"Umbra" 16/38
			     By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer : Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any
other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter
remain his copyrighted property, the property of 1013 Productions,
and the property of Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox,
Inc. No infringement of any copyright is intended. Characters
created by the author remain his property.

Original Post  :  June 12, 1997
Archive Entry  :  Chapter 16
Classification :  Action Adventure, MSR
Rating	       :  R (Adult Themes, Violence, Adult Language, nudity)
Archive	       :  Any public accessible server.
Missing Parts  :  http://www.azstarnet.com/~drambo
Feedback       :  All feedback (good or bad) to: drambo@azstarnet.com
Mailing List   :  Email to drambo@azstarnet.com with subject SUBSCRIBE.
Notes	       :  None


				    Spoilers
		   Up to but not including US4 "Momento Mori"


			       Casting For "Umbra"
		Note: Not all characters appear in all chapters.

Dan Gauthier			LTCMDR Richard 'Batman' Amend
David Marshall Grant		VC-20 Pilot
Ed Harris			Ron Burke
Fred Ward			SDCSO Deputy Sanders
Glenne Headly			CMDR Maggie King
J.T. Walsh			CMDR Armfield
Joan Allen			Janet Ebert
John C. McGinley		CMDR Jenkins
John Glover			Graves
John Heard			Adam Roche
Judge Reinhold			Teddy
Kyle Chandler			Yeoman Richie Anderson
Mary Stuart Masterson		LT Ally Roche
Michael Behin			Officer of The Deck (USS Georgia)
Michael Ironsides		RADM Mike Watts
Ned Vaughn			Petty Officer 2nd Class Chris Hayes
Robert Prosky			Annapolis Jail Guard
Sam Neil			CAPT Ronald Ebert
Tom Sizemore			Annapolis PD Detective
Tom Skerritt			CMDR Scott Adams
Tommy Lee Jones			CAPT Kauffman
Val Kilmer			CMDR Matthew Stone
William Baldwin			LT Vinny "Boombox" Ferucci
William H. Macy			CAPT Newman

Enjoy!

------------

USS Chicago (SSN-220)
Berthing Space 17
Naval Base Pearl Harbor
Oahu, Hawaii
1020 Hours

	"Where to next?" Scully asked as they descended the gangplank
towards the dock.
	"I think we should ask your friend Admiral Watts if he can get us
a secure line to Admiral Karn. We need to give him an update and get as
much detail as we can about Stone's conversation with Commander King."
	Scully nodded, agreeing with her partner's assessment. They drove
back to Watts' office in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Each
of them wondering what they had managed to get themselves into. The case
was taking them in directions neither of them had anticipated, places
neither would have ever suspected. The Deputy Chief of Naval Operations
might be involved, in some way, with a string of murders that was
related to two separate military missions almost a decade apart. And the
man that the Navy had sent to work on the case with them was somehow
involved.
	Mulder frowned, thinking about Stone. At some point, Mulder knew,
their paths were going to cross again, and he wasn't sure he would be
able to keep from shooting the arrogant asshole. The marks on Scully's
neck had already started to fade, but Mulder would never be able to
forget the image of the angry welts against her perfect porcelain skin.
	Mulder forced thoughts of delicious revenge from his mind as he
pulled into the visitor's parking space and killed the engine.
	"I just had a thought," he said. Scully turned to him, her eyes
tracking and finding his. They locked gazes for a moment, and Mulder had
a sudden body memory of that morning in the shower, running his hands
over her warm, wet, soapy body. He could feel her slickness under his
fingers, the soft weight of her breast as he washed her. Without
thinking about it, his eyes dropped to her bustline and then back up
again.
	She flushed. "Mulder..."
	"Sorry," he said softly. "I did have something business related on
my mind, but the moment I looked into your eyes, I remembered the shower
this morning."
	His words had an immediate and profound effect on Scully. The
first part of Mulder's apology had been spoken with a little-boy-lost,
puppy-dog `sorry' tone to his voice that she found both endearing and
annoying. During the second part of his apology, however, his voice had
dropped a register or six, becoming husky and raw, the sound of it
scraping against her nerves like fingernails on a blackboard. She had
the same body memory, but from the other side, the memory of Mulder's
hands on her, touching her, his fingers gentle and warm and sure and
sweet, worshipping her body with his touch, making her swoon under the
hot water.
	He saw the blush rising in her cheeks and felt a little better.
"You too?" he asked.
	"Yeah," she said, surprised at the sound of her own voice. I sound
aroused, she realized. "Me, too."
	"Guess this is the part that's going to take getting used to,
huh?"
	She arched an eyebrow, asking the question.
	"Working together and...wanting each other at the same time."
	She looked away, out the window, not willing to answer, to confirm
his assessment with one of her own. It was too dangerous, she thought.
Too raw.
	"Mulder," she finally said, choosing her words carefully. "We need
to be professional about this."
	"I agree," he said, "but I also think that after this case, we
need to take some vacation time." He paused. "From us."
	Her head came around so quickly Mulder heard the tendons popping.
"What?"
	He laughed, reaching out with his hand and finding hers. "No, let
me explain. What I meant was that Mulder and Scully need to take a
vacation from being Mulder and Scully, and go somewhere to just be...
Dana and...uh, Mulder for a while. Get used to this...us. You and me.
Together."
	Scully thought about it for thirty seconds and then nodded. "Makes
sense. We'll talk about it later." She withdrew her hand and moved
towards the door.
	Hurt, Mulder stopped her. "Scully?"
	She stopped, hearing the tone in his voice. She knew what was
coming.
	"No, Mulder. I don't regret it." She turned back to face him. "If
we weren't parked where we are, I'd touch your face and kiss you and let
you know just how much I don't regret it. But we need to get _going_,
Mulder, we need to crack this damn case so we can take that vacation and
get back to normal. Ok?"
	"Ok," he said, smiling. When she looked at him that way, that
exact, perfect, Scully way, there was nothing he could deny her.

***
Office of the Chief of Staff,
Commander, Submarine Forces, Pacific (COMSUBPAC)
Navy Base Pearl Harbor
Oahu, Hawaii
1036 Hours

