"Umbra 27/?" 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 : August 2, 1997 Archive Entry : "Umbra 27" Classification : Action Adventure, MSR Rating : PG-13 (Language) 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" : John Glover, "Danny Graves" Timeline : Fourth season, prior to "Momento Mori." Enjoy! ------ "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. *** Skinner tensed. "Hang it up," Ebert hissed. Moving slowly, Skinner reached down and thumbed the OFF switch. "You won't get away with this," he said slowly, evenly, through gritted teeth. "My contact heard your words; he'll tell the others. Even if you kill me, you won't get away with it." Skinner let a calculated amount of fear creep into his voice. "It doesn't matter of I die," Ebert explained. "All that matters is that LIBERTY BELL go off without a hitch." Skinner felt his stomach roll at the man's words. "My wife is in Washington..." he started. "Too bad for her," Ebert sneered. "Why are you doing this?" Skinner asked, playing for time. Ebert laughed. "You're so predictable, all of you. `Why are you doing this?' You all think you're in a movie or something. Ask questions with long answers; give yourself time to think of a way out. Let the bad guy, that's me by the way, let the bad guy talk himself into a corner." Ebert pressed harder, the barrel of the gun digging into Skinner's scalp. "Well, Skinner my man, this isn't a movie, and you're not James Bond." Quicker than he had ever moved before, Skinner pounced. He ducked under the barrel and stood, twisting from the hips. His right arm came across in a sweeping motion, catching Ebert under the chin. His arm dropped, and Skinner felt the man's elbow slap into his palm. Lifting the arm to give him a target, Skinner stepped and twisted, crashing his left fist into Ebert's rib cage. Skinner heard the satisfying crunch of at least two ribs giving, and Ebert's breath left him in a whoosh. Ebert dropped to his knees, his arm still outstretched. Quickly straddling the arm, Skinner jammed his thumb between the hammer and the frame of the pistol, rendering it, for the moment, inert. Skinner's other hand wrapped around Ebert's from above, trapping it against the pistol, Ebert's finger still sandwiched inside the trigger guard. With a savage, bare-teeth grimace on his face, Skinner twisted Ebert's wrist. The loud pop of the delicate, fragile bones in Ebert's wrists snapping were music to Skinner's ears. "Auugh!" Ebert screamed, finally dropping the pistol. Skinner stepped over the arm again and pulled, flipping Ebert onto his back. "You," Skinner announced, "are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during all questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the government. Do you understand all these rights?" "Y-yes," Ebert whispered. "But I'll never talk." Skinner grinned. Somehow, he doubted that. "Lieutenant!" he called. The pilot stuck his head out of the cockpit door. Seeing the gun on the floor, and Ebert holding his wrist, the pilot put two and two together quickly. "Sir?" "How high are we?" "Four thousand feet, sir," "How long until we land?" Skinner grunted. He'd need only half that time. "Land this plane, Lieutenant. Call ahead. Tell the tower that I want to NIS agents to meet this plane with two large, burly SP's." "Sir, yes sir!" the Lieutenant said, returning to the cockpit and locking the door behind him. He'd seen the look in Colonel Skinner's face, and knew what was about to happen in the cabin was something that he wanted to be able to testify to at a court martial was something he'd never seen, never heard. Skinner grinned down at his prisoner. "What you fail to understand," he said, "is that the Tomahawk missiles that Graves planes to use to deliver the CBX are still classified as devices, even if they have conventional or high explosive warheads." Ebert's face showed his confusion. Leaning close, Skinner explained it slowly, carefully. "They still fall under CNWDI statues, you pogue." "W-what? So?" Skinner's grin widened even more, and Ebert felt like he was looking into the face of Death itself. He was. "That means that the use of deadly force in the protection of those weapons...and anything associated with it...is not only permitted by Navy regulations...but encouraged." Ebert paled. "W-what are you going to do?" "You..are going to talk." "N-never!" "Oh...I doubt that." Skinner moved to the door and quickly worked the controls. "Don't open it!" Ebert pleaded. "We'll get sucked out!" Skinner shook his head. Moron. They were at almost three thousand feet; the pressure had been more then equalized. The door flew open and the cabin was filled with the roar of rushing wind. Walking back to Ebert, Skinner leaned down and grabbed the man by the shirt. "Talk, or you fly," he screamed. "N0!" Dragging Ebert to the door, Skinner let him have a good look at the ground below. "TALK!" "No!" Ebert screamed back. "NEVER!" Ebert was convinced that Skinner was bluffing; there was no way that an Assistant Director of the