Chapter 5: Questions
107 Marilyn Drive
May 5th
11:30am
Casey shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable. The basement was lit by a single window, which, hidden behind the rose bush outside, did not let in much light. He coughed, choking on the rank smell of cigarette smoke that permeated the room. He stretched his legs out in front of him and reached up to rub his scalp. He blew out his cheeks, leaned forward, and twiddled his thumbs. His foot made a tap-tap against the wooden floor.
"Will you stop fidgeting?" the Cigarette-Smoking-Man complained irritably from across the room. He lit another cigarette, his eyes never leaving the computer screen.
Casey sighed impatiently. "Why do you want to watch them?" he asked for the hundredth time. "What's so interesting about them talking about babies?"
"To make sure Mulder settles in," the Smoking Man answered, also for the hundredth time.
"Well, isn't that pretty obvious? What else do you need to see? Jesus. For twelve hours, we've been here. Twelve hours! I have a job, Uncle, a little something you might not be acquainted with. You know, a j-o-b—"
"Shut up!" the Smoking Man said sharply.
Casey swallowed his words. He rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes.
"I get the feeling you're not telling me something here," he said after a minute.
The Smoking Man raised his eyebrows.
Casey continued. "I mean, why go to all of this, all this trouble, the setup with the Wolfenstein game and the meeting at the ballpark, the lesson on how to speak evilly, just to get Mulder to reunite with Sammi? Why not just tell him, like normal people?"
The Smoking Man blew smoke into the air, taking another puff before he answered. "Some things are not for you to know," he said gravely.
Casey barked a short laugh. "Like what? What's the big deal? Is there a conspiracy here, a scheme? Something that you know I wouldn't want to be a part of?"
"Don't push it, Casey," the Cigarette-Smoking-Man replied, a note of impending doom creeping into his voice.
Casey stood up abruptly and stomped to the stairs. "Damn it, Uncle, I get it. You're the ominous guy. Good for you. I'm going home." His shoes clomped loudly on the stairs.
"So he'll betray me," the Smoking Man said to the computer screen. "Another dead seed. I will do without him."
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
May 5th
1:01pm
Scully was beside herself with worry. She stood in the middle of the cluttered office, turning in circles. Mulder hadn't called since yesterday morning. He wasn't home, his cell was turned off, and his car was gone.
"What the hell is going on?" she said out loud. "Where the hell are you?"
Skinner had been pissed, but not especially surprised, when she had shown up at the meeting without Mulder. He had handed her a case about some crackpot who decided that he could enter the fourth dimension. Ha. The fourth dimension, she had thought to herself when she read the file. Her biggest worry then was how to convince Mulder not to believe the guy and drag her across half the country looking for the "door."
But now, Mulder was gone. Left without telling her where.
"Jesus, Mulder," she said. "You've got to quit ditching me."
She turned in a circle one last time, then grabbed her jacket and headed out the door. She would go talk to Skinner. If he won't help, then she would go see the Lone Gunmen.
Skinner's office
May 5th
1:08pm
Scully hurried into the outer office, bumping into two male agents on the way in. They leered at her as they left. She rolled her eyes.
"Agent Scully," the secretary said. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, uh, I need to speak with the assistant director."
"Sure. Let me tell him."
Moments later, Scully was in Skinner's office, talking a mile a minute.
"…He called me yesterday and said he had to be somewhere, that he'd call me back. But he hasn't. He's not home, his car's gone, I can't reach him, I'm not going on the case by myself, and God knows what he's gotten himself into this time." Scully paused, out of breath.
"Agent Scully, I'm sure Agent Mulder is fine. Just because he hasn't contacted you in a day doesn't mean that he's in trouble," Skinner reasoned.
"But what if he is? What if he's lying somewhere hurt, waiting for somebody to find him?" Scully protested.
Skinner sighed. "Well, was he upset when he called you?"
Scully looked at the floor, a little embarrassed. "I was too angry to notice," she said quietly.
"Look, Scully, I'm sure he's fine. Just give it a day or two, and he'll just saunter in the door like he'd never been gone. Don't stress yourself out when nothing's wrong."
