This episode features 'guest stars' Highlander. And points to the folks 
that recognize the John Woo's Once A Thief reference .

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A New War #19: Seacouver Blues
by Lianne Burwell
September 1999
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"Well?" Spender asked when his current aide poked his head into view. The 
young man was calm, which usually meant that he had information. The boy 
was a useful find. Certainly more tractable than Alex Krycek had been, 
and more competent than his late son, Jeffrey. *That* boy had been a 
disappointment. A waste of time and effort, barely worth the bullet that 
ended his life.

"Confirmation, sir. Agent Scully, Agent McCullough and Harrison Blackwood 
have been sighted in Seacouver at the Waterview Hotel, along with another 
man and woman. The woman has been identified as Dr Janet Gallagher of 
Rainier University, the woman whose office they were in when they were 
shot at. The man..." He paused.

"Have you identified him yet?" Spender asked, a little impatient with the 
young man's hesitation.

"We're not sure," was the answer. "He *looks* Colonel Ironhorse, from the 
Blackwood project, but the man has been dead for eight years. More to the 
point, he looks *exactly* like Colonel Ironhorse did eight years ago."

Spender froze, his cigarette halfway to his mouth. "Are you sure?" he 
asked. If the answer was negative, he was going to have to have a... talk 
with someone.

"We have pictures, and unless the Colonel had a younger relative who 
looks identical to him--"

"Never mind," Spender interrupted. "Have them picked up. I want them 
*all* alive, but especially Agent Scully and the two men."

"Yes, sir," his aide said, then disappeared to carry out his orders.

Mysteries within mysteries, Spender thought to himself, leaning back in 
his leather-upholstered desk chair. Of course the obvious answers were 
that the man was either a clone or a shape-shifter, but which? And if he 
was a clone, then who created him? The Mothren left on Earth didn't have 
the capability any more, according to the Consortium's... Masters. So 
that only left *them*. But why would they clone the man? Unless it was a 
trap for Blackwood. Now, *that* was a possibility. Still, he should have 
been informed.

They would find out once the group had been captured.

Of course there was always the chance that there was *another* group out 
there, one that they didn't know about yet. That was be the most 
disturbing possibility of all. 

Spender stubbed out his cigarette and went back to the file had been 
reading before the interruption. There was no point in worrying about 
that theory until there was some evidence to support it.

* * * * *

The group had slept through the day, not waking until late afternoon. 
Originally, the plan was for the entire group to go to the bar where the 
Gunmen's friend would have the package with the new sets of id and credit 
cards, but Ironhorse had quickly pointed out how risky that would be.

Instead, they'd gone out in pairs to get id pictures taken for Scully to 
take with her, and Scully would go to pick up the package. Since the Lone 
Gunmen were sending the package for her, it made sense for her to be the 
one to go collect it. Ironhorse would go with her as backup. Just another 
couple out for an evening on the town.

So as soon as the sun had gone down, they'd caught a cab to head for 
Joe's Blues Bar. It must be fairly good, Scully thought, since the cabby 
had known where it was without her providing an address to go with the 
name.

The bar wasn't much to look at from the outside, but inside it was warm 
and inviting. Even from outside they could hear the sound of wonderfully 
mellow blues -- not a surprise considering the name of the bar -- but 
were surprised coming in to find that the music was live.

The bar was full, but not overly crowded, so it didn't take long to get 
to the bar. A wave brought the bartender over to serve them.

"What can I get you folks?" the man asked with an engaging smile. He was 
taller than average. Maybe even taller than Mulder, Scully thought to 
himself. He was a handsome man, despite a nose that looked like it had 
come off a Roman Emperor.

"Joe Dawson?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Joe's a little busy right now," he said, nodding to the handsome gray-
haired man who was leading the band. He had a wonderfully smoky voice, 
and his guitar playing was equally accomplished. "Can I help you?"

Scully shook her head. "A mutual friend sent a package to him for me. I'm 
here to pick it up."

"Ah. Well, I'm just helping Joe out for the night, so I don't know about 
any packages. The set ends in another ten minutes or so, if you can 
wait." Scully nodded. "Well then, would you like a drink in the meantime?"

Scully glanced at Ironhorse, then shrugged. "Gin and Tonic," she said, 
not planning on doing anything more than sip.

"Guinness," Ironhorse said, prompting a brilliant grin.

"A man after my own heart," he said. "Coming right up."

In short order, they had their drinks and claimed one of the few tables 
not yet taken.

The music was good, and Scully found herself relaxing in spite of 
herself. It felt like she hadn't stopped moving since the day Krycek had 
shown up with his papers from Russia, and the stress was catching up with 
her. Sitting here with a drink, listening to a live band, she almost felt 
like life was normal again. Of course, life hadn't been normal since the 
day she'd met Fox Mulder, but that was a different story altogether.

