Grateful thanks to beta readers LP, Halrloprillalar and Andy VonBruns, without whom this story would be a lot worse than it is.

Somewhere far below them, audible even through the thick stone walls, Anne's cries subsided into hopeless sobs. Georgia did not look up from the cards she laid face-down on the table, each one slowly and precisely placed. Richard paced the room, flinching at each new cry from below, chewing and biting at his nails and knuckles. Julian sat quietly: his eyes were filled with miserable incomprehension. Like a dog that didn't understand why it had been beaten, Georgia thought. She placed another card, then another. Her own hound, Timothy, lay silent beneath the long wooden table, his muzzle resting on her feet.

She did not raise her eyes from the table, but she knew when Gilles entered the room by Richard's sudden stillness, and from the fear that rose from him like a stink.

'My lord?' she asked.

'Anne failed me,' Gilles said. 'So she was punished. We will not speak of it again.'

'No, my lord,' Georgia said, bowing her head.

'So tell me, Georgia, of plans. Have you a better plan for me this time?'

'My plan was not at fault, my lord,' Georgia said calmly. 'It found us Methos, but he was warier than we guessed. Perhaps with more men and more time Anne might have succeeded.'

'We do not have time, lady, and we do not have men. It is dangerous to hire mercenaries. We have many enemies. Do not make the mistake of thinking that they are not vigilant.'

'Enemies?'

'Those who tried to destroy our order once seek us still, lady.'

'The Hospitallers?' Georgia said, in genuine surprise. 'My lord, they're centuries gone. The name lives on, nothing more. A drinking club for fat, rich businessmen who want to impress their wives.'

'No. They saw our fall, and knew that their fall would not be long behind. We bought and sold kings, and with the wealth they stole from us so too could they. But kings do not like to know that they can be bought and sold. The Hospitallers learned from our fall. To the eyes of the world, they let themselves fade into nothing, but they are still a force in the world. They watch and wait, hidden in the places of knowledge and power. They are a cabal sworn to our destruction. We must take care, lady.'

'I'll be careful, my lord.'

'So, to Methos. How do we find him again, lady?' Gilles asked. 'By now he could be anywhere in the world.'

'He is in America,' Georgia said. 'In London a man called John Ruth Johnson used a credit card unused in fifteen years to buy a ticket to Seattle. John Ruth Johnson owns Pierson's apartment building.'

Gilles nodded. 'Fine work, Lady Georgia,' he said. 'And what is the next stage of your plan?'

One by one, Georgia turned over the cards in front of her. The Lady Temperance, Justice, The Knight of Swords, the Prince of Cups.

Slowly she turned the two closest to her. Death and the Fool.

'Mulder will find him for us again. Mulder will lead us to him, if we are careful. You must return to America, my lord. Mulder must be watched. If he is watched, he will lead us to Methos.'

'Good. It shall be so,' Gilles said.

'Anne is the best of us at such work.'

'Then I will charge her with this duty. Perhaps she will redeem herself. I will return to America. Anne and Richard will come with me. You will stay here, lady, and try to discover more.'

'And Julian may stay with me?'

Gilles looked at her in some surprise. 'I would not leave you unprotected, lady. Richard, come with me. We must make our preparations.'

Julian watched them both leave, his eyes uncertain. 'What would you have me do, my lady?'

Georgia did not answer him. One of the cards she had placed, she had not turned. She turned it now. The face of the card showed a falling tower.

'What does it mean?' Julian asked. His deep voice was filled with uncertainty, like a child afraid of asking a foolish question.

'Destruction. The end of all things,' Georgia said. 'The end, one way or another.' She stood and walked to the window of the cool, dark room, looking out at the sunbaked olive groves and the jewel-blue sea, and beyond them, the low grey hills that had become a symbol and a touchstone to her.

'Then we'll succeed?' Julian asked. 'The cards say that we'll win? God be praised!'

Georgia turned and took his great hand in both of hers. 'Julian, the cards mean nothing. It was just a trick. Gilles was angry, but tricks amuse him sometimes.'

'He was angry with Anne, not with you.'

'But the plan that failed was mine. The next plan mustn't fail.' She paused for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought. 'If you were Mulder, what would you do now?'

'If I were Mulder?'

'Suppose there was someone who was dear to you. A lover you'd lost and sought for years. Then suppose you discovered that if you found her it would bring about her destruction. What would you do, Julian?'

'If I truly loved her, my lady, I would end my search. If I knew she were safe I would be content.'

'But if you learned of a greater danger that faced her, one that she knew nothing of?'

'Then nothing would stop me from finding her and warning her, lady. It would be my duty as a knight.'

Georgia nodded. 'Your duty as a knight. And Mulder is a knight, of sorts. He'll do what he thinks is his duty.'

'But we need to make him think that Methos is in danger,' Julian said. 'How can we when we don't even know where he is?'

'Oh there's a way,' Georgia said. She idly drew another card from the pile on the table. 'But first I must speak to the Russians again.'

'What does the card say, my lady?'

Georgia looked up at him in surprise. 'This? I told you the cards don't mean anything, Julian.' She turned the card and placed it on top of the others. The face showed three swords piercing a heart. She frowned.

'What does it mean, my lady?'

'It doesn't matter. Go and help Richard refuel the helicopter.'

She turned the card over and over in her hands as he left. The three of swords. Heartbreak. Betrayal. Whether for herself, for Mulder or for Methos, she did not know.

'This is a *game*,' she said out loud. 'It means *nothing*.'

Slowly and deliberately she tore the card across. She had no time for games. This plan had to be perfect, otherwise it would not be Anne who suffered. And suddenly the air in the dark room seemed musty and stifling, centuries old, and Georgia found that her hands were gripping and twisting the heavy silks of her robe as if that, too, was a prison of sorts

****

There is, in the heart of London, a place called the Temple Church, tucked away behind the gates of that enclave of barristers, the Temple Bar, just across Fleet Street from that ancient house of law, the Royal Courts of Justice. The church does not stand in a graveyard. The buildings of the Temple Bar, from medieval to Victorian, cluster around it tightly on three sides. Half of the church is gothic in style - in London, nothing special. But the doorway is a great crumbling Norman arch, and the great round chamber that forms the back of the church is more than ten centuries old. Within, the tombs of crusaders line its high nave, and fill its crypt. Once, centuries before the servants of the law made this place their own, this was a stronghold of a band of men who considered themselves above any earthly laws - the Knights Templar.

Edward Clanroyden waited patiently and without visible irritation to one side of the nave, although from time to time he did examine his watch. His suit was made to measure, of a fine tweed. His shoes were handmade and his tie informed the cognoscenti that he had studied at Oxford. His buttonhole held a fresh carnation. He did not look out of place in this heartland of the wealthy, influential and mildly eccentric, but there was almost nowhere else left in England where this could still have been said. He ran a hand through his thick, blond hair and looked about him with appraising brown eyes.

He straightened as he finally saw the man who he'd been waiting for enter the church. Balding, slightly overweight and extremely out of breath.

'I thought we said eleven o'clock, Blenkiron.'

'Yeah. I know,' the man called Blenkiron said through gritted teeth, in a strong American accent. 'I came here straight from the damn airport. The fucking taxi got stuck in traffic, then I spent twenty minutes crawling around this maze trying to find a way into this place.'

Clanroyden gave him a reproachful glance. 'Take the underground next time,' he advised. 'There's a stop just along the Embankment. You've been away too long. Nobody in their right mind tries to travel anywhere in Central London by car these days.'

'Yeah. You're not kidding. So why here?' Blenkiron asked, wiping his brow with a large, white handkerchief.

'Oh, it seemed appropriate. It's about the only Templar building still standing in London. We keep an eye on the place, just in case one of them comes back. No luck so far. Whatever Gilles is, he isn't a sentimentalist.'

'We own this joint, then?' Blenkiron said, as he gazed unmoved at the Norman splendour that surrounded them.

'Of course,' Clanroyden said. 'The Order inherited all the Templar property in England after that business in 1314. To the victors go the spoils. I'm surprised you don't remember.'

'I was one of the poor schmucks stuck down in Spain,' Blenkiron growled. 'Missed out on all the fun.'

'Apparently some of the stones here were secretly brought back from the Temple in Jerusalem itself,' Clanroyden commented.

'And now they're ours,' Blenkiron said. 'Lucky us.' He was still somewhat out of breath. 'Could we keep this short? I've been travelling for the last ten hours straight and I could really use a drink.'

'I need to know what exactly happened in France,' Clanroyden said, slowly and precisely, as he studied one of the grey marble tombs. 'I need to get things clear in my mind before the meeting at the Home Office this afternoon.'

Blenkiron shot him a cautious look, but Clanroyden's face betrayed nothing except mild interest in the tomb he was examining.

'France didn't go to plan,' Blenkiron said at last, with a shrug. 'You read the report, you know that already. Only Anne of Kirrin was there. The assassin she hired was shot by the police and she escaped by river. We could have stopped her but we thought if we just followed her she might lead us to the others.'

'What happened?' Clanroyden said, looking up at last.

Blenkiron sat heavily on one of the dark wooden pews. 'What can I say?' he said, spreading his hands. 'She gave us the slip. As far as we can work out we had her until she doubled back somewhere down in the metro, changed her clothes and joined up with a tour party heading out for an evening on the town. It's kind of hard to spot a middle-aged American broad wearing a loud suit in Paris this time of year.'

'That's unfortunate,' Clanroyden said, adjusting his carnation. 'And Mulder was kidnapped earlier in the proceedings, I understand.'

Blenkiron rubbed his forehead with his handkerchief. 'That's right, yeah. Look, I know it shouldn't have happened. We miscalculated on that. He's an FBI agent for Christ's sake. We thought they'd keep a low profile and avoid him altogether, not snatch him right outside the prefecture. I just didn't realise how desperate they were.'

'I'll admit, I probably wouldn't have predicted that either,' Clanroyden began. 'Of course some of the council believe that it may not have been wise to involve him at all.'

Blenkiron shook his head. 'I've got to disagree with you there. He found this Pierson character. He led us to the Kirrin woman. That's closer than we've ever been. Look, I know you don't like it, but if anyone's going to find them, it's Mulder. He may be unorthodox but he's one of the best agents the FBI has.'

'So I've heard,' Clanroyden said. A steely note entered his voice. 'My sources tell me that unauthorised steps were taken to keep him involved.'

Blenkiron nodded wearily. 'The tape recording,' he admitted. 'Yeah. I take responsibility for that. Mea culpa, no question about it. Seemed like a good idea at the time.'

'It gave him more information than I would have liked,' Clanroyden said, a little more mildly. 'The others are going to give you a hard time about it.'

Blenkiron shook his head. 'You know he'd have worked it out eventually,' he said dismissively. 'He's a bright kid.'

Clanroyden sighed. 'I suppose so. But next time I really would appreciate some consultation before you make a move like that. Do you still think that Mulder is our best bet for finding Gilles again?'

'As long as Gilles is still after Pierson, he's going to be keeping an eye on Mulder,' Blenkiron said, with a shrug. 'They're probably betting that Mulder won't rest until he's tracked this Pierson character down.'

Clanroyden nodded. 'Then you believe they'll be watching Mulder?'

'I'm damn sure they will. He's got to be their only lead at the moment.'

Clanroyden looked at his watch. 'In that case you'd better tell your people to keep an eye on him too. I don't think there's anything else until this afternoon...'

It was unmistakably both an order and a dismissal. Blenkiron rolled his eyes to the high roof in the manner of the long-suffering everywhere as Clanroyden turned to go. 'There's one more thing you really should know. This guy they were after...'

Clanroyden turned back, an eyebrow raised. 'The one Gilles and his merry band have been searching for? He's an art historian or something, isn't he? Fairly harmless, from what I can gather.'

'I've found out why they were after him.'

Clanroyden sighed. 'Don't keep me in suspense, there's a good chap.'

Blenkiron gave him a lopsided but triumphant grin. 'One word. Methos.'

Breeding told. Whatever reaction Blenkiron had been expecting, he didn't get it.

'Well, well,' Clanroyden mused, in tones of mild interest. 'If that's the case he's not quite as harmless as we thought. That raises a few interesting issues. Another impostor, do you think? We spent two hundred years keeping an eye on that wretched peace-and-light merchant before we found out that he was a fake.'

'Well there's no proof yet, but for an impostor he's sure kept his mouth shut about his identity.'

'So how do *we* know?'

'The woman let it slip. The one who stole the ambulance. Amanda Darieux or whatever the hell she's calling herself now.'

'Careless of her. Who else knows?'

'In the Order? So far just you and me. I thought I'd better keep my mouth shut. Mulder heard the tape but I don't reckon the name meant anything to him.'

'Good,' Clanroyden said. 'Let's keep it that way for now. I don't want anyone to get tempted.'

'Interested yourself?' Blenkiron asked guardedly.

