The Magic Bullet
Takoma Falls, VA
10:28 P.M.
"Thirty-six gigs, five-thousand megs RAM. This baby is state of the art!"
Langly's nostrils flared excitedly as he turned the pc over and over in his hands. His blue eyes doubled in size behind his large, black, square frames.
"You can tell that just by looking?" Mulder asked, pulling off his soggy jacket and throwing it haphazardly onto a side table stacked with old editions of 'The Lone Gunmen.'
"Of course," he replied, plugging the computer into an already overloaded surge protector and booting it up, "I get a weekly subscription to 'Hardware Now'. It has all the latest, up-to-date innovations in the computing world. Oh, yeah. Listen to that baby purr."
Frohike turned his attention from the box filled with the cds that Mulder had dumped in his lap to his blond-headed friend. "Man, you've really got to get laid."
Langly took his hands off the keyboard only long enough to give Frohike the finger, to which Byers announced his disapproval.
Mulder placed his hands on the top of Langly's fold-out chair and leaned over him. "C'mon, now," he admonished them, "play nice. I need you to tell me everything you can about this system's hard drive."
"What specifically are you looking for, Mulder?" Byers asked.
"There were some files on this computer that were transferred to a cd," Mulder explained, gesturing towards the collection now in Frohike's possession, "Scully looked for them at the crime scene, but she thinks that they were deleted."
"Ah, the luscious Agent Scully," Frohike interrupted, licking his lips ever-so-subtly, "And where is our little crimson vixen now?"
"I took her home, Frohike. It's been a long day."
"Put her to bed, did you?" he asked, arching his eyebrows.
Mulder turned to him and threw him an angry glare. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"C'mon, Mulder," he said, drawing out each word slowly with staccato-like precision, "you can tell us. We're your friends. I mean, you expect us to believe that after seven years together there's never been any."
"Any what?" Mulder hissed through his teeth.
"Any desire to take separate cars," Byers finished, throwing Frohike a warning glare, "I mean, separate cars would certainly cut down on all that in between time, leave you more time for investigation and all of that." He laughed nervously.
Mulder was about to explain how they did, in fact, take separate cars and then went back to the Bureau to reevaluate the case, and how the long hours of research had made Scully so tired that she didn't feel comfortable being on the road, so there was no other recourse except to drive her home, but he decided that that was all unnecessary information. Instead, he asked Langly about the possibilities of finding the deleted files.
"Normally it'd be easier than Jenna Jameson on a hot summer day. These systems usually hide backup files away in the DOS dat construct."
"Usually?" Mulder asked, evidently becoming increasingly irritated.
"Sorry, man," Langly said, shrugging his spindly shoulders, "No dice. The entire operating system has been completely worked over. Somebody didn't want you to see something you shouldn't be seeing."
"Damn it!" Mulder said, slamming his fists down on Langly's chair.
"Ow, man!" he cried, somewhat offended, "That hurt!"
"Langly," Mulder continued, "I need to know where the Eves are heading. They've already killed twice since their escape. Who knows what they're capable of next? We need to find them before they disappear. I mean, they could turn up ten years from now and assassinate the next Martin Luther King. Who the hell knows?"
"I do," Frohike answered.
"What?"
"I know where they're heading," Frohike repeated, "Pennsylvania."
"How the hell do you know that?" Langly demanded.
"Yeah, Frohike," Byers added, shooting his friend a quizzical look, "I didn't see anything out of the ordinary when Langly scanned the hard drive."
"You know the funny thing about computer geeks, Mulder?" he asked, turning to face the lanky agent.
"What's that?"
"All the hacking skills of the great Thinker himself won't get you shit in the pot if you don't know how to read." He held up the back of one of the cd cases for everyone to see.
Mulder took it in his hands and read the sticker aloud: "If found, please return to."
Dr. Lamniture Residence 198 David's Crossing Lansing, PA December 20, 1999 8:42 P.M.
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks."
Mulder clicked off his cell and stored it in his pocket.
"The boys said that Lamniture is an associate of Veckman's," he told Scully, who had just returned from circling the house, "apparently some kind of prodigy in the field of genetics. According to the records that the guys hacked, Lamniture got paid to do some sort of consultation for Veckman." He glanced up at her, his hazel eyes unusually dark and pensive, "Two guesses what the topic of conversation centered around."
She put her hands to her hips, her professional, yet feminine suit conforming tightly to her more shapely curves. "You think he's connected to the Litchfield Experiments?" she asked.
"Let's just say that I find it to be quite a coincidence that the good doctor receives a hefty government pension each year though he's a little lacking in military service."
