01 - Goblins (19 page)

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.

The corridor was short, and the air not quite stale. No ceiling lights
here—just a hooded bulb at the far end, and one at the entrance. The floor, like
the walls, was unpainted concrete. “Like a bunker,” Scully whispered. In and out
was the order of the day. They hurried to the first door, and Mulder turned the
knob. It was unlocked and, when he looked in, empty. A desk, metal shelves on
the wall, a small, open safe on the floor beside the desk, and a blackboard.

Nevertheless, they searched, checking drawers and corners. Tonero had said
that Tymons was already gone, but Mulder doubted it was to the relocation point.
By the looks of it—the papers and pads left behind in the desk, the handful of books on the shelves—this
room had been emptied in a hurry.

“I smell gunpowder,” Scully said, returning to the corridor. “And smoke.” She
wrinkled her nose. “Something else. I’m not sure.”

The middle door was unlocked as well, and open a few inches. Mulder pushed it
with his foot and stood back, shaking his head.

“Jesus.”

What was once on the single shelf was now on the floor, smashed and
scattered, some of it scorched or charred. He counted the hulks of at least
three monitors and a pair of keyboards; he counted at least a half-dozen bullet
holes in the wall beneath what looked to be a one-way window.

Without speaking, they sifted through the wreckage, not knowing exactly what
they were looking for, knowing only that they’d know when they saw it. Then
Scully rocked back on her heels.

“Mulder.”

He joined her, dusting his hands on his coat, and saw the blood. Lots of it,
dry, and buried beneath plastic and blank sheets of paper.

“Not a gunshot wound, I think,” she said.

“Goblin.”

“I don’t know. It’s been here a while, though.” She poked at a large stain
with a forefinger. “But not that long. We’re not talking about days.”

He guessed that the room on the right had been Tymons’ office, and Tymons’ alone. It didn’t have the feel of being
shared with someone, like Rosemary Elkhart. This one had been the Project’s
heart and control center. From here… he stood at the shelf and looked into
the next room.

“Oh, boy,” he said. “Scully.”

She looked, and her eyes widened.

Mulder checked his watch. “Time, Scully. Not much left.”

The last room was a shambles as well, but it was the walls that fascinated
him—one cream, one sand, one green, one black.

His fingers began to snap unconsciously.

This was it.

This was where the goblin was tested. One wall, one color.

Scully wasn’t sure. “So what did they do, Mulder? Line him up against the
wall and wait? They could have done that with a sheet on a bed.”

Mulder looked at her sharply, and looked around the room again. His lips
moved as if he were talking to himself before they parted in a satisfied grin.
“Training,” he decided, and stood against the cream wall, unable to disguise the
excitement in his voice. “Scully, it’s a training room.” He pointed. “Bed, desk,
CD case there in the corner. Somebody lived here—no, somebody stayed here
temporarily, maybe overnight, maybe for several days at a time.” He spread his
arms along the wall. “Somebody who—”

Scully whirled on him. “Don’t say it, Mulder! I’m having a hard enough time
as it is. Do not make it more complicated than it has to be.”

“But it’s not, Scully,” he insisted, pacing now, rubbing at his chin, his
cheeks, pushing a hand back through his hair. “This is where the goblin learned
how to change.” He turned in a slow circle. “Learned how to
will
the
change, Scully, not wait for the change to happen.” He took a step toward her,
and was stopped by her frown. “You said it yourself, right? He can’t carry every
contingency around on his back. It’s impossible. Even for the most basic
circumstances, it would be, for him, a dangerous hindrance.”

He looked to the door.

“A trained killer needs as few obstacles as possible. He needs a smooth way
in, a smooth way out. No stops along the way for adjustments to a costume. No
ripples. The quicker, the better.”

He looked around again, closer now, searching for something, anything
personal, that would give him a hint to the room’s sometime occupant. But there
was nothing left, and there was nothing left of the time he had hoped they would
have.

On the way back to the elevator, Scully ducked into the control room and came
out folding several pieces of paper she tucked into her shoulder bag. Blood
samples. Not, Mulder thought, that they really needed them.

He knew who the blood belonged to.

* * *

On the way through the lobby, Mulder dropped the keys onto the absent
receptionist’s desk, then followed Scully outside, anxious to get back to town.

The light rain had grown heavier, the air darker for it.

Another squad of soldiers marched by, absolutely silent.

“Mulder,” Scully said, “in case you haven’t noticed, we don’t have a ride.”

It hadn’t occurred to him, and he didn’t think it mattered.

“And we don’t have an umbrella, either.”

She slapped him lightly on the arm and returned inside to use the phone.

He didn’t follow.

He watched the rain.

A human chameleon, he thought, slipping his hands into his pockets. An
effective assassin, who could theoretically slip through the tightest of
cordons.

In, and out.

No ripples.

Or, more frighteningly, a small army of them, living shadows slipping through
the night.

No ripples.

Only death left behind.

It wasn’t a perfect disguise. It probably wasn’t effective in broad daylight,
and the goblin—he couldn’t stop thinking of it that way—

wouldn’t be able to stay in the same room for very long. Even Scully had
eventually spotted the moth.

Nevertheless… living shadows.

He shifted from foot to foot impatiently.

No question about it, Major Tonero was the project’s shepherd. He knew all of
it, which meant he probably knew that Tymons was dead. Killed by the goblin? If
so, was the goblin under the man’s direction?

But why kill the head of such a project?

Too easy—Rosemary Elkhart was second-in-command. There was no reason to
believe she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, take over if she had to. And the best way to
ensure that would be to make herself indispensable to those who were in charge.
He pictured her in the major’s chair, and suddenly realized that was what had
bothered him earlier.
She
was in
his
chair. She was comfortable
using it. She had used it before.

“Well,” he whispered. “Well, well.”

“Stop thinking, Mulder, and move it,” Scully told him. She snapped open a
large black umbrella, took his arm, and hustled down to the sidewalk.

They hadn’t gone a dozen paces before he took it from her before she poked
his eye out. “Where did you get this?”

“You’d be surprised what you’ll find in the ladies’ room on a rainy day.” She
hugged his arm tightly, quickly. “I called Chief Hawks, he’s on his way to pick
us up.”

“So why—”

“The major isn’t going to stay in that office, Mulder, not when he finds out
his keys are gone. He’ll check that setup first, using Dr. Elkhart’s keys, then
probably come after us. I would like to be long gone before that, if you don’t
mind.”