"Umbra" 22/? By Dawson E. Rambo Disclaimer : Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his copyrighted property, 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 9, 1997 Archive Entry : Book I, Chapter 22 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" : Joan Allen, "Janet Ebert" : Fred Ward, "Deputy Sanders." 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! --------------- "Take up thy sword and let the rage of battle flow in thy veins." - Anonymous Motel 6 Mission Beach, California 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. "Hello?" Ebert asked. "Ronald, my friend. How did it go?" "Fine, Graves." "Is that so? So I should be able to turn on the television and see the press mobbing the Motel 6, all asking the same question over and over again? `Who would have perpetrated such a horrible crime? What a tragedy, two young FBI agents cut down in the prime of their careers?'" "I don't about the press, Graves. I used a silenced weapon. It might be a day or two before the bodies are found." Scully nodded at Ebert's improvisation. Silence on the other end of the phone. Scully watched as sweat broke out on Ebert's brow. "Tell me, Ronald. Tell me everything. You know how I do love the details." "Uh...I came to the door, knocked. The Scully woman answered from inside. I told her I had a message from Karn." "You WHAT?" Graves exploded. "What?" "Put her on." "Excuse me?" "Ronald, you simpering fool, Karn has both their cell numbers plus the number of the room. If you told her you had a message from Karn she would have seen right through you, which means they managed to capture you, which also means you're probably sitting in the room, handcuffed, with your own gun to your head." "Graves, I swear-" "Ronald, you have one more chance. If you don't put the Scully woman on the phone this instant, I will kill your wife. Right after I fuck her." Ebert's eyes widened. "He knows," he said to the room. "He said he'll kill my wife if Scully doesn't talk to him." Sighing, Scully lifted the phone to her ear. "Scully." "Ah, my dear Special Agent Scully. Well, this round goes to you, I suppose. I apologize for sending such a moron to do my bidding." Scully thought. He sounds like a villain from a cheesy B-movie thriller. "Whatever." "Not in a talkative mood, are we? That's fine. I'm just glad that neither Roche nor Ebert has any real grasp of my plans, or I'd have to step the timetable up a tad. I must say, Scully, that you and your partner are making this a most interesting game..." "Game? Is that what you think it is, you son of a bitch?" "Tsk, tsk...don't lose your temper, Scully. A mind clouded by emotion can't think clearly." Scully turned away from Ebert and began pacing. "I remember another quote, asshole. `Take up thy sword and let the rage of battle flow in thy veins.'" "Who said that?" Graves asked. "I've had the benefits of a classical education, and I can't say as I remember that particular quote." "Does it really matter, Graves?" A sigh on the other end of the phone. "I suppose not, my dear. I was wondering if you would perhaps like a clue." "A clue?" "Yes, you know, a clue. I assumed you investigative types lived for that sort of thing. Clues, evidence, witnesses, all that lovely law enforcement minutia. Skulking around crime scenes with a magnifying glass and all that." The man's deranged, Scully thought. He's acting as if he's in a movie! Mulder had picked up the LIBERTY BELL folder and was scribbling on the back. He held it up so Scully could read it. "Megalomaniac" it said, and under that, "Feed him!!!" The second line was underlined twice. With a start, Scully got it. Mulder thought that Graves was more than likely insane, that he had delusions of grandeur. By the way the conversation was going, Scully was ready to agree with him. It was almost as if Graves actually saw himself as the main villain in a real-life movie. He had his lines down pat; would he fall to the same clich‚s that the movie villains always did? "Fine, Graves. Give me a clue. I suppose it's going to be a riddle to solve or some other mind teaser. You know, something to prove your overwhelming mental prowess." There was a laugh. "Oh, my dear Scully, you know me to well! No, no riddles, no mysteries to solve before uncovering the underlying meaning. After all, what sort of megalomaniacal villain would I be if I kept staying true to form? No, I'm going to give you an actual clue, something you can use. Ready?" Scully nodded, even though Graves couldn't see her. "Go ahead." "Stone. Stone has the key, but he doesn't know which lock to open. I know how trite that sounds, Scully, but the truth is Stone has had the key for years. He just doesn't know he has it. Once Stone figures out what he's got...you'll be able to find me. But