'I know what it is to feel lonely and helpless and to have the whole world against me, and those are things that no men or women ought to feel.' Richard Hannay, The 39 Steps (1935)

'HE'S ONLY GOT ONE ARM!' Lord Percy Percy, Blackadder II

Sunday evening, somewhere in the Mediterranean

It was evening. Usually the light from the slit windows of the simple chapel barely lifted the warm gloom, but today the red stone of the walls were thrown into a confusion of stark illumination and shadows. Someone had set up an arc-light in the courtyard outside. In the chapel, through the vaulted halls, men with torches moved with the efficiency of long practice, continuing the search for evidence and information. A helicopter clattered overhead, its searchlight filling the room with blinding radiance for a fraction of a second before passing to carry out another sweep of the surrounding sea.

'Anything?' the man called Leithen asked. His stance, rather than his voice betrayed his tension.

The black clad man beside him shrugged. In his anonymous black kevlar he might have been an agent from any agency on a covert mission, except that few such men carried swords strapped across their backs as well as guns. 'There's nothing, my lord. From the infrared traces they've been gone for at least eight hours. They must have abandoned this place as soon as they learned of Anne's death.'

'Eight hours behind them,' Leithen said, in a low, bitter voice. 'After eight, long centuries. How could they have found out? We should have had them here.'

The first man in black shook his head. 'There was a mobile on Anne's body. She must have called Gilles when she was trapped in the alley. Or else she used Mulder's. Both lines were secured from us. We couldn't have traced either.'

Leithen looked around, taking in the altar, the bare furnishings, the burned down candles that lined the room in great sconces. 'They can't have taken everything in so short a time. Find what you can. Find out where they've gone.'

'And then, Lord Leithen? Should we destroy the keep?'

'No. We're too close to the Turkish coast and the disputed Cypriot territories. We don't want to cause an international incident. We'll leave a guard here, but I doubt they'll return.'

'As you will, lord.'

'For now, keep searching. Find out what you can. Take this place apart stone by stone if you have to. That's all.'

He left the room and climbed the narrow steps that led to the top of keep's tower. The island was remote, otherwise they would have found it before. Here and only here was the reception good enough for him to use his cellphone. The evening was cool, but not cold, even in this high place. He dialled a familiar number, and looked out grimly on the distant Syrian hills, as Georgia had just days before.

'Clanroyden,' the voice at the other end of the connection said. There was static, but the signal was clear enough for their conversation.

'They've gone,' Leithen growled.

'That was always a possibility,' Clanroyden said. He did not sound particularly surprised.

'Do you still have people on Mulder?' Leithen asked.

'Of course.'

'Following him?'

'Mulder's spent half his life looking over his shoulder. The only way to track him down is to get someone ahead of him.'

'You overcomplicate things, Clanroyden,' Leithen said. His voice was still tinged with his bitterness at losing his quarry.

'It's under control. Trust me.'

'Where is he?' Leithen asked.

'Now? On a plane over the Atlantic, if he hasn't landed already. He was on his way to England with Pierson. They've managed to track down John of Tours.'

'John of Tours?' Leithen demanded. 'How? To what end?'

'As to how, Pierson has friends in the Watchers. Why? Because John knew Gilles well, and has reason to fear him and therefore reason to know where he is.'

'Mulder's found out a lot,' Leithen growled. 'I don't think I like that. Why didn't we go to John of Tours?'

'After the business in 1310 he's always refused to co-operate with us. Besides, our agreement was that we'd leave him alone.'

'We should have killed him,' Leithen said, with certainty.

'It's lucky that we didn't,' Clanroyden disagreed. 'He may yet give us Gilles.'

'Call me when you have more news,' Leithen said.

'I'll call you tomorrow. Events are already in motion.'

'You'd better be right,' Leithen growled. 'There's nothing here that we didn't have already. If we've lost them again after getting so close...'

'Be patient,' Clanroyden said. 'I can guarantee, there'll be news very soon.'

It was a cavernous, darkened room, in another high tower, far away. Georgia sat alone on a decaying velvet couch and watched a videotape play on a monitor before her. The monitor stood on an ancient, heavy oak table. A bank of surveillance monitors and computers were lined up alongside it, erected in a hasty nest of wires and duct tape. The video was grainy, the more so for being watched half a hundred times. On the tiny, flickering screen Jacques Lemarchand sat stretched out on the leather sofa, grinning drunkenly at the blonde woman who faced him. Georgia watched the tape with sadness in her eyes. Anne of Kirrin had been her companion, if not her friend, for more than eight hundred years.

'Lookin' for Methos?' Lemarchand slurred. 'Yeah, maybe I heard something.'

On the screen Anne smiled encouragingly and laid a hand on his knee. She said something that was not caught on the tape. Lemarchand's grin widened.

'Back 'bout seventeen, eighteen years ago now. Up north somewhere. You sure you don't want to get a little more comfortable, baby?'

Anne leant back a little, saying something, laughing seductively. Lemarchand leant in towards her, speaking quickly and intently.

'I couldn't give you a name, baby, but I felt his buzz. I met a guy once, he was more than two thousand years old, but this felt a hell of a lot stronger than that. This guy was old, could have been the oldest.'

Anne spoke again. Lemarchand shook his head vehemently. 'Like I said, baby, couldn't give you a name, couldn't tell you what he looked like. There were a few of us there. Could've been any of them. It was Drake's idea. Place was supposed to be a refuge. Hidin' place, no swords, no game. I was experimenting with a few things while I was there, recreational substances, if you know what I mean. So some of the time I was just a little bit out of things. You understand...?'

Anne leant very close to Lemarchand now, as if to whisper in his ear.

'You want to know about all of them, baby?' Lemarchand said. 'Well sure, but it's going to take some time for me to remember. Lessee. There was Arch Drake, of course. He's something big in France now. Saw him in the papers a while back. Then there was a kid called Donnelley, from Boston. He headed off after a couple of months. Girl called herself Sunflower. Redburg, I think her name was. Stupid bitch sent me a postcard from San Francisco, guess that might be where she's at now. Some punk kid called Adam something. A Brit I think he was, could've been called Pearce, something like that. Didn't like him, arrogant son of a bitch. Hung around with this kid, called himself Fox. Real name could've been anything. He was only there a few days, then he and Pearce headed off together. Then there was a chick called Saffron. she and I got very friendly. She was there with some loser called Herb Jenks from down in New England somewhere...'

'Lady Georgia,' a voice interrupted, and Georgia turned abruptly from her viewing of the tape.

'My Lord Gilles. I'm sorry. Was I keeping you awake?'

'Why are you watching this, Georgia?' Gilles asked. As usual, his face betrayed nothing.

On screen Lemarchand continued to drunkenly reel off the names. 'Max Donnelley. I said him already. Bunch of Jewish kids in New York, couldn't get out to the real thing in California. Redburg I already gave you. Silver, that's another one. Rosen, his father was some kinda lawyer, came and bailed the kid out when the camp got busted...'

Georgia pushed the mute button and Lemarchand and his companion continued their conversation silently.

'I'm watching in case there's something here I've missed, my Lord. Poor Anne. She was like a sister to me.'

Gilles lay a hand briefly on her hair, a gesture which Georgia absently supposed was meant to be comforting. 'Her sacrifice will be worthwhile,' he said. 'Do not doubt that, Georgia. I know that sometimes it is not easy to have faith.'

Georgia shook her head. 'Not an easy thing at all. Methos is gone and now we will never find him. The Cabal arms itself against us. This time they will not rest until such time as they have hunted us down. The keep in Cyprus is already taken. We have no leads, no advantages.'

'We still have the virus,' Gilles disagreed. 'If the time comes and we do not have Methos, we will use it nonetheless. But I think we will have Methos by then.'

'But should we not postpone our efforts, lord?' Georgia protested. 'We have so little time, and the date of the established Millennium is three years away. It would give us enough time to regroup, to establish a new base, to find Methos again...'

'No.' Gilles said. His face grew stern. 'We do not have that time. The true Millennium will be in days. Two thousand years before that time the Star of Bethlehem shone over the East, the conjunction of the constellation Leo, the sign of the house of Judah, the star Regulus and the king planet Jupiter. Two thousand years before that time the Christ was born on this earth. We will not wait for some date of human devising, Georgia. Do not dare speak to me of this again.' He smiled then, and took her face in his hands. 'Georgia, I will have faith for us both. The Lord will give us what we seek. Trust in Him.'

'Yes, Lord,' Georgia said. She bowed her head.

'Will you be well here this evening, on your own?'

For the first time Georgia realised that he had not come to her alone. In the corridor outside both Julian and Richard waited, both dressed in dark trenchcoats, both ready to leave.

'On my own?' she asked. 'I don't understand.'

'The Lord has provided, Georgia,' Gilles said. 'I'm returning to England with Richard and Julian. There's a matter I must attend to there. There's an old, old friend we have to visit, and it's a visit long overdue. But we have only bare hours to reach him, even with the helicopter we must make haste.'

'Then I will not delay you, Lord Gilles,' Georgia said, her mind racing. 'When will you return?'

'Tomorrow, no later. Spend that time readying one of the cells. We may well bring a guest back with us.'

'Then God speed, Lord,' Georgia said. She kept her face serene, as she had learned through centuries of bitter experience, but as she watched the three men leave she felt the seeds of a new unease begin to grow within her.

Monday Morning, Vale of the White Horse, Oxfordshire, England

Mulder slept late, and found himself alone in bed when he finally wakened. For the sake of propriety he and Adam had booked two rooms in the farmhouse where they were staying, just a mile or so from their final destination. The landlady was a bone thin woman with short, untidy, grey hair. She clearly wasn't fooled, but appeared to be operating on a 'don't ask, don't tell' basis, at least as long as two rooms were being paid for.

As it happened, there hadn't been anything to tell about. After the seven hour flight, the drive to Oxfordshire had left Mulder good for very little. Driving on the left was a skill that he'd happily abandoned after his Oxford days, together with making cheese on toast and pretending to enjoy Pink Floyd. And there were more motorways now, including something called the M25 London orbital which, Mulder had decided after an hour of nose to tail traffic, probably qualified as an extra circle of hell all by itself.

But that was behind him now. Mulder turned over comfortably and nestled further beneath the warm quilts. Outside, rain lashed fitfully against the window. The sound was perennially English. So too was the pale light shining through too-thin chintz curtains, the sound of wood-pigeons outside and a church bell ringing the half hour somewhere in the distance. The noises were reminiscent of the comfortable years he had spent here, thousands of miles away from the dreary duties and responsibilities of life in the Mulder household, and for a little while they lulled him back to a comfortable half sleep.

When he woke again the travel alarm beside him read 8am, although, he realised belatedly, the alarm had been turned off. Adam had probably gone back to his own room for the sake of appearances, he decided sleepily, or gone for a shower. For a little while he even tried to go to sleep again, but both the urgency of their task and Adam's continued absence nagged at him. Finally, eventually, he dragged himself out of bed, pulled on some clothes, ran a hand through his sleep-spiked hair and knocked at Adam's door.

But Adam wasn't in his room. Mulder showered quickly and made his way down to the dining room. The room had a long wooden table down the centre, and was heavily decorated with china plates and brightly polished brassware. The noise and smell of frying pervaded the air.

'Would you like the full English breakfast, dear?' the landlady enquired brightly, as Mulder sat at the table and looked around in sleepy bemusement.

'The full English breakfast?' Mulder asked. While a student here he had rarely bothered with breakfast. Or even being awake for it, most of the time.

'We start with grapefruit segments and cereal, then it's fried eggs, sausages, bacon, fried bread, fried mushrooms, fried tomatoes, then toast and butter and marmalade.'

Even Mulder flinched at the thought of beginning his day with this massive cholesterol overdose. 'I think I'll pass, thanks.'

His landlady looked at him mournfully. Mulder searched his mind for an alternative. 'Do you have any English muffins?'

'Any what, dear?'

'English muffins.'

'Oh! Like the ones at MacDonalds? Sorry dear. Not much call for them here. I could make you some pancakes if you wanted.'

'Could I just have some black coffee?'

She looked at him sorrowfully. 'Well, if you're sure. I must say, your friend had more of an appetite than you.'

'Adam's already been down?' Mulder asked.

'Oh yes. He said he didn't want to wake you. He was up first thing. I think he went out for a walk about an hour ago.'

'Where did he go?' Mulder asked, feeling the first real edge of worry.

'Just for a walk, he said. He said he was interested in the old Lincoln place. We get a lot of archaeologists around here.'

'The Lincoln place. Didn't that used to be a church?'

'That's the one, dear. Are you an archaeologist too?'

The feeling that something was wrong grew stronger. 'You say he left an hour ago?'

'Well yes, dear. After that storm yesterday evening I told him he should have taken more than that old trenchcoat of his, but he wouldn't listen.'

'There was a storm?' Mulder said

'Yes, just an hour or so before you arrived. It was very peculiar. They didn't have it in Faringdon, and that's only two miles away. Of course, you get some funny weather on these hills. Now it was coffee you wanted wasn't it, Mr Mulder? Mr Mulder?'

The Oxfordshire hills rolled away into the distance, old and worn to gentleness. The fields that surrounded him were planted with young green crops, or grazed by sheep, but they were also dotted with low green mounds that had never been ploughed. Barrows, the graves of men older than Methos, lay scattered across the fields and hills, commonplace and unremarked. And high and proud on a distant hillside, beneath the grey and gathering clouds, stood the image of a long, stylised white horse, carved into the chalk hillside thousands of years before.

'A pale horse,' Mulder thought to himself, and that apocalyptic symbol seemed an ill enough omen that he walked faster along the worn chalk path. The wind that blew was cold, cold enough to justify an overcoat. It rippled through the high grass to either side of him, already silvering, dotted with orchids. The late spring sun, shining intermittently through gaps in the clouds, only barely had heat in it. Somewhere, very nearby, a skylark rose in song. The wind through the young wheat was the only other noise, soft and continuous, like the sea.

Ahead of him the path joined a wider chalk track, rutted and uneven. The church that Joe had spoken of lay at its end. Once, maybe, there had been a hamlet here, but now the church was all that remained, gaunt and alone among the fields, abandoned like the barrows around it. Mulder walked closer, cautiously, but all stood silent and unmoving. There was a great wooden door at the front of the building, but it was padlocked closed. It had an incongruous letterbox, but that was the only sign of habitation. Mulder moved quietly around to the back of the church, following a narrow chalk path through the thick grass.

From this side, the building looked long abandoned. A old car stood at the far end of the church, wet with dew, one of the doors still open. The leaded windows of the church were cracked and gapped; the car's windows were all broken too. It was not until broken glass crunched under Mulder's shoes that he realised that the damage was very recent. He felt himself grow cold. He looked down, and almost directly beneath him saw a dark stain on the white, rutted chalk of the track, dark but still shockingly red. A little further away, there was another bloodstain, then another.

The fear grew within him, like a thing alive, eating at him. Adam. Where in God's name was Adam?

*The storm was last night.* he told himself, to allay his first desperate fear, that Adam was lying beheaded somewhere nearby. *Before we came. It couldn't have been him. It couldn't have been him.* But he knew that this killing hadn't been random, that the chance of that would be impossibly remote, that maybe Adam had come this morning and whoever had done this had still been near... He drew his gun, almost without thought. Skinner had somehow managed to get him a firearms permit from the English authorities. Adam had carried his sword through as an antique, so he had been armed too. Maybe there had been a fight, maybe Adam had had to run, or was wounded somewhere and waiting to recover...

The blood trail led across the sparse grass, to the fields behind the low wall that surrounded the church. It didn't take long to find the bodies. The first was in one of the steep ditches that ran along the outside of the wall. The man was in his forties, the familiar blue tattoo on the inside of his wrist. He'd apparently been shot through the head several hours before - cold dew was beaded on his face. The second body was a little way away, dumped in a nearby field, amid the rising shoots of young wheat. It had no head, but the thickset muscular build told him instantly that this was not Adam. There was dew on the pale hands, on the bloody sword that lay beside him. Someone else had got there before them.

John of Tours had been dragged outside his own, personal enclave of holy ground and beheaded before they had even arrived here.

And Adam Pierson, Methos, his lover, was gone.

It was dark inside the church. There were no lights on - the only illumination came from the narrow windows high above the ground. There were few furnishings. Bookcases lined the walls: their contents were tumbled out, onto the floor. A low, wide bed stood at the far end of the chapel, partly screened off, in the raised area where the altar must once have been. There was another door at the opposite end of the church which must have led into what was once a vestry. On an ancient oak table facing away from the door sat a phone, the smashed remains of a computer, a row of emptied and upturned box files. Papers were scattered around the desk, riffling in the wind. But none of that mattered, none of it held Mulder's attention for more than a fraction of a second, because sitting at the desk, bent over a laptop, intently flicking through screen after screen of information, sat an instantly familiar figure. Mulder would have known him from any angle, would have known him in the dark, from his scent alone, from the sound of his breathing. The stupid ass haircut had grown longer, but the leather jacket was the same. And if the man at the desk turned, Mulder knew that he would be looking into the wide green eyes that always reminded him of characters in the violent Japanese cartoons he sometimes watched late at night. Slowly he raised his weapon and loudly and deliberately took off the safety catch. His hand didn't shake. He was proud of that.

'You're slipping, Krycek,' he said. His voice sounded almost like his own, and he was proud of that too. 'Sitting with your back to an open door. That's the kind of mistake that's going to get you killed.'

The clicking of the mouse stopped, otherwise the man at the screen made no move. 'You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man in the back, would you, Mulder?' Krycek asked conversationally.

'Not usually,' Mulder said evenly. 'In your case, Krycek, I'm willing to make an exception.' He felt a cold, passionless hatred fill him. The compulsion to pull the trigger and quickly and cleanly rid the world of Alex Krycek was almost overwhelming. He listed Krycek's crimes in his head, an emotionless litany. 'He was my partner and he betrayed me. He killed my father. He helped them take Scully. He let them give me the black cancer.'

Krycek seemed to read his thoughts. 'Judge, jury and executioner, Mulder?' he said, still without turning. 'Last time we met you wanted to bring me to justice.'

'Shut up, Krycek,' Mulder said emotionlessly. 'If you think you can fast talk your way out of this one, think again. If you go for a weapon, I will shoot you. If you move, I will shoot you. If you even think about moving, I will shoot you. If you make just one more clever remark, I will shoot you. It's not going to take much, so don't tempt me. Now take your gun out, put it on the floor and kick it away from yourself.'

Krycek did so, keeping his movements slow and careful.

Mulder nodded. 'Now put your hands up.'

And finally, Krycek turned towards him, and in the dark of the chapel those green eyes were filled with some emotion Mulder could not identify.. 'You can't put up what you haven't got, Mulder,' he said softly.

And Mulder felt himself grow cold at the sight of the gloved, prosthetic arm, cold and unresponsive, at Krycek's side.

'How?' he asked.

'At Tunguska,' Krycek said simply. He looked at Mulder's shocked face defiantly. 'Don't look at me like that, Mulder,' he said in a low, angry voice.

'There can't be much call for a one-armed assassin,' Mulder said, and instantly would have given anything to have been able to take the words back. Words and fists were the only defences he had ever been able to find against Krycek, but that wasn't fair, not now...

But Krycek almost seemed to expect it of him. He looked up, green eyes blazing, white teeth bared. 'Oh I get by, Mulder. Don't worry about me.'

Mulder hardened his heart again. 'I don't intend to, Krycek. What happened here?'

Krycek gestured to the room around them, his eyes not leaving Mulder's face. 'Someone else got here first, Mulder.'

'Where's Adam? Is he...?' he couldn't say it.

'Dead?' Krycek finished bitterly. 'No. They were waiting for him when he came here. He went with them freely.'

'You're wrong,' Mulder said automatically. 'How did you find this place? What are you doing here?'

'I have a source in the Watchers. They're monitoring everything Dawson does. Information about John of Tours was pulled from the Watcher mainframe then Pierson called this place from Joe's bar.'

'Joe?' Mulder said in surprise. 'Why are they watching Joe?'

Krycek sighed wearily. 'Mulder, he's supposed to be a Watcher. MacLeod isn't even supposed to know that he exists. They're not supposed to be friends. They think he's a danger to their organisation.'

'So you're working with the Watchers now?'

'Of course not. They really don't pay that much at all. No, our old friends want their virus back, quite badly, as a matter of fact.'

Mulder narrowed his eyes. 'I thought you weren't working for them any more.'

'Oh I do some freelance work now and again, just to keep body and soul together,' Krycek said with bitter self-deprecation.

'My heart bleeds for you, Krycek. Just tell me what happened here.'

Krycek let his head fall back and closed his eyes, a movement that somehow told of wretched, bone deep exhaustion. *How long has it been since Tunguska?* Mulder thought. *Two, three months? What kind of rehabilitation do you need for something like this? More than he looks like he's had. More than he looks like he could afford...*

'I arrived here yesterday afternoon, Mulder,' Krycek was saying. 'I've been keeping surveillance ever since. At about ten o'clock last night a car arrived. Three men got out back down the road, out of sight. They found the watcher and killed him. They went into the chapel. Twenty minutes later John of Tour was dragged out of the back door and beheaded in the field.'

'Then what?'

'Then they waited until your friend came, about an hour ago,' Krycek said. 'They left together a few minutes later.'

'Was he hurt?'

'No, Mulder. I already told you once. He went with them of his own accord. He was uninjured and nobody seemed to be threatening him. He wasn't handcuffed and no-one was holding a gun on him.'

'But that doesn't make any sense,' Mulder said, in utter bewilderment.

'You think that doesn't make sense, Mulder?' Krycek asked, with a hint of his old sarcasm. 'Well join the club. Listen to this.' From somewhere in the chaos on the desk he picked up a tiny tape recorder.

'What is it?' Mulder asked.

'It's the tape from the answering machine.'

'You found it in this mess?'

'I've had well over an hour to search, Mulder.' Krycek cast a disparaging eye over the scene. 'And whoever trashed this place didn't do a very good job. A fire would have gutted the entire building and destroyed all the evidence in about ten minutes.'

'The same man who killed Drake in France,' Mulder said.

'Probably,' Krycek said, with a shrug. 'Just listen to the tape.'

There was the brief blurred whine of the tape rewinding, then Krycek pushed the play button.

The voice was both familiar and unfamiliar, cold and pitiless. '...am Methos. I'm looking for Gilles de Rais and I've been told that you know where he is. You live on Holy Ground, so we'll meet there on Monday morning, at ten o'clock. And know this. I've had you watched, John of Tours, and I know your movements. It's Gilles I'm after, but if you try to run, I'll hunt you down and kill you too.'

'The message arrived early yesterday morning,' Krycek said into the silence that followed. 'Just after it arrived John de Tours made five calls. The last was to a number I can't trace.'

'He panicked,' Mulder said slowly. 'And called Gilles. He's always taken the path of least resistance, always gone for his immediate safety, no matter what the long term consequences. He knew that Gilles was looking for Methos. He knew that if he betrayed Gilles again and Gilles survived, Gilles would find him and kill him, but if he gave Gilles Methos, it might get him off his back for good.'

'Good to know that education in psychology wasn't a complete waste of time, Mulder,' Krycek commented.

'So he found Gilles,' Mulder continued numbly. 'And told him when Adam was going to be here. I expect he intended to be long gone when Gilles got here. Only he left it too late to leave. Gilles came yesterday instead and killed him. Then he waited here for Adam to turn up.'

'Lousy planning,' Krycek commented. 'Or very good planning. It all depends on what your friend was after. You want to know what I think, Mulder? I think he wanted that to happen. I think your friend has decided he'd be better off on the other side.'

'No,' Mulder said tightly. 'I won't believe that.'

Krycek sighed. 'Don't be so naive, Mulder. He didn't have to make the call like that. He meant to panic Lincoln and he meant him to run to Gilles and he knew that Gilles would probably kill Lincoln if he didn't get away fast enough. He's five thousand years old. He didn't get that old not knowing how to plan. Do you really think you know him? Do you really think you have any fucking idea who he is?'

Mulder ignored him. 'We need to go after them,' he said almost to himself. 'We have to find him.'

Krycek shook his head. 'Oh no, Mulder. The last time "we" did anything I had my arm hacked off without any anaesthetic. I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me out of it this time.'

Mulder ignored him. 'There must be something here to say where they've gone. Something in these papers...'

'He left you a note,' Krycek said. 'It was on the desk when I arrived.'

The note had been opened, Mulder noted without surprise. A sheet of cheap notepaper, folded once. He opened it.

'Mulder, it's over. Go back to the States. Adam.'

'Seems straightforward, Mulder,' Krycek said from where he still sat in the chair. 'If I was you, I'd take his advice.'

'No. Wait. There's something else on this. An impression. Something was written on the sheet before this and it's gone through. Is there a pencil on the desk?'

There was. He ran the lead lightly across the page, again and again, bringing the impression to the fore.

'What does it say?' Krycek asked, green eyes intent.

'The Isles of something. The Isles of the Sea,' Mulder said slowly, straightening. He lifted the piece of paper to the light. 'It sounds Arthurian. Like something out of Mallory or Scott, or the Celtic mythos. Maybe MacLeod or Joe could help me trace the reference.'

Krycek sighed. 'Well, there is another way, Mulder.'

'Oh yeah?' Mulder said disinterestedly, scanning the few books that were left on the shelf above the desk.

'Well, you see this road altas? What I do is, I turn to this section at the end called the index and I look at all the place names beginning with "I".' There was a pause. 'Ooh, look,' Krycek exclaimed, in a voice thick with sarcasm.

Mulder silently ground his teeth. 'I was going to do that next.'

'Of course you were, Mulder. Right after you rang ten people you knew at university and spent another hour checking references to the Morte D'Arthur on the Internet.'

'I don't miss having you as my partner at all, you realise that, don't you?' Mulder said through gritted teeth.

'Oh believe me, Mulder, the feeling's mutual. If you remember, the last time we teamed up together, you beat me up, Skinner beats me up, you get us both imprisoned in some Russian shithole then screw up my attempt to get you out of there and land me in the wilderness where insane peasants hack off my arm with red hot knives.'

There wasn't a lot to say to that, Mulder realised.

'Where are the Isles of the Sea?' he asked.

'They're just off the west coast of Scotland,' Krycek said. 'Send me a postcard when you get there.'

'You really think I'm going to leave you here, Krycek?' Mulder said. He picked the telephone up off the desk, but put it down when it became evident that there was no dial tone. His mobile only produced static, whether from closeness to the ridge of hills or some residual interference from the quickening it was hard to tell.

'So what are you going to do, Mulder?,' Krycek asked acidly. 'Take me along for the ride?'

Mulder spared him a humourless smile. 'Oh no, Krycek. You're a material witness to two murders. I'm going to hand you over to the authorities.'

Krycek looked at him in what seemed to be genuine amazement. 'What am I supposed to tell them, Mulder?'

'Make something up, Krycek,' Mulder said pleasantly. 'I don't care what. At least it'll keep you out of my way for a few days. Maybe you should use the time to get some sleep. You look as if you could use it.'

He pulled out the pair of prisoner transport handcuffs. One of the bracelets he clicked efficiently around Krycek's one remaining wrist. The other he put loosely around his own.

'Mulder, what are you doing?' Krycek asked in disbelief.

'You're not getting away from me this time, Krycek.'

'Mulder, have you gone insane?'

'Come on, Krycek,' Mulder said. He pulled Krycek towards the door, not gently.

They walked around the church, Krycek blinking in the daylight. Here, outside, he looked pale and tired.

'This is a mistake, Mulder,' he said tensely, as they came round to the front of the church. 'Believe me, you don't want to involve the police.'

'It doesn't look as if I need to,' Mulder said. 'The police are already here.'

The white patrol car with the blue and orange stripe along the side was parked a little way along the lane, which explained why neither man had heard it coming. Now they were out of the thick-walled building, however, the hiss and chatter of the radio was clearly audible. As Mulder approached, dragging a reluctant Krycek with him, two uniformed officers climbed out, both men, both wearing reflective yellow coats. One of them raised a hand to them, an older man with white hair, and a thick white moustache.

'Excuse me, sir. Would you gentlemen mind stepping over here?'

'Mulder, this is wrong,' Krycek said in a low voice. 'They shouldn't have guns.'

Mulder frowned, then he too noticed the holsters both officers wore, quite openly. 'Even the British police have firearms units these days, Krycek,' he said.

'Mulder, British firearms police are always traffic officers, and they don't carry guns to an incident without a senior officer giving them permission anyway,' Krycek hissed. 'Do you think I wouldn't check something like that? That's a regular patrol car and those are regular officers. This isn't even an incident yet for them.'

'Shut up, Krycek,' Mulder said implacably. 'You're not talking your way out of this.'

