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PLAYER: An X-Files novel where Scully and Mulder investigate the disappearance of the X-Files first agent.

This dust cover was created by Regina Payton. Thank you Regina! Visitors are invited to read her X-Files fan fiction at her Vespers site.

FBI agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully attempt to discover why one of the first agents assigned to the X-Files disappeared in 1955. Just as they begin to uncover the startling truth, they are thrown into a deadly confrontation with the smoking man. Before the mystery is resolved Mulder must face the most difficult decision of his life: risk death for himself and Scully or grab at survival by adopting the smoking man's murderous tactics.

Disclaimer: The X-Files is the property of Fox Television. Only the elements unique to this story are the property of the author and may not be used without his explicit permission.

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Rated: G: No profanity, violence or sex.

Classification: Casefile, Noromo

Length: 67,000 words

Comments: The events in this story take place shortly after Life.

NEW!!! If you don't like the white letters on black background format, send me a request and I'll send you a WORD 97 version of this story with normal black letters on a white background.

The X-Files

PLAYER

A novel by

Wayne M. Schmidt

16 February 1999

(latest revision 16 October, 2003)

Original FBI Headquarters Building
Basement office
1955

Stevenson knew he had to disappear.

If the phone he'd just hung up had been tapped, he only had minutes to make his escape. He jumped out of his chair and up ended the cardboard box next to his desk, sending an avalanche of coffee cups clattering to the floor. Stepping to the office's solitary green file cabinet, he yanked open its top drawer and ripped out every folder marked with a green dot. He threw them into the box and slammed his way down through the drawers, snatching up all similarly marked files until he came to the last drawer; it jammed halfway open. He rattled the handle trying to free it. A ding from the elevator in the hallway froze his hand. They were coming.

Stevenson grabbed all the files he could reach out of the half-opened drawer and stuffed them into the box. He kicked the drawer closed as he dashed out of the office. The leather soles of his shoes skidded on the hallway's gritty floor as he scrambled left towards the utility door at the end of the corridor. He glanced at the elevator's indicator as he passed. Its tarnished brass arrow slid silently past the halfway point between the ground floor and basement. They'd be here in seconds.

He knew the elevators and stairways would be guarded. He hoped they hadn't thought of the basement's maintenance access. If they had, he'd be dead within the hour.

Stevenson fled down the hall. At its end he pounded the access door's locking cleats open with a fist and pulled on the handle. It wouldn't budge. He braced his right foot against the wall and heaved backward. The door ground open on rusty hinges revealing a lightless corridor. Behind him, the elevator tinged its arrival and the doors began to open.

Stevenson tightened his grip on the box and stepped into the darkness.

Office of Special Agent Dana Scully
Present FBI Headquarters Building
Monday, 1:35 P.M.

The phone's ring jarred Dana Scully's hand. Three capital T's in the middle of the word autopsy stared at her from the top of the computer monitor. She ran stiff fingers under her shoulder-length auburn hair to massage the back of her neck. She brushed the hair back into precise position and picked up the receiver. "This is Agent Scully."

"It's Jill, Dana."

"How are things in records?"

"Wouldn't know. I'm filling in for Kimberly at Assistant Director's Skinner's office while she's taking an experience-broadening assignment in cryptography."

"Oh. Well, if you're calling for that report tell Skinner-"

"It's not that but AD Skinner does want you and Mulder in his office at three."

Scully cradled the phone in the crook of her neck to free her right hand. She pulled back the cuff of her navy blue suit to check the time on her watch and double checked the time against the wall clock. "It's one-forty now. That's short notice but I can make it. Have you called Mulder?"

"Tried. No good."

Scully's eyebrows came together. "He told me he'd to be in his office all day."

"Maybe he's hiding."

The corners of Scully's small, full mouth turned upward. "I wouldn't put it past him. Don't worry about it. I'll go down and inform him in person about the summons. Can you tell me anything about the meeting?"

"Mr. Skinner didn't say."

"What sort of mood is he in?"

"Edgy. He got trapped into an all-morning session with the director that jammed his schedule for the rest of the afternoon."

Scully massaged a temple. "Okay, Jill. We'll be there. Early if possible." She hung up, read her watch, checked it against the wall clock again, and turned back toward the computer. She backspaced over the three T's and started typing.

Scully studied the long, narrow basement office of the X-Files, the nation's focal point for criminal cases involving unexplained phenomena. It was a mess.

In addition to the usual clutter of photographs, notices, and posters that wallpapered the office, three-foot stacks of case files grew upward from every horizontal surface. Half hidden by the paper stalagmites, Special Agent Fox Mulder sat on the floor with his long legs twisted in a lotus position. He was scribbling on a clipboard.

"I like what you've done to the place," Scully said with a straight expression. She stood outside the door wondering if she really wanted to negotiate the maze of files to enter the office.

Her mid-thirties age, pageboy haircut, and trim blue business suit gave the impression she was of one of the agency's secretaries. It was an impression she cultivated. Three federal prisons held twenty-seven felons who'd underestimated her because of it and paid the price. In addition to being an experienced field agent she was a medical doctor, possessed one of the sharpest minds in the bureau and out-shot Mulder during the last firearms qualification test.

Mulder looked up with a boyish smile. "I'm making use of the interior design minor I took in agent school."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "What grade did you get?"

"Actually, Harriet in records caught me pencil-whipping the file inventory. She's threatened to report it unless I get a completed one to her by the end of the day."

"Then you might as well turn yourself in now. Skinner wants us in his office in one hour."

"I'll make it. Just hand me the last files out of that cabinet by the door. It'll only take a few minutes to log them."

Scully threaded her way to the indicated cabinet. She eyed it suspiciously. The cabinet's green enameled sides were covered with dozens of dried-out labels, testimony to a long FBI career. "This old fellow should have been retired a long time ago."

"A little reverence, please. That's cabinet number one, the first X-Files cabinet. I had it brought over from archives."

"Why bring it here?"

"Thought it might bring us luck." He smiled. "It's already working. I found five old files in it."

Scully checked the top four drawers: empty. She bent to open the bottom drawer. It came out reluctantly and rewarded her with three thin files. She scanned the dates; they were forty years old. She nudged the drawer closed with her foot. It snicked shut then popped back out. A firmer push seemed to lock the drawer in place but before she'd taken a step it popped open. She bent to investigate.

Scully couldn't see anything on the side rails that would block the drawer's closure. She squinted over the back of the drawer toward the cabinet's rear wall. A seam in the sheet metal caught her eye. The seam went up on the left, turned sharp right for a foot, then down again toward the cabinet's lower right corner. Scully furrowed her brow. "Looks like a patch."

"What's that, Scully?"

"Nothing. Just a second."

The patch's lower edge had twisted forward jamming the drawer's right-hand track. Scully wriggled her hand into the cabinet to bend the metal out of the way. Her fingertips stretched, touched the edge of something that flexed with easy pressure. She gripped it between two scissored fingers and pulled. A stack of papers plopped into her hand.

Scully pulled her arm out. A fourth file whose jacket matched the color of the inside of the cabinet lay on her palm. Thick dust crusted the top edge. She turned the folder over. A faded label with a large green circle clung precariously to the folder's tab. All she could make out was a name, Stevenson, and a date, 1954.

Scully shrugged and added it to the other files. When she dropped the files on the floor next to Mulder they coughed dust on his dark blue slacks. Mulder slapped at the dust. "Thanks."

