From: [email-masked] (Peggy Mei-Ling Li)
Date: 11 Sep 1994 19:19:47 GMT

CONSPIRACIES

Adam Webb

An X-Files story.  Second season.  Category - thriller.  Rating PG.

This story is (c) 1994 Adam Webb.  The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully 
and the name X-Files are (c) Fox Network Programming & Ten Thirteen 
Productions.  E-mail correspondence to the author via the Internet should 
be addressed to  
[email-masked].

*Note.  This story continues the events begun in my earlier work 
ZEITGEIST.  While it can be read as a stand-alone piece, certain 
references and events will make a lot more sense if you are familiar with 
the first story.

***************************************************************

Memorial Park, Washington D.C.  Day One,   7:12am

It was shaping up to be a fine summers day.  Those already taking 
advantage of it included a handful of joggers, one bleary-eyed Romeo only 
just making his way home, and two casually dressed men out for a brisk, 
early morning walk in the park.  One of these men had a face that was a 
familiar sight to anyone who regularly watched any of the national 
television news programs.  Although now sheathed in the veneer which came 
with success and power, his rugged frame and alert manner spoke of 
tougher times, when he d lived by his wits.     Leaving the park by the 
Beaker Street entrance, the older man brought his companion to a halt 
with an out-swung arm.
        Senator Peter Van Thewsen, Chairman of the Senate Committee for 
Defence Systems Development, inhaled deeply.  Almost immediately his 
craggy features wrinkled in disgust.
         This is Washington D.C.  The very heart of government.   Van 
Thewsen rumbled like a rusty tank, lecturing his  aide as if the man had 
no idea what city he was in.   And the air smells like a God-damned Cuban 
whorehouse!      Yes, sir.   The Senator s assistant replied doubtfully.  
Never having been in a Cuban whorehouse, or for that matter any other 
kind, he didn t feel qualified to comment further.  Besides which, word 
had it that contradicting the Senator one to many times was what had cost 
his predecessor a promising career.
         Yes sir.   Van Thewsen mocked.   Is that all you can say, 
Revenau.  Doesn t it make you sick to your stomach?  No, don't bother 
answering,   he warded off another automatic agreement with a scowl.  
 Today, Revenau, we re going to do something to redress the imbalance.  
Today, we re going to say no to those warmongering four-star 
sons-of-bitches!   Clapping the younger man on the back he continued,  
 Then, when the hullabaloo has died down, we ll take a few million of 
those tax payers hard-earned dollars and use them to make this a better 
place.  Revenau nodded enthusiastically.  Although he agreed with the 
Senator one hundred percent, he was smart enough to be very careful about 
who knew it.  Van Thewsen was a powerful figure, but then so were some of 
those who opposed his anti-armament stance.  Joining the Senator for his 
early morning constitutional was about as much of a public statement as 
it was prudent for someone in his position to make.
         Come on, Revenau.   The Senator said, smoothing back thick 
strands of iron-grey hair.   Time for breakfast.  We ve got work to do, 
and the world won t wait.   Only recently had he discovered how very true 
his favourite saying was.
        The truth had been revealed during an unexpected meeting with a 
man dressed in black.  A man who had, quite literally, changed his mind.  
He knew now that the world was about to alter dramatically, as the 
balance of power tipped further in the Alpha s favour.
        The two men stepped off the kerb and began to cross Beaker 
Street, taking a slalom-like course between the many potholes which 
marred the tarmac s once smooth surface.  Being a good twenty-five years 
younger than the Senator, Revenau heard the noise a second or two before 
his boss.  He turned quickly, and was shocked to see a sports car bearing 
down on them, its driver making no attempt to stop.  The was no time to 
shot a warning, no time to do anything except try to stay alive.  
Survival instincts kicking-in, Revenau flung himself backwards, a hand 
grabbing for the Senator s jacket collar.  He caught the material, but 
felt it ripped from his grasp, as the Van Thewsen hesitated a fraction 
too long.
        With a sickening thud the blue Mustang ploughed into Senator Van 
Thewsen, shattering his legs on impact and hurling him several feet into 
the air.  The driver touched the brakes, and in that split second the 
body tumbled landing hard and sliding to a stop on the road in front of 
his vehicle.  Anxious to complete his job, the driver s foot came down 
hard on the accelerator, sending the Mustang racing forward.  Van Thewsen 
barely had time to raise a warding arm before the car was on top of him.
        Revenau heard a sickening pop, as the tyres bounced over the 
Senator s body, then the car was speeding away.  Forcing himself to look, 
Revenau saw that the old man s head had been crushed like an over-ripe 
melon, leaving a red and grey tyre track which stained the road for 
several yards.  Fighting down the urge to vomit, Revenau tried to collect 
his sense.  The Police would want him to be very clear as to what had 
happened.  The grating noise of an explosive collision from further down 
the road snapped him back to alertness.  Scrambling to his feet the aide 
looked in that direction and saw a pall of thick black smoke rising from 
the overturned wreck of the blue Mustang.  The maniac had crashed!  
         Jesus!   Revenau said, suddenly feeling dizzy.  Lowering himself 
to the ground he sat on the edge of the kerb.  In the distance he could 
hear the sound of a siren.

