Chapter Nine
FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
September 25th, 2000, 7:50 p.m.
"Agent Scully, could I have a moment?" Doggett called to her as she was in mid-stride to the elevator from Skinner's office. She stopped and waited for him to catch up with her.
"What can I do for you, Agent Doggett?" she inquired and punched the call button. He leaned one hand against the walls to support himself while the other sneaked into his pants' pocket.
"I was wondering if you'd heard from our boss. He hasn't been in all day."
"That's what I just found out."
"And what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be having the day off."
"I was, but...I needed something from the office to take to Quantico while I was thinking about it."
"So you came up here looking for it?"
"I was going to check on him. I am a doctor, you know." The lift arrived, and he pursued Scully inside. She pushed the button for the parking garage.
"I do, yes. Is there a reason why you didn't return my call?"
"Did you?"
"Yeah, I tried both your house and your mother's. She said you weren't over there. I just got concerned, that's all." Scully's eyebrows lowered and her jaw twitched to one side.
"I unplugged my phone...I needed some time to sleep, didn't I?"
"Yeah, you look a lot better, by the way. It's funny you say that, Agent Scully, because I left a message on your answering machine."
"I'm fine, really, Agent Doggett."
"What are you taking over to Quantico?"
"Just something I need analyzed. It's no big deal, which is why I came in after office hours."
"Does it have anything to do with the case we were just pulled off of?"
"What are you implying, Agent Doggett?" The elevator stopped at its destination, and Doggett again followed her as she walked briskly to her car.
"I'm just wondering if you're working on something behind my back that you shouldn't be. Maybe with Skinner, too."
"Skinner has nothing to do with this," her animosity rose.
"All right, fine. Then you be honest with me as your partner. Do you know what the ramifications are for disobeying the head of the Justice Department? Immediate dismissal, no questions asked."
"I'm not working on a case, Doggett. This is personal!"
"And you're using the FBI's resources for something personal?"
"You're one to talk to me about breaking the law in order to bring someone to justice. Am I jogging your memory when I say the words 'sealed juvenile records'!" Doggett observed the determined expression on her face as she unlocked her car.
"Wait, Agent Scully," his accusatory tone fell. "Does this have to do with Mulder? Is that what this is all about?"
"It's not your concern," was all she said as she got in.
"It is, since I still head the manhunt team to find him. Now if you've got some kind of evidence that involves him, you need to hand it over."
"Not if you still think he's a criminal."
"Agent Scully, I saw him kidnap that kid...Gibson Praise."
"What would his motivation have been?" Scully thundered.
"He knew that he was cornered, and he probably was desperate to get a way out, knowing how we deal with hostage situations. Don't make this an obstruction of justice. What've you got?"
"Nothing to incriminate him."
"I'll be the one to decide that. Come on, Agent Scully." She bit her lip and realized that he was not going to let her leave without looking at Mulder's handwriting. Scully reached into her sweater and handed him the paper that Covarrubius insisted proved Mulder's identity.
"Now can I have it back?" Doggett seemed confused as he studied the paper.
"Why were you taking it to Quantico?"
"I told you. I wanted a graphologist to look at it."
"Is it Mulder's?"
"It belongs...to a friend." He was absolutely exasperated with her evasiveness but figured that it was Mulder's and left the argument alone. "I don't have all day, Agent Doggett."
"Now hang on just a minute. I picked graphology up as a hobby back in college; I used to analyze people's handwriting all the time. As a matter of fact, that's why you can't fool me, Agent Scully. This is Mulder's. Where'd you get it?"
"In a drawer in his apartment. What's it to you?"
"I haven't seen anything there with his writing on it in the past four months except on some insurance and medical papers. You wanna tell me what this is about?"
"What were you doing in Mulder's apartment!" she hissed.
"Well, I've only been there a couple of times, and I know it's an intrusion, but I needed some leads, you know, to get him back. Now that I have this, I know that he's still alive and fairly well."
"How do you know?"
"Mulder had previously been going through a brain tumor, am I right?"
"What's your point?"
"Sickness affects a person's handwriting, especially through a disease like that ruining the human brain. But I no longer see it in this sample."
"What?"
"That's right. Wherever he is, he's perfectly healthy--at least in the head. Tell me, Agent Scully, where did you get this?"
"It was given to me. I don't know where he is." Scully reclaimed the paper and started the car.
"You might want to rethink that, Scully, especially since Mulder's guilty of murder, too."
