ELS
Chapter 24
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    : Unknown
Archive Entry   : "ELS" Chapter 24/25
Classification  : SRA MSR
Chapter Rating  : R
Story Rating    : NC-17
Missing Chapters: http://www.sonic.net/~drambo/els.htm
Casting         : Russell Crowe, "Mark Dupree"
                  Helen Hunt, "Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill"
                  Chaz Palmentari, "Tim Everett"
                  Matthew Modine, "Detective Sam Cross"
                  Garth Brooks, "Detective Daryl Hicks"

+=+=+=+=+=+= 
 
Whitestone, Queens 
Home of Crystal Lowry 
 
	The Marshals had come and gone. Crystal Lowry was safely tucked 
away, being watched over by three very large, very jittery Deputy 
Marshals. There had been only one other problem: Crystal Lowry's 
downstairs neighbors, her landlords. 
	A very nice husband and wife, he retired from the Transit 
Authority, she still substitute teaching in the public schools to 
augment his pension. They had insisted to the Marshals that anyone 
having that came looking for Lowry would be informed that she had 
moved and left no forwarding address. Without wanting to alert them to 
the potential hazards, the Marshal had failed to convince them to 
leave. 
	Mulder had taken them into the kitchen and had a quiet word or two 
with them. They'd remembered a trip to Atlantic City they'd been 
planning to take and were gone within fifteen minutes. 
	Mulder, Scully and Cahill went right to work. 
	Mulder taped the ELS message and the copy of the digital image to 
the east wall of the living room. There was no way the UNSUB could miss 
it; Frohike had used a 72-point font and the entire message took two 
sheets of paper. 
	Scully left her present on the arm of the couch. She had discussed 
it with Mulder, and after a moments disquiet, he'd agreed that it 
probably would help matters along. 
	Cahill watched with an eagle eye, there at the behest of Zolinski, 
making sure that everything Mulder and Scully did was if not exactly 
by the book, at least it wasn't a gross violation of the killer's 
civil rights. Cahill's heart wasn't really in it, though. She knew in 
her heart that if it came down to a shoot-no-shoot situation, and the 
only pair of NYPD eyes on the scene were hers, she'd testify in open 
court and under oath that the UNSUB had posed an immediate, deadly 
threat to Special Agent Dana Scully, and that sadly, Special Agent 
Mulder had little choice but to exercise deadly force...legal, deadly 
force. 
	Alex also knew that if Zolinski even suspected that she was lying, 
she could kiss her Inspector's shield good-bye forever, and her next 
command would probably be in facilities maintenance or traffic or 
something equally exciting. 
	Personnel, she thought with a shudder. 
	"We done?" she asked quietly. 
	Mulder stood in the entranceway to the living room, hands on his 
hips, glancing around. "Yeah," he said, "I think so." 
	"Wait," Scully said. 
	She moved to the couch and reached for the item she'd left. 
Adjusting it, she stepped back and looked down. The very image it 
presented raised goosebumps on her arms, but she had to admit that if 
she was an obsessed serial killer, <this> little present was probably 
enough to send him after her. 
	Which was the plan. 
	She stepped back and nodded at Mulder. "Better, you think?" she 
asked. 
	Mulder's lips pursed as he thought about it. "Not too obvious?" 
	She shook her head. "He's not thinking that way, I think." 
	Mulder thought about it for another moment and then nodded in 
agreement. "I think you're right." 
	She joined him at the entranceway and looked over her shoulder one 
last time as they left. 
	There, perched on the top edge of the couch, were another pair of 
her panties. They were a twin of the pair that the UNSUB had taken. 
The message was clear: You took one pair...here's another. Do you have 
what it takes to get to the wearer? 
	The ELS on the wall had been specially crafted by Frohike. Once 
decoded, it had Dana's name, the word "HUNTED" and the word "PREY" all 
crossed. The only question was...who was the hunter, and who was the 
prey? 
 
