<![CDATA[*******************************************
And Then There Was One - Part 7 of 8 (7/8)
by Kronos
*******************************************
Thursday, 8:24 p.m.
Dallas Hospital
Mulder had been aware of noises for the past minute or so. He hadn't
been able to identify them individually, but knew they fell under the broad
heading of 'sounds'. He thought hard, concentrated harder, and finally
made a connection that one of the sounds was the beeping of a monitor.
It oriented him immediately, he knew the word 'hospital', and he was
flooded with a rush of memories -- a rush of memories as to where he
was and how he'd gotten there. He forced his eyes open and saw Jake,
asleep, slumped in the place Scully would normally be.
Mulder decided to try out his voice, see if it worked.
"Jake?"
It sounded simultaneously rusty from disuse, and raspy from overwear.
In fact, it sounded nothing like him. Jake jerked awake at the sound, his
right foot slamming against the bed as a result of his sudden move to an
upright sitting position.
"Hey, Mulder, my man. What up?"
Mulder smiled slightly, remembering the expression from younger days
in the VCS. He tried to come up with a witty response and failed. But
Mander wasn't put off.
"How are you feeling?"
"Not bad."
He paused and tried to swallow. He was so dry he had to force his
tongue away from the roof of his mouth.
"How should I feel?"
"Actually, you're not in bad shape. The rescue team said you're one
lucky bastard. Besides some new bruises and contusions on your legs,
maybe a pulled muscle here and there, you're in pretty much the same
shape you were in before the accident."
Mulder assessed his various body parts, tried to determine just where all
these aches and pains were coming from that evidently weren't supposed
to be there. Actually, he hurt everywhere. Every muscle. Every tendon.
Every ligament, every bone, every fucking cell. His God damned
eyebrows hurt.
Jake must have understood what was going through his friend's mind
and interjected, "Actually, Mulder, they said you'd be feeling pretty sore
for a few days. Pulled a few muscles is probably an understatement. I
think you probably pulled about everything that could be pulled."
Mulder closed his eyes for a moment and decided he could live with it.
Hell, he was alive and that was a miracle in and of itself. He opened his
eyes and turned to Jake again.
"Scully?"
"She's fine. She has a concussion. Skinner's arranged to have her
shipped over here. He wants you in the same place. Says it'll be easier
to keep you both out of trouble."
Mulder managed a snort at that.
"They're going to keep her overnight, but she'll probably be released
tomorrow. You ....well, they're not sure yet. Either tomorrow or the
next day. Depends."
Mulder didn't have the energy to ask 'on what'? He was exhausted and
knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer. He'd just thought of
something and he had to tell Jake.
"I think I shot him."
Jake understood immediately.
"Don't worry, Mulder. We're on it. I had a team scouring the site before
I left. Liu and Knight are running it. We spotted blood and were
cordoning off the scene before AD Skinner even left with Scully."
Jake could see that the injured agent was starting to fade out. He reached
out to him then and squeezed Mulder's right arm.
"You did good, Mulder. You did real good."
It was the last thing Mulder heard before he drifted off to sleep.
*******************************************
Friday, 2:53 a.m.
Dallas Hospital
The next time Mulder opened his eyes, he was totally alert, fully awake,
and thoroughly starving. In fact, his stomach was what woke him. The
room was mostly dark except for a soft light in between his bed and the
next. Mulder turned his head to the left and saw that Scully was the other
occupant in the room. Skinner was asleep in a recliner chair on the other
side of Scully's bed. He wondered idly just how Skinner had managed
getting the two of them in the same room. It wasn't exactly typical
hospital policy. But he figured intimidation and threats probably did the
trick.
Mulder was feeling pretty strong and realized he had needs other than just
food. In fact, he had to go to the bathroom. Like right now. He pulled
himself to a sitting position and took stock before committing himself to
his planned course of action. His left arm was once again cradled against
his chest in a sling, much like the one he'd worn for the last few days.
His hands were still bandaged. And there were no new bandages. That
had to count for something.
Mulder moved over to the side of the bed and realized he had to contend
with the IV. At least it was in his right arm, so he wouldn't have to pull
the damn thing all the way around the bed. He pushed himself away
from the bed, right hand wrapped around the IV stand, and stood. Stood
without moving for a good five seconds. He took a step finally, having
gauged that only about five would be necessary to get him where he
needed to go. And then a whispered voice interrupted him, off to his left
side, but getting closer.
"Mulder, what do you think you're doing? You're not supposed to be
out of bed."
It was Skinner and he had a hand to Mulder's shoulder and the other to
his arm, gently so as not to jar it.
"I gotta pee, sir. Didn't exactly feel like waiting."
Skinner looked disgusted and amused, simultaneously and Mulder knew
the man wouldn't send him back to bed. After an assessing pause, his
boss responded.
"Okay. Let me help you there at least."
Skinner came around to his other side and gripped Mulder's right arm
more tightly, and took over maneuvering the IV stand. Skinner flipped
the light switch and helped Mulder into the room, then left him, closing
the door. Just before it closed totally, Mulder heard him say, "Call if you
need help."
Yeah, right. He sank onto the closed toilet seat and shook for a moment.
This probably hadn't been very smart in the grand scheme of things. Oh
well, he was in it now, couldn't back out. He'd manage somehow.
Five long minutes later, he returned pale and sweating and thankful for
Skinner's support. Support, hell. The man practically had to carry him
back to bed.
"I hope it was worth it, Mulder."
For a moment, Mulder froze, unsure to what Skinner referred. The trip
to the bathroom or the aborted trip to the prison? And with the memory
of the prison came a rush of guilt. Scully had been chewing him out
when the chase began. Chewing him out for not talking to her about his
suspicions. And they weren't really suspicions, either. He had known.
Somehow, deep down, he had just known. Known that the killer would
be there, chasing after them. And Mulder had planned to turn the tables.
But he hadn't clued Scully in and now she lay in a hospital bed, damned
lucky to be alive.
Skinner was now concerned and wondering if he should call the nurse.
Mulder seemed to be in a trance, eyes wide, breath coming in sharp
staccato beats. Skinner didn't know what he'd said, but whatever it was,
it had hit his agent hard.
" Mulder, are you all right? It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by
it."
Skinner could see the younger man fighting for control, taking shaky
breaths now, one after another in such a way that he was certain his agent
was counting. One breath, two breaths, three. Skinner waited him out,
knowing that understanding would be provided soon. And it was.
Mulder opened his mouth to speak, closed it and swallowed, as if afraid
of the admission he was about to make. He whispered a response finally.
"I knew."
"Knew what?"
Skinner could swear Mulder had become even more pale in the last
minute or so. His agent lay with eyes closed tightly. His skin was a
pasty white and dark circles stained his eyes. His forehead was creased
in either concentration or distress. Skinner wasn't sure which. He put
his left hand on Mulder's shoulder, his right on his agent's right hand,
which was nervously plucking at the covers at the man's chest.
"What did you know, Mulder?"
The younger man took another breath, then finally opened his eyes to
look at his boss. The answer came in a harsh whisper, filled with self-
loathing.
"I knew he'd follow."
And then Skinner understood. Understood that Mulder had somehow
known, from an intuition that had made him famous throughout the
Bureau, that the bomber would follow them when they headed to the
prison. He'd known but hadn't clued Scully in on the fact. And now
Scully was injured and his agent felt the guilt creeping up on him,
overwhelming him.
Skinner shook his head, completely familiar with the self-inflicted guilt
that could wreak havoc with your life. He'd gone through it enough
himself over the years to understand it intimately.
"I hate to tell you this, Agent Mulder, but you are not perfect. And I have
a sneaking suspicion that Agent Scully knows it. Maybe you kept
something from your partner that you shouldn't have. I don't know.
You'll have to talk to Scully about it. But I do know that agonizing over
it now serves no purpose. None whatsoever. It's done and over and you
have to move past it."
Mulder was staring at him intently, full attention focused on his face, eyes
flicking from Skinner's eyes to his mouth as he spoke. It was as if lip
reading would better enable the younger man to absorb his boss' words.
Skinner shook his head again, slowly this time, from side to side. He
then looked directly at his agent when he replied.
"You're a damn good agent. One of the best. And so is Scully.
Together, you're quite a formidable team. But neither of you is perfect.
You make mistakes, then you learn from them and go on."
Jesus, it sounded like a lecture from junior high school to his ears, but it
somehow seemed to do something for his troubled agent. Mulder still
stared at him, as if waiting for more of this wisdom from the AD.
Skinner was at a loss. What was it really that Mulder needed to hear?
And then it dawned on him.
"Scully's all right. She's going to be up and out of here well before you
are. I've spoken to her several times already. And I think I know Scully
well enough to recognize that she won't hold this against you."
Skinner saw Mulder relax slightly, letting muscles that had been held
tensely for several long minutes slacken. The younger man closed his
eyes then, and nodded, almost to himself. Now that he was sure Mulder
was on the road to acceptance, he couldn't resist a little dig, in jest.
"At least not for long."
It brought a smile to Mulder's lips, then a small chuckle.
"She'll probably have me cleaning her gun for a month. Or doing all the
paperwork."
"Jesus, I hope not. That would be punishing me and I didn't even do
anything."
Mulder felt a weight lift from his heart -- a weight he hadn't even realized
had been there. He still needed to talk with his partner about it, about
what he'd done, but he knew that Skinner was right. Scully would
forgive him this, just as she'd forgiven him so much else. Just as he'd
forgiven her. They were partners and they were friends. And
forgiveness was a requirement for both.
*******************************************
Friday, 9:24 a.m.
Dallas Hospital
Okay, now he was really hungry. Didn't they feed patients in this
hospital? He had awakened almost thirty minutes ago and his first
thought was that he'd never gotten anything to eat when he woke in the
middle of the night from hunger pains. And they were worse now.
Much worse.
When he'd awoken this morning he'd found Scully still sleeping
soundly, Skinner fast asleep in the far recliner, and Jake Mander fast
asleep next to his own bed. It was a damned sleepfest in here and Mulder
had just about had it. He was hungry, God damn it! For almost a half
hour he had been left to his own devices and could think of nothing but
French Toast, Scrambled Eggs, Bacon, Sausage, Blueberry Pancakes
dripping with Butter, coated with Maple Syrup -- Hell, he'd even take a
bagel and cream cheese. He was Pavlov's dog, for Christ's sake. His
salivary glands worked overtime at the visions of breakfast taunting him.
He couldn't take it any more and groaned, in pure frustration from
unrequited food lust. And boy, did that get a response. He hadn't meant
for his groan to be heard and in fact thought it was something echoing
around in his head alone. But it had evidently been extremely loud in the
quiet room and had caused the three other occupants to jerk to attention as
if strings had been pulled in coordination.
Mulder blushed in self-consciousness as three sets of eyes searched him
out, then stared at him, unflinching. He wiggled in the bed
uncomfortably, looked from one to the other of them, and finally said,
"Umm, sorry. I was just ... that is, well ..." He cleared his throat
noisily and focused on his partner. She was staring at him with
eyebrows raised, curious but evidently not angry at being so rudely
awakened. It gave him a confidence to finish the sentence, with heartfelt
simplicity. He stared directly at her when he said, "I'm hungry."
Jake burst out laughing with Skinner joining in right behind him. Scully
sank back to the bed, with a smile that lit her entire face. And then she
backed him up in the best way possible.
"You know, partner, so am I."
She turned to Jake then and said, "Don't you think the guards at the door
could at least let breakfast in? Poisoning isn't really this guy's thing. I
think it'll be safe. But if you have any doubts, you can try it out for us
first."
Mander and Skinner had both stood and were moving to the room's door,
smiles lingering. Skinner stopped by Mulder's bed briefly, leaned in a
little and said, sarcastically, "I'll see what's on the menu for this
morning. Any special requests?"
Mulder was no longer quite so chagrined and the imminent arrival of
breakfast leant him strength to participate in the mild bantering.
"Actually, sir, I was dreaming of French Toast and Eggs, with some
bacon, a little twist of lemon to give the French Toast just the right taste.
Thanks, sir." He finished the sentence with a jaunty wink.
Skinner shot him a dirty look, still in jest, and nodded to Mander who
knocked, then opened the door a crack. Mulder could hear a few
whispered words and then the door opened a bit more, allowing Skinner
to get closer. Skinner then spoke with whoever was outside and closed
the door again firmly after a minute more discussion.
It was clear to Mulder that the hospital was crawling with Feds as well as
police. He guessed that it was Henderson and Chadwick at the door.
The safehouse had evidently been ported to the hospital. Mulder wasn't
so sure this was a good idea, but he knew Skinner was calling the shots
now. And the man had a point, after all. Mulder remembered Skinner
telling him that he'd received a call at the safehouse from the bomber,
telling him where he could find his agents. There would be no
possibilities of hiding anyone safely now.
Mulder closed his eyes and told himself to forget it, at least for now.
Then another thought intruded and he turned his head quickly to the left.
He hadn't even asked Scully how she was feeling.
The drama at the door must have caught her attention as well, because she
was still staring at Skinner and Jake, evidently trying to make out what
was being said. When Mulder turned to look at her, she must have
caught the movement. Her eyes flicked from the door to his face.
"Hey, Scully. How are you feeling?"
She smiled at him, not seeming to be the least bit angry. At least, not yet.
And she looked pretty good.
"I'm fine. Really. Hardly even a headache."
She sat back up in the bed, as if to show him how physically able she
was, then grabbed a control by her side and pushed at something.
Mulder could hear the mechanism that inclined the bed engage. She
settled back again, looking pleased at the new elevation, and focused on
him again.
"How are you, Mulder? Besides being hungry, that is."
He couldn't really find the energy just yet to sit up, but managed to turn
his head to better see her. The blinds were defective here and there and
several rays of sun bounced off her hair and face. The bandage at her
forehead was only a couple inches long and not that wide. She did look
good. God, she looked really good. She really did look like she was all
right. The image of her sitting slumped over her belt in the car,
motionless, blood dripping from her face, was finally banished.
Mulder realized he hadn't answered her yet, had in fact been staring at
her, open mouthed. He shut it quickly, took stock of his condition, and
said, "Every cell hurts, Scully. I have hopes that the stomach ones will at
least be satisfied soon."
She actually grinned this time and Mulder realized he'd probably seen her
smile more in the last ten minutes than he had in the last couple months.
