Season Six:
Episode 25

A quiet street
In a suburban neighborhood
5:45 pm

Fox Mulder slowly approached the house with Alex Krycek's warning resounding in his head. "Check on your mother, Mulder," or words to that effect. He'd settled for a telephone call before accompanying Special Agent Diana Fowley to Skyland Mountain. What had happened there had shaken him to the foundation. Although, when he viewed it objectively, it was pretty much par for the course of his life. Eighteen holes of duplicity, deceit and destruction -- the Mulder Masters. Wonder what color of jacket would be appropriate for the winner -- blood red?

After stunning him with a blow to the head, Diana had handcuffed him to his steering wheel. Smiling, she left him, promising to make Scully's death as painless as possible. He'd been nearly out of his mind with worry, when Scully, Krycek and Gibson Praise had found him. That kid's abilities certainly had come in handy there. True to form, the boy had shrugged off his accomplishment. "All I had to do was find someone other than Alex who was thinking about Agent Scully." The suffering sigh that elicited from Krycek had improved Mulder's mood immensely, but it didn't stop him from thinking. He hadn't been there for Scully when she needed him. Much to both his dismay and relief, Krycek had. Who did his mother have to protect her, if Krycek's information was accurate? The answer was simple -- no one.

So here he was knocking on her front door, trusting Krycek's judgment that step two of his program was likely to be relatively uneventful. Doing the right thing, he hoped. The door opened, and his mother was standing before him, smiling.

"Hi, mom."

"Hello, Fox. This is an ... unexpected surprise." She hadn't moved to admit him and seemed tense.

"Is something wrong?" he asked softly, reaching for his gun.

"Not unless you decide to make it so." With that enigmatic comment, she stepped back.

Frowning, Mulder crossed the threshold. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Understanding wasn't slow to arrive. The smell of cigarette smoke was prevalent. Mulder moved toward it at a rapid pace, drawing his weapon. "Fox ... No!"

Crossing from the foyer into the family room, Mulder observed Cancerman sitting calmly on the couch, a lit cigarette between his lips. "Why are you here?" Mulder demanded.

The smoking man moved only to take the cigarette out of his mouth. "The same reason you are, I imagine. To see that nothing untoward happens to your mother."

"I'm here. That makes you redundant. Get out!"

The smoking man smiled thinly. "Your rationale is interesting, given that I was invited, while you -."

"I don't need an invitation," Mulder interrupted forcefully, breathing hard.

"Nor do I." The two men stared at each other through the haze of dissipating cigarette smoke.

"Stop this," his mother insisted. "No one is throwing anyone out."

"You're right, of course, but Fox won't be staying. How could he? With his friends in dire peril. That wouldn't be like him." A glance at the male Mulder preceded his question. "Would it?"

Mulder gazed at the smoker with rising alarm. "If anything happens to Scully, I'll kill Krycek. He said the Pennsylvania leg would be no problem."

The smoking man raised an eyebrow at Mulder. "Alex isn't at issue here, nor your precious Scully. At least not directly." The older man smiled inwardly at the effort expended by the younger to keep quiet -- not to ask him another question, but merely to wait. It was an important discipline. "I take it you haven't checked in with your computer literate, conspiracy theorist associates lately. That's most unfortunate, because they've moved. Involuntarily. And I doubt they like their new neighborhood."

The Gunmen ... in trouble? The black lunged son of a bitch couldn't be referring to anyone else. "Where?"

"Where would you take them if you had them?" the Cigarette Smoking Man asked. "Assuming that you didn't want to avail yourself of rail or air transportation."

"Close to DC. Secure. Some high tech overtones, maybe, depending on what they want the Gunmen for." Mulder paused, thinking. "Rockville?"

"It's gratifying to watch a professional profiler at work. I suggest you alert Mr. Skinner and avail yourself of all the resources at his command because, as they say, timing is everything."

"What the Hell is Krycek doing?" Marleton was beside himself. This was not how things were supposed to proceed.

"Destroying the lighthouses, just like William always insisted had to be done." The First Elder's voice was quiet, contemplative.

"Well, yes. When we were ready."

Smiling and lifting his glass of Chianti to his lips, the First Elder stared at his colleague. "Young Alex seems to have decided that we're as ready as we'll ever be, and I can't say that his analysis is flawed. Not fatally at any rate."

"That isn't his decision to make."

"Isn't it? Decisions are the responsibility and the curse of the men with the will to make them."

"Profound. Who said that?"

"I believe I did."

The First Elder was smiling, and Marleton had no idea why. A confluence of circumstances that, in Marleton's experience, had never boded well. "How can you be so cavalier about this?"

"I'm not cavalier; I'm relieved. That it's finally begun after all these years. We've spent so much time preparing to fight for our future that we never gave a thought to what it would be like when the battle actually commenced. I've done some thinking along those lines recently, ever since the reports of the activities on Skyland Mountain arrived. Destruction of a lighthouse and the elimination of Strughold's mole in one fell swoop. You have to admit, the boy is off to a good start."

Marleton began to pace. The First Elder merely watched and waited. His companion's tension was palpable, and he'd talk about it or not, as he saw fit. There was nothing the First Elder could do to change that.

"Krycek's virtually invisible to them," Marleton asserted softly. "We aren't. If they decide to retaliate, he won't be the one to pay."

"That's as it should be, and you know it."

The First Elder's words were harsh, clearly a rebuke. Marleton countered, "No. We've paid with our entire lives and with the "offering" of one dear to us. We exchanged those currencies to survive the invasion. We've earned it!"

The narrow minds that the Brit had always complained of were coming to the fore in this presumed crisis, the First Elder noted. "You're right. Up to a point, but it's a point that we're well beyond. We maneuvered, positioned, manipulated, lied, cheated and did whatever else we had to do in order to survive an invasion that we couldn't stop. Krycek's changed the game. Alex and whoever he's working with are trying to stop it with a strategy that might actually work."

"And if he fails?"

This was the beauty of it. Apparent to him, but, alas, not so to his associates. "We fall back on our years of loyal service to the cause and survive, exactly as we've always planned."

Marleton stared at the First Elder, his mouth open in surprise. The smile was a bit easier to understand now. "They'll expect us to try and stop him. How can we explain our inaction?"

"What inaction?" The First Elder finally had Marleton's full attention; it was time for enlightenment. "Agent Fowley was on the scene at Skyland Mountain, and in contact with backup that she unfortunately never had the chance to call upon. And our well thought out plan to prevent Krycek from reaching the Pennsylvania coordinates was implemented just a few minutes too late. The strategy was flawless, so we really can't be judged too harshly for not supporting it with more than a few token teams arrayed in a loose formation closer to the action -- men that Alex had little difficulty avoiding. I was somewhat disappointed by that, I must admit; a lack of casualties could suggest that we didn't put forth our best effort."

"Wait a minute. We lost all four teams."

The smile on the First Elder's face was feral. "So we did. My memory isn't what it once was."

"Oh my God. Krycek didn't kill those men, you did."

Frowning and making a moue of distaste, the First Elder corrected, "We did. Come now, the wide-eyed horrified look doesn't become you." After re-filling his wine glass, he poured a stiff double scotch for Marleton. He looked like he needed it. "Alex did what he needed to do at the two locations on our home turf, and we did everything in our power to stop him. It's as simple as that."

"So we're blameless?"

"We fought the good fight, have sounded the alarm and now wait with bated breath to see if our international counterparts have better luck. Right?"

"Right." A tentative smile formed on Marleton's face. "But what about, Krycek?"

Marleton didn't like loose ends, but, in this case, the First Elder truly believed there were none. "Alex is a completely predictable man in this context. If he fails, he'll die. If not ..."

"He'll want control of the operation."

Nodding affirmatively and shrugging, the First Elder said, "He can have it."

"You'd just ... hand it over?"

"I won't have a choice. None of us will. If you have any arrangements you need to make to facilitate complete dependence on your legitimate enterprises, I advise you to make them. Alex has always been lucky."

"What about our so-called "offerings"?" Marleton challenged.

This was the one sore spot of the entire escapade. "Krycek either has that aspect handled, or he doesn't. It's out of our hands, regardless of whether he succeeds."

"There's nothing we can do?"

"Perhaps it's time to consider the power of prayer."

An unpleasantly tense silence fell between the two men. Each took a nervous swallow of their respective beverages, wondering what the other was drinking to, if anything.