"I keep telling you that that man you saw wasn't Mulder! Just like the man who took Gibson Praise. It may have very well been the same man, too."
"If it wasn't Mulder, then, who was it?"
"The bounty hunter. I told you that they can change themselves to appear like humans--they can make themselves into an exact copy of a live being."
"That's still incredibly difficult for me to swallow, Agent Scully. A man cannot simply just modify his appearance in two seconds without a mask. That notion sounds like a contrived, twisted plot that belongs on a Hollywood silver screen."
"The being you saw was not a human being."
"Aw, you're not gonna go into the description of what an alien looks like again, are you, Agent Scully?" She rolled her eyes and sped off.
Washington Monument, Washington, D.C.
September 25th, 2000, 9:15 p.m.
"You're late, Agent Scully," Marita Covarrubius lowered her newspaper and motioned for Scully to join her on the bench.
"I wasn't expecting to hear from you again so soon. Sorry. I had other priorities to attend to." Scully sat down reluctantly. A streetlight nearby flickered on and off, basking them in a fleeting glow.
"I know. I thought you'd rush out and get those samples analyzed before doing anything else--I have to admit that I'm impressed."
"There were complications...caused by your people, I'm sure."
"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that."
"Don't play the 'innocent blonde' act with me. I've seen it before, and it's been frequently over used...particularly during the 1980s."
"Fine, then let's talk. First of all, are you satisfied that everything given to you is genuine and authentic?"
"Yes, it appears to be bona fide."
"Good. Are you prepared for your next service?"
"Service? Is that what you people think of me? I'm a goddamned slave to you?" Scully looked above her peevishly and huffed. "That light is driving me crazy."
"Let's walk, then." Covarrubius folded up the paper, slung it under her arm, and arose with Scully. "No, you are certainly not a slave, Agent Scully. Your involvement is purely voluntary."
"Then we're done here."
"Ah, not quite. There is something more that we need of you."
"Didn't you just say that I could leave when I wanted to? That's the germane definition behind the word 'volunteer'."
"All right, then let me redefine your terms with us, Agent Scully."
"No. There won't be any redefinitions or redrawn outlines of my forced agreement with you people. I've not only had to bring your Dr. Mengele in to meet your Dr. Frankenstein, but I've also had to lie to several people that used to call me a friend, partner, and confidant."
"I've also had to make several sacrifices of my own, you know. I had to break any sort of ties with my family or previous relationships. I can't go out into the daylight openly and discuss my work with anyone. Neither can I even attend a loved one's funeral, except through a very powerful set of binoculars. I've disappeared off of the map, so to speak, and it's Hell, Scully. It may sound like a game of power and might between the men, but it kills me," Covarrubius confessed and sighed.
"And life's been a bed of roses for me at the FBI since they got involved," Scully snapped back. "Did they kill your sister? Or take away your ability to have children?"
"No, but they did expose me to the retrovirus and practically left me for dead at a military base." Covarrubius approached a wastebasket they were nearing and threw the newspaper into it. "But that was indeed while Spender had an upper hand. Now that he's dead, the ways have changed."
"How? You're still threatening the FBI officials and dangling Skinner's life like a piece of live bait to the sharks over the precipice of death. Explain to me how that's any better than how that cigarette smoking fiend ran it."
"There have been mistakes made, yes, but they are in the past now."
"I've had enough of being patronized, Marita. Say what you're meant to, and then deliver your threats swiftly afterward."
"Did I make any before? All I said was that we could get Mulder back. If you received any threats, they were certainly not from me."
Scully had had enough of this conversation. It was going around in circles; Marita was still playing the same old tune that Spender did, but only this time it was on a different instrument. It was time that she put her foot down and stepped out of this muck before it could get any worse. "Look, I've got a job and something of a life to get back to. And if you don't mind, since you keep promising it, I'd prefer if you would keep me out of your filth."
"And by all means, if you do this for us, we certainly will."
"I'd like to know how in the world you propose to get Mulder back if you're not conspiring with them anymore. I won't lift another elbow for your organization until I'm sure of it."
"Very well, then, I'll tell you. We make a simple exchange."
"Excuse me, are you deaf? Didn't I just tell you that I wasn't going to deal with you people anymore?" Scully stopped, spun around, and before she could head back in the opposite direction toward her car, Covarrubius touched her elbow.
"No, Agent Scully, listen. I'm explaining how we can get Mulder back. Our organization makes an exchange...for Mulder's life."
"I don't understand."