+=+=+=+= 
 
	Mark Dupree stalked his basement office like a caged animal. Once 
again, he'd underestimated his quarry. The Scully woman had almost 
killed him. Only by the sheerest of lucks had he managed to escape the 
hotel room. 
	And he'd yet to take another Chosen. 
	The need was strong now, controlling, obsessive. He could see 
their faces in his mind; all he had to do was close his eyes and they 
paraded across his internal vision, their faces smiling, mocking him, 
taunting him, daring him to come after them. Thumbing their noses at 
him, and at justice, at the crushed bodies and ruined lives they'd 
left in their path. 
	One half of his mind was screaming for control, begging him to 
take his time, to think it out, to make sure that the next victim was 
ready and waiting. That part of his mind was the same part that was 
trying to keep him out of jail, the part that wanted to go on, 
wanted to continue taking Chosen until there were no more, until all 
accounts had been settled, until all debts had been paid. 
	But the hungrier, animal part of Dupree's brain was slowly 
wresting control away from logic and thought. Dupree stopped and 
glanced in a mirror. His teeth were bared, his nostrils flaring. He 
could see the mad, evil gleam in his own eyes and he welcomed it, 
wallowed in it, moved towards it, embracing it. 
	"Yes," he whispered. "Oh yes..." He felt the madness sweeping him 
away, taking him along and opened his mouth, sighing as he felt it 
wash over him in soft, undulating waves of insanity. He had to take a 
Chosen. There was no choice. 
	Lowry. It had been down to her or Tanaka, and Tanaka was now in 
the clutches of the Marshals. 
	He began pacing again, thinking. If they had cracked the ELS, that 
meant they might have cracked the digital image; if they'd cracked the 
image, and they showed it to anyone at the Marshals Service, 
especially that little ferret Campion or that worm Everett, the jig 
would be up. 
	And they already had the list. 
	That much was obvious. The 32 names. Dupree stopped, sadness 
washing over him as he realized that he would be unable to take any 
more Chosen. He could feel this Mulder man in his bones, could feel 
how he thought, how he moved, could feel what he would do next. 
	Because it was what Dupree himself would do next if he were 
Mulder. 
	A trap. 
	A sudden wave of anger flashed through Dupree's heart. If this 
Mulder had never showed up, none of this would be happening. It would 
have taken the NYPD months to accomplish what Mulder had in a matter 
of days. For a moment, Dupree thought that Mulder was the enemy, not 
the Chosen. Mulder was who needed killing, not the Chosen. 
	Mulder. 
	No, Dupree thought -- that makes it easy. Hating Mulder was easy, 
taking him would be easier still. But there was no pleasure in such a 
hollow victory. 
	Dupree thought about it, about the dozens of different ways he 
could take Mulder if he wanted; a long shot with a rifle as the man 
left NYPD headquarters, a bomb in his car, poison in his room service 
food. A letter bomb. 
	But that would be too easy. If he killed Mulder, Mulder wouldn't 
be alive to know Dupree had won. 
	And winning was all that was important. 
	So what did that leave? 
	Four victims, Dupree thought. Four perfect victims. 
	Cross, Hicks, Cahill...and that little redheaded bitch. 
 
+=+=+=+= 
 
	It took Dupree only an hour to assemble what he needed. Ten 
minutes of that time was spent hacking into the NYPD personnel 
computer. Armed with the home addresses of Detectives First Grade 
Daryl Hicks and Sam Cross, Dupree gathered the other tools he would 
need quickly, planning as he went. 
	Surprise was on his side. 
	Mulder would be expecting an attempt against the other victims. He 
probably had men waiting at every location, eyes peering through 
binoculars and telescopic sights, fingers stroking triggers, muted 
voices whispering back and forth over secure radio frequencies. 
	No one was looking for this. 
	And that was why it was perfect. 
	There were just a few minor details left. 
 