Alex Krycek sat on the tailgate of the four wheel drive vehicle that he and Dana Scully had rented at the Barcelona airport, cleaning one of his guns. They'd stopped by the side of the road to have a late lunch and check the maps they'd brought with them. The young Spaniard at the Avis counter had been far more interested in Dana Scully's chest than in giving Alex directions to where they needed to be by moonrise. Alex's repertoire of gutter Spanish recriminations, very few of which appeared in any guidebook for the region, failed to improve the situation significantly. Between Krycek's sense of direction and Scully's inspired collation of information from the various signposts and cartographic reference materials, they managed to move toward their goal in a reasonably direct fashion.

"What are you thinking, Alex?"

He started, ever so slightly, signaling to Scully that he had been as deep in thought as she'd believed. "Trying to decide the best approach." Interested, she sauntered toward him, stopping such that she cast a shadow over his gun. With an irritated sigh, he muttered, "You're in my light, Dana."

"Enlighten me, and I'll move."

"Move, and I'll enlighten you."

Shrugging and moving one step to the right, she said, "Everything's a competition with you. No wonder you and Mulder understand each other."

Smiling, he bent over his gun once more. "Yes, but we've limited our competitive urges to wordplay lately, unlike you and I." Dana Scully snorting in derision? Would new revelations into the workings of her inner psyche ever cease?

"Get a move on, Buddha."

"Buddha? Oh." Chuckling, he stated, "I'm wondering what's waiting for us up there. Pennsylvania was even easier than I thought it'd be, unless I missed something, and we just got lucky."

"Why wouldn't they just get our of our way and see what happens?"

"Several problems with that. One, it's too bold a move. Fifty years of management by committee makes you slow and cautious. Two, putting up a fight hedges their bets, leaving them in the game if we don't make it. Three, some of them believe that this will only make matters worse. Four, others really want the people they offered up back, and they can't see how that'll play out if we get a clean sweep. Five, a few of them just don't like me very much. Can you imagine?"

"Not at all. Are there more problems?"

"A few. Nothing else particularly ... enlightening." His tired grin faded into a more serious expression. "You holding up, ok?"

"I slept on the plane."

"I know. So did I, as soon as I realized that my analysis was becoming circular. It's going to be an interesting few days, Dana."

"What're our chances, do you think?"

Taking a deep breath, he looked to the horizon, as if he expected some guidance from the shapes of the clouds. "If we make it past this one, no better than fifty-fifty."

That was a bit of a surprise. "If we ...? You've revised your estimate, since we talked to Skinner?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want the "Can I borrow Agent Scully, pretty please" figure?" Her widened eyes made him frown. "Don't give me that look; you wanted all the way in. Nothing else would do. So I massaged the numbers a little."

"You call that a little?"

Looking her up and down, smirking. "I can see that you might think that "a little" is littler than I do, given your perspective."

"You are awfully full of one-liners today, Alex. Nervous?"

"Wired. Got a bit of an adrenaline rush going, yeah." Holding his gun up to the light, eyeing it critically, he grunted satisfaction. "You ready?"

Moving around toward the passenger door, she nodded. "I suppose I shouldn't impose any delay in improving the odds, but I'm curious about two things. Simultaneous discussion and navigation shouldn't be too difficult, since we've got the route mapped out, so ..."

Krycek had moved to the driver's side door, wondering what she was leading up to, and watched Scully open hers and get into the vehicle before doing the same. "Is the dramatic pause over?"

"Men are such slaves to instant gratification."

"There are many excellent reasons for that, Agent Scully," he asserted, starting the engine and pulling out into traffic.

"Physiological wiring being one of them."

"That's a crass generalization. You can't blame all men for your poor choices from among them. And since you chose not to keep that promise you made, you can't, in good conscience, apply it to me."

Ignoring his truthful, but disturbing statement, Scully pressed, "I'd like to know why some think that what we're doing won't help matters and what you think we'll face today."

Making a mental note to bring up the topic she skirted at every opportunity, Krycek considered her questions. "The answer to the first is because they aren't sure what'll happen -- how the aliens will react. Not knowing is anathema to an organization that's been getting increasingly static and narrow minded over time. But everything I've ever seen or heard indicates that, without the lighthouses, things will be more difficult for them. How they'll approach their revised circumstances is anybody's guess."

"But if the organization can't deal with a rapidly evolving situation, who will?"

"New leadership. There's no avoiding that. As to what we'll see, I imagine that the initial focus will be to disrupt placement and, failing that, to destroy the device before or during its operation. Given those objectives, what would you do?"

Checking her map briefly, ever mindful of her navigation duties, Dana ordered, "The next right, Alex."

"Yes ma'am." He watched her as much as the road, curious about her analysis.

"I might consider a road block, but this location doesn't really lend itself to that. There are too many ways in. So I'd scout the terrain and select a few points, three or four, from which I could see any movement in the vicinity of the coordinates."

"How broad an area?"

"I don't need a broad view. Placement takes several minutes. I'll have plenty of time to kill you."

"Dana, you are a brilliant conventional tactician."

Wondering whether he was being facetious or sarcastic, she asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said, and that I hope they think similarly."

When she met his eyes, she was both pleased and a little frightened by the confidence she saw there. What was he up to?

Walter Skinner hung up the telephone and made a notation on the wall map behind him, a multicolored view of Rockville, Maryland and the surrounding area. He and Fox Mulder had set up a temporary field office in a suite at a local hotel. What fascinated Skinner in this situation was Mulder's mindset -- his complete attention to the matter at hand, finding the missing Lone Gunmen. A significant Bureau effort was tenuously hinged on some potentially suspect information. Why would the Smoker choose now to have a direct, honest communication with Mulder? The Special Agent was convinced that he had, so here they were in suburban Maryland, systematically searching through office parks.

Mulder was paying no overt attention to his partner's activities. It seemed to Skinner that, if Mulder allowed himself to begin to worry, the agent feared he wouldn't be able to stop. Skinner took it upon himself to keep Mulder apprised of the atmospheric disturbance in Pennsylvania and of the travel plans to and safe arrival in Spain. There really was nothing more. Skinner was far from satisfied, and he imagined that Mulder wasn't either.

Mulder moved next to Skinner, who pointed out his latest notation to save the agent a few moments. Mulder nodded, tapping his finger on the board absently. "We're moving too slow, sir."

"You sacrifice speed for stealth, Agent Mulder. There's no way around it."

The younger man's intensity and invasion of the Assistant Director's personal space was surprising. "You could throw more resources at it, since time is of the essence."

"No, Agent Mulder. I can't. There's only so much I can do based upon minimal evidence of foul play, hearsay and a vague sense of urgency."

His frown was undoubtedly inspired by extreme frustration, Mulder's most frequent state of being. "Even if it weren't hearsay communicated through me or my sense of urgency?"

"Agent Mulder, in this regard, and perhaps only in this regard, you're just like everyone else. The Bureau doesn't operate at the whim of any of its employees." Meeting the eyes of the bespectacled man with his shirtsleeves rolled up, Skinner allowed his matter of fact demeanor to punctuate his statement. "We'll find them without alerting whoever has taken them. Otherwise ..."

"They'll move or kill them. I do have a grasp of the basics, sir, regardless of what Agent Scully says."

Sarcasm was good, as was invoking Scully. Pleased, Skinner added, "Then act like it. Apply yourself to the problem, rather than bemoan what can't be changed. And give some thought to where else we might look, if this turns out to be a frolic and detour."

"As if I have a choice," Mulder muttered, staring at the wall map intently. "Scully will kill me, if I lose them. Frohicke does her ego good."

Not to mention the guilt you'll feel, if you do.

Aware of Skinner's scrutiny, obviously restless, Mulder voiced a concern that had been plaguing him since his discussion with Cancerman. "Why would anyone want them? This is geek central for this area; computer guys are a dime a dozen in this neighborhood."

"Something specialized?"

"Maybe, but I doubt it." Meeting Skinner's eyes, the fear he knew was in his seemed to surprise his boss. "Sir, the hottest information the Gunmen have ever had is Krycek's itinerary."

So that's why Mulder could focus. Their activities, in his mind, had a very real and direct impact on Agent Scully's safety. In addition, Skinner now understood the agent's impatience. "So we only have a few days to find them. Three at the outside."

"Less than that. It's only a few hours from dusk in Spain, and it's even later in Oman and Russia."

Seeing Mulder's point all too clearly, Skinner observed, "For anyone to use their information, they need to get it within the next twenty-four to twenty-eight hours."

Mulder nodded slowly, his eyes pleading, although his voice was even. "Can't we speed it up, sir?"

