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The Sentinel Project Part 12
by Lianne Burwell
May 2003
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Mulder hadn't been to Miami in years. For some reason, 
despite Haitian and Cuban refugees and the voodoo they 
brought with them, he and Scully hadn't been called in 
during their time in the X-Files. Still, what he did 
remember of the city hadn't changed. It was still bright 
and loud and violent if you strayed into the wrong part of 
town.

Unfortunately, the wrong part of town was exactly where 
Alex seemed to be headed. The area they were riding through 
was full of boarded up abandoned buildings, and groups of 
loitering young men and women who watched them 
suspiciously. Mulder swallowed hard when he saw that a lot 
of them were wearing guns far too openly for his tastes.

But Alex definitely seemed to have a destination in mind, 
and Mulder stayed close on his tail, trusting him. He 
definitely didn't want to get separated from the man; not 
while his gun was buried in his saddlebags where the cops 
wouldn't see it in a cursory search, but where he also 
couldn't get at it quickly.

Alex swerved off of the main road onto a side street 
heading down towards the water. The smell of salt and 
rotting fish was strong in the air, and Mulder tried not to 
breath too deeply. They were moving into an area with old 
track housing, the buildings depressing in their 
similarity. About half of them had carefully tended yards, 
although brown from lack of watering. The rest were bare 
earth and weeds, with more hard eyed men watching them ride 
past.

Suddenly Alex was slowing down, then turning into a 
driveway. The house wasn't a standout in the neighborhood -
- neither better or worse than most -- and it had an... 
impressive collection of motorcycles outside. Alex came to 
a stop and shut off the engine. He set the kickstand and 
dismounted with an impressive amount of ease for a man that 
had only one natural arm. It was one of the reasons Alex 
had decided on motorcycles, other than the fact that it was 
something that the Hunters were able to easily supply. 
Anyone who was looking for Alex Krycek, one-armed assassin, 
wouldn't look for him to be riding a motorcycle, since no 
one with only one arm would be on one.

Mulder pulled to a stop next to him, eyeing the 
neighborhood dubiously. "Relax," Krycek said softly.

Mulder frowned at him. "Are you crazy? How the hell am I 
supposed to relax? We're going to be lucky to get out of 
here alive."

"Trust me," Alex said with a grin.

Instead of knocking on the front door, he headed around the 
side into the backyard. The kitchen door was open, and he 
walked straight in. Four shotguns and two handguns greeted 
them. Alex held his hands out to the side. "Wolfling says 
Texas is fine, but Miami is finer," he said.

The five men and one woman relaxed fractionally. The guns 
were put down, but stayed within reach. "I remember you," 
one of the men said darkly. "Where's the truck?"

Alex shrugged. "Last time I saw it, it was in New York. 
Don't know what Kincaid -- Cade -- did with it. There 
wasn't time to bring it back before flying west." Mulder 
blinked, then remember what he'd been told in New York when 
Alex had shown up with Kincaid in tow.

He just wished that Alex had bothered to tell him that they 
were heading for the Hunters stronghold in Miami. He might 
have been a little less worried. Then again, maybe not. 
Considering some of the stories he'd heard about the 
Hunters through the FBI, just because Wolfling was 
trustable, didn't mean the rest were.

The man grunted, and the room fell silent. Mulder stared 
around at the grimy yellow walls and the metal cabinets in 
a sickening shade of avocado green that had been so popular 
in the seventies. Nothing had been done to the room since 
those days, obviously, and storm damage over the years had 
left the linoleum peeling up around the corners and the 
wooden doorframes showing signs of rot and insect damage. 
It was horrific. Tacky even. He loved it.

After a moment, the bikers obviously tired of waiting for 
Alex to speak first. "What do you need?" one of the women 
said with a sigh. Alex grinned as if this was what he'd 
been waiting for.

"We have an idea of who is behind the current troubles. To 
get proof, we need to... talk to someone."

"You're going to snatch someone," the woman, frowning. "And 
you want us to help you. Are you nuts?"

Mulder could feel his lips twitching. He'd said pretty much 
the same thing to Alex on more than one occasion. "Don't 
worry," Alex said. "Nothing illegal. Mostly."

The woman was shaking her head hard, making her dreadlocks 
swing wildly. "No way.  The police around here are getting 
damn trigger-happy. More than usual. If they see anything 
even *slightly* suspicious, they're shooting first, 
apologizing later, assuming that they even bother to 
apologize. There have been more accusations of police 
brutality around here than anywhere else these days, even 
LA. Doesn't matter if what you want is illegal or not, the 
Hunters are keeping their heads low. As long as we stick to 
our own neighborhoods, we get to stay in one piece."

"So you let them pen you in? Tell you where you can go, 
what you can do?" Alex asked mildly, making Mulder's ears 
prick up. A very nice bit of psychology, which surprised 
him. Or maybe it shouldn't have. After all, Alex had always 
known just how to yank *his* chain, getting the reaction he 
wanted.

