Kingsboro Community College
11:15 p.m.
Organic Chemistry Annex Lab

"Lie back, Scully.  Try to relax."  Susanne, with a gentle
firmness, eased the restless, irritable woman down onto the
gurney she'd purloined from Introductory Pre-med storage.
The two-year-old wing, which housed the newer, more technical
learning facilities, was only a corridor connection from the
chem lab-office she shared with two other colleagues.  "With
any luck, Langly'll return soon with the antigent precursor
to have you yourself again."

"Where i-is Cutie--I wa-want Cutie!  Now!!"

Byers stepped away from the green blackboard where he'd been
re-examining molecular formulae of the A-H, the initial
antidote Scully'd been given, as well as cocaine in its
purest form.  Once he was satisfied he understood, he came
alongside Susanne and noted in sotto voce, "The simularity
between your derivation and coke is astounding, and quite
indicated."  Unpretentiously, he garnered Scully's hand
carefully, holding it a few moments.  "Scully.  Everything's
going to be all right, dear."  He gazed then at Susanne and
she nodded, although, she felt less sanguine about any
long-range predictions concerning curbing the subversives.
He saw the worry crinkle her eyes.  His heartbeat went
fluttery.  Seeking to reassure her, he encircled her waist
with arms thatd yearned to hold her again, for so long.

The sight of their sudden closeness seemed to mollify Scully.
She calmed, the fretfulness dissipating, and studied them
with a thoughtful, child-like expression mired in her face.
Byers, glad that Silvio had gone off to patronize the men's
room, leaned into Susanne more so, upon which she allowed
herself to relax in his reaffirming embrace.  "I've missed
you so, sweetheart."

"I've missed you too, John.  I wish our reuniting were
under more favorable circumstances."  She closed her eyes
to savor what always had the feel of the fleeting.

"The point is, we're together once more, and if I let myself
have my way, well never be separated again."

She permitted him to graze the nape of her neck with his
lips, marveling at the tickly-prickly softness of his beard.
He felt like home to her as well, and although she'd never
shared it with him, she too had dreamt an analogous dream
of white picket fence domestic tranquility.  When she,
however, would awaken from the fantasy, on more than one
occasion, shed wept.  The knowledge that it could never be
had been too overwhelming.

"Let's just share now, John," she cautioned.  Her indulgent
tone persisted.  "No one is guaranteed tomorrow.  No one."
She felt his nod of agreement against her cheek, and she
opened her heavy-lidded eyes, wondering if, had they been
high school sweethearts, how different their lives would be
this very moment.  Or would they?

"How long have you been teaching here?"  Byers pulled away
so he could contemplate her doleful eyes.  What he saw in
them made his heart ache.

"A little over a month as an adjunct prof.  As soon as I left
you in Vegas, I headed east.  Since turncoat Timmy and his
cohorts have a fair knowledge of my whereabouts, I don't think
I'll be staying on much longer..."

"Then..." his beseeching eyes bored into her resigned-looking
ones, "come with me...us.  Langly, Frohike.  Scully, Mulder...
Back to D-C.  Go to the F-B-I.  Perhaps the government can
arrange for witness protection when alerted to the clear and
present danger the terrorists pose."

"The Bureau...I was branded a murderer.  Remember?  I only
tr..."  Susanne filled her lungs to capacity and when she
breathed out, Byers sensed her answer would not be to his
acceptance.  "I only trust--"

"She's coming with US.  Agent Scully too."  The CIA renegade,
flanked by two M-16-armed men strolled into the lab classroom
with all the lackluster panache of the bad penny turning up.
"How long did you think you could keep evading us, Modeski?
And my, my, isn't this a touching reunion, or, perhaps, more
fittingly put, parting of the ways...Byers.  I suppose it's
fair to assume that where there's one of you, can the other
two clowns be far away?  I owe you for Vegas.  Eh?"

Byers drew Susanne into himself closer, inveighing to
interpose his body between the menacing interlopers and hers.
"Come to your senses, man.  You owe yourself sanity.  You
owe sparing an unsuspecting public from your neo-socialistic
designs.  You owe me nothing...you--"

Sniffing at the latter, Timmy patronized, "Oh, but I do..."
Overbearingly, he strolled up to the pair, and, with
malevolence dripping from his eyes, smacked Byers full-force
hard across the jaw with the butt of his high-caliber pistol,
sending him reeling.

Hurtful shades of Vegas.  Susanne winced in acute pain, but
possessed the wherewithal to depress the mike's 'on' button
of the session recorder, inset within the under panel of the
instructor's lab worktable.  "Let me help you," she choked
out.  "Lean on me, John."  With stoic resolve, she mindfully
aided an out-of-kilter Byers to his shaky feet and dished
Timmy a generous helping of his own baleful look, back at him.
"You monster.  If you think I'm going with you, you, miscreant,
think again!  I'll never help you and your coup of collusion."

