Title - A Case of Compromise
Rating - PG (but with a warning for strong language)
Classification - X
Author - Joann Humby 
Summary:
It's 1991, Mulder has the X-Files and no partner. Scully is working 
at Quantico. A Senator's daughter goes missing and Mulder's
life gets difficult. 
While there are no actual spoilers in here, the story is consistent 
with Mulder's and Scully's histories as revealed up to the end of 
season 5. It explains some of what led to Scully's assignment to 
the X-Files. 
Incidentally it was written before Pine Bluff Variant, Folie a Deux 
and The End were broadcast. If you stick around, you'll see why I 
find that funny! 
Joann
jhumby@iee.org
Your comments, for better or worse, are always appreciated...
Legally speaking:
The characters belong to CC, Fox and 1013 and their souls belong to 
DD and GA, but I promise not to hurt them and to return them later. 
I've borrowed them for fun not profit. This story, is mine and may 
only be copied uncommercially, intact and with my name still 
attached. 
======================

1991 
Bill Patterson was not a happy man. In fact, he was furious and 
only the measured acting of one schooled in reading others through 
their body language stood between him and discovery. Bill was not 
used to receiving orders. Giving them, obviously. Accepting 
requests for support from a doting organization, naturally. But an 
order, albeit gently delivered and offered with a suitable degree 
of fawning and flattery, that was a rare and unwelcome novelty. 
The fact that they had brought the mess upon themselves should have 
offered him some satisfaction, given him some space to gloat. 
Unfortunately the wound, which they had so casually, yet diligently 
reopened, was still a little too raw.
Stealing Mulder straight out of Quantico basic training had been 
cradle snatching. Patterson had acknowledged that, so had his 
fellow managers. Patterson fondly remembered the arguments, the 
memos about Standard Operating Procedures, minimum entry 
requirements, guidelines for the assignment of fresh green young 
agents. The objections raised, overruled and dismissed. Because of 
course, Fox Mulder had been such a beautiful baby, that the 
fighting had all been worthwhile. 
The head of the ISU's thoughts drifted back to the present dilemma. 
He breathed carefully, he had told them so. Blevins had wanted the 
Bureau's problem child for himself and now he couldn't control him. 
They needed Patterson to rein him in. Bill could see some humor in 
the situation. 
--------------- 
Painstaking, was how her Pathology Professor would have described 
it. Painfully tedious was Dana Scully's own term. The autopsy to 
date had not been particularly complex, nor even particularly 
revealing. She sought out the hands of the clock, 9pm. She'd 
started work on the body before 9 that morning and she still had 
miles to go. 
Mark Rosen surveyed her through bright brown eyes and grinned, 
offered a brief raised eyebrow in her direction. "He's not going 
anywhere. Let's say we save him for morning." 
Scully blinked hard and felt her tired eyes come up with a long 
list of objections to reopening. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. If I 
keep going I may miss something." She looked down at the body that 
they had been unraveling from its concrete tomb, gently patted the 
dried parchment of the cadaver's skin. "See you, tomorrow." 
The pathologists packed away surgical tools and tissue samples, 
moving as one, well schooled dancers shifting in rhythm. She was 
glad that it was Rosen who was assisting, anyone else and the 
temptation to prove herself by working through the night would have 
itched. She was grateful that he had suggested the break, it meant 
she could actually walk away without even the faintest twinge of 
conscience. 
Dana Scully turned off the lights while Mark Rosen held the door. 
"Tomorrow." They agreed as a parting call. 
Half an hour later and she was curled up on her own couch. The 
lasagna had microwaved itself back to life, the coffee was good and 
the TV was lazy. She sunk into the cushions and nibbled at a piece 
of garlic bread. 
Phones are the work of satan, she decided, as hers picked that 
moment to call out balefully in her ear. Her body demanded that she 
leave it to the machine, but some nagging bit of her brain argued 
that ringing phones cannot be ignored. She picked up the handset. 
"Hello." 
"Dana." 
She sighed, half with pleasure, half with frustration. Of course 
Jack was going to phone. Did he have to phone now, when she'd just 
sat down for the first time in hours, when she finally had some 
real food to eat? She'd been talking into that damned autopsy 
microphone all day, she didn't have any words left. She shifted 
uncomfortably. Jack Willis is on the phone, Jack, your lover, she 
carefully reminded herself. She told her mouth to smile, you can 
hear smiles, even down a phone line. 
"Hi. I've just got in. Long day. How's things?" 
"Something's come up on that case, I'm going out of town. I was 
going to come over." 
Of course. She looked at the lasagna, the TV, the couch. Her brain 
offered her an image of cherry chocolate icecream lying in wait in 
the icebox. She tried not to sigh. 
Jack broke in on the overlong silence. "If you're busy. Tired. Then 
I won't. Just thought. It would be nice. You've been busy. I've 
been busy. I'm going out of town. Just thought. Good to get 
together for a while." 
She looked at the clock. By the time he got here, hung up his 
jacket, drunk her coffee, then the rest of the get together would 
have to be conducted in bed. Damn it. She had been planning on 
watching a little wallpaper TV and then taking a leisurely shower. 
Her only bedtime plan for tonight had been for a little junk 
reading. She suddenly felt very ashamed. Was she really going to 
put off her real human lover, to snuggle up with a plate of ice 
cream and a not too good book? 
"No. That's fine." She forced out. Smile in place. 
Jack sighed happily. "I've missed you. I didn't want to go off 
without saying goodbye." 
They closed the call. 'Saying goodbye.' She shook her head, her 
mouth relaxing into a softly embarrassed smile. That was such a 
domestically polite way of phrasing it. She moved to tidy the 
bedroom. 
---------------- 
Mulder picked irritably at the imaginary hairs and fibers on his 
charcoal gray suit. Best suit, he noted idly, musing over the 
ramifications of his choice. Weddings, funerals and proving to his 
old boss that he wasn't yet a complete loser. Some hopes. 
Twenty-five minutes. Not long to wait. After all, Mulder had been 
through this kind of training exercise before. Been ordered to sit 
and stay outside Bill's office until his carefully constructed 
screens had sprung leaks and his nerves had broken through. Great. 
He read the newspaper. Maybe the world had once been a happier 
place, it didn't look like a very happy place now. Or maybe that 
was all just a genetic thing, if you have the happy gene you see 
the world as a happy place. If you don't? You put on your best suit 
and wait for your old boss. 
It wasn't really that many minutes more before Patterson invited 
him into his office. Mulder rechecked his watch. Not a record. Good 
enough though. After all, his hands hadn't been sweating when he 
first arrived. 
Patterson waved him to a seat. "No need to stand on ceremony, Agent 
Mulder." 
Mulder nodded politely as he took his place, moved carefully into 
position and sat up straight, elbows resting neatly on the armrests 
of the chair. 
Bill studied him for too long, swallowing him in. "Very good. Tidy, 
well presented. Not spooky at all." 
Mulder's fingers tried to flinch closed, but he refused to allow 
it, sat up a little straighter. "Good to see you too, Sir." 
Bill slowly nodded his head to acknowledge the blatant lie, the 
illusion of the politely spoken words so eloquently spoiled by the 
shiny contemptuous eyes of his old subordinate. "You've not seen 
the case?" 
Responding to reflex, Mulder swallowed, embarrassed about something 
that his brain knew he had no reason to be embarrassed about. 
Ashamed that he didn't know why he'd got a call from Blevins' 
secretary telling him to go directly to Quantico, do not pass go, 
do not ask questions. On balance, he decided that Patterson's 
question was rhetorical. 
The casefile was the one open on Bill Patterson's desk. At least 
that was Mulder's assumption. "May I see the file?" He held out a 
hand. The hand was ignored, after a few seconds Mulder let it drop 
back to rest on his thigh. Felt his jaw clench and relax. 
Patterson moved on, content that his point had been made, his 
authority asserted. "I'll summarize. It's a missing person. Sixteen 
year old girl. Linda Roberts." 
"Why have I been requested?" 
"It's political. Senator's daughter. And a strange lack of 
evidence. Odd. Seems your name is known in some circles. They seem 
to think your presence would indicate that the Bureau are serious. 
God bless the naive, hey Mulder?" 
Mulder shuffled deeper into the chair, trying to get some sense 
of protection from the upholstery, failing. "What happened to her?" 
"That's what they want us to find out." 
Mulder glared back, suddenly finding adrenaline from the surge of 
irritation that Patterson had provoked. Obvious really. If they'd 
found a body or something it would be in the newspapers, on the TV. 
Whatever was happening here, a news blackout was in place. Spat out 
the reply. "So she's missing and there has been no ransom demand." 
"Finally. So your wits haven't been completely washed away." A 
pause, purely for effect. "No problems at home or school. Looks 
like she was wearing nightclothes and slippers, didn't take any 
money with her." Patterson waved a hand to beckon a response. 
"Not a runaway." 
"The alarms weren't tripped, no obvious forced entry to the house." 
Patterson leaned forward, urgent. 
"Inside help." 
"No word from her kidnapper. No ransom demand. No clues. No 
suspicious strangers before or since. No sightings of her since the 
night she went. Three days ago." Another wave of the hand. 
Mulder failed to answer. 
"Likeliest prognosis, Agent Mulder. Dead or alive?" 
Mulder raised his eyes to stare hard into Bill Patterson's. 
"Likeliest is irrelevant, Sir. She's either dead or alive. 
Percentages don't come into it." 
"But what do you believe?" 
"I want to believe." 
Bill stopped Mulder before he got the chance to finish the 
sentence. "That's your problem. You always do." 
---------------- 
The body in the concrete sarcophagus was emerging. Bug from the 
chrysalis. 
"Oh, gross," mumbled Rosen as they revealed the last few square 
inches of the corpse. They had left the face to last, so they could 
refine their techniques on less crucial parts of the anatomy. 
Dana Scully looked over to see what would provoke such a response 
from an ME who already had over ten years experience on the clock. 
She studied the view. The teeth were missing. The face had been 
melted away. 
Rosen spoke first. "Looks like they removed the teeth and then used 
acid to destroy the face, same as with the fingertips. Someone 
really didn't want us to identify the murder victim." 
Not a strictly appropriate statement for the record. Dana Scully 
sighed. "At present we have not determined the cause of death. We 
don't know that the person is a victim of anything." 
Rosen looked back at her, at first startled by and then nodding his 
agreement at her pedantry. A slow smile formed on his lips. "Well 
anyway. I won't be recommending his funeral company." 
The laughter from the two pathologists came as a bit of a shock to 
the young Agent who arrived at the room. Scully straightened, shook 
herself into a semblance of control. 
"Anything?" The Agent said hurriedly, wishing that they hadn't 
noticed him by the door and beckoned him into the room. 
"No. We'll be able to get you a good DNA sample to crossmatch 
against relatives. But obviously that'll only help if you've a 
clear idea who the guy is." 
"Nah, no names. Nothing solid." The young man caught himself, 
leaned his head to one side. "Apart from the concrete, of course. 
Gang land thing. We just hoped maybe they'd left us some evidence. 
Wishful thinking." 
"Other than that, well, we'll keep going. Let you know." 
They turned back to the body. 
------------- 
Bill Patterson had never liked Blevins. And, ever since the day 
when Blevins had decided to take over Mulder, Patterson had 
actively disliked the man. Right now though, he felt a little sorry 
for him. Bill caught the thought, decided that he was obviously 
getting soft, that on balance it might be better if he rubbed a 
little salt in the wound. He sat back and explained to Section 
Chief Blevins that he'd brought the pain upon himself. 
"I appreciate that Mulder can be a little infuriating, impetuous. I 
believe that I warned you about that when you persuaded the AD that 
your team needed a profiler on staff." 
"And I agreed with you. Pardue would teach him how to operate as a 
field Agent, you would continue to control his profiling 
performance." 
Patterson sat very still, remembering an indignant Assistant 
Director telling him that he was killing the kid, by pushing him 
too hard. Telling him that the kid was going to rise to the very 
top of the Bureau and that he would need the field work on his 
record. How little they knew, Bill knew better. No one had to push 
Mulder. Mulder was pre programmed, designed to rise like a rocket 
and then to crash and burn like one as well. 
Quietly leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, bringing 
his hands together in a gesture something like a prayer, rested his 
chin in the V between thumb and fingers. Observing through cold 
clear eyes that forced Blevins to sit back further in his chair. 
"But that wasn't good enough was it? You had to take me out of the 
loop completely. Let Mulder loose on those goddammed files of his." 
Blevins breathed a little heavily, measuring his movements, aware 
that he was being studied, profiled by the man across the desk. 
"That came from high up. He asked for the X-Files, I'd have said 
no, but they." 
"Told you what to do? And you're surprised that Mulder doesn't jump 
when you bark?" Patterson sat back, happy at last, considering it, 
wondering how to turn Blevins obvious discomfort with his role as 
Mulder's boss to his advantage. 
---------------- 
There was no way to argue himself out of this. Mulder studied the 
crime scene pictures, looked at the evidence that existed only in 
the fact that there was no evidence. If it had slithered down 
through a dozen disinterested agents before hitting the intray in 
the basement, Mulder would have been happy to call it an X-File. 
The fact that the victim was high profile made it inevitable that 
management would get involved, would want to monitor his actions, 
approve his statements. That might even be a good thing, a guest 
appearance on CNN was not really on his list of goals and 
objectives right now. Let the Bureau support system actually do 
something useful for him, for once. 
So what could he do? Go and howl at the Assistant Director that it 
was unfair to make him report to Patterson, rather than to Blevins 
on the case? What reason could he give? Because Patterson might 
have a contribution to make, whereas Blevins would just get lost at 
the first corner? Mulder resigned himself to it. Not happy, but 
accepting. Opened the file again at the witness interviews, forced 
himself to focus on the words. 
The interviews confirmed Mulder's verdict. An X-File and in the 
best traditions of the X-Files, none of the relevant questions had 
been asked. A place to start. 
He prepared himself to leave, glad he was wearing the right suit 
for visiting a Senator. Smiled at the disturbingly out of place 
flash of vanity. 
------------ 
Scully tried not to look too self satisfied as she presented her 
report on the body in the concrete. Rosen sat in rapt attention, 
he'd been there with her through most of it and still couldn't 
believe it. The other Agents were stunned. Section Chief McGrath 
was entranced. 
"The stomach contents included fish which I deduced, from relative 
bone integrity, despite the generally advanced state of 
decomposition, to have been eaten raw. The presence of fish borne 
parasites in the victim's liver, the height and," she paused to 
point at the appropriate point on the slide on the projector 
screen, "the presence of this form of surgical pin repairing an old 
fracture, leads me to conclude that the victim is probably Japanese 
in origin. I further considered some of the additional information 
regarding the entombing of the victim." 
Scully was on a roll so she kept on moving. "The cement was not 
poured in situ. At the microscopic level the material adhering to 
the body is of different composition to the outer layers of the 
slab. Consequently, I asked a structural engineer for a 
reinspection of the building, the pillar and the surrounding area. 
The engineer confirms that it was cut in place without continuous 
reinforcing rods. This explains both the deterioration that led to 
the discovery of the body in the first place and the delivery 
mechanism that brought the body to site. The focus of the 
investigation thus far has been on access to the site during the 
concrete frame construction. I would now suggest that you broaden 
that to include the work of other builders. Post frame, but prior 
to interior woodwork." 
McGrath noted the name. Dana Scully. Young, keen, ambitious, smart, 
dedicated to her vision as a scientist. She could be worth 
remembering. 
He wondered about it. What had Blevins said? Someone on the fast 
track to keep tabs on Mulder. Smart enough and dedicated enough not 
to just get left behind or ignored. A perfectionist, a rule keeper, 
someone who wouldn't get bulldozed by his enthusiasm or his alleged 
charm. A beginner, a rising star who, when the time came, would 
walk straight over Mulder to get the job she wanted. Dana Scully?

END of Part 1/7
jhumby@iee.org

======= 
Part 2/7
The house was ochre, imposing yet tasteful. Undemonstrative, yet 
self confident. Sure of itself, of its place in the sun, high in 
the hierarchy. Yet not flash. 