+=+=+=+=+=+=+= 
In the confines of the 102 Precinct 
0231 hours 
 
	Mulder sighed and glanced at the dashboard clock. Something was 
nagging at the back of his mind, but every time he reached for it, it 
flitted away, gossamer tendrils of a thought not fully formed. It was 
annoying, but Mulder had learned to live with it over the years. 
Sooner or later the thought would pop to the forefront of his 
consciousness, and he would deal with it then. 
	"He's not coming, is he?" Cahill asked. She was sitting behind 
them, in the back seat, and was obviously antsy. 
	"Probably not tonight, no," Mulder said, distracted. 
	Alex snorted and reached for her radio. "M-Mike four, five, on the 
air?" 
	"Five," Hicks came back. 
	"Four," Cross responded. 
	"Ten ninety eight, gents. See you back at the house at the start 
of tour." 
	"Ten-four," Hicks replied, the relief evident in his voice. A 
moment later, Cross concurred. The car with Mulder, Scully and Cahill 
fell silent. 
	"Are we going to sit here all night?" Cahill finally asked. 
	"No," Mulder said. "I was just waiting for someone to complain so 
we could go home." He hesitated. "Just to be sure, have a radio car 
sit on this place until we get back tomorrow, ok?" 
	Alex radioed Queens Central Dispatch and requested an anticrime 
car. "Drop me at the house?" she asked Mulder. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
 
	Dupree smiled when he heard Cahill relieve Cross and Hicks. He did 
the mental arithmetic. Cross lived in Westchester, in New Rochelle. It 
would take him perhaps forty minutes to drive from One Police Plaza. 
Hicks lived in Long Island, about thirty minutes from the city. 
	Hicks first, then Cross. 
	And then Cahill. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
Home of Alex Cahill 
Manhattan 
 
	Alex slammed the door and then waved at Mulder and Scully as they 
drove away. All she wanted to do was go upstairs, take off all her 
clothes and descend into a hot bath for the next twelve hours. 
Reality, however, was going to intrude once again; all she was going 
to have time for was a quick shower and a few hours of fitful sleep, 
tossing and turning in a cold, lonely bed. 
	Alex Cahill lived in a three-family townhouse; she had the top 
apartment. She dragged herself up the outside stairs, her mind a 
thousand miles away, mulling over the details of the case, wondering 
if the new day was going to bring another victim, a victim that Mulder 
hadn't thought of. She was very much aware that her relationship with 
Zolinski was on shaky ground, and if Mulder fucked this case up... 
	"Hey." 
	Startled, Alex moved without thinking. She dropped and spun away 
from the sound of the voice, her hand digging under her jacket, 
finding the smooth plastic butt of the Glock in its holster. Drawing 
it with a single smooth motion, Alex came up in a two-handed shooters 
stance, the sights aligning themselves automatically. When she let her 
eyes focus on what she was aiming at, she found the face of Tim 
Everett staring at her. 
	"Whoa! Alex...it's me, Tim! Chill out!" 
	Slowly, Alex lowered the pistol. "Jesus H. Christ, Tim! You scared 
the shit out of me!" 
	Reholstering it, Alex stood. "What the hell are you doing here, 
anyway?" 
	Tim looked around as if worried that what he was about to say 
might be overheard. "Can we go inside?" 
	"What do you want, Tim? It's almost three in the morning!" 
	He paused. "Listen...I did something stupid. I need some advice." 
	Alex, knowing Tim as well as she did, knew that whatever the 
stupid thing he had done was, it more than likely related in some way 
to a woman. 
	"What's her name?" Alex asked as she reached for her keys, a smile 
on her face. 
	Tim's next words made Alex's blood run cold. 
	"Casey Tan." 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
Home of Daryl Hicks 
Long Island, New York 
 