Scully threw her hands up in frustration. "Well, in a another day, we might be too late. And with all due respect sir, I think you're wrong. I'm going to go find him." With that, she spun around and left the office, slamming the door behind her.
Lone Gunmen Residence
1:42pm
"Aaaaah!" Langly exclaimed. His nose was about an inch from the laptop screen. "Unbelievable!!!"
"What?" Frohike groaned from the kitchenette. He was making scrambled eggs.
"My city!! Unbelievable! Ten hours, people, ten hours! And it just collapsed 'cause I forgot to replace the faulty wire in the power plant. Damn it!"
Byers rolled his eyes. "Jeez, Langly, it's just a game. You can always start over."
"No, you don't understand. This is Starcraft. The name 'Lord Manhammer' will be ridiculed for the rest of my life!"
"It's already ridiculed," Frohike said, digging in the fridge for some hamburger.
Before Langly could retort, the door buzzed. Frohike hurried to the door and saw Scully standing outside anxiously. He unlocked the door and let her in.
"To what do we owe this pleasure, Agent Scully?" Byers asked courteously.
"Mulder's gone," Scully said.
Langly looked away from the laptop. "What do you mean, Mulder's gone?"
"Just that. Gone. He called me yesterday to say that something came up, and now I can't find him."
Frohike stepped forward and looked up at her. "Scully, he probably went frolicking with some chick. He'll be back. Want some eggs?"
Scully whirled on him. "Frolicking? Mulder would call to tell me that he's gone frolicking?"
"Okay, maybe not frolicking."
"Look, guys, do you know where he might have gone or don't you?" she asked.
Byers fidgeted. Langly bit his lip. Frohike looked away.
"What?"
"Well, uh, Saturday night he was over here, and, uh, there was an instant message…" Byers said finally.
"Instant message? Can you find it?"
"Yeah," Langly said, glad to have something to do. "Here," he gestured after a moment.
Scully hurried over and squinted at the laptop. Her brow knitted in a frown. "Do you know who this is from?"
"LeFleur," Frohike said. Scully cocked an eyebrow. "It's a screen name from Wolfenstein," he explained.
"LeFleur, LeFleur," Scully mumbled to herself. "That's a name."
"Yeah," Byers said. "French. 'The Flower'."
"No, no, it's a Cajun surname…LeFleur…I want you to do a search on all the LeFleurs in the D.C. area, okay?"
"I'm on it," Langly said. He began pounding at the keyboard. A second later, he sat back. "Got it. Only two."
"Dominique LeFleur Whitfield," Scully read from the screen. "Disappeared in 1973 and was never found. Dead husband. One son. A Casey Whitfield…1973…that's the year Mulder's sister was abducted."
"You think there's a connection?" Byers asked.
"I don't know, but I'm going to go talk to him, in case he knows something…Get me his background, will you?" Scully said.
"No problem."
311 Green Oak Lane
Brenda, Maryland
May 5th
2:39pm
Scully stood in the shade of a green oak, waiting for someone to answer the door. It wasn't like her to chase down such an insubstantial clue, but when Mulder was concerned, she would do anything. She peered around the trees and the bushes, looking for signs of life. A gold Camry sat in the driveway, and a lawn mower teetered precariously on top of the garden hose. She stepped over to the front window and looked inside.
"Wow. Wonder who cleans?" Scully murmured. The interior was spotless—it could be on the cover of Good Housekeeping.
The door opened. "Yes?"
Scully turned and saw a tall, handsome man, dressed in jeans and a muscle shirt. He looked about 35. "Casey Whitfield?"
"Yes?" Casey said, struggling to look nonchalant. How did she find me?
"Hi," Scully said, smiling. "Um, I'm looking for Fox Mulder?"
Casey's heart did a flip. His uncle will bury him alive if he found out that he had screwed up. "Uh, I don't know a Fox Mulder," he said.
Scully wasn't fooled. She had seen the flicker of fear in the man's eyes. "Well, okay. Thanks for your time." She reached out and shook Casey's hand.
"Who are you?" Casey asked, attempting to sound genuinely interested.
"Dana Scully. I'm with the FBI."
"FBI? Oh. Um, I work for the radio station," Casey fumbled for words, trying to salvage some information.
Scully nodded. "I know."