CONSPIRACIES - Part 1 of 4

From: [email-masked] (Peggy Mei-Ling Li)
Date: 11 Sep 1994 19:21:20 GMT
From: Adam Webb <[email-masked]>

CONSPIRACIES - Part 2 of 4

This story is (c) 1994 Adam Webb.  The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully
and the name X-Files are (c) Fox Network Programming & Ten Thirteen
Productions.  E-mail correspondence to the author via the Internet should
be addressed to [email-masked]. 

FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.  Day Two,  8:00am

In a nondescript briefing room on the first floor of the imposing J. 
Edgar Hoover Building, eight Special Agents were seated behind bare,
functional tables arranged in a U-shape.  Director Skinner stood at the
apex of the formation, reading from notes attached to a clipboard which he
held like a shield. The pages were summarised evidence pertaining to the
suspicious death of Senator Peter Van Thewsen, which the FBI had been
ordered to investigate as a possible conspiracy.  At the present time,
nobody knew if Van Thewsen s death was a lone event, or part of a larger
plot against the Senate Committee which he d chaired. 
        Dana Scully was paying careful attention to everything that was
said, hoping to spot something that had previously been missed.  Being
chosen for the task force was the first really interesting job she d been
given since the closing of the X-Files.  Someone was giving her a break,
and that made her all the more determined to shine. 
         Kremmer and Schultz,  the Director nodded at the pairing,  I want
you to cover the medical angle.  According to forensics, our mystery man s
fingerprints were surgically removed.  Very recently and expertly. 
 Skinner informed.   I want to know who did the job.  Pausing momentarily
he glanced at his notes.   He hasn t had any facial alterations, as far as
the lab can tell.  At leasrapht not in the last five years.  So the chances
are that this guy s mug is in someone s files.  Focusing on the two agents
seated the farthest from him, he said,  Now.  Scully and Drake. 
        To the left of his new partner, Special Agent Nick Drake was
leaning forward, elbows on the table top and cigarette wedged in the
corner of his mouth.  He d already got the case pretty much worked out,
but knew better than to come right out and say so.  In almost twenty-five
years with the FBI he d learned that each type of case had its own
predetermined length; an amount of time that was considered appropriate
for a full and professional examination of the facts.  Even if the
solution was the most obvious thing in the God-damned world, that time
could not be screwed around with.  Smart guys knew it, and went with the
flow.   Your assignment is to take a fine tooth-comb, and use it on Van
Thewsen s past.  There may be something there that can help us determine
the killer s true ID.  Skinner said. 
        Great, Scully thought, another indoors job with the chain-smoking
Nick Drake.  Another day that would end with her clothes and hair reeking
of stale nicotine.  Eyes flickering briefly to the face of the man
standing in the corner of the room Scully saw that, as if picking up on
her discomfort, he too was lighting up another cigarette.  The smoking man
had made no comment and taken no active part in the briefing. 
 Scully still didn t know who he really was, and didn t want to know. 
Knowing too much was the reason she d been reassigned. 
         Okay, let s go.  Drake said as if issuing an order.  Hauling
himself out the seat he crushed the remains of his smoke into an ashtray
and immediat- ely delved into his jacket pocket for another cigarette. 
 Hey,  he shook the packet,  I m nearly out.  Mind if we stop at the
machine on our way down to the computer room? 
         Not at all.  Dana smiled icily.   In fact you can stop there just
as long as you like. 

