Date sent: Sun, 13 Jul 1997 16:43:03 -0400 (EDT)
From: LilXPhile@aol.com
Title - Old Times
Author - Paul Leone
Rating - PG
Classification - T (Story)
Spoilers - Mild Anasazi spoilers.
Keywords - Pre-XF Story
Summary - 1954. While Mulder's father comes face to face with the true nature
of his work, a young FBI agent works to discover the truth behind an
encounter that changed his life.
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*******
ObDisclaimer: X-Files, William Mulder, Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, Victor Klemper
and any related characters are the property of Fox, Ten-Thirteen, and Chris
Carter.
However, Agent Brian MacArthur, Shane Currie, and Dr. Leber are mine
(Paul Leone a.k.a. Lancer4120@aol.com), so if you want to use them for some
reason, ask me first.
Feedback, please! Good, bad, flames, flattery, anything. I'm a proud man,
don't make me beg.
******************************************************************************
*******
X-Files
"Old Times"
Washington, DC
June 8, 1954
"Gentlemen, please sit down. What you are about to hear is classified
Above Top Secret in accordance with the National Security Act of 1947."
William Mulder sat down with the half-dozen other men in the room. He
recognized three of them, hell, he was close friends with two of them.
As always, Smith had a cigarette sticking from his face, and was lighting
it even as he sat down.
Jones just had the usual poker face. If the Commies invaded, he'd
probably have that look fixed on his face.
The others, a mixture of military and civilians, fixed their attention on
the speaker, a general by the uniform.
"Our radar stations in the North East tracked an object last evening. It
entered our airspace at 22:30 hours from the upper atmosphere, and proceeded,
at high velocity, to impact somewhere north of New York City. According to
SAC-NORAD, it's not a Soviet, and it's definitely not a meteor. If one is
needed, the story that will be released to the public is that it is an
experimental fighter plane. A recovery operation is already underway."
Smith made an almost imperceptible twitch with his hand. "What's the
significance of this...incident?"
The general lowered his voice, even though the room had been checked for
microphones twice in the last hour. "Preliminary reports from local law
enforcement indicates that several entities may have survived alive and
intact."
Mulder smiled slightly. This was incredible. Three years of hard work
were about to pay off. Contact!
"A recovery team from Nellis Air Force Base has been dispatched. Mr.
Mulder, Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones will meet them at the incident site and deal
with the entities according to procedure. Dr. Leber will be at hand as a
representative of our project in Nevada."
Mulder shifted his attention to the young German scientist. He had been
one of Klemper's men during the war and looked the part.
"I assume that I need not tell you the urgency of this operation. If our
work is to proceed accordingly, it is vital that we obtain these entities.
I'm sure you are all aware of the consequences of full disclosure? Good.
Dismissed."
Mulder followed Jones and Smith out of the briefing room.
"Our plane leaves for New York in an hour," Jones said, handing Mulder
his ticket. "This could be the big one. We've never been closer to them."
"Gentlemen, let's not lose focus here," Smith replied. "Your enthusiasm
is somewhat misplaced. Don't let it overwhelm your thinking."
"Smith, come on. We've been running all over the country for a year and a
half, waiting for this day, and now you're not showing even the slightest
excitement!"
Smith shrugged and took another drag on his cigarette. "We'll see how
excited you are when we reach the crash site." He smiled coldly and walked
down the hallway.
Mulder just laughed. "I think Smith's being too gloomy for his own good.
Alien contact, Jones! Think of it!"
Jones nodded, biting his lip.
"What's the matter? You've been acting weird all week. Is Helen having
morning sickness still?"
"No, it's nothing, William. Come on, or we'll never catch our plane."
Mulder stared at Jones, suddenly cold in the height of summer, then
followed a few steps behind.
"Agent MacArthur, please."
"Speaking. What can I do for ya?" Agent Brian MacArthur asked into the
receiver.
"Agent MacArthur, there's something in Oak Port, New York, that you might
find interesting."
"Wuzzat?" he asked, his interest triggered.
"Trust me, Agent MacArthur. The answers are there if you hurry." Click.
Dial tone.
"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch." He dialed another number. "Shane, it's
Bri. Meet me at the airport as soon as you can. We've got a plane to catch."
"Wait, what?"
