Chapter 16 Sunday, September 29, 1940 - 12:08 a.m.

What the hell were they thinking? The question played over and over in Frohike's mind as he stepped inside the elevator and pushed the button for the third floor. He could understand the professor's desire to recover his precious equations but at the risk of his life? What good was he to anyone if he got himself killed?

And Jimmy. What was his excuse? He knew how dangerous this whole situation was but he didn't have the drive or the need to get back something that had been hard won and would be difficult to recreate.

He leaned heavily against the railing in the rear of the elevator, his bad leg throbbing from the constant exertion. The first thing he intended to do when he found Jimmy and Langly was to knock their heads together. Then he would take them back to the morgue and let Yves draw and quarter them at her leisure.

That was, if someone hadn't beaten him to it.

The elevator door slid open. He stepped out to see a middle aged woman standing just inside her apartment holding the door halfway open. She had curlers in her hair and was clutching her chenille robe tightly at her throat. Frohike doubted the fear on her face was because of his sudden appearance.

"There was a terrible ruckus," the woman said when she saw Frohike. "It woke me from a sound sleep." She made a disapproving noise but her expression softened. "I haven't heard anything for five minutes or so. Who knows what they did to that young man. That's when I called you."

Frohike realized the woman assumed he was a cop. He decided not to enlighten her. "Thank you for calling," he said, "I'll check it out."

The woman slipped back inside, closing the door behind her. He heard the sound of a deadbolt sliding home.

Frohike turned his attention to Jimmy's apartment, noting the damage to the front door. An uneasy feeling curled around his stomach and his hand slid inside his jacket withdrawing his gun.

He moved toward the partially open door. The lights were on. He pushed the door open the rest of the way and saw Jimmy lying face down on the floor near a worn out couch. Dead? Unconscious? Frohike couldn't tell.

He stepped cautiously inside, scanning the rest of the apartment. It was small and open offering few hiding places. He quickly checked the bedroom and the bathroom.

A groan snapped his attention back to the prone photographer bringing him to the injured man's side. Frohike saw his hand move.

Relief moved through Frohike like a gust of cool wind. He crouched down, ignoring the protests of his throbbing leg.

"Jimmy," he whispered, waiting for some indication of just how badly hurt the young man was. "Can you get up?"

"Yeah, I think so." Jimmy groaned again and started to get to his feet. Frohike helped him up then led him to the couch. Once he sat down Frohike noted his beaten and bruised face. The kid's right eye was blackened, his bottom lip split and bloody. There were several other cuts on his face as well.

"Where's the professor?" Frohike asked, afraid he already knew the answer but needed to confirm it.

"They took him. I tried to stop them but…." Jimmy sighed heavily his breath ragged with pain as he leaned back on the couch.

Nothing Frohike could say at that point would express his disgust, anger or distress at this development. There would be time for that later. "Can you get up?" he asked Jimmy. "We gotta get out of here before the cops arrive."

Jimmy nodded then stood up shakily, one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs.

Frohike offered an arm for support but Jimmy waved him off. "I can walk…but I have to tell you…"

"We don't have time for apologies now," Frohike said, his tone curt. "We have to get back and let Yves know what happened. I think you should be the one to tell her about this incredibly stupid stunt you pulled tonight."

Jimmy didn't respond. He just watched as Frohike opened the door and checked the hallway. "It's clear. Come on before the police arrive and we have to try to explain this."

"Frohike," Jimmy said quietly, "I have to tell you…" he winced from his split lip. "They gave me a message…"

"Damn it!" Frohike said. "I hear police sirens. We can't use the elevator; we'll run into them for sure. Where are the stairs?"

"At the end of the hall," Jimmy indicated the proper direction.

Frohike opened the door to the stairwell. His leg quaked under him at the thought of descending three flights of stairs. Why the hell did the kid have to live on the third floor?

"I gotta tell you about the message," Jimmy insisted.

"Tell me later," Frohike snapped. "Let's go."

Heat and light: she was first aware of these two things. The lamp was so bright, it kicked off enough heat that her face felt like she had spent too much time in the sun. There were also voices but she could distinguish nothing more than silhouettes that moved around beyond the circle of light in which she existed.

