"Umbra 26/?"
			       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 29, 1997
Archive Entry  :  "Umbra 26"
Classification :  Action Adventure, MSR
Rating         :  PG-13
Antishipper    :  5 on a scale of 1-10.
Shipper        :  5 on a scale of 1-10.
Casting        :  Val Kilmer "Commander Matthew Stone"
               :  Glenne Headley, "CMDR Maggie King"
               :  Sam Neil "CAPT Ronald Ebert"
Timeline       :  Fourth season, prior to "Momento Mori."

Enjoy!
------

	"So then, it's settled," Skinner said. "Ebert and I will go to 
Jacksonville, Mulder and King to Lindsborg, and Scully and Stone will go 
to Pave Creek." He glanced at his two agents. "We're all agreed?"
	Mulder and Scully, gazes locked, nodded slowly. 
	"Ok, what else is there?" Skinner asked.
	Scully turned to her superior. "Sir?"
	"Scully, I've been hearing...things. Reports about your actions 
during this investigation."
	Scully crossed her arms. "Such as?"
	Skinner gritted his teeth; he hated doing this, but it was a 
requirement of the job. She had no idea how close she'd come to being 
pulled off the case, censured, transferred and ultimately terminated. 
	"Such as your...interrogation of the Roche woman. She had a great 
deal to tell the US Attorney in Washington. Such as your... 
interrogation of Ebert. You are skating on awfully thin ice, Agent 
Scully, I hope you're aware of that."
	"More than aware, sir," Scully said, biting each word off. "I hope 
you are equally aware of the importance of this case to me, both 
personally <and> professionally."
	Skinner paused in his diatribe. "Yes, I was sorry to hear about 
the loss of Admiral Watts. He was a fine man."
	"He was a traitor!" Scully screamed, taking a step towards 
Skinner. "He sold out his country, the Navy, even his friendship with my 
father!"
	"I'm confused, Agent Scully," Skinner admitted. "You said this 
case has personal implications for you. If there's no love lost between 
you and Admiral Watts, I fail to see the personal nature."
	Scully sighed, dropping her arms to her side. "You just don't get 
it? You're as thick as Mulder sometimes." She turned to walk back to the 
couch and then realized what she had said. Turning back to face Skinner, 
her face reddening, Scully stammered, "Uh, sir...I didn't mean-"
	"Finish your thought, Agent Scully. It's true; sometimes I don't 
see the entire picture of an investigation when I'm stuck behind my desk 
in Washington. But I'm here now in the field with the both of you. Why 
don't you...educate me as to my shortcomings as an investigative 
supervisor?"
	His voice was soft, devoid of reproach, but Scully could hear it 
just the same. "I'm sorry, Walter," she said, using his first name to 
make it clear to him how sincere she was. "I spoke without thinking. 
This case has...been very straining."
	"I would assume," Skinner said dryly. "Why don't you explain to me 
exactly why this case is bothering you so much." He paused. "Aside from 
the obvious, I mean."
	Scully plopped down on the couch. "Mulder, would you mind making 
some coffee?" she asked.
	Mulder nodded and departed for the kitchen.
	Scully waited until he was out of earshot before continuing. "Sir, 
I know what you saw this morning...in the bedroom-"
	"Scully, I'm aware of your feelings for Mulder and his for you. As 
I said, it's been something I've been aware of for a long time now."
	"It's not just the feelings, sir...it's all the other stuff that 
goes with it. God knows I love the guy...as you said, I've loved him for 
years. It's...everything. It's a friend of my father's turning his back 
