Season Six:
Episode 17

A Residence
Suburban Maryland
3:45 pm

The man was contemplating what he would have to drink after his post-workout shower. He was thirsty and looking in the refrigerator for inspiration, sweat dripping off of the end of his nose. Suddenly, he had a strange impulse to visit one of his clients. It wasn't their typical appointment day or time. In fact, it was extremely unlikely that the man would even be home. None of these facts deterred him. The feeling that he should go was strong. Undeniable.

The man closed the refrigerator door, crossed the kitchen and entered the living room of his two bedroom apartment. With neither hesitation nor undue haste, he moved to the closet next to the door, opened it and took out his trenchcoat. After picking up his supplies and keys, including his client's condominium key, the man was ready to go. With a glance back at his living room, his normal ritual before leaving for a house call to avoid forgetting something he needed, he exited.

The hallway was short. Still in exercise mode, the man took the stairs instead of the elevator. Descending to the parking garage, he was unconsciously going over his intended route. He lived about forty five minutes to an hour from his client's residence, depending on traffic patterns and signal light cycles. As he walked toward his car, he didn't notice the woman observing him from behind a support column of the parking structure. He noticed nothing really. He was focused on his task. One that he needed to perform. Although he didn't know why.

When the man exited the parking structure, the woman moved out into the open. She was smiling.

Special Agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder reported to Assistant Director Skinner's office as ordered. Scully could see that Mulder wasn't pleased. He hated to be interrupted, particularly when he was intellectually engaged in what he was doing. So far, they had determined that the thirteen Xfiles represented in the uplink as serial murders corresponded to eight different matters. Also, the Lone Gunmen were making slow but steady progress on the rest of the uplink information.

Working diligently with Mulder, Scully could forget, or at least suppress her concerns. Alex Krycek had watched her and Mulder begin their analysis at about 3:30 am. They had become engrossed in the process almost immediately. Dana had only looked up when she'd heard Diana Fowley say "Good night, Alex" in a tone that was more familiar than Scully liked. She hadn't heard Krycek's response, because she was busy assessing Mulder's absorption in the task at hand. A few moments of observation indicated to her that a meteor strike in the immediate vicinity would probably be insufficient to rouse him.

Satisfied that the chances of an untoward confrontation were small and motivated by a strong sense of unease, she had cut off Krycek's path to the exit. Having his undivided attention, she found that she couldn't say anything. The "right" words proved to be elusive, primarily because she didn't know precisely what she wanted to communicate. To avoid prolonging what was turning into an awkward silence, she settled for "Be careful," although that very basic sentiment fell far short of describing what she was feeling. Putting her finger to his lips to forestall what she expected was to be a flippant response, she'd tried again. "Something doesn't feel right. I'm not sure what." Placing his body between Dana and the other people present, Krycek had taken her hand, smiled tiredly and nodded. Then he'd left. When Dana had looked after him, concern evident on her face, she'd become aware of Diana Fowley's intense scrutiny. Ignoring her was easy. Perhaps too easy.

Waiting for Skinner to admit them to his office, the feeling of disquiet returned with a vengeance. Mulder was in his own little world. His uncanny ability to sense her inner turmoil appeared to be disengaged. For now. Scully sighed with relief. Skinner's secretary looked up and smiled at her with compassion. For some reason, that annoyed Dana. She didn't need compassion. She needed to see what Skinner wanted and then get the hell out of the J. Edgar Hoover building. She was restless. She was full of nervous energy. She had to move. To do something.

Just when she thought she'd surely burst a major blood vessel if she had to wait any longer, Skinner's secretary noted that her boss was off of the telephone and moved quickly to announce the presence of the agents. "Sir," she began softly, as she opened the door to his office only far enough to poke her head in. "Agents Mulder and Scully are here to see you."

"Fine." Skinner's voice sounded strained to Scully. Maybe Marita Covarrubias was creating more problems than she had been capable of when Scully last saw her. Dana had been proud of herself when she'd learned the identity of Skinner's visitor. No shock. Very little surprise. Krycek had mentioned the possibility that Marita had cut a deal. That she had somehow escaped the fate that had befallen the rest of Katarina's people. She also knew that Alex had noticed and ... approved of her equanimity in the Assistant Director's apartment. For some reason, that was important to her.

Dana was not prepared for the sight that greeted her and Mulder's eyes when they entered Skinner's office, however. The Assistant Director looked like he hadn't slept for a week. Stress was evident in the way that he held himself, as was fatigue and ... something else. Something she couldn't identify. She and Mulder sat in two of the four chairs arrayed in the vicinity of Skinner's desk. Skinner didn't sit. In fact, he didn't acknowledge their presence in any way.

Mulder and Scully shared a concerned glance. Uncertainly, Mulder broke the silence. "Sir?"

At the sound of the Special Agent's voice, Skinner looked up, focusing quickly on Mulder. "Agent Mulder, when was the last time you saw Agent Spender?"

Scully didn't like Skinner's tone. "Has something happened to Agent Spender, sir?"

"I've asked Agent Mulder a question, Agent Scully. A question for which I require an answer. Immediately."

Mulder looked at Skinner questioningly. Unable to ascertain anything beyond that Skinner seemed highly agitated from his visual inspection, Mulder thought back. "In your office. When Krycek was here the first time. That was the last I spent any time with him anyway. I'm sure I've seen him around since then but haven't spoken to him. That I recall anyway. For what it's worth, I suspect that he leaked Krycek's location and who knows what else."

"I see. Agent Scully, when did you last see Agent Spender?"

With both Mulder and Skinner focused on her, Scully took a deep breath before responding. "Last night."

Walter Skinner noted Mulder's surprise. Scully certainly wasn't telling her partner everything any more. Maybe it finally rubbed off from Mulder's behavior. Skinner knew, even before he'd fully formulated the thought, that it was likely incorrect. She'd learned it from Krycek. That was far more plausible. "Go on," he prompted.

"He and Krycek were working on the uplink information. They asked me to join them and coerced me into bringing dinner. While there, I met the Katya that Krycek referred to earlier. She's quite a piece of work."

"Was that after your bath?" Mulder muttered angrily.

"I beg your pardon, Agent Mulder," Skinner interjected, noting the mounting hostility.

"Nothing, sir," was spoken with a glare at Scully.

Skinner sighed. Mulder glares at Scully. Scully retrenches, apologizes and reverts to junior agent mode. That was how these encounters played out. The Assistant Director didn't like the pattern. He didn't believe it was healthy, and certainly didn't want to see it re-enacted for the umpteenth time. Walter Skinner stopped short. He had been about to assert his will over the conversation, and bring it back to the matter at hand, when he observed something interesting.

Scully met Mulder's gaze. Returning glare for glare. Calmly, she replied, "Yes it was, Mulder. And even if it wasn't, I would've gone anyway. That information is important." Mulder's mouth dropped open. Scully did not look away, letting her glare soften into an expression that more closely matched her tone. Her implacability disconcerted her partner.

Before Mulder could recover, Skinner continued, "How did Agent Spender seem, when you last saw him?"

"Fine, sir. He seemed to be getting along with Katya. They were discussing the problem of the hour when you called about Ms. Covarrubias. Why do you ask?"

Skinner sighed again. "Agent Spender did not report for work this morning. Agent Fowley found that odd, given Spender's avid attention to Bureau policies and procedures. When she couldn't contact him by telephone or email, she went to his apartment. He was unconscious on the living room floor. He's been taken to Mercy Hospital. They can't determine what's wrong with him. He appears to be in a coma-like state, unresponsive to stimuli of any kind."

"And we're known not to get along with him particularly well. Is that it?" Mulder's voice was quiet. His body language betrayed his rising tension, however.

"In small part, Agent Mulder. But no one's really taking those assertions seriously. I'm searching for information concerning what happened to Agent Spender."

Skinner fell silent and appeared to be considering the facts that Mulder and Scully had presented to him in a way that made Fox Mulder inexplicably nervous. "Did anyone see him later than Scully?"

"I know the time when I called for Agent Scully's assistance, so I can say that we know of no one ... except this Katya person. At least, thus far."

Mulder glanced at Scully. "Do you think ...?"

"I have no way of knowing for sure, but my instincts tell me that Katya would have no interest in silencing Spender. Alex either." Both Mulder and Skinner winced, as Scully lapsed back into the use of Krycek's first name. Neither man had gotten used to or accepted that result of Agent Scully's recent experiences.

Alex Krycek was reconnoitering Location 51. It was a good choice. Public, but not overly so. Not at 9:17 pm in the late fall anyway. The Jefferson Memorial was located out away from the main flow of traffic on the Mall. Satisfied that he'd refreshed his memory with respect to this location, Krycek moved back toward Washington DC proper. It was time to get something to eat.

He was aware of the men flanking him, as soon as one of them made a slight sound. Continuing on his course, he considered the situation. Listening hard, he realize that there were at least five, but no more than ten. Too many to deal with efficiently, even though Katya's team of three was in perfect position. Pausing as he moved ever closer to the Washington monument, Krycek stretched his back. Both hands over his head. The signal to hold off. Resuming his stroll, Alex wondered what this was all about. He got a hint when he spotted a familiar trench coat clad figure with a lit cigarette off to his left. Without hesitation, he changed direction and moved toward Cigarette Smoking Man.

"Out to get some air?" Krycek asked softly, stopping about three feet from the man whose relationship to himself was currently vague. Some day, when he had a few hours to kill, Krycek planned to contemplate the matter.

"Did you set him up?" Cigarette Smoking Man asked mildly, but Alex didn't like the way he was crushing the filter of his cigarette between his thumb and index finger.

Krycek's alertness elevated by about two orders of magnitude. His assessment of his situation went from slightly annoying to potentially fatal. He also knew that Cigarette Smoking Man had observed the transformation. There was no way he'd miss something like that. Sighing, Alex asked, "Who?"

"Spender." The fragility of Krycek's hold on this life was driven home to him by the flat, unemotional voice in which Cigarette Smoking Man intoned his son's name. What kind of trouble did the kid get into?

"No." Cigarette Smoking Man noted that Krycek had endeavored to match his tone. And he'd done admirably well. The boy had also looked him straight in the eye. No hesitation. No moment of "He knows." Nothing.

Krycek's tension level reduced only one notch, when Cigarette Smoking Man nodded. He knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. "What's the situation?"

"Uncertain. I think he was given a STAT derivative. Effective to induce neural shut down but awkward to administer."

"The Iraqis have a topical." At Cigarette Smoking Man's sharp glance, Krycek quickly added, "Or so I've heard." Cigarette Smoking Man silence and demeanor showed that he was angry. More angry than Krycek had ever seen him. And that was saying something. "You double cross the Consortium again?"