CONSPIRACIES - Part 2 of 4

From: [email-masked] (Peggy Mei-Ling Li)
Date: 11 Sep 1994 19:21:52 GMT
From: Adam Webb <[email-masked]>

CONSPIRACIES - Part 3 of 4

This story is (c) 1994 Adam Webb.  The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully 
and the name X-Files are (c) Fox Network Programming & Ten Thirteen 
Productions.  E-mail correspondence to the author via the Internet should 
be addressed to  [email-masked].

FBI Building, NYC.  Day Two, 2:10pm

In a windowless corner of the open-plan general office, Fox Mulder sat 
behind a desk busily annotating a report.  The desktop was littered with 
stacks of paperwork.  A small computer workstation was perched on the 
edge of the desk, its monitor black and dead.  Ever since the closure of 
the X-Files, Mulder didn t trust electronic data systems.  Contrary to 
official policy, he rarely made use of his terminal.
         Hey Mulder, I got big news.   Special Agent Carrabelli said, 
almost succeeding at him attempt to sound sincere.  When his new partner 
looked up, Johnny quoted from the newspaper held open between his hand.  
 Says here that 22% of Americans believe Elvis was right to shoot TV 
sets!   Grinning in delight he twisted around in his chair to see 
Mulder s face.   How about that, Spooky.  You think we should maybe start 
a file. 
         No.   Mulder said impassively.  Features deadpan he added,  I 
already have a file on Elvis. 
        The bleeping of Mulder s telephone mercifully interrupted Agent 
Carrabelli s retort.  Taking care that his expression gave nothing away, 
Mulder scribbled down a note, then replaced the handset in its cradle.
         Gotta go. 
         Hey, wait up.   Carrabelli started to rise.
         Sorry.   Mulder smirked darkly.   You re not invited.  My 
informant is easily  spooked.    Without giving his partner the chance to 
think of an argument, Mulder snatched up his trenchcoat and headed for 
the exit to the street.
        He d walk for a few blocks before hailing a cab.  That way he 
could be reasonably sure that no one was following.  These days he 
watched every shadow.  There was little in the way of real evidence, but 
he was convinced that he was under surveillance.  Whether by FBI agents, 
or those loyal to the Alphas, he had no way of knowing.
        The call had been a coded message requesting a meeting.  By using 
the phrase *bad weather* the caller had revealed that the information 
came from the Lone Gunman investigative group, and was urgent.  Mulder 
didn t know the caller s name, and intended to keep it that way.  Since 
his unnerving encounter with the MIB in Dayton, and the fiasco of the 
Ehrlenmeyer Flask, he preferred to keep all information on a need to know 
basis.  What he didn t know, he could not be forced to reveal.
        The minute that Mulder was out of sight, Agent Carrabelli 
propelled his swivel-chair over to his partner s desk.  Retrieving the 
notepad he squinted at the spidery scrawl that was Agent Mulder s 
handwriting.  The message read;  ELVIS LIVES!

NYC, Lower East side.  Day two, 3:00pm.

