"Chermera" by Mary Ruth Keller Part 28 of 45

[Mary Keller]

=====o============================o=====
"Chermera" by Mary Ruth Keller Part 28 of 45
E-mail: mrke...@eclipse.net, mrkel...@gmail.com
PG-13 X-File: Myth-arc Disclaimed in Part I
Already sent to Gossamer
=====o============================o=====

Westminster Palace
London, UK
Saturday, June 20, 1998
12:13 am

Dafydd ap Morgan ap Gwinn stood before a dark oak door. Brother Pict had been in a hospital in Edinburgh recovering from a respiratory infection, so this had been their first opportunity to discuss the matters of the Ekklesia. The death of the Riata had been particularly difficult for the Pict, even though all knew it had been coming, that her life had been full of the richness of kindness. He had knocked twice. Finally, there was a creak, then a nod.

"We are many, we are one, Honored Brother. Come, come." The Pict led the way back to his inner office. The two would be alone for this conversation, which was as it should be.

The Cymru settled in the deep leather seat. "We are many, we are one. Dearest Brother, surely, these austere quarters are uncomfortable for you for so many hours."

Two long hands clenched the Celtic lion. "Not at all. I am only at peace either here or at the Suola. Only in either place do I still feel her presence." He tapped the tip of the cane twice on the thick carpet. "The Danaan has informed me the Slav has agreed to be initiated at the end of the coming week." He favored the younger man with a gentle smile of relief. "The Fellowship will almost be complete. Please, tell me you have good news as well."

Wondering, not for the final time, what had been between the Riata and the Pict in their springtime, ap Gwinn pushed his red curls off his forehead. "I have seen her, in the flesh. Here. Look." He laid the flier on the desk.

The Pict studied the black and white image for several moments, then the pale green eyes closed. "I have lived to see this day. It is she." He settled back in his tall seat. "Tell me of her."

The Cymru took a deep breath. "She is small, Brother."

"But great." The grey head inclined once. "A leader?"

"Indeed. Her fellow officers hailed her, many times. But, it was most telling that she knew me, recognized me for who I am."

"And the son of our fallen Atrebates? What signs?" The Pict leaned forward eagerly.

"First, he is an Atrebates himself. There was no question of his adamant devotion."

"Ah, well." He gave himself a push upright on the lion. "So, have you spoken with her? Seen if she is of a mind to join us?" He stood over the Cymru. "Have you, Brother?"

"There was not the time. There were too many about. I have arranged to speak with her in private on my return to Washington. Then, we shall know."

The Pict returned slowly to his seat. "We have some light in dark times."

Ap Gwinn stood. "Dark times? What?"

"Our Brother Suebi has brought a viper into the Ekklesia, although he does not know it yet."

Now, the younger man moved forward. "This was his failed candidate?"

"Indeed." The lion was propped against the edge of the desk. "He has made him one of the Tribuni Plebis, since he could not be a Brother. We will need to bring the Riata into our Fellowship over his active resistance, I fear. With her skills, she could take him down easily, I am certain. But all must be precisely done, or we will be lost. We cannot be lost."

The Cymru extended his hand. "Come, Honored Brother and Faithful Guide, back to my residence in Belgravia. It's not far. You can have a long, hot bath, a nourishing late supper, and a good sleep on one of my overstuffed mattresses. Then we shall plan. Alright?"

The older man mustered a tired smile. "As you wish. You favor me with your kindness, Brother. We are many, we are One."

"We are many, we are One." The Cymru held the door for the Pict, then led him down to his waiting Rolls. They would be at his townhouse in less than a quarter of an hour.

--o-0-o--

Scripps Memorial Hospital
Outpatient Care
Friday, 9:14 pm

Walter Skinner turned into the small room the receiving nurse, without looking up, had waved him toward. His diminutive agent, still in her bloodied trousers, was slumped in a chair. Her clothes looked like she had been dragged through a shredder. The pants were ripped open at the waistband, with vertical tears that exposed her bruised knees. Her jacket, torn down the left arm, was draped loosely across her lap. Her left arm was bandaged from over the shoulder down to her fingers, all suspended in a sling. But, she was alone, her head resting on the wall behind her, apparently asleep. "Agent Scully?" He stepped forward.

