TITLE:         That Shotgun Shine (1/?)
AUTHORS:       Paige Caldwell, David Stoddard-Hunt
CATEGORY:      S, C/o, A
KEYWORDS:      M/S, T/C, mytharc
RATING:        NC-17, in parts
SETTING:       Follows "The Truth" (XF), and "The Army of One" (S)
SUMMARY:       Desperate times beget desperate measures. 
ARCHIVE:       Take first, ask later, but please do ask.
DISCLAIMER:    Characters within are the property of either
               1013 and Chris Carter or HBO and David Chase.
               Both flavors used with neither permission nor
               profit.     
FEEDBACK:      paigecaldwell@hotmail.com, dmstoddardhunt@yahoo.com
WEBSITES:      http://www.geocities.com/mattersofbelief
               http://www.cchg.net/paige

*********************

"I disagree, Scully. It works on any number of levels." 

His fingers tested the tensile strength of the steering
wheel.

"Yeah," she chuffed. "Except on any of the sane ones."
 
Outside, the taupe blur of post-harvest farmland began
to give way to a blue-gray blur signaling the approach
of the Appalachians.

"Not to mention that it's just plain wrong!"
 
As always, the swirl of red hair managed to capture his
peripheral vision. Her glare scorched across his cheek
for a moment, another red swirl announced his reprieve,
the glare glancing off to melt the passenger's side window.

Red. It had seemed a big deal at the time. "Don't be stupid,
Mulder. If they want to find us, changing my hair color isn't
going to throw them off our trail for a second." End of discussion,
if not argument.  By comparison, the present argument had been
going strong for nearly the entire trek across the heartlands.

"There ought to be a luxury tax on 'right' and 'wrong,' nowadays," 
he muttered.

Scully ignored the sarcasm. "You know what these people are like.
You profiled them on a daily basis with Violent Crimes. You worked
to put them in prison, Mulder, and now what? You want to ally with
them?" She managed not to yell, but only just.
 
"Yeah, I do know. I know exactly what they're like," he replied in a
strained monotone.

The silence that followed was not a lull, but an overpressure 
building, its whine encroaching painfully on their inner ears.

"I know exactly what I'm proposing, Scully. And, no, I don't 
really like it," Mulder's voice hardened as it rose,"but we don't 
have much of a goddamned choice, do we?"
 
She flinched as if he'd raised his hand to her.

Silence descended again, but with some of the pressure released. 
Mulder noted the rise and fall of her chest as it calmed and tried 
to match his breathing with hers. When next he spoke, his tone was
mild, his voice cracked.
 
"We need allies, Scully. People with influence and power. I'm not
pretending that we can trust them. I'm content just to find people
whom we can be fairly sure haven't been co-opted."

As argument cooled to discussion, her rigid posture relaxed and 
then sagged in exhaustion.

"We have to minimize our risk of exposure. We can't risk utilizing
contacts in the government or the military, even Bill," a rueful
chuckle from both of them at that, "because we know that all
but the lowest echelons of each have been corrupted."

"So," she replied, eyebrow and voice arched, "premise: we have to
avoid corrupt organizations. Therefore, you, mister profiler..." 

Sensing where she was going with this, he began shaking his
head. 

"...conclude that we should approach organized crime."

His sigh was laced with equal parts exasperation and self mocking
humor.

After a pause to bask in her own wit, Scully continued, "It's a 
pretty safe assumption that the corruption of state governments is 
widespread as well." Her breath fogged the view out of the side 
mirror. Reflexively, she wiped away the condensation, reestablishing 
her surveillance of their surroundings.

A grim smile played across his lips as, against titanic odds, they
began once more to work as a team.

"Okay, look. What we know so far is that infiltration has taken
place primarily in governmental and quasi-governmental agencies,"
Mulder said, placing a sarcastic stress on the reference to FEMA.

Scully returned a small smile, keeping to herself the thought that
they shared the strangest lot of in-jokes.

"Infiltration of the private sector can't be summarily ruled out," 
Mulder continued, "although the only evidence we have for this so 
far is of consortium front companies."

"True, but evidence suggests that their strategy is based on a 
rather conventional, almost simplistic business model." She moved 
a quarter turn to face him, anger and reticence now put aside, 
mostly forgotten.

