The Game
Chapters 1 - 6
Betas: Livvy, Xanthe
Date: Written: June 1999
Posted: April, 2000
Pairing: Skinner/Krycek
Rating: NC-17
BDSM and some of the ugliness of life
Disclaimer: The main characters are the property of
CC, Fox and 1013. Other members of that world appear
in cameo roles.
Special Thanks: To Olivia for reading it and then
offering to beta it. Grand merci, chere amie.
Extra note of thanks: To Sister Loretta May who caught
me reading John O'Hara (So controversial in those days,
so forgotten now!) at the back of the class and forced
me to read the Lives of the Saints and Martyrs -- one
of the great collections of BDSM.
Chapter 1
It was late for the doorbell to be ringing. Skinner
dropped the file he was studying onto the table and
considered for a moment not answering the summons.
But things weren't normal any more in his life. He
couldn't take the chance that the late-night caller was
here on business.
Since the Consortium had destroyed itself in internal
warfare, his life had taken on a surreal aspect. Now a
Deputy Director -- the Upper Floor hadn't had much
choice in the appointment, too many ADs and at least
two DDs had appeared in their informant's material --
he found he had a foot in too many camps.
Because of his new posting, the Upper Floor expected
him to support them in any decision they made. On the
other hand, he had spent too many years supervising the
X-Files to passively approve a government cover-up, no
matter how sensitive the issue of inter-planetary
involvement.
Then there were the facts. There was the fact that
people who had actively tried to overthrow the
government were now seeking its protection. There was
also the fact that those who had killed innocent
people, been involved in hurting them were getting away
scot-free.
He opened the door to find one of the latter kind on
his doorstep.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Krycek slouched against the door jamb, not trying to
come in. "They released me today. I guess after four
months they've run out of questions to ask me."
The disdain and sarcasm of his tone didn't go down well
with Skinner. "Stop bitching. You're getting immunity
and witness protection in return for all the
information you siphoned down to us."
Krycek shrugged. "I turned down witness protection."
Skinner paused in the act of closing his door on the
informant. "Why? A sudden quirk of conscience?"
Krycek gave one of those half-smiles of his. "Ask me
in and I'll explain it to you."
The last thing Skinner wanted at that particular moment
was to allow Alex Krycek into his house. However, one
of the security team that sat outside his house these
days started showing some signs of interest. He could
feel Krycek's eyes on him as he signaled them away,
opened the door wider and, with a gesture of his head,
invited him in.
Krycek stood in the foyer, looking casually around,
not coming in any further than necessary for Skinner to
get the door shut. Waited for Skinner to come around
him, go into the living room and turn on one of the
lamps.
"What do you want, Krycek?" Skinner was obviously not
in a good mood.
"Bad day?" Krycek wondered how far he could push
Skinner tonight.
"Yes. You could say that. You'll appreciate this,
Krycek. The irony of the whole situation."
Krycek realized then that Skinner was banking a great
deal of anger.
"CGB Spender has been offered full and total immunity.
In return for which he will forget where certain bodies
are buried. Bodies which could prove to be an
embarrassment for certain members of the governing
establishment. Oh, he *will* be available for some
time to answer questions, but, unlike you it seems, he
*is* willing to participate in the witness protection
program. With a new face."
Krycek didn't seem too surprised. "Yeah. That sounds
like Spender."
Skinner didn't appreciate Krycek's nonchalant attitude.
"Why are you here? What do you want, Krycek?"
Krycek looked down, seemingly interested with the
carpet.
"Krycek!" Skinner snapped. "Get to it! I've got at
least another couple of hours of work to get through
tonight."
Krycek looked up, face bare of emotion. "I want you to
punish me."
Skinner closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Give me
that again."
"You're angry. You need to hit something. Someone.
I'm offering myself." And waited while Skinner
absorbed.
"What makes you think I'd be interested?"
"There's a place in New York. Just off the financial
district. The Warehouse. Caters to people interested
in punishment. In taking it. In giving it. You have
quite a reputation there."
Skinner was too tired to even attempt to bluff this one
out. "And?"
"And I want to see if you're as good as they say you
are."
"Why?"
"Let's just say I want it." Krycek slouched against
the entry to the living room. "Come on, Skinner.
You're on the way to an ulcer. You need to get rid of
that work-related stress. Add a taste of revenge, say
for the beating I gave you."
"The nanocytes?" Skinner bit out. "For 'killing' me?
For being involved with Scully's abduction? For your
part in Melissa Scully's death?"
"For all that, if you want. For any of that." Krycek
waited then added when Skinner didn't continue. "I'm
giving you first refusal. If you don't want, I'll find
someone else. I just thought that since you're already
involved..."
"Shut up a minute. Let me think." Skinner examined
the man standing in front of him. He didn't
consciously consider Krycek's offer, just let his mind
blank out. Waited for what was lately an over-
sensitized gut to tell him if he should take the man up
on his offer.
Why not, he thought finally. It's been too long since
I paid New York a visit. My gut or his back. Not
really a hard decision.
"It's Wednesday. Be here Friday at 10 p.m. Use the
back door and make sure they," he nodded to the front
of the house, "don't see you. Bring whatever you'll
need with you."
"I'm moving in?" Krycek raised a brow at the idea.
Start as you intend to proceed, thought Skinner. "If
you want me, boy, that's the way it is." In his best
Marine voice.
Krycek raised his chin slightly. Thought. Then
nodded. "Okay." Then, surprisingly, "Thank you."
His hand was on the door knob when Skinner called out,
"10 p.m. Any later, and I don't let you in."
"I understand."
"Krycek. Safeword. What's the safeword you use?"
The younger man looked over his shoulder as he opened
the door. "No."
"No? That's your safeword?"
"No. No safeword. I'll accept whatever you dish out."
Chapter 2
Krycek was punctual.
Skinner hadn't really expected him to show. Or had he?
He'd certainly prepared for the eventuality.
He took the small gym bag from Krycek without comment,
checking the contents for a weapon. None. Only a pair
of jeans, a couple of shirts, a sweater, underwear and
socks. Travelling kit. Skinner placed the kit on the
kitchen table.
The only light on in the kitchen was the soft one over
the stove. Skinner looked his "guest" over.
"No clothes unless I give you permission to wear them.
Everything off."
Krycek stripped, handing Skinner each item of clothing
as he removed it. Skinner carefully folded and then
placed them in the gym bag along with the knife sheath
and the small weapon that was holstered in the back of
his belt. Boots by the bag.
"Arm off, too. You won't be needing it."
Skinner took the bag, boots, arm and locked them in a
small cupboard in the mud room.
He opened the door to the downstairs and indicated with
his head that Krycek was to precede him.
Skinner had been busy in the time he had. He's
installed a pulley system to the main support beam,
bolted a couple of rings to the floor. In a nearby
corner, there was a thin bare mattress on the floor,
with a plain, utility blanket folded at the foot. To
one side, near the mattress were two battered dog
bowls, one already containing water.