	They were climbing the stairs to Watts' office when Scully stopped
and touched Mulder's arm. He was a few steps ahead of her, so he had to
lean down to hear her whisper.
	"What was on your mind in the car?"
	He grunted and came down to her step. "You said that something was
off with your friend the Admiral. Any chance he's in on it?"
	Scully frowned. "In on what?"
	"This whole Stone nonsense. You said he seemed hinky."
	"Hinky? I never said hinky, Mulder."
	"You know what I mean. Hinky. Off. Jittery. Did you or didn't you
mean that he was acting hinky?"
	She looked up at her partner. Strange, she thought. If he'd asked
that question four days ago, I'd be storming up the stairs ahead of him,
ready to defend Mike's honor until my dying breath. The man has eaten
Christmas dinner at my mother's table. He was almost my godfather.
	Mulder was right, she realized. Her own sixth sense was pinging
hard as far as Mike Watts was concerned. There was something off there,
just not quite right.
	"What do you think?" she asked.
	He shrugged. "You know him better than I do, Scully."
	She nodded. "True." Her decision made, she met her partner's eyes.
"Only one way to find out."
	Mulder grinned. "Who's `good cop' this time?"
	She gave him a soft smile. "Neither. Just follow my lead." Mulder
nodded, not needing to say that he'd follow her lead anywhere it took
them, anytime.
	The Yeoman announced them and they re-entered Watts' office. He
was buried in paperwork and looked up with a huge smile when the two
agents entered.
	"Dana! I'm so glad you could stop by!"
	"Hi, Uncle Mike," she said, a smile in her voice. Mulder had to
fight to keep a straight face; when Scully wanted to, she could be
downright evil. Well, he mused, she learned from the best.
	Me.
	"What can I do for you, Dana?"
	Scully sat down, and crossed her legs. "Our investigation turned
up some interesting information, and we need to communicate it to
CINCNIS as soon as possible. Would it be possible to...oh, I don't know,
`borrow' a secure line?"
	Watts smiled and nodded. "Of course. I'll have a line opened right
now. I assume you'll want some privacy?"
	Scully pressed her lips together and just nodded. "I'd ask you to
stay, Uncle Mike, since what we discovered has some pretty wide-ranging
implications. But the regulations...CINCNIS was pretty clear about who
we're allowed to talk to and when." She paused, and Mulder felt
something in his gut, a psychic twitch that signaled Scully was about to
switch from passive to active target acquisition. "I mean, personally, I
trust you. I know you wouldn't have anything to do with this." It might
have been Mulder's imagination, but he thought Watts' had paled just a
little at Scully's words.
	Watts' lifted one of the phones on his desk, and Scully thought
his hand might be shaking just a little. Damn. "This will take a moment
or two," he said, and dialed. He waited for someone to pick up and then
spoke quickly: "This is Watts. I need an STU line piped into my office
ASAP. Don't log or record it." Mulder's eyebrows rose at this. The call
would be naked as far as CINCPAC went. No record anywhere.
	Must be nice to be the boss, he thought.
	"Mulder," Scully said, softly, as if trying not to bother Watts'
call. Mulder felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. This was
it. Watts was lifting a cup of coffee to his mouth, smiling into the
phone, waiting for a response.
	"Remember you were asking about my last vacation?" Scully asked.
Mulder nodded. "I went to Philly, like my mom suggested." Mulder saw the
opening and flashed Scully a warm, wide smile with his eyes. He saw a
corner of her mouth twist up in appreciation that he'd gotten her not-
so-subtle hint.
	"Did you see the Liberty Bell?" he asked.
	SMACK!
	The coffee cup hit the desk and tipped, the widening pool of hot
brown liquid staining Watts' papers. "Shit!" he said, dropping the
phone.
	Scully caught her breath; there was an ice cold ball in the pit of
her stomach. Watts was digging in his desk drawer, looking for something
to mop up the coffee with. His eyes rose slowly and met hers, and he
knew she knew.
	He hung the phone up.
	"Mulder, shut the door," Scully said softly.
	Sadly, Mulder closed the door.
	Scully went for the jugular. "Mike...you have to tell us
everything. Everything you know."
	Watts' answer was both immediate and shocking.
	"I can't. He'll kill me." He sighed, deeply. "Dana, you don't know
how long I've wanted to tell someone...anyone, but...I can't He'll kill
me, and Betty. And the boys."
	"Who?" Mulder asked.
	"Graves."
	"Danny, right?" Mulder asked. God forbid there was a fourth Graves
brother.
	Watts nodded.
	Scully tried again. "Mike...you were one of my father's best
friends. You held me in your arms when I was a baby. My mother even told
me that you had a crush on her when you were younger."
	Watts flushed and Scully smiled.
	"Mike...we need to know. Tell us. We can protect you."
	He shook his head. "No, you can't. No one could. I'm not saying
you're not good at your job. It's just...Graves...his reach never
exceeds his grasp, if you know what I mean." Watts paused. "That man has
watched Presidents die."
	Mulder suddenly grew his own ball of ice. He'd heard those words
before, uttered by a man who sat in a stinking cloud of smoke.
	"I have to tell someone," Watts muttered. "Before this gets out of
hand." He paused and looked at Scully. "I owe Bill that much. He knew
that I was in love with your mother," he said, "and still let me be his
friend. You have to promise to protect Betty and the boys. I don't care
what happens to me...but my wife, my sons..." Scully nodded.
	Scully's mind was still whirling from Watts' earlier statement.
	In love? With Mom? And Dad knew?
	"I'm only a little piece of it," Watts started. "A tiny piece. I
don't know the whole picture."
	"Tell us what you do know," Scully encouraged.
	"At the end 1972, I DEROS'd from Vietnam back to the states. I was
a Lieutenant Commander. My next job was a staff slot at NORAD,
representing the Navy on the Threats & Intentions Team." He paused,
thinking back. "There was a lot of gossip in those days, just like
today. Professional military officers can be such a group of old mother
hens sometimes.
	"Anyway...one of the rumors concerned Nixon. The rumor was that he
was slowly beginning to lose his mind. That he was going over the edge."
Watts paused and turned his chair to face the window, lost in memory.
"Over the next four months, we discovered that something was going on.
We went to DEFCON 2 three times in two weeks, and over ten times over
that four months."
	"What, at that time, was DEFCON 2?"
	Watts glanced back at his old friend's daughter. "Planes in the
air, fast-attack subs sortied, carriers turning into the wind and
launching aircraft, missiles in the silos humming, boomers coming to
launch depth and popping the hatches on the D5's. The hot line open and
humming. Teletypes clacking. Not quite hands on the launch keys, but
every single SIOP unit waiting for the FLASH message that would start it
all."
	Scully glanced at her partner, a frown creasing her perfect face.
"I had no idea tensions were that high."
	"They weren't. That was the problem. Nixon was the Commander in
Chief. He could take us all the way to DEFCON 1 without having to pick
up a phone and ask anyone. When the Soviet Victor III and Typhoon-class
ballistic missile submarines passed sea trials and put to sea, we knew
that our SOSUS line was going to have trouble detecting them. And if a
Soviet SSBN launched off our coast, Washington would have less than 2
minutes warning. It was decided that POTUS should have the ability to
get a first-strike off without having any questions asked, as it were."
	Scully nodded, beginning to see.
	"He was losing his mind. He was paranoid. We didn't know it at the
time, of course, but it was later revealed that the man was a stark
raving lunatic by that time, convinced that everyone from the Boy Scouts
to the Red Chinese were out to get him."
	Mulder had a joke suddenly pop into his mind. What's the
difference between the US Military and the Boy Scouts?
	The Boy Scouts don't have nuclear weapons.
	"So...anyway...in Threats and Intentions we started wondering what
could be done if we had an insane President at the controls. A man with
his finger on the button who had...lost it...was not a comforting
thought."
	Watts paused, turning to look out the window again. "And so
Liberty Bell was born."
	Mulder felt his gut clench. He knew what the next words out of
Watts' mouth were going to be; he would have bet a year's salary on it.
	"Military takeover," Scully breathed.
	Watts nodded. "Yup. Operation LIBERTY BELL was originally
conceived as a contingency plan for allowing the military to temporarily
take control of the country in case of a...I think the phrase was... `a
political administration in the last phases of human psychological
meltdown.'"
	Mulder was confused. "What does that have to do with Goblin
teams?"
	Watts turned to face Mulder. "Who do you think was going to go in
and put a bullet in Nixon's head?"
	Now it was starting to make sense.
	"Ok, what was Nixon. He's not President anymore. What does..."
	He stopped. Something was teasing at the back of his mind, a
little niggling something. Ordinarily, he'd be able to retrieve it, but
for some reason it was escaping his grasp.
	"What is the state of LIBERTY BELL now?" Scully asked. "Certainly
it's been scrapped."
	Watts sighed. "Yes. And no."
	He thought about it, trying to find the words. "Officially, it's
off the books. Some of us in the military, however, think we exchanged
one kind of madness for another, as far as the politicians go. Some of
us think this country is headed down a path that it won't be able to
recover from, Dana. A path that will lead to this country's destruction.
I'm not talking about what's left of the Soviets or the CIS or whatever
the fuck they're called this week attacking us. I'm not talking about
tank warfare across the Fulda gap. I'm not talking about some terrorist
smuggling a nuke into New York and detonating it in Times Square.
	"I'm talking about civil war, Dana. There are those that believe
this country is heading for a civil war in the next twenty years, a war
like no country has ever seen in the history of civilization. America is
the most heavily armed Western nation in history. We have over half a
billion guns in the arms of the civilian population. That's over five
hundred million guns, Dana. And there are those of us that believe that
someday, someday soon those guns will be... That we'll turn against one
another."
	Scully spoke, her voice hushed. "Surely _you_ don't believe that!"
	"Not in the way that some of us do, no," Watts admitted. "But I do
think that the policies of this country over the last thirty years are
insane. I think that the politicians are more interested in catering to
whomever pays them the most money, rather than doing what they were
elected to do. I know it sounds corny, Dana, but I do believe that the
members of the Congress have a duty to represent the people that elected
them, not the special interest groups."
	"Like the Defense industry?" Mulder asked.
	Watts ignored him, focusing his attention on Scully.
	"And if that day comes, if American turns against American, I
wanted to be in a position to stop it in its tracks."
	"I don't know if you agree with what I just said, Dana, and
frankly, I don't care. I know that my career is over. But I need you to
understand why I did it. Why I joined them."
	Mulder's antennae went up. "Them? What do you mean, `them'?"
	"We call ourselves the Ronin," Watts said.
	Mulder and Scully both gasped. Memories of Modell washed over
them. Mulder felt his gut twist with agony; he remembered the gun, in
his hand, pointed at his own head, at Scully, the shaking barrel
centered on her head. The click of the hammer dropping on an empty
chamber. The look in Scully's eyes as she tried to reach him, physically
... and emotionally.
	"You know about the Ronin?" Watts asked.
	"Ronin," Mulder explained. "It's Japanese. Warriors, samurai
without masters."
	Watts nodded. "I'm impressed, Mr. Mulder."
	"Don't be. I know the rest of the story, too."
	Watts' eyes darkened. Mulder said nothing, pinning Watts with his
gaze.
	"Feudal Japan. A great battle took place. Forty-nine of the
samurai of one warlord survived, and swore vengeance upon the man who
had ordered his death, another warlord. They pretended to switch
allegiances, even going so far as to get drunk and laid with their new
`boss.' After ten years, when the warlord had relaxed, the Ronin struck.
It was a blood bath. The forty-nine Ronin killed every single Samurai,
over three hundred of them, then the warlord, and then they committed
seppuku."
	Watts nodded again. "I am very impressed, Mr. Mulder, very
impressed indeed. Of course, we never intended to take it that far."
	"What's Seppuku?" Scully wanted to know.
	"Ritualistic suicide. You've probably heard it called "hari kari"
or something like that," Mulder explained. Scully arched an eyebrow in
response, and then turned her attention back to Watts.
	"Who are the Ronin?" Mulder asked Watts.
	"That's just it. I only know one other, besides Graves. And the
other person I know, only knows another besides me. We're
compartmentalized. None of us know who any of the rest are, save for
two. Our contact, and our partner."
	Scully thought about grabbing her notebook to make some notations,
and disregarded it. Mulder, the Human Notebook, was here.
	"Shit!" Mulder swore.
	"What's wrong?" Scully asked, and then with a flash of
understanding, she got it. Graves was brilliant, that much was obvious.
If Mulder and Scully arrested Watts, he would have a tripwire, an early
warning system. He would have time to execute whatever operation he was
planning before the authorities could find and arrest the rest. It would
be nearly impossible to arrest them all. They would vanish into the
woodwork.
	"What do you know about LIBERTY BELL? What's your role in it?"
	"When the operation commences, my main job is to..." Watts looked
away, took a deep breath and then began again. "My job is to walk over
to Building 1 and kill CINCPAC."
	He saw the shocked look on Scully's face and looked away, unable
to hold her gaze. "My job," he said, his voice droning, "was to take a
.45 and put a bullet into CINCPAC's head, and then take command of the
Pacific Theater of Operations and await further orders from Graves. We
have a private communications channel set up, and I was to have all comm
links between here and Washington cut or destroyed."
	"That's all you know?"
	Watts shrugged. "My role changes as my assignment does. I'm up for
a third star in a year or so...or at least, I was. I would probably have
gotten OP08."
	Scully nodded, and it was Mulder's turn to ask. "What?"
	"Assistant to the Chief of Naval Operations, Plans and Policy. At
the Pentagon."
	"What would your job there have been?" Mulder asked.
	Watts shrugged. "Depends. If CNO or my CO was one of the Ronin,
nothing direct, I'm sure. If not, take control. Wreak havoc. Do what
needs to be done."
	"Are there forty nine Ronin?"
	Again, Watts shrugged. "No idea. As far as I know, it could just
be three of us."
	Mulder started pacing. "Missing...something is missing. You've got
to have more. You've got to know more, even if you don't think you do,"
he muttered, thinking.
	He stopped. "You've been a member of the Ronin since 1973?"
	"No, since about 1979. Right after Iran."
	Mulder nodded. "Ok...you weren't a two-star admiral then. You
would have been what...a lieutenant commander?"
	Watts nodded. "Yes, so?"
	Mulder moved to sit next to Scully. "Take notes," he said to her.
Startled, she reached for her pad and pen. "I want you to tell us what
your billets were, and what your Ronin assignment was for every job
you've had since you joined until this morning. Leave nothing out."
	Watts gave Mulder a blank expression. "Why?"
	"Because...Graves is still recruiting, I'm almost sure of it. He
needs people in the places that you've been. His plans require that if
you were able to do something for him in a given position, when you
LEAVE, he needs someone else to take over your slot. Or at least, close
to it. Once we know what jobs you've had, we can figure out who to take
a closer look at." Or, figure out his plan, Mulder thought.
	Watts nodded. "Makes sense," he said, reaching for the pad. "Allow
me. I can do it quicker."
	Watts bent to his task as Scully and Mulder sat back to watch.
They were both thinking, although not about the same things.
	Mulder was trying to piece together what he knew. As far as he
could tell, the murders were a smoke screen. Danny had been trying to
get back at the man who had killed both of his brothers. In preparation
for what? And was Stone a Ronin? Was that what was going on? The leader
of the Ronin trying to kill one of his own disciples? Stone, a madman,
gone off the reservation? And why wait so long after Iraq to start
killing Goblins? Or was Stone...actually a good guy, working under,
trying to ferret out...
	No.
	That was insane. Stone was insane. He was in on it. He had to be.
It was the only thing that made sense, considering the information they
had.
	Scully was thinking about her father. How disappointed he would
have been in Mike. Or would he? Scully wondered. Her father had loved
his country, and had also been convinced that it was heading in the
wrong direction when he'd died.
	Ahab a Ronin?
	Was it possible?
	"Mike?" Scully asked. "Was my-"
	"No. Never."
	Satisfied, she returned to her thoughts.
	And to think that I almost...with one of them....she shuddered.
	Mulder felt it, felt the revulsion running through her body. He
glanced at Watts and saw that he was still writing. Reaching his hand
over below Watts' sight line, Mulder patted Scully's leg, just above her
knee. She smiled at her partner, letting it reach her incredibly blue,
expressive eyes.
	Mulder thought he was actually going to swoon when Watts spoke.
	"Here's the list."
	Mulder read it over Scully's shoulder. "Scully, we have to get to
San Diego. We have to find Stone."
	Scully nodded, standing to join her partner. She turned to face
Watts. "Mike...we...we can't arrest you now. It would tip Graves off. We
need you to..." She looked at her partner and then back at the Admiral.
"I need you to tell me that you're going to cooperate with us, with the
FBI, with NIS in this matter. Do I have your word as an officer and a
gentleman that I can trust you?"
	Mulder knew that Scully was purposely pushing Watts' buttons, and
he admired her skill at it. The two-star admiral drew himself up to his
full height and all but saluted her. "Dana, you have my word. I'll wait
for word from you. What should I tell Graves if he calls?"
	"Nothing. Tell him that we had a nice visit and that you told me
to give my mother your best."
	Watts nodded. "Flying commercial to San Diego?"
	Scully nodded. She glanced at her watch. "Yes, and we have to get
moving."
	"When do you arrive?"
	Scully did some mental calculations. "About five tonight, San
Diego time."
	Watts shook his head. "Fuck that." He sat back down and grabbed
his phone. "I need flight Ops," he said. Two seconds later he was
speaking again. "Tony? Mike. Do you have any 14's ashore? I need two,
ASAP....Mirimar. What?" Watts glanced at his watch. "I need them to have
engines started in less than 10. Ferry service. Two...people going to
Diego. Fine. Thanks, Tony." He paused. "Tony...one more thing. Log this
as a repair flight, OK? I don't want this in the books as a ferry job or
an escort job. Find two airframes that are old enough to need some
repair, but not old enough if you know what I mean. I need this flight
to be invisible. Thanks" Watts hung up. "I have two F-14/D's standing by
on runway four right waiting for you. You'll be in San Diego in a little
over an hour." He pushed his intercom. "I need two zoot suits in here
right now!" He released the button.
	"Dana, what size are you?" he asked.

