X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Chapter Eight

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Mulder returned from the Inn lost in thought, so he 
registered the sight of Pennsylvania Avenue with some 
surprise.  He was about to head for his usual parking space 
when he spotted a black Lexus sitting on the street with a 
driver inside it.

He made a quick turn and went around to the other side of the 
building, where he pulled over and called Scully.  "Mulder," 
she said, sounding relieved.  "Where are you?  Did you find 
the place?"

"I'll tell you about that later.  Right now I need you to 
come outside and act like bait."

"Excuse me?"

"Our friend in the Lexus is here waiting for us.  I need you 
to get your car and lead him away from the Bureau.  We're 
going to find out who this asshole is, and I don't want it 
caught on tape."

"Where do you want me to go?"

"Just drive east until you find a secluded spot.  I'll be 
tailing you both."

He gave her five full minutes to retrieve her car from the 
lot, and then circled back to watch her emerge.  The Lexus 
took the bait and followed Scully into traffic.  Mulder hung 
back several cars to avoid detection, but this also meant he 
could not get a good look at the plate.

Scully made a series of turns, and traffic thinned.  Mulder 
increased the distance between his car and the Lexus as they 
started down a narrow street.  He took out his phone and hit 
speed dial.  "Danny, it's Mulder," he said.  "I need you to 
run a plate for me.  Tag reads B as in Barry, A as in Andrew, 
numbers six, three, five, two. I need this ASAP."

"Hold on," Danny said, and Mulder heard tapping on the 
keyboard.  "I can have your answer right now."

Scully made a sharp turn, and he held the phone with his chin 
and shoulder to be able to keep pace.  There was a small park 
about two blocks ahead, and he could see Scully pulling over.  
"Danny?  You have an answer?"

"Yeah.  The car, a black 1997 Lexus, is registered to a 
company called Baryon, Inc."

"Got it, thanks."  

Scully had left her car on the street and was heading into 
the park.  The man in the Lexus waited a beat until she had 
disappeared from view behind the trees and then got out to 
follow.  He was carrying at least twenty-five extra pounds, 
but no obvious weapon.

Mulder removed his gun from its holster and trailed after the 
man.  He caught up with him easily enough, because the guy 
had lost Scully.  The driver stood under a clump of trees, 
scanning the park as Mulder quietly approached from behind.  
He drew his weapon and poked the guy in the back of his 
leather jacket.  "I think it's time we're formally 
introduced," he said.  "Turn around."

The man held his arms out, palms up.  He looked annoyed but 
not really alarmed at the fact that Mulder had a gun pointed 
at him.  "Joe Catalona," he said.  "I'm a PI."

"Let's see some ID," Mulder told him.  Scully came jogging 
back up the path.

"You mind?" Catalona said, gesturing at his breast pocket.

"Go ahead."  Mulder still had not put down his weapon.  "This 
guy says he's a private investigator," he said to Scully as 
she joined him on the friendly side of the gun.

Catalona gave them a dated but valid driver's license, in 
which he sported more hair and less girth in the photo.  He 
picked a bit of dirt from under one nail as Mulder studied 
the license.  "Who are you working for?" Mulder asked.

"I work for Baryon doing whatever it is that needs doing."

"Baryon?" asked Scully.

"Dr. Brandt's company."

"I didn't know Christopher Brandt had a company," she said to 
Mulder.

"Not him, the other one.  I work for Imogene Brandt."

"Imogene Brandt has you following us?" Scully asked in 
disbelief.  "What for?"

He shrugged one beefy shoulder.  "Well, she really, really 
wants to find out who killed her husband, and I guess she's a 
little concerned that you may find the answer and refuse to 
share it.  That's where I come in."

Mulder thrust the license back at him and holstered his gun. 
"So you're being paid to follow us around and not do any work 
of your own.  This level of investigating could be handled by 
a chimp." 

"Yeah, but look at it this way -- I'm less likely to fling 
poo at you," Catalona replied, tucking his license away.

"I don't care what Imogene Brandt tells you," answered 
Mulder.  "You stay out of our way and quit following us, or 
we'll charge you with interfering in a federal investigation 
and fling a lot more than poo your way."

"What's the harm in letting me piggyback?  I won't trip you 
up or interfere or what have you.  All she wants is some 
answers about her husband's death."

"You want answers?" Mulder said, a little louder than was 
strictly necessary.  "Go find them yourself.  The FBI doesn't 
play piggyback.  We're leaving now, and we better not catch 
you following us again or we'll have you arrested on the 
spot.  You got that?"

