ELS Chapter 19 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 30, 1998 Archive Entry : "ELS" Chapter 19/? Classification : SRA MSR Chapter Rating : R Story Rating : NC-17 Missing Chapters: http://www.sonic.net/~drambo/els.htm Spoilers : Detour Casting : Russell Crowe, "Mark Dupree" Helen Hunt, "Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill" James Spader, "Doctor Payne" Matthew Modine, "Detective Sam Cross" Garth Brooks "Detective Daryl Hicks" Joan Chen, "Casey Tan" Brian Dehenney "Captain Stoltz" +=+=+=+===+=+=+= Enroute Mulder drove. Scully watched him drive. Scully's cell had chirped almost the moment they'd gotten into the car: Alex, telling them which hospital the latest victim had been taken to. Mulder had nodded and pulled into traffic, heading downtown. The ride over was silent up until the very point that Scully thought she wouldn't be able to stand it a single moment longer. Mulder was chewing his bottom lip as he drove, casting glances left and right as he sped through the intersections, his eyes never falling to meet hers. Scully knew her mind should be on the case, on the victim they were about to interview and hopefully gain new knowledge about the killer from. But, despite her intentions, Scully couldn't think of anything besides what had just transpired in Mulder's motel room. She opened her mouth to ask Mulder what he was thinking, but before she could speak, he told her. "The case is going to get hot in a few minutes," Mulder said, taking a right turn hard enough to make the tires squeal. "But before it does, I want you to know that...what happened wasn't casual for me, Scully. It wasn't...a fling." Scully let out a slow, soft sigh, fighting to control her breathing. "For me either," she replied. Mulder looked left and right again as he approached and passed through another intersection. "It probably saved my life," he said softly. "Or at least my sanity," he amended. "Not much to save," Scully cracked. She saw the soft smile teasing Mulder's mouth and she smiled back. "We may not get a chance to...uh..." "I know what you mean," Scully said. "...until this case is over. But...it's important to me that you understand a couple of things. First, like I said, it wasn't casual for me." He paused, looked directly at her and grinned. "Nothing with you ever is, Scully." She nodded, waiting for him to finish his thoughts. "Secondly," he continued, "I very much want to see where that will take us. I'm not sure where that is, but I know I want to find out, and I want to find out with you." Scully felt a warmth in her chest. She wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to run her fingers through his impossibly soft hair. "And lastly, you've got to help me not screw this up, Scully." That stopped her short. "How do you mean, Mulder?" He flashed an ironic grin at her. "You know me. You know what I'm capable of. You know that given half a chance, I'll say or do something that will piss you off. It's okay to get pissed at me about work stuff. I expect it now. But...personal stuff. When it's personal, and I do know how hard it's going to be for us to separate the two... but when it's personal, I need you to help me through the rough spots. It's been almost ten years since I've been in a relationship. I'm a little rusty." "Need I remind you that it's also been a while since been in a relationship?" Mulder nodded. "Sure, but that stuff comes natural to chicks, like crying and shopping." Shocked, Scully turned to stare at her partner and now lover, not entirely sure that he was kidding. Only the mischievous glint in his eye gave him away, and she playfully smacked him on the arm. "See?" Mulder said. "This is exactly what I was talking about." Scully just shook her head. Mulder turned one last corner and then they were there; the hospital loomed before them. Mulder turned into the ambulance bays and deftly slipped the car over the curb and onto the sidewalk. "What are you doing?" Scully asked. "Old NYPD trick. Better than a real parking place. Cheaper, too." "Mulder, we'll get a ticket!" Scully protested. Mulder turned to face his lover and grinned his wolf's grin. "Do you really think a parking ticket compares to any of the other rules we've broken tonight?" Scully felt her lips twist as she thought. "I guess you're right," she said. "But I can't get out!" The car was parked flush against a retaining wall, its nose almost against the back of the hospital. "Slide over," Mulder said, getting out. He held out his hand for her; Scully thought about ignoring it, and then decided to accept. She placed her fingers in his hand, using the extra leverage to unlimber herself from the car. Mulder shut and locked the door. Quickly, they walked through the Ambulance-only door... Only to emerge into bedlam. Mulder spotted Hicks and Cross standing in a huddle with Alex and someone else. The back of Alex's head was blocking Mulder's view of the fourth person; all he could see was the person's legs, shoes, and the bottom edge of a white jacket. Doctor, Mulder thought. From the way Alex was moving her arms, Mulder thought, she was not happy. Together, the FBI duo approached the foursome. "If you had let us talk to him," Alex was saying, "we might have gotten a statement." Shit, Mulder thought. "And as I keep telling you, Inspector, the NYPD has no jurisdiction inside this hospital." The doctor had a nasal, clenched-jaw twang that made Mulder twitch when he heard it. He sounds like every asshole I've ever known that went to Harvard or Yale. Mulder and Scully came up behind Alex. Cross and Hicks nodded glumly at them. "We got here as fast as we could," Mulder said. Alex turned to him and shook her head softly. "Did you get a statement?" Mulder asked. "No," Cross said. "Doctor Payne here wouldn't let us." "Are you saying that the good doctor impeded a federal investigation?" Mulder asked, turning his gaze on Payne. "I'm sorry," Payne said. "And you are...?" In unison, Mulder and Scully presented their credentials. "Mulder," he said. "Scully," she finished. Together: "FBI." Cross hid a smile behind his hand, wondering how long they'd practiced that move. "I'm sorry," Payne said arrogantly, "I was led to believe this was an NYPD matter. What interest does the FBI have in a...common criminal getting shot? Surely you have better things to do with my tax dollars." "Actually," Mulder said, deadpan, "we were called over to this case from a Medicare fraud investigation." Scully noted with some satisfaction that Payne actually paled at Mulder's words. "But the fact of the matter is," Mulder continued as if he hadn't noticed, "this case is a joint NYPD-FBI matter. And interfering with a federal investigation is...oddly enough...a federal crime. Now, before we all start calling lawyers and press conferences and naming names for tomorrow's New York Times, why doesn't someone here tell me what the hell just happened?" "The patient presented with a gunshot wound just below the right shoulder. The bullet traversed his body ventrally, exiting just beneath the third intercostal space. This had the effect of-" "Severing the subclavian artery and the ascending pulmonary vein, causing the patient to drop almost immediately into hypovolemic