Gerritsen Beach Boat Basin
2:30 a.m.
 

They'd been blindfolded for the brief,
brief, which was how it felt to Byers,
journey to this location.  Scully too.  As
though she would've been capable of gauging
the direction, mileage and travel time in
her tenacious state of insobriety.  He
wondered where she and Susanne were right
now.  Wondered with fierce agitation, and a
bellyful of misgiving.  Despite Timmy's
word, his confidence in being kept alive,
owing to Susanne's cooperation, was being
sorely tried.

Far off in the distance, a boat whistle
ruffled the saltwater stillness.  He took
stock of the dank, windowless room; a
storage of sorts for marine supplies.  The
place was saved from utter darkness thanks
to a low watt bulb, hanging overhead, housed
beneath a triangular shade.  Picking himself
up off the cold, gley-coated concrete, he
touched a cinder-block comprising the
nearest wall.  Finding it to be as chilly
and as moist as the floor wasn't a surprise.
Byers shivered, doing so involuntarily.

With the passage of several seconds, he
heard muffled whimpering coming from
somewhere not too distant.  Whose?
Susanne's or Scully's?  He agonized over its
being both.  He rued his inability to thwart
Timmy and his partners from imprisoning
them.  And, the crucial dilemma...how to
stop him from realizing his ultimate goal;
national conquest.  Byers sniffed again.
What in the name of all that is odorous was
this oppressive smell?  His nose wrinkled
another time in disgust.  No, not the smell
of death, but close enough.  The stench
lingered in his sensitive nostrils since
having been brought here.  Impossible to
ignore.

He paced over to the plywood door of the
makeshift cell to try it again.  Still
locked, but performing the action was
assuage of a sort that he was doing
something in a positive vein to meliorate
the present situation.  Do what?  What could
he possibly do alone and unarmed?

Quite unexpectantly, heavy footfalls loomed,
then stopped on the other side of the door.
Halting his breathing, Byers took several
steps back, waiting to hear whether or not
whoever they were would move on.  Coming
in...he realized, as the lock was sprung,
and the door creaked open to reveal
unwelcome visitors.

"Now it's your turn, Peter Cottontail," one
of the hooded men rumbled at him.

"Sheez, that redheaded piece of work's
hoppin' mad," the other faceless male
dangled, "some mouth on her.  I liked her
better dopey."

"Yeah, well, lucky we got rolls of tape to
keep hers buttoned, least for now...let's go
pal."

Byers backed up as far as the opposite wall
permitted with stumbly shuffles, first
tripping over a lanyard of thick rope.  Once
he'd been seized, he tried appealing to
their sense of patriotic loyalty.  "Is
throwing in with Timmy worth treason,
gentlemen?"

"It's treason only if this government's
still standin'.  Which, I wouldnt make any
bets in favor of," the man with the higher-
pitched voice wagered with biting assertion,
as they hustled their round-eyed captive
from the room.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Timmy's gun hovered over Scully's head.  All
the while, her eyes were taking him apart,
piece by piece; wrecking ball style.  He
relished the murderous look, drinking it in.
With a flick of nonchalance, he held the
pistol to her left temple.  Cold, dead eyes
calculating behind thin wire frames were
Scullys mirror.  "Dare me?" he instigated.
"The world would be better off less another
Fibbie."  Her lethal, wall-eyed blues
finished the implicit demolition job.  "I
apologize for our not getting to know one
another better in Vegas.  Might have been
fun.  But your walk-on with the flash of
your badge, walk-off, was one blur after the
mock shooting."  He toyed with the idea of
tearing the tape from her mouth.  It might
be a hoot hearing her cry out after his
doing so.

Susanne, clothed in a beyond-bleached white
lab coat, set the twin beakers of clear
solutions down on the amazingly sturdy
folding table, part and parcel of the
makeshift lab setup, and glared.  "Timmy,
what I made clear about Byers holds just as
true for Scully.  You harm either of them--it's
no dice.  I'm totally prepared to sacrifice
whatever's necessary to ensure their safety.
That includes mine."

Timmy tossed her a glancing sneer.  "Party
poop.  I'm merely relieving the boredom.
Just having a little fun."  The pistol
stayed put as his sicky grin budded.  "POP!"
His fingers jumped, simultaneously with
Scully's eyes banging shut, and his grin
fully blossomed as the gun fell away.
"Coward's Russian Roulette...you game, red?"

Gamer than you can handle, loser, Scully
meditated, upon opening her eyes to resume
their assault.

Susanne looked away from the bedevilment in
disgust.  Aside from being perverse, Timmy
had the worst halitosis she'd ever had the
displeasure of having gusted in her face.
Double torture.  Poor Scully.

