=====o=====================================================o===== "Zurvan" by Mary Ruth Keller E-mail: mkeller@universe.digex.net =====o=====================================================o===== Chapter III - Zion (Disclaimed in Chapter I) -----o-------------------------------------o----- Blessed by YHWH be his land, from the excellence of the heavens, from dew, from Ocean crouching below, from excellence of the sun's produce, from excellence of the moon's crop. And from the tops of the ancient hills, from the excellence of the age-old mountains, from the excellence of the land and its fullness, the favor of the Seneh-bush Dweller... So Israel will dwell in security, alone, the fountain of Yaakov, in a land of grain and new-wine; yes, his heavens drop down dew. Excerpts from "Final Matters" - "The Five Books of Moses" -----o-------------------------------------o------ Apartment 42 Friday, August 15, 1997 11:14 pm Mulder's unbound shoulder slumped when he spied the figure, his red curls gleaming in the hall lights, pacing angrily outside his apartment door. He approached Charles Scully noiselessly, coming within five feet of his partner's brother and stopping, leaning against the wall. "This isn't necessarily the safest place to be, you know." Charles spun, his momentary surprise at being caught off-guard only fueling his rage. "Oh, does that go for my sister's place, too?" Fearful that his partner had been attacked, Mulder's eyebrows drew together. "What do you know?" He let loose in a quiet, menacing growl. "If Scully..." Charles shoved Mulder on his cast, snarling at the dark-haired agent's grimace. "Like you shouldn't have thought about her safety sooner?" Mulder clenched his fists, then relaxed. "So, how's the new kid? A girl, wasn't it?" Charles stepped up into Mulder's face. "A *boy*! A *boy*! Like my sister can never have, thanks to you!" Closing his eyes, Mulder's struggle to bring his temper under firm control was evident only in the repeated rippling of his cheek muscles. Finally, a deep breath before he licked his lips and responded. "No one, and I mean no one, feels the responsibility for my partner's health problems resulting from her work with me more deeply than I do. Standing here, posturing for each other's benefit will do nothing, and I mean nothing, to alleviate them. Say what you came to say and leave." He waited. Charles grabbed the arm held fixed by the cast. "Then what needs to be said will be said in front of her." --o-0-o-- Apartment 5 Alexandria, Virginia Friday, 11:39 pm Scully had just dropped her partner's pillow and blanket onto the couch when she heard the knock at the door. "Mulder?" "Scully, you'd better open up." Reading the warning in his tone, she trotted over to retrieve her Sig from her desk. "OK, Mulder, I'm letting you in." She turned back the deadbolt, allowing the man on the other side of the door push to it open. After Mulder entered, she spun into the entrance, weapon aimed at chest level. Mulder turned, smirking at the look on her brother's face. "I told you she was a better agent than I am." Scully kept the Sig against the sternum of the second man, who had lifted both hands. "Is he Charlie?" Mulder brushed her back at her waist with his fingertips. "As nearly as I can tell." Only then did she engage the safety and sweep the handgun towards the floorboards. "Come on in. We have to be more careful these days." Charlie glared at Mulder. "I wonder why." The red-haired man shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting while she closed and locked the door. "Dana, your partner has something to show you." Scully looked Mulder over carefully, noticing the brown leather strap over his immobilized shoulder. "What?" He held the satchel out for her. "Whatever it was your Father gave to Bill." Scully snatched the parcel away, hurrying to the couch to dump the contents on her white coffeetable. A green ledger book, along with several brown folders, cascaded onto the wood. "These are the records of the phone conversations?" She thumbed through a few pages, then looked up at her brother, who was standing on the far side of the living room. "Why are you giving this to me?" Charlie shrugged. "I couldn't take it anymore, Dana." She and Mulder exchanged a glance. "Couldn't take what?" The freckled officer waved his hand repeatedly between himself and the woman on the sofa. "This rift between us. Bill isn't aware I'm here, he just knows I have those. He wouldn't be too happy with what I'm doing." Scully nodded absently, already lost in the contents. From his position behind the couch, Mulder touched her shoulder. The auburn-haired woman raised her eyes to her brother's face. "Charles. Thanks." She glanced at the door. "You aren't planning on driving back to Norfolk tonight, are you? Use the guest bedroom." She rolled her eyes towards her partner. "He won't." Suddenly enraged, Charles glared at the tall agent. "And exactly what is *he* doing here tonight? Hum?" Before either could react, he collected the documents and shoved them back in the case. "Far be it from me to lecture my liberated sister on her lifestyle. Just don't make Mel's mistakes." Mulder stepped between Charles and the door. "This is a security measure for the case we're - " Charles shoved him aside, his fist aimed under the cast. "Yeah. It's all related to your cases. Right." Mulder staggered backwards, gasping. Scully threw herself over the couch, attempting to land her brother with a flying tackle, but his hands blocked her at her ribs. She found herself rolling helplessly on the floor, her arms wrapped around her side. "Mulder," she managed to pant out, "don't let him out of here. We need - " Her words were terminated by Charlie slamming the door. Using the back of the couch as a support, Mulder pulled himself to his feet, staggering out into the hall. Scully heard a brief scuffle, then a loud thud and a grunt. She crawled out just as Charlie slugged her partner, who was slumped, dazed, against the wall, on the jaw. Her ribs still radiating waves of pain, she was reduced to shouting in frustration as Charlie stalked through the outside entrance, satchel firmly gripped. "It isn't what you think!" Mulder eased himself to his feet, keeping one hand on the wall as he moved back to her doorway. "Scully?" Scully had rolled over into a sitting position. "I'm OK." She found her feet just as he reached her side. "At least, there's nothing new broken." She looked up at him. "You didn't, by any chance, get any more of a peek at the contents than I did?" Rubbing his jaw, he shook his head. "Nope. He sat on the bag all the way over and only handed it to me just before the door opened. He kept arguing with himself as to whether he would give it to you." Latching the lock behind him, he looked over at her, now resting on the edge of the couch. "You?" She shook her head. "Not enough to make a difference." He ran his hand through his hair as he dropped down beside her. "Looks like no Golden plates and spectacles this time." He reached over to probe her side gently. She grunted under his ministrations. "Oh, and here I thought you were going to tell me Moroni was an alien." He bit his lip, attempting a weak come-back to let her know he appreciated her efforts at black humor. "Ooh, tell me, Doctor, what was your first clue?" --o-0-o-- ha-Kotel ha Ma'aravi Old City, Jerusalem Saturday, August 16, 1997 8:27 am Caroline Lowenberg and Margaret Scully were side by side, bending out as far as each could stretch over the low stone wall. They, along with a throng of other visitors, were standing on a landing halfway up from the Kotel plaza itself. The ground stretching below and before them was an ancient Axis Mundi, holy in three major religions. To their left, a Baptist church group from Mississippi was snapping photos, the numerous, boisterous children wearing neon-colored T-shirts and bright shorts. To their right, a solemn group of Hasidic women in their long-sleeved, long-skirted black dresses were praying quietly. Their faces shaded by broad- brimmed black straw hats, they watched a thin line of men cross the plaza beneath to the pock-marked wall on the far side. One of the Hasidic girls, seeing the American children playing behind her, began to fidget, but stopped at a soft word from her mother, who took the tiny hand gently. When the slender woman directed her daughter's attention back to the black-clad men in prayer shawls below, Margaret turned to Caroline. "You really never learned Hebrew?" Understanding the reason for the sudden question, Caroline shrugged. "It's a different dialect from what I heard spoken." Shading her eyes, she scanned the crowd for Max, then faced the dark-haired woman. "In my family, Margaret, it was considered more important that I learn the languages of the," a shadow passed over her face, "goyim, than Hebrew." She grasped the front edge of the stone. "We all tried to assimilate, in our own ways." She shook her head. "Even if Hebrew had been taught, it wouldn't have been to me. It would have been to Isaac." Margaret attempted to deconstruct the information in this new tid- bit. "But, the nuns taught us Latin, why not - " Caroline cut through the air with her left hand, terminating the discussion with the gesture. "Times were different then. Today we have women rabbis, feminist services. Things are better, in that regard. Ah, I see Max." She pointed to a distant stick figure, bowing repeatedly by the wall. Margaret recognized him only by the distinctive black border that ran around all four edges of his prayer shawl. She smiled. "I wonder what he's thinking right now." Caroline blew out a long breath. "At least this was easier for him than visiting the camp. He slept some last night." Margaret felt her heart sink. "I never..." She shook her head. "You've both been so kind..." Caroline faced her friend again. "Nonsense, we've loved having you with us." She smiled, an uneven grin that Margaret recognized all too well. "You've saved me from endless debates about water treatments plants on the back deck." Caroline tucked Margaret's hand through her arm. "You have no idea how tired I was of multilingual discussions on the virtues of reverse osmosis." The white-haired woman pointed towards the steps to the ground. "Shall we?" --o-0-o-- On the plaza, Max had turned from the stones, his prayers finished. The middle-aged accountant from Albuquerque who had been waiting behind him immediately moved into his place. Once well away from the lines of worshippers, he began unwinding the tephalim from his arms. "Maximillian David Lowenberg?" The question came from a short, balding American, his puffy face beaded with sweat. The inquiry caught the white-haired man off-guard. Max indulged in a moment's hesitation before old instincts kicked in, setting him hurrying towards the far wall. Several officers from the new mixed Israeli-Palestinian police force lounged there, rifles resting against the newer, Israeli-laid limestone. The call was repeated, louder and more urgently. Max forced himself to be calm, but his mind was racing with all the dangers into which he had thrust himself. The voice might belong to an agent of one of those whose art works had been repossessed, sent to even an old score. Or, he, as a prominent Jewish-American attorney, might have found himself a target of any number of factions, looking to use him to fuel ancient animosities. The last thing he wanted was to for the two women with him to be caught up in this. When Caroline approached, her arm now tucked in Margaret's, he waved her away. A quick nod from the white-haired woman, then she guided Margaret back up the approach to the landing. One of the Israeli guards, spotting the commotion, hoisted his rifle and gestured to three of his compatriots to follow him. He shouted for order in Hebrew. Max felt himself relaxing. But, a hand landed on his shoulder, so he identified himself quickly, then switched to English, hoping the young man with black curls and smooth brown cheeks could follow him. "I don't know him." He pointed at the man in the black, western-style suit whom two of the guards had in tow, while a third lifted free the hand- gun tucked in his belt. The soldier's eyes fell on the tattooed numbers, so he nodded. "Thank you. Where are you staying?" Max relayed the details to him, thinking, all the while, how much this young soldier looked like any one of a number of men he remembered from his last visit to this place. He offered a slight smile, then continued. "As soon as we have clearance, we'll be visiting the Kibbutzim in the Bet She'an area. We may see you again?" The soldier shook his head. "No. I'm on duty here for the next few months. We're thinking it will only get worse between now and Rosh." Slipping the prayer shawl over his head to fold reverently, Max sighed. "I really must go, my wife and a friend are waiting." The young man parted a way for Max through the crowd. --o-0-o-- Max spotted Caroline, who was pacing, deeply worried, when he approached her. "I'm OK, dearest." He pulled her into a quick hug. Margaret clutched the shoulder strap of her purse with both hands. "Do you have any idea what was happening?" Max rubbed his cheek. "None at all. The man following me was armed, but at this point, I can't begin to fathom what his intentions were. We'll have to check with the local police if we want to know anything more." --o-0-o-- King David Hotel, Jerusalem Saturday, 10:07 am Max rolled the prayer shawl up in tissue paper while Caroline watched. "That encounter at the Kotel is troubling, Line-chen. At first, I thought I was seeing a holographic projection before I realized it was an actual person." She had crossed her arms. "So, you really don't know what that was all about?" He nodded. "No. I wasn't just saying that for Margaret's