The rhythm of his curses matched the slap of his shoes on the
pavement as he ran deeper into the squalid warehouse district and
away from the remains of the gutted vehicle. He felt the sting of
tiny pieces of shrapnel from the rocks and glass, which had hit him
in the ass as he outran the explosion.
He added more names to his list as he kept running, fucking
Skinner, fucking Cardinale not daring to stop to breathe, to look
behind him. Not daring to consider the future.
His hair dripped sweat and added to the sweat on his neck that
combined with the sweat running down his back. His hands stung, which
added to ache of cramped muscles in his arms. The sharp gut punch of
a cramp in his diaphragm finally stopped him, and his lungs heaved as
he flung himself into the dark shadowed corner of an alleyway.
Breathe, breathe—don't think, don't care—breathe. The shit has
hit the fan with a vengeance
Slowly he calmed, slowly un-kinked his abused muscles and realized he
was damp with cooling sweat and shivered, drawing his jacket closer
around him. All he had on him was $123 dollars in cash and a shiv in
his boot; that was it. His ID's, credit cards, bank account,
everything else was now useless. He'd known this, or something like
it could happen, but he'd thought the day was further away when
secret backup and personally manufactured coverage would be
necessary. Shit, shit! What do I do now? Shit, I must get out of
DC
Alex began to walk and found the world skittered and tilted crazily
as he got his bearings, tried to keep in the shadows and avoid the
open backdoors and loading docks, which lined the alleys.
He slicked his damp hair back out of his face with dirty
fingers. Shit! Don't even have a comb He stopped behind a cluster
of dumpsters and urinated. The sharp acidic smell hit the back of his
throat, and he gagged, spat and pounded his fist against the metal
container. Fuck! Fuck! Think Alex; you must think
He rested, needing a drink, wanting a moment of safety, wishing he
were just tired and on his way back to his dorm at college or at the
academy or on his way back to his apartment and the chubby blonde who
often invited him in for dinner and quickie when her boyfriend was
away, for fucking wimp a home he hadn't seen in years and wasn't
really there anymore anyway.
Gone, all of it
He slipped through a deserted side door of a large auto body repair
shop. Made his way to the stacks of boxed and packaged parts and
hunkered down. An Asian man was just locking up and setting the
doors' alarms. He would spend the night here and think of a plan.
He patted himself down, hoping to find a stick of gum or a stray hard
candy. Motherfucker! The DAT. I have the goddamned DAT
Alex studied the DAT, holding it to the light from the emergency exit
signs as if it were the Hope Diamond. This was what it was all about.
Everything the smoking man and the others were protecting. They'd
trained him well, but told him practically nothing about the project
itself. This was the holy of holies, Mulder's grail and reason for
living. This was his one chance for an identity all his own. If he
could decode it, understand it, use it; he could be an autonomous
presence of his own in this serious game of life and death among the
conspirators. Bastards already tried to kill me. I owe them
nothing. Mulder doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground about
daddy dearest, but he's smart and has made deals with the devil,
before, to find out things
Alex checked out the alarm system. It was primitive and only
protected the building from intruders trying to break in. There were
no motion detectors on the inside, no cameras. He went into the
manager's office and booted up the computer. It took 40 floppies to
get the whole thing downloaded, but he used a couple of new boxes
from the supply cabinet. Should the day come when the manager ever
needed more disks, he would simply figure that someone had made off
with them.
Alex hid the floppies in the bottom of a bin filled with parts of
dismantled radiators, in the very back corner of the shop. By the
looks of things, they hadn't gotten around to throwing out this kind
of junk since 1987, and he doubted they were going to clean up
anytime soon.
He returned to the computer, studied what little information was
available in English and chose a few items he thought he might be
able to sell to others interested in locating lost or stolen
secrets. Got to get bankrolled, have a defense against another
assassination attempt and then back to the action He would save the
rest of it for a time when he had resources to decode it.
Alex washed up as best he could in the shop's bathroom and made his
way out of the building. He caught the last metro to Rockville and
walked some more, finally breaking into the ice rink and securing the
DAT in a locker. He found an open Hamburger Haven and ate, took the
three A.M commuter-rail to Baltimore and then the Amtrak to
Philadelphia.
He made a call from the station, scared, angry and surer of himself
then he'd ever been. The phone rang and was answered.Briefly Alex
said, "Can I talk to him?" The Aide answers, "Yes, he's just arrived.
One moment, please. You have a call, sir."
The Smoker takes the phone, "Thank you. Hello?"
"I'm alive. Isn't that a surprise?" Alex asks sarcastically.
Trying to seem unsurprised the Smoker answers, "Yes, good, good,
good. Uh, where are you?"
"Somewhere that you will never find me, you double-crossing son of a
bitch," replies Alex.
"Are you sure?" Replies the Smoker mildly, yet, full of unspoken
threat.
Alex says clearly, "I'm sure of this... if I so much as feel your
presence; I'm going to make you a very, very famous man. You
understand?"
Keeping up the pretense of hearing good news the Smoker
answers, "Yes, thank you. I'm going to report that to the group."
Afterwards, Alex hung up the phone, went out into the morning rush
hour and took a cab to the airport. He looked around the
International terminal for a man about his age, build and coloring,
who was traveling alone. He followed the man into the bathroom and
calmly held the knife to his neck. The guy was agreeable, once Alex
had made a shallow cut under the man's coat very close to his groin.
He walked the man past the luggage claim and out into the parking
lot. He gagged and tied up the guy, stole his wallet, ticket and
suitcase, attaché case and left the man in a service hut.
On the short flight to O'Hare, Alex found $640 in cash, $3500 in
Traveler's Checks, and a passport with a piss-poor photo that could
be anyone, including himself.
He sat back, stretched out as far as he could in the coach seat,
tuned out the crying kid and the bitchy wife who was haranguing her
husband for forgetting to pack something or other and closed his
eyes. My luck has changed. Just keep moving, keep thinking and I'll
be okay, maybe better than okay
Well, I went home with the waitress
I was gambling in Havana
I'm the innocent bystander
Now I'm hiding in Honduras
SOL
by Flutesong
Shit out of luck! To Hell with you! Fucking 'Cancer Man'! Fucking
Bill Mulder! Stupid Scully sister! Fucking all of them. Most of all,
fucking Agent Mulder
Lawyers, Guns, and Money
By Warren Zevon
The way I always do
How was I to know
She was with the Russians, too
I took a little risk
Send lawyers, guns and money
Dad, get me out of this
Somehow I got stuck
Between the rock and the hard place
And I'm down on my luck
And I'm down on my luck
And I'm down on my luck
I'm a desperate man
Send lawyers, guns and money
The shit has hit the fan
