mad at his
playmate because he hadn't gotten his turn to play with the Tonka truck,
yet. And she struggled with it even more.
"What?"
But it wasn't a little boy who yelled out, "He fucking hit me, Scully." It
was her partner who now, in addition to being angry, looked hurt that she
didn't seem to believe him. But Scully couldn't really find it in her to
care overly much just now. There was some madman out there, blowing
up planes to kill their boss, not giving a damn who else got in the way.
Whatever problems these two had, they'd sure as hell better work them
out fast because they didn't have time for this shit. Scully turned to take
in both men, then in a small concession to her partner's feeling of
betrayal, looked mostly at their boss when she said, voice dripping in
sarcasm, clearly betraying the irritation, the frustration she was feeling,
"Are you five?"
Well, they could just deal with it because this was not what she wanted to
wake up to on a day when they had a killer to catch. Scully glared at both
men again, taking in now her boss' look of complete and utter shock, her
partner's look of stubborn petulance. She shook her head quickly, then
turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her definitively.
Skinner couldn't remember the last time he'd been spoken to in such a
manner. And by an underling, for God's sake. He breathed deeply,
tensed his muscles, almost took a step, fully prepared to charge after her
and demand an apology, when it started to sink in. The reality began to
sink in and Jesus, Christ -- was he five? He'd just hit Mulder. Punched
the man in the jaw and sent him flying to the floor. And now he was
actually getting angry at the woman who had pointed out how ridiculous
he was being. He was supposed to be a fucking Assistant Director of the
Bureau and he'd just hit one of his agents for no real reason. Worse of
all, an agent who'd been up all night working on Skinner's behalf.
For his part, Mulder was cast adrift. His boss had punched him, his
partner didn't give a shit, and his head was going to explode. There was
a man in his head with a sledgehammer and every once in awhile, for
good measure, the guy would drive a pick right into the middle of his
forehead.
Mulder finally dragged his eyes away from the connecting door, swept
them around the room for no particular purpose other than it gave him
something to do. He finally managed to pull his head up and to the right
to look at the man who he blamed for this feeling of utter wretchedness.
And Skinner was smiling. Looking down at him still sprawled on the
floor, in pain, and was fucking smiling.
It had taken a minute for Skinner, but it had finally sunk in. He was out
of line. Mulder probably had every right to have him arrested or, God
forbid, could even sue him. For Christ's sake, he had acted like a little
kid. Now poor Mulder still lay sprawled on the floor looking for all the
world like he wanted his mother. Skinner couldn't help the smile that
forced its way onto his face.
He took a step towards his agent, cringed internally when he saw Mulder
jerk back away from him, then reached his hand down, his agent's
reaction effectively forcing the smile from his face.
"Mulder, are you all right? I apologize. I was way the hell out of line.
Let me help you up."
Skinner watched the younger man's expression carefully. Watched him
go from angry confusion to hurt indignation to resigned control. Mulder
reached his right hand up finally, gripped Skinner's wrist and allowed
himself to be pulled vertical. Skinner still felt horrible, knew he'd
screwed up big time.
"Look, Mulder, I don't have any excuse. It's just ... this case has
become way too personal for me."
Mulder stood in front of him now, relaxed and easy, but wearing an
expression of honest concern. It was too much for Skinner. He didn't
deserve the man's understanding after he'd been such a prick. Skinner
felt his shoulder's droop, as the sensation of failure and helplessness
overwhelmed him.
"It's just .... It should have been me, Mulder. If I hadn't switched
seats.... It was a little girl and her father. She was only six or so. Her
name was Kirsten. It was her first flight and she wanted to look out the
window. I volunteered to move across the aisle so they could have the
window and center seat."
Mulder understood suddenly in a flash of enlightenment. Skinner was
now playing the 'If only' game. 'If only I hadn't switched seats.' 'If
only I had waited.' 'If only I hadn't gotten on the plane.' 'If only ...'
Mulder was well acquainted with the 'If only' game. Hell, he'd been
playing it practically day in and day out since he was twelve. But he
knew that it was useless. It accomplished nothing. It certainly didn't
make you feel any better. It just prolonged the guilt. Prolonged the
helplessness.
Mulder arrested his initial impulse to say the 'It'll get better' line. It
wasn't the truth and Skinner knew it. There was no time machine that
would bring the man back to yesterday so he could do it all differently.
There was no fairy godmother ready to wave her magic wand on his
behalf. Sometimes, there just wasn't any fairness, any justice.
Sometimes, life just sucked and all you could do was deal with it the best
way you could. So Mulder said nothing for a long fifteen seconds. Then
he gripped his boss' arm for a moment and said the one thing he knew
would definitely help.
"We'll find him. And we'll make him pay."
