Misprision: (pronounced, miss-prizz-ee-on); adjective; Middle English, a mistake, misdirection or a misunderstanding, deliberate concealment or deflection in the release of information - from Old French 'mesprendre' to mistake, ... was still in common usage in 16th century England.
Emily Dickinson
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---
Chapter Two
Walter Skinner viewed the man in front of him in stunned silence. He'd thought by now he was beyond being shocked at the depths of depravity to which the former agent would sink, but this! Yes this shook him far more than the nanocytes, more even than the incomprehensible request that he kill Scully's baby - a request he had dismissed out of hand at the time, and which, indeed, he'd scarcely taken seriously - deeming it a test to see if he would actually agree to anything or if he was still a wild card.
He'd taken a certain amount of pride in the fact that, despite the compromises he'd been forced to reach in the past, he had resisted any suggestion or order that would place Mulder or Scully in real danger. He could perhaps congratulate himself on the fact that he still had some integrity left, they hadn't managed to take it from him entirely.
If he'd thought the request to end Scully's pregnancy was incomprehensible, then this was three times more so. Krycek had gone out of his way many times in the past to help Mulder, certainly that had often been a double edged sword, but still...
It could not be denied either, that Krycek's information had led to some very awkward problems for the consortium. The inferno that had wiped out so many of the shadowy powers behind the throne was certainly no accident and was almost certainly engineered, at least in part, by the man who now stood with his gun aimed firmly at Mulder.
If he'd thought this was another test, however, it seemed he was wrong. Krycek's eyes narrowed as his trigger finger began to move. Shit! He was really going to do it!
Without thinking he pulled his own weapon and shot, giving no warning, hitting Krycek in his right arm. Krycek went down but brought his weapon up, clearly not deterred by his injury. Skinner had no hesitation in firing again. He wanted the son of a bitch alive if possible, but he wasn't going to allow him to take Mulder out. Hitting him high in the right shoulder he was satisfied to see his adversary's firearm fall from his hand. Still Krycek persisted. Pushing his gun with his rigid left hand towards Skinner might be considered an act of surrender, but coupled with his plea that Skinner kill Mulder it somehow lost that connotation.
Enough! Something inside Skinner snapped. So much of recent events made no sense, but one thing was clear. Krycek was now such a loose cannon that he could not allow him to continue with his threats towards Scully, her baby, Mulder, any of them. He fired one last shot, hitting him in the centre of the forehead. Krycek uttered a surprised 'Shit!' before falling back, silent and unmoving - eyes wide open.
As if he were on auto pilot, he heard himself tell Mulder to go - that he would get Scully's whereabouts from Doggett. He barely registered Mulder's car pulling out as he approached the lifeless body on the ground with caution. He was astounded to see the amount of blood. Sighing, he knelt next to the man. He checked for vital signs and came up empty. No two ways about it, he was dead. He pulled out his cell phone and called Doggett to tell him he needed to contact Mulder and then resumed his search of his enemy's body and person.
Remembering details form his former agent's file he first turned his attention to the torso. According to Krycek's physical record there was a five inch scar on the right side about three inches below the rib cage, it was jagged and had been caused by an injury sustained in childhood. As he pulled the blood stained clothing away it revealed the trunk of this body was smooth and unmarred. The scar that should have been there was conspicuous by its absence.
'Well I guess that solves that little puzzle,' Skinner mused disgustedly, 'I wonder how long this thing has been masquerading as Krycek?' Then another thought occurred to him, this thing had been carrying the palm pilot which controlled the nanocytes. A rapid search of the jacket revealed what he was looking for. He pocketed it triumphantly. He had no way of knowing, of course, if it was the only governor of the infestation that lurked within his bloodstream, but whether it was or not at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that this part of the threat was now removed. Placing his weapon in his holster he reached for his cell phone again and called a number he hadn't used in years. He'd need some specialist help in dealing with clear up here. Having made the request, and received an affirmative answer he quickly disconnected and turned his attention to removing the 'evidence'.
Hefting the surprisingly lightweight body over his shoulder he moved towards his car. Opening the trunk he rolled the lifeless body inside, closing it quickly. He returned to the 'scene of the crime'. Reaching for the fire hose he turned it on full and cleared all the visible blood from the concrete floor. Checking everything was back in its place he returned to his car. Starting her up he left to dispose of the remaining evidence. As he drove he found himself concentrating his thoughts on Mulder and Scully, hoping that Mulder and Doggett would manage to protect Scully and prevent whatever cataclysmic event had been planned for her and her baby.