In the lounge of a borrowed fifth floor apartment, Mulder took the 
go-between s invitation to sit.  The worn sofa faced a large TV set which 
was on, but with  the sound turned down.  The CBS News broadcast was 
showing more pictures of  Senator Peter Van Thewsen. On the journey, his 
contact had said almost nothing.  But it was clear that he was scared by 
whatever had prompted the meeting.  Whether that fear resulted from the 
information itself, or the possible consequences of possessing it, was 
not yet clear.
         Okay.   Mulder offered a friendly smile.   You want to tell me 
why I m here? 
         Sure.   The young man nodded, causing his long fair hair to fall 
over part of his face.  Sweeping it back in an often used gesture he 
knelt before the TV, and pressed a button on the video player housed 
below it.   They told me to say this was taken just over a week ago.  The 
place is a few miles outside of Harrisonburg.  That s about eighty miles 
south west of Washington D.C, as the crow flies. 
        When the screen flickered into life, Mulder felt a chill of 
dread.  The video, apparently shot at night in open country, showed an 
image that had been branded into his mind.  In a moonlit, star-filled sky 
there was an object which should not have been there.  It hung in the air 
like a Christmas bauble, seemingly spinning about its own axis.  Exactly 
as he remembered, the craft which had been codenamed Zeitgeist 516 
dropped at speed and hovered motionlessly above a dense grouping of pine 
trees.  The intense white glare which had surrounded the craft winked 
out, leaving a large black shape which was difficult to see against the 
sky.  Moments passed during which nothing appeared to be happening.  
Then, just as Mulder was about to ask a question, five pencil-thin rays 
of green laser light lanced groundward from the bottom of the craft.
         Here it comes.   The go-between warned.   Keep your eyes on the 
left of the screen, down at ground level. 
         What exactly am I looking for?   Mulder probed, eyes unblinking 
as he tried to extract as much data as possible.  The cameraman seemed to 
know what he was doing, and the equipment was good.  Though almost 
inevitably the picture was not as sharp as he would have liked.
         Just keep watching.   The young man said nervously.   You ll see 
soon enough. 
        A shadowy shape appeared for a fleeting instant within the area 
defined by the lasers.  Mulder had time to see only that whatever or 
whoever it was definitely travelled in a downward direction,el then the 
guide beams were gone.  There was the impression of movement from the 
unlit UFO, and the camera tilted abruptly upward, recording a brilliant 
white light shooting straight up at incredible speed.
         Now.   The young man said, drawing Mulder s attention back to 
earth even as the camera was hastily refocussed on what appeared to be 
two figures, emerging from between the trees.
        Mulder let out an involuntary gasp.  One of the men was dressed 
in black.  The other wore casual attire, but there was something familiar 
about him.  Possibilities tumbled like dice inside Mulder s mind for the 
seconds it took the cameraman to zoom in for a brief close-up.  As the 
famous face came into clear focus, the lensman was heard to mutter, *Holy 
shit.  It s him!*  The video finished without warning, leaving Mulder to 
presume that the Lone Gunman team had done what *he* would have done at 
that point, and gotten the hell out.
        Rendered temporarily speechless, Mulder found himself wishing 
desperately that Scully was there to confide in.  Then, regaining control 
over his emotions, he was glad that she wasn t.  He wanted Scully nowhere 
near this.  Taking a deep breath he looked at the young man.  His steady 
gaze was returned by one of apprehension, as if the go-between feared 
that he d be arrested on the spot.
         They were right.   Mulder confirmed.   It was Van Thewsen.   
Saying the name out loud seemed to break the almost palpable tension 
which had invaded the room.   Now, you re obviously quite a smart guy.   
Mulder continued.   Smart enough to know how dangerous this information 
is.  Correct?   The young man nodded once.   Its okay, you re not in 
trouble.  Just as long as you listen to me and do exactly what I tell 
you.  Is that absolutely clear? 
        Speaking quickly but calmly, Mulder told the go-between to record 
over the tape, and when that was done, pass on a verbal message to the 
Lone Gunman group.  They were to be informed that the safest course would 
be to destroy any remaining copies, and to forget what they d seen.  If 
asked for a reason, they were to be told that what they d stumbled upon 
was something that was classified above top secret.  Something they were 
simply not equipped to handle.
        As Mulder shut the door of the apartment behind him, he found 
that he was shaking.  He didn t know whether the Lone Gunmen would take 
his advice, but was certain that if they didn t, some of them would end 
up dead.  Since discovering the truth about Zeitgeist, he d thought about 
little else.  Making discrete enquiries on his own time had revealed 
little, other than the frightening fact that the Men In Black had a very 
long reach.  But what might happen to the Lone Gunman group wasn t the 
reason that he had the shakes.  That had to do with his ex-partner.  He d 
heard through the grapevine that Dana Scully had been assigned to the Van 
Thewsen case, and been pleased for her. Until he d seen the evidence 
captured on video.  Whether the Senator had been one of the so-called 
Alphas, or merely  a high level messenger, was the burning question.  It 
was something he now had to find the answer to, before Scully got wind of 
the high level conspiracy.
        Exiting the building, Mulder automatically checked for signs that 
he was being watched.  He d taken about a dozen steps when he spotted 
Johnny Carrabelli.  His partner was standing on the opposite side of the 
road, grinning like a hob-goblin.  Carrabelli said something into his 
mobile phone, and the next thing Mulder heard was the unmistakable sound 
of breaking glass.  Realising that it was coming from somewhere behind 
and above him, he turned on his heel and looked up.
        The go-between fell screaming like a fire engine, and struck the 
sidewalk head first.  Shards of shattered glass landed all around him; 
deadly rain peppering the flagstones.  Mulder didn t need a doctor to 
tell him that the young man hadn t survived the imapct.
        Pulling his gun from its holster, Mulder wheeled around, 
orienting on Carrabelli s position.  But his murderous new partner had 
vanished.  Putting the weapon away Mulder turned and ran full pelt.  He 
had no idea where he was going, only that he had to get away.  The day 
that he dreaded had finally arrived.   MIB were closing in on him.

