Krycek sneered at the retreating back well aware that yet another chance
to kill that smoking bastard had slipped through his grasp and he wondered
how many more times he would have to hold back on exacting his revenge.
He gave a sideways glance at his silent 'patron' then flicked his gaze
to the rear view mirror to find a large pair of eyes staring back at him
from a young boy's face.
The Well-Manicured Man had not told him what he wanted with the boy
but Krycek knew it must have something to do with the man's continuing
efforts to find a way to resist the colonisation of Earth. This single-minded
devotion to Humanity's future was the only reason he had allied himself
to this man—that and the greater possibility of becoming the executioner
of the person Mulder referred to sarcastically as Cancerman.
He set the car in motion picking up speed quickly, perversely aiming
for his betrayer but pulling the car aside at the last moment sending a
small shower of stones that must have caught the back of Cancerman's legs.
In the rear view mirror he thought he saw an almost imperceptible slackening
of posture before the man continued to walk away—relief?—perhaps Cancerman
had been expecting to feel something high-speed slamming into him; a bullet
or a car.
"Why do you want to kill him?"
Krycek glanced back in to the rear view as memories flooded into his
mind of being left to die in a dark place with no food, no water and only
an alien spacecraft with its sinister occupant for 'company'.
"....Oh."
A frown crept across his forehead, crinkling the skin over his nose
and with it came realisation: telepathy. Krycek raised a shield around
his mind, just as he had been shown by the alien who had once taken over
his body, and watched as the boy's eyes widened when the cacophony of voices
fell to the single thoughts of the Well-Manicured Man.
Gibson Praise opened his mouth to ask Krycek how he did it but remained
silent when he saw an unmistakable glitter in the green eyes. If there
was one lesson he had learnt in his young life it was that there were times
when he had to keep another's thoughts to himself.
The car pulled back onto the highway and Gibson spent the remainder
of the ride with only the unspoken words of the old man and his own fears
for company.
His new apartment was small and impersonal. It wasn't in the most fashionable
part on the Upper East Side but it was close enough to ensure he could
be at his Employer's beck and call, night or day. The Well-Manicured Man
had given him the keys within moments of him handing over the stolen Russian
vaccine as if he had known all along what Krycek would do.
At first he had hesitated, unsure whether he wanted anyone to know where
he slept. Trust No-one. It was a motto he had lived by since going on the
run but the Well-Manicured Man had told him the apartment was there if
he wanted it. To be honest, his current financial situation left him little
choice; the apartment or a bed in some flea-bitten hostel used by society's
dregs and dropouts. Of course, he could have used his innate talents to
part some unwary individuals from their money but, despite everything,
he still believed in law and order and could not face the thought of breaking
the law merely for personal comfort especially when he had already been
offered somewhere clean and respectable.
He remembered the first time he crossed the threshold. The rooms were
tidy, the bed made-up with fresh linen and the kitchen had been freshly
stocked. It was obvious someone had been there earlier in the day preparing
the place especially for him. Why else would there be half-a-dozen imported
Czech lagers in the refrigerator alongside a bottle of Russian Vodka.
Krycek frowned, deep lines drawing across the bridge of his nose. Somehow
or other he had managed to land on his feet again. When he had arrived
on the Uroff-Koltoff (Star of Russia) he had been hoping to buy his way
back into the Consortium's favour but events had not gone according to
plan following his betrayal by Marita Covarrubias. Yet, despite everything,
the Well-Manicured Man had decided to take him back into the fold—and
to prove he was willing to trust Krycek he had taken him on as his personal
driver/bodyguard much to the annoyance of the First Elder.
At first the absence of the Cigarette-Smoking Man had unnerved him but
a few words here and there had revealed the attempt on the man's life but
no-one knew for certain whether he was dead or alive. The body had disappeared
although the amount of blood at the scene had convinced most that Cancerman
was dead. Secretly, Krycek had hoped he was alive so he could have the
pleasure of ending the man's foul existence and, sure enough, Cancerman
had turned up like the proverbial bad penny.
Over three months had passed since his return from Russia and so far,
in return for the Well-Manicured Man's protection, he only had to chauffeur
the man around and perform a few relatively simple collections and deliveries.
Not that a one- armed man parachuting into a remote part of Quebec could
be considered that simple especially as his team-mate had paid the ultimate
price for carelessness. He wondered whether the simplicity of these tasks
were because he was not trusted with more delicate operations—or whether
the Well-Manicured Man kept him apart for another reason. Whatever the
case, he owed the man his life and would be willing to do almost anything
for him. He sneered at himself. If the Well-Manicured Man had told him
to drop his pants and bend over he would have done so without a struggle.
He owed his Employer much more than his body but that was unlikely to happen.
If anything, he felt as if he was being treated like an errant child, being
brought back under control through extensive homework and short, sharp
shocks. He often wondered whether the Well-Manicured Man had children of
his own or whether he had decided to become a surrogate father to his new
agent. Whatever, Krycek felt he was being primed for more important things...
but what?
Krycek stared around the small apartment. The faded wallpaper had seen
better days but overall it was quite opulent compared to some of the places
he had stayed. The phrase, comfortable but practicable, sprang to mind.
It's muted colours, mainly of neutral beige and white gave it a clean,
airy feel—a far cry from the small, dark and dirty cabin he had onboard
the Uroff- Koltoff but if there was a single word that could describe his
present accommodation then it would be 'impersonal'. Krycek was in no hurry
to fill it with personal possessions. There was little point when he might
have to leave at a moment's notice. He thought back and realised that he
had not remained in one place longer than a few months since the day Duane
Barry had kidnapped Dana Scully. His gut twisted and Krycek frowned when
he realised how much he blamed the diminutive woman for the path he had
been forced to take in the intervening years.
He laughed softly to himself, deprecatingly. How could he blame her?
She was just as much a victim of circumstance as he—no, it was unfair
to make such a comparison between them. He had brought about his own downfall
through sheer naiveté. Alexei Krycek; green, idealistic, out to save the
World....believing he was a cross between James Bond and Superman. That
Morley smoking bastard must have been pissing his pants in laughter when
he recruited him out of College, barely able to believe that he could find
someone so gullible that they would be willing to do just about anything
for their country.
By the end of this, Krycek wanted him to be pissing his pants for a
far different reason and had gained some satisfaction over the past few
weeks especially when he had fired that warning shot and then, perversely,
aimed his gun at the man's head when sent to find him in Quebec.
Take your shot, Alex he had said trying to deny the fear that was
so obvious to the younger man. God, how he wished he could have pulled
that trigger but he had his orders to bring the Cigarette-Smoking Man back
alive.
His thoughts returned to the brief conversation he had with his Employer
after Cancerman had delivered the boy. He had a clear shot and had offered
to kill the Cigarette-Smoking Man there and then but the Well-Manicured
Man had told him 'no'. The words which followed had puzzled him for his
Employer was usually very precise. Not 'we' but 'you' might need Cancerman
one day, however, Krycek could not imagine any scenario involving that
black-lunged bastard that didn't include the man's death.
He threw himself onto the couch drawing deep breaths to get his emotions
back under control. Every time he thought about the Cigarette-Smoking Man
he could feel his chest tighten and his blood boil but there was nothing
he could do except avoid the man at all costs.
He slumped down, head thrown back and stared at the ceiling.
The hardest part about this job was the waiting. Whenever he was in
the country, Krycek would be called upon to ferry his Employer from his
residence to the 'Club' at East 46th Street. The remainder of the time
was spent reading the highly sensitive material he was sent, although there
had been several side trips to DC and, of course, the assignment in Canada,
to collect the Cigarette-Smoking Man. Mostly, he stayed near the apartment,
although sometimes, when the need for human contact overwhelmed him he
would haunt the local bars, but never in search of company. Alone in a
crowd, he would watch normal people get on with their normal lives. He
was not unaware of his good looks and, often, one of those normal people,
male and female, would try to strike up a conversation but if a cold look
didn't scare them off then the sight of his prosthetic arm usually did
the trick. He sneered. It was about the only advantage the loss of his
arm had given him and even that was a mixed blessing.
Most nights he would stay in and read wondering whether any of the other
members of the Consortium knew about the amount of data he had become privy
to. Sometimes, the sheer scale of the Plan and its implications became
too much to cope with and he would spend an evening vegetating in front
of the TV. This was such a night.
He settled down into the corner of the overstuffed yet comfortable couch
and flicked on the TV, surfing the channels for anything that even slightly
interested him but nothing did until a close-up of Lt Tom Paris filled
the screen. Star Trek; practically an institution nowadays but at least
it provided some escapism from his present existence. He just hoped it
wouldn't be too much of a moralistic episode as the last thing he needed
to hear right now was Janeway spouting about loyalty and justice.
He'd heard a similar speech from most of the people he had ever worked
with but very few had deserved such loyalty although most had attained
some form of divine justice by his reckoning. Mulder had been one of the
exceptions. It still pained him that he had been forced to betray the begrudging
bond that had started to form between them. If only.... His entire existence
seemed to be full of 'if only'.
The Well-Manicured Man listened to the debate in silence. He had heard
it all before and shook his head slightly in barely concealed disgust as
the First Elder re-emphasised the need to follow the Colonist's agenda
to the letter. The men in this room were supposed to be some of the most
powerful people on the face of the planet yet they milled around and argued
pitifully about the consequences of any opposition to the Colonist plans
for Earth. They had bought the 'party line' fed to them by the Aliens ignoring
the truth like lambs waiting for the slaughter.
He thought again how fortunate he was that Alex Krycek had been in Kazakhstan
and had recognised the implications behind the mass murders at the Staging.
More importantly, that he had chosen to bring the sole survivor and a vial
of the Russian vaccine back to America as a bartering piece.
Until then no-one had any idea that Marita Covarrubias had been 'consorting'
with the enemy—in more ways than one. Somehow, she had managed to inveigle
her way into becoming Alex Krycek's associate, probably using her UN connections
to help him escape Russia with the boy. How else could she have known where
to find Krycek?
