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all headers and disclaimers in Ch.1
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Chapter 3a: Hope
Instead of heading straight for the scene of the crime, I go to the next town over. It’s only a dozen miles down the road, but I hope there will be less chance of anyone recognizing me.
I experience no anomalies, no loss of power, no missing time on the way there. The forest road looks familiar as I pass the turnoff to Bellefleur and head for the prosaically named Crab Cove.
The trip here from Portland didn’t take any time at all. Even though I stopped for a while at an all-night diner on the road just outside of Portland, it’s nowhere near daylight yet. I find a rest stop and pull into it. Maybe I’ll get a little sleep. I’m exhausted by my nightmares and the stress of going it alone. If I had a phone on me, I’d be calling Scully this minute, and probably make a fool of myself.
Instead, I crawl into the back seat. It’s almost like sleeping on my couch. I wrap my jacket around me and close my eyes.
x-x-x-x
After I check into a motel in Crab Cove, I get ready for a nice trip to the forest.
I wonder if I should leave a note in the motel room in case I don’t return. I don’t have anything with me that could identify me as Fox Mulder. The Gunmen know my new identity — changed from George Orr to James Burton when I arrived in Portland — but how long would it take them to start looking for me?
It occurs to me again that I ought to at least post a “no news is good news” type message on the list, just to let them know I’m still alive. They’re probably hacking into hospital data bases even now.
When I left, I wasn’t too specific about my plans, just that I was going to check out a few leads and I’d be in touch. They knew Portland was my destination only because they’d had to send my new identification to me there. They’ve probably put two and two together by now, though.
I delay leaving for Bellefleur just long enough to boot up the laptop and send a quick message to them. I don’t bother to check email or read anything on the list. My resolve is already weak enough.
I think again about sending a message to Scully but what would I say? I love you. I miss you. I want to come home. I don’t think I could stop myself from typing it.
I want to tell her about the work I’m doing, about the things I’ve found out, with the help of the Gunmen. But I don’t dare do it. It’s safer for her not to know what I’m working on. I don’t like keeping Scully in the dark, but she has enough to worry about.
She doesn’t need to know the full extent of our plans until we can’t keep her safe any other way. I will not put her in the position of being used as a target or a lure.
I keep telling myself that this is the right thing to do, that the only way we can truly assess the danger is to find a way to tip their hand, and the best way to do that was for me to leave. Eventually, when nothing happens for a while, they’re going to try and find a way to get me back.
Well, I’m not going until I’m good and ready.
x-x-x-x
I drive slowly along the road until I come to the faded orange X. It’s hard to believe it’s still there. I look around on the pavement to see if there’s any evidence of the toxic green blood that had eaten into the asphalt. I do see some pitting in the spot I think I recall, but I can’t tell if it’s just wear and tear or not. If Scully were here, she could take a sample and tell me. But it’s not important. I’m just procrastinating.
I leave the roadside and push my way into the woods.
I find the clearing without too much trouble. It looks different, but not that different. I stand on the edge of the hollow, remembering.
[…remembering Billy Miles holding Teresa Nemman as the unearthly wind circled them … remembering Scully lying on the forest floor, and the fear I’d felt for her … remembering Skinner’s face as he helped me set the lasers to define the energy field…]
Nothing beyond the beginning of my last night here, though. Nothing at all.
I’m still standing outside the circle. The forest seems eerily silent: no birds, no rustle of underbrush. No strange hums or whooshing sounds. It seems utterly still.
It’s now or never. If I’m ever to help myself, I’ve got to do this.
I step into the middle of the clearing. I stoop down and examine the dirt. I look all around. I put my hand out, half-expecting it to meet resistance.
Nothing. Nothing at all. Not a tremor. I look up into the canopy of trees. I close my eyes.
Still nothing.
I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around, checking my watch and my compass regularly for any signs of activity. As the light wanes, I’ve had enough.
As I head back toward Crab Cove, I consider returning at night. The thought frightens me, which seems like a good reason to do it.
I keep thinking about it all through a dinner I have no appetite for. I think about it in my room, idly channel surfing away. What good has it done me to come here? What good has it done me to leave Scully? All I’ve managed to do is to separate myself from the one thing, the one person, who seemed to do me some good. If I keep this up, They’ll win.
