From: "David Hearne" Date: Thu, 8 Mar 2001 10:17:20 -0500 Subject: xfc: She's My Heroine (7 of 15) Source: xfc TITLE: SHE'S MY HEROINE (7 of 15) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PART SEVEN "YET HERE YOU ARE." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Now Mary's at the door "with a loaded .44 in her hand. "Shooting down the law "that shot down her dear departed man." The music from Farrah's apartment woke me up as I imagined it did for several neighbors at seven-thirty in the morning. For once, I didn't mind. I was glad to be awake. It wasn't because I had slept too easily that night. On that night, I was safe from the Syndicate. I had them mentally cornered. No, I was glad be to awake because I had that same dream again. I was back in that frozen block of ice. Nothing had changed from before. There was that same numbness and darkness. Now I was awake and had a few things to do. First, I had to establish my borders. I got a small suitcase out of the closet. Then I left the apartment and took the stairs all the way to the roof. It was still fairly early so no one crossed my path on the way there. It was also early enough to witness an absence of traffic on the street. Only one car was there, parked within sight of the front door. I opened up the suitcase. Several items were packed inside Styrofoam pockets. One of them was a small pair of binoculars. They gave me a closer view of the car's occupants. They weren't the same Green Berets I saw last night, but they had a similar look. I put away the binoculars and removed the other items from the briefcase. I assembled them into a rifle. After loading up the rifle, I looked through the scope. I lined up the crosshairs at a spot between the two Green Berets. The distance was considerable and I was using a silencer which tends to screw up the aim a little. However, I wasn't interested so much in accuracy as sending a message. I thought, However, the bullet went right where I wanted -- through the window and into the backseat. The Green Berets were frozen for a second, then they drove the hell off the street. The three of us were the only real witnesses to the shot. Some people in the building probably heard a snapping sound, but the real evidence was gone. I was already disassembling and packing my equipment. I headed back to my apartment, scratching my yet-to-be-washed hair. As I took a shower, I noted that I hadn't killed anybody yet, even though this was just about the tightest situation in which I had ever been. How long would this non-killing streak last? I heard the phone ring. I didn't have an answering machine, but I never rushed out of the shower for any call. The phone rang about ten times, then stopped. After I finished my shower and started to make breakfast, the phone rang again. This time, I answered it. "Hello?" I said, tucking the phone between the shoulder and my ear. "Okay, Alma. If you don't want to be watched, you won't be watched." "Hey, Alex. I guess you're going to be my intermediary between me and the smoking man." "And I suspect I will soon be your killer." "Uh-huh." I tended to the frying eggs with a spatula. "You're going against some raw power here." "I've been threatened enough already, Alex." "I'm not threatening you. I'm expressing my admiration." "Excuse me?" "I was once in your same position. I took on the Syndicate. Tried to blackmail them." "Oh, really?" "Didn't work out, though. In fact, I had to re-enlist to keep alive." "Well, I'm not interested in anything expect being alive." "More power to you if you can." Alex hung up. I kept the receiver pressed against my ear for a moment, then hung it up. I finished cooking my eggs, ate them, got dressed and stepped up to the next part of my day. Even though I was sure Krycek had called off the Green Berets, I kept looking over my shoulder as I headed to Championship Bods. I took a crooked route with a couple of quick detours just to be safe. I had gotten a spare key from Stapleton so I was able to let myself into the closed club. I was surprised to find Stapleton sitting by the main ring. He was still dressed in a suit, though his little black tie was loosened. He stared at his shoes as a cigarette burned between his fingers. "Don't you ever go home?" I asked. He looked up at me. The expression on his face gave me pause. I had never seen him look so sad. "I'm gonna close down the club," he said. "Hm?" "I'm getting out of this business." I just stared at him. "It'll have to stay open for awhile longer, though. I need to make sure all my gir...all the women who work for me find a new job. Good jobs." "You serious?" "Well, I just can't fire them, can't I? I mean, they'll have to do this shit for awhile longer, but...I'm gonna get them out. I'm gonna get them all out." "That's, uh...that's good." Stapleton nodded, then said, "Your friend is upstairs." I found Bayard lying on the couch. His eyes were closed and his breathing was very slow. As I said before, I wouldn't call him a handsome man, but there was something compelling about his features. Or, in this case, soothing. He looked so peaceful that I felt peaceful just watching him. I reached out to touch his cheek. His eyelids flew up. I yanked back my hand as if he was a hot stove. "I guess you do sleep," I said, sounding more nervous than I wanted. "Not in the usual sense," he said. He sat up on the couch in one quick movement. "So...I take it you have negotiated something with the Syndicate." "Sort of. Basically, I've got them guessing about what I have. For the moment, they're not risking a move." "I see." "So what do I have?" Bayard smiled and spread out his hands. "Me." "I know that, but...you said they would kill you if they knew of your existence." "That's correct." "You have a funny habit of being vague, but could you give me some idea of why it's like that?" Bayard looked at his knee for a few seconds, then shifted his eyes back to me. "The Syndicate have a decades-old agreement with...another group. The Syndicate's obligation in this agreement was to create someone like me." "But you said they would want to kill you." "It was never the Syndicate's intention to fulfill the agreement. At least, not until they were faced with no other alternative." "So they wouldn't want this other group to know about you." "That's right." "But if you were produced by their...experiments..." "I was." "...then couldn't they have made sure you wouldn't exist at all?" "The experiments have been closely monitored by the other group. I've been...passed between them several times. The Syndicate have done little things to sabotage the experiments, making sure their tinkering has been undetected. However, there is a problem. The top leaders keep their underlings in the dark about their true intentions. While the leaders struggle to create more time, their followers work diligently, never knowing they are not meant to succeed. The leaders have also underestimated the ability of their scientists. They thought that I wouldn't exist within ten years of the present date, even if the Project had been working at the highest efficiency. But, despite their attempts to stall, the Project has finally succeeded." Bayard crossed his hands behind his head and grinned. "You're looking at the final product. There have been others like me, but they were inferior creations. I am the real deal." "Aren't we modest." "I take it you understand what I've been talking about." "Not exactly, but your basic point is that if word of you gets out, then this other group is gonna be pissed at being deceived." "They don't get pissed. They'll just...start something." I remembered that word being spoken by Doctor Hayashida. I wanted to ask Bayard whether if she had meant that figuratively or literally. However, I also wanted to keep things simple. I was spending too much effort in attempts to wrap my mind around what I knew already. Instead I asked -- "Did Doctor Hayashida know what you are?" "She knew precisely what I am before anybody else in the Syndicate knew. It was her duty to terminate me upon understanding that." "Instead she hid you." Bayard looked wistful as if he was remembering a puppy he once had. "She had worked on other subjects before. However, those were just faceless people -- mere catalogued numbers. I was someone she had known for years. Even though she believed in the Syndicate's purpose, a sliver of conscience in her soul kept her from fulfilling her duty." "What was she planning to do with you?" "She didn't know. Just like you." I sighed and leaned against Stapleton's desk. Bayard watched me as I considered all my raw data. When I spoke, I asked, "Why was Hayashida leaking information to Mulder and Scully?" "They've been working to expose the Project for years. It's...quite a personal quest for them. It's always been personal for Mulder." "How so?" "His father was once a member of the Syndicate." "The hell...?" "He never knew about this until a few years ago." I still wasn't sure what Hayashida meant by a 'list.' However, I now suspected what Mulder was doing on it. And if Mulder was working against the Project, then obviously it was a personal conflict for him. But was he really working against it? And how was it 'personal' for Scully? I didn't expect Bayard to give me any answers. He seemed to enjoy his secrets too much. "Excuse me," I said. "I have to do something." "Of course." I walked up to the door, but stopped when I touched the doorknob. I looked at Bayard and said, "Stapleton is acting a little funny. Did you have anything to do with that?" "He now sees himself as others see him." "He didn't know that before?" "He knew others despised him, but he couldn't face why. Then I allowed him to see in the minds of his employees." My hand slipped off the doorknob. "You...you can do that?" "Anybody can do it," Bayard answered with his ever-present smile. "He didn't know he was reading their minds, though. He just became aware o f a new perception. I believe it has changed him." I looked at the door, then back at Bayard. "So anybody can do it?" "Do what?" "Read minds." "Humans barely understand their own possibilities." The smile vanished and Bayard had another rare moment of solemnity as he added -- "If they're lucky, they never will." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I borrowed some change off Stapleton, then went three blocks away to make a call on a public phone. After dropping a lot of quarters into the slot, I dialed a long-distance number I had copied from a file Krycek had given me. I hoped that the person I was calling wasn't out on field assignment. He wasn't. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder, my name is Alma Orozco. We've met before." "We have?" "Think about it." He did think about it. When he spoke again, his voice had an underlying tone of anger. "Your English has improved considerably, Miss Orozco." "Well, let's see if you have gotten any smarter. Meet me at the Smokers Only club in Los Angeles at eight o'clock tonight. You should be able to fly out here in time." "Wait, wait. Hold on. You have obviously been spying on me..." "And I found out who your leak is. She's dead. But I'm taking up her cause. Come here to Los Angeles and we can talk about it." "Why would I do that?" "Because if you don't, you lose your bite of the apple." I hung up. I then dialed a second number. This one was also given to me by Krycek. It was his number. After I gave him a message, I hung up again. I now had several hours to kill under the meeting at Smokers Only. I wondered if I had given the other people too much time. No, it was just enough. Just narrow enough to be urgent, just long enough to make them sweat. So until then, the main question was -- how do I pass the time? Go shopping. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Save your neck, "or save your brother. "Looks like it's "one or the other. "Ooooh, you don't know the shape I'm in." "Hey, Alma, how you doing?" "I'm doing...fine. Just fine." Besides me, there were a couple of other customers in the Planet. They were white guys looking deliberately under-dressed. I recognized them as a pair of would-be d.j.'s trying to make it in the club scene. "The d.j.'s help to keep the vinyl market alive," Cornelius once told me. "Of course, it pains me to think of people deliberately scratching them up. Then, again, the more they scratch up, the more they have to buy later on." Cornelius wasn't looking at the d.j.'s. He was studying my face. He had obviously heard the reserve in my voice. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. I wondered what to say. Of all the people I was (fairly) close to, Cornelius had the least idea of what I did for a living. In fact, he had never shown curiosity about anybody's occupation. Stapleton knew about my job (though I wouldn't describe him as being "close.") He had the street grapevine to give him such information. And Farrah was sharp enough to pick up clues, though she hadn't voiced her suspicions to me. But Cornelius...I came to his store to shut out the rest of my life. I could never talk about being a hitwoman to him. However, I had to say something... "It's just a little problem," I said. "Nothing you have to worry about." Cornelius studied my blank, polite face for a moment, then nodded. "So, how did you like the Reinhardt album?" "I like it a lot." "Well, I'm about to buy a whole mess of records with him and Stephane Grappelli. If you want, I can hold them so you can..." "God, I envy you." Cornelius looked surprised, of course. "You've got everything you want right here, Cornelius. This is your dream and you're living it." "Well...I've been lucky. And I'm grateful for it all." "You should be. You..." I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I'm...I'm just saying things." "Are you sure you don't want to talk about something?" "I do want to talk. But my problem...I can't discuss it with you." Cornelius wasn't hurt by my refusal. He just nodded. It was just so ea sy for him to accept someone... I did some browsing at the Planet. I didn't buy anything. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Richie once told me that war is defined as much by a certain kind of inactivity as by violence. "Back in Korea, I spent a lot of time doing nothing. Beat being shot at, but it was also frustrating. You have this time on your own, but you can't do anything with it. All you can do is sit on your cot and read a book you've read five times before. You realize just how different this is from home and how narrow your options really are." I was fighting a war in my own city. During the time before the meeting at Smokers Only, I could have done more shopping, gone to a movie, or anything. Instead, I spent most of the time brooding on my couch. I had the situation reasonably under control, but I was still trapped. My life had narrowed down to a very basic issue -- would I be alive by the end of the week? There was only one way to find out and only one place to find the answer. By seven-thirty, I was out of the apartment, grateful just to have things in motion again. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I was the first one to arrive at Smokers Only. The first wave of dubious characters were also there. I squeezed my way past gang colors and jutting breasts until I reached an empty round table in the back. I had called ahead to 'reserve' a spot. The table was set up just for me. Everybody knew what it was for. One person who didn't know was the old white man who entered. As with Alex Krycek, the patrons of Smokers Only kept their distance from this white intruder. They knew just from the man's eyes that this honky muthafucka was connected to some serious shit. He spotted me in the back. He waded through the growing clouds of smoke to the table. I envied him in that moment. He could have probably breathed in the air of Smokers Only without a single gasp. He stopped at the table, but didn't sit down. He looked at me with less sympathy than the last time we had met. "I do not like being ordered," he said. "I do not like being told where I should go." "Yet here you are." "You're pushing it, Alma." "Should I be afraid of being pushed back? Or are you afraid of falling over?" The smoking man started to reply, but then he noticed the chairs arranged around the table. I was sitting in one of them. There were three others, all empty. "Is someone else coming to this meeting?" he asked. "Yes. In fact...there they are now." He turned. I couldn't see the look on his face, but I did see the faces of the white man and the white woman coming our way. They had just spotted the smoking man. They halted six feet away from him. Man, the look in their eyes -- all that anger and suspicion. I was guessing that the three of them had met before. Then Agent Mulder turned his burning eyes at me. He marched over to the table with Scully behind him. She watched the smoking man as Mulder asked me -- "What the hell are you doing?" I stood up from my chair. "I'm here to welcome you to my world." Now Scully and the smoking man were looking at me as well. I faced their confused expressions and said, "I have obtained something that all of you might find a use for. Now, I don't know how you people do things on your side of the tracks, but around here, there are two options for a situation like this. One is that we can start shooting. That's always messy. If you want to avoid the mess, we can exercise the second option. That's the option I want to use at this moment." "What do you want to do?" Scully asked quietly. I pointed at the table. "Let's sit the fuck down." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX TITLE: SHE'S MY HEROINE (8 of 15) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PART EIGHT "SO. ALIENS." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "It's assassination day, I stalk my enemy like prey..." We all had to talk a little louder than usual, but the four of us managed to make ourselves heard over the music. I sat across from Scully. Mulder and the smoking man sat across from each other. "All right," Mulder said. "What do you have exactly?" "I won't tell you for two reasons. One is that I'm not completely sure what it is. Or what it means. Furthermore, even if I did understand, saying it out loud in front of him -- " I jerked my thumb at the smoking man. " -- might stimulate him to more aggressive actions." Mulder looked at the cool face of the older man who blew smoke back at the FBI agent. Mulder turned to me and said, "Maybe you don't have anything." "Would the Marlboro Man be here if I didn't?" "Actually," the smoking man said. "I'm starting to have the same doubts." I grinned at him. "Did you find Doctor Hayashida's body?" He paused, then said, "Yes. We did." "She kept her mystery item in that cabin. I've learned enough about it to know it's very important to your 'Project.'" I looked to Mulder. "And it would give you the proof you need to expose the Project." "What do you know about the Project?" Mulder asked. "Not much. After all, I'm new here. What's more, I don't care." That wasn't true. I was very, very curious. However, curiosity needed to take a back-seat to survival. "All I care about is staying alive," I said. "Can the FBI protect me if I turn the item over to you?" "Yes," Mulder said firmly. The smoking man laughed. "Oh, come on, Mulder. Why don't you tell her about the last person who was under your protection? And have you found Gibson Praise yet?" The smoking man leaned towards me. "You know all about these two. They're jokes at the FBI. No one listens to them. They don't even have the X-Files anymore. They're just a couple of government employees whose main job is to track down fertilizer shipments." "If I give them what I have," I said. "then maybe nobody will laugh at them anymore." The smoking man lost his amused expression. He settled back in his chair and inhaled from his cigarette. "You would never get that far," he assured me, his words flowing out with dirtied breath. "I'm still ahead of you, aren't you?" I responded, then turned to Mulder. He had a fairly amazed expression on his face. I guess people don't usually talk so cocky to the smoking man and get away with it. I removed the amazement off his face by saying, "On the other hand, I'm someone who is not inclined to trust any law enforcement official." "Miss Orozco, whatever you may have done in the past..." "I'm assuming you looked me up on some database before you got here. What do you know about my past?" Mulder looked straight into my eyes. I noticed that his own eyes were an agreeable shade of hazel. When he spoke, his reserved voice had an undercurrent of warmth. "I know about Rollins Bay Prison. I know about the two prison guards. I also know that you are suspected of being a professional assassin. However, the fact remains that you are here with us. For whatever reason, you have gone up against the devil himself. I'm willing to trust you. And I believe you're willing to trust me." As I said before, Mulder was sexy. But not sexy enough. "Maybe I shouldn't trust anybody," I said. "Maybe I should just hold onto what I've got and find some other use for it." Neither Mulder or the smoking man had any reply to that. Then Scully spoke up. She had been quiet ever since the sit-down began. She had spent the time watching me. Strangely enough, she made me the most uneasy. I had trouble reading her guarded face. "I can understand why you wouldn't want to reveal your secret to this man," she said, indicating the smoking man with a dismissive gesture. "However, would it compromise you if Mulder and I knew your secret?" I thought about that, then said, "Do you need to know?" "I think it will push these...negotiations further along." I studied her face, but still couldn't penetrate through its calmness. I was glad that I wasn't playing poker with Scully. Since I couldn't see her feelings, I had to rely on the logic of her proposition. And it was logical. "All right," I said. "I'll show you." "Don't do it, Alma," the smoking man warned. "Shut up," Mulder told him. He started to get up. "Let's go, Miss Oro..." "You're staying here, Mulder." Mulder tightened up his body. "Scully will be the one coming with me." "Forget it," he said. "That's the way it has to be." "Give me one good reason." I looked at the smoking man. For the first time since he had walked into Smokers Only, he seemed amused. He said to Mulder, "As Miss Orozco once told me, 'O, reason not the need.'" "Fuck Shakespeare. I smell a trap. I think you and Orozco are in this together." "Mulder, I wish that was true. The fact is -- Miss Orozco is playing us against each other. And, so far, she's doing it quite well." "Even if that's true, I'm not letting Scully go in alone." He turned to me, still partially standing up. I noticed that he was quite tall. "I'm still waiting for my one good reason." "The only one who needs a reason is Scully." I looked to the female FBI agent. I tried to keep up a poker face to match hers. I doubt mine was as good. "You want to see what I've got or not?" I asked her. Scully touched Mulder on the hand and said, "I'll be all right, Mulder." She talked to him as if they were the only people in the whole club. I could sense the warmth between their touching hands. Sexy, sexy, sexy. He sat back in his chair, looked straight at me and said, "You know what happens if she gets hurt." I tried to think of a smart-ass comeback, but couldn't. Mulder turned to the smoking man and said, "Do I have to stay here with him?" "I'm leaving," the smoking man responded. He got up and shook his head at the speakers. "It's appalling what people listen to, nowadays." "I agree," I said, then stood up myself. "Time for us to go as well, Scully." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Scully did the driving. I gave directions from the passenger seat while keeping an eye on our rear. "See anybody following us?" she asked. "Wasn't expecting to. I already made sure the smoking man would keep his distance from me." "Then why are you looking behind us?" I shrugged. "Doesn't hurt." We went on in silence for another block, then Scully said, "I am very tempted to turn this car around." "I thought you trusted me." "Actually, I do. But I want to know why you don't trust Mulder." "Do you trust him?" "Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" I heard a defensive edge in her voice -- this was the first real crack in her poker face. She was angry at me for suggesting she couldn't trust Mulder, but scared that I might know something. I decided she had the right to know what I knew. "Is it true that Mulder's father used to work with the smoking man?" She gave me a quick surprised look, then resumed her poker face. "Yes. How did you know?" "Doctor Hayashida told me. She was your leak." "So I gathered. But whatever Bill Mulder did, it doesn't compromise his son." "Not according to what Hayashida told me. She said Mulder was on 'the list.'" "What do you mean?" "Hayashida wasn't specific, but she said that this list was made up of people who would survive some big event. 'Armageddon' was her exact word." I could see the muscles in Scully's throat slide up and down. "But...she didn't tell you anymore than that." "No. So what do *you* know?" Scully let out a long breath. "Since the late nineteen-fifties, there has been a secret project being conducted in this country for the purpose of conducting experiments...on humans." "I got that part. But how does 'armageddon' play into it?" "Mulder believes that...the project's main purpose is to create a hybrid race." "Between what? Human and animal?" "Human and alien." "Stop the car." "What?" "Stop the car and pull over." Scully did as I said. The moment the car came to a full stop, I opened the door and stepped out. I kept walking until I ran into a mailbox. I leaned against it and felt a bad headache coming on. "Stop it, you whiny bitch," I said out-loud. I walked back to the car, got inside and closed the door. I motioned for Scully to keep driving. After giving me a careful look, Scully put the car back into drive. "So," I said. "Aliens." "That's Mulder's belief." "Is it yours?" "I wouldn't discount it." "Is that a 'yes' or a 'no?'" Scully hesitated, then said, "I've seen things for which I can't give a explanation. At least, not an explanation which stays within what I have accepted in the past. However, even if I completely shared Mulder's beliefs, I have no real proof. Believing something and proving something are two different things." "Right. So why is the Syndicate doing this shit? According to Mulder?" "The Syndicate is in collusion with an alien species which plans to infect the world with a viral agent. This virus is a kind of biological parasite which overtakes a host organism and controls it. The alien-human hybrids will be able to resist such an infection. The Syndicate hopes to use hybridization to protect themselves." "If this thing is a virus, then why not just come up with a cure?" "They have a vaccine. In fact, it's been used on me." "No shit?" "No shit. And it worked. However, it is only effective within a certain time period. After that time period is up, the virus