The X-Files: Goblins

EIGHTEEN

There was no dawn.

There was only a gradual shift from dark to shades of grey, and a falling mist just heavy enough to keep windshield wipers working, to raise the sharp smell of oil and tar from the blacktop.

Mulder was not in a good mood. Following Scully’s orders, Webber had let him oversleep, and it was close to ten before he finally opened his eyes to a note on the pillow that told him the others would be waiting in the Queen’s Inn.

He was also not miraculously cured. Although his head seemed fine except for a small lump beneath his hair, his side felt as if it had been set in cement. Every time he moved, he thought his skin would rip open.

He supposed he ought to be grateful for the extra healing time, and for the concern Scully showed him, but knowing that didn’t make it happen. He showered and dressed as quickly as he was able, thinking that he would eat quickly, check with Chief Hawks on the slim to none chance there had been any new developments overnight, and then… he smiled mirthlessly as his brush fought with his hair … then he would have a few words with Major Joseph Tonero.

His stomach growled as he knotted his tie, and he snarled at it to hold its horses. Then he grabbed his coat, stepped outside, and was pleased to see that the weather perfectly complemented the way he felt.

I live for days like this, he thought gloomily as he descended the center staircase.

Scully recognized his mood immediately, and after a quick check to be sure he was all right, she hustled them through breakfast and outside, with a reminder that while they were heading for the post, there was also someone else out there, the shooter, they had best not forget.

Andrews still thought the so-called goblins and the shooting were related; when no one rose to the bait, she slumped into her corner and glared at the passing scenery.

There was no sound then but the rhythmic thump of the wipers and the hiss of the tires.

It wasn’t until they had passed through town that Mulder remembered wanting to have a word with Hawks. He punched his leg lightly and scowled, and ordered himself to get with it, or he’d blow it all because he wasn’t thinking straight.

Once this is done, he promised; I’ll talk to him when we’re done here.

Fifteen minutes later they passed between two simple brick pillars that marked the post entrance. No guards, no guardhouse; a stretch of woods that quickly fell away to the post’s main complex — barracks, administration buildings, and on-post housing. A transport plane from McGuire lumbered and thundered overhead. A squad of troopers double-timed across an intersection, their dark green ponchos slick with water. They passed a construction site for a new federal prison twice before Scully finally gave up and made Hank ask directions. An MP gave them, and within minutes they were on New Jersey Avenue; it didn’t take them long to find what they were after.

“Brother,” Webber muttered as he pulled up in front of Walson Air Force Hospital.

It was a seven-story light tan brick structure, but it somehow seemed a lot smaller.

Because, Mulder realized, it was mostly empty. A lot of empty rooms and offices, a lot of space for things to happen without anyone being any the wiser.

He sat up and watched the entrance, something quickening inside when he noted that hardly anyone went in, and no one came out.

“What makes you think he’ll be here?” Andrews asked, rousing herself from her sulking.

“If he’s working on a project,” Scully answered, “he will. Something like this doesn’t often hold over weekends.”

Something like this, Mulder thought.

“But do we have any authority?”

Mulder opened the door, slid out, and poked his head back in. “We’ve been asked in by a U.S. senator, Licia. The senator the major himself called. So if he wants to argue, he can write his congressman.”

A civilian receptionist sat just inside the entrance, a multiline telephone and a logbook the only items on her small desk. Mulder wished her a good morning, showed her his ID and asked directions to Major Tonero’s office. She wasn’t sure the major was in, and because of her standing orders was reluctant to give him the instructions until he insisted; then she pointed to a bank of elevators to their left.

As they moved away, he heard a noise and looked back.

Webber had his finger on the telephone’s cutoff button. “I don’t think so,” he said politely, with a wink. “Government business, okay?”

Mulder couldn’t believe it when the woman suddenly grinned. “Sure. Why not?”

Pancakes and women, he thought; the guy’s got it made.

The major was in.

But it didn’t look to Mulder as if he’d be there very long.

The office was a two-room suite on the second floor. When Mulder ushered the others in ahead of him, he saw a handful of packed cartons against one wall, and an empty bookcase behind what he assumed was Tonero’s secretary’s desk. The door to the inner office was open, and he gestured the others silent as he approached it. He could see the major standing in the middle of the room, back to the door, speaking quietly but angrily to someone seated at his desk.

“Damnit, Rosie, I don’t give a damn who—” He turned and saw Mulder, and forced a smile. “My goodness, Agent Mulder, what is this, a raid?” He laughed as he shook Mulder’s hand and nodded to the others.

The person behind the desk was Dr. Elkhart.

Mindful of protocol and egos, Mulder allowed Tonero to direct the conversation, politely answering questions about his health while he noticed that Dr. Elkhart, in a lab coat, was not as composed as she wanted him to think. Although she sat back in the major’s chair, her legs crossed, her hands on the armrests, her cheeks were lightly flushed, and her attempt at a bland expression was nearly a total failure.

She was, he thought, royally pissed off.

What, he wondered next, is wrong with this picture?

“It’s a real tragedy about Carl,” Tonero said, stepping back to perch on the edge of his desk, ignoring Elkhart completely. “I want you to know that I am not going to rest until this matter is solved.”

“I appreciate that, Major,” Mulder said, sensing rather that seeing Scully take a chair just behind and to his left, while Webber and Andrews flanked the door. It was a large room, but their positions and attitude now made it seem much smaller. “I can assure you that we’re not going to let it rest either.”

He smiled quickly.

Dr. Elkhart uncrossed her legs.