Eventually I get dressed in my warmest clothes and head back to the forest.
It’s definitely more familiar. I find the right spot by checking the odometer on the car. I have my flashlight and compass. Eventually I get out of the car.
x-x-x-x
This time I don’t hesitate to walk into the middle of the clearing. I shine my flashlight all around. The forest doesn’t seem as quiet as it did during the day; I think I can hear crickets or frogs or something chirping. The natural light is dim, but after I turn out my flashlight and let my eyes adjust, I can see the outlines of the trees and shrubs. No strange lights appear, no unnatural winds stir up.
I sit on the ground and lean against a fallen tree. I look up as I did earlier in the day and I try to relax. I’m putting myself into a trance state; I haven’t tried self-regression in years, but if ever I needed to, that time is now.
I feel my body start to relax, and I try to make my brain do the same. I drift, only half aware of my surroundings.
[…I look toward the circle of light. I see people, many of whom I recognize, just standing there. I’m vaguely aware of Skinner calling me, but it’s like he’s part of another life. I hear rustles and whispers and I realize that the people in the circle of light recognize me and are beckoning me forward. I step into the circle and am greeted on all sides. Some reach out and pat my arm. They seem glad to see me, though I can’t think why. They think I’m here to help them, to save them, though I know I’m as helpless to resist as they are.
[…Their attention suddenly turns away from me, to something on the edge of the circle. Another newcomer? Only in a sense. It’s the man I know as the Alien Bounty Hunter. He acknowledges my presence, and I feel a thrill of fear and understanding. I’m the one he came for. I’m the one he lured back to Bellefleur.
[…I feel a change in the light, a pulsing. I look up. I sense everyone else doing the same. In less time than I can say it, we are pulled up into the ship.
[…I think of Scully as I leave my life behind.]
x-x-x-x
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying in the clearing when I come to. I’m freezing and a little damp, though lucky for me it hasn’t rained yet. I think I see the beginnings of sunrise.
I feel exhausted in mind and body, but not afraid.
I’m almost too tired to drive back to Crab Cove, but instead of going directly to my motel, I stop at the cafe. I want warmth, and light, and conversation around me, even if I’m not taking part in it.
Even copious amounts of coffee can’t keep me from almost pitching forward into my breakfast. When I get back to the motel, I fall into bed without even taking off my shoes.
I sleep without dreams.
I don’t kid myself that I’m suddenly cured; I’ve barely started but I feel heartened by the breakthrough. The forest no longer holds any fear for me. It’s the catalyst I needed. I’m beginning to understand the how, and I hope that I might figure out the why, too.
x-x-x-x
For a week, I spend every night in the forest. Every night I remember a little more.
[…We all stand in a group. I have no sense of motion but I know that we are on board a craft. No one speaks but I can hear thoughts, just as I could before. They’re jumbled and diffuse. Someone thinks of her baby; someone else wonders how long it will be this time. I hear repeated prayers, curses, and feel the blankness of paralyzing fear. Some seem to know, as I do, that there will be no return this time.]
When I wake up the second morning, I have tears on my cheeks. I fear for what’s become of the people I was with on the ship. Were all of them left for dead, as I was? Will we encounter them in the same form as Billy Miles?
x-x-x-x
[…There is a blank time, and I wake up in some kind of restraining device. I feel uncomfortable and try to shift my position and that’s when I feel the excruciating pain in my joints — something like large needles or wires somehow holding me in place. I can’t see; my head is restrained. I can feel some sort of device pulling out the skin of my cheeks; another is holding my face steady. I can’t see any of my body but I can tell I’m naked. The light above me is intense but not hot.]
I wake up with a throat hoarse from screaming. I wonder if like the tree falling in the uninhabited forest, did I really make a sound?
If this land is still private property, the current sheriff doesn’t seem to care. I’ve gotten the distinct impression from the good people of Crab Cove that this is a place to avoid at all costs. Even if the mass abduction didn’t get much press, it seems to have had an impact on the locals. When I go to the cafe, I hear stories that tourists might disbelieve, unless they’re particularly gullible. I do know the truth, and though I feign only polite interest, I know that it’s not all made up.
