ELS Chapter 22 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 : March 3, 1998 Archive Entry : "ELS" Chapter 22/? Classification : SRA MSR Chapter Rating : R (Adult Themes, Strong Language) Story Rating : NC-17 (Violence) Missing Chapters: http://www.sonic.net/~drambo/els.htm Casting : Russell Crowe, "Mark Dupree" : Helen Hunt, "Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill" : Matthew Modine, "Detective Cross" : Garth Brooks, "Detective Hicks" : Danny Aiello, Chief Zolinski : Tamalyn Tomita, "Yuki Tanaka/Amy Chin" Enjoy! NOTE: Due to time constraints, this chapter suffered by not having been gone over by my expert editor, Tamara Kauffman. Any mistakes made herein are mine and mine alone, and such flamage as is appropriate should be addressed to moi. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= God, Dupree hated the rain. It was wet, it was cold, it was depressing. Yuki hadn't been outside in four hours, and if WINS-1010 could be believed, the rain not only wasn't going to let up for the next six to ten hours, but in another twenty or so minutes the first thunderheads were going to appear. Dupree twisted in his seat and played with the keyboard of his laptop, looking at the digital images he had captured so far. Yuki working in the garden, Yuki collecting her mail, Yuki eating her lunch on the pool deck, shot obliquely through the trees surrounding her back yard. Not enough, Dupree decided, but it was going to have to do. Then an idea occurred to him. The laptop had come equipped with a cellular modem. Quickly connecting the hardware together, Dupree dialed his home computer and waited for the connect tones. Once a session was established, he began accessing some of his files. He ran his customized search engine and found the sixty or so images he was looking for. Then he launched a slide-show program and began scanning them, immediately classifying them as either keepers or rejects. The final tally was around sixteen or so images. Setting the software to play them continuously, Dupree sat back and studied the screen, letting the pictures wash over him. Each one would display for just about five seconds, and then it would dissolve into the next. They were crime scene photos. Close-ups of the victims. All female, all Asian. All Yuki's approximate size and shape. Computers, Dupree thought, what a wonderful invention. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Interrogation Room "C" Computers, Mulder thought, what a wonderful invention. It was probably the invention of the computer that made units like the ISU possible. Without a computer it would have been next to impossible to search through the indexed and cross-referenced databases that most major police departments kept, and beyond impossible to tackle the NCIC. A fast call to Assistant Director Skinner had resulted in a very special user ID and password being issued to Mulder; he now had the ability to search the special, classified "offline" database stored on the NCIC system. Mulder was sure that there were a pair of eyes at the other end of the system watching every single thing he did, ready to pull the plug if he wandered into an area he wasn't supposed to be. Mulder was classifying potential victims, trying to narrow the pool down. Five files had already been researched and then carefully set aside. The digital photo printer attached to the terminal had already whirred and clicked and issued the official United States Marshals Service mug shots; they were tacked to the wall in the order the murders had occurred; Leon King first, Strimnovitch last. Mulder had decided to go on instinct. There was no way to program his gut feelings into the laptop; he would have to review all one hundred and sixty-whatever cases by hand, immediately classifying them in his mind as either possible, likely, unlikely or out of the question. He'd convinced Alex Cahill to hold off notifying witnesses for the next five hours so he could generate a list of the liklies and possibles. She hadn't been happy, but she'd understood. It made sense; if Mulder could narrow the list to ten or twenty possibles, the NYPD could concentrate efforts in that area, rather than trying to spread their resources across a hundred and sixty-odd potentials. The good news was, a hundred and sixty was a lot less than eleven million; the bad news was that a hundred and sixty was still a hell of a lot, more than the sixteen detectives of the Major Cases Squad could handle. Even if you took into the count the five Borough MC squads, the five borough Homicide Task Forces, and the Special Victims Squad...it was just too many people to cover. And so they had decided to take a calculated risk. A risk that Mulder was uncomfortable with, but a necessary risk, one that had to be taken. And he was wasting time. He was putting it off, he knew, and he knew why. A hundred and sixty lives were in his hands, and if he made a mistake, one of them would die. Mulder sighted, stood and walked around the table, running his hands through his hair. Focus, he reminded himself. Focus on the problem. Why did he choose them? How did he choose them? The basic issue had been decided; it was obvious that he had access to the system, and that he was choosing witnesses. That much we knew. But why? Mulder stopped. No, that wasn't the right question to ask. Why will come after we find out who. How...that was the question. How