***
Runway 4R
Naval Air Station Pearl Harbor
Oahu, Hawaii
1120 Hours

	The Admiral's personal staff car screeched to a stop thirty feet
from the two huge Navy fighter planes. They sat on the runway, squatting
like two huge prehistoric bugs. The pilots stood by their aircraft,
hands clasped at the small of their backs. They were both wondering what
the hell was going on. Ten minutes ago they'd been playing a friendly
game of cards in the alert shack, and then the klaxon had gone off, but
only for the pilots. Not the RIO's.
	Who flew without a backseat?
	Watts was first out of the car, followed by Scully and then
Mulder. The two FBI agents were carrying their overnight bags, which now
contained their clothes. They were both in flight suits, and both
carried helmet bags that had been quickly provided by Watts.
	The Admiral strode up to the two pilots. They saluted.
	"Sir, Commander Adams, sir," the older of the two pilots said.
	"Commander, these two people are traveling on official Navy
business, and the nature of that business is highly classified. You will
ferry them to Mirimar NAS, refuel, and return here. You are not to ask
them any questions aside from "How was your flight, sir?" Is that
clear?"
	"Aye, aye, sir," Adams said, obviously curious.
	"Additionally," Watts said, taking another step closer and
lowering his voice, "This flight is a repair flight. Your two passengers
were not in these aircraft."
	"Sir?" Commander Adams asked.
	"They were never here. Understood?" Adams nodded.
	Watts turned to Scully. "Well, Dana...good luck. Call me. Let me
know if there's anything I can do."
	Scully nodded. "You have both our numbers. Call us if..."
	Watts nodded, leaned down and hugged his oldest friend's daughter
and then stepped back. Scully walked over to Adams and held out her
hand. "Dana Scully, Commander. Let's get this show on the road."

***
	Five minutes later, Mulder and Scully were each strapped into the
backseat of their own F14's. The crew chiefs had given a very
abbreviated safety lecture, pointing out where the ejection handles
were, and what controls were not to be touched. (Which turned out to be
most of them, Mulder was amused to find.) After they had both been
hooked up to the plane's internal oxygen and pressurization systems, the
canopies were dropped and both planes began to taxi towards the
threshold.
	Mulder was looking for a place to put his hands when he saw the
two handles. He realized with a start that there were no flight controls
in this backseat of the plane. What happened if the pilot had a heart
attack? he thought.
	Eject, his mind answered smugly.
	The pilot's voice filled his ears. "Mr. Mulder, you and I are
number one for takeoff. We'll be rolling in about fifteen seconds.
Please hold on, sir...this is going to be unlike anything you've ever
experienced in your life." Mulder wracked his brain, trying to remember
his pilot's name. Ferucci, he remembered. Vincent Ferucci.
	Mulder was about to answer when the roar of the twin jet engines
filled his ears. The pilot had thrown the throttles all the way forward,
almost to the firewall, and the agile fighter dashed down the runway and
then practically leapt into the air. Ten seconds later, the plane was
climbing and banking, and Mulder could hear as well as feel the landing
gear retracting.
	"Our flight time to San Diego is approximately 54 minutes," the
pilot said. "Do you have any questions?" Mulder looked around for a
button to push so he could talk. "It's on the floor, under your right
foot," the pilot said.
	"How fast are we going, Vincent?"
	"Right now? About six hundred miles an hour. But when Commander
Adams joins up on my left wing, we'll both be accelerating to about Mach
1.6." Ferucci paused. "Call me Boombox, ok? Or at the very least,
Vinny."
	Mulder gulped. That was _fast_.
	A moment later he saw movement over his left shoulder. He turned
and gasped. Scully was ten feet away, slightly below him. He looked down
and saw that the right wingtip of Adams' plane was under the left
wingtip of his own. He could see her smiling and waving.
	"Can I talk to my partner?" Mulder asked.
	"Sure...left foot this time. Just give me a sec to change the
freq."
	A moment later, Mulder heard her voice. "Hi, Mulder!"
	"Hi, yourself. So...this better than flying commercial?"
	She shrugged. "Dunno. What's the inflight movie?"
	"Top Gun?" he suggested, and heard laughter.
	A moment later, Boombox spoke. "Oahu Control, this is Ghostrider
Two Six Zero, a flight of two 14's on a repair, requesting vector to
Mirimar NAS."
	The response was immediate. "Ghostrider two six zero and two six
one, turn to heading zero eight five, ascend to angels 24. You are
cleared for Mirimar. Have a nice day."
	"Thank you, Oahu," Vincent said, and then on the intercom, "Hold
on, Mr. Mulder."
	A moment later Mulder was slammed back in his seat as the pilot
moved the variable-geometry wings to full back position, added throttle
and then kicked the afterburners in. The plane rocketed forward. A
moment later Scully's plane joined their left wing.
	"Mulder," she called over the radio. "This is...amazing. It's
almost..."
	Don't say it, he thought.
	"...like sex," she finished.
	"My mother told me to stay away from fast women, Scully," he said.
	She got the message and didn't reply, instead raising the visor
over her eyes and winking at him.
	"Commander Adams?" Scully asked.
	"Yes, Ma'am?"
	"Is taking off always...like that?"
	He laughed. "You should try it off a carrier some day, Ma'am. At
night. In a storm. THAT is interesting."
	Scully nodded. Sounded like it.
	"How maneuverable are these planes?" Mulder asked Boombox.
	There was an answering chuckle. "How strong is your stomach, Mr.
Mulder?"
	"Very," Mulder said smugly. "You should taste my chili."
	There was a pause. "Ghostrider zero to one."
	"One."
	"Wanna play switcheroo?"
	"Sure."
	A moment later, Mulder's world turned upside down. Both pilots cut
out of afterburner, dropping the planes under Mach 1. They then rolled
the planes exactly one-hundred and eighty degrees so they were flying
upside down at over six hundred miles per hour. One pilot applied left
rudder and flaperon, the other one applied right rudder and flaperon.
The planes slowly drifted towards each other, upside down. Once they
passed, one beneath the other, the pilots rolled the planes back level
and rocketed through max power and into afterburner.
	"That answer your question?" Vinny asked.
	Meaning to hit the intercom switch, Mulder hit the radio one
instead. "Oh, I don't feel too good," he said. "You guys got something
in here....oh noooooooooo........"


				      -17-

US Navy F14/D Tomcat, Tail Number N94432
Approaching Mirimar NAS
Outside San Diego, California


	"Mirimar approach, this is Ghostrider two six six," Boombox
radioed. "Request approach and landing instructions for Mirimar. We are
a flight of two Foxtrot one fours."
	"Ahhhh," Mirimar approach radioed back, "...roger that, Ghostrider
two six six. Turn to new heading zero zero three, descend to angles six
and report on final."
	"Roger that, Mirimar approach," Vinny radioed, banking the huge
fighter into a gentle left turn. Switching to the intercom, he checked
in with his backseater. "How you doing back there, Mr. Mulder?"
	"Fine," Mulder said, although he didn't feel it. The aerobatic
moves they had pulled on him were still having an effect on his stomach,
an effect that worsened every time he thought about it. He'd barely
managed to keep his lunch intact, and he wasn't looking forward to the
landing. "Tell me, Boombox, I know you guys use those wire things when
you land on an aircraft carrier. Do you do the same on land?"
	Vinny's laughter filled Mulder's helmet. "Only in training, sir.
We just drop right down, set this puppy on the tarmac, and reverse the
`ol engines. Physics takes care of the rest."
	Mulder nodded, not bothering to answer. Sounded like a normal
commercial landing to him. Vinny smiled to himself and reached down to
touch a small toggle switch almost lost amongst the dozens of buttons,
switches, dials and gauges that made up the Tomcat's cockpit. The switch
cut Mulder's radio feed.
	"Uh, Mirimar tower, Ghostrider two six six requesting a flyby. We
have VIPs on board," he added, hoping that would carry some weight with
the controller.
	"Uh...two two six, can you specify nature of VIPs?" the tower
asked.
	"Negative at this time," Vinny called back.
	There was a long pause. Finally, "Uh, two six six, Mirimar tower.
Request granted...within limits. Please keep the noise to a minimum. You
are cleared for a flyby of the tower in loose deuce formation. Nothing
fancy, two six six."
	"Roger that, Miramar...and thanks," Vinny answered. He smiled. His
passenger may not have liked the little stunt they'd pulled above
Hawaii, but he might like this...
	Vinny knew that his wingman had heard the entire exchange because
Adams flashed him a thumbs up from the other aircraft. Using hand
signals, they decided who would lead and who would follow on their high-
speed approach.
	"Prepare for landing," Vinny called on the intercom, trying to
hide the smile in his voice.
	Mulder heard it, however, and grimaced.
	Vinny cut power and added flaps as he made what appeared to be his
final turn on approach to the runway. Mulder looked over and saw that
the other plane was not behind or above them, as he would have expected,
but was ten feet of their right wing, at the same altitude, descending
at the same rate. As they pulled within a hundred feet of the runway,
just close enough for Mulder to think that maybe they weren't going to
pull anything, that maybe this damned flight was indeed over, it
happened.
	At the same moment, both pilots took in the flaps, threw the
throttles to the firewall and beyond, and kicked in the afterburner. The
sudden acceleration pushed the plane past the speed of sound with a
jolt, throwing Mulder back against his ejection seat. As if on cue,
Mulder's plane broke left once it had passed the tower, the other plane
breaking right at the same moment. The rocketing explosion of the sonic
boom rattled the Tomcat's canopy, and Mulder was sure that they had
blown an engine.
	From the ground, the move was spectacular. From the air, the world
turned left to right, and then right to left as the pilot executed a
perfect two-point snap roll, bringing the plane level with the runway.
	With a chuckle, Vinny cut power and added flaps, letting the
fierce airplane flare gently before the rubber wheels squealed against
the tarmac.
	"On the ground at ten past the hour," the tower called, sounding
almost bored. They were used to the theatrics of fighter pilots. A
hundred yards behind Mulder's plane, Scully's landed equally softly, and
together they taxied to the transient ramp.
	A Navy Captain was waiting for them in summer whites. He watched
carefully as the two planes taxied to a stop and cut their engines. A
moment later, two crewmen ran up with ladders and waited for the pilots
to pop the canopies open.
	Scully and Mulder climbed awkwardly out and descended the ladders,
both of them still wearing their flight helmets. The Navy Captain walked
over and saluted the both of them.
	Scully snapped to attention and returned the salute.
	Mulder made a wave in the general direction of his forehead.
	"Dr. Scully, Dr. Mulder, I'm Captain Ebert. Admiral Watts called
ahead and asked me to provide you with anything you need."
	Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. The Captain had not referred
to them by their FBI titles, which meant that Watts had probably omitted
that particular fact when he'd called Ebert.
	"Thank you, Captain," Scully said, unbuckling and removing her
helmet. "Right now, all we want is to find a car rental agency and a
motel."
	Ebert frowned. "I'd assumed that you'd be staying at the BOQ."
	"No, sir, our business is going to take us off base, and we like
to keep a low profile."
	Ebert nodded as if this answer was at least halfway expected.
"Very well. I've arranged for a car for the two of you. The Admiral did
mention that he didn't want a standard motor pool issue vehicle, so I
arranged...something else."
	He indicated a car parked twenty feet away that neither agent had
noted.
	When they did, they both blinked.
	BMW. 735i. Gleaming forest green. And from where Mulder stood, it
looked like the car had a leather interior.
	"Uh-" Scully started. Mulder shot her a glance.
	Scully chose to remain quiet.
	Mulder removed his helmet and offered his hand. "Thank you,
Captain. I'll be sure to communicate to the Admiral how helpful you've
been."
	Captain Ebert beamed at this. Kiss-ass, Mulder thought.
	One of the crewman had retrieved both their bags from the two
aircraft and was waiting expectantly for instructions. Mulder made a
move as if to take them, and the crewman blanched.
	"Put them in the car please," Scully said, pointing to the BMW. At
least that sounded like an order, and the crewman almost ran to the
vehicle.
	Mulder reached into a pocket of his flight suit and came back with
the khaki fore-and-aft cap that Watts had provided to make them blend
in. It bore the silver oak leaf of a Commander. He made several attempts
at affixing it to his head before he succeeded. He looked over to see
that Scully's was already on.
	"Well, Captain, we have to be going," Mulder said. "We're on kind
of a timetable."
	The Captain nodded. "Understood." He handed Mulder a business
card. "My number is on that, pager on the back. When you're done with
the car, please give me a call so I can make arrangements to pick it up.
Also, if you need further transportation, please don't hesitate to
call."
	Mulder exchanged another glance with his partner. "You mean you'll
arrange for another flight on one of those?" He asked, indicating the
Tomcats behind him with a thumb.
	"Yes, sir. My understanding with Admiral Watts is that you get
everything you need. Post haste."
	"Thank you, sir," Scully said, moving towards the car. "But we
really must be going."
	The Captain saluted once again, and Scully returned it. Mulder
tried to mimic her action, but he failed miserably.
	They got into the car, Mulder driving. Finding the keys in the
ignition, he started the huge BMW and waved to Captain Ebert as he drove
away.
	Captain Ronald Ebert, USN, Deputy Chief of Staff to the Commanding
Officer, Naval Air Station Mirimar, watched his two charges as they
drove away. He waited until they had turned the corner before reaching
for the cellphone in his back pocket.
	He dialed.
	"They just left," he said, and immediately disconnected the call.