on his sworn duty...it's finding out about these...Guardians... it's 
having to do and say things that I don't do and say in order to stop 
this madman Graves."
	Skinner nodded. "I'm beginning to see your point, Scully."
	Mulder stuck his head in the door. "Instant OK?"
	"Fine, Mulder," Scully said tiredly. After he'd gone, she 
continued. "And another thing...I'm not sure how well Mulder and I are 
going to fare after this mess is over."
	"What do you mean?"
	"Sir, can I speak freely?"
	Skinner took the seat across from the couch. "I think that under 
the circumstances, you should feel free to say anything that comes to 
mind, Agent Scully...Dana."
	Scully smiled at her boss. "Are you going to split us up? When 
this is all over, I mean?"
	Skinner sat back, a hand going to his chin. "No," he finally said. 
"Although that's a conditional no, Scully."
	"On what conditions does that `no' depend?"
	"On the condition that you confine your relationship to off hours. 
This case aside, I don't expect to be explaining to my own superiors the 
reasons that your hotel room bills have suddenly shrunk by fifty percent 
and why there is a sudden increase in room-service orders of champagne 
and strawberries."
	Scully blushed, first at his words, then at his implications, and 
finally at the mental image he evoked. "Sir, I can assure you-"
	"Scully...I was kidding about the room service. What I mean is 
that I expect you two to be discrete. To realize that you are in a very 
special position inside the Bureau. As a Guardian, I have the ability to 
protect you, and your situation...to an extent. You and Mulder are... 
elite. The best of the best. If the FBI were a military unit, agents 
like Crawford and Douglas would be the infantry, the grunts. You and 
Mulder are...like the Special Forces, the SEALs. Elite."
	"I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted," Scully said 
lightly.
	"Flattered. Trust me; I worked with some of the best in that 
particular nasty business."
	Scully nodded. Mulder reappeared from the kitchen, holding two 
cups. "Can I come in?" he asked.
	Skinner and Scully exchanged a guilty look. "Of course, Mulder," 
she said softly. "Why would you think otherwise?"
	"Small house," Mulder said. "Sound carries."
	Scully felt the blush creeping back into her face. "Sorry," she 
said softly. 
	"Think it's time for me to find some cream or milk," Skinner said, 
standing and exiting the living room.
	There was a very long silence between the partners. Mulder finally 
broke it. "Sorry," he said.
	"For what?"
	He shrugged. "For not being Mr. Right. For being Mr. Right Now."
	Scully sighed. "Mulder, one of your less endearing traits is to 
take every single thing I say at face value and not hear the truth 
around the edges. I told Skinner that I love you, and I do. But you have 
to be honest, you have to be realistic. This relationship is going to 
cause problems. We both know that; that, piled on top of all the other 
CRAP I've had to deal with in the last few days has kinda stretched me 
to the limit. When this is all over, we'll take some vacation time and 
go somewhere and just...be, ok?"
	"Ok," Mulder said quietly. "But, if you ever change your 
mind...about us, please be honest with me."
	She spun on him, fire in her eyes. "What have I ever done that 
would make you even think that I would ever be less than honest with 
you?"
	"N-nothing," he said.
	"Well?"
	"Sorry. Sorry I made it seem like-"
	"Like you don't trust me?"
	"I do! Scully, I trust only you."
	She stood. "Then start acting like it, dammit!" Striding angrily 
from the room, she left Mulder sitting on the couch.

