Chapter Eight

Just outside of Alsace-Lorraine, France

March 30th, 1943, 1:52 a.m.

"I don't think we'll get too much more stuff memorized tonight," Granger slurred and shuffled Kolbe's letters around until they were almost lined up. A boisterous giggle emitted itself from Kennedy's lips, and she put her champagne flute onto the compartment's floor.

"No, very likely not," she agreed. "Although I think you've had more to drink than I. What is stuff?" she asked after a few silent moments.

"You know what the word 'things' is, right?"

"Of course."

"Well..." He folded up the letters and wadded them into his coat pocket. "Same meaning...different word." Granger noticed her shiver and placed the jacket around her shoulders. "Now, let's review once more. I'll say a sentence, and then you say the next."

"Ach...I haven't had that kind of pressure since my bad acting days in secondary school."

"How about this kind?" He seized one of her hands and began to gently breathe and rub it in between his.

"S'good," she mumbled, slightly distracted by their physical contact. "Granger?"

"Hmm?" He clasped both of her tiny hands into his own.

"The letters?"

"Yes, I'm getting to them." His mouth descended fully into her hands as he placed petite butterfly kisses into them. "Dear Ian, I am reluctant to send this message to you using Austria's postal service."

"The telegraph system is under a heavy surveillance--they've broken through our codes before," Kennedy continued.

"This is why I am sending this under my assistant." Granger eased his way to the back of her palm and inhaled her as he traveled up her arm. "Mmm...this is good perfume, but I'll buy you the best of the best when we get to the Champs Elysees."

"And how long will we be there?" Kennedy slid out of her shoes and reclined herself against the window, putting more distance in between the two of them.

"Depends on how many people I have to bribe in order to get out of the country. The fewer times money exchanges between hands, the less time it will take."

"Give me an estimation." He retrieved the champagne glass and offered it to her with a rueful grin. As soon as the bubbly liquid disappeared down her throat, he sneaked closer to her and bent down just inches away from her mouth.

"There is a rat in your organization," Granger breathed. "And I can't wait to taste that champagne from your lips. Are they numb yet?"

"Granger, this is a four paged letter! How do you expect to get through-" she never got to finish her lament and honestly did not want to. Although he had been exceedingly close, she was not entirely sure as to when he was going to close that gap in between their mouths. Now that their lips were entwined, he was expecting more and since the alcohol was giving her a lovely buzz, she became his emotional captive.

Just as his mouth began to open into hers, she pulled away. "And he's been giving intelligence reports to the Third Reich about your aircraft," Kennedy continued.

"All business and no pleasure, Kennedy?" He almost looked like a hurt animal, and his pout became more irresistible. In fact, his eyes gleamed with pleasure and wandered into previously forbidden territory.

"No. I just wanted the last coherent words of the evening," she beamed and drew him down to her by his necktie.

Next door, Schultz was beside himself. He had stopped listening after their first kiss and was now on the verge of insane jealousy. He had to do something--so he did the only thing he could do without blowing his cover--he visited the bar in the adjacent car.

Schultz's thoughts turned to his four nieces and nephews. His sister had just died from cancer, and her husband was serving in the Navy, causing him to send them to live with their grandparents in Denmark. He didn't like doing it at all, but sending them away because his civil service was requested was the only choice. Schultz grasped his wallet and unfolded a picture of the family; they were happy once. Why couldn't they be with their father now?

His membership card to the Nazi party also fell out with the photograph; and he remembered immediately why. There was a war to be fought. How the war would end was anyone's guess, but ever since the Americans joined, the Axis powers had not been doing so well. There was a great depression at the end of the first world war; what kind of disrepair could another loss cause to happen? This war was just as big if not more huge than the first--so many more enemies and countries were involved this time.

He disliked the idea of war, but understood its purpose. There was much turmoil in the smaller countries that the Fuher had conquered, and it magically disappeared when the Germans stepped into the door. They brought order to the chaos of most of Europe and North Africa--now it was only a matter of time before all of France was taken and England as well. Spain, well--they could just separate themselves into a different continent, for all he cared. The civil war seemed to be solving many problems within their country, and they weren't bothering anyone else, so why not leave them alone?

