The Short Straw

TITLE: The Short Straw
RATING: R (for language)
CLASSIFICATION: X
DATE: May/June 2002
SPOILERS: The whole series including the S9 finale
ARCHIVE: Ephemeral and Gossamer, others please ask
AUTHOR: jowrites - [email protected]

SUMMARY: Deputy Director Alvin Kersh had always considered himself to be a good guy. One day he had to find out the truth.

COMMENT: I've written end of season stories for every season since S4. I really hadn't expected to write one at the end of S9. Shows how much I know!

THANKS: To Heidi, Joyce, Anne, Lynx for detailed discussion of finale scenes and for beta reading.

LEGALLY: Legally these characters belong to some combination of 1013, Chris Carter and Fox. Mulder's soul belongs to DD - thankfully.

The Short Straw

Assistant Directors Maslin and Cassidy are smiling; Skinner looks like he's going to throw up.

It could be said that the reassignment of Mulder and Scully to my unit makes perfect sense. In an imperfect world, what could be better than putting a man who a terrorist group considered a potential recruit into a domestic counter-terrorism unit?

Skinner intercepts me as I leave, and talks in a voice so soft that on any other occasion I'd claim he sounded conspiratorial. The irony's not lost on me. "I can guess what you've heard about them - but they're damned fine agents."

I don't need to pre-judge him. I saw Mulder's report on the New Spartans. They let him go? Having held a gun to his head? Despite knowing he was reporting back on everything he saw? A dislocated finger the only damage from a prolonged tussle with cold-blooded killers? Sure.

And he just guessed which building contained the bomb in Dallas right down to which vending machine housed the device? A bomb that killed Darius Michaud and left Mulder without a scratch. Right.

The only conspiracy around this place is the one that kept him in a job this long.

Maslin buys lunch, and suggests it would be of benefit to everyone if Mulder just left the Bureau of his own free will.

No publicity. No political machinations to give him another last minute reprieve. No embarrassing meeting minutes that might imply that a federal agent had been allowed to run wild with the FBI's time, money and authority, or worse still something that might suggest that said agent was not even be playing for the home team.

I could have given them worse assignments and as of right now I will be giving them worse assignments. I kept them together. I allowed them out of my sight to check out fertilizer sales in Idaho. I gave them enough rope to hang themselves. And Bless Them both, they nearly succeeded.

How an experienced Federal agent like Mulder allows himself to be taken hostage by a man who he admits was seriously ill, and moreover a man already in police custody, I can't even guess. How said agent then comes up with some insane story about military experiments that can make a man's head explode - well, let's just leave it there.

All that matters now is that an agent assigned to duty in Idaho, got kidnapped in Nevada, and ended up driving a corpse to a cliff edge in California.

Mulder doesn't bother with explanations, just takes a shot at adding another insubordination charge to the file. "Why don't you bill me?"

Which little crack would be quite amusing, if I didn't have a job to do. "I'll bill your partner instead. You, too obviously relish the role of martyr." Not that the money matters. They can settle the tab any way they choose, but I doubt he likes the idea that the black mark will be on her file.

"OK. So are we done here? Back to the bozo work investigating huge piles of manure?"

Scully thinks there's more to be said, which is a pain in the ass because I could really use a few minutes to get my blood pressure back in line and come up with a suitable managerial response to the mess.

"I'm not apologizing for this. Because of his work, the DoD is shutting down their antenna array in northeastern Nevada. Our participation in this case has saved lives."

Sure thing. Now prove it. Now show me the FBI jurisdiction. Now show me you winning the case in a court of law. And show me where on the DoD report it admits any culpability or even any plausibility in this story.

"Don't misunderstand me, Agent. I don't care if you and your partner saved a school bus full of doe-eyed urchins on their way to Sunday bible camp. You no longer investigate X-Files. You are done, and the sooner you and Mulder come to recognize that, the better for both of you." Got it now?

Too good for bozo work, are they? Too smart to do the kind of work that doesn't waste thousands of dollars on a case that isn't even a case. Fine. There's plenty more scut work where that came from.

Dealing with Fox Mulder gets old fast. Dealing with the people who like to keep tabs on him is worse. And as I sit here trying to make Mulder see reason when all I've really got are a few suspicions and a couple of half conversations with people who seem to know a hell of a lot more than I do, I've got to say I sympathize with him.

Damn it, Mulder - what kind of a man do you think I am? Go ahead, walk into whatever trap they set. But don't take your family down with you. "They don't want you near that child."

"If they wanted it, they'd have taken it the moment it was born. No one could have stopped them. Not Scully, not Reyes, not you. And you can't stop them now."

He stumbles into silence, steepling his fingers, before intertwining them and letting his gaze lock onto his thumbs. "I can't do it," he says, not looking at me. "Nothing personal," the hesitation contains a choked half laugh, "Even if I believed you, I couldn't do it."

"Or some evidence," I agree. There's nothing more to be said, at least not by me. I can't supply the kind of proof he needs or even the backup he deserves. "I haven't processed your resignation - right now, you're on indefinite leave."

