ELS Chapter 17 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 : January 13, 1998 Archive Entry : "ELS" Chapter 17/? Classification : SRA MSR Chapter Rating : PG Story Rating : PG-13 Missing Chapters: http://www.sonic.net/~drambo/els.htm Spoilers : Unusual Suspects, Herrenvolk Casting : Russell Crowe, "Mark Dupree" Helen Hunt, "Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill" Joan Chen, "Casey Tan." Nathan Lane, "Don Peters." Chaz Palmentari, "Tim Everett" Curtis Armstrong, "Ted M." Enjoy! +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Interrogation Room "C" Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill stood in the hallway facing the door to Interrogation Room "C." She could hear Special Agent Mulder thrashing around inside. She could make out the occasional word or phrase. When she heard "whore" for the third time, Alex pushed the door open without knocking and entered. Mulder was squatting in one corner, several photographs spread on the floor in front of him. He looked up at Alex, wild-eyed. "Whores," he said simply. "They're all whores." Without knowing exactly why, Alex realized that Mulder was on some sort of edge. He was cupping his knees, rocking slowly, his gaze flicking back and forth from the pictures to Alex's face. "Who are?" "Them," Mulder said, pointing. Advancing slowly, Alex saw that Mulder had eight sets of mugshots spread out, two each for every victim. "Why are they whores, Mulder?" she asked. He shook his head, shrugged, and shook his head again. "Whores," he repeated. Alex moved a little closer, taking care not to make any sudden moves. "You said that already. Why are they whores, Mulder?" "They sell...themselves," he said slowly. "They sell death and sadness. Souls. They sell souls." Alex cocked her head to the side. "Why are you looking at the mugshots, Mulder?" He twitched, and then seemed to come out of himself. He glanced around the room, realizing where he was. Looking at Alex he stood, taking a moment to brush his knees off. He blinked. "Sorry," he mumbled. "This is the...side of what I do that isn't always pretty." "You can say that again," Alex said. "Are you aware you screamed at your partner?" "Scully?" Mulder asked, confusion written on his face. Alex nodded. "Ah, shit," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I'll go apologize to her," he said, moving to go. "Wait," Alex said. Mulder stopped. "You are aware of her...feelings for you, right?" Mulder blinked. "Feelings?" "Yes. Feelings." "Uh...um...I'm aware that we're very close, even as partners go. But that is as far as it goes, Alex." Cahill shook her head. "I'm sure you'd like to believe that. I'm equally sure it's very easy to believe that, Mulder." She paused. "But c'mon; you're a trained psychologist. You take people's minds apart for a living. You're a trained investigator and observer of the human condition." Her final two words were said with her fingers making quotation marks in the air. "Surely you can see that she... loves you." Mulder shrugged. "And I love her. But we're not Alex." I wouldn't be too sure of that, Cahill thought. "Why the mug shots?" Alex asked. Mulder glanced down at the floor and then back up at her. "That's the only way he can see them," Mulder said. "Who?" "The killer. They're protected witnesses, which means they're in the system, somehow, somewhere. Once they get into the program, new names, new identities. In some cases, new faces. So the only way he can personalize them, work them into his fantasy, is through these pictures." "Which means-" Alex said, getting it. "He has access. Or, he had access. So far, all of the victims have been in the program for at least three years. So, sometime, possibly ending three years ago and going back only God knows how long, this asshole had access to the system." "Which we're going to need as well," Alex said. "I know," Mulder nodded. "But we're taking care of that." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= WCBS-TV (Channel 2) West 57th Street New York City Donald Peters was the News Director for the most popular newscast in the city, if you believed Arbitron. And for the second-most popular if you believed the Neilsons. Depending on what programming or news executive was breathing down his neck, he was either doing a wonderful job, or not nearly enough. The job of News Director for a television station was not nearly as glamorous as it sounded. His days and nights were filled with tracking down stories, listening to the police, fire and EMS frequencies, dispatching reporters to cover the stories, hours spent in the editing bay making sure that every story 'looked' right, and making sure that any network news feeds that came over the satellite from Washington or LA were queued up in the proper order. In other words, Don's job was a never ending series of putting out fires. Which is why Casey Tan was such a pain in the ass. She was on the rise; there was no doubting that. Her latest Q-scores, a measurement of popularity and recognizability, were practically off the chart. It helped matters (or didn't, depending on your point of view,) that she was beautiful, sexy and incredibly intelligent. She had an investigative reporter's natural talent for sniffing out a story, and the drive and determination to keep the pressure on until something gave. Normally, that pressure was focused on sources and reluctant public figures that didn't