shock, which almost surely killed him," Scully finished. "Yes," Payne said softly, nodding. "Quite. I wasn't aware that the FBI was training its...what do I call you?" "Special Agent," Mulder helpfully supplied. "Yes. Quite," Payne repeated, sounding vaguely like a British butler. "Anyhow, as I was saying-" "I'm a medical doctor," Scully said. "And you're an FBI Agent?" Payne asked, as if shocked that anyone would throw away the benefits of a medical education for something so pedestrian as...police work. Scully had her reply ready. Cross saw it coming and nudged Hicks in the ribs with his elbow. Even Alex turned to hear Scully's reply. "I find it lets me deal with a much nicer class of people than medicine," Scully said smugly. "Yes," Payne said, and then paused. Hicks, Cross, Cahill, Mulder and Scully all finished his thought simultaneously. "Quite," they chorused. Payne flushed, realizing he was being mocked. "As I was saying," he continued, "when the patient presented, he was throwing multifocal PVCs, and was obviously moments away from a full crash." "Was he conscious?" Scully asked. "Yes," Payne admitted. "Lucid?" "Yes," he nodded. "Doctor, please remember that not only am I a medical doctor, but also a forensic pathologist. I will be examining the body and most likely assisting if not performing the post mortum myself. With that in mind, is it your medical opinion that the wounds suffered by the deceased were in fact fatal?" "I'm sure I don't understand what you mean." "Doctor, you know very well what I mean. At the time the patient presented, did you have any doubt in your mind that the patient would not survive his wounds?" "Sadly, no." Scully glanced at Mulder and nodded, giving him the go-ahead. "So why did you deny access to the patient?" Mulder asked. Payne shrugged. "Because there was always the chance-" "Bullshit," Alex growled. "I tend to agree with my esteemed colleague," Mulder said, adopting the same clenched-jaw accent that Payne affected. "I feel that you purposely withheld access to this patient simply because you could. And that may have cost more than this man his life." "What did he do, anyway?" Payne asked, obviously annoyed at Mulder's tone. "He is a victim of a vicious serial killer. Up until he croaked, he was our only living victim. The man inside your trauma bay could have provided us with valuable information, information that could help the NYPD and the FBI catch the man we're looking for." Payne shrugged. "I'm sorry, Mr...Mulder, was it?" "DOCTOR Mulder," Mulder corrected. "Yes, very well. Doctor Mulder then...I'm sorry, but the rules of this hospital are quite specific in these matters. No one but medical personnel is allowed in the crash room while a code is ongoing. Insurance reasons, y'know. To make sure that nothing...happens." Mulder had a sudden thought. "Doctor, have you officially declared the time of death?" "I announced it, but I haven't signed the death certificate yet. Inspector Cahill and her thugs and goons dragged me out of there before I could." "I'm not a thug," Hicks said. "No, you're a goon," Cross replied. "I'm the thug." "Which is better, a thug or a goon?" Hicks asked. "Enough!" Cahill snapped at them. "So you haven't signed the death certificate?" Mulder asked. "No," Payne admitted. Mulder grabbed Payne by the elbow and guided him into the trauma bay. "Get the patient's chart and get every single last employee that was in here at the time of death," he said to Scully. "Accept no excuses. I want them all here." Scully quirked an eyebrow at her partner/lover, asking a question. "I've always wanted to play God," Mulder said, "and now I'm going to get my chance. Mr..." He looked to Alex. "Strimnovitch," Cross answered quickly. "Mr. Strimnovitch is about to come back to life." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Ten minutes later The four nurses and the single X-ray technician that had run the code with Doctor Payne, Payne himself, the three NYPD officers and Scully were all assembled in the trauma room next to the rapidly cooling body of Ivan Yorgi Strimnovitch. "Listen very carefully," Mulder said as he paced. "Ivan here never died. He came in with a shoulder wound, was throwing multifocal PVCs and almost descended into cardiac arrest. But Doctor Payne here, showing his usual brilliance and competence, managed to save the day." Scully didn't miss the incredulous look two of the nurses shared at Mulder's mention of the quality of Payne's work. "In fact, Ivan is about to be transferred to ICU after having come out of surgery for the repair of the damage done by the bullet." "The patient," Payne said slowly, as if he were speaking to a two-year-old, "is dead. Quite dead." "No," Mulder said, wagging a finger at Payne, "he's not. And here's why. Our...suspect...is a known user of computers." He stopped and looked at Scully. "Ever notice that computer geeks and drug addicts are both called 'users?' I wonder why that is." Shaking his own question off, Mulder continued. "We are going to create a false computer trail for our little killer to follow. Because as sure as God made little green apples, our killer is going to go traipsing into the hospital computer system. And as soon as he does, I want...Langly on it." Mulder's wry wink at Scully was rewarded a second later as Payne exclaimed, "The CIA is in on this?" "I never said that," Mulder pronounced solemnly. "I understand," Payne said. He put a finger to his lips. Asshole, Scully thought. "So here's what's going to happen. Doctor Payne here has just been sworn in as a member of our merry band of law enforcers. He will create the appropriate paper trail for our killer to follow-" "The nurses really do most of-" Payne started, glancing at his watch. "Yes, normally," Mulder agreed. "But you're going to do it since you prevented the NYPD from interviewing our victim before he died. Think of it as your little contribution to the cause. You, ladies, will remain quiet. If anyone asks you, and I do mean anyone, Ivan lived. Ivan walks again. Are there any questions?" "I go off shift in half an hour," Payne whined. "Are you eligible for overtime?" Mulder asked. "N-no." "Well, that's too bad. Again, any questions?" Payne sighed, resigned to doing his duty. He got up and Mulder watched him leave, shaking his head at the man's back. "What an idiot," he said quietly. "And then some," one of the nurses said softly as she moved to leave. Scully waited until it was just the five of them before speaking. "Mulder, do you really think this is going to work?" He shrugged. "Can't hurt to try. I think you four should go to the scene. I'm going to call the guys and get John down here to oversee the...details. When I'm done, I'll join you." Scully nodded; there wasn't really much to do here anyway, and Mulder obviously knew exactly what he wanted done. She glanced at Alex. "Catch a ride?" she asked. "Sure," Alex said. "Oh...can you have a car meet Officer Byers at the safehouse?" Mulder asked. "I really don't want him driving here in the van they rented." Alex laughed. "Sure. How bad do you need him here?" "Bad." Alex pulled a portable radio from the hip pocket of her blue blazer and raised it to her lips. "M-Mike-Six to Central, K." "M-Mike-Six." Alex requested a car be dispatched to the safehouse to pick up an Officer Byers for transport to St. Luke's Roosevelt hospital forthwith. Once that had been accomplished, she followed Cross and Hicks out of the trauma room, correctly guessing that Scully and Mulder wanted a quick moment alone. "You know," Scully said, "this is the stuff that I'm going to have to get used to dealing with." "What?" "The fact that I want to kiss you goodbye before I follow Alex to the scene." Mulder took two fast steps to where she stood, leaned down and pecked her on the lips. "There," he said, smiling. "No one saw us. I'll call you when I'm done." Scully leaned up and kissed him again, softer this time, a kiss that promised more than it told. Mulder sat down and pulled his cellphone out of a pocket and dialed. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Safehouse Undisclosed Location Frohicke reached for the phone, and then stopped. How the hell do I answer it? He finally settled for a "Hello?" "Mulder, Frohike. Ask Byers to get up, get dressed and be waiting downstairs for a car to take him to St. Lukes Roosevelt hospital. I need some work done. Tell him to pack a standard back of tricks, nothing fancy. Just enough for you guys to tell from where you are if anyone accesses specific records from a hospital computer, and enough to trace it back. Questions?" "None," Frohike said. "I'll get him ready." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Fifteen minutes later, a sleepy John Byers stood by the curb waiting for a car to come and pick him up. Frohike had roused him from a sound sleep, informed him of Mulder's request, and then returned to his own work. Glancing up the street, Byers saw an unmarked Chevy Caprice Classic turn the corner and approach him, the power window sliding down as the car slowed. "Byers?" a voice asked. John nodded and got in. The man driving the car looked as if he had been woken up himself. "How important is this?" the driver asked. "Pretty important," John said. "They woke me up for this." "Me, too," the driver said with a snort. "Ok, hold onto your ass." Reaching under the seat, the driver found a small red revolving light with a magnetic base and mirrors mounted behind it at forty-five degree angles. Placing it on the dashboard, he plugged it in and hit the siren at the same time. The car sped away. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Nine minutes later by John's watch, the car pulled into the ambulance bay of St. Luke's hospital. "Thanks," John said, getting out. "Hey," the driver said. "Mind if I ask you what your command is?" Byers searched his memory, wondering what question the man was asking. "What unit are you with?" the man asked again. "Major Cases," John replied. "Citywide." Offering his hand through the window, Byers again said, "Thanks." "Funny," the driver said, shaking his hand. "I'm assigned to One Police Plaza, and I don't remember seeing your face." "I'm...new," Byers said. "John Byers." "Stoltz. Captain Stoltz, Special Services." Byers nodded his thanks again and turned to enter the hospital. Captain Stan Stoltz frowned as he watched his passenger walk away. He didn't walk, talk or act like a cop. Therefore, he wasn't a cop. Then who was he? Somebody pretty important, judging by two things. First, the guy had enough juice to get a Deputy Inspector on the horn to citywide radio to get him, a Captain, roused from a nice little nap in the middle of a midnight tour just to give him a ride to the hospital. Second, Stoltz was pretty sure that he'd picked "Byers" up from one of the two-dozen NYPD safehouses scattered across the city. Who the fuck was this guy? Throwing the car into reverse, Stoltz wondered if his "friend" could use this tiny piece of information. Stoltz's friend was someone that the Captain was very interested in keeping happy, only because when she was happy, she had a knack of showing him how much. That demonstration of appreciation usually took the form of a stolen afternoon in a midtown hotel room. Grabbing his cell, Stoltz dialed and waited for the answer. Hearing the sleepy female voice answer, he asked, "Casey?" +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Byers found Mulder in the trauma room. "Who's the stiff?" he asked, pleased that he was getting "into" this cop stuff. "The deceased," Mulder said dryly, "is the latest victim of the man we are all hunting." Byers nodded, waiting for more, not yet understanding why he was here. "At the time the killer left this man's proximity, he was alive and shooting back. As far as the killer knows, this man is still alive." Quickly, Mulder explained his plan. "We can do that," Byers said. "I'll just need access to the mainframe and about ten minutes. After that, I can go back home and you can do...whatever it is you need to do." Mulder grinned, glad that his friend was on the case. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Mark Dupree grimaced in pain as he sat down in front of his desk. He'd taken the time to carefully clean and dress the bullet wound in his leg, but it still stung like a bitch. He knew what had to be done. He found the specific spiral-bound notebook he was looking for and quickly flipped through the pages, looking for a specific telephone number and configuration. Finding it, he quickly used the computer's modem to access the chain-drugstore's central computer. He created a record for himself, and for a fictitious doctor who was about to prescribe some Percodan. Typing quickly, Dupree completed his transaction. He waited ten minutes for the mainframe to update all the satellite stores, and then called a 24-hour pharmacy nearby that delivered. Fifteen minutes later, after tipping the delivery boy, Mark Dupree felt a pair of Percodan tablets sliding down his throat. Four minutes after that, the pain began to abate. Think, he told himself. I hit the bastard; of that I'm sure. But did I kill him? Checking the spiral-bound notebook again, Dupree found yet another number and dialed that with his computer. He searched the NYPD and FDNY databases for ambulance runs that night and found the one he was looking for. Strimnovitch, who had been living under the name Silver, had been brought to St. Luke's Roosevelt ER not an hour ago. Disconnecting, Dupree contacted an HMO computer that he had broken into six months before, and quickly cross-accessed the St. Luke's mainframe. He found John Silver's records in a heartbeat. Checking his watch, Dupree grunted. As of ten minutes ago, he was out of surgery and resting in Surgical ICU. Yanking open a desk drawer, Dupree found Silver's Justice Department record and began flipping through it. Towards the back he found what he was looking for; as a defecting spy, one of the first things that had happened to Strimnovitch upon his arrival in the Unites States was a complete physical at Walter Reed Army Medical Center. At the bottom of the patient's history page was a small notation: "Pt. aller. Pen." Patient allergic to penicillin. Dupree quickly glanced through the medical records at St. Luke's. No mention was made of the allergy. Perfect. Penicillin was given after surgery, and especially for gunshot wounds. Entering St. Luke's Patient Care Database, Dupree entered an order for 20mg of IV Penicillin, stat. A medical technician would be by in a few moments, paged by the mainframe's scheduling computer, to administer the medication. And shortly after that, Strimnovitch would be dead. A perfect murder, Dupree thought. Not as...satisfying as flaying the flesh from the bastard's body himself, but it would have to do. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "FLASH!" someone called, and Scully glanced away. A second later the foyer of the apartment building was filled with a blinding flash of light. The CSU detective checked his position and moved a foot to the left, re-framing the body of the doorman. Blood, Scully thought. There is a hell of a lot of blood around here. "I want blood samples on every single drop," Alex called. "And on the larger pools, I want samples taken from all four compass points and the center. I have a feeling not all of this blood belongs to the vic." The chief CSU technician nodded, making a note. Beside him, a detective with a video camera filmed everything, zooming in on the gory details. "Where's the note?" Scully asked. Hicks handed her a glassine EVIDENCE bag. Pulling the antenna of her phone out with her teeth, Scully deftly dialed Frohicke's number. "Wha?" a voice answered. "New note. Ready to copy?" "Hold it...sheesh, Scully, I was asleep!" "No rest for the valiant, Frohike." "Yeah, yeah...ok, read it." Scully read off the ELS code. "What's the puzzle?" Frohike asked. Scully read it. "How many months have 28 days?" "One," Frohike answered. "February." "All of them," Scully answered. "It didn't say 'only' 28 days." "Right. Ok, we'll get to work with this." Scully hung up and turned to hand the bag back to Hicks, only to find he was standing astride the body, leaning down, examining the wounds. "Something big," he muttered. ".45," Scully replied. Hicks straightened, his eyes sweeping the body, his lips moving, counting. "Fifteen shots, possibly sixteen. What the hell...? Did this asshole reload?" "We found a magazine upstairs," Cross called to his partner. He was behind the doorman's desk, looking for any evidence that might be there. "We get a make?" "It holds sixteen, whatever it is," Cross replied, holding up another EVIDENCE bag. "Lemme see that," Alex called, holding out her hand. Cross tossed her the bag. Turning it over in her hands, Alex examined the writing along the edge. "Aftermarket mag, pre-ban, for a...I'd say ParaOrdnance P-14 or something like that." Scully raised her eyebrows; Alex obviously knew her weapons. "Ok, you know the drill," Alex said, tossing it back to cross who caught it easily with one hand. "To the lab. Prints, everything. Ultraviolet, infrared, lasers...I want every single possible test that can be done on it done. When that's finished, FedEx it to Washington and let Scully's forensic wizards take a crack at it." Cross nodded. He knew the drill. "Witnesses?" Scully asked. "Canvassing now. No one was home on Ian's floor. We're going above and below to see if anyone heard, or please God, saw something." Scully nodded, wondering if she was forgetting anything. "Can I see the scene upstairs?" Alex nodded, hooking a chin at Cross. "Sam, take her." Sam nodded and walked to the elevator. Two CSU technicians were working over with the proverbial fine tooth comb, in this case a small battery-powered vacuum cleaner. Scully was amused to see that it was a Black & Decker DustBuster with a NYPD decal stuck on the side. "You guys finished?" Sam asked. One of the CSU techs looked up crossly. "Almost," he said. "Let's take the stairs," Scully suggested, "and let these guys finish in peace." "Good idea," Cross agreed. They walked to the door guarding the staircase and pushed through. As they climbed, Cross asked, "Think Mulder's plan will bear fruit?" "Possibly," Scully hedged. She couldn't tell if Cross was for or against Mulder's idea by his tone, and she was reluctant to voice her own opinion before knowing his. One of the hazards of working with Mulder, she thought. "He's quite bright," Cross allowed, smiling softly. They turned the third (or was it fourth?) landing and continued upward. "Yes," Scully said, realizing she wasn't in as good a shape as she had previously thought. She was beginning to get slightly winded. Of course, she thought, that could be from the...activities earlier that evening. Great sex had a way of tiring her out. At least, the first time she'd had great sex was tonight, but Scully was fairly sure that the theory held. "You two seem very close," Cross tried again. "More so then some, I'd imagine, and not as close as others." Cross's laugh was rich and deep, and he stopped on the sixth landing to let it out. Scully, glad for the momentary rest, let him laugh. "If you two," he said, sighing, "were any closer, you'd be married. Agent Scully, I've been a cop for almost twenty years. A good cop. Not the greatest, but as you said, better than most, not as good as some. You tend to...notice things." He turned to continue climbing and Scully followed him. "I'm sure you're aware of the way you invade each other's personal space." Scully nodded. It was an old observation. "Yes, and we've been partners for five years. That sort of thing evolves over time, as I'm sure you know." Cross shook his head. "I've never had a partner longer than two years." They turned another landing and continued upwards. "Well, when you've been partners with someone as long as Mulder and I have, certain...delicacies tend to go by the wayside." "For example?" Cross asked, genuinely curious. "Well...for example, we were on a case in Florida recently. I won't go into the details, mostly because you wouldn't believe me, but the point is that at the end of the case, Mulder was with two other FBI agents and local law enforcement tying up the loose ends. It was my job to go back to the hotel and pack our stuff and meet him at the airport." "So?" "Well, Mulder, as I'm sure you're aware, is a man. A man who hasn't been in a relationship for a long, long time. Some might call him a confirmed bachelor. Bachelors, as you know, tend to be...messy." "Ah," Cross said, grinning and nodding. "I get it. Dirty socks on the floor." "That's the least of it," Scully said with a grin. "Yes, I know what you mean. I had a..." Cross paused. He'd almost said 'lover.' "...roommate, once. He was equally...non-fastidious." Scully tried to smile. "That's a nice way of putting it, I guess." "So I know what you mean. So, that just proves my point, Agent Scully. You and Mulder are...unusually close." Scully suddenly wondered if Cross suspected, if he knew. She hadn't had time to shower before leaving the hotel room. Embarrassed, she kept her mouth shut and continued climbing. Cross saw the sudden flush on Scully's face and knew that he was right. He would never say it outright, but when she and her partner had arrived at the hospital, they had fairly reeked of recent lovemaking. Alex had noticed it to, as had Daryl. They had all exchanged secret glances and smiles behind the two FBI agent's backs, each of them glad, for separate reasons, that the relationship had taken that step. Each of them somehow sensed that it had been the first time for them. Scully