"Yes, if we can decide where to concentrate the effort." Skinner's tone threw a metaphorical gauntlet down at Mulder's feet.

Reluctantly, Mulder accepted that Skinner's constraints were not negotiable, closed his eyes and considered. "Maybe working from the outside perimeter inward doesn't make sense in our situation."

"Probably not. How would you suggest we narrow the scope?"

Mulder opened a folder and extracted a smaller version of the area shown on Skinner's wall map. "I've had some analyses run. That new kid is pretty good, and he's fast." A meaningful glance at Skinner contrasted that alacrity with Skinner's glacial pace. "There's a larger concentration of software and related industries in these two quadrants. Time to place a bet, Assistant Director Skinner. Do you feel lucky?"

"Depends. Do you have any hedging strategies to suggest?"

"That's the next job for computer boy and I."

"All right. You do that, and I'll re-deploy in accord with this."

Mulder grasped Skinner's arm, as the Assistant Director moved past him. "Thank you, sir."

Appreciating the gesture and the true feeling underlying it, Skinner nodded, patted Mulder on the shoulder and left, not hearing Mulder's whispered, "Hang on, guys".

Alex Krycek and Dana Scully had hiked about three miles from where they'd left their car and were still a distance from their objective when Krycek paused. It had actually been a pleasant walk, but Scully was ready to be at their destination. She had a rock in her shoe, and it was getting dark. Alex took the small tank-like vehicle out of his backpack and placed it on the ground, glancing up at Scully who was watching him closely.

"Taking it for a test drive? You've not done that before."

"Sit down, Scully, this is base camp."

Incredulous, she advised, "Have a look at the map, Krycek. We're a quarter of a mile away from the designated coordinates."

Shrugging, he muttered, "More like a third." Reaching back into the backpack, he pulled out a hand held device, extended an antenna and frowned at it before selecting a button to push. A small light illuminated on the handset, and a matching one appeared on the tank. Alex adjusted a control and the tank rolled forward. "Ok. We're in business."

"Remote control."

"Sooner or later, we weren't going to be able to get close enough for manual placement. They may be slow, but they eventually get it." Reaching a third time into the backpack he extracted a pair of high powered, night vision binoculars. Training them to the southeast and scanning, Krycek whistled a tune. It took Scully a moment to recognize the theme music from "The Bridge Over the River Kwai."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Annoying you is kinda fun, yeah. Ok, this little guy is headed for the clearing between the two rocks over there. Do you see it?"

Squinting in the dim light, she inquired, "Left of the stream?"

"Yeah. Keep an eye on him, and let me know how he's doing. And don't worry, I've had the lens treated. There'll be nothing to call attention to you."

"Him?"

"Him. Tanks are male; they've got to be."

Scully made herself comfortable, propped up on her elbows, and prepared to watch the device roll across the final distance. She'd just settled in when she thought of a flaw in his plan. "What about the lines in the dirt?"

Smiling, he directed the tank to roll forward. "I just did that for effect."

Impressed, she corrected, "You did it, so they'd think you had to, and not expect this."

Tilting his head, Alex acknowledged her compliment. "Sometimes the simplest plans really are the best. You're the navigator, Dana. Watch him and let me know if he gets stuck or anything."

Scully brought the binoculars up to her eyes and observed the small tank roll away from them. It moved surprisingly quickly along the terrain, having little trouble with rocks or twigs, simply going up and over. Some things presented a bit more of a challenge. "Tree coming up, Alex, bear to the right. Harder right. That's good. Straighten her, excuse me, him out."

Alex grinned. This was progressing nicely, allowing him to relax a little and begin planning for Oman. Strughold would be there; the man would personally oversee the implementation of his strategy to stymie them.

"Alex, stop. Now."

The alarm in Scully's voice shattered his reverie, yet he followed her order without hesitation. "What is it?

"Look. Roughly north-northeast. On a direct line to the left hand rock."

Alex took the binoculars she offered, pointed them as she'd directed, and immediately saw the problem. The tank was motionless, about two feet behind a young man armed with a semi-automatic weapon. "Damn. Where'd he come from?"

"I don't know, I was watching ... ah ... him."

"Ok. Let's think about this."

"Alex?" Scully gestured for the binoculars. When he relinquished them reluctantly, Scully intoned significantly, "I'll worry about the soldier; you ..."

Together, the finished, "... worry about that tower."

Muffled laughter and a shared grin later, he continued, "I've switched off my targeting computer, and await instructions."

Scully carefully surveyed the area around the obstacle. The terrain afforded little protection. Despite it's natural camouflage, it was likely that the tank would be seen as it moved past the soldier. Frowning, Scully considered her options, Alex's statement about simple plans being best playing back in her head. Surveying her immediate area, she selected a good sized rock. "When I say 'Go,' you move straight ahead full throttle."

Considering her instructions, he asked, "Any obstacles on that path I should know about? I'm not sure how to right him, if he tips over."

She did a quick survey. "Nothing unusual. Ready?" A nod from him prompted her to gain one knee slowly, train the binoculars on the man, and heft the rock in her hand. Tossing it off to his right, she waited for a reaction. She instructed, "Go," softly, the moment the soldier's head turned. She watched the soldier take three or four steps in the direction of the sound made by the rock, before whipping back around. "He heard it, Alex."

"Did he see it?"

"Don't know." Krycek kept the tank moving slowly, while he picked up another rock and heaved it in the same general direction as Scully had hers. The second sound drew the man's attention once again. Dana's sigh of relief was music to Alex's ears. Grinning at him, she gave him a thumbs up sign.

Smiling at her enthusiasm, he didn't think about how much he shared it. "How's he doing?"

Returning to her task with one last grin aimed Krycek's way, she took her a few seconds to locate the tank. It had come to a halt after smacking head on into one of the rocks bracketing the entrance to the clearing. "Turn right. Move forward slowly. Ok. Turn left, and proceed straight ahead. How do we get to the exact coordinates?"

"Leave that to me." Seeing her skeptical look, he added, "It's got a limited range navigation package to take care of that, if I go slowly enough." Scully watched Krycek concentrate hard. "Yeah, it's pulling to the right." His fingers adjusted slightly. "Further ... further ... there. We're ready for the moon, Dana." Taking a few deep breaths, Alex wiggled his fingers to relieve the slight cramps he'd gotten in trying to fine tune.

It was a good thing, because the moon rose less than three minutes later. Dana and Alex heard a series of startled shouts, when the tank emitted the first colored beam. A few shots were fired, following the second beam. A more concerted assault, greeted the third beam. Continuous shooting, presumably along the tank's path, occurred between the third and fourth beams and extended beyond the fourth beam into the few moments of what otherwise would've been an unnatural silence caused by the alteration in atmospheric pressure that presaged the firestorm. Short-lived, yet piercing screams indicated that some of the people sent to stop them had moved into the target area. Angry shouts then began in earnest.

"How will we get it back?"

"This ...," he began, depressing a button on the remote control, "... should instruct it to retrace it's steps. Hope your soldier hasn't returned and held his original position. And move back a little, I don't remember where I started it moving."

Both of them shifted a few feet away and waited, listening to the anger and confusion emanating from the vicinity of the clearing. Suddenly, the tank appeared in their field of vision, moving toward them quickly. Alex picked it up, wincing slightly as the tank was still hot from it's exposure to the intense heat in the clearing. Activating the switch that transformed the tank into a cigarette case-like shape, he slipped it into his pocket. "Let's move, slow and steady, no flashlight."

"The moon ought to provide enough light."

Scully was gratified and relieved that Alex had seemed himself throughout the entire exercise, unlike Skyland Mountain or Pennsylvania to a lesser extent. In her view, that was a vast improvement in their circumstances. Reaching for his hand, Scully smiled at his questioning look, but noted that he held hers throughout the trek back to their vehicle.

Stephen Reid was angry. His operation was in a shambles. It had come apart before his eyes -- three men dead, seven wounded and no sign of Krycek. Rumor had it that Agent Scully was working with him, but however pleasant finally eliminating that woman might be, he was focused on the crux of the matter for all the good it did him. Reporting failure was unpleasant, but the ability to report at all was something. Diana Fowley had fared less well. Activating the pre-programmed number on his cellular phone, Stephen sighed and took a deep breath.

"Strughold."

The man himself answering the telephone only emphasized the importance of Stephen's task and the high cost of failure. "We failed."

"I'm aware of that. The unusual inclement weather that's about to descend upon you has been reported. What is the current state of Mr. Krycek's health?"