Mulder was relieved to see Skinner smile a bit, then nod in understanding
and appreciation. His boss had regained his composure and had turned
now, was moving towards the table between the two beds. Mulder felt
the need to release pent-up energy even more, despite the agony of the
headache, so turned to the sliding glass doors to let in some light and
head out for his delayed jog. He took a step, grabbed the curtains and
threw them wide. And there was something wrong. Something out of
place. Something was there that didn't belong. He processed it in a
fraction of a second and turned abruptly, yelling, "Gun! Down!"
Time slowed, seconds suspended, and Skinner saw it in slow motion.
Saw Mulder turn and yell. Saw his agent launch himself over the bed,
slide across the top, aiming for the floor. Skinner had dropped as soon
as Mulder had yelled. Had seen Mulder come flying over the bed. He
heard it at almost the same time Mulder came crashing to the floor. Heard
the shot. Heard the exploding glass. Heard Mulder's grunt as he hit the
floor hard. And then there were more bullets, more noises of gun shots,
of breaking glass, of dull thuds in the wall behind them.
Mulder was lying on his back, his legs covering Skinner's. He rolled to
his side, pulling legs in closer to his body, and propped himself up a
couple inches on his right arm. Skinner had also propped himself up
slightly and turned his body so he could see the younger man more
clearly.
"Do you have your weapon?"
Skinner saw his agent grimace and shake his head. God damn it! How
could two Federal agents in a cramped hotel room let themselves get in a
position where neither of them had access to their weapons? This was
ridiculous!
Suddenly they heard new weapon fire and yelling from the direction of
the next room. Scully had come to their rescue. She'd evidently summed
up the situation, scoped out the bad guy, and gone after him. After
another forty-five breathless, agonizing seconds, screeching tires could
be heard in the parking lot at the same time the connecting door flew
open. Scully was there, standing much as she had just five minutes or so
before, weapon extended into the room. Her left hand held her cell phone
and she was obviously giving instructions to those on the other end.
Scully put the phone down on the television stand by the door, looked to
the right and out the shattered window to ensure they were clear, asked,
"Are you okay?", then stepped closer to the ends of the beds.
"Are either of you injured? Sir? Mulder?"
Skinner was moving, had already sat up and was now climbing slowly to
his feet, peering cautiously out the shattered glass door. Mulder hadn't
really moved yet except to drop down to the floor, still on his side.
Scully looked at him more closely, took in the pallor, the pinched
features, the tightly closed eyes, the rapid breathing, and realized
something was wrong.
She took the couple steps necessary to reach him and sank down by his
side, laid her gun on the bed to free her hands, and said softly, "Mulder,
what's wrong?"
Her tone was enough to alert Skinner to the fact that something was awry
with his still downed agent. Skinner turned back and knelt next to
Mulder in the cramped space, Scully hovering on the other side of the
younger man. Mulder rolled over to his back, an obviously forced
movement. His eyes were focused on a spot on the ceiling now, but still
he didn't respond to Scully's inquiry of his status.
Scully saw the blood when he rolled over, immediately classified it as
gunshot, upper right arm. She needed to get a closer look at it, make sure
it wasn't life threatening. Scully turned to her boss and commanded,
"Get me all the hand towels and washcloths you have."
She turned back to her partner and felt an incredible flood of guilt. She
should have been nicer to him earlier. She should have listened to him,
sided with him, stood by him. Instead she called him a kid, for all intents
and purposes. Implied he was a whiny kid and then walked out on him
when he needed her. Now he was injured, she still didn't know how
badly, was unresponsive to external stimuli, and she hadn't even been
able to say she was sorry.
Skinner was back, thrusting towels in her face. She took one, quickly
raised her partner's arm and released the pressure she'd been applying
with her bare hand. She pushed the T-shirt sleeve out of the way, then
wiped blood away with two clean swipes. She sighed in relief when she
discovered it was a flesh wound only. The bullet had cut a path no more
than an eighth of an inch deep in his upper right arm, stretching for about
a two and a half to three inch length. She quickly wrapped the arm with a
makeshift compress. But Scully was even more worried now at his lack
of response. He seemed unaware of her ministrations. Unaware that
she'd been talking with him softly ever since kneeling down next to him.
Unaware of their boss hovering by his side. Was there another injury she
hadn't seen?
"Mulder, please, can you say something? We're getting a bit worried
here."
Scully saw his eyes close, blink actually, in a lazy gesture. Then he
turned his head towards her, swallowed, licked his lips as if he were
preparing to speak. But instead he turned his head to look up at their
boss and said raggedly, "Sir, I think it's pretty safe to assume he knows
where you are. Do you think we can call in Delano's people now?"
Mulder turned to his partner then and said, clear as could be, "I feel like
shit, Scully. I think I'm gonna sleep for a bit. Tell me when it's time to
wake up." And then he closed his eyes and was gone.
"Scully, is he all right? Is he going to be all right?"
Scully turned to their boss and tried to dredge up a smile to reassure the
man. His concern was obvious and in a small part of her mind, Scully
contrasted this with the anger of only minutes ago. "Yes, sir, he's fine.
