Chapter Three
Lone Gunmen Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
March 31st, 1999, 4:20 p.m.
"Ah...goddamn this thing," Frohike's eyes were glued to the computer screen as he fiddled around with the mouse on its pad.
"What's the matter?" Byers questioned him and stepped behind Frohike.
"I tell ya, it's a love/hate relationship I have with this thing. I mean, I love technology and using it as a dance partner, whirling it up and around the government's deepest and darkest secrets. But when I can't get the damn newsletter's graphic layers and text together, I just want to throw this thing out the window and into the basurero," Frohike vented.
"The what?"
"Garbage can," Langly translated and walked back over to the Foreman grill on the kitchen counter. "Burgers are almost ready, guys." A series of light raps, followed by impatient banging roused Byers' attention away from the newsletter and to undo the excessive amount of locks impeding Mulder from his destination. As Byers opened the door, Mulder just about mowed him over and sat down at their set table.
"I need to get you guys a door club," he muttered bitterly and rubbed his eyes.
"Hello to you, too, Mulder," Byers approached his friend tentatively and joined him. "What kind of government conspiracy have you brought us this time?"
"Yes, and where is the exotic but divine Agent Scully?" Frohike inquired.
"In Boston. I just drove straight from there without stopping. Sorry, boys, no government conspiracy this time. I just need to figure out what this do-hickey is." Mulder fished the electronic object out of his trench coat pocket and tossed it over to Langly. "I really don't feel like dealing with paperwork and the usual Quantico 'rush' that I have to go through, so here I am. I dig the apron, Langly." He pointed to Langly's "Sit down, shut up, and eat" stencil that covered his front.
"Hmm...never seen anything like it before," Langly confessed and turned over the hamburgers with a spatula. "Care for a burger, Mulder? I've got some extra meat."
"Actually, I am kind of hungry, now that you mention it," Mulder admitted. "Frohike, what's your take?""Be with you in a moment," Frohike held up his finger and kept his eyes on his project. "Oh shit."
"Let me have a look at it, Langly," Byers dipped his palm out for the object. "Wow. I didn't know these were out on the free market now."
"Jesus H. Christ!"
"What's up with him?" Mulder pointed to Frohike and Langley shrugged.
"We just got some new software to make our newsletter. It lets us print and distribute these all over the web," he explained. "Unfortunately, Frohike was the one that lost the last character in our RPG, and it sounds like there are a few more bugs in the program than he anticipated."
"Goddamn this bastard to hell!"
"So what is it, Byers?" Mulder asked.
"Well, I only know this because of my time with the FCC...-"
"Narc," Langly coughed and Byers gave him a nasty glare as he cleared his throat.
"But this 'do-hickey' as you call it was the very thing that caused the blackouts of 1982 in Phoenix, Arizona. I can't believe how small it's gotten, too."
"I'm all ears, Byers." Mulder interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in the chair.
"Well, I only read about these things theoretically; running into a blizzard isn't an everyday occurrence."
"Say that again?"
"It's called a blizzard. A blizzard, like its name, wipes out all and any direct and alternate current supplied to electrical components. It literally provides a break in the circuitry, and now that I see it for my own eyes, it looks like you can switch between voltages. Let me see." Byers stood and traveled over to a magnifying glass. He switched on the fluorescent light and placed the 'blizzard' just beneath it. "Mmhmm, I was right. Oh, there are several dip switches. Well...uh, where'd you get this?"
"It was attached to the back of a painting before it was stolen from a museum."
"Hmm...that gives me a little bit more to work with. You see, when the blizzards were discussed back with the FCC...-"
"Narc," Frohike grunted and buried his face back into his work before Byers could rebuke him.
"Anyway, they were about the size of your fist. From what I see here, this object could very well knock out the data lines to a surveillance system. There are 3 different types of systems used nowadays: 24, 12, and 5--all dc, of course. That's what I observe from these three dips. 24 is the most commonly used type on modern non-specialized security camera systems, like at ATMs, factories, and stores. Now since this was a museum heist, it's more likely that they have more sophisticated equipment there--maybe an infrared or gamma system. So 12 volts dc down the line is split to distinguish the separate spectrum's wavelengths, whichever they might be. 5 volts dc, well, this is only a guess, but it could be part of a fiber optic alarm measure."