benefit. I did make some enemies while I was in Bolivia, but I've since watched most of them on trial, here and in Europe. I hardly see them as a threat." She dropped onto the mattress, rubbing her hands together nervously. "Then it might be something to do with Sam." Bending over his wife, Max held both her hands. "That it might. Or, it might have nothing at all to do with why we're here, Dear Heart." "Mister Lowenberg?" The voice was muffled by the wood. Max closed his eyes. "Yes?" Neither wanted to open the door until their visitor was identified. "Sir? It's the Manager." Max unlocked the door. "Yes?" The young man without held a thick white envelope in his hands, fingering it nervously. "I was asked to deliver this to you personally. It's from the Ministry." Caroline stepped forward to take the packet, ripping it open hastily to tug loose the contents. "Ah. We're cleared to go ahead to the Kibbutzim." Misreading the cause of Caroline's concern, the manager cleared his throat. "Is there a problem with your room?" Max shook his head. "No, not at all. Thank you." After he closed the door, a page fell from the bundle unto the carpet, so he bent to retrieve it. After scanning the sheet, he crumpled the paper up and threw it against the wall. Caroline looked up from the documents. "Max?" He sighed. "Whoever it was is still attempting to contact me." After setting the government forms on the narrow desk, she unfolded the sheet and read the words. "This is serious." She slipped off her tortoiseshell-framed reading glasses, letting them dangle from the chain around her neck. "We should contact Mossad, see what this means." Rubbing his face, Max dropped onto the edge of the bed. "Yes, I suppose we have to. Poor Maudie. This must all be a bit much for her." Caroline returned to reading the forms. "Oh, she's stronger than you think, Max." She ran her finger under a name. "It was a David Mickelhaus who was handling these. We can call him." --o-0-o-- Capital Hill Rowhouse Washington, DC Saturday, 6:12 am Lindhauer grunted when he heard the banging on the door. Rolling off the mattress, he adjusted his gym shorts and headed for the entrance. Through the glass, he could make out three figures, two slender, one rotund, one female, two male. He pulled the barrier away. "What is it? What's wrong?" McConnell marched through ahead of the others. "How could you do this? Is she still up there?" It took a few moments for the blond man to grasp his meaning, then he decided to prevaricate. "What do you mean?" 'Ace' had her arms crossed. "That FBI secretary, Cynthia Mulholland. Is she still up there?" Lindhauer rubbed his chin, the softer stubble bending under his fingers. "Oh. You know?" 'Charlie' pushed Lindhauer down on the sofa. "Black Lung told us." The long-faced, sharp-nosed man grunted. "Well, are you the only ones entitled to a little happiness?" He eyed 'Ace', who had taken a seat beside him, meaningfully. McConnell bent to poke him in the chest. "Don't change the subject. We're not here to discuss them. We're here to talk about you." Their tall leader rose. "Well, in that case, tell me who took it upon themselves to decide to charge X with those murders? We *used* to approve things as a group." The three exchanged long, sober stares. "Oh, was that a problem for you Perikleans?" The Smoking Man stepped though the open doorway. 'Charlie' whirled. "You! But you always taught that to deny the existence of the Organization was to protect it!" Eying the programmer gently, the old spy smiled. "I'm only improving on Amanda's excellent proposal." 'Ace' crossed her arms. "Most of the time, I could see the logic behind what you wanted to do, but this baffles me." Both grey eyebrows arched. "Ah. Not as well versed in our Renaissance political history as we ought to be, I see." He tapped the side of his cigarette, sending ash fluttering onto the hardwood floor of the foyer. "Well, protecting the Organization was exactly what I am doing." He checked the incredulity on their faces. "For one, I've already picked the State's Attorneys who will be handling the prosecution. They're good old-style law and order types, who remember the days before King. Also, we don't try the cases here in DC. The media are far too independent. We shift the venue to somewhere, more remote. Somewhere the amenities are not what they are here." McConnell nodded. "Damage control." A single puff. "More than that. Misdirection and obfuscation." 'Ace' stepped forward. "Do they have an attorney yet?" The old man nodded. "One Jarred Stone. Formerly a prosecutor, and a good one. But, his wife has expensive tastes," he bowed slightly at the waist, "unlike your eminently sensible self, which gives us a bit of leverage." The four listened carefully while he outlined his plan. --o-0-o-- Dockside warehouse Charleston, South Carolina Saturday, 12:57 pm Two brown-haired women were seated across a folding table from the aliens who had passed themselves off as Luther and Aurora. They were waiting, had been idle here for several hours. The identical woman on the right spoke first. "Could anything have happened to him? He knew this was the meeting place." His shoulders hunched, 'Luther' whispered. "Pilot has survived far worse assignments. He is merely delayed." "He is not delayed at all." The square-jawed man spoke from the doorway. "He was out uncovering more information for our use." A stack of blueprints landed with a thud on the particle board top. "These are the plans of the newest nanotechnology facility in France. They are still woefully lacking for our purposes." The beads and bangles on Aurora's arm clicked as it cut through the air. "Then we must abandon our escape efforts. We must work towards further assimilation." Pilot smashed his fist on top of the sheets. "What is it with you Thinkers! This *rock* is torment to me!" He frowned impatiently at the cowering engineer. "We must devise an alternate design that will allow us to return home!" The dark-haired woman on the far end of the table shrugged. "We have no wish to return to a world where your party rules. The simians can be guided, redirected to the considerable task of planetary recovery. It is your mission, and ours, regardless of our difference in approach." She set a vial of pinkish fluid on the table. "This will help us towards those goals." Aurora leaned forward. "These are the control drugs?" The dark-haired woman nodded. "Distilled and intensified." From his crouch, Luther whimpered. "Worthies, we are so few. Should we not be taking measures to insure our continued survival? After what happened to your exalted selves, can any of us be safe?" The dark-haired woman on the right nodded. "Well spoken, Engineer." She favored him with a touch on the forehead. "It is good not to forget this most practical of concerns. What do you suggest?" He glanced up at Pilot, who had crossed his arms and was looking down at them all with an air of disdain. At a second blessing gesture, he straightened. "There are all the facilities we need, with stockpiles of materials, prototypes, and knowledge. Only not here. Somewhere secret." Aurora nodded. "Somewhere you know about from your time as the other?" He spoke in normal, confident tones, abandoning the simper he had used until now. "We go to 'their' repository, their caches of useful technology." The dark-haired woman on the left shook her head. "Why? We have already begun the manufacture of what we need for protective coatings here." She waved at the vats behind Engineer. "Why abandon all that work?" Luther shuddered again, losing form for a moment in his discomfort. "But, such materials are already there, already assembled. Any process close to maturity has already been conserved there. If we go now, while *they* are divided, we may be able to take it for ourselves." Pilot bent over him, growling the question in his ear. "And where is this fabled repository?" Luther clenched his fists. "Not here. Not in what the simians call their First World. Too expensive. In Africa." The dark-haired woman on the left sighed. "Ah. They pollute their own origin place." She nodded to her twin. "I concur. Engineer shows us the way, even as we argue pointless stratagems that can never be implemented." She reached out to extend her blessing, while Aurora signaled her assent with a click and a hiss. Only Pilot remained unmoved, holding his objections for a better time. "I bow to your ancient and collective wisdom." The acquiescence escaped through clenched teeth. --o-0-o-- Safe House, outside Charleston, South Carolina Sunday, August 17, 1997 9:42 am Jarred Stone closed the folder in front of him, looking over his reading glasses at the agents assembled in clumps around the room. Walter Skinner was farthest from him on a leather two-seater, reviewing transcripts of taped testimony. The bald Director, his eyes softly focused, listened through a pair of sport headphones while his red pen ran over the printed words in the notebook on his lap. Stone rolled his eyes to the left. His old friend Mulder had shifted further off the right side of the stool he claimed was most comfortable, reaching towards his auburn-haired partner. Although they were both working on the same side of the small table, piled high with papers, she had turned away from him, easing her ribs clear of the unyielding metal back. At his touch, she rotated, her eyes following as he ran one finger under a line in his report. At some lighthearted comment Mulder whispered, only for her ears, her face lifted out of its stiff mask of serious contemplation. She tossed back a look that was part acknowledgement, part exasperation, part directed, intense focus. Only a momentary diversion before she returned to her analysis, but the reflected warmth faded slowly from the dark-haired agent's face. Stone shook his head, reminding himself, again, to respect the profiler's choice to go by his last name when he spoke with him. The attorney eyed the remaining partners, seated on his right. The brunette, Rosen, all lean, corded muscles, her thumb separating the pages, was passing a folder to the older agent. Opening at the spot she indicated, Nichols smoothed his moustache as he read, then raised his eyes to meet his partner's. She had been watching for the moment when he would recognize what she had considered significant and either verify or refocus her suspicions. A nod, the papers were returned, and the agents went on with their work. Stone pondered this pair. Nichols, he could size up and categorize. The battering of his years on the street had ground his nerves down to an unwanted sensitivity, so he no longer looked forward to the hunt, to living on the edge. Stone, when a prosecutor, had seen it often enough with officers and agents at this age. They found themselves changed, not hungering for the spotlight of the 'big drug bust', but seeking a purpose to their lives that had somehow eluded them. Rosen, though, he couldn't place. A truth-seeker, like him, someone who wanted to reduce life to its essence, but who used a different set of tools from the thrust and parry of the courtroom to find it. He wondered if she helped Nichols fill his 'significance' gap, showing him how to look at the world through her different perspective. He certainly hoped so, knowing what finding Elizabeth had done for him. The moment of reflection passing, Stone cleared his throat, bringing five faces around to study his. He unfolded his long frame from the chair, walking around his desk to lean against it. "Good people, I'm guessing you folks have only ever engaged in this little exercise from the opposite bench." He checked for confirmation. Skinner was waiting, still unwilling to commit completely to their efforts. A shadow passed over Mulder's long face, the past claiming him yet again. Scully leaned towards him, an imperceptible shift, unnoticed if not expected, as Stone did. Nichols assumed a wariness that told the attorney just how often he *had* claimed one of those stiff seats. Rosen waited, alert, tensed to embark on what he suspected was a new enterprise for her. Mulder leaned forward. "What do you want us to do for this?" Stone shifted to stand on his own. "I need to know more about the people behind these charges. If secrecy is their watchword, why would they be attempting this? Why risk exposure?" Skinner set his jaw. Mulder shifted slightly. "They want to control what is revealed, Jarred, to only have released what would damage them least, or not at all." Stone held out a long hand, palm vertical. "I don't mean that, Mulder. On this side, we don't worry so much about the facts as we do the personalities. We only need to cast doubt, not build a case. What are their weaknesses? What can we exploit?" After a quick glance at her partner, Scully lifted two folders off the pile. "There's been a shift in leadership of the Group. The two men we know of are both Senatorial staffers." She thumbed through the pages, then looked over at Rosen. "Do you have the dossier on McConnell?" The brunette grasped the sheaf she had just shown her partner. "Yes. Right here." She briefly rattled off the facts on 'Andrew'. Stone nodded. "Ah. Probably fancies himself something of a peacemaker. If he was a Preacher's son who didn't follow Daddy into the pulpit, he tries to lead what he considers a moral life," he spread his hands at the thought, "and within a group of men, that means peacemaker. Since I've seen these types many a time, he also will not be a risk-taker. He will have sown his wild oats as a teenager, maybe have gotten a girl in trouble, then seen the error of his ways. It may tie back into his choice of profession, seein' as how he chose economics. He can sit back, God-like, and control the fate of millions, or think he can." The soft hazel eyes focused on Mulder. "You with