Skinner felt a chill run up his spine. Chester G. Morley was the alias
by which he had known C.G.B. Spender, aka Cancer Man, aka Smoky. In
fact...he compared the signatures in the two folders. D. B.
Chesterfield was a Spender alias as well. Who was this Kapustcha guy
that he merited personal protection from a man of Spender's calibre?

According to the files, he was a Polish immigrant. A scientist,
specializing in viral diseases. Skinner knew only too well how the
Consortium used such scientists. Suddenly, the prospect of taking the
man down began to appeal to him. Nothing like stopping a serial killer
dead in his tracks *and* annoying his favorite spook at the same time.
//Who knew doing Krycek's bidding would turn out to be so much fun?//
he thought grimly.

He checked his watch. Nine p.m. It was early for Walter yet, so he
tried watching a little TV in the den, but nothing appealed. Time for
a shower and another nightcap. He locked the files in his study safe,
poured himself another scotch, shut off the lights, and started
upstairs, wondering how he was going to get Mulder and Scully to read
the files without raising any suspicions. Well, as long as it was only
*Mulder's* paranoia radar he activated....

He set his drink on the right night stand, stripped, showered, climbed
into bed, sipped his drink and brooded.

With nothing else to occupy his mind, he reviewed Krycek's tale of
woe. Granted, the man was painting himself in the best possible light,
but, then, didn't they all? Hadn't it been his own 'painting' of
Mulder's and his motives --and his refusal to believe in 'Invaders
from Mars'-- that had blinded him to Krycek's value as an informant?

To think he could have had an inside line on the Consortium --all the
access Krycek could have finagled on projects, cover businesses,
time-tables, names, dates, locations...victims. Enough to have --quite
possibly-- brought the whole deceitful mess into the light of
undeniable media day *years* ago!

It had only taken the testimony of Sonny Gravano and three years'
worth of surveillance tapes to bring John Gotti down. Imagine if those
Federal agents had turned up their noses at Gavano's offer to testify
because he was the self-professed murderer of nineteen men?

Krycek had had only four suspected --none proved-- murders to his name
at the time he offered to feed information their way, and one of those
murders had since been pinned indisputably on Luis Cardinal. But
because Krycek had 'betrayed' them --//Read: fooled us all,// Skinner
amended-- they had scoffed at him, a card carrying member of Majestik,
for Christ's Sake! only the blackest intelligence operation being run
in the whole U. S. of A.

Skinner could only thank God he *had* been dealing with Majestik
rather than the mob, because if he had mis-handled a mob informant as
badly as he had mis-handled Krycek, a permanent posting to Greenland
wouldn't have been cold enough to quench the heat radiating off the
black marks his personnel jacket would have sprouted.

Skinner *still* wasn't convinced the aliens were coming, but he could
no longer allow that particular doubt to excuse his treatment of
Krycek. Punching him in the stomach, locking him on the balcony all
night and half the day, allowing Mulder to abuse him verbally and
physically. How petty, how short-sighted he had been, how potentially
disastrous had been his lack of vision, his choices.

//I deserve these nanocytes,// Walter concluded glumly as he finished
his scotch. //If I had treated Krycek like the valuable resource he
was, he wouldn't have felt so desperate, so alone; we might have
brought Smoky down by now, plumbed his files, found Mulder's sister.
Instead of using a resource that was begging to be exploited, I
allowed Spender to compromise me, ensnare me in his vicious traps, and
now I'm helpless to control my own fate.//

All because he had forgotten the first rule of management: prioritize.
He hadn't realized how vital the stakes were, and had not committed
himself to the cause of saving humanity. What greater cause could
there be than saving the planet?

Krycek had quickly shed any loyalties to any one country, working with
--//and no doubt double-crossing,// Skinner thought with a certain
amount of wry glee-- the Americans, French, Russians, and Tunisians in
order to advance his cause of survival at any cost. Krycek had
realized the futility of calling one nation home when a global
invasion threatened all humanity --indeed all life on the planet.
Benjamin Franklin had said it best, long ago: "If we do not hang
together, gentlemen, then we shall surely hang separately."

He knew for a certainty that Krycek had saved his life by killing the
Tunisian assassin sent to erase the threat he posed to their receiving
sophisticated technology from the U.S. But, at the time, since he had
known Krycek had infected him with the nanocytes, he had chosen not
to be grateful for the save. Neither had he been happy to be
resurrected after the nanobots had killed him, because all it meant to
him at the time was enslavement.

Was he really so hard hearted, so unimaginative as to never be
grateful for being alive?