I knew the moment the original call came in from the Marine Corp JAG liaison officer that I would soon be sitting here, face to face with Dana Scully, watching her eyes burn so brightly, so full of hope and anger.

When they told me they were holding Mulder in a military brig at Quantico, my only surprise came from my lack of surprise at the news. Mulder, the Fox with nine lives. Every indication I'd received up to that point suggested that Mulder had been killed. That he'd taken my advice to get the hell out of Dodge, and stuck to it - until one day he couldn't, and he'd paid an instant price for the lapse.

Now I'm being told that having broken into one of the most secure military installations in the country, the kind of place even spooks only talk about as a kind of never-never land, he killed a guard. I suspect the only reason he made it as far as the brig was because they wanted to find out more about his collaborators.

I have two documents - a highly detailed confession of murder and the papers establishing that he had signed up for military service. No, I don't believe it either.

She shakes her head, her lips tightening in anger and frustration. "You haven't seen him, sir. They're destroying him. He's not - Mulder."

"Then when's the trial?" she asks, in a tone of voice that leaves me in doubt that she believes there will never be one.

"I'll try and find out." It's a fair question. Somehow I doubt I'll get a fair answer.

I'm not a stupid man. General Suveg gave me the pieces and allowed me the space to construct the jigsaw puzzle myself. By the time I walked into his office he'd already made it clear that he had all the advantages. He's playing on home turf , which means I've been checked, processed, searched, re-checked and briskly escorted on multiple short hops between securely locked doors. Like I'm the one on trial. Or not.

You don't get to be a Deputy Director of the FBI without recognizing when someone else is holding all the cards. You don't stay in the job if you fail to recognize when the real power lies outside your official chain of command.

"You and I both know there are forces inside the government now that a man would be foolish to disobey."

When a man with a voice like that and the right kind of title in front of his name says "jump" - you say "how high."

When he offers to allow you input on the trial of a man quite so obviously guilty of murder - you say "thank you."

When he tells you that he's appointing you as judge, jury and de-facto executioner, you think very hard about saying no.

The logic is impeccable. A trial in a civilian court would be both embarrassing and public. Does the Bureau really want to broadcast another story of treason and violence about one of its own men? Because no matter how ex the agent, it would be the FBI tag that stuck.

A good attorney and a complacent judge and some technicality might even see him go free. Especially given how many of the prosecution witnesses might not be able to appear for reasons of national security.

The charming, soft-eyed Fed with the easy wit and the persuasive delivery and no prosecution witnesses? And if Mulder or his pals started blurting out government secrets, however swiftly the judge moved to silence the irrelevance, they'd have to close the trial just to avoid the risk of further exposure.

And just suppose everything went smoothly, as impossible as that it is for me to visualize - imagine the appeals. Every court, every obstacle, every possible granter of a stay or of a pardon. Years of argument and petitions. Years of public exposure of a running sore and a murderer who looks too GQ to be taken seriously as a threat by a public who expect to read the ugliness of guilt in a killer's eye.

Yes, it makes perfect sense. There will be no injustice in convicting him of a murder committed during a felony. I've read the witness statements. If Mulder deserves justice, then so does Rohrer.

It's just that my whole life has been by the book and this demands that I throw the book away. It's just that my education and training dictates a faith in a system of justice that believes that trial and punishment is the responsibility of the courts. It's just that I'd clung to the hope that when and if Mulder returned it would be as a winner not a loser.

He killed a man, while committing a felony. He'll get justice. Of a sort. And if he can save himself, then maybe he can save me as well.

The court room looks like something out of a cheap movie with not much interest in authenticity or credibility. Maybe I'd feel better if it looked like something out of LA Law. Or JAG.

Or perhaps that's the point. Maybe they want everyone in here to know that lack of conformance to any criminal code, civilian or military, makes this into a special event. A show of strength that no one needs to assert through fancy dress or fancy furnishings.

An event that doesn't need to be recorded, because no one will be allowed to review its findings.

Mulder's asked Skinner to defend him and I really do admire Walter for trying. Because I don't actually see what defense they've got unless they plan to plead insanity.

Oddly it's seeing Mulder paraded in here in prison orange that throws me most. Over-dressed and over-preened in shockingly expensive suits, he was a different man.

They're telling me a story. He's just another convict now. Another killer. The strange thing is, it seems to do the opposite, suggests that he's already been declared persona-non-grata, an untouchable thrown in here. A caged animal, defenseless against his keepers.

It's no surprise that the first witness is Special Agent Dana Scully; she's been apologizing for him since the first time I met her. Though what Skinner hopes to achieve through her evidence is lost on me. He can' t really believe that Scully will register as a credible character witness.

And then he throws me even further off track by asking Scully to give us a little presentation. Today's subject: Alien Evolution 101, "Life came to the earth millions of years ago from a meteor or rock from Mars."

Thankfully Kallenbrunner, who seems to have a clue about court room procedures, objects.

So Skinner wants to prove that a government conspiracy is hiding the existence of extraterrestrial life? I'm at a loss as to why he thinks that such proof, even if he had it, would clear Mulder of murder.

