Chataqalan 4

Monica was still trying to decide when she should go to the mountain, so to speak, when the mountain stepped directly in her path.

"Hey, Monica," Bobby Perez greeted her. "How those boots working out for you?"

"What? These old things?" she said, batting her lashes and fanning herself with her hand a la Scarlett O'Hara. "Why, I only wear these ol' things when I want the biggest blisters!"

Bobby chuckled and Monica noticed the network of fine lines around his dark eyes. They hadn't been there five years ago when they'd last worked together. She wondered what traces of the past half-decade her own face now bore.

"Actually," she said, "they aren't too bad. Thanks again for scrounging them up for me."

"No problem," Bobby assured her. "Hey, you got a minute?"

"For you, I've got two. I was on my way to the mess tent for some water. You wanna walk with me?"

Perez fell into step with her. "Sure."

**********

Drew wasn't in the mess tent, but Monica wasn't surprised. If he'd headed out to find Bobby, she'd beaten him to the punch. If he'd decided to go to Castillo or even DuFour, well, she was screwed.

Bobby led the way to a table in the farthest corner of the nearly deserted mess tent. "So how you liking DC, Monica?"

Monica took a long pull of icy water. "It's good," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Different, but good."

"You're still with ISU?"

"A branch of it, yeah."

Perez nodded thoughtfully. "The X Files?"

A wave of apprehension washed over her. "Yep," she said, trying to sound blase.

"That's Spooky Mulder's department, right?" Perez asked. "You work with him?"

Monica took another long drink, buying herself a little thinking time. Bobby's interest was obviously more than casual. He was fishing for something, but what that something was she couldn't guess. Which way was best to play this? "You haven't heard? Mulder's out of the bureau."

Perez genuinely looked surprised, and Monica recalled that Bobby never had been much of an actor. "No shit?" he asked.

"None at all," she replied. The news must not have filtered that far south. Interesting.

"Huh. So who's running the show now? You?"

"God no." She shook her head. "I like my sanity intact, thank you very much. John Doggett's the AIC."

"Doggett?" Bobby frowned. "The Doggett who was involved with that Galpex oil rig mess with Mulder a while back?"

"One and the same," she answered. "That Galpex oil rig mess, as you put it, is actually why Mulder's no longer with the Bureau."

"After all the stunts he pulled, they nailed him for that?"

Another nod.

"Well hell."

Monica grinned and took another swig from the bottle. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

Bobby's expression turned serious, his voice, quiet. "I don't want to cause a panic, but there's reason to believe the camp may have been infiltrated."

Leaning back in her chair, Monica lifted one brow. "By whom? And why?"

Bobby half-shrugged. "Not sure. But DuFour got a warning that a member of, or someone associated with, the Qetual rebels might be on the inside."

"So we're going to be evacuated?"

Perez shook his head. "DuFour and the others don't think there's a serious threat at this time, that it's more speculation and paranoia than anything concrete. But. . ."

"But?"

"Well," he said, "I'm not entirely sure what the deal is, since I've never been on an assignment quite like this one, but for one, things have started to go missing."

Monica's brows rose. "Supplies?"

"Food and water, you mean? Not so far as I can tell. It's been equipment - radios, microscopes, Geiger counters - that sort of stuff. It's all on the inventories, but there's no sign of it."

"Could it be a clerical error?"

"I suppose it could," he said. "Doubt it, though."

Monica frowned. "And you're sure it not just sloppy housekeeping?"

"It's my job to be sure, Monica."

"Of course," she acknowledged. Bobby had easily been one of the most thorough agents she'd ever worked with, and she doubted a well-deserved promotion had changed that even slightly. "The support staff," she asked, "the cooks, the guards, the others, they stay in the camp at night, right?"

Again, he nodded. "The only people in and out of here are soldiers bringing the bodies from the dig site."

"Well, I'd say that narrows down the list of suspects, wouldn't you?"

"That's what I've been thinking," he replied. "But DuFour et al insist these guys have all been hand-picked."

"Not that that guarantees anything."

Bobby shrugged. "The other thing that's troubling me is our telecommunications situation."

"You're not the only one," she assured him. "I understood that had something to do with the satellite uplinks, though."

"That's the official story," he said. "No calls seem to be getting out, but a few have gotten in. Not many, but a few."

"Interesting," Monica said. "We couldn't call out but my tent-mate got a call in."

"Yeah," Perez said, "that's the way it's been. A few calls in, none out. The short wave's been hit-and-miss too."

"So, you think - what exactly?"

Perez shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not an electronics whiz," he said, "but what little I've picked up over the years makes me think we're being jammed. Selectively jammed, in fact, and from inside the camp."

Monica nodded. "So," she said, "someone wants the camp cut off from the outside world. Which would give the infiltrator theory some weight."

"Yeah."

"And would also make us sitting ducks."

"Quack."

"Great," she said, suddenly uncomfortable. She wasn't in any more danger now than she'd been the second before, but it didn't feel that way. A little knowledge really was a dangerous thing. "But why?"

Perez shook his head. "No idea. Honestly, this whole thing makes not a lot of sense to me. If this is the work of a drug cartel, no matter how penny-ante, I can't understand why I've never heard of them before- "

"Me too," she said.

