by Mercutio
mercutio@europa.com
 

Date:  Tue, 18 Feb 1997

NOTE:   This story is an X-Files/Tom Clancy crossover, and is set
during "Executive Orders".  It's helpful to have read that story,
since this one makes extensive reference to it and to events from
"Debt of Honor", although I've provided a recap of the most
important ones.  Also, the character of Jack Sullivan is from my
story, "The Bodyguard".  You don't need to have read that story to
understand this, but you do need to know that Sullivan is a Secret
Service agent who's worked with Mulder in the past, and established
a relationship of mutual respect (or something like that).  I wrote
this because I have a deep respect for Tom Clancy's writing, and
because to me, it's inconceivable that the depth of government
corruption portrayed in the world of the X-Files could possibly
exist in the same world as Jack Ryan.  The juxtaposition of the two
worlds is interesting, and the result not quite like either of the
originals.

SPOILERS:  This story contains spoilers for everything I could
think of, right up to the Season Four episode "Memento Mori".  I've
assumed that the plotlines there will resolve without anyone
needing to die.

SUMMARY:  Tom Clancy/X-Files crossover.  Mulder meets the new
President, Jack Ryan, and convinces him of the reality of the
conspiracy underlying the United States government.
 
 

The Good of the People, by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)
 

"The good of the people is the chief law." -- Cicero
 

The entire United States government had assembled that night in
Washington D.C. to confirm the new Vice President and to witness
his swearing in.  In the wake of the just won war with Japan that
most people had not even been aware was being fought, this was yet
another triumph for President Durling.  He had, with the help of
his National Security Advisor, averted a major economic crisis,
saved the Marianas from an invasion, and stopped a war.  None of
these actions would hurt him in this, an election year.  The Joint
Chiefs of Staff, Supreme Court, most of the Cabinet, assorted heads
of agencies including the FBI, and ambassadors from countries all
over the world were there to play spectator as John Patrick Ryan,
the National Security Advisor, became the new Vice President.

And then one Japanese citizen had decided that perhaps the war
wasn't over, that his own need for honor demanded a different
ending to what the United States had already triumphantly declared
a victory.

Captain Sato, a pilot for JAL, had bluffed his way past the air
traffic controllers in D.C. that night and, with years of practiced
skill and determination honed by the deaths of his brother and son
at the hands of the Americans, directed his 747 into the U.S. House
of Representatives.  The collision turned the huge aircraft and its
nearly full tanks into an enormous bomb as the engines smashed the
Capitol Building, crushing, burning, or asphyxiating everyone
inside.

Everyone except Jack Ryan, the newly confirmed Vice President, who,
along with his family and an escort, had been on his way between
buildings to be formally sworn in.  The Secret Service had been
able to do nothing.  One of the agents on the roof of the building
had been able to get off a Stinger missile at the plane before it
crashed, but the impact on the engine had about as much effect as
spitting on a meteor.  In one fell swoop, the U.S. government was
left floundering, the only survivors a President who had never
expected or wanted the job, two Cabinet members, and a handful of
Congressmen who had been unable to make the ceremony.

Everyone else was dead.

At the time of the 747 crash, Mulder and Scully were in Tennessee,
finishing up an investigation into a murderous haunted house.  They
had completed the investigation as quickly as possible and caught
the first available flight back to D.C.

Nearly every agent in the D.C. office was out at the Capitol
Building, either searching for evidence at the direction of the
Acting Director, Dan Murray, or assisting with the collection of
bodily remains.  The ones who weren't were performing equally
important and time-consuming investigative tasks, all towards the
same goal -- ascertaining who had killed their boss.

More than just the FBI Director had perished in the disaster, but
for the FBI agents there that didn't matter in their quest for
justice.  It was tenet and faith among their number that no murder
of a member of the FBI would go unpunished.  It was simply bad
business to let people know that they could get away with killing
FBI personnel.  The deaths of so many others made this tragedy
important, but the Director's death made it personal.

Scully looked up from her clipboard.  She and Mulder had been
assigned to cover one section of "wall",  if you could call it that
when it was lying on the ground.  However, he and his clipboard
were nowhere in evidence.  She made a checkmark on her list and
nodded to the firefighter who had informed her of the body, then
walked out, away from the wall to see if she could spot Mulder.

He was over with the wreckage of the plane, some of it, at any
rate, since pieces of the 747 were scattered liberally throughout
the crash site, and he was busy annoying the NTSB personnel there.
She could see him talking to one of them, pulling on his arm,
trying to drag him bodily to see whatever it was that Mulder was so
excited about.

Scully looked down at her clipboard, hiding a smile.  All the way
back on the plane from Tennessee, Mulder had expounded on how this
crash was the work of the Men In Black.  This was the ultimate
conspiracy, designed to knock out as much of the federal government
as they could in just a few seconds.  In one fell swoop they could
wipe out the old order and either install their own people in its
place, or carry out some devious and far-reaching plot in the chaos
which had ensued from the almost complete collapse of the United
States government.  Possibly both.  And now he had the chance to
prove it.  Or try to, at any rate.

Mulder was having the time of his life, as much as anyone could in
the charnel-house horror.  Even their own experience with graphic
crime scenes and autopsy rooms could not shield them against the
gruesome sight of so many mangled, distorted bodies which had once
been living, breathing people.

However, she had no such shield of enthusiasm to hold between her
and what was happening around her, and felt useless at her present
task as well.  Locating bodies, trying to make some guess at their
identity, and recording the subsequent data -- all while standing
there freezing -- was not challenging, nor was it a worthwhile use
of her time and skills.  Unless someone higher up -- and there were
very few people left who fit that description -- waived the rules,
each and every body here was going to have to be autopsied, despite
the rather obvious means of death.  And she was better utilized in
that gargantuan task than in this one.  Unfortunately, with so many
people out in the field, all she'd been able to do towards
achieving that end was to leave messages on voice mail.  However,
she was confident that when the right people started checking in,
she'd be moved to a task where she would be more useful.

And warmer.

Scully clapped her hands together, then stuck the clipboard under
one arm and her hands in her pockets.  It was going to be a long
day.

****

Two Weeks Later
 

Scully looked up as an unfamiliar man entered the X-Files office.
He was tall, with dark, greying hair, and dressed the same way most
of the male FBI agents dressed.  But most of them didn't wear
earpieces.  Secret Service then, and on duty at that.  And a
wedding band on his left hand.  Most unusual.  In the FBI, agents
were expected to work hours that could only be described as insane;
while it wasn't exactly *required*, you were expected to do just
about anything to close a case.  And the dedication required of the
Secret Service could only be worse.  Most of the FBI agents she
knew were either single or about to be single, as their wives and
husbands could no longer take not having a spouse.  For someone in
the Secret Service to be wearing a wedding band like this man, they
would either have to be doing it for reasons of sentimentality,
commemorating a relationship that no longer existed; awaiting a
divorce decree; or, most oddly of all, be in a marriage so solid
nothing could shake it.  Scully envied him more than a little if
the latter were true.  It was only one of the factors that made
marriage only a enticing illusion rather than a possibility for
her.

The Secret Service agent smiled at her.  "Hello.  I'm looking for
Agent Mulder."

"He's upstairs with the A.D."  She looked him over.  "Do you want
me to have him call you when he gets back?"

"No.  I'll wait."  Without another word, the Secret Service agent
moved over to Mulder's desk, shoving aside a stack of files and
papers at the center.  Scully winced as he did it.  *There goes any
semblance of order to what Mulder calls a filing system.*

The man didn't seem to notice her icy glare as he grabbed one of
the files, sat down in the chair, swung his feet up on the desk and
began reading.

After a moment, Scully looked down at her laptop and went back to
work.  Somehow, there didn't seem to be much point to protesting.
And, given the strange behavior, this was probably a friend of
Mulder's rather than someone she should be throwing out of the
office.  Not that her curiosity was appeased in the least.

Mulder arrived fifteen minutes later, not looking at all chastened
from what had probably been a rather tense session with Skinner.
The way that so many of their cases dissolved into nothing after
run-ins with various government agencies, all of whom seemed to
enjoy filing complaints, did nothing to endear Mulder to the A.D.

"Agent Sullivan!"

Sullivan looked up from the file he was holding.  "I'm flattered,
Agent Mulder.  After all this time, you still remember my name."

"How could I possibly forget you, Agent Sullivan?"  Mulder threw a
mischievous glance at Scully, not about to enlighten her as to the
identity of his unexpected guest.  "So what are you doing here?
Looking for Jimmy Hoffa's body?"

"No, but if you want to go grab a couple of beers, I'd love to ask
you about John Wilkes Booth's final resting place, Agent Mulder."

"Make it dinner and you've got a deal, Agent Sullivan."  Mulder
grabbed his trenchcoat.  "See you tomorrow, Scully."

"Sure, Mulder."  She watched the two men bemusedly as they left the
office.  Mulder had a friend?  Mulder didn't have friends.  He had
informants.

****

Mulder sat back in his chair, long necked bottle in hand, and
looked at Sullivan.  "So how'd the house hunting go in L.A.?"