***
Thirty minutes later

	The sound of the trio of Stone, King and Ebert returning from 
breakfast brought Mulder out of his funk. Scully hadn't returned from 
the kitchen, and God only knew what she was talking to Skinner about in 
there.
	"What's up?" Stone asked.
	"We have our assignments," Mulder said dryly.
	"Where are we going?" he asked.
	"I think AD Skinner should be the one to give them out; I was 
outranked."
	Stone grinned. That meant that he was going with Scully. 
	Skinner re-entered the living room, joined by Scully. She moved to 
the couch and sat down next to Mulder, purposefully reaching out and 
taking his hand in her own. He looked at her in surprise but said 
nothing, not wanting to disturb her obvious change of heart.
	"All right, people, here's what we have." Quickly, Skinner 
outlined the general plan. "So, then, we should probably plan to move 
out in the next hour or so. We have a lot of ground to cover, and very 
little time to do it. Questions?"
	"Transportation. Weapons. Cash. Clothes. Communication. 
Intelligence," Stone said, ticking each off on a finger.
	Skinner grimaced. "Good point. As for the first, we can use the 
Navy's air fleet; Karn assured that of me before I left Pax. All we have 
to do is call him, and transportation is taken care of."
	Stone nodded. "That's ok for the other two, but I prefer to fly 
myself. I'll rent a jet at SAN." 
	Skinner nodded. "Fine. Scully, Mulder, call Karn and arrange 
transportation."	
	Scully nodded. She'd started taking notes on her laptop.
	"Uh-" King interjected. "I also happen to be a multi-engine jet 
pilot."
	Stone glanced at her, surprise written all over her face.
	"Not military planes," she said quickly. "Commercial. I'm rated 
and checked on the Lear and the GulfStream III. If we can rent a plane, 
I can fly Mulder and myself to Kansas."
	"Fine," Skinner said. "That'll help us keep a lower cover. I can 
use Karn's plane, Scully and Stone can use his. Transportation is 
covered." He paused. "Weapons," Skinner said next. "The three FBI agents 
are all armed-" he started.
	"Those little popguns aren't going to do dick against Graves," 
Stone said, "but that's OK. I got that covered."
	"Covered?" Mulder asked.
	"C'mon," Stone said. "We should all go." He stood, leading the 
other five down to the basement. It was tastefully finished, and looked 
like any rec room in a million suburban homes. Except for the six-foot 
high bank-quality vault mounted against one wall. "Triple redundancy 
security," he said, pointing to the bank of electronics mounted to the 
left of the door.
	"Fingerprint check," he said, touching his thumb against a 
recessed pad. A small LED turned from red to green with a light beep! 
	"Retina scan," he continued, lowering his face to a rubber 
eyepiece.
	"Confirmed," a computer-synthesized voice said. 
	"And finally, a numeric entry code." There was a twelve-key 
numeric keypad mounted above the retinal scanner, and he punched an 
elaborate sixteen-digit code in.
	"Access granted," the voice said.
	"Where did you get-?" Scully asked.
	"Guardians had it built for me when I got this mission," Stone 
explained.
	"That's another thing," Mulder suddenly said. "Why can't we call 
the rest of the Guardians? Get some backup, as it were."
	Skinner and Stone both shook their head. "We're breaking the rules 
by working together," Skinner said, jerking a thumb towards Stone. 
	"That's nuts!" Mulder said.
	"Be that as it may, the rules do make sense in another context. 
The Guardians have full faith in Commander Stone to execute this 
mission. With you, Scully, Ebert, King and myself helping, of course. 
They're not about to reveal their position or risk exposing the rest of 
the network on this little pisstant Graves."
	"A little pissant that can decimate Washington and the leadership 
of this government with the push of a button," Scully pointed out.
	"Whatsamatter, Scully?" King teased. "Afraid of a little 
challenge?"
	Scully shrugged. "I'll be honest; the six of us against Graves and 
God only knows how many of his operatives? I don't like the odds very 
much. Too uneven."
	"Well," Stone said, swinging the door to the vault open. "Let's 
even those odds a little."
 	Together, the six entered the vault. The fact that there was 
enough room for all of them, with room to spare, astounded Scully. Not 
to mention what was in the vault: An arsenal. And not just weapons, 
although there were more than enough to go around. There were shelves 
and shelves filled with the materials they would need to wage this 
private little war: Plastique in packed 10-pound bundles; electronic 
detonators, remote-controlled radio and mechanical versions; black 
cotton ripstop BDUs; flashlights; waterproof body radios with lip mikes 
and earpieces; tactical knives of all shapes and sizes, ranging from an 
Emerson CQB-6 titanium-hulled eviscerator to a 12-inch survival knife 
that looked like it had been stolen from the set of a "Rambo" movie; 
load-bearing assault vests; ballistic body armor; surveillance gear of 
all different shapes and descriptions. 
	"My God," Mulder whispered.
	"Welcome to Stone's Army/Navy store," he said proudly. "One-stop 
shopping for arming the team that will take down the pissant."
	"Very nice," Skinner said, nodding. 
	"I'll say," Scully grinned, reaching for a Heckler & Koch 9mm MP5-
PDW. 
	"Careful with that-" Stone started to say.
	Scully glanced at him disdainfully. She turned the short assault 
weapon over in her hands, sliding the bolt back to the locked-open 
position and then peering down the barrel. She could see the fine sheen 
of oil and knew that it had been kept well-maintained. Reaching for a 
magazine of what looked to be Winchester Black Talon 9mm rounds, she 
slapped it home and turned the weapon back around in her hands, slapping 
the bolt closed and thumbing the safety on all in one single swift 
motion.
	"I've used one before," she said softly.
	Stone said nothing, visibly impressed. "Ok," Skinner said. "Time 
to get packed. Stone, start giving out clothes and weapons. We'll divide 
the other stuff up later."
	"Gotcha," Stone said, looking at Maggie. "So, what're you? A six?"
	"Eight," she said softly.
	"Eight...no problem. Here...I think this will fit."
	"Basic black?" Maggie teased.
	"No pearls," Stone added.

