Jintian Li
jintian@graffiti.net

Date: 30 May 2001 16:46:46 -0700
Subject: [all-xf] NEW: Argus by Jintian (1 of 7)
Source: atxc

Disclaimer: None of the X-Files universe is mine.
Archive: Yes, but please email me and link to
http://www.geocities.com/thedoublehelix/jintian/argus.txt
Rating: R for adult situations
Keywords: casefile, mytharc, Krycek

Notes: This story is set between Tithonus and Two Fathers, so the
events of S.R. 819 are also important.  Regarding the murder
premise, I once posted an unfinished treatment to ATXC under
another name.  It is here in substantially different form.

______________________________

Argus
by Jintian
jintian@graffiti.net
______________________________
 

Race Street
Philadelphia, PA
Sunday, 11:46 pm

Bloodsmell lay thick and coppery on top of the biting cold.  Scully
and the Philadelphia coroner had agreed that the body was mostly
drained before it was left in the alley, but the stench still seemed to
emanate from the cuts in the dead man's skin.  There were about
fifty of them, ellipses with circular centers and pointed ends, but a
more accurate count would have to wait until the body was at the
morgue.

Mulder's shoes crunched into the only patch of untrodden snow, in
the corner between the dumpster and the wall where the wind
tunnel effect was minimal.  He huddled in his overcoat, trying to
ignore the chill deep in his bones.  From where he stood he could
no longer smell the blood, but his temples had begun to ache.

All along the alley the forensics team trudged through the snow
investigating the scene.  Scully was the only one not moving as she
crouched next to the body, coat dragging and hair whipping about
her face.  She showed no sign of shivering despite the paleness of
her cheeks.  Her hands were clad in a pair of thin driving gloves,
large-sized latex ones pulled on over them.  With her index finger
she traced the parabolic outline of one cut in the space just above
it.

"Eyes," she said, and the wind flung her voice across the alley to
reach him.  "Just like the others.  About two inches in length, one
inch in width."  She looked up.  The evidence camera flashed and
whined, flaring white light across her face.

Mulder shifted from one foot to the other, flexing his ankles.  The
eyes in the victim's face were closed, the lids blue with cold.

The other victims were three and seven days dead, respectively.
They had been discovered in D.C. and Delaware, and were so far
unidentifiable through either fingerprints or dental records.
Neither had been found in any criminal DNA database.
Considering the circumstances under which they'd been assigned
the case, Mulder doubted that situation would change.

It had smelled bad from the beginning.  Markham from BSU was
in charge of the investigation, but apparently there'd been string
pulling.  Scully was only back in the bullpen ten days after the
Bureau cleared her for field duty when AD Kersh told them they
were being loaned out again, as a unit this time.  His stone face
warned them against protests or questions.

This afternoon they had found themselves cooling their heels in the
Philadelphia Bureau with the two autopsy reports, while Markham
was overseeing the investigation in Wilmington.

Unfortunately, Wilmington was behind the times.  Philadelphia
Homicide had buzzed the FBI branch an hour ago with news of the
third body.  Markham was stranded by snow and couldn't get to the
city before morning.  So until then, Mulder and Scully were the
figurative It.

A tech from the coroner's office stood by, taking notes.  Scully's
voice took on a droning, lecture-like tone.  "The victim is a nude
Caucasian male who appears to be between the ages of twenty-five
and thirty-five.  Dark coloring.  Time of death is difficult to
determine due to cold weather speeding rigor, however an autopsy
will provide a more conclusive estimate.  The throat has been slit
open, which based on the previous victims was the most likely
cause of death.  The body was exsanguinated before it was brought
here.  It was found by..."  She looked around.

"Tae Min-Lee," Mulder offered, leaning against the wall.  Tae
Min-Lee was at the mouth of the alley, talking to the two
Philadelphia detectives, Banks and Johnson, with the aid of a
Cantonese translator.

"Go ahead and bag the body," Scully ordered.  The coroner's team
began to move, warming up cold-slowed muscles.

Mulder took a breath before leaving the shelter of the dumpster.
Scully straightened as he approached, stepping gracefully over the
snow.  The doctor in New York had told him her recovery from the
shooting had been amazingly quick.  She had checked out of the
hospital a week after it happened, the wound already closed and
forming scar tissue.  But still he watched her carefully.

"Do you want to go with them?" he asked her.  A dull thud of pain
migrated from his temples to the back of his head.

"No," she said, her breath visible in the cold.  "We'll do the
autopsy first thing tomorrow morning."  She glanced around the
alley once more.  From the set of her mouth, he knew she was
leaning toward staying.

He sighed inwardly and drew the coat tighter around himself.
"Should we call Markham now?"

She shook her head.  "I'd rather have some autopsy results first.
Kersh will want to make sure we're pulling our weight."

Mulder nodded, looking down and wishing for some snow boots.
He could feel a freezing trickle in his shoes.  "Then let's go talk to
Tae ourselves."

Scully pivoted, still not seeming to register the winter closing
down all around them.  Mulder plowed through the snow behind
her, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Tae Min-Lee looked about forty, wearing a puffy jacket that had
once been white, and a red baseball cap that said "Wong Chinese
Grocers."  He was shaking his head at the detectives and the
translator.  "No one.  See no one.  Just body."

Scully stopped in front of him, pulling out her ID.  The detectives
stepped back, not so much a gesture of respect as of frustration.
"Mr. Tae?" Scully said.  "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully."

The translator gave her a weary look.  "He already told these men
three times he didn't see anyone else around here."

Scully asked anyway, "No one on the street?  No footprints?"

"See no one," Tae enunciated.  "Street empty.  I look down alley, I
see someone naked, sleep in snow.  Cover with snow, very thin
snow.  I come closer, I shake him so he wake.  But he not sleep.
He *dead*."

Mulder pursed his lips, a line from Conrad echoing in his head.
Yes, the victim was very dead, indeed.

"You called the police after you found the body?" Scully persisted.

Tae nodded.  "Yes.  I look closer, look like dead man have all open
eyes, all over skin.  Look like not sleep at all."

Scully was silent.  From the tilt of her head Mulder knew she was
waiting for him to ask his own questions.  But instead, he cleared
his throat.  "Thank you, Mr. Tae.  We'll be in touch if we need to
find out anything else."

The translator piped up.  "Can he go home now?"

Mulder glanced at the Philadelphia detectives.  "Can you get one
of the uniforms to drive him?"

Banks shrugged. "Sure."

Scully was quiet until Tae and the translator had shuffled off.  "It
looks like the snow has obliterated most of the evidence we could
get from the scene," she said.

Johnson nodded.  "There was a light snowfall earlier tonight,
ended about ten pm.  The first uniforms who got here found
multiple footprint tracks going in and out of the alley, too many to
count."

"But we'll be scraping the snow out of here and checking through
it, of course," Banks said.  "Anyway, we could assume the body
was dropped before ten."

Scully nodded.  "It was probably dropped during the snowfall.
Less visibility, fewer people on the street."

They were all silent.  Mulder shifted as Scully glanced back at the
alley, waiting for her to decide.

After a moment, she said, "The coroner's team will get the body to
the morgue.  If you discover any further evidence connected to this
case, contact me or Agent Mulder as soon as possible.  Or Agent
Markham," she said as an afterthought.  "You have our cards."

Banks and Johnson nodded.  Mulder nodded back at them, trying
not to let the relief on his face show as Scully squared her
shoulders and started walking to the car.

~~~

A fresh fall of snow had just begun as they pulled away from the
curb.  Mulder put the windshield wipers on low and guided the car
down Race Street.

He glanced at Scully and wondered what she was thinking, being
back in Philadelphia.  Or if she even thought anything.

She sat facing forward, silent.  He wasn't sure if she was trying to
stay awake for the ride to the motel, but in case she was going to
fall asleep he didn't try to talk to her.

Instead he faced forward also, driving with both hands and making
careful turns through the slick streets.  The city was not as empty
as Tae had said Race Street was.  Even at this hour there were still
scattered cars driving to who knew where.

So much in the city by day went hidden, not necessarily monsters
but humans with the potential to become such.  Prowling the
streets were the Ed Jerses, all those who by day worked nine to
five jobs, took lunch breaks and cigarette breaks, clogged traffic at
rush hour with their midsize sedans.  There was never any
indication of what might lie underneath, of what violence could be
discovered without the reflective light of the sun.  It was only
under those dark circumstances, when the city was cloaked in
shadows, that they slithered out to feed.

~~~

Chestnut Street
Philadelphia, PA
Monday, 11:52 am

The bar cast a blue light onto the snow, making odd shadows
where the whiteness had been moved and trampled.  Krycek stood
outside for a moment, breathing in frostbitten air and trying to
locate every point of egress without shivering.

It was late when he finally stepped through the door, but the
building was still filled with yuppies dressed in sharp dark clothes.
They were all sipping expensive-looking drinks, eyeing him coolly
as he made his way to the end of the bar, the only clear space in
sight.  From that vantage point he could survey most of the main
room.  Greer, with his bone-hard countenance, would stand out in a
crowd like this, but there was no sign of him yet.

There was a time when Krycek himself would have blended in
with the sea of faces.  He was certainly dressing the part nowadays,
having discarded the leather jacket and unshaven jaw in favor of
tailored suits.  But he could feel the undeniable difference between
himself and the crowd -- a life-and-death alertness the patrons
lacked, for all their clean moneyed grace.

Krycek wondered briefly why Greer had chosen such a place to
hand over the access codes.  But then, he'd been out of the loop for
too long to know whether or not this was standard.  He had come a
long way from the dank, dripping hold of the Russian ship where
the Englishman had duped him out of the vaccine, but he had a still
longer way to go.

He was already at the bottom of his drink when his cell phone
rang.  Krycek darted his gaze about before answering.  "Yes?"

"We need you to dispose of something," Aimes said.

He touched the side of his glass lightly with the plastic fingers of
his prosthesis, gathering condensation.  "Right now?"

"Yes."

"I'm waiting for our Philadelphia associate."

"Our Philadelphia associate has just been delivered to the
Philadelphia Morgue."

Alarm bells jangled in Krycek's head.  "What are you talking
about?"

"You'll find the body under John Doe #4397," Aimes continued.
"Get rid of it and any evidence that might identify it."

The line went dead, and Krycek pushed himself away from the bar.
A feeling of hidden menace slid chilly fingers up his spine, and he
glanced around once more.  But he could sense no tangible danger
in the crowd of drinkers.  The night hit him in the face as he
opened the door and stalked out.

~~~

Philadelphia Morgue
2:29 am

Security at the morgue was virtually non-existent.  Seemed like
there was no risk anyone would want to steal the deceased.
Krycek rewired the outdoor alarm during the guard's bathroom
break and ducked through the shadowed hallways toward the
autopsy area.

Two folders interrupted the white counters, one for John Doe
#4397 and one for a Harold Riley from Springfield, Pennsylvania.
Krycek took the first and flipped it open, finding a set of
fingerprints.  They would get nothing from those, but he'd have to
retrieve any blood and tissue samples.  Forensics photos of the
body were being developed on the third floor.  That would be the
next stop.

The rack of drawers on the far wall loomed blank and silver.   He
found the one with the right label and slid it out, careful not to let
the wheels squeak.

There was Greer's face as he'd expected, looking just as grim as
when he was alive.  Krycek pulled the drawer further and caught a
glimpse of Greer's chest.  More specifically, what was on Greer's
chest.

The shiver of menace traveled up his spine again.  He yanked the
drawer the rest of the way out, not caring about the wheels
anymore, and stood very still, looking at what had been done to
Greer's body.

He recognized those cuts.

~~~

Motel Six
Philadelphia, PA
7:26 am

Mulder dreamed of a body covered with eyes, real eyes.  Eyes that
blinked, that were blue and green and brown and black, that had
lashes and stared out at him without expression.  At one point the
lids opened wide, the eyes getting bigger and bigger until they
seemed to stretch the bounds of anatomical correctness.

Not that there was much correct about them to begin with.

Then there was a gunshot, loud and close by.  The eyes, every one
of them, snapped closed and disappeared.  Where they used to be
was only smooth, unbroken skin.

He woke in his motel room, shivering, and realized that he'd
kicked off the bed covers in his sleep.  He pushed himself out of
bed into the gray light of the room, dressing in running clothes.

Outside Mulder jogged over the fresh layers of snow, feeling the
air whistle in his lungs as he set a medium pace.  The morning was
thin and clear, and it chased out the dream eyes and replaced them
with the paleness of the sky, the quiet blind houses lining the
streets.

He wanted to be more awake than this.  It had been a long sleep for
him in Kersh's bullpen, interrupted only by brief instances when
his search for more vivid work was rewarded.  He felt a generation
older than the last time he had hunted a killer.  Perhaps he could
still remember the hows of investigating, collecting clues like so
many droppings on the trail, but remembering and knowing were
not the same thing.