Sullivan looked blank for a moment, then remembered.  A few years
back, when he had worked with Mulder to catch the serial killer
responsible for the Mallrat Murders, he had told Mulder that he
would need to see the suspect through the judicial process until
the trial had concluded.  And Mulder had told him to look for a
house, because -- as Sullivan had found to be true -- the full
process of justice could stretch out for months or even years.
Sullivan laughed.  "Not so good.  I didn't take you up on your
advice, but I did get stuck in a hotel room for three months during
the trial.  Our mutual friend was convicted on all counts.  And,
best of all, California's one of the 38 states that has a death
penalty.  He won't have a chance to do this to anyone else."

"Good."  Mulder sighed deeply, his mind elsewhere.

"You don't sound like you mean it."

"No.  I wasn't thinking of him.  I was thinking about the crash,"
Mulder said, referring to the 747 that had demolished the Capitol
Building.  All other airplane accidents since then had been
relegated to the status of minor mishaps in comparison.

"Yeah. So have we," Sullivan said grimly.  There wasn't a Secret
Service agent who wouldn't lay down his life to protect the
President.  But usually they expected it to do some good.  Not to
die in vain, like the men and women who had perished along with
their protectees that night.  Casually he asked the question for
which he had sought out Mulder.  "You know any more about the
investigation than we do?"

Mulder nodded, then shrugged.  "The FBI's in charge, and we've all
been stuck doing the legwork, but only the top people will know the
truth, if even they do."

"What do you mean?" Sullivan asked.  "You know more about this than
they're telling the public?"  While the investigation was nowhere
near closed, most of the facts of the case *were* known, such as
the identity of the pilot and his murdered co-pilot along with
hints at the final findings.

"Yeah.  I know a *lot* more."  As Sullivan leaned forward, Mulder
waved his hand slightly.  "Not about the crash.  I couldn't find
any evidence to support the notion of a conspiracy there. Although
I have some friends who will never agree with that," Mulder said,
smiling a little as he thought of the Lone Gunmen, who had
scattered far and wide as news of the 747 crash hit the public.
Frohike had called him from Montana, and Mulder still didn't know
where Langley and Byers had fled to.  None of the Lone Gunmen were
prepared to stand at ground zero of the destruction of the United
States, although Mulder was willing to bet they had surveillance
cameras taking pictures for them.  He returned to his topic,
addressing Sullivan.  "However, the evidence is against it."

"You expected something else?"

Mulder nodded.  "A single plane crash takes out the American
government in one night?  Jack, that's the biggest coup ever pulled
off by anyone.  It decapitated the whole United States government
all at once."

Sullivan continued to look grim.  His professional colleagues would
never forgive themselves for the tragedy, despite the fact that
there was nothing they could have done once events were in motion.
They should have known, should have been prepared, should have done
*something*.

"However, that's the best proof that this wasn't a conspiracy.
These last few days would have been a perfect time for someone to
seize power, or to create even more chaos, and it hasn't happened.
President Ryan's restoring order even now, getting Congress back
into place."  Mulder's eyes turned thoughtful.  "Although it
*could* have been a move for them to get their own people into
power.  A lot less subtle than they're known for."

"Than *who* is known for?"

Mulder studied Sullivan for a long moment.  He didn't know how far
he trusted the other man.  Sullivan had been useful once before,
almost friendly, but that didn't win Mulder over.  However, the
information was hardly something he needed trust in order to hand
over.  It was more a question of whether Sullivan would believe
him.

"The Consortium.  The Men in Black.  The people behind everything.
Behind Roswell and the alien cover-up.  The people who don't want
anyone to know that they've got a hold of alien technology, who are
experimenting on large numbers of human beings for unknown
purposes, and who have infiltrated both the government and the
military to such extent that every time we close in on some piece
of evidence, it's gone.  Sometimes cleaned up by the military,
sometimes by CIA or NSA personnel who mysteriously disappear
afterwards, people whose own 'superiors' deny exist."

Seeing the skepticism in Sullivan's eyes, Mulder switched gears.
He was suddenly curious to see if he could get the utterly
pragmatic Secret Service agent to believe him.  "Do you remember
when I told you I worked with the X-Files?"

Sullivan nodded.

"You asked me what those were.  The X-Files represent the bulk of
the FBI's unusual cases, involving UFOs, psychic phenomena, demon
possession, vampires, mutants -- anything and everything that
doesn't fit into the normal categories.  I've been researching
these for several years now, and I've seen these things myself.
They exist."

"Somehow, I have a hard time believing in little green men."

"Little grey men.  They're grey."

Sullivan stared at him.  "You're claiming to have actually *seen*
aliens."

Mulder batted that question away impatiently. "What did you think
I meant? Scully and I have seen things which no one else would ever
believe -- and coincidentally, makes getting our expense reports
believed more than a little difficult -- but the evidence
disappears every time.  All we have to go on are our memories, what
we *know* to be true."

"And what do you know to be true about the crash?"

"It's what it looks like.  One man, acting alone.  The evidence is
as close to conclusive as anything I've seen.  If the Consortium
could manage a cover-up this good, I'd never have heard of them at
all.  Sato flew from Japan to the U.S. to Canada, then directly to
D.C.  He didn't have time to meet with anyone, and his time on the
ground has been carefully accounted for."  Mulder wasn't on the
investigating team, but he'd called in a few favors -- as had many
people in the Bureau -- to get to see their findings.  "The joint
session of Congress was decided on, and then made public sometime
while Sato was still over the Pacific Ocean.  That's the factor
that convinced most of the Bureau that it wasn't a conspiracy."

"But it didn't convince you," Sullivan said, drawing a conclusion.

"It convinced me that it wasn't an ordinary conspiracy."  Mulder
hesitated for a moment.  Was Sullivan ready to hear this?  Did it
matter?  "There are people out there, beings who can change their
shape to match anyone.  They could have replaced Sato anywhere
along the way, including during his layover in Canada."

"And you want me to believe..."

"Not believing in things doesn't make them any less real," Mulder
said.  "But I had to dismiss that possibility as well.  They found
Sato's body and the body of his co-pilot.  If either of them had
been shapechangers, that would have been obvious during the
autopsy, if not before."  While the only method to kill them that
Mulder knew of involved long pointy metal objects, that didn't mean
that they could survive something like this.  Even a shapeshifter
would have to be seriously injured by a plane crash and explosion
like that.  While the makeshift ice picks might be the only way to
kill them that he knew about, it might just be the only
*practicable* way.  Removing all oxygen in the air, dumping several
hundred tons of rock on someone and burning them to a crisp all at
once, if fatal, would be a situation difficult to arrange on the
fly in order to get rid of a pesky shapeshifter who was following
you around, after all.

Mulder continued, not mentioning that part of his theory to
Sullivan.  "And the evidence also makes it extremely improbable
that anyone switched the bodies.  I had Scully look at a copy of
the autopsy reports.  She spoke with the person who wrote the
report, and was able to get a look at the bodies as well.  The
co-pilot did die before the crash, but Sato died at the approximate
time of the crash, in a method consistent with a high speed impact.
To kidnap Sato, get him to D.C. before the plane could crash, kill
him at the same time in the same method as he should have died, and
then sneak the body into the crash site and the body of the real
pilot out, keeping in mind that this pilot must not only be capable
of flying a 747 and must resemble Sato enough that no one was
suspicious, but suicidal as well, and to do it all in the short
time that was available is almost impossible.  To pull it off
seamlessly..." he shook his head.

Mulder paused and took a drink from his beer bottle before looking
at Sullivan.  "Going to call the men with the long white coats
now?"

"Agent Mulder, you're almost paranoid enough to be in the Secret
Service."

"Almost?"

Sullivan sat back in his seat, staring contemplatively at the wood
paneling of the wall behind Mulder.  "If you assume the presence of
a high level body bent on controlling events, then there's a lot of
possibilities."

"Assume?  I know that there's such a thing."  Mulder's face
tightened.  "They've got the FBI sewn up so thoroughly that they
can do anything they like.  The investigation itself could be under
their control, with all the evidence destroyed or altered to suit
their plans.  As far as I've been able to determine, they haven't,
but they *could* have if they wanted."

"Jesus, Mulder.  What are you going to do with this?"

"What can I do with it?" Mulder asked bitterly.  "I couldn't stop
them from taking Scully.  Or killing my father and Scully's sister.
Or from trying to kill me.  There's nothing I *can* do."  But that
didn't mean he would ever stop trying.

"What if there was?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you know what I'm doing now, Mulder?"  Mulder shrugged, and
Sullivan went on.  "The entire Presidential Detail was wiped out by
the crash.  We lost the best part of our people.  And, while I like
to think that I'm pretty damn good myself, there's the pros and
then there's the stars.  All of the stars are gone now.  We've been
trying to make up for that, but there's too few people to do too
many jobs.  They even yanked Kealty's detail -- he's entitled to
one as a former Vice President, for a transition period, but we
needed the people too bad right then.  Got chewed out for it too,
but at the time, it was the only thing to do."

"And?"

"And I got bumped up from errand boy and general jack-of-all-trades
to supplement the Presidential Detail."

"Should I salute?"

Sullivan ignored the quip.  "Mulder, how much do you believe in
what you're telling me?"