Mulder analyzed the occupants, Senator and Mrs Roberts. He was 
grateful that for once the people back at the office would not 
complain at him for failing to write down his observations as he 
worked. The Senator's wife was not Linda's mother. Mrs Roberts was 
tall, blond and beautiful, with eyes that flickered with cold 
charm. Not his type, Mulder decided happily, grateful that her 
apparently automatic flirtation would not be distracting. Still, he 
could see her charm, its seductive powers, he would need to keep 
that in mind as he spoke to others in the household. 
The Senator was older, grayer, more wrinkled, richer, more 
powerful. Mulder was definitely glad that he wouldn't be writing 
the comments down. The stereotypes were too painful. The rich and 
powerful man with the young and beautiful wife. Not a trophy wife, 
Mulder decided, uncomfortable at how easily the phrase had come to 
mind when he saw her blonde hair. Stereotypes were for other people 
to play with. Inappropriate here, the Senator's wife was too 
astute, her words too measured. 
Linda Roberts' mother had died soon after Linda's birth. When he 
saw that on the case record, Mulder had groaned at the disturbingly 
Victorian overtone of the history and had felt obliged to dig some 
more. She had refused treatment for cancer so that her child could 
live. Bill Patterson had caught Mulder in the office staring at the 
silent computer screen. Mulder had spotted his old boss too late, 
swiped angrily at his eyes to hide his discomfort. Patterson had 
allowed no hiding place. "The kidnapper, Mulder. Focus on the 
kidnapper. Don't let the dead draw you in." 
He remembered the warning as he stood in the Senator's hall and 
shook the thoughts from his mind. He was not surprised that Linda's 
parents knew little about their daughter. They couldn't name her 
friends, wouldn't know if she'd been troubled by dreams or fears, 
weren't sure if they'd seen a change in her personality recently. 
After all, she was sixteen, a time of changes. They were busy 
people. She was a happy, intelligent and well adjusted girl, doing 
well in school, growing up to be special. Not demanding too much of 
their time. 
Mulder had felt the weight of Senator Roberts' appraisal since his 
arrival. He was used to it, announced by the FBI as an expert, yet 
looking too young to meet the image. He fidgeted under the father's 
evaluating gaze. 
Senator Roberts' eyes locked on Mulder's. "People say you are very 
good. I'm assured that if anyone can bring her home." He looked 
away from Mulder, studied the floor, sniffed at the air. Tears held 
in check by willpower. 
Mulder froze, uncertain of the right response. Talked too fast. 
"I'll try. And I've a lot of support at the Bureau, just because 
I'm on my own here." Paused, embarrassed, unsure of what he was 
trying to say. Aware of how close he was to saying that he wasn't 
the last resort, even as he acknowledged the feeling that he was. 
The sensation wasn't new, nor was the helplessness it induced. 
Don't let the dead draw you in. 
Of all those in the household, it was Jeanine Beland, the maid's 
eldest daughter who seemed to know Linda the best. Jeanine was just 
three years older than Linda and gentle enough to be a make up 
tutor and a source of sisterly advice to the shy younger teenager. 
Mulder was soft spoken, attentive. A reassuring quality that 
Jeanine relaxed into, told him things that she had told no one 
else. Mulder thanked her for her time, handed her a card with the 
FBI's number in case she thought of anything more. 
--------------- 
Quantico could be whatever you wanted it to be, Mulder decided. 
Like the happy gene, it was probably a matter of perspective, a way 
of looking at the world. Some days, it was a college campus, 
quietly abstract and theoretical with new people coming and going, 
carefully detached and insulated from the world outside. Other 
times it seemed like a sewer drain, sucking away the worst grime of 
humanity, sterilizing it, sanitizing it, popping it into pristine 
plastic evidence boxes and storing it in locked files. 
Same thing either way, the point of view gene took its pick. He 
stirred the coffee unnecessarily, finding some oddly relaxing 
rhythm in the swirls and the bubbles, let the steam drift into his 
nose. 
"Tea leaves? How low are you going to stoop?" 
Mulder sat up, startled from his self induced trance and the 
patterns being played out in his cup. He leaned back in the chair. 
"Cinnamon grounds over cappuccino foam actually." 
"You mean even fortune telling gets fashion updates?" 
Mulder smiled, looked him over, pleased to see a friendly and 
familiar face, then remembered that Nick Parker was a frequent 
visitor down in the dungeons of ISU, suddenly panicked that 
Patterson had sent Nick to find him and drag him back to the 
office. 
"S'okay. Bill's not sent me." 
Mulder put a hand to his mouth and laughed. "Jeez. When did you 
take up mind reading? I've got some standard tests back at the 
Hoover Building. Wanna be an X-File?" 
"I may not be Spooky, doesn't mean I can't profile you, you're an 
open book." He paused. "Dog eared, blurred in parts, coffee stains, 
lots of small print, but honest, kid, heart on his sleeve doesn't 
begin to." Nick struggled to a halt. 
Mulder looked suddenly nervous, embarrassed by the way the 
conversation was going. 
Nick started to talk again. "Sorry. It's just such a surprise to 
see you. I didn't mean to offend." 
"You didn't. I guess I'm just not that comfortable about being back 
here." 
"Worried Bill's going to handcuff you to the desk?" 
"Wouldn't be the first time." 
"Ooh, there's ammo for the rumor mill. I always knew you had some 
special hold over him. No wonder he wants you back, he's been 
organizing a welcome home party for months. Ever since Diana." 
Parker froze, raised his hands in a gesture of apology. "Oh. Shit. 
I'm babbling again. Do you want to start this conversation over?" 
"And go through it all again? No way. Come on, distract me. Let's 
see that file you're hugging. I'll do my crystal ball reading act 
for you." 
"No way. This is just a social call." 
"So?" Mulder shook his head in feigned bewilderment and held out 
his hand. 
Nick shrugged and showed him a photo of a body, recently unpicked 
from a concrete overcoat. 
------------ 
Nick Parker presented his analysis. Dana Scully was both an invited 
guest and an afterthought at the meeting of the investigating team. 
She was well aware that her name was tacked on at the end of the 
list, not in alphabetical order like the other attendees. At least 
they remembered her name though, which was something. How many 
teams remembered the name of their pathologist? 
The other Agents had taken her information and run. How? It was as 
if they'd pulled this stuff out of the ether. It irritated her as a 
scientist. She'd built a solid foundation, so the least they could 
do was include some facts to reinforce the walls of this tower of 
cards they were building. She decided to forget the idea that she 
was an interloper. If she was invited, then she could contribute, 
if only because that was the only way that she might actually hear 
enough to learn something. 
"How can you be so sure that this isn't some straight gang thing. 
Who else buries bodies in concrete?" 
Nick waved a hand. "People with building projects?" The others 
around the table laughed for an instant. "Sorry, I'm not expressing 
this too clearly. The killing is identifiably organized crime in 
style and methodology but not in detail. It's personal. If you 
like, this is a mobster with a special score to settle. The 
amputation of the ring finger and the other mutilations make it 
personal." 
"Signature hit?" 
"No point leaving a signature unless someone sees it. The body 
wasn't meant to be seen. The fuss of encasing it. Then moving the 
whole pillar into place, amazing logistics, difficult job. The 
location was important to the killer, a Japanese bank, this wasn't 
just business." 
Nick paused, waited for more questions that didn't come. Dana 
Scully shook her head, curious about how the story would play out. 
Nick moved on. "With this in mind, the probability is that the 
victim was Yashiko Taburo. He was believed to have left the country 
five years ago, about the time the building was going up. He was 
suspected of making a bomb that went off in the apartment of Robert 
Cassals, killing Cassals' wife. Hence the amputation of Yashiko's 
ring finger. Yashiko is on the Bureau's wanted list, but as I say, 
the hunt was pretty much inactive, we thought he'd left the 
country." 
Section Chief McGrath nodded his head. A victim and a prime 
suspect. Neither of them very nice people. But, if it gave them the 
chance to get something on Cassals, still worth chasing. "Thank 
you, Agent Parker, excellent work." 
Parker tensed, cleared his throat quickly. "Actually a lot of the 
analysis is Agent Mulder's, I just fed the ideas he gave me back 
into the Bureau databases to get the actual names." 
McGrath frowned, Mulder moonlighting on other jobs when he was 
supposed to be hunting for a Senator's kid? Blevins would not be 
pleased, or maybe he would. 
Dana Scully left the meeting with a thank you ringing in her ears 
and a request to be ready to follow up the idea of a DNA crossmatch 
to check if the body could be that of Yashiko Taburo. That next 
step could take ages though. Someone else would be given the job of 
talking to the Japanese authorities, then they would need to 
contact his family. Even if everyone was willing, it could be 
months before she heard more. 
She was intrigued though. So, the person who'd picked up her story 
and joined the dots was Fox Mulder, she'd heard of him. She 
couldn't help but wonder why McGrath had looked quite so irritated 
at hearing the name mentioned. 
Dana Scully sifted through her intray, smiling as she hit the memo 
from her boss, Kevin Crossman. She was up for a commendation for 
her work on the body in the concrete. Above and beyond the call of 
duty. First class work as a pathologist and as a detective. The 
edge went from her smile. Why so surprised? She'd spent more than 
three days working on the body with Mark Rosen, almost seventy 
hours of scientific endeavor between them. Yet the only reason that 
anyone had noticed their efforts was that she'd gone on to put in a 
couple of hours overtime. 
Special Agent Dana Scully, it said so on her badge. Not Medical 
Examiner. Agent. What had happened to that? And you don't rise in 
the ranks of the Bureau unless you've got street time to show. 
Commendations from Quantico were all well and good but even her 
manager had five years field experience. She needed enough in her 
file to stop any allegations that she was all theory and no 
practice. Even more crucial for a woman than a man. Prove she had 
the law enforcement skills to go with the academic discipline, the 
people knowledge to go with the science. 
She was suddenly irritated by the path her mind had wandered down. 
A commendation had given her the opportunity to beat herself up and 
she'd taken it. She needed to talk this out with her manager. 
Sooner the better. 
It had always amused Scully that her supervisor was called 
Crossman, if there was a less cross man then she had yet to meet 
him. Faintly professorial in air and with a coziness that made 
Scully periodically check his feet to see if he was wearing carpet 
slippers. She found it hard to imagine him hunting down bad guys. 
But even he had done his time out in a field office and lived to 
tell the tale. 
Crossman's warm greeting as she entered his room momentarily threw 
Dana Scully off balance. She had come in here to demand, no that 
would be wrong, she had come in here to request a transfer. 
Instead, she was fighting the sensation that to do so would be like 
leaving home again. She looked for careful words. "I need to 
broaden my experience." 
To her relief, Crossman didn't look hurt or shocked. "Temporary 
assignment? Maybe a few weeks in the forensics labs?" 
Damn. So much for subtlety. "Probably outside Quantico altogether. 
General assignment. For a time, to broaden my skills. I'd hope to 
return with more to offer." 
Crossman's face fell a little, but he quickly recovered his poise 
and smiled. "Wishful thinking on my part. I hate the idea of losing 
you. But I can see your point. I'll make it known that you are 
considering a move. I wouldn't want you just thrown into the 
melting pot as if you're some rookie. You've shown something 
special here, I'll make sure that it gets considered." 
Scully smiled back, feeling a little heartless but greatly relieved 
that things were out in the open. "Thank you. It means a lot to 
me." 
-------------- 
Bill Patterson tapped idly at the sheet of headed notepaper resting 
in front of him, stared contentedly at Fox Mulder. "You know. Even 
now, I'm still impressed by how thoroughly you manage to piss off 
everyone you meet. I don't think I've actually known another agent 
who could get censured for helping a colleague during his lunch 
break." 
Mulder tried not to look more sullen, but only succeeded in looking 
more uncomfortable. 
His old boss warmed to his theme. "Between you and me, Fox. I don't 
think Section Chief McGrath is that fond of you. You should watch 
your back." 
"Thank you for the advice, Sir." 
Patterson sat back, musing over how nicely Mulder could make the 
word Sir sound like a term of abuse. The words, insubordination and 
Mulder, fit together so easily. He could see why Blevins and 
McGrath had trouble with him. They were scared of the intellect. 
They felt the contempt that lay not far below the edgily 
professional veneer. 
Funny, the Bureau was full of hard shells with soft centers. So, 
Mulder was an anomaly. Shiny shell, but alarmingly fragile and 
easily broken, yet surrounding a strangely viscous core. Go gentle 
and you would meet liquid, transparent and easy to control. Press 
too hard and you were up against a solid mass. Bill prided himself 
on knowing exactly how hard to push. 
Mulder concentrated on sitting still, on not letting his foot tap 
at the ground, not letting his fingernails bite into the armrest. 
"Is there a purpose to this meeting, Sir?" 
Patterson raised an eyebrow, acknowledged the barb in the remark 
and nodded. "Linda Roberts. Tell me what you know about her removal 
from the house." 
Mulder started his reply, talking from memory and without pauses. 
Dispassionate analyst offering a myriad of data points to his 
waiting boss. 
When Mulder's words finally petered out, Bill Patterson closed his 
eyes. "You're doing it again. You're not even looking for Linda's 
kidnapper, you still think you're looking for Linda. Bottom line, 
Agent Mulder?" 
"Linda Roberts walked silently out of her home at around midnight. 
She probably got into some vehicle waiting on the road outside. I 
have no explanation for her actions. I do not know if there were 
threats or inducements from some third party. I do not know if she 
was drugged or in some other way not in control of her actions." 
Patterson slowly reopened his eyes, tapped a finger at the memo on 
the desk. "No wonder McGrath thinks that you're a waste of time." 
------------ 
"Hey. Wadda ya know, Dana." 
Scully looked up, delighted to hear the unexpected sound of Jack 
Willis' voice coming from the office doorway. "You're home." She 
smiled enthusiastically. "I've got lots to tell you." 
Jack walked the rest of the way across the room, coming to her side 
of the desk and leaning in to say hello. Dana's smile faded as she 
tensed further into the chair. He eased back to offer a quick brush 
of the lips against her forehead and then retreated to rest his 
weight against the edge of the desk, palms up in a gesture of 
surrender. "I know. Not at work." He made a play of slapping his 
own wrist. "Tonight, then. About 7. Your place?" 
Scully hesitated for an instant, surely they could talk now as 
well. How about a coffee, a bit of a break so she could tell him 
about the commendation and about her request for reassignment? But 
Jack was already heading for the door. "Tonight then." She said to 
his fast disappearing form. 
--------------- 
Tiredness could easily become a way of life. Less to do with 
trouble sleeping than with having too many ideas constantly racing 
through his brain. Mulder rubbed at his eyes, let the pressure 
stars he provoked dance for a while to clear his thoughts. 
Mulder didn't notice Nick Parker's arrival, almost leapt out of his 
chair when he heard Nick's voice. "Mulder. Sorry. Didn't mean to 
sneak up on you. " Parker hesitated for a beat. "I'm sorry about 
getting you in it with McGrath. It just didn't seem right taking 
the credit for your ideas. If I'd realized, I'd have kept my mouth 
shut." 
"S'okay. I'm always in it with McGrath." 
"But a censure. Fucking hell. Anyone else would be getting a 
commendation. I told Patterson so as well." 
Mulder laughed. "Wouldn't be the first time that I got both for the 
same work. It's alright. Not your fault. Don't worry about it." 
"Bastards." 
Mulder nodded. 
Nick shook his head. "Come on. I owe you a drink." 
"Several." 
"Several." Parker agreed. 
------------ 
6.55. Around 7, he'd said. Dana just hoped that Jack would do the 
decent thing and show up a little late and with a bottle of wine. 
She juggled the grocery bag from one hand to the other while 
digging through unwilling pockets in search of keys. Rewarded their 
discovery with a quick "tada" of triumph. She'd barely made it to 
the kitchen when the bell rang. 
Jack's face dropped a little when he realized that she was still 
wearing her coat. "Oh. You've only just arrived home then." 
"I had to pick up some food and I didn't get away from work until 
after 6." She felt her brain give a mental groan, irritated that 
she'd caught herself in that little act of self justification. 
"You should have said it was too early. Don't worry about cooking, 
we can go out, or call for something." 
Deep breaths, she reminded herself. "No. I'm looking forward to 
cooking for a change. It won't take me long to prepare, half an 
hour, tops. Why don't you fix us some drinks?" 
Jack smiled and opened the bottle of chilled Chardonnay. 