me there, Muldah?" The dark-haired agent nodded. "Like Patterson trained you himself. As for their leader," he took the folder from Scully's hands, cocking his head at the tick that he knew would have been a scowl, "Gilbert Lindhauer, we have the exact opposite. First in his class at Harvard Business School. Cocky as," he deferred to Stone's regional heritage in his choice of words, "any old son of a gun. He walked right into Matheson's office and asked for a job, according to Danny." Stone rubbed his chin, his long fingers leaving the greying beard in swirls. "This is *your* Senator, Muldah?" Skinner dropped the transcript on the vinyl beside him. "Matheson knows. He's stringing him along, though, pretending he doesn't." Nichols glanced at Rosen, who had been listening, wide-eyed. "Ros? You got something in there you want to share with the rest of us?" She crossed her arms. "I think the Gunmen's Lady Lovelace is one of these leaders of yours, or works very closely with them." Under Mulder's concerned eyes, Scully twisted her spine gently, relieving the pressure on her ribs. "Oh?" Walking around her table, Rosen stood in front of Stone. "I've been reviewing the reports from the cases the X-Files section has taken on since the Coup. It's the timing that gives him away more than anything else. After every one of his break-ins, there would be a reaction to either Mulder's and Scully's, or our, actions." Mulder nodded. "You have a profile worked up on him?" She shrugged. "Not yet. I don't have the experience to throw one together like you guys do." Mulder responded in the deep level tone that he used when speaking as Section Head. "OK. After this, we work something up together, all four of us. The Doctor here might see a pattern in how his software works." Skinner slung himself off the couch, taking a moment to compose himself. "I don't think it's any of these we know or don't know about who should concern us. It's Mister Morley you four should be profiling." Stone noted the ripple of contempt that ran down Skinner's cheek. "Who's Mister Morley?" Scully clenched her fists. "Sir, we have no evidence that he's behind any of this. The last we knew, he was on the outs with the Consortium." Skinner rested his palms on the table to stare down at her. "By now, you can bet he's figured out some scheme to get back into the fold." He rapped his knuckles on the wood. "He's your mastermind, make no mistake." He pointed at the folders contemptuously. "These are significant, no doubt, but never, as long as he's alive, count him out of your plans." Nichols stood by the Director's elbow. "Why don't you share with the rest of us what you know, Walt?" Stone loped back around the desk, propping both feet up on the oak top. "Ah concur. If we have someone as wily as you seem to think he is on the other side, he should be our chief concern." He interlaced his fingers on his stomach, his thumbs idly rocking a button on his vest. "If you wouldn't mind swapping a few tales, that is." Peeling off his wire-rims, Skinner nodded. "It's time you knew what I do about your Father's old friend, Mulder." --o-0-o-- Safe House Charleston, South Carolina Monday, August 18, 1997 5:21 am Still in his gym shorts and T-shirt, Mulder padded barefoot into the kitchen, all gleaming stainless steel fixtures and bright white walls. Glancing over at the enameled steel table in the center of the room, he was surprised to discover he was not alone. The brunette curls on the head resting atop a crossed pair of arms told him who the other agent was, while the pages strewn across the surface told him that Rosen had been up most of the night. One glance at the ruled yellow legal pad under her cheek had him shaking his head. Reaching across the table, he tapped her shoulder gently. "Rosen?" She jerked, then rubbed reddened and shadowed eyes. "Hello, Mulder." She self-consciously gathered the papers together. He slid the notes away from her, smiling as he read the list of characteristics running down the page. Rosen slumped down in her seat. "I really wish you wouldn't look at that. It's not at all ready for anyone else to see." After transferring the packet to his right hand, still bound in place by the cast, he rolled the wheeled metal-framed chair away from the table and sank into it. When the cold plastic on the seat hit his bare thighs, he hissed, then set the papers back on the table. "Why not?" He looked over at her. "You've assembled an accurate and complete listing of what we know. Where else would you start?" Crossing her arms, she nearly disappeared beneath the table. "That's just the problem. I can't figure out where to go from here." A pair of anxious hazel eyes met his slightly amused ones. "I can't do those leaps like you. I have to work things out, step by step." Mulder leaned forward slightly, the cast preventing him from settling into his full conspiratorial hunch. "Rosen, I'll let you in on a little secret. Those 'leaps' of mine that seem to mystify everyone always came after someone else had done exactly what you've done here." He riffled the sheets in the pad. "Back in BS, Patterson always emphasized careful compilation of evidence, just like you were taught at the Academy. Other agents would work on cases for years, assembling little insignificant facts from crime scenes, getting all wrapped up in specific numbers of turns on the threads in a scrap of cloth. They'd see the trees," he shook his head, "the individual leaves on the branches even, then never realize that there was another case where the same fabric showed up." He raised his eyes to hers. "That was my skill, remembering those other cases. I never actually led up an investigation, I was just moved from group to group like a hired gun." Rosen slid until she was upright on the black plastic. "But, with the databases all interlinked now, it isn't like the profiler has to work from memory." Mulder nodded. "Within the Bureau, no. But there are so many old case histories still on paper only that it pays to read carefully." "Or interview the older detectives." Nichols spoke from the doorway, then approached his partner. "Scully was looking for you, she wanted someone to blade with." He settled into the chair by her side, his jeans squeaking on the plastic. "So, you let the legend of Spooky," he flicked his eyes at the dark-haired agent, "spook you." She reclaimed her pad, hugging it to her chest. "Yes, I guess I did." Nichols smiled openly at her. "Don't forget the UNABomber case. The profiling team picked up a vital clue from a retired detective who remembered a similar bomb casing from several years earlier." Mulder shifted one of her diagrams to read it more easily. "I hated profiling, Rosen." The partners blinked, astonished at the revelation. Rosen gasped at her sudden realization. "You wanted to see a case from start to finish." The dark-haired agent nodded. "Yeah. Those teams that worked together for years developed a real rapport with each other, then I'd be brought in like some Mister Wizard. They hated me, and Patterson knew it." He shifted. "He used it, too." "Then why don't we make some coffee and get started?" Scully had been listening quietly in the doorway. Nichols nodded. "Sure." He grasped his partner's shoulder. "Start wowing us with your listing there, kid." The brunette agent grinned. "Well, if there's one impression I take away about this person, it's that he's extremely organized, but very pressed for time." Scully sat by her partner. "Oh, what makes you say that?" Rosen tapped a thick fan-folded printout. "Langly kept records of when the break-ins occurred, and what was checked. This Lady Lovelace was only accessing their computers early in the morning, or in the evenings." Orange bag of beans in hand, Nichols shut the refrigerator door. "He, or she, has another job." Scully frowned. "Why do you say she? I thought ninety-nine percent of programmers were men." Mulder grinned over his shoulder at the older agent. "These two. They think they're the only exceptions to the rules." Scully tossed her head. "OK, it might be one of that one percent." She turned back at Rosen. "You say pressed for time. Why?" Rosen shrugged. "Moreso now than before. LL has begun accessing directories previously tapped, as if he, or she, is rerunning old programs." Dark stubble itching, Mulder rubbed his face. "Or LL is checking to see if new data have come in." Rosen shook her head. "No. These are commercial directories LL is accessing, off the shelf codes." Scully pressed her hand against her ribs. "It could be a calibration routine." Mulder glanced down at her side. "Like LL is testing out new algorithms? Byers will be insulted to hear that." Nichols, who had been smoothing his moustache, frowned. "No, it makes perfect sense. The Gunmen keep changing their security measures. It's as if LL is testing to break in on them before tunneling into somewhere larger, more important." Mulder grunted. "I'm *really* not going to pass *that* observation along, Nichols." Scully rolled her eyes. "He's right, Mulder. The Gunmen don't keep secrets, they publish them, generally as fast as they turn up. So, we need to think about what the Consortium would want to break into, covertly, to understand who this LL might be." Rosen, who had been chewing on her thumbnail, winced as she rubbed a raw spot at one edge. "It won't be anything in the US Government. With this Lindhauer on Matheson's staff, and McConnell on Randall's, they can get anyplace they want to go. So, that leaves foreign governments, or something like Wall Street." Scully, dressed in her lycra shorts and a thin jersey, shivered in the air conditioning. "They were recruiting replacements for their captive support troops, so it's possible they were after foreign secrets." She crossed her arms. "It makes you wonder about what the shape-shifters wanted with Africa." Mulder bent towards his partner. "No, I don't think so, Scully. While Africa enters into this puzzle somehow, the governments there couldn't afford to erect extensive barriers to hacking. Besides, what would they..." He jumped to his feet. "Money! It's about the money. They're trying to break into the banking networks. Matheson's been trying to squeeze off their funding sources. Where else could they go?" Rosen glanced up at her Section Head. "It'd have to be a real whiz of a programmer to do that." Scully moved her in-line skates from the table to the white tile floor. "Or a collective. That's how the banking codes were broken just this past month." Mulder was circling the table now, bouncing slightly as he walked. "We know this person, this LL, otherwise he wouldn't think to use the Gunmen to test." Nichols nodded. "It's someone who's methodical, careful, either a scientist you've contacted in the past, or someone in the Bureau." Scully arched a brow. "Not Susan Miles. She's not remotely capable of pulling something like this off." Mulder came to a complete halt. "Amanda Edwards." Rosen looked over. "The computer guru of the Sixth Floor? Why her?" Scully pushed herself to her feet. "Back at your Mother's wedding party, the old man said one of them was someone who worked at the Bureau. She's been in and out of all our computers since we moved out of the Basement. But wasn't she in the hospital a few months back?" Nichols sent Rosen a frustrated glance. "What? Who is this?" Mulder waved his unbound hand. "We went through our Quantico training together. Back when I was in BS, she would sometimes help me dig up facts on cases, before I found Danny." He was through the doorway before he turned. "I'm calling Cynthia. She needs to know not to let Amanda into our systems ever again, and to pull our machines off the network immediately." He was muttering under his breath as he disappeared down the hall. Nichols looked over at Scully. "So much for your run." The auburn-haired agent shrugged as she grasped her skates and took off after her partner. "I think I'll be getting all the exercise I need in the next few days." When Nichols checked his partner, she was chewing her nail again. His lips set in what he hoped was a reassuring grin. "I won't let Janie get away with that, so I shouldn't let you." Rosen was staring into the hallway. "Why do I feel like there's a whole level to this Group that we're just now uncovering?" Nichols rose. "Because we are." He touched her shoulder. "Good job, Ros. I said you had the makings of a good Agent back in Canada, remember?" She looked up. "Thanks. I think. I don't like where this is going, though." Sobered, he shook his head. "Neither do I." --o-0-o-- Rowhouse Capitol Hill Washington, DC Monday, 6:03 am Lindhauer propped himself up on his elbow, studying the face of the woman in bed beside him. "Why'd he call so early?" He tugged her over next to his side. "He's not coming back so soon, is he?" Cynthia, lying supine, her cel phone nestled between her breasts, looked up at her handsome blond lover. "No." He moved the black unit from her chest to the side-table. "Then, what's wrong? You seem so serious." He crouched above her, lowering his lips to hers. The brunette wiggled out from underneath him, reaching for her robe at the foot of the bed. "I need to get to work, right away." He wrapped his arms around her from behind, coiling both his legs under hers. "But you were taking the day off. With Congress out of session now, I can spend some time with you." Suddenly feeling very exposed, she hugged the flannel to her chest, letting it drape over her legs. "No, Gil, this is important. Someone may be hacking into the Section's computers across the Net." Wiggling free again, she pulled the robe hastily around herself, gathering her clothes from the floor before she sprinted for the bathroom. Lindhauer paused long enough to tug on a pair of grey cotton boxers. "Cynthia!" He banged