America was a fortress; there would be no way to get to them. Although the Japanese did go in the back door, the US swiftly fought back and are now making them sorry they ever flew over Hawaii.

As Schultz gulped down his gin and tonics one after the other, he decided that in the morning, since they were going to be in the town for a while, he would kill Granger. That way, there would be no need for him to separate him from Kennedy to get the letters, and no further discretion would be necessary. He had his "schutzhaft"--his carte blanche privilege that applied to every civil and service member of the Third Reich's military. They could take anyone they wished into questioning or perhaps throw them into a concentration camp. Murders were generally overlooked if they could be rationalized by the offender as to the Fuher's cause.

Six hours later...

The train's terrific halt jerked Schultz from his sleep. He rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes after they adjusted to the harsh morning light. Groggily, he remembered that he had to contact Wielen today while they were in Alsace Lorraine and give a full status report. "Ach...scheillße," he groaned and stroked his pounding head. Now he remembered why he vowed years ago not to touch alcohol--mastodons were now parading on top of his cranium by the second.

Schultz retrieved his wrinkled trench coat from underneath himself and shrugged into it. He stepped off of the train and for once was glad that it was an overcast day. Today, the sun was his enemy.

Granger and Kennedy were nowhere in sight--before he passed out the night before, he overheard a smidgen of their conversation. They too planned to get off the train, but only to eat breakfast so far as he knew. The rest of the words were too difficult for his inebriated mind to translate from English to German, and by that time, he was out cold.

As Schultz made his way down to the police station, he berated himself for being so asinine. Sometimes he wished that he could have a partner to be accountable to and for--but this work was too dangerous unless the two minds worked precisely like two synchronized clocks. Someone to trust would have kept him out of the bar last night.

What was the name of this police chief? Renard? Rousseau? Napier? Wielen had only mentioned it once, but that was as Schultz was watching Kennedy board the train with Granger. The wind had been blowing as fiercely as a hungry tiger, and it gave him goosebumps seeing her hair blow wildly around. He shook off his distracted thoughts and approached the wooden doors. "J'ai besoin parler avec vos capitain," Schultz told the officer at the desk in his best French, which was, by his standards, worth a lop-sided smirk. As he disappeared from his post briefly, Schultz wondered if the gesture was made towards his foreign accent or ethnicity. Alsace-Lorraine was under Vichy, but from time to time, there were insurgents that rose up foolishly against the Third Reich.

"Cinq minutes, monsieur. Renard est occupe," the officer returned and held up an open palm.

"Maintenant," Schultz demanded.

"Cinq minutes." This time, Schultz leaned forward, coerced the man forward by the back of the neck, and shoved his face into his credentials.

"I said now."

"Sir, he is on the phone right now, otherwise I would show you in."

"Then I will wait inside," Schultz barked and snapped the badge closed around the officer's nose. He yelped and immediately let the Gestapo through.

It took less than five minutes of Schultz's manipulation to get through to Wielen on the police captain's radio. Granger could disappear if needed, and Kennedy would not be hurt. As Schultz stepped out of the captain's office, he motioned for Renard to come back in. "I'm finished."

"Herr Schultz, a car has been arranged for your trip to Paris," Renard told him.

"Who said I was going there?" Schultz narrowed his eyes; the captain had been listening to his conversation.

"We received a cable from your superior in Saltzburg earlier this morning."

"Let me see it."

"Excusez moi?"

"I said let me see the telegraph." The captain rolled his eyes and brushed past Schultz to get to his bureau. He opened the top left handed drawer, unfolded the paper, and pushed it into the Gestapo's chest. Schultz caught the cable just as it was about to fall to the floor and read over the message. Why wouldn't Wielen have told him about this earlier?

Schultz then admitted to himself that Wielen could have forgotten to mention it, and that he didn't know Karl as well as he did Max. He reread the telegraph.

DRIVE TO PARIS. STOP. CAR PROVIDED BY US. STOP. MEET TRAIN AT ARRIVAL TIME. STOP. COMPLETE THE MISSION. STOP. WIELEN.

"Where is the automobile?" Schultz finally inquired of Renard and pocketed his note. Renard nodded and pointed outside.

"Across the street, Herr Schultz. The keys are inside the ignition."

