Chapter Six
Lone Gunmen Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
January 5th, 2001, 1:22 a.m.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Langly yelled at the persistent intruder knocking at the door. He eased himself off of his barstool in front of the computer and glanced at the screen before locking it back up again. He had gotten so far as the preliminary encryption of the "Witness Protection Program" database, but unfortunately could not go any farther without arousing suspicion. Mulder was a great friend and Doggett wasn't that bad, but there was a line he drew when it came to sacrificing the Gunmen's anonymity.
"If I hear shave and a haircut one more time," he muttered as he unlocked every dead bolt and chain, "I'm gonna-"
Langly never finished his sentence; he was completely awestruck as he opened the door and looked up into Agent Monica Reyes' eyes. "I'm Agent Reyes. Agent Scully sent me," Reyes showed him her badge, and he quickly pulled her inside without a second to lose.
"You can put down the ID, g-woman, I know who and what you are. Since you're a friend of Scully and Doggett, we'll dispense with the formalities."
"Oh-kay," she nodded bewilderingly and stuffed a stick of gum into her mouth. "Which one are you?"
"Uh...the name's Langly. I don't exactly get why you still came--Scully just called and told me that they were denied access. Although my mojo's good and my engines are running as smooth as glass, I can't break through that encryption without getting into some major trouble."
"That's all right, Langly. Agent Scully said that you could possibly get into some old newspaper archives, and that maybe we could get a hit off of one of them."
"A hit? That sounds more like a Mulder colloquialism rather than Scully." He scratched his blonde head and led her over to his desktop station. "But anyhow, yes, I can probably get you anything you want...provided that it was in print and not carved into stone."
"Actually, it's an appellation from the world of metaphysical science," Reyes corrected him and bit down onto one side of her mouth a little too hard. "Ouch."
He gave her a casual glance of inquiry as he mounted the stool again.
"Bit the inside of my cheek," she shrugged. "I understand that Barnes is part of this Witness Protection Program, but yet...Scully seems to think that he suffers from dissociative identity disorder. Would you mind looking for someone named Commander Schultz in the European archives?"
"Why would you or she think that this Schultz made it into the news?" Langly swiveled the seat around to face the computer. "And why Europe?"
"Because when she spoke to him on the phone, he only would talk to her in German. Perhaps he has some kind of ties with Barnes. What's Barnes' occupation?"
"I could only find the last five years, Agent Reyes, so...right now he's a delivery man and truck driver for UPS. The only kind of conspiracy I could see happening between him and a German would probably be some stolen Bose speakers."
"Agent Scully let me listen to some of the conversation...I think you need to check for Western European headlines in the 1930s or 40s."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now you want to broaden the search?"
"I've got a different theory."
"How so?" He brought up the Internet and a search engine.
"I don't think that Barnes has DID. I think he's possessed by someone from the past--this Commander Schultz, as it were."
"Hmm...I was wondering when the Mulder connection was going to come in. So you want me to look for...what? Car crash, a scandal, a murder, a theft...what's your common denominator?"
"A car bomb. Betrayal."
"All right, here. Just let me fill in some more fields to narrow it down. Uh...do we have a first name?"
"Oh, crap. I'm blanking out on it right this second." She sighed and started to pat her jacket down. "Do you mind if I smoke in here?"
"Well, we've got a lot of sensitive electronic equipment, Agent Reyes, and I've got asthma, so if you wouldn't mind...I'll come and get you immediately if I turn anything up-" he offered.
"Okay. I'll be outside, then." Reyes wedged her thumb into her mouth, pulled out the gum, and threw it into a wastebasket on her way out. Just after she stepped outside and lit up, her cell phone startled her. "Monica Reyes. Oh, hello, Agent Scully. Yes, I got here. Langly's running the search --he just started about a minute ago. First of all, I'm a little tired from the day, and so I couldn't remember Schultz's first name. Do you?" Reyes nodded. "Thanks. I made a slight modification to Langly's research . I don't think Barnes is mentally ill. I think he's been possessed." She scrawled the name down and slipped the paper under the complex's door.
The raven haired agent took in a few long drags as she listened to the other half of the conversation. "Yes, that's true. But then there was that one fluke you told me about--he didn't know what a cell phone was, right? How else do you explain that? And that he didn't know who the FBI is. Mmhmm. Well, yes, I can understand that, Dana. But I honestly don't think that you're looking for the most simple explanation. No, I didn't say that. It could've happened during the explosion Barnes was involved in. You're Catholic, right? So then you believe in possession."