"Sorry."

"Forget it. I'll meet you outside Skinner's office."

She gave him a grave look. "Be sure you're on time. Nothing's happened to make Skinner mad at you in over a month. Don't spoil your winning streak."

Scully leaned her chin on the palm of her left hand and stared at the floor of Assistant Director Walter Skinner's office. "I knew it was too good to last," she whispered to herself.

"What was that, Agent Scully?" Skinner asked through clenched teeth. He didn't looked up from the document he was reading.

"Nothing, sir," Scully said. She sat up straighter in the hard mahogany chair facing the director's desk. The top of his bald head floated above the edge of the folder in front of him. His broad shoulders reached far beyond the sides of the folder.

The wall clock chimed a quarter past three.

"Right," he said slamming the folder on his desk. "Find Mulder and tell him I want both of you in this office first thing tomorrow morning." Skinner scribbled his signature on the document he'd been reading, tossed it onto a stack on the left side of his desk and grabbed a new folder from the pile on the right. She'd been dismissed.

"Damn!" Scully said once she'd pulled the door closed and marched down the hallway to find Mulder, her eyes flashing with the same determination they had when she hunted a dangerous criminal.

The lights burned in Mulder's office as if he planned to return at any moment. Scully's foot-taps filled the long, narrow room as she walked around the stacks of files that still littered the office. The file inventory lay on the floor halfway between where Mulder had sat and the office's door; it looked like he'd dropped it because something more important had captured his attention.

Scully scooped up the inventory and ruffled through it to the last page. Information on the four files she'd given him filled the form's bottom lines. Scully threw the inventory onto Mulder's desk. With fists on her hips, she turned a slow full circle for one last survey of the office. Nothing indicated where he'd gone. A small, blinking red light on his telephone caught her attention. She pressed the play button.

Harriet's strident voice erupted from the speaker. "Mulder! Your time's up and there's nowhere you can hide that I won't find you!" The crack of Harriet's disconnect rattled the speaker.

Scully left a note on the door repeating Skinner's order and Harriet's threat. She made the rounds of Mulder's usual haunts: the library, records, and computerized data retrieval. Nothing. She stopped on the way to her apartment to check at La Casa San Domiges, his favorite restaurant. No one had seen him. Before driving away she keyed her cellular phone to life. She tried his number. No answer. She dialed his home.

"You've reached the Mulder residence, please leave a message at the tone." The phone bleeped.

"Mulder, it's Scully. Pick up the phone." Her voice was calm. She'd worked with him long enough to realize that while his disregard for bureaucratic courtesies caused many awkward moments, he wouldn't abandon her to weather Skinner's wrath without good reason. She trusted him and his judgment without reservation.

Static hissed out of the receiver.

Scully sighed. "Skinner wants us in his office first thing tomorrow. Either be there or let me know that you won't. I don't want to face him by myself again." She tossed the phone onto the passenger's seat and headed for the parking lot's exit.

Fifteen minutes of cross-town maneuvering brought her to the comparative safety of Highway 50 heading towards Annapolis. Taillights trailed red streamers in a dirty drizzle that had blown in off Chesapeake Bay. As the first drops splashed her windshield, Scully backed off an additional twenty feet from the car in front of her. A old Triumph Spitfire charged into the opening. She backed off again. The car behind her flashed its lights. She glared at its headlights in the mirror.

The car pulled left. The driver's silhouette leaned toward her to leer disapproval as the car flashed passed. It was too dark to see if it was a man or woman.

Scully tried in vain to look for Mulder's Toyota among the cars flowing alongside her. He had to be out there in the darkness, somewhere. She felt a nervous tingle of concern begin to grow in the back of her mind. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "What was it, Mulder?" Scully whispered into the night. "What pulled you away?"

Special Agent Dana Scully's Apartment
Annapolis, Maryland
Tuesday, 5:30 A.M.

Scully winced as her bare feet touched her apartment's cold floorboards. She pulled on a white terry cloth robe, slipped into a pair of open-heeled slippers and headed for the bathroom, the slippers gently slapping at the soles of her feet. She splashed frigid water on her face, applied the scant amount of makeup she permitted herself and went to select a dress.

Three dark blue and two black suits hung exactly three inches apart in the center of the closet. On the right a shamrock-green suit languished in obscurity. Next to it two transparent plastic clothing bags protected her evening dresses. Scully frowned at the dust that had collected on the bag's shoulders. She willed her attention back to selecting work clothes.

FBI regulations specified agent's clothes had to be of a uniform, solid, subdued color. Most agents interpreted this as navy blue or black. Smiling with defiance, Scully took down a snow-white silk blouse and the green blazer and skirt. The suit's color would set off her auburn hair. She justified the decision by reasoning that small challenges to FBI authority like this helped maintain her individuality.

Scully took advantage of the weather to breakfast at a sidewalk cafe half-a-block up the street from her apartment. Although the night's storm had blown away the previous evening, the streets still sparkled wetly and the pedestrians walking along them seemed uncharacteristically happy for the early morning DC crowd.

Scully sipped black coffee, nibbled a piece of unbuttered, whole-wheat toast, and extended smiles to the men who gazed appreciatively at her as they passed the restaurant. The FBI's tight professionalism seldom placed her in situations where she could receive such attentions. Her smile widened as she wondered what these men would think if they knew she carried a nine millimeter automatic in her purse.

Scully's logical mind recognized that all this good fortune must be balanced by some catastrophe in the future. This realization didn't stop her from enjoying the morning. If anything it increased her pleasure because she reasoned she might as well enjoy the good moments as long as they lasted. The catastrophe struck in Skinner's office; Mulder failed to show.

Dark bags under Skinner's eyes gave evidence of a long night. He was primed for a major blowup.

Scully squirmed on the polished seat of her wood chair. Please, not again, Mulder.

The hands of Skinner's wall-clock had just ticked off another minute closer to Mulder's doom when the office door burst open. Mulder lurched through, staggered forward and collapsed into the chair next to Scully without waiting for an invitation from Skinner. His rumpled suit and open tie violated Skinner's imperative that agents be presentable at all times. Skinner's eyes drew tight behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "I've just about had it with you Mulder-"

"Who's John Stevenson?" Mulder cut in, his voice ragged with fatigue.

Even in the best circumstances it was dangerous to interrupt Skinner. Under the present conditions Scully thought it bordered on suicidal. She winced in anticipation of the explosion. It didn't come. Skinner's eyes widened as his angry glare gave way to cold scrutiny. "Where did you hear that name?"

Mulder's voice was ragged with fatigue. "I came across an old file while inventorying the X-Files case histories. From the amount of dust it must have been there forty years. The date of the last entry is June 5, 1954. The name of the agent in charge was John Stevenson."

Skinner drummed stiff fingers on his desk top "Why are you interested in such an old file?"

"It's still open, sir."

"Most of the cases in the X-Files are open, that's why they're there instead of the archives."

Scully noticed Skinner focusing his comments on the file. He's trying to pull attention away from Stevenson.

"Sir," Mulder said. "John Stevenson isn't listed in any other X-File. In fact there is no record of any agent in the FBI at any time by that name. It took me all yesterday and last night to find that out. Not only was he never an agent, but there is no record of anyone with his social security number."

Skinner leaned back without taking his eyes off Mulder. "Where is this file?"

