ELS Chapter 16 By Dawson E. Rambo Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his copyrighted property, as well as the copyrighted property of 1013 productions and Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox. No infringement is intended. Posting Date : Archive Entry : "ELS" Chapter 16/? Classification : SRA MSR Chapter Rating : PG Story Rating : NC-17 (Violence, Sexual Situations) Missing Chapters: http://www.sonic.net/~drambo/els.htm Summary : The investigation continues as Mulder and Scully try and determine the underlying motivation for Dupree's wave of terror and decide what, if any, message to send with the discovery of the ELS secret. Spoilers : None, but US4 to be safe. Casting : Russell Crowe, "Mark Dupree" : Helen Hunt, "Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill" : Matthew Modine, "Detective Cross" : Garth Brooks, "Detective Hicks" : Danny Aiello, "Chief Zolinski" +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= New York Police Department One Police Plaza Major Cases Squad Mulder returned to the table and sat, crossing his arms and staring at the pictures taped to the wall. "Mulder," Scully protested, "I'm no math expert, but it's going to be nearly impossible to narrow down what text he's using. And without knowing the text, there's no way we could ever generate a...program, I guess, to randomly seek connections between the victims." Mulder nodded. "I know." He frowned, and Scully sighed. She knew that expression. He was going deep inside himself, so deep that it might be hours before he re-emerged. "I'll be outside," she said gently, hoping that her message got through. "Sure," Mulder nodded, and the odd, distant tone in his voice told Scully that message had been received, but probably not processed. She let herself out of the interrogation room and made her way back to the spare desk she'd been using when Frohike had explained the concept of the ELS to her. Well, one major clue obtained, Scully mused. A totally useless, absolutely frustrating clue, but a clue obtained. A clue obtained, she reminded herself, is one less unknown thing. And when the totality of what was known exceeded what was unknown, a solution was close at hand. Scully chuckled. That was true with a normal investigation, and true with a normal partner. From experience, Scully knew that Mulder could take the tiniest clues and build a working theory in a matter of minutes, a theory that more often than not led to the guilty party, although if Skinner's reactions to Mulder's investigative technique were any example, what Mulder did was not exactly "accepted" practice. But I knew that, Scully reminded herself. Ok, Scully thought, what do I think, what do I know, and what can I prove? We know that he's selecting federally protected witnesses. Which means that he has some kind of access, or has in the past, and that's how he generated his victim list. There's no other explanation for that; it's not like there was a Federally Protected Witness Annoymous meeting that these people had attended in the past. The entire point of the program was to make these people vanish into the woodwork. And due to the fact that the witnesses that were located in New York had all originated from other destinations ruled out that this man had come into contact with them randomly here in New York. The odds were so high they were beyond comprehension. So, since he was obviously picking his victims from some kind of list, what they needed was obvious. The master list of all protected witnesses from the US Marshals Service. There was no way around it. The killings would continue, barring any major mistake by the killer, until the NYPD, FBI and USMS were able to remove the victim pool from the killer's grasp. And the only way to do that was to warn them individually, because to go public with this information would do incalculable damage to the entire WITSEC program. Scully got up and wandered into Alex's office. "Meet Mulder yet?" she asked. Cahill looked up and shook her head. "No, I've been doing manpower reports and all other kinds of paperwork for the brass. I haven't had time." She sat back, cracking her knuckles. "So, has he solved it yet?" Scully shrugged. "We've figured one thing out," she said, a little proudly. "We kind of broke the code." Alex blinked. "Excuse me?" Quickly, Scully explained what an ELS was, and how it related to the code. "So," Alex said, getting it immediately, "If we find the text, we can crack the true meaning of the code." Scully nodded. "But..." "Right. Randomly choosing the correct text would be next to impossible." "Shit. I was hoping to catch a break on that." "We did," Scully pointed out. "We know now at least what he's doing, if not exactly then at least generally." "Is there any way we can use this information to...slow this asshole down?" Scully sat and considered this. "Maybe," she said. "We might be able to show the killer that we broke the general concept of the code without actually giving the fact away that we don't know the source text. It might buy us a few days, maybe a week." "I'm listening," Alex said, making a come-on gesture with her hand and leaning forward. "If we place an ad in the paper with a fake ELS code, it might make the killer spend days searching for the meaning." Alex sat back. "But when he figures out that we're...playing him, it might set him off." Scully shook her head. "Serial killers don't work that way. At least, the normal ones don't. The urge to kill will be growing inside him even as you and I speak. If we can divert attention from that urge for a few days, we will have gained something." "What?" "Assume he's on a schedule of some kind," Scully said, thinking aloud. "If we can divert him from that schedule, and assuming that we will catch him no matter what happens, we might save a life or two because of the time he spends trying to break our code. It's a small satisfaction, but it's possible." Alex took a breath. "That's a hard sell, Dana." Scully nodded. "I'm aware of that." "Or..." Alex said, trailing off. Her eyes slid to the window, a faraway look on her face. "Or...we could create our own code. Pick a text of our own and challenge this bastard to solve it." Scully thought about this. "I think we should ask Mulder. He's the expert," she hedged. Alex stood up. "Well, looks like it's time to meet the master." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Interrogation Room "C" Alex pushed the door open to find Fox Mulder an inch away from the wall, staring at one of the notes with the intensity of a laser cutting through steel. He didn't notice her entrance. Alex cleared her throat. Mulder didn't move. Scully made a small noise in her throat, and Mulder's head snapped around. Alex glanced at her friend and then back at Mulder. Interesting, she thought. "Scully?" Mulder asked, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Mulder, this is Captain...excuse me, Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill, our....host." Alex held out her hand. "Just wanted to thank you for your help." Mulder stared at her hand as if it were covered in mucus, and then blinked, reaching out to shake it. "Sorry," he said. "I'm kind of concentrating here." "We won't bother you for very long," Alex said, "But your partner and I had an idea about this ELS thing." Mulder glanced back at the note and then shook his head, clearing it. Taking a few steps back from the wall, he rotated his head a few times, cracking his neck. "OK, I'm listening." Alex explained her idea. Mulder nodded. "Sounds good. Only problem is, what text to select, and more importantly, what message to send? The killer will read a lot into what we decide, so we have to be extremely careful. And we can't make it too easy...or too hard." "It's like a...dance," Alex said. Mulder nodded. "Very much so, Inspector-" "Alex, please." Mulder nodded. "OK, Alex, then." Alex circled the room, arms crossed. "Should be a historical text, without being religious. Bible is out, Koran, Torah, all that. Classic literature?" She paused. "Fox, what do you think about-" Alex turned to find the two FBI agents sharing a secret, amused glance. "What?" Alex asked. Mulder coughed and managed to have the good grace to look embarrassed. "Uh...No one calls me Fox," he said. "Not even your mother?" "Uh...yeah. But-" "And my mother," Scully interjected. Mulder shot her a glance. "Yes, your mother and my mother. But that's it." "Skinner-" "Scully!" "Sorry." "Whatever," Alex said. "You want to be called Mulder, I'll understand. Can we continue please?" "Sure. What was your idea?" "A novel. Moby Dick or something-" Alex noticed the shared grin again. "Ok, I give up. What the hell is so funny?" "Moby Dick was Scully's father's favorite book," Mulder explained, "and my partner on occassion has intimated that I bear a striking resemblence to Ahab, in that I tend to get obsessed with my quests, to the point where the quest takes control over my life." Alex bit the inside of her lip. She'd seen partners that were close before, but this was amazing. "I see. Well, then, perhaps Moby Dick is a good choice, then?" Mulder shook his head. "No. I think this guy is using a computer, a very powerful computer, to do his...codes. Moby Dick is available online, so it would be a simple matter for him to download it and run his software against it. We need something classic, but obscure." "I've got it," Scully said, snapping her fingers. Cahill and Mulder turned to face her. "The Man in the Iron Mask," Scully said, grinning. Mulder gaped at her. "Perfect, Scully." "I don't get it-" Cahill started. "Think about it," Scully said, and then realized that Cahill didn't know Mulder half as well as she did. Hell, not a third as well. A tenth. Thousandth? "The basic story is about twins, right? One twin is King, the other is kept in the catacombs or whatever, away from public site, shunned. Like the killer. But they're blood relatives, right? Two halves of the same whole." Scully paused, not wanting to hurt her partner's feelings. "Mulder...do you mind if I-?" He nodded. "She has a right to know." Scully took a deep breath. "My partner," she said slowly, gently, "had a rather...interesting childhood. When he originally joined ISU about ten years ago, it was remarked that he was the FBI's pet sociopath. He has a lot of the same traits that serial killers do, only without the violent fantasies that are a precursor to...acting out." Alex's eyes widened at this admission. "That's why he's so good at this," Scully explained, begging with her eyes for Alex to understand. "I see," Cahill remarked, studying Mulder with new eyes. "So," Mulder said, "the point Scully was trying to make is that if the killer does solve the code, it will send a very specific message." "And what message would that be?" Alex asked. Mulder turned and walked to the blackboard, tracing a finger over one of the crime-scene photographs. "That I'm gunning for him, and I'm going to get his ass." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Back in Alex's office, she turned to face her friend. "You have a very...interesting partner," she remarked dryly. Scully bit her lip. "Yes. Yes, he is." "But he's stable, right?" "He's an effective agent," Scully hedged. "You didn't answer my question," Alex pointed out. Scully shrugged. "You were in the Bureau, Alex. You know what these ISU types are like." "How did you get partnered with him, anyway? I figured you for White Collar Crimes or something like that. Never ISU." Scully sighed. "Alex, we're only on temporary assignment with ISU. Our normal duties are...on hold." Alex waited, her expression questioning. "Our normal duty assignment is...classified," Scully finally said. "What did you mean when you said that your partner has a lot of the same traits as serial killers?" Scully took a seat, thinking about her answer. "He doesn't see people as objects, and he doesn't have the typical sociopathic triad that we see again and again, the bedwetting, arson and animal torture. But he understands the rage, the damaged soul within these monsters, because his soul is similarly...wounded." "Rough childhood?" Scully nodded. "That's one way to put it." "But he's stable?" "He can be...volatile at times. Focused. Single-minded. But he's also brilliant and dedicated and probably the best damn agent I've ever seen." Alex nodded, accepting this. "Fine. You are in charge of keeping him in line." Scully grinned. Mulder entered the office. "Scully," he said, ignoring Alex. "Is there such a thing as a largest number?" Scully started. "What?" "Remember grammar school? Think of the largest number you can and add one to it, and that's the new largest number, and it goes on for infinity, right?" Scully nodded. "But what if..." Mulder scratched his head. "What if that's not true?" Alex sat back, fascinated, watching this little drama unfold before her. "What do you mean, Mulder? Infinity is infinity." "Yeah...I mean, I know about infinity. .9999 out to infinity is equal to one, I know all that." "Excuse me?" Alex asked. "Did you just say what I thought you just said?" Mulder nodded. "Yes...they are equal." "That's impossible!" Alex objected. Mulder sighed, frustrated at having to explain something so obvious. To him, anyway. "Ok...you have to accept the true meaning of infinity for the equation to work. Take one point zero zero zero out to infinity, right? Now take point nine nine nine out to infinity and subtract them. You start borrowing right away, and the result will be zero zero zero out to infinity, and since subtraction is the mathematical representation of the difference between two numbers, the difference between point nine nine nine out to infinity and one will be zero out to infinity, the difference between them is zero, and thus they are equal." Alex frowned, trying to wrap her brain around it. Mulder groaned and walked to a white greaseboard mounted on the wall of Alex's office. He grabbed an eraser and pointed at the board. "May I?" he asked. "Sure," Alex nodded, folding her hands in her lap. Mulder erased the bottom half of the board, grabbed a marker and began writing: 1.000000000~ - .999999999~ ---------------- "Got it so far?" he asked. Alex nodded. "Ok," he said. "Watch:" 0.999999999~ xxxxxxxxxxx~ - .999999999~ ---------------- 0.0000000000~ "I get it," Alex said. "But what does that have to do with your largest number question?" "Ok..." Mulder said, erasing the board. "Let's first define our terms. I'm not talking about a largest , because you can use one times infinity squared or something like that. But numbers... what do we use numbers for?" "To count," Alex suggested. "Right!" Mulder said, pointing at her. "To quantify. So, if we could count the one thing that there is the most of in the Universe..." "Mulder," Scully said, "the universe is infinite." "We think," Mulder said. "We don't know, and we can't prove. Everything has physical limits, Scully. The Earth is only so large, the oceans only have so many gallons of water, right? So, assume that the universe has a physical limit. It just...stops at some point. That means that the contents of the Universe are finite, right?" "If...sure." "Ok...so if we could somehow count the most prolific thing in the Universe...say protons or hydrogen atoms or whatever...whatever the totality of that existence is would be the largest number, right?" Scully nodded. "Right." "So...anything larger than that would be...irrational." Scully rubbed her chin. "I suppose so." "Ok, now, let's assume that the universe is infinite," he said. "But...there's absolute infinity, like this point nine zero thing, and relative infinity." "Relative infinity?" "Ok, since we don't have the ability to explore the entire span of the universe, the actual, physical universe, assume we somehow were able to calculate how long until mankind dies out. Say, two billion years, to pick a round number, right? If we could send a spaceship out in every possible direction, which is a finite number, for two billion years, to map the universe, and at the end of that two billion years, they had sensors that could look, oh, two light years away, that totality of information, of mapping, would be the universe to us, right?" "Sure, the limits of experience," Scully said. "Ok...then whatever the most prolific thing in that subset of the universe was would be the highest number possible to us." Scully nodded. "This is all very fascinating, Mulder, but what does it have to do with-" "There's only eleven million people in the City," Mulder explained. "Of those, we can eliminate a ton of people as potential victims. In other words, for the purposes of this investigation, those eleven million people are his universe. And our universe, as far as this investigation goes. We can eliminate the 38,000 officers of the NYPD right off the bat; none of them are protected witnesses. Anyone with more than ten years of credit history, or a verifiable paper trail, we