And as for proof, I doubt he's got it. If they had, then Suveg would have been less certain about allowing any kind of trial. And if Mulder had found the Holy Grail when he broke into Mount Weather, he'd be on his feet and shouting it to the heavens by now, not the subdued figure I see at Skinner's side.

Still, it keeps them busy. It does no real harm, except to their own credibility. My fellow judges seem bemused but happy enough to listen. "It's your case, Mr Skinner." Don't walk out of here claiming that you couldn't tell your story. Go ahead - ignore the murder charge. Treat us like we're an audience of high school kids eager to hear some cult leader talk about UFOs. Bury your case and Mulder with it.

But even I have my limits and after a while I need to remind Skinner why we're here. "Is this all leading anywhere?"

"I'll warn you once, Agent Mulder." And then I'll - what? What exactly do you do to a man in Mulder's position? Have the trial run in his absence? I hardly think that would suit Suveg and his friends.

He offers Scully a kind of smile and it's enough to make me flinch. Even under the prison orange it's clear that some of the old Mulder remains.

When the cross-examination comes, Kallenbrunner makes it look too easy. And it's a little cruel to see prosecution counsel use Scully's own child to supply the final killer blow after ripping into her lack of real evidence.

Jeffrey Spender arrives. He's obviously been through the wringer. I guess that can do weird shit to your brains. So he's Mulder's half brother. So their parents were bastards who treated their kids like dirt.

But apart from washing old Mulder and Spender family linen in public I really don't see what I'm meant to get from this evidence of his. The panel's scarcely going to buy a plea based on a disturbed childhood - Mulder's not some crazed adolescent - he's had forty years to get his act together.

Unless they're going to try and convince us that Rohrer was some sort of space alien himself!

Shit. Half the fucking psychopaths in the land don't think they're killing proper humans. It's just that most of them don't get an Assistant Director of the FBI to buy into their defense.

I'll give Scully credit for this much - she can at least see that they're already losing the case. Moreover, by coming over here to talk to me after the day's hearings, she proves her understanding of the trial process. She knows that there's no point discussing plea bargains with Kallenbrunner.

Of course, what she hasn't accepted yet is that there's no point in discussing them with me.

"Enough, Agent Scully. Between the aliens and the conspiracy to hide them you're missing the point - Agent Mulder broke into a top secret government facility using stolen passes. He hacked into a computer. He killed a man who had every legal right to detain him."

"Agent! I don't think we've got anything more to discuss. Unless..." Well, I'll make no promises and I'll tell no lies. But there are certainly a couple of things that would make my life, or at least my conscience easier, even though I doubt they'll do anything for Mulder.

Moreover, I suspect that though they may not appreciate it yet, things will go more smoothly for Scully and Skinner too, if they can persuade Mulder to perform this last service.

Scully sits, tensing her fingers as she waits for my next words, and all the while she's desperately trying to restrain herself from reopening the debate about Rohrer's human status or lack of.

What the hell, I give her what she wants. "Agent Mulder entered the facility using a passkey having been briefed on the layout. He knew his way around the computer. We need to know who gave him that information."

She opens her mouth as if she's going to protest but falls obediently silent as I raise a hand to stop her. She knows as well as I do that the owner of the coded pass that Mulder used must already have been identified. She knows that there would be no new betrayal in giving over that information, that it would merely be Mulder's public admission of his own failure to protect a source.

"We also need a formal restatement of his confession to the illegal entry and the killing. He needs to throw himself on the mercy of the court."

Mercy? Somehow I doubt that there's any to be had. But then I doubt that Mulder will comply, so it's unlikely my theory will ever be tested.

I know they want that confession in open court in front of friends and allies. From the looks of things in those documents they got him to sign they've already used some pretty crude interrogation methods on him to get this far. Which goes to show - if there was some great conspiracy, using alien technology and super powers, at play here, couldn't they have done a better job?

Scully nods her head, even though she surely knows that Mulder will reject the requests, and starts to leave. She pauses in the doorway but doesn't speak.

"The conditions they're holding him in." Her voice cracks, sad and angry and trying to keep both emotions at bay.

"Are in line with the military code." Probably. Skinner's made much the same complaint. I'm not going to debate the details. He looks healthy enough to stand trial and that's really all that matters. How well do they think a Fed who killed a guard would get treated in any prison? At least he doesn't have other inmates to worry about.

Which leaves me with too much time and space on my hands and a sudden need to try and make sense of the nonsensical. If the brainwashing had worked as they hoped would they have put Mulder on trial in a civilian court?

If they'd known the brainwashing had completely failed - would they have put a bullet in the back of his head?

As a way of finding out more from Mulder's allies? As a way of warning them to keep their mouths shut?

Skinner didn't need the warning. Nor did Scully. They didn't even need the warning from me that if any word of this trial got out - then the trial would be over before it started. And Mulder would be put so far beyond our reach that there would be no more smiling reunions in a cell - under any conditions, however spartan and militarized those might be.

Marita Covarrubias comes onto the witness stand and it's hard to watch but there's still no sign of a defense against the murder charge.

