4X17 Tempus Fugit

Doctor Spock's phaser or some green alien goo

(A nice night outside as the plane soars. The noise outside is deafening, but it is quiet inside. Somebody rings a call bell. The stewardess brings Larold Rebhun a drink.)

STEWARDESS: Here you are, Mister Rebhun, another scotch and soda.

LAROLD REBHUN: It's the only way to fly.

(They laugh. She walks away. Larold talks to his seatmate.)

LAROLD REBHUN: Used to be just like you. Used to hate flying. I mean, the moment I got on the plane, I'd be gripping those armrests like my teeth were being drilled. Truth is, statistically, you can fly every day for the next twenty-six thousand years before you'd have an accident.

(The man sitting next to him is Max Fenig, sans his ever-present NICAP hat. He is ducking down in his seat warily, avoiding eye contact with everyone.)

LAROLD REBHUN: You believe that?

(Rebhun finds it humorous. Fenig doesn't. He looks at a man a few seats back, a Dark Man, who glances at him. Fenig looks straight ahead, revealing serious radiation burns on the side of his face. He clutches his bag tighter. The Dark Man unbuckles his seatbelt and heads towards the bathroom in the middle of the plane, glancing at Fenig, who watches him carefully. The Dark Man locks the door, then unscrews his pen. He takes out the spring, then pulls out a few more metal pieces. He is building a gun. He finishes when the plane shakes as if been struck by a cannon. Everyone starts murmuring, a few women screaming.)

LAROLD REBHUN: Whoa, baby. Settle down now.

(The cockpit's computers are beeping wildly.)

PILOT: What the hell is this?

(The Dark Man steps out of the bathroom, watching people being tossed around. The lights cut, but the plane is illuminated from bright lights outside on all sides. Women and children are screaming. The plane continues to shake violently, the light growing ever brighter. The door shakes rapidly, being ripped off its hinges. Fenig is right next to the door, watching it, mouth agape in terror.)

Opening Credits.

(Mulder and Scully are sitting at a table, some food and drinks in front of them. Mulder is chewing on his straw. A waiter starts over to them, carrying a pink snowball desert with a candle, singing. The other waiters and waitresses join in.)

WAITERS: Happy birthday to you... happy birthday to you...

(Scully looks at Mulder and rolls her eyes.)

WAITERS: Happy birthday dear Dana...

(Mulder joins in for one line as they put the dish down in front of her.)

MULDER: Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully...

WAITERS: Happy birthday to you!

(They clap, as does the rest of the patrons in the bar, and walk away. Everyone in the restaurant has been watching them.)

MULDER: I didn't know it was your birthday, Scully.

(The clapping dies down, except for Mulder, who continues clapping.)

SCULLY: Mulder... you have never remembered my birthday in the four years I've known you.

MULDER: That's how I like to celebrate them...

(He stops clapping.)

MULDER: ... every four years, it's like dog years that way.

(She tries to blow out the candle, but is distracted by his choice of words and smiles.)

SCULLY: Dog years? Thank you.

MULDER: You're welcome. Oh, I got something for you.

(He digs into his coat pocket, which is on the back of his chair, and pulls out a small white box wrapped in gold ribbon.)

SCULLY: Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

(He hands it to her.)

MULDER: This is something that reminded me of you.

SCULLY: What, an alien implant?

MULDER: Two, actually. I made 'em into earrings.

(She sighs and opens the box. It contains a gold Apollo 11 commemorative keychain. She puts her finger through the hole and studies.)

SCULLY: Hmmm... Apollo eleven.

(Mulder smiles widely, enjoying the gift. Scully appears not to understand the idea.)

MULDER: Read the back.

SCULLY: "Commemorating Apollo Eleven and the mission to the moon, July 1969."

(His grin is enormous.)

MULDER: It's, um...

(A woman walks over to them.)

SHARON GRAFFIA: Excuse me, are you Scully? And Mulder?

(Scully looks over to Mulder.)

SCULLY: Oh, promise me this isn't leading to something really embarrassing.

(The woman sits.)

SHARON GRAFFIA: My name is Sharon Graffia. I'm sorry to approach you like this, but I followed you. I was asked to find you if something happened.

SCULLY: Excuse me?

SHARON GRAFFIA: You have no good reason to believe me, but my brother, who I believe you know, he said you'd understand what to do.