Krycek shot him a look that was halfway between pleading and exasperated. 'Mulder, if you want to kill yourself, go ahead, but don't drag me with you. Just think about it. How did they get here so quickly?'

'This is a murder scene, Krycek,' Mulder said out of the corner of his mouth, still walking purposefully towards the police car. 'Those bodies have been lying around all night. Somebody must have seen them and reported it to the police.'

'This is rural Oxfordshire, not Washington DC,' Krycek said in a low voice. 'Mulder, they can't have more than one or two murders a year in this entire county. They're not so blasé about it that they only send a couple of beat officers out to investigate.'

'Maybe somebody just reported seeing something suspicious.'

'Who, Mulder?' Krycek hissed urgently. 'Nobody else has been anywhere near this place this morning. This is a trap. Mulder Will you listen to me? You're walking both of us into a trap...'

Mulder ignored the mounting edge of panic in Krycek's voice. He walked up to the car until he was just a little way away from the officer who had just spoken, ID held loosely in his hand.

'Officer, my name is Fox Mulder. I'm an FBI agent. This man is a fugitive and a witness to two murders.'

The two officers glanced at each other. 'Are you sure, sir?' the first man asked. 'This gentleman witnessed two murders at this location?'

'That's right. The bodies are in the field behind the church.'

'Has anyone else been here, sir?' the second officer said. He was younger, a big, mild-looking man, with dark hair that fell over his eyes.

'No officer. I don't think so,' Mulder said. He frowned. 'Don't you want to see my identification?'

'That won't be necessary, sir,' the man said. He glanced across at his companion, who was already reaching for his weapon.

'Kill him,' the white-haired man said. 'Kill them both.'

But Krycek had moved first, twisting to reach into Mulder's coat, to pull his gun out of its holster.

As Mulder threw himself against the first man he let loose a single shot that dropped the younger officer instantly before he was pulled forward by Mulder's weight. They both landed heavily against the first man, knocking him off balance, making him fall back heavily against the car with a hollow, painful-sounding thunk. Mulder drew back quickly, onto his knees, ready to land another blow, but the man on the ground lay motionless, eyes closed.

Krycek pulled himself to his feet. 'Is he dead?' he asked shortly.

'I must have knocked him out against the side of the car,' Mulder said, breathing hard.

Krycek pointed the gun down and dispassionately pulled the trigger. The body jerked, once, and was still.

Mulder clambered to his feet and snatched the gun back. 'Jesus, Krycek!'

'What was I supposed to do, Mulder?,' Krycek shouted. 'Let him kill us?'

Mulder looked at him is disbelief for a moment. 'I don't believe you, Krycek,' he said in disgust. 'That's your answer to everything, isn't it?'

'Would you rather be dead, Mulder?,' Krycek said angrily. 'I wouldn't.'

'Let's get out of here,' Mulder said shaking his head.

'Where to?'

'Somewhere where we're not standing beside two dead police officers.'

'They're not police officers.'

'And there might be more of them. Just move, Krycek.'

'***

'All right, so let's recap,' Mulder said. He leant against the low stone wall, several hundred yards away from the church, the nearest available cover on the open hillside. Krycek stood beside him, half bent over, catching his breath. He glared at Mulder balefully.

'I've got a better idea, Mulder,' he snapped. 'Let's not recap. Let's just get the fuck out of here.'

'Adam's vanished, you're here and people are shooting at me. I think that covers most of the salient points,' Mulder continued, ignoring him.

'Now do you fucking believe me?' Krycek snarled. 'You know, I don't have to be nice to you any more, Mulder. Being nice to you hasn't been in my job description since Duane Barry. I don't even have to try to keep you alive any more. God alone knows what a thankless task that was, by the way.'

'In retrospect my handcuffing us together wasn't actually that good an idea,' Mulder continued. He tugged at his side of the handcuffs fruitlessly. At some point in the short, deadly fight the bracelet had tightened to an uncomfortable level around his wrist. Giving up the unequal struggle, he pushed the locking button in to stop it getting any tighter.

'It wasn't that good an idea?!' Krycek hissed. 'I'm chained to a fucking *maniac*! An *incompetent* fucking maniac! You don't ever handcuff yourself to a perpetrator, Mulder! That should be the first thing they teach you at Quantico! And then there's the keys. How can you only have one set of fucking keys?'

'I didn't know I was going to lose them in the fight,' Mulder protested defensively.

Krycek let himself slump down to a sitting position. 'Since Tunguska, Mulder, I've tried to get any edge I could to keep myself alive,' he said in a low, bitter voice. 'God knows it hasn't been easy, but I've trained myself, I've picked up advantages wherever I could. I've learned to survive with one hand, Mulder. To function. It's been long and painful, but I've done it. And now? I don't even have *one* fucking hand. I'm handcuffed to you and you've lost the fucking keys to the handcuffs somewhere over about half a mile of field and you're going to get us both killed. This is fucking *suicide* Mulder. I'm a fucking *dead man*.'

Mulder glared at him. 'Krycek, will you stop whining about your arm? We're not going to be able to do anything unless we know exactly what the situation is.'

'The situation is, we're in deep shit, Mulder,' Krycek said through gritted teeth. 'I'm surprised you hadn't noticed.'

Mulder chose to ignore that. 'I need to know if those men are after you or me.'

Krycek threw him a sullen glance. 'They're after you, Mulder,' he said. 'Nobody knows I'm here.'

'So who the hell are they?' Mulder said. He scanned the surrounding countryside breathlessly. Nothing moved. The police car stood motionless on the distant chalk track, doors still open, the two bodies still and unmoving beside it.

From beside him Krycek said 'Were they.'

Mulder glared at him again. 'All right, who the hell were they?'

'Well you remember that Russian Mob contract I told you about a week or two ago?'

Mulder swore softly under his breath.

'That's if they're not Cabal, of course,' Krycek continued. 'I expect they warned you off this case. They're probably pissed off that you ignored them.'

'If they are Cabal they could be immortal,' Mulder said. 'They could be reviving any time now.'

'Ten out of ten for deductive reasoning, Mulder,' Krycek said. 'So what are you going to do now?'

'We have to risk it. We have to go back and try to find the keys to my handcuffs.'

'And what if they really are immortals, Mulder?' Krycek asked. 'We've got to keep killing them. They only have to shoot us once. Why didn't you unlock us while we were by the car, anyway?'

'Because I didn't want to waste any time getting under cover, okay?' Mulder snapped. 'There could still be more of them out there.'

'Well it doesn't look like it from here,' Krycek said. He narrowed his eyes appraisingly as he surveyed the scene.

'Well thanks for sharing that with me, Krycek. It's a lot of use now.' Mulder said. He risked another glance over the top of the wall. 'They haven't moved. I think they must really be dead.'

'Or they're faking it,' Krycek said, narrowing his eyes.

'Faking it?'

'They could be pretending, Mulder. They wait until we come out of cover, then they try for us again. That's how I'd do it.'

'It's a risk we'll have to take. I'm going down there.'

Krycek shook his head. 'Well I'm not. You may have a death wish, Mulder, but I haven't. I'm staying right here.'

'I've still got the gun, Krycek,' Mulder said grimly.

Krycek's look told exactly how much he thought of that particular threat. 'Fine. Shoot me, Mulder. See how far you get dragging my bleeding corpse around the countryside.'

Mulder straightened. 'Well if you won't go back to look for the keys with me we have to go to the police - the real police - and get these handcuffs off.'

Krycek sighed. 'Mulder, one, how do we know who the real police are, two, we're both suspects in not one but two murders, four, actually, if you count whoever those guys are down there, three, if we say we're involved in this, we're both going to be held for questioning for at least two or three days and you don't have that much time to spare and four, even if we do find the real police, the Consortium will probably have got people in there first. I wouldn't survive a night in a cell and I don't expect you would either.'

'You're working for the Consortium, Krycek,' Mulder reminded him sarcastically. 'Now why would they want to kill you?'

'All right,' Krycek snapped. 'I didn't exactly say I was working for them. I just said they wanted their virus back. I thought I'd try to get there first. I need a bargaining chip right now. They've been trying to kill me ever since you dragged me into that Tunguska mess.'

Mulder smiled a humourless little smile. 'You should stop pissing so many people off, Krycek. It's healthier that way.'

'Oh yeah? How would you know, Mulder?'

Mulder ignored that. 'Do you have a car, Krycek?'

'No, I walked here, Mulder. London's only a hundred and fifty miles away. What do you think?'

'I think you should try to lose that sarcastic streak before I do you some serious damage,' Mulder said grimly, looking out over the gently swelling hills that surrounded them.

Krycek glared at him contemptuously. 'Yeah, why don't you hit me, Mulder? It's not as if I can hit you back or anything.'

Mulder glared back. 'You're going to play that card once too often, Krycek.'

'Well it looks as if it's about the only card I've got at the moment, doesn't it?'

Mulder closed his eyes for a moment in a not entirely successful attempt to regain his calm. 'So what do you suggest we do, Krycek?'

Krycek's tone became businesslike. 'First we get out of here before we have any more company. Then we find some way to get out of these handcuffs that doesn't involve handing ourselves over to the authorities.'

'Now why didn't I think of that?' Mulder asked acidly.

'You know, if I was still your partner, I really would have killed you by now,' Krycek said. 'I can't believe Scully hasn't shot you yet.'

'Scully did shoot me. Remember?'

'Yeah, but I'd have shot you somewhere important.'

'Just take me to the car, Krycek.'

***

The car bumped its way along the uneven country road. Mulder's head bumped against the roof of the car as it did so. His wrist was already sore from the handcuff, which chafed painfully every time he tried to change gear. On top of that, the makers of the car appeared to have left out the suspension. He braked as they reached a junction, an unsigned junction, and swore silently as the little car came to an over-abrupt stop.

'Of all the cars you could have stolen why did you have to steal this one?'

Krycek glanced at him with more than a little irritation. 'Jesus, Mulder, stop complaining. We'll have to steal another one when we get to the next town anyway. I've had this one too long.'

'It's a mini, Krycek,' Mulder said. 'I learned my lesson at Oxford. Nobody over five foot tall should ever drive in a mini unless they don't mind months of physical therapy to straighten them out afterwards.'

'I stole it because it was parked out of sight of any buildings, it wasn't alarmed or immobilised and the petrol tank was full. That's car theft 101, Mulder.'

'I must have been off school that week.'

'Yeah, Mulder. Whatever.'

Mulder sighed. 'Well how about we do some workshop burglary 101 and find something to cut these handcuffs off with?' he suggested.

'Mulder, these things are tempered steel,' Krycek explained, rather patronisingly. 'It's going to take more than someone's junior hacksaw to get us out of them.'

'Can you pick the lock?'

Krycek gave him a withering look. 'Mulder, in case you'd forgotten, you cuffed my only fucking hand. The chain's too short. I can't reach the lock.'

'Oh. Yeah.' Mulder said.

They sat in silence for a little while. Outside the steady drizzle stopped. Somewhere in the lush green hedges to either side of the road, a bird began to sing.

'I cannot believe you got me into this fucking situation,' Krycek said bitterly.

'Yeah, well I'm not exactly ecstatic about it either. That's not some kind of Consortium prosthetic, is it?' Mulder asked, gesturing to the arm without too much optimism. 'No built in lasers, selection of blades, that kind of thing?'

Krycek gave him a withering look. 'This is Russian health service issue, Mulder. I'm lucky it has fingers.'

Mulder nodded. 'I guess they dropped you pretty fast after Tunguska,' he said. He felt no particular sense of victory about that fact.

'I don't want to talk about it, Mulder,' Krycek said sullenly.

'Fine. So which way are we heading?'

'Western Scotland, Mulder. I mean, I hear Cornwall is very nice this time of year, but the world is probably going to end in five days' time so maybe we should start thinking about making a move in that general direction.'

'I meant do we turn left at this intersection, or right?' Mulder said with exaggerated patience.

'Right,' Krycek said sullenly. 'We go right.'

'We could at least try to be civil to one another, Krycek.' Mulder said.

'What's the point, Mulder?'

Mulder drew an irritated breath. 'The point is that we're stuck with each other until we find a way to get out of these handcuffs.'

'Yeah Mulder, I'm well aware of that. Now why don't you stop complaining and get us out of here before the real police turn up?'

'Fine,' Mulder muttered. 'Great. This is going to be the road trip from hell, isn't it.'

Krycek gave him an icy glance. 'As far as I'm concerned it already is the road trip from hell, Mulder.'

Mulder bit back a retort and slipped the little car into gear, fuming silently. England was a small country, but it would still take the best part of a day to drive from Oxfordshire to Scotland. They'd been on the road for less than five minutes, and it already looked as if it was going to be a very long day.

1.20pm. Monday afternoon

'Faringdon nine-two, this is Tango Victor, over.'

'Faringdon nine-two receiving, over.'

'We've got a report of two gentlemen vanishing from the White Horse B&B on the A338 without paying their bill. The landlady's worried because they both went out for a walk this morning and didn't come back. They left their luggage and their rental car. Are you in the area, over.'

'Roger, Tango Victor. You think the vehicle could be stolen?'

'There's no trace on PNC, nine-two.'

'Can you check with the car rental company, Tango Victor? See if they used a stolen credit card. We could be looking at a deception here, over.'

'Wilco, nine-two, over.'

'Do we have a description of the missing persons, Tango Victor, over?'

'One American, IC1, tall, early thirties, short brown hair and a big nose, left the farm wearing a suit and trenchcoat, registered under the name Fox Mulder, that's Mike, Uniform, Lima, Delta, Echo, Romeo. One English, IC1, tall, late twenties, wearing jeans and a baggy sweater, with short dark hair and an even bigger nose. The landlady can't read his writing in the register, but it looks like Adam something, over.'

'So the American told her his name was Fox Mulder and she believed him, over?'

'I suppose it beats Mr and Mr Smith, nine-two. Can we pay the lady a visit and carry out observation in the area?'

'Wilco. I suppose they could just have got lost, over.'

'This is Oxfordshire, nine-two, not bleeding Dartmoor, over.'

'No need to get sarky, Tango Victor. It has been known to happen.'

'The landlady says they told her they were going over to the Lincoln place, over.'

'Roger. I'll drive by there first. It's that or speed checks on the A34. You know the depressing thing, Tango Victor? This is probably the most exciting job I'm going to get all shift.'

'Never mind, nine-two. We'll try and find you a nice punch up when the pubs come out this evening. Tango Victor over and out.'

2.40pm Monday afternoon

An ambulance pulled to a halt on the rain-soaked asphalt of the narrow country road where it joined the chalk and flint road that led down to the church, and the red Jaguar pulled in a little way behind. The blue lights of the parked police cars already parked there were reflected on the wet surface. The sky above was dull and grey, the hills around them dark and sullen under the rain.

Detective Inspector Morse of Thames Valley Police looked morosely up at the clouds which threatened still more rain. His sergeant, Lewis waited patiently as he climbed out of his car. He was a big, mild-mannered man with a slow, good-natured air, almost the direct opposite of his short-tempered superior officer.

'So what do we have, Lewis?' Morse asked over the blustering of the wind, as the sergeant led the way across the fields alongside the track.

'Two bodies, sir,' Lewis said respectfully. 'One shot, one beheaded.'

'With blood everywhere, no doubt,' Morse muttered. 'I hate these cases. Murder and suicide?' he asked curtly.

'Not unless he managed to shoot himself in the back of the head and then throw the gun away, sir,' Lewis observed.

'I see. Are they the two men who went missing earlier?'

'Doesn't look like it, sir. Turns out that Fox Mulder is a real name, by the way,' Lewis said helpfully. 'Apparently he's an FBI agent. Supposed to be here on holiday.'

'Oh God, that's all I need,' Morse said sourly. 'Now we're going to have the Americans and God know who else crawling all over this investigation. So you don't think either of these bodies belong to Agent Mulder, Lewis?'

'No sir. Forensics says they've both been dead for at least twenty hours. Agent Mulder and Adam Benn only went missing this morning. And we do have a positive identification of one of them, sir. The man who was beheaded was the owner of the property, Professor John Lincoln. We have no idea who the other man is.'

'Any chance that it's Agent Mulder we're after for this, Lewis?'

Lewis shrugged his broad shoulders. 'According to the airline tag on their luggage, Agent Mulder and his friend got into Gatwick at 9.45 last night. They would still have been on the way here when the murders were committed.'

'We'd better check that,' Morse mused. 'See if we can get footage of either of them from the surveillence tapes at the airport. See if the landlady can identify them.'

'Already onto it, sir,' Lewis said cheerfully.

Morse glanced up dourly at this evidence of initiative on his Sergeant's part. 'Have SOCO come up with anything yet?'

'Lot of bloodstains on one section of the road leading down to the church, sir. Mostly washed away by the rain, but they're there. There are several sets of footprints, but we're still trying to sort them out. There's been quite a lot of traffic along this road too. At least two vehicles as well as our man, one last night and one this morning. There's a car at the back, it appears to have been vandalised, but there's no evidence that it's been moved in the last week.'

'And is there anything in the hire car or back at the bed and breakfast, Lewis?'

'Well, it looks as though Agent Mulder went out without his wallet, sir. He did have a gun, though, and we haven't found his ID yet.'

'This is going to be an unpleasant case, Lewis,' Morse said, as they walked across the field.

'It's certainly going to be complicated sir,' Lewis said, cheerfully. 'Ah well, a change is as good as a rest, as they say.'

Morse gave him another sour glance, but forbore to comment. At that moment two black cars and a large black van pulled into the lane behind the red Jaguar with a crunch of wet gravel. Both men turned, their coats blowing in the cold, rain-flecked wind.

'Looks like someone else has turned up, sir.' Lewis observed mildly.

'Now what?' Morse said irritably.

'Secret service, sir?' Lewis suggested brightly. 'Could be the James Bond lot.'

Morse spared him a withering glare. 'Don't be ridiculous, Lewis.'

But the three men who started to make their way across the field wore dark suits and trenchcoats, and moved in a purposeful way that suggested that they were not sightseers. Lewis raised his hand in a cheerful wave, and earned himself another glare from his Inspector as the three men turned towards them. The first was young, fair-haired, and dressed, Morse noted, by an extremely good tailor. The other two stayed in the background, as if in deference to him. Morse only barely noticed them; an older man with white hair and a white moustache and a big, mild-looking man with dark hair that fell over his eyes.

'Inspector Morse?' the fair-haired man asked.

Morse blinked and narrowed his eyes. 'That's right. Do I know you from somewhere, Mr...?'

'James Clanroyden. MI5.'

'Clanroyden?' Morse said, in genuine amazement. 'I think I was up at Oxford with your father. Harry Clanroyden?'

'I'm afraid my father died in 1995, Inspector. Heart attack on the farm in Yorkshire.'

'Good God,' Morse said, shaking his head in disbelief. 'Old Harry Clanroyden gone.'

'He mentioned you often, Inspector,' Clanroyden said.

'I always meant to write to him,' Morse said, almost to himself. 'Poor old Harry.'

'I'm sorry, Inspector,' Clanroyden said, not unsympathetically.

Morse recovered his customary irritability with some little effort. 'So what are you doing here, Mr Clanroyden?'

'I'm sorry, sir, but we're going to have to ask you and your men to leave. We're taking over your investigation.'

'You're throwing us out, sir?' Lewis said in mild disbelief.

'You're what?' Morse protested. 'Good grief, you can't do that!'

'I'm afraid it's a matter of national security, Inspector. Please be assured that I wouldn't ask it if it wasn't completely necessary.'

'Look, Clanroyden, what the hell is all this about?' Morse demanded angrily.

Clanroyden gave him an appraising look, and appeared to come to a decision. 'Obviously this is highly classified, Inspector, but we believe that Agent Mulder stumbled upon the fact that some of Professor Lincoln's old associates may belong to a terrorist group who recently negotiated the purchase of some dangerous viral material from the Russian Mafia.'

'I'm sorry I asked,' Morse muttered. 'So this Agent Mulder decided to swan over here and start interrogating people willy-nilly?'

'Agent Mulder almost certainly didn't realise the importance of what he'd found,' Clanroyden said tactfully. 'He went to university at Oxford. He may have known the Professor personally. I imagine that he just stopped by for an informal chat.'

'And the beheading?' Morse demanded.

'Punishment killing, we believe, Inspector. It's a Russian Mafia tradition.'

'Didn't I hear about something similar in Scotland a while back?' Morse asked.

'Quite probably, Inspector, there have been quite a few cases in the last couple of years.'

'So Agent Mulder picked the wrong time to drop by,' Morse said, with heavy sarcasm.

'Apparently so,' Clanroyden said equably. 'It seems likely that he's been kidnapped. We've got people looking for them on all the major routes through the country and we've got all the ports and airports covered, but they've got too much of a start. We need to search Professor Lincoln's home to see if we can get an idea of where they've gone.'

'So what do you want me to do, Mr Clanroyden?'

'If you can seal off the roads leading to the site I'd be grateful. Otherwise I'm going to have to ask you and your people to leave.'

'You're not even going to let me stay and observe?' Morse asked belligerently.

'You'll be receiving confirmation from your superintendent in the next hour or so. I'm sorry about this, sir, but this is something we've been working on for months...'

'And you don't want the local plod sticking their size tens all over the crime scene.' Morse finished, rather resentfully.

Clanroyden nodded. 'As I said, sir, this is a matter of national security. We already have a good idea who's done this, now the important thing is tracking them down. We'll need the crime scene under our control to do so.'

'Well, it doesn't seem as though I've got a choice, does it,' Morse said, with ill grace. Lewis shot Clanroyden an apologetic look over his shoulder.

'We're grateful for your co-operation, Inspector,' Clanroyden said soothingly.

'Just tell me this. Am I going to have to worry about Russian terrorists on the loose all over Oxfordshire, Mr Clanroyden?'

'Oh I wouldn't worry, Inspector,' Clanroyden said, as he scanned the countryside stretching away around them. 'We'll let you know if we foresee any danger to the public, but I expect they're long gone by now.'

2.40pm Somewhere in Gloucestershire

'Mulder, we should have been long gone by now.'

'It's not my fault your car broke down,' Mulder snapped back. They were parked to one side of another leafy lane, glorious with the promise of spring.

'Well maybe if you knew the first thing about mechanics we wouldn't be in this mess. Jesus, Mulder, it's just a bit of damp in the distributor cap. It's not that complicated.'

Mulder ignored him, and tried yet again to force the distributor cap back into its place. The clips that normally held it resisted his efforts stubbornly.

Krycek, bent over the engine beside him through necessity rather than choice, let out an impatient breath. 'This isn't exactly rocket science, Mulder.'

Mulder finally turned to glare at him. 'You're not helping here, Krycek,' he snapped.

'Just get on with it, Mulder.'

'This is all your fault, Krycek,' Mulder muttered.

'Not my fault, Mulder. I didn't want to get dragged into this. I was happily minding my own business when you turned up.'

'Krycek, I know you were waiting for me. You could have searched that place and been out in under an hour.'

'In under ten minutes, actually,' Krycek admitted.

'Yeah. My point exactly,' Mulder said. He gave the distributor cap a vicious shove. More by luck than any skill on Mulder's part it slipped back into place.

'Finally,' Krycek muttered under his breath.

'Yeah, like you could have done any better,' Mulder said.

'Mulder, I could have done that with one hand. If I'd had one hand.'

'Will you shut up about your arm, Krycek? I don't care about your arm.'

'My arm,' Krycek said, emphasising the words, 'Is your fault, Mulder. You're the one who dragged me to Russia. You're the one who landed us in that slave camp. You're the one who completely screwed up my attempt to get us out of there.'

'Well you're the one who killed my father,' Mulder retorted.

Krycek shook his head as he climbed awkwardly back into the car, onto the driver's seat, then across to the passenger's seat. 'I didn't kill your father, Mulder. Why would you think I'd killed your father. Face it, Mulder. You were drugged out of your mind. You didn't know what the hell was going on.'

'Yeah,' Mulder said, as he manoeuvred himself back into the mini after Krycek. 'I was drugged. And whose fault was that?'

'Mulder, that wasn't me. I was part of the operation, yes, but I didn't drug you and I didn't plan what happened to your father.'

'Yeah Krycek. You're just like the rest of them. You were only following orders.'

A sullen silence fell over the car. Mulder started the car, then viciously put it into gear, hurting himself more than he hurt Krycek, whose handcuff was considerably looser.

'Mulder,' Krycek said placatingly, as they pulled away.

'What?' Mulder snapped.

'You were right. We should at least try to be civil. We can't do this without co-operating. If we don't co-operate, we're dead. I know you don't want to hear this, Mulder, but right now we need each other.'

They drove in silence for a few moments.

'All right,' Mulder said eventually. 'What are you suggesting?'

'A truce, Mulder. For the next 24 hours or until we get out of these handcuffs, whichever comes soonest. We don't talk about your father, Scully, my arm, the Consortium or Tunguska.'

'We're not going to talk about anything, Krycek. No nonessential conversation. There's nothing I have to say to you.'

'Fine, Mulder,' Krycek said. He sounded slightly offended.

'What are we supposed to talk about, Krycek?' Mulder asked irritably.

'You could profile me if you wanted to,' Krycek offered, with the air of a mother trying to occupy a recalcitrant four-year old.

'No thanks.'

'Seriously. I've always wanted to be profiled.'

'How's this for a profile? You're a mercenary piece of lowlife with all the ethics of a vulture.'

Krycek gave him an amused look. 'Do you spend your evenings thinking those up, Mulder?

Mulder gritted his teeth. 'Shut up, Krycek.'

Krycek ignored him, apparently confident in the knowledge that Mulder couldn't hit him and drive at the same time. 'And while we're on the subject, there's the Ratboy thing. Why Ratboy, Mulder? Cancerman yes, Cancerman I can understand, but Ratboy?'

Mulder glared across at him. 'You must have mistaken me for someone who gives a shit, Krycek.'

'It's not the rat bit I object to,' Krycek continued, as if he hadn't spoken. 'It's the boy. It makes me sound like some kind of dim-witted sidekick.'

'Cancerman and Ratboy,' Mulder muttered. 'The Dynamic Duo.'

'I don't work with him any more, Mulder. He tried to have me killed once too often.'

'Oh? How often was that?' Mulder asked.

'Just the once,' Krycek said with a shrug.

They drove along in silence for about another mile.

'Talking of sidekicks,' Krycek said eventually, 'Where's Scully? I thought you'd have brought her along for the ride.'

'Scully is my partner, not my sidekick,' Mulder said emphatically. Then appalled realisation dawned. 'Jesus. I've just remembered. She has no idea where I am. I haven't spoken to her since I left New York.'

'You dumped her again, Mulder?' Krycek said. 'She's going to be really pissed at you this time.'

'Shut up Krycek.'

'You're probably used to that by now, though.'

'I said, shut up, Krycek.'

Hoover Building, Washington DC

Dana Scully sat at Mulder's desk in the tiny basement office, and squared the pile of completed paperwork that sat in front of her on the desk. The desk was tidier than it had been at any time since 1994. The filing was up to date. The telephone sat neatly, and more important, silently, in front of her. Her cellphone sat next to it. It, too, did not ring.

Mulder hadn't called for two days. Scully looked down at the desk, and adjusted the position of her cellphone by a fraction of an inch.

When he got back, she was going to kill him.

There had to be an explanation for why he hadn't called. A logical explanation. One that didn't involve 900 year old crusaders who were immortal and who went around beheading each other.

Time to think through it logically, she decided. Mulder had taken all his annual leave at once. He'd gone to Seacouver and met this Joe Dawson. Adam Pierson had been a no show, because (and mentally she underlined this several times) he was dead.

Scully nodded to herself. That sounded about right.

So what would she have done then, if she'd been Mulder?

She studied the pockmarked ceiling for several minutes, but inspiration was not forthcoming. She had to face the fact, she realised, that she had no earthly idea what she would have done then if she'd been Mulder. She let her imagination supply the details.

'He's sitting a bar somewhere,' she said aloud. 'Somewhere tacky. He's wearing a Hawaiian shirt and he's drinking a cocktail. A blue cocktail. With a paper umbrella. And he's planning to chat up a waitress whose name is Kandy. With a K. Or possibly Gennifer with a G. Unsuccessfully.'

She searched her mind for somewhere sufficiently tacky to attract Mulder as a holiday destinations. Vegas. That was it. He hadn't found Adam Pierson but he was too embarrassed to come back to Washington, so he'd gone to Vegas to sulk. Without telling her, but that wasn't too surprising.

And he was right too, Scully thought. She wasn't going to let him live this one down in a hurry.