stopped on a landing. "You can tell, can't you?" she asked. Cross thought about denying it. But, on this case, she was as much a partner as Daryl was, and Cross had a strict policy about not lying to his partners. "Yes," he said gently. "We all could," he added. "Alex already knew," Scully admitted. "She called Mulder's room and got me." Cross reached out and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Does it bother you that the three of us know? Because I know I won't tell anyone, and I know Alex won't, and after I have a word with my partner, I know Daryl won't." Scully shrugged. She wasn't upset, exactly. Not...disturbed, really. She searched her emotions, looking for the correct word. Frustrated seemed to fit. She'd wanted time to savor this new step in her relationship with Mulder, time to examine it like a new toy, time to get used to it before she had to worry about what other people might or might not be thinking. And because of fortuitous timing on the part of the UNSUB, she had been robbed of that. "It's just so...new," Scully said, confirming Cross's suspicion. "I wanted time to get used to it." "If it helps, I think that...it's a good thing." Scully wanted to laugh. How on Earth could Cross say such a thing? He hardly knew Mulder, and what he did know of him wasn't exactly flattering. Finding the FBI's premier profiler rocking like a baby in an interrogation room, banging his head against the wall was not exactly the best possible impression to make. Although Cross hadn't been present when that little matter had popped up, Scully knew that cops gossiped like little old ladies. Alex was sure to have told him, if only to keep in the loop as to who they were dealing with. "What...why would you say that?" Scully asked, turning to continue her upward trek. "It can be just as simple as the fact that you make him happy, Scully. That much is obvious." "How so?" Cross almost giggled. "I keep forgetting that you can't see what he's like when you're not around. Let's just say that when you come into the room, Mulder's mood brightens considerably, and when you're away, he can be kind of a..." "Jerk?" Scully finished. "I think that sums it up quite nicely, Agent Scully." "How do you know all this?" she asked. "I wasn't aware that you spent a lot of time with my partner." "Alex told me," Cross admitted. They arrived at the proper landing and stopped to catch their breath. "Have you ever been involved with one of your partners?" Scully asked almost timidly. Cross shook his head. "With an ex-partner once." "How did it end?" "Not well. He wanted to see other people. And in today's day and age-" Scully nodded. "Got it. Doctor, remember?" Wait a minute, Scully thought. wanted to see other people? And then she remembered the remark that Cross had made in Central Park at the prostitute's crime scene, about the Army officer Scully had agreed to date in exchange for cracking the ELS. "Well, if he's cute," Cross had started. NOW Hands on his thighs, slightly bent at the waist to make breathing easier, Cross grinned at Scully's shoes. "Just give it time, Scully. Don't push. Don't panic if he wants to distance himself early on. Don't panic if he wants to make love all the time. Just...don't panic. It's as new for him as it is for you, and men traditionally aren't the most sensitive gender out there. He'll need your help." "He's already asked for it," Scully admitted, not knowing why she had. "See?" Cross said, straightening and running a hand through his hair. "You're already ahead of the game. Most couples never get to that stage. The roles are cast at the beginning, each character poured into some die that our culture has created. People are scared of breaking those molds, and so they fall back on the scripts that have already been written. Mulder, as brilliant as he is, has already figured out that he's way, way out of his league with you, and he doesn't want to fu...er, mess it up." "Out of his league?" Cross grinned, wiping a hand across his brow. It came away wet. "Yes, Special Agent Dana Scully, MD. You must realize that to most men you are a very intimidating woman. A cop, for one, a fed for another, a doctor for a third, smart as a whip and to-die-for-sexy." Scully blushed. "You think so?" Sam's smile widened. "I know for a fact that half the day tour has a crush on you, and the other half are afraid of you." Scully chuckled, pushing the door open. Cross followed her out and they found themselves practically in front of Ian's door. Scully took a glance up and down the hallway. "Have the detectives been up here?" she asked no one in particular. There were two patrol officers guarding the door to Ian's apartment. They shrugged. "We got here late," the first one said. Scully walked down the hall to the end, turned and walked all the way back past Ian's apartment to the other end. Something had caught her attention, and she couldn't put her finger on it. "Something's wrong about the hallway," she said. "I know they were up here because they found the magazine, right?" Cross nodded, wondering where she was going. "Do we know how many shots were fired in the apartment?" she asked. Cross consulted his notes. "Fourteen." "Plus one in the victim is fifteen, right?" Cross nodded. "The magazine," Scully said, "holds sixteen. The magazine was empty when it was found, right? Where's the last shot?" Sam Cross walked to the elevator doors and faced them. A small chalk circle drawn on the carpet indicated where the magazine had been found. There were six small drops of blood on the carpet, also circled. "If he's right handed," Cross said, "he would have been facing the elevator when he changed magazines. He hits the mag release, it falls out, he reloads, right?" Scully nodded. "If he only threw fifteen shots inside and threw the last one out here, while facing the elevator..." He twisted from the waist, miming a gun with his thumb and forefinger. There were only two apartments that were in range from his position, only two that could be fired upon without having to take a step. "One of those two," he said, pointing with both hands. He went to one, Scully to the other. She found it first. On the striker-plate of the doorlock, a deep, angry metal trench had been dug. Scully chewed her lip and made the mental calculations. Glancing straight up, she saw it. In the dropped ceiling panel directly above the apartment door was a neat, round hole. "Got it," she called. Cross joined her and looked up. "Perfect," he muttered. Grabbing a radio from his back pocket, he called downstairs. "M-Mike-Four to M-Mike-Six, K." "Six," "We need a CSU team and a ladder up here. Scully found something." "On the way," Alex called. A moment later they heard a call for ESU to respond with a ladder, forthwith. "I doubt," Scully observed, "that our killer would have shot at this door unless there was someone to shoot behind it." Cross checked his notes again. "First officers knocked, no answer." Scully knocked. No answer. "FBI!" she announced loudly. "Open the door or we're coming IN!" Cross stared at her in shock. A moment later the door opened. "FBI?" a timid voice asked. Scully produced her identification and displayed it. "Special Agent Dana Scully," she said. "This