Scully raised her eyebrows and then turned her attention to the sweeping three-story mansion behind her.
"He hides it well," she scoffed under her breath, and turned back to face Mulder, "So what's the plan?"
"The plan is we go in there and get him out before Eves 9 and 10 get to him first." Mulder pulled the gun from his hip and advanced toward the front door. Scully followed suit. As they neared the front porch, the sound of a loud thud greeted them. Scully glanced at Mulder, who nodded his head in response, motioning for her to take the back. He watched as her red head bobbed out of sight, then steadied himself as he prepared to enter the darkened house. With his right hand on his Glock, he tried the knob with his left hand, which, to his surprise, was unlocked. He traversed the threshold with the caution of a seasoned officer. He entered the main hall and noted the pair of swirling staircases on either side, flanked by numerous golden ornaments. The beautiful wooden floor was carpeted only by a single, elaborate Oriental rug, and a large mirror at the summit of the steps reflected the silvery moonlight.
Mulder checked the foyer and the adjoining rooms. Seeing no one, he backtracked and advanced up one of the two marble staircases. The steps emptied into a lavishly-decorated hall which contained at least ten doors on either side. Mulder continued down the hall, not stopping to check any of the doors, and finally found himself facing a set of great oaken double doors. Pulling the doors wide, he entered a magnificent solarium, complete with makeshift pools and flourishing foliage. The great glass walls that contained the room were so spotless that Mulder felt sure he could see for miles in every direction.
He was glancing at the goldfish swimming carelessly in an ornate pond when a sudden blur of black caught his eye. Someone was watching him. Moving quickly down the center row, Mulder advanced towards the place where he had seen the person standing. No one was there. He stood still for a minute, deciding exactly which path to take. As he was about to advance, the sound of a bullet echoed throughout the house.
"Scully!" Mulder whispered out loud. He retraced his steps, back by the pool, out through the oak doors, and down through the hall. As he ran, he could see the rough outline of someone standing by the stairs, hands leaning calmly on the banister. His first thought was that it was Scully, but as he progressed, he could see this person was a little taller and a little lankier than his partner. As he neared, the person came into focus. Her black hair was untidy and her clothes, rumpled. She turned around to face him. The light reflected off the mirror and illuminated her eyes, giving them an eerie, psychotic quality.
"Don't move," Mulder cautioned, aiming his gun directly at her forehead, "You may be a superhuman, but even you can't dodge a bullet."
For a second, Eve's face appeared serene, even unaware that a gun was pointed at her head. Then, slowly, the thinnest of smiles began to curl upon her lips. She chuckled softly to herself, her eyes askance, skipping this way and that.
"What's so God-damned funny?" he asked, his head shaking with rage.
"It's just that," she replied, halting her response every now and again between bursts of laughter, "I was just thinking the same thing about you."
"Yeah," Mulder said, "well I guess it takes one to know one." He grabbed for his cuffs. "Put your hands behind your head and turn around slowly."
Eve didn't move. Her face still bore the toothy smile.
"I said put your hands behind your head."
As she shook her head 'no,' she pointed a long, bony finger to the wooden floor. His eyes were drawn to the moonlit shadows. Where there had been two previously, a third was now situated. From the corner of his eye, he could see the glint of steel reflected in the mirror.
"Don't move, Agent Mulder," he heard the same cold voice speak from behind him as he felt the circular metal dig uncomfortably into his back.
Mulder snarled his lip as his brilliant eyes flashed in disgust. He mentally kicked himself for being so careless as he slowly raised his hands, gun and all, towards the heavens. Eve 9 giggled girlishly as she stepped forward from the banister and grabbed the government-issued Glock directly from Mulder's right hand.
"Where's Dr. Lamniture?" he asked precariously, stalling for time as he quickly attempted to formulate a plan.
"I don't think it very prudent for you to be asking the questions right now, Agent Mulder," Eve 10 informed him, as she maliciously jabbed the gun into his back.
"No, no," Eve 9 interjected, stepping back from Mulder with his own weapon pointed against him, "not prudent at all. Especially with two guns pointed directly at you." Her yellowed teeth glistened in the moonlight as she smirked at her sister-in-arms. "I mean, we are homicidal maniacs, after all. Isn't that right, Agent Mulder? Isn't that the psychological profile that you keep in your government records?"
"Well," Mulder replied, "you know what they say. If the strait-jacket fits."
"Very funny," Eve 10 said dryly, giving his spine another jab.
"Move," Eve 9 ordered, motioning down the steps with the gun.
