From: mrkeller@eclipse.net
Date: Wed, 26 Jan 2000 18:16:51 -0500 (EST)
Subject: "Anath" (4/6) by Mary Ruth Keller
Source: direct

Reply To: mrkeller@eclipse.net

=====o================================================o=====

"Anath" by Mary Ruth Keller

E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net

=====o================================================o=====

Part IV - "Inanna" (Disclaimed in Part I)

-----o------------------------------------------o-----

Queen of all the **me**, radiant light,
Life-giving woman, beloved of An and Urash,
Hierodule of An, much bejeweled, 
Who loves the life-giving tiara, fit for en-ship,
Who grasps in her hand the seven **me**,
My queen, you are the guardian of all the great **me**,
You have lifted the **me**, have tied the **me** to
   your hands,
Have gathered the **me**, pressed the **me** to your breast.
...
Queen, greater than An, who has ever paid you
   enough homage!
You who in accordance with the life-giving **me**,
   great queen of queens,
Have become greater than your mother who gave
   birth to you, as soon as you came forth from
   the holy womb,
Knowing, wise, queen of all the lands,
Who multiplies all living creatures and peoples -
   I have uttered your holy song.
Life-giving goddess, fit for the **me**, whose
   acclamation is exalted,
Merciful, life-giving woman, radiant of heart, I have
   uttered it before you in accordance with the **me**.

    "The Adoration of Inanna"
    Hymnal Prayer of Enheduanna
    (Priestess of Inanna)
    translated by S. N. Kramer

**me** - the divine norms, duties, and powers,
assigned to all cosmic and cultural entities
at the time of creation, in order to keep
them operating harmoniously and perpetually

-----o------------------------------------------o-----

Medical Examiner's Main Office 
County Operations Center
San Diego, California
Saturday, May 23, 1998
5:16 am

Rubbing his face tiredly, Jerry Donato pushed the driver's door on
the police car shut. The vaguely chocolatey aroma of brewing
coffee drew him toward the front entrance, where his partner was
waiting with two tall paper cups. "Hey," he croaked. "Thanks." 

"Hey, yourself, Old Man," Gonzales replied in a gravely mutter.
"And, you're welcome. Do you have any idea what this is all
about?" 

As he sipped eagerly, Jerry shrugged. "Something about the Medical
Examiner's office, I think. Johnson wasn't too coherent when he
called me down here, either." 

The Latino detective fell in step beside his partner as they
headed back to the entrance. "He only said that 'our case' had
busted wide open." 

Martin Johnson was standing outside, as bleary-eyed as they. 

However, the man next to him exuded the same Teutonic precision as
if it were ten o'clock on a Wednesday morning. "Detectives."
Hitchens held out one hand. "I must thank you for your diligence
in bringing me your information. I have been working to uncover
the problem in my office since your departure. This way." He began
to lead them through the front hall, but turned back to add, "Have
your weapons ready. They may be necessary." 

At his words, what few police were there in this time between
shifts, froze. Donato felt something akin to nausea rising inside
of him. To draw weapons on a fellow officer, especially inside of
an official building, was the deepest breach imaginable in their
fraternity. "Shouldn't this be turned over to Internal Affairs?"
he managed to squeak out. 

A brusque shrug. "I take care of my own." Then they were walking
through the hall to the back of the building and the morgue. 

Jerry glanced over at Gonzales to check that he was ready, weapon
out and pointed at the floor. As Hitchens led the way, they burst
through a set of swinging doors identical to those in the Precinct
house. 

A technician, whom Donato recognized as Bill Humphries, had
obviously been here most of the night. Spread out on the long
steel counter to his left were plastic zip-loc bags neatly
enclosing evidence from several on-going cases. The lab-coated man
had just opened one containing a still-frozen heart tagged
'Richardson,' to dump it in a large autopsy pan. One quick glance
at the interior, where grey flecks floated in a pink liquid, with
a few still clinging to the sides, made him glad he had skipped
everything but coffee before he came in this morning. The stench
of it, the recognizable burning of alcohol combined with something
he couldn't identify and didn't want to, had him holding his
breath. To Humphries' right were other bags, all open, with half-
thawed organs, slick and pinkish-grey, hanging out of them. The
surface there was covered with noisome puddles of the fluid in the
pan. A quick glance at his partner told him Gonzales was just as
revolted. 

"Stop what you're doing!" Hitchens' accent was at its heaviest. 

With a disdainful sneer, Humphries dropped the heart in the fluid;
the resulting splash threw green-tinted flecks across the counter.
"Oh, so you finally caught on to what I was doing. I wondered how
long it would take the great Medical Examiner Hitchens to figure
out why so many of his cases were going awry." He waved at the
bags on his right, some of which were closed and resting on a
steel cart. "Like my work? All just as nice and neat as yours. I
even put it all back in the proper containers. See?" He scooped
the heart out with his gloved hand to slide it back into the bag
and drop it on the steel. 

Hitchens' response was to pull the man into a hammerlock, twisting
one of Humphries's arms behind his back, leaving the other free to
scrabble uselessly at the fingers pressing in on his windpipe.
"How could you? How could you do this to the people of San Diego?
How could you violate the oath you took to uphold the law? What
was it? Money? Revenge? If this is personal between us, why did
you do this?" 

"San Diego?" The technician choked out a snort. "What do you know?
It's San Diegans who are paying me to see to it that their
relatives don't land in jail. Oh, I had problems with it, but,
after the first time, the money made all the pain go away. I wish
you understood." 

Donato stepped up to the man. "Who paid you? Who? Williams? Was he
the first?" 

Humphries' eyes widened. "I don't want to say anything. I want my
lawyer! I know my rights!" 

Hitchens slammed the technician against the wall, then stepped
back so Gonzales could cuff the stunned man and help him to his
feet. Looking down at Donato, he sighed, "Now you can call
Internal Affairs. And his lawyer. I have evil work to undo." 

                            --o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue, University City
San Diego, California
Saturday, May 23, 1998
7:21 am

Sandra dove her composting fork into the decaying pile of leaves
and grass. She loved the gently sweet aroma of the blackening
twigs, the warmth on her hands. She relaxed into her work,
releasing the tension from the previous few weeks to drain away.

Salazar, on the other hand, was padding repeatedly around the
circular walkway, glaring occasionally at the back of the house as
he patrolled.

Sandra called out, "What's wrong, Funny Boy? You can't be hungry
already."

"But, he's a cat. He's always hungry."

She checked around the bin to meet a twinkling pair of brown eyes.
"Detective Donato!" She beamed at him. "Have you heard something
new on the case? Has John come out of his coma?"

Having decided he would tell her later about the events of this
morning, he shook his head. His involvement in the matter had
ended when the detectives in Internal Affairs had taken his
statement and sent him off with the standard admonition to stay
available. Now, he only wanted to clear his mind. "No. I just
wanted to thank you for all your help. I wish this had never
happened."

Sandra wiped her forehead, leaving a half-green leaf stuck in her
hair. "Well, yes. So, do I. But, what can I do for you?"

He took his hands out of his pockets. "Give me something to do."
He smiled as she handed him a shovel. "And, answer a question."

Her own trowel over her shoulder, Sandra walked to a cleared side
bed and began working the soil. "Oh? Which question would that
be?" She stopped digging to call back, "Load some of the compost
into the wheelbarrow, would you?"

He grunted his affirmation, then queried, "I was wondering about
your cat. Where did you come up with a moniker like that, anyway?
We had names for all our four-footed tenants, but none as
elaborate as Alexis Salazar."

The red tabby, with that acutely developed feline sense which told
him he was the center of attention, flopped on the slate tiles and
began slinging his tail back and forth.

Sandra favored them both with a lop-sided grin. "Alonso de Salazar
Frias." She crossed to the center of the garden to scratch his
round head. "Salazar was a priest in the Spanish Inquisition." She
smirked at the surprised snort from her guest.

Jerry propped the shovel against the cedar shed wall, then rolled
the bulging wheelbarrow over, leaving black crumbs of grass in his
wake. "An Inquisitor! Given the ancient feline association as
witches' familiars, why on earth would you do that? As a joke?"

That lopsided grin again. "Not really. Salazar was one of the few
people of his time to approach the witch craze using techniques we
now associate with critical thinking." She began transferring the
decayed leaves to the loosened soil.

Donato went back for his shovel. "Critical thinking?"

She wiped her forehead. "Logically examining the evidence at hand.
You're an investigator. Listen to this. It was customary for the
Church to sweep into an area, rounding up any and all likely
witches, then lock them all up in the same common prison
together." As she explained, they continued working. "After
interrogating and torturing an individual witch, that hapless
peasant would be returned to the common holding cell with all the
other accused witches."

Donato stopped to stare at her. "You must be joking, Sandra.
That's the worst way to get the truth out of any group of
suspects. They can cross-feed each other stories and concoct lies
to please the cops all night long." He rested both palms on the
end of the ash shovel handle. "Surely they knew that."

She shook her head. "It's different when you think you're dealing
with the Devil, Detective. The other Inquisitors either didn't
know or didn't care that collaboration would happen in the cells.
You see, the way to rise in the hierarchy of the Inquisition was -
"

He grunted. "To identify and eliminate as many witches as
possible."

She hacked at a tree root. "Not only that, but in many cases, the
Inquisitors and the town officials split the possessions of the
convicted witches."

He joined her by the root mass. "Power and wealth, the ingredients
of corruption. So, why was Salazar different?"

She shrugged, then trotted over to the shed. "Who knows?" She
disappeared into the darkness for a moment, reappearing with a
red-headed adz in her hand. "He had a conscience?" She set to
cutting through one of the thicker roots, its white fibers flying
as she grunted. "But, he was brought in to check the results of
the first Inquisitorial team, which had identified over one
thousand witches."

Donato just stared. "Where was this again?"

She knelt to attack some of the tougher members, then looked up in
surprise when he grasped the handle. "You talk, I'll whack," he
explained.

She tightened her grip. "But, I have the right callouses built
up." She cocked her head. "There's only thick skin on those two
index fingertips of yours."

Jerry began hacking at the roots. "No, you keep talking. This is
interesting."

Settling cross-legged on the grass, she waited until the red
tabby, who was immensely happy to hear his name invoked in the
conversation so frequently, had nestled into the hollow of her
legs. "This was in the Basque region of Spain. Anyway, Salazar
read over the collected testimony, then went back to reexamine the
original witnesses. He would ask questions like, 'You said you
were at the witches' Sabbat on thus and such a night. Witch X has
testified that he was there as well. You saw all these other
people there. Why didn't you see Witch X?'"

Donato snorted. "I know some modern-day police officers who aren't
bright enough to do that. So, basically, he pointed out the
massive contradictions in all the conflicting witches' testimonies
and threw it all out?"

Evicting a protesting feline, Sandra staggered to her feet.
"Exactly. The witches were all claiming, because the original
Inquisitors had been so enamored of the story, that during the
witches' Sabbat on Saturday night, they would tear down the
village church." She reached for her shovel. "They would hold
these things in the square in front of the place, apparently." She
resumed adding compost from the wheelbarrow. "The Devil would
rebuild the church in time for Sunday morning Mass, of course."

"Ah." Donato looked up from his collection of the now-dismembered
root system. "And Salazar was the only one to ask the eminently
sensible question of why God's sworn adversary would bother to
rebuild a house devoted to his enemy's worship?"

She nodded. "By the time he was finished eliminating all the
inconsistent testimony, he had exonerated over 800 people,
including women in their nineties and babes-in-arms."

Donato shook a few more spadesful of compost over the bed. "Like I
said at the beginning, quite an August moniker for so little a
cat."

Sandra beamed at the tabby, who was now snoozing in the sun. "He's
earned every letter of it."

The detective had rolled the wheel barrow back by the redolent
heap. "Do you want some more?"

She shook her head. "This was the only bed I needed to enrich.
Thanks for your help today."

He held up both of his hands. "See, no problems here."

She shrugged. "Yet. So, what was it you wanted to ask me? Outside
of about Salazar, that is."

He shoved his blackened fists in his pockets. "Yeah. Right.
Sorry."

She raised both thickened eyebrows at him.

He coughed once, then stepped close to her. "Since you've done all
this work, I figure you probably don't feel like cooking, right?"

She patted his shoulder. "No, and you probably won't either. Shall
we say," she suggested as she checked her watch, "seven, then?"

He grinned. "Yeah. It'll take that long to get the dirt out from
under my fingernails." He shrugged. "So, what do you prefer?"

She chewed her lower lip for a moment. "Someplace vegetarian."

He touched her wrist, then left.

As she watched him go, Sandra observed to Salazar, "Well, that was
interesting."

"Urr," commented the tabby.

                            --o-0-o--

Atlantis, Athinios City  
Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, May 24, 1998  
7:21 am

Caroline watched her son appear from the hallway. "Fox?" she
called cautiously. "Are you and Dana planning on scaring the
locals today?"

He spun, sending arms, tie, and jacket into motion. "Hunh?" When
it registered who had spoken to him, he schooled himself to
stillness. "Mom? You okay?" He took a few steps into the living
room.

She forced a tight-lipped smile off her face. She was rather tired
of hearing those three words run together in her son's gentlest
tenor. "Yes, Fox, I'm fine. I just wanted to talk to you about - "

"Samantha?" He collapsed on the couch beside her. "What is it?"

She shook her head. "Samantha will be a huge adjustment for us
all. But, I was more interested in Dana. Do you think she will
still be leaving you when you return to the States?"

He fidgeted. "I, I don't know, Mom. I couldn't say I'd blame her
if she did. Working with me hasn't been easy on her. I mean, her
sister and father were still alive when she came to the X-Files,
and she was a healthy, normal woman with a bright future. She
should have risen to AD by now. She would have found a decent man
to take care of her."

Caroline rested her hand on his knee. "Fox, I don't think you
should presume to know what Dana wants for herself."

He slid out of her grasp, then crossed his arms. "She's talking
about working with the new agents. Even last night she was making
plans before we turned in. So, she's still considering staying,
anyway. But, she hasn't said one way or the other."

"Haven't said one way or the other about what?"

The pair on the sofa looked up at the flame-haired woman in a grey
wool suit standing in front of them.

Mulder flushed a deep shade of purple.

Caroline waved to the wicker chair across the room. "Dana, how are
you this morning?"

She smiled. "Feeling better than new, almost." She settled on the
cushions. "That scares me, to be honest. Usually that means we'll
be trekking up mountains together." She cocked an eyebrow at her
partner. "If you really must know, Mulder, I have decided to stay
in the X-Files. Whatever happens, I think I'm physically capable
of rising to the challenge."

He was off the cushions like a rocket, one long arm extended
towards her. "Then we had better go change."

She frowned up at him.

He smirked. "Mom says we look too much like FBI agents to conduct
a proper investigation here in the swinging vacation spot of the
Mediterranean."

She placed her hand in his. "I thought we were searching for the
hidden passage to Atlantis?"

Mulder bent to whisper theatrically in her ear, "After lunch,
Doctor, after lunch."

Caroline smiled as they headed down the hall.

