REP: Insurmountable Opportunities (4/6)
Brandon Ray
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TITLE: Insurmountable Opportunities (4/6)
AUTHOR: Brandon D. Ray (pub...@avalon.net
Headers are at the start of Part One
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WEDNESDAY
The next day was more of the same: More meetings, more yammering,
more bureauspeak. By lunchtime, Bill Scully's head was pounding, and
his stomach was churning with acid. He had not slept well the night
before, and the bilge he was having to wade through at the Pentagon
wasn't helping matters any.
His conscience was also bothering him. As he pushed his tray through
the line at the cafeteria, he thought about the previous day. He
didn't know what had come over him, but whatever had caused his foul
mood, it had been unfair to take it out on Fox Mulder. Bill had
agreed to help the man with his case, and he had had no right to go
back on his own word. Nor was it just a personal favor Mulder had
asked of him; viewed in context, it was a legitimate request for
assistance -- albeit through somewhat unorthodox channels -- from
another government agency. Bill knew his superiors would almost
certainly not see things that way, but he had agreed to help Mulder on
that basis, and it was, to Bill's way of thinking, tantamount to
dereliction of duty for him to back out the way he had.
Bill worked his way rapidly through the chef's salad and iced tea he
had selected. He regretfully decided against going back for dessert
-- as he grew older, he was finding it more and more difficult to
control his waistline -- and glanced at his watch. He still had
almost twenty minutes until his next meeting, and he knew in his heart
how he ought to spend them.
Sighing to himself, he disposed of his tray and walked back to his
CO's boss' office. Borrowing a telephone from the Admiral's
secretary, he dialed a number he had copied from Dana's rolodex before
leaving her apartment that morning. It was answered on the third
ring.
"Fox Mulder."
"Mulder it's me," he said. "Bill Scully." There was silence at the
other end of the line. Bill cleared his throat, and went on
awkwardly, "I, uh, I want to apologize for the way I treated you last
night. It was inexcusable." <<This had better count as penance,>> he
thought, and then went on, uncomfortably, "I, uh, was wondering if
there was still anything I could do to help."
There was just the briefest moment of hesitation, giving Bill time for
the ungenerous hope that he would get credit for good intentions
without actually having to DO anything. Then Fox Mulder said, "Sure.
There are still some leads I need to follow up on, and I could
definitely use your help with them. When are you free?"
"Well, I do have two more meetings this afternoon," Bill said
resignedly. "But I should be done by 4:30 or so. Getting back to
Dana's apartment takes about --"
Mulder cut him off. "Look, why don't I just pick you up at the
Pentagon City Metro station, okay? That'll save us at least half an
hour, maybe more, depending on the traffic. About 4:30, you said?"
"Yes."
"Great; it's a date." The man rattled on, as if the harsh words of
the night before had never been spoken. "Oh, by the way, Dana called
me just before you did. They've had more delays, she didn't really go
into details, but now it looks like she won't be back until Friday
evening."
"Oh," Bill said, disappointed. "I leave on Friday afternoon. And the
ticket's non-refundable." <<Damn!>>
"Yeah, she mentioned that. Tough break. She said to tell you she's
sorry, but it can't be helped. I'm sure an old salt like yourself
understands about the call of duty." Mulder gave his patented nasal
laugh. "But she said she'll catch up with you at Christmastime, if
not before." A moment's pause. "Look, I gotta run; talk to you
later."
The afternoon seemed to drag by -- and another four hours under
fluorescent lights in stuffy conference rooms wasn't helping his
headache at all. Bill sat and watched and looked at charts and
listened to a vice admiral with forty years of military service
soberly discussing the relative merits of putting Coca-Cola versus
Pepsi in the vending machines, and inside Bill felt his soul start to
shrivel. He actually found himself looking forward to spending the
evening with the relatively inoffensive Fox Mulder.