He felt an overwhelming need to finish this case. To finish it so they
could move on, get back to DC, try to put their lives in order. They
needed some time to just be partners and friends without the threat of
death or destruction hanging over their heads.
"Actually, I'm good. Some aches and pains, but nothing too terrible.
We were lucky, I think."
Mander had left the room at some point without Scully or Mulder
noticing. Skinner had moved in between their beds, waiting for the right
time to speak with them. He took the opportunity when it was presented.
"You were both incredibly lucky. I hope you'll never need that kind of
luck again."
Both agents turned towards their boss, then.
"Agent Mander received a report earlier this morning from the crime scene
team. They recovered blood samples, casings, paint from the silver car,
and tire tread markings. They're trying to identify exactly what kind of
car it was, then they're going to run it through the DMV to try to get a
match. They'll hopefully have something for us this afternoon."
Skinner stood with arms crossed, looking back and forth from one agent
to the other.
"The DC analysis teams have been working around the clock on your
lists, Mulder. We're hoping for the last of them this afternoon, as well.
The NTSB has wrapped up their investigation for the present. Nothing
happening on that front until we catch our bomber. Same goes for the
hotel shooting and fake bomb in your car. Jose Alvarez contacted the
Bureau switchboard. Said he had what you wanted. Delano's dispatched
an agent to pick it up."
Skinner knew he was jumping around in his summary but the entire case
was so fractured it was difficult to avoid it. He had met with Jake
Mander extensively since the accident the day before and was impressed
with the man. Mulder had made a good call on him. Mander had filled
Skinner in on the details of the investigation so far as well as what they
had planned in the next day or two. Skinner approved completely. His
agents had made tremendous headway in a remarkably short period of
time.
Skinner shifted from one foot to the other, dropped his arms to his hips,
then continued.
"Scully, your forensics team has been put in charge of the scene of the car
crash. They're still working it, along with Liu, even though we're pretty
sure we've exhausted any possibilities of getting anything useful. One
thing we need from both of you, though, is a description of events.
We've got the tapes of the calls and Mander has already reported what he
remembers. But we obviously need you two to fill in the blanks."
Both agents were nodding and Scully had her mouth open to speak when
a knock sounded at the door. Mulder and Scully both jumped, but
Skinner merely raised his hand in a pacifying gesture and walked to the
door, gun pulled in readiness. They heard him say, "Yes?" and then
could hear an answering rumble. The door opened a few seconds later to
show Jake, followed by a young girl pushing a cart.
The girl couldn't have been but early twenties, probably pretty new to the
job. She had certainly never seen anyone in protective custody before.
Her eyes were huge as she tried hard not to look at the gun in Skinner's
hand, tried not to look at either Mulder or Scully. She must have thought
they were criminals.
Oatmeal and dry toast appeared before Mulder and his hopes were
crushed. He stared back at the girl for several seconds, watching her
every move, hoping, praying that something else would appear from a
lower shelf of the cart. And it did, finally. A carton of milk and a glass
of orange juice.
Skinner had been watching his agent's reaction and laughed finally at the
sneer that followed the look of crushing disappointment. He decided then
and there, that if they all lived through this, he'd buy Mulder his eggs and
French Toast.
A half hour later, Skinner was finally able to ask his agents what had
happened during the chase. He pulled out a tape recorder and a note pad,
then dragged a chair in between the two beds, fully prepared to act as
evidence gatherer. It had been awhile, but it was still second nature.
Mulder did most of the talking with Scully occasionally clarifying a point
or providing her own perspective. When it came to the actual crash,
Scully fell completely silent and watched Mulder with fascination, hearing
the story for the first time. He had been telling it unemotionally, with
complete detachment, right up until the part where he saw the man
approaching, gun aimed at Scully's head, and was trapped, unable to
move. His voice cracked then and Scully could see him fighting for a
tenuous control.
Her own throat tightened as she imagined what it must have been like.
And she remembered his dream, the dream that had so shaken him just
the night before all this happened. She recalled his feelings of
helplessness as he was forced to watch the 'monster' kill her while he
was unable to prevent it. How he had managed to fight back in the car
was beyond her. It was incredible. But he tossed it off, barely
mentioning the fact that he had managed to remove his left arm from the
confining sling, had pulled out her weapon and fired three times despite
what must have been overwhelming pain, saving them both.
Skinner remained as detached as possible, striving for professional
distance, but couldn't help the feelings of admiration that stirred in him.
The investigative team had pieced together the fact that Mulder had fired
Scully's weapon, but hadn't known how that had happened. Hearing it
now, after the description of the chase and crash, he was awed. He'd
seen the shape Mulder was in after the accident, had seen with his own
eyes the trauma of the crash. That his agent had managed to act under
such circumstances was nothing short of amazing. His eyes flicked up
from the pad of paper in front of him to the younger man, almost of their
own accord.
Mulder lay with eyes closed now, having completed his summary of
events. He was pale, but not nearly so deathly gray as he'd been last
night. He even seemed strong, if tired. Skinner decided it was a good
time to break. Any remaining questions could wait until both Mulder and
Scully had rested. Scully was due to be released later this afternoon and
if he knew Mulder, the man would be arguing to be let loose with her.
Skinner shook his head, knowing he'd better start preparing a list of
reasons now to be pulled out when needed. Mulder could be damned
persuasive at times. Skinner cleared his throat before turning off the
recorder and speaking.
"I think that'll do it for now. We can talk more after you've both had a
chance to rest."
He glanced over at Scully as he stood and saw that she had not been able
to remain as detached as she might have wanted. Her face was filled with
a poignant sadness. Her eyes were still fixed on her partner, practically
willing him to look at her, even though he seemed to have drifted off to
sleep. Skinner decided to leave them alone for a bit and went into the
bathroom. He stood at the sink, turned the water on and looked into the
mirror.
What had he done, involving them in this? God, they had been through
so much in the past couple years. They were still so young and had
experienced and overcome so much adversity already in their lives. And
he had added to it. Skinner looked into his own eyes, wondering as he
had so often over the years what justice was and whether it could exist in
the crazy world in which they operated.
Mulder and Scully had never received justice. Scully had lost a sister, a
daughter she'd never known, months out of her life while abducted and
then more months fighting a battle against the cancer that had almost
claimed her, and still could. Mulder had lost a sister, his father, been
tortured and experimented on, had been almost killed God knew how
many times during his quest for the truth. And neither had received the
justice they deserved for these misfortunes heaped upon them by others.
Skinner placed his hands under the faucet, palms cupped, and bent over
the sink, throwing water on his face. He put his hands under a second
time, filled them with water, and again let it splash against his face and
his neck. He grabbed the handtowel and wiped at his face, standing tall
once more. But when he took the towel away, the vision in the mirror
had not changed. He stared into his own eyes and finally reached a
decision.
His agents deserved better. They deserved a chance at happiness. If they
lived through this, he'd do better than eggs and French Toast. Skinner
would try to do right by them both. He put the towel back on the rack
and glanced at his watch, then decided they'd had enough time. He could
go back in now.
*******************************************
Scully watched the door to the bathroom close and then focused her
attention once again on her partner. He wasn't asleep, she could tell.
Why wouldn't he look at her? Why wouldn't he talk with her?
"Mulder."
He still hadn't moved, hadn't changed positions, hadn't opened his eyes
or acknowledged her in any way. But she knew he was listening. Her
voice was soft and compassionate when she spoke.
"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm sorry you had to face him alone."
She couldn't have been more surprised by his reaction.
"No! Scully, stop it. Don't apologize to me, for God's sake."
His eyes were open now, and he had pushed himself up somewhat so
that he was partly propped on his right arm. He looked angry and Scully
didn't understand why. What she had done. But then it became clear as
her partner continued speaking.
"God, Scully, it was my fault. The whole thing was my fault and I
almost got you killed."
He dropped back to the bed and put his right arm over his face, hiding his
suddenly wet eyes. He had accepted Skinner's earlier words, had known
that Scully would forgive him for getting them into such a predicament.
But to have her apologize to him was just too much, causing the guilt to
run rampant once more. The self-loathing was a roar in his ears, claiming
his attention and focus. So he didn't hear the rustle indicating his partner
had left her bed. Didn't hear the soft pad of her feet on the tile floor.
But
he felt her hands take his, felt her pull his arm from his eyes. And he
looked into hers.
"Mulder, I promised you I'd be there to help fight the monster and I
wasn't. I'm sorry I wasn't. I'm so sorry you had to face him alone. But
just because I'm sorry about that doesn't mean I'm not going to make you
suffer for not talking with me first about the trip to the prison."
She'd been speaking so sincerely that Mulder had been taken by complete
surprise by the last sentence. But when it sank in finally, he laughed.
Laughed and squeezed her hands, then replied, "I told Skinner you'd
make me do the paperwork for the next month. He said it wouldn't be
fair to him."
She joined him in the laughter, then moved her right hand to his forehead,
pushing away the irritating stray locks.
"Maybe not paperwork, then. Maybe I can find something else that
would take better advantage of your unique .... gifts. I'll think about it."
She released his hand then and pushed away from the bed, heading back
to her own. Mulder didn't like that pause. Not at all. He had the
sneaking suspicion that she'd hold this over his head quite effectively for
years to come. But he smiled at the sight of her holding the gown closed
in the back, at the sight of her daintily jumping up on the bed and
swinging her legs under the covers. He was so damned happy they were
both alive that he didn't care what she made him do in penance. He
closed his eyes for real this time and was asleep in moments, the smile
lingering.
*******************************************
Friday, 4:46 p.m.
Dallas Bureau, Command Center
Somehow, they'd managed to keep Mulder down for one more day. It
had taken the concerted efforts of Scully, Skinner and Mander, but they'd
convinced him to remain in the hospital until the next morning. It hadn't
come without concessions, of course. In fact, Mander was collecting a
box full of reports, updates, and pertinent evidence to take to him in the
hospital. The deal was that Mulder would stay, but would still get a
chance to work.
Mander decided he'd need some help so drafted Colleen McCulley to
assist. He directed her to pack Mulder's briefcase with a few more files,
adding to the already hefty collection of paperwork and portable
computer, and gestured her to follow him. He waved to Scully and
Skinner, saying, "Be back soon. Hopefully." He was rewarded with a
grin from both. But neither volunteered to do the dirty work in his place.
Ah well, the perks of power.
Scully and Skinner were reviewing copies of the lists upon lists that
Mulder had ordered drawn up. The DC analysis group was in the
process of running numerous cross-checks, but evidently had a system
crash that would delay getting any results for a few hours at least. In the
meantime, they thought hard copies of the lists might be helpful. Scully
felt like she was drowning in paperwork. How the hell could an
individual, or even an entire team, make any sense out of all these names.
Hundreds and thousands of names on each damn list. And it seemed half
the Bureau was on each. Impossible!
She traded frustrated expressions with Skinner and continued plowing
through them, along with the seven other agents assigned to the task.
Three of them had been working with the DC office over the past couple
days to get these lists compiled, so were at least somewhat familiar with
the groupings. It was going to be a very long night.
*******************************************
Friday, 5:31 p.m.
Dallas Hospital
"Jake, look at this crap. Can't you find me a pizza or something? Can
you at least tell them I don't have any intestinal problems demanding only
mush? Jesus, this sucks."
Jake had to admit the pureed food on Mulder's plate looked anything but
appetizing. Still, food was food when you're hungry.
"Eat it, boy. It's good for you."
Mulder recognized the line, recalled going to see the movie 'Aliens' with
Jake and his wife all those years ago, and couldn't help the grin that came
to his face.
"Well, if an alien explodes out of my stomach as a result of this shit
they're passing off as dinner, make sure Scully sues on behalf of my
estate."
"Don't worry, Mulder, I'll take care of it."
Jake climbed onto the bed that had held Scully until earlier that day and
peered assessingly at his old friend. Mulder was looking good. Way
better than he had any right to after being mangled just twenty-four hours
before in an accident that should have killed him. Mander wondered idly
just how many lives the younger man had.
Mulder was plowing through the mashed potatoes, mashed meat, and
mashed vegetables. He knew Jake was watching him, knew that in order
to get out of the damned hospital and back to work, he'd have to convince
the older man he was all right. And he was. He felt just as weak and just
as hurt as he had been before the accident. He smiled internally at his
little joke. Actually, if anything, he was even better off because he'd
done nothing but sleep since he'd been committed to this place. He'd
made his arguments, his plea to Jake in private hours earlier and now was
curious what the agent would do.
Mulder turned to look at his old friend head on, assessing his mood, then
pushed the tray away from the bed.
"What'd you bring me?"
"Everything. Copies of the lists, all of them. Copies of all the reports
pertaining to the crash, including initial forensics reports. Copies of
Alvarez' journal."
Mulder knew Jake hadn't brought anything into the room with him and
was wondering where all the files were.
"Where?"
Jake smiled at him, familiar with the man's impatience. Mulder was on
the scent and wouldn't rest until he'd gone through everything, figured it
all out.
"You owe me for this, Mulder. You owe me big."
He took a last look at the man, wondering if he were doing the right
thing. Hell with it.
"I arranged for a room down the hall. You get a table and everything.
But I let you do this, you gotta promise you don't tell Dana or the AD."
Mulder grinned, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
"Where's my clothes?"
Jake stood and walked to the door, knocked, then reached out through the
crack to return with a paper bag. He tossed it on Mulder's bed without a
word. He would be in seriously deep shit if Dana found out. Arranging
for Mulder to work down the hall was a bit outside of what she and
Skinner had agreed to. He knew they envisioned Mulder lying quietly in
bed, reading a few files. But Jake had been in the VCS, handled the hard
cases, and he'd worked with Mulder before. He knew that sometimes
you just had to do the job, despite illness, despite injuries. The killers
never gave time outs. Never gave sick days.
Mulder turned the bag upside down, breathing a sigh of quiet relief. He
had been reasonably sure Jake would listen to him, but it had been a long
time. A very long time since they'd worked together. He pulled his
boxers on and then his jeans. The sling had to come off temporarily so
he could take off the damned hospital gown.
"Help me with this?"
Jake loosened the fastenings, removed the straps, and helped Mulder pull
it off. He quickly shed the gown and Jake clearly saw the evidence now
of the pounding the other agent had received. He was consumed again by
doubt about assisting Mulder in this deceit.