His tone was mild, but the underlying tension was communicated clearly nonetheless. "Unless he's twisted an ankle hiking in the dark, I imagine it's reasonably good. We never saw him."

"Never saw ...? How is that possible?"

"We think he positioned the device using remote control. We weren't aware of it until the destruct sequence had initiated."

"Weapons were ineffective?"

"Unknown," Stephen admitted. "I can't be sure we got a direct hit with anything other than semi-automatic rounds, and I doubt we can base a definitive conclusion on that."

"Agreed. I trust the plane is waiting for you."

"I'll be there in a matter of hours."

"In the meantime, I'll see some people about jamming equipment. We can't leave the matter to the Russians. Alex has too many connections there."

Stephen paused, slightly confused. "He's burnt far too many bridges to move effectively there, perhaps too many to survive."

"So he would have us believe." Silence from the other end of the phone, prompted Strughold to continue, "Diana Fowley was going to stop all this nonsense single-handed. I'll believe Alex Krycek is finished, when I see his dismembered body with my own eyes."

Stephen could think of no suitable retort, so he remained silent.

Strughold was not at such a loss for words. "Get back here as soon as you can; we've got preparations to make."

"Yes, sir."

Frohicke was beside himself, sitting on a sofa, staring at the man who'd wrung detailed information out of him regarding Dana Scully.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Frohicke. I'll give your best to Agent Scully, when I see her in Russia."

"Don't hurt her. Please."

The man in the immaculately tailored suit looked at the small, ugly American for a long moment. "Now, why would I do that, Mr. Frohicke?"

"Oh, I don't know. Fun?"

"Contrary to popular belief, there are other things that men such as myself do to occupy their leisure time."

"Tell that to Byers."

Sitting across the coffee table from Frohicke in a wing back chair, the man urbanely clasped his hands in front of him and regarded the hacker, easily recognizing the pain and fear underlying his somewhat bold statement. "Mr. Byers responds very well to physical pain, Mr. Frohicke. When time is of the essence, more measured or deliberate techniques aren't particularly useful."

Tired of giving information, Frohicke decided to ask a question or two. He had nothing to lose. "Who are you?"

"Now, how could I release you, if I told you that?"

"You aren't going to let us go."

"Why not?"

The man seemed genuinely curious, prompting Frohicke to explain, "Because I've seen you, and I could pick you out of a line up." Only after he answered the question, did Frohicke consider the logical conclusion to his own argument.

"I do not frequent the Washington DC metropolitan area, Mr. Frohicke, and I will be on a plane outside of United States air space well before you are free to go."

"But?"

"This isn't a bad American television program. I have nothing to gain by eliminating you and your friends, so I will not. Nor will I order it." After a brief pause, he noted, "I regret that you cannot assuage your guilt with continued fear for your life and the lives of your associates."

Frohicke felt his heart sink. He wanted to believe that the man was just talking nonsense, but he didn't. He'd always suspected that he couldn't stand up to Them, but it hurt to discover that he was correct and that They had exploited his weakness. "What are you going to do to Agent Scully?"

"Separate her from her companion and return her to Agent Mulder. Nothing more."

"I don't believe you."

"Your beliefs are irrelevant, Mr. Frohicke."

"What about her project?"

"Project?" Understanding came upon a few moments of consideration, necessitated by the American's failure to supplying clarifying information. "The goals of her international travel with Alex Krycek are not my concern."

Suddenly even more suspicious than he'd been, Frohicke demanded, "Why are you answering my questions?"

"Why not? You have not asked anything particularly sensitive. What possible negative repercussions could there be?"

Frohicke was harboring fantasies about feeding this self-assured, civilized schmuck a few of his own teeth. He'd never felt more helpless, and he didn't like it. Well, if this guy was true to his word, Frohicke could do worse than have some information for the inevitable debriefing with Agent Mulder. Trying for a casual tone, he inquired, "So, is this really about Krycek?"

"Partially."

"Do you know him?"

"Alex? Yes. Quite well, actually. I've known him for a number of years. The boy has become a man under less than ideal circumstances."

Frohicke considered the man's words, as he frantically tried to remember the list of open questions regarding Krycek that Mulder could recite in his sleep. The first was easy to recall. "Who does he work for?"

"Himself."

There had been absolutely no hesitation in the response. That was interesting. "Is he Russian?"

"No."

"Did he kill William Mulder?"

"Who?"

Frohicke couldn't tell if the question that the man had answered his question with was genuine or not. Frowning, he said, "Never mind. Did he kill Melissa Scully?"

"No."

"Did he torture small animals as a kid?"

Laughing, the man admitted, "I have no idea; I met Alex when he was nineteen, I believe. A student at Stanford."

"What was he studying?"

"Mathematics."

"Is he gay?"

"Alex?" Laughing again and shaking his head, the man replied, "He would do what needed to be done to achieve his goals, including sleeping with men, but that, to my knowledge, is not his preference. I must inquire, Mr. Frohicke. Do you have something of a prurient interest in Alex?"

Blushing bright red, Frohicke quickly asserted, "No! A friend of mine has had a few run-ins with him."

"And he's curious?"

"Yes." Seeing, but ignoring the amused expression now worn by this man, whose name he didn't know, Frohicke inquired, "What are his goals?"

Smiling slightly, the man demurred, "That, Mr. Frohicke, is a question that I cannot answer, for your own good." When the small man was silent, his former interrogator prompted, "Have we covered all of ... your friend's questions about Alex?"

"As far as I can remember, but I have one." The "proceed" gesture was immediately forthcoming. "What's with him and Agent Scully?"

"That is the most interesting of the lot, Mr. Frohicke, and one that I cannot answer, because I do not know. A state of affairs that I consider to be sub-optimal. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to ask Agent Scully herself very soon."

The "I hope so," was quiet, but the man heard it. Standing, he said, "I've enjoyed our discussions, Mr. Frohicke, but I must be going. Farewell, Tovarush."

The polite "Good bye," was out of his mouth before Frohicke considered it. Frowning at what he viewed to be further evidence of his treachery, Frohicke returned his attention to worrying about Byers, Langley and Agent Scully.

It was very early in the morning. After a short nap, Fox Mulder had returned his attention to going over the output from the various inquiries that he'd asked the eager young computer whiz to run. Mulder had had to stop about midway through, when he realized he'd "read" about ten pages without truly comprehending a word. Sighing, Mulder allowed that he'd vastly underestimated the reams of paper that the kid would generate.

Skinner wasn't in sight, probably taking a well-deserved nap of his own. The AD had been stalwart throughout this effort, directing the operation with consummate skill. It was good to see that the younger agents had someone worthwhile to emulate. Trite thoughts always seemed to enter the psyche in the wee hours of the morning. Shrugging in a symbolic gesture of dismissal, Mulder focused on to his task.

"Find anything?"

Mulder looked up at the yawning younger agent. "No, but I'm not through your stuff yet."

"You've been at it a while, so you must be into the pretty esoteric shit by now."

"Yeah."

"You want me to ...?" The young agent's question ground to a halt in the face of Fox Mulder's intense stare. "Shut up?" An affirmative nod, prompted, "Got it."

Mulder tried not to smile, as the young man retreated quickly to the other side of the room, with only two or three furtive looks back in his direction. In that instant, the boy reminded him of Alex Krycek in his FBI persona, although Alex had never quite gotten "meek" down believably. A wave of flattered near affection and paranoid anger directed at the current youthful agent was followed closely by one of abject fear for Scully. The latter emotional reaction was more productive in that it got him back to the analysis at hand.

He'd proceeded through fifty or sixty more pages of output, when the door opened and Skinner entered. "I'm putting together the plan for tomorrow morning, Mulder. Do you have anything for me?"

Tense, he admitted, "Not yet."

Skinner nodded. "Agent Preston, sleep in your hotel room, please. Your snoring will distract Agent Mulder and annoy me."

A groggy, "Yes, Sir," preceded his attainment of an upright position, but the kid made no move to leave.

Skinner noted that minor defiance as a harbinger of future disciplinary problems or commendations. It was simply too early to tell. "We're into the afternoon in Oman," Skinner observed softly.

Mulder would've been annoyed, if the Assistant Director's tone hadn't been so solemn. The Special Agent was near the end of his rope, down to the last few inquiries that had been run. The search for meaningful connections between American software or computer industries and Oman or Russia seemed like a long shot, yet the kid had obtained an impressive stack of paper in response to his searches on those topics as well.

