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"What do you mean, we still can't perform the autopsy!" Dana Scully was leaning forward on Captain Amanda Cohen's desk. Her pale cheeks were flushed and her eyes were flashing with anger. Natalie Lambert was standing a few paces behind Scully with her arms crossed. "What's going on here?" she demanded. Cohen threw up her hands. "Look, I don't like it any more than you do. But the only thing I can do right now to hang on to the Casa Loma body is to hold it up in bureaucratic red tape. This North American Anti-Terrorist Directorate is giving me a bitch of a hard time!" "This is ridiculous!" Scully exclaimed. "We've had that body on ice for almost 24 hours and we still can't touch it? I'm a Special Agent of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigations, for God's Sake!" Lambert chimed in, "And I'm a duly-appointed Medical Examiner for the Crown!" Cohen shook her head. "I'm pulling as many strings as I can. If I make one wrong move, those spooks will haul off the body to their Batcave and we'll never see it again." "I'll bet Cancer Man is behind this somehow," Scully muttered in paranoia. "We're wasting precious time," Lambert protested. "And we're otherwise at a dead end," Scully added. "Even Mulder's unofficial sources are tapped out." Things are bad, Scully thought, when even the Lone Gunmen have given you all they can and you still can't make heads or tails of what's going on. Just then, the phone rang. Cohen spoke for a few minutes with someone, then hung up. "Ladies, I may have something for you after all. Come with me -- we need to talk to the others." Scully and Lambert followed her out of the office, to Knight and Schanke's desks. The Canadian detectives were shuffling backed-up paperwork on their other cases (another bad sign of boredom). Mulder was still banging on a laptop, a disgusted expression on his face. Cohen cleared her throat, and when she got the attention of her audience, she declared, "I was just on the phone with Inspector Simon Ross." Schanke groaned. "Oh, man, not Ross! I hate that guy." "What's the problem with Ross?" Mulder asked. "Oh, he's creepy as hell," Schanke replied. "He stalks around his station with this cold, scary look on his face, he snarls to everybody...I swear to god, he reminds me of Darth Vader." "Oh, don't listen to him," Knight said mildly. "He's just intense, that's all." "Who is this Inspector Simon Ross?" Scully asked. "He oversees the Cold Squad," Cohen replied. "They're a specialized team of detectives and forensic scientists who re-open old, unsolved cases when new information or evidence comes to light. I asked Ross to have his people look into any old beheadings. They've found one. He wants you to go over and talk to his team. You can go right now." "Sounds good to me," said Mulder, turning off and closing his computer. Natalie's beeper went off. She looked at it and frowned. "I have to deal with this," she said. " My other cases can't wait. Tell me what you find." Scully nodded and the group mobilized itself to leave. Fox Mulder was glad they were finally getting something to do. He hated seeing Scully in autopsy-withdrawal. She could really get cranky when her desire to cut up a corpse was thwarted, and she'd been pacing the 96th Precinct like a caged tiger for a whole day. He was afraid if the word from this Cold Squad had come in any later, she would have started threatening people with her gun. Luckily, though, only a few minutes and a short drive passed before the intrepid adventurers arrived at the station house that was the Cold Squad's domain. Mulder noticed that the place looked very much like the 96th Precinct -- or any other dingy police station in any large city in North America. Knight and Schanke, who'd had dealings with the Cold Squad before, led the way down a secluded corridor to one of those glassed-in offices it seemed every police superior used. As they approached, they could hear someone speaking. "Sergeant McCormick, THAT did not please me!" It was a deep, male voice with a melodious English accent. "Damn," Mulder remarked. "He really does sound like Darth Vader. Have you ever heard him say, 'Luke, I am your father'?" Schanke grinned. "See? I wasn't kidding!" Then they entered the Lair of the Beast. The office was scrupulously neat, though painted that unpleasant institutional blue-green that somehow never looked clean. A dark wood desk with