by Jess Archibald
larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca
Hello, gang! This one was posted in late August and many of you
have
written to tell me that several parts didn't make it to several places.
So, here it is again in it's entirety. Read, enjoy, make comments!
And
if the demon server eats parts again, let me know and I'll send them
out
to you.
For what it's worth the order should go:
Missing
Commitment
Collusion
Deductive Reasoning
Conspiracy
All but this one are at the gossamer archive and if you haven't
read
'em don't worry, I'll fill in the blanks as we go along. All
you need to
know that in Deductive Reasoning, Scully made a very stupid move and
ended up in the hospital. Oh, yeah, she and Mulder also had a
little
'chat'. *giggle*
Now on with the show.
This one is for Char, who helped, suggested and pushed until I got
writing and for Barb, for her proof reading above and beyond the call
of
duty. And for the M&Ser's who helped me out when I was stuck
and for
Eileen, for making me laugh. Thanks guys!!!!
Disclaimer: Characters copyrighted 1993 by CC and 10-13 productions.
No
copyright infringement intended. Story, Bateman and Shelton belong
to
the author.
__________________________________________
T h e X - F i l e s
CONSPIRACY part 1/18
by Jess Archibald
larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca
__________________________________________
Pentagon
Arlington, Virgina
9:47 a.m.
Doctor Mark Taylor tried not to show his dislike
for his host's
cigarette smoke. After almost a year of hiding out he reminded
himself
he should just be glad to be back in the U.S. close to the seat of
power
in the world's most feared country.
Inside this room he was closer to true power
than he had ever been.
"A diamond, no matter how hard, can be broken,"
the man was
saying. "A flaw can be exploited. Do it hard enough and
the jewel will
shatter."
"But we're talking about a man," Taylor objected
in a half
hearted tone.
"The principle's the same. And we have
the proper leverage."
The man took another puff from the cigarette and the tip glowed red.
There was a tape recorder on the table in
front of Taylor, and
the man pointed to it.
Taylor leaned forward in his seat to start
the machine.
"This was recorded in AD Skinner's office
yesterday morning," the
man said as the tape hissed towards the beginning. "I think you'll
find
it most interesting. It's been electronically enhanced so we
can hear it."
The tape was a conversation between a man
and a woman where the
man spoke with fear and desperation while the woman's voice drifted
between rationality and something else. When it ended, Taylor
looked at
the man.
"Did she die?"
"No." Another puff. "Through sheer
chance they managed to save
her. But it does provide an innovative approach."
"To what?"
"I've recalled our little -- project.
I want you to assist him."
"In doing what?"
The look the man gave him caused a frightened
chill to run
through his body.
"To neutralize our problem once and for all."
The cigarette descended to the ash tray and
was snuffed out.
*********************************
Washington Memorial Hospital
12:21 p.m.
Dana Scully's eyes drifted open slowly, blinking
against the
slanting rays of sunlight that were making their way into the room.
The
light hurt a little after hours of drug induced slumber but it was
the
kind of pain welcomed completely because it meant she was alive.
Something she hadn't expected to feel again.
Her head hurt as did her right arm but it
was the fiery pain in
her stomach that drove the reminder home most deeply. For the
sensation
to still be so strong after hospital supplied pain killers meant the
damage had been bad.
Someone was in a chair next to the bed, head
folded on arms and
resting along the edge of the bed, one hand carefully holding her left.
She recognized the tousle of brown hair and the rather wrinkled gray
suit, a mix of emotion rising within her as she freed her left hand
and
smoothed the spiky hair with a gentle motion.
Elation at being here now to be able to share
her feelings with
the man beside her. Affection strong enough and overwhelming
enough to
be called love because he had forced her to hang onto life, pouring
out
his feelings over a cellular phone while she lay in an abandoned
building, bleeding to death. Intense sadness that she had almost
never
gotten the chance to tell him her own feelings.
The head under her hand shifted suddenly and
a warm hand caught
hers before she could withdraw. Fox Mulder straightned in his
chair and
smiled warmly at her.
"Hey, Scully," he said, then caught himself.
"I meant 'Dana'."
She smiled back a little. "Either's
fine -- Fox."
He nodded. "How do you feel?"
"Not as bad as I could all things considered.
Just tired
really."
His free hand came up to the side of her face,
hesitated as he
read her eyes and then settled there. "How much do you remember?"
"From yesterday morning, more than I want
to. From last night?
Enough to know I wish I remembered more." She let her eyes wander
his
form. "Have you gone home at all?"
He shook his head. "I didn't want to."
"I'm going to be all right."
"I know, but -- I'm still scared."
"Of what?"
"Dana, it was so close. We almost lost
you -- *I* almost lost
you. I couldn't face that again."
"I promise next time I go hunting a serial
killer I'll let you
come with me." Her hand tightened on his. "If you do the
same."
He nodded, dropping his hand from her face
after toying with her
red hair. "Next time, I'll even take the knife -- "
"No." Her voice nearly shook.
"Next time, *neither* of us gets
hurt."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -- "
"It's okay." Her mind replayed the fight,
metal bar swinging at
her and then the knife -- "It's okay."
He stood, stretched, then sat on the edge
of the bed. "Saul
Eldwin is dead, Scully."
"I know, Mulder." They were slipping
into their professional
mode which somehow distanced the incident without creating a gulf between
them. It helped her gain a sense of objectivity about it and
she
appreciated it, but she knew this would be haunting her dreams for
a long
time to come.
**********************************
Two days later
J. Edgar Hoover Building
4:36 p.m.
Zoe Bateman looked up as her ASAC called her
name from the door
to the Missing Persons section's only office.
"Bateman, my office. Now."
Zoe got out of her seat, straightening her
jacket as she went,
mentally cateloguing her cases and behaviour. Nothing she had
done
should rate being called in . . .
Regine Philps shut the office door, waving
Zoe to a seat. "Stop
looking so glum, Bateman. You're not in trouble. How's
Agent Scully?"
"Ah -- she's doing well. According to
her she'll be released in
a couple of days."
Philps nodded. "Good to hear.
I've got a case that requires
assistance from Washington on a missing girl in Los Angeles.
AD Skinner
wants you to go down there."
Zoe stiffened involuntarily, every muscle
in her body going rigid
with anger and resentment. She'd been chased out of L.A. last
year after
a shooting she'd been blamed for. Her now ex-partner had been
the one
responsible but Zoe had never considered going back. Her current
posistion was challenging, satisfying and comfortable. Doug Shelton
was
now her partner and he was worth a baker's dozen of Ryan McIntyres.
He
was supportive, a damned good agent and someone she was glad to call
a
friend, along with Dana and Mulder. Skinner knew the circumstances
of
her transfer; why would he send her back there?
Philps looked at her and softened. "Bateman,
I know about what
happened to you out in L.A. This case came tagged to the X-Files
Division but Skinner recommended that you go in Scully's place.
Shelton's got court duty, testifying in the Owens case as well as giving
a deposition in the Eldwin shooting."
"An X-file? Why?"
Philps slid a folder towards her. "Eight
year old girl vanished
two days ago in L.A. Her guardians reported a bright light just
before
she disappeared."
Zoe took the folder with a frown. Caitlin
Grant, age eight. A
glossy colour picture was in the file, showing a cheerful girl with
long
dark hair and expressive eyes. An agent's footnote to the field
report
caught her eye. She recognized the disorderly scrawl. McIntyre's
handwriting.
Dammit.
_______________________________
end part one
Disclaimer in part one
__________________________________________
T h e X - F i l e s
CONSPIRACY part 2/18
by Jess Archibald
larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca
__________________________________________
Washington Memorial Hospital
5:15 p.m.
Dana was startled out of a light doze when
the door to her room
opened.
"Oh, jeez, Dana, I'm sorry." Zoe nearly
froze in midstep, a file
folder clutched in her hand and a worried look on her face. "I
didn't
mean to wake you."
"S'okay." She blinked, trying to dispel
the clinging drowsiness
that came with painkillers and sedatives. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. Ah -- where's Mulder?"
"I shooed him out to the cafeteria.
I don't think he's gone
home at all." She peered at her friend who looked really concerned.
"Zoe, what is it?"
"I'm being sent to L.A. on a case. That
McIntyre's working. And
Skinner wants Mulder to go as well."
"What?"
"It's classified as an X-File. Eight
year old missing girl -- "
"Let me see the file."
"Dana . . . "
"Zoe. Give me the file." A feeling
of dread certainty was
building in her. Eight year old girl?
Zoe handed over the file and Dana immediately
took out the photo
of the girl.
"Oh my God."
"What?"
"She looks like Samantha."
"Mulder's sister?"
"Yes."
Zoe was peering at her. "Dana, how hard
did you get hit in the
head?"
"No, listen to me. Mulder won't turn
this case down and it's
going to drive him crazy. *You're* being sent and McIntyre's
going to
drive *you* crazy."
"Someone's using this to push our buttons?"
"Looks that way."
"Well, we can't *not* go."
"I know." Dana felt renewed anger at
herself for getting into
this mess. "Wish I could go with you."
"Go where?" Mulder came in, cup of coffee
in his hand. "Hey,
Bateman." He stopped, looking at the two women who were watching
him
carefully. "What?"
Zoe gestured to the chair. "Mulder,
we've got to talk."
*****************
Mulder listened carefully, taking the file
from Dana and staring
at the folder. Bateman finished and waited impatiently for his
opinion.
He looked at Dana with wide eyes, asking her
to understand. She
nodded slightly and he felt a little better about this. "When
do we leave?"
"Delta Airline's 8:15 from BWI," Bateman said,
brushing black
hair from her eyes.
"Fox . . . Zoe. . . " Dana sat a little straighter
against the
pillows of the bed. "Be careful with this, okay? Something
about this
isn't right."
"What else is new," Bateman muttered.
She looked from one to the
other. "Ah . . . I'll be leaving now . . . gotta let Doug know
what's
going on . . . Dana I'll see you when we get back. Try not to
drive
everyone who works here nuts . . . they do say doctors make the worst
patients. . . "
"Goodbye, Zoe." Dana hid a grin.
"Right . . . see you at the airport at 7:45,
Mulder. I've got
the tickets." She ducked out of the room.
"What was *that* all about?" Mulder asked,
not quite
understanding why Dana was laughing.
"She thinks we need privacy," Dana said after
a minute.
"Why?" He was smiling.
"She . . . ah . . . she saw us the other night."
"So?"
"When we kissed . . . "
"Oh." He understood now. "I didn't
know it was a free show."
"Just be glad it wasn't Skinner."
"Yeah."
The kiss had been tentaitve, both of them
unsure of what they
were doing or where they were going. They had admitted their
feelings
without actually coming out and saying the words. Becoming involved
could ruin their partnership -- at least on the professional level
-- and
he knew that's not what they wanted, but they had reached the point
where
it was impossible to deny their mutual attraction. Impossible
and
entirely too painful.