was he picking them? What formula was using to narrow the pool? That was the question. Mulder remembered the word he'd used. Whores. People selling themselves, selling their souls. Mulder began searching. He quickly eliminated forty possibles. They were all true witnesses, honest people caught in the crossfire of criminal activity. Relocated, new names, new faces, new identities. Not whores. That still left over a hundred names. Mulder frowned. Getting up, he left the interrogation room, looking for Scully. He found her in Alex's office, standing before a map of the city. They were obviously discussing how to deploy the available manpower once Mulder generated the list. "I have a question," Mulder announced. "That was fast," Alex observed, glancing at her watch, her meaning clear. Mulder grinned. "I just got started, Alex." "What's your question?" "When you and Alex went to the Marshals office and they did a computer run, what was the number they gave you?" "Thirty two," Scully said automatically, and then frowned, getting it. "But the guys gave us a hundred and sixty names." "Exactly," Mulder said. "How is that possible?" Alex asked. "I really don't think Tim lied to us." Scully pursed her lips, thinking. "What makes you think he didn't lie?" Mulder asked. Alex shook her head. "Not the type, if you know what I mean. He's a stand-up guy. As much as a Fed can be stand-up, that is." Realizing her audience, Alex quickly added, "Present company excluded, of course." "Of course," Scully said wryly. At that moment, Mulder's cell chirped. "Mulder." "It's me." Frohike. "What's up? Any progress?" "No, but I have some...interesting news." "Lay it on me." "Langly double-checked my work with the...target?" The WITSEC database, Mulder thought. "Ok..." "We think it was a setup." Mulder's eyes rose from the floor to find Alex's. "You think the Marshals set you up? How?" "Langly thinks...well, to boil it down, that they let us in. That they loosened security in order for us to find the file, and then they clamped down again." "How sure are you about this?" Frohike was silent for a long moment. "Once Langly pointed it out to me, it was obvious. I agree with him. John agrees. As far as it goes for us, Mulder, we're in unanimous agreement. It's a setup." "Thanks. Talk at you later." Mulder hung up and swore loudly. "Frohike thinks the Marshals let us in to grab the file." "So that means..." Alex said, making a "go on" motion with her hand, "Exactly what?" "Two things. Either the file we grabbed up is bogus, and we're going to make a fool of ourselves using it to generate any kind of data, or the Marshals know a hell of a lot more then they are telling us." "How so?" Scully asked. And then she got it. "Of course. If they gave us a number that's a subset of the total number, then they have an idea of how this asshole is picking his victims. The thirty-two number represents the number of victims that the Marshals think are in this guy's pool." "Exactamundo, Scully." Alex sat down, covering her face with her hands. "Shit," she said. "Ok, let's cut to the fucking chase." Reaching for the phone, Alex dialed quickly, punching each button angrily. "United States Marshals Service," a chirpy voice answered. "Chief Deputy Tim Everett," Alex requested. "Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill calling." "Please hold, I'll see if the Chief Deputy is in." Six seconds later, Everett was on the line. "Alex!" he said, the cheerfulness obviously forced. "No shit time, Tim. This is an unsecure line. You know what I'm calling about." "Yes." "Is it bona fide? Don't fuck with me on this. Lives are at stake." "Yes, it's bona fide." "Why are the totals different? You gave us a much smaller number a few days ago. Our number is almost six times that number." A short pause. "We have some ideas. The short list was the list of potentials that we're convinced are...on his list." "Be careful, Tim. Remember, the walls have ears. Can you give us the names?" "Which?" Alex sighed. "The smaller set, obviously." "Not on an open line, for obvious reasons." "What then? Do you want me to come there?" She cocked an evil eyebrow at Dana. "Maybe a midtown hotel? A...lunch meeting?" Scully turned away, hiding a smile. Mulder glanced between them, wondering what private joke they were visibly sharing. "No!" Everett said, a bit too forcefully. That's interesting, Scully thought. "Do you have an encrypted fax?" he asked. "Intelligence does," Alex said, snapping her fingers at Scully. Understanding immediately, Scully exited Alex's office and pointed at Officer O'Hara and crooked her finger. He quickly joined her in Alex's office. "Go to Intelligence," Scully said softly. "Stand over the encrypted fax and wait for something from the United States Marshals Service. Bring it back here. Show it to no one. If anyone hassles you, tell them to call Inspector Cahill." He nodded and vanished. "Ok," Ted was saying on the speaker phone. "I'll have the short last faxed over. What are you going to do with it?" Mulder pointed at his chest. "The FBI is going to take that list and try to pick our asshole's next victim." There was a deep sigh on the other end of the phone. Mulder shrugged. "One last thing, Ted. And I mean it this time," Alex said slowly. "Do you have any idea on the perp? Any idea at all? Gut feeling? Suspicion? Anything?" A very long pause this time. "No," he finally said. "I've been wracking my brain. We already did some quiet checks on some ex-Marshals, especially people in the systems security divisions. Everyone has alibis for the times in question. As far as I can tell, we're clean." Alex studied Mulder's face. The man was a human lie detector. After a moment, Mulder nodded. "Ok, Tim, thanks. I'll be looking for that fax." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Federal Plaza Tim Everett hung up the phone and gently placed his forehead on his desk. "Shit," he moaned. "Shit. Shit. Shit." He should have known. He'd made the decision to release the files to the FBI hackers in a hotel bathroom with a naked, sweaty reporter on the other side of the door. Not the best time to make intelligent, well-thought-out decisions. So now what? The first temptation was to kick the problem upstairs. When he had been the Assistant Chief Deputy Marshal, "upstairs" had been the man that sat behind the desk that Everett himself now occupied. Now he was "Upstairs," because the idea of kicking this problem to Washington was laughable. Everett could just the discussion. "Yes, sir, I allowed the hackers employed by the FBI to enter the most secure law enforcement database in the country, and not only that, released the full list of protected witnesses in New York City and the surrounding counties. Now...there's a teeeeeeeeeny little problem." As if. Talk about a career-limiting-move. More like a prison-inviting move. So, the only thing to do was print the list. Shit. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Back at the house, Dupree was in front of the computers, having given up on staking out Yuki for the day. A man in a car on a sunny day didn't attract nearly as much attention as that same man in that same car on a rainy day. Dupree was in the WITSEC database. Which is why he saw Tim Everett's job running in the job list. Dupree felt his heart freeze in his chest when he saw the parameters Tim was using to select records from the database. They knew. Somehow, they knew. There was only one option. Dupree began typing. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Federal Plaza "What the...?" Everett asked. He looked at the screen. On it, a small gray box was centered on the screen. "Error 47:Unable to retrieve record. Retry?" Beneath that were two buttons, one labeled "OK," and the other "Cancel." Tim clicked OK. The message vanished for a moment and then reappeared. Everett clicked OK again. Again the message vanished only to reappear. Tim yanked the phone to his ear and punched four numbers. "Campion," Dave answered. "It's Tim. What's an error 47?" "What file?" Dave asked distractedly. "WITSECDB1," Tim answered. "WHAT?" Campion shouted. "Hold on!" There was the sound of furious typing in the background. "Oh shit...shit shit shit shit," Campion muttered. "This is NOT good..." "What?" "Get down here, Tim. Now." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= One Police Plaza The phone interrupted the discussion between Alex, Scully and Mulder about the coverage patterns they would employ once Tim Everett faxed over the list of potentials. "Cahill," Alex said, punching the speaker phone. "Uh..Alex?" Ted. "What's up, Ted? Send that list yet?" "Uh...there's a problem." Alex turned away from the map and faced the phone, hands on hips. "What of problem, Tim?" "The bad kind." Is there a good kind of problem? Mulder wondered. "Who's in the room with you?" Everett asked. "Mulder, FBI profiler, Scully, who you met and myself. No one else." "We have a serious problem. The intruder is in the system as we speak, and he's deleting the database." Mulder's hand flew to his phone. He dialed the safe house number quickly and began giving instructions to Frohike. "So?" Alex asked, "restore from the backup." "That's not possible," Everett said woodenly. "Why not?" "Well...it is, and it isn't. Here's the problem, as far as I can make sense of it. My systems guy, Dave Campion -- you met him, remember? Anyway...what's happened is that the intruder, the UNSUB, I guess, has put something in the system. Whenever we try to restore from backup, it automatically starts deleting the records." "So use a clean machine," Alex said. "We tried that, Alex! Don't you think we tried that?" "So what happens?" "There's...a fail safe, I guess. Some kind of semaphore-" "What?" "Ok, like the flags? A semaphore is fancy way of saying a flag. Think of it as a light switch. It's either on or off, right? Well, the software has been...altered. As far as we can tell, the way he did it is this...if the flag is present, and it's in the "on" state, then nothing happens. If it's NOT present, OR it's in the "off" state, then it starts deleting records. Since we don't know what the flag is, we can't change it. It's a Trojan horse program. We'll be able to track it down...but not for a while." "What's a while?" "There's over two hundred thousand individual files on the system in question, totaling about sixteen gigabytes. As far as my system guy can figure, only one bit of one byte needs to be different. We'll have to do a bit-by-bit comparison and analysis before we can uncover the problem." Scully sighed and shook her head. This idiot was always one step ahead. Mulder was still on the phone. Alex nodded at the speaker phone. "Fine. Do you have any paper records of the thirty-two?" "No. No names. Just the selection criteria, the formula we used to