They descended the stairs one by one, an unholy procession lit, not by the luminescence of some sanctified candle but by the sepulchral gleam of the silvery moon. By the time they reached the base, Mulder could see that there was someone else standing in the shadows. As he approached, he could see the face illuminated by the light of the moon.
"Good evening, Agent Mulder," Dr. Veckman said, "so nice to see you again."
"It's a pity that I can't say the same," Mulder responded, his face curling up in distaste, "Where's Lamniture, Veckman?"
Veckman removed the black gloves from his hands and placed them neatly in his jacket pockets. As the pockets ruffled with his movement, a small red smear became visible to the left of his tie. "I'm afraid he's indisposed at the moment," Veckman said sneeringly, "It was quite tragic. Slashed his wrists. But he did leave a note. Something about not being able to take the pressure. His professional life was destroying his marriage. Terrible, really."
"Slashed?" Mulder said softly, as he processed the fact that he had heard gunshots only moments before.
"That's right, Agent Mulder," Veckman replied, nodding his head as a sinister grin appeared on his face, "I do hope that you're not under the misapprehension that that pretty little partner of yours is going to be of any help. I wouldn't want to instill you with any false hope."
Mulder lunged at him, his anger overriding the comprehension that two guns were pointed directly at him. Mulder had just grabbed the collar of his shirt when he felt four strong arms grab him from behind. He attempted to shake himself from their grasp, but it was to no avail.
"If anything happened to her," he screamed, "I will kill you, you God-damned son of a bitch!"
Veckman smoothed his shirt and straightened his jacket.
"Is that a threat, Agent Mulder?" he asked calmly.
"That's a promise, you motherfucking piece of shit."
"You better take a rest Agent Mulder," Veckman announced unexpectedly, readjusting his tie and giving a nod to the girls, "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
Mulder saw red as he felt something hard and painful come down upon the top of his head. Then there was nothing but the smile on Veckman's lips and the suffocating screen of darkness.
Thomas Jefferson University Hospital Philadelphia, PA December 21, 1999 4:52 A.M.
Skinner gave the double doors leading to the emergency room a healthy push and strode quickly towards the front desk. His long, black coat was trailing in midair behind him as he pulled his identification wallet from his front pocket. He held it up to the pudgy, red-headed receptionist's eyelevel, saying aloud as she read, "Assistant Director Skinner, FBI. One of my agents was brought in here late last night."
"Ah, yes," she replied, giving him her best winning smile, "Ms. Scolly, isn't it?"
"It's Scully," he replied, ignoring her attempts at unwelcome seduction, "Special Agent Dana Scully. Could you please show me to her room?"
"Of course," the receptionist replied, flashing another great grin, "right away. Consider me at your disposal."
"Disposal being the operative word," Skinner muttered to himself, as he followed her penguin- like waddle down a long corridor and into the Intensive Care unit. When they finally arrived, she stopped and turned to face him.
"She only got out of surgery a few hours ago, the poor dear. She might still be a little groggy."
Skinner glanced through the small, wired window at the burst of fiery hair emanating from beneath the white sheets. Then, he turned back towards the receptionist.
"Don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything," she said, and with that, she proceeded back towards the main floor. Skinner took one last long look through the door, then turned the knob and walked in.
"Scully?" he asked, coming to a halt directly beside her, "Scully, can you hear me?" She stirred a little, but did not respond.
"Scully," he tried again, placing her hand in his, "can you hear me? I need you to wake up. I need your help." Scully's tiny framed stirred again, but this time, her eyes flashed open, too, slowly, groggily, at first, but then steady against the brightness of the room.
"Sir?" she asked. Her voice sounded confused, distant, and very, very tired. She tried to raise herself into a seated position, but let out a moan of pain as her right hand cradled the left of her stomach.
"No, don't try to sit up," Skinner cautioned, stopping her movement and placing her softly back on the bed.
"What happened?" she asked, feeling through the thin hospital gown to the stitched gash below.
"The officer who called the Bureau said that you were found shot in the home of murdered physician. Apparently, the neighbors reported hearing several gunshots last night, and they called the police, lucky for you." He gave her a stern, paternal look of mixed concern and aggravation. "When are you and Mulder going to start being more careful? You're going to get yourself killed one of these days."
"Mulder," Scully repeated, "where is he? I need to talk to him." She once again tried to sit up.
"Calm down, Scully," he said, "Take it easy."
"Where is he sir?" she asked again, "I need to see him right away."
"He's not here, Scully," Skinner told her, "I think something is wrong. He wasn't at the house when the police got there, and I know he wouldn't have left you."
