UMBRA 2:ELLIPSIS CHAPTER 2 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, the property of 1013 Productions, and the property of Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. The author believes that the use of copyrighted characters in the forum known as "Fan Fiction" is protected under the "Fair Use" statutes of US Copyright law. No infringement of any copyright is intended. Characters created by the author remain his property. Archive Title : ELLIPSIS 2/? Posting Date : 2 July, 1998 Classification : SRA/MSR[m] Overall STORY Rating : NC-17 (explicit sexuality, violence) CHAPTER Rating : R Keywords : UMBRA, Mulder/Scully, Thriller Summary : Withheld at author's request. Casting : Captain Gerald Holton.......John Mahoney : First Officer Ray Hyman.....Jay Mohr : LtCmdr Pete Nelson..........Abraham Benrubi : SAC Warren Loftus...........Steve Kahan : CPO Ramon Cruz..............John Leguizamo : GySgt Oz Vance..............Lou Diamond Phillips : CWO4 Carol Kusche...........Rene Russo : Admiral Jake Karn...........John M. Jackson : Rear Admiral Maggie King....Glenne Headly Enjoy! ------ "Each night as I sleep Into my heart you creep I wake up feeling sorry I met you Hoping soon that I'll forget you When I look in the mirror to comb my hair I see your face just a-smilin' there Nowhere to run, baby, nowhere to hide Got nowhere to run to, baby, nowhere to hide..." - Martha (Reeves) And the Vandellas "But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive." "Henry V" Act IV, Scene III Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport April, 2003 "Excuse me?" Loftus asked. Scully saw the expression on his face and hurried to explain. "My husband, sir, is Special Agent Fox Mulder. He's also the SAC of this unit." "And what unit did you say this was again?" Scully regarded him coolly. "I didn't." Loftus removed the FBI baseball cap on his head with one hand and scratched his crown with the other, thinking. Scully knew exactly what was happening. She'd known agents like Loftus her entire career. He was estimating the potential damage to his own career that Scully could cause him. Loftus was the kind of agent who went whichever way the wind was blowing. Careful, cautious. Spineless, Scully thought. And Loftus, she realized, was desperately trying to figure out what kind of pull Scully had in the Bureau. And without knowing which unit she belonged to, without knowing exactly where in the Bureau hierarchy she fit in, he was unable to completely calculate the odds. "Agent Scully," he said slowly, as if trying the words out on his own ears, "I'm going to need to know what unit you are with so I can file my report when this is all over." He nodded at the ground, realizing that what he had asked sounded utterly reasonable. Scully pursed her lips. "Sir, you won't be a report on this incident." The utter certainty with which Scully spoke her words derailed Loftus' line of reasoning. "No...report?" he asked, horrified. Scully shook her head. "But...there are going to be...questions asked. People are going to demand answers. There to be a report." Scully sighed, annoyed at the time she was having to spend on this. "Sir, I never said there wasn't going to be a report. I merely stated that you would not be writing it. The report will be generated at Headquarters." Loftus nodded, recalculating the odds. If he didn't write the report, could he still be held responsible if things turned to shit? The Director himself had ordered Loftus to turn tactical command of the scene over to Scully and to follow her orders to the letter, without exception and without questions. If Loftus had any questions, the Director had continued, he was to save them until the incident and then they would be settled. Judging by the tone of the Director's voice, Loftus realized that if he continued to question Agent Scully, things would not go well for him in the future. For whatever reasons, reasons Loftus was sure he wasn't going to be allowed to discover, this Scully woman had a great deal of pull with powerful people in high posts. His automatic career-saving circuits humming with activity, Loftus finally nodded at the tiny redhead standing in front of him. "I think I understand, Agent Scully." Glad we cleared up, she thought. "So," Loftus asked, replacing the baseball cap on his head, "What's the plan?" "Upon receipt of a signal from Agent Mulder, my team and I will forcefully assault the plane. We will fast-rope out of the helicopter onto the dorsal surface of the plane. We will use specially-designed charges that will blow man-sized holes in the plane, drop through the holes and proceed to...terminate the situation." Loftus guessed correctly as to what Scully meant by "terminating the situation." "If they surrender?" Loftus asked. Scully regarded him silently, and then stepped closer, lowering her voice, forcing Loftus to lean down to hear her. "Sir, if I may be so bold, I don't think that's a question you want me to answer. The ultimate responsibility for the actions taken by my men rests with me, sir. You can always...claim ignorance at a later date." Loftus straightened, glancing around the deserted hanger. "I see," he said. I bet you do, Scully thought. "What do you need from my men?" Loftus asked. "For reasons that I'm not going to go into, sir, as soon as the situation aboard Oceanic 210 has been stabilized by my team, we will be offloading the bodies of the terrorists onto the BlackHawk. As soon as the bodies are offloaded, the BlackHawk will be departing with Agent Mulder and myself aboard. I'll need your men to evacuate the hostages and debrief them." Loftus realized that any chance of glory for he or his men had utterly vanished with Scully's arrival. They were being tossed a bone. A stale bone. "Very well, Agent Scully. Best of luck." Loftus offered his hand formally, and just as formally, Scully shook it. "Thank you, sir," she said. Turning and walking towards the rear of the hanger, Scully fought to keep her annoyance with Warren Loftus under control. She found her team gathered in a small circle just inside the rear door. They all turned their attention to Scully as she walked up. She looked at each man in turn, gazing at them fondly. In the past two years, they'd become closer than most