She jerked, then opened her eyes. "Sir?"

He gritted his teeth. "Where is your partner?"

One cheek twitched. "I made the mistake of hinting I was thirsty, Sir."

Skinner felt the rush of air to his right.

"Scully, this is the best I could do." The dark-haired man was carrying a pitcher and a plastic cup. "They're pretty short-handed tonight. Friday." He poured until the water was halfway to the top, then held it out for her to take. "Room temperature. Sorry." When her fingers grasped the bottom carefully, without contacting his, he let out a grunt.

After a teasing cluck, she drained the contents. "That's good." She handed her partner the cup. "Thank you, Mulder."

He held up the pitcher, but she shook her head, so he set both on a nearby rolling stand. Only then did the tall agent turn his attention to the bald Director. "Sir?"

Skinner looked from one to the other. "We have him, Agents. He was trying to take the stairs from the top floor of the Northern Trust Tower, just as you said. He's at Northern Division so we can question him before we have to hand him over to Pierce. Johnson isn't placing the call to the Marshals until we're satisfied."

The auburn-haired pathologist pushed herself wearily to her feet before beginning to tuck the torn and bloodied jacket inside the sling, but, her partner's hands were there faster, turning the shredded fabric into a roll he squeezed between his side and his elbow. She sent him a tiny smile of gratitude before she turned to their superior. "I'm ready, Sir. We three know him and the Smoker, so they can't pull any games or tricks to weasel out of this."

"Scully, you need the antibiotics, remember?" The tall agent, gazing down at her somberly, was blocking her exit.

The bald Director's jaw set. There was more going on here than they had told him, but that was far from unusual. "Agents?"

The Section Heads turned to him. "Sir?" The auburn-haired pathologist was blinking upward.

He decided a direct question was the best approach. "Agent Scully, tell me, how did you happen to be in that parking garage?"

She glanced up at her partner before her answer emerged cautiously. "Agent Mulder and I were discussing his sister, Sir. We had stopped by her laboratory to present some of our accumulated evidence to her so she could understand more of her past life." Another upward check, this time, meeting his downward one, before she turned to continue. "She had difficulty with what we were presenting her. We were considering options for how to proceed, and we wanted to do so without interruption."

As Skinner watched, the tall man's shoulders slumped, then his hand reached around to Scully's back. When Mulder's palm contacted her spine, she flinched, shifting forward slightly, out of contact with his long fingers. A strangled sound escaped from his dark-haired agent.

Mulder dropped his arm to bend over her. "Scully?"

The Director was surprised to realize there was an edge of naked terror in the younger man's hesitant invocation of his partner.

The auburn-haired pathologist twisted carefully to face him. "Sorry. Bruises." Her gaze dropped to the white tiles on the floor.

Mulder bit his lower lip, but said nothing.

The Assistant Director's dark eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Whatever was prompting this exchange, he had to trust his agents to work matters out themselves. He chose discretion, rather than further probing. "That's not unexpected for siblings separated as children who reunite as adults, Agent Scully. Perhaps a Bureau counselor could offer guidance for you."

She nodded. "That might be wise, Sir. Thank you."

The entrance of the night nurse, medication at the ready, terminated the conversation between the three.

--o-0-o--

Northern Division
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, CA
Friday, 10:03 pm

Richard Gonzales placed a tall coffee in a green and white paper cup in front of his partner. Jerry Donato was returning the hand-set to the receiver as he released a sigh.

The Hispanic detective cocked his head sympathetically. "No luck with the Professor, old man?"

The thick-chested detective began idly spinning one of his yellow pencils. "No, none. She's not answering, either at her place, her office, or the wind facility."

When the double doors swung wide, Gonzales glanced over. "Maybe we'll get some answers, now, Jerry. Man, she looks bad. I wonder what happened?"

Donato followed his gaze. "What the?" He worked his way around the intervening desks to stand by the FBI partners. "Agent Scully? Are you sure you should be here?"

The auburn-haired pathologist pushed her unbound shoulder erect. The same motion under the gauze had her blanching, but, her chin had set firmly. "I will be fine, Detective Donato. Director Skinner had to place a call back to DC. He'll be in shortly." She checked around the room. "Now, where is Luther?"