It was just as fortunate that when she decided to double-cross everyone
for Mulder, she had betrayed Krycek's whereabouts to the Consortium rather
than to the FBI Agent and, through sheer luck, she had chosen him to be
the recipient of that information. The Well-Manicured Man assumed the reason
was to have Krycek eliminated so he could not go after her. Of course,
she could have told Mulder but he had a habit of letting Krycek escape.
The Well-Manicured Man smiled slightly as he remembered the stunned
look on the young man's face as he searched around an empty room deep in
the bowels of the Russian ship. It was only then that he realised Covarrubias
had betrayed both of them and had taken the boy. Krycek had whirled round
to continue his search only to find himself being watched by the man he
had disparaged on the phone only a few hours earlier. The Well- Manicured
Man had made sure Krycek spotted the gun held loosely by his side and his
expression made it obvious that he would only use it if the younger man
made any stupid moves.
Handcuffing the renegade agent to one of the many pipes that ran through
the storage room seemed the proper course of action for, without the boy,
that left only Krycek with the knowledge of what had happened in Kazakhstan.
It took most of the day to trace Covarrubias. She had managed to travel
to the outskirts of Washington DC before stopping to contact Mulder but
the woman had unwittingly allowed the stitches sealing the boy's eyes,
nose and mouth to dry out making it possible for the alien-controlled boy
to remove them. The weakened alien had transferred to the woman before
she could complete the call to Agent Mulder but the ever present tap on
Mulder's so-called secure line at the Bureau had led his people to her
long before Mulder could arrive on the scene.
Convincing Krycek to part with the vaccine had turned out to be relatively
easy once he had explained the situation to the recalcitrant man. Fortunately,
Krycek had not called his bluff when he had proposed to let the Russian
ship return to Vladivostok with him still onboard. He contained another
smile at the petulance displayed as Krycek stated he had no intention of
saving Covarrubias. His statement had merely confirmed his possession of
the vaccine.
By rights he should have extracted the information from Krycek and then
killed him but, instead, he had taken pity on the young man. He knew most
of Krycek's chequered history and had watched his fall from grace with
a certain amount of regret. The boy had shown great potential and he had
hoped to entice him into working for him instead of his cigarette smoking
associate but the inexperienced agent had been too clever for his own good.
He had started to question the methods and reasons for the actions he was
being ordered to take, deliberately going against those that did not sit
well with his own sense of right and wrong. When he had escaped the car
bomb and gone on the run there was little that could be done to rectify
the situation. Krycek was on his own—or so it must have seemed.
The Well-Manicured Man smiled slightly, wondering whether Alex Krycek
had any inkling of the hard covert work it had taken to keep him safe from
the Cigarette-Smoking Man over the past few years. Well, his time and effort
had paid off. If Krycek had not survived then it was unlikely the Americans
would now be in possession of the Russian vaccine. Also, if he had not
converted Krycek to his cause then he would not have been able to get a
message to Mulder to save the life of the Rebel leader.
Marita Covarrubias had recovered from the Black Oil, having unwittingly
become the guinea pig to prove the Russian vaccine worked. It had taken
longer than originally estimated probably because the Russians vaccinated
first and then exposed the victims to the Oilians. He had still not decided
what to do with the young woman. The others had wanted her 'taken out of
the picture' but her actions were no different from those of Alexei Krycek.
Or were they? Someone had paid her quite handsomely for passing sensitive
information to Agent Mulder. The same could not be said for Alexei Krycek
who had given information to whoever could cause the most damage—free
of charge in most cases. So who was the more trustworthy—the woman who
could be bought or the man who truly believed in the cause?
Yes, he mused, Alex Krycek's return had been most fortuitous giving
him more hope than he had felt in three decades. With the vaccine and with
the Rebel Aliens on his side he finally had the chance to turn the tables
on the invading Colonists.
He sighed once more in annoyance. Despite all this, here they were,
arguing feebly about the consequences of using what they had gained, too
afraid the Colonists would withdraw their promise to spare the lives of
them and their families yet never considering how worthless such promises
were. These frightened old men had become the Planet's greatest enemies
but he could not change that. Every action had to be thought through carefully
with no room for mistakes. If they ever discovered he had aided the Rebel's
escape and had been undermining their attempts to end the Alien war then
he had no illusions as to where the next car bomb would be placed. All
he could do was battle on quietly, leaking information to the right people
whenever possible—and hope he didn't get caught before his work was done.
"She has produced results worthy of our respect. Her attempts to create
a new variation..."
"But her methods are questionable..."
"The results speak for themselves..."
The Well-Manicured Man decided it was time to speak.
"Her research is no longer of any relevance. We have a vaccine. She
has become a liability that must be removed."
The Cigarette-Smoking Man sucked hard on the ever-present Morley and
exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.
"You mean eliminated."
"My God, Man. Must everyone be murdered. Too many inexplicable deaths
or disappearances will put the World's media onto us. She knows nothing
beyond her genetic experimentation. She has no link to us or to our knowledge
of extra-terrestrials. Let her fall foul of the known laws of this land
and its consequences."
The First Elder spoke softly.
"And how do you propose to do that?"
"Agent Mulder." The Well-Manicured Man glanced around and the puzzled
yet intrigued faces. "Tell Agent Mulder there is more to the girl's death
than has been revealed. The man is tenacious and has superior deductive
skills. With a few pointers in the right direction he will uncover her
vile experiments and have her taken into custody. The Court will ensure
she receives a punishment to fit her crime."
Silence followed until the First Elder made his decision.
"You will make the necessary arrangements?"
"Yes."
He glanced around the room as each nodded their agreement to his plan.
As the last person left the room he smiled. The renegade Doctor had worked
quite closely with his dead lover, Dr Bonita Charne-Sayre and Bonita had
hated her, constantly questioning her inhumane approach. It felt good to
be the one to bring about her downfall.
The smile faltered. In his own way he had loved Bonita and her murder
had caused him much personal grief. At first he had tried to locate the
assassin, Vassily Peskow, but knew the man was just doing a job. Further
investigation had provided him with the name of the man who had ordered
the assassination: Comrade Arntzen and his contact—Dr Martha J Hudson.
At first he had been mislead into believing that Alexei Krycek and Arntzen
were one in the same but it soon became apparent that they were two separate
people. Krycek had sent Peskow to America to dispose of the Black Oil rock
not realising that the assassin had received additional instructions from
the Krasnoyarsk Controller, Arntzen, to eliminate the intended recipient,
Dr Charne-Sayre and destroy her work. Arntzen was well aware that America
and Russia were in a race to be the first to produce a vaccine against
the Black Oil with World domination the prize at stake. By eliminating
Dr Charne-Sayre and her work he would set the Americans back by more than
a decade.
A half-smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He had already set the
wheels in motion that would ensure Comrade Arntzen paid for what he had
done and now he would deal with Dr Hudson.
His thoughts returned to his new protégé. It was time to re-introduce
Alexei Krycek to Special Agent Fox Mulder and his partner. If his plan
worked then, not only would he be rid of Dr Hudson but he would have created
a formidable trio that may just make the difference in the coming fight
for the future. Fox Mulder, highly intelligent, determined, a crusader.
Dana Scully, an expert in Forensics and Alexei Krycek, currently being
primed with all the knowledge he possessed on both the Colonists and the
Consortium's involvement—past, present and future.
The Well-Manicured Man reached for the telephone and dialled a familiar
number.
The phone rang pulling him away from the depressing thoughts and he
debated whether or not to answer but then realised that only one man had
this number: his new Employer.
"Yes."
Mr Krycek, I want you to feed some information to Agent Mulder.
Krycek felt his breath catch. There were so few opportunities to indulge
in his favourite pastime: Mulder watching, that it gave him a feeling close
to ecstasy when he was actually given a task that would bring him back
into contact with the FBI agent.
He listened carefully, almost gratefully, as the Englishman stated his
instructions but left the delivery method up to the younger agent. Krycek
smiled. It was fortunate his superior rarely questioned his methods otherwise
he might have found it strange that Krycek went to such lengths to deliver
the goods face-to-face when a telephone call or cryptic note would suffice.
The smile faded. Despite his new alliance, Krycek knew it would be foolish
to allow his private hopes and dreams to become known. After all, his alliance
with Cancerman had left him sitting on top of a car bomb and, later, left
for dead in an abandoned missile silo in North Dakota. Who knows what use
his present Employer would make of Krycek's attraction to the FBI Agent
should it become known. No, despite everything he owed to the Well-Manicured
Man, he would have to be very careful not to reveal anything that could
jeopardise his safety—or Mulder's.
He pushed aside his concerns knowing the chances of anything happening
were very slim and focused his mind on the task ahead, wondering how best
to approach the other man.
His thoughts raced back to the first time he had contacted Mulder since
their return from Tunguska. He had waited behind the door and watched as
Mulder walked slowly towards the piece of paper he had left lying where
the light from the outside corridor would catch it. Mulder had crouched
over and picked it up and, for once, that paranoid mind had not connected
anything overly sinister to that scrap of paper, just puzzlement at what
it could be doing lying on the floor just there.
On reflection, Alex decided he must have assumed it had fallen from
his own pocket as he left his apartment that morning but Krycek had taken
full advantage of the other's distraction, getting his own back for some
of the uncalled-for punches that Mulder had dealt during past encounters.
With Mulder cornered, his own gun pressed against his chest, Krycek
had delivered his Employer's message with all the sincerity he could muster.
Hoping to convince Mulder that he was being handed something of great importance
rather than being used once again revealing more than he should but knowing
how necessary it was that Fox Mulder believed him. However, at the time,
he could not explain the sudden urge to kiss the other man; an urge he
had acted upon. Nor could he explain the nonchalant way he had handed over
the gun after delivering the message.