families. She knew the hopes and dreams of every man, their strengths and weaknesses, even their fears. "We're just waiting for contact," Scully said. "Once we get the go order from Mulder, we'll do as we've trained a thousand times before." She hesitated, looking each man in the face, holding their stares. "Remember...remember what we are up against. What the stakes are. Why you were each hand-picked for this assignment. Why we have trained for the last two years. Our previous call-ups have been practice sessions compared to what we are about to face." Scully pointed over her shoulder at the plane, still visible through the hanger's front doors. "Those people need us," she said. She caught each man's gaze one final time, nodded, and softly finished, "Ok. Mount up." +=+=+= Aboard Oceanic 210 Seat 2A Special Agent Fox Mulder was pretending that he was asleep. I can't believe, he thought, this is finally happening. After two years of waiting, training, planning... Mulder went over the mission objectives in his head one final time, looking for flaws or holes in the plan. The team, he knew, was on the ground, awaiting his signal. They would have come down from the adrenaline rush caused by the call-up, and would be ready to get down to business. Scully would have given them the rah-rah pep-talk by now. She would also have secured the cooperation of the local SAC, a moron named Warren Loftus Mulder knew only by reputation. Randy would get Scully's signal when they lifted off and have the C17's ready to go. Shifting slightly in his seat, Mulder cracked his eyes a fraction of an inch. Kevin was nervous, Mulder knew. The heavily-armed teenager was pacing in the tight, cramped confines of the cockpit, checking his watch every fifteen seconds. Mulder thought it was somehow ironic that the very person they had demanded be delivered unto them was sitting twelve feet away preparing to kill them. Mulder's eyes drifted closed. Murder, he thought, and then corrected himself. No, a necessity. A requirement. Forced by circumstance. What they knew of these teenagers, of their plans, was provided by intelligence. They had planned to take the plane and its passengers hostage, and they had succeeded. They had demanded delivery of the MindWalker unto them, and they would get that, only not in the way they expected. If they had, Mulder knew, the next part of the plan would have been executed without hesitation. They would have detonated the device carried in the belly of the plane, killing themselves, the passengers, crew and Mulder himself. Mulder had been cautioned. There can be no negotiating with these people. No deals struck, no bargains made. They were dedicated to a single, ultimate task: Removal of the MindWalker before.... Before. And, if the FBI did not give into the demands of the terrorists, they would blow the plane up anyway. The object of terrorism, as someone once observed, is to terrify. And when the facts of this case became known, terror would result. Mulder shifted in his seat again, feeling his sidearm digging into the small of his back. During his tenure with the UMBRA team, Mulder's beloved SIG Sauer had come to be replaced by the Heckler & Koch P7, perhaps the single best concealable close-quarter-battle pistol ever developed. Mulder had practiced with the small handgun for a few thousand hours over the last three years, until he could draw it, acquire his target, raise the pistol and fire in less than a second. A second, he realized, is all I'm going to get. Mulder sighed and stretched, the movement loosening his jacket from the seat under him. There were two targets in First Class. Kevin, the leader of this merry little band, and someone Mulder had mentally categorized as Target Number Two. Two was slightly older than Kevin, but more dangerous. Unstable. He caressed his weapon like a lover, his hot, bright eyes sweeping over the First Class passengers again and again, obviously anticipating that moment when he would be unleashed, when he would finally be able to point it and pull the trigger on real, live human beings instead of paper targets on a training range somewhere in the Idaho wilderness. The order would be Kevin, then Two. The rest of the UMBRA team was responsible for Coach and the four terrorists guarding the passengers there. Seven against four. No, Mulder corrected himself, six hard-case, heavily-trained, hyper-aggressive, stone military killers AND Scully against four. Having been on the receiving end of Scully's considerable ire over the last ten years, Mulder most definitely did not envy those four targets. Targets, he thought again. The psychologist in him was well aware that by referring to them as targets, he was emotionally distancing himself from what was about to transpire. The intelligence officer in him replied that it was professional to refer to them that way; it minimized the potential risk to the hostages and to himself. And after all, the paranormal investigator in him spoke up, it's not as if they're . Not anymore, anyway. Mulder took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling his heartbeat slow down. Time, he thought. Time to hunt. Mulder closed his eyes again and concentrated, opening his mind as he'd been taught. He felt the telltale flicker at the back of his neck signifying that the channel was open and working. [Hey,] he thought. A moment later, Mulder heard his wife's voice in his head, welcome and warm. [Hey, yourself.] +=+=+= She's doing it again, Pete Nelson thought. At first, it had creeped him out. Just over two years ago, freshly assigned to the UMBRA team, Nelson had observed what he had come to call "Scully's Talent" first hand. The rumor was that she and her husband could read each other's minds. That was absurd on the surface. But still... There was something definitely odd about them. They seemed to be able to communicate without talking, just by looking at each other. And, sometimes, without looking at each other. Across great distances. Six months into the initial UMBRA training, Nelson had been in the field with the rest of the unit. Mulder had been leading them on a small-unit tactical exercise deep in the North Carolina hills. He'd stopped, cocked his head to the side and turned ninety-degrees from their current heading. Without