"Not in any way they could trace back to me."

Krycek smiled slightly at the effortless confidence in Cigarette Smoking Man's tone. "Did you look at one of them cross-eyed then?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing you haven't thought of. They've had no luck eliminating you. Given recent events, they aren't going to motivate me to do it. So ..."

"I'd considered that. I've also determined what my response will be in the event that we are correct. It won't be an enjoyable experience for those concerned," Cigarette Smoking Man stated softly. The look in Cigarette Smoking Man's eyes made Alex Krycek's blood run cold. No mean feat that.

The man had arrived at his client's condo. His put his key in the lock and opened the door. A beeping noise indicated that the alarm was activated. If the appropriate code was not keyed in within forty-five seconds, a klaxon-like noise would begin. A link would be made to the alarm company or security team that monitored the condominium. That was unnecessary in the man's estimation. He belonged here. The man knew the code. He entered it into the alarm box. The beeping stopped.

The man then moved to the study. He hadn't spent any time in this room. His massages had always been given in the bedroom. A much more intimate setting than the high tech look of the study. Two computer units. A scanner. Three printers. Black leather, glass and stainless steel. The man approached what appeared to be an ordinary black metal filing cabinet. He grasped the handle and tried to open it. The file drawer didn't budge. The man frowned. He looked closer at the filing cabinet and noted that the door was locked. He could see the flat metal bar that constituted the "muscle" portion of the lock mechanism. The man needed something with which to manipulate that bar.

He surveyed the room carefully. On the glass-topped desk was a letter opener in the shape of a dagger. It appeared both sturdy and svelte enough to do the job. He forced the letter opener between the top of the drawer and the frame of the filing cabinet. Once inserted, he moved the letter opener laterally, attempting to force the flat metal lock component (that was affixed to the back of the front panel of the drawer and resting against the back of the cabinet frame) to the right. A few determined thrusts later, the metal portion was knocked out of kilter. The filing cabinet drawer opened slightly. Continued use of the improvised tool changed the orientation of the metal portion enough to allow the man to open the drawer.

Inside the drawer was a safe. His client had mentioned it on numerous occasions. The safe contained valuables of several types. These were the kinds of disclosures his client made during vigorous massages, designed to deal with problems of the musculature. During more sensual massages, his client murmured about more specific and personal things. That the safe contained secrets. Secrets that men would die for. And the intricacies of maintaining security. The balance between ease of remembering and complexity was key in selecting an appropriate combination. His client had chosen his dog's birth date. December 2, 1993. 12-02-93. The man worked the combination. He opened the safe.

The safe contained money, jewelry, stock certificates and file folders. The man took only the file folders and closed the safe. A brief look around the office revealed a supply cabinet in which the man located an envelope large enough to hold the files. He put the files in the envelope and wrote another man's name on the front. All he had to do now was deliver the envelope to the appointed place. Then he could get something to drink and dinner. And get on with his life.

Alex Krycek and Cigarette Smoking Man were sitting in a Washington DC establishment called The Dubliner. A pint of Harp in front of each man. They'd had a bite to eat and had talked about everything that didn't matter, before settling into a companionable silence. Neither of them seemed to want to broach subjects that were relevant to the complicated situation in which they found themselves. That state of affairs was highly unusual. They had not indulged in exchanging trivialities in a very long time.

Alex reluctantly refocused on business. Considering his next action item, Krycek finally decided to ask the question that had been troubling him ever since he'd encountered Cigarette Smoking Man in the vicinity of the Jefferson Memorial. "Why aren't you going to be at the meeting tonight? You're in town. You've got history with me. I'd think they'd want you there."

Cigarette Smoking Man's expression was enigmatic. He wasn't sure how much Alex actually knew or exactly how much he wanted to reveal. "There was some interest in my participation. But, there were also reasons ... good reasons for proceeding otherwise. Certain things are ... politically difficult presently."

Political difficulties within the context of the Consortium could mean anything. If Krycek let his mind wander down that path, his head would begin to hurt. Of that he was certain. Fortunately, he was spared the mother of all headaches by the ringing of his cellular telephone. "Yeah," he stated tersely.

"Alex. It's me."

Alex Krycek didn't realize he was smiling, when he responded, "What can I do for you, Agent Scully?"

Cigarette Smoking Man's interest was instantly piqued.

"Spender's in a coma."

"I heard."

"What?"

"Bad news travels fast, Dana. I'm sure you've experienced that phenomenon."

There was also another plausible explanation of why Krycek knew what he knew. An explanation that Scully didn't want to accept. "Alex. You didn't have anything to do with it. Did you?"

Krycek recognized the fear and anxiety in Scully's voice. "No," he replied softly. "I didn't."

Dana Scully sensed that he was trying to calm her. She was having none of it. At least until she had gotten her answers. The complete answers. Leaving him no loopholes. "Did you order it? Suggest it? Manipulate or coerce someone into doing it? Allow it?"

"None of the above. If I had, I would've ceased breathing about an hour ago." Krycek met Cigarette Smoking Man's eyes as he made this statement. Cigarette Smoking Man nodded affirmatively.

"What does that mean?"

"That I've had this conversation already. With another interested party."

"Who?"

"I'm not at liberty to say. Look, Dana, I'm kinda in the middle of something here."

Special Agent Scully heard the dismissal in his voice. And rejected it. Completely. "Fine. Don't talk then. Just listen. I've been thinking ..."

Krycek didn't want to hear what Scully had been thinking. He didn't want to know what conclusions that this insightful young woman might draw if she was thinking about the "wrong" things. Like his recent activities, for example. Krycek wanted to avoid any sort of "significant" discussion right now. He had his mind on other things. How to avoid it? Maybe a Mulder-type strategy. Couldn't hurt to try. Might have a few ancillary benefits with respect to his dinner companion as well. "Dana. There's a project code-named STAT. I'd advise you to look into it. Quickly."

"Fine. My turn. The Lone Gunmen have made some progress on the non-serial murder text of the uplink information. It involves something termed "End Run". Does that mean anything to you?" Alex Krycek stopped breathing. He didn't understand how a referent to that operation could have turned up there. Unless the Consortium could monitor Resistance transmissions. "Alex? What does that mean?"

"I'll tell you what I know later," he replied softly, not even daring to look anywhere in Cigarette Smoking Man's vicinity. Scully had surprised him. Again. This was becoming a habit of hers. A disconcerting one.

"Where are you?" Scully asked.

"The Watergate Hotel."

"Can I meet you there?"

"No. I've got to go out."

"Alex, we need to talk. To compare notes."

"I know, Dana, but I'm a bit pressed for time right now." Suddenly, Krycek remembered that, to more fully understand Mulder's current mind set, he required some information from Scully. On a topic he was more comfortable discussing with her under the circumstances. "I have a question for you. What's the deal with Fowley and Mulder?" The pause was dramatic. Scully's silence was eloquent. Professional, and perhaps personal jealousy seemed likely. "Let me guess. Fowley's a believer in the sense that means something to Mulder. One who's easier to deal with than you ... or I for that matter. You require proof. I assert that proof is unattainable ... and ultimately meaningless. She feeds the fantasy that the truth is out there and can be harnessed in some meaningful way. More desirable partner material?"

Scully's reply was nearly inaudible. "That's close enough."

Krycek couldn't believe what he was hearing. This submissive, "I'm just second rate" woman was not the Dana Scully he'd been with at the compound or in New York. "You don't want her encroaching on your turf. Make her aware of the boundaries. Painfully so, if necessary. Mulder needs you to challenge him, not some parrot of his own theories. How dull would that be? Even for Mulder. Eventually." Alex was gratified by what sounded like a muffled giggle at the other end of the phone line. "Gotta go, Dana."

Scully realized that she couldn't keep Krycek's attention just now. Resignedly, she relayed a final warning. "Trust no one, Alex."

"Words to live by. I'll be in touch." Krycek broke the telephone connection. When he looked up, Cigarette Smoking Man was observing at him with an expression that Alex couldn't readily identify. "What?"

Cigarette Smoking Man noted the irritable tone of the question. "I just find myself wondering exactly what role you expect the fair Agent Scully to play in all of this. The two of you have a certain ... chemistry. Your interactions have an intensity that makes them intriguing ... and potentially dangerous. What exactly does the lady mean to you, Alex?"

Alex Krycek was reminded of the old adage "Discretion is the better part of valor" even as he thought that Cigarette Smoking Man should mind his own business. Refusal to answer was not really an option. Krycek was too realistic about his situation to hide behind complete avoidance behavior. Such a strategy conveyed a very clear message. One he had no desire to communicate. Still. Best to tread lightly here. In response, Alex shrugged dismissively. "She has a certain ... appeal. And a number of uses."

There were three men seated at a long desk in front of a one-way glass wall. Each was avidly observing the scene before them. Periodically, one of the men would write something down on a notepad. Responses to stimuli were recorded. Occasionally, one of the men would speak into the headset he wore, reporting on a particularly interesting observation in real time to other interested parties situated at remote locations.

This was a research project of long standing. It had a somewhat troubled ten year history. Work had been conducted on three continents. A successful scientific collaboration with regard to the level of cooperation and maintenance of confidentiality. Less positive results had been attained in the laboratory. Still. Progress had been made. Interesting and informative results had been generated. There was cause for hope.

When humans decided to explore the possibility of creating human-alien hybrids, the technological limitations they faced were significant. In the attempt to engineer part-human beings that would survive the colonization (although perhaps merely as a slave race), several concepts were tested. Some were better than others, as judged by the agreed upon success criteria:

1) Humanoid form;
2) Speech capability;
3) Independent thought/action capability;
4) Instinct for self-preservation;
5) Instinct for perpetuation of the species; and
6) Sexual reproduction.

The Russians had reported limited success. Their hybrid met all criteria, except numbers 2 and 6. Unfortunately, there were some life cycle issues with those mutants, relegating them to mere curiosity rather than practical alternative. Humans are mammals. Gestation within the mother's womb. Live birth. Parents to protect and raise the helpless infant. The Russian's first reported "success" had a very different life cycle. A more alien one. With the formative phase, requiring a host. Most preferably, a human host.

The three observers were viewing the latest in a lineage of host-requiring hybrids. Flukemen. There were subtle differences between these Flukemen and their "Russian" predecessors. Their forebears were refined by chance. Chernobyl radiation exposure. The Russian research facility was in the vicinity. Random mutations had occurred, causing a criteria number 1-only creature to evolve into something more. Something that Agents Mulder and Scully had encountered.

What the men were observing was a more highly evolved creature. A more ... dangerous entity. The creature was faster, stronger and ... more intelligent. They had done all they could with regard to observing the creature in a controlled environment. Any further meaningful experimentation required risk. Releasing the creature into the environment, even in a controlled way, was fraught with difficulty, tantamount to walking the tightrope without a safety net. This was the way the wind was blowing. The release decision was expected and eagerly anticipated. Confidence was high.

