From: Felicia Ferguson <fergufl@yahoo.com>
Date: Wed, 8 Dec 1999 17:05:01 -0800 (PST)
Subject: Bravo Zulu
Source: direct

(6/13)

JFK Airport
0503 Romeo

The day awoke to fiery slashes of red and 
gold as the sun rose into its position in 
the heavens.  Chegwidden gazed at the 
horizon mesmerized by the sight.  Soft 
footfalls heralded the arrival of his 
temporary partner.  Skinner paused near 
him, his eyes drawn to the spectacle as 
well.  

"Morning," the agent greeted.  He wore his 
traditional FBI garb, including a gray 
trenchcoat.  The chilly night air still 
lingered in the shadows, reminding him 
that, although the temperatures lately had 
been balmy, the US was still firmly within 
winter's grasp.  

"I can't help but wonder if this is an 
omen," Chegwidden replied after a moment.  
"Red sky at morning, sailor take warning."

A tight smile flickered over Skinner's 
face then was gone.  "And maybe it's just 
a sunrise."  He turned his eyes from the 
horizon and looked the admiral over.  "How 
do the civvies feel?"

A.J. glanced down at the blue pinstripe 
pants and matching blazer, which hung, 
unbuttoned; his body oblivious to the cool 
temperature.  "Unfamiliar.  I'll be glad 
when we get into the body suits.  At least 
then I'll be able to move without thinking 
I'm drawing more attention than not."

Walter offered him a wry grin.  He could 
sympathize.  After his years in the 
Marines and later in the special forces 
detail, it had taken him a while to become 
accustomed to the dress shirts and ties 
that the FBI required.  

"There you two are!" a deep voice called.  
Both men turned to see the executive 
chairman approaching.  The press had not 
gathered yet, so the three men could speak 
privately without looking conspicuous.  "I 
assume Clay gave you all the details."  On 
seeing the men nod, he continued, "Good.  
I don't need to remind you that discretion 
is key.  And for that reason, I'd like to 
have some inkling of an idea as to why an 
ex-SEAL and a FBI agent were assigned at 
the last minute."  He peered intently at 
the two men waiting for one or the other 
to break the silence.  After a few 
minutes, he sighed, "No, I didn't think 
you'd tell me.  

"I'm sure Webb has told you this, but let 
me reinforce the point.  If you screw up 
and so much as a peep comes out that your 
inclusion on this detail was for any other 
reason than serving as aides, the UN will 
have your hides."  He paused again and 
swore under his breath, "This whole fiasco 
could start a war..."

"We're aware of the risks," Chegwidden 
interjected.  "And you have our guarantee 
that no one will know the real reason for 
our being in Iraq."  In his peripheral 
vision, he saw Skinner nod in agreement.  

Butler nodded once, then turned toward the 
UN's converted C-130 that waited behind 
him.  He halted a moment, then glanced 
back over his shoulder, "Oh, one last word 
of advice: try not to look you're in the 
military and FBI.  Those suits may help 
with the camouflage, but your actions will 
damn you every time."  Without waiting for 
their reply, he walked away.

JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, VA
0619 Romeo

Mac pulled her Jeep into the parking lot 
and was surprised to see Harm's Corvette 
sitting in its usual spot.  'My, my,' she 
thought, 'he's getting an early start.'  
She walked through the glass doors and 
entered the bullpen-it's normal caffeine-
filled pace still sleepy and bleary-eyed.  
Glancing around the room, Mac found a 
couple of custodians emptying the scrapped 
remains of yesterday.  She offered a 
slight smile to one of the women before 
heading toward the commander's office.

Sure enough, there he sat, nose buried in 
a file, stacks of papers and books 
littering his desk.  Mac opened the door 
and remarked, "Getting an early start, 
Flyboy?"

Harm looked up at her through red-rimmed 
eyes.  Mac then noticed the many paper 
coffee cups, which sat at odd intervals 
around the office.  'A very early start 
indeed, by the looks of it.'  Aloud, she 
asked, "Harm, have you even been to bed?"

He shook his head once and replied, "I 
tried, but I couldn't sleep.  Something 
you said kept running through my head."

Curious, the major sat in one of the arm 
chairs in front of his desk.  He laid the 
folder aside and leaned back, his fingers 
toying with pen he held.  "I've been going 
over each researcher's personnel file 
looking for some link to Iraq."

"And?" she questioned, her eyebrows 
slightly raised.

Harm sighed, "Nothing so far.  I talked to 
Mulder a little while ago.  Scully and 
Campbell have been in the lab all night 
testing that carbon dioxide theory.  
During the processing time, apparently 
they've been trying to recreate the 
accident.  Mulder's been searching the 
researchers' offices, specifically 
Markham's since he was the last to die, 
trying to find anything that might be of 
use."

The commander carefully studied his 
partner as she nodded thoughtfully.  "You 
don't look all that perky either, Marine," 
he observed.

She smiled slightly and nodded.  "Yeah, to 
tell the truth, I was up most of the night 
prowling around my apartment.  I ended up 
going for a run about three-thirty."  She 
paused as she felt his sudden tension, 
then quickly soothed,  "Relax, Sailor.  I 
was careful.  I kept to the lighted 
areas."

His unease dissipated somewhat, but not 
completely.  <Remember, Harm,> his 
conscious, <she's a Marine; she can take 
care of herself.>

'I know,' he thought, 'but if anything 
happened because I wasn't there for her...'  
He shook his head slightly, trying to ward 
off the bad feelings.  His mouth quirked 
slightly as his thoughts turned to the 
present.  "So, what grand theory did you 
hash out last night-or should I say-this 
morning?"
His question was rewarded with another 
soft smile as she leaned back and steepled 
her fingers in front of her.  The smile, 
however, was soon replace by a thoughtful 
frown.  "What about the SEALs?"

A blank stare and a confused, "What about 
them?" answered her semi-rhetorical 
question.

"After the stand-off with the Iraqis, 
could they have brought the weapon back 
with them?  Were the researchers testing 
the actual mechanism instead of-or in 
addition to-mere tissue cells?"

Harm's brows lifted as he pondered her 
idea.  That was one scenario he hadn't 
thought of.  He leaned forward and picked 
up the telephone.  Glancing at a nearby 
scrap of paper, he dialed a waited a 
moment.  "Yeah, it's Harm.  Have you found 
anything that might suggest that the 
researchers were looking at the actual 
weapon?"  He pushed the speaker phone 
button and suddenly Mulder's low voice 
echoed through the room.

"You think the SEALs brought it back with 
them?"

"That's the working theory at any rate," 
Harm replied.

"Well, I've checked every office.  So far 
there's nothing about any of this.  In 
fact, it looks almost like someone got 
here before we did.  The desks are just 
too clean."  He paused a moment and the 
officers could hear the rustling of 
papers.  "I have found one thing of 
interest.  It's a legal pad with a variety 
of scientific elements broken down."

"Has Scully taken a look at it yet?" Mac 
asked, leaning forward to help her voice 
carry to the speaker.

"No," Mulder replied, his voice taking on 
a tinny quality, "she and Campbell are 
still holed up in the lab.  That guard 
won't let me back there, so I'm waiting 
for her to come out."

"Let us know if you find anything out," 
Harm requested as he leaned forward to 
punch the speaker button, ending the call.

"Would any of the researchers have 
purposely destroyed the weapon?" Mac mused 
quietly.  

Harm flipped through a stack of papers in 
front of him and replied, "Not from what I 
can tell here.  The ones who were infected 
and died were all career Navy.  No money 
or family problems.  By the book men, all 
of them."  He sat forward and rubbed his 
eyes, trying to work the fatigue out of 
his system.

Suddenly, Mac sat up straight in her 
chair.  "Harm?" she asked, a mixture of 
wariness and excitement filling her voice.  
He lowered his hands and looked up, 
concerned by her tone.  She sat there, 
eyes unfocused, slowly nodding her head.  
At length, she murmured, "Maybe.  Just 
maybe."  She zeroed her gaze in on her 
partner and ordered, "Let's get out of 
here."  Mac stood up and quickly pulled 
Harm to his feet, then led him out the 
door.  

Dupont Circle
Washington, D.C.
0723 Romeo

The major steered her Jeep around the 
capital careful not to spill the giant 
styrofoam cup of coffee that sat warming 
the insides of her thighs.  Ignoring her 
partner's protestations, she had pulled 
into a drive-thru bakery and ordered not 
only more coffee but also two giant bear 
claws dripping with icing.  She had 
silenced Harm with a "protest and die" 
look when she ordered and then had to 
practically stuff the first bite down his 
throat.  Now, however, after discovering 
how truly delicious the warm pastries 
were, Harm sat happily munching, paying 
little attention to their destination.

Having polished off his bear claw, Harm 
glanced over at his partner, the familiar 
surroundings finally sinking into his 
consciousness.  "Mac..." he dragged out a 
slight warning in his voice, "where are we 
going?"

She tossed him an innocent look and 
replied cryptically, "I just thought we 
should cultivate some of your 
connections."  She wasn't exactly sure how 
cultivated this person was, but Mac had a 
feeling something was brewing between 
them.  

<And isn't that because you're keeping 
your hands to yourself?> her subconscious 
pricked.

'No,' she thought forcefully and glanced 
over at her still sleepy partner, taking 
in his softened features and slightly 
cowlicked hair.  "We're partners!  What's 
more, we're in the same chain of command.  
One of us would have to transfer out if 
anything were to..."

<And you love your job more than him?>

'For now,' she argued silently.  Mac 
blinked, 'Now where the hell did that come 
from?'

In the back of her head, her conscious 
laughed gleefully.

Shoving those dangerous thoughts aside, 
Mac maneuvered the Jeep into a turn lane 
and headed toward the Capitol Building.  
She took a ticket from the parking 
attendant and slid into a nearby spot.  It 
appeared that most of the politicians 
weren't early risers.  She hoped, however, 
that one in particular didn't fit the 
norm.  

Harm grabbed the empty white sack and 
tossed the remains of their hurried 
breakfast into a trash canister as she 
climbed out and locked the Jeep.  Glancing 
back at him, Mac smiled fondly, a trace of 
playfulness creeping into her eyes.

He looked at her blankly, "What?  Do I 
have my fly undone or something?"

'Oh, don't go there, Mac,' she cautioned 
herself quickly.  'Don't even THINK about 
it!'  Aloud, she asked, "When was the last 
time you brushed your hair?"

Harm ran a hand across his head and peered 
into the Jeep's side mirror.  "Well, now 
that you mention it, must've been sometime 
yesterday."

Mac chuckled, unlocked his door, and 
reached into the glove compartment.  
Bypassing the 9 mm she kept stashed there, 
her hand was pricked by sharp bristles.  
She gave him her hairbrush, cautioning, 
"You'd better not have cooties!"

He grinned back at her and proceeded to 
primp as best he could in the small 
mirror.  After a final stroke, he glanced 
at her and asked, "Better?"

Mac, unable to resist such an opportunity, 
scrutinized him carefully, "Well..."  She 
tilted her head this way and that, trying 
to get a good look at him.  After a 
moment, she replied, "I guess you'll do.  
Though I don't understand why so many 
women swoon over you."  She shook her 
head, resignedly.  "It must <be> the gold 
wings."

"Funny, Jarhead!" he replied, a gleam in 
his eye.  Tossing the brush back into the 
glove compartment and locking it, Harm 
then closed the door and gestured for Mac 
to precede him.  