FBI would throw a suspect out of a moving airplane. There were too many witnesses; the pilot, for one. "You'll never do it!" he said confidently. "I resigned!" Skinner screamed, reading the man's mind. "I'm not with the FBI anymore, asshole! I'm a Marine now, with a prisoner who has information about nuclear-classified weapons. I can throw you out of this plane and they'll pin a medal on me." Skinner dragged Ebert to the edge. "Last chance. Talk." Ebert glanced over his shoulder and then back at Skinner. The man was reaching up, grabbing onto a pole that had been mounted lengthwise along the interior fuselage. With a start, Ebert realized that Skinner was preparing to kick him out of the window. "Montana!" he screamed. "The CBX is in Montana!" Skinner dropped from the pole and reached for Ebert. Ebert closed his eyes, sure that Skinner was going to push him. Instead, Skinner wrapped his hand in Ebert's shirt and pulled the man back inside, and then quickly shut the door. Walking to the closed door of the cockpit, Skinner knocked sharply twice. "It's Skinner! Open this door!" A moment later, the door opened. "Sir?" the pilot asked. "As soon as we land, request immediate refueling. How long will it take us to get to Billings, Montana?" he asked. "Uh...Five, six hours." "No good," Skinner said. "I'll have to grab another ride. Let me know as soon as I can use a phone," he said. "You can use one now," the pilot pointed out. "You just did." Skinner nodded. In the excitement, he'd forgotten. Returning to the cabin, he fixed Ebert with a steely glance and reached for the satphone. He dialed Mulder's number. *** Wichita, Kansas "Mulder," he said quickly. "Skinner. I got your message. Ebert was the inside man." Mulder released a sigh. "Great. Did you get anything-" "Montana. Get going. I'll call Scully and Stone." Mulder turned the phone off and turned to his temporary partner. They were taxing towards the Butler Aviation ramp. "How soon can we refuel?" Maggie sighed and turned to Mulder. "Where are we going?" "Montana. Skinner turned Ebert. He was the mole. The CBX is in Montana." Maggie frowned. "How do we know Ebert was telling the truth?" Mulder smiled. "If I know Skinner, he probably threatened to throw Ebert out of the plane." He laughed. "If Skinner says the stuff is in Montana...it's there." Maggie nodded and picked up the radio. *** Billings, Montana "Scully." "Agent Scully, this is Skinner. Ebert was a mole. The CBX is there in Montana. I am Enroute to your location; I'll probably be hopping an F-14 or something faster than the VC-20." "Understood...should we wait for you, sir?" "If possible. I think you and Stone should perform a recon of the target site, and then wait to be contacted by Mulder and King or myself." "Understood, sir," Scully said, and rang off. Turning to Stone, Scully said, "That was Skinner. The stuff is here in Montana." Stone's eyes lit up. "I knew it!" Scully sighed and shook her head. "Skinner wants us to wait for Mulder and King or him. He wants us to recon the area and then wait for assistance before attempting to take it." "Fuck that," Stone said, his tone brooking no argument. Scully nodded. She'd predicted as much. *** Washington, DC The room was filled with men who had made a life out of being invisible. They were the governing council of the Guardians, although they didn't call themselves that. They called themselves The Council. "Give us an update," the de facto leader said. All eyes in the room turned towards a single man seated at the end of a long conference table. Through a haze of smoke, the man spoke. "All is going according to plan." "I understood that our plan was to get the Mulder man and the Scully woman to Montana together," the leader said softly. "That was the plan," the man agreed. He let out another lungful of air. "What has gone wrong?" "Another Guardian has taken command of the situation," the man explained. "Who?" "Walter Skinner." The rest of the men in the room exchanged glances. "I see," said the leader. "This is most unusual." The smoking man just nodded. "Two of us...together...that can cause problems. Skinner knows of things, of plans...operations...that the Stone man does not." The smoking man just nodded. "What would you have me do? Reveal myself to them? Reveal our plans?" The room was silent. "I thought so," the smoking man said. "Have I not served you well? Do you not trust me?" "It is not a matter of trust," another Guardian said, his voice quiet, intense in the dimly lit room. "It is a matter of...years of planning, of anticipating every possible move and countermove... of preparing for the day..." "I know what we are preparing for," the smoking man said, biting the words off. "Better than you. Lest you forget, kind sir, I have been part of this project since its inception." "We are aware of that, of course," the leader said, trying to play peacemaker. "But you did not always play by our rules," he pointed out. The smoking man ground his cigarette out and lit another one almost immediately. "I am not