He waited for Krycek to comment. Got nothing.
"Bathroom." He pointed to a small utility room:
toilet, small sink, plain shower stall.
Krycek stood waiting. He had yet to say a word.
Skinner assumed his Marine voice, spoke softly.
"Whenever you hear me in the kitchen, you will assume
the proper waiting position. On your knees." He
waited until Krycek had complied. "Sitting on your
heels. Feet flat on the floor. Knees spread wide
apart. Wider than that. Arm by your side. Hand open.
Head down. Eyes will be down at all times. You do not
have permission to look me in the face unless I give it
to you. Understand?"
Krycek's head dipped a bit further down.
"And you may not speak to me unless I give you
permission. Is *that* understood?"
Again the bowed head dipped.
Skinner turned on an overhead light and examined the
man. The position he was in would become quickly
uncomfortable. Too bad. If he stayed, which Skinner
doubted, he'd get used to it. The light shone down on
the brown-black hair. The bent head revealed the man's
unprotected neck which somehow gave him a look of
innocence. What an illusion that was!
The body was good. Muscle definition was lighter than
his own: the body of a man who actually used his body
rather than just exercised it.
The stump with its puckered scar tissue would be off
limits. He had no intention of using it against the
man. He had a momentary feeling of generosity at the
concession he was making for the other man.
"Stand up."
Krycek rose a little less gracefully than he had knelt.
Stood, head still bowed. Legs apart without having to
be told: he'd obviously played this game before.
"I want you to shave all your body hair off. Now.
You'll find a safety razor in the sink, lather too."
Krycek slowly moved into the bathroom. He filled the
sink with hot water. With some awkwardness, he
lathered the parts of his body he could reach and
shaved himself.
The left side was easiest to do. The legs were easy
enough as well. Shaving his groin took more time: he
had to be careful with the blade. Safety razors could
provide nasty cuts. His balls, ass were slow work. He
had no second hand to pull things out of the way.
Finally he had done all but his right arm and armpit.
At that point, Skinner, who had spent all this time
watching stone-faced from the doorway, took the razor
and lather and finished the job.
He tossed the items into the sink. Waited while Krycek
cleaned the razor, recapped the lather, rinsed the hair
from out of the sink.
"Shower. You'll find an enema bag in there. Use it
every time you take a shower."
The shower stall had a transparent door. He watched as
with the one hand Krycek washed himself in and out.
When the man was done, he tossed him a large thick
towel. With the same expressionless face, watched him
dry himself.
Skinner stepped away from the door and Krycek went out
to take his waiting position without being told.
Skinner walked over to a cupboard in the far end of the
windowless room that had been used as a den by the last
owner. He took some keys out of his jeans pocket,
unlocked it and opened the door to his "toy"
collection. He had something in his hand when he came
to stand in front of Krycek. Who stayed still, head
down. Skinner smiled to himself. Not only a player,
but a trained one.
He put a finger under Krycek's chin, brought the face
up.
"You may look at me. See this dog collar. It's
yours." He put it around the man's throat, felt him
swallow. Skinner waited till he had accepted the feel
of it before buckling it on, tight but still loose
enough to fit one finger under it.
"You never take it off except in the shower. You
remove it only in the bathroom, and you put it back on
before you leave the bathroom. If I ever see you
without it on, you're out. Is that understood? Boy."
Krycek nodded.
"No. I asked you a direct question, boy. You answer
direct questions. Let's try this again. Do you
understand, boy?"
"Yes." Krycek's voice had no inflection in it at all.
"Yes what, boy?"
"Yes. Sir."
Skinner pushed Krycek's chin down and he assumed the
correct position.
"Tonight, we will start the punishment you so rightly
deserve. The punishment that *you* have asked me to
administer. Are you certain that you don't want a
safeword, boy?"
"No, sir. No safeword."
"If you ever ask me to stop, I will. But that will be
the end of it. Do you understand, boy?"
"Yes, sir."
Skinner passed a hand along the man's jaw, up to his
ear, around to the back of his head. He grabbed a
handful of hair and pulled backwards. Krycek kept his
eyes down.
Skinner's voice was softly threatening. "Who do you
belong to? Boy?"
"To you, sir."
"Good." Skinner gave the hair a sharp tug. "Let's see
what you're made of, boy."
Krycek stood arms tied above his head. Skinner had
buckled a lined wrist restraint around his right wrist
and tied one end of the line to it, now pulled taut.
Around his left upper arm, he had a strap contraction
that was also linked to the line thereby holding it up
alongside of his head. It would effectively stop him
from spinning to one side.
His ankles were also braceleted with lined leather,
attached to the rings bolted into the floor. His legs
were stretched as far apart as possible and still be
supporting him.
He wore a bit gag in his mouth, a black cloth band with
eye pads tied tightly over his eyes, wax plugs in his
ears. Mute, blind, deaf.
Now Skinner was taking his time adding some of his
particular favourite toys. He didn't think that Krycek
would be here in the morning so he intended making this
a session the ratbastard would never forget.
The nipple clamps were screw-ons rather than spring
controlled. Krycek's head had snapped back when the
first had gone on. Skinner had given him no time to
adjust to it when the second had bitten into the
sensitive nub. His nipples would be severely bruised
by the end of the play.
The cock ring that buckled on was a thin leather strap
that would cut into tender flesh when it was erect. At
the front of the circumcised cock, from the ridge that
edged the glans, Skinner hung two more nipple clamps.
Krycek's hips jerked back at their addition.
Skinner stood back, admiring his work. Isolated,
Krycek would not be able to brace or prepare himself
for whatever "treat" he had in store for him. The
clamps would become progressively more painful, the
cock ring would impede any orgasm from happening until
or even if he decided it should occur.
He left the man hanging there to change his clothes for
a pair of sweat pants, and to fetch himself a bottle of
juice from upstairs. When he returned he was pleased
to see that in the time he had been gone, the bruising
was beginning to be apparent.
Skinner looked over his collection of whips and crops
in the cupboard. He rejected some as being too brutal:
he wanted Krycek to last a long time. To get the full
advantage of his punishment. Some he rejected as being
too mild: the suede flogger was for discipline, not
punishment. He settled on a riding crop. The effect
of the blow would depend on the strength with which it
was delivered.
He took a walk around the suspended man. Decided that
he would swing a little too much from a decent blow and
tightened the line to the pulley. Watched Krycek rise
onto the front of his feet, the muscles of the right
arm pulled even tauter. The left's harness was
basically there to hold the stump out of the way.
He knew from past games that first blows were usually
directed to the back. Skinner swung his across the
already painful nipples. Was very pleased by the
muffled sound Krycek couldn't prevent.
It went on from there. Some were closely placed on
Krycek's body, in time. Others landed helter-skelter.
Some were delivered with less force than others: there
were no soft or gentle blows. Each time the crop
landed, it left a mark. After a time, it drew blood.