As if on cue, a thunderous cloud covered the moonlight Reyes had been standing in and rumbled. She glanced upward and blew out her toxic fumes into the sky. "That's a pretty traumatic experience, wouldn't you say, Dana? I doubt it would cause post traumatic stress syndrome or dissociative identity disorder, and Mulder would definitely agree with me. The most common causality for DID is sexual molestation, assault, or ritualistic abuse. No, Langly didn't find any abnormal behavior like that in his evaluations except until three months ago."
"Agent Reyes?" Langly called from the open door, and she turned towards him with one hand cupped over the receiver. "We've struck gold."
"I've got Agent Scully on the phone right now. What is it?" The storm grew louder and more ominous. The heavens grew completely dark; there were no more chances for moonlight to peak through. He looked around warily. "Is there something wrong?"
"I don't want to let all of Washington know!" he yelled back. Reyes heaved a sigh and lifted the phone back up to her ear.
"It's getting harder to hear you, Agent Scully. I'll call you from their landline in a minute. Mmhmm. Will do." She hung up and trailed Langly back inside. Moments later, the few droplets that had commenced to tickle her throughout her outside discussion transmogrified into a harsh pour.
"Okay. I found an article in 1943 in a French newspaper about a man's remains found just outside of Alsace Lorraine due to the explosion of a car. It doesn't mention a Commander Schultz or betrayal or anything having to do with the Nazis."
"That's a start. Is there a picture of the remains?"
"Nope. Would you like for me to continue searching?"
"Yes, but not in the newspaper archives. See if you can find any birth or death records regarding Schultz. Or is that outside of your realm?"
"Agent Reyes, we at the Lone Gunmen Headquarters have many outside contacts. It just so happens that I know of a man's girlfriend that has influences over a member of the German embassy in D.C. He'll give us anything we need."
"At one forty five in the morning?" Reyes observed the digital clock's time on the brick wall.
"She might be on her way home right now from the airport."
"And what sort of influences might those be?"
"She's a flight attendant. Do the math." Langly's hand meandered over to the cordless phone near his keyboard. "So what's your final answer?"
"Okay. How long will this take?"
"The usual time...about twelve minutes." Reyes rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Oh...you mean to get the information. You can probably add another ten minutes to that sum. Diplomats have total immunity, you know."
"Yes, I'm well aware of that. Here, use my phone. I need to be able to talk to Agent Scully clearly."
"All right, I'll do it based on two favors from you. One, is that you will never mention how you got the information because she's a secret informant, and two is more of a question for you."
"You even keep secrets from Agent Mulder and Scully?"
"Only when it's completely necessary. And in this case, it's extremely necessary. One party knows of the other party, but not of the party's nocturnal activities."
"Fine. Whatever," Reyes remarked and was utterly perplexed by his last sentence. But at this point, logic had been thrown out the window five minutes ago. "What's the question, Langly?"
"Did Scully tell you the baby's gender?"
"No. I don't even think she knows." She picked up their phone and handed him hers. Langly shrugged, hopped off of the stool, and strolled into their kitchen. "Agent Scully? It's Monica Reyes."
"Thanks for being so quick, Monica," Scully's silky voice returned.
"There are a few blanks left to be filled in, but, we're getting there. Langly recovered an article that could possibly concern this man from a French newspaper in 1943--and is now following up on it to wrap up the details. You don't still think that Barnes has DID, do you?"
"Right now, I'd have to logically say yes. Neither personality is aware of the other nor of their actions."
"And those are the same idiosyncrasies that match possession--but possession involves far more erratic behavior."
"I'm familiar with cases that involve several identities surfacing at several different times. Then, sometimes, the identity doesn't show up for a number of months or years at a time, depending on the situation," Scully countered. "That information was not found in an X-File, by the way."
"Neither was this, Dana. Okay, here's a test. Call him up again and ask to speak with Barnes."
"And this is going to do what?"
"If it's dissociative identity disorder, it's very likely that Barnes will answer. Maybe not right away, but he'll come around...if he feels safe. However, here's the other side of the coin I'm hoping for; you're only going to be able to talk to Schultz. Once a dominant spirit enters the host, the change is at first subtle. Then, through certain events it can become permanent."
"What kind of events?"
"Depends on the reason why this spirit found Barnes' body. My guess would be that since Barnes was involved in a car bombing, Schultz jumped in and decided to drive. Only Barnes wouldn't let him at first--but now, since Schultz's personality is so aggressive, he probably has taken over completely."
"I don't agree with you right now, but even if I tried this, it sounds like a bad idea."
"How?"
"Suppose I find out that he is possessed over the phone. Then what would you propose--a visit from my priest?"
"Try to sympathize with him and find out what he's really after."