"You're asking me if I *believe* in what I'm saying?" Mulder asked,
slightly incredulous.  "Look, Agent Sullivan, one beer is not
enough to get me to start spinning drunken fantasies."

"Do you believe in it enough to talk to the President about it?"

"You can't be serious," Mulder said, then reconsidered.  "No, never
mind.  You don't have a sense of humor."

"It's against the rules.  People get nervous around laughing men
with guns."

"Yeah, I can see that."

Sullivan looked at Mulder.  He didn't seem convinced that this was
a great idea.  While Mulder wasn't exactly denouncing it as a
stupid and useless plan, neither did he seem to be enthused about
it.  But it made sense to Sullivan, even though it had occurred to
him on the spur of the moment.  He'd come to see Mulder to pump him
about the FBI investigation into the crash, not to listen to
conspiracy theories.  The Secret Service was also involved in the
crash investigation, but didn't have access to the same kind of
inside information that might be available to someone in the agency
actually running it.  However, it now seemed that the conspiracy
theories might be far more important.  "Mulder, Ryan is the most
honest person you'll ever meet."

"Yeah, sure.  He's ex-CIA and the former National Security Advisor
as well.  I don't think so.  There's no one I'd trust less."

Sullivan shook his head emphatically.  "No.  He's as apolitical as
they come.  He's told his chief of staff that he doesn't want to
serve a second term.  He feels forced into this position, and he's
being doing his damnedest to bring an honest, functional government
out of the mess it's in right now.  Look, Mulder, the Secret
Service sees the man as he really is, and he's someone we respect.
And that doesn't happen all that often."

Mulder leaned forward.  "It's not that I don't appreciate the
offer.  It's just that, if you're wrong..."

"If I'm wrong, I'll let you shoot me yourself."

"Thanks.  I'm sure your wife will appreciate the offer."

"She'll be jealous," Sullivan said.  "I'll call you when I've set
something up.  It may take a few days."

"If they believe you at all."

"It's not me they have to believe, it's you."  Sullivan picked up
his beer.  The business part of the evening was over.  "So tell me
about these little grey men.  And what makes them so much more
interesting than serial killers."

"That's the easy part," Mulder said, accepting the subject change.
They talked about inconsequentials until Sullivan excused himself,
pleading an early morning ahead of him, even on a Saturday.

****

When Mulder went into work on Monday, he had almost forgotten about
his encounter with Sullivan.  He didn't think Sullivan would be
able to interest anyone in meeting with him.  The White House had
to be as badly penetrated as the rest of the government, and the
best that could happen would be that people would be instructed to
make sure that Sullivan was quietly told that his questions were
inappropriate.  The worst case scenario had them both dead.  Mulder
couldn't find himself getting too excited about that possibility.
After so long on the razor's edge, it was getting a bit dull.

However, Scully hadn't forgotten.

"So who was that man you went out with on Friday?" Scully asked as
soon as he'd gotten himself comfortably seated at his desk.  She
was there in the office first, as usual.

Mulder looked up, humor twinkling in his eyes.  "Why, Scully.  You
sound so maternal.  I promise I didn't stay out past midnight,
Mom."

"*Mulder.*"

"His name's Jack Sullivan."

From the look in her eyes, Mulder could see that she wasn't going
to let him get away with that as an explanation.  He leaned back a
little in his chair.  "We worked together on a case while you
were... gone."

Ah.  That explained why she hadn't heard of Sullivan.  Mulder would
cheerfully cut off his foot before he'd talk about the three months
of her life that had been stolen by her abduction.  She didn't want
to press him on it.  It was probably nothing, and definitely not
worth provoking a Mulder guilt-spiral over.  So instead she leaned
back in her chair and gave him a cool look, preparing to tease him.
"It's nice to see that you're dating again.  I have to say he's
more your type than your previous romantic partners."

"Hey!"

That started a friendly quarrel that didn't stop until Scully got
called away to give an opinion on an autopsy done the previous day.

The phone rang shortly after she left.  He picked it up.  "Mulder."

"How's Wednesday sound?"  It was Sullivan.  "I've got things set up
for the morning.  Assemble whatever evidence you'll need.  I'll
meet you there and escort you over."

"Going to protect me from my throngs of admirers?"

"Just didn't want you to practice your charming personality on the
Marines at the gate."

"Spoilsport."

****

The difficult part about Wednesday was keeping Scully in the dark.
She was entirely too used to him running off without her on various
errands and she, for some reason, had developed an annoying habit
of following him.

Telling her what he was going to do would reassure her that he
wasn't going to do something she'd need to worry about, but then
she definitely *would* insist on going along with him.  Or cuffing
him to his desk before calling Skinner and finding out just how
much the A.D. knew about Mulder's play date.

So circumventing Scully was definitely a priority.

"Is that your good suit?" Scully asked when he came in.  "And that
tie... tasteful!  Mulder, is something wrong?"

He grinned at her.  Perfect.  She was going to give him an excuse
all on her own.  "Got a hot date, Scully."

She raised an eyebrow.  "Oh?"

"Uh huh," he said, taunting her.  "Remember Jack Sullivan?  I'm
meeting him today.  A secret liaison in the middle of the morning.
Think Skinner will approve?"