absolutely no papers visible on its surface faced the door. Only a small green-shaded lamp illuminated the room. A row of windows with wide Venetian blinds stood behind the desk, affording only the wan streetlight from outside to pierce the gloom. Standing at one of these windows, his back to the room, was a tall man. He was broad-shouldered, but trim, with narrow hips. He had very short dark hair, and wore the most fantastically-tailored dark pinstriped suit Mulder had ever seen. He turned to face the room. Holy shit, Mulder thought, if anyone could play one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, it would be this guy! He had high, sharp cheekbones, a sinister aquiline nose, and hooded eyes whose color it was impossible to discern in the darkened room. He looked totally evil -- yet extremely handsome at the same time. And lo, I saw a pale horse, and the rider that was on it was Death -- and he wore a really sharp suit, Mulder thought. The man approached Mulder (who realized he had somehow become the closest one to him in the room) and extended a large hand. "Inspector Simon Ross," he said in that deep, Darth-Vader like voice. For some reason, Mulder, upon taking the Inspector's hand, could only say, "Love your tie." Inspector Death cast him a baleful glare. But it really was a great tie. Silvery Italian silk. Scully, as she often did, bailed him out. She swooped in and introduced herself. Schanke and Knight nodded to Ross, acknowledging their acquaintance. Ross pointed to someone who had all this time been sitting at a chair across from his desk. It was a woman with short, spiky flame-red hair in a practical, boyish cut. She was what one could call a "handsome" woman -- somewhat raw-boned, not conventionally pretty, but attractive none the less. Her eyes were a very striking light blue. She sported a navy-blue pantsuit only slightly less stylish than Scully's. "This is Sergeant Ali McCormick," Ross said. "My subordinate -- she's directly in charge of the Cold Squad." McCormick rose, and Scully heartily took her hand. Amiably, the Sergeant told her, "Nice pantsuit." Mulder noticed that, for a moment, Ross smiled indulgently at McCormick. Granted, it was a very tight, no-teeth visible smile. Must be to hide his fangs, Mulder thought. "No sense taking up any more time with niceties," Ross said. "I suggest, Sergeant, that you take our guests down to your area and show them what your team has found." "Will do, boss," she said cheerfully. "Keep me posted," Ross added. "I am easily amused." Another short, no-teeth grin that disappeared in a second. Obediently, McCormick herded the group out as Ross sat imperiously at his desk, producing from somewhere a sheet of paper that he began to study with great interest. When they were safely out in the hall, Mulder said, "Whew! Now I know why he oversees the Cold Squad! That guy is Mr. Freeze!" "Told ya," Schanke said. "You're both being silly," Knight admonished. "He was perfectly cordial." "How do you deal with a boss like that!" Mulder asked McCormick. McCormick had a bit of a dreamy look on her face. "Oh, he's not so bad." She shrugged. "He's tough, but fair. He has a low tolerance for bullshit, but I can usually turn him around to my point of view." "So, does that make you Grand Moff Tarkin?" Mulder asked. Scully elbowed him in the ribs. By now, they had reached a staircase leading down. "We're headed for the basement?" Scully asked. "Yeah," McCormick sighed. "The Cold Squad -- we're kind of the low men on the totem pole around here. Our offices are down there." Scully smiled warmly at her. "Hey, Mulder and I work in the basement! On old unsolved files, too!" McCormick smiled back. "Then we're kindred spirits! Of course, one of the reasons we're in the basement to be closer to the old case files." "That guy Ross..." Mulder said, "He doesn't smoke, does he? Morleys, by any chance?" "Are you kidding? He's a marathon runner. His body is a temple." McCormick sighed a tiny sigh. Ah, Mulder thought. I see where we're going here. McCormick wants to be the the High Priestess of the Temple of Ross. She wants to visit his Inner Sanctum and worship his Hot Throbbing Doric Column of Love... At that point, thanks to the timely intervention of the Intrusive Author, Mulder's train of thought was cut off as the group reached the bottom of the stairs, where the rest of the Cold Squad awaited them.
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