" -but if these Qetual were willing to wipe out how ever many people we're in the process of exhuming in a dispute over territory, I can't see that a few dozen scientists and anthropologists would be an issue."

"True enough," she agreed.

"But what I can't figure out," Bobby continued, "is what we've got that they'd want."

"You mean beyond Geiger counters and microscopes?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Beyond that."

"Hmm." Monica frowned in concentration. She eased her thumbnail under the water bottle label and set about scraping it off as she considered Bobby's information. What did the camp have? What did the killers want? What was worth killing for? Dying for? "Maybe-"

"Maybe what?" Bobby prompted.

"Maybe it's not what we have, but it's what we don't have yet."

Perez considered this. "You mean, like, there's something From the dig site that they don't want us to discover?"

She nodded. "Could be."

"Why wouldn't they just target the dig site?"

She shrugged. "Maybe they can't, logistically. It's all soldiers and guards up there, right, and fairly inaccessible? Or maybe they don't know we don't have whatever it is they want yet," she said. "Or maybe the stuff they're taking is to make sure we don't find it, or don't know what it is when we do find it."

Bobby blinked like an owl. "Huh?"

"Maybe without the microscopes and radios and um -"

"Geiger counters," he supplied.

"Right," she said. "Maybe without those things, even if we do have something they want, we wouldn't recognize it."

"Wouldn't it be easier to steal the evidence itself?"

"You'd think so, yeah," Monica said, "but maybe taking the actual evidence would be too difficult or too obvious."

"Whoever these people are, they shot dozens, maybe hundreds of people execution style, then doused them in acids and gasoline and set them on fire. Subtle isn't their strong suit."

"The deaths appear to have been intended as some sort of message, probably to warn off any other rivals," Monica said. "Maybe this activity in the camp is meant to fly below the radar, and throw us off."

"Okay," Bobby said, warming to her argument, "say that's true. It's not like they've taken every microscope and every radio and every Geiger counter."

"Maybe they haven't had time. Maybe they don't need to." Monica shrugged. "Or maybe I'm full of shit."

"Well, you are, Reyes," Bobby deadpanned, "but what's that got to do with anything?"

Monica grinned. "Shut up."

"No, seriously, you might be on to something. Like I said, I don't know what's going on. None of this makes any damned sense. But, as far as I can tell, you and I are just about the only two serious field agents we've got out here. The rest of these people are law enforcement of one sort or another, but they work from the lab. I'm not saying they couldn't handle themselves in a fire fight, but-"

Monica nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean," she said. Scully could hold her own with the best of them, but that was still just three out of fifty-odd people.

"I know they've given you some grunt work to do-"

"Hey!"

"-but I'm asking you to keep your eyes and ears open," he continued. "Anything suspicious, anyone who looks out of place or just doesn't fit in, you come to me, okay?"

Monica nodded. "Of course."

"Great." Bobby stood, signaling their conversation was over. He started toward the door. "See you at dinner."

Monica nodded. "Yeah. See you then." She'd stop back at the work tent, check in with Irina, then head to the cataloguing and evidence tents, she decided as she gathered the label peelings and walked them to the trash can. She'd get the flagged evidence she'd catalogued the day before. By dinnertime, she thought, she'd have some slightly more solid evidence to show Bobby.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

The more Monica thought about it, the less sense all of it made.

She sighed in frustration. Bobby was right; the people responsible for these deaths weren't subtle. So why would they be stealing survey and scientific equipment that wasn't, relatively speaking, worth very much? And was any equipment really missing? Or had it 'fallen off the back of a truck,' as the expression went? And who told DuFour the camp had been infiltrated, and why?

Some piece of this puzzle had been misplaced, she thought as she made her way back to the work tents, some vital piece of information was still missing. If she could figure out that part-

Monica stopped abruptly outside the tent she and Vetkova had been assigned to work in that morning. Angry words, spoken quietly but with great force, were being exchanged inside. And, she wasn't certain, but it sounded like Russian.

Instead of entering, Monica stepped a little closer to the tent flap and listened. She recognized Vetkova's voice, low and angry. But the other voice, the male, that she couldn't place. It sort of sounded like-

The pitch of the conversation rose, then snapped off in a few sharp syllables. The argument, it seemed, had ended. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Monica quickly moved to the side of the tent, bent down as if to tighten her boot laces.

If she'd had to guess who'd emerge from the tent, she wouldn't have known what to say.

Drew's name certainly wouldn't have crossed her mind.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

Aside from a brief visit from a Dr Chandra, asking if she had any number three evidence bags to spare, Scully worked the rest of the afternoon without seeing another person. She was mildly annoyed at Drew for disappearing on her, but, for all she knew, he'd been apprehended mid-sulk and put to work elsewhere. She hoped wherever it was, it was hotter and stuffier than the tent she was working in. She wasn't sure such a place existed, though.

Having examined, photographed, logged and tucked each cadaver away for the night, Scully slipped the last of her paperwork into an envelope, then began squaring away the equipment she'd been using, all the while trying to decide if she'd eat first, shower, then fall into bed, or if she should shower first, eat, and then fall into bed, or perhaps just fall into bed and hope everyone stood upwind and far enough away not to notice her growling stomach for the next few days.

