Date: 30 Jul 2006 16:13:23 -0700
From: magsrose@comcast.net
Subject: [all-xf] New - Decoding the Enigma - 14/20
Source: atxc

Chapter 14


Byers settled in a chair, the files of his latest case spread out on
the table in front of him. He'd just opened the first folder and begun
to read when someone started pounding on his door.  He glanced toward
it before shifting his gaze to the clock on the wall.  

"Who can that be?" he wondered, "It's nearly 8 o'clock."   

The pounding continued.  Figuring that it must be important for
someone to disturb him at home at that hour, Byers hurried to the
door, unlocked it and opened it.  He was surprised to find Melvin
Frohike on his front step looking bruised, bloodied and generally
disheveled.  

"Beating up another suspect?"  Even as he heard himself say it, Byers
knew it was uncalled for. The man just rubbed him the wrong way.  

"Shut up, Byers," Frohike snapped shocking Byers further.  "Just shut
up and listen to me for a moment.  I'm too tired and I hurt too much
to put up with your petty and bitter attacks on me tonight."  He
rubbed his face with his hands and said quietly, "I need your help."

John nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of that statement but the
man's physical state stopped him. He couldn't believe himself when he
stepped aside.  "Come in."  

He led Frohike to his living room. Their progress was slow as Frohike
was limping badly on his right leg. Byers waited for him to sit in a
chair near the fire.  "Tell me what happened?"

Frohike sighed, settling farther into the chair. "It's a long story. 
I just ask that you refrain from commenting until I finish."  Frohike
waited until Byers sat down in a chair opposite him before launching
into his story, leaving nothing out. 

As he told it, Frohike knew to someone who had not been involved in it
from the beginning, that his tale must sound like something out of a
dime store novel: missing scientists, beautiful mysterious women,
spies, FBI moles, and a secret decoding machine. Not to mention
explosions, car chases and gun battles. 

He watched Byers reactions as he talked, hoping for some sign that the
District Attorney believed him but Byers showed no emotion.  For part
of the story, Byers didn't look at Frohike but sat staring into the
fire. Frohike wasn't sure if it was because he couldn't stand the
sight of him or he was just listening intently and visualizing the
events as they were related. 

When Frohike finished, Byers sat back in his chair, looking
thoughtful.

"What do you need from me?" Byers asked finally.

"You have connections in the F.B.I.  You've worked closely with them
in the past. There must be people there you trust. That's what I need
now. Someone who will help these two, keep them safe."

Byers' eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline. "And you want
me to help you with this? After everything that's happened the last
couple of years, you think I'm the one to come to?"

Frohike's ire rose; it tasted like vinegar in the back of his throat.
"Look, yes or no. I know what you think of me but it's not my neck on
the line here. It's theirs. Can you help them?" 

Shaking his head, Byers said, "It's not that. I just can't believe
you'd trust me."

"Trust, yes. Want to be chums with..." Frohike left that last
statement hanging. He felt he'd already gone too far and he really did
need the man's help.

Unfazed by the implied insult, Byers nodded, obviously deep in
thought.  "I know someone.  He's a straight arrow."

Byers couldn't help but notice the look of immense relief on the
private investigator's face. "Thank you," said Frohike. "Can you get
in touch with him tonight?

"I think so." 

"There's one other thing of a more personal nature," said Frohike,
"and I wouldn't ask it but ..." 

"Go ahead and ask."

"As I said, the professor was the closest to the explosion. His
clothes got pretty torn up. The doctor cut off what was left of them.
He's about your height and weight. Do you have an old pair of pants
and a shirt he can use?"

Without saying a word, the DA got up and left the room. In a couple of
minutes, he returned with some neatly folded clothes in his hands.
"These should work," he said, setting them on a table near Frohike's
elbow. 

Frohike stood up leaning heavily on the arms of the chair to push
himself upright.  "Where are you going?" Byers asked. 

"I've got to get back.  Harlow is jittery enough that, if the doctor
gives the professor a clean bill of health, she might take off with
him.  As exhausted as she is..." Frohike looked away, "one mistake and
they're both dead."  He picked up the clothes. "Thanks for these."

"She isn't the only one exhausted," Byers pointed out.  "You look like
you're ready to fall over."

 "I'll catch some sleep while I wait for the slow wheels of justice to
turn. "  Frohike said with a half-hearted grin. "I should be well
rested by then."

"Where can I find you?" Byers asked as they made their way to the
door.

"I've got them stashed at the morgue for the time being but we can't
stay there for long without bringing attention to ourselves." 

Byers nodded.

Byers locked up after the detective then returned to the library.  He
opened the desk drawer and pulled out an address book.  He knew
exactly who he needed to call.  




* * * * *




"....get some rest.  It'll help your recovery and besides you're
clearly exhausted."  

Yves faced Dana Scully meeting the doctor's perturbed expression with
her own steely resolve.  Ever since Melvin Frohike had left to meet
someone he claimed could help them, Scully had been making persistent
suggestions that she should get some sleep.  

It should have raised her suspicions of a possible trap but Yves
sensed nothing of the kind from the woman.  Or maybe she was just too
damn tired to see clearly.  Her eyes felt grainy, her lids heavy and
the exhaustion Dana Scully spoke of fitted Yves like a cloak on a damp
London night.

"Someone needs to keep guard," Yves replied stubbornly.

Jimmy, who had been messing with his camera yet obviously listening to
the conversation, spoke up then.  "I could stand guard."
 
Yves flicked her gaze at Jimmy, assessing him.  "Oh? And what happens
if Morris Fletcher and his thugs show up?  How will you defend
yourself or the Professor?  Shoot them with your camera," she asked
with harsh sarcasm.  

Once again, Yves sensed she handled him the wrong way.  His face
flushed pink as much from embarrassment as anger.  He set his camera
on the table and got a bullish look in his face.  Before he could
reply, Yves cut him off.

"That was out of line," she said in way of apology.  "But if you want
to help, by all means; stand guard."  She took her gun from her pocket
and held it out butt first to Jimmy.  "Just be prepared to shoot to
kill," she continued, stressing the point. "Can you do that?" Not
surprisingly he stared at it warily as if it was a venomous viper but
from the look on his face, he was seriously contemplating her
question.

He flinched slightly at her words.  "I think..." he worried his bottom
lip then said uncomfortably, quietly.  "Maybe."  A second later he
said, guiltily.  "No."

"Great," Langly groaned from the chair where he sat with notebooks
spread out on his lap. "I'm a dead man."

"No one needs to handle your gun but you," Scully announced coolly.
"Jimmy told me that you and Mel shot out your assailants' tire. 
There's no way they can know you are here."

Yves shot Jimmy a furious glare before replying just as coolly. 
"Fletcher is an intelligent man.  I'm sure he suspects one or more of
us had been hurt in the explosion. All he needs to do is check
Frohike's known associates.  It's only a matter of time before he
learns the local M.E. is a personal friend."

Scully's lips curled in an 'aha' smile.  "Mel and I met only three
days ago in connection with another of his cases.  No one would link
us to anything beyond a fleeting, professional relationship."  She
could see the younger woman assimilating that information, trying to
organize an objection.  

Dana wondered when Yves had last slept. From the dark circles under
the other woman's eyes she judged maybe 48 hours, possibly longer. 
While she had no doubt of Yves' abilities with a gun, sleep
deprivation could hinder her mental and physical responses.  

"I need to know the Professor is safe," Yves finally said as if
answering some internal argument.  "I'll sleep when he sleeps."

"So, I'll sleep," Langly said, "I'm pretty tired myself."   

"You will not," Scully said. "Not with a concussion. Not for another
twelve hours minimum." She needed to convince Yves to sleep and keep
the Professor awake.  It was a daunting task, one she would normally
be up to but she had never been in a situation like this before.  She
glanced at Jimmy, hoping he could help but he returned her gaze, his
own concern in his eyes.

"I'll stand guard."

Dana whirled around, startled to see Frohike standing at the door.
Jimmy and Langly were equally surprised while to Scully's chagrin,
Yves merely looked at him. She had obviously noted his return earlier.
 

Scully's surprise swiftly turned to relief at knowing he was okay.  Or
was he, she wondered, studying him.  His face was drawn and gray with
the same dark circles under his eyes that Yves had. And he was still
favoring his wounded leg.  He had to be in a great deal of pain. 

 "You're just as exhausted as she is," Dana protested.  "I'm sure
Jimmy and I can look out for the professor. If there are any problems,
we'll wake you both."

"And what if you're not given that chance?"  Yves demanded.  "We would
never know anything is happening."

"Then we take turns," Frohike decided. "I'll take the first watch and
wake you up in a few hours."  

"There's a couch in my office," Scully supplied, using her soothing
doctor's voice.   "It's comfortable and, as you know, not far from the
autopsy room."

"Come on, Yves."  Langly's voice piped up.  Concern for his protector
was evident on his face.   "With all these people here, it's safe. 
I'm safe.  And besides Doohike "

"Frohike," growled the private investigator.

" Frohike's got a gun and Jimbo says he's a good shot."

Yves rubbed the side of her temple as if trying to remember something.
"What about your friend? Will he help us?"

"Yes," Frohike said.  "He'll come straight here as soon as he gets in
touch with his contact in the F.B.I.  Right now there's nothing to do
but wait.  You might as well get some sleep."

She studied Frohike's face. "I have your word you'll wake me if
anything happens?"

Frohike met her gaze.  "It's your game, Sugar.  I'm just riding
shotgun."

Yves grimaced. Scully thought she was going to argue but then her
shoulders sagged.  "Fine," she acquiesced, "but only a few hours."   

One down and one to go, Dana thought as Yves strode out of the room. 

"She's one tough cookie." Frohike muttered. 

Dana regarded him a moment, feeling a momentary kinship with the
younger woman.  "You have to be to survive in a male dominated
profession."  She turned her attention to Langly.  "Professor, give
Mel the chair."

"What?"  Langly looked stunned.  "Why?"

"Because," Dana said, sensing a fight ahead, "Mel needs to get off his
bad leg and the chair won't agitate it."

"But I almost died!  I have a concussion and have to stay awake," he
whined.

"Don't worry," Jimmy said cheerfully to the scientist. "I'll make sure
you stay awake."

"Good thinking," Dana said, "Why don't you boys make some coffee and
perhaps raid the vending machines in the employee lounge for something
to eat?"  She figured it would give her enough time for what she
needed to do.

"What am I?  An errand boy? I'm a highly regarded scientist  "

"Sure thing Dr. Scully," Jimmy interrupted Langly's tirade.  "Come on,
Professor."  

"Jimmy, wait," commanded Frohike. "I got Caesar there some clothes."
He inclined his head toward the professor who was still wrapped in a
blanket. "I left them in the trunk of my car." 

"No problem." Holding out his hand, Jimmy caught Frohike's keys. He
then grabbed Langly by the arm to drag him out of the morgue.
 
"Awww man, why do we have to be the ones to leave?  They just want to
be alone to...wait. Did he say clothes?  It's about damn time.  This
blanket isn't the warmest and there is this draft..."

Langly's voice faded, leaving Dana and Mel in blessed quiet.

"I want you to sit down and relax," she said, "Doctor's orders."  She
slid her arm around his waist. He didn't protest but allowed her guide
him to the chair.  She noted his limp was more pronounced even though
he tried to hide it: Mr. Tough Guy.  She bit the inside of her cheek
to keep from grinning at the thought.  "The Professor was right, you
know," she murmured in his ear. She helped him sit then said, "I do
want to be alone with you."

He gazed up at her.  "Why Dr. Scully," he said in mock surprise, "how
devious of you. What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?"  

"My sleeves?"  She raised one eyebrow as if perplexed by his comment. 
She slipped off her lab coat to reveal a white silk, sleeveless shell
underneath.  "As you can see I have no sleeves."  She dropped her lab
coat on the desk then perched on the edge and crossed her legs, giving
him an excellent view of well-toned and shapely calves.  

"I just thought we could talk, get to know each other better."  She
paused for a couple of seconds then added. "It will be less awkward
when I kiss you later."  

He ripped his appreciative gaze from her legs to her face so fast Dana
worried he might have strained his neck.  His smile made her glad she
was holding onto the desk with both hands for support.  "Tell me all
about yourself, Red," he drawled, "because I don't want anything to be
awkward between us."

Dana could feel her heartbeat accelerate and she had to remind herself
this little conversation wasn't for pleasure.

 At least not entirely.   

"Tell me more about your time in medical school," Frohike said after a
moment's thought, "I bet a lot of idiots must have been threatened by
your decision to become a doctor.  They couldn't have made it easy for
you."

Dana could see he was genuinely interested and it warmed her. "They
didn't," she said then clarified, "My professors as well as other
students did everything they could to make life hell for me.  And in
between, they would suggest I find a career more fitting my gender. 

"After a few months their harassment was wearing me down but I refused
to quit. I think it was partly stubbornness and partly because being a
doctor was all I all I ever wanted to be. Then I met Sally McKenzie."

As he listened, Mel asked a few questions or commented on other men's
intelligence but after a while, he simply settled back to listen.
Scully continued her story speaking in dulcet tones and watching him
closely. 

 It was ten minutes later when Dana was sure he was fast asleep.  With
a satisfied smile, she stood up and gently placed her lab coat over
him.  She touched his face lightly, letting her hand drift down his
cheek.  He was so careworn but in sleep, most of the lines in his face
eased and while he didn't exactly look young or untroubled, he did at
least for the moment look content.

The sound of Jimmy and Professor Langly's voices in the hallway made
her spin around and hurry out to meet them.  "Shhh," she told the
boys, whose arms were full of coffee cups and sandwiches. "Mel is
asleep."  Jimmy, towering over her, had no trouble seeing over her
head to note that she was correct.  "Let's go to the admittance bay
until he and Yves wake up," said Dr. Scully pointing out the way she
wanted them to go.

"But my notes are in there," Langly protested.  "I need my notes."

He started to go around her but Dana moved to block him.  "I'll get
them.  Stay here," she ordered.

"And the Enigma," he added, "It's those two brown box with the
straps."

"And my camera," Jimmy threw in.

With an exasperated sigh, Dana went in, scooped up the notebooks and
tucking them under one arm, she put the camera strap over her head.
She took one box in each hand, discovering that they were heavier than
they looked.  She glanced one last time at Mel.  Thankfully, he was
sleeping soundly, gentle snores emanating from him.  

As quietly as possible, she left the morgue then guided both men down
the hall.




* * * * *




"Look, it's not that difficult a concept to grasp," Langly said,
frustration evident in his voice.  He should give up attempting to
explain the Enigma to Jimmy.  Even Yves, whom Langly grudgingly
considered pretty smart, got a glazed look in her eyes the few times
he tried to instruct her on the intricacies of code breaking.  So why
the hell should he expect Bond to grasp the concept?

Because it kept him from dwelling on his pounding headache, which he
had vocally complained about earlier and gotten no sympathy.  It felt
as if someone had dropped a damn anvil on him.  Well, that and the
fact people were trying to kill him and had nearly succeeded in doing
so.  

He shuddered involuntarily, remembering the scorching heat of the
blast before everything had gone dark.  Don't think about it, he
commanded himself.  Think about your work.  It was safe, comforting.
It made him forget all the other stuff for a bit and if in order to do
that he had to find a way to simplify his explanation so Jimmy could
understand...so be it.  

"Come on," he snapped.  He led Jimmy to the admissions desk where Dr.
Scully sat reading a copy of 'Life' magazine while the Tommy Dorsey
Band played on the radio.  

She looked up from the magazine.  "Everything ok?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, resisting the urge to utter the truly
smart-ass remark that sprang to mind. 

 It wasn't the Doc's fault he was in this mess and besides she was
indirectly responsible for the one good thing to happen to him
tonight.  He nearly cracked a smile at the memory of Sally McKenzie
standing over him like an angel, the sharp morgue lights glinting off
her vibrant red hair.  

She had the surest, lightest touch. It had almost made his agonizing
pain bearable.  And she smelled heavenly of apples and spice.  

He knew his reaction to Sally McKenzie was illogical.  After all the
stress and pain of the past few weeks, it was natural to be attracted
to her because she had fixed him up.  And she hadn't dismissed his
complaints.  But he remembered her cool touch on his forehead, how
good it felt and he couldn't dismiss his feelings as a knee jerk
reaction to stress.

But what did it matter anyway?  If he survived the next couple of days
he was heading to England for who knows how long?  He'd probably never
see her again and, if he did, chances are, she wouldn't remember him
anyway.  

The Doc went back to her LIFE magazine, and the irony of that not
being lost on Langly, he grabbed the Enigma off the desk and returned
to his corner so he wouldn't have to listen to Tommy Dorsey.

He set the wooden case on the counter and opened the top to reveal the
machine.  Jimmy stepped up to see inside, an expression of resigned
patience on his face.  

"See, it only weighs 26 pounds, battery included, and goes anywhere.
The Germans have thousands of them." Langly spun one of the dials. "It
turns plain-text messages into gobbledygook. Then the gobbledygook is
translated into Morse code. At the receiving end, there's another
Enigma machine to turn it back into the original message. Press the
same key any number of times " Langly proceeded to do so, "...it will
always come out different."