Catalona wiped his nose on his hand.  "Loud and clear."

Mulder and Scully started walking back toward the exit, and 
Catalona's heavy steps sounded behind them.  Mulder turned 
back to glare, and Catalona raised his hands.  "Hey, I'm 
parked this way!"

"Why don't you go on ahead," Mulder said, and he and Scully 
stood still as the other man trudged past them and out of the 
park.

"Meet you back at the ranch?" Scully asked.

"I'll catch up with you.  There's something I have to do 
first."

She hesitated a moment, and then assented with a quick nod.  
He had to walk past Catalona's Lexus on his return to his 
car, and as he crossed, Catalona slid the tinted window down.  
"Hey, Agent Mulder?  Catch."

Out of reflex, Mulder caught the object tossed at him ­ a 
banana.  

Catalona giggled as he drove away.

X-X-X-X-X

His parents had officially divorced ten days before his 
fourteenth birthday.  He'd seen enough of the drinking and 
the silence, punctuated by the random screaming fight from 
the bedroom, to know that his parents' parting was for the 
best.  Still it was strange to get out the dusty wedding 
album from the basement and see them pictured at their 
wedding, smiling faces that belonged to people he never knew.

At sixteen, he'd fallen hard for Marianne Huckaby with the 
long wavy hair and cherry lip-gloss kiss.  He nearly failed a 
semester of advanced algebra because he couldn't stop 
thinking about her. After two months of everything but, 
they'd finally gone all the way on the sofa in her parents' 
basement, with KC and the Sunshine Band playing on the eight-
track.  

A year later, "Get Down Tonight" still got him semi-hard, but 
the sight of Marianne barely didn't even make his pulse blip.  
He saw her in class and in the halls, but she was like those 
old black-and-white pictures from his parents' wedding, stuck 
someplace he couldn't return. 

He thought of her as he picked the lock on what used to be 
his basement office.   He wondered on whose orders the locks 
had changed, and if they really thought a few pieces of steel 
could keep him gone for good.

The place smelled different now.  The fresh paint odor had 
faded, but the new desks and leather chairs still carried 
that showroom smell.  Fire had burned away the old, musty 
scent and replaced it with just a hint of charred plastic.

He crossed to the shiny black file cabinets and tried a 
random drawer.  This too was locked, forcing him to take out 
his pick and go to work on the drawers.  Diana had helped him 
found the collection so many years ago, so they had a similar 
system.  It didn't take him long to find the file he sought.

He flipped it open and there it was: the stolen pages from 
Brandt's NIH lab.  "Son of a bitch," he muttered.

Outside, footsteps echoed on the stairs, and he heard Spender 
talking.  There was no time or place to hide, so he simply 
rested his arm on the open drawer and waited for them to come 
into view.

"Fox," Diana said, stopping dead in her tracks.

Spender weaseled out from behind her.  "What are you doing 
down here?" 

"Looking for some reading material."  He held up the file and 
Diana's expression molded into grim resignation.

"This isn't your office, and those aren't your files."  
Spender walked forward with his hand out, intent on taking it 
from him.

Mulder held it over his head.  "The hell they aren't.  Most 
of these are copies from my duplicates at home.  If it 
weren't for me, there wouldn't be any files."

"I can call security."  Spender started for his desk, but 
Diana stepped forward and blocked him.

"Give me a minute with Agent Mulder," she said.

"He has no right to be here."

"I'll handle it."  

Spender looked uncertain, but deferred to her wishes.  "You 
let him get away with it once, and he'll keep doing it," he 
warned as he left.

Diana returned her attention to Mulder.  "Ignore him.  He 
doesn't understand."

"Neither do I."  He let the drawer slam shut behind him.  "I 
know these files backwards and forwards Diana, and this one 
wasn't in there.  It must have come from you."

"If you say so."  She was casual, dismissive.  "You've always 
had the better memory."  She walked around him to what used 
to be his desk.

"I know about your affair with Brandt."

She froze for just a second, and then seemed to force herself 
to ease.  "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, cut the crap.  Imogene Brandt found the old phone 
records.  She also found the evidence that Brandt had on you, 
that you were the one to pull the alarm that night."

"I was trying to protect you," she said quietly.

"The hell you were!  It was a set-up the whole time, wasn't 
it?"

"Hey, I risked everything for you!  I got us in there, and I 
got us out.  You wanted to know about Brandt.  Well, what I 
knew was that there was one sure way to get into that lab, 
and I took it.  The guards were coming and I had no way to 
get you out of there, so hell yes I pulled that alarm.  If I 
hadn't, you'd be in prison right now and I could be sitting 
in the cell next to you."

