*II*

11:21 P.M., George Washington Parkway

The parkway was dark and devoid of traffic. Tree branches hung low, burdoned
with ice; the road was a wet, black furrow trimmed with the plowed snow.
Scully drove with one hand on the wheel, the other clutching her cell phone. Ringing.
Ringing. The fucker wasn't answering. Then finally: "Acres."

"Sergeant Acres? This is Special Agent Scully. I'm on my way to Poolesville.
What've you found?"

"I don't...anythi...helps," The voice on the other end was patchy with
transmission fallout. "Check...rsons' house...body..."

"A body? What body?" Scully shouted.

"...No visible cause... go in...What? No...'gent Scully...nobody home. There's a car in
the drive...plates...miss..." he continued, still breaking up. "White Lincoln...got the ID
number DMV says it should."

Scully swallowed back something thick and terrible before she could speak.
"Start working on a warrant. I want to get into that house. She pressed the
disconnect and threw the phone on the seat, still seeing an image of Mulder
gagged and bound, and dead; Trying to see only the dark and fog off the river
cut by her headlights. Suddenly, a white-tailed deer dashed from the woods
into the middle of Scully's lane and stopped, eyes glowing eerily.

"Shit, shit, shit!" She swerved to avoid the fear-frozen creature. Her joints jarred
and her head thumped the ceiling as the car ran up over the shoulder into the brush,
the breaks catching hold just before the precipitous drop into Dead Run. "Oh Jesus."
She looked down into freefall, into the final destination of water rushing
toward the Potomac. The car stalled with a grumble.

"Goddamnsonofabitch!" Scully slapped the wheel. Then she drew a deep breath and
told the car, "You start or I'm going to get out and push you over the brink. Hear me?"
When she turned the ignition key she received a submissive purr. "Good girl."

Scully pulled back onto the road and increased speed slowly, her eyes scanning for other
stupid or suicidal deer. The sign for the Maryland Beltway reflected metallic green
in her hi-beams. As she switched lanes to take the exit ramp, her cell phone warbled.
Her heart jumped and she fumbled for it--found iton the floorboard behind her right heel.
Her teeth fixed around the antenna's terminal knob and pulled upward to unsheathe it.
Tucked the little phone under her chin. "Scully."

"Dana? It's Anderson--ASAC Vanderbilt, you know." The soft Georgia voice conjured
a gentle ebony face. "I'm running--I was running the search for your partner."

"Was?"

"Mulder called in. He said he was safe and headed out on vacation. Whatever you saw
was some kind of joke," Vanderbilt said.

"That's bullshit. Who did he supposedly call? Not me, and I'm the one he would call."

"He called AD Skinner."

For moment Scully's mouth hung open. She willed herself to ask calmly, "Put me
through to him, please?"

"Sure. Sure...Hang on, Dana." There was an accidental beep as he hit the zero
instead of the pound sign.

One dozen trills sounded in her ear before Kimberly Cooke answered for
Skinner. "I'm sorry, the Assistant Director is occupied."

"This is Agent Scully. It's an emergency. Put me through to him now."

There was silence, then just a few bars of Muzak before the secretary returned.
"AD Skinner is in a meeting. He says can't be disturbed."

"Next time, Kim, at least let me hang long enough to believe that you really talked to him." <p>

A sigh. "Agent Scully--"

"No. No more crap. Tell Skinner I'll join his meeting in twenty
minutes--no, make it fifteen." She poked the cell phone's off
button, pretending it was a spot right between the secretary's eyes,
then hung a U-turn across the grass median and stepped on the gas.

The river sparkled beneath city lights as the car exited
the parkway to speed over Key Bridge, then inch its way
up M Street through Georgetown's late night traffic and
crowds. Scully frowned at Christmas lights around shop
windows and illuminated candy canes affixed to lamp
posts. She floored the car through the zone's last yellow
light of and headed into the empty office district where
the fronts of New Deal-era federal offices were guarded by bronze
statutes of American proletariat. Not bothering to signal, Scully
swung left at a green light, heading down streets
bordered by dark concrete boxes built in decades after the banks
reopened and the WPA went home.

