Cassidy scrutinized her coolly, but she didn't take note of the other thing Scully had brought back with her from Texas. Beneath the young agent's mass of auburn hair a bee crawled, as though stretching its legs from the long journey. It hovered momentarily against the navy fabric.

"You've been to Dallas?"

Scully met the other woman's challenging gaze. "Yes."

"Are you going to let us in on what, exactly, you're trying to prove?"

"That the bombing in Dallas may have been arranged to destroy the bodies of those firemen, so that their deaths and the reason for them wouldn't have to be explained—"

Unnoticed, the bee disappeared from sight again beneath the collar of Scully's suit jacket.

Cassidy's eyes narrowed. "Those are very serious allegations, Agent Scully."

Scully stared at her hands. "Yes, I know."

There was a hush of murmured responses to this, the panel members turning to confer with each other in low voices. In his chair, Assistant Director Skinner shifted uneasily, watching Scully and trying to figure out just what the hell she'd come up with this time.

Cassidy leaned back and regarded Scully. "And you have conclusive evidence of this? Something to tie this claim of yours to the crime?"

Scully met her gaze, then dropped her eyes, "Nothing completely conclusive," she admitted grudgingly. "But I hope to. We're working to develop this evidence—"

"Working with?"

Scully hesitated. "Agent Mulder."

At Jana Cassidy's knowing nod, the other panel members all shifted again in their chairs. The assistant director looked at Scully, then indicated the door.

"Will you wait outside for a moment, Agent Scully? We need to discuss this matter."

Very slowly Scully stood. She picked up her satchel and walked to the door, glancing back in time to see the look Skinner gave her, a look compounded equally of sympathy and disap-pointment.

• • •

CASEY'S BAR

SOUTHEAST WASHINGTON, D.C.

It was late afternoon when Fox Mulder pushed open the door to Casey's. Inside, it might have been the middle of the night. The same few, bleary-eyed regulars sat and talked. Mulder ignored them all, scanning the back of the room, where a Budweiser sign blinked fitfully above a lone figure slumped in a high-backed wooden booth. When Mulder sat down next to him the man jumped, then quickly leaned over to grab the agent's hand.

"You found something?" Kurtzweil wheezed.

"Yes. On the Texas border. Some kind of experiment. Something they excavated was brought there in tanker trucks."

"What?"

"I'm not sure. A virus—"

"You saw this experiment?" Kurtzweil broke in excitedly.

Mulder nodded. "Yes. But we were chased off."

"What did it look like?"

"There were bees. And corn crops." Kurtzweil stared at him, then laughed with ner-vous delight.

Mulder opened his hands in a helpless gesture. "What are they?"

The doctor slid from his seat. "What do you think?"

Mulder looked thoughtful. "A transporta-tion system," he said at last. "Transgenic crops. The pollen genetically altered to carry a virus."

"That would be my guess."

"Your guess!" Mulder exploded. "You mean you didn't knowl"

Kurtzweil didn't reply. Without looking back he headed for the back of the bar. Mulder gaped, then hurried after him, as the few other patrons turned to see what the commotion was.

He caught up with Kurtzweil near the bath-rooms. "What do you mean, your guessl" he demanded.

Kurtzweil said nothing and continued to head for the back door. With a frustrated sound Mulder collared him, yanking the older man so that the two were inches apart.

"You told me you had the answers."

Kurtzweil shrugged. "Yeah, well, I don't have them all."

"You've been using me—"

" I've been using you!" Now it was Kurtzweil's turn to sound offended.

"You didn't know my father—"

The doctor shook his head. "I told you—he and I were old friends."

"You're a liar," Mulder spat. "You lied to me to gather information for you. For your god-damn books. Didn't you?" He shoved the older man against the bathroom door. "Didn't you?"

Suddenly the door swung open. A man hastily exited, making his way between them. As he did so, Kurtzweil broke away and hurried out the back door. Mulder stared after him, then quickly followed.

"Kurtzweil!"

He blinked in the blaze of afternoon light, looking around vain in for his prey. After a moment he sighted him, and Mulder took off. "Hey!"

When he came up alongside Kurtzweil, the older man turned on him with unexpected ferocity.

"You'd be shit out of luck if not for me," he gasped, pushing at Mulder's chest. "You saw what you saw because I led you to it. I'm putting my ass on the line for you."

" Your ass?" Mulder's voice crackled with disdain. "I just got chased across Texas by two black helicopters—"

"And why do you think it is that you're standing here talking to me? These people don't make mistakes, Agent Mulder."

Kurtzweil spun on his heel and strode off. Mulder gazed at him, dumbfounded by the logic of this, when his attention was abruptly shaken by a noise above him. He whirled and looked up to see a figure straddling a fire escape. A tall man, only his legs and feet clearly in sight; but it was obvious he had been watching them. As Mulder moved back to get a better view the man turned and stared down at him, then ducked into an open window and disappeared.

It was only a glimpse, but something about the figure was familiar. His height, the close-cropped hair…

Mulder frowned and ran a hand wearily across his forehead, then hurried down the alley after Kurtzweil.

He was gone. Breathlessly Mulder chugged onto the sidewalk, scanning the street and sur-rounding buildings. Kurtzweil was nowhere to be seen. For several minutes he walked around, searching for any sign of the familiar raincoat and stooped gray head. But finally he had to admit it: Kurtzweil had given him the slip.

When he reached his apartment Mulder jammed the key into the lock and hurried inside, forgetting to close the door behind him. He tossed his jacket on the couch and crossed quickly to his desk, yanking open one drawer after another until at last he discovered what he wanted: a stack of photo albums. One after another he opened them, glancing at the Polaroids and faded 4x5s in their plastic sleeves and then dropping each book on the floor.

Until he found it. An album with peeling daisy decals on the cover, its contents spilling out as he tore it open. Inside, page after page of photos taken during his Wonder Years: lawn sprinklers and summer camp, fishing at the lake and his sister Samantha's fifth birthday party. Fox and Samantha on the first day of school. Fox and Samantha and their mother. Samantha with their dog.

And there, alongside pictures of his parents and cousins he hadn't seen in decades, a family barbecue.

His mother kneeling on the lawn between Fox and his sister; above them their father at the grill, smiling.

At his side a tall man with dark hair, lean-faced, smiling as well, not stooped at all and younger, oh much younger.

Alvin Kurtzweil.

A knock shattered his reverie. Mulder turned, dazed, and looked up to see Scully standing in the open door of his apartment. Her eyes met his.