Title: Rongbuk(3/3)
Author: Ravenscion
E-mail: ravenscion@hotmail.com
Rating: R (language, violence, sex)
Category: XR
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance, some angst
Spoilers: possible for seasons 1-5 and the movie.
Date of First Posting: 29 August 1998
Author's website: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/6767/
Archiving: Please archive at Gossamer. Others, please email for
permission.
Summary and notes: see chapter 1.
Disclaimer: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, and all of the other
characters
and situations related to the X-Files, belong to Chris Carter,
1013
Productions, and the FOX network. I am using them without
permission
but intend no copyright infringement.
[begin part 9 of 11]
************************************************************************
Red Victory Guest House, Tsang Province, Tibet
Monday, 5 October, 6:00 a.m.
Dana Scully awoke to a cold room and an empty bed. Moonlight
spilled
through the west-facing windows, bathing the floor and the foot
of
the bed in a ghostly light. Outside, the wind soughed around the
corners and eaves of the hotel, a square, three-story blockhouse
built
of the dismal concrete favored by Tibet's communist Chinese
masters.
The room was chilly and soulless, and, Scully quickly
realized, Mulder
was not in it.
She sat up, letting herself come fully awake, and considered
the
situation. Mulder could not have gone far, of course. The guest
house,
built to serve God-knows-what clientele, stood alone on one of
Tibet's
nameless plains, somewhere between Lhasa and Rongbuk Monastery.
They
had arrived there late the previous day, having just past the
nearest
town -- no more than a village, really -- about six miles to the
east.
So unless Mulder had taken off with their Landcruiser, there
wasn't
anywhere for him to have gone.
Scully suspected she knew where he was; Mulder's periodic
bouts of
insomnia invariably led him to a television set or, when none was
available, a night sky. Most likely, her partner had made his way
to
the roof of the hotel and now stood staring into infinity.
Which raised the question of what to do about him.
Tossing back the bedclothes, Scully swung her feet out of bed
and
stepped into her slippers, her only protection against the icy
concrete
floor. She dressed quickly in the chill air and poured a cup of
boiled
water from the thermos provided with the room, sitting on a hard
chair
and sipping the still-hot water. In the quiet of the room, she
considered her partner and lover.
Her erstwhile lover?
She wasn't sure, and that hurt.
Apart from their lack of physical intimacy, which could at
least be
attributed to his injuries, little had overtly changed in her
relationship with Mulder. But though his words and actions were
much as
they had always been, some essential part of him had pulled away.
At
his most basic level, he had begun to withdraw from her.
That afternoon had been a salient example.
One of the tires of their vehicle, worn thin by too many miles
on the
rough roads of Tibet, had finally given out, forcing Nawang to
stop to
attach the spare. Mulder had not said anything, but simply
climbed from
the car and strode off toward a nearby hill. Scully had decided
to
follow him. His taciturn mood had returned, despite their hope
that
Krycek did not have an insurmountable advantage, and he had
pulled
within himself, rebuffing her attempts to engage him in
conversation.
Scully hoped that the privacy offered by a walk away from the
Landcruiser would get her partner to talk, at least.
She had been disappointed. Mulder had strode well ahead of
her, his
long legs easily outpacing her shorter stride. He finally
stopped, but
she was still a few minutes catching up with him on the hilltop.
He had not welcomed her presence. 'Talk to me,' she had said.
'Just
give me some space,' he had snapped back at her, whipping his
hand in
a dismissive gesture.
Stung, Scully had retreated to the vehicle, where Nawang had
managed to
turn the changing of the tire into a 40-minute project. Mulder
had at
last returned, muttered a barely audible apology, and then
slumped
dispiritedly in the back seat of the Landcruiser, leaving Scully
to
brood over the tension between them for the remainder of the day.
It was not as though they had not had disagreements before,
but this
seemed different. Mulder might sulk for a few hours or even a
whole
day, but his current withdrawal had begun shortly after his
sojourn in
the hospital in Northampton, and had slowly intensifying ever
since.
Scully realized that, for some unstated reason, Mulder was
opting out of
their relationship -- their love affair, certainly, and perhaps
their
partnership as well.
Well, Dana, she thought, he's not getting away without
explaining
himself. It's time to stop suffering and do something.
With that resolve, she made her way out of the room, seeking
the stairs
that led to the guest house roof.
* * *
A few minutes later, Scully found Mulder where she had
expected he would
be. He stood, a leather jacket his only protection from the night
air,
his back to the door from which she emerged. He faced the western
sky,
where the heavy, full moon had begun to set behind the mountains'
silhouette.
Though not strong, the wind had an icy bite. Scully pulled her
coat
more tightly around herself and approached her partner. Time to
settle
this, she thought. No more pretending to ignore the difficulties.
She broke the silence. "Penny for your thoughts, stranger."
Mulder did not look back at her. When it came, his voice was
barely
audible. "I'm not a stranger, Scully. Not to you." He
paused. "You
know that."
Scully let some of her frustration into her tone. "Could
have fooled
me," she said. "Ever since Massachusetts, you've acted
as though you
could hardly stand to be around me. It's been 'we have to get
this
permit' and 'what about that visa?' and 'I can't talk right now,
too
busy, sorry' and on the few occasions you've shared my bed, I
still felt
like I was alone." She stopped herself, took a deep breath.
She did
not want to sound overwrought.
"What are you running from, Mulder? Why are you pulling away from me?"
Mulder did turn around then, but did not approach her. They
stood,
facing each other across a five-foot chasm.
"Scully, I've been thinking."
She waited. Mulder remained silent for a moment, his
expression
unreadable in the shadows. At his back, the moon slipped silently
behind a rocky hill that loomed from the plain west of the
building, and
as the shadow fell over them, the jewel-stars of the Tibetan
night
appeared in their millions, bright and unwinking overhead,
diamonds on
midnight velvet.
Mulder spread his hands, as if in a warding gesture. "Do
you know the
expression 'the Midas touch', Scully?"
She nodded, uncertain where this was heading.
"It's one of the most commonly misused expressions in
English," Mulder
went on. "People use it to describe someone who succeeds in
everything.
But that's not what it means. Midas was cursed. Under his touch,
his
food turned to gold, his wine turned to gold, and so did his
daughter.
His 'gift' had implications he had not expected."
Scully began to step closer to him, but Mulder raised his hands again.
"I'm beginning to think that Midas and I have something
in common,
except my gift is less ironic. Everything I touch turns to
lead."
"Mulder, that's not true."
"Yes it is." He began to pace, his footsteps
describing a short, oblong
path in front of her. Scully remained where she was, her doctor's
mind
noting that the wound in his side had healed enough that he could
walk
almost without limping. She let him work out the energy that
burned in
him. He would have to say his piece first; then she could try to
counter his self-recrimination.
"For most of my life, I searched for my sister. And then
I learned she
didn't want to be found."
Scully looked down. Mulder had told her of his encounter with
Samantha.
The experience had wounded him, and he had not even known how to
attempt
to cope with it, a hurt that time would almost certainly not
heal.
"But I'm still looking for her," he went on.
"Or I'm looking for what's
behind what happened to her, at least. And look where it's gotten
us.
At every turn, I do their work for them, and I bring harm to
those I
love."
Even amid her dismay, Scully felt a moment of warmth in
response to his
words. "Mulder," she said, "I told you once that
you don't own the
blame for what's happened. I meant that."
He stopped pacing and stood before her. "It doesn't
matter," he said,
his uninjured hand slashing the air in front of him. "It
doesn't matter
whether you blame me or not. Cause and effect remain." He
took a deep
breath. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but just as
grim.
"Look at me. Here I am, racing across Tibet to find
something that I'm
not even sure is here, dragging you with me into harm's way.
Against
your will."
"No, not against my will." Scully shook her head.
"Just because I'm
not certain you're right doesn't mean I don't want to know the
truth as
much as you do. I'll admit I'm not entirely comfortable with
this, but
I'm here because I want to be here. Because this is where I
belong."
This time it was Mulder who shook his head. "You were
wrong to join
yourself with me, Scully. And if I had been stronger, I would
have sent
you away by now. I should have done so."
"This is my quest too. I told you that."
"No, it's not," said Mulder. Scully would have
protested, but he went
on before she could speak. "I'm not saying you don't have
the right to
be involved, but it's not your quest. Ever since I saw Samantha,
I've
given a lot of thought to why I do this. For every two steps
forward, I
take two back, or I find out I've been walking in a circle. I
haven't
gotten anywhere."
"So why do it?"
"Because of my dad. Because he was involved. The son must
atone for
the sins of the father, no? But you don't owe the world that
debt.
Captain Scully never committed the wrongs that William Mulder
did."
Scully did step forward then, unshed tears of compassion
stinging her
eyes, and took his unhurt hand in both of hers. "No, that's
not true.
You do not have to atone for what your father may have
done."
Her vision had adjusted fully to the darkness, and she could
see his
eyes clearly as he stared down at her. His countenance revealed
his
his feelings of guilt, his unquiet. "Then why do I do
it?" he asked.
"You do it because it is what you were meant to do."
"Meant to do?"
"Yes. And I do it because I was meant to be here with
you." Her voice
dropped to a near-whisper. "And because I love you."
She felt his hand tighten around hers. "Don't love me,
Scully. I'm
standing under a dark star." His voice had fallen as well.
"That's not true." Scully took a deep breath, then
spoke again. "You
stand in God's love, as do all of us." She found she was
surprised by
her own words.
Mulder looked stunned; they had never seriously discussed her
faith, or
his beliefs, neither before her cancer nor after her remission
and
return to the Church. "I don't know your God, Scully,"
he said.
She looked down at his hand, clasped in her own, ran her
fingers lightly
along his, traced idle loops around his knuckles. "It is
said that
everyone will encounter God in his lifetime. I believe
that." She
hesitated. "But I think that some find God outside of the
Church. I
think maybe that's how it's meant to be for you."
Mulder didn't answer, at first. Scully looked up at his face,
saw that
he looked out over the star-lit plains to the east, out over
Tibet, a
land of monasteries and shrines and sacred places. "These
people seem
to have their own belief," he observed.
Scully's gaze followed her partner's. "God speaks to them
in a
different language, I think. But deep down, we all hope for the
same
thing."
"Life?" Mulder asked, looking at her face once more.
"And love," she said. "Do you love me, Mulder?"
"I love you," he said simply.
"Then that's enough."
"I can't protect you. And I can't promise you nothing
will happen to
me."
And that was the heart of it, the disquiet that had haunted
her for so
long. She looked deep into Mulder's eyes, black opals in the
starlight.
So much of his soul lay bare within them, open to anyone who made
the
effort to look for it. Scully could see the caring there, and in
that
moment understood at the deepest level of her being, in a way
that she
had never understood before, that the caring and the
impulsiveness, the
risk-taking, were parts of one whole.
She realized that uncertainty would always be the price of
loving
Mulder. She swallowed. "I don't expect that. I just want you
to let
me be there for you. Don't leave me behind."
Mulder shook his head sadly. "You know how I am, Scully.
I can't even
promise you that. Not honestly."
She locked her gaze on his, holding his attention on her.
"Then just
promise me that you'll try. I can settle for that."
Mulder's features grew grim. "That's not fair to
you," he said. "It's
not right."
"Mulder, I believe in you," said Scully. "I
believe in our love.
You'll be there for me."
For a long moment he was silent. "I will," he said
at last. "I'll do
my best."
"Then it's right." Scully released his hand and slid
hers up along
either side of his head, pulling him down to her and joining her
mouth
with his. She felt his good hand ease around her back, drawing
her
close to him.
Neither of them felt the wind that, rising, brushed at them
with chill
fingers, tossing their hair about and seeking gaps in their
clothing.
Together, they were warm in the cold of the night.
* * *
Much later, Mulder lay on his back in their darkened room,
with Scully
lying at his right side, one arm and leg tossed over him in a
possessive
embrace. For the first time in weeks, they had made love, her
straddling him carefully so as not to cause him pain. Their
movements
had been languid, but the passion between them had made up for
their
physical restraint.
And for the first time in weeks, Mulder felt that their was
peace
between them, a peace that would last, that would let them love
each
other.
Now all he had left was to find peace within himself. But he
held out
little hope for that.
************************************************************************
On the road, east of Rongbuk Monastery
9:00 a.m.
"Nawang, what are the chances of visiting the monastery
itself?" Mulder
asked.
They were driving along yet another stretch of dusty roadway
under the
empty lapis vault. He realized that he had not seen a cloud since
they
had left Kathmandu, a week earlier.