***
Forty Minutes Later

	"We look like the FBI Militia!" Scully said, smiling.
	"Yes, well, remember that when we're out in the world, unless 
we're operating at night or in a remote location, we should probably 
keep the assault vests off, and so forth..." Skinner said, looking at 
his rag-tag team of commandos.
	Mulder was wearing a tight black T-shirt, six-pocket cotton 
ripstop BDU's and metal-toed, heavy-soled boots. His Bureau-issue SIG 
Sauer hung from a thigh-mounted nylon tactical assault holster. He'd 
added two other weapons to his collection: A MP5-PDW like Scully's and a 
Winchester Witness Protection Shotgun, thirteen inches of room-clearing, 
badguy-sweeping death; short enough to hide under a trenchcoat, the WPS 
was indeed an evil weapon. 
	"Can I keep this?" he asked. 
	"I doubt it," Skinner remarked.
	He turned to Scully. "That too much to carry?" he asked. 
	Scully was dressed much the same way Mulder was, but she had 
exchanged the T-shirt for a black cotton ribbed tank-top. She wore a 
Bianchi shoulder rig, into which she'd slid a H&K USP .45 semiauto 
pistol; the huge gun looked out of place on her tiny frame, but Skinner 
had no doubt that she could use it. Her Bureau-issue SIG was in a 
tactical thigh-mounted nylon holster. She'd kept the MP5 and had added 
to that the silenced .22 Ruger she'd taken off of Ebert.
	Stone was dressed exactly like Mulder was, but he carried a Stoner 
SMG in .223 instead of the H&K assault weapon. He had two Colt Officer's 
pistols swinging under his arms in Galcom side-by-side shoulder rigs. 
His belt was dotted by extra magazine pouches, all of them full of .45 
clips loaded with MagSafe frangible ammunition. He had a Winchester 
standard Police-issue assault shotgun, complete with infrared site 
mounted across his back.
	King had opted for what Skinner was beginning to call "The Scully 
Look," but had opted out of the assault weapons, choosing to arm herself 
with two Glock 9mm pistols instead. Ebert had tried to go as macho as 
possible; he wore not one but two knives, two pistols, a PDW and the 
Witness Protection Shotgun. 
	For his part, Skinner remained with his Bureau-issue SIG and an 
extra shotgun. 
	"Ok, Radios and boom-boom next," Stone said, distributing the 
items evenly. "Aside from that, all we need now are brains, guts, and 
the will to use them both."
	The six exchanged grim glances, each of them saying a silent 
prayer to whatever God they believed in to deliver them from this 
nightmare of an assignment. 
	"Synch time," Skinner said. They all checked their watches.
	"Ok...one last thing," Stone said, reaching into a drawer. He 
returned with six small cellular phones.
	"We already-"
	"Not like these," Stone interrupted. "These are secure, scrambled, 
satellite units. These never go out of range, and they can't be tapped. 
Each one is programmed with the other's numbers. We can stay in constant 
communication."
	"Can they be used as regular phones?" Scully asked.
	"Sure...if it doesn't detect the encryption signal, it just 
reverts. But, it never goes out of range, like I said."
	"Well," Skinner said, "This is it." The six people in the vault 
fell silent, each of them staring off in a different direction.
	"Good luck," Skinner finally said, shaking hands with Scully and 
Mulder, King and Stone. "Keep in touch."
	Skinner left to return upstairs.
	Ebert and King exchanged a glance and then left, followed shortly 
by Stone. They had all seemed to realize that Scully and Mulder would 
want a moment alone.
	Mulder reached down and found his load-bearing vest and shrugged 
into it. "Well, as the man said...I guess this is it."
	"Yeah," Scully said softly.
	They fell silent again.
	"Listen-" they both said at the same time.
	Laughing, Mulder waved his hand. "You first."
	"No, go ahead."
	"I insist."
	"No, really."
	"Scully!"
	"Fine," she said, turning and leaning into his arms. "Listen to 
me, you arrogant, mule-headed, genius son-of-a-bitch...don't do anything 
dumb, ok? It's taken us so damn long to get this far, I don't want to 
lose you. Whatever you do...watch your back." She paused, and then 
added, "Even if Washington DC has to go up in smoke, Mulder...don't get 
yourself killed."
	"Me? Killed? I have nine lives, Scully. Just like a cat."
	She laughed. "You are also the most curious man I have ever met, 
and you know what killed the cat, Mulder."
	"Yeah..." They fell silent. "Hey, Scully...you too, ok? Watch your 
ass. Especially around Stone. I still don't trust him."
	She nodded. "Me either. But we're finally on the mission, the real 
mission. I think he'll be fine, as long as he feels he's making some 
progress towards getting Graves. And in either case, I can take care of 
him." 
	Mulder sighed. "I love you," he finally said.
	"Love you," she said quickly, leaning up and kissing him softly on 
the lips. "Now lets go get this asshole."
	Together, they left the vault.