And, the trouble of it was, if he had been wrong not to ally himself
with Krycek six years ago, shouldn't he amend that mistake by allying
with him now? And if he had been wrong about Krycek and his role in
resisting the alien invasion, what else could he have been wrong
about?

###

CHAPTER TWO

#
"The prejudices of ignorance are more easily removed than the
prejudices of interest. The first are all blindly adopted, the second
willfully preferred." --George Bancroft
#
J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C.
Thursday, March 9th
#

Mulder and Scully were ambivalent about their new assignment.

On the one hand, it wasn't an X-file.

On the other hand, it wasn't a dung heap in Wisconsin, either.

On yet another hand, it was preventing them from investigating an
X-file; half the case was a moldy puzzle with little to go on; and
Scully had little to do besides tag after Mulder, who could see only
one way to be of help: go to San Francisco and study the crime scene,
such as it was --and it wasn't much: a body sized piece of pavement
under the down spout of an industrial warehouse on the south-east side
of town.

Then Skinner invited them to lunch. At his place.

Mulder's conspiracy radar deployed at once. 

Lunch turned out to be Pollo Loco chicken, tortillas, Spanish rice,
and a heaping green salad.

They ate, then Skinner took them into his study and opened his safe
--and dumped the sixteen additional case files in their laps. He
cautioned them not to take the files out of his condo, not to breathe
so much as a hint of the contents to Kersh, and not to do any searches
on the case on their Bureau terminals. He then instructed them to
replace the files in the safe when they were done and left.

Mulder and Scully laid out the files in chronological order. Mulder,
as the profiler, started with the earliest case, while Scully started
reading from the other end.

Mulder happened upon Boca Raton at the same time Scully found El Paso,
and when they found the respective post-it notes Skinner had left them
which identified the State Department flack who had arranged
Kapustcha's release on both occasions, both exclaimed their respective
'Eurekas' at the same time: "Hey, Scully, look at this!" "This is
interesting, Mulder."

Mulder was all for calling Skinner on the spot and demanding an
explanation.

Scully insisted they finish reading the files first.

The first body had been found in New York City in Nov. of  '88 where,
as Kersh had informed them, Skinner had been the ASAC.

The second murder had taken place in South Hatley, Quebec, Canada in
Oct. of '89. That was followed by Perkey, West Virginia, Oct. '90;
Manila, Luzon, Philippine Islands, Oct. '91; Stuttgart, Germany, Nov.
'92; and Boca Raton, Florida, Nov. '93.

Then Antwerp, Belgium, Nov. '94; Le Havre, France, Mar. '95;
Sheffield, England, Nov. '95; El Paso, Texas, Feb. and Oct. '96;
Juarez, Mexico, Feb. '97; Los Alamos, New Mexico, Nov. '97; Chula
Vista, Calif. Feb. '98; Calgary, Alberta, Canada, Nov. '98; Mattawa,
Washington, Feb. '99; Lehigh Furnace, Pa, Nov. '99; and, finally, San
Francisco, Calif. Mar. 2000.

"Wow, it's no wonder no one linked these crimes together," Scully said
after she read the last file. "They're all over the map and fairly
spaced out. Add to that the two cases that were deleted from the
national search databases, and you have one obscure perp with
impressive connections."

"Well, *somebody* knew where to look," Mulder said, "or we wouldn't be
reading these files. Eighteen murders in eight countries, over a
period of thirteen years," he summed up, "means it wasn't luck.
Someone with ties to the Consortium has been keeping close tabs on
this Kapustcha guy and all his little side projects...." He drew his
fingers over his chin. "Somebody with a vested interest in keeping
abreast of his doings...possibly, someone with green eyes and brunet
hair...like say, Krycek."

Scully's eyes rolled upwards. "Give me a break, Mulder! You see Krycek
behind every bush!"

"Well! He fits the description of the victims!"

"Yeah. He's also a professional assassin. If he wanted this Kapustcha
person dead, he'd just pull out his gun and shoot him, he wouldn't
need to coerce Skinner into putting *us* on the case," she reasoned
sensibly.

"Unless,...maybe Kapustcha is too valuable a commodity to the
Consortium hierarchy, so Krycek doesn't *dare* kill him."

Scully sighed. Mulder's ability to make intuitive leaps in logic and
arrive at the correct solution was one of the traits she most admired
about him, yet there was no other trait which most infuriated her,
because it cut out all the logical, deductive steps leading from A to
Z and every success encouraged him to believe in even more outrageous
things no sane person would even contemplate. "Even if it were true,
it doesn't help us solve the case."