There was also pain. First, in her bound wrists, then from a needle that was shoved none too gently into her arm. Then there were voices again, becoming more and more insistent. She was uncertain if she responded to them or not.

She hoped not.

The voices grew louder; the silhouettes moved closer until one separated itself from the rest and became distinct. His features were large, his hairline was receding and his smile made Yves' insides twist in revulsion.

Yves snapped awake but lay still, her harsh breathing the only sound in the darkness.

She had never dreamed before that night - when one small error in judgment had thrust her into three days of prolonged hell. The first time she had the dream, she realized she could either dwell on the memory and question her abilities or she could acknowledge the mistake, learn from the experience and move on.

She chose the latter.

She dropped her feet to the floor and sat upright. She stretched out to turn on the light. Her shoulder protested vehemently as the stitches pulled at her skin. She gritted her teeth against the pain and flipped the switch.

Wondering how long she'd been asleep, she checked her watch, surprised to discover she had been asleep for a little more than three hours. She needed to check on the Professor and return the favor by relieving Frohike.

After a brisk walk to the autopsy room, she was dismayed to find it empty. But after a moment, remembered that the Professor had an aversion to such things and had undoubtedly insisted they wait elsewhere.

She thought about where they would be. The lunchroom would be ideal but she dismissed it since Langly obviously would be with Frohike. She had seen the way the private detective and Dr. Scully related. There was more going on between them than a professional relationship. He, and by default Professor Langly, would be where the doctor was.

And although she'd just met the Medical Examiner, she could tell the woman was a conscientious professional who, despite harboring fugitives, would still be doing her job.

She found Scully in the admittance bay, sitting at a desk. There was something about the doctor that immediately put Yves on edge, her instincts humming. "What happened?" Yves demanded.

Scully turned at the question, not quite surprised to see Yves. She stood up. "It's all right, Yves. Mel went to get them."

"Get them?" Uneasiness clenched her stomach. "What happened," she repeated coldly. "Where is the Professor?"

Dr. Scully knew it wouldn't do any good to lie to Yves. The professor, Jimmy and Mel were all obviously absent from the morgue. "They snuck out when Mel and I weren't looking." Yves didn't need to know that this had occurred while Frohike was asleep. "Don't worry, Mel will bring them back."

"They snuck out?" Yves' eyes widened in disbelief causing adrenaline to bullet through her system. "What on earth possessed them to do that?"

"Jimmy said he had photos of some of the professor's equations. The professor insisted he needed them," Dana said.

Yves narrowed her eyes. "Mr. Bond told me all his photos had been stolen from the newspaper." Had the man lied to her? Did he have the pictures of her and the Professor in his possession all along? If so then why rebuff her advances when most men would have continued the charade, revealing his deception afterwards?

"He said these were at his apartment." Scully replied, drawing Yves back toward the conversation. "Apparently he had forgotten about some pictures he had taken when he returned to the professor's lab to talk to you." Dana shook her head. "I thought I talked them out of rushing off. They said they'd wait for you to wake up but apparently I misjudged the professor's persistence." She left the apology for that mistake unspoken. She figured it was assumed.

"The fools!" Yves said mostly to herself. They had come to the morgue because it was the only place they could figuratively lick their wounds and figure out what to do next. She knew how focused the Professor could get on his work. And now he was out there gallivanting about with Jimmy Bond heedless of the danger.

She resisted the urge to run out the door after him. It would be pointless. She didn't have a car, having left her Roadster at the beach. She could easily hot wire an unattended automobile but there was still the other problem.

She slanted a gaze at Scully. "Where does Mr. Bond live?"

Scully shrugged. "I don't know. All I have is his phone number. Mel asked me to call him and tell them to stay where they were until he got there." Scully hesitated briefly before revealing the rest. "There hasn't been an answer."

Yves muttered an oath under her breath. She should have…what could she have done except stay awake and watch him? But she had needed those few hours of rest. Without it she wouldn't have been any good to the Professor.

However, that knowledge didn't offer any reassurance.

"Where are you going?" Scully asked as Yves headed for the admittance bay doors.

