:: Tales Of The Resistance ::Part Five Walter Skinner paced back and forth in the little café. Smith, Frohike and Byers sat at one of the small booths. He knew he should have stayed at the cavern; that’s what ‘leaders’ of the resistance did, wasn’t it? But Langley and Reyes were up there figuring out exactly what equipment and supplies were there and Dana and her mother were organizing one whole side of cubicles into a hospital of sorts. She had already advised him that they better find more medicos and medical supplies. She was right of course, and he should be up there studying maps and making plans. It would all come back to haunt him, but he just couldn’t. He needed to make sure that Mulder was safe. He needed to be here when they got the call informing him whether or not his hair-brained plan to save the President had worked. And, he had to be here to find out if he had sent his agent, his friend and his friend’s friends to a stupid death. He hoped not. Because, the way things were going, Micah Toblin would most probably be THE ‘Leader of the Free World.’ Just before Skinner left for the tiny hamlet at the base of the mountain, he had heard on the all-news station that three, perhaps four volcanoes had erupted in Italy, effectively destroying the lower half of the country. Scientists were trying to reach the impossible phenomenon. Earthquakes in South America had men and women, normally reported as doomsayers, being taken as prophets. On top of that, every plane on the main island of Hawaii was booked with worried tourists and natives trying to flee the predicted tsunami. Preachers all over the country were declaring the apocalypse. He had raged at Smith. "How the hell are you bastards doing all this?" Smith had shrugged. "I wasn’t privy to that aspect. I have heard that we often remake the landscapes of the planets we finally colonize. I would assume that this is part of that process. He had stood his ground calmly and Skinner fought the urge to knock the alien on his ass. "Where the hell are they?" he growled to the falling snow. Frohike sighed. "Look, boss. Why don’t you let Byers run you back up the hill?" Skinner stopped and glared down. "What is it with you, Frohike? I’m staying." His voice rose in agitation. "Nothing, boss! Nothing." Frohike’s eyes grew wide and he pushed back into the booth as far as he could. Byers pushed him back. "Get out, Melvin. I’m going to walk down to the…" "They’re here." Smith quietly advised them. "How the hell do you know that!" Skinner practically roared. Smith didn’t answer but Skinner felt the silent power pushing him back. Growling, he jerked up his jacket from the nearby table and stalked out into the cold. The others followed shortly and they didn’t have long to wait. Headlights cut through the snow and a large white SUV finally stopped ten feet away. Skinner stood there in middle of the road, his hand on his hips, the snow blowing his unbuttoned leather coat behind him. Mulder tiredly got out of the car, but the passenger door practically flew open and a beautiful woman, dressed in jeans and a long cloth coat squealed. "Melvin!" Before the little man could say or do anything, the woman launched herself and practically climbed Skinner. Holding him tight, her legs wrapped around his waist, she kissed him passionately. Finally breaking the kiss, she grinned into his startled eyes. "I can’t believe we’re finally meeting. Oh honey, can we go to bed soon? Cybersex was fine, but I’m needing the real thing." Carefully, Skinner disentangled himself. Pushing her away gently, he turned and wasn’t really surprised that the little troll was nowhere to be found. :: :: ::
Jason Tiner kept glancing over at Lieutenant…no… Bud Roberts. He had been scared before, when this was all about getting the Admiral…no…AJ…no…THE ADMIRAL away from some strange political coup d'état. But now, after seeing the SecNav murdered and, almost worse, the aftermath of seeing his murderer melt into a pool of green goo, Tiner was almost paralyzed in his terror. At least Bud had someone to fight for, to protect. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and he nearly jumped from the slow moving SUV. "Hey, Jason. It’s okay. Really it is." Harriet soothed the young petty officer. "S-s-sorry, ma’am." "Harriet, Jason." She softly admonished. "H-H-Harriet." He took a deep breath and met her steadying gaze. Letting his eyes rest upon Little AJ sound asleep in his car seat, he made himself calm down. He was nearly blinded as the large pickup truck behind them hit a rise and the headlights flooded the car. "Yes…Harriet." Harriet looked over at her husband and gripped his shoulder. "How about you, babe? You want me to drive for a while?" "No, honey. I’m fine. I think we’re almost there. I just wish I could be sure. The Commander knows where he’s going. I wonder who that is behind us?" "I don’t know, but they’ve been behind us since the roadblock. Maybe they think we know something." "I don’t like it. I just wish we still had the walkie-talkies to let Harm know they’re still back there." Harriet sighed. "I think the Admiral needs them more, Buddy." Her arm shot out between the two men. "Look! He’s turning." :: :: ::
Harmon Rabb was pissed. He had been pissed for nearly three hours, ever since the Admiral made him drive the van instead of coming with. The biggest fight of his or anybody else’s life and here he was playing ambulance driver. Leave it to Webb….he sighed. That was really unfair and he knew it. Damn! He really didn’t want the pain-in-the-ass to die. He suspected that they were going to need every able bodied man they could get their hands on. He glanced into the rear-view mirror. "Hey, Fran?" "Si, Harm?" "How’s he doing?" "No so good. I am very worried." Renee turned around. "You want me to climb back there and relieve you, Francesca?" Francesca Paretti stared down into the fever and pain filled eyes of Clayton Webb. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for five hours. He had been incoherent for a spell, murmuring in several languages and Francesca understood several of them. She wasn’t really sure who Clayton Webb was, but he had led an interesting, dangerous life. Her designer slacks were stained with his blood. She was resting her back against the side of the van, her legs stretched out, and his head cradled in her lap. Reaching down and uncapping the water bottle, she held it to his lips. "Hold on a little bit longer, Clayton." He managed a small smile. "I like the way you say that." His voice was hoarse, but his eye’s fluttered closed again before he could see the grimace of fear on her face. She dampened the cloth warmed from his fever and returned it to his brow. "No thank you, Renee. I’m fine. Are we close yet, Harmon?" "I think so, Fran." he sighed. Renee settled back in her seat. His sulking was starting to piss her off. Was it so bad to take care of your wife and your friends? Didn’t he see that, if what they had seen was not some bizarre dream, he would have plenty of opportunities to die needlessly in the next few months – or years? She instinctively rubbed her belly. Didn’t he care that their three-month old fetus would need a father? He had been so happy when the test strip had turned blue. He must have seen her movement because he reached out and took her hand. "Hey. I’m a jerk, okay. I’m sorry. The Admiral was right. I need to be here with you. I doubt if Tiner could have managed this damn bus. What the hell were Bud and Harriet thinking, buying a rear-wheel drive van?" Gently, she retorted, "They were probably thinking that since it doesn’t snow in Virginia that often, they wouldn’t have to worry about it. What’s that sign?" "Thank God." Carefully he turned off the snow covered state highway and onto the snow covered county road. One set of tire tracks could still be seen in the road ahead and he realized that the snow was beginning to taper off. However, here it was still deep enough that he was very afraid the van would get stuck. Silently, he began to pray. ‘Dear Lord, please don’t let Webb die because I got this damn thing stuck in the snow.’ He felt Renee gently caress his arm. He didn’t dare check the rearview mirror to see if Bud and Harriet were following in the SUV. If he did get stuck he wasn’t sure that Webb could survive the transfer. Of course they would have to get the van out of the…. "Fuck!" The van hit a pothole, sank and stopped. Carefully, he stepped on the accelerator but he felt the wheels spinning. Light flooded the car and he knew that Bud was behind him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" He pounded the steering wheel. Renee just closed her eyes. She couldn’t remember Harm ever using that word before. A pain-filled groan floated up from the back of the van. "Harmon. Please. Do something. He is starting to shake. He is no longer hot, but getting very cold." Francesca called fearfully. Rabb climbed out of the van and Bud came stumbling up from behind. "Sir?" "Damn, how bad is it?" He started to shout at Renee, but she already had the flashlight in her hand. "Thanks." He breathed. Playing the light along the front he took a deep breath and tried to not curse anymore. "What’s the matter?" A tall, heavyset black man came up to stand with them. Rabb had noticed that there were two sets of headlights behind him for the entire trip. He had no idea who they were, but he had prayed that the second set would eventually turn off. They never had and now he was faced with a decision. He had people to protect not only his family and friends, but also the people at the end of this road. Pulling the .38 from his waistband he leveled it at the man. "Depends. Who are you?" The man eyed him thoughtfully. "I’m the guy that’s been behind you since that little shoot out at the road block. Knew something was going down. Didn’t expect that, though. Name’s Bob Fielding. Major General Robert Fielding. Now, who are you?" Bud and Harm exchanged glances. Before today, the introduction would have been enough. Now, even if he was Major General Robert Fielding, did that automatically make him one of the good guys? The problem was put on the back burner when he heard Francesca scream. "Harmon. Please! He’s going into convulsions." Fielding pushed past the two men and short of shooting him in the back, there was little Rabb could do to stop him. Opening the rear gate, Fielding peered in. "Damn. Are we near wherever the hell it is you’re going? I hope to hell there’s a doctor there." He didn’t wait for an answer. "Pull that Caddy up here, son. Do it now." Bud, used to obeying orders, didn’t even think. Running back to the SUV, he carefully maneuvered the Escalade next to his van. "Harriet, honey, get little AJ out of there." Francesca crawled into the backseat of the SUV and reached out to take Clay into her arms. He had stopped convulsing, but his breath was coming very shallow now. The light from the pick up truck was shining in and his face was a pasty gray-white. "Hurry Harm," she prayed. Outside, Bud glared at Rabb. "Get them up to safety, sir. Tiner and I will stay here. Harriet can hold AJ and Renee can…" Harriet and Renee both protested, but Renee was adamant. "There’s not enough room. Go, damn it. We’ll follow. Now go." Rabb nodded and pushed Harriet toward the car. She turned back and clutching her son to her chest, reached up and kissed Bud passionately. "Watch out for them. Come back to me." Renee reached out for Rabb, who for once, overcame his loathing of public displays of affection, and kissed her roughly. "I promise, I’ll be back. Take care of whosits?" "I will." Nodding toward Fielding, she whispered. "I have a good feeling about him, Harm." Tiner stood there, the .45 that Gunny had forced on him shaking, but pointing at the General. The three men and Renee watched as the SUV pulled away. Bud, Rabb’s .38 firmly in hand, moved to cover Fielding. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if he hadn’t heard a high pitched, "Dad" followed by two frantic females screaming, "Tommy!" coming from the direction of the huge pickup. He watched as a gangly teenager ran up and grabbed his father’s arm. Glaring at the men holding a gun on his father, young Thomas Fielding yelled, "You leave my dad alone! He’s an Army General and he can kick your asses." "Thomas!" Fielding growled. "Go back to the truck." "Dad! The man is going to shoot you!" Bud lowered his gun and signaled to Tiner. "No I’m not, son." Looking the General in the eye, he straightened. "Lieutenant Bud Roberts, sir. Judge Advocate General Corps for the Navy. This is Petty Officer Tiner." "You work for Chegwidden?" Fielding glared. "Yes, sir." The two men responded. "Good man. Where is he?" Bud sighed. "Sir, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you." :: :: ::
