Chapter Four

The English Rose Pub, Boston, Massachusetts

April 1st, 1999, 12:10 a.m.

"That'll be $4.50, mister. Is this going to be all for you tonight?" a female bartender questioned Mulder, who was draining the remainder of his Budweiser, and he nodded.

"Yeah, I gotta get back to my hotel. Shoulda gone there first, but uh...-"

"You needed a quick one?" A somewhat familiar velvety and throaty voice came from behind him. Katherine Lloyd was just what he did not need right now; the very essence of her presence here was a temptation to stay. But maybe she had some news for him; news that was a lot easier within his current situation. And he suddenly began to dread having to go back to the hotel to face Scully.

"Something like that," Mulder finally said as he gave Lloyd a quick sizing up.

"Mind if I join you for one, then?"

"Actually, I should be going." He made a move to reach for his wallet and get up from the stool, but she delicately placed a hand onto his left shoulder. That gesture further sent goose-bumps down his skin as her hand traveled down to his arm and squeezed it gently.

"It's on me...if you'll stay." His eyes tried to read through her confusing body language, and she removed her hand so as not to make his insides squirm any longer. "I have some information for you."

"That's a relief. Here I thought you were trying to pick me up," Mulder loosened his collar and patted the stool next to him. Seconds later, she was by his side and laying a twenty on the counter.

"Gin and tonic, please." The server acknowledged the order and picked up the currency. "I was trying to reach you earlier on your cell phone."

"I forgot to charge it last night. Couldn't even finish talking to my partner on the road back from Washington."

"Is that where you were? I was wondering why only Agent Scully was present at the museum."

"Yeah--I had that thing you gave me analyzed. It turned out to be something called a blizzard. In short, since I'm not a technical person, all I understood about it was that it upsets the flow of electricity," Mulder explained.

"I find that astounding--something so small like that could cause such a disruption to knock out an entire building's power. He'll have another one, please." Lloyd tapped the counter as her drink arrived and pointed to him.

"No thanks, I've got to drive back to the hotel." He waived his hand, and she briefly covered his with her own with a shake of her head.

"Haven't you ever heard of a cab? My intentions are entirely honorable, I assure you." Lloyd released her hold on him and slipped a hand into her white trench coat pocket. "Agent Scully removed the Renoir frame from the museum to study it, and while I was with her, I found out a few things myself from my company's records."

"Yeah, how'd that go?"

"Excuse me?"

"Scully can come off a little abrasively towards other women. I'm not sure if that offended you or not, but I just wanted to apologize for her if that was the case."

"It wasn't. Anyhow, this Renoir was previously shown in New York and Chicago--at the two burgled museums. I haven't checked any of the others to see if they link back as well, but it's my theory that these paintings are being smuggled illegally between these museums."

"What gave you that impression?"

"Well, for instance, look at this policy. It was originally bought at a price of $25 million in New York one year ago. But then just before the Renoir was first stolen, the policy got mysteriously canceled. Three months later, the same painting reappeared in Chicago. But the price changed to $30 million. That policy was revoked two weeks later."

"Isn't that normal for insurance companies to jack up the price like that...especially after they've been hit?"

"Who said that my company got hit?" Mulder admitted to himself that she was correct and took a swig of his freshly opened bottle. "I plan on doing some major auditing in the next twelve hours and find out what kind of a paper trail there is to help us."

"You think there's some kind of mole in your company that's helping to switch and bait these art works while collecting on something just after they disappear to the next ring?"

"No, Agent Mulder. I think the money's collected before the merchandise disappears. I'm carrying what the books officially say; not what was clandestinely arranged. That's what the pieces of the puzzle tell me. What do you think?"

"You might be onto something," he shrugged and set the bottle back onto the counter. "But to me, that idea sounds way too contrived. Sure insurance companies are out to make a buck, that's great American capitalism for ya; but I just can't see a conspiracy in this case. I think that some thieves with some pretty damn good tricks up their sleeves and the miracles of modern technology performed the ultimate abracadabra, i.e., David Copperfield."