"Okay. Um…"
Scully resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She reached inside her coat pocket and produced a business card. She handed it to him. "If you hear anything, please feel free to call."
"Okay."
Scully got back in her car and drove down the block. She made a U-turn and parked on the side of the street, keeping Casey's house in sight. She settled in to wait. The man knew something. Something about Mulder and where he had gone.
9:45pm
Casey stepped out into the night, his heart pounding. He wasn't sure he could act cool with his uncle when he knew he'd messed up. Damn it, he thought. Damn it. He got in his Camry, backed out of the driveway, and drove down the street toward Fox Chase. He did not notice the blue Nissan start up behind him.
Scully was tired, bored, and hungry. For eight hours she had waited in the car. Finally, a little before ten, she saw Casey come out of the house and drive off. She followed him, her lights off, making sure that she kept a safe distance. The Camry threaded through the quiet residential streets, running all the stop signs, going twice the speed limit. Ten minutes later, it parked on the curb in front of a dark house. Scully stopped around the corner, watching. Casey get out of the car and unlock the front door. He looked over his shoulder at the house across the street.
When the door clicked shut, Scully left the car and crept up the street to the house. The front door was locked, as were the windows and the gate into the backyard. She took out a flashlight and searched around the front, pausing at one point to stare at the house across the street. A light was on on the second floor, filtering through the thin curtains. She saw two shadows—two bodies—entwined together. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the silent house.
She was on the verge of giving up when she noticed a faint glow coming from behind the rose bush. Ignoring the thorns, she pushed against the bush until she saw the tiny window of the basement. Carefully, she put her forehead against the dirty glass and peered inside. Two people were arguing in the dark room, the light from a computer reflecting off their faces. Her breath caught in her throat when she recognized the second man.
"C.G.B. Spender."
107 Marilyn Drive
May 5th
10:12pm
The Cigarette-Smoking-Man looked startled when Casey came into the basement. His surprise turned quickly into hostility.
"Why did you come?" he rasped.
"Thought you might like some company," Casey answered, a little over-enthusiastic.
The Smoking Man, too, saw through the façade. His lips curled into a small smile. "Is there something you would like to tell me?"
Casey squirmed under his uncle's gaze. "Uh, no. Unless you'd like to hear about what happened today on The Bold and the Beautiful."
The Smoking Man gave a mirthless chuckle. He returned to his endless surveillance.
Mulder moaned loudly from the computer. Casey took one look and blushed furiously.
"Why are you watching them have sex?" he asked angrily, trying to cover his embarrassment. "Is this how you get 'laid'?"
"All humans are capable of betrayal," The Smoking Man said without turning around.
"It's a violation of Constitutional rights!"
"Sue me."
Casey fell silent. As far as he knew, his uncle had the entire system wrapped around his little finger. The drone of the computer monitor filled the room.
"We could go to jail for this," Casey said, uncomfortable in the silence.
"Not if no one finds out," the Smoking Man said slyly.
"Well, what if someone did?"
"They won't."
"But what if? What if the FBI found out or something?"
The Smoking Man looked at his nephew. "Now how would the FBI find out?"
"Uh…I dunno. Spies and stuff. These intelligence people have plants everywhere nowadays, you know. Maybe Diana is a plant."
"Maybe you'rea plant."
"Oh, no, Uncle, I'm not a plant. Do I look like plant material to you?"
"You don't look like much of anything."
"Uncle, come on, I would never betray you."
At that moment, the sound of a car coming up the driveway reverberated through the room. Casey turned to the window in surprise and listened intently as the engine shut off and footsteps thudded to the door.
"I…I—ubb" he gulped.
The Smoking Man's eyes glittered in the darkness. "Are you sure?"
Scully heard the car coming down the street. She crouched instinctively behind the bush, concealing herself in the shadows. A black sedan entered the driveway. A tall, well-dressed man stepped out of the car, his white hair iridescent in the night. Surely and confidently, the man walked to the door and disappeared inside.
Scully pressed her face close to the window. A few seconds later, the man appeared in the basement. Scully gasped in surprise.
"What the hell?"
Casey was speechless. He was petrified. Scully had followed him. His uncle would know that it was him who had led her to them. He had been told to keep this a secret, to protect Mulder and Samantha. He'd failed. He was a failure—in his father's eyes, and now, in his uncle's as well.