"We're going to have to talk about this,"
he said.
"When you get back," she said firmly but tiredly.
He knew the IV
line was sending a repetative course of tranquilizers into her to help
her rest and speed the healing process, but he could see her frustration
at being unable to stay awake for long. "Just remember that Caitlin
Grant *isn't* Samantha."
"I will." But words were easier to say
than severing the
connection his mind had formed between Caitlin and Sam.
"Watch out for Zoe, okay? McIntyre really
gets to her."
"Knowing Bateman,she'll get to him too."
They shared a smile.
"Watch your back, Mulder," she said.
"I won't be there to pick
you up and dust you off."
"Just get out of here and look after yourself,
Scully," he
replied. "Bateman and I will muddle through."
"I know."
He checked his watch. "I'd better go
home and pack. I'll call
you tomorrow from L.A."
"Good luck."
"We'll find her." Not finding this girl
wasn't an option.
Standing, he smoothed her hair back a little,
bending to kiss her
after searching her eyes for permission. This time it wasn't
hesitant.
"I do love you," he said in a low voice, before
straightening and
going towards the door.
"Fox." Her voice stopped him before
he could leave. "I love you too."
The look she gave him carried enough energy
to get him to L.A.
and back without a plane.
"Good bye, Dana."
"See you when you get back."
*******************************
Dulles Airport
6:36 p.m.
Taylor scanned the Customs line for him, feeling
more than a
little nervous standing around. He was still a wanted man with
an
outstanding warrant for kidnapping a federal agent, unlawful confinement
and conspiracy to commit murder, though the latter wouldn't stick since
Dana Scully had managed to survive.
A familar face caught his eye and he blanched
involuntarily until
the man came over, slinging an arm around his shoulder with a cold
laugh.
"Relax, Taylor. I'm not the one wanting
to arrest you," he said
in a sotto voice. "Long time no see."
"Shut up and let's just get out of here.
I don't want people to
see you."
"Not proud of your handiwork?" The man's
hazel eyes were bright
with dark amusement.
Taylor scowled and hustled the man out.
"Come on and I'll
explain what our boss has in mind."
The other man stood stock still outside the
airport, taking a
deep breath of polluted air with a smile. Taylor could understand
the
feeling but their plans could be ruined if anyone recognized the man.
"Come on. The sooner we get this done
the sooner we can change you."
*That* got the man's attention. "You'll
show me?"
Taylor nodded. "Once this is done."
"Then let's go. I'm tired of looking
like this." He gestured to
his features. "Especially since I've had to hide for the last
year."
"I know. I did too." Taylor led
him to his car. "This
shouldn't take more than a few days."
The other man smiled. "I can't wait."
_____________________________
end part two
Disclaimer in part one
___________________________________
T h e X - F i l e s
CONSPIRACY 3/?
by Jess Archibald
larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca
___________________________________
Baltimore/ Washington International Airport
7:46 p.m.
Mulder spotted Bateman through an opening in
the crowd that
allowed him a glimpse of the petite woman. He spared a moment
to think
of the height difference between Bateman and Shelton but then remembered
that
the difference between himself and Scully was about the same.
Scully . . .
He wished she was here now, teasing him and
driving him to
destraction with her maddening logic and bright wit. But she
wasn't,
she was in the hospital and he would give anything to change places
with her. He still couldn't understand why she'd gone after Eldwin
by
herself, but any anger he had felt had been killed by the first signs
that she'd been injured. It didn't matter any more.
<What matters,> he thought with a surge
of resentment, <is that
I'm being sent off to L.A. when we just admitted how we really feel.>
"Mulder . . . " Bateman waved to get
his attention, her curly
black hair pulled back in a tight bun and her trademark black trenchcoat
open over a severe dark gray suit. The plane tickets were in
her hand.
"There you are."
"Yeah." He had the case file tucked
under his arm as he carried
his rather packed overnight bag.
"Jeez, you sound as happy to go as I am,"
she said.
"I want to find this girl -- "
"But you don't want to leave. I know.
I don't want to go back
there, but . . . " She shrugged. "Don't worry about Dana.
Doug's going
to check in on her and Maggie'll be back tomorrow."
"What sort of messages did you leave for her?"
He had visions of
Margaret Scully getting a message saying, "Hi, Maggie. This is
Zoe.
Dana's been stabbed and she's in the hospital. Call me."
Bateman shot him a dirty look. "I just
told her to call me,
Mulder. Before I left, I called and left Doug's number on her
machine."
He nodded as they walked to their gate, mind
torn between Scully
and the girl who looked like Samantha. Could the resemblance
be a
coincidence or was someone trying to make sure he'd get involved?
He wasn't sure which was worse.
As they boarded the plane, Mulder offered
to put Bateman's carry
on up in the racks but she shook her head and wrestled it up herself
with
a tiny but satisfied smile.
"So, Bateman, you aren't going to kill you
former partner are
you? Just let me know so I can avoid the blood spattering," he
said as
they sat down. he could take a good guess what was going through
her
head right now and he was trying to get her mind off it. She
knew it
too, but pretended otherwise.
"I thought I'd wait until I had him alone,"
she deadpanned,
glancing out the window. "I don't like this, Mulder. I
don't like it
one bit."
"You too?"
She looked over at him and nodded slowly.
"Maybe I'm just paranoid."
"Trust no one and all that."
He almost missed the sudden shift in her grey
eyes as she leaned
towards him. "Speaking of trust, Mulder, what exactly are your
intentions towards Dana?"
"Bateman!" he exclaimed with amused shock.
"It's either tell me or tell her brothers.
Her large, Navy men
brothers who scared the hell out of Jack Willis."
"They threatened Willis?" Mulder thought
his voice was squeaking.
She nodded solemnly. "Of course they
already know you."
He thought of Christmas at Maggie's house.
Bill Jr. and Charlie
had been giving him the brotherly once over. He gulped.
"You do know how to use that gun, don't you?'
Bateman nearly
purred, indicating his 9mm. "Cause you might need it if you give
those
two the wrong idea."
"Bateman, you're not helping," he said.
She took one look at his face and started
to laugh. "Oh, Mulder,
I'm sorry -- really -- but I couldn't help myself. You know those
two
are harmless. *Large* but harmless."
He glared at her. "Bateman . . . "
"I'm sorry," she repeated, still laughing.
"You're going to pay for that one," he said
with mock severity, a
smile pulling at his lips.
"Do you take Master Card?"
He sighed and she sobered immediately but
her eyes still danced
with mirth. At least she wasn't ruminating about McIntyre.
"So, do you love her?" she asked.
"Bateman."
It was going to be a long flight.
******************************
Residence of Doug Shelton
8:33 p.m.
Doug Shelton opened the door to his apartment,
shrugging off his
coat and hanging it on the coat rack before locking the door behind
him.
It had been a long day starting at nine when he'd been sequestered
for
the day, preparing for trial testimony tomorrow.
Then AD Skinner had pulled him out of conference
to tell him he
needed to submit a deposition for the Eldwin shooting. No problem,
except Skinner needed it by six. Doug spent the afternoon typing
as fast
as he could on one of the communal computer terminals shared by the
third
floor. The budget for Missing Persons had come down to two extra
agents
or twelve computers. Considering Doug and Zoe were the two agents,
he
though Philps had made the right call.
He'd finally finished about five o'clock and
gone looking for his
partner, with no luck. Zoe'd come tearing back into the office
just
after six and offered him a rather ironic little smile, as she told
him
where she and Mulder were off to.
"Can we say 'set up'?" she'd concluded sourly,
sorting randomly
through the papers on her desk. "This is wrong . . . the whole
thing . .
. "
Doug had placed a hand over hers to get her
attention. "Do you
want me to go with you? I can get off for a few days and there's
no
reason not to go to sunny California."
The resentment had vanished off her face,
replaced by a warm
smile. "It's okay, but thank you for the offer."
"What are partners for?" he'd replied with
an answering grin.
"I will ask one favour."
"Let me guess," he'd said. "Keep an
eye on Dana."
"Right."
"Will do."
Now back at home, he wandered into his kitchen
and surveyed the
contents of the refrigerator. He'd gone by the hospital on his
way home,
staying longer than he'd intended. Dana looked glad for the company.
The light on his answering machine was blinking,
three times
quickly followed by a longer pause. Three messages.
The first was the D.A.'s office. The
trial had been pushed back
until 1:30 tomorrow morning, meaning Doug could get an extra hour's
sleep. How nice.
The second message was more entertaining.
"Shelton," came Langly's voice, sounding put
out. "Are all you
feds ducking us? Mulder hasn't returned our calls in four days.
Frohike
heard about Scully but the hospital gestapo isn't letting him in the
door."
Mulder's suggestion no doubt.
"Call us unless you want to find all your
computer files gone
tomorrow."
Doug laughed and shook his head. They'd
do it.
The last message was a vaguely familar woman's
voice.
"Agent Shelton, this is Margaret Scully.
Zoe Bateman gave me
your number and told me to call you. Please return this call
whenever
you get in."
Doug was startled. Mrs. Scully wasn't
supposed to be back until
tomorrow and Dana had forbidden anyone to call her until then.
He had
hoped to catch her just as she got back.
He reached for the phone.
**************************************
LAX Airport
Los Angeles, California
9:48 p.m. P.S.T.
Zoe scanned the crowd warily while Mulder stood
behind her.
Proper Bureau etiquette meant that McIntyre should either come meet
them
or have someone else come.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, hands
jammed in her pockets.
"Our plane wasn't *that* late."
"Maybe we should just rent a car," he suggested,
sounding
preoccupied.
"Yeah. Maybe . . . hey! Mulder,
what the hell!"
He'd obviously been studying the carefully
arranged bobby pins
holding her hair in place. Now he tugged at precisely the right
one to
pull the whole thing apart.
She whirled, slapping at his hand.
He grinned at her. "Bateman, the best
part about this is we're
the visting agents. They have to make nice since Skinner *asked*
us to
come. Never have I seen you with your hair up like that.
You're trying
to look indimidating."
She scowled at him. "So?"
"Loosen up or McIntyre will have gotten to
you without even
turning up."
"I hate psychologists," she said.
"Says the woman with a doctorate in Psychology,"
he countered.
"Bateman! Agent Mulder!" A heavy
set man in his forties cut
through the crowd like a shark, coming to a halt in front of them.
"Sorry, I'm late. The ETA on your flight was off."
Zoe felt like she'd just taken a sucker punch
to the gut. She
hadn't seen Ryan McIntyre since she'd left L.A. after the shooting,
and
she was't prepared for the intense feeling of animosity washing over
her. She'd been nearly blackballed when thought guilty, while
McIntyre
*lied* about it and got off with a slap on the wrist.
McIntyre nodded at her. "Hiya, Zoe.
Long time no see." His
dark eyes glittered at her.
"Not nearly long enough," she said coldly.
"Ah . . . anything new happen on the case?"
Mulder asked,
stepping between the two.
