Philippa's Request
by Josan
Mulder, long legs stretched out in front of him, was
sitting on the base of his spine, remote in hand,
channel surfing through an almost muted tv.
Not muted enough for Skinner who was stubbornly sitting
very straight in his favourite chair, working his way
through the same report he'd been trying to read for
the last week.
Mulder ignored the occasional glares that were directed
his way just as Skinner ignored the slightly
exaggerated heart-felt sighs that came from Mulder's
chair.
Krycek knew what they were both feeling.
Bored.
As he was.
Not that he was bored with work...well, not really.
After nearly three years, his team was top-of-the-line.
So well trained that they knew what to do without his
having to direct them. Nash had congratulated him just
the other day about some work they'd done. Problem was
it was work his team had done with almost no input from
him. He was beginning to feel that he had trained
himself out of a job he liked.
And Mulder. Well, Mulder was suffering from a bout of
writer's block. After producing four best sellers in a
row, he was fresh out of ideas.
So he was driving them all crazy with his attempts to
find himself a new story line. He'd taken over the
bathroom, spending hours soaking in a hot bath. There
were candle wax droppings and stains all over the room
from his insistence that candle light was absolutely
necessary to setting the right atmosphere.
That hadn't worked, so he'd tried meditation, long
walks, wine and mood music—though Krycek couldn't
see how Nine Inch Nails mixed with Montavani could
motivate you do anything other than pull your hair out.
Now he'd taken to living in front of the tv, remote in
hand, waiting to be struck by lightning.
Which was driving Skinner crazy.
Things were very slack right now at Wilson-Jones, and
so Philippa Wilson was taking advantage of down time to
have all the offices redone. Skinner had been
effectively banned from going in. Though he didn't go
into his office all that often, of course now, that's
all he wanted to do.
All considered, it wasn't surprising that things had
gotten a little tense at the Krycek/Mulder/Skinner
household.
Krycek pushed his shoulder off the jamb, went and
dropped into his chair. Cleared his throat.
No reaction. Mulder kept on surfing; Skinner,
pretending he was reading.
"Ah-hem!"
Well, this time he'd gotten Skinner's attention. He
smiled at him, waited.
Skinner put the report down: Krycek was up to
something.
Krycek directed his gaze at Mulder. Skinner shifted a
bit in his chair so he had a better view of their
dishevelled lover. He, too, stared at Mulder, waited.
Mulder knew they were waiting for him. He wasn't in
the mood to be accommodating. He had an editor who was
calling every week to ask him how the new book was
coming along. So far he'd been hedging, telling her he
was still doing research. She'd offered him a research
assistant. Yeah. Right. Like that was going to help
a lot when he had no idea at all what needed
researching.
Skinner softly cleared his throat. Mulder sighed
deeply, loudly. Hit the off button and turned to glare
at the two others. Skinner countered the glare with a
very knowing raise of an eyebrow, turned to face
Krycek.
Now that he had both their attentions, Krycek slouched
a bit in his chair, stretched his legs out, crossed one
booted foot over the other.
"I had an interesting lunch meeting today."
Mulder grimaced a "Big deal!" face. Skinner at least
made a pretence of looking interested.
"With Philippa Wilson."
Now he had both their attentions. Not 100%, but a hell
of a lot more than before.
"She's asked me to look into a little matter for her."
Krycek smiled innocently at the two men now glaring at
him.
"Krycek, get on with it," Skinner snapped.
"He won't," grouched Mulder. "He's having too much fun
drawing this out."
Krycek grinned. "Actually, we may all have some fun.
If we decide to handle this for her, that is." And
stopped there.
"Alex!" Skinner growled. "We are neither of us in the
mood right now for games. Get to the damn point. What
does Philippa want us to look into?"
"She would like us to break into the Russian Embassy."
And watched as his little bombshell brought interest to
Mulder's eyes, incredulity to Skinner's.
"Okay," Mulder began sitting up, "now that you've
really got our attention, why don't you tell us why she
would like us to break into the Russian Embassy?"
"Marina Conway-Jones."
He got two questioning looks.
"She spent some time in the fifties training with the
Kiev Ballet. Had a affair with a dancer who turned out
to be an informant for the KGB."
"Letters?" Skinner offered.
Krycek nodded.
"So, what's the big deal? I mean," said Mulder, "it
was almost fifty years ago. Who cares?"
"Her grandson?" Skinner smiled as Krycek nodded again.