"How is she?" a deep-throated voice sounded from the foot of the stairs.
Casey jumped. He turned around and saw a tall, wily man in his sixties, shoulders squared, every white hair in place, a look of inhuman power in his green eyes.
"Hello, Senator," the Cigarette-Smoking-Man said, standing up.
The man barely acknowledged the greeting. "Who is this?" he asked. He spoke scarcely above a whisper, yet his voice carried far into the murky corners of the basement.
"Senator?" Casey said, confused.
"Who is this?" the man repeated with a note of impatience.
"He is not a threat," the Smoking Man answered coolly.
"Senator?" Casey said again.
"His memory must be erased," the man stated without emotion.
The Smoking Man reached in his breast pocket and took out a cigarette. He circled around the chairs and stopped three feet away from the visitor.
"On the contrary," the Smoking Man said, the flame from the lighter illuminating his face. "I believe he is ready." He looked up from his cigarette and met the other man's eyes.
"Ready for what?"
Neither man answered. They held eye contact, an entire conversation occurring in that one-thousandth of a second.
"What? What the hell's going on?" Casey asked loudly.
The Smoking Man turned to his nephew. "Casey, this is Senator Roberts, chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Senator, my nephew."
Casey opened and closed his mouth. It took him a second to recover from his shock. "Uh, ah, Senator…" he managed to squeak out.
Senator Roberts shook his head almost imperceptibly at the Smoking Man, eyes questioning.
The Smoking Man nodded back, a tiny smile flitting across his face.
The senator reached out a hand. "My pleasure, Casey," he said cordially, smiling. Casey saw that the smile never reached his eyes.
"Shall we get down to business?" the Smoking Man asked.
"Take me to her," the senator said.
Scully watched them from her place outside the window. She could hear nothing of what was said, but the senator's presence aroused her curiosity even more. Even the chairman of the Intelligence Committee is involved? she thought. How high up does this go?
The three men ascended the stairs, the Smoking Man leading the way. Scully sighed when they disappeared out of sight. There was nothing else she could do here. Her mind buzzing with questions, she returned to her car and drove home.
Casey followed his uncle and the senator up the stairs, past the first floor, then the second floor, stopping at last before a door he assumed led into the attic. His uncle allowed him access to the basement and first floor only; he had never been up here, never even thought about what could be hidden in the uncharted heights of his uncle's house.
The Smoking Man unlocked the door and they stepped inside. Casey gaped at the room before him, at the gleaming counters, the humming machines, the doctors, the bed in the center of the room.
"What is this?" he whispered.
The Smoking man led them to the bedside. A woman lay there, eyes closed, her complexion pasty. Her hands were folded on top of the sheets, marred with holes where countless IV needles had delivered their poison.
Senator Roberts smiled with satisfaction. "How soon?" he asked.
"A few days, at the most," the Smoking Man answered.
"Children?"
"All in good time, Senator."
Casey struggled to take in this meaningless exchange. He stared at the woman. She looked like she was dead. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but before he could, the woman's eyes shot open.
"You," she said hoarsely, looking directly at the Smoking Man, hatred settling into her fine features. Her eyes traveled to the senator, then landed on Casey. Her gray eyes registered astonishment. She shifted her gaze back to the Smoking Man.
"You bastard! How many women have you beguiled?" she accused angrily.
The Cigarette-Smoking-Man smiled ruefully. "Now, now, Cassandra," he soothed. "Don't get all worked up. He's the last one."
"Last one! Last one of how many? How many lives have you got to ruin before you are satisfied? How many? What do you want? What do you want?" she spat, distressed.
The Smoking Man motioned to a nearby doctor. The doctor nodded acknowledgement and took a syringe from a tray. He went up to the bed and, with one fluid motion, pushed the sedative into Cassandra's shoulder. She fell silent, body relaxing, her eyes drifting shut.
Casey let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. There was something about the woman, something that compelled him to listen, to believe.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Casey asked heatedly.
The senator gave him a patronizing look and left the room.
The Cigarette-Smoking-Man beckoned for Casey to follow him. They left the attic and entered a room on the second floor. It was bare, devoid of furniture, pictures, anything to show that it was occupied.