He'll be fine. It's only a flesh wound. He might not even need stitches."
"But .... then why is he unconscious?"
"Actually, sir, he isn't. You heard him, he's just sleeping."
She didn't seem to be joking. She was completely serious. And she
didn't seem the least bit worried. So Skinner decided to trust her and
stood up, leaving them there -- picked his way through the shattered glass
door to the front of the hotel, where police cars and ambulances were
now pulling to a stop. It was time to make this official. Mulder was
right, it was time to call in Delano and his people.
*******************************************
Monday, 8:38 a.m.
Dallas, Hospital
Scully was so tired of hospitals. Sick and tired of them. What irony.
Sick of hospitals. The seat she'd been sitting in was hard and cold. One
would think it would have warmed at least slightly in the forty minutes
she'd been stuck in it. She was waiting patiently outside the emergency
room, idly cataloging the injuries and hurts of those around her. The
more she tried to think about something else, the more consumed she
became with this game of 'What's the matter with that one?'
Scully shook her head at her own obsessive behavior and stood, deciding
that pacing might help to warm her. Scully wasn't too worried about
Mulder, but every minute that passed now made her wonder if perhaps
she hadn't missed something about her partner's condition. This seemed
to be taking way too long.
She took a turn when she reached the end of the hall and then froze,
seeing the doctor who'd been with Mulder standing at the other end. He
was looking around the waiting room, obviously searching for her.
Scully started towards him quickly and called to him when she was
within ten feet. "Doctor Akers?"
He turned towards her at hearing her voice and Scully was relieved by the
relaxed smile. Good, she hadn't made a mistake with Mulder's
condition, after all.
"Where's Mulder?"
Akers had an odd expression on his face, but still hadn't lost the smile.
In fact, it seemed to have gotten bigger.
"Well, Agent Scully, he's fine. He's still in the emergency room,
actually. We're .... well, to tell the truth, we've never seen anything like
it. He seems to be asleep and he's being quite stubborn about waking up.
Never batted an eye when I stitched him up. He did need eight stitches
for the wound in the upper arm. He had a bump on his head and I
thought there might be a chance of concussion so we sent him for X-rays.
No problem there. But he just ... doesn't seem to want to wake up.
There's really no reason to keep him here. He's all yours if you can get
him up and out on his own."
Scully realized her eyebrows had climbed during the doctor's
explanation, and consciously forced herself to relax, closed her eyes for a
moment to reflect. Leave it to Mulder. She smiled fondly then and
turned her gaze back to Akers.
"I think I can wake him. Can I see him now?"
Akers nodded and gestured behind him, saying merely, "Of course," then
headed off into one of the other rooms. Scully walked in slowly, noted
the smiling nurse off to the right, then saw her partner sprawled on an
examining table to the left. His head was tossed back, mouth open,
snores emanating softly. His right arm was wrapped in white bandages
from elbow to shoulder and lay along his side. His left leg was bent,
knee hanging slightly off the table. They'd removed his shoes and both
sat neatly on a chair to the right of the table. He still wore his running
shorts, socks, and T-shirt, although the last was a bit tattered now around
the right shoulder and arm, with blood dotting it sporadically. Scully
grinned again at the shirt. The gift had been meant as a joke a couple
years ago, but her partner had obviously worn it extensively.
Scully walked to his left side and laid her left hand on his arm. She put
her right hand up to his forehead, stroked it lightly, then pushed the hair
away from his face. He looked tired and she felt guilty about waking
him, but it was time. She leaned over the table to speak by his ear.
"Hey, Mulder, you told me to tell you when it was time to wake up.
Well, it's time. I need you now. We have to get to the Bureau.
Skinner's there waiting for us."
His eyelashes fluttered and his head moved slightly in her direction.
Scully moved her right hand down to his arm and gripped his left hand in
hers.
"Come on, Mulder. You had a nice nap, but it's time to wake up now.
Wake up."
His eyes opened and searched her out, gradually focused on her. Scully
adopted a matching smile to the one on her partner's face. His voice was
a bit gravelly when he spoke, but he was clear.
"Hey. What time is it?"
She laughed then, as she responded. "What time is it? It's time to thank
your lucky stars."
She moved back from the bed to give him some room as he maneuvered
and tried to ignore the quick look of disgust he shot her.
"It is now 8:52 a.m. We're at Dallas General Hospital. You've already
been cleared to leave. Skinner's at the local Bureau waiting for us.
There's an officer out in the hall who's been assigned to drive us there."
Mulder was sitting on the edge of the table now, legs hanging loosely off
the side. He turned his head to examine his arm, then sat up straight and
rolled his shoulders. Scully saw him wince and again felt a stab of guilt.
"Mulder, about this morning. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I yelled at you."
