"Umbra 36/?" By Dawson E. Rambo Author's Note : Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his property and the property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are reserved and these characters are used without permission. Any characters created by the author remain his property. Original Posting : September 4, 1997 Archive Entry : "Umbra 36/?" Classification : Action Adventure/MSR Rating : R (Language, violence, adult themes) Enjoy! ------ The White House The first shot took Matthew Stone, Commander, US Navy, on the bridge of the nose. The hollowpoint bullet entered his skull moving at almost nine hundred feet per second. The hydrostatic force of the impact was instantly transferred to Stone's skull, cracking it in several places. Microseconds later the bullet entered the brain, tearing a transverse furrow through the frontal lobes, and then across the hemispheric bridge. The bullet continued onward, exiting the back of Stone's skull, bringing bone, hair and bloody brain tissue with it. The second shot, fired an instant after the first, went through Matt Stone's left eye and exited two inches below the first shot. Dead, Stone tumbled to the ground. One down, Graves thought. One to go. In the hallway, Mulder, Scully and Skinner watched in shock as Stone toppled backwards into the hallway, his suddenely boneless body falling in a heap onto the carpet. Graves' laugh could be heard up and down the hallway. "WHO'S THE MAN?" he screamed. "Big, bad-ass Navy SEAL?! WHO'S THE MAN?!" Scully and Mulder exchanged a glance; Graves was becoming unhinged, and that was dangerous. Time to bring this to a close, Mulder thought. "GRAVES!" he called. "MULDER, YOU SOD!" "GRAVES! WE'RE COMING IN!" Mulder called, motioning to Skinner and Scully. Slowly, they advanced into the room. Graves stood behind the desk, the Glock still in his hand. "DROP IT!" Skinner ordered. Graves fired again. Skinner went down, clutching his thigh. Scully glanced at her boss, saw the oozing wound in the meat of his left leg, and fell to her knees, scrabbling across the carpet to him. Mulder, his MP5 pointed at Graves' head, advanced fully into the room. He said nothing, waiting for Graves to speak. "It's armed, you sod!" Graves said gleefully. Scully quickly unthreaded the belt from her pants and wrapped it around Skinner's leg just above the wound, tightening it as much as she dared. "He needs an ambulance," she said to Mulder, sotto voice. He ignored her. "What do you want, Graves?" he asked. "Anarchy," the man answered, the light dancing in his eyes. "I want the country as we know it...no, the world as we know it...to end. A New World Order! Start the revolution, old boy!" Mulder snorted. "You know you sound exactly like those nutty militiamen?" Graves lowered the pistol. "Be aware, Mr. Mulder, if you put a bullet into my head, the six square blocks around the White House will be a quiet neighborhood for a few hundred years. Pity to waste all that good real estate, what with DC land prices and all." Mulder nodded. He understood. Only too well. "That's not CBX, is it?" he asked. Graves smiled and gave a small bow in Mulder's direction. "Bravo, Mr. Mulder. You come as advertised. You are a worthy adversary." Graves pointed to Stone's rapidly cooling body. "Not like the knuckle-dragger in the hall, there. He was about as challenging as the TV Guide crossword puzzle. You're more of a Sunday London Times, I might say." Mulder smiled in spite of himself. "Graves, what do you want?" "I told you. An end to what we have known as government in this country for the last sixty years. That's all. I don't want anything more, and I won't accept anything less." Mulder lowered the MP5; this wasn't going to be settled with force. "Mulder!" Scully hissed. He glanced at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. "He needs an ambulance, Mulder. Now." Mulder glanced back at Graves, asking permission with his face. "No. The woman stays. If he can crawl out of here, let him." Skinner grunted, gritting his teeth through the pain. "I'll make it," he hissed. He turned on his side, using his good leg to push him out of the office. Just before he vanished into the hallway, he caught Mulder's gaze with his own. The message was unmistakable. Kill the fucker. Mulder didn't nod, didn't blink, didn't breathe. Skinner pushed his way out, and for Mulder...was gone. He turned back, his attention focused on the madman in front of him. "He's gone," Mulder said. "You've got what you wanted, Graves. Scully, me and you. All together." Cocking his head to the side, Mulder added, "although I'm not sure exactly why." "All in good time," Graves promised. "All in good time." Reaching