Shopping, Shoot Outs and Sinking Ships by Ms Brooklyn Part One The first thing Ellen Feldman thought about him was that he was too well-dressed to be one of her clients. He wore a single-breasted gray suit that looked like it had been custom-made for his lean frame. Even the white shirt was custom made, the sleeves cut perfectly so that the gleaming silver cuff links were visible. The tie was a supple silk affair that was a tasteful blend of grays. The man himself was remarkably well-manicured. Late sixties or early seventies, she imagined, and very fit for his age. To his credit, he didn't dust off the chair before sitting down. "Miss Feldman." Clipped, precise tones. British? "That's correct. And you are...?" He looked like a judge or a partner in a very expensive law firm. If it wasn't after seven on a Friday night, the receptionist would have found out who he was before she let him back here. Then again, it was after seven and the front door was locked. How the hell did he get in? He certainly didn't look like somebody who would pick a lock. "A friend." "A friend," Ellen echoed. Okay. He was a well-dressed psycho and he probably did pick the lock. Her hand dropped to her desk drawer to retrieve the small container of mace she kept attached to her keychain. This was the bad part of town, after all. "Well, friend, I suggest you come back during business hours on Monday." The gray eyes in the wrinkled face stared at her with amusement. "I have work for you, Miss Feldman." "Like I said, on Monday morning you can set up an appointment with my secretary. We can discuss whatever your problem is then." Please get out, she willed him silently. Don't make me have to explain to the cops why I maced an old guy in a nice suit... "I believe you misunderstand the nature of my request, young lady. The work we have in mind for you has very little to do with your practice. We need you to perform a task for us." We? Us? Oh. My. God. This wasn't a psycho. Well, not a run-of-the-mill psycho, anyway. This was one of those shadowy guys! But that was impossible! They hadn't bothered with her in over two years! Why now? Ellen drew herself up as her fingers tightened on the can of mace. "You haven't needed me for two years. And I don't recall you being so bold about it. In fact, I don't recall you at all. What happened to the guy with the cigarettes?" "That is a non-issue. You need only be concerned with the matter at hand." "There is no matter at hand. I don't work for you. I've never worked for you and I seriously doubt I will in the future." The gray man merely raised an eyebrow at her vehement protest. "My dear young lady, you will do what we want. I'd rather not have to take the time to have you persuaded. It might be another six weeks until you heal properly and I would certainly hate to risk crushing that charming spirit of yours." Until she healed properly? Ellen locked stares with the man as she lifted the mace from her purse and laid it on her desk beneath her hand. "Friend, you're wasting your time. My relationship with Mulder is deader than Hoffa." The gray man looked down at the can of mace in her hand and smiled, as if pleased by her veiled threat. He reached down and lifted up a briefcase, which he laid on the desk in front of her. "Again, a non-issue. You will deliver this briefcase to Alex Krycek at a location in Los Angeles, which will be disclosed by my associates to you upon your arrival there. Once you have delivered this package, you will remain with Mr. Krycek and will entertain and service him as you serviced Mr. Mulder. Periodically, you will report to us about his activities through intermediaries sent to you." Ellen stood up, fingers clutching the mace. "Get out and take this briefcase with you, you sick sonofabitch, before I mace you into the middle of next week." "Miss Feldman, do sit down." He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a gleaming silver gun, which he pointed at her. "I trust I have your complete attention now?" "That's all you have," she hissed, sinking back into her chair. "I'm not delivering your package and I'm sure as hell not 'servicing' Krycek—" "You will do it, Miss Feldman. Whether you do it now or in six weeks is entirely up to you." The gray man leaned forward ever so slightly and disengaged the safety of his weapon. "Bear in mind that if I must find a courier to replace you, I will be rather annoyed and if I am annoyed, young lady, I will make certain that the extent of my annoyance is made known to you." Stand off. If she maced him, he'd shoot her and at this range, he couldn't miss. "Bastard." "Your flight leaves in half an hour, Miss Feldman. Be a good girl and pick up the briefcase. Now!" She lifted it slowly and reached into her desk drawer for her purse. "Excellent. You see? You can follow orders. There will be people at the airport watching for you. If you miss that flight, we will find you and I will personally supervise your punishment. Understood?" "Rot in hell," she spat, stalking out of the office, her high-heeled pumps clicking loudly. There would be a time for getting even. It just wasn't now. It would come soon enough. The gray man smiled at her departing form. "I'm certain I will, young lady. I'm certain I will." Ellen made her way through LAX, still lugging the briefcase. Before the plane took off, she tried to pick the lock, but it was stubborn and what if this thing had a bomb in it? After that, she left it alone, ordered a gin and tonic and read the horrible in-flight magazine. There were hundreds of people in this airport. How in the hell was she supposed to find her mysterious contact? The petite lawyer sighed and looked around. "Been waitin' on you, doll." The voice came from behind her as a meaty hand gripped her upper arm and spun her around, putting her face to face with one of the greasiest men she'd ever seen. And growing up in Brooklyn, she'd seen plenty. "You're late." "Don't blame me. Blame the pilot." "You keep that smart mouth of yours shut, understand?" The greaser's eyes raked over her, pausing at her chest and proceeding down her legs. "Good." He led her outside to a waiting dark-colored sedan, yanking open the door and hurling her in. Ellen smoothed her dove-grey Anne Klein suit and crossed her legs, primly, not taking her eyes off the greaser, who planted himself uncomfortably close at her side. The greaser sniffed her neck, inhaling the scent of her Issey Miyake perfume and resting a meaty hand on her leg. "Too bad we're late." "I don't think Krycek would appreciate you pawing me, Squiggy." Where the hell were they going? Not that she knew the first damned thing about LA anyway... "What Krycek don't know—" "You think I won't tell him?" "Bitch." Squiggy could call her whatever he liked, but he stopped groping her. Looks like Krycek's name did more than make people nauseous, she thought. It inspired fear. When did that happen? Ellen leaned back and folded her hands in her lap. "And Squig, would you shove over? You smell." It was dark when Squiggy shoved her out of the sedan and ordered the driver to peel out, abandoning her outside the dilapidated warehouse. With a regretful sigh, she watched the sedan's tail lights fade into the distance. Not much chance of hailing a cab from here, which meant hitching a ride with Krycek. Getting him to do what she wanted shouldn't be too hard. It never was before. All she had to do was flirt a little. A plan started to form. Maybe he didn't know she was supposed to service him. Maybe he wasn't even expecting her. All she had to do was hand him the briefcase, bat her eyes, and have him drive her to the airport. Yeah! That made sense. So why was her heart pounding in her chest? The rusty door to the warehouse was less than four feet in front of her. She wanted a shower. She wanted to go home. Instead, she was standing outside a smelly old warehouse praying that Krycek didn't expect 'service' with a smile. Yeah, she'd say, here Ratface, take the briefcase. Nice seeing ya! Could you give me a lift to the airport, sweet thing? And then she'd be back in her office by tomorrow morning. Yup, that was exactly how it was going to go down. Ellen shook her head in disbelief. This whole thing was a cliche, right down to the rusted, broken padlock. She rummaged in her purse for her key chain, unclipped the tiny flashlight and shined it into the darkness. Krycek was in there somewhere waiting for his courier to arrive. What if he was planning on shooting first and asking questions later? Ellen decided to let him know they sent her, just in case he was planning some kind of double-cross. "Alex? Yoo-hoo! Alex Kryiiiiiiiii-cheeeeeck? It's Ellen? Remember me, honey? Ellen Feldman? I've got a de-li-very for you," she called. Oh God! That was straight out of a sitcom! A few tentative steps brought her further into the warehouse. Whoa! It smelled in here! "Alex? Please don't make me come in here. I just dry-cleaned this suit and it's all dusty and it smells worse than the New York City subway in August and....sorry. I'm babbling. I do that when I'm nervous. Yeah, heh heh. I'm nervous. Can you believe it's been almost three years since you kidnapped me last? Please don't kidnap me again, though. I've got an important motion on Monday morning in Family Court - oh, that's right, you probably don't know. I don't work for the Bureau anymore. I've got my own practice and—" "Jesus Christ, shut the hell up!" The sound of a safety being engaged or disengaged— she couldn't be sure which— just behind her ear almost made her wet her pants. "Don't move a muscle or I'll blow your pretty little head off." Her penlight clattered to the floor and the briefcase dropped with a thud. She could feel him circle her in the darkness. An impossibly bright flashlight beam hit her full in the face. Ellen squinted past the beam and saw that he'd put the gun away. There was something weird about his posture but she couldn't put her finger on it. Hell, this whole thing was weird and it was oddly comforting to see him. Before she realized what she was doing, she was reaching up to hug him. She stopped herself short and started to back away. Krycek pulled her to him anyway, in an awkward one-handed embrace. "Don't be shy, princess. I'm happy to see you, too." Too happy, judging from the bulge in his jeans that he was rubbing against her. Ellen jerked free with another nervous giggle. She cleared her throat and reminded herself she was a lawyer. A seasoned trial attorney. "Next time, Alex, how about coffee instead of midnight deliveries in a warehouse, okay?" He smiled down at her. "Already thinking about next time, are you?" "I'm trying to end this time as soon as possible, if that's all the same to you. Your friends threatened me with six weeks of recuperation if I didn't deliver this. I'm delivering it and I'm getting the hell out of here." She kicked the briefcase to him. An amused chuckle. "I guess you're not getting paid for this. Raw deal, kid." "Raw deal!?" Ellen drew herself up. "Is that all you have to say? I went two years without interference from these guys and today some guy who looks Droopy Dawg barged into my office and suggested I deliver that briefcase, service you and report periodically on your activities as if I was his personal piece of meat! And no, I'm not getting paid for this." "Service me?" Krycek nodded, apparently pleased with the words. "He actually said that?" "His exact words. Who the hell is he?" Why did she have to open her mouth about the service thing? God, she was such a ditz sometimes! "Someone who can have you erased if you don't do what he says." "I think I'll take my chances, thank you very much." "Don't be stupid, Feldman. Follow your orders like a good little girl and hope they don't ask you to service somebody less attractive next time." Next time? Ellen clenched her fists at her sides. "I'm a lawyer, not a prostitute." "No difference. Both screw people for money. In this case, you're screwing for your life. Do you want to get busy here or would you like to go to a bang motel?" The flashlight beam lingered on her breasts. "I'd rather drink carburetor cleaner." "Silly Feldman, do you know what happens to bad little girls who don't take care of their assignments?" "By all means, enlighten me." "Torture." He snickered softly. "Six weeks recuperation is being optimistic. Look, kitten, just hike up that skirt, bend over and I'll send you back with some kind of story to feed them." "Ugh! You are the most vile, disgusting—" "There's another option, of course. But I don't think you'd be interested. Too much hard work. No, I think it'd be easier to give you a quick screw and send you on your merry way." "What other option," she asked, suspiciously. Krycek leered at her, eyes glittering. "Maybe you don't want to be their piece of meat. Maybe you want them to leave you alone. I can arrange it, but my services don't come cheap. You'd better put something real interesting on the table." "I don't have anything." A desperate whine crept into her voice and she hated herself for it. "Ever since Mulder dumped me and the Bureau fired me, I've taken some of the worst cases imaginable to put food on the table. The few miserable dates I've had were cops, other lawyers and a car thief. The only one I actually liked was the car thief but he was married and guilty." "God, that's pathetic." Krycek shook his head, switching the flashlight to his left hand. There was definitely something weird about the way he was holding it. "So all you have to offer me is you and it looks like you're not worth much these days." "Hey!" He cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Maybe your value just went up if They sent you, hmm?" "Don't—" "Are you still as much of a pain in the ass as you used to be, Feldman?" She grabbed his wrist and tried to pull his hand from her face. "Stop it!" His grip tightened and he tilted her head up painfully, forcing her to look in his eyes. "Here's the deal, kitten. You come with me, do what you're told with no back talk and They leave you alone. That includes service with a smile, sweetheart, capisce?" Ellen dug her nails into his wrist. "Forget it." With a growl of exasperation, he threw her backwards onto the dirty concrete floor. "Some shit never changes. Have a nice life, Feldman. What's left of it." "Wait." Damn. Her nice, clean dove gray suit. And she was still whining. "Please wait," he corrected, primly. "Please wait." Jerk. Krycek kneeled next to her. "I'm waiting. Do you have something you want to offer me?" "I....I...uh..." Ellen broke eye contact and examined a large tear on the sleeve of her suit jacket. Irreparable. And this was her favorite. "The answer's not on your designer suit, princess." "What you said. I'll do it." "You know what I said. I want to hear you say it." "Oh, come on!" She watched his brows knit together in a darkening scowl. Damn. Fine. He wanted an oath? She would give him one he'd never forget. "Oh mighty Krycek, dark lord of the sewers, rodents and underworld, I, Ellen Janine Feldman, shall do your bidding. You have but to will it and it shall be done. In your name alone, I will wield the all-powerful legal brief, I will slay your enemies with well-pleaded complaints and—" "Try it again, Ellen Janine Feldman." "Orders followed, no backtalk." Creep. "Service," he prompted. "Whatever. You want me to kiss your ring now?" "Well, as long as you're on your back—" "Absolutely not! This place is disgusting. You want service? You give me flowers, champagne, soft music, sweet talk and a clean bed." So there. "And no bang motels." "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, yanking her to her feet. "Neither can I." Part Two How did she get herself into these things? How did she end up on the other side of the continent with Krycek and a mysterious briefcase? How? The wrinkly guy. She hated him almost as much as Krycek. And Krycek was definitely creeping her out. He hadn't said a word to her since they left the warehouse. All he did was point at his car, slam the door after she got in and then he peeled out. Ellen was almost sure he was going to kill her and dump her body, deal or no deal. When they finally pulled up in front of the flea motel where he was staying, Ellen was so relieved she didn't even comment on the bug zappers. With a rough shove, he pushed her into the room. "Call Virgin Atlantic and find out