mutates into a whole new organism which gestates inside the human and eventually...expels itself." "You mean..." I coughed. "...like in 'Alien.'" "Yeah. Like in 'Alien.' Apparently, the Syndicate never knew that the effects of the virus would be so drastic. Unless they can perfect the vaccine, they are back to their original agreement -- assisting the aliens in colonization." That's when I realized everything. Bayard was a perfected human-alien hybrid. If the aliens found out about him, then it would all start -- this whole colonization-virus shit. That's why Doctor Hayashida was supposed to have killed him. I also realized what the 'list' was. It was made up of every person in the top echelon of the Syndicate and those with close ties to them. By having a father in the inner circle, Mulder got himself a shot at survival. That's why he was off-limits as a 'target.' Or so I figured. That fucking nicotine-addicted bastard thought he was doing Mulder a favor. And he was. I could have said all this to Scully right then, but I didn't. How could I have told her? "Oh, by the way, Agent Scully, your partner of six years has a chance to survive the apocalypse, but you don't. How does that make you feel?" The whole story was hard enough for me to take and I wasn't in the middle of it like Scully. I didn't want to be the one to tell her. Besides... "How much of this is true?" I asked. "All of it. Or none of it. For a long time, I believed that the alien story was just a fabrication deliberately created by the government -- a lie to cover a relatively more prosaic evil." "You mean, the human experiments." She nodded. "What do you think?" "Well...after all the shit I've been through...I can believe the powers-that-be are capable of anything. But, like you said...believing and proving are two different things. So, until I get some better proof, I'm going to hold out on believing Mulder's story." "What do you plan to do in the meantime?" "Live. Protect myself and those close to me." A sad look cracked open Scully's poker face. "What is it?" I asked. "Sometimes...you can't even do that, Miss Orozco." The rest of the drive was done in silence. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX TITLE: SHE'S MY HEROINE (9 of 15) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PART NINE "SHOOTING YOU WOULD BE A PIECE OF CAKE, THOUGH." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Scully was a bit surprised by where I took her. Naturally. "You're keeping your big secret here?" she asked, staring at a neon outline of a woman's body. "Can you think of a better place?" I replied. We entered Championship Bods. Scully winced at a squirming 'match' in the pudding-filled ring. I saw Stapleton sitting at the bar. He was drinking and looking at the entertainment with the same unease as Scully. If you had just met him, you wouldn't know he was the owner of the place. "Anything happen while I was gone?" I asked. "Nah. He's still up in my office." "Good." "He's, uh...he's a strange one, Alma." "Yep." "But he...I don't know...when I'm around him, I feel...peaceful. More than I feel right now." I just nodded. Stapleton noticed Scully with his bleary eyes. "Who's this?" "Don't worry about her." Stapleton shrugged and went back to his drinking. The Donovan Stapleton I once knew would have ogled Scully as he imagined her in a mud-covered swimsuit. He had definitely changed and just because he had met Bayard. I wondered, but pushed those thoughts aside again. I directed Scully towards the back door. "We're here to meet a person?" Scully asked. "Something like one, yes." As we walked up the stairs, I wondered what she was thinking. How would she react to Bayard? Would she be able to understand... /Mulder should be here. I'm sure he could understand whatever is behind that door.../ "Alma? Are you all right?" I had stopped halfway up the stairs. I thought. "I'm fine," I said. "Keep going." She raised an eyebrow, but she kept on walking. I opened the office door for her. Bayard was standing in the middle of the office. He acted as if he had been expecting us. "Good evening, Agent Scully," he said. Scully gasped. As I closed the door behind us, she stared at Bayard. I looked between the two of them and said, "What is this?" Still staring at Bayard, Scully said, "You...you look just like..." "I'm his son." Scully's expression became pained. An instant later, so did Bayard's. "I...see," he said. "What?" I said. "What is it?" "My father is dead," Bayard said quietly. He didn't look grief-stricken. Just uncomfortable. I turned to Scully who looked as confused as I felt. "Do you know what he's talking about?" I asked. "I do, but..." She addressed Bayard. "How did you know before I even said it?" "I can read your mind," Bayard answered casually, then shook his head. "Poor father..." "Who was your father?" I demanded to know. "Another top member of the Syndicate. Apparently, he chose a different path than the rest of the group and had to die because of it." I walked up to him and placed a hand on his arm. "Bayard, I'm sorry..." He smiled at me and squeezed my hand. Neither of us looked at Scully until she cleared her throat. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir," she said. "However, there are some matters still to be confronted..." Bayard gave me another grin. "More euphemisms." He turned back to Scully. "Yes, there are matters to be confronted. And questions to be answered. Unfortunately, your questions will have to wait." Scully started to frown. Not a good thing. "Sir, I believe my questions need to..." "Call me Bayard." Scully sighed. "Bayard...if you are important to the Project...and since you are a mind-reader, I would have to assume you are...then I believe you are obligated to answer my questions." "I am obligated to Alma's safety. She has put herself at great risk to help me. Before I divulge any information to you or Agent Mulder, I need to make sure she's put under the tightest protection." He held my hand while he said this. I held back. Scully watched the two of us with her stern, judging eyes. She said, "It has always been my intention to give you both the full extent of our protection." "Frankly, Agent Scully, your weak position in the FBI hierarchy makes your intentions little more than just that." "You seem to have picked an awful lot from my brain already, Bayard." "Enough to know you can't protect us. Not yet." "What would you need from me to be assured?" Bayard glanced at me, then said, "Perhaps Alma and I should talk alone for a moment." "All right. I'll be waiting downstairs." "Don't get too dirty." Scully showed her raised eyebrow to Bayard, then left the office. "Well, Alma..." "I had an interesting talk with Scully on the way here." "Really?" "She used certain words. Like 'virus' and 'hybrid.' And what else? Oh, yeah. 'Aliens.'" "Did she now?" Bayard's gaze did not waver from my face. "I kind of put together what she told me with what you told me. I figured out why you're so dangerous." "And?" "Well, is it true?" "Perhaps you should look into your heart and ask..." I reached up and clamped my hand under his chin. I squeezed my fingers into his cheeks. "Yes or no?" I whispered. Bayard paused for one moment, then he nodded. I dropped my hand. "So you're an alien-human hybrid." "A perfected one." "So you told me. And if the aliens learn about you..." "Then a colonization will start, a virus will spread, and so on." "That's why the Syndicate has to kill you." "Actually, they might not. These are desperate men. They might decide to let colonization commence." "Just to save themselves?" "And their families." "So...you are really dangerous to the whole world." "I suppose you could say that. Yes." "So maybe you should die." "Maybe," Bayard responded without batting an eye. "Of course, it probably wouldn't buy the world much time. Where one success was created, another one can be made. Still, time is time." He lifted up his hand and touched me on the chin. "Do you think I should die?" I jerked my head from his touch. "What are you doing?" "I'm just talking with you." "No, you're doing something to me." "What's that?" "When I was coming up the stairs, I heard Scully's thoughts. I told you that I don't want you in my..." I like to think I know an honest expression from a phony one. The surprise on Bayard's face shut my mouth. "You...heard Scully's thoughts?" he said. "That's right." "But...Alma, I didn't do anything to you, I..." He touched me on the cheek. This time, I didn't pull away. "Well, if you didn't do anything, what is this about?" I asked. "It's about connections. You and I have one now." I stood in front of Bayard with him holding my hand and touching my cheek. I couldn't look away from his eyes. I raised my hand to touch him on the face. Then he jerked his head towards the door. He looked like a cat who had just heard a strange noise. "What is it?" I asked. "Someone is coming," he answered. My free hand went to my gun. "The Syndicate's men?" "No. No, this is...someone else. It's hard to tell exactly. There are so many people downstairs...blocking me..." He concentrated until he got his information. "They're not looking for me. They're looking for Mulder and Scully. You'd better get down and warn her." I ran downstairs, but I was too late. I saw Scully sitting at the bar. I also saw a man and a woman walking towards her. Scully looked at the approaching people and I didn't like the expression on her face. I had to eavesdrop. Walking as casually as I could, I went up to the bar and seated myself ten feet away from them. It was just close enough to hear their conversation. "What an interesting place to find you, Agent Scully," the man said. "Ask me if I'm here to audition and I'll knock your block off, Spender." I risked a glance in their direction. Spender had a face which was made to be pensive. He was directing a smirk at Agent Scully. , I thought. The woman standing next to Spender was dark-haired and taller than Scully. She also looked displeased with Scully, but in a more subdued way. It was as if Scully was an annoyance -- a bit of food which you can't free from between your molars. "Before you compound your difficulties by assaulting a fellow agent," Spender said. "tell me where Mulder is." "Somewhere around L.A. Tell me why you're here." "To find you and Mulder. To find out why you chose to take an unauthorized trip to Los Angeles. To find out who called Mulder at the FBI from a pay phone nearby here." Damn. They traced the call. Then they must have spotted Scully's car outside the club while searching the area. However, that still didn't explain why Scully's fellow agents came after her. What's more, Spender looked familiar to me. I couldn't figure out how. "So you just decided to come barging in, not knowing what the situation was," Scully said. "If anybody 'barges' into anything, it's Mulder. And your A.D. is certainly entitled to know what the situation is. I'm here to make sure you explain everything to Kersh." Before Scully could reply in a presumably nasty way, the dark-haired woman spoke up. "It's really for your own good," she said as if she was addressing a child. "And for Mulder's good as well." Scully looked between the two agents. A woman fell into the pudding. The crowd cheered. "All right," Scully said. "Let's find Mulder and we can all talk together." It was the best she could have done at the moment. She had to get Spender and the woman away from Bayard. She started to walk towards the door. As Spender followed her, he took a faintly curious look around the club. Probably his first time in a place like this. He saw me. When he stopped in his tracks, I realized where I had seen him before. This was one of the new agents handling the X-Files -- him and the dark-haired lady. The agents who worked in the basement. Right next to the janitorial staff room. He must have passed me a dozen times in the basement. He had never known my name, but he knew my face. And here I was, sitting in a club with Agent Scully. "Hold on a second," he said to Scully and the dark-haired woman. Then he walked towards me. So what to do now? I doubted my 'poor English' routine would work here. And if the FBI contained me, then I would be easy pickings for the Syndicate. That would lead them straight to Bayard. I should have jumped off my seat when I heard Bayard's voice in my head. However, it felt so natural. Just as it felt natural to hear the thoughts of other people... Scully -- Spender -- The dark-haired woman -- It was the dark-haired woman's thoughts which really decided my actions. Spender didn't know it, but she had her own game going. I needed to get off her game board. Spender was right in front of me now. "Excuse me," he said. "but you need to come with me." "My thoughts, exactly." I whipped out my gun and shoved it into his gut. I then removed the gun from his holster. Scully and the dark-haired woman couldn't see my gun, but they did see Spender's neck stiffen. When I forced him to spin around and started marching him towards the door, they figured out what was going on. The dark-haired woman reached under her jacket. Scully grabbed her arm and hissed, "No! Not in here!" The two women glared at each other. Scully kept her hand locked around the dark-haired woman's arm. Then the dark-haired woman pulled her empty hand out of her jacket. She watched with Scully as I prodded Spender out of the club, making sure he was facing the dark-haired woman. As for everybody else, they were too engrossed in the pudding-fight to notice me. "Where's your car?" I muttered as I pushed Spender down