A man in a black suit entered the observation room. He nodded at the three observers. "I've got your orders," he informed them. None of the men asked the question. They knew the man was well aware of what they wanted to do. "Release the hound," he announced. After the suited man left the room, the three observers erupted with cheers.

The housewife was watching the television. Her favorite program was on. Home Improvement. She loved that show. Tim Allen was such a dear. Her husband didn't particularly like it. He rarely watched it with her. She didn't mind. Most days. Today she was feeling a little lonely. She wished he would make an exception but he didn't. He claimed he needed to do some work. She wasn't impressed. She rarely was anymore. But she wasn't particularly motivated to do anything about it.

Her husband was a software developer. He was integral to a brain trust developing several innovative military applications. His work was highly theoretical. Defense against high energy weapons fired from space. By aliens or Russians with heretofore unappreciated earth orbiter ability. It was fun for him. Like a game. The video games he had enjoyed in college. He was good at it. The rumor was that if he was permitted to continue his research, he could actually complete it. Establish a matrix defense and counterattack pattern capable of defending earth from attack from above. That was problematic for a number of interests. Those interests were inclined to deal with the problem sooner rather than later.

Tim Allen was fixing something on Home Improvement. As he adjusted and improved, he engaged in a monologue. He spoke to the housewife. He spoke directly to her. "Millicent," he said. "Hank is very busy these days. Isn't he? He's devoted to his work. His work. His work. His work. His WORK. His WORK. HIS WORK. HIS WORK. HIS WORK. ..."

She tried to block out Tim Allen's repetitive mantra. She'd always been jealous of Hank's career focus. That hadn't changed since she'd met him in college. She'd majored in history. He'd majored in physics. The sex had been fine, but sometimes Hank seemed detached. Distant. That had always bothered Millicent. She couldn't understand how he could claim to love her, when his mind and soul were often elsewhere.

She found Tim Allen's voice compelling. His logic irrefutable. "HIS WORK is the most important thing in the world to him. More important than you. You are insignificant compared to HIS WORK. A mere speck of dust in the world of HIS WORK. Is that enough? Are you satisfied with that? Can you be satisfied with that? Don't you have any self-respect? Surely you must. You've been raising four children, while he's been off doing his physics problems. Four kids. All doing well in school. All good athletes. Popular. All alone. You did it all alone. Alone. Alone. ALONE. ALONE."

The housewife looked at her husband. He was bent over his laptop computer. Focused on his work. As usual. She could feel her level of agitation rising rapidly. This was making her crazy. She deserved better than this. She deserved better than to run a very distant second to a study of quarks, quanta and photons. She knew she did. Tim Allen agreed. "You don't have to take this. You don't. You've taken it for thirteen years. That's enough. Way more than enough. You can't be expected to stand it for another moment. Not one more. You have to find a weapon. Something to use against him. He's bigger than you. Stronger. You shouldn't take unnecessary risks. You've suffered enough. Find a hammer. A hatchet. A garden trowel. Anything that you can wield with authority."

The woman smiled vacantly in her husband's direction. He didn't notice. She frowned and moved toward the basement. A quick trip to the cellar armed her with an ice pick. It felt good in her hand. Very good. Too good not to use. Way too good. When she returned to the ground floor, she noticed that her husband remained focused on his research. This time, that was good.

Her use of the weapon was amateurish, but effective. The reality of defense from an attack from space within a generation died.

Walter Skinner returned home after a long day at the J. Edgar Hoover building. He was looking forward to a number of things. A shower. A drink ... or two. Zoning out in front of the television or losing himself in some classical music. He'd forgotten that he had a visitor. A visitor that would impair his ability to engage in his preferred activities. He preferred watching television in his bathrobe and nothing else. And the only way he could play his classical music as it should be played was through high end head phones. Without realizing it, Skinner sighed and slumped a little in regret for what might've been.

"Bad day?" Marita Covarrubias asked softly, approaching the tired man.

"I can't remember the last good one Ms. Covarrubias," Skinner replied, unconsciously putting some distance between the young woman and himself. "I hesitate to even try. It'll only depress me." Skinner was surprised that he'd been so honest with her.

Marita was concerned. She didn't know the ins and outs of the machinations of Cigarette Smoking Man, the Consortium and other interests; however, she did believe that Skinner was required to be in his current position at the FBI for certain things to take place. His current level of job dissatisfaction did not bode well. Not well at all. "Then don't think about it," she suggested. "You're home. It's Friday night. The weekend. Let it go."

"Easier said than done," Skinner muttered, as he removed his suit jacket and tie. "Much easier."

"Do you like shrimp scampi?"

Skinner was taken aback by the question, surprised enough to answer it without hesitation. "Sure. Shrimp, butter, parmesan cheese. What's not to like?"

"Good. How about dry vodka martinis?" Marita was smiling at Skinner's confusion. He was off balance. A state she very much enjoyed in her men.

"Yes. Why?"

"I made dinner while you were at work. I was bored. I hope you don't mind." Skinner indicated with a shaken head that he did not oppose her actions. He also noted that she had taken some time to augment her wardrobe as well. The silk blouse clung strategically. That observation led to a deep sigh. This could turn into a long evening. Had he had a better day, well week or month really, Ms. Covarrubias might have posed more of a problem. She certainly was striking. Even though he wasn't interested in accepting what he believed Marita was getting around to offering, Walter Skinner knew that he had to be careful.

Marita returned. Sauntering into the room with two vodka martinis on a tray with some imported cheeses and crackers, she smiled at him. Watching her walk across the room, as she undoubtedly expected, Skinner considered his options. Caution was paramount but he also had to be vigilant. To protect himself ... and, quite possibly, his agents. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Some useful information might be attainable, if he played his cards right. Problem was that he wasn't sure how good of a hand he had. Only one way to find out. Marita sat on the couch and indicated that he should join her. Skinner complied. Deciding that she'd expect him to be a little nervous, the Assistant Director avoided the young woman's gaze as he took the drink she offered.

Marita ignored his apparent nervousness, watching him as he took a large swallow and settled back more comfortably in the couch.. "Better?" she asked.

Cautiously, Skinner assented. Then he decided to put his plan in motion. Knowing that nervous men often became talkative, he settled on a strategy of asking his questions and seeing what happened. "Why did you come here really? Why me?"

Marita Covarrubias directed her most winning smile at the Assistant Director. He reacted as 99% of heterosexual men would. He smiled back, and almost forgot his question. "Why? Because I instinctively trust you. Because you have a reputation for making judgments after you ascertain the facts, rather than before. Because your mind is more open than you let on. Because you might be able to use what I know effectively. Or be able to convince, coerce or force Alex into augmenting what we know with his information. That may well be the key." As she spoke more and more softly, she had moved closer.

Walter Skinner smiled slightly, took Marita's hand, squeezed it companionably and stood. Moving toward his favorite chair, Skinner turned back toward Marita and asked "What do you know?"

Marita was surprised by the subtle refusal of her unspoken advances. She knew that she resembled, albeit distantly, Skinner's first post-adolescent love interest. She'd known that for quite some time, but had never before had to opportunity to benefit from that knowledge. Apparently, this man, unlike many of his gender, had put memories involving his early sexual exploits in perspective. At least for now. After considering their unspoken communication, she replied to his spoken question. "Many things. Some of which might be of use to your Mulder and Scully. Most of which will benefit you. Directly. If you so desire." Marita was cautiously optimistic. She thought she could read her companion. Unless she missed her guess, curiosity had become interest. Interest was an excellent start. "What do you want Walter?" was asked in an ambiguous tone.

Skinner ignored the ambiguity assiduously. "Information. You say that you're here for all the right reasons. Prove it." Skinner watched Marita consider her situation. He merely leaned back into his chair. Trying to relax. "Or am I to gather that your plan was to hint at knowledge and provide a distraction to avoid revealing anything? Perhaps to cover up the fact that you really have no useful information?"

Marita recognized the gauntlet that Skinner had thrown down. She simply wasn't sure if she should pick it up. "For the record Walter, I am attracted to you. I can accept your reticence in that regard and confine our relationship to a professional one. That's fine. Regrettable, but fine. As for information, can you be a little more specific about what you want to know?"

"Where were Krycek and Scully held?"

"Walter. That complex is well hidden and out of your jurisdiction. Also, anything remotely incriminating has already been removed. Ask something relevant."

Skinner smiled, stood and moved toward the kitchen. "Can I refresh your drink?"

Marita grinned. "Better. Quite relevant. The answer is yes and the pitcher is in the freezer." She really did think she could grow to like this man. The view, as he proceeded away from her toward the kitchen, was worth seeing.

"Who was responsible for Agent Scully's kidnapping?"

"Agent Scully. It was her choice."

Skinner nodded. He'd known the two possible answers to that question. A useful test question. He was intrigued, despite his best intentions to the contrary, that Marita had chosen the reply that she had. "Were the men that Agent Mulder refers to as the Consortium responsible for her confinement with Krycek?"

"Yes."

"Names? Addresses? Telephone and fax numbers?"

"I can provide some locations where they've met in the past and some potentially useful telephone numbers. Perhaps some URLs of interest. Beyond that, you're on your own."

"I see," Skinner maintained a healthy skepticism in his tone. Marita met his eyes defiantly. "What about the gentleman with the chain smoking habit?"

"I believe I've got current contact information for him. But so does Alex."

"Why are bees significant?"

"They've been genetically engineered to transmit a virus. A number of breeding sites are being established around the world. At the appointed time, the bees will be released and a plague will follow. It will be devastating." Marita shuddered. Skinner thought her last statement and follow on action were nice touches. This woman could have a career in theater.

Skinner was forced to acknowledge that Marita's story tracked extremely well with Mulder's speculations. Perhaps too well. "When is the appointed time?"

"I don't know exactly. I'm hoping Alex does. The last time we ... spoke on the topic, he hinted that he had that information."

Skinner was interested by Marita's tone and choice of words. She'd been admirably nebulous regarding the demise of her sexual relationship with Krycek. Leading Skinner to believe that the relationship wasn't over regardless of what Marita claimed. He planned to explore that further later. For now, he had another question. "Why a plague?"

"To create disorder. Panic. To allow ... I'm not sure what. And I'm not sure the men in what you call the Consortium do either. Although they believe that they do, and that they and theirs are immune to it. I imagine the aftermath of the mass infection will be highly unpleasant."

"What's more unpleasant than an epidemic?"

"Whatever an epidemic is used as a prelude to or as a diversion from." Marita's tone was intense. All pretense of seduction was gone. She seemed to Skinner to be speaking eloquently on a subject that she believed mattered.