By eight thirty, Jack was looking at his watch. Dana Scully was 
getting annoyed. So the food had taken longer than she expected. 
Wishful thinking on timings, combined with being out of practice, 
tends to do that to a plan. She was just as bored of waiting as he 
was. The least he could do was act like he wasn't. Her own fault 
she guessed, she hated having people watching over her when she was 
cooking, liked her own space, objected to gawkers. "Watch the TV, 
Jack" she had said, before mumbling under her breath "and pretend 
to enjoy it." 
Still, it was finally ready. She smiled at the happily aromatic 
paprika chicken. The freshest ingredients, lovingly prepared with 
Dana Scully's fair hands. The trouble was she was now too bored 
with the whole idea of food to get the benefit. Oh, well. Maybe 
Jack would like it. She brushed that thought aside. Jack lived on 
junk food. She could throw him a microwave pizza on a paper plate 
and he'd bolt it down. But, it was good for him. Jack should eat 
more healthily, diet was important, especially to diabetics. Doctor 
Scully prescribes chicken. She choked in a laugh and carried the 
food to the table. 
Jack ate with the silent enthusiasm of the very hungry. Scully 
picked at her food, gradually finding that she was getting into the 
mood to taste it and feeling grateful that for once she was eating 
something that hadn't arrived in a packet. 
They talked. He told her about the case that had pulled him out of 
town, the case he was now thankfully closing following the 
successful capture. She told him about her work on Yashiko Taburo. 
"That's great, Dana. You deserve it. It's about time you got 
recognition." 
She glowed. "They're really hopeful of getting somewhere on it. Fox 
Mulder picked up what I'd done and gave them enough to let them get 
the names of the victim and the killer." 
Jack choked back a splutter of laughter, carefully put down the 
glass of wine. "God, I thought I recognized the case. You know. 
This'll slay you. I know you don't get all the rumors down in the 
morgue. Spooky got censured over it. Seems he was bunking off from 
work." He took another sip from his glass. 
Scully waved him to explain more. 
Jack struggled through the laughter that was bubbling just under. 
"They shipped him back to Quantico so Patterson could try and kick 
some sense into him. He's supposed to be looking for some Senator's 
kid. Got any resources he wants. But he's just sitting around." He 
carried on cheerfully, "consulting on dead end crap with a victim 
no one cares about." 
Crap? She let the thought spin for a while. She'd put how much time 
in on the case that he'd just so blithely written off as a no one 
cares? Not important enough for Spooky, but good enough for her. 
Bastard. She studied him, he was oblivious, didn't even know what 
he'd said 
Jack headed to the refrigerator for the other bottle of wine. When 
he returned, Scully had already tidied the plates and was carrying 
them back to the kitchen. He poured them fresh glasses and turned 
to her as she sat down again. "Anyway, what was this other news you 
had?" 
"I've applied for reassignment." Flat voice, the excitement of the 
idea placed in some perspective by Jack's dismissal of her latest 
case, her finest hour to date in the eyes of those at the Bureau 
who even knew she existed. 
"Why? You're doing great." 
"I need field experience on my record." 
He waved a gesture of incomprehension. "You're in a good job. Enjoy 
it. It might sound exciting, it's not. Lot of sitting around, lot 
of paper work. You like what you're doing, you said so." 
"It's not enough. I need more. I need to be able to help people. 
Live ones." 
"You do. You're great at what you do, any dummy can knock on doors, 
but it takes real skill to give them solid evidence to work from." 
Her finger ran slowly around the rim of the glass. "I want to 
succeed. You know that. When I was in basic training, I told you. 
Passing wasn't enough. I want to get on." 
He nodded, shrugged his shoulders. " I guess you can always come 
back to Quantico later, maybe if you decide you want a family. " 
She downed the glass of wine in one gulp.

END of Part 2/7
jhumby@iee.org 

========= 
Part 3/7
The case was a mess. Linda Roberts had been missing for nearly a 
week. Mulder had been given the files 48 hours ago. They knew no 
more now than they had when Linda vanished. Meaning that Mulder 
still knew nothing of her abductors, not even if they were human. 
The cook had seen mysterious lights, heard an odd noise. Yeah, 
well. Mulder scribbled observations as he went along. Joining the 
evidence dots. 
Linda was happy, well adjusted. Had no reason and no desire to 
leave home. Her family, the staff at the house, the teachers at her 
school and her friends had all confirmed it. And none of them had 
said it in a tone that had asked for another question, invited a 
prying inquiry. There was only shock at her disappearance and no 
understanding. 
The wicked step mother. Always worth a shot at pinning it on the 
killer bimbo. But no. Her words had triggered no itch under 
Mulder's sensitive skin, tripped no flash of warning in his brain. 
Senator Roberts. 
Why did someone steal your daughter, Senator? Who would do it? 
Mulder tried to come up with the right questions and a way to say 
them that wouldn't get him fired. 
First stop, Senator Mattheson. Mulder straightened his tie, smiled 
guiltily at the reflection in the mirror. He was going to have to 
buy another good suit if he kept hanging out with these people. 
Shrugged the thought off, if he didn't get this case back on track, 
he wouldn't be looking for new clothes, he'd be looking for a new 
job. 
Mattheson smiled reassuringly at his nervous visitor and suggested 
that a stroll outdoors might be appropriate. "I presume, this is 
about Linda Roberts?" 
"You recommended me for the case?" 
Mattheson stopped, looked puzzled. "No. I heard you'd been 
assigned. I was surprised. And I might say, rather alarmed at the 
implications. You're saying it's not your territory?" 
Mulder shifted his weight, a guilty slump as he looked back. "No. 
It is. It seems to be. But I. Normally, I'd expect the victim to be 
returned within 48 hours. I don't know how you rescue one. I've 
never recovered one." 
"Giving up, Fox?" 
Mulder shook himself back upright. "No. Not giving up. It may not 
be how it looks. But I need an edge. To take a Senator's child, in 
DC, it doesn't feel like a bad break, not just some coincidence. I 
need to know if there's some reason why Senator Roberts might be 
singled out." 
"Have you asked him?" 
"I was on my way there. I thought that." 
"That I might give you a wedge to slip under the door. You know his 
Senate committees?" 
Mulder knew all right, like the other hours of reading on the case, 
the list of the Senator's committees was carefully filed away in 
his brain. "A couple. And there are a couple of Air Force 
appropriations panels in there too." 
Mattheson smiled. 
They parted company at the door to the Senator's office. 
The drive to the home of Senator Roberts took forty minutes and 
Mulder could only wish that it had taken even longer. Nerves, 
already frayed at the edges, stretched tauter. 
Roberts led him to the study. It was obvious to Mulder that 
Mattheson had primed his friend to expect another visit. Roberts 
opened the discussion. "You have a question?" 
Mulder's squelched his nerves and kept the response businesslike. 
"Several. But let's start with the names of people and 
organizations who may feel threatened by your work or disappointed 
by your performance." 
The Senator's eyes took on a cold shine. 
Mulder started to stammer an apology for his too abrupt question. 
Suddenly hit by the fact that he'd just spoken to a victim as if he 
was responsible for the crime. Rattled by how easily two days in 
the company of Bill Patterson had let him switch back into the role 
of predator. Frightened by how close he'd gone to telling Roberts 
that his job had killed his daughter. "I'm sorry. It's just that.." 
"My daughter is a wonderful girl with no enemies?" 
"Yes." 
"I know that, Agent Mulder. What makes you think that I've not 
spent the last week knowing that, writing lists of people with 
grudges, analyzing my mistakes and who got hurt by them?" 
Mulder felt the air leaving his body. "I really am sorry. I've got 
the interview that you gave the other Agents. I know you gave me 
more names when I interviewed you yesterday. But, I'm still not 
there. I." He paused, took a deep breath. Didn't want to blame him 
for losing a daughter, didn't want to blame the man's job for 
destroying his family. Felt a flicker of moisture rise in his eyes. 
Another slow breath. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'll get someone else to take 
over the case. I didn't mean to.." 
"You didn't mean to care about Linda? I'm glad someone from the 
Bureau does." 
They drank coffee in silence and waited for the air to clear. 
Mulder looked up at Roberts. The Senator gave him an acknowledging 
nod to tell him to continue. "Tell me about them, Sir. Who 
frightens you. What makes you nervous?" The tone was soft and 
apologetic. A necessary question, spoken with regret. 
The reply was just as uncomfortable. 
------------- 
Mulder was not pleased to be hauled back to Quantico for an evening 
meeting. He'd spent the day in DC. Interviewing first Mattheson, 
then Roberts, then the other people at the Roberts' house. What he 
really needed now was some quiet time to think about what he'd 
learned. 
Patterson nailed him without really trying. "You can think in the 
car. You'll have plenty of time to come up with something to say. 
Or do you have a hot date?" 
As the only response Mulder could think of was 'fuck off, Sir', he 
decided to hang up the phone without replying. 
A couple of hours later and Mulder was loading up with an evening's 
supply of sandwiches and candy bars from the machine. He didn't 
hold out a lot of hope of getting an actual meal tonight. He 
spotted Nick Parker's arrival in the cafeteria and then noted how 
quickly his colleague turned away. Great. 
Mulder packed the food into his briefcase and headed to the 
washroom. 
"Mulder." 
"Creep up on me again Parker and I swear you're dead." 
"That's why I waited until you had your hands full." 
"You are definitely dead." 
Parker sounded guilty. "I wanted to apologize, for not saying hello 
in the cafeteria. I've been ordered not to talk to you." 
"Yeah, I know. Well. I guessed." 
"Really, how?" 
Mulder zipped up and turned to face Parker, twitched an eyebrow. 
"I'm spooky." 
Nick groaned apologetically and rested a hand on his friend's 
shoulder. 
Mulder started laughing. "And as I'm already persona non grata, I 
think gestures of male bonding in the men's room would definitely 
be frowned on." 
Nick quickly removed his hand, provoking even more laughter from 
Mulder and an answering chuckle from Parker. They said goodnight. 
Scanning his image quickly in the mirror as he left, Mulder noticed 
that he'd somehow got rid of the tie, considered it for an instant 
and decided that he couldn't be bothered to go back to the car to 
find it. They'd dragged him out here after he'd already done a 
day's work. So Spooky didn't look like a squeaky clean hotshot 
agent anymore, what else was new? 
The cool smile that flickered briefly over Bill Patterson's face 
was intended for Mulder only. Mulder acknowledged it with a shrug. 
Patterson exchanged stares with an agitated looking Blevins before 
waving for Mulder to take a seat. "Agent Mulder. We will deal with 
the matter of the dress code violation when it won't be wasting 
these busy people's time." Patterson's hands waved over the waiting 
group. 
How generous, Mulder decided, but carefully kept the observation to 
himself. He looked around the table. Blevins and Patterson had 
taken the seats at either end. Alternate chairmen, Mulder mused. 
Who did Blevins think he was kidding? The other four present 
comprised the ASAC who had largely been bypassed on the case since 
Mulder's arrival and the three agents who had been handled most of 
the questioning during the first couple of days. Mulder tensed at 
that realization, he'd scarcely spoken to any of them for three 
days. Wasn't he supposed to use them, work with them? 
"Agent Mulder." Patterson locked eyes with his target. "I assume 
that you know who the other people at the table are?" 
Funny, Bill. Very funny. Mulder knew the smile that was forming on 
his lips would be misinterpreted, that it was not an appropriate 
response. Attack as the best form of defense. "Yes, Sir. I didn't 
want to waste anyone's valuable time by suggesting follow up 
activities without adequate information. However, I believe that I 
may now have a fresh angle on the investigation." 
A brief flick of pencil across a notepad by one of the other 
agents. The agent sitting next to him stifled a grin. Mulder sat up 
straight enough in his chair to look across the table and identify 
the scribble as a flying saucer. 
"Perhaps you could share this fresh angle with the rest of your 
team." Patterson emphasized the word team. 
Mulder swallowed down a big gulp of air before standing up and 
heading to the white board. He scribbled up a list of some of the 
Senator's committees and duties, focusing on those related to 
aerospace and air force funding. 
Blevins frowned. "I hope that you are going somewhere with this, 
Agent Mulder." 
"I hope so too, Sir." He carried on scribbling, drawing links as he 
talked, explaining how a project's funding could have become so 
dependent on the attitude of one man. 
"Are you accusing the Air Force of blackmailing him to support an 
increased grant by seizing his child?" Blevins' voice was ninety 
percent ridicule mixed with ten percent genuine astonishment. 
"I haven't gone so far as to accuse anyone yet, Sir." Mulder 
continued, operating at his own quick, but ferociously detailed 
pace, apparently oblivious to the mumbles of discontent that were 
building up at the table. He drew charts of costs and budget 
battles and the structure of the political and commercial alliances 
that were fighting the fights. 
The bored rumbling grew louder until finally Mulder stopped talking 
and slowly scanned the faces at the table. They stumbled into 
silence under the intense appraisal and looked guiltily at the 
whiteboard. Patterson caught Mulder's eye with an acknowledging nod 
of congratulation. 
Mulder turned nervously away from his boss. "The most probable 
outcome of these alliances and budget deals is that either this new 
fighter program will be approved or all of these smaller projects 
will get the go ahead. Senator Roberts is believed to favor the 
fighter." 
"And you're implying that one of these other projects has kidnapped 
his child?" It was Pemberton who opened the questioning, the ASAC 
shook his head as he said the words. "Why not just come out and say 
it. Why not accuse the CEO of Boeing or Texas Instruments or 
whoever. What planet do you live on, Mulder?" 
Mulder decided that it was getting a little warm and removed his 
jacket before replying. Patterson leaned back comfortably in his 
chair as he watched the distraction. The Agent's move had killed 
two birds with one stone, given Mulder something physical to do 
rather than emptying the glass of water over the ASAC's head and it 
had also given him a few seconds to compose himself for a reply. 
Patterson looked across at the ASAC who had twitched nervously back 
in his seat when Mulder stretched, three birds then. A little of 
the confident bravado of the other agents had been dissipated 
during Mulder's over controlled gesture. 
"I'm sorry if I'm taking this too slow but I didn't have much time 
to prepare, I'm having to clarify my thoughts as I go along." 
Mulder stood up straight and looked back at the group, who by now 
had nothing to say. "This project." He green ringed one of the 
names on the board. "Despite its description as advanced radar is a 
star wars spin off. It could be used to create a web of satellite 
monitors dedicated to looking for objects entering the earth's 
orbit. Some people believe it could be used to monitor UFO's." He 
noted the stunned, amused expressions that he got back from his 
audience. "On the assumption that some UFO's are extra terrestrial 
in origin." 
The agent who'd drawn the sketch of the UFO drew an up arrow next 
to the scribbled image on his notepad. The group exchanged 
nervously amused glances. 
Patterson rubbed at his chin and then leaned forward to let the 
weight of his face rest in his hand. "Mulder. You've played with 
them enough. Let's hear the profile of the abductor." 
The stage whisper came from the side. "Small. Green." 
Patterson stopped the new round of mumbling with a glare. 
Mulder picked up the thread again. "Jeanine Beland is the teenage 
daughter of the Roberts' maid. Her ex-boyfriend believes that he 
was abducted as a child. He is now involved with a group who have 
been investigating alien abductions." 
A brief cough of laughter from around the table. 
"Investigating the phenomenon of alleged alien abduction." Mulder 
paused and accepted the encouraging look from Patterson. "I believe 
that through Jeanine's old boyfriend, Linda met someone in that 
group. That the person in some way persuaded her to take part in a 
staged abduction in order to frighten her father and make him more 
amenable to voting against the fighter project and in favor of the 
advanced radar." 
The ASAC, relieved that something tangible might finally be 
appearing, leapt back in. "So let's get this kid, what did you say 
her name was? Jeanine, and this boyfriend of hers, in here." 
Mulder shook his head. "They don't know anything about the 
abduction itself. I've interviewed them both." 
"Oh well. If you've interviewed them, I guess that's alright. We 
certainly don't need any further corroboration there. Who needs a 
lie detector, we've got Mulder." 
Mulder decided to ignore the jibe. "Her old boyfriend has promised 
me that when he meets the other members of his group tonight he'll 
do what he can to get me a membership list and he'll ask around 
among the other people who he thinks may have met Linda." 