Having had his fill of Scully's evil look,
clumsily, Timmy made his way around the
gurney, and over to Susanne.  She was about
to combine the antidote she'd just given
Scully with a neutralizing base.  What she
read in his whole flagrant manner ordered
her to stay cool, calm and steely collected.
But she swore, that if she got her chance,
the latest batch of A-H would be free-
flowing in his system, with the suggestion
planted that he plug himself, quicker than
he could wave that bullet-crammed tormentor
at her.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Sheepshead Bay environs
3:00 a.m.

The Caravan slowed to a rambling stop at the
intersection of Shore Parkway and Knapp
Street for the red light.  The Mobile gas
station, across to the right and on the
corner, was closed, with the vehicle running
almost on empty.

"If we don't fill up soon, guys, you're
gonna have to get out and push," Langly
verbalized his concern, for general
consumption.  "These go-carts are gas
gobblers, non gratis."  Mentally, he ticked
off the minutes of the glaring signal's
duration; a normal habit hed fallen into
doing, during college days.

"And you say the recording started looping
about ten minutes after they'd departed,
Silvio?"  Mulder checked his watch, then
reassured that these vans' tanks were laid
in for a gallon in reserve on empty.

"Yes.  When I came out of the restroom, I
ducked back in, so they wouldn't see me.
When they left the hallway, I trailed them
as far as the parking lot to see them drive
off."

"You got a look at what they were driving?"

"A good look, Mulder.  A huge, black van.
A Chevrolet, I think.  Shiny chrome wheel
hubs, with bubbled reflective windows, even
on the rear doors.  They were going really
fast.  I ran back to the classroom, not
knowing what to do..."  He lowered his eyes,
unwilling to meet Mulder's stormy probers.
"Again, I apologize for not trying to rescue
them.  I was not prepared.  I was
outnumbered; they, heavily armed.  I feared
I might get your friends killed if I drew
the rebels' fire."

Mulder nodded.  "Hey, you did the right
thing, Silvio.  Heroics mean nothing, if the
payoff's bad.  Always wiser to go with
better odds, 'stead of winding up riddled
hamburger with nothing viable to show for
it.  They'll be okay.  Susanne's a sharp
operator.  Well find 'em."  He grunted
under his breath, "We'd better..."

Frohike voiced the thought currently making
its rounds in his mind.  "Wonder what Timmy
meant when he said, 'Where you're going,
refreshments won't make a whiff of
difference.  Clasp knives maybe.  To slice
up the crap spewed into the air with 'em?'"

The light changed, with them off and rolling
bumpily again, down the pothole marred
utility road.  Mulder reflected, "Not a ruby
of a clue, granted, but have you gentlemen
been breathing for the past few minutes?"

"Yeah, it's like bein' trapped in a dead-
ended break wind warp," Langly whined.
"Waste water reformatory central of the Bay.
We're grazin' in sewage treatment plant
territory, guys.  The methane escapin' keeps
that flame burnin' bright atop that tank day
an' night.  I used to hang out a lot at
Plumb Beach with the little mutt I gave a
home to, Pepper.  Barely smell the
difference on a windy day.  The beach's on
the other side of the Belt."

Mulder and Frohike exchanged sparkling eye
gleams. "It's Ring-a-leavio time, boys," the
Fed quipped.  "Eyes peeled for that van."

"Hey, Mulder," Frohike remarked in
satisfaction, "we're really footing the F-B-I
beat this time, huh?  G-men City.  Not that
funky poaching doesnt have its own rewards,
but this is different.  Were walking the walk
right along with ya.  This time its literal
hands on, eh, Agent?"

"Just about as real as it gets, Frohike.
Watch yourselves.  I mean, I know you are."
He sighed deeply, looking haggard, thoughts
about how Scully was faring flooded his
mind.  "You guys were amazing in the park,
but, when we make contact, and the heavy
stuff goes down, hang back.  Way back.  I
mean it--no pulling anything foolhardy.
It's my lead all the way."  His tone had
waxed bullish official.  "You're in my
domain now, buds.  Field work isn't where
hackers rule.  What I say goes, if we hope
to get them back safely, and lockout the
terrorists, without losing each other.
Everybody got that?"

"Yeah, we're with ya, Mulder," Langly
fielded nimbly, for once his tone lacking
any trace of mockery.  "We'll do whatever
you say.  If it weren't for us, pullin' what
we did in the first place, Scully and Byers
wouldn't be in the hell hole they're in
now."

