"Umbra" 21/? 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. No infringement of any copyright is intended. Characters created by the author remain his property. Original Post : July 8, 1997 Archive Entry : Book I, Chapter 21 Classification : Action Adventure, MSR Rating : R (Adult Themes, Adult Language, violence) ***************: PLEASE SEE CONTENT NOTES AND CONTENT WARNINGS. Notes : None Casting : John Glover, "Danny Graves" : Glenne Headly, "Commander Maggie King" : Sam Neil, "Captain Ronald Ebert" Antishipper : 6 on a scale of 1-10. Shipper : 3 on a scale of 1-10. Timeline : 4th year, prior to anything having to do with cancer. CONTENT : PLEASE SEE THE CONTENT NOTE AT THE END OF THIS STORY READING IT IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY THE THREAT OF VIOLENCE OR DIRTY WORDS. Enjoy! --------------------- "Soldier: A man whose business it is to kill those who never offended him, and who are the innocent martyrs of other men's iniquities." - William Godwin "Violence is just, where kindness is vain." - Corneille Oahu, Hawaii Danny Graves hung the phone up and tapped his fingers on the desk before him. Silently, he chastised himself for letting the meddlesome duo from the FBI continue their investigation. He'd thought about killing the woman during the Haynes incident. It would have been so very easy... But Stone had been there, and Graves wanted to save Stone for the right moment, for the perfect point in time. And in giving into his ego, his desire to prove to his most tenacious enemy who was the better operator, that he'd given the two FBI agents enough rope to hang him with. Well, he thought, not really. They knew bits and pieces of the plan, but not the entire scope of it. He'd been careful over the years, telling each of his operatives just enough to keep them going, and to keep them guessing. He'd planted more than his share of disinformation in his days, both officially and not. He was a master at playing people, and he'd been doing it so long that he forgot there were others out there, others just as good as he was. Sometimes better. And these two FBI agents seemed to be good at this particular game. He glanced at the four thin sheets that sat on the catch-tray of his fax machine. It was the barest information he could get on such quick notice on the two troublemakers. He remembered his conversation with the Scully woman while still standing over the cooling body of Watts. He'd planted one of his seeds in her ear, a single word spoken into the phone in the heat of the moment. He wondered if the word had taken hold yet, if she'd remembered the conversation and had begun to search her past. "Again." That's what he had said. "I do look forward to meeting the both of you...again." That was all he'd said, and he hoped it would be enough. They would be wracking their brains trying to come up with a case that had caused them to cross paths with him. How odd, Graves thought. He found himself almost wishing that he had crossed paths with them before now. It would be quite a coup to recruit these two FBI agents. They would have been very useful, he mused. Very useful indeed. Glancing at his watch, Graves saw that time was, indeed, slipping away. He had to catch a plane to the states and continue with the preparations. Lifting the cover of his laptop, he glanced at the constantly running digital clock in the upper right hand corner. It was a custom-written program, not just a simple count-down timer. The program took into account all the setbacks and contingencies that he entered into it, and readjusted the timeline. He'd built a rather generous margin for error into the entire affair. Tapping a few keys, Graves realized that he had precious little time to deal with Scully and...he glanced at the fax sheet. Mulder. Fox William Mulder. That name...Graves thought. It's familiar. William Mulder. Enough of this, Graves chastised himself. He switched to another program, his version of an electronic Rolodex. He scanned the list of names, cross-matched by category and...specialty. He needed someone good, someone quiet, someone cheap who could do what needed to be done and keep their mouth closed. He saw a name and smiled. Perfect. Reaching for the phone, Graves dialed the number on the screen and waited. *** Motel 6 Mission Beach, California Scully parked the BMW in the space provided with their room and switched off the engine. The sun had long since set, and the cool San Diego evening air filled the car, tickling her nose, making Scully think of walking down the beach. She had a quick mental image of her and Mulder walking hand in hand down the sand, the waves licking at their bare feet as they talked and laughed. Someday, she promised herself. Some day I will put all this behind me, the FBI, the X-Files, everything, and I will be just a woman walking down a beach with the man I love, and for that moment, that's all I will need to be. Sighing, she got out of the car, looking back to see that Mulder had fallen asleep on the