"Snapshots 17:Returns & Reassignments"
By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially
mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the
copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox
Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used
without permission, and no infringement is intended.

Classification : MSR,X
Rating : PG (Referrals to past sexuality, no dirty words, no violence)

Summary : After having their laptops stolen by the enigmatic Walter
Starke, Mulder and Scully are ordered back to Washington by Skinner.

Note : This is a particularly dry chapter MSR-wise, but it is needed
to move the plot along to the next step. It is a fairly long chapter,
too, and it looks like I might have chickened out on the X-file, but
if you have read all the chapters closely, you'll know where I might
(heh heh) be going with this. :)

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Federal Bureau of Investigation
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
0740 Hours

        Skinner had left his office door open since Abby wasn't in
yet. He expected Mulder and Scully any moment. Even though it was
almost an hour and a half until the official Bureau workday started,
he was dressed impeccably, as usual, and was already at work,
attacking the day's paperwork.
        He steadfastly ignored the two men that sat on his couch, just
as they ignored him. OPR maggots, Skinner thought. Automatons. Robots.
The live and die by the Book, living for the regulations, the Field
Guide, the CPL and the US Code, Amended. In order to even apply to the
OPR, you had to be a lawyer as well as an FBI agent. The Office of
Professional Responsibility shared dual reputations inside the Bureau.
There were agents that thought the OPR was nothing more than a
witch-hunt organized by the Suits on the eighth floor, the Director's
Gestapo. And there were those agents that grudgingly admitted that
there was a need for the OPR, that there were always a few bad apples
in any given barrel, and better that the OPR be in place to root out
corruption and incompetence than another Congressional Oversight
Committee.
        "Sir?" Scully's voice was a bit of a surprise, and Skinner had
to control himself not to jump at the sound. He turned slowly, nodding
at her and Mulder, who had followed closely behind his partner.
        They had, obviously, ignored his direct order to report
directly to him from the airport. They had obviously gone home (whose
home? Skinner wondered), showered, shaved and changed clothes. Just as
he had assumed they would. Good agents to the end, if somewhat
unconventional, they had probably known that two or three goons from
OPR would be there to greet them, and neither Mulder or Scully had
wanted to appear in beach attire with sand in their hair.
        "Sir," Mulder said by way of greeting. He held what appeared
to be three legal pads, and judging by the well-used look of the
pages, they were all full.
        "Is that the data?" Skinner asked. He was well versed with
Mulder's photographic memory.
        "Yes, sir," Mulder said.
        Skinner sighed. He hated what he was about to do, but had
little choice in the matter. The NCIC was FBI property, and the OPR
had operational jurisdiction over any attempted break-ins, or more
importantly, any unauthorized use of the information.
        "These two gentlemen are from the OPR, and they'd like to have
a word with you," Skinner said, motioning to the two men on the couch.
Mulder and Scully turned to see the cookie-cutter OPR agents stand and
approach Skinner's desk.
        "May I?" the taller one asked, holding his hand out. That
impressed both Skinner and Mulder. OPR agents weren't known for their
manners. They usually demanded. Asking was a rare treat.
        "Of course," Mulder said. He handed the three legal pads over
with little thought. Good thing Kinko's was open 24 hours a day, he
thought. The copies were locked safely in the trunk of his car.
        The OPR agent started flipping pages. "This is the data, to
the best of..." his voice trailed off as he noticed the detail, the
level of data that Mulder had scribbled on the pages. Stunned, he
looked up at Mulder. "You remembered all this?"
        "He has a photographic memory," Scully supplied.
        "Oh." She thought she saw something cross the shorter OPR
agent's face, but before she could be sure, his face had returned to
that carefully neutral expression they had all perfected. They must
practice in front of a mirror, she thought.
        "Mulder, Scully, please have a seat," the taller OPR agent
said. He waited until the partners had comfortably situated themselves
on the couch he and his partner had just vacated.
        "Assistant Director, would you mind excusing us for a moment?"
Skinner didn't look very pleased at the obvious snub, but he said
nothing, standing and quickly exiting his own office, shutting the
door quietly behind him.
        "First off," the taller OPR agent said, "I want to tell you
two a couple of things. My name is David Grant. That sounds like one
of those fake names they issue the undercovers over in C13, but the
truth is that is my real name. My partner over there, the short, ever
dapper Dilbert Adams, also has one of those names that people assume
is automatically fake." That out of the way, Grant tapped the pads
Mulder had given him against his thigh.
