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.

************************************************************************
[end part 11 of 11]