***
	Mulder and King had departed for the San Diego airport. Likewise, 
Skinner and Ebert had departed for Miramar.
	"Well, darling," Stone said to Scully, "Looks like it's time for 
us to be heading out."
	"Don't call me that," Scully said.
	"What? Darling?"
	"Yes. I'm not your darling. For this mission, I'm your partner. 
Try to remember that."
	"Just one of the guys, huh?" Stone asked.
	"If that helps you get through this, sure."
	Stone put the BMW into gear and reversed out of his driveway. "In 
that case, can I tell you about this sexy redhead I want to fuck?"
	Scully sighed. "You're such a pig, Stone."
	"Oink, oink," he said, totally remorseless.

***
San Diego Airport
Aboard GulfStream III Tail Number N669831

	"Ready?" Maggie asked.
	"As I'll ever be," Mulder said gamely. He was seated in the right-
hand co-pilots seat, busy trying to keep his hands and feet as far away 
from any of the flight controls as he could.
	"Ever flown up front?" King asked.
	"Never."
	"Ok, hold on, this is going to be cool," she said. Hitting the 
transmit switch for the radio, she spoke into her headset. "San Diego 
Tower, this is November six six niner, requesting taxi and takeoff from 
the Butler ramp."
	A moment later the distracted voice of the ground controller came 
back. "Six Six Niner, take taxiway six alpha to Runway 12 November. You 
are number three for takeoff."
	"Roger," Maggie said, applying throttle and releasing the brakes. 
She taxied the plane well, Mulder thought. It was almost like driving 
around in a really complicated car.
	Except your car isn't supposed to leave the ground, his mind 
remarked.
	Soon they were on the threshold to the runway, waiting for an 
American 737. The huge jet rumbled and shot down the runway, gaining 
speed and then gently gliding into the air.
	"We're next," Maggie said, and then into the radio, "San Diego 
Tower, November Six Six Niner is rolling at thirty two past the hour."
	Maggie pushed the throttles all the way forward, and then after a 
moment, released the brakes. The small business jet exploded down the 
runway.
	Maggie watched the gauges and dials, waiting for her transient 
speed. At one-hundred and sixty knots, she pulled back gently on the 
yoke and the small plane almost leapt into the air.
	"Up, up, into the wild blue yonder!" she sang.
	"That's the Air Force song!" Mulder pointed out.
	"Anchors Aweigh seemed a bit inappropriate," she remarked.
	"Whatever."

***
Pacifica Airport

	"Once we're airborne, you should try and get some sleep," Stone 
said. Scully had insisted in riding in the cabin, not wanting to be 
confined with Stone in the cockpit for the four-hour flight to Billings 
Municipal Airport.
	"We'll see," she hedged. Scully doubted she'd be able to relax 
enough around Stone to actually fall asleep.
	"Get ready, we're next," Stone said. "Please return tray tables to 
their upright and locked position."
	"You're hilarious," Scully called forward.
	As Stone piloted the small Lear down the runway, adding power and 
pulling back on the stick, he called back, "Hey, Scully... ever wonder 
why they call it a COCKpit?"
	"Asshole," she muttered. Raising her voice so he could hear it 
over the screaming whine of the three jet engines, she called, "Because 
there's a DICK driving?"
	"Oooh, Scully...good one!"


****
Naval Air Station Miramar

	"Gotta pee," Ebert said, pointing at the men's room door.
	"Make it fast," Skinner growled. "We take off in ten minutes."
	Ebert nodded and dropped his bags, making his way into the men's 
room, searching for and finding an empty stall. Locking himself inside, 
he removed the satellite cellular phone Stone had given him and quickly 
dialed.
	"Hello?"
	"They fell for it," he said softly.
	"All of it?"
	"All of it. When that bitch Scully put a gun to my head, I started 
crying like a baby. I begged her not to kill me. They think I've 
deserted you and switched sides."
	"Perfect," Danny Graves said. "What's the plan?"
	"Scully and Stone are going to Montana. Mulder and King to Kansas. 
Skinner and I are going to Jacksonville."
	"Let me think..." Graves said. He was silent for so long that 
Ebert was afraid that Skinner was going to grow suspicious and come 
investigating. 
	"Graves?" Ebert whispered.
	"Give me a minute, damn you! I had no idea they would be able to 
put the Real Estate records together so quickly. I underestimated them 
again, dammit!"
	"Where's the CBX?" Ebert asked.
	"Montana. Along with the rest of the material. If Scully and Stone 
get there before I do..." Graves didn't bother finishing the sentence.
	"What do you want me to do?"
	"Kill Skinner. At your first opportunity. Then fly to Kansas and 
kill Mulder and King." Graves paused. "I'll take care of Stone and that 
Scully woman myself."
	"Got it," Ebert said, ending the call.
	At that moment the door to the men's room crashed open. "You 
finished in here?" Skinner yelled.
	"On my way!" Ebert said, tucking the phone back into his pocket. 
He counted to three and then exited the stall, making as if he were 
zipping his pants.
	"Oh, that felt good," he moaned, stopping to wash his hands. 
Skinner waited, standing in the doorway, saying nothing.
	"Let's go," he finally said, turning his back on Graves and moving 
towards the tarmac exit.
	As he walked, Skinner considered his options. Ebert might have 
been a Captain in the US Navy, but as far as being an operator went, he 
sucked.
	Stupid asshole didn't even flush to try and cover his call, 
Skinner thought. 
	Ebert would have to be watched.
	And then dealt with.