MULDER: About what?

SHARON GRAFFIA: If he didn't make it.

SCULLY: Excuse me, who are you talking about?

SHARON GRAFFIA: Max. Max Fenig.

(Mulder and Scully look at each other, wide-eyed.)

SHARON GRAFFIA: He was on his way here to deliver something that made him fear for his life, something he said the government would kill for... but his plane, it went down two hours ago.

<NORTHVILLE, NEW YORK; 4:02 A.M.>

(Mike Millar, head of the recovery unit, is talking to a massive team of workers.)

MIKE MILLAR: What we know right now is that the plane designated as Flight five-four-nine lost radio contact tonight at nineteen-hundred hours E.D.T. and subsequently crashed into a wooded area approximately thirty miles from Albany, New York.

(Mulder and Scully walk in at the back of the room.)

MIKE MILLAR: Local law enforcement and E.M.T.s have been on the scene for just under two hours, but initial reports are they've found no survivors yet of the one-hundred and thirty-four passengers and crew listed on the manifest. I wish we could tell you more information about the crash site, but, uh, darkness and terrain are going to make it pretty slow going in the morning.

(Seated at the table is a mustached man named Scott Garrett, who glances up at the agents.)

MIKE MILLAR: We have a tape of the last radio exchange before five-four-nine went down, which we're going to play, but I want to stress the need to keep everything you know or learn within the Go-team so that all the information to the press comes from the I.I.C. You keyed-up, John?

JOHN: Ready.

(The man presses play on a tape player.)

PILOT: Copy, Tower, please advise. Do you see a need to adjust?

TOWER: Negative, five-four-nine. Steady airspeed of two-niner-six knots. Maintain heading one-zero-zero and two-niner thousand feet. Go ahead, five-four-nine.

(There is a beeping.)

PILOT: What the hell is this?

TOWER: Five-four-nine, do you read?

(When the pilot's transmission picks back up, the beeping continues.)

PILOT: We've got something... on intercept. Oh my God! My God! Mayday! Mayday, mayday!

(Static. Millar presses stop.)

MIKE MILLAR: And that's all she wrote. The controllers tried to raise five-four-nine on all available frequencies, but the pilots did not respond. Okay, we've got an F.A.A. charter leaving in one hour.

(Everyone starts to pack up. Mulder takes a few steps forward.)

MIKE MILLAR: Accommodations...

MULDER: Excuse me, sir. I'm Special Agent Mulder with the F.B.I.

(Everyone stops and looks at him. Garrett seems worried.)

MULDER: Is there any indication or suspicion that Flight five-forty-nine may have been forced down?

MIKE MILLAR: Forced down?

MULDER: Uh, you can clearly here the pilot say "intercept" on the recording.

MIKE MILLAR: We have absolutely no data to support that, no confirmation of other aircraft in the area. Unless you have something.

MULDER: No, no, but there was a passenger on that plane who was, uh, well-known to our government as an alien abductee.

(Various people chuckle amongst themselves.)

MIKE MILLAR: An alien abductee.

MULDER: Yeah, a man named Max Fenig, a multiple abduction victim, what's known as a repeater.

(The laughing grows louder.)

MIKE MILLAR: Hold on a second. Please, please, can I have some quiet?

(The room quiets down.)

MULDER: He'd predicted the accident, and from the sound of the tape, the plane may have been forced down.

MIKE MILLAR: Forced down by who? Or what?

MULDER: I'm hesitant to speculate.

MIKE MILLAR: Mulder, your name's Mulder?

MULDER: Yes, sir.

MIKE MILLAR: Let me tell you something. I've been doing this for eighteen years. I thought I heard everything.

MAN: I'm looking through the manifest here, and there was no one named Max Fen-ig on Flight five-four-nine.

MULDER: Fenig, and there may be people who want to cover up this evidence.

(Scully stands off to the side, head hung low, embarrassed.)

MIKE MILLAR: Agent Mulder, is this an official F.B.I. position?

(Mulder glances at Scully.)

MULDER: No, sir.

MIKE MILLAR: Because what you're suggesting trivializes this tragedy... and casts these fine people and the work they have to do in a light that I think you would be well-advised to avoid.

MULDER: I think we all share the same goal here, sir, and that's to find out what caused that plane to crash.