        "We have several problems here, Agents. May I call you Dana
and Fox?"
        "I'm Dana," Scully said. Hooking a thumb at her partner, she
added, "He's still Mulder." Grant nodded, accepting this. "Let me
succinct. You two need to forget anything and everything you ever knew
about this case, about Walter Starke, about Jenny the flight
attendant, about anything, and I mean anything, related to this case."
        He paused a moment, waiting for that to sink in. "Mr. Mulder,
I've reviewed your personal file...your ENTIRE personal file, if you
know what I mean." Mulder did. Deviations from the norm, reprimands
expunged, items actually deleted from an agent's 'official' record
were always available to someone, especially the OPR. Mulder nodded to
show that he understood. "Good...I know that you two may have a
negative opinion of the OPR, so we're going to sit and talk until I
have a comfort level on several issues...and until you both have the
same comfort levels. Is that acceptable? I'm not storming in here with
Adams over there and taking your case away for no good reason. We have
several dozen good reasons, and we have some other issues to discuss.
But because of the sensitive nature of this case...and because of who
you two are, we're not leaving this room until we all understand each
other."
        "Who we are?" Scully parroted. "Who are we, David?"
        "The best investigative team in the Bureau. I've seen your
closure rate, your solve rate, and your caseload, as well as your...
shall we say, inventive techniques? Not to mention your...unique
theories." He paused, and Scully saw the color creeping up his neck,
slowly reaching for his cheeks and ears.
        He knows, she thought. Somehow, he knows.
        "And one other thing, I'm afraid. I don't know quite how to
say this, so I'm just going to come out with it. Mr. Adams and myself
are members of the OPR squad for Headquarters. But we are also members
of another unit, a much smaller unit. We're the only two members of
something called Unit 620. Have either of you ever heard of 620?"
        Dana shook her head, but to her surprise, Mulder piped up. "I
have."
        "What is your understanding of the unit, Mr. Mulder?"
        "You are both sworn FBI agents, and as you said, members of
OPR. But you don't answer to anyone inside the FBI. In fact, your
charter extends to most of the alphabet Federal agencies. You are
ultimately responsible to the House and Senate Judiciary Committees,
and to the Attorney General. But your true allegiance, the true place
where your orders come from...no one seems to know."
        Scully turned to her partner, a silent question in her eyes.
Shadow government?
        No, he silently answered. His eyes spoke volumes to her. These
people are not our enemies. They are not who we are searching for.
        Satisfied, Dana turned back to face Grant.
        "That's amazing," Grant said. "You two just had an entire
conversation without speaking a word."
        Dana shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Long time partners
sometimes develop a body language, a visual shorthand between
themselves. It's not uncommon with FBI agents."
        "Or lovers," Adams said. She felt Mulder stiffen next to her,
and she wanted to put a hand on his leg to soothe him, but she knew
now was not the time.
        "Yes," she said evenly, using her voice to send Mulder a
message as well as answering Grant's question. "Lovers also sometimes
develop the same communication paths. It's not uncommon." An entire
conversation had just taken place without a single specific word
having been spoken. Mulder and Scully knew the OPR agents knew about
them.
        "Our charter over in 620 is quite broad, as Agent Mulder
indicated. Certain things that come to our attention are not always
followed up on, even if they break known regulations and established
Bureau standards. Only in the most extreme cases would we need to...
look further into certain situations that we are all aware of. For
reasons that I am about to go into, at least for the time being, it is
preferable to the 620 unit and this country that...certain situations,
shall we say? Certain...circumstances remain unchanged, and if
anything, continue to..." Grant closed his mouth, searching for the
right word.
        "Blossom," Adams suggested.
        "Yes, that's a good word. Blossom."
        Dana and Mulder exchanged a glance. This one held no hidden
meanings.
        "The OPR generally, and the 620 unit specifically, is going to
take over this case, Agent Mulder. We have been aware, for a few
months now, that certain strange things are happening to a very
segmented portion of the population. A computer over at the Bureau of
the Census actually tickled us onto it about eighteen months ago,
during the half-decade update. We saw that a statistically high number
of felons released on parole or on technicalities were dying. We had
no evidence that the NCIC was being used for any of this. And in fact,
we're not convinced that the NCIC was actually used."
        Mulder frowned. "I'm not sure what-"
        "Please," Grant said, interrupting. "Let me explain a little
more. Do you know what an RTA is?"