                            --o-0-o--

Once safely spinning down the road to the Police Station, Mulder
queried his relaxed partner, "You meant what you said back there?
About staying, I mean?"

One hand holding her curls flat against her forehead, she nodded.
"Of course. That wasn't just for your Mother's benefit." She
glanced over at him.

He sent her a broad grin. "That's the best news I've heard in a
long time, Scully." He propped an elbow on the open window. "What
was it that prompted you to stay?"

She shrugged. "I love the work, Mulder, you know that. I've been
torn, these past few weeks, between feeling like my duty to the
X-Files was to make certain you had a fail-safe support mechanism,
even if I couldn't be a part of it, and my selfish desire to see
our investigations through to a, with luck, successful
conclusion." She rested her hand on his arm. "I've also been
worried that you need to make contact with your sister."

His lips set in a thin line, while his fingers beat out an uneasy
rhythm on the steering wheel, but he said nothing. If they could
avoid a rehash of the painful discussions of the past few weeks,
it would be a great relief. He knew they needed to look to the
future.

She tightened her grip. "But, if you must know, for all your
supposed personality flaws, you're very easy to become attached
to. I think I *have* found a decent man to look after me, one who
won't let me stagnate intellectually or personally."

His green-gold eyes glinted. "I knew there was an upside to all
this unused manly charm."

She turned her attention back to the road. "So, what do we have
here? A victim with no name, no past, and no known connections to
the people he attacked before he died, no way to tell when he came
to the island, no real understanding of *how* he died - or - " She
blinked down at her partner's shirt pocket at the buzzing.

Mulder lifted the phone to his ear and listened. He canted his
eyes towards Scully before he queried, "Really? The gases from the
two islands don't match the chromatographic signatures taken from
the deceased's tissues? I'll be certain to pass that along. Can
you fax the results to the Santorini police headquarters in Phira?
We'll be there in a few minutes. Okay, right." He terminated the
call, then glanced over at his partner.

"I heard, Mulder," she commented levelly. "So, if not volcanic
gases, then what? Automotive exhaust?" She shook her head.

"Would that explain the burning you found in the lungs?"

She bit her lower lip for a moment. "If he were unconscious, and
the gases very, very hot, it might. Although, a more likely source
would be an industrial furnace of some kind."

Mulder chuckled. "Yup. Those are just everywhere here on this
manufacturing powerhouse of the Mediterranean." He cocked an
eyebrow at his joke.

She pulled her hair back out of her eyes with both hands.
"Mulll-derr. I was brainstorming. What about a kiln? That has to
vent hot gases after firing, and it has to be done in a controlled
manner, to keep the pots from breaking."

He waggled his fingers. "Those, at least, Santorini has."

Scully crossed her arms. "I should have been suspicious of the
volcanic gases idea from the start, since there were no tell-tale
marks of oxygen deprivation in the extremities or the oral
cavity." She glanced at her partner, who was smirking. "You know,
blue around the fingernails, or paleness in the gums. Kilns use
hot, dry air to fire pots, which would sear, as I saw all the way
through the respiratory tissues. Mulder, look out!"

He swerved just as a tourist bus rounded the bend, then pulled the
Fiat over onto the shoulder. Once the traffic was past and they
had resumed their journey, he commented, "We'll know once we reach
Police headquarters."

She tossed her head. "What, no theories?"

He replied softly, "No. I'm stumped on this one, Doctor." The tall
agent tossed her a shaky grin. "I'm hoping the cold light of logic
will show the way for the rest of us." He gulped, then turned back
to the road.

She reached over to pat his forearm, then fell silent as well.

                            --o-0-o--

streets of La Jolla,
San Diego, California
Saturday, May 23, 1998
4:57 pm

When his cell phone buzzed, Jerry Donato grunted in surprise. He
had arranged for Gonzales to cover for this evening, so he wasn't
expecting any summonses. He placed the unit on his cheek.
"Donato." He listened, then blurted out, "Mike? What are you
talking about? Why are you saying this? Are you all right?" After
a moment, he concluded the call with, "Hang on, I can be there in
five minutes. I'm only a couple of blocks from your home." 

                            --o-0-o--

Jerry's eyebrow quirked at the sight. His ex-partner, clad only in
his boxers and a stained undershirt, was pacing angrily in his
driveway. 

"Donato!" the older detective bellowed when the car had rolled to
a halt. "Why are you doing this?" 

As he cranked down the window, Jerry frowned upward. "Doing what?" 

"You f**king piece of s**t! You know what!" 

The thick-chested detective felt a sudden chill run up his spine.
His former partner must be ill or drugged. In either case, he
didn't want to deal with him on his own. He reached over to
activate his intercom, then, reassured by the hiss of the static,
commented, "Mike, I don't know what you're talking about." 

Red and purple splotches broke out on Evans' cheeks. "G** d*** you
s** o* a b****! You want witnesses! I'll give you witnesses!" He
began waving his arms. "Hey, Jimmy! Get you're a** out here!
College Boy thinks I'm gon-na mess up his pretty little face!" 

A grey-haired man stuck his head past his screen door just long
enough to shout, "Evans, take a powder! I've seen enough of that
gut of yours for one day!" Wood slapped against wood, then the two
officers were alone. 

The intercom crackled with an urgent request for Donato to
identify himself and the situation's status. 

Before he could respond, however, Evans had pulled the car door
open to lunge for the unit. "If your really want to know," he
howled at the faceless voice, "ask College Boy here what he's done
with my retirement." Unclipping the mike, he shoved the white bob
in Jerry's face. "Go ahead, ask him!"

Donato wrenched it from Evans' hand. "Uh, Dispatch, this is
Detective Jerry Donato, here at the home of Detective Michael
Evans. Detective Evans seems to be unwell." 

"D*** right I am!" Evans shouted at the unit. "He stole my
retirement funds!" The older man backed away from the car to begin
pacing again. 

Still concerned for his former partner, Jerry released his seat
belt and slid out from behind the wheel. "Mike, talk to me." 

"No! You're a thief!" Evans took a swing at Donato, then barrelled
into him with his shoulder, throwing them both against the fender
of the Ford. "Give me my money!" 

The dispatcher cut in again, "We have a unit two blocks away from
your position. It's on its way right now. Both of you remain where
you are." 

"Hurry," Jerry gasped as he struggled to get a firm footing to
resist Evans' fists. Finally balancing himself, he wrestled the
older man's arms behind him. As he pressed against him in an
effort to subdue his struggles, Donato caught a distinct odor on
Evans' breath. "Mike, are you drunk?" 

A twist to meet his eyes. "No, I'm not. But *you* smell pretty
good. You got a hot date?" He leered. 

Jerry sighed. "No, just an evening with a friend." 

"Oh, friend?" Evans went still. "This *friend* wouldn't happen to
be the lovely Doctor Miller, now would it?" A chuckle shook out of
him. "I misjudged you, College Boy. You are a regular guy, after
all. Gonna see a little action tonight?" He relaxed even further. 

Jerry helped him to his feet, then stepped back. "Mike, it isn't
what you think." 

"Yeah. Don't try to kid a kidder." A playful slap to Donato's
stomach. "I've seen the way you look at her." Evans leaned against
him. "I know what I'd do with her. You need any pointers? You got
protection?" 

The siren of the black and white cut into the conversation.
"Everything okay here, guys?"

Jerry nodded to the uniformed officer in the passenger seat. "Yes,
yes it is." He patted Evans on the back. "Mike here just had a bit
too much to drink." 

The older detective rolled his eyes, but managed a smile. "I have
not." He rubbed his chest. "But, I think I need to lie down." 

The uniform ran his gaze from the cracked toenails, up pasty-white
limbs to the reddened shoulders. "Okay." He sent them one last
dubious look, then waved his partner on. "See you guys on Monday,
right?"                  

Both detectives nodded, then, as the cruiser pulled silently away,
Donato guided his former partner to his front door. 

Evans pushed his few stray hairs off his crown. "Come clean with
me, Jerry, you *do* have a thing for Miller, don't you?" 

Just relieved the older man was calm, he nodded. "I'd like to
continue seeing her, if it all works out. But, this is just
dinner, nothing more." 

Chuckling, Evans pulled his keys from his pocket. "Sure. You let
me know if you get lucky. Or maybe the grin you'll be wearin' on
Monday will be all the announcement this old beat cop will need."

"Yeah. Sure." The thick-chested detective frowned at the sudden
mood swing as he followed his former partner into the house and
the door closed behind him.

                            --o-0-o--

Police Station 
Phira, Santorini, Greece 
Sunday, May 24, 1998 
9:18 am

Just after the agents entered the small whitewashed building, the
fax was handed to Mulder by a disgruntled deputy, who was
displeased with the interruption to his Sunday. The dark-haired
man glanced at the contents, then passed the pages to Scully.

After reading the three sheets, she looked up at her partner. "No
carbon monoxide or sulfur build-ups in the tissues." She turned to
the second page, then pressed her thumb under one line. "See
this?"

He bent over her shoulder. "PbO, 0.1 ppt," he read out loud, then
checked her face. "If I remember what little chemistry you've
driven past this thick skull, you won't have to tell me that's
lead oxide. Nor, Doctor," he continued, as his hand dropped to her
spine to guide them both towards an unoccupied desk, "will you
need to remind me that lead oxide is commonly used as a glazing
compound in pottery."

She favored him with a broad smile and a playful pat on the head.
"You pass your final, Mulder. And, whether you realize it or not,
the best city to begin our search is north of here. There are art
shops all over Ia." She leaned against his shoulder to whisper,
"So, after all this, had we actually succeeded in escaping for our
vampire hunt, we could have saved ourselves days in terms of
pursuing our killer."

The hand as her waist curled gratefully around her ribs. "Ah,
there's no splitting up this team, Scully."

"So, what have you found?"

The edge in the voice had them separating to face Officer
Patikopolis before Mulder replied, "According to this, our victim
was killed around a kiln. Do you have any idea how many of those
we could find on Thera, or whom we should speak with in terms of
an artists' guild?"

He nodded. "You can start right up the island. Santorini Artists
Guild." He walked out the door and pointed up the winding road
between the coast and the mountains. "Can't miss it. Just look for
the amphora-shaped sign by the Maritime Museum in Ia."

                             --o-0-o--

Ia, Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, May 24, 1998
10:22 am

Scully pointed up a flight of white-washed stairs. "There's the
amphora. How many steps do you think there are?"

Mulder groaned. "Enough to insure we'll be in excellent aerobic
condition when our idyllic vacation is over, Scully." He bent over
her shoulder. "Race you."

She tossed her head, then, arms and legs pumping, the
auburn-haired woman sprinted good-naturedly toward the bright blue
dome of the sky. Mulder tried taking two steps at a time, but
found himself stumbling often enough that he soon fell behind his
partner.

Gasping, she rested on a bench in front of the museum until they
had both regained their composure. Then, they proceeded past the
sleeping cats and drying octopi into the tiny, cluttered shop.

Mulder squinted into the darkness. "No one's home."

Scully shook her head. "Exactly. They're all at church, then
they'll come home to have lamb and rice with cherries for Sunday
dinner." She browsed among the pots, astonished at the sheer
quantity of copies of images she remembered from her readings on
Akrotiri.

Mulder, following a stride or two behind his partner, found he was
amazed, not by the merchandise on display, but by the profound
sense of relief that had settled over him since Scully's
declaration this morning. A gentle grip of his elbow had him
stopping to smile down at the green-blue eyes studying him
serenely. It seemed that she, too, was as relieved as he to have
this internal struggle of hers behind her.

Scully left her hand on his arm as she suggested, "Let's take a
look out back. I've found a brochure of the artists represented by
the guild."

He tucked her fingers firmly against his side before nodding his
assent. Once outside, he pointed to a small white dome at the back
of the tiny lot.

She nodded. "It's either a kiln or a bread oven. But, the tests
didn't show any grain particulates in the lung tissues."

Mulder had moved to stand by a vent pipe. "Hey Scully, check this
out." He pointed to a red streak near the top. "Rust or blood?" He
feigned exposing a set of fangs.

She sent him a gentle chuckle as she dug into her pockets for a
retractable exacto blade and a ziploc bag. "Let's find out,
Nosferatu. I packed one of the new portable blood testing kits the
Bureau is evaluating out in my medical bag in the trunk."

                            --o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue, University City
San Diego, California 
Saturday, May 23, 1998 
6:52 pm

Jerry Donato paced anxiously outside the oak and glass door. He
couldn't shrug the sense of foreboding his encounter with Evans
had engendered, so, he turned to check the road. That deep blue
Ford, which had caught his eye earlier in the day, was still
parked down the street.

Her long brown curls yet damp, Sandra smiled as she unlocked the
door. "Detective!" She followed his gaze. "What the - "

He was trotting down the blacktop, so she stepped out and closed
the door after her. As she watched, he tapped on the window, held
up his badge, then nodded and walked away.

She had crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall by the
time he returned to her.

"Sorry," he offered. "I know a law enforcement stakeout when I see
one."

She turned toward the entrance. "Friends of yours?"

He shook his head. "FBI."

"Did they say what they wanted?"

He let out a snort of derision as she closed the door. "Official
business. Like they'd tell local law enforcement anything." He
glanced around the living room. "Where's the Lord High Inquisitor
this evening?"

She shot him an odd look. "Have a seat. He knows the sound of a
lap."

As instructed, he sank into the sofa cushions.

"Urr," Salazar pronounced as he trundled down the stairs and
padded over to the couch.

Sandra bent down to lift the tabby under her chin. "Dinnertime,
you old grump."

Jerry followed them into the kitchen, smiling at the red paw
tucked over her shoulder. "Next, the siren song of the can
opener."

She shook her head as she set the cat by his dish. "Try the dulcet
tones of the pop-top."

Salazar merely waited, his patience diminishing with each passing
moment, for the flat white china to descend from on high.

Donato was still smiling down at the cat when Sandra asked, "Do
you have any pets, Detective?"

He blinked at her for a moment before answering, "It's Jerry,
please, and, no, I don't. The hours I work are all wonky. In a
way, I envy the freedom your position offers you."

She led them both back into the living room, where she settled on
the couch. "Oh?"

After he relaxed into her overstuffed chair, he held up one hand.
"Don't get me wrong. The academics I know work very, very hard.
But, at least you get to set the hours you do work."

She twisted against the cushions. "So, shall I call you Pagan
Morse?"

He grinned. "The eternal graduate student, hanging on to solve the
mysterious deaths of dons in his old haunts? Yeah, why not.
'Pagan.' I like that."

She eyed him carefully, took a deep breath, and began, "There's
something you should know - "

Oblivious to her discomfort, he pointed to a framed certificate on
the wall. "Do you mind if I take a look at that?"

Immensely relieved, she shook her head. "Feel free. Only, I'm
staying here. A certain person expects this."

He smirked. "But I thought, no one expects - "

She chuckled. "The Spanish Inquisition."

Still grinning, he turned to the wall. "Hey! Is this Hebrew?"

She sighed. "Yes, it is." She waited until Salazar was settled to
begin stroking his round head. "It's from my first adoption."

He looked back at her. "You were adopted twice? Isn't that fairly
unusual?"