narrow the list." Mulder waved his hand frantically, trying to get Alex's attention. He pointed at the phone and then at himself. "Can you fax that selection criteria over?" Alex asked. Mulder nodded furiously, smiling, glad that Alex had understood. "Sure...you've got the master list," Ted said, getting it. "Do me a favor, Alex. Guard that list with your life. As of right now, that's the only functioning copy of the data." "Got it," Cahill said, disconnecting the call with a punch of a finger. "Ok, once we get the selection criteria, we can have your people run it against their database. It'll slow us down a bit, but not much." Mulder had a finger in his ear, struggling to hear Frohike. "Holy shit," he said. "Do you guys have a secure fax? Encrypted?" He hesitated. "Sorry," he said. "I should have known." He covered the phone. "They broke the image. It's a picture." "Of what?" Scully asked. "The suspect," Mulder said. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Safehouse Alex's unmarked screeched to a halt outside the safehouse, the red bubble light still flashing. Three doors opened as Cahill, Mulder and Scully poured out and pounded up the steps. Frohike was waiting for them. "This is what we found," he said, pointing at the monitor. A man stared back at them. He was seated behind a desk, squinting at the camera. The picture was fuzzy, but there was something about the picture, something that Mulder couldn't quite put his finger on. "This is our guy," Mulder said, nodding to himself. "How can you be sure?" Scully asked. "It could be the next victim." Mulder opened his mouth to argue and then closed it. He took a breath and then nodded. "Ok, let's be sure. My gut tells me this is our guy. Call Tim Everett and see if he has a photographic database of the-" "We do, and we did," Frohike announced. "He's not in the database." Glancing at Scully, obviously not eager to disagree with her in front of anyone, he added, "I'll have to go with Mulder on this one. This is our guy." Alex nodded. After a moment, Scully smiled. "OK. He's our guy. Now what?" "Television, newspapers-" Alex started. "No," Mulder said. It was his I-will-be-obeyed voice. Alex stopped, obviously annoyed. "Ok, Mr. FBI Man...what?" "This," he said, pointing at the screen, "is our secret weapon. We have the thirty two names. We know who the Marshals think he's going to strike next. We have his picture. We can stake him out and grab him. We have sixteen detectives, plus Scully, myself, you, and these three. That's twenty two. We only need ten more detectives, good ones, to stake out the rest. Use the Major Cases First Grades from Manhattan North and Manhattan South. That will let us cover every potential. We find him, we trail him, we grab him up. If we broadcast this, he'll go deep, and we'll never find him in New York." "What makes you say that?" Alex wanted to know. Mulder shrugged, shook his head and then shrugged again. "I don't know how to explain it...it's just..." He was unable to finish. Scully put a hand on his arm. "How long," she wanted to know, "will it take for you to figure out who's next from the thirty-two possibles?" Mulder shrugged. "Depends on how long it takes for me to get through the files." "Well," Alex said, "time to get to work." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Interrogation Room "C" Mulder paced the small room, his mind whirling. Hungry, on the prowl, looking to get fed, he thought. The monster is stalking the populace, hungry, eager, watching. Has he picked a victim yet? Yes. After Strimnovitch, he would want to make sure this time. Make sure that he had the time and the privacy to do what he needed to do. Which meant that the next victim would somehow be isolated. No close neighbors. Which meant a private house. Which ruled out Manhattan. Eleven names came off the list of thirty two. Mulder placed their folders in a neat stack on one corner of a long table. Twenty one-names left. Male or female? Nine female names, Twelve male. White? Black? Asian? Hispanic? Other? Other was removed -- there were no witnesses classified as "other." There were fifteen white, four black, two Asian. Leon King and Danielle Jones were both black. Jack Nelson and Strimnovitch were white. Tony Montoya was Italian/American, white if you wanted him to be. He needed another woman, Mulder thought, moving the twelve men aside for a moment. Nine female names left. White or black or Asian? Two Asian, three black and four white. Mulder sat down and began examining the nine files in detail. He was halfway through the first file when Scully quietly let herself into the room. Moving over to the table, she wasn't surprised that Mulder didn't notice her. He was making notes on a yellow legal pad, chewing his bottom lip in concentration. "Hey," she said softly. He straightened and stretched, smiling at her. "Hey." "How's it going?" "Got it narrowed down to nine." Scully nodded. "Which nine?" "The women." She paled. "You think he's going to take a woman next?" Mulder nodded. "But don't ask me why. I just do." Scully shrugged. "I trust you, Mulder." And not just about this case, she thought. "I'll leave you alone," she said, turning towards the door. "Stay," Mulder said, surprised that he had. Equally surprised, Scully stopped. "Are you sure?" "Yeah," Mulder said after a long moment. "I could use someone to bounce some ideas off of." Someone? Scully thought. "I