"Scully." The dark-haired agent bent over her. They locked eyes, hers too-sharply focused, his now gentle with sorrow and sympathy. He bobbed his chin. "Okay. We'll take breaks when you need them." He looked down at the Senior Detective. "Where is he?"

Jerry pointed toward a side corridor. "He's in Number Two." He looked up as they walked. "The observation room will be packed, so mind what you say. He already has an attorney."

Mulder snorted. "From the firm of Houlihan, Jackson, Shepherd, and Whittington?"

Donato shrugged. "Who else? Those guys seem to be everywhere." Stopping, he reached for the knob of a half-glassed door. "This is it."

When the three entered, Luther raised his head. He let out a hoot as he tried to stand. "I *did* get you, lady. Got you good."

The tall agent was around the table to spin Luther's chair a quarter turn before his partner could restrain him. "Don't. Say. Anything. Without. Your. Attorney. Present. Just. Don't." His teeth were gritted, mere millimeters from the balding man's nose.

"Mulder!" Placing her hand on his shoulder, she jerked her head toward the one-way mirror.

He backed down to start prowling the wall opposite the glass as she and Donato took seats across from their collar.

The balding operative was exultant. "Yeah. Now we know who wears the pants!" He leaned as far toward the dark-haired man as the shackles would allow. "Of course, you were working hard on getting them off her."

"Mister Luther." In a near-tenor would have frozen Mission Bay, Scully began the questioning. "Why were you on the balcony of the closed Northern Trust Tower tonight?"

He sent out a barking laugh. "I had some stocks I inherited from my Aunt Sylvia, and my broker was meeting me to let me know what they were worth." He arched both eyebrows. "He didn't hang around when he heard the sirens. His boss doesn't like moonlighting."

The half-glassed barrier swung aside. "Agents, I'm Charles William Whittington the Third, and I represent Mister Luther." The tapered fingers grasped the balding operative's shoulder. "You suggested his attorney be present, so, here I am." He turned to the thick-chested man. "Most pleasant to see you again, Detective Donato. I trust you and Professor Miller are doing well?" After an over-the-shoulder glance at the glass, he eyed the agents. "So, my client has been held without charge for several hours now. Agent Mulder just read him his rights, rather badly, I should say. Would you be willing to, finally, offer charges?" He blinked innocuously as he waited in silence.

Mulder circled around behind Whittington, forcing him to turn. "You want charges, you slimy bastard, how about assaulting a federal officer with a deadly weapon? He just confessed."

A long, practiced, sigh was unleashed. "Yes, Agent Mulder. But, as I have already noted, my client had not been read his rights, nor was his attorney present during this so-called confession. We'll not take up more than a few minutes of a court's time getting a dismissal, especially of a white male suspect." He addressed the shackles with a florid wave of his long hand. "So, if you would, please. Then we can all be on our way."

The half-glassed door was shoved open until it slapped against the wall. Walter Skinner strode into the confined space, his fingers curled into fists. "Oh, we can do better than that." He glared at the one-way mirror. "We're placing three charges for resisting arrest, one federal, one state, and one local. We had law enforcement agents from all three levels of jurisdiction present when Mister Luther tried to break free in the stairwell." His dark eyes narrowed at Whittington. "We had already read him his rights then, even if you weren't there. If ballistics tells us the bullet removed from Agent Mulder's rental matches those test-fired from the rifle we took out of Mister Luther's possession, we can add charges of assaulting a federal officer to the rest. The residue on his gloves tells us he fired that weapon himself." He set his teeth. "Good enough?" The bald Director turned to two waiting uniforms. "Take him to Holding. We're through here." Once Luther was out the door, Skinner spun on his heel, leaving the agents alone with Donato.

Scully sent a small twitch of her cheek toward her partner, who had settled into the seat the balding operative had just vacated. "Let's say we catch up on the Alice Franklin interviews, shall we?"

He studied her face for a moment. "Some non-histrionic police work does sound good."

The black-haired detective pushed his chair back. "Okay. Rich should have the materials from the previous shift by now."