a word, the unit had followed, just as they'd been trained to do. Ten minutes later they'd come across an unconscious Dana Scully, who had been their target for the day. She'd fallen out of a tree and managed to knock herself unconscious. Pete Nelson had started to give credence to the rumors that very day, and nothing he had seen in the last eighteen months had served to diminish the impact of that first demonstration of the Mulders' odd ability to communicate. [How are you?] Scully asked her husband. [Fine. Nervous as hell. Not looking forward to this at all. Tell me again why we agreed to do this?] [To save the world, Mulder,] Scully replied sarcastically. [Oh, right.] [What's it look like in there?] Scully wanted to know. [Standard two by two coverage patterns. Libyan or Syrian training, obviously. They're carrying AKs, which means some kind of Soviet or Soviet-bloc influence somewhere along the line. Two teams of two, each standing back to back, are covering Coach. As far as I can tell, only Kevin, the lead target, has a detonator, but I can't be sure.] [How soon?] [Five minutes, Scully. I want this over with. These passengers have suffered enough.] He paused. [How's the team holding up?] [They're ready. So am I, Mulder. We can be airborne in two minutes.] [Contact me when you're approaching the plane.] [We're on our way, Mulder,] Scully thought. She pointed at Nelson. "Mount `em up." He nodded, trotting outside, the rest of the team following. Ten seconds later Scully heard the familiar sound of the BlackHawk's turbine engines spooling up. Loftus appeared at her side. "What's happening?" "We're getting ready to assault the plane," Scully said. Reaching into a thigh pocket, she returned with a thick pair of clear goggles. "You've gotten a signal from the plane?" Loftus asked, confused. "Yes, sir." "How?" "Pocket transmitter, sir," Scully said. "Ah. I see. Well, good luck, Agent Scully." "Thank you, sir," she said, distracted. There was nothing else to say, so Scully turned and quickly left the hanger, heading for the chopper. Climbing aboard, Scully turned and sat on the deck, her legs dangling outside. Without a word, Pete Nelson handed Scully her MP5. Scully quickly checked the weapon and nodded to the crew chief. The crew chief made a motion with his hand and the pilot returned the signal. Scully heard the engines rev up even more. The crew chief caught Pete Nelson's eye and winked. Nelson smiled back. They had talked about this moment, and between them they had decided that the team deserved a moment of levity. The crew chief found the small cassette in his flight suit and quickly inserted it into the tape deck that had been jury-rigged into the aircraft. As Chief Warrant Officer Carol Kusche, the pilot, pulled pitch, lifting the tail of the BlackHawk off the ground, rock music blared from the six hidden speakers, loud enough to be heard over the engine. Special Agent in Charge Warren Loftus watched in slack-jawed amazement as the bird lifted off, blaring the words from an old Martha and the Vandellas song: "Nowhere to run bay-bee, nowhere to hi-ide..." +=+=+= The noise and smell and taste and texture of the chopper was so familiar to Scully by now that it was almost comfortable. The bird flew low and fast, away from the scene, and then turned right, gaining speed. Scully held on as the bird banked, a secret, girlish part of her thrilling to the feel of the wind in her face, the sudden bottoming-out her stomach did as the chopper evened out and gained even more speed. Heading towards the plane. Towards Mulder. Towards destiny. She hated to admit it, and had only so far admitted it to her husband, but the black-lunged SOB was right. She was born to do this. As was Mulder. It was so incredibly exhilarating to be here, now, in this helicopter, surrounded by six of the finest men she'd ever known, working for two more of the greatest people she'd ever met, doing things that she would never have imagined in a million years when she'd joined the FBI almost twelve years ago. Everyone associated with the UMBRA project was at the very top of their games, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They had a mission, and the powers-that-be had given them the latitude and authority to execute the mission as they best saw fit. And now, today, in less than ninety seconds, they were about to prove the faith that had been placed in them was not unfounded. "LOCK AND LOAD!" Scully called. One by one the men withdrew and released the bolts on their weapons, readying them for immediate action. The chopper had flown past the plane and was now behind it, out of sight. It heeled over into a stomach-churning climbing turn, returning from the back, out of sight, in the cockpit's blind spot. Somewhere in the cockpit Carol threw a switch and the engine's classified stealth technology took over. The amount of noise the chopper gave off dropped by almost four-fifths. Silent and deadly, Scully thought. Scully took the last sixty seconds of the flight to think about how far she'd come in the last two years. If anyone had told her that one day she'd be helping lead a quasi-military unit with her husband and partner, leading them into battle to face the greatest enemy anyone could ever imagine, she would have laughed in their face and recommended they either check their dosage, or double it. She still had small doubts about the mission. About herself. Pulling the trigger on an armed suspect was one thing. Cold-blooded murder was another. But she'd seen the intelligence reports. She'd been briefed. Trained. Indoctrinated, she sometimes thought. Seduced by the cult of the commando. She was elite, she knew it, felt it, believed it. Best of the best, one of the chosen. Unbidden, Scully remembered the speech by Henry V at Agincourt in 1214: "This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered,-- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition: And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day." Of course, we're no where near October, Scully thought with a grin. And we're not outnumbered. And our targets aren't French. With a grim smile that looked foreign on her face, Scully completed the metaphor: And there ain't no fucking way Mulder's marrying their queen. +=+=+= Warren