And no part of Krycek's body was spared. The welts
appeared over his torso, his back, his buttocks, the
back of his thighs, the front, his legs. Skinner only
avoided the upraised arms, the head, the nape of the
neck.
He had even paid a small bit of attention to Krycek's
groin, careful only not to do any permanent damage to
the now upright penis.
He finally stopped for the last of the juice: this was
thirsty work.
Through it all, Krycek had made sounds, but they were
sounds drawn out of him rather than offered by him. He
may have screamed, but not so that Skinner had noticed.
Not that he had been disposed to notice.
He walked around the man, rather pleased with his work.
He usually did this sort of stuff with one of those
floggers that did no particular damage, merely pinkened
the skin, a routine that released endorphins so the
prickling of the whip turned into pleasure. He didn't
think that endorphins were going to help Krycek much.
He slipped his hand into the sweats, roughly passed
over his own erect cock. He had liked this kind of
work in the Warehouse. It always aroused him. More so
tonight.
He put the empty bottle down on the floor, went to
stand in front of the man. He waited until Krycek
realized that he was there. Smiled as the man braced
himself. Smart move, he thought.
Roughly, his hands explored the body open to him. This
time, Krycek moaned loudly, jerked back then sagged
against the line keeping him upright.
Skinner moved around him, still roughly caressing the
welts that marked the bruised skin. When he realized
that Krycek was on the verge of losing consciousness,
he pulled back to give him time to recover.
While he watched the ribs painfully push air in and out
in shallow breaths, Skinner was pleased to find that
his gut which had hurt all week -- especially when the
news of Spender's immunity had been passed on to him --
was no longer paining him. This was much better than
the bottles of antacid he'd been drinking down all
week.
He slowly stroked himself into full erection. They'd
fucked him around all week too. He took a condom from
out of the cupboard, rolled it on himself. Reached for
the lube. Stopped. He took the small bottle, tossed
it into the air. He didn't let himself think about his
next move. Put just a dab of the stuff on the pads of
two fingers and returned to stand behind Krycek.
He placed his left hand against Krycek's lower abdomen,
to keep him from moving. With the two fingers, he
lubed Krycek's asshole, roughly entering the tight
ring.
Krycek was alert enough to tense, but Skinner pressed
hard, ignored the muted sounds. What little lube was
left, he smeared on the tip of his cock.
He stood behind Krycek, used one hand to grip his hips,
the other to position himself for entry. He began
slowly, entering just enough so that he could release
his cock and use the freed hand to hold Krycek steady.
Then, in one brutal move, he buried himself in Krycek
to the root.
He thought Krycek's scream would be heard by the
security team. He waited, still buried in the man,
till he was certain that no one was coming to
investigate. He pulled out, feeling the drag of barely
lubricated tissue gripping him. Pushed back in again.
And enjoyed the next muted groan even more.
He took his time, drew it out, reaching orgasm.
He tossed the used condom into the wastebasket by the
cupboard, put himself back into the sweats.
He casually removed the "toys", put them away in their
places. Removed the ear plugs, threw them away.
Removed the blind, folded it back onto the shelf.
Removed the gag now sodden with saliva, put it away.
He released the ankle manacles from the rings, removed
the manacles. Released the line which was the only
thing holding Krycek up, removed it from the manacle,
the manacle and harness from the man. Put them back in
their places. Locked the cupboard doors. Put the key
back in his pocket.
He crouched by Krycek, watching him slowly revive. He
stood, grabbed him by the underarms and dragged him
over to the mattress where he dropped him. After a
moment's consideration, he filled the juice bottle with
water and tipped it into the man's mouth. Krycek
coughed then swallowed.
Skinner grabbed his chin in his hand, dragged the face
up. Waited for Krycek's eyes to focus on him.
"Is this what you wanted, boy?"
Krycek had to try twice before the words came out.
"Yes. Sir." Almost whispered.
"And is this what you want *more of*, boy?"
Skinner released Krycek's face, waited for him to tell
him what he wanted was out.
Krycek's body was trembling, hurting. He raised his
head, met Skinner's eyes. "Yes. Sir." And let his
head drop to the mattress.
Chapter 3
Skinner turned off the television. Saturday football
wasn't as much fun to watch these days, not when he had
a more intense game going on downstairs.
He strolled into the kitchen and rummaged in the
freezer compartment for some ice. He dropped some into
a glass, added some scotch.
In the two weeks since Krycek had arrived, his ulcer
had calmed down enough for him to get away with the
occasional drink. Who'd have known?
He put together a sandwich, finished it before picking
up the glass, heading downstairs.
The one recessed light on provided just enough
illumination for him to make out the pose he had left
Krycek in before the game had started. He sipped some
of the scotch, sitting at the bottom of the stairs.
The morning after the first session, Skinner came
downstairs to find Krycek in the proper waiting
position. It was obvious that he was in pain, but he
stayed in position while Skinner walked around him,
occasionally dragging a finger along a welt.
Skinner was pleased to see that his body retained the
marks well and that the places he'd drawn blood were
already scabbing over. Krycek's nipples were an
interesting combination of blue and black: they would
be very tender for some time.
Without a word, he went back upstairs, returning in a
few minutes with an opened can. He dumped the
congealed mass that was supposed to be stew into the
second of the dog bowls, went and topped the water
bowl.
He stood in front of the bowed head. "I'm busy today.
When I'm not interested in you, you stay on the
mattress. You may get off it only to piss or to
shower. Remember when you shower to clean yourself
inside as well. If I come down here, and find you're
not in position or on the mattress, I can promise you
won't..." He left the rest of his statement hanging.
"Get to the mattress. No, not on your feet. I didn't
give you permission to stand. That's better, knees and
hand, boy. Eat if you're hungry. I'll feed you twice
a day. If I feel like it."
He turned and left Krycek "waiting" on the mattress.
At the top of the stairs, he turned off the light, shut
the door.
He gave Krycek till the next afternoon to recover. Not
out of kindness, but because Bureau work came first.
Even on a weekend.
When he came down that afternoon, Krycek's hair was
still wet from his shower. The light shone on the
little trails of water that ran down his back, some
detouring around the scabbing tissue.
He began by blindfolding him: between the lights being
kept off -- he had replaced the light in the bathroom
with a 25 watt bulb -- and his being blindfolded when
they were on, Krycek was spending a lot of time in the
dark. There were no windows in this part of the
basement.
Then, the gag. But before he placed it in his mouth,
Skinner forced his chin up. He asked what was becoming
part of their ritual every time he gagged Krycek: "Who
do you belong to, boy?"
Krycek's voice seemed numb. "You, sir."
"Good. Shall we see if you care to continue this
agreement?" He tightened the gag.
Next the ear plugs. He really like the fact that
Krycek wouldn't be able even to anticipate any of his
moves from sound.
This time, he strapped a narrow belt around his waist,
snapped the wrist restraint to it, to a ring at the
back. Then he attached a very short line from that ring
to one of the floor rings causing Krycek to lay on his
back. He left the other arm alone.