MIKE MILLAR: And if any of the capable men and women find... Doctor Spock's phaser or some green alien goo, we'll be sure to give you all the credit.

(Mulder laughs, as does the group.)

MIKE MILLAR: All right, then...

(Garrett scratches his head. The men all disperse.)

SCULLY: You sure know how to make a girl feel special on her birthday.

(Mulder shrugs slightly.)

(A helicopter flies over the wreckage of Flight five-forty-nine. The sight is beyond belief. Black smoke still rises from the crushed parts of what used to be an airplane. Yellow bodybags are lined up in a row off towards the road. Debris is everywhere. Men in yellow contamination suits are walking around in the wreckage. The ground itself is charred. There is a gaping hole in the ground, filled with water, presumably rainfall. The tail section is completely broken off, barely recognizable yet intact. The officials are taking every precaution, wearing protective suits and oxygen masks. A few are in charge of collecting the bodies. Scully looks out upon the scene in horror. Mulder stands next to her.)

SCULLY: You ever seen anything like this?

(Mulder shakes his head.)

MULDER: Where's the plane?

(He starts walking, her following closely.)

SCULLY: They think it hit the ground at over three-hundred miles an hour on an almost vertical descent. Meteorological data is being collected and analyzed and so far they are attributing the cause to... a weather phenomenon...

(A helicopter speeds by overhead.)

SCULLY: To a rapid depressurization caused by a lightning strike or by something called a wind rotor coming off the Adirondacks.

MULDER: But not to Max Fenig.

(They start to step through the underbrush.)

SCULLY: Mulder, even if he was on this flight, looking at this, he'd be in a hundred pieces. I mean, they're going to be lucky if they can I.D. half the bodies they find here.

MULDER: No, he was on this flight, Scully, I'm sure of that.

SCULLY: Well, say we do find him. What's that going to prove?

MULDER: I don't know... but maybe that one man's life was worth sacrificing a hundred-and-thirty-three others.

(They stop and look out at the wreckage. Elsewhere, Garrett uncovers the body of the Dark Man in the wreckage and kneels over it. He is wearing green protective gloves. He takes the gun out of his pocket and puts it in his own as another man kneels over him and sprays a substance on his fingertips, erasing the grime on it, and his fingerprints as well. The man then starts to spray it on his face. Another helicopter races by. Mulder and Scully walk through some of the water until Scully sees a wristwatch attached to a hand and forearm buried in the water. Scully walks over to it, sloshing through the water, and measures the water, unsure if it attached to anything else. Mulder watches, then sees something in a piece of wreckage. Scully sighs as Mulder takes out a tissue and holds the wristwatch he found. He walks over to Scully and kneels down.)

MULDER: Is that a hand?

(Scully nods, disgusted.)

MULDER: Is that a watch?

SCULLY: Yeah.

MULDER: What does it read?

SCULLY: Eight-oh-one.

MULDER: So does this one. What are they listing as the time of the crash?

(Scully looks at her notepad.)

SCULLY: Uh, seven-fifty-two P.M.

MULDER: That's nine minutes difference.

SCULLY: It must be a mistake.

MULDER: Nine minutes, Scully. Do you remember the last time you were missing nine minutes?

(Scully sighs.)

SCULLY: Mulder, no one even reported the plane on radar. These guys are just going off of estimates until they can recover the data recorder.

MULDER: Yeah, something just occurred to me.

SCULLY: What?

MULDER: I don't think we're going to find Max Fenig after all.

SCULLY: Just a few minutes ago, you were absolutely certain he was on this flight.

MULDER: Yeah, but I'm beginning to doubt whether he finished this flight with the rest of the passengers.

MAN #1: Hey! Get me a medic over here!

(They look over to see a worker leaning over a body in the wreckage, shouting, his face mask off. The man in the wreckage, Larold Rebhun, blinks.)

MAN #1: This man's alive! This man's alive! Get me a medic over here! Somebody!

MAN #2: Right here!

MAN #3: Let's go, let's go!

(Scully and Mulder run over. Scully kneels over the man.)

SCULLY: We need an airlift to a burn unit as soon as possible! This man needs oxygen and a saline I.V.!

(The man wheezes shallowly as other men run over to tend to him.)

SCULLY: Sir? Can you hear me? Sir?