Loftus was watching through binoculars as the BlackHawk heeled over and approached Oceanic 210 from behind. Looks like a grasshopper getting ready to fuck a whale, he thought, and smiled. And that whale is about to be well and truly fucked. Moving too fast, Loftus thought. They're going to overshoot. But they didn't. In a stunning display of piloting skill, CWO-4 Carol Kusche all but stood the chopper on its tail, slowing its forward velocity to just over five or six knots. A half-second later, two ropes unspooled from the rear of the chopper. The ends weren't long enough to actually brush the fuselage of Oceanic 210, Loftus noted. Almost immediately, the first member of Scully's team slid down the rope. He weren't repelling, Loftus saw, it was more like a controlled fall. At the last moment he somehow slowed himself and landed on the plane's fuselage as lightly as a cat. One by one, departing from alternating sides of the chopper, all seven team members dropped onto the plane. Loftus checked his watch and whistled. It had taken less than four seconds to get the team on the plane. Raising his binoculars to his eyes again, Loftus saw that all seven members were bent over, attaching something to the plane. Charges, he thought. +=+=+= Oceanic 210 Loftus was right. Scully applied her charge and stepped back, holding a closed fist above her head. She watched as one by one the other six UMBRA operators did the same. When seven fists were in the air, she thought [Ready.] +=+=+= Aboard Oceanic 210 Mulder reached for the P7 at the small of his back at the exact moment he stood. He was turned away, hiding his motion from Terrorist Number Two. "Sit down!" the kid ordered, not yet aware of what was going on. Mulder piteously moaned, "Cramp..." a half-second before his hand wrapped around the grip of his pistol. Up, up, up, he thought, and felt it coming free of the holster. The weapon had no safety; it used a unique squeeze-cocking mechanism in the grip. The hand's natural grasping motion made the weapon ready for action. As his arm was moving, his eyes rising to find Kevin, his eyes locking *on* Kevin, his brain computing and transmitting trajectory data and aiming information, Mulder's mind opened wide. [GO] +=+=+= Oceanic 210 Scully stepped on the detonator. A full second later the charge blew. It was a shaped charge that detonated in two separate, specific stages. The first stage cut a neat, round, body-sized hole in the fuselage. A half-second after that, the second charge lifted the metal disk and flipped it end over end, leaving nothing but the hole. Scully did as she was trained. She took one step forward and dropped through the hole. +=+=+= Aboard Oceanic 210 Kevin was fumbling with the detonator. Mulder's mind had slowed beyond a crawl. In his mind, Mulder could hear the voice of USMC Master Gunnery Sergeant Elwood Johnson, the man who had taught Mulder more about CQB than anyone. `Stop fucking around, Agent Mul-der, and bring that weapon to bear on the target, Agent Mul-der. Fire your weapon, Agent Mul-der, or that boy will push that fucking button and this fucking plane will explode into a million fucking pieces and then where the fuck will you be? Fire your weapon!' Kevin's eyes raised to find Mulder's, and in that instant, Mulder realized that the boy knew, knew who he was, why he was here, and what was about to happen, because even as the light of recognition was bursting in Kevin's eyes, Mulder's finger was tightening on the trigger. And as it was supposed to be, the discharge of the pistol was a surprise to Mulder. It bucked in his hand, the slide coming back, throwing the spent casing out to the right, driving the internal hammer back, coming forward again and stripping another round off the seven- shot magazine. The first round took Kevin in the chest, driving him back against the navigation console. It hadn't killed him, Mulder noticed, stepping forward, adjusting his aim, preparing to fire again. In the periphery of his vision, Mulder was dimly aware that Terrorist Number Two was screaming, was turning towards him, trying to unsling the AK, was bringing it up and around - The explosions were as one. Seven disks of bright light appeared in the cabin as the passenger's screamed. Two turned towards the noise, sure they were gunshots, that he was being assaulted from behind, that he was dead. Mulder continued to fire at Kevin: three, four, five shots, walking the rounds up his chest and into the teenager's head, spraying blood, bone and brain matter around the inside of Oceanic 210's cockpit, spraying the pilot and copilot with smoking, gunpowder-stained gore. Kevin collapsed onto the body of Clarissa Anderson and stilled. Number Two realized what was happening and turned back, realizing they still had a chance. If he could kill the MindWalker and get to the detonator, all would not be lost. The mission would have succeeded. But something happened to him before he could turn his wishes into reality. Scully happened. Mulder, realizing that Kevin was well and truly, finally dead, turned the P7 sideways, the butt facing away and hit the magazine release with his right thumb at the same moment his left hand was reaching for the spare magazine on his left hip. His fingers found it and brought it out as he turned the pistol towards himself, seating the magazine in the pistol and dropping to one knee in a single motion, bringing the gun around and on target at the exact same moment Scully landed in First Class, her MP5 up and tracking. Two red dots appeared on Number Two's chest simultaneously, one centered on his heart, the other on his forehead. Two got a single shot off, high and wide, impacting somewhere over Mulder's right shoulder. Six shots blasted through the First Class cabin, three each from Scully and Mulder. Number Two collapsed into a bloody heap. Without pausing, Scully turned and moved back towards Coach down the left aisle, Mulder moving down the right. They entered Coach at the same moment, Mulder holding his pistol in two hands, the red dot of the laser sight eagerly searching for a target. Mulder felt the blood lust surging inside him, thundering through his veins. It had been carefully placed there, honed, cultured by the men who had trained him over the last few