        "Of course," Mulder said, but by the expression on her face,
it was obvious that Dana didn't. "An RTA," Grant quickly explained,
"Is a way for an agency, be it federal, state, or local, to mark a
specific record in the NCIC so that whenever that record is accessed
that a message be sent to the RTA agency. It's a way of seeing who
tickles certain records. The US Marshal's Witness Security program
uses it a lot for some of the people they move around."
        Dana was beginning to see the outlines of the connections.
Starke had said he was a Deputy US Marshal.
        "RTAs are normally visible on the NCIC run sheet when you use
a standard query. But there are was to hide them...to cloak them. Some
of our more...shy brother and sister agencies tend to use cloaked RTAs
when they want to keep an eye on someone that interests them."
        Mulder had lost his train of thought. "What--I'm not sure
where this is all-"
        "Almost finished, Mr. Mulder. On the day you ran your KILLBOT
program against NCIC, you twigged almost four hundred RTAs. RTAs that
until then had been totally cloaked. The only reason we found them is
because someone made a change to your KILLBOT program." Grant sighed,
wanting to get to the meat of the issue as quickly as possible.
"Normally, Agent Mulder, the FBI KILLBOT client queries the NCIC once,
waits for a response, and then sends the next query along. Did you
know that your KILLBOT program can send up to sixty-four queries at
the same time?" He saw the sudden chagrined look cross Mulder's face,
and waved it away. "Mr. Mulder, you are a certified National Profiler
for the VICAP gang. I can wholly understand your need to circumvent
some of the rules regarding NCIC usage."
        He paused. "And in a way, your changes to KILLBOT showed us
what we needed to see. KILLBOT works very well the way you designed
it, but it works only under certain circumstances. One of the
circumstances it does not work well under is when another process on
NCIC is asking for copies of the exact same data that KILLBOT was
sending back to you. Because the port you connected to NCIC through
via Trixie was not a high-speed T1 or ISDN port, things got a little
logjammed. Six messages that were outbound through a different port
were twigged about six times, and the NCIC operating system has a
feature where multiple attempts to send a packet are logged."
        He saw the look in Scully's and Mulder's faces, that
glazed-over, stupefied gaze that signaled he was going into way, way
too much technical detail. "Basically, Mr. Mulder, there was another
computer somewhere out there on the NCIC net that was watching NCIC to
make sure that no one queried the records that you did, in the order
you did. That program was designed to see if anyone had figured out
what you had, and was doing research. The program took copies of all
the data you asked for, and forwarded it somewhere else. The only
reason we found that is because the NCIC made a record of six packets
of data that were not sent on the first try."
        "Because KILLBOT was overworking the system," Dana said,
getting it, "NCIC had a record of six botched send attempts." She
turned to face her lover. "Geez, Mulder...you're even brilliant when
you don't mean to be."
        "It was Fro-" Mulder started to say, and then thought better
of it. If Frohicke ever found out that his name had been mentioned at
a meeting with two OPR agents in attendance, they would take away
Mulder's Captain Video Magic Decoder Ring.
        If Grant took notice of the partial use of Frohicke's name,
he made no mention of it. "Here's the deal, in a nutshell. You're off
this NCIC thing, for now, and probably forever. We have an idea of
where to take the investigation from here. But we have a related
matter that we do want you two to take a look at."
        "Wait a second," Mulder said. "Where did those six packets
want to go to? Who was asking for copies?" Grant and Adams exchanged a
glance. Grant nodded his head at Adams, who thought a moment, and then
shrugged. Grant stared at the floor for a long moment, and then lifted
his head to meet Mulder's gaze. "Normally, I'd say that you don't have
a need to know that information, Agent Mulder. But the truth be told,
you do have a need to know. But that doesn't mean that I have to give
you an answer." He paused, and then sighed. "But, as I said, I want us
all at the same comfort level. I'll be honest with you, Mulder. We
thought we knew were the data was going, but...we can't prove it."
        "Why not?"
        "Because the computer doesn't exist anymore. Or, to put a
finer point on it, the domain the computer was using doesn't exist
anymore. And the last packet track we have of the six shows going into
Ft. Meade."
        "Shit," Mulder whispered. The possibility of getting an answer
out of the NSA was nil. Nada. Zip. Zero.
        "Zilch," Scully finished aloud. Grant looked up, shocked,
realizing that Scully had just finished a sentence that Mulder had
started in his mind. Amazing. Simply amazing.
        "OK, I can see why you 620 folks are onto this one, but what's
this about another case? We're assigned to the X-files..."