She wondered what Mulder was doing at that moment. She still didn't like 
the fact that he was off with that traitor, Krycek. How could he be so 
blind for so long to what the man really wanted from him? It had been 
obvious to her since the day she'd met the man, apparently a young 
recruit fresh out of Quantico, that he was trying to get into Mulder's 
pants. Mulder hadn't noticed it, and she'd hoped he would keep not 
noticing it.

But she didn't think that was likely. There'd been a note in his voice 
when he'd told her that Krycek had taken a bullet for him. A new 
awareness. Scully sighed. She'd hoped he'd find someone, since she wasn't 
interested in being more than partners with him. Pointed hints from the 
people who'd assigned her to the X-Files that she... distract Mulder had 
pretty much killed an inclination she'd had that way. But Mulder needed 
someone in his personal life to keep him grounded, just like she kept him 
grounded in his professional life. Someone. Anyone.

Anyone but Krycek.

When the set ended, Dawson carefully put away his guitar in its case, 
then picked up a cane and walked stiffly to the bar. The smiling 
bartender leaned towards him, gesturing towards the table where Scully 
and Ironhorse were waiting.

Dawson nodded, then headed over towards them. "Dana?" he asked when he 
was close enough.

Scully stood and held out her hand. "Sorry to use you as a post office," 
she said. Dawson shrugged it off.

"It's not the first time that's happened," he said. "I've got your 
package in the office."

Scully indicated for Ironhorse to wait at the table, then followed Dawson 
towards the back of the bar. The office there was small and cramped, but 
tidy. Certainly tidier than the basement office she'd shared with Mulder 
for so many years.

Dawson opened a box sitting on the desk and pulled out a large envelope. 
He shook a number of card-shaped objects from it into his hand. "Do you 
have pictures to go in these?" he asked, turning towards her.

Scully handed him the pictures they'd had taken, and he checked them, 
matched them up with cards, then pulled an amazingly professional looking 
laminator from a closet. "This will just take a couple minutes," he told 
her, plugging it in.

* * * * *

Ironhorse sipped at his beer, trying to relax. This time, separating from 
Harrison was a little easier, having done it successfully before. He had 
a low-grade headache, but he wasn't as anxious as he'd been the night 
before. He still wanted to get this done with so that he could go back to 
the hotel and Harrison as quickly as possible, though.

He glanced around the bar, taking the chance to examine the people. He 
was watching for signs that they'd been followed, of course, but it was 
also curiosity. Other than the plane flight from New York, he hadn't much 
chance to take a good look around at the way the world had changed.

It didn't look to have changed much. Clothing styles were different, but 
the conversations he could hear were familiar; jobs and politics and the 
crime rate, boyfriends, girlfriends and spouses. Even when he didn't know 
the names, it was still the same. Well, other than that Clinton fellow. 
He couldn't remember ever hearing people discuss a president in *that* 
way, not even Nixon. In a way it was reassuring.

The front door opened, and Ironhorse turned reflexively to check out who 
had come in and his eyes widened in surprise. What the hell was Kincaid 
doing here? He was supposed to be in Colorado with Mulder and Krycek.

Forgetting his drink, Ironhorse got to his feet and moved to intercept 
Kincaid. He reached the man just as he stopped at the bar, calling out a 
greeting to the bartender.

"Kincaid, what are you doing here?" he snapped, almost angry.

The man looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face. "I'm sorry," he 
said. "You must have me confused with someone else." He looked over to 
the bartender and shook his head slightly. The bartender shrugged, but he 
looked tense, ready for a fight..

Ironhorse frowned, slightly confused. The man in front of him could be 
Kincaid's twin, but now that he looked closer, he was almost two inches 
taller than Kincaid. As well, he'd never known John to wear his hair that 
long. And while his voice was similar to Kincaid's, he had an indefinable 
accent; Scottish mixed with others that he couldn't name.

"I'm sorry," he said, still staring at the man. "You look just like 
someone I know."

"Hear that, Duncan?" the bartender called out, now grinning widely. 
"There's another one of you out there. The world is trembling, I'm sure."

The man -- Duncan -- snorted. "And I know just what your dirty mind is 
thinking, Adam," he said, then grinned. "Sorry to disappoint you, 
mister..." He paused.

"Paul Irons," he said, automatically using a cover name he'd used in the 
past.

"Duncan MacLeod," the man responded, holding out his hand. "Can I buy you 
a drink?" he asked, ignoring the snort from his bartending friend. 
Ironhorse shook his head.

"No, I've already got one, thank you. Besides, I'm just waiting for a 
friend."

"Well, enjoy your evening," he said, then turned back to the bar while 
Ironhorse headed back to his table to wait for Scully.

He couldn't help shaking his head, though. The man looked so much like 
John Kincaid that it was scary.

* * * * *

"There you go, all done," Dawson said, handing over the fat envelope to 
Scully.

"Thank you," she replied, eyeing him curiously. He grinned.

