The plans were set and the plane tickets purchased. Courtesy of the FBI, former Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, wanted for connection with murder and accessory, were booked on Continental Airlines flight 174, which left from Monterrey, Mexico, traveling nonstop to Zurich, Switzerland. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. James List were traveling first class from Saltillo to Florence, Italy that same day.
"How'd you do all this?" John asked as I handed him the printouts.
"Maria," I said, referring to our host's sixteen year old daughter, "has a laptop and a cable modem." I smiled broadly. "Amazing how technology can reach into the smallest pueblo."
"Yeah," John said, flipping through the passports, driver's licenses and birth certificates, all fraudulent. "But how'd you manage it?"
"John," I murmured, reaching out to stroke my finger down his cheek. "You wouldn't want me to reveal my magic, would you?" I teased. Grinning, John shook his head and handed the paperwork back. "I will tell you, though, I had a little help," I admitted. "I don't know if you heard about this guy, but the Lone Gunmen had a, well, kind of an intern. Jimmy and Lois are the only ones left of the group, and when I called and told him what I needed, he was more than happy to help."
"Won't they trace the call?" John prodded.
But I had thought of nearly everything. "Sure, back to the American Embassy in Zurich."
John laughed, shaking his head at me. "Nice work."
I did my best Sean Connery when I said, "Not me. Bond, Jimmy Bond." On impulse, I leaned over and kissed his lips. "That's for backing me up," I said, before he could ask. I stood, gathering the papers. "I'm going to go give these to Mulder and then I've got to get dinner started. We're having quesadillas and ceviches." At his look, I just laughed softly. "I told you I'd take you new places, didn't I?"
"But I thought you mean sexually." John's little pout made me burst out laughing.
"That, too." I
disappeared up the stairs toward Mulder and Scully's room.
* * *
All that week, something was still bothering John, I just couldn't tell what. Chalking it up to the entire situation, I didn't press him to tell me. *They're leaving tomorrow,* I thought. *If we can just make it until then, everything will be fine.* Famous last words.
Trying to cheer him up, I offered to take him out to dinner. Maria told me about this little hole-in-the-wall, too out of the way to attract tourists. I thought it was perfect. I could get some real food, *not* cooked by me for once, and John and I could have a little privacy.
The restaurant was just as Maria had described - three little tables and an open stove sitting in the middle of a tiny brick home. The owners probably lived in the back, I guessed. A small TV hung just to the left of the stove, tuned to the afternoon news. As soon as we walked in, a young man approached us, introducing himself as Juan Manuel and asking what he could do for us. I replied that we had heard his food was the best in the Ciudad, and he began to beam. "Si, senorita," Juan Manuel replied with a vigorous nod. He offered us a table and a menu. We took the seats, and I told him to surprise us with the food.
'But not too many jalapenos,' I added regretfully in Spanish. 'My friend is a gringo,' I said, patting John's hand. The waiter laughed and nodded, heading to the stove.
"Are you talkin' about me?" John asked warily.
"Yeah," I grinned. "I told him to go easy on the peppers 'cause you're a wimpy white man."
"I'm a man who wants to keep the lining of his throat intact," John bantered back. I could tell by his expression that he was finally relaxing.
"Wuss," I challenged lightly.
John shook his head with a wry grin. "Pragmatist."
I clapped softly. "Word of the day toilet paper?" He was about to reply when I caught sight of the television out of the corner of my eye. Twisting in my seat, I motioned for him to be quiet. After a moment, I murmured, "John, look." The screen was filled with a huge picture of a man, 'Fugitivo de la Justicia' splashed across the screen underneath. "Is that Mulder?" I asked, dreading his answer. The newscaster disappeared and I turned toward him.
"Oh, hell," John swore, his eyes darkening as he looked at me. "They know where we are."
"Senorita!" Juan Manuel called from across the room. "Conoce a ese hombre?" He craned his neck to look at the television, then gestured toward me, speaking rapidly.
I replied, then turned to John, my heart was caught in my throat. I couldn't speak for a second, feeling everything explode around us.
"Monica," John's forehead was furrowed, "what'd he say? What is it?"
I reached for John's hand,
gripping it tightly. "He says if we know that man, we should get him
out of Mexico, and fast. There's a bounty of one million pesos on his
head."
* * *
*They found us.* My mind whirled as I raced out of the restaurant right behind John, tossing apologies to Juan Manuel over my shoulder.