They entered the building just as a hoard 
of reporters swarmed the area a little 
further down the hall.  A cacophony of 
voices each jostling for attention filled 
the air.  The officers could hear snippets 
of each request, "Congresswoman Latham!"   
"What is your opinion..."  "Do you think..."

Mac turned to Harm, her mouth quirked into 
an ironic smile, "Well, it looks like we 
found who I was looking for."  They halted 
just behind the reporters and waited for 
Bobbi Latham to reach the congressional 
offices.  A few moments later, she 
appeared, perfectly coifed as always, her 
lithe figure encased in a flattering 
Chanel suit.  Somehow, the noise level 
inched a notch higher. 

Raising her hand, she requested, "Ladies, 
Gentlemen, you know I don't answer 
questions outside of the chamber.  When 
the hearings open, I'll entertain 
questions for a period of time.  Until 
then, you'll just have to wait for the 
Armed Forces Committee to convene."  Her 
gaze was caught by the two military 
uniforms, and she glanced over her 
shoulder at her aide stating, "Now, if you 
will excuse me, I'm late for a meeting."

A reporter from ZNN called after her, "Do 
these officers have anything to do with 
your investigation?"

Studiously ignoring the question, Bobbi 
continued to walk toward the attorneys.  
"Whew!  Quite a gauntlet to run," Mac 
commented.

"Mmm, but I've been through worse," Bobbi 
replied, her well-modulated tones laced 
with irony.  "What are you two doing here?  
Do you know how many rumors your presence 
is going to start?"

"Well, you didn't have to imply we were 
your next meeting," Harm reminded her as 
the trio turned and walked down the hall 
to one of the many conference rooms.  

"It was the easiest way to get them off my 
back.  Give them a bone to chew on and 
waste time with while I find out why 
you're <really> here."  She gestured for 
the pair to take a seat at the cherry 
conference table.  The room itself was 
richly appointed with burgundy and green 
draperies and dark wooden paneling.  

Glancing around the room, Mac murmured, 
"Our tax dollars at work, huh?"  

Bobbi followed the other woman's gaze and 
replied, "No, it was a gift.  From 
Boeing."

"Ah!" Harm breathed, "Then currying 
favor."

"Something like that.  Now, out with it.  
What's going on?"

The officers glanced at each other 
quickly, their eyes weighing alternative 
situations.  After a moment, they seemed 
to settle on something and Harm spoke, 
"Bobbi, how much do you know about the 
accident at the Office of Naval Research?"

The politician's cocoa-colored features 
clouded momentarily.  She rose to pour 
each a cup of coffee while she prepared 
her reply.  Harm's eyebrows rose with 
surprise as he looked back to his partner.  
'She's stalling,' he thought suddenly.  
'Why?'  As chairwoman of the Armed Forces 
Committee, Congresswoman Bobbi Latham was 
privy to classified military details.  She 
was also a decisive woman who spoke her 
mind without resorting to the usual 
double-talk most politicians were fluent 
in.  If she took a moment to gather her 
thoughts, it meant that she did know 
something.  And whatever that something 
was, it was big.  

The pair waited in silence and politely 
accepted the steaming cups of java the 
woman offered them.  Returning to her 
seat, she pursed her lips.  "First off," 
she began with a sigh, "it <was> an 
accident."

'Oh, yeah,' Mac thought to herself.  
'<Very> big.'

Bobbi stared into the dark liquid as if it 
would magically conjure up answers for her 
to give the officers.  "I'm sure you know 
that the SEALs killed the researchers 
after the officers were exposed to 
whatever it is."  Her eyes lifted to see 
the pair nod, then returned to her coffee.  
"When the proverbial smoke cleared and the 
SEALs were checking to see if any of the 
Iraqis were still alive, Commander Knight 
found the weapon in pieces not far from 
the bodies.  Apparently, it had been hit 
in the officers' crossfires.  He stowed 
the largest piece, which turned out to be 
the control panel, into a duffel bag.  
They left the bodies and got out of there 
before the Iraqi soldiers in the facility 
discovered what had happened."

"So they were testing the actual weapon," 
Mac murmured.  

Bobbi nodded briefly, her eyes straying 
from her coffee cup to the far wall.  
"They had almost determined how the weapon 
worked when the accident happened with the 
tissue cells."

"So all the answers died with them, then," 
Harm remarked, his voice bitter.  
"Earlier, we spoke with one of the FBI 
agents who's been assigned to help 
investigate.  He said the offices have 
been picked clean.  There's no evidence 
relating to any of this."

Mac touched his arm and reminded, "What 
about that legal pad he found?"

"What legal pad?" Bobbi asked, her ears 
perking up.

Harm sighed softly, "Mulder said that he 
found a legal pad in one of the 
researcher's desks.  The pages are filled 
with scientific equations."

Bobbi sat forward in her chair.  "And?" 
she asked, her tone bordering on 
imperious.

"And, nothing," Harm replied gesturing 
with his hands to emphasize his point.  
"Scully, his partner who's a forensic 
pathologist, was still in the lab with 
Captain Campbell looking into 
countermeasures against infection."

The politician visibly slumped back into 
the cushion seat.  Whether with relief or 
resignation, Harm couldn't tell.  The room 
was quiet for a moment, each processing 
his own thoughts.  

Suddenly, Mac broke the silence.  "What 
happened to the control panel of the 
weapon?"  She looked at the others and was 
met with blank stares.  

"You said he didn't find anything?" Bobbi 
asked quickly.  

Harm nodded thoughtfully and turned to his 
partner, a wealth of meaning passing 
between the two.  "But if it's still on 
site, I bet I know someone who could."

(7/13)

Office of Naval Research
Captain Joan Campbell's desk
0937 Romeo

The officer and agents sat pouring over 
the legal pad that Mulder had found 
earlier that morning.  "This is 
incredible," Scully murmured as she traced 
a finger over the chemical abbreviations.  

Mulder glanced at Campbell, who had been 
silent ever since they began examining the 
papers.  "You didn't know anything about 
this?" he asked, his eyes piercing through 
her.

Joanie shook her head, her face a picture 
of confusion.  "No one said a word of this 
to me.  To be honest, I've been in a daze 
ever since you mentioned it.  How could 
they possibly have gotten this far without 
help?"

"I think they did have help," a masculine 
voice interjected behind the trio.  They 
turned and found Rabb and MacKenzie 
standing in the doorway.  "Or in this 
case, a cheat sheet."

Scully, who had long removed the rubber 
band from her hair, tucked a titian lock 
behind her ear as she asked, "What do you 
mean?"

The two JAG lawyers shared a glance before 
Mac replied, "They had part of the weapon.  
The control panel, in fact."

Campbell's face slacked with surprise.  
"You're kidding!  There was <never> any 
mention of that!"

"It makes sense, though," Mulder murmured.  
"You just said they had to have help.  A 
piece of the puzzle would go a long way to 
deciphering it."

"So, what happened to the panel?" Scully 
asked, coming around the desk to perch on 
one corner.  

"That's the problem," Harm sighed.  "We 
don't know.  Mulder, you checked 
everywhere in the offices?"
The agent nodded and was about to reply 
when Scully interjected, "But something of 
that nature wouldn't be kept in an office.  
It would've been stored in some sort of 
containment field.  Remember, they really 
didn't know what they were dealing with."  
She paused a moment and looked at 
Campbell.  "Do you have any idea where it 
might be?"

Joanie stared hard at the desk's surface 
as if tracking the blueprints of the 
research facility in her head.  At length, 
she shook her head.  "It's not in the BL 
4, I know that much.  I have no idea where 
it is.  There's no other storage facility 
here for something on that contagion 
level.  It could be in one of the lower 
levels, but..."

"What if it's not here at all?"  Mulder 
murmured as he paced along the far wall.  
All eyes in the room focused on him.  "The 
way those desks were cleaned out, someone 
could've known the researchers were 
studying it and took it with them."  

"But who would know it was here?" Mac 
asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.  

"Who's known more about this whole 
situation than anyone else so far?" Harm 
asked, consternation filling his voice.

"Bobbi?"  Mac shook her head slightly, 
"Sure she's chair of the House Armed 
Forces Committee, but what would she have 
to gain?" 

"Congresswoman Latham?" Campbell asked 
curiously.

"Yeah," Harm murmured, "why?"

"Well, she was here."

"When?  Today?" Mulder asked moving to his 
partner's side.  

"No," Campbell corrected.  "It was right 
before I was brought in to look at the 
data.  I remember because some of the 
younger officers couldn't stop talking 
about how gorgeous she is."

"Did she sign in and give a reason for the 
visit?" Mac questioned the captain though 
her gaze was locked on her partner.  

"I'll call up to the front desk.  I know 
we keep the logs," she turned from the 
group and dialed a few numbers.

"If Joanie's right about this, we just 
opened up a whole new can of worms," 
Scully remarked trading a glance with 
Mulder.  

"I <knew> something was going on when she 
wasn't forthcoming," Harm bit out.  He 
pounded his fist savagely into the air.  

"Hey," Mac soothed as she placed a 
gentling hand on his forearm.  "We don't 
know for sure yet.  Maybe she's not 
allowed to tell us anything."

Harm choked back a harsh bark of laughter 
and turned his gaze on the agents.  They 
stood close together, their heads bent 
toward each other, in quiet conversation.  
'Wonder what they're up to?' the commander 
mused.  Mac followed his eyes and saw 
Mulder murmur something to his partner 
before placing a supportive hand on her 
shoulder and squeezing.

Scully nodded at Mulder's admonishment.  
She <did> need to get some rest.  The 
combination of no sleep and continuous 
time in front of the microscope was 
starting to wear her down.  She felt the 
gentle pressure of his hand and, was it 
her over-tired imagination, or did Mulder 
just graze his thumb down the side of her 
neck?  Whether real or imagined, a 
tingling sensation flitted down her arm.  
She looked up and found Mulder's darkened 
eyes boring a hole into her, concern 
and...something else emanating from them.  
He swallowed and pulled slightly away as 
if fighting the urge to... 'To what?' she 
thought curiously.  Then realization 
dawned:  to kiss her, like she had kissed 
him on the Enterprise.  With that sudden 
insight, the tension between them grew, 
enfolding them in its warm, hazy grip.  
Scully blinked once, slowly, giving him 
silent permission to do as he longed.  

"Well, they've got it!" Campbell stated 
hanging up the phone.  

Scully visibly jerked. She'd forgotten 
they weren't alone.  Dropping his hand, 
Mulder heaved a soft sigh and shook his 
head ironically.  She watched as the dark 
pools of her partner's eyes slowly changed 
back to their normal hazel.   
Disappointment incarnate gazed back at her 
and she was sure her eyes mirrored his.  

Campbell continued, oblivious to the 
states of the agents.  "Apparently, she 
came here last week.  The reason given was 
an official tour, but the guard here today 
was on duty then and there was no tour 
scheduled."

"Did she come with anyone else?" Mac asked 
quickly, her excitement growing.

The captain shook her head, "No, not 
according to the guard.  But we do have 
security cameras in the front lobby as 
well as other places in the building."

Harm and Mac exchanged a quick look before 
Harm replied, "We're on it."

Scully nodded, then looked over her 
shoulder toward Campbell and asked, "Back 
to the lab?"