ride back from Mirimar. They'd spent the last two hours doing paperwork, arranging for Roche to be taken into custody by the US Marshals, calling Karn and explaining what they wanted done with her (solitary confinement until further notice,) and then trying to explain to Roche's extremely upset Commanding Officer why two FBI agents ( NIS agents, he kept reminding them,) had swept down in the middle of a work day and made off with one his `best' officers. Scully suspected that Graves was not the only person she had slept with to further her career. "Mulder," she said softly. "Wake up. We're here." He stirred but did not wake. Scully leaned back in the car, across the seat and gently ran her nails over his face. That woke him up. With a snort and a start, Mulder sat upright, his eyes looking around wildly, wondering what he was doing in a luxury car with the smell of the ocean in his nose. "W-what?" Then he remembered, and then he smiled. "Scully...sorry. Must have dozed off." "C'mon in. I suspect that King is lurking around here somewhere, Mulder." He nodded and yawned, getting out of the car. Unlocking the room, they entered to find Commander Maggie King seated on the bed. The bed that had obviously been used for more than sleeping, judging by the tangle of sheets and twin depressions in the mattress. "Hi," she said softly. "Uh...hello," Scully said. "How did-?" King laughed. "Matt taught me some tricks, once. One of them was how to slip a motel room lock with a credit card." "Good thing it wasn't expired," Mulder remarked dryly. Maggie gave him a wan smile. All business, hoping to gloss over the fact that the room looked like a sex orgy had taken place only hours before, Scully asked, "What have you got for us?" Maggie held up several folders. "Everything Matt had on Danny Graves and something called LIBERTY BELL and JOVIAL CLOWN." Mulder and Scully exchanged a happy, exuberant grin. The mother lode. "Gimmie!" Mulder said, holding out his hand. "I want everything on Graves. Give LIBERTY BELL to Scully." Maggie juggled the folders and then handed each agent one. Mulder opened his, plopped down on the bed and began to read. Scully took the chair and opened her folder, joining him in digesting the new information. *** One Hour Later "So," Scully said, stretching. "You go first. What have you learned about Daniel Graves?" Mulder covered another yawn with the back of his hand and sat back, staring at the ceiling. "Danny Graves. Born 1951 to a State Department official and a homemaker, back when they were called housewives and wore high heels to do housework." "Mulder..." Scully warned. Maggie giggled. "Ok...Danny Graves, born 1951. His father was in the State Department with the Foreign Service. Moved around a lot at first. Attended public school in England. According to some accounts, he still remains a trace of a British accent, which he has used at times for false-flag recruitment. "Joined the Army out of high school. Tested off the charts for OCS, and was sent. Graduated OCS, commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant. Attended Airborne, Ranger and Special Forces school. Graduated number one from all three. Rare, but not unheard of. A natural special forces type. Liked to live on the edge. This was about 1970 or so. Send to Vietnam to help with the Vietnamization of the war. Training the South Vietnamese to fight for themselves, that kind of thing. Also helped out in the terminal phases of the Phoenix project, as well as something called Gargoyle, which as far as I can piece together, was the precursor to the Goblin teams. Cross-service assassination teams, sent way, way up north to make Mr. Charlie's life very, very difficult. After the war, the boys in Langley decided that Mr. Graves would be a great asset to their charitable organization, and recruited him. "He joined the CIA, and after that, things get a bit murky, as one might expect. During the Iranian hostage crisis he was sent in undercover as the British-raised son of some long-dead dignitary. The fact that his mother was slightly olive-skinned helped him pass as an Iranian." Mulder paused. "You know they're not Arabic but Aryan, right?" "Who?" Scully asked. "Iranians. Everyone was calling them `rag-heads' during the hostage crisis, but they're not Arabic. They're Aryan." Scully shook her head, and attempted a very passable Johnny Carson imitation. "No, I did not know that." Maggie watched the exchange between the two partners with awe. She'd taken one glance at the bed in the motel room and put it together in half a heartbeat. Along with being partners and best friends, these two were also obviously lovers. As she'd waited for them to arrive, Maggie had wondered how Scully handled working with a man she was sleeping with. And then she saw how; Mulder didn't treat her any differently when they were working. She had no idea how the romance side of the relationship worked, but if it was half as good as the working side, Scully was a lucky woman, Maggie decided. "After