that's the problem, isn't it? You don't know where Stone is. So, you must decide. Pursue me, or pursue Stone. You don't have time to do both." Scully hesitated. "How much time do we have?" Graves considered. Telling them his timetable posed minimal risk. "Very well. Perhaps it will be...motivating. It is Thursday night, almost eight fifteen. You have until Sunday noon. A little over two days. At Sunday noon, the world comes to an end. At least one specific part of it, that is." "Why are you doing this, Graves?" Graves laughed. "Oh, my dear! You flatter me so! To want to know so much about me...doesn't your psychologist boyfriend slash partner have any ideas as to why I've slipped my mental moorings and am slowly drifting on this sea of madness?" Scully glanced at her partner. "He thinks you're fucking nuts." "And so right he is, my dear. But I will tell you this. Somewhere between madness and sanity is the truth. Another cryptic quote, I know, but that is the truth. I may be heading towards the shore of insanity, but my boat left from side of the river. If you'd seen what I have and done what I've done...you might be helping me paddle this metaphorical boat." "I doubt that. I have respect for human life." "As do I, although that may be hard to believe. Let me ask you this...are you familiar with chaos theory?" "Yes. The basic parts of it, anyway." "Very good; you are aware of the maxim about the butterfly's wings causing hurricanes days later?" "Yes." "Very well. Let me ask you a question: If I could promise that I would provide a cure for cancer, a cure that would work on any form or kind of cancer in the world, forever...would you kill a stranger in cold blood?" Scully held her breath, wondering if there was a right or wrong answer. "I don't understand." "I thought I was clear. Let me try again. It's a question of morals, Agent Scully. Does the need of the many outweigh the needs of the one? If I could hand you a cure to cancer, would you kill a stranger in cold blood?" "I don't know." Graves laughed. "I applaud your honesty. But to answer your original question, the question as to why I am doing this bad, evil, heinous thing...there is a cancer in this country, Scully. It's eating us up from the inside, and it kills innocent people. Just think of what I'm doing as...the ultimate chemotherapy." Scully saw the picture now. It was all becoming clear. "You wouldn't happen to know where Stone is, would you?" she asked lightly. "Well, now that you mention it, I do have a good idea, yes." Scully held her breath. "Will you tell me?" "Hmmm, perhaps. Let's play a game. I like playing with you, Agent Scully. And since I'm feeling particularly evil tonight, I'll ask you a question. If you can answer the question in less than five seconds, I'll tell you where I think Stone is at this moment. Ready?" "What kind of question?" "Your normal evil villain-type brain teaser, of course." Scully took a deep breath. "Can I repeat the question aloud?" "Of course. You have Mulder and Ebert there. Maybe they can help. But remember, you only have five seconds. Are you ready?" "Yes." Speaking quickly, Graves said, "If it takes nine men nine days to dig nine holes, how long does it take one man to dig half a hole?" Scully repeated the question, and began counting. At three, Mulder's eyes widened. He wrote a large number 0 on the back of the folder. "None," Scully said, her eyebrows arching. There was a long pause. "Very good, Scully. I applaud your mental acuity. This game is getting more interesting by the moment." "Where's Stone?" Scully demanded. "Very well. At this moment, I suspect he is breaking into Ebert's house to get the computerized Real Estate records of his wife. I assume you know why." "Yes." Graves laughed. "Well, it won't do you any good to get your hands on those records. But if you hurry, you might be able to get your hands on Stone. Good day. Oh, and tell Ebert that...I won't kill his wife. For now, anyway." There was a click, and Graves was gone. Scully dialed Frohickie's number. "Lone Gunmen." "Frohickie, Scully. Tell me you traced the most recent call to this phone!" An answering chuckle told Scully what she wanted to hear. "Of course, Scully. But...it's not good news. It came from another cellphone, one registered to a charter air service. The caller is apparently on board an airplane." Scully shook her head in frustration. "Whatever. Take the forward off. I'll call you later." She hung up and turned to Ebert. "Call your wife. Tell her that a man is coming to..." She thought about it. No...if Stone knew that they were onto him, there was no knowing what he might do. Stone was just as unstable, as unpredictable as Graves, but for a different reason. Two madmen, each racing the other to a finish line that could result