        Grant sighed. "Well, yes and no. Let me explain. As I said,
we're aware of things both officially and unofficially about your...
partnership. Part of the price of keeping us unofficially aware is
that you will be called away from time to time for temporary
assignments of a duration not to exceed 30 days per in order to help
the OPR and the 620 unit. That was our price."
        "Price?"
        "Special Agent Mulder...even you can't be so arrogant as to
believe that you don't have some very powerful people glancing over
your shoulder to make sure that you don't step on your dick?"
        Mulder grinned at the imagery. "So what you're saying is that
I'm..." He glanced at Scully. "That we're beholden to you? For letting
us keep our jobs?"
        Grant and Adams exchanged another glance. "Well...yeah. I
guess that's a nice, blunt way to put it, Mulder. You know you're
breaking the rules. You know, Skinner knows, we know, and at least one
or two other people know. And for reasons of our own, reasons that
actually do coincide with your own personal agendas, at least the ones
you've stated publicly, we've decided to allow this particular
situation to continue."
        "For as long as it suits your needs?" Scully asked, a nasty
edge to her voice.
        "Well...sort of. We will, of course, not do anything
officially as long as your...relationship suits our needs. But when it
does not, we will have another conversation, and we will spell out
completely the rules and regs as far as your continued FBI
partnership. There will have to be one or two small changes made.
Nothing like breaking you up or reassigning you, I can assure you.
More along the lines of, don't kiss under the mistletoe at the FBI
Christmas party, that sort of thing."
        Scully and Mulder exchanged another glance, and Grant was sure
that if he tried hard enough, he would be able to hear the silent
words these two people spoke in the space between two heartbeats.
        "OKfor now," Scully finally said, returning her formidable
gaze to Grant's face. "Tell us about the new case."
        "I think you're going to like it," Adams said. He walked over
to the small conference table in the other corner of Skinner's office,
where his briefcase was. Opening it, he removed a slim folder and
rejoined the trio by the couch.
        "The US Marshals Service is asking for some help with a WITSEC
case. They have a witness who is convinced that he is going to be
abducted by aliens." He glanced up from the folder. "I understand that
alleged alien abductions are right up your alley?"
        "Not just alleged ones," Mulder said dryly.
        "Anyway, they've asked that someone be put in undercover near
their witness. So you two are elected, for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, you two have the experience with little green men-"
        "Grey," Mulder and Scully said at the same moment, eliciting a
smile from Adams.
        "Grey then. And secondly, we need you to be under for about
two or three weeks, we think. And...well, this is the part that kind
of fits together nicely for OPR and 620...the Marshals, and...you."
        Scully and Mulder waited expectantly. "You're going under as
man and wife."
        "Well, that shouldn't be too hard," Scully said, deadpan.
        Mulder thought about what his partner said. "Sure, no problem.
What's our cover?"
        "Mr. and Mrs. Steinberg," Adams started.
        "Is it because of my nose?" Mulder asked. Ignoring him, Adams
continued. "Mr. Steinberg is a recently published author of a science
fiction novel about alien abductions."
        Grant interrupted. "You know about the Golden Rope project
over at Langley?" he asked.
        Mulder nodded, and seeing Scully shake her head, he explained.
"CIA ghostwriters. They write books...sometimes very good ones... that
are used for intelligence purposes. Sometimes they bury messages in
them, use them for cryptographic keys for undercovers or illegals
abroad, and sometimes as cover for agents."
        "Correct," Grant said, obviously impressed by the depth of
Mulder's knowledge. "So, we'll have a few dozen copies for you to give
out with an author's photograph on the back with your smiling face.
That'll establish your bona fides."
        "What about me?" Scully asked. "Don't tell me that I'm stuck
playing the little woman in this little production of 'Our Town'! We
can make Mr. Steinberg the recently <widowed> Mr. Steinberg before
that happens."
        "Uh, no. You're actually a psychologist, starting a home
practice."
        Scully sighed. "Well, that should be interesting. Listen,
gentlemen...we've pretty much satisfied ourselves about this NCIC
mess. We can bone up on our new backgrounds by ourselves...we'd
probably do a better job of it anyway. Two things...when and were?"
        "Tomorrow morning, nine-thirty. Pave Creek."
        "Pave Creek? Where the hell is that?" Scully wanted to know.
        "Montana," Mulder answered.
        "Oh...GREAT!" Scully said. "Sun, sand and surf in San Diego...
and now cold, snow, mud and slush in Montana. God, I love the FBI."
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END PART 17

OK, flame away. Trust me...this will all work out.