down, Graves touched a few buttons on the palmtop's panel. "There," he said. "It's in a holding pattern, like the Space Shuttle." Mulder's eyes flicked to the device and then back to Graves. "Don't even think it, Mr. Mulder. It's only a modified version of the hold; if I don't enter another code in a few minutes, the countdown will contine unabated. And that...that would be bad." Mulder twitched his nose, fighting for control. Graves turned his attention to Scully. "At last we meet, Agent Scully." His words triggered something in her memory, a vague comment made in a hotel room less than a week ago, while he'd been standing over the dead body of one of her father's oldest friends. "No," she said suddenely. "You said we'd met before, Graves." "We have," he said casually, spreading his hands. "After a fashion." Mulder felt a flicker of doubt in his heart and reached out to Scully without words, wondering...testing...questioning. She felt the probe and turned to him, letting him see her eyes. As long as Mulder could see her, he would know. He saw her and nodded, ashamed that he'd doubted, if even for an instant. "So where was it, Graves? When?" she asked. "Not so much...when, Scully...but how." "How?" "Ever wonder how you got assigned to the X-Files?" At the mention of their main assignment, the two FBI agents exchanged a shocked glance. "Excuse me?" "You didn't really think that Section Chief Blevins came up with that idea all by himself?" Scully shook her head, not believing him. "Are you saying that you...you had me assigned?" "After a fashion, Scully. But you...you've always been a narrow thinker. Always looking for the answer right under your nose instead of thinking bigger, wider. That's why I like Mulder here; he thinks biiiig." Mulder didn't say a word, letting the scene play out. "So what are you saying...exactly?" Scully asked. "Since I'm such a narrow thinker and all." "Tut, tut, Scully. Ever wonder why you never went into private practice?" "No," Scully said quickly. "Never." "Oh, I think you do," Graves said, sliding the chair away from the desk and sitting down. "I think that it all goes back to a single day, Dr. Scully. A single solitary day. Do you remember that day?" Mulder watched as Scully paled before him, her jaw tightening. What did this man know about her that he didn't? He thought he'd known everything about her. Everything. Apparently not. "Scully?" he asked, his voice tenative. "Mulder..." she warned, her eyes ice. "Go ahead, Dr. Scully. Tell him. Tell him about your...last patient." "Oh GOD!" Scully wailed, leaning against the desk. "Don't do this, Graves. This has no bearing on this situation. None at all." Graves leaned foward, his fingers spread on the desktop. "Oh, but it does, Dr. Scully. It most certainly does." Mulder heard the radio click in his ear, two quick clicks. The SEAL Team was on the roof, waiting for a signal to attack. Moving slowly, Mulder trailed his hand down to the radio on his belt and clicked once. Stand by. An answering click was his only response. "Mr. Mulder, you can stop signalling the SEAL Team on the roof now. If they even come near this office, I will detonate this device." Mulder frowned, but said nothing. "So, then," Graves continued. "Where were we? Oh yes...Dr. Scully's last patient. I believe it was during your trauma rotation, was it not?" "Graves...please!" Scully cried. "Do tell," Graves prodded. "Please. I'm afraid I must insist." Scully sighed, glancing over at her partner. Don't hate me, her eyes said. Don't ever hate me for what I'm about to tell you. Never, he answered. "His name..." Scully started...and then stopped. Her brow creased. "I can't remember...I can't remember his name!" Graves chuckled. "Of course you can't, my dear. We took the name from you." "Took? How?" "During your three-month vacation, of course." At the mention of her abduction, Scully drew her pistol in a single, smooth motion and levelled it at the man across the desk from her. When she spoke, her words came out in a single long stream. "Tell me what happened you son of a bitch before I splatter your brains across the fucking wall you asshole talk!" Graves chuckled. "Do that, and you'll never know." Scully slowly lowered her pistol and reholstered it. "So what was his name?" she asked. "Graves," Graves said. "Timothy Graves. My son." *** Scully gasped, remembering. A four year old boy, shot twice. He'd been rolled into ER already circling the drain, having lost massive amounts of blood. Both wounds in the abdomen, Scully had taken one look at the tiny, battered, broken body and said a silent prayer to a God she was already starting to doubt. There was no way a merciful God would let such