Skinner finally comes clean and admits the core of his case - Rohrer's a super-soldier, whatever that might be, and therefore not a proper human.

Rohrer was a good soldier who served his country well. Mulder might have a hard time believing this, but back when they were assigned to me I actually read some of his old X-Files - the things that I once thought might give me some insight into his paranoia, his hatred for authority, his contempt for his own government.

Way back, in the early years of his X-Files assignment, he caught a man who couldn't sleep. A soldier made a better soldier because he was always ready to act. A man eventually driven mad by misunderstood biochemistry and the need to dream.

Men have been used before, good soldiers subjected to bad experiments. Testing the efficacy of drugs and weapons, of antidotes and countermeasures. I'm not naive, nor am I stupid. Experiments continue - hidden budgets, witting and unwitting volunteers. Poor ethics perhaps, but necessities in a real world full of danger from within and without. You stay a step ahead.

So Rohrer was special, a super soldier. Let's just assume I buy that. But it's a hell of a leap to say that it made him inhuman. That he was involved in a project that needed security, that had to be kept secret, I'll buy that, too. But it's a hell of a jump to say that because you don't like what your government chooses to keep secret, you can kill a man for doing his job.

Covarrubias is scared and who can blame her? If people like General Suveg are the official face of this operation then the covert face could put the fear of God into anyone.

Skinner attempts to badger her into some kind of declaration that won't save Mulder and which certainly might kill her. I admit, I'm impressed that it's Mulder who calls a halt.

Doggett brings along some surprise witness. More of a surprise than Mulder wanted - Gibson Praise is apparently in need of protection. Though from who or what, Mulder and his colleagues don't say.

Maybe the prosecutor will call a time-out. "Mr. Kallenbrunner? Do you have any objections to this witness?"

Good point. Kallenbrunner for all his disquiet about the proceedings is a good man, and not easily distracted from the central issue - Mulder murdered a man while committing a felony. Thus far, he's undermined the testimony of the character witnesses without getting drawn into the debate.

Rohrer is not on trial and nor is the government. They'd do well to remember that.

Skinner decides to give me a potted history of Gibson Praise. I seem to remember that this is where I came in, all those years ago. Mulder and Scully were touting this kid's brainwaves as the answer to life, the universe and everything. Four years ago. Does nothing change?

And he does, boldly launching into a speech about turned on junk DNA and mindreading tricks. Kallenbrunner thinks on his feet, which is why he was chosen for this job after all, and delivers a sarcastic challenge to read the Judges' minds.

I half expect Praise to go into some music hall act and start listing the contents of everyone's wallet. But no, he locks onto one of my colleagues.

And Mulder's quiet irritation vanishes in favor of a sudden rush of blood. "He's one of them." Stupid bastard actually stands up, as if he's going to be allowed to get two steps before a guard stamps on him. "I want that man examined!" he screams.

As if he's in a position to make demands, particularly on a matter like this. Assistant Director Kaplan might not be my idea of a drinking buddy, but I've known him for twenty years and I haven't seen a green tinge to his skin yet.

And you're a dead man walking, Mulder. And right now, the place you're walking to is out of this court. And God help you when those guards get you back to your cell. The trial's a farce, but I'm damned if I'll let you turn it into a circus.

I turn to Kaplan and his expression sends a chill along my spine and I look back at Gibson Praise and it doesn't take a mindreader to smell his fear.

I gave Doggett the opportunity to leave the X-Files, his duty done, his record untarnished, but he remained. Soon after, he was opening an investigation on me. The rest of the Bureau brass thought there must be something in the coffee down in the basement, to turn Doggett from solid agent to a believer, if not in the paranormal, then in the conspiracy theories of the paranoid.

I can't imagine how he felt when he brought me his final report on that debacle, of super-soldiers and breeding programs, and navy ships that served as hatcheries and a water supply that might one day be subverted for the biggest experiment of all. A lot of feelings and theories, and nothing he could make stick. I once told him that we saw pretty much eye to eye on things - I doubt that he believed me.

I once told Mulder not to show his face again until he got himself an army, or at least a wagon full of hard evidence. It looks like he didn't get that either. Was that why Mulder went to Mount Weather? Was he hoping to buy his ticket home in one single spectacular raid?

Skinner tries to cobble something together from scraps, but he's got no killer blow to deliver. And without that, there's nothing to be done except to take this round of punishment and move on. Mulder has sacrificed himself in one futile battle too many. The rest of us can live to fight another day.

Doggett always felt that I was withholding information, feeding things to him in dribs and drabs - what he didn't see was that dribs and drabs are all I've got. Strange looks and odd memos and the occasional tap on the shoulder to tell me how the game's to be played.

All I know is that these people have money and power, and that there's nothing covert about it - it comes from the top and carries all the right signatures. And you can call it captured alien technology or state of the art bio-engineering but they've gone far further than anyone outside the loop can imagine.

I once told Doggett that I could help him to find things that could change the world! Told him about the day a king wrote that nothing important happened. "Revolution started. Things that changed the world forever. And even kings can miss them if they're not paying attention."