on the bathroom door. "Cynthia! Open up!" When he heard the latch turn, he stepped back, holding out both arms. "Baby, what's wrong?" Fully dressed, she pushed past him. "Like I said. I have to go into the Bureau today." While he pulled on his jeans, she was checking though her backpack for a comb. "It won't be for long." She glanced at the grandfather clock at the top of the stairs. "Metro's open now, so I can be back here in less than an hour." After stepping into the flat pumps she had worn the night before, she was running for the stairs, but he caught her arm just as she reached the landing. Pulling Cynthia around to face him, Lindhauer found he was having to force himself to be gentle with her. He was tiring of that squeaky giggle of hers that he had been so charmed by just a month ago. "Take me with you." Even though he had managed to keep his voice flat, he caught her hesitation, the fear that rose to flush her face for just an instant. Shaking her head, Cynthia went rigid. "No, it's no problem." After hopping up to peck him on the lips, she charged down the stairs and out the door, running through a mental inventory of her belongings left behind. Once down the street, suited, briefcase-bearing civil servants around her, she shivered. Lindhauer had watched her disappear up East Capitol Street. He crossed his arms, wondering where he could turn now, how he could remove this unforeseen problem. McConnell and the others would gloat, but they could work something out. He knew he needed to at least warn 'Ace' that her cover had been blown, that she should consider leaving the Bureau. With not little sense of irony, he began punching in 'Charlie's home phone number, hoping to catch either him, or them, before they left for work for the day. --o-0-o-- Safe House Charleston, South Carolina Monday, 10:29 am Sweaty, but relaxed following their run around the indoor track, Scully and Rosen were returning to their rooms to shower. After passing Scully a clean towel, Rosen rubbed her face with another from the stack in the gym. "I'm surprised you could go for so long." The auburn-haired agent shook her head. "The blades keep the impacts down and I'm healing fairly quickly." She twisted carefully. "I feel better than I expected to." The pair resumed their walk towards their quarters. Scully glanced over at the tall brunette. "You and Nichols should head back to DC. We need to be able to prove that Amanda is Lady Lovelace." Rosen smiled a greeting at Nichols, who was carrying a stack of files from the conference room. "It'll be tough." Scully nodded. "I know. Everything about that Organization is incredibly slippery when it comes to nailing facts down. But, an accusation like this, against a fellow agent, especially given how visible we are, needs to be verified every way we can." Stepping behind the two women to allow one of the staff to pass, Nichols sighed. "Did Mulder reach Cynthia? Are our computers safe now?" Scully turned her head slightly to address the man behind her. "Yes, she called back before Rosen and I went out to the track. We must assume they know everything we do." Since they had reached their temporary quarters, Rosen stopped at her door. "And more." Scully sighed. "Always more." His hair wet, Mulder stepped through his door, raising both eyebrows at the others. "Scully talk to you two?" Nichols passed him the folders. "Yeah, Chief, we're out the door after Mary Decker finishes with her shower." Rosen smiled, then slipped into her space. Nichols crossed his arms. "Anything else?" Mulder nodded. "Check on Cynthia. She seemed more upset when she called than the situation warranted." Scully draped the towel over her shoulder. "It could be nothing more than shock, Mulder. She's only twenty three. I don't think life on the farm prepared her for international conspiracies." Mulder shook his head. "Agreed, but I think it's more than that. I have this suspicion she knows something." He pointed towards Rosen's door with his chin. "Maybe she'll tell *her*, if she won't tell you." A curt nod, then Nichols headed for his room. Sniffing dramatically, Mulder leaned towards Scully. "Mm, Doctor..." She rapped on the arm portion of his cast. "Stone needs to speak with us?" Mulder chuckled. "Saunders, actually. Skinner's been grilling him on our Cigarette Smoking adversary. As vague as he can be when it comes to details of the Consortium's technical developments, he has some very definite opinions on his old boss." Scully lifted her towel off her shoulder. "Does it surprise you to know how closely those two worked together?" Mulder shifted the papers in his arm. "Not really. It makes me wonder about how my previous contact fitted into the picture, though." She stepped through her door. "Maybe we'll find out." --o-0-o-- Arlington Hospital Arlington, Virginia Wednesday, August 20, 1997 4:17 pm The balding man in the hospital bed pulled the sheets up over his shrunken gut and squinted at his visitor. He wasn't exactly sure who he was, but he knew he needed glasses to see anything more than a few feet away. "Hello?" The grey suit swam into focus, a tobacco aroma clinging to him. "Luther! There you are!" The old spy grimaced. Luther gasped. "You know who I am?" "Yes." The man with the Morleys found he was fidgeting with the pack in his jacket pocket. "We used to work together, but I'm told you remember very little of that still." "Very little of anything." Fascinated by the networks of lines he saw there, Luther shifted closer to focus his dark eyes on the face. "If you can tell me what happened to me, I'd be eternally grateful." A snort as he lifted a metal chair from its place by the door. "Let's just say I'm not here to earn you undying anything." "But it would be appreciated." Luther felt icy fear close around his heart, but in his desperation to recover the man he had been, pushed it aside. "Please, anything." The fingers descended into the coat pocket again. "We used to work together," a wave, "prior to your accident. With time and training, we can do so again." The short man tugged his pillowcase into place behind his back. "But what did I do?" The old spy arched a brow. "It's highly classified. When you're recovered, I'll begin to rebrief you." Luther shook his head. "Can you at least say what happened to me?" The man with the Morleys leaned back in the chair. "That I can. You were immobilized somehow, the doctors aren't certain, and an identical double took your place for a period of several months." Luther found himself swaying on his feet in front of his guest. "Several months? I've lost several months?" The man in grey rose as well. "Indeed you have. I'd not realized myself until I stopped by one day to find your double had interests in computers and health food." Patting his stomach, the balding man nodded. "Which I obviously didn't." A nod. "Obviously." Dark eyes flicked around the room. "Tell me, what *do* you recall of your previous life?" Luther climbed back into the bed. "Oh, bits and pieces. A farm where there were rolling hills and lakes. Swaying on trains. I have this sense that I spent much time on trains." The old man nodded. "You did." "Oh, and I remember being in rooms with women in blue gowns on beds. There were men occasionally, but mostly, it was women. I remember coming and going, sometimes helping move these women around." He cocked his bald head. "Did I used to work in a hospital?" A shrug. "Not exactly a hospital. But more on that later." He rose, carrying the chair back to its spot. "Anything else?" "I remember people screaming in pain." Luther licked his lips nervously. "Was I doing that? Was I somehow making these men and women suffer?" The old man's hand was set firmly in the pocket now. "No, you weren't. It was an unfortunate side-effect of the treatments and tests." The other set of browned fingers descended on his shoulder. "Rest, now, get your strength back. There is much we need to catch up on." Luther mustered a tiny smile, then watched his visitor vanish into the blurry fog by the door. --o-0-o-- Safe House Charleston, South Carolina Thursday, August 21, 1997 10:02 am Walter Skinner found he could barely keep his pace from breaking into a run as he hurried down the hall to the large conference room. After snapping in the entrance code, he was greeted by five surprised faces. "Agent Scully?" The auburn-haired woman rose from her seat beside Mulder's. "Sir?" The bald director's dress shoes slipped across the thickly woven carpets soundlessly as he walked to stand in front of her. "Before you went up to Canada, you asked me to place a request with the security agencies of the larger airports. Scully looked down at her partner to explain. "We wanted them to alert us if anyone matching the description of the shape-shifter who masqueraded as your sister passed through." Nichols turned to Rosen, who mouthed 'Later' at him, then they both faced the agents across the room from them. Stone had stopped scratching on a legal pad, but was not watching, just listening. Scully raised her eyes to Skinner's bespectacled ones. "I presume they've reported someone, or two someones, Sir?" Checking over his shoulder when Saunders entered, Skinner grunted. "In light of the crush of events, I had neglected to cancel that request, and last evening, two brown-haired women matching that description were seen taking an international flight out of Dulles, destination, Rome, Italy." Saunders crossed his arms. "If the shape-shifters were held anywhere, it would have been at the facility in Maryland, unless there's a new one I don't know about." He set his face as he looked to Mulder. "I delivered a friend of yours to there, one Doctor Chester A. Banton." Mulder was on his feet before either Scully or Skinner could move to intercept him. "What? *You* took Banton? After I... After you..." Gritting his teeth, Skinner grasped Mulder's unbound shoulder firmly. "Now is not the time, Agent Mulder." Still gulping deep breaths, Mulder relaxed marginally. "Yeah, it's never time, is it?" Scully blocked his view of the bearded African-American. "From Italy, it's an easy flight to Africa, Mulder." She turned to Skinner. "Is that where they were headed? Could you find out?" Skinner sighed. "No, Agent Scully, I couldn't. Rome's computer records weren't available when I took the call." He dismissed the problem with a wave of his hand. "Something about system malfunctions. They checked through no luggage, carrying-on only a single small bag each. The guard that phoned them in remembers that the women kept setting off the metal detectors, even though they never found weapons, jewelry, or keys on them. I've already verified that these were the women with the security agents who saw them." Nichols crossed his arms. "So, the shadow government has no leverage over the shape-shifters, nothing to make them cooperate." After sending a final glare at Saunders, Mulder rubbed his face. "Yeah. We're back to two groups then, us and the Consortium." Stone's oak ladderback chair creaked. "No, Muldah, we're down from four to three, if Director Skinner's assessment of that old man is correct." Saunders nodded. "He *is* your enemy. The others may deliver up some technological answers to specific problems, but none of them has the ability or the experience to provide the long-term guidance the Organization needs." Mulder cocked his head. "Given an objective, he'll see to it that plans are carried out. If he's working with these new leaders..." Saunders sighed. "He won't be. There's no focus to their efforts, no direction. Probably by now he's attempting to take control when they least expect it." Scully settled back in her padded aluminum chair. "Then we'd better make sure we aren't caught in the cross-fire." --o-0-o-- Office of Aliat Hanoar Institution Kibbutz Kfar Szold, Israel Friday, August 22, 1997 12:21 pm "Maximillian!" The official emerged from his back office, beaming. Margaret ran her eyes up and down the man's form. She knew from the golden shades of Jacob Richter's curls and tall, angular body that he was probably one of the Europeans. Her time in Israel had disabused her of the lurking image in her mind that most Jews were of German or Eastern European backgrounds. She had seen Israelis who looked no different from the Palestinians she passed on the narrow streets of the Old City while she and Caroline had been playing tourist. Once, surrounded by a group speaking Mandarin, Caroline had assured her that these were descendants of Jewish merchants who had settled in China when the Khans had been emperors. But now, she brought her attention back to the man who was bending over her hand, offering his hospitality in perfect English. Caroline smiled at her friend's confusion. "Margaret, it's all right. We've had Jacob to the house before. Have some fruit. It's grown here on the Kibbutz." Nodding, Margaret settled in the chair Max was patting. "Thank you. I'm not used to being pampered like this." Richter passed her a tall glass of watermelon juice. "Here, you'll find this most refreshing in the heat." A quick nod, then their host was all business. "So, you think one of your children was here, misclassified as an orphan, Caroline?" The white-haired woman glanced at her hands before she sighed. "Yes. My youngest, Samantha." She slid the surveillance photo towards him. "I know you've had so many children come through here, and she may only have been here for a few days, but, - " Sobering, Richter shook his head. "Nonsense. We consider it our trust to keep records, Caroline. Sometimes it's all the links families like yours will have." He tapped the space bar on his computer to activate the screen. "Let's transfer this image, shall we?" He placed the sheet, white side up, on the glass of an HP ScanJet, then snapped the cover down. As they watched, the