Mulder still felt like crap but at least he wasn't so exhausted as he had
been. He appreciated his partner's concern, but he'd made his peace with
his boss before the shit hit the fan that morning and he wasn't about to
hold this over his partner's head. No need to make her feel guilty. There
were already too many people feeling guilty over things they shouldn't.
He dredged up a grin and reached out for her hand, squeezing for a
moment before dropping it again.
"Hey, don't worry about it. You were right -- we were acting like a
couple of brats."
Mulder slipped off the table gingerly, surprised by the soreness of just
wakened muscles. Then he recalled his night in the cramped bathtub
followed by a spurt across the room and his launch over the bed that
ended with a crash on the floor. Actually, he was in pretty good shape
considering. He reached his left hand up to the back of his head to feel
the bump he'd acquired early that morning and then brought it around to
his jaw. Both still ached -- were taking turns in fact, alternating from
back to front.
"You got any aspirin?"
Scully looked at her partner closely again, recalling what Akers had said
about a bump the head. He did look like he had a headache, come to
think of it.
"Mulder, what did you do to your head? Dr. Akers said he was
concerned about a concussion. Did you hit it when you fell to the floor?"
She couldn't understand why her partner started laughing all of a sudden.
What could be funny about a crack on the head, after all?
"No, actually, a bathtub attacked me. I'll tell you what, though, you get
me drunk some night and I just might tell you about it. In the meantime,
how about we get out of here?"
*******************************************
Monday, 10:21 a.m.
Dallas, Bureau Office
Mulder had grabbed a quick shower and managed to change into a suit in
the gym's locker room at the local Bureau. He felt a bit more human
now. Glancing at himself in a mirror, he decided he looked it as well.
He ran fingers through still damp hair, grabbed his bag and headed out in
search of his partner and boss. The morning was practically gone and
they'd accomplished nothing. Well, that wasn't entirely true. They were
still alive. That had to count for something.
Mulder retraced his steps from twenty minutes before and finally found
the small conference room they'd taken over. Skinner and Scully looked
up when he knocked lightly on the already open door. Another man was
in the room, sitting next to Skinner. He looked to be about Skinner's
age, his height, his build, hell, the man even seemed to have Skinner's
dour demeanor. But this man was black and had a mustache. He stood
as Mulder entered, and Skinner stood as well, then turned to introduce the
man.
"Agent Fox Mulder, this is SAC Harry Delano. Harry, Mulder's the
other one who saved my ass this morning. He and Scully are two of my
best agents."
Skinner faced his agent and asked, "How are you feeling, Agent
Mulder?"
"I'm fine, sir. Thank you."
Mulder was still reeling slightly at the praise, unused to hearing such
words from his boss. He'd known the man trusted him and appreciated
his talents. But such overt commendation was indeed unusual. Mulder
cleared his throat, shifted his feet awkwardly, then decided it was time to
get moving. There was way too much to do to waste time on
unnecessary conversation. He addressed his comments to Skinner when
he spoke.
"Sir, after reviewing the files last night, I made some notes on possible
approaches for today. The first thing we have to do is arrange for your
safety. I think it's obvious that this guy will stop at nothing to get at
you.
We have to find a secure location so that Scully and I will be free to
coordinate the investigation."
He looked hard at his boss, understanding the frustration this course of
action -- or inaction on his own part -- would cause, but silently willing
him to do the right thing. The man stood with hands on hips, weight
primarily resting on his right foot. He had that look of stubbornness on
his face that he had worn a couple days ago when this all started. Mulder
sent a silent prayer to the heavens that his boss' reputation for common
sense thinking would prevail. And it did. Mulder could tell the moment
it happened. Skinner dropped his hands, sighed deeply, then nodded in
resignation.
"Okay, Mulder. You're right." He turned to his old friend then. "Harry,
can you help us here? I need a safe house. Transportation. A couple
agents who you're absolutely sure about -- who can be trusted."
Delano was already nodding.
"Of course, Walt. I'll start arranging it immediately. We can keep it
quiet. I'll put my best people on it. The couple I have in mind have been
with the Bureau less than ten years, so I can't see any possible connection
to the original case. And they're both trustworthy -- I've used them on
sensitive cases in the past and they know what the word discretion
means."
Mulder closed the door to the conference room, then moved to the table
and sank into a chair gratefully. He saw that the others were getting
comfortable as well. He turned to Delano before speaking.
"Sir, we ..."
Mulder was interrupted by the Dallas SAC.
"Call me Delano. I've never really been comfortable with 'sir'. I leave
that title to guys like Walt here."
He smiled as he said it, glanced fondly at his friend, then gestured for
Mulder to continue.
Mulder realized then that this man really was almost nothing like Skinner,
contrary to the initial impression. He was relaxed and friendly, a smile
hardly leaving his face, despite the stressful circumstances.
"All right. We need to make sure that no one but the two agents assigned
to the case, AD Skinner, yourself, Scully and me know about the AD's
location. I'd prefer if the two agents weren't told anything until
absolutely necessary. The safe house should be arranged circuitously --
making sure there's no connection to AD Skinner or to Scully and me.