He attached the pulley line to one ankle bracelet; the
other bracelet to the second floor ring. When he
pulled on the line, Krycek's hips were lifted off the
floor, his weight rested on his shoulders, legs spread
painfully far apart, This would allow him full range
from ankle to ankle.
He crouched between Krycek's legs, passed his hands up
inner thighs from the knees and back down again. Just
so the boy would have an idea that after this session,
there would be no part of his body he hadn't attended
to.
The toys he added were chosen more to remind Krycek of
potential pain. The nipple clamps were actually quite
gentle, the cock ring just a bit tighter than normal
games. The last item he added was a bath towel he had
folded into a thick pad which he dropped over Krycek's
genitals. He had no intention of castrating the boy.
This time he had chosen a switch to make his point. It
would sting rather than cut, allowing the game to
continue for as long as he, Skinner, wanted it to.
Krycek had braced himself for the first blow when
Skinner had tucked one end of the pad under the waist
belt. But this time, Skinner began almost gently. He
held back the power of his swings, but he covered the
skin from knee to groin on both thighs.
Then he stopped. Removed the pad. Left Krycek
hanging. He rewarded himself for getting through the
next couple of tedious reports by returning downstairs.
The vibrations of his footsteps on the floor warned
Krycek, but no sooner had the pad been dropped into
place, when the switch fell, much harder this time.
By the fourth visit, Skinner removed his boots before
coming down, could drop the pad and swing the switch
pretty much at the same time. Krycek's body writhed in
its bonds, trying to pull away from the fire that was
raging in his thighs whenever Skinner returned.
Skinner waited till just before he was heading for bed
for his last visit. This time the gag barely muted the
sounds Krycek made. Skinner smiled to himself, feeling
that he would be well prepared to put up with the acute
stupidity of dealing with Justice at tomorrow's
meeting.
At the end of the session, he released Krycek, made him
crawl back to his mattress before grabbing him by the
hips. This time, he covered his condom with lube, even
used some to prepare the ass hole he pushed himself
into. When he finished only then did he remove the gag,
blindfold, the ear plugs.
It was mid-week before he had time to be more than just
momentarily concerned with Krycek. Wednesday had
proved to be long and tedious. Longer and more tedious
than usual. It was almost midnight when he came down
the stairs. He could feel the anger radiating off
himself and was more than passing pleased when he saw
Krycek visibly brace himself to meet it.
Without a word, Skinner opened his fly, pulled out his
cock. He grabbed Krycek by the hair, pulled his head
back. Krycek didn't open up fast enough. Skinner
grabbed him by the jaw and pressured his mouth open.
He rammed his stiffening cock down to the back of
Krycek's throat, almost choking him. All he wanted was
a hot wet hole to suck him erect. When it was, he
pushed Krycek to his shoulders, quickly rolled a condom
on and rammed himself into Krycek.
Krycek screamed. Muffled the sound against his arm.
When Skinner was done, he tossed the condom in the
wastebasket, zipped his fly as he went upstairs, left
Krycek where he lay.
The weekend saw another session that lasted pretty much
all of Saturday. Skinner left Krycek hanging most of
the day, using the crop on him whenever he visited.
Krycek was barely conscious when he dropped him to the
floor.
That week was taken up with the Bureau's side of the
Spender deal. Spender seemed to enjoy the fact that
Skinner had been delegated to inform him of the steps
the Bureau was taking to ensure his safety. Skinner's
only revenge was in refusing the man permission to
light up in front of him. When Spender ignored him, as
he had always done, Skinner grabbed the cigarette out
of his mouth and snapped it in half.
His ulcer flared up, he drank more antacid, went home
and took his frustrations out on Krycek.
Skinner sipped the last of his scotch and stood up to
see if Krycek was still conscious. He'd lost
consciousness twice so far this week. Skinner was
beginning to feel a bit uneasy.
Krycek's hand was behind him, snapped onto the waist
belt. A short chain from that clasp attached to the
still shorter chain that joined the two ankle bracelets
through the floor ring. His back was arched from the
pressure, his knees wide apart. Small tremors shook
his body almost continually. He bore the usual
accroutement of clamps, rings. This time, Skinner had
added a thick dildo to the collection. His body was a
map of welts, colourful bruises.
Skinner crouched between the boy's legs. He doubted
that Krycek knew he was here. He doubted that Krycek
was aware of anything beyond the pain in his body. He
reached out and stroked the arc made by knee to knee.
Krycek's body arched even more at the feel of his hands
on skin that reacted even to a breath.
Why the hell was the boy still here? wondered Skinner.
Why hadn't he left a long time ago? The doors weren't
locked: he could easily get out. Why was he accepting
all this? The Krycek he knew wouldn't have. He would
have fought back, counter-attacked. He would have been
long gone.
He released Krycek, noting that the blind was wet with
tears of pain, that the gag was showing definite signs
of teeth wear. He dragged the boy to the mattress, got
him some water which he could barely swallow, covered
him with the blanket and left him alone.
Monday, he got a break from the Spender Affair: VCU
had gotten a request to investigate a series of murders
and, since one of the suspects was the son of a
Senator, he had been asked to verify their conclusions.
"As you can see from the evidence we've gathered, we
can place Thomas McCloud in the vicinity of the crime
sites at all the correct times.
"And though the Senator seems to think that we're
overreacting to those 'coincidences', let me add that
he also doesn't believe that his little boy could do
anything like we've seen in the pictures. In spite of
the fact that the pictures were found in his bedroom."
Skinner did his stone-face routine, casually picked up
the dossier with the pictures. Froze.
"The Senator finds it hard to accept that his son gets
off on torturing people before he cuts their throats."
Under his desk, Skinner pressed a small button. Ten
seconds later, his office phone rang. "Thank you, Kim.
I'm sorry, Agent Astley, I'm going to have to ask you
to wait outside while I deal with this."
He waited for the door to close. He found himself
taking a deep breath. Picked up the photos again.
Agent Astley had used the term torture. Looking at
these pictures, he, too, would have used the term
torture.
The bodies were covered in welts, bruising.
Like the body on the mattress in his basement.
Skinner turned on all the basement lights.
The man curled in a fetal position on the bare mattress
never noticed.
Skinner made some noise as he approached, not to
startle Krycek. He didn't react.
Carefully, Skinner lifted the blanket off the
sleeping/unconscious man. The body before him could
easily have fit McCloud's m.o.
Skinner passed the back of his hand over his nose. He
reached out and gently lay his hand on the side of
Krycek's face. It didn't need a medical degree to
realize the man was ill.
Skinner stroked the bearded cheek. After two weeks of
not shaving, Krycek was well on his way to a full
beard.
He needs care, thought Skinner. But not down here.
He wrapped the blanket around the man. With some
difficulty -- Krycek was dead weight -- he managed to
get him to his feet, and then over his shoulder in a
fireman's hold.