photograph appeared in a digital window, then another box opened beneath it. Richter typed a few keys, and the software began to cross-check. Max craned his head to read the front of the chassis. "This is what, a Pentium?" Richter smiled. "Dual Pentium. We run our web-site off of it, as well as doing these data searches. It was quite an effort to transfer all those photos to images, and we have CD's of them all." He pointed to a rack behind Margaret. "It speeds things up so much. But this will take a few minutes." He smiled at Caroline again. "Was she an only child?" The dignified woman closed her eyes momentarily, prompting Margaret to finish for her. "No, she has an older brother. Fox." As he studied the dark-haired woman, Richter's sun-bleached eyebrows lifted. "Oh? You don't sound, well, - " He stopped, licking his lips. Margaret leaned forward. "My daughter is his partner. They're FBI agents." A wry chuckle escaped the man behind the desk. "In Hoover's Bureau. You don't say. Times *have* changed for the better, eh, Max?" The white-haired man nodded. "Indeed." Caroline tipped her head. "The machine's found something." Richter rotated the chair. "Ah, yes, here we go." Tapping the left mouse button, he brought up a set of group images, working to stretch and expand the one on the upper right. "This seems like her." Caroline walked to bend over his shoulder. "Yes, I believe it is. It's the same dress and hair, in any case." "Hum." Richter brought up a data window. "No name, just a number. She was transferred from here to one of the religious Kibbutzim, Sde Eliyahu in the Beit Shean valley. It's a working agricultural center close to the Sea of Galilee, so she would have been educated while she did some chores around a farm." Caroline broke out into helpless laughter. "My Sammie! Pulling weeds." She waved a hand at the three faces focused on hers. "I'm sorry, she was such a sweet little girl, but she hated dirt of any kind. The worst thing Fox could do to her was, oh, I'm sorry, I'm babbling." She took a deep breath. "Please, give us the address and we'll be on our way." Margaret shook her head. "Caroline! Don't feel you can't share with us. Who else have you had to tell these things to?" She paused, watching the white-haired woman struggle with a maelstrom of emotions. Max rose smoothly, reaching to shake Richter's hand. "Thanks for everything. Our escort will be none too pleased, but this," he plucked a sheet from the laser printer, "is where we need to go next." --o-0-o-- Science Lab J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday, 7:21 am With a sigh, 'Ace' popped out the sides of the government packing container, then folded in the flaps for the bottom. But still, she had a snarl of trepidation in the pit of her stomach. She loved the Bureau, loved the work and the feeling of righteousness it have given her, until the problems with Director Sessions had been trotted out in the media. Then, the man with the cigarettes had approached her, offering her a way to administer pure justice, free of politics and meddling. She set her lips in an uneven grin when she caught the shadow of a figure through the glass outside the door. "Come in." 'Charlie' was beaming as he entered. "I stopped by to see if you needed some help, sweetheart." He glanced around her jumbled space. "You haven't even begun to pack, have you?" She bit her lip as she threw several binders in the box. "Yes, I have, see?" He reached out to grasp her by the shoulders. "You know we can't risk losing you from the Organization, don't you?" Turning away from him, she nodded. He wedged himself between her and the computer desk. "Then what is it?" She crossed her arms. "I've always been self-sufficient, Drew." She narrowed her eyes at him. "All these changes are coming too fast. First, the engagement, then us moving in together, now my quitting the Bureau to work out of your place." He shook his head. "No, not my place. Our place. We both sold our condos to buy this new one together. It's our place, not mine." He held her face with both hands. "Besides, with your brains, that web-page design business of yours will bring in a fortune." She let out an exasperated breath. "I'm not very artistic. Oh, the html coding is no problem; I can find links on the Net no one knew existed, but as far as pretty pictures, forget it." She bit her lip hard to keep the tears from overflowing. 'Charlie' drew her into a hug. "I'll look out for you, Lisa. You know that, don't you?" She nodded, then scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Yes, of course." He lifted her chin with his finger. "Then smile. The rest of the lab is throwing you a huge party. They hate to see you go as much as I'll love having you home all the time." Turning to her side, he began unfolding boxes. "You just tell me what you need packed and where, so you won't be forgetting anything important." She pointed at the cables over the door. "We'll need to take those down first. I bought those special last year when the Bureau was in a purchasing freeze because there was no way to have the bandwidth I wanted for my network signals without them." Nodding, he slid her one casterless chair to the door. "Yup, here goes." --o-0-o-- Overlooking Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu Bet Shean Valley, Israel Monday, August 25, 1997 3:37 pm Margaret stared down the mountain road at the rest of the dun- colored vehicles in the convoy. "Caroline, I never expected it to be so difficult to reach this area. It seems we went through checkpoints every half mile." She felt the chassis of their jeep shift as they crested the last hill. The white-haired woman nodded. "Oh, we had it easy. Normally, - My! Look at this!" She tugged on Margaret's arm. After she faced forward, Margaret Scully gasped. They had spent most of the past two days driving along tan valleys and over bare mountain peaks. The autumn rains had not yet arrived, so the native vegetation languished in the absence of moisture. Not so the crops below, thanks to the drip irrigation network bringing water from the hills to the west and from the Jordan to the east. They descended through full-leafed vineyards, the grapes hard, blood-black buds on thick branches, to the valley floor. Once there, the convoy wound down a narrow dirt road between fields of nearly-mature wheat, its seed-heavy heads flopping to one side, despite the support of the tough, grasslike stalks. The convoy slowed to a crawl when one of the Kibbutz tractors turned onto the road from a field of squat, closely planted Fava beans. A breeze rattling along the valley set broad, heart-shaped leaves shimmering, revealing the wide, hairy pods beneath. Caroline pointed to a series of interlinked ponds in the distance. "That's the Tilapia fish hatchery, Margaret. They've been at it for fifty years." The younger woman frowned as she followed the white-haired woman's finger. "Here, in this desert?" The driver chuckled, so Max leaned back to comment. "This *was* once the Fertile Crescent, Maudie." The dark green tractor slowed to a near-stop once the road left the crop fields and crossed into a slightly browner pasture. Five young men, their thick dark beards a startling incongruity with their crisp black denim shorts, were herding black and white cows to a nearby milking shed. After a worried check of the distant hills, the soldier behind the wheel turned to speak quietly to Max in Hebrew. When Margaret caught a glimpse inside the barns, she realized a few of the Holsteins had already been hooked into milking machines. "I was half-expecting this to be like some Pennsylvania Dutch settlement, but it isn't, not at all." Max smiled at her from the front seat. "Oh? I should hope it would have put you in mind of a certain other American religious sect." Margaret leaned towards him. "You don't mean the Mormons, do you?" Caroline chuckled. "No, he's thinking of the Shakers, aren't you, my dear?" The white-haired man nodded. "So I was. Technology isn't evil, Maudie, only the ends we choose to put it towards." He pointed towards a set of long white buildings. "That's where the historical records are housed." He faced forward when the tractor turned off and the convoy sped up. Margaret finished the rest of the short ride in an awed silence. To her left, she could identify smaller plots of green and orange squashes, vines of eggplant, ripe with purple bulbs or slender curved Oriental pods. A few short apple trees sported tiny green fruits, and she wondered if this was only for decoration. When the convoy rolled to a halt outside one of the buildings, Max descended, holding doors for both the women in the rear of the jeep. He smiled down at Margaret. "I heard you exclaim over the apple trees. They were specially developed for the drier climate and the more uniform lengths of days. The fruit isn't huge, but is very flavorful." He chuckled. "It was the one aspect of New York Thea missed terribly once we moved south, so I had two planted at the house in Miami, but the salt was too much for them." He bit his lip, then slid Caroline's hand over his arm. "Shall we?" --o-0-o-- Margaret listened to Max explaining their mission in Hebrew to the short man across the desk from them. A slight squeeze of Caroline's hand on his arm, and he switched to English without hesitation. "...my wife and her friend are Americans." Black curls, shot through with grey, bobbed in affirmation. "Welcome to Israel, then. As I was explaining to Maximillian, we have had many orphans sent to us through Aliat Hanoar, most of whom have moved on to new homes around the world." Here, he looked at Caroline directly. "Since your daughter, was it?" He waited for the white-haired woman to nod. "Since she was brought here with a group, I'll need for you to look through some old photo albums. Tracking lost children isn't our primary function, you must understand, but, we *do* have records." Margaret watched Caroline's cheeks color, then pale, until she reached over to grasp her hand. The white-haired woman smiled uneasily, then cleared her throat. "Where are the photos? The sooner we begin, the better." Rising, their host led them to a small room lined with bookcases, stopping partway along one wall to tap the edge of a shelf. "This should be the years 1975-76." He passed a stack of albums to Max, who carried them to the table in the center of the space. Caroline laid the entry photo of Samantha in the center of the bare wood top. "This is what we'll have to look for." She slid on a pair of reading glasses, lifted the top album off the closest pile, took a deep breath, and flipped the cover. --o-0-o-- Max set his half-glasses on the table, rubbing his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. "Arr. Some of these color prints have faded so badly I have a difficult time making anyone out." He returned Margaret's nod of sympathy before turning to his wife. "Line-chen? Anything?" The white-haired woman sighed, then peered intently at one girl in the back of a class photo. "Ah! Look! Look!" Margaret and Max bent over a shoulder. Margaret slid the entry photo next to the face. "It might be a match." She pulled one of the albums free of her pile. "I have the individual photos from that year here." Turning over cardboard- stiffened sheets, she ran her finger down a column of girls. "Ah, yes, here she is!" She rotated the book so Caroline could check it. "Oh!" Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. "Sammie. It's Sammie." A single tear escaped from one eye, then she tapped the right cheek in the photograph. "See that little mole? We Podhowitzes often had one there." Margaret frowned. "I don't see it on you." Caroline wiped her cheek self-consciously. "Oh, my mother had it removed when I was thirteen. I had always intended to have it done for her, but now I'm glad," she sniffled, "I'm so glad." Max rubbed her shoulders gently. "So, what does the album say her name was changed to?" Margaret ran her finger under the words, Sarah Silverberg, the Hebrew characters running from right to left beneath. "Now we know who has her." Caroline shook her head. "Who *had* her. We don't know if that is still her name. But there were records." Bustling to her feet, she hurried to a group of filing cabinets by the door, where she pulled open a drawer and stopped. "These are all in Hebrew." Terrified, she looked to her husband, who joined her. After opening three bins, he lifted out a slim folder, then patted the chest pockets of his shirt in turn. "I'll need my specs." Margaret carried them to him. "Here!" She felt her own pulse racing. His chin moving up and down mechanically, Max muttered as he turned pages. "Ah. It says she was adopted officially in Hes 5734." He focused over the lenses at Margaret. "That's around October 1976. She left with her family about a year later, heading for Haifa shortly before Sadat came to Tel Aviv." Caroline drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "Then that's where we'll have to go. We'll need to look through passenger manifests, try to find how she left Israel." Margaret rubbed her shoulder. "We'll find her." The white-haired woman raised her chin in grim determination. "Yes, we will." --o-0-o-- Dark Apartment Washington, DC Tuesday, August 26, 1997 9:27 pm Watching Luther read, the old spy lit another Morley. The balding man closed the folder he had been studying. "I never knew. I never realized the threat would be so great." A grimace stretched the wrinkled features. "Ah, yes, misguided crusaders can be the most dangerous." Luther shook his head. "But, if they don't understand the risks, why do you permit them to continue?" A cloud of smoke enveloped them both. "Because, Mister Mulder has his uses. The four who took power unprepared focus on him, not on us." The black frames bobbed to