TITLE: That Shotgun Shine (6/?) AUTHORS: Paige Caldwell, David Stoddard-Hunt RATING: hard R (language, violence) FEEDBACK: paigec38@yahoo.com , dmstoddardhunt@yahoo.com WEBSITES: http://www.geocities.com/mattersofbelief http://www.iwtbxf.com/paige NOTE: Full headers with part 1. Parts 1 - 5 are here: http://www.iwtbxf.com/paige/Shotgunshine.htm ************* Satriale's Pork Store Kearney, New Jersey "What the fuck! You think we're some kind of guinea temp agency?" "No! That's not what I said at all." Scully protested. It seemed as if they were purposely trying to mistake her meaning. "If you'd just listen instead of interrupting me every ten seconds, you'd know that to be the case!" "I don't know about them guys, but I hear just fine. You said you needed us to help you wit' nurses," Paulie said. "Nurse technicians, yes. But that's the least of it, Mr. Gualtieri." "You coulda just gone downa Green Grove. It's a nursin' home. Best in the state. They got all the freakin' nurses you could ever want. But, no! You risk your necks to come to us with this bullshit? You." Paulie addressed both former agents, "You *are* loony tunes." "We're not in need of nursing care, and we don't need you hiring out nurses to us!" Scully's temper had quickly become frayed. She had to find a different way to reach them before things got too out of hand. It wasn't that they were stupid. No, far from that. They were testing her, making her prove her worth. It was, she concluded, a matter of pride. Theirs. She had to prove to these mobsters that her plan was worth their very valuable time. Scully calmed her breathing and, after a moment, smiled politely. "We didn't come to you to temp out nurses, Mr. Gualtieri. We've approached the Soprano family because we believe that you wield influence in certain areas, and can control the circumstances of any given situation through that influence." Paulie Gualtieri straightened. He wasn't quite sure what the red headed broad meant by all that, but it sure sounded respectful and important. This, this was better. "I'll put it another way. We need to set up a sting operation on the federal government. Your family is one of a very few that has the power and reach to make that sting happen." She had the attention of everyone in the room now. "So. Are you ready to hear me out, without interrupting my every other word?" All heads in the room turned toward the startlingly coiffed capo. "Why are all youse looking at me? I got no problem wit' hearing her out." Paulie turned to Scully and flicked a hand in invitation. "G'head, doll." "All right. From the top, then," Scully said, brandishing the copy of the Star-Ledger. "In two weeks, FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, will be administering free vaccine screenings in northern New Jersey for the smallpox virus. We believe that this is a front for another, secret government program to catalog and prepare U.S. citizens for a viral plague for which there is currently no cure." The capos looked at each other in confusion. Patsy Parisi raised his hand like a schoolboy asking a question of teacher. At a nudge from one of the others, he simply spoke his mind. "I don't get it. You're sayin' they're sayin' they're gonna be vaccinating people for smallpox but, instead, they're vaccinating against the plague?" Scully looked at Mulder, certain that he was desperate to jump in. To her surprise, he simply nodded his head, indicating that what she told them was up to her. "No, sir. I said that they want to prepare citizens for this plague. The government doesn't want to inoculate them against it. The government," she stopped, and swallowed. It was still so monstrous a notion as to be inconceivable, even after all this time and everything they'd seen. "The government wants to make them susceptible to it." *************** F.B.I. Field Office One Gateway Center Newark, New Jersey Bureau Chief Louis Cubitoso could not decide whether to sit or stand. Word had just come through on official channels; the party from Washington had cleared the airport terminal and would be arriving in a matter of minutes. Unofficially, one of Cubitoso's own, a 'pavement artist' in agent patois, had trailed the head office party from the minute they'd deplaned until they entered the waiting limousine. He had reported to the Chief in minute detail. "Harris, Gomez, Lipari! In my office. Now!" Sit, stand, sit, stand. It was hard to know which was appropriate, harder to still to choose one and stick with it. The agents sauntered over from wherever they'd been, Harris and Gomez shooting the breeze, and Lipari distracted by a report. "Now, gentlemen! I said get the lead out!" Cubitoso's agitation startled them into responding. Once they were all in the Chief's office, spacious enough for one but cramped with four, Cubitoso spoke in more measured tones. "Get the door, Skip." "Chief, what the hell is going on?" Dwight Harris, the senior of the three, took it upon himself to ask. "They're coming." "Who? The yutzes from D.C.?" "Those yutzes, Dwight," the Chief ground his words into gravel, "include two Special Agents and the Deputy Director of the Bureau." "The Deputy Director? The..." "Alvin