Mulder quickly saw the reason for that. Some company had a product trademarked OMan, standing for office management. The search had also flagged products relating to learning Russian. "Hey, Preston, can you find me the wheat in all this chaff? I don't need office management skills and have no desire to learn a Slavic language."

Preston moved to his computer and called up the search program and the relevant data file. Several minutes and manipulations involving Boolean logic later, he printed out the new output, only three pages this time. One for Oman, another for Russia and a third for combinations of the two. "Here you go, Agent Mulder. I trust you'll find the length of this file more to your liking."

"Much. Thanks."

Skinner moved behind Mulder and scanned the pages over the Special Agent's shoulder. The governments of both countries had made some significant software purchases from various companies. One of the companies had a majority ownership interest that was Russian. That company also had sold software to the government of Oman and had a board member with a villa there.

"First stop?" Skinner inquired rhetorically. It was thin ... very thin, but it was something.

"Yeah, and we need to figure out a way to get information to Scully, just in case." Mulder was suddenly certain that the Lone Gunmen would be found at the nondescript location they'd just identified. Dead or alive, a few hours would tell the tale.

Krycek obviously expected more trouble in Oman, taking three planes en route to the airport nearest to the airport closest to their destination. A harrowing off road excursion in an American made Jeep followed, driving as fast as he could, navigating almost by instinct, fighting the clock, which for the first time seemed like it might impose a challenge that they couldn't overcome.

"So, Scully." The sound of his voice after several tense hours, startled the woman in the passenger's seat. "Knowing what you do of my game plan, how would you defend me this time?"

Bracing herself against the jolting ride, she considered her driver. "I take it from all this off road activity that road blocks are an option."

Nodding, he supplied, "Two access roads. We'll have to chance one of them on the way out; we can't make this drive at night."

"The terrain provides no shelter or cover. If we don't want to be seen, we'll have to stop a distance away from the coordinates and approach carefully. I'd array men in a relatively tight formation at the furthest distance from the target that I could comfortably monitor and have them direct their attention outward. You know, widen the net."

"One layer?"

"More would be inefficient. I'd have to start relying on too many people to be sharp."

Nodding again, he asked, "Anything else?"

With sigh, and perhaps a hint of fear, she posited, "Jamming device."

Smiling slightly, he said, "Well, you wouldn't want it to be too easy, would you?" With that, Krycek took a sharp left turn and headed across the sand. "Due north," he muttered.

In about three minutes, she thought she could see a road in the distance. When he didn't slow down, Scully queried, "Alex?" Understanding dawned. "You're assuming they're already in place."

"Yeah. Knowing our adversary, I'm sure they've been at their designated posts since midday. And I suspect, and fervently hope, that their readiness isn't at its peak. We could use a break or two."

They stopped the jeep along the side of the road, facing west, the direction of their future retreat. The setting sun presaged the waning of the heat of the desert day. That suited Scully just fine. Alex shouldered his backpack and checked his gun before moving southeast at a trot. Scully followed. When she caught up, she tapped Krycek on the upper arm. "How far?"

"A mile. Maybe two. Keep an eye out for the sentries."

They jogged in silence for about twelve minutes before Scully halted, dropped and pointed off to their left. About five hundred yards away was an armed man, smoking a cigarette, standing in a slight depression in the desert floor. "How many?" she asked.

"More than enough, Dana. The man is no fool. Ok. We need to take him out, quietly and from relatively close quarters. How are you at an army crawl?"

"I can do it, but my elbows don't care for it much."

"Get to within about fifty yards. When I raise my hand, stand up and wait for him to notice you."

"What then?"

Grinning, he asserted, "You'll see."

"What if he sees us before your "trust me" moment?"

"Shoot to kill or else we're done. You don't want to fall into this man's hands, unless you have some sexual slave aspirations that you've kept from me."

Ignoring the exaggerated leer, she asked, "What will he do to you?"

"Put a bullet through my heart, separate my head from my shoulders and a stoke a hot fire to burn the pieces." For the first time in their journey, Scully sensed something other than unassailable confidence from the man beside her, but he seemed to have little interest in dwelling on it. "Shall we?"

She met his eyes and leaned in to kiss him on the mouth. Smiling, she said, "For luck."

Reaching for her hand, he whispered, "We can do this, ok?"

Looking more confident than she felt, Dana began to move forward as rapidly as possible, keeping low to the ground. Krycek watched her for a second, sighed and mimicked her. He moved off at a slightly different angle, hoping that the fading light and the dusk wind coming up would be enough to hide their approach.

Scully crawled to within about one hundred feet of the man and froze. It seemed as though the sentry was staring right at her. She hoped that her khaki attire blended in well enough, and appreciated the fact that Alex had made sure that all of her hair was tucked into her matching ball cap. Finally, the sentry rested his Uzi on his hip and turned away. After moving as rapidly as possible to her final position, she looked for Alex.

Krycek took a broad circular route to see if he could see the adjacent men in Strughold's line. He could and realized that they'd been precisely and well positioned. However, they'd also caught a little bit of a break. The man to the left of the one he and Scully had chosen was executing his duties as is often shown in movies, walking from one end of his domain to the other and back again. If they timed this right, it was unlikely that he'd see them. That left the man on the right as the wild card.

His intense concentration on his analysis left too little attention to his route, causing Alex to crest a dune too quickly to slow his momentum. Sliding out of control toward the sentry was far from optimal. When he came to rest at the base of the dune, he knew he was too close. Trying to remember where the other sentry had been in his circuit, how fast he'd been walking and estimate the time of his slide didn't prevent him from hearing the sound of the sentry's approach. It was slow and steady, attracted to the noise, but not alarmed. However, raising his hand had ceased to be a viable option. The sentry would see it, and Scully might not. Willing her to have observed his predicament, Krycek listened carefully for any change in the sentry's movements.

Dana Scully saw the sentry stray from his post and move in the direction in which she'd thought Alex had gone. A quick look back the way they'd come revealed what looked like an Alex-sized track running from the top of a dune to the man himself, motionless at the bottom. If he'd been hurt, the game was over. If he wasn't, he was waiting on her. Scully slowly rose to her knees, squatted to get her feet under her and moved parallel to the sentry's motion. As soon as he saw her, he stopped, startled, squinting to see if she was actually there. Alex moved quick as a cat, and the two men tumbled back into the dune struggling. Scully could no longer see them, so she dropped to the ground again, hoping to go unnoticed by the other sentries she knew were out there and waiting. There were no sounds that carried. No gunshots.

Her heart sank, and she felt emotions that might've been despair and grief, as the sentry reappeared carrying Alex's backpack. Forcing herself to move, Dana crawled nearer to the lip of the dune to see if there was anything she could do for her companion. A quick look over the lip answered that question. His head was at an odd angle; neck clearly broken; face buried in the desert sand. There was no doubt as to the emotion that image engendered in her - rage, burning, yet controlled. Her mind was completely clear and her hand didn't shake, as she rose to one knee, reached for her gun and aimed it at the sentry.

She'd eased her finger into the trigger guard, when something caught her attention. There was an object on the ground near her target's feet. I looked like -- it was! The tank was out and pointed in a southeasterly direction. Dana dropped back to the ground and crawled toward the "sentry," as the tank moved out smartly, unable to keep a broad grin of relief from her face. His startled jump, when she touched his foot caused her some concern. That wasn't like Alex. A closer inspection indicated that she was right to be concerned. He had blood all over his shirt, although she allowed that it was possible that neither the shirt nor the blood was his. Also, he was sweating profusely, eyes closed, body tense. "Alex?"

"Don't talk now, Dana, I've got to concentrate."

Concentrate? On moving the tank? But he wasn't even looking at it. And the controller sat idle in his left hand. What was going on? Only one way to find out suggested itself. Reaching into the backpack at his feet, Dana removed the night vision binoculars and searched for the tank. It was humming along rapidly toward its destination, easily avoiding obstacles in its path. How was that possible? Her contemplation of the matter was interrupted by Alex himself, muttering in a hoarse whisper, "Almost there ... slow down ... north ... over ... two feet ... right ... there."

Watching he swayed on his feet, Dana glanced to the left and to the right, slightly surprised that she could see the sentries on either side. They were both standing at attention and looking to the southeast. Krycek was facing northwest. "Alex," she hissed urgently. "Turn around and stand up straight. Both hands on your gun."

Darkness had fallen and Krycek felt completely exhausted, but the urgency in Scully's tone demanded that he turn and try to assume the position she'd suggested. Scully heard a radio transmission, the sound easily carrying in the desert night. "Alex, get down!"

He complied immediately, just ahead of the crossfire that would've cut him to ribbons. "Thanks, Dana."