"How?" Jimmy asked, puzzled. 

Langly glanced at the machine with admiration, wondering how anyone
wouldn't find this fascinating. He flipped down the front plate of the
wooden case to reveal rows of plug receptacles with a letter printed
above each one. 

"The machine has 150 million million million ways of doing it
according to how you set these three rotors and how you connect these
plugs." As Langly spoke, he pointed to various parts of the machine. 
"The current passes from the keyboard to the lights by way of the
rotors and plugs. Every time you press a key, it changes the path of
the current. Press the same key ten times it comes out ten different
ways on the light board. You never know which letters will light up."
He grinned. "It's brilliant...really brilliant."

Langly looked at Jimmy expectantly.  The man just stared at the rotors
for a few more seconds before saying in a tone that told Langly he had
actually been listening and not off in dreamland.   "So, even if the
Allies figure out the code being used, the Germans just change the
positions of the rotors and the Allies have to start all over?"

"You got it.  And the only way to figure out the encryption is to
listen to coded messages and to try to find letters in common and
cross reference them with other messages like weather reports which
contain known information." 

"I keep wondering how long before the United States wakes up and
realizes we can't continue doing nothing in the name of neutrality,"
Langly continued angrily.  He stood up and started pacing.  "It's not
our war?  Yet the government is going behind our backs to help the
Allies thinking no one will figure it out. It scares me to think what
will take before the U.S. becomes officially involved.  It's why I was
going to England in the first place.  I want to help the Allies
decipher the code so they can stop the Germans before something
catastrophic happens to drag the United States into the war." 

He was ranting and knew it but he couldn't help it.  It had been
bottled up inside of him for so long.  "I think I was close," he
muttered.

"Close to what?"  Jimmy eyed him anxiously.  "Professor?"

"To finding a formula that could help break the encryption," he said. 
He slammed his fist against the wall.  It wasn't very hard and it
barely even made a sound but it hurt all the same.  He swept a hand
through his long blonde hair fighting the ache in his chest.  "Three
months of work gone," he muttered, "destroyed in seconds."

"God, I wish I was at Bletchley Park already," he continued. "Then I'd
have some of the greatest minds in cryptography to work with, to
bounce ideas off of.  Instead I'm reduced to hiding out in warehouses
and morgues, scratching out equations in borrowed notebooks and on
chalkboards."

"Chalkboards?" Jimmy's brow furrowed. "I saw a bunch of equations and
stuff on the chalkboard in your lab.  Is that the stuff you lost?"

"Yeah," Langly sighed, resigned.  "I thought for sure when I got to
England I'd have something solid we could use."

"Professor!"  Jimmy said, getting excited.  "The chalkboard wasn't
erased really well."

"So?  Yves had it destroyed.  It can't help me now."

 "I took pictures of the chalkboard!"

Langly stared at Jimmy, understanding why he was practically bursting
with excitement.  "You...have...pictures," he said slowly, "of my
equations."

"Yes!"  

"Jimmy?  Professor?  Everything okay?"  Dr. Scully asked, rising from
the admission desk.  

"I'll say!"  Langly grinned, feeling as if he had been given a
reprieve. "He has pictures of my equations."  He turned to look at
Jimmy.  "Where are they?"

 "My apartment."

"We have to go there right now!"

"Wait one minute," Scully ordered, looking confused and worried.  "Why
do you need to go to Jimmy's apartment?"

"All my notes were destroyed in the explosion," Langly said
impatiently. "But he," he jerked a thumb at Jimmy, "took pictures of
them.  They're in his apartment.  We have to go and get them."

"How does Jimmy have pictures of your work," Dana asked, "I thought
Mel and Jimmy found you and Yves at the beach house?"

"We did," Jimmy said.  

Langly barely listened as Jimmy explained how he had gone to the lab
only to find it deserted, except for the poorly erased chalkboard.  
He was exuberant with the possibility he wouldn't have to start from
scratch.  

"We have to get those pictures," Langly inserted when Jimmy finished. 

The doctor held up a hand, palm outward.  Judging from her expression
she was going to say something he was not going to like.

"I agree it's plausible the photos might be helpful," Dana said, "but
you are not leaving the morgue...."

"Why the hell not," Langly demanded. He was sick of people telling him
what he could and couldn't do.

"...without talking to Mel or Yves first," she finished.

"So, let's go talk to them, already."

"They need their rest and I have no intention of waking them
prematurely." Dana said. She gazed at him.  "And neither will you nor
Jimmy.  These pictures can wait until they awaken on their own." 

Jimmy nodded.  "Doctor Scully is right, Professor," he said. "We
shouldn't go anywhere without Yves or Frohike. We can wait a little
while longer and that way you'll be safe."

Langly uttered a heavy sigh knowing he couldn't win this argument. 
"Fine.  We'll wait but if Yves isn't awake in an hour..."  

A disturbance at the outer admittance bay doors kept him from
finishing his thought. The low rumble of a vehicle's engine could be
heard in the driveway.

Fear tangled inside the professor like a fly caught in a spider's web.
 "Oh God!" he managed.  He looked at Jimmy and Scully and saw his fear
in their faces.  Suddenly he wanted Yves there snapping orders at him
and standing between him and danger. 

 Hell, right now he'd even take that abrasive P.I.  

Dr. Scully took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as if calming
herself.  "It's probably just a delivery," she said in a crisp, take
charge voice, "but until I'm sure I want both of you to hide." 

"I'll stay with you," Jimmy objected. 

"No," Scully said.  "Your job is to keep an eye on the Professor.  Now
go!"

Langly's heart felt like it was about to crash through his chest. 
"Where?"  

"The employee lounge," Scully said automatically.  "There's a phone in
there.  I'll call when it's all clear."

The buzz of the doorbell sounded ominous in the room.

  "What if it's them," Jimmy asked, upset.  He didn't want to leave
Scully to face these people alone.  

Scully glanced at the door for a moment then returned her gaze to
Jimmy.  "If I don't call you within five minutes get to either Mel or
Yves.  But not until those five minutes are up. Understand?"  

"Yeah, sure," Langly said, already backing toward the hallway.  He
waited until Jimmy reluctantly agreed then the two of them hurried
out.

Once they reached the employee lunch room, Jimmy took a position by
the door while Langly stood next to the phone willing it to ring. 

Langly counted two minutes fifty seconds, anxiety building in his
guts, filling him.  

This was insane.  They should have gone straight to Yves and told her
someone was at the door.  Instead they deferred to the Doc. 
Yeah...they could all be killed any second but at least Yves and
Frohike would get a couple extra minutes of sleep.  

He knew he could become so overly engrossed in his work that he tuned
everything out but he had seen how exhausted Yves had become: the dark
shadows under her eyes, always having to be alert to possible danger. 
The only time she had remotely relaxed since Jimmy and that reporter,
Spender, had come to the warehouse was that first night in the beach
house.  

And it was his fault the two newspapermen had come in the first place.
 So he was going to wait and count off the seconds. 

The sound of the phone shattered the silence.  He nearly jumped out of
his skin before snatching the receiver off the cradle.  

"It's clear," Dr. Scully said. He nearly went weak with relief and
gripped the receiver tighter.  "I would have called earlier but the
police need a work up done as soon as possible.  Could you make a pot
if strong coffee, please?"

Langly hung up.  "She has to do an autopsy," he said to Jimmy who was
watching him, "and wants you to make some coffee."

The tension drained from Jimmy's body and he nodded as if happy for
something constructive to do.  "There might coffee left in the pot,"
he said, walking over to the coffee maker. He lifted the lid to look
inside.  "There is and it's still hot.  I'll bring her that and then
make some fresh."

"Good idea," Langly said. 

Once Jimmy finished making the coffee the way the Doc apparently liked
it, strong enough to peal paint, he glanced at Langly.  "You coming?"

"She's doing an autopsy," Langly said, feeling his stomach clench at
the mere thought of dead bodies. "No way I'm gonna see that. I'm
staying here."  

"You could wait in the hallway," Jimmy suggested.  

"Nope."  Langly shook his head.  "I'm not going anywhere near that."
He sat down obstinately in one of the black metal chairs making his
intentions clear.

 Jimmy stood at the entrance, the doctor's coffee in hand, and looking
like he didn't relish the idea of leaving the man alone.   

Langly would have felt bad for the kid but he refused to be dragged
all over Washington D.C. like some little girl's rag doll.  "Look," he
said impatiently, "Just take the Doc her coffee.  I'm not going
anywhere."

Jimmy considered this then nodded.  "I'll be right back."

Langly rolled his eyes.  "I feel safer already," he muttered
sarcastically.  

Once he left, Langly stood up, unable to remain still.  He needed to
pace, to move. Not surprisingly his thoughts returned to Jimmy's
admission that he had pictures of the destroyed equations.  

He wanted those equations, no... he needed those equations but he had
promised the Doc he would wait until Yves woke up. He had also
promised to let Yves wake on her own. 

Oh God, she would kill him if she knew what he wanted to do.  He was
pretty sure Yves would not consider those pictures an acceptable risk,
especially not this close to the rendezvous time. This meant that if
he was going to get those photos, he had to do it before she woke up,
before the Doc realized that something was amiss.  

He could only see two problems with his plan.  One, he didn't know
where Jimmy Bond lived, and two, he had to convince the guy to take
him there.

By the way, where was he?  How long did it take to deliver a cup of
coffee?  Langly just couldn't see the man hanging around the autopsy
room, watching the doc work.  A little nervous but not unduly
concerned, he stepped out of the break room. Jimmy had probably just
talked a bit with the Doc and was now heading back.

He rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks when he saw Jimmy
Bond.  What the hell was he doing skulking outside the door to Dr.
Scully's office?

Oh God.  Had the Doc ordered him to wake Yves?  

But why the hesitancy if she had?  Why not just knock?

Langly grew suspicious, feeling just a bit protective of his
protector. He really didn't know Jimmy Bond. The guy could be some
crazy who preyed on defenseless women.  Just the other day there was
an article in the paper about some guy who had sexually abused and
murdered a little girl.  Although Yves wasn't a little girl and
nowhere near defenseless  he picked up his pace.  

"Hey," Langly whispered as loudly as he dared. "What are you doing?"

Jimmy whirled around, guilt written all over his face.  "Nothing," he
said quickly. "Just...looking for you."

"In the Doc's office?  Sure you were." Langly stressed the disbelief
and sarcasm in his voice, letting the guy know he wasn't fooled.   His
heart pounding crazily in his chest he realized he just might've made
a mistake especially if the guy was a psycho.

While he was only a few inches taller, Jimmy was about fifty pounds
heavier and one of those athletic types that could probably bench
press him without breaking a sweat.  

If it was possible, Jimmy looked even guiltier, a faint scarlet flush
crawling up his face.   

"What were you doing?"  Langly asked, crossing his arms.  His bravado
growing at Jimmy's obvious discomfort. 

"I..." Jimmy looked at the door then back at him.  "I was just going
to..." The rest was lost in incoherent mumbling.

"Going to what...?"  Langly demanded.

"Check on her!"  Jimmy exclaimed in a harsh whisper.  "I was going to
check on Yves." He glanced quickly at the door as if afraid she might
have heard him.

Langly shook his head, confused by this admission.  "Why?"  

The scarlet that had started to fade from Jimmy's face, returned and
suddenly Langly understood. 

Jimmy was sweet on Yves.

Langly smiled, feeling incredibly pleased. He mentally rubbed his
hands together like a villain in the movies. He knew exactly how to
convince Jimmy Bond to go along with his plan.  

Chapter 15


Frohike jerked awake, confused and disoriented, his heart hammering in
his chest.  It was just a dream but that knowledge didn't help the
layer of unease that had settled over him in the dark.

It was dark.  Why was it dark?  

He searched his memory; afraid all he would remember was passing out
after an alcoholic binge. But his mouth lacked that foul morning after
taste and he was sitting up which meant he had dozed off in a chair. 
He could also smell Dana's perfume.

Where was she?  And where were the others?  His questions were met by
a silence he didn't like.  He sat up, feeling pain from a crick in his
neck.  He rolled his neck around, hearing the joints crack.  How long
had he been asleep?  The crick meant he had been out far longer than
he thought.  

He reached up and snapped on the lamp next to him.  He blinked at the
sudden light and saw his spare hat on the desk where he had dropped
it.  He also noticed a lab coat spread over him like a blanket.  He
remembered Dana taking it off as they talked.  She must have covered
him with it when he fell asleep.

But why hadn't she woken him?  She knew he had promised Yves he would
stay awake and keep an eye on things so she would take a much-needed
rest.

Apparently Dana had thought he needed one too.

He checked the clock high on the wall in the corner.  It was going on
midnight.  He'd been asleep for hours.  

"Damn it," he muttered.  She should never have let him sleep.  And
where were they anyway?  That uneasy feeling grew and he pushed the
lab coat off of himself and stood up quickly.  He inhaled sharply as
his stitches pulled against his skin, sending a shooting pain up and
down his leg.  He held onto the chair and waited for the pain to
subside.  Once it had settled into a dull throb, he grabbed his hat
and went in search of the others.

He checked Dana's office first since it was closest.  He opened the
door slowly, letting in a crack of light from the hall.  On the couch,
Yves murmured restlessly in her sleep.  

Frohike wondered if she suffered unsettling dreams as well.

He considered waking her but decided not to disturb her.  Not unless
he had too.  He quietly closed the door.  

There were several other doors.  One, Dana had mentioned, was a
general storage room used by cleaning staff.  He tested the door out
of habit.  It was locked.  The rest were either locked or opened
easily but he found those rooms to be empty.  

His only other option was the admittance bay at the end of the hall. 

He found Dana at the desk reading file folders and looking freshly
scrubbed in a different lab coat.  He wrinkled his nose.  There was
the faint chemical smell in the air that had been absent before. 
"Dana," he said softly so as not to startle her.

She looked up, setting the files on the desk.  "Mel," she said
studying his face.  She must have sensed his mood because he heard no
regret in her voice, "You needed to rest.  I won't apologize for
letting you sleep."

It was obvious he wouldn't win this fight with her and it was a moot
point anyway.  Besides he did feel more alert. He wrinkled his nose
instead, tossing his hat on the desk.  "What is that odor?" He
complained. "It smells awful."

Dana frowned, sniffed her clothing and sighed.  "It's ammonia.  The
police brought in a body earlier.  They needed a work up right away." 
She sniffed her sleeve again and shook her head.  "I must be getting
immune to the smell."  

Mel glanced around the bay and chuckled.  "Where have Laurel and Hardy
gotten too?"

Dana stared at him as if he was a medical experiment gone wrong. 
"Who?"

"Jimmy and the Professor," Mel explained.

Dana smiled at the reference.  "It's an appropriate comparison," she
said, picking up the file again.  She made a few notations as she
talked.  "They didn't want to witness an autopsy so they didn't come
back.  I have to admit, the quiet has been relaxing."

"Dana, what do you mean by they didn't come back?"

Dana looked up from her report.  "When the ambulance arrived with the
body, I was worried it might be a trick or something by the people
after you.  So I sent the boys away."

Frohike's blood turned to ice.  "Why didn't you wake me?  God, Dana,
if "

"Mel," she said, standing up and touching his shoulder.  "I had no
doubt it was a delivery but I was cautious and sent the boys off with
instructions to go to you if they didn't hear from me in five minutes.
The professor is safe," she added.

"If that had been Fletcher or one of his goons "

"It wasn't," Dana assured him.

"That's not the point!"  Mel retorted, anger and fear for her battling
inside him.  "They tried to kill us by blowing up a house.  They shot
at us during a high-speed chase in the dark.  Who knows what they are
capable of?"

"We met only a couple of days ago. This is the last place anyone would
think to look," said Dana.

"We don't know that!" Frohike's voice rose.  "I can only guess at what
information they have on us.  I do know they have connections inside
the F.B.I but not how far that goes or whether or not they've
infiltrated any other government agencies." He took a step away from
her.  "I shouldn't have brought them here."

"Don't be silly," Dana said, "of course you should have.  You were
seriously hurt.  All of you were."

"Dana."  Frohike's voice cracked with emotion.  "I can't lose you.  I
can't lose another person I care about."

Dana stared at him in shock for a moment then went to him, pulling him
into an embrace.  "You won't lose me, Mel," she said softly, saddened
for all the losses in his life, yet pleased to hear him admit that he
cared about her.  

He clutched her as if he was afraid she might disappear and buried his
face in the curve of her neck.  She stroked his hair.  "You should
know that when I set my mind to something, I get what I want and..."
her voice lowered, "...what I want is you."

 "Dana," Mel finally said after an interminably, awkward silence.  
Dana's heart felt as if it were going to seize up on her. Her mother
always said she was too outspoken, that she needed to be more demure. 
He pulled back a little and touched her face with a lingering caress
that she felt down to her toes.  He gazed into her eyes.   "I want you
too," he said softly, his lips lifting in a smile, "but not when you
smell to high heaven of ammonia"

They both laughed and parted.  "I do need to change clothes," she said
ruefully, "but I lent my extra set to Yves."