***
Motel 6
Mission Beach, California

	Mulder threw his bags on the bed and sighed, unzipping the flight
suit as he headed for the bathroom. Only problem with an F14 was no
facilities, he thought. No way to take a tinkle. He wondered how the
pilots flying long missions handled it.
	Finished, he returned to the room and flopped on the bed,
listening to the sounds of Scully moving around next door. He closed his
eyes, and a moment later heard a soft knock on the connecting door.
	"Come," he said, mimicking Watts' command voice.
	Scully entered, still wearing the flight suit and the fore-and-aft
cap. She had unzipped the suit enough to show that she was wearing an
olive drab tank-top beneath it. There was a small half-circle of sweat
darkening the neckline.
	Mulder's eyes opened.
	"My God..." he whispered. "There is something about a woman in
uniform," he said. She smiled, reaching up to take the cap off. "Not
supposed to wear these indoors," she smiled, tossing it on the bed.
"Against regulations."
	Mulder shrugged. "Do me a favor," he said softly. "See if you can
manage to hold onto that. When we get off this case..."
	"Yes?" Scully asked, a grin lighting her face.
	"...maybe we can play soldier."
	"Sailor," Scully corrected.
	"Whatever."
	She just smiled, running a hand through her sweaty hair.
	"Shower?"
	"In there," he said, pointing.
	Scully grunted. "I was asking you to join me, Mulder."
	"Oh." He stood, working the zipper on the suit. Scully joined him
in shedding clothes, and a few seconds later they were both nude.
	Mulder stood up, staring at his partner.
	Suddenly shy, she crossed her arms across her breasts. "What are
you staring at, Mulder?"
	"Nothing!" he said, shaking his head to break his gaze. "It was
just..." he trailed off.
	"What?"
	"You're so...gorgeous," he said.
	She smiled. "Good answer. Now into the shower." He nodded, moving
past the bed towards the bathroom. Once he had the water hot enough and
steam was filling the small confines of the bathroom, they both climbed
into the shower and proceeded to wash the grime of the trip off.
	"So..." Scully said, washing his chest. "What do we know?"
	"Too much. Not enough. Pieces," Mulder sighed, running his hands
through his hair. "We know that there is an operation code named LIBERTY
BELL that was conceived a long time ago to allow the military to
temporarily take over the government in the case that the President goes
nuts. That plan was scrapped, or so we think. We know that the killer is
most likely one Danny Graves, older brother to Scotty and Sammy Graves,
both of whom were killed by our Commander Stone. We know that Stone is
somehow involved with the remaining Graves brother. We know that Danny
was sending a message to Stone with that playing card on Haynes' body.
What message, we have no idea. How much Stone is involved, we do not
know. We think Stone is in San Diego, but we have no idea where, or
why." He paused. "That about sums it up, Scully."
	She nodded, still working on his chest.
	"My turn," Mulder said, taking the washcloth and soap from her.
Turning Scully away from him, he began washing her back. "I'm open to
suggestions about what we should do next," he said.
	Scully thought about that as Mulder's hands worked her body over.
God, his touch was exquisite. "Well, we have a list of all of Mike's
previous assignments. Assuming we trust Karn, we should have him take a
close, personal look at those officers and see if we can find a link."
	"Link?" Mulder asked.
	"Sure. There has to be some common denominator. Graves has to be
finding them some way. There has to be something that stands out,
something in their past, an assignment they had...some way for him to
find these men and corrupt them to his cause. Once we find that, we can
get a bead on tracking Graves."
	Mulder nodded. Makes sense, he thought.
	"Done." Mulder announced. Scully turned and faced him again,
looking up at the eyes of the man she loved. "So, we call Karn. And then
what?"
	"Well, we know that Watts was stationed in San Diego at some
point. We go find the officer that has his job and we flip him. And we
keep flipping until Graves shows up. Or shows his hand."
	Scully grinned. This was getting to be almost fun. Jetting around
the country on the Navy's dime, going places no one in the FBI had ever
gone before inside the military.
	"What do you think he has planned, Mulder?" Scully asked.
	"Takeover of the government?"
	She shook her head. "Impossible. Even if he..." she trailed off.
	"What?" Mulder asked, reaching around her slick, wet body to turn
the shower off.
	"How was it going to work?" she asked, thinking out loud. "How is
the plan supposed to work? The old one, I mean. How was the military
going to take over the government if the President went into meltdown?"
	Mulder thought about it. "Several ways. Take the President out.
Assume control. Or, remove him from the chain of command. Steal the
codes and make them vanish."
	"What about...in extremis?"
	"What do you mean?"
	"Say the President is paranoid enough to think that something like
that is coming. What if he takes the codes and vanishes into one of the
secure war-bunkers? Secure, isolated communication channels. Hardened
steel and concrete. He could start World War III from under some
mountain. What would the military do then?"
	"Ignore the orders?"
	She shook her head. Mulder's understanding of the military was
vague at best, downright narrow at worst. "No...see, the communications
are set up so that no one can countermand the President's orders. It's
not like the Pentagon can just pull a switch somewhere and turn him off.
That goes against everything the Constitution stands for regarding
civilian control of the military. But what...what if?"
	Mulder thought about it.
	"Only one possible way."
	"Nuclear strike," Scully whispered. "They'd have to nuke the
mountain. Hard."
	"So what you're saying is..."
	"LIBERTY BELL has changed. Instead of wiping out the President's
mountain hideout, I think...oh my God, Mulder...I think that Graves
wants to nuke Washington!"
	Mulder considered this. "How...how could he? The entire system is
set up so one insane man can't start World War III, let alone launch a
missile against the nation's capitol!"
	Scully shook her head, getting out of the shower and reaching for
a towel. "Back in the days of ballistic missiles, bombers and
submarines, sure. But...nuclear tipped Tomahawk missiles, alpha packs...
God, Mulder, if he has access to enough fissionable materials, he could
build an atomic device small enough to fit in a fifty-five gallon drum
that would turn Washington into a smoking hole."
	Mulder exited the shower and grabbed his own towel. "Ok, here's
what we do. You call Karn. I'll call Maggie King. I want to know exactly
what Stone told her. You find out who's doing Watts' old job here in San
Diego, or whom, if there's more than one. Get us clearance to talk to
them ASAP."
	He moved past her, heading for the room. Scully's hand on his arm
stopped him cold.
	"Mulder...are we sure about this?"
	He turned back. "Right now...it's all we have."