Option three was starting to sound like her best plan when, as if to settle the dispute, her stomach rumbled. Okay, she thought, closing her eyes, titling her head back, and rolling her shoulders in a futile attempt to loosen the tension there, food first, shower negotiable, sleep a must.

Her phone rang again. For the third time that day, she flipped it open. For the third time that day, all she got for her efforts was an earful of static. She sighed and slipped the phone back into her lab coat pocket. She wondered if Mulder was finding this round of telephone no-go as frustrating as she was.

"Hey Dana," Monica's said, peeking through the tent flap.

"Hey yourself," Scully replied, straightening. She sealed the last envelope, then stacked it with the others on the already over-crowded table. "How was your very long trip for water?"

"Very long and surprisingly informative," Monica replied. She gave a discreet glance to the left and right. "You working alone?"

"Drew never came back. Got waylaid, I suppose," she replied. "So what was so informative?"

"Oddly enough, I ran into Bobby," Monica said. "He told me DuFour got a message that the camp may have been infiltrated by Qetual rebels and asked me to keep my eyes and ears open."

Scully's brows rose in surprise. "That's unexpected."

"Very, " Monica agreed. "He mentioned that some equipment has gone missing, too, radios and microscopes, Geiger counters, that sort of thing."

"And he blames the rebels?"

Monica shrugged. "He's not sure. Neither one of us could imagine why drug lords willing to commit a massacre would be sneaking around stealing not-all-that-impressive lab equipment."

"It doesn't make a lot of sense," Scully agreed.

"No, it doesn't." Monica continued, "But, long story short, that conversation made me wonder what else might be missing."

"And?"

"Remember I mentioned cataloguing pictures of marks similar to the ones you found this afternoon? Well, I went to double-check that material, and guess what?"

"You found everything right where you left it, perfectly intact?" Scully said, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, only not," Monica replied. "Missing. All of it. Like it had never been there in the first place. Someone even went to the trouble to renumber the files."

Scully sighed. "Well, 'that' doesn't look suspicious at all." It was all starting to feel too familiar, she thought, like it was time for someone to start a slide show or drop a flashlight or lose a gun. She rifled through the piled envelopes, pulling out the three containing the pictures she'd taken. "We've still got these."

"That's something."

Scully tapped the envelopes on the edge of the table over and over while she thought. "So there's no proof that all of this is somehow related? Nothing to suggest it isn't just coincidence?" she asked, sounding more hopeful than she felt.

"'Fraid not," Monica replied. "But a lot of weird things are suddenly coinciding, and I just don't believe in coincidence."

"Neither does Mulder," Scully said, recalling the exact conversation Mulder and she had had on that very subject years before. Funny, the things that stuck after all they'd been through. "And frankly, at this point in my long and somewhat checkered career, neither do I."

Monica nodded thoughtfully. "So we're agreed? Something weird and possibly sinister really is going on here?"

Scully nodded. "Agreed."

"Excellent. So, um, what exactly is the weird and possibly sinister thing that's going on here?"

Scully scowled. "I was hoping you were going to tell me."

"I don't-" Monica started, but she was interrupted by a muffled buzzing came from Scully's lab coat.

"Hang on," Scully said, reaching into her pocket. "Scully," she spoke into the static. "Hello? Mulder? Hello?"

The line went dead.

"Fourth time today," she said, scowling. "Sorry, Monica, you were saying?"

"We left off at 'weird and possibly sinister'."

"Right. Okay. Weird and possibly sinister. That narrows it-"

Simon popped his head through the tent flap just then. "Sorry to interrupt. Have either of you seen Drew?"

Scully shook her head. "He was working in here with me this morning, but I haven't seen him since just after lunch."

He turned his gaze to Monica. "And you?"

"I last saw him about the same time," she replied. "Why? What's up?"

"I was just back at our tent," he answered. "Drew's gear is gone, and no one's seen him since lunch."

"He's probably out stalking ferns or fungi or something," Monica answered with a thin upward twist of her lips. "He does seem to enjoy his flora."

Simon shook his head. "I don't think so. He took all his stuff - knapsack, laptop, everything. I thought maybe they sent him to Veracruz with the others, but-"

"Veracruz?" Monica asked. "Who did they send to Veracruz?"

"Those Swedes who came down with food poisoning or whatever it is, the ones they had me subbing for," he explained. "They were getting worse instead of better, so the director sent them off to the hospital up there just after lunch. I thought maybe they sent Drew along for some reason, but I asked DuFour and he says they didn't."

Years of interviewing witnesses and interrogating criminals had made Scully sensitive to even the subtlest shifts in body language, so she caught the change in Monica when she asked, all too casually, "Have you talked to Dr Vetkova?"

Simon's brows rose. "Why would I talk to her?" he asked.

Monica shrugged. "Why not?"

Simon rolled his eyes. "She'd probably tell me he's been taken by moon men and turned into green cheese fondue. Look, I'm going to check around some more, but if either of you hears or sees anything, let me know?"