At last it was 4:30, and he was free. He almost bolted from the
Pentagon, heading for the Metro station, and a few moments later he
and Mulder were tooling down the Beltway once again. As they sailed
through the exit and onto Highway 50, Bill belatedly realized that by
allowing Mulder to pick him up directly from the Pentagon, he had lost
the opportunity to shower and change out of his uniform. <<Oh,
well,>> he thought. His naval rank had already come in handy once --
and this WAS, after all, something vaguely resembling official
business, at least by the rationale that he was operating under. <<And
an officer in the United States Navy is never really off duty, in any
case.>>
"Annapolis again?" Bill asked.
Mulder nodded. "I've arranged to hire a small boat," he replied. "I
want to go out on the Chesapeake and check out the spot where the
bodies were found."
Bill was amused. "This was out in the middle of the Chesapeake,
wasn't it?" Mulder nodded. "You aren't expecting to find clues are
you? Footprints, maybe?" He chuckled at his own witticism.
"No, of course not. I may be a landlubber," he looked briefly at Bill
and grinned, "but I'm not THAT stupid. No, I want to check the area
for signs of paranormal manifestations."
Bill hesitated. "You're kidding, right?"
Mulder shook his head. "Not at all. That's what I've spent the last
couple of days researching -- and I had Langly and Frohike working on
it, too, trying to track down references to previous paranormal
incidents in that area. We all drew a blank, but I'm not ready to
give up on it; I think if we can just go out there, we may turn
something up."
Bill couldn't believe his ears. He had gathered from Dana that Mulder
had a rather...unusual belief system. But this...it was too much. He
shook his head. Mulder glanced at him and grinned again.
"You don't believe me, do you?" Mulder asked. "That's okay; Dana
never does, either. She keeps me honest -- I don't know what I would
do without her. She's my other half."
The stark statement floated there in the air between them for a pair
of uncomfortable minutes, while Bill tried to think of something to
say in response. Finally deciding not to go there, he went back to
the original subject. "All right," he said. "Tell me what you think
is going on."
Mulder nodded. "Well," he said. "First off, there are the odd
wounds. You remember the pathologist thought they might have been
inflicted with an axe or a machete, but they equally well could have
been done with a saber -- or sabers, more likely. Second, you
yourself identified the grapeshot we found, both in the body and
embedded in the ship."
"Boat," Bill said automatically, correcting Mulder's terminology.
Mulder smiled. "Okay, boat," he replied, then went on with his
analysis. "By the way, I took that pellet we removed from the body to
an expert I know at the Smithsonian. He confirmed your
identification. Third, as I told you last night--"
Bill grimaced slightly, but Mulder didn't seem to be making a pointed
comment.
"--my research turned up the fact that one of the men on the boat was
the co-leader of a team of marine archeologists who found what seems
to be the QUEEN ANNE'S REVENGE, and for the last year they've been
bringing up artifacts. Now, there are plenty of cases on record of
ghosts coming back to haunt people who have disturbed their graves,
and while Blackbeard didn't go down with the REVENGE, he did die in
the battle. The victors decapitated him and took his head back on a
pole -- literally -- but the rest of his body they apparently just
heaved over the side. So it's entirely possible that his spirit, or
ghost, if you prefer, would still be haunting the wreck, and might be
annoyed at having it disturbed."
Bill said, "You're really serious, aren't you?"
Mulder looked at him, then back at the highway. "Yes, I am," he
replied. "I've been studying things like this for years. And I like
to think, after all that time, that I know what I'm talking about."
There wasn't much to say to that, so Bill didn't try. Several miles
went by, while he sat in silent contemplation. At last, he shifted in
his seat, and spoke again. "So if we accept your theory for the
moment --" Mulder nodded. "-- what do you expect to gain by going out
to the spot where the boat was found? If I understand your theory
correctly, you think that Blackbeard's ghost is taking revenge on the
people who have disturbed his grave. And while I can see where...the
ghost might have somehow tracked this guy down more easily when he was
out on the Bay, I don't understand why you would expect the ghost to
still be hanging around over an unmarked patch of open water, more
than forty eight hours later."
"Good question," Mulder said. "Show's you're capable of thinking
outside the box. The answer is, of course, that I don't expect to
find the ghost still there. But if it really WAS a ghost, there may
be traces that would still be detectable."
"How?" Bill asked suspiciously.
Mulder laughed. "Let's leave that until we get there," he said.