She gave him a long look.  "Isn't Sullivan married?"
 

~~~

He swallowed hard, surprised.  She actually believed him?  Not that
it mattered.  All he had to do was get away with this one visit,
and after that, either it wouldn't matter and he'd never have to
tell her, or... he didn't want to think about that.  The
possibility of success was more frightening than failure.
"Jealous, Scully?"

She didn't look away.  "It's nice to see you socializing.  Maybe I
could find someone and the four of us could go out together
sometime."

Game, set and match.  He backed down.  "You want to look over my
expense report on the Tennessee case?  Accounting wouldn't take it.
They said it was improbable, unethical, immoral and probably
fattening, too."

She rolled her eyes, and held out her hand.  "Give it here, Mulder.
You'd think after all this time, you'd know how to file a simple
expense report."

"If they *were* simple, I would know.  Somehow, I don't think most
people have to write up a justification for demonic possession of
a firearm."

"Probably not."

Sullivan showed up just before ten.

"Ready to go, Agent Mulder?" Sullivan asked. "Our meeting with the
President is scheduled for a quarter to eleven."

"Meeting with the President?" Scully asked.  She looked over at her
partner, who had a guilty expression on his face.  "Mulder, what's
going on?"

"Uh... nothing, Scully."  She continued to stare levelly at him.
"It's nothing, really.  We're just..."

"Just what, Mulder?"

"Uh..."

She looked at Sullivan.  "You tell me.  What's going on?"

"I've arranged a meeting with President Ryan to discuss Agent
Mulder's theories regarding a conspiracy threatening the security
of the United States."

Mulder groaned as Scully looked over at him disbelievingly.  "Are
you out of your mind, Mulder?" she hissed.

"It wasn't my idea, Scully."

"Of course not.  Why would you confront the President of the United
States and demand that he believe your version of the truth?  Of
*course* you're the least likely person to ever do something like
that."

"*My* version of the truth?" Mulder said, gaining some courage now
that she knew what was going on and he didn't have to worry about
hiding it from her.  "Scully, you know better than that.  You've
*seen* more than that."

"That's irrelevant.  What kind of person goes marching up to the
White House, knocks on the door, and says, 'Oh, gee, no one else
will listen to my theories, so I'm going to talk to you, Mr.
President.'?"

"Like I said, Scully, it wasn't my idea.  Jack thought I should do
it."

She threw up her hands in exasperation.  "So?  You're still in this
up to your neck."

"Scully," Mulder said, voice low and concerned.  "What's really
bothering you here?  That I'm going to the White House?  You know
that I have to do this if there's any chance at all of convincing
the President of what we've seen.  This may be the best opportunity
we'll ever get to deal with the Consortium.  You know that."

She sighed and ran a quick hand through her hair.  "I know that,
Mulder."

"Then what is it, Scully?  You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt
you."

She gave him a disbelieving stare.  "Right, Mulder.  You plan to
ditch me yet again, proving once more that you don't really trust
me.  And you expect me to be *happy* about this?"

He sighed.  "Listen, Scully, I don't have a choice about leaving
you.  They're only ready to meet me.  I can't bring someone else
along..."

Sullivan cleared his throat, and Mulder looked over him with a
sinking expression of doom.  "Oh, no."

"Oh, no, what, Mulder?" Scully asked.

Mulder turned on Sullivan, staring him down.  "Meet Mr. Competent,
Scully.  He's probably already told them that both of us are
coming, made a copy of your car keys and put our briefcases in your
car."

Sullivan regarded him mildly.  "I brought my own car this time.
But, if all else failed, we could walk."

Scully was simply confused.  "Car keys?  Why would anyone want to
make a copy of my car keys?"

"It's a long story," Mulder said.  He stared at Sullivan a moment
longer, then relented, sighing deeply.  "I guess you're invited
after all, Scully.  Hope you packed your magic slippers this
morning.  We're off to the ball."

Scully rolled her eyes at Mulder's fanciful words, and leaned over
to reach for her briefcase which, despite Mulder's warning, was
right where she'd left it.  This was definitely proving to be a
much more interesting day than she had originally anticipated.

****

The White House, two weeks after the 747 crash, was only somewhat
less of an armed camp than it had been during that troubled time.
The transition from one President to another had been abrupt and
shocking, and the accompanying tragedy worse.  Funerals had been
arranged, and speeches given, none of which could ease the pain of
the nation.  The new President's own personal arrangements had been
as tumultuous.  During the unsettled time when no one had been sure
why the crash had occurred, he and his family had stayed first
under military protection, outside of the White House.  Even now,
weeks later, the atmosphere was tense, and the occupant of that
highest political office in the United States aware of how brutally
that veneer of power could be torn away.

Mulder and Scully, Sullivan following them, were shown into the
Oval Office and given seats on one of the couches.  Two other
Secret Service agents in the room with them, their eyes hard and
manner utterly professional, despite the presence of one other of
their number escorting the new arrivals.  Ryan was already in the
room, seated, looking harried but with the air of a man who was
used to stress.

After brief introductions, the President got right down to
business.  "I understand you have some things to tell me, Agent
Mulder.  Things which are not generally known."

Mulder nodded.  "Yes, Mr. President."  He took a deep breath, then
leaned forward.  He had to believe Sullivan, that the President was
trustworthy and that he would listen to the truth, no matter how
unpalatable.

He outlined the history of the X-Files in brief sketches, skipping
over those cases which were unimportant in terms of conspiracy or
aliens, such as the alligator masquerading as the Loch Ness
monster, and focussing specifically on the incidents in which the
man known only by his smoking habit was involved.  Those, and any
and all encounters with the military in which evidence had
mysteriously disappeared or been declared important to national
security and thus out of reach of the FBI, were what Mulder deemed
most important for Ryan to hear about.  Scully filled in various
details as Mulder told his stories, sticking to those things which
she knew to be true, and hoping that Mulder would refrain from
broaching his wilder suppositions before this audience.

"And that's what we know so far," Mulder concluded.  "We can't
actually prove any of it, but I *know* it's true, despite the top
secret classification everyone tosses around, pretending that
national security is at risk in these cases in order to keep people
from finding out the truth."

President Ryan looked at him.  "Agent Mulder, there *are* some
things which cannot and should not be made known to the general
public.  National security demands..."

"Does national security demand that the FBI be run by people who
don't have names?  Who don't have any place in the Bureau hierarchy
and aren't accountable for their actions?  That cover-ups be done
by CIA and NSA agents who disappear immediately afterwards and, if
you believe those agencies, never existed at all?  Your nation is
not secure, Mr. President.  It is corrupt."

"If such corruption as you describe exists, then it will be
removed, but nonetheless, that doesn't mean that classified data
should be freely available."

Mulder looked bullish.  "They're hiding the truth."

"The existence or non-existence of UFOs is not truth.  And there
may be legitimate national security concerns about these purported
events, if indeed they are occurring."

"What about the secret medical experiments done on unwilling
victims abducted from their homes, and implanted with tracking
devices?  All of whom, but one, died of cancers caused by the
experimentation done to them?" He glanced over at Scully, who
didn't flinch.  "Is there a national security concern there?  Can
you really say that there's any justification for that kind of
action?"

"There's no excuse for the abduction of civilians.  But why wasn't
that reported to the FBI?  Why wasn't action taken?"

"It was reported," Mulder said bitterly.  "To me.  The abductions
were covered up as UFO reports.  To keep people from believing it
could possibly be happening.  But each of the women that we know
were abducted had those computer devices I told you about implanted
in their bodies.  Those are *real*.  They aren't made up.  And the
recovered memories of one of the abductees describe operating
conditions that match real people and situations.  These things
happened, and they've been shoved under the carpet, dismissed as
fabrications."

Ryan leaned back.  "So what we have here are unsubstantiated
reports of kidnappings, cover-ups of various experiments and UFO
encounters, and the infiltration of a number of government agencies
by the same person or persons involved with the other incidents."

"Yes, sir."

"And you expect me to believe this?"

"No.  You don't have to believe in it.  It's *true*.  These things
exist; these things have happened.  You don't have to *believe* in
them like some sort of myth or fairy tale -- they're real."

Ryan considered the earnest agent sitting across from him for a
moment, then nodded decisively.  "I won't say that I *believe*
everything you've told me," he said, putting a slight emphasis on
the word.  "But I think you do, and I'm willing to check it out.
What concerns me most is what you've said about government agencies
being run by outsiders; that, at least, I can verify and take
action on.  The rest of it... will have to wait."

Some of the tension seemed to go out of Mulder, but he didn't relax
entirely.  "That's the least important part of what's happening."

"Or the most."  Ryan looked steadily at him.  "I'm taking you very
seriously here.  If what you've said is true, we're going to need
to get some protection for you.  If this conspiracy is as powerful
as you say it is, they'll know you were here, and when they see
action being taken, you'll be in danger.  People as ruthless as
you've described would have no compunction in silencing you."

"With all due respect, sir," Mulder said, "no.  I don't want any
'protection'.  There's no one who I would trust."

"The FBI..."

"Is deeply penetrated, as I already explained.  The Consortium has
run things there for years."

Ryan's eyes narrowed.  He was certain that Dan Murray, the new
Acting Director, wasn't someone who would allow some shadowy
outside agency to run the Bureau.  And he was almost as confident
in the integrity of Bill Shaw, who had died in the House chamber
along with so many others.  However, Murray had only been a deputy
assistant director before this month, and might not have ever heard
of this conspiracy.  From what Mulder had said, it seemed as though
the Consortium only directly interfered to cause some plan of
theirs to come about, or to keep someone from finding out about
their schemes.  Which Murray, working with more traditional cases
than Agent Mulder, had probably never even come close to stumbling
onto.  And Shaw was dead, beyond anyone's ability to question.

The real question was, why had he never heard of any of this?  If