***
Motel 6
Mission Beach, California
Thirty-five minutes later

	Scully punched the OFF button on her cellphone and dropped her pen
on the bed next to her notepad. Karn had come through, as always,
providing her a list of names. Three officers, all of them assigned to
jobs that Watts' had held at one point or another in his career. Two of
them, and their jobs, gave her pause.
	Lieutenant (jg) Frank Mahler was the Deputy Planning Officer,
Office of the Chief of Staff, Commanding Officer, Naval Air Station,
Mirimar. He was a staff puke, an officer in charge of memos and reports.
	In other words, no worries...aside from the fact that he had
physical access to the CO of NAS Mirimar.
	Lieutenant Ally Roche, an Annapolis graduate, was currently
assigned as a Project Officer on the TLAM-N. (Tomahawk Land Attack
Missile-Nuclear.) She had access to `specials,' TLAM's with nuclear
tips.
	Cause for concern. Over two hundred of the TLAM-N's were stored at
Seal Beach, a twenty-minute drive away. The nuclear payload in a TLAM-N
was more than enough to turn most of DC into a radioactive rubble.
	And finally, Lieutenant Commander Harry Carpenter, a WASPy name if
ever there was one, was assigned as Tasking Officer for SUBGRU 12. He
had access to the communications systems that linked all of PACFLT's
submarines and surface sub-support ships.
	Another cause for concern.
	So far, Karn's computers had been unable to come up with any
single fact linking the three officers together. Two out of three had
attended Annapolis. The other was a ROTC graduate. One woman, two men.
One black (Harry, oddly enough,) two white. Mahler was from New Orleans,
Roche from Pittsburgh, and Carpenter was from Quiounchetutoung, Maine.
	Karn was running a slightly deeper background check even as Scully
waited for Mulder to finish his call to Maggie King. As he talked, she
watched him, not listening to his words, but just...watching.
	She felt the smile teasing at her face, and wanted to let it
bloom, to let him see how much she enjoyed just watching him. He had his
glasses on and was asking quiet, direct questions, making notes as King
replied. He wasn't looking at her, but Scully knew he could see her out
of the corner of his eye, and she stretched languidly, turning her side
to drink in the sight of him.
	He was still wearing only the towel. He'd been so caught up in the
process once again that he'd just forged ahead. Scully had at least
taken the time to don a long T-shirt and panties, and was enjoying the
feel of the air conditioning on her skin as she waited for Mulder.
	He finally tore his cellphone from his ear. She heard the tinny
beep as he ended the call and watched as he tossed it on the chair next
to the bed.
	"So?" she asked.
	"You first."
	Scully gave him a quick rundown of what she'd learned, including
the fact that Karn had cleared their entrance to Mirimar that night.
Lieutenant Roche was on duty until 1700.
	Mulder nodded. "Sounds good to me."
	"So...what did King have to say?"
	Mulder shrugged. "She seemed to think that everything Stone had
told her was a smooth, calculating lie."
	"What did he say?" Scully wanted to know.
	"Basically, the mission to Iraq was to kill Saddam, but with some
new information. According to Stone, they had an inside man, someone
close to Saddam, a bodyguard. He conspired with some senior Iraqi
military leaders to pinpoint Saddam's location and somehow communicate
this to Stone and the Goblin team. Then the team would use the PAVE TACK
laser designator, and the F16 carrying that big `ol bomb would do the
rest.
	"According to what Stone told King, the traitor was discovered,
Saddam executed him and sent a message to the Pentagon through the
Syrians that said if we attempted to assassinate him, he'd launch the
sixty SCUD missiles he had aimed as Israel. According to King, all of
those missiles had chemical warheads. So, the mission was scrapped, and
it was only by divine providence that Stone decided to break radio
silence. Scott didn't want to cancel the mission, but since Stone knew
more about the...political implications of letting Iraq fire sixty
chemical warheads at Israel, Stone did what he thought was right and
killed Scott."
	Scully nodded, absorbing all of it. "Was that all he said?" she
asked.
	"No, and that's the weird part." Mulder looked at his notes again
and frowned.
	"What?"
	"Well...I asked her about this three times. According to Commander
King...Maggie...Stone said that if he didn't get to San Diego that,
quote, `a lot of people were going to die,' unquote."
	Scully leaned back against the bed, thinking about this new
wrinkle.
	"It fits," she said slowly. "It's all starting to fit..."
	Mulder glanced at her. "What?"
	"Mulder, I think Stone may not be the total prick that we
thought."
	Her statement rocked him back as hard as if he'd been hit in the
face with a shovel. "What?"
	She shook her head. "No, personally...as a man, he's an asshole,
Mulder. I'll never change my opinion about that. But...things that he
said to me, before we knew what kind of man he was, things that he said
about himself, about his values, and the things he holds dear. I
think... I think Stone may be trying to do the same thing we are, only
from a different angle."
	She paused.
	"I think Stone's trying to track Danny Graves down as well. I
think Stone knows what LIBERTY BELL is about, or what it might be about.
I think that he might have caught scent of Danny earlier, and was
investigating it, and that Danny reacted by killing all the members of
the Goblin team that his brother commanded. All the people that he holds
responsible for his brother's death."
	"Except Stone," Mulder pointed out. "The man that actually pulled
the trigger. Does that make sense?"
	Scully shrugged. "Does it make sense to launch a nuclear attack
against your own country? Mulder, Graves is obviously not playing with a
full deck. He has motivations that we can only begin to guess at."
	"I wonder..." Mulder said.
	"What?"
	"I wonder if Danny Graves is the fourth man in the hearing room.
The man that was standing with Admiral Miles, Stone and the president of
the Article 32 board."
	Scully nodded, accepting this. "It would make sense."
	"And there's a good way to find out." Mulder grabbed his cellphone
from the chair, not noticing that his towel had slipped down and pooled
around his feet. Special Agent Dana Scully, MD was presented with a view
of her partner that she had spent four years trying to imagine. His
deliciously sculpted backside within arms reach.
	He put the phone down without dialing. "Shit."
	"What?"
	"Hamm told me that Danny Graves was from the page that isn't even
in the books. What are the chances of finding a picture of him that we
can fax to Armfield?"
	"Slim to none," Scully admitted.
	"Unless..." Mulder said, suddenly snapping his fingers. He dialed
again.

***
Apartment of Commander Maggie King
Annapolis, Maryland

	The phone rang again, and Maggie seriously considered not
answering it. First it had been Richie, calling again and again, begging
to come over. She had rebuffed him every time, eager to find a way to
end that relationship as soon as possible. And then it had been that
Mulder person, bugging her with questions about what she'd been
instructed to tell Karn.
	My God, she thought, what is my life coming to?
	In the end, she answered.
	"Hello?"
	"Commander, this is Fox Mulder again. I have...a question, and a
favor to ask."
	"What?" she asked. She hated the distant, lifeless tone of her own
voice. She sounded like a lost little girl, not a Commander in the
Unites States Navy, a professional military officer in the peak of her
career.
	She sounded pathetic.
	She hated herself.
	"Do you know where Commander Stone lives?"
	Maggie nodded, even though Mulder couldn't see her. "Uh-huh."
	"Do you think you could get in there?"
	Maggie paused.
	"I have a key," she admitted.
	Mulder chose, wisely, to not press her about how that situation
had occurred. "Here's what I need. I need you to get inside his
apartment, and see if he has any information regarding Daniel Graves.
Danny Graves, got that?"
	"Yes," Maggie said.
	"Pictures...most important is pictures, Maggie. We need a picture
of this guy as soon as possible."
	"When do you want me to-?"
	"Tonight. If possible."
	Maggie shook her head, again aware that Mulder couldn't see it,
but knowing that he would hear it in her voice. It was too much. It was
all too much.
	"Where are you?" Maggie asked.
	"San Diego," Mulder answered.
	"Have you found him?" she asked, and then hated herself for it.
	"No. Not yet. But if we find Danny, we'll probably find Matt."
	Maggie nodded. "Ok...I'll see what I can do. I'll call you."
	And with that, she hung up, turned, ran to the bathroom and
vomited.

***
Motel 6
Mission Beach, California

	Mulder looked at the phone and shrugged. "Commander King has a key
to Stone's apartment. She's going in to see if she can find anything."
	"Like a picture of Danny Graves?"
	Mulder nodded. "If we're lucky."
	Scully snorted. "If we could _ever_ be that lucky, Mulder." He
smiled and looked down at himself, startled to find that he was naked.
	"Uh, sorry," he mumbled, reaching for the towel around his ankles.
	"No, don't," Scully said.
	Mulder stood there, not sure what to do.
	"I like...looking at you," Scully said, and then paused.
"Like...that," she added.
	Mulder suddenly felt like a slide under one of Scully's
microscopes.
	She moved until she was on her knees, and she glided towards the
edge of the bed where Mulder stood. She reached out a tentative hand and
touched his chest, her fingers soft, silken feathers on his skin. Mulder
closed his eyes, wanting her touch, needing it, but knowing where it was
going to lead.
	And it wasn't time yet.
	Scully watched, amazed, as Mulder's nipples hardened without her
touching them. Mulder's eyes slid open, lowering and finding hers and
Scully gasped, seeing the arousal swimming in the dark, dilated pupils.
	Mulder made a sound, a deep growl from somewhere inside his body,
inside his soul. His hands clenched and unclenched at his side, and
Scully realized that Mulder was struggling not to touch her, struggling
to retain his control, control that was hanging by a thread. She drank
in his gaze, wondering.
	Has he always looked at me this way? Has he always wanted to?
	She had never felt more feminine, more desired, more loved.
	She pulled her hand back. The dark light behind Mulder's eyes
faded a little, but not much. His breathing was shallow, strained. A
brief memory of Jack Willis slid across her mind and she discarded it
easily, tossing it over her mental shoulder. Mulder was breathing
normally now, his hands still at his sides.
	Scully scooted a little closer to the edge of the bed and reached
up with her arms, snaking them around his neck, urging him closer to
her.
	She felt him through the T-shirt, brushing against her tummy, hot
and hard and smooth.
	Her mouth searched for his and found it, his lips tugging at hers.
The kiss was electric, intense, and then soft, sweet, and then hot and
passionate, over and over again. Scully let her legs slide out from
under her and she urged him lower, down to the bed, on top of her.
	He came willingly, using his arms to keep the bulk of his weight
off her. His maleness nestled between her thighs, pushing against her
center through the panties.
	They broke the second kiss, both of them breathing heavily,
struggling for air.
	"Dangerous," Mulder rasped.
	"Yes," Scully said softly. "Arousing."
	"Tempting."
	"I..." She stopped, not sure if she could say the words that were
on her lips. "I...want..."
	He silenced her with another kiss before she could finish the
thought. His mind was whirling, a thousand images spinning across his
consciousness, pictures of he and Scully combined in dozens of different
ways, erotic visions made more powerful by the fact that the woman he
was fantasizing about wasn't a collection of glowing phosphor dots on a
glass tube, but a living, breathing creature moving slowly and
sensuously beneath him, a woman he had come to know and love for four
very long years. Four years of memories, cases, tragedies, triumphs,
moments shared and glances exchanged. Four years of a yearning he almost
hadn't known was there until he'd realized she was gone. And the return
of them, stronger than ever, the day she'd regained consciousness.
	And then those thoughts vanished quietly.
	There was only this woman, Scully, this room, this perfect moment
in time.
	She moved, using her shoulder and arm to spin him over onto his
back, moving with him, not breaking the contact. They ended up with
Scully on top of him, her weight warm and comfortable on his waist, the
palms of her hands next to his ears, her mouth against his, her hair
tickling his face.
	Red, like the fires of hell.
	Fire.
	In his belly; his groin. Flames licking at him, slowly building,
getting stronger, hotter, hungrier. A fire needs fuel to burn and the
fuel for this blaze was on top of him, her mouth moving slowly, wetly
against his. He felt the teasing tickle of her tongue in his mouth and
gasped around it, thrilling as she explored. He chased it with his own,
his hands coming up from his sides, gliding up the smooth, sleek length
of her thighs, sliding under the hem of her shirt and finally coming to
a rest against the soft swell of her buttocks.
	Scully pushed back against his hands.
	Mulder moved them up, and then down, his fingers sliding beneath
the elastic waistband, easing them down her hips. Scully's mouth opened
against his, her breath hot against his skin.
	"Mulder..." she whispered.
	"Scully..." he replied, lifting his head to recapture her mouth.
And then they both knew.
	It was going to happen.
	Scully felt a small resistance, a small niggling voice at the back
of her head, her sensible nature trying one last-ditch effort to control
this, to control her runaway emotions.
	She told the voice to shut up, reaching back with her hands. She
grabbed his wrists and pushed, forcing his hands under her ass. She felt
one of his fingers sliding through her soaked trench and she gasped.
	It's going to happen, she thought.
	Finally.
	And of course, that was exactly when the phone rang.
	"Ignore it," she mumbled against his mouth.
	"Yeah," he gasped, not wanting to break this kiss, his mouth
searching frantically for hers.
	The phone rang eleven times and then fell silent.
	Ten seconds later, it began again.
	"Shit!" Mulder said, reaching for it.
	Scully rolled off him, throwing a forearm across her forehead.
	"WHAT?" Mulder almost shouted into the phone.
	"Agent Mulder?"
	Skinner.
	Oh, shit!
	Mulder sat up. "Sir?"
	"I understand you and Agent Scully are in San Diego?"
	"Yes, sir."
	"Care to fill me in on the developments?"
	Mulder glanced over his shoulder at Scully, shrugging. "Of course,
sir."
	He began to talk, taking Skinner back to his original meeting with
Maggie King. Scully sighed and stood, pacing the corridor between the
bed and the window. She felt hot, sticky...aroused. The feeling would
not go away. She knew he was on the phone with Skinner, that he was
working, that she shouldn't be thinking about the strong line of his
shoulders, the delicious cleft between his cheeks, the way his hair
rested against the nape of his neck.
	Sighing, she turned and moved towards the bathroom.
	Cold shower, she thought. Can't hurt.