could use you," Mulder finished, as if reading her mind. "Sure," Scully replied, taking a seat. "I don't think it's going to be a black woman. So that takes four women off the list. Two Asians, four white women." "He hasn't done a white woman or an Asian woman yet," Scully observed. Mulder nodded. "Yeah, I know. That occurred to me. But Jack Nelson and Strimnovitch were both white, so he has repeated himself that way. And King and Jones were both black, so he's repeated that way, too." "Montoya was white." Mulder see-sawed his hand. "We can go both ways with that. If you say Montoya is white, then Strimnovitch could be classified as a White Russian. My gut tells me that Montoya is...somehow outside of all the other classifications --- or Strimnovitch is." "Either way," Scully said, grasping his logic, "he's going to do a woman that's not black." Mulder nodded. "So, a white woman or an Asian woman. That leave us with six possibles. That's a hell of a lot less than eleven million, and a bit less than thirty-two." Mulder turned his attention back to the file he'd been reading when Scully had arrived. Scully grabbed one of the free files and began reading. +=+=+=+= "Well, we're down to two. Yuki Tanaka and Crystal Lowry." "What's Lowry's deal?" "Girlfriend of a crystal meth and weapons dealer." "Tanaka?" "Wife, excuse me, widow, of a Yakuza gangster that tried to arm half the gangs in Los Angeles and Chicago with enough heavy-duty armament to start World War Three." "Specifics?" "Yuki lives in Staten Island, on a rather large lot with a big house. Lowry is living in the upstairs of a two-family house in Queens, working as a medical transcriptionist. Yuki is living off life insurance money from her late husband." Scully nodded. "Coin flip?" "No," Mulder said, deciding. "Yuki. Don't ask me why. I feel it in my bones." Scully stood, palms flat on the table. "How long?" Mulder shrugged. "Tonight, tomorrow." Scully nodded again. "Ok, let's get moving." +=+=+=+= It was finally decided to approach Yuki as obliquely as possible. Having ESU's Five-Truck, six REPs, squad cars by the dozen and a few unmarked cars assaulting a quiet Staten Island neighborhood was considered bad form by many, except Chief Zolinski who favored the overwhelming-force approach. Detective First Grade Sam Cross dressed as a Consolidated Edison meter-reader; an NYPD-owned panel truck that had been painted ConEd blue for such eventualities was requisitioned from the Central Vehicle Yard. Sam Cross drove to Staten Island and parked the van. Beginning six doors away, he strode up the front walk and knocked on the door. Five seconds later, he realized the mistake he'd made. "Yes?" the woman of the house asked. "ConEd, Ma'am," Cross said. "Here to read the meter." She frowned, moving behind the door as if to block his entry. "I don't understand. ConEd was here a week ago." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Dupree spotted the ConEd van the moment it had turned the corner. It had stopped raining four hours ago. After deleting the WITSEC database, Dupree had decided to take Yuki as soon as possible. Frowning, he turned to the laptop on the seat next to him and quickly began typing keys. In moments, he had his answer. According to the ConEd computer, all the meters in this subdivision had been read nine days ago. Which meant that unless there was an open repair order for a house on this block, or an active trouble-ticket for a gas leak or something of that nature...the van was a decoy. No open trouble-ticket, and no repair orders. Dupree had the car started and moving seconds later. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "Can I see some identification?" the woman asked. Cross heard the engine start behind him and resisted the almost overwhelming temptation to turn around. He knew it was Dupree, and he knew that they blown it. "Police," Cross announced, carefully showing the woman his shield and ID Card. "NYPD, Ma'am. Can I please come in?" "Of course," she said, stepping back. Cross smiled and stepped inside, allowing the woman to close the door behind her. "Can I use your phone please?" he asked. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "GODDAMIT!" Cahill screamed. They were in her unmarked unit, parked twelve blocks away in the lot of a Dunkin Doughnuts. She covered the cell with her hand. "He made us. We forgot about the computers! The damn computers!" "What?" Mulder asked, and then got it. "Goddamit." He paused. "Ok...pull Cross back. Tell him to meet us at the house." Cahill nodded. "Sam, 96 us back at One PP." "Ten-four, boss," Sam said, and hung up. "Next. Put someone, preferably two teams, on Yuki, twenty-four- seven until further notice. Better yet, move her if you can." Cahill nodded. "You think he'll come back for her?" "Only as a last resort," Mulder said after a moment. "If he has no other choice, he'll come back for her. But by that time, he'll be so far on the edge that there's no telling how many more people he'd take at the same time." Cahill grunted. She could feel things turning to shit. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= A badly shaken Mark Dupree drove aimlessly around Staten Island, wondering how far the police's penetration of his identity had succeeded. Had they decrypted the image file? Did they know his name? His REAL name? Think, he commanded himself. Think the problem through. Problems, he amended. More than one. Fact: The NYPD, in conjunction with the FBI, had managed to identify his next chosen. That meant not only that they had the list, but they had some insight as to how he was picking them. Maybe not the exact formula, as it were, but enough to narrow the list down. That was not good. Fact: They had tried to surround him and arrest him. Once the detective in the ConEd uniform had made him, it would have been impossible to get off the Island in the rental car. Every police car, marked and unmarked, van, truck, helicopter, boat and any other possible description of a police vehicle would have been looking for him in an instant. And once they had you from the air -- they had you. That was also not good. His mind still churning, Dupree returned the rental car and hailed a cab. Taking the cab to midtown, he spent the entire ride going over possible scenarios in his head, desperately trying to determine his next move. A thought occurred. He opened his laptop, connected the cellular modem, and quickly logged onto a system that he knew had a trusted relationship with another, far more secure computer. He exploited the security hole and was soon scanning expense reports. FBI expense reports. He found several that looked interesting and started to take notes. After viewing half a dozen of them, it was obvious that the FBI forced their agents to use their own credit cards for hotels, rental cars and meals, and then reimbursed them at a later date. Which meant that the sixteen-digit numbers that appeared on these credit cards belonged to either Special Agent "F. Mulder" or Special Agent "D. Scully, MD." Quickly disconnecting, Dupree dialed another computer and began scanning recent charges to those particular accounts. Which is how he was able, in a manner of minutes, to obtain the name of the hotel that Mulder and Scully were staying in. Perfect. Time to up the ante. Dupree spent almost an hour circling his block in the cab, looking for signs that he'd been made, that his house was under surveillance. Finding none, and realizing that his built-in antenna for trouble was not signaling him, he paid the cabbie and quickly entered his house, triple-locking the door behind him. He had plans to make. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Yuki Tanaka was approached by six very burly NYPD ESU officers and two very nice, very gentle, very diplomatic Major Case Squad Detectives from the Staten Island Borough command. Alex had realized that if she wanted to make full Inspector (and later, Chief,) she had to pay certain political prices, and one of those prices was not to operate on other people's turf without a) notifying them, and b) when possible, letting them play along. So the six burly ESU officers were from Five Truck, the major ESU unit assigned to Staten Island. Shortly after the call to the Borough commander for ESU, another one went out to the Captain commanding the Staten Island MCS, and a quick discussion was held. Yuki was transported to Westchester County. All eight NYPD officers accompanying here were in plainclothes. Two of the six ESU officers carried silenced, short versions of the traditional Heckler and Koch MP5 automatic rifle; another two were armed with Witness Protection Shotguns, and the final two were each armed with high-capacity .45 caliber pistols. They had each undergone the Executive and Diplomatic Protection Training offered by the Secret Service and the Diplomatic Protection Service of the US State Department, and were eager to put their training to use. Not many dignitaries visited Staten Island. With that taken care of, Mulder breathed a little easier. It would frustrate his UNSUB, and that was good. Sitting in Cahill's office with Detectives Cross and Hicks, as well as Cahill herself, Chief Zolinski and Scully, Mulder was staring at the map of the city on the wall opposite Cahill's desk when he had a sudden thought. "Do we have any female Asian officers, preferably detectives, or failing that, uniformed members of at least ten years service?" "No," Zolinski said. "And if we did, I wouldn't tell you. We are NOT doing a decoy operation." "Chief," Cahill said, a warning tone in her voice. She was more than aware that Zolinski was highly pissed at Mulder. Zolinski blamed the handsome FBI agent for blowing the arrest of the UNSUB. Zolinski had wanted to swarm Yuki's house with as much ESU muscle as could be spared. Mulder had overridden his decision, and Zolinski wasn't about to forget it. "Yes," she said to Mulder. "We have female Asian officers. Do you think a decoy operation is a good idea?" "Not sure. It depends on how close the UNSUB got to her. Have the Staten Island MCS guys interrogate her...gently, please...and find out if anyone has come to the door in the past...oh, seventy-two hours. If so, get a sketch artist down there pronto. Do NOT show her the sketch we have under any circumstances. I don't want your guys prompting her to give an answer that isn't truthful. If we get a hit on that, then the decoy operation is a waste. If he just sat and watched, which is what my gut is telling me, we might be able to pull it off." "How?" Zolinski asked pointedly. "This UNSUB, as you call him, I call him an asshole...anyway, this made Cross sixty yards away. I know Cross. Cross is a good cop. A great cop. If he can make Cross that far away, what's to stop him from spotting the decoy operation and