It was a different car from the one they had taken the night before. The back had a second seat facing the usual back bench, so that there was room for both of the couples, and there was a blank faced mestizo to do the driving. Manuel, it seemed, only chauffeured in the city.

Ethan and Mulder got into the front facing seat. Manuel sat facing them, and Mulder and Ethan exchanged looks when Olivero sat next to Mulder rather than joining his young lover. "I hope you do not mind," Olivero said as the car started. "but riding backward, it gives me a headache."

"Really? You look like nothing less than a two-by-four could give you a headache, Olivero," Mulder said mildly. Ethan dug a warning elbow into his ribs. "What? It's the truth."

"Do not scold him, Connor. It's flattering."

As they left the city, Connor said, "Your compound, Olivero? Is it close to your fields?"

"Some of them. I have a great deal of land in various areas, but most of the processing is done nearby." He looked at Mulder, then Ethan. "We can wait till we are at the compound to discuss this."

Mulder crossed his arms. "Look, you might as well know right now that I'm not some little fluff to be pushed off to the side while the big, bad men talk business."

"Danny." Ethan's voice was more chiding than irritated.

"No, Connor." He looked at Olivero steadily. "Yes, Connor started his enterprise on his own, and he has final say, but I'm an equal partner. I'm the one who runs the books and keeps the tax services off our asses by making it all look legitimate. It isn't easy to hide the kind of cash flow he has, you know."

Olivero looked at Ethan. "Connor?"

Ethan shrugged. "It's true. I'd have probably been in the nick a long time ago if it wasn't for Danny. He isn't just a pretty face. He has a business degree, and he isn't afraid to use it."

"I never had a chance before. Andrew was a nit. He was convinced that I couldn't have a working brain, since he was fucking me on a regular basis. I don't know if he just assumed that since I bottomed for him I was stupid, or if he thought that he'd fucked my brains out. Anyway, he never let me do anything more complicated than make dinner reservations. I could have increased his profits on his nag farm by twenty per cent, but he told me to shut my mouth unless he had something to stick in it." Mulder's voice had taken on an acid edge.

"He was a foolish man indeed. No, Daniel, you will not be totally cut out of the negotiations, but there will be times I wish to deal with your Connor alone."

Mulder looked slightly mollified. "All right. As long as you don't sell me short. I HATE being underestimated."

"I wouldn't do that, Daniel."

"Good. Now, can we have some music in here?"

"Certainly." Olivero called in Spanish to the driver, and he turned on the radio. Heavy classical music flowed from the speakers, and Mulder rolled his eyes expressively. Another order, and the driver fiddled with the dial. There was a ballad in Spanish, then some horns-heavy jazz.

Finally they hit a station with a bouncy, impertinent rock-n-roll song, and Mulder waved frantically. "Stop! Stop there!" He grinned, starting to sing with the song. "Where have you been hidin' out lately, honey? You can't dress trashy till ya spend a lot of money. Everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound..." He broke off, smiling at Olivero. "Billy Joel, the best of the eighties."

Olivero nodded. "Yes. He is very good."

"Oh." Mulder looked surprised. "You know his work? I wouldn't have thought it would have been that popular down here."

Olivero gazed out the window. "I had a friend once who was very fond of him."

Twenty years before

Olivero looked up from the near empty wheelbarrow as the door on the other side of the greenhouse opened. Duncan hesitated, then shut the door and began to make his way through the tables and beds toward him. Olivero wanted to just stand still, watching his graceful movements as he approached, but it would not do to show too much interest. He lifted another sack of fertilizer from the flat stack against the wall, shaking it so that the contents settled and allowed him to prop it up. The bags were stacked on a pallet, and were not quite waist high.

Duncan stopped in the aisle, a few feet away. "Hi."

Olivero nodded at him, "Buenos dias, Duncan." He said nothing more, letting the other boy begin to fidget. You seek me out, Chico. You should know what you want.

At last Duncan said, "Uh, Diaz went out to check on the seedlings y'all took out yesterday. He said to just finish spreadin' the fertilizer inside the greenhouse, then you could go home."

"Good. I am almost done here." He indicated the large, rectangular object that dangled from Duncan's hand. "What is that?"

"This?" Duncan held it up. "This is my boom box." When Olivero looked politely puzzled he said, "You know, a portable tape player. The sound is really cool. I thought maybe you'd like some music while you work. I know it always helps me when I have some grotty chore to do."