'No, I think not. His quickening is fine just where it is for now. If he's killed it could completely destabilise the game. It might even trigger the gathering, which is exactly what we don't want. We'll keep an eye on him, I think. Nothing more for now.'

'Of course we've got to find him first.'

'I have every confidence in you, Blenkiron.'

Blenkiron snorted. 'Hopefully this time Mulder's going to take care of the hard work for me,' he said. 'So long as he takes the bait and goes after Pierson again. He's going be treading a lot more carefully after that business in Paris.'

'I think I can arrange another incentive for him,' Clanroyden said, his brow furrowed in thought. 'If he thinks there's something more important than his friend's life at stake I think we can persuade him to play along. I think I'll have a word with some of our contacts on the darker side of the US establishment. I gather he's come up against them a few times already. Maybe they'll know which buttons to push to put him on the right track.'

Blenkiron shrugged. 'You're the boss.'

'I'll announce it at the meeting. If I let it be known that keeping Mulder involved is - what's that appalling phrase? - mission critical, it should get you out of trouble quite nicely.'

'And in return you want me to keep quiet about the Methos deal?'

'I think the group has enough to worry about without bringing Methos into it,' Clanroyden said.

'If you say so. What about Leithen?'

'You'd better leave it to me how much to tell the Grand Master.'

'Like I said, you're the boss,' Blenkiron said, with a shrug. There was a short silence, then he said carefully: 'I was curious...'

'What about?'

'About what's going to happen to Mulder when all this is over.'

'I'm not entirely sure what you mean,' Clanroyden said, his gaze fixed on one of the stained glass windows.

Blenkiron grimaced. 'We're giving him a lot of information. I mean, yeah, some of that's my fault, but it started when we pushed the Redburg case his way and then Drake. I guess I just wondered what we were going to do about him when this is finished. I won't say he's done nothing wrong, but he's done what he's done for the right reasons. He's let himself be used by the wrong people, that's all.'

'I'm aware of Mulder's background,' Clanroyden said, turning back to face him. 'My answer is that we didn't go into this with the intention of killing Mulder at the end of it. So far it's been necessary to tell him what we've told him to track Gilles and his people down. As to what happens afterwards - it's all going to depend on whether or not he can keep his mouth shut.'

'Ah, shit,' Blenkiron muttered.

'Don't worry about it too much,' Clanroyden said reassuringly. 'I think we're going to be able to persuade him that it's in his own interest to keep quiet, for a number of reasons. I'll deal with it personally if I have to. Do you have any pictures of Pierson?'

'Sure. There was one in his personnel records at the University of Paris. Doesn't look a lot like him.'

'These things rarely do, in my experience. Do you have it with you?

'Right here,' Blenkiron said. He pulled out a somewhat dog-eared original from the depths of his wallet and passed it over.

'You know, I think I ran into this chap once before,' the Englishman said, after a moment's contemplation.

'No kidding? When was that?'

'Oh, back in the 1850's or thereabouts,' Clanroyden mused. 'I saw him in the souk in Cairo. Wearing native dress so I thought he was one of the locals. I'd have gone after him but I was on Burton's expedition to the source of the Nile. Couldn't get away. You know how it is.'

'You're sure that's the same guy?'

'A nose like that is difficult to forget.'

'No kidding. So what now?'

'Now, we both need to be on our way. You have to book into your hotel and I'm going to be late back at that appalling tower block they're calling the Home Office these days. The only redeeming feature of the whole place is the view from the canteen. Was there anything else before this afternoon?'

'One more thing...'

'Go on,' Clanroyden said patiently.

'Why now? It's been centuries. Why all the panic? We'll get these guys eventually.'

'You know what they stole,' Clanroyden said. 'It's too dangerous in anyone's hands but ours. We want it back. It would be nice to have it back before the millennium and there isn't much time left.'

'This damn millennium's going to be more trouble than it's worth,' Blenkiron muttered.

'The last one was bad enough,' Clanroyden agreed. He looked at his watch. 'We'd both better get going.'

'Yeah. This place gives me the creeps. Too many damn attorneys,' Blenkiron muttered.

'You know, Blenkiron, I think you really have gone native.'

'After three hundred years I could use a reassignment. Fucking awful Pentagon coffee...'

'Come on. We'll find you a taxi. Luggage sent on?'

'You think I was going to trail around this maze carrying my suitcase?'

The voices faded through the arched door.

****

'You were right about Jack Merchant, Mulder,' Scully said, as she stepped into their office.

Mulder hastily turned off the video he'd been watching. 'I... uh... didn't expect you back from Quantico until tomorrow, Scully.

'Mulder, if that's the video in the case with 'Christmas on Walton Mountain' on the cover I already know what's on it.'

'You watch the Waltons?' Mulder said, raising an eyebrow. 'Scully, I'm shocked.'

'Believe me, you aren't half as shocked as I was when I saw what was on that video, Mulder,' Scully said dryly.

Mulder gave her a sheepish grin. 'So anyway, what did the autopsy on Jack Merchant show?'

'Not much we didn't know already,' Scully said as she sat down at their shared desk. 'The body was in the water too long to find out anything conclusive. About the only thing I can say for certain is that according to the DNA profiles Jack Merchant wasn't Arch Drake's son. There were significant anomalies in both sets of genetic workups.'

'What do you mean?' Mulder asked. 'What kind of anomalies, Scully?'

'They both had long strands of inactive DNA in the middle of the gene sequences that we believe govern cell meiosis.'

'And translated into English, that means..?'

Scully quirked an eyebrow at him. 'Neither of them could have had children, Mulder. As well as that they both had a twenty-fourth and a twenty-fifth pair of chromosomes. It's a condition called aneuploidy. Human DNA is normally stored within twenty-three pairs of chromosomes. Extra chromosomes are associated with conditions like Down Syndrome and Klinefelter Syndrome. They're usually accompanied by mental retardation and multiple deformities.'

'How common is this type of condition, Scully?' Mulder asked, pulling himself up in his chair.

Scully put her briefcase down on the crowded desktop.

'Aneuploidy in general is fairly common, but I've never seen anything specifically like this. Extra chromosomes are almost always just duplicates of chromosomes that already exist. These aren't copies. They're unique pairs. It's almost as if these people belonged to another species, except there's no such thing as a species that lacks the ability to reproduce.'

'Wait... you're saying that Drake and Merchant weren't related but still shared a rare genetic condition?'

'That's about the size of it, Mulder. There's no more evidence of any blood relationship than you'd find in any two people picked out of the population at random.'

'But were they born with it or was it a mutation? Could it have been environmental? Something that happened in Maine?'

'Mulder, it's vastly unlikely that a mutation this complex and specific could have been triggered in exactly the same way in two different people by an environmental cause like radiation. In any case, aneuploidy always occurs during the very early stages of embryonic development.'

'Then you think this is inherited?'

'Both parents would have had the same basic genetic structure, which means they would also have been infertile. It's not inherited, but I don't think it's a mutation either.'

'Are you saying this is something that's been engineered?' Mulder asked in disbelief.

'I think so, Mulder. It's the only explanation I can think of. And there's more. When I had those results back I carried out some more tests. I think you should see the results.'

She took a folder out of her case and pulled out a transparency.

'This is called a karyotype analysis. This one shows my DNA. It's our control.'

The sheet showed the twenty-three pairs of banded, sausage-shaped chromosomes lined up across the page.

'These are Drake's and Merchant's.'

Mulder held the new pair of transparencies up to the light. To the naked eye there was very little difference between any of the chromosomes, but Scully had ringed the two extra pairs on each transparency in red.

'These are the ones that aren't supposed to be there?'

'That's right, Mulder. Now here's where it gets interesting,' Scully said. 'This is Adam Pierson's test, from blood left on the ground at the marina. You see the extra pairs?'

Mulder nodded. 'What about the rest? Give me the executive summary, Scully.'

'Ok, Mulder. Naomi Redburg, twenty-three . Leigh, twenty-three . Unidentified bloodstain found in Arch Drake's house, twenty-five. This one is from the man who was allegedly beheaded by MacLeod - Kalas, Lafayette called him. Twenty-five. John Doe number one from Bordeaux, twenty-five. John Doe number two from Bordeaux, twenty-five. Bordeaux body number three, later identified as Romanian mental patient Evan Caspari, twenty-five...'

'You're implying there's some kind of pattern here, Scully?' Mulder said, in a weak attempt a humour.

Scully looked up at him with a grave expression.

'Mulder, I think you're right. Whatever's going on, it isn't about Drake's money. For a start Nick Drake can't possibly exist unless he's adopted or illegitimate.'

'No, Scully. I don't think he exists *yet*. We have no idea how long these people live. I think Nick Drake is the identity that Arch Drake was planning to take over when his Arch Drake identity got too old. You remember that his father died in a boating accident back in the 50's? I looked into it. No body was ever found. I think that was Arch Drake too.'

Scully gave him a sceptical look. 'Mulder, you're suggesting that Arch Drake must have been born in the early years of this century when even the basic concepts of genetics were barely understood. The knowledge and technology to carry out sophisticated genetic engineering just didn't exist then.'

'Scully, if I understand correctly the knowledge or the technology to do something like this barely even exists today. I think this goes back well beyond the beginning of this century. One of the three bodies in Bordeaux had a bronze knife that was dated back well over two thousand years. The only reason to choose to fight with a weapon like that is because it was one you'd always used.'

'You think this has been going on for thousands of years?' Scully asked disbelievingly.

Mulder slumped back in his chair. 'I don't know, OK? Any theory I come up with right now sounds insane.'

Scully sighed. 'At least we have a test now. At least we have a way of knowing who's involved in this.'

'Yeah. Sounds like I'm the only one you didn't test,' Mulder said, deadpan.

Scully looked at him and raised a weary eyebrow.

'I just wasn't in the mood to go over the office carpet for the genetic material in your toenail clippings, Mulder. If you want a karyotype done you'll have to ask the lab boys. I came to tell you I'm spending a week out of the office. Skinner's orders.'

'Well you could use the break, Scully. Where are you going?'

'There's a forensics conference in New York. Skinner's approved funding but I didn't know if...' she flushed a bit, and let the words trail off.

'If you could trust me out of your sight for two minutes?' Mulder supplied. 'Scully, go have fun in the Big Apple. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.' He could tell she didn't believe him. He wouldn't have done either.

Scully gave him a weary look. 'Just make sure you get enough sleep. Are you eating properly?'

'The same as usual.'

'You mean you're living on instant coffee, pop tarts, beer, pizza and Chinese takeout.'

'You say that like you think it's a bad thing, Dr Scully.'

'Mulder, I'm not sure how to break this to you but those aren't the five major food groups.'

'Scully, go to New York and have fun with all the other little pathologists. You deserve the break. I promise I'll call you if I need you.'

'Mulder, I don't want to come back and find you're in custody for breaking into the Pentagon.'

'Just for you I'm going to cross that one off my list, Scully.'

'Mulder, just be careful. And stay in touch.'

***

During the days after Scully's departure the basement office seemed smaller and darker than before. Mulder sat at his desk, staring blankly at a report. The case - that of a rogue Native American shaman, who claimed to have the ability to control the weather and who was using his talent to blackmail the organisers of sporting events - did not engage him. Mulder knew the his tendency to brood, or to sulk, as Scully put it, was probably one of his least endearing qualities. But Scully had gone, and if he didn't feel sorry for himself there was no-one else who would. The voicemail button on his telephone glowed. He knew that six or seven increasingly irate telephone messages from the Bureau counselling service were on there, all wanting to know his availability for his first session. *Maybe I can find a window in my schedule sometime in the early twenty-first century.*

He picked up the file and stared at it again, without a single word sinking in. Most of the stuff on his desk was so obviously a waste of time that he wasn't even going to bother to run the 302s past Skinner. As always, his mind returned to his one, overwhelming preoccupation.

So far all efforts to find Adam Pierson (deceased) had ended in failure. The apartment in Paris had been cleaned out by the time the French police returned. Not just cleaned out, sanitised. Not a fingerprint, not a hair, not a scrap of DNA remained. Those official records that there were had contained only skeleton information - nothing of any conceivable use. Adam Pierson hadn't gone to a doctor, hadn't gone to a dentist. There were no medical records, no fingerprints anywhere on file. Most of the files that did exist were missing photographs, including Pierson's British passport office records. Mulder had seen constructed identities before - this was a textbook example.

And now the doubts were beginning. Adam Pierson didn't want to be found, but other people wanted him to find Adam Pierson. One night together in Paris had almost cost them both their lives. *Had* cost Adam his life, although apparently not permanently. Maybe it was time to simply leave things be. He owed Adam that, for coming back to save his life, for bringing him out of the darkness seventeen years before. It hurt to abandon the search for the truth, but less than it would hurt to know that he had caused his friend's death. Adam Pierson was a man he loved and trusted, rightly or wrongly. He would make the sacrifice. He would let it go. And with that decision came peace, of a sort.