"I don't agree with feeding into his illusions, Monica," Scully sighed. "Mulder has done that before, and that only impaired the case's outcome."
"Then what were you hoping to find with me and Langly here?" Reyes questioned Scully and glanced over her shoulder at the blonde Michael Bolton still occupying her phone.
"I don't know, perhaps the type of anti-psychotic antagonists he's currently taking, the name of a therapist he's seeing...there has to be a scientific explanation for all of this irrationality."
"He did start seeing a therapist two months ago, but that was before he stabbed her in the arm with a fountain pen. For that, he was incarcerated for a week. So, I don't believe that she tapped into his good aura. Says here under the police report that she told them that 'Barnes is not the same person that he was at the beginning of our sessions. He would start to look about the room and ask about the various appliances, books, and media.'"
"That could just mean that one of the personalities was unaware of his or her surroundings...not necessarily possession. Oh no."
"What's the matter?"
"I've got to go, Monica. That idiot from the police is sending in a SWAT team already."
Georg Apartments, Salzburg, Germany
March 29th, 1943, 7:39 a.m.
Schultz eventually drove the taxi down a few block, settled down for the night in the shadows, and bravely withstood a blustering wind that virtually tore through all of his layers. He could hardly wait for the sun to rise, and as it did, he had never felt more glad for natural light in his entire life. During the night, Schultz had been woken four times by some patrolling police and each time, he mentioned the universal "sig heil". Twice had they believed him; the other two times, he had to actually get up and show them his identification. He would report this to Wielen as soon as possible. Now was practically as good a time as ever, he told himself.
However, just as Schultz was about to arise, he observed Kennedy walking around the corner. The suitcase in her hand was enough to tell him that she and Granger were going to leave today, if not this very morning. Perhaps the complaint to Wielen can wait. They'll be leaving today for Paris, and he'll be expecting me to follow.
Half an hour later, they came out of the apartment entrance with no baggage whatsoever. Granger had obviously pointed out that that was a mistake upon her part, and just in case someone had seen her go in with a valise, the same person would therefore assume she was staying the night. She seemed to have more of a calm air about herself but Schultz could still tell that she was nervous. Granger was doing his best; he played the part of the nurturing lover too well. The way he stroked her face and kissed her palm said it all. A bond of trust had been established between the two of them last night, and Schultz wanted nothing more than to break through it with a broadsword.
He pursued them as far as the train station and headed into a public telephone booth as they stepped onto the platform to buy their tickets. It was time to establish contact with some of his informants in Alsace--and he could also use some reinforcements. "∫a? I need to talk to Wielen, bitte. Kommander Wielen. ∫a, I can wait." Schultz eyed the departure board that was nearly twenty feet away and noticed that he had ten minutes to embark upon that train before it left. Trains in Germany operated punctually; they did and would not wait for any latecomers.
"Forget the codes and formalities. Tell him it's Der Panter, and I have ten...no, nine minutes until my train leaves," he snapped at the operator.
"Dis is Wielen," the superior replied finally after another long minute. "What's this I hear about a train?"
"They're leaving for Paris, France. I need your assurance for my pursuit."
"You have it. Where does it stop beforehand?"
"I think Alsace is the halfway point."
"Good. Radio me from there and report your progress." Wielen hung up, and Schultz bought the last ticket before the clerk shut down his window. He did not mind having to make plans at the last minute, but unexpected travel always threw him a nasty curve, this one being that he had no other clothes, and that it was two days' journey to Paris by train from Salzburg. Well, perhaps he could get some more when they reached Alsace.
Unfortunately, since he did purchase the final ticket, Schultz had to share his compartment with a complete stranger. A stranger that looked about as old as his parents' first record player and totally bothered that he had to scoot over for Schultz. But at least he was a quiet old man--one that would not be easily missed if necessary to be disposed of.
Schultz began to search through his pockets which unfortunately ensnared his companion's attention. "Ach...forgot my cigarettes," he told the man, who shrugged and thankfully brought out a newspaper to hide behind. Schultz's fingers found his Luger; it was loaded with a full magazine, but he was without spare ammunition.
Granger and Kennedy passed by the compartment minutes later; Schultz lifted his head slightly to notice that their pace had slowed down. Granger opened the door for her and followed her inside swiftly afterward. Schultz's companion lowered his newspaper immediately as soon as he heard the English between the man and woman. But when Schultz gave no outward reaction of shock, the man yawned and leaned his head back against his seat. Minutes later, he was completely dormant; Schultz took advantage of the situation and pressed his ear against the wall.
"And just how dangerous do you expect Paris to be?" Kennedy's silky voice questioned Granger.