As Duncan cleared a space on a nearby table for the box, Olivero wondered with amusement what possible tasks this pampered young man had ever been assigned? Probably no more than picking his own underwear and socks off the floor. Duncan pulled a few tapes from his pockets, looking at them. "Which do you like? Blondie, or Billy Joel?" Olivero shrugged. He had never heard of either of them. The radios available in the area had a very limited range, and did not pick up American broadcasts, and American rock and roll had not gotten popular on the local stations.

"Okay, then I'll choose." He slipped a tape into the machine, shut it, and pushed the button. "This is good. It's his new one, 'Glass Houses'. I got it just before we left the states." The music was fast and bright. 'You May Be Right.' It seemed to be about a wild boy coaxing someone used to playing it safe into doing things a little more dangerously. "What do you think?"

"Appropriate." Duncan regarded him curiously, not understanding, as he pulled his pocket knife out and opened it, using it to slit the bag open. Olivero noticed Duncan's eyes on the knife and showed it to him. "You like knives?"

"Um, kinda." Duncan reached out hesitantly, laying one fingertip on the flat of the shiny blade. "My last stepdad gave me one once." He grimaced. "Mom took it away. She said I'd hurt myself."

"She doesn't want you playing with dangerous things."

He scowled. "No, she doesn't. Sent me to a damn boarding school 'cause she thought public school would be too rough for me." Olivero folded the knife, and emptied the bag into the wheelbarrow. Duncan watched as he hefted it smoothly and easily. "You're pretty strong from all this work, aren't you?"

"Si." Olivero picked up the shovel and began once again to spread the fertilizer. "The world makes a man hard, or it kills him."

Duncan sighed, watching him. "Well, I guess I might as well just commit suicide before I graduate, then, 'cause I expect the world is gonna kill my ass."

"Not necessarily, Chico. If you cannot defend yourself, there is always an alternative."

"Like what?"

Olivero paused, leaning on the shovel, and smiled at him lazily. "You can find someone to take care of you."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "What? Some rich old lady? I've seen some of Mom's friends with a second or third husband who's about half their age--and poor."

Olivero started shoveling again. "That isn't what I meant, Chico."

Duncan shifted, obviously wanting to say something, ask a question. But he decided against that. Instead he turned the music up a little louder. The song now was about a fantasy being all you needed sometimes. It, too, was fast and bright. Duncan began to bounce on his heels in time with the rhythm, singing the chorus with it. "It's just a fantasy, it's not the real thing. Sometimes a fantasy is all you need..."

Foolish, Olivero thought. Fantasies can serve only so long. He'll learn that.

Olivero worked steadily, carefully covering the greenhouse beds with the pungent fertilizer while Duncan continued to listen to the music and watch him work. Gradually the boy moved from bouncing to dancing in the narrow aisle, head bopping from side to side so that his brown hair fell in his eyes and Olivero had to resist the urge to brush it away.

Finally done, he leaned the shovel against the wall and walked the few steps back to Duncan. Reaching past him, he punched the STOP button on the player, and the music cut off suddenly. Duncan stopped moving, looking at him with a hint of annoyance. "Why did you do that? I was dancing."

"Yes, I saw. I know that the senor is busy in his city office today, and you say that the senora is shopping." Duncan nodded. "Luisa has gone to town, and Diaz is out in the field." Duncan nodded again, more slowly this time. "We are alone." The third nod was slower still. "Good." He leaned forward and kissed Duncan.

The boy pulled back with a nervous laugh. "Oh, now, look, a joke's a joke, but..." He had backed away. Olivero followed him, steps slow and deliberate, an almost gentle smile on his face. Duncan twitched. In the kitchen it had been different. It had been bright and cool and clean, with the smell of dish soap in the air. Here...

Here the light that fell through the overhead glass was dim, tinted green by the leaves through which it sifted. It was hot and humid, and he was very aware of what now seemed like the ridiculous layers of clothing he wore. No brisk, clean scent of soap here, either. No, the greenhouse had an earthy aroma, a smell of rich loam and growing things, a peculiarly primitive smell. And Olivero de la Montana seemed very at home here.

The urge to flee was almost overwhelming, but the memory of that kiss in the kitchen held Duncan as the other young man approached. He forced himself to stand still, and lifted his chin in an effort to look casual.

Olivero's smile broadened. "Duncan, you were not teasing me?"

"I... no. Teasing? I didn't... didn't do anything."

His voice was chiding. "Perhaps you said nothing, but there are other ways to make promises." He took hold of the boy's shoulders and kissed him hard. Duncan stiffened, jaws clamped tight shut. It had been one thing to flirt with this rough young man in the safety of the house, but here...