She glanced over at the coffee machine, which gleamed clinically in one corner. It had taken her almost an entire morning to scour off the accumulated tannin of four years. If something didn't happen soon, she was going to have to start biting her nails again.

'Ring me, Mulder, you inconsiderate son of a bitch,' she muttered.

When her cellphone did ring, she had it in her hand in less than a second, although it took a couple of stabs at the connection button before she managed to connect the call.

'Mulder?' she asked urgently.

'Agent Scully? This is A.D. Skinner.'

'Sir? Have you heard anything from Mulder?' Scully asked tensely.

'He hasn't contacted you?'

'No sir. Sir, what's happened? Is something wrong?'

'I'm afraid it may be, Agent Scully. Do you have any idea where Agent Mulder is at the moment?'

'The last I heard he was going to Chicago to meet a contact, sir. He was obsessed with the belief that Adam Pierson was still alive. Sir, what's happened?'

'I've just been speaking to a contact of mine in London. Agent Mulder has just been positively identified as one of two individuals who disappeared from the scene of a double murder in Oxfordshire in central England. One of the victims was beheaded. The second individual who vanished has been identified as Adam Pierson.'

Dana Scully let her head fall forward until it banged gently on the desktop.

'I knew it,' she muttered.

'How soon can you be packed, Agent Scully?' Skinner asked.

'I am packed, sir,' Scully said in the calm little voice of one whose worst fears have just been realised.

'Then I'll meet you in the car pool in twenty minutes, Agent Scully. We're flying out to England this morning.'

Joe's Bar, Seacouver

'...And he hasn't reported in for twelve hours?' Joe Dawson's brow furrowed. 'Yeah. Yeah, I know. Look, I'm pretty sure that didn't have anything to do with... No. Of course I didn't pass the information on to... Jesus, Mike, how long have you known me? Yeah. Look, Mike, this is between you and me, but I think Gilles de Rais is active again. Yeah, that Gilles de Rais. Well if you find out anything, call me. Yeah, thanks, buddy.'

Duncan raised an eyebrow from where he sat at the other end of the bar. 'Not good news?'

Joe sighed. 'You better believe it, buddy. John of Tour's watcher hasn't reported in since last night and his place is crawling with police. Looks like big trouble.'

'What about Methos?' Duncan asked.

Joe shook his head. 'I haven't heard from either of them since I left them at the airport,' he admitted. 'Jesus, what a mess.'

'A mess is right,' Duncan said. 'Can I use your phone, Joe?'

'Sure. What are you going to do, Mac?'

'I'm calling Amanda. Then I'm calling my travel agent. Then I'm going to pack my things and take the next plane to London.'

'Well you can book me an aisle seat while you're at it, buddy,' Joe said, pulling himself to his feet.

'Oh no,' Duncan said. 'This could be dangerous. You're not coming, Joe.'

'I'm supposed to be your watcher,' Joe reminded him.

'I'll keep you posted,' Duncan said, with a tight little smile.

'He's my friend too, Duncan,' Joe said. 'And I'm going to be there whether it's with you or not.'

'I don't need a watcher along, Joe.'

'Well if you don't have me along, Duncan,' Joe pointed out reasonably, 'How do you think you're going to track him down in the first place?'

There was a brief pause.

'An aisle seat, you said?' Duncan asked.

'Business class. I need the leg room.'

Monday Afternoon, M6, Gloucestershire to Manchester

Mulder drove on through the afternoon. For most of the first hour he had rather pointedly not spoken to or looked at his unwelcome companion, relying on instinct, the memories of his university days and, when all else failed, his somewhat deficient sense of direction to navigate the quiet country roads. He had been determined not to be the first to speak, and had attributed Krycek's silence to the same motive. However when he finally did glance sideways, he realised belatedly why the journey had been so quiet. At some point during the afternoon, Krycek had fallen asleep.

It must have been uncomfortable, almost impossible to sleep in the bumpy, cramped car, but Krycek had somehow managed it. It was, Mulder considered, actually faintly insulting that Krycek was so unconcerned about falling asleep next to him. Of course after a night's stakeout he must have been exhausted, but no more exhausted than Mulder with jetlag. And he'd probably had something to eat and drink while he was waiting, which was more than Mulder had done.

He glared at Krycek, an action which had no effect whatsoever.

Krycek slept. Mulder drove. He was acutely aware of Krycek's arm, warm and still beside his. But Krycek did look tired, exhausted, in fact, and Mulder decided against waking him. Krycek asleep was preferable to Krycek awake and bickering with him. Besides, all the arguing was starting to give him a headache.

When they reached the motorway it was a blessed relief after the hundred wrist-chafing gear changes of the country roads. The Sunday afternoon traffic was thankfully light. Mulder put the car into its top gear and settled down to a long drive. It was a long, dull journey up into the heart of the industrial Midlands, a place Mulder had never visited. They passed what seemed like dozens of service areas, always a gas station and a restaurant, most of them names he remembered from when he had been at university here - Shell, Esso, not Exxon, BP, Little Chef, Happy Eater. To the west were the hills of the Welsh borders, but the ground grew flatter as he travelled north, and the towns larger until they reached and passed through the tangled industrial suburbs of Birmingham.

He became more and more aware through the long drive that he had had nothing to eat or drink that day. Krycek, apparently, had not had the foresight to pack any food in the car, or at least nothing that he could see by craning over to look at the back seat. He wondered if it was worth the risk of stopping. Not at one of the restaurants, the handcuffs would make that a logistical nightmare. He tried to remember if they'd had drive-ins in England when he'd been here before, but his memory turned up a blank. He thought of waking Krycek to see if he had any ideas, but again decided against it. His thoughts kept returning to Adam, to what the note had meant and if he was all right. Maybe Krycek had been right, maybe he didn't know him, not at all. Maybe Krycek had packed food in the trunk. Or a drink at least. But he didn't want to wake Krycek. He drove on, always north.

He reached over and shook Krycek's leg gently. 'Krycek, wake up.'

Krycek blinked sleepily from where he was slumped in the seat of the mini, then awareness slammed back, and his eyes narrowed.

'Where are we?'

'We're almost at Manchester. We're running out of gas.'

Krycek sat up abruptly. 'Why didn't you wake me, Mulder?'

'I did wake you.'

'I meant before. We should have gotten rid of this car hours ago. What time is it?'

'Almost six o'clock. Getting dark.'

'Turn off, Mulder. We need to steal another car.'

'There's a service area just up ahead.'

'A town would be better,' Krycek said. He stretched unselfconsciously in the cramped confines of his seat. 'The car's going to be reported stolen more quickly here.'

'We may not have enough gas to get to a town.'

'You should have woken me before, Mulder.'

'Yeah, I know. You just looked as if you needed the rest,' Mulder said, and wished he hadn't when Krycek shot him an unfathomable look.

The service area boasted a petrol station, a motel, a brightly lit main building and a dubious looking restaurant. They parked in the darkest area of the car park and abandoned the mini with very little regret. Krycek gave the area a brief, appraising glance.

'Over by the phone box, Mulder. It'll hide us from the main building.'

'So what now?' Mulder asked, when that manoeuvre was completed.

'Now we stand here, by this phone box, just two guys getting some air...' Krycek said in a low voice. His gaze flickered over the parked cars near them for a brief, incurious second. He exuded casual: casual didn't even begin to cover the way he looked. Mulder stood stiffly beside him, only too aware of the telltale handcuffs. Krycek glanced at him and frowned.

'Mulder, will you relax? Get your cellphone out. Pretend you're talking to someone.'

'I left it in the car,' Mulder said. He leaned against the phone booth in an unconvincing attempt at nonchalance. 'It doesn't work anyway. I think what was left of the quickening must have blown its circuits.'

'Then read the billboards or something,' Krycek said, as he scanned the carpark with a professional eye.

'They're all advertisements for food. I could really use something to eat about now,' Mulder said. 'And a drink. I didn't even stop for a cup of coffee this morning.'

Krycek glanced at him in irritation. 'You'll survive, Mulder. We'll wait until it gets dark and look for some vending machines. Right now we need to concentrate on finding a car to steal.'

Mulder scanned the parking lot. 'How about that one?' he suggested, indicating the first car that caught his eye.

'The Volkswagen Beetle?' Krycek said in disbelief. 'Are you serious, Mulder?'

'I always wanted a Volkswagen Beetle when I was a student,' Mulder said, slightly stung by Krycek's tone. 'They're very economical.'

'Fuck economical, Mulder. We're going to ditch it when it runs out of petrol anyway. Anyway, do you have any idea how easy it's going to be to find us if we're driving an orange Volkswagen Beetle? With a top speed of about 60 miles per hour, I might add.'

'It's got a lot of character,' Mulder defended.

'Roseanne Barr has a lot of character,' Krycek said. 'I still wouldn't want to spend more than about ten minutes with her. How about that one?'

Mulder shook his head. 'Not that one.'

'What's wrong with it, Mulder?'

'There's a baby seat in the back.'

Krycek let his head fall back against the side of the phone booth. 'Mulder, we're supposed to be on a mission to save the world here.'

'Krycek, I'm not going to be responsible for abandoning a family with a baby in a place like this at this time of night,' Mulder said firmly.

'Okay, Mulder,' Krycek said through gritted teeth. 'Forget the car with the baby seat.'

'What about the black one?' Mulder suggested placatingly. 'That looks kind of fast.'

Krycek shook his head. 'It's got a steering wheel lock. If I had my picks it wouldn't be a problem but right now the only way we're going to get through it is by sawing through the steering wheel and if we had that kind of equipment we wouldn't be in this mess. How about the one next to it?'

'The blue one? Well it's up to you...'

'What, Mulder?'

'Well it doesn't have a lot of leg room. I was getting kind of cramped in that mini.'

'Fine. So we want something larger.'

'But with good fuel consumption. Nothing with too big an engine.'

Krycek let out an irritated breath. 'What do you want to do, Mulder? Stop by a dealership and get some brochures?'

'I just don't want to run out of petrol somewhere in the middle of the Scottish Highlands.'

'Mulder, if this one doesn't work out, we steal another one in the next town. If we run out of petrol we break open someone's petrol cap and steal theirs.'

'The life of crime has more advantages than I thought,' Mulder said.

Krycek nodded. 'Yeah. I always thought so.'

Mulder craned in for a closer look. 'So what tapes have they got? Is the stereo any good?'

'Mulder, the longer the we hang around out here, the more suspicious it's going to look and the more likely it is that someone's going to come out.'

'Fine. Let's pretend that I know nothing about stealing cars. You pick, Krycek.'

'We'll take the blue one,' Krycek decided. 'Ever broken into a car before, Mulder?'

'Once or twice,' Mulder admitted.

'It's your show, Mulder. Impress me.'

*****

Two minutes later

'I'm impressed, Mulder,' Krycek said. 'No, really.'

The car pulled out of the service area, back onto the motorway. Mulder allowed himself a tight little smile of triumph. Krycek looked around, inspecting their new acquisition.

'You want the really good news, Mulder? Whoever owned this car left their shopping in the back.'

'Thank Christ,' Mulder said in heartfelt tones. 'Have a look and see if there's any food. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday.'

Krycek twisted in his seat so he could see what was behind them. 'From here it looks like... potato chips. Coke. Jello. A Thomas the Tank Engine birthday cake...'

'That's it.'

'What, Mulder?'

'We've stolen some little kid's birthday party. The last of my karma just got blown out of the water.'

'We're not taking it back, Mulder,' Krycek said, with a dangerous edge to his voice.

'Normally I'd argue with you but right now I'm just too hungry.'

'Do you need to change gear for a moment, Mulder?'

'No. Why?'

'I'm going to reach over and get one of these bags. Ready?'

'Yeah.'

'Hold on a moment... Got it,' He swung the white plastic bag over to the front seat, narrowly missing hitting Mulder's ear with it. There was a rustle of packaging. Then: 'Do you want a wheel or a carriage?' Krycek asked. 'I think the wheels are chocolate.'

'Pass the coke first. I need a drink.'

'Here. I'll hold the wheel while you open it.

Mulder drank the coke Krycek handed to him in about thirty seconds. It was warm, fizzy and too sweet. It tasted like ambrosia.

Beside him Krycek was continuing his exploration of the carrier bag.

'Looks like... Yeah, there's ice cream in here too. We should eat that. It's not going to get any less melted.'

'What flavour is it?'

'Vanilla.'

'They bought vanilla ice cream for their kid's party? I'm feeling better about this already.'

'You had vanilla ice cream a lot at home, didn't you Mulder,' Krycek said.

'Is that in my file or something?' Mulder asked irritably.

'Lucky guess,' Krycek said modestly.

'It's a WASP mother thing,' Mulder said. 'I think it's supposed to be character building.'

'It's social control, Mulder. It's about class. You train your kids to deprive themselves now with the promise that they can have more in the future. You teach them to think that luxuries are bad and wasteful, that by doing without they're somehow superior to the kids whose parents are buying them toffee banoffee or rocky road. It's a way of instilling Protestant ethics in a future generation of the country's leaders.'

Mulder shook his head. 'That's got to be the stupidest theory I've ever heard, Krycek. It's ice cream. Chocolate ice cream only costs about 20 cents a tub more. It's not that big a deal.'

'So how come you never had it at home, Mulder?'

'Mom... Mom just didn't have a lot of imagination when it came to desserts, that's all,' Mulder said, rather uncomfortably. 'Could we talk about something else, Krycek?'

Krycek nodded. 'Whatever you want, Mulder. You're the boss. Want me to see if there are any good tapes?'

'Sure. Be my guest, Krycek. We stole the car, we stole the tape collection.'

Krycek gave him a weary look from beneath long, dark lashes. 'You're not having second thoughts about this, are you Mulder? Because we could always get out and walk to Scotland.'

Mulder didn't dignify that remark with a reply. Instead he reached forward and turned the tape deck on. The poignant, crystal tones of Celine Dion filled the little car.

'...Far across the distance and spaces between us

You have come to show you go on

Near, far, where ever you are

I believe that the heart does go on

Once more, you opened the door...'

Krycek made a disgusted noise, pressed eject and tossed the tape over onto the back seat with one fluid motion. 'I hate that crap,' he said.

'What else has she got?' Mulder picked a name at random from his head. 'Any Nine Inch Nails?'

'You've never listened to Nine Inch Nails in your entire life, Mulder,' Krycek said dismissively.

'How would you know, Krycek?'

'The number of times I've broken into your apartment and you still have to ask me that, Mulder?'

'You mean you broke into my apartment and checked out my record collection?'

'Yeah. I don't remember seeing anything in there recorded after 1990. You've got some seriously middle of the road stuff there, Mulder.'

'It's called classic rock, Krycek,' Mulder said irritably. He didn't know which was worse - that Krycek had broken into his apartment or that he was using that fact to criticise Mulder's taste in music. 'Anyway maybe I want to start listening to Nine Inch Nails now. Broaden my musical horizons.'

'Well you're out of luck,' Krycek said, sorting through the tapes. 'We've got the soundtrack to "Beaches", featuring "The Wind Beneath Your Wings". We've got K D Lang, we've got Sarah MacLachlan...'

'Great. Like I need more angst in my life right now.'

'Okay, no stereo. Fine by me.'

'So what now?'

'We could talk, Mulder. Get to know each other better. Since we seem to be stuck with each other for the duration.'

'There's one problem, Krycek,' Mulder said, with a grim little smile. 'We have absolutely nothing to talk about.'

'Oh don't worry about that, Mulder. I'll think of something.'

'Fine. So talk.'

Krycek shifted to a more comfortable position in his seat. 'So, did you see the movie, Mulder?' he began conversationally.

'The movie? You mean Titanic?'

Krycek gave him another of those dark-lashed looks. 'Yes, Titanic, Mulder.'

'Yeah,' Mulder admitted. 'Scully made me. She said I was going to be the only person left North America who hadn't and I wouldn't have anything to talk about at parties.' He thought for a moment. 'Actually, I'm pretty sure she was joking when she said that.'

'So what did you think?'

'I usually prefer my movie stars to be wearing a few less clothes, but yeah, I thought it was okay. I heard they were going to bring Leonardo DiCaprio back in a sequel.'

Krycek snorted. 'Right. The guy's an ice cube at the bottom of the Atlantic. What are they going to do, thaw him out in the twenty-fifth century?'

'So you saw it too?' Mulder asked.

'Yeah. Twelve times,' Krycek said darkly.

'You saw Titanic twelve times, Krycek?' Mulder asked, dead pan.

'I was waiting to meet a contact in a cinema in Krasnoyarsk,' Krycek said moodily. 'I waited for four days. He never showed up.'

'Was he dead?'

'He will be if I ever find him.'

They passed a sign, a turn off towards Bolton. Mulder flicked on the indicator.

'Mulder, what are you doing? We don't leave this motorway until after Glasgow. We've got about two hundred miles to go yet.'

Mulder shook his head. 'We're stopping here. I can't eat and drive and I'm too hungry to wait any longer.'

'We can't stop for long, Mulder,' Krycek warned. 'We need to keep moving.'

'Ten minutes,' Mulder said. 'That's all.'

They took the next turning off the motorway onto a half deserted retail park under glaring orange lights. It was after closing time - only a few cars were left, clustered around the furniture warehouses and carpet superstores. Krycek directed him to a space not too near the other cars, but not far enough away to arouse suspicion.

'Better?' Krycek asked.

'Yeah,' Mulder said shortly. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back briefly. As predicted, he had a stiff neck from driving in the mini and from the accumulated tension of the day. What he needed, he decided, was a long, hot bath. And a bed, a comfortable bed. Neither of these things, of course, was likely to materialise in the foreseeable future. He tried not to think about a night handcuffed to Krycek. He tried not to think about what was going to happen when Krycek needed to go to the bathroom.

He straightened with a groan as Krycek took advantage of the break to pull the other shopping bag over the seat. Their meal, in the end, consisted of coke, dried noodles, potato chips, cake and decidedly soft vanilla ice cream. Scully would not have approved - Mulder was beyond caring. Even the vanilla ice cream had tasted good.

'I remember a Star Trek episode where this kid asks Nurse Chapel to pick an ice cream sundae for him, and she says it's going to be a surprise and then she chooses vanilla and coconut,' he said, apropos of nothing in particular. 'I think it was supposed to be some kind of lesson for him. I'd liked Nurse Chapel up until then, but that just blew her out of the water for me.'

'Was she the one who had the hots for Mr Spock?' Krycek asked, around a mouthful of cake.

'Yeah. That was her,' Mulder said. That Krycek had watched Star Trek at some point in his childhood was more of a surprise than it probably should have been.

Krycek settled back comfortably in his seat. 'So who would you have dated on Star Trek, Mulder?' he asked, glancing at Mulder again.

Mulder glanced back warily. 'What kind of a question is that?'

'Just making conversation, Mulder,' Krycek said noncommittally.

Mulder looked at him suspiciously, then nodded. 'Okay,' he said. 'The way I see it, Uhura was the girl you wanted to date but she was so out of your league you wouldn't ever even have the courage to ask her. Nurse Chapel was the girl next door. The one you knew you were going to end up married to.'

Krycek nodded. 'What about the other one? The one with the big hair who had a crush on Kirk?'

'Yeoman Rand?' Mulder shook his head. 'Too clingy. Too high maintenance. And she was too hung up on Kirk. She was the cheerleader who tried to validate her self image by hanging out with the high school quarterback.'

One of the cars at the far end of the parking lot turned its lights on and drove out past them. Mulder watched it pass, but there was no evidence that it was anyone other than a store clerk going off work.

'So you think they were doing it?' Krycek asked, around a mouthful of cake.

'Who? Kirk and Yeoman Rand?'

'Kirk and Spock,' Krycek said.

Mulder glanced at him suspiciously, but Krycek was looking innocently out at the road. 'You're joking, right?' Mulder said eventually.

Krycek turned to face him, his expression innocent. 'I'm serious, Mulder. I'd be interested in your assessment as a psychologist.'

Mulder frowned. 'Kirk wasn't gay, Krycek. The guy was an alpha male. He was testosterone driven. He ran into old girlfriends everywhere he went.'

'Yeah, but think about it, Mulder. Maybe the guy had something to prove. He was always unnecessarily getting himself into situations where he had to prove himself by physical confrontation. He never had a successful, lasting relationship with a woman in his life. The guy was married to his job, he immersed himself in a macho, male dominated organisation... what, Mulder?'

Mulder was glaring at him. 'It doesn't matter whether Kirk was gay or not. Spock wouldn't have slept with him anyway. For a start, Spock's a Vulcan. He only gets to have sex once every seven years. That's a terrible basis for a relationship.'

'Yeah, but if he really wants the relationship he can just...' Krycek gestured vaguely.

'Lie back and think of Vulcan?' Mulder suggested.

'Yeah, exactly,' Krycek said. 'Nicely put. Do you want the rest of the cake or can I have it?'

'Be my guest. No, Spock's a lot more emotionally mature than Kirk. He can see that underneath it all, Kirk's a guy with some serious relationship problems. He knows he's always going to come a poor second to the command of the Enterprise.' He glanced at Krycek suspiciously. 'Are you just doing this to mess with my head?'

Krycek gave him a glance that bordered on the pitying. 'Mulder, I don't always have ulterior motives. I'm bored and it's too dark to play I-Spy. You can ask me one instead if you want.'

'Uh, right.' Mulder thought for a moment. 'So who did you prefer? Sulu or Chekov?'

'No contest,' Krycek said. 'Sulu was a good, competent officer. Chekov was cannon fodder. He was pure red ensign material. The only reason he was on the bridge of the Enterprise at all was because he was cute.'

Mulder looked at him, amused. 'You think Kirk and Chekov were doing it, Krycek?'

'He got that bridge promotion somehow, Mulder. As far as I could work out, looks were all he had going for him.'

They sat back in silence for a moment, but this time it was almost companionable.

'Are you ready to move on?' Krycek asked eventually.

'Yeah, I think so. We should probably save some of this for later.' He paused for a moment. 'Does this seem too easy to you, Krycek?'

Krycek sighed. 'Jesus, Mulder you'd bitch about anything.'

'I mean it. So far we've had no police, nobody following us...'

'Will you relax, Mulder? We stole this car ten minutes ago. The bonnet was still warm. Whoever owned it is probably still on their starter. I stole the last one three or four counties back so nobody's looking for it up here yet. As long as we keep moving, nobody's going to have any idea where we are.'

About an hour behind them, a larger, faster car drove smoothly through the evening, heading north, towards Scotland. Its driver reached down every now and then to flick expertly through the bands of a police radio set. Clanroyden, in the passenger seat, was in conversation on the car phone.

'How are they doing?' he asked.

'Still heading north, sir,' the disembodied voice on the other end of the line said. 'They stole another car at a service area near Manchester about fifteen minutes ago.'

'Good,' Clanroyden said. 'Are you far behind them?'

'We're at the service area now. Units four and five are tracking them and we've got one and three waiting to take over at the next junction. Unit four says they've just parked up, so we're having the others stand by for now. We can't get too close and this car doesn't have a tracker system installed so we're going to be relying on motorway cameras and the satellite imaging for the next stage of the journey.'

'Just make sure Mulder doesn't see you. Find the owner of the car they've taken and make sure the theft isn't reported. Offer to buy them a new car if you have to. And have another car ready for them in the place we agreed, across the Scottish border.'

'It's already there, sir.'

'Excellent. Mulder will probably be worried that it seems too easy by then. You might want to arrange some sort of pursuit to put his mind at ease. A roadblock perhaps.'

'I'll see to it. One more thing, sir.'

'Yes?' Clanroyden leaned back into the soft leather of his seat.

'Well it wasn't entirely clear, sir, but Mulder and Krycek looked as if they were handcuffed together.'

'Really?' Clanroyden said, raising an eyebrow. 'Still? It sounds as though Krycek's found a way to keep Mulder from ditching him again.'

'Do you want me to take any action, sir?'

'Oh it sounds as though everything's under control. Just keep following them. Call me again when they cross into Scotland.'

'Yes sir.'

The phone rang again almost immediately after Clanroyden cut off the call.

'Clanroyden? It's Blenkiron.'

'I wasn't expecting to hear from you today, Blenkiron,' Clanroyden said. 'What's wrong?'

'Assistant Director Skinner and Agent Scully left Washington DC on a flight to London an hour ago,' Blenkiron said grimly. 'They could cause problems. Skinner's got contacts here. If he says the wrong thing to the wrong person, it could mean trouble.'

'Damn,' Clanroyden muttered. 'I suppose it was too much to hope for that Skinner wouldn't get involved in this personally. All right, Blenkiron, you're still in London. You'd better go and meet them at the airport.'

'Me?' Blenkiron protested. 'What the hell am I supposed to do with them?'

'I don't care what you do with them. Just keep them out of my way. This is delicate enough as it is. I don't need any more distractions.'

'You're the boss. Gatwick airport it is. I'll call you when they arrive.'

'Make sure you do. That's all.'

6.55pm The Isles of the Sea, Firth of Lorn, Western Scotland

Outside the last traces of sunset faded across the dark, steel-grey sea. The great hall of the keep smelled both damp and dusty. The air seemed chill and dank, a reminder that the sea was not far below and of the setting sun. The heavy oak furniture was in good condition, but old and dusty. Fifty years, Adam estimated idly, since it had last been used, or the keep had been lived in, and the unpacked crates and boxes that stood neatly stacked in one corner of the room bore testimony to an abrupt arrival days, if not hours before.

The chair he was sitting in was old and solid as the rest, but it was well padded enough not to be uncomfortable. That was just as well. Both his wrists and ankles were securely firmly to it with rope. The chains around his shoulders and waist and more loosely around his neck, Adam had decided fairly early on, were definitely overkill. It had, after all, been a long although not admittedly not a particularly uncomfortable journey.

Gilles had not seemed surprised by his surrender at the church. In fact, Adam had surmised, the Templar had half expected it. He felt a brief pang of regret for John of Tour's watcher. There was no evidence that Gilles knew about the Watchers - the man had obviously let himself be seen, and he had paid the penalty. John of Tour himself had been a fool not to have fled as soon as he'd made the call to Gilles - a casualty of his own stupidity, Adam decided, rather coldly. And after his surrender, the journey here. From Oxfordshire they had travelled by car, to a private airfield. They had flown north, to Scotland. Then the helicopter journey from another private airfield, near Glasgow. And now, this place. From what he had been able to see, a keep on a rocky, precipitous island, a few hundred yards from the mainland, rising on one side to a high cliff. A larger, flatter island stood a few hundred yards across the straits, overgrown with trees except for a small cleared landing site where the helicopter that had brought him here had set down. The rest of the journey had been by motorboat. And then he had been brought in here and chained, rather extravagantly, to this large and solid chair. His host sat opposite him in a similar chair, hands steepled in front of him.

'Ah, Methos,' Gilles said, with some satisfaction. 'Methos, Methos, Methos. What a pleasure it is to finally have you here.'

'I would say how nice it was to be here, but I must admit that I've been more comfortable. You don't think the chains are a little bit over the top?'

Gilles smiled a friendly little smile which failed to reach his eyes. 'You must forgive me,' he said. 'I am not a man who gives his trust easily and Georgia is less trusting than I by far. I've been told that it's a character flaw. Although not by anyone who's still alive.'

'I suppose it's understandable, given the circumstances,' Adam allowed graciously. 'I wouldn't trust me either. Though if you could lose a couple of the heavier chains, I'd be grateful. It's not as if I even have a sword.'

Gilles chuckled. 'Ah, Methos. I don't think that you have ever needed a sword. No, I think the chains can stay on, for the time being. You will need to earn my trust. And Georgia's, of course. She's raised an interesting question: why you should run from us for so long if you always intended to join us, and why you should change your mind and suddenly give yourself up willingly.'

Adam smiled faintly. 'And you told her, of course. There can only be four horsemen. While Anne lived, I could not join you. Now that she is dead, I may take her place.'

'Yes. So you told me, when you came to me this morning.'

'I have no other explanation to offer than that.'

'And what if you seek our destruction?'

'Then I would say that surrendering to you would be a strange way of going about it. If I wanted to destroy you, surely I'd have come up with a more plausible excuse for being here.'

Gilles looked at him with narrowed eyes. 'I do not understand your motivations, Methos.'

'Maybe it's all down to the Lord working in mysterious ways,' Adam said, with as much of a shrug as he could manage given the chains that held him. 'I'm the last Horseman of the Apocalypse. On the eve of the true Millennium, my place is with you. Perhaps that's all there is to it.'

'Perhaps it truly is,' Gilles mused. 'Perhaps it really is that simple. But you'll forgive me if I am slow to trust you. I have been betrayed before.'

'Then let's change the subject. I'm curious,' Adam said. 'How did you know to search for me in the first place? How did you find Lemarchand, how did you know I was at the camp in Maine? How did you know about the Horsemen at all.'