But he couldn't believe me. It's hard to fight a conspiracy when you can trust no one.

John impresses me still. "Well, the way I look at it, calling something paranormal is just a way of avoiding a real explanation."

Skinner's case rolls slowly nowhere. Doggett does his best and it's tempting to follow his thinking to its logical or illogical conclusion. Yet when it comes right down to it, the crux of Doggett's evidence is that if he couldn't kill Rohrer, how could Mulder? Because if Doggett couldn't get his man - good heavens, he must be a superman!

And bang on track he describes kryptonite - oh, sorry, that would be magnetite, as the solution to the problem.

First there's no murder because there's a conspiracy which excuses all acts of illegality.

Well, isn't that nice? I think I'll demand a meeting with the President right now.

I'd anticipated that this would be how the trial played out, even if I'd hoped for something more. Like Kallenbrunner, I guess I was looking for, "Something good. Something amazing. Something really cool." And if I don't get it, Mulder has to die. Even if I do get it, it will still only be the first step.

I know there's something going on that people with power hide, that they coerce people like me into hiding for them. I don't like all the tactics of the people running the game. But we don't get to pick and choose the laws we follow.

No killing - even if we don't like the guy. Not even if he sold heroin to our high school kids. Not even if he attacked our wives. Not even if he's the worse kind of scum.

And Rohrer wasn't the worst, not according to his record. As a man and as a marine, he was one of the good guys, squeaky clean, resourceful and brave. He was doing the job he was being paid to do at the request of a government that gets elected to take the tough actions as well as easy ones. Game over.

John Doggett doesn't supply my miracle. I sympathize with him as Kallenbrunner asks him about aliens; I have trouble with that myself. In the end, his dismissal of aliens at work just seems to confirm that what we are discussing here is a nation state going about its legitimate business of giving its army every possible advantage.

Monica Reyes arrives and tells me that Mulder and Scully are special cases, because they've suffered. Scully as the victim of experimentation, Mulder as its would-be exposer. Well suffering doesn't buy you shit, it certainly doesn't buy you a free pass to do as you like.

"What is the point of all of this? To destroy a man who seeks the truth or to destroy the truth so no man can seek it? Either way, you lose."

She's right about that. We all lose a little more of ourselves each day. And I'd rather not have been a witness to this charade of a trial. A bullet between the eyes would have been kinder - not just on Mulder, but on every one of us who's been dragged down into this mire.

General Suveg looks at me as if I'm stupid, but it still sounds like a perfectly reasonable request to me.

"All I'm asking for is a second autopsy, conducted by the FBI, with Agent Scully in attendance."

"Merely trying to push the case beyond reasonable doubt." Well that and maybe hoping for some last minute miracle discovery proving the genuinely alien nature of the corpse.

Suveg paces the room, finally pauses directly in front of me so I have to lean my head to the glare of the ceiling light if I want to look him in the face. "I'm going to tell you the truth. It must go no further than this room."

"It's not Rohrer. The identity of the man Mulder killed cannot be revealed for reasons of national security. Suffice it to say, there are people who shouldn't know that the victim worked at Mount Weather - who could put two and two together - and would gain too much from that."

"It was convenient that Mulder identified the victim as Rohrer. We appreciate the opportunities that arise from it."

"Is that what the brainwashing was about? Convincing Mulder that the victim was Rohrer?"

Did they make up the whole damned story and feed it to Mulder? Did the brainwashing work perfectly?

What am I saying? Of course not - there are thirty witnesses who watched the fight unfold, there are guards who tackled Mulder an instant after the event, and there's a man's body burned beyond recognition in the morgue.

Suveg returns to his chair. "Don't misunderstand me, Deputy Director. You will not allow your personal opinions to interfere with the course of the trial. Mulder has made a lot of enemies. It would be foolhardy to ignore them. You don't strike me as a foolish man."

The sooner this trial is over, the better I'll feel. Get on with it, Skinner. Let's bring the curtain down.

Skinner looks down at his papers as if he's waiting for some magic dust to reveal the missing words that'll transform his case from vague rumor and suggestion into something real.

Now what? Scully wanders in, waving papers like she's brought the Ten Commandments down from the mountain.

Skinner launches into a speech. "I want to move to dismiss again based on new evidence I just received that there is no victim. That the body of Knowle Rohrer is not Knowle Rohrer, but that of a man who died of a broken neck and whose body was burned postmortem."

Jesus Fucking Christ. They got their hands on the body. Of course it's not Rohrer, I know that!

Don't you get it? The trial was over before it started. This was just a show laid on for our benefit to prove to us just how far they could go. How far they could make us go. "You're out of order and in contempt of court, Agent Scully."

"You have no authorization to examine the body, Agent Scully. Have her removed from the courtroom."

No. All I have to do is give the verdict. That's all I ever had to do. "Order! Remove the defendant from the courtroom. This trial is adjourned."

He would if he knew what I know. He would if he had a wife and two kids at home. He would if he'd met Mark Suveg or C.G.B. Spender or...

They allow me access to his cell without comment. No lawyers, of course. And it's all highly irregular, but then what's regular about this case, or this supposed trial?