Nice to know he could still follow a trail with just a
few clues.
"What about her grandson? He's going to be upset
because his granny had sex? I don't get it." Mulder's
attention was beginning to stray back to the remote.
"Gregory Jones Walker will be running for Congress in
the up-coming elections. He's still quite young, only
in his twenties, but already they're talking bigger
things for him." Krycek had Mulder's attention again.
"And," picked up Skinner, "the fact that granny had
sex, as you so indelicately put it, with a KGB
informant—officer probably?"
Krycek nodded.
"Might not go down well with the voters, especially of
the district he's running in. They're rather
conservative in that neck of the woods. That kind of
revelation would pretty much put an end to any of his
political aspirations."
He turned to Krycek. "So what do they want in return
for the letters?"
"They want a certain transportation firm to be
recommended by Wilson-Jones for a government contract."
"Moving?" Skinner asked in his AD voice.
"Computer hardware for certain military destinations."
Mulder gave a low whistle. "Which means one way or
another they'll find a way to infiltrate those
computers."
"A virus. A transmitter system of some kind." Krycek
shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Not to
mention who really owns the transport company."
"Wild guess," said Mulder, "Russian Mafia."
"One of the new American-Russian businesses." Krycek
was pleased to see that writer's block hadn't affected
Mulder's ability to grasp the big picture.
"So, no letters, no blackmail." Skinner drew them back
to the problem at hand. "Who approached whom?"
"A newly arrived attache asked Philippa for a meeting.
They held it yesterday morning in her office. The
recommendation report is to be tabled next week."
"Not much time." Skinner met Krycek's eyes, saw
something else in them. "Alex. What aren't you
telling us?"
Krycek slouched in his seat, looked at Mulder. "The
newest attache is an old acquaintance. Of ours. Mine
and Mulder's."
Mulder sat up straight. "Really?"
"The doctor at the camp."
Mulder's face went hard.
Skinner had seen Mulder's face take on many aspects in
the years he'd known him, but he had never seen this
expression, ever, on his lover's face.
Krycek had.
"You're sure?" Mulder's voice was dangerously soft.
"Philippa videotaped the meeting. We went back to her
office after lunch and she showed it to me. It's him
all right. Calls himself Solovyov. Vladimir
Sergeyevitch Solovyov. Supposedly here to oversee the
new scientific exchanges between American and Russian
universities."
"Jesus Christ!" Mulder got up, took a nervous turn
around the room.
Skinner knew the story behind the trip to Tunguska:
Mulder's exposure to the black oil, his part in testing
the effectiveness of the vaccine. How Krycek had lost
his arm. How he had stolen the vaccine.
"Well," he looked at the two men, "how are we going to
do this?"
Krycek pulled his gaze away from Mulder. "Are we
doing this?"
"Fox?"
Mulder took a last turn around the room. He would have
to get his emotions under control. He took a deep
breath. Held it. Released it. He turned to look at
his lovers.
"Yes."
Krycek held a private meeting with his team. By
afternoon all five of them had put in a request for
vacation time. Which led to a very closed meeting
between Krycek and Nash. The upshot of that meeting
was a middle of the night transfer of equipment from
Nash Securities to a house in the suburbs of
Washington. Considering that all three residents had
their own computer set-ups, their own high-density
lines, it was merely a matter of exchanging some of the
older equipment for the very latest in prototypes.
Krycek set up his team in the family room, let them
loose on finding the information they would need:
architectural blue prints, security system, inside
schedules, guard routines, etc.
Skinner got on the phone and began pulling strings to
get an invitation to the celebration supper planned at
the Embassy after the ceremonial signings of new
business exchanges between the two countries. The
Secretary of Agriculture was going to be there along
with the Secretary of Commerce. It didn't take much to
have a best-selling author and a member of a
respectable think tank added at the last minute to the
guest list provided to the Embassy by the personal
assistant to the Secretary of Agriculture, who, not
many people knew, had spent five years with the FBI
working undercover.
Krycek paid a discreet visit to a fuming Marina Conway-
Jones. He let her vent her anger and frustration at
the fact that something which happened before her
marriage could affect her grandchildren. He got her to
dig around in her old letters for a sample of her
handwriting forty-five years ago. They needed
something to compare with, just in case.
"I wrote to the jerk in French." They were speaking in
Russian. "It seemed so much more romantic." Marina
pulled out some notes from a French lecture she'd
attended while she'd been dancing in Europe in her
twenties.