Gilles leant back in his chair and clasped his hands. 'How we learned of you first? It was in an asylum in London, sometime in the nineteenth century. Richard had an unfortunate run-in with the authorities. He met another immortal, a madman chained to a wall who ate insects and spoke of his brothers, the Horsemen who had reigned over the known world for over a thousand years. We looked for him after we found Richard, of course, but he'd long since killed himself and been buried in a mass grave.'

'You have no idea how many years he spent in prisons and asylums until it occurred to him to start doing that,' Adam mused. 'Probably just as well that he did. He talked too much.'

'I had heard the legends of the horsemen, of course,' Gilles continued. 'I searched out the old ones, those I could find, and asked them of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. There was one woman in particular, a woman named Cassandra. Georgia met her in Budapest in 1954, fighting the Communists. Georgia was able to be of some little help to her and to earn her friendship. She was the first we found who had truly known you in those days. She was consumed by hatred of you in particular, Methos. She was only too willing to speak of her enslavement by you. Unfortunately she wasn't willing to oblige us with a description. She said she wanted to kill you herself. She believed that whoever took your quickening would win the prize. Georgia lost touch with her before she could be... induced to tell us more.'

Adam closed his eyes. 'That's it,' he said with finality. 'If I find that woman again, she's dead, friend of Mac's or not.'

'That's academic, Methos,' Gilles reproved him gently. 'She will be dead soon enough. When the end of times arrives, the weakest will be the first to perish.'

'Yes. Of course. Forgive me,' Adam murmured.

Gilles nodded. 'As the time of the true millennium grew nearer we spent more time on our search. Georgia went to Paris with Julian. Anne went to New York. Richard I sent to London. Almost every immortal in existence has lived or travelled to or through one of those cities at some time or another. So we searched and we asked. We killed, just once or twice, when we thought information was being held back from us. And then Anne found Jacques Lemarchand in a bar in Manhattan this January.'

'And he knew who I was?' Adam asked.

Gilles smiled and shook his head. 'No. Only that he had met an immortal, far more ancient than any he had come across before, in Maine during the late seventies. He gave us the names of the immortals he had met there surprisingly quickly, but he could not remember which one of them he had sensed as being the ancient one. I conducted his interrogation myself, but after several days we realised that he truly could not tell us any more. So I killed him, and we began the search for all of the immortals he had told us of. Rebecca Kirkwood and Max Donnelley had both died since that time. Arch Drake was weak - a mere hundred years old. That left the mysterious Adam Pierson, who would not let himself be photographed and who left no trace of his time in Maine except a police record of his association with a Fox William Mulder. The rest I believe you know.'

'The rest I know,' Adam agreed. There was a thoughtful pause before he spoke again. 'Have you never thought that you might be wrong about all this? About the Millennium, about the Apocalypse?'

Gilles shook his head. 'You seek to test my faith, Methos? How can I be wrong? You have put yourself into my hands, ready to serve the Lord at my side. I have the virus, my weapon of destruction, my sword of fire. The date is at hand, and Death has delivered himself to me. How could any of this have happened if it was not God's will?'

'Then if this is God's will, how can I be a traitor?' Adam pointed out. 'As you said, I've given myself to you freely. You have no need to chain me like this.'

Gilles shook his head again. 'I am God's servant, but I am not a fool. Talk to Georgia. Put her fears at rest. I will let her decide whether to loosen your chains or not.'

He stood abruptly. 'My Lady, he is yours,' he said, to someone who stood at the back of the room, someone Methos could not see. 'Ask him what you will. I will be with Richard and Julian if you need me.'

The door closed behind him. Adam craned round in his seat, trying to see if he had really left or not. He turned back, satisfied that Gilles had gone, as Georgia took her place in the chair Gilles had just vacated.

'You've fooled him, Methos,' she began pleasantly. 'Partly at least. But not me. I don't know what game you're playing, but I will.'

'I didn't say I thought this was a game,' Adam said mildly. Georgia shook her head.

'Why should you wish to join us, Methos? Why should anyone wish for the end of the world?'

'Apart from Gilles? And you, by extension, of course?' Adam asked, rather sarcastically.

Georgia favoured him with a tight little smile. 'Gilles believes that God has commanded him to do this, but I doubt that God speaks to you any more than he does to me. And I think, after five thousand years, how weary must you have become of the killing. Why should you want this now?'

Adam smiled back, not pleasantly. 'Maybe this is the way I've chosen to bring all the killing to an end. It's rather extreme perhaps, but certainly valid. What's your excuse?'

'Gilles raised me from my childhood. And when the time came that I wished to break free of him, we were betrayed and our brothers killed and we were forced into exile. How ungrateful I would have seemed, to have left him then. And there were others I cared for, that I could not leave...' she let her voice trail off, and her eyes grew hard again. 'What happened to the others?' she asked. 'The other three horsemen?'

'Unfortunately, all dead,' Adam said, without excessive regret.

'And you killed them?'

'Essentially,' Adam admitted. 'They wanted to rule the world instead of ending it, but the principle of the thing was the same.'

'And how did they propose to do that? Another virus?'

Adam studied the ceiling. 'They seem to be fashionable at the moment.'

'And why should I not go to Gilles now, and tell him that you betrayed your brothers?' Georgia asked.

'I wouldn't deny it,' Adam said mildly. 'There can only be four horsemen. Gilles would simply say that it was preordained that they die, so that his own horsemen could rise. Across the centuries they had degenerated until they were no longer fit for their purpose. Better that they die and that true Christian knights take their places.'

Georgia nodded. 'Your brother, eating his insects in an asylum in London. Yes, Gilles would believe that. You have your story worked out very well.'

'I find it's usually best to keep things simple,' Adam said modestly.

'But you don't believe any of it. The Millennium, the Apocalypse...'

Adam gave her a weary look. 'Well of course I don't. I admit it freely. But then it could be argued that my belief isn't necessary. Only my participation.'

'So how do you expect me to trust you?' Georgia demanded. 'Why are you telling me these things? Do you expect me to betray Gilles as you betrayed your brothers? I would not do so on your word, Methos.'

'I wouldn't have expected you to,' Adam said mildly.

'Gilles is not convinced of your loyalty. Not yet. I doubt he ever will be. You'll play your part in this, and then he'll kill you.'

'Then it seems that I need to prove my loyalty to him,' Adam said, not even slightly disconcerted.

'And how do you propose to do that, Methos?'

Adam attempted to shrug again. 'Mulder will have followed me. He'll be here soon. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. If you set a watch for him you'll capture him easily enough. Then you'll have him in surety against me.'

'Another betrayal,' Georgia said wonderingly. 'They come so easily to you.'

'Some betrayals are justified. It all depends what you're fighting for. I think that we understand each other in that.'

'You don't understand me at all, Methos,' Georgia said coldly.

'And the chains?'

'Your chains can stay where they are for now.'

'If you want me to help you, you'll have to free me enough to eat and sleep at least,' Adam pointed out.

'Maybe. Maybe later. But I do not trust you.'

'You should think about what I've said.'

'I'll think about it. But I still don't trust you,' Georgia said. She turned to leave.

'There was one more thing I was curious about,' Adam said blandly.

'I don't have time to answer your questions, Methos,' Georgia said bluntly.

'It won't take a minute. Just something that's been bothering me.'

Georgia stopped in the doorway, turned and sighed. 'Very well. Go ahead.'

'Your group made contact with the Russian Mafia. I imagine it was through the Internet. I expect you were very, very careful not to reveal who you really were.'

'We are always careful, Methos,' Georgia said. 'Does this have a point?'

'You've stayed undercover for hundreds of years. As far as the Cabal knew you were all lost in the game, centuries before.'

'What of it?' Georgia asked suspiciously. 'As I said, we've been careful.'

'And I know that the Cabal has had almost no presence in the Russian security services for the last forty years. Clanroyden told Mulder that.'

''If you would make your point,' Georgia said shortly. 'I'd be grateful.'

Adam nodded mildly. 'Well, since you're so busy, I'll be brief. The point is this. How did they come to associate a small, anonymous terrorist group, in a country where they have no active operatives at all, with Gilles de Rais and the last remnants of the Knights Templar? They've known about you for weeks, more likely for months. They must have done, because Mulder was given the casefiles of both the Redburg and the Drake killing. The Cabal has always dealt with beheadings itself. That's what it does, it hides all evidence of immortal activity. Mulder could only have been given those casefiles with their knowledge and approval.'

'Perhaps they were careless,' Georgia said warily. 'How should I know?'

'But that still doesn't answer the question. How did they know that it was you in the first place?'

Georgia spread her hands impatiently. 'A coincidence perhaps. Someone was careless. What does it matter?'

'It matters, because there is only one certain way that they could have known. Because one of you made sure that they knew.'

There was a moment's silence. 'You're saying that one of us is a traitor?' Georgia said, her voice becoming low and dangerous. 'How dare you? We have fought alongside Gilles for eight hundred years. All of us. There is no traitor, Methos.'

'As you say,' Adam said. He smiled, and his smile was not reassuring. 'Of course, from what I've seen, the field for traitors within your organisation is a limited one. Not Gilles, why should he want to sabotage his own plans? Julian doesn't have the intelligence or the motivation. Richard is terrified of Gilles, and probably clinically insane. No, whoever it was must have been very subtle. Working through a third party, maybe, never giving quite enough to allow themselves to be identified if things went wrong, or for Gilles to even know that he had ever been betrayed. I suppose all they really needed to do was let the Cabal know that the Templars were involved in the first place...'

Georgia cut him off with a decisive gesture of her hand. 'This is pointless. All of what you've said is untrue. And I have work to do.'

'I do have one last question. If you have the time to answer me, of course.'

Georgia looked at him coldly. 'And your question is?'

'Did Anne of Kirrin make the first contact with the Russians, or was it you?'

'If you have come here to turn us against each other, Methos, you will not succeed,' Georgia said very softly. 'Do you imagine that Gilles will believe anything you say?'

'Do you think I should tell him?' Adam asked. He noted with academic interest the way her hands were twisting in the material of her gown.

Georgia did not answer. Instead she turned and walked out of the room. Adam permitted himself brief smile of satisfaction. Things were going very well. All he had to do now was to decide exactly what to do next.

'If you hurt her, I'm going to kill you.'

Adam looked up in surprise. For the half an hour after Georgia had left, he had sat deep in thought, planning his next step. He had not heard Julian enter the hall. Getting careless, he chided himself mentally.

'I don't want to hurt Georgia,' he said out loud. 'I have no argument with her or you.'

'If you tried, I'd kill you. I truly mean that,' Julian rumbled menacingly.

'I know you. I think you should stay near Georgia for the next few days. To make sure that she's safe. That's why you went with her when she went to Russia, isn't it?'

'She said she did not need me,' Julian mumbled, suddenly painfully uncertain. 'She said that Gilles needed me more, but Gilles said that I should go with her and protect her. I always protect her.'

Adam nodded. 'I think the next few days will be dangerous, Julian. I think you should go to her right now.'

Julian looked at him uncertainly, then nodded also. 'Yes. I will, then. Timothy, come to me.'

There was a whine from somewhere beneath the long oak table and one of the largest and hairiest dogs Methos had ever seen appeared from between the legs of the old oak chairs to bound after the heavyset knight. As he stood in the doorway, Julian paused and turned.

'I think Gilles will kill you anyway. I'm telling you so you can make your peace with God first.'

'Thanks,' Adam said sardonically. 'And is there any chance of getting something to eat today?' he called after the retreating figure. He settled back into the chair with a sigh. Sooner or later, they'd have to feed him. Until then, he just had to make himself comfortable.

After perhaps an hour, night had drawn itself completely over the sea. It was actually quite restful, Adam decided, looking out of the window at the moonlit water. He amused himself for a while by trying to work out where they were. Somewhere on the west coast of Scotland, maybe, he decided, but nowhere that he recognised. This was more the Highlander's territory. He was wondering exactly how far behind Mulder was when the great door opened again and another figure stepped between him and the window.

'What?' he snapped, rather shortly.

'I am Richard de Rais,' the figure said. The idiot was actually dressed in full chain mail, Adam realised. Just who he intended to fight was unclear. Maybe, he mused, Richard wore his knightly armour to bed.

'I know who you are,' he pointed out. 'Is this going somewhere or are you just going to stand there and block my view?'

'Do you think he'll let you lead the Horseman?' Richard said, in a high voice, filled with malicious triumph. 'He's brought you here to kill you.'

'So people keep telling me,' Adam said, with as much of a shrug as he could manage. 'You'll notice that I'm not especially worried by the prospect.

'You're n..nothing. The woman Cassandra told Georgia you were a c..coward and a traitor. Gilles will kill you. Gilles will let me kill you.'

'Oh, I think that all the dead weight in Gilles' little family is standing in front of me, Richard,' Adam said, with calculated cruelty. 'You know, if I was you, I think I'd be the nervous one. If Gilles had to lose anyone, it would be you. Maybe he'll decide he can do without you anyway. Maybe he'll decide that he's the one who should be leading the horsemen.'

'I could d.do anything to you' Richard whispered. 'Anything. And you'd heal, and none of them would know. None of them would believe you if you told them.'

Adam fixed him with his patented 'Death on a Horse' look, and threw in his nastiest grin for good measure. He was gratified to see Richard nervously back away a couple of steps. 'I've got a better idea,' he suggested. 'Why don't you just bugger off?'

There was a pause, then the dark shape was gone from in front of him.

'And get me something to eat,' he shouted at where he imagined Richard's rapidly retreating back to be. Yes, he was starting to get really uncomfortable in this chair. 'Come on, Mulder,' he muttered to himself. 'We haven't got all week for this.'

10.40pm. Monday evening, on the outskirts of Glasgow.

'Mulder, you don't have to drive under the speed limit the entire way. Nobody else is. You're making us stand out.'

Mulder gritted his teeth and bit back a number of choice retorts. 'I'm going slowly because I'm trying to drive *and* navigate,' he said irritably. Twelve hours of being handcuffed to Krycek had not put him in the best of moods. Apparently it wasn't doing a lot for Krycek either.

'I told you, keep going North. I'll tell you when you need to take the exit off.'

'Fine,' Mulder said shortly. A car overtook them, flashing its lights.

Krycek glanced sideways at him and drew in a weary breath. 'Relax, Mulder. It could be worse.'

'Well of course it could, Krycek,' Mulder said sarcastically. 'I'm actually quite enjoying this whole Thelma and Louise thing we have going.'

'Yeah? This is nothing like Thelma and Louise, Mulder.'

'What would you know about it, Krycek?' Mulder said sullenly.

'Well, where do you want me to start? We're both men, this is a cold, rainy evening in Scotland, and there's absolutely no lesbian subtext. Though with your driving it's probably just as well that we're more than five thousand miles away from the Grand Canyon.'

'Hah de hah hah,' Mulder said, without too much heat. 'So you don't think we're Thelma and Louise? How about...' Mulder searched his memory for road movies. 'How about Easy Rider?'

Krycek raised an eyebrow. 'Mulder, have you ever taken drugs in your entire life?'

'It so happens that I have taken drugs,' Mulder said, rather defensively. 'At Oxford.'

'More than once? I bet you didn't even inhale,' Krycek said, clearly amused.

Mulder had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. 'I've had a lot of painkillers.'

Krycek shook his head. 'Legally prescribed doesn't count, Mulder.'

'So why don't you enlighten me with your opinion, Krycek?'

My opinion? I'd say this was the Thirty-Nine Steps.'

'The book?'

'The Alfred Hitchcock film. You must have seen it, Mulder.'

Mulder nodded unwillingly. 'The one where Robert Donat and Madeleine Carrol end up handcuffed together, on the run from the law, chased by the bad guys. Yeah, I suppose...' he frowned. 'Wait a minute. Which one of us is Robert Donat and which one is Madeleine Carrol?'

'You're Madeleine Carrol, Mulder. I'm Robert Donat.'

'So you're saying that you're the misunderstood good guy and I'm the blonde?' Mulder said, slightly offended at the idea.

Krycek gave him an amused glance. 'You know you'd look good in drag, Mulder. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it.'

Mulder chose to ignore that comment. 'You really think you're one of the good guys, Krycek?'

'I know you don't agree, Mulder,' Krycek said patiently. 'That's what the word "misunderstood" means.'

'There are 60 million people on this island and I get to be chained to you,' Mulder muttered.

Krycek lowered his lashes. 'Yeah, Mulder. The feeling's mutual. Believe me, it's mutual.'

Mulder drove on. It was completely dark now. Glasgow's grim industrial suburbs surrounded the night around them, sliding past them, lit by the cold, orange light of the ranked street lamps.

'Do we stop here?' Mulder asked eventually. It was the first time either of them had spoken in at least twenty minutes.

'In Glasgow? No. We just stole this car. It's got to keep us going for a while yet.'

Mulder nodded. The theft, at an observation point carpark just across the border, had seemed ridiculously easy. Maybe he was just getting blasé about the whole thing. This car was bright red and relatively old, with a missing hubcap and a shallow but noticeable dent in one door. It was nonetheless the most comfortable car they had stolen to date, and the engine was gratifyingly powerful. They passed a junction, an anonymous slip road that led into the depths of a grim-looking area of small factories and warehouses. Mulder stiffened.

'What, Mulder.'

'Other carriageway. A police car.'

Krycek watched it come towards them warily. 'We had to run into one sometime, Mulder. He probably didn't even see us.'

'He's turning off. He can turn round here. He could have seen us.'

'Shit,' Krycek muttered. 'Keep driving, Mulder. This is probably nothing to do with us. The worst thing we can do is panic.'

Mulder glowered at him. 'I knew stealing another car was a mistake,' he muttered. 'We should have stuck with the one we had.'

'Yeah, well we were bound to run out of luck sooner or later, Mulder.'

'If we get into a chase, we're going to be caught. We don't know this area at all.'

'That's what I love about you, Mulder. Your boundless optimism.'

'Yeah. I'm famous for it, Krycek. Didn't you know? Shit.'

'What, Mulder?'

'He is turning. He just joined this lane. He's about six cars behind us.'

'Drive slowly, Mulder,' Krycek said calmly. 'He may not notice us. This is the largest city in Scotland. We were bound to run into a police car at some time.'

'If he stops us and sees the handcuffs we're finished,' Mulder said tensely.

Krycek smiled grimly. 'We still have a gun, Mulder.'

'Oh no. You're not shooting any more cops, Krycek.'

'They weren't real cops, Mulder,' Krycek corrected him. He turned to scan the road behind them.

Mulder kept driving, at just under the speed limit. 'Yeah, you said that before. I didn't believe you then either.'

'I'm going to do what I have to do to keep myself out of jail, Mulder. '

'Worried you're going to wind up engaged to some big ol' guy called Bubba, Krycek?'

Krycek gave him an exasperated look. 'Mulder, we've been through this. If I'm put into a jail, I'm going to be dead before Bubba gets to the holding hands in the shower stage.'

'Well I don't care. If he pulls us over, we're stopping. We might be able to bluff our way out of this but if it turns into a car chase we're at too much of a disadvantage.'

'Mulder, we already went over the reasons for not wanting to be stopped by the police. This is a stolen car, we're handcuffed together and you have no documents of any kind. If you stop now we're both going to be inside a cell in less than 30 minutes.'

'At least it means we get rid of the handcuffs. I'm really getting sick of these handcuffs.'

'*You're* getting sick of them, Mulder?'

Mulder ignored that and checked the rear view mirror again. 'He's still behind us.'

'That's it,' Krycek said, with finality. 'Give me the gun.'

'Oh no. Nobody is going to shoot anybody, Krycek. Least of all a police officer who's only doing his job.'

'Mulder, what are you doing?' Krycek asked.

It was too late. Mulder had pulled the gun out and one-handedly disengaged the clip from the weapon. There was a clatter, and a short silence.

'Fuck,' Mulder muttered.

'What, Mulder?' Krycek said wearily. When Mulder didn't answer, he asked again: 'Mulder, what?'

'The clip fell on the floor under the seat,' Mulder said, in a voice that defied Krycek to make anything of it.

Krycek closed his eyes. 'Great. Now we're handcuffed together and you've lost our only ammunition. I suppose I should be grateful that you didn't shoot yourself in the fucking foot too.'

'We can look for the clip later when we stop the car,' Mulder said, through gritted teeth.

'Just so long as you know what you're doing, Mulder,' Krycek said acidly. 'Which reminds me, what *are* you going to do when we actually reach the bad guys? Subdue them with the force of your personality?'

'I thought I'd use you as a human shield, Krycek,' Mulder said. The police car was still several vehicles behind them. 'Failing that I was going to rip your arm off and beat them over the head with it.'

'And that's the plan, is it? I suppose I should be grateful you've got one at all.'

'The plan,' Mulder said, with some emphasis, 'Is that we go to these Isles of the Sea, whatever they are, observe from a distance and try to find out what's happening there. And if you're asking whether I'm going to try to raid the place with you handcuffed to my wrist the answer is no, I'm not. I'm planning on losing you as soon as humanly possible.'

'Well I'm crushed, Mulder,' Krycek said with unnecessarily heavy sarcasm. 'Because I really thought we were *bonding* here.'

'Shut up, Krycek...'

They both fell silent, as the police car drew up alongside them in the next lane, and then passed them, gathering speed as it went. A little further on along the road its lights suddenly came to life, washed out blue under the steady orange of the street lights. In another thirty seconds the car was easily half a mile ahead of the and accelerating, en route to some nameless emergency elsewhere in the city.

'He's gone,' Mulder said. He slumped back in his seat.

'He's ahead of us. We need to get off this road, Mulder. As soon as we can.'

'It's almost midnight,' he said. 'We're going to have to stop. This is as far as we're going tonight, Krycek.'

'How much further is it?' Krycek asked. He sounded as tired as Mulder did.

'Another twenty miles or so. There's nowhere to cross this ridge of hills. We have to go down to the south of them and back up around.'

'Twenty miles isn't that far, Mulder.'

'Yeah, but I'm going to fall asleep at the wheel if we go on any more tonight.'

'This is the middle of nowhere, Mulder,' Krycek said. 'We can't stop here.' His voice was unsteady: Mulder cast a glance sideways and saw that Krycek was shivering.

'We'll have to start looking for somewhere to hide the car,' he said. 'Anyway there's nothing we're going to be able to do if we arrive at wherever the hell this castle is in the dark...'

'Jesus, Mulder, look out!'

Something was moving on the road in front of them, something large. Mulder caught a split-second glimpse of panicked eyes caught in the headlights and turned the wheel involuntarily, slamming on the brakes. It was not a good move. The car lost traction and skidded, broadside, into a shallow ditch alongside side of the road. Mulder gripped the wheel as the car crashed through the thick bracken of the roadside at a sickening angle, until it finally came to a juddering stop, tilted at a precarious forty five degree angle along its length.

Mulder took a breath, then another. 'Krycek?' he asked. Then: 'Krycek, are you okay?'

Krycek nodded. He sounded as shaky as Mulder had. 'Yeah. Yeah, I think so.'

'I'm going to try to get us out of here. Hold on...' He started the car again and pushed the accelerator down slowly. The only result was a strained whine from the engine, and the smell of burning rubber. 'Okay,' he said. 'I'm going to try reversing us out.'

'Forget it, Mulder,' Krycek said defeatedly. 'We're stuck here.'

'What the hell was that anyway?'

'It was a stag,' Krycek said. 'Ever thought of getting your eyes tested, Mulder?'

'I couldn't see it, all right?' Mulder said, with grim forbearance. 'It was dark, it jumped straight out in front of me. I don't think I hit it, though.'

'Maybe they'll give you a medal for conserving wildlife when this is all over. Why the hell did you steer into the ditch? If you'd kept going, worst case, you'd have hit it and dented the bonnet.'

'Well thanks for the advice,' Mulder snapped. 'Why don't you drive next time?'

Krycek closed his eyes. 'Jesus, I don't *believe* this,' he said. 'Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong. What is it with you, Mulder?'

'It's the story of my life,' Mulder said bitterly. 'Didn't you know? You said we were going to have to ditch this car sooner or later anyway.'

'You've got to stop taking people so literally, Mulder,' Krycek muttered.

They left the car stood at the side of the road to inspect the damage. Things looked no better from the outside then they had from the driver's seat.

'Is there any way we can get it out of there?' Mulder asked. He hefted the pack which contained their meagre belongings and pulled it up onto his shoulder.

Krycek shivered again. It was starting to get unpleasantly cold. 'Even if we weren't handcuffed together we couldn't do it without a tow-truck. Come on, Mulder. Leave it. It's freezing and we need to find some shelter. Did you get everything you needed?'

'Yeah. I think so,' Mulder said. The shock of the crash had robbed him of any desire to squabble with Krycek. Krycek too seemed subdued.

'Did you find anything to sleep on?' he asked.

'One sleeping bag and one blanket,' Mulder said. 'We could sleep in the car. See if the seats fold down...'

'Too dangerous,' Krycek said. 'Someone sees the car, reports it, the police come and we're asleep inside it - that's it, game over.'

'Great,' Mulder muttered. 'So we're sleeping under the stars? We're going to freeze to death.'

'We'll just have to huddle together for warmth.'

'You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to that prospect,' Mulder muttered under his breath.'

'Believe me I'm not exactly over the moon about it either,' Krycek said. He tugged at the handcuffs. 'Come on, Mulder. Forget the car. Let's go.'

'Let's go where?'

'Away from the road. There's something at the top of that field. Some kind of building. Must be a cattle shelter.'

'That's not a building, it's a pile of rubble.'

'It's got a roof, Mulder. Not a very good roof, but it's still a roof. Don't knock it, because it's all we're going to get.'

The shed was damp and cold, and barely big enough for the two of them. The floor was hard earth, the walls stone and the ceiling a rusted sheet of corrugated iron. It smelt of stale, dried dung, although fortunately it not appear to have been used for several months.

There they sat, in silence. Mulder huddled in the blanket, Krycek beneath the sleeping bag. Mulder had attempted to build a fire; he was painfully aware that it producing more smoke than heat, but it was something to do apart from talking to Krycek.

'Mulder,' Krycek said eventually, from beside him.

Mulder fed the fire from their tiny store of twigs. 'What?'

'There's something I need you to do for me.'

'Yeah? What?'

Krycek wasn't looking at him. He was looking up at the ceiling instead, or at the stars visible through the holes in the corrugated iron. 'My arm. I've had the prosthetic on for 36 hours now. I need you to take it off for me.'

'Is it starting to hurt?' Mulder asked.

'It always hurts, Mulder. When we were in the car I could stand it, but now it's starting to get bad.'

'There might be a first aid kit in the car. Something that would help.' Krycek just shook his head in the darkness, and Mulder felt himself filled with an unreasoning anger. 'Krycek, why didn't you tell me before?'

'I was hoping I could get away from you before I needed to do this. But... I can't manage another night like this.'

The straps that held the prosthetic in place were in the form of a harness, around both Krycek's shoulders. Mulder reached under Krycek's bunched up t-shirt and unfastened the velcro that held them in place. Krycek lay still and tense under him, barely breathing.

'Tell me if I'm hurting you.'

'Just fucking do it, Mulder,' Krycek said under his breath.

The cup fitted smoothly to Krycek's flesh, the prosthetic arm beneath it was a little darker. But the elbow joint below was nothing but a hinge of metal. He eased the prosthetic down the arm of Krycek's jacket, pulling the straps after it, trying to make sure they didn't rub against the stump.

'You need to look, Mulder. Tell me if it's bleeding.'

Mulder pulled Krycek's jacket back and gently pulled up the sleeve of the t-shirt, wanting to look and not wanting to look. The stump was not as bad as he'd feared, and at the same time far worse. Krycek's body was disturbing, shocking in its incompleteness. Nothing where an arm should have been, except this smooth, puckered truncation. Mulder swallowed, and fought back a surge of some nameless emotion. 'It looks raw but I think you're okay,' he said. 'You should have said something before now.' He put the prosthetic down gingerly. 'Krycek, you should be in a hospital. You should be somewhere getting this looked after.'

Krycek gave a harsh little bark of laughter. 'Jesus, Mulder, where the hell am I supposed to go? They don't have rest homes for down-on-their-luck assassins.'

'There must be somewhere,' Mulder said. He reached down to touch the prosthetic again, then self-consciously pulled his hand back. 'Somewhere that won't ask too many questions.'

'There are a lot of places, and they all charge thousands of dollars a night,' Krycek said bitterly, still not looking at him. 'Cash. If I had that kind of money I wouldn't be doing this fucking job.'

'I'm sorry,' Mulder said, and to his surprise, meant it. 'I'm sorry this happened to you.'

'Well join the fucking club, Mulder.'