"I thought not. Please, come with me." She led Scully by the elbow down a path secluded from the harsh streetlights' glow. A black Lincoln limousine waited outside of the park on the curb and roared to life as soon as the driver saw the two of them.
"I still don't trust you," Scully barked. "Where are we going?"
"Bethesada Air Base. They don't know I'm bringing you." Once they got in, Covarrubius tapped on the Plexi-glass barrier between them and the chauffeur. "Let's go."
"No, wait, stop," Scully yelled, and he kept the car in park. "Whatever kind of parlor trick you have to show me isn't going to change my mind, Marita."
"I think it will, once you realize our situation. Then of course, if you don't like our terms, we'll drive you back home to your job and life. Of course, how much of a life will it be without Mulder?"
"You're forgetting that I used to be partnered to a psychiatrist. Don't try to use him against me," Scully's eyes narrowed and reached for the door handle. As she tried to open the door, it was no use. The driver had locked them in. She knew that she could always use her gun for leverage but decided against it. Covarrubius was determined to get her to the air base one way or another. For all Scully knew, she could be the one pressing the button to inflict Skinner's torture.
"Drive," Covarrubius repeated, and this time, the driver shifted gears and obeyed her order silently. "Would you care for some coffee?" She reached in front of herself and pulled out a Thermos. It wasn't until she poured some into the lid and drank some that Scully finally assented. She had had some bad experiences before with Thermoses full of coffee.
"Thank you," Scully acknowledged her graciously after taking a few sips. The beverage felt good as it slipped down her throat. She handed the lid back after it was empty, and Covarrubius poured some more for herself. "Is it going to be a long night?"
"I thought you could use a beverage with some stamina to it since you've been traveling all day long. The length of the evening all depends on you," the blonde replied vaguely and set the half full cup onto the elbow rest between them.
Scully could tell that there was not going to be much further of a discussion between them, especially since Covarrubius put on some classical music. She wasn't precisely sure why Marita had done that--and was surprised when the light and melodious keys of a piano came over the car's speakers. Scully had mildly suspected that any member of the Consortium's selection of music would lean towards a wild symphony composed by Beethoven or perhaps a pipe organ fugue by J.S. Bach.
She was not sure who the composer was--the music was too dissonant to have been written by the likes of Mozart, Haydn, or even Brahms. But it followed some sort of structure, like a freely flowing river. And she surprised herself as her lips formulated the question audibly, "What is this? Rather, who is this?"
"Debussy. You might know him as the writer of such masterpieces as "Clair de Lune" or "La Mer". Sound familiar now?" Covarrubius noticed that Scully was no longer drinking the coffee, so she picked up the steaming cup once more.
"Perhaps if I heard one of them, I'd recognize him."
"Very well, then." The woman's hand slid onto her door's arm rest and interrupted the music. She didn't stop skipping songs until the CD came to "Clair de Lune" and then relaxed her finger. "Pleasant, isn't it?"
Scully almost wanted to close her eyes and listen to the piano. The artist's hands flew proficiently across the ivories like her skilled surgical blade. It had begun as a simple tune, but as the piece went by, the melodies became more complex, and the speed with which the pianist's fingers sailed over the keys moved her. She noticed that her breathing had slowed down a great deal and that her hand was no longer clawing the arm rest. Her fingertips had settled down and so had her nerves.
"It was written at a time when artists like Monet painted their gardens and scenes of people enjoying everyday life instead of self absorbed opulent portraits," Covarrubius continued. "Of course, like Monet, most people did not appreciate Debussy's work until he passed away. Such is the life of an artist."
"I can't believe that I'm sitting here and listening to someone of your ilk appreciate classical music," Scully was astonished. "Or better yet that I'm receiving a music appreciation lesson from a conspirator."
"I find Debussy to be the one constant in my tumultuous world. While the interpretations, dynamics, and virtuosos playing him might change, the notes and style do not. His music does not always tell a story, but it does portray life as something to be lived and enjoyed. Even on my worst days, when I put this on, I always come back to finding peace and solace. Do you listen to classical music?"
"Of course I do."
"But you've always listened to something with a lot more structure, haven't you? Yes, I do believe that Mozart can help increase the brain's ability to learn, but only Debussy's free flowing style can put the soul at ease."
"Why'd you put this on?" Covarrubius filled the plastic cup again and offered it to Scully, who drank from it gratefully.
"I had a bad day. Try it sometime, perhaps when you're doing an autopsy. You'll find yourself probably accomplishing more work and perhaps even discovering anomalies more quickly." Scully's eyebrow wrinkled. "Or keep on doing it the same old way. Humans are creatures of habit."