--o-0-o--

San Diego International Airport / Whisperhill Laboratories
San Diego, CA / Beltsville, MD
Friday, June 19, 1998 / Saturday, June 20, 1998
11:41 pm / 2:41 am

After unclipping the tan phone from the internal land line, 'Ace' inserted one connector of her own cable into the port on the wall, the other into the jack on her laptop. A second set of connections linked the computer and the base. A few clicks, then she lifted her cell to her ear. "How does it look at your end, Sir? All set?"

"All set, My Dear. Speak with you in a few moments."

Handsets were lifted on both coasts. "Okay, we're encrypted. How many bars at your end?"

'Charlie' held up eight fingers, slowly raising the remaining curled ring and minimus digits.

"We are locked." A grimace worked its way across the old spy's face. "So, when will Mister Luther be with you?"

'Ace' huffed. "As soon as Whittington finishes with him. Pierce has been alerted to his presence, so I have a plan to grab him from the Marshal's holding cell."

An age-spotted hand rose. "As much as I trust your magnificent software, Amanda, no further information is necessary, especially after your exquisitely detailed encrypted communique. You have done exceptionally well."

She frowned at the blinking rectangles on her screen. {That's not what I expected.} "Sir?"

A dark chortle emerged from the lined throat. "You thought I would be displeased at your taking of the initiative? Not at all. You are learning to work within the limitations of operational necessity. I know this was not your first choice for a plan, but the effort is proceeding splendidly. You have removed an unreliable operative and set enmity between the Bureau and the Marshals. Distrust has been sown between brother and sister. Caroline's son feels more isolated than he has in several years, which is exactly when he will engage in some foolishness that will discredit him and his pursuit of us. As a bonus, the co-leaders of the X-Files, Mulder and Scully, have been discomfited."

'Charlie' let out a gasp.

The Smoker turned to him. "Yes, my young protegee. They will need to spend time rebuilding their 'unique' partnership, and that is when we can advance undetected."

'Ace''s nose was nearly on the screen. "There's a problem here. I think we're being hacked. I'm disconnecting now. Sir, you should, too."

"Very well. You will sort it out shortly. Your Consort sends his best."

--o-0-o--

Northern Division
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, CA
Friday, 11:47 pm

Dana Scully pushed herself to her feet before circling the table to reach the pile of Alice Franklin's phone records that had been seized from the residence. She shifted the folder to a clear patch of tabletop beside the nest of documents around Jerry Donato, flipped it open, then bent over the pages inside. She bobbed up and down until the text swam into focus. Her reading glasses had been broken as her backpack and laptop case had been tossed back and forth in the Taurus's trunk during the angry interchanges, then wild descent, in the parking lot.

The thick-chested man's hand was on her unbound shoulder. "Agent Scully, I could have passed you those. You only had to ask."

Her green-blue eyes focused on his concern. "That's alright, Detective. I was getting stiff. I needed to move around for a bit." She went back to studying the lists of numbers. "Hum."

Alert to the flat fatigue in her tone, the dark-haired agent looked up from his search running on her laptop. Although her shoulders were hunched, she was focused, engaged, so he chose a simple query. "What do you think you have?"

She carried the documents back to him, then laid out three pages. "Tell me what you see here, Mulder."

He chewed his lip as he perused them. "That's a long list of calls to Japan for a wheelchair-bound retiree on disability."

Richard Gonzales shifted to read over the tall agent's shoulder. "All the same number, too."

Nichols, now taking over the general command of the investigation from Walter Skinner after a short interchange, had walked up to the group. "Same number? Let's give it a ring, shall we?" He took out his cell phone, punched in the sequence, then switched the unit to speaker mode. A series of clicks and whistles had heads turning at the nearby tables, setting the balding Montanan frowning as he terminated the call. "If we were in the Arctic, I know what that would have been, Chief."

Mulder huffed. "Or Africa." He shook his head at the confused glance passing between the two detectives. "Long story, guys. We'll fill you in in a bit."

After inscribing the number into her flip pad, the auburn-haired agent looked up at her partner. "You don't think there are any more of them left behind, do you?"

He bent toward her. "Let's hope not, Scully. Hunh. I wonder."

She turned to face him fully. "If they've chosen to use the shape-shifter's speech to communicate with each other, the way Dine had been used during the Second World War?"

He sent her a lop-sided grin. "It'd be even more unbreakable, wouldn't you say?"

