C019D9C090E03@comcast.net> 2ffdb0f0   
   So, I'm finally back from vacation. We had some ghostly experiences on the   
   Queen Mary on the last night of our trip but that's another fandom. Actually,   
   maybe it's not. Hmmm.   
      
   Anyway, here's Chapter 11. This is one of my favorite chapters but I have to   
   give Amy most of the credit for it. She does a fabulous job of writing action   
   and this chapter is full of it.   
      
   I hope you enjoy it.   
      
   Mags   
      
      
   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.   
      
      
      
      
      
   Chapter 11   
      
      
   “Shouldn’t we go knock on the door instead of sitting in the car?”   
      
   Frohike glared at Jimmy Bond, attempting to quell his irritation from the   
   endless string of questions and comments that began when they left D.C.   
   Unfortunately the young man, who was sitting in the passenger seat, was facing   
   away, watching the beach    
   house intently and missed the private detective’s sour look.   
      
   Frohike slowly counted to ten, regretting the decision to allow the kid to   
   come with him.  He had already argued for a good half hour with Monica about   
   the same thing, just barely managing to convince his client it would be best   
   if he checked out this    
   lead on his own.  Exhausted from too little sleep and too much caffeine, he   
   hadn’t the energy to argue with the kid, especially since he sensed the big   
   oaf just might try to follow him.  Losing him wouldn’t have been too difficult   
   but he would have    
   wasted valuable time so he gave in, ordering the kid to do exactly what he   
   said and not get in the way.   
      
   “We need to make sure they're in the house,” he finally replied.  “If they’re   
   not, we could give ourselves away if they return while we’re in there.  Then,”   
   he said the next slower, partly to get a handle on his impatience and partly   
   to make sure the kid    
   understood,  “they might disappear and we’d never find them.”   
      
   Jimmy didn’t take his eager attention off the house.  “What if they’re not   
   here?  I mean Virginia has hundreds of mile of beaches.  What do we do then,   
   Mr. Frohike?”   
      
   “We’ll figure that out if and when we need to,” Frohike replied.  “And for   
   God’s sake stop calling me Mr. Frohike.  Just Mel or even Frohike will work.”   
      
   Jimmy glanced at him briefly before turning his attention back out the   
   window.  “Sure,” he said.  “Hey!”  he whispered excitedly seconds later,  “did   
   you see that?  The curtains moved!”   
      
   Frohike swore under his breath, focusing his attention on the house.  “You   
   sure it wasn’t just the shadows from the trees?”  The sun was sinking towards   
   the horizon and he bet that’s what the kid saw: shadows moving over the window.   
      
   “The curtain moved,” Jimmy insisted vehemently.  As if he intended to prove   
   it, he opened his door.  The sound of the surf, turbulent and forceful filled   
   the car.   
      
   “Jimmy,” Frohike hissed through clenched teeth. “Get back here!”  But the   
   photographer was already making his way down the sloping driveway.  “Dammit!”   
   Frohike scrambled out of the car. And the kid wondered why that reporter,   
   Spender, had it in for him,    
   Frohike thought as he rushed after the younger man.   
      
   Bond’s long stride ate up the distance quickly but Frohike, though older and   
   with an expanding girth, was no slouch and caught up to him.  He grabbed   
   Jimmy’s arm and said in a harsh whisper, “If you want to get killed, by all   
   means rush in there.”   
      
   His words had the desired effect.  Jimmy stopped abruptly, casting an uneasy,   
   indecisive look at the house.   
      
   “We need to approach this slow and easy,” he continued.  If Yves Harlow was in   
   that house then it was already too late.  She knew they were there.  But   
   if…and this was a big if… Harlow was the British agent he thought she was,   
   then the fact they were    
   still alive and not laying face down in the grass with a bullet in their   
   brains heartened Frohike.   
      
   It meant she recognized him and deduced he was working on Monica’s behalf.    
   Why else send the letter to him?   But after all the lies Yves Harlow told her   
   sister, Frohike wondered how the woman would receive him.   
      
   If it really was Yves Harlow in that house.   
      
   There was one thing Frohike hated more than unanswered questions.  It was   
   someone using an unwitting person to further her agenda: especially family   
   members.  Monica Reyes already had enough of it from her parents.  Shunted   
   aside by a father who had    
   juggled two families and a career, a mother who in all likelihood knew of her   
   husband's infidelity and used her daughter as a pawn against her husband.  And   
   Monica’s brother, once the infidelity had been exposed on his father's   
   deathbed, had refused to    
   accept the truth, estranging himself from his sister.   
      
   Searching for a familial connection, Monica had been used and manipulated by   
   her sister and consequently placed in peril because of it.   
      
   Suspecting what he did about Harlow, Frohike would have chosen to leave the   
   woman to defend herself.  She was obviously capable of it.  But if something   
   happened to Yves because he didn’t so much as warn her of the danger closing   
   in on her, it would    
   crush Monica.   
      
   And Monica didn’t deserve the grief.   
      
   His anger burned like a slow fuse.  He understood about losing family: the   
   void it created in your heart and your life.  Maybe that was why he was now   
   ignoring his own advice and striding to the door with Jimmy trailing in his   
   wake.  The woman better    
   damn well be worth it, he thought.   
      
   Frohike resisted the urge to pound on the door. That might attract unwanted   
   attention. Instead, he knocked softly, carefully watching the curtains on the   
   window near the door where Jimmy swore he'd seem movement earlier.   
      
   He paid for his inattentiveness of the door when it was yanked open suddenly.   
   He barely had time to register the steely grip of a hand on his collar before   
   he was pulled roughly into the house and slammed up against the wall. The cold   
   metal of a gun    
   barrel jammed firmly under his chin was unmistakable.   
      
   Frohike heard Jimmy suck in his breath and sent a silent prayer that the kid   
   wouldn’t do anything rash.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)