She stared out the window for a long moment before she replied, "I
don't remember my childhood. The doctors thought I had been in an
accident or something. My first real memory is of picking grapes
for Kosher wine at a Kibbutz." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I
was twelve at the time."

Donato felt a cold pain in his stomach, both at her words and at
the probing look on her face. He knew this was some kind of test,
that his only hopes for a future with this woman hung on his
answer. He crossed the room to stand in front of her. "I'm sorry.
I can't imagine what it must be like to have that much of your
life just snatched away."

She offered up a hesitant smile. "Oh, the Kibbutz was fun. We were
there for two years before my adoptive parents were killed in
Egypt."

He slumped into the chair. "Both sets of adoptive parents were
killed?" He watched her nod. "I lost my father a few years ago,
then Maria just after Thanksgiving." He rubbed the back of his
neck with his palm.

They sat quietly, the only sound that of Salazar purring under her
chin.

"I'm sorry," she offered finally.

He looked over at her. "For what?"

She idly rubbed the fleshy pad of Salazar's paw. "For hitting you
with all that."

He waved his hand. "No problem. With Tom's death, you've lost
another link to your past. That, at least, I understand. All the
things Maria and I shared, just swept away by a single bullet."

She hugged the tabby tightly. "We are a pair, aren't we?"

A nod, then his gaze dropped to the cat, who was blinking his way
to a nap. "So, when does the Church require I have the good doctor
home by?"

Sandra kissed the top of the feline's head gently. "All the time."
She deposited the round warm ball on a cushion. "Every day."
Rubbing her hands, she rose. "Let me finish dressing, then we can
be on our way."

                            --o-0-o--

Ia, Santorini, Greece
Sunday, May 24, 1998
10:51 am

His hands shoved in the pockets of his khakis, Mulder watched
Scully drop the samples into a glass tube of de-ionized water. She
stirred vigorously with an eyedropper until the liquid itself was
red, then began parcelling the sample among three other vials of
clear fluid. She had converted the open trunk of the Fiat
convertible into an impromptu lab and was explaining as she
worked, "The first reagent tests for the presence of iron oxide,
the second for hemoglobin, and the third for enzymes commonly
found in human skin tissue."

He nodded. "So, we'll know if it's rust, but the other two test
for?"

She glanced up at him. "Fraud, would be the easiest way to explain
it. If someone was smearing a crime scene with blood plasma or
stage blood to fake a murder location, those would show it up." A
slight tweak to her left cheek, then she peered intently as the
last of the drops of the sample were dispensed. "Didn't George
Radthell do that?"

He smirked. "Been digging in my bottom drawers again, Doctor? I'm
flattered."

She rested the dropper in the now empty tube and straightened.
"Doctor is *right*. I reserve digging in your drawers for medical
emergencies." Waiting for the riposte, she arched both brows. When
he opened and closed his mouth once, then a darkness settled
behind his eyes, she explained, "Mulder, they teach that at the
Academy now. Rosen told me all about it."

He flushed as red as the contents of the vials. "Oh. I never
knew."

The horrific details of the case remaining unspoken, Scully
contented herself with grasping his wrist and soothing, "See, you
really aren't the FBI's most unwanted."

They watched as the liquid in the first vial turned clear and
green particles precipitated to the bottom, while the other two
remained red.

Scully sighed. "Rust, nothing more."

Mulder brushed her elbow with his fingertips. "Only on TV do the
cops find all the right clues on the first try."

After she had organized the contents of the kit for storage and
closed the trunk, she nodded. "And only on TV does the brave,
handsome, and perfectly coiffured detective guess the answer
correctly without leaving his desk."

Placing one long hand dramatically on his chest, Mulder smirked
while holding the car door for her, but responded only with a
single cluck of his tongue. Once both were inside, he glanced down
at the bright yellow folder, now opened on her lap, that she had
picked up in the shop. "So, where to next?"

She tucked wind-blown curls behind her ear. "More leading the way
with the cold light of logic." After running her finger partway
down the list of artists, she stopped at the penultimate name.
"The body was found on Red Beach, right?"

He nodded. "So, we look for up-current potteries?"

She held the page in front of his nose. "Recognize the name?"

He turned the engine over. "Our supposedly distraught tour guide,
or a family member. Tuck that paper away, Scully, we have a trip
ahead of us."

                            --o-0-o--

Kung Food Vegetarian Restaurant  
Balboa Park, San Diego, California  
Saturday, May 23, 1998  
8:24 p.m.

Their meal concluded, Jerry and Sandra were lingering over decaf
cappuccino and peppermint tea.

He fingered his stem-shaped mug. "So, do you mind if I ask you
more about that Hebrew certificate?"

She studied the green fluid carefully before she replied, "Yes.
And no."

He cocked his head, but said nothing.

"The training was strictly sex-segregated, very rigorous
academically. I was good at math, but lousy at Hebrew." She
smiled. "That was until someone pointed out the Kabbalistic
approach to Hebrew as mystical number puzzles. Then I was all over
it."

They sat in silence, until Jerry asked, "So?"

She blinked, then laughed once. "I was about to say, what."

He grinned, then sobered. This evening had gone beautifully, and
he was feeling adventurous. "Sorry. So, at least you know you come
from a Jewish background, right?"

She shook her head. "Someone thought that I was. I honestly have
no idea what my ethnic background is." She rubbed her right cheek
with her palm.

Jerry noticed a small, flat mole there for the first time. "Those
run in families, you know. Have you ever tried to find out who
your original parents were, where they are right now?"

She shook her head. "Not really." She crossed her arms over her
chest. "That's odd, for an adoptee, I know. Most of them go
through some period of searching, of wondering about their pasts,
fantasizing about their 'real' parents." She shrugged. "I just
have this gut feeling that my past is something I'd really rather
not know about. So, I leave it alone." She smiled. "I feel like
I've had the freedom to make myself who I want me to be, not who
other people want me to be."

He propped his chin on both fists. "You know, that's the
strangest, yet most sensible approach to the whole issue I've
heard yet."

She beamed openly at him. "Thank you."

He drained the last of his coffee. "It's odd."

Sandra leaned back in her chair. He had abandoned the precise and
verbose persona of a peace officer to lapse into these strange
lacunae in conversations. She couldn't work out whether this was
how he and Maria had interacted in the past. Finally, she
prompted, "What's odd?"

He shook his head. "Most of the force is Catholic. I don't think I
know of any Jews there."

She waggled her fingers. "Oh, I may have been raised in Israel,
but I don't practice. In fact - "

They both looked down as his cel phone buzzed.

"Donato." The detective's mask had settled in place quickly.
"Where? When?"

When he terminated the conversation, she was digging in her tiny
beaded handbag. "Hazards of the profession, I know," she offered
without looking up.

"It's Evans." Jerry was frowning, then, as the significance of her
actions sunk in, he waved his hand. "No, no, I'll run you home.
It's on the way."

                            --o-0-o--

"You're not running the siren. What happened?"

He shrugged. "He's dead."

She reached over to touch his hand. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "We didn't work together that long. Not like
you and Tom. And we didn't see eye to eye when we did." He pointed
without taking his hands off the steering wheel. "This street?"

She nodded. As they rolled to a stop in front of her house, she
smiled. "I enjoyed tonight. Call me when you get home, or stop
back by, if it isn't too late." She grasped his wrist. "I mean
that."

He clasped her hand back, interlacing their fingers momentarily
before he released her. "I will. Tuck in the Inquisitor for me,
all right?"

                            --o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue, University City
San Diego, California 
Saturday, May 23, 1998 
11:27 pm

After squaring his shoulders, Jerry Donato reached out to rap the
steel barrier in front of him with his fingertips. He was entirely
uncertain whether a visit this late would be appreciated by the
occupant he could glimpse through the windows by the light from
the street lamp.

Sandra had glanced up with surprise at the knock on her door.
After verifying that it was Donato outside, she unbarred the
entrance to admit him. "So soon?" she queried as he entered.

He shrugged. "A heart attack." Shuffling into the living room, he
smiled at the pair of orange-gold eyes blinking sleepily over the
arm of the sofa. "Nothing more, probably. There'll be a medical
examiner's investigation, then a full police funeral. He was a
good cop, even if he and I couldn't stand to work together." He
gazed over at her expectantly. He found his eyes drawn to her
generous, yet less than full lips, then blinked his focus away.
There was no way he could expect, as least for some time, to
investigate the subdued attractions of her face.

She reached out to touch his wrist shyly. "There's something else
you should know about me."

He arched both eyebrows. It seemed she could read his mind. As he
settled in the overstuffed armchair he had found so comfortable
earlier this evening, he worried that this was when he found out
she was married, that she was gay, that she was revolted by his
body odor. He decided to take the offensive. "Ah. This is where
you tell me this was nice, but that we would never work
because..."

After an odd little glance, she shook her head. "This is where I
tell you about my faith."

He rubbed the back of his neck. She'd taken a vow of celibacy and
was waiting to join a convent. There was some odd Jewish sect she
was attracted to that required sexual abstinence for admission. He
steeled himself. "Oh?"

She clasped and unclasped her hands, then whispered, "Wicca."

He smirked. "And? You put something in my cappuccino so we can..."

"No!"

Her anguished cry told him he really would have to work on his
choice of jokes around this woman. "Sorry." He held up both hands.
"I've read a little about the faith. But, you tell me. Why Wicca?
With a background in science and Judaism, you have to admit, it's
a bit of a stretch."

After settling on the cushions, she shrugged. "Not as much as you
might think. Wicca is the only religion I've encountered where
women don't have to be ashamed of wanting to dream. There's this
prayer in Judaism, you see, where a man thanks Yahweh that he
wasn't born a slave, a Gentile, or a woman." She rubbed both palms
together. "I learned that at the Kibbutz. Kind of puts you in your
place, doesn't it?"

He nodded.

She eyed him, wondering if he was as open-minded as he appeared to
be.

He frowned at her. "What?"

She crossed her arms. "I'd like to ask you to help me memorialize
Tom and Maria. And Evans, if you like."

He rested his face in both hands. This was another of their little
moments, he could tell. He considered making another lame joke,
then thought better of it, and replied simply, "Sure. Where and
when?"

She favored him with another dazzling smile. "Would tomorrow
evening be all right?"

He grinned back. "Barring another case coming up..."

She accepted the possibility with a wave.

"Sure." He rubbed his hands on his knees. "It's late. I should
go."

As they walked together to the door, she reached over to grasp his
wrist. "Tomorrow, then, around eight in the evening."

                            --o-0-o--

Akrotiri Town 
Santorini, Greece 
Sunday, May 24, 1998 
1:37 pm

Mulder eased the Fiat into the long alley between two white-washed
townhouses, then let the convertible roll to a halt. The darkened
access-way dead-ended into a narrow flight of white steps that
twisted out of view about half-way up. He muttered to the
auburn-haired woman beside him, "More stairs. Like I should be
surprised." As he turned off the engine, he commented, "The next
time I complain about traffic in DC, remind me of this place, all
right?"

"I will," she shot back.

He was almost to the bend in the stairs before he realized his
partner was not just behind him. "Scully?" he queried, then turned
back in surprise at the faintness of her reply.

She was standing behind the convertible, her voice muffled by the
raised trunk. "Sorry, Mulder, I wanted to retrieve some of my test
kits, but the only way to exit was to crawl over the seats and
slide down the back."

He ambled down to her side. "Scully! You should have said you were
having a problem."

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

The tall agent held out a hand, offering, by way of apology, to be
laden down with one of the black cases tucked in the rear
compartment. "I wondered where you disappeared to so long when we
stopped by home for lunch."

"Home, Mulder?" One cheek creased. "I could get to like it here,
too." She handed him the larger of the two kits. "But, I was
hoping you could save us both some work." She shouldered another
black bag, then slammed the trunk shut.

His eyebrows canted into a confused slant.

She tossed her head, then stretched up into his face. "I was
hoping you would run on ahead and bump into the clue that would
solve this murder."

Grinning, he tapped her nose, then slipped on the wide, black
strap. "Glad to have you back, Doctor." He held up the case. "So,
what is all this?"

"More of the new test kits the Bureau is experimenting with
sending out in the field. Pendrell loaned me these before I left,
in case we ran across any more evidence on Samantha, or, the
shape-shifters." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I'm not the
sort of woman who packs twenty pairs of shoes to go places, now am
I?"

He bent over her. "And I give thanks every day for such small
favors."

She pointed to his bag. "The one you have is a field kit for blood
typing."

"Ooh, and is it stocked with wooden stakes and hammers, Doctor?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Mine is the chemical kit we used
this morning. If we run into many more kilns, I've added test
compounds for the various minerals used to color glazes."

As they eased, single-file, past the Fiat, he asked, "Oh? Why
would that be important now? We suspect he inhaled gases from a
kiln before he was killed." He glanced back, a pinched frown
distorting his face. "Although, that is one *lousy* way to shuffle
off ye old mortal coil."

"There were excess levels of cobalt and manganese found in the
lung tissues. I'd like to test for those, if the opportunity
provides itself."

He nodded. "The cobalt turns a glaze a distinctive blue, and the
manganese orange, as I recall."

She squeezed in front of him just as he stepped clear of the
automobile, to trot to the base of the stairs. "Another gold star
for you, partner." She tossed a teasing glance over her shoulder,
then raced up the steps and out of his sight.

Mulder had just placed his foot on the whitewashed brick landing
when he heard a loud thump and a soft 'ow' followed by an even
softer thud. "Scully!" he shouted, then was up the stairs in a
sprint. She was huddled along one low wall, her right palm pressed
against her cheek, the other hand clutching the black test kit. He
was crouching and reaching for her as he stepped onto the grass.
"Let me see."

Blinking, with chagrin, she slid her fingers away from her face.
"And here I was teasing you," she offered apologetically.

He winced at the bloody mess her cheek had become. "These kits of
yours wouldn't contain anything as low-tech as cotton and
antiseptic, now would they?"

She nodded. "There's cotton in both, but the antiseptic's back in
my doctor's bag in the trunk. Why? Am I bleeding?" The
auburn-haired woman glanced down at her palm. "Oh. Oh, no." She
shrank back against the wall. "I must have hit myself up there."
She pointed to an orange ceramic pipe, its end broken and jagged,
protruding from the wall. The vent exited at his chest-height.

Mulder had a quick flash of himself, rolling on the grass,
clutching his shoulder. "Well, you saved me from myself once
again." He gripped her elbow. "Stay here." When he returned, her
black medical bag in his hand, he queried, "Should I expect
ordered by size and color-coded when I open this?"

But Scully was lost in self-recrimination. "I am *such* an idiot,"
she muttered to no one in particular, her hand back over her face.

He lifted it away carefully. "Scully?"

She blinked, then focused on his darkening eyes. "Hum?"

"You have any topical anaesthetic in here?"

She frowned down at the interior of the bag, then lifted out a
clear plastic spray bottle containing a dark blue liquid. "Try
this." She watched him work the pump experimentally, before she
asked, "Why? What's wrong? I can take care of it, just hold up
that mirror."