There were a great many unanswered questions here and trying to unravel them was only serving to make his already aching head throb harder. He'd come back to his office, after checking out of the hospital, to try and clear his muddled thoughts. Something just didn't add up. If Billy Miles was the force of evil here why had he destroyed Zeus Genetics? The work there was obviously aimed at furthering the alleged colonisation programme. Why had Krycek arrived at the FBI with Knowle Rohrer? How did Knowle Rohrer know Agent Crane? Billy Miles was FBI too, how were the two things linked? If Billy Miles was an alien replacement why was he tying to prevent Dr. Lev and Dr. Pirenti from producing alien babies and destroyed both them and their work? So many things just did not add up, putting two and two together here was as likely to get you five, fifty-five, ninety-nine or any other number you cared to mention except the logical one of four! Not the least of the mysteries was the Krycek double he now had in his trunk. The only reassuring thing about that particular problem was that there seemed to be a singular lack of any signs of 'Krycek' reviving as Billy miles had done.
Pursing his lips in concern at that thought he drove on to the rendezvous he had arranged, his concern for Scully growing. He recalled how often in the past they had been unable to prevent the consortium's worst activities. He shook his head, as if to clear it of that depressing thought. They simply had no option but to succeed this time. The alternative was unthinkable.
Alex was panting, fighting for breath. His brain screamed at him to pull in more air. It seemed that Cancerman's 'new guest room' had several interesting features, and this was one he could definitely have done without. A small part of his brain was able to recognise this as one of that old fossil Romberg's jolly little experiments. The former Nazi had hidden himself away in the consortium, along with Victor Klemper and others, during the general 'love in' that was 'Operation Paper-Clip'
Romberg had spent his time as a Nazi doctor at Dachau 'experimenting' on Jews, Poles, Russians. Experiments in air-pressure and freezing with his pal Rascher. Alex remembered the old man's enthusiasm for filming the death throes of the concentration camp inmates. The sick fuck had delighted in bringing out his personal 'souvenirs' for general viewing at the least provocation. How the hell he had managed to be acquitted at Nuremberg was beyond him. It had always revolted Alex when he'd been forced to be present at one of Romberg's 'screenings' as he'd called them. The general atmosphere of jollity amongst those members of the consortium who'd always come along to one of those soirees had made his skin crawl, not that he'd ever allowed himself to reveal that of course - though he had no doubt that Spender knew, as his Father had known, what 'dear little Alex' was really feeling. His Father. Now why, at a time like this, would he be thinking of his father?
It was hard to hold on to coherent thoughts, though he tried desperately to do so - anything to help fight off the sense of panic.He wasn't sure whether or not he should be grateful, but Spender had not been near him since the cigarette burning incident. When he'd regained consciousness he'd realised someone had been in and hosed him down, then they'd attached an intravenous drip. That in itself had freaked him out. He had no way of knowing what substances were being pumped around his system and that worried him. His balls still hurt where the burned skin was puckered and blistered, but he could tell that too had been cleaned. He'd been given a urethral catheter and there were also some kind of wires connected to sub-dermal probes, one in each testicle. The metal bands holding him immobile were as solid as ever.
Basically he was stuck where he was until they decided to kill him, retrain him or let him go. He had no hope of a rescue. No one who could help knew where he was, and no one who might be able to help would actually care enough to do so. He resigned himself to whatever the fates decreed and tried to concentrate on his breathing.
The air pressure in the chamber had dropped considerably by now. His brain was screaming that it was dying, he could feel the veins in his forehead pulsing. The pain was magnified way past unbearable, intensifying with every beat of his heart.
What puzzled him was the monitoring equipment. Why was it focussed on his balls? He soon had no energy to waste on worrying about it though. The fleeting emotion disappeared in the panic that now enveloped him. Every breath was torture. He knew that he could not affect the amount of air he was taking in by breathing harder, but logic had no place in a brain starved of oxygen.
He could feel himself choking, his head swam and blackness nudged at the edge of his vision, slowly encompassing it entirely as he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.
end of chapter two
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