	Detective First Grade Daryl Hicks glanced at the clock in the 
microwave on his kitchen counter and tried to count. If he took his 
shower now, he could sleep in for half an hour in the morning. 
Otherwise, he had to get up in... 
	He didn't want to contemplate it. 
	Having decided to take the shower now, Daryl walked into his 
bedroom and began stripping. His shoulder holster was the first thing 
to come off. 
	The phone rang. 
	Rolling his eyes, Daryl lifted the phone. 
	"Hicks." 
	"Detective Hicks?" 
	"Yes. Who is this?" 
	"Central radio. I have a rather odd message for you, Detective. 
It's from Captain Cahill." 
	"Go ahead," Daryl said. 
	"She said that the package you were expecting did show up after 
all, just a little late, but they have it. She wanted to know if you'd 
be interested in examining the contents." 
	What the fuck? Daryl thought. Then he understood. Alex and Mulder 
and Scully had caught the bastard...the "package"...and Alex was 
offering him the chance to interrogate him. 
	"Sure. But let me guess. She needs me there right now, right?" 
	"Yes, sorry, detective. But she ordered me to send a car to pick 
you up since you've not had any rest. It will be there in the next ten 
minutes or so-" 
	"No, I'll drive," Daryl said, reaching for his holster. 
	"Detective," Mark Dupree said, "the Captain was very insistent. 
I think you'd better listen to her." 
	"Fine, whatever," Daryl said, shrugging into his holster. "Show me 
notified." 
	"Very well," the voice said, and hung up. 
	Daryl stared at the receiver. Alarm bells were ringing in the back 
of his mind, but he was too tired to make heads or tails of it. There 
was something wrong with the whole deal. What was it? 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
Home of Alex Cahill 
 
	"You what?" Alex repeated. 
	"I slept with Casey Tan," Tim said again, slowly, looking very 
much like an eight-year-old boy who had gotten his hand caught in the 
proverbial cookie jar. 
	"Oh good Christ, Tim. What the hell were you thinking? I know what 
you were thinking <with>!" 
	Tim flushed. In anger or embarrassment, Alex couldn't tell. 
	"What have you told her?" 
	"Nothing," Tim said. "But I know she's going to press me. I know 
she's going to use...what happened...against me at some point." 
	Alex spread her hands, shrugging. "Tim? Hello? What the hell did 
you think was going to happen when you slept with her? That she'd 
thank you for being such a great screw and offer to feed <you> 
information instead of the other way around? C'mon, Tim. You're not 
that stupid." 
	Everett nodded. "To tell the truth, the first time it happened, I 
didn't really think about it, and that was my problem. She ambushed me 
outside headquarters. Right after I gave you the first report. She 
asked me some very serious questions, the answers to which were the 
standard party line. Then she asked me if I wanted to go out for 
dinner, and I accepted. She's a smart, funny, intelligent, sexy woman, 
Alex." 
	"You," Alex pointed out," are a married man." 
	"Don't you think I know that?" Ted wailed. 
	"I just wanted to make sure," Alex said. Her eyes caught the clock 
on her mantle and she moaned. "God, Tim, it's almost three-thirty. All 
I want to do is go to-" 
	She saw the look on his face and recoiled. "Oh, no, not here, not 
now." 
	"You weren't saying that down at Headquarters when you wanted that 
list..." he said. 
	"Of course not, and you knew I was playing you and you let me play 
you. So put your cock back in your pants and go home to your wife, 
Tim. I won't make a bad decision worst." 
	"What am I going to do about Casey?" 
	"I'll figure something out, Tim. Just...go home." 
	He stood and moved towards the door. "Any progress? On the case?" 
he asked. 
	"Some," Alex said, hedging. "We have some stuff." 
	"Like?" he asked, interested. 
	Alex waved a hand through her hair. "We managed to break the code, 
we have a picture, we're close, Tim. Real, real close." 
	Tim's eyes lit up. "Can I see the picture?" 
	She shook her head. "I already washed it through our system and 
the NCIC. What are the chances that you'll recognize him?" 
	"Zero, but let me look anyway," Tim said. 
	Giving in, Alex went to her briefcase and found a copy of the 
picture. 
	"We think this is him," Alex said, offering it to Tim. 
	Chief Deputy Marshal Tim Everett took one look at the picture and 
promptly felt all the blood drain from his face. "Oh my God," he 
whispered. 
	"Tim?" Alex asked. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
Home of Daryl Hicks 
Long Island, NY 
 