offer gratitude for the inclusion. "And," the old spy leaned forward, "we keep Mister Mulder and those working with him busy chasing his sister or the four of them." "No group with limited resources can successfully fight a two front war." The Smoking Man nodded. "Yes. Too bad the National Socialists forgot that little lesson in history." He cocked a greying brow. "How are you coming with the Peloponnesian War?" Luther rubbed his forehead. "I have a feeling I've been through it before. The speeches seem oddly familiar, even if all the campaigning goes right over my head." He looked over seriously. "I *have* read it before, haven't I?" A cigarette was tamped out in an ashtray and other lit with a match. "No. You said you did, but I have the feeling you skimmed it." The lined visage was brought close to his. "Read it, learn it, plumb the depths of insight that old general had to offer. Few books have given us so much psychology and strategy together. When you've finished, you'll need to read "The Art of War". Luther sighed. "But if it makes the same points, I don't - " A long drag, then a sigh. "One introduces you to the foundation of conflicts we will experience when we spar with the Europeans." He cocked his head. Sudden understanding dawned in Luther's dark eyes. "The other for the Orient." "Exactly. Exactly. And you'll need to learn the different forms of chess, as well." Luther crossed his arms. "You can't tell me those are war training, too!" Ashes cascaded onto glass. "Long-range strategic planning. Once you've learned to do it in a board game, then," a shrug, "extending it to the world around you becomes easy. I'll teach you. I haven't had a good game in ages." Luther leaned forward. "Not since her?" The grey head tipped. "Not since her." --o-0-o-- Dan Carmel Hotel Haifa, Israel Wednesday, August 27, 1997 7:26 pm Caroline slid the heavy shoes she had selected for the day from her feet, then leaned back into the pillows. She had avoided this phone call, not because of the guilt that she had slipped into easily, like a sweater, for so many years. Her delay had been more a fear of offering false hope where there was none. But the information she and Max had received at the Kibbutzim were the first clear markers on what she fervently hoped would be a short trail to her daughter. She had been unable to reach her son or Margaret's daughter with the news, either at home or at work or on their respective cel phones. But, once they had returned to this city by the sea, they had contacted the local Bureau office to find that they were all in South Carolina. Rather than making contact in a cramped, tiny office, she had returned here to speak with her son in privacy. She checked the hastily scribbled digits twice before she tapped out the number. After six rings, she heard an unfamiliar voice query for a password. "Hum? I was calling to speak with Special Agent Fox Mulder, Badge number JTT047101111." She shut her eyes. "Special Agent Wilson in the Tel Aviv office, ID number 3276-583 told me this was where he was." She considered, briefly, identifying herself as his mother, but knew that using such a fake identity was an old trick. She listened while the agent verified the numbers and names, then assured her he would put her through. "This is Special Agent Mulder." She savored the crisp professionalism her son had cloaked himself in. "Fox, this is your Mother." The exclamation was almost instantaneous. "Mom! Mom, are you OK? Is everyone all right?" She smiled. "We're better than all right. We have some preliminary information on your sister I wanted to share with you. Are you somewhere you can talk, Fox?" She listened while he spoke in muffled tones to someone named Jarred. "Yeah, Mom, go ahead. I'm alone. What have you learned?" Briefly, she relayed to him what they had uncovered, finishing with, "Max is setting up meetings with a few old friends in Mossad to see if we can work out where she was going when she left with her adoptive family." She paused. "Fox?" "Yeah?" She leaned forward. "We have no reason to doubt that this information is genuine." Something rustled at the other end and there was the click of heels entering the room. "No. No, I'm sure you don't. You wouldn't call me unless you were certain. If you need any help from my end, please, call at anytime." Caroline sighed. "Of course I will, Fox. Of course. When you see Dana, please tell her Margaret has been a great help to us." "OK. I will." "That's all I have, really. Since you're at work, no mush. I'll speak with you again soon, Fox." "OK, Mom. Bye." --o-0-o-- FBI Safe House Charleston, South Carolina Wednesday, 1:39 pm Dana Scully watched her partner hang up the phone. "That was your Mom?" Nodding, Mulder bit his lip. She took the seat Stone had just vacated. "Well?" In a hushed voice, Mulder related to his partner what he had just learned. Scully rested her hand on his unbound shoulder. "I'm so happy for you, Mulder. This is the first positive news you've had since before we went to the Arctic." Running his hand through his hair, he glanced over at her. "So, what do you have?" Scully rose, leaving her fingers on his arm. "It can wait, if you want to be alone for a little while." Standing, he shoved his hand in his pocket before Scully could see it trembling. "Nope. I'd rather be working. We can talk later, OK?" A dip of auburn hair, then she was leading him from the small chamber to the larger conference room. --o-0-o-- Government Office Building Bonn, Germany Wednesday, 8:42 pm The old spy waited in the elevator, savoring this moment of triumph. When the door chime sounded, he emerged into a space that seemed to take him back in time. Tall leather seats were pulled into a loose circle, and he watched thick grey smoke hover above several of the occupied chairs. One of the heavy-jowled men in grey rose to wave him into an adjoining seat. "Ah." The gravel showed his age. "Come, we have much to discuss." The man with the Morleys sighed as a snifter of Languedoc appeared on a silver tray in front of him. "Danke. Vielen Dank." His host held up one blue-veined hand. "The gesture is appreciated, but we have many nations here, so we must use what has become our Lingua Franca." His lips danced at the unintended reference to the past, then nodded an apology to a balding man in green across the room. Turning back to the old American, he sobered. "My apologies for coming to the point. Your young associates have made quite a muddle of things." The old spy sipped the clear amber liquid delicately. "That they have. Their reliance on technology and quick fixes will always do them harm." He glanced around the room. "We know the benefits of seeking a long-term solution." The bald man in green licked his lips before he spoke. "Yes. It is, how do you say, the best answer, we seek, not the first." The greying heads around the room bobbed in agreement. The man in green continued. "How long had your organization been aware of the shape-shifters?" The old spy pinched the stem of the snifter, then declined another mouthful. "Once Mulder and Scully brought the existence of the colony to light, we were tracking them. Had not the others arrived, we would have been content to leave them alone. Some situations are better left unperturbed." More gestures of assent set currents of air in motion through the dark room. "But, at least we know their intentions." The German host turned. "Oh?" The old spy slid a Morley from his pocket, then dropped it on the table when a wooden box of cigars was waved in front of him. "Ah, yes, once again, Mister Mulder proved invaluable." Whispers of chuckles prompted him to continue. "They are, apparently, a planet of nature-lovers." Voice and tone rose in a few throaty responses. The man in green smiled. "So, they mean to study us? To come back periodically and take a few specimens? Those would be acceptable losses." The old American held the tobacco smoke in his mouth before releasing it in three precise rings. "If only that were the case. Their intentions are far more insidious. If we do not reduce out population, they mean to return in a century or two and do it for us." The German host sighed. "Exterminate us? Surely - " The old spy savored another mouthful of smoke. "No, no, you misunderstand. They would prefer we reduce our numbers back to what they consider to be a non-ecosystem damaging sustainable number. They would like to see us all revert to small enclaves of agriculturally-based colonies in some sort of Jeffersonian idyll." The man in green burst out in a full guffaw. "All our fears of invasion dashed, at least, in this instance. They have no ship, no means of communication with their home world. We will track them down and exterminate them. Then we can continue to develop the technology we need to defend ourselves against other, less philosophical, adversaries." The American had been savoring the Armangac, but now, reluctantly, swallowed the mouthful. "We need not even do any work along those lines. Mister Mulder's merry band is already investigating that for us." His German host settled back against the leather. "And you have a spy in his organization?" The old man in grey grimaced. "The best kind. An unwitting one." He snorted. "One of my young associates has taken Mulder's secretary into his bed." A rumble of agreement. A new face leaned in out of the smoke. "Speaking of Mulder, it seems his mother has stumbled onto a viable lead regarding the daughter." The American sighed. "Let her find her, then." The German glared. "What? Although Caroline Podowitz - " The old spy rested the cigar on the edge of the tray. "That's all she wants. Then she'll retire from the game, taking her meddlesome husband with her." His grey eyes flicked around the room. "Which is all we want. Am I correct?" The man in green shook his head. "It is only one of the things we want. But if letting them find her will remove two dangerous players, then I believe we will all agree." The American dropped his hands to the arms of his chair to shift it. "What else did you have in mind?" The German cocked his head. "Are you speaking for your Organization, or should we bring the young Turks in for this?" "No. Whatever you need from us, I know how to get." A grimace. "Now." His host smiled, the expression dark and sinister. "Ah. Good to have you back, then." --o-0-o-- Apartment Arlington, Virginia Friday, August 29, 1997 6:21 pm Nichols grunted as he pushed himself off the couch to answer the door. The lean, angular figure outside surprised him. "Ros? I thought you'd be on your way to Ithaca by now." He stepped back. "Come'on in." The brunette shuffled inside. "Thanks, Nic." Glancing over, Nichols caught the puffiness around his partner's eyes, but said nothing. "You want some mineral water? Diet Coke?" She shook her head, aiming for his battered recliner instead. "No, nothing, thanks. I just..." She began chewing the side of her thumb absently. The mustachioed man surveyed his partner, who was curled tightly against one protruding side of the Barcalonguer. "Hey, did I ever tell you that I managed to culture some yeast off a fresh bottle of Chimay?" She leaned out of the padding. "Really?" Her narrow face radiated an interest her partner knew she didn't truly feel. Nichols sighed. "Hum. I'll be right back." He poured dark liquid into a wide thick-stemmed goblet, then returned with a bottle of orange-flavored Strathmore. Waiting until Rosen had cleared the junk mail off his coffeetable, he set the bottle by her and leaned back, holding the glass. "See?" Rosen's dark eyebrows curved. "You're drinking it? I thought you said it needed to age?" Nichols shrugged. "Ah, it has." After a sip, he carefully set the goblet down and rubbed his palms together. "Ros - " She scrubbed her face with her left hand. "Cary called." Nichols nodded. "I thought that was why you'd be here. Is her Mom OK?" The astronomer returned to chewing her right thumb, then flicked at it angrily with her index finger. "Oh, Miss Alice, she's *always* OK. Even when she's at death's door." Rosen crossed her arms. "Sorry, Nic, I know you have your own problems. I just," her sigh exploded through her nose, "I needed to talk to somebody and all, but you have that outing with Janie and Liz tomorrow before they leave for the West Coast. I should have called." She leaned forward. Nichols reached over to grasp her shoulder. "It's no problem, Ros. Tomorrow is tomorrow. Anything you can't eat while you're in training, or could I interest you in some take-out?" Both turned towards the kitchen when the phone rang. Nichols trotted in to answer it, feeling a sense of relief at the caller. "Hey, Scully? What can I do for you?" He tossed a grin at his partner when she appeared, water bottle in hand, in the doorway. "That's great." His smile broadened. "That's super!" A nod. "OK, we'll be there Monday, then. We'll update you on the latest we have from the Gunmen, too." Rosen straightened. "Oh? What's up?" After he replaced the receiver, he turned to her. "Mulder may have some new information on his sister. Scully's trying to get him to go out to the Mediterranean to help with the search, so she'd like us to come back to the safe house." The astronomer gulped down her water. "Now?" Nichols shook his head. "Scully needs the time to work on Mulder in private; you know that's how they operate." She grinned. "You were right back at Franklin Bay. This is a weird little family we've put together here." The moustache twitched. "Yeah. So, you do Vietnamese?" He held out a thick booklet to her. She set the bottle on the kitchen counter to take the papers. "Yeah! There's a place here that advertises 'No MSG'." She flattened the newsprint on the cracked linoleum. Reaching for the phone, he glanced back over his shoulder. "But, Ros, MSG is perfectly