Chataqalan: Part 2 (1/2)
by Amanda Wilde (MaybeAmanda)
Rating: PG 
Category: S, A, MSR  
Disclaiming all: Chris Carter owns M&S; 
Fox owns The XFiles; I own this story.  
No infringement intended. 
Archive: Sure. 

Thanks to: Amy, Weyo, Joanna, and Euphrosyne for enduring 
months and months and months and months of whining, Tess 
for infinite patience, the BTT gang for the inspiration 
and opportunity.
 
 
:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~: 
 
Something hurt. Something hurt a lot, actually, and the more she  
thought about it, the more certain Reyes was that she was that  
something. She slowly opened her eyes, squinting. "What-?" she  
began, not sure what else she was going to say.  
 
"Dr. Scully," she heard a voice call. "Agent Reyes is waking."  
 
There was a brief flurry of footsteps scuffling through dirt, and  
then Scully, looking concerned, was peering down at her.  
"Monica, good. How are you feeling?"  
 
Monica took a deep breath. Ouch. "Like crap," she answered,  
finding her throat dry and her voice rusty. She swallowed, which  
helped a little, but not nearly enough. "Please tell me I'm  
just really really hung-over."  
 
"No such luck." Scully smiled. "Do you know where you are?"  
 
"Hell?" Reyes ventured.  
 
"Close," Scully deadpanned.  
 
"Not hell? Must be grad school, then." Reyes groaned. "What the  
hell happened?" She moved to sit up, but Scully's hand was on  
her shoulder, applying just enough pressure to hold her down.  
 
"Hang on a second," Scully said. "Don't try to get up too fast.  
You've been out of it for a while and you're bound to get dizzy.  
You may have a concussion or-"  
 
"I'm fine," Reyes answered, waving Scully off and pulling herself  
into sitting position. In protest, her head and stomach  
simultaneously began swimming in opposite directions. Hunched  
over her knees, she held her middle and closed her eyes, waiting  
for the sensation to pass. 
 
"Nausea?" Scully asked.  
 
Reyes took a deep breath. Her ribs were a little sore, but they'd  
been worse. She had badly skinned knees, but someone had cleaned  
them and she could tell by the smell, applied antiseptic. So how  
long had she been out? More to the point, why had she been out?  
 
"Monica?"  
 
"A little." She lifted her head, which didn't make things worse.  
"Actually, it's passing," she said, hoping it really was. She  
inhaled deeply again, and found that she had told her friend the  
truth - it 'was' passing. "Ribs are pretty sore. I must have  
fallen hard on something."  
 
"You've got a big bruise on your side, but nothing appears to be  
broken," Scully said. "How's your head?" 
 
Monica hoisted one brow. "Insert punch line here," she said.  
 
Scully rolled her eyes. "I can't imagine why you and Mulder don't  
get along better," she muttered, "considering you share the same  
sense of humor. Really, how is your head?"  
 
"Fine. Really. I've had concussions. This doesn't feel like a  
concussion. This is more like being run over by a tequila  
truck."  
 
"A pleasure I've never had," Scully assured her.  
 
"Shame." Breathing deeply again, Monica found she really was  
feeling better.  
 
"Your x-rays came back clear, but, as I am sure you know, they  
don't always show everything. Lucky we had the portable x-ray  
machines and the power to run them."  
 
"Yeah, lucky," Monica agreed absently as she examined her hands.  
The palms were tender, the heels, bruised. She'd fallen, and  
fallen hard, and had apparently tried to break her fall.  
 
Scully sat carefully on the corner of the cot. "Here, look at  
me," she said, gently taking Reyes' chin in her hand. "Follow my  
finger."  
 
Reyes complied. It didn't hurt, which she took as a good sign.  
 
"Your pupils look better now," Scully said, dropping her hand to  
her lab coat pocket. "They looked like saucers for a while  
there." She pulled out a penlight and pointed. "Look up there."  
 
Reyes looked upward as her friend directed, her mind trying to  
piece together what had happened to her.  
 
Scully clicked the flashlight off. "I think you mostly got the  
wind knocked out of you, but you shouldn't be moving around too  
much," she added. "You'll need to be thoroughly checked out when  
we get back to civilization tomorrow, but in the meantime, I  
think you'll live."  
 
"Comforting words from a pathologist," Monica said.  
 