His mobile rang. Probably Scully checking up on him. He dug under the paperwork on his desk and found the phone.

'Mulder,' he said, leaning back in his chair.

'Mulder, don't hang up. I want you to listen. Don't interrupt, and don't bother with a trace. You'll only come up with a civil service extension in St Petersburg.'

An old, familiar voice. 'Krycek,' Mulder said emotionlessly.

'Listen, Mulder. In December a water purification plant in Kahzakstan was blown up by Islamic terrorists, only it wasn't a water purification plant and they weren't terrorists.'

'There is nothing you can say that I want to hear, Krycek,' Mulder said in a calm, detached voice. 'I'm going to hang up now.'

'Have you ever heard of something called the rapture virus, Mulder?'

Mulder was silent for a moment. 'The rapture virus doesn't exist, Krycek,' he said eventually, reluctantly. 'It's a cold-war scare story.'

'Oh it exists. It was formulated in the mid-eighties, in a laboratory just outside Kiev. Do you know what the Rapture is, Mulder?'

Mulder said wearily: 'It's the fundamentalist Christian belief that when Armageddon comes, the truly good and devout will be snatched up bodily to heaven.'

'From behind the wheels of their cars, at their desks at work, from the schoolyard, from the shopping mall,' Krycek agreed. 'That's why this virus was given that name. It has almost no symptoms, right up until the moment it kills. Its victims die where they stand. There's no immunity and no chance of containment. It spreads like wildfire. When the Politburo heard about it they ordered all the stocks destroyed. The cold war was winding down and it was too dangerous to ever use, even in lab conditions. The stocks weren't destroyed, of course.'

'Oh, naturally. I imagine your other employers had something to do with that.'

He heard Krycek sigh. 'They're not my employers, Mulder. Not any more. Not that they ever really were.'

'Yeah, Krycek. You were a loyal son of Mother Russia all along.'

'Believe what you want, Mulder. I don't have time to argue. The water processing plant in Kahzakstan was the cover for a viral research centre. When the Soviet Union fell apart the centre fell into the hands of the Kahzakstani government. The scientists were evacuated but there was no time to clear the viral stocks. The plant was left abandoned apart from a few Kahzakstani guards. The viral material was all secure, of course. All sealed away far underground, with the security safeguards powered by hydroelectricity. We assumed that the stocks would be stable until things calmed down and an arrangement could be reached with the Kahzakstani government. We didn't know about the virus then, of course.'

'Who's "we", Krycek?'

'You don't have time for this, Mulder,' Krycek warned him sharply. 'Just listen to what I have to say. The plant was destroyed in January. The mine shaft leading down to the stocks was collapsed. We weren't too worried because we assumed that the stocks would deteriorate and become harmless. It was too dangerous to send anyone down to investigate, of course.'

'Go on.'

'That was until a couple of months ago. The virus was released in the open, in an isolated village on the border between Turkey and Iraq. Everybody in that village died, Mulder.'

'After the slave-camp in Tunguska your sudden concern for the ethnic peoples of Central Asia isn't really that convincing, Krycek.'

'Mulder, at that moment the world came closer to destruction than at any time since the Cuban missile crisis. If the wind had changed everything would have been over.'

'And you're telling me the Consortium has nothing to do with this?' Mulder asked, in a voice heavy with contempt. 'Don't make me laugh, Krycek.'

'Oh you can't blame this one on me, Mulder. For one thing they're not my employers any more and in any case since the plant belonged to them in the first place they wouldn't need to blow it up to cover their tracks. This was a Russian mafia operation from start to finish. That's one payroll I guarantee I'm not on.'

'So who has the virus now, Krycek?'

'We don't know. The man who organised the exchange was found shot through the head in Tbilisi.'

'Not beheaded?' Mulder asked sourly. 'You surprise me.'

The moment of silence from the other end of the line told him that his remark had hit home.

'What exactly do you know, Mulder?' Krycek asked softly.

Mulder leaned forward, even though Krycek couldn't see him. 'Let's start with what you know, Krycek. I thought that's what this call was all about.'

'The community is involved but we're not sure how exactly. The virus won't affect them, of course.'

'The community?'

Irritation and suspicion filled Krycek's voice 'That's our term for them. You must have come across it before, Mulder.'

Mulder fought back a dozen questions. He'd get more out of Krycek if he kept his cool. 'Krycek, why are you telling me this anyway? Remember official channels? Megalomaniacs who want to take over the world - last time I checked that was the CIA's problem.'

'You're already involved, Mulder. I just thought you'd prefer it if I kept things in the family.'

'How do you mean, I'm already involved?'

'The group who bought the virus included a request for information in the terms of the deal. On the off-chance that the KGB had information hidden away somewhere they gave their contact a list of names. Four of them were from the community, one of them was yours, but the man they were really after was called Adam Pierson. You're on so many people's lists we assumed it was a coincidence. That was before Paris.'

Mulder let out a breath. 'You seem to know a lot, Krycek.'

'I've cultivated some useful contacts. Who's Adam Pierson, Mulder?'

'An old friend,' Mulder said blandly.

'How old, Mulder?'

'He didn't tell me. If he had, I wouldn't tell you.'

'I'm not interested in the game, Mulder.'

'That's important, isn't it? How old they are?'

'Well of course it's important, Mulder,' Krycek said patiently. 'The older you are the more heads you've taken to survive.'

'They have to be beheaded to die. And every time you behead someone, you grow stronger?'

A weary breath. 'Yes, Mulder.'

'And anything apart from a beheading they can recover from?'

'As far as I know, yes.'

'So Adam Pierson really is still alive?'

'Probably. I don't imagine he's calling himself that any more, though.'

'Where is he?'

'How should I know? Finding that out is your problem, not mine. You're going to have to work with what you've got. And here's something else to motivate you, Mulder. Someone else knows that your friend Pierson isn't dead. My sources in the Russian Mob say they've been approached about a contract on him. Money no object. The terms haven't been agreed yet, but if they are you'd better pray you find your friend before they do.'

'Last time I led them straight to him, remember?'

'Then this time, you need to be more careful,' Krycek said, as though it was self-evident.

Mulder took a breath. 'Tell me what the lightning means.'

Krycek gave a short, humourless laugh. 'You haven't got a fucking clue what any of this is about, have you Mulder?' he said. 'Didn't Pierson sit you down and explain it all to you?'

'It must have slipped his mind. Krycek, if you want me to help you have to tell me what you know about the community. I know some of it but I'm working in the dark here.'

'Why don't you tell me how much you know, Mulder?'

'Why don't you just answer my questions, Krycek?'

'Umm, because you have no fucking idea what questions to ask, Mulder?' Krycek said sarcastically.

'Were the people who bought the virus part of this "community"?'

Krycek sighed. 'There's no way of knowing, Mulder. Immortals know each other but there's no way for outsiders to tell the difference. My guess is that they are. Anyone else would be killed by the virus instantly. Nobody else would take the risk. To them it's not a risk at all.'

'Ok. Next question. Who's Duncan MacLeod?' Mulder tried. 'What does he have to do with this?'

'I don't know, Mulder. As far as I know, nothing. I've never heard of him.'

'Joe Dawson? Amanda Darieux?'

'I don't know any of these names, Mulder. You're wasting time.'

'What about the Horsemen of the Apocalypse?'

'As far as I know their significance is symbolic. I assume that the people who are doing this are fundamentalists.'

'And they're planning to use the virus to start their own apocalypse?'

'Get a *clue*, Mulder,' Krycek said wearily. 'Of course they are. Why else would anyone steal a virus that has the potential to kill every man, woman and child on the planet?'

'Not for blackmail,' Mulder said slowly. 'As far as everyone else knows it would kill them too, so nobody's going to take them seriously if they use it as a threat. Let's say you're right. They chose this virus because they intend to use it. Why haven't they done it yet? They've had the virus for more than two months.'

'Well perhaps they're waiting for something, Mulder,' Krycek said with the air of someone spelling something out to a slow child. 'A special date, maybe?'

'The millennium,' Mulder said slowly. 'They're waiting for the millennium.' He let a note of puzzlement enter his voice. 'So what's the hurry, Krycek? There's a while to go until January 1 2000.'

'They're waiting for the millenium, but that's the wrong date. You don't have that much time. I'll let you work it out. Any more questions?'

'Yes. What exactly am I supposed to do about all this?'

'Stop them, Mulder,' Krycek said, as though explaining it to a child. 'Stop these people. Find out who they are and stop them.'

'Why should I spend my time clearing up your mess?'

'Because you owe me, Mulder. For Tunguska.'

'Jesus, Krycek. *I* owe *you*? Do you know what they did to me?' The pain of that betrayal was thick in his voice. He heard Krycek laugh, a low, painful laugh, without humour.

'You were the one who got us into that situation, Mulder. You didn't give me a fucking choice. Believe me, you got away lightly.'

'Your Consortium buddies not too pleased with you?'

'You have no idea what happened to me, do you?' Krycek said, in a low voice. 'You have *no idea* what they did to me.'

Mulder was silent. There were nightmares and agonies beneath Krycek's words. He heard Krycek take a breath, push the nightmares away. 'It wasn't your fault. Not entirely, anyway. But believe me, Mulder, you got away lightly. And you owe me. You owe me so much.'

'All right. I'll do what I can,' Mulder said. 'I'll look into it. But I still don't know what most of this is about. I don't know where to start. You've got to give me more.'

'Why don't you get in touch with your paranoid friends, Mulder.' Krycek said. His voice was heavy with bitterness and remembered pain. 'Maybe they'll be able to enlighten you.'

'Almost all of my friends are paranoid,' Mulder said. But he was talking to himself. Krycek had hung up.

***

Skinner was reading through Mulder's report when the Agent was shown into his office. When Mulder entered he closed it and placed it squarely and deliberately on his desk. The 302 was attached to the front by paper clip, unsigned. Mulder had included it more as a formality than in the genuine hope that Skinner would let him pursue the case on bureau time.

'Sit down, Agent Mulder.'

'Thank you sir.'

Skinner picked the folder up again, but didn't open it.

'I've read your report, Agent Mulder,' he began. He looked up at Mulder, studying his face intently. 'You're actually telling me you want to pursue this? You want to use FBI resources to track down someone who was fatally shot three times in front of twenty or thirty police witnesses, on camera? Agent Scully pronounced him dead herself, Agent Mulder. Are you telling me that you have concerns about her competency as a medical doctor?'

'No, sir.'

'I understand that she strongly recommended you have counselling. Have you attended a counselling session yet?'

'No sir, but...'

'Mulder, when you leave this office, which you will do now, you will not return to the basement, you will report to psych for an evaluation. That is not open to argument.'

'Sir, at least let me explain why I think there's a basis for pursuing this case.'

Skinner's eyes grew cool behind the reflective lenses of his glasses. 'Agent Mulder, I believe I just gave you an order.'

'Sir, all I'm asking for is two minutes of your time.'

Skinner looked at him for a moment, then sighed. 'I know I'm going to regret this. You have two minutes, Mulder. And then you are going to Psych if I have to have you escorted there by security.'

'Sir, I know that Pierson died, but I think he came back to life again. I think that his body was snatched just after the shooting and another body was substituted.'

'Agent Mulder...'

'Sir, I had an anonymous call. Someone played me a tape from Pierson's wiretap recorded after the shooting. I heard him come back to life. I know it's a lot to ask you to believe, and I can't explain all of it to you, but I have good reason to believe that he's alive and in danger, and that other lives may be at stake if I don't pursue this.'

Skinner's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. 'What exactly is going on, Agent Mulder?' he asked in a dangerously calm voice. 'What aren't you telling me here?'

Mulder fought the impulse to burst into hysterical laughter. 'Sir, if I tell you, you're going to think I'm completely insane.'

Skinner sat back in his chair. 'Mulder, last month you told me that early mind control experiments in this country involved subliminal messages played during broadcasts of Mister Ed.'

'Sir, I had that one straight from the horse's mouth.'

'And the month before. Remind me, Agent Mulder. Was it the demonically possessed household pets or the levitating nuns?'

'It was both, sir. And you wouldn't think it was funny if that rabbit had gone for *your* throat.'

'Maybe it didn't like your tie, Agent Mulder.'

'Yeah, that's what Scully said,' Mulder muttered.

'And the nuns. I didn't have a chance to read your report on that.'

'They were fake, sir.'

'You mean they couldn't levitate?'

'Oh they could levitate all right. They just weren't real nuns. Could we just get to the point here, sir?'

'My point, Agent Mulder, is that there is probably nothing you can say that will significantly change my opinion of your sanity. Read into that what you will.'

'Sir, I think there is a group of individuals out there who are not exactly human,' Mulder said, slowly and precisely. 'They don't age and they're able to heal themselves very rapidly. Almost the only thing that can kill them is beheading. When they're beheaded some kind of energy is released and absorbed by whoever killed them.'