She leaned a little bit closer to him. "But, any human using it would likely need some decryption capability, either written or electronic. It's not like one could just ring up an old shape-shifting alien code talker for help." They exchanged lighthearted glances before she turned to Gonzales. "Do we have a list of the items taken from her apartment?"

The Latino detective rose. "Even better, agents, most of her personal effects are in Evidence in the back. We can go through them if you want."

Nichols hit his first speed-dial button. "If we're to shape-shifters and your shadowy governments, Chief, I'm calling in the rest of the team. I know Ros had time on the telescope this week, but I hope that's not tonight."

--o-0-o--

Evidence Room
Northern Division
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, CA
Saturday, 12:07 am

"Okay." Richard Gonzales surveyed the cluttered shelves. "We should be looking for what, here?"

Dana Scully glanced up at her partner, then turned to him. "If they're communicating in code we should expect a laptop, or one concealed in something else."

Jerry Donato chewed his mustache. "We didn't pick up a computer, of any size, not even an old beat-up calculator. So, a book?"

With a grunt, Nichols limp-swaggered over to a far shelf. "These were all the volumes we pulled from the residence." The others joined him, the group checking through the small pile quickly.

"Nothing in Japanese, or gibberish." Mulder put his fists on his hips.

Scully had been eyeing the wheelchair. "According to these ticket stubs, she took three flights to Osaka in the past four months, and she has a handicapped notation on them all." She tried tugging at the left armrest with her right hand.

"Hey, guys." Andrea Rosen greeted the group, smiling until she saw the sling around the diminutive agent's arm. "Are you alright, Scully?" She jogged to older woman's side. "Hey, it's freezing in here."

Donato pointed to a glassed-in room in the back. "We keep tissue samples in there, so the air conditioning is set up. It's better out here than in there, but, if people have been in and out, it's worse." He chuffed at the willowy brunette. "You cold?"

She nodded. "My measurements got clouded out, so I spent an hour on the exercise bike. I had just finished showering when Nic called." She caught her former partner's eye, then pointed with her head toward Mulder and Scully, who were pulling and poking the wheelchair tubes and wheels. The tall agent was in his full suit, still, as were the other men in the room, but his partner was only in her sleeveless green shell. Her teeth were firmly set as they worked, her cheeks pale.

The balding Montanan dug his car keys out of his pocket to toss them to the brunette triathlete. "Get the spare Bureau raid jackets out of the trunk, Ros. There are a couple that would fit you."

A single tuck of her chin, then she was out the door.

Mulder glanced over. "Was that Rosen?"

Nichols nodded. "She's cold. She needed to get a jacket from my car before working in this room."

Scully was pushing down on the seat with her palm. "This feels too stiff." She straightened to face her partner. "Mulder?"

He was regarding her with soft eyes. "Yeah?"

One ginger brow arched. "What?"

"You okay, Scully?"

She held out her hand. "Your pocketknife?"

His fingers had just slid into the opening on his hip, but, at Rosen's return, he looked over. She was wearing one jacket, while holding out another. "Hang on, Scully." He took it with a grateful nod. "Here." He held the thick black coat open. "If you catch your death in this refrigerator, Mrs. Scully will have my head." He tried a one-sided grin on her.

She checked his eyes before turning to Rosen, hovering at her elbow. "I didn't think I'd need a coat when I packed. It's June, after all. Thanks." She slid her right arm into the sleeve, keeping herself rigid as her partner wrapped the jacket around her sling, then closed the top three snaps.

He held her gaze for a moment. "Okay? Can you still move around in that?"

Her face was a porcelain mask. "Yes. Thank you." The jacket hung down nearly to her knees, but at least it covered the worst of the browning stains on her slacks.

A nod, then he retrieved a red-bodied knife from his pants pocket. "Okay, here goes." After a few moments of cutting, he lifted out a black tablet. "Sheesh. We don't have anything like this at the Bureau." When he pressed the green button at the lower right corner, the screen began to glow. "We were right, Scully. It's Japanese."

The others crowded around; Nichols lifted his cell free. "Let's try that number again." As the clicks and whistles sounded in the space, kana and kanji characters began forming in bursts from top to bottom, right to left.

Jerry Donato grabbed a Polaroid camera off a shelf by the door to take three photographs of the characters on the screen. "Anybody have an idea what happens now?"