can eliminate them, too. We keep cutting away until we have a manageable subset. A...mini-universe!" Alex shook her head. "Mulder, the manpower required to do that would be...astronomical. It would take all 38,000 of those officers ten thousand years to eliminate eleven million people!" "Really?" Mulder asked. "Or is it just that the numbers seem so daunting on the surface that we're afraid to try?" "Drake's equation," Scully said. "Right!" Mulder replied, snapping his fingers at her. "Perfect analogy!" "Drake's what?" Alex asked. Scully blushed. "It's an equation that seeks to prove that there has to be intelligent life in the stars...somewhere." "How?" "Ok...since there are an infinite number of stars in the Universe, there is an equally infinite number of planets orbiting those stars; of those infinite number of planets, an equally infinite number are capable of sustaining life as we know it, which means by logical assumption, that there is some kind of life on an infinite number of planets, and therefore, an infinite number of planets where life has evolved." "But you just said that the universe is...relatively finite, right?" "Exactly!" Mulder said. "Which means that the victim pool for our killer is also finite. We just have to define his universe." "Never thought I'd use theoretical astrophysics and exobiology in a murder investigation," Scully muttered. "Whatever works," Mulder said. "Wouldn't it just be easier to get the Marshals to give us a list of the witnesses in New York?" Alex asked. Mulder nodded. "But the chances of that happening are pretty slim." "What about...?" Scully asked, letting her voice trail off. Mulder got it instantly. "We can't offer...protection," he said cryptically, glancing at Alex. "If...anything happens, we'd be unable to do anything about it." "Not if Skinner approved it," Scully pointed out. Mulder thought about it. "Skinner's technically not our boss." "But Littleton will do anything he says," Scully replied. "That's true," Mulder said, granting the point. "What the hell, the worst he can say is no." He glanced at Alex and then at Scully, asking a question with his eyes. Scully smiled at her partner. "I think if it helps solve this case, we can trust her." If Alex Cahill took offense at Scully's words, she didn't show it. "Trust me with what?" she asked. Mulder sighed. "We have some friends," he started. "We'll need some...money to get them up here, and a secure location for them to operate out of." "What kind of friends?" "Unofficial ones," Mulder said slowly. "They aren't FBI employees, but they have certain...skills." Alex glanced at Scully, an almost-bored expression on her face. "The ones in Baltimore?" Scully flinched. She'd forgotten. Either Cross or the officer who had taken the envelope to Federal Express must have talked. "FedEx," she said softly, nodding. "Very good." "Not much happens around here that I'm not made aware of," Alex said nonchalantly. "But...no matter. What are you going to have them-" She stopped. "No. No fucking way! The WITSEC Database?!" Mulder nodded. "If anyone can get into it, it's them." "It's a secure database!" Alex protested. "The machines are linked by dedicated, leased, concrete-hardened lines! There's no way to..." Scully and Mulder were grinning at each other. "Care to put your money where your mouth is?" Mulder asked. "Sure," Alex said. "I'll even pry...what two?...plane tickets from Zolinski." "Three," Dana corrected. "Ok, three. We have a suite at the-" "No, private house. Townhouse or apartment or something. Nothing in a hotel. These guys are going to need room to spread out. And..." He glanced at his partner. "They're slobs," Scully said. "Well," Alex said, lifting the phone, "they are men." She dialed and waited. "Inspector Cahill. I need about ten minutes with the boss. Right." Pause. "On my way." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Chief of Detectives Office "You want WHAT?" "Three plane tickets and a townhouse for a week," Alex repeated. "So three...non-police officers, non-FBI agents, three...CIVILIANS can hack into the WITSEC computer?" Alex nodded, an amused grin teasing the corner of her mouth. "Are you insane? Are you ON DRUGS?!" "Not to my knowledge," Alex said. "Explain this to me again," Zolinski replied, standing and pacing behind his desk. "Again, best of both worlds, boss. This is how it works. The FBI calls these folks in, and offers them protection against prosecution if the Marshals get wind of this. We get the list, and get to be heroes if we solve this thing, but if it blows up in our face, we point the finger at the FBI and walk away clean. All we need to do is come up with three plane tickets and a townhouse for a week, maybe two." "TWO?" Zolinski roared. "OK, a month," Alex conceded. "But think of it this way, boss. If this does get out, and we all come up smelling like roses, you'll be the CofD that managed to beat the feds at their own game!" "What's the downside again?" he moaned. "None. If this goes to shit, can you really see the FBI standing in front of the press and pointing fingers? Remember their PR machine: The FBI doesn't make mistakes." Zolinski nodded. It was true. The FBI never made mistakes. They miscalculated. They overestimated. But they never made mistakes. Hoover was alive and well and living in the fourth-floor offices of the FBI Public Information Office. "Fine. I'll call accounting. We'll hide this in the AntiCrime funds." "Hide is such an ugly word, Chief," Alex said, grinning as she stood. "But thanks." "Don't make me look like an asshole, Alex." "I won't." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Office of Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill "He went for it," Alex announced as she re-entered the office. "Great," Mulder said, grimacing. "All we have to do now is talk our three friends into this little...project." Alex stood, one hand on the doorknob, regarding the lanky FBI agent with storm-colored eyes. "Excuse me?" "Oh, did I forget to mention that they have a problem with authority?" "Yes. Yes, you did." "Mulder," Scully said, smiling, "just tell them you're going to swear them in as junior G-men, and they'll come running." "Yeah," Mulder nodded. "You're right. I'll call them now and see how much I'm going to have to give up to get them to come." He reached for his cell and hit SPD 02. "Lone Gunmen." Byers. Mulder breathed a sigh of relief. Byers was the most rational of the three. "John, it's Mulder." Pause. "Why do I have a feeling I'm not going to like the next words to come out of your mouth? Oh, wait! I know...because you called me John. What's up, Mulder?" Mulder swore silently. He's on to me, he thought. "Need a little help." "We are at your disposal, as always-" "Here." Pause. "In New York?" "That's correct." "What _kind_ of help?" "We need you to...take a look at something." "Anything in particular?" "A database. A very, very secure database," Mulder said. "I assume that you don't want to go into this on an open line?" "You assume correctly." "How long?" "As long as it takes. We have a safehouse-" "No. You know you're the only fed we trust." "NYPD, John. They're giving us the safehouse. Scully and I are the only two feds involved." Pause. "All three of us?" "Yes." Another pause and then a deep sigh. "I'll call you back. I have to discuss this with my two...associates." "You do that, John. Oh...we've got the place for a month. All expenses paid." Alex made a cutting motion across her throat. Mulder waved her away. "I'll see what I can do. I'm not promising...a month?" "That's right." "ALL expenses paid?" "Yeah, and the chance to pull off the hack of the century." "I'll call you back." Mulder hit END and turned to Cahill. "What?!" "I said nothing about expenses!" Alex flared. Mulder frowned and dialed again without looking. "Skinner." "Sir, it's Mulder. I have some...outside consultants coming in on this New York case. The NYPD has arranged transportation and a safehouse." "What do you need from me?" "Expense money for three people for a month. Food, laundry, the basics." "Done," Skinner said without pause. Mulder blinked, pulled the phone away from his ear and checked the number in the LCD readout. It was Skinner's number. "Mulder?" "Sorry, sir, I just expected a harder sell." "Mulder...your statistics speak for themselves. Regardless of what I feel about your investigative...techniques, no one can argue that you get the job done when you're profiling. Within reason, I doubt there is anything that anyone at the Bureau would deny you." Pause. "Is there anything else, Mulder?" "No, sir. Thank you." Mulder hung up and turned to Cahill. "Expenses are taken care of." "Just like that?" Scully asked. Mulder shrugged. "Skinner didn't even blink." "Ok," Alex said. "Now that we've handled the WITSEC problem, what about the message?" "First of all," Mulder said, "We haven't begun to "handle" the WITSEC problem. We have to assume two things. First, that we will get the list. Second, that we won't." "What?" Alex asked. "We need to plan for both contingencies. If we get it, we're going to need a huge amount of manpower, and good people, too. We can't tip off the Marshals that we have the list and we're warning the witnesses. This has to be handled with kid gloves. How many First Grades can you pull for this duty?" Alex thought a moment. "Sixteen on day tour, eight on fours, and four on midnights. Twenty eight from my squad alone." Mulder shook his head. "We'll need twice that, for sure." Alex sat down, pulling on her bottom lip. "I command all the borough Major Case Squads, but...the Lieutenants and Captains that command those units at the local level all hate me. They all wanted this job." "Who else can you pull?" Alex nodded, holding up a hand. "I'm thinking...Gimmie a second." She stood and walked to the window, staring out, hands on hips. "I know about thirty Second Grades I can pull from ESU on an overtime basis. They're the best of the best as far as being a street cop goes. The Inspector that commands the Special Victims Squad owes me like twenty huge favors; I can pull all of those First Grades, about twenty, on an overtime basis. I'd prefer the SVS people because they're used to dealing with the dicey stuff. Rape, incest, child abuse, like that. They're used to treading softly." Mulder nodded. "Ok, you need to draw up a plan and get ahold of the COs of those units to be able to draw those people at a moment's notice. We also need to make plans if we don't get the list. And that includes putting the message in the paper, and gearing up for another victim run." "A what?" Scully asked. Mulder turned to her. "When this asshole figures out that we've warned all his potential victims, he's likely to switch victim types." Scully shook her head. "I thought serial killers were... driven, obsessed on a specific type of victim." Mulder shook his head. "No, not in this case. I really don't think this guy is the typical sociopathic serial killer. I think he's a functioning psychotic with a barely controlled homicidal rage that's focused in a direction that looks like a serial killer. I mean, he is a serial killer in the sense that his victims are not picked at random and that he is acting out a psychosexual fantasy with them...but I think it's psychotic not sociopathic. Which