want to find themselves in the crossfire of Tan's camera. However, when she wanted to (which was too often for Don's liking,) Casey Tan would turn that focus on her boss until he capitulated and let her run with some half-assed story or other. But, Don thought to himself, you had to admit she got the job done. As huge a pain in the ass as she was, she got the damn job done. She had a shelf and a half full of local news Emmy's, and the word inside the network was that someone in the Washington bureau had his eye (and hands, as the rumor went,) on Tan. "Please?" She asked again, her almond-shaped eyes pleading with him. "The cops gave us a statement," Don tried one last time. "It's bullshit," she said. "I know it is. I can feel it." Don nodded. He would have bet a year's pay she was going to say those exact words. "What do you think is going on?" he asked. "I did some background checking on the victims," Tan said. "I have a friend in DMV who got me some of the basic stuff. Odd, though. None of the victims have lived in New York for more than three years." "So? We have a lot of people moving in and out. That doesn't prove anything." "Yes, but when you move into NY and surrender your license, there's usually a notation in the file regarding which state you came FROM." The Asian reporter paused and then bore-sighted her boss. "And none of them had a referring state." "So?" "That means that four victims of four murders in the past three weeks have moved into state from somewhere else, that none of them had driver's licenses anywhere else, and this is the best part -- none of them took a written or road test." Don Peters mulled it over. "So?" "You're not getting it, are you?" He shook his head. "Those four names are false. Fake identities. Officially sanctioned false names, birthdates, identities, the works." "Do you have a source at the Medical Examiner's office?" Tan nodded. "Fingerprints?" "Officially, no comment. But off the record, I got one of them to admit that they hadn't run the prints." "Doesn't someone have to make a positive ID for that?" Tan nodded. "And no one has, according to the coroner's reports that I read. Just a notation that police at the scene uncovered driver's licenses with the victim's picture." Peters stroked his chin, thinking. "What do you think is going on?" "I think they're witnesses," Tan said. "Protected government witnesses, and I think someone is taking them out." "What does One PP have to say?" "I haven't asked yet." "Any contacts with the FBI?" Tan shook her head. "And the Marshals handle the WITSEC program, not the FBI." Peters nodded; he hadn't known that. "Any sources there?" "No," Tan said, a soft, secret smile playing across her face. "Not yet." The rumor about Casey Tan sleeping with sources was completely and utterly unfounded. Still, Don Peters didn't like that smile on her face. "Go with it," he decided aloud. "But keep me informed. You don't broadcast dick until we can double and triple check anything you hear." "Got it," Casey said, standing to leave. "I mean it, Casey. You don't do shit without my explicit, prior approval. Is that clear?" Casey stopped in the door, and turned to give her boss the same smile. "Of course, Don. I wouldn't dream of upsetting you. I wouldn't want to be...disciplined." Peters shuddered with the memory of an afternoon spent in the Waldorf-Astoria penthouse, an afternoon that had seen Casey Tan tied to the bed with silk scarves, her naked, glistening body arched to receive each whistling stroke of Don's belt... "Just do it," he said, hoping for the thousandth time that someone in Washington would get off their ass and transfer this... temptress out of his life. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Interrogation Room "C" "So what next?" Cahill asked. "We need a backup plan. You and Scully should go down to the USMS office at Federal Plaza and do whatever it takes to get that list out of them. The guys will be driving up-" "I thought they were flying." Mulder nodded. "Yeah, but they're bringing so much equipment that they decided to drive. They're eating the cost, though, so don't worry about the plane tickets." Alex nodded, accepting this. "And I want them to get started ASAP. They should be here in the next hour or two." "Then I'll need to stay around and get them situated," Alex said absently, running both hands through her hair. "After that, Scully and I can go down to Federal Plaza." Mulder grunted his assent. "Whatever. I have to go and find Scully and apologize." Moving to leave, Mulder was stopped by a hand on his arm. "Trust me," Alex said. "You may know your partner, but I know women. Give her until the end of the day, and then go apologize, ok?" Mulder rubbed his chin. "Whatever." He turned and moved to the corner again, squatting to pick up the mugshots. Shaking her head, Alex left him to his work. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Ninety Minutes Later Scully was at yet another borrowed desk, her laptop jacked into the incredibly ancient phone system. Filing expense reports electronically was much easier than the old paper method...when the system was working, that is. With all new systems, it had some bugs, and Scully was fighting with her laptop to get the damn thing to transmit correctly. Her cell rang. "Scully." "Hi, gorgeous." Scully rolled her eyes. Frohicke. "Frohicke, I swear to God, one day I'm going to-" "Oooh, sounds like fun. Listen. We're down here and security won't let us through unless we pass through the metal detector, and..." "Which one of you has a thing about metal detectors?" Scully asked, placing a mental bet with herself. "Byers," Frohicke said. Damn, Scully thought. I would have bet Langly. "What's his problem?" Frohicke's voice dropped, as if he were afraid of being overheard. "He thinks they scan and file a copy of your DNA away somewhere." Scully made a mental note to tell Byers that if he'd had a smallpox vaccination that the deed was already done. "OK, I'll be down in a minute." Getting up from her seat, Scully found Alex in her office fighting a similar war with the paperwork. Quickly explaining the problem, Scully got an incredulous look from her friend. "Let me get this straight," she said, holding up a hand. "He refuses to go through the detector, and refuses to be searched because he's afraid his DNA is going to be scanned and put on file." Scully nodded. "Whatever," Alex said, standing. They descended in the elevator together silently. "DNA?" Alex asked again. Scully just nodded, pursing her lips. "I want to warn you," Scully said, "about these guys. They're going to seem...extreme at first. But they really are good at what they do." "And what is it again that they do?" "The impossible," Scully said, smiling fondly. The doors opened on the lobby and they exited. Two NYPD uniform officers stood, fingers tucked into their gunbelts, watching the three editors of _The Lone Gunmen_ as they shuffled from foot to foot. "This is an outrage!" Langly was saying to one of the officers. "This is a public building-" "If you don't go through the metal detector," the cop explained patiently, the tone of his voice making it obvious that this was _not_ the first time he had done so, "we have to search you. You refuse a search, refuse to go through the detector, you can stand there all day, pal." "What's the problem?" Alex asked. The other cop turned to see her. "Oh, hi, Captain." "Inspector," Alex automatically corrected. "Congratulations!" the cop said, smiling widely. "I hadn't heard yet. These three-" he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and lowering his voice, "are-" "With me," Alex said. "Inspector," the cop said, his voice making it clear he wasn't going to be comfortable with what he felt she was about to ask. "And we were just leaving. Do me a favor? Call the motor pool and have them send my car around." "Your car?" Scully asked. Alex nodded. "Deputy Inspectors get a car and driver assigned." She lowered her voice. "And I'd rather not have them see my ride, since you tell me they can break into any system in the world." Scully grunted. "Good idea. But what about the driver?" Alex shrugged. "I'll dismiss him." Scully and Alex walked past the metal detector and found the three TLG editors. "Special Agent Scully," Frohicke said, removing his Navy watchman's cap and all but bowing. "Charmed as usual." "Give it a rest," Scully said, a little snappishly. Undaunted, Frohicke turned to Alex. "And who is this vision of loveliness?" he asked. "Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill, NYPD," Alex said, offering her hand. "And you are?" "Impressed," Frohicke replied, shaking. Scully rolled her eyes. "Listen. Get outside, get back in your truck and wait for us to join you. Follow us to the safe house. Do not talk. Do not answer questions. Am I making myself clear?" "Yes, Ma'am," all three replied in unison. They turned and left. "Sheesh," Alex said. "Where did you dig THOSE three up?" Scully shrugged. "They're more friends of Mulder's than mine," she said, "and he never told me where he met them." "At a geek convention," Alex mumbled, walking towards the front doors. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= New York City Casey Tan parked her two-year old Bronco in the rear lot at the Manhattan Medical Examiner's office. Picking her way through the other cars, she entered through the door reserved for the meat wagons and their attendant cargoes. DMEs and Morgue Attendants moved around the receiving area, checking in the newly departed and stacking them like cordwood against one wall. Within the hour they would be cataloged and moved to the refrigeration units so as not to...spoil. Wrinkling her nose at the thought, Casey kept her NYPD Press Pass handy but not displayed. No use spooking anyone until it was necessary. Within minutes, she found who she was looking for. A young woman, obviously and visibly infatuated with the famous TV reporter, a contact that Casey had carefully nurtured for almost a year, was more than happy to do what was required. Three of the four bodies were still being kept in a separate, secure facility within the ME's office. Casey slipped her a brand new one-hundred- dollar bill and gave explicit instructions. Two sets of fingerprints, each, for a total of six sets. It didn't matter what she put the prints on, but they had to be good, clear prints. "And I need them today," Casey said, reaching out to tuck a strand of the woman's hair behind an ear. Casey smiled softly as the woman shivered in delight. "Maybe we can meet later, so I can...uh, give you the prints," the woman said. "Sure," Casey smiled. "We can do that. Maybe...dinner." The woman's eyes widened. "Sure! I'll call you!" With a flirtatious smile, Casey got up and left, carefully threading her way back through the building and out into the parking lot. Perfect, she thought. Next stop, Federal Plaza. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Undisclosed Location 90 minutes later Amazing both Scully and Cahill, the gunmen had swung into action upon arriving at the townhouse. They had completed unloading the truck within half an hour, and had spent the rest of the time setting up, connecting, linking and booting the various systems. The living room of the townhouse looked like... Words failed Scully. "Looks like the control room to steer the Earth!" Alex whispered in her ear. Scully grinned, glad that someone had managed to put it into words. Byers finished fiddling with something-or-other and turned to face the two law enforcement officers. "So," he asked simply. "What's the target? Mulder said it would be the hack of the century." "First," Alex said, "raise your right hands." The three gunmen exchanged a glance and then did as asked. "I, state your name," Alex said. "I, John Byers," "I, Melvin Frohicke," "I, Ringo Langly," Ringo? Scully thought. MELVIN?! "...do hereby solemnly swear to faithfully execute the office to which I am about to be appointed, to uphold the laws of the State of New York and the Constitution of the United States of America, so help me God." The three men parroted Alex's words and then looked expectantly at her. Alex reached into a coat pocket and came back with something Scully would never have expected to see. Three silver NYPD shields, each mounted on a small piece of black leather with a ball-bearing chain attached. "You are now all officers of the NYPD, assigned to the Citywide Major Cases Squad." Scully almost gasped. Alex handed each man a shield. They took it reverently. Frohicke studied his closely, muttering "Coooool," under his breath. "What this means is that you now enjoy the protection of being a member of the finest police department in the world. You have 38,000 brothers and sisters on the job. I expect you three to make me, and Special Agents Mulder and Scully proud." All three men nodded, each of them donning their shields. Scully tried very hard to stifle the smile she felt crawling across her face. "The target?" Byers prompted again. "The WITSEC database," Scully said. Three mouths dropped open. "Is this sanctioned?" Byers asked. "You're wearing a shield, aren't you?" Alex asked. "Yes, but-" "Guys..." Scully started, "This is important. We need one, at least two of you working on the WITSEC database. The other one, when he has time, should be working to crack that damn code. What we need is a list of all federally protected witnesses currently residing in New York and the seven surrounding counties. Westchester, Rockland, Putnam, Duchess, Orange, Nassau and Suffolk. You have my cell number. Call if you need anything. We'll be in touch." With that, Scully and Alex turned and left. On the street again, Scully stopped Alex before they got into the car. "Was that for real?" Scully asked. Alex looked back up at the house and smiled. "As far as they're concerned, sure. Do any of them have a...gun?" "I doubt it. They're afraid of guns," Scully said with a smile. "Good. I'd hate to have to explain any of the three of them making an arrest." "Now we go to Federal Plaza," Scully said, "and try and convince them to cough up the list that those three are going to steal for us anyway." Alex stopped, the car door open, and leaned against the roof. "What do we do with them," she asked, pointing at the safehouse, "if they give it to us?" "We don't tell them," Scully said. "That's for sure. I think Mulder's actually on the right track with this. If they give it to us, we'll mobilize all those First and Second Grades you spoke about and get the witnesses notified. But we let them continue. If they can break in, that means someone else can. And if they can find out how to break in, then we can figure out who else did, and catch the bastard. And if they don't give us the list, and we get it anyway, we can prove that someone can and did. It's a win-win, either way." Alex nodded, getting into the car and slamming the door. "Makes sense. You know, the mob has been trying for years to compromise the database." Scully nodded. "I bet." "If word gets out that federally protected witnesses are being murdered by a person or persons unknown, it could have a sincerely damaging effect on federal law enforcement." "Well then," Scully smiled brightly, "we'll just have to make sure that it doesn't get out." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Dupree paced his small office. He was down to twelve possible Chosen, and none of them were jumping out at him. The hunger was back, stronger this time, stronger than he'd ever felt it. Twelve people. Democratically mixed between men and women, six of each. Another child molester, two mobsters, an accountant that had discovered OC money being laundered in a video arcade and turned himself in, four drug dealers, an admitted ex-Soviet spy and three snitches that had overheard something in the showers at one federal prison or another and had capitalized on the program. None of them appealed to Dupree. Why? He stopped in front of his desk and stared at the twelve folders. Only the Soviet spy stood out from the group; the FBI seal was on his folder. Dupree glanced at it, the idea forming slowly. He opened the folder and read. Ivan Strimnovitch. The name. What was wrong with the name? Ivan. Russian for...John. Turning to the computer, Dupree entered the search criteria, a smile welling up inside him. It had to match. It HAD to. He checked the date and time and re-entered the information, starting the search. He set it for a wide search. Four hundred and sixty two hits, he saw. Releasing a sigh of satisfaction, Dupree sat back to read. In twenty seconds, it was over. Ivan "John" Strimnovitch was Chosen. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Federal Plaza New York City Scully and Cahill parked in the "Law Enforcement Officers Only" spot. Cahill tossed the NYPD parking plate on the dashboard and locked the car. "Handy," Scully noted, nodding at plate. "Yeah. I use it at the malls at Christmas time. Comes in handy." Scully blushed, amazed at how easily Alex managed to corrupt the perks she was given with her rank. They entered the building, identified themselves as law enforcement and bypassed the metal detector. The United States Marshals Office was on the sixteenth floor. Exiting the elevator, Scully and Cahill turned left and proceeded down the hall towards two huge glass doors. The doors were frosted with the six-point USMS star. Pushing through the doors, Alex and Scully were all but accosted by the receptionist. "Can I help you?" she asked snidely. "Inspector Alex Cahill," Alex said, purposely overstating her rank. "Special Agent Dana Scully," Scully said, flashing her ID. "We'd like to see the Marshal in charge, please." "That would be Chief Deputy Marshal Everett," the receptionist said. "And I'm afraid he's unavailable." "Don't be afraid," Alex said. "Just call him and tell him that the commander of the Citywide Major Cases Squad is here to see him." The receptionist made a face, but she dialed her phone. "Chief, there's an Alex Cahill and a-" She paused, her face registering surprise. "Of course, sir." She hung up. "The Chief Deputy will be out in a moment." "Thank you," Alex said sweetly. They turned and took a seat in the waiting area. "How did you know-?" Scully whispered. "Tim Everett and I dated a _long_ time ago," Alex whispered back. Scully nodded. A moment later a huge bear of a man stepped out from an inside office. His star hung from a belt-mounted chunk of leather, and his SIG Sauer was holstered neatly on his right hip. "Alex!" he said warmly. Alex rose to greet him, and Scully watched, amazed, as something came over her friend. Her face softened, and Cahill looked ten years younger. She gave the Chief Deputy a warm, gentle smile, and leaned up on tip-toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Tim," she said. "And who is your gorgeous friend?" he asked. Scully felt herself blush as Alex introduced her. "Special Agent Dana Scully, MD, FBI." "Ooh, smart AND pretty," Everett said, shaking Dana's hand. Scully resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. "So, what can the Marshals do for the NYPD? Or the FBI?" "Someplace we can talk, Tim? Someplace private?" She glanced around and added, "Secure?" Tim frowned and nodded, holding his arm out for Alex and Scully to proceed him down the hall. They passed several offices. All the doors were closed, and none of them had signs. They stopped at another blank door that Tim opened. "This is the most secure room we have. We use it for debriefing when one of our...clients...messes up." The trio entered and Tim shut the door behind them. "I know what this is about," Tim said shortly. "I was putting on an act for our receptionist. She gossips like no one's business. Alex, I can't help you on this. You gotta understand-" "I understand that I have a mess in my lap, on my damn doorstep, and you can help me but won't," Alex said, cutting him off. "Washington," Tim said, shrugging. "They won't budge." Alex touched a forefinger to her nose. "Can you get it unofficially?" she asked. "I know your boss has called the Chief Deputy in Washington and begged him for it. I know that next, the Mayor is probably going to call the Attorney General or something like that. But, Washington is Washington. They're paranoid that this is going to break in the press. You have to admit, Alex, the NYPD isn't exactly the best at keeping secrets." Alex nodded, accepting his rebuke. "Sure. But you're not dealing with the NYPD. I'm not a local precinct commander, Tim. I command the Citywide Major Case Squad now. I answer directly to the Chief of Detectives. I don't have sixteen layers of administration above me. I have sixteen First Grades assigned to me, all good, trustworthy people. All of them have taken the NYPD Intelligence course." "Wonderful, great. If it were up to me, I would have FedEx'd the list over as soon as Wagner went down and we spotted the pattern. But my hands are tied, Alex." "You never answered my question, Tim. Can you get me the list on the QT? No one has to know it came from you." Tim nodded. "Sure, as if I believe that. Alex, we've been friends for a long time. You're the only..." He stopped and glanced at Scully, who had remained silent during the entire conversation. "Dana knows we used to be lovers," Alex said, throwing an extra growl into the last word. "You're the only...girlfriend...that I've ever stayed friends with. Hell, even my wife likes you, and she hates all my ex's. She invited you over for Christmas dinner two years ago! But...I know you, Alex. You forget how well I know you. I know that if this turns to shit, you'll throw me and this