Title: Rongbuk
Author: Ravenscion
E-mail: ravenscion@hotmail.com
Rating: R (language, violence, sex)
Category: XR
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance, some angst
Spoilers: possible for seasons 1-5 and the movie.
Date of First Posting: 29 August 1998
Author's website: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/6767/
Archiving: Please archive at Gossamer.  Others, please email for
permission.

Summary and notes: see chapter 1.

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, and all of the other characters
and situations related to the X-Files, belong to Chris Carter, 1013
Productions, and the FOX network.  I am using them without permission
but intend no copyright infringement.

[begin part 9 of 11]
************************************************************************

Red Victory Guest House, Tsang Province, Tibet
Monday, 5 October, 6:00 a.m.

Dana Scully awoke to a cold room and an empty bed.  Moonlight spilled
through the west-facing windows, bathing the floor and the foot of
the bed in a ghostly light.  Outside, the wind soughed around the
corners and eaves of the hotel, a square, three-story blockhouse built
of the dismal concrete favored by Tibet's communist Chinese masters.

The room was chilly and soulless, and, Scully quickly realized, Mulder
was not in it.

She sat up, letting herself come fully awake, and considered the
situation.  Mulder could not have gone far, of course.  The guest house,
built to serve God-knows-what clientele, stood alone on one of Tibet's
nameless plains, somewhere between Lhasa and Rongbuk Monastery.  They
had arrived there late the previous day, having just past the nearest
town -- no more than a village, really -- about six miles to the east.
So unless Mulder had taken off with their Landcruiser, there wasn't
anywhere for him to have gone.

Scully suspected she knew where he was; Mulder's periodic bouts of
insomnia invariably led him to a television set or, when none was
available, a night sky.  Most likely, her partner had made his way to
the roof of the hotel and now stood staring into infinity.

Which raised the question of what to do about him.

Tossing back the bedclothes, Scully swung her feet out of bed and
stepped into her slippers, her only protection against the icy concrete
floor.  She dressed quickly in the chill air and poured a cup of boiled
water from the thermos provided with the room, sitting on a hard chair
and sipping the still-hot water.  In the quiet of the room, she
considered her partner and lover.

Her erstwhile lover?

She wasn't sure, and that hurt.

Apart from their lack of physical intimacy, which could at least be
attributed to his injuries, little had overtly changed in her
relationship with Mulder.  But though his words and actions were much as
they had always been, some essential part of him had pulled away.  At
his most basic level, he had begun to withdraw from her.

That afternoon had been a salient example.

One of the tires of their vehicle, worn thin by too many miles on the
rough roads of Tibet, had finally given out, forcing Nawang to stop to
attach the spare.  Mulder had not said anything, but simply climbed from
the car and strode off toward a nearby hill.  Scully had decided to
follow him.  His taciturn mood had returned, despite their hope that
Krycek did not have an insurmountable advantage, and he had pulled
within himself, rebuffing her attempts to engage him in conversation.
Scully hoped that the privacy offered by a walk away from the
Landcruiser would get her partner to talk, at least.

She had been disappointed.  Mulder had strode well ahead of her, his
long legs easily outpacing her shorter stride.  He finally stopped, but
she was still a few minutes catching up with him on the hilltop.

He had not welcomed her presence.  'Talk to me,' she had said.  'Just
give me some space,' he had snapped back at her, whipping his hand in
a dismissive gesture.

Stung, Scully had retreated to the vehicle, where Nawang had managed to
turn the changing of the tire into a 40-minute project.  Mulder had at
last returned, muttered a barely audible apology, and then slumped
dispiritedly in the back seat of the Landcruiser, leaving Scully to
brood over the tension between them for the remainder of the day.

It was not as though they had not had disagreements before, but this
seemed different.  Mulder might sulk for a few hours or even a whole
day, but his current withdrawal had begun shortly after his sojourn in
the hospital in Northampton, and had slowly intensifying ever since.

Scully realized that, for some unstated reason, Mulder was opting out of
their relationship -- their love affair, certainly, and perhaps their
partnership as well.

Well, Dana, she thought, he's not getting away without explaining
himself.  It's time to stop suffering and do something.

With that resolve, she made her way out of the room, seeking the stairs
that led to the guest house roof.

* * *

A few minutes later, Scully found Mulder where she had expected he would
be.  He stood, a leather jacket his only protection from the night air,
his back to the door from which she emerged.  He faced the western sky,
where the heavy, full moon had begun to set behind the mountains'
silhouette.

Though not strong, the wind had an icy bite.  Scully pulled her coat
more tightly around herself and approached her partner.  Time to settle
this, she thought.  No more pretending to ignore the difficulties.

She broke the silence.  "Penny for your thoughts, stranger."

Mulder did not look back at her.  When it came, his voice was barely
audible.  "I'm not a stranger, Scully.  Not to you."  He paused.  "You
know that."

Scully let some of her frustration into her tone.  "Could have fooled
me," she said.  "Ever since Massachusetts, you've acted as though you
could hardly stand to be around me.  It's been 'we have to get this
permit' and 'what about that visa?' and 'I can't talk right now, too
busy, sorry' and on the few occasions you've shared my bed, I still felt
like I was alone."  She stopped herself, took a deep breath.  She did
not want to sound overwrought.