*They found us.* We had to get Mulder to safety until he could board his flight - *Oh, God.* "John, they can't get on that plane." I raised my voice over the traffic as we hailed a taxi.
"They have to," he argued as we climbed in.
"They'll never be allowed to board," I murmured, eyeing the driver for any sign he was listening to our conversation. "They'll be recognized the minute they try."
John nodded, and I could practically see the thoughts whirling. The cab stopped at the house and I tossed the driver a hundred pesos. We entered the house and I ran upstairs to tell Scully the news. Ten minutes later, everyone was at the kitchen table except John, who was pacing the room. "John," I said, and he turned toward me. "You looked like you might have an idea earlier."
"I did, but I don't like it." We waited expectantly for him to continue. "They think we're gonna run now that they found us. Monica, I think you and I have to be the distraction, instead of the plane tickets to Switzerland. We've gotta pretend to be Mulder and Scully. We'll alert the local P.D. with an anonymous tip and let them chase us to the border. By the time they figure out who we are, you guys," he gestured to our friends, "will be airborne."
I was torn between fear and a swell of pride that he wasn't trying to protect me from what we needed to do. I was struck with an idea. "Not the border," I corrected, "the Embassy in Hermosillo. If we try to cross the border in a hurry, we might..." I trailed off, not wanting to say it. "But once we're on embassy grounds, it's American soil."
"And they'll send you back to DC, which is what we want," Mulder agreed. "Just don't take too many chances." He glanced at his infant son, cradled in his mother's arms.
"We won't," I promised, my gaze locking on baby William. I stood, determined to do what had to be done. "We'll find a way to contact you as soon as it's safe."
Scully rose and handed her son to me. I was reminded of another time we'd done this - the failed attempt to keep him safe would not be repeated, I swore to her silently. She cradled his hand with her hand, tears in her eyes. "Protect him," Scully told me simply.
"I will, Dana. I promise." I fought my own tears as I lifted the baby to my shoulder.
Mulder wrapped his arm around
Scully's shoulder as he and John exchanged a quick farewell. I felt
John's strong hand on my back as we turned to leave the pueblo, with only the
baby and a backpack full of supplies. I stopped at the door, glancing
back. "Vaya con Dios," I murmured.
* * *
The next in a long line of challenges was transportation. We caught a cab to downtown Ciudad Juarez, and I asked the driver about car dealerships. There were two, we found, both open today. We chose one and he dropped us off. Standing in front, John looked at me with a gleam in his eyes. "Mon," he said, "we want them to find us, right?"
"Yeah," I said, shifting William to my other arm. "Why?"
"So let's go all out. What the hell," he grinned, pointing to the Harley on display next door. "I've always wanted a Hog."
I laughed softly. "Find one with room for a baby and it's ours."
He did, and it was settled, charged on the FBI's American Express. We set out through the streets, John and I strapped tightly to the roaring machine, William swaddled tightly and belted in my lap. He guided us out on the one-lane highway, heading southwest toward Hermosillo.
I lowered the tinted visor in my new helmet against the setting sun, giggling to myself.
"What's so funny?" John asked through the little microphone in his helmet.
"I just never pictured us on a Harley, with a baby, driving us off into the desert sunset," I said tenderly.
"I did."
I laughed louder, stroking William's arms, though he seemed to take to the motorcycle's rhythm, falling asleep soon after we set out.
The sun radiated an array of colors as it sank toward the horizon ahead of us. We drove on into the night, stopping only long enough to change William's diaper and use the bathroom. When we felt we were close enough to our destination, we called the Ciudad Juarez police. They were informed that we'd seen the fugitive and his lady friend with the baby heading southwest. We hung up before they could ask anything else. As we approached Hermosillo's city limits, I inhaled sharply. A blockade of Hermosillo police were crouched behind open car doors, guns poised. Spanish words blared through the bullhorn, ordering us to stop or be targeted. "They're here," I called to John, hearing my voice waver slightly.
"I know." His voice echoed in my helmet, warm but decisive. "Ready?"
"Ready," I replied, cradling William to my chest. I knew that back in Saltillo, Mulder and Scully were boarding a plane to safety.
John killed the engine and lowered the kickstand, moving in slow motion. I slid off, hefting William to my hip. "Nos entregamos!" I yelled. 'We surrender.'
John stood next to me, his bearing proud. I barely heard his muttered epithet, but it made my heart soar. "Come and get us, motherfuckers."
THE END
