C019D9C090E03@comcast.net> ab528d49   
   Title - Decoding the Enigma   
   Authors - Amy Jonas and MagsRose   
   E-mail - adjonas2000@yahoo.com or magsrose@comcast.net   
   Rating - FRT-13 (PG - 13)   
   Category - AU/Gen/Het   
   Archive - Just let us know.   
   Feedback - Yes, please. Any kind is always welcome. We just like to know   
   someone is reading this stuff.   
   Disclaimer - Without Prejudice. The names of all characters contained here in   
   are the property of Chris Carter, et. al. No infringements of these copyrights   
   are intended, and are used here without permission. All original characters   
   are the sole property    
   of Mags or Amy and may not be used without the author's permission.   
   Summary - In 1940, Private Investigator, Melvin Frohike thought he was working   
   on a simple missing person case but he soon found himself embroiled in   
   something far more sinister.   
   Authors' notes - After seeing the Maltese Falcon, Amy presented Mags with an   
   idea for The X-Files characters in an Alternate Universe.  Intrigued by the   
   possibilities, Mags suggested a co-authoring effort.  The result is the story   
   you see here.  Thanks    
   to Erynn and Alison for betaing this for us.   
      
   Additional Author's notes: Edward R. Murrow's words in this and subsequent   
   scenes are quoted exactly as they were broadcast in 1940. This first one is   
   off the historical timeline by about 3 days.   
      
      
   Chapter 4   
      
      
      
      
   “This-- is Trafalgar Square. The noise that you hear at the moment is the   
   sound of the air raid sirens. A searchlight just burst into action off in the   
   distance; there's another searchlight. You see them reach straight up into the   
   sky and occasionally    
   they catch a cloud and seem to splash on the bottom of it. One of the   
   strangest sounds one can hear in London these days -- or rather these dark   
   nights -- just the sound of footsteps walking along the street, like ghosts   
   shod with steel shoes.”   
      
   Jimmy leaned back in his seat.  The steady hum of traffic on the next street   
   was a startling contrast to Edward R. Murrow's vivid and disturbing radio   
   report from London.  Whenever he listened to one of these reports, he was   
   reminded how lucky he was to    
   be so far from war torn Europe and the atrocities perpetrated by a mad   
   dictator.   
      
   Like everyone else, he and his friends talked about the war, whether the U.S.   
   should get involved or stay neutral.  Jimmy often thought it was only a matter   
   of time before his country stepped in.  How could it not?  So many people were   
   dying; countries    
   were being enslaved as much as their citizens were.  Not to act went against   
   everything the United States stood for.  But Jimmy worried about that, too.   
      
   Jimmy sighed, snapped off the radio and looked at the converted warehouse   
   across the street.  He still needed to figure out what he was going to ask   
   Professor Langly and Miss Harlow.   He had never interviewed anyone before and   
   he hoped he didn’t sound    
   like the rookie he actually was.   
      
   Opening the car door, he grabbed his camera from the passenger seat then   
   climbed out.  Before he left The Gazette he had made sure he had plenty of   
   film.  He was still irritated he hadn’t been able to find Professor Langly and   
   Yves Harlow’s pictures in '   
   the morgue'.  He had looked everywhere and bugged the librarian until she had   
   kicked him out.   
      
   It was strange, he thought as he crossed the street, it was like they'd simply   
   vanished.   
      
   “Hello?” Jimmy called out when no one answered his knock. “Professor Langly?    
   Miss Harlow?”  He knocked again, louder this time.  The frosted glass rattled   
   in the doorframe.  “Professor Langly, it’s Jimmy Bond from The Gazette.”   
      
   He waited, listening.  He couldn’t hear any sound that might indicate someone   
   coming to answer the door.   
      
   “Good job, Jimmy,” he rebuked himself. “They’re probably running errands. Or   
   maybe went out to eat.” Jimmy let out a frustrated breath. He should have   
   called first, let them know he was coming. Who knows when they’d get back?   
      
   He sent one last hopeful look at the door before turning to leave.   
      
   He paused.   
      
   He looked back at the door, ignoring the niggling guilt for what he was about   
   to do then wrapped his hand around the doorknob and twisted.  The door opened   
   easily.   
      
   “Professor Langly?  Miss Harlow?”  He called out, just in case they were hard   
   at work and hadn’t heard him before.   
      
   No answer.   
      
   His conscience told him he should call later and set up an appointment.   
      
   Or he could just write a quick note letting them know he stopped by and found   
   the door unlocked. But he had no paper.   
      
   He remembered the desk Yves had been working at had been cluttered with   
   paper.  This realization made him push the door open the rest of the way and   
   walk in.   
      
   He stopped and stared at the room in disbelief.  There were no papers, no   
   desk, no filing cabinets, no nothing. The thought scrambled around his brain   
   that maybe he was at the wrong address, the wrong warehouse.  There were   
   several and they all looked    
   very similar.   
      
   Yeah, he thought sarcastically, and the New York Yankees hadn’t won the World   
   Series last year.   
      
   As he navigated the perimeter of the room, he saw the large, freestanding   
   chalkboard Professor Langly had been scribbling his arcane equations on lying   
   on the floor.  Jimmy picked it up, careful to touch only the outer edges then   
   stepped back.   
      
   Someone had erased everything.  He grabbed the top of the board and flipped it   
   over to examine the other side. It too had been cleaned off.   
      
   But they hadn’t pressed hard enough.  There were pale, faint impressions of   
   numbers and other symbols.  Some were smeared but others were still intact.    
   Jimmy raised his camera and snapped several pictures.   
      
   “What are you doing?”  A gruff voice demanded. “This is private property!”   
      
   Jimmy whirled around, his heart thumping in his chest.  A burly, elderly man   
   stood in the doorway glaring at him.  A caretaker of some sort, Jimmy guessed.   
      
   “Well,” the man demanded.   
      
   “I was looking for the people who work here,” said Jimmy.  “Do you know where   
   they went?”   
      
   “You crazy?  No one works here.”   
      
   “But they were here,” Jimmy protested.  “A beautiful woman with long black   
   hair, olive complexion, has an English accent.  And a man.  Thin, about six   
   feet and long blond hair, wears glasses.”   
      
   “Son, this is an empty storage building.” The man said patiently, slowly, “has   
   been for years.   
      
   “That can’t be,” said Jimmy with a shake of his head.  “I talked to them just   
   a few days ago.”   
      
   “Let it go, son,” the man advised.   
      
   “You do know then,” Jimmy said with growing excitement. “It’s ok.  I’m a   
   reporter.  My name is…Jeffery Spender,” Jimmy nearly tripped over the blatant   
   lies but he rushed on, “with the D.C. Gazette.  She called me.”  Another lie   
   but it wasn’t an absolute    
   lie, he tried to reassure himself, since the professor had called the paper.   
      
   The man considered Jimmy as if sensing the kernel of truth in his words.  “I   
   don’t know about a man,” he finally said, “but the woman paid me to get rid of   
   everything.”   
      
   “Why did she do that,” Jimmy asked puzzled.   
      
   “She didn’t tell me,” the man said, turning to leave.  “I’ve got to get back   
   to work."   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)