Mulder wondered if Scully had been thinking similar thoughts
yesterday.  Only a month before Kersh had assigned her to the
Alfred Fellig case -- was she wondering what the consequences
would be this time?  Was she eager to be in the role of pathologist
again despite that?

Did she feel awake?

On his way back he stopped for coffee and bagels, walking with
them to the motel.  His thoughts traveled ahead of him, touching
on Scully again.

He couldn't ask her these questions directly.  Mutual self-
confession was an art they had attempted but never mastered, and
most of what he knew about her came from observation.  He
assembled her patterns of behavior like a picture puzzle, a map that
would show him which directions to take.  Sometimes he thought
he had Scully all charted and measured, but there were always new
discoveries that would surprise him, that would send him back to
the drawing board.

The shooting had been such a discovery, Mulder thought.  He had
felt lost afterward, like someone had taken the map from him and
revealed that entire continents had been left out.

Scully had opened the connecting door while he was gone, and he
could hear the sound of her hair dryer.  He left her breakfast on her
dresser, then headed into his bathroom and stripped out of his
sweats.

When he came out of the shower, she was perched on the end of
his bed, already dressed and looking through the casefile folder.
She closed it as he moved toward his suitcase.

"The body has disappeared."  Her voice was frosty.

That stopped him in his tracks.  He stood there wrapped in his
towel.  "How?"

"I got the call about fifteen minutes ago.  One of the ME's
assistants went in to prep for the autopsy and it was just gone.  The
folder, forensics photos, blood and tissue samples, all of it.  That
was an hour ago and they've looked everywhere."

His head spun.  "Security?  They didn't see anything?"

"No."

He shook his head, moving quickly to his suitcase.  She looked
back down at the casefile as he began dressing.  "Who the hell
would want that?" he muttered.

She countered, "Who do we know who likes to erase evidence?"

He paused.  "Do you think it's...?"

Scully bit her lip.  "I don't know.  We've been left alone since we
were assigned to Kersh.  But I'm suspicious of how we got this
case to begin with."  She raised her eyes to his.  "Aren't you?"

Mulder was silenced for a moment.  She'd changed, and it wasn't
just getting shot.  She suspected things now.  She had stopped
taking it all at face value.  He cleared his throat, breaking the quiet
that had settled between them.  "Did you tell Markham about the
disappearance?"

She nodded.  "He should be back from Wilmington by lunchtime."

"You want me to come with you to the coroner's office?" he asked.

"If you want to.  So far that body and the other two are the only
evidence we have.  I'd hoped to get a positive ID on this one."

"Maybe that's exactly why it's missing.  Because it could be
identified."

She nodded.  "That's what I was thinking."

"What do you think Kersh will do when he finds out?"

"I don't know.  He has enough issues with loaning us out already.
Let's just hope the other two bodies give you enough for a profile."
She eyed him.  "Ready to go?"

Mulder grabbed his coat.  "Yes."

~~~

8th Street
Philadelphia, PA
7:33 am

It was something to do with the way a knife could make an object
part from itself, Krycek knew.  He remembered Jun explaining it
during that long, long drive from D.C. to New York, when Krycek
had surfaced from shock enough to pay attention.

"A blade is clean," Jun had told him.  "Cleaner than a gun."  He
had a voice that made Krycek imagine ripples on the surface of a
black pond, vowels stretching languidly into slurred consonants.
"Think about a sharp edge slicing through every layer, thinner and
thinner, shaving molecules from molecules.  Apple, hair, person --
if you go deep enough, it's permanent."  Jun lifted a hand from the
steering wheel and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together,
slanted golden eyes shifting sideways to see if Krycek was
looking.

At the time Krycek was still reeling from Skyland Mountain, the
world reshaping itself around him as the car sped out of
Washington.  He'd kept up appearances for a day or two, thinking
he would be safe, thinking Spender would find a way to cover
everything up.

But Fox Mulder had put the pieces together with the same flashfire
intuition he had used on the Augustus Cole case, and Krycek's life
was cleaved apart with the deepest, permanent cut.  Jun's
philosophy was truer than he realized.  From then on there would
always be the time before, and the time after.  No going back.

Krycek remembered Maryland zipping past the car window, signs
and billboards and exit ramps all viewed through the haziness of
shock.  So much of it he'd taken for granted.  Eating at
McDonald's, getting gas.  If he ever did these things again he'd be
looking over his shoulder the whole time.

Unlocking those memories was like spilling into the open
everything Krycek had wanted to keep out of sight.  The past was
dead weight, a dangerous distraction from forward movement, yet
now it was all crowding back into his head.  The conductor he'd
killed, Mulder hanging from the sky tram, Duane Barry gasping for
breath, Spender's contemptuous dismissals.  He remembered
waking up in his D.C. apartment with a straight razor at his throat,
Jun's version of a greeting.

Krycek shook his head, closing down on that memory and pushing
everything else back.  Jun.

Jun was not from Tunisia, but he had learned to kill there and the
desert had seared itself onto him.  Even sitting in a car Krycek
could see it.  It was in the shift of his shoulders, the way his skin
looked like a bronze cast of skin.  His body was long and loose, all
the limbs swinging from his joints and looking forever ready to fall
off.  He would never have fit into the FBI himself, even if he were
old enough to pass as an agent.  There was something wild in Jun.
If someone had tried to insert him into a suit and tie he would
simply have cut the clothes off his back.

He was still a boy, practically, a strange boy older than his years,
who knew history like it had been written into his blood.  Krycek
remembered him filling the hours to New York with his black
water voice, retelling ancient wars, ancient heroes, waving his
hands as he spoke and driving with his knees.  He had an Asiatic
face, high cheekbones and slanted eyes, full lips, but he looked like
he'd been dipped in gold at birth -- a modern-day Achilles with a
different colored river.

He remembered Jun tracing the shapes of the scars on his right
forearm, thin lines carved into a column of hieroglyphic eyes.  A
pattern he had put there himself.

The same pattern that had been cut all over Greer's body.

Krycek sat in his rented room and flipped through the folder he had
taken from the Philadelphia morgue.  The single naked bulb
overhead swung every time someone above him walked across the
floor.  It cast moving shadows about the corners of the room but
the light on the papers he read was steadfast, so it was impossible
for him to miss the name of the pathologist who had been
scheduled to perform the autopsy: Special Agent Dana Scully,
M.D.

~~~

end part 1 of 7

Argus part 2 of 7
by Jintian (jintian@graffiti.net)

~~~

Philadelphia Morgue
9:09 am

"Eyes," Mulder said.  "What do you know about them, Scully?"

She looked at him over the autopsy reports, eyebrow raised.  "Do
you want a scientific discussion?"

He shook his head, tapping his pen lightly on the counter.  "I want
to know why the UNSUB chose them as his signature."

"I'd have thought that would be the first thing you'd figure out."

The dryness of her tone was not lost on him.  "Serial killers tend to
use their victims as mediums," he told her, "to transmit some kind
of message, whether to the authorities or some unknown party.
They take great care in things like cuts, in the placement of the
bodies.  It's ritualistic, an expression of personal art, in some
cases."

She nodded.

"So," Mulder continued.  "What do these eyes tell you?"

Scully sighed, glancing around at the empty autopsy bay.  She
looked back down at the reports from the other two bodies,
pushing them toward Mulder so that he could see the photographs
the coroner had taken of the cuts.

He waited for her.

"Look at that," she said.  She pointed with one carefully manicured
fingernail.  "It's difficult to cut curves into flesh, even with the
sharpest edge.  Straight lines are always the most precise.  But
this...this looks almost flawless."

His gaze followed where she directed.  "They determined these
were done with a blade?  Not a laser or anything?"

"Yes.  With a medical scalpel.  Left-handed.  The throats were slit
with a longer blade, possibly a straight razor."

Mulder rubbed his chin.  "So the UNSUB knows his knives."

"Yes.  I think that's obvious.  He has experience with this.  He's
probably cut this shape countless times before."  She shook her
head, looking down at the pictures.

"What?"

"It's just...what you said about these being an expression of
personal art."

"What?"  He moved closer.

She kept her eyes on the photographs.  "I'm...appreciative of the
fine level of control it would take to do something like this.  There
*is* something unattainable about these cuts, something that
would require experience and knowledge, something that the
average person doesn't have.  A...talent, or a skill, I suppose."

Mulder was silent, digesting her words.

"So."  She moved the photos out of her way as she began taking
notes from the first report.  Her hair fell over her cheek, obscuring
the paleness of her skin.

Mulder picked the photos up, watching her out of the corner of his
eye.  But she seemed to be concentrating on what she was doing,
and so he studied the pictures as she worked.

He could see what she was talking about.  The cuts were smooth
and sure, the arcs in each line graceful, almost as if they had been
drawn with a sweeping paintbrush.  But the lurid red against the
grayish skin tones, sucking all the color remaining in that dead
flesh....  The eyes seemed to expand as he stared at them, like the
ones in the dream that had woken him that morning.

Something flashed in his memory suddenly and he cleared his
throat.

"Scully, what do you remember from Greek mythology?"

She looked up at him finally.  "I remember Hippocrates."

"Did you ever learn about Argus?"

"It sounds familiar."  She frowned.  "Who was he?"

His heart pounded a bit faster as memory started snapping into
place.  "He was a guardian.  He was the *ideal* guardian because
he had one hundred eyes all over his body.  He could sleep with
just half of them closed."

She tilted her head at that.

Mulder went on.  "Except he was eventually killed by Hermes.
Argus was watching over one of Zeus' lovers, and Hermes
somehow managed to get *all* of his eyes to go to sleep."

"What do you think that means?"

"I don't know just yet."  He put the photos back into the folders.
"But I think I should go to the library."  He stopped and looked at
her.  "Do you want to stay here?"

She nodded, and he was halfway out the door when her voice
called him back.

"Mulder, I just thought of something."

He turned around.

"It's not a myth," she said, "but an old wives' tale, about the eyes of
a dead person.  They say you can see the murderer in the victim's
eyes."

~~~

8th Street
Philadelphia, PA
9:15 am

These days Krycek couldn't dial any of the Circle directly.  The
Group's phone operators had all known him for years, but they also
knew the Group.  Every one of them probably had his file of
fuckups memorized.  If he could get through in under seven
minutes it was a slow day at headquarters.

Finally, Aimes came on the line.  "Were you successful?"

"Yes."

"Good.  We will expect you in New York tomorrow."

"Wait."

Aimes was silent, but didn't hang up.

"Who killed him?" Krycek asked.

"I don't recall telling you it was any of your concern."

"Do you know or don't you?"

There was a pause.  "Why are you so curious?"

Something held him back, erasing his answer before he could
voice it.  He thought of Jun, years ago, raising a long finger to his
lips as he removed the knife from Krycek's throat.

"I asked you a question," Aimes said.

"I knew the man who died," Krycek told him.  "I just want to know
who killed him."

"I hope you're not thinking rash thoughts.  Until now the Group
has been willing to erase certain bits of history from its memory.
That can always change."

He took a breath.  "I'm not thinking anything."

"Good," Aimes intoned.  "Let that continue to be the case.
Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow."  Krycek hung up and clenched his jaw.

Greer's folder had yielded a whole lot of nothing.  He tapped the
space that held Scully's name.  Then his gaze fell on the crime
scene photos, the cuts on Greer's body and the snow crisp white all
around.