"Mmm, hmm. Put their own people," Mulder's brow rose at the term,
"into organizations having a rigid power rata in which policy level
decisions emanate not from the very top, but from the levels just 
below. Take over the power behind the scenes. Not the cabinet 
secretaries, but their deputies and department heads, the ones you 
rarely see or read about. These are the people they've targeted. 
They did the same thing at the Bureau, and it's safe to assume 
they've done likewise in the other intelligence agencies and in the 
military."
 
"Taking over key positions of influence, but with low visibility," 
Scully summed up, neatly tying his ramblings into a tight bow.

"Right! It affords them the greatest amount of power and reach with
the fewest number of actual plants. A great strategy if, as I believe
they still are,  you're outnumbered by your opponent." When she added
nothing, he continued. "We need to adopt the same strategy. Just 
like them, we're outnumbered."

Her derisive snort at his gross understatement earned a genuine 
chuckle for the first time in hours.

"Okay, so we're a bit more outnumbered than they are," he said, 
pointing to her and then to himself, ticking off each by unfurling 
fingers. "The principle is the same, though. We need to gain an ally 
who is in a position of influence and control, at or near the head 
of a power rata such that orders from this ally will not be 
questioned by anyone in the organization, merely followed. Someone,
perhaps, whose influence reaches around the world."

Scully snorted again. "Yee-ah. The underworld."

In response, he sniffed and looked pointedly at the empty stretch of 
road ahead.

"Mulder, there have to be other options. What about public exposure?
The Washington Post? New York Times? Hell, what about Congress?"

"Congress is too diffuse an organizational structure to be effective 
for their purposes, so it's unlikely to be under their control. We 
could approach them. You're right, Scully. But what I fear is that 
they have placed operatives on the Hill who can alert them to or 
even neutralize possible trouble makers. They don't have to use 
Congress' power. They only have to make sure it isn't used against 
them. And as for the press?" He shook his head, his jaw slack. "What 
makes you think they'd listen to "Spooky" Mulder, the fugitive 
F.B.I. agent, more than they would have before?"

Spotting a speed trap just beyond, Mulder began slowing gradually. 
They could ill afford even the most minor brush with the law, now.

She turned to look at the state policeman napping  in the cruiser as 
hey passed. In his direction, but intended for Mulder, she started,
"I'm just trying to find an alternative..."

He interrupted her more forcefully than intended. "Been there, done
that, Scully. Do you really think I'd blithely forge an alliance with
organized crime?" Through an effort of will, he softened his tone.
"If you can find a more palatable option, I'd be glad, no, thrilled 
to go with that."

Scully took in a heavy breath and sat on it, centering, steeling 
herself for a debate in which her usual rhetoric could be punctuated 
with a death sentence. Every fiber of her being, though, told her 
that this was a debate she simply must win. Her long, measured 
exhale continued to settle them both, bringing them closer toward 
one another emotionally and intellectually.

Her instinct was, as he well knew, to work through approved 
channels,to gather the resources of legitimate authority and to root 
out the cancer devouring it from within. Yet, she could  predict 
Mulder's objections, could hear them, in fact, with startling 
clarity amid the panicked jumble of her own thoughts. If they 
ventured within the bounds of legitimate authority, they could never 
be certain of whom their enemies were, nor their allies, if they 
managed to stay alive at all. Of course, their enemies needn't risk 
martyring them. The best course of action from their point of view 
might just be to have both Mulder and Scully back on the federal 
government roster, alive and in view, but marginalized, as they'd 
tried to do with the X-Files. They'd failed, then. Barely.

Even with the resources they'd amassed for this rainiest of days, 
life was increasingly difficult. The Honda was inconspicuous enough, 
andpaid for in cash. But the registration would expire in October. 
They'd need to have solid new aliases in place by then in order to 
re-register it without raising suspicion. In days past, they could 
have accomplished this with little more than a phone call.

"If only the Gunmen..." Scully started, immediately regretting it. 
Mulder's face crumpled.
  
They drove in silence for a long while, passing from Kentucky, 
through West Virginia and into Virginia without a word, each lost 
in private memories of the strange, endearing trio. Near Roanoke, 
they picked up 81 north. "If only the Gunmen." Neither one was 
willing to have that as an epitaph.
 
Scully resumed the conversation as if it had never been interrupted. 
"I assume you have a certain contact in mind, Mulder?" He nodded. "I
trust you have your reasons for the choice, but I don't see that it 
matters. These people are killers. It's part of their code, their 
ritual."