Mulder sighed. She was right about that, of course. "Yeah, OK." He
stacked the files back up and shoved them into the safe, shut the
door, and spun the dial. "So, let's go somewhere we *can* make a
little headway, shall we?"

"Not Skinner's office?"

Mulder flashed a superior smile at her. "Nope. The Lone Gunman's."

She looked pained. "Awnotthlonegnmnillndupfeelnlikivbndippdnoil."
Scully whined unintelligibly. No matter how handy the trio could be,
she hated having to associate with that creepy little lech, Frohike,
who ogled her too much for comfort.

"Serial killers aren't born full-grown, Scully. They escalate in
stages. My guess is this guy left a trail of live, maimed bodies in
his wake before he worked himself up to murder. And, since Skinner has
forbidden us to use our Hoover terminals lest we leave a trail of
breadcrumbs by which the F.B.I.'s Consortium moles can track us, we
have to use the back door."

Scully sighed and resigned herself to a close encounter of the nerd
kind.

###

Equipped with Mulder's and Scully's pass codes, Langley had no trouble
dummying up a code that belonged to an innocent third party and using
it to access the F.B.I.'s ViCap data base, searching for any rapes
with the signature of red stiletto pumps and fishnet hose.

They found six cases, two of which had not been copied into the
database, as they were in the restricted, Authorized Access Only, hard
copy file room of the Pentagon.

"Geez! Good luck getting *those* files," Langley said as he printed
out the other four.

Mulder read the four cases as they came out of the printer. "Thanks,
guys," he said as he collated each case into its own manilla file and
tucked them under his arm.

"I take it we're off?" Scully inquired as she peeled Frohike's
worshipful leer off her body and eagerly held the door open for
Mulder.  "Where to, now?"

"The Hoover, G-woman --and step on it!"

"I wish," Scully mumbled with a last look over her shoulder at
Frohike, who was wriggling his fingerless-gloved right hand in her
direction in wistful farewell.

###

Once the pair hit the Hoover, they marched themselves straight into
Skinner's office.

Skinner, for reasons they did not question, was sitting at his desk
--alone. He looked up at them expectantly. "Shouldn't you be busy
working on a profile?" he asked mildly.

"I'd rather find out how you got all that...'supplemental' source
material," Mulder dissembled, well aware that there could be more ears
in the room than could be accounted for with their three heads.

"I don't see that it matters, Agent Mulder," Skinner said a little
more stiffly.

"It does if you're being manipulated into involving me in this case."

"Believe it or not, Mulder, I get manipulated into doing things
everyday. It's one of the privileges of rank," he poked his forefinger
skyward, to indicate the upper floors, and his superiors thereon.

"Yeah, well, there's rank and then there's rank, sir," Mulder replied
holding his nose at the latter.

"So, just because you think the reasons you were assigned this case
stink, you feel it's beneath your dignity to solve it, is that it,
Agent?" Skinner asked.

"Not at all, sir. I'm just wondering about the larger implications. I
mean, the motivations of some people of rank are highly suspect, I
think you'll agree. I wouldn't want to...do them any favors."

"I agree, sir," Scully interjected. "Something, um, other than the
obvious is going on. I mean, uh, handling the case in the normal way,
yet again, is not going to yield any different results. We frankly
don't see the point."

"I see. Well, let me help you find your motivation, then, Agents,"
Skinner smiled grimly. "I don't care if Lucifer himself handed me this
case: I want it solved. So, don't think of it as doing Satan a favor,
think of it as giving closure to all the families and friends of the
murdered men; think of it as helping your sister law enforcement
agencies close the books on one of their cold cases; in fact, think of
it as bringing one of the, uh, 'hazier' creatures of the Earth to bay.

"Think you can muster up enough enthusiasm to do your jobs, now,
Agents?

"How about: I want a profile of this man on my desk, ready to fax to
the San Francisco PD by day's end?

"I want this man, Agents; I don't want him slipping away, possibly
leaving the country --and I don't care how you catch him, so long as
you do."

Mulder huffed. "Fine, but you ought to know that whoever gave you
these files missed a few." So saying, he slapped the four printed
files onto Skinner's desk. "There are two more I'd *like* to read, but
they're in the Authorized Access Only section of the Pentagon's file
room."

Skinner's eyebrows lifted at that news. He quickly scanned the new
files. "These victims are alive."

"Yes, sir. The lucky advance guard," Mulder said. "You've got to
wonder why those other two files are on ice. Would have been
interesting reading."