playing," he said softly. "None of us are," the leader said. "It was a figure of speech." "If we are to prepare for that eventful day, this... operation must continue, unabated, and uninterfered with. We must be sure. By now, Skinner will have told Mulder and Scully something... something about their individual roles in our plan." The leader shifted. "How much as Skinner been told?" The smoking man exhaled another lungful of beautiful, relaxing smoke. "He has been told enough," he said, his voice melodious. "What has he been told?" the leader asked. The smoking man pursed his lips. "He has been told of our need for Mulder, of our need for Scully. He has no idea how we know about them, how we've known for years about the both of them. He knows that they must remain together. That they must be partners for the next few years, that they must be...prepared for what is to come." There was an appreciable pause. "Does he know what is coming?" The smoking man shook his head. "He has little idea. I'm sure that he suspects some of our...abilities, but he knows that he himself has many miles to go before he is asked to join the upper echelon of our organization." A ripple of relief spread through the room. "Explain," the leader instructed. The smoking man sighed. "He has no idea of our ability to... predict the future, to turn a phrase." "No one but the people in this room are aware of our abilities in that...area, are they?" "No," the smoking man said. "I am the only person in the world aside from your group that is aware of...the project's ultimate plan." "Not even Skinner?" "Skinner is an instrument, nothing more. An instrument of control for our two angels." "Angels?" "Disciples seemed a bit much," the man explained. "Especially since they have yet to grasp their role in the salvation of our race." Glances were exchanged, eyebrows raised. No one, aside from the sixteen men in this room, and the lone, smoking man at the end of the table knew what was coming. No one could be told, ever, until that day arrived. Not even the only two people on the face of the Earth that could save them from themselves. "I have a question," the newest member of the Council said. The leader nodded, giving him the floor. "When will they be told?" "Told what? Of their unique position in the chain of events?" "Yes." The smoking man considered this. "They will be told, of course, eventually. But we must be certain that they have been prepared. Remember what we have learned over the last fifty years. Remember what the salvage operation told us. What information we gleaned from the hardware that was recovered. We must be sure that they are ready for the ultimate mission, or we are all doomed." Heads nodded around the table. "When will we be sure?" The smoking man ground out another coffin nail and reached for yet one more, the sixth he'd had since arriving. "I think that another two or three years will prove profitable." "Bah!" another Council member said, waving his hand. "I think they can be told now, after this mission. Skinner first, and then our two... saviors." "I disagree," the smoking man said mildly. "They must be told!" the man insisted. "They must be aware of what they are getting into!" "They are already involved," the smoking man pointed out. "They have both chosen this path. Him first, because of what was done to his sister. She, by our design, after we'd identified her from the vaccination records." He leaned forward, his arms on the table. "But you must trust me on this. I have been through this before. Twice before." The men around the room sighed as one, all of them shifting slightly away from the man at the end of the table. The fact that he had been through this exact scenario twice before was not a comfort. To any of them. It bespoke of this man's unique origins, origins that some would say were unholy. Evil. "Now, if you will excuse me," the smoking man said, standing to go, "I must be off. I have an operation to oversee." "When will they be told?" the newest member insisted. "When I am convinced that their love for each other transcends all other issues; when they trust each other with more than their lives. With more then their hearts. When I decide, and I alone decide, they trust each other with the fate of humanity." With that, the smoking man left the Council chambers. After the door had closed, the newest member spoke. "He gives me the creeps," he said softly. "He has that effect on many people," the leader noted. "But remember...he does have the credentials for this...project." No one had a response to that, although they were all thinking the same thing. After all, they thought, when confronted with a problem the scope and size of this one, when confronted with a threat that came from without instead of within, when confronted with a threat that every single person in the room had marked on a mental calendar that wouldn't be printed for another half-decade, who better to turn to, to trust, than a man...a being...that had been through this entire mess two previous times, and