Mulder extended his right hand, which held the file Scully found yesterday. She recognized it from the green dot on its tab. Skinner took the folder and put it away in a drawer without looking at it. He studied Mulder. "You're tired Agent Mulder. Go home and get some sleep. See me tomorrow morning." Skinner took a folder from the right hand corner of his desk and opened it.

Mulder stared at him bleary-eyed. Scully stood and gently pulled Mulder from the room. In the hallway, she led him toward the elevator. She cast furtive glances at him as they walked. His eyes burned with unanswered questions. She'd seen this look often... too often. Every time a case hinted at the unexplainable it was stamped as an X-File and sent to Mulder. With the unique ability to perceive patterns undetectable to others, Mulder had gained a reputation for solving these sorts of impossible cases. This landed him the position of caretaker of the X-Files. Considered by many a thankless, dead-end job, it was a perfect match for his talents. When a new X-File turned up Mulder became obsessed with it, refusing to let go until the case was solved. She sighed. The Stevenson mystery had all the hallmarks of being the type of case to set Mulder off.

They stepped into the elevator. Scully pushed the ground-floor button. Her stomach jumped as the elevator dropped away. Since they began working together, Scully had seen determination burn in Mulder's eyes many times. She knew it was useless to argue against involvement in a pointless search. All she could do was deflect him towards a more reasonable path than he'd normally choose. She looked over at him. "What will you do now?"

He shrugged. "Go home and sleep."

Her eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. "You usually want to rush into new cases."

He managed another weak shrug. "This one's over forty years old. It'll hold. Besides," Mulder smiled wanly, "it's not often Skinner gives me a day off to sleep. I don't want to waste what may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

Scully's face grew troubled. "I've never known Skinner to behave like that. Whoever Stevenson was Skinner knows something about him and doesn't want to talk about it."

Mulder drew a hand down over his face. "It's more than that. The file clearly identifies Stevenson as an FBI agent, yet every trace of him has been buried. Someone went to a lot of trouble to erase his existence. The little I discovered indicated that the cover-up occurred long before Skinner was in a position to be involved."

Scully grimaced. "A forty year conspiracy to eliminate all records of an agent's existence is a little hard to swallow. Wouldn't a more likely explanation be that the name was entered in error?"

Mulder shook his head. "His name and social security number are recorded on four different places in the file. The same error couldn't have been made that many times. Besides, although I couldn't find anyone with that name and number I did find his social security number had been issued, then deleted. It's never been reissued." Mulder spread his hands. "If he didn't exist the number would have been given to somebody."

The elevator jarred to a halt and opened its doors with a sigh. Mulder walked away, waving a feeble good-bye over his shoulder as he passed out the building's rear door to the parking lot. Scully watched his feet drag over the blacktop. Twice a toe caught on the uneven surface almost sending him sprawling. He tumbled into his blue Prelude and drove away. Scully about-faced and marched towards the computerized records department. Determination glinted in her eyes.

+++

The door snicked shut behind Scully and Mulder.

Skinner looked up from his reading and stared at it. Twice he reached for the phone but stopped halfway there. His eyes dropped to the left-hand desk drawer holding the Stevenson file. Skinner blew out an angry breath and picked up the phone. He dialed a carefully memorized number without going through his secretary. After a single ring, and the empty ten-second wait he'd gotten used to, a barely audible click announced his party had picked up. Skinner's frown turned sour.

"Speak," a quiet, low voice commanded.

Skinner took a slow deep breath to calm the bile churning in his stomach. "We have a problem."

Special Agent Fox Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia
Tuesday, 9:30 A.M.

Mulder fumbled with his keys until the one to his apartment found its way into the lock. He shouldered the door open and kicked it closed as he stepped into the living room. His bleary eyes studied the hallway straight ahead that led to the bedroom. He shook his head and reeled left, took one step along the narrow path between a sofa and a coffee table, and dove onto the sofa. He was asleep before it stopped shaking from the impact.

+++

The computer hummed five seconds after Scully punched in Stevenson's social security number. Satisfied it had chewed through all available data banks the machine filled its monitor with information on Alice Marie Thorndyke, 1524 Lexington Court, Luthor, Wisconsin. It listed her telephone number, job history, and an insidious criminal record consisting of three overdue parking citations. Scully's eyes narrowed.

The social security number she'd entered was supposed to belong to the nonexistent Stevenson. Mulder said the number had never been assigned to anyone else. She reentered it. Nothing changed. She crossed-checked Miss Thorndyke's parking tickets via the local state records. Everything matched. She tried calling Alice Thorndyke but the attempt got shunted to a recording that stated the number was no longer in service.

Scully knew Mulder was erratic, impulsive, and jumped to outlandish conclusions, most of which she grudgingly admitted turned out to be correct, but he was never sloppy or careless. Dead tired he'd make the same cross checks she'd just completed.

The disconnected phone bothered her. She called up the records management program and asked it when the last update to Alice's record had been made. The computer hummed another five seconds before displaying the answer: 0942 hours, fifteen minutes ago.

Scully froze, then quickly logged off the computer. As she left the records department she thanked the attendant behind the reception desk.

"Find what you needed?" he asked

"Yes and no," she threw back over her shoulder as casually as possible. "Agent Mulder couldn't find something last night but he must have made an error while typing. It turns out there was no mystery where he thought there was one."

The attendant laughed. "Spooky looking for ghosts again?"

She forced a smile. "Something like that. This time the ghost has an address and telephone number."

The attendant couldn't see the smile drop from Scully's face as soon as the door closed.

As the door swung passed closed Scully glanced back in time to noticed the attendant's smile fall away just as fast as he reached for the phone. A chill worked its way up her spine. She hurried away.

Scully kept as busy as possible trying to avoid thinking about what Mulder may have gotten them into. She used the rest of the morning to check the autopsy report of a suspected terrorist found dead three days before his act of terrorism was supposed to occur. She found nothing wrong with the resident doctor's analysis and said so in her report.

She finished the day off in the X-Files office completing the inventory, getting it to Harriet, enduring the lecture meant for Mulder and putting the files back in their cabinets. She carefully avoided looking behind any more drawers.

+++

Something jabbed sharply into Mulder's side. He tried shooing it away but the pain stayed with him, ground deep, gnawed between his ribs. He looked down. A bucktoothed rat chewed at his shirt. He slapped it away. The pain grew. Mulder jackknifed up to a sitting position, eyes wide. "What?"

He rubbed sleep from his eyes and looked around the empty living room: no rats. His hand patted the spot the dream-rat had gnawed only to find his shoulder holster and automatic had gouged into his side. Mulder peeled off his jacket to unsling the weapon, stretched, and headed for the bathroom.

Shaved and showered, Mulder examined his reflection in the mirror. A reasonably human-like face grinned back at him so he concluded he was back to normal except for an out-of-sync feeling like jet lag.

His stomach growled for attention so he shuffled into the kitchenette. With his eyes on his right hand as it reached for a bowl, his left felt its way into a cabinet and grabbed the box of breakfast cereal against the left-hand side of the cabinet: sugarcoated corn flakes. Although cavalier about housekeeping, Mulder paid meticulous attention to the order of his cereal boxes. He didn't have to look to know where his favorite should be.

He added milk to the bowl and upended the box. A deluge of shredded wheat filled the bowl to its brim. "What the..."

Mulder stared at the box. A label proclaiming its health benefits leered back at him. He dropped the box in disgust. Scully had badgered him into buying it during one of her eat-health lectures. He peered into the cupboard. The frosted flakes were three boxes out of line; between the Jet Puffs and Chocolate Crunch Bears. A sensation like a dead fingers clawing at his soul sent a shiver through him. Someone had rearranged them.