"And what does that do?"
"Well, it's there just in case someone cuts the hard lines, as an extra precaution. Since I have no idea what kind of system is being used at your museum, I couldn't even begin to elucidate as to the possibilities any further. But I can tell you that for sure, the dip switch was set to 220 volts AC and 50 cycles per second. That just happens to be what they use in Europe, and therefore, no current of any sort would be able to pass through this baby in America since we use 120 and 60."
"That's very interesting, Byers. Now where does one get a blizzard? Certainly not from Dairy Queen, I hope?" Mulder joked.
"Well, I know of a few places on the Net where I could begin to look, but that'll take quite a bit of time. Time that I'm sure you can't spend here. How long is that drive, anyway?"
"Seven hours," Mulder grumbled. "Don't remind me."
"Couldn't you have flown?" Langly wondered.
"This is unofficial FBI business, Langly. What do you think Skinner would say when he looks at my expenses report and sees this trip?"
"You son of a bitch, I hate you!" Frohike shouted at the top of his lungs and slammed his fist on top of the monitor.
"Well, maybe not in those exact words..." Mulder lowered his gaze and released a wrist to glance at his watch. "Oh, listen, it's getting late, and I have a feeling that I'm going to hit rush hour traffic, so I gotta run. Sorry I didn't get to taste your cooking, Langly. Maybe some other time."
"Can we keep this, Mulder, for now?" Byers questioned him as he arose.
"As long as you promise not to break into any museums with it..." The FBI agent's eyebrows arched, and he reached into his pocket for the car keys. "Keep in touch, fellas. Let me know what you find out."
"All right, I'm about ready to take a sledgehammer to this piece of shit you call a computer, Langly," Frohike emerged off of his stool and jabbed his finger into Langly's chest.
"Frohike, I think your mouth is dirtier than a Martin Scorsese film. What would Scully think?" Mulder made a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth and shut the door behind him before Frohike could respond.
Provincetown, Rhode Island
March 31st, 1999, 8:30 p.m.
"It's never good business to keep your customers waiting more than fifteen minutes. Where in God's name can they be?" a mid-sized elderly man eyed his pocket watch and glanced upward at Dominic Williams.
"Be patient. I can hear them now," Williams answered and gestured a finger towards the door of the conference room they were sitting in.
"Yeah, and I can feel my ulcer creeping up on me any day now. If they don't walk through that door in one minute, I'm calling it off. You can cash me out," he swept his arm across the mahogany table and pocketed his watch.
"Actually, you're more concerned about your Lexus being stolen from the parking lot right now more than anything else. And remembering to take your blood pressure medicine."
"How in the hell could you possibly...-"
"Read your mind? But you don't actually believe in anything like that, Mr. Chauvret. So forget the fact that I mentioned it and worry about where your next batch of priceless works will go."
"That has yet to be settled," Chauvret returned and began to tap his pen restlessly against the table.
The three visitors entered shortly thereafter; two women filed into the room and the man let the door close behind. "Would you mind telling me why you're late, Stewart?" Chauvret charged.
" A few complications have arisen since we last spoke, Lionel," Stewart replied and sat across from him. Katherine Lloyd joined him at his side, and the other woman settled beside Williams. "The FBI was brought in on this as we planned, but I believe a few more cons will be required before we can move the paintings."
"Why's that?"
"We didn't expect any agents from Washington, let alone from a paranormal background to be assigned to the case," Lloyd elucidated. "If they're from a special department within the FBI, then that means they've both got to have IQs that go off the charts."
"Dominic, as per your suggestion, our contact has begun to undermine Agent Scully's confidence. I believe that should he be able to continue, she'll be completely discouraged enough to lose her focus," Stewart reported.
"Good. But this can only happen if another ploy takes place at the same time--to keep them separated. They have a strong partnership, and they rely on one another very much. Therefore, Katherine, if you wouldn't mind prioritizing pleasure before business, I should think that would fabricate a rift between them," Williams told her. "I'll leave you and Sarah to discuss further details regarding your surveillance."