Their driver looked over his shoulder at them, his attention
blithely
removed from the road ahead, to answer. "We can go there.
The monks
will welcome you, should you choose to visit." They had
driven nearly
150 yards before his gaze returned to the road, yet Mulder found
himself
unconcerned. One can get used to just about anything, he
realized.
"Today?"
Nawang nodded, pointed ahead down the road. In the distance,
the land
rose, and the road climbed a high range of hills in a series of
what
Mulder now knew from experience would be terrifying switchbacks.
"It's
not far now. We have to cross that pass ahead, and then we'll be
there.
Two hours, perhaps."
Mulder nodded, sat back in his seat. To his right, Scully was
catching
up on the sleep they had lost the night before, while Diana rode
up
front. She had had little to say today. When he and Scully had
joined
her and Nawang for breakfast, she had given them a lingering
stare, as
though she perceived the new contentment between them, and her
face had
settled into a mask of reserve.
Her discomfort pained Mulder, especially considering how well
she had
gotten on with him and Scully to date; it seemed a shame that she
should
revert to unhappiness. But he reminded himself that she had
insisted on
joining them for this expedition. She was a grown woman, and her
emotions were her own business.
Anyway, he was glad she had come, in some respects. Though
they were
hardly present in force, one more pair of eyes and hands might
prove
useful before this was over.
Mulder sat back, let his right hand drift over to where
Scully's lay on
the Landcruiser's rear seat. Unconsciously, her fingers twined
with
his.
He wondered where Alex Krycek was.
************************************************************************
Near Rongbuk Monastery
11:40 a.m.
From a hill overlooking the road to Rongbuk monastery, one of
Sun
Wei-kuo's triad underlings kept watch.
It was not an interesting post. So far, nothing had passed
beneath his
scrutiny but a pair of Tibetan drovers and their animals, and a
few of
the local farmers on their way to some of their more remote
fields.
And so the triad man had spent the last few hours in utter
boredom,
watching an empty road for the arrival of...anyone unusual. The
foreigner leader's instructions, relayed through Sun, had been to
report
any unexpected arrivals.
He raised his binoculars and scanned the deserted road once
more. Bored
though he was, he had no interest in leaving his post, and even
less in
failing in his duties. The foreigner's temper had already proven
most
impressive.
* * *
Alex Krycek, the foreigner in question, had managed to calm
his temper
and return to John Leslie's journals for another round of serious
study.
The cave, which had at first seemed so promising, had proved to
be
nothing more extraordinary than a hermit's meditation cave. The
figure
revealed by Krycek's flashlight, an eight-foot-high image of what
Sun
Wei-kuo had identified as a Buddhist deity, had indicated that.
No sign
of the facility that John Leslie had visited could be found
there, nor
was there any passageway that might lead to it.
That disappointment had led to further searching of the
ravine, but to
no avail. Leslie's cave proved beyond their ability to locate.
Which led Krycek to suspect the journal he had was not
authentic, or had
been altered in some way. After all, it was not as though Tibet
had the
most dynamic environment on earth. The place was one big,
semi-desert,
and was literally dotted with caves. Even after 64 years,
Leslie's
cavern should have been easy enough to locate.
Krycek studied the pages in front of him, the journals that
Florescu had
brought to Hong Kong from America. They looked authentic;
Leslie's
drawings and narrative seemed intact, and the location of the
cave
seemed unambiguous. But since they hadn't found the cave,
something had
to be wrong.
At that moment, one of Sun's triad men came sprinting into the
camp,
scattering stones where he stumbled and barking breathless
Chinese to
his fellows. Sun listened a moment, asked a few questions, and
then
calmly made his way to where Krycek remained seated.
"There are vehicles on the road -- four-wheel drive --
heading for
Rongbuk."
Krycek did not have to look for himself; there were only two
serious
possibilities concerning the identities of the newcomers.
He looked at Sun. "Weapons," he said.
************************************************************************
Rongbuk Monastery
11:50 a.m.
Nawang brought the Landcruiser to a stop in front of Rongbuk
Monastery,
and after a moment, Scully climbed out to stand on the dirt road
below
the massive front gate, indulging in a long stretch.
Diana, was next out of the vehicle, followed by Nawang and then Mulder.
"Here we are," said Nawang, unnecessarily.
Scully let her gaze drift along Rongbuk's impressive facade.
The
building was fortress-like and two-toned, the upper half of its
walls a
deep maroon and the lower a brilliant white that shone almost
painfully
in the sun. Two grey-blue wedge-shaped windows, one of which
seemed
recently repaired, were spaced evenly along the front of the
upper
facade, and above everything, along the front of the monastery's
roof,
gold-covered decorations -- a wheel and two deer, and various
unexplainable shapes -- gleamed brightly.
Nawang was stepping toward the heavy wooden doors, which were
painted a
heavy crimson, and raised the massive knocker there. When he
dropped
it, the thud echoed in the late-morning quiet.
After a minute or so, a teenager in the maroon robes of a
Tibetan monk
opened the gate. His face registered his surprise at the group of
foreigners at the gate, and he ran one hand along his peach-fuzz
hair,
finally turning to Nawang and speaking.
Nawang held a brief exchange with the boy and then turned to
Mulder and
Scully. "Please, follow me."
He stepped within the gate, walking through a short passage
and into the
open courtyard beyond. Diana, Mulder, and Scully followed. Behind
them, the young monk closed the gates and lowered the bar,
locking them
in. The boy then disappeared through a smaller doorway that led
into
the side-building of the monastery.
On either side of the courtyard, there were inward-facing
doors and,
above them, balconies decorated with potted flowers. Directly
before
them, at the far side of the court, a short, wide stair led up to
an
overhung porch. Another set of doors, standing wide open,
revealed a
dark room beyond. Nawang gestured for the group to follow and
then led
them across the court to the doorway, stepping into the shadows
beyond.
As they strode across the pavings, Scully took a moment to
glance
around. The inner walls of the monastery were maroon and grey and
largely undecorated, and in the corners or the courtyard,
pomegranate
trees, heavy with fruit, grew in large pots. A monk stepped out
onto
one of the balconies and gave their group a curious stare, then
disappeared into the monastery once more.
They reached the doors. Nawang invited them to remove their
shoes, and
after doing so they entered a large room lit only by the faint
flickering of butter lamps and the light that shone in through
the open
doorway. Large gold statues of Buddhas loomed in the dimness, and
the
walls were adorned with intricate paintings of various deities.
The air
was heavy with the scent of burning yak butter and sandalwood.
Nawang indicated an elderly monk who had entered the room at
the same
time they had, slipping in through a door on the far wall. Like
the
other monks they had seen, the aged Tibetan wore robes of maroon
cloth.
His head was mostly bald, adorned only with a barely-visible
fringe of
white hair trimmed close to his skull, and a thick white mustache
covered his upper lip. His demeanor was serious, but beneficent.
"This
is my uncle," Nawang said, "Lama Jamyang Dorje. He has
been expecting
you."
************************************************************************
Near Rongbuk Monastery
11:55 a.m.
Alex Krycek stood atop the spy-hill and trained his binoculars
on the
monastery below. Next to him, Radu Florescu cradled a
high-powered
rifle equipped with a telescopic sight, a sniper's weapon that he
was
more than qualified to use. Krycek was deciding what to do.
It was Mulder, he knew that now. When Sun had told him what
the look-
out had seen, he had scrambled up to the observation post
himself, just
in time to see his one-time partner, Scully, and a second woman
at whom
he had not gotten a good look enter the gates of Rongbuk. A
single
Landcruiser remained parked on the roadside in front of the
monastery
gate.
"They'll have to come out sometime," Krycek said.
"What do you think,
Radu?"
"It's an easy shot -- I could probably get two of them,
maybe all three,
before anyone knew what was happening." The Romanian spat.
"It'd be
noisy, though."
Krycek lowered the binoculars and nodded. "Messy, too.
Might even be
enough to wake up the local authorities. Anyway, I just had a
thought."
"Ya?" The Romanian's accent, Krycek noted
irrelevantly, seemed even
more nasal in English than in Russian.
"Our friend Leslie may have left something behind
there," Krycek said,
gesturing toward the monastery. "Maybe Mulder will show us
the way once
again."
"It's possible. Do we wait?"
Krycek nodded. "We wait."
************************************************************************
Rongbuk Monastery
11:57 a.m.
Scully found that Nawang's remark did not surprise her at all,
for some
reason.
Jamyang Dorje made his way to a low riser, where he seated
himself, and
then beckoned their group to sit in front of him. Nawang led them
across the room and sat down on a low cushion. Diana, Mulder, and
Scully followed his example.
Jamyang Dorje spoke in Tibetan; Nawang translated his remarks
into
English. "My uncle welcomes you to Rongbuk, and asks what
has brought
you here." Nawang spoke for himself then. "My uncle
realizes, as I do,
that you are not tourists. Tourists do not ask to come to this
place.
When you expressed interest, I knew that you had some other
purpose.
And as I said, you were expected."
That explained the look Nawang had given them when they had
first met
him in Lhasa, Scully thought.
Mulder spoke up. "How is it that we were 'expected?' Who
could have
known we were coming?"
Nawang relayed question and answer. "My uncle says that
certain events
of great...karmic magnitude have occurred recently. The Rinpoche
-- he
is the highest lama here -- predicted that there would be a
reaction.
That reaction has manifested in your arrival here. That is
all."
There was a pregnant pause. "John Leslie came here,
didn't he?" asked
Mulder.
Jamyang Dorje nodded gravely. He spoke again to their guide,
who said,
"My uncle asks again, why are you here?"
Mulder looked the old monk straight in the eye. "We're
here to learn
the truth," he said. "We're here to find the place from
which John
Leslie returned."
"My uncle says that this 'truth' you seek is not a good
truth. It is
one that has remained hidden for a long time, and perhaps should
remain
so." Nawang gave Mulder a hard look. "My uncle asks
what your interest
is."
Scully glanced at Mulder, silently willing him to answer the
monk's
question in the right way. Her partner had ever been a forthright
man,
but though his devotion to justice shone in him like a flare, it
burned
as often as it warmed. Mulder had a look in his eye, a rigidity
in his
jaw that warned that his uncompromising side was making a bid for
ascendence.
Scully saw Mulder breath deeply and then visibly relax, the
evident
tension in him easing somewhat. When he spoke, his tone remained
even.
"It is a dangerous truth; that is certain."
Jamyang Dorje stared at him, but did not speak.
"But it's a truth that is going to come out, one way or
another," Mulder
said. "We are here to learn, to discover and determine what
must be
done. But there are others whose motives are not so pure."
Nawang translated this into Tibetan, then gave the monk's
reply. "My
uncle asks, who else has an interest in this matter?"
Behind them, the doors leading out to the courtyard were
closed,
darkening the chamber even more. Scully turned where she sat to
see a
novice securing the doorway. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the
lower
light. The statues gleamed an even richer gold in the gloom, and
the
heady scent of sandalwood incense grew stronger.
Mulder spoke quietly. "There are people, organizations
that take an
interest in matters such as this one. I know many of these
people, and
I know...I suspect that one is here. 'Krycek' is his name. His
motives
are his own, but I know the sort of man he is. He is a
killer."
Before Nawang could translate, Diana broke in. "He's not
the only one,
I think."
Scully, Mulder, and Nawang all turned quickly toward her, so
unexpected
was her comment. From the corner of her eye, Scully noticed that
Jamyang Dorje had looked at her as well, though his movements
remained deliberate, his expression placid.
"What do you mean?" asked Mulder.
Diana looked at him, her expression strange. "Fox, don't
be naive. Do
you think the smoker would just send you out here on your own and
not
cover his bases?" She shook her head, looking grim. "My
guess is that
we have more company up here than we realize."
Nawang turned to Jamyang Dorje and related this in a rapid
stream of
Tibetan. The elderly monk listened attentively, then spoke at
some
length to Nawang.
Nawang turned back to them. "My uncle asks me to inform
you that it
does not matter who has come to search for this place, because it
will
not be found."
Scully waited for him to go on. Obviously, Jamyang Dorje had
said far
more than that, but Nawang did not offer anything else.
Scully fixed her gaze upon their guide. "Nawang,"
she said, "we know
about the journal. We know that the missing pages are here, or we
can
guess it, and if we know, then others can figure it out as well.
When
they come to Rongbuk, they will come in force. I know these men.
They
will not hesitate to do whatever they think is necessary to get
the
information they require."
Nawang's eyes narrowed, and Scully hastened to continue.