Maybe they’re so open with me because I look like “just folks” to them. If I’d come in wearing a suit and flashing a badge, they’d probably never have said a word.
x-x-x-x
[…I can feel Scully. Her thoughts are all over the place; I can’t focus on her very well. She’s angry, and afraid, and somehow, also happy about something. Whatever it is, it’s buried deep inside her, and I can’t quite make out what it is.
[…How is it that I can feel her, but I can’t make her feel me? I have no sense that this is a two-way connection.
[…I’m glad she can’t feel me. I can’t reassure her; I’m fucking petrified. All I want to do is scream save me save me save me, over and over again.
[…The lights pin me down, the drills approach, and all I can do is scream for Scully.]
I’m starting to feel the effects of spending every night in the forest. Physically I’m run down and achy, and I probably have a slight fever. Mentally, however, with each memory recovered I feel stronger, more in control. I’m almost there. I’ve stopped having the nightmares, except in the forest.
x-x-x-x
[…I no longer have any sense of time. There is blankness, and awareness. Awareness is when the testing happens. For all I know They also test when I’m not conscious, but I’m not really thinking any more. All my waking time is filled with testing, and pain. There is no other reality. The past is a dream, something that happened to someone else.
[…I still remember Scully, though I haven’t felt her presence for a long time. She is the only thing that seems real outside of this circle of light and pain. I know that if I lose the memory of her, it will be the end of me.]
[…there is nothing beyond this circle, They tell me. The end time has come.]
I have to stop. I wake up shivering violently, chilled beyond the bone, chilled to my soul. I know without question that not long after this, the ship started jettisoning the “dead” bodies. And that I was one of them.
x-x-x-x
That morning, I come back to my room and strip down for a hot shower. For the first time since leaving the hospital, I examine my body.
There are no longer any scars from the procedures. If it weren’t for my memories, I’d disbelieve anything ever happened to me. I look carefully at my wrists, my ankles, my chest. I haven’t shaved for a while, but I know the marks on my cheeks healed fastest of all. Even the scarring on the roof of my mouth is healed completely. Even my poor violated brain was repaired.
I paid a high price for the “cure.” I guess I could say I’m grateful for that, though it wasn’t intentional, I’m sure. It was just luck that Scully stopped the incubation but that the healing process was already in place. I do however, miss some other scars that somehow healed as well: the scar on my inner thigh, the first serious injury I suffered with Scully as my partner, marking the first of many bedside visits. The scar on my shoulder, where Scully shot me. The one in my temple, a reminder of a much more reckless way I once tried to recover memories. Strange souvenirs of a mis-spent life. Or would have been mis-spent, if not for Scully.
I wonder now if I’m “more human than human” as William is supposed to be. If I have no human frailties, what does that mean? I feel pretty human most of the time, with the same regrets, and anger, and fears, that I’ve always had. And love, which I never expected, but for which I’m grateful.
I’m almost ready to leave Bellefleur behind, literally and figuratively. No more nights in the forest. I think I’ve discovered all I’m going to here.
x-x-x-x
I have to drive through Idaho to get to Montana, and I take a little detour to Ellens to see what I can see there. I’ve had a thought that perhaps Colonel Budahas and some of his fellow pilots might have been in something like the super soldier program.
Ellens is deserted when I get there. It looks like April Base; the residential area is fenced off with warning signs.
Interestingly enough, the fence surrounding the infamous Yellow Base area is in disrepair. Many of the lights on the top of the fence look like they’ve been shot out or knocked down by rocks. The cafe in town is closed; even though there are still residents, the whole town looks abandoned. I don’t hear any jets taking off or landing, either.
I stop in at the motel where Scully and I stayed. It wasn’t the Ritz when we stayed there, but it’s gotten very seedy. The parking lot is filled with potholes, and there are only a few trucks there.
The pimply, pierced young man behind the counter barely looks up as I come in. “Hourly or overnight?” he asks in a bored tone.
“I’m not staying,” I say, though I’ve just this minute decided that. “What happened to the air base?”
“Closed maybe five, six years ago. Took half the fuckin’ town with it,” he picks idly at a scab on his arm. I try not to shudder.
I thank him, not that he notices, and get out of there.
