Genesis
Ally

Chapter 19

San Diego, CA. 3:05 p.m.

Mulder had no clear idea as to what his next move should be. He had slipped out of the hospital unnoticed after discovering an escape route in the form of the wrought iron fire ladder attached to his bathroom window and after removing his clothes from within their confines of the room's locker, had begun the perilous descent to the ground below.

The experience had not been a pleasant one, hindered as he was by his still weakened state. Once or twice he had almost fallen, having to close his eyes until the ground below him receded sufficiently to allow him to continue, but all the while the image of his partner remained strong in his mind, urging him to take the risks he had.

He knew all too well just what Skinner's reaction to this latest escapade would be. He also knew deep down that any recriminations would be justified, but only by removing himself from the guardianship of his superior could he hope to find the answers to all that had happened over the past three days.

He also knew that he was in no shape to be doing this.

The all too bright sunshine beat down upon him as he made his way unsteadily along the suburban street he had found himself on and he wished fervently that he could discard the jacket he was wearing which was only adding to his discomfort. The thought, tempting as it may be, was an impossibility, not least because of the presence of his FBI issue weapon which he had been more than a little surprised to discover still tangled up with the rest of his clothes in the hospital locker.

Under normal circumstances any firearm, even that of a law enforcement officer, was tagged and deposited in the hospital's safe until such time as it could be returned to it's rightful owner. Mulder could only marvel at the oversight that had occurred for it not to be so. He wasn't complaining though. The presence of the weapon afforded him at least one advantage in an otherwise impossible situation and he felt somewhat reassured by it's presence, however incongruous it might be.

The fact that the clip was less than half full was less reassuring and the spare clips he had brought to San Diego with him were still safely ensconced within the walls of the E-Z 8 motel where he had left them before making the trip to Wickham's apartment. He had considered going back there to retrieve them, but had shelved the notion almost immediately as he realised that, if what Skinner said was true, then a full blown murder inquiry would be in place there and he couldn't risk the possibility of being seen by the hoards of cops who would no doubt be trawling through the grounds in their pursuit of evidence.

To be seen there would be calamitous, not because he had any fears that he was in any way connected with the incident, but because he had enough sense to realise that until he figured this thing out his best course of action was to remain invisible. To disappear in to the woodwork until such time as it was prudent to allow his presence to be felt.

His memory of events preceding his incarceration at the hospital were still, at best, fragmented, but his instincts told him that this was no kind of coincidence. His recent illness and Scully's disappearance were connected somehow, and he just had to figure out what that connection might be, knowing that once the connection was made, everything else would fall in to place.

He walked aimlessly, not having any clear idea as to where he was heading, turning the scant recollections he had managed to hold on to over and over in his mind, trying to find some kind of correlation between them. He came up with nothing that would shed any light on why Scully had been taken, and if there was one thing Mulder was certain of, it was that she had been taken. By whom and for what reasons, he was less sure of. But that would come. Eventually.

He rounded a corner and found that the street on which he traveled ended in a large well maintained patch of open park land, and the wooden benches that surrounded it suddenly looked more than a little inviting to him. He needed to sit for a while, if only to appraise in more detail his current situation, and his aching body silently thanked him as he lowered himself on to one of the seats.

Five minutes later he began to wish that he hadn't bothered, because in doing so he just confirmed to himself what he already knew. Rummaging through his pockets he had realised how high the odds against him really were, because aside from his weapon, his FBI credentials and his cell phone he was pretty much out on his own. His wallet contained just under $20 and his assortment of credit cards. The money wouldn't go very far and using one of the cards would be equivalent to holding up a large sign with the words 'Here I am' painted on it in red block lettering. He had no transport, no protection, no support and no where to begin. Adding that to the grim fact that he felt like his head was about to come apart, didn't exactly fill him with optimism and he suddenly wished more than anything that Scully were here with him.

The thought prompted him to shake his head ruefully as he realised that if Scully was here then he wouldn't be. He would still be warmly tucked up in a comfortable bed being tended to by professionals who would no doubt be horrified if they could see him now.

So if not Scully, than who?