Mulder had pulled the black T-shirt over his head, was working his right
arm into it, then started on the left, slowly. He couldn't help wondering
what his friend had been thinking to bring him a T-shirt. Oh well,
beggars and all that. He was in it finally and pulling the sling on once
more. He nodded to Jake, silently asking for help. He slipped his
already tied tennis shoes on, not even bothering with the socks. He was
ready to go. Ready to get started again on the job.
Jake went to the door and knocked, stuck his head out and conferred for a
long minute. Mulder stood at his back impatiently. The door opened
wide finally and Mulder followed Jake out into the hall and three doors
down to a small conference room. The two agents at the door had split,
with one leading the way and one at the rear of the procession. Mulder
didn't recognize the men but knew they'd have been hand-picked by
Skinner and Jake. He was surprised to see Colleen McCulley in the
conference room already. Jake waved him in and then instructed the
guards as to the new procedure for watching the door.
"Okay, Mulder, this is your new home for a while. I'll stay as long as
you want. Colleen's going to stay until you're done and will be your
legs. Any time you need to go back to your room, Colleen or I will
arrange it with the guards at the door first and then they'll tell you when
it's clear. Got it?"
Mulder nodded, knowing better than to argue with anything the man
suggested since he'd gotten his way. He walked to the table quickly and
grabbed the nearest box, pulled it close. Then he saw his briefcase and
opened it, pulled out his computer and set it up. He'd already forgotten
that anyone else was in the room and was almost surprised to hear Jake's
voice behind him.
"So, do you need anything else? "
Mulder turned, recalling all the agent had done for him.
"No, not just now. Thanks, Jake. But I'd like to talk with you about the
case before you leave. Get the latest update. And run my profile past
you."
Jake nodded and sat at the table next to Mulder. He knew the other agent
had been struggling to make sense out of the bomber's motivation,
preventing a reasonable profile development. And for Mulder to struggle
with a profile meant serious problems.
"Where do you want to start?"
Mulder fingered the stack of paper in front of him, sat back in the chair
and stretched his legs out.
"I've been working on a profile since the beginning of the case. The
difficulty from the outset has been motivation. I have some ideas I want
to try out on you."
Jake got a little more comfortable, sensing this might take a while, then
nodded for him to continue. Mulder seemed hesitant and Jake was
curious about why. He caught the agent shooting a glance towards
McCulley and finally understood.
"Colleen, could you do me a favor and step out for a few minutes?"
The younger agent flushed, then stood quickly and left the room without
a word. Mulder watched her the entire way, silent, waiting for the door
to close. He was slightly uneasy at his own paranoid behavior, but he
didn't know McCulley personally and neither did Scully. She was an
outsider and the trust just wasn't there. He sighed deeply when the door
finally clicked shut and turned to his old friend.
Jake smiled slightly, recognizing that Mulder wasn't quite ready to share
his thoughts too widely. He saw that the agent was settling in, turning
his thoughts towards the profile. His forehead was already creased in
concentration and his right elbow was resting on the chair arm, his chin
propped on his upraised fist. Jake wanted to clarify something before
Mulder launched into his profile.
"Okay, Mulder, you're on. But give it all to me. Including the
explanations."
He was used to the younger man's tendency to insist on particular aspects
of a profile without the justification necessary to convince others. He
knew that in Mulder's mind, this was a waste of time. After all, if he said
the guy lived with his parents or that he liked the color blue, that should
be enough. Jake saw the quirk of a smile and knew what was going
through Mulder's thoughts. But the other agent didn't object. Didn't
argue. Just launched into it.
"All right. We have eight bombings over a two year period, '74-'76.
Seven of the eight aimed at top ten Engineering Schools. The last one
wasn't close to top ten then and still isn't. It's the tail end of the
Vietnam
War, and we have veterans returning to the States taking advantage of the
GI Bill. Colleges and universities are flooded with applicants."
Mulder closed his eyes and dropped his head back to lean against the
chair. He moved his right arm across his chest, hugging his left arm.
Then moved it up to his shoulder, touching it gently, as if to see if it were
still painful.
"Engineering is still riding the wave of the Cold War and increased
defense budgets. It's a popular discipline and extremely competitive,
difficult to get into. I believe the bombings in the seventies were a result
of revenge, aimed at universities that denied his application to their
programs. He started applying to the best and after seven rejections went
with a school he knew and it rejected him as well. He was left in the cold
and he was pissed. He didn't think he'd been treated fairly and he
wanted them to pay."
He opened his eyes again and rolled his head sideways to stare at Jake.
"The specific targets are actually linked. I know they occurred in
different Departments at these universities but they all had a link -- a link
having to do with Aerospace applications. The materials laboratory at
MIT serviced the aerospace program, the aerospace structures lab at
Stanford, the instrumentation lab at Cal Tech was used for the aero
controls course, an aerodynamics wind tunnel at Georgia Tech, the CFD
lab at UTA. All of them had to do with aerospace."
Jake was with him, was nodding in understanding.
"Our guy was young then, between 18 and 24. He wanted to go into
aerospace engineering and was rejected in all the programs he applied to.
So he got his revenge and at some point, he decided to move on to
something else, a different career -- in law enforcement. But in the
meantime, the FBI was closing in. The team was starting to get close so
he had to find a fall guy to deflect the hunt. He either knew of Alvarez or
found him somehow. Planted some evidence, let something drop to the
right people and bang. He's free and clear of eight bombings, that
resulted in fourteen deaths."
Jake again nodded in acknowledgment. This was along the lines of what
they'd postulated.
"He moves on to his new career, which at some point involves the
Bureau. Whether he's with the Bureau when he actually sets off the
bombs is unknown, but if not, he somehow has access to information
about FBI procedures and, more importantly, to confidential information
pertaining to the case."
Mulder was thirsty. He hadn't talked this at one time much in days. He
looked around the room, finally spotting several bottles of spring water
on a small table in the corner. He stood slowly, propelling himself up
with his right hand, conscious of muscles throughout his body that had
been strained beyond their abilities, then grabbed two of the bottles
awkwardly in his single usable hand. He turned and offered one to Jake
before sitting again. The water was warm, but soothed his throat.
"Time passes and his life continues along this alternate path, but he's
discontented. And his discontent grows with each passing year. He's
always felt robbed. Robbed of his real destiny. Of the life he should
have had. And then something happens. I'm not sure what. But
whatever it is, it's enough to get him angry again and thinking about the
path he was prevented from taking. His life is turning to shit and he
thinks it's because of his being denied the opportunity he deserved. And
right about this time, he discovers that one of the original team members
who investigated the case is talking about it to other agents."
Jake's forehead was creased in concentration. He had moved forward in
the chair, arms propped on his knees, hands linked. He watched Mulder
carefully. The man was in the zone. Was on a profiling roll.
"The guy hears about it, perhaps sideways. And he's tired from life and
he's still angry. But he can't afford to be exposed because there's
nothing better for him. So he starts to eliminate any possibility of being
revealed. He contacts Alvarez, pretending to be a law student. Gains the
man's trust, then pumps him for information about the team in order to
get a better idea of what he's up against. He starts taking the team
members out, quietly, in ways that won't raise eyebrows, cause any
suspicion. And someplace along the line it became a game. It's just a
game to him now. It's the way he can prove he was smart enough then,
if he'd been given the chance, and he's still smart enough."
Mulder had dropped into a monotone that Jake remembered well. His
eyes were focused on the wall across the room, but not really seeing it.
They looked right through it, at a past that was alive for Mulder.
"He's playing the game and he's been winning. The winner will be the
one who figures it out first, and is still alive at the end. He was winning
right up until Skinner. But Skinner figured it out. He knew the agents
had been killed. And somehow, the guy finds out Skinner knew and
rushes things. He has to move his timeline forward."
Mulder's voice had continued to drop so that now Jake had to strain to
hear him. The injured agent was looking pale again -- pale and so very
tired. But he wasn't stopping.
"So he decides to end the game in one fell swoop and plants the bomb in
the airplane. Despite what AIC Strickland thinks, he knew what he was
doing. The bomb was definitely supposed to do serious damage. If
anything, it was supposed to take out the entire plane. He knew aero.
He studied it on his own. He was furious when it landed safely. When
Skinner escaped. So furious, that he sat waiting outside the hotel the next
morning on the off chance that he'd get a shot. And I provided him the
chance but he blew it again and now he's really angry. Not just at
Skinner this time, but also at me and Scully for preventing the shot."
Jake noticed the change in tense. It wasn't in the past for Mulder. It was
happening again, before his eyes. Mulder was seeing it, feeling it, from
the killer's perspective.
"His anger is making him sloppy. He's revealing more and more of
himself to us now, but he's arrogant. He's convinced himself that he's
smarter than we are. That he'll win. And deep down, he knows that
even when he wins, he'll lose."
Jake was confused at the comment but decided to wait it out. He watched
Mulder take another sip, close his eyes and slip even farther down in the
chair. His head was once again leaning against the chair back,
awkwardly. Mulder swallowed, then continued.
"He'll lose because he knows he'll be caught eventually. There's no
getting around it. We know too much. It's only a question of whether
we'll catch him before he finishes up with his target -- or targets. And I
think the target's changed. It had been Skinner, but not anymore. At
least, not only Skinner. He keeps changing the rules as he goes. He
does it because, in his mind, it's his game, his rules. He's the smart one,
smarter than anyone else, so obviously he can make the game be about
whatever he wants. And it's up to us to try to figure out what the game's
about at any moment. It's become a part of the game now."
Jake could swear the man in front of him had paled before his very eyes.
A sheen of sweat coated Mulder's forehead now and Jake was getting
worried. He shifted in his seat, nervously, wondering if he should cut
Mulder off and force him to rest. Perhaps this had been too much for the
injured agent, after all. Mulder must have sensed the movement, perhaps
even what was behind it, because he opened his eyes, rolled his head
towards Jake, then continued, staring directly into his eyes.
"He has nothing left to lose. This thing that happened to him a while
back -- it changed him, shaped him. He's a loose cannon. And all he
wants is to win big. Which means he has something big planned."
Mulder licked his lips, swallowed again, and paused for a moment,
almost afraid to put his thoughts to words, as if the saying alone would
make it happen.
"He's probably already got a target. It might already be set to blow. I
think he realizes it won't be long now before we get him. It'll be
something that'll take out significant numbers of people, do a lot of
damage. Worse than the airplane. He has to do better than that now. It
has to be bigger and better. Because it'll be the last act. The last
thing he
does before we catch him or kill him."
Jake considered Mulder's words carefully. It all made sense. He could
see it as being reasonable. But this last was speculation. Conjecture
only. And it was based purely on Mulder's understanding of the bomber
and his motivations. If Mulder didn't actually understand the man the
way he thought he did, then the bomber's actions might be entirely
different than what the other agent had just outlined.
Mulder waited patiently. He saw the expressions of doubt and
uncertainty crossing Jake's face. Knew the older agent was grappling
with the projection of doom Mulder had just outlined. And he himself
knew he had no evidence to back up his statements. But he was certain
of it. As certain as he'd been about the guy following him and Scully to
the prison. And he'd been right then. He was right now. He had to
convince Jake. The other agent looked back at him, as if having arrived
at some conclusion.
"Okay, Mulder. Let's say you're right. What does that do for us? Does
this knowledge help us in some way? Can we use it?"
Mulder released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. He
thought he'd have to fight with Jake over the bomber's motivations. It
was a relief now to know the older man had accepted his profile. He
dragged himself to a more upright sitting position and turned the chair so
he could lean his right elbow on the table once again.
"It helps. It helps because we can try to identify potential targets, sweep
them, possibly find the bombs before we end up finding nothing but
bodies."
"But, you're talking about hundreds of possible targets. Maybe more.
We don't have the manpower for something like that."
Jake's words didn't even get a rise out of Mulder. The man was
obviously exhausted, fighting to stay in the conversation.
"Not hundreds. Tens maybe. The targets will be buildings with at least
as many people as the airplane had. So two hundred or more. They'll be
public facilities, but something tied into his own warped idea of who's to
blame for his problems. Schools, law enforcement buildings ... the
Bureau would be a prime target. And whatever ties into the thing that
happened to him, changed his life five or so years ago. It could be a
health issue. Maybe hospitals, then."
Mulder rambled to a stop, considering the words that just left his mouth.
He hadn't really thought about it beforehand. It just came to him as he
was listing the possibilities. A hospital would definitely be a prime target
if the bomber had a health crisis at some point. But he found he was too
tired all of a sudden to consider the ramifications further.
A knock at the door caused both agents to jump. They exchanged
confused expressions and then Jake rose and opened it a crack. After a
moment, he opened the door wide, allowing entry to Mulder's doctor.
She was a tall woman, in her early forties. She carried herself with such
assurance that Mulder had been totally stymied at putting up any defense
or arguments for early release. He'd been extremely surprised that she'd
agreed to the present arrangement. And now she stood in front of him,
arms crossed, a wide smile on her face. Mulder knew it was deceptive.
And her words proved it.
"Agent Mulder, it's good to see you up and looking so well. By my
count, you've been working for about forty-five minutes. I'll give you
another fifteen and then I expect you back in your room for at least an
hour."
Mulder had his mouth open to object when she cut him off.
"That was the deal, Agent Mulder. An hour on, an hour off. If you have
a problem with that, we can renegotiate. Well?"
He sat with mouth still open, staring into the eyes of a woman at least as
stubborn as his partner. His mouth slammed closed, teeth clicking
loudly. There was no use. None whatsoever. He had no hope of
winning this. He shook his head wearily and mustered a sick smile for
her.
"No renegotiation necessary. I'll go quietly."
She raised one eyebrow, as if in doubt, and Mulder found he was
insulted.
"I will."
It almost sounded like a whine to his ears and he hated it. Hated that he
was forced to defend his physical well being, hated that he was limited in
this way, wasn't able to work like he needed to. This guy was going to
blow up a building filled with people. It would be another God damned
Oklahoma City if they didn't catch him first. But Mulder was being sent
to take a nap. Like he was a fucking five year old. His eyes narrowed
dangerously, lips pursed, right hand gripping the chair arm tightly.
The doctor noted the change, saw her patient shift from easygoing to
dangerous in moments. She knew the case he was working and
understood its importance. This was no recalcitrant or errant patient,
intentionally pushing her buttons. This was the man who was expected
to find a bomber and killer. Who'd already been injured several times
during pursuit of said bomber. Who's face had been plastered all over
the news for the past several days. The helicopter scenes of the crash site
had been great television drama.