I flirt with the idea of making a nostalgic trip back to Yellow Base, on the off chance that something interesting has been left behind, but think better of it. I’ve been trying to recover my memories, not have them wiped again.
x-x-x-x
I have a lot to think about on the drive to Helena. I’m not sure what the base closure means, but I’ll have to look into it. I wonder if it closed because we got too close to the truth there? I remember Deep Throat telling me that I’d seen things I wasn’t meant to see. It wouldn’t be the first mop-up operation accelerated by something I discovered.
It’s long past sundown on the second day driving when I reach Helena, Montana. After the visit to Ellens Air Base, I spent the night in Boise. I’ve driven straight through since then, fueled by coffee and food at the truck stops along the way. It’s been me, the big rig drivers, and a few other pickups on the road, and no one else.
I think I blend right in. I’ve kept my beard, though I’ve trimmed it a little. My hair brushes the collar of my flannel shirt. I wear old jeans and scuffed up boots, and an old denim jacket, lined with fleece. I thought about getting a cowboy hat, but didn’t want to look too conspicuous. I’m driving an old pickup.
I look for a particular motel near St. Jean’s Hospital; the one where Scully stayed last year. It’s a small place, one of many within a few blocks of the hospital.
“We don’t get much business here this time of year,” the desk clerk remarks as I sign the registration card. “During the summer and fall, now that’s another story. Though we were full up for a couple of weeks `bout this time last year.”
“Something special happening then?” I ask, carefully showing only a passing interest.
“It was the F-B-I.” the clerk says, leaning forward like a conspirator. “They found one a them cults up in the hills. They was torturing people. Found a whole big graveyard up there.”
“Really.” I’ve hit pay dirt. The motel clerk is also the town gossip, though perhaps not the most reliable source for accurate information. “Where was this place?”
“Up north of town a ways. I can draw you a map, if you want.”
“Is anyone still there?” I ask.
“Nope. FBI rounded most everyone up. There was a night raid. Shoulda seen the lights and noise they made! It was like the Second Coming.”
I bite back the remark I might have made if Scully had been standing there with me and thank him. He gives me my room key and I promise to stop by in the morning for directions to the compound. Right now, all I want is to sleep. I hope that will be possible.
It occurs to me that I could be staying in the very room that Scully had. I really have no idea which room was hers, but I stop just inside the door to see if I feel any “vibe” left from her presence.
Nothing, of course. Any psychic connection I have with Scully seems to work only when I’m in her vicinity. Even when my brain was being affected by the artifact, I couldn’t sense her from too far away.
I close my eyes and think of her anyway. Scully, if you can hear me, I’m thinking of you, and William. I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re safe.
I realize that I haven’t gotten in touch with the Gunmen since I got to Bellefleur. I tell myself I should probably send a message just letting them know I’m okay. I’ll do it in the morning; I’m too tired to think right now.
====
[…Wherever I am, it’s dark. I wait. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, or where I am. I feel drawn here by some force I can’t explain. I hear movement, someone approaching.
[…I know it’s Scully. I can feel her thoughts. She’s tired, and worn down by grief and fear. The grief is for someone else, but the fear is for me.
[…Suddenly I see her in front of me. Her face is drawn and tired. I’ve never seen her look this way, even when she was ill and dying. She seems to have lost all hope. I want so much to reach out to her. I can’t. I have to content myself with thinking to her, <I’m here, Scully. Please look at me. Please see me.>
[…She doesn’t see me at first. She seems puzzled, then though I haven’t moved or spoken, she is suddenly aware of my presence.
[…I see so many thoughts and feelings cross her face in one breath. Surprise, and a swell of happiness, gone as quickly as it appears. Questions tremble on her lips. The fear returns, and with it, grief.
[…This time, it’s grief for me. I think I hear her say my name, though maybe it’s only in her head that I hear it.
[…Something makes her turn, and it’s the last thing I know for a very long time.]
…I lie awake, trembling in my bed. I’ve never felt so alone.
I know what I’ve remembered. My dying moments.
x-x-x-x
The compound is deserted. There are still tatters of crime scene tape here and there, flashes of yellow in an otherwise gray landscape.
I roam around the buildings, trying to get a sense of what it must have been like a year ago. I have no memory at all of anything that happened. From what I’ve read, I was already dead when my body was dropped off here.