in... Scully didn't want to think about it. "Coming to what?" Ebert asked. They had to get Stone. "Nothing. How far away do you live?" "Ten, fifteen minutes." "C'mon," she said to Mulder, grabbing one of Ebert's elbows. "Help me get him to the car. We need to get there, now." Mulder nodded, grabbing the other elbow. "You want to tell me why?" "Stone's there, going for the computer records. We need to get our hands on him. Pronto." *** Enroute to 4981 Bache Avenue "Tell me why we're doing this again," Mulder repeated. He was behind the wheel, shifting gears like mad, weaving in and out of traffic. "Stone has the key to this entire thing, only he doesn't know it. That's what Graves said." "You believe him?" Mulder asked, the uncertainty clear in his voice. "Yes," Scully nodded. "I do. Strange as it seems, it's almost like he wants to give us a fighting chance. Almost as if..." she trailed off. "I wouldn't say that he wants to be caught. He likes the power too much, the feeling that he's pulling all the strings. He doesn't want to get caught, that's for sure. But he wants it to be close. And if we can get our hands on Stone and figure out what he knows, or thinks he knows, or even what he doesn't know he knows, we...well, we have one more Ace up our sleeve." Mulder downshifted and changed lanes to a symphony of honking horns. "What're the others?" "Only one," Scully said softly. "You." Mulder looked at his partner, confusion etched on his face. "I don't..." "Graves may not know how that mind of yours works. How you're able to make logical leaps and bounds with the smallest bits of information. He's feeding us Stone like...like a tidbit. He's giving us just a little taste. But he may not know how far you can take a little taste. I'm counting on the fact that...if we can get Stone, you can talk to him and figure out what the hell is going on." Mulder turned back to face the road, his jaw a grim line. "I'm not sure I'll be able to talk to Stone without wanting to kill him, Scully." "Take a left here," Ebert called from the backseat. Maggie was seated next to him, the .22 pointed at his midsection. Mulder shifted again and took the corner sharply. "Take the first right after the next light," Ebert said. Up ahead, about fifty yards away, the light turned from green to yellow. Scully felt the car slowing. "Blow it!" she screamed. Mulder floored the powerful car and blasted through the intersection a second after the light had switched from yellow to red. Sitting just out sight on the cross-street was Deputy Tom Sanders, San Diego Sheriff's Office. He saw the expensive BMW run the light frowned. He hated speeders, but hated light-blowers more. Reaching down to the console mounted on the hump, he hit the five switches that turned his flashing grill lights, the overhead light bar, and the siren on. Pulling into traffic, he began pursing the forest green BMW. ** Scully twisted in the seat, looking back to see the revolving lights of the police car through the rear window. "Think you can lose him?" she asked Mulder. He shook his head. "I doubt it. Never took EVOC." Emergency Vehicle Operator's Course was required at the academy, but Scully didn't have the time or the inclination to ask Mulder how he'd managed to graduate without taking it. "Ok...let's try and tin him. If that doesn't work...we'll play it by ear." Mulder nodded and slowed the car down, signaling that he was going to turn right. He turned onto the street that Ebert had indicated and moved to the curb. The police car slid in behind them, and a moment later the high-intensity takedown lights flooded the care with pure, bright white light. "Driver!" the cop called over the PA. "Show me your hands!" Mulder reached into his pocket and grabbed his ID, opening it and hanging it out the window. "FBI!" he called. Back in his patrol car, Deputy Sanders frowned. Not many FBI agents could afford BMW's, even the higher-ups. Something was fishy. "Driver, exit the car, keeping your hands in the air!" Mulder swore and reached for the door handle. "I'm ARMED!" he called. "Understood," Sanders called back. "Move slow, pal!" Mulder got out of the car very slowly, his hands held high, his ID dangling from his right hand. "Oh, screw this," Scully said. She cocked her weapon and put the safety on, tucking it into the small of her back. Retrieving her own ID, she held it out the window. "DEPUTY, I'm coming out!" she called. "I'm unarmed!" Sanders looked over to where Scully was exiting the car, her own hands held up. "Ma'am, return to the car!" Sanders commanded. He saw the matching FBI ID in her hands and relaxed a little. Realizing that he probably did have two FBI agents to deal with, he holstered his weapon. He met them between the two cars. "Just what in the hell is going on here?" he asked. "Do