Remorselessly, Timmy, his insipid smile never leaving his
lips, grazed Byer's temple with the blunt pistol's muzzle,
gluing it there.  His eyes fastened on the thin stream of
blood seeping from the corner of his victim's mouth.
"Convinced you will?  The cat and mouse is over--don't
let the last memory you have of him be seeing what his
brain looks like splattered everywhere..."

Susanne clenched her teeth.  The sides of her mouth got
caught in-between.  Her stomach lurched, and she grasped
Byers' hand with an octopus' clutch.  She wished, with the
sum total of her being, that she were the one grandstanding
with the gun, and not this SOS.  "I'll go--just don't hurt
him!"

"D...don't, Su--"  Byers swabbed away blood as though he was
just realizing he was bleeding.

"There now.  See what a difference being reasonable makes?"
Timmy whipped the pistol away from Byers' head, never
removing his eyes from Susanne's face of metamorphosis, a
dark mask of pleading, but possessing a biting look of
indomitability at the same time.

"You hurt him again--I swear--I'll NEVER cooperate!"

"You're hardly in any position to exact demands, dearie."

"Your febrile scheme will fail before its even begun."
Susanne pinned her arm around Byers' waist, making
sure Timmy plainly saw.  "Without him, I'm useless to
you..."  Impulsiveness was mashing most of her emotional
buttons; desperation, the remainder.  "...If...if you harm
John further in any way."

"Useless?"  The pudgy anarchist thought that over several
seconds.  "Our little undertaking can't have that.  Ah,
then.  It appears the equation has balanced out more in
my favor, if I let you dictate to me.  Without you:  the
objective's unrealized, but with your Johnnie boy thrown
into the mix, your avid cooperation will be uncontested.
Am I right?  Very well.  Done.  Added he is, as compliance
insurance."  Timmy sighed, sounding sated.  "Never let it
be said I was a rigid man."

Susanne hung her head, cursing her out-of-control
feelings besting her, and placing Byers in an untenable
position; his being used as a puppet, with a sociopath
pulling the strings.

"I-I wa-want Cu--Cutie--CUTIE!  CUTIE!  STOP IT YOU!"

"'Never...'" Byers muttered, as he rubbed his swelling,
bruised jaw.  Helplessly, he watched the hooded duo
prepare a writhing Scully by strapping her securely in
the gurney; then tape her mouth shut.  He felt Susanne
squeeze his waist again in reassurance, and the realization
hit him unstintingly between the eyes that the expertise
exigent for pole vaulting over a virtual firewall was
nothing compared to the savvy required to outwit a soulless
madman.  He gulped a shallow swallow, devoid of saliva, and
pondered the inherent shortcomings of a society capable of
spawning such.

Must make him...tell, Susanne thought doggedly, keeping
her furtive hand movements as minimal as possible beneath
the under panel.  There...must...  "So, where's the party
headed now, Timmy, or is that a deep, dark secret?  Always
like to know where I'm headed, in life; in general.  And
imagine how ungracious it would be as guests to show up
empty-handed.  Maybe you'll allow us to stop off for
refreshments?"

"Oh, there's no need to worry about that."  Timmy nodded
to his subordinates, and they were on the move.  He nipped
in closer again and placed his fleshy, heavy hand on
Susanne's protesting shoulder.  "Where we're going,
refreshments will be the least of your worries..."
 

Marine Park, Brooklyn
Near M.P. Junior High School
11:35 p.m.
 

"Where's he now?"

"Even with night vision, and the garish floodlighting
from the school, if he ducks behind trees, seeing's
impossible."  Frohike adjusted the magnification, but
there was still no visual on Langly among the oak
thickets.

"Let me get a looksee," Mulder demanded, already in the
process of snagging the specs away from his current,
anxiously vigilent partner in recline, crouching against
the dashboard.  Once they were securely in viewing place,
Mulder observed, "Does appear he's made himself one with
nature.  Wonder if he's right about this still being a
twenty-four/seven drug-buy hotspot?  School's been out
nearly a good day now.  No kiddies around to ped...wait
a min...ute.  He shifted in anticipation.  "It's goin'
down, Frohike.  Our fair-haired boy's gettin ready--"

Frohike re-claimed the visual aids with a snatch, clean
off Mulder's animated face without so much as a, "if you
please."

"Score," the diminutive associate rasped, sounding betwixt
and between relieved and apprehensive, as he watched his
closest friend, not more than twenty-five feet away, enact
behavior from darker days.  Being out of earshot, hearing
was beyond reach.  All the more reason to continue work on
perfecting the miniature parabolic listening device.

