From: dmcintoshtx@yahoo.com   
      
   CHAPTER NINE   
      
   Walter was sitting in the kitchen peeling potatoes when he heard Alex   
   bellow his name.   
      
   "WALTER!  WALTER!"  He came running through the cafeteria and into the   
   kitchen with a bunch of papers in his hand.  He held them up high and   
   yelled, "MULDER!"   
      
   Walter dropped the potato he was peeling, the peeler, tipped his chair   
   over and ran to him.   
      
   "You found him?  Where is he?"   
      
   "Massachusetts." He handed Walter the new list the Special Ops runner   
   had just brought in.  "Didn't his folks have a home up there?"   
      
   "They did."  Walter agreed as he scanned for the name.  Alex pointed   
   the name out and Walter read, "Mouse Mulder, age 47, occupation,   
   talent scout for a whore house."     
      
   "It's him.  It's got to be him."  Alex was breathless with excitement.   
      
   "Mouse Mulder?"  Walter questioned.   
      
   "Fox – mouse – they're both animals.  He was probably feeling like a   
   mouse in a trap and tossed his I.D. just like you did. The age is   
   correct.  And look at that occupation."   
      
   "That's something every high school boy has said at one time or other.   
    It doesn't mean anything."  Walter was doubtful.   
      
   "Well he wasn't in high school when he said it to me.  We talked once   
   back when we were working together, about what we would be if we   
   weren't agents.  That's what he said he wanted to be.  A talent scout   
   for a whorehouse.  And he said it again at different times at least   
   three or four times."   
      
   "It's a long shot."   
      
   "Look, the name is Mulder, the age is right, the area is right.  Have   
   you ever heard a kid being named 'mouse' and that occupation thing?    
   It's him.  I know it is."   
      
   "I've never even known another Mulder besides him and his family."    
   Walter rubbed the back of his neck and felt the old tension coming   
   back.  "When do we leave?"   
      
   "First thing in the morning.  It's too late to start out now."  He   
   turned to leave then added, "Pack warm.  It's snowing again."   
      
   The next morning before dawn they sat in the kitchen sipping coffee   
   and debating the pros and cons of motorcycles or a truck.  Both had   
   their advantages and disadvantages.  It was finally decided on   
   motorcycles.  Back east the camps were much closer together which   
   meant more traffic around.  The more traffic around the easier it   
   would be for them to get caught.  The motorcycles afforded them easier   
   access to difficult places and a speedier get away if spotted.   
      
   Their long-johns, leather pants and jackets and helmets protected them   
   from the icy blast of cold but the trek cross country was still   
   miserable.  The first night they spent in an old Texaco gas station   
   and found the stash of food that was left there for them.  They   
   huddled side by side on the cold floor and got little sleep that   
   night.  The second night they stayed in a farm house somewhere in   
   Pennsylvania.  It was snowing so hard nothing could be seen so they   
   decided to risk a fire, doubting the smoke could be seen.  They   
   brought their motorcycles inside with them as they had always done   
   with their bikes.   
      
   The third morning at dawn they were lying on the rooftop of the old   
   motor pool building of the internment camp and scanning the grounds   
   for any signs of life in the fenced in area.  They could hear sounds   
   and smell something cooking.  "That smells like the usual slop they   
   serve."  Walter said.  I don't know where they get it or what's in it   
   but it's vile."  Soon the barracks doors opened and the prisoners   
   marched over to the mess hall, their breaths puffing clouds of vapor.     
      
   "Can you see him?"  Walter asked.   
      
   "No.  I'm going to have to go down there."   
      
   "No, it's too dangerous.  We're not even sure it's him yet."  Walter   
   stopped him with a hand on Alex's arm.   
      
   "I'm sure.  And you will be too when I bring him out."   
      
   "What if you're seen?"   
      
   "Then you'll have to bring us both out."  He edged back over to the   
   back side of the building.  "The snow is in our favor now.  They have   
   to walk right passed this building to get back to the barracks.  When   
   they do, I'll just step out and join them.  I doubt they're doing head   
   counts."   
      
   "And then?"  Walter asked, nervous as a cat and wishing he could come   
   up with some other idea.   
      
   "I go inside with them and start looking. Once I have him I'll signal   
   you from the front window there.   That one guard tower looks right   
   into the barracks so I might need a diversion of some kind to get him   
   out of there.  Once I get him over to this side we can make it to the   
   back fence the same way we got in here – building by building.  Let's   
   just hope the snow keeps up.  At least until we get him out of there.   
    Can you come up with a diversion of some kind?"     
      
   "Yeah.  I'll think of something."  Walter assured him.     
      
   Walter watched from above as Alex shinnied down the drainpipe and   
   waited against the back of the building until mealtime was over with.   
    They had heard enough times from others who were in camps that   
   prisoners were given exactly fifteen minutes to eat/drink the mixture   
   they were being fed.  Alex's teeth were beginning to chatter when the   
   doors of the mess hall opened and they began to file out and march   
   back to the barracks.  He stepped out at the end of the line and   
   ambled along like the rest of the group.   
      
   The door was closed and locked behind them and the guard walked off to   
   the front of the facility and inside another building.   
      
   Inside the men were each going to their bunks; a few were bitching   
   about the slop they were just fed.  Most of them just pulled their   
   blanket closer around them and tried to sleep.     
      
   Alex walked slowly among them, searching each face.  Suddenly there he   
   was, standing right in front of him.  Mulder, wrapped with the blanket   
   up over his head, shrugged passed him and headed for the barrel in the   
   front of the room set in one corner for bathroom purposes and threw up   
   in it.  He coughed and gagged and Alex watched.  None of the others   
   took any notice.     
      
   He made his way up behind Mulder and whispered to him, "Mulder, it's   
   me, Krycek.  Skinner's outside.  We've come to get you out of here."   
      
   Mulder looked up slowly, wiping the corner of his mouth on his   
   blanket.  Recognition lit his eyes and he cast a quick glance around   
   the room to see if anyone noticed the stranger among them.  None seem   
   to have.   
      
   "There's no way out of this place."   
      
   "Yes there is.  I have a map and we have a couple of motorcycles   
   hidden."  Alex assured him.   
      
   "Where would we go?  All the roads are watched.   
      
   "We have a place, a safe place with plenty of food and water and heat."   
      
   "There's no place left like that on earth."  Mulder said and turned   
   back to the reeking barrel and heaved again.   
      
   "Skinner is waiting for us.  He's outside in the snow.  We brought   
   warm clothes for you.  Long johns, leather pants and jacket.  We've   
   got food and water.  Come on.  Let's get out of this stinking place."   
      
   "Skinner's out there?  Why didn't he come in then?  I would have   
   believed him."   
      
   "Skinner broke his leg last year.  He had to have surgery on it.  He   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)