CONSPIRACIES - Part 3 of 4

From: [email-masked] (Peggy Mei-Ling Li)
Date: 11 Sep 1994 19:24:19 GMT
From: Adam Webb <[email-masked]>

CONSPIRACIES -  Part 4 of 4

Computer Room, FBI HQ.  Day two.  3:46pm

Fingers gliding smoothly over the plastic keys, Scully coaxed information 
from her terminal.  She was currently linked via modem to a secure 
database maintained by NASA.  Stored in its electronic files were the 
details of everyone who had ever worked for the organisation, including 
one Peter Van Thewsen; a civilian analyst who d worked on attachment to 
NASA s lunar information collation programme between January 1972 and 
February 1973.  Van Thewsen had a string of glowing testimonials from his 
former employers, and during his second month had taken a battery of 
physical and mental test, which all personnel were required to take on a 
yearly basis.  The tests included an IQ assessment, in which Van Thewsen 
had achieved the staggering score of 195.  A person only required an IQ 
of 135 to join Mensa; the society for anyone considered to be a genius.  
The strange thing was that the results of the same tests, administered 
just twelve months later, showed an IQ that was only slightly above 
average.         I guess this must be an error.   Scully thought aloud.  
 All other records show the Senator as normal. 
         Sure.   Drake agreed, exhaling a cloud of dirty grey smoke.  
 What else could it be.  Now, you ve got that bee out of your bonnet, 
maybe we can get back to some real work.  Huh? 
         Real work is what I m attempting to do, Agent Drake.   Scully s 
eyes flashed fire.   We were taught to be thorough at Qunatico.  If you 
can remember that far back. 
         You prissy little bitch - 
        Special Agent Drake s coming diatribe was interrupted by the 
unexpected entry of  Johnny Carrabelli. Dana twisted away from the 
monitor as her name was called.  Even if Carrabelli s body language 
hadn t given it away, the tone of his voice would have been enough to 
warn of trouble.
         Hey, Scully.  You re wanted in Skinner s office.  Right now. 
         Is something wrong? 
         Uh-huh.   Carrabelli responded.   I ve been temporarily 
reassigned to take your place on the Van Thewsen case.  The bossman 
thinks you ll be more useful on, a new line of enquiry. 
        Scully was confused.   What s going on here?   She asked, trying 
to catch Carrabelli s eyes.   Come on, Johnny.  This sounds like it s 
serious.  Tell me what s happened?
         It s your crazy ex-partner, red.   Carrabelli lied flawlessly.  
 He just murdered a man in cold blood.  Threw him right out of an 
apartment window.   Carrabelli gestured with his hand.    The poor sap 
did five floors in as many seconds. 
         Mulder murdered someone!   Scully responded, unable to keep an 
element of shock out of her voice.   There must be some mistake.  He 
wouldn t do anything like that. 
         We got him on tape entering the building taking the elevator to 
the victim s floor.   Johnny said.   Next thing we see is a guy crashing 
through a pane of glass.  Mulder leaves the building about a minute 
later.  When he sees me, he pulls his gun.   Right about now there s a 
warrant being issued for his arrest.  He s considered A & D. 
         Wait a minute.   Scully frowned.   Back up a little.  You said 
this incident was recorded on tape.   She hesitated, almost afraid to ask 
the obvious question.   Does that mean Mulder was under Bureau 
surveillance?    Hey, don t give me a hard time.   Carrabelli shrugged.  
 I was just doin  my job. 
         Why was he being watched?   Scully demanded, already halfway 
sure that she knew the answer.
        If Mulder was being watched, it was the result of what he d 
discovered during their last X-File case.  All that she knew about the 
contents of the Ehrlenmeyer flask was considered hearsay.  But Mulder had 
actually seen with his own eyes the results of what might have been alien 
gene manipulation.  Perhaps he d seen more than even he realised.
         You know better than to ask that.   Drake chipped-in.   Give the 
guy a break, for Christ s sake.  Anyone would think you had somethin  
goin  with old Spooky. 
         Oh, we did.   Dana said, coldly furious.  Rounding on her 
obnoxious partner she added,  It s called friendship.  Something that you 
wouldn t know much about, Drake. 
        Carrabelli coughed politely into his hand.   Skinner s waiting. 
        Nodding curtly in response, Dana stood and walked out of the 
room.  No matter what the evidence might seem to be, she knew Fox Mulder. 
 Under certain circumstances he might kill.  As would any FBI Agent.  But 
he would never deliberately hurl an unarmed man to his death.  Something 
was going on, and it smelled very much like a set-up.