natural, plus, it's good for you!" --o-0-o-- Beachfront Tel Aviv, Israel Saturday, August 30, 1997 1:31 pm Wearing matching green one-piece suits, two identical women with long brown hair smiled and waved at three children frolicking in the surf. The two boys and the girl were laughing and shouting alongside the rest of the international tourists on the crowded beach. Since twins often married twins, no one would have thought it odd that when they were approached by two identical, balding men, who feigned arthritis as they bent to kiss them briefly. One of the men called for the children, who scrambled reluctantly out of the water to assemble in a loose circle around their parents. The slightly more diminutive brown-haired woman spoke first. "We are relieved to see you are well." Her 'husband' responded. "We have developed survival apparati that permit us to travel among the Europeans undetected." He touched her forehead. "Here, use these." The woman pressed her palm against the finger, nodding as she processed the information. "We are grateful for this aid. With what you have learned while we were in the Colony, we can now modify our appearance with greater ease, and we can obscure the UV signatures that are so easily detectable. We were on our way to a source of raw materials that would allow us to rebuild some of our construction tools." She passed the data to her counterpart by pressing her index finger in the same spot as the 'husband' had accessed. Her 'husband' cocked his head. "It is a shame that simians are so prone to splintering along purely intellectual lines of division. Our evolution emphasized unity, not discord, so perhaps it is to be expected that we have advanced so far so fast." The taller brown-haired woman frowned slightly while she processed the new information. "But you say here that you have located an alternate vessel?" The other 'husband' nodded. "It was not too difficult to work it out, although the simian who concealed the clues was excessively clever for one of his kind. This species has a great deal of promise. If it were permitted, they should be encouraged in their development along proper paths." The little girl, her multicolored bikini almost dry, sat up straight. "You know that is not our way. We make neither allies nor enemies, for one can become the other in an eye's blink. These simians will either exterminate themselves or develop by their own means, but we have offered a suggestion to prepared ears that may offer some small hope for their future." The first 'husband' looked around at the women and the girl. "You worthies have taken such actions before, and it has never had the effects you have anticipated." The oldest boy growled. "Worthies! You inflate your importance by using such words for yourself!" The taller brown-haired woman held up her hand. "There will be time for philosophy later, Pilot, once we are home again. We know what your choice would be for every simian species we ever encounter, but that cannot be, either. As you just pointed out, unilateral actions never have the anticipated outcome. You might be inadvertently exterminating our own kind while removing what you consider vermin in the Universe." The boy was on his feet. "Enough talk! Let us proceed." Pushing on a thick pair of glasses, the smaller boy, his pale skin already freckling, shivered before he spoke. "Yes, worthies, we must proceed. Optimum time for departure is almost at hand." The shorter 'mother' nodded. "Engineer, you see the straightest path." She looked from one husband to the other. "Return to your monitoring, following the orders the simians give you. We shall make contact again when we have arrived at our destination." The seven began laughing and chattering nonsensically as a large tour group moved slowly past them. --o-0-o-- Safe House Charleston, South Carolina Saturday, 9:04 am His hair still slick from his shower, Mulder knocked on his partner's room door. "Scully? Skinner said you wanted to talk to me." His grin faded when she opened the door and he spotted the hollows under her eyes. "Scully?" She dropped her gaze momentarily. "Mulder. Come in." He followed her inside. "You OK? You look like you didn't sleep." He winced as he eased himself into one of the two chairs in her room. Her arms crossed, the auburn-haired woman let her eyes drift idly along the patterns in the carpet, not trusting herself to look at him when she began. "I've asked Rosen and Nichols to come back down here from DC." She began pacing, expecting an objection. He cocked his head. "This was what you needed to tell me in private? We'd wanted them to come back soon to help with the investigations we have planned." Rubbing her ribs, she stopped, facing him. "No, Mulder, it isn't." His hazel eyes hardening into black crystal, he rose to glare down at her. "I don't want to have the conversation I think you want us to have, Scully." She rocked back on her heels. "Why not? This is Samantha we're talking about here. I won't let this investigation come between you and finding her." The dark-haired man rested his unbound hand on her shoulder. "Look, I understand what you're trying to do for me." He caught his lower lip in his teeth momentarily. "Although I've certainly not said it often enough, I've *always* appreciated when you watch out for me, but, this time, I'm not sure it's necessary." Stepping away, he lowered himself into the seat he had just vacated, then waved towards the other. Since she remained on her feet, he continued. "Remember Lauren Kyte?" A blink of green-blue eyes. "You mean, the secretary who helped us solve the murder of Howard Graves?" A twinge of pain pulled at her cheek, then she found her way to the chair. "You don't think the Isfahan would know anything about Samantha, do you?" Mulder shook his head. "No. I was remembering when I accused you of sending the investigation down a path that would make us miss spectral phenomena." She sighed. "Oh, that. You saw plenty of what you claimed were spectral phenomena, if I remember your portion of the report correctly." He smirked. "Let's just say Lauren wasn't the partying type." He leaned as much towards his partner as his cast would allow. "But it was one of the few times I didn't end up flat on my back in a hospital after seeing something like that. Because I didn't run off. Because we worked together on the case, rather than my going off separately." She rose again. "But how does that apply here? You identified your sister's photo, so she must have been in Israel at one point, Mulder." He let his face settle into a mask of calm. "At one point, but what about now? You've always emphasized to me the importance of proving something as many different ways as possible. We're investigating what the Consortium did with test subjects, one of whom may have been Samantha. Sure, she may have been in Israel at one point, but what if that turns out to be a dead end and the live leads turn up here? What good will being half a world away be then?" He struck his cast with his fist. "Don't tell me our parents need protection; I'd be no good defending anybody, Scully, I can't even hold my weapon properly until this comes off." Closing her eyes, Scully nodded with relief. "OK. If that's how you see it, then that's how we'll proceed." He rose. "I'm not shirking my responsibilities, not anymore. I promised you that in January, and I mean to keep my word. Now, if you're up to it, we have some planning to do." After quickly pulling her fingers though her hair, she stepped towards the door. "Sure, Chief." He grinned at her back. "But thanks for thinking about it." She tossed a tiny smile over her shoulder. --o-0-o-- Dark Apartment Washington, DC Wednesday, September 17, 1997 7:21 pm A snick of a lighter, then the old man lit another Morley, drawing deeply on the tobacco. When the ash threatened to collapse from the end, he flicked it thoughtlessly onto the remains of his microwaved meal, pushing the similar colors and textures of the food out of his mind. Still contemplative, he carried the plastic tray to his kitchen to drop it into his nearly-empty trash can. A knock on the door had him stubbing the Morley against the wall and racing for the pistol on his coffeetable. "Yes?" "Guten Abend, mein Herr! Ich bin hier!" The wrinkled visage cracked into something approximating relief. But before he threw all caution to the wind, he checked through the spyhole and the open mail slot. He unlocked the door. "Vie'gehts?" The tall German who had hosted him so graciously stepped into his sparsely-furnished apartment. "Ah, my colleague, I prefer to practice my English on you." The old spy nodded. "Of course. I have no fine spirits to offer you, I fear." His guest shook his head. "That is not, how do your young people say, a problem?" He waited for the grey head to nod. "My diplomatic cover requires I attend some tedious gathering of your government officials. But I did want to use the opportunity to discuss a serious matter with you." The man with the Morleys waved him to a seat. "Ah. There is news on the chromosomal studies?" His guest flipped the tails of his tuxedo jacket before he sat on an ottoman, assuming as relaxed a posture as his military regimen permitted. "That would require a much longer stay than I can afford at this time. You will come to visit again, perhaps?" Reaching for the cardboard packet, the old man nodded. "Oh, I will. And in a more official capacity, from the viewpoint of the Organization." His guest cocked his head. "Oh? I should think..." The burning cylinder waved. "More later. What did you wish to tell me?" The German straightened. "Mossad has been poking very close to matters they should not, all in the name of finding one Samantha Mulder. The Middle East is such a volatile place, we have spun up a necessary distraction. But I need you to answer one question, which will tell me how far I must, as you say, stir the pot?" He smiled at the knowing nod. "You feel certain Caroline Podhowitz and her associates should be allowed to proceed? That there will be no permanent damage to the Project as a result?" The old man nodded, smoke issuing from his nostrils in waves. "They have one objective, Caroline and Max." He dropped the lighter beside the red and white box. "I have met with her in the not-too-distant past, and extracted a promise of secrecy from her. I have kept my side of the bargain, because Caroline Podhowitz is a woman who keeps her vows. She will tell her son and daughter nothing of what she knew of our work, especially if she is given a gentle reminder, shall we say?" He waited for his guest's dark eyes to clear in understanding. "Whatever young Mulder finds out, it will be of his own efforts, and it will serve my ends." The grey brows knitted. "Serve your ends?" "The American Organization can not be permitted to slide any further into division and inaction. My young associates presume to treat their collaboration as a *democracy*, of all things." A snort prompted him to continue. "What Mulder and Scully learn and expose will serve only to accelerate a process I did not initially think I would need to set in motion. But now I know I must." He held the cigarette where he could watch the end burn down. The German sighed. "You were always the best at the riddles, old friend. You need something from me, though, or you would not have told me even this much." A nod. "Not now, but at a later time, I will need you to produce evidence and witnesses as I require." He held up his empty hand. "Nothing more than we have done many times in the past, in fact, much less. It is mere knowledge of the existence of this falsehood that is sufficient, not a full-blown lie." His tuxedoed guest rubbed his hands together. "If it will advance the Project, than it shall be yours. But I must admit, it will keep my mind off the tedious toasts and that quaint American sense of humor for this evening." The old spy rose. "Then perhaps it is already a fair exchange." He walked the German to the door to wave him on his way. Locking it, he nodded to himself. --o-0-o-- Lobby Dan Carmel Hotel Haifa, Israel Friday, September 19, 1997 1:27 pm Max rose when he spotted his old friend entering through the glass double doors. "Chaim! Here!" He waved the suited man to the sofa where he waited with Caroline, introducing her succinctly. The grey-suited agent tucked his chin before turning to Max. "I've only had the news myself, and I wanted to bring it to you straight away. We have located the next leg of the Silverbergs' journey to America." Margaret Scully had walked up behind the Lowenbergs. "Then this is good news." Max rose. "Margaret Scully, Chaim Yassam. Chaim, Margaret. A friend from America. She knows everything we do, so speak to her as you would to us." Another nod from the agent, but with a shrug, he declined to take her hand. Margaret glanced downward to see a shrunken arm, then sat before she could exclaim in what she was sure was unwanted sympathy. Chaim took the armchair across from the three. "It is not as good as we originally had hoped. There was a bomb scare at Tel Aviv airport the day the Silverbergs were to depart, so they chose to take a cruise instead, thinking it would be safer for them all." Margaret frowned. "But I thought, except for the Achille Lauro, that was usually true." Chaim grasped his right wrist with his left hand to move the limb over to the padded armrest. "Oh, security wasn't the difficulty. But they took a Greek cruise boat with an Egyptian crew and it developed problems with its pumps while they were sailing south. The "Egyptian Sunrise" was directed by its captain to Cairo, where he knew several mechanics. There, we lost track of it." He looked to Margaret. "This was before Camp David, you see, when our Egyptian allies were not as good with their records as we