"Mulder always used to say I sounded so disappointed when I said  
that," Scully said, offering Monica a wry grin and a bottle of  
water. "Drink." 
 
Monica had had enough injuries to know the drill, so she took a  
small trial sip. The tepid liquid went down easily and hit  
bottom with no ill effects, so she did it again. They were in  
the meeting tent, she realized, the one that was open on all four  
sides, and a coolish breeze was blowing through, which meant it  
was probably early evening. A few cots had been brought in, but  
she saw there were very few of them occupied. "Wait - tomorrow?  
What's happening tomorrow?"  
 
"It's been decided it's too dangerous to stay here any longer,  
but tomorrow is apparently the soonest they can get us all out.  
They want us leaving under very heavily armed escort."  
 
"What exactly happened?"  
 
"What do you remember?" Scully asked. 
 
Monica rolled her eyes. "Dana, don't doctor me."  
 
"Under the circumstances, I don't have much choice," Scully  
replied matter-of-factly. "What do you remember?"  
 
"I'm not sure," Monica answered finally. "You and I were  
talking, then I was talking with Irina-"  
 
Scully nodded. "Go on."  
 
"And I talked to DuFour - no, I talked to DuFour first, then to  
Irina. Then Irina and I were going to talk to you." 
 
"You had an envelope with you," Scully said quietly. "You were  
going to talk to ASAC Perez, and you had an envelope-"  
 
Monica nodded. "Right. I dropped it when I was talking to  
DuFour. He told me that Bobby had gone to investigate the ambush,  
right? The ambulances they sent this morning, it wasn't an  
accident, they were ambushed -"  
 
Scully nodded. "Simon told me that's what they suspected." 
 
Monica nodded. "So what happened?"  
 
"An explosion," Scully answered. "Several explosions, in fact. I  
thought we were being shelled at first, but it turned out they  
were just bombs." 
 
"*Just* bombs?" Monica asked.  
 
"Incendiary devices, actually."  
 
"Ah," Monica said. "A little exploding and a lot of burning? How  
many?" 
"Equipment tent, records tent, the morgue trailer, and  
Vetkova's tent."  
 
"I was with Vetkova," Monica said. "Is she okay?"  
 
Scully gave a non-committal shrug. "You went down before her tent  
went up, but she got hit by the full impact of it. We couldn't  
rouse her and we couldn't get any good pictures. I'd  
guess she has a severe concussion at the very least, possibly  
some internal bleeding. She was evaced to Veracruz."  
 
Monica winced. "And it was safe to send her out? What about-"  
 
"Agent Perez and some soldiers accompanied her," Scully  
explained. "They were better prepared this time." 
 
"Bobby came back? What did he find out?"  
 
Scully shrugged. "We didn't exactly have time to chat. He  
stopped by briefly to see if you were okay before he left. And  
Simon told me they were able to call back to the camp and say  
they'd arrived at the hospital." 
 
Monica nodded. "So the comm stuff is working now?"  
 
"No," Scully shook her head. "Not mine, anyway."  
 
"You've tried to call Mulder since all this began?"  
 
Scully nodded. "Still no luck."  
 
Monica nodded. "Were there many other serious injuries?"  
 
Scully shook her head. "You were knocked unconscious, a couple of  
people caught shrapnel, a bunch got hit by flying glass and  
debris, but nothing life threatening. A broken arm, I believe, a  
couple of sprained ankles, but those were mostly from people  
running around in a panic. Most of these people are not field  
agents."  
 
"All those explosions and that's it, casualty-wise? Me, Vetkova,  
and a broken arm?"  
 
"You, Vetkova, a broken arm, and just about every speck of  
useable equipment and evidence."  
 
"Evidence. Right." Monica said. "I put it down on the camp  
table. I forgot it so I was going back. Vetkova grabbed me by the  
arm and -- ouch!" She looked at the spot she'd just touched.  
Angry bruises met her gaze. 
 
"You okay?" Scully asked, peering at Monica's upper arm. 
 
"Bug bite, I guess. Just bruised," Monica replied, intent on  
piecing her story back together. "Okay, so she grabbed me and  
then, um - " Monica closed her eyes tight in concentration. "And  
then - and then nothing," she finished with a frustrated sigh.  
 
"Dr. Scully," a voice called. "Can you come look at this leg? I  
think it might be broken."  
 