***
Apartment of Commander Matthew Stone
Fairfax, Virginia

	Maggie used the key Matt had left her and was not at all surprised
to see that it still worked. She pushed the door open and entered,
shutting it quickly behind her.
	"Hello?" she called, wondering if he was living with someone these
days. She felt stupid for speaking to what she knew was an empty
apartment. Stone wasn't the type to settle down, whispered conversations
over sweaty, damp pillows notwithstanding.
	She moved through the apartment quickly, reacquainting herself
with the layout. Two bedrooms, the smaller one converted to a makeshift
office. A full-sized kitchen that was immaculate. She opened the
refrigerator and saw what she expected: A twelve-pack of beer with one
corner torn open, three bottles missing, a butter dish with half a stick
and two boxes of what appeared to be take-out Chinese.
	The office, she thought. That was the place to start.
	The office looked just as she remembered it. Two inexpensive
folding tables pushed together to make an "L". Two computers sat on one
of them, cables trailing out the back to a rack of peripherals,
including a laser printer and modem. The usual desk stuff on the other:
blotter, in-and-out boxes, a coffee can pressed into service a pen and
pencil cup.
	Underneath the `desk' portion, a two-drawer file cabinet, locked.
She studied it for a moment and then lifted the blotter on top of the
desk. A small gold key winked at her and she smiled.
	It didn't fit.
	On the desk, sitting on the corner, was what looked like a cigar
humidor. She lifted it. Paper clips, a mechanical pencil, rubber bands,
and another, smaller locking box.
	The key fit that box. She opened it, and found a larger silver
key.
	That fit.
	She opened the filing cabinet and started rifling through the
contents. Bills, tax returns, copies of his OER's, car insurance,
instructions for various electronic components that he'd purchased over
the years.
	A file towards the back caught her eye.
	PHOTOS, it was labeled.
	She pulled it and opened it on his desk. She felt her gorge rise
and wondered if she could find her way to the bathroom before she
vomited again.
	Spread out on the desk before here were dozens of black and white
glossies. Pictures of men and women having sex. The pictures were
grainy, but she could make out faces. It took her a moment to realize
that she was looking at still-frame captures from a videotape. The
telltale streaks across the bottom of the frame where the NTSC sync
track blurred the image gave it away.
	She realized that the pictures had been taken in Stone's bedroom,
which was odd considering that none of the men in the pictures was Matt.
	She lifted one and held it up.
	Maggie felt the blood draining from her face.
	The picture in her hand was of a slight Hispanic looking woman and
a man.
	A man Maggie recognized.
	Admiral Jake Karn, Commander, Naval Investigative Service.
	She dropped it as if it burned, and reached for another.
	Different man...same woman. The Deputy Director, Naval Reactors.
The second highest-ranking man in the Navy's nuclear program was on the
bed, engaging in a sex act that Maggie had only heard about.
	Quickly shuffling through the rest of the pictures, Maggie felt
faint. It was the same woman over and over again, but a different man
every time. Deputy Chief of Naval Operations for Plans and Policy in
one. Deputy Chief, Naval Intelligence in another. Two were senators, one
long since retired but in a lucrative legal practice in Chicago. The
other sat on the Armed Services Appropriation Committee.
	There was only one reason for the existence of these pictures.
	Blackmail.
	Shaken, Maggie replaced all the pictures in the folder and
returned it to the cabinet.
	There was another folder, behind the first one.
	PICTURES, it said.
	She drew that one out, dreading what she would see.
	The first one was of a man and a woman Maggie had never seen. The
man's face was circled in red grease-pencil, with the letters "SG"
written next to it. The woman's face wasn't circled, but an arrow
pointed to her head. "HH," it said.
	Scott Graves. Heather Haynes.
	Maggie selected the next picture. It was as grainy as the
blackmail pictures, but wasn't a video capture. It looked as if it had
been taken from a great distance.
	It showed a man getting into a car, a car with Virginia plates.
	The next item in the folder was a photograph from a newspaper. The
caption read, "Explosion kills Navy SEAL." It took a second for Maggie
to realize that the charred wreckage of the car in the newspaper
clipping was the same car in the previous photo.
	There were several more newspaper clippings.
	One was a story about a US Army Ranger shot while hunting.
	An unidentified man found shot to death in the same apartment as a
woman he'd apparently been dating.
	She flipped to the next one.
	A man found in the parking lot of a convenience store with a
broken neck. Police had no suspects. Investigation continues.
	A US Army Special Forces Master Sergeant found dead in his
apartment of apparently natural causes. Scrawled in the margin were the
words "Binary poison."
	A photo of another woman Maggie had never seen before. She was
walking out of a government building, her face turned towards the
camera. This picture was color, and judging by the clothes the woman
wore, it had been taken recently.
	"DS" was written along the edge of the photo.
	This picture was different. It was in vivid, perfect color, and
Maggie thought she had never seen a more vivid shade of red before. The
woman's hair looked like fire, she thought.
	She scanned through the rest of the pictures.
	She found what she was looking for towards the end.
	A man walking through an airport, the picture taken from an
oblique angle. The man was older, in his late 40's, but he was still in
shape. The tight shirt he wore displayed his muscles; he was wearing
sunglasses, carrying a ballistic nylon computer case in one hand and
what appeared to be a ticket in the other.
	"Danny" was written in small letters across the bottom.
	She turned the photo over. There was a stick-on label, about three
inches by five, affixed to the back. Someone had typed all the
information Maggie could ever want on the label.
	"D. Graves, Los Angeles International Airport, April 12, 1997."
	She continued to read.
	"Returning from Little Creek, Virginia, May 21, 1995."
	She remembered. Tony Calandra.
	The next picture was of the same man, wearing different clothes,
exiting an expensive-looking sports car.
	Maggie flipped it over.
	"Danny Graves, Dunwoody Georgia. October 9, 1995."
	Gerald Smith, Maggie thought.
	She flipped through the rest of the pictures, turning them over to
read the captions. They were all here. All the murders. Every single
one, some of the pictures taken before the act, some after. All showed
Danny Graves arriving or departing the scene of the murder.
	He had known. The son-of-a-bitch had known.
	Maggie culled all the photos together and jammed them back into
the folder. Faxing them to Agent Mulder wasn't going to do. She'd have
to take more drastic steps.
	She turned to leave before realizing that she hadn't checked the
bottom drawer. Sighing, she turned back and pulled it open.
	The first folder caught her eye.
	JOVIAL CLOWN, it said. She opened and read the first page of the
after action report. She felt her gorge rising again and fought it down.
Interesting, but had little to do with the case. Mulder already had most
of this information.
	She decided to send it anyway, and turned her attention back to
the drawer.
	The next folder was thick. It was actually a Pendaflex folder that
had several other manila folders inside of it. The little tab on the
Pendaflex said, simply, LIBERTY BELL.
	Maggie opened it and began to read.
	Fifteen seconds later she reached for a phone and dialed.
	The line was busy. She swore.
	He'd only given her the direct-dial number for his hotel room.
	Mulder needed this information, and he needed it now.
	Maggie stood and started pacing, biting her thumbnail, thinking.
It was way too valuable to send overnight mail. Even via officer courier
was risky, if the contents of the file were to be believed.
	Maggie snapped her fingers and stopped. Perfect, she thought.
	She returned to the phone and lifted it, closing her eyes as she
tried to remember the number.
	"NIS Duty Desk, Duty Officer speaking, sir," the voice answered.
	Maggie opened the LIBERTY BELL folder and ran her fingers down a
column of numbers and words.
	"I have a FLASH for TOPCOAT," she said, using CINCNIS's code name.
	"Stand by one," the voice said quickly. There was a series of
clicks and pops, and then, distantly, the voice of CINCNIS.
	"Karn."
	"Admiral, this Commander Maggie King, BUPERS," she said.
	"Yes?" Karn was obviously confused. It was late at night, and the
Ops center had told him he had a FLASH message coming through from one
of his agents in the field. He hadn't been expecting another call from
the King woman.
	"What can I do for you, Commander?"
	"I have some information I need to get to our mutual friend in San
Diego," she said carefully, aware that they were on an open line.
	"Which friend?"
	"Not the hound," she said quickly.
	"Understood. State nature of information."
	"Images. Files. Extremely sensitive."
	"Understood. Get out to Pax, report to the AOD. I'll whistle you
up some transportation." He paused. "Commander, if you're working for
that...other party, you realize that your career is over."
	"Understood, sir."
	"And that you will spend the rest of your natural life in
Portsmouth." The Navy Detention Center was located in Portsmouth.
	"Aye, aye, sir."
	"Very well. Pax in sixty minutes."
	Maggie hung up the phone and gathered everything together, heading
for the door.
	San Diego would be nice, she thought.

***
Home of Admiral Jake Karn, CINCNIS

	Jake Karn looked at the cellphone and frowned. Things were getting
sticky and fast. He reached for the scrambled, secure phone on the
corner of his desk and dialed.
	"Tom? Jake. I need an emergency transport, and a VC-20 ain't gonna
do it. What do have in the available inventory that's supersonic?" He
paused. "Got any Phantoms? Perfect. Whistle me up a pilot, and arrange
for a refueling aloft. I need someone to get to San Diego as quickly as
possible." Another pause. "Thanks, Tom. She'll be reporting in a little
under an hour."

***
Naval Air Station Paxtuent River
Paxtuent River, Maryland

	Even driving like a madwoman, Maggie made it in just over an hour.
She flashed her ID to the guard at the gate and drove towards the Flight
Ops building. The Areodome Officer of the Day (AOD) was waiting for her,
holding a Nomex flight suit in his hands.
	"Here," he said, handing it to her. "I'll have your car parked.
It's waiting for you." He pointed to a navy-blue Ford step van idling by
the front door to Flight Ops. Maggie ran to the van. The moment she shut
the door, the driver hit the gas.
	The F4 was idling on the threshold, the canopy up. The pilot
glanced at her curiously as she stepped into the flight suit. Zipping
up, Maggie raced towards the plane, taking the proffered flight helmet
from the ground crewman. She scampered up the ladder and settled into
the rear seat, tugging the helmet over her head as the crewman applied
the six-point restraint harness.
	He quickly pointed out the eject handles and flight controls.
Maggie nodded as if she understood but his voice was muddled blur over
the loud whine of the engines.
	The crewman vanished, and a moment later the ladder vanished,
followed by the canopy slowly descending and then locking into place.
	"Hold on, Ma'am," the pilot said over the intercom. "We're next."
	Maggie felt the plane moving, and then a moment later she gasped
as the pilot applied maximum military power in preparation for take off.
	As the plane broke the grip of gravity and leapt into the air, a
single thought kept running through Commander Maggie King's mind.
	What am I getting into?