Scully pulled down on her partner’s arm, so he lowered the unit for her. "Mulder, hit that blue button with the E on it." When he did, the new words appearing were in English.

"Jeez!" Mulder turned his free hand so the palm was upward. "What is this? Translation on the fly?"

Eight more characters appeared: PASSWORD.

"I have no clue." Gonzales shook his head. "Anybody?" He checked the faces around them.

On the screen, a white rectangle blinked at the start of a new line.

Nine characters materialized: INCORRECT.

"PASSWORD," appeared again, the cursor flickering in place.

Rosen reached over Mulder's arm to hit the green button, turning the screen dark. "We don't want that to Mission Impossible on us. We only have two more opportunities to make the right guess, I think."

Nichols smiled at her. "Thanks, Ros."

Mulder was checking the faces around the room. "So, Alice Franklin had this device to translate into and out of the shape-shifter's speech."

Scully tapped the black case. "Mulder, you said Zama's notes were all in Japanese, but, the texts you had once we recovered the briefcase were different from the ones you saw originally."

He placed the tablet on a nearby shelf before bending over her. "As if Zama was encrypting directly into the Japanese equivalent of the encoding? Possibly."

She met his gaze. "This tells us something else about the Shadows, you know."

He nodded. "They don't trust each other. The Americans are still using Dine, or else your name wouldn't have been in the MJ documents."

"Or Duane Barry's." She turned to the thick-chested detective. "How do the characters look? Good enough for someone to decipher?"

The black curls bobbed. "Yeah, I think so." He held the plastic up so the rest could judge for themselves. "I know someone who could read these, if we knew where she was."

Richard Gonzales turned to his partner. "But, you couldn't reach her."

"Who?" Mulder burst out. "Let's take them to this person." He pulled out his cell phone, his index finger over the keypad. "What's her number?"

A small hand rested on his wrist, but Scully was checking Donato's eyes. "It's Sandra, isn't it?"

The black-haired detective nodded. "Yes, but I've called all the numbers I know. I couldn't get through to her on any of them."

The auburn-haired pathologist stepped over to him. "When I visited her at her office, she let me use the one next door to communicate with Agent Mulder. There were piles of paper I had to crawl over to get to the desk. Could she be there?"

Donato's dark eyes narrowed. "That's Tom Wilton's. Let me call Judy. She could get us in, if it's locked." He was punching in numbers from his notebook as he slipped out of the evidence room.

Richard Gonzales stepped over to Nichols and Rosen. "Could somebody catch me up here? I didn't get to review your documents like Jerry did."

Nichols checked the partners. Scully had her fingers wrapped around Mulder's shoulder, but his gaze was on his black shoes. "Chief? You want to give us a hand, here?"

The haunted cast to the hazel when their eyes met had Scully shaking her head.

Rosen turned to the Latino detective, but Jerry's shout of Sandra's name echoed through the open glass door, bringing the attentions of the group to him.

"Sandra! We've been looking for you everywhere. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He frowned as he listened. "Sandie? What are you saying?" He pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at the unit. "She hung up. She barely said my name. Then she hung up."

Scully guided her partner away from the others. "We need to tell them something, Mulder. We need Sandra's help here." A few strands of her hair caught on his jacket lapel as she shifted close to him.

"I know." He bent to meet her gaze. "I need to be the one to say this, Scully. I owe them that. I owe *you* that."

She nodded as they walked back to the group. "Jerry can take the photographs to Sandra. He's most likely to get her help of any of us."

Nichols was standing in front of the rest when they returned. "Chief?"

The dark-haired agent squared his shoulders. "Guys, you need to understand what happened when Scully and I met with Sandra." He launched into an abbreviated version of the events of the afternoon and evening, concluding with a direct plea. "Detective Donato, I know you and my sister are close. Please, make sure she's okay. I can't." He shook his head, then turned away from the others, sighing as Scully's small hand landed on his back.

"Okay." Jerry exchanged a few quiet words with Gonzales before he left the evidence room.

The Latino detective looked over to Rosen. "So? Can you help me catch up, here?"

After a glance at Mulder and Scully, she nodded. "Let's set up in one of the witness interrogation rooms, shall we?"

--o-0-o--

End – Chermera – Part 28 of 45