"Out," Yves said. "I need some air." She couldn't just stand around waiting for Frohike to return. But she didn't say this aloud.

She wrenched the door open to see two men standing there: one was tall and broad; the other was slim and had the appearance of an accountant. They stared at each other for the space of a heartbeat and then both Yves and the taller man drew their weapons, leveling them at each other.

Yves cast a quick speculative glance at the accountant, most likely a hired gun sent by Fletcher. Except, he felt completely wrong for the part with his soft, cherubic face whose expression was that of someone who had just been startled awake.

But she had long since learned not to trust such innocent appearances. And she couldn't dismiss the sharp intelligence behind a set of blue eyes that had seen too much. The 'accountant', she decided, bore watching.

"Drop the gun," the large man ordered.

She flicked her gaze toward the second man. There was no question in her mind of how dangerous he was. "I wondered how long it would take for you to find us..." She paused, her tone one of icy contempt, "…Agent Doggett."

Scully held her breath, watching as Yves and the man she called Agent Doggett continued to train their weapons on each other. The air between the two crackled with tension.

"Miss Harlow," the other man said, "Melvin Frohike asked me for help. Agent Doggett is here at my request."

"We've met before. He's a mole and a traitor," Yves said not taking her eyes off Doggett's face. "And who the hell are you, anyway?"

Scully stepped forward. "His name is John Byers. He's the District Attorney."

Byers crossed the threshold into the building, so he could face both antagonists. "Please, put your weapons away and let's talk like rational human beings."

When neither of them moved, he tried again. "Agent Doggett?"

"What's going on?" a voice asked from outside.

Doggett saw surprise flash across Yves' face as she took several slow steps backwards. The tension easing a bit from her stance made him turn half way so he could keep an eye on Harlow and still see who the new player was.

"You!" Doggett said in an accusing voice.

Frohike stepped into the light that spilled out of the admittance bay. "Byers?" he said, ignoring the FBI agent. "Is this the best you can do?"

"Agent Doggett is a friend of mine. I can vouch for his integrity," the D.A. insisted.

Trying hard not to limp, Frohike walked up to Yves to stand beside her. "You might trust him," stated Frohike, "but both times I've met him, I had to seriously question his motives. I believe the lady has had the same experience with your friend there."

"Miss Harlow would have fared better if she had stayed around to talk," Doggett said.

"And let you frame me for the murder of a Federal Agent?" Yves said, her voice low and dangerous. "I think not."

Agent Doggett stared at her, frowning. "I understand your reasoning, Miss Harlow. The situation at the park was a set up to retrieve your package but not by me."

Yves still hadn't lowered her weapon and Frohike made no effort to convince her. "Prove it," she said.

Doggett considered this for a moment and then holstered his weapon, cautiously moving further into the room being careful to keep his hands in view. "Since the park, I kept going over my conversations with your boss and the one with you. Something about the nature of the 'package' you mentioned just didn't make sense. And then I talked to Mr. Byers. When he filled me in on the details concerning some fugitives hiding in the morgue, it hit me that it must be you. You weren't trying to deliver confidential documents like the Bureau thought but this scientist."

"Congratulations," Yves said none too patiently. "I made of point of not mentioning what the package was. It was none of your business and I wasn't about to compromise his safety."

Doggett frowned. "I'd say his safety is more than a little compromised now. The D.A. said someone tried more than once tonight to kill all of you." He waited for some reaction from Yves. The tension in her shoulders eased and he saw that she was wavering.

"You've been running for too long," he continued. "Let me help you. That's all I'm asking."

Yves searched Agent Doggett's face and saw sincerity in his eyes. Taking a chance, she eased her stance and lowered her weapon. "Looks like you'll the opportunity, Agent Doggett." She turned to Frohike. "Could you let the Professor know it's safe to come in?"

From Frohike's expression, she knew something was very wrong.

"What?" She demanded though deep down she knew the answer. "Where is the Professor?"

"They took him," a voice said softly. Jimmy shuffled inside, one arm wrapped around his middle. "I'm sorry, Yves," he said, pain etched in his bruised face. "I tried to stop them."