"Will do," Monica said, speaking for both of them.

"What was that about?" Scully asked once Simon was gone.

Monica's expression was troubled. "Which part?"

"The Vetkova part," Scully said. "Why did you think he should speak to her?"

"Because," she drew out the word, "Vetkova was the last one I saw Drew with."

"Oh?"

Monica nodded. "Well, not saw. Heard. They were arguing."

"About?"

"I don't know. They were arguing in Russian."

In a day full of surprises, this was, perhaps, the most surprising of all. "In Russian?"

"Yep."

"Drew told me he didn't even know her," Scully said quietly.

Monica nodded. "I'm thinking Drew was lying," she said.

"I'm thinking you're right."

"And the other thing," Monica said. "I bet you another month's babysitting that the people taken to the hospital were Mattiason and his group."

Scully blinked, the light suddenly dawning. "The people who flagged the scars like the ones I found?"

"Like the ones you found with Drew, who argued they meant nothing, who poked around the perimeter of the camp yesterday, who is suddenly fluent in Russian, and just as suddenly missing. Shit."

"Very well put," Scully said as she rubbed her forehead.

"So what do we do now?"

Scully let out a long slow breath. After a moment's consideration, she handed Monica the three envelopes. "I think you should probably talk to Perez, show him these," she said. "Just lay out the facts - the missing files, what they contained, Drew's disappearance. We'll meet back here, okay?"

"Right,"

"In the meantime, I'll-"

The phone rang again.

"Fifth times the charm," she mumbled as she pulled the phone from her pocket again. "Scully," she answered.

"Good lord, Scully, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?" Mulder asked.

Scully sighed. She was wondering the same thing herself.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

Monica looked for Bobby in the admin tent. Then she tried the supply tent. Next she tried the mess tent, followed by the showers. There was no sign of Bobby, anywhere. She was wondering who to ask where he was bunking, when she ran, quite literally, into Dr. DuFour.

"Please excuse me," DuFour said, sounding flustered as he stooped to retrieve the envelopes she'd dropped. "I'm so sorry, Agent Reyes, yes?"

"Yes, and no problem, sir," she assured him. "Monsieur DuFour, you wouldn't happen to know which tent Agent Perez is assigned to, would you?"

DuFour looked mildly surprised by her question. He handed her the envelopes. "I believe he's in Tent 12. Why do you ask?"

"I've been trying to find him for the past half-hour or so," she explained. "It's as if he's vanished into thin air," she finished with a flirty smile.

"Nothing so exciting, I am afraid," DuFour answered.

"Oh," Monica replied, "I saw him a few hours ago and we were supposed to meet for dinner-"

"Ah, I see," DuFour said. "I am sorry, but he will not be joining you this evening."

Monica felt a flash of panic. "Has something happened to him?"

"No, no," he said, leaning in. "Agent Perez is handling a matter for me, that is all." He sighed. "It is not generally known in the camp because we do not wish to cause a panic, but a few of our colleagues became ill during the night. It appears to have been food poisoning. This afternoon, it was decided that they should be sent into the hospital at Veracruz where they could receive better care."

Monica nodded. "Are they all right?"

DuFour grimaced, and gestured with a nod of his head for her to follow him a few steps off the path. " Please keep this information to yourself, Agent Reyes. It seems that on the way to the hospital, there was an accident. Three of the patients and the driver were killed. Two more patients and the two peacekeepers assigned to accompany the truck were very seriously injured. They are not expected to survive."

Heart in her throat, Monica took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "And Bobby?"

DuFour hesitated. "He has gone to investigate the circumstances of the accident."

"When did this happen?"

"Sometime between 13:00 and 14:30."

"One and two thirty." Monica nodded. She'd heard Drew and Vetkova arguing just after 12:30, and watched Drew head off toward the perimeter of the camp. No coincidences, she reminded herself. "You don't believe this was an accident, do you?"

"Shhh." DuFour glanced carefully around before speaking. "Nothing of the kind. And there is no need to spread such rumors. At this moment, no one is sure what happened."

"But-"

"This part of the country is beautiful, yes, but like so many beautiful things, it is also very dangerous. There are bandits, there are gangs, there are bad drivers, old munitions. We do not know for sure how this tragedy occurred. Agent Perez has a reputation as a fine investigator, and he volunteered to investigate. That is all that has happened."

Monica nodded. "Of course," she said.

"It is very important that you keep this information, such as it is, confidential, Agent Reyes," DuFour said. "Our communications are still not reliable. It is remarkable news of the accident reached us as swiftly as it did. I do not wish to upset or disturb anyone until we have all the facts."

"But if it wasn't an accident- "

"If it was not an accident," DuFour said, "Agent Perez will discover so, will he not?"

Monica nodded. "Yes, he will," she said. Or he'll die trying, she thought.

She hoped it wouldn't come to that.

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

Scully settled herself in the camp chair and tried to absorb what Mulder was telling her.

"So 'Qetual' actually means 'snail'?" she asked.

"Yep," Mulder answered. "Dr Diamond says their home valley is crawling with them. Or, you know, wriggling, oozing - whatever snails do. Diamond says neighboring tribes gave them the name, then they sort of adopted it themselves."