Dana brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and sighed. "Well, that’s all we can do. Twelve beds won’t be enough, but hopefully we’ll have more well people than injured. Maggie Scully sat on one of the two cots they had wiped down. The place had been very dusty, they couldn’t even tell how long ago it had been built. The MRE’s were only a year old. Three hours of hard work had paid off. Six of the thirty cubicles surrounding the command center had been cleaned and outfitted with the field medic kits they had found. There was also a small refrigerator unit containing a pitifully small supply of pain medication including morphine. "Well, honey, I think it was a good idea you had, turning that little house into a triage. We can move that queen bed out. At least when this awful snow stops." Maggie missed the flicker of pain cross Dana’s face. "We just need more cots. Right, precious?" Maggie peered under the cot across from hers expecting to see her grandson who had resolutely crawled under there when they had begun work on this room. Her grandson was nothing like any of her children. Even Bill hadn’t been this rambunctious. "William?" Panic crept into her voice and Dana turned away from filling the overhead cabinet with medical supplies. "What? Where is he?" She demanded. Running past her mother, she was getting ready to begin shouting for him, when she stopped and stared. Sitting at one of the camera consoles taking notes as Langley quietly called them out, sat Monica Reyes. One hand was uncomfortably pitched writing on a clipboard propped on the monitor; the other arm cradling the sleeping William. She glanced at Scully, a look of trepidation on her face. "There he is. See honey, he’s fine." Maggie walked past her daughter and gently picked up the boy. "I’ve never seen a baby move so fast or so quietly." Resting him on her shoulder, she turned to the passage leading up to their house. "Come on big boy, gramma’s gonna give you a bath, get rid of all that nasty dust. Then I’ll get you some dinner." She turned back for a moment and called back to the three of them. "I’m going to make some stew out of the meat and canned vegetables I found. Does that sound okay?" "Freakin’ great, Mags!" Langley exclaimed. "Hey Mon, we’re just going to have to knock over a Radio Shack and be done with it. I’m gonna go clean up. Damn, Maggie’s making dinner." There was awe to his voice and Scully and Reyes exchanged amused looks. Monica stood and stretched. They hadn’t said much to each other all day. And, except for their snide exchange in the kitchen before Smith had shown up, neither had made any mention of the incredible sex. "Well, I guess I can use Skinner’s shower. Excuse me." She started to walk around her, when Scully reached out and stopped her. "I’m sorry." Scully swallowed but didn’t continue. Monica stood and waited. "It…last night…it wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you." Dana met the stare and sighed. "You’re not going to make this easy are you?" It was Monica’s turn to sigh. "Okay. So whose fault was it?" Dana looked bemused and thought for a moment. "Well, I supposed I could say it was my fault for not stopping it before it happened, but that really sounds too much like Mulder." Reyes fought to control her smile, pinning both lips between her teeth. Taking a deep breath she finally asked, "Well, who should we blame?" Scully thought and a huge grin split her face. "Skinner." For just a moment, Reyes was angry and shocked but then she nodded. "Yeah. Skinner. It’s all his fault." "I mean, look how tall he is." Scully licked her lips. "Oh, yeah. Tall." Reyes sighed. "And those shoulders!" "Broad beautiful shoulders." "Those abs?" "Perfect abs." "Oh, and don’t forget." Scully lifted her chin. "Voted best ass in the whole damn Hoover!" "No! I never heard about that! They didn’t." "The hell they didn’t. Miller in Research organized it three years in a row. Gave up the year before you got here when no one even nominated anyone else." Monica sat back against the console. Their eyes met and identical blushes kissed their cheeks. "I’m still sore from…" Scully nodded. "Biggest damn…" She put her hand to her mouth. "I wasn’t going to say that out loud." Monica laughed and Dana joined in. It felt good, neither could remember the last time they had laughed so hard. Finally Monica wiped her eyes. "Yeah, definitely Skinner’s fault. "Yeah, well then how do you explain this?" Dana moved forward and brushed her lips across the other woman’s. Monica didn’t stay shocked for long and reached out and took Scully’s face in her hands. "What are you saying?" she whispered. Blue eyes met brown. "I’m saying that the three of us have to be there for one another. No matter what." Scully gently pulled away and sat against the opposite console. "And if you and he can steal a moment together, even if I’m not there, then do it. Same with him and me. Agreed?" "Okay. But?" "But, what?" Monica looked at the floor for a moment. "I really want the three of us in bed again." "So do I." Dana whispered. "Why?" Monica asked, wanting to be sure Dana wanted what she wanted. "Why?" Dana looked at the brunette, her thoughts making her wet, and a slow blush making her skin burn. "Because... because we…" Her blue eyes narrowed slightly. "You know why, Reyes. What we did in bed together was... was unique. I want to… we have to do it again." Her look and her tone of voice dared the woman to challenge her. "Did you want to repeat the experience?" she asked, watching Dana's face turn crimson. "Or, did you want to try something new?" "New?" Dana remembered how Skinner had pounded into her from behind while she… she had put her mouth between Reyes' thighs and… oh god! Dana closed her eyes. "I don’t know. I…" "Dana? Monica? You girls about ready? I could use some help up here" "I see your mother has found the intercom system." Dana hit the response key. "Right up, mom." :: :: ::