you have any idea how fast you were going? You blew through that light!" Mulder nodded, trying very hard to appear contrite. "I know, Deputy. But we're on a case, and in a very big hurry." Sanders leaned between the two partners to peer in the back windows. He noticed that they had another passenger, and what looked like a handcuffed suspect in the back seat. "They with you?" he asked with a smile. "No," Scully said quickly, at the same moment Mulder said, "Yes." Looking between the two partners, Sanders frowned. "Well, which is it?" "Yes," Scully said, right as Mulder said, "No, not reall-" Sanders sighed. "Ok, folks, lemme see those IDs again. We've got to get this straightened out." "Sorry, Deputy," Scully said softly. "We don't have time." Sanders had been looking at the backseat again, and when he turned to tell Scully that he was, in fact, going to have to ask them to some damn time, he found himself looking down the barrel of Scully's gun. "Mulder, cuff him." "Scully!" "Mulder, DO IT!" Sighing, Mulder moved behind Sanders. "Deputy, I know this is going to sound like pure insanity to you, but...we have to do this. We have no choice." "Are you her hostages?" Sanders asked, his eyes wide. He was chastising himself for ignoring the short, pretty redhead. Mulder laughed. "Sort of." "Mulder!" Scully warned. "Hurry up!" Mulder relieved Sanders of his duty weapon. "Backup?" he asked. "Right ankle," Sanders said sullenly. Mulder reached down and found the .38 five-shot revolver holstered just above Sander's boot and took that as well. Removing a pair of the deputy's handcuffs, Mulder quickly restrained him. "Now what? We can't leave him in his cruiser." "I know," Scully said. "Maggie, pop the trunk!" King moved around inside the car, quickly finding and releasing the trunk. It yawned open, revealing perhaps the most luxurious, plush trunk either FBI agent or the Deputy Sheriff had ever seen. Motioning with her gun, Scully said, "In." "Aw, c'mon," Sanders complained. "Hey...I've been there. It's not too bad." Sanders still looked undecided. "It's not a request, Deputy. Go easy or go hard, but you're going!" Sanders nodded and shuffled to the trunk. Folding his body inside, Scully looked down at the man and had a sudden memory of the trunk she'd been held in a few short years ago. Leaning down, she smiled her warmest smile at the man. "Deputy, I know you don't understand, and we don't have time to explain it to you. I know you were just doing your job, and believe me...we're doing ours right now. We aren't going to kill you, and we are FBI agents. When this is all over, I'll tell you as much as I can." She thought about saying something more, but glancing at her watch, Scully decided she didn't have the time. "Hold on," she said, closing the trunk. "Mulder, shut the patrol car down." He nodded and trotted over, reaching inside to kill the engine and the lights. Mulder and Scully got back into the BMW and started it up again. "Where to?" Scully asked. "Uh...five blocks." Mulder hit the gas and the car lurched into motion. *** 4981 Bache Avenue San Diego, California Wearing thin surgeon's gloves, Commander Matthew Stone, USN, quietly worked at picking the lock on the back door. It had taken him years of investigation to get this far, and the tantalizing reality of what was on the other side of this door was making him crazy. Once he had the list of Graves' safehouses, it was only a matter of time before he had the bastard. And when that happened... Stone's face was set in a grim, stark mask. The original orders had come from a very, very high...lofty perch. Higher than the director of NIS. Higher than the Joint Chiefs. Almost as high as it went. The orders had been specific: Find Graves, break the plot. Get all the names, all of Graves' operatives. Every last one. The orders had been delivered in such a way that left little to the imagination. What was not said was almost important as what had been said. Stone understood his explicit orders clearly: Do whatever it takes to break Graves, but don't kill him. Get the names, and then round them up. Stone had another plan, a plan he was sure his superiors weren't aware of. He would get the names, by any means possible. And then he would kill Graves anyway. His mind distracted from the various methods he planned to use to bring immense amounts of pain and suffering to the person of Daniel Graves, Matt swore as the pick slipped out of the lock and fell to the ground. He bent to retrieve it and straightened. Right into the barrel of a pistol leveled at his face. Stone followed the path of the pistol all the way to the face of the person holding it. Fox Mulder, Special Agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation. "Trick or treat," Mulder said. *** Stone tensed, ready