He glanced at the admittance bay doors.  "Don't tell me they're
outside."

"Who?"  Dana asked.  The man could certainly be perplexing at times.

"Laurel and Hardy," he reminded her.

She looked at him puzzled.  Hadn't they already gone over this? 
"They're in the lunch room, most likely eating every last bit of food
they can find."

That uneasy fear clutched at Frohike again.  "Dana, this is important
- when was the last time you saw them?"

She was about to ask him a question but the look in his eyes made her
check the clock on the wall.  "I saw them 42 minutes ago."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes.  It's standard procedure to note the time on the preliminary
paperwork as well as the autopsy," she said.  "Jimmy had just brought
me a cup of coffee and mentioned the Professor was unsettled by the
autopsy and they were going to stay in the lunch room."

"They aren't there," said Frohike. "Are you sure no one else came
by?"

"No one," Dana answered.  "It's been a quiet night."

"What about other entrances?  Could someone have gotten in another
way?"

"Mel, I'm sure they are here somewhere.  They have to be."

"How many," he insisted.

Dana sighed, indicating the bay doors.  "These doors are unlocked 24
hours a day but there are three other entrances that are locked at 6
p.m.  You can go out but..." Dana's words trailed off as she thought
of something.  "They didn't," she whispered, almost to herself.  "They
couldn't have.  I expressly told them to wait for you and Yves."

 "They couldn't have...what?"  Frohike demanded. "Why did you tell
them to wait?"

Dana looked apologetically at Mel.  "Somehow they figured out Jimmy
had pictures of some equations Langly thought were destroyed.  Langly
wanted to go get them.  I told them it was too dangerous and they
should wait for you or Yves to wake up."

Mel stared at her then spun around and ran out the admitting door,
cold air biting at his skin.  It was as he feared.  His car was gone. 
God dammit!  How had they gotten his keys? And then he remembered. 
Jimmy had never given them back to him after fetching the clothes for
the professor out of his trunk.  

He hadn't thought the two men would take off on their own.

"They must have left while I was performing the autopsy," Scully said
quietly from his side.  

He glanced at her.  She had her arms wrapped around herself against
the cool air, rubbing her bare skin.  Her expression was inscrutable
but he knew she blamed herself for their stupid stunt.  

If the bad guys didn't kill them, he would gladly do it.

"I need to borrow your car, Dana."

"I'll get the keys."  

They went back inside. 

 He grabbed his hat off the desk and put it on. "Did they say where
they were going?" he asked as she removed her car key from her key
ring. 

Dana nodded.  "Jimmy said the pictures where at his apartment." 

"That's not too far from here. I'll be back as soon as I can."  He
started for the door. 

"Mel, is there anything I can do to help?"

"This isn't your fault, Dana," he said. "But there is something you
can do for me."  He reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded
piece of paper and handed it to her.  "It's Jimmy's number.  Call him.
 Tell him to sit tight and don't move until I get there."

"What about Yves?  Should I tell her what happened?"

"No."  God, no!  She'd probably make good on her promise to give him a
new breathing passage. And then she would get angry.  He smiled at
Dana and joked, "We'll make them tell her as punishment for taking
off."  

 "Be careful," she said, a frown creasing her lovely face

Mel tipped his hat low on his head and drawled, "Always, Dollface."  

He turned to leave but not before he saw a smile crack her worried
veneer.  





* * * * *




"I don't have a good feeling about this," Jimmy whispered
half-heartedly. "Maybe we should go back to the morgue and wait for
Yves and Frohike."

Langly slanted an impatient look at him. "I've gone through too much
to give up now.  Yves too," he added in a softer voice. "After
everything she's done for me - for us. If I can ease some of the
pressure she's under by getting these pictures, then it'll be worth
it.  Besides, we're here already."

Jimmy sighed and unlocked his door.  "Just keep your voice down," he
said, pushing the door open and stepping inside.  "I don't want to
wake my neighbors."  

He flipped the switch, filling the room with light. Langly brushed
passed him.  "Jeez," he muttered, "what a dump."   

"Hey, it's not that bad," said Jimmy defensively, his eyes
automatically taking in his apartment. Ok, sure. His furniture was
slightly beaten up and consisted of a couch, coffee table, a small
desk and an old radio on a table in the corner.  It was all he could
afford just then but at least it was his own.   

The only things he'd really splurged money on were a half dozen
photographs on the wall.  They were his own work, candid photographs
taken of people around the city.  

Langly made a noncommittal noise, his comment already forgotten, his
thoughts elsewhere.  "So where are my pictures?"  

"In my files." Jimmy went over to the desk, pulled open the bottom
drawer and flipped through a number of manila folders until he came to
one labeled 'bills'.  After his photos of Yves and Langly had been
stolen, he decided not to take any chances.  He grabbed the file and
slipped the pictures out. "Here they are," said Jimmy, offering them
to the Professor.  

Langly snatched it from his hands and sat down on the couch, laying
the photos on the coffee table.  

"I'm going to go change," Jimmy told the professor. Langly said
nothing as he studied the photos. 

When Jimmy returned, he found Langly still squinting at the photos,
trying to make out the tiny equations.  After a minute he noticed the
other man and slumped back against the couch.  "I can't make out
anything without my glasses," he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Do you
have a magnifying glass and a pencil?"  

Jimmy retrieved the items from the desk. 

"Thanks," Langly said absently.  

Jimmy watched him for a few minutes as he alternately peered through
the magnifying glass then scratched out notes on the backs of the
photos, before the photograper became anxious to get back.   He
glanced at the clock.  With horror he realized they had been gone far
longer than he'd planned.  If Dr. Scully hadn't noticed their absence
by now...she would very soon.  

And then she'd probably wake Frohike.  

"Professor, we've got to get going," Jimmy said.

 "In a minute," he murmured, hunched over a picture, "I just want to
see if I can recreate this one part. I'm so close."  

"Professor, please." Jimmy insisted, "You can do that when we get back
to the morgue.  I really think...."

Jimmy's ringing phone interrupted him, sounding strangely ominous.  

Jimmy stared at the instrument. Who would be calling him so late?

 It had to be Frohike. 

 Jimmy could only imagine how furious the older man must be. He
wondered if Yves knew about their absence.  

The phone rang again.

"You gonna answer that?"  Langly asked, irritated by the noise. 

Jimmy stepped toward the phone, knowing he was going to have to face
Frohike's wrath sooner or later.  He glanced at Langly who seemed to
have the same thought.  

The professor set the magnifying glass down.  "Maybe we should go."  

"Good idea."  Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief. He had never wanted to
leave his apartment so badly. 

Langly quickly stood up, clutching the photos in his hand. 
 
The ringing stopped.

In the abrupt silence, they heard a muffled, scratching noise.  They
turned together to stare at the door.  The doorknob turned slightly
until it caught on the lock. It was released as whoever was out in the
hall tried again. 

Jimmy held his breath hoping the intruder would get discouraged and
leave. But he wasn't that lucky.

A loud thump was followed by the sound of splintering wood as the door
burst open.   Two men filled the doorway, the light from the hall
obscuring their features until they moved inside.

One of the them, a barrel-chested man with thinning hair and a smarmy
smile chuckled.  "Professor Langly," he said sounding supremely
satisfied, "I presume."

"Oh jeezus," Langly's voice quaked from behind Jimmy in a low,
terrified voice. "It's that Fletcher guy."

"Stay behind me," Jimmy whispered as he moved protectively in front of
the Professor.  Even as he said it, he drew a blank as to how to
accomplish this.  He wished he had a weapon, anything to fend off
these two invaders.  

He hadn't been prepared to shoot to kill when Yves asked him. He still
wasn't but there had to be something he could do.

Fletcher's smile widened.  "Take him," he snapped to his companion, a
huge man who had the appearance of a battle scarred rottweilier. 

The rottweilier flicked a dismissive glance at Jimmy before lunging at
Langly.  The professor uttered a startled sound and leapt backwards,
crashing against the wall. A stunned expression filled his face and he
clutched his side where the pain from his new stitches reminded him
how deadly this situation could be. 

Jimmy didn't think; he just acted.  He bent low and slammed into the
big man.  Using his own strength and speed, Jimmy tackled him to the
floor, hard.  The rottweilier made a sound like 'uhh' and then gasped
for breath, the wind having been knocked out of him.  

"Run, Professor!"  Jimmy shouted.

Langly hesitated only a second.  He darted toward the door, his heart
pounding insanely hard in his chest.  He kept his gaze glued on the
door and freedom but out of the corner of his eye he saw Morris
Fletcher reaching out to nab him.  

And go down, sprawling on the floor.

"Let go of me you buffoon!"  Fletcher yelled at Jimmy who was laying
half off the goon, and clutching Fletcher's leg in a death grip.

"GO!" Jimmy yelled.  "Professor!"  He breathed a momentary sigh of
relief as he saw Langly run out of the apartment. 

The rottweilier groaned, started to move. 

Until then, Jimmy's only thoughts were to make sure the Professor
escaped but now he worried about his own safety. He released
Fletcher's leg and rolled away from the goon.  He scrambled to his
feet, noting two things:  Fletcher didn't appear concerned and the
rottweilier was on his knees, an acidic glare on his stony face.  

Jimmy dashed for the door but skidded to a stop even before he stepped
out into the hallway, horrified to see the Professor being led back
into the apartment by another man who had a firm grip on his upper arm
and a gun to his temple.

"I think you lost something," the man said in a snide tone to
Fletcher.

Fletcher merely got to his feet and brushed nonexistent dirt off his
suit. "And you seem to have found it, Alex."  His gaze skimmed to
Jimmy.  "Any more heroics from you," Fletcher said, "and the Professor
will have an unfortunate accident."

"Don't hurt him," pleaded Jimmy. "He didn't do anything to you."

"No, he didn't" Fletcher agreed.

"Then why do all this?  It doesn't make sense."

"You can't possibly be that nave," Fletcher sneered.  He glanced at
Jimmy and chuckled.  "Or maybe you are.  The answer of course is money
with the added bonus of revenge."  He sent an assessing gaze on
Langly.  "How does it feel to be bait?"

"It stinks," Langly shot back. 

"Take him to the car," Fletcher ordered.  Krycek looked as if he were
going to say something but instead pushed Langly ahead of him.  

"No!"  Jimmy shouted, taking a step after them.

The thug grabbed his arm, yanking it behind his back and up.  The thug
grinned when Jimmy cried out in pain and fury.  "What about him?" 
Rottweilier asked Fletcher.  

Fletcher smirked making Jimmy shiver.  "He can deliver a couple of
messages for me." 

Jimmy strained against the vice like grip that confined him. "I'm not
your errand boy," he growled.  The rottweilier twisted his arm hard,
sending arrows of pain slicing through him.  

"Temper, temper," Fletcher said, chuckling, his grin spreading wider
over his face.   "Has anyone told you that you really should work on
that?"  The humor faded from his expression.  "Not only will you
deliver a message to that P.I. Frohike but one to that harlot..."

"Harlow," Jimmy said without thinking.  "Her name is Harlow."  

The fist to his gut was like a cannonball. Jimmy's breath whooshed
from him. He doubled over, gasping for air.  

"The boss don't like being interrupted," the rottweilier advised then
leaned in close and, as Jimmy struggled to breath, whispered
menacingly in his ear. "Not a very nice feeling is it: not being able
to catch your breath? I could make that permanent."

All the while, the rottweilier never let up the pressure on his
shoulder and Jimmy wondered though the black haze of pain if the thug
would break his arm for the sheer enjoyment of it.  The thug jerked
him upright, nearly ripping Jimmy's arm from his socket. 

"As I was saying," Fletcher continued, all trace of his previous humor
missing.  "You will also pass on a message to Harlow."

"What is it?"  Jimmy asked, subdued now.  The anger was still there,
simmering somewhere inside him but the fear was thick and deep like
quicksand; if he said the wrong thing or moved the wrong way, he was
good as dead.  

"Co-operation," Fletcher said, nodding his head in approval.  "That's
more like it."  He took several steps toward Jimmy. "We're going to
have a nice little chat, you and me.  Afterwards Lenny here will
discuss a few things with you.  Just to make sure you understand the
score."

That horrible smile spread across Fletcher's face again.

Chapter 16

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




* * * * *




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

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

She hoped not. 

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

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

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

She chose the latter.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, that knowledge didn't offer any reassurance.

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

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

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

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

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

"Drop the gun," the large man ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You!" Doggett said in an accusing voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He's an FBI agent."

"A corrupt one," Yves added.

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

"Jimmy.  My name is Jimmy."

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

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

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

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

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





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yves strode from the room to fetch it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Correct," said Yves. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She studied his ID card. "Fox Mulder," she murmured, startled to
discover she recognized his unusual name.  "Mel told me about you. I'm
Dana Scully."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Chapter 17

Frohike closed his eyes, rubbing the heels of his palms into them. 
The few hours of stolen sleep had done little to beat back his
exhaustion. What he wouldn't give for about twelve hours of
uninterrupted sleep in his own bed.  
"I'm going to track down Alex Krycek!"  
 
Agent Doggett's sudden determined growl pulled Frohike's attention
back to the discussion at hand.  He glanced around the room, seeing
the intensity on everyone's faces.  They seemed no closer to agreement
than when they started.

"Do you really think you'd be able to find him?" Jimmy asked. He was
still sitting on the edge of the autopsy table. "He's gotta be with
that Fletcher guy and the professor, wherever they're hiding."

Byers just shook his head.  "I firmly believe we need to wait until we
hear from them," he said, trying to be the voice of reason. "We don't
want to take a chance of them hurting or killing Professor Langly and
if we actively search for him, they may do just that."

 Frohike thought he saw Yves flinch at this statement.  Throughout the
discussion, he'd noticed that she watched and listened, but made no
suggestions nor offered any opinions. He didn't trust her silence and
swore he'd keep an eye on that situation.

He shifted in his chair causing a bolt of pain to shoot up his leg. 
He gritted his teeth until it subsided.  Dammit!  He was beginning to
feel like an invalid with this bum leg. He strongly suspected the trip
down the stairs from Jimmy's apartment had ripped out a few of the
stitches.  He had no intention of saying anything about it, especially
to Dana.   She had warned him to stay off his feet to give the wound
time to heal.  It would just make her worry.  

At the thought of the red headed doctor, Mel glanced apprehensively at
the door to the hallway willing it to open. She had been gone far too
long.  If she didn't return in the next three minutes, he was going to
go look for her.   
To his relief, the door did open at that moment. Dana stepped inside
holding the door for the man behind her. 

"Mulder?" Frohike said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Where the hell have you been?" Mulder demanded.

Byers, Doggett, and Jimmy stopped talking and, along with Yves, turned
to stare at the newcomer. 

"Mr. Mulder, please," Dr. Scully said standing in front of him,
reaching out to him. "You're not thinking straight. You need to calm
down and carefully consider what you're saying."

"What's the problem here?" Frohike asked Dana as he rose laboriously
from his chair. 

"It's all your fault," Mulder declared shaking off Scully's
restraining hand. "You couldn't make a phone call, a simple phone
call, to let us know where you were!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Frohike said. This
behavior was so unlike the Mulder he knew. The man was usually slow to
anger and, on most occasions, shook it off quickly.

"I'm talking about Maggie," Mulder said sweeping his arm out in a wide
arch causing Dana to move away from him. "When I couldn't find you, I
went to Maggie's place to ask if she'd seen you." He moved closer to
Frohike as he ranted. "She got worried too and went out to your office
hoping you'd be there. Someone got to her: one of your sleazy clients
no doubt." He stopped in front of Frohike, towering over him.

"She's hurt?" Frohike asked instantly concerned. "Where is she? Did
you take her to the hospital?"

"She's here!" 

"What the hell did you bring her here for?" Frohike shouted, not quite
matching Mulder's volume.  

The look of incredulity of Mulder's face quickly turned to one of
rage. "How can you be so goddamn thick?" He grabbed the front of
Frohike's jacket. "She's dead and it's all your fault!" Mulder shoved
Frohike backwards. He staggered, barely catching himself on the edge
of the counter. 

Doggett moved quickly to get behind Mulder. The FBI agent grabbed him
from under his armpits, locking his hands behind the police officer's
head. "Wha..." Mulder squawked in surprise as he was pulled off
balance when Doggett backed him away from Frohike.

"You crossed the line there, Buddy," Doggett said right in his ear.
"You need to go somewhere and calm down." He released Mulder, spinning
him around and, with a strong grip on his upper arm, led him out the
door.   
Frohike felt everyone's eyes on him.  He pushed himself away from the
counter not even registering the pain in his leg.    
Dana moved toward him.  "Mel..."

"No!" he said, his voice a rough whisper. He stepped away from her. It
wasn't true.  He wouldn't accept it.  "No," he said again louder as if
denying it would make it a lie but the sympathy in Dana's eyes told
him otherwise.  He turned his back on her.  He couldn't accept her
pity. He didn't want it nor did he deserve it. "Where is she?" he
finally asked.