Even now he wondered at the indifference he had felt, unconcerned whether
or not Mulder would take the opportunity to avenge his father's death but
no bullet had slammed into his unprotected back. Instead, his thoughts
still lingered on those few seconds when his mouth had grazed Mulder's
stubbled cheek and, in his mind's eye, he almost believed Mulder had accepted
the kiss, turning his face towards him rather than away in disgust.
Since then, he had met with the FBI agent on two more occasions under
the orders of his patron, passing snippets of information that would both
arouse Mulder's curiosity and expose elements of the Plan that would have
a detrimental effect on the one true goal: to rid Earth of the invading
Colonists. On both occasions he had snuck up on the Agent unawares; once
by waiting in the back seat of his car in a darkened parking lot, the second
time by waiting in the shadows beneath the supposedly impenetrable FBI
Headquarters.
Each time he had felt desire course through his nerve endings as he
breathed in the very real scent of this man; the fresh citrus tang of soap
and after-shave that drifted above an earthier smell which was unique to
Fox Mulder. In the semi- darkness, Mulder's eyes had seemed almost black,
his golden skin tones washed to sallow in the bleaching yellow parking
lot lights but Krycek had his memories garnered from watching Mulder from
afar whenever the opportunity arose.
He barely withheld a smirk as he remembered one occasion when he waited
in the park in full view of all the early morning joggers. Mulder had run
past without even glancing in his direction, the sharp, incisive mind absent
from that athletic frame as it pondered the mysteries of the Universe.
He was, after all, just one more newspaper-concealed office worker taking
a quiet break before the start of another day. Krycek's eyes had followed
the lean, almost lanky, figure hungrily as the long legs carried him off
into the distance, marvelling at the sight of muscles bunching and releasing
with each stride.
For a moment he considered leaving his assigned task until morning and
waiting for Mulder along his jog route, mentally visualising the muscular
frame soaked in sweat, hair dampened by the exertion but sighed in weary
disappointment. The message had to be delivered quickly.
Alex glanced at the clock on the wall. Following the destruction of
the basement office, Mulder and Scully had been reassigned to more mainstream
FBI cases but, if Mulder was running true to form then he would continue
to work until late into the night on a more personal case, that of trying
to piece together the burnt remains of the X-Files, giving Krycek plenty
of time to get down to DC.
He decided on his plan of action and pushed himself off the sofa, tugging
off his white T-shirt as he moved towards the bedroom. Once there he strapped
on the prosthesis and re- dressed choosing a dark shirt, black denims and
his black leather jacket. He wasn't a vain man but quickly assessed himself
in the full length wardrobe mirror, running a hand through short, cropped
hair before pulling a dark leather glove onto his right hand. The artificial
hand was already covered. He paused once at the threshold, glancing back
into the flickering lounge but decided to leave the TV on. It might deter
the local street gang from breaking in if they thought the place was occupied.
FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder stepped inside his apartment, pushed the
door closed and shrugged out of his raincoat. He shook some of the rain
from his head before making his way across the room into the bathroom,
switching on a table lamp on route. He splashed water over his face and
then stared at himself in the shaving mirror. He'd made so little progress
today despite his photographic memory. He lowered his head as he felt the
sting of tears. When had his life turned to total crap? If not for Scully
then he felt he would go mad. His existence seemed to be spinning slowly
round, aimlessly, except for those few occasions when Alex Krycek popped
his head out of the woodwork like the rat he had named him. Ratboy.
Mulder sighed. Why was it so impossible to stop thinking about Alex
Krycek? Even his dreams, once overflowing with erotic images, dredged up
from his vast porno collection, were filled with the dark presence. He
couldn't even escape from him while jogging, feeling almost certain he
had seen Krycek, or at least someone very like him, on one occasion but
that couldn't be possible. The other man knew better than to come out into
the open anywhere near lest he find a bullet placed neatly between his
ears but Mulder could not shake the feeling that he had run past the...
the...
How should he describe Alexei Krycek? Ex-FBI Agent? Double, no, Triple
Agent? Traitor, Murderer, Russian Agent? Ratboy...? But none of these truly
encompassed the man, there was so much more to him, so many layers that
he could spend a lifetime peeling Alex Krycek down to the core. The Psychologist
in him wanted to try.. and so did another part of him that ached when he
found Alex Krycek in his thoughts.
His mind replayed the moment of the fatal kiss that had turned his life
upside-down. The sudden pressure of soft lips, the cool air against his
damp cheek as Alex pulled away. Why? Why did Alex kiss him? Did Alex know
how it would affect him? Was it some mischievous repayment for that stupid
comment about beating himself with one hand? A reminder that it didn't
have to be that way—for either of them?
"This is stupid. Stupid." Mulder castigated himself as he reached for
a hand towel.
He returned from the bathroom scrubbing his wet hair with the towel,
concentrating so intensely on the task at hand that he almost missed the
small shuffle as something moved in his apartment. Instinct took over and
brought an instant reaction as Mulder drew his SIG Sauer; the towel dropping
to the floor in a small insignificant heap.
"One of these days it won't be a friendly visitor."
Mulder relaxed slightly as the husky, well remembered voice reached
him. Knowing that, if Alex wanted him dead then he would already be quite
dead, yet, at the same time, wondering whether he had somehow conjured
up this man while he was thinking of him in the bathroom.
"You're no friend, Krycek."
Krycek grimaced as a heart-rending sadness crushed his chest and watched
as Mulder lowered the gun but make no effort to holster it. At least they
had reached a point where they could talk without needing to hold a gun
to each other's head. His own was lying near his right hand on the couch;
a dull metallic gleam in the lamplight.
"I assume your Master has some dirty linen he wants me to wash and air."
Krycek refused to be lured into a slanging match instead he pushed a
cutting from a newspaper across the coffee table towards his one-time partner
being careful not to move too far into the weak light emanating from the
side-table. Mulder picked up the cutting, his eyes never leaving the shadowed
face, wishing he had flicked on the overhead lights rather than the concealing
lamp. It had been so long since he had seen Alex Krycek in full light.
He gestured to the piece of paper in his hand.
"What is it?"
The silence lengthened until Mulder was forced to move towards the lamp
where he could quickly scan the paper to satisfy his curiosity. Krycek
stayed deep in the shadow, unmoving except for eyes that followed the tall
agent as Mulder crossed the room, casting long shadows that touched him
as the Agent moved between him and the lamp's meagre light.
"Jennifer Lewis, age four, drowned after wandering into the Everglades."
Mulder glanced back to where Krycek sat as if made of stone. "Tragic but?"
"Poor little Jennifer isn't the only accidental death in Christchurch,
Florida."
Mulder scanned through the print once more, this time trying to read
between the lines of text.
"You're implying this wasn't an accident." Mulder watched as Krycek
pushed himself up from the couch. The former agent walked towards the door
without looking back but Mulder wasn't about to let him go and crossed
the room in two quick strides. The sudden grip on his arm swung Krycek
around to face Fox Mulder.
"What's going on, Krycek? Is this another Emily?"
For the briefest moment, he thought Mulder was going to resume his habit
of using him for a punch bag and was half prepared to defend himself as
he shrugged off the hand that still clung to the sleeve of his leather
jacket, but Mulder made no move, despite the aggressive body language.
He turned back towards the door throwing one more sentence Mulder's way
before shutting it behind him.
"Maybe I'll see you down there."
As he walked down the hallway his thoughts were in a turmoil. He had
done it again; turned his back on Mulder and walked away in a manner that
could only be perceived as arrogant. He wondered if Mulder would ever realise
how much he offered him... that if he had to die then death at Mulder's
hand would be a far better fate than any other he could imagine.
He turned up the leather collar and buried his good hand deep into the
pocket of his jacket as he entered the rain-drenched street. It had started
to rain while he had been waiting inside for Mulder, the pitter-patter
of droplets striking the window pane lulling his body into much needed
sleep. Only the sound of the key turning in the lock had awakened him but
he had the sense and experience to remain still, knowing how the human
eye tended to catch motion.
Krycek paused mid-step, tempted to look back to see if Fox Mulder was
watching him from the window that overlooked the street but savagely pushed
down that need and carried on. He had left his car two blocks away to avoid
Mulder becoming suspicious of an unknown vehicle parked close by, wanting
the total element of surprise but now, as droplets forced their way down
the back of his neck he regretted that decision. His step increased slightly
as he spotted his rented Chrysler Neon in the distance.
As he crossed the last intersection he noticed a car drawing up beside
him. His first thought was that this might be a red- light district, the
driver cruising around looking for some paid company to shut out the chill
of a cold, rainy night but he had seen no sign of prostitutes or rent boys
on the walk to Mulder's apartment. His next thought was to run until a
well- hated voice cut through the night air.
"I assume you have passed on the information as instructed."
Krycek stood beside the car door, refusing to look towards his personal
nemesis, the rain running in rivulets down his face. So, this particular
assignment was not set up by his Employer. The Consortium must have made
the decision to use Fox Mulder and left the details to the Well-Manicured
Man.
"Was he interested?"
Krycek pursed his lips, not wanting to speak lest it gave the other
man some right over him but he had no option. He had to work with this
man no matter how much it cut him up inside.
"I believe so."
"Very good, Alex."
The smug voice grated on Krycek's nerves and it was all he could do
to stop himself from turning and spitting directly into the man's face
but, fortunately, the electric window rolled back up before he could lose
control. The dark sedan pulled away smoothly, disappearing into the night
leaving Krycek alone on the dark, wet street, wondering whether he had
somehow betrayed himself to Cancerman.
As his car sped away, the Cigarette-Smoking Man lit another Morley and
smiled.