At the top of the stairs, he grabbed a clean sheet from
the pile of laundry on the kitchen table and somehow
got it spread out on the living room couch. He
carefully dropped Krycek onto it.
The light here was better. Better to see *his*
handiwork. His stomach churned uncomfortably.
Well, first things first. He needed to check out the
medicine cabinets. Realized very quickly that a finger
band-aid wasn't going to do the job. He pulled a
blanket from the linen closet, covered Krycek with it.
Leaving the lights on in case the man woke up, he went
out to visit the all-night pharmacy in the local
shopping centre.
The couch was empty when he returned. Skinner dropped
the bag he was carrying and quickly checked the other
rooms. He didn't think Krycek could have gone far in
his condition.
The basement door was open. He found Krycek slumped in
his waiting position at the bottom of the stairs.
"Jesus Christ, boy! Why the hell didn't you stay where
I put you?" Not that he expected a reply.
But he got one. Offered in a raw voice, barely
audible. "Not allowed on furniture...beat me." Krycek
gasped as Skinner helped him to his feet, got him back
up the stairs.
"If I put you on the couch, you stay on the couch. Do
you hear me, boy?"
But when Skinner tried to get Krycek to lay down, he
pulled away in fear. "Please," he begged, "not there.
Please! He'll beat me!"
Skinner's gut wrenched. Shit! He'd never beaten the
boy for sitting on the couch. He wanted to settle
Krycek before he medicated him, but it was obvious that
would never happen with Krycek this panicky about that
idea. He half-carried, half-walked Krycek into the
kitchen. The light would be better there anyway.
The only way Krycek was partially comfortable was lying
on his left side. Because of the stump, Skinner had
paid a bit less attention to it for fear of damaging
the arm. Before he touched Krycek, he got him to take
a couple of codeine capsules, knowing that they would
knock him out. Once he was certain that the pain would
be less felt, he applied medicated ointment to the
welts and covered the worse ones with gauze.
Looking, really looking at Krycek, Skinner had to admit
that he had lost weight. Then he realized that he had
thrown out most of the food he had placed in that dog
bowl, that Krycek had barely eaten in the past days.
He found a bottle of apple juice in the fridge, got
some of it into a surprisingly still conscious Krycek.
Took advantage of that fact by getting him to swallow
one of the multi-vitamins he had added to his purchases
at the last moment.
He left Krycek on the kitchen floor, lightly covered
with the sheet. The sound of the doorbell shocked him.
Shit! It was after midnight. Who the fuck...
He answered to find that it was one of the security
team that staked out his house whenever he was home.
Was everything all right? They'd arrived late -- some
mix up on rota -- and were just checking in.
Krycek had nearly made it to the basement door. God,
thought Skinner, the ratbastard has a one-track mind!
Krycek didn't seem to understand that he was not being
returned to the basement, but at the same time, got
frantic at the idea of the couch.
Finally, Skinner gave up. Ordered Krycek in his brisk
Marine tones to stay exactly where he was. Which was
on the kitchen floor. Ran upstairs to find the thick
comforter stored in the empty second bedroom, a remnant
of the last Christmas he and Sharon had been married.
One of those bath sheets, a white one, from the
bathroom cupboard. Grabbed the blanket off the couch
and entered the kitchen to find Krycek where he had
left him.
He turned up the heat in the laundry room, just off the
kitchen, unfolded the comforter into a pad, covered it
with the towel. With some difficulty, he got Krycek
onto it, covered him with the sheet and blanket.
"Now listen to me, boy. This is where you're sleeping
until I tell you differently. You got that, boy?"
Krycek nodded, semi-stoned from the codeine finally
hitting him.
"There's a bathroom just the other side of the washer.
That's the one you use. Got that, boy?"
Krycek nodded slightly, eyes dilated, unfocused.
Skinner sat in the kitchen, watching Krycek sleep.
What the hell had happened to them? Why were they both
acting this way? Had the Consortium finally won in
spite of being destroyed?
What the fuck had happened to Krycek for him to be
behaving the way he was? Damn, the boy was many
things, but he'd never been a masochist. At least as
far as *he* knew.
Why was he so accepting of the shit Skinner kept on
dishing out? Since when had he been hungry for pain
and humiliation?
And God! When the fuck had *he* turned into a sadist?
He'd been a player in these sorts of games before. Had
used them as an outlet for the frustration that built
up in his work, even in his marriage. He knew he had a
bit of a reputation at the Warehouse as being available
for some of the more extreme stuff, but he'd never gone
this far. He had always been in control of his
actions. Was known for that control. But, here and
now, he had to admit at least to himself, he had lost
it.
He hated Krycek, true, for what he had done to Scully,
to Mulder, to himself, even to the Bureau. But hadn't
he made some reparation with the information he'd
passed on to Mulder? At no little risk to himself.
Hell, was this a case of the messenger being killed?
It wasn't the boy's fault that men and women who had
sworn an oath of loyalty had betrayed that oath.
Wasn't his fault that the Bureau was such a mess with
agents and ADs disappearing or being arrested, with
their names popping up on documentation that proved
they had been buyable, or treasonous.
Then there was the fact that along with the hardcopy
data that had been delivered in the package to his
office was one of those bubbled packs addressed to him,
personally. Contents, one de-powered palm pilot and a
CD of information on the life span of nanocytes.
Which, it seemed, was short if not periodically
activated. Which they hadn't been since his "dying"
episode. Scully had been taking blood samples from him
every week, testing the veracity of that documentation.
Proving it right.
Krycek started to shift position in his sleep and
gasped. He settled down while Skinner crouched over
him, not touching him, just waiting till it was obvious
that he was deeply asleep.
And then there was the fact of his promotion. Before
the data dump, he had realized that his career had gone
as far it would probably go. He had lost any upward
mobility with his support of Mulder and the X-Files.
But now the Upper Floor had had to admit that the
Bureau had been infiltrated, that Mulder had been
right. And there were offices to be filled. His
promotion had come, not because they thought he
deserved it, but because necessity had ordained it.
And that too was not Krycek's fault.
He turned the bathroom light on, placed a small open
bottle of juice within reach, made sure Krycek was warm
on his bed. Tucked the blanket a bit more around the
ointment-slicked shoulders.
"God, Krycek," he whispered, "what have they done to
us?"
Went to bed. Didn't sleep.
Chapter 4
"Thank you, Kim."
Skinner waited till his office door closed before
dealing with the pile of files that his assistant had
located for him.
All, in one way or another, dealing with one Alex
Krycek.
Somewhere in them he hoped there would be a clue as to
Krycek's behaviour.
Going through the first dossier, a Bureau personnel
file, he was reminded that Krycek had had potential as
an agent. He had done well at Quantico, had produced
good results in the cases he had been assigned to. His
reports were concise and clear, unlike some others he
could choose to mention. If it hadn't been for the
cigarette butts Mulder had found in the ashtray of
Krycek's car...