"What are you running from, Mulder?  Why are you pulling away from me?"

Mulder did turn around then, but did not approach her.  They stood,
facing each other across a five-foot chasm.

"Scully, I've been thinking."

She waited.  Mulder remained silent for a moment, his expression
unreadable in the shadows.  At his back, the moon slipped silently
behind a rocky hill that loomed from the plain west of the building, and
as the shadow fell over them, the jewel-stars of the Tibetan night
appeared in their millions, bright and unwinking overhead, diamonds on
midnight velvet.

Mulder spread his hands, as if in a warding gesture.  "Do you know the
expression 'the Midas touch', Scully?"

She nodded, uncertain where this was heading.

"It's one of the most commonly misused expressions in English," Mulder
went on.  "People use it to describe someone who succeeds in everything.
But that's not what it means.  Midas was cursed.  Under his touch, his
food turned to gold, his wine turned to gold, and so did his daughter.
His 'gift' had implications he had not expected."

Scully began to step closer to him, but Mulder raised his hands again.

"I'm beginning to think that Midas and I have something in common,
except my gift is less ironic.  Everything I touch turns to lead."

"Mulder, that's not true."

"Yes it is."  He began to pace, his footsteps describing a short, oblong
path in front of her.  Scully remained where she was, her doctor's mind
noting that the wound in his side had healed enough that he could walk
almost without limping.  She let him work out the energy that burned in
him.  He would have to say his piece first; then she could try to
counter his self-recrimination.

"For most of my life, I searched for my sister.  And then I learned she
didn't want to be found."

Scully looked down.  Mulder had told her of his encounter with Samantha.
The experience had wounded him, and he had not even known how to attempt
to cope with it, a hurt that time would almost certainly not heal.

"But I'm still looking for her," he went on.  "Or I'm looking for what's
behind what happened to her, at least.  And look where it's gotten us.
At every turn, I do their work for them, and I bring harm to those I
love."

Even amid her dismay, Scully felt a moment of warmth in response to his
words.  "Mulder," she said, "I told you once that you don't own the
blame for what's happened.  I meant that."

He stopped pacing and stood before her.  "It doesn't matter," he said,
his uninjured hand slashing the air in front of him.  "It doesn't matter
whether you blame me or not.  Cause and effect remain."  He took a deep
breath.  When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but just as grim.
"Look at me.  Here I am, racing across Tibet to find something that I'm
not even sure is here, dragging you with me into harm's way.  Against
your will."

"No, not against my will."  Scully shook her head.  "Just because I'm
not certain you're right doesn't mean I don't want to know the truth as
much as you do.  I'll admit I'm not entirely comfortable with this, but
I'm here because I want to be here.  Because this is where I belong."

This time it was Mulder who shook his head.  "You were wrong to join
yourself with me, Scully.  And if I had been stronger, I would have sent
you away by now.  I should have done so."

"This is my quest too.  I told you that."

"No, it's not," said Mulder.  Scully would have protested, but he went
on before she could speak.  "I'm not saying you don't have the right to
be involved, but it's not your quest.  Ever since I saw Samantha, I've
given a lot of thought to why I do this.  For every two steps forward, I
take two back, or I find out I've been walking in a circle.  I haven't
gotten anywhere."

"So why do it?"

"Because of my dad.  Because he was involved.  The son must atone for
the sins of the father, no?  But you don't owe the world that debt.
Captain Scully never committed the wrongs that William Mulder did."

Scully did step forward then, unshed tears of compassion stinging her
eyes, and took his unhurt hand in both of hers.  "No, that's not true.
You do not have to atone for what your father may have done."

Her vision had adjusted fully to the darkness, and she could see his
eyes clearly as he stared down at her.  His countenance revealed his
his feelings of guilt, his unquiet.  "Then why do I do it?" he asked.

"You do it because it is what you were meant to do."

"Meant to do?"

"Yes.  And I do it because I was meant to be here with you."  Her voice
dropped to a near-whisper.  "And because I love you."

She felt his hand tighten around hers.  "Don't love me, Scully.  I'm
standing under a dark star."  His voice had fallen as well.

"That's not true."  Scully took a deep breath, then spoke again.  "You
stand in God's love, as do all of us."  She found she was surprised by
her own words.

Mulder looked stunned; they had never seriously discussed her faith, or
his beliefs, neither before her cancer nor after her remission and
return to the Church.  "I don't know your God, Scully," he said.

She looked down at his hand, clasped in her own, ran her fingers lightly
along his, traced idle loops around his knuckles.  "It is said that
everyone will encounter God in his lifetime.  I believe that."  She
hesitated.  "But I think that some find God outside of the Church.  I
think maybe that's how it's meant to be for you."

Mulder didn't answer, at first.  Scully looked up at his face, saw that
he looked out over the star-lit plains to the east, out over Tibet, a
land of monasteries and shrines and sacred places.  "These people seem
to have their own belief," he observed.

Scully's gaze followed her partner's.  "God speaks to them in a
different language, I think.  But deep down, we all hope for the same
thing."

"Life?" Mulder asked, looking at her face once more.

"And love," she said.  "Do you love me, Mulder?"

"I love you," he said simply.

"Then that's enough."

"I can't protect you.  And I can't promise you nothing will happen to
me."

