Chapter Four

900 1st Ave, The Bronx, New York, NY

April 24th, 2001, 9:14 p.m

Thirteen men and women shuffled into the basement of the apartment duplex. Strughold proceeded the party and illuminated the room as all members removed chairs from a great oak table to be seated. The Well-Manicured Man and Marita Covarrubias were among them.

"Thank you for agreeing to convene tonight, Mesdames et Messieurs," Strughold began. "The purpose of this meeting is to make a decision upon continuing in Indianapolis. Our key operator, as most of you know, is Ms. Covarrubias. It is through her shrewd and keen eye that all parts of our project have presently come into play in that city. The committee would like to know, Ms. Covarrubias, has the drug dealer been disposed of?"

"Affirmative. The drug dealer, Mr. Everett Campbell, 29, of Indianapolis, has been efficiently removed from our project. I have also been informed by one of our Adams in the same metropolis that the detective has also been eliminated, as well as any evidence of their crimes," the blonde woman replied coolly.

"And what of the FBI?" a woman with brown hair and hazel eyes asked Marita. "They were an impedance as well, as I understand it."

"You are correct, but we have successfully diverted Scully's attention back to Washington, D.C. with the abduction of her son," the Well-Manicured Man responded and folded his fingers together on top of his place.

"Our informant in the Indianapolis PD tells me that no one has seized the reins to investigate us any further, so that leaves me with a very healthy future," Covarrubias added.

"You mean, it leaves our project with a positive outlook in Indianapolis," Strughold corrected her. "When can we begin the testing again?"

"The facility will be ready by tomorrow morning. I can arrange for some transportation to bring in the subjects if needed," the Well-Manicured Man stated.

"This is moving very fast, very quickly indeed. Can we be sure of our location's security?" an Asian man that appeared to be in his early fifties asked Covarrubias.

"Most assuredly so. Our contact in the Pentagon has arranged for ultimate secrecy and security. No one, unless they've got a tank or helicopter, can get into that facility," she answered him truthfully.

"And what of the facility with the child? Will they test him as well?" the same woman directed her question toward Strughold.

"The fate of William Scully is yet to be decided. For now, he is safe and well-protected. We will return him to Agent Scully when the time is appropriate," he told her. "Are there any objections to holding a vote now?" He paused and swept his eyes around the room. No one said a word; their silence was a mutual agreement. "Good. All who oppose the project's continuance in Indianapolis, please write 'veto' on the index card in front of you. All who agree to it, please write 'approve'. Once you are finished, the cards will be placed in the center of the table, and I will tally the votes."

The members of the Consortium cast their cards immediately; Covarrubias arose and delivered them all to Strughold's place at the head of the table. Roughly a minute later, after he divided the cards into two groups, he set them back down on the wooden plateau. "It has then been decided by the committee that we shall continue tout de suite. My medical staff is at your disposal, Ms. Covarrubias--I will join them in Indianapolis tomorrow evening," Strughold announced.

Covarrubias' expression lightened, and she gave him a pleasant smile. "Thank you, Mr. Strughold. Might I be able to take a few minutes of your time now? I am needed at the office tomorrow; I must make all arrangements tonight."

"As you like."

The rest of the group left along with the Well-Manicured Man, who apologized to Marita on his way out. She joined Strughold at the table but did not sit this time. "I will use my contacts to try and find that nano controller as soon as I can, Strughold. It has not been easy, though."

"The technology is not lost, Marita. If you don't find it within the next two weeks, leave it be. I do not want to waste any more of your resources or attract any attention from another government agency," he replied.

"Understood. Dr. Bowman called me an hour ago; Dr. Gossamer's dead. She committed suicide this afternoon."

"That is unfortunate, but we knew the risks. This flaw does not appear to be present in the Adams, though--I find that strange, as a scientist. Thankfully, she has given us much hope in the last few months."

"Strughold, an idea has come to my mind, and since you are the chairman, perhaps you can set it forth into motion."

"I'm listening."

"Why not use the nanobots to fight the purity? They attack human disease substantially well, don't they?"

"Yes, they do. Hmm. My laboratory in Tunis is poorly staffed now that most of the doctors and nurses are in Indianapolis. But...instead of returning to that city tomorrow, I will instead go east to work on that idea. There are no guarantees that the nanotechnology will work, but that is an interesting hypothesis."

907 Chester Ave., Indianapolis, IN

April 24th, 2001, 10:37 p.m.

Jarod unhooked his laptop from his apartment's cable modem and shut it down. The secrets and lies of the Consortium were now clear to him; they were experimenting upon the city for their project. What angered him the most was that this organization moved exactly like the Centre; they apparently had no morals and manipulated everyone they possibly could. But this man, Spender, was far more clever and just as treacherous as the Centre. Hours earlier, he had scanned through all of his personal Department of Defense files and learned the truth.

As he waited for the computer to turn itself off, he stuffed an envelope full of files and sealed it shut. The recipient was Detective Simon Webb of the Indianapolis Police Department. He hoped the information would get to Webb in time and perhaps motivate him to take a closer look at what was really occurring in his city. It was now time for Jarod to return Scully's help. She and Mulder have suffered just as much as I.

Verne glanced around his apartment for any remaining personal items, removed an identification card from the laminating machine that sat on his bed, and tucked it into a breast pocket of his suit coat. He grabbed the cell phone that had been lying on his desk.

"Scully," came an exhausted voice at the other end.

"Dana, this is Jarod. Have they found your son yet?"

"No, they haven't."

"You must be tired from your travels, so I'll be brief. Your enemy from the Department of Defense...he sounds a lot like the people who have tormented me for over forty years. I read that he had you abducted and experimented upon. He gave you a terrible disease, from which, I understand, you have fully recovered."

"He's dead. But there others like him that are still out there causing the same terror to many. That's what I was trying to stop until...-" she stopped herself and breathed heavily into the phone.

"Then it is time for you to step back and let others fight against them."

"Who are you to say such things? And how did you find out about this man? Are you obtaining this information legally?"

"Do not anger the gods, for they will exact revenge," Jarod advised her.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Jarod? Jarod!"

He pressed the talk button, pocketed the cell phone, and picked up his black suit coat from the back of a chair. He put it on and dusted some fuzz off of his epaulets, which carried four linear stripes. "Hmm...it's been a while since I've used you."

Jarod straightened his cuffs, retrieved his silver suitcase and laptop, then walked out the door without looking back. As soon as he got to the street, he packed the trunk and started the engine. When the car roared to life, the radio came on, and nearly blasted his ears out with a happy Broadway tune. "New York, New York, it's a wonderful town. The Bronx is here, and the Battery's down. New York, New York, it's a wonderful town!" a pleasant voice sang.

"Indeed it is," Jarod agreed and shut the stereo off.