Subj: Scene XVII

Date: 97-08-27 11:38:13 EDT

From: lisby@earthlink.net

Feedback pleasepleasepleaseplease to lisby@earthlink.net. (Yes, you angsters: Scene XVIII is back to Mulder....)

XVII

7:30 A.M., Washington, D.C.

The Escort settled at a stop light and well-bundled pedestrians took their turn crossing black asphalt. Dana Scully pulled her cell phone from her purse, speed-dialed a number. One ring and a click as the receiver lifted. No greeting. "It's me," she said quietly, "I'm at Washington Circle. I'll be there in five minutes. Don't flip out and thump me or anything when you open the door, okay?" No response--just a disconnect.

The green light meant go and she put a heavy foot on the gas, brought the car to the fringe of George Washington University. Her leather-gloved hands turned the wheel, steered it into an underground garage. She slammed the driver's side door and walked away quickly, up the ramp to the sidewalk. Into bitter cold.

Scully's toes felt numb by the time she came to a flight of stairs that sunk below Ding Mao Cleaners. She rapped the secret signal with her knuckles on the metal door--three times slowly, twice fast. Waited with a tapping toe. After a moment, she heard the bolts draw back and the beeps of electronic access control. The door opened a crack and one eye squinted out.

"See." She tried to offer a smile. "It's just me."

"I know. I already checked you out on the multiplexer from six angles." Melvin Frohicke stepped aside to let her pass. "No need to say you look hot today, Dana."

"No need." She turned to ditch her outerwear on a pile of antiquated electronics-cum-coat rack, heard Frohicke close the door and roll the deadbolts. Happy Paranoia Day--only there was reason to celebrate, and it made Scully want to groan. Fear and impatience and her head thudded from Seven-Eleven cappuccino. Her neck....Tina was right about that knot.

She flexed her shoulders, looked toward the bank of computers and other hi-tech equipment at the far end of the room. Piles of print-outs. Dead pizza boxes. Her nose wrinkled at eau du stale French fries.

"No maid service yet." Scully jumped and her heart hammered as Frohicke touched her elbow. "It's Langley's mess--he's a filth-pig. You should see his apartment. Women can't stand him." He cocked his head toward the back of the dim room and ambled away. Her heels were loud on linoleum tile as she followed and an empty sixteen-ounce coffee cup skittered when she kicked it.

"Tell me what you found out about Hellfire Mating Service, Frohicke."

The small man sank into a chair by a PC, skin washed over by green-gold from the CRT's glow, and looked up at Scully with a rodent's smile. "I don't think you need to worry, Dana."

The little twinge of relief was beautiful, too beautiful not to be crushed. "Why?" she demanded. Frohicke just kept on with that smile and it made her fists ball. "Tell me."

"Why don't you put the cuffs on and manhandle me a little first? You know, teach me a lesson." She stared at him coldicesnow until he looked away, cleared his throat, but kept on grinning. "I--I have some of what you want. I hacked the sysop's log at Hellfire." Pushed his thick glasses up his nose "Yeah, Mulder was in contact with them, but he didn't fill out either questionnaire--"

"Thank God. I'd have to read it," Scully muttered.

The full lips spread wider. "I'm sorry he didn't. That's one area of our file on Mulder that needs filling out. Looks like we'll have to go on reconnaissance instead."

"Get back on track, Frohicke."

"You know, you really can lighten up here, Dana." Frohicke swiveled toward the CRT and typed in an enthusiastic burst. "Mulder sent e-mail to the sysop. Here it is." A screen full of text and DOS coding. He pointed out the opening line. "This is the first one--sent on November third. 'Dear Sir, Madam, or Multi-gendered Being: I have been told you will arrange a 'date' for me and a party you deem suitable for my needs. Send e-mail to numbersix@opennet.com.'"

Her jaw tightened. Felt her veins like little lines of heat. "Mulder set this up over a month ago," Frohicke continued. "Put together a little Luuv Connection. But you don't have to worry, Dana: they didn't set him up with a prospective mate. This was with a professional dominatrix."

"No." That was all she said for a moment. How could her hands feel cold when her veins ran fire? "That is not what this is about. You don't understand. This is about something else."

Frohicke cocked an eyebrow. "Come on. He's one weird dude, Dana, and that's why we love him."

"I know. I--he--"

"Look, we all have perversions: the whitebread kind or blackbread kind--doesn't matter whether we admit them or not. It seems to me he's trying to deal with his kinks in a healthy way--between consenting parties. So, he lied about Key West. He had to lie. He couldn't let Special Agent Central know his idea of a great vacation is to lick the stilettos of Mistress Agrippina."

Scully carefully shaped her words. "He did not do this because he wanted to. He was coerced."

She thought Frohicke would laugh. "Coerced by whom?"

"By someone who says they know about Samantha. They sent him computer video tape. She was on it."

"Samantha?"

Scully took a deep breath. Moved her hand to her neck to knead the hot place. "Yeah. The tape showed men raping a woman who looked a lot like she should look today. I don't know if this girl was really her or not, but Mulder believed it enough to let himself be abducted. He's gone. He's been gone since Monday night. I watched two men take him."

Frohicke's smile died. "You didn't tell me that, Dana. I thought you wanted to find out where he was and with whom. You know--get you the motel and room number so you could chew him out. I thought you were--"

"You thought I was jealous," she finished for him.

One blink. "Yeah."

"I think--I think he's really in trouble. That says a lot, doesn't it? I mean, he's always in trouble, right?"

Frohicke swallowed. "But you think he royally screwed himself this time?"

She saw the silver handcuffs. Silver tape across his mouth below huge, black pupils. She hadn't looked away then--had squandered the seconds that might have given her the edge. All she could do was look away now.

"Okay. Okay. This is the real thing..." Scully heard Frohicke's panic; it seemed to resonate a faint blue in the corner where she stared. "Okay. Okay. Dana, look here--here's the rest of what I found." It hurt to draggle her eyes across the floor and back to the bright monitor. "There's nothing in the log that predates this message, but there are two November fourth posts by the sysop relaying Mulder's e-mail address. There's also one more invoicing a third party for services rendered."

"Where did Hellfire send Mulder's address?"

"To a CompuServe account." He pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and squinted at it. "1156734, 439."

"And who got the invoice?" Scully reached for the note and tugged it away. Felt hope as she tucked it into her pocket.

"It was made out to a sports goods shop in Billings, Montana." Frohicke's fingers still gripped the invisible scrap. Consternation brought his brows together. "That's all I've got right now....Jesus, I wish you'd told me about this up front, Dana."

"I should have. I'm sorry." She was already moving toward the door. "Can you hack CompuServe and find out the physical location of the person who received Mulder's e-mail address?"

"I'll get the boys over and we'll start on it."

"Okay, then call me later." Scully skirted desks and equipment. Grabbed her coat and gloves. "Do I have to disarm anything to leave?"

"Hmmm? Oh. No. Hey, I'm serious, you know, Dana." The tone made her turn around and face the wound and fear in his stare. "You should have trusted me. Mulder trusts me. If it had been you, he would have told us."

The door knob was cool in her hand. "I'm sorry," she told him softly. "I don't really trust anyone anymore."

--Lisby

lisby@earthlink.net

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