"She's still in the admittance bay," said Dana softly "Do you want me
to take you to her?"

"No," he said. "I need do this alone." 



* * * * *

Agent Doggett opened the first unlocked door he found and pushed
Mulder inside.  He stepped through the door himself, closing it behind
him as other man whirled around, his face tense and angry at the rough
treatment.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Mulder growled, shoving his hand
inside his coat to retrieve his badge.  Mulder went on without waiting
for a reply.  "I'm a police officer." Belatedly, he remembered he'd
been stripped of his shield and his status when he'd been suspended.
The reminder of the loss fueled the turbulent anger and grief inside
him.  He withdrew his hand and glared at the other man who stood in
front of the door like a prison guard, watching him calmly.  "Who are
you?" he asked again, sounding almost defensive.

Not taking his eyes from Mulder, the man slipped his hand inside his
tailored sport coat, withdrawing a slim wallet.  "Special Agent John
Doggett, FBI," he answered in that infuriatingly calm voice. "You want
to tell me why you attacked Mr. Frohike?"

Realizing his own leather jacket still hung askew, Mulder shrugged it
into place.  "It's between me and him."  He had meant for the words to
come out dripping with scorn but instead it sounded broken and pained
to his own ears.  He turned from Agent Doggett, unable to handle the
man's intent gaze.  He stalked toward a dark, wooden desk, needing to
put distance between himself and the agent.  

"Want to talk about it?"

Mulder froze at the words.  Somehow he knew the man wasn't talking
about his altercation with Frohike.  He released his pent up breath,
focusing on a report on top of a stack of files but the words were
blurred, indecipherable.

"There's nothing to talk about," Mulder mumbled, fresh pain lancing
through his chest.  How could he have been so stupid, losing all those
years?  It had taken him so long to realize how much Maggie had meant
to him and now....  

He took a shuddering breath and said, "She's dead."   

He swept the offending report off the stack and watched as papers
glided over the desk.  The mess he made was so...insufficient.  He
slammed his closed fist on the wood, the sound reverberating through
the room. The pain was the only thing that felt real tonight. 
"Goddamn Frohike!" he shouted, spinning.  "It's his fault!"

Doggett watched Mulder stride toward him, his face contorted in grief
and rage.  He wondered if he would be able to keep the distraught man
from leaving the room and pounding the private detective to a bloody
pulp.  

Doggett stood his ground, refusing to let Mulder past him. 
Fortunately, Mulder didn't try.  Perhaps it was because of his status
as an FBI agent.  "How is Mr. Frohike responsible when he wasn't even
around?" 

"She was at his office looking for him!" Mulder ranted. "Someone
attacked her and left her there. If I hadn't gone looking for her,
she'd still be lying there...all alone. Who knows how long it would
have taken Frohike to sober up enough to go back to his office."  He
glared at Doggett, challenging him.  "I'm going to kick Frohike's
ass," Mulder asserted, "then I'm going to hunt down Maggie's killer."

"From what I know of Mr. Frohike, he could use a good ass kicking,"
Doggett said, hoping to ease some of the tension in the room.  "But it
won't solve...Wait a minute," Doggett interrupted himself.  "You found
the victim in Mr. Frohike's office?"

"Her name is...was Maggie," Mulder corrected but his instincts flared
at the question.  He studied Doggett. For the first time since he'd
found Maggie, his mind wasn't clouded with grief or rage.  "Just what
did Frohike stumble into that involves the FBI?"

Doggett moved aside so he was no longer blocking the door.  "It's a
long story," he said, "but if you want to help find Maggie's killer,
we need to talk."




* * * * *





The walk down the hallway seemed interminably long giving Frohike time
to think of all the clients he'd brought to this place. Finally, he
understood how it felt: the hope beyond reason that there had been
some ridiculous mistake, that the person who lay dead just down this
hallway was a stranger. 

But he couldn't even allow himself the luxury of that delusion. Mulder
had been far too upset to be wrong. And Mulder had known Maggie for a
lot longer than Frohike had. 

He paused with his hand on one of the double doors, steeling himself
for what he'd find inside. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open and
went in. 

She was lying in the center of the room, a shroud covering most of her
body leaving only her face exposed. She looked so young, so free of
the usual worries of everyday life, but death had that impact on a
body. 

Frohike slowly approached the gurney. 

He stood for a few moments staring down at her, letting the reality of
her death sink in.

"Oh, Maggie," he said finally, reaching out to touch her hair and
gently tucking a blond strand behind one ear. "You didn't deserve
this." The words caught in his throat, which ached from unshed tears.
"I would have done anything to keep this from happening to you." 

He pulled the sheet back a little farther to take her cold hand in
his. He held it to his chest over his heart wishing he could restore
its warmth and life with his own. 

"You didn't deserve this," he repeated. Images of her flashed through
his mind: the way she'd look up at him over her reading glasses, how
her blond hair never seemed to stay out of her face no matter how
often she tied it back, the way she said 'thank you' with her soft
southern accent that always made you feel like you'd truly done
something wonderful for her. 

A sob caught in his throat but he spoke to her again wanting to let
her know even now, in death, how much she'd meant to him.

"You saved my life, did you know that?" He touched her cheek with his
free hand not wanting to think about the spots of blood he saw there.
"Without your help, I never could have found my way back from the dark
hole my life had become." His tears slipped unnoticed down his cheeks.

"I always wondered why you stayed with me when you could have worked
anywhere for a lot more money than I could ever hope to pay you." He
sighed. 

"I should have encouraged you to look for something better...something
safer but I was selfish. I left you in that crappy office to deal with
people that you had no business being alone with."

He touched her face again being careful not to smudge her makeup.  She
seldom wore more than lipstick. When he had taken her hand, he noticed
she was wearing a fancy blue dress.  She must have been planning on
going out for the evening when Mulder contacted her.   
"I'm so sorry, Maggie," he said, his words coming out as barely more
than a whisper. "I owe you so much and I always thought that some day
I'd be able to repay you." Frohike gently tucked Maggie's hand back
under the sheet. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe
his face. 

"Mulder was right," he continued after a moment. "This is all my
fault. I should have called you and let you know that everything was
okay."

"It's not your fault," Byers said from behind Frohike. "How could you
have known this would happen?"

Frohike turned to glare at this man who had tormented him for so long,
wondering how much he'd heard.

"Back off, Byers," he said. The flash of anger in his eyes would have
been enough to drive away a less determined man.  
Byers took a step closer to him. "You need to let us help you. No one
should have to try to deal with what you're going through alone."

"What would you know?" growled Frohike.

"Unfortunately, I do know." Byers paused wondering how much of his own
tragedy he should share. Other than Carla, he had never told another
living soul about Susanne. With Carla, it was like an emotional
cleansing, a renewal of life for him.  And now it seemed right to
share it with Frohike even though, until just recently, he had
despised the man.  

"Five years ago, my fiance was murdered," said Byers. "She was shot
and left for dead for the few dollars in her purse.  I learned later
that she died alone in some godforsaken dark alley."  Byers stopped,
the horrifying images his words conjured shook him and he needed time
to gather himself.     
"I thought I'd never forgive myself," he said after a moment, his
voice husky with emotion. "I just knew there had to be something I
could have done to protect her. It took a while but I finally
channeled the energy I was using for self-flagellation into something
constructive." 

Frohike remained silent, his eyes never leaving Maggie's face. Byers
moved closer and closer to him as he talked hoping the other man was
listening. 

"We need you, Melvin," Byers insisted. "Maggie was a good woman and
her death is a horrible tragedy." Byers put a hand on Frohike's
shoulder. "Don't dishonor her by giving up now." 

Frohike turned his head slightly in Byers' direction but didn't pull
away. "You knew Maggie?" he asked.

"I talked to her on the phone when I'd call your office to arrange
times you had to testify," said Byers removing his hand. He came
around to stand next to Frohike and looked down on Maggie's face. "She
was always gracious and professional. Her voice was so soothing. No
matter how much you infuriated me, talking to her would improve my
mood." He shifted his gaze to Frohike. "It's why I usually left
messages instead of asking to talk to you."

"She had that affect on people," Frohike agreed.

"Do you have any idea who could have done this to her?" Byers asked.

Getting used to the idea of Maggie's was death had been enough to
occupy Frohike's mind. But now this question needed to be considered.
"I have to talk to Mulder," he said, "but I do have some strong
suspicions."



* * * * *



Mulder's mind raced as he and Doggett strode down the hall toward the
admittance bay.  The information Doggett had revealed in the ME's
office was something out of a spy novel, a work of fiction but after a
barrage of questions which the agent patiently answered, the officer
was finally convinced.  Now Mulder had one more question: a question
only Frohike could answer.

The ME, Dr. Scully, was outside the admittance bay ostensibly
reviewing some paperwork on a clipboard but Mulder didn't miss the
quick, anxious glance she cast toward the door before turning her
attention to him and Doggett.  She straightened to her full stature,
which wasn't much more than five feet, and composed her expression to
one that combined sympathy and wariness.  

Mulder wasn't about to accept any more placating sympathy but,
considering his attack on Frohike, he understood and accepted the
caution he saw in her eyes.

"Officer Mulder..." she started.

"I'm just going to talk to Frohike," Mulder said.  The ME raised one
eyebrow in a challenging manner. This made Mulder realize he would not
want to come up against her in a serious discussion unless he was well
versed in the subject manner. 

He nodded toward the FBI agent.  "Agent Doggett explained to me what's
been going on."

Scully studied him for a moment longer then stepped aside, joining
Doggett by the wall.  Mulder started to enter the admittance bay but
turned and looked at Scully's calm expression that didn't quite hide
her concern for Frohike.  In the short time he'd known Dr. Scully,
Mulder understood Mel's attraction to the ME.  "He's a tough nut,"
Mulder told her. "He'll come around."   

Without waiting to see her reaction, Mulder pushed the door open, his
gut tightening at the now familiar sight of Maggie lying on the
gurney. He crossed the room to take the place next to Frohike to stand
vigil over a woman they both loved, barely noticing the District
Attorney silently leave the room.  

Mulder broke the silence first.  "Someone needs to let her family
know."

"I'll make sure they're informed," Frohike said. 

There was another extended silence and then Mulder said, "I don't know
what I'm going to do without her."

"I know, Buddy." Frohike said. "I feel the same way."  

No you don't, Mulder thought, flicking a glance at his friend.  Before
he could say anything Frohike continued, "What I can't figure out is
why she was all dressed up.  She never mentioned..."

The words spilled from Mulder before he could stop them.  "We were
going out to dinner.  We had a long talk and..."  He faltered unable
to continue.  

"She was giving you a second chance," Frohike correctly surmised,
glancing sidelong at the younger man. Maggie and Mulder had struggled
through so much heartache and just when it looked as if they worked
through the last of the barriers...

Sometimes life kicked you in the teeth and stood back laughing while
you choked on your own blood.   

But another thought dragged Frohike's attention back to the room and
his secretary.  "If you two were going out to dinner, why was she at
the office alone?"  There was no judgment in his voice. It was a
simple question but Mulder still flinched.

"She was worried about you so we split up to look for you.  I went to
your house while she went to the office.  We were going to go to the
restaurant from there but..." He closed his eyes against the vision of
her cooling, lifeless body lying on the floor behind Frohike's desk. 
When he spoke again, his voice was gruff.  "I need to know if her
death is linked to whatever this is that you're involved in."

"I believe it is." Frohike remembered Jimmy's message from Fletcher.
It was obvious that he wanted Frohike to find Maggie's body at his
office.

A murderous look flashed across Mulder's face. "Then I'm a part of
this."



* * * * *



Jimmy felt as if he had gone a round with Joe Louis and, from his
colorful reflection in the stainless steel tray he had scooped up off
the table, he looked it.  Gingerly, he touched a particularly nasty
looking cut on his cheek.  He should probably clean it, make sure it
didn't get infected.  Dr. Scully must have something lying around that
he could put on it.

Thinking about the doctor made him wonder what was happening in the
admittance bay.  He would have gone with the others but he hadn't
known Maggie and didn't want to intrude on Frohike's grief.  

But, he thought guiltily, being alone in the autopsy room unnerved
him.  Well, he wasn't entirely alone.  Yves was near but she didn't
seem inclined toward conversation.  When everyone else headed down the
hall, Yves had taken up a position at the entrance of the room. She
remained leaning against the doorframe, her gaze toward the corridor,
her thoughts elsewhere.

Jimmy sighed, set the tray down next to him and decided to find some
ointment for his cut.  At least it would give him something to do and
hopefully settle his restlessness.  He slid off the cold, metal
autopsy table and inhaled sharply when his ribs aching protested the
movement.  

"I thought Dr. Scully told you to refrain from unnecessary movement."

Jimmy glanced up, surprised to see Yves striding toward him. 
Apparently, she didn't miss a thing.  He gestured at his face.  "I was
going to get something to put on my cuts." 

"Sit," Yves ordered.  She waited until he did so then went over to a
bank of cabinets that filled one wall of the room. Rummaging inside
them, she found a clear bottle and several cotton balls. She returned,
dropped all but one cotton ball next to him then twisted off the cap.

"What is that?" Jimmy asked, eyeing the bottle curiously.

"Rubbing alcohol."  Yves pressed the cotton ball to the edge and
slowly tipped the bottle.  "It should disinfect those cuts nicely."  

"I can  OW!" he protested, pulling away.

Yves shook her head in exasperation. "I barely touched you."

"It stings," he defended himself.  He didn't miss the sarcastic "Men!"
that she muttered under her breath. When she touched the damp cotton
ball to his cheek again, Jimmy held resolutely still, refusing to
flinch despite the burn of alcohol on the deep cut.  

Thankfully, the other cuts weren't as bad and didn't hurt as much. 
She didn't speak, just concentrated on cleaning his wounds.  He didn't
mind the silence though since it gave him a chance to watch her. 

He had never met a woman like her.  He'd seen beautiful women before
but her strength and courage set her apart from the others. Jimmy also
had to admit he envied her a bit, too.  How did she remain so calm and
cool while he felt as if his doubts and fears had become a second
layer of skin?

Maybe it was something they taught secret agents?

"Stupid."

That one word jarred Jimmy from his thoughts.  "What? Who...?"

Yves indicated his face with the cotton ball.  "Why, after everything
that happened would you and the Professor even consider taking off
without informing me?"

"I..." Jimmy swallowed the lump that stuck in his throat caused by her
obvious anger.  "I wanted to tell you but the Professor convinced me
not to."  

He would have left it at that but Yves arched an eyebrow and waited
for him to explain further.  "He told me how much you've done for him
and that he wanted to do something to repay you.  And the only thing
he could do was help your country by cracking the Enigma.  To do that,
he needed his notes."

 "You honestly believe that's why he did it?"  Scorn dripped from her
words.

"You don't?" he asked.

"The professor wanted his notes and so he regaled you with a
distressing tale of woe to convince you to do something utterly
stupid."

"What we did was dumb," Jimmy admitted after a moment.  He wouldn't
apologize for his part though, because if he did, he'd also be
apologizing for the reason he did it.  He met her intense gaze and
said softly, "I still believe his reasons for doing it."

She seemed perplexed by this admission.  "You're a fool," she finally
said, breaking eye contact and returning to her task.

An uneasy silence settled between them and, wanting to break the
tension, Jimmy said ruefully.  "I guess tackling that guy wasn't such
a good idea."

Yves paused to stare at him in disbelief.  "You tackled a hired thug? 
What in God's name possessed you to do that?" 

Her tone put him on the defensive. "I was trying to give the Professor
time to get away.  It worked too. He escaped even when Fletcher made a
lame attempt to stop him.  Only..." 

"Fletcher had Krycek in the hall as a precaution," Yves finished.  

"Yeah."  Jimmy felt his face heat in embarrassment. "I guess that
explains why Fletcher just looked amused."

Yves tossed the cotton ball in the trash then took another, dampening
it.  "This is good news, Mr. Bond."

"What's good news?  And please, call me Jimmy."  

She considered him for a moment. "Jimmy," she acquiesced.  A pleased
smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She ignored it, continuing
to cleanse a cut above his eye as she talked. "Your beating was driven
as much by ego as emotion..."

"He was furious," Jimmy said, subdued.  He remembered after the
beating how the man had crouched down next to him and whispered,
"You're lucky the man only paid me to mark you up."

He winced again but not from the alcohol on his raw skin.

"Which suggests to me Fletcher hired a local talent.  Not a
professional."  Yves continued.  "He won't want someone he can't trust
in on the exchange thus I'm confident we'll only have to contend with
Fletcher and Krycek."

Jimmy nodded as another silence fell between them and Yves continued
to clean his cuts. 

Fishing around for another subject, Jimmy asked, "So, how did you get
into the spy business?"  Yves arched an eyebrow at him as if debating
the sincerity of the question.  "I mean it's not like you answer an ad
in the classifieds or anything."