He knew in an instant his apartment had been searched. Mulder didn't know who but was able to guess what they wanted. Mulder smiled to himself. They couldn't have found it.

He didn't bother to check the rest of the apartment. His causal attitude toward neatness would make it impossible to detect additional evidence of the search. Instead, he grabbed the box of sugar coated flakes and poured a generous helping into an uncontaminated cereal bowl. Eyes distant, he crunched away without noticing he'd forgotten to add milk.

After the last flake met its fate, Mulder dropped the dishes in the sink and leaned his hands on the counter. He needed to talk to Scully where they couldn't be overheard and needed to warn her that they were being watched.

A light came into his eyes. Asking her on a date, something he never did, to a noisy location would solve both problems. He bent over to pick up a three-day-old crumpled newspaper on the floor next to the trash can. His eyes lit up when he spotted a softball game scheduled that night. Mulder smiled. Scully hates softball.

He picked up the phone and dialed her number.

+++

Scully centered a fresh, blank writing tablet on her desk and placed a pencil parallel to it. She adjusted her desk's blotter square to the desk. Satisfied, she examined her office to make certain everything was in order for tomorrow. The phone rang and she picked it up. "Agent Scully," she said into the receiver.

"Hi, Scully, it's Mulder."

"How was the day off?"

"I don't know. I slept through it."

She smiled. "Lucky you, some of us have to work for a living."

He chuckled. "Let me make it up to you. How about you and I catching a softball ball game tonight? I found a community college play-off that looks pretty good."

Scully wrinkled her forehead. She hated baseball in general and softball in particular. Mulder knew this. Also, while they were close professionally, they had never developed an off-duty relationship. Mulder's asking her for a date was completely out of character. She realized that hidden in his invitation was the message that they needed to talk where they wouldn't be overheard. "Sounds great, as long as you buy me a hamburger."

Scully loved hamburgers but avoided them for health reasons. Her request signaled she understood the meeting's true purpose. "By the way, I checked FBI records on John Stevenson's social security number. You must have typed it wrong because it belongs to an Alice Thorndyke. There's a complete history on her."

Static buzzed out of her phone.

"I'm not surprised I entered the wrong number," Mulder said at last. "I was beat last night. Thanks for the follow-up. Now I can forget about it. After you stop by your place meet me at Battery Park." He hung up.

On her way out of the building Scully reviewed everything Mulder had said. The only new item she came up with was his suggestion to stop by her apartment before their date. He wouldn't have mentioned something so obvious without reason. He's warning me about something.

Assistant Director Skinner's Office
Tuesday, 3:37 P.M.

"-after you stop by your place meet me at Battery Park," Mulder's voice repeated tinnily out of the tape recorder.

Skinner looked toward the chair hidden in his office's one dark corner. A sensuous ribbon of smoke undulated up from a cigarette in a hand extending out of the shadows. Skinner waited for the click of Mulder's phone being hung up before switching off the recorder. It was the second time they'd heard the tape. "The fake record seems to have convinced Agent Scully," Skinner said.

The man in the shadows didn't say anything.

"Mulder respects her opinion. He'll drop it. Especially after I find a case to keep him busy."

The cigarette disappeared into the shadow. It's glowing tip brightened as air was pulled through with a hiss. The man blew a stream of smoke out of the shadows. "Possibly." He got up and walked to the private exit of Skinner's office. He was a gray man in a gray suit and seemed to blend into the office's background like a chameleon.

Skinner found it hard to focus on him.

The smoking man took another deep drag. "Watch them. Have your people report directly to me."

Skinner ground his teeth. "I don't like having my agents followed."

The gray man opened the door and looked back over his shoulder at Skinner. "Do you think that matters?"

"And if-"

"There is no if. Just do it"

Skinner's eyes followed the fall of the ash the smoker knocked off his cigarette to accent his point. It hit the dark carpet and collapsed in a gray blob. When he looked up, the man was gone.

Skinner's left hand balled into a fist... but his right picked up the phone and dialed. The phone hadn't finished its first ring before he heard it jerked to life. "Murkson?" Skinner said. "I have a job for you."

Dana Scully's Apartment
Tuesday, 5:22 P.M.

Scully sorted through her keys by feel, unlocked the door to her apartment, and stepped inside. She slipped her shoes off and wriggled her toes deep into the cool plushness of the hallway's carpeting, then froze. Something was wrong.

The signs were subtle. A corner cushion on her blue sofa was out of line. The current issue of Intern Magazine on the end-table was no longer squared to the corner. The phone was crooked. Her apartment had been searched.

It had been an expert job. Although trained to notice small details, the search would have gone unnoticed if Mulder's warning hadn't put her on guard.

Scully began examining the room for signs of what they had been looking for. She stopped as she began opening the top drawer of the end-table, reasoning that if they wanted something badly enough to search an FBI agent's apartment they, had also probably installed listening devices. She went into the den and locked her gun in the desk that supported the printer to her computer. Then she changed into a the sweat suit she'd been issued years ago at the FBI Training Academy in Quantico. Muttering loudly about its being cleaning day, she dragged an upright vacuum out its hiding place in the closet, grabbed a dust cloth, and began working her way through the apartment. The vacuum's noise covered the sounds of her hunt.

She spent most of her time with the cloth. Furniture with evidence of more intense scrutiny by the searchers received an extra thorough dusting. Comparing places that had been searched to those that hadn't gave her an estimate of the size and shape of their target. It was flat, thin, and about the dimensions of a sheet of paper. Scully knew what it had to be.

Satisfied, she finished the cleaning and got ready for her meeting with Mulder. Scully changed into brown plaid slacks and a loose-fitting, solid brown sweater. The sweater would hide the bulge of her automatic. While dressing, Scully alternately shuddered and relished the thought that she'd have to eat the hamburger Mulder was certain to find for her. She picked up her purse and left

Scully felt like she was being carried along in Mulder's wake as he shouldered a path through the crowd jamming gate. Inside the stadium, they scrambled over bleachers for good seats. Out on the grass, red and blue uniformed players swung bats over their heads and threw balls back and forth. She thought it looked childish.

Mulder leaned toward her to be heard above the roar of the crowd. "I bet you're glad we didn't miss the warm-up."

"Next time I get to pick the cover." Her thin smile promised merciless revenge.

"Next time you can also pay for dinner. Here's the burger you made me get you." He handed her a dinner-plate-sized bundle wrapped in paper made transparent with grease.

Scully unfolded the package with the same enthusiasm she felt when checking petri dishes for bacterial growths. It was worse than she'd feared. Mulder had managed to find a restaurant that made triple bacon cheeseburgers. The sight of it threw her arteries into spasms. On the verge of throwing the burger out in disgust, its hot, cheesy aroma halted her in mid-motion. Scully knew if she took one taste she was lost. She took it.

As her eyes closed on pleasure, she faintly heard Mulder's laugher from a long way off. It stopped and she guessed he'd started in on his own burger. She took another bite and Mulder, the players, and the roaring crowd all seemed to drift away.

By the time she finished, the game was well under way. Mulder regarded her with a sardonic smile as she used a napkin to wipe grease off her chin. "Don't say it, Mulder. Just because I had one hamburger doesn't mean I approve of your dietary habits."