It had not taken him long to discover how Krycek had managed to ingratiate
himself with the Consortium once more although, at first, he had declined
to believe the rumour that his ex-protégé had been sleeping with Marita
Covarrubias. Sex could be a powerful weapon in the right hands and he had
felt momentary disappointment with Krycek for allowing her to deceive him
so effectively. No, he could not believe the agent would be so foolish
as to trust her implicitly and, sure enough, when he learnt that she had
turned up infected by the Black Oil he had felt an almost paternal pride
in the younger man's ingenuity.
He knew from personal experience that Alex Krycek was not averse to
using sex as a means to an end and had probably used her to provide a means
of escape from Russia with the Kazakhstan boy. It was one of the many reasons
he had recruited him rather than search for some other idealistic young
man. He also knew Alex had a preference towards males and someone willing
to bed either sex was a much greater asset to him in a game where blackmail
and subterfuge played such a vital role, plus, Alex Krycek was a very good-looking
man.
His thoughts turned to the reason why he was driving through the streets
of Washington DC in the pouring rain so late at night. To his knowledge
this was the third time Krycek had chosen to visit Mulder personally to
deliver information rather than use more discreet methods.
He took a long drag, the red tip glowing brighter in the darkened interior
of the car. Perhaps Special Agent Fox William Mulder had become such a
preference. He exhaled softly. That would be a shame as he had renewed
designs on the young man for himself.
Alex Krycek had preyed on him from the very beginning. In the early
days, Alex had been more than willing to ensure his Employer wanted for
nothing, his response both wanton and energetic but gradually he had changed.
Cancerman realised too late that he had allowed personal lust to overcome
discretion. Krycek had too much intelligence to remain in such a state
of naiveté forever. He had started to question and the answers he found
did not match the facts.
Partnering him with Fox Mulder had been a mistake although, at the time,
it had seemed an excellent way of controlling the inquisitive FBI agent
but it was inevitable that Krycek would be seduced by the other's quest,
not understanding why it was so important to keep Mulder from the Truth.
Several disobeyed orders had caused embarrassment but, even so, the
decision to remove his young protégé had not come lightly and, if truth
be known, he was glad the attempt had failed.
If it had been Krycek alone then he might have conveniently neglected
to hunt down the younger man, hoping he would disappear until he was forgotten
by the others but Krycek had taken with him the DAT tape containing more
information than any one person had the right to know. Even so, he had
a strong suspicion that someone had helped to keep Krycek safe.
Krycek's reappearance at his apartment as the host body to a strong
Oilian had presented him with a dilemma and he had no choice but to follow
the Oilian's request and return it to its ship. He needed the safe return
of the DAT tape to prove to the others that he could handle his job. The
hardest part had been waiting in the corridor outside Silo 1013 listening
to Alex as he pounded on the door, screaming, pleading to be let out and
his resolve had almost weakened but his orders from the Colonists were
clear. No interference, so he had walked away and tried to forget the beautiful
green eyes and soft mouth, convincing himself that there would be other
more desirable bodies to warm the cold nights.
Against all the odds, Krycek had turned up once more to thwart plans
to steal samples of the Russian Black Oil that had been found within a
meteor at Tunguska. How he knew remained a mystery but the reason became
clear when Cancerman discovered how Krycek had infiltrated the Russian
Consortium.
He thought back to his hiding place in Quebec. Somehow he had given
away his location—probably through those letters sent to his estranged
son. The Well-Manicured Man had sent Alex Krycek to collect him. He had
spent several hours seated next to his ex-lover on the journey back to
the States, feeling both elated and tormented by the nearness of the warm,
familiar body, but Krycek had sneered at every attempt to remind him of
those early days and, by the end of the journey, he had decided to take
the arrogant young man down a peg or two and slake his own renewed desires
at the same time.
Yes, a real pity about Fox William Mulder but possibly the leverage
he needed to get Krycek to do his bidding and share his bed again, willing
or not.
Krycek sighed as he shut the door to his apartment behind him.
The journey back to New York had been slower than he would have liked.
Delays at Dulles had added two hours to the trip and it was well after
four by the time he reached the small apartment. During the journey, most
of his thoughts had travelled back in time to a flight from Quebec with
Cancerman. He had spent much of that trip remembering a relationship he
would much rather pretend had never happened and when the older man had
pressed his hand firmly on Krycek's thigh, suggestively, he had barely
managed to control the impulse to kill him and be damned. He had made it
abundantly clear that the cancerous old fool would never touch him intimately
again and, for one moment, had seen something very cold and dark in those
rheumy, blue eyes. Cancerman was not the kind of person you wanted to cross
unless you were willing to pay a high price.
This trip had been filled with similar dark thoughts, much to the concern
of the unwary business traveller seated next to him. Eventually, the man
had moved away to another seat, rather than remain within the crackling
aura of cold menace emanating from the handsome stranger.
Krycek took a long, hot shower, hoping to shake off more than just the
chill caused by cold rain seeping down his back. He had been careless—and he had thought he was being so discreet. Cancerman had not reached
such a high position through lack of attention to detail and the very fact
that he was in Mulder's street waiting for him to leave Mulder's apartment
proved he had already figured out something of importance. How he used
that knowledge against his former employee was the concern.
The hot water eased away the stiffness from the cold, damp air but did
little to warm the chill that had crept into his soul. With a sigh of despair,
Krycek pushed his fears away. There was nothing he could do except wait
for the axe to fall and hope that he would be ready when it did.
He climbed between the cold sheets, pulling a blanket up to his shoulders
and, with the ease of a man who has had to sleep under the most difficult
of circumstances, he surrendered himself to the remainder of the night,
hoping that his dreams would not be filled with the same despair.
Krycek yawned. His sleep had not been peaceful. He had suffered from
nightmares ever since his confinement in Silo 1013 but last night they
had altered to include the menacing presence of his ex-Employer. In his
dream, Cancerman had been watching him through the small window in the
silo door—he could see the tip of the ever-present cigarette glowing
in the darkness beyond. He had cried out and seen the old man smiling at
him before drifting away in the gloomy shadows, leaving him to his fate.
His mobile phone trilled, dragging him away from the unpleasant memory.
Krycek smiled as his informant gave him the information he needed. He
jotted down a few details and then punched in the number he had memorised.
"Krycek."
He waited patiently for his Employer to take the call and was rewarded
by the sound of a clipped British accent.
"He's interested. Sources indicate he has already booked two tickets
to Florida."
So he's taking Agent Scully with him.
Krycek didn't bother to confirm even though the partnership had been
disbanded following the destruction of the X-Files. For some reason, AD
Skinner made every effort to keep Mulder and Scully together using Dana
Scully's expertise in Forensics as justification although it helped that
the Well-Manicured Man was in a position to nudge those higher up in the
FBI in the direction he wanted. Of course it was also easier to manipulate
the others when the case seemed to involve 'normal' rather than 'paranormal'
investigation.
I want you to follow Agents Mulder and Scully. Provide them with direction
as necessary but do not make direct contact with them without my authorisation.
Krycek nodded to himself, all the time wondering at his parting words
to Mulder and how prophetic they had turned out to be, yet, at the same
time, concerned at his sudden orders to keep a personal watch on the two
FBI agents. How much had Cancerman told the Well-Manicured Man about their
past association? Was this a set-up? Or was he being primed for something
more?
Krycek waited until he had received all the information and then took
a deep breath as he exposed the cause of his latest nightmare.
"What about our cigarette smoking associate?"
There was a pause, short but noticeable.
A difficulty but unavoidable. Another pause. I must be kept informed
of all progress. You have your instructions.
The line went dead. It was clear his patron had not anticipated Cancerman's
direct involvement and yet was not surprised nonetheless. Krycek recognised
the emphasis on 'I' and 'all', well aware of the implication. The Cigarette-Smoking
Man was going to be a problem but his Employer had made it clear he was
to report directly to him rather than to any other member of the Consortium.
It gave him hope that he might be offered some protection from his former
employer but it was short-lived. Krycek could not shake off a feeling of
dread as something he had overheard came back to haunt him. When his Employer
had told the small boy there was no need to be afraid, Gibson Praise had
called him a liar, bundling him into the same package as Cancerman. He
wished he had the ability to read minds, to be able to separate the lies
from the truth. To be able to place his full trust in the man who had taken
him under his wing.
For purely selfish reasons, Krycek wondered where the boy was now. Perhaps
he ought to make discreet enquiries.
The sun was very low in the sky by the time they pulled into the parking
lot of the small motel. After booking in at Reception Mulder watched as
Dana Scully retrieved her luggage from the rental. They walked in silence
to their respective rooms, lingering on the threshold to make arrangements
for an evening meal before each retreated into their temporary new home
to freshen up.
As the doors closed behind them, Alex Krycek stepped out from the deep
shadows opposite and leaned against the wall. Scully's presence would make
life difficult but then again, maybe Mulder would stop threatening to beat
him to a pulp if he had an audience... unless she came from the Skinner
School of Hard Knocks.
Krycek grimaced as he remembered that night spent on Skinner's balcony
- and the hard punch in the stomach that had preceded it. The AD had told
him it didn't make them even and Alex believed him. If only the man realised
that the incapacitating blows on the hospital stairwell were the only reason
why Luis Cardinal had not put a bullet through the Assistant Director's
skull. Cardinal had been a hot-headed Hispanic, far too willing to shoot
first and then ask questions as he had demonstrated when he killed Scully's
sister, Melissa, and then later when he had gut-shot Skinner—plus his
orders from Cancerman had been; 'If he tries to follow then kill him'.
Only Krycek's intervention had kept the AD alive.
Alex smiled. Cardinal was one of those men who had demanded loyalty,
displayed none and had been shown divine retribution... and Krycek was
more than thankful the sadistic bastard had ceased to be a problem.
His thoughts moved back to the job in hand. Whatever happened he knew
he had to keep a close eye on the two Federal agents and help them as much
as he could without them knowing. He sighed, wondering how much harder
this job would turn out to be now his paranoia was in full swing. If only
he could guarantee Cancerman was fully occupied elsewhere but he had little
hope. There was a rift within the Consortium and the Well-Manicured Man
and Cancerman were on different sides of that ever widening gap.