The list came up pretty short as he trawled through his mental address book of possible allies who he could place the required amount of trust in to do the right thing for him. Professional acquaintances were easily discarded, Skinner being at the top of the list.

John Wickham?

Mulder frowned suddenly.

His old Academy buddy was an obvious choice, especially in light of his recent involvement, but the more Mulder thought about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea. He couldn't put his finger on why exactly. It was simply an almost unconscious warning that buzzed around his head. Scully would have called it paranoia. Mulder called it a hunch and he had learned enough not to disregard it, so there was no doubt in his mind that Wickham had to be struck off the list also.

He rubbed his eyes wearily as he realised that hunch or not, it wasn't exactly aiding his present position and that he needed to come up with something pretty soon, because each wasted second was only heightening his partner's current situation and the reasons behind it.

Mulder withdrew the cell phone from within his pocket and for a few seconds just regarded it ruefully, knowing that stored within it's memory was the number of the three people who he knew he could rely upon to give him the assistance he needed. He had hesitated in calling them, knowing that he was involving them in a situation that could quickly escalate out of control and questioning his right to do that.

Putting himself on the line was one thing. Asking others to do so was something else altogether.

He sighed heavily. He didn't have much of a choice, and it was with this awareness that he reluctantly depressed the button that would connect him to the small basement apartment in the outskirts of Washington, listening to the ringing tones, waiting to hear one of the three voices of his most trusted allies. He didn't have to wait for long before a voice on the other end identified itself.

Mulder took a deep breath and closed his eyes, uttering a small prayer before he spoke.

"Byers? It's Mulder. I need your help."

********************

11:01 p.m.

"What took you so long?"

Mulder was unable to prevent his accusatory tones, brought about mainly from the long wait he had been forced to endure in the lobby of the San Diego Airport, conscious of the hours ticking by whilst all the time he did nothing to attempt to start unraveling the mystery of Scully's disappearance. A lack of both rest and food had left him not exactly feeling his best and at that moment all of his frustration was solely directed at the figure standing before him.

But Melvin Frohike was more than accustomed to Mulder's outbursts and chose to ignore it. He was shocked though by Mulder's appearance and especially by the lost, hopeless look in his old friend's eyes as he glared down at him. He decided that the best thing he could do for Mulder would be to get things moving as quickly as possible and in answer he held up a small leather sports bag.

"One change of clothes, wash bag, keys to a Ford Taurus rental parked outside and ready for collection and . . ." he reached inside his jacket, withdrawing a manila envelope. "$500 in cash."

Mulder took the envelope from him gratefully and stuffed it in to his own jacket.

"Thanks, Frohike. I owe you."

Frohike coughed uncomfortably.

"Um, actually you don't. I took a little side trip to your ATM. back in D.C. and withdrew the money from your account. Langly hacked in to your bank's mainframe and made some adjustments."

"What kind of adjustments?"

Frohike held up a credit card sized library membership card and handed it to Mulder who frowned.

"What's this?"

"Um, it's your new ATM card. Keep it somewhere safe."

Despite himself, Mulder couldn't help but grin. He should have guessed.

Frohike shrugged apologetically. "Desperate measures and cash flow problems, y'know?"

Mulder slotted the card in to his wallet and glanced around the lobby. Frohike anticipated his next question and answered it before he had a chance to ask.

"Byers had to make a stop. He'll meet us at the motel."

Mulder nodded.

"And Langly?"

"Still safely located back at home base in case we need to call on his considerable talents."

He looked past Mulder, eyes narrowing as they locked on to a group of men dressed in near identical attire. Mulder's FBI experience had tagged them immediately as middle income business men, probably on their way to some kind of convention. It was clear from Frohike's statement that he did not share Mulder's appraisal. To Frohike, a suit meant only one thing - Government - and Mulder smiled slightly as he recalled Scully's accurate conjecture that Frohike and Co. were the most paranoid men she had ever met, even more so than Mulder, which was certainly going some.

He cuffed the smaller man lightly on the arm.

"C'mon Frohike. We've got work to do. Save the paranoia for later. Believe me you're going to need it."

Next