'Do... do you want to talk about it?'

'What do you want to hear, Mulder?' Krycek said in a soft voice that was thick with emotion. 'Do you want to know how much it hurt? It hurt worse than anything you can imagine. Does that make you feel better? Is that what you wanted to know?'

'No. No, that's not... No.'

'Work out what it is you want from me, Mulder. Then we can talk about it.'

They both sat there, silently, Mulder with the blanket around his shoulders, Krycek lying beside him, huddled under the sleeping bag. After a while, in the darkness, Krycek began to speak again, in a quiet, detached voice.

'For a while after it happened, I wanted to die. I thought of killing myself. I still do. When it hurts too much, when I realise exactly how much my life has gone to shit. When I get tired of the running and hiding. When I get tired of getting up on the morning and having to worry about how I'm going to survive the day. I've put my own gun in my mouth more than once, I wasn't going to pull the trigger, I'm stronger than that, but it's a way out, it's there if I need it.'

'Why are you telling me this?' Mulder asked. He stared into their little fire. If there was another place he wanted to be less at that exact moment, he couldn't think of it.

'Because you're here. Because maybe you've been where I am, and maybe you understand. I started this with good intentions, Mulder. I really did. I thought what I was doing was for the best. I thought it was going to make a difference, I thought I could cut through all the crap, all the politicians, all the people who were in it for themselves. I thought I could work above it. I thought I could change things, really change things.

'But it didn't work out that way,' Mulder stated. He stared dismally at the little fire.

'Nobody's in it just for the greater good, Mulder. Except you and Scully, I don't know about Skinner but maybe him too. And none of you know what you're doing, you don't have a fucking clue who you should be fighting and what you should be fighting for.' Krycek laughed a dry, bitter laugh. 'And you're out there stalking the world in your armour of fucking righteousness. Trying to find the truth. As if that meant anything. As if the truth was an absolute. As if there was only one truth anyway.'

'I need to know one thing, Krycek...'

Krycek drew in a harsh breath. 'Your father? I killed him, Mulder. And if he was standing in front of my now, I'd kill him again. That's the truth.'

Mulder took a painful breath, then another. 'I didn't think you'd tell me,' he said, in a voice so quiet that even he could barely hear it.

Krycek closed his eyes, for just a moment. 'Yeah, Mulder, the truth is out there but ignorance is bliss. You should have worked that one out by now.'

'Why... why are you telling me this now?'

Krycek closed his eyes. 'You can't kill me, Mulder.'

There was no answer to that. 'He thought what he was doing was right,' Mulder said numbly.

Krycek opened his eyes again, looked up at him with something like pity. 'Christ, Mulder. And you're supposed to be a profiler. You know they all believe that. Almost nobody does evil for purely selfish reasons. They all think they're making the world a better place. But he... he knew he was going to die and he was going to take you with him so they couldn't have you either. He deserved everything he got.'

'Jesus, Krycek,' Mulder said, his voice almost breaking. 'How can you make excuses for what you did to him? To me?'

'What I've done to you? I've kept you safe, Mulder.'

'Why?' Mulder asked. 'Why does that matter so much to you?'

For a little while, Krycek did not speak. Finally: 'I don't know,' he said, and Mulder choked back a near hysterical laugh. He wanted to hold Krycek, or touch him, to give him some comfort, to say something even, but he couldn't let himself. For a long time he sat by Krycek, in silence and darkness.

'I'm going to sleep, Mulder,' Krycek said, at length. 'Don't wait up or anything.'

But it was a long time before Mulder slept.

Gatwick Airport, 23:14 hrs, Monday Night

'Passengers from British Airways flight 398 from Washington are now disembarking at gate 12...'

The tannoy rang nasally through the busy arrivals area of Gatwick airport. Skinner strode purposefully through the customs lounge, flight bag over his shoulder. Scully hurried after him, struggling with a slightly bulkier suitcase.

'Sir,' she called after him.

Skinner turned with a frown, as if not realising that she'd fallen behind. 'Yes, Agent Scully?'

'Sir, I was wondering where we were going from here. Mulder could be anywhere in the country. Unless you know something I don't, we have no leads at all.'

'I was hoping, Agent Scully,' Skinner said, 'That the leads would come to us.'

Scully tilted her head to one side. 'I'm not sure I understand, sir.'

'Then I'll explain later. We've got a welcoming committee.'

'I see them, sir,' Scully said out of the side of her mouth. 'Overweight, nervous man in a dark suit and the two night-club bouncers he's brought along for the ride.'

'Let me do the talking, Agent Scully,' Skinner said. He strode towards the three men purposefully, leaving Scully looking after him in confusion.

'Assistant Director Skinner,' the nervous looking man said, in an accent that owed more to Texas than to the British Isles.'

'Get rid of them, Blenkiron, if that's what you're calling yourself these days,' Skinner was saying. 'We need to talk.'

Blenkiron looked at him, then nodded up at the two men he'd brought with him. 'All right. Wait by the car. I'll catch you up.'

'You know him, sir?' Scully said, finally catching up as the two bodyguards departed.

'Oh, we're old friends,' Skinner said grimly. 'It's Mr Blenkiron's organisation that got Agent Mulder involved in this in the first place.'

'You mean he's one of these people who think they're 800 year old crusaders, sir?'

Skinner rubbed his forehead. 'There's no easy way of telling you this, Agent Scully. He is an 800 year old crusader.'

Scully looked at him in disbelief. 'Sir, are you serious?'

Skinner said nothing. He simply nodded. Scully looked disbelievingly at Blenkiron, who shrugged apologetically. She turned back to Skinner.

'Sir, this... this is impossible. All of it.'

'I'm afraid not, Agent Scully,' Skinner said gently. 'I'm sorry, but it's all true.'

'You mean Mulder's theory was actually right?' Scully demanded disbelievingly.

'I suppose given the law of averages one of them had to be,' Blenkiron quipped, in what turned out to be a wholly unsuccessful attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

'Stay out of this, Blenkiron,' Skinner said coldly. 'Scully, I'm sorry. As I said, there was no easy way to tell you this.'

'Sir, how long have you known about this?' Scully said in a voice that wavered between shock, betrayal and outrage.

'I've known for a while now, Agent Scully,' Skinner said. 'I'm sorry I wasn't more honest about it before. I'm sure you appreciate why it's on a need to know basis.'

'A need to know basis?' Scully managed. 'Sir, this is... this is unbelievable. And if you knew all along, why didn't you stop him? You could have told Mulder what was going on, what he was getting into. You could have kept him out of this whole business.'

'Agent Scully, if I'd tried to keep him out of it he would have tried to deal with it on his own. I know that from long experience. At least this way I've been able to do something to help him.'

'With respect, sir, he is on his own,' Scully began heatedly.

'As a matter of fact, he's not, Agent Scully,' Blenkiron interrupted.

Scully gave him her coldest glare. 'You know, I've never really been convinced by this beheading theory of Mulder's. No hard evidence. Don't be the one who gives me that hard evidence, Mr Blenkiron.'

'I'm sure that threats won't be necessary, Agent Scully,' Skinner said. 'Will they, Mr Blenkiron? After all, we're all on the same side here. And it's in our interest to keep Mr Blenkiron in one piece. After all, he's going to take us to Agent Mulder.'

'I'm afraid not,' Blenkiron said, apologetically. 'I'm here to escort you to a secure suite in a hotel where you'll be staying for the next few days. I'm sorry, but those are my orders.'

'Then there's going to be a change in your orders,' Skinner said. 'Call Clanroyden. 'Tell him we're all on our way to see him. We're going to discuss this like civilised people.'

'And if he doesn't want to discuss it like civilised people, we're going to discuss it like uncivilised people,' Scully said. She narrowed her eyes. 'It's his choice.'

'I don't need to tell you exactly how much trouble I could cause for Clanroyden if I put my mind to it,' Skinner said, his eyes cold behind his glasses. 'One phone call is all I need to make. One query about my agent's well-being to the wrong person, one question to the wrong Minister about the possible misuse of MI5 funds...'

Blenkiron straightened his back. 'And what if you're not in a position to make that call, Assistant Director?'

'I'm not an amateur, Mr Blenkiron,' Skinner said coldly. 'I've made arrangements. If I disappear, then the call will most certainly be made.'

'All right,' Blenkiron said irritably. 'I get the picture. What do you want?'

'The same thing that you want. To sort this virus business out and to get Agent Mulder out of it safely. We can do this on our own and do our best to get in your way, or we can work with you. It's your call.'

'Clanroyden isn't going to like that,' Blenkiron warned him.

'That's not my problem, Mr Blenkiron.'

'All right. Enough already. They're following Mulder,' Blenkiron said. He wiped his forehead with a large, white handkerchief. 'They're somewhere in Scotland. I don't know exactly where. Clanroyden's people are tracking them but wherever it is they're going they haven't got there yet.'

'Well I suggest you find out, Blenkiron. Agent Scully, while Mr Blenkiron and I are talking to Clanroyden, I want you to book three seats on the next flight to Glasgow. Or would Edinburgh be better?'

'Glasgow,' Blenkiron admitted. He gestured to Scully. 'But she has to stay behind. Clanroyden will accept your being there if he has to, but not her.'

'Agent Scully is Agent Mulder's partner,' Skinner said coldly. 'And she's coming with us.'

'Should I order a rental car, sir?' Scully asked.

'No. Blenkiron, you'd better have Clanroyden send someone to meet us. We'll all save time that way. The sooner we get to Mulder, the better.'

'There is going to be one slight problem,' Blenkiron admitted. 'You'd better know about it now.'

'What?' Skinner demanded.

Blenkiron wiped his forehead again. 'The car Mulder was driving was found crashed and abandoned two hours ago. We have no idea where they are.'

'Mulder's been in an accident?' Scully said in alarm. 'He could be somewhere injured. Is anyone looking for him?'

'It wasn't serious,' Blenkiron hastened to reassure her. 'Just bad enough to take the car out of commission. From what we can tell, he walked away from it.'

'But you've lost him.' Skinner said.

'We have someone with him. As soon as he's able to, he'll make contact again. Provided they don't kill each other first, of course.'

Gatwick Airport 05:37 hrs Tuesday morning

'Passengers from British Airways flight 045 from Seattle are now disembarking at gate 9...'

'Looks like we've got a welcoming committee,' Joe muttered from the side of his mouth. 'You want to deal with her while I check in with Watcher Central, Mac?'

'Amanda? I see her,' MacLeod said. He pushed his way through the last of the arriving passengers. As usual, the paperwork for the katana had caused problems and they were among the last few passengers to leave the customs hall. Amanda stood at the arrivals gate, arms folded: a 'this had better be worth it' pose that Duncan knew of old. He fixed her with his most dazzling smile.

'Amanda. I'm so glad you're here.'

'It's twenty to six in the morning, Duncan,' Amanda said, rather waspishly. 'I haven't gotten up this early for a man in eighty six years, and that time it was to elope.'

'I'm very grateful, Amanda,' Duncan said, adopting his sincerest tones.

'Well I hope so, Duncan,' Amanda said tartly. 'And the old man had better be grateful too.' A thought seemed to occur to her. 'Maybe the two of you could both be grateful to me at once,' she suggested archly.

Duncan gave her a flat little smile and shook his head. 'Oh no, Amanda,' he said. 'Don't even go there.'

Amanda sighed. 'You're so boring, Duncan. But then I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised.'

'And what's that supposed to mean?' Duncan demanded.

'You know exactly what I mean. You're the poster boy for the repressed males of America. Methos is cute. It'd be fun.'

'No it wouldn't,' Duncan hissed, only too aware that Joe was just a metre or so away. 'And I am not repressed. This isn't the time or the place for this discussion. We don't even know if Adam is still alive.'

Amanda waved a hand dismissively. 'If he'd been beheaded the quickening would have blown the national grid. He's out there somewhere. We've just got to find him, that's all.'

Joe turned back towards them, putting his cellphone away.

'Joe!' Amanda greeted him.

'Amanda,' Joe said, with a wry little smile.

'So what did the watchers say?' Amanda asked brightly.

Joe scratched his nose. 'Well, not to bother hiring a car for a start. It looks as if we're headed for Scotland.'

Duncan frowned. 'What's happening in Scotland?'

'Beats me. I don't have that kind of clearance. I just checked in and got the latest gossip from the night duty clerk. All she know is that her friend in finance has booked ten flights to Glasgow in the last 24 hours, all for guys with immortals more than six hundred years old, all of them heavy hitters. Something big's going down, Mac. They're all scared it's gonna be the start of the gathering.'

'Well let's hope it isn't,' Duncan muttered. 'Are they headed for anywhere in particular up there?'

'Not yet. They're just following their immortals. All we can do is head up there and sort out a car at the other end. I'll keep checking up to see I find out anything else.'

'Where's your watcher, anyway?' Duncan asked Amanda. 'We don't need any extra company on this trip, especially with you-know-who involved.'

'Oh don't worry about him, Duncan,' Amanda said airily. 'I had him arrested for harassment forty minutes ago.'

'Amanda!' Joe said in outrage. 'You can't do that!'

'Oh Joe, don't worry,' Amanda said dismissively. 'I'll drop the charges when all this is sorted out. You can call the Watchers again and tell them you've run into me. Then you get to watch both of us.'

'Lucky me,' Joe grumbled. 'Amanda, there are some things you just don't do.'

'We can argue about it later, Joe,' MacLeod said. 'Right now we've got another plane to catch.'

06:15hrs, Tuesday morning, Western Scotland.

'Mulder, wake up.'

'No, mom... what?'

Krycek was shaking his shoulder. He looked about as bad as Mulder felt.

'Quiet, Mulder. Stay down.'

'What?' Mulder said blearily. 'What's wrong? What happened?'

'On the road,' Krycek said.

Krycek gestured down at the car. A tractor was parked in front of it. Behind it, resplendent in white and orange, was another police car.

'Shit,' Mulder muttered.

'We've just lost our transport,' Krycek said. 'And we need to get out of here in a hurry.'

'Damn. I liked that car,' Mulder muttered. He rubbed his chin, which was starting to itch unpleasantly. His clothes, unsurprisingly, felt as though they'd been slept in. 'God, what I wouldn't give for a shave and a cup of coffee right now.'

'Tough, Mulder. We've got springwater and we've got wild berries, or we would have it was the right time of year, which it isn't.'

'Great,' Mulder said under his breath. 'That's great, Krycek. That's all I need.'

'This is *not* my fault, Mulder,' Krycek snapped. 'I'm not the one who dragged you off on this little expedition. This wasn't my idea. If it was my idea, I would have planned it a lot better than this.'

'Well I wasn't planning on bringing you along at all, Krycek.'

'That's your problem, Mulder,' Krycek pointed out. 'You never think further ahead than the next step. You haven't got a plan. You just let them wind you up and point you at whatever the target of the day is.'

'I don't need your advice, Krycek,' Mulder said, with some heat. 'And if you tell me I should be more fucking proactive, I swear I...'

'Sshh, Mulder,' Krycek said. 'Quiet.'

'What?'

'Tow truck's arrived. Damn. I was hoping they were going to leave the car here to get recovered later.'

Mulder rubbed his forehead with his free hand. 'So we can't even try to get it out of there by ourselves.'

'It would have been a waste of effort anyway.'

'Yeah, I suppose you're right,' Mulder said reluctantly.

Krycek nodded absently. His eyes were narrowed, scanning the horizon. 'How far have we got to go from here?'

'The coast should be about four miles west across the hills in a straight line.'

'It's not a straight line, Mulder. In case you hadn't noticed, parts of it are practically vertical.'

Mulder looked up at the ridge of hills that stood between them and the sea, and had to admit that this was a fair assessment. 'Maybe we could cut back onto the road further on and try to get a lift. We could invent some sort of explanation for the handcuffs.'

'Are you joking, Mulder? We look like rejects from a gay art movie.'

'Well do you have any better ideas?'

'We could hijack a car,' Krycek suggested.

'We're not going to hijack anyone, Krycek,' Mulder said wearily. Besides, it doesn't look as it anything ever comes along this road apart from tractors.'

'Hijacking someone would be the quickest, Mulder.'

'I don't care, Krycek. We're walking. That's final.'

It was an indecently beautiful day. The sky above them was a brilliant blue, the only clouds high and thin. The sun shone down on them, uninterrupted, but without heat.

Whether through luck, remoteness or timing, there were no walkers along the winding tracks they travelled. In three hours, they saw only squirrels, red deer that fled on sight and once a bird that might have been a raven. The hills of Scotland stretched wild and lush around them - slowly rising grassland first, lush with grass, heather and bracken, dotted with spring flowers. Then as the ground grew higher they passed into a dark and empty pine forest, the ground carpeted with years of fallen needles, laddered with roots and criss-crossed by tiny, freezing streams. It was a relief at first to leave the close, cold darkness of the pine forest when they climbed above the tree line, but it was a shelter that they soon regretted losing. The slopes above the trees were bare and rocky, and unprotected as they were, the wind was fierce and cold. The going was hard for Mulder, more so for Krycek, with no way to balance himself except by holding onto Mulder's arm. They climbed on in breathless silence, up rise after thankless rise, sometimes through thick, dark mud, sometime thin grass, sometimes across bare rock flecked with quartz. Each rise was seemingly the last, but when they thought they had reached the summit there was further to climb. Until, finally, there was no further to climb. They had reached the top of the ridge. Stretched before them, far below them, lay the sea.

They found shelter from the bitter wind in the lee of a cairn, and took their bearings.

'Down there, Mulder,' Krycek said, raising his voice to be heard above the unceasing wind. 'About four miles south along the coast.'

Mulder craned to see. He could barely make it out. A dark, rocky little island, a white building barely visible on its crown. To one side a second island, large, flatter, dark with trees. In its centre he could just see a clear patch of grass, which would have been hidden from anyone closer to ground level. Something glinted in the centre, but it was too far away to make out.

'In my pack, Mulder,' Krycek said. 'Binoculars.'

Mulder nodded his thanks and retrieved Krycek's binocular from the pack.

'Well, Mulder?' Krycek asked after a moment.

'It's a helicopter,' Mulder confirmed. 'That must be the place.'

'What else can you see?' Krycek asked.

'There's a village about six miles north of here. As far as I can see that's pretty much it... no wait.'

'What, Mulder?'

'Looks like a gas station, right underneath us. It's got a couple of cars parked out at the back. It looks kind of remote. Probably doesn't get more than one or two customers a day out of season.'

Krycek glanced at him. 'Hungry, Mulder?' he asked.

'I'm starving,' Mulder told him testily. 'You know I'm starving. We're both starving.'

'And are you thinking what I'm thinking, Mulder?'

'Well I think so, Brain,' Mulder muttered. 'But where are we going to find an open tattoo parlour at this time of night?'

Krycek didn't even appear to have heard him. He was gazing intently down towards the gas station. There was a feral expression on his face that Mulder found vaguely worrying. 'Ever held up a gas station before?' he asked.

Mulder blinked at him as the words sank in. 'Oh no,' he said. 'We're not going to rob that gas station, Krycek.'

'Mulder, we're both frozen and neither of us has eaten since yesterday,' Krycek said reasonably. 'We need this food more than they do.'

'I don't care,' Mulder said belligerently. 'I'm not going to terrorise some innocent cashier just so we can get something to eat.'

'If Scully was here she'd agree with me, Mulder,' Krycek pointed out.

'No, she wouldn't,' Mulder protested, with some heat.

'Yes she would. She'd warn you about not starting the day with low blood sugar or something.'

'Yes, but Scully wouldn't suggest staging an armed robbery so we could get a decent breakfast. Look, all we have to do is go in and explain who we are... well, who I am, anyway, and tell him that we need his help and that he'll be compensated...'

'Mulder, have you looked in a mirror lately? You haven't shaved since yesterday morning. Right now you look like one of America's ten most wanted.'

'I don't care, Krycek.'

'Mulder...'

'I'm not listening to you, Krycek. We're not going to rob that gas station. That's final.'

09:16hrs Cabal Operations Centre, Castle Huntingtower, Loch Katrine

On balance, Scully decided, the great hall of Castle Huntingtower was a depressing place. To begin with it was cold and draughty. The walls were painted dark red, and lined with antlered heads and various unpleasant looking weapons of destruction. Below this bloodthirsty display ranks of monitors and computers had been set up. One end of the hall seemed to have been turned into a modest armoury. Outside, on the parkland behind the house, three Sea King helicopters stood crewed and in readiness. Most of the men in the room were already wearing black coveralls and kevlar. Most carried guns. The swords they also carried added a note of peculiar incongruity to the scene.

An oak table, which must once have taken pride of place in the centre of the room, had been pushed irreverently to one side, against a cold and empty fireplace. Its surface was covered with a plethora of maps, some large scale military issue, others hundreds of years old, crumbling beneath protective sheets of perspex.

Scully sat at one end of the table, sipping her coffee and gazing sourly at the scene before her. She had been told, effectively, to sit there and stay out of the way. Beside her Skinner sat in his shirt sleeves, calm, silent and endlessly patient.

'Do we have anything yet?' Leithen asked. He had arrived perhaps an hour after Scully and Skinner. Now he and Clanroyden were bent over the maps, as they had been for most of the night. 'How did we lose them, Clanroyden? We were supposed to be monitoring them.'

'We were watching them as closely as we could,' Clanroyden said. He tapped the largest of the maps, one that covered fully half the surface of the ancient table. 'But we assumed that they'd stopped for the night. It wasn't until we got someone close enough to check that we realised they'd abandoned the vehicle.'

'Why weren't they followed more closely, Clanroyden?' Leithen growled.

'The area they were travelling through was so remote that anyone following them too closely would have been seen,' Clanroyden said. 'We weren't able to use the helicopter for the same reason.'

'Infra red satellite imagery?'

'No, sir. There's too much sheep and cattle farming in this part of the country. It would be impossible to pick two heat signatures out of so many over this large a search area.'

'You don't want Mulder to know he's being followed?' Skinner said from where he sat with Scully. 'Why? I thought that we were all supposed to be on the same side here.'

'There's a risk that Mulder will be captured, Assistant Director,' Clanroyden said, not looking up from the map. 'I don't want Gilles to know how close we are to finding him. He'll have fortified himself well and I don't want this to turn into a siege. The element of surprise may be the only advantage we have.'

'Mr Clanroyden, you said you had a contact,' Scully said. 'Somebody with Mulder. Why hasn't he tried to get in touch with you yet?'

Clanroyden looked up in mild surprise, as if he'd forgotten that she existed. 'If they've taken off across country he may have no means of doing so, Agent Scully. But he's very efficient. As soon as he's able to make contact, he will.'

'But can't you find down the location with the information you already have?' Scully said. 'You say you believe they have a helicopter? There can't be that many places in this area that could be fortified and used as a landing site.'

'Agent Scully, there are ten castles with a thirty mile radius of where we found Mulder's car and maybe thirty or forty remote farms,' Clanroyden said, with an edge of irritation in his voice. 'Even given what we know of Mulder's direction of travel, there are still at least a two dozen possible locations. We don't have time to check them all. We need more information to narrow the field down.'

'And we need that information quickly,' Leithen said. 'I'll be in the library. Keep me informed, Clanroyden.'

'Sir,' Clanroyden said. He returned to his study of the map as Leithen left the hall.

Scully sighed. 'As much as it goes against the grain, sir, I may as well make myself useful. Can I get anyone a coffee?'

'You may as well, Agent Scully,' Skinner said. 'We may be here for quite some time.'

It was perhaps forty minutes later that one of the men at the bank of monitors raised a hand. 'Lord Clanroyden?'

'Yes?' Clanroyden said shortly. 'What is it?'

'Sir, I think we've found them again. There was an armed robbery reported at a garage on the coast road about hour ago. I'm having the statement faxed through.'

'What happened?'

'The cashier reported being robbed by two men, on foot, sir, both unshaven and scruffily dressed. Neither of them tried to hide their faces. It says here they also stole a Landrover and made off south in it.'

'Get a description of the vehicle and start searching for it. I want all the roads out of the area watched. Are the police at the incident?'

'No, sir. We managed to intercept the call. We've got our own people there.'

'Good,' Clanroyden said. 'That should speed things up. Get the statement and a still from the CCTV tape. Do we know which direction they left in?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then get me satellite pictures of the area. Trace that vehicle. Find out where they're going.'

'Already onto it, sir.'

'Fax, Lord Clanroyden.'

Clanroyden picked up the sheaf of paper and glanced through the information on it before nodding. He handed it on to Skinner, who looked at the transcript and frowned at Clanroyden before handing it wordlessly to Scully. Scully read the neatly typed page with a growing sense of foreboding.

Suspect 1 (it read) 'This is a robbery.'

Suspect 2 'You'd better do as he says.' (pause) 'I'm really sorry about this.'

Suspect 1 'Hand over all the cash from the till.'

Suspect 2 'I thought we were just taking the food?'

Suspect 1 'Who's carrying out this robbery, you or me?'

Suspect 2 (sullenly) 'You are.'

Suspect 1 (sarcastically) 'Thank you. Now please would you hand over all the cash from the till?'

Suspect 2 'You'd really better do as he says. He's a hardened criminal.'

Suspect 1 (glaring at Suspect 2) 'Do you mind, Mulder?'

Suspect 2 'I was just trying to give you a good build-up.'

Suspect 1 (To the cashier) 'What are you waiting for? (To Suspect 2) Mulder, I don't need you to give me a build up. There's a very simple protocol associated with this. She has the money, I have the gun, she gives me the money.'

Suspect 2 (To the cashier) 'You'll be compensated, I promise. I'm really sorry about this.'

Suspect 1 'Mulder, this is a robbery. Never apologise, never explain.'

Scully put the paper down with a growing sense of foreboding. 'Is there a picture of the first man?' she asked Clanroyden. Without waiting for an answer she scanned through the sheaf of fax pages. A grainy still had been sent through along with the statement transcript. The quality was poor but Mulder was clearly identifiable. So was the man beside him.

Scully's eyes narrowed. 'Alex Krycek,' she said. 'Sir, this is Alex Krycek.'

She showed the fax to Skinner, who nodded. 'That's Krycek. What the hell is he doing here, Clanroyden?'

'He used Mulder's name three times,' Scully said. 'So this robbery would get referred directly to you, isn't that right? He's been working for you all along.'

'Alex Krycek has been part of this operation since the beginning,' Clanroyden said blandly.

'And are you aware of the charges against him?' Skinner said coldly.

'And what happens when he decides to betray Mulder again?' Scully demanded. 'Or to kill him the way he killed Mulder's father? Or my sister?'

'I remind you both that there's no proof that Alex Krycek was the killer in either one of those murders,' Clanroyden said. 'In any case, we didn't hire him. He came to us with the information that started this whole business. Perhaps ordinarily we wouldn't have chosen him as an operative, but in this case we had no choice.'

Scully blinked. 'Then he's not working for you?'

'With us. This operation was his idea in the first place. He helped plan it from the beginning.'

'But I don't understand...' Scully began.

'Sir, we've got the satellite photographs through. We've traced the vehicle that was stolen from the garage.'

'Where?' Clanroyden demanded.

'Parked about two-thirds of a mile from the sea. About half a mile up the coast we've got a semi-ruined keep and a possible landing site.'

'Then we've found them,' Clanroyden said. 'Let's mobilise. Agent Scully, I'm afraid you're going to have to stay here.'

'With respect, like hell I am,' Scully said angrily. 'Mulder's my partner. I'm coming with you.'

'Wait. You're going to carry out the raid now?' Skinner asked. 'In broad daylight?'

'No,' Leithen said, from the doorway to the hall. None of them had heard him enter. 'We attack before dawn tomorrow. I don't want to turn this into a hostage situation and I don't want this to turn into a siege. We wait and we prepare. We want Gilles to feel a false sense of security. When we do raid that keep, he's never going to know what hit him.'

'But what about Mulder?' Scully asked. 'You've got what you want. You know where they are. Now we need to get Mulder out of there before anything happens to him.'

'I'm sorry, Agent Scully, but they're right,' Skinner said regretfully. 'They'll be keeping a watch on the shoreline. If we send anyone in to get Mulder, they'll know we've found them. If Mulder gets out on his own all well and good, but if he's captured we can't interfere.'

'But sir, Mulder always get captured,' Scully protested.

'Maybe this time, Agent Scully, he'll surprise us,' Skinner said dryly.

The road became a track, and the track grew narrower and more overgrown. They splashed across a stream and entered a little wood of oak and ash. Here the track became nothing more than muddy ruts in the sun-dappled grass. Mulder drew the latest vehicle, an ancient and battered Landrover, to a halt on a slight rise.