"Sure," she replied. "Just let me finish up here."  
 
Scully glanced around before leaning in. She put her index  
finger below Monica's left eye and gently pulled the skin down,  
as if she were examining her. "This probably isn't the best place  
to discuss this, but I was talking to Mulder before all hell  
broke loose." She switched to examining Monica's right eye.  
"His research implicates her as the infiltrator." 
 
"Her? Vetkova her?"  
 
Scully nodded slightly and continued her examination.  
 
Monica pulled back. "I don't think so."  
 
"Excuse me?"  
 
"She told me she and Drew are working on the same side."  
 
"It's not like we haven't suspected Drew's mixed up in this  
somehow."  
 
"No," Monica shook her head. "She told me the people who were  
massacred, the Quetua, are really the Huecha. Those are the same  
people Mulder and John met on that oil rig, right? The ones with  
natural immunity?"  
 
Scully nodded. "Mulder figured that out, too."
"Irina's part of a team working on developing a vaccine."  
 
Scully shrugged. "She very well may be," she answered, palpating  
the glands in Monica's neck for cover. "We know there have been  
several groups working on it for the better part of almost sixty  
years. That doesn't mean her intentions are exactly honorable.  
You know as well as I do that anyone who can develop and control  
this vaccine can essentially rule the world."  
 
"I know," Monica said, "and Irina said the same thing."  
 
"Misdirection," Scully suggested. "That's how I'd do it."  
 
"I don't think so." Monica sighed. "She told me Drew's with  
Interpol-"  
 
"Interpol?"  
 
Monica nodded. "He's involved in an internal investigation at  
Scotland Yard. Drew's apparently one of the good guys." 
 
Scully seemed to consider this. "That doesn't quite track," she  
said at last. "Considering he's missing and has been since before  
these bombings began, and by his reaction to- "  
 
"I know, I know," Monica said. "But she claims she's one of the  
good guys too," Monica continued. "She knows a lot about the X- 
Files, Dana, a lot about you and Mulder, a lot about-"  
 
"That information isn't hard to come by if you know where to  
look," Scully said, "or if you're trying to build up a nice thick  
layer of protective coloration."  
 
Monica paused. Everything Scully said made sense. And yet, she  
couldn't get over the feeling that they were missing the big  
picture, somehow. Vetkova was telling the truth, or at least  
what she understood to be the truth; Monica was certain of that.  
But how could she explain to Scully what her gut just knew.  
"She's got a chip," Monica whispered finally.  
 
Scully's eyes widened. "A what?"  
 
"Like yours. A chip."  
 
Scully stopped even the pretense of an exam, and swallowed hard.  
She looked flustered, Monica noted, but only for the briefest  
second before she recovered her composure. "I wasn't under any  
illusions that I was the only person in the world with one," she  
said evenly.  
 
"Neither am I," Monica answered. "But-"  
 
"It doesn't mean anything," Scully interrupted. "That doesn't  
make her any more or less likely to be telling the truth."  
 
"I know, but it makes her more likely to be invested one way or  
the other, don't you think?"  
 
"Monica-"  
 
"No," Monica interrupted. "She said she had proof. Tangible  
proof. Proof she could show me."  
 
"Proof that conveniently got blown to bits?"  
 
Monica sighed, feeling suddenly deflated. "I don't know. She  
said she would show me. She said - oh!"  
 
"Oh?"  
 
"The egg," Monica explained. "The toy she gave you for William.  
She asked me if you had it. I said yes, and she said then she  
could show me the proof. I think there must be a connection. Do  
you have it on you?"  
 
Scully shook her head. "No."  
 
"Did it get blown up?"  
 
"No," Scully said, "but -"  
 
"There's something about it, Dana, something important. We have  
to examine it, figure out-"  
 
"Monica, think about it. It's probably another bomb."  
 
"Wouldn't it have gone off when the others did? If the idea was  
to do you some harm, wouldn't it have exploded?"  
 
Scully shrugged. "Maybe it was designed not to. Maybe it's just  
sitting there waiting for someone to touch it or drop it or look  
at it the wrong way. " She swallowed hard. "Maybe the whole  
idea was to kill my son."  
 
Monica closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's not," she  
finally said. "Irina was giving it to you for safekeeping. I  
can't explain how I know it, but I know it."  
 