The transportation should ..."
"Mulder, I've arranged such things before. I think I can handle it."
Delano's words were spoken softly, kindly even, but still Mulder colored
in embarrassment. He hadn't intended to be condescending. He was
used to a stream of consciousness soliloquy in such a situation and hadn't
even considered its affect on those in the room. He should have thought
about who he was talking to. He should have considered it.
"I apologize, sir. Of course you have."
Mulder found his gaze wandering to his partner's. Scully smiled at him
slightly, raised one eyebrow. It was enough to get him going again. He
turned to his boss.
"It would be best if we can get you to the safe house immediately, but I
would guess the NTSB would like to speak with you first. Perhaps SAC
Delano could arrange for the meeting to be held here."
Mulder glanced back at Delano, saw him nodding.
"I've already been in contact with them. The NTSB Agent in Charge is
Madeleine Strickland. I've worked with her before. I filled her in a bit
last night and she was willing to postpone the interview until today.
She's anxious to speak with you, though, Walt. My impression was
she'd be here as soon as we called. Are you ready?"
Skinner nodded and replied, "Of course. I want to get it over with. I
doubt I'll be able to tell her much, though."
Scully joined the conversation for the first time.
"Sir, it's possible that you saw or heard something that might be
important but you just don't know it. And anyway, Mulder and I need to
speak to her about the investigation. It's best if it happens sooner than
later. That way, we can get you somewhere safe more quickly."
Skinner merely nodded, still uneasy about all the talk about keeping him
safe. Would it be at the expense of more innocent lives?
"Walt, I'm going to set some things in motion. Why don't you three stay
here for now and I'll check back as soon as I've spoken with Madeleine
and arranged for the safe house?"
Skinner stood as Delano did and grabbed the man's shoulder in a friendly
gesture. Delano was much more demonstrative and seemed
unembarrassed when he pulled Skinner into a quick hug. He turned to
the two younger agents and said, "Someday, I'll tell you about when
your boss here saved my ass in 'Nam. He's the best now, he was the
best then." He slapped Skinner one more time on the arm and left the
room, closing the door again behind him.
Skinner looked uncomfortable, but turned to his agents and said, in
explanation, "We served together in the Corps. I told you we could trust
him. I've trusted him with my life before. I'll trust him now."
Both Mulder and Scully nodded in understanding and Scully replied,
"Yes, sir."
It was more clear to Mulder now, this unwavering trust that Skinner had
put in this man. He himself had never served in the Armed Forces but
was aware of the camaraderie that developed between those who served
together -- who depended on one another in dangerous and life-
threatening situations. It had to be much the same as his and Scully's
partnership. Mulder sighed internally and finally accepted the fact that
Delano could be trusted. That only left a few hundred or so other
possibilities to eliminate.
Mulder relaxed once again and raised one hand to his head. He had to
find some aspirin soon. Then his stomach growled, quite loudly,
reminding him that food had been a rarity of late. He glanced over to his
partner to see a smirk on her face. He sourly looked at his watch, hoping
lunch time was around the corner. Only 11:02 a.m. Almost. In the
meantime, they had to make some plans. Mulder turned to his boss, saw
the man was lost in thought, and decided this was too important to put off
any longer.
"Sir, perhaps we can discuss our options."
Skinner sat up straighter, nodded slightly to indicate agreement.
"There are three completely different streams of the case we need to
investigate, as I see it. First is the collection of original bombings that
took place in the 70's. I believe enough of a link has been established to
clearly demonstrate that there is a relationship to the death of the agents
and the attack on you. A reinvestigation of those cases must be
implemented to either identify the actual bomber if a mistake was made,
or to determine whether there might be relatives, friends, or acquaintances
of the bomber who might now be acting on his behalf."
Both Scully and Skinner nodded, apparently agreeing so far.
"Secondly, we need to investigate the deaths of the eight agents with
whom you served on the original case. We need to determine if these
murders could only have been accomplished by someone with inside
information, and if so, start developing an appropriate profile that will
help us track him down. We'll also be able to start running some
computer searches of our own databases to determine potential suspects.
Lastly, sir, we have to investigate this latest plane bombing. It's perhaps
our best hope of catching this guy. He had to have left a trail on this one.
He had to have gotten access to records, access to secure areas of the
airport, perhaps even access through employees. He had to have left a
trail and we have a good chance of finding it if we act quickly."
Mulder realized he'd been droning on for awhile in a somewhat pedantic
manner and stopped to gage the reactions of his partner and boss. Scully
was looking down at a pad of paper where she'd been making notes, and
was nodding her head. Skinner was staring at Mulder, a look of intense
concentration on his face. Mulder couldn't guess what the man was
thinking.