the CIA were as central to the Consortium's schemes as Mulder
claimed, then Ryan, in his service with the Directorate of
Intelligence, should certainly have heard *something*.  That was
what inclined Ryan to discount Mulder's tale the most.  His own
knowledge of how the CIA operated led him to disbelieve that the
agency could be involved.

But that didn't mean that it wasn't possible.  The agent sitting in
front of him seemed absolutely sincere in his beliefs.  And while
Ryan didn't think that DI had ever been involved in what Mulder had
outlined, Ritter and Judge Moore in the Directorate of Operations
had been considerably less finicky about their ethics.  It was not
impossible that they might have done what Mulder accused the CIA
of.  And if these things *were* true, then this was something Ryan
had to act on.

"Then who?  I believe that you don't trust anyone and that you may
have reasons for that distrust, but you can't go out there and
expect to live."  He looked steadily at Mulder.  "Agent Mulder, we
*need* you.  You've sat here and told me about evidence that
disappears, witnesses who die or suddenly stop talking, and events
that you know about but can't prove.  If you disappear or die now,
then there is no one left."

"Scully knows almost as much as I do," Mulder said, glancing at
her.  Silent agreement passed between them, question and answer
transmitted without words, as they jointly decided that neither of
them wanted what Ryan was offering.

"Then she is equally at risk, since I assume the people behind the
conspiracy also know that she knows.  And when she leaves here with
you, then you have to assume that they'll be aware that both of you
are acting together as sources on this issue."

Mulder nodded reluctantly.  "Still, we'd rather take the risk
ourselves than invite the Consortium's killers in.  Which is what
accepting your offer of protection would be.  They *run* these
agencies, Mr. President.  The last two partners I've had have both
been assigned to me courtesy of the Consortium.  Accepting
protection would put us right into their hands, as well as alerting
them to the fact that we've been here -- if they haven't noticed
that for themselves -- and tell them that I'm being taken seriously
for once."

Ryan didn't think it was that bad, but using force on Mulder would
only sour the situation.  And it was evident that there would be no
other way to persuade Mulder to accept federal protection.
Unless...  He looked at Jack Sullivan, sitting alongside Mulder on
the couch, and got an idea.  "Would you be willing to accept Secret
Service protection, Agent Mulder?  You already seem to know Agent
Sullivan."

Sullivan twitched, the slightest break showing in his professional
impassivity, answering before Mulder could comment on the
suggestion.  "It's not usually done that way, sir."

"It is if I say it is.  I'm sure that George," referring to the
Secretary of the Treasury, the man in charge of the Secret Service,
"won't begrudge me your services.  And I don't see any good
alternatives.  Agent Mulder?"

Trapped, Mulder nodded.  "But what about Scully?"

Ryan looked over at the head of his Detail.  "Andrea?  Can you get
together with Jack here and arrange something?  I want these two
protected as thoroughly as possible."

"Yes, sir."

With that, the interview was over.  Sullivan followed Mulder and
Scully out of the room.  As soon as the door closed behind them, he
said in a low voice, "I hope you know what you've gotten yourself
into."

"Nothing more than I was already involved with."

"Right."  The door opened again and Agent Andrea Price came out.
"Do you have someone available to escort Agent Mulder back to the
Hoover Building?  I think we better assume that the President's
order begins now, even though we don't have anything in place."

Price shook her head.  "I'll escort the three of you over and we
can discuss it there."

Sullivan gave Mulder a look, as if to say, 'See what you've gotten
yourself into?', but submitted meekly to Price taking over.

Mulder looked over at Scully, who was at her most impassive.
Whenever Scully got sphynx-like, it meant she was thinking, and
Mulder wasn't sure he liked that, especially right now.

****

After Mulder and Sullivan had left, Ryan sat back in the chair at
his desk.  *Jesus, what am I going to do about this?*  First off,
he needed to talk with the Foleys.  And Dan Murray.  No matter what
the truth was concerning this shadow conspiracy, he knew he could
trust those three.  And between them, they controlled the two
agencies Mulder had singled out for most of the blame.  When it
came to the military, Ryan had no such equivalent person in
control.  He was technically holding the reins in that area, but he
didn't know what was going on there.  He was in a similar situation
with the NSA.  For now, speaking with the heads of the FBI and CIA
would have to do.

Ryan made a note to have the meeting arranged for that afternoon,
and promptly forgot about it.  There were many other things he had
to do that day, ranging in importance from trivial to
earth-shaking, all of which he had to give his full attention to.
One of the first things he'd had to learn to do as President was to
time-share his brain.  It was not an easy lesson.

Setting aside the problem that Agents Mulder and Scully presented
for a moment, Ryan moved onto the business of the day.

****

The meeting with the heads of the FBI and CIA was a brief but
intense one.  At the moment, both agencies were headed by people he
knew and trusted.  Ryan had appointed Dan Murray to be the Acting
Director of the FBI almost immediately, needing someone he could
depend on in order to handle the investigation into the crash of
the 747 into the Capitol Building.  That investigation was not yet
over, and its full findings not yet released, but the general gist
had been given out as soon as possible so as to calm an anxious
public.  The Foleys, now heading the CIA, were a similar matter.
Until two weeks ago, Mary-Pat Foley had been running the
Directorate of Operations, with her husband, Ed, literally serving
as her righthand man.  Now he had been moved up to serve as the
agency's head, and the two of them together represented the CIA in
a way that no one else could.

All four had tight schedules, filled with activity linked to the
crash and to the chaos caused by it.  Without preamble, Ryan
explained the situation to them as best he could, and asked for
comment.

Mary-Pat Foley ran her hand through her hair.  "I don't know, Jack.
It could be true."

"It could?" Ryan asked, taken aback to receive confirmation so
quickly from any of his agency heads.  He still wasn't entirely
certain himself.

She nodded emphatically.  "You and I and Ed," she looked at her
husband, the acting Director of Central Intelligence, "represent,
or represented at any rate, the top of the heap at the CIA.  We run
our departments cleanly, following a clear chain-of-command and
seeking authorization from the President as necessary.  None of
this business about accepting orders from unnamed people with their
own agenda.  Things just aren't done that way.  But on the lower
levels..."

Ed finished the thought for her, "We don't know everything that
goes on.  Think about that leak about your past, Jack.  Same kind
of thing.  We try, but we can't watch everyone.  It's possible that
some of our people aren't working for us, at least, not with us as
their primary employer.  Some of the people in Mary-Pat's area
especially, the ones left over from Ritter's term as DDO, could fit
the bill."

"But is there any way to prove it?" Ryan pressed.  "There may be a
possibility, but is there any way to prove that Agent Mulder's
story is or is not true?"

"If he has names, we could run them down," Mary-Pat said.  Or we
could wait and see what happens.  Jump on the first lead we find
and see where it takes us."

Ryan didn't look happy with that answer as he turned to Dan Murray.
"And you, Dan?"

Murray shrugged.  "I'm worse off than the Foleys.  At least they've
been running Operations for a while.  I've just had the whole
Bureau dumped on my shoulders.  Not that I'm ungrateful," he said
quickly, smiling, "but I've been out of the loop when it comes to
policy decisions."  He got a troubled look on his face.  "The
problem is, I trusted Bill Shaw.  I would have thought he was the
last person to be involved in something like this.  If he did know
about this mysterious smoking man, then he must have had some
compelling reason not to speak.  And if he didn't know..." Murray
shook his head.  "The only thing that makes me believe this, other
than hints and rumors that I've heard and discounted over the years
is that Shaw *is* dead, and Jacobs along with him.  Both Directors
gone.  And Jacobs' death in Colombia was always suspicious."

Ryan nodded.  Jacobs had died during a trip to Colombia, due to
what they had thought was a leak on the part of his secretary, who
had been compromised by the intelligence forces of one of the
Colombian drug lords.  However, the secretary had been used too
soon and for too trivial a purpose.  While the link to Felix Cortez
was solid, he was too experienced an agent not to know how valuable
Moira Wolfe was and how much of a waste it was to throw potentially
years of information away on one event.  Perhaps finding that
connection had been too easy?  A blind against something else,
against what was really going on behind the scenes?  Admiral
Cutter, the National Security Adviser at the time, had been running
a secret operation in Colombia, one that he had tried to have
killed -- and the men involved along with it -- when it soured on
him.  Ryan had saved what was left of it, and the men, uncovering
the treachery of Cutter and his connections in the CIA.  That plan
was the same kind of manipulating power play that Mulder had
attributed to his conspiracy.

"It could've been more than we thought.  Jacobs was as honest as I
would've said Shaw was.  If he'd refused to play ball with these
people during that particular incident -- and he would have -- then
that could have been the move that got him out of the way."  Murray
rubbed his forehead.  "It's possible.  Just barely possible."

"Can you find out anything more?  Something that can definitely
confirm or disprove Agent Mulder's story?"

Murray nodded, more confident now.  "Almost certainly.  Agent
Mulder gave you a name.  Assistant Director Walter Skinner.  He was
taking orders directly from this man, and that means he must have
some idea who he was, or, at the very least, more information than
we have now.  And confirmation that his agent's story is true.
Talking with him should prove quite fruitful."

"Good," Ryan nodded.  "This is how I want to play it.  First, I
want that confirmation of Agent Mulder's story.  And if it is true,
then I want this conspiracy stopped."

"Criminal charges?" Murray asked.

"Could you charge them with anything?"

Murray shrugged.  "Doubtful.  We could try, though."

"If you can, then do.  But what I want is for our agencies to be
run by the people appointed to hold their posts, not by figures
standing in the shadows.  I want those figures identified, and then
we'll go from there."

"One thing, Jack," Murray said.

"Yes?"

Murray's face was troubled.  "They could never have gotten so far
and penetrated so deeply if they didn't have their own people
working inside the agencies.  While this smoking man may lack an
identity and be calling the shots, he has to have other people
working inside as well.  And they will have identities, and they
*will* resist being found out."