Yves chuckled.  "No, it's nothing that random.  I was recruited
because of my father."

"You're father?  But I thought your mom cut off all ties with your
dad.  How..."

"Leave it alone, Jimmy," Yves interrupted, her voice tight.

Jimmy stared at her a second, startled by the vehemence behind her
words, then nodded. He tried another tack.  "I bet they trained you to
fight so you didn't end up looking like a box of Crayola crayons."

"Actually," she said, giving Jimmy a sly smile. "I was trained to
duck."

Jimmy chuckled.  "Ow!" he exclaimed, pressing a finger to his spit
lip.  He was relieved to see it hadn't started bleeding again.  "It's
weird," he said, "but that Fletcher guy actually looked uncomfortable
when that thug was beating me up."

Yves pursed her lips into a frown.  "Morris Fletcher is inherently a
conman.  He normally prefers a more subtle method of achieving his
goals."  That was until she played his game, exploited his weakness
and won.   

Her reference of methods and achieving goals reminded Jimmy of
something he had been thinking a lot about.  "Yves?  That night when
you thought I had the pictures of you and the Professor " he swallowed
hard and continued.  He didn't want to know the answer but a part of
him needed to know.  "Would you have...if I had the pictures...how far
would you have gone to get them back?"  

Yves met his gaze, her expression giving nothing away. Then slowly,
precisely, she dropped the cotton ball in the trash and capped the
alcohol, giving the top a decisive twist before setting it down on the
counter.  

"I would have done whatever I needed to get them back," she said in a
matter of fact tone.  

She could tell by his expression that she had managed to shock him
with that vague insinuation.  As she watched him, she noted that,
while he struggled with her statement, there was no judgment in his
eyes. 

He was so unlike other men, yet he readily believed that insinuation.
The slight disappointment she felt bothered her and she quickly
brushed it aside.     

Jimmy stared at Yves, struggling to understand her.  He had been
raised to believe that intimacy between two people was something
special and should be cherished.  What kind of woman used sex as a
means to an end?  He didn't understand it but he had never been in her
position.  While he figured it was easier for a man, a part of him
wondered if he had the courage to do whatever it took to get the job
done, no matter the personal cost.

She moved closer to him, reaching out to him.  He was so lost in his
train of thought it didn't register. At least not right away.  

He grabbed her wrist before she could insert a needle into his arm. 

 "What are you doing?"  He demanded, his heart thumping in his chest
like a bass drum.  What was in that syringe?  

"I'm doing what I need to do to save the Professor," Yves said calmly
then added, "It's just a mild sedative, Jimmy. You'll wake up in an
hour with nothing more than a headache."

"Just a mild..." He gaped at her in horrified disbelief.  "You just
expect me to let you inject me with that?  You can't be serious!    I
don't..."  he paused, eyes growing wide.  "You're going to meet
Fletcher by yourself!"  With his stunned pronouncement, his grip on
her wrist loosened.  

All she had to do was shake him off and inject him.

"Why?" 

"Why?" she repeated, taking in his numerous cuts, bruises and
deepening black eye. He watched her intently as she reached up with
her free hand and gently touched a cut along his cheek, not really
surprised he let her.

It was odd, this desire for him to understand.   

"Because innocent people have been hurt," she said her voice heavy
with regret.  

"You've been hurt too, Yves," Jimmy reminded her. "You don't have to
do this alone."

Yves thought about how he had followed her as she ran back toward the
beach house and the bomb they all knew was about to explode. She
remembered at the time wondering whether he was completely daft or
very brave.  She now knew he was the latter and it was the kind of
bravery that made a person act regardless of the consequences to
himself.  

She thought of Maggie whose only motivation was worry over Frohike's
safety. And now she was lying in the morgue.  Her resolve hardened. 
"The Professor is my responsibility," she murmured.   

"Let me help you," Jimmy insisted. "I want to help you.

 "I know." She smiled up at him, earning a sweetly earnest smile in
return. She drew her hand from his, saying, "But this is between no
one but Fletcher and me."

"Think again, Sugar."  
 
Startled, Yves palmed the needle and turned but not before she saw the
disappointment in Jimmy's face.  Frohike stood at the door, his face
grim. Behind him stood Agent Doggett, Byers, Mulder and Dr. Scully.  

Frohike entered the room.  "This thing involves all of us and I have
every intention of making sure Fletcher and Agent Krycek," he said the
name with deep contempt, "pay for what they did.  If you don't like
it...that's just too damn bad."


Chapter 18

Frohike sat at Maggie's desk, sifting through the papers scattered
across its surface.  Maggie was meticulously organized and this mess
made Frohike even more aware that she would never grace his office
again.

Yves stood with her hand on the doorknob of his inner office, watching
him, waiting.

I should do it, Frohike thought.  It was his office but he just
couldn't face seeing Maggie's drying blood on the floor. In his mind's
eye, he could envision her lying there alone and defenseless. At some
point, he was going to have to go back into that room.

But not now.  

He averted his gaze, his mouth suddenly parched. He thought of the
bottle of amber liquid hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk.  It
was a powerful craving but the reality of the crime scene in the other
room held him rooted to his spot at Maggie's desk.

He heard his office door open and then Yves heels click softly on the
floor as she entered. He could tell she made a full circuit of the
room, checking it out. 

After only a few moments, Yves stepped back into the room, firmly but
softly closing the door behind her. 

She didn't say anything to Frohike about what she'd found in there and
he didn't ask. If there was something he needed to know, he figured
she'd tell him. 

They settled into an uncomfortable silence. Yves leaned against the
wall in a corner of the room where she could easily see the door, the
desk where Frohike waited and the window to the street below. She
occasionally flexed her injured shoulder, raising her elbow and moving
it back and forth, testing her range of motion. She would also clench
and unclench her fingers to assess their strength and reliability. She
needed to know her limitations for what lay ahead.

Frohike had offered her the only decent seat in the room but she
refused it. He needed it more than she did. She could have sat on the
bench by the door but she felt more alert, more in control of the
situation from this position. 

Sitting back in Maggie's chair, Frohike pulled his hat down over his
eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. The picture of calm he
presented in no way reflected his true state of mind but he had
learned after years of long stake outs and uncertain outcomes to these
jobs that it was a good idea to conserve his energy whenever possible.

They remained this way for some time, silently waiting.  Yves cast
occasional glances the clock on the wall marking the minutes as they
slowly passed. 

Twelve o'clock came and went with now phone call. The minutes
continued to tick by. 

Frohike scowled at his watch then back at the phone on the desk in
front of him, which stubbornly refused to ring. He checked his watch
again. "He said noon, right?" Frohike wanted nothing more than to end
this whole nightmare. 

"Yes," Yves said succinctly. 

"It's ten minutes past," the detective said in disgust. "He's late."

"He's holding all the cards at this point," Yves noted. "I don't
believe he cares if he's a bit late."

"If you're holding someone for ransom you should damn well care!"
Frohike stated emphatically.

"I have no control over this man," Yves said bristling at his
unwarranted outburst.

"But you're the only one who's really had any dealings with him and
the only one who knows anything about him."

"You had your chance when he came in here," Yves shot back. "You could
have done a more thorough investigation of him but you just gave up
when it became too difficult."

"It's not like I had the time when I was spending the bulk of it
protecting your sister and searching for your sorry ass."

"Monica was perfectly safe until you got involved. I made sure she
knew nothing."

"And knowing nothing only made her worry," Frohike said, raising his
voice. "Did you think after all the money and time she spent to find
you in the first place that she would simply forget you existed? And
besides, if it wasn't for her asking me to find you again, you and the
professor would both be dead."

"I had the situation under control. We were perfectly safe until you
showed up with Fletcher and his crony tailing you."

Frohike shook his head. "No..." he insisted. "No, we were not there
long enough for him to set that bomb. It was there when we arrived. He
found you earlier, using the same information we had.  If the boy
reporter and I hadn't shown up when we did, by now you would be
nothing but bits of charcoal scattered all up and down that beach."

"You think too highly of yourself, Melvin. You should have just left
us alone."

"You're right about that. I should have left you to fend for yourself
and told Monica to forget about you." He retorted angrily. "If I had,"
he continued his voice heavy with grief, "Maggie wouldn't have died a
senseless death. She would have been safe at home, with the rest of
her life ahead of her and not lying in cold locker in the morgue."

The ringing phone interrupted his tirade.  They looked at each other;
both knowing instinctively it was Fletcher.  Mel snatched up the
instrument.  "Frohike," he barked.

"No wonder your business is doing so poorly," Fletcher mocked. 
"Perhaps you should hire someone with proper etiquette to answer your
phone."  The man chuckled, his words pricking Frohike like rusted
needles under his skin.  "Oh, wait.  You did.  Such a lovely lady. 
There was a true southern hospitality about her...."

Frohike gritted his teeth against the profanity that threatened to
spill from him.  He would not give this bastard the satisfaction of
knowing how much he was getting to him.  

"...but I understand she recently left your employ."

"Goddamn you Fletcher," Frohike shouted jumping up from his seat, the
injury to his leg completely forgotten,  "when I get my hands on
you..." Yves ripped the phone from his hand, leaving Fletcher's
laughter echoing in his ear.  "...I'm going to tear your head from
your shoulders!"

Yves held up her hand, shaking her head at him before focusing on the
phone. "I want Professor Langly returned unharmed, Fletcher." Behind
her, Frohike started to pace, throwing furious glances at her. 

Fletcher merely chuckled.  "What?  No warm greeting for an old friend?
No reminisces of old times? Sweetheart, I'm hurt.  Simply hurt."  She
imagined him clutching his chest as he spoke.  The man simply loved
the theatrics. When she didn't respond, there was a heavy, exaggerated
sigh.  "Fine, fine.  Since you're there I will assume you got my
message.  I hope the errand boy didn't mess it up."

"I got the message verbatim," she said coldly. 

 "Excellent!   I made him repeat it several time just in case. His
attention span..." His light mocking tone changed to one as serious as
a firefight. "I want the Enigma and you want the professor..."

"....unharmed," Yves qualified.

"Of course unharmed, sweetheart," Fletcher said, the mocking tone
back. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"Your recent actions speak for themselves."

"The boy tried to be a hero.  I only pointed out the error of his
thinking."

"How honorable."  Yves' voice dripped with sarcasm. "What about the
woman?  What errors did you point out when you murdered her?"

"That, my dear, was my associate.  I didn't do anything but compliment
her on her loyalty to her boss.  You have that in common with her." 
When Yves didn't reply to the obvious taunt, Fletcher said, "I so
enjoy our verbal foreplay. Perhaps ..." 

"The exchange, Fletcher," Yves snapped.

Fletcher chuckled.  "I knew you missed our time together."  When he
spoke again all amusement disappeared from his voice.  "Tonight at
9:30. Come to 204 Fells Point Rd. Leave Toto in Kansas or else the
professor takes swimming lessons in the Potomac."  

"Well?" Frohike demanded as Yves placed the receiver on the hook. 

Yves leveled her gaze on Frohike.  "The meeting is set for dawn," she
lied.  "We need to go back and talk to the others to come up with a
viable plan."




* * * * *




The senior Spender snubbed out his cigarette as his phone rang. He'd
been expecting this call but he waited until the fourth ring before
picking it up.

"Yes," he said. 

"This is Fletcher. I've set up the exchange."

"Good," said CB Spender. "Were you able to gather any interesting
information?"

"They're ready to kill each other," Fletcher chuckled. "I left them
stewing for a while and all they did was argue."

Spender nodded to himself. This was a good sign. That their
adversaries were at each other's throats did not bode well for their
continued cooperation. 

"And here's the best part," Fletcher went on. "She lied to him."

"What do you mean?" Spender asked. 

"Miss Harlow lied to the private detective. She gave him incorrect
information about the exchange. She told him it was in the morning."
He started laughing out right. "That arrogant little minx plans on
meeting me by herself."

Spender tapped his next cigarette on the desktop. "Don't get too
cocky, Fletcher. I don't want any more mistakes. You're damned lucky
the cops didn't find your hidden microphone in that office when they
came to remove the secretary's body."

"That wasn't my fault," Fletcher said quickly. "Who the hell comes to
work on Saturday night? That office was supposed to be empty.  We
couldn't take the chance of someone finding our bug."

"Killing her only brought the police," said Spender in a calm voice
that sounded much more threatening than if he'd shown his anger. 

"How were we supposed to know someone was meeting her there? The
private dick was supposed to find the body when he came in to wait for
the call."

"I'm tired of your excuses, Fletcher," said Spender allowing some
irritation to be heard with this statement. "If you make any more
mistakes, I will have no choice but to take appropriate actions."

There was silence on the line. Spender flipped open his lighter with
an audible click and lit his cigarette. He pulled the smoke deep into
his lungs as he waited for Fletcher to respond. 

"We can't go wrong at this point," Fletcher finally insisted almost as
if he were trying to convince himself. "Miss Harlow's overconfidence
will guarantee that."

"It's not her overconfidence I'm worried about," said Spender blowing
smoke at the receiver. "Take Krycek with you."

Fletcher started to protest but cut himself off. "Yes, sir," he said.
"I'll do that."

"I want that Enigma, Fletcher. You have no room for errors." With
this, he hung up the phone. 



* * * * *



Fletcher waited patiently inside the empty warehouse. Harlow would be
on time, of that he was certain. She wanted her professor back, even
though she knew there would be hell to pay for losing the Enigma
again. He chuckled to himself. He'd read her perfectly. It's what he
did best: reading people, finding their weaknesses and exploiting them
for his own gain. 

And Harlow's weakness was this idiot professor.  Fletcher glanced over
to where he had the man tied to a support beam, his mouth taped shut
to stop his incessant whining and complaining. 

Unfortunately for her, she'd sworn to protect this guy just as she'd
sworn to bring the Enigma back to England. Fletcher smiled to himself.
She was about to fail on both counts. 

"Krycek," he called to his companion. "Check if she's here yet and
make sure no one followed her.  

"Keep an eye on him," Krycek said, meaning the professor. "And
whatever you do, don't take his gag off or I really will shoot him
this time." With this the FBI agent left the building.

Outside, he scrutinized the deepest shadows in the darkness around the
warehouse. He wouldn't put it past Harlow to arrive early. Even now
she could be watching, preparing to make her move against them.  

It was something he would do.  

After a few minutes, he relaxed, almost disappointed when he glimpsed
no unusual movements or sensed no unseen eyes on him.  He hated the
waiting game of undercover operations, preferring those brief surges
of action.  He considered making a circuit of the perimeter, not only
to make sure everything was secure but also to expend some of his
excess energy when he saw the telltale sight of headlights.  

He glanced at his watch.  One thing he could say for the Brits: they
were always punctual.  He waited, watching as the slow moving car
turned the corner, tires crunching the gravel in the expansive lot.  

As it drove under the lone streetlight outside the door, Krycek noted
that the car looked familiar. When it drew closer, he recognized the
damage he'd caused to it: the bullets holes along the sides and the
shattered back window. 

The Ford Fordor stopped about 20 feet from him. He couldn't make out
the driver through the glare on the windshield. 

"Agent Krycek, I presume?" the woman asked in a voice full of contempt
as she stepped out of the driver's seat.

A bit taken aback that she knew who he was, he neither confirmed nor
denied it. "Where is the Enigma?" he demanded, drawing out his gun. 

Harlow shook her head. "You're not getting it until I know the
professor is safe."

Krycek ignored her, moving around to where he could see the inside the
car, all the while keeping his gun trained on the MI-6 agent. 
Satisfied no one was hiding in the backseat, he said, "Hands on the
car."

"If you think I'm going to allow you to pat me down, you're seriously
mistaken. I have no weapon." She held open her jacket. The tight
outfit she was wearing made it obvious that she wasn't lying. But
Krycek was never a person to take someone like Harlow on her word. 

He held his hand out. "Give me the jacket." She complied. "Now turn
around." She did so, slowly. Noting that she had no gun hidden on her
person, he patted the pockets of her jacket before tossing it back to
her.

"If you're satisfied," said Yves, "I'd like to see the professor
now."

Krycek indicated the warehouse with his weapon.  "He's inside," he
said.  "Get the machine and follow me." 

"Back off so I can get it out of the trunk," Yves insisted shutting
the driver's side door. 

Krycek did as he was commanded but stayed close enough that he could
see the interior of the trunk as Yves keyed it open. The space was big
enough for someone to hide in but it was empty except for a smallish
wooden box with a leather handle. 

Yves picked it up with one hand and slammed the lid of the trunk with
the other never once taking her eyes off Krycek. "Lead the way," she
said. 

Krycek only grinned wolfishly.  "Ladies first."

Harlow raised one dark eyebrow but walked ahead of him, stopping at
the heavy metal door.  Krycek watched as she shifted the box from one
hand to another then glanced back at him, a smirk gracing her
expression.  "Apparently, Mr. Krycek, your manners haven't fled
completely along with your allegiance to your country."