years. At this moment he was the God of War and Pain and Death and Wrath. He was there to kill. He could feel the grimace he wore stretching the muscles of his face. His body was strong. His cause was just. But the rest of the UMBRA team had performed flawlessly. Four dead terrorists. Mulder released the breath he'd been holding and lowered his pistol. "CLEAR!" Scully screamed. One by one, the other six UMBRA team members called out that they were clear also. Scully removed her goggles and glanced at Mulder, relief evident on her face. Mulder wanted to wink at her, but resisted. Amazingly, a passenger in the first row of Coach, thinking that the entire ordeal was now over, stood and reached for the overhead bin above his seat. Scully's MP5 tracked him, the red-dot centered on the bridge of nose, as steady as steel, as serious as death. "SIT THE FUCK DOWN!" she ordered. The man wilted back into his seat. The passengers began to stir. Mulder held up his hands. "Quiet!" he ordered loudly. Slowly, like petulant children, the passengers quieted. Mulder held up his ID. "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI. Everything is under control." Scully touched her throat mike. "Pete," she radioed quietly. "Go, boss." "Find it?" "Yeah. It's in the aft lavatory. Damn thing's packed to the gills with C4." "How long-?" "Already working on it," he called back. "Five minutes." Scully caught her husband's attention and held her hand up, palm out, all five fingers showing. He nodded. "We're going to be getting you all off the plane as soon as we can," Mulder was saying loudly, "but first we have to get these terrorists off." Various complaints and shouts of "Why?" rose from the passengers. Mulder held up his hands again. "Please, ladies and gentlemen, listen to me carefully. There is the chance that these terrorists have wired themselves with explosives. Please, just let us get them off the plane, and then we'll get you all off just as soon as we can." Scully switched frequencies on her radio. "Loftus, this is Scully." "Loftus." "I need your men to get moving. Can you have someone drive our truck out to meet the plane?" "Affirmative," Loftus radioed back. Scully switched her radio back to the tactical frequency. As Mulder continued to calm the passengers, Scully moved forward to the port-side loading hatch. She had been trained a hundred times on how to open one of these, and she did it effortlessly, without thought, her mind on the remainder of the mission. The rescue chute inflated with a long, sustained hiss. Scully touched her throat mike. "Cruz." Half a second later, Ramon Cruz came back. "Go, boss." "Start moving the bodies forward. Gently." "Roger that." Scully wandered back into Coach, listening to Mulder answer questions. "Who are you guys?" one young boy asked. "We're FBI agents," Mulder answered. Scully watched as Cruz leaned down and grabbed a terrorist, threw the body over his shoulder and stood, quickly making his way forward. Scully ducked into the first row of Coach to let him past. "Does anyone need medical attention?" Mulder asked the passengers. In the middle of the plane a single, shaky hand rose. "My husband's having difficulty breathing." Scully was moving before the woman finished speaking. Kneeling in the aisle next to her, Scully studied the man. Older, about 65 or so, white hair, red, ruddy face. Scully slung her MP5 across her back and grinned at him, her best "doctor's smile." "How are you?" she asked. The man looked at her with wide eyes. "I'm a doctor," Scully said. Seeing the man's expression, she added, "Really." "An FBI SWAT doctor?" the man grunted. "I was a Maricopa County Deputy Sheriff for thirty years. Ain't no such thing, lady." Scully hid a smile. "I assure you, I am a physician." She hesitated. "Take off all your clothes and put a gown on." The man smiled at her and nodded. "You're a doc, all right." "Do you have any preexisting medical conditions?" Scully asked. "Heart attack," he nodded. "About six years ago. Those charges going off scared the shit out of me." Scully frowned. "Sorry." "Considering the alternative, you're forgiven." "Do you have chest pains?" He shook his head. "I think I just got the wind knocked out of me." Scully looked at his wife and smiled. "Post heart-attack patients know the signs better than any doctor, Ma'am. Your husband seems to be fine. If anything else happens, please let me know at once, ok?" The wife nodded, tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she gushed. "Thank you so much." Scully patted her hand and stood. Four of the six terrorists had been offloaded. Only Kevin and Number Two remained. Scully switched frequencies again. "Loftus..." "Go, Agent Scully." "What's your status?" "We're holding at a hundred yards." Good man, Scully thought. Waiting for final approval. Then she had another thought. He's probably afraid we're executing hostages up here. Something caught her eye. Scully peered down the aisle and saw Nelson tapping his throat mike. Scully switched freqs. "Go, Pete." ` "Bomb's safe." Scully turned to Mulder and closed her fist and shook it. He nodded, smiling. Then Scully held two fingers in a "V", pointed at her own eyes, and then forward. Mulder touched his thumb to his chin and pointed with the finger of the same hand towards the back. Scully nodded. "Pete, open the rear starboard hatch and start getting those passengers off." Switching freqs again, Scully radioed Loftus. "Have your men come over to the right rear of the plane to start evacuating passengers." "Roger that." Scully moved forward and watched as Ramon Cruz and Oz Vance shouldered Kevin and Number Two out the door and down the chute. Peering out of a portside window, Scully saw that the BlackHawk's crew chief had already loaded four of the six bodies onboard. Stepping back into Coach, Scully made a knife-edge with her right hand and waved underneath her chin, making a `cut it off' motion. Scully checked her radio and transmitted one last time. "Pete, get the bomb into the truck, and meet us back at the bird. Mulder and I are leaving. You're in command." "Yes, ma'am," he radioed back. Mulder thanked the passengers for their patience, walked back into First Class, and then into the cockpit. Gerry Holton and Ray Hyman were still