"Nothing. I'm not really sure why you
got called in." McIntyre
turned and led them back through the terminal. "Caitlin Brown's
parents
died two months ago. She moved in with her mother's best friend
from
high school, after living as a state ward in Wyoming for three weeks.
So
far that's all we've got."
"What about the reported bright light?" Mulder
asked.
"What about it?" McIntyre snorted.
"The guardians live along
the airport's heavy traffic area. As far as I know the light
was from a
local helicopter. Three of them flew along that route."
"Low enough to light up their apartment?"
Zoe asked archly.
"It's a high rise, so yeah."
"Okay then." Mulder ran a hand through
his hair. "Any point of
entry?"
"No. We're thinking she's a runaway.
I've got people in the
Wyoming Bureau checking around to see if she's called any of her friends."
"How'd the Bureau get involved?"
"Her father worked for the DoD."
They came out of the airport into the cool
evening air, and Zoe
spotted McIntyre's battered Chevy near the entrance, taking up a no
parking zone.
"I'll drop you off at your hotel and tomorrow
you can go over
what we've got." He gestured to the car for Mulder's sake.
"I don't
know what you hope to find."
"Catlin Brown," Mulder replied tiredly.
*********************************
Washington Memorial Hospital
9:01 a.m. E.S.T.
Dana looked out the window from her bed.
Her room was on the
west side of the hospital so most of the view was still cloaked in
darkness. The florescent lighting in the room was beginning to
hurt her
eyes and the shadows were almost restful.
Visiting hours were just beginning and the
door to her room
opened, drawing her attention.
"Mom."
Margaret Scully smiled as she came in but
a worried look wrinkled
her forehead. "Hi, honey. Why didn't you *call* me?"
She hurried over
to the side of the bed, eyes travelling up and down her daughter's
form
with maternal concern.
"I didn't want you to worry. I'm fine.
Really."
"If you were fine," Maggie said pertly, "you
wouldn't be here at
all. You'd be at home or off with your partner."
Dana sighed. "I know."
"What happened? I talked to Agent Shelton
last night when I got
home and he told me what I'm sure was a heavily edited version."
"I screwed up," Dana said in a calm but empty
tone. "I screwed
up and paid the price."
Maggie sat on the edge of the bed. "What
happened?" Her voice
was soothing and Dana found herself going through the whole story.
"I still don't know why I followed Eldwin.
It doesn't make any
sense," she finished. "It was stupid."
Maggie wiped her eyes, which had filled with
tears during her
daughter's rather emotional account. "It doesn't matter."
"Yes. It does. I need to know
why."
Her mother changed the subject. "When
are you being discharged?"
"Tomorrow if I promise to behave myself and
not do anything
strenuous for the next three weeks." She winced. "I have
no problem with
that."
"Do you want to come to Baltimore for a while?"
"No. Mulder and Zoe should be back in
a few days." She hadn't
exactly told Maggie *everything*. "I just want to go home and
get some
rest."
***********************************
Residence of Marion and David Saunders
1:23 p.m. P.S.T.
"We don't know where she could have gone,"
Marion Saunders was
saying tearfully. "I know you people think Caitlin ran away but
she
wouldn't have."
Mulder wondered how Bateman was interpreting
Mrs. Saunder's
hysterics. He, for one, was having a difficult time dealing with
the
woman's tearful answers to his questions. He'd seen people lose
their
own children and deal with it better than these two were.
David Saunders was sitting on the couch with
an arm around his
wife, looking dour and sullen.
"Mrs. Saunders," Bateman was saying calmly,
"we don't know what
happened to Caitlin. We're hoping to find out."
"She was still very upset about losing her
parents," David said
tiredly. "She was very distraught."
Mulder was beginning to feel very distraught.
The photos of
Caitlin that were in the file and on the Saunders' coffee table were
painful reminders of Sam. His sleep last night had been punctuated
by
nightmares best not remembered in the light of day.
McIntyre had come by their hotel at eight,
his partner driving a
Bureau vehicle that was put at the visiting agent's disposal.
They'd
gone over the material at the L.A. Bureau's office building for most
of
the morning before Mulder decided it was time to interview the Saunders.
Even that brief contact had cemented his opinon that McIntyre was a
skilled ass kisser and a closet chauvanist. Mulder was amazed
that the
self-confident and determined Bateman had manged to put up with the
man
for a year without losing her mind.
Bateman's gentle nudge brought him back to
the present.
"Thank-you for you time, Mr. and Mrs. Saunders. We'll keep in
touch with
you and let you know how our investigation is going." She stood,
drawing
Mulder up with her.
Once they were in the elevator heading for
the parking garage,
they exchanged disbelieving looks.
"They were putting on an act," she said immediately.
"And not a very good one. They were
a little too hysterical."
"A *little*?" Bateman shook her head.
"I can't believe McIntyre
didn't notice that in his report!"
"So what do you think's happened to Caitlin
Brown?"
"Maybe her guardians invented the story.
Best case senario:
she's run away. Worst case? Maybe something happened to
her . . . and
they did it."
"Or maybe they knew exactly what was going
on."
"What?"
"Caitlin's father was with the DoD, right?"
"Yes." She drew the word out with a
sigh. The doors opened and
they headed for their car. Since she was the ex-native, she was
driving.
"What if Caitlin knew something she shouldn't
have?"
Bateman unlocked the doors and paused before
getting in the car.
"How much of this is because your father worked for the Defense Department?"
He looked at her.
"I'm not stupid, Mulder. Caitlin looks
a hell of a lot like
Samantha."
He sighed, getting in the car with her.
"I'm not sure."
"Look, I've got a friend in our computer division
-- don't look
so shocked. I didn't offend *everyone* out here . . . unlike
some people
I know." She smiled impishly in an attempt to lighten the mood
that
failed. "Let's get him to do some digging into the Browns' and
the
Saunders' background."
He nodded.
*********************
Washington Memorial Hospital
7:43 p.m. E.S.T.
Taylor decided he liked being back in a hospital.
The sights and smells, while fear inducing
for some, were like
the first breath of air after a storm. Clean and soothing.
Of course he was dressed as an orderly, since
as a doctor he'd
be challenged, but he didn't mind. He was in the store room,
rooting
around until he found what was needed.
Dana Scully's chart had already had a small
but important
revision made to the prescriptions that would be issued when she was
discharged tomorrow. All that was needed now was a quick change
in her
IV solution.
Leaving the stock room, he headed down the
hall. Many of the
hospital staff that passed him eyed him with mild curiousity, but no
one
challenged him.
Since he'd already seen Scully's chart, he
was willing to gamble
that she'd be too tired and muddle headed to recognize him even if
she
was still awake.
The only thing that saved him was that he
looked though the
window before reaching for the door handle.
There was someone else in the room with her.
Someone that Taylor
knew and hated.
Agent Douglas Shelton.
________________________________
end part three
Disclaimer in part one
_________________________________
T h e X - F i l e s
CONSPIRACY 4/?
by Jess Archibald
larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca
_________________________________
"Doug, I know Zoe and Mulder told you to keep
an eye on me, but
really, I'm not about to *go* anywhere!" Dana was protesting.
"What? Can't I visit a friend in the
hospital?" he countered
glibly.
She sighed. "I at least hope those
two are paying you for
babysitting."
"No, but Frohike tried to bribe me into sneaking
him in here."
Her expression grew mischievous as she groaned. "I told him the
idea was
for you to be *dis*charged, not charged with manslaughter."
"How'd he take it?" she asked, trying hard
not to laugh since it
would hurt too much.
"I can't tell. He sulked and wouldn't
say anything into the
phone. Langly and Byers thought it was funny."
"They would." She smiled a little.
"How'd the Owens testimony go?"
"Ah . . . not bad. I think we've nailed
the s.o.b. but I'm not
allowed in the court room until closing remarks."
"Did the defense trip you up at all?"
Owens was charged with
aggravated kidnapping and murder in the first degree. His defense
attorney was one of the best on the East Coast, notorious for tearing
apart witnesses.
Doug's smile turned a little feral.
"His lawyer didn't know that
I went through law school. I stymied him every chance I got."
"Good for you!"
"With a little luck, Owens will be in jail
for a long, long
time." He reached for his jacket. 'Look, Dana, you look
exhausted.
I'll go home, let you get some rest. Don't want the nurses bouncing
me
out of here."
That made her laugh. "If you think they'll
kick you out, you
haven't seen the looks they've been giving you."
He nearly blushed. "I'm going to ignore
that to keep from
getting a swollen ego. G'night, Dana."
"'Bye, Doug."
"Who's picking you up tomorrow?" he asked,
pausing at the door.
"My mother."
"I'll call you tomorrow night then, okay?"
"Sure."
She closed her eyes as soon as the door shut
behind him.
**********************
Taylor sighed in relief when Shelton finally
boarded the elevator
and vanished from sight. He was beginning to fear that the large
federal
agent was never going to leave.
Slipping into the room, he paused, waiting
to see if
Scully was going to recognize him, but she was already asleep.
He
breathed another sigh of relief, crossing the room to stand beside
the bed.
It would be so easy to silence this particular
threat forever.
Insert an air bubble into the IV tube or hold a pillow over her face.
No
fuss, no muss.
But what wasn't what his boss wanted.
Withdrawing the syringe from his pocket, he
uncapped it,
squirting a little of its contents into the air, making sure the needle
was free of the tempting air bubbles. Grabbing the IV tube, he
pressed
the tip of the needle into the shunt just above the flexible tube and
pressed down on the injector.
She didn't even flinch.
"Pleasant dreams, Agent Scully," he muttered
in harsh tone,
wrestling the syringe free. 15 cc's would be more than enough
for what
was required. The solution would act like a good strong shot
of alcohol
when mixed with certain prescription drugs. She'd be out cold,
no need
to chance her grabbing for a gun. The slow release of the IV
would
insure that the last of it wouldn't get into her system until just
before she was discharged tomorrow.
He smiled, backing out of the room.
So far, so good.
*****************************************
FBI Field Headquarters
Computer Records Division
9:54 a.m. P.S.T.
Zoe looked over at Mulder as they waited for
Mitchel Brynes to
finish searching the FBI database.
Mulder sensed her scrutiny and raised his
eyes to meet hers,
managing a thin smile, a pale shade of his characteristic sardonic
grin.
She was worried about him.
Last night, she'd heard the cries coming from
the adjoining room,
but they had stopped before she could get out of bed to investigate.
She
knew what they signified, and she didn't like it one bit. This
case was
wearing away at him along the edges, whittling him down. Whatever
energy
not absorbed in the search for Caitlin Brown was spent casting his
mind
three thousand miles east to a certain redhead.
McIntyre was hovering around the edge of their
investigation,
trying to taunt her into a verbal showdown just for the satisfaction
of
getting a rise out of her. So far she'd been able to ignore him,
but the
urge to let out her pent up frustration and anger was approaching
critical mass. She didn't understand why he insisted on bothering
her;
she thought he would have wanted to avoid her as much as she wanted
to
avoid him.