She forced herself to relax, forced herself to drop her arms, forced a
small smile. She wasn't his enemy and would help as much as possible,
as long as his health wasn't in danger.
"All right, Agent Mulder. Please remember, your body has experienced
substantial trauma in a very short period. A short rest on occasion will
allow you to be in it for the long haul."
Mulder found himself relaxing somewhat at her words. She was one of
the good guys. He knew that. He nodded to her before responding.
"I understand. It's okay. I'll finish up with Agent Mander and head back
to my room. Thank you, Dr. Shack."
She returned his nod, smiled at Jake and headed out then.
Mulder looked back to the table, eyes roaming over the stacks of files and
paper. He had about ten or fifteen minutes. He could at least do a quick
overview of the lists from the DC analysis group. He turned to Jake and
gestured to the stacks tiredly, seeing no purpose in trying to hide his
exhaustion anymore.
"How about if we go through them quickly, set some things in motion.
You and McCulley can work them while I'm gone."
Jake nodded gamely, then said, "I'll get Colleen."
Mulder tuned everything out then. He pulled paper towards him,
fingering through the stacks with his right hand, fanning the pages from
bottom to top. It was a list of companies that used both the bond paper
and laser printer cartridge that had been left in the car in the fake bomb
incident the other night. There were thousands of names, in alphabetical
order, along with addresses and other descriptive information. He idly
cut to a sheet about a third of the way through and read an entry.
Maverick's Horse Stables and Riding School
10178 Sagewood Road
Dallas, Texas
Jesus, this was going to be fun. He pushed the stack back to the middle
of the table and pulled over another. It was a smaller list, only twenty
pages or so of names. All Bureau personnel who'd received degrees in
technical fields. He smiled when he saw Scully's name and Skinner's
not much farther behind hers.
Mulder realized that Jake and McCulley were also sitting at the table,
pulling items out of the box and sorting them. He glanced over at Colleen
McCulley and saw her intent on the pages in front of her. After looking
through them a moment, she put the stack on the table, slid it in between
two others that she'd put down. He noticed Jake making similar
organizational arrangements. Mulder shook his head slightly. He knew
that there was no particular order to these lists that would provide magical
clarity or insight. It wouldn't matter which he looked at first. But maybe
it did matter to them. He sighed heavily and forced himself to sit straight.
"Jake, perhaps you and McCulley can spend some time going through the
lists just for impressions. I doubt you'll be able to do any serious
correlation, but perhaps it's possible with some of the smaller ones. You
can at least do an orthogonal pairwise comparison, a vs. b, a vs. c, b vs.
c, like that. Maybe you'll see something. But it's more important at this
point just to get a feel for them. A feel for what kinds of people are on
them."
Mulder stood and discovered he was more tired than he'd thought. He
wavered for a moment, had to brace himself on the table. He realized
he'd closed his eyes and when he opened them, little white flashes
spotted his vision. Yes indeed, he definitely needed to rest. He became
aware of a hand on his arm, looked right and saw that McCulley had
grabbed him when he started to sway. He nodded to her in silent thanks
and turned towards the door as she dropped her hand.
Jake was already there, knocking. A moment later the door opened wide
and Mulder saw the same two agents. They once again escorted him back
to the room, along with Jake. A young nurse stopped what she was
doing across the hall and watched the procession, then jerked and walked
away as the gaze of one of the Bureau agents focused on her
threateningly. Mulder walked with his right hand running lightly along
the wall, not really for support but for reassurance, just in case. His
steps were slow and forced, making the trip back to his room seem
substantially greater than it had earlier.
Jake opened the door and entered. Mulder was amused when the guards
gestured for him to wait until it was clear. Jake came out several seconds
later and nodded, motioning for Mulder to enter. His bed had been made
while he was gone and the dinner tray had been removed. He reached for
the television remote control and turned it on, out of habit more than any
interest in what might be on. Then he thought of something suddenly,
out of the blue.
"Jake, what about the car? Were they able to establish what it was from
tire tracks and paint? Did you get a list?"
Jake smiled, not even wondering any more how this man's mind worked.
"It's coming. We've got a hard copy coming of all possible automobiles
in the state of Texas. A courier's bringing it over sometime tonight.
They're trying to get an electronic version sent to the DC office."
Mulder heard and absorbed the words but couldn't find it in him to
acknowledge it. He had one last thought he had to get out.
"And blood type? You can eliminate a third of the names from blood
type."
He headed straight for the bed and laid down on top of the covers, not
even removing his shoes. He was gone before even hearing Jake's
whispered "See you later".
*******************************************
Friday, 7:43 p.m.
Dallas Bureau, Command Center
Skinner was incredibly frustrated. They'd spent the last several hours
pouring over the numerous lists the DC analysis team had compiled, as
well as all the lists from the various universities who'd been targets so
many years ago. They'd tried to divide the team into smaller groups that
would be more able to focus on certain cross-matches. Knowledge of
blood type of the bomber would eventually help to cut down the size of
the lists substantially. But first they had to get access to that information
from the DC people.
Scully had just gotten off the phone with headquarters. The system was
booted, the necessary software reinstalled. They hadn't lost any of the
data, thank God. But unfortunately, they only had hard copy for many of
the lists. They'd been scanning the information and putting it all in the
proper spreadsheet format, but evidently many of the characters were
unrecognizable so actual humans had to do a visual comparison on each
and every entry. She turned to Skinner angrily.
"I can't believe that in this day and age when you can buy absolutely
anything you could possibly want over the web, can send email across
the world in a fraction of a second, can discuss the scientific accuracy of
journal papers in near real-time with geographically distributed
participants via chatrooms ... you can do all these things, but you can't
get a lousy electronic version of a list generated in another government
office in the same cursed city."
Skinner smiled at his agent's outrage and frustration. It wasn't surprising
to him. The only surprising thing was that they'd actually managed to get
the damned thing in the first place since it had necessitated one of the
DMV employees to work well past closing. Now, that was hard to
believe.
He glanced up again and realized his agent was shooting daggers his
way. He wiped the smile off his face and tried hard to glower. It was
tough. He liked Scully. Liked her as a person. And enjoyed seeing this
side of her. She was usually so damned reserved, so professional, never
letting any emotion show in front of him. He felt that he'd come to know
his two agents much better during this ordeal. He prayed they'd have the
chance to survive to explore some of the tenuous strands of friendship
that had begun.
"Agent Scully, when did they say they'd have them?"
She stood stiffly, arms crossed tightly against her chest, one foot in front
of the other slightly. It was obvious to Skinner that she was still not
pleased with him, but she did eventually answer.
"They expect to have the first computerized cross-matches run within the
next hour or two at most. They're set to run them in parallel. They've
turned over all the machines to this case for the next several hours at
least.
They've set up a relationship matrix and have something like sixty or so
analyses to run for each of the variables we identified as being important.
They'll call as soon as they start getting anything useful."
Skinner nodded and looked back to the stacks of paper spread out on
every available surface, searched out the faces of the agents working so
hard to make sense of the lists. Should they just stop or continue with
what they were doing? It was remotely possible they could actually
discover something this way before the analysts back in DC. And it was
also possible something would happen to the computers again. He didn't
want to put all his trust in them just yet. The agents could continue with
their efforts. He turned back to Scully.
"Let's go on with what we're doing. It's not like we have a better way to
spend our time at this point."
Scully nodded to him, understanding immediately the thought processes
he'd implemented to arrive at such a decision. She agreed. But, God
was she tired. And her head was pounding again. She sighed and
stretched her back, rolled her neck from right to left.
"Maybe we can take a break, though. Coffee sure sounds good right
about now."
Skinner couldn't help laughing out loud. The woman had coffee on the
brain.
*******************************************
Friday, 8:21 p.m.
Dallas Hospital
Mulder woke with a start. He was gasping for air, no idea initially of
where he was or what was happening. And then it started to come to
him, as did memories of the dream he'd just escaped. The monster was
after him again, dressed in black from head to foot, laughing in his
superiority and sure of his dominance. And Mulder was starting to worry
that maybe the guy really was smarter, really would pull off the bombing
before they could get to him.
He realized suddenly there was noise in the room. The TV was on, set to
CNN. It had been droning on the entire time Mulder slept. He ignored
it.
He couldn't help thinking they were missing something. Couldn't help
the thought that he was missing something. It was floating around
somewhere in his subconscious. He was sure of it. And these dreams
were trying to tell him, but he couldn't see it yet.
He shook his head in frustration at his own inadequacy and sat up. He
felt much better, despite the dream that had so disturbed his sleep. He
swung his legs over the side, still somewhat gingerly, and stood,
stretching slightly. There was a glass of water on the tray by his bed with
a little paper cup next to it. The cup held several pills that he recognized
as pain and antibiotic medication. He spilled them out onto the table and
picked up the antibiotics, threw them in his mouth and took a sip to wash
them down. The others could wait. He felt the need for clear thinking.
He hadn't taken more than two steps when he caught his own name being
said out loud. He turned quickly and searched out the room, realizing
finally that the voice came from the television suspended from the ceiling
across from his bed. He moved back to the bed and sank onto it, picking
up the remote simultaneously. He turned up the sound and was shocked
to see his face in the upper right corner of the screen, which was filled
with an overhead shot of the crash scene. It shook him, seeing it this
way. There was a path of destruction some thirty or so yards long, with
debris scattered everywhere. The car was an unrecognizable heap of
metal, with the sun reflecting off the mangled pieces. Seen in this way,
he was amazed that both he and Scully walked away essentially
unscathed. The word lucky didn't come close to adequately describing it.
A helicopter must have been overhead during the evacuation. On the
screen, he saw the emergency team tearing his door off finally, saw
Skinner exit the driver's side and gesture for Mander, saw his boss run
over to one of the waiting ambulances and jump in. A moment later, the
emergency team was removing him from the wreckage. He had no
recollection of it whatsoever. He must have blacked out at that point.
Mulder hadn't really been paying attention to the sound, but recognized
that nothing new was really being presented. It was just more of the
'both agents were injured but are recuperating' report.
The helicopter jerked sideways as a result of a wind gust and the camera
swung around the entire loading area in response. Something niggled at
the back of Mulder's mind. There was something significant in the
scene. It had to do with the cars -- all the unmarked cars at the scene,
scattered amidst the official vehicles. The thought was gone as fast as it
had arrived, leaving only a vague unease in its place. He sighed and
shook his head, grabbed the remote and then turned off the television.
He headed to the bathroom once again. He was cleaning up, preparing to
head back to the conference room, when he caught sight of himself. He
hadn't really been paying attention to the reflection staring back at him.
He'd seen his face enough times, after all. But he took a good look now.
He was frighteningly pale, having somehow lost in two days the tan he
generally wore year round from running outside in all weather. His face
was haggard, lines having appeared almost overnight. The dark circles
under his eyes made him look a good five years older at least, maybe
even more. He appeared as if he'd been on death's doorstep for weeks.
He shook his head at himself and muttered, "You look like shit, Mulder",
then grinned at the ridiculousness of talking to himself out loud. He
turned on the faucet and, when finally satisfied with the temperature,
leaned down slightly, careful of his left arm and shoulder, and splashed
water on his face. It was a little awkward with one hand but the water
felt good. It even felt good to the palm of his right hand, which was
finally free of the bandages that had encased it for so many days. The
water on his face sharpened him, sharpened his senses, chased away the
tiredness. He stood straight and opened his eyes, ran his hand across his
face to wipe away the excess water.
And that's when he saw it. That's when he realized what he was seeing.
The black shirt and the raised hand. His own reflection. It was his right
hand up in front of his face, but it looked like his left. And like dominoes
the pieces fell into place, one after another. And suddenly he knew who
it was. He knew who the guy was and the realization shook him to his
very core. His foundations were rocked and he had to drop his hand to
the sink and hold on for support until the sudden dizziness passed.
He looked up again finally, searching out his own eyes, staring into
them, as if he could instill in himself the courage and fortitude necessary
to face the truth, this awful truth he'd discovered. He stepped back from
the sink, ran his hand across his face once more, then through his hair.
Not to smooth it into place, but rather to get rid of the remaining few
drops that had clung so stubbornly to his hand.
He took a shaky breath, stared hard at himself. He could do this. He
was ready for this. He had to be. It was time to end it, once and for all.
Jake was in the conference room and it was time for a serious talk.
Mulder headed to the room's door and knocked, waiting for the crack he
knew would appear. When it did, he opened the door fully and stepped
out into the corridor. He swept his eyes quickly up and down the hall,
looking for any familiar faces. It was clear.
His paranoia and jerky movements must have set the two agents assigned
to guard him on edge. They both straightened noticeably and searched
the hallway themselves. Mulder looked at the one to the right and said,
"Do you have an extra weapon?"
The man raised his eyebrows and a moment later, never saying a word,
reached around to his back and drew out a small .22 caliber, then offered
it in his palm. Mulder nodded and took it, checked it over visually, then
slipped it in the waist of his jeans at the back in such a way he could get at
it easily with his right hand. He turned to the other agent then and said,
"And you?"
The agent looked taken aback for a moment, flicked his eyes to his
partner, and then scanned the hallway again. He then bent down and
started to remove a small gun from an ankle holster strapped to his left
leg. Mulder put his hand on the man's shoulder, stopping him. The man
looked up at him, still in his bent position. "Let me have the holster too."
The agent jerked slightly, glanced again at his partner, but complied
finally. He took it off, stood and handed it over to Mulder. Now that he
had it, he wasn't completely sure what to do with it one handed. The
agent seemed to realize the dilemma and took it back, bent down and
reached for Mulder's left leg.
Mulder felt the embarrassment hot on his face. He was a damned child
who had to have his dad tie his shoes. Jesus, he wasn't sure whether he
was up to this. The man finished finally and stood.
Neither of the agents had spoken a single word. They'd been given
careful instructions by the AD. This man in front of them was in charge
in all circumstances unless demanding something that would physically
endanger him or be in contradiction to the Doctor's orders.
Mulder brushed off the feelings of inadequacy and stood straight. He had
to get to the conference room. Jake was there waiting for him.
*******************************************
Friday, 8:32 p.m.