"I'm counting on that, Scully."

She stared at him, astonished.

"Think about it," he offered. "What are the hallmarks of a ritual 
gangland killing?"

"Single shot," she recited the Quantico lecture mechanically, "point 
blank range to the back of the neck."

Amusement danced in his eyes as he watched her make the connection.
"Perfect!" He bounced in his seat in a dour imitation of glee.

"Perfect? Is not the word I'd have chosen."

"What word would you have chosen, then? Peachy? Awesome? Come
on, Scully. For a plan borne out of desperation, you'd have to 
admit that the way this part of it fits is pretty cool."

"Neat, Mulder. That's what I'd choose. A little too neat. And a 
rather slim perch for a plan of this magnitude and risk, don't you 
think?"

He laughed. Now that they were out of the mountains and onto the
interstate, they were swinging into high gear.

"This is just a bonus, Scully. No training necessary."

It was woefully weak. But weak was all that they had, nowadays.

After an interval, Scully spoke, the weariness evident in her voice.
"What can you tell me about the people you've chosen to approach?"

Mulder removed a zip disc from his jacket pocket and tossed it on 
the seat beside him. Scully stared at it warily, as if by picking 
it up all the troubles and danger ahead of them would come crashing 
down all at once. Eventually she loaded the disc into her laptop and 
began to read, asking questions occasionally, and then, only for 
clarification.

"So, who's actually in charge? The uncle or the nephew?"

Mulder's answers, "Nephew," were equally succinct, letting Scully 
take in as much information as possible without intervention on his 
part. He needed to have her insight, pure and unadulterated.

"Why this family and not one of New York's Five?"

"Too large, too bureaucratic. With this one, if the nephew accepts 
us, we're in. Things get accomplished."

"Why will he accept us? What have we got to give him?"

"Information."

"Information? You're going to aid and abet a criminal enterprise?"

"We don't have much of a choice, Scully. Besides, legitimate 
authority is becoming *the* criminal enterprise of all time."

She thought about arguing that point but let it drop. Besides, the 
possibility that he was right was too monstrous to comprehend.

"And just where are you going to garner this information, Mulder? 
We can't saunter into the Hoover and access the mainframe anymore."

"Don't have to. Langly taught me a few things about getting in 
through the back  door of a public website."

"And you think he's just going to accept what you choose to share?
Why wouldn't he just reach out and take what he wants?"

Mulder stared at her wryly.

"You know damned well what I mean, Mulder."

"I'm betting that he'll respect the boundaries of the deal. It's 
another part of their code, Scully. Honor. If the deal is 
information on what the Bureau knows about his Family in exchange 
for logistical support, my guess is that he'll respect that. 
Ultimately, if that's what he says the deal is, then that's what 
it will be."

"Your guess is," she scoffed. "Mulder? What's to say that this... 
this sociopath of yours won't just kill us?"

"Nothing. He might. They might. Scully, I don't know what to say 
about that. It's a definite risk. I just don't see any other way."

Finally, exhausted of both energy and objections, Scully relented. 
"All right, I'm in. So, where are we headed?"

The smug smile she'd expected failed to appear.

"North Caldwell, New Jersey."

Even though he'd argued the point for hours and had finally won her
over, he looked nervous. This frightened her every bit as much as did
the thought of the people they were soon to approach. The thin gray
ribbon of the Pennsylvania Turnpike stretched out ahead of them, an
ashen-skinned yellow-brick road leading them straight to a warped Oz.

Scully pored over the information in the zip disc throughout the 
better part of western and central Pennsylvania. As the landscape 
began to flatten out into farmlands just west of the Susquehanna, 
she voiced one more, utterly reasonable fear.

"Mulder, I hope you have a bright idea about how to make the initial
approach. Because I have a sneaking suspicion that these aren't 
people who take kindly to strangers showing up on their doorstep," 
Scully said dryly, "let alone strange ex-FBI agents peddling alien 
conspiracy theories. We might not even get past the front gate, 
alive anyway."

"S'okay, Scully. I think I have an 'in.'"


***************

Outside of the Bada Bing! Club
Lodi, New Jersey

"...What the fuck, Janice? Last week it was Jesus. The week before 
that it was Buddha or some shit. And now it's fuckin' aliens?"


-end, 1/?-