the backup?" Mulder turned, the smile on his face cold, hard, distant. "Two things," he said. "First, there will be no external support. No unmarked cars parked on the block. No communications van parked six blocks away. No helicopters hovering off the house or over the water with FLIRs pointed on the target. There will only be three backups, all inside the house, and all inserted in the dead of night with the help of the US Government." "Putting aside for the moment the fact that I will absolutely forbid the plan you just outlined, how on Earth do you intend to insert three officers into a house in the...what did you say... dead of night?" Mulder looked away, out the window at the street below. "Chief," he said softly, "perhaps you and I should speak privately." Zolinski glanced at Cahill and her two detectives, and then at Scully. Then he nodded at Mulder's back. "Perhaps we should," he said, standing, moving to the door. "I believe interrogation room "C" is available?" Mulder, hands on hips, turned and followed Zolinski out of Cahill's office. Scully and Alex glanced at each other, both of them aching to follow Mulder. They waited for the door to close behind Mulder and then began talking. "Ok, talk to me," Alex said to Dana. "What does Mulder have up his sleeve?" Scully shrugged. "I don't know for sure. He hasn't discussed it with me." "What's your gut say?" Alex asked. Scully took a deep breath. "If Zolinski keeps giving him shit, Mulder will federalize the investigation, effectively removing you both from the chain of command and the decision-making process. Once that's done, he'll alert FBI HRT and have them insert you, me and him into the house via a UH-60D Blackhawk helicopter from the Special Missions Wing at Langly Air Force Base." "A what?" Scully shrugged. "Basically, a very quiet helicopter. If you weren't looking out the window, you wouldn't know that one had landed in your driveway. Very quiet." Alex sighed and slumped. "Shit. If he threatens Zolinski with that, this is all going to go to shit in a heartbeat. Zolinski is really, really sensitive to turf and jurisdictional issues. He's not above calling in favors from some judges he knows." "If they're not federal judges-" Scully started. "They are," Alex said, interrupting. "He's spent a lifetime, a career, gathering favors. He could have an injunction with a phone call barring the FBI from...God only knows what." Scully doubted that. Mulder would call Skinner, and Skinner... Skinner would do what had to be done, as he always did. It would turn into a local-federal pissing contest, and as always, the feds would win. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Interrogation Room "C" Zolinski slammed the door shut and turned to face Mulder. "Listen to me, you little-" Mulder stepped into his space, backing the Chief up against the door he had just slammed. "No," Mulder said, his voice low, dangerous. "You listen to ME, Chief. There is no fucking way I'm going to allow a jurisdictional bullshit pissfight from arresting this asshole. Call around. Ask about me. I don't care about making a huge stink. I don't care about my career. You can't threaten me, because you can't take anything away from me that I haven't already had taken. You keep fucking with me, and I'll federalize this investigation in a heartbeat, and that will cut you and your department out of the equation neatly and cleanly." Mulder pointed a finger at Zolinski's chest and jabbed. "Do NOT fuck with me on this." He stepped away, giving the man some space. "You'd do that, wouldn't you, you son of a-" "Go ahead, say it. I've heard it all, and I've probably said worse about her." Zolinski chewed his lip and wondered if he should play his trump card. Fuck it, he decided. "So...what? You call your bosses in Washington and some magical piece of paper appears telling me and my men to get fucked? That the all-mighty FBI is taking over the investigation?" Mulder nodded. "What do you think your superiors would say if I showed them evidence that you were fucking that pretty little partner of yours." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Zolinski knew he'd made a mistake. Zolinski had been a NYPD officer for close to forty years. He'd started as a street cop, breaking up drunk barfights. He'd served in almost every single division of the department, including Homicide, ESU, Intelligence, the Detective Bureau and Organized Crime. He'd seen killers before. He knew the difference between some poor asshole who had gotten caught up in something he didn't understand and the real, true, hardcore killers. He'd seen the Chinese Tong warriors imported from Beijing and Xi Xang, kids barely into their teens with the flat, dead eyes of the true sociopathic killer. He'd seen Organization guys, button-men who made their money waxing people at the slightest whim of some capo. He'd seen it all. None of that had prepared him for Mulder. Pinning Zolinski with his eyes, Mulder stepped back into his space. "First of all," he said softly, almost whispering, his hot breath teasing the fine hairs on Zolinski's face, "we call it making love, not fucking. You may fuck your wife, Chief, but I make love to mine." "You're not marr-" Zolinski started to say. Mulder's head moved a fraction of an inch to the side, the annoyance at being interrupted and corrected obvious on his face. He held up a single finger as if to