"And you're suggesting-?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," he said. "I'm just telling you what Diamond told me. He said those spiral scars you've seen are pretty common among the adult males. A rite of passage thing."

"And they're from the Huecha Valley?"

"Yep."

"So the Qetual -"

"-are really the Huecha,yes, " he finished for her.

A shiver ran through her. The autopsy she'd preformed on the body of oil rig worker Simon De La Cruz replayed at high speed through her mind. Severe burns, intense radiation, and most disturbing of all, the sludgy black alien oil that had oozed from his brain. De La Cruz had been a Huecha.

She closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. "If that's the case, the Qetual aren't necessarily the people responsible for the massacre, since at least some of the victims appear to be Qetual"

"And the bodies," he said. "You said they were badly burned, right?"

"Very badly, she said. "Just like that oil rig worker. Someone's taken some pains to disguise that fact, though."

"What do you mean?"

"The victims were all shot execution-style, burned, and something caustic was dumped over the bodies."

Mulder gave a low whistle. "I'd say someone wanted them all the way dead."

"All the way dead and hard to identify," she concluded. "We've been working on the assumption that the burns were caused by fire and that the over-kill was meant, as much as anything, to send a warning to rival groups. But judging by the odd condition of some of the internal organs, radiation followed by fire makes more sense."

"Last time," he said, "you determined De La Cruz had been exposed to the black oil, right? That that was the source of the radiation? Same as it had been with the crew of the Piper Maru?"

Scully nodded. "That was my working hypothesis, yes."

"And De La Cruz's immune system destroyed it, right? He had a genetic mutation?"

"His T-cells," she answered. "He had a natural immunity to the black oil virus, so he couldn't be controlled by it. They used radiation to kill him."

"Right, right," Mulder said. "So if your victims were exposed to radiation, shouldn't that be easy enough to prove?"

"Yes, it should be," she said, the pieces of this one corner of the puzzle falling neatly into place. "But guess what? The few Geiger counters we had have disappeared, along with all the decent microscopes."

"So someone's also made sure you can't prove it," he said.

Scully was quiet for a moment. "Someone who knew we might be looking, and knew just what we'd be looking for."

"Like who?" Mulder wondered.

"Someone who knows of the Huecha, and knows the potential for black oil immunity they represent," she replied. "Someone with an interest in - Oh my god."

"Scully?"

Scully reached into her pocket and extracted the toy she'd been given. She dangled the keyring from her from her pinky. Of course, she thought. Who else?

"Someone like Vetkova."

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

Monica barged into Dr. Vetkova's tent. "Where's Drew?"

At least Vetkova, who'd been perched on the edge of her camp bed applying hand cream, had the decency to look surprised, Monica thought. "Drew?" the Russian echoed. "Who is Drew?"

"Don't bother," Monica ordered, stepping close enough to be fully in Vetkova's space. "I know you know him. I know you two are well enough acquainted to argue-"

"No!" Vetlkova insisted, rising to her feet.

"Yes," Monica answered, using her slight height advantage in an attempt to intimidate the other woman. "I heard you two arguing in our work tent earlier this afternoon, Irina, arguing in Russian, in fact. You can deny it all you want, but that doesn't change the fact. Now where is he?"

Vetkova's expression changed, her face now reading wariness instead of feigned innocence. "I know him, yes. We had a loud discussion, yes, about some protocols, but I do not know where he is now. Why do you ask me?"

"The members of the Swedish team who had food poisoning? Mattiason, Friherre, Swensson? DuFour was evacuating them to Veracruz-"

"DuFour sent them?"

Momentarily surprised by Vetkova's question, Monica nodded. "Yes," she replied. "But something happened on the way. DuFour isn't saying, but I suspect they were ambushed. Most of them are dead."

Vetkova nodded now. "He is dead? Drew?"

"I don't know," Monica answered. "I don't think so. But earlier today ASAC Perez told me there was reason to believe someone connected with the Qetual rebels has infiltrated the camp-"

At this, Vetkova all but snorted. "Da," she said. "Qetual rebels, yes. Our big problem." She shook her head as if amused by the foolishness of it all.

"-and Drew is missing," Monica said.

"Missing? Who says this?"

"Simon," Monica replied.

Vetkova's brows rose, but she said nothing.

"He said Drew's taken all his things and left camp."

"When did he say this?"

Monica shook her head, confused by this abrupt change in Vetkova's line of questioning. "I don't know, exactly. An hour ago? Irina-"

"Sit." She gestured to the bed opposite her. "Drew is fine."

"How do you know that?"

Vetkova gave a long sigh. "I am just knowing. He is probably, how do you say, sightseeing?"

"What?"

Vetkova shrugged. "Drew works for Scotland Yard," then her voice dropped low, so she was almost whispering, "but also for Interpol."

Monica blinked. "Interpol?"

Vetkova nodded. "He is doing internal investigation, undercover, more than two years now."

"Is that why he's here?" Monica asked. "Something to do with that investigation?"

Vetkova nodded. "I believe so, yes."

"And you know this, why?" Monica asked. "And, more to the point, I should believe you, why?"