***
Offices of the Lone Gunmen

	"There!" Frohickie said, pointing at the screen. "It happened 
again!"
	Langley looked over his friend's shoulder and nodded. "Concur," he 
said softly. "Call Mulder."
	
***
Aboard GulfStream III Tail Number N669831
Altitude: 12,000 
Climb Rate : 300 feet per minute

	Mulder's ringing phone startled him badly. "What's that?" King 
asked.
	"My phone!"
	"Well, turn it off! It'll screw with the navigation avionics!"
	Mulder found his phone and punched SND. "Whoever this is, I can't 
talk!" he said.
	"Mulder, wait!" Frohickie.
	"What?"
	"That phone...the phone that called your cell in the motel room 
last night."
	"What about it?"
	"Mulder!" King said, a warning tone in her voice.
	"What?"
	"Now!"
	"Just a minute! This is a lead...Frohickie...what about it?"
	"Another call was made to that phone from San Diego only moments 
ago. According to the roam cell data, it started off as a satellite 
call, and the bounced down to a earth-station microwave transmitter."
	"Did you say satellite?"
	"Yes..."
	"Can you tell from where in San Diego?"
	"With some...." Frohickie faded out and then in again. "...-ntal 
work. It'll take..." 
	"Frohickie? If you can hear me, DO IT! Trace that call back! I 
need to know where it came from!"
	Frohickie was gone.
	Mulder turned to face King. "Will the satphone work?"
	"Not at altitude. You'll have to wait until we land, big guy."
	"Shit!"
	"What?"
	"I think we should..." He stopped. Should what? his mind asked. 
You have no idea what was said on that phone call. 
	Ok, he thought. What do I think, what do I know, what can I prove?
	I don't think it was Stone, for obvious reasons. Strange as he may 
be, I know he's not working for Graves. That would go against everything 
he's said...
	But not everything he's done, Mulder mentally corrected himself. 
There was the chance that the call had been made by Stone. He knew it 
hadn't been made by Scully or Skinner. Or Maggie. He'd been with Maggie 
since they'd left Dana Point; there was no way she could have made the 
call. 
	I trust Scully and Skinner and I've been with Maggie. That leaves 
Ebert or Stone.
	Ebert.
	But that did mean the CBX was in Jacksonville? 
	No, not necessarily.
	It could mean just about anything. All it did mean that was one 
member of the team, either Stone or Ebert, most likely Ebert, had been 
in contact with Graves. Or, it could be Stone.
	Which meant that the two most important people in Mulder's life 
were in danger.
	"How fast can you get us to Kansas?" Mulder asked.
	"Well...I can probably get us there in a little under two hours if 
I really push it."
	"Push it. Next question. Is there ANY kind of radio or telephone 
that I can use to contact someone on the ground?"
	Maggie thought about it for a second. "We can see if any ham 
operators are monitoring the Guard frequency."
	"The what?"
	Maggie sighed. "All aircraft, no matter what the manufacturer, if 
they fly anywhere in the world, have to have a radio capable of sending 
and receiving on a specific frequency, called the GUARD frequency. It's 
the international...oh, how do I put this?" Maggie chewed her lip. "You 
watch Star Trek?" 
	"Of course."
	"Ok, remember whenever they want to open a communication channel? 
The use something called `hailing frequency?'"
	"Yeah....so?"
	"GUARD is like that; it's the international aircraft hailing 
frequency. Sometimes, ham radio operators listen to it for fun. If you 
get someone on the MARS network,"
	"Excuse me?"
	"Military Assistance Radio Service; it's a group of hams that can 
form a fifth column of communication services in times of disaster, 
things like that. When town get flooded or hurricane, and all the phone 
lines are down, the MARS operators can transmit phone calls and things 
like that. I don't understand most of the technology, but I know it 
works."
	Mulder nodded, understanding. "Make it happen. I have to place a 
very important call."
	Maggie worked the radio, bringing up the GUARD frequency, and 
after about five minutes of trying, raised a MARS operator who was 
willing to use his radio as a phone-patch.
	Mulder gave him the number.
	A moment later, Frohickie came over Mulder's headset.
	"Lone Gunmen-"
	"Frohickie, it's Mulder. We're on an open channel. I'm airborne. 
This is a...MARS operator?"
	"Hello, sir," the MARS radioman said. 
	"Mulder, are you insane?"
	"Frohickie, be quiet. Listen to me. Papa Bear and Goldilocks are 
in danger. Are you understanding what I'm telling you?"
	There was a pause. "I think so."
	"Ok, starting in about an hour, I need you to start trying their 
cell phones. Keep calling until you get through or you hear from me. 
Don't stop, no matter what. We've split up, but we have someone on the 
team that's a traitor, and it's either Goldilocks' partner or Papa 
Bear's. Are you reading me?"
	"Loud and clear. What message should I send?"
	Mulder thought about it. "For Goldilocks, send `Purity Control.' 
For Papa Bear, send `Avatar.' Got it?"
	"Got it," Frohickie said. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to 
clear this channel."
	"Clear," Mulder said.
	"Clear," Frohickie responded.
	"Clear," the MARS operator replied, and the call ended.
	Mulder let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding.
	"Ok, now what?" Maggie asked.
	"Get us on the ground as quickly as possible. Do whatever you have 
to. FAA regulations don't apply to us unless you hear different from me. 
Got it?"
	"Got it," Maggie said.