"You were sleeping with him," Mulder hissed.

"I was doing whatever it took."  She leaned on her desk, not 
backing down a bit.  "I got us in, I got us out, and when the 
whole thing went bad, I was the one who took the fall.  Or 
don't you remember that part?"

"You expect me to thank you?  You screw around behind my 
back, nearly get me sent to federal prison, and then walk out 
with the evidence."

"That's right," she said bitterly.  "I walked out and you got 
to keep all of this."  She waved her arm at the file 
cabinets.  "You and Brandt, you were just the same.  I gave 
him what he wanted, and make no mistake about it, Fox, I did 
*exactly* the same thing for you.  Maybe it wasn't pretty, 
and maybe you don't like the way I got it done, but you sure 
as hell liked the results."

"Don't pretend for a second this was about me."

"Fine, whatever helps you sleep at night."  She tossed her 
hair back over her shoulder and sat down behind her desk.

He was so angry, he was shaking.  "I never asked for this," 
he said, pointing the folder at her.  "You crossed the line 
on this one."

"I can't honestly believe you're standing here lecturing me 
about lines.  You might as well be a crossing guard for all 
the lines you've been over."

"Did you kill Brandt?"

Her mouth opened and closed without saying anything.  "Did I 
what?"

He enunciated each word slowly.  "Did you kill Brandt?"

"Of course not."

"But you were sleeping with him.  Again.  Don't bother 
denying it because I've got someone who can place you with 
him the night he died."

"I wasn't sleeping with him," she said, avoiding his eyes.  
"Not...not this time."

"Right.  He takes you to his usual love nest for tea and 
conversation."

Her head was bowed.  "I wanted to ask about his research, 
whether he could recommend someone for me."

"I don't believe you."  There had been too many lies.

"It's the truth," she said simply.  "He gave me the name of a 
doctor running a clinical trial at Hopkins.  They're testing 
an immunotherapy, a kind of cancer vaccine.  He said I might 
be a candidate."

"I don't see why you had to go to the Stonefield Inn to have 
this conversation."

She shrugged.  "It was Christopher's idea.  Maybe he 
thought...you know, for old time's sake.  Once I told him 
about the cancer, he quickly changed his mind.  We both left 
early, and he was quite alive when we parted, I assure you."

He paced around in a circle, still holding the stolen papers.  
"You lied to me and said you didn't have these.  Why?"

"Maybe I forgot."

He lunged at her across the desk, and she startled back.  
"You owe me the truth.  Now, at last.  Just the truth."

She pursed her lips and stared at him for a long moment.  "I 
don't have any truth to give you, none that you'll accept.  
Take the folder.  I don't care."

"Tell me what it means."

She shook her head.  "You don't want to know."

He put it down and grabbed her by the shoulders.  "Tell me."

"You wouldn't believe me anyway."  She wrenched free and 
wheeled her chair back.  "Ask Scully if you want to know.  
She can tell you."

"Why Scully?  What are you talking about?

She looked him up and down and then smoothed her jacket back 
in place.  "Ask her.  You'll see."

Spender returned holding a can of Coke.  "He's still here?" 
he demanded.

"Don't worry, he's leaving," she answered, and bent her head 
over her work.

Mulder picked up the folder and stood there a minute, looking 
down at her, but she did not look up.  Spender cringed out of 
the way as he stalked out of the office and up the stairs.

He found Scully in the bullpen, watching for him with worried 
eyes.  "Where were you?" she asked in a whisper as he dragged 
his chair next to hers.

"Guess what I found in the basement?"  He slid the folder 
across the desk to her.

"What is this?"  

"A file that went missing from Brandt's NIH lab about seven 
years ago."

Her neck jerked as she shot him a quick look.  He nodded to 
confirm her unspoken question.  "Diana said you should look 
at it.  She said you would know what it means."

She opened the folder and scanned the first page.  "It's just 
a bunch of letters and numbers."

"Yeah, probably a code.  You don't recognize it?"  He was 
honestly surprised.  She spoke German and read some Navajo; 
could spot a North American P-51 Mustang in a cloudy 
underwater photograph.

"No, not right away.  I can look at it more later, but there 
is nothing here that immediately jumps out at me."

"Damn."

"Why did she think I would know what it meant?"

"I don't know.  She may have been looking for a way to shut 
me up and get me out of her office."

"Well, I'll take it home with me," she said, tucking it away 
in her briefcase under her desk.  "Maybe I'll get it yet."