"Was he worth it?" Krycek asked, then quickly kept on.
"Sorry. That was personal. Forget I asked."
Marina Conway-Jones came to stand right in front of the
man she was hoping could pull off a miracle. If she
were the only one involved, she would have had no
qualms about revealing the liaison herself. But there
were others who would be hurt through no fault of their
own.
She may have found her grandson a bit too pompous for
someone his age, but she hated the fact that her past
behaviour could ruin his hopes, his dreams for his
future.
And Phil. Well, Phil was her dearest friend, the
sister of her heart, but she should not have to put the
reputation of an organization she'd built to reflect
her own honesty, her trustworthiness into jeopardy.
That she was even contemplating it was proof enough of
the love the two bore each other.
"I was twenty-two. He was blond. Blue-eyed.
Romantic. A superb dancer. With a superb body. A
great deal of stamina."
Krycek nodded. "All very important at twenty-two."
Marina stroked a finger along Krycek's jawline from ear
to chin. "Yes," she agreed. "And I have very fond
memories of my stay with the Kiev." Her finger
followed his chin, up along the other side of his jaw.
"But right now, you would make me very happy if you
brought me his balls along with the letters."
Krycek grinned. "I don't know about the balls, but
I'll...we'll do our best for the letters."
Marina placed her long, still elegant hands on his
shoulders, leaned over and kissed him first on one
cheek, then the other, Russian style. "Be very
careful, Alex. I don't want anyone to suffer, to be
hurt on my account. These men are not KGB, they're far
more dangerous."
Krycek returned the kisses. "We know. We've had
dealings with Comrade Solovyov. This isn't without
personal satisfaction for us."
Mulder was surprised to see how little the man calling
himself Vladimir Solovyov had changed. Still a small
man. Greyer. Thinner. Glass lenses thicker. He
smiled at Mulder as they were about to be introduced to
each other by a member of the Embassy cultural staff.
"Oh, but I already know Mr. Mulder. We met once. Do
you remember, Mr. Mulder?"
"Yes, Doctor Solovyov, I remember."
The smile Mulder gave Solovyov caused the third man to
step back, nervously look from one to the other. He
quickly found someone else that needed his attention.
"As a matter of fact, I based one of my characters on
you."
"Really?" Solovyov looked quite taken by surprise. "I
have read all your books. Which one am I?"
"Karpov. In my first book."
Solovyov had to think. "Ah, the scientist!" Then he
frowned. "The one who is pulled apart by the people he
has experimented upon."
"That's him. I quite enjoyed writing that part."
Mulder smiled as pleasantly as he could, now quite
enjoying the little man's badly concealed anger. He
had described Karpov as a smarmy little toad of a man.
The PA to the Secretary of Agriculture came up to them.
"Mr. Mulder, Doctor Solovyov, may I introduce Walter
Skinner?"
Mulder gave a little absentminded nod: he was scanning
the room. Solovyov looked torn between glaring at
Mulder and shaking Skinner's hand. Politeness won out.
"Mr. Skinner," continued the PA, "is with Wilson-Jones,
a very respected think tank based here in Washington."
Solovyov dropped Skinner's hand. "Wilson-Jones. I
see." He got a very nasty look on his face. "I think
I see very clearly."
Skinner merely raised an eyebrow as he watched the man
scurry away to confer with a couple of very large, oily
looking characters who were trying very hard to look
innocuous in one corner of the room.
"Is that what you wanted?" The PA preferred knowing as
little of this situation as possible.
"Yes, thank you." Dismissing the man.
Mulder turned back to Skinner, smiled at someone he
knew. "What are they up to?"
Skinner took a sip of the ginger ale he held in his
hand. "Identifying us. I think we've got our shadows
for the night."
"Good." Mulder smiled at another fan who was nudging
her companion. Soon he would be holding court the way
he did at all these types of gatherings. "Au jeu."
Solovyov's thugs found it easy to keep Mulder in view
the entire evening. He was usually surrounded by
several people, entertaining them with quips, snippets,
making them laugh at his explanation that writer's
block was handicapping his newest work, at his attempts
to overcome it. At one point he was the centre of
attention of a group consisting of the two Secretaries,
the Russian Ambassador, and their wives.
Skinner wasn't too difficult to keep under eye either.
He drew less attention than Mulder, but there was no
scarcity of people who were happy to talk to him. Of
course conversation within that group was more serious,
less raucous. Once they thought they had lost him,
only to realize that Skinner had taken a trip to the
washroom, coming back in the company of one of the
businessmen who were the supposed focus of the evening.