A contrite Langly, wow, a first, Mulder
mulled.  He patted the blond driver's
shoulder lightly. "No recrimination.  Not
the time."  I'm a fine one to offer solace,
he thought.  "Besides, you guys really were
onto something big.  Aside from alien
colonization, it doesn't get any bigger."
The patting converted into a firm squeeze.
"Once we've rooted these players out,"
Mulder spurred, "I'll contact the regional
office for mop-up."

"Ten-four," Frohike and Langly bolstered in
conjunction, wearing geared-up smiles.
Silvio did a thumbs-up.

Mulder nestled back in his seat.  He stared
through the destroyed window they'd patched
up best they could with clear masking tape.
Brain racking anxiety, spilling over his
makeshift barrier of suppression, getting
the better of him.

...Where are you, partner?  Bi-way
telepathy; yeah, I know.  You pretend to
scoff whenever I hint that that's what we've
got, but I sure wish I were tuned into your
thoughts even as I think, and vice versa.  I
lose you now, Sculleee, I'm lost forever.
...Don't let me lose you...we haven't loved
each other nearly enough...yet.

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

"I won't do it!"

"You will--you'll do it, or I give lover boy
and the Agent additional air holes instead
of re-programming.  There's been re-
categorization for you three.  You're
recyclable.  Surprised?  You shouldn't be.
All that was required from you, Susanne,
were the precise formulas of your subjective
creations, now snugly in my possession, and
soon our bioscientists'.  Therefore--inject
him, then the Agent, and finally...yourself.
I'm running out of patience.  --Inject!"

Byers writhed in the iron clamp armlocks of
his muscle bound captors.  His resolute eyes
never straying from the countenance of the
woman he'd never relinquish willingly.

Susanne's pale hand, which matched the
ghostly pallor in her face, shook.  Still,
she hesitated.  Without a decent option, she
stalled.  The injector, which had eagerly
been furnished by the self-willed mole, was
loaded with a fresh payload of A-H.  The
delivery system gleamed in the dull glow of
muted halogen illumination, waiting for
employment.

"Better re-programmed than dead.  Wouldn't
you agree?  Within the workings of my new
societal order, the three of you'll be kept
ingeniously busy.  Word of honor from your
next head of state.  Trust me."  Timmy
pushed into her, with the gun inches from
her nose.  "You and your friends'll be the
first to have your autonomies severely
compromised, but you'll by no means be the
last.  The options yours.  Choose wisely."

Susanne's grip on the injector faltered so
that it was about to fall from her hand.
She blinked, and in the instant of its
plummeting out of her grasp, Timmy prevented
its descent.  He staked his claim on the
injector.

Susanne staked hers on his pistol in one
flash of lightening movement.  Effectively
vitiating the stunned nemesis.

"My turn to use your head as target
practice," she said, clipping her words.
"Tell your men to release him--now!"

"Or what," Timmy hounded, having recovered
the power of speech, after a few seconds,
"you'll shoot?"  Badgering with a honed
barb, "You're not gutsy enough."

Byers grimaced, allowing a modicum of humor
to tincture his consideration of the
madmans misjudgment.  Timmy would have
amended his evaluation drastically if he
had seen her rip out her own bugged molar as
he and his cronies had witnessed, years ago.
The strongmen tightened their grip on him,
with the wrenching of both arms.

Susanne's lips crooked into a derisive grin.
"Wanna bet?" she baited.  Employing the same
deliberate speed she'd used when
apprehending the firearm, the blonde dynamo,
her aim with the gun never wavering,
snatched the injector, and jabbed it into a
dumbstruck Timmys carotid.  "You lose."

A faraway look inhabited Timmy's glazing
over eyes almost immediately.  Susanne
untensed, marveling at the dependable
rapidity of her creation.  She nipped in
closer, seeing the would-be revolutionist
was now rendered totally suggestible.
Carefully, she whispered in his ear, while
keeping a steady eye and aim on the
enforcers, who'd decided it was to their
viable advantage not to rush her.  This
woman was intent itself.  "I want you to
take this, now, and immunize those two."
She handed him the injector.  Indicating the
men who'd just released Byers of their own
accord, she waited for her command to be
carried out.

"Hold still," she snapped at them, the gun
duly trained on their hoodless heads.
"Proceed, Tim-Tim."  The obedient, newly-
transformed thrall complied with the
greatest eagerness.

While Timmy went about the mindless task
which would result in his cohorts becoming
just as mindless, Byers sped over to Scully
to free her.

"Thanks," she gratefully bestowed after
gingerly removing the adhesive gag.  "I feel
as though I haven't seen you in ages."