Mulder shook his head. "No, you can't." When she stuck out her
chin in protest, he explained, "There's a bit of glass and ceramic
in there. That'll take two hands *not* working in reverse." He
gripped her chin. "Now, hold still." Clenching a pair of tweezers,
he set to his task, clucking as he worked on her face. Once he had
applied antiseptic, patches, and butterfly bandages, he sat back
on his ankles and smirked. "So, should we send out our invitations
on embossed parchment, or use the modern, high-tech approach and
announce with E-mails?"

She blinked at him uncomprehendingly, then cocked an eyebrow at
him. "No, let's keep it our little secret, Mulder. Any formal
notification would dash Frohike's paranoid little hopes on the
rocks out there."

Still anxious, he gripped her wrist. "You okay, Scully?"

Resting her free hand on his, she nodded. "I will be, thanks to
you." She stared up at him, her lips tweaking at the concern she
still read in his eyes. "You did good, partner," she offered in an
effort to set his mind at ease.

Finally reassured, he released her to wave his hands helplessly
over the mess. "Sorry. I don't know where things go here."

She rolled onto her knees. "No problem. You can't be good at
everything, Mulder."

As she worked, he frowned at the protruding ceramic vent that had
injured her. "It looks like you weren't the only one to hit this
recently, Scully." He pointed to a spot closer to the wall. "You
may get to play with your fancy new G-woman toys yet."

She was wiggling into a pair of latex gloves as she rose to stand
beside him. "Oh?" The auburn-haired agent frowned intently at the
side of the pipe. "This may be important, Mulder. The victim's
hair was black and curly, like these." She used a different pair
of tweezers to drop the strands in an evidence bag. "Of course, so
is that of much of the population of the island." She held the bag
up to the light. "There may be enough DNA here to test against the
decedent's."

Mulder shook his head. "He was taller than you are. So, if he hit
his head, it was because he tripped and fell against it, or - "

Scully pointed down the stairs. "Or, someone knocked him down from
behind as he was attempting to escape. The hair was on the yard
side of the pipe, not the street side."

Mulder had his hands in his pockets. "You wouldn't happen to -
thanks." Scully was holding out a pair for him. "I wonder where
this pipe leads?"

"I have a fingerprint kit in the trunk, so we can dust the pipe."
She began descending the stairs with the evidence and kits. "Just
be careful, Mulder."

"Pot, Scully," he called just after she disappeared. The tall
agent first attempted to peer down the vent with the aid of a
small pocket flash, but it took a right angle just inside the
wall. Through a flat, long window, he could see it running through
the darkened interior of the back room of the building, so he
trotted to the rear entrance. Once there, he was confronted by
three dead bolts, all engaged. He dug for his pick-locks, but,
once through, found four chains held the steel barrier in place.
It was at that moment he heard Scully call for him, so shut the
door and descended to check in with her.

                            --o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue, University City
San Diego, California 
Sunday, May 24, 1998 
7:56 pm

As Jerry Donato made his way up the long driveway, he found
himself comparing his considerably elevated spirits with
yesterday's trepidation. Things were going well with Sandra, he
could tell. She had a brilliant, quirky mind, like Maria, but not.
He knocked once, then broke into a broad grin. "Hello," he called
as the door began swinging away.

"Hello," replied a slightly blonder, yet very haggard Judy Wilton.

As Donato stepped inside, he glanced around the darkened living
room. "Where's the Inquisitor? Where's Sandra?"

She pointed up the stairs. "Seignior de Frias is taking his
evening repose on Sandra's antique quilt." She leaned toward him
conspiratorially. "The one place he's never supposed to be, you
know." She waited for his grin. "Sandra's out back." She eyed his
tie and jacket. "Those have to go. This isn't a church service."
She pointed down. "And the shoes."

He glanced down at her bare feet. "So, I don't have to lose all
the clothes?"

She rolled her eyes. "This isn't *that* kind of ritual. Just
remove whatever makes you feel uncomfortable and out of touch with
your true self." She pointed through the kitchen. "We'll be in the
garden when you're ready."

After dropping the tie and jacket over the back of the sofa, he
stripped off his loafers and socks. He moved slowly toward the
back, then turned to shed his badge, gun, and cel phone on top of
the leather. Somehow, those didn't seem appropriate here. His only
concession to his job was the beeper he tucked in his shirt
pocket. This was the one Maria had always used to find him, no
matter what, so he refused to turn it in, even after the
Department had stopped hardware maintenance for them. There were
newer models issued, of course. Only on TV cops shows did the
cellular phones always work.

Feeling considerably lightened, he stepped through onto the deck,
from which he could hear Judy talking to Sandra, something about
her plants, not that it registered much with him. He could only
drink in the sight of the long curls, blowing gently in the night
breeze.

Sandra broke into a broad smile. "You know how much Salazar and I
love it out here. It's good to have a safe place to come." She
reached for his hand when she saw him approaching. "Good to have
you here, Jerry."

He grasped her fingers lightly. "I'm happy you asked me. So, how
do we begin?"

She rose, letting him take in the pale blue robe that billowed
around her lanky form. "With this." She pulled him into a long,
warm embrace.

He pushed aside the thrill of his head pressed against her
shoulder.

When she stepped back, Judy stepped forward and clasped him around
the waist. "Thank you for everything, Detective Donato."

Surprised to be hugging someone as short as he, he rubbed her
spine. "You're welcome. I'm sorry we had to meet under such
terrible circumstances."

She clutched him. "I know." Releasing him, she turned away for a
moment. When she could speak, she whispered, "But, you've been so
kind to both of us. And you found out who did this terrible
thing."

Jerry shook his head. "I only wish justice could have been
served."

"But, it was." Sandra smiled wanly. "In a cosmic sense." She held
out her hand to him again. "Come. Now is not the time for
retribution, but remembrance."

He grasped her fingers gently. "So, what do I do?"

Sandra led him out into the center of her garden, to the low
circular platform where the sundial and birdbath stood. There, she
had thick dark cushions arranged in a rough triangle, each with a
single fat candle in front of it. At the center of the triangle, a
single tall white candle flickered. She pointed to one of the
pillows. "Just sit."

Jerry lifted his gaze to see that Judy had already claimed the
bolster by the sundial. He settled in, pleased that the cushions
were so comfortable. Feeling completely adrift, he dropped his
hands in his lap and waited.

                            --o-0-o--

Sandra knelt on the remaining pillow, then folded her hands and
bowed her head. "Great Mother," she intoned softly, "Giver of life
and caretaker of those who walk the earth no longer, we come to
you this night, seeking to tell you of three souls, special to
those of your children who are here." She lifted a taper from
beside the white candle, ignited the end, then lit the deep blue
candle in front of her. As it burned, she recalled making it,
stirring rosemary, thyme, and mint from her garden into the hot
wax, then myrrh, cinnamon and nutmeg, finally adding indigo for
color. 

She inhaled deeply, then dropped the taper in a bowl of water by
the white candle. "Tom Wilton was my closest friend. He knew my
mind, he knew what I loved, and shared those loves." She paused,
lifting her eyes to Judy's, before she continued, "He corrected me
when I would veer from our search for knowledge, buoy my spirits
when the way seemed too hard. I want to remember him in the lab,
laughing at me while I struggled to calibrate my anemometers, then
pitching in to write some of that awful spaghetti code of his,
that somehow seemed to just do the trick." She folded her hands in
her lap.

Judy leaned forward, duplicating Sandra's gestures, repeating her
opening invocation. "I, to, want you to care for my beloved Tom,
the man who never failed to challenge me to be the best in
everything I wanted to do, who kept me from being discouraged when
I was struggling to earn tenure, just as he was. I will never know
another like him. I want to remember him, late at night, rubbing
my feet with a towel after a bath, then snuggling close to make me
feel safe and loved." She bit her lip, turning her head to look
toward Jerry.

Jerry's hands were shaking as he lit his candle and set it down.
He closed his eyes, folded his hands, and began, "I'm not sure I
want to say that first part, but I do want somebody to remember
the Maria I knew."

"That's all right, Jerry, just talk," Sandra prompted.

He opened his eyes to meet hers for a moment, then closed them
again. "We made detective together, then were partners for six
years before she was..." He colored momentarily. "I know Maria was
a Catholic, but I don't want to think of her, well..." He glanced
over at Sandra, who was smiling encouragement. "I'd like to think
she's with all the kids from her old neighborhood, the ones she
tried to keep straight, and that they're all in a good place." He
felt the corners of his lips tweaking. "I'd like to think of her
giving it to them for messing up." He folded his hands in his lap.
"The way I'd like to remember her best is when we were on
stakeout. She'd tell me stories about her relatives, schemes
they'd try to pull off to make money that were so nuts I couldn't
believe them." He looked up at the stars, then down at the
flickering candles. "But, wherever she is, if there's some job she
could do to help people, I know that's what she'd want to be
doing."

Sandra reached over to grasp his wrist. "That's fine, Jerry." She
lifted a flat piece of stiff bread off a silver tray she had set
out by the white candle. "Now, just as we share this bread in
memory of our lost ones, - " Here, she broke the loaf in three
equal pieces. " - we will continue to share what those lost ones
meant to us."

She passed a third to each of the other two. "Tom was there when I
found out my parents had been killed. It was a tough stretch; we
were both preparing to defend our theses. There were times when I
couldn't write, I just sat and cried. Tom would close the door and
hold my hand, or me, until I could stop." She looked over at Judy.
"I never had the chance to tell him how much that meant, how I
couldn't have gotten through without him there."

Judy nodded. "He knew. Believe me, Sandra, he knew." She licked
her lips, then launched into another story.

The talking, interspersed with some laughter and not a few tears,
went on into the night. The moon rose and set, but the three
continued until they were hoarse, the candles burned down to nubs.

Sandra turned to Jerry. "Would you like to say a few words about
Evans?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just that I hope he's at peace,
wherever he is."

She nodded. "Then, I think we should go inside and have some tea.
It's chilly out here."

                            --o-0-o--

Akrotiri Town
Santorini, Greece
May 24, 1998
2:13 pm

"Mulder! Mulder, come here!" Scully had shouted back excitedly.

He flung himself down the stairs, then swung himself over the hood
of the Fiat to land in the narrow back seat. "What is it?" He
tried to peer around the raised trunk of the car.

She stuck the test tube out beyond the side of the steel with a
flourish. "It's the same blood type as our victim's: AB positive,
which is fairly rare, and not at all typical of the local
population here on Santorini."

He grinned. "You should see what - "

Stepping around to the rear driver's door, she was waggling the
bag happily. "I checked with my hand lens. There's enough tissue
here to DNA-test. So, when we return to police headquarters, we
can send it off to Athens."

He reached for her wrist. "You need to come with me, Scully."

She focussed on him, finally. "Oh? Why?"

"The back door's triple dead-bolted, with four chain-locks on the
inside."

The auburn-haired agent frowned. "That's odd. Why all the security
for a back entrance that's enclosed in a walled yard, yet leave
the shop that's on the main street of the town open and attended?"
She shook her head. "At least the Guild headquarters in Ia was off
the beaten path."

He tugged on her elbow. "I need you to help me get inside. Your
hands are small enough that you can slide the chains off from the
outside."

She crossed her arms. "No."

He threw himself out of the car to bend into her face. "What? What
do you mean, no, Scully?"

She pressed her fists into her hips. "We're skating the fine edge
of legality here, Mulder." She pointed to the kit in the open
trunk. "With the evidence we have here, as well as any evidence we
might find up there, we can go back and enlist Patikopolis and his
detectives to help us."

"What!" He spun angrily, then ran one hand through his hair.
"Scully, it was suspicious from the first that he produced our
tour guide with her facile non- story so fast, wouldn't you agree?
How do we know that they aren't in on something illegal, that they
aren't keeping something from us?" Chest heaving, he bent over
her.

She glared up at him, then dropped her gaze to the cobbled alley.
After a moment or two, she nodded and looked back up at him.
"After what we've seen, how little we know of this victim, how
little we know of the people he was obviously pursuing, we don't."

With an audible sigh, he dropped a hand to her shoulder.

Moving away from him, she turned back to the samples. "We should
check for fingerprints. We'll have to stop by the police station
to compare any we might find with the decedent's, and we'll have
to tell Patikopolis something." At his fidget, she held up one
hand and offered, "But, we won't tell him about the hair samples.
Let's send those, express delivery, back to the Gunmen. Then,
we'll head back to your Mom's and have Agent Curtis E-mail us a
duplicate of the test results there."

Smirking, he brushed her elbow with his fingertips. "You in
antique lace, I in an Austrian tux, Scully."

She tossed her head. "I was rather thinking of you and me, digging
in take-out boxes while we hash out the political divisions in the
shape-shifters' culture all night long, myself."

He touched her shoulder happily. "Even better, Doctor, even
better."

                            --o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue, University City
San Diego, California
Sunday, May 24, 1998
9:11 pm

Donato watched Sandra smile at the thump-thump-thump-thump they
heard. 

"That'll be Salazar. It's about his snack-time," she commented.
The three turned as the tabby padded into the kitchen. She ran her
finger along the upright tail, then stood to shake more pellets of
cat food into a bowl.

Jerry wrapped his hands around his mug. "I must admit, that wasn't
what I expected."

Judy cocked an eyebrow. "And, what did you expect? Disembodied
heads rising out of a cauldron?"

He laughed. "No. I only read anything about Wicca around
Halloween." He glanced up at Sandra, who was pressing her fingers
against her temple. "Sandra? Are you all right?" He stood to guide
her into her chair.

She blinked up at them both. "I thought I heard someone at the
door, but I turned my head, and now I feel strange."

Judy set her mug down at the table. "I'll go check."

Sandra was rubbing both temples now. "Don't open the door. It's
not Mom. Don't open it. They can't reach us if we don't open the
door, Fox."

From his crouch by her side, Jerry had gathered her long chestnut
curls out of her face. "Who?" He glanced over when Judy, who was
shaking her head as she stepped into the kitchen, then asked the
blonde, "Does she know a Fox?"

Judy grasped Sandra's shoulder. "She wasn't speaking to you?"

The detective frowned.

Judy bent over to whisper in Sandra's ear, "Sandie?"

The brunette took a deep breath, then straightened. "Yes?"

Jerry rose, propping his weight against the oak table and crossing
his arms. "Do you remember what you just said?"

She nodded. "It's time for Salazar's snack." She pointed. "See,
there he is, crunching away." She glanced from one concerned face
to the other. "What?"

Jerry shook his head. "You were telling someone named Fox not to
open the door. You said something about 'they can't come in if you
don't open the door.' Does that mean anything to you?"

Sandra hugged herself. "No. Was I remembering a game I played as a
child? I don't know. I didn't have any secret hiding places at the
Kibbutz, at least that I remember."

Jerry slid his chair over and sat. "Why would you think of the
Kibbutz first?"

She narrowed her hazel eyes at him. "I don't know. Just that we
were in Palestinian territory, and they weren't too happy to have
us there. There was a tremendous concern for security."

Judy took her hand. "Sandra, this may be important. We've been
remembering lost ones all night long, and your past is full of
things and persons lost. May we look through your Kibbutz
photographs? Just in case we find someone named Fox?"