office to the wolves in a heartbeat." Alex shifted in her chair, glanced at Scully and then returned her gaze to Tim. "Actually, that's the FBI's role in this." Scully bit her lip, calculating. Was Alex telling the truth? "I see..." Tim said, glancing at Scully. "Is that true, Agent Scully?" "The Bureau," Scully said carefully, "while not expecting such a circumstance to occur, is willing to take its share of public pressure in the event that this case takes on a nonoptimal outlook." Tim nodded, impressed. "They teach you to say that at the Academy, Agent Scully?" Scully shrugged. "All I am saying is that we all want to catch this bastard before he hits again, and failing that, as soon as humanly possible. My partner is the number one FBI profiler-" "Mulder?" Scully blushed, flattered in some strange way that Tim knew her partner's name. "Yes, Fox Mulder is my partner." "What's he say about this?" Scully shifted mental gears, seeing the lever that Tim was offering her. "He thinks that if we warn the victims that we stand a better chance of catching this asshole. If Mulder knows the victim pool, he might be able to guess who the next one will be, and we can sit on them until this guy makes a move. Then we'll have him. The FBI looks good, the NYPD looks great, and the USMS looks like the finally learn how to play ball with the rest of the kids on the playground." Tim chewed his lip, ignoring Scully's thinly veiled insult. The USMS was more secretive, sometimes, than the CIA. "How about partial information?" Tim asked. "Like what?" "A count. I can probably get away with telling you how many clients there are in the city, just not the names." "How many?" Alex asked. Scully frowned, and then understood. Levers. Once Tim had given up information, any information, the next piece would be that much easier. "I have no idea. Let's go find out," he said, standing. Alex and Scully followed Tim out of the conference room to the elevators. They went all the way to the basement and exited, revealing a dark, dimly-lit hallway. "Our computer center is in the basement," Time explained. "Something about being able to control the humidity better or something. I don't understand all of it." They stopped in front of a steel door. A closed-circuit TV camera slowly panned back and forth, taking in every inch of the hallway. An electronic cipher lock was mounted next to the knob. Scully noticed that it had a stripe-reader as well as a sixteen-button keypad. Removing a photo ID from an inside pocket, Tim swiped it through the reader and then, shielding his body from Alex and Scully, typed the code quickly. The lock beeped and the door cracked open an inch. Tim pushed it open and the two women followed him inside. The room was huge, covering almost sixty thousand square feet. Rows and rows of mainframes littered almost half the space. There were workstations and terminals scattered around. Technicians sat at a few screens, typing madly away on the keyboards. "Tim?" a voice asked. All three turned to face the speaker, a short, curly-haired man in his late twenties. "Dave. I'd like you to meet Inspector Alex Cahill from the NYPD and Special Agent Dana Scully from the FBI." "Running the tour again, are we?" He held out his hand. "Dave Campion. Glad to meet you." They all shook. "So, you want to do the mainframes first?" he asked. "Dave, we're not here on a tour." "Oh?" "I need a special data run, and I need it fast." "Of?" "All clients in the city-" "Plus the seven counties," Alex added quickly. Campion's eyes widened. "Uh, Tim..." "Just a count, Dave. No names." Campion nodded. "Ok. That'll take about ten minutes or so. You want to wait?" "Please," Tim said. "It's important." "Right," Dave said, walking away. "I'll suspend other processes until this finishes. That'll speed it up a bit." Tim turned to face Alex. "That's the best that I can do, Alex. I'm sorry." "It's a start," Alex shrugged. "At least, if the CofD asks, I'll have a terminal number for him." Scully wrinkled her nose. Just the thought that they had a target number was repulsive. She took the time to glance around, making as many mental notes as she could. The guys might be able to use any information she brought back. Scully almost asked a question, but decided that to say anything might give her interest away, and if the gunmen's intrusion was detected, it would lead directly back to her. Talk about a career limiting move, she thought. This entire thing is like juggling hand grenades. With the pins already removed. Alex had seen Scully's mouth open and then close. She nodded at one of the technicians and then batted her eyes at Scully. The message clear, Scully frowned at Alex. She'd never used what her mother referred to as her "feminine wiles" to get her way, and she wasn't about to start now. Alex's eyebrows drew together and she nodded again at the technician and then flicked her eyes to Tim, smiling widely. Go ahead, Alex's face said, I'll keep Tim here busy. Sighing, Scully moved over to the nearest technician. He glanced up at her and then back down at his keyboard. "Hi," Scully said softly. "I'm Sc...Dana." "Ted," the man said nervously. "Quite a setup you have here," she said. "Makes my laptop seem puny by comparison." "Yup," the man said proudly. "We have the second most powerful computer setup in the city." "After who?" Scully asked, feigning interest. "The NSA has a site...somewhere. No one