Skinner found himself leaning forward. "Are you alone in your beliefs?"

"No, but as you can imagine, the point of view isn't popular with the Consortium. Embracing it too vocally is bad for your health. At least lately. Katarina died for it." Marita had whispered the final sentence. Collecting herself, she continued, "Alex has worked in opposition for some time now. For the most part quietly. He's convinced that the assumptions and suppositions that the Consortium's position is based on are wrong. The result of clever misdirection. Recent events support that theory."

"I appreciate the philosophy lesson, but I need facts, Marita. Proof."

"As Agent Mulder is keenly aware, proof is difficult to obtain. What I can offer is limited. Enough to direct an inquiry. That's all. Are you open minded enough to consider it for what it's worth?"

Skinner observed Marita's nervousness. She was studying a cracker that she had put on her plate, looking at it from all angles and avoiding his eyes. "Try me."

"I really don't want to talk about this Diana." Fox Mulder's tone was sharp, even brittle.

"I realize that Fox, but denying something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. You of all people ought to know that." Diana Fowley observed Special Agent Mulder, as she offered her assessment. He had a stubborn set to his mouth and a defiant look in his eyes. "I'm not trying to hurt you Fox, but I know what I saw. Your Scully is aligned in some significant way with Alex Krycek. The sooner you face up to that and deal with it, the better off we'll all be."

"Scully wouldn't do that, Diana. She wouldn't betray me ... betray our work that way. She wouldn't. I'm sure of it." He continued, almost inaudibly, "I think my life may even depend on it." When he finished speaking, Mulder looked at Diana hopefully. She could, perhaps, see her way clear to agree. To remove this bone of contention between them. That would make the rest of this and any future conversations easier for him.

"How exactly is she betraying your work, Mulder? Krycek is a veritable font of information. If Dana plays nice with him, it can only benefit your work. In fact, the nicer she plays, the more information you're likely to get. There's no downside to your work of any relationship between them. The impact on you may well be another story entirely." Diana Fowley didn't need to look at Mulder to gauge his reaction, but she did anyway. She wasn't disappointed. In fact, she was a bit surprised by the magnitude of the impact that discussion of this topic had on him. Fox was angry, getting a little red in the face and struggling for control.

"There. Is. No. Impact. On. Me. Krycek is still a murderer, a liar and a coward. His current spate of apparently convincing play acting notwithstanding. Scully'll realize that. She's intuitive that way. But she has a deep seeded sense of fairness too. I just have to be there when he reverts to type to make sure she doesn't get hurt." Mulder, proud that he'd maintained his control, faced the woman confidently. Diana simply smiled, her skepticism obvious in her expression. Frowning at her disbelief, Mulder pressed on. "Krycek's got nothing I want. He may think he's connected with Scully in some significant way, but he hasn't. She won't permit it. She doesn't have time for it, or the inclination. And as for his information, I can get it out of him or simply use what Scully ascertains. I've got no ego involvement in that." Mulder finished strongly, striking what he hoped was a heroic pose but failing to meet Diana's eyes.

"Fox, my dear, you have ego involvement in everything. That's one of your most endearing and annoying attributes. Your ego needs to stand aside and allow you to come to terms with the new Dr. Scully. Quickly."

Mulder was angry. He was confused. And he could barely restrain his desire to throttle (or do something a bit more interesting, but no less physical to) Diana Fowley. All of these factors, as they played out, resulted in ... fatigue. An overwhelming sense of malaise. "Why are you doing this?" he asked weakly. "I don't want to deal with this now, and I don't have to."

Diana Fowley sensed that success was close. Very close. "You seem convinced that there's some deep dark ulterior motive, Mulder. You're wrong. I'm trying to help you focus. You're letting yourself get distracted by Scully ... and Krycek. Let it go. Focus on the matter at hand. What about the thirteen Xfiles? What's the connection? What's Project End Game? It's objectives. It's challenges. What's going on? What's the Truth? How can it be verified? Those are the issues you should be addressing with that intellect of yours. The types of things you used to devote your attention to as I recall."

Mulder saw Diana's lopsided smile in his direction. Despite himself, Mulder responded in kind. Mulder's grin broadened as Diana moved closer. "Agent Fowley, why do you bother?"

"Because you have a few redeeming qualities, Mulder. What does Flukeman have to do with implants? What do test pilots have to do with green blood? What is the relationship between the Social Security office and a twelve year old chess player? What does the small pox virus have to do with the black oil? C'mon, Mulder." Fowley was close to Mulder now. "Those were the eight that the thirteen boiled down to - right?"

"Yeah. There are a number of connecting points, but I haven't developed a unified theory yet. Clearly there's government involvement. DNA of extraterrestrial origin. Viral infection on a grand scale. This focuses the effort, but affords no startling insights. Not yet anyway." Mulder shrugged apologetically. "I haven't had the opportunity to go over all of the related files yet. There might be something there."

"Let me help, Fox. I want to be useful. It'll take my mind off of ..." Her voice trailed off, and she glanced up at Mulder. He saw the concern and fear in her eyes.

"How is Spender?"

"No change. Please, Fox. Let me help you. We did some fine work once." Diana Fowley held her breath. This was the moment of truth. How would Mulder react? He moved closer. Standing at her left. Using his index finger, he turned her chin toward him. Their eyes met. She judged it time to force the issue ... gently. "Please. Don't shut me out."

"I won't, Diana. I can't afford to. I need all the allies I can get right now." Diana ducked her head, feigning relief. Making sure that Mulder didn't see her smile of triumph.

Alex Krycek was a few minutes early, but not so early as to appear too eager. Appropriately early was the "fashionably late" of his line of work. He used the time to consider the implications of the reports he'd received in the last thirty minutes from various points on the eastern seaboard. The third prong of his anti-Consortium campaign was proceeding nicely. It was only a matter of time before the Consortium became aware of it. Their reaction would be telling. One way or the other.

The former FBI agent's hearing was good. It didn't need to be in this instance. The small group was approaching noisily, assuring that he'd be cognizant of their presence. Interesting. If he was nothing else, Krycek was a student of tactics. Implementation decisions interested him. Perhaps he should respond in kind. The Jefferson Memorial is lit at night. Krycek moved deliberately, so that he was back lit at the appropriate location ... and waited, fully aware of how easy a target his silhouette was.

Three men approached at an unhurried pace. Krycek remained motionless, watching as the oldest of the three, by at least three generations, broke off from the other two and walked on toward Alex. Alone. Krycek found himself contemplating the zen of this encounter. Each party was deliberately putting himself at a disadvantage to the other to see what happened. It was an intriguing exchange, but he wasn't sure what it meant.

"Hello, Alex. I hope you don't feel that I presume by calling you by your first name. It was William's habit. I'm afraid I've gotten accustomed to thinking of you in that fashion."

The man speaking to Krycek in a companionable tone was as old as the hills. Older maybe. Alex had heard of the one referred to as Eldest, but couldn't recall meeting him. As far as Krycek knew, when Eldest participated in Consortium activities at all anymore, he generally did so via telephone or video conferencing equipment. This meeting seemed to indicate that he was coming out of his self-imposed semi-retirement. "William?" Krycek asked, sensing that this admission as to lack of knowledge would likely interest the other man, rather than reflect poorly on himself.

"Your English mentor, but you'd guessed that."

"Never hurts to verify what you guess. When you can."

"Walk with me, Alex. My men will follow at a discreet distance. They're concerned that you've not arrived unaccompanied as requested. I'm not." Eldest smiled as the young man closed the distance between them without hesitation. Not speaking, Eldest turned and began strolling in the general direction of the Lincoln Memorial. Krycek fell in beside him and broke the silence.

"I'm alone ... and wireless. No video either. You?"

"Same, but I cannot verify that all of my many colleagues are as uninterested in preserving a record of this discussion for posterity." The old man was grinning again. Krycek found himself smiling back and relaxing. Surprised, he stopped moving.

"Is something wrong?" Eldest inquired lightly.

Chastising himself mentally, Krycek forced his guard back up. "No. I was just wondering if interference with reception was appropriate at this point."

"Allow me. My device handles both video and audio. It'll save us the trouble of constantly looking down while speaking." The Eldest saw the young man's interested look, before he could quash it. "New technology. Jams remotely and portably with decent range and coverage. You can have it when we're through, if you'd like. No strings. Lord knows I've got enough of the things."

"Can it block anything else?" The question was posed casually, but Krycek's body was alert. Betraying his interest.

The older man laughed, causing the younger man to smile somewhat sheepishly and shrug. "Properly tuned, waves all over the spectrum. It's quite versatile."

"Directed pulses?"

"I see that the possibilities are not lost on you. Yes. Diffuse, general pulses anyway. To block a truly directed pulse would require either constant use by the target individual or knowledge of the exact coordinates and timing of the pulse to be blocked. An inconvenient scenario and an unlikely event, respectively."

"Not always." The Eldest looked at Krycek with a rising level of respect. No one that he knew of had made the leap between video and audio disruption to interruption of implant-delivered directives so quickly. Many with significant amounts of information had not made the connection at all without having it spoon fed to them. How had this young man done it? And what would he do with the information and the device that Eldest had so cavalierly promised him. William had said that Krycek required careful handling. Eldest had assumed that the requirement was linked to instability or recklessness. Young man's diseases. When William had insisted it wasn't, he'd been skeptical. He wasn't anymore.

Eldest's assessment was interrupted by Krycek's question. "What are we doing out here?"

"Strolling. Enjoying a crisp autumn evening. Negotiating a partial truce. Mourning a fallen comrade. Discussing subjects of potential mutual interest. Many things."

"What's first on the agenda?"

"Speeding up a little bit, and getting to my car. I think I've about reached my limit of crisp autumn evening enjoyment. My joints are stiffening up. It's hell to be old Alex." Eldest watched the younger man closely. His expression clearly indicated his disbelief that he himself would live to know what Eldest meant. "Believe you'll make a handsome corpse by dying young, do you?"

"I've been living from day-to-day for so long, I don't think I'm capable of operating any other way. Even if I could convince myself to think differently about my future."

Eldest knew that Krycek would be surprised by how easy it was to acclimate to "comfortable." And that the boy might well have the opportunity to find out first hand. "Let's deal with that first then. Shall we?" Seeing the young man's confusion, Eldest fell silent. Letting Krycek think about his statement for a few moments, while he focused on reaching the car without crying out in pain. He was surprised when Krycek shifted their relative positions, offering to help but not insisting upon it. "Thank you," the older man stated, as he leaned on the younger. Oddly enough, acceptance of assistance seemed to enhance rather than diminish Eldest's dignity.