"I hope this scheme of yours is buying time, Williams. My friends from Croatia keep asking me for a pickup window, and I'm running out of excuses," Chauvret said.
"As we speak, they're being transferred on some reliable transportation down to Jersey. Atlantic City is a low key port of call...and security is lax enough there for your Croatian friends' business," Sarah Macintosh spoke and tossed a card across the table to Chauvret. "Here's the address and dock number. I've been told
that the port agent's very fond of Johnny Walker Black Label should you run into any complications."
"Right. How much commission do I owe Chesapeake for their troubles?"
"Fifteen percent," Katherine replied.
"Fifteen! It was twelve for him. Where in God's name did you get those figures?" Chauvret motioned to Stewart, who shrugged emotionlessly.
"Lionel chose to go with a Canadian buyer."
"It costs a little bit less in fuel to go across the Great Lakes than the Atlantic Ocean, just to let you know," Stewart smirked. "You could've fronted Sanchez's shipment to L.A., you know."
"Yes, I know. How much time do we have left in Canada?"
"A week...tops," Sarah responded. "Would you be willing to front it to Vancouver?"
"The west side is generally not my territory, but where is it now?"
"Ottawa, Ontario. Dominic will be leaving in three days for that destination."
"What did Sanchez say?"
"I didn't make the offer to him. This is your opportunity here and now."
"What's the dealer's bid, and how do we know him?"
"Forty-five. He's Dominic's brother."
"Chesapeake's commission?"
"I'll have to speak with my superiors about it, but I imagine that we'll be settling around twelve point five percent," Katherine removed a stapled stack of papers from her attache case and pushed them towards Chauvret. "This is our current contract from the Boston to Atlantic City shipment. Twelve hours from now, we expect a wire transfer to take place between you and us."
"Shouldn't be a problem," Chauvret muttered and flourished a signature on each sheet. "I need time to finish up with the Croatians before I make my decision about the Vancouver venture."
And frankly, I don't trust any of you farther than I could throw you.
"We could call off our partnership if that's the case, Mr. Chauvret," Dominic stated.
"Goddamnit, you're annoying the hell out of me. Stop it."
"Stop thinking so loudly then. Ladies, shall we go back to Boston?"
"By all means," Katherine agreed. "I wouldn't want to keep Agent Mulder waiting."
Boston Police Forensics Department, Boston, Massachusetts
March 31st, 1999, 10:18 p.m.
"Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Agent Scully," a female technician stepped into the hallway where Scully had been patiently sitting. "We just kept getting backed up."
"No, no, that's fine, I understand. It's just that I wish that someone had told me...I would've gone out for a bite to eat," she mumbled her last comment and arose. "What'd you find?"
"Come into the lab with me." The woman was in her late forties and as Scully pursued her into the laboratory, she donned a pair of reading glasses onto the bridge of her nose. "This frame has been varnished several times over, which leads me to believe that this frame was not original. Do you know to which specific painting this frame occupied?"
"Uh, I don't recall this at the moment, but I believe that it was a Renoir. I was under the impression that this was a touring exhibition of paintings--that they would not risk damage to the original frameworks to which the paintings belonged."
"Who's they?"
"The insurance company--that's what an agent I've met assured me."
"That's a complete falsehood. If the transportation company alters a piece of artwork in any matter, by U.S. Custom regulations, they are subject to a substantial fine, depending on the port of entry, of course."
"Let's say you're right about this, then. Why would someone deface a painting like that?"
"My only theory at this point would be to invalidate serial or tracking numbers. You see, when artwork comes over international borders or waters, it's marked on the frame with an electronic stamp...here." The woman led Scully over to her working table and let her examine the marking on the bottom right corner joint.
"So the port of entry for this frame was Boston. Could you pull up any kind of records that might tell me where it came from?" Scully inquired and withdrew a notebook from a suit coat pocket.
"I...only got to this about half an hour ago. Local docks close at eight p.m. I'm sorry, Agent Scully. Maybe
you might be able to find the information out on their website. I'd do it myself for you if we weren't so busy. Look, I have three detectives waiting for all separate PCR results...you'll have to excuse me."