knows where. But they're supposed to have two Cray XM-2's. We only have one." Cray XM-2, Scully thought. Check. "Are you connected to Washington?" "Concrete-hardened fiber optic. ISDN. Thirty-six D-channel connections. That's..." Doing the math, Scully answered. "Four and a half terabits. Not bad." Encouraged that his new friend seemed to know a bit about computers, Ted continued. "Yup...firewalled behind a Matrix System 12." Matrix System 12, Check. "We're mostly a Unix shop, but we do have some old IBM System 360's here. And some 36's. Mostly we run NT across a 16megabit token ring network." "Token ring?" Scully asked. "I thought everybody was going to Ethernet." Ted shrugged. "USMS is behind the times, what can I say? What do you do?" "I'm a cop," Scully answered, not untruthfully. She was, after a fashion. "Oh, wow. You're armed?" Scully nodded, turning to show Ted the bulge of her pistol. "Wow." System 360's, system 36's, token ring. Check, check, check. WindowsNT. Check. Unix. Check. "So are you a detective?" "Something like that," Scully said. "Actually, I'm a medical doctor. A pathologist." "What's that?" "Like a medical examiner." "You cut up dead people?" Scully arched an eyebrow, her arms crossed. "Sure. That a problem?" "Er...no." Scully looked around. "With this much speed and power, email must run a lot faster than at my office." "Sure does," Ted said, a devious expression crossing his face. "So, do you have an email address?" Scully nodded, biting her bottom lip. She saw what was coming. "Maybe...if...uh..." "Why don't you give me yours," Scully said, "and later, after I wrap up this case I'm on, maybe we'll...have dinner or something." "Or something," Ted said, grinning. He wrote down his email address on a pad next to his keyboard, tore the sheet off and handed it to Scully. She glanced at it. tedm@dopey.usms.gov "Dopey?" she said. "One of our email servers. We have-" "Seven," Scully finished, smiling, getting it. "So which computer is Snow White, then?" Ted's face whitened. "I'm not allowed to talk about that one," he whispered, looking around for someone, probably Dave Campion. "That's the...big one, huh?" Scully pressed. "The one with the list of...clients?" she asked, remembering Tim's term for the WITSEC members. Glancing both ways, Ted held a finger to his lips and nodded. "But you didn't get it from me." Scully smiled. She knew a little bit about TCP/IP, the "language" of the Internet. If the USMS followed the same habits of system administrators the world over, the TCP/IP address for Snow White would probably be one or two octets from one of the mail servers. And using NSLookup, the guys could resolve the dopey.usms.gov address to a TCP/IP address in a matter of seconds. "Thanks, Ted. You've ... been a big help." Scully glanced over her shoulder and saw that Alex was still deep in conversation with Tim. She decided to have a little fun. Leaning down to whisper in Ted's ear, she asked, "Can you download dirty pictures on this thing?" He blushed, and Scully had her answer. "Well, most of the stuff is logged," Ted admitted, "but if you know what you're doing, there are ways around it." Gotcha, Scully thought. If there was anyone in the world that knew how to get to dirty pictures without being tracked, it was Melvin Frohicke. And if Ted here could get out to the network without being detected, then Frohicke could get in. On impulse, Scully kissed his cheek. "You're bad," she said, a husky tone creeping into her voice. "But...I like that. I'll email you." She stood and walked back towards Alex, rejoining them at the tail end of what appeared to be an involved conversation. "...no way she'd believe that, Alex. And besides, I'm happily married. Not that I'm not flattered-" Tim stopped as he realized Scully was standing next to him. "Hi, Scully," Alex said, arching an eyebrow at her. Scully smiled back. "How's it going?" "We're just waiting for Dave to get back with the number," Tim explained quickly. Sure you were, Scully thought. "I wonder what's keeping him?" Tim wondered aloud. +=+=+=+=+===+=+= By chance, Dupree was in the system when he saw it. He had done a routine job list, wondering who was running what, when he spotted the program. COLNYC1, the process table read. Collect NYC clients, Dupree instantly translated. Quietly, he took root access on the box, granting him superuser privileges. He suspended the process without killing it, effectively freezing the program in its tracks. He quickly dropped to a shell prompt and queried the temp file stack, seeing what output the program had already collected. Names. Names that were very familiar to Dupree. Names of witnesses. Someone was running a job that listed all WITSEC clients in... Dupree scrolled, looking at the parameter list that had been passed to the process. All five boroughs and the seven counties. Shit. He restarted the job and instructed the box to make him a copy of the file. Drumming his fingers on the table, Dupree considered his options. There were few. When the job finished, Dupree checked his ghost copy of the file. That was odd. The program had collected all the names and then just summarized them with a number. With a start, Dupree realized what was happening. Someone, probably that short little FBI woman, had asked a question. And the USMS, typically, had not given a complete answer. Perfect. That piece of information was useless to them. Dupree exited the box, erasing his tracks as he went. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "Here we are," Dave Campion said. "Thirty two total in the area specified." Alex grunted. "Thirty two total, or twenty eight we have to worry about?" Campion blushed. "Twenty-eight." "Thanks, Dave," Tim said, turning to go. "We'll leave you alone." The trio exited the computer room and made their way back to the elevator. Ascending to the lobby, Alex smiled at Tim. "Give what I said some thought, tiger. I miss you," she said, running her hand over his tie. Tim cleared his throat and glanced at Scully, who pretended to be studying the floor display. The doors slid open and the two women casually walked out, through the lobby and out the front doors. Once they were safely inside the car, they exchanged a serious, heavy glance and then dissolved into laughter. "I can't believe," Scully managed to gasp, "that you made me DO that!" "Do what?" Alex asked. "You...I all but SEDUCED that poor boy!" "Did you get anything useful?" "Sure." "Did he get your phone number?" "No," Scully said. "He gave me his email address." ' "Have any intention of emailing him?" Scully shook her head. Alex started the car, putting it into gear and pulling into traffic. "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke," she said, causing Scully to dissolve into giggles once again. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Safehouse Scully finished her description of the computer setup as Frohicke took copious notes. "Perfect," he grinned. "Agent Scully, you show an aptitude for these hacker-type activities." Scully smiled. "Glad you're happy. Now get back to work." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Federal Plaza Casey Tan was lying in wait. She had staked out Tim Everett's car and was hoping that the man was planning on calling it a day sometime soon. She wanted to get his denial on record so that she could proceed with the next step of her plan. This was huge. If this story played the way she thought it was going to, there was no telling where she could ride it to. Network, for sure. Washington and beyond. Casey Tan was so lost within the fantasy of replacing Dan Rather on the CBS evening news desk that she almost missed Tim Everett getting into his car. Quickly exiting her own car, Casey moved to Ted's side. "Chief Deputy Tim Everett?" she asked. Tim spun on her, his hand automatically moving to the holstered pistol on his hip. "What?" "Casey Tan, Channel 2 News," she said, flashing him a brilliant smile and offering one slim hand for him to shake. He did so and eyed her suspiciously. "What do you want?" he asked. "Just to talk for a minute," she said innocently. "Do you mind if I tape this?" "No interviews," he said, holding up his hand. "Deep background," Casey pressed. "Just you and me. Not even my news director will know." Knowing he would probably live to regret it, Tim nodded. Casey made a show of clicking her tape recorder on. Tim didn't know it, but one of the pens in her pocket was a digital recorder; it didn't use tape, and could hold up to two minutes of data. "It must be hard," Casey started, "being the Chief Deputy Marshal in charge of such a large area such as the First Federal District of New York." Tim opened his mouth to respond just as Casey added, "What with all the murders." Tim closed his mouth with an audible snap! "What murders?" he asked, knowing he was doomed. "The murders of the four federally protected witnesses, starting with Leon King and ending most recently with-" "I have no idea what you're talking about," Tim said hurriedly, digging for his car keys. "Oh?" Casey asked. "Are you denying knowledge that the four murder victims, victims that have been claimed by someone calling himself MrKnife, were all federally protected witnesses?" "I'm not able to comment on the status of those witnesses," Tim said, and then immediately regretted it. "Oh, so you are confirming that the victims _were_ all protected witnesses?" "I didn't say that." "So are you denying it?" Sighing and shaking his head, Tim fell back on the tried-and- true protection of a hasty, "No comment." Casey clicked the recorder off. "Ok, now that we're off the record, two things. First...is it true?" "You can't use it," Tim protested weakly. Casey just shook her head, saying nothing, knowing that the pen was still recording. "Yes. We're aware of it. And we're taking steps to apprehend the suspect." "What steps?" Casey asked. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that. We're working in conjunction with the FBI and the NYPD." "I see. Now...for the second," Casey said. "Would you like to have dinner with me?" Tim gaped at her, saw the open invitation on her face and felt himself grow hard. "S-sure," he said. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= One Police Plaza 6:42pm Scully sighed and closed her laptop. She had completed the autopsy on the most recent victim, Danielle Jones, and had discovered nothing that the New York City Medical Examiner's Office had overlooked. They had done a complete, thorough, competent job. Nothing keeping me here, she thought, and stood to go find Mulder. The door to interrogation room "C" was closed. Scully knocked. Getting no answer, she pushed the door open softly and peered inside. And found Mulder and Alex Cahill in an embrace. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= END OF CHAPTER 17