"That's your affair," Ryan said.  "Handle the internal housekeeping
however you have to.  But make sure that this is stopped."

"Yes, sir," the three agreed in unison.  All of them were as
committed as Ryan to the integrity of the United States.  None of
them liked the idea of having some unnameable force running
America.

"One other thing," Ryan said.  "Be careful.  I've put Agent Mulder
and his partner, Agent Scully, into the hands of the Secret Service
until this is over.  Apparently this conspiracy is willing to go to
any lengths to achieve its goals and to remain in the shadows.  Get
someone to watch your backs and be very careful who you trust."

Mary-Pat looked at Ed.  "John and Ding."  They nodded in unison.

Murray looked troubled.  "Pat O'Day is one of the good guys.  No
question.  But other than that... Jack, it's scary to suddenly
start suspecting everyone."

Ryan glanced at the Secret Service agents standing like statues
next to the wall.  "I think I understand."  He stood up, ending the
meeting.  "Keep me updated.  And don't get dead."

"Right."

"We'll be careful," Ed promised.

****

Skinner watched his two wayward agents enter his office.  Flanked,
as he could see with a distinct lack of pleasure, by two other
people.  Secret Service.  Even if it weren't evident from their
demeanor and attire, he had been explicitly informed by Dan Murray,
the acting Director, that Agents Mulder and Scully were to be
treated with all possible precautions in order to assure their
safety during this investigation of conspiracy against the
government.  Why Mulder and Scully hadn't informed him themselves
was another matter.  All the appropriate paperwork had been filed
to make the presence of the Secret Service official; Skinner had
had his secretary check on that as soon as he had become aware of
what was going on.  That was not in doubt.  However, someone had
deliberately decided to keep him out of the loop about their
presence until now, two days after the fact, and that disturbed
him.  This was something that should have been mentioned Thursday
morning, with everything else that had come up at that weekly
ritual for the Bureau's upper management.  Murray was moving fast
on this, and that he didn't see fit to mention something like this
indicated that the distrust was greater than Skinner had believed.
Not that it was necessarily undeserved.  Skinner had done
everything he could to support his two most difficult agents,
including mortgaging his soul.  That he should finally be required
to pay up was only fitting; now that the truth was finally coming
to light, his own deceptions, no matter how well-meaning, would
damn him.  And Skinner was secretly relieved.  He had too much
integrity to submit easily to the Consortium; he would rather hang
for what he had done than attempt to hide it and live as a cowardly
fraud.

Skinner watched them come in, his agents taking a seat across from
his desk, while the two Secret Service agents took up station on
either side of them, and repressed a sigh.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully."

"Yes, sir," Scully said brightly.  Mulder said nothing, simply
returning the A.D.'s stare.

"I've been asked to further your investigation into the elements
behind this conspiracy against the government which you've
reported."  Skinner glared at Mulder, who seemed to be restraining
an urge to say 'I told you so'.  Didn't the man understand that he
had had no choice in doing what he'd been told?  It wasn't that he
hadn't believed Mulder about the cover-ups going on in the
government, but that there was nothing he could do about it.  Not
without losing his position, and thus also losing any ability to
affect matters.  "While, however, ensuring your safety in every
way."

"What do you mean, sir?"

Scully again.  Skinner wasn't sure whether that was a defensive
move on their part or not.  In any case, it was wise of them.  In
his current mood, he would have been liable to snap at Mulder no
matter what came out of the man's mouth.  It was upsetting to the
A.D. that Mulder had managed to accomplish through his usual
outrageous, risk-taking behavior what he himself could not do
through the system.  It shouldn't have been; it should have been
enough that finally something was going to be done.  But logic was
having little effect on him today.

"What I mean is that the two of you are confined to this office.
I want you to do everything you can to assist this investigation --
but do it from here.  Four field agents will be assigned directly
to you to do whatever legwork you might need, and you will also be
receiving updates on the progress of the other investigating
teams."

"Other investigating teams?" Mulder asked.

"The director is working on a separate investigation to determine
how deeply the Bureau has been penetrated by outside elements.  The
CIA is also conducting a similar investigation."  Skinner waited a
moment for the objection which he was sure would come regarding his
earlier statements.  Mulder had never reacted well to any sort of
confinement being placed over his actions, and to expect him to do
so now was optimistic at best.  Skinner had agreed to the need for
such a restriction when Murray had suggested it to him, but had
also proposed the idea of assigning Mulder and Scully assistance in
tracking down whatever leads they might turn up.  Because, without
such help, he was going to have to seal the elevator doors and the
stairwell to keep Mulder in his basement office.

Mulder opened his mouth right on cue.  "You can't expect me to get
anything done on this if I'm stuck here.  This is the biggest
opportunity we've ever had to do something about these people, sir.
You can't keep me here.  I *need* to be out there.  I *need* to be
there to find out the truth."  Mulder was on his feet now, trying
to convince him.

Skinner was unmoved.  "I understand your dilemma, Agent Mulder.
However, you'll have to make do with operating through the agents
assigned to you."

"You can't do this.  You don't understand, sir."

"I understand perfectly well.  However, this is an order.  You will
not endanger yourself or Agent Scully by leaving Washington D.C.
until this matter is closed."  The two agents looked back at him,
and Skinner knew that he still didn't have their agreement.  He
looked at the Secret Service agent standing next to Mulder.  "I
trust *you* understand the situation."

The agent looked back at him impassively.  "Yes, sir."

"Good."  Skinner looked back at Mulder.  Mulder was never going to
agree to staying within the limits laid out for him, and even if he
had, Skinner would never have believed it.  There was no point to
arguing with him.  But with the Secret Service around to enforce
the order, Skinner rather thought he had more assurance than usual
that Mulder would do what he was told.  "That's it.  Get out."

They filed out, and Skinner slumped back down into his chair,
hardly aware of when he'd stood up.  Somehow, the kind of thing he
had to put up with in handling Mulder was never covered in any of
the FBI's many seminars on effective personnel management.

****
 

Mulder sat on the couch, trying to look relaxed.  He thought he was
doing a pretty good job of it, actually.  Half-empty pizza box
sitting on the floor next to the couch, remote control in hand,
"Forbidden Planet" playing on the TV -- he was the very picture of
casual, at-home relaxation.

However, he was entirely too aware of the Secret Service agent
pacing in the background.  Mulder couldn't see Sullivan from where
he was, but he could hear him whenever the other man moved, the
sounds shockingly loud in what was usually a quiet apartment.  And
then there were the other agents out there somewhere.  Sullivan had
politely declined to tell him how many there were or where they
were positioned, but Mulder could feel them, and it was driving him
crazy.  There was nothing he hated worse than being watched.

Which was why he was pretending to be relaxed.  It was his only
effective mode of rebellion against what was happening to him.

The phone rang.  Sullivan swiveled to look at it.  Mulder caught
his expression.  "It's not a bomb, Agent Sullivan."

"I know.  We had a team check out your apartment, and Agent
Scully's, on Wednesday."

Mulder groaned inwardly.  Ah, well.  At least the Secret Service
was unlikely to leave little 'presents' behind, the way the Lone
Gunmen tended to do when they swept his apartment for bugs.  "Does
everything you do have to be perfect?  You're making me look bad."

"Just doing my job," Sullivan said innocently.

Mulder ignored him, picking up the still-ringing phone.  "Yeah?"

"Mulder, it's me."

"Hi, Scully.  You wouldn't happen to have gorillas in your
apartment, rearranging your furniture and getting crumbs on your
couch, too, would you?"

"How would anyone notice crumbs on *your* couch, Mulder?"

"Point taken."  Mulder swung around and put his feet up on the
couch, cradling the phone against his ear.  His voice softened as
he spoke.  "So how's it going, Scully?  I'm sorry I got you into
this.  I know you probably hate having your privacy invaded this
way, and it's my fault."

"Not as much as you do."

"Hey, what makes you think I have a problem with living with
someone, Scully?" Mulder asked jokingly.

"Two words, Mulder.  Dead fish."

Mulder defended himself.  "That wasn't my fault.  They committed
suicide."

"Sure, Mulder."

"At least I didn't feed my dog to an alligator."  He smacked his
lips, pretending to be the alligator in question, "'Mmm, hors
d'oeuvres'."

"No, Mulder, you did something worse.  *You* fed *my* dog to an
alligator."

"I had nothing to do with it.  I was nowhere near there."

"But it was your fault."

"Sure, Scully.  And the next thing I know, you'll be telling me
it's my fault that 'Legend' got cancelled."

"Why would I say that?  I never even watched the show."

"Right.  Sure.  And who watches reruns of 'Macguyver' whenever she
gets the chance?"

"Must be some old girlfriend of yours, Mulder, because I don't know
who you're talking about."

Mulder smiled into the phone.  There was nothing like Scully to
make him feel better.  Not that he was going to tell her that, or
that she'd believe him if he did tell her.  "What're you watching,
Scully?  'Forbidden Planet' is on the Sci-Fi channel."

"No, I don't have the TV on.  I was about to go to bed.  I just
wanted to call and make sure..."

He filled in the gap when she hesitated.  "To make sure that Agent
Sullivan hadn't strangled me yet?"

"Something like that."

There was a smile in her voice.  He deadpanned back to her, "You
don't think I could get him to strangle me, Scully?"

"I'm completely convinced of your talents in that area, Mulder.
Good night."

"Night, Scully."  He hung up the phone and looked over at the TV.
Somehow, 'Forbidden Planet' didn't seem very interesting now.  Of
course, it hadn't before either.

****

The J. Edgar Hoover Building was completely transformed on Monday
morning.  Agents bustled everywhere, intent on their tasks, an aura
of excitement and anticipation underlying everything.  Scully went
directly to the basement office, followed by Agent Meyer, the
Secret Service agent assigned to her.

Coming out of the elevator, she was greeted by a six foot tall
walking stack of boxes.  Scully moved to one side and held the
elevator door open for it.  She looked back at it after it passed.
Male.  No one she knew.  Probably somebody had requested something
stored down here, and he was taking it up to them.

She proceeded down the hall, hearing strange sounds up ahead as she