At Solovyov's direction, security had been tightened
around the supper populace, without most of them being
aware of it. Solovyov himself stuck to the shadows of
the room, like a stalker ready to pounce on his prey
should he be given the opportunity.
He wasn't.
At the end of the evening, apart from the occasional
visit to the washroom, neither man had left the group.
Solovyov still thought it was too much of a coincidence
to have a man he'd had dealings with in the past,
another with a connection to a present deal suddenly
show up at the same time. At his insistence, security
that night was also tightened around the embassy.
And maybe he should prepare a little surprise visit,
just to ensure that the ground rules were fully
understood.
"Is it working?"
Krycek grinned at Skinner. "Like a charm."
The birdish woman with the overlarge glasses who sat at
the computer was busy tracking one of the two thugs
that Skinner had managed to tag during the evening. A
large black man was tracking the other from his
computer.
Skinner removed his tie, unbuttoned the top of his
shirt. Krycek's eyes followed his hands. Skinner
caught the little flicker of hunger that flashed across
Krycek's face. Sex had been pretty scarce these past
weeks, what with everyone's tempers being a bit ready.
He slowly undid a couple more buttons, slipped his hand
under the silky material of his shirt, as if rubbing an
itch.
Krycek knew exactly what Skinner was doing. And why.
As he moved to go check the second computer, he passed
behind Skinner, letting his hand stroke the firm ass of
the older man.
The two of them exchanged grins.
"They're merging." Cyn's voice, unlike her body, was
husky.
"Where?" Immediately the two men were completely
focused on the computers, one to each.
Mulder found them looking back and forth between the
two computers, verifying locations not only against the
architect's plans that they had located but against the
secure copy Liz had "somehow" (Ask me no questions!)
downloaded from the Kremlin's own archives.
He had gone up to change into sweats. It was going to
be a long night and he had no intention of being
uncomfortable. The tray he carried in had a fresh pot
of coffee, mugs on it.
"Well?" He handed Skinner a mug, took a sip from his
own.
"Residence. Third floor, fourth room from the left,
across from the secretary's bedroom."
"Are they inside?" Mulder leaned over Krycek, rested
his chin on his shoulder. Rested his free hand on
Krycek's hip.
Krycek smiled to himself. This was what they had all
needed: something to break the monotony they had
fallen into.
Augustus mumbled from his computer, "They seem to be
facing the right hand wall."
Skinner had tagged his man on the back; Mulder, on the
front. With the high resolution magnification, Gus
could determine where and how the men were standing.
Plus, at Krycek's suggestion, he had programmed the
tags to pulse with different beats so that they came
through the screen in different colours.
"Which means," Skinner was thinking out loud, "that he
doesn't want them to see what he's opening, so it's
probably on the left hand wall. Well, that will help
limit the space we've got to search."
The doorbell rang, in a coded melody. Mulder went to
let in another member of Krycek's team.
Tony had been a dancer until a broken foot had put an
end to a not-so-promising career. He was short, about
five foot seven, wiry, all muscle. He'd put his skill
to use as a second storey man until Nash had cornered
him one night, breaking into his mother's apartment.
While holding a gun on the man, Nash had casually asked
him why he shouldn't just shoot him then and there.
He'd made the mistake of taking his eyes off Tony for a
breath and discovered it was not something ever to do
again. He'd won the fight that followed only because
being literally twice Tony's size, his sheer weight and
size had restrained the smaller man.
At that point in time, he knew Krycek was looking to
add someone flexible, literally, to his team. With a
bit of persuasion, necessary at both ends, Nash had
covinced Krycek to give Tony a trial run. He was still
around.
"Liz is keeping an eye on Marina," he reported to
Krycek.
"Good. Let's hope Mulder and Skinner's presence has
worried our mark enough to pay her a little visit soon.
You all ready?"
"And raring to go." Tony rocked on his feet, energy
barely under control.
"I'll go change," said Skinner. "Just in case it's
sooner."
Mulder went to take his place behind Gus.
"Accidentally" palmed Sinner's genitals as he bumped
against him doing so. "Sorry."
"No, you're not," muttered Skinner, low enough for just
Mulder to hear. But he grinned all the way to their
bedroom, to change out of the evening's formal wear.
He would need a different costume if this went off.
rycek slouched against the doorway of the "family"
room and examined his two housemates.