"Danke." Schultz retrieved his Fedora from the desk and left the police precinct. There was not much traffic in this town, he noted. Agriculture must be this city's cistern.

He opened the car door and was just about to give life to the vehicle but stopped. There she was on the corner, rubbing her naked hands together and shivering from the wicked north wind. Odd. Where is your ever present knight in shining armor, Kennedy? Forsake you for a better looking traitor?

Suddenly, as if she could hear his thoughts, her eyes gazed over at him through his windshield. He was mortified--now she knew that he had been following them--this had been the second time she had seen him positively. He had to leave--now. Without another moment to lose, he started the engine. Kennedy's eyes left his, went back to her hands, and then behind the car.

Schultz spun around and saw Granger casually shuffling away. Granger passed the car, joined Kennedy, and gave his enemy a disrespectful left-handed salute. "You son of a bitch," Schultz muttered and his hand went to the gear shift. Just as he was about to change gears, he heard a deafening explosion, smelled gasoline, and felt nothing.

Skinner's Office, Hoover Building, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

January 5th, 2001, 2:07 a.m.

Scully cautiously opened the inner atrium door and half expected to be looking down the barrel of a gun, but instead, she found the office dimly lit and Barnes sitting in Skinner's executive chair. His gun was pointed in her direction, though. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she thought for one awful moment that it might explode. "Your hair is much longer than when I saw you last. All I have to ask is one simple thing: why?" he asked softly.

She wished that he was screaming at her; his lunacy was so much easier to believe when he was behaving like Duane Berry. A serene maniac meant there were bottled emotions that could shatter as unpredictably as glass. She needed Mulder's psychology helping her through this. He was the one that dealt better with kidnappers and serial killers; she was the scientist.

Where was he? She saw Doggett lying against the wall in a puddle of his own blood shivering. He slowly caught on that there was another presence in the room other than Barnes and lifted his face. Doggett's eyes left hers to answer her unasked inquiry and traveled to the left where Mulder was drifting in and out of consciousness on Skinner's couch. Oh, God, he's in a concussion, she thought.

"Why?" Barnes questioned her again.

"You said that this man could go free if I came."

"So I did, and when you answer me, I will help him go."

"Why what?"

"Why did you betray your country?"

"I haven't..." Scully's forehead wrinkled; Barnes grabbed a paperweight from Skinner's desk and threw it across the room into the television.

"The hell you haven't! Then answer me this, you two-headed bitch."

"Two-faced," she muttered.

"What?"

"The idiom is 'two-faced'. You said 'two-headed'."

"So I did, Kennedy. Why betray de Fuher?"

"To have the American dream. He brought nothing but death, hatred, and suffering to Europe."

"He also created jobs," Barnes spat.

"I'm not here to argue with you."

"Quite right. I, for one, do not break my promises." He arose from the chair and picked Doggett up. Doggett limped his way out of the office with Barnes' assistance and once he was out of sight, Barnes slammed the door shut.

"Scully..." Mulder called weakly, and she traveled over to the sofa where he lay. She sat herself down near his head and began to stroke his hair.

"Mulder, don't make any sudden movements. Can you understand me?"

"Mmm...think so. Don't think...I'll be...going anywhere...soon."

"No, no, Mulder, you've got to stay awake."

"Why did you kill me?" Barnes interrupted them and pointed his finger directly at Mulder.

"Kill you? Look...fairly...alive to me," Mulder replied drunkenly.

"You idiot! This is not my body!"

"And this is not your time," Scully commented. "You were at peace once, Commander Schultz. Be at peace again--now."

"I've never been at peace. This was the first time since I died that I've come back...into another," Barnes hissed.

"Then you should know that this is the year 2001, and that I'm not Joy Kennedy. She was my once removed grandmother, and my name is Dana Scully." Their unstable captor froze in terror and seized his head between his hands.

"None of it makes any sense!"

"Calm down--we need to find a way to get you some rest." Scully paused for a few seconds as she continued her ministrations on Mulder's head. "Did you ever admit your requited feelings to her?"