"I think this is probably the most absurd conversation that I've ever had with one of you before."
"I told you that there have been many changes, haven't there? Namely, for one, the Consortium's members were only male. There are a few females now, and let's just say that subtlety has become our 'golden rule', as it were. The old way was 'shoot first and ask questions later'."
"The female of the species is more deadly than the male," Scully quoted.
"Ah, Rudyard Kipling. Wise man," Covarrubius beamed slightly. "Did you know that he won the Nobel Prize in 1907? Of course, the category was literature. This one's called "La Neige Danse"," she signified the next song with her index finger. "The snow is dancing. Reminds me of spending the winters with my father. Do you hear the snowflakes dancing? The snow covered his farm as a blanket might envelop a child in his bed."
"How much longer are we from the base?" Scully did not want to get to know this woman, no matter how nice and pleasant she appeared to be on the outside.
"No more than ten minutes. In a hurry?" Covarrubius closed the Thermos after Scully had drained the lid of its contents.
"I'd like to go home soon."
"We'll drive you back as soon as you've seen it."
"Seen what?" Marita did not reply. Instead, she rolled down the window as the vehicle approached the military base. The soldier at the gate came out of his station and checked first the driver's credentials. When they appeared to check out, he next came to the open window and peered inside first at Covarrubius and then Scully."Go on ahead, ma'am," he addressed her and waived the chauffeur through the open gate.
The driver let Scully and Covarrubius off at the entrance where two military police soldiers stood flanked. They lowered their M16s and opened the doors for them. "Good evening, ma'am," one of them saluted Covarrubius.
"Evening," she greeted him back and urged Scully in.
"I think this is the most polite visit I've ever had to a military base," Scully marveled to herself, but her companion heard her and smiled. "I keep waiting for one of these armed guards to jump in front of me and demand to see my clearance level or aim an M16 at me."
"Mr. Mulder's methods were a bit unorthodox, weren't they? But as I said, don't worry, you'll be sure to get him back soon." She ushered Scully into an elevator and down they went. "Basements are perfectly acceptable places to work, aren't they, Agent Scully?"
"Why do you address him as 'Mr. Mulder' and me as 'Agent Scully'? He's worked for the FBI even longer than I--he deserves some respect."
"Quite right, Ms. Scully. Here we are." More armed sentries with even more impressive submachine guns littered the hallway as they stepped off of the elevator. Covarrubius journeyed about halfway down the hallway and halted in her tracks in front of a securely locked door. She pressed her thumb and middle finger into a rubber square. The LED flashed green, and the door opened automatically.
They entered the next room completely encased in plexi-glass marked 'sterile', and Scully followed Covarrubius' lead as she was dressed by a few lab technicians in medical scrubs from head to toe. "Is it conscious?" she inquired to one of them through her facial mask.
"No. But it's started to talk," he answered her.
"Using telepathy, right?"
"I guess you could call it that, but it can't read minds. It can only communicate. At least that's what we've learned so far."
Scully now got an idea of what she was about to witness. A real, live extraterrestrial biological entity. The EBE was in the next room over, and she could see that it resembled the bounty hunter's body. However, the head looked exactly like what Mulder nominated 'the Grays'. The being was strapped down to a medical table much like an autopsy bay with an intravenous line attached to an appendage. "My God," she whispered to no one in particular. "This is what you were going to show me."
"That's right, Ms. Scully. This is what we're going to trade Agent Mulder for."
"But what makes you think that they'd...how do I put this...deal with you?"
"Its craft crashed half a mile from the base, and a reconnaissance team was sent out. The being was thought to be dead, until last week. Then we knew that there was hope."
"How?"
"One of our medical examiners was about to begin dissection. It kind of said something to him like 'put it down' and 'if you cut me up like one of your human kind, you will suffer the consequences'." Covarrubius dismissed the technicians, who left her and Scully alone with the EBE.
"I thought you said that it wasn't conscious," Scully reminded her.
"Please let me finish. It also commenced to tell the doctors in no small terms that it was a member of their royalty...whatever government system they use is still a mystery to us...and that open war will be upon Earth should they continue their dissection. I suppose they feel a connection to one another right before the moment of death. At least, that's what we are theorizing," Marita enthused.
"So somehow, it can get into our brains and communicate, but not pluck out any of our innermost thoughts?" Scully questioned her.