Skinner glared at Frohike. Morris stood with tears in her eyes clutching Mulder’s arm. Mulder looked like he was about to burst into insane laughter. "Why in the hell would you do something so GOD DAMN STUPID. I OUGHT TO KICK YOUR ASS ALL THE WAY BACK UP THAT HILL AND THEN PUSH YOU OVER THE SIDE." Frohike cowered in the corner of the small diner. The owner had left as soon as he saw the look in Skinner’s eye when he returned. "Sorry?" Skinner shook his head. "I’m not the one you owe an apology to, you stupid troll!" "Hey!" Morris hit Skinner’s arm. "Don’t call names. Get out. I want to talk to him." Skinner sighed and stalked outside. He looked up and down the street and then back in the café. "Mulder!" "Huh?" A huge grin was pasted on his face, his eyes riveted to the tall leggy blond and the balding little man. "Get out here." Skinner demanded in disgust. "Oh. Yeah right." "Where did Smith go, damn it?" Skinner snarled. "I’m here." They looked around and saw him huddled in front of the small barrel fire that he and Byers had built earlier. Byers had driven the Land Rover back up to the mountain retreat, saying he would get Langley to help him unload it. "I doubt that." Mulder had muttered but let him go. Byers just had no desire to see his friend get yelled at. Skinner paced. The snow had slowed to flurries and he hoped to hell it was over but he dreaded whatever was coming next. It was still too early to hear from Chegwidden and Doggett. He was just about to insist that the alien return to the warmth of the café, private conversations or no, when they all heard the sound of a car eating through the snow covered road. Smith looked pensive and they turned to wait. A large Cadillac Escalade came up to them and the driver’s window rolled down. "I hope to hell that you’re Skinner and one of you is a doctor. I got a man hurt real bad!" The driver shouted. Through the open window they heard a cry of anguish. "NO!!!" Quickly, Skinner started for the door, but Smith pushed him aside. Opening the door, they saw a pretty longhaired woman sobbing over the still form of a man clutched to her bosom. "No, no, no. We are here. Clayton. Please don’t die like this." Gently, Jeremiah Smith reached around her and touched the man on the cheek. Taking a deep breath, he reached down and touched Webb's body over the bandage. The driver climbed out of the vehicle and glared at Smith. "What the hell is he…?" "Step back, buddy and watch." Mulder advised sternly. Suddenly Webb convulsed once and then opened his eyes. Smith staggered back and Skinner caught him before he fell. Handing him over to Mulder, he snapped, "Get him inside. Get some hot coffee into him." Webb stared into the shocked eyes of Francesca Paretti. He had no idea how he got in her arms. He didn’t remember anything except the pain and the betrayal and the uncontrollable urge to get to AJ’s house. "Hey?" "Hey, yourself. Don’t you ever scare me like that again!" Francesca, good Catholic girl that her mother had raised, suddenly, and fervently, believed in miracles. :: :: ::
AJ could never remember the Mall being this dead so early in the evening. Just after 2300 hours, the large white Suburban had pulled into D.C. That was a little over an hour ago. They had parked for a while down by the fish market on the Potomac. Everything was dark and they didn’t even see a cop car or security vehicle go by. They had finally moved into position when a gang of street toughs turned the corner and headed toward them. Mac had deftly maneuvered around them; the rock that one of them threw at the window just bounced off. "Damn, the woman is as paranoid as Frohike." Agent Doggett breathed. "Who is Frohike?" Mac asked, glancing at him quickly in the rear view mirror. "You’d have to meet him. Descriptions don’t do him justice. Though you might keep in mind that Agent Mulder calls him the troll." "Cute." Mac kept glancing at AJ. She was surprised how easy it had been to cast off the trappings of military formality around him. She would still follow him wherever he led, gold stars or not. He had an air about him that she had seldom seen. This was his SEAL-in-waiting look. He was completely focused on their surroundings. "Galindez?" "Sir?" "You see that third souvenir van from the street?" "Petey’s three tee shirts for ten dollars?" "That’s the one." "Good idea, sir. I’ll take the shot gun if you don’t mind." "You’re not going to get the range with that." "Well if Agent Edwards comes through, then the car will go out of control at the turn. I won’t need the range." AJ sighed and nodded. "Doggett?" "Sir?" Doggett was more than happy to turn command of this little fiasco-waiting-to-happen over to the former SEAL. If he was good enough for Skinner, he was good enough for John Doggett. It had taken the former Marine a long time to accept Skinner for all his failings as a good and decent man. There was a streak of honor untarnished that Doggett respected without reservation. "See those holly bushes across the street?" "Yeah, I’m on it." Doggett started to open the van door. But AJ nailed him with a glare. "No, I’ll go. I’ll have a better chance of hitting my targets from there. Just don’t shoot me when the bullets start flying." "Well, what about me?" "I want you where you can be seen by Edwards. He may not try anything if he thinks he’s in this alone. I know it’s asking a lot. Normally, there would be a lot more people out even this late at night. I’ve counted three people since we pulled up…" He looked at Mac, grinned and waited. "Six minutes, 37 seconds ago." She smiled back. "How’d you do that?" Doggett gasped. "Secret." She replied softly. "Mac?" "As soon as I see the limo go out of control, I’ll try and get the car between it and the front escort car." "Victor, you lay down covering fire at anyone that points his gun at the President. Anyone else, try and just wound or not hit them at all. We don’t know whose in bed with the aliens and the Vice-president, but I don’t want the blood of innocents on my hands if we can help it." "Aye-aye, Admiral." "AJ." "No, sir. Sorry, sir." Victor opened the back door and stepped out into the cold still air. The snow was falling heavily here in the mall and he appeared almost like an apparition, slinking along the line of souvenir trailers. Doggett pulled his coat collar up to his ears and started to follow when he suddenly snapped his fingers. "Listen. I don’t know if this will mean anything to you, but the bounty hunters, the aliens?" "Yeah?" AJ was still having serious trouble with the reality of what he had seen, but he nodded. "They can change their form to appear to be anyone you might know. That’s how they get close to you. But, I’ve noticed that it is hard for them and if you watch them carefully they seem to waiver occasionally and sort of fade in and out from their true appearance