The next file contained a series of reports, most of
them written by Mulder, some by Scully, dealing with
any contact either of them had had with Krycek from the
time of his "departure" from the Bureau to the day the
package had shown up in his office, addressed to
Special Agent Fox Mulder c/o AD Walter Sergei Skinner.
That was also the day their, his and Mulder's,
computers were effectively out of service as all they
did was accept downloads from a variety of internet
sources around the globe.
He'd shown up at Mulder's the next night, requesting
immunity in return for providing them with the codes to
open up all those files.
Skinner shook his head in grudging admiration. They
had held off giving it to him, keeping him in a secure
room here at the Bureau, until finally their decryptors
informed him that it would take years of work to break
open the security codes Krycek had placed at the
beginning of each file.
And the stuff had been dynamite. The repercussions
were still being felt and would for a long time to
come.
The thickest of the dossiers came from the
investigative team. In spite of this being the
computer age, Krycek's "easy" accessibility to even the
most hidden of Consortium files had resulted in a new
wave of paper at the Bureau. Numbered sheets, non-
copyable red ink.
Four months of questioning took up lots of paper.
Skinner scanned the dossier rapidly. Just the usual
dry give and take of interrogation reports.
"Kim. Would you know if any of the team that worked on
Krycek are in the building today?"
"I'll check and get back to you, sir."
Agent Rachel Madison was one of the newer members of
the Bureau. Being called to the Deputy Director's
office made her feel she had done something wrong even
when she knew she hadn't.
Skinner asked Kim to serve coffee to make for a more
comfortable atmosphere. He wanted her observations on
Alex Krycek: not on the material covered by the
report, but on his behaviour, his relationship with the
team.
Agent Madison had been one of the minor members of the
team, but was appreciative enough of this singling out
to give the DD all the details she could.
No, Krycek hadn't been a problem, except when the team
leader asked the same question too often. Krycek would
call him on it every time, no matter what indirect
route Connors took to get to it.
Yes, he had chaffed a bit at the restrictions which had
been placed on his life. That was normal, to be
expected. More grousing than anything else.
Personality change? No. Not really. Well, he did get
quieter at one point. Joked around less. They had
been at it thirteen weeks at that point: hard for
anyone to maintain good humour that long under the
circumstances. The team had been on rotation, but
Krycek had had to deal with the situation seven days a
week.
Had anything happened around then that was different?
A break in the routine?
Well, they had gotten that file from Justice, with its
own list of questions. Remember, Justice hadn't been
allowed access to Krycek until almost the end. Most of
the questions were repeats. Krycek hadn't been too co-
operative at that point. She remembered he'd asked for
the list, told them he'd only answer anything that was
new.
Connors had just tossed him the whole thing and told
Krycek to take the night to look it over.
They were all pretty tired by then.
Personal stuff on Krycek? Well, apart from the
conference room she hadn't been with him anywhere else.
They had their meals brought to them. Whoever was on
the team that day ate with him. Oh, yes. (She smiled
at the memory.) He'd finish her dessert if it were
chocolate. Cake or pudding, it didn't matter. She
only tasted dessert. Didn't have much of a sweet
tooth. Neither did Krycek, unless it was chocolate.
That was all she could think of. Would any of that
help with his problem?
Skinner smiled at the casual way she had slipped that
in. He hadn't told her why he'd wanted this
information and gave her points for having held onto
her curiosity as long as she had.
"Thank you, Agent Madison. I appreciate the thought
you've put into my request."
Agent Madison accepted that her question was not going
to be answered with better grace than he would have in
her place.
Kim's research into the Justice file came back
"Returned to Justice per their request".
It took him two days of finagling to get his hands on
it.
Two nights of watching Krycek sleep, doped to the
gills. It was the only way he could get the boy to
stay quiet, to accept the time to heal.
He could get the boy to drink everything he gave him to
drink, but it had taken him a whole day to figure out
why he wasn't eating. He'd had Krycek lie flat out on
his stomach, touched the swollen tissues around his
anus. Krycek's first impulse had been to try and
escape the threatening finger. Then he'd forced
himself to accept.
Skinner had made him swallow one of the prescription
pain-killers he'd gotten, waited till the man was
stoned before lubricating the finger of a latex glove,
smearing it with medicated ointment, and examining him.
Even drugged, Krycek felt it, made a sound into the arm
he held against his mouth. Skinner grimaced at hearing
it.
He increased Krycek's liquid intake. And left the man
alone.
The Justice file was not easy to get. Only the fact
that the request came from a Deputy Director, the one
with particular links to the case, and the one with the
proper security clearance was what got it onto his
desk.
Whoever had gathered the information had assumed the
request included the Justice Department's own files on
Krycek, gotten courtesy of CGB Spender. As part of his
deal for protection, Spender had turned over his own
few private files on Consortium doings to Justice.
The one Skinner had originally request contained, as
Agent Madison had stated, nothing more than several
pages of questions, most of which bore the notation
"FBI". He assumed that this meant Krycek had already
answered this for the Bureau. Here and there, there
was a sentence or two. Terse answers in a clearly
written cursive. Answers as much to the point as his
reports had read.
He flipped through the paper, stopping occasionally to
read an answer. Smiled at the "See pages 2, 9, 17, 21.
Don't you get tired of asking the same question?"
That was one of the things missing in the Krycek that
had appeared at his door that night, that sarcastic
humour, the edge that made so much of what was
unacceptable in Krycek's behaviour tolerable.
He was about to toss the dossier on the table when he
realized that there was something stuck between two
pages toward the end of the document. He tugged gently
at what turned out to be a photo. Not particularly
big. About three by five.
He stared at it for some time, then turned it around to
read the hand-printed label on the back. Carefully
placed it in the top drawer of his desk.
After a bit, he picked up the file that Spender had
compiled on Alex Krycek.
There were photos in this one too. Several of them, of
a boy about fourteen, maybe older. Posed. Probably
for some prostitution catalogue. In the last one,
Krycek looked to be in his late teens. The body was
that of a man not yet filled out, but well on the way.
Skinner had expected something like this, but seeing
actual pictures made it all the more real.
Shit! What the hell chance had Krycek had, if this was
his background? It was a tribute to some inner decency
that when he finally had understood just what his
masters were up to he had decided to turn on them and
help put an end to their plans.
He lay the pictures face down on his desk.
Surprisingly, the next part of the dossier contained
high school report cards. From several schools. From
the north-east to the mid-west. They'd moved him
around a fair bit, but someone (Spender?) had seen to
it that he regularly attended school.
Krycek's success at Quantico had not been a fluke. The
majority of the marks were A's of some kind, a few were
B's. Attached to all of them was a photocopy of a
letter from a doctor that excused Krycek from any phys-
ed activity.
Of course, thought Skinner, his body would be marked.
He was ready to go onto to the next batch of documents
when something caught his attention about the high
schools themselves. He had to think a bit. They were
all member schools of the same teaching order of
Brothers. An order that in the eighties had found
itself the focus of quite a few court investigations on
charges of sexual abuse.