to spring. He felt the cold press of another gun at the back of his head. "Don't." That voice! Scully! Slowly, he twisted at the waist, struggling to look over his shoulder. She was there, holding her pistol at his head with two steady hands. "Freeze, Matt. I mean it." "You don't understand," he said softly. "Didn't Maggie call Karn?" "Yes," another voice said to his right. "Yes, I did." His head spun, finding the third and last person Matt would ever have expected to see. Maggie King, holding a silenced .22 Ruger in her hands. "Hi, Matt," she said softly. "Maggie." "Well, now that the introductions are all finished," Scully said sarcastically, "maybe we should all go inside so the neighbors don't call the police." Stone frowned at her tone, and then felt his jaw drop as he watched Scully lean over and insert a key into the lock. "Much quicker than a pick," she said softly. "How did-?" "Never mind," Scully said, prodding Stone with her gun. "Just walk." His hands held at shoulder height, Matt walked slowly, looking for an opening, an opportunity. Anything. They entered the house, ending up in a small rear foyer. He could see the kitchen ahead of him, a pantry to the left, the shelves stocked with boxed and canned food, and what appeared to be a mud closet to his right. There was just enough room for the five of them to fit. He should have known. They were in on it; from the beginning, he'd suspected the attractive FBI agent. She was too rigid, too inflexible to understand what was truly at stake her. "Tell me one thing," Stone said softly. "I'm listening." "Did you sleep with him?" Scully stopped walking, but the gun never wavered. "With who?" "Graves." The last sound Matt Stone expected to hear was laughter. Huge, great peals of it. Scully was almost doubled over, holding her sides. "You idiot," she said. "We're on YOUR side!" "Then why the guns?" Abruptly, Scully stopped laughing. It was almost as if someone had pulled a hidden switch. She walked up to Stone, invading his personal space, the gun coming up. She placed the barrel against his neck. "Listen to me...you shit! I've read the files in your apartment, seen the pictures. I found two of Graves' operatives without your help. I know that you've been after this prick for years, but that doesn't excuse anything you've done. Not one single thing. You should have told us!" "You wouldn't have believed me," Stone said. She laughed. "You remember that discussion we had in the car coming back from NRO? About who had the bigger one? Well, Stone, you stupid moron, if you knew half the things that I do, you'd know that you could trust us! We've seen things that you haven't imagined in your worst paranoid nightmares!" Mulder was standing a bit back from the duo. Seeing Scully standing so close to Stone was driving him insane, slowly but surely. He held his Bureau-issued SIG Sauer in two hands, the front sight blade in sharp focus, the white blob of Stone's head centered between the rails of the rear sight. The hammer was back, and his finger was on the trigger. He'd taken all the slack out of the trigger. Source or no source, key to Graves' plot or not, if he made a single fucking move to hurt Scully, it'd be the last thing he ever did. Scully stepped even closer. "And as for the other...I don't know what I was thinking, Stone. The thought of you...touching me... makes me want to fucking puke." She stepped away, lowering her gun. "But right now, we need each other." Stone smiled thinly. "I doubt that very much, little girl." It came so quickly that neither Mulder, King, Ebert or Stone saw it happen. One moment Stone was standing there, his arms held at shoulder height, a little smirk on his face. The next moment he was on his knees, holding his hands over his crotch, groaning. "Don't CALL me that!" Scully hissed. Mulder closed his eyes and added another item to the list of names not to call Scully. She was really good with that foot. "Ronald? Dear?" The sixth voice to enter the party called down from upstairs. "Janet, please come down here," Ebert called. Turning to Scully he said, "Please take off the handcuffs. There are four of you and only two of us." Scully thought about it and then nodded to Maggie, tossing the Naval officer her keyring. Maggie worked the cuffs quickly. Ebert brought his arms around, rubbing his wrists. "God, that feels good," he said. Janet Ebert appeared in the kitchen. "Ronald? What are all these people doing here?" "Janet, please come here," Ronald said, not unkindly. "Ronald! I'm hardly dressed-" "JANET! RIGHT NOW!" Ebert said, using his Command Voice. Janet simpered for a moment and then acquiesced, moving slowly across the kitchen to the foyer. "What's going on?" Scully sighed. This was going to take a while. "Ma'am, I'm Special Agent Dana