He thumbed the phone on again and dialed.

~~~

Philadelphia Central Branch Library
12:28 pm

The library had that old book smell and the quiet hum of people
not speaking.  Mulder scratched notes onto his legal pad and
pawed through pages gone soft on the edges.

The Renaissance was in love with the nude body -- muscles,
breasts, the soft flesh of the stomach and buttocks.  It was not,
however, enamored of nude bodies with one hundred eyes.  Mulder
shook his head at yet another painting of a sleeping Argus with
smooth, unbroken skin.

He was chewing on the end of his pen when Markham slid into the
chair on the other side of the table.

"Agent Mulder," the other man said.  "Hard at work, I see."

Markham never asked questions, only made statements.  Mulder
had known him years ago in the BSU.  He was one of those rare
finds among agents in the Bureau: non-territorial.  Despite this he'd
managed to claim a high rung on the BSU ladder.

Mulder lowered his pen.  "I make some of my best moves sitting
down.  Good to see you, Markham."

"Likewise.  Tell me about some of these moves."  Markham raised
his eyebrows and leaned forward.  "Agent Scully says you're here
catching up on mythology."

"Agent Scully is correct as ever.  I think I've found the source of
those eyes."  Mulder pushed over a book that had one of the few
pictures of Argus with his eyes open.  He explained what he'd
remembered about the myth.

Markham's eyebrows shot even higher.  "So our UNSUB is into
the classics.  I assume you have a theory about all of this."

Mulder took a breath, settling into the old profiler's rhythm.  "I
think the symbolism of the eye-shaped cuts can be taken
straightforwardly.  The UNSUB's laying it on thick with them,
setting the victims up as Argus and himself as Hermes, who was
one of the more clever Greek gods.  He was a known trickster.  He
also escorted people to the underworld when they died."

"Go on."

"Did you know Hermes was also called the Messenger god?  It's
where the term hermeneutics comes from.  The science of
interpretation."

Markham shook his head.

Mulder continued.  "I think it's safe to say the UNSUB is assuming
that role for himself.  In a sense it's almost *too* obvious, but
we're dealing with someone who really wants to say something,
and we're meant to interpret it."

"And you know how."

"I think we'll know when we know who the victims are.  If they're
supposed to be Argus, then maybe we can transfer the symbolism
of the guardian role to them.  That begs the question of who they
were when they were living.

"But I think the key is in the legend itself.  Eyes have always stood
for vision, clarity, and intellect.  But because they failed Argus in
the end, they also serve as a warning to not depend so much on the
senses or the material world."

"Interesting."  Markham nodded, and despite that blank unblinking
face Mulder could tell his thoughts were churning.

He cleared his throat.  "In this case, they also symbolize vanity and
pride.  After Argus' death, Zeus' wife Hera, who first assigned him
to watch over her husband's lover, took all of his eyes and put them
on the tail of the peacock."

"So the UNSUB's warning us or someone against too much pride.
Pride goeth before a fall."

Mulder slid another book over.  The painting this time portrayed a
helmeted Hermes crouching over a sleeping Argus.  "Exactly."

"Well," Markham said.  "Never let me mistake your best moves for
sitting on your ass again, Agent Mulder.  But we have one problem
still to iron out."

Mulder waited.

"I don't think it was the Messenger who took our third body out of
the morgue.  Not if he's using the victims to say something."

Mulder hesitated, keeping his suspicions about the Group silent.
"You're right, I believe someone else took it."

"Then we'd better find out about that," Markham said, standing.

Mulder swallowed his thoughts and followed the other agent out of
the library, leaving the books open along their well-worn spines.

~~~

8th Street
Philadelphia, PA
12:30 pm

The trill of his cell phone interrupted him.  Krycek set down the
parts of the gun he'd been cleaning and reached for it.

"What did you find out?" he asked.

After a pause, Skinner spoke.  "The request came from BSU.  The
paper trail doesn't reveal who made it."

"What about the other AD?  Kersh?"

"Asking Kersh about Mulder and Scully wouldn't be the best move
right now," Skinner said, sounding like someone had clenched a
fist around his throat.

Krycek's thoughts raced.  "Why were they assigned this particular
case?"  As far as he knew, the Group didn't have anyone in the
Behavioral Sciences Unit.  But then of course, nowadays there was
a whole hell of a lot he didn't know.

"That I can't tell you.  All I know is there have been two other
deaths, eight and four days ago, same MO with the victims cut up.
Those details have not been given to the press."

"The other victims haven't been identified?"

"No, they didn't show up in any databases."

Which meant they were probably Group operatives.  Considering
Greer, Krycek concluded this was a reasonable assumption.  "Was
there any evidence found at the crime scenes?" he asked.

"This case isn't my department.  You'll have to look at the file."

"Well, why don't you make that your next task?  Get me a copy of
it."

"Impossible," Skinner growled.  "It's an open case being
investigated in Philadelphia."

"You're an Assistant Director in the age of information technology.
Exercise some authority."

"Look, there's no way I can promise -- "

"You'll have it by late tonight," Krycek told him.  "Because you
know what'll happen if you don't."

When Skinner spoke again it was around a mouthful of gravel.  "Is
that all?"

"I'll let you know."  Krycek thumbed the phone off and tossed it
onto the cloth with the disassembled gun.

He paced around the room.  The fact that Skinner couldn't
determine just who in the BSU had requested Mulder and Scully
indicated one thing: their involvement was no coincidence.
Especially considering how closely the Group was tied up in
Greer's death and Jun's -- almost definite -- hand in it.  The Circle
had long known that Mulder had informants among their
operatives, and the mysterious BSU patron seemed to fit the
profile.

The question was, what did Jun have to do with all of it?  Krycek
hadn't seen the other man since 1995 -- truth to tell he wouldn't
have been surprised to learn of his death -- but he couldn't be the
only one to recognize those cuts.  The Group had to know Jun was
behind at least the first two victims, and Krycek didn't doubt they
knew he was behind Greer's, as well.

Was Jun working on the Group's orders, then?  No.  Not if the
victims had just been left in the open like that.

A thought occurred to Krycek.  They must have known he would
figure out Jun's involvement when they ordered him to dispose of
Greer's body.  But what did they want him to do with that
realization?

He had to be in New York by tomorrow.  That would be the place
to get some answers.

~~~

Murray's Sandwich Shoppe
Philadelphia, PA
1:16 pm

"I'm off to the restroom," Markham said as they came in the door.
"Somebody get me a BLT, extra bacon."

"Sure thing."  Mulder located the cashier station and guided Scully
over.  They gave their orders and Markham's and requested them
to go.

The diner was crowded still with the remains of the Monday lunch
hour.  It was a favorite of Markham's, whose suggestion it was to
collect Scully at the morgue, grab lunch, and head straight back to
the Philadelphia Bureau for a powwow.

Scully drew Mulder toward a clear pocket of space near the side
exit.  "You know, Mulder," she said quietly, "if we're right about
what we suspect, we'll eventually have to tell Markham."

He sighed.  "I know.  I'm not looking forward to it."

"Well, you've worked with him.  Do you think he'll believe us?"

Mulder shook his head.  "That was years ago, and we were never
partners.  As a profiler I think his work is decent enough.  He gets
inside a killer's head like he's doing yard work.  Just pushes up his
sleeves and goes in, and whatever he digs up he assimilates into his
profile no matter what it is."

"He seems relatively unfazed about last night's body."

"That's just his mask.  I've never seen him get rattled by anything."

She nodded and switched gears.  "I told Kersh.  He was not
happy."

Mulder pursed his lips.  "Well, we've probably got a ways to go
before we get yanked off the case."

"I'm still wondering who *put* us on it.  Mulder, we've got victims
who can't be identified, a body that's disappeared into thin air, and
an UNSUB whose MO is a second cousin to mind-boggling.  I
don't think, given our track record at the Bureau, that a case like
this would just happen to be dropped into our laps."

He sighed.  "So what do you suggest we do?  If we were given this
case for a reason, don't you want to find out what it is?"

She shook her head.  "Do you think it's worth the inevitable
consequences?  I just don't know anymore."

His laugh was hollow.  "Well, you know what, Scully?  Neither do
I."

Markham came back then, stopping their discussion.  "I understand
you're in Domestic Terrorism now," he said, conversationally.
"But I think I recall correctly that you were with those X-files a lot
longer."

Mulder nodded.  "Since 1991."

"And you've been partners the whole time."

"No," Scully said.  "Only since 1992."

Markham nodded.  "I had partners up until a year or so into the
BSU.  But profilers tend to work best when they're alone.  And
since I've started heading investigations..."  He shrugged.

Mulder shifted.  "Good autopsy work always helps a profile.  I
think I was lucky to have Scully assigned."  He was conscious of
her looking at him and realized it was the first time he'd ever said
so.

Scully shook her head.  "Autopsies by themselves don't always
solve a case.  And you're out of luck if you don't have a body."

"Oh, hell," Markham said.  "No modesty here, Agent Scully.  And
my guess is, if that missing body doesn't turn up, we'll probably
have another one to look at sooner or later."

Mulder could feel her deciding whether to bristle at such
nonchalance, but then she simply nodded.  "I suppose you're right."

The cashier called their number and they went to pay for their
sandwiches.

~~~

600 Arch Street
Philadelphia, PA
1:48 pm

They'd just gotten themselves settled into a conference room at the
Philadelphia office when another agent knocked on the door.

"There you are," he said to Markham.  "Someone's on the phone
for you."

Markham swallowed what he was chewing and said, "Hell, patch it
in through here."  He gestured to the phone on the wall.  The other
agent left and a moment later the phone gave a short buzz.
Markham stood and picked up the handset.  "Yes, Markham here."

Mulder was handing Scully a photocopy he'd gotten at the library
when something Markham said made them both look up.

"Well, of course I will, but I'm hoping this doesn't mean you're
planning to take over the case.  We've got it under control."

His back was to them both.  Mulder mouthed, "Take over?" to
Scully, but she just gave him a curious shrug.

"All right," Markham was saying.  "I'll get one of the secretaries
here to fax it over.  Gimme half an hour.  Uh huh."  He hung up
and came back to the table.

"What was that all about?" Scully asked.

Markham spread his hands.  "You both work out of D.C., so you
must know Assistant Director Skinner.  He just called to get a fax
of the casefile sent to him."

~~~

Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
2:07 pm

Kim looked up from the notes she was taking.  "Aren't you going
to answer the phone?"

Skinner sighed inwardly.  It wasn't his fax machine, but rather his
direct line, which lately had ceased to bear any kind of news
except bad.

He meant to check the caller ID first.  If it was blank he simply
wouldn't pick up, Kim or no Kim.  Alex Krycek -- or whoever else
wanted to yank his chain today -- could chew on his other arm
until it fell off.

But of course his hand was already on the receiver and lifting it to
his ear, because even if his thoughts were defiant his body knew
better.  Knew *much* better.

It wasn't Krycek, though.  The caller ID registered Dana Scully's
personal cell phone, and indeed it was her voice that said, "Sir?  It's
Agent Scully."

As usual, he paused and gave away whatever advantage he might
have had.  Somehow she always managed to get the upper hand
with him.  "Not right now," he said, conscious of Kim's presence,
but the words were meaningless.

"Then when?"

"Later."

"First explain to me your interest in the case Mulder and I are
investigating."

He paused again, and promptly gave himself a mental kick.  "I
don't know what you're talking about."

Her voice gained a hard edge.  "Don't play games with me,
Skinner.  You had to know we'd find out.  Now what do you want
with that file?"

He thought briefly of simply hanging up on her, but that would be
the worst thing he could do.  "Look," he said, searching for words
to calm her.  All he could come up with was, "Trust me."

"Trust has to be earned, and I'd say you lost quite a bit of ours a
few months ago."

Skinner closed his eyes.  "Maybe I'm trying to earn it back.  I'll
know more by tomorrow morning."

She was silent at that, perhaps thinking, perhaps with one hand
over the mouthpiece as she talked to Mulder.

He felt like screaming at her that they shouldn't trust him, but
instead what he said was, "Do you want to solve this case or not?"

After another pause, he thought he heard her sigh.  "Mulder has
some additional notes, some profiling he did today.  If you can
read his handwriting..."

"I'll manage."  With his free hand he took off his glasses and
massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Tomorrow, then."  She hung up.

Skinner let the receiver fall back into its cradle, his hand
automatically going to the Delete key on the caller ID box.  His
thoughts were swirling darkly, but he managed not to provoke
more than one or two concerned looks from his secretary.

A half hour after she finally left, the fax machine rang and began to
print.

~~~

600 Arch Street
Philadelphia, PA
6:03 pm

FBI coffee was federally funded, which meant it ranked
somewhere between McDonald's and your typical police
department.  Mulder emptied a serving of cream into Scully's and
swirled it around with a stirrer.  He let his own remain black and
bitter.

She'd been quiet most of the afternoon after talking to Skinner.
Mulder knew she would keep up the appearance of diligence in
front of Markham, and indeed she had seemed to be preoccupied
with reading over the casefile and writing her own notes.  But he
could sense the live wire agitation in her, an electric hum that
charged the air in her presence.

She knew something he didn't.  Something about Skinner.

Mulder had a vague idea of what had passed between them during
Skinner's illness several months ago.  They'd both been shocked
when the AD refused to help them after his recovery, but Scully
had seemed...almost *offended* if Mulder wanted to put a word to
it.  As if Skinner had personally insulted her.  Subsequently, she'd
dropped the case like a venomous snake and shown no interest in
having the security videos further analyzed.

Carrying the two coffees, he made his way back to the conference
room where they had set up camp with Markham.  His thoughts
continued to worry at Scully's silence.  He had not heard anything
of her phone call to Skinner.  She had come back to the room
briefly to ask for his profile notes, and had given only a quick nod
to his questioning glance.

He was willing to trust who she trusted.  He had learned to follow
his instincts in that respect.  But still, she had seemed so wary
earlier, so suspicious, that he had to wonder.  Was she right in
trusting Skinner?

~~~

end part 2 of 7
jintian@graffiti.net

Argus part 3 of 7
by Jintian (jintian@graffiti.net)

~~~

Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
9:50 pm

Krycek was following memory through these corridors, letting
instinct provide guidance where recollections failed.  He slipped
silent and ghostlike through the empty hallways, penetrating to
places he had learned only after leaving the security of law and
light.

This section of the Hoover Building was draped in shadows, but
even by day it rarely saw traffic.  Krycek held an upper level
security pass in his hand, "W Skinner" in tiny print next to the bar
code.  The pass would gain him entry at every door, provided an
identical one borne by the real W Skinner wasn't in simultaneous
use.