Anger burned in Krycek's guts at her words but he tempered his
emotions knowing she was baiting him in an attempt to catch him off
guard.  He holstered his gun but continued to wait for Yves to enter
the building ahead of him. She finally did but once inside, neatly
sidestepped so he could enter and walk along next to her. 

Deeper in the warehouse, Fletcher could hear Yves talking as they
entered the building. He noticed the professor perk up at the sound of
his protector's voice. Fletcher snickered, walking over to the bound
and gagged man.

"Your bodyguard is here," he said to Langly. "We'll see if she really
did come to save your life or if it's just to sell you out. I keep
telling you, that Enigma is more important to her than you are."

The tape over his mouth prevented Professor Langly from responding but
his nostrils flared in mixture of fear and defiance.  
Yves stopped when she saw Fletcher and Langly. Krycek came around her
to stand closer to their kidnap victim. She studied the professor. He
looked emotionally beaten and ashamed yet in his eyes she saw
desperate hope.

"Let him go," Yves demanded.

"Not until I see the goods," Fletcher replied. 

Setting the box down on the floor and crouching beside it, Yves
unlatched the front cover. In his eagerness, Fletcher took a step
towards her.

"Stay where you are," Yves warned, her hand going automatically to her
side where her gun was usually concealed. Fletcher stopped, his
fingers twitching as if he could barely wait to get his hands on the
prize.

Refocusing her attention on the wooden box, Yves lifted the cover to
reveal the Enigma inside. She stood up next to it and nodded to
Fletcher to let him know he could take a closer look. 

Wisely staying just out of Yves' reach, Fletcher examined the machine.
The self-satisfied expression on his face changed to one of anger
almost immediately. Eyes flashing, he rounded on Yves. "What the hell
are you playing at?"

Krycek moved closer to Langly, unnecessarily grabbing his long hair
and jerking his head sideways causing him to make a pained sound that
was muffled by his gag. 

Yves forced herself to ignore the professor's distress. "What do you
mean, Fletcher? I brought the Enigma as promised."

"You know perfectly well this isn't everything. Where's the other box
with the rest of the gears? It's worthless without them."

"They're my insurance," Yves stated calmly. "I'll tell you where they
are when you release Professor Langly."

"My associate doesn't take too kindly to ultimatums," said Fletcher. 
Krycek didn't disappoint, delivering a swift belly punch to the
scientist.

Langly doubled over, his shoulders straining against his bonds, a
strangled hiss escaping from behind the tape.  The F.B.I. agent shoved
Langly back against the post, forcing the scientist's head up. 
Langly's eyes were wide with fear, confusion and anger.  

Krycek glanced at Yves, a feral grin on his face.  He was baiting her,
of that Yves was positive; trying to unbalance her; to get her to act
rashly and retaliate.  It would give him the excuse he needed to kill
her and the Professor. They were the only ones who knew he had
betrayed the country he had sworn to protect.  They were all that
stood between him and a lifetime in jail. Whatever Fletcher's plans
were, Krycek didn't intend to leave any witnesses behind.  

Yves had to keep her composure for the Professor's sake as well as her
own so she tapped down the anger radiating through her; responding
only with a cold glare.  

"The other box." Fletcher repeated.  "Where is it?"

"At least let me talk to the Professor first."  Yves leveled her gaze
at her nemesis.  She was done with his cat and mouse games, the
innuendos and the faux suggestion of intimacy between them.  This was
business stripped to its essentials.  

Fletcher nodded in accord.  "Alex."  

One word and Krycek ripped the tape off the professors' mouth.  The
scientist inhaled air greedily through his mouth then coughed.  

"Professor? Are you all right?"   Yves could see the whining
complaints bubble up within the man but his abduction and abuse had
cemented the reality of the situation in his mind where all of Yves'
previous warnings had failed.  

Langly nodded then, as if remembering he was free to speak, said, "I'm
ok. Just a little bruised."  The last was said with a furious glare
toward Krycek.

"Now that you've chatted," Fletcher stated, "I want the missing
gears."

"They're in the car under the passenger's seat."

"Alex, would you please go get them," Fletcher said not taking his
eyes off Yves. 

Krycek narrowed his eyes at Fletcher; tired of being regulated to the
role of errand boy for this man.  If he didn't fear a reprisal from
Spender, Alex wouldn't hesitate to eliminate Fletcher when this job
was over.  "You're sure you can handle these two?" he sneered.  

"Just get the box," Fletcher snapped. 

Biting back his next comment, Krycek stalked out to the car.  His only
consolation was that this would all soon be over and he would have the
personal satisfaction of eliminating the irritants that both Harlow
and the professor had become. 

He let the warehouse door slam behind him. Giving less than a cursory
glance around the area around the car, Krycek approached the vehicle
and opened the front door on the far side. 

Digging around under the front passenger seat, he found nothing. The
meager light from the one streetlight in this area did little to
assist in his search. Considering the possibility that Harlow had
lied, he decided to try from the back seat

Krycek stood but was stopped dead in his tracks by the feel of the
cold metal of a gun barrel being pressed to the back of his neck.
"Don't move, Krycek," a familiar voice commanded. 

Alex froze, assessing the situation. "Well, well, Agent Doggett. Fancy
meeting you here." He tried to turn to face the other agent. 

"Don't turn around," growled Doggett. "I'd hate to shoot you.
Explaining your death to our superiors would be difficult. The
paperwork alone could take days." Doggett reached under Krycek's
jacket to remove the other man's pistol. He tossed it beneath the car
then bent to get the smaller gun that he knew Krycek kept strapped to
his ankle. 

He barely got it out of its holster before Krycek spun around,
knocking him backwards and onto the gravel. Doggett dropped Krycek's
extra gun as he fell. Alex heard it hit the road and frantically
searched for it while Doggett tried to regain his feet. 

Still on his knees, Doggett reached out to grab the other man who gave
up hope of finding his gun and took off running. On his feet and
quickly catching up, Doggett yelled, "Stop or I'll shoot." In truth he
didn't want to shoot his fellow agent. A dead Krycek really would be a
lot harder to explain than a live one. He needed the man to confess to
his dealings with Nazi sympathizers. 

But Krycek had no intention of just giving himself up. He knew his
actions in this situation could be considered treasonous and he didn't
want to suffer the consequences. He also knew Doggett could outrun
him. They'd trained together enough for this to be obvious. Putting on
an extra burst of speed, he rounded the corner of the warehouse. 

Coming to the end of the building, Doggett skidded to a stop. The only
streetlights on this side of the warehouse were far away in the main
parking lot but he should have been able to see and hear someone
running away from him. He heard nothing. He couldn't see much either.

Gun in hand; he stepped cautiously forward, warily eyeing the crates
and wooden pallets stacked against the wall to his right. Since he
could see so little, he strained to listen for any sound of the man
who he was certain was hiding there. 

Beyond the piled debris, there was a loading dock. The door was
recessed and Doggett couldn't be sure if it was open or not. He had to
consider the possibility that Krycek had managed to get back inside
the building. If this were true, Yves and the professor would be in
far greater danger. 

His muscles tense and his senses crackling, Doggett inched forward.
Every tiny sound, every shift of shadow demanded his attention. Each
second required several life or death decisions. With his gun at eye
level held at the extent of his arms and his finger on the trigger, he
turned his back to the feeble light from the parking lot. 

A slight noise off to his left drew his attention, making him wonder
for less than a split second if he'd misjudged, that his quarry had
gone the other way. In that moment of indecision, Krycek exploded with
a roar out of his hiding place among the crates, once again knocking
Doggett to the ground. 

Chapter 19

Fletcher grinned at Harlow as he covered her with his gun.  They both
knew his experience with firearms was limited: he was a conman; his
personal weapon of choice was his ability to twist a situation to his
control by using his nemeses' desires against them but the gun was
loaded and Harlow was unarmed.  

But it didn't make her any less dangerous, Fletcher reminded himself. 
The gun and the Professor, he flicked his gaze to the bound scientist,
were his insurance policies until Krycek returned with the box of
gears.  

And speaking of the F.B.I. agent, where was he?  Fletcher glanced
toward the door almost willing the man to appear with gears in hand. 
He wanted this fiasco with Harlow over and done with.  

"I can't feel my hands."  

Fletcher smirked at his captives, turning his gaze on the longhaired
man.  "My apologies, Professor," he said with a false empathy in his
voice. "What are your plans once I allow you to leave?  A long bath?" 
Fletcher wrinkled his nose.  The man definitely needed one.  "A hot
meal?  Or maybe..."  His grin widening, thinking of how the man had
spent the previous night tied up.  "... a good night's sleep in a soft
bed?"

Langly glanced at Yves who nodded her head slightly. "Yeah," Langly
muttered, "All of that but not necessarily in that order."  

"You might want to reconsider that."  Fletcher tapped his nose and
laughed.  He enjoyed goading the man.  He made it so easy.  "Hey!"  he
yelled when  he noticed Yves inching away from him.  She was probably
trying to get the drop on him while he was busy with Langly.   "Don't
even think about it, Sweetheart."

Yves merely smiled contemptuously.  "I have no idea to what you are
referring, Fletcher."  

She took another step to the side and he turned with her, keeping her
in his line of sight, ignoring his bound captive.  She was up to
something. He just wasn't sure what and that made him nervous.  

"You're getting paranoid."  She made a show of holding her arms out,
palms up.  "I'm unarmed as you can see."

And he could see.  Her black clothes molded to her body; accentuating
every curve.  There was no room for a weapon, not even a knife.

"You have the gun, the professor," she continued smoothly with just a
touch of annoyance in her voice, "and now the Enigma."  She grimaced,
her next words bitter.  "You've won."

Fletcher laughed, delighted.  Harlow had just admitted defeat; that he
had trumped her.  He heard soft footsteps entering the warehouse. 
Finally! Krycek had returned with the rest of his prize.

 "I wish I could be there when you explain to your superiors how you
lost the Enigma...again," Fletcher said, letting his satisfaction ooze
through his words.  "Tie her up, Alex."

"I don't think so, bub," a hauntingly familiar voice said. 

Whirling in surprise, Fletcher came face to face with the last person
on earth he expected to see at that point. "You!" he squawked at the
man in the trench coat and fedora who stepped out of the shadows.

Moving quickly, Yves neatly disarmed Fletcher who, in his shock,
offered no resistance. 

Frohike sneered, keeping his gun aimed at the center of Fletcher's
chest. Reaching into his coat with his free hand, he pulled out a set
of handcuffs. "Here you go, Sugar," he said tossing them to Yves. 

"How did you...who told...when?" Fletcher blubbered as Yves bound his
hands behind his back. He'd been so certain, so confident of his
assessment of the situation. 

"You're such an arrogant bastard," said Frohike, distain dripping from
his words. "We knew there had to be a reason for you to be in my
office on a Saturday night." The picture of Maggie's still form lying
on the gurney in the morgue popped into his head. He closed his eyes
against that image but this only made it clearer. 

Frohike felt the same uncontrollable rage that had caused him to beat
that child murderer unconscious. Once again, it threatened to overcome
his common sense, his reason. His heart began to race as adrenaline
pumped through his body. His breathing grew deeper and quicker. He
could feel his finger tightening unbidden on the trigger of his gun.
It would be so easy, so quick. He would rid the world of not only a
conman but a traitor and a murderer. Would anyone really blame him? 

Noting the tension in his body, Yves knew that Frohike was fighting
his own battle at the moment but she kept her primary focus on
Fletcher. "I found your hidden microphone shortly after we got to his
office," she told him. Flashing him a rare genuine smile, she asked,
"Did you honestly think I wouldn't check: that I would be so stupid as
to walk into a situation knowing you'd been there first without taking
some precautions." She cast another quick glance at the private
detective hoping that it would not be necessary to forcibly disarm
him. If he didn't relax soon, she knew the outcome would not be
pretty. 

Fletcher could feel it, too. Frohike stared at him, unblinking, his
head cocked to one side keeping Fletcher in his sights. "Tell him to
put the gun down," he begged Yves. "You've got me cuffed. What can I
do now? Look at him! He's crazy!"

"Can you blame him?" was all Yves said in response. 

Frohike was only marginally aware of this conversation. The urge to
shoot the man was almost too strong to ignore. Jail would probably be
inevitable this time. His newfound amiable relationship with the DA
would not make any difference. He knew like he knew his own hat size
that Byers wouldn't hesitate to toss his ass in jail for shooting an
unarmed man. 

Then somewhere, in the back of his mind, he heard a voice: soft and
indistinct at first but growing louder and more insistent with each
passing moment. "Mel, please." He blinked, raising his head a bit.
"Come back to me." He closed his eyes again. This time it wasn't
Maggie's dead body he saw but Dana's concerned face as he remembered
it from their last parting. "There's still so much I don't know about
you and so much that I want to tell you." He'd reassured her that they
had the upper hand, that Fletcher's planned ambush would be turned
against him. "Promise me you'll come back alive." He had laughed a
little at her concern but she was not satisfied until he promised. 

And a promise made to a lady was not to be taken lightly. 

Yves watched as Frohike lowered his gun and saw the tension begin to
drain from his body. Dropping his gun arm to his side, he stood up a
bit straighter. 

"HEY!" Langly yelled to get their attention. "Remember me, the kidnap
victim? Can I get some help with these ropes or are you all just going
to stand around chitchatting all day?"

"Just a minute, Professor," Yves said in a reassuring voice. "Are you
all right?" she asked Frohike whose breathing was beginning to return
to normal. 

"I got him," the private detective said holstering his gun to step up
beside Fletcher. He grabbed the man by the arm. "If he even twitches,
I'll shoot him in the foot." He snorted at Fletcher's gasp. "Don't
worry," Frohike reassured him as Yves went to untie Langly. "It won't
kill you but your dancing days would be over."

Fletcher said nothing. He still harbored some small hope of escaping.
Krycek was out there somewhere, probably hiding, waiting for his
chance to strike.




* * * * *




John Byers brought a cup of tea to the lady ME. She sat calmly in a
high wing-backed chair near the fire in Byers' living room. He noticed
how often she would glance toward the front window. 

"Thank you," she said absently as he took a seat in the matching chair
on the other side of the fireplace. They sat in silence for a while,
Byers casting occasional glances at Scully, her elbows on the arms of
the chair with her fingers wrapped around the teacup that was held
near her face. Although she hadn't taken a sip, she breathed in the
aromatic steam rising from the cup. She appeared to be intently
watching the flames but Byers knew her thoughts were miles away with
their missing friends. 

"He asked you to stay here with me, didn't he?" she finally said.

"Yes, he did," Byers admitted, not needing to ask who 'he' was. When
she said nothing in response he continued. "He was relieved when you
agreed to come here with us." They had moved everyone to Byers' house
once it became obvious they could no longer continue to occupy the
morgue. 

"He didn't think it would be safe for me to go home." Scully
suppressed a sigh as she set her teacup in its saucer on the small
table next to her. "And with the day shift arriving at 5 a.m., I
couldn't stay at work either. It's my day off and the assistant ME
knows I attend Mass early on Sunday mornings."

Yet another passing car's headlights lit the sheer curtains of the
front window. Leaning forward slightly in her chair, Dana's eyes
followed the light across the curtains. When it became obvious that
the vehicle was headed farther down the street, she settled back into
the cushions of the chair.

"It was nice of you to let everyone come here," she continued, hoping
the conversation would help the time pass more quickly. 

Byers shrugged. "It was the only place that made sense," he said.
"Frohike told me that Miss Harlow's house had been torn apart by the
FBI and whoever else is after that Enigma machine. They obviously know
where Jimmy lives as well as Mel's office so we would have to assume
they know where he lives also."  

Dana nodded. "It's very comfortable here. Mel and Yves really needed
the sleep. Both of them were nearly dead on their feet and with the
injuries they sustained..." She had insisted on examining their
assorted wounds and found it necessary to do some restitching on the
deep cut in Frohike's leg. But Yves' shoulder was healing nicely. Dana
was also pleased to note that none of them showed any sign of growing
infection. 

But these three patients were not the one she was the most worried
about. "I hope they bring the professor back here before Yves takes
him off to England. I seriously doubt she'll take him to a hospital as
I suggested."

"I think you're right," Byers said. "She's operating in this country
without the government's knowledge and their official stance of
noninvolvement with the war in Europe makes it impossible for them to
be of any real assistance. Agent Doggett told me his superiors were
more interested in why an MI 6 agent was in Washington DC then in what
she needed help with." 

"I figured as much," Dana said thoughtfully. "That's probably why she
kept insisting on making the exchange on her own." She paused for a
moment remembering the argument between Frohike and Yves over that
assertion. The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. "But
Mel is even more stubborn than she is."

Byers chuckled. "He is pig headed, isn't he?"

Dana's smile deepened. "He can be persistent." She picked up her
teacup and took a sip. "I was relieved in many ways when she finally
relented and told the others the truth about when and where the
exchange was set to take place." She paused again, setting her cup
back down. "I just wish..." 




* * * * *




Doggett was down: pinned to the unyielding ground by Krycek. The rogue
agent knew his only chance was to get Doggett's gun and turn it
against him.  If he lost this fight, his freedom and his life would be
over.  