had prevented it both times? A man who had come to them with the proof they had sought, proof that could not be faked, could not be manufactured? A man that was not of this world? A man that was over four hundred years old? *** Billings, Montana Stone parked the Ford Expedition he'd managed to rent next to the Lear. Scully sat under the wing Indian-style, her legs crossed in front of her, her elbows on her thighs. "Took you long enough," she teased. "Bite me," he said, getting out. "You'd think that renting one of these things would be-" "Let's get moving," Scully said, wanting to cut the conversation off at the knees. She didn't want to find herself falling under the unexplainable charm of this man again. No matter how good he looked in those tight black BDU's and clinging T-shirt. Stone nodded, a small smile crossing his face. He knew that she was reacting to him again, that some part of her that she was unable to control or reason with was trying to assert itself inside her soul. "Yeah," Stone said, moving to the plane to grab his gear. "We have a ways to go." He thought about what he'd been told about "the Scully woman." Not much, but the Guardians had made sure that he'd had access to her complete psychological profile. One thing had stuck in his head. "Subject tends to react positively to strong male role models," it had said. Reacts? Stone thought. Yes, she reacts. The same way a cobra reacts to a mongoose. They loaded the truck quickly and drove off. *** Pave Creek, Montana Four Hours Later The itch was so bad that Scully thought she would go insane. Hiding in the edge of the woods that bordered the land that Graves had purchased, Stone and Scully peered through binoculars and a spotting scope at a lone, apparently empty farmhouse that stood in a clearing. It was larger than most, and looked dilapidated and deserted. "Looks empty," Scully said, reaching for another bug that was crawling up her arm. "No...look at the windows," Stone whispered. She focused the spotting scope on the front of the house; a huge bay window filled her field of vision. "I don't see..." she started, and then she see. There was alarm tape around the perimeter of the window, and by the looks of it, new alarm tape. And then, in the corners, four small clear disks. Pressure sensors, her mind informed her. The tape was for breaking the glass, the pressure monitors in case someone tried to cut a hole in the window. She began scanning the house more carefully. There. In the bushes near the front walk, or what had once been a front walk, was a small black rectangular box mounted on a pole about ankle- high. Wires led from the box underground. Infrared sensor, she thought. Switching the scope from daylight to infrared, Scully's thoughts were confirmed. There were emitters and mirrors mounted everywhere. The entire house was cris-crossed with invisible beams of light, indoor and out. "Oh my God," she whispered. "And then some," Stone muttered. "How do we get in?" "We could dig," Stone suggested. "Very funny." He turned to her. "I'm not kidding. We may have to dig." Scully snorted. "That would take way more time than we have. Try again." Stone turned back to his binoculars. "Lemme think about it." "Think fast," Scully said, returning her own gaze to the spotting scope. *** Billings, Montana Due to the incredible supersonic speed of the F14-Tomcat fighter arranged for by an almost-out-of-favors Admiral Karn, Walker Skinner arrived at the Billings Municipal Airport within minutes of Scully and Mulder, who'd had to stay stacked and packed in the overflowing arrival pattern. They caught up with each other near the Butler ramp, Skinner driving a hastily rented Chevy Caprice Classic. "Get in," he said sharply, hitting the internal trunk release. Mulder and King quickly piled their equipment on top of his and jumped in the car, Maggie in the backseat, Mulder in the front next to Skinner. "Hey, boss," Mulder said lightly. Skinner glanced at him but said nothing. If only, he thought. If only Mulder knew the plans that others had for him... "I've already contacted Scully and Stone," Skinner informed them. "They have the position under surveillance. According to Scully, it's almost impenetrable. We're going to have to head-shed on this one big time." Mulder nodded, already thinking about- "Frohickie," Maggie helpfully provided. Mulder nodded. "Who?" "Friends of mine. One of them is who called you," he said softly. "They prefer to remain anonymous, but if anyone can get in...they can." "Get them here," Skinner ordered. "Not possible. Not enough time, and they'd have a ... philosophical problem with flying on military transport aircraft. So, they'll have to phone it in." Skinner gritted his teeth. "I can have ten Marine MP's at their door in half an hour and have them forcefully escorted here, if it comes to that." Mulder shook his head. "Then they'd develop convenient amnesia. No, it's better this way, trust me." Skinner nodded. He was going to have to learn to trust Mulder more anyway. *** Pave Creek, Montana 