Scully stood. "You need to rest, Monica."  
 
"Where is it, Dana?"  
 
Scully shook her head. "It's too dangerous."  
 
"Is it still in the camp?" Monica asked. When Scully didn't  
answer, she went on. "If it's a bomb, and it's still in the camp,  
then by your own argument, we're all in danger. Doing nothing is  
worse than at least getting it well out of the camp."  
 
Scully hesitated. "But -"  
 
"But nothing," Monica said, seeing her opening. "You know I'm  
right."  
 
"Doctor Scully, please," a plaintive voice called, "are you  
almost done? There's a piece of glass or something in this  
wound."  
 
"Just finishing up," Scully answered.  
 
"Dana-"  
 
Scully looked at her. "The work tent we were in today," she said  
quietly. "Number four metal cylinders, on the third shelf. It's  
sealed. Get it out of the camp."  
 
Monica nodded.  
 
Then a little louder, Scully said, "Well, I'd say you're good to  
go, Monica. Lieutenant Currie," she called to the corpsman  
who'd been assigned to help out in the casualty tent, "can we  
spare a couple of T3s for Agent Reyes?" 
 
"Yes ma'am," came the reply.  
 
"I'll give you a couple of pain pills, you can take them if the  
ribs are bothering you when you're ready for bed. I suggest you  
go back to the tent and pack for the trip home in the morning."  
 
Monica stood, steadied herself, willed herself not to wince when  
her ribs twinged. "I'll do that," she said.  
 
:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~: 
 
Two hours later, having examined what seemed like every cut,  
scrape, and twisted ankle in the western hemisphere, Scully made  
her exhausted way back to their tent. She was ready for some  
food, a tepid shower, and about 48 hours continuous sleep, which,  
she thought, was starting to sound more like her motto than her  
desire. Instead, she found Monica with a boot raised over her  
head, with her intended target, the pysanky egg keyring, on the  
ground in front of her.  
 
"Monica!"  
 
Her assault interrupted, Monica looked up. "What?"  
 
"'What!?'" Scully said. "Have you lost your mind?"  
 
Monica shrugged. "It's possible."  
 
"You said you were going to get that thing out of the camp,"  
Scully admonished. "What the hell are you thinking?"  
 
Monica scooped up the keyring and dropped down on to her cot,  
glaring at the object in her hand. "I've been abusing this thing  
for - " she glanced at her watch "- well over an hour. If it was  
going to do anything really interesting, I think it would have  
done it by now."  
 
Scully felt herself gape at her friend. "Just how the hell hard  
did you hit your head?" she asked.  
 
Monica shrugged again. "There's something in here, Dana," she  
said. She held keyring to her ear and shook it.  
 
Despite herself, Scully flinched.  
 
Oblivious to Scully's discomfort, Monica clarified, "It's some  
kind of liquid." 
 
"Liquid explosive, maybe? For God's sake, I thought we  
established that that thing was dangerous and that we had to get  
it out of here."  
 
"We did," Monica agreed. "Sort of."  
 
Scully regularly found Monica frustrating, but she was beginning  
to think there was some sort of competition Monica was enrolled  
in, and her friend had decided she was flat-out going for the  
gold. "Sort of? What do you mean, sort of?"  
 
Monica looked up. "Shhhh. Keep your voice down. You have your  
flashlight? Come look at this," she said, gesturing to the  
bruise on her arm.  
 
Scully pulled the penlight from her pocket and peered at the spot  
on Monica's biceps. "What am I looking at?"  
 
"I thought it was a bug bite, but since the swelling's started  
going down, it looks more like it was made by a needle." 
 
Monica hissed as Scully probed the area. The skin around the  
injection site was mottled purple and blue, but clearly, it -was-  
an injection site. And a botched one, at that. "You're right,"  
she agreed.  
 
"A corpsman would have done a better job of giving a shot than  
this, right? Or one of the med techs?"  
 
Scully nodded as she sat. "William would have done a better job  
of it."  
 
"So Vetkova must have done it," Monica concluded. "When she  
grabbed my arm, somehow, Vetkova must have drugged me."  
 
"I guess that makes sense."  
 
Monica let out a long sigh. "Only, really, no, it doesn't make  
any sense. I mean, if she drugged me, why?"  
 