if there are seats left on the red-eye to Singapore." "But I just got here—" "Exactly. And now we're leaving." Krycek opened the closet, yanked out a large duffel bag and threw it on the bed. "Try to get business class." Ellen gaped at him. "But— " "Don't make me tell you again, Feldman." He tossed his wallet at her. "Use the Amex." She caught the wallet and pulled out the credit card, pausing to ogle the large wad of bills in the billfold. Small bills. Foreign currencies. Wow. Fake identifications for all occasions. Credit cards to match the phony IDs. Extra large ribbed condoms. Extra large? "Quit snooping and start dialing." "Sorry." Extra large, she mused. What the hell was he packing in those incredibly tight black jeans and did she really want to know? Ellen picked up the phone and watched him pile clothes neatly into the bag. She had to admit, Krycek was looking good. No more greasy stuff in his hair. Nice haircut. Buff. Nice ass. Real nice ass. But what was up with his posture? Krycek caught her staring at him and eyed her warily. "What is it?" "The flight leaves at 2:15 am and we have two business class seats. Your card's being billed—" "Good." His deep green eyes swept over her. How come she never noticed what sexy eyes Krycek had? And why in heaven's name was she using the words 'Krycek' and 'sexy' in the same sentence. "I always wanted a cute little secretary. You any good at making coffee?" "Not really." "Why don't you give it a shot? There's a coffee maker right behind you. I like mine black and strong." "You're pushing it, Krycek." "No, Feldman, if I were pushing it...." He reached out and lifted the hem of her skirt, exposing an extra inch of thigh. "I'd tell you I want to see some skin while you made the coffee." Ellen jerked away, feeling a run start in her off-black Calvin Kleins and raised a fist in warning. "Touch me again and I'll—" Krycek caught her fist in his hand. "Try it and I'll tie you up and leave you for our friends." "You could try." An exasperated growl as he squeezed her fist. Ellen yelped in pain. "Okay, okay. UNCLE!!!" "Black. No sugar." Jerk. Krycek sipped the coffee and watched Feldman attempt to sew her suit back together. Cute that she carried a sewing kit with her. He carried one, too. He also carried everything he needed to make a fake passport and ID for her. Not a bad piece of work. Ellen Janine Krasnow. Wife of Nick Krasnow, aka Alex Krycek. Figured Feldman would have a sexy driver's license photo. Who did she bug at the DMV for that, he wondered. He would have preferred a picture of the look on her face when she found the condoms in his wallet. Feldman had been checking him out ever since, not that he minded. About time she realized he was a good-looking man. And if she was good, he'd show her he why he carried extra large rubbers. Feldman herself was looking good. She did something different with her hair and she was wearing suits that were more tailored and form-fitting. Shorter skirts. Higher heels. Smaller, sexier glasses. She looked like a woman who wanted to attract men but still look professional. His little assistant. If he could get her to behave herself, this could be the beginning of a beautiful partnership. She also made a hell of a cup of coffee. This was obviously not her day, Ellen sulked, as she limped beside Krycek through the airport. It seemed like it was lasting forever and it was getting worse with each passing minute. Her shoes were making her feet hurt, her pantyhose were a disaster and don't even mention her suit. Or her hair. And that was just the beginning. This whole bargain with Krycek was utterly insane. Then again, maybe not. He seemed like he knew what he was doing. Like he had a clue. Like he had a really nice ass. Would he mind if she copped a feel? Time for the 'accidental bump' perfected in her teens and still so useful. Krycek nearly jumped out of his skin at the contact. "Sorry. Pardon me." Just as she thought. Nice, tight buns. Luminous green eyes peered down at her through thick, black lashes. "Do I pass inspection?" Caught. Well, she'd be damned if she'd act embarrassed. In fact, why not do something completely out of character? Something extreme. With a devil's grin, Ellen treated herself to a long, thoughtful grope. "B-plus." "B-plus? That's it?" "A-minus if you're not wearing underwear." "A-minus it is, then." Krycek's gaze lingered on the front of her blouse. "My turn." "The hell it is!" Ellen backed up a step. "Fine. Later." He hefted his duffel bag and winked at her. "If you see anything else that interests you, help yourself." That burning sensation was a blush. Dammit. She switched back into courtroom mode and asked, "So, what's in the briefcase?" "Merchandise." "Why Singapore?" "Because that's where the buyer is." "How much are we getting?" "A lot." "We don't have passports," she pointed out. "Yes, we do." "What about Customs?" Krycek stopped and stared down at her, his annoyance evidenced by the tension of his body. "Stop interrogating me, Feldman. I've taken care of everything. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the ride." "But—" "Always an argument with you, isn't it?" His lips were a thin, tight line. "I don't understand you. A minute ago, you were so damned cute, flirting with me. What happened? You got upset because I wanted to reciprocate? What are you afraid of?" Ellen shuddered involuntarily and did her best to look humble. "I'm sorry, Alex. I was just curious and—" "No. You might have been curious but you were also implying that you think I'm an idiot." He leaned down, his face less than an inch from hers. "And, I think, you're afraid to admit you like me." She cocked her head. "Isn't that our flight they're announcing?" "Yes, it is." Before she realized what he was doing, his lips brushed hers and then he straightened up, staring past her into the crowd. "There's something else for you to be curious about." Was it tomorrow or yesterday? She couldn't tell anymore and she was so tired, she couldn't care less. It didn't even matter that the sun was shining. All she cared about was the king-sized bed she was lying on. It was clean. Blessedly clean. Maybe Singapore wasn't such a bad place after all. As she dozed, she could hear Krycek having lengthy conversation in what sounded like Russian on his cell phone. She'd just about fallen asleep when she felt him climb in next to her. That woke her up immediately. "You're not sleeping here." "Move over, you're hogging the pillows." "Did you hear me?" "I heard you. And I said give me a pillow." He yanked one out from under her head. Ellen sat up and stared at him. "I'm not sleeping with you." "It's me or the floor, babe." "I'll take the floor." "Feldman...." "Krycek?" "If you don't shove over, I'm going to hog tie you and suspend you from the ceiling." "Been here, done this. Can't we just go to sleep?" "I'm trying but you're not moving over." "Look..." It was hard to negotiate when she was so damned tired. "I don't know if you think you're Boris and I'm Natasha or something, but this whole thing is so old, it's ridiculous. I'm getting too old to play spy games." "And what exactly are you supposed to be doing?" "I think there's supposed to be a husband, some kids and a picket fence. Not a flight around the world with a psycho." "You wanna get married, Feldman?" Krycek's voice dripped sarcasm. "You won't even share the bed, so how the hell are you gonna convince some poor slob he needs you that badly?" "I share the bed, Krycek. Just not with you." "Ow, she wounded me, boys." He clapped a hand over his chest and groaned. "Is this the thanks I get for saving your life, offering to teach you a trade, and providing you with first class accommodations? If anything, Feldman, you should be on your knees with gratitude, putting a smile on my face—" "Ewwww!" "Admit it, Feldman, you've always had a crush on me." "What?!" "You've been waiting for me to come back into your life, sweep you off your feet and take you halfway around the world on an amazing adventure." He gestured grandly. "Here it is, honey. Your dream come true. All I ask in return is half the bed. For now, anyway." "You are NOT sleeping with me." "Move over, dammit!" It was going to be a very long night. The gray man sipped his tea and set the cup down in the china saucer without making a sound. He eyed the fat man sitting across from him. "Involving the lawyer complicates matters." The fat man was not asking a question. "Not necessarily. She has a...directness that may expedite the situation." The fat man remained skeptical. "She knows too much." "She only knows that she's being used by us." The gray man smiled. "A proper reward will ensure her silence and her loyalty." "I'm not so sure of that." "I am." Part Three Slowly. Carefully. Ellen slid out of the bed and moved stealthily towards the briefcase. Bingo, he left it unlocked. So far, so good. She needed to know what was so important that she had to personally deliver it to the sleeping rat. Well! This didn't look important at all. It looked like used motor oil and Triaminic cough syrup. Ellen glanced over her shoulder. Nope, he was snoring like a baby. If he had a buyer lined up, this stuff had to be lethal. She had to get rid of it safely and stop him, but how? "You could have asked first." She yelped, nearly dropping the briefcase. Krycek snatched it from her and snapped the locks shut. Then he turned to her, wagging a finger in reproach. "Okay, if the situation was reversed, what would you do?" Ellen took a deep breath. "I'd tell my partner what kind of horrible germs we were toting around." "We're toting a disease and a cure. Can't sell one without the other." He smiled a cobra's smile at her. "Welcome to the dark side, Janine." Damn. She should never have mentioned her middle name. "How do you do something like that, Krycek? How do you sell the bubonic plague to the Iraqis and look yourself in the mirror in the morning?" "The Iraqis already have the bubonic plague, Feldman. Our buyer is somebody totally different." Krycek yawned and rubbed his eyes, obviously still exhausted. "And you know, honey, I can ask you the same question." "What?!" "You've gotten off some guilty clients, knowing they're going to go out and do it all over again, haven't you? Has your conscience bothered you?" "If they got off, they weren't guilty, were they," she countered. "What about your car thief, Feldman? You got him off, didn't you?" "What's that supposed to mean?" "Touchy subject? I believe you said he was guilty. Married and guilty. Which one bothered you more?" "Selling death doesn't bother you, I suppose." "Not any more than setting guilty clients free bothers you, Feldman." "My clients are honest, hard-working people who—" "Save that for a jury." Krycek folded his arms across his chest. "Your clients are people who do bad things and get caught and you twist the facts so they can go out and do the same things all over again. Like your car thief, for example. He might have told you he was guilty, but I'm sure he didn't mention he was married. You set him free and he's probably out there right now, boosting BMW's and cheating on his wife." Touche, Ellen thought. Time to parry and thrust. "Are you jealous because he's a car thief and you're a terrorist and I won't give you the time of day?" "Feldman, you wound me. You really do." He put a hand over his chest. "Here I am, saving your life, teaching you a trade and getting nothing but attitude from you." "You want to teach me, honey, by all means, go ahead. I'm all ears." Her voice dripped sarcasm. The smile faded and his eyes grew cold. "I'm serious, Feldman. That attitude has to change. Now. Because I'll be damned if I have to spend my time watching my back and watching you. As much as I want you, I'll snap your pretty little neck before I let you put me in danger." There it was. Krycek's dangerous side. She made her first mistake—pushing him too hard. "Alex, I—" "Shut up." He yanked off his sweater. "Look at my left arm, Feldman. You've been too busy being a pain in the ass to notice it's a prosthesis. Look at it now. This is the worst thing that's going to happen to me, understand?" He was right. She hadn't noticed. The arm had been cut off just above the elbow. Her eyes wandered back to his and then she suddenly had an intuitive flash. "That happened because of the stuff in the briefcase, didn't it?" Krycek exhaled sharply, the anger fading from his eyes as quickly as it appeared. "Good girl, Feldman. Only you would be smart enough assume there's a connection. You're going to be so good at this, baby, I know it." "I don't—" "Of course you will, Feldman." He wet his lips, eyes bright, almost fevered. "I know all about you. Straight A student. A lawyer who's never lost a case. So smart. So persistent. But always, always in the wrong line of work. I'm not going to let you waste your talent any more." "I'm not going to be very good if you don't tell me anything about what we're selling, who we're selling it to and how much we're getting." "Half a million per test tube, Feldman. Our client is Bosnian. And I told you what it is." "Not exactly." "No, not exactly. That'll come later." Krycek's expression morphed into a light, almost friendly grin. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry? It's somewhere around dinnertime, I think." Now that he mentioned it, she was starving, but she forced herself to keep the conversation where she wanted it. "When's the meet?" "Tomorrow night. Go fix your makeup, Feldman. I want to leave in ten minutes." She considered arguing, but decided not to. The more she saw of the town, the easier it would be to escape when the time came. Now this was fun. Sort of like having a doll, dressing it up, bending it, posing it. Cute. Krycek laid the lavender slinky silk chemise on the bed and glanced at Feldman. How surprised she looked when he commented that she needed new clothes. Even more surprised when he took her into the boutiques, began selecting things for her and haggling over the prices in Japanese. She nearly bolted when he led her into the lingerie shop, protesting as he selected all sorts of pretty things for his little Feldy to wear. The protests ended with the chemise. She wanted it. Wouldn't admit it, of course, would be damned if she wore it for him, but the soft silk, that sensuous color...she had to have it. And he bought it for her. Feldman yawned as she finished hanging up the new suit he bought for her, to replace the torn one. An Anne Klein. A bargain. Her favorite. Ruined, Alex, how could you?! So her bought her the olive, double-breasted Tahari, the matching blouse, scarf and pumps, the expense be damned. How could he resist when she looked like a kid at Christmas? He also bought tight short shorts. Tank tops. T shirts. Cropped sweat shirts and comfortable sneakers. And since he was paying, he picked the colors and styles. Not that she argued. She knew what looked good on her. "So how much do I owe you for all this," she asked, finally. "Nothing. Just put this on and we'll call it even." He lifted the chemise with a finger. Feldman shook her head. "No." "Scared?" "Of you?" "Uh-huh." Come on, he willed her silently. Put it on. Do it to drive me up the wall, but do it, dammit. "Scared maybe it'll be too big on top, too, I think." That did it. She snatched it from his hand and disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she emerged, hair freshly brushed, maybe a hint of make-up and the chemise clinging to her. "No, not too big on top." "Not in the least." Why did he do these things to himself? He cleared his throat and forced himself to think pure thoughts that didn't involve ripping the chemise off of her. What he wanted from Feldman was going to take time to build and if he jumped her now, he'd never get the chance. "We've got plenty of time." "Until?" "The meet's not until tomorrow night. We can stay up a few more hours while I give you your first lesson." Her nose wrinkled as she peered suspiciously at him. "What kind of lesson?" "I want to teach you how to handle my gun." "Excuse me?!" He snorted with disgust. "Nice to know what your opinion of me is, Feldman." "That's based on your track record so far," she said, sweetly. Bitch! After he blew almost eight hundred on clothes! Maybe he could whack her on the butt with a rolled up newspaper to train her properly. "We have a business