"Let me guess. You're wondering why I'm not asking about why you need a 
set of five fake ids and credit cards. I've known Byers for long enough 
to know that he wouldn't ask if it weren't important. Besides," he said 
with a bigger grin, "I've heard all about you and your partner from him."

Scully went a little white at that. "Right now, you'd be better off 
forgetting you've ever even heard of us," she warned.

"Understood, Miss Clancy," he said with a slight bow, using the name on 
her new driver's license. She shuddered slightly. Whose idea was it to 
make her new name Wanda Clancy? Whoever it was, she was going to have to 
have a little talk with him.

They left the small office, and while Dawson headed back towards the 
stage, waving to a newcomer at the bar as he went, Scully headed for the 
table where Ironhorse was waiting for her, sipping his beer.

"Ready to go?" Scully asked, and Ironhorse pushed away from the table. 
Scully frowned. He looked troubled. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," was the immediate answer. Then he said, after a pause, "See 
the man at the bar? The one with the ponytail."

Scully glanced over. The only person matching that description was the 
newcomer that had nodded in response to Dawson's wave. "What about him?" 
she asked as they headed for the door.

"Well, except for an inch or two difference in height, he could be 
Kincaid's identical twin brother."

Scully blinked, and looked back. "Clone?" she asked, a little worried.

Ironhorse shrugged. "Who knows? It could just be a coincidence."

"Maybe," Scully said thoughtfully. Certainly stranger things had happened.

* * * * *

It was only nine when the cab dropped them off at the hotel but Scully 
was already exhausted. It was like her body had decided it was safe to 
relax and catch up on her sleep. A bubble-bath followed by room service 
and an early night, she decided as she headed for the room she was 
sharing with Suzanne and Debi. Ironhorse was already reaching to unlock 
the door to the room he shared with Blackwood when he froze.

She wasn't sure what had caught his attention, but she trusted his 
instincts. From what she knew of him, the man had survived in worse 
situations than she'd ever seen. She held still and listened.

It was quiet. *Too* quiet for a hotel before even ten o'clock in the 
evening. Ironhorse was backing away from his room door, and he indicated 
towards the stairwell with a jerk of his chin. She nodded.

They were almost to the door at the end of the hallway when the stairwell 
door swung open and two armed men stepped through. Scully twisted, but 
two more were coming down the side corridor from where the elevators were 
and another had just stepped out of her room. Between them, the men had 
blocked off all the exits, leaving them with nowhere to go. They were 
unfortunately still unarmed, and the men facing them most definitely were.

Scully sighed, stopped and raised her hands, as did Ironhorse. How many 
times had this happened in the past? The only difference this time was 
that it was usually Mulder standing next to her, cursing under his 
breath. Missing the sound, she used one of Mulder's favorite -- and more 
unusual -- oaths drawing an involuntary snort from Ironhorse.

The lead thug didn't look nearly as amused. "Move," was all he said, 
gesturing with his gun for them to head back towards their room. Scully 
shrugged, and they moved.

Inside, the others were waiting, along with a couple more gunmen as 
guards. This was definitely starting to look like a case of overkill. 
Seven men -- plus any others who hadn't shown their faces yet -- to 
snatch two men and three women?

Debi was sitting on one bed, her expression completely blank. Scully felt 
a surge of sympathy. It seemed like only yesterday -- or a decade ago -- 
that Debi had been in the same position. The only difference was, then it 
had been her roommate standing over her with a gun, and there'd been the 
hope of rescue. Her mother sat next to her, a hand resting on her arm to 
comfort her.

The an oath from Ironhorse pulled her attention towards the other bed. 
Blackwood was lying there unconscious, a large bruise forming on the side 
of his face. She took a step forwards, but a growled warning stopped her.

It didn't stop Ironhorse, though. He ignored the gunmen in his 
determination to get to his lover's side. When one of their guards got in 
his way, a well aimed blow dropped the man to floor, whimpering as he 
clutched his obviously broken arm. A second followed him, clutching his 
family jewels. Scully winced at the high-pitched scream that cut off 
quickly.

In the end, what stopped Ironhorse wasn't a threat to himself. It was the 
gun aimed at the side of Blackwood's head. His glare could melt steel, 
but he stood still, his hands held out to the side. One of the other men 
pulled out a set of heavy-duty handcuffs and used them to bind 
Ironhorse's hands behind his back.

Then he pulled a cell-phone from his pocket and punched in a number. "We 
have them."

* * * * *

"Good," Spender said, allowing himself a small smile. "Bring them back to 
Washington." He hung up, and leaned back in his seat. A Consortium-owned 
jet was waiting at Seacouver International to fly them... home.

And once they were there, he would find out why *they* had been hunting 
Blackwood so hard and for so long. He would find out who the Ironhorse 
lookalike was.

And, he thought to himself with a smile, he would use Agent Scully to 
bring Agent Mulder to him. It was time to end this little dance.

TO BE CONTINUED