And that was the heart of it, the disquiet that had haunted her for so
long.  She looked deep into Mulder's eyes, black opals in the starlight.
So much of his soul lay bare within them, open to anyone who made the
effort to look for it.  Scully could see the caring there, and in that
moment understood at the deepest level of her being, in a way that she
had never understood before, that the caring and the impulsiveness, the
risk-taking, were parts of one whole.

She realized that uncertainty would always be the price of loving
Mulder.  She swallowed.  "I don't expect that.  I just want you to let
me be there for you.  Don't leave me behind."

Mulder shook his head sadly.  "You know how I am, Scully.  I can't even
promise you that.  Not honestly."

She locked her gaze on his, holding his attention on her.  "Then just
promise me that you'll try.  I can settle for that."

Mulder's features grew grim.  "That's not fair to you," he said.  "It's
not right."

"Mulder, I believe in you," said Scully.  "I believe in our love.
You'll be there for me."

For a long moment he was silent.  "I will," he said at last.  "I'll do
my best."

"Then it's right."  Scully released his hand and slid hers up along
either side of his head, pulling him down to her and joining her mouth
with his.  She felt his good hand ease around her back, drawing her
close to him.

Neither of them felt the wind that, rising, brushed at them with chill
fingers, tossing their hair about and seeking gaps in their clothing.
Together, they were warm in the cold of the night.

* * *

Much later, Mulder lay on his back in their darkened room, with Scully
lying at his right side, one arm and leg tossed over him in a possessive
embrace.  For the first time in weeks, they had made love, her
straddling him carefully so as not to cause him pain.  Their movements
had been languid, but the passion between them had made up for their
physical restraint.

And for the first time in weeks, Mulder felt that their was peace
between them, a peace that would last, that would let them love each
other.

Now all he had left was to find peace within himself.  But he held out
little hope for that.

************************************************************************

On the road, east of Rongbuk Monastery
9:00 a.m.

"Nawang, what are the chances of visiting the monastery itself?" Mulder
asked.

They were driving along yet another stretch of dusty roadway under the
empty lapis vault.  He realized that he had not seen a cloud since they
had left Kathmandu, a week earlier.

Their driver looked over his shoulder at them, his attention blithely
removed from the road ahead, to answer.  "We can go there.  The monks
will welcome you, should you choose to visit."  They had driven nearly
150 yards before his gaze returned to the road, yet Mulder found himself
unconcerned.  One can get used to just about anything, he realized.

"Today?"

Nawang nodded, pointed ahead down the road.  In the distance, the land
rose, and the road climbed a high range of hills in a series of what
Mulder now knew from experience would be terrifying switchbacks.  "It's
not far now.  We have to cross that pass ahead, and then we'll be there.
Two hours, perhaps."

Mulder nodded, sat back in his seat.  To his right, Scully was catching
up on the sleep they had lost the night before, while Diana rode up
front.  She had had little to say today.  When he and Scully had joined
her and Nawang for breakfast, she had given them a lingering stare, as
though she perceived the new contentment between them, and her face had
settled into a mask of reserve.

Her discomfort pained Mulder, especially considering how well she had
gotten on with him and Scully to date; it seemed a shame that she should
revert to unhappiness.  But he reminded himself that she had insisted on
joining them for this expedition.  She was a grown woman, and her
emotions were her own business.

Anyway, he was glad she had come, in some respects.  Though they were
hardly present in force, one more pair of eyes and hands might prove
useful before this was over.

Mulder sat back, let his right hand drift over to where Scully's lay on
the Landcruiser's rear seat.  Unconsciously, her fingers twined with
his.

He wondered where Alex Krycek was.

************************************************************************

Near Rongbuk Monastery
11:40 a.m.

From a hill overlooking the road to Rongbuk monastery, one of Sun
Wei-kuo's triad underlings kept watch.

It was not an interesting post.  So far, nothing had passed beneath his
scrutiny but a pair of Tibetan drovers and their animals, and a few of
the local farmers on their way to some of their more remote fields.

And so the triad man had spent the last few hours in utter boredom,
watching an empty road for the arrival of...anyone unusual.  The
foreigner leader's instructions, relayed through Sun, had been to report
any unexpected arrivals.

He raised his binoculars and scanned the deserted road once more.  Bored
though he was, he had no interest in leaving his post, and even less in
failing in his duties.  The foreigner's temper had already proven most
impressive.

* * *

Alex Krycek, the foreigner in question, had managed to calm his temper
and return to John Leslie's journals for another round of serious study.
The cave, which had at first seemed so promising, had proved to be
nothing more extraordinary than a hermit's meditation cave.  The figure
revealed by Krycek's flashlight, an eight-foot-high image of what Sun
Wei-kuo had identified as a Buddhist deity, had indicated that.  No sign
of the facility that John Leslie had visited could be found there, nor
was there any passageway that might lead to it.

That disappointment had led to further searching of the ravine, but to
no avail.  Leslie's cave proved beyond their ability to locate.

Which led Krycek to suspect the journal he had was not authentic, or had
been altered in some way.  After all, it was not as though Tibet had the
most dynamic environment on earth.  The place was one big, semi-desert,
and was literally dotted with caves.  Even after 64 years, Leslie's
cavern should have been easy enough to locate.