He shook his head. "Scully, It's not hard to imagine that there are people who make love less passionately than you ate that burger."

She feigned attraction in the game. "I really have no idea what you're talking about."

He gave her a knowing smile and turned to the game.

Scully and Mulder let it work into the second inning before they scanned the crowd for signs that they were being observed. They gave up the impossibility of the task and decided to trust that the crowd's energetic clapping, stomping, and shouting provided ample noise to confound any listener. Just to be sure, they kept their heads close and voices low.

"I didn't see anyone following me," Mulder said.

"Neither did I but that doesn't mean much. My apartment was searched. Yours?"

Mulder nodded.

"They were professionals," Scully grudgingly acknowledged. "I wouldn't have noticed anything without your hint. From the way they conducted the search I'd guess they looked for some kind of document. You copied the file I found, didn't you?"

"Right. I dropped it in the mail. It'll be delivered to me tomorrow. I figured that was the safest way to keep it out of circulation until things cooled off."

Scully took a sip of the thick vanilla shake he'd brought her and grimaced; she preferred strawberry. "What was in that file that interested you enough to crowd Skinner?"

"It recorded Stevenson's investigations into five abduction cases that occurred in 1951. What caught my eye was that all of them occurred in Massachusetts within two hundred miles of Chimer. That's where my family lived when-"

"Someone kidnapped your sister?"

"Abducted," he corrected. "Although Samantha's disappearance was twelve years later, the coincidence captured my attention. Then I noticed something odd about how Stevenson had organized the folder. What you found was just an overflow file for a much larger group of cases. I reviewed all the X-Files to see if there were any other sections of the master file but couldn't find anything. I should thank Harriet. That inventory saved a lot of time."

Scully grinned. "I wouldn't go near Harriet for awhile. When I left her she was screaming something about there not being a statute of limitations for agents who submit false inventory reports."

Mulder shrugged it off. "I tried a cross-check through John Stevenson's name and number. Nothing. Then I got the idea of looking for him by things that weren't there."

Scully nodded. "Like looking for sweep marks to track someone who uses a broom to hide his tracks. You couldn't see the tracks but the broom marks show where he'd gone."

"Right. That's how I turned up the blank social security number."

"That number's not blank any more. The time and date of the most recent update was just minutes after we left Skinner's office."

Mulder pursed his lips and nodded. "Which means Skinner's involved and whatever Stevenson was into still has enough importance to command immediate action. The inventory check turned up something else. The X-Files are filed chronologically with sequential file numbers. There are gaps in the numbers. Lots of them."

Scully's brow creased. "I thought all that sort of information would have been destroyed in last year's fire?"

Mulder smiled lopsidedly. "Harriet to the rescue again. She's assembled her own private collection of title pages from every file in the bureau just in case some disaster destroys the originals. I sneaked in during her lunch break and rummaged through it."

"How many X-Files were missing?"

"More than thirty. If they'd been sent to storage it would have been annotated in the master index. It wasn't. It's my guess that these files shared something in common that someone decided was too dangerous to have around."

A triple play brought the grandstand to its feet. Mulder jumped up to join the cheer.

Mulder looked down at Scully who had remained seated. "Not enjoying the game?"

"I'm faint with excitement," Scully stated flatly. Her eyes hardened. "When do we begin the investigation?"

Mulder took his seat and studied her. "It's usually like pulling teeth to get you interested in an X-File. What's gotten you fired up for this one?"

Her mouth grew firm. "This isn't an X-File. This case involves a missing agent and records. Besides, someone searched my apartment. That makes it personal. Was there anything in the file that gives us a starting point?"

"Nothing on the five abductions themselves. In fact the circumstances on three of them suggest the victims simply ran away or similar types of mundane explanations."

"And the other two?"

Mulder's eyes sparkled. "They may be real abductions."

Scully carefully placed her drink on the bench. Here we go again.

Scully felt her subconscious shift into its skeptical mode but held the reflex emotion in check. She'd worked enough UFO related cases with Mulder to know that some extraterrestrial activities had indeed taken place.

"Thanks," Mulder said.

She shook herself back to the present. "What for?"

"If I read your expression right, you just gave me the benefit of the doubt...and yes," he said before she could say anything. "I think the last two cases are instances of alien abductions. Unfortunately, the file only contains the names and addresses of the victims. We'll have to start there."

"We may not be able to start at all, remember? Skinner wants to see us first thing in the morning,"

Mulder expression became distant. "Do you think he had our places searched or did he just report to someone else and they took over?"

Scully shook her head. "My guess is that he reported to someone else. Skinner's tough but he respects his agents. It would be hard for him to sanction a search of their homes."

"Unless someone ordered him to do it."

"You mean the smoking man."

Mulder nodded. "It fits. It's the type of case he involves himself."

Scully frowned. They'd never found out what the smoking man's position was in the FBI but it was obvious he had power and employed it ruthlessly. Bribery, destruction of evidence, even murder were tools he used routinely. Scully hoped he wasn't involved with this case. She looked at Mulder. "I thought the elimination of his syndicate would have taken him out of operation."

Mulder shook his head without taking his eyes off the game. "From what I've been able to piece together, only the top dozen people were killed by the rebel aliens. The organization he belonged to had to number in the thousands. There'd be plenty of pieces left for him to pick up." Mulder's expression darkened. "If anything, I'd say he managed to move himself several rungs up the corporate ladder."

Half the crowd jumped up as the home team hit a game-winning drive. They dropped with a sigh as the short stop nailed it and tagged the second-base runner out for a double play. The other half of the audience screamed to its feet. The players shook hands and the crowd started to disperse. Scully and Mulder struggled through the mob toward their cars. They stopped just outside the gate. The crowd's babble filled the air around them.

Scully had to shout to be heard. "Shall we meet in your office before heading to Skinner's?"

"Sounds good," he yelled back. "Later." Mulder turned right and dissolved into the crowd.

Scully watched him disappear, then pushed and bumped her way through the crowd toward her car.

+++

The man watched Scully and Mulder get into their cars and drive out of the parking lot. He lowered his binoculars. "Pat Murkson here, sir," he said into the headset clipped to his ear. "They just left."

"Together?" a deep, quiet voice whispered out of the earphone.

"No. Separate cars in different directions."

The labored sound of someone sucking air through a cigarette came from the other end of the line. "Hmmm..."

Assistant Director Skinner's Office
Wednesday,7:58 A.M.

Skinner frowned at the sheet of paper.

Properly typed in regulation black ink on polished bond paper it provided the date, sender's office symbol, Skinner's office symbol in the recipient's block, and two words for the body of the text.

Negative discovery.

His frown deepened. He'd sent two top agents to search Scully's and Mulder's apartments yet they'd failed to find the copy of the Stevenson file Mulder was certain to have made. Skinner crumpled the paper and hurled it into a trash can.

He needed Mulder, damn him. Needed him a lot. The X-Files were an annoyance he tolerated to keep Mulder's talent in his directorate. Half a dozen other assistant directors would love to get their hands on him.

His eyes strayed to the private entrance to his office, the one the smoking man used. He needed Mulder too, as long as Mulder didn't get too close to the truth.

Skinner scowled and stabbed an intercom key. "Jill, are they here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Send them in."

+++

"Assistant Director Skinner will see you now," Jill said to Scully and Mulder. Scully nodded and stood. Mulder, eyes distant, hadn't heard the summons.

"Mulder?" Scully tapped his foot with the toe of a dark blue pump.