approached the office that she and Mulder shared.  Perhaps 'office'
was too grand a word for it, but it was theirs.

Meyer had stepped in front of her protectively as the noise level
increased.  The sounds were definitely coming from their office.
Scully's curiosity was aroused now.  What was going on?

Before she could get closer and find out, Meyer turned around.
"Wait here."

Scully crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently as the agent
walked forward to find out what was going on.  This was ridiculous.
To some extent, she disagreed with Mulder over the need for
protection.  Neither of them could say that the Consortium was not
capable of violent acts, since this mysterious organization had
proven on numerous previous occasions that they would strike if
they felt threatened.  What she disagreed with was the assumption
that any protective personnel assigned to them must belong to the
Consortium.

However, that didn't mean she *liked* being treated as though she
were completely incapable of taking care of herself.  It irritated
her when Mulder did it, and it irritated her now, even though she
agreed that there might be some possible need for it.

Meyer came back.  "Everything's all right."

Mulder followed behind him.  "Scully!"

She examined him carefully.  It wasn't even 8 a.m. yet, and already
his suit jacket was missing, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie
askew.  "Good morning, Mulder.  What's going on here?"

He extended his arm, inviting her to take a look into their office.
She stepped forward, and found it nearly empty of everything
personal to them, including years of Mulder-clutter.  "We're being
kicked upstairs, Scully."

"Excuse me?"

"Of course, Scully."  She gave him a look, and he explained.  "I
got here an hour ago to start digging up some files, and found them
boxing up my stuff.  Sullivan almost shot the first guy..."

Scully glanced over at Sullivan, whose face was carefully
impassive.

"...before we found out what was going on."  He made a face.
"Given the way they've been boxing everything up, I'm tempted to
help."

"They've destroyed your filing system?" Scully asked, amused.
"This is probably the best order it's ever been in."

"Ha ha.  Very funny, Scully."  Mulder continued his explanation.
"Director Murray, in his infinite wisdom, has decided that the
Consortium Task Force -- nifty name, huh? -- will be housed
upstairs in the sunlight with the other flowering plants, to be
turned and watered every day by management and thus kept from doing
anything productive."

"Upstairs?"

"Yeah.  C'mon, Scully.  Let me show you our new stomping grounds.
I think we're done down here."

Scully allowed Mulder to guide her to the elevator, feeling a
little stunned.  Meyer and Sullivan followed them.  She wasn't sure
how to take this, but then again, they were being taken seriously
for once.  That was enough to stun anyone.

Mulder took her out of the elevator, down the hall, and through a
door.  "Ta da."

"So where are we?" Scully asked.  She was looking at a bank of
cubicles, agents, secretaries and other personnel moving around.
Behind the cubicles, along the far wall, were offices and a
conference room.  "Which cubicles were we assigned to?  Widely
separated ones, I assume."

"What?  Don't want me to toss paper airplanes at you?"

"No, Mulder.  Somehow, when I envisioned my career with the FBI,
having paper airplanes thrown at me was not something I imagined."

He smiled.  "Come take a look at this figment of your imagination."

She followed him across the room, over near the offices.  Two boxes
were sitting on the desk in the cubicle nearest the leftmost
office, and she assumed that the cubicle must belong to one of
them.  Then her eye fell on the interior of the office, visible
through the open door.  Even more boxes.  And a "I Want To Believe"
poster tacked up on the wall, just above a stack of precariously
piled boxes.

"Oh, no, Mulder.  This can't be right."

"Sure it is."  He pointed to the office she had just been looking
into.  "This one's mine, Scully.  And next door is what you've
always wanted, a door you can slam in my face."

"At least now I'll have my own desk," she retorted, and moved away
from him, walking into *her* office.  No posters on the wall here,
and far fewer boxes; only three of them were stacked on the desk.
She pushed the lid of the box open gingerly, looking inside.  Yes,
these were her things.

Scully felt him standing behind her, and turned around.  "Mulder,
this is incredible."

"Want to meet our team?"  She nodded, and he led her outside.
"They're still moving their stuff here themselves.  They'll be
sitting right here," he waved to the cubicles nearest their
offices, one of them -- unsurprisingly enough -- being the cubicle
with the boxes that she'd noted before.  "That is, when they're
here at all.  We got a memo this morning officially transferring
them to our supervision and authorizing us to have them do whatever
research we find necessary."

At last.  Something official.  "Can I see this memo, Mulder?"

"Sure, Scully."  He turned as though to go to the elevator and
fetch the memo from their old office in the basement, and then
stopped, looking sheepish.  "It's in one of the boxes.  I'm not
sure where.  It got packed up with everything else that was on top
of the desk."

She took another glance inside his office, which was stacked high
with the moving boxes.  They were going to have to get someone to
organize and file the material somewhere before Mulder would be
able to even use the room, as antithetical an idea as that was
going to be for Mulder.  The memo was hopelessly lost.  "How about
your suit jacket, Mulder?  Do you know where that is?"

He looked puzzled.  "It's on the back of the door on the hook.
Why?  I don't think it'll fit you, Scully."

"Never mind."  She turned back around.  "So what else was on this
memo, Mulder?  Anything I need to know?"

"Yeah.  We're having a meeting in an hour with the other team to
discuss progress on the investigation."

"To discuss progress?  But we just got here."

"Better find something out real fast then, Scully."

She sighed.  She had a sneaking suspicion what this was, actually.
A status report meeting to catch everyone up on non-existent status
and assign more opportunities for status checking.  It was one of
the things that she never missed after being assigned to work with
Mulder.  It was too much to hope for that they might somehow get
out of it.  And even more too much to hope that Mulder might
actually *do* whatever paperwork was assigned.

When the meeting was called an hour later, Scully was elbow deep in
unpacking.  Everything of hers was out of order now, and she was
busy putting it back in place.  Which wasn't as bad for her as it
would have been for Mulder, who, while organized on the surface,
was almost pathologically concerned with keeping things in the
disorder to which he was accustomed.  In point of fact, she was
more done than Mulder ever would be.  The black-and-white packing
boxes were neatly stacked in a corner of the room, all of the files
put away, her computer sitting on the desk and plugged in.  The
only things out of order were the items that went on the top of her
desk -- a few writing utensils, a book -- and some loose odds and
ends that she wasn't sure belonged with her or not.  She didn't
know why she was saving a ticket from "The Messiah" or an "I Saw A
UFO" button, and was about to throw them away when Mulder appeared.

"If you keep that up, you're going to make us late," he said,
leaning against her door frame.

"Since when have you ever been concerned about being on time and
making a good impression, Mulder?"

"There's a first time for everything."

She lifted an eyebrow, and came around the desk.  She almost had
everything arranged to her satisfaction.  It was a nice feeling,
having this much room to spread out in, even if it was a little
strange not to be tripping over Mulder constantly.

He didn't move, and she contemplated kicking him.  No wonder she'd
always been tripping over him.  He was always in the way.  "Are we
going to the meeting or not, Mulder?"

"Those are all the choices I get?"

She pushed past him.  He followed her, but she ignored him the same
way she ignored Sullivan and Meyer following them around.  Maybe
that was why she had so little problem with the Secret Service
protection, Scully thought, smiling inwardly.  She was used to
large men with guns following her wherever she went.  Or perhaps
not.  With Mulder it was frequently more a case of following him
and patching him up from whatever mess he'd stumbled into *this*
time.

Scully went to the conference room just steps away from their
offices.  The man at the head of the table looked up as she came
in.  "Agent Scully.  And Agent Mulder.  Good morning."

She recognized him vaguely, but couldn't immediately come up with
a name.  "Good morning."

Mulder didn't say anything, taking a seat instead.  Scully sat down
next to him, hardly noticing the Secret Service agents who, if by
prearrangement, silently split apart, Sullivan entering the room
and standing off to the side, and Meyer guarding the outside.

"Have you had a chance yet to get acquainted with everyone?" the
man asked.

Scully shook her head, while Mulder merely looked impatient.  But
then, he'd been here most of the morning, and was probably eager to
go looking through all his boxes and choosing which wild geese he
wanted to run down.  The opportunity to really look at all those
cases -- with official sponsorship... Scully resisted the urge to
rub her forehead.  Mulder was going to be impossible to put up with
after this.  Not that he wasn't impossible already.

"I'm Roger Daniels, from OPR.  This is Andrew Davies from Justice
and Bert Collins from the attorney general's office.  We'll be
handling the in-house side of this investigation."

Mulder glanced at her, and Scully found herself arching an eyebrow
in reply.  The Office of Professional Responsibility was involved
with this, as well as the Department of Justice and the Attorney
General?  That could be a sign that this was being taken very
seriously indeed, or a sign that they were doomed from the
beginning.  Since the OPR was charged with internal investigations
of FBI employees for misconduct, it would be the department most
responsible for missing -- or overlooking -- what should have been
rampant evidence of the Consortium's influence.  The inclusion of
Justice and the AG's office didn't ease her concerns.

Daniels was talking.  "And these are the agents who've been
assigned to work with you."

He gestured toward the first, a short man with straight brown hair
and an amiable expression.  "Special Agent Norm Eagan.  Out of
Detroit.  I'm looking forward to working with you."

The second man spoke without prompting.  "And I'm Inspector Bryan
Maddox.  Don't normally work in groups like this, but I begged them
for the assignment.  Couldn't pass up a chance like this one."

Scully was surprised again.  Something really was going on here,
and she still couldn't decide if it were good or bad.  A roving
inspector -- there were very few of them, all dating from Shaw's
time as Director -- ranked as an equal with a Deputy Assistant
Director, able to overrule even a SAC.  To place him under the
direct orders of a lowly special agent was unprecedented, to say
the least.

Daniels pointed to an older woman with dark, curly hair, speckled
lightly with grey.  "Special Agent Martha Nelson."  She spoke
crisply, biting off her words.  "From the Chicago field office.  We
were temporarily reassigned during the 747 crisis, and never got