He hung up with a vicious smile and grabbed his coat off the chair. This
was business. Shane understood. Hell, she'd put up with worse since he'd
started working on the X-Files. She hadn't even asked him why he'd given up a
career in counter-espionage to track down UFOs.
Maybe she knew. Gruman knew why. He had been there on the day it had all
started...
Over the Pacific Ocean
May 2, 1943
"So, Brian, I heard that you and Jenny had a - holy shit, what's that?!"
Captain Gruman shouted over the radio. A bright light flashed past Brian's
P-51 Mustang.
"I'm not getting anything on radar!" Brian yelled, pulling into a sharp
climb to get a better look at the object. "It's all over! What the hell kinda
plane is it?!"
"Shit! It's coming righ -"
"Wilson? Wilson!" There was a brilliant explosion off to the side and
below.
"Captain! It's on my tail!"
"Pull up, dammit! Son of a bitch, pull up!"
"I can't shake -" Another explosion.
Brian's Mustang swung around, its guns blazing, and dove towards the
object.
"It's a goddamn foo fighter!" Gruman shouted, coming up behind the
object. He let off a quick burst, then flew over and looped around just as
Brian made an attack.
There was an explosion as the bullets bounced off the foo fighter, then
another, bigger one. The foo fighter *jumped* ten feet to the right, then
began to plummet towards the ocean.
"Shit! We got one!" Gruman exclaimed. "We got a freaking foo fighter!"
Far below, the foo fighter splashed into the ocean, quickly disappearing
from view.
Pacific Fleet Headquarters
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
May 5, 1943
"Admiral, I've already described the encounter a dozen times," Brian said
slowly. "The foo fighter entered our radar space and killed Lieutenants
Wilson and Sherman without warning. Captain Gruman and I opened fire on the
foo fighter and managed to take it out. It sank into the ocean, exactly like
I said the last time, and the time before."
One of the men on the review board, a white haired civilian, leaned
forward. "Lieutenant, you say that you managed to 'take out' the object?"
"That's correct, sir."
"So it was destroyed? Completely?"
"No, sir. As I said, it fell into a nose dive and impacted with the
ocean. It was still intact as it began to sink, sir."
A few of the men whispered to each other. The Admiral shuffled a few
papers, glanced at the white haired man, then frowned at Brian. "In light of
your testimony and the testimony of Captain Gruman, we find no evidence of
wrong doing on your part. The deaths of Lieutenant Jonathan Wilson and
Lieutenant Patrick Sherman are due to an enemy patrol."
"What? That was no Jap, Admiral!"
"It was an enemy patrol, Lieutenant. The matter is closed."
Hell it is. I'm gonna find out what really killed John and Pat if it
takes fifty years.
Apartment 42
Alexandria, Virginia
1954
"Why the hell did Shane have to pick today to go visit her sister?" Brian
muttered, shoving a couple suits into his suitcase. "She knows I can't pack
worth a damn!"
What else? Pistol. Pants. Ties. Shirts. Camera. God, he wished he had a
camera back in '43. A picture of that damn foo fighter would have changed the
minds of a couple of those geeks in Project Blue Book. One of these days,
he'd catch up with a real goddamn flying saucer. That'd show them.
Maybe today would be the lucky day, he said to himself, snapping the
locks shut on his suitcase and dragging it off the bed. "Got a good feeling
about today."
Now, if only Shane's in a good mood...
Idlewild Airport, New York City
"So, you gonna tell me what the big story is now, Bri, or what?" Shane
asked impatiently, fiddling with her hair.
Brian sneered. Typical dame. Pushy as hell. "I thought I'd wait for you
to finish with your hair, madam," he said with exaggerated formality.
It went right over her head. She smiled, pushed a stray lock of red hair
aside, and finally glanced up at him. "Well?"
"Okay, it's not much, but I think our friend from the Defense Department
has something for us. All he said was to go to Oak Port, New York."
Shane sighed. They'd had this argument a dozen times before. Every kook
and wide-eyed space cadet in the country had heard of Brian and his little
niche in the FBI, his X-Files. They'd had more wild goose chases -
"Wait a minute. Defense Department who?"
Brian grimaced. "You know, the guy."
"Right. The guy. You planning on ever telling me 'bout that, either?"
"I was going to, but you were off in Montana, remember? The werewolf
case?"