"Considering that it's still in the occupation of the Third Reich...fairly so. I have a diplomatic passport; we should be just fine. And if need be, Kolbe's contacts will give us some financial support in Alsace." There were some shifting and banging noises; he must have been moving suitcases. Suitcases? Neither had valises when they left.
"Where did you...I thought you left those at the apartment!"
"That's what I wanted whoever was following us to think...that we were just staying together for a while."
"But how...--"
"I'm trained to think that way, Kennedy," Granger assured her. "There's always someone to watch out for."
"When I go back to finish my degree, I think I should apply for a course in espionage, yes?"
"Just start with the basic mantra of "trust no one"."
"You mean you don't trust me?" Kennedy's tone became defensive.
"Trust is something to be earned. Now don't give me that look. I had faith that you would meet me this morning, and you did. You also blindly left your suitcase behind to come with me here, even though I gave you no specific reason why. I trust that you'll let me look through your belongings, then."
"What, do you want to check for a gun or something?"
"No. I'd actually like to do nothing more than to rifle through your lingerie..." he flipped it open.
"The letters aren't in there."
"Then where are they?" Granger's hand was still in the valise as he spun around to glare at her in exasperation.
"Well, since you told me to leave the suitcase behind, I took the letters with me."
"Good choice. Now, will you let me have them?" His hand vanished from the case and quickly appeared about a foot away from her face.
"You're just traveling with me to protect me. I'm the one to deliver them," Kennedy's voice patronized him.
"I'll give them right back; I just want to read them."
"I'm getting hungry, Granger."
"Don't change the subject," he snarled. Kennedy's eyes left his, and she turned her head in the opposite direction. "You're afraid of something. What is it?" He relaxed a bit and sat down next to her. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. God forbid something should happen to either one of us, but the information should remain inside our heads and no one else's."
"I don't understand you, Granger."
"These next few days while we're together, we'll need to study these letters and memorize them. That way they can be destroyed before they fall into the wrong hands."
"I thought you said that no one was following us."
"I said I took the best precautions to make sure that no one was following us. I'm sure it won't shock a woman with your calibre of intelligence to hear that I've done this before. It's just like coming home for me," he took her hand and raised it to his lips.
"Which part?" Her jaw twisted around and nervously, her tongue ran itself over her top lip. As he moved over her fingers lightly, he smiled and added his warm breath.
"Everything, of course," he finally murmured, and she scraped the tips of her fingers across his cheek.
"Much as I'd hate to interrupt you, but I am starving. Want to discuss these over breakfast?" Kennedy drew her hand away, placed it into her overcoat, and removed the letters.
"God, no. Keep them away from the public sight. But, yes, Kennedy, I'd like to discuss you over breakfast. And that's all." He arose, and their compartment door opened.
This was only the beginning of their trip; Schultz knew that he was going to be driven crazy if he had to keep up appearances in front of this old man for too much longer. So the next time he got up to go to the bathroom; Schultz followed him and used the belt of his pants to finish the man off quickly. He could not afford to waste bullets or arouse suspicion, for Granger and Kennedy were just arriving back down the corridor. Unfortunately, he opened the door at the wrong time, and Kennedy noticed him. He averted her direct eye contact and shut the door.
Thirty seconds after he re-opened the commode and locked the body inside, he journeyed through the hallway to his quarters. Granger and Kennedy stayed with English; it was difficult for him now. They were speaking so softly and using more colloquialisms that he could not follow. But he understood that she had seen him somewhere before...he wished that it had been at a party instead.
Schultz gazed at the ring he wore on his right hand; inside of it were two potassium cyanide pills. It would be so much more easier now. Easier now to take these than to fail--or to lose such a gorgeous woman to such a vulgar creature as Granger. She wasn't wearing anything nearly as formal as last night. Her dress was business attire, consisting of a knee-length, pleated, chartreuse skirt and a long sleeved off-white blouse. To him, it did not matter what she wore; her eyes spoke volumes to the rest of her diminutive figure, and in that fluke of a moment when she saw him completing his business, they seemed as warm as a day in June. He had held his breath--not just because he was shocked that he caught her glance but also because the air became trapped in his lungs. He had to tell himself to breathe voluntarily.
Why now? Why should this happen to him? Der Panter, the legend of the Sicherdienst, melts to butter in the presence of a woman?
She's not just any woman, he reasoned with himself.
That's right. She's a traitor. A traitor that should be hanged like all the rest of the rats in the woodpile. A pile that Fritz Kolbe will soon join. Forget your ridiculous hormonal sentiments and get back to work. Complete your mission.
Schultz pushed away his personal contemplations and began to think of a way to separate the two of them for the evening. The letters, whatever was in them, were the most important objects to intercept.