back home."

The final man followed Nelson.  "Special Agent Elijah Sharp.
Martha's partner."

"The background of every member of the team was re-reviewed.  Our
first task on the team I'm spearheading is to weed out the bad
apples in the Bureau, and determine who is, and who is not working
for this outside conspiracy," Daniels said.  The other members of
his team present nodded.  "Vetting the members of this team was the
first priority."

"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes," Mulder muttered under his breath.
"Who will watch the guardians?"

"My own team was hand-picked by President Ryan, in conjunction with
the acting Director," Daniels said, seemingly unruffled by the
near-accusation.  "If you want to doubt their integrity, then you
might as well consign this whole investigation to the trash can,
because that's as much assurance as we've got."

Mulder nodded slightly, and Scully let out the breath she was
holding.  While she agreed with Mulder's suspicions, she didn't
necessarily agree that this was the time or the place to voice
them.

"I hear you've got a meeting later this morning with Murray to go
over some of this again, and get your direct orders from him, but,
in any case, the command structure of this team is twofold.  You
and your agents form one half of the team, and my group forms the
other half.  We'll be looking into the Bureau itself, while you've
got the task of looking outside.  Both our groups report directly
to Murray, but I'd like to get together on a regular basis and go
over our status, and keep everyone up-to-date on what we've
discovered so far."

"And if we decide not to?" Mulder asked.

Daniels' mouth tightened, and Scully wondered exactly what his
orders were.  "I can't do anything to stop you, Agent Mulder.  But
it would be a courtesy for you to do so."

With everyone in the room watching him, Mulder nodded.  "Fine.
Progress reports."

"Good.  That's about everything then.  My group is beginning our
work today, from the top down.  I hope your investigation goes as
well."

He stood up and extended his hand to Mulder, who shook it, then
left the room, followed by his two colleagues.

The four agents looked expectantly at Mulder and Scully, waiting
for their own instructions.

"So where do we get started?" Maddox asked.  "Heard about this
Friday morning, and I've been ready to go ever since."

Mulder looked nonplussed for a change, and Scully felt momentarily
sorry for him.  After having worked alone for so long, it was quite
a change to not only be believed, but to have a whole group of
people hanging on his every word.  But what had he expected?  To be
told that they could just jet out on whatever case struck their
fancy?  Skinner had already said 'no' to that.

"We need to get organized," Scully suggested.  "After everyone's
got their things settled, we could start by sorting and
prioritizing the case files in Mulder's office."

Mulder flashed her a half-grateful, half-irritated look, before
turning back to the group at large.  "Yeah, I guess we could do
that."

"It's not like you could go through all those files yourself,
Mulder," Scully said, sensing his sulkiness at the suggestion.
"That pile is going to fall over and devour your desk before this
afternoon."

"Would that be an X-File, Scully?"  She raised an eyebrow at him,
and he changed the subject.  "Why don't we get to work?"

He stood up, which the others took as a signal to get up as well.
Scully and Inspector Maddox followed Mulder back to his office.

"Already done with your unpacking?" Maddox asked Scully.  He had a
gleam in his eye that she distrusted.  It wasn't entirely because
of her business-like attitude that she had the nickname of 'Ice
Queen', although she didn't mind that particular assumption.  It
had more to do with her dislike of being hit on by nearly every
male agent in the Bureau, who, for some reason, seemed to behave as
though the idea of a female FBI agent was "cute".  She wouldn't
have minded dating someone from the Bureau if it weren't for the
attitude that went along with the interest.

"Yes," she returned coolly.  "I didn't have much to unpack."

"Me neither," he said cheerfully.  "Tend to travel light.  I like
being a roving inspector, but it does mean you don't get settled in
any one place."

She led him into Mulder's office, or as far into it as they were
going to get while it was in its current state.  Mulder had already
managed to clear off the chair and was sitting in it, his nose in
a file, studiously ignoring them for the moment.  That was one of
the good things about having everyone dig into this project, Scully
thought.  If they'd left it to Mulder, he would have read each file
one at a time until he found one he liked, then flown off on the
first flight out, regardless of the Secret Service's presence, and
no one would ever have gotten anything done in a coordinated
fashion.

"Where do you want to start?" Maddox asked, closer to her than was
actually required by the cramped confines of the office, which was
not intended to hold three FBI agents, a plethora of packing boxes,
and one Secret Service agent.  Fortunately Meyer seemed to think
that guarding the outside of the office was enough to ensure her
safety; all five of them in there would have been impossible.

Scully turned around and pushed a box at him, a little more
forcefully than sheer politeness required.  "Here."

"Yes, ma'am," he said jauntily, not put off by her attitude, and
took the box, leaving the room.

"What?  You didn't think he was cute enough, Scully?" Mulder asked,
finally looking up from his file.

She stepped across a box on the floor to grab one from the top of
the pile nearest the desk.  It looked like it might fall over at
any moment if something weren't done.  "Why?  Did you want to date
him, Mulder?  I assure you, he's all yours."

"Gee, thanks, Scully.  The next time you're feeling generous, could
you bring me a cup of coffee?  I haven't had anything to drink yet
this morning."

"One packet of arsenic or two?"  She walked out, leaving him
grinning behind her.

By mid-afternoon, they'd made a small, but noticeable, dent in the
boxes.  Supply had left each of them with a three drawer vertical
filing cabinet, and before lunch, Scully had insisted on, and
gotten, a system for storing the files in there, using all six of
the cabinets allotted to them.  Mulder was probably going to come
along behind her and refile everything to his own satisfaction, but
he'd spent the morning too engrossed in his reading to notice the
intrusion of order into his anarchic world.

By mutual agreement, the files that looked most promising were
stacked on the desk in Scully's office, waiting for later
discussion.  Non-sensitive closed cases, and cases that did not
seem to concern the area under investigation were being filed in
the individual agents' cabinets.  Scully didn't want the materials
on the Consortium out in the open.  Not that having them locked up
in her office would help any if the Consortium were actually after
them -- Scully was sure they'd heard of lockpicks -- but there was
such a thing as an unnecessary risk, and leaving these files out in
the file cabinets placed in the cubicles was definitely an
unnecessary risk.

"Mulder, I think we have something to look at here," Scully said,
coming into his office just after 3 p.m.  They'd moved the files
into the conference room and spread them out, preparing to discuss
them.

He didn't look up.  "Sure, Scully.  Whatever."

"*Mulder*."

This time he looked up.  "What is it, Scully?"

"What's with you today, Mulder?  You've got four people in there,
all ready to track down leads on your pet projects; you've got
official *support* for these investigations -- you should be
enthusiastic about this!  Instead, you're just sitting here,
letting me do everything."  There definitely *was* something wrong
with him, although she didn't know what or why.  He'd been
energetic and charging around here this morning, then almost sullen
during their meeting with Daniels, and now... if asked, she would
have said that he had worked himself into a full-scale depression
over something.  What was going on?

"I'm sure you're doing a good job, Scully."

"Mulder, I put the cases in order by file number."  That had to be
the ultimate sin in his book.

"Whatever."

No reaction.  Scully looked up at Sullivan, as if to ask what was
wrong with her partner.  The Secret Service agent's expression
didn't change.  She turned back to Mulder.  "What's this about,
Mulder?"

"You really want to know, Scully?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, Mulder, I do."

He set the case file down for the first time.  For a brief moment,
Scully thought she saw real emotion on his face, that he might tell
her what was bothering him.  Then that instant was gone as though
it had never been, and a mask of flippancy covered it, protecting
him.  "I don't work well in groups."

"Sure, Mulder.  Whatever," Scully said, mimicking his earlier tone.
"Come and look at what's been done in your absence.  We need to
decide where to send these people first.  While I'm sure that the
evidence is gone by now, I think that Ellens Air Force Base would
be a good place to start.  The inspector has volunteered to go
there.  We could get him out of here tonight through Dulles."

"Ellens?" Mulder asked, standing up and coming around the desk.
"Go there?  You've got to be joking, Scully.  That trail's dead.
You could have picked something a little better than *that*."

She moved towards the conference room with him.  "Oh, and did you
have any suggestions, Mulder?"

"I might."

****

While the popular misconception of the Federal Bureau of
Investigation is that it is comprised of shiny, newly minted,
interchangeable clones dedicated to the preservation of truth,
justice and the American way, the reality is that the FBI is simply
the country's premier law enforcement organization.  It might have
better investigative tools than an ordinary police department, and
it might have better training and more esprit de corps, but in the
end, it is a police organization, and as such, as vulnerable to
corruption as any other police agency.  And particularly vulnerable
to the kind of corruption practiced by the Consortium, the
wide-spread nature of it making it even more dangerous and
time-consuming to weed out.

No one has ever held such misconceptions about the CIA.

The heads of the CIA and FBI filed into the Oval Office, just two
weeks after their first visit, and Ryan looked at them.  "What do
we know?"

Murray glanced at the Foleys, who spoke first.  "We still aren't
fully certain that all of the individuals who work for the Agency
are not compromised by this conspiracy," Mary-Pat said.  Her face
was grim.  "We've identified several people who *have* been,
however."

Ed nodded.  "Jack, this is bigger than we ever imagined.  Whatever
Agent Mulder's told you, *believe* it."  He held out a folder that
he had brought with him.  "This is a summary of our findings so
far.  It's frightening, Jack.  I don't know what the FBI's found
out, but the little we know indicates a conspiracy so broad and
far-reaching that we don't have a prayer in hell of stopping it."

Ryan didn't looked stunned by the news.  Instead, he looked even
more determined.  "We *will* stop it, Ed.  No matter what it takes.
America is a democracy, and it will be run by the people it chooses
to have run it, not by someone who thinks that they can wield power
from the shadows."  He looked at Murray.  "How about your side of
things, Dan?"
 

~~~