Bile rose again in Mulder’s throat. He knew FBI protocol, knew that if he was part of the case initially, as a consultant, his involvement flew out the window they discovered that William and Mrs. Scully had been taken. Officially, Scully, too, was removed from the job, but her eyes bared fangs at anyone who challenged her participation.
Effectively locked out of the "official" investigation, he pursued the matter in his own way, firing off a list of alerts to his growing web of informants. One thing he’d discovered shortly after leaving the Bureau: there was a whole other world of information available to the media. People called, emailed, or stopped you on the street to tell you things that they’d never, ever tell a law officer. Suddenly, the information he’d sought before, now sought him.
So far, most of his published articles fell within the mainstream. A congressman who solicited bribes; a buried police investigation, blocked because the officer in charge was also leader of the cult; a member of the cabinet who hired a killer to silence her lesbian lover… Then there had been the environmental disaster outside of Denver, a toxic chemical leak that had gone unchecked for more than a decade while local and national officials looked the other way.
Of course, Drum and Fife Magazine also covered the glitz and the more mundane matters, publishing vanity interviews with celebrities and politicians, covering international summits, reviewing movies and music, and addressing social issues. When the Queen of Amur eloped during her tour of the U.S., her personal assistant called in to advise D&F. Mulder had taken that call, and while it didn’t interest him personally, he recognized the news value. Her Majesty even emailed wedding photos, attached to a brief note of appreciation. Queen Celeste cited her reasons, including the knowledge that D&F would report fairly and without sensationalism.
His FBI informants followed him to his current job. It had surprised him, the degree to which he engendered loyalty. It also surprised him to find that the management of D&F gave credence to his theories about extraterrestrials, about the government’s involvement with UFO cover ups, and even about the paranormal. The only cautions he received were to document the hell out of everything and to be careful.
Going from FBI outcast to star reporter in the space of a year had been quite an experience. In the news business, paranoia was an asset, indigenous to the psyche of every reporter worth his or her salt. Not only did nobody hold it against Mulder, but the trait was actually encouraged. "Truth" was mantra of the entire sub-culture. It embodied the journalistic requirement to look beyond face value, to find the truth behind the truth, and the belief that an accurately informed public meant a safer place for everyone.
Mulder’s eyes misted with unshed tears as his investigator’s mind ruminated over the possibilities. Sometimes being a criminal profiler was a curse.
Attila didn’t take hostages. He killed outright, as did his expanding army. For some deaths, the motivation was robbery. For others, there was no identifiable reason except the sick desire for destruction and death. Mulder’s mind played out every grisly detail of the murderer’s MO, picturing his tiny son and Scully’s sweet-natured mother in the grip of the madman. Mulder didn’t want the pictures, didn’t want the horror, but it clung to his consciousness, squeezing his sanity from him like boa constrictor clamped around his psyche.
"Mulder?"
Shaking himself, the former FBI agent turned and gazed up at his old friend. The boys had long since gotten over the fact that Mulder had technically become their competition. It helped considerably when Scully had made them all three godfathers to William.
Langly explained quietly, "We’ve got an idea, but we need to get moving. Jeep’s parked at McNamara Pier. Frohike is already on his way; he can pass for one of the locals better than anyone else, but I figured I’d drive." Not waiting for Mulder to argue, Langly yanked the keys from his friend’s hand.
Mulder figured he must look like hell for that dramatic a reaction from the Gunman. A chill ran up his spine. McNamara Pier meant boats. If they put out to sea…
Go to Part Ten.