"No doubt, had I access to those kinds of files, they would be,"
Skinner nodded. "Anything else?"

"No, sir. We'll just sashay down to the basement and get to work on
the profile," Mulder said.

"Good. Uhm, do keep these safe, hm?" Skinner said as he handed back
the four files.

Scully took the opportunity to exit ahead of Mulder, who hung back to
accept the files.

"Agent Mulder?" Skinner said as the lanky agent finally made the main
office door.

"Sir?" Mulder looked back over his shoulder at his boss pro tem.

"I do appreciate your concern."

Mulder brightened and continued out the door.

Skinner pondered this latest wrinkle in the case. He figured those
sealed files were not in the Pentagon's file room merely to protect
Kapustcha. The State Department's muscle had been sufficient to
protect *him* so far, which meant there was another reason they were
there, someone else they were protecting, some *agent* of the U.S.
government.

The fact that Mulder and Scully had connected Krycek to the case did
not surprise him. The fact that they had both echoed his own notion
that Krycek had to have more at stake in the case than he had let on
*did,* and Krycek *was* a bona fide agent of a clandestine government
agency.

Skinner dug into his pants pocket and pulled out the slip of paper
with Krycek's pager number on it. He sent Krycek his office number.

Krycek called minutes later. "What do you want?"

"Mulder wants the two sealed files that are at the Pentagon."

"Shit! How did he-- never mind.... OK....I'll drop them off at your
place."

"Meaning you already have them to hand," Skinner interpreted. "What
about the other four non-lethal cases?"

"You mean five. Yeah, I've got them."

"And you didn't see fit to include them in the materials you gave me,
after I specifically asked you to give me everything you had on this
case?"

"I *did* give you everything --on the murders," Krycek rationalized
defensively. "I-- I didn't know if the plain rape cases would interest
Mulder or not," he dissembled.

"You're kidding, right? Or were your grades at Quantico another lie,
arranged by Smoky to make you look good?" Skinner asked sarcastically.

"No!" Krycek retorted heatedly.

"Then I guess you must have fallen asleep during the lecture on serial
killers, or I wouldn't have to explain the terms 'victim zero' and
'developing signature' to you."

"Fine! I fucked up! I've got the files, I'll get them to you....no
biggie," Krycek muttered, as if trying to convince himself.

Skinner felt a Great White Shark grin spread across his face. If he'd
had any doubts, Krycek's responses had erased every one. "Bullshit,
Krycek. You didn't want Mulder to see those sealed files because
*you're* in them, aren't you?"

Krycek almost strangled on the phone trying to figure out what to say.
But there was nothing *to* say besides: "...Yeah."

"Our deal stands, Krycek: full disclosure. You've got to know more
than the files contain. I want you at my place with the files to
answer Mulder's questions."

"No way! I am *not* going to be Mulder's punching bag! Or the butt of
his snippy jokes!"

"Look, I can't rein in his mouth, but I can guarantee there will be no
fisticuffs --on either side. Word of honor. No one will lay a hand on
you."

"*And* I walk out the door when it's done, free and clear," Krycek
added.

"When Mulder's satisfied."

"Mulder wouldn't be satisfied if I was reciting the ten commandments
off the original stone tablets!" Krycek protested.

Skinner snorted. "Fine! When *I'm* satisfied you've provided all the
pertinent information you can, you'll be free to go. Satisfied?"

There was silence as Krycek thought it over. "...Yeah, OK," he agreed.
"I'll be at your place at 9:30."

"Damn!" Skinner cursed as Krycek hung up without waiting for
confirmation. //Probably just did it to annoy me.// He called Kim to
rearrange his schedule --for the second day in a row-- then called
down to the X-Files office to let Mulder and Scully know that he
expected them for dinner at his condo at 9 p.m. Then, because he was
playing host, he took off work at 7:30 in order to pick up a cold cuts
and veggie platter, chips, dips, a variety of rolls, and assorted 
beverages.

Skinner got home at 8:35, and set up the food and drinks on the coffee
table, bringing out utensils and napkins and cups from the kitchen.
The intercom in the foyer buzzed, alerting him to the arrival of his
guests. He greeted them, to confirm their identities, and buzzed them
through the security gates.

By the time they had come up the seventeen floors to Skinner's front
door, he had poured Mulder a glass of canned iced tea, Scully a diet
cola, and, for himself, a scotch on the rocks.