By now, Barnes was completely tranced and distracted. He slumped down against a cabinet and neither spoke nor moved for two minutes. Scully's attention went back to Mulder, whose eyes were fluttering open and closed. "Mulder...how did we get here?" she sighed. His grunt was enough of a sign for her to continue. "I don't regret the choices I've made to stay with you. I said that once before--I want you to hear it again. Of course, you were more coherent the first time," she mused.

"Tell...me a story, Scully."

"Only if you don't conk out on me."

"I'll try not to."

"You seem to like hearing about how often I got into trouble best."

"Mmm...bad Scully...turns me on." Instead of giving him her usual arched brow, she grinned and shook her head.

"Well, Bill had just graduated from high school, and the entire Scully clan naturally was present for a backyard barbecue. Melissa and I witnessed some of my fellow Scully cousins with Bill doing shots in the basement. Being ten at the time, I had no idea what they were doing besides drinking something. She told me exactly what was going on, and unfortunately, I spoke a little too loudly by asking 'then why is the glass so small'? That's when we got caught. They grabbed the both of us. Bill laughed and brought me down the stairs entirely--oh--I remember that God awful whiskey breath..."

"Still has awful breath," Mulder slurred.

"Anyway," Scully rolled her eyes, "he towered over me and said 'I'll show you why the glass is so small'. So as you probably have already gathered in that crafty mind of yours, one of my loving kin poured him a shot of Jack. Melissa stood by sputtering curses to be let go and to Bill to leave me alone, but being the stubborn ass he always is...he didn't. Just when I thought he was going to force the whiskey down my throat, he knelt down in front of me and held up the shot glass. He gave me a choice. He said 'you can either tell Mom and Dad about this like a crybaby sister would...and gave Melissa a bitter look. 'Or you can find out why Melissa's so scared to let you have this.'" As Scully hesitated, Mulder's eyes opened.

"What'd...you do?"

"The only thing I could have done to gain Bill's respect--I drank it. And then I proceeded to spit it out onto his brand new white shirt. I really didn't do it on purpose, but to this day, I don't think Bill has ever believed me. For once, I wasn't the one to get into trouble--Mom found his dirty shirt in the laundry the very next day. The Scully family's entire stock of whiskey went down the drain an hour later."

"Only Irish...I know...doesn't drink-"

"Nonsense, Mulder. On a special occasion, I do like a strong scotch and soda." She glanced over at Barnes, saw no improvement, and returned her attentions to Mulder. "And if it weren't for the baby, I'd definitely be pouring myself one now. Speaking of, the water cooler polls are circulating to about 85 you, 10 Doggett, and the other five percent have got answers so creative that they could be x-files themselves. I'm no virgin, Mulder, but I'm still baffled, as to how this happened. Umph...this has got to be a boy--he's kicking around so much." Scully released his hair and winced as her abdomen moved slightly.

"Bets?" he questioned her weakly.

"$200 a head to get into the one that I heard the odds on. I'm surprised that they're not selling ringside tickets to my hospital room yet. Or maybe they are, and for once, people have learned to keep their mouths shut. Forgive me, Mulder, but I'm going to have to leave you for a few minutes and talk to Barnes. God help me if I get the two of us killed, but...he won't listen to anyone else."

"You won't."

"What?" she arose and turned.

"Kill us," he finished and closed his eyes.

"Schultz, I know it feels to not be able to admit to unrequited emotions," Scully began as she trudged over to Barnes. "But I ask you now to let them go--whether they are love or hate, I'm not sure...can you help me out?"

"Yes, I can," Barnes nodded and pulled himself up. "I can resolve both now that you're with me. Don't be afraid." But Scully felt just the opposite as he towered over her and stared fiendishly into her eyes. He reached behind himself and placed the gun onto Skinner's desk. His breathing became more excited as he pulled her closer to himself and crushed his lips to hers. She felt herself respond, although it was more out of fright, and prayed that Mulder could not see any of this. Barnes broke away and smiled. "I wanted you ever since I first saw you, Kennedy."

"I'm not...--" she halted herself from saying anything foolhardy and nervously licked her upper lip.

"In love with me? Of course not. How could you be? We were not meant to happen, and I can see that now." Barnes stepped away from her and was now perfectly in front of Skinner's office window. "But I came here for another reason today, and here it is." He reached into his coat, brought out an object, and just as he pushed the button, a bullet seared through the pane and entered his neck.