Dallas Bureau, Command Center
The phone in the corner rang and Scully jerked at the sound. She had
drifted off somehow, amidst the noise of shuffling paper, soothing voices
and squeaking chairs. She was slightly embarrassed but decided to give
herself a break. She'd only been out of the hospital for seven or so
hours, after all. She focused her attention on the agent who'd picked up
the phone. Liu was speaking softly into the handset, then hung up and
turned to the agents in the room.
"They're faxing initial results from cross-matches between agents with
technical degrees, those who might have had opportunity to kill the eight
team members, and agents with a demolitions background. She said they
ran pairwise comparisons as well as all at once. There are about ten to
twelve pages coming through. The other runs will be completed in the
next ten minutes or so, including the DMV data."
Skinner nodded, then glanced over to Scully to gage her reaction. She
was wide awake again and looking eagerly towards the fax machine. It
rang twice, then started making the clicking noises indicating imminent
receipt. Every agent in the room was motionless, staring at the machine
that would hopefully provide them with the answer they'd been so
desperate for.
Skinner took two quick strides to the machine and pulled off the pages
one by one as they came out. He was already scanning the first page and
realized quickly it was the pairwise crossmatch of agents who had both
opportunity to kill his team members as well as a technical background.
He came across several names he recognized, one of which sent shivers
down his spine.
He passed the three pages pertaining to that comparison to Scully and
then started looking at the second list. It was again a pairwise analysis of
agents with a technical background versus those with some sort of
demolitions or ammunitions background. He felt sick as he read through
it. Could feel the sweat start on his back, under his arms, on his
forehead.
He passed this list to her as well and picked up the next, already knowing
what he'd find. And he did. The name was there. He didn't even look
at the others anymore, just went straight to that letter of the alphabet.
The pages were loose in his hands and he almost dropped them as he
looked over at his agent. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open in
shock. He asked simply, "Where?" He'd known the answer, of course,
had been afraid of it. She answered, voice cracking, practically a
whisper, "With Mulder". The bomber was with Mulder and they had no
way to let him know without alerting the killer.
The pages had been passed around the room and all eyes were now
focused on Skinner, in the hopes that the AD would somehow make it all
better, tell them the right thing to do. They'd resolved themselves early
on to the idea that it was once of their own, someone with the Bureau.
But this was different. This was one of their own colleagues, with whom
they'd worked on the case.
Skinner wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his left hand,
threw the remaining pages on the table in front of him, then took a deep,
cleansing breath. It was time to move.
"Okay, people. Let's get organized. We don't have a lot of time. Get
vests and jackets." Skinner turned to Scully with a gesture. "Get
assignments on position from Agent Scully." He looked her in the eye
then and asked, "Who's our contact on the DPD?"
Ten minutes later they were on their way to the hospital, fully prepared to
end this, once and for all.
*******************************************
Friday, 8:44 p.m.
Dallas Hospital
The door slammed open and the first of his body guards ran into the
room, gun raised, swinging from side to side. Mulder was right behind
him and dropped to a knee, surveying the scene. He felt the second agent
behind him, saw peripherally the raised gun.
Jake had jerked to a standing position, had hands out to his side, held
away from his body. His face was awash in confusion and alarm. He
searched out Mulder's eyes with his own.
"What? What's happening?"
Mulder relaxed and stood, nodded to the two other agents and told them
to come in and close the door. He turned back to Jake then.
"Where's McCulley?"
Jake was still confused, but answered quickly. He understood that
something had either happened or that Mulder had made a discovery
related to the case.
"She went down to the lobby to meet a courier from the Bureau - to get
the DMV info. Why?"
Mulder took a breath, trying to decide how to best handle the situation.
He looked down and realized he still held the small weapon. He slipped
it into the sling, between body and arm. Before he could speak, the door
flew open, slamming against the wall. Everyone in the room swung in
that direction, hands reaching for weapons just returned to holsters.
Mulder took it all in a heartbeat. McCulley was there, a large manila
envelope in her right hand, propped under her arm. She was pale, scared
-- terrified even. And the bomber stood behind her, with a gun in his left
hand, pointing directly at her head.
*******************************************
End Part 7 of 8
*******************************************
And Then There Was One - Part 8 of 8 (8/8)
by Kronos
*******************************************
Thursday, 8:49 p.m.
Dallas Hospital
Everyone stood frozen, weapons remaining holstered, hands halted
before completing the gestures to retrieve them. It seemed that no one
breathed, no one moved. But the air itself hung with imminent disaster, a
recognition of impending violent action that would precipitate an
unwelcome ending to this play. The tableau was broken finally by
Mulder. He raised his right hand, palm up in a pacifying gesture.
"Everyone's good. Everyone's cool here. We're all good."
He sensed the tension, the desire on the part of the bodyguards to act.
Recognized how inflammatory any action would be. McCulley would
die. He knew that. There was no question that would be the outcome.
Mulder knew he had to keep the agents in the room from acting
prematurely. It would be the worst possible thing that could happen.
"No one's going to draw a weapon. No one's going to move."
He stared from left to right, barely moving his head, making sure they
understood that was an order. Then he turned back to the man standing
with his service weapon to the young woman's temple. A grin lit the
man's face, as if he'd just been reunited with a lost love. It was a
maniacal grin, obviously detached from any connection to reality. Mulder
knew he had to keep the older man calm, keep him from overreacting.
"It's your game. It's your play. You tell us what to do now. You tell us
what you want."
Mulder wasn't a negotiator. Had never been, except for Duane Barry.
And he hadn't particularly excelled in that situation. But he knew the
rules. Knew what to avoid, knew what to focus on, knew that you
never, never identified with the guy. Never made him think you were on
his side. There were rules to negotiation, but as with Duane Barry, this
man in front of him knew the rules as well as he did. Knew them better
than Mulder, probably.
"Tell me what you want now."
The man was looking at Mulder curiously, head tilted contemplatively to
one side.
"You knew. How? They haven't compiled their lists yet."
Mulder understood what he was being asked.
"You fit the profile I'd developed. You were the right age, had the right
background, had the access to the information, had access to Skinner
during the original investigation ."
The man was nodding, but still didn't look convinced.
"That couldn't have been it, though. A third of the Bureau probably fit
your profile. What else? What was it?"
He seemed sincerely curious.
"I kept dreaming of the bomber. His face was always in shadows,
unrecognizable, but he was dressed in black, from head to foot. And I
realized finally that he held his weapon in his left hand. I'd seen you, at
the hotel and again at UTA, but I didn't realize it consciously, not until a
little bit ago. Then there was the car we were following before the crash.
It had a CB antenna and Texas plates. I'd forgotten until I saw the scene
on CNN. It had to belong to a local agent. One who had access
somehow to what we were doing. That's why you assigned McCulley to
the team. She wouldn't have known not to speak with her boss about the
case he assigned her to."
McCulley's eyes grew even wider and Mulder felt like a complete shit,
laying this on her. He'd been running the damn case. He should have
known something was wrong from the beginning. She'd been too
inexperienced to have been assigned without some ulterior motive. He
told himself once again that he'd get her out of this somehow.
Delano nodded, a smile on his face now. Mulder was good. As good as
Walt had said he was. This was going to be fun. It would be a
challenge, but he was up to it.
Mulder stared at Skinner's old friend, at the man holding all the cards.
He had to get the gun away from McCulley's head. If he had a second,
maybe two, he could get the weapon from his sling. He gestured slightly
with his right hand, getting the attention of the older black agent who was
responsible for so much misery.
"Tell me what you want now."
"Agent Mulder, surely you know. Why don't you tell me? Let's see if
you're as smart as everyone thinks you are."
Mulder swallowed, unsure of where to go with this. He decided to trust
his instincts and answer honestly, at least for now.
"You want to be recognized. You want the world to know who you are
and how smart you've been."
The man shot a look of complete and utter irritation at Mulder.
"That's it? That's all you've come up with? I'm disappointed in you.
What do you think I want to have happen next?"
Mulder licked his lips, flicked his eyes to the left where Jake still stood,
hands held away from his body, unthreatening. Jake couldn't help him.
He saw the agent grimace at him, slightly. Mulder looked back to Delano
and considered the question. To lie or not to lie, that was the question.
"I think you want to .... go out with a bang."
Delano started laughing, loudly, almost violently.
"God, Mulder, you are too funny. And you're right! Of course."
The man stared at Jake, then turned his gaze to the two other agents in the
room besides Mulder and McCulley.
"Get out. All of you. Mulder, McCulley and I are just fine here. You can
leave."
The man dragged Colleen to the left, steering clear of Mulder's body
guard who still stood to the left of the door. He turned as he passed by
Mulder, so that his back was never exposed to any of the agents in the
room. McCulley looked like she was on the verge of passing out.
Delano was dragging her by her right arm, his own body stationed fully
behind her to avoid exposure. Mulder could imagine the fingers digging
into her arm, into her biceps, causing yet another level of pain and
distress. Delano was back against a wall finally, McCulley still in front
of him.
Mulder could see a small trickle of blood coming from the young agent's
temple, from where the gun had been moved violently enough to break
skin and blood vessels. He tried to catch her eyes in the hopes of
offering some reassurance. But they flitted around the room, never
resting on anyone or anything. She was breathing so quickly and
shallowly that Mulder was surprised she hadn't hyperventilated.
Mulder looked around the room again and made a decision.
"All right, you heard the man. Out. Slowly."
He heard the shuffle to his left and looked in that direction. Jake was
shaking his head, refusing to go quietly. Refusing to go without a fight.
"Jake, do it. Out."
His old friend was fighting internally, trying to decide whether to leave
Mulder and McCulley to this madman or not. His shoulders slumped
finally, in resignation, and he nodded. Nodded to Mulder and then to the
two other agents.
"All right, Mulder. It's your call."
He started moving to the door, slowly, and gestured that the two other
agents should precede him. He looked back at Mulder one last time
before leaving the room, expression filled with sadness and regret.
Mulder felt himself slump a little when Jake left. The man had been with
him almost continuously for the past two days and for much of the
preceding four or so. They'd renewed their old friendship and it had felt
good. And now that support was leaving. But there was no other way
they could do it. There was nothing else Jake or Mulder could do. At
least this way, the man would be safe and would be able to talk with
Skinner and Scully. He'd make sure they knew about the possibility of a
bomb or bombs in the building. And he'd make sure it was evacuated
quickly and efficiently. At least they'd accomplished that much. Now he
just had to keep this man talking long enough to give them time for the
evacuation.
The door closed with a resounding click, too much a signal of finality for
Mulder's peace of mind. He forced another deep breath and returned his
gaze to Delano and McCulley.
"All right. It's still your game. Still your call. How do you want to run
it?"
Mulder had moved his right hand to the top of his left, over the sling.
He'd tried to make the move appear as if he were tired, too tired to
continue holding it out to the side. The thumb of his right hand was
hooked inside the sling. All he needed was a second. A second would
be enough to grab the weapon resting so close now to his hand.
Delano still had his weapon to McCulley's temple, but hadn't looked at
her once since he'd entered the room. Her eyes had finally found
Mulder's. Were focused on his, filled with a mixture of insecurity and
courage. Mulder was proud of her. He smiled at her slightly, willed that
she would hang on through this and manage to do the right thing when it
was time.
Delano spoke suddenly, drawing Mulder's attention immediately.
"Agent Mulder, move your right hand away from your body."
Mulder felt a chill at the words, but complied without hesitation. He kept
his face still, forced a nonchalance in the movement that would hopefully
give nothing away.
"I'm not stupid, Mulder. You should know that by now."
Mulder fought the flush that threatened to expose him. Forced an
expression of confusion, of virtuous blankness. Forced his forehead to
crinkle just so. Forced his eyebrows to scrunch slightly. All in the hopes
of providing an innocent front that said, 'I don't understand what you are
implying'.
"Mulder, here's what we're going to do. We're going to get a little more
comfortable. We might be here a while, after all. But in order to do that,
I'm going to need that weapon you have hidden away in your sling."
Mulder couldn't help the surge of disappointment that caused his
shoulders to slump, caused his breath to be expelled in a puff. And his
right hand dropped totally away from the sling, dropped down to his side
in surrender. As if on its own giving up the fight it had been waging
against gravity.
Delano smiled even more broadly and Mulder felt the hate grow that much
stronger. It was a festering bubble now. And some part of him was
aware that the only salvation to be had from this malignancy was incision.
Mulder prayed he'd be the one to wield the knife. The man just grinned,
the proverbial Cheshire cat run amok. Mulder was more certain than ever
that this creature before him was sick. Mentally ill. But he could care
less. He still wanted to be the one to take him out.
Delano was approaching him now, pushing McCulley along in front of
him.
"Here's what we're going to do. Colleen here is going to ... slowly ....
reach into your sling and remove your little surprise. You're going to
keep your right hand back and lifted. If it moves, Colleen will be
dogmeat and I'll still get the second shot at you before you can reach for
your gun."
Delano and McCulley were about five feet away and holding. Mulder
was sweating freely, could feel it down his back, under his arms, tickling
at his ears. He was trying to slow his breathing, trying to will his body
to be strong for the next few minutes. Praying that it wouldn't betray him
with a weakness that would precipitate McCulley's death. The salt of his
sweat stung his chapped lips, but he refused to move enough even to lick
them.
"You with me, Mulder?"
Delano waited for the nod before continuing.
"Good, good. Then you're going to take a couple steps back and Colleen
is going to raise the gun up to her shoulder, pointing towards you, where
I'll relieve her of it. Do you understand, Mulder? Colleen?"
Both nodded. Mulder could see the tears welling in the young woman's
eyes. He'd been in enough similar situations to know this wasn't the
end. No matter what the Bureau said about never giving up your
weapon, it wasn't the end for them. McCulley didn't know this. He
smiled at her again, hoping that she'd remain calm, just do what Delano
said. He felt the need to reassure her verbally.
"It'll be okay, Colleen. Just do exactly what SAC Delano told you."
There were no hidden messages in the words. No secret code. But
Mulder could see that both McCulley and Delano were working through
what he'd said, trying to find the ulterior directive. Her eyes were back
on his, searching. This had to be totally clear. He raised his arm out to
the side slowly, moving it back slightly so there'd be no easy way for
him to make a grab at Delano. He spoke softly, as reassuring as
possible.
"Get the gun, Colleen. Reach in, take it, keep it pointed at me, put it up
to your shoulder so SAC Delano can take it."