"They've taken him," she said, realization dawning like the flick of a switch, "They need him."
"Who needs him for what?" Skinner asked, "What's going on?"
"Sir," she replied, "I need to get out of here. They've taken him, and I know where they're going."
2 Gemini Ln. Bethseda, MD 7:28 A.M.
"Ah, he's waking up."
Mulder forced his eyes open, straining hard against the dull throbbing above his nose and below his forehead. At first, he thought that his eyes were still closed, the darkness was so strong all around him. Soon, however, he began to realize that the darkness wasn't in his head, but in the room. As he struggled to sit up, he felt a sudden burst of pain in the back of his head. He tried to reach back to feel out the cause, but he soon discovered that his arms were bound behind his back. Nevertheless, without even placing a hand on his head, he was fairly sure that a long gash was now residing there.
"Uh, uh, uh," he heard one of the Eves say, her breath hot and sticky on the back of his neck, "Now that's not a very good idea." She kicked him in the stomach so that the lack of air forced him to roll on his back, struggling for breath. She straddled herself on his waist and folded her arms over his chest, resting her chin on her hands. "You wouldn't want to go hurting yourself, now, Agent Mulder," she continued, "You could strain a muscle or dislocate your shoulder. And we wouldn't want that. We need you nice and healthy for tonight's little adventure."
"Going on a treasure hunt, are we?" Mulder asked slowly between gasps of breath.
"Precisely," said the other Eve. Her voice originated from somewhere behind him. His eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the darkness and for the first time, he was able to make out the dark curtains that were covering the tinted windows of the warehouse. "We will be going on a treasure hunt tonight, Agent Mulder, and you will be the map, our guide to the greatest treasure in the world."
"You want me to help you find a way to deflower Britney Spears? If I had known how to do that, believe you me, it would have been done a long time ago."
"Funny," the first Eve said, sitting up roughly. She made sure to give Mulder one last hard shove in the gut before she stood. "No, Agent Mulder. You're going to help us acquire a certain little disk whose contents hold the greatest weapon imaginable: information."
"Information," Mulder chuckled softly to himself as he repeated the word, "Oh, I see. You're going to use me to, what? Help you uncover the government's dirty little secrets? Well, here's a little information that I can give you, free of charge. There are some secrets that I don't have access to. And you know what? Those are usually the secrets that you want to get."
"Oh, but you have access to these secrets, Agent Mulder," the second Eve said, "or rather, we have access to these secrets, with a little help from your FBI badge."
"It seems the good doctors Lamniture and Sutherman were having second thoughts about providing us with the results of their research," Eve 10 informed him, "even after the tidy sum that our father, Dr. Veckman, had the government pay in order to facilitate their cooperation."
Mulder glanced up at Veckman. "You got the government to fund the genetic research of two scientists whose information you were going to use to turn traitor and improve the health of these clones whose lives they helped create?"
Veckman nodded and shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm impressed."
"Imagine our surprise when the traitors double- crossed us," Eve 10 continued, "and went to the government. They gave them everything they had, everything they found, all of it. Years of research, wasted." An angry gleam flashed across her eyes. "That is, it would have been wasted, stored away in a government facility. Until tonight. And that's where you come in."
"Assuming I could even get in," Mulder said, "why would I ever help you?"
"Didn't we tell you, Agent Mulder?" Eve 9 asked.
"This disk is very special," Eve 10 said, "It contains all sorts of information, all the work that Lamniture and Sutherman did throughout their lives. Cures for multiple diseases, AIDS, cancer."
"And this interests me how?" Mulder asked.
"It also has information regarding human experimentation and attempted alien hybridization," Eve 10 replied acidly, "If in the right hands, it could aid in the creation of a vaccine, a vaccine against the very virus I believe that you, yourself, were exposed to three years ago, the same virus that nearly transformed your partner into an alien incubator last year."
"And your hands are the right ones? Why would I ever help you, especially after what you did to Scully?"
"Agent Scully is currently resting comfortably in a hospital bed," Veckman responded, "but she might not be comfortable for long. Do you know how often terrible accidents occur in hospitals? How often an excess dosage of morphine is administered accidentally? It's so easy you know, as a doctor, to just slip it right into the I.V.."
"Are you threatening her?" Mulder asked.
"Yes, I am," Veckman replied, "And I'm threatening you, too. If you do not help us, Agent Scully will die. And then so will you." He turned on his heels and walked quickly from the room.
Eve 9 bent down and gave Mulder a peck on the cheek as she followed Veckman and Eve 10 out of the warehouse, leaving him alone, in the dark, to contemplate his decision.