"Okay, Zoe," Mitchel said, leaning away from
him computer
screen. "I ran the search program overnight and found the standard
birth records, and the usual stuff like that, on your people.
Caitlin's
parents died in a car crash two months ago, and she was with the Wyoming
state wards for three weeks before coming here. Nothing interesting
there. But look at this." He punched up another document.
"Her father
was with the DoD, right? Well his professional records were sealed,
but
according to their pay docket he was working out of Roswell, New Mexico."
"Roswell?" Mulder's interest went well
beyond sparked. A raging
fire was suddenly burning in his eyes. Zoe nearly choked
as she saw the
fierce intensity playing across his face.
"Roswell," Mitchel confirmed, hitting a few
more keys. Another
document appeared on the screen. "Here's Caitlin's school records
from a
school -- in Wyoming."
"So she wasn't living with her father," Mulder
said.
"Whoa. Back it up for a bit."
Zoe opened their file and began
searching for something. "According to the information McIntyre
got from
our computers Caitlin lived with both her parents -- in Wyoming."
She
looked up at Mulder. "Someone's been messing with the data."
Mitchel reached back and took the folder from
her. The mere
mention that someone may have changed FBI records made the computer
analyst antsy. "Let me see." He looked at the material,
a deep frown
marring his dark face. "Give me some time to check this stuff
out,
okay? I'll figure out which is the disinformation."
Zoe nodded, tugging Mulder out of the room.
"Give Mitch the time
he needs and he'll figure it out."
"Roswell . . . and Caitlin disappeared in
a bright light." His
expression was distant.
"Supposedly," she interjected.
His head swung around to her, eyes a dark
glitter. "Supposedly,"
he allowed.
She hid a wry smile. The best way to
deal with him right now was
to prod him like Dana would, forcing her mind along the most maddening
rational lines.
Her cellular started to ring and she snatched
it up. "Bateman."
"Zoe, grab Spooky and get down to the morgue,"
said McIntyre's voice.
"Why?"
"Jane Doe just came in matching Caitlin Browns'
description."
**********************************
Residence of Dana Scully
1:06 p.m. E.S.T.
Maggie unlocked the door, kneeling down to
catch the exubarent
Pomeranian that tried to burst out of the apartment. The dog
yipped with
excitment when he caught sight of his mistress.
Dana smiled wanly, leaning heavily against
the wall. While glad
to be out of the hospital she felt a kind of trembling exhaustion that
left her feeling shaky.
The apartment looked the same as she had left
it nearly a week
ago, but the file on Saul Eldwin was gone. She had left it open
on the
dining room table, her own notes mixed in with the offical ones, but
the
table was clear except for a single piece of paper.
Maggie followed her in, shutting the door
and putting the dog
down. She had stayed there last night, unwilling to make the
trip back
to Baltimore. Now she followed her daughter's gaze to the note.
"It's from Fox," she said gently. "When
did he start calling you
Dana?"
"Mom . . . " She was too old to blush.
Maggie hid a grin, allowing herself to take
a tiny bit of
maternal amusement at the younger Scully's embarrassment.
Dana picked up the note and then found her
way to the living room
to collapse onto her couch, carefully avoiding bashing her right arm.
The Pomeranian jumped up next to her and made a happy sound, curling
up
against her side.
"Can I get you anything, honey?"
"No thanks, Mom, I'm fine." She offered
a smile, reveling in the
relative freedom release from the hospital brought with it. She
was
still tired, but her head had stopped hurting two days ago. Her
stomach
was still incredibly painful, but she'd gotten some prescriptions filled
before leaving the hospital. Right now all she wanted was to
take it
easy for a long time and talk to Mulder.
But he was in L.A. so she'd have to settle
for taking it easy.
Maggie rested a hand on Dana's shoulder for
a moment before
turning away. "I'll leave you alone then."
"Mom . . . thanks for being here."
The older woman smiled. "Where else
would I be?"
When Maggie was gone, Dana looked down at
the note in her hand.
Dana --
Didn't think you needed the file and Skinner
did. I walked that little monster you call
a dog -- don't turn your back on him because
he always looks hungry. Bateman's a good
agent, but I wish you were flying out with
me tonight -- for more reasons than one.
Take it easy and we'll talk when I get back.
-- Fox
She put the note down and ran her left hand
lightly over the
dog's fur. She wished she had gone with him too.
***************************************
Los Angeles Morgue
11:01 a.m. P.S.T.
McIntyre was waiting for them by the entrance.
"The Saunders showed up fifteen minutes ago
and are demanding
that we release the body to them," he said without preamble as they
got
out of the car. "Apparently a local uniform officer notified
them."
"They make a positive ID?" Bateman asked,
waiting for Mulder to
come around the side of the car.
"Yeah. It's Caitlin Brown."
Mulder felt a dark cloud descend on him.
They were too late and
the girl was dead. Was Sam dead as well, an unidentified Jane
Doe that
had been dropped off at some morgue over twenty years ago?
"Do we have a cause of death?" Bateman was
saying as they went inside.
"No. And the Saunders are contesting
the autopsy."
The Saunders were still in the identification
room, arguing with
the medical examiner, an intense and distinguished man in his late
forties who welcomed the federal agents as allies. The Saunders
turned
to them as well.
"Why won't they release Caitlin?" asked Marion
Saunders tearfully.
"Mrs. Saunders, we need to find out how she
died," Bateman said
calmly, voice low.
"I don't want them cutting her up," David
Saunders snapped, one
arm around his wife.
"Do you want to find out what happened to
her?" Mulder
interjected softly.
The ME nodded. "We need to preform an
autopsy."
"No!"
"Mrs. Saunders," McIntyre started.
"Please, no!"
"Okay, okay," Mulder said, holding up a hand.
There wasn't much
they could do. Next thing the Saunders would be objecting on
religious
grounds. "Let us take a look at the -- at Caitlin."
"I don't want you gawking at her," Marion
objected, near hysterics.
Mulder shot a look over at Bateman, hoping
she could read the
situation.
"Mrs. Saunders," she said very softly, stepping
forward. "Would
you let me take a look? The other agents can stay here -- "
McIntyre opened his mouth to say something
but both Mulder and
the ME glared at him.
Marion looked over at David and then nodded
slowly.
"Okay." Bateman glanced over at Mulder,
eyes questioning. He
inclined his head slightly.
The rest of them could watch from here, not
intrusively, but the
Saunders insisted so that they could see what was going on. The
ME
flatly denied their request to go in with Bateman.
Mulder stood in front of the viewing window,
feeling a sharp pang
at the sight of the small body covered by a white sheet.
The ME went in with Bateman and pulled the
sheet back.
Mulder saw the face and his breath seemed
to rush out of him.
It was Sam's face.
The resemblance went beyond uncanny into the
supernatural.
Bateman put herself between the body and the
watchers, by
accident or by design he didn't know.
Sam . . .
__________________________________
end part four
Disclaimer in part one
________________________
T h e X - F i l e s
CONSPIRACY part 5/?
by Jess Archibald
larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca
________________________
Zoe took a deep breath as the ME drew back
the sheet, before
looking down.
She'd seen the pictures in the case file and
the old photos that
Mulder had, but hadn't been prepared to see the similarities between
the
two girls firsthand.
Instinctively, she moved to block the view
of the others waiting
in the identification room.
Caitlin Brown looked calm, almost like she
was asleep, her face
unmarred by any scratches. The sight gave Zoe an unsettled feeling.
"Were there any signs of trauma?" she asked
the ME, fighting to
keep her voice steady. Working Missing Persons she had seen bodies
before but it was the little corpses that threatened to push her over
the
edge. The body in front of her was practically making her nerves
vibrate.
"Yeah. There's a puncture wound at the
base of her skull." The
ME started to roll the body onto its side so she could see.
Something was nagging her.
"There's some weird stuff clinging to it,
like someone tried to
plug the hole." He smoothed the hair away with gloved hands pointing
to
a tiny hole that was covered over with something green and crusty.
"I
want to get a lab sample. I'm not cutting her open. Think
the Saunders
will object?"
"I hope not." She felt nervous but wasn't
sure why.
He got a specimen jar and a flat metal tool,
poking gently at the
substance.
Zoe shut her eyes briefly and then looked
back again.
"Damn." The ME leaned in more as the
substance crumbled away
from the wound like an old scab. "What the hell?"
Something was wrong. She couldn't articulate
it, she just knew.
Without thinking, she shoved the ME away from the body, jerking back
herself.
A green vapour was pouring from the wound,
writhing through the air.
"Oh my God," the ME whispered in shock, inhaling
sharply and then
beginning to cough, choking on the vapour.
Zoe felt only a sharp pain in her chest, centering
near her left
lung, pain that dropped her to her knees, gasping for breath.
She didn't
choke on it, but it burned into the back of her throat.
The pain was intense enough to make her eyes
water. It felt like
someone had thrust a red hot poker into her lung.
The ME had collapsed onto the floor and she
forced herself to
crawl towards him. They had to get out of there.
<White light, no sound but her own faltering
heartbeat.>
Images were flooding into her mind, but she
didn't have the time
to concentrate on them.
<She was driving a car along a dark road,
Doug Shelton bracing
himself in the passenger seat. Bullets were whining through the
night
towards them from an oncoming vehicle. Sudden pain as she was
slammed
back into her seat, blood misting the air.>
She squeezed her eyes shut against the images,
trying to will
them away.
The ME was wheezing for breath now, eyes swelling
shut.
The pain began to fade and she grabbed hold
of the man. He was
nearly a half foot taller than she was, but she dragged him back towards
the door as if he were a child.
The door flew open before she reached it,
someone pulling her
away from the ME, pushing her out into the hall. A few seconds
later,
Mulder emerged from the room, a surgical mask tied hastily around his
mouth and nose. His eyes were watering from even the brief exposure.
Several other MEs and lab technicians were
out in the hall and
they took charge of their downed co-worker. McIntyre appeared,
saying
that he'd called for an ambulance.
Mulder ripped the mask off, taking deep gulps
of air as he made
sure the door was shut. When he was satisfied, he went over to
Zoe and
pushed her against the wall and down until she was sitting.
"Head between your knees, Bateman," he said
hoarsely, peering
anxiously at her.
"I'm okay," she rasped, shaking her head to
try and clear it.
"That vapour's poisonous, Bateman. It
kills. I've seen it
before and I'm telling you to sit down and take deep breaths."
"Mulder, I'm okay. How's the ME?"
She looked past him to view
the crowd growing around the man.
"Not good. This stuff thickens the blood
into a gel." His voice
was flat.
"That's . . . that's what happened to you
in the Arctic, right?"
"Yeah."
She took a few deep breaths, afraid she'd
discover herself unable
to breathe or function as her blood thickened but nothing happened.
She
hadn't been affected by it, the pain had been caused by something else.
"Bateman?"