Krycek studied the pages in front of him, the journals that Florescu had
brought to Hong Kong from America.  They looked authentic; Leslie's
drawings and narrative seemed intact, and the location of the cave
seemed unambiguous.  But since they hadn't found the cave, something had
to be wrong.

At that moment, one of Sun's triad men came sprinting into the camp, 
scattering stones where he stumbled and barking breathless Chinese to
his fellows.  Sun listened a moment, asked a few questions, and then
calmly made his way to where Krycek remained seated.

"There are vehicles on the road -- four-wheel drive -- heading for
Rongbuk."

Krycek did not have to look for himself; there were only two serious
possibilities concerning the identities of the newcomers.

He looked at Sun.  "Weapons," he said.

************************************************************************

Rongbuk Monastery
11:50 a.m.

Nawang brought the Landcruiser to a stop in front of Rongbuk Monastery,
and after a moment, Scully climbed out to stand on the dirt road below
the massive front gate, indulging in a long stretch.

Diana, was next out of the vehicle, followed by Nawang and then Mulder.

"Here we are," said Nawang, unnecessarily.

Scully let her gaze drift along Rongbuk's impressive facade.  The
building was fortress-like and two-toned, the upper half of its walls a
deep maroon and the lower a brilliant white that shone almost painfully
in the sun.  Two grey-blue wedge-shaped windows, one of which seemed
recently repaired, were spaced evenly along the front of the upper
facade, and above everything, along the front of the monastery's roof,
gold-covered decorations -- a wheel and two deer, and various
unexplainable shapes -- gleamed brightly.

Nawang was stepping toward the heavy wooden doors, which were painted a
heavy crimson, and raised the massive knocker there.  When he dropped
it, the thud echoed in the late-morning quiet.

After a minute or so, a teenager in the maroon robes of a Tibetan monk
opened the gate.  His face registered his surprise at the group of
foreigners at the gate, and he ran one hand along his peach-fuzz hair,
finally turning to Nawang and speaking.

Nawang held a brief exchange with the boy and then turned to Mulder and
Scully.  "Please, follow me."

He stepped within the gate, walking through a short passage and into the
open courtyard beyond.  Diana, Mulder, and Scully followed.  Behind
them, the young monk closed the gates and lowered the bar, locking them
in.  The boy then disappeared through a smaller doorway that led into
the side-building of the monastery.

On either side of the courtyard, there were inward-facing doors and,
above them, balconies decorated with potted flowers.  Directly before
them, at the far side of the court, a short, wide stair led up to an
overhung porch.  Another set of doors, standing wide open, revealed a
dark room beyond.  Nawang gestured for the group to follow and then led
them across the court to the doorway, stepping into the shadows beyond.

As they strode across the pavings, Scully took a moment to glance
around.  The inner walls of the monastery were maroon and grey and
largely undecorated, and in the corners or the courtyard, pomegranate
trees, heavy with fruit, grew in large pots.  A monk stepped out onto
one of the balconies and gave their group a curious stare, then
disappeared into the monastery once more.

They reached the doors.  Nawang invited them to remove their shoes, and
after doing so they entered a large room lit only by the faint
flickering of butter lamps and the light that shone in through the open
doorway.  Large gold statues of Buddhas loomed in the dimness, and the
walls were adorned with intricate paintings of various deities.  The air
was heavy with the scent of burning yak butter and sandalwood.

Nawang indicated an elderly monk who had entered the room at the same
time they had, slipping in through a door on the far wall.  Like the
other monks they had seen, the aged Tibetan wore robes of maroon cloth.
His head was mostly bald, adorned only with a barely-visible fringe of
white hair trimmed close to his skull, and a thick white mustache
covered his upper lip.  His demeanor was serious, but beneficent.  "This
is my uncle," Nawang said, "Lama Jamyang Dorje.  He has been expecting
you."

************************************************************************

Near Rongbuk Monastery
11:55 a.m.

Alex Krycek stood atop the spy-hill and trained his binoculars on the
monastery below.  Next to him, Radu Florescu cradled a high-powered
rifle equipped with a telescopic sight, a sniper's weapon that he was
more than qualified to use.  Krycek was deciding what to do.

It was Mulder, he knew that now.  When Sun had told him what the look-
out had seen, he had scrambled up to the observation post himself, just
in time to see his one-time partner, Scully, and a second woman at whom
he had not gotten a good look enter the gates of Rongbuk.  A single
Landcruiser remained parked on the roadside in front of the monastery
gate.

"They'll have to come out sometime," Krycek said.  "What do you think,
Radu?"

"It's an easy shot -- I could probably get two of them, maybe all three,
before anyone knew what was happening."  The Romanian spat.  "It'd be
noisy, though."

Krycek lowered the binoculars and nodded.  "Messy, too.  Might even be
enough to wake up the local authorities.  Anyway, I just had a thought."

"Ya?"  The Romanian's accent, Krycek noted irrelevantly, seemed even
more nasal in English than in Russian.

"Our friend Leslie may have left something behind there," Krycek said,
gesturing toward the monastery.  "Maybe Mulder will show us the way once
again."

"It's possible.  Do we wait?"

Krycek nodded.  "We wait."

************************************************************************

Rongbuk Monastery
11:57 a.m.