The captain nodded and grabbed the legal 
pad off of her desk.  Mulder glanced at 
the officers and stated, "Then I'm going 
to put my newly acquired skills to good 
use." He returned his gaze to Scully and, 
after a long searching look, he turned and 
followed the JAG attorneys out the door.

Capitol Building
Office of Congresswoman Bobbi Latham
1117 Romeo

"...the hearings should be concluded 
tomorrow afternoon, if all goes well," 
Bobbi stated, one elbow propped on her 
desk, phone in hand, while she toyed with 
her earring clip.  "No, General, it 
doesn't look like there will be any 
problems getting them approved."  She 
nodded absently, then replied, "Yes, I'll 
talk to you tomorrow then.  Yes, Sir, you 
too."  Hanging up the phone she clipped 
the earring back in place and shuffled a 
stack of papers on her desk.  

The phone rang again.  She stifled a sigh 
of resignation, beginning to regret ever 
giving her secretary the day off.  Bobbi 
picked up the phone and removed the 
earring again, "Bobbi Latham."

"What did you tell them?" a slightly 
muffled, though definitely masculine, 
voice asked.  Bobbi shuddered slightly a 
trickle of fear darting down her spine.  
Out of all of the dangerous men she had 
ever dealt with, this one scared her the 
most.  He was a contradiction:  boyish 
good-looks branded him as the boy-next-
door, but his successful kill ratio was 
well-known in classified circles.  
Prosthetic arm and all.

She still remembered how his brown eyes 
had pierced right through her soul when he 
had approached her.  Glancing up at the 
door, she replied, "Only what I was 
allowed to tell."

"Good.  Did they buy it?"

"Yes, they seemed to.  But apparently, 
they found something you missed," she 
snapped sharply, more out of fear than 
anger.  "One of the FBI agents found a pad 
full of formulas.  Harm and Mac seemed to 
think that it could lead to something 
related to the weapon."

The man muffled a curse.  

She ignored him and asked, "Where is the 
control panel?"

"In a safe place.  No one will find it."

The line was quiet for a moment.  "What do 
I tell them if they come back?" she asked 
with desperate resignation.

"Tell them nothing.  Deny everything."  
And he was gone.  

Bobbi replaced the receiver and dropped 
her head in her hands.  'What the hell 
have I gotten myself into?'

Undisclosed Location
Washington, D.C.
1126 Romeo

As Mulder approached the seemingly 
abandoned building, he could feel the 
hidden cameras focusing in on him.  
Quietly watching and recording all his 
actions for posterity, or at least, for 
the three men in the world more paranoid 
than he.  The agent knocked quickly on the 
steel door and glanced up.  Offering a 
cheesy smile for the camera while he 
waited for admittance, Mulder pondered the 
latest developments.  The staticky sound 
of an intercom buzzed through his thoughts 
and a garbled voice asked for the secret 
password.

"Oh, come on, Frohike!" he sighed. "You 
know it's me."

"No password, no entrée!" the voice 
argued.  

"Fine," Mulder commented.  Now he had to 
figure out what it was.  The Lone Gunmen, 
three men who had dedicated themselves to 
ferreting out all of the government's 
secret conspiracies, alternated passwords 
every month.  Sometimes none was required.  
This, however, didn't appear to be one of 
those times.  Mulder filed through his 
brain and picked out an old one that was 
probably in line for reuse.  He moved 
closer to the intercom and glanced over 
his shoulder, hoping the guys would 
appreciate his display and let him in 
anyway if the password wasn't correct.  He 
murmured the words quietly.  As it turned 
out, his acting wasn't necessary.  A 
slight buzz indicated that his answer had 
been accepted and he turned the door knob 
and let himself in.

After climbing the flight of stairs and 
opening another door, Mulder entered the 
inner sanctum.  Langly peeked out from 
behind a large storage cabinet and called, 
"Hiya, Mulder!  What's up?"

"Where's the beautiful Agent Scully?" 
asked the diminutive Frohike as he entered 
from another room.

After tossing the small man a dirty look 
for the runaround at the door, Mulder 
answered, "I left her in the lab. Gotta 
question for you."

"Shoot!  We're here and ready to serve," 
remarked the third member of the group, 
Byers.  Mulder had always wondered about 
Byers.  The man wore a suit and tie every 
day, as if going to some type of 
professional position while the others 
generally sported jeans and t-shirts.  But 
the greatest mystery of all, at least to 
Mulder, was the simple gold wedding ring 
the man wore.  Outside of one woman, the 
agent had never heard him mention women, 
let alone being married, and yet there it 
was.  

Mulder pulled a small photo out of his 
breast pocket and showed it to the guys.  
"Wow!" cried Frohike.  "She's hot!"

Langly crowded up behind the other man and 
asked, "Who is she?"

"Congresswoman Bobbi Latham," commented 
Byers who now peered intently at the 
picture.  "Why do you want to know about 
her?"

"Blind date?" Frohike asked with a leer.  
"Does she have a sister?  We could 
double."

"She'd chew you up and spit you out, 
Frohike," Mulder answered.

Byers nodded in agreement, "She does have 
a reputation as a bulldog."

"I think she may be involved in the case 
I've been investigating.  What do you know 
about her?" the agent asked, returning to 
his original question.

"Chair of the House Armed Forces 
Committee."  Byers paused a moment as he 
thought.  "Comes from a long line of civil 
servants.  Her father was a candidate for 
Supreme Court Justice, but his politics 
weren't popular at the time."  He pursed 
his lips, then continued,   "She's one of 
the up-and-coming, but that's about all I 
know.  Hasn't made any political waves 
yet, though she is very vocal about where 
she stands."

Mulder nodded then switched thought 
streams, "Alright.  If you were a 
potentially dangerous weapon and you 
wanted to be where no one would find you, 
where would you hide?"

"Barring the obvious?" Langly asked, his 
shaggy blonde hiding most of his face.  
"Then it could be anywhere."

"I realize that," Mulder replied.  "That's 
why I came to you in the first place:  to 
narrow down the list."

Frohike settled himself in front of one of 
the many computer monitors in the room and 
asked, "What exactly are we looking for?"

(8/13)

Office of Naval Research
Security Room
1131 Romeo

After the accident in the lab, the 
security detail for the center had been 
taken over by MPs.  The commanding 
officer, one Lt. J.D. Robinson, was a 
large black man whose stature belied his 
persona.  He was really a pussy cat at 
heart.  Mac took an instant liking to him 
when she and Harm approached him.  

He sat in front of a bank of TV screens 
each showing a black and white image of 
the building, and after saluting his 
superiors, he answered the major.  "Yes, 
ma'am, I have the tapes for those days 
right here.  But if you want to look 
through all of them, it's going to take a 
while."

"Can we narrow it down to a specific 
period of time and then work from there?" 
Harm asked leaning over and peering 
closely at one monitor.

"Yes, sir, but there are twenty-nine 
cameras stationed all over this building."  
He paused and leaned over to a cabinet.  
Reaching in, he located the tapes for the 
day in question and loaded one into the 
VCR.  The film sprang to life and the 
lieutenant fast-forwarded it until it 
reached the appropriate time.  "Now, what 
did you want to look for?"  

Mac answered him quickly, fully aware that 
Harm was still bristling at the apparent 
betrayal.  "Congresswoman Bobbi Latham.  
Do you remember seeing her here at any 
time that day?"

"Sure do, ma'am, she's a hard one to 
forget-if you get my meaning," he replied 
easily as he made a few adjustments to the 
screen.  Mac smiled slightly and indicated 
he should continue.  "I was up here 
watching the monitors that day.  She went 
to a couple of offices, looked around, and 
then talked with some of the staff.  That 
was about it."

"Were you up here the whole time?" Harm 
asked as the tape slowed to the 
appropriate time and began to play.

The MP nodded, "And I never took my eyes 
off of her."

"Maybe that's exactly what they wanted," 
Mac murmured.  Harm glanced quickly at her 
and she continued her thought, "A 
distraction.  A member of Congress, and a 
beautiful one at that, paying a visit?  It 
would be the perfect opportunity for 
someone to sneak in."

Harm nodded slowly.  The lawyers watched 
the video tape in silence before the 
commander remarked, "Well, it looks like 
we'll be here a while."  Mac pulled two 
chairs closer to the monitor and they 
settled in.

Office of Naval Research
Outside BL-4
1448 Romeo

Campbell rose from the small cot that 
stayed in an adjoining room and stretched 
slightly.  Glancing through window, her 
gaze was caught by a blue-suited figure 
hunched over a microscope.  She shook her 
head, amazed by Scully's stamina.  In med 
school, the agent had been referred to as 
the "Teflon Doc."  She took a lick, though 
not many, and kept coming back for more.  

The captain walked over to the intercom on 
the wall and punched a button.  "Dana, 
how's it going?"

Scully looked over at the window and 
replied, "The next samples should be ready 
for testing in four hours.  I just 
finished with the first group."

"Any results?"

"Nothing definite, but I think the next 
batch will show a little more."  

Scully turned back to the microscope and 
was about to return to her work when 
Campbell offered, "Dana, why don't you 
take a break?  I can watch the samples and 
if anything changes I'll be sure to tell 
you."

The agent glanced up and sighed.  She 
really didn't want to, but Mulder and 
Joanie were right.  She <was> tired.  Her 
brain was starting to miss small items and 
she knew that if she continued, bigger 
mistakes were on the way.  'And we don't 
have time for that,' she thought wearily.  
She nodded to Joanie and moved toward the 
decontamination room.  

From her vantage point, the captain sighed 
thankfully.  She wasn't above ordering the 
agent, or even finding someone whose 
orders she would follow, but she'd rather 
have her former classmate's cooperation.  
It would only help ease the rift Campbell 
herself had created between the two of 
them all those years ago.  

Joanie moved to the decon chamber and 
pulled out her own bio-hazard suit to don.  
As soon as Campbell was dressed, Scully 
walked out and pulled off her helmet.  
'God, she looks exhausted!' Campbell 
thought, although she carefully masked 
those feelings.  Knowing the agent as she 
did, any mention of her physical or mental 
state would send her immediately back into 
the lab.  

Scully stripped down to her scrubs and 
hung her suit on the far wall.  She turned 
back to the captain before she had entered 
the decon chamber and reminded, "Any 
change at all."

Campbell smiled slightly and replied, "Any 
change at all.  Now, go on, get some 
sleep."

The agent nodded absently and walked over 
the cot Joanie had so recently occupied.  
She sat down, tugged off her shoes, and 
lay on her side, to tired to do anything 
else.  Within moments, she had slipped 
into the dreamy world of unconsciousness.

Campbell looked out of the window and into 
the adjoining room.  Seeing Scully 
sleeping, the captain smiled softly and 
nodded before preparing the checklist for 
the next batch of samples.
***

Army Installation
Undisclosed location in Iraq
1632 Romeo


The crunch of sand against shoe sole was 
the only sound that echoed in the still 
desert night.  A lithe figure in black 
stole across the sand dunes cautiously.   
His only light, the eerie green backlight 
of his GPS.  As the figure neared the 
warehouse, the dim lights surrounding the 
building began to brighten.  He peered for 
signs of life before moving any closer.  
After a moment of silent observation, the 
figure continued, approaching the army 
truck, which sat to the side of the 
building.  