"I'm not
making threats, Nawang. But I've seen what these men will do. And
if
there is something nearby that is dangerous, it would be best if
it did
not fall into their hands."
Nawang spoke to Jamyang Dorje again, then listened as the monk
replied
at length once again.
At last, Nawang turned his gaze to Scully once more. "My
uncle says,
you are welcome to stay here tonight. The monastery has a few
outbuildings, one of which will serve as a guest house. He will
discuss
this matter with the Rinpoche, and they will decide what is best
to do.
Until then, we will have to wait."
Scully glanced at Mulder, wondering how he would react, but he
seemed
undisturbed. He simply nodded and said "That will be
fine."
Nawang stood as Jamyang Dorje moved to get up. Diana, Mulder,
and
Scully followed his example. The monk smiled at them and then
made his
way to the door through which he had entered, disappearing
through it.
"Come this way," said Nawang. "We can eat in the village."
************************************************************************
Near Rongbuk Monastery
10:00 p.m.
Full dark had at last come to the valley, but the full moon
flooded the
land with blue-white light. Florescu made his way slowly up the
look-
out hill to where Krycek had spent most of the afternoon. He
found him
at the summit, sitting among the rocks in a relaxed pose, his
field
glasses in his lap.
Florescu was bored, and Svetlana's ghost had begun to probe
the edges of
his awareness. Since he had not brought any vodka into Tibet, he
knew
he had to find something to occupy his mind. He could not even
communicate with three of their four Chinese companions, and Sun
Wei-kuo
had proved utterly laconic. Thus, Florescu had sought out his
employer.
"Anything?" Florescu asked, settling himself next to Krycek.
"Nothin'," muttered Krycek. "They're not going anywhere tonight."
"Where are they?"
His employer waved a hand. "I saw them walk out to one of
the monastery
outbuildings a few hours ago. Their vehicle is there too. They're
bedding down for the night."
"So should we, no?"
"Soon," said Krycek. "Mulder will move
tomorrow, I think. We have to
be ready."
"Do you have a plan?" Florescu figured that Krycek
did. The man was an
inveterate plotter, that was certain.
"Yeah, I've been thinking about it. We have to assume they're armed--"
"They'd be stupid not to be."
Florescu saw Krycek's head bob in the darkness. "Yeah. It
doesn't
matter, though. We'll role out before dawn and set up a roadblock
north
of the monastery. There are six of us, so they'll
cooperate."
"Where do you want to set up?"
"Along the stream, over the second rise, about two miles from here."
Florescu considered that. It was a sound plan, but it made
certain
assumptions. "You're sure they'll follow the stream."
"Where else will they go?"
Good question, Florescu thought. "They don't know we're
here; that's
clear from the way they just rolled in today. You're right.
They'll
follow the stream."
He wandered away from where Krycek sat, until he reached the
edge of the
rock outcrop, gazing north across the moonlit valley floor.
Somewhere
in the distant darkness, the first range of hills cut the land
from east
to west, and somewhere in that vicinity lay their objective, the
master
facility. Florescu was confident that Rongbuk was what Krycek
thought
it was. If he had harbored any doubts before, the interest of
both
Mulder and the Consortium had dispelled them.
He felt a rising tension within him. This was the objective
for which
he had sold his soul. This was why he had served the Organization
for
so many years.
Part of the reason, anyway. After dealing with this faction,
the real
enemy would eventually have to be dealt with. But all in its
proper
order. Today, Rongbuk awaited.
Florescu strolled back to where Krycek sat. "Tell me more
about Mulder.
What is his weakness?"
Krycek spat. "He has no stomach for what it takes. When
it gets rough,
he'll blink."
"That all?"
"No." Krycek was shaking his head again.
"Scully. Threaten her, and
he'll forget everything else."
"Are they lovers?"
"I don't know, I doubt it. Mulder doesn't have the balls.
But that
doesn't seem to matter."
"So we use her to control him, eh?"
Krycek didn't answer for a moment. "Yeah, we'll use her,
all right," he
said at last.
Florescu did not speak after that. He sat with Krycek and
listened to
the small sounds of the deepening night, waiting for sleep to
come.
************************************************************************
Rongbuk Monastery
Tuesday, 6 October, 9:00 a.m.
Nawang, Diana, Mulder and Scully had gathered for breakfast,
which
consisted of an uninteresting barley gruel that Mulder
nonetheless
downed with enthusiasm. Food was food, after all.
Scully toyed with hers. Even after more than a week at
altitude, she
had shown lingering signs of discomfort, most prominently a
severely
suppressed appetite, even slight nausea, in the morning. Mulder
hoped
she would start eating more soon; even months after her
remission, her
frame remained slim and, though not frail, she was not as robust
as she
had once been.
Diana consumed her own gruel with dispatch if not enthusiasm,
but only
Nawang actually seemed pleased with the dish, approaching it with
the
same good humor that he applied to rough roads, flat tires, and
high,
dangerous mountain passes. He swallowed a hearty gulp of barley
and
gestured northward, out of the window of the outbuilding in which
they
had spent the night.
"One of the nomads said he saw yeti tracks near this place."
That got Mulder's attention. Learning something about the yeti
would
be an unforeseen side benefit of this trip, though their primary
goal
remained paramount. "That so?" he asked.
Nawang nodded. "Kunga is his name. His family is still in
the area,
but they are always nervous!" He laughed, mimicked a worried
nomad,
eyes wide, swinging his head from left to right, and looking over
his
shoulder.
"Is he a relative of yours?" asked Diana.
Nawang laughed again, louder. "No, no. I did not grow up in a tent."
"Where were the tracks?" asked Scully. Mulder
wondered at her question
a moment, then realized that she suspected that Nawang's
conversational
gambit was not entirely random.
"North of here, a few miles. In the stream bed. I don't
believe they
were yeti tracks."
"No?" asked Scully. There was the barest hint of
movement in one of her
brows.
"No," said Nawang. "These nomads are always
seeing things. Demons,
yetis, whatever. He probably saw leopard tracks."
"Oh." A momentary look of unguarded wonder formed on
Scully's visage,
and Mulder felt a surge of affection in response. He remembered
finding
a copy of Matthiesen's famous book on one of her shelves; it
clearly had
made an impression on her.
Diana's voice interrupted the moment. "So, what happens
today?" she
asked.
Nawang waved one hand in the air. "You may visit the
monastery, or the
village. My uncle is consulting with the Rinpoche. When he has
made a
decision, he will send for you."
"We don't have much time," said Mulder.
Nawang fixed his gaze on him, becoming serious. "You must
be patient,"
he said.
Mulder acknowledged their guide's remark with an tilt of his
head and
returned to his barley gruel. He thought he'd been pretty damn
patient
already, allowing Nawang to show them around the monastery and
village
without protesting, waiting for the lamas to decide whether to
trust
him. And he was prepared to be patient a while longer -- there
were
readings to be taken here at the monastery, and he and Diana
could
certainly fill a few hours surveying the place -- but he hoped
that
Jamyang Dorje and the Rinpoche made their decisions before too
long, or
everyone would wind up regretting it.
************************************************************************
North of Rongbuk Monastery
11:00 a.m.
The ambush was in place, and had been since before dawn. The
location
was ideal -- a narrow gully that provided the most convenient
access to
the higher ground further north. The river flowed through the
gully,
but there was plenty of room for a four-wheel drive vehicle to
pass.
Sooner or later, Mulder would have to come this way. So far
though,
there had been no sign of him. The only thing moving on the
valley
floor had been a few nomads and their yaks.
Radu Florescu glanced at Krycek, who had managed to control
his
impatience better than he often did. "Long wait, but they'll
come, I
think."
Krycek exhaled sharply. "Yeah, they'll come. Wonder
what's keeping
'em, though."
Florescu looked around, making sure that neither Sun nor any
of his men
were within earshot. Satisfied, he whispered to Krycek "When
do we take
them out? Have you decided?"
"Not before we have Mulder, of course. And I'd like to at
least have a
look at the facility before we get rid of them."
"And what do you want to do with Mulder when we have him?
Kill him?"
Florescu decided not to mention Scully. Krycek seemed to react...
strangely to her.
"I haven't decided."
"I'll do it, if you want. I should have finished him last time."
"I'll let you know when I decide," said Krycek.
"I owe him, that's for
sure." He stood up, gestured for Sun, then pointed to a low
rise a few
hundred yards to the south. "Send one of your men to watch.
I want as
much warning as we can get."
The triad man passed the order along to an underling, who took
his rifle
and jogged toward the distant hillock. Satisfied, Krycek returned
to
Florescu's side. "Always hurry up and wait," he said.
************************************************************************
Rongbuk Monastery
12:14 p.m.
Scully stood next to Nawang Tsering and tried to explain to
him what
Mulder and Diana had been doing for the past hour or so. The
young
Tibetan listened politely, clearly understanding nothing. Scully
could
hardly blame him. Mulder had been playing his game with
stop-watches
and Geiger counters for years, and though he managed to glean
something
from it now and then, Scully had never come up with a
satisfactory
explanation for the phenomena behind it.
Diana seemed familiar with the ritual, however. She had joined
Mulder
in placing metering devices at various locations around the
monastery
buildings, paying particular attention to its flat roof.
Rongbuk's inhabitants, maroon-clad monks of all ages, had been
puzzled
but ultimately uninterested in the strange antics of their
foreign
guests. They had watched for a few moments and then gone through
their
daily routine of chores and ritual prayers and meditation. There
had
been no sign of Jamyang Dorje or the mysterious 'Rinpoche'.
Scully shielded her eyes against the light and watched as
Mulder took
readings from the decorations at the top of the highest of the
Rongbuk's
buildings. At that moment, Diana appeared from a nearby doorway
and
joined her and Nawang. Scully turned to face her.
"Well?" she asked.
Diana looked up toward Mulder, who had finished his survey and
begun
walking toward a doorway that led back down into the monastery.
"There
are some signs of activity here, but they're old. I'd guess
something
may have occurred nearby, perhaps two to three months ago. Or
more
recently, but further away."
Scully noticed that Nawang had listened carefully to what
Diana had
said, though whether his interest arose from Diana's arrival or
something else, she could not have said.
"Fox is interested," Diana went on. "He
seems...satisfied with the
readings."
No surprise there, Scully thought. Mulder was always pleased,
even
jubilant, when he had measurable evidence in his hands, if only
because
it was the only thing that had a hope of convincing her. Not that
he
needed it as much as he once had -- after Antarctica, Scully's
basic
assumptions had shifted significantly.
Mulder joined them, emerging from the same door through which
Fowley
had come. "Something was here, Scully. I'm sure of it."
His voice, something in his tone, took Scully back to their
first year
together, when she had been young and inexperienced and
progressively
more infatuated with her dynamic and attractive partner. She
seldom
remembered the innocence they had shared then. It seemed so long
ago.
Mulder scrutinized their guide. "Any other stories you
can tell us,
Nawang?"
Nawang was let off the hook by the arrival of a young monk, a
novice,
who ran up in a flurry of maroon cloth and spilled a stream of
excited
Tibetan at him. Nawang listened for a moment, then translated for
his
guests. "My uncle wishes see you now."
* * *
A few minutes later, they were seated around Jamyang Dorje
just as they
had been the day before. The old monk gave them an appraising
look,
then spoke through Nawang.
"My uncle says that he has consulted at length with the
Rinpoche, and
they have decided to tell you what happened here not long
ago." Nawang
paused as Jamyang Dorje spoke again, then continued. "My
uncle was the
one who opened the gate for the foreigner, the man from the past.
He
came in the night, the same night that something appeared in the
sky
over the monastery. My uncle saw that as well."
Diana leaned forward. "What was it?"
"My uncle does not know. It was big, and gave out a great
light. It
hung in the sky but made no sound."
Scully felt her skin crawl. The description echoed her own
voice,
heard on a tape months before, relating an encounter that she
could not
remember.
"How close did it come?" asked Diana.
The question was relayed to Jamyang Dorje, who gestured upward
as he
replied.
"My uncle says that he looked upon it as it hung over
this place, not
very high. It was too bright to look at directly, and it vanished
without warning."
Mulder had been nodding as Nawang confirmed what he had
evidently
suspected, and his eyes sought out Scully's and held them, as
though
seeking her reaction, hoping she would remember something.
Scully found she had nothing to offer him, and that she
regretted that.
That memory had eluded her consciousness for months, almost a
year,
and she had not felt comfortable pursuing it. She could hardly
call
something up on a moment's notice, in any case.
She decided to change the subject. "What about the man? Who was he?"