and the guy they're impersonating. Trust your eye sight." "I always have, son. Now, let’s get going here. If they wait any longer, the detail will get suspicious of the whole idea." Doggett nodded and exited the car. He started to casually walk down the street in front of the Lincoln Memorial. AJ gazed through the snow at the Wall and sighed. Hell, for a long time, he had thought that nothing in his life could be weirder than Viet Nam. Man! Had he been wrong. He gazed at Mac. "You gonna be okay?" "Yes, AJ." He smiled at the use of his first name, nodded and started to open the door. Her hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Turning around, he looked at her inquiringly and was surprised as she leaned forward and kissed him, briefly. "I always wondered what that would feel like?" His breath caught and he reached for her, pulling her into a tight embrace, crushing her lips to his. Breaking away, he was out of the van and across Constitution Avenue before she opened her eyes again. Watching him carefully as he assumed his hiding place, Mac prayed. "Please don’t let him die tonight. Please don’t let any of them die tonight. Please let us be successful. But most of all, please bring him back to me." :: Part 6 ::The Rescue Sylvia Toblin was quite possibly the most educated of any First Lady. She knew she was smart. Probably smarter than her husband, certainly smarter than any of his advisors. At least the current set. A doctor of history and a highly respected professor at Georgetown University, she had a mind that grasped the finer points of an argument. Unlike many of her recent predecessors, she was well like by pundits and the public alike, if for no other reason that she made no claim to be co-president or even his silent advisor. She adopted no cause to preach for and took no public stance on any controversial issue. She seldom presented herself for daycare openings or ribbon cuttings. She taught. She had a full staff to arrange the president’s social functions and she showed up on his arm when necessary and occasionally, when his chief advisors had insisted on it, she even got her teaching assistant to take her classes. Now that Micah was in his final term, she seldom did that. She had been well aware that from a geopolitical standpoint the shit was already hitting the global fan. Her classes often concerned the current political upheavals in the world. She would have discussed how the recent rash of political murders compared to other periods of European history tomorrow in her honors seminar - if she wasn’t being murdered herself at the funeral of their old friend, Canadian Prime Minister Paul Mantineau. She probably wouldn’t even have been surprised when the bomb blew up or the gunmen appeared or…or whatever form the attack would have taken. Several of Micah’s former advisors had called trying to warn him not to go. Several had even called her with vague or wild concerns for the First Couple. But Micah’s current group of advisors, led by Philip Lee, had steadfastly insisted that the leader of the United States could not afford to show he was afraid. Sylvia hated Philip Lee. Hated what he whispered to Micah. Hated what he had done to get rid of all the men who had worked so hard to get Micah elected. Turning away from the view of the dark, nearly snow-covered Rose Garden, she faced Thomas Edwards. Good, solid Agent Edwards, the last of her original security detail. The one man she trusted without reservation. The one man, whom, after he had carefully laid out the facts as he saw them, she hadn’t ignored, questioned or suggested he seek psychiatric help. Besides, in a twisted, sick way, alien invasion actually made sense. Of course, she dared not use such terms with her husband. Micah Toblin was a good man she had been ridiculously in love with for nearly 35 years. He was smart in his own way. Blind in others. Pragmatic to a fault, he still felt deeply about America and its people. And it showed. His approval rating was a whopping 78%. When his old friend and advisor had suddenly died, he had made the one truly disastrous mistake in his political career – in Sylvia’s opinion at least – he appointed Philip Lee, long time friend of the Vice-president. If Sylvia hated Philip Lee, she despised and feared Eric Winslow. The bastard hadn’t even been nominated. Carl Fielding, Viet Nam war hero, former Governor of North Carolina, hard-headed liberal, had been the perfect choice for VP; an excellent candidate to run on the party’s ticket after Micah had served out his term. The first African-American VP, Fielding was well liked and worked well with both the president and the congress all through the hard but satisfying first term. To say Toblin/ Fielding won their second term in a landslide didn’t quite begin to describe the victory – sixty-eight percent of the popular vote. The victory parties turned into wakes when Air Force II had crashed and burned two miles out of Los Angeles. The investigation had turned up a faulty 80-cent electrical switch, though Sylvia’s sister-in-law kept sending her Internet reports of conspiracies and murder. Ten of the country’s most trusted news people had died along with Fielding, his wife and his sister-in-law, wife of his brother General Robert Fielding, head of Army Intelligence. Three weeks later, after much wrangling in the Senate and House, little known congressman Eric Winslow was sworn in to serve out the term of Vice President. A handsome and gracious man before the camera he appeared to be a shoe-in for his party’s nomination in two years. According to Edwards, he was in league with the aliens and Sylvia hadn’t even asked him how he knew, it just all made sense. The doors of the office finally opened and Sylvia almost cried at how tired he looked. Micah Toblin walked up to his wife. "Honey. It’s too late. Phil thinks that we should just go upstairs and get to sleep. We have to be up at 5:00 to make the plane." Sylvia had been prepared for this argument. "Nonsense! You know you won’t go right to sleep. You have to unwind. Besides, you’re the big boss. You won’t miss the plane." Taking him firmly by the arm, she led him out of the room and down the corridor, ignoring the glare from Lee. The little shit knew better than to out and out defy her. But he almost whined. "I’m not sure there are enough agents still up to man both escort cars!" "Oh for heaven’s sake, Mr. Lee!" – she refused the call him Phil! – "It’s nearly midnight and snowing like mad and its an impromptu drive." Turning to her husband, she sighed. "D.C. will never be this pretty again. Please Micah." She never begged and a look of surprise and tenderness swept over his face. "Once around the mall slowly will be nice, Phil. We don’t even need to take the limo." She wasn’t surprised to find the limo and two full compliments of Secret Service agents, men whose names she didn’t even know, waiting for them under the portico. Damn. She forced herself not to look at Edwards, but she was suddenly afraid that this wasn’t going to work. :: :: ::