The corners of her mouth enveloped her glass as she drank conservatively and set her glass next to his bottle. She pulled the plastic stirrer out of the drink and gently bit down on it. "I'm usually out there reaching for the conspiracy theory--that's funny. I'm finding myself in role reversal with my partner," Mulder chuckled to himself. "She always has her feet firmly planted in the plaster while I'm chipping away at the mould."

"Ashcroft told me that you and your partner work in a specialized FBI department. Why'd you get pulled into this insurance fraud case?"

"Well, we just recently got back into our department after going through an enormous amount of scrutiny and embarrassment. And again, though it's not my tendency to be dominated and jerked around by the seat of my pants, I'm just happy to be working with a challenge, be it paranormal or not."

"Fair enough. What's a day in the life like in the...what was it that he called it...the X-files? And why would you be embarrassed?" It was nearly too much for Mulder to take--here was someone actually willing to listen to his anecdotes, wild theories, and bad puns. He was enthralled beyond belief and completely forgot about returning back to Scully.

"I was working with the Violent Crimes Unit when I came across a row of dusty and oxidized file cabinets one day, back in 1991. After talking with a former FBI agent, I came to know that the Bureau called these the 'unexplained files'." He reached into a suit coat pocket and pulled out a handful of sunflower seeds. After cracking one open and sliding his tongue inside, he dropped the shell carelessly onto the floor. "Each case has something to do with a weird or unusual event having occurred or being sighted."

"Oh, you mean like UFOs?"

"Yeah, a lot of them have to do with the appearance of extraterrestrial biological entities. Some deal with what some skeptics call local folklore. So, I bet you can now guess why the X-Files office is located in the basement and is the laughing stock of the FBI. Seed?" he offered her one and she accepted it.

"Oops, sorry," she mumbled as it dropped to the ground, and he bent over to pick up the fallen seed. While he was momentarily distracted, her fingers slipped briefly around the top of the bottle and down the neck as he regained his composure. "No, I had no idea you work in a basement. That must be kind of nice...I just got my own office away from the maze of cubicles and throng of cramped bodies. I'm absolutely thrilled."

"I don't mind having my own office, mind you. While I was a youngster in school, my teachers' comments were frequently 'does not work well with others'. It's just embarrassing to have to take an elevator down to work everyday whilst everyone else is above you." This time, Mulder dumped the seeds onto the counter and into a clean ashtray so both of them could reach.

"While I've never seen one myself, I can't say that I don't believe in the existence of aliens. But on the other hand, they might not be out there. Until I see them, then I'll definitely be a believer. I find it amazing that our government takes the time to care about them or about well...your folklore tales that you were mentioning."

"They only seem to actually care about aliens when I find out something they don't want me to know. That's what I was alluding to when I was speaking of embarrassment and scrutiny. Part of my reason for being is to know the truth about what's out there. I'm known for being persistent in that pursuit...and Agent Scully has been by my side nearly the whole time."

"Is she devoted to you or the truth?"

Mulder paused in the midst of his thoughtful chewing and this time discarded the shell onto the counter. "We've had a six year partnership so far, so I'd like to say both. It hasn't been easy, I'll admit...she's a skeptic at heart. She demands a lot of evidence to my theories, keeps me in check, and frankly, I don't think that I'd be able to function properly at work without her." He made sure to add the phrase 'at work', but knew very well that he wasn't telling Lloyd the complete truth. He quickly finished the remainder of food in his mouth and washed it down nervously with a swig of beer.

"You don't get separation anxiety, do you?"

"What, why?" Mulder suddenly felt his speech become slurred and his vision began to blur.

"You're probably not going to see her for a while. See, you did have too much to drink," she leaned in closer towards his face to whisper this and then backed away as he started to sway.

"What...what's going on?" His last words were just barely discernible as his eyes rolled back, and he keeled over his stool onto the floor face first.

"Hey, should I call an ambulance or something? He doesn't look too well," the bartender peered over the counter at Mulder. "That's odd. I've never seen a guy who's had three beers take a dive like that before."

"No. He'll be fine. I'll get him back home where he belongs. Sorry about the mess," Lloyd brushed the trash from the counter into a cupped hand and strode over to a garbage can to wipe her hands off.

The Regency Hotel, Boston, Massachusetts

April 1st, 1999 1:04 a.m.