She nodded and a single tear spilled as Delano forced her forward one
jerky step, then two. They were right in front of Mulder finally. Close
enough for Mulder to see the pulse beating in her neck, see the individual
beads of sweat over her lip and on her forehead, dropping down to mix
with the lone tear on her cheek. He nodded to her again, not daring any
other movement or words.
He felt her hand, moved his left arm as best he could to make the retrieval
easier on her. Then it was gone and in Delano's right hand within
moments. Before he could even blink. And he sighed as he took two
steps backwards, removing him again from the possibility of physical
contact with Delano or McCulley.
The SAC put the small weapon in his pocket and again gripped the young
agent's arm.
"You both did good. Very good. I think we can all sit now. Mulder,
you over there. We'll sit here, if you don't mind."
Mulder pulled out the chair at the far end of the conference table and sank
into it, grateful that he no longer had to trust his legs to keeping him
upright. He knew he wasn't up to anything physically demanding. If
this came to a one on one with Delano, he wouldn't win. He couldn't
win. It had to be avoided at all costs.
Delano forced McCulley to sit, three chairs away from Mulder and on the
same side of the table, then sat down behind her, pulling the chair to the
right of hers slightly. He no longer had a need to stay shielded behind
her, after all.
They had just settled in when the phone rang, causing all to jerk.
McCulley cried out as the gun dug into her temple. Delano pulled it back
slightly, waited for the phone to ring a second time, then gestured at
Mulder.
"Why don't you get it, Mulder? You're closer after all."
Mulder sagged a bit before gathering his strength. He pulled himself out
of the chair and walked to the corner, then picked up the phone. Before a
word was spoken, Delano interjected, "On the speaker, please."
Mulder hit the necessary key, then replaced the handset. Sat down in the
chair next to the phone, facing it.
"Mulder here. You're on speaker."
There was a brief pause, just long enough for Mulder to envision both
Scully and Skinner sagging in relief that he was alive and at least well
enough to speak. Skinner broke the silence.
"Agent Mulder. It's good to hear your voice."
"Thanks, sir. Although I can imagine better circumstances."
"I appreciate that."
Mulder heard the sigh at the other end.
"How is Agent McCulley?"
Mulder flicked his eyes to McCulley and saw that she was again in
control of herself, eyes dry and resolute. If anything, it looked like she
was finally starting to get a bit angry.
"She's fine, sir. We're both fine."
"Agent Mulder, would SAC Delano like to speak with anyone?"
Mulder could hear the slight shake in his boss' voice. Could appreciate
how difficult this must be for him. Not only did he discover that one of
his oldest and most trusted friends was to blame for this two decade path
of death and destruction, but also that he himself was quite possibly the
leak some twenty years ago that allowed it to happen.
Mulder turned to face Delano head on, raised an eyebrow in silent query.
At the shake of the head, he swung to the speaker phone once more.
"No, sir. He wouldn't."
There was silence for a few moments as Skinner evidently conferred with
someone. Mulder had the time to wonder if it were Scully. To wonder if
she were there, listening in on this conversation. He imagined her there,
standing next to Skinner, worried but competent, prepared to do whatever
necessary to free her partner from this madman. Then Skinner came back
finally.
"Agent Mulder, perhaps you can explain to us what SAC Delano wants."
Mulder stared at the phone, then turned again to Delano. How the hell
was he supposed to answer this? Delano just smiled, expression
unwavering. Mulder could sense that he was being tested. This was still
the game to Delano. Still part of proving he was smarter than everyone
else. Mulder licked his lips then, feeling the loose skin at the small
cracks, wishing he were anywhere right now but here.
"I wouldn't presume to speak for SAC Delano, sir. Perhaps it would be
best to wait until he's ready to talk with someone."
*******************************************
Thursday, 9:08 p.m.
Dallas Hospital Parking Lot, Command Center Truck
The phone clicked abruptly, signaling termination and everyone jumped at
the unexpectedness of the disconnection. Skinner was the first to voice
his thoughts.
"What happened? What the fuck happened?!"
Jake and Skinner both took a step closer to the phone, as if somehow this
would enable them to better discover answers to their questions. The van
was crowded enough without their hovering so near. The negotiation
leader stood frozen, expression alarmed. Scully hadn't moved and had
eyes focused intently on the open rear door of the van. She was pretty
sure she understood what had just happened. She swiveled in the seat so
she could better see the three agents in the command truck with her.
"It's okay. Mulder did it. He did it on purpose."
She had their attention.
"I think he's just put the ball back in Delano's court. He's letting him
know that he has some power. And ..."
Scully wasn't quite so sure about what she was about to suggest. She
again considered her partner, his temperament, his typical reactions when
backed against the wall.
"I think he's also trying to shake Delano up. Throw him off base. It's a
different kind of power, but also effective."
Skinner nodded, in understanding and agreement. It was something
Mulder would do. He raised a headset from the table in front of him and
spoke into it.
"How's the evacuation coming? How much more time?"
*******************************************
Thursday, 9:08 p.m.
Dallas Hospital
Mulder reached out and hit the speaker disconnect quickly, before he had
the chance to rethink it. The muttered curse from behind him incited a
wave of nausea that threatened to overtake him. He turned slowly back to
face Delano, making sure his expression remained neutral.
Delano was obviously furious but fighting it. Trying to remain in
control, even though he'd been upstaged in that department so effectively
by Mulder. He leaned forward and gripped McCulley's arm tightly,
causing her to grimace in silent pain.
"Agent Mulder, if you ever do anything like that again, little Colleen here
is dead. Do you understand?"
Mulder saw the crack in the man's demeanor. Recognized the fact that
he'd scored. Now to follow through with a winner. He sat a bit
straighter, moved his right arm to rest on the chair's arm, crossed his legs
at the ankle. He stared straight into Delano's eyes, unflinching -- made
sure to keep his voice even but deliberate.
"Fuck you, Delano. Either tell me what you want me to tell them or talk
to them yourself. I'm not a mindreader."
Silence reined for a good thirty seconds as a battle of wills was waged.
Mulder knew his own power was limited. Ultimately, he would do what
Delano demanded to ensure McCulley's safety, as well as his own. But
Delano was also limited. He could use the threat only so often and for
only the most serious of offenses. Eliminating McCulley would mean
one less hostage. He couldn't afford to kill her unless he would gain
more by the killing than he'd lose.
Delano broke the silence, allowing Mulder the win. A chess match could
be won by a single pawn, after all. The SAC released McCulley, sat back
in his chair, adopting an appearance of complete apathy.
"You don't have to talk with them if you don't want to, Mulder. That's
all right. Maybe little Colleen would like the honor."
McCulley was breathing quickly, sweating more obviously now, dark
circles appearing under her arms. At the release of her shoulder, she'd
leaned to the left in her chair, trying to put as much distance between
herself and Delano as possible. Her eyes had not left Mulder during the
entire exchange. There was no way to reassure her without giving
himself away to Delano. She'd just have to stay strong on her own.
"Whether it's Agent McCulley or me doesn't really matter. There's no
sense in either of us talking with them unless there's something worth
talking about. You're going to have to make a decision soon. You'll
have to tell them what you want."
"What I want? What I want?! No one can give me what I want, Agent
Mulder. No one. It's too late for that."
Mulder felt the chill down his spine, felt his blood run cold. He had
thought he understood what Delano wanted. Maybe not why, maybe not
why now, but at least he thought he understood the what. But he was
wrong. He knew that now. Knew with a certainty born of intuition's
bounty, this man sitting across the room from him still held the cards.
Still expected to make the headlines he'd anticipated. Delano had to know
they'd evacuated the hospital and still he was self-assured and confident
of whatever outcome he intended.
Mulder tried to work it out, tried to understand where he'd gone wrong in
his prior hypothesis. Delano had set his bombs somewhere. Mulder was
still sure of that. But now he knew the location was wrong. It couldn't
have been the hospital. It wasn't this hospital. God damn it! Pull back a
layer and there were more fucking layers. What the hell was this guy up
to? Where had he planted the bombs?
Delano started laughing out loud. He'd seen the younger man's
expression change, oh so minimally. But it was enough. Mulder hadn't
been as fast on the uptake as Delano had expected, but still, he hadn't
done too badly, all things considered.
Mulder sank back in the chair, suddenly weak, no longer able to continue
the charade of strength and control. His body was protesting this
treatment. Protesting the cyclic rush of adrenaline that brought it to alert,
only to allow it to crash minutes later, followed by yet another high.
Nature's drug held him in her exquisite sway.
"Why?"
Mulder realized it sounded pathetic, pleading. But for that brief moment,
that few seconds needed to ask the question, he was flooded with the
belief that he'd already lost this game. Delano had made all the right
moves and Mulder was lagging too far behind to ever catch up. But it
was for a moment only -- one breath, two rapid heartbeats, a sluggish
blink of his eyes. And then his fortitude surfaced yet again, causing him
to sit just a bit straighter -- to concentrate that much more on Delano's
words.
"Agent Mulder, I'll assume you're just not yourself right now. That
wasn't worthy of you."
Mulder felt the heat rush to his face and he welcomed it. Delano's
arrogance, his condescension, his fucking superiority -- it made him
angry and he needed that anger. He needed it, wanted it, reveled in it. It
reinforced the desire to win this contemptible game.
Mulder's head was pounding with the pressure, the tension, and most of
all the responsibility that had fallen on him to end this without bloodshed
and further destruction. Scully and Skinner couldn't know yet about the
hospital not being the target. They wouldn't have had time yet to set up a
listening device. Delano's knowledge of Bureau and hostage negotiation
tactics would prevent them from taking the advantages they so desperately
needed.
Mulder raised a lightly shaking right hand to his forehead, his head tilting
sideways and forward of its own accord to meet it. He closed his eyes
briefly, became aware of the rough texture of his thumb at his temple, the
light brushing of hair against his fingers. Every sound in the room was
magnified, every movement recognized for what it was, as his
consciousness expanded momentarily to bring him an all encompassing
awareness of his surroundings.
He found his thoughts turning to butterflies and rain forests, chaos and
complexity theory intertwined, and wondered almost idly what the
sequence of events had been that had shaped this man's life. That turned
a man who Skinner had considered a friend and a man of honor into this
monster before him. Mulder opened his eyes, wearily, arm propped once
again on the chair's arm, and stared at Delano, taking in his appearance
for the first time.
The older agent wore a dark gray suit and white shirt, a fashionable tie at
his neck. But the clothes hung on him loosely, as if he'd lost weight
suddenly. The suit was crumpled, possibly having been slept in. His
hair was a bit long for Bureau standards, his sideburns untrimmed.
Mulder was suddenly amazed at his own lack of awareness over the past
several days. Why had no one noticed the downward spiral that had to
have accompanied Delano's more recent descent into madness?
He tried to recall all he knew of this man, from Skinner's comments as
well as his own interactions, in the hopes of identifying some indication
of the trigger. He flashed on a recollection of the man's phone
conversation the first time Mulder was in his office. And something
started niggling at the back of Mulder's mind, trying to break through to
the foreground. He dropped his hand and turned fully towards Delano.
He knew the right question now, but had to make sure it came out the
right way. Not threatening, not antagonistic. Merely curious, sincere.
"How's your wife, sir?"
Delano jerked, obviously not expecting this leap, this question from left
field that cut into him so surely. Mulder fought to keep his expression
neutral, even as Delano's turned anguished. The man's voice shook with
suppressed fury and distress.
"She's not a part of this. Leave her the hell out of it."
Mulder considered carefully. His next words could set this man off, or
could lead him down the path of surrender.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up a painful subject. I just thought
she might be worried about you. About where you are and if you're all
right."
He waited breathless, watching the play of expressions across Delano's
strong face. His release came finally when the man answered, eyes
tearing, voice shaking, practically a whisper.
"She's dying. She slipped into a coma last night."
Mulder saw McCulley's eyes widen, saw her shift in her seat, as if to
turn, and he willed her to stay quiet and still. He shook his head minutely
and sighed internally in relief when she acknowledged with a slow blink.
He focused on the SAC once more.
"I'm very sorry. I hope she hasn't suffered."
Delano's demeanor once again shifted, anger and anguish mixing equally.
"She was in pain for five years. Five fucking year's worth of it."
Delano turned to Mulder, eyes beseeching.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to lose someone you love with every
ounce of your being? To watch them waste away in front of your eyes,
seeing doctor after doctor, having test after test? And there's nothing you
can do. Do you have any idea of what that's like?"
Mulder practically lost the ability to breathe as his eyes were filled with
visions of Scully in the hospital, bone thin, eyes black with circles of
exhaustion, arms bruised by needle marks. Visions of his partner, his
best friend whom he would kill for, had killed for, dying a
simultaneously slow and terrifyingly fast death from the cancer eating its
way towards her brain.
"I know."
Delano paused at the reply. Mulder was white, shaking, wiping at his
eyes to clear away a vision too painful to relive.
"You do. You really do."
Mulder looked up again at the SAC's words, which had been spoken
with a tinge of wonder and perhaps even respect. As if having such an
understanding somehow made him more worthy in this man's eyes.
"Yes, I believe I do understand."
Mulder fought to maintain a professional distance. He could indeed
understand the anguish of the last several years, the agony of losing the
man's wife. But Delano had killed fourteen people out of spite and
revenge well before the ill health of his wife had befallen them. He had to
answer for his actions. He was still a monster. And worse, he was a
monster who now had absolutely nothing to lose.
*******************************************
Thursday, 9:21 p.m.
Dallas Hospital Parking Lot, Command Center Truck
Scully glanced down at the digital clock set into the panel for at least the
twentieth time since they'd been disconnected a little more than ten
minutes ago. She looked to the right where Skinner sat, arms folded
across his chest, expression set in a glower. Then turned left towards the
hostage negotiator.
"So how long should we give them?"
The man turned towards her, forehead creased in thought. Then shot a
glance to Skinner and Mander in silent query, one eyebrow raised. Jake
merely shrugged at him. Skinner sighed and stared at the phone before
speaking.
"I say we let Mulder call the shots."
There was a quick knock at the open door of the truck and all heads
turned to the rear.
Agent Knight stood in the doorway, a package held outright towards
Mander, who was closest.
"Sirs, Ma'am, this just came in from the Dallas Bureau. They've got
SAC Delano's history for the past several years."