AJ was cold. The ground was hard and the sharp leaves of the holly bushes bit into his head. Far to the northwest he heard the bells of several churches tolling midnight. They weren’t coming. He would wait ten minutes and no more. Suddenly, after six long years, he had finally kissed her and he wanted nothing more than to do it again. And again until the kisses led to…. He took his emotions firmly in hand and leaned out to look down Constitution Avenue. They had assumed that was the direction that the limo would come. Toward the Lincoln Memorial around the Tidal Basin, then up toward the Capitol and then back to the White House. That assumption almost got him killed. The lights nearly blinded him. Scuttling back into the bushes, the sharp leaves drawing blood, he prayed that the snow hid him from the agents inside the lead car. The motorcade had just turned in front of the Lincoln Memorial, obviously having come up Independence instead. Mac, parked in the Suburban, was right in the path of the first car and it slowed down even more than the stately 20 miles per hour it had been going and shown its spotlights over the vehicle. AJ tightened his grip on the gun – though it looked like Agent Doggett had finished changing the tire. He had even thrown the spare next to him to make it look authentic and Mac peered down at him through the driver’s window – he was taking no chances. The lead car continued on and rounded the corner to go up Constitution, back to the supposed safety of the White House. :: :: ::
Thomas Edwards had never felt so completely alone in his life. He didn’t like the stony- faced agent driving the President’s car. If Mrs. Toblin hadn’t gently pushed him into the passenger’s seat, he was certain that some other unknown would have jumped ahead of him. Nothing had felt right since Vice President Fielding had been murdered. And after talking to Monica Reyes this afternoon he realized that he had always known it had been murder. She had told him of the plot while he sat in his kitchen eating his ‘breakfast’ at 2:00 in the afternoon. He wasn’t scheduled to go on duty until 3:00. That was another thing that just rankled. He was 49 years old, a 25 year veteran of the Secret Service. He only had six more years to mandatory retirement. He had given up everything to the Service, including his wife and children. Zoey had left with the kids almost six years ago, right after he had finally been offered the head of the first lady’s detail. ‘I just can’t take it anymore Tommy. Me or her.’ He had chosen duty and ended up in a small apartment in Crystal City. The high rises blocking his view of everything. And, after all the sacrifice, six months ago there had been a major shake up and only Mrs. Toblin’s insistence had kept him at the White House at all. He was supposed to be her driver, her personal bodyguard. Well, he supposed that it made some sense that Harris drive, since both the President and the First Lady were in the car, but still he didn’t like Harris. Harris bothered him. Harris smelled wrong. Thank God, Mrs. Toblin had believed him. He only allowed himself to think of her formally. He had found it surprisingly easy to get her alone in the kitchen that afternoon to tell her of the strange phone call he had received, his take on it and the desperate, half-assed plan to save her husband’s life. She had listened calmly, only once raising her eyebrow in wry amusement at the first mention of aliens. When he was finished, she rose from the small table where she checked the menu for the coming week, her one concession to First Lady-like duties, and picked up the coffee carafe to refill their cups. She returned and sat and then eyes bright, had smiled at him. "You’re the one man I know who has never lied to me, Thomas. If you say we have to do this, then we will. Leave it to me. We will take that drive tonight after 11:00." He glanced away from the driver and tried to see into the back seat through the partition. He wondered what story she was spinning for Micah Toblin. He respected the President. He had done a great deal of good for the country, but Edwards had a hard time believing that the man had no clue as to the real nature of Lee and Winslow. Damn, he hoped that she could convince him. If she didn’t, he, all of them, would probably die tonight and Thomas Edwards couldn’t stand the thought of Sylvia Toblin dying. He would do anything to save her. Because she was wrong. He had lied to her. Oh, it was a lie of omission. But then, how do you tell the First Lady, so obviously in love with her husband, that you were truly, deeply in love with her? You didn’t. You just did everything in your power to protect her and be near her. He hadn’t really been surprised when the lead car existed toward the Capitol instead of the Lincoln Memorial. It would have drawn suspicion if he had even mentioned it. The snow was really heavy and Edward’s shivered at the thought of all this unseasonable snow. He didn’t even have his wool coat unpacked. "Weird, huh?" He looked over at Harris. The square faced man didn’t even bother to answer him. Edwards sighed. Few of the ‘new’ contingent spoke to him. They were all sleek, young greyhounds – he, the hangdog basset hound. Oh, he was in shape. What else did he have to do now that he only got to visit the kids on the weekends, and most of the time they called and begged off, saying they had ‘things’ to do. God, he hoped that Zoey believed him when he called her and told her where to take the kids and who to ask for. Zoey had sounded really worried, but you could never tell with her. "What the hell is that doing there?" The low mean growl irrupted from Agent Harris. Edwards was torn between crying, ‘Fuck’ and ‘Thank God’. Even through the falling snow, he recognized the Marine buzz cut of John Doggett. Just as the limo pulled up even with the car, Edwards pulled his service revolver and pointed it at the head of Harris. "Stop! Now! I swear I will kill you if you don’t." He almost lost it as the man turned and suddenly the face shimmered for just a second. Edwards thought he was going insane. But the face shimmered and morphed into an even meaner, scarier face and without thinking, Edwards pulled the trigger. His hand jumped and instead of hitting the man between the eyes as he had meant. The bullet hit the man in the neck and the head seemed to swell and explode. Green acid filled the car and the alien’s foot on the accelerator jumped them to almost thirty miles an hour before it struck the curb and ran into one of the vendor vans. :: :: ::