	Daryl closed his front door and clumped down the steps. The 
dark-colored late-model sedan was idling at the curb. It had the 
requisite antennas on the trunk and the typical slouched posture of 
the driver; it could only be a NYPD unmarked car. 
	Hicks climbed in the passenger seat and closed the door, nodding 
at the driver. 
	Closing his eyes, Daryl leaned his head back for the ride into the 
city. At that moment, he realized three things almost simultaneously: 
First, the phone call. The "dispatcher" had used Alex's old rank. 
There wasn't a single person at headquarters that didn't know by now 
that Alex had made Deputy Inspector; and since using the incorrect 
rank when referring to a senior officer was one of the most glaring 
mistakes someone could make, it simply never happened. And when Daryl 
had told the caller to "show him notified," the voice had said "very 
well," instead of telling him the official time that the notification 
would be entered into the log. 
	Which meant the call was bogus, just as the caller was. 
	And the third thing that Daryl realized was that the driver of the 
car had a face that matched the one in the photograph that was neatly 
folded into fourths in his jacket pocket. 
	"YOU!" Daryl said, opening his eyes. 
	He felt something sharp at his neck, a plunging sensation, and 
then... 
	Nothing. 
	As he slid into unconsciousness, Daryl thought: Needle. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
Hotel Room of Special Agent Fox Mulder 
0344 Hours 
 
	The phone jarred Scully from a deep sleep. She woke with a start, 
lifting her face from Mulder's chest. She didn't have time to 
comprehend (again) what she was doing in bed with him. She reached for 
the phone. 
	"Scully." 
	"It's Alex. We got an ID on our guy. You and Mulder, at my house, 
now. I'll call Daryl and Sam." 
	The phone went dead in Scully's ear. 
 
+=+=+=+=+=+= 
Home of Alex Cahill 
 
	Groggy, yawning loudly, Mulder parked the borrowed unmarked car 
across the street from Alex's apartment. Together, he and Scully got 
out of the car and trudged across the street and up the stairs to 
Alex's front door. 
	Alex opened it on the first knock. Over her shoulder, Scully could 
see someone she didn't expect. 
	Alex stepped back, allowing them to enter. 
	"I don't think..." Mulder started. 
	"Special Agent Fox Mulder, Chief Deputy Marshal Tim Everett," Alex 
said. The men shook hands. 
	"What's up?" Mulder asked. 
	"I'd rather wait for Daryl and Sam so I don't have to go over it 
four more times," Alex said. 
	Scully nodded tiredly, accepting this logic. "Coffee?" 
	"Kitchen," Alex said, pointing. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
Undisclosed Location 
 
	Daryl Hicks came around slowly. He mumbled something, and then 
tried to swallow. 
	Dry, he thought, smacking his lips. My mouth is so dry. 
	Then the headache came. 
	And then the ice-cold fear. Once, as a teenager, Daryl had broken 
his arm, a nasty compound fracture. The ambulance guys had given him a 
little IV Morphine for the pain. He remembered waking up from that; 
the same dry mouth, the same slight headache, the same coming-off-a- 
drunk feeling. 
	He'd been drugged. 
	By the UNSUB. 
	Slowly, Daryl tried to move. He couldn't; his hands were cuffed 
behind him, and judging by the position he was in, he was tied to a 
chair. 
	"Ah, my good Detective Hicks. So good of you to join us," a voice 
said. 
	Daryl opened his eyes and found himself staring at the man he'd 
been tracking. 
	"What happened?" he asked, stalling for time. 
	The man's eyes unfocused. "Don't be coy with me, Detective. You 
know exactly what happened. You fell for my little subterfuge and now 
I have you exactly where I want you." 
	"Who are you?" Daryl asked. "I mean -- what do I call you?" 
	"Dupree," the man said. 
 
+=+=+=+= 
Apartment of Alex Cahill 
 
	"Mark Dupree," Tim said. Daryl had never shown up, and Alex was 
on the phone, paging him for the sixth time. Mulder had insisted that 
Tim tell his story. 
	"What's his story?" Scully asked. 
	"He was...sort of a customer of ours, in a way." 
	"He's a witness?" 
	"No. But we came into contact with him through official channels." 
	Mulder sighed. "Tim, just give us the damn story. Don't worry 
about covering your ass." 
	Everett nodded, glancing at Alex. She knew about Casey; the other 
three didn't. 
	"Mark Dupree was a consultant for us on some new systems we 
installed about six years ago. He's not an employee, he never was, and 
he was never near any sensitive systems. That's why his name never 
came up in our internal audit when we suspected that the killer had 
the access that he did. 
	"About a year after the contract ended, Dupree's wife...was 
attacked." 
	"Attacked?" Scully asked. 
	"Murdered. After being assaulted. Sexually assaulted." 
	Tim fell silent. "There's more, isn't there?" Scully asked. 
	"The perp," Tim said, "was a WITSEC protectee." 
 