"Yo, yo, so how much, man?"

"You look like someone who shouldn't haveta ask, dude," the
dealer huffed at Langly, scowly, wagging the little vial-
enclosing baggie at him like a tantalizing flag.  "You should
know."

Langly shrugged and took tremulous hands out of his pants
pockets.  Digging into his wallet, he clarified, "Everybody's
got their own stipulations, my man.  Shoo...just booked inta
town from D-C.  This better cover it."  He flashed the large
denomination bill at the contraband supplier, pulling for its
sufficing, since it was all the money he had left.

The grizzled, bearded man, who slurred his words when he
spoke, cracked a jagged-toothed grin.  He practically ripped
the money out of Langly's hand.  This loser is so new at this,
he judged, with a chuckle.  "We have a buyer."

"Good," Langly hurled back, wheezily.  His heart was pounding
so frantically, he was sure the dealer must be hearing its
dull, erratic beat.  (Bam, am I outta practice.)  Once he had
the bag of coke in his possession, he asked, realizing that
after he had, he'd sounded sorely green, like one total rube,
"It's pure, right?  It's rock?"

"Sure it's pure, man.  The rockiest.  I dont sell junk."

Langly smirked at that novel observation.  "Glad to hear it.
I'll tell my friends."

"Fine.  You do that..."  The dealer took a step back.  "And
while you're at it, you can also tell them you're under
arrest!"

When Langly saw the badge, he thought he was going to faint.
His first reaction was to drop the baggie and bolt, but he
squelched that impulse fast.  The moment he saw the fuzz
draw his gun, he froze.  The former junkie did as officiously
advised.  He remained motionless, put his hands behind the
back of his neck, and waited for cuffs. Back in the 'old days,'
he'd never been busted.  Never.  At least not for buying or
possessing drugs.  (Sorry, Scully, I tried...)

"God, man, Langly's goin' down," Frohike moaned.  He gaped
at Mulder in shocked disbelief, looking as though Langly
were being led off to face a firing squad.  "His arrest record
can't take this!  Whaddawe gonna do?"

"Un-bust him," Mulder blared in crispy, crackly agitation.
"Hang back, but if you see I'm not gettin' over, make like
Tonto and thinka something!"  Even before he'd exited the
van, his I.D. was in his hand as he sprinted to the covert
arrest scene.  Frohike straggled behind.

'Thinka something?' he thought.  Yeah, but like what, man?
Provide back-up for Mulder, just in case?  Ha!  That's a
questionable hot one, the rotund well-meaning man considered.
Although...he was carrying...hmm...palm myself off as
Mulder's A.D. with the fake I.D.?  Well, if need be--sure!
Here was a crack time it could really come in handy.  Frohike
took up a hidden position behind a copse of foliage and waited
for further proceedings.

Slowing his gallop, Mulder, sounding a shade winded, trumpeted,
"Officer, hold off a moment."

The policeman, still engrossed in securing Langly in the
cuffs, and reciting the Miranda incantation, looked a good deal
taken aback by Mulder's gangbusters arrival.  Upon finishing
the preliminary detail, he tersely barked, "Who the blazes
are you?."  Langly was forced to his knees, with the arrester's,
again, unholstered gun fixedly drawn on the bewildered malapert
who felt like a wretch, at the moment, having failed abysmally
to do a special friend a good turn, and now looked as though
would have THIS added to his criminal record, as well.  A real
dumb criminal record; righteous hacks weren't crimes.  They
were every loyal, 'enlightened' citizens' inalienable duty;
Langly's Bill of Rights...Section I., Subnumeral 2a.  "This
is an arrest.  I warn you, back off."

"Yes, I can see that."  Mulder snapped up his I.D., held it
out, ventured closer, while thinking, flippin' the 'word,'
how I love it.  "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, with the F-B-I.
You're in the process of arresting one of my best undercover
attaches."  Hey, it worked before, hospital-side.  Worth
another ploy run.  "The Bureau has taken more than a passing
interest in the drug activity near this junior high.  This is
Agent R-Langly.  We had him posing as a buyer for, what we
thought, were dealers.  Namely--you.  Nature of the business
mistake, eh?"

"Where's his I-D, Agent...A"

"Agent Mulder.  And you are?"

"Detective Morse with the Sixty-first Precinct; Narcotics."
Narcs, Langly grimaced, can't help wantin' ta smack 'em.
The snug cuffs were doing nothing to even out his blustery
disposition.  Morse spirited Mulder's I.D. away.  Grunting,
but satisfied, he handed it back, but reiterated, "Agent
Langly's I-D?"

"Right here!"  Frohike came running.