seated. "Captain? Your passengers are being offloaded as we speak, sir." Mulder said. "T-thanks," Gerry managed. Mulder nodded, stooped and retrieved the detonator. Might be important, he thought. Returning to the cabin, he found Scully standing by the door, waiting. "Ready?" "Disneyland, Scully." Scully slid down first, followed by Mulder. On the ground, they jumped aboard the BlackHawk and signaled the pilot to take off. Ninety seconds later they were at the C17. The ground security force helped load the bodies onto the plane as the BlackHawk's mechanics folded and locked the chopper's rotors for transport. A moment later the chopper was pushed into the aircraft. Five minutes after that, as Scully and Mulder waited on the tarmac, the SUV, once again driven by Pete Nelson, sped across the runway and up the cargo plane's ramp. The security contingent withdrew back into the plane as Randy spun the engines up. Scully and Mulder were left standing on the runway alone, looking at Oceanic 210, almost five hundred yards away. "We did it, Mulder," Scully said. He nodded. [You ok?] she thought. A moment later, his response came back. [No.] Together, they climbed inside the C17. +=+=+= Enroute to Area 33 Mulder climbed down the short ladder from the flight desk and collapsed in the empty seat next to his wife. "So?" she asked, shouting to be heard over the engine noise. "About another hour. They're routing us around Las Vegas. How soon after we land can you begin the preliminary autopsies?" "Immediately." He nodded tiredly. "Good. As soon as we have the results, we have to jump a Lear to Washington. Matheson, Skinner and the National Security Advisor want to meet with us." Scully grinned. "I imagine they would." She hesitated. "I just hope we have something to tell them, Mulder." +=+=+= Area 33 Tonopah Test Range Nellis AFB, Nevada 3 Hours Later Scully, dressed in a knee-length white lab jacket over bright blue scrubs, exited the well-appointed autopsy bay and located her husband in the waiting room. "You might want to come see this," she said quietly. Mulder stood, groaning with fatigue, and followed her back inside. There were three gurneys parked against the far wall, each containing a sheet-draped body. The three autopsy tables were all occupied. Each body sported a Y-incision, their thoracic and abdominal cavities open to the air. Mulder tried hard not to look at the bodies, but he knew Scully wouldn't have asked him in here unless it was important. "What did you find?" he asked. "Good news, and bad news," Scully said. "Good news first," Mulder said. "Judging by the rate of cellular breakdown, all six of the terrorists were in the mid to late stages of..." She waved a hand, looking for the right word. "Transformation?" she asked. Mulder grunted, accepting her words. "The bad news is that there's not enough residue left to further our studies on a counteragent." "Why is that bad news?" Mulder asked. Scully waited for him to make the connection, and smiled when he did. "You're saying that..." "We'll need to take the next ones alive." Husband and wife, partners for over ten years, locked eyes across the first autopsy table, each realizing the impact of what Scully was proposing. "Jesus Christ," Mulder whispered. "And then some," Scully added. +=+=+= Washington, DC Seven Hours Later It was almost one in the morning as the sleek black limousine pulled up to the East Gate of the White House. The uniformed Secret Service officer walked to the driver's-side passenger door and waited for the window to slide down on silent, greased tracks. Shining a flashlight inside, the guard saw two people, each holding up a White House pass. He noticed with some interest that both passes had six small red triangles in the upper-right hand corner. Five triangles gave access to the White House at any day, at any time. The guard didn't want to know what six triangles meant. He quickly compared the faces on the passes to the people holding them and then nodded, straightening and making a motion with his hand. His partner in the gatehouse hit the switch to open the gates. The limo drove up the curving road leading to the East Portico and parked. Quickly, Mulder and Scully exited the car and entered the White House, flashing their IDs at the Secret Service agents as they walked around the metal detector. The agent bristled. He knew what six red triangles meant. They were not to be stopped. Not to be searched. They could carry weapons inside the White House. Two armed persons in close proximity to the Man never failed to give Secret Service agents nightmares. But COUGAR had been adamant. He trusted the Secret Service, but he trusted these two people just slightly more. The Secret Service had no idea who these two people were, really, just that they were FBI agents assigned to some highly classified project. Every time they entered the Oval Office or the Cabinet Room, all the Secret Service agents were politely asked to leave. It was...spooky. Mulder and Scully turned left and began walking down the hall. A Secret Service agent stepped out of a hallway, touching a finger to his ear. He nodded, and then spoke to Mulder as they passed. "COUGAR is in the Oval Office, sir. He's expecting you." "Has the Director arrived?" Scully asked. "Yes, ma'am," the agent replied. "They're both waiting for you up there." Mulder smiled his thanks at the man and turned left again, arriving in front of the elevator. The Secret Service agent waited until the elevator doors had closed before raising his sleeve to his mouth and speaking. "SPOOKY and ICE QUEEN are on the way up," he transmitted. Neither FBI agent was aware of their Secret Service code names. Each would have been at turns annoyed and flattered if they'd ever discovered it. +=+=+= The Oval Office Mulder and Scully pushed through the curved door into the Oval Office and smiled at Walter Skinner. "Sir," Scully said. "Sir," Mulder added. Skinner stood and offered his hand to both agents. "Good job," he growled. "Tell that to Clarissa Anderson," Mulder said. "Mulder, you couldn't have predicted-" "Yes," Mulder insisted, interrupting his nominal boss, "I could have. And I did. I knew that kid was going to kill her. But I couldn't have taken the entire plane by myself, sir. I would have