the sidewalk. I couldn't read his mind anymore. Apparently, the further Bayard got away, the weaker our "connection" got. I hoped he was far, far away at this point. "Over there," he said in a flat voice. He was keeping cool. Good for both of us. "You drive," I said. He got out his keys and unlocked the doors of his car. He took the front seat. I sat in the back. As he drove away from Championship Bods, I quickly looked back. I saw Scully and the dark-haired woman step out of the club to watch us go. "Where are we going?" Spender asked. "To the company picnic," I said, slouching out of sight as I kept my gun pointed at his neck. "Just keep going straight ahead." "I should warn you -- kidnapping a federal agent needs a better plan than that." "Shooting you would be a piece of cake, though. Now shut up." Spender did as I said, but he had a point. I did need a better plan. Furthermore, Scully and Mulder were going to have a very rough time convincing the FBI to deal with the woman who had kidnapped one of their agents. I had lost the balance I had created between the FBI and the Syndicate. So what now? First, I had to find out what the deal was with Spender. After we had gone a few blocks, I said, "So why are you here really?" "I can speak now?" "Don't get cute. Just answer my question." Spender paused, then said, "Mulder and Scully came to Los Angeles for reasons not made clear to their superiors. I was to track them down and make them explain themselves." "I got that. But why send you? Aren't you working on the X-Files? Shouldn't you be busting ghosts or something?" "My job is to protect the integrity of the FBI." "Ah. So you're a pet dog they sic on trouble-makers." Spender glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Oh, stop it. You're making me feel bad." "I was just making an observation. Who's C.G.B.?" "What?" "C.G.B. He's the guy you work for, right?" "Lady, I kind of assumed you were crazy when you pulled the gun on me, so you don't need to give me any more proof. What the hell are you talking about?" "I'm just saying you should talk with your lady partner." "Agent Fowley?" "If that's her name, then yes." "What I should talk with her about?" "Just about who she answers to." Spender became silent. I didn't need to be a mind reader to see his uncertainty. I think I struck a nerve for him. Who did he trust nowadays? Judging from the thoughts I had read, he wasn't involved with the Syndicate. Fowley was trickier to judge. If she was involved, she hadn't come to Los Angeles because of me. They were here strictly to rein in Mulder and Scully. In other words, they didn't know what they had stepped in. I wondered how to turn that to my advantage. However, I also had to think about where I was going. Fowley was undoubtedly contacting the police and warning them of a hostage situation. I needed to find a safe place quick. And I had to take care of Spender. "Pull into the alley," I said. Spender did as I told him, but I could see the tension flowing over his body. After he parked the car and turned off the engine, I said -- "You have handcuffs?" He nodded. "Pull them out. Slowly." After he had done that, I commanded him to cuff himself to the steering wheel. The metal bracelets went click. I leaned forward and pressed the gun against his cheek. I felt his body's shiver through the gun. Then I felt him relax as I plucked the keys out of the ignition. I checked over the key ring to make sure the key to the handcuffs was there. (I know a handcuff key when I see one.) Then I leaned back and said, "I'm leaving you here. Also, I'm *not* running away from Los Angeles even though I should. You know why?" "I guess you've got business here." "That's right. Very big business. So big that you should take a look around and find out what is actually happening in your world. And if you meet a cigarette-smoking man, don't trust him." Spender sat up straight. That's when I saw images. Beforehand I had just picking up sounds from people's heads. Now I could see -- I was shaken by the images. However, I was even more disturbed by the final image -- not for what it was, but for the way it was cut off. It was as if there was a guard in Spender's head denying him and any interlopers access to the memory. "You're in it deeper than you think," I said, then left the car. I jogged away from the alley. As I turned a couple of blocks, I passed by a group of drunken tourists, a man sitting in a doorway with vacant eyes, and a stray cat. I also passed by a cop, hoping he didn't notice the bulges of the two guns under my jacket. He didn't, but there was a good chance that he or some other cop would find Spender in the alley very soon. I needed to get some transportation before then -- a bus or a cab or a pogo stick. I needed to locate Bayard. I needed to figure out a way for us both to survive. I needed to confront this whole 'colonization' business. I needed to shoot the smoking man. I needed to rest. I needed to go back in time and steer myself from my plans to kill Huxford and Mulligan. I needed everything to be different. That was then. Right now, I need a copy of "Django Reinhardt and Stephane Grappelli -- Collected Singles." You wouldn't happen to have one, would you? XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I did manage to get a cab. I took it within a mile of my final destination and walked the rest of the way. It took a lot of knocking for Richie to finally allow me in his house. I used the back door this time. I figured he would be in bed now and the back door was closer to his bedroom. I was right. The back door led to his kitchen. Wearing a bathrobe, he shuffled into the kitchen on a cane. After he opened the door for me and I walked in, he said, "This is bad, isn't it?" "Yeah." "It's the government people, right?" "That's right." "So...why have you come here?" "Does Joe Balaban still owe you a favor?" "Yes. He does." "I'm asking you to call it in for me." Richie sighed. "I don't know. If the government is involved, Joe may want to stay away from you." I had to smile. "Come on, Richie. I came to you because I knew Joe couldn't resist a chance to stick it to the goyim." Richie smiled in return. "Point taken. But you have to tell him what's the problem." "I plan to do that." Richie's eyes focused directly on my face. "Well...the main gist of it, anyway." "Are you going to tell him you did something stupid and that's why you're in trouble?" "And what makes you think I did that?" Richie just looked at me. "Okay. I guess I won't tell him that." Richie nodded. "I'll call him up." "Actually, I would like to do it in person. Does that car in your garage still work?" "It's old, but it runs." "Then let's use that." "Very well. I'll get dressed." He shuffled back towards the bedroom. "Don't take too long," I said. He halted and looked back at me for a few moments. Then he continued on his way. I thought and felt a hurt unlike I had since Rollins Bay Prison. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Joe Balaban greeted me with a hearty voice and perfect Spanish. I replied cordially in the same tongue as he hugged me. "It's been so long since I've seen you, Alma!" he declared. "Unfortunately I fear these are not the best circumstances." "You fear correctly." Balaban nodded. "Well, take a seat and tell me all about it." Joe, Richie and I all sat down on soft furniture. We were all in Joe's handsome living room with its nicely coordinated arrangement of brown and black colors. If the patrons of Smokers Only modeled themselves on music videos, then Joe Balaban was out to prove the authenticity of "The Godfather." That he remembered what it was actually like in the old days of the Mafia didn't deter him. I told him my story. My particular telling re-arranged and omitted some details, but as I said, the basic gist was true. I had been hired by the government to do a job and they wanted to kill me for what I knew. After I was done, Joe slapped his thigh and said -- "That's just like the government, isn't it? Always screwing you. Right, Richie?" "Right," Richie said in a deadpan voice. "They're always going on and on and on about how we are the corrupt ones. We haven't done a tenth of the shit they've done. Am I not right?" "You're right again, Joe." "Well...anyway...I take it you want protection, Alma." "For myself and another person," I said. "Hopefully it will be for a short period of time. It is not my intention to inconvenience you." Joe waved his hand carelessly. "Alma, if you want protection from the government, I will give it to you until the day I die. And if one of those bastards tries to hurt you after I'm dead, then I will rise up like a golem and strangle him." "You honor me, Mr. Balaban." "My actions are done out of respect to you and Richie here. Now, you mentioned a second person..." "Yes. We got split up tonight. I need to go back out there and find..." One of Joe's henchmen stepped carefully into the room. "Sir? I know you're having a meeting, but..." "What is it?" Joe said. "There's some Englishman at the main gate. He won't leave. He says he's looking for Miss Orozco." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX TITLE: SHE'S MY HEROINE (10 of 15) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PART TEN "THIS SHOULDN'T SURPRISE ANYONE." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "I told you we had a connection." This was what Bayard said to me as we sat together on a bed. He was now an official guest in the Balaban mansion. After I had explained who the man at the gate was, Bayard had been allowed to enter. "Welcome to my home!" Joe had declared. "Any friend of Alma's is a friend of mine!" "I am honored to be here, sir," Bayard had replied with a honest grin. "Hey, get a load of that accent! I love it!" Standing behind them, I had rolled my eyes. I should have know that those two would hit it off. Then Bayard had turned to Richie. "You must be Mister Dayton," Bayard had said, approaching him with an outstretched hand. "I am grateful for your help, sir." Richie had just nodded as he shook Bayard's hand. After that, I had asked Joe to be alone with Bayard. "Of course," Joe had said. "Use the guest bedroom." Then he had winked at me. The first thing Bayard wanted to talk about was our 'connection." "How else could I have gotten here?" Bayard said to me. "You're in here now..." He touched his forehead. "...and I am in here." He reached over, but stopped his hand just a hair's-width from my head. "I guess you're right." I wasn't paying a lot of attention to him. I was evaluating, planning, trying to make a decision about the future. "And it happened without me doing anything." "Right." Bayard lowered his hand. "Don't you find that a wonderful thing?" "Yeah, it's all very fucking wonderful. Now just let me think, okay?" Bayard looked as if I had just slapped him. "Don't be dismissive about a miracle, Alma." Now I was paying full attention to him. "I don't care about miracles," I told him. "I don't care about telepathy or conspiracies or aliens, either. I only care about surviving." "Why?" It was my turn to look slapped now. "Why?" I echoed. "Why do you want to live?" "Well, who the hell wants to die?" "Suicidal people." "I'm not suicidal." "Yet you're not really alive, either." I stared at him for a few moments, then I laughed. "What's funny?" Bayard asked. "I'm trying to remember what movie I heard that from. Maybe Robin Williams said it. He's always playing these carefree souls who teach people about the wonder of life." "Am I to take it from your sarcastic tone that life has no wonder?" I stood up and placed my hands on Bayard's shoulders as I looked at him. "I admit that I'm not exactly brimming with joi de vivre. That's because everytime I stop to smell the roses, I notice they're growing out of a corpse's ass. I'm a professional killer. I've seen what makes the world run. And I've seen what it does to people who step out of line. So unless you've spent three years at Rollins Bay Prison, I suggest you stop..." I cut myself off, suddenly feeling like an idiot. Here I was, lecturing about suffering and evil to a man who had been an experimental subject for who-knows-how-long. "Sorry," I muttered as I removed my hands. As they slipped away, he grasped onto them. His hold was strong and gentle at the same time. He pressed my palms together between his hands. "No need to be," he told me. "You've had a hard life." "Well...unlike you, I could make my own choices. Some of them, anyway." "And if someone else had your experiences, what choices would he have made?" "I can't say. Of course, after what you've been through, you seem very...chipper about things." Bayard showed me that smile I was liking more and more. "I wouldn't describe myself as 'chipper.' I do feel sad most of the time." "You don't act it." "I smile because I see so much wonder in the world. I'm sad because nobody else sees it. Not you, not the smoking man, not any of you." "Then tell me. What should I be looking at?" "There's a plan, Alma. I'm not talking about the Syndicate's plots. I'm talking about a wider story of which their machinations are only a small part. I've only begun to understand it myself. I've merely seen scant pieces of the whole. However...what I've seen...it takes my breath away." I believed him. At least, for a few seconds. You needed to be there. You needed to see that smiling face and those eyes which promised so much knowledge. However, I said to him, "You may be right. There might be some big cosmic plan. Right now, though, I'm more concerned with creating a plan which can get us out of trouble." He nodded. "Of course. That's what I love about you, Alma. You are still rooted to this world." Did I just hear him say that? Did I just hear him use the word 'love?' As I stared at him, he released my hands. "So...what is your plan?" he asked. I became very conscious of my heartbeat. I had to take a few moments to settle myself down. "The plan..." I said. "Yes...well...it can't include Mulder and Scully anymore." "Why not?" "Because they've now been publically associated with a professional killer. Whatever is left of their reputation has been flushed down the drain." "Have they been associated with you?" "Well, Scully and I were found in the same place..." "But you weren't actually seen talking with her." "Hm. No. Not by Spender or Fowley." "Then I wouldn't rule out Mulder and Scully yet." "I guess not." "You see? I'm not totally removed from the world." I smiled at him. "There's also another matter which concerns me." "What's that?" "The Syndicate might be unable to reach you within these walls, but what about your friends?" "Don't worry about them. I made it clear to the smoking man that any attempts to pressure me will backfire at him." "He might understand that, but he is only one man in the Syndicate, isn't he?" < Unfortunately, my absence has left me uncertain about a lot of the players. I'm not sure if I can rely on the obedience of those under me.