things happen, she remembered thinking. No goddamn way. They'd started in almost immediately. The supervising ER physician had known that Scully was a good doctor, that she just needed experience, tempering, like a fine blade. She needed to be forged against the anvil of fire, of pressure, of heat. And this was a perfect case. Not an evil or angry man, the doctor had known that this particular student needed to learn the most important lesson every doctor does: Loss. And so he had turned the code over to her, letting Scully run it. The ACLS procedures running through her head, she'd started ordering meds. The EMT's hadn't taken the time to intubate him, and that was the first order of business. She remembered her ABC's. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Grabbing a lyrangescope, Scully had quickly snapped on a number 3 pediatric blade, grabbed an ET tube and moved to the head of the gurney. She inserted the scope and saw the vocal chords. The tube slid in easily, and she inflated the cuff, attaching the ambu-bag in a single motion. Grabbing her stethescope from around her neck, she hastily checked breath sounds. Bilateral, smooth. The bubbling she heard was from the wound below the diaphragm. Ordering four units of whole blood hung, Scully continued working the code, calling out orders for medications and procedures. The ECG was attached and the scope started beeping. And promptly stopped. Asystole. Ordering the standard drug regimens as she herself started pumping on the patient's chest, Scully glanced at the monitor, hoping against hope that something, anything would show up. Please, God, she remembered praying. Don't let this little boy die under me. It had taken almost forty minutes for her to admit that it was over. By that time she'd cracked his chest for open-heart massage. Holding a four-year-old heart in her hand, feeling the unmoving, still mass, Scully had snapped. Quietly, in the true Scully tradition, she'd snapped. Stepping away from the body, stripping off her bloody gloves and tossing them on the floor, she glanced at the clock mounted above the trauma room doors. "Time of death..." she said. *** "Six nineteen," Graves finished. "Now do you remember?" Scully nodded, her face ashen. "There was nothing I could do," she said softly. "Nothing." Graves didn't reply. Mulder spoke. "Bullshit." They both turned to face him. "What?" Scully asked. "Excuse me?" Graves said. "Bull-shit. What part of that don't you understand?" Mulder asked. "Mulder..." Scully said. "You don't understand. He's right. I let his son die." "Scully...I'm not saying you didn't. But this not why you are here today. Remember...LIBERTY BELL has been an ongoing operation for close to twenty years. This did NOT happen in the last seven or eight." Scully nodded, slowly and then more quickly. Turning to Graves, she said, "He's right. I mean, I remember your son... but that's not why I'm here." "In a way," Graves said, "it is. You see, Scully... you were chosen. Specifically for this mission." He spread his arms, indicating the room. "And not even this specific mission. LIBERTY BELL is just a tiny piece in a much larger plan. You were picked, recruited into the Bureau, trained, assigned to Quantico to teach for the two years before Mulder became obsessed with the X-Files. And then you were partnered with him. This has all been part of a larger plan, Scully." Again, his partner paled as Mulder watched. "That's...that's not possible!" she said. "Of course it is. Mulder has always suspected that there are people behind the scenes, the real power brokers, the real string-pullers. And he was right." Graves laughed, turning to Mulder. "You have no idea how right you are." Again, Mulder's radio clicked in his ear. "They want to come in," he said to Graves. "I'm just telling them to hold." Graves nodded his permission, and Mulder clicked once in response. "So what's the bigger plan?" Mulder asked. Graves grinned. "As if I'd tell you, Mulder. That...that is for another time, another place, another day and someone else to tell you. I'm just a pawn...like you." He paused. "No...that's not right. I'm a pawn. You're a knight." Mulder frowned. "A knight?" "Sure...you fight the good fight, Mulder. I've always admired that about you." "Always? How long have you-" Graves dropped the big one. "Almost since before you were born." Mulder snorted. "I'm almost thirty five years old, Graves. Are you telling me that...no, that makes no sense." "Of course it doesn't...only becuase you don't know what I do." "And what might that be?" "That your entire life is a lie, Mulder. All of it." Mulder took a step backwards. "What?" Graves sniggered. "Mulder, why did you