"He was a doctor.   You're a doctor.  Maybe it has something 
to do with medicine."

She gave him one of her rare smiles.  "I'll put on my 
stethoscope and give it a look."

X-X-X-X

The air smelled like wet earth but the sky was crackled blue.  
She dragged herself up to her front door, wearing clothes 
that were still semi-damp from the previous night's rain, 
only to find Detective Rivera camped on her stoop, reading 
the morning Post.  

He lowered the paper as she approached and gave her a 
cheerful smile.  "Good morning, Agent Scully.  Had a late 
night, did you?"

"What can I do for you, Detective?"  Weary, she leaned 
against the railing and made herself look him in the eyes.

"Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by, 
see if maybe you'd talked to Agent Mulder recently."

"I haven't."

"No?  No phone calls, e-mailsŠ message in a bottle?"

He was far too chipper for this early.  She'd been around 
enough cops to know what it meant: he thought he had a break 
in the case.

"I haven't talked to Mulder."

"Okay, we'll play it your way."  He squinted at her in the 
brightening sun.  "But I found my witness.  You might know 
her since she works at the Hoover building.  Her name is Inez 
Lima, and she's on the cleaning staff.  Her English isn't the 
best, but she overheard the argument between your partner and 
the dear, departed Agent Fowley.  It seems they were fighting 
about you."

Her stomach lurched so hard she thought she might throw up.  
"Oh?" she managed.

"Yes," he said, and pulled out a notebook.  "Let's see.  Yes, 
right here.  The man said Scully knew.  The woman said it 
didn't matter anyway, it was too late.  It gets a little iffy 
here for a while, but then she's really clear on the part 
where the man said, 'I'll kill you for this.'"  He looked up 
at her.  "So the part I'm wondering is, what was it that you 
knew?"

She tried to shrug.  "I really couldn't say.  I wasn't there 
for the argument."

"If this woman is to be believed, you were the argument.  
Surely you can shed some light on the content."

"I'm afraid not."

His smile vanished and he put away the notes.  "I'll have to 
get a warrant to bring you in then.  You sure you want to do 
this the hard way?  You're only hurting Mulder."

"Get your warrant."  She stepped closer and pulled out the 
key to the front door.

"Okay, if that's really what you want."  He moved to leave, 
so she turned to open the door.  "Agent Scully, you have a 
hair here."

He plucked one from the shoulder of her coat, and they both 
stared at it as Rivera held it to the sun.

"Short and brown," he said.  "Just like Mulder's." He put it 
on his palm and blew it away.  "I'll be back."

She waited to be sure he really left and then went inside.  
Her apartment was blessedly calm and shadowed.  After pausing 
to rest against the door, she went to look at her messages.  
She had only one:

"Ms. Scully, this is Dr. Olivardi's office calling to remind 
you of your appointment tomorrow morning at nine.  If for any 
reason you can't make this appointment, please let us know."

She already had it marked on the calendar; one year and 
cancer free.

X-X-X-X

He took the stairs to her door two at a time and rang the 
bell with a hard punch.  She did not appear immediately, so 
he knocked.  "Scully?  You in there?  It's me."

He put his ear to the wood to listen, and after a moment, he 
heard the sound of her undoing the chain.  The door came open 
and she stood silently as he passed by.  "You're not going to 
believe this," he said.  "Our friend the chimp PI has a 
record for assault, and I couldn't find any indication that 
he's actually a licensed private investigator or that he's on 
the official payroll at Baryon."

He glanced over the papers scattered on her coffee table.  
"Hey, did you hear what I said?" he asked, turning to face 
her.

Her hair was pinned back and her face was pale.  When she 
still didn't say anything, he grew concerned.  "Scully?"

She hugged her middle.  "I found out why Diana said I would 
know what the numbers meant."

"Yeah?"  He looked over at the table again.  "What is it?"

She crossed in front of him and picked up one of the pages.  
"I don't know what the letters are.  Some sort of group, I 
think.  Like the As go together, the Bs, and so on.  But this 
one here is the last four digits of my social security 
number...and that's the date I was abducted."

"What?" He grabbed the paper from her, nearly tearing it in 
the process.

"It's a list, Mulder.  A shopping list of test subjects.  If 
you had this in your possession in 1991, then someone had 
singled me out years ago, before Duane Barry, before I even 
met you."

X-X-X-X

End chapter eight.  Continued in chapter nine, which I shall 
write on my new and improved laptop!

Many thanks to Amanda for proofing.  My poor tired eyes thank 
her doubly.

All manners of conversation: syn_tax6@yahoo.com