Byers nodded as he helped her off the
gurney.  "You were under the mind control
drug's, or a variation thereof, influence a
good, long while."

Scully looked around feeling dwarfted and
richly confused.  His response wasn't an
encyclopedia of information.  "What's this
place?  How'd we get here?"  She gave him a
probing look.  "Everything's a blank.  Last
thing I remember is my having breakfast, of
a sort, with Langly.  At your place."

Byers was about to open his mouth by way of
a fuller explanation, when the inner,
unlocked deadbolt door burst open.  Mulder
charged in with automatic weapon tactically
drawn.

"Cutie?" Timmy and his fellow human cyborgs
chimed together.

Mulder gawked at them for a moment, then
replied, "Nah.  He's outside, staying put
like I told him to."  The Agent surveyed the
contained situation with a desultory scan.
"Is everybody okay?  Scully?"

"Mulder?  What are you doing here?"  She was
in his face, on somewhat buckling legs,
still a bit incredulous that he'd just
tumbled into the room at full G-man tilt.

"Is it really you in there, Scully, and not
Langly's personal, 'I'll follow you to the
ends of the earth, Cutie,' pinup?"

"What ARE you talking about?"  The frown she
was hammering him with made no dent in his
playfulness.  A playfulness with relief its
wellspring because she appeared unharmed and
for all preliminary intent and purposes, her
'cut to the chase' self again.  He wouldn't
have her any other way.

Winking, he assured, "I'll give you the
whole run-down on the plane ride home.  Only,
let Langly down easy, though."  Her frown
deepened.  Mulder's tone leveled off.  "You,
and whatever you were on, have done a number
on his heart.  He nearly got arrested
scoring coke for you."  The furrows in her
forehead softened, although she wondered why
in the world would he have bought the
illegal drug for her.  "Said he'd risk doin'
it, or whatever, again 'cos, and I quote,
'It's Scully.  Scully's da bomb.'"  Mulder
chuckled.  "Guess Frohike isn't alone now,
huh?  Maybe he never was..."

Impressed, but in a quandry nonetheless,
Scully ventured, "Knowing him, 'da bomb's'
gotta be a good thing.  He said that?"

"Yeah.  He did."

"But, coke?  Why?"

Mulder kept nodding and squeezed her oh so
squeezable shoulders hard, noticing she
wasn't minding.  "To get you back..."  Then,
he brushed her hairline with his lips.
"Welcome back, partner.  Listen, we've got
to come up with a password.  That way, if
you ever get a call, saying it's me, telling
you to meet me somewhere, and you don't hear
the magic word--you stay put.  Check?"

"It's worth deployment, Mulder," Scully
agreed with a cohesive grin, "by the sound
of your tone alone."

Smiling archly, Susanne, with a contentedly
sighing Byers, clung to each other as they
monitored their new charges who awaited
further behavior modification.  He whispered
into her ear, "Tell them from this day
henceforth, they must not overthrow the
government, be model citizens, and..."

She nodded, and finished for him, "And
divulge the identities of their slippery co-
conspirators.  Something Mulder and his
brethren will want to hear in short order, I'm
sure."  Following a brisk kiss of his cheek,
Susanne studied the look of contentment etched
in his face.  It was a facial freize of amatory
requite, as though knowing such peace would be a
permanant condition.

<><><><><><><><>

"How long has he been in there?"  Irritably,
Frohike fidgeted in his seat, as though he
sat upon pins and needles.  If Mulder wasnt
out in the next minute, he didn't know about
Langly and Silvio, *he* was going in.

"About twelve minutes," Langly fed back
crisply.

Frohike flipped the door lock, making moves
to leave.  "And that's twelve minutes too
long.  I'm outta here, amigo.  Mulder may
need help."

Langly jerked around in his seat.  "A big
fat negatory on that, 'Hike.  You heard what
he laid on us.  Told us to stay put, and
that's how I'm stayin'."

Silvio nodded, adding, "Mulder sounded very
hard-line about our keeping out of harm's
way."

Frohike shrugged, slid the door open,
quitting the van in fluid escape.  Before he
could make his way around the revolutionists'
van, which theyd parked beside, Langly bounded
past him, barring his advance.  The shorter man
tried to push past, but the cranky blond pushed
back harder.  "Can't let ya.  For once you're
gonna listen to ME."

"Outta my way, Langly!"

"Tough."

The pair, looking all set to square off,
aborted the tousle when they heard what
sounded like the heavy door of the
dilapidated boat supply warehouse opening.
Scuffling gave way to wary crouching and
peeking around the black van.