I stand in the middle of the largest building. At one time it was partitioned off by opaque plastic sheets. I can see metal brackets in the corners that must have held the cameras.
My eyes close and I imagine myself here. The report said that Absalom insisted he brought my body here to try and help me. There was another man, one Scully identified as Jeremiah Smith, who was doing the actual “helping.”
Absalom was taken into custody, but it was assumed that Jeremiah was re-taken when the abductees were. Scully’s eye witness report, corroborated in part by others, described a bright white light, big enough to illuminate this building, and vibrations not unlike an earthquake. When the light disappeared, all the residents of the compound were gone too.
She didn’t actually mention the alien ship, but I know it was here, and I suspect she knew it, too.
I feel nothing here now. Except for my vision last night, there is nothing for me to re-live. I was dead.
I’m about to leave the building when I catch a movement outside out of the corner of my eye. Automatically, my hand goes for my gun, which of course isn’t there. I walk slowly to the door.
“Who’s there?” I call. “I’m unarmed, I won’t hurt you.” The possibility exists that it’s a cult member or even one of the abductees that somehow escaped everyone’s notice. That’s my hope, anyway. If it’s the alien bounty hunter, or a super soldier, I’m out of luck.
I stand in the doorway, waiting. Eventually, the figure I saw comes out of hiding.
I’m not really surprised to see who it is. I knew eventually we’d meet up again.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I might ask the same of you, Agent Mulder,” he says.
“Just Mulder,” I tell him. “I’m not with the FBI any more.”
“And Agent Scully?” he asks. “Is she here?”
I shake my head. “She’s back in DC Look, I’m really not comfortable making small talk out here in the open. Can we at least go inside?”
Jeremiah Smith shakes his head. “Come with me.” He leads the way past the buildings where his truck is parked.
He motions for me to get in and we drive through the gathering dusk. Eventually, we arrive at a small cabin tucked into a notch in the hills, well hidden from the road.
“It’s an old miner’s cabin,” Jeremiah explains. “The hills are riddled with them. It’s where I came, after.”
“Have you been here ever since?” I ask. The place looks deserted, even on the inside. There’s a sleeping bag on the pallet in the corner, and a pot-bellied stove throws off a little heat. A couple of wooden crates pass for table and chairs.
“No. I move around. I go where the abductees are being returned. Though there aren’t as many now.”
“Do you — ” I swallow, finding it hard to ask the question. “Do you help them?”
“I try. I can’t get to all of them. And I may be the only one left who *can* help them. Now, tell me. Why are you here?”
“I still need answers,” I say. “I need to understand what happened to me, and to keep it from happening to anyone else.”
Jeremiah shakes his head. “It may be too late for that, though maybe not too late to stop them.”
“I need to know what you know,” I say. “I need you to help me understand.”
“Make yourself comfortable, then,” Jeremiah says. “It’s going to take a while.”
We sit. Jeremiah stokes up the fire.
“I can save you some time,” I say. “Let’s assume I know this much: that there is a shadow government that’s been conducting experiments for years, using alien technology and DNA to create some sort of super soldier. That this government has also been involved in ongoing plans to help an alien race to colonize Earth. That somehow,” I have to pause and pick my words carefully, “they have been successful in this, and that now these beings, super soldiers, genetic hybrids, clones, whatever you care to call them, are on the loose. To what final end, I can guess. But how do I — and those I care about — figure into all this?”
“None of the names you give these beings really fits them,” Jeremiah says. “I suppose `hybrid’ comes as close to it as your language can convey. They are a hybrid of human, and organic material, and alien technology. It started as a cooperative effort between species, in the aftermath of your World War II. Just as other unconventional weapons began to proliferate, it was thought that having the ultimate `human’ weapon could somehow prevent annihilation of the world.
“However, some awoke to the reality of the situation sooner than others. The true nature of the project and its reach became very clear as the authors of it were required to give up members of their families as insurance of their cooperation.”
I remember Kurtzweil’s words about my father: “His disenchantment outlasted mine.” Perhaps that was why…
I hadn’t spoken aloud, but Jeremiah nods. “What you left out of your synopsis is that, as is true for any group, there are dissidents. There are those who disagree with the program, or with the intended outcome. Some work within the system to subvert it. You already know about the rebel forces. You should also know that not all of these – super soldiers, for want of a better term – are interested in the same outcome. And that they can be subverted, even destroyed.”