They made the rest of the trip without talking. Bill sat staring out
the window at the strange yet familiar scenery rushing by, while
Mulder whistled a succession of pop tunes from the 70s, just enough
off-key to be truly annoying. Finally, they arrived at the Annapolis
waterfront. A man was waiting for them at the boat rental dock,
obviously annoyed at having to stay late. His annoyance faded
somewhat when Mulder flashed his platinum, government-backed American
Express card at him, and before long they were pulling away from the
pier in a small inboard motorboat. Mulder had brought along a small
valise, which he had taken from the trunk of the car, but he did not
volunteer to explain what was in it, and Bill was too stubborn to ask.
Mulder wordlessly handed Bill a scrap of paper with some coordinates
on it; Bill took a brief glance at the chart they had found in a
compartment under the pilot's seat, and laid out a rough course that
should bring them to the spot indicated. "We should be there in half
an hour, forty-five minutes," he told the FBI agent. "May as well sit
back and enjoy the ride."
They cruised for awhile in silence. Taking his own advice, Bill
leaned back in his seat and tried to relax. The sun had set a short
while before, and the brighter stars were beginning to appear in the
deepening twilight. The smell of salt was strong in the air, and in
the distance he could hear seagulls. <<This is what I joined the Navy
for,>> Bill thought. <<Yet I get to do it so seldom anymore. I've
been landlocked for over a year now -- that's to be expected in any
Navy career, of course. Yet, even when I draw my next sea duty, the
ship is likely to be so big, and I'll be so high up the chain of
command, that I might just as well be working in an office on shore,
for all the time I'll get to spend like this.>> He shook his head in
self-reproof. <<But that's what I signed up for. I've had a
successful career; with any luck, I'll get my star before I'm fifty.
But sometimes the price seems almost too high.>> And he thought again
of the Pentagon, and shuddered at the thought of spending a two year
tour there, surrounded by ambitious, brown-nosing captains and
commanders, taking orders from clueless civilians in the Defense
Department, office politics, paperwork....Dammit, he was a man of
action! He wasn't cut out for that kind of life.
"Penny for your thoughts," Mulder said, breaking in on Bill's reverie.
Bill shook himself. "Oh...nothing. Just woolgathering." Mulder
nodded, and waited to see if he would go on. "I was just...thinking
about things. About my next assignment. That sort of thing."
"I can understand that. It must be pretty exciting -- doing something
different every few years, living in exotic ports, that sort of
thing."
"It has its moments," Bill admitted. "Kind of rough on a family,
though." And he realized with a stab of guilt that he STILL hadn't
called Tara. Looking for a way to change the subject, Bill leaned
forward and pushed the GPS button on the dashboard. The small
computer percolated for a second, consulted with the orbiting
satellite network, then coordinates flashed on the readout. Bill
compared them to the figures Mulder had given him, and said, "Looks
like we're almost there. Maybe another five minutes." In fact, it
was only three minutes before Bill was able to push the button again,
nod in satisfaction, and kill the motor. "We're here," he said
simply.
The two men looked around. The last remnants of twilight had fled,
leaving them in total darkness. There was no moon that night, leaving
only starlight to illuminate the seascape. Off in the distance, to
the west, Bill could see lights of human habitation, and to the
northwest there was a skyglow that had to be Washington.
"I don't see anything, " Bill remarked at last.
"Neither do I," said Mulder. "But I didn't really expect to." He
opened the valise, and drew out a small device somewhat larger than a
TV remote-control, and just as studded with buttons. "Frohike loaned
this to me," he explained. "He got the idea from a friend of his from
New York, a guy named Spengler. Of course, Frohike improved on the
basic design; this one is smaller and more sensitive than the original
model. It's called a PKE Meter -- PKE stands for 'psychokinetic
energy'. Supposedly it can detect disturbances in the psychokinetic
spectrum." Mulder held up the device, as if he were demonstrating a
new brand of CD player, and went on, "With Frohike's improvements,
this model can even detect the residue left behind after a paranormal
event, although of course the traces do fade over time. But Frohike
assured me that after only two days, if this really was a ghost, or
ghosts, there should be no problem picking up the trail."