His head jerked up. "Huh?"

"Time to meet our fate."

"Oh, right." He pushed himself up and they followed Jill through the door to Skinner's office.

"Here are agents Scully and Mulder as you directed, sir," she said and left.

Scully sat at Skinner's invitation but before Mulder could join her, Skinner addressed him through tight lips. "Agent Mulder, when you're told to report to this office it is your first and most important priority to be here on time." Mulder opened his mouth to say something but Skinner cut him off. "Furthermore, your responsibilities are only to assigned cases. The salary you get from the FBI isn't a grant to work on anything that catches your interest. If you have free time to waste on unofficial investigations I'd like to know about it because there are seventy-nine overworked agents in this directorship who could use some help. Closing the X-Files office and reassigning you to conventional cases would certainly ease the workload on the rest of my agents. It's been done before, if you recall." Skinner paused to let the last statement sink in.

Skinner pulled his wire-rims off. "We've had discussions like this before and little has come of them. You act like a third-grader who's told not to do something and promptly forgets about it as soon as he's out on the playground. You are an FBI agent sworn to dedicate your life to protect the people of the United States. In this directorship that means you obey my orders. Since you choose to ignore this and act like a child I've decided to treat you like one."

Skinner picked up two pieces of paper in his right hand and held them out for Mulder to see. "These are formal reprimands that I am entering into your permanent record: one for involvement in an unauthorized case, the second for coming to work in a condition that would have made it impossible to perform your duties in a professional manner. I've also directed the finance office to subtract two days pay for the time you've wasted. Punishments like this are an insult to your professionalism and an irritation I don't need. If they get you to realize this is a job and not a hobby, so much the better. If not, I promise the severity of future punishments will escalate," Skinner's voice dropped an octave, "even to the point of your dismissal. You're on the edge, Agent Mulder, closer than you can appreciate. I strongly recommend you watch how you walk. You may sit down."

Scully had watched Mulder's expression evolve from shock to embarrassment, anger, and finally concern. Written reprimands in an agent's file were serious. She knew Mulder had little aspiration for higher management within the FBI but promotions were critical for him to maintain control of the X-Files. Two reprimands represented major obstacles toward this goal. She was equally surprised by Skinner's criticism of Mulder in front of her. Verbal admonitions were supposed to be private. She got the reason for it as Skinner turned his attention on her.

"Agent Scully," he said in a tone only slightly less antagonistic. "It's no secret that you were assigned to the X-Files as much to keep Agent Mulder in check as for your technical expertise. The incidents of the last two days demonstrate you've failed to restraint Mulder. You are an outstanding agent with unlimited potential in the FBI. Don't compromise that potential by tolerating Mulder's loose-cannon approach to FBI work. I've purposely let each of you hear what I had to say to the other so you'd appreciate the seriousness of the situation."

Scully and Mulder fidgeted uncomfortably under Skinner's granite stare. He lifted a folder from the active-assignment stack on his desk and handed it to Scully. "This is your next case. You are dismissed."

Scully and Mulder left without a word and walked silently down the hall toward the elevator. Skinner's verbal reprimand had left Scully with a detached feeling, like everything around her had pulled twenty feet away. She glanced at Mulder and asked herself a question she hadn't considered in a long time. Who's earned my higher allegiance, Mulder or the FBI?

The elevator door slid open. Agent Art Henderson strode out, recognized Scully and said, "Morning, Dana. Say, I was you and I...."

Scully brushed passed him without being conscious of what he'd said and keyed the elevator for Mulder's office. She looked around for something to occupy her attention, anything to avoid eye contact with Mulder. She remembered the folder Skinner had given her and opened it. Her eyes stretched wide. "Mulder?" She tilted the folder so he could see.

It was the Stevenson file.

Assistant Director Skinner's Office
Wednesday,8:21 A.M.

The private entrance to Skinner's office opened. Pungent cigarette smoke assailed his nostrils, deepening his frown. The smoking man took one step into the office and stood relaxed, taking an occasional drag from his cigarette and watching Skinner.

Skinner studied him: average height, nondescript coloring, unremarkable build and indefinable age. Skinner knew five minutes after the smoker left he wouldn't be able to remember enough details to draw a usable sketch of him. He'd tried it before and failed. The smoking man was the embodiment of the perfect agent. Skinner felt the muscles in his neck draw tight. But whose agent?

Skinner made no attempt to hide his disgust. The man had forced him to support actions Skinner knew were illegal. Skinner often wondered about the smoking man's motivations. He reevaluated the scant information he had on him: no wife, no family, and, as far as he knew, no valued possessions. Sudden insight sprang into Skinner's mind. This was a man with nothing to loose. All he lived for was a ruthless devotion to his job. Such a man was dangerous.

The smoking man paused between puffs. "You did what I ordered?"

Skinner gave him a single curt nod. "I don't think we should have given the file back to Mulder."

The smoker swept the air dismissively with his cigarette, languid smoke marked its path. "Your men couldn't find the copy Mulder was sure to have made. You know as well as I he couldn't resist a case like this." He exhaled a billowing cloud of blue smoke toward Skinner. "Your little tirade would have hardly slowed him down. This way we can keep an eye on him. He may even find Stevenson." His lips shaped a smile.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

The smoking man's laugh held no humor. "Of course it is. We've been hunting Stevenson forty years." He drew air in through the cigarette hard enough to make it hiss. "Mulder has a talent for this sort of thing. He may succeed where others have failed. If not, he'll get it out of his system. Either way we get what we want at minimal risk."

"What will you do if he succeeds and Stevenson talks? Mulder could find out more than you'd like."

The man shrugged. "We know how to handle such situations."

Skinner's hands tightened into fists. "What will you do with Stevenson if Mulder finds him?"

The smoking man's smile faded. "What my predecessors should have done forty years ago."

"And Mulder? If Stevenson tells him what he knows?"

The smoking man dropped his cigarette onto Skinner's carpet, ground it with a heel and left without a word.

Washington DC
Wednesday, 1:32 p.m.

After stopping at Mulder's apartment for his travel kit, Scully and Mulder spent forty minutes on a traffic-jammed US 50 before they got to Scully's apartment to pick up her bag. They'd booked a shuttle flight out of Baltimore-Washington International Airport for tiny Katama Airport in the southeast corner of Martha's Vineyard. They were half an hour ahead of schedule when a jackknifed truck choked traffic to a crawl on Interstate 97. The ten mile trip took an hour.

They had to run for the gate. Mulder beat Scully by a hundred feet. A short line had already formed behind him. Scully stepped up to the end of the check-in line and used her ticket to fan heat from her face. She saw Mulder smile at her from the head of the line. "Going light on the aerobics these days, Scully?" Mulder called back.

As if mechanically linked, the heads of three business-suited men between them tracked his words back to Scully. "What I need are longer legs," she called forward.

The three heads swiveled back toward Mulder. "Try moving yours faster."

The heads gyrated back. "You're just needling me because I out-scored you again on the firing range last week." The three heads started to twist in Mulder's direction but jerked short and did a double take back to her. She smiled sweetly at them.

They flushed, back-stepped, and waved her forward. Her smile broadened. "Why, thank you," she said and stepped up behind Mulder. The men fell into line but held back as far as possible.

"Tickets?" the attendant asked. Scully and Mulder traded their stubs for boarding passes.