"Thirty-six gigs, five-thousand megs RAM. This baby is state of the art!"
Langly's nostrils flared excitedly as he turned the pc over and over in his hands. His blue eyes doubled in size behind his large, black, square frames.
"You can tell that just by looking?" Mulder asked, pulling off his soggy jacket and throwing it haphazardly onto a side table stacked with old editions of 'The Lone Gunmen.'
"Of course," he replied, plugging the computer into an already overloaded surge protector and booting it up, "I get a weekly subscription to 'Hardware Now'. It has all the latest, up-to-date innovations in the computing world. Oh, yeah. Listen to that baby purr."
Frohike turned his attention from the box filled with the cds that Mulder had dumped in his lap to his blond-headed friend. "Man, you've really got to get laid."
Langly took his hands off the keyboard only long enough to give Frohike the finger, to which Byers announced his disapproval.
Mulder placed his hands on the top of Langly's fold-out chair and leaned over him. "C'mon, now," he admonished them, "play nice. I need you to tell me everything you can about this system's hard drive."
"What specifically are you looking for, Mulder?" Byers asked.
"There were some files on this computer that were transferred to a cd," Mulder explained, gesturing towards the collection now in Frohike's possession, "Scully looked for them at the crime scene, but she thinks that they were deleted."
"Ah, the luscious Agent Scully," Frohike interrupted, licking his lips ever-so-subtly, "And where is our little crimson vixen now?"
"I took her home, Frohike. It's been a long day."
"Put her to bed, did you?" he asked, arching his eyebrows.
Mulder turned to him and threw him an angry glare. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"C'mon, Mulder," he said, drawing out each word slowly with staccato-like precision, "you can tell us. We're your friends. I mean, you expect us to believe that after seven years together there's never been any."
"Any what?" Mulder hissed through his teeth.
"Any desire to take separate cars," Byers finished, throwing Frohike a warning glare, "I mean, separate cars would certainly cut down on all that in between time, leave you more time for investigation and all of that." He laughed nervously.
Mulder was about to explain how they did, in fact, take separate cars and then went back to the Bureau to reevaluate the case, and how the long hours of research had made Scully so tired that she didn't feel comfortable being on the road, so there was no other recourse except to drive her home, but he decided that that was all unnecessary information. Instead, he asked Langly about the possibilities of finding the deleted files.
"Normally it'd be easier than Jenna Jameson on a hot summer day. These systems usually hide backup files away in the DOS dat construct."
"Usually?" Mulder asked, evidently becoming increasingly irritated.
"Sorry, man," Langly said, shrugging his spindly shoulders, "No dice. The entire operating system has been completely worked over. Somebody didn't want you to see something you shouldn't be seeing."
"Damn it!" Mulder said, slamming his fists down on Langly's chair.
"Ow, man!" he cried, somewhat offended, "That hurt!"
"Langly," Mulder continued, "I need to know where the Eves are heading. They've already killed twice since their escape. Who knows what they're capable of next? We need to find them before they disappear. I mean, they could turn up ten years from now and assassinate the next Martin Luther King. Who the hell knows?"
"I do," Frohike answered.
"What?"
"I know where they're heading," Frohike repeated, "Pennsylvania."
"How the hell do you know that?" Langly demanded.
"Yeah, Frohike," Byers added, shooting his friend a quizzical look, "I didn't see anything out of the ordinary when Langly scanned the hard drive."
"You know the funny thing about computer geeks, Mulder?" he asked, turning to face the lanky agent.
"What's that?"
"All the hacking skills of the great Thinker himself won't get you shit in the pot if you don't know how to read." He held up the back of one of the cd cases for everyone to see.
Mulder took it in his hands and read the sticker aloud: "If found, please return to."
Dr. Lamniture Residence 198 David's Crossing Lansing, PA December 20, 1999 8:42 P.M.
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks."
Mulder clicked off his cell and stored it in his pocket.
"The boys said that Lamniture is an associate of Veckman's," he told Scully, who had just returned from circling the house, "apparently some kind of prodigy in the field of genetics. According to the records that the guys hacked, Lamniture got paid to do some sort of consultation for Veckman." He glanced up at her, his hazel eyes unusually dark and pensive, "Two guesses what the topic of conversation centered around."
She put her hands to her hips, her professional, yet feminine suit conforming tightly to her more shapely curves. "You think he's connected to the Litchfield Experiments?" she asked.
"Let's just say that I find it to be quite a coincidence that the good doctor receives a hefty government pension each year though he's a little lacking in military service."