***
Aboard Lear Jet Tail N911243

	"Lear November Niner One One, say again?"
	Stone sighed. "Billings Tower, this is a Navy VC-20 with an O-5 
with AAAA priority aboard. Requesting priority descend and landing 
instructions forthwith."
	"Uh...Lear Niner One One, is there someone we can call to verify 
this? This is a civilian airfield; we don't normally recognize military 
priorities."
	Scully stuck her head in the cockpit. "What's up?"
	"Billings is fogged in. They've racked, stacked and packed the 
pattern. We could be up here for at least another hour."
	"Do we have fuel?" Scully asked, alarmed.
	"Plenty. For at least another three hours; but that's not the 
point, dammit!"
	Scully held out her hand. "Let me try."
	Stone shrugged and handed her a spare headset.
	"How do I-?" she asked.
	He showed her the transmit button.
	"Who am I-?"
	"You're talking to Billings Tower. You're Lear November Niner One 
One."
	Scully nodded. "Billings Tower, this November Niner One One."
	"NOW who am I talking to?" the controller asked.
	"This is Special Agent Dana Scully, Federal Bureau of 
Investigation. We are a US Government transport aircraft on a priority 
mission involving National Security. We have to get on the ground NOW, 
Billings."
	There was a long pause, and then a sigh came over the radio. "I 
ask again, is there someone I can call to verify your claim?"
	Scully shouldered her way into the cockpit and dropped into the 
co-pilots' seat. "Billings, please call the FBI Headquarters,  
Washington, DC. The number is in your phone book. And make the call 
quick."
	"And who should I ask for?"
	Scully thought a moment. "Section Chief Blevins." She read her 
badge and FBI ID number over the radio.
	The response took less than ninety seconds.
	"Lear November Niner One One, you are cleared to turn to heading 
zero one eight, descend to four thousand feet. You are cleared on a 
priority IFR landing on runway six six right. The ceiling is five 
hundred feet, winds are southwesterly at ten knots. Please watch for 
civilian aircraft transiting the area. Billings tower to all aircraft; 
please begin two minute turns at altitude until further notice."
	"That was quick," Scully said over the intercom.
	"Nice work," Stone said, meaning it. Scully accepted the praise 
with a grim smile, removed the headset and headed back towards the 
cabin.
	Stone thought about making a smart remark, but decided to hold his 
tongue.
	They were at two thousand feet when Scully's FBI cellphone rang.
	"Scully," she said.
	"Frohickie. I have a message for Goldilocks," Frohickie said.
	Goldilocks? Scully thought.
	"Fro-" she started to say.
	"No names. The eater of the sour grapes left a message for you," 
he said.
	Sour grapes? Oh...Fox.
	"Go ahead."
	"He said to tell you `Purity Control.'" 
	Scully felt the blood drain from her face. If Mulder had sent that 
message, it meant that something had gone dreadfully wrong. 
	"Did he say what it was regarding?"
	"He said to give the same message to Papa Bear."
	Scully chewed her lip. Papa Bear had to be Skinner. What would 
cause Mulder to send a message to the both of them? Had he landed in 
Lindsborg and found the CBX so quickly?
	"When did you talk to him?"
	"Almost two hours ago, Goldilocks."
	"Understood. Have you contacted Papa Bear yet?"
	"Negatory, Goldilocks."
	Scully grinned; Frohickie really got into all this `code name' 
stuff. He was probably having a ball. He probably didn't even realize 
what a valuable function he was providing now, and had no concept of all 
the help he'd given over the last two or three days. Silently, Scully 
vowed to go to the Gunmen's Liar and thank him in person.
	"Understood, Aseop," she said, giving Frohickie a code name of his 
own. He'll probably get it tattooed on his ass, she thought.
	"What are your orders?" she asked.
	"Keep trying to contact Papa Bear until I hear from the grape 
eater."
	"Got it. Continue with your mission," she said, and disconnected.
	"Who was that?" Stone asked.
	"My mother," Scully answered.
	Stone glanced over his shoulder at her, disbelief written across 
his face.
	"Whatever," he said.
	"How long until we land?" she asked.
	"About five minutes."
	She nodded, and then started to think. Why had Mulder issued that 
alert? It was almost an `abort' message. For sure it meant `danger,' but 
what kind?
	What kind of danger were they susceptible to?
	Graves.
	If Graves knew that they were coming, he could be there to meet 
them. And that would be bad. Very, very bad.
	How could Graves have found out? Scully wondered.
	Traitor.
	Who?
	Mulder and Skinner she trusted absolutely.
	That left Stone, Ebert and King. King was probably out, otherwise 
Mulder wouldn't have been able to send the message, or if he had, he 
would have sent another message, like `Krycek,' or something like that.
	So that left Ebert and Stone.
	Scully wracked her memory, trying to remember if she'd let him out 
of her sight since leaving the house.
	Yes, for about thirty seconds. Was that enough time to make a call 
and communicate all the information? Yes. Dial, say three words. 
"Montana, Kansas, Florida." That would be all that Graves needed to have 
his operatives waiting for them.
	Shit!