start investigating the X-Files?" Mulder didn't hesitate. "To find out what happened to my sister." Graves nodded. "A sister that you never had. A sister that never exsisted." *** Mulder blinked. Once. Twice. "You're lying," he finally choked out. Graves shook his head. "Ask me anything, Mulder. Anything about your sister. Right down to Stratego." Mulder gasped. There was no way he could know about that unless Graves had known his parents, or Samantha. That wasn't in the official X-file that he'd created. "I don't believe you," Mulder croaked. Scully stared at her partner, her heart breaking. A lot of things were falling into place for her, and she was beginning to suspect that it was true, that everything was a lie. That it had all been a lie. "Mulder...what did you do for the six months after your sister disappeared?" Mulder opened his mouth to reply and then shut it with a snap. "Can't remember...can you?" Graves teased. Mulder shook his head. "No." Graves nodded. "There's a reason for that, Mulder. A very good reason." "Tell me!" Mulder begged. Graves shook his head. "Not here, Mulder." He pointed at the boundries of the office. "The walls have ears," he said cryptically, waggling his eyebrows. "You get me out of here, and I'll tell you everything you want to know." The partners exchanged a glance. Scully knew that she would be unable to deny Mulder anything he wanted on this topic. To do so would destroy every last vestige of their relationship. She would, quite simply, lose him forever. In one way or another. Scully touched her throat microphone. "Six, this is two." The hushed voice of the SEAL CO came back. "Six." "Stand down. Please get ready; we're taking the suspect and the device out. I want the Navy Huey warmed up and ready to go." "Come again, two?" "We have to get the device out of here, Six," Scully said, thinking quickly. "We need to get it out over the sea ASAP. Just do it!" "Roger, two. On the way." Graves nodded. "Very inventive, Scully. I might even tell you what happened during your vacation!" Scully ground her teeth together. She had a sudden thought. If this son of a bitch is lying...I'll put a bullet into his head myself. Outside, they heard the signature whine of a Huey's turbine turning over. "It will take exactly one minute and six seconds for that engine to spool up," Graves said. "I expect us to be aboard and airborne in two minutes." Mulder took a deep breath. Two weeks chasing this asshole, tracking him across the country and back, only to corner him in the National Security Advisor's office...and then have to be the ones to effect his escape. The irony was almost overwhelming. "Let's go," Mulder said shortly. He reached for his left-hand thigh-pocket. "If I don't cuff you, questions will be asked." Graves thought about it and nodded. "Fine. But I'll have a small knife in my hand so I can cut them lose if anything fucked starts happening." Mulder nodded. "Fair enough." Graves took a small pocketknife and hid it in his hands, turning his back to Mulder and offering them. Quickly, Mulder cuffed him, the desire to wrap his hands around this man's neck almost overpowering him. Taking an elbow, he guided Graves towards Scully. "Here...you take him. I'll just take...the device." Reaching for it, Mulder lifted it into his hands and turned it over. Didn't look like much. "Kinda small, Graves," he said. "Maybe so, Mulder, but I wouldn't drop it if I were you. One drop of that stuff hits the air, and everyone within a hundred square yards will die within seconds. Rather nasty stuff and all that." Mulder nodded and gripped the device more tightly. Scully leading the way, the trio made their way down the hall towards the stairs. Halfway there they met Skinner, still pushing his way along with one good leg. He was pale, weak, and sweaty. "Can we-?" Scully asked. Graves nodded. Mulder handed Scully the device and bent to help his boss. "What---?" Skinner asked. "Later," Mulder promised. Skinner just nodded, glad for the help. Slinging his arm across Mulder's neck, Skinner began limping down the hall. "God, don't we look just the dance couples?" Graves asked. *** Special Agent Ron Burke, United States Secret Service, held his breath as the East Entrance door opened. Mulder was first, helping an obviously injured Skinner. Special Agent Scully was behind him, guiding a handcuffed Graves with one hand and holding the device with the other. Burke motioned to two of his agents to take custody of Graves, but Mulder held up his hand. "We have to go to the chopper!" he shouted. Burke glanced over at the Navy chopper spooling up on the West Lawn and shook his head. Despite their promises, the FBI was going to grab the suspect and all the credit. And Congress wondered why the Treasury and Justice Departments were at each other's throats. "Goddamit!" he shouted. "Skinner, you promised!" Skinner shook his head, hooking his chin towards Mulder. "Talk to him, Burke. He's in charge." Burke turned his attention to Mulder. "What about it, pal? Your boss told me that you were going to turn him over to us. That all bullshit, or what?" Mulder closed in on Burke, lowering his head to speak quietly. "Listen to me...that device is still armed. He said that when he gets off the grounds, he'll disarm it. But not until, and not with the Secret Service. He's convinced that if we leave him alone with you, you'll kill him." Burke pursed his lips. Good instinct, he thought. We might find an excuse to cap his ass, and no one would care. Talking about the White House here, folks. "Ok, so after he deactivates it, THEN what?" "He thinks we're going to take him to headquarters and process him there. We'll bring his ass back here and let you boys have a crack at him." Burke looked Mulder directly in the eye. "Your word on that?" "Word of honor," Mulder said, holding out his hand. Burke shook it, smiling. "No," Mulder hissed. "You can't act like this is OK, or it'll blow the deal. Make noise; get mad. Scream and yell at me about taking your prisoner." Burke nodded as Mulder turned back to Scully and Graves. He was relieved to see that Skinner was receiving the medical attention he needed; two Secret Service Agents had broken a rather large First Aid kit out of the back of the Suburban and were quickly and competently attending to his wounds. "Well that's just fucking GREAT!" Burke called, throwing his arms up. "The FBI comes in here, all high and mighty, and takes our fucking prisoner! What the fuck is up with that, Mulder? Huh?" Mulder started wedging his way through the suddenely hostile crowd of Secret Service agents. "Let us through," he insisted, glancing at his watch. He had less than forty seconds to make it to the chopper. Some of the crowd reached for Scully as if to seperate her from Graves. Drawing her weapon, but keeping it pressed against her thigh, the short, redhaired agent struck a imposing figure. Ice chips in her eyes, she stared them all down, one by one, all the while guiding Graves through the crowd with a strong hand at his elbow. They made it to the Huey with a minimum of commotion and climbed aboard. "Where to?" Mulder shouted in Graves' ear. Graves shouted his answer in Mulder's ear, who promptly relayed it to the pilot. A moment later they were taking off. As soon as they were out of sight of the White House, Graves freed himself, tossing the flexi-cuffs out the helicopter's window. "Talk!" Mulder ordered. "Soon, my boy, soon. I promise, in less than half an hour, all your questions will be answered." Mulder glanced at the man, saw his eyes and nodded. This had better be fucking good, he thought. Ten SEALs down, plus Mike Watts. No matter what Graves said, though, he was either going to jail or going into the ground, six feet under. Scully glanced at her partner, worry written all over her soft, pale face. She knew how important anything and everything having to do with Samantha was to him, and she was getting the feeling that whatever happened in the next thirty minutes would change his life, and by extension, her life...forever. *** The chopper set down next to the warehouse. Mulder did a double-take as soon as he saw it. "Zeus?" he asked Graves. The former intelligence operative just nodded, a grin lighting up his face. "Trust me, Mulder...it will be worth it. I reccomend you get rid of all that...stuff before we go in. Our host won't like it very much if you show up loaded for bear." Mulder glanced at him and shook his head. "No. I've given as much as I can, Graves. We go in armed, or we go back to where we came from, and I'll let the Secret Service deal with you." True to his word, Graves had disarmed the device during the flight. "What?" Graves protested, his voice mocking. "And miss all the fun? Dear boy, you can come in with a tank if you want...just please do come in! I've waited almost twenty years for this day, and I don't intend to miss it!" Scully, Mulder and Graves hopped down out of the chopper and quickly walked around the corner to the front door of Zeus Storage. Using a key on a ring full of similar keys, Graves let them in, and then locked the door behind them. "This way," he said, leading them down what was an almost-familar hallway. They came to the same room and stopped. Graves opened the door and waved his arm as if to escort them in. "Please...I insist." Mulder went in first, his hand hovering near his pistol. The room was dim, but not quite dark. None of the contents that Mulder had seen there over four years ago were there now, even though he half-expected them to me. Although what was there both surprised and angered him. "Hello, Mr. Mulder." Fox Mulder looked into the softly smiling face of the smoking man and felt the rage, anger and murderous desire of the past few days welling in his veins. "You son of a BITCH!" he screamed, reaching for his pistol and drawing it. "I should shoot you where you stand!" The smoking man pulled the cigarette from his mouth, blew a plume of smoke at the ceiling and said, "Go ahead." Mulder's finger tightened on the trigger. "Mulder! NO!" Scully's voice. He loosened his finger. The smoking man smiled again, pulling his own free hand out of his overcoat pocket. There was a Walther PPK in it. "I really must insist," he said quietly, pointing the gun at Scully. "You either shoot me, Mr. Mulder, or I shoot your part-" BANG! The shot hit the man in the shoulder, spinning him around. His PPK clattered to the ground, and he grunted softly. Mulder took a step towards him, reaching with his foot for the small PPK and kicked it behind him. No choice, his mind said. I had no choice. The smoking man straightened back up and smiled at Mulder. The FBI agent could see the hole in the overcoat where his bullet had struck, but...but... There was no blood. His mind refused to accept what his eyes were seeing. "If I may?" the smoking man asked, shrugging out of first his overcoat, and then his suit jacket. All that was left was his dress shirt, also with a small, neat, round hole, but no blood. "What the hell...?" Mulder asked. "Mr. Mulder, you can shoot me all day long if it will make you feel better, although I would assume that after the first few magazines the theraputic value of such actions would be diminished. The truth remains that you chould shoot me for the rest of the day, this week and into next month, and it would have the same overall effect. "None. None at all." Mulder stepped back, beginning to understand. "Who...are you?" "Who is not as important as "what", Mr. Mulder. You are here for a reason, my friend." Mulder's gun came back up. "Don't CALL me that, you SON of a BITCH!" The smoking man's eyes twinkled. "But, Mr. Mulder, you are...well, perhaps an explaination is in order, Hmmmm?" Quicker than Mulder would have thought possible, the smoking man moved, ducking around Mulder and finding his PPK. Gathering it in his hand, he turned back to the FBI agent and smiled again. "You were brought here, Mr. Mulder, for one very important reason. This entire mission...your entire career...indeed, your entire life from the time you were ten years old...has been about one thing, and one thing only." "And what is that?" Mulder demanded. The smoking man pivoted on one foot, levelled the gun at Danny Graves, and fired a shot point-blank into his forehead. The former intelligence officer, decorated with three classified Silver Stars, and two Intelligence Stars by the CIA, collapsed in a dead, boneless heap at the smoking man's feet. Turning back to face Mulder, he said, "To see if you can make the tough decisions, Mr. Mulder." "I...I..." Mulder stammered, not beliving what he'd just seen. "...don't understand," Scully finished. "We...don't understand." The smoking man nodded. "I'm sure you don't. That is why you are here, after all. To understand, finally..." He jammed the gun into his pants at the small of his back and turned to point to a long table in one corner. "Come, let's sit and talk. I'll explain as much of it as I'm able in the time we have." Time? Mulder thought. As he turned towards the table, Mulder asked a question that had been on his mind for almost five years. "What do I call you?" The smoking man considered this. "Under the circumstances, I think 'Dad' might be a good start." Mulder felt the blood draining from his head and he swooned, reaching out for the table that was just out of his grasp. Then Scully was there, her arm around his waist, steadying him. Being there for him. As always. "You...you're my father?" he asked, flashing back to _The Empire Strikes Back_. "No...not in the sense you think. Not biologically. But I am the person that has made you the man you are today, Mr. Mulder, so in a very real sense, I am the father of the son that stands before me." Mulder shook his head. "I don't accept that." "Oh...you will, Mr.Mulder. You will." They sat down at the table. Mulder could see Graves' body over the smoking man's shoulder. "So...where do I start?" the smoking man said. "Well, to quote a favorite movie of yours, Mr. Mulder...'a long time ago... in a galaxy far, far away..." -------------- END CHAPTER 36