She nodded. "But, why do you think it would be a person?"

Jerry grasped her shoulder. "Usually kids don't expect imaginary
friends to be capable of opening doors. On some level, they
understand that the friend is not corporeal." He kept his hand on
her arm as she rose. "You don't have to get up, just tell us where
they are."

She shook her head. "No, this is easier." She leaned gently
against his support. "Thank you, both, for being here." She
scooped up Salazar, who grunted in protest, since he had been
concentrating on industriously licking the pad on his rear left
foot.

As she led them upstairs, Judy nodded. "I'm happy we were, Sandie.
You may have had these little glimpses of your past come through
for you, but without someone here to see it, you wouldn't have
been aware of what had happened."

They filed into Sandra's study. As they worked, opening yearbooks
and documents, the floor was gradually covered by evidence of
their search. Salazar had hopped free of the brunette's arms when
they entered to take up his perch on the back of the computer
monitor.

After an hour or so of examination, Jerry's beeper chirped.
"'Scuse me," he apologized as he hurried across the room to his
cel, which he had rested on the desk top by the PC. He listened
politely, then punched the end button. "Sorry, duty calls."

Sandra walked beside him, waiting while he slipped back into his
shoes, tie, and jacket, then guided him to her front door. "Thanks
for coming tonight." She hugged him again. "I hope this helped put
your mind at ease."

He held her by the waist carefully. "I'll check back in as soon as
I can." Capturing her cheeks between his palms, he whispered, "I'd
like to help you find your past, if you want me to."

She stepped away to unlock the door. "You've been up all night.
Are you sure you'll be all right?"

He nodded. "Been through worse." He took her hand again. "I'll
call."

She waved as he drove away.

                            --o-0-o--

Northern Precinct
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Sunday, May 24, 1998
11:33 pm

Jerry adjusted his tie as he stepped through the precinct's double
door. "Hey," he called to Richard Gonzales, who was fidgeting
anxiously by his desk. "What's happened?" 

The Latino officer shook his head. "Jerry, whatever happens, I
don't believe it." 

Donato frowned. "Don't believe what?" 

Gonzales glanced hollowly at Johnson's office, then sighed. "About
Evans." 

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. "Evans. I should..." 

The Latino officer held up his hand. "Jerry, don't say anymore." 

Both men turned as Johnson stepped out of his office. "Detective
Donato, I need to speak with you in private."

Jerry eyed the heads bent studiously over keyboards. Whatever this
was, it wasn't good. He walked through into the glassed-in space,
then checked over his shoulder to see the Sergeant speaking
quietly with Gonzales. With a single backward glance, the younger
man stepped away. 

After entering, Johnson waved Donato into a chair. "Detective, I'd
like you to meet Lieutenant Marks from Internal Affairs. She has
some questions for you." He leaned back in his seat.

Donato faced a rather tired-looking strawberry blonde, who had
just opened a small leather-backed notebook. "Ma'am?" he offered,
but she simply shook her head. 

"Detective," she began in a scratchy contralto, "what can you tell
me about Detective Evans' death?" 

Jerry caught his sergeant's eye for a long moment. "Not a whole
lot." He shrugged. "Why? Has something unusual turned up in the
autopsy?" 

Marks simply scribbled a note in response. "We're attempting to
chronicle his last few hours, and Dispatch reported that you
called a cruiser to come to your aid at his residence. What can
you tell me about that?" 

Donato let out a slow sigh. "Well, yeah, I did. He called me. He
sounded really, really out of it." 

"Called you?" the investigator prompted. 

"On my cellular phone." 

"Ah." She scratched at the paper before she asked, "This is your
Department phone?" 

He nodded, then related his encounter with Evans, finishing with,
"Once he went inside, he settled in his easy chair. He said he
felt like a nap. I left his Department phone on the side table by
him and told him to call the precinct house if he needed any help.
He mumbled something, then started snoring." 

Marks narrowed her green eyes at him. "So, he was definitely alive
when you left him?" 

Jerry glanced at the Sergeant, who was listening to the
conversation with his arms crossed. "Yes." He punctuated his
statement with a firm nod. "Yes, he was. Quite loudly alive, as a
matter of fact." 

The blonde smiled mirthlessly. "Was his behavior with you
typical?" 

Donato rubbed the back of his neck. "We didn't work together long
enough for me to know what was typical, to be honest. He swore
almost constantly. I know that's sometimes considered a sign of
mental instability." 

Marks cocked a penciled brow. "Oh? Are you a psychologist,
Detective Donato?" 

Jerry leaned away from her. "No more so than to read suspects,
Ma'am." 

She shook her head. "Well, I've heard about his mouth from others.
But, it might surprise you to know that there are teenagers who
use that degree of obscenity as a matter of course. Are you saying
they're *all* mentally unstable, Detective?" 

Johnson's chair creaked. "Lieutenant, are you making an accusation
here?" 

She glared. "Not necessarily. Unless this whole precinct has
something to hide." Turning back to Donato, she asked, "So, where
were you between the time you left him and when you were called
back on duty?" 

Jerry studied his thick fingers, which were clutching the arm
rests of his chair. To admit to his whereabouts, in the company of
witnesses in a not-yet-completely-closed murder investigation, in
decidedly informal circumstances, would, at this moment, appear
foolish and improper. He forced himself to relax, then answered,
"I'd... I'd rather not say, Ma'am."

The African-American rose to stand beside him. "Detective, I don't
think you understand..." 

Donato cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Sir, I'd really
rather not say. It was rather, well, personal." 

Johnson rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Then I'm
afraid I'll have to ask for your shield and weapon, Detective." 

"What?" Jerry exclaimed as he gripped the arms of the chair again.
"You, you think I *killed* him?" 

Marks nodded. "Your story doesn't wash, Mister Donato. The autopsy
revealed that Detective Evans had been given a massive injection
of testosterone. The Medical Examiner's office estimates that his
heart had been pumping at a rate of upwards of 250 beats per
minute when his fatal coronary occurred. You and your former
partner, Maria Hernandez, had solved a case previously where an
endorphin/hormone cocktail had been used as a lethal weapon. You
and the decedent had been seen disagreeing, as a matter of fact,
Sergeant Johnson had been forced to separate the pair of you, only
a few weeks ago. While I don't like seeing an officer go bad,
especially one with your future, Detective, you are our most
likely suspect." 

Jerry was on his feet. "But, just because he and I didn't work
well together is no reason to suspect me of his death! He needed
help! He wasn't making any sense. I had to make sure he was okay
when I stopped by, but I didn't kill him." His furor spent, he
sank into the chair. "That I would take a case Maria and I,...
Maria..." He shook his head. 

Johnson rested his hand on his detective's shoulder. "I'm sure
we'll find the real killer soon, Jerry. But, until then, you're
our only suspect. This will all be cleared up in a few days, just
watch." He extended his free hand. "Until then?" 

With a sigh, Donato turned over the badge and gun. "Sir, I didn't
*do* anything. I just wanted to help him. He accused me of
stealing his pension!" 

The Sergeant nodded. "I know. This isn't an effort to railroad
you, Detective." With a significant glance at Marks, he added,
"I'll see to that." 

The Lieutenant closed her notebook and rose. "As I'm certain you
realize, you'll be suspended with pay until this matter is
concluded. Please keep yourself available for further
questioning." She led the way out of the office with a firmly
raised chin. 

                            --o-0-o--

Road to Phira 
Santorini, Greece 
Sunday, May 24, 1998 
3:19 pm

Mulder canted his eyes towards his partner as they spun around yet
another bend in the road. He knew, now, that she would not be
walking out of the X- Files and his life when they returned to the
States in a few weeks. If she were still thinking of leaving, she
would have used her uncharacteristic clumsiness as yet another
reason. And, she wouldn't be looking forward to late-night
arguments about matters she would, at one point in their
partnership, have considered science fiction.

"Mulder?" Her low alto broke gently into his thoughts.

"Doctor?" He smirked, but kept his eyes on the road.

"You act like you're feeling good. You have a theory?"

He grinned. "Won't say."

She shook her head. "Oh? What would it take to get you to share?
Gold-pressed latinum?"

He waggled his eyebrows.

"Mulderrrrr."

He chuckled. "Can't share what you don't have. After we compare
the fingerprints we've found at the shop to those on the corpse,
then I may have something."

"Hum." She crossed her arms. "Don't you think it's odd we weren't
approached by anyone back there?"

He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Well, most of those shops are actually the first floor of a
family residence. Yet, two strangers drive up, one conks herself
on the head, the other tries to break into the back door of a
neighbors' house. But, no one comes out to challenge us, or, on
this most tourist-oriented of islands, offer assistance."

He wiggled happily in his seat. "Ah, Scully, you were doing a fine
job on conking yourself on the head, all on your own." He waited a
beat for the Look to shoot his way, then nodded. "But, you're
right. Someone should have said something, or called the police.
And, they can't all be at Sunday dinner this late in the
afternoon. Hum."

They lapsed into silence for the remainder of the drive.

                            --o-0-o--

Police Headquarters  
Phira, Santorini, Greece  
Sunday, 5:23 pm

Officer Patikopolis was pacing in front of the white building when
they arrived. "Agents! It's terrible! You must come quickly."

As soon as Mulder turned the engine off, the partners were out of
the Fiat. "What?" Mulder demanded.

"It's the refrigeration unit out back. We had the body kept there,
but the cooling failed."

Scully exchanged a glance with Mulder before she asked, "When did
you find this out?"

Patikopolis was charging through the building, the agents on his
heels. "We put the, er, victim out in the meat freezer just as you
said, Agent Scully. If I don't have the air conditioner going, I
can hear the compressor running from my office. But today it was
cool, so I opened the windows. I noticed the compressor wasn't
running then. I was about to check it when you pulled up."

Mulder tugged the auburn-haired woman to a halt. "We were right to
be suspicious, Scully."

She nodded. "Although, if he were attempting a cover-up, he might
have gone for something more original."

He bent close to her ear. "Or, something more original might raise
suspicions."

"Agents?" The officer was stepping out the back exit, so they
hurried to join him. "It can't have been that long, or else - " He
pulled open the freezer door and began coughing.

Mulder put his hand over his nose. "Jeez, Scully, I'm glad this is
your line of work."

Heading back inside for a mask and gloves, she waved at his
comment.

                            --o-0-o--

Scully stepped into Patikopolis' tiny office. "I'd estimate the
corpse had been at ambient temperature for a week." She had
stripped off her gloves outside the building, and was just
removing her mask. "I took what tissue samples could still provide
us some clues."

Mulder, his arms crossed, had been leaning against the far wall.
He had spent the past hour glowering at the policeman. "Great.
That's just great," he muttered to no one in particular.

Patikopolis, for his part, had spent the time studiously avoiding
the tall agent's glare. With the auburn-haired woman's return, he
waved her into the seat her partner had refused to occupy. "Agent
Scully, this whole incident troubles me deeply. We don't have many
murders, or even many deaths, here on Thera. I came to you because
I wanted this solved as quickly as possible, with a minimum of
disruption to the coming tourist season."

Mulder could take the excuses no longer. "So, you destroy the only
tangible evidence we have in this case? Is *that* how you were
trained to perform your duties?" He leaned over the desk. "Or are
you trying to cover up something you're afraid we'll find out?"

Scully rose to place her hand on his arm. "Mulder," she began, but
the agent was stalking out of the room. She turned to the Greek
officer. "Sir, you must understand, that in our line of work,
we've met with our fair share of obstruction of justice. My
partner has, as a result, a very low tolerance for anything he
perceives as shoddy police work."

The black-haired officer nodded. "As well he should."

Scully crossed her arms. "Officer Patikopolis," she began,
"perhaps you can help us with something."

Immensely relieved, he sighed.

She pointed in the general direction of Akrotiri. "Why would a row
of homes be empty on Sunday afternoon?"

He broke into a broad smile. "Ah." Tapping the side of his nose,
he leaned down to whisper, "Town meeting. They're debating on
petitioning Athens to return the Akrotiri frescoes. That would
involve raising a good deal of cash to house the treasures
properly. With the Greek parliament calling for the return of the
Elgin marbles, well, they figured the time was right." He held up
both hands. "There are many, many opinions to be aired on the
subject. I suspect Maximillian is there offering several."

Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "I'd imagine he would be.
We'll let you know what we find out."

                            --o-0-o--

Mulder was fuming by the convertible when Scully emerged. "So?" he
demanded. "What did he say?"

She held the fingerprint sheet out to him. "There's no mystery as
to why the houses in Akrotiri were empty. They're in a town
meeting." Making a point of glancing around the blue bowl of the
sky, she teased gently, "At least there were no little girls
giggling at us."

"Yeah. Just let me go push on a tree or two to be sure." He held
the car door for her, a chivalrous gesture for so low a barrier
that it set her eyebrows tweaking. "Ah. Did you..."

She shook her head. "Given what he told me, I think we're wise to
pursue this through the Gunmen. The mainland government and the
island's officials won't be cooperating with each other for a
while." She waved to the south. "Home, James. We have work ahead
of us."

He turned over the engine. "You wish is my command, Ma'am."

                            --o-0-o--

Northern Precinct
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Monday, May 25, 1998
7:21 am

Patricia Marks watched Sandra Miller march determinedly between
the desks. The woman moved with a fluid, almost feline grace, her
long arms swinging wide arcs about her. When she was visible from
head to toe, Patricia found herself envious of the professor's
comfortable khakis and walking shoes. Her own steps, she knew,
were jerky from fatigue and her three inch heels, and her
fashionably short skirt pinched after a long night of wear. "This
is her typical behavior?" she asked Johnson, who had sloughed off
his tie and rolled up his sleeves. 

The African-American nodded. "She's always acted like woman on a
mission whenever I've seen her. This may be how she deals with
grief."

The blonde flipped through her notebook looking for clean sheet.
"You're certain she wasn't responsible for - " She turned back a
few pages. " - Wilton's death?" 

Johnson sighed. "Our most likely suspect is languishing in a coma,
Lieutenant. If anyone, we have her to thank for us finding him."
He straightened in his chair as the subject of their discussion
reached for the door knob. "I expect she'll hound whoever takes on
the prosecution of the case until Professor Williams is behind
bars, stroke or no." 

Sandra tossed her chestnut hair as she entered. "Good Morning,
Sergeant. What do you have new on Tom's murder?" 

Marks rose to extend her hand, noting that their witness wore no
make-up or perfume. The police Lieutenant found herself envious,
yet again, of the other woman's freedom. She suspected her own
mascara was darkening her eyelids from the number of times she had
rubbed her face this night. "Doctor Sandra Miller. I'm Patricia
Marks from the Internal Affairs Division. I have a few questions
for you regarding Detective Donato." 

Sandra's grip and release were firm and quick. "Oh? What is this
about?" 

Johnson rose as well. "He's been charged with Detective Evans'
murder, Professor Miller." 

A narrowing of hazel eyes. "What? Jerry? You must be joking!" 