For a moment he re-considered letting his new employer know of his attraction
to Mulder but he quickly put that thought out of his head. He was just
a small cog in a very large mechanism—easily replaceable. The Well-Manicured
Man would have no reason to protect him in spite of all he had done in
putting the Black Oil vaccine into his possession. No, the axe was poised
and he would have to find a way to dodge it when it fell.
He gazed up into a beautiful starlit night and shivered despite the
warmth of the evening. The stars no longer seemed friendly. He had learned
too much to ever look up again and feel that sense of awe knowing now that
humanity's insignificance had become its downfall although some hope remained;
a hope that was tied up with the rebel aliens.
He paused for a moment wondering exactly who they were and why they
wanted to stop the colonisation. Could they truly care about the people
of this planet? Their extermination of abductees at Kazakhstan, Skyland
Mountain and the Ruskin Dam belied their good intentions but then, without
the test subjects, the Colonists would find their plans set back by many
years giving the humans more time to prepare defences. Or were the Rebels
after this planet for themselves?
Krycek felt his head begin to spin with contradictory thoughts. Who
could he trust? His Employer? The Rebels? Mulder? During one candid moment
the FBI Agent had told him he trusted no-one. Krycek sneered, since the
Piper Maru incident he no longer even trusted himself.
He dropped his gaze to focus on the ground and walked back to his rental
which was standing a short distance away in the parking lot attached to
a Denny's diner debating whether to make a quick stop for a burger and
fries. Thoughts of being chanced upon by Fox Mulder as he waited for his
order pushed that idea out of his head. There was bound to be another diner
closer to his own rented room.
He opened the windows fully on the short drive to his motel, hoping
the fresh, warm air would invigorate him, pulling him out of the blue funk
he had sunk into since the previous evening.
Mulder threw his suitcase on the floor by the side of the bed, dug around
for his toiletries and entered the small, impersonal bathroom. He glanced
around. He hated bathrooms ever since he found his father dying on the
floor of one but for all the wrong reasons. If his father had lived then
perhaps he would have the full truth about Samantha that he had been seeking
for so long. Perhaps he would have been able to put this one-man crusade
behind him and start his life over.
He sniffed at this thought trying to imagine a different life to the
one he had led for the past decade. Perhaps, with his skills in psychology,
he could have been earning a fortune in Beverly Hills pandering to the
delusions of movie stars rather than staring at his reflection in the cracked
bathroom mirror in a cheap Motel in Nowheresville. How different his life
might have been. Hell, he might even have had a social life.
His mind replayed one of the scenes from his porno collection; two men
pumping together at the edge of a beautiful heart- shaped pool, the Californian
sun beating down on their golden tanned torsos as they writhed in ecstasy,
with alternating groans and cries of pleasure rising to a crescendo as
the camera zoomed in for a slow motion visual of their cum arcing across
their perfect bodies. He let himself become one of those men, imagining
his voice, soft and gentle, assuring the other man that this was the right
way to deal with the anxieties and stress of the fast lane. He pushed an
errant lock of sweat- soaked hair back from the high forehead and gazed
into sated, deep green....
His eyes snapped open as the image of the other man blurred into Alex
Krycek. Shame and anger burnt his cheeks as yet another of his favourite
fantasies fell beneath the wheels of his desire for the dark-haired, green-eyed
fallen angel.
Holding his temper in check, Mulder shook out a couple of Tylenol to
forestall the familiar headache that was threatening to grow behind his
eyes and then he glanced at his wristwatch before returning to the small
bedroom. He had agreed to meet Scully at Denny's in one hour but there
was no reason why he could not go earlier. Rather that than remain in the
rundown motel room counting the number of flowers on the peeling wallpaper
- or thinking of Alex Krycek.
As he left the room a distant figure caught his attention. A familiar,
muscular frame walking across the nearby parking lot. Mulder moved off
slowly then increased his speed as the figure climbed behind the wheel
of a dark vehicle. He angled his run to try and intercept the car at the
exit but slowed down when he realised it was too far away. He jogged to
a halt and stared at the receding tail lights and then shook his head in
annoyance. Why did every shadowy figure have to remind him of Alex Krycek?
After he had placed his order for coffee, his thoughts turned back to
his ex-partner. It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that the Consortium
Agent should be here. After all, Krycek's last words had implied that he
might be around but...
As he took his first sip the door opened and Dana Scully walked in.
She slid into the seat opposite.
"I called on you early and figured you might come here."
Mulder smiled, welcoming the company. Dana Scully raised a quizzical
eyebrow as Mulder's expression changed.
"Penny for them?"
He studied her face, tempted momentarily to inform her of his suspicion
that Alex Krycek was in Florida but decided not to. She did not know about
his unasked for contact with the ex-FBI agent and he could imagine her
response if he let on. No... Some things were best left unsaid.
The first point of call for any Field Agent had always been the Sheriff's
office. It was a common courtesy to let the local authorities know you
were in their neck of the woods. It was also the natural place to start
the investigation on this case but Sheriff Davis had 'gone 'gator hunting'
and was unobtainable. The covering Deputy was a little reluctant to release
the file on Jennifer Lewis especially when he saw the legend 'Accidental
Death' stamped in red across the front.
Mulder threw his head back in disgust. It was always the same whenever
they had to deal with the local cops but Mulder couldn't explain that their
petty fears were groundless. He was not there to tread on any toes, intentionally
or otherwise, or to prove they couldn't do their job... He was there because
he believed there was more to the case than others were willing to believe...
and because it was better than sitting behind a desk wondering where his
lifework had disappeared to, even if the assignment had been instigated
through Alex Krycek.
The Deputy did a pretty good job in trying to persuade Mulder to come
back later in the day after he had managed to contact the Sheriff but eventually
realised that this was one Federal Agent that was not going to be put off.
He listened carefully to the Agent's reasoning and, finally, relented.
What harm could it do? he thought to himself as he handed over the
file. He had worked on the case himself and knew they had covered all angles.
It was a tragic accident and nothing more.
Mulder and Scully spent the remainder of the morning reading through
the statements from various notables: Dr Martins, the Coroner; Dr Hudson,
attending Physician; the men who found the dead girl and the Deputy who
attended the scene. All in all there were around a dozen reports and statements
to sift through.
Scully leaned back and rubbed her hands across tired eyes.
"I can't find anything irregular here, Mulder. The autopsy shows fluid
in her lungs so to all intents and purposes, Jennifer Lewis wandered out
of the grounds into the Everglades, fell into the water and drowned."
"There has to be something we're missing. Pass me the statement from
Dr Hudson."
"You've read it through twice, Mulder, and so have I. There's nothing
there. The girl slipped away from her supervisor and was dead by the time
they found her. Investigating cases of negligence is not up to the FBI.
The local Sheriff's Department has...."
"Done nothing. No inspection of the premises, no check on procedures.
That's it." Mulder looked up at Scully triumphantly as if he had just placed
the last piece in a jigsaw puzzle.
"What's it, Mulder?"
"Where's that Pathology report?"
"Mulder! I think you're making something out of nothing."
Fox Mulder scanned back through the Pathologists report. The autopsy
revealed very little except that the girl had fluid in her lungs. There
was no Toxicology report, no X-rays. He pointed this out to Scully.
"That's not unusual in clear cut cases such as this...."
Mulder threw his head back in exasperation.
"I don't get it, Scully. Why send us down here? There has to be something..."
An hour later and no further forward, Mulder threw down the report and
buried his head in his hands. He rubbed tired eyes before running his hands
backwards through his hair. He glanced up at his partner. Dana Scully sat
across the narrow desk, her small hands wrapped around a cold mug of coffee;
a faint look of boredom and frustration etched across her tired face. She
reached for another sandwich and grimaced. The edges had curled up in the
heat and the cheese within had started to sweat making it both look and
smell unappetising.
"You're right. There's nothing here." A moment passed. "Wait a minute.
He said she wasn't the only accidental death..."
"Who said...?"
"There's a terminal next door. I wonder if they're linked to the Coroner's..."
"Mulder!" Scully allowed her exasperation to escape in a single word
before admitting to herself that it would be easier to go along with his
train of thought than fight him. "I'll check the records for the past two
years. With a town this small it shouldn't take more than an hour." Then
maybe we can get out of here she added to herself. As she left the room
she could hear him murmuring, "there has to be something here."
Three hours later they had sifted through a dozen more Death Reports
and had visited both the Coroner and the men who found the girl's body.
Apart from a nasty moment when one of the men had described in glorious
Technicolor how an alligator liked it's meal there was nothing new to learn...
only that the girl had not attracted any alligators. It was unusual but
not unknown in these parts but it set all the alarms ringing in Mulder's
head.
"What are the chances of getting the body exhumed for Toxicology tests?"
"Nil. We have no justification. No new evidence to put forward..."
"The alligators, Scully."
Dana Scully brushed the hair back from her face. "Maybe they didn't
like the colour of her dress. Let's call it a day, Mulder. I could use
a shower..."
Mulder sighed in acknowledgement.
"And a decent cup of coffee," she added, grimacing as the cold, bitter
liquid like sludge found at the bottom of a river slid passed her taste
buds.
Back at the motel, Mulder placed a handful of ice into a towel and then
lay down on the bed placing the ice-filled towel over his face. In the
background he could hear the dissonant sounds from the TV and beyond that
the steady hum of an ancient air conditioner. He sighed as the ice cooled
his sweating forehead. The trilling of his cell-phone phone caught him
off guard but he reached for it quickly.
"Mulder."
Dr Martha J Hudson.
"Krycek?"
She 'supports' a local institute for children with special needs....that's
all I can tell you.
"Alex!" Mulder almost shouted his name but Krycek had already hung up.