AJ was already out from under the bushes as soon as he saw the car speed up. Galindez was in position and Doggett had already pulled his gun by the time the rear car of agents pulled up to the limo. AJ cursed as Mac, ignoring the plan, flung open the door and backed Doggett up. There were four agents running up to the car when the front passenger door swung open and Thomas Edwards staggered out, a green mist following him. Doggett pushed Mac away from the man and Susan Ling was the only agent to hear him yell, "Forget it Mac, he’s already dead." Susan was a 10-year veteran of the Service and had been surprised when she got the call to come down and supplement the President’s detail. She had been working counterfeiting out of Baltimore. But she ignored the man and rushed up to the limo, the stench finally driving her back. The back of the limo opened and she saw the First Lady pulling the President out. The woman who had jumped out of the Suburban had her rifle trained on the agents. "Drop ‘em. We don’t want to hurt anyone, we’re just trying to save the President’s life." One of the agents leveled his gun, but before he could get a shot off, a bullet jerked his shoulder back and he fell to the ground screaming in pain. Agent Foster, who had given her the willies all night, jumped forward. Ling watched in horror, as he aimed, not at the woman, not at the man who had yelled the warning, but at the President, as he lay prone on the ground, coughing and rubbing his eyes. "NO!" She screamed. She started to raise her gun, but again a shot rang out and suddenly Foster’s head seemed to explode and she felt something heavy strike her chest and carry her to the ground. AJ started to run across the street but the lead car had already done a U-turn and was careering, skidding and sliding its way back to the scene. Doors opened and these men didn’t even stop to figure out what was what and began to blaze away. Bullets tore into the vendor stalls and bounced off the Suburban. AJ managed to take out two of the agents by wounding them and when he saw green goo ooze from one and turn to him, he carefully took aim and blew the head off the son-of-a-bitch. That should have stopped the show but he could hear the sirens and he yelled. "Get them the hell out of there now! Go! Go! Go!" He ran back to the bushes and waited, waited to lay down the covering fire that would be necessary to save the President. Waited to die. Doggett, his eyes burning, ran to the President and helped the First Lady drag him up. "Is he burned?" Neither Sylvia nor Micah was capable of talking; they were coughing too hard. Doggett pushed them over to the van and opened the back door. Shoving them in, he turned and saw one last agent staring at the mass of green goo before him. Galindez was helping a pretty young woman up and Mac was nowhere to be found. "Get in!" He yelled and Galindez let go of the agent for a moment to look for Mac. "Damn it, Victor! Get the hell in the truck. The President is the only thing that matters now. If he dies, then everyone dies for nothing. Move it." A bullet whizzed past and struck the female agent in the head, spinning her into Galindez’s arms. Picking her up, he carried her to the van and shoved her into the arms of the first lady who seemed to have recovered a little. "Where the hell is Mac?" He yelled as he climbed across the driver’s seat so Doggett could follow him. "There!" Doggett yelled and pointed across the street. The Colonel was kneeling in the center of the road returning fire from the lead escort car. Glancing back and seeing that the last agent from the back car was still in shock, Doggett gunned the Suburban and started to go and pick her up. Flashing red lights and screaming sirens rent the air and all he could manage was to get between her and the first cop car. She saw what he was trying but instead of running to safety, she stood up and started looking around. Waving him off she cried through the window that Victor had managed to get down, "Go! I’m not leaving him. Go, go, go!" She ran away from them and a bullet pinged off the frame and Victor barely had time to get the window up before another bullet hit the glass leaving a chip missing right at eye level. AJ watched in horror as Mac waived away the Suburban. More and more police cars could be seen and heard screaming in from several directions. Mac was running toward his last position and he finally stood and yelled, "Over here, damn you, Mac!" She swerved just as a bullet stuck the agent who was taking aim at her. AJ couldn’t see where the shot came from but shot followed shot and he was suddenly reminded of Desert Storm for some inexplicable reason. Only then it was sand that was blowing all around instead of snow. He had no idea who the hell was shooting at who either. As she reached him he didn’t even let her stop, but grabbed her hand to run up 23rd Street together. :: :: ::