were. Several of the passengers transferred to other vessels, several took planes from Cairo. The Silverbergs were among those who transferred off the boat. We have inquiries waiting for us, but as with all things in Egypt," he waved his good hand, "these things take time." Max sighed. "So, Chaim, you think we should go to Egypt and speak with whom?" The agent reached into his pocket for a slip of paper. "This is my counterpart in Cairo who is looking into the matter. It is important that his identity not become widely known." Max glanced at the name, then returned the folded strip. "Very well." He smiled at Margaret. "Feel like visiting the Pyramids, Maudie?" The dark-haired woman's eyes glowed with anticipation. Caroline chuckled. "When you do return to the States, Margaret, you'll have so many stories your children won't know what to do with you." Chaim rose. "That's all I have, really." He bent over Caroline's, then Margaret's hands. "I wish it could be more." After exchanging a quick hug with Max, he stepped through the glass doors. Max shifted on the cushions. "Well, I think we have bags that need to be packed, ladies." He rose, then was thrown to the ground by a hot rush of air and glass. Margaret felt herself falling into darkness. --o-0-o-- A keening whine broke into the cottony silence. Caroline Lowenberg shuddered, then awoke, coughing. "Max?" "Line-chen? Can you see Maudie?" The white-haired woman twisted, surprised that only her upper arms burned. "She's right here, Max. Margaret? Margaret?" The white-haired man rolled to his hands and knees. Margaret Scully waved frantically, then popped both eyes open. "What happened just now?" Max reached out for his wife, but she was already sitting up, attempting to focus on Margaret amid all the smoke and shouting. "Car bomb. Terrible to have this happen here in Haifa. Are you both all right?" Margaret brushed glass and cloth off her legs. "Oh, I think I'll need to go to the hospital." Caroline found she could crouch, so checked Margaret's calf. "I think so. The glass really did a number on you." Ignoring the cuts on her own arms, she ripped the stained cotton twill off her friend's legs, twisting it into a crude tourniquet. "Max?" The white-haired man was picking his way through the rubble outside to crouch by a too-still form, the shrunken arm thrown up over a bald head at an unnatural angle. He reached down to run his hand over the man's face, then returned to his wife's side. "Poor Chaim. He lost Gerda the same year I lost Thea. Oh, dear, Maudie." He disappeared through the ruined entrance to lead a paramedic team back through. Caroline squeezed the dark-haired woman's hand as she walked beside her gurney to the ambulance. "It'll be all right, Margaret. Max will meet us at the hospital." Biting her lip, Margaret stifled a sob. "Caroline, do you think...?" The white-haired woman waited until they were settled in the ambulance. "They've been there over four thousand years, Margaret. We can take the time for you to recuperate back on Santorini, if that's what you're asking." She sent her friend an uneasy smile. "I think I could use the rest myself." Margaret gritted her teeth while the paramedics shifted her leg. "Dana doesn't need to know. She has enough on her mind as it is." Caroline sighed. "Yes. They both do, so for now, just concentrate on recovering. We've been away from home long enough." --o-0-o-- Capital Hill Rowhouse Washington, DC Saturday, September 20, 1997 7:21 pm McConnell paced the length of the porch, waiting for the rumble of a specific engine from around the corner. 'Ace' poked her head out one of the windows. "Can you see him?" The red-haired man sighed. "No, not yet. How can we throw a surprise birthday party for him when he won't come home? There's nothing he needs to be working on this week for Matheson." They frowned at the purring of an expensive import. 'Charlie' stuck his head out the other front window. "That sounds like him, finally." He disappeared into the darkness, waiting by the door with his lover. McConnell waved from the front steps as Lindhauer appeared, then, as a grey head emerged from the back seat, stopped. When a bald head with black glasses rose above the opposite side, he scrambled for the door. 'Ace' and 'Charlie' dropped to their knees at his expression. McConnell's green eyes rolled towards the street. "Black Lung is with him. And the shape-shifter." 'Ace' scrambled for the gun in the kitchen, returning just as the three men entered the house. When the old spy caught a glimpse of her in her firing stance, he burst out laughing. "Dearest Amanda, you always were the most prepared of the lot. But, all for naught, I'm afraid." The Morley waved. "This is the original article, not the imported fake. Your compatriot has something to tell you." Still amused, the Smoking Man used the lit end of his Morley to burst one of the Mylar balloons, watching as the silvered sphere jerked madly, the helium driving it in random swirls. He turned back to the conversation, letting it sink to the floor unnoticed. Lindhauer sighed. "He's real." He glanced around at the decorations. "I appreciate the gesture, but we have more serious matters to attend to right now." McConnell settled in the armchair. "Oh, such as?" Lindhauer closed his eyes momentarily. "Mulder and Scully have been busy little bees while we've been otherwise engaged. They've been collecting evidence to verify nearly everything Saunders has told them about the Organization." From her seat at the dining room table, 'Ace' queried, "So? That's exactly what we expected they would do. Let them expose what was old. We've moved past all those operations in any case. They're chasing dead-end leads." Luther glared at her. "No! You can't let them do that. What they've uncovered will direct them, eventually, to the Groups in Europe and the Orient, which are still very active." Under the old man's approving gaze, he crossed his arms and continued. "Just because it's old, don't assume it has no meaning or significance." He glared at the four in turn. "You've made a fatal mistake by underestimating your opponents. This isn't just Mulder running off to chase little green men while Scully has to scramble to pick up the pieces in his wake anymore. They're organized and unified in a way they haven't been in the past, which is dangerous, for all of us." When the balding man looked back, the grey head nodded. Lindhauer whirled. "Don't you make the mistake of underestimating us. We still can pull strings ourselves. Why don't the pair of you crawl back under the rock you've found to hide beneath and watch us do our work? You might learn something, old man." He jabbed a pale finger in the old spy's chest to make his point. A new Morley was lit. "Believe me, I intend to do exactly that." He turned his back defiantly before he called to the man in the black glasses. They left the four alone. 'Ace' re-engaged the safety. "Exactly what did you have in mind, 'Finn'?" Lindhauer advanced to stare down at her, waiting until the other two were hovering close. "Just this..." --o-0-o-- Lowenberg Residence Santorini, Greece Wednesday, September 24, 1997 4:21 pm Max bent over the dark-haired woman drowsing in the lounge chair. "Maudie?" Attempting to smooth the deepening wrinkles in her white-haired host's face, Margaret mustered a smile. "Yes? I was just enjoying the sun. How are you?" Max shook his head. "I've lost too many old friends in my time. I'll be all right, but I'm glad we're home." His hazel eyes cleared. "But at least you and Caroline are safe." He tucked the blanket in around her legs. "And need looking after. All that female attention was beginning to get tiresome." Caroline, her arms wrapped in bandages, stepped out to join them. "Max, I have someone from Cairo who wishes to speak with you." The white-haired man rested his hand on his wife's back. "Good. Maybe it will be some news." Margaret smiled up at Caroline Lowenberg. "How do you feel today?" She moved one of the canvas chairs over. "Not nearly as stiff as I expected to be. Still, this was a little more adventure than I was anticipating. I hope it's good news." Margaret closed her eyes. "So do I." --o-0-o-- Dark Apartment Washington, DC Wednesday, 12:24 pm The old man had the cordless phone on his ear before the first ring ended. "Yes?" He tamped the cigarette in his overflowing ashtray. The thick voice at the other end spoke hesitantly. "Mossad is very close." "Good! I want them to be. Let the search for Samantha Mulder proceed unencumbered. It's kept the opponents from Atlantis occupied and away from Mister Mulder, just as I said it would." A growl. "There is another matter that we need to address." The grey head cocked as the black unit was pressed between cheek and shoulder. "Oh? My young associates have approached you with a plan to derail the upcoming trial that they so foolishly permitted to occur?" "Exactly." He lit a new Morley with his silver lighter. "I have an idea what they have asked you to do. You should proceed to offer your expertise and assistance, but with the following changes." A deep chuckle. "If you ever walk a straight line, old friend, I will worry for your mental stability." A blue stream of smoke crossed the room. "So will I. Now, listen..." --o-0-o-- Safe House Charleston, South Carolina Sunday, October 19, 1997 2:16 pm Jarred Stone circled the conference room he had commandeered for a mock trial, surveying the stacks of papers and documents scattered around the tables. "Well, my friends, I think we've put together a case that can't be beat." Immediately, five heads lifted, and nods passed between the four agents in the room. Mulder and Scully were seated at the defense table, while Rosen and Nichols were representing the prosecution. Glancing at her partner, Scully rubbed her forearms. "We have enough here to differentiate us from the mass of UFO cultists that see aliens everywhere. We have a focus here, such as we never had before." She looked to the other two agents, offering her thanks in a slight creasing of her cheeks. "And we never could have done this by ourselves." Saunders, however, scowled at the collected group. "But that's going to be the problem. You've successfully shown that a clandestine Organization has been operating unchallenged for decades to advance an agenda of planetary defense." Rosen crossed her arms. "That the Group exists is its most closely guarded secret, but they've left too much behind for those who know where to look. We've excavated and autopsied the bodies from the Hansen's Disease center. We have the mutated mitochondrial DNA from the warehouses. We have the DNA with three base pairs rather than two. We have the UV signatures. We have a paper trail that shows the growth of the Organization from your think-tank to the distributed sites across the country. Who can argue with this accumulation of evidence?" Nichols shook his head. "That may be our downfall." He patted the closest stack. "If this case were coming before a panel of jurists, we'd have no problem. But we aren't. We're presenting it to twelve ordinary Americans, who don't see the difference between global conspiracies and a tightly controlled think-tank that talks only to other small, powerful organizations. Our defense is essentially a prosecution, a distraction from the fact that we only have, at its base, a simple murder case." Saunders' dark eyes narrowed. "Now we get to it. It's my word that I was defending myself. All the prosecution needs to show is that I have killed before, and the self-defense argument is weakened by association." He glared at Mulder. "They could put you on the stand, force you to testify about what you've seen. That would shake this case at its foundation in the minds of the jury." Scully shifted to face her partner, whose only response was a brief shaking of his head. She prompted him further. "What?" Mulder sighed. "It happened when you were in North Georgetown, Scully. I saw," he rubbed his eyes, "I watched, oh, I'll tell you about it later." Rosen stood. "But where are the bodies? Where are the men he supposedly executed?" She waved her arms at the scattered folders. "We have the evidence, right here. The rest are all tales flying around the air." Nichols reached for her corded hand, pulling her back into her seat. "That's just the problem, Ros, we aren't talking about scientists, engineers, and lawyers. Juries believe eyewitnesses, not evidence. If there's a contradiction, they'll go with the person, not the piles of paper." Stone chuckled, a deep rumble that silenced the others. "Well, that's where I come in. Part of this job is salesmanship. I've won convictions challenging the jury to think for themselves, guiding them slowly through day after day of testimony. The trick is not to pour it on too fast, to give them time to digest, and to have a simple message." Crossing his arms, he rocked back onto his heels, a gesture Mulder recognized as his only sign that he was fatigued. The dark-haired agent slumped down in his chair. "And what would that message be, Jarred?" Stone looked over, letting his broad grin stretch his face. "That our Mister Saunders, after a lifetime of duplicity, finally chose to do the right thing and come forward. But that his past refused to let him go." Saunders snorted. "You're turning me into a victim here!" The towering attorney nodded. "Exactly. The jury will relate to that." He rotated his shoulders. "Anyone can have a past that clings to them like a millstone. In the meantime, I suggest you four take yourselves off back to DC. Make sure your apartments haven't gone up in smoke." He grinned at the nods of agreement. "We have the preliminary hearing on Tuesday, in Alexandria. I'll be up Monday night, after I say my own farewells." --o-0-o-- End - Zurvan - Zion