"He'll get us a membership list and ask around? Jesus, we're the 
FBI, let's say we go ask them ourselves?" The ASAC poked a pen 
angrily at his notepad, before waving it towards Mulder. "I can't 
believe you've wasted our time on this little performance when we 
could be back out there doing something." 
Mulder's foot tapped irritably at the ground. "You don't 
understand. These people are as paranoid as hell. I might be able 
to bluff my way in if I played it right, but," he left the comment 
unspoken. "We can't risk them just trashing their membership lists 
and hiding. We have to play it soft." 
"Yeah, well, apparently you took that decision for us." 
Mulder scowled at a point somewhere on the wall behind their heads. 
Patterson broke the deadlock. "Agent Mulder. I believe that I have 
already asked you for a profile of the kidnapper?" 
A shrug of already clenched shoulders, Mulder cleared his throat 
and got back to business, trying to explain just who might be able 
to draw a happy sixteen year old girl into such an adventure. The 
implication was of youth, charm, trust and friendship. Mulder had 
been trying to imagine the right kind of person to persuade Linda 
to vanish for a few hours with them before returning with odd 
sounding memories. But she hadn't been returned. And even if she 
had been a willing victim at the start, then it was impossible to 
imagine that was still the case. So who would then be ruthless 
enough to keep her? An elaboration of the plan that felt neither so 
youthful, nor so charming. 
The contradiction made Patterson fidget in his seat for an instant. 
This needed thought, he'd chase this outside the meeting with 
Mulder, one on one. There was another topic that the team needed to 
consider though. "Agent Mulder. We have no demands from her 
kidnapper. Senator Roberts was not aware of the specific 
correlations that you have suggested. How was this abduction 
supposed to affect his judgment?" 
"It went wrong, Sir, Linda went with a friend. She should be home 
by now. Telling her father a story they'd made up for him to hear. 
But someone else took over. That person didn't think words would be 
enough, he wanted to do something that made it more obvious before 
returning her. Maybe, some physical signs." 
"And now? The delay in her return?" 
"I think his plan is failing too, he may have wanted to injure her 
in a way consistent with the reports on alien abductees, maybe even 
brainwash her into forgetting him, but he can't do it. He may 
intend to keep her for long enough that we give up hope of finding 
her, so that alien abduction offers the Senator the only realistic 
possibility that she might still be alive." 
There were wry smiles at the term realistic. Patterson suppressed 
the desire to move in for the kill, not in front of this audience. 
He helped the discussion along. "That's still a big leap. Most 
people don't think of aliens when their relatives go missing." 
"No, Sir." Mulder felt the urge to run, ignored it. "Which is why I 
believe that the plan was that Linda would be returned to tell the 
story herself. But it may be that the kidnapper is now looking at 
some other way of making the suggestion. It's possible that my 
involvement on the case may have done exactly that job." 
"You think that you're on the case to make it look like an alien 
abduction?" 
"I don't know." 
"Narrows the suspects list." Patterson looked at Blevins then back 
at Mulder. 
"Yes, Sir." Mulder paused, looked around for a lifeline. "No, Sir." 
Another hesitation. "I really don't know. I've not had time to 
think about it. Probably I'm just a lucky break for the kidnapper. 
Or maybe someone knew that this wasn't a real alien abduction case 
and thought they could use it to discredit me." 
"And you call the boy and his friends paranoid." Patterson's sudden 
shake of the head broke the tension. The other assembled agents 
laughed with relief. 
The meeting closed. Mulder would interview Jeanine's old boyfriend 
first thing in the morning. He would pass all the information that 
he obtained onto the other four agents, they would follow up the 
biographies of the people identified. Mulder would return to meet 
Patterson at Quantico and flesh out the profile. 
Mulder didn't bother to hide his irritation with the plan as he 
pulled his jacket back on. Another commuting hike out here when he 
should be working. What if they went off after someone without him? 
He started to head out of the room, Patterson pointed at a chair. 
Mulder sullenly accepted the unspoken order. 
When the others had left, Patterson sat down again, moving in 
close, next seat to Mulder. "So who was the show for?" 
"Show?" 
"The budget proposals, the project lists, the committees, the 
alliances. The show. Who were you trying to impress?" 
"I wasn't." 
"Bull. The other agents? Come on, they just thought it was smoke 
and mirrors. So who? Me? Blevins?" 
Mulder felt the tiredness roll through his body. "As I said. I was 
still clarifying my thoughts when I spoke. I wasn't prepared." 
Patterson considered it. "Ok. We'll talk tomorrow." A pause as 
Patterson leaned conspiratorially close, let his voice drop. "By 
the way, I saw Diana at a conference, she sends her regards." 
Mulder shook his head. "No, she doesn't. And never via you." 
"Should have given her what she wanted, Mulder." 
Mulder rose abruptly, picked up his case and headed for the door. 
"What would you know about it." Didn't bother with the polite 
pretense of saying goodnight. 
------------------- 
Keeping up to date was some form of religious penance, Dana Scully 
had decided. By day a competent professional, utterly in control of 
her work. By night, she felt like a novice as she struggled to read 
the latest reports of the researchers. 
Of course, she could do herself a favor and wait for the shortform 
popularist version of the pathology research papers to hit the 
forensic magazines. Wait for the scientific developments to get off 
the pages of Nature, down through Scientific American and then 
what? She chided herself irritably, what next, wait until it 
arrived on the Learning Channel? 
She had promised herself that she would never be that kind of 
doctor, or pathologist, or agent. Hanging on in there with old 
knowledge and the occasional tidbit of new data. But here she sat, 
only a couple of years out of Med School and she was already 
finding it hard to keep up. Of course it didn't help that her 
interests were so broad. She was drowning here. She rubbed at her 
eyes. Still, it was a happy kind of drowning. 
The acquisition of information, the clues the world offered up 
about how it worked. Even when she was dissecting a body she felt a 
thrill of adventure, hunter chasing down some unknown game. She 
chuckled at the thought, lucky she didn't talk like that at work. 
She picked up the forensic psychology journal again, profiling was 
not her specialty, but the least she could do was learn the jargon. 
Stun them all with her well rounded education as she chased the 
right assignment in the field. 
The phone rang. She flicked the irritation at being interrupted out 
of her mind. Of course, Jack would ring. He was a couple of 
thousand miles away again in some one horse town, probably 
investigating who'd shot the horse. The giggle of the idea let her 
smile as she answered.

END of Part 3/7
jhumby@iee.org
====== 
Part 4/7
"You're late." Patterson spoke without bothering to look up from 
the files. 
A brief hesitation before Mulder made his way across the office. 
Did he sit down or wait until he was told, should he remain silent 
or start talking? He tugged at his shirt and jacket sleeves, 
unnecessarily restraightening the already neat line of cuff that 
he'd formed while waiting to enter the room. Suddenly noticed what 
he was doing and came to an abrupt and angry stop. He decided to 
show some initiative, for better or worse. 
Mulder sat down and started to talk. "I was briefing the team, 
Sir." 
"Sure you were. You delegated. You analyzed the data and gave them 
work commensurate with their abilities?" 
Mulder's fingers tapped at the armrest of the chair. 
"Tell me. Did you assign any of them a task that couldn't be 
handled by some kid fresh out of the Academy? Keeping in mind of 
course that all four of those men have done more years with the 
Bureau than you." 
"The work needs doing. I was quite happy to do the work that I 
passed on to them, but you wanted me back here. So, here I am." 
"Who do you think you work for? Some one man private detective 
agency? This is the FBI. You work with people, you trust your 
colleagues to perform like competent professionals. You report to 
me." 
Patterson's words met only silence, Patterson slowly shook his head 
as he spoke again. "You never did learn that, did you? How to let 
other people do their jobs. Not as good as you, are they?" 
"It's not like that." 
"Of course it is. Ok. Let's see how good you really are. I need the 
profiles of our UNSUBs. Start talking." 
Mulder cleared his throat. As if on cue, Patterson's secretary 
stepped into the office. "Excuse me, Sir. Agent Rogers is here." 
Patterson sighed and quickly walked out of the room leaving Mulder 
to study the furniture. 
The phone on Patterson's desk rang and Mulder wondered where 
Patterson's secretary had gone. Sighing in disgust at the minor 
attack of nerves, or was it laziness, that had left him temporarily 
paralyzed, he walked over and picked up the phone. "Section Chief 
Patterson's office." 
There was an instant of silence and then a familiar New York accent 
chimed in. "Mulder?" 
"Yeah. Who's that?" 
"Coolridge. Remember me?" 
"As if. Bill's not here. Is there a message?" 
"Nah, a question. And with a choice between you and Bill, you're my 
man." 
"Please, you'll make me blush. What do you want?" 
"Got a body, a young boy." 
Mulder closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sudden and faintly 
nauseous wave of deja vu that rippled over him. He let Mike do most 
of the talking, threw in the occasional question. The minutes 
passed. 
".. Yeah, I know the neighbors want to believe it's some vagrant, 
but it's not. This is family or close friend of the parents. Uncle, 
grandparent, someone with access to the kid at home.." Mulder 
rattled on with his comments until finally he could close the call. 
"You're welcome. Call me if you need something more... Yeah. And 
you." 
Bill Patterson's voice boomed in as soon as Mulder returned the 
handset to the desk. "Bravo. You can still find time for your 
telephone seances then?" 
"Mike Coolridge. NYPD. Child killer case, one off." 
"I'll take your word for it. I trust you, you see. Just like old 
times, hey?" 
"Do I get a censure for this one as well?" 
Patterson smiled, shark in the water. "Not going to affect your 
performance on the Roberts case is it? Not planning on spending the 
weekend interviewing suspects for the NYPD, are you? 
Mulder breathed out heavily, a single snort of an almost laugh. 
"You only caught me once." 
"Only caught once being the appropriate phrase. Right? You didn't 
trust people to do their jobs back then and you still don't now. 
When do you plan on accepting that you're not Superman? You know, 
you could just decide to grow up." 
"Do you want to talk about the profile for the kidnapper in the 
Roberts' case, Sir?" 
---------- 
The office fell into silence as ASAC Mark Pemberton started to 
address his men. "Great work. First trawl of the ET spotters list 
we get this kid, Paul Jacobs, nineteen years old. In and out of 
psychiatric care since he was ten. And he's kept kids locked up 
before. Said he was stopping them getting stolen by the aliens, 
didn't want them killed like his brother, apparently. Grade A 
mess." 
"Shit. Who'd have thought Spooky would nail one this quick." 
Pemberton raised an eyebrow and offered a sarcastic leer. "Takes 
one to know one." He paused, clapped his hands in front of him to 
emphasize his urgency. "Let's get rolling, we need to get 
intelligence on the place this guy's living and I want a HRT lined 
up." 
Briggs, the youngest of the core team let his hand wander towards 
the phone on his desk. "Should I call Mulder?" 
"Nah, forget it." Pemberton leaned back in the chair. "No, second 
thoughts, don't forget it, postpone it. Patterson will go ape if we 
kept him in the dark. Let's get the assault rolling. By the time 
Mulder gets back from Quantico, it'll be all over bar the medal 
ceremony." 
"This Jacobs. You said he's a grade A flake, right? He might kill 
her. I mean, assuming she's alive. That's what Mulder said to 
assume, right?" 
"Yeah, right." The ASAC didn't bother to hide the sarcasm until he 
noticed the eager to please anxiety in the younger agent's eyes. 
"Yeah, we can't take any chances, it might be a thousand to one 
shot, but even so. Everything by the book." 
"But what if Mulder's got something to say on how we go in?" 
The agents studied one another. Glory if it came off. But if it 
didn't come off, the fallout would be nasty. Media and political. 
The Bureau might need a scapegoat. 
The ASAC shrugged, his disappointment palpable. "Get Spooky back 
here, we may have to delay going in until he shows." 
By the time Mulder arrived back in DC he'd succeeded in flattening 
the battery of his cellphone in a long and fruitless argument with 
everyone else on the team. He'd also had the chance to get very 
frustrated while the chain of command busily reorganized itself 
above his head. Operational control had been returned to Blevins, 
Mulder was a behavioral consultant, nothing more. Patterson was 
merely Mulder's mentor on the case, his finger was not on the 
Hostage Rescue Team's go button. 
Mulder drove directly to Jacobs' apartment block. The Hostage 
Rescue Team were already in place. He paused for a minute to talk 
with the agents on electronic surveillance and to finish skimming 
through the dossier on Paul Jacobs. The more he read about Jacobs, 
the more obvious it got. 
Angry as well as frightened by the implications, Mulder sought out 
ASAC Pemberton and was relieved to find that Section Chief Blevins 
was standing at his side. Good, he wouldn't have to repeat himself. 
"This is wrong. You've got the wrong man." 
Blevins sighed. "Agent Mulder. You've done good work to get us to 
this point. Don't spoil it now." 
"I didn't get you to this point. Paul Jacobs does not fit either 
profile. Linda Roberts is a bright intelligent, happy girl. Paul 
Jacobs is profoundly disturbed. She would not have been taken in by 
him. He did not tempt her to leave home that night. Nor is he 
competent to capture and hold two victims." 
"Jacobs is profoundly disturbed," Blevins carefully reemphasized 
Mulder's own words, "with a history of abducting children." 
Mulder placed his hands on his hips, tried to keep his voice 
controlled. "He did it twice, once when he was fourteen, again a 
year later. On neither occasion did he harm the victim. On each 
occasion the victim was released within twelve hours. He hid them 
away on the anniversary of the day his brother was murdered. He 
thought that he was protecting them. He's still on medication now, 
but it's to protect him from his own self destructive acts." 
"I appreciate you take this personally." 
Mulder spat back the reply. "What?" 
"Profilers have been known to identify too closely with the 
killer." Blevins paused. "And I think in this instance that 
identification is even more obvious. And indeed, understandable. 
You can leave it to us." 
Mulder closed his eyes for an instant, willing his brain to keep 
tight hold over his body. Too controlled voice. "Do you have any 
evidence that Linda is in the apartment?" 
"No. Nor do we have any evidence to the contrary." 
"That kid will panic if we go in. He may attack someone, he may 
kill himself. Let me go and get him out, maybe let's get a friend 
of his, or his doctor to go in and talk to him with me." 
"Out of the question. He may already have a hostage. I will not be 
handing him another one. You can try and talk to him over the 
phone, but I believe the hostage negotiators have already done 
that." Blevins turned away to talk to another agent. 
Mulder shifted his weight uncomfortably, tried not to lose his 
cool. He already knew that Blevins offer was meaningless. He'd 
checked with the hostage negotiator on arriving at the site. The 
kid had picked up the initial phone call, heard the words FBI, then 
cut the wire. 
Looking for a way to get to the door of the building without being 
intercepted, Mulder edged forwards. A hand grasped his arm and ASAC 
Mark Pemberton walked him carefully back to the car. "You. Stay. 
Here. Blevins says we slap the cuffs on, if you cause us any 
problems. Don't test me on what I think is a problem." 
Paul Jacobs cut his wrists when the canister broke the window and 
was already dead when the gas bomb cleared and the HRT team 
entered. There was no sign that Linda Roberts had ever been in the 
apartment. 
Blevins and Pemberton expressed their surprise and disappointment 
at the outcome of the raid to the waiting TV film crews. Fox Mulder 
played with his fingernails to keep from screaming. 
------------ 
It was only when she heard the sound of running feet, followed by 
the swish of a swinging door that Dana Scully realized that she'd 
been day dreaming. She looked at the other trainee agents, her 
audience at today's autopsy. They giggled in nervous embarrassment 
at the fate of their colleague. 
Oops. Guilty. She'd always prided herself on her concentration and 
her ability to multitask. The mark of a true professional. Conduct 
the autopsy as if it was the most crucial and delicate work that 
she had ever done, one hundred percent commitment. Provide a 
coherent commentary to the trainees so that they would get the 
maximum benefit of the experience. And keep an eye on anyone 
looking a little green about the gills so she could usher them out 
before they fainted or threw up. 
Well, that was one good thing, at least whoever had run for it had 
been smart enough not to throw up in here. Not that it really 
mattered much with the flush down floors, but they did tend to get 
all uptight and embarrassed about having had witnesses. 
"Before I remove the brain are there any questions on how I opened 
the skull? No? Any other questions?" 