Dr. Scully moved to Jimmy's side trying to assess his condition. 'What happened?" she directed this question at Frohike.

Yves interrupted Frohike before he could say anything. "Who took the Professor? Was Fletcher there? What did he say?"

"Not now," Scully snapped. "You can interrogate him after I attend his wounds." She put one arm around his waist. "Mel, help me get him to the autopsy room."

"Listen to me!" Pain lanced through Jimmy's chest when he shouted but at least he had every one's attention. He glanced at the two strangers but since no one else seemed concerned by their presence he continued. "Morris Fletcher was there. He told me to give Yves and Frohike each a message." He looked at Frohike. "He said you should have played ball when you had the chance but he's willing to discuss it with you. He said you are to go to your office, that he'd contact you at noon."

"Play ball?" Byers repeated, glancing at Frohike. "What does that mean?"

Frohike looked disgusted. "He tried to hire me. Gave me some cock and bull story about a missing relative who had come into an inheritance. Only the 'relative' was a former client of mine. I fed him some air then contacted the client. She had never heard of the dead relative or of this Morris Fletcher." He shot a speculative look at Doggett. "It was Monica Reyes and that's when she told me she was being followed."

"Well, that explains a few things," Doggett said, "but after speaking to Monica you should have looked into this guy Fletcher."

"I did. I couldn't find anything on him. It was like he didn't exist."

Doggett focused his attention on Jimmy. "This Fletcher, did he do this to you? Was he alone?"

"No. Fletcher stood on the sidelines and watched while he had some other guy beat me up. Said he wanted to make sure I remembered the messages." Jimmy looked at Yves. She looked so calm but he could feel the anger radiating from her like the sun on a sweltering summer day. Knowing he had failed to protect the Professor, that he had failed her, hurt far worse than all his wounds, even his ribs. "Fletcher told me to tell you…"

"No one else was there?" Doggett pressed, interrupting him.

"Yeah. One other guy," Jimmy said. "Tall, though not as tall as me with dark hair. Fletcher called him Krycek."

Doggett swore. Jimmy had just confirmed his own suspicions about Krycek.

"I take it you know him," Frohike needled the man.

"He's an FBI agent."

"A corrupt one," Yves added.

Byers had been listening to the conversation in earnest when he spoke up. "I don't mean to change the subject," Byers said. "But I've been thinking about what the young man…"

"Jimmy. My name is Jimmy."

Byers nodded. "…Jimmy said. You mentioned Fletcher had you beaten so you would remember his messages. He never asked any questions? Never asked…where you were hiding?

It took but a few seconds for everyone to comprehend Byers' meaning. Doggett and Yves were the quickest to react. Their guns drawn, they moved toward the door in unison, pausing only when they heard Jimmy answer the District Attorney.

"No, I thought for sure he would ask," Jimmy said, his own bewilderment showing, "but he didn't. He just wanted me to give Frohike and Yves the messages."

Byers looked at Jimmy. "What was Miss Harlow's message?"

Jimmy shivered, remembering Fletcher's smug smile. He met Yves' intense gaze. "He said, 'Checkmate'."

At Dr. Scully's insistence, the group moved to the autopsy room to talk while she looked Jimmy over with an expert eye.

The others arranged themselves around the room to await her assessment.

"There's one last thing I don't understand," Doggett said as he watched Dana check Jimmy's ribs.

"What's that," asked Frohike from his usual spot in the chair by the desk.

"Why didn't Fletcher just kill the professor and Jimmy after attempting to do that earlier?"

Frohike didn't answer knowing this was not his information to share. Instead he watched Yves waiting for her to answer.

Doggett noted this and shifted his focus to her before he continued. "And why does he want to contact you from Frohike's office? He's got what he was after. Does he just want to gloat or is there something else going on here that you haven't told me?" His eyes followed Yves as she crossed the room to the desk where Frohike was seated.

Yves stood with one hand on the desk but her attention was on Jimmy who was laid out on the autopsy table. "Where is the Enigma?" she asked. She moved to stand next to him so she could see his face. "Tell me you didn't take it with you."

"Enigma?" Doggett said to no one in particular.