32 minutes later "We're in position," Skinner radioed. The lipmike from the Motorola CMX-100 body radio was positioned below his right nostril, just above his lip. "Roger," Stone said, and then a moment later, Scully added, "Ten- four." "Ok..." Skinner started. "We're going to get help via a phone from friends of Murder's on cracking this bitch," he said softly. "Once we defeat the systems, we can go in and retrieve the CBX." Skinner, Mulder and King had taken up position on the opposite side of the clearing, hidden by the heavy woods. Mulder reached for his satphone when a shrill ringing shattered the quiet. "Secure that!" Skinner ordered tersely. "Sir," King said, "It's you..." "What?" Skinner realized that she was right. The ringing noise was coming from his thigh pocket. He reached for the offending instrument and studied it. "It's Ebert's," Skinner explained. Skinner pushed SND. "Hello?" "Walter Skinner, I presume?" a voice answered. "Yes. Who is this?" "Daniel Graves. I assume that you and the other five members of your ragtag little group have my Montana house surrounded? After all, I haven't heard from Ebert in hours, so I assume you managed to capture him?" Skinner said nothing. Let the little fucker wonder, he thought. "Oh, we're going to play the silent game, are we?" Graves prodded. He sighed. "Very well, if we must." `Graves,' Skinner mouthed to Mulder. "Skinner's got Graves on Ebert's phone," Mulder radioed to Stone and Scully. "Is that Agent Mulder I hear in the background? Say hello to him for me, Colonel Skinner." "Where are you?" Skinner demanded. "Oh, close. Very close," Graves said. "In fact...closer than you might think." "Movement," Stone radioed. "We have movement in the house. Looks like the-" "Oh my god," Scully radioed. "Graves is in the house!" *** Skinner almost dropped the phone. This was too good to be true. "Oh, before you get your hopes up," Grave said over the phone, "I want to make you aware of a few things, Colonel. The first is that you guessed right, or you managed to beat it out of Ebert. The CBX is here, in the house I am currently occupying." Graves paused. "However...that is not the only CBX that I possess." Skinner closed his eyes. Stalemate. "Where is it?" "Right now? Underneath a bench in Hutchins Park, directly in the center of Billings. It has a C4-charge and a time-delay detonator. In about...oh, thirty minutes, unless I send a very specific, very encrypted signal, it will detonate, and the city of Billings, Montana will grind to a halt. Hundreds of thousands of people will die, Colonel." "What do you want?" Skinner asked. Graves laughed over the phone. "Oh, come now, Colonel! Isn't it obvious? This is your basic Mexican standoff! In about twenty minutes a Bell JetRanger III helicopter is going to land practically in my driveway. And if I make it to the aircraft, with my little package intact, you have my word that I will disable the bomb in Billings. Then we can all meet again in Washington and do this all over again." "You're insane, Graves." "Be that as it may, COLONEL, you have two choices. You can storm the house now, and take me. I have no doubt that the five of you could overpower me quite easily. But then the bomb in Billings will go off. Or, you can choose to let those people live, and we can play again on Sunday." Graves paused. "Truth be told, I was looking forward to Sunday. These people here mean nothing to me. It's Washington that I want." "Why, Graves?" "You mean you haven't figured it out yet?" Graves asked. "Why don't you just tell me," Skinner growled. "I'm sure that if you put your mind to it, you could manage to come up with one or two scenarios that fit the situation. A nice smart man like you? A pillar of the community? An assistant director of the FBI? A Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corps? I'm sure you would be able to figure my reasoning out." Graves paused, and then revealed it all. "I'm sure that being a Guardian only helps matters." The phone clicked in Skinner's ear, and Graves was gone. Shit! Skinner felt his loyalties splitting inside him. He knew a little about the ultimate objectives of the Guardians. He'd guessed at much of it, figured the rest out by speculation and by questions that were left unanswered when asked of his superiors. He knew a little of what was coming, the barest outlines. He couldn't let anything happen to Mulder or Scully; that much was certain. But he couldn't let Graves get to Washington, either. Couldn't let the CBX device detonate and decimate the entire leadership of the country. More than one man in a powerful post in the nation's capitol was a Guardian, although the specific names and positions were unknown to him. And finally, Skinner thought, Graves had to be taken alive. He had to be interrogated. What the man knew about the Guardians had to be discovered, examined, disseminated. Skinner toggled the push-to-talk button mounted by his throat. "Listen up, people," he said quickly. "We have a situation." -------------- END CHAPTER 27