Marks resumed her seat, aching to slip out of her heels. "Not at
all. Charging a peace officer with the willful death of any person
is a sobering business, but it's worse when the victim is a
fellow-detective. That they had been partners, well..." She shook
her head. 

Johnson waved to one of the chairs in front of his desk, but
Sandra remained standing. "Detective Donato has been temporarily
relieved of duty, but I honestly don't expect it will be for
long." He glanced at Marks again. "If you assist us, that is." 

Sandra sank into one of the aluminum chairs. "All right. What is
it you need to know?" 

The blonde uncapped her pen. "Do you have any idea where Jerry
Donato was Saturday evening?" 

The chestnut-haired professor blinked. "Why, haven't you talked to
him? He was with me." 

Marks raised her eyes from the paper at Johnson's cluck of
surprise. "Oh?" 

Sandra nodded. "We had dinner together." 

Johnson sighed as he leaned forward. "Oh? When did he arrive." 

After a brief recap of the evening's events, the professor shook
her head. "I have no idea why he wouldn't want to tell you any of
this. It was only dinner, and he left when he was paged. When he
returned from finding out about Evans, he talked about what a good
cop he was." She faced the Lieutenant directly. "You've actually
charged him with this? You're serious?" 

Marks glared. "Our autopsy showed that Evans died from the effects
of a massive injection of testosterone. The male body has specific
mechanisms for the production or removal of hormones." 

"Yes, I know," Sandra interrupted curtly. "It's part of the fight
or flight mechanism we evolved to deal with predators. So, was
there elevated output from the Pituitary gland? That's the master
controller for hormone production, or so I've read." 

The long, tiring night had frayed Patricia Marks' nerves to the
breaking point. "Don't presume to tell us how to do our jobs!" the
blonde retorted. "For all we know, *you* assisted Detective Donato
in the perpetration of this crime!" 

The professor was across the room in two steps. "Don't you dare!
Don't you dare use psychological tactics on me! I told you the
truth when I walked in the door. There's nothing more that needs
to be said. If you don't believe me, I'll dig out my credit card
receipt. We went Dutch, at my insistence. Jerry's a policeman, but
I make good money." She had pulled herself to her full height to
tower over the seated woman. 

"We may just ask you to do that," Marks replied levelly.

The sound of a ringing phone brought their attentions back to
Johnson's desk. "Yes?" the Sergeant barked. "Ah, I see." His face
softened. "Send him in." He replaced the hand unit. "This should
be interesting," he commented ambiguously. 

A slender, brown-haired man in an expensive suit had moved from
the receiving desk to fidget anxiously outside Johnson's office. 

The African-American crossed to open his glass door. "Come in,
Sir." 

He flashed a nervous smile as he entered. "Pardon the
interruption. I'm Mitch Toloso." He tugged down his sleeves.

Marks wondered if he had seen her exchange with Sandra Miller. 

"I'm here from the firm of Houlihan, Jackson, Shepherd, and
Whittington. We represent Gerald William Donato?" 

An exchange of confused glances among the three. Finally Johnson
rose. "When did Detective Donato engage your services?" 

Toloso waved the question away. "That's not relevant here." He
turned to the chestnut-haired professor. "Are you Doctor Sandra
Ann Miller?" 

After an eyes-narrowed glare, she nodded. 

The attorney held out a business card toward her. "Please make
your way to our law offices at your earliest convenience. We have
some questions we need to ask you." 

"All right." Sandra took the slip of cardboard. "As soon as the
officers are finished here," she agreed as she read the address,
"I'll call a cab to take me there." 

"Thank you." Toloso bowed to the peace officers. "Pardon the
interruption, yet again." He spun and left. 

Marks turned to Sandra. "Did you do this? Did you engage this
firm's services?" 

The professor rose. "I most certainly did not. Now, if you have no
further questions, I need to find out what this is about." 

Johnson nodded. "I think we're through here. Just stay in touch,
Doctor Miller." 

Her hand on the doorknob, Sandra turned to offer, "Don't worry. I
have every intention of doing exactly that." She glared down at
Marks. "You have the wrong man. Just wait. You'll see." 

Wanting nothing more than to return home, the blonde stood. "I
honestly hope you're correct, Ma'am."

                            --o-0-o-- 

Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece 
Monday, May 25, 1998 
8:12 am

Her fingers curled around the handle of a mug of steaming Turkish
coffee, Scully leaned against the door frame of the entrance into
the study. Her partner was deep in concentration, pacing back and
forth in front of the full bank of windows behind the desk. There,
he had affixed the mylar sheets bearing their fingerprint
transfers from the shop. In his left hand was the card with the
deceased's prints, in his right, an oversized hand lens. With an
exclamation, he brought the magnifier and page to his face. His
nose was now so close to the curved glass as he worked that she
could convince herself she could see his breath condensing on both
it and his round reading glasses. She smiled to herself when she
realized he had failed to notice her presence.

"Hard at work, Mycroft?"

Without turning, but with a pronounced depression appearing under
his rib- cage, he tossed back, "You saying I need to lay off the
souvlaki, Sherlock?"

After resting the china on a note pad, she joined him. "Any luck?"

He placed the hand lens and sheet on the desk. "Not really. I
thought I'd found a match on the doorknob, but it was pretty
smudged." He leaned into her face. "I'm not used to doing
comparisons on *normal* length fingerprints."

One corner of her mouth twitched. "But, as I remember, you found
the prints on the gas cap that sealed the Propps case. Been
dodging it ever since, I see."

After tossing her a lopsided grin, he stepped back to the window.
"Haven't needed to. Greys don't have finger whorls." He rubbed the
bridge of his nose under his glasses for a moment. "One of their
many attractions."

Lifting the ID sheet off the desk, she fixed her gaze on the
transfer of the left index finger. "And I haven't done this since
my Quantico days," she teased with a toss of her hair, "before I
met you, Mulder. Flukemen don't have fingerprints either."

He shook his head. "And here I thought all Edgar's children did
fingerprints." He gazed longingly at the scanner resting on a
wheeled cart by the desk.

"Not enough resolution, Mulder," she called back.

Shaking his head, he stepped into the doorway. "I'll get your
glasses. You'll need them."

                            --o-0-o--

When he returned, she was leaning against the desk, sipping the
last of her coffee.

He smirked. "What, give up already?"

She pointed to one of the sheets on the second row. "No, I found a
match on the exhaust pipe." She touched her bandages. "I
remembered that I reached up to grasp the pipe after I contacted
it." She waggled the sheet. "I think the decedent was left-handed.
There is a positive match for the left index finger on the pipe."

He shrugged. "I had started with the rear door, since if anyone
was looking for evidence, that's where they were likely to end
up." He rested a hand on her shoulder. "So, we know he was there."

Scully tapped her teeth with the corner of the sheet. "And the
prints are right up by the wall. So, between the possible match on
the doorknob and the match on the pipe, we can conclude that he
was, what, being chased away from the building?"

He nodded. "What if..."

She stopped to watch him.

He was pacing now. "What if our victim was exclusively interested
in the tour guide and her family, not in that woman?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I think you're right, Mulder.
I think there's more to our tour guide than meets the eye. I think
she knew who that woman and her father were, and she's been lying
to us." She crossed her arms. "I wish we had heard something back
from Vicky about the woman, so we can lay that angle to rest. I
know Byers wants to keep her safe, but she may have part of the
answer and not realize it."

Mulder crossed back to the desk. "Let me send the Gunmen another
encrypted E- mail. If they can dribble us out a few photos, we can
work on making connections out here ourselves." As he prepared the
message, he realized his partner was hovering behind him. After a
few sentences, he could stand it no longer, so swiveled the chair
to face her. "Scully?"

She held up both hands. "Sorry. Didn't mean to rattle you. Let me
know when you're finished."

He crossed his arms. "What?"

She settled on the divan. "Don't worry." Both cheeks creased.
"It's a good thing."

He cocked his head. "Good things should never wait, Doctor." He
leaned over, punched a few buttons, then straightened. "There.
It's away. Now, what's *good* that's bothering you?"

With uncharacteristic hesitancy, Scully approached the desk. She
alternated between studying her feet and his upturned face.

He leaned toward her. "Scully?"

She held out her hands, dropped them to her sides, then, resolved,
began softly, "Mulder, you know I'm not an openly affectionate
person, but..." She reached out for him. "Please, stand up."

His eyebrows having long settled in a knot, he rose without
further comment. His partner's actions had him unleashing a soft
'oh' in surprise. She had her fingers on his waist and was
uneasily pressing her cheek against his chest.

"I'm sorry," she stated quietly.

He circled her shoulders with his right arm, then tucked her
auburn crown under his chin with his left hand. "No, don't."

Her hold on him tightened. "I'm sorry for having put you through
the last few weeks. I belong working on the X-Files. I've known
that for quite some time now. I was just so tired."

"Oh, Scully." He began running his hand down the back of her head.
"Of course you were tired. Of course you were. That you're staying
is the best thing for all of us, but, if you'd left, well," he
whispered into her hair, "I'd never have regretted a day we worked
together. Not a day."

She rested against him carefully. "Neither have I, Mulder, neither
have I."

Releasing a sigh, he closed both arms around her shoulders, simply
enjoying the moment, taking no thought for the future.

A beep from the computer elicited a grunt from her. "What? That
can't be the Gunmen, unless the message bounced." They separated.

He bent over the keyboard. "No, it's a new E-mail." Frowning, he
clicked the mouse. "No subject." He opened the message.

The body of the communication sent them both into a frenzy of
activity, Scully typing frantically, Mulder bounding down the
hall.

Four words blinked on the screen. "I know your plans."

                           --o-0-o--

Caroline and Scully were huddled over the keyboard while Mulder
paced. Max had the receiver on his ear. "Yuseph!" he nearly
whooped into the phone. "Listen, we have a problem here. Someone
is sending us threatening E-mails and it looks as if they're
coming from inside Israel. Here, I'm handing the phone to Dana." 

She tucked her hair behind her ear before offering, "Agent Hiram,
our traceback routine listed the following likely URLs." She read
off several strings of numbers. "How did we get this so fast?" She
flashed a smile at Caroline while she repeated the question. "Some
very magic fingers and a little bit of foreign assistance."
Although the Mossad Agent had been abundantly helpful while they
were tracking down Sarah Silverberg, she knew the Israeli agency's
reputation for secrecy was well-deserved. She refused to divulge
Mulder's contact, Danny, to anyone outside their close-knit
circle. "Where?" Her eyebrows drew together. "That'd be
fascinating, but there's too much to do here." She handed the
phone back to Max. 

The white haired man nodded as he thanked the agent on the other
end. "I don't need to tell you that this may have international
ramifications." After he replaced the receiver, he turned to the
others in the room. "I think we could all use a good meal and a
little rest right now." 

After she took off her reading glasses, Caroline rubbed her eyes.
"And I know just the place, children." She and Max exchanged a
glance. "So, if you two would like to get cleaned up, we can be on
our way." 

Mulder bent over his partner as they moved down the hall to their
rooms. "What?" 

She smirked up at him. "Agent Hiram wanted to take me on a private
tour of the excavations under the Temple Mount." 

Grasping her shoulder, he whispered, "No easy access to the Holy
of Holies to be gained, so I see." 

Suddenly serious, she pulled herself erect. "Nor should there be."

                            --o-0-o--

Law Offices 
San Diego, California 
Monday, May 25, 1998 
9:13 am

As yet another well-dressed law clerk exited the office across
from her, Sandra fidgeted in the plush chair. The woman averted
her eyes when Sandra pointedly checked her watch. The
chestnut-haired professor was very nearly out of time for this
interview, and most certainly out of patience. She turned to the
receptionist, who had offered her coffee twice in the past half an
hour, but, just when she was about to rise, the door opened, and a
grey-haired man stepped into the hall. "Doctor Miller?" he asked.

Sandra rose. "Yes?" 

He waved a tweed-clad arm towards the dim interior of his office.
"I'm ready for you now." 

Sandra bit back the snide remark and stepped through. The interior
was as tastefully, and expensively, furnished as the hallway, and
she found her way to a seat nearly identical to the one she had
just vacated. 

The lawyer settled behind his desk. "We haven't been formally
introduced, Doctor Miller, so allow me." He rose, leaned over the
zebrawood expanse, and extended his hand. "I'm Charles William
Whittington, the Third, and I'll be handling Detective Donato's
case for the Department." 

Sandra made a point of gripping the fingers with the precisely
manicured nails firmly, but not too hard. "I know who you are,"
she quipped. "I've had the chance to read your door." She glared
at him.

He pointed to the man in the corner. "This is my associate, Mister
Toloso. He'll be acting as my recorder today."

She nodded to the younger man, who was abnormally rigid as he
balanced a silver laptop on his knees. "We've already met."

The brown-haired lawyer nodded in response, then rested his
fingers on the undersized keyboard and waited. 

Whittington just smiled and opened a folder. 

Sandra leaned forward. "Excuse me, but, how does the San Diego
Police Department retain a lawyer like yourself? I don't quite see
your fees as fitting into a municipal budget." 

He cocked a grey eyebrow. "Perhaps not, Doctor Miller, but have
you ever heard of pro bono work?" He turned another page. 

Still not convinced, but stymied as to finding another opening,
she leaned against the padded leather back of her chair. "There is
the matter of his bail. How do the police usually handle this? Is
there a fund set up?" 

A snort. "For an officer accused of killing a fellow policeman?"
He glared at her. "My dear, I'll arrange this through the bail
bondsman I usually use." 

She bristled at his pejorative use of an affectionate salutation,
but kept silent. This was, she knew, Jerry Donato's best chance to
escape a death sentence.

"Very well." Whittington lifted his reading glasses out of his
pocket to set them far down on his nose. "So, how long have you
known the defendant?" 

Sandra crossed her arms. "He hasn't been charged with anything
yet."

Another flexing of his jaw. "Of course not. My mistake. Just
practicing for the court. How long have you known Detective
Donato?" 

She narrowed her eyes. "He didn't do anything. I've long since
learned to trust my instincts, and they tell me that Jerry Donato
is being framed for something." She bounded to her feet to begin
pacing. "For all I know, you may be in on it, Sir." She propped
both hands on the desk to bend over it. "Are you?"

The grey-haired lawyer took off his glasses. "Professor Miller.
I'm not certain we'll be able to accomplish anything here today if
you continue with this incomprehensible paranoid behavior. Are you
aware that you are Detective Donato's sole character reference
outside of his immediate superior, Sergeant Martin Johnson?" 

Her mouth agape, she stepped away from the desk.

Whittington placed his glasses back on his nose. "I thought not.
Now, shall we begin again?" 

She found her way back to her seat. 

Whittington removed the cap from his Waterman, set the nub against
the letterhead, and asked, "How long have you known Detective
Jerry Donato?" 

She sighed. "Since the twenty-ninth of last month." 

Whittington cocked an eyebrow, but continued to scratch notes on
the paper. "And what was the occasion of your meeting?" 

She clasped her hands in her lap. "He was one of two detectives
sent to investigate the death of my friend and colleague, Doctor
Thomas Wilton." 