"Manitou, not werewolf," Shane corrected. Brian just nodded. Anything
that didn't have to do with flying saucers was just hooey as far as he was
concerned. Well, she had SEEN it. "Well, I'm here now. Tell me."
"Okay, okay. I was doing some leg work on that new airfield in Nevada,
getting nowhere as usual. Half the Air Force says it ain't there, the other
half says it ain't none of my business, thank you very much! I was about to
go visit my friends in Miromar, when a guy gives me a call. Young guy, said
he was from the Defense Department. Told me that I was on the wrong track.
Said that he'd been keeping an eye on me, if you can believe that."
"Well, you're not exactly the most low profile guy, Bri," Shane said
teasingly.
"Ha ha. So he says that he'll keep in touch, maybe, then just hangs up.
Haven't heard from him since then."
"Wonderful. Your very own secret agent man."
Brian sighed the sigh of the long suffering and hurried towards the door.
Army Special Recovery Site 11
Oak Port, New York
"Mr. Mulder? Follow me," the Military Policeman said, helping Mulder out
of the jeep. "Corporal Briggs is waiting -"
"Have you recovered the entities yet, officer?" Smith asked bluntly, the
ubiquitous cigarette firmly planted between his lips.
"No, sir," the soldier admitted. "We've cordoned off the crash site,
though. We were waiting from the team from Nevada, sir. Those were our
orders."
"Good." Smith took a long puff of smoke, but said nothing else for a few
minutes, just stared at the assembly of jeeps and soldiers.
Mulder took another look at the MP's squadron insignia. The unit
designation was unfamiliar. A gray and black falcon?
"Follow me, gentlemen."
Mulder glanced at Jones, who just shrugged slightly, and they followed
Smith and the MP to Briggs' tent.
Briggs, an ugly old veteran of the Italian campaign, nodded stiffly at
Mulder, Jones and Smith. "Afternoon, gentlemen. You've been briefed on the,
uh, situation?"
"Yes. Have you located the entities?"
"They've, that is...we know their general location, yes. Our orders were
to wait for the unit from Nevada."
"The situation has changed, Corporal. Time is of the essence," Smith
said. "We need to isolate these entities as soon as possible. Have your men
work their way out from the object towards the perimeter."
"Yes, sir."
Main Street, Oak Port
"Welcome to sunny Oak Port, Miss Currie."
"Nice place...Why exactly are we here?"
"Flying saucer crash. Every radar station from here to Newfoundland was
buzzing last night."
"Oh, brother."
Brian glared at Shane. Tell her it was mummies, she'd say 'why not?'.
Vampires, ghosts, zombie cults, even wolfmen, anything, she'd take it without
blinking twice. But not flying saucers or little green men. Those phenomena
activated some vestigial skeptic lobe in the feminine brain.
Women! Who could figure them? They were inscrutable as hell.
"Well, now wadda we do?"
"Follow the nice Army truck?" Brian pointed at a green truck, loaded with
soldiers, as it rumbled down Main Street, much to the surprise of the
townspeople.
"Gee, that's subtle."
"I *am* an FBI agent, Shane. They can't arrest me."
Oak Port Jail
"Trespassing on federal property, Brian? Your mom would be so
disappointed."
Shane smirked at Brian from the other side of the cell door. He sighed
miserably from his seat on the extremely uncomfortable bench.
"Shane..."
"Relax. I posted bail. The sheriff will be here in a minute." She clucked
her lips in mock-disapproval. "If you weren't so damn cute, I'd be tempted to
leave you in here."
"Agent MacArthur?"
Brian and Shane both turned towards the speaker, a young man in a dark
suit with a cigarette in his mouth. Two other men stood slightly behind him.
"Yeah? Who're you?"
"I'm Mr. Smith. I work for the government."
"Smith?" Brian laughed. Yeah, right. "You're the creep who got me thrown
in here, aren't you?"
"Agent MacArthur, you were in violation of federal law. You trespassed
into a restricted area under military jurisdiction and interfered with a
military operation."
"This sure as hell isn't an Army base, and last I heard, we didn't have
martial law, so maybe you can try again."
Smith shrugged. "Agent MacArthur, my advice would be for you to leave.
There's nothing for you here."
Like hell there isn't. I saw the goddamn flying saucer with my own eyes.
If you bastards hadn't taken my camera, it'd be on the front page of the
Times tomorrow morning. "I'm no chump, Mr. Smith. I can take a hint as much
as the next guy."