Mulder switched the device on; immediately, numbers started appearing
on the display, constantly changing, and it started issuing a series
of high-speed clicks like a geiger counter. Mulder grinned and looked
up from the device at Bill. "Bingo!" he said, and proceeded to walk
the length of the boat, staring at the display on the PKE Meter.
Finally, he leaned over the side and briefly thrust the nose of the
gadget into the water. Straightening up, he went on, "This little
patch of ocean is hotter than a massage parlor on a Saturday night."
He walked back up to the prow, swinging the meter from side to side.
"And it looks like the signal is strongest in that direction," he
said, pointing off to the south-southeast.
"That's the direction to the mouth of the Bay," Bill commented.
Mulder nodded. "Which fits right in with my theory. Remember that
the shipwreck is off the coast of North Carolina. If that's where the
ghost normally hangs out, it would make sense that he would want to go
back there after he'd finished with business." He looked over at
Bill. "Feel like taking a little ride?"
Bill shook his head, and said flatly, "I am NOT taking this,
this...dinghy all the way to North Carolina. That's well over 200
miles, and some of it is open ocean. Even if we made it, it would
take more than a day, and I doubt if we've got the fuel for a trip
that long. And we didn't bring any food at all. " His stomach chose
that moment to remind him that they hadn't even taken the time to
drive through a fast food place on the way here, and growled noisily.
Mulder shook his head. "I had no intention of asking you to do that.
Believe it or not, I do have some common sense. What I want to do is
follow this trail for a little ways, and see if it really does seem to
be heading for the ocean. That's all. Ten, twenty miles, and then we
can turn back."
Reluctantly, Bill acceded. It was not an unreasonable request, even
if he didn't believe in that silly little gadget that Mulder was still
swinging around. And with luck they'd still be back at the pier by
ten o'clock, and home in bed by midnight. "All right," he sighed, and
restarted the engine.
They proceeded on out into the Bay, and gradually the lights that had
been visible on the shore faded, although the skyglow from Washington
was still quite pronounced. Mulder stood in the prow of the boat,
wearing a life jacket at Bill's insistence, holding the silly little
meter in front of him, and occasionally ordering slight changes to
their heading. Bill took these instructions with fair equanimity; it
was, after all, Mulder's party. After more than an hour, however, and
having covered nearly fifteen miles according to both his own dead
reckoning and to the GPS, Bill called out, "Haven't we gone far enough
yet?"
Mulder turned his head to look at Bill, then looked back at the meter
and out at the Bay in front of him. Then he shrugged his shoulders,
turned and walked back to the pilot's seat, where Bill sat. "I guess
so," he said reluctantly. "We really can't go all the way to North
Carolina, and short of that, I doubt if we'll learn anything more out
here. Let's head for home."
Relieved, Bill spun the wheel, and brought the little boat around,
heading back towards Annapolis. At that moment, there was a muffled
sound halfway between a twitter and a beep, and Mulder pulled his cell
phone from a pocket.
"Fox Mulder," he said, and waited while whoever was on the other end
talked. "Are you sure?....Yes, sir, yes, I agree, it sounds
like...Yes. I'll be there as soon as I can. Where did you say,
again?" Mulder dug in his pocket and took out the stub of a pencil
and a scrap of paper, and scribbled something on it. "All right. I'm
on my way." He closed the phone and put it back in his pocket, then
handed the scrap of paper to Bill. "Know where that is?"
Bill glanced at the paper, and nodded. It was a small town on the
western shore of Kent Island. "Very bourgeois," he commented. "Upper
level bureaucrats, university professors, those sorts of people."
"Can we get there in this thing?"
Bill glanced briefly at the chart, then nodded again. "Yeah. It'll
take a couple of hours, but we can do it. Why? What's happened?"
"The killer -- or killers -- have struck again," Fox Mulder said
flatly. "Only two people this time -- a man and his wife. Their
daughter became alarmed when they didn't answer the phone, and drove
over and found the bodies, hacked to bits, just like the first bunch."
# # #
End of Part 4 of 6
--
"So, are you two the Fred and Ginger of X-Files fanfic?!?" -- Bonnie,
commenting on "Alternatives 5: Afterglow"
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