Vetkova gave another shrug. "Drew and I, we are on the same team, yes? Doing the same work? If you believe me or not, that is your choice to make. But I know some things, Monica, some things, maybe, you do not wish to know. Drew, he thinks maybe you should know."

Monica steeled herself. "What?"

Reseating herself on the edge of her camp bed, Vetkova began. "The camp, yes, it has been infiltrated," she said. "I have my theory who is involved, Drew also has his. We are not agreeing."

"Irina-"

"You are with X Files now, yes? So you know things? Things about oil? About colonization? Vaccines?"

Stunned, Monica nodded. "How do you know?"

"For many years I have known of this. I have worked on this project my whole life. It was my father's work also, and my mother's."

"Go on," Monica said.

"There were many in Russia who wanted to find a cure, a vaccine, but they wanted only to control it, to say who lives and who dies. My father, Viktor, he knew this was wrong, that the colonizers could not be trusted. He and others, doctors and scientists, they worked outside the official project, working to find a way to save all of the people on the planet, not just the powerful and corrupt. For this, they spent time in the gulags."

Monica, stunned, only nodded.

"We knew, from much research, that there was probably a natural immunity. My mother has worked for many years with the United Nations, with WHO, working with immunization and virus eradication programs, studying very quietly this problem. The work has been slow, with much promise, but little reward."

Growing impatient, Monica asked, "And what does this have to do with what's going on here?"

"The victims of this massacre, the Qetual they are calling them, the Huecha people, they have a kind of natural immunity to the black oil," Vetkova said. "They could be the answer we have hoped for. For two years, I have been making contact with these people, quietly, so that no one would notice, keeping, how do you say it, off from the radar?"

Monica nodded again. "Go on."

"Not quietly enough." Vetkova sighed. "Now, someone is working to kill them all," she said. "Murders in Canada, in California, in Guatemala. This massacre, this - this genocide. And now someone is working in the camp to destroy all evidence. This is what you heard the fighting about earlier."

"About what exactly?"

Vetkova sighed. "I have yet no proof, but I think Dr. DuFour is working with a European group that wants to discover a vaccine, yes, but control it, so that only some receive it and the rest fall as slaves and incubators."

It was difficult not to shudder at that last image. Monica had seen photographs in the files and heard first-hand accounts from Mulder and Dana. "And Drew thinks?" she asked.

"Drew thinks I am wrong," Vetkova said. "He believes the answer is much more simple, that the infiltrator is someone who has been compromised, at first hand, by the colonizers. Someone, maybe, who does not even know they are doing such work."

"Someone in the camp now?" Monica asked. "Who?"

Vetkova gave an apologetic shrug. "Dana Scully."

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

Scully heard the sound of Mulder typing. "Well, it says here that Vetkova's been involved with a bunch of different immunization and genetic sampling projects sponsored by the World Health Organization over the past five, no, make that six years. Oh and look, her mom's a WHO director. How very convenient. I'd have to say Vetkova certainly looks like a strong contender for the Miss Badguy title."

"It makes sense," Scully said. "What I'm not sure about is where or even if Drew fits into all this."

"Drew?" Mulder asked. "Drew who?"

"Dr Andrew Ng," Scully answered. "He's with Scotland Yard."

"Rings no bells," Mulder said. There was more typing. "I don't see anything much here, either, other than that he's with their crime lab. Why do you think he's involved?"

"A bunch of reasons," she said. "I'm just not-"

She didn't get to finish her sentence. "Shit," she muttered as static filled the air. She hung up, hoping Mulder would be able to get through again, but ten minutes of staring at the phone, willing it to ring, didn't do any good.

She glanced at her watch. Monica had been gone almost half an hour. Perhaps Agent Perez had been hard to track down. On the other hand, perhaps he'd been easy to track down, but, upon hearing what Monica had to say, had declared her insane. Anything seemed possible.

Scully sighed. She wasn't concerned, exactly; Monica was more than capable of taking care of herself. And she didn't want to go looking for Monica and have it end like a scene out of a French farce: people racing into one tent and then out of another. No, that certainly wouldn't draw any attention.

Her gaze fell on the key ring. At first it had simply seemed a strange gift. Now, pretty as it was, it had become sinister by association. But what to do about it? Hang on to it in case it proved to be evidence? Or ditch it before it did something unpleasant and probably lethal?

She knew what Mulder would do - poke it with a stick, hit it with a rock, insult its parentage, lick it, bite it, or, if worse came to worst, take it to a lab at Quantico and ask for a full analysis. That last one sounded good right about now. She wondered how long a walk that would be.

Another glance at her watch. The truth was, Scully was getting hungry. So, she'd find Monica, warn her about Vetkova, see what Perez had to say about her suspicions, and they'd go from there. Go immediately to the mess tent from there, if she had her way.

On the metal shelves that held magnifying glasses, beakers, and other lab bric-a-brac, she found a number four metal cylinder, the kind used for liquid samples. She dropped the key ring in, then closed and sealed the lid. Then she placed the cylinder back on the shelf next the rest, effectively hiding it in plain sight.

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

Monica blinked. "Dana Scully?" she asked. "About so tall, red hair, works for the FBI? Drew thinks she's working with the aliens?"