				      -18-

US Navy F4 Phantom Tail Number N91620220
Somewhere above Nebraska

	"Gascan, Gascan, this is Batman," Lieutenant Commander Richard
Amend called. There was a momentary pause and then the voice of the USAF
KC-135 pilot replied.
	"Batman, this is Gascan. We have you on radar, approximately six
miles in trail. Please climb to angels 13 and turn left to heading two
six eight."
	"Roger that, Gascan. ETA, four minutes."
	Amend switched to intercom. "Commander, we'll be refueling
shortly."
	In the backseat, Commander Maggie King was busy trying to read the
contents of the LIBERTY BELL folder and barely heard the pilot. "Uh,
ten-four," she said.
	Amend smiled to himself. He'd been reluctant to speak to his
passenger, because every time he had tried she'd given him some vague,
disjointed answer. She obviously had a lot on her mind, and Amend's
curiosity was aroused. Who was she? Why was it so important that she get
to NAS Mirimar? So important, in fact, that she hadn't flown commercial
or a regularly scheduled VC-20 flight, but had managed to somehow get a
Phantom assigned to ferry her across the country?
	A little over three minutes later Amend could see 135.
	"Gascan, Batman, I have you in sight."
	"Roger, Batman. Turning you over to the boom." A moment later the
pilot's voice was replaced by the boom operator's. The huge KC-135
aerial refueling tanker filled Amend's vision, and he was struck by the
same thought he always was during these refueling. The US Navy insisted
on having only officers and gentlemen (and women, for that matter,)
qualify as pilots. Enlisted personnel need not apply. The Phantom he
himself was flying was 20 million dollars of jet airplane, the KC-135
another thirty or forty million. And who did they have controlling one
of the most dangerous and nerve-wracking maneuvers in military flight
operations? A twenty-two year old boom operator, a Sergeant in the
United States Air Force.
	"Batman, this is Nozzle," the voice called, and Amend smiled into
his oxygen mask again. What a great call sign; he could imagine the
youthful USAF enlisted man using that call sign to pick up women in
Omaha. "Please open your hatch."
	Amend leaned down and flicked the small toggle button. On the nose
of his Phantom a small hatch opened, ready to receive the refueling
drogue that trailed out of the ass-end of the 135.
	"Come up," Nozzle called, and Amend added a nudge of throttle.
	"Come left," the voice called again, and Amend used a gentle
combination of stick and rudder, and the huge fighter aircraft drifted
slowly left.
	"Up two," the voice called, and a moment later Amend felt and
heard the satisfying click! as the drogue snapped home.
	"Connect, connect, connect," Nozzle called.
	"Concur," Amend replied. "Stand by..." He flicked the appropriate
switches in the cockpit and a moment later the twin fuel gauges began to
climb up. "We have flow," Amend called.
	"Concur. Six gallons a second," Nozzle replied. "Approximate
refuel time is three minutes."
	This was the most delicate part. Amend had to keep the Phantom
practically hovering behind the 135. If he broke the connection before
Nozzle shut off the flow, his canopy windshield would be sprayed with
JP-4, the standard fuel of all US Military jet aircraft. Similar in
chemical makeup to kerosene, once it splashed across the canopy it would
freeze instantly, making it hard (but not impossible) to see clearly.
	"Batman, Nozzle," the drogue operator called.
	"Go, Nozzle."
	"How much do you need, over?"
	"Centerline and both wing tanks."
	"Roger. Thirty seconds."
	Fully loaded, the Phantom would have enough fuel to make Mirimar
with no problem. But the Flight Operations Officer who had laid this
mission on had made it clear that Amend was to get his passenger to
Mirimar as quickly as possible, and that meant climbing to almost forty-
thousand feet and applying a healthy dose of afterburner. He would need
every single drop of fuel he could get.
	Half a minute later, Nozzle was back on the radio.
	"Batman, we're showing full at our end."
	Richard "Batman" Amend checked his gauges. The centerline tank
showed full, and the wing tanks were equally teeming with JP-4.
	"Concur, Nozzle. Releasing drogue." Amend hit the switch and a
second later he watched as the drogue detached from the nose of his
Phantom. Slowly, Nozzle reeled it back in.
	"Thanks for the fill-up," Amend called.
	"Roger that, Batman," Gascan called. "Have a nice flight."
	The mammoth KC-135 banked to the left and descended, turning back
towards home.
	"Commander, I'm just about to go into afterburner. You might want
to hold on."
	"Ten-four," Maggie called, and Amend could tell by the tone of her
voice that she hadn't heard a word he'd said.
	Oh well, he thought.
	Lifting the nose, Amend pushed the throttles all the way forward,
past the maximum military power stop and into afterburner. The twin
Pratt & Whitney engines roared in response, two twin tails of flame
leaping out of the plane's tail.
	The folder that Maggie had been balancing on her lap slid to the
floor of the cockpit, spilling the papers.
	"Shit!" she said.
	Amend smiled.

***
Motel 6
Mission Beach, California

	"Hey, Scully," Mulder called. "I have an idea."
	She was in the shower, trying to calm herself down. They had come
so close to crossing that line, the line that neither of them was wholly
prepared to approach, let alone leap across. It would have been so easy,
she thought, letting the water stream across her face. She was still
aroused, still so finely attuned to her own senses that Scully thought
she could feel every single individual water drop impacting against her
face.
	"What?"
	"Finish up, and I'll explain."
	He closed the bathroom door, giving her some privacy. She finished
quickly, wrapping another towel around her body and returning to the
bedroom. Mulder was lying on the bed with the towel wrapped around him.
	"Actually," he said, "it was Skinner who gave me the idea."
	Scully plopped down on the bed and cocked an eyebrow.
	"When I told him that Watts only knew one other Ronin besides
Grave, Skinner said something like, "How would they recognize each other
when the time came?"
	Scully nodded. It made sense, in a Skinner sort of way. Skinner
hadn't doubted Mulder's story, apparently. And his mind had quickly
worked out the tactical and strategic requirements of such an operation.
How would the individual Ronin know if another of their ilk were in
command of a facility, or a ship, or a submarine?
	Good question.
	"Call Mike. Ask him if there's some kind of code phrase or
something we can use."
	Scully nodded and reached for Mulder's cellphone. She felt the
towel shifting and reached for it, not wanting a repeat of what had
happened only moments before.
	Too late.
	The towel gaped, and Mulder saw her, saw Scully's wet, slick body.
Scully glanced up, saw the look on his face and realized that she had
nothing to hide from him.
	She let the towel drop.
	Mulder groaned.
	She moved to him, draping her body across his. "Hand me the
phone," she whispered, kissing his neck. She felt his hand slapping the
bed, blindly searching. A second later she felt him pass the phone to
his other hand across her back.
	"I'll call," he said.
	"But-"
	"Do me a favor. Don't move." She smiled against his neck and
ground herself against him gently. "Scully..."
	"Sorry."
	"Yeah, right." Mulder dialed 1, and then 808, and then stopped.
"What's the-"
	Scully gave him the rest of the number and together they waited
for the call to go through.


***
Office of the Chief of Staff,
Commander, Submarine Forces, Pacific (COMSUBPAC)
Naval Base Pearl Harbor

	Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Mike Watts heard his phone ring. He
glanced at it and wondered if he should answer it. It might be Betty,
and if he didn't answer it, she'd grow worried. Twenty-six years of
marriage had been good to the both of them for the most part, and he
hated to worry her.
	"Watts," he said.
	"Admiral, Fox Mulder."
	"Agent Mulder. I see you two got to San Diego without any
problem."
	"Yes, sir. And thank you for all your assistance. The car is
wonderful."
	Watts nodded, impatient. "What can I do for you, son?"
	Mulder bristled at this, but said nothing. "Sir, this is an
unsecured line, so we'll have to be obtuse. Do you remember our
discussion this afternoon?"
	"Yes, of course."
	"How would you recognize another one?"
	Watts frowned, thinking, trying to understand what-
	Oh.
	"A mark." He paused. "A tattoo. We all have the same tattoo."
	"Sir! This is not a secure-"
	"Mr. Mulder, at this point it doesn't much matter. I am quite sure
that Danny Graves has better things to do than monitor my
communications. The tattoo is of a Phoenix, all black, somewhere on the
chest."
	"What about the women?"
	"I have no idea, Mr. Mulder. Have a good day." Watts hung the
phone up and turned his attention back to the blotter.
	A Colt M1911A .45 pistol sat in the middle of his desk. Watts
picked it up and fingered the envelope underneath it. It was addressed
to his wife, and contained...
	What?
	A confession? Watts decided that that wasn't far from the truth.
	Watts hit the magazine release. The pistol's clip fell into the
palm of his left hand. Seven Black Talon hollowpoint rounds were nestled
in the magazine. One was enough, he knew. One would do the trick.
	He inserted the magazine back into the pistol and slapped it home.
Turning the muzzle towards the door, he grasped the slide with the thumb
and forefinger of his left hand and jacked it back.
	It sounded very loud in the empty room.

***
Motel 6
Mission Beach, California

	"Call him," Mulder said, handing the phone to Scully. "He's on
edge."
	"How can you tell?"
	Mulder shrugged. "I just can."
	"Do you think he-?"
	Mulder nodded and stood, reaching for his clothes. Scully hit
REDIAL and listened to the phone ring in her ear.

***
Pearl Harbor

	Watts had the muzzle of the .45 pressed against his right temple
when the phone rang again. He felt the tears running down his face,
tasted their saltiness on his lips. He tried to ignore the phone, but
found that he could not.
	Swearing, he flicked the safety on and gently laid the pistol down
on his desk.
	"Watts!"
	"Mike, it's Dana." She paused. "What are you doing right now?"
	"Dana, I don't have time-"
	"Mike...are you doing what I think you're doing?"
	"Dana...please. I know you mean well, but you just don't-"
	"Trying to tie up those loose ends, Mike?" Scully said, hurrying,
trying to break through to him. "Trying to make it all right? This won't
do it, Mike."
	"Dana, goddammit, you do NOT under-"
	"What? Understand? I understand that a man I used to look up to, a
man that I thought was a hero has turned out to be nothing but a coward.
A coward that wants to run away when-"
	"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!" Watts roared.


***
Mission Beach

	Scully covered the phone with her hand. "Call the base!" she
whispered to Mulder. "Provost Marshall's office! Get someone over there
now!"
	Mulder reached for the hotel phone.

***
Pearl Harbor

	"Dana, I'm sorry," Watts said after a long moment. He could hear
movement at the other end. He knew what she was doing.
	"Mike, we need your help. I need your help. We have to fix this
thing. We need to make this right. Doing that...won't make it right.
Betty will never understand! She'll never believe it unless you tell her
yourself."
	"I wrote a note," he said curtly.
	"Tell me about it, Mike. What did you say in the note?"
	"Dana, you're stalling for time."

***
Mission Beach

	Shit! Scully thought.
	She glanced over at Mulder. He had finally gotten through. "Yes,
that's right, COMSUBPAC's chief of staff. She's on the phone with him
right now. Hurry!"
	He cupped the phone and mouthed "Four minutes" to her.
	Scully nodded. Mulder lifted his left arm, clicking the button on
his runner's watch.
	4:00

***
Pearl Harbor
03:58 Remaining

	"Dana...stalling won't work. I have to do this. It's the honorable
thing."
	"Honorable? How can you say that? Your entire life has been
dedicated to fighting the good fight, doing what you believe is right!
Is killing yourself right?"
	"I don't know what's right anymore," Watts said softly. "I thought
I did...once. But I'm...confused."
	"It's ok to be confused, Mike," Dana said, her voice soothing.
"I'm confused. I still don't know exactly what is going on, what his
plans are."
	"I've thought about it," Watts admitted. "Since you left, I've
thought about nothing else."
	I bet, Scully thought.
	"Tell me," she urged. "Tell me what you think he's going to do."
	"I have some notes..." Watts said, putting the gun down on the
desk.
	"Get them...read them to me."
	"...here somewhere..." Watts muttered.