She was not surprised that no one took up the offer to question 
her. Usually only trainee pathologists and the occasional forensic 
scientist bothered to ask anything. This group were just regular 
trainee agents. They were here only so that their first time in the 
field wouldn't come as such a shock. All of them would mark it down 
as a success if they survived to the end of the session. Certainly, 
none of them wanted to prolong the agony by asking questions. 
Perfectionist by character and by training, Dana Scully did the 
decent thing. She asked the right questions on their behalf and 
then answered them herself. They might not remember any of it, but 
then again, they might. 
------------- 
No one wanted to talk to Fox Mulder. A fact which, whilst it was 
unwelcome news, did not come as a surprise to him. The unsuccessful 
raid on Paul Jacobs' home had made a splash across the TV screens 
within minutes. Jeanine Beland knew nothing more than she'd already 
told him, he'd reached the end of the road there. Of course, her 
old boyfriend and all his acquaintances down at the Alien 
Experiencers' Group had now retreated to their respective bunkers. 
Fury hovering only a fingernail below the surface calm, Mulder 
tried to focus on what could be done, instead of brooding over what 
had already failed. The problem being that it was difficult to 
maintain the pretense of moving on, when all around were still 
busily rationalizing the past. 
"Look I'm only saying. It could have been Jacobs. He just kept her 
somewhere. You know. Could have killed her the first night, got rid 
of her body straight away." 
"Anyway, the kid was a fruit. No great loss. If he didn't kill this 
one, he'd have done someone else." 
It was only a matter of time before Mulder lost his patience. 
Trying to keep it all together, he enunciated his words with care, 
"Paul Jacobs is a victim. An innocent victim. That's all." 
"Aw, for fuck's sake Mulder, the kid was a loon." 
Mulder played nice. "Jacobs was receiving help for his problems." 
"Psych record as long as your arm." 
"A psych record that you don't understand. You have got no idea 
what that kid went through. What he had already achieved." 
"One less claim on my tax dollars," offered Pemberton, attempting 
to break the gloom with a joke. 
Mulder didn't see the funny side. "You know nothing about it. I 
told you it wasn't him. I told you what he would do if we launched 
an assault. But you were all too busy measuring the length of his 
medical card to care." 
"Aw, come on. Just because you believe this alien crap, doesn't 
mean we have to." 
"This has fuck all to do with alien crap. I'm supposed to be the 
behavioral specialist on the team. I gave you my professional 
opinion and you were just too fucking stupid to listen." 
Blevins moved in to the center of the arguing group and took over 
the reply. "Agent Mulder. You are clearly distressed. However, 
there are limits to my tolerance and I will not have you abusing 
your colleagues in this manner. I suggest you wait in my office." 
Abusing his colleagues? Mulder froze for an instant, contemplated 
letting rip with what he really thought about his colleagues, 
instead he carefully turned on his heel and walked away. Blevins' 
office then. Good. A chance for some peace and quiet. 
---------------- 
CNN news was telling Bill Patterson a story he didn't want to know. 
He leaned back in his chair, disgusted at what he was seeing. What 
had he told Mulder? Trust other people to be competent 
professionals. Bill almost felt sorry for his young protege. 
The sympathy lasted no more than an instant. If Mulder didn't waste 
so much effort antagonizing people, he'd have enough energy to 
convince them. What a mess. It wasn't that Patterson didn't 
understand the frustrations of the job. He could write a book on 
it. Scrub that, he would write a book on it. Most times, the data 
on the crime arrived at his team, they wrote the profile and 
shunted it back to the locals. If the locals ignored them, that was 
tough, but that was how it was. 
Distance, inter agency squabbles, politics, they all got in the 
way. But, there were no excuses this time, Mulder was on site, it 
was a FBI operation and everyone wanted this closed clean. If 
Mulder couldn't even get his own opinions heard with that kind of 
setup at his disposal, then he stood no chance. 
Patterson sighed and started a telephone hunt for Fox Mulder. He 
was only mildly surprised to find him on his own in Blevins' 
office, he was even less surprised to hear the sound of CNN humming 
away in the background. 
"Explain it to me. You were on site. The kid didn't match either 
profile. Yet you let them go in. Explain today's fiasco." 
Mulder resisted the temptation to hang up the phone. "I was 
overruled. Ironically, they accused me of doing what you always 
told me to do. You know, they thought I'd got inside his head." 
The tight control of the voice, the casually insulting phrasing, 
Patterson couldn't help but admire Mulder's performance. Courage 
and humor under fire, maybe the kid would live long enough to grow 
up. Maybe. Patterson tried to get him back on track. "Ok, so you've 
two targets. The one who took her in the first place." 
Mulder mumbled an interruption. "Not took her. Someone persuaded 
her that it was a good plan, that she could give her parents a 
little scare and do something good for her friends. Someone bright 
like her, nice family like her, polite like her." 
"You don't need to convince me. I taught you your job. As I was 
saying, the one who took her is irrelevant. Because, that's not who 
has got her now. The one to focus on is the person who took over 
once she had left home. You've got to get in there. Understand 
him." 
The reply was a groan. "I'm trying." 
"If your provisional profile is right, then the person who has her 
now is very dangerous. We can't afford any more screw ups. If 
Linda's alive, she won't survive another mistake." 
The line remained silent so Patterson tried again. "Agent Mulder. 
Do you understand?" 
"No more screw ups." 
They quickly closed the call. 
By the time Section Chief Blevins arrived back in his office, 
Mulder had already left. The only evidence that he'd visited the 
room was the TV in the corner, tuned to CNN and still chattering to 
itself.

END of Part 4/7
jhumby@iee.org
Part 5/7
Friday night. Wasn't she supposed to be singing the thank god it's 
Friday song? Dana Scully threw her briefcase onto the passenger 
seat along with her jacket. Conscience prickled, what if you need 
to brake hard? She leaned over and put the case in its customary 
place of safety, tucked in behind the chair. There were times when 
that little nagging voice, got just too annoying. It's weekend, she 
shook her head, let's party. 
The traffic snarl ups along her route gave her just enough time to 
make plans. Had she arranged to go home? She forced her brain to 
come up with the date and was grateful to remember that her parents 
were off to Seattle to see Bill and his new wife. They'd suggested 
that she should go along with them and she was glad that she'd had 
the foresight to say no. Another little twinge of guilt at that. 
She wanted the weekend to herself. Was that too much to ask? No. 
She gave herself a little cheer as reward for her willpower. 
So, party? A lazy unwind tonight. A shopping trip tomorrow. And in 
the evening. What? A movie, theater, a concert. Wasn't Cathy doing 
a recital this weekend. Maybe she could phone around, see who was 
out and about, make an event of it. She shook her head, amused by 
the rapid crystallization of her plans. Looked like the personal 
organizer in her brain couldn't stand to see blank space on the 
schedule. How long had it been since she'd tried a girls' night 
out? 
Of course between work, family and Jack, blank space in the diary 
was a bit of a luxury. Jack. She'd almost mapped out the weekend 
without even thinking of him. A sign of the times, like the fact 
that he'd been the one phoning her and he'd been the one popping 
into her office to make a date. She sighed a little at the thought. 
Things had been getting awkward between them. He was in her space. 
Their time together revolved around his work schedules, not hers; 
his life, not hers. 
A gap appeared in the traffic and she was home in minutes. That was 
one thing that she'd miss about Quantico. An easy drive from home 
to work. Particularly with the odd working hours she normally kept. 
She decided to phone her brother while dinner cooked. After a few 
minutes of catch up gossip, her mother came on the line. "Dana. I 
was talking to your Dad about what you said. About leaving Quantico 
for a field assignment." 
Scully tensed, sensing what was coming. Her mother's voice 
continued to push. "He says that the Bureau are just like the armed 
forces, that they just send you off to anywhere in the country. 
Bill thought so too." 
"Well, yes, they do. But after a couple of years, I should get a 
choice. Relocation is part of the price for the job, I need to get 
the experience." 
"And what about Jack?" 
What about Jack? Jack wasn't even the frame when it came to this 
decision. Scully caught herself there. Oh well, confirmation if any 
were needed, game over. She braced herself to prepare him for the 
news. And herself. 
------------ 
Game over, Mulder knew that Blevins would hit the roof when he 
realized what had happened. Mulder groaned a little and let his 
hands slap at the steering wheel of his tediously stationary car. 
Concentrating, he carefully examined the tail lights of the car in 
front and moved the requisite three inches further forward in the 
traffic queue. As if they didn't have enough misdemeanors to write 
up in his file. Skipping out on a little disciplinary pep talk had 
to rank right up there, one of his best performances this month. 
Of course, it didn't help that Mulder was furious. If he'd stuck 
around to talk to Blevins he might have told him the truth and 
probably wouldn't have managed to do it without using the kind of 
phrases that would have been grounds for summary dismissal. Not 
that it mattered all that much, it was only a matter of time. 
Bunking off like this was going to get him another disciplinary 
hearing, probably an order for psychological counseling and a few 
more red lines on his personnel file. So what? He was getting 
censured for gossiping to other agents over lunch now, what 
difference did some deserved red lines make? 
They'd killed that kid. And they hadn't even needed to open fire to 
do it. 
And now they were more interested in justifying the raid than in 
recovering Linda Roberts. Mulder felt oddly soothed by the fact 
that he'd never managed to be as professional as his colleagues. He 
didn't want to be. He wanted to get Linda back alive. Swallowed 
hard. Or dead, if that was the way it was. 
The horn of the car behind startled him back to attention. The 
queue had moved forward without him noticing, leaving a gap of 
nearly three feet. Whatever. 
An idea hit him as he approached the interchange. He made the turn 
and headed out to the Lone Gunman office. With the UFO group 
members clamming up on him, an understandable reaction in his 
opinion, he needed another route to the information. A route on 
which he wouldn't be falling over a gaggle of unsympathetic agents 
trying to talk to the same uncooperative witnesses. 
Mulder's arrival was met with wary greetings. Linda Roberts' 
disappearance and Paul Jacobs' suicide were now very definitely in 
the public domain. It had rapidly got past the news item stage and 
onto the 'interviews with the pundits' phase. Why had the Bureau 
singled out some social inadequate as being responsible for the 
loss of a Senator's daughter? Why indeed. Mulder's gloom 
intensified as the three men quizzed him on the background. 
Mulder opened his briefcase in search of his notes on the missing 
girl and her acquaintances among the alien experiencers. He threw 
the previous night's uneaten sandwiches away and passed the non 
perishable supplies around. Frohike phoned for a couple of pizzas. 
As they huddled over the remains of the food, Mulder explained what 
he needed. They argued, Mulder felt the clock ticking and tried to 
summarize his case. "Linda left home with a friend, planning only 
to be away for a few hours, just enough to give people a scare, 
make them take notice of her. She thought that it would also help 
her friend's cause of getting UFO monitoring taken seriously. But 
some third person is now involved and he's holding them both 
hostage." 
Frohike was soft spoken. "Why can't you identify this friend 
yourself, why do you need us?" 
"Because the group are scared of the FBI and consequently of me, 
I've only met one of them and half the Bureau are trying to 
interrogate him. I need an in, somewhere else in the chain." 
"And the man who has got them now. You've no idea about him?" 
"I've ideas about him. Ex military, over thirtyfive, not the first 
time he's been involved in a kidnap, a professional. But he's too 
vague a target. He's one step removed from Linda, he may not even 
have met her. Linda's friend is the link. I need her. I need to tie 
the names and nicknames I've found to real names and addresses." 
Langley was dubious. "It's one thing hacking into government files, 
but hacking into membership registers, pulling stuff on private 
citizens." He shook his head apologetically. "Even for you." 
Mulder flicked restlessly at a lock of hair that refused to stay in 
place. "Did you see CNN today, the initial reports?" 
"Sure. Your lot scared one of them to death." 
His lot. What was it Patterson had told him about not being a one 
man band? Not Superman. Did Superman have to put up with this kind 
of shit? "Right now. My lot are probably trying to work out what 
suit to wear when they sacrifice me as part of the annual scapegoat 
cull. If I wait for them, Linda Roberts will die." 
Frohike tried to mediate. "Look, it's not that we don't trust you." 
Mulder prowled the room finally coming to rest sitting on a desk, 
facing away from the other three men. "But by their friends shall 
you know them." He closed his eyes and let his neck stretch to face 
the ceiling, let his eyes reopen to study the cracks in the 
paintwork. "I need one name. 16 to 20 years old, female, has 
publicly claimed to be an alien abductee, IQ over 130, wealthy 
middle class parents, she has her own car. She probably has a 
credit card in her own name which she has not used since Linda 
Roberts disappeared. She has not been to school, she has not been 
seen since Linda disappeared. She has a history of running away 
from home, her parents have not reported her missing." 
"Sounds like you already know her." 
"It's a profile, Langley. A ludicrously specific one actually. That 
means it's my best guess. Unfortunately I can't guess a name, 
address and phone number." 
Frohike walked over to Mulder. "You're saying Linda Roberts got 
kidnapped by a teenage girl and turned over to this ex-military 
type?" 
Mulder groaned a little, hadn't he been through this. "No. Both of 
them got kidnapped by someone else. Someone dangerous. Two 
victims." 
"Someone who might kill them?" 
Mulder turned his attention to Frohike, studied him carefully, 
captured his eyes. "Sooner or later. I don't know when, but if 
Linda dies, he'll kill the other one. If we get to Linda in time, 
we save them both." 
Byers typed while Frohike and Langley watched. Progress was slow. 
Mulder tried to watch CNN, finished writing the updated versions of 
the two profiles, faxed copies of them to Blevins and Patterson. It 
was a couple of hours and some phone calls later before the printer 
sang into life with the results of Byers' searches. 
"Mulder." Langley's voice had an undercurrent of apology. 
Mulder leaned back in the chair. "S'okay. Really. It's okay. I'm 
not happy about this either, but time's short. I needed this. I'm 
grateful. I understand the problem." 
Frohike handed him two names and addresses. 
By the time Mulder got back to his apartment, he was ready to drop. 
He checked the time, it was almost 11. Too late to be phoning 
people. Usually. 
However, these were people with teenage daughters, late phone calls 
had to be a fact of life for them and wasting time was not a good 
idea. He called the first number. "Hi, this is Marty, can I speak 
to Katrina, please?" 
The voice at the other end of the line was disgruntled but 
compliant, he shouted to his daughter to pick up the damned phone. 
Mulder quickly talked himself out of the call. Maybe tomorrow he'd 
turn back into FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder and interview her. 
The second call took him to nowhere. "I'm afraid Jacqueline isn't 
here right now." 
Mulder tensed, tried to move in closer to the phone, wondered if he 
could get away with sounding like a worried boyfriend for a few 
minutes or if he was going to have to come up with some other 
excuse. "I've not seen her for a couple of days, I was getting 
worried, thought that she might be sick or something." 
"She's gone away for a few days. She likes to do that. I'll let her 
know you called." 
Jackie Adams. Mulder looked over at the computer. Then at the 
couch. A couple of hours and then he'd definitely have to get some 
sleep. 
------------ 
Morning was too bright. Mulder wondered when he'd become light 
sensitive. Latent vampirism, Spooky. Saturday and a visit to the 
Adams family. He told his brain to shut up humming him theme tunes. 
The Adams with one "D" family. He looked at the coffee to see if it 
would take responsibility for the gaggle of voices demanding 
attention in his brain. 
Displacement activity said the nag, the one that sounded a bit like 
Bill Mulder, his High School basketball coach, his tutor at Oxford 
and Bill Patterson all rolled up into one. Breakfast, said the bit 
of his brain that knew it had to keep an eye on him, the bit that 
insisted on survival. The rest of his brain was too sullen and 
tired to argue. He ate his food and drank some more coffee. 
Even wearing his best suit and his FBI issue "strictly the facts 
ma'am" demeanor he didn't have the nerve to call on the Adams 
family before 8. The Adams household before 9, corrected one of the 
nagging voices. 
A run, you want a displacement activity, knock yourself out kid. 
Running was good, it cleared his mind. Unblocked the adrenaline 
that sat around like poison in his veins. Delivered a nice healthy 
shot of endorphins direct to the brain. Linda Roberts knows Jackie 
Adams, Jackie Adams knows who? 
He'd spent the night before, reading a little about Jackie. 