He was only supposed to be a few more hours. Where in the hell was he?

Scully once again checked her watch and held it up to her ear to make sure it was working correctly. As soon as the mundane click of the second hand reached her ear drum, she freed it from her wrist and dumped it onto the bedside table. The room service cart was only a few feet away. She had wanted to wait for Mulder half an hour ago when it had been brought in. But he was late--too late for the rumbling in her stomach to subside.

She lifted the lid from one of the plates and revealed duckling with orange sauce and wild grained rice. It was too much for her to resist the call of hunger and besides, it was only a matter of time before this would get too cold to eat. Well, maybe he had stopped for a bite to eat on the way.

The surveillance videotapes were six hours long--she had gotten through two hours before the hunger overpowered her. As she poured herself over the table to savor the meal before her, she felt a wave of uncertainty come over herself. Did his car stall? His cell phone batteries were low, yes, but he should have tried to call her back after the fifth voicemail message she'd left him. Just to tell her that he was okay.

"Damnit, Mulder, we've been together for six years! You owe me better than this," she shook her fork at her invisible partner and then shoved it into her mouth. She barely got two mouthfuls of the dinner when suddenly, the room telephone rang. Scully quickly covered the dish back up and rushed over to the bedside to answer it. "Scully."

"Agent Scully, it's me," Skinner's baritone voice announced from the other end. "I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but Agent Mulder was supposed to check in with me five hours ago for a progress report."

"I'm sorry, sir, had I known, I would've given you a call to do so. Mulder and I were separated for the day--we've barely had any contact."

"I see. And where is Agent Mulder?"

"Uh, he's in the shower right now. I can go get him, if you'd like," Scully lied and inwardly huffed a sigh of frustration of again having to stretch the truth again for Mulder. By the pause on the line, she began to wonder if Skinner knew that she was not being truthful. Her fears were quenched when Skinner parted his lips with a smacking sound.

"Not necessary, Agent Scully. Well, since I have you on the line, you can certainly inform me of your half of the investigation."

"Well, sir, I went to the museum and took one of the frames to the Boston PD forensics. The technician informed me that it was not an original, and therefore she suspects that the painting was defaced for smuggling purposes. I think that the insurance company is in on these robberies."

"I'm intrigued. Go on, Agent."

"One of its employees is here, and she told me a bold faced lie. Of course, at the time, I had no idea about her mendacity until later."

"Was it about the painting?"

"Yes sir, the frame. And the owner gave me a disc, which I had transferred onto two surveillance tapes. I'm watching them as of now. He claims that they caught the larceny on tape. I have yet to see it, but I'm not all the way through yet."

"Was there any evidence of this suicide that occurred?"

"The trace evidence technicians informed me that there was indeed blood on the ground, but they only found it after spraying the floor with phenothylene. Someone tried to clean it up."

"Good work, Agent Scully. How's your local police department working out for you?"

"A little put out, actually. I think I'm going to start relying upon the district field office for any further assistance. The case originally was called in by Lieutenant Ashcroft here." She hesitated for a few seconds and tucked the receiver under her chin while guiding the phone over to the room service cart. "Sir, might I inquire as to the reason why this case was classified as an X-File?"

"Check in with the Boston office in the morning, Agent. I'm afraid you're going to find the same confirmations on the pictures I've faxed over to them as you will on that video."

"You've already seen the tapes?"

"Not the exact same ones that you've been watching--videos from the New York and Chicago robberies. The images are rather startling."

"In that case, sir, would you mind telling me who it is so I can save myself and Agent Mulder the trouble of wasting another four hours?"

"You won't be wasting another four hours, trust me. I'm not absolutely positive of the perpetrator's identity, but all of the images contain one common denominator: a white guidance cane.""Have the field offices even bothered to run the usual checks in the NCIC and Bureau databases?" Scully suspired and ran her fingers through her hair.

"They were too grainy--perhaps since you were able to get a disc of the event, the Boston field office might be able to pull something up. Then you can run your search."