arrangement, sweetness. Remember? You didn't have much to trade and you promised to take orders. My order right now is to come here and work with my gun." "You're really disgusting, you know that?" He heaved an annoyed sigh. It was going to be a long night. "That was good, Feldman. Do it again." "Oh, come on! My hands are tired." "One more time." Ellen groaned aloud and picked up the Sig Sauer from the coffee table, where it lay next to his cleaning kit. "I could break and clean this in my sleep, Krycek." "That's the point." He stroked her hair and stole another peek down the front of the chemise. "I want you to get comfortable with it so you can be my backup tomorrow." "Your what?!" She stared at him in disbelief. "I thought—" "I told you I was going to train you. How did you think I was going to do it? In a lecture hall with my other students?" "But that's dangerous—!" "And you're a liability to me," he said, coldly. "You have some skill but not the knowledge and you don't even know the stakes you're playing for. All you know is that They wanted you involved again." Her tone matched his. "Why don't you explain it to me instead of being so damn secretive?" "When I feel like I can trust you, I will. Right now, I barely trust you with that unloaded gun." "If I brained you with it and escaped, moron, where would I go?" "First of all," he said, plucking the gun from her hands, "you wouldn't be escaping, you're with me voluntarily, as I recall. Secondly, you've just made my point. I can't trust you." "But I'm supposed to trust you?" He slid the gun back into his jeans. "You put yourself in my hands, Feldman. You damned well better trust me." "You don't move from this spot, understand?" Ellen nodded, hefting the loaded gun. "I cover you until you're clear." "Right." He squeezed her shoulder, not the least bit subtle as he checked out the tight black leggings, black cropped sweatshirt and ponytail. Something akin to a smile lingered on his lips. "Don't even think about knee-capping me, Feldman. You don't speak the language and if you went to the embassy, you'd be handing yourself over to our friends. Capisce?" "Yeah." He was right. She hated the fact that he was right. When did Krycek start being right?! Ellen hunkered down, trying to ignore the dust bunnies and filth of the warehouse. And then something occurred to her. "Hey, Krycek, wait." "What?" He whirled around, suddenly concerned. "Should I pop the buyer so we can walk out of here with the money and the goods?" Krycek beamed at her, a wide smile on his face. "Now you're thinking! But no. Not this time. Sergei's a comrade of mine." "Do you trust him?" "I trust him even less than I trust you, Feldman. That's why we're here early, putting you in position." A gentle yank on her ponytail. "Is there anybody you do trust?" "How about a kiss for luck?" "You're changing the subject." "To one that interests me. Pucker up." Before she could stop him, he grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and kissed her, long, hard and deep, with lots of tongue. When he finally let go, he spoke in a voice that was more than a little husky. "Now, to answer your question, yes. I trust me." That made her feel loads better. Sergei was in his early forties, if she was any judge. Dressed in what she assumed was an Armani suit or a very impressive knockoff. The suit didn't fit properly somehow or maybe it was Sergei. Ellen didn't like him and she had the feeling Krycek was right not to trust him. The man oozed slime. Then again, part of her distaste could have come from the warehouse they were in. Why was it always a damned warehouse? Wasn't there any other place to meet? Maybe with good lighting and without that musty-urine odor? Maybe with croissants...yeah, and cappucino. She was willing to bet Krycek knew where to get cappucino in Singapore. Sergei greeted Krycek in what sounded like Russsian. Ellen strained to hear the conversation, but Krycek responded in Russian, so no matter what she heard, there was no way she'd understand it. Whatever they were talking about, it began to bore her. Finally, Krycek opened the briefcase, displaying the goods. Sergei showed a briefcase full of cash. No need to guess that a deal was made. The two men shook hands and swapped briefcases. Krycek finally said something she understood— goodbye, comrade. Thank goodness for all those James Bond movies. She watched as Krycek turned away from Sergei, who reached into that great designer knockoff and whipped out a gun with what looked like a silencer. Krycek whirled, but with his good hand occupied, couldn't respond to the threat in time. Before she could think about what she was doing, Ellen aimed the Sig and pulled the trigger. Blood, brains and God only knew what else splattered everywhere. Ohgodohgodohohoh! She killed a man. Over some stuff in a briefcase. For money. For a man she didn't like and didn't trust. For reasons nobody would explain to her. She was going to go to jail. She was going to be sick. It took less than a second for Krycek to recover and he raced up the catwalk to Feldman. The petite lawyer was hyperventilating, the gun dangling from her hand. And she was shaking like a leaf. "Feldman?" "I-I k-ki-ki-killed....." He set the briefcases down and pried the gun from her fingers, engaging the safety before holstering it. Ellen hiccuped and sniffled. "You can cry later, princess, okay? Right now we've got to get out of here." "B-but—" A slap to the face of a hysterical person was usually the right way to go. Knowing her, she'd shoot him first chance she got if he did, so he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Get a grip, dammit! We have to get out of Dodge." This brought her back. She blinked up at him. "Where?" "Wherever." He grabbed her arm with one hand and the briefcases in his prosthetic hand. Heavy. Have to be real careful not to drop them. Feldman could help him carry them when she was calm. "But definitely out of the country." "Shouldn't we lay low?" "Don't argue. Run." She ran. Part Four "Think they followed us?" Ellen had stopped shaking, but was twirling her hair nervously around a finger. "No." Krycek held her close as they crouched behind some crates. "Even if Sergei wasn't alone, nobody saw us sneak out through the sewers." It was her third warehouse in as many days. Figured they'd sneak out of one warehouse through the sewers and into another. Figured that Krycek of all people knew his way through the sewers. What was he doing? Was he trying to cop a feel? Ellen tapped his shoulder. "You can let go now." "Just relax and snuggle up for a minute." His embrace grew tighter. "If you feel like crying, now's the time to do it. I promise I won't laugh at you." Uh-uh. No way was she going to cry in front of him. "I'm fine." "You killed somebody, Feldman." "Gee, really?" "Hey, I'm trying to be nice—" "There's a first." "Feldman—" "This is all your fault, you one-armed, psychotic—" Krycek let her go and rubbed his eyes, wearily. "I know that, Feldman. You wouldn't have shot Sergei if I didn't bring you there. But y'know, if you weren't there, that would be me lying their with my brains splattered on the walls." True enough. It still didn't make it right. "How come you didn't see it coming?" "Our Consortium buddies set up this meet. I didn't think...I should have, but I didn't." The words were spat out, bitterly. "I should've known better than to trust them." Damned right he should have. She would have seen it coming. She wouldn't have had to kill that man. She'd be home right now, having a bubble bath. She should've known Krycek was still a screw-up. It was time to show him how to do it the right way. "Alex, honey, it's okay. C'mere, baby." "What?" She leaned forward, as if she was going to kiss him. Krycek leaned forward, too, exposing the shoulder holster he was wearing. Ellen's hand shot into his jacket and she yanked the gun out and backed up, quickly, aiming it between his eyes. "Two fingers. Give me your cell phone. If you so much as twitch the wrong way, I'll make you my second casualty." "Feldman, I'm warning you—" Krycek looked as dangerous as a cornered animal, his eyes locking with hers as if they were in a battle of wills. "Shut up. I'm tired of your 'I'm in charge' routine. I'm tired of warehouses and roaches and sewers and our mysterious friends." She clenched her teeth. "I'm taking charge of this fiasco. Now give me the phone before I blow off your other arm." Krycek's mouth was a wide O as he held out the phone. "Dial for me. Area code seven-one-eight, seven-eight-seven, five-six-zero-zero. Got it?" "It's ringing." She snatched the phone from his fingers. "Tony. Hi, honey, it's Ellen. Is Uncle Nicky around? No? How about Carmine?" "You're where," Carmine thundered. "With who?! What?! Shooting?! I'm gonna kill him! I'm gonna squeeze his neck so hard his head is gonna pop off like a cork." "Easy, Carmine, we have to get out of this warehouse alive first." The burly Italian pounded his fist on the spotless formica countertop, causing a small dent. Why didn't she ever call to say hello? Why did it always have to be crises, kidnappings, Krycek— that Polack sonofabitch. "I tell you what, you get a flight to Sicily. I'll make arrangements for you to stay with my uncle Giuseppe until I get there." "I don't know what flight...." "Just go there. Someone'll be waiting for you." Carmine snapped a pencil in half between his fingers. Arguing with him, yet. Here he was, coming up with a plan off the top of his head and she was getting nitpicky about insignificant details. "You're gonna be in good hands." He hung up the phone and gestured to Tony. "Tony, get me the phone book an' a atlas." "Sicily," Krycek echoed. "That's your brilliant escape plan? Enlist your greasy Mafia buddy? He has no idea what he's up against—" "Neither do you, if this mess we're in is any indication." She switched off the cell phone and stuffed it in the waist band of her leggings. Both hands now, to grip the gun and aim it, feet flat, just like Carmine taught her. Close one eye. Line up the target... "Are you going to hold that gun on me all the way to Sicily, Feldman?" "I'm considering it, yeah." "You know, honey, when you point a gun at me, you'd better damned well be sure —" He lunged for her. She fired. "Goddammit!" Krycek clutched his prosthesis. "You bitch! Do you have any idea how expensive this was?" "I don't particularly care," Ellen said, frostily, letting go of the gun with one hand so she could wipe her nose which was running suddenly. "You have two choices, Krycek. Take orders without any back talk or be left here for our friends. And I'm sure you appreciate the fact that those are the same choices you gave me." "You want me to take orders from you?" He snorted at this. "Until we hook up with Carmine, yes. And then you do what Carmine says or he's going to introduce you to a whole new world of pain." She was sounding much calmer than she felt. And worse, she was starting to enjoy throwing his inanities back at him. "Face it, baby, all you have to offer me is you and you're not worth much these days." "I'm worth a lot more than you, honey. I can arrange safe passage from this hellhole." One point in his favor. "And?" "I know why the stuff in the briefcase is so important." Another point. "Keep going. You might just earn yourself another day of life." "And I've got a few other hands I haven't played yet." "Such as?" "Put the gun away and we'll discuss it." He offered her a weak smile. "After I make our travel arrangements." "I'll put the gun away as soon as you've arranged travel to Sicily." She lowered the muzzle of the gun so that it was level with his crotch and tossed him the phone. "If I hear you mention any place other than Sicily, I'll make a eunuch out of you." As Krycek listened to Vassilios checking the roster of outbound cargo ships, he realized something. He was turned on, very turned on by the woman holding the gun that was pointed at the Krycek family jewels. Two days ago, she was a mess, had no idea what to do with herself, begged him to help her. Now she had him at gunpoint and was barking orders. Never mind that she couldn't speak Russian or Japanese like he could, that she didn't know Singapore from Chinatown. Feldman wanted to go to Sicily and by God, she was going to get there if she had to shoot him in the nuts to do it. Vassilios mentioned a detour through Greece. In Russian, Krycek replied with a grin, "Just a minute, comrade, I need to check with the little woman." Ellen arched an eyebrow expectantly. "There's a stopover in Greece and we have to change ships." "What happened to flying?" "Too risky." "Do you trust this person or should I not be asking?" "Do us both a favor and don't ask." He switched back to Russian. "We'll take it." "When's our boat?" "Half an hour." He pocketed the phone. "You going to put the gun away like you promised?" "I'm thinking about it." Ellen nibbled at her lower lip. "See, I have this gut feeling that the minute I put the gun away, you're going to be on me like a cheap suit. I'm really not in the mood to roll around on this gross floor, either." So damned smart. Was it any wonder that his jeans were suddenly a bit too tight in the crotch? "Won't it be inconvenient, dragging around a hostage and two briefcases? Especially when you don't know where you're going and you couldn't ask anybody even if you wanted to?" She blew a strand of hair from her eyes. "Make me a deal, Krycek." "There was a time you called me 'Alex'." "Yeah, well, things change." The muzzle of the gun raised to his face. "I'm waiting." "Put the gun away, Feldman. I promise— no, I swear I won't try to take it from you. From this moment on, we're equal partners. I'll tell you everything I know. Deal?" "Tell me everything first and I'll let you know." "I'll tell you a little bit." He was dying to reach down and adjust himself. God, he was in some pain here. "The black stuff is an alien parasite. The yellow stuff is the only thing we have to neutralize it. I stole it from a lab in Russia and Sergei was supposed to be brokering it to someone who was going to get me the formula." "Do you think I'm a moron? That black stuff looks like forty weight motor oil." "It's a parasite, Feldman, I swear to you. I was infected with it myself." "You look pretty healthy to me." "Dammit, Feldman, we don't have time for this. We have to get to the docks on the other side of town." Carmine stood outside the door to Apartment 42 and listened to what sounded like a basketball being dribbled. It was nearly 11:30 at night. Carmine gritted his teeth. If he lived under this guy, that basketball would've been wedged someplace where the sun didn't shine by now. He had a good mind to do the people in Apartment 32 a big favor, but he needed the guy doing the Meadowlark Lemon impersonation. "Why are you standing outside my door?" Mulder's door flew open and the lanky FBI agent was shoving his gun in Carmine's face. Carmine rolled his eyes, pushed the gun out of his way and shoved his way past Mulder into the apartment. "Nobody ever complained about the impromptu NBA finals going on in here, Ace?" Mulder shut the door and eyed his visitor warily. "If this is about Feldman and Valentine's day—" The burly Italian arched an eyebrow. "She never mentioned it an' I don't wanna know about it." "So why visit me without calling first?" "She's in trouble, Mulder. With a capital T." Carmine picked up the basketball, spun it on his index finger and tossed it to Mulder. "Seems your old friends sent her to Krycek with a little errand." "They sent her? And she went? Willingly?" "Not exactly. To make a long story short, she's got the upper hand right now and she's on her way to Sicily with Krycek and some kind of oil-based plague. I sort of had the feeling you might know what that stuff was and how we can get rid of it safely." Carmine cracked his knuckles. "I'll take care of getting rid of Krycek." Mulder thought fast. "What about her cat? Who's watching—" "Tony's got it under control. You might wanna call li'l Miss Scully now." Carmine tossed a small pile of plane tickets on Mulder's coffee table. "I ain't plannin' on traveling alone." "There she is, Feldman, the Pride of the Caspian." Ellen's nose wrinkled. "Not exactly the Love Boat, is it? What are they smuggling?" "You'll like this one, honey." Krycek grinned down at her. "Black market furs. Taken from