Tonight Krycek expected the Assistant Director to be stationary.
Waiting for him.

There were cameras, of course, hooked up at regular intervals in
the right angle between ceiling and wall.  But Skinner had done his
job and the red ON lights were all dark.  He glided forward, face
exposed to the dimness, until he reached the door he was looking
for.

Skinner sat behind his desk, illuminated only by his desk lamp so
that the light spilled over the smooth skin of his head and created
monster eyebrows from shadow.  Krycek stopped just outside the
circle of light, waiting until the AD looked up with the same sullen
expression he probably wore while drinking his coffee, while
fucking a woman.

"Do you have it?" Krycek asked.

Skinner waited a beat, then leaned back in his chair and flipped a
file folder on the desk.  "It's just a fax copy."

"Did you read it?"

Their eyes met.  "Yes."

"And?"

Skinner thrust his chin at the file.  "And what's your interest in this,
Krycek?  Is this you or your employers yanking Mulder and Scully
by the leash?"

Krycek leaned forward.  "Their leashes are a bit longer than yours,
you know."

Skinner's lip curled.

Krycek shook his head.  "Use your brain, Skinner, whatever the
Marines didn't manage to blast away.  Do you really think the
Group would want them sniffing around in a case like *this*?"

"Then what's going on?"

He ignored the question.  "Find out who assigned this case to
them."

The other man glared.  "I already *tried* --"

Krycek shook his head.  "Look at their history.  Mulder had an ally
in Matheson, but that slimy fuck wouldn't bend over if he needed
to scrape dogshit from his shoe.  The other informants were all
managed eventually.  But where they came from..."

Skinner raised his eyebrows.

There might not be anyone left.  Spender was immersed in the
hybridization program, his son didn't have the knowledge, Diana
Fowley didn't have the balls, and Kersh didn't have the access.

Krycek pursed his lips.  There might not be anyone left that he
would know about, he amended.  But he could find out.  He picked
up the file folder in one black-gloved hand.  "Start with the
history," he repeated.  "I'll be in touch."

~~~

Philadelphia, PA
9:50 pm

He hit the I-95 at seventy miles per hour, thinking of hot water
spurting out of a shower nozzle and plugging him in the chest,
thinking of how he would bury himself in the warm blankets of his
motel bed afterward.  The speedometer needle crept toward the
right.

"Mulder, you're speeding."  Scully's voice was sharp.

"It's a way of life in Philly," Mulder explained.

She shook her head, turning to look out her window.  She'd
switched the radio off as soon as they got in the car.  The silence
between them now was wrapped in the monotone humming of the
freeway, broken only by cars passing outside.

Mulder cleared his throat to say something, but she interrupted
him.

"Skinner said he was trying to earn our trust back."

Mulder glanced at her.  "That's why he wanted the file?"

"He wouldn't tell me why exactly.  But he implied that he was
helping to solve the case."

"So...you believed him."

"What would you have done?"  She sounded honestly curious.

He shrugged.  "I don't think he'd ask for it without a reason."

"I know.  I guess I just believed his reasons were the right ones."

Mulder spoke carefully.  "I...didn't know if you were willing to
believe him at all anymore."

"I wasn't, actually.  Not until we spoke."

"What changed?" he asked.  "And I don't just mean today."

She was silent for a moment.  "I don't know really.  I suppose I was
angry at him because I thought he'd promised to help us and then
reneged on that."

"You were angrier than me."

Scully sighed.  "I expected too much of him.  In the past he's
always been limited in what he could do for us, by his occupational
position as well as his own personal beliefs.  I don't know why I
thought this time would be different."

"But you trusted him anyway.  You trusted that he could help us."

"Yes.  I still think he has access to things we don't.  And...because I
don't think he would ever really betray us."

Mulder digested that.  "Do you think he knows more about this
case than we do?"

"I don't doubt it."

He slowed down to take the exit for their motel.  Snow was
sticking to the windshield and he turned the wipers on.  "Then we'd
better find out what he knows."

She shook her head.  "We've both learned that direct confrontation
with him doesn't work.  What works is investigating the
information *around* what we don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking," she said.  "We can't identify the other two
victims with either fingerprint or dental records.  They just don't
show up.  We had similar trouble when we were trying to find Luis
Cardinal -- it was a stroke of luck that we had matching DNA
evidence from the crime scene when Melissa was killed.
Unfortunately we don't have anything for the victims in this case."

"And?"

"And...the reason we were looking for Cardinal to begin with was
that he shot Skinner.  We caught him on his second attempt."

He tried to follow her reasoning while navigating the motel
parking lot.  "The men Cardinal worked for wanted Skinner dead.
You're thinking these two victims were in the same profession?
That's why they don't have records like that?"

"Not only that, Mulder.  I'm thinking about Skinner's connection as
well.  Someone tried to kill him *again*, just a few months ago.
And now all of a sudden we get this case, and he's interested in it."

"You think it's related?  The methods are dissimilar."  He slid the
car into a space.

"I think it's worth investigating," she said slowly.  "I think we need
to look at the evidence again.  Maybe if we can find out who was
behind the last attempt, it'll crack this one open."

Mulder turned the ignition off and looked at her.  "One of us would
have to go back to D.C. for that."

She nodded.  "That should be me.  If there's no body to autopsy...."
She trailed off.  "And I think Markham wants your profiling skills,
anyway."

"And what would Kersh say about you leaving the investigation?"

Scully squared her gaze with his.  "First of all, I'm not leaving the
investigation.  And second, a few months ago Kersh would be the
last thing you'd worry about."

"He's not the one who worries me," Mulder said, before he could
stop himself.

She was quiet for a moment, her eyes searching his face.  "I'll be
fine."

Now it was his turn to shrug.  "I don't really have a say in that."

Scully waited a beat.  "And I'm fine now."

"I know that."  He opened his door then, suddenly not wanting to
look at her anymore.  Cold bit into his cheeks and hands as they
walked into the motel together.

Their rooms were next to each other.  As they brought out their
keycards she told him, "I'll book a rental car for tomorrow, try and
leave as early as possible."

"Let me know when.  I'll take you to the office."

She nodded, then something crossed her face as if she wanted to
speak.  But she only said, "Goodnight, Mulder," before going into
her room and shutting the door.

~~~

81st Street
New York, NY
Tuesday, 4:25 am

Legare shuffled out from the kitchen with a cup of coffee.  "Tastes
like shit," he said, "but I just came back tonight.  So you're lucky to
have it anyway."

Krycek took the coffee and gulped it down.  It burned, and it did
indeed taste like shit, but he wasn't looking for Starbucks.  He
waited until his throat had recovered, then asked, "What was the
assignment?"

Legare shrugged.  "Same fuckin' bag.  Three day haul in Miami,
where they wear fuckin' shorts in January."

"Never been there."

"Just a buncha fuckin' pushers and fairies," Legare said amiably.
Then he straightened.  "You were in Philly, right?  Is it true about
Greer?"

"You knew Greer?"

"Fuckin' everybody knew Greer.  What I heard was someone slit
his throat.  Is that true?"

Krycek nodded.  Then he made a decision.  He flipped through the
file folder and pulled out the copies of the crime scene photos from
the first victim.  "Do you know this guy?"

Legare ran a thumb over his right eye and leaned forward.  His
mouth tightened as he studied the pictures.  "That's Jasper, yeah.
We were both in this one outfit a few years back.  Now what in the
fuck are these supposed to be?"

Krycek watched his face as he examined the cuts.  "They look like
eyes, don't they?" he asked carefully.

"I'll be damned," Legare whistled.  "They do."

"There's another one dead, named Norton."  Krycek brought out
the second set of photos.  "I knew him from D.C."

Legare studied them for a moment, then handed them back.
"Never met him."  He shrugged.  "This fucker did this to Greer and
Jasper both?"

"Looks like it.  I got the forensics negatives from when they found
Greer's body, and when the pictures came out it was the exact same
thing."

Legare shook his head.  "Well, who the fuck is this guy?  What did
the big boys have to say?"

"I'm meeting them tomorrow.  That's why I'm in the city."

"Guess that means you're off the delivery route now."

Krycek didn't say anything.

Legare let the silence hang for a moment, then he shook his head
again.  "Well, if you're not talkin', I'm fuckin' tired and I'm going to
sleep.  You gonna be here tomorrow night as well?"

"Would that be a problem?"

Legare was already closing the door to his bedroom.  "Just don't
make a fuckin' lifestyle of it."

Krycek settled onto the ratty couch that was the apartment's only
concession to comfort.  Even the overhead light was washed out
and sickly, and he had to squint to read Mulder's scratchy
handwriting.

"he's a Messenger...know the receiver & you know the
Message...Scully's right -- he's skilled at it...impersonal, he knows
the victims but this is just Business...he likes those knives,
probably thinks in b&w too...Argus is vision and reason, but fails
b/c he's only sensory...who is the Messenger's argus?...if he can't
see more than grayscale that is a weakness..."

It was oddly appropriate, thinking of Jun as some kind of
Messenger.  There was that golden fire in his eyes, like someone in
the grip of religious fervor, and all his rambling knifetalk was his
own personal evangelism.

Krycek circled Mulder's notes about Argus with his index finger.
Nothing in the casefile indicated that he knew who the victims
were.  But unlike the Group, Krycek had learned not to
underestimate the force of Mulder's intuition.  Or Scully's, for that
matter.

Know the receiver and you know the Message, Mulder had written.
Krycek sifted through the pieces of his memory, wondering if the
answer was there.

He remembered the first time he had gone before the Circle, still
somewhat shell-shocked despite the long drive from D.C.  Jun had
brought him into New York and the car was gliding down 46th
Street, and he remembered Jun telling him --

"Lion's den.  Approaching on the right."

Krycek swiveled around and scanned the row of buildings.  Which
was it?  They were all normal, unspectacular.  But had he been
expecting the Group to proclaim their presence with some kind of
flaming banner?

"Good," he said.  It was all he could think of to say.

Jun snorted.  "You know nothing.  Your eyes are open but you still
see only the insides of your eyelids."

A spark of annoyance pierced Krycek's wonderings.  He dragged
his gaze from the window and looked at the other man.  "What
don't I know?"

Jun said nothing, instead guided the car toward the entrance of a
parking garage.

The spark flared.  "What don't I know?" Krycek repeated.

Jun stopped at the garage meter and turned to study Krycek, his
golden eyes gleaming.  "That slavery still exists."

~~~

Motel Six
Philadelphia, PA
6:47 am

Mulder had the dream again: the body covered with eyes, skin that
watched him with neither intelligence nor cunning because it could
do nothing else but watch.  This time he dreamed that he could see
the head of the body, and he woke up in a cold sweat when he
realized that it was his own, gazing back at him with the same
blank stare.

He sat rubbing his forehead for a moment.  The moisture on his
skin evaporated into the dry air of the motel room and seemed to
take the dream with it.  Finally he shook his head and peered at the
clock.  Scully was supposed to leave at seven.

Mulder dressed hurriedly, knocking softly on the connecting door.
He wondered if she was still getting dressed herself, but thought
she was probably just applying makeup.  The idea of her without
clothes made him oddly uncomfortable.

Then he realized there would be something new on her body now.
He imagined the way her bullet wound must look, puckered scar
tissue marring the smooth white flesh of her abdomen.  His own
stomach muscles clenched briefly.

He wondered how much she questioned the speed of her recovery.
All of a sudden he was glad, fiercely glad, that she was leaving
Philadelphia with its winter and its killer, if only briefly.

The door opened and there she was, fully dressed, laptop case
slung on her shoulder.  "You ready to go?" he asked, pushing his
thoughts back down.

She nodded.  "All set."

~~~

46th Street
New York, NY
10:58 am

The Circle had kept him waiting almost two hours now, and his
pulse was jumping.  He didn't really expect them all to be present -
- they kept a five-member quorum and only convened the entire
body at times of emergency.  Krycek suspected he was anything
but that, at the moment.

Still, making him wait was a mind game, one they'd been playing
since he'd given them the Russian vaccine.  They had let him back
into the fold, but on their terms.  He paced the hushed rooms of the
outer chambers to dissipate his frustration.

Finally, the inner doors opened and the latest of their silent
assistants beckoned him.  Krycek squared his shoulders and strode
inside.

He concealed his surprise through force of will.  They were all
there, sitting in a loose semi-circle of leather armchairs, cold eyes
tracking him as he came to a halt at the front of the room.  He
looked back at each in turn, not quite insolent, not quite
subservient.

Christ, even Spender had come.

"Alex Krycek," Aimes said, as if announcing him to the others.
"What do you have for us?"

He paused to collect himself.  There was a rhythm to question-and-
answer sessions with the Circle, and he let himself step into it like
a familiar dance.  "I was unable to retrieve the access codes from
Greer," he told them.  "He was naked when his body was found
and there was no other evidence at the crime scene."  Krycek
hesitated for only a millisecond, then plunged ahead.  "I assumed
his killer took the codes for himself."