"So you think I should start saving for retirement? A little condo in Florida or Arizona? Maybe think about having a few kids to see to me, when I become senile? You chill us to our bones for that? Could've just sent a memo." Krycek was trying to distract his companion. Take his mind off of his pain.

Distraction was not on Eldest's agenda. Not this evening. "You should plan on being around for awhile. Even if you aren't, that is the way a leader must act. In your leadership capacity, I imagine that you've already unconsciously made that adjustment. What I'm here to tell you today is that, provided we can reach an understanding, the interests I represent will not actively seek to deprive you of your golden years."

Krycek knew that things that sounded too good to be true generally were. He couldn't keep the healthy skepticism out of his voice when he posed his next question. "What interests do you represent exactly?"

Eldest smiled slightly as he looked the younger man in the eye. He suspected that, skepticism aside, Krycek wanted to believe him. Wanted to live without constantly looking over his shoulder. The boy was relying on his well developed sense of paranoia to remain skeptical. This would be interesting. "The Consortium as well as other ... parties."

"These other parties. Their agenda matches, parallels or is in direct opposition to the Consortium's?"

"Depends on how you look at it, Alex."

"A bit of all three. Great. How do you keep all of this straight? Do you keep something in your wallet or on your desk to remind you who you can talk to about what?" Eldest heard the frustration in Krycek's voice and saw it in his expression and demeanor. "What about the Morley Man? He one of your other parties?"

"After a fashion. Yes."

Krycek now suspected that the older man was having a little fun at his expense. And he didn't like it. "Are you actually planning on an exchange of information or are you just going to pose a bunch of riddles? If the latter, I'm wasting my time, and your joints are suffering in vain."

They'd reached the vicinity of the Lincoln Memorial. There was a large black stretch limousine parked illegally between the Vietnam War sculpture of the three soldiers and the Lincoln Memorial. "You want me to speak plainly. Fine." The older man stopped, faced the younger and shifted his hands to Krycek's shoulders. After making sure that he had his audience's complete attention, Eldest spoke with great intensity. Much was riding on his ability to persuade. "Alex. If we reach a meeting of the minds today, you won't have to worry about your personal safety with regard to the Consortium, although a splinter group is in the formative stages. Such a faction will be unlikely to honor our agreement. Should that transpire, you'll be informed and provided with any assistance necessary to secure your continued good health. This truce, if you will, extends to the contacts that Assistant Director Skinner has made, an oversight group and many peripheral interests. With regard to the ... ahh ... Morley Man, it was my understanding that the two you were well on your way to better relations. Our meeting of the minds today will only help to pave the way.

"What about Katarina's people?" Eldest approved of the businesslike tone and the question.

A man in a black suit and a chauffeur's cap had emerged from the driver's seat of the limo and was watching the exchange and waiting next to the rearmost passenger door on the side of the car closest to the conversing men . Sensing his employee's mounting concern, Eldest glanced his way and gestured for him to maintain his position. "Your people will be afforded the same professional courtesies, so long as they abide by the terms of our arrangement. Impulsiveness on their part is your problem." Grimacing slightly, Eldest gestured toward the car. "I'm more than happy to continue this ... delightful conversation, but I'd prefer to do so in an environment that's kinder to my knees."

Krycek's eyes followed the older man's gesture. The chauffeur was now holding the door open for his employer. "Sure ...."

"You may call me Robert." Krycek nodded and watched the driver help the old man into the car before moving around to the other side, noting the rest of Eldest's Lincoln Memorial security arrangements out of force of habit.

When he reached the door opposite the one Robert entered, Alex paused to consider his situation. Getting into the car placed his life completely in the older man's hands. Taking their conversation at face value, the risk seemed small. Assuming what was said was actually what was meant, particularly with respect to a member of the Consortium, was well into the red danger zone on the risk meter. In fact, Krycek was very well aware that the best way to re-acquire him on the Consortium's behalf was without a struggle. Maybe based upon common ground built during a conversation mentioning William and a revision of Krycek's life expectancy estimates. Even while going through the exercise, Krycek knew it was futile. He'd taken the risk already. Retreat would be problematic, if Robert's security team decided not to permit it. Sighing, Krycek opened the door, got into the limo, and found himself sitting next to Robert and knee to knee with two of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. "It's hell to be old my ass," he thought.

One of the women was chastising Eldest for going out in "that weather," even as she was examining his right knee. The other was making Eldest a drink. Alex was startled, and knew that he looked it. Didn't pay to worry about it then. "Jennifer. Janine. This is Alex. We need to have a private conversation."

"Certainly," the lady bartender responded. "As soon as your doctor pronounces you fit for duty."

"I don't need my knee to relay information, my dear."

"But you could use some bourbon, I imagine." She smiled, as she held out a glass of what Krycek presumed was a fine single barrel variety to Eldest, who toasted her in thanks. "Alex?"

"Sure." She expected him to watch as she turned to the liquor cabinet to make his drink. It would've been ... rude to disappoint her. Her smile and unnecessary lean toward him to pass him his drink were designed to capture Krycek's full attention. They did.

"Jenny behave. He's too young to have arthritic knees." The woman reluctantly removed her hand from Alex's knee after giving it a final squeeze and winked at him. As the two women prepared to exit the vehicle, Alex caught Jennifer's hand and brought it to his lips, smiling. Two could play this particular game. "Take the other car and meet us at the house," Eldest ordered.

"As you wish," Jennifer replied just before slamming the door.

Eldest had observed the younger man closely. He'd been surprised by this turn of events, but he'd adjusted. Quickly. Even flirted with Jennifer. "This just might work," he thought as he lifted his glass. "To William."

The flight from Miami to New York had been uneventful. She'd had a child of about ten traveling alone next to her, precluding stimulating conversation. Overcast skies rendered looking out the window tedious as well. There hadn't been any good looking men in her field of view either. Boring. Totally boring.

But now, she was in the Big Apple. She'd only been to New York City once before. He'd flown her up here for some sort of function. One he'd no interest in taking, and no obligation to take, his wife to. Such a confluence of events was rare. That function was one of the very few times that she'd been permitted to see his larger world. Generally the two parts of his life were to remain completely separated. By distance. By attitude. By his direct order.

She didn't like rules, but she'd obeyed them. With a zeal approaching religious fervor. After the first few times she'd broken them ... and suffered the consequences. Negative reinforcement is an effective training tool. Very effective, particularly when it involves extreme pain delivered in a manner designed to leave no physical reminder. He kept her body flawless, even as he tortured it.

Yes. She'd learned her lesson. Yet. Here she was. In a taxi hurtling through New York City traffic. In his city. Without his knowledge or consent. Some submerged part of her was extremely frightened. However, that feeling of "rightness" was also there, overriding her fear. When she had woken up this morning, she knew with absolute certainty that she was going to New York City. She had to go. There was no choice really. Every time she'd tried to convince herself to stay safely in Boca Raton, the "feeling" returned. Surely, he'd understand. She had to come. She just had to.

The young man with her was a bit more difficult to rationalize. As soon as she saw the young college student, she knew that she wanted to meet him. She didn't know why exactly but she thought that meeting this particular young man on this day of all days was fate. Maybe even destiny.

As for the young man, he couldn't believe his luck. Easy street had just walked into the coffee shop he'd been in. She was cute, in an overripe kind of way. And rich. Very very rich. She could afford to keep him in the manner that he would very much like to become accustomed. It was a helluva lot better than going home and admitting to his parents that he'd gotten thrown out of Princeton. They hadn't maintained their senses of humor when he'd had that little problem at the University of Pennsylvania. He'd endured incessant whining about the number of strings his father had had to pull to get him into another "good school." Now he could avoid an instant replay of that. He'd met someone who could make everything all right. More than all right. He could imagine nothing better.

Dana Scully was keeping busy. Trying not to worry about the men in her life. Alex was up to something. Mulder wasn't answering his cellular phone or his more conventional unit. So she'd done some research on STAT. With her clearance, she found some references that made her believe that she was looking for a neurotoxin, possibly developed as a biological weapon. The US Government party line was that it was out of the biological weapon business, but there should still be some records. Somewhere.

A neurotoxin could be responsible for Agent Spender's medical problem. Satisfied that she knew what she sought and why, Scully called Frohicke. He was all too happy to oblige, and vowed to put Langley and Byers to work also. They needed a break from their uplink information project. They'd hit a wall. Editing a new issue of The Lone Gunman wasn't a sufficient distraction. Scully told Frohicke that she needed a contact name, preferably a scientific contact. Scully wanted someone she could approach and talk to about STAT and Spender. That would be the only way to get somewhere fast. And she had the impression that speed was very important.

Now she was waiting on the Lone Gunmen. Had been waiting. And wondering. Why was Mulder incommunicado? He hadn't exhibited any of what Scully had come to recognize as the early warning signs of impending need for solo investigation. She was also worrying. What kind of trouble was Alex getting himself into? He seemed to have a unique talent for that. Finally, she was devising a strategy for going forward. Her plan hinged on the number of innovative methods she'd conceived. Methods of getting Krycek to talk. He was holding his cards too close to the vest for her to effectively help him ... or herself. He seemed content for her to work with Mulder on the Xfiles piece of the puzzle. Dana acknowledged that such a role was insufficient. She needed more. And she intended to get it.

Her phone rang. She picked it up quickly. "Scully."

"Agent Scully, your faithful servant Frohicke here. I've got a name for you. Colonel Adam McCaffery, M.D.. Stationed at the pentagon presently. Anti-terrorist group. I understand he's quite handsome. You won't throw me over for a regular Army man will you? Can I trust that you that far?"

One thing about Frohicke, he could always make her laugh. "Not to worry, Frohicke. Your rather unique place in my heart is unassailable and irreplaceable." To hear Langley and Byers tell it, Frohicke was still smiling two weeks later. Having no idea as to the impact of her words, Scully broke the connection.

She was still grinning as she turned to her laptop computer. The FBI Intranet was already running. It took only a few moments and about seven links to obtain an office location and telephone number for Colonel McCaffery. She got his picture ID also. Given how terrible such photographs generally are, Scully was favorably impressed. In fact, she found herself looking forward to seeing the man in person. A simple search of telephone directories of Washington DC and the surrounding metropolitan areas in Maryland and Virginia resulted in numbers for two Adam McCafferys. Picking the address most convenient to the Pentagon and with only the briefest hesitation about proceeding without Mulder, Scully began dialing.

"Yes," a woman's voice answered.

"May I speak with Colonel McCaffery please?"

"May I tell him who's calling?"

"My name is Dana Scully. I'm a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Hold on. I'll see if he's available."

Scully was drumming her fingers on her desk top. Her level of excitement was high. Finally some progress. Maybe. "What does the FBI want with an Army colonel Agent ... Scully is it?"