Scully found that Nawang's remark did not surprise her at all, for some
reason.

Jamyang Dorje made his way to a low riser, where he seated himself, and
then beckoned their group to sit in front of him.  Nawang led them
across the room and sat down on a low cushion.  Diana, Mulder, and
Scully followed his example.

Jamyang Dorje spoke in Tibetan; Nawang translated his remarks into
English.  "My uncle welcomes you to Rongbuk, and asks what has brought
you here."  Nawang spoke for himself then.  "My uncle realizes, as I do,
that you are not tourists.  Tourists do not ask to come to this place.
When you expressed interest, I knew that you had some other purpose.
And as I said, you were expected."

That explained the look Nawang had given them when they had first met
him in Lhasa, Scully thought.

Mulder spoke up.  "How is it that we were 'expected?'  Who could have
known we were coming?"

Nawang relayed question and answer.  "My uncle says that certain events
of great...karmic magnitude have occurred recently.  The Rinpoche -- he
is the highest lama here -- predicted that there would be a reaction.
That reaction has manifested in your arrival here.  That is all."

There was a pregnant pause.  "John Leslie came here, didn't he?" asked
Mulder.

Jamyang Dorje nodded gravely.  He spoke again to their guide, who said,
"My uncle asks again, why are you here?"

Mulder looked the old monk straight in the eye.  "We're here to learn
the truth," he said.  "We're here to find the place from which John
Leslie returned."

"My uncle says that this 'truth' you seek is not a good truth.  It is
one that has remained hidden for a long time, and perhaps should remain
so."  Nawang gave Mulder a hard look.  "My uncle asks what your interest
is."

Scully glanced at Mulder, silently willing him to answer the monk's
question in the right way.  Her partner had ever been a forthright man,
but though his devotion to justice shone in him like a flare, it burned
as often as it warmed.  Mulder had a look in his eye, a rigidity in his
jaw that warned that his uncompromising side was making a bid for
ascendence.

Scully saw Mulder breath deeply and then visibly relax, the evident
tension in him easing somewhat.  When he spoke, his tone remained even.
"It is a dangerous truth; that is certain."

Jamyang Dorje stared at him, but did not speak.

"But it's a truth that is going to come out, one way or another," Mulder
said.  "We are here to learn, to discover and determine what must be
done.  But there are others whose motives are not so pure."

Nawang translated this into Tibetan, then gave the monk's reply.  "My
uncle asks, who else has an interest in this matter?"

Behind them, the doors leading out to the courtyard were closed,
darkening the chamber even more.  Scully turned where she sat to see a
novice securing the doorway.  Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the lower
light.  The statues gleamed an even richer gold in the gloom, and the
heady scent of sandalwood incense grew stronger.

Mulder spoke quietly.  "There are people, organizations that take an
interest in matters such as this one.  I know many of these people, and
I know...I suspect that one is here.  'Krycek' is his name.  His motives
are his own, but I know the sort of man he is.  He is a killer."

Before Nawang could translate, Diana broke in.  "He's not the only one,
I think."

Scully, Mulder, and Nawang all turned quickly toward her, so unexpected
was her comment.  From the corner of her eye, Scully noticed that
Jamyang Dorje had looked at her as well, though his movements
remained deliberate, his expression placid.

"What do you mean?" asked Mulder.

Diana looked at him, her expression strange.  "Fox, don't be naive.  Do
you think the smoker would just send you out here on your own and not
cover his bases?"  She shook her head, looking grim.  "My guess is that
we have more company up here than we realize."

Nawang turned to Jamyang Dorje and related this in a rapid stream of
Tibetan.  The elderly monk listened attentively, then spoke at some
length to Nawang.

Nawang turned back to them.  "My uncle asks me to inform you that it
does not matter who has come to search for this place, because it will
not be found."

Scully waited for him to go on.  Obviously, Jamyang Dorje had said far
more than that, but Nawang did not offer anything else.

Scully fixed her gaze upon their guide.  "Nawang," she said, "we know
about the journal.  We know that the missing pages are here, or we can
guess it, and if we know, then others can figure it out as well.  When
they come to Rongbuk, they will come in force.  I know these men.  They
will not hesitate to do whatever they think is necessary to get the
information they require."

Nawang's eyes narrowed, and Scully hastened to continue.  "I'm not
making threats, Nawang.  But I've seen what these men will do.  And if
there is something nearby that is dangerous, it would be best if it did
not fall into their hands."

Nawang spoke to Jamyang Dorje again, then listened as the monk replied
at length once again.

At last, Nawang turned his gaze to Scully once more.  "My uncle says,
you are welcome to stay here tonight.  The monastery has a few
outbuildings, one of which will serve as a guest house.  He will discuss
this matter with the Rinpoche, and they will decide what is best to do.
Until then, we will have to wait."

Scully glanced at Mulder, wondering how he would react, but he seemed
undisturbed.  He simply nodded and said "That will be fine."

Nawang stood as Jamyang Dorje moved to get up.  Diana, Mulder, and
Scully followed his example.  The monk smiled at them and then made his
way to the door through which he had entered, disappearing through it.

"Come this way," said Nawang.  "We can eat in the village."

************************************************************************

Near Rongbuk Monastery
10:00 p.m.