He quietly circled the vehicle and found 
the driver face down in the sand.  
Dropping the dark duffel bag, which had 
hung loosely over his shoulder, the figure 
removed the black ski mask that he had 
worn throughout his trek.  Alex Krychek 
rolled the soldier over and 
dispassionately regarded yet another 
casualty of the weapon.  

Krychek sighed softly and, leaving the 
soldier, began his search for the weapon.  
He examined the back of the truck with 
care and finally dropped to his knees to 
check the underside.  

"Jackpot!" he breathed.  Scooting under 
the truck, he cautiously gripped the sides 
of a cylindrical tube and pulled. Knowing 
this was the only remaining weapon of its 
kind, he was eager to determine if it was 
undamaged.  Krychek pressed a few buttons 
and the weapon jolted to life.  His hands 
skimmed over the control panel with a 
surety of knowledge and found everything 
in working order.   After a few minutes, 
he shut it down and carefully stowed it 
into the duffel.  He carefully covered any 
sign of his presence and then faded into 
the inky desert night.
***

Baghdad, Iraq
1826 Romeo

The night air danced across the desert, 
crisp, cool, tangy.  As Skinner breathed, 
he was pulled back into decades past.  
When he had stepped on this dusty airfield 
almost twenty years ago, he had prayed 
that that would be the last time he ever 
saw this hellhole.  And up until today, 
God had heard and answered that plea.  
Now, in some ironic twist of fate, Skinner 
was forced to return.  The cause was good 
and just, but he still couldn't tamp down 
on the slightly nauseous feeling that 
bubbled through him.  

The UNSCOM group had already made the 
required landing in Bahrain before 
continuing on to their present location at 
the Iraqi airport.  Skinner glanced 
around, sizing up the area and military 
detail, which had accompanied the 
requisite politicians as they greeted the 
party, while trying to maintain the image 
of a curious bureaucrat.  

For his part, Chegwidden trailed closely 
after his assigned diplomat, toting a box 
filled with papers and pamphlets.  Though 
irritated by the menial task, Skinner was 
the only one who was able to see through 
the mask of subservience his partner wore.   
As the admiral neared the white Toyota 
vans that would transport the group to the 
meeting site, he noticed a flurry of 
activity a few yards away.  A group of 
soldiers had exited the terminal and were 
hurriedly searching for someone.  He 
glanced toward Skinner and, drawing on the 
long unused silent communication their 
team had developed, indicated the agent 
should check it out.  Skinner had noticed 
that same activity and nodded his 
understanding to the admiral.  

Chegwidden continued to follow his 
diplomat and loaded the box into the back 
of the van as Skinner moved toward the 
terminal.  His nonchalant manner went 
unnoticed by the government officials and 
only when he neared the soldiers were his 
actions called into question.

"Where are you going?" asked a heavily 
accented Iraqi voice.  Skinner turned and 
found a man dressed in fatigues standing 
right behind him.  

The agent glanced around somewhat 
embarrassed and replied, "I'm looking for 
the bathroom.  Can you direct me to it?"

The officer smiled sardonically and 
answered, "In there to your right."

Skinner nodded his thanks and moved toward 
the door.  Unfortunately, the group of 
soldiers had already left apparently 
having found the person they sought.  He 
continued on into the building and as the 
stale air greeted him, he decided that 
Luck was with him after all.  The sound of 
voices filled the air, their owners' 
excitement of some event increasing their 
volume.  The agent glanced over his 
shoulder in an effort to determine if the 
officer outside followed him and, when he 
decided he was alone, he quietly continued 
up the hall.  

As he neared the end of the hall, he 
peeked around the corner. The men were 
speaking rapidly in Arabic to an Army 
general.  Seeing the group of soldiers, he 
jumped back and took a small breath. He 
closed his eyes a moment and dredged up 
what little knowledge he still possessed 
of the Arabic language.  After a second or 
two, small phrases trickled into his 
conscious and were slowly deciphered.  

"Man...dead...warehouse...weapon...gone..."

The voices quieted moments before Skinner 
heard movement coming toward him.  Dashing 
back down the hall, he skidded to a stop 
in front of the restroom door and quickly 
entered.  He paused just on the other side 
of the door and listened carefully for 
sounds that the group had passed.  After a 
few minutes, he opened the door and made a 
show of rezipping his zipper.  He glanced 
up and down the hall as if trying to 
reorient himself to the building, then 
followed the men out to the airstrip.  

Chegwidden stood beside one of the vans 
with a clip board in his hand.  He looked 
up and saw Skinner exiting the building 
just after the soldiers.  The admiral 
tapped his left wrist, waved to the agent, 
and pointed to the van, telling him to 
hurry up.  Skinner half-jogged over to the 
vehicle and whispered to his partner, 
"Something happened.  We need to go."

The admiral nodded once, as if accepting 
an excuse for Skinner's tardiness and 
pointed to last van.  "Well," Chegwidden 
began,  "everything is accounted for from 
the plane, but we have to take the last 
van.  It has all of the supplies."

Skinner nodded, understanding exactly what 
supplies the admiral meant, and walked 
toward it.  Crawling into the passenger's 
seat he nodded to their driver, another 
American delegate who had been apprised of 
their mission, and waited for the admiral 
to follow.  After giving the other vans 
the OK to proceed, Chegwidden jogged to 
the van and climbed in.  Realizing that 
the vehicle was probably bugged, he said 
nothing, but one glance at Skinner told 
him all he needed to know.  They had to 
lose the escort and fast if they were to 
start their real mission. 

The driver put the van in gear and slowly 
pulled out behind the others to complete 
the entourage.  Chegwidden and Skinner 
quickly tugged off their shirts and pants 
to reveal black body suits.  They drove in 
silence for a few miles before the group 
entered into a hilly area.  The admiral 
tossed his partner a black duffel bag, 
which was promptly unzipped to stow the 
clothes.  Skinner pulled out two pairs of 
black Navy SEALs boots and handed one pair 
back to Chegwidden.  The vehicle slowed 
almost to a crawl near one of the more 
concealed areas.  After grabbing two more 
duffels each, the men opened their doors 
and jumped out.  The van slowly increased 
its speed and rejoined the group as 
Chegwidden and Skinner disappeared into 
the early dawn.  

(9/13)

Unknown Highway in Iraq
Twenty miles East of the Tigris River
1849 Romeo

"Now, tell me exactly what happened!" the 
general barked in Arabic.  

The soldiers sat quietly in the back of 
the army truck, their earlier excitement 
quelled by the fast pace of the vehicle 
and the sharp orders of the general.  The 
highest ranking officer, Lt. Sadid Abhal, 
looked at his comrades, then briskly 
repeated their earlier story.  

The group had just arrived at the 
warehouse for the daily security sweep, 
when one of them had noticed the location 
of the army truck.  They knew no 
deliveries were scheduled to be made at 
that time, so they had decided to check 
the vehicle before proceeding on to their 
normal duties.  

Upon approach, they noticed that there was 
no accompanying soldier or driver and 
after checking their weapons, they neared 
the vehicle.  Appointing two soldiers to 
inspect the cab, the others began to 
carefully look over the rest of the truck.  
It had been one of the group's newest 
enlistees who had discovered the body.  

Abhal continued the story stating that an 
officer was supposed to make a delivery 
the previous evening.  Abhal had all of 
the soldiers check the surrounding area 
carefully for the cargo, but they found 
nothing.  

At the end of the debriefing, the general 
nodded and asked, "What happened to the 
soldier?"

The men shuddered while Abhal openly 
blanched at the memory.  "Sir, his face 
was completely gone.  It looked like 
someone had shot him, but I found no 
bullet shells in the area."

The general closed his eyes and thought, 
'Damn!  Someone found the last one.'

Office of Naval Research 
Security Room
1853 Romeo

"Wait!" Mac cried.  "Go back a little 
bit."

The MP did as requested while Harm shot a 
questioning glance at his partner.  A 
moment later, he saw the reason for her 
order.  Bobbi Latham stood, as if frozen, 
at a door to one of the offices.  "Can you 
enhance the door and what's behind it?" 
Mac asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Robinson replied, "I can try, ma'am, but 
no guarantees, that area is pretty dark."  
His hands moved gracefully over various 
knobs and the frame moved to focus in on 
the shadowed figure.  

"Someone's back there," Harm murmured as 
the picture began to focus.  At length, 
the definite shape of a man with dark hair 
formed.  

Mac glanced quickly at her partner, her 
eyes unwilling to leave the image for 
long.  "Do you recognize him?"

Harm shook his head. "Can we get a print-
out of this?"

"It's on its way now," Robinson replied as 
a whirring sound began to fill the air.  
He reached across the console and grabbed 
the paper as it processed out of the 
printer.  The MP handed it to Mac whose 
eyes roved over the grainy image seeking 
recognition of the person on some level.  
Harm peered over her shoulder his own gaze 
trained on the picture as well.  

After a few minutes, he sighed, "Maybe 
Mulder will know who it is."  Mac nodded 
and after thanking Robinson for his time, 
the pair left in search of the FBI agent.

(10/13)
Undisclosed Location
Washington, D.C.
1857 Romeo

Mulder fished his cell phone out of his 
inside front pocket and pressed Memory, 1, 
Send.  The phone faithfully dialed a 
number the agent himself had memorized 
long ago.  Walking away from The Lone 
Gunmen's office, Mulder made his way to 
the car.  On the fourth ring, Scully still 
hadn't answered.  He knew he was taking a 
chance that she wouldn't be in the lab, 
but it was one he took anyway.  After all, 
she <had> promised to get some rest 
sometime today.  Mulder hoped she'd 
listened and done so, though he wasn't 
holding his breath.  

He allowed the phone to ring twice more 
and was about to disconnect when a 
muffled, "H'llo" forestalled his action.

"Scully?  It's me.  Are you OK?" concern 
filled his voice when he realized she 
hadn't yet answered him.

'Yeah," she breathed on the end of a yawn.  
"What's up?"

"Well, it's safe to say that the control 
panel isn't anywhere in D.C. or this 
country for that matter."  He slid into 
the driver's seat and started the car 
engine.

"The Gunmen didn't find anything?" Scully 
asked, her voice like silk on sandpaper.  

Mulder's breath caught at the sound.  "No, 
nothing."

"And that's what bothers you, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, his brow furrowing, 
"it's too quiet around here, which means 
all of our favorite people are probably up 
to something."  He pulled out into the 
traffic and turned right.

"You never know, Mulder," a teasing lilt 
filtered through the phone, "they could 
just be on vacation."

"Maybe in Anarctica," he replied wryly 
then lowered his voice a slight 
satisfaction creeping into his words.  
"You did get some sleep, didn't you?"

He could almost feel her nod.  "Yeah, 
matter of fact you just woke me up."

"Old habits are hard to break," he 
murmured.  This time he did feel her lips 
tilt into the soft smile that mimicked his 
own.  After a moment of contented silence, 
he asked, "How's the antidote coming?"

"When I last checked, which was..." he could 
hear her fumbling for her watch.  "...a 
couple of hours ago, we were waiting for 
the fourth batch of sample cells to be 
ready to test.  Joanie should be looking 
at them right now and making some 
preliminary notes."

Mulder nodded and heard the creaking of 
what had to be bed springs, telling him 
she had been lying down during the 
majority of their conversation.  "What did 
you find out about Bobbi Latham?" she 
asked after she had moved to a sitting 
position.