They'd barely strapped on safety belts when the shuttle's propellers bit into the air and tugged the twelve-seater upward. Scully relaxed as the craft's acceleration pressed her deep into the seat's soft padding. The hypnotic drum of the plane's engines muffled their attempts at conversation so they leaned back to enjoy the ninety-minute flight.

In Katama Scully rented a Toyota Corolla while Mulder collected their baggage. After they'd exited the airport she scanned the softly rolling landscape made fuzzy with knee-high, grass. "It's beautiful."

Mulder nodded. "That's why Mom stays on here." His expression darkened. "That and her memories."

"I'm surprised you suggested the layover at her house. I know there's tension between you."

"I try to make contact every once in awhile. Usually, doesn't do either of us any good. Besides, if she found out I'd passed by without stopping it would just make things worse."

Scully looked out at the scenery flashing by her window. "How long will it take us to get to her house?"

"Twenty minutes."

"About as long as it took Skinner the bring the hammer down on us."

Mulder's smile faded. "I'm still not sure why he chewed us out like that."

"Don't you think your actions justified it? You know he hates being stood up for appointments."

"I was-"

"Busy. I've heard it before."

Mulder glanced at her. "What's with the lecture? Don't you think Skinner laid it on thick enough?"

She pursed her lips. "Sorry. I'm just not used to being jumped on."

Mulder flashed her a lopsided grin. "No? A pretty girl like you? I should think-"

"Don't say it."

He changed the subject. "What do you make of Skinner's actions?"

Scully angled her head slightly to the right. "First he takes away the file giving us every indication he wants to bury it, then he gives you a day off. The next thing we know our apartments are searched and we have to use a baseball game to cover our meeting."

"Softball. Good game, though."

"I'll take your word for it."

"At least you have to admit the burgers were good."

Scully looked away. "The next day he drops a load of bureaucratic bricks on us. Finally, without blinking he hands us the very case he jumped all over us for investigating."

She flapped Stevenson's file at him. "Looks like you needn't have bothered to make a copy of the file after all."

"Maybe that's why we got the case. They felt they'd lost control so assigning us to it was the safest thing to do. This way they can keep an eye on our progress. Either way the copy won't go to waste. I asked a friend to check my mail. There's a note on the envelope to keep it safe until I get back."

"The Lone Gunmen?" she asked skeptically.

"Right." He glanced at her. "You're making that face again."

She frowned at him. "Face?"

"Every time I mention the Lone Gunmen you look like you bit into a lemon."

Scully scowled.

"See," he said. "You did it again." She opened her mouth to protest but Mulder cut her off. "Come off it, Scully. I know what you think of them but you have to admit they've been useful."

Scully crossed her arms over her chest. "If you say so."

Mulder returned his attention to the road. "As far as Skinner's actions are concerned it seems to me that he or cancer man initially followed established policy for dealing with anything associated with Stevenson or the missing files. After a more careful considered they decided it would be useless to try and stop my investigation, so they assigned us to the case."

Scully rolled her window down. Fresh, cool air scented with the aroma of wet grass blew over her face. She rolled the window back up and shook her auburn hair back in place. "If Stevenson accomplished his disappearance with FBI approval and the bureau didn't want it discovered, Skinner would have done everything in his power to stop you. Instead he gives you carte blanche to proceed. That indicates Stevenson's disappearance wasn't supported by the FBI. They want Stevenson, or the files, badly enough to risk our learning something we aren't supposed to know."

Mulder nodded. "Right. I wonder which they want more, Stevenson or the missing files?"

"You assume Stevenson took the files?"

"Yes. If the FBI wanted the files Skinner wouldn't have given us back the one you found."

"Unless this file doesn't contain anything important. It may only be the other files that are dangerous."

"Yes. But dangerous to whom?" he asked. Mulder settled down to the drive. Scully watched his eyes glaze as his thoughts drifted. She recognized the signs that he'd already started juggling the facts of the case to find the thread that connected the pieces.

Scully opened the file again. It pertained to five missing-person reports submitted between January and June of 1951. The local police in each case thought there was sufficient reason to suspect kidnapping so they requested FBI assistance. Agent John Stevenson out of the D.C. office was assigned as investigating officer. Scully's brow wrinkled. Why a D.C. agent instead someone from the local bureau office?

The locations of the disappearances were scattered throughout Massachusetts. There was no pattern to the sites, social-economic status, personal associations, or age of the victims. Other than their close association in time there was no reason to group the cases. The first three appeared to be dead ends.

Case number one involved nineteen year old Kathleen Brannigan. Her parents woke one morning to find her gone. All her clothes still hung in the closet. There was no note. Mr. and Mrs. Brannigan were wealthy and expected a ransom demand. It never came. Agent Stevenson followed the time-honored procedure of reviewing the local police report, inspecting the disappearance site, and interviewing everyone with connections to the missing person. The one person not interviewed by Stevenson was Kathy's boyfriend Philip Tyler. He'd disappeared too. Tyler's parents hadn't reported it because, in their own words, "he was a no-good bum and were glad to be rid of him." Philip had a lengthy criminal record he liked to boast about. Agent Stevenson's conclusion was that Kathleen ran away with Philip because her parents wouldn't approve of their marriage. He left the file open with a recommendation not to pursue the investigation.

The second case concerned twenty-four year old Samuel Mane. His employer reported the disappearance when he failed to show up for work. A search of the shack he lived in outside of town disclosed nothing. His car was gone. When Stevenson interviewed Mane's six-months pregnant girlfriend, she'd said that he'd promised to marry her and she was certain something terrible must have happened to prevent him from keeping this promise. Stevenson found no evidence of foul play and recorded his belief that Mane had left town after getting cold feet about the marriage. For want of evidence to the contrary, the file had been left open.

The third case involved elderly Joshua Evan who had last been seen on the porch of his house just before dinner. When he failed to come in when Mrs. Evan called, she went to get him. They'd just finished an argument so when she saw he wasn't there, she shrugged and went back inside to eat both portions of their pot roast and cabbage dinner. Three hours later Mrs. Evan called the police. An examination of the woods near his house revealed nothing. Heavy rains the next day hampered search efforts. Mrs. Evan insisted he'd been the victim of foul play and wouldn't let the local authorities rest until they found him or his body, she didn't seem overly concerned which. They got her off their backs by classifying the case as a possible kidnapping and referring it to the FBI. Stevenson's investigation indicated Mr. Evan may have been senile. There was a river nearby and in all likelihood he had wandered off and fallen in. Without a body the case could not be officially closed.

The last two cases were different.

Both involved seventeen-year-old boy scouts who had disappeared in wilderness areas. The incidents were separate. Each boy had been on a camping trip with his scout troop when he'd gone missing. Both had taken off alone for a short hike in the same state park but in areas twenty-five miles apart. The disappearances were separated by three days. The first boy's name was Michael Fitch, the second Allan Quintannin. In both cases the scout troops had followed the boy's footprints until they ended without a trace. Interviews with both groups of scouts disclosed nothing unusual about the boys' behavior prior to their disappearance.

Agent Stevenson only spent two days on each of the first three cases but invested thirty-four on these and didn't quit until recalled by the D.C. office. He admitted complete bafflement. In the back of the case file, Stevenson had made a series of notes indicating he continued to investigate them up to late 1954.

Scully went back over the file a second time to see what it could tell her about Stevenson, the agent. His entries reflected completeness, brevity, and precision. This was a man who had enjoyed his work and executed it diligently. The excessive amount of time spent on the last two cases indicated a willingness to get personally involved. Scully chewed her lower lip. Just like Mulder.