***
Mission Beach, California
3:14 Remaining

	Scully stood, reaching for her panties. Mulder helped her into
them, all thoughts of physical pleasure gone from his mind. She
struggled to slide them over her hip with one hand and then gave up as
Mulder quickly resorted to dressing her.
	He held the phone to her ear as Scully slid her arms through the
straps of her bra. He snapped it closed and turned to find her pants.

***
Pearl Harbor
2:59 Remaining

	"...tired, so tired..." Watts whispered, looking through the piles
of paper on his desk. Off in the distance, he heard something, something
that made him stop and look out the window. "...sirens?" he asked.

***
Mission Beach
2:50 Remaining

	"Shit!" Scully said. "Tell them no sirens!"
	Mulder reached for the phone. "Hello?"
	"Sir, we're still here."
	"Tell your units not to use their sirens! He can hear them
coming!"
	In the background, Mulder heard, "...headquarters to all units,
proceed at code 2, repeat code TWO!"

***
Pearl Harbor
2:34 Remaining


	The sirens faded.
	Hmm, Watts thought. Must be a car accident or something.
	"Found them!" he said triumphantly. He slid his pistol to the
side, opening the folder. "Got a pen, Dana?  This is a little
complicated."
	"Give me a minute," Scully said.

***
Mission Beach
2:21 Remaining

	Scully motioned with her hand to Mulder, mimicking writing. He
shook his head and raced for his bag. He rummaged through it, realizing
that he was losing time. He found what he was looking for at the bottom
and pulled it out.
	Stepping to Scully's side, he quickly attached the two tiny
suction cups to the cellphone, trailing the wires to the small dictating
recorder. He pushed PLAY and REC and then nodded, twirling his finger in
a circle.
	Go.

***
Pearl Harbor
2:00 Remaining

	"Got it, Uncle Mike. Go ahead."
	Watts nodded, reading his scrawled handwriting. "Well, I figured
that he'd need a way to decapitate the leadership of the country. And
there's only one way that he can do it that I can think of."
	He paused. "State of the Union address."

***
Pearl Harbor
1:48 Remaining

	Danny Graves moved quickly up the stairs leading to Admiral Watts'
office. Most of the staff had quit work less than half an hour ago, and
the halls were deserted. The communications center was manned twenty-
four hours a day, but they were locked behind secure steel doors. The
USMC guard at the entrance to communications was taking a piss break,
and was nowhere to be seen. And if he had been on station, it was
doubtful that he would have paid Graves much attention.
	The uniform fit perfectly. Summer khakis, six rows of ribbons, and
Captain's eagles pinned to his collar points. He carried a regulation US
Navy briefcase, and his cover was tucked under his left arm.
	Perfect.
	Watts' yeoman was gone for the day, sealing Watts' fate.
	Graves placed the briefcase face-up on the yeoman's desk and
opened it.
	A Glock .45 pistol sat inside, nestled in form-fitting foam
rubber. Next to the pistol was the sleek, deadly form of a suppresser.
	Donning a pair of surgeon's gloves, Graves quickly assembled the
pistol, screwing the suppresser into the end.
	It was already loaded.

***
Mission Beach, California
1:30 Remaining

	"State of the Union? I don't understand."
	Watts explained. "That's the only time both houses of Congress,
the Cabinet, the Joint Chiefs and the entire Supreme Court is all
together in one place. It would be the perfect time to take out the
entire governmental leadership."
	Scully gasped. It was perfect, fiendish, diabolical. It made
perfect sense. If Graves could somehow manage to detonate a device in
the Congress during the State of the Union address, it would have a dual
effect. First, as Watts said, it would totally decapitate the
government. Second, Washington would be radioactive for months. The
physical manifestation of America's government, Washington, would be a
smoking pile of radioactive rubble. People would be scared, confused.
They'd look for leadership, for guidance.
	And Danny Graves, the Ronin, would be there to give it to them.

***
Pearl Harbor
1:09 Remaining

	Petty Officer Second Class Chris Hayes took the second-to-last
turn almost on two wheels. He could see his destination in the distance.
Calculating quickly, Hayes realized it would take him another sixty
seconds to navigate the twisting, turning series of roads and streets
between here and there.
	Up ahead, he spotted several dependent children playing in the
street, blocking his way.
	He'd been told to come in silent and quick, but above all...quick.
The Chief of Staff to COMSUBPAC was reportedly planning to commit
suicide, and an old family friend on the phone was the only thing
keeping him alive.
	Deciding to risk it, Hayes hit the siren.
	The kids scattered, and he silenced the siren immediately.

***
Pearl Harbor
1:00 Remaining

	Graves glanced over his shoulder, one hand on the knob to Watts'
office. He'd heard the siren in the distance. They were alerted, on
their way.
	No time.
	He turned the knob and stepped inside, leveling the pistol at
Watts' face. The admiral wasn't looking towards the door, wasn't aware
that Graves had entered. Softly, quickly, Graves moved towards the desk,
stepping around the edge. He spied the pistol on the corner and grinned.
	Watts had been planning to off himself, Graves thought.
	Doing my work for me, Mike?

***
Mission Beach
0:55 Remaining

	"Do you know where he could get a device?" Scully asked.
	"It's a bomb, Dana. A toaster is a device. And yes, I know where
he could get one. Seal Beach is one place. Almost any ship in the fleet
that carries them. This man is a shadow, Dana. He's a ghost. He can come
and go anywhere he pleases, any time he wants. He's got identities,
clearances, access to things that I can only dream about. He could steal
one during a transport, and no one would ever know what happened to it,
where it was, or who had taken it until he used it."

***
Pearl Harbor
0:40 Remaining

	Graves reached down and grasped the pistol on Mike's desk. Watts
didn't notice until he felt the cold steel of the barrel against his
left temple.
	He slowly turned and looked up into the face of his assassin.

***
Mission Beach
0:36 Remaining

	"I'm so sorry, Dana," she heard him say.
	The noise of the gun going off was so loud that Scully almost
dropped the phone.
	"NO!" she screamed. "NO!" She lowered the phone. "He did it," she
whispered. "He killed himself."

***
Pearl Harbor
0:32 Remaining

	Graves lowered the pistol and reached down, securely wrapping
Watts' hand around it. He took a single step away from the desk but saw
the phone in Watt's right hand. He knew that he had less than half a
minute to make his escape, but he couldn't resist. The temptation was
just too great.
	He reached for it.
	"Hello?"

***
Mission Beach
0:28 Remaining

	Scully heard something, heard the distant, tinny vibration of a
voice on the phone. She lifted it to her ear again.
	"Mike?"
	"No," the voice said. "Admiral Watts won't be able to come to the
phone, I'm sorry to say. He's quite dead."
	"Who is this?" she demanded.
	"Oh...you know, Agent Scully. You know exactly who this is."
	`Graves,' she mouthed to Mulder. He moved behind her, tipping his
head towards her, struggling to hear.
	"You killed him, you son-of-a-bitch!"
	"Quite so," Graves confirmed. "But it was with his gun, and
there's a very nice suicide note sitting right here on his desk. I'm
afraid that you'll have a hard time convincing anyone that I had
anything to do with it."
	Scully took a step towards the door, wanting to dash out into the
parking lot, climb into the BMW, drive to Mirimar, demand another plane
from Captain Ebert and fly to Pearl, all in the space between two
heartbeats. Only then would she be able to put her hands around the neck
of this...this...
	"I'm coming for you," Scully said, her voice icy, cold, dead.
	"Well, I should hope so. Do remember to bring that lovely partner
of yours, won't you? It wouldn't be fun killing one of you without..."

***
Pearl Harbor

	"...having the other there to watch," Graves finished. He glanced
out the window. The first car from the Provost Marshal's office was
turning the far corner, accelerating up the street. "But I'm afraid I do
have to go now. Seems that someone alerted the authorities. But, I must
say that I do look forward to meeting the both of you...again."
	Graves hung up the phone, turned and walked briskly back to the
outer office. He quickly disassembled the Glock, returned it to his
briefcase and closed it. Exiting Watts' outer office, he turned left
instead of right and walked quickly to the end of the hall. The doorway
leading to the rear staircase stuck for a moment, and he shoved, hard,
forcing it open.
	He stepped through and closed it, listening the sound of PO2 Chris
Hayes pounding his way up the stairs. Silently counting to fifteen,
Graves turned and descended the stairs.
	He exited the building into an alley. His car was waiting for him.
Casually opening the trunk, he slipped the case inside and closed it,
moving quickly to the driver's side.
	He started the car and pulled away, turning right at the end of
the alley.
	A Shore Patrolman was directing traffic, but his back was turned
to Graves. Turning towards the scene of the crime (the last place anyone
would look for a potential culprit,) Graves slowly approached the Shore
Patrolman, hitting the switch to lower the window.
	"What's going on here?" he asked.
	"Just move along-" the SP said, turning. He saw the twin eagles on
Graves' collar and snapped to attention. "Sorry, sir. We have a
situation here, and I'm not at liberty to-"
	"Very well," Graves said, trying to inject a tone of annoyance
into his voice. He raised the window and motored past, making sure to
slow down and rubberneck like anyone else. He didn't want to stand out
in the SP's memory.
	Graves drove to the gate and exited the base, saluting the Marine
guard.
	He glanced at his watch, calculating.
	Seventy-six hours, and it would all be over.
	Perfect.

***
Motel 6
Mission Beach, California

	Mulder carefully removed the tape and held it up to the light.
"Well, if we ever catch the son of a bitch, we have him dead to rights.
Capital murder, at least."
	Scully said nothing. She sat down on the bed, hard. Her eyes were
far away, and she felt the hot sting of tears building.
	"He killed him. Just fucking...I can't believe he...fucking killed
him...put the fucking gun to his head and just...fucking...killed him."
	Mulder turned at his partner's words. Scully never swore like
that; she sounded like a salty Navy veteran.
	He kneeled next to her. "Scully...you ok?"
	She looked at him and snorted. "No, Mulder, I'm not `ok'. One of
my parents' oldest and dearest friends was just murdered, and I had to
listen to it! How could you even ask? Of course I'm not OK!"
	Without thinking, Mulder said, "Scully, he was going to kill
himself anyway."
	He saw the look on her face and knew he'd screwed up.
	She stood. "And you think that makes it all right? You think that
because he was scared, confused...that he felt he was out of options,
that it's OK? That this man...a hero, Mulder, a genuine, bona-fide,
certified hero would think that the country was so bad off, that we're
so fucked up that he would participate in a madman's plot to take it
over? That he would want to kill hundreds of thousands of people just to
make a political point?" Her voice was rising.
	She's hysterical, Mulder thought, standing.
	"You know, Mulder, for someone who's supposed to be so fucking
smart, you can be really STUPID sometimes!"
	"Scully..." he said, reaching for her.
	She stepped back.
	"Don't you TOUCH ME!" she hissed.
	Shocked, he dropped his arms.
	"W-what...?" he asked.
	She turned and strode towards the connecting door. "X things,
Mulder. First, be ready to move out in fifteen minutes. We're going to
go talk to Lieutenant Roche at Mirimar. Second...I'll be sleeping in
here tonight, Mulder." She turned, stopped, and turned back.
	"Alone."

END SECTION 6 (CHAPTERS 16-18)