Jamyang Dorje related the story of Leslie's arrival at
Rongbuk. As
Scully listened to Nawang's translation, the eerie feeling she
had felt
a few moments before redoubled. The John Leslie described by the
Tibetans sounded quite like the one she had met in Arkham --
exactly
like him, actually.
According to Nawang, Leslie had spent nearly a month at
Rongbuk, during
which time his mental health had steadily declined, until at last
Nawang
had escorted him to Lhasa. And then, for the monks of Rongbuk,
the
waiting had begun. The Rinpoche had predicted a 'reaction,' and
now
that the reaction had occurred, they had to decide how to respond
to it.
Jamyang Dorje reached within his robes and removed a sheaf of
papers,
handing them to Mulder, whose eyes lit up at the sight of them.
"My uncle," said Nawang, "entrusts you with
these documents. When
John Leslie was here, I examined his writings, and it was decided
that
these pages be removed, so that knowledge of the place from which
he
came would not leave Tibet. Your news, however, has raised
certain
concerns."
"How so?" asked Mulder.
"Your assessment was accurate. There are others here in this valley."
************************************************************************
Southwest of Rongbuk Monastery
12:24 p.m.
Jill Whittaker stared nervously down the barrel of the
automatic rifle
that she clasped in slick hands.
She and one other member of Colonel Henderson's team had been
assigned
to 'rear security,' a uniquely military expression for covering
the
team's collective ass, while the rest of the unit waited in
ambush for
a hapless Chinese army patrol that was currently making leisurely
progress toward their position.
The team's position was in the upper part of a narrow canyon
that gave
shelter but just as effectively prevented flight. And thus,
despite the
fact that they would have much preferred no contact with the
local
authorities at all, they now found themselves forced into a
fight.
The Chinese patrol, which they had spotted while stopped for
lunch,
could hardly miss them should they attempt to drive away.
Eliminating the patrol was the only choice. The action had to
be brief,
sudden, violent, and completely successful. If the Chinese were
alerted
to the team's presence in Tibet, they would be hard pressed to
get
themselves out, never mind accomplish their mission.
Which was why Jill found she could not keep her attention from
the
view downhill toward main body of the team. Though she and the
trooper
whom she was with had climbed out of direct view of their
companions and
the Chinese patrol, she found her eyes irresistibly drawn in that
direction.
The sound of automatic weapons fire came sooner than she
expected, and,
crazily, reminded her of a dozen popcorn poppers crackling at
once. It
lasted for just a few seconds, and then the canyon was quiet, the
soft
sounds of the wind slowing returning to Jill's awareness.
She would have gone to see what had happened, but the trooper
with her
prevented her from moving until one of his comrades came within
sight
and signaled them. And then she did hustle down the slope, past
their
parked vehicles, and within sight of the killing zone. The place
drew
her, against her will, the unfamiliar proximity of death an
inexplicable
siren's call.
What she saw there made her retch painfully in shock in
horror.
Henderson's men had done their work effectively; the Chinese
patrol
lay scattered about the floor of the canyon, arranged in odd
postures
as though they had been cut down while in the midst of a
grotesque
dance. And everywhere, there was blood. Its bitter, coppery
stench
filled the air, mixing with the sharp tang of gun smoke.
Jill found herself staring into the face of one Chinese
soldier, a man
neither especially young or old, a man who looked as though he
had left
a wife and child somewhere, checking every day for a letter from
home.
His eyes were open, as was his abdomen. His intestines lay
partially
exposed, red and slimy and scattered about queerly. This was
someone's
daddy, Jill thought.
As she looked into his lifeless face, one of Henderson's men
seized his
ankles and pulled him out of her sight. The team tidied up the
floor of
the canyon as best it could, moving the obvious signs of the
carnage out
of plain view. The colonel had given sharp orders, demanding even
more
speed and efficiency than he had previously. Jill understood the
reasons for his urgent tone -- now that the team had been forced
into
taking out a local military patrol, it was only a matter of time
before
its presence was inferred by the local authorities.
They had little time to complete their mission, now.
All that Jill could think about was the soldier's widow and
orphaned
child, who would never know why he had died.
************************************************************************
[end part 9 of 11]
[begin part 10 of 11]
************************************************************************
Rongbuk Monastery
Tuesday, 6 October, 12:29 p.m.
Mulder was doing everything in his power to remain seated, but
his
instincts, the inner urges that had propelled him from one
momentous
juncture to another throughout his life, made him desperate to
stand, to
move, to do something. 'Others' were in the valley, the old monk
had
said. That meant Krycek, and Florescu. It had to. They were
looking
for the same thing he was, and if they were here, then they were
close
to their goal, and had to be anticipated.
The conversation lapsed for a moment after Nawang's
translation. Diana
had begun to look nervously about, as if some threat known or
unknown
might at any moment emerge from the dark corners of the shrine
room in
which they sat, while only Scully seemed unmoved, serene,
accepting the
inevitability of what they had learned.
Mulder considered the situation. Krycek was here, and had
presumably
been searching for the facility that Leslie had been held in. The
question was whether he had found it, or come close.
"Nawang," he asked. "What have these 'others'
been doing here? And
where are they now?"
Their guide spoke for a few moments with Jamyang Dorje, then
turned back
to Mulder. "There are nomads here, and they were the ones
who brought
this news to Rongbuk. They reported that foreigners, Westerners
and
Chinese together, spent two days in the gully where the river
flows
through the hills to the north. That is the place of which I told
you,
where my uncle saw the strange creature years ago."
"Did they find anything?"
"Not that we know of," said Nawang. "But that
is not where your Mr.
Leslie came from. That place too is known to us; it is further
away.
The papers you have show the way to that place."
Mulder turned his attention to the documents that Jamyang
Dorje had
given to him. They were old and yellowed, and seemed to be of the
same
heavy paper as the journals of Randolph Sales, which had been
left in
the care of the 'Gunmen.' He scanned the text, which related the
author's progress past the first range of hills north of Rongbuk
and to
the second, where the mysterious cave was to be found.
Jamyang Dorje's voice drew Mulder's eyes from the page in his
hand, and
he attended to the strange, low cadence of the lama's speech,
though it
conveyed nothing immediately understandable to his mind.
Nawang spoke again. "Mr. Mulder, my uncle has something
to teach you.
Will you listen?"
Mulder felt Scully's gaze on him, and he noticed Diana had
directed a
quizzical stare at their guide. Nawang's question struck him as
odd,
but in it he sensed a moment of truth, a critical juncture upon
which
the outcome of the entire investigation hinged. He looked
directly at
Jamyang Dorje and answered. "I will listen."
Nawang translated his reply, and Jamyang Dorje spoke again, at length.
"My uncle says, it is no accident that you have come to
Rongbuk. Your
karma has brought you here, and in some way, the three of you are
linked
to Mr. Leslie and this matter. Whether you are here for good or
ill is
not known to us, but my uncle and the Rinpoche have decided that
it is
necessary to entrust you with this affair. We do not forget the
harm
the Chinese have done to Tibet. We know the wrong that men with
guns
can do."
The guide cleared his throat and then continued. "My
uncle wishes for
me to tell you that he perceives you to be a man dedicated to
Truth,
and that is good. That is in part why he has given you the keys
to the
place you seek. But he cautions you that it is wrong to cling to
the
Truth you pursue. If you grasp at it, if you try to hold it tight
to
yourself and not let go, it will slip away and you will never
find it.
Your motivations will be stained, and harm will come of your
efforts.
You must be of pure heart, your motives must be unselfish, or
your
actions will be negative."
"I like to think my motives are pure," said Mulder,
uncertain how to
respond to the old monk's lesson.
There was a brief exchange in Tibetan, then Nawang spoke.
"My uncle
says, you must be certain. You must keep compassion and
loving-kindness
foremost in your mind. This is the most important thing."
Mulder looked over at Scully. She wore an introspective
expression, but
her eyes met his. No coherent thought formed in his mind, but he
felt
her love wash over him in an almost tangible wave, giving him
strength
and confidence. He turned back to Jamyang Dorje.
"I'm ready," he said.
"Then there is something more you must know," said
Nawang. "John Leslie
came to Rongbuk twice."
"What?!" asked Scully and Diana simultaneously. The
two women glanced
at each other, a bit sheepishly, Mulder thought.
Nawang nodded gravely, then recounted how shortly after he had
escorted
the first John Leslie to Lhasa, a man of identical appearance
arrived
at Rongbuk, seeking shelter and transportation.
The news set Mulder's mind racing. 'Little grey men,' alien
shape-
changers, human-alien hybrids, sentient black oil -- he had seen
them
all over the course of his tenure on the X-Files, and through the
years,
the various alien factions and alignments had become ever more
convoluted. In Wilkes Land, he had seen what was unquestionably
an
alien space ship, a craft that anyone, believer or skeptic, would
recognize as a UFO. And within it, he had glimpsed yet another
variation, that he had mentally dubbed 'big grey men,' shrieking,
violent creatures, all sinew and claws.
Mulder wished he had been able to learn more than he had,
naturally, but
at the time, he had been too concerned with getting Scully to
safety to
worry about anything else.
Hearing Nawang's tales of yetis and tracks, he had thought
that in Tibet
they would find something similar to what he had seen in
Antarctica. If
approached with caution, Rongbuk might prove a second chance to
discover
the secrets he had left behind in Wilkes Land. Now, though,
Mulder was
less certain. It was difficult to know what the news of a second
John
Leslie meant.
But there would be time to think about it later. "We have
to get to the
site. Can you take us there?"
Nawang nodded, indicated the papers Mulder held. "I have
not been
there, but the place is known to us. I will guide you."
************************************************************************
North of Rongbuk Monastery
12:50 p.m.
"They're on the move," said Sun Wei-kuo.
The triad man had joined Krycek and Florescu shortly after
sending one
of his underlings forward to act as a lookout. That man had
signaled
to his fellows, and after Sun had sent one of them to relieve
him,
hurried back to report. Sun ordered him into place in the ambush
and
then translated the gist of his news to Krycek.
Krycek felt energy flare behind his knees in response to Sun's
words.
"When, and where?" he asked.
"Your quarry is heading north, along the river, just as
you expected.
They just came into clear view, so it will be a few minutes
yet." If
Sun had any emotions concerning the matter, his voice did not
betray
them.
"Alright," Krycek said. "Remind your men: no
one gets trigger-happy. I
want Mulder alive."
"If they resist, my men will shoot," said Sun.
"They won't resist." Krycek turned to Florescu.
"We've got them,
Radu," he said.
* * *
12:55 p.m.
The Landcruiser lurched on the uneven ground, but the
vehicle's four-
wheel drive managed the terrain without difficulty. North of
Rongbuk,
the valley rose from the wide fields of barley and entered a zone
of a
rich, rust-colored moss, interrupted by scattered stones and the
occasional boulder. The river ran through this, and its flat
banks
provided a useful roadway for travel to the north. Mulder rode in
the
front this time, his attention glued to the land ahead. In the
distance, he could see a low hillock, a sentinel over the river's
course
through the valley.
A more immediately significant obstacle lay directly in front
of them,
however. A group of Tibetan nomads had brought their yaks to the
river
to drink, and the herd formed a roadblock that the sturdiest
vehicle
would have to respect.
"Look, it is Kunga!" Nawang gave Mulder a grin and
pointed at one of
the drovers by the water.
"Who's Kunga?"
"Kunga is the one who saw the yeti! Remember?"
Nawang repeated his
pantomime of a nervous nomad jumping at shadows.
Before Mulder could reply, the nomad himself noticed Nawang
and strode
toward the Landcruiser, waving excitedly and gesturing northward.
As
Kunga spoke, Nawang's face changed from amused to grave.
At last, he turned to Mulder, indicating the low hill ahead.
"Kunga
says that men with guns wait beyond the hill."
In the back seat, Diana spoke up in alarm. "What?
Who?" There was a
note of panic in her voice that triggered something in Mulder's
mind.
He worried at it for a moment, but no connection was made, so he
let it
go. They had a situation to deal with.
Nawang was translating again, shifting his gaze from Mulder to
Diana and
back again. "Kunga says that it is the men we spoke of, the
Westerners
and Chinese together." He focused in on Mulder. "Is
this the 'Krycek'
of whom you spoke?"
"Maybe," said Mulder. "It doesn't really
matter. We can't go that way,
and we can't stay here. Is there another way to the site?"
"Of course," said Nawang, moving a hand in a wide
sweep. "The valley is
wide; we can go wherever we please." He paused. "It
will take longer,
though."