'We should stop here,' Mulder said. 'I think we're getting close.' He turned off the noisy engine of their latest acquisition. The noises of the little wood were suddenly loud around them - birdsong, the wind in the trees and in the distance the murmur of the sea. Krycek was looking at the ground. .

'Someone's been down here in the last two days,' he said. 'Before that this track probably wasn't used for months. This is it, Mulder.'

Mulder craned to see through the trees. 'And that must be the island. It's a couple of hundred yards off shore but it looks as though there's a causeway over there at low tide.'

'Want to take a closer look, Mulder?'

They found a clump of bushes on the edge of the shore. The bushes had grown up in the shelter of the twisted trunk of a fallen tree. Mulder leant on the tree and scanned the island with the binoculars. There was no sign of life.

Krycek shifted beside him awkwardly, pulling on his arm. Mulder ignored him.

'Yup, there's a causeway there all right. Could be manmade. The keep looks fairly solid. I think there's some radio equipment up there, antennae maybe, but I can't quite make it out. There's nothing on the shore... no, wait, there's something that might be a dock No boats and I can't see any sign of life.' He swung the binoculars round to get a better look at the second island.

'Can't see the helicopter from here, but I think the trees are in the way. Nothing moving on there either. It all looks deserted. Wait a minute... Krycek, there's a boat. A motor launch. Krycek, there's a boat on the beach on this side of the water...'

There was a movement beside him. On the wrong side for it to be Krycek.

'Ah shit,' Mulder muttered to himself. He looked up.

A woman stood there, a woman wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with green eyes and dark, curly hair and a gun, the muzzle of which was about four inches from Mulder's face. One of the largest men Mulder had ever seen stood behind her, dressed in a long, dark trenchcoat. He had a gun drawn too, although he didn't look as it he needed it.

'If you move,' the woman said, 'I will kill you.'

Mulder nodded, and glanced across at Krycek beside him.

Krycek wasn't there.

The handcuffs were looped over the stump of a broken branch. A familiar set of keys hung from the lock on Krycek's side. The pack still lay at his side. But Alex Krycek had gone.

Georgia gestured with her gun towards the handcuffs, still swinging from his wrist. 'Where's your friend?' she asked, inclining her head.

'There isn't anybody else,' Mulder said sullenly. 'I was arrested for the murder of John Lincoln. I escaped from the police but I couldn't get them off.' It was a pitiful lie, with the handcuff keys still in the lock. Georgia clearly thought so too.

'Julian, go back to the road,' she said. 'Tell me what you see in the mud.'

'There are two sets of footprints in the mud near the stream, Lady,' Julian called to them, a moment later.

'The same shoes, or different, Julian?'

'I could not tell, lady, but both lead in the same direction, from the truck.'

'Where is he?' Georgia asked.

'There isn't anybody else with me,' Mulder said. 'I left the binoculars. I had to go back and get them.'

'There are no footprints going back across the stream, my lady,' Julian said.

Georgia struck Mulder across the face with the hand that held the gun, hard enough to split his lip and to blur his vision.

'Don't lie to me again,' she said. 'For your own good.'

'I'm alone here,' Mulder said again. He touched his bleeding lip gingerly.

This time Georgia ignored him. 'Julian, call Richard and tell him what's happened. Tell him there may be intruder on the mainland. Tell him to tell Gilles.'

'You don't even know who I am,' Mulder protested.

'Don't be such a fool,' Georgia said disdainfully. 'I've spent most of the last three months with your photograph in front of me, Fox Mulder. I know exactly who you are. Now, tell me again. Who was with you? The woman Scully? Is she armed?'

'I keep telling you, I'm on my own. No-one was with me.'

'You're protecting the woman, then,' Georgia said. 'That's very chivalrous of you, but she'd be better advised to surrender to us. If we see her, she'll be shot on sight.'

'Maybe he was telling the truth, lady,' Julian said uncertainly. 'The footprints by the steam weren't clear. None of them were from a woman's shoes.'

'Maybe,' Georgia said, but she sounded doubtful. 'There's too much here that doesn't make sense. She touched the open ring of the handcuffs. 'This is still warm. Someone has worn it, very recently.' She gestured to the cuffed wrist lightly with the barrel of the gun. 'And this wrist is badly bruised, as if he's been wearing the cuff for a long time, but the other is untouched. And you're trying to tell me that you had the keys all the time and didn't free yourself? I don't think so. There's someone else here. Take Mulder back to the keep, Julian. Tell Richard to get him into the cells, then come back to help me search. We need to find this intruder quickly.'

'I will not leave you alone here, lady,' Julian protested.

Georgia let out an irritated little hiss of breath. 'Julian, go. I'm armed. I can take care of myself. Take him to Richard, and make sure Richard tells Gilles. And tell Richard not to harm him. He's Methos' lover. He has uses other than for Richard's amusement.'

'Should I tell Methos that he is here?' Julian rumbled.

'Adam's here?' Mulder said.

'Don't sound so shocked, Agent Mulder,' Georgia said. 'That can't really have been a surprise to you.'

'I didn't even know he was still alive,' Mulder said, in a small voice.

Georgia's eyes narrowed. 'He's alive, although I don't know what game he's playing. But now we have the means to ensure his good behaviour. Bring him, Julian.'

Mulder had been locked in a number of cells of one sort or another in his life, but they had tended towards the bare and sterile. This was neither. It smelt of the sea, of rotting seaweed, to be more precise. A rusted grate at one corner of the dungeon stood open. From its dark depths came the hissing of the rising sea. There was a narrow dock down there, large enough for a single boat. There were rusty looking manacles hanging from the walls, but thankfully Julian had not seen fit to use them. Instead he had handcuffed Mulder to a ring embedded in the stone wall and left him there. The heavy iron ring was thick with rust, but was still solid and immovable. There were two narrow cots, a flimsy camp chair and a bucket in reach. None of them offered any hope for his escape.

For lack of anything better to do, Mulder spent most of the next hour trying to scrape some of the blackened rust away from the iron ring with his belt buckle. All he succeeded in doing was revealing brighter rust beneath. By his estimation, it was going to take about six months to wear the stone down far enough pull the ring out. He lay back and closed his eyes. When all was said and done, at least he wasn't handcuffed to Krycek. Now all he needed was to lose the handcuffs, which were starting to get extremely painful, have a shave, a bath, a change of clothes and a good meal. And a decent night's sleep, of course...

The door slammed back, jerking him awake. Mulder blinked, and then raised himself up as the man called Julian pushed another prisoner into the room. It was Krycek, wearing a furious expression, with his prosthetic arm missing and his jacket torn.

'Nice of you to join me,' Mulder said, in his most sarcastic tones.

'Shut up, Mulder,' Krycek snapped.

'Did you really have the key all along?'

'I picked your pocket back at the church.'

'One handed?'

'Believe it, Mulder.'

Mulder shook his head. 'I can't believe you ditched me like that.'

'Yeah. It must be a change to be on the receiving end for once, Mulder.'

'Get on the other bed,' Julian said.

'I can't believe you let me think it was my fault I lost the key,' Mulder said. 'I can't believe you whined about it for a solid hour afterwards.'

'I did not whine, Mulder. Anyway, you deserved it. It was a fucking stupid idea to handcuff yourself to me in the first place.'

'Be silent,' Julian rumbled menacingly.

'So how did you let yourself get caught? I thought you'd be miles away by now.'

'We all run out of luck sometime, Mulder,' Krycek said sullenly.

'I said, be silent!' Julian roared.

Kilqhuarter, Firth of Lorn, Western Scotland 12:34hrs

Kilqhuarter was a small and immaculate village, set along the road that lay between the steeply rising slopes of the Trossachs and the grey-blue waters of the Firth. Most of the cottages along the little street were white painted, with neatly planted gardens and 'bed and breakfast' signs. Here, in what for want of a better term was the village centre, there was an antique shop, a little general store and the ever-present tourist shop selling tartan souvenirs, whisky and home made fudge. A hand-painted sign pointing down to a little stone jetty promised boat tours of the Firth. A number of small sailing boats bobbed prettily in the water. Alongside them, completely out of place, floated a long, pastel blue touring boat. Duncan gazed around with a jaded eye.

'Run it past me again, Joe,' he said. 'What are we doing here?'

'We're here thanks to the magic of credit card authorisations, Duncan,' Joe said. He leaned against the bonnet of their car and looked around at the village appreciatively.

'And my laptop,' Amanda reminded them sweetly, adjusting the round framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose. The said laptop rested on her lap. Duncan's mobile phone was currently connected to one side of it, running up a bill the thought of which made Duncan wince.

'I didn't think you went in for hacking, Amanda,' he said with a frown.

Amanda looked up and tilted her head at him. 'MacLeod, if I've learned one thing in my life, it's how to move with the times. In a hundred years' time everything's going to be on computers. If I still want to steal things then I may as well get the practice in now.'

'So Amanda,' Joe reminded her. 'The Watcher HQ corporate credit card account.'

'It's very simple, Duncan,' Amanda said rather smugly. 'First we had the records of the flights to Glasgow. Tourist class.'

'Yeah?'

'Then we had the car hire at Glasgow airport. Economy car hire. Then there was breakfast in Stirling. At MacDonald's. You know, Joe, they should really pay you people proper expenses.'

'I gotta agree with you there, Amanda,' Joe agreed, with a rueful glance at MacLeod.

'After that it all went quiet for a bit. Then we had hotel rooms and boat hire. All in this village.' She closed the laptop with a sharp click. 'So whatever's going on, it's going on here. Simple as that.'

'So what's the plan now?' Duncan asked.

Amanda smiled smugly. 'The plan is, we rent a nice big boat ourselves, hide behind a convenient island and do our own sneaking around until we find out where they've got the old man stashed. Then we spring him. Or rather you spring him, Duncan. You're so much better at this kind of thing than me.'

'Slow up on the boat, Amanda,' Joe said. 'Let me try to find out some more information first. Just because the other watchers have hired boats doesn't mean we need to.'

Amanda looked up at him over the frame of her glasses. 'Well if you're going to sneak around, I suggest you get on with it, Joe. Time's a wasting.'

'So, we're looking for watchers,' MacLeod said.

'How about him?' Amanda asked. 'I mean, I know it's kind of obvious...' The man she waved a hand towards was standing outside the post office, arguing animatedly with someone on a mobile phone. He was a heavyset, greying man, sweating under the weight of a heavy camouflage jacket. His binoculars and a long lensed camera were openly hanging around his neck.

'I know that guy,' Joe said. He narrowed his eyes against the sunlight. 'That's Mike Scott. You're right. He's a watcher.'

'Well forgive me for mentioning it, Joe,' Amanda said, 'But shouldn't he be in disguise or something? I mean, isn't it a tiny bit obvious who he is when he's dressed like that?'

'I was kind of wondering that myself,' Joe admitted.

'Who's his immortal?' Duncan asked.

'Guy called Roylance. He's been Cabal since 1375.'

'Sounds about right,' Amanda said.

'Go talk to him, Joe,' Duncan agreed. 'See what you can find out. We'll go back and get the car.'

Joe got to his feet and made his way down the road to where the other man stood talking on his mobile phone.

He raised a hand as he neared the other watcher. 'Hey, Scott! What are you doing here?'

As a greeting he was well aware that it wasn't particularly inspired. The other man looked up at him and frowned with sudden recognition. 'Look, I've got to go, Joe Dawson just turned up. Yeah, MacLeod's Joe Dawson. Yeah, I know. I'll talk to you later.' He glared at Joe forbiddingly. 'Dawson, what the hell are you doing here? Watcher Central set up an exclusion zone in this area. You should know about that.'

'Hey, not my choice, buddy,' Joe said. 'I only flew in a couple of hours ago. I didn't have time to check in.' He took a closer look at Scott. 'So what's with the outfit?'

'I'm supposed to be a birdwatcher,' Scott said irritably. He eyed Joe suspiciously. 'It's a good excuse for wearing camouflage and carrying a camera and binoculars around and nobody's surprised if ten of you turn up at once. Now why don't you tell me what you're doing here, Dawson? Is MacLeod after one of our guys?'

Joe blinked. '*One* of your guys? How many of you are there up here?'

'Most of the surviving Hospitallers and quite a few of their students. Twenty three immortals. Sixteen watchers so far.'

'Twenty three immortals?' Joe said in disbelief. 'Jesus.'

'Yeah, that's what we thought,' Scott said. 'And you didn't answer my question, Dawson. What's MacLeod doing here? Who's he after?'

'Would you believe he got homesick?'

Scott gave him an unfriendly glare. 'Well, quite frankly, given his past record, Dawson, no I wouldn't.'

Joe sighed. 'Look, give me a break here, Mike. MacLeod's taken off to this place and he's dragged me with him. I have no idea what the hell is going on. I know it's something big, but I'm working in the dark here. If I know what's happening, I can stay out of everybody's way.'

Scott looked at him suspiciously, then nodded. 'All right, Dawson. You know Pienaar? Sandy Clanroyden's watcher?'

Joe nodded. 'Yeah. Haven't seen her for a few years but I used to know her pretty well.'

'Clanroyden rang her. On her mobile. Asked her to please keep all her Watchers out of the way because Leithen and his merry band of Hospitallers had some Templars cornered on some island and it was liable to get messy enough without a bunch of civilians with telephoto lenses cluttering the place up. He said if we all stayed out of the way he'd give us a briefing pack for the chronicles when it was all over.'

'Pretty smooth,' Joe commented. 'So what's the problem?'

Scott shook his head in disgust. 'They're not supposed to know we bloody exist, Dawson, that's the problem. They're not supposed to be sending us bloody briefing packs.'

Joe raised an eyebrow. 'Come on, Scott. You're dealing with people who've worked in intelligence for more than 800 years. You think none of them would have noticed that they were being followed around in all that time? Of course they know we exist.'

'Well they might have bloody said something before now,' Scott muttered.

'So if they're going to send you a briefing pack, what are you doing here?' Joe asked.

Scott looked at him in disbelief. 'Jesus, Dawson, we're not going to take their word for what's happening! This is the first time since the crusades that two groups of immortals of this size have gone up against each other. This could be the start of the gathering. All hell could be about to break loose. We're not going to sit around waiting around for the bloody press release. We're just going to have to be a bit more subtle about watching them than usual. So how about you, Dawson? What are you doing here? Really?'

Joe sighed. 'MacLeod's after Gilles de Rais,' he said. After all, he reasoned, it wasn't technically a lie.

Scott seemed unconvinced by this explanation. 'Gilles de Rais disappeared before MacLeod was born, Dawson.'

'I think it's on general principles. You know Mac.'

Scott nodded. 'I heard he went nuts and killed his student. You should watch yourself, Dawson.'

'Yeah,' Joe said, rubbing his beard. 'That's kind of a sensitive subject right now.'

'So how did he know to come here?' Scott asked.

'Beats me,' Joe said, with what he hoped was a convincing shrug. 'Maybe one of Leithen's people tipped him off. Maybe he's got a contact in the locals. He wasn't born that far from here.'

Scott nodded suspiciously. 'Well take some friendly advice, Dawson. Stay out of the way. There are a lot of heavy hitters in town.'

They both looked up as a horn sounded. Duncan and Amanda were waiting in the rental car. Duncan sounded the horn again, and gestured for Joe to hurry it up.

'Who's in the car, Dawson?' Scott asked.

'That's ah, MacLeod. And Amanda.'

Scott gave him an incredulous look. 'You're car pooling with your immortal, Dawson? Ever heard of the Watcher oath?'

'The guy knows about me. It saves time. Look, this island. Whereabouts is it?'

'There's an island with a castle about six miles down the coast. We think it's that one.' Scott shook his head. 'Look, Dawson, no offence, but this isn't any place for a guy with no legs. Things could get nasty. And the one thing we don't need at the moment is more immortals around to complicate things. Stay out of the way and try to keep MacLeod out of the way. If you don't, you might just be looking for a new assignment.'

'Well?' Amanda said, as Duncan drove off towards the jetty at the far end of the village.

'Okay,' Joe said, throwing his hands up. 'I give in. You were right. Rent the damn boat.'

'Already done,' Amanda said, rather smugly, as she pulled the car up alongside. 'Rented, fuelled up and ready to go.'

'So where is it, Amanda?'

Amanda gestured to the long, blue pleasure cruiser that lay alongside the dock. 'It's right here, Joe. Where do you think?'

'Amanda, that thing's forty foot long!' Joe protested.

'You know, this isn't exactly what we had in mind, Amanda,' Duncan said, raising an eyebrow.

'And what's wrong with it?' Amanda demanded.

'Well I was thinking along the lines of something a little less flashy,' Duncan said.

'And smaller,' Joe said. 'Definitely smaller. Do you know how to sail this thing, Amanda?'

'It's got a perfectly good dinghy you can use if you feel like sneaking around,' Amanda said with offended dignity. 'I see absolutely no need to start slumming it. And MacLeod can sail it. He's sailed in lots of boats.'

'It is kind of conspicuous, Amanda,' Joe said, rubbing his beard.

'Fine,' Amanda said tartly. 'You go and try to find another boat for hire within twenty miles of here. Your twitchy watcher friends have taken all the rest. This is the best we're going to get.'

'I suppose she's got a point, Joe,' Duncan said reluctantly. 'Nobody's going to think we're trying to hide in a boat like this.'

'That's the beauty of it, Duncan,' Amanda said, patting the boat with a propriatorial air. 'Everyone'll think we're tourists. Around here nobody even sees tourists anymore. They'll ignore us.'

'All right,' Duncan said defeatedly. 'We'll take the boat. Where are we headed, Joe?'

'They said the island was about six miles south of here,' Joe said.

'Time's passing,' Duncan said. 'Let's make a start.'

Mulder lay on the narrow bed, staring blankly up at the grimy ceiling.

Krycek lay across from him, stretched out on his own cot. Sullenness was written in every line of his body.

'I suppose your getting captured again is my fault too,' Mulder said, after a while.

'Let's not start that again, Mulder,' Krycek said wearily. ' I don't want to argue with you any more.'

'So how did it happen?'

'They found me here on the island. I walked across the causeway. The tide was low and there were enough rocks to hide me if I moved fast enough.'

'I'm so happy for you, Krycek. Shame your luck didn't hold out.'

Krycek glanced over at him wearily. 'At least I didn't get captured in the first thirty seconds,' he said acidly. Again there wasn't a lot to say to that.

'Well you might have said something,' Mulder said sulkily.

'Yeah, and get myself captured too? No thanks.'

'So why did you come back anyway? Don't tell me you were planning to rescue me.'

Krycek snorted. 'Don't flatter yourself, Mulder. I still need to get that virus back. It's worth a great deal of cold, hard cash to me.'

'You're a regular Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Krycek.'

'So I've been told,' Krycek said. He let his head fall back in a way the signalled that their conversation was over and let his eyes fall closed.

'So now what happens?' Mulder asked.

'How should I know, Mulder?' Krycek said, not opening his eyes.

'I thought you were supposed to be the proactive one,' Mulder accused.

'My only arm is handcuffed again, Mulder. What exactly do you expect me to do? Overpower the guard by biting his ankles?'

'I don't know. I just thought you might have a plan.'

'No plan, Mulder. We just get to wait here until they kill us.'

'Great. So what do we do in the meantime?' Mulder asked. 'Play I-Spy? Talk about girls?

Krycek snorted again. 'Short conversation, Mulder. The only girl you've exchanged more than a couple of sentences with over the last four years is Scully. Your sex life is beyond pathetic. How long ago since you last got laid, anyway? You don't have to be too specific, just the month and year.'

'Well I don't know, Krycek,' Mulder said sarcastically. 'What time is it now? Is it Wednesday yet?'

Krycek opened his eyes and looked across at Mulder with sudden shocked realisation. 'Jesus. You're fucking him. You're sleeping with Methos. Do you have any idea how stupid that is? You have no idea what he is and what he's done...'

'He told me,' Mulder said angrily.

'Then you're even more stupid than I thought,' Krycek said sulkily.

'How do you know about him, anyway?'

'It doesn't matter, Mulder. Just forget I said it.'

'Jealous, Krycek?' Mulder asked with a smug grin.

'Yeah. In your dreams, Mulder. Now would you mind shutting up? I want to get some sleep.'

Time was passing. The sun rose to its height and slowly began to fall back towards the sea and the night.

'So, Georgia. Are they here yet? Is there any sign of our enemies?'

Georgia did not look up from her monitor. 'No Lord, not yet. There's only farm traffic on the coast road, a few boats in the Firth, air traffic above us. There's no sign that we're being watched or that they're trying to isolate us.' She turned to face him. 'Are you certain that they'll come?'

'They'll come,' Gilles said, looking out towards the hills. 'Mulder has led them here. Unknowingly maybe, but he's led them here. They'll attack us tonight or early tomorrow. They know we have the virus and they know we have him hostage. They won't wait any longer than that. Is everything in readiness?'

'Everything is prepared, as you instructed. Five briefcases, five canisters of the virus, all the plane tickets and documents we need. They're already packed in the boats.'

'And what of Methos? Do you believe we can trust him now? You've had him released from his chains.'

'Yes. I've set Julian to guard him, but I don't believe he'll try to escape.'

'I'm glad that the two of you have reached an understanding, Lady Georgia.'

'We have Mulder. As long as Mulder remains our prisoner we can trust Methos to behave himself.'

'Mulder will die anyway, Georgia,' Gilles reminded her.

'There are many different ways for a man to die, Lord,' Georgia said. She turned back to the monitor, began to flick through the screens.

Gilles nodded at the truth of this. 'Where is Methos now?'

'Making his peace with Mulder.'

'I don't understand,' Mulder said desperately. 'Why would you do this? Why do you want this?'

Adam looked down at him patiently and a little sadly. 'I am the fourth horseman, Mulder. This is what I was born for. This is the reason I've lived for five thousand years. To be part of the end, or the beginning of the end. That is my purpose.'

'And this is your plan?' Mulder asked, in a choked voice.

'There is no plan, Mulder,' Adam said sadly. 'All there is for you now is death. You shouldn't have followed me here. You should have gone home, made your peace with your loved ones, maxed out your credit card...'

'No. I don't believe you,' Mulder said helplessly.

'I've spoken to the Lady Georgia. She'll do her best to stop them from hurting you, Mulder. Whatever happens, it's all going to be over, tonight or early tomorrow. Be strong.'

Mulder looked up at him in despair. 'I thought I knew you. I don't even know who you are any more.'

'You never knew who I was, Mulder. You should have escaped while you still could. You should have got out and not looked back.'

'I can't believe you're saying this,' Mulder said desperately. 'I can't believe you're doing this to me.'

Adam shook his head. 'I think this is goodbye, Mulder,' he said, without emotion. 'I'm sorry you had to be mixed up in this. I won't see you again. If you do survive, don't bother coming after me.'

Mulder watched him leave in silence. He didn't look over to where Krycek lay on the other bunk. 'Well? Aren't you going to say "I told you so"?' he asked bitterly.

'No, Mulder,' Krycek said. His eyes were narrowed with speculation. 'Actually, I'm not.'

'Christ, what a screw up. I trusted him. I trusted him with everything. I can't believe he did this to me.'

Krycek was silent for a moment. 'You should try and get some sleep, Mulder,' he said, at last, and Mulder glanced across at him. There was something almost satisfied in his voice, as if something he long suspected had been confirmed, but it was not directed at Mulder.

Confiteor Deo, omnipotenti. Beatae Mariae, semper Virgini...

The words drifted down to Dana Scully from somewhere high in Castle Huntingtower, muffled by the stone but still decipherable. A Catholic mass. It figured, Scully thought, that the original Crusaders would still have a soft spot for the original old time religion.

Outside, on the immaculate, short grassed lawn, the three helicopters cast long, grotesque shadows in the evening light. Together with the soft chanting from above and her weariness and jetlag, they leant the scene an air of unreality. The grass and the pale castle stones were both touched with gold by the setting sun, but the air was already growing chill. Scully shivered, and turned her attention back to the great hall of the castle.

A boy's club, she'd thought of it at first, but there were women, one or two at least, and a couple of people who she vaguely remembered seeing at FBI headquarters or at Quantico. Altogether she'd counted more than twenty of these immortals. She found herself wondering how many more there were, how deeply this went. Mulder would have been in his element, of course. Here was the conspiracy to end all conspiracies. She hoped he was still alive somewhere, even if the first words out of his mouth when he saw her were probably going to be 'I told you so.' She waited patiently in her seat by the map table because there was nothing else to do other than to wait patiently, and to listen to the intelligence reports coming in. Skinner had left the hall hours before, to speak to Leithen, she guessed, to argue for Mulder's safety and/or continued existence.

'Intelligence says still no movement from the keep,' one of the operators was telling Clanroyden. The room was nearly deserted. Most of the others had gone to the Mass. 'The satellite picked up four separate heat traces but it wouldn't necessarily find people if they were deeper in the building.'

'Traffic on the Firth?' Clanroyden asked.

'Light. Nothing notable. One or two fishing boats, tourists. Some of them could be Watchers but if they are they're keeping their distance.'

'Good. Keep me informed. Agent Scully?'

Scully looked up surprised. He was the first person to acknowledge her existence in hours. 'Clanroyden,' she said guardedly.

'Do you still intend to come with us tomorrow morning?' Clanroyden asked.

Scully looked back at him coolly. 'Yes. Of course.'

'When we get there, Agent Scully...'

'I stay in the helicopter. Yes, I know.'

'This is for your own safety, Agent Scully. They can't be killed easily. You can. Have you been shown to a room yet?'

'Yes. yes, I have.'

'Then I recommend that you get some rest. We'll be leaving early in the morning.'

'What are you going to do with them with you have them?'

'With Gilles? He won't surrender to us. He'll fight Leithen and one of them will die.'

'Will be beheaded, you mean?'

'Yes. Killed permanently.'

'What if Gilles wins?'

'He won't win.'

'What if he surrenders?'

'He won't surrender. Go and get some rest, Agent Scully.'

Scully turned to go, then paused. 'There's something I have to ask you. Someone once told me that I wouldn't die. That I'd live forever. Is there any way...'

'No, Agent Scully. You're not one of us. Be thankful.'

Scully just stared at him for a moment. 'Thankful?' she said incredulously.

Clanroyden nodded gravely. 'Living forever is overrated, Agent Scully.'

'But how can you say that?' Scully demanded. 'You never grow old, never get sick, never die...'

'It's a trade off. It can be a life of violence and fear. There's always be someone trying to kill you simply because of who you are. We live outside society, we can't turn to the law if we're in danger. We can't have children. If we take mortal wives or lovers, we know that sooner or later, we will watch them die. We have no purpose that we know of, except to kill each other. As I said, it's overrated.'

'And your little secret society?'

'We didn't ask to be born what we are, Agent Scully. Don't blame us for trying to make the best of it. Now, you should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a hard day for all of us.'

The blue began to fade from the sky. The sky grew pale and towards the horizon it grew golden.

'Well?' Gilles said. 'What should we do with him, Methos?'

'Let him go,' Adam said absently. 'Or kill him. What does it matter now? But since he came here out of loyalty to me, let his death be quick.'

Gilles nodded. 'Very well. His death will be quick, as a mark of my respect for you, Lord Death. Georgia, tell Julian what needs to be done.'

'No,' Georgia said. 'Forgive me, my lord, but I disagree. Let Mulder live, for now.'

Gilles turned towards her. 'Why, Georgia?' he asked with mild curiosity. 'What possible reason can you have for wishing to keep this mortal alive?'

'Lord, your will be done, as always,' Georgia said meekly. 'If you wish him dead, so be it. But it is not yet determined how the next two days will play out. If Mulder is dead, he is dead. We cannot make use of him. If we keep him alive we can still kill him whenever we wish.'

Gilles frowned gravely. 'But what use can we make of him, Georgia?'

'If nothing else, to test the virus,' Georgia said, with a shrug. 'As a hostage, if things go badly. And if Methos shows that he has loyalties other than to you, let Mulder be given to Richard.'

'Our victory is preordained, Georgia,' Gilles said with some annoyance. 'Do you not believe that?'

Georgia bowed her head. 'Our hand is strong, Lord. But God has given us this card. Why throw it away when we have no need?'

'Then let it be so. You see how I indulge my children, Methos?' Gilles said, with a wry smile. 'And the other prisoner, Lady Georgia?'

'I still do not know who he is or why he is here, Lord. I should like to know.'

'Then give him to Richard,' Gilles said, with a touch of impatience. 'We'll find out soon enough.'

'Richard can be crude,' Georgia argued. 'I don't want the boy dead before he has the chance to tell us anything.

'And twice you question my orders, in the one day,' Gilles said, more in bemusement than anger.

'Forgive me, my lord,' Georgia said quickly, 'All I ask is what I believe is needed for our success. Let me have the one-armed boy, for a day, that's all I ask. There are many more effective ways of gaining answers than simple brutality. We have no medical facilities here, Lord. The boy is crippled. If his heart fails, there's nothing more we can gain from him. Again, why throw a card away without need?'

Gilles nodded. 'Well argued. I can find no reason to deny you. You have twelve hours, lady. Take the one-armed prisoner and discover what you can. If you have nothing from him by the morning, then he is Richard's.'

'When I have what need, then Richard may amuse himself as he wishes,' Georgia said, with another curtsey. 'Thank you for your indulgence, my Lord.'

'Don't make me regret my faith in you,' Gilles said, and his eyes were chill.

Water lapped against the sides of the boat. Above them the sky was clear, although there was no moon. Duncan stood in the boat's cabin, scanning the horizon as they made their way down the Firth in silence. The gentle rocking motion, the darkness, the silence, the fear and expectation, the smell of diesel, all conspired to transport Joe Dawson back twenty years, to silent patrols along the hotter, darker waters of the Mekong Delta. Although back then, of course, they hadn't had a well stocked bar, a filter coffee maker, a television or a microwave on the boat. The bar in particular had been tempting, but Joe had pressed the coffee maker into service instead.

'Could you use some coffee, Mac?' he asked.

Duncan didn't turn, just kept on looking out into the night, hunched over the wheel. The high hills that lined either side of the Firth loomed black against the sky. All that Joe could see nearby was the pallid reflection of their dim cabin lights on the water.

'Twenty three immortals, plus whoever's on the island,' Duncan said grimly. 'And some of them know he's Methos. This is bad, Joe.'

Joe quirked an eyebrow. In the five minutes since he'd gone below, MacLeod had descended into a world class brood. 'Scott was right, Mac. You need to keep well out of it. Adam said he had a plan, he knows what he's doing.'

'So what are we doing, Joe?' Duncan asked tersely. 'Admiring the view?'

Joe put the mugs he was carrying down and spread his hands. 'All we can do is wait, Mac. Scott said it was all going to come to a head tonight or tomorrow morning. If he needs us, we're here.'

'We've got to get him out of there first, Joe.'

Right on cue. Joe shook his head ruefully. 'Mac, this is not the time or the place for your Bruce Willis impersonation. This time it's just not gonna work. You don't even know how many of them there are and we don't even know for sure that he's on there.'

Duncan buried his head in his hands. 'If Methos does this to me one more time, Joe, I swear...'

'My bet is, someone's gonna end up in the sea,' Joe said practically. 'We should go down past the island a couple of miles, then cross over to their side of the Firth and head back up. Then we anchor ourselves about half a mile away. If anyone gets washed towards the sea by the tide, that's where we get them.'

'And that's the plan? We just wait around and do nothing?'

'Well it's sure as hell better than anything you've come up with, Mac,' Joe said mildly.

'Joe, how can you be so calm about this?' Duncan demanded.

Joe gave him a patient look. 'When you don't have any legs, Mac, one thing you learn is how to wait. There's nothing you and I can do right now. Just accept it.'

Duncan shook his head. 'Okay, Joe. I'm sorry. I'm angry at Methos and I'm taking it out on you.'

'He didn't ask for your help, Mac,' Joe reminded him.

'He never does, Joe. But he knew we'd come anyway.' Duncan sighed. 'You should get some rest, Joe. There's a bunk below.'

'Actually, there's four,' Joe corrected. 'When Amanda decided to rescue someone, she sure does it in style.'

Duncan frowned. 'So where is Amanda anyway? Getting some rest?'

Joe looked sheepish. 'Ah, no. She took the dinghy and a wetsuit about ten minutes ago. Said she was going to take a look around.'

'She did what?' Duncan demanded. 'And you didn't tell me? Joe...'

'She said not to, Mac,' Joe said defensively. 'I'm sorry, but she's good at this sneaking around business. She knows what she's doing.'

Duncan shook his head. 'What is it with her and the old man anyway?'

Joe shrugged. 'Ask them, Mac, not me. I stay well out of Amanda's chronicles. They're in the restricted section of the library anyway.'

Duncan blinked. 'Amanda's chronicles are restricted?'

'Since Victorian times. Mainly because they were getting so much wear and tear.'

'Wear and tear?'

Joe grimaced. 'Trust me. You really don't want to know, Mac.'

'Julian?'

'Yes. I'm here. What is it, my Lady?'

'Nothing. I thought I felt another immortal but it must have been you.'

'Gilles sent me to find you. He wished to know if the one-armed man had told you anything yet.'

'I've had no time to attend to it. Tell him I'll have a report for him by the morning. I know the drugs to use. It won't take long.'

They both stood in silence for a moment.

'I looked all over the keep for you,' Julian said. 'What are you doing up here, my lady?'

'Thinking. Checking the charges in the tower aren't too damp. Looking to see if we're being watched.'

'Is there anything, my lady?'

'A boat went past on the other side of the Firth. It wasn't the kind they use. It even had its lights on. Tourists, maybe.'

'What will we do if they don't come tomorrow, Georgia?'

Georgia shook her head. 'They'll come, Julian. They'll have followed Mulder, as Gilles said they would. They know where we are and they'll attack at down. Is everything packed in the boats?'

'Yes. There's not much.'

'Everything we need is already in the keep at Languedoc.'

'We shouldn't leave the computers. They'll be able to find us, like they did in Cyprus.'

'The explosives will destroy the computers and everything in the keep,' Georgia explained patiently. 'There won't be anything left to work with and there won't be anyone left to search for us. Everything will be ready for the end.'

'Then think,' Julian said. 'In less than a week, we will see the angels. I have always wanted to see angels.'

Georgia smiled faintly. 'We must finish preparing. Come on, Julian. We can't stay up here all night.'

And Amanda pressed still and silent against the outside wall beneath them, listened breathlessly to the sound of their retreat

'Well, Amanda?' Duncan asked.

Amanda pulled herself back into the boat. Her wetsuit gleamed darkly in the lights from the cabin. 'All clear. Their surveillance systems are very basic. I don't think they've had much time to set things up.'

'What's the layout?' Joe asked.

'The keep's on the main island. They've got the helicopter hidden on another island about a third of a mile across the straits.'

'Is it operational?'

Amanda smiled sweetly. 'Not any more, Duncan, darling.'

'Amanda, this was supposed to be reconnaissance only,' Duncan protested.

'And it was, Duncan dear, but since there was nobody around I thought I'd indulge in a bit of creative sabotage.'

'How about the keep?'

'As far as I could work out, there are four immortals in there. There was a woman who sensed me but she thought it was one of the others. I couldn't get too close, of course, but I did take the opportunity to do a bit of sneaking around.'

'And what did you steal, Amanda?' Duncan asked.

Amanda rolled her eyes. 'So I made a few acquisitions while I was there, Duncan. I was looking for this virus everybody keeps going on about! What does it matter if I picked up a few other bits and pieces on the way? Everything was a mess. It'll take them days to inventory it all and notice anything's missing. There's something more important than that.'

'What, Amanda?'

Amanda's face grew uncharacteristically grave. 'A lot of explosives, Duncan. Every room I went into was wired up with enough explosives to blow the keep to pieces and to kill everybody in it.'

Gilles sat in his chair at the head of the table in the great hall and watched with hooded eyes as Adam sat opposite him, sprawled in a chair, apparently engrossed in a slim volume of the keep's hunting records. The first signs of dawn brightened the eastern sky, behind the hills.

'Richard is unhappy,' Gilles said eventually.

'Richard is a psychopath,' Adam muttered under his breath.

Gilles smiled faintly. 'I promised him long ago that he would lead my horsemen, but now you take his place, Methos. He needs something to take his mind off that disappointment.'

'He'll have all the distractions he can handle in about two days' time,' Adam said. He looked out of the window towards the forested shore.

'Did you anticipate that Mulder would follow you here?' Gilles asked.

'Oh yes,' Adam said pleasantly, not even slightly taken aback by the change of subject. 'You watched me write the message I left for him but he hardly ever seems to do what anybody tells him.'

'I anticipated the possibility too,' Gilles said. 'After all, he's tracked you down after almost two decades, across two continents. Why would he not search for you here, over just a few hundred miles?'

'That's why I warned the Lady Georgia to set a watch for him.'

'Yes, Indeed. And tell me, Methos, did you also anticipate that Mulder too would be followed?'

Adam nodded and finally looked up. 'Of course,' he said, with faint surprise. 'That was part of the plan, wasn't it? Mulder would follow me and the Hospitallers would follow Mulder. How are you going to kill them?'

Gilles smiled unpleasantly. 'I see that we understand each other very well. There have been such great advances in conventional explosives over the last ten years. A nuclear warhead would have made certain of their destruction, but semtex is so much easier to come by on short notice. Their destruction was to have been in Cyprus, within sight of the coast of Syria, but they found us too quickly. Now it will be here instead.

'I assume that you don't intend to blow us up as well?'

Gilles waved a hand. 'There are boats, in the harbour on the far side of the island and in the caves below. You already know of the hidden landing area for the helicopter on the next island. We will hide in the caves while their forces move to attack the keep. It will take them a few hours to ready themselves, but they will attack today or tonight, I am almost sure. All the old players will be there. Leithen, Clanroyden, de Troyes - all of them will wish to be present at our destruction. And when they are all here, in the castle, we will destroy it, and those who are not torn apart in the blast will be buried, for us to deal with at our convenience.'

Adam nodded. 'And what then?'

'Then we will leave here, by boat, helicopter, by whatever means remain to us. Georgia will go to New York. Julian will go London and Richard will go to Tokyo. You will travel with me to Moscow. The viral material will be in a briefcase, set to release it on a timer, left each time at a central railway station.'

'Not an airport?'

'Many people travel to airports by train. We'll catch them anyway, because of that. But a station means that the virus will spread more quickly through the population. We'll leave the cases at the stations, then we'll meet on the plains of Megiddo in Israel, where you will release the first of the virus. The other viral material will be triggered. Then we will go to our ancient fortress in France, in the Languedoc, and there we will wait for the end. Within ninety-six hours, there will barely be a human left alive on the earth. What will be left for our brother immortals, other than the gathering? And we will wait, and bide our time, until only a handful remain, and then we will ride out and claim the earth.'

'And then?' Adam asked.

'You've read Revelations, Methos. You know what happens then.'

'A thousand years of the battle between the angels of heaven and hell? Take it from me, a thousand years is a long time to fight.'

Gilles shook his head. 'Oh no, Methos. That battle has already raged for a thousand years and the Crusades were only the first battlefield. After all, what are we but angels ourselves? No, the battle will be ended and the Lord will come and claim His kingdom. It will be glorious, beyond glorious.'

'It's a pity there isn't going to be anyone left alive to see it,' Adam observed mildly.

Gilles smiled then, a cold little smile. 'Cynicism comes easily to you, old one. But in just a few days, darkness will fall and the horsemen will ride. Those who have lived in perfect virtue will ascend to heaven and watch as the disbelievers are plunged into eternal torment.'

'It seems to me that list A is likely to be on the short side,' Adam said, gazing out to the horizon again. 'And that list B is going to be rather over-subscribed.'

'Who are we to question the ways of the Lord, Methos? We are only his servants.'

'So what happens now?'

'We retreat to the caves and wait. When the Cabal come we will detonate the explosives. They will be trapped or destroyed, blown apart of buried beneath the rubble. We will take the quickenings, kill those we can find quickly, then make our escape by boat. We have vehicles parked further along the coast. It won't be difficult to make our getaway in the confusion.'

'I need a sword. To defend myself.'

'Not yet. Perhaps later, when you've truly earned my trust...'

Running footsteps echoed up into the room, and Gilles looked up in some irritation.

'Richard,' he said, with a frown. 'Did I summon you?'

'My lord. Lord Gilles!' Richard said frantically. He was red-faced, his surcoat in disarray.

Gilles half rose to his feet. 'What, Richard? What is it?'

'M.. my Lord, the boat won't work. Neither of the boats by the cliff w..will work! They've been sabotaged! We're trapped here!'

'It's true, my lord,' Georgia said softly, her eyes downturned. 'The boat in the cave below has been sabotaged as well.'

'And this one is responsible,' Gilles said softly. He glared at Krycek.

'Me?' Krycek protested, rather unconvincingly, Mulder thought. 'You think I did it?'

'Who else?' Gilles snarled. He paced the little cell, fury written across his face. 'You were free for an hour after Mulder was taken. Why else should you have come here? An advance spy, sent to trap us in this place.' He took Krycek's face in his hand, then pushed it away roughly. 'Oh, I should have given you to Richard,' he said softly. 'But there's no time now. We have to move quickly. Kill them both, Georgia. Shoot them both and leave them to die. And make sure this one dies slowly. Richard, Methos, come with me. I need to plan our defence.'

Georgia nodded. 'Julian, stay here. I'll need you to help me with the bodies.'

Gilles led way back up into the keep, Methos beside him, Richard behind them both. As they passed through the low stone door that led into the great hall, two gunshots echoed from below. Gilles saw to his satisfaction that Methos did not change his cold expression, or even blink at the sound.

'Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on here?' Mulder asked plaintively. He rubbed his wrist, finally free of the handcuffs. Julian's body lay on the ground beside them. His eyes were open and staring upwards; there was a look of mild surprise on his face, and a bullet hole in his forehead. A second red stain was spreading slowly across his chest.

'Shut up,' Georgia said. 'Alex, help me get him down to the boat. We need to be away from here before he revives.'

Mulder blinked. 'We? You two know each other?'

'Of course we know each other, Mulder,' Krycek said irritably.

We met in Russia,' Georgia said. 'When Gilles sent me there to buy the virus from the Russian Mafia.'

'Jesus. You're the one who sold her the virus in the first place, Krycek?'

Krycek gave him a pained look. 'Mulder, I know you think I have no ethics, but even I'm not about to arrange the sale of a virus that's going to bring about the end of the world.'

'There isn't even a virus, then?' Mulder said, in a kind of wonderment.

'Of course there isn't a virus, Mulder,' Krycek said wearily. 'Even the Russian Mafia aren't stupid enough to sell something like that to a fundamentalist maniac like Gilles. The Consortium spreads the rumours around from time to time, just to pick up the worse of the crazies. Mainly on the Internet, but there are a few other places too.'

'So you are working for the Consortium,' Mulder said slowly.

'I'm freelancing. When Gilles expressed an interest in buying the Rapture virus they asked me to organise the sale.'

'So the whole thing was a set up? What did you sell them? Anything at all?'

'The virus is a mild strain of flu,' Georgia said. 'Nothing worse than that. For the first twelve hours it would give the same symptoms as I described for the Rapture virus. Enough time for me to get away before Gilles suspected if the virus ever was used.'

'And you were working with Krycek all along?'

'Of course,' Georgia said. 'Gilles is insane. He wants the apocalypse. Anne was too frightened of him to care, and Richard is as insane as Gilles. But I'm not either, and I'm not tired of living, not yet.'

'And Methos...?'

'Methos told me to make sure that Gilles didn't kill either of you. He said that I should free you, before the Cabal raided. He said that he'd take care of Gilles himself.'

'Does he know that the virus is a fake?'

'I don't know. Probably. He knew the rest.'

'What about the village? The virus test you told me about?'

'That was a setup, Mulder. Gilles needed to see pictures. The bodies were from a hospital morgue in Kazahkstan.'

'Jesus, that's sick, Krycek.'

'So sue me, Mulder. At least their deaths had some kind of purpose. Which ours won't unless we get moving now.'

'So all that down on your luck, no place to go stuff you were selling me was just so much crap,' Mulder said disgustedly. I suppose I should have known.'

'Sorry, Mulder,' Krycek said, not particularly apologetically. 'I had to explain away my involvement somehow. Keep you distracted.'

'So the Cabal set the whole thing up? This whole thing was just so I'd lead you here. The men you killed at the church...'

Krycek just nodded.

'Why didn't you just shoot me and tell them where to go?'

'I needed to get on the island myself. I needed to make sure all the escape routes were cut off before the raid, and I needed to do it without getting Julian and Georgia killed. My side of the bargain. You were just a good excuse, Mulder.'

Mulder looked at the Julian's motionless body. 'How are you going to explain it to him?' he asked Georgia.

'He'll understand,' Georgia said. 'And even if he doesn't, it won't matter. He'll accept it because I ask him to. Now help me get him into the boat so we can get away from here.'

'No. We need to find Adam,' Mulder said.

'Methos can look after himself,' Georgia said. 'We need to get out of here before Gilles realises that Alex couldn't have sabotaged the boat in the cave from outside the castle.'

'He told you, Mulder,' Krycek said. 'Don't you remember? "If you get out, don't bother coming after me."'

'We need to go now, Alex,' Georgia said. 'I'm not sacrificing this, not after this much time.'

'But Adam...'

'I've done as Methos asked me,' Georgia interrupted. 'I've stopped him from killing either of you and I've set you free. I've done my part, Fox Mulder. I don't owe you anything now.'

'Go or stay, Mulder,' Krycek said. 'But decide quickly. We need to leave now.'

'I'm not going. I won't leave him.'

'Then you're more of an idiot than I thought, Mulder,' Krycek said.

'Then you'll die with him,' Georgia said flatly. 'Gilles has this keep wired with enough semtex to flatten this island. That was his plan. He would escape to the caves and when the Hospitallers arrived, he'd destroy the keep and kill them all. If he can't escape he'll set it off anyway and take them with him.'

'Then I have to go to Adam. I have to warn him.'

'Don't be an idiot, Mulder,' Krycek said. 'He knew what he was doing when he got into this.'

'I can't leave him. Richard and Gilles are still alive. When they realise what's happened it'll be two against one.'

'Alex, come on,' Georgia said, as she pulled Julian's corpse awkwardly towards the hole in the floor that led down to the cave. 'We can't wait any longer. Help me with him.'

'It's your funeral, Mulder,' Krycek said.

'I need Georgia's gun.'

Krycek reached down to Julian's body and tossed his weapon to Mulder. For a moment he met Mulder's eyes. 'Good luck, Mulder.'

Mulder nodded. 'Thanks.'

Castle Huntingtower

'We have it. We have it, sir. A boat leaving, looks like three on board. They're in a big hurry to get away.'

'Who?'

'Krycek, Mulder and Mulder's friend, I assume,' Clanroyden said. 'We have no way of telling from the satellite images.'

'Then they're free. It took him long enough,' Leithen said. 'No matter. Mobilise. We attack now.'

The corridor was long and featureless. There were several doors and two passages leading away to who knew where. Mulder swore softly under his breath. It would have been helpful if Gilles had taken some time out to give him the customary Bond villain tour of the premises and point by point summary of his plan to take over the world. Unfortunately, in Mulder's experience, this rarely happened in real life.

He ran along as silently as he could, gun in hand.

And from one of the side corridors something came down on his arm with brutal, bone breaking strength, knocking the gun out of his hand. He cried out and fell back, clutching his arm.

Something else hit the side of his face, a metal clad fist. He stumbled back against the wall, half stunned, completely unprepared for the surprise attack. Through blurred vision, he saw Richard's leering face.

'I was checking the monitors,' Richard said with a kind of evil playfulness. 'And guess who I saw who wasn't supposed to be there?'

Mulder backed away, cradling his broken arm to his chest. Richard picked up the gun from where it had fallen and smiled, ruthlessly, insanely. 'I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you so much. But first I'm going to take you to Gilles...'

The cliffs to the south of the island rose high above the sea. There was no beach below, just rocks and the crashing waves of the Firth moving dizzyingly below. The castle backed onto the cliff, and a wide, low tower had been built on its edge, showing the firth, hills to either side, the open sea beyond. Adam stood there, beside the low tower wall, on the grassy flagstones, and looked out towards the wooded shore. Seagulls swooped around them, their cries raucous in the salt-scented morning air.

'No sign of them?' Gilles asked.

'None,' Adam said. 'There's nothing out there. Are you quite sure you aren't mistaken about this?'

'No. I'm sure. They'll attack us. So to our defence, Lord Methos. What do you suggest?'

'I suggest escape. By sea,' Adam said, eyes narrowed. 'There are still inflatables in your stores. I've learned over the years that sometimes retreat can be the best form of attack.'

'But I do not agree,' Gilles said, moving to the edge beside him. Gilles wore chainmail too now, his sword openly belted over his surcoat. 'The Cabal will bring boats with them. No, the old plan will stand. We will hide in the cave below and trigger the explosives when they raid us, then we will take their transport.'

Adam nodded, part of his mind absently gauging the distance between Gilles and the cliff. Richard was back in the keep. He had no weapon, then again a two hundred foot cliff was considered to be lethal enough by most people and if nothing else he knew how to improvise. Mulder and the others should have been long gone, the opportunity might not come again.

He tensed, preparing for the rush, the push...

'Lord Gilles!'

Richard, half pushing, half dragging a familiar figure along with him.

'Gilles! Lord Gilles! Look what I've found!'

Adam felt his heart sink. Mulder was handcuffed again, half unconscious. Richard had not been kind to him. One side of his face was livid with fresh bruises.

Richard kicked his prisoner to the ground beside Gilles. Mulder groaned as he fell, and stirred weakly, but did not get up. 'He was in the long corridor,' Richard said triumphantly. 'He was armed with Julian's gun. You see? I told you Julian was too stupid to be trusted! And Georgia must have been asleep!'

'How did you escape?' Gilles demanded. He pulled Mulder to his feet with surprising strength and held him there with a fist full of his shirt, almost by brute force. 'Who freed you?'

'Fuck you,' Mulder said, out of a swollen mouth.

'Let him go,' Adam said in a low voice. He backed towards the cliff. 'Let him go, or I'll go over the edge. You need me. If you hurt him any more you won't have a fourth horseman to spread your virus, I promise you that.'

From far below them rose the sound of a boat, heading away from the island towards the far side of the Firth. Or was it the sound of helicopters in the distance? Impossible to tell, but a slow realisation spread across Gilles' face.

'There is no virus,' he said softly. 'Georgia has betrayed us, how else could Mulder have escaped? Oh, she'll die for this, her and that fool Julian both. Draw your sword, Richard. Kill Methos. Kill him now.'

Mulder's breath caught in his throat in something between a gasp and a disbelieving sob. Richard grinned and hefted his sword. It did not seem to have occurred to him that, win or lose, his death was inevitable. Mulder's thoughts raced. If Adam somehow won, without a sword, then Gilles would take him while he was still weak from the quickening. If Richard was the victor, his fate was unlikely to be any different. Adam backed away, until there was no further to go. He briefly glanced down at the rocks and the sea below.

'Do it,' Gilles said, 'And your lover dies.' His sword was already drawn in his hand.

Mulder met Adam's hazel eyes. 'I'm dead anyway,' he said. Then, 'I love you.'

'Mulder, I'm so sorry,' Adam said. 'You were supposed to escape with the others.'

'I couldn't leave you. I'm sorry.'

'Mulder...'

Just do it,' Mulder whispered, and watched as Adam turned, gracefully raised his arms and launched himself off the edge of the cliff. His cry was involuntary, a sob of loss and despair.

Gilles turned to Richard, his face flat. 'Find his body,' he said, with an edge of irritation in his voice. 'Quickly, before it washes out to sea. Bring him to me before he revives. Agent Mulder, for you it ends here.'

Gilles' hand was warm and strong on his shoulder, pushing him to his knees now, to the ground. He no longer had the strength to resist. His legs gave way.

'And so, Agent Mulder, it comes to you and me,' Gilles said, walking round behind him. There was the sound of a safety catch being removed. The hand that stroked his hair was unexpected, and made him flinch away involuntarily. 'I'm sorry that I don't have the time I would like to have taken over this, but it is too late for you to be saved. There is only time for you to die. I will pray for your damned soul.'

A low clatter in the distance. Helicopters? 'Fuck you,' Mulder said defiantly. 'In ten minutes' time you're going to be dead anyway.'

'Let your last words be words of repentance, Agent Mulder,' Gilles intoned. 'And be assured that I fully intend to survive this. Richard will find Methos and I will order him to take Methos' head. Then I will kill Richard and when the quickening strikes me, I will throw myself off the cliff and upon the mercy of the sea.'

Mulder was pushed to his knees, beyond shock, beyond fear. *Just so tired.* He closed his eyes.

'Come on then,' he whispered. 'What are you waiting for?'

He heard the safety catch released on the gun Gilles had been holding.

'I'll make this quick,' Gilles said. 'A bullet to the brain. You won't feel a thing, Agent Mulder. It's more than you deserve.'

'Do I get a last request?' Mulder asked shakily.

'Well, I said we'd do this properly. What is it?'

'Tell Skinner... tell Skinner..' his voice trailed off. He couldn't find the words.

'I'm unlikely to run into him in the near future,' Gilles said. 'But if I do, I'll tell him that you died well. Goodbye, Agent Mulder.'

There was a single gunshot, the loudest thing he'd ever heard. And then there was nothing else at all.

The cliff was about two hundred feet high. At that height even falling onto water was like hitting a stone wall. The impact broke most of the bones in his body, but at least it was quick. As he hit the water Adam Pierson, more lately Adam Benn, died for the second time in three weeks. Around Mulder it was getting to be a habit.

'Is he still alive?' That was Skinner, his voice flat with grief and fury.

'Barely. Somehow. But, sir... it would be kinder to let him go.' Scully's voice was very quiet and more than a little uneven.

'No.' Skinner again, his voice flat. 'There's a medical kit in the helicopter. I want you to get him into the helicopter, then get to work on getting him stabilised.'

'Sir, look at the entry and exit wounds. There must be massive brain damage. If he survives this he's going to be a vegetable for the rest of his life. I've discussed this with him. He's told me that in the event of this kind of injury he doesn't want any heroic measures taken to keep him alive. We have to let him go.'

Good old Scully, Mulder thought. Her voice was breaking a little at the end but it was still calm and professional.

'I gave you an order, Agent Scully.' He was lifted, jolted. 'Be careful with him.' Skinner snapped.

'Sir, it's not going to make any difference!' Scully almost shouted. 'He's dead, as near as damn it!'

'He's not a piece of meat, Agent Scully.'

'Sir, that's all that's left...' her voice finally breaking. 'I'm sorry...'

'It's going to be all right, Agent Scully.'

'No sir,' Scully disagreed. 'Not this time.'

'Just get him aboard. Where the hell is Clanroyden?'

Another voice, a man's voice. 'He said he had something he needed to do in the keep, Assistant Director.'

'Clanroyden, wait a minute! Clanroyden, leave them to get on with it.' In a low voice. 'Did you find Gilles?'

'Yes. Didn't it reach here?'

'Gilles' quickening? No.'

'I took him in one of the caves. It must have been absorbed by the rock. I was hoping it wouldn't reach the helicopters. It wrecked my bloody cellphone. That's the third this year.'

'Any sign of Pierson down there?'

'No.' A pause. 'How's Mulder?'

'Alive. Barely. I hope to Christ you're right on this one, Clanroyden, because if you're not I'm going to hunt you down and kill you myself and I'm really going to take my time about it.'

'Give him a little while, Skinner. The first time is always the slowest.'

'Sir, we need to get Mulder to a hospital with an ICU,' Scully said.

'One way or another he's not going to need an ICU, Agent Scully,' Skinner said.

'Sir, what do you mean? With respect, please will you tell me what the hell is going on?' Scully demanded.

'You're going to have to trust me on this one, Scully. Can you start to get some fluids into him?'

'That doesn't make any sense, sir. If we're not going to an ICU facility there's no reason for me to intervene any further. We should just let him die in peace.'

'Please do as I ask, Agent Scully. I'll explain later, but now I need you to trust me.'

And for a little while, the voices faded...

Adam Pierson woke laying on a hard, flat surface. His lungs ached in a way that told him he'd recently inhaled seawater. He started to cough. He hated waking up coughing. Of course, he thought woozily, it beat waking up *in* a coffin, something he'd done far too often in the past five thousand years. The nearby buzz of two immortals brought him rapidly back to something approaching alertness. He sat up, still half blinded by seawater, hand grasping unconsciously at his side, trying to find a sword that wasn't there. Someone took both his hands, and stilled them.

'Methos, it's all right. You're safe.'

Amanda. Thanks the gods. He let himself fall back into the support of her arms.

'Mulder?' he managed to say.

'I don't know. Some helicopters arrived. Then there were a couple of quickenings. That was a few minutes back. We're kind of hoping they'll ignore us.'

'Us?' Adam managed to croak. 'Who's us? Who's they?'

He heard Amanda sigh. 'Us is me and Joe and Duncan. And you. Methos. Remember? We ended up on rescue detail. Again.'

'Oh. Yeah.'

'We don't know who *they* are, but the helicopters had UN markings.'

'What kind of helicopters?'

'Big ones,' Amanda said vaguely. 'I don't know.'