They entered a stretch of road bordered by trees. Sun dodged through the boughs of elms overhanging the expressway and splashed the windshield with flashing patches of light and shadow. The flickering light pulled Scully's eyes away from the case toward the scenery. White, clapboarded cottages with grass-green shutters dotted the rolling green hills and vied with a deep blue sky for her attention. She smiled. The sidetrack through Martha's Vineyard had been a good idea even if it did stretch the bureau's definition of reimbursable travel.

Mulder pulled right into a short driveway and stopped in front of his a cottage like the others Scully had seen but the white clapboards were a creamy hue and the shutters were a dark somber green. It gave the impression of a house in mourning.

A stout, sandy-haired woman of medium height walked stiffly toward them as they climbed out of the car. "Fox," she acknowledge without smiling as Mulder walked up and stopped three steps away from her. They stood like granite headstones, heavy with reluctance to move.

"Mom, I've asked you not to-"

"It's your name, Fox. You shouldn't be ashamed of it."

Mulder turned away. "You remember my partner, Dana Scully?"

Scully shook her hand. "Hello again." The older woman forced a smile and nodded curtly then turned toward the house. Scully and Mulder grabbed their bags and followed. As Scully stepped into the living room, the aroma of pork roasting in sweet sauces engulfed her. "Smells wonderful."

"Dixie pork chops. Fox's favorite." She faced her son. "At least it used to be."

He started up the stairs. Scully took a step after him, then called back, "I look forward to trying them."

"It'll be ready in half an hour." Mrs. Mulder hurried through the swinging door to the kitchen.

Scully headed up the stairs. Mulder met her at the top and pointed to the first room facing the landing. "Yours. I'm down the hall to the left."

She nodded and pushed the door open. Her room had light pink walls and white curtains that fluttered in a breeze coming in through an open window. She unpacked and lay back on the bed, thankful for the respite from a long day. She let her eyes close. A knocking brought her up sharply to a sitting position.

"Scully?" Mulder's voice called. "Time for dinner."

She stood, straightened her clothes and left. Mulder headed down the stairs without saying a word. Mrs. Mulder was standing rigidly behind a dining table that was covered in old heavy lace. Mulder took the seat on the right end of the table. Scully took the middle chair opposite his Mother. Mrs. Mulder lifted the cover off a large shallow ceramic pan. Inside, a dozen thick pork chops simmered in a meaty sauce sweetened with raisins. Aromatic steam billowed up from the bubbling dish. Scully's mouth began to water. She helped herself to side dishes of tossed salad and succotash and filled the rest of her plate with one of the huge pork chops, hesitated, then took a second. Mrs. Mulder managed a smile. "It's good to see a girl with an appetite."

"Everything smells so good."

Mulder flashed Scully the first real smile he'd had since they'd arrived. "Mom always was a good cook."

His mother's smile faded. "I'm glad you think there's something I'm good at."

"Mom..."

"Never mind, Fox."

They finished the dinner in silence.

After washing the dishes, they retired to the living room. Mulder started a fire then settled into an overstuffed sofa. Subdued anger crouched in shadows cast by the flames. Scully felt the mood darken as the fire burned low. "Fox," Mrs. Mulder said after a long silence. "You told me you thought your father was murdered by someone in the government. Do you still think so?"

Mulder glanced at her, than turned back to the fire. "The man's name is Alex Krycek. We believe he works for someone we call cancer man. Dad knew too much about the government's experiments with UFO technology. He was going to tell me about them that night but Krycek got to him first." Mulder returned his attention to the flames.

The fire snapped and popped into the heavy silence. Scully turned to his mother. "We cornered Krycek but he got away. Unfortunately, the organization he works for has the resources to keep him hidden."

"And there's nothing that can be done?"

Scully shook her head. "Nothing. We'd have to catch Krycek and keep his own people from killing him before he got to court."

Mrs. Mulder's eyes rounded.

Mulder rejoined the conversation. "It's true. They wouldn't hesitate to kill one of their own men if they had to. There'd be too great a chance he'd talk to save himself."

"Dana? What about your sister? Fox told me how she died."

Scully's eyes sought the solace of the flames. "Melissa was killed because the same people mistook her for me. I think Krycek was involved in that as well." Scully looked over at Mulder, he sat immobile letting sporadic flames spill orange light across the hardened lines of his normally youthful face.

They sat in silence while the fire's embers dimmed from yellow to orange. Scully finally excused herself. Mulder and his mother stayed, searching the embers for something long lost.

Martha's Vineyard
Wednesday, 11:59 P.M.

Pat Murkson wiped a gloved hand over condensation on the inside of car's window. All he accomplished was to soak the glove and distort his view of the Mulder residence. Murkson sighed and rolled the window down. He shivered as cold damp air flowed over him.

He looked at his watch: time to call in. Murkson checked that the tape covering the indicator light to his phone was still in place. Kunder had forgotten to do so in Guatemala last month and the light's glow was enough for a sharpshooter to pick him off. Murkson wondered if Kunder had a family, not that it mattered.

The tape was in place. Murkson tapped in the number. A dial tone buzzed once followed by a ten second pause. The phone clicked. "Speak."

"Murkson, sir. Agents Scully and Mulder are down for the night. They're staying at his mother's house."

"Did they spot you?"

"They gave no indication of it."

Murkson heard the drag of air through a cigarette. "Anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Continue your surveillance. Report as scheduled unless something important develops."

"Yes, sir."

The phone clicked. Murkson turned back to the house.

Martha's Vineyard
Thursday, 6:23 A.M.

"Morning, Mom," Mulder said stepping into the dining room.

Mrs. Mulder sat at one end of the table rolling a cup of coffee between her hands. "Fox," she said without looking up.

Mulder sat down at the opposite end of the table. "What's for breakfast?"

"Whatever you want...you know where the cereal is."

"Perfect." He pushed out of his chair. "Seen Scully?"

"She got up an hour ago. Had some toast and coffee and took off on a walk."

Mulder elbowed his way through the kitchen's swinging door, grabbed some Wheaties, a bowl, milk, a spoon and headed back to the dining room. His crunching as he ate was the only sound to fill the silence of the room.

"Having a light breakfast?" Scully asked as she stepped through the French doors at the far end of the dining room.

Mulder stood up. "Just finished. Shall we go?"

"Already? I though you wanted to-"

"It's a long drive. The earlier we start the better."

"Okay. If you really think we should-"

Mulder turned and walked away, leaving his dirty dishes on the table. Mrs. Mulder didn't look up.

Scully hefted her suitcase onto the rear passenger seat. Mulder was already behind the wheel. Mrs. Mulder had not come outside.

"Mulder? Don't you want to say good-bye?"

He gave his head a shake. "Let's just get going. This wasn't a good idea."

She climbed in and looked at the house. A hand began pulling a window curtain aside, stopped, then let the curtain fall back into place. Mulder drove off.

They drove north through North Tisbury and on toward Vineyard Haven. The West Chop Ferry carried them to the mainland at New Bedford. Heavy morning traffic pushing the speed limit got them halfway up Interstate 495 to Boston by eleven. "We could skip the first three cases," Scully said. "It's the last two that Stevenson spent the most time on."

Mulder glanced over at her. "Normally I'd agree but I think we need to investigate all of them. After forty years there may not be many people left who remember Stevenson. Each case may only contr