Russia to be sewn in Singapore and then sold in Europe. If you're a good girl, I might negotiate a sable for you." "Wonderful." She stepped onto the gangplank, which shook beneath her. A boat, yet. Her experience with boats was limited to the Staten Island Ferry. "Oh God..." Krycek's good arm slid around her waist, steadying her. "I've got you, Feldman. Hold onto the rope and don't take your eyes off the ship, okay?" "That would mean taking them off you, sugar." "Cute. Just get on, will you? They're waiting for us. " He whispered directly in her ear. "I booked us a nice little room." "Oh, really? How much of our ill gotten money did you spend?" "Ten grand." "Total?" "Each." "What?!" She spun around, forgetting about the shaky gangplank for the moment. "We could have booked a luxury cruise for that much! Next time, you let me negotiate—" "When you learn to speak Russian, baby, I will." He pushed her forward. "Move, will you?!" "I'm in charge of the money from now on, Krycek. You spend like a goy!" "Yeah, yeah, Feldman. You're in charge. Just shut up and get on the boat already." It was going to be a long, slow ride..... "You tore me away from Taxicab Confessions for this?!" Scully's angry glare was directed at Carmine who didn't even bat an eyelash at the shrill outburst. Why should he? This was obviously 'Dump On Carmine Week'. Mulder was apologetic, not that it mattered, because he was apologizing to Scully, not Carmine. "Feldman's sitting on something potentially dangerous—" "Not to mention she's involved in this mess because of you," Carmine interjected. "You owe her." "So we're supposed to drop our investigations and run off to Sicily? Because Krycek is holding Feldman hostage again?" The redhead's voice rose dangerously. Carmine hoped against hope she wasn't packing a gun because she was obviously premenstrual. "You misheard me, Red. Feldman's got Krycek hostage. She just don't know what to do with him. She knows somebody must want him and his merchandise, but she needs to get herself out from under first." "Somehow, I can't picture Feldman holding Krycek hostage for long," Mulder put in, smoothly. "Why don't I go give her a hand while you take care of that little matter we're working on, Scully?" "That matter is an annual report of our activities that Skinner wants on his desk by Friday. There's too much—" "You've already written the first draft anyway." "Frankly, if this thing is some kinda plague, I'd prefer to have the doc along." Carmine took her hand, praying she wouldn't sucker punch him. "Ever been to Sicily? They got awesome pasta there." "Pasta and plague? That's your persuasive argument?" "It's all I got for the moment, so it's gonna have to do." "My, weren't you chummy with Romania's answer to Captain Queeg," Ellen commented as she peered into cramped quarters she was going to be sharing with Krycek. "Next time, speak in English or I'll shoot you, got it?" "First of all, he's a Muscovite. Secondly, he doesn't speak English. Finally, I think it's time you gave me the gun back, Feldman." Krycek held his hand out expectantly. "It's been fun, but I'm going to need it in case they decide to try a double cross." "Fun?!" Ellen stared at him in disbelief. "You think I'm playing here?" "I know you're not playing," he placated. "Believe me, honey—" "Do me a favor and don't say anything else. Your voice pisses me off something fierce." She pulled the gun from her leggings and leveled it at him. "Get on your knees and put your hands over your head." "Feldman..." Krycek was annoyed to hear himself pleading with her. "Put the gun down. We have things to talk about. You know, conspiracies, consortiums, little green men... Stuff Mulder would give his right arm to hear." "Oh, is that what happened to you?" "Feldman, please, baby, put the gun down." She licked her lips and narrowed her eyes. The safety was still engaged and her eyes kept wandering to the bed. "You'll be able to talk with your hands tied." "How will you explain it to our hosts?" Okay, he was dealing with a tired, cranky Feldman. An armed, tired, cranky Feldman. "Kinky sex." There was no rope of any kind in the room. Not even an electrical cord. "Please.." Oh Christ, he was whining now. "I won't touch you. I won't go near the gun." "Oh, all right, but you'd better behave yourself." Ellen sank down on the narrow twin sized bunk. "Start talking." He stayed on the floor, sitting now, wrapping his arms around his legs, hoping she wouldn't notice the bulge in his jeans. There was something about the way she was ordering around that was getting him excited. "Where do you want me to start?" "At the beginning. Don't leave out a single detail." She grinned at him. "Don't forget to tell me where Mulder's sister is, I might use that later on." The gray man listened to his operative without showing any reaction. "What about the girl?" "Krycek still has her." "Do we know where they are going?" "We believe it may be Sicily, sir. She placed a call to her friends in New York." The operative swallowed hard and phrased his next sentence as carefully as he could. "It sounded as though she'd assumed some control over Krycek." "Nonsense. He's far too dangerous for her to control. More likely, he forced her to place the call. When you intercept them in Sicily, don't damage the girl too badly during your recovery. We still have uses for her and I would like her spirit intact. Her body, of course, will heal." The gray man sipped his tea. "Explain to her about the importance of following orders. You may use Mr. Krycek to illustrate your examples." "Yes, sir." "I brought you some tea and Dramamine." Ellen lay on the bathroom floor and groaned. "Give 'em here, boy." Krycek kneeled next to her and shook two pills into her hand. Poor thing was positively green. "Careful, the tea is hot." She took the cup gingerly from his prosthetic hand. "Owww, that's hot alright." "I told you so." Feldman winced as she dry-swallowed the pills and then glared up at him, as though it was his fault she was seasick. "Those better not be poisoned, Ratski." Ratski?! Christ on a crutch! What happened to the flirty little thing from two days ago? The girl who couldn't tear her eyes from his crotch or his ass. "If they were, I'd have been dead months ago. I bought the bottle in Pathmark in Alexandria." "And you always carry Dramamine?" "That and my fake Amex, sweetie, I never leave home without it." He brushed the hair from her eyes. Okay, she was starting to calm down again. All he had to do was not say the wrong thing. "I'm sure you've got plenty of stuff in that purse, Feldman. A couple of tampons, a band-aid or two, aspirin, hair pins, birth control pills—" "Hey!" She smacked his hand away, angrily. "What'd you do, go through it while I was vomiting up everything I've eaten for the past month?" "Yup. You've only got four pills left, Feldman. You must be getting PMS pretty bad by now. Those awful hormonal rages." His voice was sympathetic as he attempted to play his trump card. "You should really give me the gun before you—" "Are you listening to yourself? Do you have any idea how stupid you sound?" "See? You're cranky." "Krycek, I'm gonna—" She was cut off by the sound of a siren. "What's that?" "Ummmm, I think that's the police." "We're being pulled over," she asked, incredulously. He closed his eyes and reminded himself she was new at this. "Sort of. I'm sure they'll bribe their way out of it. Relax." "The hell I will." She rose shakily to her feet and pulled out the gun. "Grab the stuff and let's go hide." "You're going to shoot the cops, Feldman?" "Just a warning shot...." "What if they shoot back?" "Maybe we've been sold out, Krycek. Did you think of that?" Of course he thought of that. "Give me the damn gun and lock yourself in the bathroom until I tell you its safe to come out. DO IT!" To her credit, she didn't hesitate, just handed him the gun and slammed the door shut. He knew she wouldn't stay put, but he could hope. Carmine leaned back and raised the volume on his walkman. Seconds later, Frank Sinatra's voice poured through the headphones, singing about New York, New York. Through half-closed eyes, he watched as Mulder and Scully had a heated, whispered argument about the merits of this little excursion. He supposed he should attempt to listen in, to find out what kind of trouble Ellen had gotten herself into this time. On the other hand, it didn't really matter. He had to get her out. As usual. Saving her ass was becoming his life's work. It used to be that the worst of her problems was a dead battery in a snow storm. Now, instead of hopping on the Belt Parkway in the middle of rush hour with jumper cables, he had to schlep halfway across the world with a CDC team. It was enough to make him miss the good old days when she used to whine about getting oil on her clean clothes. At least he had a life back then. Maybe it was time to go back to school and get his MFA. And there was that book of poetry he was still working on. Anything had to be better than this. He watched Scully jump out her seat and stalk past him, shooting him a stare that would have withered solid steel. What a bitch. The stewardess was coming up the aisle. Carmine smiled at the thought of a gin and tonic. The Chairman would have appreciated it, too. Part Five "Was all that really necessary?" Ellen watched as the stern of the Pride of the Caspian sunk beneath the waves leaving no trace that the ship ever existed. "They're all alive, Feldman. I could have just shot them, you know." He stared down at her, still amazed by the way she screamed at the police, not caring whether they understood her. She screamed in English, then in French, finally in Yiddish, some sort of nonsense about due process and the Fourth Amendment. While she provided a shrill distraction, he took care of them. "But you were the one who wanted to give them a chance. Now they're going to swim until their arms get tired and they drown. Nobody's gonna rescue them." "How do you know?" "We've got the only police boat." "So what if we do? Do you know how to drive it?" "Pilot. The correct term is pilot." How could she be that dangerous and that ignorant? Krycek began flipping switches and decided he'd puzzle that out after he put some distance between them and the cops. "Did you pull up the anchor all by yourself or did you drop it over the side?" "I pulled it up, wiseass. It was on a pulley thing." She moved beside him and studied the controls intently. "Teach me how to pilot the boat." He looked at her quizzically. She was serious. Damn, this girl was something else. With the rifle she'd taken from the coastal police still slung over her shoulder, she looked like she meant business. It was a look that made certain parts of him throb. He cleared his throat and hoped she didn't notice the effect she was having on him. "Okay, uh, why don't you let me get us out of here first? Once we're clear, I'll teach you." "Fine. One more thing." "Hmmm?" "The Sig. Give it here, Ratty-kins. It's not that I don't trust you. I just don't trust you." Again she was calling him a rat. "Feldman..." "Give it here, I said." He turned and found himself staring down the barrel of the rifle. Oh sweet lord. Something of his was pointing right back at her. The Sig was tucked into the waistband of his jeans and he reached for it slowly, not wanting this moment, however bizarre it was, to end. He held the gun out to her. "Put it down. Slowly. And kick it over." More orders. Ahhhh, God, he was so horny, it hurt. Ellen watched as he bent down, almost in slow motion, placed the gun on the floor, straightened up and gave it a lackluster nudge with his toe. What was his deal? He was looking at her with the weirdest expression on his face. Maybe it had something to do with that hard-on he'd been sporting all day. She kept the rifle on him as she bent down and retrieved the Sig. He was still staring at her. It was starting to creep her out. Without breaking eye contact, she stuffed the Sig into her waistband and lowered the rifle. "We should radio for help for those sailors." "We do that and we're handing ourselves over. Besides, they've got the life jackets you tossed out there for them. They should be okay as long as the sharks don't get 'em." "If you're sure about that—" "I am." "Fine. Lay in a course for that weasel, what was his name, Vassilios? I want to find out who he's been selling our names to. Once you've done that, I want to take apart that briefcase we've been schlepping around. It's probably got a transmitter or a bomb or both in it." Yes! More orders! And better still, she was doing exactly what he would have done. Get revenge on Vassilios. The thing about the briefcase was something he hadn't even thought about. What a woman! It was all he could do not bust into an idiot-grin. He forced himself to get a grip. Deep breath. Another. She raised an index finger. "Hey! How long before somebody realizes this bucket is missing?" "A couple of hours." "We'll have to trade up. Where can we hijack a smuggling ship?" "This is the most popular route." Hijacking, too? Would it never end? He hoped not. Carmine rubbed his throbbing temples and did his best to ignore Scully pounding the keyboard of her laptop computer. Mulder was busy reading some sort of psychology journal. Maybe he was faking interest in the article. Anything to avoid the Red Terror. Still, Carmine was a little miffed himself. He'd dragged the two of them along, not because he couldn't live without their company, but because he needed answers. Two hours later, he still needed answers. All he was getting was attitude. For some reason, they failed to understand that they were both responsible for what happened to Ellen. Not as responsible as he was, of course. Nicky would have his head if anything happened her. Carmine reached across the aisle and nudged Mulder. "Well?" "Well what?" "You gonna tell me what the black stuff is?" "No." Mulder went back to his magazine. "You don't know what it is, do you?" "This isn't the place to discuss it." "Maybe not, but it's the time." To make his point, Carmine cracked his knuckles. "Whatever happened between you an' Ellen is between youse two. All's I wanna know is how to get her out of trouble." "You've been asking that question for years." "She only had problems like this since she met you. Get my drift?" Carmine leaned forward. "These shadow guys are going a bit too far. Ellen's been a good girl. She goes to court, she collects fees, she does all those lawyer things. Maybe she ain't the happiest kid in the world. God knows, you oughtta see some of the losers she was dating for a while, but she's got her career." Mulder waited for the burly Italian to come to the point. It didn't take long. "I want her to be bored. Excitement like this she does not need. I don't need it. You think I like bustin' heads? You think poundin' that greasy little Polack makes my day? And I sure as hell don't need attitude from the two a' youse." "Considering that we have more important things to do than chase after Feldman every time she decides to let Krycek kidnap her—" Scully began. Carmine cut her off. "I told you. She's got HIM hostage." "Whatever. My job description doesn't include Feldman rescues." His did. And if he had to suffer, so did they. "My shirt is ruined. Once blood dries on cotton, that's it. Did you have to turn everything into such a bloodbath? And it figures this is a Ralph Lauren." Ellen wiped at the front of her oxford in dismay. "We got such a good deal on it in Hong Kong." "You wouldn't have blood on your shirt if you'd shot that guy, like I told you." Krycek wiped a fleck of blood from her chin. "But no, you wanted to be humane and leave everybody alive. Never mind the fact I'm fighting with one hand here, but for God's sake, that guy outweighed you three to one and I had to drag him off of you. I almost broke my good hand on his nose." "Why did you have to go for his nose anyway? You know how noses bleed!" "Because you wouldn't let me shoot him!" He growled in exasperation. "Leaving those smugglers alive was dumb. Number one, they're witnesses. Number two, now they're holding a grudge." "Why? They've got their cargo. All they have to do is get themselves out of the brig of that police boat. How can they come looking for revenge when they don't even know what the hell just hit them?" "They'll ask around." "And what're they gonna