'I see,' Skinner said. 'Clearly I was wrong.'

'Wrong, sir?'

'When I said there probably wasn't anything you could say that would make be significantly change my opinion of your sanity.'

Mulder continued, a little desperately, 'Sir, Adam Pierson looked exactly the same last week as he did seventeen years ago. So did Arch Drake and according to his driver's licence so did Jack Merchant. I don't believe that's a coincidence. Both Arch Drake and Jack Merchant were beheaded. Arch Drake's beheading was accompanied by a violent local electrical disturbance and that's by no means the only example of the phenomenon. All three men had similar anomalies in their DNA. It's as if they're all members of some kind of genetically engineered subspecies.'

Skinner leaned forward. 'There are genetic differences?'

Mulder frowned. 'Uh, yes, sir. Scully should be able to give you the low-down when she gets back from New York.'

'And you know who's carrying out these beheadings?'

'Other members of this group. I don't know why, but duelling each other seems to be an imperative for them. Sir, I believe that Adam Pierson is still alive, because he wasn't beheaded. He arranged his own shooting as a way of getting away from the Surete and the people who were trying to capture him. Now he's gone into hiding. I have to find him.'

Skinner looked at him, not without a trace of compassion. 'Agent Mulder, I'm sorry, but there's no justification for your continuing with this case. We have no proof of anything except your witness statement. Pierson may have been fatally shot and come back to life, but then again you may have hallucinated the tape you heard. The mental trauma you underwent and the fact that Leigh knocked you out using a cocktail of drugs including at least one hallucinogen mean your word isn't going to count for much on this one. The genetic evidence sounds compelling, but it isn't enough to base a case file on.'

'But what about the beheadings?' Mulder protested. 'Don't you want to find out who was responsible for this?'

'Mulder, Leigh didn't deny killing Redburg and Drake when Pierson put it to him,' Skinner said, almost gently. 'There could be other deaths he's responsible for. The Surete have already pinned another six unsolved murders on him and those were just the ones in France. His passport showed that he travelled a great deal. Scotland Yard's serious crime squad, Interpol and six or seven others are all interested.'

'And Pierson?'

'I'm sorry, but if he is alive he's long gone, Agent Mulder. We ran a complete background check on him and he came up clean. He was a student taking his doctorate in the history of French Art. He paid the bills working as a freelance researcher and translator for a historical foundation. He had about two hundred dollars in his bank account, drove a Rover, had British citizenship...'

'Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to follow up.'

'Nothing at all. Apart from a missing persons report on him and a Fox Mulder filed in Maine in 1979.'

Busted. 'Oh,' Mulder managed. No more coherent response occurred to him. He closed his eyes and took a breath. It didn't seem to help.

'You failed to mention this in your report, Agent Mulder,' Skinner said. His voice was flat; without inflection.

'I told you that he was an old friend, sir.'

'According to the police report you left with him one morning before anyone else was awake.'

'You make it sound like an elopement, sir,' Mulder said, staring straight ahead.

'Was it?' Skinner asked.

'Are you asking me if Adam Pierson was my lover, sir?'

'Yes, Agent Mulder. I am.'

Something seemed to snap in Mulder. He realised he didn't care anymore what Skinner did to him. * So I'll get a job as a security guard. Anything's got to be better than this.*

'Yes. He was. I was his lover. I guess that's why he came back for me. Because we were lovers.'

He saw Skinner's face whiten.

Mulder said defeatedly: 'He used me. He's hidden the truth from me all along, and now he's come back from nowhere and he's saved my life, and I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know if I can trust him or if I could ever trust him. I don't know if he's a killer and I don't know his real name or even if he's human. All I know is that I was in love with him, and maybe I still am. And if you want my resignation, you've got it.'

Skinner took his glasses off and began to massage his forehead with his fingers.

'Agent Mulder, this isn't the fifties. The FBI is an equal opportunities employer. I can't fire you for having a homosexual relationship. Nor would I wish to.'

'How about a homosexual relationship with a witness and a possible murder suspect?'

Skinner let out a long breath, and thumbed the button on the intercom. 'Kim, could you bring me through a couple of aspirin? Agent Mulder...'

'Yes, sir?'

'How much leave do you still have owing?'

Mulder blinked. 'All of it, sir. I haven't taken any yet this year. But..'

'Then you will take all of it, starting from today. I suggest that you use the time to find Pierson, *if* he's still alive, and sort this mess out.'

'May I use FBI resources, sir?'

Skinner's look told him not to push it. 'Let's keep this unofficial, Mulder. I know you have your own channels. Use those.'

Mulder nodded. 'Thank you, sir.' He paused. 'Sir, why are you doing this for me?'

'Just go, Mulder, before I change my mind and have you suspended.'

'Sir, there's something else you need to know.'

Skinner looked up with an expression of weary restraint. 'What, Agent Mulder?'

'I just had a telephone call from Krycek.'

'Well this gets better and better, doesn't it, Agent Mulder.' Skinner thumbed the intercom again. 'Kim, those aspirin. Just bring me in the whole bottle.'

'I don't know how much of what he said can be trusted.'

Skinner raised an eyebrow, but chose not to take him up on that statement. 'Go on, Mulder.'

'He said that the people behind these particular deaths are some kind of fundamentalist group. He claims they've managed to get hold of a lethal virus which they tested on a village in Kurdistan a few months ago.'

'I see. And when did you start believing anything Krycek has to say?'

'All I'm saying is that it might be worth checking out with the Turkish Government. Krycek said this group were planning on releasing the virus at the millennium, but he implied that their date for the millennium was closer than the year 2000. If that's true we need to have someone look into it.'

Skinner nodded. 'All right, Mulder. It's not really within our remit but I'll pass the information on to the CIA. They're going to need more than Krycek's unsupported word on this but it may tie in with something they already have.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Send your leave approval form up to me. I'll tell Psych you'll be off duty for a couple of weeks. It should get them off your back for a while. Oh, and one more thing, Agent Mulder. Do you have a picture of Adam Pierson?'

Mulder nodded. 'Yes sir. There was a passport photograph on his university personnel record. Wait a minute...' The lecture flyer was still folded up in his wallet, the cheap paper creased and tearing. He handed it to Skinner. 'He's the third one down.'

Skinner looked at the flyer in silence for a moment.

'Can I keep this?' he said at last.

'I need the original but I'll have a copy made for you.'

'Good. That'll be all, Agent Mulder. Enjoy your leave.'

***

He dialled an old, familiar number as soon as he sat back down at his desk deep in the basement. The reply was almost instantaneous.

'Scully.'

'Scully? It's me. I needed to check something with you.'

There was the muffled sound of an apology and a chair scraping back. A few seconds later there was the sound of a door being quietly closed.

'Mulder, I'm in the middle of a seminar,' Scully said, with more than a little irritation in her voice. 'What do you want?'

'What kind of seminars do they have at forensics conferences? "Your friend, the blow-fly maggot?", "Trepanation techniques - the way ahead for the year 2000?"'

'That's not funny, Mulder.'

'All right, Scully. I'll get to the point.'

'If you wouldn't mind, Mulder.'

'The man you spoke to on the barge. Not MacLeod, the other one. Joe...'

'Joe Dawson. MacLeod introduced him as Joe Dawson.' A note of wariness entered her voice. 'What's this about, Mulder?'

'I thought he might be a good place to start. He and Adam sounded close.'

'On the tape you said you heard. Mulder...'

'Scully, I didn't dream it and I didn't hallucinate it,' Mulder interrupted firmly. 'I've never heard of Joe Dawson before. How could I have known his name?'

'Well first, Mulder, you didn't know the name Joe Dawson, you only knew the name Joe. Second, you've probably read about MacLeod in connection with another one of those beheading cases. If Dawson's his associate you probably read about him too. Maybe there was something in one of those files that made you subconsciously link him with Pierson.'

'I'm sorry, Scully, but I think you're reaching there.'

'I'm reaching?!' Scully exclaimed. She took an exasperated breath and lowered her voice. 'Mulder, which do you think is the most likely? That you imagined hearing that tape while you were drugged and in shock or that your friend came back to life after being fatally shot three times in the head and chest?'

'Skinner thinks I've got a case, Scully. Sort of, anyway. He's put me on leave until I get this sorted out.'

Scully sighed. 'Skinner's just done what he had to do to get you out of the building for a few days, Mulder. You're refusing counselling. Unofficially putting you on compulsory leave is all he can do without anything appearing on your permanent record.'

Mulder's eyes narrowed. 'How did you know I hadn't been to counselling, Scully?'

'I didn't. I do now.'

'I really hate it when you do that, Scully.'

'Mulder, you *need* to talk this through with someone,' Scully said, trying and failing to sound calm and reasonable. 'You're not doing anyone any favours by avoiding the issue.'

'Scully, what I need is to find out what happened. Tell me about Joe Dawson. I need to find him. Please.'

'This is against my better judgement, Mulder,' Scully said reluctantly. 'Dawson is a white Caucasian male. He's about five foot eleven in height and I'd say he was in his late forties to early fifties. He has brown eyes, he's bearded and he has short greying hair. He's a double amputee. Probably a veteran. I noticed a tattoo on his wrist...'

'Wait, Scully. He had a tattoo?'

'I only caught a glimpse of it. A blue circle with some kind of design in it.'

'Like a blue bird?'

'I suppose so, Mulder. Why?'

'One of the people at the camp had a tattoo like that. Was it on the inside of his wrist?'

'Yes. I thought it was strange at the time. It was the kind of thing you see in street gangs or organised crime. I assumed it was something he'd had done when he was a serviceman. What do you think it means?'

'I don't know, Scully, but it's going to make him easier to find.'

'Mulder, I think you should give this up. Pierson's dead. You need to accept that. If you don't want to see a bureau counsellor then I can recommend a friend of mine, but you need professional help.'

'Scully, when this is over...'

'Mulder, it is over!' Scully said in helpless frustration. 'It's over now! Adam Pierson is dead and you... in my professional opinion, you're on the edge of a breakdown. You're having hallucinations, you're obsessed with finding a man who died in front of you. Mulder, you can't tell me that this is a healthy reaction.'

'Scully...'

'Mulder, I know Adam Pierson was your lover. You said yourself that he was part of a time in your childhood that was very special to you. I know it's hard to let that go, but you've got to let it go. You've got to face the truth. He's dead. You saw him die. You've got to accept it and move on.'

'Scully I know he's alive. I had another call this morning...'

'Another recording? Did you trace it? Is there any record of it being received? Was anyone with you at the time?'

'No.' Mulder said wretchedly. 'None of those things, Scully. I mean I didn't check if there was a record of it being received or not. Considering who it was there probably wouldn't have been. But Scully, I didn't hallucinate it.'

Scully's voice was full of foreboding. 'Who was it from, Mulder?'

'Krycek.'

'Oh Mulder,' Scully said wearily. 'Mulder, I'm not even going to tell you what I think about that, because you already know. Just tell me this. What are you going to do when you can't find Adam Pierson? Keep searching for him? Search for him for the rest of your life?'

'Scully, I need to look for him now. Just for these few weeks. If I'm wrong, if I don't find him, I'll do whatever you want. I'll get counselling, as much as you think I need. I trust you, Scully. It'll be your call. But I just can't give up without trying.'

'Mulder, I think I should come back there. I can get leave for the next couple of weeks.'

'This is something I need to do on my own. Don't worry about me, Scully.'

'I always worry about you, Mulder. I want you to call me every day.'

'I'll try to, Scully. Look, I've got to go. I'll speak to you soon.'

Scully's voice rose. 'Mulder, Mulder listen to me, you'd damn well better not...'

Mulder put the phone down, picked it up, and dialled another number.

'Danny? Yeah, Mulder. I need you to find me anything we've got on a Joe or a Joseph Dawson. He's a double amputee with a circular blue tattoo on his inner left wrist.

Call waiting beeped. Mulder ignored it. He'd call Scully back later, when she'd had time to calm down a bit.

'No, Danny, I don't have a lot else except that he's an associate of a man called Duncan MacLeod. Yeah. As far as I know he's a US citizen. Could be a veteran. Vietnam probably. Late forties to mid fifties. Yeah. Today would be good, Danny. In the next couple of hours would be better. I'm going on leave tomorrow for a few weeks. No, I haven't been suspended. No, they're not making me take it. It's voluntary. Yeah, laugh all you want to, Danny. Ha ha. Just get me that information. And don't tell anyone that I requested it.'

He put the phone down again. It started to ring almost immediately. He picked it up.

'Scully, what is it now?'

There was a moment's silence.

'Mulder, it's Skinner. There's someone I think you should speak to. Do you know Frank Black?'

Mulder recovered quickly. 'Uh, Frank? Yes, I've met him, sir. We worked a couple of cases together before he took early retirement.'