Iran," Mulder continued, "he went to Afghanistan. Worked with the rebels there. After that, things get very, very murky. According to Stone's files, he had some kind of falling out with the higher-ups in the Directorate of Operations at Langley. They disinvited him to return as a case officer, and he left government service. Apparently, not for good. There are instances where...certain people in certain places died under certain circumstances, and Stone tends to believe that these are signature killings, that Graves was leaving his mark." "His mark?" Scully asked. Mulder straightened on the bed. "Graves has this habit of leaving physical evidence at his murders pointing fingers at persons that couldn't possibly be there. He seems to delight in pissing off the authorities trying to investigate the murders. He's left all kinds of forensic evidence that points to other people." Scully snorted. "We've heard that before." Mulder nodded. "Yeah, which brings us to another point. From the look of the files, it does appear as if Stone has been investigating Graves for a while now. He knew that Graves was behind the murders that started this entire mess...for us, at least." Scully nodded. "It does look like he's been working Graves from the inside." Mulder shook his head. "There's nothing in the Graves' file that indicates that Stone was recruited, or that a recruiting attempt was even made." "Picture?" Scully asked. Mulder nodded, holding up two photographs that were in the file. The first looked like an old Army ID photo. The other had been taken more recently, in an airport. "Matches what I have," Scully said, holding up the other photographs that Stone had taken while following Graves. "What's your file say?" "LIBERTY BELL," Scully sighed. "It's both more and less than we thought, Mulder. Stone apparently stumbled across it just before the Libyan mission when he found out that the case officer for the mission wanted the SEAL team to take along some CBX-3 `just in case.'" "What's CBX-3?" Maggie asked. "Biological warfare agent. Kills instantly." "Oh my GOD!" Maggie said. "Yeah," Scully agreed. "Nasty stuff. Apparently, Stone feels that Graves was pulling the JOVIAL CLOWN case officer's strings, because Graves wanted the stuff tested under battle conditions. Sam Graves had no idea that his brother was behind it, as far as Stone could tell. He never established if the three Graves brothers were in on the whole plot together." "So anyway," Scully continued, "LIBERTY BELL is a plan to decimate the leadership of the country. But it's not clear how Graves intends to do it. Stone has uncovered evidence that points to the airburst delivery system that Roche was involved in. He also apparently has plans to release it into the drinking water supply. He also has a plan to detonate a CBX-3 device with conventional explosive, like a bomb. It wouldn't be as effective, but if it were exploded at the right place and at the right time, the effect would be the same. Five or six square miles of victims, and if the winds are right, ten to twelve, easy." Mulder paled as he thought about the potential loss of life. "My god," he whispered. "The man's insane..." Maggie nodded. "Sounds like it." Scully nodded, agreeing. "Sure does. Stone's investigation has turned up what Roche already told us. Graves already has the CBX-3; he got it in Afghanistan and brought it back. We're missing two very important pieces, folks. Number one...where is the CBX-3 now? And secondly, where is Graves' base of operations?" *** The killer moved swiftly, as silent as the wind of Death itself. The call itself had come has a surprise, but not the mission. As soon as the first call had come, earlier that day, and Graves had informed him of what (and more importantly, who,) was coming, Captain Ronald Ebert, USN, had known that a follow-up call was more than likely on the way. He'd spent the rest of the day mentally preparing for this mission. He'd secured the cold, untraceable weapon that Graves insisted each of his operatives possess. A silenced .22 Ruger, it was the preferred assassin's weapon. Parked in his personal car in the Motel 6 lot, Ebert considered abandoning the mission, returning to his home, kissing his wife goodbye and turning himself in to the NIS. At first, LIBERTY BELL had seemed like an interesting idea, an exciting exercise in theory; that time had long since passed. With each new `favor' that Ebert performed for Graves, he found himself sinking deeper and deeper inside this madman's orbit. To turn back now was to guarantee his death. If he went ahead with it, did what Graves asked, there was a chance there would be a place for him in the new government. Although Graves hadn't told him explicitly, Ebert could sense that LIBERTY BELL was rapidly spooling up; it was only a matter of time before the psychopath detonated the weapon in Washington. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Ebert checked the weapon one last time and exited his car, heading towards Scully and Mulder's room. *** "I have a question," Maggie said. Both FBI agents looked at her expectantly. "Why didn't Matt tell us at the beginning?" Mulder shrugged. "As far as we can tell, Graves has recruited people in all four branches of the military. He probably has people in all kinds of senior governmental posts. There was no way he could tell if Scully or I weren't part of the plot. That's the sick part of this entire thing. Graves is a pretty damn smart little psychopath; by only telling each of his operatives about one other besides himself, he minimizes the risk of exposure. He also minimizes the risk of these people talking to each other and deciding to pull out. Each one of them is a tripwire; when we arrested Roche, we in effect told Graves that we were not only on to him, but to his plot as well." "Oh my god," Scully whispered, her face paling. "What?" "Roche. She knows where we are!" "What?" "When Maggie called me from the base, I was in with Roche. She asked me where we were, and I told her to meet us here! Roche have heard!" As if on cue, there was a sharp knock at the door. "Killers don't usually knock," Mulder observed. "Who is it?" Scully called. "Captain Ebert. I have a message from Admiral Karn." Both agents were immediately on the defensive; Karn would have called. He had both cell numbers and the room number. Moving quickly, Mulder and King made their way to the bathroom, Mulder unholstering his weapon. Scully kept hers hidden, jammed into her waistband at the small of her back, the hammer cocked, the safety off. Cautiously, she opened the door. "Yes?" Captain Ebert, in civilian clothes, stood on her doorstep. He held an envelope in his left hand. His right hand was at his side, but Scully couldn't see it; he was holding it hidden, tucked behind the meat of his thigh. "Do you want to come in?" Scully said, stepping to her right and holding the door open, hiding her motion from Ebert. Stepping into the room, Ebert glanced around. "Where's Agent Mulder?" Scully reached for her weapon, and Ebert caught the motion. He spun, his gun coming up and around at the same moment Scully's cleared the door. Moving in exact synchronization, they leveled their guns at each other at the exact same moment. "Drop it," Ebert hissed. "Not a chance," Scully replied, kicking the door shut. They circled each other slowly, neither gun wavering. "I mean it, you bitch!" Ebert almost yelled. The bathroom was between the bed and the door, on the opposite side of the room from the connecting door to Mulder's room. The duo's circling motion brought them closer and closer to the bathroom door, and Scully had to hide her grin. "What did you call me?" she asked. "I called you a bitch!" Ebert said, an evil grin on his face. At that moment he felt the cold, hard press of Mulder's pistol against the back of his skull. "Drop it." Mulder's voice was steady, even, deadly. "As your bitch partner said, not a chance," Ebert whispered. Scully moved. Her left hand came up, knocking the gun high. A soft pffft! signaled that the gun had discharged. At that exact moment, Scully's foot came up, catching Ebert squarely in the testicles. He dropped to the carpet, the gun falling to the floor with a soft thud. His hands in his crotch, Ebert looked up at Scully, his eyes already rolling back into his head. "Bitch..." he whispered. Scully saw red. Her gun came around, catching Ebert on the temple, hard. The final blow turned his lights out and he followed his pistol, crumpling to the carpet, out cold. "That's Special Agent Bitch to you, asshole!" she hissed. Commander Maggie King had watched the entire affair with wide eyes and both hands over her mouth. Watching the short redheaded FBI Agent kick the shit out of the male naval officer, a man almost twice her size had been amazing. More amazing to her was the fact that Scully's partner, the MAN, had gone into the bathroom willingly, without a word of protest or a whispered argument over who was better equipped to handle the problem. Maggie wondered who `wore the pants' in the partnership. "Nice going, Scully," Mulder said, moving to her. He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the lips and then turned to Ebert's crumpled form, quickly handcuffing him. When he stood, Scully's eyebrow was raised almost two full inches. "What?" he asked. He followed Scully's tilted chin and saw Maggie King standing there with a strange smile on her face. "Scully, she saw the bed. She knows." Maggie nodded. "I suspected. But...I didn't until you kissed her." Mulder shrugged. "Well, now she knows!" Scully sighed. "Mulder..." "Agent Scully..." "Dana, please." "Dana, don't worry about it. Your secret is safe with me. I just think it's great that you two can work so well together and still... er..." "Yeah...er, is right," Scully laughed. "It's still pretty new to us." "Still, you two work so well together!" Scully moved to her partner and returned the kiss, sliding her arm around his waist. "Yes, we make a pretty good team." Studying the