They knocked, and he took their coats and hung them in the foyer
closet while he waved them on into the livingroom. "Help yourself to
the spread. We have about half an hour before my, uh, source arrives."

Skinner wondered for a moment why he had withheld the identity of his
'source,' but then he decided that he wanted to witness their
reactions to Krycek's unexpected presence among them.

In the meantime, they laid waste to the food, taking the opportunity
to catch up on each other's lives since the X-Files had shifted
supervisors.

At precisely 9:30, the intercom buzzed again, and Skinner excused
himself to go answer it. He didn't bother talking to the guest, just
buzzed him in.

Perhaps it was nerves, but Krycek seemed to take forever to get
upstairs, and they squirmed with anticipation like puppies in a
basket.

Finally, there was a rap on the door. Skinner had it pulled open --and
Krycek pulled into the foyer-- before the vibrations faded from the
wood. Skinner shut and locked the door, leaving the keys in the lock,
then escorted the spy to the archway separating the livingroom from
the foyer and watched his agents react.

Both grimaced with hate. Scully made an aborted move towards her
weapon, then rearranged her skirts self-consciously when she realized
the inappropriateness of the maneuver. Her face froze into an icy mask
of politic distaste, even as Mulder allowed his emotions to get the
better of him. He sprang from the couch and charged them as if to
attack the spy.

Krycek, for his part, merely leaned backwards and looked at Skinner,
as if daring him to keep his word.

Skinner took note of the inquiring glance before he interposed his
body between Krycek and Mulder, arms out to net the furious agent.
"Mulder! Sit! Down!" he commanded, using his AD voice.

Mulder flailed his arms at Krycek, even as his body slammed into
Skinner's massive bulk. Runner/swimmer versus boxer/weight-lifter was
no contest. Mulder's charge didn't even make Skinner shift his feet.
Skinner gripped Mulder and shook him soundly before twirling him
around and pushing him towards the sofa with a coach-like pat on the
butt.

Once Mulder sulked back to the couch, Skinner invited Krycek to take a
seat in the only chair in the room. Opposite the couch, and separated
from it by the coffee table, it offered Krycek the security of a wall
to his back, and a view of all the exits but the sliding doors to the
balcony, which were obscured by closed drapes --which suited Krycek,
who didn't need any reminders of his last 'stay' there.

"Where are the files?" Mulder asked in a tone that was savage,
whining, and accusatory at the same time.

"All in good time," Krycek said, as he drew a device from his pocket.

Skinner froze with surprised horror, then realized --to his relief--
that it wasn't the palm pilot, but a jamming device, which Krycek sat
on the coffee table.

"Jammer," Krycek said, in case they hadn't figured it out.

"Files?" Mulder repeated.

Krycek smirked. "Why, *yes,* Mulder, thank you, I *would* like
something to eat," he said and pointedly scavenged a few morsels from
the ravaged buffet before planting himself in the over-stuffed chair.

Skinner sighed. "What would you like to drink, Krycek?" he asked,
playing the nominally reluctant host.

"Umm..., beer, please."

Skinner retrieved a can of domestic beer from the kitchen for his
newest guest, while Alex assembled his tidbits as if they were the
White Castle version of deli sandwiches. He set his plate onto the
generous chair arm in order to accept his beer from Skinner, put it in
his left hand to pull the tab, then took it back into his right hand
to take a sip, all the while taking in the grim countenances of the
three fibbies who sat on the couch opposite him.

"The files?" Mulder asked in a clipped, angry tone for the third time.

Krycek drained his beer, cleared his throat, set the empty onto the
floor, and glanced up at Mulder through his lashes. He had the
impression he could start a brawl with a quick refusal or too long
delay. One thing for sure, *he* wasn't the one in charge here. He
rose, reached behind him, beneath his black leather jacket, and
fingered the files tucked into his waistband. Hesitated. Divided them
so that the two sealed files were left at his back. Rethought. Holding
them back now would only inflame an already tenuous situation. Grabbed
all the files once more and pulled them out.

He barely had time to extend his arm before Mulder lunged up from the
sofa and snatched them out of his hand.

Krycek glanced at Skinner, suddenly thirsty, but decided he'd rather
have the big lug available in case a fight broke out, so he sat back
and nibbled on his chips and cold cuts stuffed rolls, trying to be
cool.

Mulder fanned the files, found the two sealed ones and dumped the rest
onto the coffee table. He cracked the top file's seal of red tape,
opened the file. A photo of a battered twenty-one-year-old Alex Krycek
greeted his eyes. Mulder grunted in triumph. "I *knew* it!"