He drew the mobile away from his ear and stared at it in frustration then
switched it off before dropping it onto the bed beside him and murmuring
to himself.
"Dr Martha J Hudson."
Krycek had to have had a good reason for giving him that name. He leapt
up from the bed and walked the short distance to Scully's door.
"Scully, it's Mulder."
The door opened to reveal his partner wrapped in a bath robe, her hair
caught up in a towel. He didn't wait for permission but wandered passed
her into the room and sat down on the easy chair.
"I just had a call from my informant. He gave me a name: Dr Martha Hudson."
"The attending Physician?"
Mulder nodded. "Have you got the details from those other files?"
"No, but I could get them in the morning. You want me to check for the
Doctor's name?"
Mulder nodded again. "He mentioned the Institute. We need to check how
many of these deaths involved patients from the Institute?....I'm gonna
make a call to Frohike."
Scully sat back on the bed in exasperation as the large whirlwind that
was Special Agent Fox Mulder pulled his cell- phone from his jacket pocket.
"It's Mulder. I need a favour. What can you get on a Dr Martha J Hudson?.....
Yeah, the interesting stuff.... Yeah, I'll hold on."
The minutes passed in silence and Scully spent the time watching the
variety of expressions that moved across Mulder's face and then the dawning
of understanding.
"I'll bring you back a gift from Disney World." Then Mulder laughed
in response to something, disconnected the call and turned to his partner.
"He said Disney was an anti-Semitic fascist and they'd prefer something
from the Cape."
Scully didn't bother to point out that the Cape was a fair distance
away, knowing that, somehow or other they would end up at Spaceport USA.
"Maybe I'll get the chance to take in a couple of IMAX: The Blue Planet
or..."
"I didn't realise they showed that kind of film there."
"Scully, I'm deeply offended...."
"What did Frohike have to say?"
"Martha Jean Hudson. Biochemist. Spent nine years in Genetics Research
at UCLA, twelve years working for the Military before her 'resignation'
two years ago. Been working at this Private Institute since then...only
the company paying her salary seems to be connected to the Pentagon. The
name Dr Charne-Sayre came up."
"You think she's experimenting on the patients?"
"Way to go, Scully."
"Mulder, you can't be serious..."
"Why not. They've been testing the Black Oil in the Old Folks homes
so why not the Children's." Mulder recognised the disbelief in her expression
but thought carefully before reminding her of the obvious. "Scully, they
used Emily." He hated to re-open old wounds but knew it was the only way
to cast doubt into her mind. "I think we should go pay Dr Hudson a visit."
"We can't go there just on hearsay. Don't you think we should wait until
I've rechecked the files?"
"If we wait too long we may lose her."
"You're taking the word of this informant a little too easy, Mulder.
Have they got some kinda hold on you? ....Mulder, what's wrong?" Scully
ceased her tirade when she noticed the strange expression cross her partner's
face.
Mulder pulled himself together quickly and rose to his feet.
"Indigestion. Think I'll turn in now, check out the Pay to View channels."
Scully watched in exasperation as Mulder walked out the door shutting
it firmly behind him. She closed her eyes for a moment. Working with Fox
Mulder was like trying to lasso a whirlwind. He raced through your life,
twisting back and forth as ideas formed, were studied, plans made and discarded
and then disappeared leaving you to deal with the mental wreckage... but
she loved it and, in a sisterly way, she loved him too.
When he finally slept, Mulder fell into a strange dream. Teal green
eyes, pupils enlarged in the semi-darkness looked deeply into his own.
Soft lips caressed his cheek and he felt his body respond to the warmth
that swelled within him. Strong fingers carded through his hair, pulling
his head forward until those lips met his own. A silken tongue danced teasingly
across but pulled away before he had the chance to capture it. The wan
light left deep shadows, emphasising the generous mouth and high cheekbones
but the figure continued to move back, gradually disappearing into the
darkness beyond.
"Alex!"
Mulder sat up, his breath coming in quick gasps. He spent a moment searching
in the flickering shadows within the room before realising it was all a
dream. Mulder shuddered and then lowered himself back down to the bed,
his breathing more controlled even if the rest of his body still cried
out in primitive need.
An hour later, Mulder was still awake. The flickering of the TV in the
darkened room cast ever changing shadows across the ceiling but rather
than having the usual soporific effect they seemed to increase the frenetic
activity in his brain. Eventually, he realised he would have to deal with
the thoughts crowding in on him or he would get no sleep that night.
Scully had asked what hold this man had on him and he allowed his mind
to drift back to the day it had all started; when a junior agent had been
assigned to the same case. Despite the greased back hair and cheap suit
Mulder could not deny the attraction he had felt for the younger man. Krycek
was his every waking dream and his every night time fantasy. The dark,
handsome looks, those beautiful green eyes framed by long dark lashes.
The mahogany hair, glinting shades of red and gold, that fell over his
face when he worked over reports. His voice soft, husky and melodic, his
body well-toned and well proportioned and that sensuous mouth—eminently
kissable.
That thought led him on to The Kiss. The feel of those warm, soft lips
upon his cheek, the rough brush against his own stubbled skin and the words
that followed.
'My Friend', Krycek had said.
Mulder wondered whether Alex Krycek knew he had spoken in Russian—or if he realised Mulder would remember the words and have them translated...but
it was more than just the words; it was the tone of his voice, the expression
on his face. There was no doubt in Mulder's mind that Krycek had meant
what he said.
'My Friend'.
Since that day they had met three more times but always under cover
of darkness and there had been no repeat of that spontaneous kiss yet Mulder
knew something had changed between them. Gone was the intense hatred, barely
controlled by his need to keep the other man alive in order to solve the
mysteries set before him. Instead he felt deep anger and feelings of betrayal
overlaid by desire.
But why betrayal?
Because he murdered my father! Because he framed me for the murder.
Because he helped them abduct Scully....because he left me to die at Tunguska.
Mulder stopped on that thought. Why did that hurt him so much? He had
kicked Krycek around, beat him, dragged him to Skinner's apartment, where
he had been punched and then left out on a cold balcony all night. Left
him handcuffed him to the steering wheel of the rental without caring if
the man would be trapped there until he died of thirst, then, after hearing
Krycek swear at him in Russian, he had dragged Krycek along on his crusade
giving no thought to the other man's safety. Both of them had been beaten
by the guards before Krycek had convinced one of them to take him to the
people in charge.
Mulder felt his heart go cold as he realised one other truth. If their
positions had been reversed would he have made much of an effort to have
Krycek freed from the dank cell and the agony of the test? Mulder knew
the answer was 'No' but, more importantly, he recognised why.
Within a few weeks of working with Krycek he had fallen for him; if
not in love then most certainly in lust—and he had broken his own rule.
He had started to trust the younger agent and when Krycek revealed his
true nature it had felt like a slap round the face but it had not ended
there. Like a miniature tornado, Krycek had wreaked havoc through his life
both mentally and physically.... but it was the betrayal of that trust
that had brought about the intense hatred. After all, weren't love and
hate flip sides of the same coin? So what had changed between them? What
had flipped the coin back into the air?
'My Friend'.
Mulder closed his eyes. He knew it could not be that simple. He carried
too many emotional scars from Alex Krycek but, deep down, he knew that
he would have to re-open those wounds one at a time before he could start
the true healing process. Unfortunately, it looked as if the bandage across
one particular tear had ripped away with a single kiss. Mulder decided
to linger on the thoughts that leaked through that old wound; the intensity
in those beautiful eyes, the soft, pliant lips against his cheek.
The anger still burned fiercely but so did his body when he thought
of Alex Krycek. He wanted to believe his original impression of Krycek
was right, that there was more to the man than a paid assassin and traitor.
He thought back to those early days when they had goofed around; the easy
camaraderie as they exchanged ideas and jokes and watched baseball. But
how much had been the real Alexei Krycek and how much had been an act to
fool him into trusting. That was the problem. That was the real reason
for his anger and the true source of his guilt.
Alex Krycek had killed his father yet it was this personal betrayal
that had mattered most.
Fox Mulder swallowed hard as he forced himself down a path he had considered
closed for a long time. His father: the reason why he had applied to a
British University when he could have had his pick of Yale, Princeton and
Harvard. Even then he had known his father was somehow involved in his
sister's abduction and the strain that knowledge brought had driven a wedge
between them.
Mulder forced himself to accept another truth. Before the murder he
had hated his father almost as much as he had loved him but the knowledge
he had gained since his father's death had tipped the balance the other
way. Now he could no longer think about his father without a shudder of
disgust. In fact, he was beginning to doubt that William Mulder was his
father but the alternative was almost unthinkable.
Mulder felt his chest tighten as he prepared to think the unthinkable.
What if Cancerman was his biological father? Samantha believed it and he
could not deny that she resembled the man. What if it were true? X had
shown him the photographs of his mother with Cancerman and had implied
there had been a lot more between them than mere friendship.
Skinner had handed him a blood-covered photo found in the Cigarette-Smoking
Man's 'private' apartment after the shooting—a picture of himself and
Samantha. Why would Cancerman have that particular photo? Mulder tried
to explain it away as a foster father wanting photos of his adopted daughter
- but he must have taken many far more personal photos of Samantha over
the years so why did he keep this one of brother and sister? Another thought
- perhaps he wanted to be reminded of the family he had destroyed—or
lost.
Mulder knew DNA testing could confirm or deny paternity but obtaining
samples from William Mulder and Cancerman would be impossible and, to be
brutally honest, he was not certain whether this was a truth he wanted
to discover.
He brought himself up short, aware of his attempt to avoid the real
issue. The true dilemma was that he felt guilty knowing he held more affection
for this murderer, Alexei Krycek, than he did for the man who had called
himself his father.
The Psychologist within him smiled and Fox Mulder took a deep shuddering
breath as some of his anxiety fell away in acceptance. It hadn't resolved
any of his feelings for Krycek but at least he would no longer transfer
all his own guilt onto the other man as well. Mulder closed his eyes and
let this new knowledge fill him and, eventually, he slept but this time
without dreaming.