+=+=+=+= 
 
	"And they let him go," Dupree finished, smiling at Daryl. 
	Hicks thought he'd never seen a colder, more crazy smile in his 
life. The man is completely out of touch with reality, Hicks realized. 
	He's insane. 
	"The...bastard left her to die in her car. He slit her throat from 
ear to ear after raping her." 
	"So what happened to him?" Daryl asked. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
 
	"You LET HIM GO?" Scully shouted. 
	Tim nodded. "It wasn't our decision, not locally, at least. The US 
Attorney...he said he got pressure from Washington. From the Justice 
Department. And that usually means the Attorney General. I don't think 
it was the AG; probably one of the Deputy Assistant Attorney Generals. 
But he was relocated to another district. Texas, I think." 
	"And then what?" 
	"About nine months ago, he was killed." 
	"How?" Mulder asked, already knowing the answer. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
 
	"I slit his throat," Dupree said, smiling thinly. "It wasn't that 
hard to break into the WITSEC system. I found him in a matter of days, 
living high off the hog, at taxpayers expense, in Austin. A new name, 
even a new face this time. He'd been a Level 2 security risk, watched 
only two days a month. After that, he was moved to Level 1. He had 
24/7 security." 
	"How did you get to him?" Daryl asked. 
	"Easily." 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
 
	"We never announced what happened. We told the families of the 
three Marshals that they were killed on a classified overseas 
assignment. Every once in a while, if the DEA gets a hold of some 
cartel asshole, we go down and take him into custody and transport him 
back. So that's what we told the families. Not that someone...we 
never put it together...someone managed to gain access to the house in 
Austin, waste three Marshals and then wax the protectee." 
	Mulder stood and began pacing. "Oh shit," he mumbled, stopping in 
his tracks. "This...this changes everything." 
	"What do you mean?" Alex asked. 
	"We were having...I was having...a huge problem understanding his 
underlying motivation. The stressor event that set him off. That, 
sometimes, is the key. And it certainly is in this case." 
	"What are you talking about?" Tim asked. 
	"See, he wasn't killing the witnesses so much to get back at them 
as he was at you. By that I mean the Marshals Service. He was, at 
first, trying to show you up, to make a point, I suppose. But, as it 
always does, that changed, I think. He got a taste for it. He likes 
it. He was doing the Lord's work, I suppose, in his own sick, twisted 
way. Sometimes...these guys get a moment of clarity late in the game. 
They understand a lot more at the end then they do at the beginning." 
	"And you think that's happened here?" 
	"I think that's where Daryl is," Mulder said softly. "I think 
Dupree figured out what we're up to, and he's taken Daryl." 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
 
	"So what happens now?" Hicks asked. 
	"Well, I have to go do something, and when I come back, you and I 
are going to have a little fun." 
	Hicks shuddered to think what the little fun would be. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
45 Minutes Later 
 