"Mulder, it seems to make sense to me. But if it is one of our own
people, he'd know how to get this information and even access to the
plane without leaving a trail. It's part of what we do, after all."
"Yes, sir, I understand that the difficulty in tracking it down will be
significantly increased, but the trail will still be there. Nothing can be
made to disappear completely."
Skinner was surprised at just how adamant his agent sounded. He felt
reassured by it somehow. He trusted Mulder, trusted that the man would
solve this. He just hoped his agent would manage it before other
innocents were killed.
"Okay, Mulder. What do you need from me?"
"Sir, I think we can do a credible job with three teams of four to five
each. I would request twelve to thirteen agents in addition to Scully and
myself."
Mulder stood and walked over to his briefcase. They were still homeless
after the excitement of the morning and their luggage lay stacked in the
corner of the room. He pulled out his laptop computer and turned it on,
while walking back to the table.
"I made a list last night of ten agents I trust explicitly and whom we can
immediately rule out as being involved because of age, and the fact that
they were otherwise occupied during one or more of the murders. We
can run a few more checks, but I believe these ten to be in the clear.
Also, they're more than competent. I've worked with each before on
various assignments."
Mulder had pulled up the list of names and now angled the screen so his
boss could see them. Pushed the computer across the table a bit for easier
viewing. Five of them were with the VCS, the other five were scattered
across the country. It would require some juggling to get them assigned
to this quickly. Mulder watched as the older man leaned forward to
review the list of names, narrowed his eyes, then breathed deeply and sat
back in his seat again.
"Okay, Mulder. I can arrange it. That leaves another two to three
agents."
"Yes, sir. I was hoping that Scully would be able to suggest at least two
who would be skilled in forensics and crime scene analysis -- two she
trusts. The other could come from Delano's people. It would be nice to
have a local person who's familiar with the area."
Mulder had moved the computer over to Scully and she was looking the
list over. Her finger made its way down the screen, stopped briefly on a
name she recognized, then moved on. Stopped, moved on.
"I can recommend a couple people. Two come to mind immediately. I
think we can clear them quickly using the criteria Mulder established for
these ten."
Skinner nodded to them both, pleased that he had such competent agents
to turn to in time of need.
"All right, Scully. Add their names to the list. When Harry comes back,
I'll arrange for him to assign another agent to the team. If you feel it
necessary to run these names through any other checks, do it now. I'll
need to get things going immediately if we want these agents here in the
next day."
Mulder sat for a moment, pulled the computer close, scanned the names
for the fifth or sixth time, then shook his head.
"I'll attest to these ten, sir. They're clear."
Mulder turned to his partner then and said, "Scully, let's do a preliminary
check on your two. As long as we can clear them on at least one of the
murders, we can assume they're acceptable, too." Turning back to his
boss, he added, "But you can move on these now, sir. I'd like them here
today or tonight, if possible."
Delano chose that moment to knock and enter the room. Two men
followed closely behind him.
"This is Agent Tom Chadwick and Agent Barry Henderson. I've
assigned them to you, Walt."
Mulder stood as Skinner did and suddenly felt like a Lilliputian in a land
of giants. It wasn't that these men were so much taller than he, only a
couple inches at most. But, boy were they big. Broad. These two, plus
Delano and Skinner could just about be the front defensive line on any
pro football team. Mulder glanced over at his partner and saw her staring
at Henderson. The man was certainly good looking, would probably
even look fashionable in sweats. Mulder felt a little spurt of jealousy,
then had to laugh at himself at the reaction. Scully looked back to him
then and he saw the blush that painted her face an interesting shade of red
when she realized her partner had watched her watching Henderson. His
boss' voice interrupted him from his reverie and he pulled his gaze back
to Skinner.
"Thank you, Harry. I'm going to be calling in twelve agents to assist
Mulder and Scully in the investigation. We need one more agent and
were hoping you could recommend someone. It would be helpful if the
agent was extremely familiar with the area."
Delano nodded to him, said, "No problem. I can appoint someone
immediately. There are several good possibilities. Now, Walt, with you
out of the picture, who'll be running things?"
Skinner looked at his old friend, suddenly wondering if he'd be offended
by having Mulder in charge. He discarded the notion quickly.
"I'd like Mulder to be ASAC on this, with Scully his second in
command. Mulder's familiar with the entire case, spent a few years with
the VCS, and he knows me."
Mulder felt odd being talked about in this way, while he was present. He
understood what was going through Skinner's thoughts, and had been
initially curious how the Dallas SAC would respond. He again felt
honored at Skinner's faith in his abilities. Mulder turned his head then
towards Delano to gage his reaction. The man merely smiled and
nodded. No hard feelings. Delano gestured for Chadwick and
Henderson to leave the room, saying, "Wait outside the door for us.
Make sure no one gets in who isn't cleared through Agents Mulder or
Scully."
Delano waited for the two men to leave the room and then sat at the table
comfortably.