"You're welcome, but that was too close."

"Can't be too close, if I didn't get hit."

Looking him over with a critical medical eye, she queried, "You're not, are you?"

"Nah. My early warning system's pretty good."

Smiling, she brought reality to the fore. "Moonrise isn't for another ten minutes. They've got plenty of time to destroy him."

Him? Oh, the tank. That she remembered the tanks "gender" pleased Krycek for reasons he had no time to consider. "He's not in final position." Two quick rounds from Alex's Glock, caught the sentry moving in from the left high in the chest and in the neck. As Scully shifted away from Krycek and searched the night for others, he added, "He'll send the two nearest, Dana. Any more and he'll leave too wide a gap. He won't assume there're only two of us."

"I'll cover you. Position the damn thing when you're ready."

"Using the Force is tiring, Dana."

"Using ...?" He'd done that ... with his mind?

Grinning into the advancing darkness, he admitted, "They can jam anything else."

"What about the devices Cancerman gave you?"

"Don't trust them. Not for this. Stay sharp." Alex then shut his eyes and concentrated on the tank, where it was, where it needed to be and the route in between. He was dimly aware of the sound of gunfire, but that didn't matter now. Dana would succeed or she wouldn't. Moving the tank was the only thing on his mind. Only when that task was completed, could he focus on other matters and wearily ask, "You ok, Dana?"

"Yeah. Everything set?"

Nodding and standing slowly, he said, "We need to get back to the car; you know the way, right?"

"Roughly."

"I'll follow you. I have to leave some bread crumbs for him, so I'll be a little slower."

"It's dark, we'll both be slower."

A few minutes into their run, the light show began, heavy pyrotechnics from the bad guys this time, not just scattered gunfire. Yet Scully thought she saw a yellow light, and prayed it wasn't wishful thinking. At any rate, something inspired shouts and more explosives. Was that a red light? "Alex, how's he doing?" His reply, if there was one, was lost in the sounds of gunfire and explosives. Scully didn't see a blue or a white light and was beginning to worry, yet the heavy arsenal being brought to bear wasn't silent, so maybe they had a chance. The complete and utter absence of sound that they'd "heard" at some point on each of their previous missions descended gave her hope and Scully couldn't resist a whoop of triumph, when she felt the increasing pressure and saw the large area of white light that connoted the cleansing of the clearing. Cleansing seemed an interesting word, but Scully couldn't help but think it was the right one. When she and Alex reached the jeep, the tank was only a few yards behind.

One look at Krycek told her he was in no shape to drive. "Can you ride shotgun?" she asked tensely.

"I'll manage. Get us out of here, Dana. Don't stop for anything."

"How will we get to the airport? Roadblocks are trivial to set up."

Slumping in the passenger seat, Alex informed, "We're not going to the airport. Alternative transportation has been arranged."

Conrad Strughold and Stephen Reid had returned to Strughold's villa immediately after the debacle in the desert. Strughold was silently fuming; Stephen was simply tired, but not exhausted enough to be unaware of the danger in his employer's silence. Conrad didn't trust the Russians. If Alex Krycek made it to Russia, he was as good as home free to Strughold's mind.

Stephen wasn't sure he agreed. Much of the information at his disposal indicated otherwise. "As much as you don't want him to get to Russia, he's likely to die there."

Strughold snorted derisively. "They would've killed him without hesitation, if we'd only had the good sense to deliver him along with a bouquet of flowers thanking them for the vaccine he stole."

Smiling at the mental image, Stephen persisted, "Still, they'll recall that betrayal and the others. Alex is excellent at making enemies."

"They have long memories, true, but Russians are fundamentally a pragmatic people. The treacheries Alex has perpetrated will be viewed in combination with his motivation for acting as he did. From the Russian perspective, he had his reasons -- extraordinarily practical ones. A veritable paragon of pragmatism, our Alex. The Russians don't like him, but they believe they understand him and have a grudging respect for his methods."

Stephen was confused. "Krycek as an opportunist, I can see. As a pragmatist ...".

"There's nothing mutually exclusive about those characteristics. A pragmatic opportunist, what I'd call Alex, is dangerous to us. Particularly at this juncture." Seeing his companion's skeptical shake of the head, Strughold smiled grimly and elucidated further. "One thing that Alex understands very well is that situations are dynamic. If an action furthers a motive, it's practical. Consequently, an emotional or ill-conceived action can be justified, if the proper motivation can be devised." Stephen's skepticism appeared to be increasing, so Strughold backtracked. "You don't see my point? Perhaps an example." Pausing to consider the matter, he sipped his drink. "If Alex didn't plan on re-inserting himself into the employ of our group when he stole the vaccine, I imagine that he insinuated that he had. After the fact. Perceived success goes a long way toward establishing and maintaining good will."

Stephen seriously doubted that anyone's mind, other than Conrad's, worked in such a convoluted fashion. Pragmatic or not, there were certain things that were difficult to forgive or forget. "I understand there were incidents of a more personal nature that Alex will have to atone for."

Laughter wasn't what Stephen expected. "What are a few youthful indiscretions in comparison to what he's in a position to do for them currently. Besides, I'd put my money on Alex Krycek in a duel or a brawl, Stephen. We'll not be rid of him easily."

"Perhaps the roadblocks will be effective. He can't go cross country at night."

Pouring himself another stiff drink, Strughold turned intense eyes on his employee. "If he managed to position the device despite all of our arrangements, the man will have no trouble with a roadblock or two. Don't be foolish."

"He's never been much of a planner."

Strughold slammed his glass down on the bar. "He's always been a planner. It's testament to his ability in that regard that he had managed to attain a reputation to the contrary. William was correct about the boy. We can only hope that Marita was as well."

What did Marita Covarrubias have to do with this? Conrad had taken the woman to his bed on a whim, and she'd nearly delivered Krycek to him. The Consortium, primarily William and Spender, had stood in the way, and he'd been forced to let them, so as not to tip his hand. Curious now, Stephen asked, "Her theory?"

"If she told him about our affair, that he would pay me a visit. They were quite close apparently."

"Do you really think that this planner on a tight schedule will come here tonight to discuss your relationship with Marita Covarrubias? Surely, he'll see the folly in that."

Strughold smiled, before downing his beverage in a single swallow. "An opportunistic pragmatic planner with a history littered with the occasional rash act. Marita is hardly the only bone of contention between Alex and I, yet she's the one that might well put him over the edge. Emotions are interesting and quite unpredictable things, Stephen. And you know as well as I that the Russians wouldn't begrudge him this particular side trip. I'd say that it's even money whether we see Alex this evening."

Stephen moved to refresh Strughold's drink and pour one for himself, mentally preparing for an eventful evening.

"Did you bring the pucks?"

Alex Krycek climbed into the large black helicopter after Dana Scully, meeting the eyes of his Russian colleague with a grin. "First things first, I see."

Dana watched the two men embrace; the older placing a kiss on each cheek of the younger and then stepping back to look at him critically. "You look like hell, Alex."

Laughing, Alex countered, "You're looking pretty dapper, Boris. Come into some money?"

"I've been well taken care of, as you know." Eyebrows raised hopefully, he pressed, "Pucks?"

"In here." Alex tossed a black bag to Boris, who caught it easily and with an impressive economy of motion. "Who're your friends?"

Scully had been wondering what was in the battered black bag. She'd have never guessed hockey pucks, or that bestowing such a gift would inspire what appeared to be unbridled joy.

Examining each individual puck to verify its North American origins, Boris absently responded, "My friends?"

Pointing his chin in the general direction of the individuals that inspired his inquiry, Alex clarified, "The serious young men with guns."

Boris looked over his shoulder at the team of six commandos. "The strike team. I understood we were paying a call to a European associate's villa."

Alex frowned and shook his head. "Not tonight, Boris."

"It's been approved, Alex. All the way up the line."

"I don't doubt that, but we don't have time."

"The timetable allows for this. I've checked and rechecked it."

"It doesn't allow for anything to go wrong. We lose range or power in this baby, and it's all over. I ... we've come too far for that. I'll deal with him later."

"It will be awkward to explain."

Shrugging casually, Krycek stated, "So, I'll add it to the list."

Agitated, Boris said, "Alex, I don't think you appreciate the delicate nature of your position."

A slight smile that Boris couldn't interpret appeared on Alex's face, as he glanced at the woman who'd accompanied him. "Enlighten me."

She'd smiled as well. Interesting. "Am I correct in assuming that I'm about to make the acquaintance of the intrepid Special Agent Dana Scully of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation?"

