She leaned back against the desk.
“Son of a bitch bastards are not — I repeat, are not — going to get away with it. I’ll call that goddamn senator myself and—”
“Joseph!”
He whirled on her, one fist up, but she didn’t flinch. She only softened her expression, and beckoned with a crooked finger. “Joseph.” Her voice deep in her throat. “Joseph.”
His chest rose and fell, the fist trembled and fell away.
“Joseph, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“What? How the hell—”
“Nothing to worry about,” she repeated calmly, and beckoned him again.
This time he moved, close enough for her to place a hand on his shoulder.
“Everything we need from downstairs we already have. Everything we need from here is ready to ship.”
“Yes, but—”
She hushed him with a finger on his lips. “And everything you need is right here, too.”
She kissed him softly, quickly, and used all her remaining control to stop herself from slapping him.
“You have the orders?”
He leaned around her and yanked open the center drawer, pulled out a folder and handed it to her. “Signed and sealed, Rosie.”
“Good.” She pressed the folder against her chest. “Now we can either forget about downstairs altogether, because no one will see it for weeks, maybe even months. Or we can get Captain Whatshisname from Battalion to clean it up.” She smiled. “After all, what are soldiers for?”
“I say we just leave it.” The flush had receded from his cheeks and brow. He puffed a little, slipping back into his role. “And I say we don’t wait for tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I can get us a flight tonight.”
She considered it, and nodded. “Not too late, though. I want to get there in time to get a decent night’s sleep.”
His expression made her shudder. “Who says we’ll get any sleep?”
“I do, you dope.” She slapped his shoulder playfully and slipped around him, heading for the door. “We sleep, we see the right people, you take that leave, and then… who knows?”
Tonero laughed. “Okay, Rosie, okay.” Then he frowned. “But what about—”
“All taken care of, darling.” She picked up her coat from the chair. “All it takes is one phone call.”
She waved, showed him a little chest movement, and left before he could think of anything else. There was no doubt he would make all the proper arrangements; she trusted him that much. As for the actual flight itself… she never had minded traveling alone.
In Elly Lang’s apartment, the telephone rang.
Mulder knew that Scully was about to tug on the reins, haul him in before his excitement got the best of him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help the way his hands moved, darting from the notes on the place mat to his uneaten sandwich to tracing diagrams in the air only he could see.
“Civilian, first.” He made sure they were listening with a look and a gesture. “Dr. Elkhart has no influence over military personnel without Major Tonero. And Tonero isn’t about to use the military for project experiments. If it blew up, he’d lose his ticket to whatever election he’s hoping to win when he retires.”
Hank gaped, astonished. “How—”
“Us, second.” He touched Scully’s shoulder to keep her attention, and looked at Andrews. “It wasn’t magic that told the goblin where we were yesterday. It wasn’t magic that told the goblin where Carl would be last night.” He scratched through his hair, then slapped it impatiently back into place. “Somebody knows us. Somebody who knows where we are most, if not all, of the time.”
“Damn,” Hank said. “Somebody who even knows what the hell we had for breakfast!”
It was all Mulder could do to keep the young man from jumping out of his seat.
“Right,” Scully said, her eyes slowly widening. “And she was supposed to have a date with him last night. It was in his notes.” She slipped out of the booth and grabbed her shoulder bag. “We talk to her now. Before—”
“Absolutely,” Mulder agreed. “But not for the reason you think.”
“But it has to be,” Andrews protested. “God, it all fits. She’s alone, so she comes and goes whenever she wants and nobody to question her, she has that equipment to keep in shape—” She grabbed Webber’s arm, to pull him from the booth. Her voice began to rise. “She—”
Scully silenced her with a harsh wave and stared at Mulder. “Well?”
He moved more slowly, wincing when his side stabbed him again, dragging his coat along behind him. “She’s not going anywhere, Scully.” He tilted his head toward the window. “It’s still too light.”
He urged the others ahead with a nod, then tugged on Scully’s coat to keep her back.
“It’s not her,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“How can you know that?”
He shook his head — tell you later — and gestured to Webber to cover the back, Andrews to stay outside.
“I don’t know,” Scully said, following him into the office.
“Three against one?” He banged the counter bell. “Come on, that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“She’s psychotic,” she reminded him when he hit the bell again. “And she’s strong, Mulder.” Her hand slipped into her purse, and didn’t come out.
Mulder struck the bell once more, then rounded the counter and pushed through the beaded curtain. “Mrs. Radnor?” A staircase immediately to his left was dark. From the room at the back he heard muffled music, and hurried down the short hall.
“Mrs. Radnor!”
He stepped into the room, where the motel owner pumped furiously on a stationary bike, headphones on, listening to music from a cassette player lashed to the handlebars. She started when she saw him, her eyes wide and mouth open when she saw Scully, and the drawn gun.
“What the hell?” She held up one hand while the other very slowly pulled the headphones off and switched off the player. “Mr. Mulder, what’s going on?”
“You don’t seem terribly broken up about Carl Barelli,” Scully said, keeping the gun at her side.
Mrs. Radnor tried to speak and couldn’t; she could only look at Mulder for help, and an explanation.
He grabbed the handlebars and leaned toward her. “Mrs. Radnor, I haven’t got time to explain, but I need to know something.”
“Hey, I run a clean place here,” she said. “You can’t—”
“Frankie Ulman.”
“I — what about him?”
“You told Agent Andrews you saw the corporal bring a date here every so often.”
The woman nodded, her hands shifting to grip the towel draped around her neck.
“You told her you didn’t know who the woman was.”
“Well… yes.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t have time, for one thing.” She forced a laugh. “She was in such a hurry, I don’t think we talked more than five or ten minutes.”
Mulder frowned, but shook it off. “You lied, Mrs. Radnor,” he said carefully, and shook the bike slightly when she started to protest. “You knew who it was. You know just about everyone around here, and you knew who it was.”
She mopped her face, a stalling tactic, until Scully cleared her throat and made sure she remembered the gun. “I don’t want to get people in trouble, you know? It’s bad for business. Word gets around and—”
“Mrs. Radnor,” he snapped, “we don’t have time for this, okay? I’m only going to ask you once: Who was that woman?”
When she told him, he whirled. “Scully, get the car and Webber.” He turned back as Scully charged from the room. “Mrs. Radnor, I have a favor to ask.”
“What?” She couldn’t believe it.
He smiled, and she softened almost immediately. “I need to borrow your car.”