Fucking Kersh himself, Agent Gomez. That's right. And they'll be here in about fifteen minutes, which is to say approximately three hours before we expected them." The agents all stood gape-mouthed at this news. Each of the three was beginning to formulate the question that Cubitoso answered without having to be asked. "How do I know this? Because I had a pavement artist staking out the arrivals terminal over at the airport, with instructions to report every detail once they were on the ground and on their way. That's how. And he reports that the Deputy Director himself is on his way to visit the garden spot of the Garden State." Cubitoso began to run through the report from the man at the airport once more, in his mind. "Of course, he also said that the D.D. was being escorted by twins. So, I don't know how reliable the rest of his information is, now do I?" Dwight Harris rallied the soonest of the three to his boss' cause. "Lou, what do you want us to do?" "Right. Dwight, pull all sit-rep summaries on the Soprano thing. Gomez, clear everyone's schedule for this afternoon, just in case the D.D. wants to talk to them. And, Skip?" Lipari's report was, by now, long forgotten. "Yeah?" "Where's Iannarulli?" "New Brunswick, sir. You said he didn't have to report here until first thing tomorrow morning." "Plans change, Agent Lipari. Get him the hell out of that hole and over here, pronto." Lipari ran out of the office double-time, following on the heels of his colleagues. "Twin agents?" Cubitoso mused. "That just doesn't make sense." He weighed the option of calling the artist back to confirm, reaching for the phone just as the intercom buzzed. "First floor Duty Officer, Sir. They're on their way up." Involuntarily, Louis Cubitoso toppled back heavily into his chair. "Sit it is, then." *************** Satriale's Pork Store Kearney, New Jersey "The government wants to give people the plague? Our government?" "Factions within it," Mulder interceded. "It only takes a relatively small number of people within the government to pull this off." He noted that, of all the men in the room, three - Tony, Hesch and Silvio - stayed quiet. "Then just find those people and take care of 'em." Ralph Cifaretto's cunning obviously outstripped his common sense. "Their reach is broad, but the control is diffuse. Even if we could find one or even a couple of these people, the project would continue no matter what. And, no, we can't just go wiping out the entire government just because we'd like to," Mulder finished, dryly. "Hey! I like this guy!" Ralph shouted. "This is the reason that we come to you. We can't be sure that any element of the government we might choose to approach isn't corrupted." "So, what? You seek out Our Thing?" Silvio said with a chuckle. "You have an overdeveloped sense of irony, agents." "Maybe so," Scully acknowledged. "Look at it this way. Your "Thing" operates on a code that is inviolable, correct? We're counting on that. It's as close to incorruptible as we're likely to find." The capos' skepticism seemed to have faded. Government malfeasance was something they could get their heads around. But government treachery? In their way, these men considered themselves patriots. This report was enough to make hot blood boil. Scully could see the change in demeanor overtake them. Hesch spoke first. "So, Miss Scully. Why don't you tell us your plan, and we'll see whether we can help." "We need to control the field. FEMA will deliver and, likely, oversee the vaccination program. They need to be convinced that the regimen has been successfully implemented when, in fact, it hasn't. The only way to accomplish this is to make sure that FEMA's so-called vaccine never gets delivered. And this is where your assistance comes in. You control the hospital workers locals, correct?" Patsy Parisi nodded, even though the locals were not his cash cow. "I see where you're going with this. We have the dummy vaccine on the loading dock. When the plague shit gets there, our people off-load it, but switch it for the dummy stuff. That gets administered, nobody's the wiser." Scully nodded, scanning the faces of the other capos to make sure that they were following their colleague's train of thought. They all seemed to be on board, now. "Yes, that's essentially it. Except for one detail. Your people won't be administering a dummy vaccine. They will in fact be administering doses of real smallpox sera that we'll synthesize." She appeared ready to skim past this petty detail when she was interrupted. "Uh, Scully?" Mulder whispered. She shrugged him off and continued. Again he interrupted, his voice brazenly above a whisper this time. "Scully, isn't that a little bit too involved? We'd have less than two weeks to acquire dormant bacilli, process and cook up humungous quantities of our own vaccine, and get it all to the designated hospitals without anyone taking notice!" Scully turned on him, annoyed by his interruption. "Your point?" "Just this. Wouldn't it be cheaper, quicker, easier, stealthier simply to administer a placebo?" Scully's expression hardened subtly such that almost no man in the room noticed. Except one. "Marital