"To get you out of the way, I assume."  
 
"Out of the way of what, though?" Monica questioned. "If she  
knew her tent was going to explode and she wanted me gone,  
wouldn't she have been better off just letting me walk back into  
it?"  
 
"Not if she didn't want you hurt," Scully countered. "Maybe, for  
some reason, she was trying to keep you out of harm's way."  
 
"But if she didn't want to hurt me, why drug me? Why not just  
say, 'Hey Monica, don't go back in there, that's one of those  
tents that likes to blow up'?" 
 
Scully considered the possibilities. "Maybe -- maybe she didn't  
know it was going to blow up," she said. "Maybe the two are  
unrelated. Maybe she was planning to drug you, say you'd fainted  
or fallen or something, and the tent blowing up was  
coincidental."  
 
Monica's brows rose. "I thought we didn't believe in  
coincidences?"  
 
Scully let out a long breath. "We don't," she said, massaging  
the back of her neck. "At the moment, however, that's all I  
have."  
 
Monica looked down at the intricately decorated keyring in her  
palm. "I wish I knew what the hell was going on around here."  
 
"Honestly," Scully said, "I am very, very rapidly losing interest.  
I just want to go home, spend some time with Mulder and William,  
and take a long, hot bath or two."  
 
Monica sighed. "That bath part sounds pretty good."  
 
"Doesn't it?" Scully held out her hand, palm up. "In the  
meantime, we have to get that thing out of camp, Monica."  
 
Monica nodded. "You're right." She handed it over and began  
putting her boot back on.  
 
"I am," she agreed and slipped it in her pocket.  
 
"Hello?" A voice called softly from outside their tent. "Agent  
Scully, Monica?"  
 
"Hey Bobby," Monica called. "Come in."  
 
"How you doing, Monica?" Bobby asked as entered and resealed the  
tent flap. "Agent Scully here told me you got banged up pretty  
good."  
 
"Nah," she answered. "You should see the other guy."  
 
"I was under the impression the other guy was a bomb," he said.  
 
"It was." Monica gestured for him to sit in the camp chair  
opposite. "What's your point?"  
 
Perez chuckled as he sat. "Good to see your sparkling wit  
survived intact."  
 
"Good to see you survived at all," Monica said. "How'd the  
investigation go?"  
 
Perez shrugged. "It wasn't much of an investigation. It was  
definitely an ambush. There were charges set in the road meant to  
act as landmines - hell, they might actually have been landmines,  
but no kind of landmines I've ever seen - but who or why, that I  
can't tell you from looking at a bunch of craters in a road." 
 
"Was the site looted?" Scully asked.  
 
"Med supplies were taken," Perez explained, "and the guns and  
ammo, of course. Beyond that, there wasn't much to see but a lot  
of twisted metal, a lot of flies and a lot of blood. It wasn't  
pretty."  
 
"Did you have any trouble getting Dr. Vetkova through?" Scully  
asked.  
 
Perez shook his head. "No. They'd sent a unit ahead to look for  
any more booby-traps, but the rest of the road was clear. Which  
is something, I guess."  
 
"How is Irina?" Monica asked. 
 
Perez sighed. "Massive trauma to the chest and abdomen,  
concussion, broken leg, a bunch of medical stuff I didn't quite  
catch. The prognosis, from what I understood, is not great." 
 
Scully nodded. Perez's recitation of the diagnosis matched what  
she'd gathered from the med techs and corpsmen who'd worked on  
Vetkova in the camp.  
 
Perez continued. "She regained consciousness briefly in the  
ambulance, then again briefly at the hospital before they took  
her into surgery. Which, in part, is why I'm here."  
 
"How's that?" Monica asked.  
 
"Both times," he explained, "she asked for you two by name."  
 
"She did?" Monica asked, her surprise sounding genuine.  
 
"Yes she did."  
 
"Maybe she was just disoriented," Scully suggested. "She'd been  
with Monica right before the explosions began, and they had been  
coming to speak to me."  
 
"I don't think so," Perez said. "She didn't say much of  
anything, granted, but the impression I got was that she had  
something important she wanted to talk to you two about.  
Something urgent. So, with that in mind, I've come to ask you two  
to come back to the hospital with me. "  
 
"But-" Monica began her objection. 
 