The voice matched the face, Dana Scully noted with a smile. She made a mental note to check marital status, before answering his question. "I need to meet with you Colonel. I've reason to believe that one of my fellow agents has been exposed to a neurotoxin of the STAT variety."

There was silence on the other end of the line. The man's words, when he continued, were pitched much lower than previously. "I can't get away this evening."

"Tomorrow?"

"I attend church services with my wife. I can be at the Hoover building by about 1:00 pm. You should bring your friend's medical history and current chart data."

Resolution of the marital status issue was a disappointment but Scully was grateful that he seemed amenable to a meeting. "I will. Thank you."

"You should know. There's not much I can tell you."

"I'll take what I can get. Thank you colonel. I'll see you tomorrow." Scully was satisfied with her progress on this front. Now on to other things. "Have to keep moving," she thought.

The old man didn't waste any time. Before the limo had pulled out of the Lincoln Memorial parking lot he'd begun. "Alex, as you can undoubtedly imagine, your actions of late have caused a stir. There are those in the Consortium calling for your head. Marleton in particular." Eldest smiled at the younger man's snort, but cautioned, "Don't underestimate him Alex. He has the First Elder's ear right now."

"Was he the one with the bright idea to break Gibson's arm? That's about his speed."

The First Elder had insinuated that Krycek had a soft spot for the bespectacled boy, asserting that the affection was a liability. It usually was. And Eldest's observation of the younger man indicated that the First Elder was correct, in part. However, Krycek's affection had manifested in a series of actions that had rocked the Consortium's boat near to capsizing. Eldest saw little liability in that.

"Yes, he was. He thought that minor violent act would put you firmly back in your place. The Consortium has discussed his error at length. It has cost him some prestige. Your efforts have also resulted in comeuppance for a former colleague of yours. You are officially off of Marten's Christmas card list." Eldest noted with amusement the satisfied expression on Krycek's face. There was definitely some attitude to this boy. That was good. It would serve him well, if he could be convinced to participate.

"The lynch mob is in the minority. Most simply want you to stop. To make whatever deal is necessary to make that happen. There are those among us, those having a larger perspective, who believe that you were merely making a request. Loudly. A request that I believe that I'm in a position to grant. In exchange for due consideration, of course." Eldest frowned slightly and shifted uncomfortably. His knee was really bothering him.

"You have authority to negotiate for the Consortium?" Krycek wasn't sure what to think. What he knew of Robert, he'd learned from William. The role of chief negotiator was not typically Robert's to play.

"Bear with me Alex. I think you'll be convinced." Seeing the young man's expression of confusion, distrust and burgeoning anger, Eldest forged ahead quickly. "Your other option is for me to drop you off at a location of your choice. And you'll have to be satisfied with wondering what I was going to offer. Is that your preference?"

"I'll stay. For now. State your price, and we'll go from there."

"No direct assaults on Consortium members for effect. If you engage in legitimate, albeit opposing, activities that they can understand and attempt to counter, everything and everyone is fair game. In the context of those activities."

Alex Krycek cocked his head to the right and looked at the putative negotiator. "Nothing psychological then? Aimed directly at them or their families?" At Robert's nod, Krycek pressed on. "Anything targeting less august members of the organization ought to be permissible. Or anything more mundane, ... theft ... information brokering ... I presume even kidnapping, is fine, but undertaken at my own risk. Is that it?"

"Precisely. Actions with no discernible purpose disconcert them. Trust me, Alex, when I tell you that maintaining them in an agitated state isn't an optimal strategy. Not in the long run."

"What ever happened to 'Trust No One?'"

"That mantra has a time and a place. I hope to convince you before we part ways that this is neither."

"The long run," the younger man mused. "The time frame that you believe I should be thinking in."

"Yes."

This argument was a little too tidy to suit Krycek. His experience was that such arguments often didn't hold water. A few moments of reflection upon this one suggested that it followed the pattern. "I submit that my apparently controversial actions delivered a message, including enough information to give you and your colleagues an opportunity to counter. It seems we have a distinction without a difference."

"Spoken like a young man who's been on the run for too long. Consider the mindset of your opposition. Their frame of reference." When Krycek didn't speak or appear to be applying himself to the problem as requested, Eldest sighed. "They are older men who have played a dangerous game for a long time. A game that they believed to have understandable, and at least partially controllable, rules. A contest they expected to win. What sort of men are those, Alex?"

Faced with Robert's expectant glance, Krycek focused his attention. "Confident. Maybe too much so. A little comfortable. Complacent." Krycek's response was slightly tentative. He didn't know where Robert was going with this line of inquiry.

"Correct. Now imagine that these confident and complacent ... fat and happy, if you will, ... men are catapulted into the realization that they've been operating under a misapprehension. Suppose it has recently come to their attention that the rules of the game have been changed. Without their knowledge much less their consent. That alters their outlook. Which is soon to be altered further. When they realize that they're only beginning to ascertain the rules of engagement, although they've been engaged for generations. Then ..." The Eldest looked inwardly to find inspiration to explain what needed to be communicated to the young man seated to his right. When he refocused on his audience, he knew immediately that he'd lost him. He was trying to impart too many things at once. "But I digress. Suffice it to say that they believe the long standing rules of their stable environment have changed. Enter a young man with a chip an his shoulder and a flair for psychological warfare. The mixture is volatile in the extreme."

Krycek considered the additional explanation. He was still skeptical, but his instincts suggested that there was some truth in what Robert was saying. Something of his analysis must've shown, because Robert resumed speaking. In a perfectly reasonable tone, practically oozing with sincerity, genuineness and confidence. "I have to hand it to you, Alex. Your strategic choice was excellent. You pushed the correct button."

Alex cautioned himself that he was not the one pushing buttons currently. Robert was after something. But what? "Are they that fragile?" Krycek's expression added to the blatant disbelief in his tone. "Your buddy Bill was critical of your colleagues. But he never pegged them as psychologically vulnerable or particularly weak."

To Eldest's knowledge, no one had ever called William by any shortened version of his name. He would've certainly turned his nose up at Bill. "Things change, Alex. William's death only forged a larger wedge between the factions within ..."

"Hold on. Back up. What factions?" For the first time, Eldest noticed the fatigue that the younger man was fighting. He had hidden it well, but the effort to take in so much information was clearly wearing on him.

"We don't have enough time for me to provide the context of everything we need to discuss this evening. And I doubt you could stay awake through it." Krycek, who had thought he'd successfully stifled a yawn, found himself looking into amused blue eyes. "I'll provide context sufficient for understanding, if you aren't coy about what William has already told you."

After a brief mental analysis that Eldest would've been interested in hearing spoken aloud, Krycek responded, "Deal. He told me that the First Elder and Strughold were clearly furthering their own agendas but hinted at others. And at some shifting alliances, depending on the situation. It was complicated."

"Unduly so, in my opinion, for a group of men charged with managing our contact with extraterrestrial biological entities." At that point, Alex realized that he wasn't the only one who was tired. Eldest's deep breath, stretch and sigh indicated a level of fatigue matching, if not exceeding, his own. "The First Elder's faction, although not as loyal or secure as he imagines, will cause you the most problems, if you call too much attention to yourself."

Alex wanted to know a bit more about the First Elder's group but realized that now was probably not the time. Besides, he was more curious as to where Robert was going with this conversation. "When will this partial truce of ours begin?"

"When we agree that it does. I'd advise you to consider the option sooner rather than later. My colleagues are somewhat slow to act and heavy handed when they do, but they are effective. Don't forget that, Alex." Eldest watched the young man, attempting to gauge his reaction to the warning. Krycek was staring off into the darkness, unconsciously biting his lower lip. Unless Eldest was much mistaken, his companion's thoughts were focused elsewhere.

"There are ... complications," Alex Krycek began carefully. "Things have been set in motion. With a little time, I can call a halt to the operation. Two weeks. Tops."

"What is the nature of the operation? Our chain smoking acquaintance seemed certain that you had activities other than photography and sight seeing in the works."

Krycek was uncertain how much to tell this man. He said that he was a colleague of William's, but even if true what did that really mean? Nothing. Forcing himself to slow down, Alex considered the pros and cons of disclosure. The main positive was the potential to develop an ally within the Consortium. However, that alliance had to be expected by the others, given their mutual history with William. The primary negative was that they'd know he had access to some highly advanced experimental technology. But Robert might arrive at that conclusion anyway, given the interest he'd expressed in the man's jamming device. Then there was ... Krycek stopped. His analysis was getting him no where. He had both too much and too little information to deduce a solution to his dilemma. It was time, in the immortal words of Obi Wan Kenobi, "To let go your conscious self, and act on instinct." Alex shut his eyes, trying to clear his mind and figure out what his instincts had to say on the matter. He realized his mistake quickly, but it was difficult to rectify. The warm car, the bourbon and comfortable seats made focus difficult. When he managed to force his eyes open, he'd decided to talk.

The Eldest listened, fascinated, as the younger man described his strategy. He laughed at the irony and the appropriateness of using a masseur, a body guard and two mistresses as recipients of specially designed and programmed implants. He was impressed by the information gathering motivation behind the sets of instructions recently delivered to three of the four. His reaction to the fourth was a blend of amusement, respect and fear. The boy had a truly diabolical mind. When Krycek paused, Robert couldn't resist a clarifying question. "You mean she's going to arrive at his apartment with newly acquired stud in tow?"

Krycek grinned. "I could've sent her to his house and let his wife deal with them. I thought that aspect demonstrated admirable restraint."

Eldest shuddered at the thought of the First Elder's wife, with her Cossack bloodlines and extremely quick temper, facing the mistress and boy toy. The mistress would not fare well. "That poor girl."

"Poor girl? I don't think so. She's living the good life in the sun by choice. Rumor has it that she even enjoys the disciplinary side of things. A bit too much to be classified as "normal" or "well adjusted." Besides, she's already been pursuing alternative amusements. The nights are long in Boca Raton, I guess. It's the guy you should be concerned about."

"If her taste in men remains consistent, I think we can rest easy that he will be deserving of whatever fate awaits him." As Eldest delivered his retort, he realized something important. For the first time in longer than he liked to think about, he was enjoying himself. The boy had a fresh perspective that he found both stimulating and enlightening. Perhaps he should seek out young Mulder as well. William had spoken of him in a similar way. Chuckling, Robert decided to share some of his revelation. "I like you, Alex. I think I'm beginning to understand William's interest. Unless I miss my guess, I suspect you surprised him as well."

"Seemed to. But he surprised me first."

The Eldest found that comment intriguing and made a mental note to inquire further at a later time. "Have I surprised you?"

"Not yet. But the night is young."