The group bristled, en group, but didn't say anything. "The 
people behind this haven't finished," Alex continued. 
"We've been hunting them, not the patsies that the 
government keep going on about. The man we're after is 
involved, and more than just a bit. We've learned that they 
plan another attack, and we need to know *what*."

"Another attack?" Alex nodded. "Another assassination?"

Alex shook his head. "I doubt it. The assassination got 
everyone worked up, but they need something more to tip us 
over into war. Something bigger."

There was a laugh. "Trying to kill the president isn't big 
enough?"

Alex glared at the man. "No. It isn't. But it makes a good 
primer."

"So, what do you think is going to happen?" the woman said, 
taking control back from her people. Mulder wondered what 
her position in the gang was. Women didn't usually have 
much status in a biker gang, except as ornaments. On the 
other hand, Wolfling wasn't exactly what he'd expected as a 
biker either, from the short time he'd spent with the man. 
Maybe the woman was his second in command, or something. If 
she was, it meant that she was very tough, to get and keep 
the respect of the men in the gang.

"Something big. Something with a high death count, probably 
of ordinary people. The sort of thing where people could 
stop and say 'that could have been me.' That way, *no* one 
will protest when the country goes to war over it."

The woman stared at him for a long moment. "You're talking 
the government. Someone in the government is involved," she 
said, proving that she could read between the lines.

Alex glanced at Mulder and grimaced. "Yeah," he said 
softly. "That's what we believe."

"Proof?"

"Nothing to stand up in court, even if we could get it that 
far."

"And this man you want to grab?"

"Cuban. A gang lord with... friends in DC. Friends that he 
helps out from time to time."

The woman seemed to be thinking it through. "So, if he's a 
criminal, then the cops are more likely to look the other 
way, chalking it up as just gang warfare. His friends might 
push, but they probably won't, since they wouldn't want to 
be associated with a crook. And if they did, it wouldn't be 
immediately, so we can cover our tracks."

Mulder suppressed a smile; he didn't want to annoy the 
woman now that she sounded like she was going to go along 
with whatever it was that Alex was planning.

Of course, he didn't have a *clue* what Alex was planning, 
other than kidnapping a major Miami criminal, which sounded 
pretty insane to him. On the other hand, they didn't have a 
lot of leads to follow, so unless they were going to leave 
the country before everything could go to hell, they needed 
to take some chances.

"All right," the woman said, leaning forward and resting 
her elbows on the slightly grubby surface of the kitchen 
table. "Tell me what you want, and I'll tell you what you 
can have.

>>>~~~<<<

"Any word from Mulder?"

Dana looked up as Walter came into the room, and sighed. 
"Nothing since the email saying that they were leaving 
Chicago. He wouldn't even tell me where they were heading 
next," she said, her lips tightening in irritation. Okay, 
the reason made sense -- there was always the chance that 
the e-mail might be intercepted by the wrong people -- but 
she still didn't like it.

Walter growled under his breath. "We *need* to know where 
he is," he said, sitting down across the dining room table. 
The house they'd been moved to after Walter's arrival was 
another old farm house, with large foreclosure signs 
prominently placed. Wolfling said that they wouldn't be 
bothered; he knew someone at the bank. And because they'd 
been transported in a closed van -- for their protection, 
Wolfling had said -- Dana didn't even have any idea where 
they were, other than that it had taken about five hours to 
get there. For all she knew, they were at the next farm 
over from where they had been, and they'd spent the hours 
driving in circles.

"I know," she said, trying to sooth the upset man. "I'm 
worried too. Between the Consortium hunting for him and the 
fact that he's traveling with Krycek, he's in a lot of 
danger, and he doesn't have anyone with him that he can 
*really* trust."

Walter frowned for a moment. "Right," he said.

His response seemed a little lackluster. Then Dana realized 
what was wrong and wished she could kick herself. For a 
long time, she and Mulder had seen Walter as someone they 
couldn't trust either. But in his case, the Consortium had 
been blackmailing him into working for them. Krycek did it 
because he was an amoral bastard with no compunctions about 
killing a person. He might paint a pretty picture about 
changing sides out of higher morals, but she knew the 
truth: After nearly being killed several times by his old 
bosses for screwing up, he figured he'd get further with 
their enemies. Not to mention into Mulder's pants. And he 
had a history with Walter that wasn't much better.

"So, what do you think about the plans to head down to 
Mexico?" she asked, breaking the awkward silence. The 
nervous little man, Broots -- and don't think she really 
trusted him or his playmate, Jarod -- had gotten several 
layers into the files on the Tezcatlipoca project. They 
didn't have an exact location, but they'd narrowed it down 
far enough to start making travel plans. Scully wasn't 
involved in that, so she had now idea how they were getting 
down to the Yucatan peninsula, or what they were going to 
do when they got there. She wasn't even sure that going was 
a smart idea. She liked Agent McCullough well enough, but 
surely they should be staying where they were, trying to 
figure out a way to avert the war that was starting to look 
inevitable.