unconscious body of Captain Ebert on the floor, Maggie nodded. That much was obvious. "Well, we have another one of Graves' operatives. What do we do now?" King asked. Scully and Mulder smiled. "We interrogate him, of course." *** Ten Minutes Later They put Ebert into the chair. Using two of Mulder's ties, they secured his feet to the front legs; his hands were still cuffed behind him. After a moment's thought, they used one of the motel washcloths to gag him, using Scully's bathrobe sash to tie it into his mouth. "Remember," Scully said softly. "I'm the bad guy, Mulder is only slightly better, and you, Maggie...you're the good guy." They all nodded. Scully looked over the setup one last time. Arrayed on the dresser next to the chair was a small kit that Scully had learned to take with her on cases; Mulder got injured so many times that having a basic `fix-it' kit seemed like a good idea. Several instruments had been separated from the rest, and were lying on a pristine white motel towel: Two syringes, filled with tap water, a scalpel, and the small brown-glass vial from Scully's pocket. "Get ready," Scully whispered. Breaking open some smelling salts, she waved them, once, twice, under Ebert's nose and then quickly jammed them into her pocket, moving to join Mulder and King, who were standing near the bed, their backs to the chair. Scully kept her eye on Ebert. His head jerked a few times and then he slowly came around. As they always did, he tested his bonds first, and then looked around. He saw his three captors talking quietly just out of earshot. Then he saw the white towel with the medical instruments. His eyes grew very wide. "I don't CARE!" Scully said loudly. "This case involves classified nuclear weapons design information. Navy regulations are clear on this point. We can use deadly force! I tell you, we take that little .22 of his and start shooting. Ankles, knees, elbows...by the time we get near his eyes, he'll start talking!" Ebert's eyes widened so much that Scully was afraid they were going to slide out of his skull and ooze wetly down his face. "Why don't we just that stuff in the brown bottle?" Mulder asked. "It's untraceable. Heart attack, as far as they can tell. Same result, much cleaner, less questions." "He called me a bitch," Scully stated flatly. `Noticing' that he was awake, Scully held up a hand. "He's awake." All three turned to face him. "Mmmph! Mmmph!" Ebert moaned against the gag. Scully moved to his side and kneeled. "What's that? You want to call me some more names?" She took the .22, which she'd been holding, and jammed it against his temple. "One shot, Ebert, and it's lights out. Just sit there and shut the fuck up." Scully stood, feeling the hated power wash over her again. What was this case doing to her? She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, dropping out of `character' for a moment. This was like her; she was the first to worry about a suspect's rights. Mulder was the one who had the tendency to punch people when they didn't give him the right answer. Just ask Krycek, she thought with a grin. "Mmmph!" Ebert moaned again. Without turning around, Scully reached back and slapped his head. "Shut up, I said!" Ebert fell quiet. "Look," Scully said. "I hate to be the party pooper, but I really want to shoot this...this...turd in a uniform. I'm a forensic pathologist. I can blow his fucking head off and make it look like a suicide." "Yeah," Mulder agreed. "But how are you going to explain that he came to your room to commit suicide?" Scully turned back to face Ebert, but continued to speak to Mulder over her shoulder. "Simplicity itself. We tell the investigators that he came her to kill me, got a case of the guilts and did himself instead, but not before confessing to being one of Graves' little henchmen. All nice and neat, wouldn't you say, Ronald?" "Mmmph!" Scully squatted again, her face inches from Ebert's. "When I want an opinion, I'll beat it out of you!" She turned her head to the side and spied the scalpel. "I've got a better idea," she announced, dropping the gun on the dresser and reaching for the knife. Departing from the script, she grabbed Ebert's head and brought the knife as close as she dared. "I can cut one of his eyes. The pain will be intense, but not enough to kill him." "Mmmmmmmmph!" Ebert said, twisting his head from side to side, trying to escape a sight Mulder never thought he'd ever see: A knife wielding Dana Scully, smack-dab in the middle of violating about six separate civil rights, not to mention about four amendments to the Bill of Rights. "Scully!" he said sharply. Scully moved back, dropping the knife back on the dresser and retrieving the gun. "Aww...you're no fun." She moved to the bed and sat. "Listen...one thing is for certain. We can't let him go. He'll tell Graves that we're onto him." Mulder nodded. "We can't let him go. And we don't have time for him to call a lawyer and start screaming about his rights being violated. God, Scully, when you get this