means that he can convince himself that another victim type is acceptable. Which is dangerous." "What makes you say that?" Alex wondered. "Look at the victims. Two genders, which is rare but not that rare, and three races. That is very rare. So we've identified that his victim `type' is protected witnesses. Of all the ones that he's killed so far, they've all been former criminals or people associated in some way with criminals. We really haven't had a true "witness" yet, someone who's in the program because they saw something they shouldn't have. "So, if we remove his victim pool, protected witnesses, he's probably going to go after other...transgressors. People that have broken whatever moral code this guy has. We might see a run against vagrants, prostitutes, streetcorner dealers, that kind of thing." Alex held up a hand. "What you just said is not to leave this room under any circumstances. Is that clear?" She shuddered, thinking about what would happen if the press caught wind of what Mulder was suggesting. Scully nodded and after a moment, Mulder followed suit. "No problem." "I'm still confused about all that finite number stuff," Alex admitted. Mulder rubbed his brow, trying to find a way to quantify huge numbers for her, some way that she would understand. "Ok, let me ask you a question. How many possible songs can be written?" Alex sat down, crossing her legs. "My first reaction is an infinite number, but of course that's wrong. I just don't understand why." "First, we have to define our terms. Let's say, instead of `songs,' we'll use the general term `musical pieces,' which include instrumental, classical pieces. Ok so far?" Alex nodded. "Ok, now, assume a time limit, say ten minutes max. Most songs aren't much longer than that, right?" "But a lot of classical pieces are," Alex pointed out. "Sure, but go with me. In a minute you'll understand." Alex nodded. "OK. Now, third assumption, that you are using the standard set of musical instruments. No banging on steel pots or anything like that, right?" Alex nodded again. "Do the math," Mulder explained. "There are only so many notes that the human ear can hear. There are only so many notes that a given instrument can play. With a time limit, there are only a certain number of combinations of notes and instruments that can be composed. Therefore, the number of possible musical pieces that can be written is finite." Alex blinked. "It's a huge number," Scully expanded, "but Mulder's right. It's finite." She paused, and decided to go for the last twist. "And you want to know the really weird thing?" "What?" "If you take away one of his conditions, the number of possible pieces gets smaller." Alex cupped her forehead in her palm and leaned on the desk. "Which condition?" "Time. If you say that the amount of time that the piece can last isn't limited to any length of time, that the possible length is infinite, then the number of pieces that can be written gets smaller with each passing second." Mulder nodded at Scully, admiring her logic. "Let me get this straight," Alex said, holding up a hand. "If you say that the possible length is infinite, that shrinks the number of pieces that can be written?" "Sure," Mulder said as Scully nodded. "How?" Alex asked, squinting. "Because the amount of time left in the Universe shortens with each passing second. At some point, time will end. So, the possible number of-" "Got it," Alex said, waving her hand. "I understand now. I still don't quite see how that applies to this case, but-" "Sure you do," Mulder said, smiling. "Think it through. Use the music analogy." Alex thought about it and shook her head. "I have no idea." "Remember, limited time, instruments and notes, finite combinations of those three factors, right?" She nodded. "Will every possible combination fit anyone's definition of `music?'" Mulder asked. "God, no. Probably only a tiny percent..." she trailed off. "Which is the same statistical problem we're facing. There's only a tiny percent of people in the city that will fit this asshole's needs. And we can eliminate huge chunks of the populace because they're not..." "Musical," Mulder said with a flourish. "You people," Alex said, shaking her head, "are amazing. I never thought I'd use higher math to solve a damn murder case." "So," Scully interjected, "now that Calculus class is over, what message do we send?" Mulder spun on his heel and left. "I'll work on it," he said over his shoulder, heading back to the interrogation room. "Is he always like that?" Alex asked, pointing at Mulder's retreating form. Scully sighed. "Sometimes. Sometimes he can be really... wonderful." Alex tried to hide her surprised expression and for the most part succeeded. Scully only noticed a pair of slightly raised eyebrows and an amused tightening of her friend's mouth. "That came out wrong," Scully said, hurrying to explain. Alex held both hands up. "Hey, what goes on between you and your partner is none of my-" "Alex," Scully said, a strange quality in her voice. "Have..." "I ever gotten involved with a partner?" Alex asked. Scully nodded. Cahill shook her head. "No. But...I thought about it once or twice. Why...something brewing I need to know about?" Scully shrugged. "Maybe. He's...complicated." "And you're not?" Alex asked. Scully drew back, startled. She'd never even considered that. "I...I am?" Alex nodded. "Oh, hell, yes, Dana. You're one of the most complicated people I've ever met in my life." "How so?" Scully was genuinely curious. She'd never asked another person how they saw her. Alex sighed, gathering her thoughts. "You're so intelligent, so obviously smart that it puts a lot of