"I'm okay. It didn't seem to effect
me. Must have breathed in
too much L.A. smog over the years . . . "
"You went down in there -- " He wasn't
about to be deterred by
her lame attempt at humour.
"No . . . my chest hurt suddenly." She
climbed back to her feet,
taking his offered arm for support. "It's fine now . . . "
Paramedics came bursting in to take charge
of the situation.
Mulder warned them what they were dealing with while Bateman peered
through a small window in the door.
The room was cloudy with a green mist that
clung most heavily in
the air around the body.
"This isn't exactly the same thing as what
I encountered in the
Arctic," Mulder said, coming up behind her. "If it was, both
you and the
ME would be dead and that body would be a puddle of green goo."
"So what are we dealing with here?"
"I'm not sure -- but I get the feeling someone
wanted us to
investigate."
"Where are the Saunders?" she asked, a suspicion
forming. They
were eager for her to go in there with the ME -- and they had kept
Mulder
out.
McIntyre joined them. "They're gone.
They took off while Mulder
was pulling you out and while I was calling an ambulance."
"We've been set up," she said softly.
McIntyre snorted. "What makes you think
you're important enough
to set up? There've been reports of bodies emitting toxic fumes.
Maybe
someone dumped the body at a waste dump -- or killed her there."
"The only wound was a puncture to the base
of the skull," she
began heatedly, about to tell him where he could stick his notions.
"What?!" Mulder interrupted, sounding shocked.
"What's wrong?"
"Bateman, we were lured out here," he said,
speaking rapidly,
spinning her around to face him. "This whole thing's been a set
up."
"Why?" she countered. She'd had
the same suspicions, which had
grown steadily since they'd arrived.
"I don't know." He looked through the
window. "Her physical
appearance, the case coming through Skinner's office . . . they wanted
to
make sure we were in L.A."
"Okay, I'm not going to argue with that,"
she said, "it makes too
much sense. But did they want us here or out of D.C.?"
"Maybe it's another diversion and something
else is going on in
another part of the country . . . "
Their eyes met and widened in mutual insight.
"Dana . . . "
*************************************
Residence of Dana Scully
2:03 p.m. E.S.T.
A knocking at the door startled her out of
sleep.
She'd curled up on the couch and drifted off
soon after Maggie
left, the dog huddled against her. She hadn't intended to until
after
she'd taken a dose of painkillers and antibiotics and a look at the
clock
drew a groan from her.
The knock came again, softer this time as
if whoever was on the
other side of the door was afraid of waking her up.
"Just a minute," she called, dismayed at the
weakness of her
voice and the nail clenching pain caused by drawing a breath deep enough
to shout out with. Getting up, she made her way to the door with
only
mild difficulty, but she had to rest her forehead against the door
when
she got there, sweat beading on her brow.
She hated the helpless feeling that flooded
through her. She was
unable to move fast or freely and was on sick leave for the next three
weeks. The fact that answering the door took almost all of her
energy
almost made her cry.
"Who -- who is it?" she said after a short
pause.
"Frohike."
She should have known. But at this point
she almost welcomed his
company because it would prevent her from wallowing in self-pity. "Hang
on a second." She unlatched the dead bolt and pulled the door
open to
let the small man in.
He entered hesitantly, as if he were shocked
that she was
allowing him in, a bouquet of flowers clutched tightly in his hand.
He
looked nervous.
"Hello, Dana," he squeaked, thrusting the
flowers in her
direction before realizing she needed her good arm to lock the door.
She supposed he was sweet in a lewd kind of
way and smiled
slightly. "Thank-you, Frohike."
He beamed as she shut the door and locked
it again. "Would you
like me to put these in water for you?"
She looked ruefully at her right arm and the
heavy cast on it.
"That might be a good idea."
After putting the flowers on the dining room
table and finding a
pot of coffee left brewing by her mother, Dana sat on the couch again
with Frohike in a chair across from her. She fished two vials
of pills
out of her coat pocket, thankful the lids weren't childproof, and
extracted one pill from each container.
"So what are you doing here, Frohike?' she
asked, washing the
first pill down with a quick swallow of too hot coffee.
"Ah . . . well, we heard what happened to
you," he said
seriously. "I tried to visit you in the hospital but the nurses
wouldn't
let me in."
She hid a smile by swallowing the other pill.
Between Doug and
Muld -- Fox --, Frohike never had a chance to get in.
"Byers and Langly send their regards," he
continued shyly,
fiddling with his coffee cup. "They would have come with me,
but they
were in the middle of running a search on something."
"What are you working on now?" she asked,
taking pity on his
nervous state. The Lone Gunmen were usually up to *something*
or other.
He became animated, discussing the intricacies
of a computer
surveillance they had been conducting. She tried to follow along,
but
quickly realized she was too muddle headed to keep track of what he
was
saying. In fact, she was too fuzzy to keep her eyes open.
"Dana, are you all right?" he asked, breaking
off to frown
concernedly at her.
"I'm not sure." She picked up the vials
and forced her eyes to
focus on them. Neither should have made her so instantly tired
and
befuddled. It felt like she'd just taken the painkiller after
several
shots of vodka.
She wasn't allergic to either drug and she
most definitely hadn't
been drinking.
Frohike was out of his chair and pushing her
back against the
couch as she tipped forward, left hand grasping the coffee table.
"What's wrong?" he asked firmly, forcing her
to focus on him.
"I think . . . think the medication's . .
. been switched," she
managed to gasp out.
There was a muffled noise by the door and
it burst inwards,
knocking against the wall and shutting again behind the man who came
in,
silenced gun in hand.
**************************************
Taylor had frowned when Frohike entered the
building, recognizing
the man from the photos shown to him. He had hoped to get in
and out
without anyone seeing him. There were other plans in store for
the
little man and his paranoid, meddlesome associates.
Taylor clenched his hands around the steering
wheel of his car.
He was parked across from Scully's apartment, and he'd been sitting
there
since following her back from the hospital. He didn't have time
to wait
until Frohike left; Scully, if she hadn't already, would soon take
the
medication he made sure she was prescribed.
Getting out of his car, he crossed the quiet
street and entered
the building. The neighbourhood was a quiet one, nearly every
inhabitant
still at work.
Taylor paused outside the door, listening
intently. He could
hear an alarmed voice. Deciding to improvise, he withdrew the
silenced
gun his superior had given him and shot out the lock. Moving
inside
quickly, he kicked the door shut behind him.
Frohike jerked his head around to the entrance
way, a shocked
look on his face, putting himself between Taylor and Scully, who was
on
the couch behind him, blinking furiously.
A small orange dog, also on the couch, took
one look at Taylor,
let out a yip and dived for cover.
Frohike seemed to recognize him, a glimmer
of insight appearing
in his eyes.
Taylor raised and fired the gun as Scully
grabbed Frohike with
her left hand, realizing Taylor's intent, trying to yank him clear.
A surprised look blossomed on the man's face
as he was jerked
backwards by the impact of the bullet. He tripped against the
coffee
table and fell away from the couch, landing in an ungraceful heap.
Scully het out a shocked cry, pulling her
hand away from Frohike
so fast a wince sped across her features. Taylor leveled the
gun at her
before she could even think about going for her own weapon, which was
on
a cabinet behind the couch. He noted the rather confused expression
on
her face and allowed himself to relax slightly.
"Let me help him," she said shakily, eyes
flitting from Taylor to
Frohike.
He shook his head. "Get up."
"Go to hell."
Crossing the room, he grabbed her by the left
arm and hauled her
to her feet. She nearly fell, almost a dead weight, as he propelled
her
out of the apartment, leaving the door ajar behind him. Any attempt
at a
struggle was cut short as the combination of drugs finally caught up
with
her all the way just a few steps from her apartment.
With a sigh, Taylor tucked the gun into the
waistband of his
jeans and wrestled the unconscious federal agent out of the building
and
into his car.
____________________________________________
end part five
disclaimer in part one
________________________
T h e X - F i l e s
CONSPIRACY part 6/?
by Jess Archibald
larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca
________________________
Los Angeles Morgue
11:46 a.m. P.S.T.
Mulder felt the weight of Bateman's gaze as
he listened to the
electronic buzz of his cellular, mentally counting the rings.
One.
The little corpse in the next room had been
used as a stalking
horse to get him here, the physical appearance acting as a magnetic
pull.
But the instant the green vapour had burst from the body, he had feared
the worst, that even the girl's existence had been orchestrated from
the
start. He'd seen the phenomena before and knew, *knew* for God's
sake,
that shapeshifting was possible and the green mist was deadly.
The ME
had been rushed to the hospital on a respirator and intravenous blood
thinners while Mulder could still feel the fiery sting in his eyes
as he
plunged into the exam room to pull Bateman and the ME out.
Two rings.
He didn't understand why Bateman wasn't in
critical condition
along with the hapless ME. She had been just as close to the
body and
he'd seen her go down before he sprinted out of the indentification
room. But she seemed fine, as uncertain as he was about why she
was
uneffected. She muttered something about a wash of light, but
he didn't
have the time to ask her about it.
Three.
He'd talked to Scully last night and she told
him she was being
discharged today. She would already be home. If he had
been tricked into
leaving D.C., into leaving *her*, then she was the most likely reason
he'd been duped into going.
"This is Dana Scully, I'm not here.
Please leave a message and
I'll get back to you."
He could have cried when he heard the answering
machine.
Whenever he desperately needed to get ahold of her, he got the machine.
"Scully, if you're there, pick up," he said.
"Dana? Dammit,
answer!" He paused again, feeling sick. "Okay, listen,
Bateman and I
were tricked into coming out here. Dana, I think you're in danger.
I
want you to get out of your apartment. *Don't* go to your mom's.
Go to
the Hoover Building or to the Gunmen, all right?" He paused,
nearly
whispering the last bit. "Please be all right."
Hanging up, he saw that Bateman was making
a call of her own.
"Doug? We've been set up," she said
quickly into her phone.
"Yeah, we're okay, but it looks like someone wanted us out of town
. . .
uh-huh . . . yes. That's what we think . . . yeah . . . okay,
great.
I'll be waiting to hear from you." She slammed the phone shut
and tucked
it into her pocket, looking to Mulder. "Doug offered to go check
on her
before I could ask. He's on his way."
He nodded, wanting to pace, a sense of urgency
building in him.
For the second time in under a week, he was filled with terror for
Scully's life.
His gaze was drawn to the exam room as several
techs were pulling
on environmental hazard suits to enter.
The Saunders had opposed an autopsy meaning
they had to know what
would happen. They had kept him out but willingly let Bateman
enter the
room.
Again he wondered why she wasn't effected
as deeply by the toxic
fumes as the ME or even he had been.
Her cellular rang.
"Bateman," she said, opening the phone.
"Mitch -- what've you got?"
Mulder made a decision, holding out his hand
to McIntyre who was
hovering around. "Car keys."
The man stared at him without comprehension.
"What?"