He certainly has all my attention now. “How can they be destroyed?”
“I’ve already made that information available to your friends in Washington. You should check your email more often.”
“Why now?” I ask. “The last time we met, you weren’t willing to tell me so much.”
“You weren’t ready,” Jeremiah says. “You were only concerned with your sister. You paid lip service to the discovery of the greater conspiracy, but only so far as it intersected with your interests. And your interests were concentrated on your sister, and later, on Agent Scully.”
“I guess you know I found my sister, or at least I know what happened to her,” I tell him. “What makes you think I’m interested in any of this any more? That I don’t just want to be left alone?”
Jeremiah looks at me for a long time, saying nothing. He has that look in his eyes that I’ve seen before. It’s as if he thinks I’m being particularly dense on purpose.
“You still have Agent Scully,” he says finally. Then he adds, “And you’re a father now.”
I hadn’t told him. I don’t bother to ask how he knows. I merely nod. He’s right, and there’s no point in denying it.
“You already know something of the larger implications of your son’s birth,” Jeremiah continues. “Are you ready to face them?”
“I’m ready to do what it takes to keep him safe,” I say.
He nods. “Then I have more to say to you.
“Your human physiology isn’t like the aliens, even those within human form. They’ve been testing the limits of the human frame and internal structure for years. There are some advantages that the aliens have always intended to adapt for colonization.
“So, as your race has been trying to perfect an alien/human hybrid, the aliens have been doing the same thing. What you thought was a clean-up operation was simply the next phase in the process. They were gathering up subjects to introduce a new type of recombinant viral strain, which would eventually replace the weakest human components and create the new race.”
“That means the bodies weren’t being left for dead by the aliens, they were planted –”
“– and if left to themselves, would have incubated the new life form, regardless. Putting Billy Miles on life support merely accelerated a process that was inevitable.”
I can’t help but shudder at my intended fate. The nightmares were real. I might have been a super soldier myself, if Scully hadn’t saved me.
x-x-x-x
The sun is coming up when Jeremiah finishes his tale. Of course, there have been plenty of interruptions by yours truly, trying to understand what he’s talking about.
“How can we tell a good `un from a bad `un?” I’m being a little facetious, as fatigue begins to make me feel a little disoriented. I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
“There’s nothing that marks one as `good’ or `bad,'” Jeremiah says. “Their imperative might change under certain influences. Not all of this is known yet. It will be up to you to find out.”
That’s nothing new. “Kind of hard to tell the sides without a score card,” I mutter, but get no reaction from Jeremiah. I think of Arthur Dales’ story of the gray who wanted to be human so he could laugh. “So it’s back to `trust no one’ again, huh?”
“That should be familiar terrain for you, Mr. Mulder.”
That it is. But I have one more question to ask.
“I still need to know. How does my son figure into all this? Is he — is he something other than human?”
Jeremiah shakes his head. “The baby is very human, but he has some special abilities that will become clear as time goes on. I don’t need to tell you that your baby was — unexpected. I don’t think anyone anticipated this. They certainly didn’t anticipate your alliance with Agent Scully.”
Score one for us, I think, and I see that once again Jeremiah has “heard” me. His lips curl in a slight smile.
“So what do we do now?” I ask.
“What you’ve been trying to do. Keep your family safe. Continue to look for the answers. Know that there are others like you, who are doing the same.”
“Where?”
“It may be better not to know. Learn something from the recent tragic events in your country. Allow them to operate independently, in small cells. Meet only when necessary, communicate sporadically. Your friends understand this.”
I can almost sense admiration in his tone. The Gunmen’s stock shoots up a little higher.
“It sounds like a lonely life.” I imagine spending the rest of my life without Scully. Nothing would be worth it.
“It can be.” I see a pensive look cross Jeremiah’s face for a second. “But you needn’t be solitary. Just don’t try to find out where these people are. It’s safer for them, and for you. If you know, They can find out. The time will come when you will come together. You will know when.”
x-x-x-x
I’m beginning to feel hopeful for the first time since my return. What’s more, I’ve got something to go on now.