Smith smiled. "That's good. Here's another hint: stay out of our way in
the future."
One of the others spoke up. "Trust us, Agent MacArthur. We know what's
best."
Brian laughed contemptuously, trying to conceal his surprise. That was
the mystery caller!
"Sure, whatever. Can I go now?"
"Certainly," Smith said, lighting his cigarette. "Sheriff? Agent
MacArthur can go now."
Oak Port Motor Lodge
"That was the guy, Shane! He was the one who told me to get down here!"
"Are you sure?"
"Damn sure. I'd recognize that voice anywhere. He's playing some funny
business. I wonder if his friends know..."
Shane shrugged. "What do we do now? You sure can't go back there. They
might shoot you this time."
"I've been shot before," he said casually.
Shane burst out laughing. "Your *plane* was shot, you mean!"
Brian grimaced. "Did Gruman call again?"
"You talk in your sleep," she replied, beaming at the look on Brian's
face as he contemplated the horrible possibilities in that sentence.
A sudden, loud boom cut off his retort. The window panes rattled from the
shock.
"Dynamite! Let's go!" He grabbed his coat off the chair and stuck his
pistol, a Browning GP35, into the holster on his belt. "Just in case," he
said to Shane's worried frown.
Army Special Recovery Site 11
Mulder stared at the smoke filled valley, his eyes watering.
"Smith, you bastard!" This wasn't what he had been told would happen! The
soldiers should never have made a mistake like this! Yes! It was all a
terrible, terrible mistake! It must have been!
Smith calmly lit another cigarette, and with his next words, confirmed
Mulder's worst nightmares. "Our orders were to contain the entities. We
wouldn't want to disobey orders, would we?" His gaze flickered to Jones, who
nodded in response. "Dr. Leber, they're all yours," Smith said, walking away
from the ridge.
Jones and Mulder followed after a few seconds, moving around Leber's team
of men in white medical suits.
As Leber and his men began their work, Mulder struggled to shut out the
high-pitched whines, sighing when they were abruptly cut off.
Brian slammed on the brakes, barely managing to avoid being hit head on
by the Army truck.
"Son of a -!" he swore, jumping out of the car.
The flying saucer was gone.
The soldiers were gone.
The doctors were gone.
The three men from Washington were gone.
"Son of a -!" He angrily kicked at the ground, staring at the crater. It
was empty. They had taken the whole damn flying saucer!
Shane gently pulled him back to the car. "We'll get them next time."
Washington
Two Days Later
"Dr. Klemper is very happy, Mr. Smith. You've made an invaluable
contribution to his work."
Smith lit a cigarette, then spoke without hesitation. "I'm concerned
about Mr. Jone's loyalty to our project."
One of the men in the shadows leaned forward. "How do you mean, sir?"
Smith slid the bulky cassette tape across the table. "It's a recording of
the FBI agent, MacArthur, from his hotel room. Listen to it. It's all there."
"We'll deal with Jones."
** Epilogue **
Arlington Gazette June 13, 1954 Afternoon Edition
Death Notices
Abramowitz, David - b. November 25, 1904
Benson, Lisa - b. October 16, 1921
Carter, Chris - b. October 21, 1916
County, Brisco Jr. - b. December 2, 1864
Gatsby, Jay - b. March 3, 1902
Jones, Helen - b. April 4, 1928
Morgan, Darin - b. April 1, 1924
Tennyson, Alfred L. - b. February 29, 1892
** The End **
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Em (lilxphile@aol.com)
The Fourth Person
XAngst Anonymous Guru-For-A-While
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Studies show that one out of four people
are insane. If three of your friends are
okay, then you're it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
If you don't like your job, you don't
strike! You just go in every day and do it
really half-assed. That's the American way!
-Homer Simpson
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Scully, should we be picking out china
patterns or what?
-Mulder
If I ever need advice about mating
behavior, Commander, I'll know where to go.
-Janeway
Sex under the Liberty Bell beats anything
you can do atop Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's
tombstone.
-Me (I am a slave to UST... ;D)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Cafe UST * Window Table * B.I.M.B.O. * EMXC
eXtreme Possibilities * OBSSE * IRC Wench
LGW #67 * M&S * Rat'nik * XPRA * XF-BAJFSG
Loser At The Helm * Melissketeer Queen
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