***
Aboard US Navy VC-20 N9662001

	Skinner had pretended to sleep for the entire journey. He'd taken 
the time to study Ebert when the man hadn't though he'd been watching. 
And with every passing moment, Skinner was convinced that Ebert was not 
who or what he claimed to be.
	What had he done in that bathroom? Skinner wondered. Left a 
message for someone? Called someone?
	Graves.
	Skinner had an sudden thought. Ebert wasn't an operator, as he'd 
already observed. The man was running scared, that much was for sure. 
But, if after all Ebert had been through over the last 24 hours, he was 
still working for Graves, that made him a fanatic, and that made him 
dangerous.
	Skinner `woke' slowly. Ebert saw him come awake and grimaced. "I 
have to pee," he said again. Skinner ignored him, making as if he were 
stretching.
	Ebert locked himself in the lavatory. 
	Skinner reached for his bags. He found what he was looking for in 
the outside zipper pocket. The satellite cellphone Stone has issued all 
of them.
	He turned it on.
	And pressed REDIAL.
	The number flashed. A 808 area code. Hawaii.
	Graves.
	Shit.
	The pilot opened the cockpit door and stuck his head out. "We're 
about five minutes out, sir," he said.
	"Very well. Lieutenant, can you lock that lavatory door from this 
side?"
	The pilot thought about it for a minute, the question obviously 
confusing him. "Yes, sir."
	"Do it. Quietly."
	The pilot moved to the lavatory door and did as he was told.
	Twenty seconds after he returned to the cockpit, Skinner's FBI 
phone rang.
	"Skinner."
	"You don't know me," the voice said. "But I have a message from a 
sly red animal."
	Sly. Red. 
	Fox.
	"Go ahead."
	"`Avatar.'"
	Mulder's danger signal. Skinner grunted; somehow, Mulder had 
discovered Ebert's duplicity. He shook his head; you had to give Mulder 
credit. The man was probably the best field agent Skinner had ever seen.
	"Message received. Tell the sly red one that..."
	"Your code name is Papa Bear," the voice explained. 
	Skinner rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Of course," he murmured. 
"Very well. Tell the sly red one that Papa Bear is aware of the problem 
and has taken steps to correct it."
	"Is that so?" Ebert's voice said at the exact moment Skinner felt 
the cold, hard steel of a gun barrel pressing against the crown of his 
skull.
--------------
END CHAPTER 26