> As I remembered the smoking man's words, my stomach churned. I ran out of the room without saying a word to Bayard. Joe and Richie were having a quiet conversation when I burst into the living room. "I need to get out of here," I panted. "I need to get out now." "What is it?" Richie said. "I think my friends are in danger." Joe said, "Well, if you think that, I can send someone.." "No. I have to check on them myself." "All right. But you're not going alone." I didn't. Two of Joe's men came with me -- cool, efficient guys who were skilled in breaking necks. Their presence did not comfort me, though. As one of them drove us all to my apartment building, I cursed myself for my over-confidence and thoughtlessness. I spent the whole ride dreading what would be seen at the end. And I saw exactly what I feared. Police cars were parked in front of the building. "Stay right here," I said to the two men after the car parked. "But, ma'am..." "Stay...right...here." I went into the building and up the stairs. I found policemen on the same floor where I lived. They were gathered around an apartment right next to mine. I wanted to rush over there, but I needed to stay away from cops. Instead I turned to Jim Powell. He was one of my least favorite neighbors on that floor. At that moment, he was standing outside his apartment and soaking in all the details of the scene. "What happened?" "Go ask them," he said, indicating the police. "I'm asking you." Jim's bald head gave me a displeased look, but he said, "Farrah got roughed up." "How is she?" Jim shrugged. "They just took her to the hospital. I have no idea how she is." I closed my eyes as imagination provided me with bloody images. "You know who did this, right?" I opened my eyes. For a startled moment, I actually wondered if Jim knew about the Syndicate. "Huh?" I responded. "One of her 'clients' did this to her." Jim smirked. "It was going to happen to her sooner or later. When you play with fire..." I had to leave right then. If I had stayed, I would have punched Jim right in the throat. As I said before, I didn't want attention from the cops. When I went back to the car, I told the driver to take me to Cornelius Gould's apartment building. No cops were there. Neither was Cornelius. I then ordered a trip to the Planet of Lost Records. I found Cornelius there. It was easy to see him in the fire's light. He was standing by a fire truck as hoses shot water on his burning store. The firemen had the blaze contained, but it was too late to save the store. Cornelius hadn't seen me yet. I could only see his back, but his limp arms and heaving shoulders told me enough. I wanted to embrace him and assure him everything would be all right. I couldn't do that, either. This time, it was because I couldn't face him. I couldn't tell him a lie like 'everything would be all right.' Instead, I just asked Joe's men to get me the hell out of here. I said nothing to Joe and Richie when I returned. Instead I went back to the guest bedroom. And Bayard was in the exact same spot where I left him. I stumbled onto the bed and began to cry. I felt a hand press against my back. It gently rubbed in a circle over my flesh. For a long time, I knew nothing except for the darkness of the pillow pressed my face, the wetness of my tears, and the sole comfort of Bayard's hand. When I came close to exhausting my tears, he finally spoke. "Tell me about Rollins Bay." I turned my face from the pillow to him. "Tell me about Rollins Bay," he repeated. "Why now?" I asked in a small voice. "Because it's time." I took a few minutes to settle myself down, then I sat up, wiped the tears off my face and told him everything. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "I was sent to Rollins Bay Prison after being caught with three ounces of marijuana. Because I used to hang around with gang members, I was deemed by the judge to be dangerous enough to warrant a three-year sentence. "You know something? On the day I was sentenced, there was some white guy from Beverly Hills who got sentenced in the same court for being caught with six ounces of marijuana. He received probation. "This shouldn't surprise anyone. "Anyway, he got sent home. I got sent to Rollins Bay Prison. I was nineteen years old. "What was I doing with the marijuana? I was planning to smoke it. I make no excuses for what I did in those days. I never hurt anybody. I did drugs, I stole a few cars, I broke a few windows, but I never killed anyone. I suspect a couple of my friends at the time had, but I was never involved in that. "It was after prison that I became a murderer. "We had gangs in the female correctional facility of Rollins Bay Prison. And, yes, we had lesbian rape between prisoners. However, most of the real down-and-dirty shit went on between guards and those of us in the cells. "They had a lot of 'parties' in there. The cells would be opened and loud music would be played and you were expected to 'dance' for everybody. Prisoners would get on a table and strip. They did Bangkok sex tricks with cigarettes and bottles. More than once, female prisoners had to fondle each other for the pleasure of the male guards. More than once, a guard fucked a prisoner right in front of everybody. "For a long time, I never had to participate in a 'party.' I'm not much to look at and I have an ability to avoid people's attention. "However, in prison, a cunt is a cunt is a cunt. At least, that's what Cole Huxford and Leroy Mulligan thought. "They were two of the guards working at Rollins Bay. One night, they came to my cell and they raped me. "In prison, sex between guards and prisoners is always rape, even if the prisoner consents. She has no power in any situation there. "This, however, was rape in any context. "From then on, I became their personal property. I started going to 'parties.' I never had to dance on the tables or fuck in public. Instead, Huxford or Mulligan would always keep one arm around me as they drank and cheered for the show. They would whisper in my ear about what they would do to me after the party was over. "They kept me, not because they thought I was a great catch. Nobody else wanted me. They kept me on just for the sheer pleasure of owning a human being. "I kept my mouth shut and took it. I knew there was nobody I could turn to. I knew that nobody on the outside cared for what was going on in here. The people on the outside *knew* what was going on. They just didn't care. And maybe they even approved. "Only once did I try to resist a rape. I got beaten and burned with cigarettes. I still have a few scars from that. Then I got tossed into solitary confinement for two weeks. After that, Huxford and Mulligan came to my cell. This time, I didn't resist. "This went on to about...the fourth month of my third year in Rollins Bay. Eventually Huxford and Mulligan found someone else to own. I was left to myself again. Soon I would complete my sentence. "I thought about what I was going to do after I got out. Eventually I discovered that I only wanted to do one thing. "I wanted to kill Huxford and Mulligan. "It's strange to find yourself changed like that. To get consumed with the desire to murder two men. I didn't 'burn with rage' at them. It was as if something just clicked in my head. Thinking about killing them became as natural as eating breakfast. "The three years were completed. I was released and the state set me up with a janitorial job at a software company. On my first weekend, I went to see Richie Dayton. "Richie Dayton...one of the best professional hitmen ever to work in organized crime. A man who had known Meyer Lansky as a teenager. I had heard about him and somehow I knew he was just the person I needed to see. "I showed up at his doorstep one day. Of course, he was surprised to find this twenty-two-year-old Hispanic woman wanting to talk with him, but he allowed me in. "'What do you want?' he asked. "'Teach me how to be a good killer.' "'Why?' "'Because there are two people I want to kill.' "He thought about it, then he said, 'Your whole life will have to change. I can't teach you just how to kill two people. You have to be something more than just a murderer -- you have to be a professional.' "I agreed. So that's how Richie Dayton took a young female ex-con and trained her to be an assassin-for-hire. Five days of the week, I emptied baskets and mopped floors. On weekends, Richie Dayton taught me the secrets of his trade. I also paid regular visits to state review, just to assure them that I was becoming a model citizen. "A year or so went by like this. Then Richie told me it was time to do my first hit. Not Huxford and Mulligan. I was hired to kill by one gang to kill the leader of another gang. "It went down smooth. So smoothly that Richie was surprised. 'You're better than I ever was,' he said. "That was it. I was now officially a hitwoman. "So now it was time to kill Huxford and Mulligan. "That went down smooth, too. "I don't look back at it with any particular satisfaction. I didn't feel any real satisfaction then, either. I wasn't expecting to. It was just something I had to do. "I quit my janitorial job the next day. I told state review that I wanted to find other employment. They were suspicious, but they agreed. "'Officially' I'm still looking for employment. But the cops know. And the feds know. They know what I do. They just can't prove it, just like they could never blame me for Huxford and Mulligan's deaths. What's also kept them off my back is that I only assassinate criminals. As for Huxford and Mulligan...I'm sure the cops figured out what they were doing. Maybe the cops even think that the two of them got what they deserved. "That's not to say they wouldn't toss me back into Rollins Bay if they could. "So that's the story of how I became a hitwoman. What do you think?" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I don't think Bayard blinked once the entire time I told my story. When I asked him what he thought, he responded with silence at first. Then he said -- "That explains partly why you're here. However, it doesn't explain why you spared the life of Doctor Hayashida." "Yeah, well..." I wiped at my eyes. "You seem to know why I did it." "I do." He placed a hand on my cheek and gently turned my head in his direction. I felt like that hand was embracing my whole body. I could see nothing else except Bayard's kind face and could only hear his voice. "You spared her life because she turned to you in her time of need. Even as you pointed a gun at her head, she could see enough decency in you to know that you would do the right thing." I swallowed and said, "I had...I had never killed anybody like that before. My other victims had all killed somebody else. As far as I knew, Doctor Hayashida was completely innocent." "She wasn't. And you certainly aren't. However, what matters is that she needed your help. It was an act of desperation on her part, but it was all she could do." He leaned in closer to me as he spoke. I could feel his breath against my skin. I could barely speak. "But...why did I..." "Because your help *was* needed. And nobody had ever needed your help before. Not like that. Someone was giving you their trust out of mad hope. It was a generous gift you couldn't turn down." There was now only a half-inch between our noses. Brown eyes were looking into my eyes and through them. "Now I have a gift to give. Will you accept it?" "Yes," I whispered. He nodded, tilted his head and kissed me. I won't say much about what happened next, other than it was perfect. I can safely say that I will never have a pleasure as complete and rich as fucking Bayard. It wasn't just the physical side of it. As we made love, I could see things... Those were the things of the past. In the present... And the future... All these images flowed through my mind as easily as water through a creek. As Bayard pressed his lips against my breasts, I touched upon something which I couldn't understand and Bayard barely understood at all. It was as if we had found a line connecting all things -- a line which linked the already-happened and the yet-to-be. The book of the world was open for our understanding. Whatever they had been trying to do to Bayard, they hadn't been expecting this. He was now a window. When you looked through him, you could see the vista of time. What I could see, I couldn't comprehend. I only knew that it was beautiful. So was Bayard. "So are you," he said. How did this happen? How could I have created this link with him so quickly? Why could I now share in his thoughts and the hidden knowledge of the universe? I didn't care. I still don't. All I know is that this link was as sensual as our love-making. Not everything I saw was good. Some of the images were horrifying. However, the sheer act of seeing these things...the blessing of this knowledge...it was enough to overcome the horror. I reveled in it as much as the thrust of Bayard's cock. One last image was given to me as we both achieved orgasm. I could see both of us standing in the water. Bayard had his back turned to me as he looked at the sun. I was holding a metal object. After we had finished making love, we cuddled. That's right. We cuddled. We held onto each other as if we were prom dates. We were entitled to it. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX TITLE: SHE'S MY HEROINE (11 of 15) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE AUTHOR'S NOTE: Remember when Gillian Anderson thanked only her family in her Emmy speech? She didn't intend to snub anybody, but she found out that it was perceived as being so. I think I feel a bit like she did, because I've forgotten to publicly thank the two people who helped Beta my story -- Andrina and Andrea. Thanks, folks. I'll try not to forget next time. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PART ELEVEN "TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Scully, it's me." I heard a moment of silence from the other end of the phone line, then a flat voice said, "Yes?" "Are you alone right now?" "I am." "We need to get together." "No, Alma. You need to turn yourself in." "I don't think so." "You kidnapped a federal agent..." "He's all right, isn't he?" There was another moment of silence, then Scully said, "He's fine. But you committed a serious crime." "And you let me do it." "I did *not*..." "You kept that other agent from shooting me, right?" "Only to keep a firefight from breaking out in that club. And I suspect you could have killed Agent Fowley without even trying." "Would you have minded that?" Scully sighed. "Alma...the fact is that Mulder and I can't help you anymore." "Yes, you can. Does anybody know why you came here in the first place?" "No. Mulder and I are saying we were investigating a leak from a pharmaceutical company based here in California. Which is true as far as it goes." "What about Stapleton?" "He's been thoroughly questioned by Fowley. He hasn't said a word. He refuses to admit that you and I came into his club together." I had to smile. The little creep came through. "Okay. So you and I can still meet up." "And the smoking man, too?" "No. He's out." "Really? Have you decided to go with our side?" "Let's just say the smoking man has pushed the wrong buttons." "Does this have something to do with your next door neighbor?" "Oh. You've heard about her." "I have. I'm sorry." "Well, she's not the only friend of mine who has been hurt tonight." "You should have seen this coming." "Yes, I should have. So are we going to meet up or what?" Ten seconds went by with no word from Scully. "Agent Scully?" "Mulder and I would be risking a lot if we were to meet you. We would be risking our whole careers." "Actually, I just want you to be there..." "No." The firmness in Scully's voice denied me any chance to argue. "We both come. I don't know why you are so suspicious of Mulder, but it's time you told both of us." I thought. "All right," I said, then gave her the address to an all-night diner. "Can you get there in an half-hour?" "We can make it. Is Bayard coming with you?" I looked at the man sleeping in bed. At least, I assumed that Bayard was sleeping. His eyes were closed. "No. I've got him in a safe place for now. He'll stay here for the time being." "Fair enough. I'll see you in an half-hour, Miss Orozco." "Thank you, Agent Scully." We both hung up. , I thought. "Takes one to know one," Bayard said. I turned to Bayard. His eyes were still closed, but he was smiling. "Do you ever sleep?" I asked. "I rest. But sleep? Not really." I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my hand across his perfect chest. "My alien chemistry makes me resistant to disease," Bayard said. "It keeps me..." I pressed my fingers onto his lips. /If that's what you want./ /We all have the ability./ He touched me on the forehead. /There are aspects of the human mind which are still undeveloped. Your contact with me has awakened your ability.> /No. I haven't. That's the mystery, I guess./ I laid my head on his shoulder. He massaged my lower back. /I saw them, too./ /Yes, but lately it's gotten stronger./ /No. I didn't. I never anticipated the way you came into my heart./ I kissed him on the lips. He held me closer to his body. /They should./ Bayard smiled. /Are we making the future as we speak or has the future already been made for us to enter?/ /I'm afraid so./ I sighed, then gently pushed away from his body. "Well, whatever the future, I know what I have to do now." Bayard opened his eyes. "That's what I depend on you to do, my love." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX {Oh, my, look at the glow in this girl's cheeks. What fun she must be having with that Englishman.} I almost blushed when I heard Joe's thoughts. "Joe, I'm going out," I told him. "Again?" "I have an appointment to keep." I looked around the living room. "Where's Richie?" "He left awhile ago. The old man needs to go to bed." Joe yawned. "So does this old man. We've been talking a lot about you." "Oh, really?" "He cares about you very much, you know. He worries that this Englishman is causing you more trouble than you need." I saw an image of Richie in Joe's mind. "She's involved in something real dangerous," he was saying. "Danger is part of the job for an assassin, but this..." "I hope you both understand that this is my problem," I said to Joe. "And I'm trying to do what's best." "Of course, of course," Joe replied. "And I'll back you up all the way. But Joe...well, you're the closest thing he's got to family in this world." "I know." Joe nodded, then kissed me lightly on the forehead. "You go out and take care of business, Alma. But don't go out alone." "I won't. Thanks for everything, Joe." It was almost midnight when I left Joe's mansion. The same two guys who came with me last time rode with me again. They had only gotten a couple hours of sleep, but they didn't mind getting sent out again. They had been trained to follow Joe's orders. They didn't even look tired. I felt tired, though. Yet energetic as well. It was as if my mind was pushing me onward, despite the protestations of my body. Something had been sparked inside my brain, all right. I had assumed that my mind-reading ability would fade away the further I got from Bayard. Instead I retained the ability. As I was taken to the diner, I caught the stray thoughts of people up late in Los Angeles for their own reasons. Women were working the third shift in a garment sweatshop. An audience was cheering for "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." In a club, a jazz musician blew dreamy notes. In an alley, a man strangled another man to death. And I could sense him -- the son of a powerful conspirator who had bargained with otherworldly forces; the human transformed into something beyond human and alien; the man I loved. I couldn't read his thoughts, but I could sense what he felt. I could taste the love he had for me. The connection between us was now complete. When we had made love, it had fully opened the conduit between our two minds. I now shared his gifts and all the wonder which came with them. Had this connection been strengthened sooner, I might have prevented the disaster headed my way. If my abilities had been less erratic before, I could have learned somebody else's plans. Or would I have tried? He had known what was coming, but hadn't done a thing to stop it. Could I have seen things from his perspective? I don't think so. In the end, we were two very different people. I was a killer. He was a victim. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Two different people were sitting in a diner. I could sense their thoughts as Joe's man drove the car up to the curb. Their minds worked in different ways. One bounced in random directions, jumping from one obscure fact to another. He would take these facts and mix them together into some kind of odd pudding. She stayed within boundaries. Those boundaries were long and wide, but they didn't allow for sudden leaps. She worked carefully and cautiously, always ready for the trapdoor inherent in any supposition. I could see people in their memories...people whom they associated with loss and pain...a man bleeding to death on a bathroom floor and whispering, "Forgive me."...another man mouthing words as he sits in a chair...a woman with long red hair and an understanding smile...a little girl with a strange, solemn face...another little girl floating away in a beam of light... I saw how they looked at each other with a great deal of aggravation. He was frustrated by her stubborn adhesion to conventional facts and her inability to accept the fantastic, no matter how evident it was. She was irritated with his recklessness along with his tendency to be suspicious of everybody one instant and absolutely trusting of the most dubious people the next. I saw how very, very much they cared for each other. As I got closer to the diner, I wondered how they would react to my information. Would he feel vindicated? Or would he be shocked by how an entire conspiracy had been constructed for his sake and a few others? Would she be frightened by my revelations? Or would she be liberated by them? How would they look at each other from then on? I would never find out. Just before the car pulled up, I heard other minds -- the minds of people waiting in the shadows. After Joe's man parked the car, he turned to me. He was surprised to see me with my eyes closed and my body stiffened. "Miss Orozco?" he said. I kept in that sitting position for a long time. Then I opened my eyes and said, "Wait right here. Don't do a thing." I got out of the car. I walked away from the diner. I heard the frustrated thoughts of spies. Something fucked was happening, indeed. It was time to look it in the face. I kept on walking until I made a turn into an alley. Krycek was waiting there in a car. He looked only mildly surprised to see me. I opened the door of his car, sat on the passenger seat and said, "Take me to your leader." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX TITLE: SHE'S MY HEROINE (12 of 15) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PART TWELVE "YOU WON'T SEE ME AT ALL." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX They relieved me of my gun and took me to a small room. I was kept there until morning. I managed to get some sleep by sitting in a corner. Again, I dreamed of being encased in ice. Eventually the same blank-faced men who took me here released me from the room. They took me to an elevator where we went all the way up to the top. On this floor, the walls were made of dark brown wood. They led me down a hallway, opened a door for me and prodded me into a new room. The room was full of old white men. Some were sitting in leather chairs, others were standing. A few held tea cups and a few smoked cigarettes. One of those was the smoking man who had recruited me. He stood near the fireplace, trying not to looked concerned. Krycek stood near him, definitely not concerned. I looked around at all these men and their remorseless eyes. "Well, la-de-da," I said. "The big cocksuckers themselves." This lifted a few eyebrows in the room. A man with a mustache stepped forward. "Good morning to you, Miss Orozco," he said, his voice buzzing with a German accent. "Good morning. Are you cocksucker number one?" He gave me a mild smile. "I am the...chief financier of our group. And while your bravado amuses me, it doesn't impress any of us." "I'm not being brave. I just feel very, very irritated." "Why? Did you expect any other outcome than this?" "Well, I wasn't planning on being here." I looked around the room. It was real quaint and comfortable. "So you guys are based here in Los Angeles." "Actually, our center of operations is in New York City. But we have meeting places in all major cities where we can gather." "Uh-huh. So why am I here?" "To clarify what you know about your friend Bayard. And, yes, we know about him. Judging from the description we have received of him, we know who his father is. We've made certain conclusions about him and you as well." I could hear the German's thoughts in my head. He stared at me, waiting for an answer. "They probably are, Mister Strughold," I replied. The other old men looked at each other, then back at me with even colder eyes. Strughold nodded in satisfaction. "We suspected that you had established a mental link with Bayard," he said. "Judging from the way you evaded our trap, we also assumed you had picked up your own mind-reading abilities from this link." "You mean, the trap you set for Mulder and Scully." Strughold shrugged. "We just passed our information to the FBI and they set about confirming it. If you had walked into that diner, the FBI could have disposed of Mulder and Scully for good. They would have been disgraced and beaten." I looked Strughold in the eye and said, "I don't think you can beat them, but I'm not going to help you try." He shrugged again. "It would have been...an extra bonus. Our main concern is Bayard. You may not know about the threat he poses..." "I know everything. The colonization, the virus, the hybrid program, all of it." A heavy-set man spoke up in a monotone voice. "That is dangerous information to know, young lady." "Since I'm a dead woman anyway, I don't really care. So shut your mouth, fat boy." "Alma, please..." the smoking man said, but Strughold held up a hand for silence. "You should be dead already, Miss Orozco," he pointed out. "Do you know why you're not?" I smiled. "You can't find Bayard. He flew out of Joe's coop." "Yes. I fear our agents may be the victim of a lawsuit from a gangster. They were most perturbed to find him missing. We should have moved on Mr. Balaban's house the moment we found out Bayard was there, but we were waiting for you to leave first." "You wouldn't have caught him in any case. He saw you coming a mile away." "Did he? Interesting." Strughold looked at the other men in the room. Then he turned to me and said, "You could find him, couldn't you?