'He's working for a private foundation called the Millennium Group. He might be able to give you some insight into any millennial connection there may be in this case.'

'Sir?'

'What is it, Agent Mulder?'

Skinner's voice was grave and calming. A place to ground himself. Mulder took courage from that, and pressed on.

'Sir, do you think I'm finally going nuts? Do you think I just need to forget about this and book myself into the bureau funny farm?'

'You've spoken to Agent Scully, I see,' Skinner said dryly. 'I wouldn't presume to know what's going on in your mind, Agent Mulder, but I think you need to trust your instincts. I know that I do. Call Black.'

Mulder closed his eyes. The relief he felt was almost tangible. 'I'll do that. Thank you, sir.'

***

'Frank?'

'Yes.' The voice was soft and gravelly - instantly recognisable. 'Who is this?'

'Frank, it's Agent Mulder.'

'Mulder. It's good to hear from you again. I've been following your work. You've had some interesting cases recently.'

'I heard that you were working as a consultant now.'

'Yes. Is there something I can help you with?'

'Yeah, Frank. I need to know the date of the Millennium.'

'Conventional wisdom holds that the new Millennium will begin at midnight on December 31 in the year 2000, Mulder. Popular opinion is that it will begin at midnight on December 31 in the year 1999. I take it that's not what you're after.'

'My source told me that was the wrong Millennium.'

'In what way, Mulder?'

'That he didn't tell me. He implied that it was going to be sooner.'

'It's possible that the date you need is the actual thousandth anniversary of Christ's birth as opposed to the official millennium.'

Mulder blinked. 'I didn't realise there was a difference. I take it we're not talking about December 25 2000 instead.'

'It's unlikely that Christ was born in December, Mulder. I'm sure you're aware that Christian missionaries in Europe...'

'Adopted the winter solstice in order to supplant established pagan festivals. Yeah. So can you give me a more accurate date?'

'Estimates range from anything between 11BC and 3AD.'

'And you can't narrow it down any further than that?'

'Mulder, I could give you the most accurate estimate we have, but it's unlikely to be the date you want.'

'I'm not sure I understand,' Mulder said.

He could hear an edge of amusement in the voice at the other end of the phone. 'According to our best information, Mulder, the Millennium of the birth of Christ has already occurred.'

'Uh, could you run that one past me again?'

'The Roman Julian calendar was in use throughout Europe until the Holy Roman Empire adopted Catholicism,' Frank said, in his grave voice. 'The Council of Nicea decided on a new year one, which was when they believed that Jesus had been born. The only problem was that they got it wrong. Actually, to be more exact, a monk called Dionysius Exiguus got it wrong when he worked the date out in 525AD. Scholars have been trying to establish the correct date ever since. It's widely recorded that the date of Herod's death was around 4BC, so some scholars have worked back from there. The fact that Herod ordered the murder of the Christ when he was aged anything up to two years old puts the date of the birth back to 5BC or 6BC. Since there wasn't a year zero that would mean the Millennium was either in 1995 or 1996.'

'How sure are you that that's accurate? I mean, "Tonight we're gonna party like it's 1996" just doesn't have that ring to it.'

'I didn't say that it was accurate, Mulder. It's just the most likely date. There are other interpretations, of course. There's a tradition of trying to find a more exact date by looking for the astrological phenomenon which could have been the Star of Bethlehem. Unfortunately there seem to have been rather a lot of them, hence the range of estimates.'

'And what about the month?'

'Oh it was probably August, Mulder. The bible says that the shepherds watched over their flocks in the fields at night, not the pens or the pastures. It was customary in Palestine to let sheep graze over the stubble once the crops had been harvested. That would have been around August.'

Mulder leaned back in his chair. 'So if the Millennium's already gone, why is your group still in existence?'

'Mulder, you more than anyone must be aware of the power of belief. It doesn't matter that the actual Millennium of the birth of Christ may already be years past. Most people believe that the Millennium will come at the beginning of the year 2000, or 2001. That's when their belief in focused and that's when they'll act, if they intend to act. Your terrorists know that 2000 or 2001 isn't the date they want, but you need to find out what their date is.'

'I think it's this year sometime,' Mulder said, almost to himself.

'I don't know any theories which say the millennium will be this year, Mulder. Can you tell me what this is about?'

Mulder sighed. 'Ok, Frank. A fundamentalist group may or may not have stolen a lethal virus which they may or may not be planning to release at a time which may or may not be their idea of the millennium.'

There was a slight pause from the other end of the line. 'There were a lot of "may or may nots" in that, Mulder.'

'Let's just say my one source of information isn't very trustworthy.'

'You need to find out more. Can you tell me anything about these people?'

'I think they may be Templars.'

There was a another pause. 'You don't say that they may be a group associated with the Templars or who identify with the Templars or who are descended from the Templars.'

'I can't explain it right now, but there's a good chance they're the real thing.'

'Mulder, do you have a body in this case?'

'To date, four. The first I knew about was a woman called Naomi Redburg who was beheaded in San Francisco by a contract killer called Leigh. Leigh was shot by the Surete in Paris a few days ago. Then there were two men. One was Arch Drake. He was beheaded in France almost two weeks ago. The other is a man called Jack Merchant or Jacques Lemarchand, who was found in the sea near New Jersey. We haven't identified any suspects for those killings yet. Then there's a fifth body which vanished.'

'Vanished?'

Mulder sighed. 'It's a very long story, but it looks as if he was killed and then came back to life.'

There was yet another brief silence at the other end of the line.

'Mulder, I'd like to be associated with your investigation. Is there anything I can do to be of help?'

'The investigation hasn't been authorised by the FBI, Frank. Officially I'm on leave. I've been told that I can't use FBI channels. You may not want to get involved.'

'Mulder, it doesn't matter to me whether this case is FBI authorised or not. We're an autonomous agency. It sounds as though this is exactly the kind of situation we've been set up to deal with. I'd like to help.'

'I remember your talent. Do you still use it?'

'My talent still uses me, Mulder. Do you want me to examine one of the bodies?'

'We still have Jack Merchant in cold storage,' Mulder said. 'If we could get some idea of who killed him it would be helpful. We have almost no leads on who's doing this.'

'What information do you have so far?'

'The body had decomposed too much to get much useful forensic evidence. He was beheaded, so the killing had ritualistic overtones, but it looks as though he was tortured for information first. So far we haven't found the head. There's not enough to profile the killer except to say that he was almost certainly a male, physically strong, ruthless and probably psychotic. This almost certainly wasn't a first killing and there didn't seem to be any sexual overtones.'

'Where's the body being kept?'

'It's in the morgue in Trenton, New Jersey.'

'I'll try and get over there in the next couple of days. Can you meet me?'

'I'm going to be tracking down victim number five so I'm not sure where I'll be. If you need authorisation to view the body, get in touch with AD Skinner. If he hasn't called you already, of course.'

A dry chuckle on the other end of the line confirmed his suspicions. 'I see your reputation isn't unfounded, Agent Mulder.'

'Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you,' Mulder said, quite seriously. 'So AD Skinner spoke to you?'

'Yes, just a few minutes ago. He asked me to offer any help I could, as a personal favour to him. I'd be very happy to do so. The Millennium is bringing out a number of groups and individuals who could charitably be described as 'fringe'. Our purpose is to monitor these people. As I said, it sounds as though that's what you've come across. We're not a US Government agency so we have a little more freedom of action. We can also give you access to information sources that might not otherwise have been available to you.'

'You don't have to try to sell me, Frank. Skinner's one of the few people I trust at the moment.'

'Thanks for letting me get involved, Mulder. Things are quiet at the moment and I think this is going to be an interesting case. I'll get a plane over in the next few days.'

'My pleasure Frank. I'll give you my mobile number. Let me know as soon as you have anything.'

***

Danny had worked fast. Copies of such files as there were on Joe Dawson were on his desk when Mulder returned to his office after a hurried lunch. Joe Dawson's police file listed a single incident, just one arrest made during a veteran's march in the mid-seventies. Mulder pulled out the printout of Dawson's mugshot. The long hair and the beads had probably gone in the last twenty years, of course. Maybe the row of earrings too. He mentally added a beard before scanning down the list of personal information.

'Distinguishing features. Double amputee. Tattoo on inner left wrist.' This was his guy all right. He looked down the list. There it was. Social Security number. There was a post-it note from Danny attached.

'Put the search under a VCS user ID, Mulder. Called V at vehicle licensing to check up on his current address. The place is called Joe's bar in Seacouver. (Here he gave the full address.) I owe V dinner somewhere classy. You owe me the usual. Danny. P.S All paper records of the search have been destroyed. But you knew that anyway.'

Mulder nodded. Seacouver, huh? He vaguely remembered that that was MacLeod's place of residence too. Time to book some transport to Washington State. But first, he had another call to make.

***

'This is going to be a lot of hassle, Mulder.'

'Yeah, I know, Frohike, but this one's important to me.'

'You owe me big for this, Mulder, and we're talking Scully's home telephone number big.'

'When will you have something for me?'

'Should be done by tomorrow. You really want me to check this guy's face against every image database we can access?'

'Yes,' Mulder said. 'Everything. Historical, government, corporate - whatever you can find. Check out the historical ones first. And I need everything you can find on a guy called Joe Dawson.'

Frohike scratched his nose. 'This is all going to take a while, Mulder. Doesn't the FBI have people that do this kind of thing?'

'Nobody as good as you, Frohike. Besides, I'm on compulsory leave.'

'Yeah, that figures,' Frohike said. 'So, what'd you do this time? Take another swing at the AD?'

'AD Skinner seems to be the only one who doesn't think I'm a few sandwiches short of a picnic at the moment.'

'That hot partner of yours having doubts about your sanity again?'

'Just let me know when it's done, Frohike.'

'Sure,' Frohike said, with a shrug. I'll call you when we've got something. Usual place. You're buying.'

***

It was probably paranoia, but paranoia had long been Mulder's friend. He made a withdrawal of $3000 from his usual bank late in the afternoon. He didn't intend to either visit an ATM or use his credit card after tomorrow. A flight to Dulles, Texas, scene of a presumably unconnected beheading a week before, had been booked on his credit card. He had booked another to San Francisco, paid for in cash. He'd booked both the actual flight to Seattle and the car rental through a relative of Frohike's who lived in Washington State. He packed clothes for about a week, a laptop, a small crime kit. Thus prepared, he went to sleep on the sofa watching a rerun Mystery Science Theater 3000. For the next few nights he'd resigned himself to the fact that he was probably going to end up trying to sleep on beds, a much less comfortable state of affairs. What he had in his apartment, of course, was a security sofa - similar to a security blanket, but, like his security fish and his security TV, much harder to fit into carry-on luggage.

***

The usual place. With Frohike, that was at the Last Firebase, a MIA/POW protest site just below the Lincoln memorial. It was early in the morning, but the concession stands had set up to catch the commuters and the first of the tourists. They had hot dogs with fluorescent mustard from a stall a little way down the mall.

'So, Adam Pierson. Interesting guy,' Frohike said, around a mouthful of frankfurter.

'Did you find anything?' Mulder asked. Frohike patted a battered briefcase at his side.

'Well, this is a little weird, but it's what you asked for. There are guys looking like your buddy going back a long way. You want them in chronological order?'

'Sure. Why not?'

Frohike carefully lay down the uneaten half of his hot dog and unzipped the case. 'Ok. The first match.' The colour printout showed a formal portrait of two men, one dressed in ornate robes, seated at a desk, the other standing beside him, dressed in black and holding a scroll.

'Florentine portrait, late fifteenth century,' Frohike said. 'Signor di Luigi Corsini and his, ahem, secretary. Me, I'd prefer someone a little blonder and cuddlier, but he's a good lookin' guy, that secretary.'

Mulder knew that already. The face that looked out at him from the painting was the face of the first man he'd ever kissed. He put his own hot dog down untouched. Suddenly he didn't have much of an appetite for it anymore. Frohike pulled another picture from the untidy sheaf in his hand.

'This one's from the sixteen hundreds. What d'ya know? This guy's a viscount in the court of Queen Elizabeth one of England. He sure gets around, Mulder.'

'Yeah.' Mulder said blankly. 'What else?'

'After that things go quiet for a bit. Next time he turns up is in 1815. Turns out this guy was a big buddy of Lord Byron. This is a sketch from one of his notebooks, courtesy of the British Museum.'

'Good likeness,' Mulder said. 'Got any more?'

'This is where things start getting interesting. The next one to turn up is a regimental photograph from British Army archives. 1917. Captain Adam Pearce. Adam Pearce was around for another ten years or so after that. There's a mugshot of him here in connection with a murder in New York in 1927. He vanished for a while after that..'

'Wait.. A murder?'

'Some guy got beheaded. It seems to happen a lot around your buddy.'

'Go on,' Mulder said bleakly.