Olivero pulled back a little, murmuring, "Open your mouth." Duncan just stared at him. He put his right hand in Duncan's hair, gripping tightly. "Chico, when I kiss you, you will open your mouth. You will not try to keep me out."

Duncan's eyes were huge, his voice faint. "What makes you think I'm gonna let you kiss me?"

Olivero laughed. "Then fight."

The easy assumption of his compliance irritated Duncan. He kicked, trying to push the bigger boy away, and Olivero hissed in pain as a bruise was laid on his shin, but he did not release his prize. His left arm went around Duncan's waist and he spun him, then walked him backwards till he bumped up against the stack of bags. "So, you're not such a timid little kitten after all, are you? That's good. I like a little spirit in my fucks."

Duncan cried out as Olivero shoved him down on the stack, so that he half lay on it, legs dangling. Before he could pull himself up, Olivero had pulled out his knife, and opened it. Though he made no threatening move with the blade, Duncan fell back and lay still, staring at it, wide-eyed.

Olivero gripped the bottom of Duncan's shirt, stretching it taut. "You like knives." It was a statement now rather than a question. He slid the tip of the blade under the last button. With a flick of his wrist the little disc popped off, and he moved up to the next one, slicing it off. "Yes, Chico, I understand. Knives are very much a man's weapon." He made a short, sharp motion with his hand, and Duncan's breath caught painfully. "The stabbing. Very suggestive, yes?" He cut away the next button. "And a man who uses a knife must be in control, always in control." The fourth button spun away to be lost down between the sacks. Duncan's breathing had become ragged. "One little slip, a fraction of an inch to the left or right..." The fifth button was removed, and the sixth. "But I must be careful. It would be such a shame to mark that pretty white skin."

In quick succession he cut off the last two buttons. Then he put the tip of the blade under Duncan's chin, touching so lightly that the skin was not even dimpled. But when he pressed upward, Duncan lifted his chin quickly, meeting Olivero's dark eyes. "Do not look away from me, Duncan." He made no explicit threat, but Duncan carefully kept his eyes fixed on Olivero when the knife was removed.

Olivero used the blade to flick Duncan's shirt open, exposing his pale, smooth chest, heaving with his heavy breaths. The big man blinked in surprise, then laughed quietly. "Oh, Duncan." He reached out and carefully, lightly scraped the blade over the rigid pink points of Duncan's nipples. The boy moaned deep in his throat, and the already hard flesh stiffened even more.

Olivero closed his knife, putting it away. "So, you're not entirely a virgin?"

Duncan's voice was breathy, almost scornful. "I've been in all-boy schools since I was eleven. What the hell do you think?"

"How much have you done?" Olivero replaced the knife with his hands, sliding his palms over Duncan's chest.

The Anglo boy arched up to his touch. "That depends, I guess. A lot by school standards. I'm not quite the school slut, but I'm close. I don't know how it is compared to the rest of the world, though." Olivero pinched, and he gasped, then cooed. "Oh, that feels good. The other boys always act like I'm gonna break."

"Only boys? No men?" Olivero shoved Duncan's legs apart with his knees so he could move in closer. He bent over the boy and licked one straining pink bud, then bit it roughly.

Duncan whined, closing his eyes. "My... my swim coach. He's old, in his thirties, but he's still hot. I saw the way he watched me at practice, so I stayed after, asked 'im to help me with my stroke." He laughed. "Yeah, he helped me. Different kinda stroke, though. Oh, God, do the other one!"

Olivero obliged, nipping and nibbling, leaving the dent of teeth marks. They would fade in a few moments, since he was just playing. He had spoken the truth when he said he didn't want to mark Duncan. Not yet. "What have you done, Duncan? Tell me." He stripped the shirt off the other boy roughly, tossing it to the floor, then beginning to run his hands over the smaller boy's torso once again. Duncan was sweating, and Olivero's hands glided.

Duncan smiled at him, licking his lips. "You want me to talk dirty? Yeah, I can do that. Mostly it's just been mutual jerk-offs. We have to sneak around and find places at school. The bathroom, an empty classroom. I've sucked a lot of cock in the equipment shed out by the soccer field."

As Duncan spoke, Olivero cupped his hands over Duncan's crotch, squeezing. Duncan grunted, pushing up at his hands. "Keep talking, damn it."