way....do you remember the Johansen case? The paperwork!" "He fell out of that window," Scully said, deadpan. "You pushed him! I was there!" "He pissed me off," Scully said softly. "God...remind me never to call you a..." He saw the gun coming up and around and stopped. "What he called you." "Good idea, Mulder. I hate that word." Mulder nodded, seeing the glint of humor in Scully's eyes. God, she was amazing. But he'd always known that. There were times in his own career when he'd been close to losing it. The Paper Hearts case came to mind. Krycek. That black-lunged SOB outside his mother's hospital room. Scully had never lost control, at least not in Mulder's presence. He'd heard how she'd gone to Skinner the last time he'd gone to the arctic circle in search of the morphing alien bounty hunter. How she'd screamed and yelled and all but threatened Skinner with bodily harm to try and force him to contact X to find out where Mulder had gone. He'd never seen it, but watching the performance of his partner tonight, Mulder knew that he never wanted to make Scully...that angry. Ever. "Listen," Maggie finally said. "You said that stuff in the needles will make him talk. We need to know what he knows. If we make him talk, then he's no good to Graves anymore. Then we can just arrest him and be done with it." Scully shook her head. "We've gone too far." "Mmmph! Nnnmmmph!" Ebert moaned. Scully continued speaking over Ebert's gagged protests. "If we let him go, eventually he'll start talking about this entire...scene, and I don't want to have to deal with the paperwork! It's easier just to kill him!" Mulder nodded, turning to King. "I agree with Scully. I say we give him the shit, make him talk, and then wax him." Maggie marched over to where Ebert was tied to the chair and reached for the scalpel. She cut the bathrobe sash away with a quick, smooth motion and yanked the cloth out of his mouth. "Listen to me," she said, squatting to peer into his eyes. "These two have gone off the reservation. They want to kill you. If you tell us everything you know...and we let you live...will you swear that you will never, ever reveal what transpired in this room?" Ebert nodded, his head looking like a toy dog on the rear deck of a redneck's car. "I swear. Just please don't kill me! Please!" "Pussy," Scully muttered. "Big, tough man with the gun, huh?" She looked disgusted enough to spit. Ebert looked like he was about to say something, but he saw the dangerous glitter in Scully's eyes and thought better of it. "Can I please have some water?" he asked. Scully went and got him a glass of water and held it to his lips. She purposely overtipped the glass, forcing the water into his mouth, causing it to overflow. The water ran down his shirt, staining it. "Talk," she said, slamming the glass down on the dresser. "What do you want to know?" "What's your role in LIBERTY BELL?" Ebert paled at the mention of the project name. "He'll kill me," he whispered. "Even if you let me live...he'll get me in prison!" Scully jammed the barrel of the .22 into Ebert's ear. "Listen to me, you asshole! I can kill you right here, right now! We have enough to get Graves anyway! All you'll do is help us get him quicker. But I don't care if I get him tomorrow or next month! He killed a friend of mine, you bastard!" Mulder frowned. That sounded real. Scully wasn't sticking to the script anymore. "O-ok," Ebert moaned. "I don't want to die." "But you were ready to kill?" He nodded. "I had no choice." "We'll get to that," Mulder said, stepping in between Scully and Ebert, giving his partner a warning glance. "Tell us about LIBERTY BELL. What's your part?" "Real Estate." All three interrogators exchanged a glance. "Excuse me?" Scully asked. "Real estate," Ebert muttered. "My wife. She's a Realtor. She has her license. Graves needed...land. Hideouts. Safehouses. Storage space. Everything was purchased through my wife. Under different names. Dummy corporations." Scully felt her pulse quickening. "Do you know if Graves purchased all of his...land, houses, whatever...through you?" Ebert shook his head. "I doubt it. He's too careful, too safe." Mulder looked at his partner. "Would Graves send someone to kill us who knows where the CBX-3 is? Would he be that stupid?" "Stupid? No. Nervous? Maybe. Threatened? Possibly." She turned back to Ebert. "Does your wife keep records?" "Yes." "How much does she know?" "She thought it was a classified military operation; she thought she was doing her duty." Scully nodded. This was good. She walked to the bedside table and grabbed her cellphone, intending for Ebert to call his wife and tell her to bring the records to the room. No, she thought. If Graves had Ebert's line tapped, that would give it all away. "What kind of records?" Scully asked, returning to Ebert's chair. "What?" "Paper? Computer? What?" "Computer." She thought quickly. "Do you have Internet access?" "Yes." "I'm going to give you directions on how to mail something anonymously through a server in Japan. You are going to go home, zip up your wife's records into a single file and then mail them to me with the directions I'm about to give you." She leaned down and pressed the gun against his eye. "Listen to me, Ebert. You have exactly two hours to do exactly what I tell you. If you fuck with me...I swear to God I will call the head of NIS myself. There will be a warrant out for your arrest...worldwide...before the sun rises tomorrow. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, I'll find you. And when I do...you'll wish I killed you here tonight." "Can Graves tap a modem call?" Mulder wondered aloud. "Not at the source," King said. "Only the NSA can, when the signal goes from landline to a microwave tower, and then only if they are looking for it." Scully regarded the female naval officer. "How do you know that?" she asked. King blushed. "My friend told me," she explained. Scully shot an eyebrow at her partner. "Frohickie," he said. King smiled. "That's his name? Frohickie?" Mulder grinned. "Yup." King thought about it for a moment. "Hmm...what's his first name?" Mulder opened his mouth and then closed it. The shock was clearly evident on his face. "I...I don't know!" Scully had moved to the bed. Opening her laptop, she quickly booted it and looked for the program she needed. She wrote the instructions quickly, in her neat, precise hand. "Follow these instructions, Ebert. To the letter. If you fuck any of the instructions up, I will come for you. Make sure you use the password I'm providing when you compress the files. It's two words, all capital letters." She folded the instructions in half, then in half again. Walking over to where he sat, she jammed them into his jacket pocket. "I'm going for a walk," she announced. "Give me a minute, and then unlock this turd and let him go." She turned to face her captive one final time. "The clock starts the moment the door shuts behind your skinny ass, Ebert. Two hours. If you make it in two hours and five seconds, pack your bags, because you're going to Portsmouth." "There's one thing-" Ebert said. "WHAT?!" "Graves. He's going to call. To find out if...if you're dead." Ebert paled. "Oh my God! What time is it?" Mulder looked at his watch. "Almost eight. Why?" Ebert swallowed loudly. "Graves is going to call me in ten minutes." "Home or cell?" "Home." Shit! Scully thought. There was no way he could get home in ten minutes. "Do you have call forwarding?" Mulder suddenly asked. "Yes...why?" Mulder said nothing. He reached for Scully's cell and dialed quickly. "Lone Gunmen," the voice answered. "Rush job, Byers." "What kind?" "Phone. I need a number in San Diego forwarded to my cell. Transparently forwarded. I need you to get to the PacBell East switch in San Diego in less than ten minutes." Byers whistled. "Ok, lemme see if Frohickie can do it." "Tell Frohickie my video collection is his if he does it." "That'll motivate him. Gimme the number." "What's the number Graves is going to call?" Mulder demanded. Ebert gave it to him, and Mulder relayed it to Byers. "Is Frohickie there?" King asked softly. Mulder nodded, not saying anything. In the background, Mulder heard Byers calling to Frohickie. A moment later the little troll came on the line. "Mulder, are you insane? That's impossible." Mulder covered the phone with his hand, offering it to Maggie. "You know how important this is. Convince him." Maggie took the phone. "Hello?" "Who's this?" Frohickie demanded. "Maggie. Maggie King. Is this DrLuv?" There was a pause. "Hello," Frohickie said, his voice a squeak. "Listen...I know we only know each other on the computer...but I really need you to do this. It's important. Can you do it? For me?" There was a pause. "Hold on," Frohickie said. There was the sound of movement in the background, and then the sound of computer keys clicking. "Ok...dialing into the local switch," he said. "He's calling the local switch," Maggie said to Mulder and Scully. "...ok, I have a LD trunk... seizing it now...ok, I see US West... I'm crossing on a trunk-to-trunk transfer...I can see the PacBell NoCal switch in San Francisco...shit!" "What?" Maggie asked. "The transfer trunk to SoCal is down for maintenance...hold on...I'm backing out to Ameritel...maybe they can get...there it is...Pac Bell...ok...I'm in Los Angeles..." Mulder looked at his watch. Four minutes had elapsed. "Tell him to hurry," he whispered urgently to Maggie. She waved him off. She knew Frohickie would do it. After all, she'd asked him to. "Ok...I can see the SoCal PacBell switch. It's letting me in with a backdoor maintenance password...the exchange map is all messed up... ask Mulder if the local exchange was recently changed." "Was the exchange recently changed?" Maggie asked Ebert. He nodded. "It was 738. Now it's either 738 or 882. You can call either, for about another six weeks." "Either 738 or 882," Maggie called, checking her watch. Five minutes. "Got it," Frohickie said. "Ok...the problem is that the number is cross-linked twice to make