Full dark had at last come to the valley, but the full moon flooded the
land with blue-white light.  Florescu made his way slowly up the look-
out hill to where Krycek had spent most of the afternoon.  He found him
at the summit, sitting among the rocks in a relaxed pose, his field
glasses in his lap.

Florescu was bored, and Svetlana's ghost had begun to probe the edges of
his awareness.  Since he had not brought any vodka into Tibet, he knew
he had to find something to occupy his mind.  He could not even
communicate with three of their four Chinese companions, and Sun Wei-kuo
had proved utterly laconic.  Thus, Florescu had sought out his employer.

"Anything?" Florescu asked, settling himself next to Krycek.

"Nothin'," muttered Krycek.  "They're not going anywhere tonight."

"Where are they?"

His employer waved a hand.  "I saw them walk out to one of the monastery
outbuildings a few hours ago.  Their vehicle is there too.  They're
bedding down for the night."

"So should we, no?"

"Soon," said Krycek.  "Mulder will move tomorrow, I think.  We have to
be ready."

"Do you have a plan?"  Florescu figured that Krycek did.  The man was an
inveterate plotter, that was certain.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it.  We have to assume they're armed--"

"They'd be stupid not to be."

Florescu saw Krycek's head bob in the darkness.  "Yeah.  It doesn't
matter, though.  We'll role out before dawn and set up a roadblock north
of the monastery.  There are six of us, so they'll cooperate."

"Where do you want to set up?"

"Along the stream, over the second rise, about two miles from here."

Florescu considered that.  It was a sound plan, but it made certain
assumptions.  "You're sure they'll follow the stream."

"Where else will they go?"

Good question, Florescu thought.  "They don't know we're here; that's
clear from the way they just rolled in today.  You're right.  They'll
follow the stream."

He wandered away from where Krycek sat, until he reached the edge of the
rock outcrop, gazing north across the moonlit valley floor.  Somewhere
in the distant darkness, the first range of hills cut the land from east
to west, and somewhere in that vicinity lay their objective, the master
facility.  Florescu was confident that Rongbuk was what Krycek thought
it was.  If he had harbored any doubts before, the interest of both
Mulder and the Consortium had dispelled them.

He felt a rising tension within him.  This was the objective for which
he had sold his soul.  This was why he had served the Organization for
so many years.

Part of the reason, anyway.  After dealing with this faction, the real
enemy would eventually have to be dealt with.  But all in its proper
order.  Today, Rongbuk awaited.

Florescu strolled back to where Krycek sat.  "Tell me more about Mulder.
What is his weakness?"

Krycek spat.  "He has no stomach for what it takes.  When it gets rough,
he'll blink."

"That all?"

"No."  Krycek was shaking his head again.  "Scully.  Threaten her, and
he'll forget everything else."

"Are they lovers?"

"I don't know, I doubt it.  Mulder doesn't have the balls.  But that
doesn't seem to matter."

"So we use her to control him, eh?"

Krycek didn't answer for a moment.  "Yeah, we'll use her, all right," he
said at last.

Florescu did not speak after that.  He sat with Krycek and listened to
the small sounds of the deepening night, waiting for sleep to come.

************************************************************************

Rongbuk Monastery
Tuesday, 6 October, 9:00 a.m.

Nawang, Diana, Mulder and Scully had gathered for breakfast, which
consisted of an uninteresting barley gruel that Mulder nonetheless
downed with enthusiasm.  Food was food, after all.

Scully toyed with hers.  Even after more than a week at altitude, she
had shown lingering signs of discomfort, most prominently a severely
suppressed appetite, even slight nausea, in the morning.  Mulder hoped
she would start eating more soon; even months after her remission, her
frame remained slim and, though not frail, she was not as robust as she
had once been.

Diana consumed her own gruel with dispatch if not enthusiasm, but only
Nawang actually seemed pleased with the dish, approaching it with the
same good humor that he applied to rough roads, flat tires, and high,
dangerous mountain passes.  He swallowed a hearty gulp of barley and
gestured northward, out of the window of the outbuilding in which they
had spent the night.

"One of the nomads said he saw yeti tracks near this place."

That got Mulder's attention.  Learning something about the yeti would
be an unforeseen side benefit of this trip, though their primary goal
remained paramount.  "That so?" he asked.

Nawang nodded.  "Kunga is his name.  His family is still in the area,
but they are always nervous!"  He laughed, mimicked a worried nomad,
eyes wide, swinging his head from left to right, and looking over his
shoulder.

"Is he a relative of yours?" asked Diana.

Nawang laughed again, louder.  "No, no.  I did not grow up in a tent."

"Where were the tracks?" asked Scully.  Mulder wondered at her question
a moment, then realized that she suspected that Nawang's conversational
gambit was not entirely random.

"North of here, a few miles.  In the stream bed.  I don't believe they
were yeti tracks."

"No?" asked Scully.  There was the barest hint of movement in one of her
brows.

"No," said Nawang.  "These nomads are always seeing things.  Demons,
yetis, whatever.  He probably saw leopard tracks."

"Oh."  A momentary look of unguarded wonder formed on Scully's visage,
and Mulder felt a surge of affection in response.  He remembered finding
a copy of Matthiesen's famous book on one of her shelves; it clearly had
made an impression on her.