is Sam Cross." "I didn't see-" "And your name is?" "Sidney." "Sidney...look at the strike-plate on your lock." Sidney dutifully glanced down, saw the mark, and blanched. "I don't want to get involved," he said, starting to close the door. "Sidney," Scully said softly, gently. "Please listen to me for two minutes. If, after that, you still don't want to get involved, I'll respect your wishes." Long enough to get an appearance warrant for a material witness, she thought. Pause. "I'm listening." "The man that shot at you is a very mean character. He's wanted in conjunction with several other murders. He shot and killed your neighbor tonight. Anything you can tell us about him would be helpful. Anything." Sidney seemed to consider this. "What would I have to do?" he asked with a sigh. "First, I'd like to ask you a few questions," Scully said. "Tomorrow, we may ask you to come down to Police Headquarters and talk to some detectives, and perhaps a sketch artist." "Will I have to testify?" Scully shook her head. "I doubt it, but it's always possible. I'd like to come in now and ask you some questions." "Ok," Sidney said, opening the door. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= St. Lukes Roosevelt Information Systems Machine Room "Holy shit," Byers breathed. He pointed at the computer screen. "Look at this." Mulder leaned over his shoulder, glancing at the laptop's screen. "What am I looking at?" "He's already been in," Byers said. "Did you get him?" Mulder asked excitedly. "Hold on," Byers mumbled, typing madly. Accessing the connection and session logs of the mainframe, he found what he was looking for after running a finger down a column of numbers. "He came in from a privileged connection to another system. I don't recognize the address off the top of my head-" "You," Mulder said, pointing at one of the hospital's IS people. "Come here. Do you know what this is?" The IS tech peered down at the screen. "Veteran's Hospital Service. It's sort of an HMO." "They have access to your systems?" "Yes...part of the automated billing system. A patient that's covered by them is admitted, and every test, drug, procedure or exam that a doctor prescribes is transmitted to their computer for cost approval. The connection is two ways, though. That was part of the contract." "Can you trace it back through the VHS computer?" Mulder asked. "I can try," Byers said, his fingers already moving. After thirty seconds of typing, he stopped. "No. I have no idea what the privileged account's password is. The communication account only has enough access to drop files in a specific location and scan another for any files to be picked up. I can't see the directory structure, so I have no idea where I am in the system. I'd have to crack this system to get any further." "So CRACK it!" Mulder ordered, frustrated. "It's not that easy, Mulder," Byers protested. "And this is more Frohike's thing anyway." Mulder held out his hands, showing Byers his palms, calming himself. "Let me ask you this...is there anything more you can do right now?" "No." "What did he do?" Mulder asked. Byers scanned the files quickly. "He perscribed penicillin. 20 milligrams IV." Byers paused. "That doesn't seem very menacing." "Unless," Mulder thought out loud, "somehow this asshole knows that Ivan was allergic..." Mulder openly wondered at the access this man must have. "Ok, let's kill Ivan. Enter it into his medical record that the penicillin killed him instantly, and that the time of death was approximately 22 minutes after the injection was given. That gives someone enough time to notice that he crashes, run the code, and call it." Byers nodded and began tapping again. Mulder paced behind him, trying to come up with something, anything to track and trace this asshole. "He's going to check back," he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. "He has to. He has to make sure that Ian's dead, that he can't identify him." Excited now, turning to Byers, he asked, "Can you put a trace in?" "A trace?" "Sure...the next time he connects through that account to look at these files, can you...like, check the connection? Trace it back? Invisibly?" "I think so..." Byers said. After a moment he confirmed it. "Yes, I think I can." Mulder turned to the IS tech. "How many HMOs have that kind of privileged access?" "Why?" he asked. "Because this guy is slick. He's sure not to connect again using the same account. He'll try and get in another way. The only way he'll use this account is if we break any other connections." "Oh," the tech said, getting it. "About thirty." "Can we break them? Just for an hour or two?" "Break them?" "Make it look to anyone who knows anything about computers that there's something physically wrong with all this stuff. A card blew, or a cable got cut or something...anything that doesn't look like the accounts were deliberately disabled." The tech tapped a finger against his nose, thinking. "Sure," he said. "Follow me." He led Mulder behind a thirty-foot-long rack of equipment; each rack was over six feet high, and they were crammed with electronic equipment of all shapes and descriptions. Mulder had no idea what any of it was. "The primary connections are via TCP/IP connection to the Internet through a gateway. If I pull this card, here...the gateway goes down, and it looks like a router or hub problem. Each HMO that has a privileged account has a 56.6 dial backup on a leased line. One line to a company. The lines are in blocks of two on a 128k D-Channel fiber converter." Mulder nodded, not getting any of it. The tech saw this, and dumbed it down. "If I pull this card, all the normal connectivity goes away. If I start pulling these cards, it will look like there's more than one problem. But it will look like a technical problem, not a tightening of security. I can leave two or three cards in the dial backup rack, so your friend can put his sniffer on two or four accounts, instead of thirty. That will narrow your chances of finding this guy." Mulder's head bobbed as he got it. "Do it." "Whoa," the tech said. "You asked if it were It's possible, Mr. Mulder. As for actually doing it..." "Which ones?" Mulder asked again. The tech pointed. Mulder reached over to yank it out, but the tech stayed his hand. "Ok, ok...but you gotta cover me with my boss. The VP of IS is going to have my ass for breakfast-" "I'll take care of him. Do you really think he wants an FBI press conference to be held on the front steps of this hospital, a press conference where I announce that we've managed to figure out that the killer broke into the computers here and killed a patient from somewhere else by entering a false medication order into the patient care system? I doubt it. He'll play along." The IS tech yanked the gateway connector and moved to the dial backup racks. Quickly, he pulled twelve cards, leaving three. "Six or four?" "Four." He pulled the next-to-last card. "Everyone except VHS and OMM are down." "IMM" "Omega Medical Management." Omega? Mulder thought. That name sounded familiar. "John, did you get that?" Mulder asked. "OMM, got it....hold on...." Mulder took a few steps away, letting Byers do his work. He dialed Scully's cell and waited for her to pick up. "Scully." "Hey, it's me. Got a minute?" "Not really. We're...interviewing." "You have a witness?" "Sort of. I'll explain-" "Is anyone there with you?" "Cross." "Lemme talk to him." The sound of the phone being handed off scratched across Mulder's eardrums, and then, "Cross." "Hey, get Alex on the horn and tell her that we need to issue a press release via your PIO that Ivan was able to give a complete description of the suspect before he succumbed. We have an artist working from the outline that Ivan gave, all the usual bullshit that the press loves." "Raise the stakes? Are you sure that's wise?" "No, but it's all we've got. Our little trap here worked, and it didn't. We're putting new cheese in it right now." "Gotcha," Cross said, and hung up. Mulder began pacing, absently thwacking his phone against his palm. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Mark Dupree was not stupid. As with most serial murderers, he was of above average intelligence. He'd once purchased a do-it-yourself IQ test and was more than a little surprised to discover that he was "extra bright," only a few points away from being an official genius. But, if pressed to describe himself, Dupree would admit that it was more than the fact that he had a large capacity to learn (which was what, after all, all an IQ measures.) He was devious. He was sneaky. He could make plans with the minutest of details and follow them to the letter. He was careful. Paranoid, even. When he had started entering other people's computer systems without their permission, he had learned some fast and hard rules. Rule number one was: Never use the same door twice, especially when you were thrashing something. If you were just peeking, just looking around, not changing anything, you could use a door as many times as you liked. But the first time you changed something, you burned that bridge forever. Which is why he attempted to enter the St. Lukes Roosevelt computer from another node to check on the progress of Ivan. He got a message that the connection was unavailable. Curious, he thought, not alarmed yet. He tried another route. Same message. He went through several quickly, always getting the same message: Connection unavailable. Not a security thing...it was starting to feel like a router problem. Dupree sent a ping packet towards the St. Luke's mainframe. Sort of a cyber-equivalent to a submarine's sonar ping, it would report back if the target machine was answering a very basic version of "Hey, you there?" Four packets sent, four dropped. Router, Dupree thought. No reason to panic yet. Consulting the same small spiral-bound notebook, Dupree found some of the dialback connect numbers. He was taking a chance now; if they were looking for him on the dialbacks, he would lead them right to his source. Not to the office...but to the jumping-off point that he had to use to connect to the dialbacks. He tried a soft connect. No user name, no password, just two machines agreeing to talk to each other for a few seconds. Dupree went through twenty of them before he became concerned. What were the chances that a router and a dialback rack would go out on the same night? The same night that he had breached security? Zero. Pushing his chair away, Dupree considered his options. First, it could be a simple technical problem. Maybe the boxes were down for maintenance. It was almost four in the morning, after all. A perfect time to do preventive, periodic maintenance. Except for the timing, again. Same day. Two different communication systems, one specifically designed to be a backup for the other. Fiber cut? Pulling himself back to the console, Dupree ran a traceroute. The program attempted to connect from his machine to the target machine, reporting every intermediate stop. It got all the way to the gateway and then died. A traceroute couldn't be done on a dialback...but there was a way to check. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= St. Lukes "Mulder, if you want to do this right, you need to open a trouble-ticket with NYNEX on this." "What?" Byers grinned. "If this guy is as good as you say, he's probably going to ping and then traceroute the router, and then see if NYNEX has an open trouble ticket for the dialbacks. If they don't, it's going to arouse suspicion." "What if he works for NYNEX?" "Then the jig is up. But...hey, I'm just-" "Do it," Mulder said to the IS tech. "That means a NYNEX tech will be here in about an hour. Who's going to explain it to him?" "I will," Mulder said, his face grim. The tech lifted the phone and dialed. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Cracking the NYNEX database wasn't particularly hard, it was just annoying. Who used VMS anymore? Dupree thought. He'd believed that the entire telephony industry had switched to Unix long ago. Obviously not NYNEX, and Dupree wasted valuable connection time fighting to remember his VMS syntax. Finally he found what he was looking for. There. A trouble ticket for SLRIS. St Lukes Roosevelt IS. Gateway down, dialbacks failed...fourteen out of fifteen. Sensing the trap, Dupree logged out of NYNEX and sat, thinking. VHS shared a dialback with...OMM. Of course, Dupree thought. The way this is going, it's not ironic. It's expected. They were onto him. They had set a careful little trap for him, hoping to force him to use the same account again. He had a privileged OMM account, but...that wouldn't be any fun. Dupree opened the notebook again and read his notes. St. Lukes Roosevelt used a combination of information systems technologies. There were Unix boxes, Novell boxes, a few LanTastic print servers here and there, some DOS and Windows boxes, even a few Macs in the PR department. All connected via the internal Ethernet network. There were also some WindowsNT boxes. Dupree reconnected to NYNEX, wondering if they had the contract to wire the building. They did. And there, in black and white up on the screen, was what he needed. Three WindowsNT boxes, one for the VP of IS, one for the VP of Operations and one for the Chief Administrator. All of them with modems. And the modem numbers neatly recorded by the NYNEX technician on the work order. WindowsNT, if not configured properly, had some rather huge, gaping security holes. One of them was the fact that Mark Dupree just happened to know a trick to trick the computer into answering an inbound modem call. And once that happened, he could get to the data he needed from inside rather than outside. It was exquisite. It was perfect. It was a hack of epic proportions. Wait, Dupree thought. I can do better. I'll send a message to the FBI, only they won't know what it is, only who it came from. Spinning in his chair (and wincing at the sudden, shooting pain from his leg,) Dupree moved to another workstation and called up a program he'd been working on for a few months. It was an encryption scheme of his own design, something that was so ingenious that he was sure he was the first person to have thought of it. They would never, ever solve it, but it would drive them crazy trying to. He opened the specific file that he wanted to encrypt and launched the program. It took almost two full minutes, but when it was done, the encrypted file looked like garbage. Returning to