But Kincaid was determined to find his little playmate, and 
since he was the one with the ties to the Hunters -- which 
said a lot about him -- and the two from the Center were 
backing him up, she didn't have much say in the matter. It 
had been made *quite* clear to her that if she didn't like 
it, she could stay behind when they left, and she wasn't 
willing to do that.

Besides, the files that Broots *had* decoded were 
fascinating reading. They'd gone beyond the simple précis 
that they'd first had, and into the scientific details. On 
one level she was horrified by what she read, but on 
another, she was amazed at how much progress in genetics 
this project had made in the last forty years.

"I don't like it," Walter said bluntly, rubbing at his 
eyes. He looked tired, Scully thought sympathetically. She 
could empathize. The waiting was getting to all of them. 
"We need to be here, not running off to another country 
after an agent who should be able to take care of herself. 
*Here* is where the greatest danger is," he said, echoing 
her own thoughts.

Scully sighed. "Yes, but everyone else is heading for 
Mexico, so we basically have a choice between go along with 
them, or striking out on our own."

"That might not be such a bad idea," Walter said, leaning 
in closer. "Despite everything, I still have... friends 
that might be able to help us."

"Help us do what?" Scully said helplessly. "We have no idea 
who is behind all of this, or how to stop them."

Walter looked out the window, a small smile on his face. "I 
have a few ideas, but we would have to find Mulder first."

"Which brings us back to the problem that we have no idea 
where he is, other than that he was in Chicago. We don't 
even know how he *left* Chicago. He could be flying to 
California or driving to New York, for all we know, and 
there's no way for us to trace him without giving him away 
*and* us." She shook her head. "As much as I hate to admit 
it, we need to stick with the others. It's too risky right 
now. And besides, we might actually find something in this 
lab in Mexico to help our fight." She wasn't sure what, but 
saying it helped.

Walter still didn't look happy. "I don't like it," he said. 
"But for the time being, you may be right. I still don't 
trust them."

Scully picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. Cold. "I 
don't know," she said reluctantly. "I guess I don't know 
enough about them to trust them or distrust them." She 
closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. "But I am 
glad you're here, Walter," she said, daring to actually use 
his given name aloud. "I don't feel quite so... alone."

He stared at her for a moment, then an almost shy smile 
spread across his face. He reached across the table and 
took her hand. "Neither one of us is alone," he said, and 
squeezed her hand gently.

They sat like that for a long while, just smiling at each 
other.

And they weren't alone.

>>>~~~<<<

After the emergency, Suzanne kept a close eye on her 
daughter. There were no further attacks like the one that 
had so terrified them both, but the aftereffects weren't 
fast to fade.

Debi continued to suffer from a weakness that kept her to 
her bed. Suzanne helped her to and from the bathroom to 
wash, and other things. Meals were delivered, and she 
brought them to Debi, helping her feed herself as though 
she was the little child that she remembered so well. She'd 
lost that child during the war. She'd tried to keep Debi 
from the horrors of the alien war, but when one Ironhorse 
clone had tried to kill her, and the other had committed 
suicide to stop him, they'd had to go underground, and a 
childhood had been a luxury they could rarely afford.

And even after the end of the war, the attacks by enemies 
they hadn't been able to identify had torn her child from 
her. Suzanne had faked her own death, with Debi's blessing, 
and Debi had gone into foster care. Unlike some of the 
stories they'd heard in the news, Debi had thrived. John 
had made sure that Suzanne knew exactly what was happening 
with her daughter, even after she went to Quantico and 
joined the FBI, looking for the men who had being trying to 
kill them, and it had become much more difficult to keep 
tabs on her.

Debi had grown up to be a strong and confident woman, but 
Suzanne saw very little of that in the girl in the bed. 
Every day, someone came to give her an injection; always 
silently, no matter how many questions Suzanne asked. Meals 
for Debi were simple and bland. She'd taken to her bed and 
showed no interest in trying to leave it.

She seemed to be in shock. The revelation that she was 
pregnant had hit her hard, especially since it was obvious 
that the pregnancy wasn't normal. Soon after her attack, 
her belly had begun to grow at a pace that could not be 
ignored. She already looked like a young woman who was 
nearly five months pregnant, not one who could not be much 
more than a month along.

Suzanne had never trained for general practice or 
obstetrics, but she did what she could to monitor the 
progression of the pregnancy. The baby was already moving, 
and more than she remembered Debi moving, even late in her 
pregnancy. But she did think that it was only one baby, 
which was a blessing. She didn't want to know what 
complications there might be if it was twins, or worse.

But the thing that scared her was what would happen when it 
came time for the delivery. God only knew how this 
pregnancy would end, or how the baby would be delivered. 
Surely a cesarean section. After all, they couldn't expect 
Debi to deliver whatever it was -- and looking at Ceto, she 
had a few ideas -- naturally.

Could they?

TO BE CONTINUED