The university transcripts were another surprise, but
expected if he thought about it. Good university near
a strong central-European enclave of population. Four
year program done in three. Krycek had attended full
time, 12 months a year. His only time off would have
been school holidays.
His majors were less surprising: Political Science
major with a minor in Computers. Partial scholarship
maintained throughout his entire time there. 80% plus
average.
The boy had brains. Why hadn't he used them to get
away from the Consortium? Shit, why the hell wasn't he
using them these days?
The next batch of papers were medical reports. About
broken bones (once an arm, another time some ribs),
concussions (at least four of those). Detailed reports
on abrasions and anal damage. Which made him wince.
Last was a listing of names and dates. It took only a
moment to recognize some of the names as being members
of the Consortium; most of middle importance, some of
the higher echelons. Krycek's tricks.
Into the second page a name began appearing: Peskow.
Coming with more and more frequency until it was the
only one listed. Skinner calculated that Krycek had
been about 16 when Peskow's name first appeared. Was
about 20 at the end. So the boy had been exclusively
Peskow's at that point. And Skinner knew what Peskow's
use had been to the Consortium. At least Spender had
acknowledged Krycek's intelligence by having him
trained in his profession by one of the best assassins
around.
He put all the material back together, made the copies
himself of what he wanted, had Kim courier it back to
Justice. All except for the photo in his desk drawer.
Skinner took it out and looked it over carefully, as
objectively as possible, even though bile was
threatening to overcome him. The boy in the photo
couldn't have been older than ten, maybe eleven. He
was beautiful. Nude. Wearing a dog collar and
bruises. From the body language, afraid but handling
it. Even in this small photo it was obvious his eyes
were green. Obviously Alex Krycek.
So why did the label on the back identify the boy as
"Danny"?
Chapter 5
Skinner sighed when he saw Krycek "waiting" for him by
the basement door. He'd come home last night to find
him back downstairs, in position, waiting in the dark
for...what? More abuse?
He'd ordered him back upstairs, locked the basement
door and sent him back to his bed. And made an issue,
apart from feeding him, of ignoring him the rest of the
evening.
God, but he was tenacious!
Skinner ignored him, went upstairs to change and came
back down to prepare a meal.
"Please, sir, may I speak?"
Skinner was taken by surprise. That was the first time
since he'd arrived that the boy had initiated a
conversation. He turned from his preparations, settled
a hip against the counter, crossed his arms. "Yes.
You may speak."
"I'm fine, sir." Krycek spoke softly, kept his eyes on
Skinner's face, not really looking him in the eyes.
"Yes?"
"There's no reason I can't return downstairs, sir."
Skinner kept his face expressionless. "And?"
Krycek paused a bit before continuing. "Please, sir.
When I came here, I told you I needed to be punished.
Why have you stopped?" He met Skinner's eyes. "I
haven't asked you to stop, sir."
"And?" Skinner held his gaze. After a moment, Krycek
dropped his.
"Please, sir, if you're not going to punish me, I'll
need to find someone who will."
He said nothing. Just waited for Krycek to continue.
"Please, sir," Krycek's voice softly begged, "I need
this."
Skinner desperately wanted to ask Krycek *why* he
needed this so badly, but a good master knew when to
stay silent. He used the time to think. He couldn't
let Krycek leave and go find himself a new master.
He'd probably end up getting killed.
And, in spite of everything, Skinner felt Krycek didn't
deserve that.
Damn! He should never have agreed to start this stupid
"punishment" shit! Now what the hell was he supposed
to do? He had to keep some form of discipline ongoing,
something that would keep the boy here, until he could
figure out just what the hell was going on in that mind
of his.
Until he could figure out the connection between Alex
Krycek and Danny.
He owed him at least that for the way he'd treated him.
He pushed away from the counter and came to crouch in
front of him. He took Krycek's jaw in his hand,
gripped it just this side of pain and raised it so he
could look into those green eyes that had so little
life in them.
"What," he too spoke softly, "makes you think you're
not being punished right now?" He added a little touch
of sneer. "Boy."
He released Krycek's jaw, passed a finger along his jaw
line from ear to chin. "It seems to me, boy, that you
like the whip just a bit too much for it to be real
punishment." He stroked the other side of Krycek's
face. His smile was not kind. "Maybe you should
practice being patient for the next little while.
You're going to find that you'll need it in the coming
days."
He watched doubt appear in those eyes, knew that if he
didn't do something, Krycek would be gone soon.
"Tomorrow I won't be going in to work until late.
Tomorrow morning, we'll test just how patient you can
be. Boy. Now, I'm going to fix something to eat. And
you *will* eat it all. And then you will go to your
bed. I'll allow this evening's behaviour because I'm
in a generous mood. But don't test me too often, boy."
In the morning, he went downstairs to his toy cupboard
and came back with some items in his hands. He closed
the curtains in the living room, had Krycek join him.
Made him wait there while he had breakfast. Then he
sat in his favourite armchair and spent some time just
looking at the man.
"Have you showered properly this morning?"
Krycek nodded. He'd even shaved his body again.
"Good." Skinner got up and went to the small writing
desk in a corner of the living room.
He put the blindfold on first. Could almost swear he
felt Krycek relax at its touch. Stroked his cheek with
the bit gag. "Who do you belong to, boy?"
"You, sir." And opened his mouth for the gag.
The nipple clamps were next. Tight enough for Krycek's
breath to hitch at their closing on sensitive skin.
He made him sit up, belted the strap around his waist,
snapped the wrist restraint to it in the back. Stroked
the boy's chest, abdomen with the tips of his fingers
until his penis twitched in reaction. He took Krycek's
cock in his hands, stroked it into erection. He was
nicely built in that area too. A good length,
thickening nicely under stimulation. He paid some
attention to the balls hanging loosely in their sac,
rolling them just enough to add dimension to the
darkening cock.
Krycek's hips began to move in counter-rhythm to the
movement on his cock. Skinner put a halt to that with
a hard grip of his hands on Krycek's hip bones.
He reached for the lube, put some on his hands and
continued working Krycek into a full erection. Then he
slipped on a cock ring, one that opened into several
attached sections.
With one hand, he pushed Krycek so that he lay back on
his heels, knees splayed, hips raised by the position.
He passed his still lubricated fingers over the
sensitive perineum, teased the puckered muscle at its
end. Krycek tensed, took a deep breath through his
nose and forced himself to settle.
Skinner added more lube to his fingers, began the
opening process with a lot more care than he had shown
the boy until then. He slowly worked in one finger,
made sure the path was well greased before adding a
second finger. Made sure to rub Krycek's prostate
enough for those hips to jerk, for a small gasp to be
heard from behind the gag. He removed his fingers,
replaced them with a large enough anal plug which he
linked to the clasp that held Krycek's wrist.