"Doesn't matter," said Mulder. "We have to get
out of here." Somewhere
in the lizard part of his brain, Mulder could sense the cross
hairs of a
rifle's scope trained on his skull. Urgency mounted in him.
"Drive
south, now" he said.
* * *
1:10 p.m.
The second triad lookout had hurried back from the forward
hillock and
given a breathless report to Sun Wei-kuo. Now, the Chinese had
turned
to Krycek, a hint of dismay on his face as he translated the
report.
"Mulder has turned aside. It would seem that the nomads
warned him of
our presence."
Frustration and fury blazed in Krycek, but he bit a lip and
controlled
himself. He knew he could only blame himself for this
development; the
nomads, and their affiliation with the monks of Rongbuk, had been
an
extra factor that he had simply not taken into consideration. He
had
been aware of the risk of his movements being observed, but there
hadn't
been any way for him to alleviate it, so he'd let it go.
He took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, turning to
Florescu, "it
doesn't matter. We still have the advantage of numbers."
"But not surprise," Florescu observed.
Krycek nodded. There was no denying that. "I know,"
he said, "but it
can't be helped."
"So, what now?" asked Sun, surprising Krycek. The
triad man had not
made many such inquiries.
"If we can't take them on the way in, then we follow. We
let them lead
us to the site, and then we take over." Krycek shouldered
his rifle."
"Radu! Mount up! Sun, get your men together. We have to
track them."
* * *
1:15 p.m.
Colonel Henderson lowered his binoculars and turned to Jill
Whittaker,
who stood next to him as he gazed eastward across the valley.
"Well,
that's quite a little convoy, wouldn't you say?"
Jill raised an eyebrow at him, but did not answer. Without the
advantage afforded by the binoculars, she could make out little
of the
distant vehicles Henderson had spied. Even so, she realized that
few
cars would be traveling in such a remote region, and they had
most
likely found one or both of the parties they sought.
Henderson was unperturbed by her silence. He turned to his men
and
called out. "Let's go, gentlemen. Phase two of the operation
begins
now."
A few 'yes, sir's' drifted back to him as his troops scrambled
back into
their Jeeps and fired up the engines.
Though their goal was near, Jill's mood was subdued. She
swayed with
the vehicle as it trundled down the slope, but in her mind's eye,
she
still saw the bloody remnants of their earlier ambush. And there
would
likely be more killing soon, she realized.
************************************************************************
Second range of hills, north of Rongbuk Monastery
5:00 p.m.
"Well, here we are," said Mulder. Nawang had brought
the Landcruiser to
a stop in the middle of the canyon, next to the narrow, shallow
stream
that flowed through its length. Above them, a short, easy climb
from
the canyon floor, loomed the entrance of the cave that had been
discovered, 64 years previously, by John Leslie and Randolph
Sales.
There was nothing remarkable about the cave. It looked like
any of a
half-dozen others they had seen during the hours of driving that
had
brought them to the canyon. Nothing could be heard but natural
sounds,
the flow of water in the stream and the low whistling of the wind
among
the stones.
Mulder climbed out of the Landcruiser and stretched, looking
up at the
canyon wall. He felt Scully's presence close to him as she also
exited
the vehicle. Nawang and Diana, on its far side, clambered out and
stared up at the cave as well.
"Seems almost anti-climactic," Diana observed.
Her voice interrupted the quiet that had settled around them.
Mulder
scanned the area, getting a feel for the terrain. Northward, the
canyon bent to the east, while to the south, the direction from
which
they had come, it lay nearly straight for most of the way back to
the
valley.
"Let's unload, and then get this vehicle out of
sight," said Mulder. He
opened the back of the Landcruiser and hauled out the two packs
that
contained his 'UFO kit,' as Scully called it, being careful not
to
strain his injured hand. Then he turned to Nawang, who continued
to
stare at the cave, a nervous look on his face.
"Nawang," said Mulder. He gestured northward.
"How about taking the
Landcruiser around that bend, get it out of view?" Their
guide looked
at him hopefully, and Mulder added: "Tell ya what. We have
lights and
the sketch of the cave. Why don't you stay with the vehicle and
we'll
meet you there when we're done?"
"How long will you be?" asked Nawang, brightening.
Mulder shrugged. "There's no telling, really. Be prepared
to wait a
while."
Their guide nodded and climbed back into the vehicle, starting
up the
engine and driving slowly away.
Mulder felt Scully's touch on his elbow. He turned to her.
"What about Krycek?" she asked.
"I'm hoping we can check this place out before he figures
out where
we've gone."
Scully looked doubtful, but did not protest.
Diana spoke up. "What are we going to do, now that we're here?"
"I'm not sure," Mulder admitted. "But we might as well get started."
He opened one of the packs and drew out a heavy-duty
flashlight, along
with an icepick, which he hefted once and then slipped into a
pocket.
He had donned boots and BDU-style trousers for this occasion,
along with
a sweater with reinforced shoulders and elbows. In the canyon's
shadows
and the late afternoon's cooling air, he was grateful for the
warmth of
his outfit.
Scully was similarly dressed, though Mulder could not help
observing
that she filled out a pair of military pants and a 'commando'
sweater a
lot better than most who made a habit of wearing them. He let his
gaze
linger appreciatively on her butt as she bent to pull out her own
flashlight, along with the Geiger counter, which she handed to
Diana.
"Ready?" Mulder asked, as Scully shouldered the other pack.
She nodded.
"Ready," added Diana.
A brief climb, up a series of boulders that formed a crude
natural
stair, brought them to the mouth of the cave, a gaping maw in the
canyon
wall. Mulder flipped on his flashlight and pointed it inward; the
beam,
though bright, seemed thin and feeble in the chthonian dark
beyond the
entrance.
For a moment, Mulder considered voicing a stray thought
concerning the
potential benefits of spelunking in remote locales with not one
but two
attractive women, but then decided that, under the circumstances,
his
usual badinage would likely not have the desired results. He
settled
for a more ordinary remark.
"Watch your heads," he said, and stepped into the
cave. Scully and
Diana followed him closely.
The interior was dry and cold. Within the entrance, the walls
opened
into a spacious chamber, from which a narrow passageway extended
forward, sloping slightly downward as well. The passage had
smooth
walls, surprisingly regular, as though it had been cut or melted
through
the rock.
They advanced carefully through the cave; the air grew
progressively
cooler, and there was no sound but the quiet shuffle of their own
footfalls. Soon, the route began a series of zig-zags, then
straightened again. Another minute's walk brought them at last to
the
tunnel's end, where they found a large, oval door, made of a
strange,
metallic substance, deep cobalt blue in color. On either side,
passages
disappeared into darkness, and next to the door was set an array
of
oval buttons, three rows of eight, each inscribed with a glyph of
obscure significance.
Mulder examined the glyphs; each row repeated the same
sequence of
eight symbols.
"Access keys," said Mulder. "What's the combination?"
He heard Scully examining the pages that the smoking man had
provided to
Skinner.
"Those are numbers?" asked Diana. "Are you sure?"
"Don't see what else they could be. Scully?"
"Hold on...here they are...91-43-12."
"Which end is the zero?" asked Diana.
"Well, we'll try the left, for starters. Wait a
minute...." He trailed
off. "How do you key '91' on this panel?"
Scully moved forward, squeezing into the space between Mulder
and the
wall, training her own flashlight on the door. Mulder found that
he was
very aware of her proximity, despite their circumstances.
"See?" he asked. "There are only eight keys in
a row. It doesn't make
sense."
Scully was silent for a long moment, slowly running her
flashlight beam
along the three rows of buttons. "That's the 'zero',"
she said at last,
shining her light on one of the three right-most keys.
"How do you know?" asked Diana.
Mulder answered. "She's right. That one doesn't match the
shapes of
the others. Our 'zero' is the same way; it outlines an area,
whereas
all other digits do not."
"Well, 'six', 'eight', and 'nine' sort of do," said
Scully. "But you're
right. 'Zero' is unique. I imagine the same principle applies
here."
"That still doesn't tell us how to key in '91' on an
eight-key array,
though." Mulder rubbed his chin. He had to be missing
something.
After another silence, Scully spoke up. "Mulder, when we
were in the
ship in Antarctica...." She paused.
"Hmmm?"
"Did you happen to notice how many fingers the aliens had?"
"What?" Mulder and Diana asked the question simultaneously.
"I'm serious -- was it four digits on each hand?"
"Scully, I have no idea," said Mulder. "I was
kind of busy with other
concerns at the time. What difference does it make?"
"Let's suppose it was, just for the sake of argument.
Have you ever
wondered why we count to ten?"
Light dawned. "Oh my God," said Mulder. "You're
right. It's base-
eight numbering."
"What do you mean?" Diana asked.
Scully answered. "We have ten fingers, and when we count,
we have a new
character for each number, until we reach ten, whereupon we write
a
'one' and a 'zero'. But that's entirely arbitrary. Mathematics
work
just as well in any numbering system, whatever its base number
is.
Base-eight isn't any different, except you write 'one'-'zero'
when you
reach eight, instead of ten. If we'd evolved with eight fingers,
we'd
most likely count that way and obsess over turning 32 instead of
40."
"So how do you write '91' in base eight?" asked Diana.
"Well," said Scully, "'100' would be our '64',
'130' would be '88',
and..." she paused. "Our '91' would be '133'...I
think."
"Top to bottom?" asked Mulder.
"Give it a try," said Scully.
Mulder keyed in the sequence, was rewarded with an audible click.
"Next?" he asked.
"Ah, '43' would be...'53'," Scully supplied.
Mulder paused. "Do I key the 'zero'? Oh, what the
hell." He tapped
the equivalent of 053 and another click could be heard.
"Why didn't Leslie just write the numbers as they are
keyed?" Diana
asked suddenly.
Mulder shrugged. "No idea. Maybe he didn't want to make
it too easy
for anyone else. As long as he knew the code...." He
shrugged again.
"Type '014'," said Scully.
Mulder complied, and with the third click, the door swung
slowly inward,
revealing a long corridor illuminated by a low, blue-green light.
An
air of putrefaction wafted out at them. Mulder gagged once, then
controlled his urge to vomit, swallowing hard against it.
"I guess the maid didn't come this week," he said.
Diana coughed. "Good Lord," she said. "What a stench."
"There's nothing for it," said Mulder. "Let's
go." He shut off his
light, letting his eyes adjust to the low illumination.
He started inward, Diana and Scully on his heels. As he
stepped through
the doorway, his foot rang on the metallic flooring, giving him
pause,
but then he continued forward, stepping more lightly. On his
left,
Diana pressed ahead.
A sudden clanging spun them both around in their tracks;
Mulder turned
to see Scully, her flashlight fallen from limp hands, standing in
an
enervated posture, her lips parted and her eyes open but empty.
"Scully?" Mulder said, his heart in his mouth.
She made no response.
* * *
Nawang Tsering slouched in the Landcruiser and worried.
He considered himself a decent and helpful fellow, and he had
devoted
most of his energies for the past few weeks to his uncle's cause
-- a
cause he respected even if he did not wholly understand it -- but
there
were limits. He had taken one look at the cave Mulder had
resolved to
explore and decided he wanted no part of it.
For all he knew, the same fate that had befallen Leslie now
awaited
Mulder and those who accompanied him. Nawang had no interest in
seeing
Tibet 64 years in the future. He had been happy to stay behind.
Which meant that he now had to figure out how long to wait
before giving
his peculiar guests up for lost and returning to report to his
uncle.
He was also worried about the armed men that Kunga had seen in
the
valley. Mulder had been concerned at first, but once they had
driven
clear, he had seemed too focused on their objective to give
serious
consideration to the possibility of pursuit.
Nawang just hoped Mulder's confidence was not misplaced.
A sudden tap on the window of the Landcruiser jarred him out
of his
reverie and any illusions he might have had about the validity of
Mulder's expectations. Nawang looked up to find himself staring
into
the barrel of a pistol, leveled at his head by an unfriendly
looking
Chinese.
"Get out," the man said.
Nawang toyed momentarily with the idea of pretending he did
not speak
Chinese, then discarded the idea. The man holding the gun looked
as
though he would not hesitate to use it, and Nawang didn't see any
point
in playing the hero.
He got out of the Landcruiser.
* * *
Mulder took hold of Scully's arms, above the elbows, resisted
the urge
to shake her. "Scully," he said. "Can you hear
me?"
She did not respond. Though her eyes were open and she
remained
standing, she did not seem completely conscious. Mulder brought
his
face close to hers. "Dana," he whispered. He felt cold
dread tighten
around his heart.
"There's a strong electro-magnetic field here,"
Diana observed. She
pointed to the needle of a compass she had taken out. It danced
wildly
in its case.