"I've already cleared it with DuFour and Castillo, and they both  
think it's a good idea, " he assured. "We've got an armored  
vehicle, two specially trained soldiers and a driver going with  
us. The route is as secure as it can be. And I can get you both  
body armor if you want it. In fact, scratch that, I'm getting  
you both body armor."  
 
"You said she was in surgery, though." Scully said. "Considering  
her injuries, she's likely to be in there for hours." 
 
"True," he said. "But given the fact that she was the only one  
who had her tent blown up, she might have some information that  
we could use. That we need. Since you two are the people she  
wants to talk to, I'd like to make that was easy as possible for  
her."  
 
"Agent Perez -" Scully began. 
 
"Please, call me Bobby."  
 
"Bobby then, we're supposed to ship out tomorrow," Scully said.  
"I have a family to get home to and it could be days before Dr  
Vetkova is fully conscious again."  
 
"We're hoping that isn't the case," he answered. "The doctors  
treating her didn't think it would be. Either way, we'll fly you  
home at the Bureau's expense in forty-eight hours. How's that?"  
 
"First class?" Monica asked.  
 
"Business," he countered.  
 
"Monica was injured in the explosion, too, " Scully reminded  
them. "It's probably best if she takes it easy."  
 
"We'll put you up someplace decent in Veracruz," Perez said.  
"More than decent. Someplace where the beds don't need inflating.  
And if anything should go wrong, well, you'll be closer to the  
hospital, won't you?"  
 
Monica dry scrubbed her face. "You really think she can tell us  
something vital?" she asked.  
 
"I really do," Perez replied. "I don't want to order you, and I  
won't, but I'd really appreciate you both helping us out on  
this."  
 
Monica turned to Scully. "What do you think?"  
 
What did she think? Scully was so tired she wasn't sure she  
could think anymore. "I think anything that gets me one step  
closer to my own bed and my own bathtub is probably a good  
thing," she said. "I'm in."  
 
"We're in," Monica said.  
 
Perez smiled. "Terrific," he said, rising to his feet. "Pack  
your gear, since we won't be coming back."  
 
"Right," Monica agreed. 
 
"Our ride is up behind the mess tent," he said, unzipping the  
flap again. "And, oh, we should probably keep this quiet," he  
added. "People are jumpy enough around here without them getting  
some notion the rats are deserting the ship. See you shortly."  
 
******* 
 
Every time she wore it, Scully was reminded that, no matter what  
the manufacturers claimed, body armor had not been designed with  
the female physique in mind. Sandwiched between a sweaty slab of  
granite cleverly disguised as a UN peacekeeper on one side of  
her, and a sweaty Monica, in her own Kevlar straitjacket and with  
her own side-of-beef bookend on the other, Scully decided she  
was at least as uncomfortable as she'd ever been in any dark,  
fully-clothed, non-life threatening situation.  
 
"How you doing back there?" Perez called over his left shoulder.  
 
"Swell," Monica answered. "We're just about fully marinated."  
 
"Damned thing doesn't have any air conditioning," he said,  
stating the all-too-obvious. "Think we should ask for a refund at  
the rental desk?" 
 
The soldier next to Scully shifted in his seat, the movement  
underscoring how tightly the four of them were packed in. Scully  
tried to shift herself, but it was almost impossible, and she  
found she was pushed even closer to her friend. She and Monica  
exchanged a look, the same one, she thought, that the sardines  
probably exchanged as they went into the can.  
 
"I've been wondering about something, Monica," Perez said a few  
moments later. "You said you and Vetkova were heading to talk  
to Agent Scully just before the explosions?"  
 
"Right."  
 
"What were you going to talk to her about?"  
 
Monica was silent a moment. "Is this something we can discuss in  
mixed company?"  
 
Perez nodded. "Absolutely."  
 
"Oh. Okay, well, Irina had some theories about the missing  
evidence," she said. "About who might have been taking things,  
destroying things, like you and I had discussed. She wanted to  
discuss it with Dana." 
 
"Did she?" he responded. "Do you know who she suspected?"  
 
"She floated a couple of possibilities past me," Monica hedged.  
 
"Like who?" 
 
"Well," Monica hesitated, "Dr. DuFour, for one."  
 
"DuFour? You're kidding."  
 
"Nope."  
 
"Did she say why she suspected him?"  
 