"I need to borrow your car." He hitched
a thumb in Bateman's
dirction. "She needs ours."
McIntyre scowled but handed the keys over.
Mulder took them and hurried out of the morgue.
He had to get back to D.C.
********************************
Zoe had to force herself to listen to Mitchel
Brynes, her free
hand rubbing at her brow, trying to erase the images that had flooded
into her mind in the exam room. She didn't pretend to understand
them
and she wasn't sure she wanted to.
Her chest had stopped aching but the memory
of the pain was still
enough to make her wince.
"You've got to take a look at this stuff,
Zoe," Mitch was saying,
his voice a soothing anchor in her ear. "Someone messed with
our data
system."
"Who?"
"That I don't know yet, but I did find something
interesting."
She nodded, forgetting he wouldn't be able
to see the gesture.
Mitch loved a secret. "Okay, as soon as we can, we'll come to
your office."
"You okay?" he sounded concerned. "You
sound shook up."
"Yeah . . . I'm fine."
"Tell you what -- we're about to send our
new agent on a lunch
run to that little deli 'round the corner. I'll get him to pick
something up for you and Mulder."
She smiled a tiny bit. "That'd be great,
Mitch, thanks."
Hanging up , she looked around the cramped
hall, coming up one
person short.
"McIntyre, where's Mulder?"
"I dunno. He asked to borrow my car."
The man shrugged, rather
disinterested.
Zoe managed to fight the urge to grab him
by the shoulders and
shake until some sembalance of common sense surfaced from the depths
of
the man's mind.
Digging out her phone again, she punched in
Mulder's cellular number.
******************************
Stopping at a red light, he started in surprise
as his phone
began ringing. The shrill sound got the same reaction out of
him as a
gunshot would have.
Fumbling for the phone, he got it to his ear
as the light changed.
"Mulder," he said as his foot hit the gas
pedal.
"Where the hell are you going?" came Bateman's
irate voice.
"For a ride," he replied automatically.
"Do *not* pull this Lone Ranger crap on me,
Mulder!" she
growled. "I am not Dana and I will *not* put up with it."
He sighed. "I'm going to the airport.
I can't wait. I'm
heading back to D.C."
"Mulder . . . "
"Bateman, I can't wait around."
"Mulder, Mitch's found something he wants
us to take a look at -- "
"You look -- "
"*Dammit*! I don't want to be here any
more than you do!" He
could hear a similar thread of alarm in her voice that found its way
to his.
"Bateman, just find out what he's got and
get on the next plane out."
"Skinner will have our hides for running out
on a case -- "
"There is no case! It's a smoke screen,
Bateman. You know that
as well as I do."
She paused and he heard her sigh. "All
right -- just watch
yourself. I won't be able to tell you what's going on once the
plane
takes off -- "
"Air phone. I'll call you."
"All right," she repeated.
"Bateman -- I'm sorry for ditching you."
"It's okay, I understand. I'll be behind
you by an hour or so."
"See you in D.C."
*****************************
Residence of Dana Scully
3:01 p.m. E.S.T.
Doug pulled up in front of Dana's building
with a squealing of
tires, bailing out of the car before it was completely halted, leaving
the driver's side door open.
He'd been half buried under a mound of paper
work when Zoe's call
reached him. The implications of what she was trying to tell
him were
obvious before she could get out her request and he'd been out of the
office within two minutes, leaving some rather startled agents in his
wake.
Along the way, he tried Dana's number nearly
a dozen times,
getting her answering machine with each try. He'd debated calling
the
D.C. police and having a patrol car check for him but he didn't have
enough reason to call in the police. If he'd known an agent who
lived in
the area or was on a case near there . . .
Too many ifs.
Entering the building, he moved quickly down
the hall, ready to
knock on the door, other hand already holding the key Zoe had given
to
him before she left for L.A.
What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks.
The door was ajar.
Tucking the key back into his pocket, he drew
his gun instead,
easing the door the rest of the way open, noting that the lock had
been
shot out.
"Dana?" he called softly, trying to ignore
the chill racing up
and down his spine.
The hallway was clear, stretching back into
the apartment, giving
him a partial view of the living room.
He could hear ragged breathing.
"Dana?"
Stepping slowly forward, he held the gun out
in front of him,
checking the kitchen as he passed it.
He could now see the coffee table. Two
coffee mugs were on it,
some spilled coffee drying on the table top, two pill bottles knocked
over.
The unsteady breathing was louder.
He saw a pair of shoes sticking out between
the table and one of
the armchairs. Men's shoes, attatched to a body.
Doug inched over carefuly, sweeping the room
with his gun and his
eyes.
The Pomeranian stuck its head out of the bedroom
and barked once,
diving back into the room. It was enough to tell him no one was
in there.
He was now facing the body, the source of
the ragged breathing.
Even before he rolled the man gently onto
his back, Doug knew who
it was.
Frohike was unconscious, breathing laboured
and coming in
unsteady rasps. His glasses were knocked askew on his face, a
lump on
his forehead as if he had hit his head on something.
Blood was seeping from a bullet wound high
on his right shoulder,
about level with his collar bone.
Shrugging out of his overcoat, Doug draped
it over the other man,
motions hurried, but unpanicked as he clamped a hand over the bullet
wound, free hand fumbling out his cellular and punching in 911.
"Hang on, Frohike," he encouraged softly as
he waited impatiently
for someone to pick up. "Hang on."
For the second time in under a week, Douglas
Shelton was covered
in a friend's blood.
**************************************
Hoover Building
3:18 p.m.
Assistant Director Walter Skinner frowned as
his phone rang,
interrupting his train of thought. He'd left specific instructions
with
his secretary that he was not to be disturbed. This had better
be important.
"Skinner," he snapped into the receiver.
"Sir, this is Agent Shelton."
Something in the other man's voice was enough
to command
Skinner's full attention. "What is it, Shelton?"
"I'm at Dana Scully's apartment -- someone
broke in, sir."
"Is she all right?"
"She's not here. Ah -- a mutual friend
was and he's been shot.
The paramedics just left."
Skinner squeezed his eyes shut. "Who's
been shot?"
"His name's Frohike. You met him and
two of his friends once.
In Baltimore -- "
An image popped into his mind. A Baltimore
hospital, waiting for
word on Mulder's condition after digging him out of a suddenly abandoned
car. Scully and Shelton were waiting with him and he was wondering
why
Scully wasn't visiting her partner.
Three men had come out of the intensive care
unit and he
recognized them from a quick glance he'd gotten earlier that day.
"Our friends from the Raven Crest fiasco?"
he asked.
"Yes sir."
"What's his condition?"
"The paramedics just told me to get the hell
out of the way. I
thought I should wait here for the police to come."
"All right -- I'll come down there and join
you." A thought
struck him. "Shelton, what are you doing there in the middle
of the day?"
"Zoe called me, sir. She said she and
Mulder had been set up and
they were afraid they'd been lured to L.A. to let someone get at Dana
--
looks like they were right."
"Set up how?"
"I'm not sure."
"All right. I'll be there shortly."
"I'll call Zoe back."
"Fine." Hangup up, Skinner sat there
for a moment. The case
he'd sent Mulder and Bateman on had come across his desk already flagged
for the X-Files Division. He had assumed his counterpart out
west had
done it, but now he wasn't so sure. If he was right and the person
behind the case had a craving for cigarettes, Skinner was going to
do a
hell of a lot more then merely giving Mulder the man's address.
And if
they didn't find Scully at all this time it would be as much his fault
as
anyone elses.
******************************************
LAX Airport
12:21 p.m. P.S.T.
Mulder left McIntyre's car in the short term
lot, making a mental
note to tell Bateman where he left it.
Entering the terminal, he scanned the list
of departing flights
and found one going to BWI in a little under fifteen minutes.
He made
his way to that airline's counter and used his badge to get to the
front
of the line.
The woman behind the counter looked at him.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"Your flight leaving for D.C. I need
to be on it."
She checked the computer. "It's booked
full up."
The badge came out again. "Federal emergancy.
Did someone not
claim their ticket?"
"Uh . . . yes . . . but -- "
"I'll take it."
Her eyes met his and read the desperation
there. "Yes sir."
He had to run for the plane, nearly knocking
over a half dozen
people, skidding into the boarding area after nearly giving a heart
attack to the security guard manning the metal detector when his gun
set
it off. He had his badge out immediately and gave his clip to
the guard
to give to a stewardess.
Once he finally got on the plane, he sunk
into his seat and shut
his eyes, nearly panting for breath.
This time he couldn't wait for someone else
to let him know what
was going on. He had to do something more.
_____________________________________
end part six
From larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca Fri Sep 13 14:33:09 1996
Path:
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i.com!info.ucla.edu!unixg.ubc.ca!larchiba
From: larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca (Jess Archibald)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: REP:CONSPIRACY 7/18
Date: 13 Sep 1996 19:33:09 GMT
Organization: University of British Columbia, Vancouver, B.C., Canada
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disclaimer in part one
_____________________________
T h e X - F i l e s
CONSPIRACY 7/?
by Jess Archibald
larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca
_____________________________
FBI Field Headquarters
Computer Records Division
12:26 p.m.
"Okay, Mitchel, spill," Zoe said, sweeping
into the room. She'd
ditched McIntyre at the morgue, leaving him stranded. Petty,
perhaps,
but it made her feel a little better. She wouldn't feel relief
until
Doug called and told her it was a false alarm.
Mitchel turned his swivel chair, tossing a
wrapped sandwich at
her. "Egg salad on rye."
"For a computer tech you're not that bad,"
she said, catching it
with one hand.
"And neither are you -- for a field agent."
Stuffing the last
bite of his own lunch into his mouth he turned back to the computer.
"Okay," he began, somewhat indistinctly. "I found out that --
hey,
where's Mulder?"
"He had to go back to D.C." Zoe peeled
back the wrapping and
took a tentative bite. It was as good as she remembered but fear
soured
the taste.
"Oh. All right." Mitch stabbed
a finger at his screen. "I did
a deeper bakcground check on Caitlin Brown. Her birth certificate
was on
file in Wyoming, right? Wrong. I called their office and
got them to
look for a hardcopy of it, complete with cute little baby footprints.
They couldn't find any."
"Nothing?"
"As far as the computer's concerned, Caitlin
Brown is real, but
she's got no physical trail."
"Someone fabricated her computer records?"
"I called the hospital she was supposed to
have been born in.
Again there was a computer listing but no medical records in their
archives."
"She was born in '85. Could they have
tossed the old files?"
She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully.
He shook his head. "Someone would have
'em. No one does."
"Well, we've got a body IDed as her's that
emitted toxic fumes.
The ME's in the hospital, comatose."
"Are you serious?!"
"Completely."
"Who the hell was she?"
Zoe had listened to Dana's account of the
Gregors and the woman
claiming to be Samantha. She herself had seen the green fumes.
"Mulder's DNA's on file, right?"