find out? Nobody's ever heard of me." She scrubbed at the front of her shirt again. "They ever hear of you?" "They've probably never heard of me." "There you go." "Feldman?" "What?" She blinked up at him, sunlight in her eyes. "I...uh...." He had to stop himself from professing his undying love for her. She shot at a couple of the drug dealers, scared them out of their wits by spouting sections of international law, convinced them she was with the UN and commandeered their ship. And now she was bitching about blood on her shirt. "You were magnificent." "Wait til you see what else I have planned, Ratster. But first we have to stop somewhere and get me some new clothes." Solomon scanned the passenger lists again. Four flights had arrived from the Far East and so far, no sign of Feldman or Krycek. His bosses were not going to be pleased. As predicted, Feldman's large Italian friend was here and, as predicted, he'd brought along Mulder and Scully. They'd sent him solo on this mission and Solomon found himself wondering if he might be outnumbered. Feldman could be dispatched easily. After all, she was only a lawyer. It was the others he was worried about. He raised his copy of the newspaper again. There was another flight arriving in an hour. She could hear the screams coming from the cellar. Did she really need this now? Krycek was turning a simple little cruise into a total bloodbath. Okay, she was responsible for one of the bodies, but now wasn't really the time to dwell on that. Now was the time to stop Krycek from killing Vassilios. The stairs were mildewed and loose beneath her new, white Keds. She clutched the rail and winced at the sight of Krycek hitting the scrawny man tied to the chair. How did she let him talk her into helping to tie that poor man up? She should have seen this coming. Krycek spat a question in Russian. Vassilios answered through a mouthful of blood. Apparently, Krycek didn't like what he heard because he drew his hand back for another blow. Ellen grabbed his arm. "Whoa! Stop!" Krycek tossed her backwards onto the grimy concrete floor. He blinked, as if realizing for the first time who she was. He kneeled next to her and stroked her cheek gently. "Did I hurt you?" "No, but you're killing him. Dead men can't answer questions." "Since when are you such a humanist? You killed Sergei." "It was an accident." "It looked pretty premeditated to me, Feldman." He lifted her to her feet and dusted her off. "Why don't you run along and get me some water, okay?" "Don't do that." "Don't do what?" "Get all condescending. I'm not your little maid—" "Would you like to interrogate him?" Ellen wrinkled her nose. "Not if it meant hitting him." "We're not in a courtroom, honey. He can't be held in contempt if he doesn't answer. This is the only way." Krycek squeezed her shoulders. "Anyway, he doesn't speak English, so you can't use your Perry Mason tactics, okay?" "But he's bleeding all over the place—" "Trust me, Feldman, he'll live. I've done enough of these to know exactly how much he'll be able to take." Enough. Of these? Where? When? What kind of monster was she dealing with? Ellen swallowed hard. "But, Alex...." "Feldman," he growled, pushing her towards the stairs. "Go on. Get out." "Krycek..." What else could she do, maybe pull the gun on him? "Here." He reached into his pocket and stuffed a wad of cash into her hand. "There's a flea market up the road. Go buy yourself something." "Alex..." She batted her eyes at him and traced his jawline with her finger. There was no way in hell she was going to let him beat someone to death. Even if she had to flirt with Ratboy to stop him. "Why don't you leave him down here for a while? I saw some papers upstairs that might give us the answers we're looking for. I think they're in Russian. You can read Russian, can't you, big guy?" "All right, already. Lead the way." She reached the top of the stairs and realized he wasn't behind her. The cellar door slammed shut and she could hear the bolt slide into place. "KRYCEK!!!" Damn! "I got bad news for you, Carmine." "I get off a plane that got delayed three hours and you greet me with bad news?" Carmine glared at his cousin, Pasquale. "Well...that girl...she's not here yet." Pasquale was slightly pale under his olive complexion. His dark eyes darted nervously from Mulder to Scully to Carmine and back again. "We've been here since you called us and she never showed up." "Did you call Tony?" "Of course I called Tony." "And?" "She didn't call you there either." Carmine grabbed Mulder by the lapels of his leather jacket. "I believe you investigate missing persons." Scully gave Carmine a karate chop across his wrists that made him let go. "Do you mind? He gets this from everybody else. He doesn't need it from you." "I can speak for myself, Scully." "Then speak into your phone and find out where the hell that slimy rat took her, capisce?" Pasquale rolled his eyes. Americans. If they weren't so uptight about sex, this situation would probably be much more tolerable. "If you weren't so uptight—" "What does me being uptight have to do with you killing Vassilios? I told you not to hit him anymore but no, you just had to—" "Will you keep your voice down? Just because this is Shanghai doesn't mean nobody speaks English." He pulled her into an alleyway and shoved her against the grimy brick wall. What would she do if he kissed her? If he rubbed himself against her? If he dry-humped her, right here in this filthy alley? She'd complain about the dirt on her clothes. That was obvious and it made his erection shrivel instantaneously. Ellen glared up at him, obviously holding a grudge. "You murdered him." And? Vassilios had it coming for telling the Russians where they were going in exchange for a lousy couple of hundred bucks. Not that he could tell Feldman. Because then he'd be opening that can of worms and if she was pissed now, she'd run like hell if she knew what he did in Tunguska. "You're still clinging to those notions of right and wrong they've been feeding you. Let go, Feldman. You killed Sergei. Was it any different?" "Of course it was different!" "Okay, counselor, explain why it wasn't murder." He kissed the side of her neck. To his amazement, she didn't even try to hit him. She was lost in a legal analysis of some kind. "Murder is the taking of the life of another with malice aforethought. Malice is either an intent to kill, the intent to inflict serious bodily injury, wanton and willful misconduct or a felony murder." There was a faraway look in her eyes as she puzzled through it. "There weren't any mitigating circumstances, but we weren't committing a felony. I....I guess it was murder. Oh man....I'm gonna get disbarred...I'm gonna go to jail..." "Hey! Easy, honey." He shook her lightly. "Our people probably cleaned up Sergei by now. You're not going to jail and I'm sure nobody's going to think you did it. If anything, they'll figure it was me." "But I killed—" "Don't fall apart on me now, Feldman. I need you." "You can kill people just fine without me." Her voice cracked. "I wanna go home." "Ah, Feldman. You can't afford a conscience in this business any more than you can afford one practicing law. The cops aren't going to bother looking into Sergei or Vassilios. Besides, you saved my life. That justifies everything." He inched closer to her. Just one kiss. Surely she wouldn't deprive him of that. That snapped her back to reality. "How do you justify killing Vassilios?" "Necessity. Self-preservation. Sex." The word slipped out. Idiot. Moron. Here he was, trying to be cool, to steal a kiss, maybe even cop a feel and he goes and lets her know he want to fuck her in an alley. Idiot! Idiot! "Sex?" Ellen's face screwed up in distaste. "You're bi?" "Not him. You," he blurted. Mr. Suave strikes again. He cleared his throat. "Sex. With you." "You killed him so you could have sex with me? Why don't you try sending flowers next time? I don't really find murder a huge turn-on—" "Shut up, Feldman," he murmured. It was now or never and he went for it, pushing her back against the wall, pressing his lips down on hers. What the hell was this? He was getting her clothes dirty! Ellen rolled her eyes and dug her nails into his shoulders. Not too much room to maneuver, really, to give him the shove or kick in the crotch he deserved. Was he planning on coming up for air any time soon? Krycek moaned and ground against her. Nope. He was in this for the long haul. She could feel him trying to part her lips with his tongue. Oh, what the hell, why not? It was almost two months since she had a date. What was one little kiss? Besides, he did save her from that smuggler.... One of Krycek's hands—and she wasn't sure if it was the good one or not— dropped to her thigh and journeyed upwards. No, that had to be his good hand. A really good hand, actually. Wow. Who'd have thought Ratboy had that in him? Laughter. Soft voices speaking Chinese. A command being barked. And then in accented English, "Don't move, Mr. Krycek." Oh damn. The fat man check his watch. "We should have had a call from Sicily by now." "This is a minor setback, nothing more." "You have too much faith in your operatives." "Perhaps you have too little," the gray man said. His eyes rested on the phone, waiting for it to ring. "Release the woman and put your hands up." Ellen felt a small surge of adrenaline as Krycek let go of her, raised his hands and turned around. She peeked around him to get a good look at her latest opponents. Three Asians and one European-looking guy. They were all armed. So was she. Not that it mattered. She thought fast. As usual, it was up to her to get them out of trouble. "It's about time you got here," she snapped at the European. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago and I'm not pleased about the methods I had to employ to keep him occupied until you finally showed up." The European didn't bother hiding his confusion. "Beg pardon?" "Our superiors in New York aren't going to like this one bit." Ellen felt the words start to flow, just like a closing argument. "I intend to tell them in great detail how you couldn't handle something this simple and forced me to improvise in ways I was promised I wouldn't have to." "New York?" Apparently, the European was the one in charge and the only one who spoke English. "We don't report to anybody in New York. I think you're going to have to come with us—" "The hell I will!" She drew her gun and pressed it against Krycek's neck. He went rigid at the contact. Good. Her act was becoming more believable by the second. "Whoever you work for should have cleared your operation with New York first. He's coming with me or he's your corpse to explain." "Dear girl, let's not be hasty about this..." "You will address me as ma'am, not girl, is that clear?" Ooooh. This was fun. Well, maybe not for Krycek, but he was keeping his mouth shut at least. "Krycek's mine. Whoever you work for can have what's left of him when we're finished." "Perhaps we should call New York and clarify matters," the European suggested. "Why don't you call your boss and have him call New York? I'm not gonna be the one who looks like an ass here because your people didn't go through the proper channels." "Very well. Why don't you accompany us and we can place the call together?" "So you can kill us both? Come on, friend. Just because I'm small doesn't mean I'm stupid." She grabbed Krycek's arm. "He comes with me. I'll let New York know where I've got him stashed and if they think you should have him, they'll tell you." "This is highly irregular and I'm afraid I cannot permit-" "Listen to me," she barked. "You completely blew my cover here and you have the nerve to babble about what's permissible?! I've got a mind to kill all of you just to avoid writing up this disaster! And I'm going to start with Krycek!" "No! Moscow wants him alive," the European blurted. "Moscow had better take a number. You know who always wins in these situations." She lowered her voice, kept it ironic and cold. "Run along and make your phone call. I've got business with Mr. Krycek." With that, she shoved Krycek past the three Asian soldiers. "Move it! Now!" Krycek glared down at her. "I'll kill you for this, you lying little bitch." "Like I said, take a number." What a ham! She lowered the gun to his back and jabbed him with it. Why did she get a rush out of watching him flinch? "Start walking. Slowly. Or you're never going to walk again." He obeyed. Ellen had to refrain from making any kind of parting comment to her new friends that would earn her a bullet in the back of the head. Thank God the Consortium's reputation was well-known. "Kill them," Krycek murmured. "I can't. They're all armed," she hissed. "Just walk. They're confused and that ought to buy us some time." "We shouldn't leave them alive..." "Four against two. You're not Clint Eastwood." She poked him with the gun again and yes! Another flinch. Cool. "Keep walking. Too bad we don't have a car. I'd love to make you get in the trunk." He was thinking he'd kinda like that himself.... "Well?" "Well," Mulder repeated slowly. "I've just gone through six hours worth of video surveillance." "And," Carmine prompted. "And they haven't been here." "Where the hell are they?!" "You tell us," Scully snapped. "You know her better than anybody. If she had a hostage, where would she go? Other than Bloomingdale's, I mean." "Cute. Very cute." Carmine returned her glare. "She probably can't wait to get back to her office. Maybe you ought to have one of your Fibbie's check the place." "Why not have one of your goons do it and save the taxpayers some money?" "My goons are busy looking all over Singapore for some clues. None of 'em would be caught dead in DC." Scully drew herself up. "It sounds like you don't really need us, then. Come on, Mulder." "Wait a second!" Carmine positioned himself between them and the door of the airport security office. "I still don't know what the black stuff is." He wondered if he ever would. Part Six "Who'd have thought a K car could burn so fast?" "That's because we used gasoline in the Molotov cocktail." "You also used my bra." "I needed a fuse." "That was my lucky bra." "It was pretty flammable for a lucky bra. You should sue somebody about that." It was a cute bra, black lace, Frederick's of Hollywood, that he found in an outdoor flea market during one of his numerous shopping excursions with Feldman. How many different outfits had he paid for in less than a week? Probably enough to dress a country of petite women. "I'll put that on my list of things to do when I'm done conquering the world." Ellen leaned over the boat's rail to get one last look at the column of smoke rising into the sky. "Krycek, is there anybody in any part of the world you haven't managed to piss off?" "I think you're it." He smiled down at her. That little kiss in the alley was nice. Now that they were alone on the boat, maybe he could coax another one out of her. With a little luck, he might even — "I don't think so." She pulled the gun from her brand new tight-fitting jeans (what shopping trip had that been?) and aimed it right between his eyes. "I'm pretty upset with you right now. Care to guess why?" How many times had she pulled that gun on him in the past couple of days? And why did he get so excited by it? There wasn't anything sexy about getting shot by a petite premenstrual bitch. "PMS?" She snarled menacingly. "You're such a moron, it's a wonder you've managed to survive this long without me." "C'mon, honey, put the gun down. We can talk about this over a nice cold glass of champagne. I saw some Dom Perignon in the fridge and some strawberries —" "Shut up and get on your knees. Put your hands over your head. Now," Ellen barked. "We're going to start with an exercise in logical reasoning, Alexei, dear. Ready?" Logical reasoning? Was that some kind of lawyer foreplay? What was she up to? He nodded eagerly, knowing the painful bulge in his jeans was giving him away. "Okay. Here we go. This is called a syllogism." She cleared her throat, and clamped her right hand over her left, steadying the gun. "God is love. Love is blind. Therefore, Helen Keller is God. Understand?" "Yeah..." Krycek licked his lips, trying to figure out where she was taking this. "Here's another syllogism, bright boy. Krycek stole the stuff in the vials. The Russians want to kill Krycek. Therefore, Krycek