"Shhh," Vetkova warned. "We do not use this word. This is a word only for cranks and conspiracy theorists."

"Oh great," Monica said, rolling her eyes. "I'm supposed to be politically correct about a bunch of beings trying to take over my planet? Please."

Vetkova looked concerned. "This is no joke, Monica," she said. "You have not seen these beings, maybe, but they are real, and our work to stop them is real also."

"I know that," Monica spat out. "I also know that Dana Scully is not working with or for any aliens, nor is she knowingly working with anyone who is working with or for any aliens. The very idea is insane."

Vetkova nodded. "I believe this," she said. "Drew, however, he and others, they believe Dana has been compromised-"

"Why?" Monica asked, barely able to hold in her anger. "How?"

"You know Dana's history, yes?" Vetkova asked. "That she was taken by men and turned over to the colonizers? Not once, but two times?"

Monica, shocked by Vetkova's knowledge of these facts, simply blinked at the other woman.

"That in her neck there is a chip?" Vetkova continued. "That this chip can be used to control her? That removing it would kill her? I know this is in your XFiles. You know this, yes?"

Monica nodded. Yes, she knew this. What once would have seemed fantastic or implausible she now accepted the same way she'd accept one of her other friends relating that they'd been mugged or carjacked. She knew now that these things happened, and happened with frightening regularity.

"Also, her partner, Fox Mulder, his father, his true father, he is very high up in a group of collaborators."

This was news to Monica, but she carefully controlled her features. "Yes, I know," she said. "That's common knowledge."

Vetkova half-shrugged. "Maybe not so common, Monica" she said. "But you see? Drew and many others, they believe because of this, Dana Scully and Fox Mulder cannot be trusted. They believe that that they are working, even if they do not know it, for the enemy."

Monica was silent. She hadn't thought of it that way. There had never been a reason to question Scully and Mulder's commitment to their work or their loyalty to the human race. They'd fought and they'd sacrificed, were still fighting and sacrificing, and they asked for nothing but the truth in return. Collaborators? Even unwitting collaborators? It was a ridiculous notion.

And yet, maybe if you were someone who didn't know these two, who hadn't stood by them through one horror after another, you wouldn't get it. Maybe if you were so far on the outside that, when you looked in, all you saw were the shapes of things and not the things themselves, you might side with Drew, too.

Finally she spoke. "But you don't believe this?"

Vetkova shook her head.

"Why?" Monica challenged.

Vetkova reached for the top button of her blouse. "Look," she said, twisting to the side and flipping her long, pale pony tail over her shoulder as she dropped the collar of her shirt.

Monica stood and moved a little closer, keeping both her distance and her guard up. She wished she had her gun.

"I am not biting," Vetkova said. She ran a finger over her nape. "Here, you see?"

Monica moved closer, squinted. Yes, she saw it now. A tiny scar, almost identical to Dana's.

"Feel," Vetkova said. "Just below the incision."

Monica pressed the spot with the tip of her finger. Just under the surface there was a small, hard disc.

"Yes," she said. "I see. Does Drew know this about you?"

Vetkova shook her head. "No," she said. "He does not need to know this. It would make me suspicious also, yes?"

"It certainly would," Monica replied. She was now suspicious of the Russian herself.

"But also, I am not working for colonists," she said.

"How do you know you haven't been unwittingly compromised?" Monica asked.

Vetkova shrugged. "I would have been eliminated by now if that was true. I am still here, yes?"

"Yes" Monica conceded.

"But you understand now, Dana and I, we have much in common?"

"I understand," Monica said as she resumed her seat. "But that chip, even if it is identical to the one Dana has, doesn't prove anything. You said it yourself - there are people who are doing this work, fighting this enemy, but who do not have the best of intentions. So fine," she waved a hand to forestall any protest, "you say you are one of the good guys. Prove it."

Vetkova nodded. "I can do this," she said.

"How?"

"The toy I gave to you? You gave it to Dana?'

Monica nodded. "Yes."

"You want proof?" Vetkova stood. "Come, I will show you proof."

:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

Since she had no idea how or where he'd been spending his time in the camp, Scully had no idea where to start looking for Agent Perez. But with only about fifty people in the entire camp, she reasoned, he couldn't be that hard to find. Most of the work had stopped in time for the evening meal, and her colleagues poured out of the work tents, stretching their over- worked backs and limbs and squinting their tired eyes against the harsh sunlight as they made their way back to their own quarters or toward the mess tent.

"Dana!"

Scully turned. Simon, looking flushed and anxious, hurried toward her.

"Simon," she answered. "What's up? Any word on Drew?"

Simon brushed his camp hat back so that it fell to his shoulders, held in place only by the chin strap. He pitched his voice low, almost whispering. "Did you hear?" he asked.

Scully shook her head. "Hear what?"

"I was waiting to talk to Agent Castillo about Drew being missing and overheard him talking with DuFour. DuFour kept insisting he wasn't sure about what had happened to the ambulances they sent to Veracruz and didn't want to jump to any conclusions," Simon answered. "But Agent Castillo was adamant that they were ambushed."