the first workstation, Dupree quickly dialed a special number that he had created himself after spending several hours deep inside the NYNEX computers. The number was nothing but a way for him to vanish inside the network; once he connected to it, he could dial anywhere in the world, and the call would be untraceable. From there, he connected to the hospital, dialing one of the WindowsNT boxes. It took him moments to breach the Remote System Access protocols, giving him almost complete control of the box. A few seconds later, after invoking a little known administrative backdoor, he had the machine completely under his control. Seconds after that, he was on the internal network at St. Lukes. He quickly found the records relating to Ivan, and was pleased to see that the man had died as a result of the penicillin injection. He dropped the encrypted file in the same place and quickly exited the system, covering his tracks as he went. When Mark Dupree went to sleep that night, there was a warm, soft smile on his face as he thought of the FBI and the NYPD chasing their tails, wondering where and when he was going to strike next. The hunger...the need was still there to take a Chosen, but he would be able to control it for a few days more. Enough time to find a new victim. Enough time to plan it right this time; as he hovered between sleep and reality, Dupree knew that his biggest mistake had been in underestimating his prey. They were all smart, he realized, in their own sick ways. Just as he was. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= St. Lukes Hospital "Mulder," Byers said. "You'd better come here." Mulder moved next to his friend and peered over Byers' shoulder. "What am I looking at?" "In the directory that contains the most recent medical data for your patient, a new file just appeared. The file appears to be encrypted, but...not by any program or algorithm that I've ever seen, and I've seen most of them." "Where did it come from?" "That's the thing...it looks like it came from the Vice President of Information Systems' machine, if I'm reading the network matrix right." Mulder turned to the IS Tech. "Is there any way into the internal network other than those...things?" he asked, pointing at the disabled gateway and dialback racks. "Sure," the tech said. "About six or seven dozen machines in the building have modems for dialout purposes. Most of those machines are NT, and someone...oh, wow...did he come in the front door?" "Apparently," Mulder said, turning back to look at Byers' laptop. "Copy the file, give it to Langly to crack. Highest priority. And then leave some kind of monitoring software here. After that, we're going home for some sleep." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= One Police Plaza Sidney had been with the sketch artist for about an hour, and Scully was growing impatient. She was in Alex's office, slowly pacing back and forth in front of Alex's desk. "What's taking so long?" Scully asked. "You want it fast, or you want it right?" Alex asked. "Yes," Scully said, and then smiled. Alex grinned back. Cross came out of the interrogation room, holding an 11x17 sheet of paper in his hands. Scully opened the office door and held out her hand, eager to see the first glimpse of the man she was chasing. "Here it is," he said. Scully took it and turned it around. The man looked...haunted, Scully thought. He had dark, soulful eyes, a thick, generous mouth, a narrow, almost pinched nose. The hair was long, but not overly so. He looked... "Dangerous," Alex said aloud, glancing at the image over Scully's shoulder. "Yeah," Scully agreed. "Copies to all precincts?" Cross asked. Scully shook her head. "We'd better check with Mulder." Alex's first reaction was to overrule Scully and order Cross to have thousands of copies made for every station in the department and every patrol car on the road on the off chance that a uniform would spot the killer and put the arm on him. But the reality of the situation was that she needed Mulder, and Scully, and the FBI. If this turned to shit, she'd need their help. Her phone rang. Alex leaned over her desk and hit the SPKR button. "Cahill," she called loudly. "Inspector Cahill, this is Casey Tan, with WCBS news..." "No comment," Alex said, reaching over to hit the SPKR button again and disconnect the call. "Inspector, who is Officer Byers?" Alex's hand froze. Scully closed her eyes. "I'm not aware of any officer named Byers," Alex said truthfully. "You know that I can call the PIO and find out exactly who he is." "Are you threatening me, Miss Tan?" "No, Inspector. Merely stating the obvious facts." Alex snapped her fingers at Cross and pointed at the door. she mouthed. Cross stared at her blankly. Scully grabbed him by the elbow and pulled his ear to her mouth. "She wants to you get to personnel and get them briefed in on my three friends." Cross nodded, getting it, and turned to leave. "Miss Tan," Alex started, "you realize that any story you might air at this time is premature and-" "Save it, Inspector. Two things. First, I already called the PIO, and there are no officers, sergeants, lieutenants, captains, detectives or otherwise named Byers in the employ of the NYPD. And I personally know everyone from Deputy Inspector on up. So that means that the man Captain Stoltz gave a ride to St. Lukes Roosevelt hospital is not a cop. I'd very much like to know who he is. The second item is that I have no plans to run with this story until the murderer is caught... if you play ball with me." Alex glanced at Scully, shrugging. What can I do? her eyes asked. Scully shrugged back. Not much. "Will you agree to a meeting?" "Of course." "No cameras, no recorders, nothing. Just you. Not even a notepad. Depending on the results of that meeting, we might have more." "Agreed," Tan said. "When?" "Either very late this afternoon or tomorrow. I'm not trying to put you off, Miss Tan, but my detectives and I have been up all night on the latest murder, and we need our sleep." There was silence as the reporter seemed to consider Alex's offer. "Very well," the voice finally said. "Tomorrow morning, ten AM, One Police Plaza, in the Citywide Major Case Squad's bullpen." "Agreed," Alex said. Cahill hung up, and then turned to face Scully. "Go back to the hotel. Take your partner to bed. Make love to him like you've never made love to a man in your life. When you're done, tell him the bad news, and ask him if he's up to mind fucking our little reporter friend." Shocked, Scully gaped at her friend. "What?" "We have to buy time. Tan can't be trusted. She's burned more sources than I care to remember. She'll promise us the world, blackmail us to death, and then run the story anyway. I need Mulder to do what he does best." Scully nodded, understanding that. "But why...why do you want me to...?" "Make love?" Scully nodded. "To soften the blow. When he hears about this, he's going to go nuts. His friends' covers have been blown. We may have to move them." At that moment, Scully's cellphone chirped. "Scully." "I," Mulder said, "am at the hotel, in my bed, naked, all alone. Where are you?" "On my way," Scully said, ending the call. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= END CHAPTER 19