stole the stuff from the Russians. How'm I doing so far?" Uh-oh.... "Must be right on target. Wanna hear another?" "Feldman?" His hard-on withered and he could feel it retreat for safety. "The gray guy sent Ellen with the stuff. Krycek was waiting for the stuff. Therefore, Krycek works for the gray guy." "I— I can explain—" "Shut up. You'll get your turn." Her thin face was pale and her eyes, behind the tinted lenses of her designer clip-ons, blinked rapidly. "You work for that guy, don't you?! You ordered me like I was a pizza and he sent me to you in thirty minutes or your money back with some kind of toxic topping! Isn't that true?! Yes or no, Krycek!? I'm your judge, jury and executioner and I'm waiting for an answer!" Oh. Shit. He created a monster. Carmine popped two aspirin as he watched the plane carrying his FBI pals leave for America. Mulder had been apologetic. Nothing he could do, really. This was something Carmine could do better, since Carmine didn't have to worry about formalities like the Constitution or the Geneva Convention. Saying bye-bye to Scully was more of a relief than anything else. Every time she caught him scoping her, she looked like she was going to take a scalpel to his vital organs. No matter how hot she was, Scully was a major ice queen bitch. Worse than some of those Fifth Avenue chicks, even. Vinnie and the Mick were turning Singapore upside down looking for Ellen. Maybe he should've sent somebody who spoke Chinese. Ah well, the Mick would get answers. He was good at it. Meantime, Tony was bitching about the cat. The cat had a jones for Boston Market chicken and threw tantrums if Tony fed it anything else. Tony was threating to beat Ellen over the head with a drumstick when he saw her for having such a pain in the ass cat. Scully and Mulder, as usual, didn't share anything they knew. Sure, they helped him go through airport surveillance. And they spotted that odd looking guy who'd been hanging around the waiting area for the past two days. But they drew the line at grabbing the guy. Probable cause. Jurisdiction. The usual excuses that kept guys like Carmine in business. Lucky for him, he didn't have to worry about any of that stuff. Too bad for that guy, though. Carmine took another swallow of his water. That guy was in for a world of hurt. "Okay, okay, Feldman, you're right. He sent me the stuff, so I could get the formula. It was part of a deal I made. And I asked him to send you, but listen to me. Are you listening, Feldman? Feldman?" "I'm listening, lunchmeat." "That amber stuff, it's a vaccine. We need the formula. Our guys cracked it, but we think the Russians have developed a stronger one. I'm supposed to trade for it." "What were you planning on trading? Me?" "No!" How had she figured all of this out? What was she planning? Feldman was far more dangerous than he anticipated. "I asked for you because....because..." "Go on." "They've stepped up the plans for colonization, Feldman. Some of us are guaranteed survival. I made that bargain for myself. And for you." "Colonization," she repeated slowly. "By aliens. Like the black stuff?" "No. Well, sort of. There's some different ones and they're at war with each other. But if we can crack that formula, we might be able to start up some kind of resistance." "Wasn't this the plot of a bad miniseries with Marc Singer?" "Feldman, please listen to me." He could hear the desperation in his voice. God, he sounded utterly pathetic. If the situation were reversed, he'd have pulled the trigger by now. "If we can get that formula—" "Not we. Me." Feldman's knuckles were white as she clutched the Sig for all she was worth. Her body was tense and shaking with nervous energy. Only her eyes were calm. "The Russians want you, Krycek. I'm sure they'll trade the formula for you." "Feldman, I'm begging you—" "Sorry, Krycek, but I'm putting you on ice until we get to Mother Russia." "You don't know how to navigate, Feldman—" "I'm sure I can figure it out. If not, you can give me instructions from your new home in the cargo hold." He definitely created a monster. There were times he regretted his line of work. Like now. His mother wanted him to be a dentist. Plenty of work for dentists. But noooo. He joined the army. He learned a trade. He worked for the government. He was being smacked around by a mobster. The irony of his situation was not lost on Solomon. "I don't know where she is." "How 'bout the Polack," Carmine barked. "You got any idea where he is?" "Who?" "Krycek." "He's Russian." Easy to make the mistake. If he survived, he'd tell Davis and Warshowsky about Krycek's new nickname. The man was such a screw-up.... "Whatever. Where is he?" "With her, probably." Solomon spat some blood. "Unless one of them's killed the other." Carmine sighed, making it even more obvious that he had better things to do on a gorgeous spring afternoon like this one. "Any idea what the Polack— the Russian— was supposed to be doin' with her?" "Not a clue." There was something likable about this big Italian. It made Solomon wonder about job openings in the Mafia. What kind of pension plan did those guys have? "Whatever it was, it's behind schedule and they sent me to bring 'em both home for....retraining." "That don't make sense. She's a lawyer. What kinda retraining?" "I have no idea. She's cute, but not exactly cut out for this line of work." "No kidding." Carmine rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You okay?" "Man, what a headache I got. Ellen owes me big time for this. I could'a been home, watching the game. Any game. Anything other than standing here knocking you around—" "Exactly. We could be having this conversation like two reasonable people. My name's Solomon Levin." "Carmine Cantone. Lissen, you got any idea why Ellen's involved? They ain't bothered her in a couple years, now." "I think Krycek asked for her and God only knows why, but they decided to get her for him," Solomon sighed. A cup of coffee would be so nice right now. "From what I understand, he's been sniffing around her for years." "I know." "Listen, I know this is going to sound strange, but why don't we talk about this over coffee?" "I don't know..." "Your people hiring?" "Why? You wanna join the private sector?" "I've been thinking about it. What kind of benefits do you guys have?" "Okay, prisoner. Wake up. I've got your gruel and water." Krycek opened his eyes slowly. How long had he been down here? Did she even realize she tied him up in the engine room? If he got free he could bring things to a stand still... Well, that could be a problem. She had him trussed up tight with heavy duty electrical tape. Did she say she brought water? Please let her not mean a bucket of dirty water and a filthy rag like he used for that kid. "How long..." "Oh, for Pete's sake! You've been down here two hours, Papillon!" "Feldman, you need me..." "For what?" "What's our present position? What's our heading? Can you read the radar?" "I have no idea. We're going to Vladivostok— did I pronounce that right? And yes, I learned how to read the radar playing Flight Simulator." "Are you sure you're headed to Vladivostok and not Tokyo?" Keep it sincere, he told himself. She was new to this, and she was bound to be insecure about the things she didn't know. "Do you know if you have enough fuel?" "Good question. I guess we'll find out." She checked the tape, pulling on it to make sure it was still secure. "Where's my water, Feldman? I'm thirsty and I have to go to the bathroom. Can you do something about that tape? My wrist is killing me...." "Who do you think you are? Tom-friggin'-Cruise? You think I've got nothing better to do than listen to you complain and wait on you all afternoon?" There was something very familiar about this conversation, he thought, wryly. "You don't have a clue what you're doing, Feldman." "I have more of a clue than you ever did." "I can help you," he wheedled. "You've done enough damage for one day, Sparky. Like I said, I'm in charge now." She leaned over and plucked the cell phone from his pocket. "And I think I've got a plan." "It's for you, sir. Krycek." The gray man accepted the phone warily. "Yes, Alex." "Alex can't come to the phone right now. He's kinda tied up." "Miss Feldman?" "Droopy? Is that you?" How irritating. And in front of his peers! "Young lady—" "Easy, Droops. You told me to report periodically, so I'm reporting. Are you listening?" "Yes." "Good. I need you to call the Russians for me and set up a meeting in Vladivostok—am I pronouncing that right?" The gray man motioned for the call to be traced. "Yes, you are. What type of meeting?" "I'm going to trade Krycek for the new and improved formula. That was probably your original plan anyway, you just didn't think I'd get so involved." "A meeting like this is going to take some time—" A muffled conversation. "You've got two days until we dock, Droopy. And if I don't hear from you by then, I'm keeping the formula and selling it to the highest bidder. I hear the Iraqis are in the market." She hung up on him! How rude! How unexpected. The plans were going to have to be revised. "I'd be careful if I were you, Feldman. You don't know who you're dealing with." "I've got a pretty good idea." "Pretty good isn't good enough." Feldman was shaking like leaf. Was she having second thoughts? "Honey, are you sure you wanna do this?" The petite lawyer heaved a sigh. "There isn't much choice, really—" "There are plenty of choices." Gently. He kept his voice soft, just like they taught him at the FBI Academy. Go figure he'd be using the hostage negotiation lecture to free himself. "If you untie me, I promise I won't try to get even. We can sit down and think of a way to make everything work. Come on, Feldman, we make a really good team..." "No." She turned on her heel and practically ran from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Krycek leaned back and closed his eyes. Nice to know she was having second thoughts about trading him for the formula. He thought that seemed a little too extreme for Feldman. Sure, she could be vicious, but chaining him down here and bartering him was just a bit out of character for her. It was only a matter of time until the lawyer took over and she started fretting over human rights violations, the murder she committed and whatever else she could classify as a crime, tort or other legal thing. All he had to do was wait. "So then what did you do?" "What do you think we did?" Carmine spooned some more gelatti into his mouth. "To make a long story short, they paid up, everybody was happy and we never had that problem again." Solomon nodded appreciatively. "I had a situation sort of like that in Nicaragua during the 80s." "I don't think you can really compare South Brooklyn to Nicaragua," Carmine began. He was interrupted by the bleating of his cell phone. Damned thing. The only reason he carried it was because Nicky asked nicely. And you never said no to Nicky, even if he didn't ask nicely, especially over a stupid piece of plastic. He reached into his pocket, unfolded the toy-like device, yanked up the micro-thin antenna and said, "Yo!" "Carmine?" A familiar voice whined in his ear. "Ellen? Where are you?!" "Somewhere between Shanghai and Russia." Carmine pounded the table with his fist. "I told you to go to Sicily. What the hell are you doing in Asia?" "Well, there were some smugglers and, uh...it's kind of complicated but I'm going to Russia. I think." He could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing. This guy Solomon had the right idea. Get out of the life before it kills you. "Why are you going to Russia?" "I'm trading Krycek for the formula and then I'm going to sell it and—" "Are you out of your stinkin' mind?" This girl was gonna give him a heart attack any second now. Did she have any idea what the hell she was saying? Did she ever stop and listen to herself? "Since when do you trade people for anything? Did we raise you to be a friggin' criminal? You're a lawyer, for God's sake, not a damn mercenary. You got no business tradin' anybody for anything! You set Krycek free right now, Ellen, or God help me, when I see you I'm gonna put you over my knee an'—" Click. She hung up on him! Unbelievable! If Nicky knew— No, he couldn't tell Nicky about this. Nicky would never believe it. With a snarl, Carmine crushed the phone. How dare he talk to her like that. She threw the phone across the deck. What had she done that was so awful, really? Most of it was Krycek's fault. She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him telling that wrinkly guy that he wanted her and that wrinkly guy thinking there was nothing wrong with that. It wasn't like she intended to go out and kill Sergei or participate in the crime wave that followed. Had it really been her idea to hijack this ship? It must have been, since Krycek painted the name she picked— The Intentional Tort - on the side. Krycek! Not once did he even bat an eyelash at any of the things he encouraged her to do. What a bad influence! She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. Ellen's picked absently at her French manicure. What business did she have being here anyway? Oily aliens! Planned invasions! That was the most ridiculous thing she ever heard. And yet.... A man died because of the contents of that briefcase. If she turned Krycek over to the Russians, they'd probably kill him for stealing the formula and whatever else he did that he didn't tell her about. Could she live with herself if she let that happen? No. It was bad enough thinking about the way Sergei's head exploded like an overripe watermelon being dropped from the overpass above the Belt Parkway. So now what was she going to do? Part Seven If nothing else, this was the most humane prison he'd ever been in. Trust Feldman to tie a man up with style. She even taped the fingers of his prosthesis together in case he had more use of it than he let on. Which, of course, he did. The pillow behind his back was a nice touch. Very humanitarian. He'd remember that when he Feldman finally came to her senses and set him loose. If he didn't escape first, that was. Damned electrical tape tasted awful. And he felt utterly ridiculous, trying to chew through the tape on the prosthesis, but what else was there to do? Wait until she brought him milk and cookies? The doorknob twisted and Feldman poked her head in. "Milk and cookie time already?" She kneeled next to him and checked the tape on his prosthetic hand. "You really shouldn't chew on this stuff. There was a kid in Michigan who went into some kind of shock from the—" "What do you want?" "Is that offer still good?" "Which one?" No harm making her work for it. She owed him an apology and by God, he was going to get it if it killed both of them. "I offered you all sorts of things during the last couple of days. A trip to Greece when this is all over. Shopping in Paris. Mind-blowing sex. Not to hold a grudge if you untie me—" "That one." "Which?" "The one about the grudge." "I see. Let's think about that." He had to be very careful here. Playing on her guilt was one thing, but pushing her buttons, that was another. "You were planning on trading me to the Russians, weren't you?" Ellen shook her head. "Too much work. Get the formula, find a buyer, execute your will. All that paperwork. And who do I send the bill to?" "In other words, you couldn't live with yourself." "Maybe." Her eyes met his. "I'm going to untie you—" "Untape me," he interrupted. "You used duct tape." "I'm going to untape you if you promise not to—" "Kill you?" "Why do you keep interrupting me?" "Because it pisses you off. And you're cute when you're pissed off." "Stop screwing around and listen to me," she snapped. "Is it a deal?" "How far off course are we?" "What?!" "Just wondering. Don't worry, Feldy, I'll fix everything." He did his best to look sincere, which was hard because she was leaning over and giving him a nice peek down her shirt. And wouldya believe Feldman wasn't wearing her usual mega-pushup body-armor Wonderbra? "Anybody ever tell you, you have cute tits, Feldman?" Ellen's eyes followed his and she straightened up immediately, face flushing an adorable shade of red. "Y'know, maybe I ought to leave you down here." "Okay, okay, relax, Feldman." He gave her his most disarming grin. "It's not every day I hear you admit you're wrong, y'know." "Me? What about