The Well-Manicured Man's seamed face creased even more as he read the
report that had been handed over to him. Activity around one of the Consortium's
pharmaceutical subsidiaries in Florida had increased alarmingly but, what
was more amusing was the number of calls placed to a Dr Martha J Hudson
at the Christchurch Institute.
He had suspected for over a month that the subsidiary had been taken
over by Colonists and he had been working to confirm or deny this suspicion
by releasing information to certain members of the Group. This new link
between the various parts of the organisation gave him the proof he needed
and fulfilled his plan to make Dr Hudson a real threat but he knew he had
to act fast in case the situation spiralled out of control. That left him
one recourse, the option he had been hoping would present itself; to authorise
Krycek's direct involvement with Agents Mulder and Scully.
He had been working to this end and was pleased that all was going to
plan. His earlier outburst against eliminating Hudson provided the desired
alibi, throwing any suspicion away from him. Her elimination—no, extermination,
was now a requirement but he had to carry on with the game-plan until the
right opportunity presented itself.
The time to be extremely careful with every word and gesture had come.
Krycek watched from a window booth at the Denny's diner as Mulder and
Scully disappeared off to the Institute. His eyes followed the tall, athletic
frame, marvelling at the gracefulness displayed so casually. The Florida
sun caught Mulder's brown hair highlighting the reds and golds—and then
he ducked into the rental and was gone. Krycek sighed and beckoned to the
waitress. He ordered a breakfast, ate leisurely and then waited a little
longer until the small diner had cleared the breakfast crowd before making
the scheduled call at 10:00; it was answered immediately.
"Krycek."
A moments delay was followed by the sound of a recognisable voice: the
Well-Manicured Man. His patron did not bother with pleasantries but went
straight to the point.
The situation has taken a turn for the worse. Dr Hudson has become
aware of our displeasure and has been contacted by certain 'external' parties.
One word swept across Krycek's mind: Colonists.
I want you to assist Agents Mulder and Scully. Delay them as far as
you can without compromising yourself or their safety. I want the results
of the experiments but you must leave enough evidence behind for Mulder
to gain a conviction. We may still be able to salvage something from this
unfortunate affair.
Although his expression did not change, Krycek was inwardly relieved
by the final order. He would never regain Mulder's trust if he became a
party to the assassination of the very criminal he had sent Mulder to bring
to justice.
"And the 'external' party?"
Leave them alone unless they intervene. We will deal with them by
other means. I will make the necessary arrangements for your protection.
Expect to be contacted again through more 'official' channels.
A click was followed by the 'dead tone' as the man on the other end
of the line hung up leaving Alex Krycek lost in thought, the receiver still
held against his right ear. It was too late to catch up with the Agents,
they would have reached the Institute by now. All he could do was hope
they didn't push Hudson over the edge before he had the chance to hook
up with them or it would make his job a lot harder.
AD Skinner picked up the phone.
"Skinner."
He listened in silence as his immediate superior gave him instructions.
"Sir, may I ask where these instructions originated?"
Walter Skinner placed the phone back on its cradle and rubbed a hand
across the top of his head. The instructions had filtered down from the
Head of the FBI so he had no choice but to follow them to the letter but
he could not help feeling a constriction in his chest as anger seethed
beneath the surface. He called his Secretary.
"Kimberley, I need you to take down a letter and get it faxed to the
Florida Office. Also, I need the local office to draw up a couple of Search
Warrants. Judge Wilkins will authorise. The details should be faxed to
you shortly."
She entered carrying pen, paper and several sheets of Fax.
"They arrived while you were talking to the Section Chief."
Skinner drew his lips into a tight line of annoyance. Normally, when
he wanted to get anything done, the paper work and red tape took hours
of preparation and negotiation. It took him a moment to sort out the wording
in his head before he began to dictate the letter and he felt a stress
headache building with each word uttered. He didn't like this one little
bit.
The driveway leading up to the Institute was well maintained with low
shrubs and flowers separating the grey gravel from the verdant grass. Mulder
slowed the car and brought it to a complete stop parallel with the wide
doorway. He readjusted his shades as he stepped out of the car and tugged
at his tie to make himself more presentable. Looking across the top of
the car, Mulder caught the small smile that crossed Scully's face.
"It could be my lucky day."
Scully deigned to reply as anything she said would probably be met with
some wisecrack or a hurt expression and she really felt too hot to play
games.
"Let's just get inside."
"Heat getting to you, Scully."
Her glare of annoyance over the top of her sunglasses was met with a
cheeky grin. There was something about Mulder on a case that brought out
the mischievous boy in him. She followed him as he practically bounced
up the short flight of steps. Mulder removed his glasses as they entered
the foyer but had to wait a few seconds before his eyes could adjust to
the relative darkness. He quickly scanned the room.
On one side a counter ran the full length of the room with a hinged
access flap at the far end and behind the counter sat a middle-aged woman
with slightly greying hair tucked neatly up into a nurse's hat. She narrowed
her eyes at them in suspicion and waited for them to approach. Mulder reached
into his jacket and produced his FBI identification, holding the card before
her eyes.
"Agent Scully, Special Agent Mulder. We have an appointment with Dr
Martha Hudson."
"Mulder...." The woman made quite a deal out of searching for his name
on a short list in front of her before pointing to a bank of chairs opposite.
"If you wouldn't mind waiting over there while I inform Dr Hudson."
Scully raised her eyebrows at the barely restrained hostility sharing
a silent look with Mulder before moving across the foyer to the seats.
"I have a feeling we're not welcome here."
"Well, let's hope we don't have to spend the rest of the day waiting
here."
Mulder sighed, his previous buoyancy deflating as he recalled the number
of times he had been left to wait for hours on end in similar situations.
However, to his surprise the sound of purposeful steps echoing along the
hallway towards them heralded the arrival of a white-coated lady with blonde
hair fading to grey framing a face that could have been called beautiful
a decade earlier. He took an instant dislike to the woman but let his face
remain carefully neutral.
Before going to sleep last night he had gone over this coming interview
in his head a dozen times. The Doctor was working for the Military and
he had no doubts where their loyalty lay. He was convinced that they were
behind most of the so-called Alien Abductions—including Scully's. On
too many occasions he had been thwarted by Military protocol and cover-ups.
For starters, they had withheld the toxicology reports from Duane Barry's
autopsy and they had aided in the destruction of the buried train refrigeration
car in New Mexico.
He had decided to try and make this interview as light as possible wanting
to produce a reaction that could lead to mistakes but not so drastic that
he would lose his prey. He wanted Dr Hudson to become a little paranoid,
to start trying to cover her tracks because in doing so she might have
to dig up the dirt first and Mulder was planning on arriving with a shovel
when she led him to where the evidence was buried.
"Agent Mulder, I'm Dr Hudson."
"Dr Hudson, this is my partner, Agent Scully."
"If you'd like to follow me we can talk privately in my office."
The two agents followed the Doctor along the corridor and up a flight
of stairs. Almost opposite the staircase was a solid wood door with gold
lettering etched onto the surface: Dr M J Hudson.
Dr Hudson ushered them into the office and bade them sit while she walked
around to the other side of a large mahogany desk. She took a seat and
began instantly.
"As you may well appreciate, I am a busy woman. I have patients to see
so if we could make this quick."
"We're here to investigate the death of Jennifer Jane Lewis." The Doctor
raise her eyebrows, a look of exasperation crossing her face as Scully
continued. "Perhaps you can explain how she came to be wandering about
on her own outside the Institute grounds."
"I've told all this to the local Sheriff. He took a statement from me
at the time...."
"Sheriff Davis is not available at this time so if you wouldn't mind
repeating..."
"This is most irregular." The Doctor huffed in annoyance.
As the interview progressed, Dr Hudson became more and more edgy. Questions
relating to Jennifer's escape were easily fielded but the more personal
ones relating to her work at the Institute left her feeling cold. She had
been promised protection in her work yet here were the FBI prying into
her affairs. Somehow she managed to complete the interview without betraying
herself but had the feeling that they were not completely satisfied with
the answers she had given.
From her office window she watched as the two Agents left the building
and climbed into their rental, waiting until the car had turned out of
the driveway onto the main highway before returning to her desk. She picked
up the telephone and dialled a number she had memorised many weeks ago.
"Dr Hudson. I accept your offer."
Dr Hudson sat at her desk for several long minutes, staring at the computer
in front of her before reaching forward to switch it on. She reached into
a desk drawer and retrieved a DAT tape, placed it into the zip drive and
downloaded all the important documents in compressed format. Once she was
certain she had everything she purged the hard drive, not once but several
times.
She placed the tape into her pocket and moved across to the file cabinets.
A quick glance at her watch told her that she had a lot to, do but there
would be plenty of time before she was collected by her new employer.
When Krycek cautiously answered his hotel phone he had not known what
to expect but hearing the clipped British Accent gave him some relief.
The corner of West Grove and Pine Street in 45 minutes. Collect the
package and deliver it to Agent Mulder personally. If he has a problem
with accepting the content then....
Krycek listened carefully to the remainder of the message then replaced
the phone and pulled out the local map he had collected hours earlier.
He pinpointed the junction and estimated how long it would take to get
there and then realised he had at least 20 minutes to kill. He hated waiting
but better that that hanging around a drop zone too early.
15 minutes later he found himself behind the wheel of his car, having
run out of patience, pulling slowly out of the Diner's Parking Lot, heading
northwards to the rendezvous. He pulled up over a hundred metres away from
the junction and waited. Only 4 minutes to go.
A man arrived and Krycek found the corners of his mouth rising. The
man looked uncomfortable in his suit and tie in the Florida heat and had
the air of someone not used to hanging around on street corners. Probably
a Fibbie. The man glanced up and down the streets, stopping constantly
to check his watch.