He noticed some of them shifting.

"You read the John Doe file," Spender said.  His lips spread in a
grimace, and he took a drag on his cigarette.  "Did you look at the
forensics photos as well?"

Krycek met his gaze evenly.  "I was ordered to dispose of them."

"How can we be sure you did that?"

"Because those were my orders."

Spender took another drag and blew out smoke.

Manetto spoke then.  "Why do you think the killer would want
those codes?"

"I don't know what the codes were for."

"But you assumed this was the reason for our associate's death."

Krycek shrugged.  "It seemed a natural conclusion."

"Have you concluded anything about the identity of the killer?"

He let his gaze sweep the semi-circle.  "Nothing I would put my
name to."

Aimes stood and spread a series of glossy photographs on a nearby
table.  "Do you recognize this man?"

Krycek stepped forward and bent to look.  And there was Jun, of
course, in black and white as well as full color.  A profile shot
taken somewhere on a city street, an overhead of him running in
jeans and a torn shirt, one of him looking back over his shoulder at
something, one of him entering a building with a newspaper.

"Yes," he said finally.  "His name is Jun.  That's all I know."

"You know more than that," Spender snorted.  "What did you
make of the wounds on the victim's body?"

Don't blink.  Don't look away from him.  "They were...distinctive.
But it wasn't my job to play detective."

Spender sneered.

"Enough," Manetto said.  "Your new assignment is to find this
man.  By any means necessary."

Krycek raised his eyebrows.  "And then what?"

Spender exhaled more smoke.  "And then terminate with extreme
prejudice."

~~~

600 Arch Street
Philadelphia
11:24 am

"You're thinking something," Markham said.

Mulder nodded.  "I'm thinking our UNSUB is going to move north.
He's followed that trajectory with the three victims, enough to
assume a pattern."

"So you have a prediction where."

"Well, the thing is, he has a number of cities to choose from.
Trenton, Newark.  But I think he'll eventually go to New York.
And then I think he'll settle there."

Markham studied the map in front of Mulder.  "Maybe."

"I'm sure of it.  He's escalating, only he's doing it on a much
smaller timescale than your usual serial killers.  The first victim
was nine days ago, then he took one four days later, then another
three days later.  We're now on the second day since the third.  I
think we'll get another one tonight.  And then we can expect the
fifth tomorrow."

"Now you're extrapolating beyond -- "

Mulder continued.  "The accelerated timescale tells me he knows
exactly who he's after.  He's not someone who chooses a victim at
random and works on him for days or even weeks before the kill.
He has a specific agenda to fulfill, with a strict schedule."

Markham was silent for a moment.  "I still don't see where you get
New York out of this."

Mulder grinned.  "It's the center of the universe, didn't you know
that?  And besides, I just have a feeling."

"A feeling."  Markham's voice was flat.  "We still don't have a
working profile."

Mulder stopped smiling and shook his head.  "Fine.  I *know* it.
It'll be New York.  Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow night for
sure."

"After tomorrow night, there won't be any days left between
victims."

Mulder shook his head again.  "No.  I think that'll be the end of the
road for him."

~~~

47th Street
New York
12:13 pm

Krycek whipped around at the sound of footsteps.  "Move where I
can see you."

Spender stepped out from behind one of the parking garage's
cement pillars.  "Surely you don't expect to meet trouble in the
middle of the day."

"Trouble doesn't care what time it is," Krycek snorted.  "What do
you want?"

"To give you some information."  The other man lit a cigarette.

"In exchange for what?"

"In exchange for my not telling the Circle what you already know
about our young friend Jun."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come now, Alex.  Have you forgotten who first...introduced the
two of you, shall we say?"

Krycek narrowed his eyes.  "Maybe I should be asking if *they*
know that."

Spender shrugged.  "My place in the Circle is secure now.  I've
made sure of that.  You, however, hold a very tenuous position."

Krycek watched him warily.

"However, I can offer you my...protection."  Spender inhaled and
blew out smoke.  "Especially now that the hybrid project is
progressing so quickly.  You know what success will mean."

Krycek spoke through a clenched throat, but his thoughts were
racing.  "What do you want from me?  I'm not putting my ass on
the line for your *protection*."

Spender clicked his tongue.  "I'm not asking you to.  You're to
follow your orders exactly.  I'm simply giving you information that
will help you along.  That and a piece of advice."

"I'll take the information, thanks."

He smiled over his raised cigarette, sharp and menacing.  "Jun is
only killing the associates he knows, because they are the only
ones he has access to.  But I believe he's decided to spare you, for
some reason.  That could be why you're not dead yet."

"You underestimate my capacity for survival," Krycek muttered,
but he felt a cold wind in his chest.

"I doubt that.  At any rate, it gives you an edge; perhaps it'll even
allow you to approach him.  So I'll tell you where you can find him
next, and beyond that it's up to you to watch your back."

"You know where he is?  Why don't you just kill him yourself?"

"I'd rather not have it come to that, Alex."

"You mean you'd rather have someone else do your dirty work for
you.  So where the hell is he?"

"He'll strike again in Newark.  A man you know as Reiver."  He
dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his foot.  "And
Alex...I'll give you that piece of advice anyway."

"What?"  Krycek was already thinking, planning, remembering
Reiver and where he might be found.

"I warned you to watch your back," Spender said.  "But remember
that there are other ways to let your guard down."

~~~

end part 3 of 7
jintian@graffiti.net

Argus part 4 of 7
by Jintian (jintian@graffiti.net)

~~~

Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, D.C.
12:45 pm

Skinner could see the red flame of her hair in her car window as he
drove along the third floor of the parking garage.  She turned her
head when he flashed his headlights and rolled her window down
as he pulled into the space beside her and turned the car off.  He
scanned the floor again through his windows before getting out and
walking around to her.

"It's good to see you, sir," she said.  Even though they were inside
a building, it was still cold enough for him to see her breath.

He almost laughed at her politeness.  "Likewise."

"How's your health been?"

"Fine.  And yours?  I...heard about the shooting."

"I'm fine," she echoed him.

"Good," he said.  "That's very good."

She let a beat pass, then asked, "What have you found out?"

"I don't have anything concrete to give you on this case," he began.
"I'm still working on who assigned it to you."

Scully raised her eyebrows.  "You'd better have *something*."

"Let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if it were one of your usual
sources."

"That doesn't tell me a thing, Skinner."

"Maybe you'd better consult with your partner about it."

She glared at him.  "I'm consulting with *you*."

"I will let you know if I find anything else out."  Skinner made to
leave, but she put a gloved hand on his arm.

"Wait.  That's not the only reason I asked to meet with you."

He looked at her hand, the gentle but firm pressure of it.  "What is
it, Agent Scully?"

"It's the security photos.  The ones with the bearded man you
remember being in the Hoover Building.  I need to see them
again."

The buzzing of his nerves had turned into a full-fledged jangle but
he kept his voice steady.  "Why?"

"I have reason to believe whoever was behind the attempt on your
life could have something to do with the case we're investigating in
Philadelphia."

"What reason?"

"Do you even have to ask?  You know who must be behind all
this."

He cut her off.  "Look, I don't have that file anymore.  It
disappeared from my office."

Her hand dropped from his arm.  "What?"

"Someone must have stolen it," he lied.  "It's been over a month
now."

"Why didn't you tell us?"  Her voice was brittle and hard.

Skinner matched his voice to hers.  "Your role in the investigation
-- such as it was -- is over.  It shouldn't be any of your concern."

"Any of our concern?"  She seemed to loom toward him through
her car window.  "Is this the same Walter Skinner I'm talking to,
the one who regretted that he never chose sides?  That he was
never the kind of ally he should have been?"

"I'm *trying* to be that ally," he told her.  "That's why I asked for a
fax of that casefile."

She spoke through clenched teeth.  "I'm not talking about that
one."

"The one you are talking about isn't related, Scully.  Believe me."

"Why can't you let us find that out for ourselves?"

"Because," he said, "aside from the fact that I don't have those
photos in my possession, it's just not your battle."

She shook her head at him.  "An alliance works both ways,
Skinner."

"Only in a situation where you could actually help."

Skinner turned away from her, just as another car pulled into a
parking space at the other end of the floor.

After she drove off he sat a few minutes in his car, resting his
forehead lightly on the steering wheel, eyes closed.

~~~

174 Rutgers Drive
Newark, NJ
4:30 pm

Krycek circled the apartment building twice before he finally
walked up the front path, shuffling through slush and ice with
every step.  He searched for the name he was looking for on the
directory outside and memorized the apartment number.

The cold seemed to seep under his skin now.  He took a quick look
around, then went to the back exit of the building.  It was a simple
matter from there to jimmy the lock and ghost up the stairs.

The hall outside Reiver's apartment was dark and silent, the air
thick with menace.  Krycek couldn't see where the light fixture was
supposed to be located.  He drew his gun and edged toward the
door.

He gave himself a mental count and then burst through.

The menace he felt had multiplied tenfold.  Krycek tiptoed through
the late afternoon shadows of the quiet apartment, gun raised.
There was a rich, coppery smell that he recognized as blood, strong
enough to choke on.  The hairs on the back of his neck began to
rise.

A small kitchen area adjoined the main room, and off of the
opposite wall were two doors.  The first was open, the room visible
from the kitchen.  It was a tiny bathroom, and inside a man lay
draped over the edge of the tub.  Reiver.

Krycek could see the lifeless dangling of his arms and hands.  He
moved closer, just barely inside the doorway, catching sight of
blood splashes on the white tiled floor.  And something else inside
the tub.

A river of darkness in the dim light, flowing from the open gash in
Reiver's throat.

Krycek felt air moving behind him and spun.

His good arm was already raised before he realized that his gun
had been knocked out of his grip and was skittering across the
floor.  Adrenaline surged through his muscles and he whirled
around, leading with his prosthesis.

His opponent ducked beneath the blow -- Krycek glimpsed a shock
of gold-colored hair -- then he felt his prosthesis grabbed and
pulled behind him, felt it being pushed up his back.  He pivoted
hard, breaking free for a moment as the false arm twisted loose in
his sleeve.

"...wha...?" he heard.

Then the other man was in motion again and a fist that felt like a
hammer crashed into Krycek's stomach, driving him to his knees.
He reached out blindly with his good arm and caught the cloth of a
shirt as the man snaked behind him.

Then he felt the press of something cold and sharp and deadly
familiar against his throat.

Krycek stilled instantly.  "Don't."

Hot breath in his ear, along his cheek.  "Don't?  *Don't*?  Don't
*you* know better than to tell *me* don't?"

"Who...?"

But of course, he knew already.  The voice like ripples on a black
pond.

"Don't play stupid.  I know you've been looking for me."  The
pressure on the blade didn't decrease.  "It is as impossible for a
man to be cheated by anyone but himself..."

Something in Krycek's head lurched and he felt memory speaking
for him, through him.  "...as for a thing to be, and not to be, at the
same time," he finished.

"Exactly."

Muscles coiled and sprang without thought.  Krycek shoved
himself away from the knife's edge and lashed out with his loose
prosthesis.  Jun was already in motion again -- he heard the
ineffectual brush of cloth, and then the other man was on him.

~~~

174 Rutgers Drive
Newark, NJ
5:38 pm

Krycek became aware again because of the sound of his breathing,
which seemed to be coming through a tube half filled with water.
Not water -- something else.  Something dank and thick and
viscous.  His thoughts were broken and scattered, the jagged edges
of them piercing the flesh inside his head.  The pain was bright,
pushing him out of the thickness.

Gradually Krycek realized that something was cutting into his right
arm, not a knife but a tight piece of wire, one long piece that had
been wrapped around him many times, binding him to a chair.  He
tried to move his arm away from it but of course that was
impossible.  The wire was everywhere, all over him like a crushing
embrace.

Then he realized another thing.  There was someone moving
toward him out of the dimness, a figure that loomed as it got
closer, then finally bent down so that he could feel the heat of its
cheek next to his own.