"And the bourbon has barely been dented. Could I trouble you?" Robert noted that Krycek had paid attention when Jennifer was playing bartender. He moved with confidence and without delay to comply with Eldest's request. The only observable hesitation was with respect to pouring more for himself. With a "What the hell" shrug, he did.

Drink in hand, Eldest said, "Back to business. If I have your word that you'll dismantle your operation forthwith, have the implants removed and agree to my earlier condition, I can report this meeting a success to my Consortium colleagues."

"Agreed. And to answer your implicit question, the implants aren't EBE design. Removal, especially after such a short time, won't have adverse health implications."

"Good." Eldest was satisfied with the evening's work thus far, and was considering how to proceed when Krycek spoke softly.

"Who else would you like to report this meeting a success to?" Alex noted the subtle involuntary movement that his question had caused. Now maybe they would get to the heart of the matter.

"Sometimes it's nice to have a straight man," Robert thought as he considered the lead in that the young man had so graciously provided. Something perverse in his nature caused him to come at the matter a different way, however. "Aren't you curious about your young friend Gibson Praise?"

Krycek met Eldest's eyes, his expression deadly serious. "Are those two questions related?"

Eldest's smile was ... predatory. He had Krycek almost exactly where he wanted him. "Yes. I'm in a position to offer custody of Gibson Praise, if I am satisfied with the next phase of our conversation."

"Won't his parents be a little annoyed?"

"You haven't heard? Tragic it was. Simply tragic. A small twin engine plane. Mechanical failure. Pilot error. No one knows for sure. Lost over Greenland. Gibson Praise has no living relatives. That boy is alone. Although not completely vulnerable, as you well know." Krycek's expression eloquently conveyed his disapproval of Robert's mock sincerity and clearly indicated his belief that the Consortium was responsible for eliminating those potentially problematic personages. It wouldn't do to have distraught parents making a fuss about a missing chess phenom. If the papers got wind of it, you'd have a situation requiring very delicate management. Something the Consortium would rather avoid.

Still. Krycek hadn't heard. Given the nature of the information, he was reasonably certain that it was somewhere in the materials that he'd retrieved from various locations in the United Kingdom. Or in the disks Katarina had given him. Or in the uplink information. Or in the data that Katya's crew had dug up. Somewhere in all of the stuff he hadn't yet had the time to sift through. What else was in there? "Time to lay low for a while and see what's what," he instructed himself, before turning to the task at hand. "Can I afford Gibson? My understanding was that he was deemed exceedingly valuable as the world's largest laboratory rat."

"He's become more trouble than he's worth, I'm afraid. He'd make an excellent apprentice in your boat rocking guild were he given the opportunity." Robert didn't see the need to mention that the boy would be another hook, a potentially effective one by the looks of it, to reel Krycek in should such action become necessary.

Alex smiled. He could well imagine the trouble that Gibson could stir up, if he applied himself. Reading minds could be a most interesting pastime. If there was nothing in a particular mind that you could use, some imagination could be applied. There was no one to refute him, and the little guy could look so damn earnest. Time to see what the piper's fee was. "The price?"

"Is your memory restored. More or less?"

"I think so. There don't seem to be any big gaps anyway. Why?"

"Do you remember what happened in the desert?"

Krycek knew he should've seen this coming. That he hadn't indicated that he really needed a break. He'd been running on fumes for far too long. His guard, which had been lowered of late, went back to full alert status. Telling Robert about the implants was one thing. This was something else. Something requiring great care. The image of fending off a large predatory feline with only a switchblade knife flashed into Alex's mind as he replied slowly, dragging out the single syllable. "Yes."

"My price is a description, in general terms only, of what happened."

"That'll cost you more than Gibson."

"Name your terms."

"No. First you tell me what happens to the information, after I give it to you. If it goes to the Consortium, you can forget it."

"It won't."

"See that it doesn't. Because you'd be the only source. And I'd find you."

"I'm an old man, Alex. Threatening me is not particularly useful. Is it?" Despite his efforts to the contrary, Krycek's frustration showed. His mind was working too slowly. Robert was right. "In the interests of moving this along, let me suggest something. Janine and Jennifer are my nieces. My favorite relatives, although I despised my brother and pitied his wife. God rest their souls. If you are going to insist that I do something, I suggest that you make use of them."

"Robert."

When Krycek didn't continue, Eldest prompted. "Yes, Alex."

"You've surprised me."

"Good. I wouldn't want to have been outdone by William. Your terms?"

Alex Krycek considered a moment. He intended his description to be very general. So he couldn't really ask for too much. "Three of those jamming devices and an explanation of your allegiances relevant to this conversation. All of them."

"Done."

Krycek hoped he'd made a good deal, as he chose the elements of the story he'd tell.

Marita Covarrubias was a bundle of nervous energy as she handed Skinner a thin file. Holding her head high and stilling the shaking of her hands by clasping them together, she stated, "Take it or leave it Walter. It's all I've got to offer that you will accept."

Skinner met Marita's eyes as he reached for the file. The defiance in her tone, as she admitted her vulnerability, intrigued him. This was not a woman to be trifled with or necessarily trusted. But he thought she was worthy of admiration. He knew he had to guard against letting that admiration cloud his judgment. Smiling in a way he hoped was encouraging, he turned his attention to the file. Printed across the front was "Operation Double Reverse." Inside were a few sheets of paper and a CD. "What's this all about?"

"I'm not exactly sure. The man who gave me the file told me that this project was aimed at stopping a well organized, well informed and extremely well equipped terrorist group."

"Which one?"

"One I hadn't heard of. Which is odd, given my employment history. Extremely publicity shy apparently."

"That's strange."

"Indeed. The need for recognition is a common theme among terrorists generally. This group calls themselves the Contractionists. Word is that they've been responsible for many of the acts of violence in recent years that no one has claimed responsibility for, including the mass burnings in Kazakstan, at Skyland Mountain and in Pennsylvania. There are also rumors to the effect that they're actually responsible for many acts claimed by other, lesser organizations."

Terrorism was something that Skinner abhorred in any form. Not simply as a federal law enforcement officer, but as a person. He felt strongly that terrorism of any sort, including any threat of force or violence, was inappropriate.

"Maybe that's what this is all about," Skinner mused aloud.

"All what?" The question was posed softly from very near his right ear. Skinner jumped, making a noise that sounded something like a yelp. "Sorry," Marita murmured.

"No problem," he replied, trying somewhat successfully to regain his composure. Skinner had done it until he looked in her eyes again. He hadn't realized how blue they were. It would be so easy to ....

"All what?" she prompted again, leaning closer. Offering, but letting him decide.

"A series of events, meetings, requests and warnings that haven't made any sense. This could be the tie that binds them." Sitting back in his chair, firmly refusing to consider the movement a retreat, Skinner turned his attention to the file folder. He was very well aware of, by trying valiantly to ignore, Marita Covarrubias' proximity. The brief three page synopsis of the Contractionist's activities was fascinating, with certain details dovetailing nicely with what Skinner recalled of the Bureau's written reports involving the incident Skyland Mountain and what Skinner himself had observed on the Pennsylvania bridge. Mulder would be interested in this. "What's on the disk?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't had a chance to work with it. My guess is a more detailed analysis of the group and its objectives, based on acts of terrorism attributed to them." Marita punctuated her explanation with a kiss on Skinner's cheek.

"Ms. Covarrubias ..."

"Marita."

"Marita. As a rule, I don't mix my professional and personal life."

He made his statement quietly but firmly. However, Marita was intrigued by the Assistant Director's choice of words. Walter Skinner was known to be verbally precise. "Do I have a chance to carve out an exception to that rule?"

Skinner was aware that the ice he was on was thin. "Yes," he began, and was rewarded with a devastating smile. "But remember. Exceptions to long standing rules require time."

"I can be patient, Walter. You'll see." Satisfied that her husky tone had him contemplating the limits to his own patience, Marita continued. "Now what should we do with this information?"

Dana Scully arrived at Fox Mulder's apartment just after midnight. She'd tried to get her partner on the telephone repeatedly, while doing further research on Colonel McCaffery and preparing notes for a possible field report on the STAT project's connection to Agent Spender's medical condition. She'd had no luck reaching him. When her exasperation matured into concern, she'd set out to check up on him.

Scully considered simply using the key Mulder had given her, but decided against it. She had a feeling of disquiet as she knocked firmly. It was completely unlike Mulder to go completely incommunicado. Dana had often thought that Mulder relied too heavily on his cellular telephone service. At times, it seemed like his life line. When there was no response to her knock, Scully drew her weapon and knocked again.

The door opened. Faced with an amused and self-important looking Diana Fowley, Scully tried for casual, returning her weapon to her holster. The older woman appeared to be wearing one of Mulder's dress shirts and not much else. Scully forced aside her rapid negative assessment of Mulder's taste in women and of Diana's loyalty to the men in her life as well as her own concerns about the future of her partnership with Mulder and forged ahead. "I need to speak to Mulder, Diana. It's important."

"It's also after midnight, Agent Scully."

"I'm well aware of the time, Agent Fowley, but I have important information, potentially bearing on Agent Spender's condition. Or aren't you concerned anymore?"

"Jealousy doesn't become you Dana, especially since you've been having a fling of your own." Diana Fowley was smiling, enjoying herself immensely. Catholic girls harbored too much guilt to excel in cat fighting. "And in answer to your question, I care a great deal about what happens to Jeffery. As for tonight, Fox needed some comfort. So did I. Mutual comfort can be a very pleasant experience if you let it. I imagine that the green-eyed young man of yours is out seeking some of the same if you're working at this hour on Saturday night. Get a life, Agent Scully. It might do you some good."

Scully didn't want to address Diana's comments, so she ignored them. "Thank you for the insightful commentary into my fragile psyche, Agent Fowley. I'll consider it carefully. Later. Now, where in the hell is Mulder?"

"Sleeping. Like a normal person. Like I was, before you started pounding on the door. You want to talk to Mulder. Call him tomorrow. Or leave a message tonight, if you prefer."

"I've left messages to call me." Scully's voice was calm.

"Since that obviously wasn't effective, why not leave a more specific one with me. I'll tell Mulder what this is all about in the morning." Dana Scully didn't trust Diana Fowley. Not even a little bit. Still, she could use Mulder at the meeting with Colonel McCaffery.

"Tell Mulder that a military man with an intriguing story will meet us tomorrow at 1:00 pm. We should meet at 11:30 am at the Hoover building to prepare."

"If Fox decides to spend his Sunday in that manner, so be it. I'll let him know. Good night, Agent Scully." With that, Diana Fowley shut the door. Firmly. Inviting no further conversation.