say, "Ah!" "Second," Mulder continued, "You may not be used to dealing with the VICAP RT squads. And I know you're not used to dealing with Special Agent Scully and myself. Do you know that our solve rate is almost ninety percent?" "That's impossible!" Mulder shrugged. "And our closure rate is almost ninety-five percent. Do you know what that means?" Zolinski shook his head. "That means that the FBI not only knows that Scully and I are... the way we are...but that it's condoned at the highest levels. The FBI is just like any other federal agency, Zolinski. They feed at the trough of the almighty federal appropriation. As long as Scully and I continue to solve cases, we could screw on your desk and they wouldn't say boo." Zolinski felt his stomach knotting, felt the moist, liquid sensation in his bowels and realized that he was actually afraid of Mulder. Very afraid. Zolinski was nothing if not a political animal, and a astute one at that. "What do you need from me?" Mulder stepped back and shrugged. "We're going to back into Alex's office. You're going to scream and yell at me, tell me you don't like it, it's dangerous, it's not policy. In front of the entire squad, you're going to ream me a new asshole. And then, and only then, after you have...preserved your ability to command this squad and this department will you capitulate to my desires. Scully, Cahill and I, depending on the results of the interview with our potential victim, will be inserted into Tanaka's house late tonight. After you leave here, Chief, I'd appreciate it if you'd expedite the matter of locating a suitable Asian officer for this assignment. That's one less thing for us to do." Zolinski nodded, grateful that Mulder was tossing him the chew-out bone. And he hated himself for being so grateful. "You'd have made a great cop," Zolinski said. Mulder's eyes zeroed in on Zolinski's. "I a great cop, Chief. I just wear a suit." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= The chew-out went as planned. Alex watched with wide eyes as Zolinski ranted and raved, pacing back and forth, shouting and waving his arms. It was an Oscar-caliber performance. In the end, as everyone in the room knew he would, he gave in and granted Mulder's wishes. "All we need now is a call from the Staten Island guys and a suitable cop," Cahill pointed out. She was already planning her promotion ceremony. She knew that if she pulled this off, if she were the lone NYPD arresting officer when this asshole went down, the Sixteenth Floor would have no choice but to promote her to full Inspector. "I'll get you a body," Zolinski said, storming out of the office. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Two hours later, the deal was done. Officer Amy Chin, who was almost an exact double for Yuki Tanaka, was selected from the rolls of active NYPD officers. Assigned to the Sixth Precinct in the East Village, she received a radio message to report forthwith to One Police Plaza, in civilian clothes, with her sidearm for a special assignment not to last longer than 30 days. Mulder called Skinner and explained his needs. Skinner called the DLO, Defense Liaison Office, and explained that a classified project within the FBI required the assignment of one UH-60D Blackhawk from the Special Missions Branch of the 222nd Special Operations Wing, United States Air Force. It was agreed that the helicopter and its crew would transit immediately from Langly Air Force Base, Virginia, to the New York State Police Heliport in Armonk, New York as soon as possible. A follow-up call was made to the Commander, Areo Support Division, New York State Police in Albany, requesting the cooperation of the New York State Police. Access was approved, and the helicopter departed Virginia for its three-hour flight North. A KC-131E tanker was scrambled out of Olmstead Air Force Base to refuel the chopper in flight. Officer Chin was brought up to speed. Yuki Tanaka had been adamant than no one had knocked on her door or approached within 500 feet of her house in the last seventy-two hours. It was decided that the UNSUB had been watching her from afar and had not made his approach yet. The decision was made to insert the team of four. Scully, Mulder, Cahill, Chin and Cross drove up to Armonk to wait for the USAF UH-60D. It arrived just past seven at night. Cross and Mulder loaded the chopper with the equipment they would need: night vision goggles, body armor, automatic weapons, the works. It was decided that instead of making the four rappel out of the helicopter, the STABO harness would be used, allowing the pilot to gently place them in the backyard of the house with equal parts skill and precision. At eight O'clock, Mulder decreed that it was time to move out. The four cops loaded themselves into the chopper for the nineteen-minute ride to the target. It was further decided to fly without running or collision lights, a violation of FAA peacetime regulations. Mulder noted in the pilot's logbook that he was taking personal responsibility for that decision. At six minutes after eight, the UH-60D lifted off the pad in Armonk, turned south and sped towards Staten Island. At seven minutes after eight, Mark Dupree picked the lock on the door of the hotel room currently registered to Special Agent D. Scully, MD, FBI, entered, shut the door behind him, and sat down to wait. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= END CHAPTER 22