you—" "Just untape me already. We can debate this on the way to Vladivostok. If we get the formula, I'm sure our friends will forgive this little indiscretion." "What do you mean if? We're gonna get the formula. I just haven't worked out all the details yet." "Untie me and I'll help you work out the details." He did his best imitation of Mulder's puppy dog face. "Come on, Feldman. I swear I'm not holding a grudge." "Well, I guess...." She started with his prosthesis, untaping each finger, gingerly. Her hand paused at his right arm and then she tore the tape off. She backed away quickly and eyed him warily, as though he might be rabid. He lowered his arm, relieved to feel the circulation returning. "Feldman? I've got one more favor to ask. Can you massage my arm? I'd do it myself but......" A helpless wave of his prosthesis. "Oh, all right." She kneaded his shoulder. That felt wonderful. Very nice grip. If he played his cards right, maybe he could get her to massage something else that was aching right now. After all, he'd had blue balls for nearly a week. Surely she noticed. The least she could do was offer him a little relief. "Can you do my legs? They're a little cramped." A suspicious stare. "I've been like this all afternoon. Don't you think your legs would hurt?" "Maybe." She kneeled beside him and began working on his right calf. "A little higher." Her hands wandered to his knee. "Up more." Ohhh God. That was nice, the way she grabbed his thigh like that. "Feldman..." "What now," exasperation creeping into her voice. No. He couldn't come right out and say, hey how about a hand job while you're down here. She'd do something that would make him sing soprano. For a year. This was going to require subtlety that he hadn't used since Mary Beth, the virgin he dated in college. He reached over and took her hand in his, massaging her fingers, and guided it to home base. "Something else requires your attention, counselor." Ellen could feel her jaw hit the industrial carpet. She hadn't seen this move since that guy she met at the Jewish Singles Dance last August. At least Krycek had a full hard-on, not like Lloyd, the dentist, with his pitiful little half-mast — Hell, the losers she met at those stupid singles events actually made Krycek look pretty damned good. At least he had his own career, seemed to be making decent money, wasn't cheating on his wife, wouldn't desert her for an X-File and didn't live with his parents. And, she had to admit, she was more than a little curious to know why he carried extra large ribbed condoms in his wallet. Should she? God knows, she'd done worse. A low moan interrupted her reverie. Oooops. While she was debating the issue and not paying attention, she must have been rubbing him. "Don't stop..." Oh, what the hell! Why not? How much trouble could one hand job cause? "What is it exactly that you want me to do?" The smoker blew a cloud of smoke into the gray man's face. "Exterminate them both?" Annoyance flickered in the steel gray eyes and then vanished as quickly as it appeared. "We need Krycek." "You need the girl. You underestimated her abilities." The smoker took another deep drag and exhaled slowly. "With a small amount of training and a suitable partner, she might be very useful." "Useful? She's put the entire operation at risk—" "On the contrary, she saved your operative in Singapore and she has developed a plan which will get the formula you seek. All without any help from you." The smoker shrugged. "I don't see why I'm needed." "She wants to trade Krycek for the formula." "Let her." "No. You will retrieve him and complete the operation." "And the girl?" "We may still need her. Bring her back alive." "Earth to Mulder!" Mulder looked up from the fourth draft of the annual report. "What?" "You're not reading that, are you?" There was a hint of accusation in Scully's voice. "I was thinking about Feldman." "I'm sure Carmine can handle it." "He can handle Feldman. She can handle Krycek. But what about the parasite?" "We're supposed to meet with Skinner in two hours, Mulder." "Tell him I'm sick." "Mulder...." Before she could stop him, her partner was racing out of the basement office. "If you ever— and I mean EVER—breathe a word of this to anybody, I'll kill you." Krycek rose slowly on one elbow and stared down at her. "Who's going to care that we had sex?" "Shut up! I told you not to mention it!" She covered her eyes with her hand and groaned. What the hell had she been thinking?! "You told me not to tell anybody. You didn't say I couldn't talk about it with you." He pried her fingers from her eyes. "I had no idea you liked to bite —" "I said shut up, dammit!" "Hey, don't get pissy with me. A hand job would've been fine. Nobody told you to take off your clothes and get on top of me, not that I'm complaining—" "Please. Shut up." "What the hell is your problem?!" "Nothing!" "You're ashamed of me!" A slow grin spread across his face as he explored this new way to needle Feldman. "It's because I've only got one arm, isn't it?" "What?!" She sat up and slid her glasses back on, glaring at him through her non-reflective lenses set in designer frames. "That's totally ridiculous! It's because—No. Never mind. This didn't happen and it's not going to happen again." "It'll happen again," he said, confidently. "The hell it will." "Oh please, Ms. Multiple Orgasm. You'll wanna play with my joystick again." Her nose wrinkled in a very unflattering way. "Next time, though, we have to use protection." "There won't be—" "Listen to me, Feldman. I've got stuff in my blood from that parasite. They never told me if it could be sexually transmitted—" "Oh, great! Now you tell me?" "We've got the vaccine upstairs." "I'm glad you're thinking, Krycek," she said, voice dripping sarcasm. "What about the obvious? I ran out of birth control pills yesterday." "You've got PMS, Feldman. Which means you'll be in self-cleaning mode soon. I wouldn't worry about it." He grinned at her again. "Is that why you were so horny?" "Shut up, dammit! It never happened. It. Is. Not. Going. To. Happen. Again. Understand?" "Whatever you say, honey." "Shush!" Ellen cocked her head. "Did you hear something?" "If you were somewhere between Shanghai and Russia, where would you be?" Solomon peered over Carmine's shoulder at the atlas. "According to this, you'd be near some countries that don't exist anymore." "That's very helpful, Solly." Carmine glared at his new buddy. "Seriously, where would they be and how would they be traveling?" "Here." Solomon pointed to a spot on the map. "Traveling by boat, most likely. Krycek probably hijacked one to show off for Feldman." "Which means there's a trail." "You don't sound happy about that." "I've got a mind to let her deal with it this time." The burly Italian heaved a sigh. "She never behaved like this until she met Mulder. And then she became a walking crime wave. Now she probably thinks she and Krycek are Bonnie and Clyde '98. That girl needs a spanking." "And that's your responsibility?" "Of course. Carmine to the rescue again." Another soulful sigh. "I ever tell you about that book of poetry I'm working on?" "You can tell me about it on the way to the airport." "I've got this one about a tree...." "I've got good news and I've got bad news. Which do you want first?" Ellen braced herself. "The good news?" "We've got half a tank of fuel." "The bad news?" "That noise was our rudder breaking." "Just like that?" "We probably hit a dolphin or something." He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. "I've got more bad news, honey, you're navigating skills stink. We're way off course." Ellen clicked the heels of her Keds together. "There's no place like home. There's no place like home...." "That's not helping any." She shrugged. "I figured it was worth a try." Krycek opened his eyes slowly and took a deep breath of the salty air. "I might be able to rig something that'll get us moving again." "Really?" "Yeah, but it'll have to wait until morning." He pointed at the setting sun. "I can't go diving in the dark." "Oh." He leaned in close to her. "I know a few things we can do to keep us busy until morning." Tony peered suspiciously at the tall FBI agent. He knew all about Ellen's relationship with this one, if you wanted to call it that. "What the hell do you want, narc?" Winky whined, peering up at Mulder with his lone green eye. "Any news on Feldman?" Tony glanced down in time to see Ellen's cat attack the lace of Mulder's right shoe. "Whaddayoo care?" "I need to know and I can't reach Carmine." "That sounds like it's your problem." Tony shrugged. "Mebbe if you make it worth my while, I can help you out." "I don't—" "I ain't askin' for much. Just gimme half an hour away from this damn cat with his complainin' and whinin'—it's like I'm trapped with a feline Ellen." "Mew?" Winky released the shoelace and peered up at the latest sucker. He could practically taste the Boston Market chicken.... "Half an hour." "Great. I'll get you some new shoelaces while I'm out." Tony ran for his life. "More," Krycek demanded, lustily. "Haven't you had enough yet?" "Are you kidding, Feldman? You've got a real talent for this." Ellen heaved a weary sigh and spooned more salmon onto his plate. "You'd better not tell anybody I know how to cook or they'll throw me out of the Jewish American Princess union." He shoveled another forkful into his mouth. "Spare me. You learned to cook so you could find a husband." "I learned to cook so I wouldn't have to eat any more frozen dinners." "Don't lie. You did it to trap a man." His eyes tracked her across the small kitchen area. "Unfortunately, it works. Hell, I'd give up my career for a hot little wife who could make me dinners like this." "Career? You call what you do a career?!" "Don't change the subject." "I wasn't aware there was a subject." "There is. Us." "There is no us." "Don't be ridiculous, Feldman." He offered her his most charming smile. "That little tryst in the engine room—" "Didn't happen." "— wasn't exactly what I hoped our first time would be like. I'd have preferred it if you didn't treat me like a dildo, but, well, next time—" "There won't be a next time." "Sure there will." In a few minutes, to be precise. Arguing was one of the things that turned Feldman on, he recalled. She would argue with Mulder and then they'd be horizontal on whatever surface was handy. Actually, arguing with Feldman was getting him rather hot, too. "Face it, Feldman, we're practically an old married couple. You cooked for me, you rescued me from the Russians, we did some bondage in the engine room—" "That was NOT foreplay—" "In a normal relationship, no," he agreed. "But with us? When have we ever had a normal date? I had to abduct you at gunpoint to get an introduction." "You shot me." "You shot me, too. That's how I knew you liked me." "That's the most insane thing I've ever heard!" Look at those eyes blazing. All it would take was one word. What was the one Mulder liked to use? Ahhh, yes. Now he remembered. "Feldman. C'mere." Carmine stared at the skinny Russian. It was the kind of stare he used when somebody didn't pay attention. "He wants to see our passports," Solomon explained. "No kidding. Tell him we'll show him in private." Solomon grinned. "Nice to see that great minds think alike." The smoker watched Cantone and Levin without showing any expression. All that remained was for Mulder to arrive, with or without Scully. It stood to reason. Whenever Feldman was involved, things got complicated and messy. And loud. Then again, for all her faults, she was the center of attention. Krycek wanted her. Mulder wanted her. He was almost certain Cantone had some sort of romantic attachment as well. The smoker pulled another cigarette from the pack, lit it and took a deep drag. It would be interesting to see which of the men Feldman chose. Perhaps he would make the choice for her. Part Eight Krycek was snoring. Ellen sat up carefully, slid her glasses on and watched him. He looked...peaceful, almost boyish. Harmless. Kinda cute, actually. Hard to believe he was a diabolical, lying, manipulative, murderer. Who was amazing in bed. How could she have done this again? The first time was an accident. Sort of. The handjob had gotten out of hand, so to speak. He was enjoying himself and she wanted a piece of the action. An eight inch piece, if her estimate was right. Krycek had one of the biggest she'd ever seen— bigger than Mulder's even— and she wanted it. And Krycek was perfectly willing to share. But this time— What was she thinking? Look at him. Sleeping like a baby. How could he sleep like that after everything he'd done and been through? Possessed by an alien. His left arm cut off. Lying. Cheating. Killing. Screwing. Stop that, she told herself. Stop it! This wasn't going to happen again. But if it did, who would ever know? "Stop staring at me. It makes me nervous." One eyelid fluttered open and a luminous green eye stared up at her through thick black lashes. "Who's Marita?" The question popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. A lazy grin spread across Krycek's face. "Ahhh, here it comes. You want a list of all the women I've slept with." "Never mind." Ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous. If she could work it into her budget, there was going to be a massive amount of therapy to figure out how she ended up in bed with Krycek. If not, she'd simply jump off the nearest bridge. "Marita," he said, slowly, enunciating each syllable. "You want to know who she is, Feldman? She's my wife back in Russia. We have a five month old daughter who's absolutely gorgeous—" "You do not!" He chuckled softly and sat up next to her. "No, I don't. I just figured I'd jerk your chain. You're cute when you're jealous." Ellen found herself staring at him again. If circumstances were different, if she met him at one of those professional singles mixers, could this have happened? Would she have ended up in bed with him? There was no way to tell. She knew absolutely nothing about him, other than bad things. Like he murdered Mulder's father. He worked for the guy with the cigarettes. He killed Vassilios. She didn't even know if he liked cats! That was one of her most important prerequisites. "You're looking at me funny." "Who the hell are you?!" "I'm the man with the eight-inch cock, sweetie." "That's it. I'm outta here." She threw the covers off and swung her legs off of the bed. Krycek grabbed her arm. "Where are you going?" "Anywhere you're not." "Get back here." He pulled her backwards onto his lap. "Why are you so offended? You treated me like a piece of meat and—" "I did not." "Sure you did. You don't respect me for my mind." His strong, right arm pinned her in place. "I'll bet you don't even think I'm very smart, do you? Here's a newsflash, Feldman, I got accepted into the FBI Academy. They don't take just anyone. They even turned you down when you applied after law school." "How—" "Access. It's all about access." "Speaking of access—" "If I tell anyone we had sex you'll kill me." His lips curled in an evil grin. "Maybe so, Feldman, but I had access. And I do believe I'm going to have access again. Right now." "Carmine's on his way to Vladivostok, wherever the hell that is," Tony announced. Mulder pulled his hand away from Winky's fangs just in time. "It's in Russia. What's he doing there?" "Ellen's gonna trade Krycek to the Russians for some kinda formula." The short Italian waved his hands. "That kid's got some problems, if ya axe me. A psycho cat, that Krycek guy—I think it's 'cause she's a lawyer. I never met one that had his head screwed on right, ya know an'—" "Back up a second. You said Feldman wanted to trade Krycek to the Russians?!" It stood to reason the Russians wanted Krycek. Everybody wanted Krycek. Except, of course, Feldman, who was going to trade him. "That's what Carmine said and Carmine never lies." Scully wasn't going to like this. Not at all. Would you look at that?! It was bent. Krycek cupped it in his hand and shined his flashlight to get a better look at it. A bent rudder. Must have scraped it on a reef. At least it could be fixed. Not that he wasn't enjoying being marooned with Feldman. And a horny Feldman, no less. He adjusted the scuba gear, which was, predictably, becoming too tight in the crotch. Good thing those smugglers liked to travel in style. Scuba gear, caviar, whipped