Scully raised her eyebrows and then turned her attention to the sweeping three-story mansion behind her.
"He hides it well," she scoffed under her breath, and turned back to face Mulder, "So what's the plan?"
"The plan is we go in there and get him out before Eves 9 and 10 get to him first." Mulder pulled the gun from his hip and advanced toward the front door. Scully followed suit. As they neared the front porch, the sound of a loud thud greeted them. Scully glanced at Mulder, who nodded his head in response, motioning for her to take the back. He watched as her red head bobbed out of sight, then steadied himself as he prepared to enter the darkened house. With his right hand on his Glock, he tried the knob with his left hand, which, to his surprise, was unlocked. He traversed the threshold with the caution of a seasoned officer. He entered the main hall and noted the pair of swirling staircases on either side, flanked by numerous golden ornaments. The beautiful wooden floor was carpeted only by a single, elaborate Oriental rug, and a large mirror at the summit of the steps reflected the silvery moonlight.
Mulder checked the foyer and the adjoining rooms. Seeing no one, he backtracked and advanced up one of the two marble staircases. The steps emptied into a lavishly-decorated hall which contained at least ten doors on either side. Mulder continued down the hall, not stopping to check any of the doors, and finally found himself facing a set of great oaken double doors. Pulling the doors wide, he entered a magnificent solarium, complete with makeshift pools and flourishing foliage. The great glass walls that contained the room were so spotless that Mulder felt sure he could see for miles in every direction.
He was glancing at the goldfish swimming carelessly in an ornate pond when a sudden blur of black caught his eye. Someone was watching him. Moving quickly down the center row, Mulder advanced towards the place where he had seen the person standing. No one was there. He stood still for a minute, deciding exactly which path to take. As he was about to advance, the sound of a bullet echoed throughout the house.
"Scully!" Mulder whispered out loud. He retraced his steps, back by the pool, out through the oak doors, and down through the hall. As he ran, he could see the rough outline of someone standing by the stairs, hands leaning calmly on the banister. His first thought was that it was Scully, but as he progressed, he could see this person was a little taller and a little lankier than his partner. As he neared, the person came into focus. Her black hair was untidy and her clothes, rumpled. She turned around to face him. The light reflected off the mirror and illuminated her eyes, giving them an eerie, psychotic quality.
"Don't move," Mulder cautioned, aiming his gun directly at her forehead, "You may be a superhuman, but even you can't dodge a bullet."
For a second, Eve's face appeared serene, even unaware that a gun was pointed at her head. Then, slowly, the thinnest of smiles began to curl upon her lips. She chuckled softly to herself, her eyes askance, skipping this way and that.
"What's so God-damned funny?" he asked, his head shaking with rage.
"It's just that," she replied, halting her response every now and again between bursts of laughter, "I was just thinking the same thing about you."
"Yeah," Mulder said, "well I guess it takes one to know one." He grabbed for his cuffs. "Put your hands behind your head and turn around slowly."
Eve didn't move. Her face still bore the toothy smile.
"I said put your hands behind your head."
As she shook her head 'no,' she pointed a long, bony finger to the wooden floor. His eyes were drawn to the moonlit shadows. Where there had been two previously, a third was now situated. From the corner of his eye, he could see the glint of steel reflected in the mirror.
"Don't move, Agent Mulder," he heard the same cold voice speak from behind him as he felt the circular metal dig uncomfortably into his back.
Mulder snarled his lip as his brilliant eyes flashed in disgust. He mentally kicked himself for being so careless as he slowly raised his hands, gun and all, towards the heavens. Eve 9 giggled girlishly as she stepped forward from the banister and grabbed the government-issued Glock directly from Mulder's right hand.
"Where's Dr. Lamniture?" he asked precariously, stalling for time as he quickly attempted to formulate a plan.
"I don't think it very prudent for you to be asking the questions right now, Agent Mulder," Eve 10 informed him, as she maliciously jabbed the gun into his back.
"No, no," Eve 9 interjected, stepping back from Mulder with his own weapon pointed against him, "not prudent at all. Especially with two guns pointed directly at you." Her yellowed teeth glistened in the moonlight as she smirked at her sister-in-arms. "I mean, we are homicidal maniacs, after all. Isn't that right, Agent Mulder? Isn't that the psychological profile that you keep in your government records?"
"Well," Mulder replied, "you know what they say. If the strait-jacket fits."
"Very funny," Eve 10 said dryly, giving his spine another jab.
"Move," Eve 9 ordered, motioning down the steps with the gun.