Diana's voice interrupted the moment.  "So, what happens today?" she
asked.

Nawang waved one hand in the air.  "You may visit the monastery, or the
village.  My uncle is consulting with the Rinpoche.  When he has made a
decision, he will send for you."

"We don't have much time," said Mulder.

Nawang fixed his gaze on him, becoming serious.  "You must be patient,"
he said.

Mulder acknowledged their guide's remark with an tilt of his head and
returned to his barley gruel.  He thought he'd been pretty damn patient
already, allowing Nawang to show them around the monastery and village
without protesting, waiting for the lamas to decide whether to trust
him.  And he was prepared to be patient a while longer -- there were
readings to be taken here at the monastery, and he and Diana could
certainly fill a few hours surveying the place -- but he hoped that
Jamyang Dorje and the Rinpoche made their decisions before too long, or
everyone would wind up regretting it.

************************************************************************

North of Rongbuk Monastery
11:00 a.m.

The ambush was in place, and had been since before dawn.  The location
was ideal -- a narrow gully that provided the most convenient access to
the higher ground further north.  The river flowed through the gully,
but there was plenty of room for a four-wheel drive vehicle to pass.

Sooner or later, Mulder would have to come this way.  So far though,
there had been no sign of him.  The only thing moving on the valley
floor had been a few nomads and their yaks.

Radu Florescu glanced at Krycek, who had managed to control his
impatience better than he often did.  "Long wait, but they'll come, I
think."

Krycek exhaled sharply.  "Yeah, they'll come.  Wonder what's keeping
'em, though."

Florescu looked around, making sure that neither Sun nor any of his men
were within earshot.  Satisfied, he whispered to Krycek "When do we take
them out?  Have you decided?"

"Not before we have Mulder, of course.  And I'd like to at least have a
look at the facility before we get rid of them."

"And what do you want to do with Mulder when we have him?  Kill him?"
Florescu decided not to mention Scully.  Krycek seemed to react...
strangely to her.

"I haven't decided."

"I'll do it, if you want.  I should have finished him last time."

"I'll let you know when I decide," said Krycek.  "I owe him, that's for
sure."  He stood up, gestured for Sun, then pointed to a low rise a few
hundred yards to the south.  "Send one of your men to watch.  I want as
much warning as we can get."

The triad man passed the order along to an underling, who took his rifle
and jogged toward the distant hillock.  Satisfied, Krycek returned to
Florescu's side.  "Always hurry up and wait," he said.

************************************************************************

Rongbuk Monastery
12:14 p.m.

Scully stood next to Nawang Tsering and tried to explain to him what
Mulder and Diana had been doing for the past hour or so.  The young
Tibetan listened politely, clearly understanding nothing.  Scully could
hardly blame him.  Mulder had been playing his game with stop-watches
and Geiger counters for years, and though he managed to glean something
from it now and then, Scully had never come up with a satisfactory
explanation for the phenomena behind it.

Diana seemed familiar with the ritual, however.  She had joined Mulder
in placing metering devices at various locations around the monastery
buildings, paying particular attention to its flat roof.

Rongbuk's inhabitants, maroon-clad monks of all ages, had been puzzled
but ultimately uninterested in the strange antics of their foreign
guests.  They had watched for a few moments and then gone through their
daily routine of chores and ritual prayers and meditation.  There had
been no sign of Jamyang Dorje or the mysterious 'Rinpoche'.

Scully shielded her eyes against the light and watched as Mulder took
readings from the decorations at the top of the highest of the Rongbuk's
buildings.  At that moment, Diana appeared from a nearby doorway and
joined her and Nawang.  Scully turned to face her.  "Well?" she asked.

Diana looked up toward Mulder, who had finished his survey and begun
walking toward a doorway that led back down into the monastery.  "There
are some signs of activity here, but they're old.  I'd guess something
may have occurred nearby, perhaps two to three months ago.  Or more
recently, but further away."

Scully noticed that Nawang had listened carefully to what Diana had
said, though whether his interest arose from Diana's arrival or
something else, she could not have said.

"Fox is interested," Diana went on.  "He seems...satisfied with the
readings."

No surprise there, Scully thought.  Mulder was always pleased, even
jubilant, when he had measurable evidence in his hands, if only because
it was the only thing that had a hope of convincing her.  Not that he
needed it as much as he once had -- after Antarctica, Scully's basic
assumptions had shifted significantly.

Mulder joined them, emerging from the same door through which Fowley
had come.  "Something was here, Scully.  I'm sure of it."

His voice, something in his tone, took Scully back to their first year
together, when she had been young and inexperienced and progressively
more infatuated with her dynamic and attractive partner.  She seldom
remembered the innocence they had shared then.  It seemed so long ago.

Mulder scrutinized their guide.  "Any other stories you can tell us,
Nawang?"

Nawang was let off the hook by the arrival of a young monk, a novice,
who ran up in a flurry of maroon cloth and spilled a stream of excited
Tibetan at him.  Nawang listened for a moment, then translated for his
guests.  "My uncle wishes see you now."

* * *

A few minutes later, they were seated around Jamyang Dorje just as they
had been the day before.  The old monk gave them an appraising look,
then spoke through Nawang.