"No." Jimmy flinched as Dr. Scully pressed on his ribs. "We left it in the employee lounge for safe keeping."

Yves strode from the room to fetch it.

"At the risk of sounding like a broken record," Dr. Scully said to Jimmy, "you really should go to the hospital to get those ribs x-rayed."

"Do you think they're broken?" he asked.

"If I had to guess, I'd say 'no' but…"

Jimmy sat up, wincing from the pain this action caused. "Can you just tape them up?"

"I could but it would be best if we knew for sure." Scully glanced at Frohike for support as she talked. "It seems Mr. Fletcher got what he wanted. I wouldn't think you're in danger any longer."

"Dana has a point, kid. Maybe you should go get checked out, get out of this mess while you can."

Jimmy felt his heart lodge in his throat. He swung his legs around so he was sitting on the edge of the table, his gaze going from Frohike to Scully, pleading. "I can't. I need to see this through. Please, Dr. Scully, just tape up my ribs. I promise, once this is over I'll get those X-rays." He turned to the private detective, swallowing hard. "I screwed up. I need to do something to make this right."

Frohike and Scully glanced at each other and then Scully nodded. "Ok." Digging through the medical supplies Dr. Mackenzie had brought her, Dana found a roll of thick bandaging material. While she was applying this to Jimmy's abdomen, Yves returned with the two wooden boxes.

She set them on the desk and opened the larger of the two boxes. "This is…"

"…an Enigma encoding and decoding machine," Agent Doggett said almost reverently. "I've heard rumors of them but I never imaged I'd see one." He and Byers came to stand on each side of Yves to get a closer look.

"Correct," said Yves.

"Where did you get it? HOW did you get it? The Allies have been trying for months to get their hands on one."

"They succeeded. The Poles gave this one to the British government from whom it was stolen. When it was recovered, it was given to me in secret to bring to America to try to entice Professor Langly to join them in their attempts to break the German codes."

Byers, who had been studying the machine closely, stood up straight to address Yves. "What does Fletcher have to do with all this?"

"He's the one who stole it from the British government."

Doggett nodded. "And you stole it back from him." Yves shot him a surprised look. "Checkmate," Doggett explained, "It's rather obvious…he's got your 'king'."

Yves fought the urge to sigh. "And Fletcher wants his back."

"I guess the question at this point," remarked Frohike, "is what do you want to do now?"

"The importance of the Enigma to my country has been stressed to me in no uncertain terms. All other factors…including the Professor…are considered expendable." She paused for a moment a strained expression on her face. "I find this unacceptable."

"So you figure Fletcher is going to want to trade the professor for the Enigma," Frohike surmised.

"It's the only thing that makes sense otherwise it would be as Agent Doggett suggested: he would have killed both Jimmy and Langly when he found them."

"So the question still remains," said the D.A. "What do you want to do?"

"I intend," Yves stated in a tone that broached no doubt, "to get him back."

A loud buzzing from the admittance bay drew everyone's attention. All eyes turned expectantly to look at the Medical Examiner. "I'll have to get that," she said.

She walked towards the door. "I'll come with you," Frohike stated attempting to rise from his chair.

She paused with her hand on the door. "That won't be necessary. You agreed with me that the danger has passed. At the moment, I believe you're needed here." She nodded toward Yves and the others in the room.

Hearing the buzzer ring again, Dana turned to leave. She didn't look to see if Mel followed her. The general consensus seemed to be that they were safe…at least until they went to Mel's office to await Fletcher's call.

Dana found it puzzling. Fletcher could easily have given instructions for the exchange to Jimmy. And why Mel's office? Dana kept returning to this question. The only answer she could see was that it must be a trap. But still: why Mel's office when a more secluded spot would make more sense? The longer Dana considered it, the more worried she became. The only thing that helped ease her anxiety was that Mel wouldn't be alone.

The buzzer rang a third time interrupting her thoughts. This ring was longer and, because of her agitation, sounded more insistent. She stepped up her pace.

Pushing open one of the double doors, she noticed a single gurney in the middle of the room. The shroud-draped corpse that lay on it wasn't very big. It was most likely a female or an adolescent.