Scully nodded. "Does Castillo have a theory about who's responsible?"

"I don't think so," Simon said. "I didn't hang around to hear any more once they got into it, but Castillo has said before that there are plenty of drug traffickers and turf warriors and enough plain old fashioned highway robbery around here to account for it."

Scully nodded. "This is a somewhat dangerous part of the country, so I suppose that's true," she said, but felt unconvinced. Her mind spun as she tried to fit this new piece into this puzzle.

"But it makes you wonder, or makes me wonder, at any rate, if all these murders and thefts and this ambush aren't tied together in some way."

Scully nodded. "Yes, it's-"

"Dana!"

She turned. She flinched when she spotted Monica hurrying toward her from the far side of the camp, Vetkova at her side.

"Here comes trouble," Simon muttered. "Look, I was sort of talking out of turn before, about the ambush, and-"

"Don't worry," Scully replied. "I won't say anything in front of Vetkova."

"Thanks," he replied. "I just-"

Scully's hip pocket buzzed.

Simon's brows rose. "Your phone's working?"

"Sporadically, at best," she replied. "Excuse me a moment." Taking the phone from her pocket, she put it to her ear. "Hello?"

A burst of static assaulted her and she held the phone away.

Simon grinned. "I see what you mean."

"Hello?" She said again. "Mulder?"

"...go..." she heard through the hissing.

"Hello?"

The line hissed and popped. ". . . out. . . site. . .now . . .out. . . "

"Mulder?" She turned left, then right, hoping to find a reception sweet spot.

" . . .not . . .site . . . now . . . "

"Mulder? Is that-? I can't understand you. I can't-"

The end of her sentence was cut off by an unnatural roar.

"What the- " Simon muttered as he spun in the direction of the sound.

A second roar immediately followed, louder and closer than the First "Over there," Simon shouted above the din, pointing. "Christ, it' the records tent. It's on fire!"

Before Scully could react, a third explosion erupted, the force of this one throwing them to the ground like rag dolls. Scully instinctively brought her arms up to protect her head and face as debris rained down. Chunks of twisted metal met the ground around her with a sickening clang, and the stench of a world on fire filled the air.

"Shit!" Simon shouted as he belly-crawled toward her. "That was the morgue trailer. A bomb-"

Training taking over, she raised her head and scanned the sky, looking for helicopters or planes or incoming artillery. Columns of black, sooty smoke rose into the early evening sky, pillars of orange and red flame rising with them. Ash and cinders fell. Everywhere she looked she saw people on the ground, some flat and face down, some pulled into tight fetal balls, some screaming and moaning, many clearly injured.

"Stay down!" Simon yelled as he pressed his large hand between her shoulder blades. "We're under attack!"

"We need to take cover," she yelled back, shaking him off.

"Cover? Bloody where? We're being bombed."

Another blast followed before she could answer. This one was closer. The ground beneath her shook as shattered glass and broken tools flew through the air.

"Shit," Simon shouted. "There goes the equipment tent, too."

Even as Simon spoke, Scully heard the pounding of heavy feet. She turned her head, expecting masked, wild-eyed, gun- wielding insurgents of one stripe or another. To her relief, it turned out to be the omnipresent UN peacekeepers moving in with firefighting equipment and anti-aircraft guns and first aid.

"Please remain calm," someone bellowed through a bullhorn.

One would have to start calm to remain that way, Scully thought, glancing in the direction she'd last seen Monica. And calm was not how she felt.

Boots stopped beside her, scuffing dirt at her cheek. "Sir, ma'am," a voice barked though the gas mask that was suddenly too close to her face, "Are you injured? Have you been hurt?" Then he repeated it in two or three languages her overloaded mind didn't quite catch.

Scully stared at him in bewilderment, then shook her head. "I'm fine," she answered out of habit, pushing herself up on her hands. "I'm a doctor. I'm certified for emergency field medicine. I can help with the injured."

"We have to wait for the all-clear, Ma'am," the soldier answered.

Ignoring the soldier, Scully raised herself to a crouch. "I didn't see any incoming fire," she said. "Simon, did you?"

"Wasn't bloody paying attention," he answered. "Too busy trying not to get blown up."

Scully turned back to the soldier. "The sky was clear. I think the bombs were planted."

"Be that as it may, Ma'am, we have to-"

"Dana!"

She turned to the sound of Vetkova's voice. About two hundred debris-littered yards to her left, Vetkova crouched over an unmoving form.

"Monica is hurt, Dana!" Vetkova yelled.

"Ma'am." The soldier raised his gun, intending to block her progress, "you can't -"

"I'm a doctor," she repeated. "My friend is injured."

There was a sudden deafening bang. Scully dropped back to the ground, waited as a wave of hot air rushed over her. When she looked up, she saw Vetkova's tent was burning.

"Shit!" Scully leapt to her feet.

"Ma'am!" The soldier yelled after her, but didn't follow.

Vetkova, who had been kneeling over Monica, now lay crumpled in the dirt beside her, eyes closed, covered in dirt and blood.

"Christ, Dana," she heard Simon shout. "You're bloody insane!"

Tell me something I don't know, she thought as she ran.