"Yeah, but she rarely invokes her full title."

Boris took Scully's right hand and brought it to his lips. "I've tried for many years to civilize this one, Agent Scully, but, sadly, I've failed. Perhaps I could impose upon you to assist me, your humble servant, Boris, in persuading Alex to do me this one small favor. It will make his visit to my homeland a bit more pleasant."

Scully smiled at the man, but she didn't like this situation. "Perhaps, if you can explain why that's a good idea." Moving to Krycek's side, she slid her arm around his waist. His fell naturally across her shoulders. Dana made a mental note to have a look at Alex when she got a chance; he was leaning on her a little, favoring his right leg.

Seeing the two of them standing together reminded Boris of Katarina at the side of her protégé; her pride at his progress expressed by her beaming smile. She'd never admitted to taking young Krycek as a lover, and Alex hadn't boasted of any relationship between them, but Boris believed that she had. "An American Kat, Alex?"

Krycek raised an eyebrow at Boris and glanced at Scully thoughtfully. "Not quite. Convince her, and you'll convince me. For now, we're headed to Kazakstan." Moving to the cockpit, Alex spoke rapidly in Russian, clearly the voice of command. Scully noted the tightening of Boris' jaw, as the helicopter executed a graceful turn toward its revised destination.

"Agent Scully, Alex has developed many connections in my country over the last ten years or so and severed virtually all of them. Sometimes more than once. There are those, myself among them, who argue that his reasons were sufficient. We've prevailed up until now, but it has been a near thing. Elimination of a long standing problem would go a long way toward improving the situation."

It was oddly comforting to know that Alex's betrayal modus operandi hadn't been geographically limited. "How exactly?"

Alex had returned to Scully's side, eyes distant, giving the impression that he was barely listening to their exchange. Boris' attention was now split between Krycek and Scully, despite Alex's stated abdication of decision-making authority. Unsure how to read the situation, the Russian simply said, "As a gesture of good faith. A peace offering, if you will."

Considering, Dana frowned slightly. There was something awry here; she could feel it, but she couldn't identify it. Acknowledging her intuition, she allowed it to guide her response. "It would seem that Alex is currently in a position to offer more than a gesture, and that completion of our program will enhance his status further, affording the option of a more significant peace offering in the near future."

Boris glanced at Krycek, intrigued by the amused expression on the younger man's face. He'd expected his companion to answer as she did. "Looks like Conrad, Stephen and company will have to wait, Boris. The lady has spoken."

"If that's how you're making decisions now, Alex." A gruff, nearly derisive tone only garnered a grin from Krycek.

"An improvement, wouldn't you say?" Alex asked.

Walter Skinner and Fox Mulder strode into the offices of Elegant Animation Enterprises, after they had been breached and mostly secured by the coordinated effort of two FBI hostage rescue teams. The preliminary report Skinner had received indicated that the employees had been herded in two conference rooms to await questioning. Not an ideal situation - he'd rather have had the employees isolated from one another, but the available FBI personnel were insufficient to implement Skinner's best case scenario.

The Assistant Director observed the efficient activity of his people for a moment, seeking one of the team leaders. A restraining hand on Mulder's shoulder prevented the Special Agent from going off on his own. While Skinner appreciated Mulder's desire to brook no further delay in finding his friends, he also knew that Matthews would have the salient information.

"Any trouble?"

After a brief glance at Mulder, Special Agent Matthews met Skinner's eyes with rolled ones of his own. Spooky had never been a favorite of the average agent, particularly men having developed a more practical specialty. Women, regardless of Bureau calling, tended to be a bit more open minded ... at least initially, before Mulder applied himself to annoying them.

"No, sir, not really," Matthews replied. "We're still in the process of locking down the interior."

"Periphery secure?"

"Sure, Spooky. That's standard procedure."

Mulder stated the implied addition. "Something I know very little about?"

Knowing that combative discussions would only result in time-consuming digressions, Skinner asked, "Find anything unusual?"

"Yeah. Something that looks for all intents and purposes like a surgical suite."

Skinner and Mulder shared a glance -- a most unusual accouterment for a software company. "Any signs of use?"

Shrugging, Matthews reported, "You could eat off of any surface in there. I can't think of a reason to keep it so pristine other than using it for its intended purpose."

"Or a related one," Mulder mused.

Before Matthews could comment, the three men were distracted by an approaching commotion. "I'm not an employee. Just because I know the difference between an applet and source code doesn't mean I work here."

"Frohicke." The grin on Mulder's face was evidence enough for Skinner of the Special Agent's certainty.

As the small hacker rounded the corner under tow by a young, extremely fit FBI agent, he shouted the most salient of his information. "Mulder, they asked about Agent Scully. All sorts of questions."

Reluctantly, the young agent released the straining man in response to Skinner's nod, causing Frohicke to lunge toward the Assistant Director. After steadying the smaller man, Skinner suggested, "Why don't we have a look in the conference rooms for any of ... ah ... Them, Mr. Frohicke?"

Still focused on Mulder, Frohicke nodded his assent and moved to follow Skinner. "He said that they just want to bring her back, but I'm not sure if he was telling the truth."

Falling in step with the other two men, Mulder asked, "What did you tell him, Frohicke?"

The question had been posed in a mild tone, but Frohicke didn't overlook the intensity in Mulder's eyes or the emphasis on the words "you" and "him". He couldn't face those eyes, so he directed his full attention to Skinner's back, replying in a whisper. "Everything." Hearing the sharply intaken breath, he added, "I had to, Mulder. They hurt Byers and Langley."

Knowing that adding to Frohicke's guilt and shame wouldn't be productive, Mulder made every effort to keep the fear and anger that he felt out of his voice. "I understand." One look at the smaller man indicated that he hadn't been completely successful, so the agent opted for a different approach. "Where are Langley and Byers?"

"You haven't found them?" Frohicke's agitation over the fate of his friends probably kept him from being afraid when Skinner opened the door to the first conference room. A small blessing for which the AD was grateful.

"We're not through looking, Mr. Frohicke. Do you recognize anyone in this room?"

His interrogator wasn't there. Neither was the woman who'd hurt Byers nor any of the men that had provided his food and other necessities. "No. Langley was somewhere dark and empty. Like a cell."

Skinner held the door open for Frohicke to exit, gesturing to the right to get him moving toward the next conference room. "Ok. We'll get that information to the relevant individuals. What about the other one?"

Frohicke looked slightly sick at the reference to his bearded friend, oddly glad that Skinner either didn't remember or chose not to use Byers' name. "I only saw him in the torture chamber, where she ... she ..."

Recalling his related purposes theory in view of Frohicke's characterization, Mulder inquired gently. "On a metal table in a clean white room?"

"Yeah. Mulder, it was ... he was ... she ..."

Putting a hand on his friend's shoulder as they came to a halt in front of the second conference room. "Don't think about that; think about helping Byers deal with it when we find him."

"Keep saying when, Mulder. I'm a big believer in the Great Pumpkin principle." Scanning the room quickly, Frohicke stated, "No. They're gone. Just like he said."

Ushering Frohicke back into the hallway, Skinner prompted, "What did he say exactly?"

"That he'd see Agent Scully in Russia."

Seeing Mulder's somewhat wild-eyed look, the Assistant Director decided that he needed to remind him of some important facts. "She's already there, Mulder. And we have nothing to tell her that would be of any use to her."

Frowning, Mulder focused on Frohicke intently. "How did he say it?"

Considering briefly, the smaller man replied, "Like I did. More or less."

"Accent?"

"I'm not sure. His English was precise, but he could've been Eastern European or Russian or something. He said a word, I didn't recognize. Toe-va ... Toe-var-ish. Something like that."

"Tovarush?"

"That's it."

"Russian."

Skinner saw the set to Mulder's jaw and didn't like the burgeoning stubbornness he was sensing in the Special Agent. "I'm sure Krycek will be expecting local trouble."

Frohicke was shaking his head in the negative with vigor. "Maybe not from this guy. They know each other, Mulder, dating back to when Krycek was sitting in math classes gawking at coeds at Stanford."

Mulder gaped at Frohicke, forgetting to maintain his usual aloof brand of skepticism in the face of the other man's casual detail-laden assertion.

Skinner muttered, "Bachelor of Science, Applied Mathematics, Stanford University. It's in his file."

Frohicke was uncomfortable with both Skinner and Mulder looking at him like he was some sort of specimen. Thinking back over what he'd said to see if there was anything they could reasonably take issue with, Frohicke clarified, "I added the gawking part, because he's not gay apparently."