A clipboard had been placed at the body's feet.

Where was the driver? Scully wondered, scanning the room. Surely he hadn't left without waiting for the required signature?

On the other side of the partially open outer door, she saw the driver lingering, probably smoking while waiting for her. As soon as he saw her, he re-entered the building.

"Are you the Medical Examiner?" He asked, giving her hard look.

"I am." Dana replied in her most professional, no nonsense tone. She was used to dealing with men who thought she couldn't handle her job but there was something else about this man that put her on edge: something she couldn't place. Then she realized that the man was not wearing the white uniform of an ambulance driver.

He had an athletic build and was easily six feet tall, which made him tower over her. But what made Dana truly nervous was the way he held himself: as if his muscles were tightly coiled and would snap at any second.

Could this be the guy who had beaten up Jimmy Bond?

The man paused beside the gurney, his gaze drawn to the covered figure. Seeing this, Scully's apprehensions about him dissipated. She had spent enough time among the newly deceased to recognize the grief of a man who was suffering the loss of a loved one.

Her feelings of guilt over her initial misgivings of him were a stinging reproach. "Sir," Scully said sympathetically, stepping toward him. "You shouldn't be here."

The man didn't seem to hear her at first but then he spoke, his voice soft and filled with anguish. "I didn't want to leave her. I…" his voice trailed off. He closed his eyes for a moment, visibly fighting to stay in control. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the clipboard and, looking at Scully, said in a brisk voice, "The driver insisted you sign this when I told him he could leave."

The situation was getting stranger by the second. Since when did the attendants take orders from family members? Scully took the offered clipboard, clicking into official mode. "Who are you?" she asked studying him through narrowed eyes.

"I'm a police officer." He dug into the pocket of his battered, leather bomber jacket for his identification.

She studied his ID card making a mental note of the blank spot where his badge should have been. "Fox Mulder," she murmured, startled to discover she recognized his unusual name. "Mel told me about you. I'm Dana Scully."

Mulder returned his ID to his pocket. "He mentioned you, too," he said. "He said the District finally got an ME with both brains and beauty." Dana sensed that this anecdote was meant to be humorous but his overriding emotions made the statement seem a flat and desperate attempt at normalcy.

There was an uncomfortable moment between them. His gaze drifted inexorably back to the gurney's occupant. Dana focused on the information on the form she still needed to sign, grateful for the distraction of work. Under 'Name of Deceased' it said 'Margaret Mary Sinclair'. Why did the name sound familiar? "Are you related to Margaret?"

"Maggie," he corrected, his face stricken with renewed grief as he stared at the opaque outline where the face would be. "We called her Maggie."

"Mel's Maggie?" Scully asked with a horrifying certainty that she already knew the answer. Mel had casually mentioned his secretary Maggie Sinclair but it had been evident from his tone that he respected and cared deeply about her.

"His Maggie…" Mulder's voice was barely a whisper.

Dear God in heaven, Dana thought, what would this do to Mel?

"…my Maggie." Mulder's voice, firmer this time, drew Dana from her own thoughts. He reached up and drew the sheet down below Maggie's chin creating the illusion the woman was simply asleep. "She was worried about Frohike," Mulder said, feathering his fingers tenderly down her cheek, ignoring the flecks of dried blood.

The choked sob came unexpectedly and Mulder squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the edges of the gurney for support.

Scully touched his arm. "Mr. Mulder. Fox. I'm so sor-"

Mulder straightened up and took a step away from the gurney and Scully. Dana saw something in his eyes that wasn't grief. "Take good care of Maggie," he said with grim resolve. "I have to find Frohike."

Common sense warred with compassion. Compassion won out. "He's here," Scully said.

"Here?" Mulder asked his voice tinged with apprehension and disbelief.

"He's fine," Scully reassured the man, realizing how her words must have sounded to him. "Or at least as well as can be expected considering the current situation."

"What situation?" Mulder the cop flashed to the forefront.

Scully considered Mulder's question for a moment then shook her head. "I'm not in a position to elaborate. I'll take you to Mel and the others."

Mulder stood firmly in her way, forcing her to stop. "Dr. Scully, what is going on here?"