squabbles?" Tony asked, eyes narrowing. Scully flushed, filtering out her embarrassment in a sigh. "Mulder is suggesting that we substitute the equivalent of a sugar pill for the vaccines. It would be simpler logistically, true. Cheaper, most definitely. But," Scully paused to gather her strength, "the people who will be receiving these vaccinations are counting on their protection." "Since Nine-Eleven, there's a palpable fear of the use of viral terror-weapons. Anthrax, smallpox; people are honestly afraid of this threat. Those who'll come to get these free vaccines are unable to afford to get them through other sources. Likely, they have no healthcare coverage at all. To hand out a placebo to these people?" Scully's voice gained urgency and pitch. Mulder dipped his chin to his chest, frowning. "Would be to perpetrate a fraud almost as deadly and certainly as deceitful as the one we're trying to prevent! Preying on the poor and weak, people from your old neighborhoods," she pointed at the capos, then turned to Mulder. "It's unethical and I want no part of it." She wound to a stop, looking straight out. Hesch caught her eye, and nodded in support. "Surreal," she thought. "But then, I should be used to that." "Tough to stop once she gets going, huh?" Tony chuckled in Mulder's direction. "Especially when she's got a point," Mulder replied. He turned to look directly at his partner. "Look, Scully. You're right. It isn't fair to these people, not in the slightest. But, under the circumstances, time is tight and synthesizing large amounts of smallpox vaccine is way beyond our capacity. Maybe keeping them off FEMA's rolls is the best that we can hope to accomplish. Scully seemed to deflate with Mulder's words. Support came from an unexpected direction. "Look, you tell us where to look for the stuff to make the genuine shit and, if it can be done, we'll make it happen. Otherwise," Tony said reasonably, "you'd better get started on makin' up the dummy stuff." Scully looked up at him, curiosity and gratitude mingling in her eyes. "What else?" Tony prompted. "What else you gonna need?" "The fake serum, from FEMA," Scully stammered. "I'm going to want all of it retained and delivered to a lab space where I can analyze it. Undisturbed." "But, this plague," the concern was evident in Tony's voice. "You say there's no cure." "Yet." Scully interrupted decisively. "It's been done before. Mulder and I..." She paused to consider her words. "We've seen that it's possible. That's why I need the false vaccine and the lab space. I'm going to try to recreate the antidote." "You can do dat?" Tony seemed dubious. Mulder looked at his shoes and snorted a quiet laugh. "If anyone can synthesize an antidote, Mr. Soprano," he began, but Scully cut him off. "Yes," she said simply. "I can." ***************** FBI Field Office One Gateway Center Newark, New Jersey "Of course Route Nine was jammed. Chrissake, Joe! It's Friday afternoon." "No shit, Lip." Iannarulli was out of breath, both from exertion and nerves. His whisper, consequently, was half-voiced and wheezing. "Why the fuck d'you think I didn't just get onto the Turnpike at exit 9?" "I'm just sayin', back roads at this time of day?" As they neared Cubitoso's office, each realized that the hallway was dead quiet. From within the Chief's office? Nothing. Through the glass panel to the left of the Chief's door, they saw the Deputy Director sitting grimly in Cubitoso's chair, hands folded on the desk in front of him. Behind him, an impossibly broad shouldered agent stood at parade rest. "Jesus Christ, Lip. Jesus Christ!" Lipari patted his friend on the shoulder, giving him a smile with all the confidence he could muster. It wasn't much. The truth was that no one, not even the Chief, could say what was going to happen, for good or ill. "You're late!" The Deputy Director's voice boomed out as Iannarulli appeared in the doorway. Kersh cut short the agent's stammered apologies. "Shut the door behind you, Agent." Iannarulli entered cautiously, too awed and a bit too frightened to do otherwise. He scanned the office. The only familiar face, Chief Cubitoso, stood against a side wall trying to blend in with the woodwork. Seated at the desk was a man whose glower alone took up the whole goddamn room, a man of position. The Deputy Director, had to be, of the entire fucking F.B.I. Behind him stood - Iannarulli's glance took a slow, cinematic sweep from thigh to head - tall, powerfully built, utterly cold. The agent reminded Iannarulli of nothing quite so much as one of the mob enforcers the Bureau regularly kept tabs on. Behind the man's eyes was something animalistic, not wild but purposeful, and fiercely predatory. Skip Lipari had said there should be another, Iannarulli thought nervously. "Twins" was the word he'd used, oddly. Only Cubitoso was to his left, the Deputy Director and his henchman ahead, so where? He turned slowly to the right until he was looking back over his shoulder. Different face, smaller build, but the exact same undercurrent. Twin predators. In spite of himself, Iannarulli shivered. Cubitoso broke the silence before fading completely, gratefully away. "I'm glad you could join