Something occurred to him then. Some-thing extremely unpleasant. Something fright-ening.

"Scully… ?"

His partner continued to stare upward. "Yeah…?"

He grabbed her hand. " Run."

He pulled her after him and she followed; not knowing why, heading for the door where they had entered, a good hundred yards away.

She hesitated and looked back at the gray ranks of louvered boxes on the floor, and saw what they were hiding.

One by one the vents on each box opened, domino-style, sliding back until their contents were exposed. And with a sound like a chain saw ripping through new wood, bees emerged: thousands upon thou-sands of them, pouring from the boxes and streaming toward the open ceiling. Scully drew her hands before her face and turned, staggering after Mulder. He pulled his jacket up around his head and she did the same, clumsily, stumbling as the insects streamed around her. She could see bees clinging to her jacket, her legs; bees swarming so thickly in the air before her that it was like looking through dark gauze.

"Keep going!" Mulder shouted, voice muf-fled by his sleeve. Scully lurched after him. The entrance was only a few yards away now, but she was falling behind, losing her bearings as the frantically humming swarm descended around her.

Mulder looked as though he were swim-ming through the cloud of insects, arms flail-ing, head down.

He was nearing the entryway when he turned to see Scully flagging behind him. Bees covered her like a softly rippling pelt. She moved as in slow motion, dazed and terrified.

"Scully!"

She couldn't even lift her head to acknowl-edge him. Mulder took a deep breath, then raced back to her side. His hand shot out and grabbed her coat, heedless of the bees crawling there. Then he dragged her after him to where the door fans blasted away the insects stub-bornly clinging to her body.

He kicked the door open and shoved her out ahead of him. As they went outside, he asked her if she got stung. "I don't think so."

The night came as a shock, after the false daylight of the dome. But before they could catch their breath something else came through the darkness. Not bees this time, but two blinding blades of light bearing down on them. The rushing whir of turbine engines filled the air as two unmarked helicopters came roaring from behind the other dome. They skimmed above the ground, searchlights blaz-ing, headed right for Scully and Mulder.

The agents fled. Bolting out of sight just as the helicopters blasted over the spot where they had stood seconds before. They headed for the cornfields, darting in between the towering rows and knocking away any stalks or leaves that blocked their way. Directly overhead the choppers swooped, searchlights cutting through the cornrows like twin lasers. Mulder and Scully ran in and out of the rows, barely managing to avoid the beams. The helicopters crisscrossed the air above them, like two great insects escaped from that other swarm, banking sharply as they searched the fields below. The wash from their propeller blades ripped through the cornstalks like a tornado, revealing anything that might be hidden within.

In the field Mulder gasped for breath as dust and pollen coated his mouth and nostrils. He staggered down another row, ducking as the searchlight beam swept just overhead but escaping detection—for the moment. He drew up beneath a broken cornstalk and coughed, covering his mouth, then looked around for Scully.

She was gone. Desperation edged out fear as he plunged back into the row, shielding his eyes as he peered between the endless lines of corn.

'Mulder!"

She was somewhere ahead of him. Mulder crashed through the field, gasping when he saw one of the choppers hovering into view. "Scully!" he yelled. "Scully!" He kept calling her name as he ran. The chopper hung in the air for a moment as though considering which way to go, then swung around and quickly, relentlessly, beared down upon him.

Before him the ranks of cornstalks thinned. A black ridge appeared, untouched by the heli-copter's beams: the edge of the field. His heart pounded as he made a final effort, racing toward open ground.

Behind him the chopper roared, cornstalks crashing in its wake. Mulder reached the end of the field and crashed out into the night.

He staggered to a halt, breathing in huge gulps of air. For a moment he could think of nothing else, but then another helicopter thundered up from behind him. He turned, and saw Scully a few feet away.

"Scully?"

"Mulder!" she said, sprinting toward him. "Let's go—"

They broke into a run, racing side by side toward the hillside that hid their car. When they reached the hill, they climbed, frantically, loose stones and dirt streaming down behind them. It was only when they reached the sum-mit that they slowed and looked at each other in the darkness.

Real darkness, starlit and ominously quiet. The helicopters had disappeared.

"Where'd they go?" Scully coughed, wiping her eyes.

"I don't know." Mulder stood for a moment, surveying the plateau below them: the weirdly glowing domes and acres of ravaged corn. Then he turned and continued running, back to the bluff where their car was parked. Scully followed.

The desert's uncanny silence hung over them as they finally reached the car. They rushed to it and jumped inside, Mulder twisting the ignition and pounding on the gas.

It didn't start.

"Shit," he groaned. He turned the key again—nothing. Waited and did the same— still nothing. Again and again he tried, franti-cally now, while Scully looked back through the rear window.

"Mulder!"

From behind the bluff rose one of the black helicopters. Suddenly the car's engine roared to life.

Mulder threw it into gear and spun out, tires screaming as he turned the car and sent it churning back down the hillside without turn-ing on the lights. Scully stared back breath-lessly, waiting for the helicopter to give chase.

It did not. It hovered for a few seconds, then, as silently as it had appeared, it banked and flew off into the night.

CHAPTER 10

FBI HEADQUARTERS

J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Assistant Director Jana Cassidy did not like to be kept waiting. For the tenth time she rifled through the papers on the table before her, glancing tight-lipped at the closed door to the hearing room. At the table alongside her the other panel members made a point of avoiding her eyes. Cassidy sighed impatiently and looked at her watch, then up again as the door swung open.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner stuck his head in. "She's coming in," he said wearily.

Skinner withdrew to let Scully pass. She had on the same clothes she'd been wearing for two days now, and she brushed surreptitiously at the stubborn bits of cornstalk and pollen that clung burrlike to her jacket. As she entered she dipped her head, smoothing out her hair as she approached the table; then looked up to give the hearing committee a chastened look as she took her seat. Skinner came in behind her and joined the others at the table.

"Special Agent Scully," Cassidy began, reshuffling her papers.

"I apologize for making you wait," Scully broke in. She shot Assistant Director Cassidy a polite look.

"But I've brought some new evi-dence with me—"

"Evidence of what?" Cassidy asked sharply.

Scully reached into the satchel at her feet and pulled out a vinyl evidence bag. She gazed at it reluctantly. When she finally spoke, her tone was anything but confident.

"These are fossilized bone fragments I've been able to study, gathered from the bomb site in Dallas…"