men off. Not very many men are comfortable with extremely intelligent women. Not that that seems to be a problem with Mulder. He seems very...comfortable with you, both as a partner and as a woman." "As a woman?" "Oh, c'mon, Dana. You know how he stands in your space, how he touches you when he talks to you. He's aware of you as a female, I can tell you that much." "Ok...I guess." Scully was aware of his closeness and his touches. It was one of the things she cherished about him. She had just never realized that other people had noticed it. "You're beautiful," Alex continued, "and coupled with your brains ....that's a deadly combination. One-two punch, as it were." Scully nodded, reluctantly accepting Alex's compliment on her looks. "What else?" "Well...you're rigid," Alex said. "But in a really great way." "What does that mean?" "It means that you know who you are and who you want to be, and you're not haunted by most of the doubts that most women are. At least, you don't appear to be." "Like what?" "Body obsession, the fact that you're single at your age, the fact that your career has to be off-putting to most men, all that stuff that the ladies' magazines tell us means we have to make a choice: A career or a husband, marriage and family. You seem to be comfortable with who you are, and your attitude comes off as...well, if the other people in your life aren't comfortable with who you are, then that's their problem. That's...wonderful, but not all that common for a woman." Alex paused and then added, "At least, not as common as it should be." Scully grinned. "Thanks, Alex. You've given me a lot to think about." "You're welcome. So...what is Mulder doing?" "I have no idea," Scully admitted. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Interrogation Room "C" On the hunt, prowling. Mulder paced the small room, his arms folded across his chest, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened and lowered. Every flat surface at eye level was covered with something: Crime scene photographs, autopsy pictures, mugshots, something. Mulder closed his eyes, going deep. Looking for the rage. He searched inside himself for that place he kept hidden from everyone: From his mother, from Skinner, from Scully. Even from himself. It was too dangerous to go there most of the time, but he needed it now. Needed it bad. Classic profiling technique taught the profiler to distance himself from the rage, the pain, the blood and the death. Only through academic deconstruction could a correct and proper resolution be arrived at. That was good as far as it went, Mulder knew. That gave a nice vague, general profile. A profile that was good enough, most of the time. Good enough to narrow a suspect list, to shed light on an investigative direction that the police might not have considered. But if you wanted to really narrow it down, Mulder knew, you had to go there. Where the killer lived. A gift and a curse. A blessing and an oath. Mulder took a deep breath and began circling the room, his eyes flicking from image to image, trying to find that place inside him, that evil center where death lived. He had killed before. He had even taken pleasure in it once or twice. Roche; he'd enjoyed killing that bastard. He'd never admit to anyone, not even Scully, but for a brief instant after the small .32 had bucked in his hand, Mulder had felt almost overwhelming joy and satisfaction. He'd felt a release of sorts. Modell. He hadn't killed Modell, but he'd come close. Mulder stopped in the middle of the room, leaning against the table, closing his eyes, remembering. Standing over the slumped body, pulling the trigger again and again, furious that the revolver was empty. Killing rage. Mulder opened his eyes and stared at the wide-angle establishing shot of the Leon King homicide. The victim, face up on the floor, his face dissolved by the multiple gunshots. Mulder translated in his head, that unique gift that set him apart, and approached the picture, seeing not Leon King but Roche, seeing the child rapist and murderer in that photograph. Mulder found his rage. He gritted his teeth, his jaw aching from the pressure. His eyes flicked to the next image, a mug shot of John Nelson. Another child molester. Never proven, but suspected. Collector of digitally reproduced horror, selling children's souls by modem to anyone that passed his twisted version of a background check. "Baby-raper," he whispered, eyes boring into the image. His eyes dropped to the crime-scene photo just beneath it, the blood brown, almost black. The deep incision in the man's chest and abdomen. The way he'd been opened, as if letting something out. He moved to the next one. Montoya. The mugshot showed a stupid face, tiny, beady eyes staring into the camera, devoid of emotion, dead. Small-time mobster. Extortion, running prostitutes, pushing junk. Dealing a drug just as addictive as Leon King's: Hope. The crime scene photo was gruesome: Eyes cut out, two bloody sockets where they had been, throat slid from ear to ear, the front of his body bathed in his own vital fluids. A pair of binoculars at his feet. The evisceration, again, throat to pubis, two fat, grey loops of intestine hanging in his lap. Beneath that photo, a Xerox of the note left at the scene. Finally, for now at least, Danielle Jones. Her mugshot was one of several with her name on it. In this one she looked much like Montoya, with dead eyes and a disinterested sneer plastered on her face. Mulder could almost hear her voice. "I've seen worse, copper," her face seemed to be saying. Beneath that, her body, sprawled on the grass in Central Park, opened from stem to stern like