Jake reached down and grabbed the package, nodding quickly. He
turned and offered it to Skinner, without even opening it. It took only a
quick glance at the pages for Skinner to understand they were in deep
shit. Delano had no family except his wife, and her declining health had
hit the man hard. She was in the hospital right now, in a coma. Wasn't
expected to regain consciousness again before dying. Delano now had
nothing at all to restrain him, nothing to lose, nothing worth living for.
Skinner swallowed and passed the pages to Scully, then took his glasses
off, rubbed the bridge of his nose with his right hand. Damn, how could
he have so lost touch with this man.
Skinner realized that he really didn't know Delano. Knew nothing about
him. About his family, about his wife. All he knew was that they had
been friends some twenty-five or more years ago, at a time when you
trusted your companions with your life, trusted them to watch your back
and pull you out when you couldn't make it on your own. When your
world was filled with air so muggy you had to fight to breathe. When
you never knew if the dirt beneath your feet covered a tunnel mined to
blow on the unsuspecting. When the rain fell in huge sheets of pounding
misery for weeks at a time. When the next rice field could hold a fucking
battalion of North Vietnamese, just waiting to ambush your unit. When
you were far from home and anything resembling security, so made a
new family of the men fighting with you.
Skinner rubbed his hand over his face once more, wishing fervently to
wipe away this reality facing him, wanting more than anything to open
his eyes and discover it was someone else, anyone else, other than this
man who had saved his life so many times all those years ago. He put his
glasses back on and turned to face Scully.
She was still reading the last page of the report, the others having been
handed off to Mander. She was hoping to glean some critical piece of
information that would provide them a so critical insight. She looked up
at him, forehead creased in concentration and concern.
"Sir, his wife, Agnes ... she's at this hospital."
Skinner immediately knew the comment was significant. He could see
Jake Mander off to the side, jerking to attention. He knew what she was
suggesting but wasn't sure just what it meant.
"Yes, she is. But she's dying, not expected to last the day out."
Jake sorted through the pages in his hand once more, reached out and
took the one sitting in front of Scully, then scanned it quickly.
"Dana's right. It wouldn't matter. He wouldn't blow the hospital where
his wife was. No way."
There was a long silence as they absorbed this new information, tried to
make it fit with what was known about Delano and what the man wanted.
Scully broke the silence.
"Where is his wife now? They've been evacuating. Wouldn't she have
been taken with the others?"
Jake was shaking his head.
"No, those in the critical care unit are the last to be moved and some of
them won't be at all. The move itself would kill them."
Skinner was looking confused.
"Then he's just waiting it out. Waiting until all the patients are moved,
including his wife."
Scully was now emphatic in her denial.
"I don't think so, sir. Something is wrong here. His wife can't be
moved with the degree of life support presently required. He had to have
known that."
They sat again, each trying to understand it. Skinner heard Scully take a
loud, shaky breath and turned more fully to look at her.
"What, Scully? What is it?"
She had paled considerably, obviously due to more than the remnants of
the concussion.
"Where are they taking the evacuated patients? Are they all going to the
same place or are they being distributed to multiple hospitals?"
Skinner blinked at the question, turned to Mander, eyebrow raised.
"I'll find out."
Jake was out the door and running in seconds. Skinner could hear his
voice yelling in the background.
"Scully, you're suggesting he might have wired the other hospitals?"
She was nodding, slowly then quicker. She didn't look at all well.
Skinner experienced an irrational surge of irritation. She should be in
bed, resting quietly with someone bringing her juice and books, changing
the television station for her. Instead, here she sat, just out of the
hospital
herself, pale and shaky, but outfitted in vest and jacket, fully prepared to
charge in there to rescue her partner.
"Yes, sir. It would be a statement in and of itself in a way."
"How does that make sense? What would he gain? I mean, the schools
from the seventies and the agents on the team, that at least makes some
sort of sense because it was about revenge. Why would he blow up these
hospitals, killing hundreds of innocent people? I just don't see it,
Scully."
"But what is he most angry about now? He killed the agents not out of
revenge but to prevent anyone from finding out what he'd done twenty
years ago. That was part of it at least, or the initial reason. He didn't
want his life disrupted. And along the way, he turned it into a chance to
show everyone how smart he was. But even as he was being so smart
and eliminating these agents one by one in such a way that no one even
noticed, even as he was doing that, his wife was going from one hospital
in this city to another for treatment for her cancer. Maybe he was trying
to establish control over this one aspect of his life since he'd lost it in
the
other. And now his wife is dying and he wants to make all those doctors
and hospitals that were responsible pay."
Skinner exchanged glances with the hostage negotiator, licked his lips,
sighed heavily. God damn it, it seemed like it made sense. Could Delano
have actually done it? Could he have cold-heartedly wired several
hospitals to blow? Fuck! Skinner shook his head and turned to the
truck's back doors without a word. He needed to speak with Mander --
now.
*******************************************
Thursday, 10:41 p.m.
Dallas Hospital, Conference Room
Mulder was tired. He needed to be in bed, flat on his back. He knew it,
his body knew it. His shoulder throbbed in concert with his head. His
legs were actually shaking in exhaustion, his right arm so weak it lay
limply in his lap. For the past hour or more, he'd engaged in seemingly
benign conversation with the crazy man across the room. McCulley
hadn't moved, seemed to be in a daze in fact. Probably completely
confused by the topics in which he and Delano had meandered, not
understanding that talking about absolutely nothing at least prevented the
man from acting out his irrational fantasies.
Mulder was completely slumped in the chair, rear end practically hanging
off the end of the seat, head tilted back, but eyes still focused on Delano.
He knew he wouldn't be able to last until morning. He had to control this
somehow.
"Sir, I've been wondering about your wife. How she is. Wouldn't you
like to get an update on her condition?"
Mulder forced himself to sit up more in the chair, leaned forward
somewhat to prop his right arm on the table. He watched Delano
carefully and was reassured that the man hadn't reacted violently to his
question.
"I ... I guess I would, actually."
The man said the words almost as if he were surprised at some previously
unrecognized revelation.
"Make the call, Mulder."
Mulder nodded, leaned right and picked up the phone quickly, then
paused. Who the hell was he calling? He decided and punched in the
right number, sighed finally when the familiar voice answered.
"It's me, Scully."
He heard the rapid whisper on the other end, letting those with her know
who was on the phone, then said, "SAC Delano would like an update on
his wife, if possible. Could you call back with the information for us?"
"Can he hear? Only respond if the answer is yes."
He stayed silent.
"We think he's wired several other hospitals where his wife received
treatment. We're pretty sure this one's clear."
"Okay, Scully, we'll wait for your call here."
Mulder moved to disconnect the phone then, recognizing that Delano was
getting anxious. He heard Scully's faint "Be careful" even as he set the
receiver down. He was perversely pleased that they'd managed a
communication about which Delano was unaware. The sound of his
partner's voice at the other end of the line made him feel alone. He began
to realize just how much he depended on her, how much he missed her
now. Missed her calm voice, her soothing presence. He prayed he'd
experience both again soon.
*******************************************
Thursday, 10:46 p.m.
Dallas Hospital Parking Lot, Command Center Truck
Skinner couldn't sit down. He'd been alternating between pacing outside
and hovering over Scully's shoulder. Every time she got fed up with the
shadowy presence at her shoulder, she would shoot him a look that
clearly said, 'Back off unless you want me to kick you in the shins.'
Now though they were trying to decide what they should tell Delano.
The news wasn't good. The truth could send the man completely over
the edge. He looked down at Scully, then over to Fletcher, the hostage
negotiator.
"So, do we tell him his wife died?"
Fletcher and Scully were both shaking their heads, confirming his own
instinct.
"Then what do we tell him? And is there any message we should try to
get to Mulder?"
Scully turned and looked up at him.
"Delano knows she was worsening. We should tell him that. We tell
him she's critical, that she's grown weaker. That she hasn't been moved
from the hospital because of her condition, but that we've evacuated
almost everyone else. That he still has a chance to see her. That there's a
skeleton medical crew so it's difficult to communicate. Maybe we can get
him out of the conference room. Get him away from Mulder."
Skinner didn't comment for several seconds. Decided not even to
mention the fact that Mulder wasn't the only one being held. He knew
Scully was drained, still not recovered from the car accident, and more
than anything, concerned for her partner. She was looking up at him,
eyes wide, the exhaustion clearly dragging at her words.
"We need to let Mulder know somehow. Get him to encourage Delano to
check on his wife."
"And how do you propose we do that? We have about thirty seconds.
We have to respond now."
"I know, sir. Let me call."
*******************************************
Thursday, 10:48 p.m.
Dallas Hospital, Conference Room
Delano had the gun back up to McCulley's temple and was shouting,
obviously losing it.
"It's taking too fucking long. What the hell are they doing?"
Mulder's body had again forgotten it's exhaustion. His muscles strained
with his own desire that the phone ring. He was knew they were
deciding on a course of action at the other end. Understood that it took
some time. But goddamn it, Delano was flipping out here. He took his
eyes away from the man and glanced yet again at the phone, willing it to
ring. And it did. He let loose a breath he hadn't known he was holding
and punched the speaker button quickly. He cleared his throat noisily and
looked back at Delano as he answered.
"Mulder here. You're on speaker."
"Sorry it took so long. We've evacuated the hospital and we had a hard
time getting hold of the single remaining staff person in the Critical Care
Unit. There are still a few patients left in the hospital who just couldn't
be moved. SAC Delano's wife is among them."
Scully paused then and Mulder found his eyes returning to the phone,
wondering where they were headed on the other end with such apparent
honesty.
"Okay, Scully. Do you have an update on her condition?"
Scully's voice was strong and sure, no evidence of duplicity leaking
through.
"Yes, we were able to reach the doctor there. She's weakened. She
hasn't regained consciousness. Mulder, the doctor thinks she might have
a few more hours, at most."
Mulder knew she was trying to tell him something but wasn't sure what.
He didn't answer immediately, tried to work through options. Delano
was not very vulnerable right now. The SWAT and Bureau hostage
retrieval teams wouldn't be able to get him easily while he was holed up
in this conference room. He needed to get the man out in the hall. And
Scully had provided him with the excuse.
Only a couple seconds had passed but Mulder felt the pressure to
respond.
"Okay, Scully. I understand. Thank you for the update. Hold on please
while I speak with SAC Delano."
He reached down and hit the phone hard with his finger, just to the right
of the hold button. He prayed they'd be quiet on the other end, prayed
that Delano wouldn't question his move, wouldn't question whether they
were really still on speaker or not.
"Sir, is there anything you'd like me to tell them? Perhaps you'd like to
see her ... one last time. I imagine we could arrange it somehow. They
wouldn't even have to know, since they've evacuated. The halls should
be clear between here and there."
Mulder knew this was complete nonsense. Knew there were agents
outside the door in the hall, in the rooms on either side, hell probably
even in the ductwork overhead. But he'd watched Delano deteriorate
even further over the past several hours. Had watched the man start to
collapse in on himself, become ever more disassociate. Perhaps he was
tired and crazy enough to not think this through.
Mulder flicked his eyes to McCulley, pleased to see she was alert, still
following everything. She understood what he was trying to do. He
looked back at the man once more and saw the indecision warring with a
longing born of almost twenty years of marriage to the woman he loved
more than life itself, more than anything. Mulder kept his voice soft,
compassionate even as he spoke to the SAC.
"Sir, what should I tell them?"
Delano had moved away from McCulley once more, the gun dropping
down to point towards her back instead of her head. He'd slouched in
the chair somewhat, leaning heavily against the back. His eyes now
roamed around the room, every once in a while coming to rest on
Mulder's own. He focused finally, seeming to have reached a decision.
"Tell them we'll call them back later then hang up."
"All right, sir."
Mulder started to turn towards the phone again, had his hand reached to
hit his fake button once more, when he realized he needed to get a little
more information to those listening. He paused and turned back to
Delano.
"Sir, we can probably get in to see her and get back here within a half
hour. Should I tell them not to call us at all?"
"Yes, yes. Tell them we'll initiate any contact."
Mulder reached back once more and this time completed the stab with his
finger.
"Scully, can you hear me?"
"Yes, we're here."
"SAC Delano wants to thank you for the update. We'll call back in a
while. Wait for us to call, don't call here."
Scully's voice continued to remain steady but he sensed her own
exhaustion and frustration. Sensed her parallel desire for this to all be
over. But something would happen now. Someplace between the
conference room and the critical care unit one floor down, something
would happen to end this, one way or the other.
"Do you understand, Scully?"
"Yes, we understand."
There was a slight pause before she said anything further.
"Mulder, be careful."
It was hard to breathe, hard to force the words out through the sudden
overwhelming surge of desire that flooded him. Desire for peace and
quiet, desire for a slow evening, lounging on the couch, watching a video
with Scully and eating pizza. Desire for some boring case that would take
them to some boring town with some boring claim of UFO's or mutants
or government plots. It all suddenly seemed enticingly boring and
excruciatingly unreachable -- but exquisitely desirable. His voice was
cracked as he forced the words finally.
"I will, Scully. You too."
*******************************************
Less than ten minutes later, they were ready. Mulder had suggested that
having all three of them walking around the halls was a bit unwieldy.
He'd managed to convince Delano that he was hostage enough, at least
for the next few minutes. Delano had secured McCulley to a stationary
cabinet with handcuffs and now had his gun turned to Mulder's back. He
stood close and Mulder could feel the man's breath puffing in quick
spurts at his neck. They stood at the conference room door and Mulder
sent a silent prayer that the hallways would be clear.
Mulder held his right hand out, away from his body. He wanted to do
nothing that would set this man off. They still had no idea how he'd
rigged his bombs. Delano could easily have a trigger on his body, or a
remote control. Mulder had won two small battles in getting the SAC
away from the conference room and in getting him to leave McCulley
behind. A few more wins like that and this could actually end well.
"Okay, Mulder. Open it slowly. Then keep your arm out to the side."
Mulder nodded and complied, eyes immediately scanning to right and left
as it opened. Good, they'd pulled back. He tried to figure out where
they'd be. Maybe the stairwell. Maybe outside the elevator. Maybe in
the critical care unit. He just wasn't sure. In the meantime, Mulder tried
to keep loose. Tried to concentrate on the gun at his left ankle. He'd
made sure, with every move of his legs over the last several hours, that
the bulge would not be obvious. It would require some innovation on his
part to contrive the right situation to get to it without alerting Delano
to its
existence. Perhaps a stumble, a little fall to the ground that would bring
his legs forward, near his right hand.
