NATIONAL AIRPORT WASHINGTON, D.C,

An hour later an unmarked auxiliary truck sat on the runway overlooking Haines Point, its engine idling. In the distance a private Gulfstream jet emerged from an unmarked hangar and taxied slowly down the tarmac. At sight of the Gulfstream, the truck's engines cut off. Two men in black fatigues hopped down from the cab and swiftly moved to the rear of the vehicle. They opened the doors and care-fully, deftly, removed a large translucent con-tainer, a cryobubble, its exterior a crazy grid of monitors and gauges, oxygen tanks and refrig-eration units. A thin layer of frost coated its interior, and behind this, dimly seen as though through fog, lay Scully. Her body strapped in, her limbs and torso so still she might have been dead; save that as the men carried the con-tainer from the truck, her eyes moved every so slightly, blinking.

The Gulfstream turned and rolled toward the truck, nosing through the darkness. When it was perhaps twenty feet from the waiting truck it halted. The men moved even more quickly then, bearing the container and its human cargo to the jet. As they did a door on the plane opened. Steps unfolded down to the runway, and a moment later man appeared. He stood at the top of the stairs, watching, then withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lit one. He stood there for a minute, smok-ing, as the men brought the container to the cargo hold and loaded it inside.

When they were finished the men turned and hurried back to the truck. The Cigarette-Smoking Man dropped his cigarette onto the tarmac and reboarded the aircraft. The steps retracted, the plane swung around and headed for the central runway. Ten minutes later its lights could be seen arcing through the night as it arrowed above the city.

CHAPTER 11

INTENSIVE CARE UNIT

GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER

WASHINGTON, D.C.

^T think he's coming out…"

JL "He is—he's coming to!"

"Hey, Mulder…"

In his bed, Mulder blinked painfully. It hurt even to think about opening his eyes, so for a long time he didn't; he only lay there listening to the voices above him. Men's voices, vaguely familiar.

"Mulder… ?"

He opened his eyes. Above him, ringed by hospital lights and banks of monitoring equip-ment, three faces were framed by the ceiling. "Oh god…" Mulder moaned.

Langly shook his head, his long hair falling in his face. "What's wrong?" Beside him the diminutive Frohike and Byers, courtly as ever, gazed at the agent in concern.

"Tin Man," Mulder whispered in amaze-ment, staring first at Byers, then Langly. "Scarecrow—"

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.