some odd baked potato, the insides tossed as if waiting for a pat of butter or a dollop of sour cream. The edge of her liver, lifted free of the abdominal cavity. Mulder walked away, circling the room again, coming to the blackboard again, opening his eyes, looking for it. There. The tickle of arousal. He felt it, felt the rush as he remembered killing these four people. "Pusher," he said to King. "Dealer. Poison your own people for money." "Baby-raper," he whispered to Nelson. "Bully," he whispered to Montoya. "Whore," he finally said to Jones. "Slut." She was. Mulder felt it, felt the disgust welling up inside him as he looked at the four faces. Animals. Less than human. Didn't deserve to live, any of them. Better off dead, wasting away in an unmarked grave in Potter's Field. They were all whores, he knew. He tapped King's mugshot. "Whore. You sell yourself, your identity is drugs. You sell the sex of the high, the ten-dollar mindfuck." Nelson. "Whore. You sell children for sexual pleasure. You sell soulessness for fifty bucks a Polaroid." Montoya. "Whore. You sell other's bodies. Prostitutes. You sell hope. Whore." And finally, again, Danielle Jones, the one that lived with the label of whore and slut and yet, was perhaps the most honest of them all. "Slut," he whispered, tapping her image. "Sell your body for money. Sell love. Die, you whore." Mulder stepped back, breathing deeply. Ashamed that it had been so easy to arrive in this place. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "So," Alex said, "what message do you think we should send?" "That's Mulder's thing," Scully pointed out. "But I'll go ask him." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Mulder was standing in front of the crime scene photographs taped to the blackboard, a sheaf of them in his hands, flipping through them, a bloody slide-show. "Yeah," he whispered, licking his lips. "Oh, Yeah, look at that," he said, staring at a particularly gruesome closeup of Danielle Jones' intestines. The door opened. "Mulder," Scully started. "Get out," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. Scully froze. She had never heard that tone from him before. Her eyes took in the room with a single glance. He was standing near the blackboard, holding a stack of color photographs, peering at them like...like... Oh my God, Scully thought, gasping quietly. He's looking at those like a man with a Playboy, she thought, and felt her bile rising. "Mulder?" she asked, scared. He turned on her, his eyes blazing. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, SCULLY!" he screamed, throwing the pictures at her. They fluttered in the air, settling lazily to the ground, birds with their wings clipped. Scully shut the door quickly, stepping back into the hall and turning to find Alex Cahill standing six feet away. "What was that?" she asked. "N-nothing," Scully said, moving to walk past her. Alex put a hand on her arm. "Dana?" "Just drop it, Alex. He's...in a bad place now." "That much is evident, but that's not any excuse to-" "Alex!" Scully snapped. "What?" Scully felt her eyes narrowing, and knew at that moment what went through a mother bear's mind when she was defending her cubs. "Do you want to catch this bastard or not?" Alex sniffed. "I won't even respond to that, Dana." "Then let Mulder do his job," Scully said, biting off each word cleanly. "Why do you put up with this?" Alex asked. Scully gritted her teeth but didn't answer. "He's...dysfunctional," Alex said, pointing at the closed door to Interrogation Room "C." "No, he's not," Scully said, knowing how lame the words sounded. "Yes," Alex insisted, "he is." She tilted her head, regarding her friend slowly. "And so are you," Alex said slowly. "You encourage him." "I do nothing of the sort!" Scully said. "Yes, you do. By doing nothing. By letting him get away with this. You're part of it. Part of him when he's like this way." Alex paused, trying to find the words to make her friend understand. "It's like you don't understand who you are unless he's like this." "That's absurd," Scully said, turning and all but fleeing down the hall, away from Alex. Away from the truth. +=+=+=+=+=+=+= Mark Dupree glanced at his watch. Two hours before the noon broadcasts of the six New York television stations. Perfect. He dialed the number for the local ABC affiliate. He'd chosen them because he liked the look of their noon news anchor. She had a slight overbite, and it made Dupree think of something, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. "News desk," a voice answered. Dupree spoke quickly, comfortable in the knowledge that the electronic voice distortion equipment he'd attached to his phone would defeat any future attempt at voice analysis should this call be taped. "Do you have Internet access?" he asked. "Yes," the voice answered warily. "What's this about?" "The police are lying to you," Dupree said. "Check the Internet. Go to the newsgroups. MrKnife posted his latest masterpiece. Enjoy it." Dupree gave the voice the name of the newsgroup and then hung up. +=+=+=+=+=+=+= Two Hours Later "This...is EYEWitness News," the voice said. "Leading our top stories today, the serial killer that calls themselves Mister Knife has apparently posted pictures of his latest murder on the Internet. Eyewitness news received a call just over two hours ago from an unnamed source, telling us where to find the images. Before we continue, we want to warn you that some of these images are graphic. Storm Field has the story. Storm?" Dupree smiled in the darkness of his basement. Six hours until the national newscast. Six hours until fame. +=+=+=+=+=+=+= END CHAPTER 16