“Well, good!” Tonero smiled purposefully at each of them in turn before rubbing his hands briskly together. “And what can I do to help?”

Mulder raised his eyebrows—Gee, sir, I’m not really sure—and glanced at Scully as if looking for guidance before facing the major again. “Well, I guess you could tell me what your project has to do with goblins.”

Tonero sputtered into a laugh that proved he could appreciate a good joke when he heard one; but the laugh faded into a scowl when neither Mulder nor the others joined him. His back straightened; his expression became somber.

“I’m sorry, Agent Mulder, but what we do here is classified. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do, believe me,” he answered agreeably. “The DoD can be pretty tough sometimes.”

“Absolutely. Now—” He waved one hand to indicate the closing and packing he had to do. “As you can see, we’re being transferred — the orders came just this morning — and we’re in a hell of a mess.” A look over his shoulder that Dr. Elkhart ignored. “Dr. Tymons — you may recall meeting him yesterday — seems to have gone ahead without telling us, so it’s kind of hectic around here at the moment.”

He stepped forward, with the intention of easing the agents back into the outer room.

Mulder sidestepped around him, his right hand brushing across the edge of the desk before he leaned on it and turned his head. “Dr. Elkhart, where were you last night? I don’t know, about nine?”

Elkhart started, and blinked. “What?”

“Last night,” he repeated.

“Now look here, Agent Mulder,” Tonero snapped. “Dr. Elkhart is one of our most—”

“Home,” the woman answered, crossing her legs again. “I was home. Watching TV.” Her smile was crooked. “Why, Agent Mulder? Am I a suspect?”

Mulder matched the smile, didn’t answer the question as he turned his back to her. “And you, Major?”

“How—” Tonero’s face darkened. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you know who—”

“Chameleons,” said Scully mildly from her chair.

“Lizards,” Elkhart responded immediately, not quite as mildly. “Not, I’m afraid, from the goblin family.”

“Goblins?” The major’s voice rose. “Goblins? What are you talking about? What does some old woman’s rantings have to do with my cousin’s murder?”

Mulder shrugged. “I don’t know, Major. But just as you have to explore all possibilities within the scope of your projects, so do we, in murder investigations.” He turned to Scully. “Do you think we should come back later? I think they’re in a hurry.”

Scully agreed and headed for the door with the others.

Mulder, however, didn’t move. “Major, can I assume you’ll be around later this afternoon? Just in case?” He scanned the room. “Looks like you have a lot of work left here. And in your project office, too, I would guess.”

“Absolutely, absolutely.” Tonero moved again, and this time Mulder gave way. “Just call ahead, if you don’t mind. I have—” He gave Mulder a brief martyred look. “Superiors, if you know what I mean. This relocation makes them nervous.”

“I’ll bet,” Mulder said. “Nice to talk to you again, Dr. Elkhart,” and was gone before the woman could reply.

Once in the silent corridor, the door closed firmly behind them, he held up a palm to keep the others from talking, then checked left, toward the elevator bank, before looking in the opposite direction, where he saw another, single elevator. A snap of his fingers sent Webber there on the silent run, and a sign that told him there was no button to push.

“Well?” Andrews demanded when they reached the lobby.

“Well,” Mulder said, “they sure don’t make majors like they used to.” He took his left hand out of his pocket and held out his palm, showing them the key ring he’d lifted from the major’s desk.

“Not a word, Scully,” he said lightly when she began to object. He told Webber and Andrews to get back to town and track down Aaron Noel, Barney’s bartender, to see if the man knew how close Pierce and Ulman had been, and if Barelli had been in asking questions.

“And find out where that dispatcher—”

“Vincent,” Webber said.

“Right. Find out where she was last night, what time she came home. You know the drill.”

“What about you?”

Mulder shrugged. “If we leave now, whatever this key takes us to will be gone before we get back. We’re going to snoop around a little.”

“But isn’t that against—”

Mulder hushed him with a look and hurried outside with them.

The post looked deserted.

Nothing moved but a light rain that shifted now and then as a light wind passed through it.

He opened the door for Andrews, then stood back and wondered what the mighty Douglas would say when he found out that the other car was Swiss cheese and useless. He could see Webber and Licia arguing heatedly inside, but with the windows up, he couldn’t hear a word.

He almost intervened, rolled his eyes and changed his mind. That woman will be the death of me yet, he thought, and wished they’d be gone. Now. He wanted to be sure; he didn’t want them suddenly turning up again.

The car jerked forward a few feet and stalled.

He smiled gamely and decided to get inside before he added pneumonia to his ills. He mimed giving the car a push with one foot, waved when Webber saw him in the rearview mirror, and trotted back to the lobby when the engine fired and held. The receptionist was clearly puzzled, but he assured her they had only forgotten something in Major Tonero’s office and would be gone before she knew it.

The woman seemed to doubt it.

“Mulder,” Scully said as they walked purposefully toward the elevator bank, “if we get caught…”

He didn’t answer.

After a check over his shoulder, he took her elbow and ducked around the corner.

The corridor was empty, and only half the lights embedded in the ceiling’s acoustic tiles were lit.

Whispers from the front, echoing softly.

He found the right key on the second try, and held his breath until the door opened onto an empty car. Once in, he inserted the key again and sent them down.

Scully said nothing; she had been on this road with him too many times before. The obligatory warning had been given — if we’re caught; now she would be focused.

He wouldn’t disturb that; it was too valuable.

He only hoped the major was still too angry to think straight, and realize what was going on.