Scully-" she started. "NIS?" Janet Ebert asked fearfully. "No," Scully continued, "FBI. This is my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder. This," she said, indicating Maggie, "is Commander Maggie Stone, US Navy-" "NIS?" Janet asked again. "No," Scully repeated, slowly, "BUPERS." Janet Ebert's face clearly displayed her confusion. "And this is Commander Matthew Stone, also US Navy." Holding up a hand to stave off Janet's unspoken question, Scully added, "And no, he's not NIS, either. He was, though. But not anymore." "What is he then?" Scully regarded the man on his knees. He was still gingerly holding his crotch. "In pain." To Mulder, she said, "Help me." They reached down and helped Stone to his feet. "Where are they?" she asked Ronald Ebert. "Den. Through the kitchen, down the hall. Last door on the left." Nodding, Scully and Mulder half-dragged and half-carried Matt Stone to Ebert's den. Maggie followed, herding the Eberts in front of her. Too bad the SEALs don't let women join, Maggie thought. This is kinda fun! *** Once in the den, Scully and Mulder dumped Stone on the long leather couch that sat against one wall. Sitting at a forty-five degree angle to the couch was a large desk. Two computers sat on it, a desktop unit and a laptop. "Which?" Scully asked, pointing at them with her gun. "The laptop," Ebert said softly, drawing his wife against him. "Ronald?" she asked. "What's going on?" "Ma'am," Scully said, moving towards the desk, "I need to access your Real Estate records." Janet Ebert drew herself up to her full height of five feet six inches, her hands on her hips, her face a beacon of indignation. "Do you have a warrant `special agent' Scully?" "No, ma'am. We don't need one." "I know my rights!" Janet cried. "You need a warrant, or a writ, or a subpoena, or some such thing!" "Shh," Ronald said to his wife, reaching for her. "You be QUIET!" she said to her husband. To Scully, she continued, "I mean it, Special Agent Scully! I want to see some kind of paperwork on this, or I call my attorney!" Scully sat back in the desk chair, placing her gun on the blotter softly. "Mrs. Janet Ebert, you are under arrest," she said slowly, carefully. "For suspicion of interstate wire fraud, land fraud, and...oh, let's just say espionage." "WHAT?!" Janet Ebert screamed. Scully stood, curling her hands into fists and pushing her knuckles against the blotter. "Mrs. Ebert! I am a federal agent! I have probable cause and reasonable suspicion to believe that several ongoing federal felonies have occurred on these premises. I do not NEED a warrant at this time! Please, sit down and be quiet, or I will be forced to take you into custody." Janet Ebert's mouth worked once, twice, but no sound came out. Turning to her husband, she glared at him. "Well? Don't just stand there, Roger! Do something!" "Janet, shut up," Ronald said. "It's over. Just sit down and be quiet." The slap was shockingly loud in the small room. A bloom of color appeared on Ronald's face. "I'm really getting sick and tired of being punched around," he said softly. "Janet...I will explain all of this to you when it's over, but right now, we really need to cooperate with these nice people." Mulder raised his chin towards Maggie and indicated Stone with a twist of his head. Maggie nodded, moving to cover both the Eberts and Stone with her pistol. Moving to where Scully was pounding on the laptop's keyboard, Mulder leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Forgetting for the moment how sexy you look when you go into superhero mode," he whispered, "what are you doing? Graves said those records are worthless!" "I have an idea," she said softly. "Bear with me." Shrugging, Mulder straightened. Scully quickly located the records she was looking for. She patted her pockets, looking for a diskette. No luck. "Disk," she said. "I need a diskette." "Bottom drawer," Ronald said. "RONALD!" "Janet, will you just SHUT UP!" Mulder leaned down to whisper to Scully again. "Do we sound like that?" he asked. "No, and God willing, we never will," she answered. Opening the bottom drawer, Scully found what appeared to be a blank diskette. Inserting it into the PowerBook, she waited until the computer mounted it. The small disk icon appeared just below the hard drive icon, and she double-clicked it. Six files. All of the images, judging by the icons. Out of curiosity, Scully double-clicked on one of the file icons. It took a moment, and then the image appeared. She felt herself smiling. "Well, we'll just add child pornography to the list of charges," she said loudly. Janet Ebert's mouth dropped open and she stood, marching across the room. She leaned over the desk, twisting her head to see the screen. On it, the image of a grown man and a young girl, obviously