'Next one is 1947. British passport application for John Ruth Johnson. There's not a lot else on him. Most likely some kind of transitional identity. He's registered as the owner of Pierson's flat in Paris. Then in '53 Adam Pierson the first turns up as a student in West Berlin. These are all photos from driver's licenses, student IDs... In '63 an Adam Pearson with an 'e-a-r' enrols at Cambridge and takes a degree and a PhD in English literature with a doctoral thesis on Lord Byron. In '74 he's in Milan and he calls himself Ben Adams. Guess Milan didn't agree with him that much, because in '77 it's back to Adam Pierson and Paris. In '78 he enrolled himself at the University of Paris. As far as we can work out he spent the summer of '79 in America. Coincidentally, the sheriff's department in Lewiston-Auburn, Maine has a missing persons report on him and a kid called Fox Mulder dated August '79, filed by one Herbert Jenks.' He grinned and raised an eyebrow.

'Just get on with it, Frohike,' Mulder said grimly.

'Hey, excuse me for just being naturally curious. Just after that he went back to Paris and started working for some kind of historical foundation. They're the same guys who employ this Joe Dawson. Pierson quit a couple of years back, but I guess he kept in touch with his old buddy Joe.'

'What makes you say that, Frohike?'

Frohike smirked and helped himself to Mulder's abandoned hot dog. 'According to Immigration and Naturalisation Mr Dawson has himself a new bartender. A British student by the name of Adam Benn. He's registered to start a medical course at the University of Seacouver this fall. Could be a coincidence, but I wouldn't bet the farm on it.'

***

Joe Dawson sighed. Another long day. The rent on the bar had gone up and three of the band for tonight's first set had called in sick, or, to be more accurate, hungover. The fourth was nowhere to be found but if past experience was anything to go by was probably sleeping it off in a dumpster somewhere in Oregon. Then there was the fact that he was getting seriously low on imported beer, an occurrence not unconnected with the return from Europe of Joe's newest employee. Joe brightened a bit. At least this time Adam was actually paying for what he drank, a trend which boded well for the future profitability of the bar.

But then his day had been well and truly ruined by some guy from Immigration turning up at the door and refusing to go away. He'd arrived a couple of hours before opening and seemed determined to stay until he'd spoken to one Adam Benn, British med student. The guy was a certified pest, Joe decided. An overpaid certified pest, if the suit was anything to go by.

'Mr Dawson?' the man said, consulting his clipboard. 'You're the proprietor of Joe's Bar?' At Joe's wary nod he continued, 'I'm from Immigration and Naturalisation Services. It's about your new bartender, Mr Benn. He's put this down as his place of work so I assume he's going to be working as a bartender. Is that correct?'

Joe looked the man up and down with some suspicion. 'Adam?' he said at last. 'Yeah, that's right. What about him?'

The man from immigration looked down at his clipboard. 'Well he's filed an I-20A-B for an academic student's visa, but according to this he's taking a degree in medicine. If he wants to study medicine he's going to have to reapply using the I-20M-N.'

'Well, no kidding,' Joe said, quirking an eyebrow.

'Yeah, and get this. The guy didn't notarise the signature on his I-864 *or* validate his I-94 at his port of entry. I mean, sheesh, you're telling me he's going to be a doctor?' He gave Joe a lopsided grin.

'Yeah, whatever, buddy,' Joe said impatiently. 'Look, Adam's not here, and if you don't mind I've got to open up the bar...'

'Is this Mr Benn's domicile? He gave it as his contact address.'

'Uh, no. I mean, it will be, when he gets his stuff shipped over. He's staying with a friend for the time being.'

The suit marked something off on his clipboard. 'And you're a relative?'

'No, just a friend,' Joe said with a frown. 'Why?'

The man shrugged. 'Well, according to the paperwork Mr Benn can't apply for work under this visa for one year. If he's just helping out to cover his board we can probably sort out a way around it.'

'Well, I'd appreciate that,' Joe said, treading that fine line that separated politeness from outright sarcasm.

The suit gave him a weary 'just doing my job' look. 'Will he be in any time soon? I need to get this all straightened out this afternoon otherwise he's going to have to submit a new OF-156 and that could take months.'

'He's coming in about five,' Joe said. 'Maybe you should come back then.'

'I'll wait,' the suit said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

'It's going to be a couple of hours,' Joe warned him.

'That's fine,' the suit said flatly. 'I have some paperwork to catch up with.'

Joe sighed. 'He's not going to skip town, Mr... Mr...'

'Alamo. David Alamo.'

'Like the car rental people?'

'Yeah. I get that a lot.'

Joe shook his head as he unlocked the door. This was all he needed. Some forgettable government clone in a suit cluttering up the bar. 'You want to wait in my office, buddy? I could ring Adam, get him to come in early.'

'Well the sooner we get this over with the better,' the suit said. He gave a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. 'I'm sure Mr Benn isn't going to run out on me.'

The suit safely ensconced out of the way in his office, Joe dialled the private line to the dojo. Mac, of course, would be working downstairs, but it was a good bet that Adam still wouldn't be far past the dressing gown and coffee stage. He was answered on about the twelfth ring.

'Adam? Adam, it's Joe.'

'Joe?' the bleary answer came. 'Christ, what time is it? For God's sake it's...'

'Try two o'clock in the afternoon,' Joe said sarcastically. 'Wake you up, did I? Late night last night?'

'Jesus,' Adam muttered at the other end of the line. 'Just because you and Mac never get jet lag there's no need to take it out on me. I mean Paris, Seacouver - that's ten hours difference...'

'I don't care about your jet lag!' Joe said, through gritted teeth. 'You need to get over here now!'

'All right, all right,' Adam said in exasperation. 'What's the big emergency, Joe?'

'There's someone from immigration here to see you,' Joe said, slightly more calmly. 'There's some kind of problem with your visa.'

There was a disgusted noise from the other end of the line. 'Christ. I thought I already filled in all that crap about how I wasn't a Nazi war criminal. Like I'd tell them if I was.'

'Look, he's in my office. Just talk to the guy and get rid of him.'

There was the sound of Adam sitting up in bed. 'But there shouldn't be any problems with my visa. I'm here on an I-140, Joe! I qualify as an E2 for God's sake!'

'Adam, I don't care if you got here on an I-140, the Yellow Submarine or the Magic Bus!' Joe hissed into the telephone. 'Just get this asshole out of my bar. Talk to him and fill out his forms then tell him to go away!'

'You think he's anyone we should be worried about?' Adam said, suddenly cautious.

'How the hell am I supposed to know that?' Joe snapped. He sighed. 'Look, all I can tell you is that we haven't got anyone on this guy, he doesn't seem to be carrying a sword and I don't recognise him from any of the reports I've read. Nobody knows you're here yet except me, Duncan, immigration and the university. He's probably just what he says he is, some government suit whose name I've forgotten already with glasses and a briefcase full of forms. Now get down here and get rid of him!'

It took half an hour for Adam get over to the bar. For Joe, that was half an hour too long. He didn't like people in suits and he was reasonably sure that people in suits didn't like him either. So it was a relief when his slightly rumpled barman finally pulled himself across the threshold.

'All right, Joe. I'm here. Panic over. Where is this guy?'

Joe gestured wordlessly towards his office. 'Get rid of him!' he mouthed.

Adam rolled his eyes. 'Give me a minute and I'll sort it out, Joe,' he promised. He pulled the office door open and assumed his best naive but helpful undergrad expression. 'Ok. You wanted to see... Oh shit...'

'You bastard!' Mulder snarled, and swung with all his strength.

It was a beautiful punch, Mulder would later reflect. Probably one of his best ever. It connected squarely with Adam's jaw with a satisfying crunch, knocking him off balance, against the desk, sending papers flying, then onto his knees.

'Hey! Hey!' Joe shouted. He limped back into the office as fast as he was able to on his prosthetics. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?! Jesus Christ...'

From the floor Adam raised the hand that wasn't clasped to his throbbing jaw. 'Joe, it's OK. Back off,' he slurred. 'I'll sort this out.'

Joe looked at them both and shook his head in disgust. 'You know, buddy, there's such a thing as taking your job too seriously,' he snarled at Mulder.

'Joe, just go,' Adam managed. 'I need to talk to him. I'll explain it to you later.'

'Yeah. Looks like you've got a lot of explaining to do, *Adam*.' Mulder snapped.

Joe looked at them both in disbelief, then slammed the office door shut.

'Fuck! You broke my jaw, Mulder!' Adam swore, somewhat indistinctly.

'Good,' Mulder said shortly. He cradled his hand to his chest, not entirely certain that he hadn't acquired a few broken bones himself.

Adam took a deep breath, then another. He was momentarily deafened by a loud crackling as the bone just below his ear reset. He shook his head to clear it.

'Ok, Mulder,' he said, as placatingly as he was able with gritted teeth. 'Maybe I deserved that.'

'You lied to me about everything that mattered!' Mulder yelled furiously. 'You ran out on me!'

Adam's attempt to be the calm and collected participant in their conversation failed at that point.

'Oh yeah, and I had absolutely no justification for it?! I came back because of you, Mulder. I came back and handed myself over to the police. I didn't have to do any of that! I was being hunted down, Mulder! They were trying to kill me!'

'They wanted you alive,' Mulder said. He turned away and took a deep breath, trying to get his emotions under control.

'And now you've probably led whoever it is straight back to me, just like you did in Paris,' Adam said in disgust. He pulled himself back up, using the side of the desk for support. 'Why couldn't you just have left this alone?'

Mulder swung back round to face him. 'You just don't get it, Adam. There's more at stake than just you, now. Don't you care about what's happening? Don't you want to know why these people want you?'

'No!' Adam said. 'I don't care, Mulder. I've stayed alive this long by not caring about anyone or anything except myself. All I want is a quiet life.'

'Well it doesn't look as if you're going to get a quiet life with or without my help. Whoever was after you in Paris is taking a contract out on you with the Russian mob.'

Adam closed his eyes and slumped back against a filing cabinet. 'Great. Just fucking great. This is all I need.'

'Oh, it gets worse. They've got hold of some kind of virus and I think they're planning to release it sometime in the next few months. Whatever it is, it's lethal enough to make Ebola look like the common cold. Adam, I know why they're after you, or part of it at least. Now you can go on the run and hope they don't find you, or we can work together to try to get you out of this for once and for all.'

Adam nodded in surrender. 'Ok. Ok, Mulder. We'll talk.'

Ten minutes later they were sitting together on the steps leading from the back door of Joe's office into a narrow alleyway. Adam brought two beers through from the bar, to find that Mulder had taken off his jacket and was sitting back, face angled up to the sun.

'Hey,' Mulder said, without opening his eyes.

'Hey.' Adam sat on the step beside him and put a beer in Mulder's hand. He sprawled back, stretched out his long legs and let the sun warm him too. 'Are you still angry with me?'

'Yeah. A bit. I wish you'd told me what was going on.'

'I was going to, Mulder.' Adam flipped the top off his beer and into the alley with a very well-practised motion. 'Everything just happened too fast. For what it's worth, I'm sorry.'

'Yeah. I'm sorry too. I overreacted. I guess you didn't have that much of a choice. It just hurt that you didn't trust me enough to tell me what was happening. How's your jaw?'

'Healed. Your hand?'

'Hurts like hell,' Mulder said, looking across at him with a little smile. 'I guess it serves me right.'

'One of those "this is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you" situations,' Adam said absently.

'So it really works that fast? The healing thing, I mean.'

'Yeah. A couple of minutes for my jaw to fix completely.'

'That's why your friend shot you three times. So you wouldn't recover too fast.'

'Yeah. One thing I really wanted to avoid was reviving in front of the paramedics. That never used to be a problem. Now they've got heart monitors, all kinds of stuff. Nothing like that happened, did it?'

Mulder shook his head. 'No. Not as far as I know. Scully pronounced you dead. She doesn't usually miss that kind of call.'

'So, how did you know I was still alive?' Adam asked. 'I thought I'd covered my tracks. I'm normally good at that kind of thing.'

Mulder took a mouthful of beer before answering. 'The autopsy on the guy in the ambulance showed he'd drowned about 24 hours beforehand. I think the bullets were the wrong size too. And he was kind of short...'

Adam nodded. 'Ok, ok, so it wasn't my body. It's still quite a jump from that to working out I wasn't dead.'

'Someone rang me at the hospital and played me a tape of you reviving,' Mulder said. 'I think it was a recording from the wire they put on you.'

Adam turned to him, disbelief written across his face. 'The police carried on taping after I was shot? You're sure?'

Mulder nodded. 'Someone called Amanda stole the ambulance and got hold of some drunk in a body bag. You woke up and she stopped the ambulance and came round to talk to you. You argued about the guy in the body bag and she said she was going to burn the ambulance as soon as she could get the lid off the petrol can...'

'Ok,' Adam said resignedly. 'I get the picture. I just don't understand how a tape could have been made. I should have been well out of range of their recording equipment.'