"Her implant," Mulder said, understanding coming to
him in a rush. "Get
her light." Carefully, he lifted Scully in his arms and
carried her out
of the doorway, back into the rock tunnel. He knelt and laid her
gently
on the stone floor, pillowing her head in his lap.
Diana followed, carrying Scully's flashlight. "No reading
out here,"
she observed unnecessarily.
Scully's eyelids fluttered and awareness returned to her gaze.
"What
happened?" Her tone revealed her confusion.
"You blanked out on us in there," Mulder said,
beginning to relax. "I
think your implant was somehow activated when you stepped
inside."
Scully attempted to sit up, giving up on the effort mid-way.
"I'm still
dizzy," she said, settling back into Mulder's lap.
He ran his hands lightly along her temples. "Stay where
you are a
minute. When you feel better, we'll get you out of here."
"What?"
"Just rest, until you're ready to go."
Scully did sit up then, grimacing slightly with the effort.
"You can't
be serious, Mulder," she said. "You have to go
on."
He shook his head. "You can't go in there, and I'm not
leaving you
alone."
Scully placed two hands carefully on the floor and pushed
herself to her
feet, accepting Mulder's help to rise but standing on her own.
She
placed a palm on his chest. "Mulder, you have to keep going.
This is
why we came here."
He opened his mouth to protest further, but Scully silenced
him with her
fingertips. She shook her head. "You have to go," she
said. Her
expression made it clear that she would brook no refusal.
Mulder felt himself acquiesce. "Be careful," he said after a moment.
Scully nodded. "I'll be okay."
"Come on, Fox," said Diana. Mulder turned to follow
her, but stopped as
he felt the pressure of Scully's hand on his arm. He turned back
to her
and she pressed her mouth to his in a brief but intense kiss.
After a moment, she pulled back, releasing him. "Watch
yourself," she
said.
Mulder inclined his head and then turned and followed Diana.
He
couldn't think of anything else to say.
* * *
The triad man brought Nawang back to the cave mouth, where one
of his
fellows awaited him. They didn't ask him any questions. He
glanced
upward but could see nothing there within the cave. The
Westerners had
already gone underground, it appeared.
Nawang did not resist as the Chinese pulled his hands behind
his back
and placed handcuffs on his wrists.
"Sit down," the triad man snapped.
Awkwardly, Nawang complied, managing to lean his back against
one of the
wheels of another Landcruiser, one of two that had brought their
pursuers to the canyon.
"Now what?" he asked, when his curiosity got the better of his fear.
"Now you keep your mouth shut and wait," said one of
the men, gesturing
meaningfully with his pistol.
Nawang decided to keep his mouth shut.
* * *
Mulder and Diana strode deeper into the facility, their
footsteps
echoing quietly, metallically, in the blue-green gloom. Before
long,
the cause of the stench became evident. In some of the facility's
rooms, half-rotted corpses floated in tanks of filthy water, and
here
and there, other remains, some scatterings of charred flakes,
some no
more than grey-green powder, lay on the floor. Everywhere,
equipment
and devices of unknown design lay in wreckage, as though some
implacable
force had swept through, bringing destruction to everything in
its path.
Consoles adorned with the peculiar glyphs they had seen on the
door sat
inert, their lights and displays broken and inanimate. Apart from
the
low, omni-directional lighting, only the system that had
activated
Scully's implant seemed to be in order.
"What happened here?" Diana whispered. Her face was
set in a troubled
expression.
"I don't know," said Mulder. "A war, maybe."
"A war?"
Mulder didn't bother to elaborate. Diana tried another tack.
"What was
being done here?" She pointed to one of the floating
corpses.
"Cloning, hybridization," said Mulder. "I've
seen something like that
before. I guess this is what happens when they cut the power to
life-
support."
"Who was doing all this?"
"That's the odd thing. Nawang's story about his uncle's
encounter with
the 'yeti' made me think of the 'grey men' variations, but this
set up
reminds me of colonization projects I've come across in America.
Colonization through hybridization, rather than infection."
He paused, then continued. "This place may have changed
hands a few
times. Scully and I have found evidence that there is more than
one
alien faction, and that the factions are in conflict."
"Well, somebody sure was unhappy about what was going on
here," said
Diana. She indicated a charred corpse. "All this over a
little
cloning?"
"There has to be something more," said Mulder. "Let's keep going."
* * *
Scully leaned against a wall of the cave and massaged her
temples. She
hadn't mentioned it to Mulder, but the activation of her implant
had
left her with a pounding headache, and she hadn't been able to
muster
the energy to move far from the door to the facility. Where she
leaned,
she could readily make out the faint blue-green glow that
emanated from
the open portal.
She hoped Mulder wouldn't be too long, or that he would
somehow figure
out what had activated her implant and disable it, allowing her
to join
him. Waiting alone in the darkness was less than pleasant.
A particularly severe wave of pain throbbed in her head, and
Scully
placed both hands over her eyes and leaned forward. A quiet moan
escaped from her before she could stifle it.
Bright light blazed suddenly from the direction of the
doorway. She
lowered her hands and looked up, but she could see nothing beyond
the
intense beams from two flashlights pointed at her.
"Agent Scully," a voice said, "this is a most delightful surprise."
Krycek. Oh, hell, she thought. And I don't even have a weapon.
"Please don't make any sudden moves, Agent Scully,"
said a second voice.
"I would hate to have to put a bullet in you, but I would do
it, all the
same."
She started to speak, then decided against it. What was there
to be
said?
"Bind her," Krycek commanded, and two figures, both
Chinese, Scully
noticed, moved from behind the lights and seized her arms, tying
her
wrists roughly behind her. One of them patted her down, searching
for
her gun.
"She's not armed," he said.
The lights were lowered then, and when the spots faded, Scully
recognized Radu Florescu as the owner of the second voice. He
wore a
large pack, but carried a pistol in his right hand. One of the
Chinese
also wore a pack, while Krycek and the other carried 12 gauge,
pump-
action shot guns.
Scully's heart sank. All Mulder had to defend himself was an
icepick
that he had literally borrowed from her kitchen.
Krycek addressed his companions. "Radu, stay here with
her. Sun, take
the flame-thrower and come with me."
"Are you sure?" Florescu asked.
"Mulder won't resist, now that we have her," Krycek
said. "Just don't
let her try anything." He addressed Sun again. "Come
on, get moving."
The two Chinese exchanged weapons, and then Krycek and Sun
entered the
open door of the facility. Florescu and the other man remained
behind,
in a relaxed but ready posture.
Scully felt her nose start to bleed again.
* * *
Mulder stopped and ran his gaze up and down a featureless
panel, stark
black in the low light. No lever or button marred its surface, or
that
of the walls to either side of it. The panel itself
looked...strange,
dead, as though light simply fell into it and vanished, without
any
reflection.
He turned on his flashlight and examined it again, but the
panel
appeared no different under the brighter light. Mulder clicked it
off
and turned to Diana. "What do you think?"
She took a reading with the Geiger counter. "Radiation
levels are
slightly elevated...not dangerous, though."
"So how are we supposed to open it?"
"Perhaps it opens by remote control," Diana said.
She indicated the
room they were in, which did not seem to have been damaged the
was the
rest of the facility had. "One of these consoles?"
Mulder moved to where Diana had pointed. The machinery in the
room
seemed to be in working order -- a low hum was audible as
background
noise -- but none of the screens displayed any information.
There were a few keys on the console, but he could make
nothing of the
glyphs inscribed on them.
A faint sound intruded on his awareness. Mulder turned to
Diana again.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered.
Diana nodded, a strange look on her face. "Footsteps," she said.
Mulder felt an eerie chill crawl up his spine. "Come
on." He gestured
toward a passage that led away from the noise.
Diana was shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Fox."
"What."
"I'm sorry, but it's time to stop pretending."
"What are you talking about?" The sound was
repeated. "We've got to
get out of here."
"It's too late, Fox. They're on to you. That's either
Krycek or your
smoking friend's people. There's no point. The game's over."
"Diana...." She was backing away from him, toward
the sound. Mulder
began to say more and then realized it was too late. He turned
and
fled into the corridor behind him.
Behind him, he barely heard Diana's final words: "Run, Fox."
* * *
Nawang Tsering was making the best of a bad situation.
He wasn't comfortable, far from it, but considering who his
captors
were, he could be thankful that he was merely bound and a bit
cold. He
well knew the cruelty the Chinese could direct toward their
Tibetan
subjects. On balance, he was happy to be overlooked.
The triad men had for the most part ignored him once he had
taken his
place by the wheel of the Landcruiser, spending their time
smoking and
taking periodic glances at the cave above. Their conversation had
been
crude and uninteresting.
There was a sharp crack, and one of them, in the midst of a
debasing
anecdote about a Thai prostitute in Hong Kong, stopped speaking
in mid-
sentence and keeled over. He fell like a sack of barley flung off
the
back of an oxcart. His companion barely had time to squawk in
surprise
when a second crack sounded and he too collapsed where he stood.
Nawang was stunned by the amount of blood that flowed out from
under
them, dark and oily pools in the fading light.
* * *
It was Krycek, no doubt about it.
Mulder paused in a dark alcove, forcing himself to control his
breathing. He had not seen his enemy, but he had heard his voice.
There was no mistaking it.
What the hell was Diana's connection with Krycek?
Mulder thought about that for all of a few seconds before
another, more
chilling thought arose in his mind.
Scully. Krycek had followed them into the facility, which
meant that
she was probably in his hands. Mulder cursed himself; he should
never
have left her alone.
He listened hard, trying to detect sounds of pursuit. He
wanted to be
pursued; he needed a weapon.
The moments dragged by in silence, and then he heard it -- a
soft,
metallic footfall, barely audible, but just loud enough to betray
the
one who caused it.
Mulder willed himself to utter silence, relaxing his muscles
to allow
him to remain still. He breathed slowly and shallowly through
parted
lips, hoping to hear more, to learn whether his pursuer was
alone.
There was only silence, and Mulder decided he would have to
just take
his chances.
Although he expected it, was exceptionally ready for it,
Krycek's
appearance still took him by surprise, and his body was in motion
almost
before he was aware of it. Krycek only had time for a single,
surprised
grunt before Mulder had tackled him, jarring the shotgun from his
one-
handed grasp and driving a knee up under his diaphragm. Krycek's
eyes
went wide and he breath shot out in a satisfying whoosh, and then
Mulder hit him hard across the jaw, once, twice, three times.
Krycek slumped beneath him, unconscious.
Mulder scrambled up, seizing the shotgun and looking for
enemies, but
saw no one. The corridor was empty.
He checked the weapon -- a shell was chambered -- then started
back
toward the room where he had left Diana. He moved as quickly as
he
could without making noise, carrying the shotgun in a ready
position.
He felt a vague throbbing in his left hand.
Mulder paused at the entrance to the room in which he had left
Diana;
within, there was no sign of her or anyone else. Either Krycek
had
come alone and ignored her, or, more likely, whoever had been
with him
had removed Diana. Mulder suddenly realized that she had actually
assisted him, forcing him to flee alone and effectively
separating
Krycek from his companions.
He didn't have time to wonder about that now, though.
The black panel teased at his awareness, and he was briefly
tempted to
experiment with the console, but the thought of Scully in danger
quickly
banished that notion. He turned and hurried back toward the
entrance of
the facility.
* * *
It had been one surprise after another, Nawang mused.
He was back in his Landcruiser, hunkered down out of sight.
Just after
his captors had been shot, several soldiers, Westerners, had
rushed to
where he sat bound. One quickly freed him and ordered him to get
the
hell out of there.
Nawang hadn't argued. He'd done the only thing he could think
to do,
which was run full out for the Landcruiser. The men who had freed
him
were well-armed and obviously deadly competent, and though he had
briefly wished he could warn Mulder somehow, there hadn't been
anything
he could have done.
As he had fled from the scene, Nawang had been momentarily
surprised to
see another Westerner, a woman, there as well. He had no idea
what that
meant, but he knew better than to try to satisfy his curiosity.
Whatever was going on, Nawang could ask Mulder about it later
-- if his
guest survived, that was.
* * *
Blood flowed over Scully's upper lip in a steady stream.
Periodically,
the Chinese guarding her would wipe her nose and mouth for her,
but it
hadn't helped. The bleeding hadn't stopped.
The pain inside her hadn't stopped either. Krycek had entered
the
facility in pursuit of Mulder, who had no way to defend himself.
She had to do something, anything, to warn him.