Whittington's fountain pen and Toloso's key clicks making soft
witnesses to the interrogation, they continued until the entirety
of the Wilton investigation had been documented. Finally, he
asked, "Is there anything you would like to add to this statement,
Doctor Miller?" 

She nodded. "I'll say this in court, too, if it would help." 

He waved for her to continue. 

She fidgeted again. "Jerry Donato put in hours of his own time,
and placed himself at considerable personal jeopardy, to find
Tom's killer. He was diligent, helpful, and unfailingly
professional throughout the ordeal. I can honestly say that if he
had investigated Tom's death with anything less than the utmost of
his abilities, I couldn't see it. I'm certain Tom's wife,
Professor Judy Seymour-Wilton, will corroborate my view of Jerry's
fine police work." 

Whittington looked over his glasses at her. "And, her address and
phone would be?" 

Sandra rattled them off by memory. 

After concluding his notes, the grey-haired attorney capped his
indigo-bodied pen. "Very well. Thank you for your time, Doctor
Miller. I'll have Mister Toloso contact Doctor Seymour-Wilton this
afternoon." He rose to walk her to the outer door, where he turned
and extended his hand. "We'll contact you if we need anything
further from you." 

She clasped his fingers carefully, then stepped out into the sun.

                            --o-0-o--

Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece 
Tuesday, May 26, 1998 
5:43 am

"Mulder?" Max bent over the sleeping form of his stepson. "Mulder,
wake up." 

The dark-haired agent blinked up blearily. "What? What is it?" he
croaked. "Have the Gunmen found something?"

"You've had a call, Mulder," the white-haired man stated without
further preamble. "Your agent, Nichols. There's been some news
about your sister." 

Rubbing his face, Mulder staggered to his feet. "Oh? How's Mom
taking it?" 

"Just fine, dear, considering it doesn't affect her directly."
Caroline was waiting in the hallway with Scully, who was still
tying her terry cloth robe around her. "He says it has something
to do with Jerry Donato, the detective who was working on the
murder case with her. It seems he's under arrest for the murder of
his partner." 

The agents exchanged surprised glances, then Scully asked, "But,
you don't have any more of the details?" 

Caroline shook her head. "I wanted to make certain you heard them
properly, rather than my attempting to write everything down." She
waved them towards the study. 

Mulder was tapping in the Nichols' home number from memory. He
waited through two rings, then offered a quick hello. 

Scully was pacing in front of the desk. 

"So," Mulder interjected, "why are they charging him? And why is
the Bureau being called in for an investigation that ought better
to be handled by San Diego's Internal Affairs Division?" 

The auburn-haired woman stopped to lean against the desk. 

"Oh, I see." Mulder bit his lower lip. After a long silence, he
concluded with, "Keep me informed, Nichols, and, good luck with
the investigation." 

Scully crossed her arms. "Well?" 

Mulder continued to worry his lower lip between his teeth before
he answered, "I feel this little case here on Santorini isn't just
a simple murder, Scully. This Detective Evans had invested in
several deluxe rental apartments here on the island." 

She cocked her head. "Where did a beat cop like Evans get the
money to invest in overseas properties?" 

He raised both eyebrows. "It also seems these properties turn in
huge profits, even though they regularly run half-occupied." 

Scully settled on the divan. "That's odd, in and of itself.
Generally Triple A places like that are booked up months in
advance." 

Snatching up one of the pencils Caroline had left in a
turtle-shaped ceramic holder, Mulder began idly tossing it in the
air and catching it. "You and I both know that. But, Detective
Evans had built himself up a nice little nest egg for his
retirement, which was less than a year away. Also, he had a couple
of life insurance policies, on which there was a single
beneficiary, one Jerry Donato, whom Evans referred to as the best
friend he had on the force." 

Scully was on her feet, phone in hand. "That must be the
connection to our corpse. We know the deceased's fingerprints
match those taken at the shop. He must be San Diego PD Internal
Affairs, which would explain why he had no real identity." 

After propping both leather-encased feet on the engraved of the
desk, Mulder rubbed his chin. "Perhaps, Scully. But, it doesn't
explain why he was following that woman and her father." 

Catching the pencil in mid-air, the auburn-haired woman used the
eraser end to punch in the Gunman's number. "Hey, Langly." She
broke into a genuine smile at the delight in the blond Gunman's
surprised greeting. "Turn your encryption software for your
machine on. We need to communicate incognito." As she moved around
to the keyboard, she replied to her partner, "Unless they were in
on the real estate scheme." She shoved both long leather-clad feet
onto the floor, then motioned for him to give her the chair. 

He patted his knee and smirked. 

She rolled her eyes, then bent over the keyboard.

Suddenly serious, he touched her arm. "And, it still doesn't
explain why he tried to grab the kid, or why he attacked you."
Standing, he rolled the oak desk chair behind her. 

She accepted the seat with a nod. "No, it doesn't. But, if it did,
our work here would be finished, wouldn't you say?" 

He gripped the high oak back to watch her while she brought up the
encryption program.

                           --o-0-o--

Visiting Room 
San Diego Police Headquarters 
San Diego, California 
Monday, May 25, 1998  
11:27 am

Sandra paced on the visitor's side of the space, watching as the
locked and barred door swung open. 

An unshaven Jerry Donato in an orange prison jump suit staggered
through, then reached for the phone on his side of the window. 

Sandra had the receiver on her ear before she sat down. "Jerry,
when you said you'd call, I didn't think it would be your *one*
call. What's going on here?" 

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck. "I have no idea, Sandra. I was
called away to investigate a homeless death, then called directly
back to headquarters. I just needed someone outside the force who
could think straight. I thought of you." He glanced back at the
guard. "Sorry to put you through this." 

She shook her head. "No, no, that's all right. You went above and
beyond for Tom; this is only fair." She pressed her hand into the
glass. "I know you didn't kill him." 

Jerry placed his palm over the impression of hers. "Thanks. These
guys aren't so sure. I can't even understand why I'm a suspect.
The paramedics were on the scene when I arrived." 

"Hands off the window," barked the guard. 

Setting her arm in her lap, Sandra leaned toward the clear
barrier. "They think you slipped him a slow-acting poison." They
both laughed helplessly at the absurdity of the thought, then she
shook her head. "I know, it sounds like Hollywood. I've taken a
phone call from the FBI, Jerry, from an ASAC Nichols. You know
him?" 

A sigh. "I've worked with the Bureau on several cases, but I don't
remember him. He must be new here."

She nodded. "That's what he said. He's interested in those
overseas properties Evans owned." 

Jerry scratched his blackened chin. "That's so weird. He lived in
a dump, drove a clunker Ford. And he left them to me? Then yelled
at me that I was stealing them from him?" 

Sandra leaned against the broken plastic back. "I think either you
or Evans was being set up for something." 

He nodded. "That's one of your leaps I think I can agree with. But
why? I haven't worked on any high-profile cases or anything that
involves organized crime, or large sums of money. Just homicides."

"I know." Sandra bent close to the glass again. "Look, I'll be at
the arraignment tomorrow. I've talked to your lawyer and we've put
together what we think will cover your bail. I can't believe
they'd demand you stay in there any longer than is absolutely
necessary." 

Jerry's shoulders sagged. "Thanks." After a quick glance over his
shoulder, he rested his hand on the window. "I owe you, Sandie."

                           --o-0-o--

San Diego Municipal Courthouse 
San Diego, California 
Tuesday, May 26, 1998 
9:57 am

Sandra paced outside the double doors. She was waiting, she knew,
but she wasn't certain for what. The arraignment was about to
begin, and Jerry would be looking for her when he was brought out.
But, she had long ago learned to listen to her instincts, so here
she stayed. 

Something brought her attention to the outer glass doors. A short,
balding man with a blond moustache, almost gone fully grey, had
just pushed through them.

He exchanged a glance with the guard, then called out a gravelly
'Hello.' Sandra found the voice oddly familiar, and as she
struggled to place him, his faded blue eyes swept the lobby until
his gaze landed on her.

Aware that he somehow seemed to know her, Sandra shifted
uncomfortably as he dug in his jacket pocket for something. Her
hazel eyes flicked toward the guard, but the Hispanic man had made
no move to intercept the new arrival, merely pushing the doors
shut to keep the cool air in, then resuming his seat. 

His gait something between a swagger and a limp as he approached
her, the older man beamed broadly at Sandra. "Doctor Miller?" 

Her eyes narrowed. There had been a catch as he had spoken her
name, leading her to conclude he had to stop himself from calling
her something else. She crossed her arms. "Who wants to know?" 

He was holding up a leather ID folder. "Assistant Special Agent in
Charge Phillip Nichols, FBI. I just got off a flight from DC, or I
would have been here sooner. They're about to start. We'd better
go in."

After a sidelong glance at the unexpected apology, Sandra led him
to the front row behind the defendant's bench, where a lean
African-American was already seated. They exchanged quick nods,
then the FBI agent introduced himself to Sergeant Johnson. But her
attention was elsewhere, since the side door had opened, and she
wanted to concentrate on sending the thick-chested detective
support with her eyes. 

Jerry Donato, now dressed in the suit and tie Johnson had brought
him, smiled wanly at the three people behind the carved rail. His
gaze landed quizzically on the blond man, then Sandra's mouthed,
'It's okay,' had him turning back to take a seat. 

She was surprised at the strength of the urge she felt to reach
across the barrier to pat his shoulder, but the bailiff was
announcing the judge's arrival, so, once again, her attention
turned elsewhere. There would be time to speak after the
proceedings. 

                            --o-0-o--

Sandra smiled at Donato, who had stepped through the gate to join
them. "It'll be okay, Jerry," she soothed with a quick grip of his
arm.

After rubbing her fingers, which were still resting on his wrist,
the detective freed his hand to extend to the older man. "You have
me at a disadvantage, Sir." 

A firm clasp. "Phillip Nichols, ASAC here at the local FBI office.
I need to speak with all of you regarding this." He waved his arm
at their surroundings. "Outside," he added somberly. 

Jerry looked to his lawyer, who had just finished collecting his
papers and joined them, before he protested, "But this is a
courtroom, surely - " 

Nichols shook his head firmly. "After what I've seen, I can't
assume anywhere inside is safe." He led the way to the doors. 

Sandra nodded, then hurried to catch up with the older man. "Do
you know anything about those agents who have been parked on my
street for the past few weeks?" 

The agent glanced over at her, then, after a silent moment while
he chewed his moustache, pointed to the glass entrance. Once they
were assembled in the grass, he nodded. You *are* direct, I have
to give you that. Those are my agents, Doctor Miller, and they're
watching you." 

Sandra caught the slight hitch on her name, but before she could
respond, Jerry was protesting, "What? But the murder of Tom Wilton
is all but solved, and Sandra was never even a suspect!" 

Nichols shook his head. "The surveillance has nothing to do with
the Wilton murder, and everything to do with your forgotten
childhood, Doctor Miller." 

Now Sandra had her hands on her hips. "How do you know? Have you
been bugging my home?" 

A rueful smile stretching his lips, Nichols sighed. "No, Doctor
Miller. The Bureau doesn't do that, at least not anymore, and
certainly not without a warrant. Let's just say I know someone
who's been looking for you most of his life." 

Jerry laid what he hoped was a calming hand on Sandra's shoulder.
"Who is this person?" he demanded.

Nichols glanced around the crowd as if he were searching for
lurkers before he responded, "One of Doctor Miller's biological
family members. He's in the Bureau, but his position and the types
of cases he investigates put anyone with a personal connection to
him as risk." 

Now the thick-chested detective moved in front of Sandra, a
protective gesture that he was relieved she didn't protest. "What
are these cases? Organized Crime? Drugs?"

Nichols shrugged. "You could say that." 

Her dark eyebrows set in a knot, Sandra stepped forward to demand,
"Well, which is it?" 

Nichols simply shook his head. 

She crossed her arms. "So, when can I meet this 'family member'?
And what does it have to do with Jerry?" 

Nichols leaned toward her. "He's on assignment overseas at the
moment." Pointing to the thick-chested detective, he continued,
"As for a connection to the Evans murder, that's why I'm
involved." 

Donato's attorney stepped into the agent's face. "If you know
something that pertains to this case, I need to hear it, and now."
He was pulled back by Johnson. 

But, undeterred, Nichols faced Jerry. "Did you know that Evans had
property overseas?" 

Donato glanced at Whittington before he replied, "I found out
after he had died, yes. But I can't understand how he could afford
it. He earned even less than I do, and I can barely cover the
place I have now." 

Nichols chewed his moustache for a moment. "Then, what say we put
our bright little brains together and figure this out, all right?"
He looked around, noting the several heads nodding agreement. 

                            --o-0-o--

FBI San Diego Regional Office 
San Diego, California 
Tuesday, May 26, 1998 
12:37 pm

Nichols waved them all into a large, bright office at the far end
of the hall. "Sorry. I can't resist. When I've had an office in
the Bureau before, it was always a sardine-can cubicle." He
grinned. "My former partner tells me I'm quite a show-off about
all this." 

Jerry stuck his hands in his pockets as he took in the orange,
blue, and white decor of the room. "I take it no one mentions that
there's another AFC team here in the city?" 

Nichols guided him to a chair. "There is? Really? Ros? Why didn't
you tell me about that?" 

A tall brunette, who had been seated in one of the leather chairs
facing the desk, rose and extended her hand to Sandra. "Ignore
him. He misses working undercover." She tossed her head. "He
pretends he doesn't, but he does. I'm Doctor Andrea Rosen,
formerly at the FBI, now at Scripps Oceanographic Institute." 

Sandra shook her hand gingerly. "How does a criminologist get a
job at Scripps?" 

Rosen and Nichols exchanged knowing smirks, then she replied,
"Only if you consider the Big Bang arson, would it be possible."
She leaned against Nichols' desk. "My doctorate's in Radio
Astronomy." 

Jerry and his African-American superior stared at her. Johnson
shook his head. "What does the Bureau need astronomers for?" 

Nichols laughed out loud from behind his desk. "Oh, in our line of
work, they're almost essential, though the pencil-necks took a bit
of convincing." 

Rosen took a seat by Sandra. "I was hired by your - " She cast a
glance at Nichols, who waved her on. " - biological relative to
work with him." 

Jerry tipped his head. "Oh, so it's a he, is it? Who? Father,
brother, uncle?" 

Rosen sighed. "I'd like to tell you, but we can't be certain that
it would be in confidence, even here." 

Sandra crossed her arms. "Well, where *can* you tell me? All this
whispering and skulking in corners is making me insane. Why not
tell me the truth?"

Rosen and Nichols exchanged another glance, then the brunette
commented, "They're related, all right. She's as impatient as he
is." 

Sandra was on her feet, prowling the room. Finally, she stopped in
front of a rearing orange stallion, positioning herself so that it
appeared ready to leap over her head.

Nichols stood by Rosen. "All these mannerisms, Ros. Who'd have
thought it? Two minutes after she's in the office, she's a dead
ringer for him!" 

Sandra was eyeing Rosen carefully. "Did you say *Andrea* Rosen?" 

Sobering, the brunette nodded. "Yes. Why?" 