Mulder shook his head. 'I don't think it was a police tape. As far as they knew, you were dead. It couldn't have been the people who were after you either. They had no way of knowing you were wired in the first place.'

'You mean someone else is involved in this mess?' Adam buried his head in his hands. 'Great,' he muttered. 'This is all I need.'

'I think whoever it was wanted me to track you down. I can't think of any other reason for them to do what they did.'

'And you just went ahead and did what they wanted. So should I be expecting the Men in Black to turn up on my doorstep anytime soon?'

'Nah,' Mulder said absently, turning his beer bottle round and round in his hands. 'They're more for your alien sightings, picking people up when they break into DOD research establishments, that kind of thing.'

Adam glared at him balefully. 'I was joking, Mulder.'

Mulder sighed. 'Adam, I was careful this time. Not even Scully knows I'm here. As far as anybody knows I've gone to either Dulles or San Francisco.'

'San Francisco?'

'Yeah. You think I should have sent them somewhere like North Dakota?'

'Why should they have all the fun?'

'Maybe I should have sent them back to Maine,' Mulder said. The memory came back, strong and sudden. Sitting together like this in the sun, talking, drinking beer. The steps were narrow. Adam's body was warm against his side.

'That was a good summer,' Adam said gently. 'One of the best in a long, long time.'

Mulder gave into the temptation, finally, and lay his head on Adam's shoulder. Adam kissed him gently, just above his eyebrow, and Mulder closed his eyes. They sat like that for a little while, not moving or speaking.

It was Mulder who drew back first. 'I need to talk to you about that. About who you are. How long you live. What you do.'

He felt Adam sigh against him. 'Go on, Mulder. I'll tell you whatever you want to know.'

'Signor di Luigi Corsini. Let's start with him.'

Adam let his head fall back. 'I knew I should never have agreed to having that bloody portrait painted,' he said resignedly. 'All right. Signor de Luigi Corsini was a Florentine merchant with a beautiful daughter. She got hooked up with some wannabe politician - kid called Niccolo. When I met him he hadn't got a clue. I gave him a few pointers, some advice on his career... But that's not really what you wanted to know, was it?'

'So it's true? That was you in that picture?'

'Yes, Mulder, I'm afraid it was,' Adam said regretfully.

'I can't believe this. I still can't believe this,' Mulder said helplessly. He rubbed his forehead with his hands. 'How old are you, Adam?'

Adam was silent for a moment. 'When Christ was crucified I was in Rome. I remember reading about it in the army dispatches - I was a secretary there too. I remember thinking that here was another poor bloody Judean dissident getting executed. Ten centuries later he owned Europe. I mean, how's that for irony?'

'You've lived since the birth of Christ?' Mulder whispered in shock.

'Mulder, I was old when Christ was born,' Adam said, suddenly sounding very tired.

'How old are you?'

Adam stared into his beer. 'I've lived for a very long time, Mulder,' he said. 'More than fifty centuries. As far as I know, I'm the oldest one left. I'd appreciate if you'd keep that to yourself, by the way. It makes my head very valuable in this game we're playing.'

'Five thousand years?' Mulder said in stunned disbelief. 'You're five thousand years old? What... Where were you born?'

'I don't know. The first places I remember were mountains,' Adam said sadly. 'Could have been Greece, Turkey, Iran, North Africa, Russia.... There weren't any real cities - just tribes and villages. There weren't any maps. I didn't have any terms of reference, Mulder. The languages and gods have all changed...'

For a moment he looked young and lost, and despite his confusion Mulder felt his heart ache in sympathy. 'I'm sorry.'

'I've had a long time to come to terms with it, Mulder,' Adam said, abruptly dismissing the subject. 'What else did you need to know?'

'I know some of it. You're killed by beheading. That's the only way. Anything else you can recover from. If you die you come back to life. When an immortal is beheaded there's some kind of electrical energy that passes from him to his killer. You can sense each other and you're driven to kill each other. Why?'

'None of us really knows, Mulder,' Adam said, a little sadly. 'We call it the game.'

'The game...' Mulder repeated in disbelief.

'There are three rules. Fights can only be one to one. You can't fight on holy ground...'

'Why holy ground? What's so special about it?'

'I don't know that either, Mulder.'

'Does it apply to any holy ground? I mean, Christian, Jewish, Moslem?'

'The religion doesn't matter. It was one of the rules a long time before any of those religions existed. Drake's sanctuary was supposed to be Holy Ground. He had it blessed by a shaman. Maybe it was Holy Ground and maybe it wasn't, but none of us would have risked it.'

'So what about unholy ground? Somewhere that was sacred to Satan, Kali, Loki...'

A shrug. 'It's all holy to someone. Nobody knows what the consequences of fighting on holy ground are. It's possible that nobody's ever lived to tell.'

'Ok,' Mulder said slowly. 'So what's the third rule?'

Adam gave a wry smile. 'That's the big one. "There can be only one".'

'Only one what?'

'Only one of us left at the end. We will fight until there's only one left. It's what we do.'

'But can't you stop it?'

'Even if we did, the others wouldn't. We have to fight to survive. There's always someone coming after you. The only alternative is to spend your life on holy ground. Some people have tried that, but I wouldn't recommend it. It gets very boring after the first eighty years or so. Some of us - I won't say the good guys, but those of us who have grown tired of the killing - we only kill in self defence. I don't go hunting. I prefer a quiet life. In the past two hundred years I've hardly killed at all.'

'That's why you were in Maine. Someone was hunting you, but you didn't want to fight. You went to Holy Ground until the heat was off.'

'Bright boy,' Adam said. He took a mouthful of beer.

'Drake was like you, wasn't he?' Mulder said. 'An immortal.'

Adam nodded. 'Yes.'

'The sheriff at the diner?'

'Yes.'

'Lemarchand? Max Donnelley and Rebecca?'

Adam nodded again. 'All of them. Yes.'

'Naomi wasn't.'

'No.'

'I guess Keefe wasn't either, but he had the same tattoo as Joe Dawson. What does it mean?'

Adam shrugged. 'I don't suppose telling you is going to do any harm now. They're part of a group who call themselves the Watchers. They observe us and record what we do. We're not supposed to know about them. In theory every immortal has one assigned to him. In practise it doesn't work out that way. Some guys they lose, some they never find, some are just too dangerous to put a watcher on. They've probably got about seventy percent of us covered.'

Mulder's brow furrowed. 'But you worked for the Watchers. With Joe.'

'You've found out a lot, Mulder,' Adam said, giving him a wary glance. 'Yeah, I hid in the Watchers for a while. I worked as my own watcher for a few years. They lost track of me a couple of thousand years back and they've been trying to find me ever since. I join up from time to time to make sure they don't. I left soon after Joe found out but we stayed friends. He's a good guy. One of the best.'

'How did Joe find out who you were?'

'He didn't. Mac did. It's kind of a long story. Mac and Joe have got this very unconventional watcher/immortal relationship going, so when Mac found out he told Joe. I've got to admit, Joe wasn't nearly as pissed as I thought he was going to be.' He smiled at the recollection.

'Will Joe help us?' Mulder asked. 'If he's got access to records from the Crusades he can help us find out who's doing this.'

Adam gave him a reproachful look. 'Look, Mulder, I know you mean well, but you're being very free with that 'us'. If these people are after me my first instinct is not to give them what they want. Isn't there someone in the Government who deals with this stuff?'

Mulder gave him a disbelieving look. 'You want me to go to the CIA and tell them that these thousand year old immortal crusaders have got hold of a deadly virus and they're going to use it to start the apocalypse? I'd be in five point restraints as soon as they stopped laughing.'

Adam's mouth set obstinately. 'Mulder, the main reason I've lived so long is because I don't get involved in anything life-threatening if I can possibly help it.'

'So what about Captain Adam Pearce?' Mulder rejoined.

'The Great War? I was married then. I'd have left Europe but my wife wouldn't come with me. I couldn't leave her so I enlisted. I worked as an intelligence officer in the War Office in London. I didn't go over to France until after the armistice. I was a non-combatant. No fighting. Definitely no fighting.'

'Adam, I need to find these people, and you and Joe are the only way it's going to happen. You have no idea what's at risk if you don't help me.'

'Great,' Adam said under his breath. 'The world wants saving and suddenly it's "help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope". I don't do old, I don't do wise, and I don't do saving the world. Read my lips, Mulder; get someone else.'

Mulder let out an exasperated hiss of breath. 'Why do they want you, Adam? Just because you're the oldest or is there another reason?'

'Look, Mulder, there are things about my past you don't want to know. I'll ask Joe to help you find these guys, but that's as far as it goes. This time I'm not getting involved...'

'What do you mean, this time..?' Mulder started, then stopped as Adam lifted his head suddenly at some unheard noise.

'Mulder, go back in the bar,' Adam said, his eyes narrowing.

'What is it?'

'Another immortal,' Adam said softly. 'Shit, I haven't got my sword with me.'

'Where is it? Inside?'

'There's no time to go in and get it.' He shook his head as Mulder reached into his coat. 'You can't interfere, Mulder. If there's a fight it's got to be one on one. Those are the rules, remember?'

'That's insane!' Mulder protested.

'Of course, that doesn't mean that I can't use your gun.'

Mulder sighed and handed him the weapon. 'Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this?'

'Stay back,' Adam said again. He took the safety off. 'If he takes my head, run. He won't be able to do anything for quite a while afterwards.'

He turned to face the head of the alley, gun held low.

'I'm Adam Pierson. Show yourself,' he called.

'It's MacLeod,' the reply came.

Adam muttered something under his breath and put the safety back on.

'You could have said something,' he grumbled.

'I wasn't sure it was you,' Duncan said. He stepped into the light, blade held low. 'I came to tell you. There was some immigration guy at the gym, looking for you.'

'He found me,' Adam said. 'He's here. Nothing to worry about, Mac. We've been catching up on old times.'

Mulder stepped out into the light. 'We've been having an interesting discussion.'

'Oh yes?' Duncan said, too casually. 'What about?'

'Watchers and immortals,' Mulder said grimly. 'How old are you, MacLeod?'

In front of him he heard Adam mutter, 'Oh, nice going, Mulder. Mac, this is under control, so if you wouldn't mind...'

'So this is the famous Mulder,' Duncan said in a low voice. 'How much have you told him, Methos? Remember that mess with the database? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life being hunted down by the FBI?'

'That's my decision to make, MacLeod. What the hell's got into you today anyway?'

'What you've told him affects us all,' Duncan said coldly. He raised the blade. Light glittered along its edge. 'Stand aside, Methos.'

'MacLeod!' Adam protested angrily. 'What the hell is the matter with you? I said, I had it under control!'

'I don't think so,' MacLeod said, advancing slowly on the two of them.

'I won't let you hurt him, Mac,' Adam warned. 'If you do it's over my dead body.'

'Oh, that can be arranged, Methos. Temporarily, at least.'

Adam's eyes went flat. 'If you do, MacLeod, then I swear I won't rest until one of us has lost his head. God help me, I will do my best to hunt you down and kill you.' He paused and studied Duncan more closely. 'Why the hell are you behaving like a B movie heavy anyway? Hello, MacLeod? Are you in there?'

Mulder saw irritation flash in MacLeod's eyes. 'Well you're not going to be able to do a lot about it, since you don't have your *sword* or anything.'

Adam shook his head in amused disbelief. He stepped aside. 'Ok, then Mac. Go for it. I'm not stopping you.'

'Uh, Adam,' Mulder said, trying to keep the edge of panic out of his voice.

Adam ignored him. 'Come on,' he said cheerfully. 'What are you waiting for? I've got his gun. Unless there's a Swiss army knife I don't know about he's completely unarmed. Do your worst.'

Duncan lowered his sword with a disgusted expression on his face. 'One of these days, Methos, I swear...'

Mulder let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. 'Would somebody mind telling me what that was all about?'

MacLeod ignored him. 'He must be pretty damn good in bed for this, Methos.'

Adam gave him a weary look. 'This isn't about that, MacLeod. My life doesn't revolve around sex, although I appreciate that that's probably a foreign concept for you. He needs my help. We've got a bit of a problem...'

***

The conversation moved inside to Joe's office soon after that. Joe brought a bottle of whisky and four glasses in on a tray, and took his place at the table.

'Were you really going to kill me, MacLeod?' Mulder asked curiously. It seemed at odds with everything he knew about the man.

'No. It was Joe's plan,' Duncan said shortly. 'I go into the alley and start playing the heavy, Methos shoots me with your gun and tells you he'll cover it up as long as you get the hell out of there and never come back.'

'You would have let him *shoot* you?' Mulder asked in horrified fascination.

'Well it wouldn't have been the first time,' Duncan said, glaring at Adam.

'So what was wrong with my plan, anyway?' Joe demanded.