cream, and the large box of condoms and sex toys in the bedroom. All that and Feldman, too. The gods were finally smiling on Alex Krycek. Nobody looking except the fishies. He reached down and adjusted himself again. Dammit, he was sore. Too much friction? Maybe he should have declined when Feldman offered to demonstrate her sword-swallowing technique this morning....Nah. The girl was fascinated with his equipment, why not let her play? After all, he waited three years for this. Who the hell are you, she asked. What did she expect, his life story? Was she planning on bringing him home to mama? Little did she know he planned on shacking up with her if it looked like the Colonists weren't going to stick to the schedule. He had that nice cabin in the woods in Montana. Stocked with plenty of food and water. Condoms. Hey, he wasn't planning on being alone. Marita. Feldman. One of them was going to be there when it hit the fan. Frankly, he preferred Feldman. Always did. And if push came to shove, he'd tie her up, drop her in the trunk of a car and shanghai her. There, the rudder was somewhat straighter now. A quick detour back to Japan for repairs and fuel was in order. Oh yes, and tampons. Feldman was definitely getting close. "This stuff is disgusting, " Carmine declared. "It's kasha," Solomon explained. "It's good for you." "Good schmood. Gimme a bagel an' cream cheese." A long swallow of coffee. "Coffee's pretty decent, though. I can't wait to go back home, Solly." The mercenary lowered his fork. "You were serious about that job offer, weren't you?" "Absolutely. I never lie. You wanna job, I'll make sure you have one." "What about this Nicky person?" "If I vouch for you, Nicky'll agree. We're like this." Carmine crossed his fingers. "That's why he has me keepin' an eye on Ellen. I'm the only one Nicky can trust not to knock some sense into her." "I'll give you cash. Let me knock some sense into her." "Don't tempt me. I've never seen her like this. Must be because she's almost thirty an' not married yet. Some kinda female thing." Thick fingers curled into fists. "As long as she doesn't decide to hook up with the Polack. I think I'd kill both of 'em." "Ugh! I'm eating. Do you mind?" "Before we dock," Ellen said, slowly, "I need to know, who did you piss off in Japan?" "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Feldman. It'll be in and out, just like in bed this morning." "What did I tell you about—" "I'm discussing it with you. Is there anybody else around?" Exasperation crept into his voice. "I think we can get some Dong Kwai for your PMS here. In fact, I insist we get some." "I do not have PMS—" "Yes, you do. And stop shouting. I have a headache." "Good! Do you have any idea how much my back hurts right now? Ever think of losing weight?" "From where?" He gestured at his chest. "It's muscle, Feldman. I'm cut real nice. Know why? I was on the football team in college." "Really?" She could see that, actually. Broad shoulders. Nice, firm ass. Had to look delicious in a football uniform—whoa! Krycek, she reminded herself. It's Krycek. Murderer. Liar. Eight inches— Krycek leaned down. "I'd try flattering you and ask if you were a cheerleader, but I know for a fact you were the editor in chief of your campus paper, president of some kind of radical feminist organization, a member of the Pre-Law Honor Society and a representative in the student government. Besides, NYU isn't known for its football team." "You're creeping me out." "Creeping you out would be telling you that you scored a 141 on the Multistate Bar Exam and a 685 on the New York Bar. You got an 85 on that Professional Responsibility Test. You've never gotten a parking ticket or a speeding ticket, but you are woefully delinquent on your student loans—" "Does that matter if we're gonna be invaded by little green men?" He shrugged. "Not to me. I'm not real interested in your brilliant legal career. I think your new career in covert operations is going to suit you much better." Ellen shook her head. "I don't want to do this for a living. I have responsibilities. My cat—" "Your cat has one eye. It's name is Winky." Krycek favored her with a smug grin. "You must have a jones for injured things. Me, your cat...." "Stop! Listen to me! I am not a spy—" "You should discuss that with our friends. I think you've been recruited. Anyway, it's not all that bad. You get medical, dental, a pension plan. If you live long enough, that is." Silence. Krycek looked up from the radar. "Feldman? You okay?" She shook her head. "What? Talk to me." "Winky," she mumbled. There was a slight catch in her voice. "I forgot to ask Carmine to feed him. What if he's...what if—" "I'm sure Carmine's feeding Winky." He frowned at her. "Lookit, when this is all over, we'll send for him. I've got this really nice place in Montana. He can roam the woods and—" "Winky's an indoor cat." "Fine. Whatever. But I promise I'll get him for you." He rested his prosthetic hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a sympathetic gesture. "Chin up, willya? I know how important your cat is. I read the file on it. But we've got work to do and I need you." "You think maybe I could call home and see if somebody's feeding him?" "No," he said, quickly. "But you know, Feldman, I can call our mutual friends, let them know you're not gonna swap me, tell them we're en route and ask them to take care of your cat." Ellen thought it over. "No way! I don't want that wrinkly guy sticking an implant in my cat!" "Get a grip. They don't implant cats." "How do you know?" "I know. Trust me." "Why should I?" The fingers of his prosthetic hand flexed slowly into a fist and then relaxed while Krycek gritted his teeth. "Because I'm trying to help you." "If you wanted to help me, you wouldn't have gotten me involved in the first place." "Feldman," he said, through clenched teeth. "Do me a favor. Take a walk. Now. Because if you don't, I swear to God I'm gonna throw your skinny premenstrual ass overboard." "I can't swim." "You're gonna learn real fast if you don't get away from me." "Don't threaten me, you one-armed rat—" "That's it." With a resigned sigh, he lunged forward and scooped her up. It was awkward, with the prosthesis, but he lifted her over his head. "Bitch overboard!" Ellen screamed all the way down. Oooops. He just meant to scare her a little. Didn't think he'd lose his grip like that. She was right, though. She couldn't swim a lick. Krycek grinned down at the flailing lawyer. "Hang on, Feldman, I'm coming." He snapped off his prosthesis and dived in after her. Damn. The water was cold. And poor Feldman was about to go under. Again. "Gotcha!" "My glasses...I lost my glasses," she sputtered. Visions of Velma from Scooby Doo flitted through his mind. He tightened his grip on her and struggled to tread water. "Put your arms around my neck, Feldman. I need my good arm to swim. And don't even think about strangling me, otherwise you're not going to have anybody to take you shopping for new glasses." "It's for you, sir. Krycek." The gray man arched an eyebrow as he put the receiver to his ear. "I thought Miss Feldman was holding you captive." A wry laugh. "Yeah, well, things change. I saved you guys the trouble of telling Feldman what her place is." "You are quite behind schedule, you know." "Car trouble. We should be in Vladivostok by tomorrow night." "See to it that you are." "Now THIS is a surprise. I thought you had a book report due." Mulder was nonplussed by Carmine's criticism. He nodded towards Solomon. "Who's your friend?" "Solly, Mulder. He's a new co-worker." The burly Italian craned his neck. "Where's Red?" "On her way. Any news about Feldman?" Solomon's face was grim. "Arriving in less than 24 hours" "We think she's okay, though," Carmine added. "The Polack got loose, but I don't think he laid a hand on her. At least, he better not have." Mulder knew exactly what Carmine was implying. She was in trouble. Of all the days for her period to come! The day they were docking in Vladivostok. The day it was going to hit the fan. The day they might decide she knew too much. Well, at least it wasn't a total loss. She'd die with new glasses and a fresh box of tampons, courtesy of their trip to Japan. "You look awful," Krycek commented, glancing up from the radar. "I feel awful." "You'd better perk up. We'll be docking in two hours." "Maybe we can call this off. Y'know, take what we've got and sell it somewhere else?" Krycek grinned. "We're gonna be fine, Feldman. Don't tell me you've lost your nerve now that you don't have PMS." "I don't like this. They set it up, we don't know who we're meeting, we don't speak Vladivostokian—" "Russian, Feldman. They speak Russian. It's part of Russia. And I'm fluent." "Yeah, but I don't trust you." "Of course you trust me. You went to bed with me." "Er...uh..." He sort of had a point. "Okay, I don't trust them." "I don't trust them either. That's why we're going to come up with a plan." "Do you think it was smart, stashing our cash in Japan?" "Of course. They don't know about the money and they couldn't care less about it. They aren't the Mafia. What they want is the stuff in the briefcase." He rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "Speaking of that stuff..." "Yes?" "Keep her steady for a minute. I'll be right back." Ellen frowned but took the wheel while he disappeared below. Less then a minute later, he was back, brandishing a syringe and the amber liquid. "What are you doing?" "Vaccinating you." "Nuh-uh! No way are you shooting that stuff into me!" She curled her fists, ready to fight over the issue. "Yes, I am." He caught her and tossed her to the wooden deck, straddling her. "Sorry to be so rough with you but I've only got one hand. You can kick my ass later. Feldman! Stop fighting me and listen. Are you listening?" "I'm all ears." "Good." He fumbled with the syringe and the bottle. "If this goes sour, if something should happen...I don't want anybody using you for a test subject....Hold still, this is gonna sting." She was still puzzling over what he meant by test subject when he jabbed the needle into her neck. There it was. Finally. What was the name painted on the side? The smoker suppressed a smile. Feldman's touch, no doubt. The Intentional Tort. He moved across the dock into the waiting area. The men were in position, keeping an eye on Mulder and his friends. Solomon would be dealt with, as well. Krycek was carrying the briefcase and right behind him was Feldman. The poor girl looked pale, sickly. "You're late, Alex." "You know how it is," Krycek said. "The little woman couldn't decide what to wear." Ellen could feel her stomach seize. The smoker? What was he doing here? She looked up at Krycek, suddenly glad he vaccinated her. "Here's the merchandise." Krycek held out the briefcase. The smoker studied it thoughtfully, but made no move to take it. "While you were delayed, we struck a bargain with the Russians. Your assistance is no longer required." No! Not after everything they just went though! Her eyes searched the terminal. Over there. Behind that column on the upper level. Was that...Mulder? And Carmine? The smoker raised his hand. Suddenly, they were surrounded by men in black suits, brandishing badges. Ellen heard the words 'FBI', 'arrest' and 'extradition' as she was spun around and handcuffed. Somewhere, over the shouting of her right to remain silent, she heard Carmine's bellow of outrage. Krycek was on the ground next to her, whispering something. Before she could make out what he was saying, everything went black. "Forget it." Solomon grabbed Carmine before the larger man could throw himself into the fray. "You go down there and you're a dead man." "I can't let them—" "It's done." Mulder's face was a mask of shock as he watched them carry Feldman out. He saw the smoker light another cigarette and follow. The terminal was quiet again. Solomon cleared his throat. "There might still be a way." Carmine turned slowly towards his new pal, scowling. "Forget it. I don't trade lives." "You'd better learn. The stakes we play for are higher than you're used to." "There's got to be another way." She felt funny. Her head hurt and it felt like there was a bowling ball on her chest. A furry bowling ball. A bowling ball that purred. Cautiously, Ellen opened her eyes. "Winky? Is that you?" The purring grew louder and the weight on her chest shifted. A whiskered face stared into hers. "Welcome back to the land of the living." Krycek pressed her glasses into her hand. He must have been sitting there, wherever there was, waiting for her to open her eyes. God knew how long he waited. "Where—" "Montana. My safe house." Ellen slid the glasses on and hugged Winky to her. "How did Winky get here? How did I get here? What happened?" "That's a lot of questions." He sank down on the bed and patted her knee. "I tried to tell you the arrest was just a cover so the Russians wouldn't try anything. Guess you couldn't hear me. And then, on the way to the plane, you had a reaction to the vaccine. Our friends ran some tests on you to make sure you were okay and—" "Tests?" Her voice was shrill. "Relax, will you?" He stroked Winky under the chin and the cat purred contentedly. "Blood tests. They think it was your hormone level that triggered the reaction. We never tested the vaccine on somebody who was, uh, menstruating before. Kinda threw our docs for a loop. You were out of it for three days. We used the time to artificially inseminate you with a combination of my genes and the alien DNA so in about nine months—" "What?!" "I'm kidding." "I don't think that's very funny." Ellen probed Winky's neck carefully. "Sure it was. Leave the cat alone, Feldman. I told you, they don't implant cats," Krycek grinned. "While you were recuperating, I took a trip to your apartment to pick him up. I made sure to take his litter box, all his toys and his food. Which he doesn't eat by the way. He's been mooching from me since he got here. Cute little guy. In between meals, he stayed up here with you." She kissed the furry little head and Winky's purr rose in volume. "What else did you bring?" "Your laptop is over there in the corner. I had the rest of your stuff boxed and stored. Hope you don't mind." Her laptop. That gave her an idea. But first, she had to get rid of Krycek. "Y'know something? I'm hungry. Really hungry." "You've been sleeping for two days solid. You should be hungry." He was on his feet, eager to please. "Tell me what you want. I'll make it for you." "Bacon and eggs. With toast." "Coming up. C'mon, Winky." She watched in disbelief as Winky took off after Krycek. Out of commission for a few days and her cat decides Krycek is the second coming with bacon. No matter. She'd be back in favor once she fed him chicken again. Once she was sure it was safe, she slid out of the bed and grabbed her laptop. There was a phone jack. And she remembered the e-mail address... "You've got mail." Frohicke arched an eyebrow. Somebody was using the old AOL account. JAPrincess. Feldman? Alive? Mulder was going to be thrilled. Well, maybe not. Look at this message. Guys. It's me. Ellen Feldman. Please tell Mulder I'm alive and well and in the Heartland. Winky is with me. We're with Krycek. I know that doesn't sound very good, but I think it's important that I stay. Tell Mulder he was right. There are aliens. Colonists, if Krycek isn't lying and I don't think he is. There's some kind of virus and vaccine. I'm not sure how it all fits together but I promise I'll find out. I can't go back to practicing law. Not knowing that the intricacies of the law that I've been fighting for are meaningless. That the only law that matters is the one Darwin espoused— survival of the fittest. I hear Krycek coming with my breakfast. I'd better The end. MsBrooklyn@aol.com

Disclaimer: The X-Files, Mulder, Scully, the WMM, CSM and Ratboy all belong to Chris Carter and Fox, but we all know he could be doing a better job with them. Something like what I've written. Ellen Feldman, Carmine Cantone, Winky the Cat and everybody else is mine. And they'd better not appear in any upcoming episodes, Spotsy or I'll sue ya! Dedication time: First and foremost to Nick Lea (my Ratboy!); to Livengoo, who chortled her way through these pages; and, to Winky, my 'mews', without whom none of this would be possible. back to top

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