"Let me check." He tapped a few keys.
"Most agents' are but
some of the vetrans haven't submitted a sample yet. Ah -- here
we go. Yep."
"Okay. We're going to be getting a tissue
sample from the dead
girl. I want it run against Mulder's."
"Whoa. Are you saying they're related?!"
"Not exactly. I think the girl's a clone."
"A what?!"
"Calm down, Mitch. I've heard stranger
things."
"We don't have that sort of technology."
Zoe thought of the green mist. "*We*
don't . . . "
Her cellular rang, interrupting the rejoinder
Mitchel was about
to launch.
"Bate -- "
"Zoe!" Doug sounded nearly frantic.
"Dana's gone."
"What do you mean 'gone'?" Her stomach
dropped out from under her.
"The lock on her door's been shot out.
When I got here I found
Frohike unconscious in the living room. Someone shot him."
"Dammit. Is he going to be all right?"
"We don't know yet."
"Mulder's already on his way back there.
I'll be leaving as soon
as I can . . . "
"What do you think is going on?"
She explained quickly about finding Caitlin's
body and her theory.
"I think she's a clone of some kind, meant to look like Samantha."
"That's sick."
"That doesn't mean I'm wrong."
"It's so sick it just might be right.
Ah -- Skinner just got here."
"I'll be coming back soon as I can."
"I've got to notify Mrs. Scully, Byers and
Langly."
"Tell Maggie, we'll find her."
"Zoe . . . " he sighed.
"See you when I get back, Doug." She
hung up again, turning to
Mitch. "I'm going to need documentation of your findings."
"What's going on?"
"Mulder's partner's just gone missing."
He blinked. "Your old friend.
Missing *again*? She's got some
serious bad luck."
"No, she's just got some really bad people
angry with her."
Repressing a shudder, Zoe leaned closer to the screen. "Very
angry . . . "
***********************************
En route to Washington, D.C.
1:43 p.m. P.S.T.
Mulder fought his temper.
Some pudgy middle class businessman had siezed
the air phone
shortly after take off and still showed no sign of relinquishing his
hold
on it. Mulder reflected that it was good his gun had been taken
from him
at the airport or he would have been tempted to use it.
There were perfectly innocent reasons why
Scully wasn't answering
her phone. She could be sleeping off the effects of her injuries.
She
could have changed her mind and gone up to Baltimore with her mother.
Or something could be wrong.
He couldn't wait to find out, not three thousand
miles away. At
least he'd already be partway there no matter what.
Even without confirmation, guilt was gnawing
away at him. He
should never have left with Scully still in the hospital, should have
known it was the perfect time for his opponents in the Shadow government
to strike at him through her.
<You don't know anything's wrong,> said
a tiny whisper in his mind.
Mulder's instincts rarely failed him and right
now they were
telling him something was very, *very* wrong.
The business man was finally off the phone
and one of the
stewardesses brought it to him in exchange for his credit card.
She
brought it back in a minutes, smiling brightly at him.
Mulder ignored her flirtatious overtures,
punching in Bateman's
cellular number, cutting her off before she could get a greeting out.
"It's me. What's going on?"
Her voice was staticky, breaking up once in
a while, but her
message was painfully clear. "Dana's gone."
The words hit like a billion hammer blows
into his stomach,
driving the breath from his lungs.
"Frohike was there -- someone shot him.
Doug doesn't know his
status."
"God. I asked him to check in on her
for me . . . it was my
fault he was there."
"Mulder, we're talking about *Frohike*.
No arm twisting is
required to get him to go see Dana." He heard her sigh.
"Listen. Call
Doug. I'm at the airport now. Mitch got me a seat on a
flight that's
leaving in a few minutes."
"What'd he find?"
"According to the computer there's nothing
suspicious but he
double checked by calling Wyoming. There's no corresponding paper
trail. Outside of computer reconds, Cailtin Brown has no past."
"What about the body?" The elderly woman
sitting next to him
shifted away, eyeing him suspiciously.
"I left orders for a DNA test to be done on
a tissue sample -- if
we can get one. I'm having it checked against yours."
"What? Why?"
"She looks too much like Samanth, Mulder.
I think someone wanted
her to look that way."
"Plastic surgery . . . "
"On an *eight* year old?! Not a chance.
I think she's a clone."
Now Mulder knew how Scully usually felt.
"Bateman . . . "
"Don't 'Bateman' me, Mulder. Just listen.
Dana told me about
the Gregors. Maybe this is a type of hybrid clone between your
aliens
and a human. Those records you found in those underground tunnels?
Well, that had DNA samples of Dana and Samantha."
"Bateman, that's a stretch."
"You got a better idea? Besides, it
*feels* right."
"It *feels* right?"
"Just -- worry about it later. My flight's
about to leave." Her
voice tightened. "Find her before I get there."
"I'll try." His chest constricted as
he hung up.
Gone.
Dana was gone again and this time again he
wasn't there to help her.
He shut his eyes against the hot sting of
tears.
***********************************
Washington General Hospital
5:03 p.m. E.S.T.
Doug was really beginning to hate hospitals.
Approaching the front desk, he showed his
badge, ignoring the
looks his blood spattered clothing was earning and asked about Frohike's
condition.
The desk clerk typed the information into
the computer. "He's
not listed in the computer."
"He was brought in by ambulance about two
hours ago. Gunshot wound."
"In that case he may not have been entered
into our data base
yet. Try the emergency room."
Doug followed the signs to the e.r. and pushed
the doors open.
He found another desk clerk and tried again.
"Frohike -- gunshot wound?" The clerk
flipped through the
admissions charts. "Ah, we've got two gunshot victims but no
one by that
name."
Panic clutched at him.
And then he remembered who he was dealing
with.
"Short, middle aged man," he tried again.
"Glasses, nearly
bald. Brought in wearing a navy turtleneck, black leather coat
and
jeans. Gunshot wound to the right shoulder and suffering from
shock -- "
"Oh right -- him. Mister . . . Evans."
The clerk looked back to
Doug, frowning. "Is it an assumed name? Is he wanted for
something."
"Ah . . . no, no." Doug tried to smile.
"Everything's fine."
He should have suspected Frohike would carry fake ID with him.
"How is he?"
"He's in surgery." The clerk looked
apologetic. "I'm sorry,
that's all I know. There's a waiting room if you want -- "
Doug shook his head. He had to get out
there and look for Dana.
Digging out his business card, he handed it to the clerk. "My
cellular
number's on there. Please call me as soon as anything happenes."
Taking it, the clerk nodded.
Doug's cellular rang.
"No cellulars' are allowed in the hospital,"
the woman said
sharply.
"I was just leaving." Doug headed outside
as another ambulance
pulled up. Holding the door for the incoming paramedics, he plunged
outside and activated his cellular.
"Shelton -- "
"It's me," came Mulder's voice, fading in
and out.
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere over Kansas. What's going
on?"
Doug explained quickly, giving a consise field
report. "Mulder
-- I'm sorry."
"Not your fault -- "
"It's not yours either."
"I'm not so sure about that."
"Mulder, I need to know. Could this
be tied in to anything you're
working on?"
"Only in that we were lured away."
"What happened?"
Doug listened as Mulder recounted the story
of Caitlin Brown.
"So Zoe when down but this mist had no effect on her?"
"Didn't seem to. How's Frohike?"
"In surgery registered under the name Evans."
"Have you told Byers and Langly?"
"Not yet. I was filling in Skinner and
going over -- " He choked
down the words 'crime scene' -- "Dana's apartment."
"Find anything?"
"We dug a bullet out of the lock and it's
in Ballistics now. The
slug was pretty warped because it hit the metal so I don't know how
useful it will be. We might know more if we can run the bullet
Frohike
was shot with."
"Anything else?"
"Not yet. But I did find two bottles
of prescription medication
from Washington Memorial. We've got an agent checking on that
right now,
making sure it's Dana's. A long shot but . . . "
"Have you talked to Maggie?"
Doug sighed. "Actually, Skinner said
he'd take care of it. Said
since I'm with Missing Persons it's my case."
"Yours?"
"He said something about not wanting this
to be ignored."
"Shelton -- thanks."
"Thank me when we find her."
*************************************
En route to Washington, D.C.
5:21 p.m E.S.T.
Zoe figeted in her seat.
Mitch had snuck her reservation into the computer
and finessed it
into first class. It didn't get her there any faster but at least
she
could be restless in style.
The file on Caitlin Brown was open on the
fold out table in front
of her, her own notebook open beside it, filled with her cramped, precise
handwriting, outlining her theory.
She didn't understand where the idea had come
from but it was
irresistible. Once she'd gotten it in her mind she found it impossible
to get back out again.
<Blinding white light.>
She squeezed her eyes shut.
<Pain as the bullet slammed her against
the driver's seat.>
Nonononononono!
<Beings in the light prodding at her.>
Her eyes flew open as bits of memory came
slamming back to her
with all the hardness and subtlety of a brick wall.
Kentucky, last March.
She and Doug were fleeing from the Arrowhead
Army base, and the
military had circled around to came at them from the front.
She'd been shot.
But then a white light had come.
When she and Doug came to at the base, there
had been no sign of
a gunshot wound.
Her hands were shaking.
What the hell had happened to her?
*************************************
Residence of Margaret Scully
Baltimore, Maryland
5:26 p.m.
Maggie hadn't taken the news well.
Skinner had broken it to her as gently as
possible but there was
no softening a blow like this.
"Mrs. Scully, we've got agents working
this who asked to be put
on it. They're driven to find Dana."
"But why? Why would someone do this?"
He didn't have an answer.
************************************
Offices of the Lone Gunmen
Washington, D.C.
5:41 p.m.
Langly jumped back form his workbench as the
fabric finally
caught fire.
"Extinguisher!" he called to Byers, trying
to beat the flames
out. "Extinguisher!"
Byers walked over, looked at the small flame,
glanced at his cup
of coffee, sighed and upended the beverage onto the fire. "There.
It's
out."
"I think you just drenched the microscope."
Langly grabbed a rag
and started mopping up the mess. "So much for space-age, fire
proof
fabric."
"Casual users don't usually soak their clothing
in kerosene,"
Byers said blandly.
Langly wrinkled his nose in disgust at the
smell. "Smells like
somthing died."
The door opened behind them.
"Frohike, what kept you -- " Langly
swung around. "Oh. Hey,
Shelton. Didn't know you were dropping by."
"We would have fumigated," Byers said archly.
Doug shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to
say.
"What? The director get drunk and pink
slip the staff?" Langly
cracked.
"No . . . no. I've got some . . . some
bad news." He took a
deep breath. "Frohike's in the hospital."
"What happened?" Byers asked.
"Someone shot him."
Langly ignored the mess. "Who?
A street shooting? What?"
"No. I found him in Dana's apartment."
"What about Agent Scully?" Byers looked alarmed.
"No one can find her."
"Was she there when Frohike got shot?"
"We think so, Langly."