Smiling, Diana moved back toward Fox Mulder's couch. He was there. Peacefully sleeping. "Better living through chemistry," Fowley spoke aloud, as she put the dart she'd used earlier to deliver the sedative in her purse. Glancing down at Mulder's cellular phone, the fully-charged battery of which she'd replaced with a dead one, she considered her encounter with Dana Scully. Scully's frustration had been amusing and her timing impeccable. When Diana's associate had reported Scully on the way, Diana had acted on impulse. One that would allow her to first unnerve Scully. Then Mulder. "Two for the price of one," she thought as she managed through careful maneuvering to snuggle next to Fox Mulder on his leather couch.

Dana Scully was trying to classify the tableau she had just witnessed. She didn't trust Fowley. And Mulder had suffered a series of hard knocks of late. He was bound to be vulnerable. And so was she. Dana had to admit that to herself, if to no one else. She also had to admit that Diana had looked awfully comfortable with her situation. And her mocking tone and demeanor had engendered an emotional reaction from Dana.

Scully was experiencing a number of things. She was tired. She was angry at Fowley, and entertained herself briefly with fantasies of knocking that self-satisfied smile off of the older woman's face. She was worried about Mulder. Scully was convinced that something was amiss. She wasn't sure about the basis for her feeling. All Scully knew was that the feeling was strong. And she was sure it wasn't just a reaction to Fowley's wardrobe choice.

What to do? Fowley had an excellent reputation at the FBI. As a result, Dana knew that it would not be useful to approach anyone, even Assistant Director Skinner who she thought was becoming an ally, with the theory that Diana had "done something to Mulder" without any proof. Well. What were the alternatives? She could approach Alex. Who she was also worried about. Who had spent the evening clandestinely meeting with "someone important." Surely that meeting had concluded by now.

Determinedly, Scully dialed preprogrammed number 13 on her cellular telephone.

Alex Krycek's cellular telephone rang, startling both men who had fallen silent as the limo had finally stopped in front of an impressive house in Fairfax Virginia. Krycek pulled it out of the left interior pocket of his jacket and hesitated.

"Take it if you like," Eldest encouraged.

Alex considered momentarily before shaking his head. "I'm not up to another conversation at the moment." As the chauffeur opened the door at Eldest's side, Krycek continued. "Your driver seems glad to have finally landed. The hour and a half in a holding pattern couldn't have been interesting for him."

"He likes "the loop," Alex. We use it occasionally." Robert smiled at the younger man, as he allowed his driver to help him from the car. Bending down slightly to address the still seated young man, he executed his hostly duty. "Please. Come in. It's late and you're over an hour from town. You'll stay with us this evening."

Krycek emerged from the other side of the limo, but remained leaning against the open door. "Look. We've done our deals. Exchanged our information. If he can take me back to DC, great. If not, I'll call a cab." Krycek's cellular telephone was still in his hand and he gestured with it for emphasis.

The Eldest merely smiled. "Our business isn't quite finished Alex. Besides, Jennifer would be most cross with me, if I didn't offer you some hospitality."

"You've offered. I've declined. You can blame me with a clear conscience."

"Too late. We've been spotted." Krycek turned toward the house, following the direction of Robert's gesture and saw the young lady in question striding toward them. Eldest observed the younger man's sigh and slight slump to his shoulders. He'd not yet given up thoughts of escape, but appeared to realize that his plans would soon be much more difficult to execute. Eldest was confident that Jennifer would thwart any such plans.

"Hello again, Alex," Robert's niece greeted, linking her left arm to Krycek's right. Her questions were directed to her uncle however. "Are you two finished? A positive outcome?"

"Yes to both, my dear. Take charge of our guest, will you? I'm overdue for my bath. Jeremy will see to me."

"Certainly. C'mon, Alex. I've got your room ready. I'm sure you'll find it comfortable." Without realizing it, Krycek had walked half way up the walk with the woman on his arm. Laughing at himself, he stopped.

"Jennifer. I don't, even for a moment, doubt that I'd benefit greatly from an evening in your ... home. But, I've got to get back to DC."

"What's her name?"

"Who?"

"The woman that you're rushing back to."

"What makes you think that?" Krycek was genuinely curious. Jennifer had stated her observation with conviction.

"A particular earnestness in tone. A slight adrenaline surge. I'm jealous." Her pout, in combination with her resumed movement, propelled Krycek in the direction she desired once again. Realizing her advantage, she prodded, "Alex. You have to come in ... and stay. There's really no way around it. The boy is here. We've promised him you were on your way. He seemed pleased and excited, but he couldn't keep his eyes open. It'd be a shame to wake him and drag him off somewhere or to disappoint him by not being here when he wakes."

"Gibson's here?" Jennifer nodded and coaxed, tugging at his jacket sleeve playfully. "All right. But I ..." Krycek let his sentence trail off. He wasn't sure how to proceed. He knew what he wanted ... and didn't want, but wasn't sure how to achieve his objectives. Fortunately, she anticipated him.

"Need some sleep. I noticed. Blatantly obvious, if you ask me. Otherwise, you'd surely have made at least one pass at me by now."

Alex laughed, nodding affirmatively. At her skeptical look, he responded with a bit more enthusiasm. "Absolutely!"

"In that case, I'll let you in on a little secret. I give a killer back rub. Once you have a look at Gibson, I'll have a go at your back. You'll be asleep in less than ten minutes, and have the best night's rest of your life."

Krycek simply smiled and followed.

Immediately upon the order being given, the hound had been transported by helicopter to the release point. Sedatives had been used to allow the relocation to take place without undue consternation. On the part of both the hound or the handlers. Once the destination had been reached, the hound was released. Into the darkness. Freedom. The smells of water ... and men were predominant. The hound liked the smell of water. Craved it. Needed it. The smell of these men was different from that of his handlers. Interesting.

To the extent that gender was relevant, he was male. If he did his job well he had been promised a female. An addition to his environment that he craved. A female would make his current situation ... perfect. Idyllic.

He was ensconced in the vicinity of a mountain lake to accommodate his need for water. The lake was very pretty and remote. Adjacent to the lake were five Quonset huts. Standard military outbuildings. Nothing special. The three perimeter fences might catch someone's attention. A curious observer might wonder why. But curious observers didn't generally brave the mountain pass access route to the encampment. There were no roads. No trails. Nothing in particular to induce a camper, hiker, rock climber or other outdoorsman to come this way. The men who were there had come in the same way the Flukeman had. A number of men in camouflage were moving in and out of the buildings. The perimeter guard was unobtrusive ... and ubiquitous.

The Flukeman stayed very near the water. He felt secure there. Safe. He watched the activities of the men with mild interest. There seemed to be a lot of movement. The Flukeman liked movement. He'd been trained to watch movements. To distinguish normal movements and behavioral patterns from abnormal. Threatening and non-threatening. From the perspective of his creators. He was expected to be able to determine if anything went wrong at the encampment. An attack by an outside force. A problem from within. Wrongness was to be corrected. With alacrity. That was the Flukeman's limited role in this initial experiment. None of his creators knew how he'd respond.

Moving a tree branch o out of his line of vision, the more highly "evolved" Flukeman settled in to watch. And wait. For he knew not what.

Cigarette Smoking Man was in a contemplative mood. He sat in a darkened room, lit by only the readouts from the various instruments that were monitoring Jeffrey's condition. The blinds were drawn, but that made little difference really. It was dark outside. The single street light would've provided some light. But it would've cast shadows. Where Cigarette Smoking Man could stand. And watch. And wait.

The more complete darkness suited Cigarette Smoking Man better. It was more in keeping with his state of mind. Inability to obviate a problem was not a position that Cigarette Smoking Man enjoyed or could readily accept. For his, such a situation was rare. And never before had the stakes been so high. Who'd have thought that his life would come to this? Standing in a hospital room at 3:00 am, looking helplessly at his youngest son. Unable to do anything for him. No one could.

Cigarette Smoking Man smiled slightly when he thought of Krycek sending Scully in search of information on the STAT project. He assumed the boy did it to divert her. That he knew there was no hope. None at all. Jeffrey would remain in a coma. His brain function would deteriorate. Slowly but inexorably. Then he would die. Not abruptly or traumatically. He'd simply slip away.

A topical. From Iraq. Brought to the United States. By whom? Administered to Jeffrey. By whom? And for what purpose? Cigarette Smoking Man believed that he knew the answer to the latter question. Retribution. Revenge. Retaliation. His three "R"s. Unfortunately, Cigarette Smoking Man's complicated alliances, diverse projects and overlapping agendas made the identification of the party responsible difficult. In other circumstances, Cigarette Smoking Man would be reasonably confident that the responsible party would make themselves known. To merely assert victory or to demand Cigarette Smoking Man's compliance with one scheme or another. His instincts told him that his present predicament was different. There was more to be gained, and nothing particularly to be lost, by maintaining silence.

Cigarette Smoking Man knew that the Consortium was the most likely culprit, especially in view of Krycek's assertion that they knew of his relationship with Jeffrey. But so did a number of other interests. Including Krycek himself. Could the oversight committee, as Cigarette Smoking Man had taken to calling one particular group of colleagues, have arranged this, assuming he'd blame the Consortium? Cigarette Smoking Man wouldn't put it past them. Loyalty was important to them. Evidence of his alternative agenda may have suggested this strategy. It was a course of action that Cigarette Smoking Man could understand, despite the intolerability of it from his personal perspective.

Could Krycek have conceived the entire thing and blithely have lied to him and Dana Scully in furtherance of some twisted agenda? Cigarette Smoking Man balked at believing that the younger man could play the game that well, but he couldn't be certain. Also, Cigarette Smoking Man didn't envy Krycek when Scully caught on and up with him. The "look over here while I go about my business" ploy was too reminiscent of what she disliked in her relationship with Fox Mulder. Krycek will pay for the expediency of that particular strategy. Perhaps dearly. Cigarette Smoking Man was sure of it.

Could the Consortium have arranged it, banking on him refusing to accept the easiest answer to his dilemma? Possible, but Cigarette Smoking Man doubted that the Consortium could act as one entity with regard to him right now. He was too close to the issues that divided them. In fact, Cigarette Smoking Man suspected that he himself was a bone of contention. One of the warring factions within the Consortium could be responsible. Do it and claim responsibility? Do it and blame another faction? There were pros and cons to each of those strategies, and those pluses and minuses were contingent upon the faction and impetus for action. The possibilities were many and varied. But Cigarette Smoking Man had time to evaluate them. He had nothing but time.

Returning his gaze to Jeffrey and the equipment monitoring his slow decline, Cigarette Smoking Man made a vow. Whoever did this would pay. Pay more dearly than they could possibly imagine. "They'll beg for your fate, before I'm through with them Jeffrey," he said aloud to the still figure on the hospital bed. "I promise you that."