"Wait a minute. What about that disc I brought in?" Scully briefly touched the woman's arm.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I had a digital mini-disc that was a recording of the robbery, and I wanted that footage to be studied by your photography department."
"Do you remember whom you gave it to?"
"Well, not off hand..." Scully sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "In fact, I'm even wondering what the hell I did with it after I submitted this frame to you. Let me think for a minute."
"I really don't have the time, Agent Scully. I'm sure that the FBI's labs have plenty of technicians to handle all of your cases, but we're shorthanded here. Excuse me." She left in a huff while Scully started to search through her pockets.
"Damn," she muttered and the moment she palmed her cell phone, it began to ring. "Scully."
"Hey, Scully, I'm on my way back from Washington. I would've called earlier, but I had to deal with a lot of nasty traffic on I-95. I should be back in Boston in a couple of hours or so...hopefully one if I don't get pulled over," Mulder's voice filled her with an odd amount of satisfaction, as though they had been separated for months.
"And what'd our crazed three stooges find?"
"The 'gizmo' as you so aptly named it, has a far less technical term than I expected. Nonetheless, Byers seemed to know all about this blizzard."
"Blizzard? Mulder, you're not driving in the middle of a-"
"No, no, Scully. The do-hickey that Katherine gave me is called a blizzard. The best way I can explain it to you is by saying that it's an electronic current barrier."
"Mulder, there's something you should know about that woman."
"Anyway, he's checking out where it could have been purchased and/or manufactured. Have you eaten yet?"
"No, I'm starving. Mulder-"
"Good. What do you say we order room service since we're actually at a place we can do it for once and discuss the case from there?"
"I need to tell you something. It's about Katherine Lloyd from Chesapeake Bay Mutual...--"
"Scully, you're breaking up. I can't...I think my battery's dying. I'm going to have to let you go." With that, Scully turned the power off to her phone and bumped swiftly into Ashcroft on her way out of the lab.
"Nora just told me that you've got something about that frame," he grabbed her arm firmly as she attempted to pass him. "She didn't have time to explain, but she said that you could."
"Let go of me," Scully ordered him calmly and his eyes bored through hers with frustration.
"I hope you're not trying to hide something from me, Miss Scully. I should be able to know what in the blazes is going on in my own police department without having the FBI tracking mud all over me like I'm some dead animal."
"I said to let me go," the tone raised in her voice, but his grip only tightened.
"I don't like where this investigation's going, Miss Scully, and if I have to be unpleasant about my further methods of inquiry, I'll do it--be you a woman or not."
"Where is that disc?" Not an ounce of fear was crossing Scully's gait.
"I'm sorry?"
"Where is that disc? I know you've got it."
"That's likely. It's also very likely that I have someone making copies of it for you and me to watch." Her expression relaxed a bit, and he released his grip on her.
"Why take it? You could've just asked."
"Because I needed insurance for myself for something that's happening just like this."
"What do you mean?"
"This is my case, Miss Scully. You're right, I did ask for your help. But I'll be damned to Hell before I see it usurped out from underneath my ass, and I will not be made to look like a fool in front of my colleagues."
"That was not my intent at all. I merely asked for the crime lab to expedite the results, and it's a good thing that I did."
"Why?"
"Katherine Lloyd lied to us when she told us about the frame not being the original. Although I have no conclusive proof of it yet, I believe that she may be indirectly involved in these thefts."
"She's not on that disc, I know that. I think while we're waiting for those copies, I'll do a background check on her. Want a coffee or something?"
"No. No thank you. I'll come back in the morning and pick one up with Agent Mulder. I'm exhausted and I'm hungry--two very good reasons for me to be finished for the day."
"Just as you'd like. I'll have a copy waiting for you at the front desk; I'm not sure of when I'll be coming in tomorrow."
"That'll be fine, thank you." She started to head toward the door as Ashcroft's cell phone rang.
"Yes? They're done already?" He snapped his fingers at her, and she whirled around in surprise. "That's the best news I've heard all day, great. Thanks."
"What is it?" Scully raised her arm slightly and let it drop down to her side.
"Tape copies are ready. If you'll just follow me..."