ended up getting killed." Skinner held his tongue for a moment. "Well, Mulder, you and I both know why we can't have that. So you made the right decision." Mulder shrugged. "That doesn't mean I have to like it, sir." "No," Skinner agreed, "it doesn't." President Matheson watched the exchange with interest. "Fox," he finally called, "why don't we get this meeting started? It's late." "Of course, Mr. President," Mulder said, moving to one of the four chairs positioned in front of the huge desk. "Are we going to wait for the NSA?" Scully asked. "No, but I think that-" A moment later the office door opened again to reveal two people familiar to all three FBI agents. Admiral Jake Karn, Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff entered the Oval Office. He was in civilian clothes, but there was no mistaking his military bearing. Trailing behind him, also in civvies, was his chief of staff, Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Maggie King. "Jake," Skinner said warmly. "God, it's good to see you!" "Walter," Karn said, offering his hand. Scully and Maggie briefly hugged. Feels like a family reunion, Matheson thought, and then realized that it *was*. These five people had gone through hell six years ago, a hell that had literally saved the world from destruction. "Now that the gang's all here," Matheson said dryly, "perhaps we can begin? I have a rather full day tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen." Quickly, the five assembled themselves in chairs. Mulder spoke first, quickly bringing the President up to speed on the operation. "Your intelligence sources were correct," Matheson observed. "Yes," Mulder said. "Quite." "What were the results of the...examination?" the President asked. Scully took over for her husband. "I haven't completed any of the autopsies yet, sir. I did enough to confirm Mulder's original suspicions. And it jibes with what we found in Los Angeles, Portland and Smithsville." "And that is...?" Matheson asked. It was an old trick of his. By forcing his people to restate the facts, he was able to listen for gaps, missing pieces, incorrect assessments or conclusions. It had served him well in five terms as a US Senator. "That the biological agent that is being introduced into these children is physically changing them. That it is somehow causing them to act in the ways that we've seen. Microscopic examination of certain tissue cultures reveals the presence of this unknown agent." "Still unknown?" he asked. "Yes, sir," Scully confirmed. "And that's where the good news ends and the bad news starts. It is my theory...and sir, this is pure conjecture...that upon death, this biologic agent somehow leaves the body, leaving behind only residue, not its true...essence. In order to more fully determine what this agent is and is not, we'll have to get a tissue sample from one of these kids before death occurs." Matheson glanced at Mulder. Mulder met his eyes evenly. "Do you agree, Fox?" Mulder nodded. "I stand behind Scully's interpretation of the facts, sir. I've never known her to be wrong in matters of science." "Even exobiology?" Matheson asked with a soft smile. "Yes, even that." Matheson stood and faced the windows, studying the rose garden through the bulletproof glass. "This presents us with certain... problems, Fox." "Yes, sir, I'm aware of that." Continuing as if Mulder hadn't spoken, Matheson said, "If we take one of those kids into custody, it's an arrest. That means there are certain constitutional protections in place. Representation. Due process. When UMBRA acted as a quasi-military unit, they were freed from certain...technicalities." Matheson was silent for a long, pregnant moment. "Dana," he finally said, "let me ask you a hypothetical question." "Sir?" "I think it unwise, at this time, to attempt to take one of these... entities...alive. As I just said, it might cause certain legal problems. I'm not comfortable, yet, with going to Congress with this information to enact special legislation to circumvent current law. And I will not have a scandal in my administration. What we are doing here is right, and it is just, and it is utterly, totally required by the circumstances. No one here can argue with or object to that." He turned and faced them again. "You said that you believe that this biologic entity leaves the body upon the moment of death, but you have no scientific evidence to support that." "Sir..." Scully interjected. Matheson held up a hand. "Let me be more specific, Dana. You have proof that the agent leaves the body after death. Not just at the *moment* of death." Scully opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it. He was right, she thought. Dammit. "You are correct, sir. I have no proof that it exits at the moment of death." Turning to Karn, Matheson asked, "Jake, how much is left in the contingency fund?" Karn cleared his throat. "Approximately fifty, sir." Matheson turned his attention to Mulder. "Fox, how long until the next...incident?" Without hesitating, Mulder answered. "Four to five weeks." To Scully, Matheson asked, "Will that be enough time to build a portable version of the facility you have in Nevada? Perhaps something that can fit aboard a second C17?" Scully blinked, amazed at the President's grasp of the situation. "Yes, sir. As long as we aren't subject to normal DoD procurement rules." "Maggie?" Karn prompted. Maggie King spoke up. "Yes, sir. This is a classified project, and so we are not bound by GAO rules. We can award the contract as we see fit. However, I must point out that there is an inherent security risk. Up until now, we've been using standard-issue military equipment. There has been no need to go out-of-house. If we have this built by a contractor, and it then appears in public in any way, someone may begin to put the facts together." Matheson grunted, vexed. "Sir," Scully said, "If I may?" "Of course, Dana. These meetings are informal." Sure they are, Scully thought, glancing around the most famous office in the world. "We can use UMBRA personnel to build this. All we need to do is spread the purchasing out over several units, and then cut classified transfer orders for the equipment to go to our facility. Putting the thing together isn't that technical." She paused. "Plus, we'd