'It was a *good* plan, Joe,' Methos said soothingly. 'Except that if Mulder had already tracked me down here he already knew I was immortal, and if he knew I was immortal he sure as hell must have suspected that MacLeod was immortal too. That means that he would also have suspected that all shooting Duncan would actually do was mess up a perfectly good tracksuit top.'

'Best I could manage on the spur of the moment, buddy,' Joe growled. 'It was your skin I was trying to save.'

'And I really appreciate it, Joe,' Adam said, slightly too sincerely.

Joe scowled at him. 'Well excuse me. Guess I forgot who I was dealing with.'

'The only guy in history who was in the Bible, the Mabinogion *and* the Andy Warhol Diaries,' Adam said with a grin.

'You were in the *Bible*?' Mulder said incredulously.

'You were in the Mabinogion?' Duncan said in disbelief.

'You were in the Andy Warhol Diaries?' Joe asked. He caught the others staring at him. 'Hey, I knew about the other two.'

'Where were you in the Mabinogion?' Duncan asked.

'It wasn't like I had a big part. I was just one of the guys who got a name check in the middle of Culwch and Olwen. I think I was Hen Gedymddeith at the time. It's not like getting into the Mabinogion was that big a deal. All you had to do was buy the bard a couple of drinks and he'd add you to the list. Same with the Andy Warhol thing. It was just some party I went to in New York back in the sixties.'

'And the Bible?' Mulder asked. There was a short silence.

'You didn't tell him, huh?' Joe said.

'We just got the whole five thousand year old immortal thing out of the way, Joe. The Bible thing is kind of a big step.'

'Are we talking one of the good guys here?' Mulder asked cautiously.

'Afraid not, Mulder.'

Mulder glanced around the table at the others. MacLeod's expression was grim, Joe's slightly sad. He nodded. 'Ok,' he said cautiously. 'So tell me the worst.'

'Well, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that I didn't have a very good Bronze Age,' Adam hedged. Joe snorted, and was silenced by a glance from Duncan.

'Not very good in what way?' Mulder asked suspiciously.

Adam looked across the table at him unhappily. 'Not very good in terms of my being a mounted raider who spent two thousand years raiding and pillaging my way across the known world.' His voice was somehow both bleak and sardonic at once. 'There were four of us, we wore masks to terrify the tribespeople, we scared the shit out of some of the minor prophets and got ourselves a bad write up from Mr Magic Mushroom himself on the isle of Patmos... is any of this ringing a bell, Mulder?'

'Oh no,' Mulder said in a low voice, shaking his head. 'You're not telling me...'

Adam nodded wretchedly. 'I'm afraid so, Mulder. The other three are dead. I'm the only one left. You're looking at the last remaining Horseman of the Apocalypse.'

***

'I think he took that fairly well, considering,' Joe said.

'Probably better than I did,' MacLeod agreed, taking a sip from his drink.

'Yeah, Mac. Let's face it, you overreacted big time.'

'Well at least this time nobody's planning to use a virus to take over the world.'

'Amen to that,' Joe said, in heartfelt tones.

'So, do you think he's finished throwing up yet?' Duncan asked conversationally.

'I hope he got to the men's room in time. You know, if I were Methos I think I'd have broken it to him a bit more gently.'

'If I were Methos, I wouldn't have given him that beer to drink first.'

***

Adam knocked lightly on the door of the cubicle in the men's room.

'Mulder? Mulder, are you all right?' He pushed the door open cautiously when there was no response. Mulder was kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet bowl. He pushed himself up unsteadily and leant against the cistern for support.

'No,' he said in a hollow voice. 'I'm not all right. My life is seriously screwed up. I hadn't realised quite how screwed up it was. Do you realise that I thought that falling in love with you was about the only good, normal thing that happened in my life up until then? And now, it turns out the first guy I fall for is a five thousand year old horseman of the apocalypse. How many teenagers can say that?'

Adam rubbed his back consolingly. 'Actually, you're pretty much the only one, Mulder,' he said gently.

'Christ, my life is like something from a sick, surreal movie,' Mulder continued, oblivious. 'My first boyfriend was a horseman of the apocalypse, my sister was abducted by aliens...'

Adam raised an eyebrow, thankfully unseen by Mulder. 'Aliens?'

Mulder looked up at him blearily. 'Adam, who the hell else do you think engineered your DNA five thousand years ago?'

'Ok, now *that* is reaching, Mulder.'

'Fine. Have it your way. I'm only the guy who had your DNA analysed. Let me tell you, it didn't get that way on its own. Christ, I don't believe this. I just don't believe any of this.'

Adam looked down at him wearily. 'Look, Mulder, I've taken responsibility for a lot of things in my life, but your deferred teenage angst isn't going to be one of them. I'm just a guy who did what I had to to survive. I regret a lot of those things but at least I'm alive to regret them.'

'A lot of regrets? Yeah, that I can see.'

'I think the biggest one at the moment is giving you that imported beer to drink,' Adam mused. 'Do you think you've finished being sick now?'

'Nothing left to throw up,' Mulder said shortly. 'So which one were you?'

'Which one?'

'War, pestilence, famine, death. Correct me if I'm wrong here...'

'I was Death. I'm sorry, Mulder.'

Mulder looked up at him blearily. 'Ok. So you were Death, pale rider, horseman of the apocalypse and scourge of the known world for two thousand years.'

Adam nodded. 'It had its ups and downs. On the minus side, it's hard to explain a two thousand year gap on your resume. On the plus side, how many people can say that they were played by Clint Eastwood in the movie?'

'How can you joke about it?' Mulder said angrily.

'How can I not? I've lived with the guilt for what I did for two thousand years, Mulder. The other three are dead, and I did that too. I rode with them and killed with them until I couldn't bear it any more. Then I ran from them and I killed them when they found me. And now I wake up each morning and it's all still there, waiting for me, behind my eyes.' He shook his head, hating the way his voice ached with pain. 'I don't want to kill anymore, Mulder. I'm so tired of it.'

'If we don't deal with this, everybody's going to die.'

'Yeah, Mulder. I know.'

'You're the only person who can help me find who they are.'

'Yeah, I know that too.'

'So you're going to help me?'

'Of course I'm going to help you, Mulder. What did you think?'

'So why all the argument back in the alley?'

'What can I say? Giving in gracefully was never one of my strong points. Come on. We'd better tell the other two what's happening.'

****

'So there's another virus,' Duncan stated flatly.

'Nothing to do with me this time,' Adam said, spreading his hands.

'Would somebody please explain this "last time" thing to me?' Mulder asked plaintively.

'That can wait,' Duncan said. 'Right now we've got bigger things to worry about.'

'The virus,' Adam said. An unholy light glinted in his eyes. 'I think we need a plan.'

'Seems to me you need to work out who these guys are before you can do anything,' Joe said. 'The Watchers can keep an eye out for them, but we've got to know who they are first.'

'You're way ahead of me, Joe,' Adam said, with a feral grin. 'We've got two directions to go with on this one, Mulder. Our friends might have approached some of the others from the camp for information. You need to find them and talk to them.'

Mulder sighed. 'Great. I get to see Herb and Saffron again. How did I know that was coming?'

Adam grinned. 'That's the advantage of being the guy who makes the plan, Mulder. You get other people to do the stuff you wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. Besides, if Herb saw me again I think he'd go for his gun.'

'Can't argue with that,' Mulder said ruefully. 'Ok. I've already got the CCTV pictures of the woman who was working with Leigh for identification purposes.'

'You want to get me a copy?' Joe said. 'I'll run it through the database. See if we can come up with a name.'

Mulder nodded. 'Thanks. I also need anything you've got on Jacques Lemarchand's movements before he died and the photographs of the man who killed Drake.'

'Wait a minute,' Joe said. 'How did you know we had photographs?'

'We had a witness. Your guy was spotted.'

Joe sighed. 'You just can't get the expertise any more.'

'Was it Keefe?' Mulder asked. The irritable hippy from the camp had stuck in his mind.

Joe nodded. 'Yeah, as a matter of fact it was. He's been on Drake for the past 30 years. He threw the job in when Drake died. He said he didn't have the heart to start over with anyone new.'

'He wasn't that much of a loss, Joe,' Adam commiserated. 'I mean, he didn't spot me.'

Duncan snorted.

'I didn't spot you, Adam,' Joe said patiently. 'Nobody ever spotted you. Anybody looking less like a five thousand year old immortal I have yet to come across. You put one of those sweaters on and all anybody ever sees is some underfed student.'

'A disguise perfected over the centuries,' Adam said modestly.

'So Mulder's going after the people who were at this camp with you,' Duncan interrupted. 'What's your part of the plan, Adam?'

'I think someone needs to track this from the Templar angle. I'll see if I can round up some of the guys who were around at the time. Call in a few favours, get a bit of eyewitness testimony...'

'Did you fight in the Crusades?' Mulder asked.

'Yeah, but I was on the other side. When the Roman Empire collapsed I headed into the Middle East. Ended up with Saladin's lot. It was a good move at the time. Europe was a disease-ridden hole packed with fanatical barbarians. The East was the last outpost of civilisation. Hot baths. Libraries. No beer, but two out of three's not bad.'

'What do you want me to do?' Duncan asked.

'I want you to stay here and keep an eye open. You're high profile, Mac. They may already know you're my friend. They're going to find out that Mulder came here eventually - if they do, let them think he came here to see you.'

Duncan nodded, clearly not too happy with his passive role in the proceedings.

'And I should go,' Mulder said. 'I've stayed here too long already. I'll let you know when I've found the others.'

'Are you staying anywhere tonight, Mulder?' Adam asked. 'I mean, if Joe doesn't mind there's a spare room here.'

Mulder gave him a little smile, but shook his head. 'I need to go tonight. I shouldn't stay here any longer than I need to. They're going to track me down eventually.'

'Where are you going?' Duncan asked.

'I'm driving to Vancouver. I'll get a flight back to Washington from there. It should throw them off for a while.'

'That's a long drive,' Joe said. 'Are you sure you don't want to stay the night?'

'I should go,' Mulder said again. 'I'll sleep on the plane.'

Adam nodded. 'Ok, Mulder. I'll walk you to your car.'

It was starting to grow dark outside, and it was raining heavily. As soon as they were through the door Adam pulled Mulder close and kissed him, hard, on the mouth, not caring that they were in the full glare of the streetlights and the sign from the bar. Mulder's arms curved around his lover again, inside the bulk of the heavy trenchcoat, the baggy sweater underneath, touching warm skin... Something hard and heavy in the folds of the coat hit his arm and he drew back, the realisation colder than the rain.

'Your sword,' Mulder said in a small voice.

'Yes, Mulder. My sword,' Adam said, his voice filled with regret.

'Ok,' Mulder said unsteadily. He drew back a little. 'That's ok, I think.'

Adam raised a hand to his face, and brushed his thumb gently across Mulder's mouth.

'Call me, Mulder. You've got my mobile number. Call me soon.'

'Ok,' Mulder said. He started to go through his pockets. 'I've got a number you can ring. These guys can route us through to each other. There's less chance of a trace that way.'

Adam took the offered card. 'Thanks,' he said, with a sad smile. 'I'll talk to you soon. Call every day.'

Mulder met his eyes. 'I will. I'll speak to you soon. I'm not running out on you. I just need time, that's all.'

Adam nodded. 'I know. Call me whenever you're ready. I'll be waiting.'

Mulder leaned forward and kissed him, nothing more than a touch of lips this time, then climbed into his car. Then Adam stood in the rain and watched, silent and bareheaded in the rain, until the brake-lights of Mulder's car shone suddenly red at the end of the street, then vanished as he turned a corner, out of sight.

'He's good,' Joe said, when Adam came back in, soaked, his face as bleak as the weather. Without being asked he poured him a double whiskey.

'Yeah,' Adam said. He sat and rubbed his face wearily with his hands. 'Two minutes after I'd met him he pegged me as Sherlock Holmes.'

Duncan put his drink down emphatically. 'You were not Sherlock Holmes, Methos. Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character.'

Joe raised an eyebrow. 'Even I'm not buying that one, buddy.'

Adam gave him a look of offended innocence. 'I was at Edinburgh university with Arthur Conan-Doyle in 1883. OK, so Holmes was a composite, but there was this one time...'

Duncan shook his head. 'Adam, save it. I don't want to hear it. Just tell us what you're planning now.'

'Elementary, my dear Duncan,' Adam said with a grin. Nothing improved his mood quite as much as needling MacLeod. 'As I said, I'm going to Chicago to look up some very old friends to see if they can shed any light on what's going on. If they can't give us a lead, no-one can. Then I'm going to find these bastards, and I'm going to take very great pleasure in taking them out, one by one.'

Joe rolled his eyes. 'Just like old times, huh?'

'Oh no. This time it's different,' Adam said softly. His mouth curved in a little smile, but his eyes were cold. 'This time, it isn't personal.'

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