According to the police missing person records and the psychiatric 
reports, she ran away from home for the first time when she was 
eight. Missing overnight, she remembered only the shiny people who 
didn't talk. A breakdown when she was fifteen and extensive 
counseling afterwards had brought out a whole new woman. At least 
that was what she'd told the small circulation magazine that had 
documented her struggles to recall alien abduction. 
Who did Jackie know? Who could move in to seize and hold two 
teenage girls. Of course the man could have been in the car the 
night Linda left home, just waiting for them. But it didn't feel 
right, Jackie would have been worried by him. If she had known that 
he was around, she would have warned Linda and Linda had left 
without a struggle. It had been a week, where could you hold two 
unwilling hostages for a week? 
If Jackie had known what the man was waiting then she would never 
have done it. Mulder had believed it when he wrote the profile and 
having read her article, he was certain of it. They went in 
Jackie's car to Jackie's hiding place and the man was already 
there. Too easy to miss them if he'd showed up later and this guy 
was a professional, he didn't make that kind of mistake. 
A professional what? Ex Military, Mulder had suggested. No ransom 
notes, no clues, no bodies, no gloating phone calls to the press. A 
high profile mission and he hadn't taken the credit. Such self 
control. 
Of course, the girls might already be dead, might have died that 
first night, two bodies in the Potomac or a Virginia mineshaft or a 
garbage dumpster. Mulder refused to allow the thought to take a 
hold, ran a little harder to force it out. 
Of course, the gloating from their kidnapper, or was it killer, at 
any rate their UNSUB might come later, once the press had built up 
a good healthy head of steam and made it irresistible. Mulder tried 
to get enough air to run that thought away too, found he couldn't, 
had to slow down as leg muscles screamed and his breathing 
collapsed into spasms. What had he told himself about not running 
when he was tense and had only just eaten? Shut the fuck up, Mulder 
told the nag in his head. Bad enough having to walk home, he didn't 
need a commentary. 
After a shower and a shave and dressed in the right suit, Mulder 
decided that he could pass for a FBI Agent. Sudden recall. It was 
Saturday, he'd skipped out on Friday before Blevins had caught up 
with him. What was the betting that the team was meeting this 
morning? Probably a team increased in size to match the increase in 
publicity? The kind of group Blevins could haul in front of a TV 
camera to demonstrate around the clock commitment. 
No way did he want to talk to Blevins. The longer he kept out of 
his sight, the longer he stayed off the suspensions list. A quick, 
embarrassed half smile. Of course, he was still officially 
reporting to Patterson on this case, but he ought to let them know 
his plans. He called into the office, deliberately avoiding 
Blevins' phone. If there was a meeting, it would be in Blevins' 
office or one of the conference rooms. Mulder left the message on 
ASAC Pemberton's answering machine. 
------------- 
The briefing started without much enthusiasm and ended with even 
less. The only thing that lifted the spirits of anyone at the table 
was when Blevins raised the obvious question. "Has anyone seen 
Agent Mulder?" 
The shrugs were mixed with half smiles and knowing glances. 
Everyone affirming their superior detective and psychological 
profiling skills by suggesting that it was no surprise to them that 
he hadn't shown up for work today. 
Someone had to say it out loud. "He seemed very upset yesterday, 
Sir." Suggested Briggs. 
Blevins nodded his head. 
"Should I try and contact him, Sir." Offered the agent, apparently 
oblivious to the bemused expressions of his colleagues. 
This time Blevins replied. "Good idea, see to it." 
Briggs slumped back in his chair and reminded himself what he'd 
learned about volunteering for no win jobs. Get Mulder in and 
everyone would assume it was just a coincidence. Fail and you'd 
just wasted your time. He left a message on Mulder's answering 
machine, the cellular just told him that it was switched off. 
-------------------- 
Jackie Adams, Jacqueline as her mother preferred to call her, had 
left home a week earlier. Saturday afternoon to be precise. She'd 
taken her car, some money, her bank cards. She was a very adult 
young woman and knew how to look after herself. And no, they didn't 
see why they should be expected to keep an eye on her seven days a 
week, twenty four hours a day. They were her parents, not her 
jailers. 
Mulder sat forward in his chair, allowed his voice to drift quieter 
as he spoke. "I've read Jacqueline's work in magazines, she sounds 
a very intelligent young woman. " 
Jacqueline's mother relaxed a little, fingers unlocking, her face 
easing from steady mask to slight frown. 
"Mrs Adams. I'm concerned for her safety. I think she had only 
planned on being away for a day. What do you think?" 
Mrs Adams rose, started to pace. "She sometimes stays away longer." 
"But how long did you think she was going to be away?" 
A pause, faltering voice. "Overnight. She said that she would be 
back on Sunday evening." 
"Mrs Adams, I'd like to talk about Jacqueline's friends, about the 
people and places she likes to visit. And with your permission I'd 
like to search her room, to see if there any names and addresses, 
anything that might indicate where she went." 
The woman nodded her head, didn't look up. 
----------- 
Blevins paced. The other Agents watched and read Mulder's fortune 
in the Section Chief's heavy footsteps. 
This time, Mulder had truly blown it. He wouldn't be walking away 
with just a ticking off. After nearly eight hours of trudging 
around town interviewing these UFO spotting goons the only thing 
that any of them had come up with was a lot of wise ass remarks, 
demands for warrants and threats of lawyers. Oh, they could do it 
all right. There were Federal Judges who could be persuaded that it 
was a good cause. But it could just as easily all blow up in their 
faces, Blevins had already had one incident this week. 
Where the hell was Mulder? The one time they needed him. Jeanine 
Beland's ex was the only person who they could prove was linked in 
any way with Linda Roberts. Of course, the boyfriend would only 
talk to Mulder. Incredible. Mulder wasn't going to wriggle from 
under this one, if anyone was getting nailed to the sinking ship, 
it would be him. 
Another message was left on Mulder's answering machine. It was then 
that Pemberton played back the messages on his own. 
A call from Mulder, timestamped eight thirty, letting them know 
that he would be spending the morning with the parents of 
Jacqueline Adams and suggesting they try there if they wanted him 
first thing. And that his cell phone was still on recharge and that 
he should be reachable on that number after noon. 
Blevins looked for a target. ASAC Pemberton provided the easy way 
out by turning to the young agent who'd had the job of contacting 
Mulder that morning. "I assume you just gave up on the cellular 
after the first attempt?" 
Honor done, blame shifted. They tried the cell phone again. There 
was no reply. 
-------------- 
This had not been the plan. Mulder shifted uncomfortably in the 
driver's seat. What plan? 
Six addresses remained on his list, a couple of Jackie's own 
favorite vacation haunts and a few of her friends and relatives who 
he hadn't been able to contact by phone. All of them places that 
her parents or others had known her to stay in the past plus the 
places he'd picked up from her credit card stubs. A telephone 
survey was one thing. Walking up to the front door was another. 
What if he was right about it? 
Even if he wasn't, shouldn't he report to Blevins to tell him what 
he'd found so far? Which was? Jacqueline Adams had gone missing on 
the same day as Linda. Good one, any Judge in the land would give 
you a search warrant with that kind of evidence. Not the point. He 
should have backup. Yeah, backup, the same people who had ignored 
him yesterday should come door knocking with him now. 
Mulder told the voices in his head to shut up before they paralyzed 
him. 
The bit of his brain that handled survival had already left a 
message on Patterson's answering machine. That would have to do. 
Mulder didn't like the address he was heading towards. It sounded 
too comfortable, too quiet. He liked it even less when he actually 
parked in front of the house, noted the absence of near neighbors, 
saw the way the drive led to a garage at the back. The way you 
could push someone unwillingly inside and no one would know. The 
muscles in his hand twitched to tell him that he was in the danger 
zone. He picked up the cell phone and started to call for 
assistance. 
A window smashing could be shockingly loud. Mulder dropped the 
phone and tried to get to his gun. The metal that pushed against 
Mulder's ear was ice. His brain understood the danger instantly but 
his hand kept trying to reach for his holster. The voice stopped 
him. A sound as cold and hard as the gun against his head. 
"Freeze." A short pause to ensure that he had Mulder's undivided 
attention. "Freeze, or your brains redecorate the car." 
Mulder obliged. Ice afraid and frozen statue still. 
The gunman was pleased with the reaction. "Ok. Hands on your head. 
Get out of the car, walk to the back of the house and then lie face 
down on the ground." The man obligingly opened the car door to make 
compliance possible. 
Mulder kept his hands on his head but didn't move. "Seat belt." 
Almost too hard to say even that. 
The man laughed, the fucker laughed and Mulder wanted to scream. 
Through the laugh, a voice that carried no humor. "Never lives up 
to the movies does it. Ok, release the catch. Make me nervous and I 
fire. Keep in mind, I get nervous easy." The voice didn't sound 
nervous. 
Trembling fingers took too long to release the catch. Long enough 
for the bile to rise in his throat. Still alive, Mulder put his 
hands back on his head. Slowly out of the car and walking. Easier 
said than done, knees didn't want to play it cool. He was grateful 
for the damp concrete against his face, tried to burrow in. 
Neat and efficient, his gun was quickly removed from its holster. 
"Any other weapons?" 
Mulder shook his head against the ground. 
"You're a Fed." Not a question, a statement based on an appraisal 
of Mulder's clothes and the make and caliber of gun. Sardonically 
said as if the man was vaguely amused by the idea. A none too 
gentle poke of the toe against Mulder's kidneys as he lay on the 
floor, not intended to injure, just to remind him that answers were 
required, even to things that weren't questions. 
"Yes." Tight, quiet voice, tried to get it together to say the next 
words. "An assault on a Federal Agent is a serious offense. My 
colleagues won't be pleased." 
"I'm sure. And they know where you are?" 
"Of course." 
"So who were you going to phone when I got to the car?" 
Mulder swallowed, keep it going, don't let him know you're flying 
solo. "I check in at each new location." 
"Sure you do. Bureau's well known for it. 'Who needs backup, I've 
got a phone.' Ok, on your feet. Nice and slow. Indoors. Move." 
Mulder complied.

END of Part 5/7
jhumby@iee.org 
====== 
Part 6/7

Dana Scully's big night out was turning out to be just what she 
needed. Somehow it had become a girls' reminiscences night out, 
which hadn't quite been the original plan, but it was working for 
her and it looked like it was working for them. 
They shared memories, different lives. Successes and failures, 
personal and professional, all commiserated upon and laughed over. 
Agreed that they should get together more often, that it had been 
too long. 
------------- 
If you're drowning, they say your life flashes before your eyes. 
Which was probably why Mulder's brain was delivering too much 
information for him to process. Desperately trying to get the calm 
place back. No more screw ups, he'd confirmed that principle to 
Patterson, tried to focus, was that really only yesterday. 
How to commit a cardinal sin without really trying, or thinking. 
God, he felt sick, like he was on a ship and it was rocking, 
rolling him as he walked the last few steps into the house, hands 
on head. Replaying the day. The interview with Jackie's parents, 
necessary for him to do that alone. The search of Jackie's room, 
required. The shortlisting of the names and addresses, his 
territory. 
Then it had fallen apart. One minute he had a list. The next he was 
making phone calls. Calling Jackie's friends, relatives, realtors 
whose vacation homes she had rented. No phone call to Blevins, 
because he couldn't face him. No phone call to Pemberton, because 
he didn't think he could hit lucky and get through to the machine 
twice. So busy running away from them that he'd gone it alone for 
no reason. Sifted the list until there were only six locations 
left, scored the locations for probability and first time lucky. 
Here he was, walking at gunpoint into the tender mercy of a madman. 
Furious now at the drowning, the shortage of breath, the lack of 
clarity, Mulder tried to claw his way back into the game. Blinked 
his eyes, tried a deep breath, standing up a little straighter, 
thinking of Linda Roberts and Jacqueline Adams and not of Fox 
Mulder. "How are Linda and Jackie?" 
The tall man with the gun and the lank blond hair took a while to 
reply. "Fine. They're bored, they're sleepy, but otherwise, just 
fine." 
Mulder felt his legs fail, forgot how to move. Alive and it was all 
worth it. Alive and he'd signed their death warrants by walking in 
here without support. Focus. Concentrate. Alive and the profile 
he'd written for Bill Patterson was right, had to believe that, 
hang onto that. 
"Move." 
Did as he was told, started moving again. Took off his jacket like 
he was told, sat down on the floor like he was told, handcuffed 
himself to the radiator like he was told. Obediently lay still as 
the man searched him more thoroughly for concealed weapons. 
"Fox Mulder?" The man with the gun scanned the ID card. "Unusual 
name." 
"Yeah, Mulder's probably Dutch in origin." 
The blond nodded his acknowledgment. "Funny boy. Bet you're just 
the comedy party animal back at the office." 
"Where are Linda and Jackie?" 
The gun twirled in the man's steady hand. "Funny and well trained, 
huh? Use first names for the hostages, force the hostage taker to 
see them as real people?" 
Fuck. Mulder leaned back and rested his head in the angle between 
wall and radiator. Remember the profile, pay attention. 
The gun stopped twirling, coming to rest with its muzzle pointing 
unerringly towards Mulder's heart. "Not well trained enough to have 
brought out a SWAT team with you, though. Or aren't you flavor of 
the month right now? Are you the fucker who got Paul Jacobs 
killed?" 
No, you are. The words sprung fast and loud into Mulder's head, his 
brain was alert enough to stop his mouth from saying them. 
The man grinned as he tried and succeeded in his impromptu mind 
reading act. "Smart ass. Let's see what else we can find out about 
you. Why are you out here on your own?" 
"We had a number of places to check, when I fail to report in, 
they'll.." 
"Bullshit. I've seen people expecting to be rescued. Combatants who 
know the chopper's coming. Civilians who think the cavalry's over 
the next ridge. They get excited, anxious, scared. You're just 
resigned to it. You're not expecting anything." 
Mulder tried to open his eyes, maintain the cover. "I expect them 
to get here before you can leave." 
"Depends how quick I am. Three rounds. Doesn't sound like that 
would take very long to me." 
Oh fuck. Mulder felt his eyes slide shut again. That was not 
supposed to happen. Concentrate on the profile, he ordered himself, 
save the fucking FBI macho shit for Blevins and Pemberton. "You 
don't need to hurt the girls." 
"And what would you know about that. Fox?" 
"I know things about you." Here goes, fly by wire, nothing to lose. 
"When you left the Air Force, you were recruited by the CIA." 
Light on his feet for a big man, he spun fast, lunging his gun 
smoothly towards Mulder. Grinned as Mulder flinched away. Eased 
back to lean on the wall before talking, spoke through a soft 
sneer. "Failed the foreign language proficiency requirement." He 
waved for Mulder to continue. 
"Apologies. Not the CIA, the NSA. You were assigned to cover up 
evidence of covert operations, sightings, alien abductions, but 
some people you met seemed like innocents, like victims, Jackie for 
one. Jackie encouraged you to get out and you did. She wanted you 
to go the media. But you couldn't, because they locked you up in a 
hospital then pensioned you out with a mental breakdown, so you 
wouldn't be taken seriously." 
The man smiled slowly, considered the body on the floor, safely 
cuffed to the pipework. He tucked the gun back into the shoulder 
holster, prowled the room. "Delusional and with a severe 
dissociative disorder, a danger to myself and others during my more 
manic episodes." Words spoken without feeling, as if it was someone 
else's history. Focused back on the man chained to the radiator. 
"You're good Fox. How'd you do it?" 
"It's my job, I write profiles. Now we're on first name terms, 
maybe you could tell me yours?" 
A raised eyebrow and a nod of the head, "Colin. Colin O'Neill. Your 
job, eh? Like on Silence of the Lambs?" 
Yeah, like Silence of the fucking Lambs. Mulder kept quiet, nodded 
his head. 
Colin warmed to his case. "So you're Jodie Foster and that means 
you get to take on the maniac single handed. Makes sense to me. 
Shame you haven't got red hair." 
Yeah, that was a shame. It must just not be my day, decided Mulder. 
"Colin, can I see Jackie and Linda?" 
Colin's pacing led him finally to Mulder, a neat kick to the ribs 
delivered as an order to keep still and quiet. Mulder obliged by 
not struggling as O'Neil carefully applied plenty of duct tape to 
act as a gag before he headed to the door. The ex-NSA clean up 
specialist paused before leaving. "No. And either you keep quiet, 
or I keep you quiet." He switched off the light as he left the 
room, careful to lock the door as he went. 