"I... My roommate is a prude, and I can't bring guys there, so I went to another guy's room. His roommate didn't care. I sucked him off while the roommate watched. The roommate kept saying he was straight, but when I finished my friend, and went over and started licking his balls, he changed his mind." Duncan laughed breathlessly. "Kind of a record for me. I blew both of them twice before I left."

Olivero unzipped Duncan's pants and started to jerk both them and his underwear down. "Wait!" Duncan panted. "Hold on, I'll lift my ass, just..." He barely got his butt off the sacks before Olivero tore the garments off them. "Fuck! You're impatient."

Olivero was opening his own pants. "Have you been fucked?"

Duncan paled slightly. "N-no. I thought the coach was gonna, but he freaked when I asked him to put it in. Said the law would cut his nuts off. I... He put his finger in me." His lashes lowered over golden eyes, and he said dreamily, "It felt good." His eyes widened as Olivero pulled out his rigid prick. "You're not wearing underwear."

He sounded so surprised that Olivero would have laughed if he hadn't been so aroused. He dragged Duncan's butt closer to the edge of the stack with a hand on his hip. Gripping his own staff in one hand, he reached down to grasp Duncan's hard-on with the other. "You have such a pretty cock, Chico." He stroked slowly, and the boy writhed sensuously. "Pink and white, like a stick of candy."

Olivero bent swiftly, taking Duncan's cock head into his mouth. Duncan yelped with pleasure as the warm wetness encased him. Olivero cradled the bulbous glans on his tongue, sucking softly, like it was a sweet he wanted to last a long time. Then he rasped his teeth lightly on the sensitive skin just behind the head. When Duncan whimpered he released him to soothe the scraped area with a kiss, then lapped at his prick, delving his tongue into the tiny slit to coax out the first bead of clear liquid.

"Vero!" Duncan gasped. "Let me! I wanna taste you."

Olivero ran his tongue the length of the boy's quivering rod and gave each softly furred ball a sucking kiss. "Ask nicely, Chico."

"Please, Vero!" He pouted. " I want to suck your dick. Please."

Montana moved to the side, getting up on the pile of sacks on his knees. Duncan lunged at him, mouth open, and swallowed him to the root in one plunge. Olivero hissed in pleasure, grabbing hold of the thick, soft hair as the boy began to bob on his cock. "Y-es, pretty boy. Ah, I'm a lucky man to have found such a talented little whore."

Duncan pulled off him abruptly, gazing up at Olivero in shock and outraged hurt. "What did you call me?"

"A whore. Why are you upset, sweet one? It is not easy to be a good whore."

"You bastard!" Duncan tried to struggle up. "Where are my pants? Damn it, I don't need to be insulted."

"Hush!" Olivero shoved his shoulders back against the sacks and held him there. "I do not insult you, Duncan. Own what you are. You are a slut and a whore. I am a peon, and I would rather fuck your tight ass than all the sweetest pussy in the world."

Duncan just gaped at him. Montana took the opportunity to slip back to the floor and move up between Duncan's spread legs again. This time, though, he gripped each knee and lifted, dragging the smaller boy forward till he had his legs firmly draped over his shoulders. Duncan wiggled, but Olivero slapped his ass hard, his hand cracking on the pale flesh. "Be still!" he said sternly, as Duncan cried out, more from surprise than pain. "Your little lovers treated you like glass, eh? Afraid you would break?" He smacked the other cheek, and Duncan jerked again, but his pupils were dilating, and his hands had gone to his chest, plucking at his own nipples.

Olivero nodded in approval. "Yes, play with yourself, Chico." He grabbed one of Duncan's hands and pulled it down, wrapping the fingers around Duncan's rigid, weeping cock, guiding it till Duncan was masturbating steadily. Duncan watched as Olivero put two fingers in his mouth, sucking them till they were lavishly coated with saliva. Then he reached down and, without preliminaries, rammed them both deep into Duncan's ass. Duncan screamed, eyes squeezing shut as his body arched, trying to pull away from the rude invasion. That earned him another volley of slaps on his already stinging cheeks. "I told you to be still."

"Vero, please! It hurts."

Olivero continued to work his fingers deep into the yielding flesh, but with his other hand he soothingly stroked Duncan's heaving belly. "I know, mi amor. The first time hurts. Wait, be patient. It will be worth it, I promise. Can you do that?"

Duncan slitted his eyes. His voice was teary. "All right."

"My brave one." Olivero pushed deeper, curling his fingers, searching. Suddenly he found what he was looking for, his fingers gliding over Duncan's prostate. The American boy stiffened for a moment, then seemed to melt around him with a throaty purr. "Yes, Chico. You like that."