"How is he?" the long haired man continued.
"He's in surgery. The bullet hit him
in the shoulder. It didn't
*seem* too bad. He's at Washington General under the name Evans."
"Do you need our help finding Scully?"
"If you've got any suggestions, Byers, I'd
love to hear them."
______________________________________
end part seven
From larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca Fri Sep 13 14:43:41 1996
Path:
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From: larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca (Jess Archibald)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: REP:CONSPIRACY 8/18
Date: 13 Sep 1996 19:43:41 GMT
Organization: University of British Columbia, Vancouver, B.C., Canada
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Message-ID: <51cdhd$7cq@nntp.ucs.ubc.ca>
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Note: This section has lots of terrible things happening to just
about
everyone. Take a deep breath before reading and then speed on
to the
next part before throwing things through cyberspace at me, okay?
disclaimer in part one
_______________________
T h e X - F i l e s
CONSPIRACY 8/?
by Jess Archibald
larchiba@unixg.ubc.ca
_______________________
BWI Airport
6:38 p.m.
For once his flight had landed on time and
Mulder nearly
sprinted from the gate, heading for the long term car park and his
vehicle.
On the plane he'd searched his mind for possible
suspects and he
kept coming back to one man. His photographic memory made
him relive
his confrontation with the man, well over a year ago, the sensation
of
his gun pointed at the man's head. He hadn't been able to pull
the trigger.
If he had would this still be happening?
Would his father be
dead, would Melissa have been murdered?
Would Frohike still be in the hospital?
And would Dana be gone again?
Mulder had thought he had freed himself of
the terror he had
lived with for three long months the first time she vanished.
But this
time the fear and pain was even more intense, the sense of loss even
deeper.
<She isn't dead,> he told himself fiercely
as he approached his
car. <Dana *isn't* dead. If she was we would have found
her body --
*he* would have wanted me to see it.>
Digging out his keys, he started to unlock
the door.
Last time he had been the only one committed
to keeping Dana's
case active. Missing federal agents were usually found at the
bottom of
a river -- if at all.
<Stop it.>
This time Bateman and Shelton -- hell, maybe
even Skinner -- were
there to help. He wasn't completely alone.
First order of business would be to find Shelton
and get an update.
"Mulder."
A voice behind him. Emotionless.
Familiar.
He spun, leaving the key in the lock to face
the man behind him
who was stepping closer, face emerging from shadows.
His face.
"What the hell -- "
Rapid footsteps behind him.
His double smiled. "How nice to finally
meet you."
Someone came at him from the side, something
hard slamming into
the side of his head, stars dragging him down into darkness.
*****************************
He watched Mulder crumple with satisfaction.
The expression on the man's face when he saw
him had almost been
worth a year of exile.
Almost.
The man who had wielded the blackjack stood
over the unconscious
federal agent, scanning for witnesses. Another man popped open
the
trunk of the ajoining car and between the three of them they managed
to
cram Mulder's lanky frame into the small enclosure.
He ran a hand through his hair, straightening
his tie.
"Remember, keep him here until I call you then dump him somewhere away
from here. Bateman should be here in a couple of hours.
When she comes
to get her car -- kill her."
Both men nodded.
He smiled.
Now he got to have fun.
************************************
Hoover Building
6:42 p.m.
Skinner answered the phone almost as soon
as it rang.
"Skinner."
"Sir, this is Agent Carlmicheals. Shelton
told me to check on
the prescriptions found at Scully's apartment."
"What did you find?"
"I spoke to her doctor. Now the antibiotic
is fine but the
painkillers aren't the ones originally prescribed. The ones she
got are
stronger than necessary. It looks like someone got a hold of
her medical
chart and changed it."
Skinner's grip on his pen tightened nearly
to the breaking
point. "Any idea who?"
"No, but I asked why someone would do it."
"And?"
"He didn't know -- until their labs checked
what was left in her
IV." Carlmicheals sounded pleased with himself. "We dug
around in their
waste disposal until we found it. Apparently what they extracted
for
testing wasn't contaminated -- "
"What did you find?" He put as much
power in the question as he
could.
"Someone slipped something else into the IV.
I can't pronounce
the exact name, but it acts like an alcohol derivitive."
"Are you saying they got Scully drunk?"
"No. You know that most painkillers
are not to be mixed with
booze? Well, that's what would have happened."
"How many pills had she taken?"
"Just one."
"What would the effect have been?"
"She would have gone out like a light."
"Could it kill her?"
"With one pill, the doc says it's doubtful."
"All right, good work, Carlmicheals.
I want you to start
interviewing the hospital staff. See if they noticed anyone suspicious
yesterday."
"Yes, sir."
Skinner hit the disconnect button.
Up until now it had been possible -- unlikely
as hell, but
*possible* -- that they had been dealing with a break in gone bad.
A
silenced gun wasn't exactly common in home robberies but it was
possible. But put that with someone tampering with Scully's records
and
IV and a whole new picture developed.
Phoning down to the computer division, he
got them to start
looking through Scully's old cases to see if someone had a grude against
her and the medical knowledge to pull this off.
More and more this was beginning to look like
an organized hit.
And Skinner had an idea about who was behind
it.
Placing a quick call to Shelton, he was out
of the office in five
minutes.
********************************************
Offices of the Lone Gunmen
7:18 p.m.
Langly was hacked into Washington General's
computer system,
scanning for information on Frohike. Byers was at another terminal,
checking incoming flights for Mulder's name and Bateman's. Shelton
had
gone to the hospital about an hour ago, but was now coming back in.
"Mulder's plane landed nearly forty minutes
ago," Byers reported
when he saw Shelton. "Bateman's is coming in Gate 17 in about
an hour at
BWI."
"Mulder's here? No one's heard from
him yet." Shelton was
looking frazzled. "Frohike's pulled through all right but he's
still
unconscious. I got a guard posted."
"Is that *necessary*?" Langly asked, looking
a little
disappointed that Shelton had beat him to the punch.
"I don't want to take any chances. Skinner
notified me that
someone gained access to Dana's medical chart *and* to her room."
"What?" Langly look surprised.
"Someone screwed with her IV and a prescription
she was issused.
Equivalent of slipping her a mickey." Shelton look angry.
"I was
*right* *there* last night . . . "
"Any idea who you're looking for?" Byers asked.
"Not yet. But we're working on it."
The door opened again and all three turned
in surprise.
"Mulder," Shelton said with relief.
"There you are. I've got
some more bad news."
"So do I." Mulder's gun was out.
"Whoa, Mulder," Langly said. "What are
you doing?"
"What does it look like? I have to thank
you, Shelton. I never
would have found these freaks so quickly."
Byers stepped away from his computer.
"You're not Mulder."
"No, I'm not. Thank God. But according
to fingerprint,
eyewitnesses, and DNA evidence left here, I am." He smiled, a
deadly
little look.
Shelton had used Byers' move to ease his gun
out. He knew, he
*had* to know that doing so would draw the first shots at him and he
shifted enough that Langly was screened from the double's view.
Byers kept talking. "So you kill us
and frame Mulder for it? No
one's going to buy that. People know about you."
"Just you three, Skinner, Frohike and Scully."
The smile grew
deeper. "Skinner will be dealt with, Frohike's already
out of comission
and Scully -- well, we won't worry about her right now."
"You've got her," Shelton broke in angrily.
"You son of a bitch."
"Shut up, Shelton," he sneered. "Did
I mention that your
partner's also on our little list. You know what happened to
Scully, or
rather no one *really* knows, not even her. Well, I think Bateman
will
make a suitable candidate for the same process."
Langly started to warn Shelton that the double
was trying to taunt
him but it was too late.
Shelton swung his weapn up. "Drop your
gun."
The double laughed. "Go ahead and shoot."
he swung his arm and
fired his gun at Byers, Shelton's shot coming a second too late to
stop him.
Langly dropped into a crouch as Byers was
slammed against his
desk and fell hard to the floor. The shot had hit the right side
of his
chest and a surprised look crossed his face as blood blossomed from
the
tiny hole.
"Byers!"
The double grunted under the impact from the
bullet, the wound a
perfect heartshot that should have ended everying right there.
But the wound bled green vapour even as it
began to heal over to
leave just a tiny dent welling with a little bit of red blood.
Shelton was shocked, backing away as the vapour
spread through
the air, beginning to cough and choke. He fell onto his knees,
sucking
in deep breaths of air, which was a little clearer closer to the floor.
The mist was already beginning to thin out but the double was regaining
his balance and sense of purpose.
"Langly -- " Byers had to fight to get
the words free. "Go."
He managed a weak gesture towards the door.
Langly paused, eyes watering a little from
the vapour. If he
stayed, they'd all die. If he ran there was a chance still to
save
Skinner and Bateman.
Scrambling over to Shelton, he tried to pull
the larger man up,
but the federal agent shook his head, shoving his gun and cellular
into
the other man's hands.
"Go," he choked out.
Langly nodded, shoving to his feet and making
for the door. The
double grabbed for him but Shelton lunged, seizing his leg and knocking
him off balance long enough for Langly to get away.
Heading for the stairs, Langly heard another
shot behind him.
He was halfway down when he heard sounds of
pursuit above him.
Whirling, he raised Shelton's gun and fired
up into the
stairwell, hoping to slow his pursuer down.
Return fire hit the rail beside him and he
stumbled back, nearly
falling.
Erupting out onto the street, he tucked the
gun into the waist of
his jeans, under an oversized shirt and bolted for the van, keys already
out.
He already had the engine going when the double
came into view,
looking around for him.
Langly hunched down and hit the gas, acclerating
out of the
alley where the LG kept the van parked. He emerged from the alley
without hitting anything and sat up, peering in the rear view mirror
to
see the double picking himself up out of the garbage.
Taking out the cellular, he dialed 911 asking
for ambulance and
police services.
"Yeah, I'd like to report two shootings on
the fourth floor of
1823 Cuttler Avenue. One's a federal agent named Shelton.
There's also
a toxic exposure to be dealt with."
He hung up before he was asked any uncomfortable
questions,
tossing the phone on the dashboard.
He had to get to BWI before Bateman's plane
arrive.
***********************************
He stood in the alley, watching the van disappear
down the street.
For a minute he debated going back upstairs
to dump the gun and
cement the frame but his chest ached where Shelton had shot him.
The
rememberance of firing a bullet into the bastard brought some relief
to him.
Taylor had assured him that he could take
a bullet without
serious injury. The impact had shocked him, the green vapour
scaring him
briefly, but he had willed it closed and all that was left was the
surface layer of injury.
He heard sirens wailing in the distance, growing
closer.
There wasn't time to go back inside.
He needed to get back to Taylor.
***************************
BWI Airport
7:49 p.m.
The trunk of the car was cramped and musty.
The stale air was making his head hurt even
more and Mulder
fought the urge to throw up. That would only make the situation
worse.
He checked his watch, activating the luminescent
dial but only a
minute had passed.
He's seen his double before