"I've already arranged for local cell phones for you all. Mulder, Scully,
if this room is all right with you, this can be your command center. I can
arrange for offices if that's necessary. Just tell me what you'll need.
And Walt, there's a phone in the corner over there. There's also a fax
and internet port. There's a firewall set up, so you can get out from here,
but won't be able to access our internal LAN. I can show you to another
office where you can get LAN access if you need it. That should be
sufficient to get you started on arranging for any agents to be reassigned
to the team. Also, I connected with Madeleine Strickland with the NTSB.
She'll be here in about an hour. In the meantime, how about if I arrange
for some lunch to be brought up?"
*******************************************
Forty-five minutes later, the remains of subs, fries, and sodas lay
scattered amidst paper bags and napkins, covering a substantial portion of
the table. Mulder was feeling content for the first time in hours. Not
only had he eaten, but Scully had even tracked down some Tylenol for
him. Skinner was in the corner on the phone, making the necessary
arrangements to get twelve men and women presently scattered across the
country to Dallas within the next twenty-four hours.
Mulder and Scully had been drafting their coordination strategy, making
initial plans for their investigation. Scully was reviewing the files on the
deaths of the eight agents yet again, and was now jotting down questions
and tasks for the eventual forensics team. Mulder had his portable
computer on the table in front of him and was compiling his own to do
list. The coordination of this case would be challenging to say the least,
considering the three diverse streams of the investigation. Mulder
glanced at his watch and decided he had just enough time to touch base
with Delano before the NTSB agent arrived. Mulder pushed back his
chair and stood, stretching slightly. He then leaned close to his partner,
so as not to disturb Skinner.
"I'm going to find out what arrangements Delano's made for AD
Skinner's safety. I'll be back in ten or fifteen minutes."
Scully glanced at him briefly and nodded, then went back to her list.
She'd already filled five pages with her compact flowing script and was
still only on the fourth murder. She thought of them all as murders now,
despite the fact that this was as yet unsubstantiated. But there was no
doubt in her mind now. Not after the plane. Not after the attack this
morning. It would be her job, along with the forensic team, to actually
prove the murders.
Mulder exited the room and stopped abruptly outside the door. He
realized he had no idea where Delano's office was. He'd need to track
down a floor plan soon. In the meantime, he'd have to ask for directions.
"Agent Chadwick, could you direct me to SAC Delano's office?"
A quick four minute trip later he stood outside the man's door, waiting
for the secretary to show him in. When he was finally given the signal to
enter, Mulder opened the door and started towards a chair in front of the
man's desk, recognizing the layout to be amazingly similar to Skinner's
office, but on a smaller scale. Any similarities ended there, however.
Where Skinner's office was starkly professional with no personal
belongings whatsoever, Delano's office was strewn with such items.
Souvenirs, knick knacks, art work, pictures. Lots of pictures.
A couple steps inside the room, Mulder caught sight of an 8 x 10 inch
framed photo, displayed proudly on top of a bookcase. In the photo were
five men, smiling despite being covered head to toe in dirt and slime,
perhaps even blood, dressed in jungle fatigues, rifles slung loosely over
shoulders. A grinning Skinner had his right arm draped companionably
across Delano's shoulders. They all looked so young, so innocent.
Impossibly innocent considering they had to have been in the jungles of
Vietnam, surrounded by the havoc wrought by an unwelcome war.
Mulder sank quietly into the chair across from the desk, waiting for
Delano to get off the phone. The man was smiling, and laughed
occasionally in response to whatever was being said on the other end of
the line. Mulder tried not to listen in, felt uneasy that he'd been made
privy to this man's personal conversation. He felt awkward and wanted
nothing more than to head back to the waiting area until the man was
done.
Mulder was used to walls between himself and his boss. Walls of
professionalism that were rarely broached. Oh, occasionally there would
be a door that would open to allow brief entrance into his boss' personal
world. But the door also allowed for a rapid exit. It was a relationship
that was well-defined, that Mulder inherently understood and appreciated.
But this man, Delano, seemed to have no walls. Not even a damned
fence. And it was making Mulder nervous.
The older man was smiling now, and gestured lazily with his right hand,
making it clear that he was trying to wrap the conversation up. His
words were scattered with 'honeys' and 'sweethearts' and Mulder
understood then that this was his wife on the other end. He finally said
his good-byes and hung up the phone with his left hand, then focused his
attention on Mulder.
"Sorry about that Agent Mulder. My wife calls every day. You'd think
she'd get enough of me at home. But you didn't hunt me down to talk
about my wife. What can I do for you?"
"Well, sir, I was hoping you could fill me in on what arrangements have
been made to get AD Skinner to a safe house."
Delano smiled again and stood, then moved to sit in the chair next to
Mulder.