Fullman s Warehouse, Hoboken.  Day three.  11:37pm

Crouched down behind a large packing crate, Mulder was ready.  He d 
chosen the warehouse because it offered a lot of cover and three possible 
routes of escape.  Both advantages might be required if Johnny Carrabelli 
brought company.  The meeting had been set via a call made from a public 
phone booth to Agent Carrabelli s home number.  Mulder knew that his 
 partner  had an answering machine hooked-up, and that he wouldn t be 
able to resist an opportunity to continue what he d started. The real 
problem was in deciding how deep the conspiracy against him went. For 
some reason, Carrabelli and at least one other accomplice had set out to 
frame him.
        Alone in the darkness, Mulder sighed.  The only thing in his 
favour was that the Alphas didn t seem to want him dead.  What had 
happened was probably as a test, conducted to see what he d do under such 
dire circumstan-
ces.  Or more specifically, who he d turn to for help.  That was the only 
answer which made any kind of sense.  The truth of the matter was that he 
hadn t told anyone about  Operation Zeitgeist or the Alphas incredible 
plot.  But they couldn t know that.  Someone was obviously concerned 
enough to take drastic action.
        A loud metallic grating noise brought Mulder fully alert.  
Someone was entering the building via the side door, and they obviously 
didn t care who heard them.
         Agent Mulder.   An unfamiliar voice called out.   You can come 
out now.  I m not armed. 
        Mulder peered around the edge of the crate and saw a man standing 
in the beam of an overhead fluorescent tube.  The man was holding open 
the flaps of his jacket, which like his trousers and tie, was coloured 
black.  Memories ran like a slideshow inside Mulder s mind, flickering 
past until he came to the one he wanted.
         I know your face.  You were with Major Starlin, in Dayton. 
        The man grinned lopsidedly.   I was told you had a photographic 
memory.  We were never formally introduced, but you re right.  My name s 
Draeger.  Al, to my friends.  I was one of  Major Starlin s aides.  
You ll remember the other one. 
        Gun aimed at Draeger s heart, Mulder stepped from behind his 
cover and walked slowly toward him.  The sequence of event had taken yet 
another unexpected turn.
         How do I know whose side you re on now? 
         I guess you don t.   Draeger admitted.   Maybe it ll help if I 
tell you that by this time tomorrow, you ll no longer be wanted by the 
FBI.  We ve been watching Agent Carrabelli for some time. 
         Carrabelli.   Mulder repeated.   Where is he? 
         Right at this minute, he s at home sitting in his favourite 
armchair.  Unfortunately,   the Lieutenant smiled,  Johnny has an extra 
hole in his head, and a gun in his hand. 
         So how does that clear my name?   Mulder asked.
         It doesn t.   Draeger smirked.   But, when your former 
colleagues check Johnny s pockets, they ll find certain damning evidence. 
 No one will doubt that he planned the hit on Van Thewsen, on behalf of a 
political extremist group.  Other evidence will point to him setting you 
up because you were close to discovering his duplicity. 
         But he didn t plan Van Thewsen s death.   Mulder stated, seeing 
something in Draeger s eyes.
         Of course not.  We arranged that. 
         Because Van Thewsen was an Alpha? 
         No.   Draeger shook his head.   The Senator had to be taken out 
because he was about to cast the deciding vote as Chairman of the Senate 
Committee for Defence Systems Development.  That vote would have severely 
limited funding for a new missile project.  The missile is a cover for a 
black program, developing a device that can interfere with the automatic 
guidance systems of Zeitgeist craft. 
         Jesus.   Uncocking his weapon, Mulder returned it to its 
holster.   So what am I supposed to now.  Go back to work? 
         Not for the FBI.   The Lieutenant winked.   Your still a wanted 
man, Mulder.  Wanted by Operation Zeitgeist.   Reaching into his jacket 
pocket Draeger produced a folded sheet of paper.    Take a look at this 
list.  These are individuals we ve identified as Alphas.  I believe 
you ll be familiar with some of the names. 
        Mulder quickly scanned the list, and as predicted recognised about
a third of the people.  One name in particular caught his attention.  It
was another reason why he could never go back. 

FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.  Day four.  10:00am.

The phone on Dana Scully s desk began to ring.  Answering, she found
herself talking to Fox Mulder, who hurriedly explained that he wouldn t be
coming back to work. 
         Why not?  Scully asked.   You re in the clear. 
         Yeah, I know, Dana.  It s not that.  Mulder said, evidently
uncomfortable with the situation.   I have a new job, and that s all I can
really say.  You know how it is. 
         I know that we used to trust each other.  Scully said, hurt to
discover how things had changed. 
         Dana, please believe me.  Mulder begged.   I do trust you.  It s
just that there are some things I m not allowed to discuss.  Even my new
job title, stupid as that probably sounds.  God, I don t believe I m
saying this, but it s for your own good.  Things are going to happen,
Scully, and no one is invulner-able.  I won t risk your life because
someone may think you have privileged information.  All I can tell you is
that what I m doing now might make a difference. 
         Okay.  Scully said, caught between emotions.   I won t pretend to
be happy about it, but I guess I can understand.  Maybe we could meet for
lunch, some time? 
        At the other end of the line, Mulder sighed deeply.   No, that
wouldn t be a good idea.  For a long moment he was silent.  When he spoke
again it was with genuine regret.   If there was another way, I d take it. 
I ll miss you, Dana. 
         Me too.  Scully admitted, choking up despite her efforts to stay
detached.   Hey, Mulder.  Send me a post card, okay.  That can t be
against the rules. 
        Mulder chuckled.   I will.  Pausing for a second, he added. 
 Trust no one. 
        The line went dead. 

Director s office FBI HQ, Washington D.C.  Day four.  10:03am

The small speaker of the telecommunications monitoring system on Walter
Skinner s desk announced the end of former Special Agent Mulder s
conversation with his ex-partner. 
         Do you think she knows anything?  Skinner asked the man who sat
perched on the corner of the desk. 
         Agent Scully knows a great deal.  Drawing in smoke through the
filter-tipped cigarette which protruded between his fingers, the man held
it for a second, then exhaled a grey-blue cloud.   Though nothing of
significance where you are concerned. 
         For now.  Skinner said humorlessly.   Although she does suspect
me of aiding and abetting those who would obscure the truth.  At some
point, our clever agent will have to be dealt with. 
         Terminated?  The smoking man asked. 
         Turned.  Skinner replied with a quick shake of his head. 
 Someone with Dana Scully s qualities has much potential.  She is clearly
wasted among the Betas. 

This story is (c) 1994 Adam Webb.  The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully 
and the name X-Files are (c) Fox Network Programming & Ten Thirteen 
Productions.  E-mail correspondence to the author via the Internet should 
be addressed to  [email-masked].

nt