"Good," Jun said into his ear.  "You're awake.  Unfortunately
Reiver won't be taking any visitors tonight.  But don't worry, you
and I can catch up on old times."

~~~

600 Arch Street
Philadelphia
5:38 pm

Mulder stood at the window of the conference room.  The sky had
already turned a deep purple, with only a fading flame of orange
and pink glimpsed over the tops of buildings.

He turned at the sound of the door opening behind him, thinking it
was too early for Markham to be back with the takeout they had
ordered.

But instead it was Scully, looking trim and neat.  She set her laptop
case on the table and came up close to him.  Mulder checked her
for signs of fatigue, but saw nothing.  She did look pensive,
however.

"I ran into Markham on my way in.  You think we'll get another
body tonight?"

Mulder nodded.  "We'll want to guard it this time."

"I could just do the autopsy as soon as they bring it in."

He held himself back from suggesting she get some sleep instead.
He decided to change the subject.  "The lab couldn't get anything
from those security photos?"

She looked out the window.  The sun had disappeared completely.
"I didn't want to tell you over the phone," she said.  "The photos
have disappeared."

"What?"

"I met with Skinner in D.C.  He said they were stolen from his
office.  Then I checked with Bureau Security, and the tapes
themselves have disappeared.  They've launched an internal
investigation, but since Skinner never told anyone but us about the
connection between the bearded man and his illness, it's not quite
task force priority."

Mulder's mouth twisted.  "You want to believe Skinner on that,
too?"

Scully shook her head.  "I don't, but at the same time, I just don't
know anymore."  She sighed.  "Mulder, I *want* to trust him.  He
looked positively haggard.  Tired and stressed.  I think we both
forget that he almost died a few months ago."

"Is that supposed to make me trust him more or less, the fact that
he has a personal stake in this?"  Disgust tinged his voice.  "It only
implies that he's hiding the evidence from us."

"Don't we have personal stakes as well?"

He barely heard her.  "What did he say about our case?"

"He said the two weren't related.  And he told me he was still
trying to find out who assigned us.  He hinted at something as
well."

"What?"

"That perhaps it was one of our other 'sources', he said."  She
looked at him curiously.  "He told me especially to consult with
you about it.  Do you have someone new?"

Mulder shrugged and ran a hand through his hair.  "No one's
contacted me, not since...not since the Englishman died."

She studied him.  "Look, Mulder, I know there have been people in
the past that you haven't told me about -- "

"No one's contacted me, Scully."  He looked straight at her without
blinking.

"Okay, then."  She turned away and began unpacking her laptop,
leaving him to stare out the window again.

~~~

174 Rutgers Drive
Newark, NJ
9:12 pm

Jun held the prosthetic arm up to the moonlight and examined it.
"When did this happen?"

"Couple of years ago.  Long story."

The other man grinned, his mouth a dark slash in the shadows of
his face.  "I like stories."  He gestured toward the bathroom where
Reiver's body was draped over the edge of the bathtub.  "You have
a while to spin yours."

Krycek sighed, flexing his good arm and then wincing when the
wire bit into his skin.

"Well?" Jun said.

Krycek shifted, felt a muscle in his side cry out at the movement,
and went still again.  "It happened in Russia," he muttered.  "They
thought they were doing it for my own good."

"Strange customs those Russians have."

Krycek shook his head.  The dark pit of memory was churning up
again.  So much that had been buried was now floating to the
surface.  "They've been working on a vaccine for the black oil," he
tried to explain.  "They have a...site...where they test it on people.
Those who live in the area know -- they know a lot of -- what goes
on.  If you don't have a left arm, you can't be given the test.  So."

"You explain so much, but at the same time you speak in circles."
Jun balanced the prosthesis on the windowsill, where the pale light
made it look eerily like a real arm.

"Why the fuck are you so curious?" Krycek snarled suddenly.
"Finish whatever you're doing with Reiver and leave me the fuck
alone."

Jun's voice was mild.  "I understand that losing a limb would
arouse feelings of anger in you, even years later, but I wasn't the
one who cut it off."  He paused.  "Why did you allow it to
happen?"

For a moment Krycek's throat clenched so hard he thought he
might not be able to breathe again.  The memories were coming up
fast and furious now and he shook his head.  "I didn't fucking
*allow* anything," he managed.  "They came on me while I was
asleep."

"Why were you in Russia to begin with?"

"I didn't go willingly," Krycek snapped.  "It was either that or be
left handcuffed to a steering wheel."

"And here I was thinking you were a professional killer.  How did
you end up in such a bind?"

His body screamed as he shifted again.  "I was arrested by some
FBI agents."

"FBI?"  Jun sounded thoughtful.  "That wouldn't be Agent Mulder,
would it?"

Krycek stared at the prosthesis on the windowsill and didn't
answer.

"I only ask because my employer seems to take a great interest in
him."

His head popped up at that.  "You mean Spender?"

Jun stepped into a puddle of moonlight, so Krycek could see the
expression on his face.  His muscles, tired and aching already, gave
an involuntary shiver.  "I don't work for them anymore," Jun said.
"Far from it."

"Then...who?"

Jun looked at him as if he could count every pore in his skin.
"Let's just say that my employer and Mulder have a long mutual
history."

~~~

600 Arch Street
Philadelphia, PA
10:08 pm

"It's after ten already."  Scully showed him her watch.  "Do you
have a more precise prediction of when we'll get this call?"

Mulder looked up at her.  "I wasn't expecting anything for another
hour or so."  He chewed his lip.  "Maybe you should sleep or
something.  I'll wake you."

She raised a disapproving eyebrow at him.

"You've had a long day.  And we haven't even gotten to the
difficult part yet."

"That isn't any more strenuous than other cases we've worked," she
pointed out.

"Yes, but this is different."  The words were out of his mouth
before he could stop them.

She nodded, as if something had fallen into place.  "Mulder, I'm
only going to say this once.  You need to trust that I can do my job.
I wouldn't be allowed in the field otherwise, so that must mean my
superiors have at least that much faith in me."

He looked down at his pen, which his fingers were rolling idly
back and forth on the table.  How to say the million
counterarguments that kept buzzing around in his head?  He
swallowed, tasting something acrid in his throat.

"Mulder?"

He realized she was waiting for a response to what she had said
and sighed.  "Scully, I trust your abilities.  I...have faith in them.
What I don't have faith in is the work."

He looked up to see an evaluating expression on her face.  "But
you're still doing it," she said.

Mulder shrugged.  "There's only so much more I can take before I
won't any longer.  Before I can't."

"Why is it just you that's doing the taking?  I'm right here beside
you with these abilities you put so much trust in."

He had to avert his eyes from her gaze.  "It's just..."

It was just so many things.  A lifetime poured into a sinking ship,
the long unspooling of years that had gone for zero positive results
when it came to finding his sister, and into the fucking negative
when it came to Scully herself.

He was never able to decide to his satisfaction whether he believed
in destiny or not, but looking back on the linked chains of his life
he couldn't help but see a pattern of death, of loss.  It was a pattern
she had become a part of before either of them could fully
understand the consequences.  Now that they did, he'd be
goddamned if he was going to keep letting some shadow men yank
them around until either Scully or he made the final sacrifice.

"It's just *what*?" Scully asked, her tone flat.

His mouth worked, trying to form words that would make her
understand.  She had accused him before of thinking everything
was about himself.  But this -- this was without question about her.
The problem was, if he had ever been able to say this in the past,
he would have done so already.

He shook his head.  She was looking at him with those angry blue
eyes and all of his reasonings dried up in his throat.

"I don't know, Scully," he told her.  "Look, forget I said anything.
I do trust you.  There is no question about that."

She held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding finally and
turning away.

Mulder sighed.  He did trust her, of course.  But sometimes trust
wasn't enough.

~~~

174 Rutgers Drive
Newark, NJ
11:23 pm

Jun was standing in the bathroom doorway, taking a scalpel out of
a small black case.  His hands were already covered in latex
gloves.  "I hope you'll excuse me," he said.  "Reiver and I should
have left an hour ago."

"So sorry to ruin your evening."  A trickle of blood in his throat
made him cough, and Krycek immediately wished he'd kept his
mouth shut.

"You were the one who crashed the party."  Jun turned and knelt
beside the bathtub, arms disappearing into its depths.  "Though it
looks like you should have stayed home."

"Fuck you," Krycek muttered.

Jun chuckled and turned back to the bathtub.  "What were your
orders, anyway?  To bring me back in?  Re-indoctrinate me to the
Plan?  Or did they just tell you to kill me?"

Krycek clenched his jaw and didn't answer.

"They don't have to worry about the first option," Jun said.
"They'll be hearing from me soon enough."

"What, you think you're going to do to them what you're doing to
Reiver?"

This time it was Jun who stayed silent.

Krycek sat and watched the moonlight spilling from the windows.
His arm was screaming from the harsh wire cutting into his flesh,
but even that sensation had begun to pulse in and out as his nerves
began to lose feeling.  His head was still drumming an insistent
war beat, and he could only breathe through one nostril.

But he was alive, for all of that.  He remembered what the smoking
man had said, about Jun sparing him.  Not a theory he was going to
put all his faith in, but one he was willing to work with for the time
being.

He could hear soft thudding sounds coming from the bathroom,
and knew it was Jun moving Reiver's body around.  He wondered
if all the blood had drained out of it yet.

"Why do you do that to the bodies?" he asked, partly to keep his
mind off the pain.  "I mean, why do you cut them?"

"Maybe I just like the pattern."  Jun sounded amused.

"But why that one?  Why eyes?"

"Why not?"

"You are doing this for a reason, aren't you?  You're not just killing
these men because you feel like it."

"Correct."

"You want to tell someone something, otherwise why waste time
with all that cutting, why risk getting caught?"

"I see you've still got a bit of the FBI agent in you."

"You're not going to share with me what this message is?"

"The intended recipients of my *message*, as you call it, know
well enough what it is.  That's apparent from your presence here."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't.  You've got your head buried in the sand.
Let's just say that the eyes are a warning."

"Against what?"

"Against blindness."

Jun came out of the bathroom, picking up something long and
black that Krycek hadn't noticed before.  A body bag.  He could
hear the rustle of the plastic as Jun went back to Reiver and laid
him inside the tub.  More thuds as the body was rolled into the bag,
rustling again, then a heavy zipper closing.  Snaps as Jun took off
his latex gloves.

"Time for us to go," he said regretfully.  "I'm leaving one of my
strongest blades here, on the edge of the bathtub.  Once I'm gone
you can make your way over and get rid of those wires."

Krycek felt something leap up in his throat.  "Why?  You're not
going to kill me like the others?"

Jun appeared in the doorway to the bathroom again.  "Killing you
would be a violation of my orders."

Krycek raised an eyebrow in surprise, but it was too dark for the
other man to see.

"You have a fatal flaw, Krycek," Jun said.  "Do you know what it
is?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"It's this: you are *not* adaptable.  Anyone else in your position
would have escaped those wires, or at least would have made an
*effort*.  But you?  You've sat there all night and barely moved
anything except your mouth."

Krycek glared at him.

"I understand now why you were forced to go to Russia, perhaps
even why you let yourself get drawn into the Group in the first
place."  Jun's voice slowed, thickening and gaining weight.  "When
you find yourself in a trap, the only thing you know how to do is
wait for someone else to get you out of it."

"Fuck off," Krycek snarled.  "What you don't know about me could
fill a fucking galaxy."

Jun shrugged.  "If I had optimum time and circumstances, I would
prove it to you.  But at any rate, I have a feeling we'll meet again."

"That's because I'll fucking make sure of it."

An amused snort.  "Then I look forward to getting my knife back."

He turned then and hefted the body bag out of the bathtub, slinging
it over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.  From the chair Krycek
watched him move toward the door, gliding through the shadows
of the apartment like he didn't notice he was carrying the burden of
a full-grown man.  Then Jun was past his line of vision and a
moment later Krycek heard the door open and latch shut.

Jun was gone.

~~~

end part 4 of 7
jintian@graffiti.net

Argus part 5 of 7
by Jintian (jintian@graffiti.net)

~~~

Essex County Morgue
Newark, NJ
Wednesday, 4:25 am

It was well after midnight when they got the call.  They had driven
to Newark in their own car, following Markham's taillights the
entire way.  The other agent was grim-faced as he moved around
the crime scene, another snow-lined alley.  "You were right," he
had said to Mulder.  "But goddamn, I wish you were wrong."

The forensics teams finally wrapped up around a quarter to four,
and Markham left to find a motel.  Mulder had taken one look at
the circles under Scully's eyes and elected to accompany her to the
morgue.

He tried not to make it obvious that he was staring at her as she
tied on the blue surgical mask.  Perhaps it was just a trick of the
light, but when she had come out of the changing area her skin
looked bleached of color.  Even her eyes seemed to reflect the
white fluorescents like pieces of glass.

Mulder shook the image out of his head as Scully snapped a pair of
latex gloves on.  She walked over and handed him a pair as well,
along with a mask and hair cover.

"I need help with the body," she said.  "There aren't any other
assistants."

He looked at her.  "You're sure you want to do this now?"

"We need whatever we can get out of this autopsy report, if you
think the killer is accelerating."
 
"But we also need to be functioning properly the next time he
strikes."

"Which, according to your calculations, will be in less than twenty-
four hours.  If we can get something out of this autopsy report
that'll break this case open, maybe we can prevent that."

Mulder put on the gear as Scully pulled out John Doe #2483's
refrigerated drawer and moved the autopsy table up next to it.  He
was suddenly relieved to have the mask on, so she couldn't see his
grimace.  John Doe under those bright lights looked even more
gruesome than he had in the snowy alley where he'd been found.

He helped her move the body from the drawer to the table, and
then he watched from a corner of the room as she arranged its
position on the block and began taking measurements and samples.

His eyes were inevitably drawn to the body itself, though.
Succumbing to its pull, he tried to place himself inside the
Messenger's head, studying the cuts as if they were words telling a
story, as if he'd written them himself.  Smooth, smooth curves and
delicate arches winging around a perfect circle, just barely
touching at the tips.  He imagined the feel of unblooded flesh just
beneath the skin and shuddered lightly.

"Scully," he murmured.  She looked up.  "Have you wondered
whether these victims *deserved* to die?"

"What are you talking about?"

"If they're who we think they are."  She had a scalpel in her hand,
the blade still clean and glinting at him.  "Did Luis Cardinal
deserve to die?"

"No."  Her voice was sharp.  "That's why we have a judicial
system.  So men like these can be prosecuted for what they've
done."

Mulder gaped at her, feeling a sudden urge to laugh.  "You still
think that's possible?"

Scully's brow furrowed and she lowered the scalpel.  "Then why
are we on this case?  *Someone* wants us to catch someone else."

"If you had Alex Krycek in front of you right now, what would
you do?  Would you shoot him or handcuff him?"

"Are you saying I could choose the former?  Why?  Just because I
think he'd deserve it?"

He shook his head.  "Because all other attempts to bring Krycek to
justice have failed.  Maybe the only way to stop someone like that
is to take him down."

"Cold-blooded murder?  Then you're no better than Krycek."

"But what about all the pain and suffering you could prevent?  If it
was one man's life against countless others.  Or even four men's
lives."

"That's like arguing about whether someone should have killed
Hitler before the Holocaust.  Would you have done it?"

Mulder nodded slowly.  "Six million people and one man.  Yes, I
would have done it."

Scully shook her head.  "I don't know if I could make the same
statement about these victims.  I'm a *doctor*."

"But you're also an FBI agent, trained to protect."

"And you're talking about killing that's outside of the law."

He looked back at the body lying on the table, naked and
vulnerable to whatever might happen to it now.  "You know the
men we suspect they worked for," he said.  "You know what
they're doing isn't much different from the Nazis."

She sighed and he turned to her again.  "I do know.  And
maybe...maybe part of me also agrees with you.  But it's not a
noble act, Mulder, no matter what the stakes."

He raised his eyebrows.  "But if you really thought it was
necessary, would you care?"

Scully shook her head.  "I guess it depends on what you mean by
'necessary.'  I'd like to believe I'm a long way from reaching that
point."  She held his gaze for a moment longer, then went back to
her autopsy.

~~~

81st Street
New York, NY
7:49 am

Sunlight smiting his face, crashing through his eyelids like a train
wreck.  Krycek groaned awake and pulled himself to a sitting
position on the ratty couch.  He blinked at the light, dreams falling
apart, scattered images sinking into the sea of his subconscious.

Finally he managed to lurch up and stand on his feet, reaching
automatically for his gun.  He shoved it into his pants and
stumbled over to Legare's kitchen area, ducking his head under the
running faucet.  The cold water combined with the morning chill to
shock his nerves into alertness.

There was nothing edible in sight except for a Chinese takeout
carton of dry white rice, shoved into the corner next to the sink.
Krycek scraped at the rice with his fingers, loosening it up enough
so he could tilt the carton into his mouth.

His arm screamed with the movement, but he ignored it.  In fact,
his entire body sent up a veritable horror show of weeping and
groaning, including the cuts on his lips and face, but Krycek
ignored those too.

The sound of the front door unlocking made him grab for his gun,
but he recognized Legare's voice.  He left the gun stuck in his
waistband, but kept his hand on it.

Then he saw who was coming in behind Legare and drew it out
anyway.

"Good morning, Alex," Spender hummed.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"  He kept the barrel lowered,
but backed up a step to give himself room.

Legare raised his eyebrows.  "Put the fuckin' piece away.  Spender
just wants to talk to you."

"Why not at headquarters?"

"I was in the neighborhood.  Why waste the opportunity?"
Spender smiled, his lips scaly and gray like a reptile's.

"So what do you want?"

"I have another task for you."  He glanced at Legare.  "Wait
outside until we're finished."

The other man faded back out through the doorway.  Krycek
watched him go.  "Everyone follows your orders now, no
questions."

"It's entirely possible to reassume former status and
responsibilities, provided you play by the rules."  Spender drew a
cigarette out and lit it, inhaling with a rasping breath.  "You always
played the game well, but you kept forgetting the most important
rule of all: don't get caught."

"No, I think the most important rule to remember is that everyone
around you is an ass-pirating son of a bitch."

Spender smiled again.  "You'd certainly know all about that."

Krycek brought the gun down to his side.  "What's this job you
want me to do?  I figured you'd be here about Reiver."

"I already know you were unsuccessful.  The body was autopsied
last night, by none other than Agent Scully.  Not that she'll find
anything useful there.  As for your task, I need to know if you saw
any papers or disks in Reiver's apartment."

"What?"

"I have reason to believe he had possession of several documents
the Group would consider very important.  Did you see them?"

"I was a little too busy to go snooping around Reiver's shit."

"You'll have to go back.  Search the apartment and make sure.  I
need to know if Jun took them."

"Look, I'm not doing fuck all for you until you tell me who Jun's
working for."

"You're assuming his actions have been commissioned.  Yet it's
possible, isn't it, for an employed man to still act as a free agent."

"What kind of employer would allow *this*?  He's got the FBI at
our fucking front door."

"You were never very good at putting the pieces together either,
Alex."  Spender took a drag and blew out again.  "Any employer
who would *allow* that is one who seeks to gain from our
exposure."

"That's fucking everybody," Krycek snarled.

Spender shook his head and dropped the cigarette into the sink,
where it fizzled in a puddle of water.  "I have my suspicions.  I
recognize trademark strategies."  He paused, studying Krycek with
his cold eyes.  "There are others who eventually didn't care to play
the game anymore.  And if I'm correct..."

"If you're correct *what*?"

"If I'm correct, more than one person in the Group would have an
interest in proving me wrong."  Spender's lips spread in that reptile
smile again.  "Contact me when you've reacquired our documents."

~~~

Days Inn
Newark, NJ
8:00 am

Someone was shrieking at him, a wordless urgent cry.  But instead
of looking for the source he covered his ears and tried to burrow
into the ground, headfirst like a mole.  The dirt slid around him,
warm and smooth and earthy smelling.  But the shrieking only
continued, and then it seemed like he made a wrong turn and fell
face forward into the sun.

Mulder's eyes snapped open, snapped back shut.  Phone, not
shrieking.  Cell phone ringing.  Motherfucker.  He groped blindly
with his hand and found it on the nightstand.

"What," he said.  Then he thought it might not be Scully.
"Mulder."

"Good morning," said a voice.  "I know you had a long night, but
please pay attention.  What I have to say is of the utmost
importance."
 
It seemed like an alarm clock was in his head, rattling against the
walls of his skull.  He jammed the heel of his other hand into his
eyes, rubbing furiously.  "Who is this?"

"Someone who has a great interest in your case."  The voice was
male, dry and brittle like kindling.  Familiar.

Mulder sat up.  "Who *is* this?"

"We have the same goal, Agent Mulder.  To find the real killers.
I'm giving you that opportunity now.  You must expose them
before it's too late."

"What are you talking about?"

"These people -- these so-called victims -- they belong to an
organization whose machinations you've come to know, if not
understand.  They, as I'm sure you'll agree, are the true criminals."

Mulder's thoughts whirled, formed a readable shape.  "Who are
you?  How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"The man you found last night is named Nathan Reiver.  He was
one of the organization's operatives.  An assassin, if you will.  He
was killed at his residence in Newark last night.  174 Rutgers
Drive."

"Who killed him?"

"*Who* is unimportant."

"Fine.  Why, then?"

"Exactly," the voice said.  "Continue with your investigation,
Agent Mulder."

The line went dead.

~~~

9:18 am

Scully was perched on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a white
robe and speaking quietly to Skinner on the phone.  Mulder sat a
few feet away at the table, watching her.  The light from the
window was shell-like, falling on her hair and forehead and
illuminating her skin in white gold.

He slid his fingers over the stubble on his chin, waiting.

Finally she hung up and turned to him.  "He's going to look up this
Nathan Reiver in the criminal database and then call us.  Maybe
his higher access will be of some help."

"Good."

"When are we going to tell Markham?" she asked.

"I think we should wait until after we go to Reiver's place," Mulder
said.  "Make sure this isn't a dead end."

Scully raised her eyebrow.  "Just how far are you expecting to
follow this lead without him?  This is his case."

"This goes way beyond Markham, beyond the FBI.  You know
that.  The call I received is the first real proof of what we've been
suspecting."

"Are you sure you couldn't place the voice?  If it was one of the old
informants -- "

"What, back from the dead?"  He laughed hollowly.  "No, it was
familiar, but not that familiar.  But I know he gave me Reiver's
address for a reason.  There's something for us to find there."

"Something for us, Markham and a forensics team."

"I'd rather not assemble a team without reason first.  If just the two
of us went, we won't have wasted anything but the morning.
Besides, we'd just be sitting around waiting for Skinner anyway."

"It would be asking for trouble to go alone."  She shook her head.
"Especially if something went wrong.  Which it usually does."

He wasn't surprised at her protests.  It was always like balancing a
set of scales with her, dropping weights carefully on each side until
she leaned the way he wanted.

"I don't think we have a lot of other options," he began.  "You said
you didn't find anything in your autopsy.

"I said it was less than conclusive.  But we haven't gotten tox
screens back on the victim or put him through the usual databases."

"Skinner's doing that right now, and with a name, even."

She sighed and cinched her robe tighter.

Mulder stood.  "Look, you asked me to trust your abilities.  Would
you rather I went by myself?"

"No," she flashed.  "I would rather we did this with our heads."

He moved for the door.  "I'm leaving in fifteen minutes.  Come
with me or don't come with me."

"Mulder," he heard her call, but he was already out in the hallway
and the door shut on her voice.

~~~

174 Rutgers Drive
Newark, NJ
10:02 am

For some reason the back entry to Reiver's apartment smelled like
week-old trash, a sickly sweet rot that made his head throb.
Stepping lightly toward the building Krycek saw why.  Garbage
had been strewn about, plastic bags cut open and the contents
spilled onto the snow.  Unsurprising, given the neighborhood;
probably homeless people looking for food or kids looking for
trouble.

The building itself was quiet.  As he moved through it, the halls
sometimes leaked sounds from inside the apartments, noises he
could discern as voices or television.  It was cold as well, without
central heating, and dark despite the weak light bulbs at regular
intervals.

Reiver's door was unlatched.

He watched it fall open in slow motion beneath the faint pressure
of his prosthesis, feeling his right hand plow through air that
suddenly seemed thick as molasses, toward the gun where it rested
in his waistband.  His fingers clenched around the grip, pulling it
out, slow, so goddamn slow.  And it was suddenly heavy, the
weight of it wanting to drag his hand back down to the ground.
The door was already open wide by the time he had his arm fully
extended, the gun pointing into the living room.

There was no one there.  It was empty.

Krycek hesitated, looking back down the hall at the door to the
stairwell.  Then he peered into the apartment again.  It was silent
and still, from what he could see of it.  He could feel the distant
thunder of his heart, the taut readiness of his own body.

He crept forward on the balls of his feet, his gun pointed in front of
him.  There was the window Jun had propped his prosthesis on, the
glass muddy yet shining with sunlight.  There was the chair, wire
still coiled loosely around the bars.  He could still smell blood in
the air, a thought flickering over his mind like a tongue of flame:
was his own contributing to it?

The bathroom door was open, and as he drew near he could see the
end of the tub.  And he could see also Dana Scully as she moved
into the doorway from inside the bathroom, slow, so goddamn
slow, dressed in black that seemed to suck every last photon of
light from the air.  He could see her blue eyes go wide as they met
his and her entire form go rigid, her mouth falling open and
showing him the white row of her teeth.

"Don't move," he heard himself say, and the world rushed back
then.  Time was speeding up, the air thinning again, the gun going
almost weightless with the change.

"Krycek," she spat.

"Don't fucking talk.  Where's Mulder?"

That was when he heard the front door shut, and the click of a
safety going off.