	The phone rang, startling everyone in the room. 
	Alex moved to answer it. "Hello?" 
	"Good evening, or should I say, good morning, Captain?" 
	"Who is this?" Alex asked, although she knew. 
	"You know my face, if you don't know my name." 
	"Dupree," Alex whispered. 
	Mulder dashed towards the kitchen; he'd spotted the extension in 
there when he'd gotten a coffee refill ten minutes ago. Carefully, he 
lifted the receiver. 
	"Very good, Captain. I don't use your new rank because I still 
like to think of you as the Captain of the ship, so to speak. 
Responsible for the men and women under her command, Hmm?" 
	"What do you want?" Alex asked. 
	"I've left something for you," Dupree said. "On your doorstep. I 
think I'd like...oh, Detective Cross to go and retrieve it." 
	"What is it?" Alex asked. 
	"A computer. A laptop computer...with some attachments. And if 
you want to know what happens to your Detective Hicks, I'd suggest 
that you listen to me and do as I tell you." 
	Click! 
	Alex lowered the phone, thinking. 
	Mulder reentered the living room. "Do you have a vest?" he asked 
Cross. 
	"Why?" 
	"Because there's a laptop computer on the doorstep. Dupree left it 
for us. Which means he has Hicks, and I think I know what he's trying 
to do." 
	"Enlighten me," Alex said. 
	"I think he's going to try and take Cross out when he goes for the 
computer. And then, we're going to get to watch him take Hicks." 
	"How?" 
	"On the computer. Digital steaming video." 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
 
	Dupree set the cellphone aside and rolled his head. Right about 
now they would be discussing the options. He lifted the Remingtion 
Model 700 rifle to his cheek and peered through the Luepold 7x 
telescopic sight. 
	And waited. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
 
	"We could call ESU," Alex argued. 
	"No," Mulder said. "It's down to us now. If we call ESU, he's 
going to find out. He's got the phones, he's got the cells, he's got 
the apartment. We...we have two choices." 
	"We can ignore him, or I can go and get the laptop," Cross said. 
	"And die in the process," Alex pointed out. 
	"We don't know that," Mulder argued. "He may just shoot to wound. 
A belly shot. A shoulder shot. It doesn't have to be a heart shot or a 
head shot." 
	"Or," Scully said, "it could be the laptop." 
	"What?" 
	"Explosives. We turn it on, bang -- he gets all four of us." 
	"No," Mulder said. "He wants to watch." 
	"What if..." Alex said. 
	"Screw this," Sam Cross said. "I'll be right back-" 
	"Sam, wait!" Alex called. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
 
	Sam Cross stepped onto the stoop and looked down. The laptop was 
set at the very edge of the stairs. 
	Cross felt the sweat rolling down his neck. He could feel the 
bullseye painted on his head. 
	He reached for the laptop. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
 
	Dupree fired. 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
 
	Sam felt the impact before he heard the shot. Not like the movies, 
he thought, feeling his body slam against the door. In the movies, the 
hero hears the shot in enough time to duck. 
	The bullet had entered his back low, square on the spine. 
	Sam collapsed against the door, his hand twisting the knob at the 
last minute. His weight pushed the door open and he fell into the 
hallway, clutching the laptop. 
	Daryl, he thought. 
	I'll be waiting for you. 
 
+=+=+=+=+=+= 
Alex Cahill's Living Room 
 
	Scully worked. The bullet hadn't done nearly as much damage as 
she'd feared. It had deflected off the spine, shattering it, and 
buried itself in the meat of Sam's right buttock. 
	But the spinal column had been severed. 
	"I can't feel my legs," Sam moaned. 
	"It's ok," Scully soothed. "The ambulance is on its way." Along 
with all of Manhattan ESU, the bomb squad, the entire MCS squad... 
	"The cavalry," Sam grinned painfully. 
	Mulder was setting up the laptop. Scully glanced at her partner, 
wondering if he was purposely distancing himself, trying to duck the 
blame and responsibility she knew he felt. 
	And then she was ashamed for thinking that. All that was on 
Mulder's mind was Hicks. He knew she was the best one to handle Cross; 
she was the doctor. Sam had known the risks, and had decided to take 
them on the off chance that it might help his partner. She knew, in 
his place, she would have done the same exact thing. 
	The laptop booted and began loading. 
	The program beeped, asking for a modem line. 
	Mulder connected it up. 
	The software continued to load, and Mulder saw that it was making 
some kind of Internet connection. 
	He reached for his cell. 
	"Frohike?" he asked a moment later. "Time for the big game, pal. 
Bottom of the ninth, two outs, the whole deal. I need to trace a net 
connection back to its source, and I need it done yesterday." 
 