"Not much.  The boys had no news about any 
nefarious dealings she may be involved 
in."  He paused a moment and signaled to 
move into another lane.  

When she didn't respond, he prodded, 
"Scully?"  In the background, he could 
hear voices, but none were 
distinguishable.  He heard her muffle a 
curse before she returned, "Mulder?  Harm 
and Mac are here.  They found something 
interesting in the tapes.  Something I 
think you need to see."

"I'm on my way," he replied then pressed 
the end button.  
*      *      *

Office of Naval Research
Outside BL-4
1905 Romeo

"So I take it you know him," Mac murmured 
judging Scully's reaction to the print-
out.

Grainy though the image was, the agent had 
no trouble identifying the congresswoman's 
co-conspirator.  "Alex Krychek," Scully 
spat taking the picture from Harm and 
wandering to the other side of the room.  
"Should've known he'd have his paws in 
this somehow."

"Who is he?" Harm asked, his arms folded 
across his chest. 

Scully pursed her lips unsure how much 
information to release to the officers.  
At length, she decided that they had a 
right to full disclosure.  "At one time he 
was the go-to guy for a powerful syndicate 
which Mulder and I have been investigating 
for a long time.  When the X-Files were 
closed," she paused a moment quelling the 
sudden catch that threatened to overcome 
her voice, "I returned to Quantico to 
teach and he was assigned to Mulder as a 
new partner."

She studied the photo for a long moment 
ignoring the questioning gazes of the 
major and commander.  "Now, I think he 
works for himself.  Double and triple 
crossing everyone else."  Scully lifted 
her gaze from the photo and stared 
intently at something behind the two 
officers.  Mac turned her head and found 
Mulder standing in the doorway.  He moved 
toward his partner and she offered him the 
print-out without a word.  Mulder glanced 
down at it and muttered, "Rat bastard."  
He caught his partner's eyes and 
wordlessly said, 'This changes 
everything.'  
She nodded and just as soundlessly 
replied, 'If he's got the control panel 
that means he knows where the other weapon 
may be hidden.'

'And Skinner and Chegwidden are in a 
helluva lot more danger than they planned 
on.'

Mac, finally catching on to the pair's 
silent exchange, glanced at her partner 
and said, "We've got to warn the admiral."

Confusion furrowed Harm's brow as he 
looked from agent to agent.  Unable to get 
an answer, he focused his gaze on Mac and 
found what he was looking for in her eyes.  
"He's got the control panel," he murmured.

The major nodded and whipped out her JAG-
issued cell phone, which was to be used 
only in an emergency.  "Webb," she bit out 
tersely.  "We've got a problem."
*       *       *

Army Installation 
Undisclosed location in Iraq
1918 Romeo

Lady luck continued to follow Chegwidden 
and Skinner.  The pair had reached the 
four-wheelers that had safely been 
ensconced in a low cove and had caught 
back up with the Army truck in record 
time.  Their eyes covered by night 
goggles, they could follow the general and 
soldiers in full black out without undue 
worry at being caught.  The engines of the 
four-wheelers were easily covered by the 
loud diesel of the truck.  

Chegwidden tried to peer ahead into the 
darkness, his eyes searching for their 
destination.  Skinner whispered into the 
radio headset each man wore. "If our 
sources are correct, we should almost be 
there."  Without comment, the admiral 
slowed to a crawl and the AD quickly 
followed suit.  The truck, oblivious to 
its followers, continued on at a break-
neck speed.  

The men secured the four-wheelers in a 
small grove of trees and continued to 
trail the truck on foot.  Chegwidden 
pulled his GPS out of a zippered pocket in 
the leg of his pants and tracked their 
location.  Skinner paused and looked over 
the other man's shoulder, also gauging the 
building's distance.  The admiral glanced 
up and nodded.  So far, the source was 
right on target:  the installation was 
just over the hill.  

They treaded the remaining sand dune, 
which separated them from their target, 
then settled in to watch the show.  
Soldiers streamed from the back of the 
truck, and as soon as he got out, the 
general began barking at the men sending 
them scurrying in all directions.  A.J. 
didn't need Walter to translate what the 
Iraqi had said.  A military man recognized 
an order when he heard one, in any 
language.  

The two men watched the soldiers for what 
seemed like hours though, in reality, both 
knew it to be only a handful of minutes.  
Suddenly, a slight humming sounded.  
Walter patted the sides of his body in 
search of the source.  When his hand 
landed on a certain pocket and felt the 
vibration, he looked over at his partner 
and murmured, "Oh, shit."  Chegwidden 
returned the sentiment when he saw Skinner 
pull out the satellite phone.  
When he had briefed the men on their 
assignment, Webb had cautioned them that 
it was to be used only in a crisis.  

"Skinner," the agent breathed tightly into 
the phone.  "What the hell?" A.J. didn't 
take his eyes off installation, but he 
could hear snippets of the conversation 
through his headset.  "Do you have any 
idea where he might be?"  Walter paused, 
then continued, "But you know he's got 
it?"  The agent nodded his head and 
grimaced.  After a few more terse words, 
he hung up and stowed the phone back in 
its protected compartment.  

"We've got a problem."

"The weapon is gone," A.J. replied 
caustically.  "But we knew that already."

Walter nodded.  "It's the man who's got it 
that's the concern."

They surveyed the soldiers for a moment 
before the admiral asked, "What are our 
orders? How do we locate him?"

"We don't," Skinner answered bitterly.  
"We wait until Webb finds him, then we 
move."

"Then let's get to the safehouse."  A.J. 
leaned back on his heels and carefully 
rose to a squat before half-crawling back 
down the hill to the four-wheelers.  After 
another look at the installation, Walter 
followed.
*      *       *

Capitol Building
Congresswoman Bobbi Latham's office
1923 Romeo

While Scully and Campbell continued their 
search for the carbon dioxide antidote, 
the officers and Mulder set out on an 
investigation of their own.  They 
threesome narrowly missed a barrage of 
reporters as they turned a corner and 
slipped into the congresswoman's office.  

The room was empty and, in comparison to 
the cacophony outside, strangely subdued.  
The only sound came from the almost muted 
TV, which was set on ZNN.  "She must still 
be in the Committee meeting," Mac observed 
as they quickly cased Latham's office.  

Mulder opened the woman's desk drawers 
while Harm calmly pilfered through her 
file cabinet.  Mac stood watch from her 
post at the door.  

"Anything?" the commander called to the 
agent.

Mulder shook his head negatively, "You?"

"Nothing.  She probably wouldn't keep 
something on this level here anyway..." Harm 
trailed off interrupted by Mac's quick 
warning.

"She's coming!"

Carefully closing all of the drawers, they 
assumed nonchalant positions.  Mac took 
one of the arm chairs while Harm took the 
other and Mulder proceeded to lean against 
the window frame.

The click-click of Bobbi's high heels 
heralded her impending arrival.  She 
opened the door and stated nonplussed, 
"You knew I was planning on leaving here 
early, didn't you?"  She walked to her 
tufted leather chair behind the desk, set 
her briefcase behind it and sat down.  
"So, what can I do for you?"

Mac marveled at the woman.  It was 1929 
and 19 seconds and Bobbi still look as 
unwrinkled and perfectly coifed as she had 
this morning.  The major pulled herself 
from her admiration when Harm reminded her 
of their reason for being there.  

"You can start by answering a few 
questions for us."

Bobbi raised an eyebrow pointedly and 
asked, "Such as?"

"Such as," Mulder began from the other 
side of the room, "how well do you know 
Alex Krychek?"

The congresswoman tried valiantly to hide 
her shock and fear, but lost the battle.  
Taking in a calming breath, she stalled, 
"And may I ask, who are you?"

"Special Agent Fox Mulder, with the FBI.  
Do you need to see my badge?"

Bobbi shook her head then closed her eyes 
and leaned back against the chair.  "So 
that <is> his name.  I wondered."  She 
sighed, then reopened her eyes and peered 
intently at each of her interrogators.  
"As you already know, I was present when 
the SEALs were debriefed.  I worked late 
that night and as I was walking to my car 
in the Capitol parking lot, a man grabbed 
me and pulled me behind one of the support 
beams.  He held a gun to my head and told 
me that in exchange for my life, I would 
have to help him."

"Did you know who he was at the time?" Mac 
asked from across the desk.

The congresswoman nodded, "I have to admit 
that I did."  She smiled self-
deprecatingly and continued, "When you 
move in my circles there isn't a lot you 
don't learn about the darker side of the 
U.S.  I didn't know him personally, but by 
reputation.  Four star generals and NCIS 
agents among many others marveled at the 
man's known kill ratio.  Or at least, the 
ratio before he went 'underground.'"  She 
quirked her fingers slightly, placing the 
last word in figurative quotation marks.

"Underground?"  Harm asked, trying to 
decide if she was telling the whole story 
this time.

Bobbi nodded, "That's what the spooks call 
a rogue operative.  They don't know whose 
side he's on now.  Only that they want to 
catch him."

Mulder halted his pacing and asked, "So 
why didn't you turn him in?" 

The woman looked at him askanced.  "I 
wanted to live Agent Mulder.  I figured 
the best way to do that was to go along 
with his plan."

"Which was?" prompted Harm.

"Which was for me to provide a cover so 
that he could steal the control panel that 
had been brought back from Iraq.  In 
addition, he needed me to cover any tracks 
he may have left behind.  As soon as he 
had the panel in his possession, that was 
to be the end of our relationship."

"And was it?" Harm asked, his eyes 
piercing her, sifting through her words, 
weighing them for truth.  As of now, she 
was passing the test. 

Bobbi nodded again, "It was.  Until he 
contacted me this morning right after our 
meeting."

"What did he want to know?"  Mac asked 
leaning forward in her chair.

"Our topic of conversation.  I do have to 
let you know that I told him about the 
legal pad."

"Did he know what was on it?" Mulder asked 
as he cracked a sunflower seed between his 
back teeth.  

"He didn't say."

"Well what did he say?" the agent pressed, 
turning toward the congresswoman.  

"Only that if you returned to tell you 
nothing.  To deny everything."

Mulder nodded resignedly.  He had to give 
Krychek credit; the bastard had learned 
the language well.  

Mac's brow furrowed as she glanced from 
Mulder to Bobbi.  "So what made you change 
your mind?"
The woman took in a cleansing breath and 
replied, "I have a duty to the American 
people to uphold the Constitution.  I know 
that sounds trite in these days, but they 
elected me for a reason.  And I'm not 
going to stray from their faith."

"Bobbi..." Harm cautioned, knowing that she 
was omitting something.

She sighed as she met the commander's 
gaze.  "Alright, alright.  That and I knew 
I was in over my head."

Harm's lips quirked as he recognized that 
this time she was indeed telling the whole 
truth.

Mulder popped another seed into his mouth 
and asked from his vantage point at the 
window, "So, what's he going to do with 
it?"

"That I don't know.  I was the way to get 
to it.  A means to an end."

The agent nodded and murmured, "You're 
lucky you're not dead."

A chill skittered down the congresswoman's 
back as she recognized the truth in his 
words.  "I know.  The only reason that 
I've found to support that fact is my 
celebrity status.  There would be too much 
publicity if I had been killed.  There's 
no way he would get out cleanly.  
Especially the way he likes to kill."

Mac shuddered with revulsion and judging 
the meeting to be over, she rose and moved 
toward the door.  