"Right here," Mulder said from behind him.

~~~

Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
10:02 am

Skinner flipped through the latest expense report from the X-Files
division as he waited for Reiver's dossier to load.  It had been
written by Agent Jeffrey Spender, the dry capable prose listing the
rationale for each of the previous month's expenditures -- motel
rooms, rental cars, gasoline, restaurants.  Occasionally there were
more questionable citations, for instance the purchase of a college
newspaper, or a handheld air pump, but these were all carefully
explained.  Not to mention far less bizarre than some of the items
in the expense reports the previous occupants of the office had
handed in.  He snorted as he came to the last page and saw the total
amount was about fifty percent less than Mulder's average.

A small window popped up on his computer screen, asking him to
reconfirm his password.  He put the expense report away and typed
it in.

Reiver's dossier included mug shots taken in early 1990, when he
was arrested for drug possession with intent to distribute, but he
supposed Mulder and Scully already had a good idea what the man
looked like.  His criminal record was sparse, with only one other
arrest for minor possession, but that was actually typical of the
more large-scale figures in the FBI's list of suspected offenders.

He clicked on a few links and found his assessment was correct.
The Bureau had questioned Reiver in late 1996 in connection with
the trafficking of donor organs stolen from hospitals in several
states.  Apparently the Bureau had managed to convict several
members of the ring, although by no means all of them.  Reiver
was never arrested, due to insufficient evidence.

They had kept investigating him, though.  Agents staked out his
residence for almost an entire month after the initial bust and
trailed his movements.  They did it again for another month after
the trials.  His phone was tapped and his car bugged, but the FBI
was never able to garner enough to reopen the case.

The most recent stakeout was in October of 1998.  Skinner opened
the investigative report and scanned through it.

The agents on duty had noted that in the course of a week, Reiver
visited an empty warehouse outside of New York City no less than
three times.  However, the owners of the warehouse were a private
company, and they had informed the agents that Reiver was
employed as one of their part-time security guards.  Subsequent
excursions to the warehouse by the agents also came up empty-
handed.

No other suspicious activity had been recorded.

Skinner rubbed his jaw, clicking quickly through the rest of the
dossier.  Outside of the stolen organs and the warehouse, there
seemed to be nothing else that might connect Reiver to the kind of
conspiracy Scully was looking for.  Neither was there any
indication of violent crime or political affiliations in Reiver's
record, unlike Alex Krycek's or Luis Cardinal's.

At the thought of Krycek, Skinner flexed his hand uneasily around
his chin.  The other man hadn't contacted him since that night in
his office, but Skinner had no doubt he would be hearing from
Krycek again.

He pushed the thought away and picked up his phone, dialing
Scully's cell.  After four rings he was preparing himself to leave
her a voicemail, but then her voice came on the line.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully," he said.  "It's AD Skinner.  Is everything all
right?"  She sounded strange to him, strained.

"Yes, I'm fine.  Did you find something for us?"

"An address, and a bit of background."  He relayed the information
he'd just learned.  She asked him to repeat the address of the
warehouse for her.  "858 South Bend Road," he said slowly.

"Thank you," she told him, and hung up.

He looked at the phone in his hand, shook his head and put it back
in its receiver.  She was busy, that was all.

Another window popped up when he logged out of the dossier.
"Last ten users," it read.  His own logon ID, "w.skinner@fbi.gov,"
was at the top of the list, with the date and the time he had signed
in.

What caught his eye was the user just beneath him, or rather, the
date of the user's login.  A "t.markham" had accessed the dossier
only a few hours ago.  That would have been Agent Markham, he
surmised.

Odd, that Scully had asked him to look at Reiver's dossier if
Markham was already on it.  But then, he wouldn't be surprised if
Mulder had managed to frost relations with yet another fellow
agent in the middle of a case.

Kimberly came in just then with another pile of forms that needed
reviewing before he could sign them, and by the time they broke
for lunch he'd more or less forgotten about Markham.

~~~

end part 5 of 7
jintian@graffiti.net

Argus part 6 of 7
by Jintian (jintian@graffiti.net)

~~~

174 Rutgers Drive
Newark, NJ
10:15 am

"Thank you," Scully said, and thumbed her phone off.  Her gaze
hadn't left Krycek's face.  "What do you know about Reiver and
stolen organs?" she demanded of him.

Mulder looked at Krycek handcuffed to the radiator and saw his
eyes shift.  "Answer her."  He raised his gun a bit.

"I know it's not why he died," Krycek said.  "That's an old project."

Scully leaned forward slightly.  "And just how many projects do
they have?"

"You're asking the wrong questions."  Krycek straightened
abruptly and Mulder was suddenly glad he'd put the safety back
on.

"You know, I get tired of people telling me that," he said.  "Why
don't you sing a different song for once and just give us the right
fucking answers?"

Krycek's face was blank and calm.  "Because you've never been
able to do the right things with the right fucking answers."

"All right," Scully said.  "What's at 858 South Bend Road?"

"I don't know.  What's it supposed to be?"

"An empty warehouse outside of New York City.  What do you
know about it?"

"There's an army of empty warehouses outside the city.  You
expect me to recognize yours just because you give me the
address?"

"Sounds like one of those places where they run old projects,"
Mulder said.

"I'm sure you'd know, considering how many you *haven't*
managed to put a stop to."

"Krycek."  Scully's voice was gritty, her eyes hard blue.  "You are
not in a position to be cataloguing anyone's shortcomings here.  I
suggest you start telling us the truth.  Now."

"I've been *telling* you the fucking truth."

"You still haven't said what you were looking for in this
apartment."

"I told you I didn't know what I was supposed to find.  That's true."

Mulder looked at him.  "Who ordered you to come here?"

Krycek smirked, the first expression he had shown them yet.  "One
of your old pals, actually.  I'm sure you'd know him by the ever-
present stench of cigarette smoke."

"Son of a bitch," Mulder murmured.

"Don't tell me you're surprised," Krycek said.  "You've never made
more than a dent in any of his plans."

"I'm sure that's what you like to tell yourselves," Scully said
coldly.  "Mulder, I think we should search this place for whatever
he was looking for and get out of here."

"Agreed."

"I'll check the other room.  You can look around here."  She left.

Mulder turned back to Krycek, studying the other man's face.
There was a cut high on his cheek, another on his lip.  Both his
mouth and his nose looked swollen, and one of his eyebrows was
ragged.

Krycek met his scrutiny with dark, mocking eyes.

"What happened to you?" Mulder asked.

"Ran into an old friend."

"What, literally?"

Krycek glared.  "Didn't anyone ever tell you to mind your own
fucking business?"

Mulder gave a dry laugh.  "Didn't anyone ever tell you I make
everything my business?"  He was quiet a moment, then said
slowly, "It was you, wasn't it?  You infected Skinner with those
nanocytes."

Krycek said nothing, his eyes still mocking.

"I'm right, aren't I?  We had security photos.  I'd know you
anywhere, Krycek."

Silence.

"Why did you do it?  What did you have to do with that Senate
bill?  Dammit, answer me!"

"You're a child, Mulder," Krycek said finally.  "And there are
many things you'll never understand."

"How can I understand unless you tell me the truth?"

"That's exactly what I'm talking about."

They locked gazes for a moment, Krycek's eyes burning, and
Mulder struggled not to look away first.

Scully's voice called from the bedroom.  "Mulder, I need your
help."

He left Krycek without another word.

Inside the room she was standing in a corner, staring at the ceiling.
"Do you see that?" she asked.  "Those lines in the paint?"

He looked up.  The ceiling was not plastered but instead painted
smooth white, except where she was pointing.  There was a faint
bulge interrupting the plane of the ceiling, bordered by two thin
lines meeting in a right angle.  "Yeah, I do.  It looks like...it looks
like there's something under that paint.  Should we try cutting it
out?"

"I don't suppose we have another choice, if it's what we're looking
for."

"I'll get a knife."  He went out into the kitchen, opening drawers
and cabinets.  They were all empty.

"What are you looking for?" Krycek asked.

"A knife."

He thought he heard something like a laugh from the other man.
He glanced up, and Krycek nodded his head toward the bathroom.
"Look in the toilet," he said.

Mulder pursed his lips and went to check.  A flash of foresight told
him to pull on a pair of latex gloves.  He did so, then lifted the top
of the commode and fished out the knife.

It was about as lethal-looking as he could imagine.  The black
handle had finger grips, and the blade was straight and sharp.  He
stared at it for a moment, then went back out into the main room.
"Is this yours?" he asked Krycek.

"What do you think?"

"I think it belongs to a man I'm looking for.  The man who killed
Reiver."

"I guess you win the grand prize."

"What I want to know is, what's your connection to him?  How did
you know the knife was there?"

Krycek sneered.  "We're old friends."

~~~

Mulder managed to use just the tip of the knife to cut through the
paint on the ceiling.  He passed it back to Scully, also wearing
latex gloves, then used his fingers to wedge out the rest.

"It's an envelope," he said, surprised.  "A manila envelope."

She waited until he hopped down from the bed with the envelope
in his hands.  It was a package envelope, the kind with plastic
bubble wrap lining the inside.  Paint was still stuck to it, a thick
layer that Mulder broke off around the edges, but it could still be
opened.  When he pulled out a sheaf of documents they were dry
and undamaged.

"Look at this, Scully."  She leaned into him and he flipped through
the papers.

"That's an inventory of standard lab equipment," she said, pointing
to one.  "And that looks like a schematic for gas and water tubing."

"Do you recognize these chemicals?"

"Of course.  They're the notations for ethanol and oxygen.  This
one is sulfuric acid.  But these symbols...they're nucleic acids, and
these are amino acids."  Scully frowned.  "There are some
anesthetics on this list, too."

"Any idea what they could be for?"

"Most of it looks like what you'd normally have in a genetics lab,
Mulder.  But the rest of it..."  She read for a moment, her lips
moving.  "I'm not sure."

"But don't we know something about these men and genetic
engineering?  I think we'd better ask our favorite double agent out
there what he can make of all this."

Krycek looked at the papers for a total of two seconds.
"Hybridization," he said.

"How do you know?" Mulder demanded.

"The code number at the top -- and because it makes sense.  It's the
smoking man's project, and he was the one who sent me here.
Apparently, it was for those documents."

Mulder swore.  "858 South Bend Road must be where it's taking
place.  We need to go there, Scully.  Now."

"Are you fucking insane?" Krycek said.  "You don't want to go
anywhere *near* one of that bastard's projects."

Scully ignored him.  "We can't go without backup.  And besides,
you're leaping."

"Scully," he pressed, "it makes sense.  Reiver was preparing the
place as a laboratory for hybridization."

She looked skeptical, but said, "Look, if they're really doing
something out there we're going to need proof.  Witnesses."

"What do you suggest?"

"I think we should call Markham.  Tell him to bring in a SWAT
team.  If we storm the building, maybe we can catch them in the
act."

Mulder weighed the options.  "Fine, call him."

She pulled out her phone and dialed.  Mulder stuffed the papers
back into the envelope.

Krycek shook his head.  "If you think this is going to work, you've
learned nothing at all from dealing with these people."

"Shut up," Mulder told him.  "No, better yet, since you're such
buddies with our UNSUB, why don't you tell me why he killed
Reiver?"

"You just found out.  Because of this project.  Because of
hybridization.  You know it can't be allowed to happen."

"You agree with him?"

"Of course!  Don't you?"

"Yes," Mulder said.  "But I never thought we'd be on the same
side."

Krycek grimaced.  "You're wrong.  We've been on the same side
many, many times."

Scully hung up then.  "Markham says he can get a team over there
in one hour."

Mulder tore his gaze away from Krycek and looked at his watch.
"Okay, then.  Let's go."

~~~

855 South Bend Road
New York
1:26 pm

The warehouse sat like a tin coffin on the other side of the road
from a blinds factory.  Krycek sat in the back seat of the car,
handcuffed to the door handle.  He was in the middle of the seat,
looking out between Mulder and Scully where they sat in the front.
He had never been here, he knew, but the feeling of danger was
palpable.  He had a feeling of eyes watching them, of a hand in the
dark hovering inches from his neck.

"Where the hell is Markham?" Mulder fumed.  "He should have
been here with that team almost two hours ago."

"I still can't reach him on his phone," Scully said.  "And neither the
New York nor the Philadelphia Bureau saw him this morning."

Krycek listened to their conversation with half an ear, scanning the
other cars in the parking lot.  They all seemed to be unoccupied.
There was only occasional traffic passing on South Bend Road.

"The warehouse looks deserted anyway, Mulder," Scully was
saying.  "It's entirely possible that we guessed wrong."

"This is the place."  Mulder tapped his steering wheel.  "I can feel
it."

"So can I," Krycek said.  He met Mulder's eyes in the rearview
mirror.

"That's it," the other man said.  "I'm going in there."  He unbuckled
and got out of the car.

Scully scrambled out after him.  "Mulder, you can't."

Both their doors slammed at the same time.  Krycek watched them
through the windows, their breath visible in the cold air.  Their
voices grew faint as Mulder started walking toward the warehouse.
"...something wrong here, Scully..."

And then her voice, higher: "...shouldn't leave...in the car..."

Krycek saw them both look back at him.  He declined to
communicate any expression, instead stared at them blankly.

A few more arguments back and forth and then they were both
crossing the street quickly, guns held close to their sides.  Krycek
craned his head over the top of the driver's seat, watching them.
They paused for a moment upon reaching the warehouse, Scully's
hair the only discernible color against the light gray building, then
edged around a corner of it and disappeared from view. <