His own breath was fast and heavy, even while his body slow and
awkward. His normal self-confident gait had been replaced by a dull
shuffle, feet hardly leaving the ground with each step. He had
automatically moved to the left, towards the end of the hall where the
stairwell was. Delano followed, gun pushing hard in his lower back to
spur him on.
Just as they reached the door to the stairs, the SAC grabbed him from
behind by the left shoulder, causing a surge of pain that he'd almost
managed to forget about. His eyesight darkened momentarily and the
sweat flowed slick on his palms. He felt his knees start to give out, even
as Delano shifted his hand away. Mulder fought the blackness and forced
his eyes to remain open, his knees to lock. He hung his head for a
moment, gripped the door trim with his right hand and just breathed. He
heard Delano mutter, "Sorry" behind him, and almost laughed at the
absurdity. Then the man spoke.
"Listen close, Mulder. I'm going to let go of your left shoulder. In my
left hand I'll be holding a switch that will set off my little pyrotechnic
display. In my right will be my gun, trained at your back. Don't try to
run, don't try to escape. And if we see anyone, you better send them on
their way, or I'll blow my targets. Got it?"
Mulder tried to steady his breathing. He prayed Scully and Skinner had
heard the man. He was sure there was surveillance somewhere around,
even though he couldn't detect it himself. He managed a nod and then
moved to open the door.
As they entered the stairwell, Mulder glanced again up and down, seeing
no one. Hearing nothing. They seemed to be alone. But he caught sight
of the standard surveillance video cam up in the corner and knew they'd
be watched. His mind worked frantically, trying to find a way to get the
trigger away from Delano. The intense pain of a moment ago reminded
him yet again that his left arm was next to useless. He tried to move it
and was pleased that it responded. It was painful, but he could use it if
necessary. He started moving his arm slightly, trying to disengage from
the sling, so it would be ready to yank out in one move.
They'd started down the stairs now and their footsteps echoed hollowly
in the deserted space. Mulder intentionally moved to the right to grab the
hand rail, and risked a glance backwards. He felt rewarded when he
caught sight of the device in Delano's left hand. It was a small black box,
with four switches running in a vertical line. It appeared as if it had been
strapped to Delano's palm, so Mulder discarded immediately any notion
of knocking it away. At least the man was holding his gun in his right
hand, so Mulder would have a slight advantage there.
They were only a third the way down the first flight of stairs when
Mulder stumbled. He kept hold of the rail, trying to keep upright as he
allowed his knees to fold under him just so. It was contrived, staged so
that he might have a chance at gaining some advantage. But it looked and
sounded real enough that Delano wasn't particularly alarmed. Mulder
cried out "Shit" as he bumped into the wall, then gasped with pain as he
curled protectively about his middle. The gasp was not entirely
manufactured.
He was folded forward over his curled legs, back still to Delano. He
grabbed the gun and shifted it to his left hand quickly, pulled his left arm
into the sling so it wouldn't be immediately obvious. He was pretty sure
they'd be able to see what he'd done on the surveillance cam. Then he
started to straighten, being sure to groan and curse realistically.
"God damn it, I don't need this shit."
Delano barely moved as Mulder fought to right himself. He was standing
straight again, leaning against the right wall as if he needed the support.
He turned to Delano, adopting an expression of pained innocence.
"I'm getting a bit tired, sir. Don't know how much more walking I can
take."
He moved his right arm to grip his left slightly, silently reminding Delano
that he'd been injured and in the hospital himself. He hoped he appeared
as pathetic and nonthreatening as he felt. Delano gestured down the stairs
with his gun.
"Quit stalling, Mulder. Let's go."
Mulder turned his back to the man again, flicked his eyes up to the
camera, being sure not to move his head. He wondered who might be
watching. Was Skinner there? Was Scully? Or were they in the building
somewhere, waiting for the right time to make their entrance?
He continued down the stairs slowly and realized the straight-away
separating the flights offered an opportunity. An opportunity for him to
turn his body before Delano would turn his own. An opportunity to be
one step lower as Delano was making the turn himself. An opportunity to
possibly knock the gun out of the man's hand and grab the other to
prevent triggering the bombs. But a possibility wasn't be enough. He
had to be sure. And he had to decide in the next two seconds or the
opportunity would be lost.
*******************************************
Thursday, 11:23 p.m.
Dallas Hospital Parking Lot, Command Center Truck
Scully had both hands gripped tightly in front of her as she watched her
partner play the few cards he had available. She'd lost the argument
about being in on the assault teams and knew Skinner had been right.
She wasn't up to it physically. At least from this station, she knew
exactly what was happening and could provide them with sufficient
intelligence to minimize Mulder's risk. She was in constant
communication with Jake's team on the CCU floor and Skinner's team on
the floor above. She knew Skinner stood at the stairwell door, ready to
enter at her word. It reassured her somewhat.
She saw Mulder glance up towards the camera as he struggled to stand
after his tumble and felt as if he were looking straight at her. When he'd
fallen she'd stopped breathing for several seconds, had evidently made
some sort of strangling sound to gauge by Skinner and Jake's reactions.
But she'd quickly recognized what was happening and had relayed the
information to them. She'd also seen the switch box in Delano's hand
and had warned them to move slowly, give Mulder the chance to control
events.
She'd seen the gun her partner slipped into his left hand, had wondered if
he still had it. The agents who'd been assigned to him at the hospital had
told them he'd been armed when they left the conference room so many
hours earlier. It would perhaps give him some small edge.
Scully couldn't help but be frightened for Mulder. She knew his physical
condition had to have deteriorated rapidly over the last several hours. He
should have been fast asleep hours ago, drugged into a serene slumber
that would see him safely through the night. But instead, he'd been
subjected to hours of tension-filled captivity, with no pain medication,
nothing to help sustain him.
Over the headset she relayed to the teams that Mulder had reached the
platform separating the two flights of stairs. On the screen she saw him
make the turn, and then what happened next was almost too fast to
follow, to comprehend. So fast, it was half over before she could yell at
Skinner and Jake to move.
*******************************************
Thursday, 11:23 p.m.
Dallas Hospital, Stairwell
Mulder made the turn and prepared to step down, gripped the gun tightly
in his left hand and then made his move. He continued the turn to the
left, moving quickly, and swung his left arm around to make contact with
the weapon in Delano's right hand. Mulder's gun effectively added
weight and therefore a much needed additional force that served to loose
Delano's grip from his weapon, sending it clattering noisily down the
stairs. Mulder ignored the pain in his arm, his left shoulder, allowed it to
fall practically useless at his side. He poured all his energy into
maintaining hold of the larger man's left hand, the hand with the triggers.
Mulder had his own right hand wrapped tightly around Delano's left, his
fingers forcing the man's thumb away from the row of switches. And
then suddenly they were off balance, the suddenness of his turn and the
shift in momentum causing them to both start tipping backwards. Even
as they were falling, Mulder heard the slamming of doors from below and
above. Heard the shouts of directions as agents swarmed the stairwell.
But Mulder couldn't think about that now. All he could think about was
the row of switches, the switches that could signal an explosive, fire-
filled death to hundreds of innocents. Could think only about keeping
Delano's thumb from making contact with them.
Mulder dug his feet into the stairs and the railing and forced Delano to fall
past him to the left. He maintained his grip on the SAC's left hand
through the fall, debated in a heartbeat whether to let loose of the gun in
his own left hand and decided against it. He still might need to end this
with a bullet. The arm was useless for anything else at this point.
His own body was being pulled around and down now and he saw the
concrete stairs rushing towards him. But then the slow, intertwined
dance he and Delano had started several seconds ago continued and he
found himself cushioned briefly against the SAC's body as they started
their tumble down the stairs. But the roll and slide continued and he was
on his back then, head hanging over a step so that he caught a view of
Delano upside down.
Mulder's right arm was stretched taut now, was being pulled by the still
sliding body of the larger, heavier man. And the floor shook with
pounding feet as the two teams converged upon them, from below and
above. But they were still too far away and Mulder felt his hand slipping
off Delano's. In a frantic last move, he forced the man's thumb
backwards in a single violent jerk, the snap of the bone loud even
amongst the noise of the assault teams and the scream that was wrenched
from the older agent in response to the sudden pain.
And then Mulder lost contact. And saw Delano raising and turning his
hand, obviously intending to use the wall as leverage to flip the row of
switches. And Mulder's gun was up, in his left hand, pointing in the
vicinity of the SAC's chest. And even as he moved his right hand to
stabilize the shaking left that held the gun, he took his shot. And there
was another shot that rang out a fraction of a second before his own.
Twin geysers of red flowed from Delano's forehead and chest. The
man's body was falling back again and his left hand, trigger box attached,
started it's two foot drop towards the floor, palm down, in thrall to
gravity's inescapable pull.
Mulder, still on his back and pointed head first down the steps, pushed
himself down another stair with his feet, and grabbed at the man's rapidly
falling hand with his own right hand. It couldn't end this way. Couldn't
end with such a travesty of justice. He caught the man's hand barely in
time, just inches from the floor. He grabbed the lifeless hand with his
own to protect the bank of switches from being thrown, thereby robbing
Delano of the revenge the man had planned for so long. The revenge he
had almost managed to take, even in death.
Mulder couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't stop the shaking that
took control of his body, or the tears that flowed silently down his face.
He was gripping Delano's dead hand so tightly that Jake had to pry his
fingers off, one by one. He finally managed to raise his head enough to
look up the stairs, past his splayed legs and feet, up at the agents who'd
gathered behind Skinner -- behind the man who had shot Delano in the
forehead.
Despite his own shock, his own terror that he still fought to control, a
part of Mulder's mind took in the fact that Skinner had shot the man he'd
considered a lifelong friend. The man he'd thrown his arm around in a
companionable moment some twenty-five years ago in a jungle halfway
around the world as another recorded the event for posterity. The man
he'd trusted to guard his back, to bring him home safely. The man he
thought of as a brother.
But Mulder didn't have the energy to consider it any more just now. He
dropped his head back, moved his now free right arm to try to brace
against a step. He had to get up somehow. He had to get the hell out of
this stairwell. He wanted out. He wanted to be free of this nightmare
now. But he couldn't move, couldn't control his body enough to make it
react the right way. Couldn't even stop the tears, or the quiet sobs that
fought with the ragged breaths.
And then there was someone next to him, sinking down on a step beside
him, gripping his right shoulder and arm, stilling his movements. And
for the first time, he became aware that words floated in the air around
him. That the noises he'd been hearing for the past minute qualified as
speech. That Jake had been speaking quietly, reassuringly. And that
Skinner now spoke to him, softly, as if he were a child frightened of the
dark.
"It's okay, Mulder. It's over. It's all over now. Take it easy. It's
over."
Mulder realized it was Skinner who'd sat next to him and was preparing
to help him up. And then Jake was there too, on the other side. He
turned his head towards his boss, lacking the strength even to feel
embarrassed over his tears. The tears that even now he couldn't stop.
But Skinner was looking at him with kindness and concern, tinged with
an obvious regret. There was no condemnation, no censure, no
reproach.
Skinner moved his left hand to his agent's forehead briefly, in a gesture
of reassurance and solace. His voice was filled with such compassion
that Mulder 's tears flowed even more at the unexpected kindness. He
closed his eyes tightly, fighting the weakness that was so betraying him,
wishing for just a moment that the hand had lingered longer.
"You did good, Mulder. You did great."
And when he opened his eyes again, Skinner was still there, still with
him. His boss nodded to him, and gripped his arm tightly once more.
Skinner glanced over to Mander, making sure they pulled Mulder up in
unison. But his agent's words to him made him freeze, before he could
complete the gesture. The words were spoken shakily, whispered in a
voice almost unrecognizable.
"You did too, sir."
Skinner's gaze focused on Mulder's once more. It was difficult to
swallow all of a sudden and his eyes misted despite his internal decision
to avoid such emotional displays. He realized suddenly that he had
needed these words. Had needed to know that he'd made the right
choice, done the right thing. That there had been no other way. And his
agent had given him this gift, easing his mind, easing his spirit, even
though the younger man was exhausted and injured, drained beyond his
limitations.
He saw Mulder close his eyes once more and then go limp, slipping into a
blessed unconsciousness long overdue. At the top of the stairs there was
a disturbance that drew their attention. Scully was there, forcing her way
down the stairs to her partner on shaky legs. Her face was frozen in an
external picture of professionalism, but Skinner could see the fright, the
worry that hovered beneath the surface. He smiled at her slightly in
reassurance and said, "He's okay, Scully. He's okay." He watched her
sink down on a step, and close her eyes. Her lips moved as if in silent
prayer. And he knew both his agents would be all right. He'd make sure
they would be all right.
Skinner took Mulder's arm and shoulder gently and nodded to Jake
Mander. It was time to put his agents to bed.
*******************************************
Wednesday, 6:27 p.m.
Washington, DC, Reflecting Pool
He stood in shadows, leaning against a pillar of granite. He faced the
man head on this time, faced the image of the 16th President of the United
States -- the image of Lincoln, that had always seemed to him to portray
the epitome of wisdom and justice.
Skinner considered the word again as he had only twelve days ago. Only
days in reality but a lifetime in perception. He considered the word --
justice. Thought about the events of the last week and a half and decided
finally that justice could sometimes be achieved. Could sometimes be
served. Because there were still men and women in the world who
believed in honor and truth. Who would sacrifice themselves to uphold
the law, and to protect the innocent. Men and women with the integrity
and sense of duty to recognize that it is the intent of man's laws that must
be preserved in order for justice to be achieved in reality.
He turned then from the towering figure, at ease finally with his own
human fallibility, relishing for the first time the challenges such
fallibility
created. The turbulence of his inner doubts were calmed. He was aware
then of a hope that swelled in him slowly, filling the void that had dictated
his beliefs for so very long. And the hope was a seed that took root in his
soul.
Skinner looked down towards the Reflecting Pool. They were there,
sitting on a bench beside the pool. His agents had come for him. It was
time to thank them for their help. It was time to thank them for showing
him the way, for showing him that the pursuit of justice was still worth
fighting for.
*******************************************
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