He rubbed again, and Duncan moaned, tossing his head back and forth. "So good. Never felt anything like that, never. Should have done this before..."

"No!" Olivero's voice was firm. "And you won't do it with anyone else, Chico. Only me." He forced a third finger into the tight passage. Duncan made a soft keening sound as he struggled to accommodate it, his face flushed. "Say it." Duncan pushed his hips down, trying to get the fingers invading him to reach that magic spot again. The pain wasn't so bad when there was that electric feeling as a trade-off. Olivero snarled, pushing so hard that half his hand disappeared into the boy's body. "Say it!"

He touched that special place again, and Duncan was shaking, so close to coming he thought he'd go insane. "Yes, Vero, yes! Fuck me! Please, please, fuck me!" Duncan wailed with loss as the fingers were withdrawn, but then he saw Olivero spit in his palm and slick it over his dark, straining erection. Duncan jerked his legs up and back, pulling off Olivero's shoulder. Before his new lover could object Duncan heaved, hooking his arms around his knees and pulling them back almost to his shoulders, leaving himself spread and vulnerable. Olivero didn't hesitate. He grabbed the boy's hips, fitted his cock against the loosened hole, and slammed in as hard as he could.

Duncan screamed again as Olivero drove into him, the thick shaft plunging deep and making him feel as if he were splitting open, despite the preparation. Then the head of Montana's prick passed over Duncan's prostate, and the pain began to change into pleasure, heat spreading out through his body. He grunted as Montana settled against his body, his staff fully embedded in the smaller boy's ass. "Oh, God," Duncan whispered. "I'm gonna die, and probably go to hell, and I don't fucking care! I love you, Vero. Fuck me hard."

Olivero didn't reply. Instead he began to thrust into Duncan, hard and fast. There would be a time later for slow loving, for gentle touches and lingering caresses. Indeed, Olivero wanted that very much. He wanted to be able to take Duncan in a soft, large bed, and spend hours touching and tasting him, then fucking him in a slow, lazy rhythm till they both melted from pleasure. But right now they both needed it quick, hard, and rough.

After a couple of minutes of pounding into the hot sheath, Olivero saw the tremors in Duncan's arms and legs, and pulled his knees back over his shoulders, taking the strain off his lover. Then he reached down and gripped Duncan's cock, which had slapped wetly against the boy's belly with each thrust into his bowels. He stroked and squeezed in time to his pumping. Duncan scratched frantically at the sacks beneath him, moaning and wailing deliriously. Olivero barely had enough presence of mind to be grateful that the rest of the household was gone. Duncan was a noisy lover.

Finally, knowing he was almost ready, Olivero seated himself as deeply in Duncan's rectum as he could, his balls nestling in the sweaty crack of the other boy's ass. He held Duncan's cock in both fists and rubbed as hard and fast as he could, then reached down and squeezed the boy's testicles.

Duncan arched with a strangled cry, his whole body spasming around Olivero's buried cock. His eyes rolled back in is head as his orgasm lashed through him, sperm spurting from him in a hot, milky arc that splattered on his chest and began to trickle down toward his belly. Olivero started to come as he felt the sucking ripple of muscle along the length of his prick. With a roar he shoved again, and again, somehow managing to force another fraction of an inch into the tightly stretched asshole. He shot into Duncan's accepting back passage, and felt the hot liquid begin to ooze back along the sides of his prick as it began to soften.

He pulled out of Duncan, the humid air of the greenhouse feeling almost chilly on his now moist prick. When he lowered the boy's legs, they dropped limply. "Duncan?" He leaned over him, concerned. Duncan's eyes were closed, his breathing rapid. "Duncan?" He tapped the boy's cheek lightly.

Long eyelashes fluttered, and glazed, golden eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling. Then they turned to Olivero, and focused. He was relieved when a slow, catlike smile curved Duncan's lips. "Oh, wow," Duncan whispered. "That was intense."

Olivero got Duncan's discarded shirt off the ground and used it to clean him, first wiping the spunk off his torso, then gently wiping the crack of his ass, removing the combined sperm and blood. He showed the soiled cloth to the boy sprawled over the sacks. "See, Chico? I broke your cherry."

"Animal." Duncan's voice was sated. He sat up, wincing. "Oo, that was terrific, but I don't think I'm gonna sit right for a week."

Olivero slipped Duncan's underwear, then his pants over his feet and worked them up to his knees. "Stand up so I can dress you."