"As you have mentioned, Agent Scully, there is quite a bit more to this robbery than meets the eye. It has an abnormal taste--one that I just don't think would be handled quite as efficiently by any other department we have currently in the FBI. Don't let anyone convince you into thinking that it was just a junk case file folder that ended up on my desk after cleaning it. Are we clear, Agent?" Skinner's voice grew a tad edgy, which told Scully that he was tired, and that she would do best to hang up and obey orders.

"Like the Caribbean blue, sir." Scully put the phone back into its cradle and glanced at the cart full of food. After turning the TV back on and rolling the cart over to the bed, she once again began her prolonged chore while eating.

Damn the fact that it's now cold. You deserve it, Dana.

Half an hour later after the meal was gone, there was nothing on the tapes. Except for a woman gawking at a bronze statue--and the camera was zooming in on her to study her exquisite features. "Figures. All that's missing is the strip tease number," she muttered and pushed fast forward on the remote. The camera then cut to another angle of her pulling out a hidden automatic gun, and Scully stopped the tape to go back and rewind. As she watched the drama unfold, she noticed a familiar figure standing in the background with a white cane.

"Wait a minute. That's right, he said he was there," Scully mused and put the tape into slow motion.

Dominic Williams stood in the doorway about ten feet away from the action. He appeared to be watching what was going on, but Scully knew that of course that was impossible. Or was it?

Williams bumped into one of the guards and was subsequently shoved into the wall just as the kidnapper threw the captive onto the floor and shot herself. After the power loss, Scully noticed the infrared sensors kick in and the cane on the ground. The next angle went to Bodniker and the other sentries as they surrounded the body to check for life. Another cut took her into the display of Impressionists' room. Scully's jaw dropped with incredulity, and she gasped as she clearly witnessed Williams stroll across the tile to one of the paintings. She instantly recognized the decorated borders to be the Renoir frame she had analyzed in the Boston police forensics department. He deftly slid a gloved right hand behind it and then repeated the same action to three other paintings.

Williams next removed from a pocket what Scully could best describe as an Exacto knife and began to delicately slice the canvas away from its corners. He next proceeded to roll up the canvas and lifted the frame slightly off of the wall. The camera image disappeared and left Scully with white noise. "I don't believe it," she covered her mouth and rewound the tape to view it again.

Minutes later after her second look at the robbery, she picked up her cell phone from the night stand and speed dialed the Boston police. "You've reached the Boston Police Department. Press 1 to report an emergency, press 2 for the switchboard operator. Para continuar en Espagnol, marque-" Scully growled at the automated menu; she did not need any further impediments for the day's frustration. "This is Special Agent Dana Scully. Is Lieutenant Ronald Ashcroft still in his office?"

"No ma'am, he's left for the day. Would you like for me to transfer you to his voicemail box?" a polite operator inquired of Scully.

"No. Can you get me someone that works in his department?"

"What do you need, Agent Scully?"

"No offense intended, I want to talk with someone with a brain."

"Well, I can put you through to his voicemail..."

"Argh...no...I'll try the goddamned FBI field office."

"I doubt they'd be open either, Miss Scully."

"Thanks for the advice," she snapped and hung up. "Welcome to the Boston FBI field office. Our hours are regularly from 8 a.m. to 7 p.m. Monday through Saturday. To report a missing person, press 1. To listen to the most wanted top ten list, press 2. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911. For further assistance, please remain on the line and our automated system will try to guide you...-"

"Good grief, no wonder we're constantly being audited. Jesus, your tax dollars at work. Yeah, hello? Is this a human being?" Scully miffed.

"Yes, ma'am. This is the FBI hotline. Are you in danger?"

"This is Special Agent Dana Scully. My badge number is-"

"Hold on, ma'am. The automated system should have taken you to a voicemail box."

"No, you hold on. A robbery with paranormal idiosyncrasies was reported to this branch and sent to D.C. I need to know who your SAC is and which agent divulged this information. I want answers, and I want them now."

"Lucas Pendleton is the SAC, Agent Scully. I unfortunately cannot get you any more answers, but I will be happy to make an appointment for you to meet him in the morning."

"Fine. Tell him I need to make an APB, too, for a Dominic Williams. I'll explain my reasons tomorrow morning at 9 with my partner. Charges are simply as follows: grand larceny."

"Yes, ma'am."