"Bobbi," Harm warned, "if you're lying 
again..."

"I'm not, too much is at stake."  She 
offered him an ironic smile. " Besides, 
you're a truth detector, Harm.  You'd come 
after me with both barrels if I tried that 
again." 

The commander nodded and met his partner 
by the door.  Mulder followed a moment 
later and the trio filed out quietly.  
Before closing the door, the agent stated, 
"We'll be in touch if we need anything."

Bobbi nodded.  She sank into her chair and 
closed her eyes, readying her self, her 
soul, for the death blow that would surely 
come.  Minutes passed and when she slowly 
realized that she was indeed still 
breathing, she rose, grabbed her 
briefcase, and headed home.  Eager to hug 
her cat and talk to her father.  To 
reconnect herself with what was safe, 
comfortable.  Tugging on her trench coat, 
she turned off the lights and locked the 
doors all the while sighing at the 
uselessness of her actions.
*      *      *

(11/13)
Outside the Capitol
1941 Romeo

Mulder's phone chirped just as the 
investigators were getting into the 
bureau-issued Taurus.  

"Mulder, it's me," Scully began, her voice 
filled with excitement.  "We found it!"

"The antidote?"  Hearing his response the 
officers turned and gazed at him, surprise 
evident on their faces. 

"We tested the last batch on the remaining 
tissue cells from Captain Markham and the 
other two researchers.  The free radical 
damage either stopped or reversed itself 
completely."

While Mulder and Scully continued to talk, 
Mac's phone rang.  "Major?  It's Webb.  
We've tried tracking the weapon to 
determine its location, but nothing's 
worked.  Apparently, the Iraqis have found 
a way to hide its signature frequency.  Do 
you or Harm have any ideas?"

She shook her head, and replied, "I don't 
but Agent Mulder is with us right now, and 
Agent Scully is on his phone.  I'll ask 
them as well."

"Good the more the merrier," he responded 
tersely.  "Call me when you figure out 
something."

She pressed end on the phone then looked 
at her partner.  "I think Krychek found 
the weapon.  That was Webb.  He says the 
CIA has tried everything and there's been 
no response with traditional methods.  Any 
ideas?"

Harm knew that every weapon operated at 
some trackable frequency.  If all 
conventional methods had failed, then it 
was as if it simply didn't exist.  He gave 
her a blank look and shook his head.  
"Mulder?  Do you?"  

The agent murmured the situation to 
Scully.  Silence reigned at the ONR and in 
the Taurus for the better part of five 
minutes while each person analyzed all the 
options.  

"Mulder," Scully began, her tone 
thoughtful and words methodical.  "Free 
radicals vibrate at a certain speed.  Even 
though the weapon itself doesn't hold 
them, in theory, the person in possession 
of it would experience a noticeable 
increase in his free radical, and for that 
matter, cellular activity.  If Joanie and 
I can get you the frequency, Webb may be 
able to track it."

"Would the vibration level be high enough 
<to> track?  You said yourself that every 
human being has a certain amount of free 
radical activity.  If there's no way to 
distinguish between Krychek and any other 
person, then we're looking for what 
amounts to a needle in a haystack," he 
replied, his eyes narrowing at the 
prospect.

"I did say theoretically this would work.  
But it's better than what we're doing 
now."

Mulder inhaled softly.  "Find the 
frequency, Scully.  We'll let Webb worry 
about the practical application of it."
*       *       *

Safehouse
Undisclosed location in Iraq
2001 Romeo

After their arrival, Chegwidden and 
Skinner had spent the last hour either 
cleaning their weapons or pacing.  
Anything to keep their minds and bodies 
alert while they waited for orders.  
According to the small, antiquated 
television, which sat in a corner of the 
room, their disappearance from the convoy 
went unnoticed and the talks were 
proceeding as well as could be expected.  
That, at least, offered some comfort to 
the two men whose actions could start a 
war.  

The satellite phone sat on a low table 
near them.  An old rug covered the knotty 
holes in the wooden floor.  On the far 
wall, a sink with a tiny refrigerator 
delineated the kitchen area of the house.  
A cot and small boot completed the 
sleeping quarters. All in all, Chegwidden 
had seen worse safehouses in his time. The 
place was at least well-stocked.  If 
necessary, both men could live comfortably 
for at least a week without resupply.

Skinner had just finished washing and 
drying his plate when the ominous buzzing 
of the sat phone echoed through the room.  
Chegwidden made a dive for it and punched 
the send button.  

"Tell me you found it, Webb," A.J. barked 
into the phone.  "The longer we sit here 
twiddling our thumbs, the more likely it 
is that Krychek is out of the country."

The admiral was quiet for a moment, 
listening to the special assistant's 
words.  At length, the older man nodded 
and replied, "Well at least that's 
something to go on.  Call us the minute 
you find out anything."  He ended the call 
and looked over at Skinner.  "They're 
going to track Krycek's free radical 
vibration rate."

Skinner smiled wryly and asked, "Scully?"

Chegwidden nodded.  "She would've made a 
helluva squid."

"She's a helluvan agent," the A.D. 
countered.  After a second, he added, "And 
her partner's not that bad either."
*       *       *

Norfolk, Virginia
2045 Romeo

The SecNav himself stood behind an anxious 
Clayton Webb as he and the agents and 
officers watched closely for any change on 
the monitors in front of them.  They had 
commandeered an SPS-48, code-named 'Big 
Eye,' to hunt for the weapon's frequency.   
It had been on a routine surveillance 
mission when the crew had received orders 
from the SecNav to divert its course to 
the Persian Gulf and begin a sweep for a 
particular frequency.

"Sir?" asked the tinny voice of the radar 
specialist on board.

"Go ahead," answered the commanding 
officer.

"Can you be a little more specific about 
this?  We're getting a lot of pings on the 
radar for this signal; we need some way to 
narrow it down."

The officer glanced at Scully who pursed 
her lips slightly.  After a moment, she 
replied, "Tell him to look only at the 
highest readings.  With as much power as 
it has behind it, his electrons and free 
radicals won't have a low register."

Mulder, from his position behind her, 
murmured in her ear, "What if it's turned 
off?  Will there still be a reading?"

Damn.  She hadn't thought of that.  Her 
brain turned that idea over looking for 
loopholes.  "Yes," she replied just as 
softly so as not to garner attention.  "At 
least in theory there should be.  
Proximity to the catalyst can still cause 
increased levels of activity."

Mulder nodded slightly, and soothed, "Just 
checking."  

A heavy silence permeated the room broken 
only by the faint static of the radio and 
the soft sounds of breathing.  Finally, 
the radar specialist broke through the 
stillness.  "This is Big Eye, I think 
we've got something.  The signal is moving 
in an easterly direction."

Clay pounced on the officer's words and 
asked "Where?"

"It looks like he's near the border of 
Iraq.  Getting better confirmation."  The 
young man paused.  Tension radiated from 
every individual in the room, feeding on 
itself and multiplying.  It bounced off 
the walls and reverberated back until it 
was almost deafening in its intensity.  
The specialist finally broke through the 
static.  "He's currently south of Ar 
Rutbah and looks like he's headed toward 
Jordan."

"Why Jordan?" Scully murmured.  "He has 
more contacts in Russia."

"You know how he plays the field," Mulder 
answered his voice equally soft.  "Maybe 
he pissed off one to many Russian 
officials."

Scully raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, but 
made no further comment.

The SecNav absorbed the new information, 
the proclaimed, "Time to call in 
reinforcements."

"No!" Webb yelled.  "The situation between 
the US and Iraq is precarious already.  
You send in troops and it will 
disintegrate into an all-out war!  That 
was the reason for us sending only two men 
in the first place."

The SecNav looked doubtful and Webb 
pressed his case, ignoring the shocked 
faces of officers and agents.  "Sir, I 
have faith in Chegwidden and Skinner.  If 
anyone can find this guy and capture the 
weapon, they can.  You, I'm sure, remember 
their previous missions together."

"Dammit, Webb.  That was with a full 
team!" the SevNav chastised.

The undersecretary looked unrepentant and 
glared expectantly at the other man.  At 
length, the SecNav sighed and nodded.  
"Alright.  We'll do it your way.  If there 
is <any> sign of trouble, we send in 
help."

Webb nodded, "Agreed."  He moved away from 
the crowd and grabbed his cell phone out 
of his pocket.  Somewhere on the other 
side of the world, a phone rang.
*       *       *

Safehouse
Undisclosed location in Iraq
2103 Romeo

Skinner pressed the end button on the sat 
phone and briefed his partner.  "They 
found him.  The Big Eye is downloading his 
position into our GPS.  We'll be able to 
track him using that."

Chegwidden grabbed one of the duffel bags 
and began stowing their equipment.  "So 
where is he?"

Walter sighed forcefully, "Ar Rutbah."

"What the hell?"  A.J. jumped to his feet.  
"That over two hundred clicks from here.  
By the time we get there, he'll be long 
gone."

"Webb found a way to shorten the 
distance."

"How?  Time warp?  Walter, pardon me for 
saying this, but I think you've been 
spending too much time with Mulder."

Skinner bit back a grimace and replied, 
"You wear your wings for a reason, don't 
you?"  The A.D. watched as the light of 
recognition dawned in his partner's eyes.  

"Where's the plane?" Chegwidden asked.

"Five clicks away; hidden in a storm 
shelter," Skinner smiled broadly.  The 
admiral answered with a grin of his own, 
relishing at the thought of the impending 
hunt. 
*      *       *

The two men worked quickly to ready 
themselves for flight.  Skinner had 
secured the four-wheelers in a low grove 
of trees for Webb's men to pick up at a 
later date, while Chegwidden checked over 
the aircraft.  The special undersecretary 
had kept his word about making this 
mission as smooth as possible.  He had 
somehow gotten his hands on a small Iraqi 
army plane.  The admiral was secretly 
pleased at the opportunity to fly again.  
He would never admit it allowed, but he 
envied Rabb.  Chegwidden's position as the 
JAG afforded little time for personal 
concerns, especially flying.  

Skinner returned from the grove and began 
tossing the duffel bags into the plane.  
"Everything ready?" he asked watching his 
partner almost longingly caress the hull 
of the aircraft.

A.J. nodded, removing his hand.  "It's 
just been a while."

Skinner smiled softly, "We don't really 
get the luxury of hobbies, do we?"

"That's for sure," the admiral sighed.  He 
nodded to Walter, indicating he should 
climb inside, then handed the man his 
helmet.  

Chegwidden followed him quickly and within 
minutes, the pair were en route to Ar 
Rutbah.
*     *      *

Iraqi Airspace
2146 Romeo

Skinner kept his gaze trained on the GPS 
in front of him.  Now he remembered why he 
had enlisted in the Marines:  limited 
flight time.  He never had figured out 
what part of flying bothered him.  On 
commercial aircraft, he normally had so 
much work to do that he could almost 
forget he was even in the air.  The Iraqi 
plane, however, held no such advantage.  

Although his partner was a little rusty at 
the beginning, his flight skills sharpened 
quickly and soon they were cutting through 
the air with ease.  They flew low to avoid 
radar detection, neither man wanting the 
job of explaining to the Iraqi army just 
how they had commandeered a plane.  Walter 
checked the GPS again and found the signal 
was still emanating about twenty miles 
ahead of their current location.  The 
agent felt a change in the whine of the 
engines seconds before the admiral 
notified him of their descent.  