us, Agent." Iannarulli noted the anxiety in his chief's tone. It only served to make his own nerves worse. "This is Deputy Director Kersh." Iannarulli nodded, unaware that his mouth hung part way open. Kersh tossed a report across the desk. "You recognize this?" Transcript. Yes. Marked up with yellow highlighter and red ink circles. Red circles, his name. Transcript, surveillance, his name, Lubrano's. Why wasn't Lubrano circled in red? Bastard. He'd been on that job, too. Why me? Circled in red. Why my name? "Agent Iannarulli?" Why? "Agent Iannarulli, I asked you a question. Do I need to repeat myself?" Iannarulli shook his head vigorously, then said "No, sir." He picked up the report just to make sure it was what it seemed. "It's a transcript of surveillance that Agent Lubrano, Agent Albert Lubrano," he said with emphasis, "and I did on Papa Bing a couple of weeks back." For a moment or two, he watched Kersh's lips curl into a sneer. "Uh, 'Papa Bing,' 'Der Bingle,' they're codenames we use in the field, to designate Anthony Soprano, uh, sir." "I'm aware of the subject, Agent Iannarulli." The Deputy Director managed to make his last name sound dirty. "I want to direct your attention to the highlighted passages. Do you recall that portion of the surveillance?" "Oh! Hell, yes." Relieved, Iannarulli laughed out loud. "Der Bing, er, Soprano has a goofball sister, Janice. Drives him nuts. She's always into something weird. Last I heard, she was peddling Christian-themed rock music." "And was that the only mention Mr. Soprano made, to your knowledge, Agent, about aliens?" Iannarulli realized that he wasn't out of the woods quite yet. "Aliens? Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. No further mentions of aliens." He was baffled now, and had little understanding of just how dangerous a position that was. "Sir, as you can see, Agent Lubrano was on surveillance detail with me. Perhaps he heard something that..." "He was the recording agent in this surveillance, isn't that what you reported?" Kersh spoke directly to Chief Cubitoso, indicating Iannarulli with a brusque nod. "And you say he's a capable sound technician?" Cubitoso nodded, unable to meet Iannarulli's eyes. Kersh rose and came around the desk to stand nose to nose with the agent. "We didn't come up here to hear from Agent Lubrano. We didn't come up here to hear excuses. We came up here to hear from you, Agent Iannarulli. Clear, so far?" Iannarulli kept enough of his wits about him to know not to respond. "We have uncovered other evidence which, in concert with this," Kersh snatched the transcript from the agent's weakened grip, "leads us to believe that two fugitives will either contact or be contacted by Anthony Soprano. You, Agent Iannarulli, will assist Agent Masterson here," he jerked a thumb back over his shoulder at the ramrod stiff agent, "in every way possible to apprehend these fugitives when contact is made." "Should we arrest Soprano simultaneously, Sir, for aiding and abetting?" "You will not exceed this brief, Agent Iannarulli. You are to assist Agent Masterson in apprehending the fugitives. Nothing else." A faint hope - that this might actually be a career-advancing assignment rather than the guillotining he'd feared - flared in his chest, giving Iannarulli the strength to ask one further question and no more. "What other evidence, sir?" "Agent?" Kersh seemed astonished that Iannarulli had the effrontery to speak. "What evidence was it that connected to that "aliens" comment Der Bingle made?" "You don't need to know that, Agent Iannarulli. If, I say again, if Agent Masterson determines that it's beneficial for you to know, then you will know. Not before." Kersh stood, waiting. But, Iannarulli had learned one lesson at least, and remained quiet. "No more questions?" Iannarulli snapped to a semblance of military attention in view of dismissal. "Then," Kersh concluded, looking neither at Cubitoso nor Iannarulli, but at the agent by the door, "we're finished here." He strode out into the hallway, the unnamed agent falling in behind. The Deputy Director's eyes, Iannarulli noticed, had flared with hatred whenever he looked at either Masterson or his cohort. Other than that, there seemed to be no life left in them. None. None at all. Without thinking, Iannarulli stepped into the corridor to watch the Deputy Director as he walked toward the elevator, the limo, his flight and, eventually, the District and home. Iannarulli wondered about the agent guarding the Deputy Director. Curious. Personal security for the Bureau hierarchy, he supposed. Had things post Nine-Eleven gotten that dicey? There was just something odd about it. He stared at the retreating backs of Kersh and his escort. That was it! The agent didn't seem to be for Kersh's protection. He looked like the man's jailer. A thought struck Iannarulli, just ahead of his instinct for self-preservation. He turned to look at the lone visitor remaining in the Chief's office. He stood as unmoving and unmovable as if he had a metal pole for a spine. Iannarulli stared, trying to gauge the measure of his new partner. He received only the hardest, coldest of stares in return. - end (6/?) -