The only light in the cell comes from the newly opened door. I can just make out the porcelain gleam of a toilet and a basin. And that's it. Nothing else. Just Mulder, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and a blanket huddled in his arms.

The overhead lights come on and it's suddenly brighter than day and I almost find myself apologizing to Mulder when he flinches and lifts his forearm to cover his eyes.

"No. You'll be right there." I point at a doorway twenty yards along the corridor. I guess I got the tone of voice right, because he hesitates and then complies.

He rocks his head back, clearly amused by my response. "Did you see the rest of that stuff? The second suicide note was my particular favorite."

No, I didn't see the rest, Mulder - but I can't say that I'm really surprised. The military are proud of their multi-layered contingency plans. I look around the room again: my first impressions were correct - there's nothing, not a chair or a book or even a towel in here. "No bed?" I want to kick myself for saying it out loud.

There's acid in the reply. "You know what they say - it's good for the spine." And as soon as he completes the words, he closes his eyes, regretting the brief exposure of how much this hurts.

When he opens his eyes again, he's corrected the lapse and his tone of voice is as close to respectful as I've ever heard him deliver in my direction. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Is anything?" And for an instant it sounds like a real question rather than a rhetorical one.

He sighs, waves a distracted hand. "You've got a wife, kids." There's a hitch in his voice as he supplies the answer for himself. "You were in the Air Force, you joined the FBI - you think there are things worth dying for."

The guard's footsteps halt the conversation. He's obviously been given fresh orders. "Deputy Director, sir!"

Mulder quickly blurts out a request. "If the trial buys you anything, don't let them get hurt over this."

I don't need to ask which "them" he's talking about and there's nothing more to be done except to swallow down the reaction and turn to face the guard who's now standing in the doorway. "Yes?"

I get out just as fast as I can, and it takes all my nerve not to shiver as the door slams shut behind me.

Five minutes of brisk marching and door unlocking later and I'm in Suveg's office. He's on his feet and prowling and when he moves his hand it's as if he's throwing me into a seat rather than merely pointing at a vacant chair. I really don't need this right now. I need some time to work this through.

Christ - what the hell was I thinking? Scully tried to tell me about how they were keeping him, but I thought she was exaggerating, that she'd heard how things were while they were trying to knock a confession out of him. That she was just overreacting now. But then who would believe her? I mean, what's the fucking point of mistreating a man who's already beaten?

"I don't want a recurrence tomorrow, and I don't really want to order him to be put in irons."

"Hmm," offers Suveg, clearly suspicious. He knows there's more to it than that. I could have delivered that kind of lecture from the cell door, without demanding that the guard retreat along the corridor to offer a little privacy.

"For his own safety. You'd be amazed by all the ways people choose to commit suicide."

Like that fucking matters - they want him dead. Oh yeah, that's right, they want him dead after a fair trial conducted by the FBI. So I nod my head and agree that it's sad to see a man deteriorate in that way.

And in another time and place perhaps that could have been a question, but from Suveg it was definitely an order.

When I walk into the court I'm just grateful that Scully isn't here. Right now, I'm grateful for any kind of mercy.

Mulder just sits quietly in his chair, his face and body schooled back to surface calm by a mind that has already played this scene a thousand times. Thankfully, he doesn't look at me as I read the verdict; I guess he doesn't need to. He allows his hands to keep him focused. I don't disturb his concentration.

"Acting fairly and impartially, this panel finds the defendant guilty of first degree murder under aggravated circumstances. Is there anything you'd like to say on your behalf, Mr. Mulder - before we decide your sentence?"

"Yes," he says, swapping a look of pain and empathy with Walter Skinner. Skinner, his defender, who couldn't keep himself from carrying a glimmer of hope, who couldn't let himself admit it was over until I actually said the words.

When he stands, Mulder's words are for me. Not for Kaplan, our alleged alien replicant. Not for my colleagues who were already wavering about the punishment on day one of the trial and who stared blankly when I insisted on the righteousness of my dismissal of Scully's autopsy report last night.

"I'd like to congratulate you on succeeding where so many before you have failed. A bullet between the eyes would have been preferable to this charade."

You know, Mulder - for once you're absolutely right. They shouldn't have let this come to trial.

"But I've learned to pretend over the past nine years -- to pretend that my victories mattered only to realize that no one was keeping score. To realize that liars do not fear the truth if there are enough liars. That the devil is just one man with a plan but evil, true evil, is a collaboration of men which is what we have here today. If I am a guilty man, my crime is in daring to believe that the truth will out and that no one lie can live forever."

There are lies within lies in this room, Mulder. You aren't the only one on trial here. My mistake was in thinking they were content to try Skinner and Scully. I didn't know that I was one of the accused.

"I believe it still. Much as you try to bury it, the truth is out there. Greater than your lies, the truth wants to be known. You will know it. It'll come to you, as it's come to me, faster than the speed of light."

Mulder glances up, as if he's seen something behind me. What? The writing on the wall, perhaps. I've seen him do that a couple of times during the trial, as if he's looking at things that no one else can see. Has he been doing that for the last nine years?