Doggett sped down the Arlington Bridge across the Potomac. He couldn’t spare a thought for his passengers or the events taking place behind him. He couldn’t turn around and go back for them. Galindez turned and asked. "Mr. President, are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?" Toblin just stared at him, not really seeing anything. The First Lady was ineffectively trying to wipe the blood away from the forehead of the Secret Service agent who lay still in her arms. "Ma’am? Mrs. Toblin?" "Yes?" "There’s a first-aid kit in that compartment right behind you." "Micah, could you get it?" She asked softly. Still the President didn’t move. No way was Victor Galindez, twenty-year veteran in the Marine Corp. going to slap his commander-in-chief. Sylvia reached over and gently pinched the soft tissue under Micah’s chin, digging deeper until the pain finally registered and he jerked away from her. "Micah. Behind me. I need the first-aid kit for Agent…" She checked the ID badge hanging from the woman’s neck. "…Ling." "Yes, of course." He turned in his seat and stretched around her. Galindez swore as he looked around the president’s back. "Agent Doggett! They’re behind us and gaining." "Damn! We’re going to have to use the expressway. Just pray it’s not backed up." Traffic wasn’t really heavy, but the snow made the going slow. Fortunately for them, their pursuers didn’t seem to be faring any better. Doggett went further west and Galindez snapped. "This isn’t the way we went before." "I know. Listen and remember." Doggett carefully explained where they were going, the best routes and several alternates. "If any thing happens to me, the only thing that matters is getting the President to safety." "You think I don’t know that?" Victor’s snarl of rage finally made Doggett glance over at the Marine. "I’m here, aren’t I? Instead of with…" He clinched his teeth and turned to stare out the window. "I’m sorry, Galindez." Doggett ground out. "But Skinner said Chegwidden was a good man." "AJ Chegwidden!" Doggett’s eyes snapped to the rearview mirror and Galindez turned his attention to President Toblin. "Yes, sir." Both men answered. "Admiral Chegwidden, my Naval JAG, my friend, knew about this, this, this…." Toblin found himself at a loss for words for perhaps the first time in his life. Sylvia finished cleaning Agent Ling’s wound. "Micah, please open this bandage for me." The President did as she told him, but once the wound was covered and they had maneuvered the still unconscious agent into the seat between them and strapped her in, he glared at his wife over the prone body. "What did you really know, Sylvie? What the hell was that thing! How could such a thing exist? This was not plot by Lee and Winslow! How could…" Hysteria was beginning to creep into his voice and Sylvia reached over and grasped his hand. "Micah." There were tears in her voice. "All I know is what Thomas Edwards told me. He died saving us." She took a deep breath. "He told me that an alien race wanted this planet for its own and that Eric Winslow agreed to help them if they left the US alone." "That’s insane. We would have seen the ships! We have satellites! Why didn’t we know?" "A lot of people did know Mr. President." Doggett sighed. "And as soon as I ditch these bastards, I’ll tell you some of it and when we get to Clews Haven, there are people there who know more than I." He glanced over at Galindez. "They’re getting closer. Call in. We’ve got to do something. Let them know we have him, but NOW WHAT!" Victor picked up the ham radio. "CGVR2 calling XBK01, come in XBK01." Skinner himself answered the hail. "Who is this?" "Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez, sir. Here’s Agent Doggett." "Doggett! You got him?" "Yes, sir. But…" "But what, damn it?" Skinner snarled. "Sir. We had to leave Admiral Chegwidden and Colonel MacKenzie behind." "Leave!" "We couldn’t get to them before all hell broke loose. I’m pretty sure I saw Admiral Chegwidden get off some shots and they were both still alive when we took off." An anguished cry in the background drifted through the small speaker. "No! Mac! Damn it, Galindez!" Victor just shrugged. "That’s Commander Rabb. They’re partners." Doggett sighed. "Skinner, we got bigger problems." "What?" "We got stuck on 495 and now we're afraid to get off anywhere but 95." "Well? That will get you here." "Yes, sir. Along with a whole bunch of people who I can’t really vouch for, sir." Doggett was on his last nerve. "It looks like half the Washington, D.C. police force is behind us." A deep baritone took over. "Agent Doggett, this is General Robert Fielding. How far are you from 619?" "Sir?" "Bob Fielding?" Suddenly President Toblin reached over the seat and grabbed the radio. "General Fielding!" "Yes, Mr. President?" The patient voice responded. Toblin’s voice dropped. "Bob?" The silence stretched and finally, Toblin sighed. "It’s true then, isn’t it, General?" "Yes, Mr. President, I’m afraid it is. I seem to be standing next to proof positive." Toblin gasped. "Not one of the sons of bitches that explode into green acid." "I assume so, sir. I’ll make sure not to shoot Mr. Smith. Now sir, if you don’t mind I need to give Agent Doggett some instructions so we can get you to safety. Uhm…did Mrs. Toblin come with you, sir?" "I’m here, Bob. It is really good to hear your voice." Sylvia spoke quietly. "Thank you ma’am. Now, Agent Doggett." General Fielding carefully outlined the hastily drawn plan to the incredulous agent. When he was finished, Doggett sighed. "Let me get this straight sir, you want me to drive back down 619 in all this snow. When we get to the same road block where this all started, if the Captain in charge gives me the thumbs up followed by ‘Tally-Ho,’ I’m to know that he’s one of the good guys." "That right, Agent." "Uhm…General, sir…uhm…may I speak to AD Skinner?" There was a bark of laughter followed by a tired sigh. "John, its fine. He got men down from Fort Lewis. They’re two miles up the road from Quantico. Oh and John, turn on the radio. Over and out." Doggett made the turn south and Galindez flipped on the radio. "…we repeat. Vice-president Eric Winslow has just called a press conference to confirm reports that President Toblin and his wife, on a midnight drive after a long day tackling the latest crisis to befall this planet, were both killed by a band of terrorists. While further details will be provided at the press conference, it has come to our attention that there was inside help from Secret Service Agents. Agent Thomas Edwards, who died in the attempt and Agent Susan Ling who escaped, are being named as conspirators. The venerable agency, charged for over 100 years with serving and protecting the life of the President, is being thoroughly investigated as we speak." "Winslow, I will see you in hell." Toblin sat back, his voice suddenly held the firmness that his country had come to expect. "Mr. Doggett." "Yes, sir, Mr. President!" "Get me the hell to this Clews Haven. I have a Resistance to plan." Home :: cross-overs Index :: e-mail |