Doggett's arm was going numb: both from the pressure from Krycek and
his own death grip on his weapon.  

Gravel bit painfully into his wrist.    

His chest heaving and heart thundering in his ears, Doggett pressed
his feet flat against the ground and bucked but Krycek held his
ground, his own ragged breaths matching his opponents.  

For one terrifying moment Doggett believed he could actually lose this
battle: that his life would end with a single bullet from his own gun.
 

And Krycek would walk away from it all with no one the wiser.

That knowledge infuriated Doggett and he struggled more frantically. 
Keeping a desperate grip on the gun, he strained to push his other arm
up in a frantic bid to shake off his assailant.

It became a wrestling match neither man could afford to lose. 

Doggett knew if he was going to shake Krycek off he would need both of
his hands.  It meant releasing his grip on the gun.  He would have
only a few precious seconds to take control.    

But then Krycek went flying as a blur slammed into the agent. It was
Mulder. Doggett scrambled to his feet as the two men landed in a
crushing heap mere inches from him.  Doggett trained his gun on them,
ignoring the pain arcing through his wrist. The fleeting thought that
his wrist might be sprained was pushed aside as he focused on the two
men stirring on the ground.

"Don't try anything, Krycek" Doggett shouted as Mulder got to his
knees.  

Mulder fisted the back of Krycek's jacket then stood, yanking the
agent to his feet.  Krycek moaned, clutching his abdomen.  The police
officer jerked the other man around to face him and that's when
Doggett saw the intense hatred in Mulder's eyes.  The memory of
Maggie's still, cold body was driving him. Doggett knew he needed to
defuse the situation or the officer would be facing far graver charges
then conduct unbecoming.   

"Mulder."  Doggett kept his voice firm, authoritative.  "I have him
covered." When the Mulder didn't respond, he tried again only louder. 
"MULDER!"

"I heard you the first time," Mulder barked in response.

"Then cuff him and let's take him in.  He's going to prison for a long
time."

Emotions warred within Mulder but the cop side won out.  Without
taking his gaze from Krycek, he snagged his handcuffs out of his back
pocket and roughly dragged the suspect's arms behind him causing the
injured agent to curse under his breath. 

Krycek gasped. "My ribs are broken, you stinking son of a whore!" he
said through gritted teeth.

Mulder stared at him a moment then relented, binding the man's hands
in front of him.  He leaned toward Krycek and hissed so only the rogue
agent could hear, "You're lucky it's only your ribs that are broken."

Their captive between them, Doggett and Mulder led Krycek around the
corner to Frohike's car.  There, waiting for them, was Jimmy Bond. 
The young photographer watched them a moment before raising his camera
to take a picture.

Krycek ducked his head as the flash went off.  

While Doggett helped Krycek into the car, Jimmy asked Mulder, "But
where are Yves, Frohike and the professor?" 

"They must be in the warehouse," Doggett surmised. "Did you see
anything around the other side of the building?" 

Jimmy shook his head.  "No, nothing. It was really quiet back there."

"And Krycek here," Doggett hitched a thumb at the man in the backseat,
"came out of the warehouse to look for that extra box." He glanced at
the other two men, his worry evident in his face. Something must have
gone wrong.  

Quickly, scanning the area around his feet, Doggett backed up to try
to see beneath the vehicle. 

"What are you looking for?" Mulder asked. 

"Keep an eye on him," Doggett said meaning Krycek.  He got down on his
knees and reached under the car feeling around for something the other
two couldn't see. "Got it," he proclaimed.

Standing up, he showed them what he'd found. It was a pistol. "It's
his," Doggett said meaning Krycek. "We'll need it as evidence," he
said. "It might be the murder weapon." Mulder nodded not needing to
hear anymore. 

Doggett handed the weapon to Jimmy. "You stay and make sure our friend
here doesn't decide to go for a little walk. Mulder and I will go see
how the others are doing."

A creaking sound made them spin around and Mulder leveled his weapon
at the warehouse door.  It opened further and Frohike stepped out
cautiously, his own gun drawn.  Seeing the assembled group, he nodded,
giving them a thumbs-up then turned and spoke to someone still inside
the warehouse.  

Frohike stepped back as Yves emerged, leading Fletcher out.  Langly
brought up the rear, clutching the Enigma in a vise like grip.  

Fletcher was shoved unceremoniously into the back seat of the car. He
and Krycek exchanged a look but neither said anything. 

Jimmy let out a whoop of delight startling the others.  "We did it,"
he exclaimed.  "We got the bad guys!"

Yves frowned. "Not quite."

Noting Jimmy's puzzled expression, Frohike added, "Someone was pulling
their strings," he said pointing to the men in car. "And that mystery
person is still out there."

Langly sent a fearful look toward Yves but it was Doggett who spoke. 
"We'll question them at headquarters." His expression darkened, his
voice confident. "I'm sure I can get one of them to spill the
information." 

"Please keep me informed," Yves said.  She had a vested interest in
making sure the mystery person got what he deserved but at that moment
her main concern was the professor's safety.  

Doggett nodded, reaching into his pocket. "Mulder," he said holding
out his keys, "Do you mind?" 

The police officer held out one hand neatly catching the tossed keys.
He trotted off without a word. While they waited, Jimmy gladly handed
Krycek's gun back to Doggett.

Mulder returned in less than five minutes with Doggett's car. While
they waited, Jimmy and Doggett located Krycek's second gun, which had
gotten knocked away in the two agents' initial struggle. After
transferring the suspects into the back seat of the other vehicle, he
and Doggett headed out to book and interrogate their two suspects.

The rest of them watched the retreating taillights for a few moments
almost stunned that the whole ordeal was nearly over. Yves planned to
take the professor out of the country within the next 24 hours. He
would be safe at Bletchley Park where security was tight. There he
could continue his work on the Enigma with other scientists and help
end the Nazi threat. 

"Let's get you under a roof," Yves said, guiding her charge towards
Frohike's car.

When Jimmy called her name, she stopped and turned, as did the
professor. The bright light of a flashbulb lit the entire area.  "I'm
blind," Langly complained, blinking his eyes to rid himself of the
spots obscuring his vision. "First I get kidnapped and beaten up and
now I'm blinded."

Yves paused.  "Mr. Bond, do I need to remind you that you will not be
able to publish those photographs?"  

She started to turn away when Jimmy called out.  "Guess you'll just
have to steal them then."

Yves stared at him for a moment but when he grinned and shrugged, she
laughed softly, shaking her head.  "Perhaps I will," she murmured,
opening the car door for Langly to climb in. She slid into the back
seat next to him.

Frohike got into the front finding the keys in the ignition where Yves
had left them. 

Jimmy snapped another photo of the three of them in the car before
Frohike growled at him, "Enough already! Get in or I'm leaving you
behind." 

Running around to the passenger side, Jimmy jumped into the front
seat. "Let's go then," he said.

Chapter 20


The grandfather clock in Byers' front hall clunked and whirred to life
to announce the hour. Despite being fully aware of the time, Dana
Scully silently counted the ten chimes. "I had hoped we'd have heard
something by now," she said. 

 "Agent Doggett said not to worry until at least 11 p.m." Byers
explained. 

"What did he say to do at that point?"

"He wants me to contact Police Chief Skinner, then the FBI." Although
he didn't say it, this was the main reason Byers had not accompanied
the others on the exchange. If the whole business blew up in their
faces, someone with some clout would know what had gone down and could
help the authorities sort the whole thing out. 

They lapsed into silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts.  After
a minute or so, Byers asked, "How long have you known Mr. Frohike?"

Fully understanding that he was trying to change the subject to
something less worrisome, Dana said, "Only a few days. We met when he
came in to identify poor little Molly Jenning's body. He wanted to
make sure it was her before bringing her parents in. He said he didn't
see any sense in putting them through that torture unless it was
absolutely necessary."

Byers nodded suppressing a grin at the admiration in her voice.
Although he had wondered at first what an intelligent woman like Dana
Scully could see in an old toad like Frohike, he was beginning to
understand that his long standing animosity towards the man had
blinded him to the private investigator's better qualities. 

"It couldn't have been easy for him either," said Byers. "I know he
has a daughter the same age."

Dana nodded. "The little girls were friends."

"I know. Carla told me," he said softly. 

"Carla?"

"Carla Mason. She's a reporter for the DC Gazette. Have you seen her
reports on Molly's kidnapping and murder?"

"Yes," replied Dana. "She's good. She gets her facts straight. That's
refreshing from a medical examiner's point of view."

"It's the same for us in the DA's office," said Byers. "But I think
her talent goes beyond just getting the facts straight. She is a truly
gifted writer. She has an ability to make her readers understand what
the people in her stories are experiencing, what they're feeling.
She's an amazing woman." 

This last comment made Dana look over at her companion. He was staring
at a spot halfway between his chair and the fireplace enjoying some
memory he wasn't sharing with her. Dana strongly suspected that Byers
admired more than just the reporter's writing ability. 

"You know Miss Mason personally?" asked Scully.

"We've met a couple of times." Realizing he'd said far more than he
intended, Byers quickly shifted the focus of the conversation. "Did
Frohike ever mention that we first met when he was a beat cop? I was
still in private practice at the time."

The DA did not seem comfortable talking about himself but had no
problem asking Dana about her personal life. It must be the lawyer
side of him, she surmised, always asking questions, trying to get to
the truth. Either that or he was working incredibly hard to keep her
distracted. She couldn't fault him for that. 

"He told me that he and Police Chief Skinner were partners back then."

"They were," Byers confirmed. "They both made detective at the same
time, too. Shortly after that, Skinner started rising quickly through
the ranks. It's too bad..." Not wanting to discuss parts of Frohike's
past that Dana may not be aware of, Byers stopped himself.

"I know there are some aspects of Mel's past that he's not proud of,"
said Scully. "But he's a good man who cares about the people he's
trying to help. Sometimes I think that's part of the problem; he just
cares too deeply." Gazing once again at the fire, she continued only
much more softly than before. "I've never met anyone like him."

Experiencing a fleeting moment of jealousy, the DA realized that
Frohike had a staunch ally in Dana Scully. Byers hadn't had that since
Susanne died: a good woman who believed in him. One who would stand by
him through all hardships, worries, trials and tribulations. But then
unasked, Carla's words came back to him. "You're a good man, John. 
One of the best I've ever met." The genuine concern in her eyes at
that statement had surprised him and, on some level, had also pleased
him.

Before Byers could further consider Carla's words, he heard another
car turn the corner onto his street. But this one did not pass on by
as the others had; this one slowed to a stop in front of his house. 

He glanced at Dr. Scully. She had heard it, too. With both hands on
the saucer of her teacup she remained unmoving in her chair. The
flickering firelight showed the hope on her face but along with that
hope, Byers noted a touch of fear. What if it wasn't them? What if it
was the police or the FBI coming to tell them that everything had gone
horribly wrong?

Hearing voices outside, Byers got up and went to open the front door.
Dana did not accompany him, choosing instead to wait by the fire.
Swinging the door wide, Byers stepped out onto the porch. 

He was relieved to see Frohike's car, looking no more damaged than it
had when Yves had driven off in it. Jimmy was already standing at the
curb, offering Yves a hand out of the back seat. Frohike slammed the
door on the driver's side looking none the worse for wear. He could
only guess that the man with the long blond hair was the professor.
When he bent over to retrieve the Enigma machine from inside the car,
Byers knew he had guessed correctly. 

"You couldn't bring a different car," Professor Langly complained. "It
was freezing in that back seat without the rear window."

"You didn't seem to mind the first time you rode in my car," Frohike
stated, limping toward the house. His leg was bothering him again.
He'd been running on pure adrenaline back at the warehouse and hadn't
felt it at all. 

Langly came around the car shifting the heavy Enigma to his other
hand. "I was unconscious the first time I was in your rolling death
trap," he pointed out. 

"I don't know why I bothered to save your pathetic, whiney ass,"
Frohike growled as he continued toward the house.

"You didn't save my ass; Yves did."

At this comment, Frohike spun on the other man. Langly had to stop
short in front of him. "She had help," he declared poking the
scientist in the chest to emphasize his point. "And not just from me.
Jimmy, Doggett and Mulder risked their lives, too," 

"Yeah, but without Yves you guys couldn't have pulled it off."

"Gentlemen," Yves said in a mild tone that broached no argument, "can
we please move this conversation inside. You're going to wake Mr.
Byers' neighbors." She pointed to where the DA was patiently waiting.
"And there are others who await information as to the outcome of this
misadventure who deserve to know that we have all survived unharmed."

A look of guilt flashed across Frohike's face. Ignoring the pain in
his leg, he strode much more quickly towards the porch and climbed the
stairs. Byers wisely stepped out of the way to let him pass. 

"Dana!" Frohike called as he limped quickly into the living room. 

She rose from her chair, her face painted with relief. She looked so
beautiful with the fire behind her, the light from the flames making
her red hair glow. "I'm here," she said as he moved across the room to
join her. "I'm so happy to see you. Is everyone else all right?" 

Without speaking, he took her in his arms and held her close. She
returned his warm embrace, deeply breathing in the smell of him,
relishing the feel of his arms around her body. The first time they
had held each other like this, her thoughts had been only for him and
her concern for all the loss he had experienced in his life. But this
time, she was allowing him to comfort her. His embrace felt right, as
if she'd always belonged in his arms, as if he'd held her this way
everyday of her life. 

"I was so worried," she said after those few moments of self-indulgenc
e. 

"I'm sorry we didn't call to tell you everything was all right,"
Frohike said releasing her enough to see her face. "We just wanted to
get back here as soon as possible." 

"Everyone is all right then?" she asked again. 

Frohike smiled saying, "Everyone who matters."

"You got the professor back in one piece?" Frohike nodded. "And the
Enigma?" 

"I'm fine and the Enigma is right here," said a voice from behind them
accompanied by the loud thud of something heavy being set down on a
side table. 

Scully stepped out of Frohike's arms to go to Langly. Taking him by
the hand, she led him into the brighter light near a floor lamp. "How
are you? Did they hurt you?" she asked carefully studying his face.  

"I said I was fine," he responded a little bemused by her concern.

"I'll be the judge of that," she said. "Sit here." Scully pointed to a
straight-backed chair under the light.

"Do what the doctor says," Yves commanded from the doorway. Byers was
standing right behind her. 

Langly dropped a bit grudgingly into the chair but allowed Scully to
re-examine the head injuries he had sustained in the explosion. "Your
head looks good. That lump's not as big as it was. How does it feel?"

"It was okay until you started pressing on it," the professor
complained gingerly reaching up to touch it himself. 

Ignoring his whining, Scully said, "All right, stand up. I want to
check your stitches." She put a hand under his elbow to encourage him
to rise. When he did, she began to unbutton his shirt. "Hey, I hardly
even know you," he said pushing her fingers away.

Yves was now standing next to Langly. "If you don't want the doctor to
take your shirt off, you need to do it yourself but you will let her
examine you."

"Stand up, sit down, take off your shirt. You know I'm getting really
tired of being pushed around!"

"Be quiet now and let Dr. Scully get a good look at you." 

Byers returned to his chair by the fire. Frohike had taken up
residence in the one recently vacated by Dana. "My god, does he ever
stop complaining?" Byers asked Frohike in a low voice. 

"This may hurt a bit," Scully told Langly as she quickly removed the
bandage that was taped over his rib cage. 

"OW!" he whined. "That smarts!"

Frohike snorted in response to Byers' question. "Only when he's
unconscious."



Monday, September 30, 1940



"...and then the house exploded in a giant fireball!"  Realizing his
voice had risen, Jimmy glanced around the bullpen, taking in the
constant hum of noise.  Reassured he hadn't attracted any undue
attention, he turned his attention back to Carla.  Lowering his voice,
he continued.  "That's when we saw the bad guys coming so we piled
into the car. After a crazy chase through the neighbor's property we
made it to the highway.  That's when they started shooting at us
and..."

"Who were they?" Carla had been patient while Jimmy regaled her with
his story but his omission of pertinent facts made her reporter
instincts flare.  There was more to the story than just missing
pictures.  

Jimmy hesitated.  Yves and Doggett had both cautioned him that certain
details had to remain secret for national security.  "I can't say."

"Why were they chasing you?"

"I can't say."

"Does this have anything to do with Professor Richard Langly and your
mystery woman?"

"I can't say."  

"And how did you get that black eye and split lip?"

Jimmy fought the smile that threatened to spread across his face,
knowing full well how frustrated she must be getting. "I can't say
that either."

Carla tapped her ever-present pencil on the desk and raised an eyebrow
at the young photographer.  Exasperated and slightly amused by his
evasiveness, she tried another question.  

"Is there anything you....Jimmy?" 

But Jimmy's attention was riveted by the arrival of two men.  While
visitors were hardly a rarity at the newspaper, Carla was intrigued.
Instinct immediately tagged the men as cops.  One was tall and burly
suggesting the man was athletic while the other one was slimmer.  She
watched as the men strode right up to Jeffery Spender who was standing
outside the publisher's office berating an intern who had the
misfortune of wandering into his path.  