Monica shook her head. "No. I think maybe that was what she  
wanted to discuss with Dana."  
 
"Interesting." 
 
The soldier next to Scully shifted again. She was about to  
explain to him, in no uncertain terms, that no one over the age  
of two was allowed to sit in her lap without an engraved  
invitation, when Perez addressed her. "You have any theories,  
Agent Scully?"  
 
"About Dr. DuFour? No."  
 
"About the sabotage," he corrected. "About who might be behind  
it."  
 
"I don't have a lot of data to go on," she began. "There are  
forty-odd people in the camp, plus civilians, soldiers -"  
 
"But if you had to hazard a guess?"  
 
Scully didn't like hypothesizing ahead of evidence. And she  
didn't like discussing this matter in, as Monica had put it,  
mixed company. From what Monica had said, Bobby suspected simple  
sabotage. He didn't know the connection between the Qetual and  
the Huecha they'd made, or the significance of the Huecha in the  
work she and Mulder were involved in. But, then again, she and  
Monica had been about to bring Bobby into the inner circle when  
all hell broke loose. And Monica trusted Bobby implicitly, which  
was good enough for her. "If I had to hazard a guess, I'd have  
two contenders. Dr. Ng-"  
 
"Who?"  
 
"Drew Ng," Monica supplied. "He's from Australia but he's  
working with Scotland Yard."  
 
"Ah, right, I think I know who you mean," Perez said. "And who's  
your other candidate?" 
 
"Vetkova," Scully answered. 

"Really?" Perez half-turned in his seat. "Isn't that interesting," he 
said.  
 
"Interesting how?" Monica asked.  
 
The soldier moved again, effectively pinning Scully's arms to her  
sides. 
 
"Well," he said, "for what it's worth, I'm pretty damned sure  
it's not DuFour, Monica. And, Agent Scully, I'm pretty damned  
sure it's not Ng or Vetkova, either." 
 
"Why are you so sure?" Monica asked.  
 
In unison, the soldiers flanking Scully and Monica moved. Before  
she could tell this guy to get off of her once and for all,  
Scully felt a sharp stinging pain in her thigh.  
 
"Ow!" Monica yelped beside her. "What the fuck?"  
 
"Monie, honey, I'm pretty damned sure the Qetual infiltrator  
everyone's been looking for isn't one of those three," Perez said  
just as Scully tasted metal in the back of her throat and was  
slammed with sudden, debilitating dizziness, "because I'm pretty  
damned sure it's me."  
 
:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~: 
 
Monica decided that if they ever got around to holding a  
referendum, she was going to vote a great big 'no' to waking up  
dazed, drugged, and disoriented more than once every twenty-four  
hours. Clearly, she thought as she came uneasily to  
consciousness, it was becoming an issue of great personal  
importance.  
 
"Monica?" she heard Dana's familiar voice coming from somewhere  
to her left. 
 
Monica opened her eyes, and saw nothing in the blankness but the  
thinnest slice of light under what had to be a door. "Um, yeah?"  
 
"I don't want to tell you how to live your life," Dana said, "but  
if I were you, I'd be crossing Agent Perez off my Christmas card  
list right about now."  
 
Monica sighed. "I will definitely take that under consideration,"  
she replied. There was nothing particularly surprising about  
realizing she was bound hand and foot in a hard metal chair.  
Disturbing, yes, but surprising, no. "First, though, I think I  
might want to shoot that son of a bitch in the head, but then,  
yes, you're right, no more Christmas cards."  
 
"Excellent plan. So how are you feeling?"  
 
"Like a second tequila truck came by," she said. "And maybe a  
third. How long, um, how long have I been out of it?"  
 
"Not sure," Scully replied. "I'd estimate about a half an hour  
longer than I was, but counting heartbeats can be an unreliable  
method of telling time under the best of circumstances, and these  
particular circumstances."  
 
"Yeah, I'm getting that." Monica looked around, or tried to at  
least. With no light to speak of it was difficult for her to get  
any sense of where they were being held. She hated being in the  
dark like this, unable to see the walls or ceiling or even the  
floor. She could be anywhere, from a gigantic enclosed stadium  
twenty-five school buses long to a box no bigger than -  
 
She took a deep breath. No need to go there, she assured  
herself. None at all. "Do you have any idea where we are?"  
 