"I'm going to land us on an abandoned 
airstrip about three miles from here.  We 
should be able to catch a ride to 
Krychek's location," A.J. yelled into the 
microphone as his hands manipulated the 
plane's controls.

Skinner nodded and replied, "Webb said a 
car would be parked near the landing 
strip."
*     *     *

As promised, the two men found the car 
behind a somewhat dilapidated shed, key in 
the ignition.  "And you said Webb wasn't 
trustworthy," Skinner chastised as the 
engine turned over with ease.

Chegwidden looked at him darkly and 
replied, "Mission's not over yet."

They drove in silence, A.J. maintaining a 
vigil over the GPS.  As they neared the 
location of the signal, he murmured, "He 
hasn't moved in quite a while.  Looks like 
he's waiting for something."

Skinner slowed the car once the building 
came in sight.  It was fairly large and 
poorly lit.  The area itself was 
surrounded by abandoned cars and rusted 
out machinery.  Night was slowly giving 
way into dawn as the men left the car in 
what looked to be the Iraqi version of a 
junk yard.  They each pulled Sig Sauers 
out of their bags and checked the 
magazines as well as secured extra clips 
in the pockets of their pants.  After 
fastening their headsets back on, the two 
men split up to stake out the building.  
*       *      *

Krychek leaned lightly against the side 
wall of the small room, tension emanating 
from his body.  Waiting had never been his 
strong suit; even as a child he had been 
impetuous.  Today, his eager nature would 
have been attributed to the highly touted 
"Attention Deficit Disorder" diagnosis and 
Ritalin would have been the prescribed 
treatment.  His remedy, however, had been 
military schools and strict discipline. 
Even then a large dose of rebellion still 
flowed through his veins urging him to 
break the rules, to live life for himself.  
Those were the inner emotions that had led 
him here.  Had led him to double cross a 
high powered syndicate for no reason other 
than it seemed like a good idea at the 
time.  

He closed his eyes and allowed himself a 
small moment to analyze his current 
situation instead of merely reacting to 
it.  Much as he hated them, he was 
following his orders perfectly.  Krychek 
had been told to find the control panel 
and the only other weapon and bring them 
here.  He looked around the room.  His 
eyes took in the dinginess and disrepair, 
but his mind refused to process the 
details.  It was a location, nothing more.  
A means to an end, just like his 
informant.  What was her name?  She was 
some politico that much he remembered.  
Out of necessity, Krychek had learned long 
ago to forget the names and faces of his 
contacts.  It was a survival mechanism.  
More often than not, they were killed to 
hide the truth.  If one didn't know them, 
one wouldn't feel for them.  

So far, the mission had gone well.  In 
fact, better than expected.  After the 
accident in the lab, he had wondered if 
the men he worked for would succeed.  Any 
undue attention would completely destroy 
what little he knew of their plans.  Only 
one question remained:  would the double 
crosser himself be double crossed?  
Krychek grinned evilly at the thought.  He 
had a surprise for them if that happened.  
His real hand strayed to the black duffel 
bag that lay on a nearby table.  Slipping 
his fingers between the zipper, he lightly 
stroked the cold metal surface.  

A slight sound caught his ear.  Krychek 
stilled and listened closely.  Was it the 
scrape of foot on sand?  Or merely the 
hushed dance of wind on the dunes?  He 
shook his head, trying to dispel the 
notion.  Surely it was the latter.  He was 
not scheduled to be picked up for another 
hour.  Unless the unthinkable was actually 
happening.  

His actions lightning quick, Krychek moved 
from the wall to a crouched position 
behind the table, his fingers grabbing the 
weapon from its hiding place.  
*       *      *

Chegwidden had taken the front of the 
building while Skinner search the back.  
Just as the admiral neared the doorway, 
his foot had slipped on a few loose grains 
of sand.  Cursing himself, he held still, 
his senses at high alert for any sign that 
the man inside had heard him.  His 
breathing slowed until all he could hear 
was his heart calmly beating the rhythm of 
life.  After another minute, he cautiously 
moved to the front door.  

The admiral tested the door knob to see if 
it would open easily.  It did.  He swung 
the door wide and jumped back, training 
the Sig on an unseen target.  Crouching 
low, he walked into the room.  His night 
goggles filtered through the inky 
blackness and translated the dark 
furniture into a neon green color.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw 
movement.  A split second later, a low 
humming filled the air.  The hair on the 
back of his neck rose and he was frozen in 
place.  A voice cut through the noise. 
"Here's what you get for double crossing 
me you bastard!"  

Suddenly Chegwidden felt the air crackle 
around him; his skin tingled as the 
radiation hit him full force.  He knelt 
down, a vain attempt to elude the beam, 
and called out to his partner.  "Walt, 
watch out he's got the weapon 
operational!"

From his position at the back of the 
building, Skinner swore violently.  He 
charged in the back door, desperate to 
help his old friend.  "Where are you?" he 
called, eyes searching the green-tinted 
room.  

Krychek's fingers paused on the weapon's 
control.  He <knew> that voice.  Skinner.  
"Dammit," he swore softly and dropped the 
weapon.  Grabbing the black duffel bag, he 
launched himself out of a nearby window.

The sound of shattering glass jerked 
Skinner's head toward the far wall.  He 
could see a lone figure running across the 
dunes.  Walter paused momentarily, torn 
between his orders to capture Krychek and 
his duty to A.J.  Without another thought, 
he lowered his sidearm and moved forward 
carefully.  "A.J.!  Where are you?" he 
called.

"In front of you, but be careful, the 
weapon is on," the admiral's voice had 
taken on a strangely quiet tone.  "Krychek 
aimed it me shortly after I entered.  
Apparently, he knew someone was after 
him."

"OK, I've got the weapon."  Skinner read 
the Arabic commands on the control panel 
and moved his fingers to a button on the 
left side.  As soon as he pressed it, the 
panel's backlight winked out and all was 
quiet.  "A.J., how are you feeling?  
What's going on?"

"I'm OK right now," he replied, removing 
the night goggles and laying them on the 
floor.  Skinner eased his way over to the 
officer and helped him stand.  "My vision 
is a little blurry, but that's mainly from 
the goggles."

The A.D. looked around the room and found 
a chair on the opposite side.  "Come over 
here and sit down.  We've got to get you 
out of here."  After Chegwidden had 
settled in the chair, Skinner pulled out 
the sat phone and dialed.  

"Webb, get us out of here.  Chegwidden's 
been exposed.  No, Krychek's gone, but he 
did leave the weapon."  He paused for 
moment then yelled, "I don't why!  Just 
get us the hell out of here!"  He slammed 
the phone shut and returned to his 
partner.  

The admiral sat hunched over with his head 
in his hands.  "A.J., you  still with me?"

"Yeah," he murmured, "just a little dizzy.  
How long before extraction?"

"Not long.  We've got a chopper coming in 
from Saudi after us.  Shouldn't be much 
longer than half an hour."  

The admiral nodded and somewhere deep 
inside him, cells began to break apart.  
*      *      *

(12/13)
Somewhere in Iraq
2235 Romeo

Krychek stumbled and fell to the sand, 
exhausted.  He'd run non-stop from the 
building, half-expecting Skinner to 
follow.  He should have realized that the 
man would check his partner first.  
Knowing a person did that to you.  It 
created loyalties where none should be.  
He stifled a bark of laughter and got to 
his feet.  Securing the black duffel, he 
blended in with the dark.  Once more on 
the run.  Once more alone.
*       *       *

Undisclosed location in Iraq
2302 Romeo

Skinner watched Chegwidden closely for any 
signs of illness.  Other than the 
dizziness, which had since eased, the 
admiral appeared to be in good health.  
The agent, however, was taking no chances.  
The extraction team had landed only a few 
minutes earlier and was currently 
conducting a security sweep of the 
building.  The weapon was locked in an aft 
compartment while the admiral was loaded 
onto a stretcher and carried out to the 
bird.  

"Anything?" the agent asked one of the 
soldiers who had just finished his rounds.

"No, sir.  No sign of another weapon."  
The younger man braced his gun against his 
hip and stood at ease in front of Skinner.  

"What about the control panel?" Walter bit 
out.  Seeing the negative shake of the 
officer's head, the agent muttered 
bitterly, "Damn!  He got away with it."

"Sir!" the pilot called from his position 
near the chopper.  Skinner jogged over to 
him and waited for him to continue.  "Sir, 
we need to get out of here.   Radar has 
just picked up two bogeys.  They're a 
way's out, but still could be trouble if 
we don't leave soon.  Apparently, we 
weren't as quiet as we thought."

Skinner looked over the building once 
more, his eyes narrowed.  Hoping for more 
time, he knew each second wasted in a 
futile search for Krychek meant postponing 
A.J.'s  treatment. At length, he nodded 
and boarded the helicopter.
*       *        *

Just off the coast of Virginia
0146 Romeo

Upon hearing about Chegwidden's exposure 
to the weapon, Campbell and Scully 
scrambled to assemble a man-sized 
inhalation chamber so that the admiral 
could be completely saturated in the 
carbon dioxide.  

Special privileges had been granted by the 
SecNav to allow the two men passage on a 
classified super-sonic airplane so that 
Chegwidden could get immediate attention.  
The plane was due to land in less than an 
hour and then a medi-vac helicopter would 
fly him to the research facility.  During 
the flight back to the states, the two 
women had kept in direct contact with the 
soldier who was monitoring the admiral's 
vital signs.  Convulsions had begun to 
rack his body as they neared the end of 
the flight.  

"Easy, Admiral," the young officer calmed 
as he wiped the older man's brow with a  
damp towelette.  The spasms had eased for 
now, but even Skinner recognized that they 
were coming more often and, from what he 
could tell, were more painful.  He glanced 
tersely at his watch and then back to 
Chegwidden.

"A.J.," he prompted softly, "how ya' 
doing?"

The admiral managed a grimace of a smile 
before closing his eyes.  "I've been 
better, Walt.  But our run-in with 
Mohammed Makhri was worse."

Skinner chuckled at the memory.  He and 
A.J. had decided that the team needed some 
R&R after a particularly bad op in Turkey.  
They had released the men on liberty with 
the warning that if they're asses weren't 
back by 0600 the following morning, they'd 
better not come back at all.  

In the end, it had been Skinner and 
Chegwidden who hadn't returned until well 
after the designated curfew.  "You know," 
he murmured with a smile, "I'm still not 
sure just how you got us out of there.  
After all, I was the one who spoke Arabic 
and at the time I was practically 
unconscious."

The admiral's eyes danced, "And to tell 
the truth, Walt, you probably don't want 
to know.  Suffice it say, if you'd been in 
the US, you'd have been brought on bigamy 
charges."

Skinner's eyes widen with shock as he 
looked down at his friend.  "Are you 
kidding me?"

"Actually," Chegwidden replied with a soft 
laugh, "yeah.  I just wanted to see the 
look on your face."

The agent shook his head in disbelief.  
Even after all these years, A.J. could 
still get him.  He smiled fondly at the 
admiral and squeezed his forearm once. 

A hacking series of coughs seethed through 
Chegwidden suddenly.  Skinner pulled him 
to a sitting position and patted his back, 
trying to soothe the spasm.  After a 
moment, the admiral stilled and raised his 
face.  What Walter found there chilled him 
to the core:  blood seeped from the edges 
of the admiral's mouth and dripped down 
onto the front of his body suit.  