Sandra advanced on her. "I thought I recognized you! Yours was the
welcoming reception I was to attend the night Tom was killed." 

Rosen's grin dropped into a frown of sympathy. "Yes, I heard about
that. I'm sorry. I know the two of you were close. But, missing
the reception was a good thing. You know how boring these faculty
parties can be." 

Sandra nodded. "Yes, everyone bragging about their research, even
though they haven't done half the work. If you push them for
details, you can always tell which ones leech entirely off their
post-docs."

Rosen was beside her again. "You've noticed that, too? It makes me
nuts, sometimes." 

Sandra nodded. "*All* the time." She pointed at Jerry. "But, we're
here to talk about him, not me." 

Nichols smiled. "You're right. And we'll be seeing a good deal
more of each other in the future, if all goes well." He carried a
folder from his desk to the sofa where the two women had rejoined
Donato and Johnson. 

Jerry checked over the contents. "I still don't see how this
connects to Evans' death. Are you saying these were the properties
he had part ownership of?" He turned to Whittington. "Does any of
this make sense to you?" 

The grey-haired attorney studied the pages. 

Sandra thought he had blanched at one of the documents, a thick
packet with a blue and white striped cover. She made a note to
check that one over carefully as soon as she had a moment alone
with the papers. 

"No. None of these make any sense to me either." He closed the
legal-wide manila folder. "However, if I could take them back to
the firm and have my associates do some work with them - What?" 

Nichols had lifted the information from his hands. "No can do.
These are official FBI papers. I've only shown them to you for
purposes of identification in an on-going investigation. If your
people want to give them a once-over, that's fine. But, they have
to stay in this building." 

Whittington was on his feet. "If you don't want to cooperate in my
client's defense, then why did you show them to us?" 

Nichols crossed his arms, tucking the papers carefully away. "As I
said, to help us in an on-going investigation." 

Jerry rose. "Hey, I'm the one who's up on murder charges! While
you two posture for each other's benefits, it's my neck in the
noose." 

"Posture!" Whittington leaned into his client's face. "If you
think that's what I'm doing, then you can find yourself another
lawyer. Preferably, one who can be cowed by these scare tactics!"
He stormed to the exit. "Gentlemen, when you are ready, I'll be
waiting downstairs." The oak slammed impressively behind him.

Donato was after him, but Sandra reached the entranceway first.
"Jerry, I don't trust him. He saw something in those papers that
bothered him and I need to know what it was."

Nichols nodded. "As did I. It was exactly what I expected would
set him off, too." He waited until they were both seated again.
"You see, his firm is under investigation for real estate fraud,
both here and overseas, which is why we suspect he was so eager to
take your case, Detective Donato. I suggest you get yourself a new
lawyer." 

"Let me see." Jerry extended both hands. 

Nichols placed the pages in them, then crossed his arms and
watched the thick- chested man read. 

When he had finished, he turned to his Sergeant. "What do you know
about this?" 

Johnson shrugged. "Just what you do. Let me see those pages." 

Nichols stepped to the doorway. "I'll see about ordering us some
lunch. I think we'll be here for most of the afternoon."

                            --o-0-o-- 

Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece 
Tuesday, May 26, 1998 
9:53 pm

Max arched a white brow at the silence from across the room. His
stepson had dropped his head on the edge of the sofa. Since the
partners had begun this investigation, Mulder seemed more focused
than Max remembered him being during their inquiries about
Samantha. But, the younger man still wore down far too easily, so,
he crossed the carpet to rest a hand on a thin shoulder. "Mulder,
you should go to bed."

The agent fidgeted himself into erectness. "No, Scully's still
up." He turned as he heard a sound from the front lawn.

Max frowned at the door. "Now, who would that be at this late
hour?" 

Mulder frowned, attempting to peer through the darkness. "I don't
know." He pushed himself to his feet. "But I'll go find out." When
he reached the entrance, he pulled the barrier away eagerly.
"Byers! What brings you out here?" 

The bearded Gunman leaned in. "Oh, information. Good evening,
Mister Lowenberg. Mrs. Lowenberg is well, I trust?" He smiled
uneasily.

Caroline stepped out of the study. "Mrs. Lowenberg is fit as a
fiddle, thank you, kind Sir." She bowed her head. 

Laden down with two laptop cases and a portable scope, Langly
staggered in next. "Mrs. L! Mister L! Good to see you again." 

Max and Caroline exchanged a glance, then the white-haired man
commented, "And your third is?" 

Frohike, his hair slicked back, appeared in the light of the hall.
He extended the potted red tulip he had been carrying toward
Caroline. "Mrs. Lowenberg! This is in gratitude for your past
hospitality, and in fond anticipation of your present welcome." He
set his lips in his widest smile. 

She beamed. "My! I haven't seen one of these since, well..." She
looked to her husband again, part delight, part concern, written
on her features. 

Max was beside her. "When it's finished, Line-chen, we'll give it
a rest in the refrigerator for next season. Thank you." 

But the round-faced Gunman was already looking around the front
room in dismay. "Where is she, Mulder? She hasn't gone back to the
States, has she?" 

Mulder pointed to the back porch. "She tracking the heavens with
Max's telescope. Betelgeuse set a few minutes ago, so I came back
in here to get some work done." He walked beside Frohike through
the house. "She's decided, Fro, she's staying." 

The tiny man practically danced a gigue in his delight. "Then this
is as wonderful a day as we had hoped for."

Langly was weaving down the hall, Byers attempting to lift some of
his burdens away. "I'll need to borrow some space in your study,
Mister L., if that's okay," the blond Gunman called back.

Max shook his head. "Not a problem." He bent over his wife. "As if
we had a choice with these three, Mrs. L."

She swatted gently at his elbow. "Mrs. L. indeed. I shall have to
see to the linen, now, I suppose." 

The white moustache twitched. "Oh, knowing them it won't be
necessary until the sun is high in the sky, Mrs. L." 

"Max!" Caroline scolded from the depths of the hall closet. "I am
*not* Mrs. L." 

He patted her gently on the derriere, eliciting a subdued squeak
from the normally serene woman. "Of course you are, Line-chen.
Now, pass me those pillows."

                            --o-0-o--

Mulder glanced downward at Frohike's hesitation by the glass door.
"Fro? What's up?" 

A sigh emanated from the little man. "Nothing, just..." He pushed
his way out to step onto the slate deck, Mulder right behind him.
The Gunman paused, taking a few moments to study the auburn-haired
agent. "She looks good, G-man." He waved one hand. "Not that she
doesn't always just take my breath away. But now, look at her.
She's rested, fit. She was so gaunt when we left you both here." 

Mulder nodded. "I know. She needed the time off, more than I think
either of us realized." 

From her stoop over the view lens of the telescope, Scully called
out, "You two don't need to whisper. I can hear everything you're
saying from over here." 

Frohike swaggered over to her. "It's nothing I wouldn't say to
your face, Most Wise One." He dug around in his jacket pocket,
then produced two creased cream-colored envelopes, one of which he
held out to Scully. "I brought you this from DC." The other he
gave to Mulder. "It's down to two competitors, now, G-man," he
growled.

Mulder frowned at the front of the envelope, where his name was
printed in large calligraphic letters. Before he could open it,
his partner let out a short laugh. 

"Good. That will be lovely." She rested the invitation on the
table with her reference maps. Then, she startled both men by
clasping, however briefly, the Gunman's palm, which was encased in
those fingerless knit gloves he seemed to wear perpetually. "Thank
you, Frohike. The kindness is appreciated." 

The little man merely blinked in astonishment.

Mulder stepped over to his partner, grasping her back and
querying, "Scully?" 

She tossed her hair. "Pendrell and Phillips will be married in the
courtyard at the Hoover Building. I think that's appropriate." She
rubbed her bare arms as she looked over at Frohike. "So, why are
you here? Or can't you say?" 

Totally off-guard himself, Frohike could manage only to shake his
head and stammer, "We have some data for you." 

After collecting the books and the invitation, Scully led them
both back toward the house. "Then let's go have a look, shall we?" 

Mulder began to follow her, then tapped the Gunman on the nose so
he wouldn't find himself standing alone under the night sky. 

                            --o-0-o--

Byers grinned when the three entered the study. "Just in time!" He
waved to the carpet. "Have a seat." 

Langly popped up from under the desk. "Hey, Fro looks like he's
seen a ghost." When there was no response, he swivelled the
computer's monitor so they could all see it. When the three were
seated, Frohike on the divan behind Mulder and Scully side by side
on the carpet, the long-haired Gunman tapped the long Enter key. 

Before Langly could speak, however, Mulder held up his hand. "What
did you get from the Hoover Building?" 

The three exchanged worried glances, then the blond Gunman reached
into one of his equipment bags. "Let's make certain we can discuss
this in private." He handed black sensor units to Frohike, Byers,
and Scully. 

She frowned down at the winking display after punching a green ON
button. "If I were my partner, I'd ask if this is the latest
version of the cone of silence." 

"What?" Mulder shouted gleefully. 

She glared at him for a moment before she began sweeping the wall
behind the desk, as the three Gunmen worked the bookshelves. "I
can't find anything. Do you guys have any shielding we can put
over the window?" 

"What?" chorused four male voices. 

"We are *so* dead," Langly pronounced amid snickers before he
answered, "Yes, we do." He reached into a different bag, where he
had stored cardboard sheets covered with aluminum foil. "These
work just as well, and aren't so tough to carry." 

Mulder waited until the glass was covered before demanding, "So?" 

Byers was handing several thick envelopes to Scully. "Tell us what
you think, Agent." 

She held each mylar sheet up against the light. "I see." 

"What?" All humor gone, Mulder was standing behind her now. 

She sighed. "Remember those modifications to Saunders' genetic
sequence that we thought were faked?" 

He nodded. "The ones that were purportedly introduced at his
trial?" 

She pointed to a line on the trace. "They're here, too. It seems
that either we have someone tampering with DNA inside the Bureau,
or - "

Byers held up a different sheet. "The genetic modifications were
used as a tracer for Consortium employees. Look at this, Mulder." 

The dark-haired man read the name. "Duane Barry." He turned to his
partner. "This is from the tissues we have stored, isn't it?" 

She had positioned the DNA traces on a yellow storage envelope to
cross her arms. "Yes. There were samples with the Gunmen. Maybe
Barry was more than an abductee." 

Frohike nodded. "That's likely, Divinity. I don't know what the
Greek officials have found in the body, but I wouldn't be
surprised if they didn't find something like what was found in
Barry." He pointed to smudge on an X-ray. 

Mulder turned. "That's Barry's, too?" 

Byers shook his head. "No. That's from your decedent, Benner,
which appears to have been his real name." 

Langly pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Maybe they were using
implants to track all their employees, not just their test
subjects." 

"It wouldn't be beyond them." Scully's fingers had unconsciously
tracked to the small scar at the back of her neck. "They had DNA
records of all their employees and their families in that silo in
Africa." 

Mulder eyed each of the three Gunmen in turn. "Which is why we
need to run the guy who attacked Scully to ground. He may be
another link into their organization." 

After waving the agents back to the couch, Frohike reached for the
mouse, wiggling it to deactivate the screen saver. An image of the
woman they had seen appeared. "This may help you there. You had
asked us to check into the lady and the kid you met at Akrotiri.
Well, we did." 

Byers leaned over to click the left mouse button, sliding a State
Department ID badge beside the original. "This is she, Gloria
Stuart." 

Mulder snorted. "And the kid's actually a midget agent undercover,
right?" 

Byers eyed the tall man, who had sprawled his legs out in front of
him until his knee touched his partner's. "Noo, Mulder," he
sighed. "He's her son, Richard Jeremy Stuart." Another tap, the
two images disappeared, and one of an older man took their place.
"We suspect this was the 'father' your witness saw them with." 

Scully shook her head. "We have reason to wonder about the
veracity of her testimony, but go on." 

A driver's license slid into view. "He's James Andrews, her
father-in-law." 

"Ex-father-in-law," Langly corrected. "And, he's the one with the
connections to Evans. It seems Andrews and Evans were co-owners of
the Caldera Suites." He hit the enter key. "That's these
apartments up the road a mile or so." An image of a group of low
white buildings, around an open square, appeared on the screen.
"But Andrews' main business was antiquities, or the purchasing and
sales thereof." A business card now filled the screen. "We can't
get a list of his customers, *yet*." Here, he eyed the round-faced
Gunman, who had been  silent on the divan. "Hey, Dragon Boy! Your
turn." 

Frohike rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "But his credit card
shows his air miles were used equally to fly to the Med and to the
East, Japan, in specific. So, we can deduce that he was probably
selling to collectors there." He hopped off the sofa to take the
mouse away from Langly. "His most recent catalog offered the
following item for sale." 

A new image slid into view, one that had Scully on her feet. "A
faience statuette of the Minoan Snake Goddess!" 

Mulder was beside her in an instant. "Ah. So you meet again,
Doctor." 

She smiled up at him. "We do." 

The Gunmen exchanged confused glances before Frohike coughed, then
objected, "But, the only known figurines are in museums, and they
haven't been reported stolen. So, we can only conclude that this
is a fraud." He tapped the mouse twice. "We suspect that it is, if
you compare this one with known originals." 

Scully bent down to peer at the first image. "Oh, you mean the
placement of the snakes?" 

Frohike flushed bright red. "Yes, that's what we mean, Agent
Scully." 

Byers cleared his throat nervously. "We were thinking someone
believed they could mix together images of the Death of Cleopatra
with this Snake Goddess and set the art world in an uproar." 

Mulder bent over her. "What? Eew, I see." One of the serpents was
latched onto the goddess' nipple. 

Scully was shaking her head. "No, that may not make it a fraud." 

Mulder's face scrunched up. "What? Scully, are you serious?" 

Looking up at him, she nodded. "It was common, even into Christian
times, to portray Mother Earth as nurturing the creatures of the
field in just such a manner. Customarily, there would be a cow on
one - " She shook her head. " - side, and a snake on the other."
She cocked an eyebrow at the waves of discomfort coming off the
men around her. "Admittedly, it's, well, too *literal* for our
sensibilities - "

"And how!" Langly interjected, his face contracted into sour
pinch.

" - But it wouldn't have been impossible to have found the
ancients combining Magna Mater imagery with that of the Snake
Goddess. After all, we know nothing about her." She looked up at
her partner again. "Well, not really." 

He crossed his arms. "As I see it, we're looking at one of two
possibilities here: either our local potters are involved in art
fraud, and the victim was an undercover agent checking them out,
or," 

Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. "There's another cache of
Minoan treasures buried by the eruption of Thera being sold slowly
on the black market. It fits with where we found our victim's
clothes, since Thirasia is far less densely populated than is the
main part of the island." 

Mulder nodded. "Either way, we have ourselves a very good motive
for murder." 

                            --o-0-o--

                       End - Anath - Inanna

=====o======================================================o=====
Mary Ruth Keller "Is it possible disdain should die while she hath 
Alexandria, VA    such meet food to feed it, as Signior Benedick?"
mrkeller@eclipse.net                     Much Ado About Nothing
http://www.eclipse.net/~mrkeller/stories.html
=====o======================================================o=====