sure...damn, damn." "What?" "The line's in use." "Someone's on the line," Maggie said. "It's in use." "Trace it back!" Mulder almost shouted. "Trace it," Maggie repeated, although she didn't need to. "Already on it...Kansas. Lindsborg, Kansas. North of Wichita. Single exchange, looks to be about four hundred numbers." "Lindsborg?" Maggie asked the room. "Kansas?" "Sister-in-law," Ebert wheezed. "My wife's brother's wife. They were best friends in high school." Mulder nodded. "Does your wife like to talk on the phone?" Ebert shook his head. "She's a cheapskate." Mulder grabbed the phone from Maggie. "Where did the call originate?" "San Diego." "Length?" "Almost...coming up on ten minutes....wait...ok, the line is free." Mulder glanced at his watch. Seven minutes. "Ok...Mulder..." "What?" "You're on roam, right?" "Of course! I don't live here, Frohickie!" "Sorry...it's just that I have to get a signal lock to make sure that the forward takes...Mulder...is your goddamn phone even on?" "Why?" "Because I'm in another Telnet window trying to access the DC cell exchange roam transmitter, and you have no signal strength!" "Shit!" Mulder handed the phone to Maggie and sprinted across the room, looking for his jacket. He found the phone. It was off. He turned it on, waving at Maggie. "It's on," she said into the phone. "Ok...waiting for a signal...his phone has to interrogate the local cell and then switchback to the roam transmitters...ok, getting something, a little tickle...got it! Tell Mulder....just a second... ok! It's done. That number has been forwarded to his cell." "Done," Maggie said. To Frohickie, "Thanks, DrLuv." "Don't mention it," Frohickie said. "By the way...you have a beautiful voice." Maggie smiled shyly, even though she knew he couldn't see it. "What happens if Ebert's wife tries to make a call?" Scully asked. "Uh..." Maggie said, "Miss Scully wants-" "Let me speak to him," she said, holding out her hand. Reluctantly, Maggie gave her the phone. "Frohickie? This is Scully. What happens if someone at that house tries to make a call?" "They'll get no dial tone." "Ok...thanks, Frohickie." "Put Maggie back on," he said. "Later, Frohickie. We're in the middle of something." She could sense the disappointment in his voice. "I promise, ok? We really have to go." "Ok...call us back when you want the forward taken off." "You got it. And thanks again." Scully hung up the phone and turned to see Mulder standing there, his face pale, devoid of color. "What?" He handed her the phone. She looked down and saw the same thing he had. The LCD display said LOW BATT. "I didn't turn it off," he whispered. "It ran low and self- terminated." "Find the charger, Mulder!" Scully smiled as her partner realized what she was saying. The charger that came with his phone was exactly like hers; it could charge the battery AND allow the phone to be used with wall power. Mulder dug through his overnight bag, searching for it. "Mulder..." Nine minutes. "Found it!" He ran back to Ebert's chair and dove to the ground, searching for a socket. "It's in!" Scully plugged the small end into Mulder's phone. CHARGE, the LCD display said. All three let out a huge breath. Then the phone rang. *** "Shit!" Mulder swore. "What?" Scully asked. "I forgot to tell Frohickie to trace this call!" Scully glared at her partner, and then forgave him. He looked so miserable that he'd forgotten that Scully's heart went out to him. The phone rang again. Scully picked up the pistol and leveled it at Ebert's head. "One wrong word, anything that looks, feels or sounds like a signal to this asshole, and you're going to be able to carry your brains around in your hat," Scully warned. "Go to hell," Ebert hissed. "You first," Scully replied, hitting the SND button and holding the phone up to Ebert's ear. --- END CHAPTER 21 NOTE: The line "That's Special Agent Bitch to you, asshole!" was borrowed from another author's work; I don't remember the author or the story, but I do remember that it was an XF/Highlander crossover; I also remember laughing out loud in admiration at the line. Writing the confrontation between Ebert and Scully begged for that line, and so I used it lovingly. Since I'm crediting the line, I hope this doesn't become a case of plagiarism. ;) IF anyone knows the author and/or the title to the story, I'd appreciate them forwarding it to me so I can give proper credit in the next chapter of "Umbra." CONTENT NOTE: Gratuitous Scully/Mulder Kiss. Gun-to-the-head-inter- rogation. Gun-to-the-temple interrogation. Scalpel-to-the-eye- interrogation. Polysyllabic pseudoscientific technogeek-speak. ScullyFu. ActionScully!, complete with accessory pack (cell phone, pistol, odorless, colorless, untraceable fake poison) Verbal ScullyFu with lots and lots o' bad words. One foot to the groin. Oh, and plot. Lots and lots `o plot. :) Feedback to REMEMBER: If you get this via the mailing list, you MUST change the address if you click or choose "Reply." The reply-to address has been CHANGED to fool spambots.