"I have a location outside of UT-Arlington that I believe will serve. I've
already cleared it through Ft. Worth PD. No one in the Bureau knows
about it except me. I've made arrangements with the chief of the FWPD
to provide transportation. He's got three undercover teams waiting to
hear from me. Two teams will get Walt and my men to the safe house
while the other team provides misdirection for anyone who might be
watching. I've arranged for a secure land line for emergencies. I'm
keeping this completely off the official books at this end. I don't see
anything that could possibly give us away. Can you see anything I've
missed?"
Mulder considered every facet of the arrangements carefully, attempting
to find a break in security. It seemed to be a good plan. As good as was
possible, all things considered. It should keep Skinner safe.
"No, sir. It sounds good. I'd like to know where the safe house is,
though, sir. And I'll need the number to the secure line."
Delano nodded and stood as his phone rang.
"Of course, Agent Mulder. Hang on a second, will you?"
He grabbed the phone with his left hand and barked "Delano." For the
first time, Mulder saw some of the tough, no nonsense attitude that he'd
so often considered to be his boss' forte. Perhaps these two were more
alike than he'd originally thought. He saw Delano nod, heard him say,
"We'll be right there." Watched as the man hung up the phone and turned
back to him, smile once again in place.
"That was the security desk. Agent Strickland's here. I'm having her
brought to your command center. We'll meet her there."
Mulder nodded, rose from the chair, and then preceded Delano to the
door at the man's invitation. They arrived at the command center just as
Madeleine Strickland did. Delano dismissed the agent who'd acted as her
guide and warmly welcomed the woman, shaking her hand in both of his.
Strickland looked to be in her early fifties. She was short and slight,
reminding Mulder of Scully, or perhaps even more so, of her mother.
The shoulder length brown hair spotted lightly with gray further cemented
that thought in his head. Mulder shook the woman's hand when
introduced, had to insist that no, really, 'Mulder' was just fine.
Delano pushed open the door to the conference room and waved Agent
Strickland in first, then Mulder. He then closed the door soundly behind
him, knowing that the upcoming conversation was one not to be shared
by anyone outside this room.
"AD Walter Skinner, Agent Dana Scully, I'd like you to meet NTSB
Agent in Charge Madeleine Strickland. Maddy's the one to thank for
getting you out of there so fast last night, Walt."
Skinner had stood when the three entered the room and now walked
around the table to shake the woman's hand.
"Thank you, Ms. Strickland. It was appreciated."
"Actually, Mr. Skinner, I was a bit hesitant to let you off the hook last
night. I have to admit that it's not often we have an Assistant Director of
the Bureau involved in one of our investigations. Anyway, I'd like to ask
you some questions if you don't mind. We've made quite a bit of
progress, but I have a feeling you'll be able to fill in some motivation
details we seem to be lacking at present."
Skinner nodded and gestured to a chair, then walked around the table so
he was across from her. Mulder realized that the table was clear of the
mess left after lunch and he silently acknowledged that he owed his
partner one for that favor. He sank into the chair next to her and shot her
a quick smile of thanks. He turned to look at Agent Strickland again,
wondering just how helpful she'd be. Decided to try to get the latest
news on the bombing, if possible.
"Excuse, me, ma'am. Could you possibly give us an update on the
investigation?"
She turned to Mulder then and nodded before starting her summary.
"As far as we've determined thus far, an incendiary device was placed
under the floor of seat 18A. the device was triggered initially when the
plane climbed above 15,000 feet. It actually blew when the plane began
its' descent and dropped below that elevation. Because of the fact that it
wasn't in the passenger cabin, but rather under the floor, it effectively
took out half the support structure for the seats in that row, on that side of
the aircraft. Also, due to its closeness to the fuselage, it ripped a hole
approximately 3 foot by 5 foot in the side of the plane and sheared off
four bolts connecting the primary starboard wing spar to the fuselage.
When the passenger cabin lost pressure, the seat was easily ripped out of
the floor and pulled out the opening in the side, killing both Kirsten and
Howard Engleton. Miraculously, no one else was killed as a direct result
of the explosion. There were several broken limbs due to the turbulence
induced by the temporary loss of control, some contusions, one
concussion. All-in-all we were amazingly lucky. There was one other
death. An elderly woman had a heart attack. She couldn't be revived."
She completed her summary of events and looked closely at Skinner. It
was obvious to her that he was shaken, even now. It was time to learn
what he knew.
"If Harry is right, then this happened because someone was gunning for
you. I'd like to know who or at least why. What did you do to make
him willing to take out an entire planeful of people?"
Skinner laughed harshly, shook his head, then stared at her tiredly.
"I wish I had something to tell you. All I know is that this man is
responsible for the deaths of eight agents, eight men with whom I worked
more than twenty years ago. And now he's after me. But I don't even
know why and I don't know how to stop him."
Scully heard the exhaustion dragging at his voice, sensed the frustration
underlying it.
"Sir, we don't know yet. But I guarantee we will. We will find this
man. We'll find him and make him pay for what he's done."
*******************************************
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