Scully looked over at Florescu. "Ask him to tie my wrists
in front of
me, so I can wipe my own face."
The Romanian blinked at her. "What?"
"Look at me. He can tie my hands in front, so I can try
to stop the
bleeding."
Florescu shook his head. "He doesn't speak English."
"Will you do it, then?" Scully tried to sound as piteous as possible.
Florescu gave her a lingering look, even began to do as she
asked, then
thought better of it. "I will not," he said. "But
I'll try to get him
to do it." He gestured at the Chinese, communicating
Scully's request
with an impromptu sign language. The man seemed confused at
first, but
quickly figured out what Florescu wanted him to do. He took hold
of one
of Scully's wrists, began working at her bindings.
At that moment, the Chinese who had followed Krycek returned,
dragging
a subdued-looking Diana Fowley with him.
Scully felt her wrists come free and seized the hand of the
man behind
her. She took one quick step and spun, twisting his arm with all
the
force she could muster. The man cried out as white-hot agony shot
up
his arm and his legs collapsed under him as his involuntary
responses
intervened to save the joints in his arm. Scully thrust her knee
into
his face, breaking his nose, and then pushed him aside, looking
up to
see the barrel of Florescu's pistol aimed directly at her.
* * *
Mulder raced down the hallway toward the backs of Diana and
her captor;
the injury in his left side screamed at him but he ignored the
pain,
forcing his legs to keep working by sheer force of will. Just a
bit
further, now.
And then he was charging into the room, knocking Diana's
captor off
balance and turning to see Radu Florescu aiming a gun at Scully's
head.
Mulder's mind raced, everything around him slowing to a crawl.
With
preternatural awareness, he could see Florescu's gun arm
stabilize,
settling into its aim. He could see Scully's eyes widen with the
shocked realization that her life was over, and then the shotgun
rose as
though of its own accord, roared in his hands. Florescu's skull
collapsed under the impact of a 12-gauge slug, and his body was
flung
away like a broken rag doll. Mulder worked the action of the gun
clumsily, his injured hand nearly causing him to lose his grip on
it,
and then spun toward Diana's captor.
To his shock, Mulder saw that he lay on the floor of the cave,
bleeding
from several gunshot wounds in his torso.
"Drop the gun, Agent Mulder," a voice said.
************************************************************************
[end part 10 of 11]
[begin part 11 of 11]
************************************************************************
Second range of hills, north of Rongbuk Monastery
Tuesday, 6 October, 6:20 p.m.
Scully, her ears ringing in the aftermath of the gunfire,
stared at the
men who trained their weapons on her, Mulder, and the Chinese who
knelt
in front of her. The last made a sudden movement, and was met
with one
more gunshot. He slumped before her, bleeding from the head. The
sharp
smell of smoke obscured the stench of rot in the cavern.
Scully kept very still; she felt the warm, sticky flow of
blood on her
face ease a bit, though it did not stop completely. Mulder set
the
shotgun on the cave floor in front of him, moving slowly, then
raised
his hands and turned slowly toward the leader of the newcomers.
The leader, tall and middle-aged, stepped forward. From a
corner, Diana
spoke quietly to him. He nodded acknowledgment and she took a
light and
disappeared in the direction of the surface.
Scully focused her attention on the iron-haired man whom Diana
had
addressed. There was something familiar about him, something that
she
couldn't quiet place.
Mulder supplied the answer for her. "Colonel
Henderson," he said. "I
don't believe it."
Of course, Scully thought. Five years ago, this man had been
running a
clean-up operation in Wisconsin, when she and Mulder had met Max
Fennig.
"Believe it, Agent Mulder." Henderson smirked.
"Why am I not surprised
that you're mixed up in all this?"
Scully waited nervously for Mulder to do something foolish --
he had
harbored a measure of disdain for Henderson for years, ever since
their
first encounter -- but he restrained himself, and the tension in
the
cave at last eased enough for Scully to ask for a handkerchief.
Mulder stepped over to her and gave her one. His hand trembled
slightly
with unspent adrenaline. "You okay?" he asked.
Scully nodded and took the cloth, pressing it to her nose and
tilting
her head back. From the corner of her eye, she surveyed their
situation.
Henderson was accompanied by several troopers, outfitted in
desert
camouflage BDUs and heavily armed. There was also a woman with
them;
a raven-haired beauty, Scully noticed. She had a vaguely sick
look
about her, though, a general aspect of disquiet.
Mulder stayed close to Scully; Henderson didn't seem overly
concerned.
He waved a hand at the dead men on the floor. "This
it?" he asked.
"Alex Krycek is here, somewhere," said Mulder.
Henderson grunted. "So what is 'here'?" he asked.
Mulder indicated the doorway. "See for yourself. We just
arrived,
actually."
Scully kept her eyes on the woman, who had begun to eye the
passageway
that led into the alien installation, drifting toward the rear of
Henderson's group. The soldiers, who had spread out to cover the
area,
ignored her. She took a quick look at Henderson, making sure his
attention was on Mulder, and slipped into the passage, vanishing
from
sight.
Henderson's eyes narrowed. "Very well, Agent Mulder,
we'll do as you
suggest." He turned to his men. "Earl! Jim!"
"Sir," two men said.
"Get these two out of here. Vince, Mike -- you go with
'em and bring
back the plastique. All of it."
"What?" Mulder went rigid.
"My orders are to make sure that I leave nothing here
that anyone can
exploit," Henderson said. "And I intend to carry them
out. This isn't
an archaeological survey."
"That's outrageous," Mulder began, then stopped,
realizing the futility
of arguing. One of the soldiers gestured toward the passage that
led
to the surface, addressed Mulder. "Let's go," he said.
"Ms. Whittaker?" Henderson looked about, but there
was no answer from
the woman. "Where the hell did she go?"
"Inside," Scully said. "I saw her go into the facility."
"What is going on?" Henderson growled. He turned to
Mulder. "What's in
there? What's she interested in?"
"I didn't get a good look at it," Mulder said.
"But I know where it
is."
Henderson hesitated a moment, then made his decision. He
indicated
Scully. "Earl, take her outside. Keep an eye on her. Mulder,
take us
to it." He paused ominously. "And don't try anything
cute."
* * *
A few minutes later, Mulder limped into the room with the
black panel,
escorted by Henderson and several of his men. In their progress
through
the dimly lit corridors, they had seen no sign of Jill Whittaker
or
Krycek, nor had they detected any other signs of living
inhabitants.
When they reached their goal, however, Mulder noticed that
something had
changed.
The black panel was gone.
Behind the place it had been was a small alcove, dark and
empty. The
air, thick with the smell of decomposition, carried the tang of
ozone
as well.
"What is it?" Henderson asked. His men looked about
nervously,
positioning themselves to guard the entrances to the room.
"I don't know," said Mulder. "But it wasn't
open the last time I was
here. There was a panel in front of it."
"Someone's used it, then."
"Maybe."
"Colonel! Sir!" One of the soldiers called from a corridor.
"What is it?"
"I found her, sir. She's down here." Mulder could
hear footsteps
approaching. The dark-haired woman he had seen briefly in the
cave
was hustled into the room, her upper arm in the grasp of the
soldier.
The colonel wheeled on her. "What in the hell did you
think you were
doing?"
"I have my own responsibilities. This isn't just your
expedition."
She glared defiance at Henderson.
He wasn't impressed. "Bullshit," he said. "I'm
in charge here. You're
here to make yourself useful. If your little adventures start
putting
my men in danger, I'll leave your pretty little ass for the
chinks." He
snorted once, gestured at the alcove. "So what happened? Did
you see?"
Mulder watched the woman's defiance slowly fade as she
realized the
extent of Henderson's contempt. Whatever she had imagined her
role in
this, she had just learned the reality of the situation.
She swallowed once, then spoke. "I came this way, just to
see what this
place was. I couldn't believe it...." She paused, then shook
her head
and went on. "There was someone here, a man --"
"Dark hair, one arm?" interrupted Mulder.
Jill nodded. "He wore a prosthesis." She pointed at
one of the
consoles. "He did something to that, and that thing opened
up. There
was a lot of light. He stepped into it and disappeared. I don't
think
he saw me."
"That's it?" asked Henderson.
Jill nodded again.
The colonel turned to his men. "Set the charges." He
looked at Mulder.
"And get him out of here."
Mulder would have protested -- he desperately wanted to know
more -- but
he had no chance. Two of Henderson's men grabbed hold of him and
hauled
him out of the room, through the stygian passageways and finally
to the
surface.
Scully was waiting for him by the river. He joined her there,
and they
stood together in the fading light.
************************************************************************
Washington D.C.
Friday, 9 October, 9:00 p.m.
The smoking man read the last paragraph of the last report,
then settled
back in his chair, lighting up for the fifth time that evening.
Not everything had gone according to plan, but that didn't
overly
concern him. The essentials had been dealt with.
Rongbuk had been sealed. Krycek might have escaped, but that
didn't
really matter. After Henderson's demolition job, no one could
hope to
explore the facility without heavy equipment, and there was no
way a
major dig could be effected without the Chinese becoming aware of
it.
The major concern was thus alleviated.
That left a few minor issues, but they were more perplexing
than
worrying. Agent Fowley, for instance, had not behaved as he had
expected, and that puzzled him. The woman had actually persuaded
Henderson to just let Mulder and Scully go, and, surprisingly, he
had
agreed. Of course, the colonel had been in a hurry to get out of
Tibet,
and had not really had time to deal with the two FBI agents. And
Henderson, hard though he was, would not have been inclined to
simply
shoot Mulder and Scully and leave their bodies for the vultures.
The smoking man hadn't given the order to kill Mulder anyway
-- that
could always be done later, if need be, and keeping Krycek out of
Rongbuk had been more important.
Still, he had to wonder about Diana. He had thought her thirst
for
vengeance would have outweighed her affection for her former
lover.
That it had not was not incomprehensible to him, but it left him
wondering. He had misjudged his tool, in this case.
Perhaps it was for the best, though. Better to let Mulder walk
away
than to risk the Chinese authorities learning about the
activities of
Henderson's team. Yes, dealing with Mulder could wait for a
more...
auspicious moment.
Ms. Whittaker had proved even more disappointing. The smoking
man had
thought her ambitious and clever, but she had proven ambitious
and
foolish, instead. In the Consortium, incompetence was a greater
crime
than disloyalty, and was dealt with accordingly. The treacherous
could
always be retrained. The stupid were simply too dangerous to be
allowed
to live.
The smoking man took a deep, satisfying drag on his cigarette.
For the
first time in weeks, he could go home on a weekend and relax,
leaving
off riding the tiger for a few short hours.
Perhaps he would do a bit of writing.
He closed up the files, picked up his briefcase, and walked
out the door
of his office. The war would go on, but the next battle could
wait, for
a little while.
************************************************************************
Washington, D.C.
Thursday, 15 October, 1:30 p.m.
The restaurant was small but cozy, a gold-lit refuge from the
cold rain
outside. Scully sat across from her partner and nibbled what was
left
of her lunch, savoring a glass of white wine. Normally, she would
not
have had wine with lunch, but she and Mulder had the rest of the
week
off. Even after their recent travel, they both had considerable
leave
remaining.
Mulder sipped at his beer. He had finished his meal and now
was
enjoying a second pint, an unusual indulgence for him. But they
were in
a celebratory mood. Scully's oncologist had pronounced her
healthy that
morning, confirming that her recent series of nosebleeds had
simply been
a reaction to the thin, dry air of Tibet.
Tibet -- their trip to Rongbuk seemed like a dream, now. The
infinite,
cloudless skies and impossibly high mountains had been obscured
by the
grey reality of Washington's autumn rains. Scully found she did
not
mind, though. Autumn meant brisk, invigorating air and evenings
spent
in front of the fire, snug and comfortable within a quilted
blanket.
Home and hearth -- there had been too little of those in her
life for
the past few years, but now she had both. With Mulder there, her
apartment really did feel like home.
They had come a long way from the Roof of the World.
Two weeks earlier, Henderson had sent them on their way, and
they had
gone. There had been nothing else to do; the investigation had
been
taken out of their hands.
A pair of soldiers had brought Mulder and Jill Whittaker out
of the cave
and then vanished within it once more. And half an hour later,
Henderson's entire group had emerged, just prior to a few low
rumblings
that indicated the charges they had set had detonated, destroying
the
last few working machines within the alien installation.
Rongbuk's
secrets would remain secret after all, it seemed.