The big cop spoke first.  "Jeffery Spender," he said in a no nonsense
tone.  

Spender the Lesser turned from the intern, taking in the other two
men, his irritation quickly turning to caution.  "I'm Jeffery
Spender."  

The intern seized that moment to flee.  

"I'm Agent Doggett with the F.B.I.  This is Agent Pendrell."   Doggett
flipped open his wallet, letting Spender peruse his ID.  He was taking
longer than needed and Carla knew he was stalling for time. 
Interesting.  

Agent Doggett returned his wallet to his breast pocket as he continued
speaking "Jeffery Spender, you're under arrest "

Spender's eyes widened as Agent Pendrell pulled out a pair of
handcuffs and snapped them over the man's wrists.  "What is this
travesty? My father is the publisher of this newspaper and he will
make sure..."

"Do you know where your father, C.B. Spender, is?"  Pendrell
interrupted.

 "He's on a business trip;" Jeffery snapped in a haughty tone, "an
extended business trip."  

He glared at the two agents as if he had won some private game but
Doggett's next words shattered Jeffery's superior attitude. "Looks
like your father hung you out to dry."  

Jeffery looked stricken as Doggett said smoothly, "You're under arrest
as an accessory after the fact in the death of Margaret Sinclair,
conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping, treasonous acts against the
United States..."

Agent Doggett continued a litany of impressive charges as he and his
partner herded the flustered newspaperman through the bullpen. 
Employees watched in stunned silence.  As the trio walked passed,
Carla saw a brief, meaningful glance pass between Agent Doggett and
Jimmy.  The photographer's face spread into a pleased grin.

Carla's mind was racing, already compiling a mental list of contacts:
the police, the District Attorney's office, the F.B.I., any possible
witnesses. Picking up her phone, she glanced at Jimmy, catching his
eye.  "Are you sure there's nothing else you can tell me about this?"
she asked as she started to dial.

Jimmy offered her an embarrassed grin. "The good guys won?"  




* * * * *



Monica Reyes paused just inside the front entrance of the first class
reception area of the Queen Mary. The ocean liner was far more opulent
than she had expected. She walked slowly through the room noting each
detail: the highly polished veneer columns with the brass handrails
that encircled them; the copper lined inset ceiling that reflected
back the light of the chandelier in its center; and the enormous fresh
flower arrangement that graced a heavy, round wooden table in the
middle of the lobby. 

Frohike turned to find his companion when he realized she was no
longer by his side. "We haven't got a lot of time, Monica," he said to
get her attention. 

Monica looked at him and smiled. "Sorry," she said as she began to
walk at a more normal speed. Then she laughed. "I was just thinking."

"About what?" Frohike asked. 

"I'm working for the wrong government." 

Frohike smiled, chuckling under his breath. "Yeah, I traveled in
steerage when I went over."

They paused at the entrance to a long hallway lined with numbered
doors and brass handrails down both sides. The end of the hall was so
far away, perspective made it look too small for humans to pass
through. 

Though neither spoke it, they both had the same question in mind.
"This is the right spot," said Frohike. He pointed to a plague on the
wall listing the suite numbers on this deck and down this particular
hallway. 

They found the one they were looking for about halfway down the
corridor. Standing side by side before the cabin's entrance, Frohike
knocked. 

The response was almost immediate. "Come in! Come in!" Professor
Langly greeted them, throwing the door wide. "Monica, it's nice to see
you again!" He stepped back giving them space to pass. 

"I'm pleased I got a chance to see you before you left," Monica
replied.

"Well, we couldn't exactly leave without saying good-bye now, could
we?"

"You're in a good mood," Frohike noted taking in the scientist's red
satin smoking jacket. His long, blond hair was tied back in a ponytail
and he had somehow acquired a replacement for the glasses he'd lost in
the explosion. 

Langly closed the door, a big grin on his face. "Welcome to my humble
abode," he declared making a sweeping motion with his right arm taking
in the entire room. 

The cabin was large, well appointed and full of friends. John Doggett,
who had been deep in conversation with Jimmy Bond and D.A. Byers, set
down the glass of champagne he'd been drinking to cross the room to
join them. "Miss Reyes, I was hoping you'd come." 

Monica watched him calmly, not allowing her emotions to show on her
face. Mel had told her everything the man had done to help her sister
and the professor but she still had no real desire to talk to him. She
had agreed to come to this farewell celebration for her sister's sake,
a chance to say good-bye for what could be a very long time
considering how the war in Europe was progressing.

"I wanted to apologize for frightening you and for my harsh words at
your sister's house the other day," said the FBI agent. He extended
his hand as a peace offering. 

"You didn't frighten me; you infuriated me," she asserted, pointedly
ignoring his hand. 

Frohike ducked around them knowing full well that Monica could take
care of herself in this situation. He smiled privately once he was
clear of them. Doggett had asked him about Monica while they were
waiting at Byers' house before it was time to leave for the exchange.
He strongly suspected that Doggett's interest was more personal than
professional in nature. 

"Good afternoon, Mel," Byers said as Frohike came to stand next to
him. 

Jimmy grinned broadly at his friend. "Hey, Frohike," he said by way of
greeting. "Let me get the waiter guy to give you some champagne." He
raised an arm signaling the man with the tray of half filled champagne
flutes.

"No, thanks," said Frohike waving the waiter off. "I'm trying to steer
clear of the sauce for a while."

Jimmy didn't hear this response as his and all other eyes in the room
were drawn to the door of one of the suite's bedrooms. Yves had just
stepped out, resplendent in a long red satin dress that matched
Langly's smoking jacket, a choker of rubies encircling her throat. Her
hair was arranged in a Veronica Lake style, her nails painted to match
her gown. 

Langly stepped up beside her and, taking one of her hands loosely in
his, he brought it to his lips and kissed it before drawing her
farther in to the room. He announced, "May I present my lovely wife,
Mrs. Stewart Funston." He laughed out loud. "That's me... Stewart
Funston," he said scanning the faces of those assembled to ascertain
whether or not they shared in his amusement.

Jimmy's face crumbled. "But... you said your name was Rich..." 

Grabbing the big guy's arm, Frohike yanked him downward so he could
talk right in his ear. "It's their cover," he whispered, glancing at
the waiter who seemed oblivious to this exchange as he arranged canaps
on a tray. "They're supposed to be married."

"Oh!" Jimmy mouthed, his relief evident.

Yves turned her back on their guests, and patting Langly on the cheek,
she said amiably. "They all know your name, dear. Now, why don't you
go mingle like a good host?" She turned from him then. "Monica," she
said with obvious pleasure, hugging her half sister, "Thank you so
much for coming. I was afraid we'd have to go home before we could see
you again."

Yves' veiled berating did nothing to dampen Langly's mood.  He
strutted through the suite holding a champagne glass between three
fingers and his thumb, his pinky extended. His free hand was stuffed
in the pocket of his jacket. 

Byers had to fight to keep from laughing at the man's idea of wealthy
people's mannerisms. He was distracted from these thoughts by a
question from Frohike. "Have you seen Dana? She said she was coming."

Byers quickly surveyed the room. "She must still be out on the balcony
with Officer Mulder. They went out there to talk privately quite a
while ago." He pointed to glass doorway set in a large window that ran
the length of the outer wall. 

Crossing the room, Frohike stood off to one side, his hand on the
heavy curtains framing the window to observe the couple on the
balcony. Mulder was standing with his back to Frohike looking out
across the water of the harbor. Scully was at his side, her hand over
his on the rail. She was speaking to him, soft words the private
investigator could not hear. 

Frohike experienced a jolt of jealousy before common sense took over.
Dana knew how much Maggie meant to Mulder and upon closer examination,
this had to be what they were deep in conversation about. Mulder's
shoulders were forward; his back was slumped as he leaned heavily on
the guard railing. Dana's face in profile showed her compassion as she
leaned closer to him to offer what emotional support she could give. 

When Mulder turned a tear stained face to look down at Scully, Frohike
knew he was right. He felt a wave of guilt for even considering the
possibility that his long time friend might be trying to steal his
girl.  
Backing away from the window, Frohike left them to decide when they
were ready to rejoin the party. 

The rest of the company had divided into two groups. Yves, Monica and
Doggett were talking near the door. Langly, Jimmy and Byers had
settled into the couch and chairs that were arranged for easy
conversation. 

Choosing to sit with the other three men, Frohike selected a spot
where he could see the whole room. He wanted to find out how Agent
Doggett was faring with the ladies as well as be aware of the instant
Dana came back into the suite. It had been less than a day since he'd
talked to her but that seemed far too long all ready.

"This is the last cruise for the Queen Mary," Langly was saying.
"After this she's sailing to Australia to be fitted out as a troop
carrier for the British army."

"Wow," said Jimmy. "Aren't you worried you might get torpedoed on the
trip across the Atlantic to England?"

Langly's brow creased with concern and he lost his haughty demeanor.
"I wasn't until you mentioned it." He started to get up to ask Yves
about it but Frohike pulled him back into his chair.

"I'm certain the cruise line has taken all contingencies into
consideration," he said. "If there was any real danger, you wouldn't
be here right now."

Langly sat back in his chair but didn't relax completely. "You're sure
about that?"

"Yes," Byers said to back up Frohike's assessment of the situation.
"The captain is probably in contact with authorities on both
continents at all times."

Laughter from the other group drew Frohike's attention from Langly's
fit of paranoia. Yves was smiling but Monica was laughing out right at
something John Doggett was talking about. Frohike was pleased to see
that Monica had apparently forgiven the agent for his earlier
treatment of her. Maybe the fact that her sister seemed to trust him
completely had something to do with her change of heart.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," the waiter said in his clipped British accent.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said bending to speak directly to Langly where he
sat in an overstuffed chair, "but we're nearly out of champagne. Will
you be requiring any more?"

"Yes," said Langly once again putting on airs. "Go get some and bring
back plenty this time. I don't want my friends to go thirsty."

"Very well, sir," he said straightening up. "I've left some filled
glasses on the bar." 

"Thank you, Jeeves," Langly said with a wave of his hand. "That will
be all."

As the waiter exited the cabin, Jimmy asked, "His name is Jeeves?"

"I have no idea," Langly laughed. "But it sure sounded good, didn't
it."

Jimmy leaned in closer to Langly and whispered, "Hey, now that he's
gone, do we still have to pretend?"

Langly shook his head. "Yves said that when we're alone here, we can
talk freely."

"Oh, man, you're not going to believe this," said Jimmy excitedly.
"But Agent Doggett came out to my office to arrest my boss!" He
studied their faces hoping to see that they found this to be as
incredible as he did. He was disappointed to see nothing but nods from
the other three men. "You all knew?" 

"Agent Doggett told me," Byers said. "And I called Frohike to let him
know." 

"Yeah, and I was there when Doggett told Yves," Langly added.

Jimmy was crestfallen, feeling left out of the loop. "So, you all knew
and no one bothered to call me."

Byers reached over and patted his knee. "We all figured you'd have a
front row seat. Did he go quietly?"

Seeing that he did have information to share that the others didn't
already know, Jimmy was once again excited. "No, he wasn't there. His
son... you know, Frohike, Jeffrey Spender... the guy you came out to
the newspaper to talk to..." Jimmy waited to make sure Mel knew who he
was talking about, "...they took him away instead. I'm not sure why.
Maybe he had something to do with it."

"Isn't he the guy who was with you when you came to the warehouse?"
asked Langly.

"Yeah, that's him."

"So, you're telling me I nearly handed everything over to the wrong
side by making one ill planned phone call?" 

"Yes, you did," Yves said coming over to join the conversation. "But
then, if you hadn't, we would not have discovered that Mr. Spender and
his son were both Nazi sympathizers working for the SS." 

"And that it was your publisher who paid Morris Fletcher to attempt to
regain the stolen Enigma for the German government," Doggett added. He
shook his head. "Fletcher turned on the man so fast, it made my head
spin. He led us to documents proving the elder Spender's involvement.
Too bad they didn't tell us where he's hiding." 

"So, you never got him?" Frohike asked. 

"Not yet, but we're still looking," said Doggett with determination.
He seemed to be about to say more when he was interrupted. 

"Frohike, I can't believe they let you on the ship!" Mulder exclaimed
firmly closing the door to the balcony behind him once Scully had
stepped back into the room. Mel grinned at his friend's attempt at
normal smart-ass chatter. 

Scully stood beside Mulder but her smile was only for Frohike.

"Yeah, well, they let you on, didn't they?" Frohike flung back rising
from his chair. He stood in front of his friend placing a hand on his
shoulder. "How you holding up, buddy?"

"I'm good," Mulder replied much too quickly. "Hey, where's that guy
with the free champagne?" he asked even as he turned to find the
waiter. 

"He's gone," said Frohike. "But he knew you'd be thirsty and left some
on the bar." He pointed to the tray full of glasses that sat bubbling
endlessly.

"It's going to take him a while before he can talk about it freely,"
Dana said as the police officer moved off. 

"He's tougher than he looks," said Frohike as Scully wound her arm
through his and drew him nearer the windows out of earshot where they
could speak discreetly. 

"Apparently, Agent Doggett has suggested that Mr. Mulder might find a
new home with the FBI if he's tired of wasting his time with the DC
police department."

"The FBI, huh? What did he say about that?" Mel asked as he watched
Yves introduce Monica to Mulder and the DA. 

"He's interested. He figures it will be a step up from beat cop."

"Mulder always did want to be a detective," Frohike noted. "He's got
the talent and the desire but he's always rubbed people the wrong way.
Hopefully he'll do better with the feds."

Dana paused, studying Mel's face. "And how about you? How are you
doing?" 

"There's no need to worry about me."

 "Well, I beg to differ," she said stepping closer to him. "Maggie
wasn't just your secretary. She was a close personal friend and a
confidant."

"Dana, don't," said Mel in a low voice. "I can't think about this now.
We can talk about it later."

Caressing his cheek with one hand, she moved in even closer until
their bodies were almost touching. "Is that a promise?" she asked
softly.

He gazed into her blue eyes, his emotions caught somewhere between
heartache for the loss of one of his dearest friends and joy of having
Dana so close to him and the feel of her hand on his skin. Joy now, he
decided, because he knew that grief would be with him for a while. But
now, he had someone he could talk to, someone who would willingly
listen and help him find forgiveness of himself for his part in
Maggie's death.

Curling one arm around her waist, he pulled her to him, their bodies
touching in full. "You have my word," he said. 

"Maybe it's not only your word I'm looking for," Dana said, a smile
barely touching the corners of her mouth, her eyes half closing. 

"And what other guarantee do you require?" Frohike asked sensing where
this discussion was headed. 

"Hmm," Dana said almost dreamily. "How about something a bit more
personal?" 

Their faces were nearly touching already. Frohike only needed to tip
his head slightly to one side. Completely forgetting they were not
alone in the room, he closed that last tiny distance that separated
their lips. 

She whole-heartedly accepted his kiss pulling him closer than he
thought possible. Her body was soft and yielding in his arms. He
fleetingly worried that he might be crushing her but he could feel her
arms wrapped just as tightly around him.

A loud clearing of someone's throat brought them back to reality. They
turned to see all eyes on them: so much for discretion. 

"Geez, you don't waste any time, do you?" Mulder joked. "Didn't you
two just meet a couple of days ago?"

"Yes," Frohike admitted, his arms still around his lady doctor, "but
more has happened in those few days than most people experience in
their entire lifetimes."

There were general comments of agreement as they all turned back to
their own conversations leaving Frohike and Scully once again in
privacy. He studied her face for a moment his mind slipping back over
the events of the last few days. 

So much had changed: some things for the worse but more for the
better. Although he hadn't admitted it to himself until that moment,
he had found love again in a place and at a time he'd least expected
it. He and his friends, both old and new, had succeeded in defeating
Nazi sympathizers bent on assisting the Axis powers in the European
conflict. Not to mention the fact that he had captured a serial child
molester and killer and that the man had confessed to his crimes and
would spend the rest of his life in jail. 

His only remorse... "All ashore that's going ashore!" called a voice
from the hallway interrupting his train of thought. The speaker moved
off, repeating his warning.

"I guess that means us," said Jimmy with a touch of regret in his
voice. 

"Yes," confirmed Yves. "All good things do come to an end
eventually."

Yet no one made a move to leave. Even though the last few days had
been stressful and horrifying, the events had formed lasting bonds
between them. They had learned to trust each other completely, risking
their lives for each other. You just don't walk away from that without
a backward glance. 

Frohike suddenly felt the passage of time much too keenly. He'd wasted
so much of his life dwelling on regrets instead of living in the
present and being thankful for what he had. 

"What are you thinking about?" Dana asked him after watching him in
silence for a few moments.

Frohike smiled. "I'm thinking that I need a vacation," he said drawing
her closer. "What do you say we simply forget to get off the ship?"

"It is a very large ship," Dana admitted returning his smile. "A
person could easily get lost..."



END