They descended the stairs one by one, an unholy procession lit, not by the luminescence of some sanctified candle but by the sepulchral gleam of the silvery moon. By the time they reached the base, Mulder could see that there was someone else standing in the shadows. As he approached, he could see the face illuminated by the light of the moon.
"Good evening, Agent Mulder," Dr. Veckman said, "so nice to see you again."
"It's a pity that I can't say the same," Mulder responded, his face curling up in distaste, "Where's Lamniture, Veckman?"
Veckman removed the black gloves from his hands and placed them neatly in his jacket pockets. As the pockets ruffled with his movement, a small red smear became visible to the left of his tie. "I'm afraid he's indisposed at the moment," Veckman said sneeringly, "It was quite tragic. Slashed his wrists. But he did leave a note. Something about not being able to take the pressure. His professional life was destroying his marriage. Terrible, really."
"Slashed?" Mulder said softly, as he processed the fact that he had heard gunshots only moments before.
"That's right, Agent Mulder," Veckman replied, nodding his head as a sinister grin appeared on his face, "I do hope that you're not under the misapprehension that that pretty little partner of yours is going to be of any help. I wouldn't want to instill you with any false hope."
Mulder lunged at him, his anger overriding the comprehension that two guns were pointed directly at him. Mulder had just grabbed the collar of his shirt when he felt four strong arms grab him from behind. He attempted to shake himself from their grasp, but it was to no avail.
"If anything happened to her," he screamed, "I will kill you, you God-damned son of a bitch!"
Veckman smoothed his shirt and straightened his jacket.
"Is that a threat, Agent Mulder?" he asked calmly.
"That's a promise, you motherfucking piece of shit."
"You better take a rest Agent Mulder," Veckman announced unexpectedly, readjusting his tie and giving a nod to the girls, "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
Mulder saw red as he felt something hard and painful come down upon the top of his head. Then there was nothing but the smile on Veckman's lips and the suffocating screen of darkness.
Thomas Jefferson University Hospital Philadelphia, PA December 21, 1999 4:52 A.M.
Skinner gave the double doors leading to the emergency room a healthy push and strode quickly towards the front desk. His long, black coat was trailing in midair behind him as he pulled his identification wallet from his front pocket. He held it up to the pudgy, red-headed receptionist's eyelevel, saying aloud as she read, "Assistant Director Skinner, FBI. One of my agents was brought in here late last night."
"Ah, yes," she replied, giving him her best winning smile, "Ms. Scolly, isn't it?"
"It's Scully," he replied, ignoring her attempts at unwelcome seduction, "Special Agent Dana Scully. Could you please show me to her room?"
"Of course," the receptionist replied, flashing another great grin, "right away. Consider me at your disposal."
"Disposal being the operative word," Skinner muttered to himself, as he followed her penguin- like waddle down a long corridor and into the Intensive Care unit. When they finally arrived, she stopped and turned to face him.
"She only got out of surgery a few hours ago, the poor dear. She might still be a little groggy."
Skinner glanced through the small, wired window at the burst of fiery hair emanating from beneath the white sheets. Then, he turned back towards the receptionist.
"Don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything," she said, and with that, she proceeded back towards the main floor. Skinner took one last long look through the door, then turned the knob and walked in.
"Scully?" he asked, coming to a halt directly beside her, "Scully, can you hear me?" She stirred a little, but did not respond.
"Scully," he tried again, placing her hand in his, "can you hear me? I need you to wake up. I need your help." Scully's tiny framed stirred again, but this time, her eyes flashed open, too, slowly, groggily, at first, but then steady against the brightness of the room.
"Sir?" she asked. Her voice sounded confused, distant, and very, very tired. She tried to raise herself into a seated position, but let out a moan of pain as her right hand cradled the left of her stomach.
"No, don't try to sit up," Skinner cautioned, stopping her movement and placing her softly back on the bed.
"What happened?" she asked, feeling through the thin hospital gown to the stitched gash below.
"The officer who called the Bureau said that you were found shot in the home of murdered physician. Apparently, the neighbors reported hearing several gunshots last night, and they called the police, lucky for you." He gave her a stern, paternal look of mixed concern and aggravation. "When are you and Mulder going to start being more careful? You're going to get yourself killed one of these days."
"Mulder," Scully repeated, "where is he? I need to talk to him." She once again tried to sit up.
"Calm down, Scully," he said, "Take it easy."
"Where is he sir?" she asked again, "I need to see him right away."
"He's not here, Scully," Skinner told her, "I think something is wrong. He wasn't at the house when the police got there, and I know he wouldn't have left you."