He stood, pulled Krycek back up to the usual "wait"
position. Stroked the side of the boy's neck in a
reassuring gesture. Played a bit with the dog collar.
"Now, listen to me, boy. You look very beautiful done
up this way. Very beautiful. I have to go to work
now. I want to find you looking this beautiful when I
come back tonight. In exactly the same place. You're
lucky. I'll be home early. This time."
"I realize that this waiting is going to make you a bit
nervous. You'll find yourself listening for sounds,
for signs that may help you with the time, with my
coming home. I don't think all that tension is good
for you. You have enough to do keeping yourself
beautiful for me. This will help keep out the sounds
that may distract you from doing that."
Skinner placed a set of headphones on Krycek's head,
the sort with the ear plugs on both sides. It needed
no connector to the CD player, worked on some kind of
radio wave. He made sure that they were securely on,
tied a blindfold around them to keep them in place. He
had put five CDs into the player, all of them of white
noise. Krycek had a good six hours of isolation in
front of him.
Before he left for the office, he passed a hand down
Krycek's body, played with the ringed cock, gave the
plug an encouraging twist.
Chapter 6
It took two days to arrange for an interview with
Spender. In one of the new no-smoking areas of the
Complex where he was being held under tight security.
"Mr. Skinner. To what do I owe the pleasure of this
visit?"
Spender sat down across from Skinner at a table bolted
to the floor. The chairs were also bolted to the
floor. Not the most comfortable of rooms for an
interview. Both men knew that their conversation was
being taped: Skinner had in fact requested a copy of
it to be given to him on his way out of the Complex.
Spender was a bit taken aback that the purpose of this
interview was one Alex Krycek.
"Now why that topic, Mr. Skinner?"
Skinner smiled coldly. "I believe the final decisions
about security have yet to be taken, Mr. Spender.
*You* give me the information I want. *I* only tell
you what you need to know." He paused, enjoying
Spender's frustrated acceptance. "So begin. All you
remember about Alex Krycek. From the first day you got
him."
He'd gotten Alex when he was about fourteen.
Definitely Alex. No, he had never heard about a Danny.
Skinner found that hard to believe, especially
considering the slight grin Spender wore just then.
The Danny picture had, in fact, come from *his* files.
Skinner didn't call him on it. He recognized that
there were limits to Spender's co-operation.
Well trained, continued Spender, recognizing the anger
building behind the closed face, not really knowing why
but reveling in the fact that Skinner could do nothing
but sit there across from him and listen.
Lots of stamina. Very popular with some of the
quirkier members of the upper ranks.
School? Well, it was obvious the boy had brains. Read
a lot. Analyzed well. It was useful to educate him.
Surprised at how well he did? "Well," Spender smiled,
"Alex is very...good...at multi-tasking. Alex is very
good at whatever he's told to do. Surely you have some
experience of that, Mr. Skinner."
Peskow? Yes, Peskow also had some experience of that.
He'd been treated to Alex by one of the Elders as an
unexpected fringe benefit. Was quite impressed with
our Alex. Thought he had potential. That he'd work
well in Peskow's profession.
Peskow had been right. Alex was very cool about it.
Even though he started quite young, about 17 at the
time of his first kill. Never seemed overly bothered
by any of it. Never seemed bothered by much of
anything he could remember. Well, not at that time.
His mistake with Alex was trying to take him out.
Until then, he had been theirs. Why take him out? "I
thought he was getting just a little too cocky. Too
interested in moving up. I thought he would eventually
be trouble. I was right, wasn't I, Mr. Skinner?"
After that attempt, he was a loose cannon. Thinking
back, if he had to do it over again, he would order
Alex killed at the silo. But who knew he'd manage to
get out.
The next time he saw Alex, he was with the Brit. The
Brit liked him, brought him back into the system.
Might well have been able to control him, but then he
gotten blown up. And by that time, Alex was higher up
than he ever should have been allowed. Look at the
information he had passed on.
Alex before he had gotten him? He'd have to come from
the sex trade pool. One of the handlers was still
around. Tommy Glenn. "You've got him somewhere in the
system, on other charges."
Skinner left the prison, tape in pocket, and with an
overwhelming urge to scrub himself clean.
It took several days to track down Thomas Glenn, up on
fraud, of all things. And another to arrange a deal
with the man's hot-shot lawyer in exchange for an
interview.
Thomas Glenn was not what Skinner was expecting to see
in someone who had trained and handled young boys for
purposes of prostitution. He looked like Santa Claus,
round, bearded, jovial until you realized just how cold
those pale blue eyes were.
He knew nothing about an Alex Krycek. Had never heard
of the man. Skinner showed him a copy of the Danny
picture. Glenn thought a bit. Came up with a name:
Daniel Alyosha Gorshok.
He was 10, maybe 11 when Glenn got him. Through one of
the area controllers. Long dead. If he remembered
well, his mother had passed him on to the controller
who had passed him on to Glenn. Father was some minor
cog who died or got himself killed and the mother
didn't want the boy.
He was beautiful. So, of course, they took him.
"He was easy to train. I just had to remind him that
his mother had sent him to me for punishment."
"Punishment for what?"
Glenn shrugged. "Never knew. If he started getting
out of hand, I just had to remind him of the fact that
he deserved all this because of what he'd done. Worked
every time."
"So how did Danny get taken out of your...care? What
happened to him?"
"One of the Elders requested him. He never came back.
Well, that particular Elder had a reputation for being
quite nasty with some of the boys. Sometimes they
didn't come back. Still, I figured Danny would. He
had a high threshold for pain. Mended quickly, too.
How old was he? About thirteen, I guess."
Skinner had a tape of this meeting as well. He'd
driven about a mile from the prison when he stopped to
throw up.
Agent Madison was both surprised and pleased to be
called into the Deputy Director's presence. Business
this time, no social cup of coffee.
A special assignment for her, should she be interested.
Not a direct assignment, so something she could maybe
attend to should she have some free time.
Like hell, thought Madison. What the DD wanted, he
would get. He wanted her to juggle her regular
assignments with this one and to keep quiet about it.
And he wanted results. She would get them for him.
Aloud, she admitted to having some free time on her
hands these days. What would the Deputy Director like
her to do?
Skinner handed her a file. One sheet of paper. At the
top, in his own hand-writing: Daniel Aloysha Gorshok,
aged 10 or 11, 1972 or 1973.
The rest of the sheet was blank.
"What I would like you to do, Agent Madison, is to fill
that sheet of paper with whatever you can find out
about that boy, from pre-birth to 1972, 1973."
"Am I looking for anything in particular, sir?"
"Whatever you find, no matter how minor a detail, I
want to know about it."
"Do we have a description of the boy, sir?"
"No." He had no intention of showing her the photo.
"Do your best, Agent Madison. And let me know what you
find when you can. My assistant will give you an
appointment whenever you ask for one."
Agent Madison knew a dismissal when she heard it.
Nodded. On her way out of his office, she was already
planning a line of investigation.
To next part