Before I left him, I tried to persuade Jeremiah Smith to come with me, but he wouldn’t do it.
“It’s much too dangerous,” he said. “I’ll know how to find you if I need to.”
“Where do you go from here?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “Where I’m needed,” he said. “But you might meet up with me in Minnesota, one of these days,” he said.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, and knew better than to ask him. He’d given me enough information for now.
The first thing I do when I get back to the motel is check my email. The first one is dated a few days back.
—
To: geobounce13 From: leerjet01 subj: magnetic personalities geo, read this article, then check out the USGS website, esp. the part about iron ore. coordinates for a location you need to follow…
—
The next one has yesterday’s date:
—
To: geobounce13 From: leerjet01 subj: our quarry don’t you read your mail anymore? here’s the other part:
—
He lists a URL to go to, and what looks like longitude and latitude. Apparently the clue to this is contained in the article Frohike sent me. I send a brief reply to him, then read the article.
The article has a lot of information about the magnetic properties of some types of iron ore, and atmospheric effects, among other things. After reading the information about iron ore, I know what Frohike is bringing to my attention. I go to the website for the next clue in the trail.
Tucked down in the corner of the page about iron ore is a small icon I recognize. I don’t think it’s normally a part of the USGS site. When I click on it, it disappears, but a small video window comes up. The quality is pretty bad, but I watch what appears to be an experiment with natural magnetic fields. There’s no sound, but there’s no mistaking the explosion that takes place. I don’t know where the Gunmen got this, but I suspect that this is what Jeremiah Smith was talking about.
Something in the iron ore in certain quarries holds a clue to fighting the super soldiers. We’ve got to find a way to lure one of them out into the open. What is the best bait to use?
Me, of course.
I spend the rest of the day figuring out the best way to go about this. It can’t be too obvious that I’m coming home to do battle; just about the only thing on our side right now is surprise.
I realize this is a huge gamble. I’ve got to involve Scully in this, too, without tipping my hand to the bad guys.
It’s going to take a very subtle hand, but I’m going to write to Scully. I’m going to have to write in such a way that she knows what I tell her is sincere, and that I want her to tell me to come home.
After a good deal of thought, I sit down to compose the email of my life. I have the general idea in my head, but I want to add a little something to it. I want it to be more than just a coded message.
Subject line: “Dearest Dana.”
I did ask Scully once if I could call her “Dana.” I think I took her by surprise. I even offered to let her call me “Fox,” but thank God she didn’t take me up on it. I’ve seldom used her first name. I started by calling her “Agent Scully” or “Doctor Scully,” and eventually, just “Scully.” I liked the way it sounded, and I thought it helped me keep a certain professional distance.
Trouble is, her last name became very special to me, in a way her first name never could have. I have never gotten used to calling her by her first name. I mostly use it when I’m talking to her mom. I’ve also used it once in a great while when Scully and I were alone together.
One advantage is that using “Dana” really gets Scully’s attention. It’s become a sort of flag.
My use of “Dearest Dana” in the subject line was not only likely to get her attention, but the attention of any watchers, too.
“Dearest Dana,
“I’ve resisted contacting you for reasons I know you continue to appreciate. But, to be honest, some unexpected dimensions of my new life are eating away at any resolve I have left. I’m lonely, Dana, uncertain of my ability to live like this. I want to come home. To you and to William.”
I wonder if it’s a little too over the top. I mean every word of it, but I’m aware that someone besides its intended recipient will read it too, and will they think so, too?
Every word in that email is true. Missing Scully and William has weakened my resolve to stay away from them. I know that Scully will see the truth behind those words.
I also know that she will see it for what it is. A signal. It’s the phrase “unexpected dimensions” that will tip her off. That’s our code. A call to arms, if you will. It means I’ve discovered something. The rest of the email could say anything at all, we agreed.
I take a deep breath and hit the “send” button.
I’ll be getting my summons soon. And, with any luck, we’ll have a practical demonstration of the data that Jeremiah Smith gave us. Until we know its effectiveness, we won’t be able to put Phase Two into effect. Phase Two is the part that I most care about.
Phase Two is me getting my family back.
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end of Part Three; continued in Part Four