+=+=+=+=+= 
Undisclosed location 
30 minutes later 
 
	"I shot your partner," Dupree said gently, right in Daryl's face. 
"How do you feel about that?" 
	"Fuck you," Hicks gasped. 
	"I thought as much," Dupree replied, standing. "See, when your... 
client...killed my wife...I felt much the same way. And now you know 
how I fell, no? Someone you care about, someone you might even love a 
little bit. Gone. Bang." Dupree snapped his fingers for emphasis. "One 
moment there, the next...poof." 
	"Is he dead?" Daryl asked. 
	"No. Paralyzed, I should think. I shot him in the spine. He'll 
spend the rest of his life pissing and shitting in bag and being 
wheeled around by a pretty nurse." 
	Hicks smiled. 
	"What is so funny?" Dupree asked. 
	"Unless the nurse can bench-press 260 and is hung like a horse, I 
don't think Sam will notice how pretty she is." 
	"Oh," Dupree said. "I had no idea. He should be...commended. He 
passes well." 
	"As what?" 
	"A cop." 
	"He <is> a cop, you fucking asshole!" 
	"How...evolved of you, Detective. Did you know your partner was 
homosexual when you were assigned to him?" 
	Daryl shook his head. 
	Dupree glanced at his watch. "Almost time," he grinned. 
 
+=+=+=+=+=+= 
Cahill's 
 
	"What now?" Alex asked. 
	"We wait for him to connect on the other side. I have the guys 
trying to trace it." 
	Mulder's cell purred. "Mulder." 
	"Frohike. We failed on the absolute trace, but I have another 
idea." 
	"What?" 
	"Sprint owns the major Internet backbone for the city. We could 
spend twenty hours trying to trace back the absolute address. But, if 
you are sure it's going to be a streaming video transmission, I have 
another idea." 
	"What?" 
	"Packet traffic. That kind of traffic...streaming video... uses a 
compression header that's unique. I'm going to set up a packet sniffer 
at the inbound end of the net channel. As soon as I see a single video 
packet go by, the software will trace it back, and then start IP 
forwarding the images." 
	"What does-" 
	"Basically, it's like stealing cable. I'll be buffering the 
images. The software works like this...when it sends a packet, it 
waits until your machine says, 'I got it' before sending another. By 
buffering it, I can gain ten, twenty seconds. It will slow him down 
just a bit, and it will look like congestion on the net. Then, I'll be 
able to trace the physical route of the signal instead of the logical 
route. Got it?" 
	"No," Mulder admitted, "but I trust you." 
 
+=+=+=+=+=+= 
10 minutes later 
 
	The laptop beeped. 
	Mulder glanced at the screen and sighed heavily. 
	Daryl Hicks, tied to a chair, appeared on his screen. 
 
+=+=+=+=+=+= 
Undisclosed Safehouse 
 
	"Got it," Frohike muttered. He began tracing. 
 
+=+=+=+=+=+= 
Cahill's 
 
	"Can you hear me?" Dupree asked over the channel. 
	Mulder nodded, and then felt stupid. It was a one-way 
transmission. 
	"Watch closely," Dupree said. A moment later the killer appeared 
in the frame. "Daryl Hicks, you are accused of crimes against the 
people of New York City. Specifically, you are charged with violating 
the civil rights of the citizens in that you failed to protect them 
against the monsters that stalk the streets. How do you plead?" 
	"Oh sweet Jesus," Alex muttered. She'd spotted what Mulder had. 
	Dupree was holding a very large, very black pistol with a 
suppresser screwed on the end. 
	"Not...not guilty," Hicks said. 
	"Oh, that means we'll have to have a trial, I suppose," Dupree 
said. He stepped out of the frame for a moment, and then reappeared. 
	"But we don't have time. I find you guilty. Your sentence is 
death. Any last words?" 
	"Fuck-" 
	The shot was loud; the tiny laptop speaker couldn't handle the 
signal and it came through tinny, distorted. 
	But it was enough to make everyone cringe in horror. 
	A neat, round hole appeared in the center of Daryl's forehead, and 
he slumped over, dead. 
 
+=+=+=+=+=+=+= 
END CHAPTER 24