There it was, straight ahead, at least half the windows still lit. The J.
Edgar Hoover Building-- another tasteless, square worker hive
from the Seventies, a decade when--what had Mulder said in that e-mail
once?-- a decade when "One-third of the Earth's population succumbed
to the Moronic Plague." Scully smiled faintly as she palmed the steering
wheel to turn down the ramp for the underground garage. No parking
spaces. Never enough. She circled round and round descending levels.
Finally, she found a lonely slot in the depths, slammed the car door with
a satisfying wham, and headed for the elevators. When she reached
Skinner's office, Kim typed in steadfast accompaniment to her
Dictaphone and never met Scully's eyes.

Scully pushed hard against the smooth wooden door with its brass
plaque and swept into the AD's office. Her lungs hitched as she inhaled
cigarette smoke that curled in the air like tendrils. Scully coughed,
waving her hand in front of her face as she walked across the deep-pile
carpet. That man was there, behind her, venting toxicological air, but
her wide, angry gaze stayed on Skinner. He was bent over his desk
writing on a legal pad, the lamp casting a yellow glow on his
forehead and reflecting off his glasses. "What is it, Agent Scully?"
He didn't look up.

"Why did you cancel the search for Agent Mulder, sir?"

"Because it was bogus." Her mouth knotted as Skinner flipped the
page and immediately put his pen back to work. "Mulder is
on his way to Key West. He said what you saw was a prank
staged by some friends. He's getting a written reprimand when
he gets back."

"But it's not true, sir," Scully contradicted, her chin lifting. "Mulder was
abducted. It was not a joke."

The moldy voice from behind made her shiver. "Agent Scully, you're
overwrought. Maybe you need a vacation, too."

She threw a glance over her shoulder--not seeing the smoker but sure
the smile in his voice translated to his face with the prettiness of
an oozing wound. She blotted out indignation, focused hard on Skinner.
"Mulder didn't have a reservation at any area airport, sir. I've
checked. Mulder told me his suitcase was in his trunk, but earlier I
talked to one of the toss team who said there was no luggage. We
know Mulder didn't come back to get his bag, sir, so he lied.
Or if Mulder did go to Key West, he left without anything except
the suit he was wearing."

"I spoke to Mulder directly," Skinner was brusque. "He said he was
all right, on his way to Florida, and was sorry about his friends' poor
judgment."

"Was the tape run through the stress analyzer?"

"Yes. The results were inconclusive, but that seems appropriate
under the circumstances."

"Sir," her rebuttal began more softly, "I know Mulder better than
anyone. I think you can agree with that--"

From behind her came a bemused chuckle. "No argument here."

She ignored the nameless bastard and tried again to catch Skinner's
gaze. "Frankly, sir, Mulder doesn't have any friends--well,
not many, and I know them all. Those men weren't friends.
Mulder wasn't annoyed or amused, he was afraid. He was
more than afraid." Scully stepped in closer, her hands
becoming fists at her sides. "He told me, too, that nothing
was happening against his will, but I don't think--I don't...."
Words trailed off as she scented failure. Scully stiffened
with resolve. "Listen to me, sir. I've been with Mulder
in some bad situations. Situations where he should have
been afraid, but wasn't because--because he's Mulder.
Tonight he tried to hide it, sir, but he was terrified."

Skinner raised his eyes from the bureaucratic pile, his chair
squeaking as he turned to face her directly. He blinked
a few times and seemed to be considering. "Scully,
we traced the number. Mulder was on a pay phone at
National. Why would an abductor drive him there and
force Mulder to call me? Just to throw us off?"

National. National....? She took a sudden, deep breath.
"Sir, you say he called from National Airport?"

Skinner nodded.

"You verified it?"

"Yes. He was on a pay phone in the new terminal."

"Mulder told me he was leaving from Dulles."

"You're sure?"

"I offered to drive him there but he said it was
too far out of my way. He must have hoped I
would notice the discrepancy. Sir, please don't
drop the search. I know my partner. I--" She
had to pause and breathe more slowly. "Sir, we're
wasting a lot of valuable time that could save him."

She watched the AD put down his pen and look
briefly into the cigarette haze. She felt her muscles
loosen when he picked up the telephone and
punched a few buttons. "Vanderbilt, don't bail out
of Ops two yet. Get that search for Mulder going again."

When the phone clattered into its cradle, Scully
grabbed Skinner's gaze for an instant. "Thank
you, sir. I'm sorry to have disturbed your meeting."

"Get out of here, Scully." The AD looked back
down to his work. "Go do the composites."

*******