"Hey--check it out," Langly, who blocked
Frohike's view, advised excitedly, but
barely moved his lips with the telling, in
his best imitation of Peter Fonda.

"Scrunch down more so's I can, 'por favor,'
you overgrown--"

Langly dislodged Frohike off himself more
roughly than he'd intended, sending him
reeling backwards.  The fuming would-be
pugilist landed soundly on his backside with
a thud.  Langly made with a hasty, "Like,
sorry, man.  Look, you can rank me out all
you want--LATER.  Now--get in a serious vein
and CHILL!"

Frohike had never heard his friend, his
ally, and, yes, they were brothers of a
unique sort, browbeat the rankle right out
of him that way before.  He hadn't whined,
or ragged for once.  Langly was demanding
with an authoritativeness that uploaded
admirable respect.  "Hey, okay.  You got it.
Just not so rough in future."

Allowing a very sheepish expressioned Langly
to pull him to his feet, a suddenly humbled
Frohike could no sooner utter another word
when the now paler than he normally was,
younger man yanked on his arm harder, then
exclaimed, "It's Scully--I see her!"

"Where?" Frohike lobbed, matching Langly's
heady cadence.

"Mulder too..."

His turning then to see their FBI friends,
emerging from the warehouse, with a cowed
Timmy and his men likewise, bringing up the
rear with Susanne and Byers walking alongside
them, answered his question.  Wasting no time,
Frohike scurried off to intercept.  Langly
beat him by two strides.

"Princess, are you all right?" he puffed at
her upon his arrival.  Frohike commandeered
her hand.

Scully stared at them both perplexedly, and
a sneaking suspicion washed over the squinting
blond.  "I, I'm fine, uh, Langly."  She cocked
her head.  "Princess?"

End of the feel good ride, dude, he saw.  It
was a real 'cute' trip while it'd lasted,
which it couldnt have.  "I meant, Scully."
With a shurg, he tried to conceal his
embarrassment.  "Sorry.  I, uh..."

"I know what you meant, Langly," Scully cut
in, in an aside.  Stepping out of step with
her partner, and getting Frohike to return
her hand, she went on, "Han Solo couldn't
have said it, or meant it any nicer.  *Thanks*
for looking out for me, and putting up with
me."  Langly looked down at his feet,
smiling.  "Mulder's somewhat explained.
Somehow, I always figured you for a
gentleman.  From what he's told me so far, I
didn't make it easy for you.  Did I?"

Lifting his head, "Oh...like, well.  Er,
uh...you were mega-spaced."  He stumbled
additionally in gait when she claimed his
arm on the way to the vehicles, unable to
control his deepening color.  Scully's got
my arm, she's grinning real large at me, and
she isn't trippin anymore, man.  Cool.  Beyond
way cool...

"How'd you take 'em down?" Frohike clamored
at Mulder's side.  In the throes of contacting
the regional office for a contingency, a light
one, considering the underwhelming haul of three,
the Fed motioned him into momentary silence.
Frohike cooled his jets.

"Turned tables," Susanne informed in auxillary,
inches away from the vets back.  "My zapping
Timmy and company with a dose of my own medicine
was a perk.  I'm all for keeping them workably
brainless this way, but most likely Uncle Sam's
nephews in Domestic Terrorism will have other
ideas."  She tapped Mulder's back, as he'd
finished with the cell, handed off Timmy's
confiscated .45 and hefted the trusty injector
in her left.  "This time he'd better STAY
incarcerated.  No flim-flamming, and presto
chango, he's sprung, eh, Mulder?"

He nodded.  "I've said it before, but what's
the damage, saying it again?"  Mulder checked
the weapon's ammo, looked up to finish, "I can
put in several good words for you at the Bureau,
Susanne.  Try the F-B-I on for size, why don't
ya?  I know people."

Scully, overhearing the pitch, and still in
full possession of Langly, grimaced, as he
led her to the Caravan so she could collect
her recovered wits about her.  Yeah, but
those very people you claim to know try
living it down in the worst way, whenever
they bump into you, Spooky...ahmen...*we*
wouldn't have it any other way...  A grin
tempered by tenderness nudged the corners of
her mouth to curve upwards as Langly opened
the passenger door, assisting her into the
van.

With a didactic furl to her voice, Susanne
ordered the trio to halt, and cease prattling
off the Bill of Rights.  Her pointed look was
meant for Frohike.  "Mata Hari didn't do too
badly, did I?"

As he watched Byers winsomely slip his arm
around her misleadingly ample waist, the
opinionated hard sell's approbative reply was
a candid admission.  "You're a gutsy lady,
Miz H.  One very gutsy lady..."