"My uncle says that he has consulted at length with the Rinpoche, and
they have decided to tell you what happened here not long ago."  Nawang
paused as Jamyang Dorje spoke again, then continued.  "My uncle was the
one who opened the gate for the foreigner, the man from the past.  He
came in the night, the same night that something appeared in the sky
over the monastery.  My uncle saw that as well."

Diana leaned forward.  "What was it?"

"My uncle does not know.  It was big, and gave out a great light.  It
hung in the sky but made no sound."

Scully felt her skin crawl.  The description echoed her own voice,
heard on a tape months before, relating an encounter that she could not
remember.

"How close did it come?" asked Diana.

The question was relayed to Jamyang Dorje, who gestured upward as he
replied.

"My uncle says that he looked upon it as it hung over this place, not
very high.  It was too bright to look at directly, and it vanished
without warning."

Mulder had been nodding as Nawang confirmed what he had evidently
suspected, and his eyes sought out Scully's and held them, as though
seeking her reaction, hoping she would remember something.

Scully found she had nothing to offer him, and that she regretted that.
That memory had eluded her consciousness for months, almost a year,
and she had not felt comfortable pursuing it.  She could hardly call
something up on a moment's notice, in any case.

She decided to change the subject.  "What about the man?  Who was he?"

Jamyang Dorje related the story of Leslie's arrival at Rongbuk.  As
Scully listened to Nawang's translation, the eerie feeling she had felt
a few moments before redoubled.  The John Leslie described by the
Tibetans sounded quite like the one she had met in Arkham -- exactly
like him, actually.

According to Nawang, Leslie had spent nearly a month at Rongbuk, during
which time his mental health had steadily declined, until at last Nawang
had escorted him to Lhasa.  And then, for the monks of Rongbuk, the
waiting had begun.  The Rinpoche had predicted a 'reaction,' and now
that the reaction had occurred, they had to decide how to respond to it.

Jamyang Dorje reached within his robes and removed a sheaf of papers,
handing them to Mulder, whose eyes lit up at the sight of them.

"My uncle," said Nawang, "entrusts you with these documents.  When
John Leslie was here, I examined his writings, and it was decided that
these pages be removed, so that knowledge of the place from which he
came would not leave Tibet.  Your news, however, has raised certain
concerns."

"How so?" asked Mulder.

"Your assessment was accurate.  There are others here in this valley."

************************************************************************

Southwest of Rongbuk Monastery
12:24 p.m.

Jill Whittaker stared nervously down the barrel of the automatic rifle
that she clasped in slick hands.

She and one other member of Colonel Henderson's team had been assigned
to 'rear security,' a uniquely military expression for covering the
team's collective ass, while the rest of the unit waited in ambush for
a hapless Chinese army patrol that was currently making leisurely
progress toward their position.

The team's position was in the upper part of a narrow canyon that gave
shelter but just as effectively prevented flight.  And thus, despite the
fact that they would have much preferred no contact with the local
authorities at all, they now found themselves forced into a fight.
The Chinese patrol, which they had spotted while stopped for lunch,
could hardly miss them should they attempt to drive away.

Eliminating the patrol was the only choice.  The action had to be brief,
sudden, violent, and completely successful.  If the Chinese were alerted
to the team's presence in Tibet, they would be hard pressed to get
themselves out, never mind accomplish their mission.

Which was why Jill found she could not keep her attention from the
view downhill toward main body of the team.  Though she and the trooper
whom she was with had climbed out of direct view of their companions and
the Chinese patrol, she found her eyes irresistibly drawn in that
direction.

The sound of automatic weapons fire came sooner than she expected, and,
crazily, reminded her of a dozen popcorn poppers crackling at once.  It
lasted for just a few seconds, and then the canyon was quiet, the soft
sounds of the wind slowing returning to Jill's awareness.

She would have gone to see what had happened, but the trooper with her
prevented her from moving until one of his comrades came within sight
and signaled them.  And then she did hustle down the slope, past their
parked vehicles, and within sight of the killing zone.  The place drew
her, against her will, the unfamiliar proximity of death an inexplicable
siren's call.

What she saw there made her retch painfully in shock in horror.
Henderson's men had done their work effectively; the Chinese patrol
lay scattered about the floor of the canyon, arranged in odd postures
as though they had been cut down while in the midst of a grotesque
dance.  And everywhere, there was blood.  Its bitter, coppery stench
filled the air, mixing with the sharp tang of gun smoke.

Jill found herself staring into the face of one Chinese soldier, a man
neither especially young or old, a man who looked as though he had left
a wife and child somewhere, checking every day for a letter from home.
His eyes were open, as was his abdomen.  His intestines lay partially
exposed, red and slimy and scattered about queerly.  This was someone's
daddy, Jill thought.

As she looked into his lifeless face, one of Henderson's men seized his
ankles and pulled him out of her sight.  The team tidied up the floor of
the canyon as best it could, moving the obvious signs of the carnage out
of plain view.  The colonel had given sharp orders, demanding even more
speed and efficiency than he had previously.  Jill understood the
reasons for his urgent tone -- now that the team had been forced into
taking out a local military patrol, it was only a matter of time before
its presence was inferred by the local authorities.

They had little time to complete their mission, now.

All that Jill could think about was the soldier's widow and orphaned
child, who would never know why he had died.

************************************************************************
[end part 9 of 11]