"You may believe yourselves rid of your headache now and maybe you are, but you've only done it by cutting off your own heads."

And Mulder turns away, making a last connection with Skinner before he leaves the room.

The charade continues. We now have to go through the ritual of sentencing. I might as well just call Mulder back in here; it's not as if there's going to be any debate. I might as well just tell the medics to get their syringes ready.

But no, right now I can use a coffee. And maybe a little shot of something stronger to steady my nerves. And if I had the guts I'd go to Mulder's cell and supply him with that bullet between the eyes - at least it would be honest.

Skinner starts to make his pleas, lodging his first appeal on the grounds of new evidence, evidence that I've already declared inadmissible.

Kallenbrunner shows that the FBI made the right choice in hiring him when he joins in with Skinner's pleas and says that potentially trial nullifying evidence has been dismissed without a second glance.

"I know the contents of Agent Scully's autopsy report, Agent Kallenbrunner. We'll reconvene in two hours for formal sentencing."

The rest of the panel obediently follow me from the room, like the good sheep they are. Ah, and Kaplan follows too, like whatever he is.

I sip the coffee and wish to hell I could find that whiskey I promised myself. Tonight, when I get home perhaps.

AD Merson, to his credit, is still nagging away about new evidence, like a yappy little dog with a bone, tenacious but not dangerous. I assume my place as leader. "The body was not released to Agent Scully for reasons of national security."

As if this wasn't hard enough already. I add an extra edge to my voice to warn them it's the final word. "So they saw Mulder throw a dead man from the walkway."

Kaplan smiles. The fucking arrogant bastard smiles. I reply with a nod. I will get even for this.

Lethal injection. Even the method seems wrong. A firing squad would suit our purposes better.

Kaplan has the nerve to shake hands with me at the end of the proceedings and it's all I can do not to pin him down to the bench and check out his spine for metal reinforcements. I've been reading Doggett's files on Rohrer.

But, shit - if I can sentence an innocent man to death, what else can they get people to do?

If I can become a collaborator without really trying. Maybe Mulder's conspiracy isn't so wild after all?

Someone wanted Scully's baby. Someone wanted Mulder dead. Someone wanted the FBI cast as executioners.

Tessa's soft murmur brings me down to earth; her presence in my life helps me to keep my sense of proportion. I'm grateful; she stops me from imagining that the world revolves around me and my work.

And I swirl the whiskey again just to hear the delicate jingle of ice against the crystal glass. "Not right now."

She nods, and comes to sit on the rug at my feet, leaning her head against my knee and she's quiet and warm and so very alive. I let my hand play with her hair. It's not so soft as it once was, but it still makes me shiver.

There are more than twenty case studies on the table top and my staff are suitably impressed that a Deputy Director took time out from his busy schedule to join in the first review personally.

But then if the first review is handled badly, subsequent reviews will fail as well. If the post-mortem on the first review lacks precision then the checklists will never be good enough. Learning by experience is fine. Learning by experience, if it means thousands of dead, is not the kind of tuition I want.

Today's discussion: The Hoover Building. Bright white paper and rich black lines give the illusion of order in a disordered word. I show my attention to detail by supplying the opening question "Have the 1998 changes now been added to the plans?"

"Yes, sir. And the ventilation system is now clearly designated - including all access points of all sizes, sir."

Whether said access point be human size or merely gas canister size. "And the emergency evacuation routes?"

"Have been redrawn in the light of," he pauses, hiccuping over nightmares made too real, "The terrorist threat from above."

The talk goes on for hours, bouncing from physical security through surveillance to intelligence and back again. The weak links seldom change, they just start to sound weaker. Meanwhile, the strong points start to look like they're shot through with holes.

At 7.00 I carefully file away my copies of all of the reports. At 7.02 I refile my plan of the Quantico brig, scheduled for review in three weeks time, in a copy of The Washington Post and head for home.

Tessa smiles and the house smells of something good and the kids' music cascades down the stairs to greet me.

Tess looks at me, and must see some kind of off-note in my expression. "I'll get them to turn it down," she says.

She should be the one working for the FBI, not me. "I need you to go away for a few days."

"I can't just pull them out of school. They've got exams; Nick's got his football trial; Becca's got her science project due."

Before the trial, I really knew nothing about Suveg, or Mulder come to that, and now I know too much.

But then again, I hardly know anything at all. I wonder how Darius Michaud got involved down in Dallas. Was he involved? Or was he just some sap like me, who they enlisted to do their dirty work. Used, like Jeffrey Spender had once been used?

In the end, the physical evidence is nothing. It's the people that count. Evidence can be faked. It's only as compelling as the eye-witness who supplies it, as the forensics lab that corroborates it, as the fingerprint crew that collect it, as the security video operator who swears he's giving you the real tape.

And Mulder had Skinner and Scully, Doggett and Reyes, Spender and Gibson and Covarrubias, and even at the end, he still had himself.

Whereas by the end of the trial all I had was Suveg and a man who might not be a man at all.

Beyond reasonable doubt? My fellow judges never got that far, certainly Kallenbrunner didn't, even though he was prosecuting. In the end, I didn't even have me.