"The useful facts are pouring in." The Assistant Director sighed, and turned toward the agent who was approaching rapidly.

"Frohicke, how did that come up in conversation?" Seeing the man open his mouth to respond and glancing quickly at Skinner, Mulder interrupted, "Forget it. I withdraw the question." Glaring at the smaller man until he acknowledged that Mulder wanted discussion on this particular topic to cease, he rued the day that he'd mentioned to Frohicke what Krycek had done the last time they'd been alone in Mulder's apartment.

"We've found two more, sir. They look a bit worse for wear."

Mulder interjected, "Both men. Both slender. The shorter one, brown hair and beard; the taller, glasses and long blonde hair."

The agent merely nodded; however, his eyes added "spooky."

Frohicke had to know. "Are they ok?"

"Not at the moment, but they'll live. We're bringing them up to the reception area for medical treatment and transport to the hospital."

"Which way?" Skinner couldn't help but smile at Frohicke's relief, as he started off at a trot at the side of the agent.

Fox Mulder was watching Frohicke as well, his expression serious. "I'm going to try and get in touch with Scully." Skinner nodded, trying to mask his rising concern.

Dana Scully woke with a start. An overwhelming sense of foreboding assailed her. She was alone in the large bed in which she'd fallen into an exhausted sleep. Alex was gone. As her eyes located a clock, a surge of adrenaline shot through her. It was getting late. Why hadn't he woken her? A more immediate concern was the location of her clothing, however. When a quick inspection of the room failed to turn up what she'd worn the previous day, her luggage or anything she could borrow, Scully decided that the comfortable pajamas that had been provided would have to do, until she found out what was going on.

Retracing her steps of earlier that morning from memory, Scully found the stairs and descended. The dacha, she supposed would be the correct word here, was well appointed. If it was Boris', he'd done all right for himself. The intriguing thought that it might be Alex's crossed her mind, but she forced such idle speculation aside. Matters of greater import deserved prominence. Making her way along the hallway at the base of the stairs, Scully listened carefully. Near what she thought was the rear of the house, she heard voices. Without conscious thought, Dana slowed her pace and took care not to make any noise that would alert the conversationalists to her presence. Even though they were speaking in Russian, she hoped that body language and other cues would enable her to follow as she pushed open the door to the room slightly.

"You're right. It doesn't make sense." Alex muttered, his tone weary and resigned.

"I'm glad that you're seeing reason. You don't want to make things any more difficult for yourself, Alexei." Boris was clearly relieved.

"I should go. Get this done, and then ..." Alex shrugged, no longer looking at the older man but out the window.

"What will be, will be."

Damn. The rat bastard was planning to leave her behind. The man in question was dressed all in black, a backpack slung over his shoulder. "Yeah. It certainly will," Krycek mumbled.

"You're doing the right thing, Alexei." A reasonable, persuasive tone accompanied the companionable hand placed on the younger man's shoulder. "She can't help you anymore."

Shaking his head, Alex clarified, "That's not it, Boris. The simple fact is that the real battle here isn't hers." Quieter, more intensely, he added, "She has enough of her own to fight."

"A warrior that one." A nod from Alex greeted Boris' statement. "I'll see that the young woman gets back to the States safely."

"See to it personally, Boris, because I will take it out of your hide, if anything happens to her." Alex looked deadly serious, and Boris gaped at him incredulously.

"Bold words for a man who's going to present himself to those who are likely to exact reparations of their own out of his."

"Do you doubt that I'll make good on that promise, Boris? Do you really?" Cold, hard and dangerous, Alex glared at the other man.

"Undoubtedly, you've planned for it, Alexei, and now, I'm afraid, you're going to have to explain it."

"Explain ...?"

Boris looked past Alex, directly at Scully. Switching to English, he said, "Come in, my dear. There's no need to hover just outside the door. I'll be in the kitchen, whenever you're ready, Alexei."

Dana ignored the Russian, focused completely on Krycek and moved to stand directly in front of him. The man said nothing, probably trying to determine how much she'd understood. A minute passed. Then another. Involuntarily, Scully shivered. Clearing his throat, Alex offered, "I'll have them find you something to wear."

Calmly, she retorted, "They'd better hurry, if we're going to finish this."

A deep breath segued into pursed lips and a quiet, "We're not."

"Oh?"

One word, so mildly spoken, connoted danger. Warily, Alex noted, "Dana, there'll be no resistance here. The Russians have always understood what's at stake. This part of our plan has official mission status. Just like the excursion Boris suggested yesterday. Approved at the highest levels."

"Then what's the problem? Why deprive me of one final light show, not to mention "his" retirement party?"

"You're freezing. Take this." Alex offered her the black leather jacket she'd purchased for him what seemed a lifetime ago in New York City.

She allowed him to settle his jacket on her shoulders, but refused to relax or be diverted. Crossing her arms in front of her, she tapped a bare foot impatiently. "I'm waiting to be apprised of the reasons for my summary dismissal."

Sighing, he began, "That's not ..." Abruptly, Alex stopped, frowned and stared into her eyes. "Dana, it doesn't matter what I say. It's a dismissal to you. Nothing will change that. I can't tell you where I need to go, or what I need to do, or why I don't want you involved in it. And, quite frankly, I'm too tired to make up something even remotely plausible."

Knowing that she was unlikely to get any answer, much less a satisfactory one, Dana couldn't help but inquire. "Why can't you tell me, Alex?"

"The easy answer is that I don't have time. A more accurate one is almost irrelevant. You don't know enough to make any sense of it."

"Just one big thick XFile, is that what you are?"

Pulling her into his arms, he brought his lips down to the level of her ear and whispered, "Yes. I'm sorry."

"So ... um ... when you get back, do I get an explanation?" The increased tension in his muscles scared her more than she'd ever admit.

"It'll be a while before I darken your doorstep again, Dana." His words were slow and careful, almost as though he was feeling his way through his statement. The way he phrased it and what he didn't say made the communication oddly eloquent.

"So this is good bye. Most likely for good." One affirmative nod from him prompted a bitter, "And you've known the whole time."

"No. I wasn't sure, where the next step would be taken. Or precisely when."

"But you are now?"

"Boris' information is solid; the conclusion is irrefutable."

Scully's fear increased exponentially, when that man's name was invoked. "How can you trust him? He was trying to talk you into a mistake last night."

Her mind was incredible. Maybe ...? No. The decision's been made. "I know, and I don't know why. I've got a few guesses, but that doesn't matter either. I don't trust him, Dana. Not completely, but he's got proof of what he claims. Physical evidence. Just like you're always asking for."

Her instincts were screaming that something was wrong, but Alex was satisfied by evidence that had been presented to him. Her assumption of the traditional Mulder role was strange and right. She was certain, but how to convince him. "Alex, listen to me. I don't know who Boris is to you, or what the evidence is that he showed you, but this is wrong. I know it is." Silence hung heavily between them following her statement.

The door to the kitchen opened slightly, "Time is getting short, Alexei." Krycek nodded and waved Boris away.

"I hear what you're saying, and I'll act accordingly. But, I've got to go this one alone." Smiling sheepishly, he added, "Say hello to Mulder for me."

"I'll do that, but I won't say good bye or hear those words from you. You'll have that on your conscience, if you go and do something stupid."

"I accept your conditions, Agent Scully." Grinning, he adjusted the leather coat on her shoulders. "Keep the jacket for me, will you?"

Nodding, she reached behind her neck to undo the catch on her ever present necklace and held it out to Alex. "I'm going to lend you this. I expect it back."

Dana couldn't identify the look in his eyes as he stared at the hand that held the small gold cross on a plain gold chain. "I ... ahh ... Dana ..."

"Put it on." When he made no move to comply, she did. "Better yet, let me." Standing on an ottoman conveniently located behind him, Scully secured the necklace around Krycek's neck. "Turn around." Compliance to that request was immediately forthcoming. "Be careful, Alex."

Swallowing hard, he promised, "I'll make sure you get this back, Dana."

"Delivered personally, Alex."

Smiling tentatively, he murmured, "I have to go."

Looking at his watch, Boris returned to liberate Alex from his "explanation." Whatever the younger man had said, it appeared to have been acceptable, judging from the passionate embrace. The boy had always had a way with women. It only took three throat clearings to separate them, but Boris had to admit he was surprised when Alex looked back at the woman when they reached the door. Apparently, he'd lost his ability to make an exit. All those years of living in America, Boris supposed, were to blame.