"That's what we've found so far. We did an MRI on it and found that the temporal lobe of its cranium was damaged. Their brains are structured very similar to ours, but yet, where we use 10, they use 20 or more. The royal family member, here...uses 25 during the peak of his 'waking hours'. We think that those are the ones that plan the strategies...the equivalent to our generals."
"So they have a circulatory system and-"
"Everything a human has and more. Except for one digit, of course," Covarrubius pointed to the alien's missing middle finger.
Mulder probably would have found that amusing.
"Didn't you say that we're already involved in a war?" Scully prodded her.
"We are, but I think that their definition of 'open war' means that all Hell would break loose and well...use your imagination."
"Do they know that this thing's gone?"
"Not yet. As soon as it chooses to wake up, we'll inform it of our plans."
"Take me to your leader?" Scully asked snidely.
"How ironic, yes, it'll be like that."
"And what do you mean by 'choosing to wake up'?"
"It's sleeping right now. Since the Grays utilize higher brain capacities than we, they spend fewer hours of the day at work or whatever else they do."
"Makes sense. Does anybody know what they want with us? Did anyone even bother to ask why they're trying to annihilate the planet?"
"Perhaps they feel that they can be better stewards. No one knows for sure. But in the past, whenever we met with them, there was always an attitude of open hostility towards our race...excuse me, species," Covarrubius corrected herself. "Now that you've seen the EBE, Ms. Scully, you know that we now have some leverage."
"What if they don't care about one of their 'lost generals' as you put it?"
"We've prepared for that contingency. Now, this is what we require from you to get Mulder back." She guided Scully out of the 'sterile' room, proceeded to strip out of the scrubs, and tossed them into a 'dirty linen' laundry basket. "Destroy all of the records you ever have of us."
"What?"
"Spender succeeded in destroying quite a few files when he played the arsonist three years ago in your office, did he not?"
"Yes, he did."
"Well, finish the job. Mind you, we're not asking you to burn down your office again, Ms. Scully, but that includes all of the cases and reports you've filed along with Agent Mulder over the years dealing with our organization. We're a covert operation, and we'd like to continue on in that respect unhindered...for many obvious reasons you've seen."
"The law is the law, and if you keep on breaking it, we have no choice but to investigate you," Scully said quietly.
"And to what point? You know how far that's gotten you in the past. Remember what I told you three days ago, Ms. Scully. We're only concerned for the life of every man, woman, and child on this planet."
"That's what we elect a president and Congressional members for...well...at least in America."
"I see. So you trust every single politician you've ever met, read, or heard about?" Covarrubius noticed Scully's incredulous eyebrow. "I thought so. If you want to talk about lies and corruption...Fidel Castro has committed fewer sins in a lifetime than the lot of that House of Ill Repute and Senate of Pompous Pricks."
"That's a very unpatriotic attitude. I should arrest you here and right now for espionage and treason."
"Go ahead. I warn you, though, if you do pull out your weapon here or utilize your handcuffs, you'd better go back to being just as cautious as you've been with Agent Mulder in the past about traipsing around a military base."
"Now that's irony," Scully mumbled and followed Covarrubius back to the lift.
"So, Agent Scully, are we understood?"
"I need some time to think about this. I'm not just delivering a mad scientist to another this time..."
"Very well, then. I'll give you 36 hours to make up your mind," the woman glanced at her watch. "You'll hear from us when that time's up."
"Who will I be meeting then?" As Covarrubius escorted Scully back out of the building, she opened the limousine door for her and knocked on the chauffeur's front passenger window. He rolled it down all the way and threw out a cigarette butt. "What's going on?" Scully queried.
"Take Ms. Scully back to Washington Monument and make sure she gets to her car safely," Marita ordered him. The man tipped his hat to her courteously and pulled the limousine away from the air base. Seconds later, Krycek appeared from the complex and watched the vehicle depart with her.
"You want to try a two for two?" he asked.
"Don't push it, Alex. Strughold was the one who created that technology, and he does not wish for it to be constantly abused like that."
"He's not here, though, is he?" He retrieved the PDA and opened it up.
"No, but I was informed that he found out about your little scheme the first time you pulled it a few days ago."
"By whom?"
"Does it matter? There will be a time and a place for it, I assure you."
"That's if she says no," Krycek smirked. "Well, I think I'd better be off."
"Where are you going?"
"Oh, I'm just going to pay a little visit to an old friend. If she won't do it, then I'm certain that he will. Remember, I don't just hold his life in my hands," he snapped the case closed over the PDA and strolled over to a car in the parking lot.