"And who the hel--who's dis?" Morse creaked in surprise as
the scurrying dash of man popped himself into the picture.

"Uh...this."  Uh, oh, Mulder'd come to the end of his bogus
roster.  "He's...he's--"

"I'm the big Cahoona, Morse.  I'm their Assistant Director.
Melvin Frohike at your service."  Mulder blinked, looking
whoozy.  "I'm holding Langly's I-D.  Here's mine, Detective."
Frohike produced the phoney documentation, and Mulder heaved
a sigh of relief then, realizing it was going to be all right,
when he saw Morse nodding.  The Gunmen, few above them.  His
nose wrinkled over the anemic assonance, but the Fed grinned
wide anyway.

"Looks in order," the detective decreed.

"Can we have our man?" Mulder rejoined, in renewed confidence.

"Hey, sure, boys."  Morse made quick work of giving Langly
his freedom.  "Sorry, pal," he directed to the sour-looking
blond.  "All in the line of...right?"

Still massaging his somewhat swollen wrists, Langly mumbled,
"Next time I'll wear a sign."

"No hard feelings.  Just doin' my--our--jobs.  We brethern
in law enforcement gotta stick together."  Morse pulled the
paisley, bright orangy bandana off his head, wiped his sweaty
right palm, stuck it out to Langly, and waited for him.

Mulder shot Langly a look of, 'aw, go ahead, make a new
friend.'  The men, about the same height, shook hands, but
once Langly'd extracted his from, the bear trap the
detective called his hand, the reprieved one's massaging
now included his throbber.  "No hard feelings," Langly
finally relented in glum resignation.  Morse even whammed
his back then, nearly plunging Langly down to his knees a
second time.  Shaking off the clobbering, Langly edged closer
to Mulder after Morse slipped him back his bill.

"So, the F-B-I's keepin' tabs on the 'Marine,' or as we
in local jurisdiction call the junior high, the kiddie
pharm," he addressed to Frohike, since he was the most
senior of the trio, 'now,' in another way other than the
usual one.

"D-E-A too," he returned, playing his part over-compensatingly
well, Mulder was quick to judge.  "Is that coke from a recent
bust?"

"Yes indeedy, babe," Morse corroborated, "from a stash we
confiscated last Saturday night.  We raided a warehouse in
Sheesphead Bay, not far from the wharves."

"Mind if we take it along with us?" Frohike solicited.  "The
Bureau's conducting random surveys of drug purities throughout
the lower forty-eight.  South Brooklyn makes its debut.  This
testing's being conducted on a strictly hush-hush need to know
basis."

By fractional seconds, Mulder found himself soundly impressed.
(You go, boy--you got wicked game.)

Morse grinned, in full possession of his comport badge.  "Sure
thing, A-D Frohike.  Your drift, I get."

"It's pronounced:  Fro-'hickey.'  Like the red mark; not a
trek."

Mulder rolled his eyes though, to caution his bordering-on-
the-overbearing friend.  Coupled with a brief scowl, his visage
advised Frohike to stop laying it on so thick.  Mulder
thanked the detective as he handed off the dope to him.

"Put in a good word for me to Miz Reno," Morse dangled in
shameless good nature.  "I once nursed aspirations of being
a G-man.  Couldn't cut it though.  Quantico kissed-me-off
fast."

"Your mouth to her ears, Detective," Mulder reciprocated.
They watched the undercover cop meander off to the playground,
a scant thirty yards off.  Judging that Morse was far enough
away, but feeling it to be the course of wisdom to do so anyway,
Mulder whispered.  "Good goin', Frohike.  Being an eyewitness
to that strain of quick thinkin' on your feet makes amends for
the any number of times I've had my doubts about...well, let's
just say doubts.  Let me get a good look at your bogus
handiwork."  Following a moment of careful inspection, "These
look better than my real McCoy.  I'm glad you guys are on my
side."

"Your's and Scully's," Frohike reminded.

"Natch.  That's what I meant."

"Hey, Mulder," Langly spoke up then, as the absorbed agent
inspected the fake I.D.s again, "uh, like thanks, man.  Thanks
for savin' my sorry keister, major big time.  That narc had
me goin'."  Clearing his throat further, keeping a bead on Morse
until he saw him get into an unmarked car at curbside, and taking
his time about meeting Mulders gaze, he tacked on, "I owe ya a
serious one."  And then, both to Frohike's and Mulder's tangible
amazement, he concluded, "You too 'Hike...like, who'd've thought
some of YOURS would actually fool somebody one of these days?..."

"You're welcome, Langly."  Frohike faked backhanding his comrade.
"I think."  Needling him with his expression, he added, "Just
don't come down with convenient amnesia next time *I* need the
favor."