"They've taken him," she said, realization dawning like the flick of a switch, "They need him."
"Who needs him for what?" Skinner asked, "What's going on?"
"Sir," she replied, "I need to get out of here. They've taken him, and I know where they're going."
2 Gemini Ln. Bethseda, MD 7:28 A.M.
"Ah, he's waking up."
Mulder forced his eyes open, straining hard against the dull throbbing above his nose and below his forehead. At first, he thought that his eyes were still closed, the darkness was so strong all around him. Soon, however, he began to realize that the darkness wasn't in his head, but in the room. As he struggled to sit up, he felt a sudden burst of pain in the back of his head. He tried to reach back to feel out the cause, but he soon discovered that his arms were bound behind his back. Nevertheless, without even placing a hand on his head, he was fairly sure that a long gash was now residing there.
"Uh, uh, uh," he heard one of the Eves say, her breath hot and sticky on the back of his neck, "Now that's not a very good idea." She kicked him in the stomach so that the lack of air forced him to roll on his back, struggling for breath. She straddled herself on his waist and folded her arms over his chest, resting her chin on her hands. "You wouldn't want to go hurting yourself, now, Agent Mulder," she continued, "You could strain a muscle or dislocate your shoulder. And we wouldn't want that. We need you nice and healthy for tonight's little adventure."
"Going on a treasure hunt, are we?" Mulder asked slowly between gasps of breath.
"Precisely," said the other Eve. Her voice originated from somewhere behind him. His eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the darkness and for the first time, he was able to make out the dark curtains that were covering the tinted windows of the warehouse. "We will be going on a treasure hunt tonight, Agent Mulder, and you will be the map, our guide to the greatest treasure in the world."
"You want me to help you find a way to deflower Britney Spears? If I had known how to do that, believe you me, it would have been done a long time ago."
"Funny," the first Eve said, sitting up roughly. She made sure to give Mulder one last hard shove in the gut before she stood. "No, Agent Mulder. You're going to help us acquire a certain little disk whose contents hold the greatest weapon imaginable: information."
"Information," Mulder chuckled softly to himself as he repeated the word, "Oh, I see. You're going to use me to, what? Help you uncover the government's dirty little secrets? Well, here's a little information that I can give you, free of charge. There are some secrets that I don't have access to. And you know what? Those are usually the secrets that you want to get."
"Oh, but you have access to these secrets, Agent Mulder," the second Eve said, "or rather, we have access to these secrets, with a little help from your FBI badge."
"It seems the good doctors Lamniture and Sutherman were having second thoughts about providing us with the results of their research," Eve 10 informed him, "even after the tidy sum that our father, Dr. Veckman, had the government pay in order to facilitate their cooperation."
Mulder glanced up at Veckman. "You got the government to fund the genetic research of two scientists whose information you were going to use to turn traitor and improve the health of these clones whose lives they helped create?"
Veckman nodded and shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm impressed."
"Imagine our surprise when the traitors double- crossed us," Eve 10 continued, "and went to the government. They gave them everything they had, everything they found, all of it. Years of research, wasted." An angry gleam flashed across her eyes. "That is, it would have been wasted, stored away in a government facility. Until tonight. And that's where you come in."
"Assuming I could even get in," Mulder said, "why would I ever help you?"
"Didn't we tell you, Agent Mulder?" Eve 9 asked.
"This disk is very special," Eve 10 said, "It contains all sorts of information, all the work that Lamniture and Sutherman did throughout their lives. Cures for multiple diseases, AIDS, cancer."
"And this interests me how?" Mulder asked.
"It also has information regarding human experimentation and attempted alien hybridization," Eve 10 replied acidly, "If in the right hands, it could aid in the creation of a vaccine, a vaccine against the very virus I believe that you, yourself, were exposed to three years ago, the same virus that nearly transformed your partner into an alien incubator last year."
"And your hands are the right ones? Why would I ever help you, especially after what you did to Scully?"
"Agent Scully is currently resting comfortably in a hospital bed," Veckman responded, "but she might not be comfortable for long. Do you know how often terrible accidents occur in hospitals? How often an excess dosage of morphine is administered accidentally? It's so easy you know, as a doctor, to just slip it right into the I.V.."
"Are you threatening her?" Mulder asked.
"Yes, I am," Veckman replied, "And I'm threatening you, too. If you do not help us, Agent Scully will die. And then so will you." He turned on his heels and walked quickly from the room.
Eve 9 bent down and gave Mulder a peck on the cheek as she followed Veckman and Eve 10 out of the warehouse, leaving him alone, in the dark, to contemplate his decision.