save the taxpayers abut two million dollars." Matheson smiled. "Too bad I can't make that fact known when it's time for re-election." Scully returned his grin. "Fox," Matheson asked, "will the next...incident... lend itself to a field test of this...unit?" Mulder frowned, considering. "Within limits," he finally said, "yes." "What limits?" "The next incident will take place in Pave Creek, Montana. Three fifteen-year-old boys will take their entire sophomore class hostage. They will shoot four teachers and the school janitor, killing them. They will demand media access. At that point, Scully and myself will go in, covered as a reporter and her cameraman. When given the opportunity, we will take the three terrorists out. Since we want to keep this as classified as possible, we will have to keep Scully's... lab...as far away from the scene as feasible. I'd estimate that from the moment of termination until she can begin work would be...thirty minutes, tops." Matheson grunted. "Fine. If, Dana, you discover that thirty minutes is again too long to gather any appreciable evidence, we'll continue to move your lab closer and closer to these incidents. Only when we have irrefutable proof that this...departure occurs at the exact moment of death will we attempt to take one of these entities alive." He studied the five faces in front of him. "Are we clear?" "Yes, sir," they said in unison. +=+=+= Home of Fox & Dana Mulder Sterling, Virginia 0330 hours Mulder closed the door behind him, turned right and walked into their den. It was set up as an office for the both of them. Two huge gleaming Oak desks stood in the center of the room, situated so they were facing each other. The desks had been Skinner's second anniversary present to them, and Scully had enjoyed making pointed and hilarious comments about the extremes to which she'd had to go to *finally* get a desk of her own. Mulder walked into what looked like an ordinary closet, but what was in fact a highly-secure weapons locker. He keyed in the access code, and then added his thumbprint for good measure. The software checked to make sure there was a pulse in the thumb (a recent upgrade,) and then buzzed the door open. Shucking his jacket off, Mulder reached down and removed the Smith and Wesson 9mm semiauto pistol from his left ankle and laid it on the small table. From a shoulder holster under his left arm he took his duty SIG. From the small of his back came a Bulldog .44 Magnum five- shot revolver. From his left front pants pocket came a Spyderco CQB folding lockblade. Finally, reaching up to the collar of his shirt, Mulder removed the small, thin metal garrote he'd secreted there. Removing his shoulder holster, Mulder grabbed the SIG and secured the weapons locker. Wandering through the house he found Scully in the kitchen, standing at the refrigerator, drinking deeply from a half-gallon container of milk. "Ew, gross," he teased. "Cooties!" Lowering the carton, Scully wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'll give you cooties," she muttered. Sliding his hands around her waist from behind, Mulder rested his chin against her head. "Another day in the salt mines," he said softly. "Another day closer to the end," she replied. It was their private joke. It was their mantra. Besides each other, it was the only thing that kept them sane. The phone rang. "ANSWER!" Mulder called out. There was a short, soft click! and then a familiar voice. "Fox?" At one time, that voice would have caused Mulder to fly into a barely controlled, violent rage. "How are you?" Mulder asked formally. "Fine. And you?" "As can be expected." "What have you discovered?" Mulder quickly covered what they'd learned that day, and brought the man up to date on Matheson's plan to hasten Scully's work. "Excellent," the voice on the phone said. Mulder winced when he heard the pause that signified the man was taking another drag on an unseen cigarette. "Are we moving in the right direction?" Mulder asked. Pause. Exhale. "Yes." "Is there anything else you can tell me?" Pause. Exhale. "Not at this time. I hope you know I am not purposely hiding something from you, Fox." "I believe that," Mulder said. To his surprise, he discovered that he actually meant it. "Fine. Have a pleasant night." The call clicked off. "God," Mulder moaned. "I'm exhausted." Scully appeared in front of him, her small, nimble fingers quickly unbuttoning his shirt. " "Tired?" she asked, leaning in to kiss his chest. "Beat?" she asked. "Worn down?" She kissed his nipples, licking the right one gently. Mulder felt the fire uncoiling in his belly. "Scully..." "Hey," she said, lifting her eyes to meet his. "It's not every day that a woman gets to sleep with a hero." "Yeah, yeah," Mulder said, lowering his face to kiss her lips. "Not every day the hero gets to sleep with a goddess, either." +=+=+=+=+= END CHAPTER 2 End Notes - The quoted speech, of course, is from Shakespeare's "Henry V" ACT IV, Scene III, the infamous "St. Crispen's Day Speech" scene. I hope I remembered it right ;) Casting Notes: I chose a bunch of well-known faces for the parts in this novel, although you may not know the names. So a quick primer: Captain Gerald Holton....John Mahoney Fraiser's Dad on "Fraiser." First Officer Ray Hyman..Jay Mohr The really annoying agent in "Jerry Maguire." LtCmdr Pete Nelson.......Abraham Benrubi "Jerry" on ER. The big huy with the beard. SAC Warren Loftus........Steve Kahan Plays the captain in the "Lethal Weapon" movies CPO Ramon Cruz...........John Leguizamo Played "Rat" in "Executive Decision" GySgt Oz Vance...........Lou Diamond Phillips "Young Guns," "Courage Under Fire," etc. Webnotes: ---------------------------------------------------- Please make note of the following addresses: http://www.azstarnet.com/~drambo/index.html (1) http://www.azstarnet.com/~drambo/ellipsis.htm (2) http://www.azstarnet.com/~drambo/u2doc.zip (3) http://www.azstarnet.com/~drambo/u202.doc (4) http://www.azstarnet.com/~drambo/u2txt.zip (5) Legend: (1) My main site. All novels, short stories, FAQs, etc. (2) The Ellipsis home page. All chapters currently available. (3) The entire NOVEL TO DATE, zipped in Word97 format. (4) The current CHAPTER in Word97 format. (5) The entire NOVEL TO DATE, zipped, in TEXT FORMAT.