Skinner grabbed another towelette from the 
soldier and, in an effort not to alarm his 
friend, calmly wiped his face.  
Chegwidden, however, didn't buy the act.  
He'd learned the taste of his own blood at 
an early age.  "How much longer?" he 
asked.  The words sounded as if they had 
been physically pulled from the depths of 
his abdomen.

The agent's face slackened with 
resignation, "About ten minutes til we 
land, then another 15 to get to the ONR."

The admiral nodded wearily then lay back 
down on the cot.  Skinner lifted his 
slightly damp eyes to the horizon and 
prayed to a god he wasn't sure he believed 
in anymore.  "Please, Father, save him.  
He's a good man.  He has people who care 
about him.  Please."   

And beneath the sound of the plane's 
engine Skinner could swear he heard an 
answer.
*       *       *

Office of Naval Research
0435 Romeo

Moments before the chopper landed, the 
admiral slipped into unconsciousness.  The 
look on Campbell's face as she examined 
him spoke volumes.  Neither she nor Scully 
would voice any concerns to the two JAG 
officers who had stood outside the lab.  
As they had shifted him into the chamber, 
Scully merely cautioned, "It's too soon to 
know anything."

Chegwidden now lay on his back in the 
inhalation chamber; head turned to the 
side to allow a free airway should his 
coughing spasms return.  He had been 
stripped down to his briefs to allow for 
maximum exposure to the carbon dioxide.  

Mac gazed at the still form of her boss, 
her vision slightly blurred.  'What would 
we do without him?' she thought.  She felt 
another presence come up behind her.  The 
major closed her eyes as Harm's strong 
hand clasped her shoulder.  He squeezed 
once, then pulled her into his embrace.  

"He's going to be OK.  I know he is," he 
soothed, softly stroking her hair.  
"Scully and Campbell have worked overtime 
to find a cure for this stuff."  

Mac raised her head to look at him, to see 
if his eyes were sending the same message 
as his lips.  She was surprised to find a 
lone tear slipping its way down his cheek.  
She leaned up and hugged him harder.  He 
pressed her head into his shoulder and 
placed a soft kiss on her temple.  

"He'll get through this," Harm assured 
her.  She sniffled once and he squeezed 
her tightly. "Hey, before you know it, 
he'll be yelling at us to get our sixes in 
gear and back into the courtroom."  He 
felt her smile against his shoulder and 
lightly ran his hands up and down her 
arms.  

Mac looked up and her eyes locked with 
his.  For a moment the room was still, 
their CO  forgotten, they merely stared.  
Harm brushed his thumb along her cheek, 
entranced by the combination of soft skin 
and damp tears.  His eyes darkened as he 
lowered his mouth to hers.  The kiss was 
tangy from their shared tears, but around 
the edges lurked the promise of sweetness.  
As his lips continued to gently brush 
hers, awareness began to flit through Mac.  
Harm broke the contact a moment later, and 
dropped a soft butterfly kiss on her 
hairline.  "Everything will be alright, 
Sarah," he said, his gaze never wavering 
from hers.  

He pulled her back into his arms for a 
final hug then let her go.  Mac's body 
almost cried at the loss of his warmth, of 
his touch.  But the look in his eyes 
forced her to rein in her emotions.  Harm 
looked pensive, almost like a child who 
had found the perfect toy only to be told 
by his parents that it was too costly.  

And indeed it was, Mac recognized with no 
small amount of regret.  For them to 
pursue this feeling, to even contemplate a 
relationship, they would also have to deal 
with the very true reality that one of 
them would have to leave JAG.  Harriet and 
Bud were one thing.  After all, she had 
already been on loan from another 
department.  But two people who worked 
together every day in the same chain of 
command, sometimes on opposing sides...that 
was completely different.  

Mac gave him a watery smile and nodded, 
understanding tinged with remorse.  He 
answered with a soft smile of his own and 
squeezed her arm just as Mulder walked in 
the door.

The agent looked from the pair to the 
admiral and asked, "Any news yet?"

Harm cleared his throat and turned toward 
the other man.  "No," he replied with a 
slight shake of his head.  The commander 
gazed back at Chegwidden and murmured, 
"But Scully said it might take a while."

Mulder nodded and walked back out the door 
in search of his partner.  Mac quickly 
followed, muttering something about 
needing to find the ladies' room.  Harm 
watched her go and thought to himself, 
'It's better this way.  At least for now.'
*       *       *

Captain Joan Campbell's desk
0507 Romeo

Mulder found Scully bent over a print-out 
with Campbell, their voices hushed but 
urgent.  He moved to her side and peered 
at the list of numbers.  After a moment, 
he asked, "Find anything?"

Scully looked up, her eyes shining with 
promise.  "Yeah, Mulder," she replied 
softly, "I think we have.  Take a look at 
this."  She moved the computer paper 
closer to him then continued. "These are 
the results from the tissue samples from 
time the admiral was brought in.  While 
these," she traced another column with her 
finger, "are the results from samples 
taken just under an hour ago."

"The numbers are lower," he murmured, 
feeling foolish for stating the obvious.

His partner nodded and Campbell 
interjected, "His free radical rates are 
decreasing.  It's too soon to declare 
victory, but I think he's well on the way 
to a good recovery."

Mulder smiled softly, his eyes warming as 
they moved from the captain to the agent.  
"Congratulations, that's great news!"  
Scully felt an answering smile bubble up 
and break through.  

Campbell glanced at the two agents and, 
sensing that they had unfinished business 
between them, quietly excused herself to 
share the good news with Rabb and 
MacKenzie.  

When the captain had left, Mulder reached 
down and tangled his fingers with 
Scully's.  He rubbed his thumbs lightly 
over hers and grinned, a playful light 
dancing in his eyes.  "There's only one 
problem with this whole thing."

Scully, recognizing his look, asked 
guardedly, "What's that?"  

He raised their hands a little and them 
let them drop.  "We can't gloat to 
Kersch."

Smiling, she shook her head and thought, 
'Only Mulder.'

<And that's why you love him,> admonished 
her conscious.

'One reason among many,' she thought as 
she squeezed his fingers lightly.
*      *       *

(13/13)

Office of Naval Research
Conference Room
0900 Romeo

Earlier that morning the SecNav had 
apprised all the members of the 
investigative team that a formal 
debriefing session would be held to update 
everyone on the mission's status.  Mac and 
Harm had left soon after the SecNav's 
announcement and went home to grab quick 
showers and change.  Mulder also left and 
returned with a change of clothes for 
Scully, who, along with Campbell, made use 
of the ONR's showers.  

Some thoughtful assistant had placed a 
tray of bagels and other assorted 
breakfast items on a side table.  The 
SecNav sat at the head of the long oak 
table, a mug of coffee and a file placed 
in front of him.  He waited patiently for 
the officers and agents to get some food 
and settle into the chairs.  He looked at 
each person in turn before speaking.  

"First of all," he began, his voice clear 
and strong, "I want to thank everyone for 
their dedication to this matter.  It truly 
was a team effort and nothing would have 
been accomplished without your combined 
skills..." He trailed off, his gaze locked 
on the door.  

"Hope we're not interrupting," Webb 
interjected.  The men and women at the 
table turned upon hearing the word 'we.'  

Skinner flanked the special undersecretary 
and both lightly gripped a handlebar of a 
wheelchair.  Chegwidden sat, clothed in a 
Navy sweat suit, a slight smile edging his 
mouth.  He had hoped his presence would be 
a surprise to his subordinates.

"Sir?"  Harm and Mac chorused, the former 
rising from his seat as if to aid the 
admiral.
"Admiral," Campbell chastised as she moved 
toward him.  "You know you shouldn't be 
out of bed."  She bent and lightly gripped 
his wrist, checking his pulse.  "We don't 
know if you have fully recovered from your 
exposure."

Chegwidden waved her hand away and allowed 
Webb to push him into the room.  "I've 
never missed a debriefing when I was a 
SEAL and I'm not going to start now."

The SecNav gestured for the new arrivals 
to take a seat and then asked, "Webb, 
what's the status of the mission?"

The special undersecretary nodded.  
"Krychek apparently escaped with the 
control panel.  But that by itself won't 
make a new version of the weapon.  So on 
that point, we're pretty well covered.  
According to intell reports, the bodies of 
three high level Iraqi scientists were 
found floating in the Tigris River.  In 
each case, the cause of death was a bullet 
to the brain.  At this time, it's believed 
that an extremist group is responsible.  I 
think, however, that someone in the 
government is covering his tracks.  

"As far as the weapon is concerned, it's 
in good shape.  Currently, I'm having the 
guys at Langley go over it," he paused 
then continued, "but they're going to need 
some help.  I was wondering if Captain 
Campbell, given her background with the 
weapon, would be interested in joining the 
research team."

Joanie's eyes lit up at the prospect.  She 
turned expectantly toward the SecNav and 
replied, "I would be happy to assist in 
any way, if you could get me temporarily 
reassigned."

The SecNav smiled and said, "I don't 
foresee that to be a problem.  Agent 
Scully, would you consider reassignment to 
help the CIA with the research?"

Scully looked shocked by the offer and 
glanced at her partner.  For his part, 
Mulder felt his heart drop and land 
somewhere near his stomach.  He didn't 
know what he would do if she left, but it 
was Scully's decision.  If she wanted to 
go, then he would wish her well.  Mulder 
tamped down on his fears and offered her a 
small smile of encouragement.  But, much 
to his surprise, the action was 
unnecessary.  

She demurred, "I am honored by the 
opportunity, but I'm sorry, Sir.  My 
current assignment is with the X-Files.  
Captain Campbell is a much better choice 
for the team.  She not only has worked 
longer with the weapon, but is also more 
qualified for this work.  I'll make sure 
I'm available to offer any aid, but I 
believe I have a larger duty to the FBI 
and my partner."  She looked away from the 
SecNav and read the relief in Mulder's 
eyes.  

'Did you really think I'd leave?' she 
asked silently.

'You're passing up a great opportunity,' 
his eyes reminded.

Her gaze turned thoughtful and answered, 
'No, I don't think so.'

A tiny light flickered in Mulder's eyes; 
he was pleased beyond measure at her 
refusal of the job.

The SecNav cleared his throat to interrupt 
the pair's silent conversation.  Harm and 
Mac shared a quick glance of amusement at 
the agents' inattention.  "Unfortunately," 
the SecNav began after he was certain he 
had regained their focus, "due to the 
highly classified nature of the mission, 
few will be able to read about your 
achievement."

"I guess that means publishing the results 
the carbon dioxide treatment is out then?" 
Campbell asked with a wry grin.

The SecNav nodded, "The private sector is 
just going to have to figure that one out 
on its own.  However, letters and 
certificates of high commendation will be 
placed in your personnel files."  He 
paused and looked at each of them 
individually.  "As you are all aware, the 
Navy much like other places uses its own 
jargon to describe the actions of its 
members.  Based on your collective 
achievement, I am honored to bid each of 
you, A.J., you, Skinner, and Webb 
included, on behalf of the US Navy and the 
American public, Bravo Zulu."

"What does that mean?" Webb asked 
curiously.

Chegwidden smiled from the wheelchair and 
answered, "'Well done.'  It means well 
done."  

END

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