Mulder kept still and listened to the house. Heard a car pulling 
away from the drive, made a guess and concluded that it was his car 
being driven off and dumped. Kicked at the radiator, then at the 
pipes, at the floor, at the walls. Waited for the answering sounds 
of fellow hostages or of rescuers, heard nothing. Let himself fold 
up into the corner again and tried to imagine another day dawning. 
Long slow night. Slower dawn. 
Not the best way to start a day. Tired and thirsty and hungry and 
in urgent need of a bathroom and still cuffed to a radiator, 
muscles protesting the discomfort, brain screaming at the 
helplessness. Mulder decided that with the sun up, it was time to 
forget that order to keep quiet. 
Colin shook his head indulgently as he entered the room, just a few 
minutes after the radiator rattling began. "Naughty. Naughty. But, 
I'm not one to hold grudges, I'm a fair man. I'll tell you what. 
You were such a good little Fed all night, you can get cleaned up 
and meet the ladies." 
He threw Mulder the key to the cuffs, eerily calm smile as he 
brought the gun steadily into position, carefully pointing at his 
captive's chest. 
Mulder seethed with frustration at his own clumsiness as he tried 
to find the lock and free himself. Finally, sat up as straight as 
the chain allowed, forced himself to control his breathing and pay 
attention to his heart beat, like he was on the rifle range and the 
cufflink key was the bullet. 
----------------- 
No one was happy to be working Sunday. Not that working Sunday was 
that much of a novelty for any of them, it came with the territory. 
In fact, if they were actually working, then all of them would be 
feeling a lot happier about the situation. As it was, there was a 
shadow in the room. They were all just marking time because Mulder 
wasn't around. 
Naturally, after yesterday's answering machine fiasco, everyone had 
carefully checked their desks before heading to the conference 
room, but it hadn't done them any good. 
With no messages from Mulder and no reply on his home number or on 
the cellular there were more than mixed emotions in the room. A 
senator's daughter missing and Fox Mulder had gone walkabout. 
Blevins did not let the irritation show, after all, the FBI was not 
a one man band. Someone else could get Jeanine Beland and her old 
boyfriend talking. End of story. Surely Pemberton was competent 
enough to manage that? 
Phone calls were only transferred to the conference room if they 
were urgent. Everyone looked suspiciously at the ringing phone. 
Bill Patterson's voice down the line was even and steady. "Is Agent 
Mulder there?" 
The young Agent who'd answered the call told Patterson that Mulder 
hadn't been seen that day, nor the day before. 
The handset was hurriedly transferred to Blevins. 
Patterson sounded a little less steady now. "I've just picked up a 
message from him on my machine. He was planning on making some 
house calls, yesterday evening." 
All they needed, all any of them needed on a seven day week. 
According to Bill Patterson, Mulder should be viewed as a missing 
person and probably, as another victim of their kidnapper. 
------------ 
Only slightly hungover, Dana Scully responded to the phone on the 
fifth ring. Doctor Jackson's assistant was kindly and apologetic, a 
dead body at Quantico and she was down on the call in roster as FBI 
specialist pathologist this weekend. 
This weekend? Why not last weekend when she could have skipped out 
of playing babysitter to her nephews? Why on her weekend? Leaned 
her head back to help it wake up. Ok. Agent Scully, duty calls. She 
focused as much enthusiasm into her confirmation as possible. 
Advil in her pocket, gun in its holster. She cursed her job 
description, then sighed. If she was serious about this field agent 
stuff then the gun might be something more than ceremonial, lucky 
she was a good shot, once less thing to worry about. Wondering what 
she hoped to find at Quantico, she grabbed the last carton of juice 
from the refrigerator and headed to the car. 
By the time she reached the autopsy bay, the duty ME was already in 
full flow. She hovered, waiting for the other doctor to spot her. 
"Agent Scully. Good to see you." 
"And you. What do you have?" 
"Ah, it's not what, it's who. Could be one of the FBI's ten most 
wanted." He smiled as he cut. 
Dana Scully picked up the notes and started to read. Her presence 
here a formality. A bullet in the brain made for a pretty easy 
cause of death. She helped the ME to pick up the fingerprints, the 
tissue samples and the trace evidence. By the book. Filed him away. 
This would not put her name in lights, her name was just a counter 
signature on a couple of papers. 
It was as she was leaving the lab that she ran into an agitated 
looking Nick Parker. "Agent Scully?" 
She confirmed his memory, grateful that he was wearing a name 
badge. She recalled him from the Yashiko Taburo meeting. 
Nick pulled her to one side. "Have you seen any of the tech staff 
today? I need some help. Forensics. It's an emergency. The call's 
gone out to the department head to get people in but I was hoping 
there might be someone around." 
"What sort of emergency? What sort of forensics work?" 
"Agent missing. We've found his car. I'm on my way. Anything, I 
don't know. Blood? I've not heard yet. Mud? Don't know. There might 
be something. Have you seen anyone?" 
She checked that the right people were being mobilized to go to the 
scene, but Parker's anxiety pulled her along with him. A few 
minutes later and she was going out to view an abandoned car. "How 
did they find the car?" 
Parker tried not to drive too fast as he spoke. "Cell phone. Still 
switched on. They got a district. Took a while to find the car. 
When they got there, nobody around, like it had been dumped." 
"Houses, witnesses?" 
"Some houses, but no one saw who parked it. They are doing house to 
house, working out from the car. But it'll take forever, 
apparently. Too much to check. Lot of outbuildings, boathouses, 
empty property. Some run down warehouse area. Anything you can come 
up with." 
They drove. 
----------------- 
By the time Bill Patterson arrived at Fox Mulder's abandoned car, 
there were a gaggle of DC and Quantico based agents already 
swarming over it. Who'd have thought that Mulder was so popular. 
"A Spooky hunt. Like we didn't have better things to do." Some of 
the grumbles were louder than others, but a lot of the sentiments 
matched. 
Patterson isolated the loudest, fixed him in place with an icy 
glare. "Agent Mulder will be with Linda Roberts. And he'll be a lot 
easier to track than Miss Roberts." 
Blevins and Patterson faced off over the roof of the Ford. 
Patterson had almost laughed when he saw the non descript blue of 
the car, noted the middle of the road model, the lack of personal 
effects in the interior. Mulder had learned caution during his time 
in the behavioral unit. Innocuous car proclaiming the alleged 
normality of its owner. A few case files in the trunk along with a 
change of clothes in an overnight bag. No briefcase, just a coat 
and phone on the passenger seat. 
"So this much is obvious. Mulder got picked up the instant he 
stopped outside the house where the girls are being kept. Surprise 
attack, probably as he tried to make a phone call. Fast and direct, 
gun through the window and no time to struggle. Very efficient, 
trained for it. Dumped the car, walked or ran home, far enough to 
lose us." 
"You don't expect us to get anything by searching the area?" 
Blevins looked uncomfortably around the crew, scanned the horizon 
of boatyards and warehouses. 
"Didn't you read Mulder's profiles?" Patterson took in the looks 
that told him that even if they had, they hadn't taken much notice. 
Long suffering tone to his words. "Linda Roberts went with a woman, 
who Mulder yesterday identified as Jacqueline Adams, to a place 
that seemed good for a night hiding out from home. Got caught there 
by someone, ex-military, trained to kill. Does this look like the 
sort of place a nice middle class girl like Jackie would bring a 
nice middle class girlfriend for a weekend break?" 
Seeing no reaction to his comments, Patterson continued. "The UNSUB 
took Mulder's briefcase from the car because it contained his 
notes, addresses and the like. Left the phone switched on to make 
it easy for us to find the car and throw us off track. He's a fair 
distance away, but probably in walking range. I doubt that he'd 
risk public transport or a cab, but you might want to check." He 
demanded a map and that they get hold of the local police, some 
people who knew the area well. 
Dana Scully listened with interest. Funny, when she'd said that the 
coat and phone still on the seat indicated that he was captured 
instantly on parking at the UNSUB's hideout, no one had heard. When 
she'd suggested that the seat placement looked a little far back 
even for a six footer like Mulder, nobody had done anything more 
than peer down at her, as if because she wasn't tall, everyone else 
must look like giants. 
She walked over to an angry looking Nick Parker. "Nick, can I have 
a word?" 
Parker looked please to have the excuse to walk away from the group 
of agents whose lack of optimism was only feeding his own gloom. 
"Got something?" 
"No, but if I can see inside the car, I might. If the kidnapper 
drove, then we may get his height by checking seat position and 
mirror angles. We can test it on a few people. Check the carpet for 
dirt or whatever. Maybe, we'll get lucky." 
"Sure, I'll get you through the horde." Parker shrugged and led the 
way. 
It took a few minutes to come up with more data. The driver was 
big, maybe as tall as 6 foot 6. Wore running shoes, at least Scully 
was pretty sure that the muddy shoeprints in the car weren't 
Mulder's, it was unlikely that Mulder would be out of FBI 
regulation clothing. A few blades of mown grass on the pedal. A 
blond hair on the seat back. Nothing more. 
The forensics team arrived a few minutes later to start looking for 
fingerprints, no one was very optimistic about that. 
Patterson indicated an area a little over four miles away. Weekend 
cottages. Nicely tended, the kind of place that would have its 
lawns cut on Friday before the visitors came. A few miles along the 
river. The bank of the river a suitable running track for a late 
night jogger who no one would notice returning home. 
-------------------- 
Linda and Jacqueline sat on the couch. Feet neatly together, 
sitting up straight, hands resting on their laps. The models of 
genteel young womanhood. Affect spoiled by the tape that was 
binding their ankles and the plastic ties that held their wrists. 
Their tears still prickled just below the surface, but too many had 
already been shed to allow more to be wasted without due cause. 
Eyes too glossy, like last night's sleeping pills had not yet truly 
worn off. 
Mulder had acknowledged them on entering the room, but they had 
shown little understanding or interest in his arrival, stared 
blankly through him. So, now he was struggling hard to ignore them, 
determined to take them out of the game at the earliest 
opportunity. "Colin. You should let them go. They aren't going to 
be able to help you." 
"Depends. Doesn't it? On what I do." 
The tall figure sat up straight in his chair, lifted the gun, 
pointed it at Jacqueline's head. 
Mulder sucked in a breath, couldn't afford to panic, had to believe 
the profile was right. Else they were all dead. "Please don't scare 
them. They've been through enough. Let them go. You've got me as 
hostage now. You never wanted to hurt them. Just let them go." 
"I need them." He twisted the gun onto Linda Robert's torso. 
Through the haze in her eyes, she seemed to understand the threat, 
time again for tears now. "Her. The cameras won't roll without 
her." 
"Yeah they will. We can make the information public, you can 
explain what they made you do. How they made you hurt people like 
Jackie. How they tried to stop you talking about it. We can get 
coverage. I know people who will help." 
O'Neill stared back, disbelieving. 
Mulder told him about the X-Files, about the work he was doing, the 
investigations. Cautiously explained why he was on this case. How 
he could help. If Colin would just work with him, how he could find 
people who would publicize the story. 
It was attractive, Colin didn't deny that. He could get everything 
that he needed without hurting anyone else. Sounded like it was 
just what he'd always wanted. Hadn't heard of the X-Files though, 
couldn't believe that his old friends back at the NSA would let the 
FBI muscle in on their territory. 
The FBI didn't like having X-Files, Mulder spoke with care, 
described the obstacles that were in his way. How only the allies 
he'd made had given him the freedom to start the work, how every 
step antagonized someone higher up. How, someone like Colin could 
make it all so much more credible. How Colin could explain the 
cover up, get the word spread through him. 
They talked, O'Neil remained unconvinced. At the end of the day, 
Fox Mulder was just one man. Fox Mulder might even be just a good 
liar, he'd met a lot of good liars. Even if he wasn't, he needed to 
make sure that the world was watching, not just some Bureau 
outsider. 
Mulder kept trying to deflect Colin's focus. "You've done enough. 
After what happened to Paul Jacobs, everyone's watching. They want 
to hear. I can help you." 
Colin laughed as he swung the gun on to Mulder. "You're one of 
them." 
Swallowed down the bile, one problem at a time. "The girls aren't 
involved. Don't let them get caught in the crossfire. You'll need 
them to explain why you did it. Linda and Jackie can help you, if 
you let them go." 
"No." Sad shake of the head. "They can't help me. I tried 
explaining it to them." He flicked his eyes over the girls then 
turned back to Mulder. "I gave them the injections, but it isn't 
working." 
Injections. Mulder winced, thinking back to old reports. People who 
claimed they'd seen something but the memories had been masked. 
People who said new memories had been implanted to cover old. 
People who'd had hypnosis to unpeel the lies. Just as Dr Werber had 
revealed his own memories of Sam's abduction. O'Neil had been one 
of those people covering up UFO sightings and now he wanted to use 
the techniques to implant those memories instead. 
Training was clear, but Mulder's instincts were at war with his 
training. Do nothing that will reinforce the man's delusions. Clear 
enough advice. Mulder overruled it. Maybe he could use O'Neil's 
needs to get back in the game. "I can help you, Colin. We need to 
hypnotize them, it will make them more open to the new memories." 
Strong hands thumped noisily into the table as O'Neil rose to prowl 
the room. 
Committed now, Mulder took a deep breath and carried on. "I can do 
the hypnosis." 
O'Neil paused in his pacing. 
Another deep breath, Mulder tried to stay calm under the ice gaze. 
"But, you mustn't give them any more drugs. I need them awake." 
O'Neil stroked his hair with the muzzle of his gun. Agitated as he 
paced, mumbling angrily to himself. 
Mulder couldn't hear the words, he'd intended to provoke a 
reaction, but he wasn't at all sure that this was the reaction that 
he had wanted. 
O'Neil's movements slowed, his body shivering to a halt as he faced 
Mulder. Finally shook his head in angry disbelief at Mulder's lack 
of understanding. "It's too late. They are going to find us. 
They'll know the girls were kept here. I'm going to die, they 
aren't going to let me get out of this alive. The only thing I can 
do is take as many of them as I can with me." Dark eyes suddenly 
focused hard, boring into Mulder's soul. "As many of you as I can." 
Mulder stared back, like he'd had to when faced with psychos 
before. But then, of course, they'd been the ones wearing the 
cuffs. Ignored that aspect, spoke authoritatively despite the 
disadvantage. "Let the girls go, they don't deserve this. You know 
that, that's why you couldn't mark them, hurt them like the 
abductees you've seen. You can't make it right for the others by 
hurting Linda and Jackie." 
Strong hands clenched furiously, O'Neil stalked the room again, 
angry at Mulder's attempt to limit his choices. "I didn't hurt 
them. Because. I didn't want to. Same thing. Doesn't apply to you." 
Tensed his finger against the trigger. 
Linda gasped at the sudden fury in O'Neil's voice, startled as if 
from a dream, Jackie closed her eyes, groaned a despairing no into 
the fabric of her shirt. 
Mulder's cuffed hands tried to pull apart, stopped by the chained 
links. Tried to run, felt the tape tug against his bound ankles as 
he tried to flinch away. Unable to fight or run, forced himself to 
focus. "Doesn't matter. Let them go. You'll still have me."
Deep, deep breaths, O'Neil suddenly collapsed, deflated as if a 
bubble had burst. The finger relaxed, unhappy shake of the head. 
"I'm not interested in you. I know plenty will come after them." 
Dark, dangerous eyes scanned and nodded towards the neatly seated 
girls, flicked back to Mulder. "I don't know that anyone will come 
after you. Looks to me like you're a bit of a lone wolf, I'm still 
waiting for that backup you threatened me with. I'll make you a 
promise though. I see the TV cameras and the SWAT team. I let them 
go." 
Mulder closed his eyes, prayed to no one and nothing in particular 
that it was ok to have faith in the words of a madman whose mood 
could shift in an instant.

END of Part 6/7
jhumby@iee.org 

====== 
Part 7/7

The stand off between Patterson and Blevins could have only one 
winner. Patterson had taken over the operation, if not in name, 
then in fact. His words to Mulder replayed angrily in his head, no 
more screw ups. The one man band had been given the green light. 
The kid was an idiot. A brave, intelligent idiot, but an idiot 
nonetheless. 