"What? What are you doing?" Casey kept asking.
The Smoking Man went to the window and looked out across the street. "Cassandra is sick. Psychotic. Unstable. Capable of anything."
"W-what? Who is she?"
"My wife."
"Y-y-your wife? My aunt?"
"Yes."
"Well, okay. Is this what you couldn't tell me before? And what does it all have to do with Sammi and Agent Mulder?"
"Agent Mulder is Sammi's sister. He knows something about Cassandra's illness. We believe he is a part of something, a conspiracy, if you will, that seeks to test biological weapons on the American public. When we found out that Sammi is his sister, whom he'd been looking for for years, a door opened up for us. This was a way to lure him out here, to earn his trust, and eventually, to bend him to our will."
"Who's we?"
"The senator and I. His is a personal friend of mine. He owes me a few favors."
"And so you act mysteriously to…what? Arouse Agent Mulder's suspicions?"
"It is his nature. We only seek to placate him."
Casey huffed a loud breath. "Okay. Now that I know, I want no part in it."
The Smoking Man nodded. "I expected that. But with Mulder, we can hope to stop these tests. We can protect the American people, their rights, their undying devotion to this country and the Constitution. You, in turn, can be a part of something great, something noble. You can be a hero."
Casey had always dreamed of doing great things. His uncle's speech was moving, appealing to his very soul. There was no choice to make. He was in.
"Okay. Okay. What do you want me to do?"
The Smoking Man smiled. "That's my boy."
State Department
May 5th
10:30pm
Ronald Davidson lounged in the armchair, feet crossed on the coffee table before him. A bottle of whiskey sat on the table, along with a bag of tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa. He crunched on a chip absently, immersed in the gunfight on television.
The door behind him opened and closed. An awkward young man whose limbs were a bit too long stumbled to another chair and plopped down.
Davidson threw him a look of profound disgust. "What are you doing tracking mud all over the rug?"
The young man looked at his large feet. Mud caked his shoes; a trail of dirt led from the door to the chair. He shrugged self-consciously. "Sorry," he apologized meekly.
Davidson sighed. "Alright, what do you want?"
"Well, surveillance showed the smoking guy talking to his nephew," the young man said, sitting up. "Uh, Senator Roberts showed up. He's doing a hell of an acting job, that's for sure. A foreign vehicle was seen around the corner…ah, oh, yes, we finally saw a glimpse of the rumored woman. She's alive, and well, relatively speaking at least."
"Mm, thank you, Michael. There's hope for you yet," Davidson said. "Now, what of Mulder?"
"Well, so far he'd been doing nothing but roll in the hay. If I didn't know any better I'd say the smoking guy is behind it all."
"Mr. Spender is beyond suspicion," Davidson replied reproachfully.
Michael colored. "Yes sir. I know. Just a thought, that's all."
"Well, good. Good. Keep watching. Anything happens, anything at all, you let me know. Let's get this show on the road."
"Yes sir, I will." Michael shifted his long legs. "Uh, ah, sir…"
"Yeah, yeah, get out of my sight."
"Yes sir," Michael said, relieved.
Davidson listened to Michael's uneven footsteps down the hall. He grabbed another tortilla chip. "You better make your move soon, Mulder. My finger's itching to pull the trigger." On the television screen, a cowboy tumbled off his horse, clutching at empty air. Stains of crimson spread over his checkered shirt.
107 Marilyn Drive
May 5th
10:40pm
The Cigarette-Smoking-Man watched Cassandra as she slept. In a day or two, his fate will be sealed. His fate, his power, his destiny. No one, no one, will take that from him. Not Mulder, not Diana, not the government, and certainly not Scully. The gold was so close, so close; he could see it glittering in the corner of his eye. After this, he need not hide. After this, he will have more power than anyone ever dreamed of.
A/N: This one was a bit long. I hope it wasn't too tedious to read. And sorry about the delay, but the next chapters will be even slower in coming. I've remained true to my character and left my long list of summer reading till the last minute. And no, it's not procrastination—it's INCUBATION. ;-)
P.S. I have nothing against Senator Pat Roberts. He's just a convenient character for the story. So please, don't arrest me for treason or anything.