He raised his head slightly, indicating Frohike. "—Toto." He winced, then sat up, gingerly rubbing his face and frowning at the bandage there. "What am I doing here?"
"You were shot in the head," Byers explained in a low voice. "The bullet broke the flesh on your right brow and glanced off your temporal plate."
Mulder ran a finger over the bandage. "Penetration but not perforation," he said woozily.
Langly nodded. "Three centimeters to the left and we'd all be playing harps."
"They gave you a craniotomy to relieve the pressure from a subdural hematoma," Byers went on. "But you've been unconscious since they brought you in."
"Your guy Skinner's been with you around the clock," said Frohike.
Langly broke in, "We got the news and made a trip to your apartment. Found a bug in your phone line—"
To illustrate, Byers dangled a minuscule microphone in front of Mulder's face.
" And one in your hall," Frohike added. He held up a small vial containing a bumblebee.
Mulder stared at it, eyes widening as his memory flooded back. "Scully had a violent reaction to a bee sting—"
"Right," said Byers. "And you called 911. Except that call was intercepted."
Mulder shook his head. "They took her—"
He pushed the covers off, moving shakily as he tried to swing his legs to the ground. As he did so, the door to his room opened a bit. Assistant Director Walter Skinner peeked in, his expression changing from concern to sur-prise when he saw Mulder standing up.
"Agent Mulder!"
Mulder looked up, nearly losing his balance in the process. "Where's Scully?" he asked thickly.
Langly grabbed his shoulder to keep him from falling.
Skinner came into the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. He crossed to Mulder's side and regarded him for a long moment before saying flatly, "She's missing. We've been unable to locate her or the vehicle they took her in."
"Whoever they are—" Mulder's voice shook, and Langly tightened his hold on him protectively.
"—this goes right back to Dallas. It goes right back to the bombing."
Skinner nodded. "I know." At Mulder's stunned look he went on, "Agent Scully reported your suspicions to OPR. On the basis of her report, I sent techs over to SAC Michaud's apartment. They picked up PETN residues on his personal affects—and analysis showed the residue was consistent with the construction of the vending machine device in Dallas."
Mulder sat back down on the bed, his head reeling. "How deep does this go?"
"I don't know."
For a minute Mulder just sat there, taking it all in. When he lifted his head again, he saw a figure momentarily framed in the small win-dow of the room door. A man in a suit, casting a furtive glance in to where Mulder, Skinner, and the Lone Gunmen were gathered. The stranger stared at them, then hurried off. Mulder quickly turned back to Skinner.
"Are we being watched?"
"I'm not taking any chances."
Mulder nodded. He pulled tentatively at the bandage on his head, grimaced and then peeled it away, revealing the still-livid wound. He tossed the bandage away and looked at one of the Lone Gunmen. "I need your clothes, Byers."
Byers started. "Me?"
Skinner frowned. "What are you doing, Agent Mulder?"
Already Mulder was undoing his hospital gown, angling himself behind Frohike as he ducked toward the bathroom. "I've got to find Scully."
"Do you know where she is?" asked Frohike.
"No." Mulder dropped his hospital gown and motioned anxiously at Byers. "But I know someone who might have an answer…"
"Who better," he ended with grim determi-nation, as reluctantly Byers began to remove his clothes.
A short while later the door to Mulder's room opened. First Langly and then Frohike stepped out into the corridor, glancing around nervously as behind them a third figure appeared, clad in Byers's jacket and natty tie. Standing a few feet away, his back to them, a man in a suit leaned against the wall reading a newspaper. As they started down the hall the man in the suit looked up. He glanced at them, then casually turned and drifted toward Mulder's room, his eyes revealing his suspicions as he peered through the little glass window.
Inside, tucked into the hospital bed with the sheets pulled up to his nose, a figure lay motionless.
Beside him Walter Skinner stood talking on the phone. The man in the suit stared at the bed, frowning, then turned to look back down the hall again.
At the end of the corridor the three men walked quickly, Langly and Frohike flanking Mulder. As they rounded the corner Frohike covertly passed him a cell phone. Without hesita-tion, Mulder punched in Dr. Kurtzweil's number.
CHAPTER 12
CASEY'S BAR
SOUTHEAST WASHINGTON, D.C.
In the dark alley behind Casey's, Alvin Kurtzweil waited anxiously, scanning the night for any sign of Fox Mulder. When he saw no sign of him, he turned and started back for the door, reaching for the knob. He twisted it and stepped inside, and came up short against a sparely elegant man in a cashmere overcoat, his hands raised in mock surprise and delight to find Kurtzweil there.
"Dr. Kurtzweil, isn't it? Dr Alvin Kurtzweil?"
"Jesus Christ…" Kurtzweil gasped and reached behind him for the door. He glanced around fearfully, trying to edge back outside, but the Well-Manicured Man only smiled.
"You're surprised. But certainly you've been expecting some response to your indiscretion…"
Kurtzweil shook his head furiously. "I didn't tell him anything."
"I'm quite sure that whatever you told Agent Mulder, you have your good reasons," the other man said evenly. "It's a weakness in men our age: the urge to confess." He paused, then added, "I have much to confess myself."
Kurtzweil stared at him, confused by his words and serene tone. Finally he blurted, "What are you doing here? What do you want from me?"
"I'd hoped to try and help you understand. What I'm here to do, is to try and protect my children.
That's all. You and I have but short lives left. I can only hope that the same isn't true for them."
He stood quite calmly and held the door open, as if in invitation. Kurtzweil stood there for a moment, as though considering the other man's words; then suddenly bolted, pushing past him and back into the alley. He ran toward the street, but had gone only a few paces when headlights blinded him. A town car pulled into the alley, accelerating as it roared down the narrow corridor. Kurtzweil stopped, panting, and squinted at the approaching car. He turned to stare with terrified eyes at the man still standing calmly in the doorway.
Fox Mulder barreled through the front door of Casey's, looking around frenziedly for Kurtz-weil. The bar was crowded, more people than he'd ever seen there. He elbowed past them, pausing to get his bearings and peer vainly through the dim room. There was no sign of Kurtzweil anywhere. Mulder sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and hurriedly made his way to the back to the doctor's usual booth.
It was empty. Mulder sucked his breath in, fighting real panic. He turned and ran to the dank hallway where the bathrooms were, edg-ing by a knot of laughing women, and burst out into the alley.
"Shit," he whispered.
A town car sat idling on the cobblestone pavement. At its rear, a tall, beautifully dressed man and his uniformed driver were arranging something in the car's trunk. As Mulder stared, they closed the trunk.
The elegant man looked up, and said in greeting, "Mr. Mulder."
Mulder's hands clenched. "What happened to Kurtzweil?"
The Well-Manicured Man shrugged off-handedly. "He's come and gone."