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "I probably could." "Then you should help us." "Really?" Strughold nodded. And I laughed. "I'm not sure you understand what's at stake," Strughold said, his quiet voice acquiring just an edge of sternness. "I understand that everything is turning to shit for you people. I'm laughing because you didn't see this coming. What else did *you* expect to happen?" Strughold paused, then said, "It is true that our collaboration with the colonists has been...difficult. However, we are trying to do our best with an impossible situation..." "What you are trying to do is make sure you're still in control. And if the shitstorm does hit, you'll be the only ones with umbrellas." The German was silent for a long time. Then he said, "Perhaps I shouldn't be the one to talk with you." He looked to the smoking man who took a breath, then walked over to a door. He opened it and said, "Over here, Alma." I remained on my spot. "Alma, please." I finally crossed over to him, feeling everybody's eyes on me. I went with the smoking man into a smaller room. He closed the door. "We can't have Bayard on the loose," he said. "Why? Are you afraid of your big ol' conspiracy getting discovered?" "Of course I am!" he snapped. "Can you imagine how the world would react if this information got out? And how do you think the colonists would deal with us then? It would mean a war of the most bloody kind. Our efforts keep such a conflict from occurring. You know why? Because...we...can't...win it, Alma. The only way we can win is by perfecting our vaccine. And if the aliens find out about Bayard, then that one chance has been lost for good." "So...Bayard has to die." "Yes. Because I don't want these men..." He pointed his cigarette at the door. "...to get their hands on him." "Are you serious?" "If they turn over Bayard to the colonists, they and their families will live. How can they turn down a chance like that? It's like you said, Alma. If nothing else, they want to be holding umbrellas." "Could you turn down the chance? What would you do to save Jeffrey?" The surprise on his face was brief yet intense. He then nodded. "Of course. You read his mind." "Yeah." I paused. "Sorry about what I did." He waved his hand in dismissal. "Jeffrey shouldn't have been there in the first place. He went after Mulder on his own accord. I'm afraid he needs some...preparation before he can fully accept his responsibilities." , I thought. As I thought this, I caught a fresh image from the smoking man's mind. I saw a blonde woman standing in a line of people, all of them facing a bright light. "Your wife..." I said. "What about her?" the smoking man replied with a frown. "You...you turned her over to the aliens." The smoking man took a long drag off his cigarette and let out the smoke slowly. Then he said, "Every man in that room had to give the colonists a member of their family. It was a way of ensuring our cooperation." "And how would Bayard's father feel about what you want now?" "I would expect him to feel what I would feel if my wife was in Bayard's place." I looked at him and said, "And you would...?" "Yes. I would." That's what he said, but I saw something different in his mind. I didn't tell him about it. Let the bastard find out for himself, I thought. "Now you're expecting me to feel the same way," I said. He walked right up to me. "Why shouldn't you? How long are you going to keep this up?" "Keep what up?" "Pretending you're something you're not. You may have surprised me with this little game of yours, but you surprised yourself even more, didn't you?" "Fuck you. You don't know me." "I know you wish things could have been different. Who doesn't? But there comes a time when you have to look at the here and now. You have to honestly examine yourself and see what you are. So what are you, Alma?" I slowly turned away from him. I walked over to a window and looked at the streets. I thought about the people crossing over the sidewalks. I thought about Farrah, Cornelius and myself -- all the lives in danger because of one man's existence. I realized that there was only one way to help us all. "If I'm..." I stopped myself. "Yes?" "If I'm going to...do this, I need a few things in return." "I can't guarantee your safety, Alma." "I'm not asking for that. I'm asking for the safety of my friends." I turned to the smoking man. "I should kill you for what happened to Cornelius and Farrah." The smoking man looked down at the floor. "That wasn't my idea," he mumbled. "I know. But I'm still holding you responsible. You make sure Farrah gets the best care. And the insurance people better not find a reason to blame Cornelius for the fire." "All right. Anything else?" "Yeah. One more thing." The smoking man looked back up. "I want the bastard who squealed on me." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX He was waiting for me in a windowless room while sitting in a chair. Richie Dayton looked at me as I entered the room. I looked back at him. The door was closed behind us. I realized what an old man Richie was. That sounds strange, but as I looked at his slumped, withered body in that chair, I thought...my god, what an old man. "So," he mumbled. "what do you want to know?" "Two things," I said, keeping my voice even. "How long have you known the smoking man?" "Not before you met him, if that's what you're thinking. It was after you told me you had been hired by him. I contacted him through...certain channels. Like I said, he's walked in our territory before." "I see. And you did this because...you wanted to keep a watch on me?" "That's it. That's it, exactly. The smoking man, he...he agreed to keep me aware of what was going on. He knew if something went wrong, then he needed somebody who was close to you." I sighed. "And, boy, did something go wrong." "Uh-huh. So when did you sell me out?" "When you were alone with...with that Englishman. After I got done talking with Joe, I found myself a phone, called up the smoking man and told him I had the information he wanted. But only on one condition." "That brings me to the second question. What deal did you strike with him? Protection for me?" Richie snorted. "No. Do you think I'm stupid?" He saw the surprised look on my face. "Come on, Alma. Once you cross these people, they never forget it. You can't negotiate shit with them." "Then what did you want? Protection for yourself?" Richie waved his hand in dismissal. "Why would I want that? I'm dying anyway." "Then what the fuck did you want?" I took a step towards Richie. "What could you have wanted?" "Information. About why this Bayard punk was so important." "And what did he tell you?" "Everything." I ran this word through my mind a dozen times before I accepted it. "Everything...?" "Yep." "Come on, Richie. Don't bullshit me. This guy is not just going to tell..." "He told me," Richie said and his eyes were angry. "He told me about this whole fucking colonization." "No. I...I can't accept..." "Why not tell me, Alma? What did he have to lose? I'm just an old hitman. Who is going to believe me if I tell the same story I heard?" "But you believed it." "Yeah. I did. It was too crazy to be a lie. Just about gave me a heart attack just listening to it." We were both quiet for a long time. "Was it a lie?" he asked. "No. It was the truth." "Well...good. Then I did the right thing." "You told them Bayard was at Joe's mansion." "Right. They must have set up some kind of listening post on you. Heard you plan your meeting with that FBI agent over the phone. The rest...well, you know." I nodded. "That smoking bastard...he figured you out well." "What do you mean?" "He knew that if you were told that the fate of the world hinged on one person, you wouldn't think twice about killing that person." Richie smiled without humor. "I've killed people for far less than that." "And you would sacrifice me in the process." It became quiet again for a long time before Richie said -- "I love you more than any other person. And sometimes I hate the fucking world so much I want to flush it down the toilet. But...there are things too big to ignore. When it came down to choosing between you and the whole damn human race...what else could I do?" "You did what was necessary. You did what I would have done. What I should have done from the very beginning." I reached under my jacket. "That doesn't mean I don't hate you." When he saw me pull out the gun, Richie didn't flinch. He looked calmly at the black metal in my hand. "You remembered your promise," he said. "I did. I said you would die before I did." "Keep your promise, Alma." I aimed the gun at Richie's head. I pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. It didn't do anything else. "I'm not planning on dying anytime soon, Richie," I explained to the shocked old man. "What do you mean?" he sputtered. "Don't you see the fucking sword over your head? They're not going to drop it now, but they'll do it. Just to get rid of you." "Not unless I get rid of them first." "Have you lost your mind? You can't go up against these people and win!" "You're wrong. I have a plan. That is, I know what *the* plan is." Before he could say anything, I told him, "You don't have to understand anything, Richie. Just this. They'll send you back home and leave you there. Like you said, there's no way you can convince anybody of your story. They'll allow you to have the few months left to you." I put away my gun. "As for me...I promised you wouldn't see me die. You won't. You won't see me at all. Ever again." Those were the last words I ever spoke to Richie. I turned and knocked on the door. It opened. I left the room. I was glad Richie didn't cry. That would have been so pathetic. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I met up with Krycek. "Sorry about how things turned out," he said. "Really?" "I would like to see somebody really stick it to the Syndicate. I do everything I can to assist them, but that's because I have no choice. But, deep down...I would like to see them take a fall." "Well...you might get that chance." "I doubt it." He paused, then said, "So...can you really track Bayard down?" "Easily." "In that case..." He pulled out a short metal rod from his pocket. "...you'll need one of these." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX TITLE: SHE'S MY HEROINE (13 of 15) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PART THIRTEEN "IF THAT'S TRUE, THEN WHY LOVE ME?" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Yes, finding Bayard would be easy. The "connection" could do that for me. It had strengthened to the point where it could lead me to him. However, that same connection would have told him instantly about my intentions. He should have ran the moment he felt me close. He didn't, though. I knew why. I found him at a little beach. It was still fairly early in the morning and it wasn't a real popular spot for tourists and surfers. There were no houses nearby and the road couldn't be seen past a tall thatch of grass. We were all alone there. He was standing in the water when I arrived. He was up to his waist with the morning sunbeams caressing his muscular chest. I stood at the shoreline for several minutes and studied him. I had never seen him look so beautiful. Of course, how long had I known him really? Two days? Three days? Seemed like a whole year of stuff had happened this week. After watching him for some time, I took off my shoes and socks. Then I waded towards him. My jeans wrapped tightly against my legs and the sand pressed against my toes. I stopped behind him. He hadn't budged an inch from his spot or said a word. I should have done it right there. Instead I had to talk first. "When did you know?" Bayard released a long breath. "I'm not sure. Not from the beginning, if that's what you mean. These...revelations I have...they come to me slowly." "Did you know...last night?" He nodded. "You said you loved me." "I did. I meant it." "How could you love me, knowing what you did?" Bayard looked down and skimmed his fingers across the water. "You have...decency inside of you. You have warmth." "You love me for that?" "No. That warmth is small compared to the coldness in your soul. Rollins Bay was too much for you. You could have only survived it by freezing your heart. If that coldness in you took on a physical form, it would become a winter storm capable of chilling the world." "If that's..." I stopped myself and closed my eyes. For a few seconds, I willed myself somewhere else. Instead I stayed in the water. I opened my eyes and said, "If that's true, then why love me?" He turned halfway to me and said, "A winter storm is a beautiful thing, Alma." That was the question I had asked myself before I got here. He was looking me in the eye now. The answer was "yes." /What other answer would it be?