"I don't think I can, just yet. 'Sides..." Duncan touched a fingertip to his crack and showed it to Olivero. There was a tiny smear of blood.

Montana ripped a swatch off the shirt, balled it up, and tucked it into the narrow crease. "You may need to keep some tissue back there for a day or so, but it isn't bad. Now, hold on to me, and stand up."

Duncan took hold of Olivero's shoulders and slid his feet down to the ground. The bigger man supported him as he pulled the clothes the rest of the way up the boy's slim body and finished closing them. "There." He caressed Duncan's cheek. "You should go have a hot bath, soak your aches away. Then take a nap. You Anglos have no sense, running around in the heat of the day when you don't have to."

"Yeah, that sounds good." Duncan slid his hands off Olivero's shoulders, reaching around to embrace him, leaning against his broad chest. "'Nother kiss?"

This kiss was different from the others, slow and tender. Anyone who knew Olivero would have been amazed. Duncan simply took it as his due. Duncan laid his head on Olivero's shoulder, whispering, "This wasn't just a one time thing, was it? Tell me you weren't just fucking the little Anglo boy to rack up some sort of macho points."

"No, Chico. You're mine now." Olivero tipped Duncan's chin up. Dark eyes met golden. "Remember that."

"Yes, Vero." Duncan walked to the door. For once he was less than graceful, his gate stiff and a little pained.

Olivero buttoned his pants back up and left the greenhouse, headed for the shack he shared with Bartolo. He wanted a beer very badly. Then he would begin to consider how he would change his life. He had always known he would not continue laboring on the plantation, that other things, greater things, waited for him. The time had come to pursue them. Now he had a clear goal. He must become rich enough to take care of Duncan properly.

"What are we doing here?"

Olivero's mind snapped back from its revery as Daniel Ballard leaned across him, peering out the window. He resisted the urge to just grab the man and drag him onto his lap. Montana looked out the window himself. They had turned into a small, private airfield. "We make the last leg of our journey by air, Daniel. There are no roads to my compound. Not anymore, anyway. Once it was built I had them destroyed."

Daniel pulled back, frowning at him. "But why? Doesn't that make a lot of trouble for you to get in and out?"

"Yes, it does, Chico. But it also makes it difficult for anyone else."

They parked, and Olivero and Manuel led the way toward a helicopter. The pilot, sitting behind the controls, fired the motor as they approached. The great rotors began to spin, and the churning air washed over them. A few yards from the copter Mulder halted, staring at it.

Ethan took his elbow. "C'mon, Danny."

Mulder shook him off. "I don't like it. No one said anything about going somewhere you... you had to fly to get in and out of. It isn't safe." He took a step back. "Send me back to the city. I'll wait for you there." Ethan looked at him sharply, but realized that it was part of the act. Daniel wouldn't like to be in such an isolated environment. It would be natural for him to be apprehensive.

"Danny..."

"No, Con!"

Ethan looked at Olivero, shrugging. Olivero went to Mulder. "Daniel, what is wrong?"

"I said I don't like it. Way out in the middle of nowhere. You two will be all busy, and what am I supposed to do all day?"

"I have amusements. There is a gym, a sauna, a pool. I have a video machine and many tapes."

The tall man's eyebrows arched. There was a hint of interest in his tone, despite his attempt to mask it. "In English?"

"Most of them, But," he touched Mulder's arm with one fingertip. "in most of the tapes it does not matter what language they speak." He stroked slowly. "Or should I say that the language is universal?"

Mulder gave a tiny, reluctant smile. "You're bad. But what if something happens out there? What if I get sick, or... or one of those great, big old jungle cats comes out and jumps on me?"

"With the helicopter I can have you to a hospital as quickly as any ambulance. Perhaps more quickly than some."

"I don't know..." Mulder pouted, looking at the drug lord from under half lowered lashes. His demeanor said Coax me.

His fingers curled lightly around Mulder's arm. "Come, Duncan. You won't regret it."

Mulder let himself be led to the helicopter. He joined Manuel and Ethan inside, and Olivero climbed in after him. They were pressed tightly together as the machine lifted off. In the air, Mulder looked at Olivero curiously. "You got my name wrong back there."

"What?"

"You didn't say Daniel. You said... what? Duncan, I think."

Olivero looked out at the ocean of green washing below them, then turned dark, blank eyes on Mulder and said softly, "No, you must have been mistaken. The noise of the wind, yes? I haven't known anyone named Duncan for a long time."