For one perverse moment, Krycek found himself tempted to let the man
sweat it out for another few minutes but sighed in resignation. His Employer
had made it clear that things were not going too well and Krycek knew he
couldn't afford to foul up this meet.
He stepped from his car and walked slowly toward the man, coming up
behind him stealthily, almost smirking when the man turned to find Krycek
standing only a few feet behind his unprotected back. A hand automatically
jerked towards a concealed weapon but faltered.
"I believe you have a package for me."
"Are you Krycek?"
Krycek smiled, imagining the sarcastic response the man would have gained
from Fox Mulder. The Federal Agent almost blushed as he realised his stupid
mistake. Fortunately, he had been given a description of his contact and,
although the hair was a lot shorter, the face more mature, he knew it was
the same man. He handed over the manila envelope.
Krycek nodded and waited until the other man had backed off before returning
to his car. Once inside he opened the envelope and shook out the contents.
A broad smile crossed the handsome face.
"MY room has wallpaper so old-fashioned Noah would refuse to hang it
in the Ark"
"I've seen your wallpaper, Scully, and it would be classed as a modern
masterpiece compared to the cave drawings in my room."
Lunch had seemed quite a leisurely affair right up to the moment when
a man approached their table.
"Is this seat taken?"
"Krycek!"
Casually sitting down by Scully and placing his right hand in full view
on top of the table, Alex Krycek smiled as both FBI agents pulled their
guns. He spoke softly, a slight movement of his head indicating the nervous
attention being afforded the mismatched trio.
"You're making a scene."
He watched through cautious eyes as Mulder pursed his lips before placing
his gun back into its holster.
"It's OK, Scully."
"Mulder, he's a suspect in several murder cases as well as..."
"He's also my informant."
Scully regarded Mulder with incredulity.
"You came here on the word of this... liar and murderer."
"You can't deny the connections he has...."
"Had, Mulder. They want him dead just as much as..." Scully broke off,
well aware of what she had been about to say and, from the sudden closed
look on the handsome face beside her, well aware that Alex Krycek knew
it too.
"Scully, we don't have to like him..."
"Well, that's good because I don't."
"...but we may need him if we want to get to the bottom of this case."
"I was instructed to give you this."
Krycek handed over a large manila envelope and then leant back before
Mulder could question him further. Mulder glanced at Scully before tearing
it open and emptying the contents on the table in front of him. Inside
were several documents: two search warrants for Doctor Hudson's office
and home, a warrant to bring her in for questioning and a headed letter
legitimising their use of Krycek in the investigation.
Mulder stared hard at the words on the paper and then handed the letter
across to Scully, both eyebrows rising as she issued an expletive that
was totally out of character.
"Scully, I didn't know a good Catholic girl like you knew such a word..."
"This is a forgery, Mulder. No-one in their right mind would assign
him. We're being set-up..."
"What's the problem, Agent Scully? As far as I am aware there have never
been any formal charges brought against me. You have no proof for any of
the crimes you allege I have committed..?"
Mulder snarled back at the younger man.
"You're not working with us, Krycek."
Alex Krycek reached over and snatched Mulder's cell-phone from the table
top. He pushed a series of buttons and listened to the dialling tone. The
call was answered.
"Agent Mulder wants verification."
He held the phone out and it was taken, reluctantly. Mulder held it
up to his ear.
"Mulder."
Agent Mulder. I expect you have received some documents. Someone higher
up wants Krycek in on this. I don't like it but I have my orders and so
do you. When the case is over you're to cut him loose and give him 24 hours
before making any attempt to follow his trail. Do you understand?
Mulder glanced across at Scully.
"Yes, Sir, I understand..."
That applies to Scully too. I expect to be kept well informed on your
progress.
Mulder pursed his lips in annoyance. Any attempt to circumvent the orders
was now virtually impossible. He disconnected the call and looked at his
partner.
"Skinner. He's confirmed all this, including ...." Mulder indicated
Krycek with a dip of his head.
Scully shook her head in disbelief her expression telling him that she
like it even less than he did.
"Have you ordered yet?"
Krycek remained still as he tried to bring back some normalcy into the
bizarre situation. He continued to watch cautiously as Scully lowered her
gun, her blue eyes still locked on his, appetite chased away by the thought
of eating a meal with this man. Krycek looked over his shoulder and beckoned
the waitress. She straightened her pink-check uniform and approached the
table reluctantly. Krycek glanced at her name badge.
"Sally, I'll have the double cheeseburger with a side order of fries...
and coffee, strong and black."
Krycek looked enquiringly at his 'companions' and visibly relaxed back
into the well-upholstered booth as Mulder stated his order as if there
had never been a scene. The Agent gazed at his partner, noting the sour
expression and the tension in the blue eyes, knowing from personal experience
how Scully was feeling at this moment and knowing, also, that it would
pass and she would be left feeling hungry, and even more annoyed if she
didn't order now, so he ordered for her.
"I'll also take the cheese salad, no mayo and two coffees."
Sally finished scribbling down the order and left the side of the table
promptly to relay the order to the kitchen. Mulder ignored the glare from
Scully; she would thank him later.
The silence between them grew more noticeable as conversations resumed
on the tables around them. Mulder looked across at the younger man. This
was the first time he had seen Krycek in full light since Tunguska and
he had to admit the man had become even more stunning as the years passed.
Gone was the fresh- faced junior G-Man with slicked back hair, polyester
suits and a boring taste in ties. The man who sat opposite had discarded
his usual black leather jacket in favour of denim due to the Florida heat.
He wore his hair a lot shorter and his face was slightly fuller but maturity
had only added to his attraction and Mulder wondered, for the nth time,
how a remorseless killer like Krycek could be blessed with the face of
an Angel.
The green eyes caught his and Mulder felt as if he was drowning in the
icy, blue-green waters of the Baltic Sea. He looked away as the clatter
of dishes broke the spell he had fallen under, relieved that the waitress
had arrived before Scully noticed his distraction. A glance back revealed
a frown on his ex- partner's face and he hoped Alex Krycek would remain
baffled by the attention he had been paid.
"What do you know about Hudson's experiments?"
"Only that they involved exposing children to a particular disease...."
"Doesn't anyone realise what's going on? What about the Parents?" Scully
interjected and Krycek addressed his next statement back towards her.
"You've seen these kids...they've been dumped there by uncaring relatives
from birth. Most have the severe form of Down's Syndrome. Nobody cares
what happens to them... nobody visits."
"What about checks by the local authorities? Doesn't anybody..."
Scully broke off as she watched the disbelieving expression cross Krycek's
face, annoyed and frustrated by her own naiveté. Of course there would
be no checks, this was how the Consortium operated.
"So how did Jenny Lewis come to the attention of the Press?"
Mulder thought for a moment as Krycek raised both eyebrows as if he
thought the question inane. Mulder decided to answer it himself.
"My guess would be either someone was careless—or someone let her
out." He looked across at his ex-partner and saw a small smile of approval
tug at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He continued on, slowly, almost
questioningly. "Whatever, somehow she managed to get out of the Institute
and the Press got hold of the story before they could cover their tracks."
Krycek nodded in agreement and leaned back as Mulder continued. "All the
evidence we need will be found at the Christchurch Institution... but
that still doesn't explain what you're doing here."
Krycek looked deep into the hazel eyes.
"I'm your guardian angel."
Scully was none too pleased with Mulder and waited until Krycek headed
for the men's washroom before remonstrating with him.
"I don't understand you, Mulder. How can you be so casual with him?
He murdered your father. He was with Cardinal when that butcher gunned
down Melissa. He's never shown remorse for any of his actions...the man's
a psychopath..."
"There's nothing wrong with his mind." Or his body Mulder felt himself
start to blush and quickly changed the subject before he gave himself away.
"Look, Scully, I trust him about as far as I could throw him..."
"You trusted him enough to drag us all the way from DC. This could have
been a set-up."
Mulder looked away. How could explain that this was not the first time
he had dragged them off on the word of the man he had labelled Ratboy.
Worse still, how could he explain why without betraying himself to the
astute woman by his side when everything she said about Krycek was true.
No, not everything, he honestly believed Krycek was no psychopath but didn't
that make the man even more of a monster knowing that his actions did not
stem from a deranged mind?
"We'd better get a move on before Hudson flies the coop."
Krycek appeared, as if by magic, as they approached the car. He clambered
into the back seat as soon as Mulder activated the central locking and
waited while the two agents climbed into the front. His eyes caught Mulder's
in the rear view mirror and Mulder could swear he saw something more than
just the briefest of acknowledgements in those bright, green eyes. They
had seemed to dance with an inner radiance that gave the impression Krycek
knew much more than he let on. Mulder frowned.
I bet the bastard does know more than he's told us he thought to
himself but decided against meeting those eyes again. Within moments he
had gunned the engine and they were pulling away. In the passenger seat,
Scully remained tight-lipped, her head facing forward stiffly as if to
deny Krycek's existence. Mulder glanced back at Krycek through the rear-view
mirror.
"Do you know what we're supposed to be looking for?"
"I'll know it when I see it."
The rest of the drive to the Institute was carried out in silence but
Mulder found those eyes watching him every time he glanced into the mirror
and was grateful when they finally reached their destination.
Waiting for the Axe to Fall
by Tarlan
There are those who fail
There are those who fall
There are those who will never win
And there are those who fight for the things they believe
These are men like you and me
—Snows of New York by Chris de Burgh
10:56
Upper East Side
New York
20:35
Dawson Motel
Christchurch, Florida
08:32
County Sheriff's Office
Christchurch, Florida
09:25
East 46th Street
New York
09:35
Dawson Motel
Christchurch, Florida
09:35
FBI Headquarters
Washington DC
10:05
Christchurch Institution for Children with Special Needs
Christchurch, Florida
Denny's Diner, next to Dawson Motel
Christchurch, Florida