The only question now is where do I go with it? Up to the Director to start an appeal rolling? But I can't, not without something more compelling as evidence and certainly not given the warning word that was whispered in my ear when I hinted that Skinner might take that route. "He does that and the suicide watch comes off Mulder. If you get my drift."

Oh, I get his drift all right. Preemptory justice not swift enough, an execution could be ordered at a moment's notice. I passed the warning on, as best I could. I don't know if Skinner understood. Though I did hear that he'd decided that he needed more time to prepare his case.

Tomorrow night, I will do the only thing I can. And Tessa and the kids are better off out of here.

"Alvin? Talk to me. If it's that bad we'll go. But I don't understand - what about you?"

"I'll join you when I can. I'll take a couple of days and we'll make a vacation of it."

Now she knows I'm lying and she stands there open-mouthed as I walk past her into the study, a still tightly folded copy of The Washington Post tucked safely under my arm.

The situation is too perfect. The pass that I had cloned from the one belonging to the officer in charge of the block too effective. Sometimes knowing the people who copy such things, seeing how easy it is, can be is a little frightening. Visually of course there's no match, just a credit card size piece of shiny black plastic, but the magic of this card is in the electronics inside.

I've carried it in my car since the end of the trial, since my last visit to Mulder's cellblock, since the day I inspected the "hospital" unit that would be used for the execution.

The weak links in security are seldom the armor-plated doors or the multipoint locks - it's the people. In this case the Lieutenant doubtless realized that his badge was missing not many minutes after it went, and certainly he would already have been panicking over how the hell he was going to explain his carelessness to his boss, General Suveg. He'll have skipped going to his evening meal, avoided those gates that needed the pass and ordered one of his men to bring food and drink up to his office so he could give himself more time to search.

He'll have assumed that the catch failed and the badge had fallen somewhere and been kicked into some dark hiding place. He would not have been paranoid enough to imagine that an FBI Deputy Director waited until he was brewing coffee before pulling it from his uniform jacket.

When it reappeared a few hours later in the musty corner by the filing cabinet, even though he was sure he'd looked there before, he'll have been glad that he'd told no one that he'd mislaid it. That by not panicking himself he'd saved everyone from panic, himself from howls of rage, and Suveg from bursting a few blood vessels. A cover-up that needed no conspiracy, just a little personal self-interest to make it work. At least, that's my theory.

Scanning the control board for movements, there's an anomaly showing. Side entrance 3B has been used. No one uses those doors at night. And as gate 3B2 opens I realize that I may already be too late.

Who? If this was the assassin that I was promised would put an end to Mulder's "suicide watch" then surely he'd use the front door.

A rescue party? Now wouldn't that be ironic. It's possible though. I dropped enough hints in Skinner's direction for him to know that things might be about to go very wrong. If they're half as smart as I think they are then there's a good chance that they recognized the same things about the timing of the guard duty change-over that I did - and judged that with guards coming and going there might be more holes in the net to slip through unnoticed.

And I thought I was going to have a hard enough task explaining myself just to Mulder!

By the time I hit the end of Mulder's block the alarms are already sounding. But I can hear their footsteps heading my way. Christ - I hope to God it's their footsteps.

Skinner and Doggett? I'd expected Scully, but I guess this makes sense. What's the betting she's the driver?

They're either going to trust me or not. There's no time for explanation and no reason for them to believe me. Mulder seems to respond first, whether that's because he accepts that my intentions are good or because he feels that he has no other choice, I can't say.

I love the military. Their standard operating procedures and their precision planning. They're going to sweep the building exactly according to regulations. I hope.

And if they do, then we've got a clear route home. This is madness. Madness for them to try it, madness for me to help. But if to be sane means to play it safe and let a man die just because he looks too hard and sees too much, maybe sanity's not all that it's cracked up to be.

Reyes acts as doorkeeper and apparently runs the taxi service, too. I don't have any idea where we're going. I guess I've got no choice except to trust them. Sort of like the choice they made to trust me.

And she's there with Gibson Praise, the kid who can apparently read minds. I wonder what he'll see when he looks at me. Maybe he can explain why I'm doing this, I'd appreciate that insight myself.

Though scarcely a word has been exchanged since we started to move, Mulder seems to have adapted fast to life outside the brig. Attracted to Scully as to a magnet, he's instantly at her side and ready to run. Where?

"What I should have done from the start. You want to go north to Canada. Get to an airport. If you're not off the continent in 24 hours you may never get out. You understand?

Mulder understands, Mulder understands rather too well. "None of you will be safe now."

And I'd like to say something, to apologize or wish them luck. But I don't have the words. Or the right.

The tail lights fade and I glance at Gibson who shakes his head, and I wonder whose mind he's reading - Mulder's?

I wonder where he'll go. Mulder never has been good at obeying orders. Which is for the best, perhaps - that way, whatever the outcome is, whichever direction he heads, it's not entirely my fault.

Gibson glances up at me, and gives me a sympathetic smile, and it's probably the highest compliment I've ever received in my life.