/ Bayard said to my mind. He turned around and faced the horizon. Ahead of him the water seemed to go on forever. /I was doomed to this fate from the start. But this story was never about me. It was about you. It was about you learning what's at stake. Do you understand now?/ /Do you understand what must be done?/ I pulled the rod out of my jacket. /And what is that, my love?/ I pressed a button on the rod. A stiletto sprang out. I stuck Bayard at the base of the neck. A spasm traveled over his body. The skin around the stiletto turned green. Then his body slumped. I stepped back as he fell into the water. I watched the body as it floated. I watched it as it began to dissolve. I watched it as it became a large green residue which spread out and mixed with the ocean. I plucked the stiletto from the mess just before it sunk. I was vaguely worried about poisoning the water. However, I realized that the remains would mingle harmlessly into the ocean. Bayard's life would mingle with the ocean's life and become indistinguishable. I pressed the button again. The stiletto ducked back inside the rod. I walked out of the ocean, put back on my shoes and socks, and went off to do one last decent thing. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Farrah smiled at me with her bruised face. Of course, she would. What else would she do? "Hi, Alma," she said. "Hey." I stood in front of her hospital bed, feeling useless to her. She noticed my still-wet pants. "Just gone swimming?" "Sort of. You doing okay?" She nodded. "The doctors say so." She looked at me and I looked at her. I couldn't read minds as easily as before. Ever since I had killed Bayard, the ability had been gradually fading away. However, I knew what she was thinking. "I'm sorry," I said. "What for?" I gave no reply. We had never talked about my life before. Why now? "You weren't the one who beat me, Alma. Whatever reasons those men had...they did it as their own choice. They can't blame anyone else. Neither should you." I knew she would say that. Maybe I could have believed it. But there she was, her once-strong body lying broken in a bed. "Have you heard about Cornelius Gould?" I asked. Farrah had met Cornelius once or twice. "No. What..." Her eyes widened. "Did something happen..." "His store burned down." She looked away from me. "He's, uh, he's going to need some support." "I imagine." "From you." She rolled her head back to me. "From both of us, you mean." "Well...yes. We should...you know...give all we can..." I had to look at the floor -- me, the woman who had just killed her lover, the one who was plannng to go against the world's most powerful conspiracy. This woman couldn't look Farrah in the eye. "It's just that....I know that you have your problems..." "What I mean is..." "He's your friend, Alma. That makes him my friend as well." "Good. Good. You, uh...you don't know him that well, do you?" "No." "Well, he's a really nice guy. Kind of one-track in his interests, but..." "Who are you talking about?" I turned to see Cornelius enter the hospital room. He didn't look like he had gotten much sleep last night. He was also carrying a bouquet of flowers. "Oh, nobody," I said. "Glad to see you make it." "Well, when you told me about..." Cornelius walked further into the room. He flinched when he saw Farrah, then apologized for it. "It's all right," Farrah said. "I do look pretty bad." "God, who did this to you?" "I'm not sure." "Well, I hope they get him." Farrah looked at me. "I do hope that. And I suspect he will." I gave a slight nod to her, then said, "I need to get going. You don't mind keeping her company, do you, Cornelius?" Cornelius grimaced. "Well, since I'm officially unemployed..." "I heard about your store," Farrah said. "I'm sorry." "Yeah. I guess we both had a rough night. Well, I mean...my night wasn't as rough as...you know..." He held out the bouquet of flowers. When he realized that Farrah couldn't reach up, Cornelius laid it against her arm. "Thank you," she said. "You know what else I would like?" "What?" "I never went to your store that often. I'm afraid I like CD's." Cornelius smiled. "I won't hold it against you." "Tell me about your store. I'm trying to remember what it looked like." "Well..." Cornelius said and began to talk about his store. As he went on, I quietly backed up and slipped from the room. I took the elevator down to the main lobby. On the way there, I wondered if I should have been crying. I would never see my two friends again. But I just don't cry. The doors opened. I entered the lobby. Jeffrey Spender was waiting for me there. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX TITLE: SHE'S MY HEROINE (14 of 15) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PART FOURTEEN "LEARN TO BELIEVE A LOT OF THINGS." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I walked up to Spender, meeting his gaze. "This would be a horrible place to have a shoot-out," I told him. "I agree. Especially since I came here alone." "You did?" He nodded. "How did you know I was here?" "I'm an FBI agent, Miss Orozco. Give me some credit for investigational skills." "Hm. So why have you come alone?" "Why does anybody do the things they do? Why did I decide to become an FBI agent?" "You're getting to be as enigmatic as your father, Agent Spender." His face twitched for a moment, then he said, "You know him." "Are you surprised?" "Not too much. There have been a lot of things around here which need explaining. You fit into them somehow." "You've got too much imagination. So how are Mulder and Scully?" Spender narrowed his eyes. "You admit that they came here to meet you?" "Who's 'they?'" He studied me for a few seconds, then sighed. "They'll get a reprimand. It won't be the first they've ever gotten. However, it might have been much worse." "It won't be so hot for you if the FBI finds out you're here talking with me." "I'm here to get some answers from you. I want to know what's going on." "You're asking the wrong person." Spender tucked his hand in his pockets. He now looked more like a lost boy than an FBI agent. "I just want to understand..." "If you know your father, then you already understand one thing. You can't trust him." "You think it's that easy? To just turn against your father? Against someone you want to trust?" "Yes. And the sooner you do it, the better." I hesitated, then said, "Maybe you've started right now. Or do I have to knee you in the groin and start running?" Spender removed his hands from his pockets, but just to let them dangle at his sides. "You once told me...when you had a gun pointed at my head...that I was in it deeper than I thought." "I remember. It's still true." "I suspect it's true for you, too." "Then let's start digging ourselves out. Are you going to allow me to do that?" We stood there in the lobby for close to a minute. A doctor or a nurse would pass us by, not knowing what was going on. Then Spender stepped aside. He turned his back. I started towards the doors. Then I picked up a thought from Spender. It would be one of the last times I would ever heard another person's mind. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Learn to believe a lot of things." I saw the hairs stand up on his neck. I walked out of the lobby. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX It took me two weeks to find one of them. I might not have been able to do it without the minute traces of telepathy in my head. Coupled with the information I had gained from Bayard during our lovemaking, I was able to track down the right person. I could tell he was one of them. He just didn't feel right. This one was posing as a guard at a weapon's factory. There were several like him scattered over the country, waiting to move, waiting to strike. One night, he was doing some illegal searches through the factory's computer database. He then felt the prick of a stiletto against the back of his neck. "I know who you are," I said. I spun him around. Before he could react, I reached up and tore a scrap of his face off. This revealed two sets of eyelids closed shut. I said to him, "Before you pull out your rod, you should listen to me. I've got something big to tell you." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX TITLE: SHE'S MY HEROINE (15 of 15) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PART FIFTEEN "I'M MORE 'YOU' THAN YOU ARE." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX That brings me to this point. I'm sitting on a chair in a sparsely furnished apartment. As soon as I hear a key insert itself into the front door's lock, I pick up a remote control and point it at a stereo. When Jimmy Reed starts singing over the speakers, it becomes briefly silent on the other side of the door. Then the key turns all the way and the door opens. I see a man walk into the apartment. He looks even greyer than when I last saw him. Compared to now, he had been upbeat when I first met him. He stares at me as I sit next to a dirty ashtray. A Walkman recorder is attached to my belt and earphones hang over my neck. "Hey, C.G.B.," I tell him. "Alma..." "That's Miss Orozco to you." He tries to find something to say, but can't. "Tough day at the office?" "Alm...Miss Orozco...whatever you want to talk about, I'm not in the mood to hear it." "Maybe you should join up with your buddies. I hear they're throwing a big barbecue." For a few seconds, all I can hear is "Big Boss Man." "What do you know about that?" he whispers. "Enough to know that everything finally went to shit for your side. Told you it would happen." "It did. Yes, it did. And maybe because...someone pushed in that direction." I shrug. "You went to the rebels, didn't you? You told them about Bayard. They knew we could create a perfect hy..." He strides towards me. I hold up one finger. "Don't pressure me," I say. He stops. His hands clench as he says, "You led them to Cassandra." "That's right. Of course, you could have solved the problem by killing her. But you didn't. You couldn't bring yourself to do it. Which is weird because you've just shot your own son." "That was...I..." "I know. It was different. You see, you can show mercy to someone who is under your control. However, the one thing you can't do is forgive those who defy you." "I forgave you." "Well, how did I ever really defy you? Doctor Hayashida died anyway, even if I never pulled the trigger. And I killed Bayard, just like you wanted me to do. As for all that shit in between...that's minor compared to what Jeffrey did. He *rejected* you and what you stood for. Even when I was bargaining for my life and Bayard's life, I was just using the same ideology as you use -- the ideology of survival. You didn't want to kill me because I was more like you than Jeffrey was. I was what you wanted Jeffrey to be. In fact..." I stand up and walk up to the smoking man's face. "...I'm more 'you' than you are." "You're right," he says in a distant voice. "There were children in that hangar, but you don't care, do you?" "No. I don't. As far as I'm concenred, they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." "God...what have I created in you?" I shove the smoking man. He almost stumbles to the ground. "You didn't 'create' me," I hiss. "Rollins Bay created me. Living as a Hispanic woman in the poor side of Los Angeles created me. While you were up in the State Department playing games with the world, I was living in its streets. I learned more about 'power' and 'necessity' and just being a bastard than you will ever know." "You ain't so big," Jimmy Reed sings. "You just talk, that's all." The way the smoking man looks now, he reminds me of Richie when I saw him for the last time. So old, so wasted... "Well," he says. "are you going to finish the job?" "You mean, am I here to kill you?" I snort. "Hell, no. In fact, I prefer to have you around. I'm not done yet. Taking out the Syndicate was just the beginning." "What do you mean?" "I want to have one member of the old conspiracy around. Just to make sure power doesn't completely shift to the rebels. You, Krycek, and Fowley should keep things interesting." "Things are going to get more interesting than you imagine. Do you realize what you've done by destroying decades of work?" "It means that the ball is up for the colonists, the rebels, Mulder, Scully, everyone. Now I watch and see who grabs it." "And then?" I grin. "You'll see." "Are you...are you going to do what you tried to do before? Play up one side against the other." "I know. That didn't quite work out before. This time, I'm ready." "No, you're not. You think you can handle the forces at work here, but a bunch of human conspirators is one thing. These aliens are like gods." "Really? Well..." I place the earphones over my head. "...it looks I'm gonna get that talk with God after all. See you around, smokey." I turn on my Walkman as I leave my apartment. A CD spins in the Walkman. Yes, I've switched to CD's. I'm not able to stay in one spot anymore. And I've got to have my tunes. As I walk away from the smoking man's apartment, I hear -- "Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side..." Sure. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX