Portal
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Prologue
He stood amongst them, like a centrepiece, a termagant amongst insidious men.
Plumes of amorphous silver-grey smoke curled loosely around his silent, barren face, over his severe, impersonal eyes. His was an impression of aesthetic displeasure as his lips tightened in a wry grimace, as he listened silently to the report and watched his fellow players jar and shuffle in their positions around him. None had come to be amused, and none dared to venture at responsibility or blame, yet.
And here was how he knew that this was all just a tragedy, in the way that classics are tragedies, in the way history is known. For they were their own undoing, as they played their games in the shadows and refused each other's true identity because of covert pride and paranoia, and so they condemned themselves to the failings of mutiny in a future that might not be so far away as to be safe anymore.
Soon they would begin impugning, soon or not far after that (perhaps it already was) they would begin to deal behind the shadows of the shadows, out with the circle, in with the enemies of their enemies' enemies.
When such a time came, he would watch them crumble, each one of them, till he alone remained to have it all. Take it, and send it back to the hell where this whole miserable mess belonged.
"Well?" he was asked by one gentleman in the back, because despite the Smoking Man's indicting displeasure it had been his agent this time and they had all been sure, because of his cockiness, success after a domino line of failures. It had not been so. They passed the letter that informed them as much round through the lavish room, to burden for sure each other with the fact.
"Well. Now we find another avenue to drive down."
He drew from his cigarette again, savoured very little of it, and let the ashen breath tumble from his dry, yellow lips, settling back to an expressionless demeanour that was almost a tease. He wanted no part in a game of glib script; so often they reverted to it when matters began to haunt them with frustration and proceedings slowed to finger-pointing accusations.
"What other avenues?"
Again the question came from the back of the room, carefully asked but not shy of impertinence, for there was more than just one of them in this place right now, full of powerful, well played men, who disagreed with the Smoking Man's words.
"Are we all so pious of ourselves that we cannot accept there may be other factions out there whose covert operations are beyond our reach, our knowledge and understanding?"
Another of them, from a seat in front of him, countered. "Nothing is beyond those who set out to govern all as all should be governed. Let one matter slip, and the consequences could be catastrophic. Let a whole organization go by us unchecked..."
"They have the blessing of the president, of that we do know."
"More than that men; they have the technology..."
All different voices talking now, all moot points when held against the fact that they had not been able to infiltrate even one agent inside. They had no eyes and ears watching and listening where it really mattered. What information they did have was whey; secondary sources, hearsay, conspiracy and some names with black holes in their records that it seemed no amount of digging could fill.
They had a well paid photographer out in the field, as it were, tailing one of the names, but a few non-descript photographs of a by-in-large plain, blonde woman buying chain store coffee was leading them nowhere. The results were nothing but strained desperation for the tangible. The irony was humiliating.
Yet now, as he smoked, indulging in such a drudgery habit, and watched his fellows grunt and exasperate, he found that desperate avenue he had begun to conceive in his head to be more and more prominent in possibility.
He waited through some whispering, some rustling at the back, the bristling of expensive suits at his side and more shivers of discontent. In another life he might have smiled knowing what scandal of a proposition he was about to let loose amongst them, but now he only side stepped in a way as to be noticed and lowered his cigarette.
"Perhaps it is not a spy we should be employing."
He welcomed the hush as he spoke, and carried on quietly.
"Not always does an investigator use his own eyes and ears to search, but wily employs the unwitting to look for him."
Still silence, heavy with expectancy.
"If what we believe to be true is, and the mountain complex in Colorado hides the portal to the rest of the universe, then surely the myth of it alone is the epiphany of any man's desire who has ever dared to dream of something more than this in his existence."
A sharp, angry intake of breath from the man sitting in front of him.
"No... Surly... To employ Mulder? Is that what you suggest? The man whose every close encounter you have discredited so severely that even his own partner doubts his sanity at times, and certainly no one else around him, close to him, believes him?"
In a rare moment of expression, the Smoking Man raised an eyebrow. "Exactly. And why not? From your comfortable mantle behind your anonym, have you ever watched another man fight so hard and search and believe with such frightening blind faith as to never be unconvinced of what we make seem so unconvincing? Have you ever had another man come so close to biting your fingers off in order for the truth? Do not lie to me and say you have, for I haven't.
"Men, give the scented cloth to Mulder, and by hell and high water, I assure you he will find the Stargate."
A.N: It is highly unlikely I will do any more with this story in the foreseeable future. Not through a lack of wanting, but through a more dismal lack of time. If you got this far though I hope you enjoyed the teaser and construstive critisism/reviewing is always appreciated.