underage, engaged in a sex act, stared back at her. Spinning on her husband, she began screaming. "What is the meaning of THIS?" Ronald shrugged. "Is that how he recruited you?" Scully asked quietly. Ronald Ebert nodded. "Before we got married," he said to Janet. "I was...picked up for...statutory rape." Janet Ebert staggered at her husband's words. She groped for a chair and shakily took a seat. "W-what?" "That's why we never had children, Janet. After the arrest, after...it all blew over, I had a vasectomy. I didn't want to risk..." Janet Ebert's eyes narrowed as she took in the man she'd been married to for almost twenty years. "You son of a bitch." "Mrs. EBERT!" Scully said, loudly, trying to capture the woman's attention. "WHAT?" she asked, spinning on Scully. "Your husband is involved in a conspiracy to overthrow the government of this country. You helped him. Unknowingly, I realize, but you did help him. Your husband has decided to cooperate with the US Navy and the FBI in this matter." Scully used the trackball and quickly closed the offending image, and then selected all five of the image files on the desk. Dragging them to the trashcan icon, she quickly erased them from the disk. "I see nothing on this disk that warrants federal attention." She paused, fixing the woman with a harsh stare. "If, however, you continue to be a problem, I will be willing to testify in court that the disk belonged to you, ma'am." "You could never prove that," Janet asserted. "I'm aware of that, ma'am. But the fact remains that you would be forever be painted with the same brush as your husband. Even if you were acquitted, or the charges were dismissed, people would always suspect that you knew more than you did. Imagine what kind of effect that would have on your career as a Realtor. You were either a child molester, or were harboring one. So do me a favor. Sit there, shut up, and let me do my goddamn work." Mulder felt his eyebrows arching. Scully was playing some serious hardball. "Fine," Janet said. "Do what you must. But if is the way the federal government treats its citizens, it's not surprising that my husband wants to overthrow you people." Ignoring the woman, Scully copied the files she needed to the diskette and then ejected it. Turning to the Ronald, she said, "Captain, you've cooperated with us, and as far as Graves is concerned, you're out of this. He promised me on the phone that he wouldn't kill Janet-" At the mention of her potential murder, Janet Graves threw a melodramatic hand across her forehead and promptly fainted. She slid out of the chair and fell in a boneless heap to the carpet. Ignoring her, Scully continued, "...so you have a choice. You can remain here and take your chances, or you can come with us and try to stop this madman. If you remain here, I will have the US Marshall's arrest you after this is all over. You can have your day in court, sir. Or you can come with us and chance death." Ebert looked at his wife and frowned. "I'll go with you," he said after a minute. Scully nodded. Coming out from behind the desk, she walked to where Ebert sat on the couch. "Fine. You're with us. One false move, one mistake, and you're history. Understand?" Ebert nodded. "Fine. Does your wife have a car?" Ebert nodded again. "We have three. I have a jeep for the weekends." "Fine. Take the jeep. Maggie, you go with him. Stone, you're with us." Stone opened his pained eyes and looked at Scully. "God, you're one tough broad," he moaned. Scully thought about kicking him in the balls again, but heard the unmistakable tone of admiration in his voice and decided to let it slide. This time. "Ok, here's the deal. We need a place to go. The motel is out. Graves will probably have someone watching it. We need some place safe and secure, away from prying eyes." She looked at her entire team: Ebert, King, Mulder and Stone. "I'm open to suggestions." Stone stood on wobbly legs. "I know a place," he said softly. "I have...a house...on the beach." "Perfect," Scully said. She knew that Stone was paranoid enough to make sure that it was isolated and secure. "We leave now. Matt, how far away is it?" "About an hour...north." "If anyone needs to use the potty, now's the time," Scully said. She felt it again, electricity, power tugging at her chest. There was something so...free about not playing by the rules. The words she had spoken to Mulder just that afternoon came back to her. It personal, and she was not going to stop until Graves was either dead or behind bars. The rules were forgotten. "We have until noon Sunday to grab this asshole," she said to the room. "The clock is ticking. Let's move." --------------------------------------- End Chapter 22 Content Note: ScullyFu. Foot to the groin. Bad words. PS: I wrote that quote at the beginning. :)