"You mean beyond literally and metaphorically in the dark?" Dana  
asked. 
 
Monica levered herself up, trying to find a more comfortable  
position, one that would make it easier to expand her lungs. The  
motion set her head spinning, though, and for a moment she  
thought she was going to throw up. "Yes," she said after one  
then two long, slow breaths, "beyond that."  
 
"Mexico," Dana said. "Beyond that, I've got nothing."  
 
"Great." Monica twisted her arms one way, then another, the way  
she'd been taught, hoping to loosen the ropes holding her arms  
snugly behind her back. Focus, she thought. Focus on this task,  
focus on getting free, focus - "Whoever tied those knew what he  
was doing," Scully said. "Save your wrists, Monica. We might  
need them." 
 
Monica gave the rope another sharp twist, getting nothing but a  
warm trickle of blood down her palms for her trouble. "Shit,"  
she snarled, giving one final, futile tug at her restraints.  
 
"Yeah, that just about sums it up, " Scully agreed. Panicking  
wouldn't do any good, Monica knew. It would actually do a lot  
more harm than good, and she knew that, too. Oblivious to these  
facts, her body was under the impression a full-blown panic  
attack was a terrific idea, and was preparing accordingly. Deep,  
rhythmic breathing, she thought, fighting down the fluttery  
feeling of terror squeezing her lungs like a vise. In through  
the nose, out through the mouth. Slow, steady breaths.  
 
"Monica?"  
 
"I'm good," she answered the unspoken part of her friend's  
question. "Just a little, a little claustrophobic. But I'm okay.  
Really."  
 
"You sure?" 
 
Monica nodded, then realized Scully couldn't see her. "Yeah." 
 
"I got stuck in an elevator during a blackout once," Scully said  
after a moment. "All by myself. Longest half hour of my life."  
She paused. "Well, until today, at least."  
 
Monica chuckled, grateful for Dana's attempt, however lame, to  
lighten the mood. "So," she said, eager to change the subject,  
"in the extra half-hour of lucidity you've enjoyed, have you been  
able to figure out what the hell is going on?"  
 
"Not a clue," Scully replied. "Your buddy Agent Perez claims to  
be the infiltrator-"  
 
Monica winced. "So I didn't dream that?"  
 
"Afraid not," Scully answered. "He claims to be the infiltrator,  
but why he's involved, how he's involved - no matter which way I  
work it, it doesn't make any sense."  
 
"He must - he must think we have something or know something or,  
or think we can be traded for something." Monica said.  
 
"I guess he must," Scully said, none too helpfully. Monica  
didn't want her friend's agreement; she wanted some answers.  
There wasn't any particular reason why Scully should have those  
answers, but Monica wanted her to, just the same.  
 
"Well, do we?"  
 
"Do we what?" Scully asked. "Know something? Have something? We  
might. If we had some idea what the subject was, that might make  
things a little clearer. As far as trading us, I don't know. I  
guess. Maybe."  
 
Monica frowned in concentration. "I guess it depends who he'd  
want to trade with and what he'd want in return."  
 
"Which takes us back to -" Scully began, but the sudden thrum of  
quick footsteps and raised voices outside the room caught her  
attention. "Looks like someone's figured out you're awake," she  
whispered. "And they don't sound too happy about it. Can you  
tell what they're saying?"  
 
Monica strained to listen. Three voices, she thought, all  
muffled, all male, one of them angry, the other two calmer,  
conciliatory. Someone was mad, two someones were catching hell  
because of that. The voices grew louder and more distinct as  
they drew nearer. "I don't think that's Spanish," she said,  
puzzled. The voices grew louder still, until shadows breaking  
up the strip of light under the door told her their captors were  
right outside. "No, definitely not Spanish. I don't know what  
the hell that is."  
 
Scully sighed. "Another mystery. Just what we need."  
 
"No," Monica said, mentally shoving away the panic that was  
threatening again and doing her best to focus on something - anything  
- other than the terror that was trying to 
engulf her. "We need a plan. A plan. Quick, Dana, God, we need  
a plan."  
 
"No need, " Scully replied, entirely too calmly. "We've already  
got a plan."  
 
"We do?"  
 
"Yes," Scully said. The discussion in the hallway had stopped.  
Metal scraped metal as one lock then two tumbled open. "We get  
through this alive."  
 
:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

End part 1/2