After that, somewhat to their surprise, Henderson had released
her and
Mulder, and Nawang as well. He and his men, accompanied by Jill
Whittaker and, to Mulder's chagrin, Diana Fowley, had driven for
the
Nepal border. Diana had not had much to say, having spent most of
the
time prior to her departure talking to the colonel. Just before
she
climbed into one of the Jeeps and left for good, she had
approached
Scully. Looking at Mulder, she had simply said 'Love him well; he
deserves nothing less.' And that had been it. She had not spoken
to
Mulder at all.
They had found themselves alone with the cave once again.
Mulder had gone back underground in an effort to ascertain
what, if
anything, Henderson's men had left intact, but one of their
blasts had
collapsed the entrance to the facility. It had been no use. There
had
been nothing for them to do but turn their backs on Rongbuk and
return,
at the last, to Washington.
Scully had expected Mulder to be upset, but he had displayed
remarkable
equanimity, letting her tend to his injuries and relaxing and
enjoying
the scenery during the ride back to Lhasa. They had spoken of the
case
only a little. Mulder had told her what he had seen within the
alien
facility, and they had discussed possible explanations. He
suspected
that the device into which Krycek had disappeared had been some
sort of
time-travel apparatus, but there had been no way to confirm that,
or
even investigate it. At any rate, Krycek had been nowhere to be
found,
and his fate remained a mystery.
Other matters remained mysterious as well. For starters,
Scully wanted
to know how John Leslie had learned the combination that opened
the door
in the cavern. In the excitement of opening the portal the first
time,
she and Mulder had not asked that question, but in retrospect, it
seemed
obvious that he could not have simply guessed the correct
sequence of
numbers.
Someone must have shown him which keys to press, or perhaps
there was
some other explanation. Scully had broached the subject on the
ride
back to Lhasa, but Mulder had just shaken his head, admitting
that while
he too would like to know the answer, it would have to wait for a
new
development, something that would give them a new angle from
which to
investigate the Rongbuk matter.
Like so many of their cases, this one had begun to fold in on
itself.
Upon their return to Washington, Mulder had attempted to locate
Diana,
but she had disappeared. A.D. Skinner had had no information on
her new
assignment. And their attempts to trace Jill Whittaker had failed
as
well. Inquiries had led them as far as a shipping company called
Apogee
Transport, but company managers listed Ms. Whittaker as a former
employee. No, they didn't have any information about her current
whereabouts. Yes, they would certainly let Agents Mulder and
Scully
know if they heard anything.
And Leslie was no longer at Arkham, naturally.
Scully had not been surprised to learn that he was missing,
but his
disappearance frustrated her more than any other aspect of the
case. If
Mulder was correct about the apparatus behind the black panel,
then it
was possible that the John Leslie she had met in Arkham was in
fact the
very man who had disappeared in Tibet 64 years ago, and that he
had been
translated forward to the present time.
The implications of that were stunning, but with Leslie gone,
they might
never learn the truth.
Only the documents remained, and even they were incomplete.
The last
thing Mulder had done before leaving Rongbuk had been to hand the
crucial pages from Leslie's journal back to Jamyang Dorje. The
old monk
had not commented, just nodded sagely, as though Mulder had
passed a
test of some kind.
Scully found it frustrating, but ultimately, she could live
with it.
There would be other cases, more secrets to uncover, new
mysteries to
solve. What she couldn't figure out was why Mulder was taking it
so
well.
She gave her partner a long look. "Penny for your thoughts, love."
Mulder looked up from his study of the bubbles in his beer,
gave her a
slight smile. "Just thinking," he said.
"About?"
"About what that monk told us, before we went to the cave."
Scully didn't say anything, just waited for him to continue.
Mulder took a drink, shifted slightly in his seat, letting his
gaze
wander around the room, taking in the antique photographs and
news
clippings that made up the restaurant's decor. "What he said
about
grasping at truth. Do you remember?"
Scully nodded. "I think so."
Mulder returned his eyes to her. "I've been thinking
about that. For
years, I've been grasping at truth, trying to compel it to reveal
itself
to me. And I've paid a price for that." He looked at his
injured hand
-- it would heal, in time, but would probably never be the same
as it
had before Florescu had cut him. "I think I have to find
another
approach."
"Don't give up on the truth, Mulder. It's out there. And
if we keep
looking, we'll find it."
He shook his head. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not going to
quit
searching. I'm not ever going to give up. But I am going to try
to
accept whatever happens and move on. I have to stop fighting with
myself; we have enough opponents already."
She gave him another searching stare; he did not shy from it.
The fire
was still there, she decided at last. It was burning just as hot,
but
under control. And that was a good thing. She reached across the
table, taking his right hand in hers.
"I've been thinking about what you said as well," said Mulder.
"Me?"
"On the rooftop, at the guesthouse. I asked you what it
was that we all
wanted."
Scully thought for a moment. "I said 'love'."
Mulder nodded. "Not truth, but love. And you're right.
It's taken me
a long time to learn this, but ultimately, truth isn't our
greatest
aspiration."
Scully looked into the rich hazel eyes of the man she loved
and felt her
heart swell. She tightened her grip on his hand, unable to
express her
feelings with words.
His eyes conveyed his understanding. He nodded again, slowly.
"Love makes us immortal, Scully," he said.
They said no more after that. Mulder tossed a few bills on the
table
and stood, offering her her coat. Scully slipped into it and
linked her
hand with his once more. Together, the passed through the
restaurant's
heavy doors and into the enfolding rain.
************************************************************************
Second range of hills, north of Rongbuk Monastery
High noon
Alex Krycek pushed aside the last of the stones and walked the
final
distance through the passageway to the surface. The sun blazed
brightly
into the cave mouth, causing him to blink painfully against the
glare.
He must have slept. By his reckoning, he had entered the cave
for the
first time just an hour or two before, and the sun had been
setting
then. After Mulder had blind-sided him, he had been unconscious,
but
not for very long, he was certain. And shortly after he had
awoken, the
sound of gunfire -- a lot of it -- had come from the entrance of
the
facility, and he had realized that a new player had arrived on
the scene
and it was time to take cover. He hadn't been able to resist
trying the
console by the black panel, though, and when it had opened with a
blaze
of light, he had decided to step into it and see what happened.
The light had gone out, but that had been about it. However,
when he
turned and stepped out of the alcove, he found the room that he
had just
left in ruins.
Something was very wrong with that, but he couldn't quite get
his head
around it. Besides, he was tired and thirsty, and it could wait
for
later.
He had made his way through the rooms full of dusty wreckage
and past
the collapsed part of the entranceway -- clearing room so that he
could
squeeze through had been a labor of some hours -- at last coming
to the
doorway that led out of the installation. He had ignored the
scattered
bones lying on the cave floor and made his way upward. Now, he
scrambled down the rocks to the bottom of the canyon and knelt by
the
river, slaking his thirst with several handfuls of water.
The sun beat down on him, and he took off his jacket. It was
hot,
surprisingly hot, for October.
At last he stood and surveyed his surroundings. No
Landcruisers were to
be seen, so he turned south and began the long walk back to the
valley.
He stopped several times on the way to drink more of the river's
cool
water.
The sun slowly fell from zenith as he walked, and by the time
he reached
the place where the canyon opened on the wider valley that lay
north of
Rongbuk, it had crept halfway to the western horizon. In the
distance,
Krycek saw a few Tibetans herding yaks. Despite his fatigue, he
began
jogging in their direction. They watched him coming, nonplussed.
As he neared them, Krycek slowed to a walk. He spoke to the
closest
nomad.
"What is the date?" he asked, in English.
The man just stared at him, uncomprehending.
Krycek tried Russian. "What is the date?"
No response.
Krycek sighed and gave up speech, settled for pointing, first
at himself
and then in the direction of the monastery, which lay past the
hills to
the south. At this, the nomad nodded and turned to one of his
fellows,
saying something in his own language. After a moment, he turned
back to
Krycek, motioning for him to follow.
Krycek went after him with an air of resignation. It would be
a long
walk to Rongbuk, and he was very, very tired.
*** The End ***
************************************************************************
Author's notes:
Well, if you have made it this far, then please allow me to
express my
very deep thanks to you for sticking with me. I hope that you
enjoyed
this story, and naturally I would love to hear what you thought
of it.
This is my first attempt at a work of this length, and I would
like to
know the extent to which I succeeded, if at all. If you care to,
please
send feedback to my email address (at the top of this file).
In the notes at the very beginning, I mentioned that I would
take this
opportunity to explain the various references and allusions that
I make
in the novella, and I will do so. First, however, I would like to
discuss some of the inspirations for this story, as well as a few
general points of Tibetan culture and geography.
One of the main inspirations for "Rongbuk" was the
book "A Journey in
Ladakh," by Andrew Harvey, and yes, the character Nawang
Tsering is
named after the Nawang Tsering in that book. In addition, I would
like
to mention "East of Lo Manthang," by Peter Matthiessen
and Thomas Laird,
and "My Tibet," by His Holiness the Dalai Lama and
Galen Rowell, both
of which helped me to picture Tibet in my mind's eye and describe
it on
the page.
As for Rongbuk itself, there is in fact a real Rongbuk
Monastery in
Tibet. It stands near Mount Everest at an elevation of about
18,000
feet. My "Rongbuk," however, is purely fictional and
lies somewhere on
the Tibetan Plateau between Lhasa and Kathmandu, Nepal. Yes, I
have
played fast and loose with Tibet's geography, but I hope I can be
forgiven. I just liked the name "Rongbuk," and so I
used it.
I really do not know too much about what life in a Tibetan
monastery is
like, so I had to wing it and remain vague when necessary.
Hopefully,
my writing conveys a believable atmosphere, even if some of the
details
are incorrect.
And as for travel in Tibet, and dealing with the Chinese
authorities who
police it, suffice it to say that this is fiction, and in all
likelihood, one could never hope to get away with some of what I
depict
in this story. Don't try this at home! <g>
With regard to the specific references:
Chapter One:
"Weave a circle round him thrice...." This is a line
from the poem
"Kubla Khan," by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Since the
poem describes the
unique, "touched" nature of the poet, who is (at times)
shunned by more
ordinary people who cannot share his vision, this seemed an
appropriate
way to express Mulder's sense of alienation from his peers.
Chapter Two:
Nain Singh, et al -- The four explorers that Mulder mentions
to Scully
were all real people, and they all had extraordinary adventures
in
Tibet. (I think it's fair to assume, however, that none of them
had any
sort of UFO encounter.) For those who would like to learn more
about
them, I will recommend a book called "Trespassers on the
Roof of the
World," by Peter Hopkirk. It's a fascinating account of some
very
obscure history. Another good source on this topic is "A
Mountain in
Tibet," by Charles Allen.
Chapter Three:
Arkham is of course named after H.P. Lovecraft's fictional
town of
that name. I greatly admire Lovecraft's work, and just thought it
singularly appropriate that Mulder and Scully visit the place in
which
so many of his stories occurred. Of course, Lovecraft's Arkham
was a
much larger town than the village in my story.
Chapter Four:
"She sheds tears. She gives water to the dead." This
line alludes to a
funeral scene in Frank Herbert's novel "Dune." The
native culture in
that story is a desert society that values water above all things
-- so
much so that even the body's water (perspiration and tears) is
recycled
for drinking. At a funeral, a character weeps openly,
"giving" tears to
the dead and provoking awed wonder from those around him.
In my mind, without Scully's love, Mulder's life is death in
life, and
her tears, as an expression of her love, give his life back to
him.
Does this make sense? If you've read "Dune," as Mulder
probably has, I
think it must. If you haven't read "Dune," please do
so. It's a
masterpiece.
Chapter Five:
"Le Chateau des Pyrenees" is a painting by Renee
Magritte. Basically,
it depicts a castle on a huge boulder, which is hanging in the
air above
an ocean.
"...who killed whom..." is an allusion to Monty
Python's movie "Holy
Grail," and I think one has to have seen it, so I won't
explain any
further. I strongly believe that Mulder is a fan of Monty Python
-- he
studied at Oxford, after all.
Chapter Eight:
The description of yetis as having "squarish heads"
was inspired by the
account in the book "The Long Walk," by Slavomir
Rawicz, who claimed to
have seen a yeti in the Himalayas. His book is an incredible tale
-- so
incredible, in fact, that some have questioned its veracity --
but
whether one believes it or not, it's a great read. I recommend
it.
Chapter Nine:
"Matthiessen's famous book" is, of course, "The
Snow Leopard." It too
is a wonderful read, and I highly recommend it.
And that's it, I think. Thanks again for reading, and please
write if
you have any questions or comments. I'll reply as soon as I can.
All the best,
Ravenscion.
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[end part 11 of 11]