It wasn't the first time Bill Patterson had found himself trying to 
scrape Mulder out of the wreckage of a disaster. Patterson looked 
around the group, saw Nick Parker staring his way. Yes, Nick had 
done his share of scraping since he'd met Mulder. Fortunate that 
Mulder attracted such protective loyalty from those who'd got close 
to him. Fortunate, because the rest of the assembled posse probably 
only noticed the wreckage. 
Even if they had to go house to house across the district it 
wouldn't take that long. With the likelihood that the man they were 
searching for was tall, blond and out of place in the area, it was 
probably going to be even quicker. With the search they'd launched 
on Jacqueline Adams favorite places, they might have an address at 
any moment. The key thing was to be prepared. 
Bill Patterson reread the profile and let Mulder's words take him 
into the mind of an ex-Air Force, ex-Intelligence Service, 
professionally trained kidnapper. 
----------------- 
It was going dark when the phone rang. O'Neil jumped to attention 
so fast at the sound that he almost forgot the need to hold the gun 
steady on Mulder. The time had come. 
The FBI negotiator got straight to the point and asked for the 
release of Jackie Adams, Linda Roberts and Fox Mulder. 
O'Neil refused. 
The negotiator asked if he could speak to Mulder. As soon as the 
refusal was spoken, the negotiator asked O'Neil for his demands. 
Brisk, to the point questioning. An instant later, the negotiator 
explained that TV coverage was out of the question while he was 
still holding the women. 
The response was enough to cause the fury to bubble over. Threats 
spoken loud and clear. Phone slammed down. Gun hand twitching as it 
again locked aim on Mulder's chest. 
Mulder kept quiet, saving his words for when O'Neil had come down 
far enough to hear them. 
The sounds in the room were being relayed back to Patterson by the 
surveillance mikes. Even through the distortion and electronic 
noise he could hear O'Neil's furious pacing. 
The angry response was not a surprise to Bill Patterson. The 
strategy in Mulder's profile notes was extraordinary high risk. But 
hadn't Bill told Mulder that he trusted him? Colin Desmond O'Neil, 
also known as Desmond Collins. They knew him now, found his name 
cropping up on a search of recently pensioned NSA staff. Ex-Air 
Force, employed by the NSA until his breakdown, one year ago. The 
height, the psychological problems, his interest in the UFO fringe 
had identified him before the negotiator had confirmed it. A 
dangerous man even before the breakdown. A frightening man even if 
he was taking his medication. Which he wasn't. 
Blevins and Pemberton stood close to Patterson, carefully keeping 
their mouths shut as the ISU boss waited motionless, eyes fixed on 
the house. Silent for long minutes, in which no voices were heard 
over the surveillance mikes. Patterson turned to his colleagues. 
"Are the TV cameras here yet?" Pemberton sent an agent to check. 
The Hostage Rescue Team were in position, covering all appropriate 
vantage points around the house. Sniper riflemen watched their 
assigned windows. The surveillance team tried to improve the 
performance of the sound monitoring. Waiting. 
The house had become silent. Patterson waited for Mulder's voice, 
relieved enough to be delighted when he finally heard the mumbled 
words of his profiler. 
"Colin. Let the girls go now. They won't allow you access to the 
cameras while the girls are in here." 
The answering voice was flat calm and utterly emotionless. "I need 
them. Bargaining. If I have to kill you. I'll need them. To get 
heard." 
"They won't bargain while you've got the girls." 
O'Neil laughed. Hard, brief, humorless. "Remember Fed. I know the 
procedures, they'll bargain." 
"No, they won't. Not while you've got the girls. You have to free 
the girls. You want to. We both know you want to let them go. You 
don't want them hurt. They're innocents." A pause, deep breath. "I 
told them not to bargain." A pause. "In my profile." 
Patterson listened carefully and closed his eyes, reflected on the 
gamble again. It felt right. If Mulder was right, this was the best 
way. Pemberton announced that the first of the TV crews had 
arrived. Patterson asked the negotiator to call O'Neil. 
The phone rang and Mulder almost cheered. It couldn't be a 
coincidence, he wasn't ever that lucky. Someone had waited through 
the silence, hoping that Mulder would be in a position to signal 
them when O'Neil was in a fit state to talk. More than that, 
someone had known enough to realize that Mulder wouldn't get away 
with talking for long, that they needed to distract the kidnapper's 
attention away from his victims. Patterson? 
It just wasn't imaginable that Pemberton or Blevins would have 
responded like that. The only person Mulder knew who would 
understand and who would have the authority to make it happen was 
Bill Patterson. The novelty of being grateful for Bill's presence 
almost made Mulder laugh. 
The expression on Colin O'Neil's face kept all thought of amusement 
at bay. Mulder couldn't hear the negotiator's words. He wondered if 
Patterson was doing the talking for himself. Probably not, Bill was 
a puppeteer, such was his expectation of having orders obeyed, he 
probably had no qualms about having the negotiator perform his 
script, knowing it would be played exactly as written. Mulder felt 
the shiver walk gingerly along his spine, the alarmingly slow 
convulsion of fear and doubt. Not Patterson's script, his, 
Mulder's. Money where your mouth is. 
Survival skills already stretched to his limits, Mulder kept his 
eyes averted from his fellow hostages. He couldn't offer them 
reassurance and he was quite sure their expressions wouldn't do his 
nerves any good. 
"Where's the fucking profile?" Mulder looked up just in time to see 
the hand that slammed into the side of his head. O'Neil's way of 
emphasizing the urgency of his question. 
"Briefcase." Replied too loud because of the ringing in his ears. 
The giant figure loomed over him for an instant more, then turned 
sharply on his heel and left the room. 
Now or never, Mulder rearranged the chain of the handcuffs to offer 
as much freedom as possible to his right hand. Struggled against 
the shivering of uncooperative fingers and the dizziness in his 
head to find the key that he'd palmed that morning when he freed 
himself from the radiator. 
The gamble on knowing and understanding O'Neil was impossible, 
ludicrous, given the man's instability and the absence of the drugs 
that must have been used to control it. But, at least, it was 
Mulder's own gamble, he thanked Patterson for that. 
O'Neil returned, coffee marked file in hand. Stared laser hard and 
unfocused at Mulder. 
The captive swallowed. "Page seventeen. Siege strategy." 
The gun bouncing in O'Neil's hand was not pointing at anywhere in 
particular, the file had his full attention. 
Mulder thought about the words that he'd written less than 48 hours 
before. Make no concessions while he holds the women. He doesn't 
want to hurt the women. Following his confession to camera, his 
stability will be severely compromised. Martyrdom urges will 
dominate, he may then lose the control that stops him killing the 
hostages. 
Eyes flitting across the page as if every word was being read and 
reread, over and over, O'Neil groaned at last. Calm as a cat 
watching a mouse, he studied Mulder. "You wrote your own death 
warrant." 
------------- 
A place for everyone and everyone in their place. Almost everyone, 
Dana Scully decided uncomfortably. What was it that Jack had said 
about field work. Paperwork and waiting around. Looked like having 
spent her morning on autopsy paperwork, her assigned role this 
evening was to wait around. Not quite part of any crew, not HRT, 
not the Linda Roberts' case team, she was uncomfortably sure that 
she was now merely a spare part in the proceedings. The only 
consolation was that Nick Parker looked just as redundant. 
"Nick." 
He turned towards her, tired and anxious. "Agent Scully. Dana. I'd 
forgotten.. If you want to get home. I can arrange a car. You can 
take mine." He started to fish through his pockets looking for 
keys. 
"No." A little irritable edge to her voice. As if she'd be leaving 
before she knew the outcome. "No, I'm not leaving." She softened 
her voice as she spoke. "I just wondered. You obviously know him 
well." 
He nodded, recognizing Mulder as the subject of her question. "Yes. 
Well. No. Actually I don't. He, err, saved my life a year or two 
back. Literally and metaphorically. You could say that I like him, 
better than I know him." 
Scully noticed the tightly pulled muscles in Parker's face and 
backed off from that line of questioning. It was her experience 
that making someone cry in public was not usually the way to win 
new friends. "Good profiler, I heard." 
"Good? He's fucking spooky." Parker gave an embarrassed shrug as he 
heard his own words. Scully waved away his attempted apology. He 
offered a sad half smile in reply. 
------------------- 
"I should kill you now." 
Mulder looked back into the cold eyes and forced his body to stay 
calm, to pause from admitting what his brain was thinking. Yes, 
O'Neil should kill him. If O'Neil played it the way the profile 
said, then Patterson would stick to the script. Change the dynamics 
by killing Mulder and who could guess what the outcome might be. A 
Senator's daughter as hostage? Demand a helicopter. 
In the final analysis, the outcome would be the same. In a few 
hours time, Colin O'Neil would be dead. The only question was how 
many people he took with him and how much publicity he got. Free 
the girls and only Mulder would be left. And no additional lives 
would be put in jeopardy to rescue him. They'd do what they could, 
Mulder didn't doubt that, but in the end they could not take extra 
risks. 
If he could think who to pray to, Mulder would have been willing to 
pray. He cast a quick glance towards the girls, their eyes were 
closed again, maybe they were praying. Mulder tried to place his 
faith in the profile he'd written, leaned back and closed his eyes 
as well. Waited for O'Neil to decide whether or not to kill him. 
-------------- 
A straight swap. Offered and accepted. Accepted, until they started 
to work on the details. 
The two girls would be freed as soon as the TV cameraman and 
interviewer arrived. The correct interviewer, O'Neil was tuned in 
to CNN. He recognized the woman speaking. Accept no substitutes or 
everyone dies. The cameraman was an unknown, they could easily slip 
in an agent in that guise. But the interviewer was a sticking 
point. 
A civilian and an FBI volunteer in exchange for two other 
civilians? Not a good enough deal. They told O'Neil that the young 
reporter refused to come in, so someone else would have to stand in 
for her. 
Dana Scully was one of those who offered her services as a reporter 
wannabe. Suggested standing her in front of the camera and 
broadcasting her image, just in case he accepted her as a CNN 
staffer, not a Fed. 
O'Neil's temper was rising. The threat of an explosion was getting 
closer each time he got upset and he was getting very upset. 
Proposals offered. Safe passage suggested. A way of presenting the 
camera crew to him so that he could check first that they were 
unarmed. 
Mulder interrupted, his first words for a long time, Patterson 
pulled the headset tighter over his ears to make sure that he 
missed nothing. "Take the agents in exchange, you don't want 
civilians, you want more of us."
"But my message?" 
"Get them to start broadcasting you, sound only, from the phone." 
The deal was sealed by a compromise. The profile had said no deal 
before the girls were released, but something had to give. O'Neil 
moved them into the hallway of the house, retied their feet, cuffed 
them to the radiator. Mulder, hands still cuffed, opened the front 
door and prayed that the FBI snipers had up to date photos and good 
eyesight. He returned under O'Neil's watchful eye and the two men 
made their way back into the living room. With the girls out there, 
O'Neil could still reclaim them, could still shoot them, but the 
marksmen could take him out if he did. It was a compromise of 
sorts, the best they could get. 
O'Neil breathed deep and waited for calm before picking up the 
phone. A few minutes later and he started to tell his tale to the 
world. The TV set tuned to the news channel echoed it back to him a 
few seconds after that. Furious, he switched off the sound. 
Mulder pointed out the problem. "They'll cut you off, they can hear 
the TV in the background. If they know that it's not on, they can 
cut you off. You have to keep talking over it." 
Fingers itching between the phone, the TV remote and the gun. 
O'Neil tried to find a balance, see if he could get a pace in his 
voice and a level on the TV that would let him talk and not drown 
him out in his own feedback. 
The gun lay tantalizingly close on the table, Mulder waited for 
O'Neil's frustration to rise another notch under the onslaught of 
noise. He carefully freed his right wrist from the cuffs that he'd 
unlocked almost an hour before. Patience was killing him, but any 
lack of patience would leave him dead. 
Deep breaths. 
Another spotlight switched on, illuminating the house. A helicopter 
beam this time. O'Neil resisted the nervous twitch that was trying 
to make him look out of the window. Snipers, everywhere. That was 
how the Bureau worked. 
The lunge towards the table was over in a flash, but it still 
lasted for long enough for Mulder to watch, at least the events of 
the last week, flicker in front of his eyes. His fault that he'd 
got caught. His fault if he died now. 
Fended off the fist approaching his head with his left hand. 
Tightened his grip on the gun in his right as O'Neil knocked him to 
the ground. O'Neil stretched lazily towards the Sig Sauer, pinning 
Mulder to the floor with his body. An easy maneuver for someone 
with several inches and seventy pounds on his target. Mulder 
flicked out in desperation with his left hand, some relief as the 
dangling metal bracelet of the handcuff connected with O'Neil's 
face. Stunned gratitude as O'Neil suddenly weakened for an instant 
in his previously remorseless drive for the gun. Mulder looked up 
and realized that the cuff had drawn blood from the man's eye. Last 
tug of adrenaline and Mulder freed his arm, fired. 
Fired again as the weight above him shivered and convulsed. Fired 
again as the body twitched to rest. Fast as he could, slower than 
hell, Mulder wriggled out from under the heavy weight, warm blood 
lubricating the movement. 
Didn't notice the window break or the hiss of the gas canister 
until the room swam white. 
-------------- 
The EMTs just didn't seem to want to take no for an answer. "None 
of the blood is mine. I'm uninjured. I just want to get cleaned up 
and go home.. No, I am not concussed.. Of course, the gas sent me 
into a coughing fit, hurt my eyes and disoriented me, it's supposed 
to.. Sure, I'll report for an AIDS test in three months time.. No. 
I won't go to the hospital as a precautionary measure." 
It was Patterson who stopped the debate. "Yes. He will." Turned 
purposefully towards Mulder. "You. Get cleaned up and get checked 
over. I expect you in my office, tomorrow at two. Do I make myself 
clear?" 
Transparently so, Mulder decided. Finally giving in, without even a 
gesture of giving in gracefully. Told Nick Parker to go and worry 
about stray dogs. Told Pemberton to go and slime the TV news crew. 
Told everyone else to get the girls home safe. Told Patterson he 
hated ex-Air Force guys almost as much as he hated bald managers 
and EMTs. 
------------- 
Patterson tapped at the file on his desk. "Why all the interest in 
Mulder?" 
The man across the desk looked back, a gentleness in the lines of 
his eyes. Few would guess the things he'd seen. "Senator Roberts is 
grateful for his daughter's safe return." 
"Senator Roberts should be howling blue murder about an agent 
unnecessarily endangering his daughter by recklessly unprofessional 
behavior." 
"Perspectives. Let me assure you. Section Chief Blevins also thinks 
we should throw the book at Mulder. But if I might make myself 
absolutely clear in this respect, that would not go down well with 
some people on Capitol Hill. Mattheson was already an admirer. CNN 
made Mulder look good. What we need to do is rein him in. That was 
why I suggested that he should report to you on this one. Seems 
like it didn't work." 
Patterson frowned. "He's not controllable now, not in that way, not 
in this mood. He'll be dead in twelve months." 
"Unless?" 
"A partner." 
"Another one? I've seen his file." 
Bill Patterson sighed a little, formulated his reply with care, 
then spoke with authority. "He doesn't trust anyone to do their 
jobs. He doesn't wait around arguing with people who don't 
understand his leaps. He needs a partner smart enough to keep up 
with him. Tough enough to make him think about what he's actually 
doing." 
"Tall order." 
"I've told you the alternative." 
The man who needed Mulder alive rested back in his chair. Blevins 
and McGrath would have their work cut out finding the right person. 
"Anything else about getting the right candidate?" 
"Female if you can." 
"Again?" 
"He's less likely to get into an instant fight with a woman. Old 
fashioned like that." Patterson noted the raised eyebrows of his 
old Air Force colleague and nodded a smile of confirmation that was 
intended to remind him exactly who was the psychologist here. 
Deep Throat had plans for Fox Mulder. Plans that Mulder must not 
spoil by dying. So, a partner would be found. Now, all he had to do 
was make sure Blevins found the right one. Easy enough to cover his 
real motives. They would understand this much at least - they had 
to appoint someone smart enough to take on Mulder. 


END (A Case of Compromise) 
Thank you for coming along for the ride, I hope you enjoyed it. - 
Joann -jhumby@iee.org<