'Sea Kings,' Duncan said shortly from where he stood at the boat's controls.

'Then it's the Cabal,' Adam said. 'Maybe Skinner too.'

Amanda clapped her hands. 'Then everything's all sorted out. Duncan, darling, why don't we get out of here?'

Adam narrowed his eyes. 'You're in a hurry to get away.'

'Amanda went on a little foraging expedition,' Duncan explained dryly.

'You robbed the keep?' Adam said accusingly. 'You were actually in the keep and you didn't get Mulder out of there?'

'I sabotaged their helicopter,' Amanda protested. 'Anyway, I don't do rescuing people. That's Mac's speciality. I was just checking out the lie of the land. And if the lie of the land just happened to take me into the strongroom, and if I just happened to pick up a few things on my way through, then what about it? Anyway, this has been an expensive operation. Hiring the yacht, buying a new swimsuit, wear and tear on my manicure.' She examined her nails carefully. 'Suntan lotion...'

'Yeah yeah, I get the picture.' Adam said sourly. He looked back towards the rapidly retreating cliffs.

'Mac, if someone spots us heading away this fast they're going to get suspicious.'

'We're probably going to get stopped by the coastguard anyway,' Duncan said, his eyes on the sea ahead of them. 'I just want to get us around the coast a way. Are you always this cranky when you revive?'

'Breaking every bone in my body isn't exactly my favourite way to go,' Adam grumbled. He sighed. 'I'm sorry, Mac. I'm just worried about Mulder. You sure you didn't see what happened to him?'

'There was a gunshot a minute or so after you went over. Five minutes later the helicopters arrived. There were a couple of quickenings then. That's all I saw.'

'Who were those guys in the castle, anyway?' Amanda asked. She pulled a string of black pearls out of her purse and examined them with an air of satisfaction.

'I'll explain it all later,' Adam said. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

'Well whoever they were, they had a weird setup in there. I wasted twenty minutes trying to get into the toughest wall safe I've ever cracked. Do you know what was in it?' She made a face. 'An ugly, chipped old drinking bowl.'

'What are we waiting for?' Skinner demanded of the pilot.

'They had to go back into the keep, sir. You'd better get strapped in. I don't think they'll be long.'

'Wait, here he is,' Scully said, narrowing her eyes against the rising sun. Leithen and a small, black armoured group were running towards them from the castle. Leithen held something clutched to his chest.

'Got it?' Clanroyden called.

'I've got it,' Leithen said. 'Now we need to get out of here. The whole place is about to blow.'

'What's important enough to risk getting us all blown up for?' Skinner demanded.

'Just something that belonged to us,' Clanroyden said shortly. 'Surety for a loan of 400,000 gold pieces. Don't worry about it, AD Skinner. This is Cabal business, nothing to do with you. Now let's get out of here.'

'A chipped old drinking bowl?' Adam asked in a small voice. 'In the toughest safe you've ever cracked?'

'It was almost too tough,' Amanda admitted. 'I decided that if I couldn't do it in twenty minutes, I was heading out of there. I cracked it in 19 minutes and 47 seconds. My personal best, all that effort, and it had nothing in it except for one lousy piece of earthernware.'

She looked up in alarm as Adam groaned and buried his face in his hands.

'What, Methos?' she snapped. She looked over at Duncan, who shrugged in mystification.

'Amanda,' Adam said, in a very calm voice. 'For a moment I want you to use your imagination. It's 26AD or so and you're an innkeeper somewhere in Palestine. A bunch of highly suspect religious nutcases want to hire your back room to have a farewell blowout. When they do, do you even give them the good tableware?'

Duncan said slowly: 'You mean...'

Adam gave them both a smug grin and nodded. He had the satisfaction of watching Amanda's jaw drop.

'You mean they had... that was...?'

'Probably,' Adam said, with a dismissive shrug. He looked down at his wet and bloodstained clothes with an expression of distaste. 'Did anyone think to bring me anything clean to wear?'

Both Joe and the two other immortals were staring back at the retreating keep. The boat slowed to a stop, rocking gently in the waves.

'Duncan, I want you to turn the boat round,' Amanda said in a precariously calm voice.

'You know, Amanda honey, I think you may have missed your chance,' Adam remarked.

'Methos, do you know how much money the Vatican would pay to get their hands on that?!' Amanda snarled.

'Gee, I don't know, Amanda.' Adam drawled. 'We're talking about the Holy Grail here. How much money do you think they've got?'

'Duncan, you've got to turn this boat around!' Amanda said, with angry desperation in her voice. 'It's my boat so that makes me the captain. I *order* you to go back!'

'Amanda, that island is swarming with pissed-off immortals who have guns,' Duncan said reasonably.

'Okay. Okay. We wait until they've gone and then we go back,' Amanda said. 'Come on, Duncan, please...'

'Wait,' Duncan said, narrowing his eyes. 'Joe, give me the binoculars. Something's happening.'

Amanda snatched the binoculars from Joe and looked through them herself, seeing the telltale plume of aviation fuel fumes above each that signified preparation for take-off.

'The helicopters are leaving! We can go back, Duncan!'

Duncan took the binoculars from her. 'They're evacuating pretty fast...' he began uncertainly. The helicopters rose one by one, hardly even gaining height before they sped away from the island.

The explosion that followed was one of the largest that any of them had ever seen. It tore apart the ancient walls of the keep like a sandcastle smashed by an invisible fist. The shockwave sent out waves that rocked the boat, although at that distance not too violently. Although they were two or three miles away, some of the chunks of masonry that fell into the sea around them must have weighed several pounds. A light rain of pebbles and smaller debris and sand fell around them like hail, pattering off the roof of the boat and falling into the sea all around them with a hissing noise. A single ice cube sized chunk of stone fell, with incredible precision, into Amanda's gin and tonic. Adam felt a slow grin spread across his face. Maybe there was a God after all.

'Holy shit,' Joe muttered.

'No...!' Amanda wailed.

'You seem to have missed your chance,' Adam commented.

'I had it in my hand!' Amanda said wildly. 'I had it in my hand!'

'Did you close the safe?' Adam enquired.

'What? Yes, of course I closed the safe!' She spun around, eyes wide. 'You think it could have survived?'

'It's a possibility,' Adam mused. 'Or at least all the pieces will be in one place. Course, the Cabal might have got there first...'

'It's still under there!' Amanda protested. 'It must be! There's no way they would have had time to open the safe again! They couldn't have got it out in time!'

'Then I guess it's still in there,' Duncan said, giving her a short, tight smile.

'And all you have to do is sneak in one night and move... ooh say half a million tons of rubble without anyone noticing,' Adam added helpfully.

'I could buy it,' Amanda said. She looked at Duncan with helpless appeal in her eyes. 'The island, I mean. I could buy it, couldn't I? You'd lend me the money, wouldn't you Duncan?'

'No,' Duncan said, with a tight little smile. 'You know, Amanda, I don't think I would. If you want the money you'll just have to cash in some of your rainy day jewels. Just don't involve me.'

'Adam?' Amanda said, turning to him. She gave him a hopeful, dazzling smile. 'You could think of it as an investment opportunity.'

'What makes you think I have any money?' Adam said innocently. 'I'm a poor grad student getting by on less than twenty thousand dollars a year.'

'Do the words "Swiss bank account" ring any bells?' Amanda asked tartly.

Adam shook his head. 'Oh no. I know better than to get involved in this stuff, Amanda. I prefer a quiet life.'

'Joe?' Amanda demanded wildly.

'Amanda, I'm mortgaged to the eyeballs and I have an overdraft,' Joe pointed out patiently. 'I don't have that kinda money. I haven't ever had that kinda money. I only wish I did.'

'But the Holy Grail!' Amanda wailed.

'It'll keep,' Adam said. 'It's survived two thousand years without your help, Amanda.' He looked back at the island and his face grew troubled.

'What, Methos?' Duncan asked.

'Just thinking about Mulder. I wish I knew if he was okay...'

Mulder became aware of the noise first and then of the ground beneath him rocking. No, not the ground, he realised, but the floor of the helicopter. The sharp pain of an IV needle being pushed into his arm brought him back to partial consciousness. Scully was muttering something about finding somewhere for the needle that wasn't already bruised.

*Ah Scully. Here I am with terminal brain damage and you're worried about bruising my arm.*

He opened his eyes, and saw Skinner's face above him. Skinner was wearing black combat gear and an expression that was somehow gentle and fiercely protective and furious all at once.

'Sir..' He didn't know if Skinner could even hear him over the noise of the helicopter.

He heard something drop with a clang and Scully's shocked whisper: 'This isn't possible! It's not possible!'

'Don't try to speak, Agent Mulder.'

'Have to tell you, sir...'

Skinner sighed and lowered his head to catch the whisper. 'What is it, Agent Mulder?'

'Black, sir... it's your colour...'

'Mulder, do I need to tell you how much trouble you're in already?' But the relief in his voice belied his words.

Mulder smiled and was vaguely aware that it hurt his lip. He felt Skinner gently squeeze his hand and raise an oxygen mask to his face.

'Don't say anything, Mulder. It's all right. It's going to be all right.'

'This monitor must be broken,' Scully muttered, a little wildly. 'Sir, he shouldn't be talking.'

'I've just told him that, Agent Scully.'

'No sir. You don't understand. He shouldn't be talking because he has massive, irreparable, terminal brain damage.'

'You've been saying that about me for years,' Mulder mumbled.

'Sir, the bullet would have gone right through the speech centres of his brain. They're mush. He can't be speaking. He should have no capability left for speech or cognition.'

'Mush,' Mulder said dreamily. 'Is that a technical term, Scully?'

'This isn't happening. This absolutely can't be happening.'

'Sit down, Scully,' Skinner said, firmly but quite gently. 'Clanroyden, she's in shock.'

'What do you want me to do?' Clanroyden asked. 'Lay her out with my right hook?'

'Put a blanket round her or something. Get her out of the way.'

'Get your hands off me, Clanroyden...' Scully snapped.

Her face appeared beside Skinner's, looking down at him in disbelief.

'Hey, Scully,' Mulder said softly.

'Hush, Mulder,' Scully said, almost automatically. 'Don't talk.'

'I'm thirsty.'

'Shhh. Sir..'

'Yes, Agent Scully?' Skinner's eyes were still intent on his face.

'We need to change course. We need to get him to an ICU.'

'No we don't, Agent Scully.'

'Sir, you don't just recover from being shot in the head. Obviously the damage isn't as bad as I originally thought but we need to get Agent Mulder to a facility where his condition can be stabilised. He needs x-rays and a CAT scan, then immediate surgery. There'll be bleeding within the brain...'

'It's unnecessary, Agent Scully.'

'Sir, I demand to know what's going on here! This is my partner! I need to know why you're not allowing me to give him the medical attention he needs!'

'He doesn't need any medical attention, Agent Scully,' Clanroyden said.

'He was shot through the head, damn it!'

'Uh.. excuse me,' Mulder said.

'Shut up, Mulder. Sir, I want you to know that I'm going to file a formal protest about this as soon as we return to Washington..'

'Scully, I'm still thirsty.'

'Mulder, will you shut up!'

Mulder tried to sit up. He felt weak and light-headed. Skinner pushed him firmly back down onto the stretcher.

'For God's sake, Mulder!' Scully snapped.

'Scully, it's OK,' Mulder said, rather fuzzily. 'My head doesn't even hurt that much. Maybe the bullet bounced off my skull or something. You're always saying how thick it is.'

'Mulder, that damn bullet went in one side and out the other and you have the holes in your head to prove it.' There was a short pause. A pad of gauze was peeled from his forehead, and he heard Scully's indrawn breath. 'At least you had the holes in your head to prove it. Sir, what's going on?'

'I'll explain later, Agent Scully, when we have more time. For now let's just say that there's only one person in this cargo bay with twenty-three pairs of chromosomes and that's you. Now just keep getting those fluids into him.'

Mulder lay in a comfortable half doze for a while, just looking up at Skinner.

After a while he said: 'Sir, what happened to Gilles?'

'I've dealt with him, Agent Mulder,' Clanroyden said, over Skinner's shoulder. 'He's dead. Permanently. It's good to have you back with us, by the way.'

'Adam?'

Clanroyden shook his head. 'We didn't find his body, but we didn't see his quickening either. I wouldn't worry, Agent Mulder. He's hard to kill. I imagine he made some kind of contingency plan for getting off the island.'

Mulder frowned. His lip didn't hurt as much as he'd expected. He pulled the mask back away from his face.

'His blood pressure's rising,' Scully said, in a stunned voice. 'Vital signs are almost back to normal. With the amount of blood he's lost that should be impossible.'

'Did he shoot me?' Mulder asked.

Skinner was silent for a moment. 'Yes, Agent Mulder. He did.'

'He shot me in the head. Why aren't I dead? Why haven't I even got a headache? And what the hell was that buzzing noise?'

'You were dead,' Scully said. 'Sir, he was dead. What the hell is going on?'

'Something I hoped very much would happen, did happen, Agent Mulder. When you're fully recovered we need to have a long talk about it.'

'When I'm fully recovered?'

'In about five or ten minutes' time.'

'Oh.'

Temporary Watcher HQ, Glasgow

'So, did you get it, Michaels?' Scott asked. He sat in the darkened basement of a Glasgow townhouse with Clanroyden's watcher, Pienaar, preparing the final report, the debriefing session. Cracked vinyl chairs surrounded a state of the art widescreen TV. The noise of the street drifted down from above.

The lab tech nodded and scratched his nose. His pierced nose, Scott noted irritably. They were letting anybody into the watchers these days.

'The tape?' Michaels said, oblivious to this disapproval. He waggled the said tape invitingly and slipped in into the VCR. 'Yeah. Here you go. We enhanced it as much as we could but the equipment here's pretty basic.'

'We'll let the guys in London have a go, see if they can do any better,' the woman called Pienaar said decisively. 'That'll be all, Michaels.' She ran a hand wearily through her short, peppery hair as Michaels left the room and the events of the morning began to unroll in front of them. 'Anyone find any bodies yet?'

Scott turned his attention to the screen and shrugged. 'Richard de Rais, yeah. The emergency services picked up what was left of him, minus chainmail naturally. Gilles de Rais there's no sign of. Maybe they took the body with them.'

'Didn't we have *anyone* in any of those helicopters?' Pienaar asked with the weary resignation of one who knows full well what the answer is going to be.

'Apart from the Scully woman there wasn't anyone there who wasn't at least two centuries old,' Scott said. 'There's no way we can get anyone into that organisation unless we start hiring immortals. God alone knows we've tried to get... Hey, wait a minute. Rewind a bit... There. Does anyone recognise him?'

'Which one?' Pienaar asked.

'The guy who jumped off the cliff. He looks kind of familiar, but I can't place him.'

Pienaar shook her head. 'Had to have been an immortal. We didn't find a body for him either. We'll run him through the database.'

'We could ask Dawson. MacLeod hired a boat and took him along. They were a mile or so down the Firth. Anyone in the water would have ended up with them.'

'What the hell was MacLeod doing there anyway?' Pienaar said irritably.

'Beats me. It'll probably be in Dawson's report. It had better be, at any rate. That man's dangerous. He's turning into a loose cannon.'

'Amen to that,' Scott growled. 'I told him to stay out of the way.'

'They'll be an enquiry into what he was doing there, don't worry about that. Now, this is the bit I'm interested in. The kid who was shot through the head.'

'Him?' Scott said. 'Yeah, we got some better pictures. Surveillance guys had got their act together by then. Why would they shoot him, anyway? They had swords. If he was immortal why not just behead him?'

'Could've been a newbie,' Pienaar suggested, her eyes still narrowed at the screen. 'Maybe that was his first death.'

'I don't get it,' Scott said. 'Can't they usually tell?'

'Maybe sometimes it just doesn't work like that. What happened to him, anyway?'

Scott shrugged. 'Skinner's watcher said Skinner booked him into a hotel room an hour or so ago. No sign of any holes in his head then.'

Pienaar pursed her lips. 'So he's definitely immortal. Guess he must be a newbie.'

'That's a damn huge coincidence though. What's his name?'

'Mulder. Fox Mulder. He's an FBI agent. He ran into Clanroyden in New York after he witnessed the Anne of Kirrin fight. Ended up with Clanroyden driving him all over the town, trying to get him to keep his mouth shut.'

'You think they're going to try to recruit him?' Scott asked.

Pienaar shook her head. 'According to Skinner's watcher he's not exactly a team player. I guess they'll leave it for a while and see how he goes.'

'How about the guys who escaped in the boat?' Scott asked.

'We had people after them. Two immortals identified, Georgia de Milly and Julian of Huntingdon. We haven't had anyone on either of them since the thirteenth century.'

'And now?' Scott asked.

'Our guy lost them,' Pienaar admitted.

'Jesus. How did he manage that?'

'There was a third guy along with them. He ambushed our man and stole his car.'

'Anything on him?'

'Not a thing, except Blake didn't think he was immortal.'

'Why not?'

'Apparently he only had one arm. I don't see a one armed immortal lasting long in the game no matter how good he is. Anyway, we've got a watch out on him just like the other two. We'll find him sooner or later.'

They turned back to the tape, and Scott frowned. 'That guy who jumped off the cliff. I knew him from somewhere. Not an immortal, I think I actually met him somewhere. He was really familiar.'

Pienaar nodded. 'Don't worry about it, Scott. It'll come to you eventually.'

'Our top story tonight. A Royal Air Force exercise on the West Coast of Scotland today ended in a helicopter crash that killed the pilot and a single passenger. A spokesman for the Royal Air Force said that the causes of the incident were as yet undetermined but that a birdstrike could not be ruled out. He denied that the helicopter was carrying live warheads at the time of the crash...'

Adam reached out and decisively switched off the radio. The long, blue boat bobbed peacefully in the waves, heading on down the Firth towards the sea. It had seemed, as Joe had said, a shame to waste the boat since they had it for the week, a suggestion which had met with general agreement. So, Duncan was on deck, steering and Amanda, promising to return, had vanished, no doubt to stash her ill-gotten gains somewhere and to look into the technicalities involved in buying herself an island castle. That left Adam and Joe sitting in the galley area, contentedly sampling the boat's extensive bar.

'So you knew there was a traitor?' Joe said.

'There almost had to be, if you think about it,' Adam said. He contemplated the golden depths of his whisky with some satisfaction. 'Otherwise the Cabal had no way of knowing who they were up against. It had to have been through the virus, and Georgia was the one who arranged that particular transaction. It had to be Georgia. Process of elimination. We had a little talk and as soon as she realised that I wasn't actually going to interfere in her plans she agreed to co-operate with me, to make sure Mulder didn't get hurt too badly.'

'Will Mulder be all right?'

'Skinner's going to be looking after him. He's going to be fine.'

'You were right then?'

'Yeah. It looks like it. He's immortal all right. What kind of immortal is anybody's guess.'

Joe frowned in thought. 'Maybe... maybe if he hadn't taken part of Anne of Kirrin's quickening, none of it the rest of it would have worked. Maybe the genetics and biology aren't everything. Maybe there's something else to it...'

'Maybe,' Adam said with a shrug. 'Who knows? The important thing is that he's in good hands. He's going to be okay.'

'You plannin' on seein' him again, Adam?' Joe asked.

Adam shook his head. 'Not soon, Joe. Maybe. I don't know. Not until Skinner's got him trained. He doesn't need any more distractions right now.'

'I guess,' Joe said, rather dubiously. 'So what are you going to do now? Head back to Paris?'

'I've just taken out a student loan and I've got a place at a good med school,' Adam said with a shrug. 'May as well take advantage of it.'

'You're coming back to Seacouver to take med school?' Joe said, frowning, surprised.

'And work in your bar. If the job's still open.'

Joe shrugged, then nodded. 'Yeah. I can still use you.'

Adam tilted his head to one side. 'Well that's what I'm doing, then.'

Joe felt a relieved grin spread across his face. 'Well, I'll drink to that, buddy. It'll be good to have you around for a while.'

They clinked glasses. 'To the next five years,' Joe said.

'Amen to that,' Adam agreed.

Two short, confusing hours after Mulder's death and rescue, he found himself in a hotel room with Skinner, his head aching. The hotel was a good one, a golfing hotel, somewhere far to the north. The room was a twin, plainly but comfortably furnished.

'So you're saying I'm like Adam?' Mulder asked, for about the fifth time.

Skinner sat patiently on the chair beside one of the beds and watched him pace the room. 'Yes, Agent Mulder.'

'That's not possible,' Mulder said flatly, also for about the fifth time.

'You're like Adam. You're like me. You're immortal. You can't be killed unless you're beheaded. You need to learn...'

'To use a sword,' Mulder rubbed his face with his hands. 'Yeah. You said. Can we give this a rest? I've got too much to think about at the moment and my headache's come back. Where's Scully?'

'Your headache's psychosomatic, Mulder,' Skinner pointed out. 'You can't get sick.'

'What about your headaches?' Mulder accused. 'The ones you're always saying I give you?'

Skinner raised an eyebrow. 'I tend to think of them as a management tool, Mulder. In any case, Scully's fine. Clanroyden's explaining things over dinner.'

'Yeah. You know, I think he kind of likes her.'

'He's always appreciated strong women,' Skinner said. He dated Isabella of Spain once.'

'Sir...'

'What is it, Mulder? Are you all right?'

'Yes.' But his legs were shaking, suddenly too weak to hold him. He sat abruptly on the bed.

Skinner knelt beside him, easing off his shoes.

'You're in shock, Mulder. I'm going to get you into bed.'

Mulder shivered, involuntarily. AD Skinner, unstoppable as a force of nature, was unbuttoning his shirt. It felt so very good to be passive under those hands.

'You're going to have to forgive the liberty, Agent Mulder,' Skinner was saying.

His own voice was rough with weariness: he hardly recognised it. 'It's okay. I liked it when you touched my hair. I liked it when you touched me. You can touch me. I mean, if you want to. I wouldn't mind.' The words had come out almost involuntarily. But what the hell. All the other rules had changed today too.

Skinner looked up at him with what Mulder privately termed his 'don't try my patience' look. 'Agent Mulder, you're not making this easy for me.'

'I was wondering...'

'What, Mulder?'

Mulder pressed on, careless of the consequences. 'If you wanted to kiss me. I mean, that would be okay too. Whatever you wanted to do, that would be okay...'

'Agent Mulder,' Skinner interrupted, quite firmly. 'Whatever my feelings and intentions towards you may be, I do not propose to take advantage of you while you're in a state of shock.'

Mulder managed a smile. 'How about later then?' He shuddered. 'Shit, I'm out of it. You know I've wanted you for a long time...'

'Really, Agent Mulder?' Skinner asked, through gritted teeth.

'Never dared to say anything before. I didn't know if you could tell.'

Skinner pulled his shirt off, quickly and passionlessly, and wrinkled his nose.

'You could really use a shower, Mulder.'

'You can do me if you want,' Mulder said dreamily. 'I'd let you, I wouldn't mind.'

Skinner glared at him. 'Mulder, I am not going to "do" you. I do not "do" my agents. Besides which you're barely conscious. It's all you can do to stand up.'

'Actually even that's getting kind of difficult,' Mulder said. He closed his eyes, let Skinner's hands go wherever they wanted, letting Skinner manhandle him into the shower cubicle. It did feel good to be touched by Skinner, although not in the way he'd always imagined.

'Can you manage, Mulder?' Skinner said, from somewhere miles away.

'Actually no, I don't think I can,' Mulder said distantly, and it was true, probably. He heard Skinner's sigh from behind him.

'All right. Lean against the wall, Mulder. We'll get this over quickly.'

'You smell so good,' Mulder said dreamily, apropos of nothing. Skinner had stripped down to his sweatpants, was soaping his neck and shoulders, his hair. Strong hands. 'That aftershave. Smells so good on you, like forests. I tried to find it once. Went into a department store. They have these women, they wear too much make up and hide behind counters and jump out at you and spray you with things.' He let his head fall forward so his forehead rested against the wall. 'But I didn't find yours. Did I say that already? I don't what I'd have done with it if I had. Couldn't have worn it to work. Scully would have noticed.'

Skinner didn't answer.

'I was serious,' Mulder said, 'When I said I wanted you to do me. Actually, I want you to do me hard.'

'I am not going to do you,' Skinner said tightly. 'Lift your arms up.

'Kind of imagined what the first time with you would be like,' Mulder continued happily. 'I thought maybe it would be over my desk in the basement. Maybe you'd get so mad with me about something you'd storm down there and we'd fight and then you'd put me over the desk and really show me who was boss. Guess Scully would have to be away on a conference or something. Guess I've been watching too much bad porn.'

'Mulder, if you remember any of this tomorrow morning, you're going to be so embarrassed you're going to want to shoot yourself,' Skinner said grimly.

'Huh,' Mulder said. 'And it wouldn't do me any good if I did, right?'

'No good at all, Mulder. Try to stand up straight so I can get this over with as soon as possible.'

Mulder turned awkwardly, to try to look at him. 'When you were touching my hair. The way you looked at me, I thought... Did I get it wrong, sir? Have I completely screwed this up?

Skinner sighed. 'No, Agent Mulder. You didn't get it wrong. It's just that now isn't the time. You're still getting over Pierson and the next few weeks are going to be difficult enough. Besides, it wouldn't be ethically appropriate for me to sleep with my student.'

Mulder blinked. 'Oh. You're going to be my teacher?'

'You're unlikely to find anyone else who's willing to do the job.'

'Ouch,' Mulder said ruefully.

Skinner nodded. 'And one other thing. When you feel better, we need to talk. About what's going to happen with Adam. Because if you are serious about a relationship, and I'm not saying it's going to happen for a long time yet, I don't intend to share with anyone else.'

'I don't know... I don't know what I think about him now. Krycek was right. I don't even know who he is. I need some time to think about it.'

'And what about Krycek?'

Mulder swallowed. 'I guess he's out there doing what he does best. Screwing people over.' That sounded more bitter than Mulder had wanted it too, but he continued anyway. 'They both used me. I guess that's what hurts the most.'

And Skinner touched his hair then, drawing him close, just for a moment. 'You'll get over him, Mulder. You'll get over both of them.' And for just a moment he could rest his face against Skinner's broad shoulder, and it felt so sweet, and the water from the shower ran down across his face, and he was glad, because it hid his tears.

The mobile phone rang about an hour later and Skinner got up irritably from where he'd been sitting and watching Mulder sleep to retrieve it from his coat pocket.

'Skinner. Who is this?'

'You know who it is.'

'Methos,' Skinner said angrily. 'You've got a goddamn nerve ringing me like this.'

'I wanted to check that Mulder was OK.'

Skinner looked around to where Mulder lay asleep.

'He made it. No thanks to you, you bastard.'

'Was I right?'

'You were right,' Skinner grated. 'But you had no right to take that risk.'

'Maybe. Maybe not. Skinner, I need you to tell him not to bother trying to find me.'

'Why the hell should I?'

Over the phone he heard Adam let out an exhausted breath.

'Because I don't want him coming after me. He doesn't need any more enemies. Because I don't want him used to hurt me. Because he needed me then, but he doesn't need me any more. He needs you now.'

There was a long silence.

'I'll tell him you've gone for good,' Skinner said. 'Whether he believes me or not is another matter.'

'Look after him, Skinner. Teach him what he needs to know. I'll be in touch.'

'Tete futue, Methos!' Skinner snarled.

'Yeah. I know. And the horse I rode in on. Salvete, old friend.'

The warehouse stretched for miles in both directions. Clanroyden walked alongside the motorised cart that carried the cargo for which the Vatican would have given a sizeable proportion of the contents of its Swiss bank accounts. The crate was larger than Clanroyden had thought it would have needed to be, but the cryogenically sealed, shock, water, heat and radiation-proof container inside needed to be bulky. It was also heavy - too heavy to be carried the distance into the warehouse easily.

'Here we are, sir,' the driver said. 'Are you sure this is the place? Some of this stuff's been here since the nineteen thirties.'

'Oh I'm sure this is the place,' Clanroyden said. He patted a larger crate with respectful familiarity, and blew the dust away. The stencilled numbering on the crate read '9906753'. On the new arrival the numbering read '9906753a.' 'Put it on here,' he directed.

'You're the boss.'

Clanroyden nodded absently. The thought struck him that this warehouse was easily the most sacred site in the world. Certainly it was the safest. He smiled faintly. The Templars were gone. The Holy Grail had been recovered. Maybe now, finally, the Millennium Group would stop endlessly going on about finding that piece of the True Cross. And maybe, just maybe, the next thousand years were going to work out after all.

'All right,' he said finally. 'Let's get out of here.'

'You got it, sir.' And Clanroyden climbed onto the cart as he began the long trip back up to the world above.

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