(Scully waits in the cold as a small airplane pulls up. It's propellers slowing down, Graffia walks over to Scully.)

SHARON GRAFFIA: I got what you asked for.

(Scully looks behind her to see a number of bags being unloaded from the plane.)

SCULLY: All of those are from Max?

SHARON GRAFFIA: Every letter he ever wrote me. You said to bring everything I had, I'm still not sure why.

SCULLY: Sharon, we believe that there are things that you haven't told us. We need to know everything that you know.

SHARON GRAFFIA: About what?

SCULLY: About Max. About where he's been, about where he's traveled, about exactly what it was he was carrying on that flight.

SHARON GRAFFIA: Did you find Max?

SCULLY: No, but we found a passenger with severe burns, severe cellular damage. Burns that we wouldn't see unless the victim was exposed to a high level of radiation.

SHARON GRAFFIA: Something Max was carrying?

SCULLY: We need to know what that was, Sharon. If you're withholding any information, there could be severe consequences.

(Scully walks through the hangar towards Mulder, who is waving a Geiger counter over some parts of the wreckage.)

SCULLY: Mulder...

MULDER: This man's name was Larold Rebhun.

(He starts walking, Scully still walking after him.)

MULDER: The manifest has him listed in seat thirteen-D, which is the aisle seat right here.

(He stops at a crumpled seat.)

MULDER: My guess is that Max Fenig was in thirteen-F, window seat.

(He points to a seat next to it.)

MULDER: But the manifest has the passenger listed as a...

SCULLY: Paul Gidney. It's an alias that Max Fenig used in his letters when he went underground. He had many aliases, in fact, one of which he used to get a job at the Rocky Flats Environment Energy Site in Colorado where they handle and store Uranium two-three-five and weapons grade plutonium.

(They walk over to another piece of wreckage.)

MULDER: You think Max was carrying plutonium?

SCULLY: Mulder, the burns on that passenger's face were deep tissue radiation burns. I don't know how else he might have gotten them.

(They are slowly walking, Mulder checking each piece of wreckage with the Geiger counter.)

MULDER: What would Max be doing with that?

SCULLY: I don't know. I mean, he, he wrote hundreds, maybe even a thousand letters describing his abduction experiences, but beginning in January, he started making vague references to a theft. Now, it seems to me from reading it that he'd started to get the idea that he'd come onto something that was very dangerous.

MULDER: So... what caused this crash?

SCULLY: If he was carrying fissile plutonium, Mulder, and it became exposed in the cabin, it very conceivably could have caused the crash.

MULDER: You want to know what I think, Scully?

(They stop at the cabin door. The Geiger counter is going wild. Scully gives no answer.)

MULDER: I'm going to tell you. I think Max was abducted. Sucked right out of this door at twenty-nine thousand feet. The burns we're seeing are a result of that abduction.

SCULLY: Mulder...

MULDER: And all the evidence will point to this conclusion but it will be dismissed because of its improbability, its unthinkability.

SCULLY: Mulder.

MULDER: The crash of Flight five-forty-nine will go unsolved unless we find a way to prove it. And when Max is returned, he's going to tell us exactly the same story unless someone gets to him first.

SCULLY: Mulder, Max is returned. I found out a few minutes ago. They found his body a short way from the wreckage earlier today.

(Mulder looks to be in disbelief.)

MULDER: You're positive of this?

SCULLY: Traveling under the name of Paul Gidney, seat thirteen-F, with the same burns as his seat mate.

(Mulder searches for words.)

MULDER: There's still no explanation for this crash.

(He walks away. Scully looks about to say something, but dismisses it.)

(Sharon is looking through the letters. The only sound in the room is her shallow breathing and the clock. All noise stops. A loud rumbling starts, the room shaking. She gasps. A bright light shines through the windows suddenly, the windows rattling. She sighs, scared, and stands. The window blows out and she screams. The papers rustle around. Light shines through every possible point in the door as she starts to sob. The light becomes blindingly intense.)

(The floor of the room is covered with yellow bodybags, all lined up in rows neatly. Mulder walks down a column, followed by a man and woman. He stops at a bodybag with the tag "Gidney, Paul -- Partial; Flight 549." He unzips the bag and looks at the face. It's Max. Mulder hears a sobbing and looks up to see a man, woman and child checking a body as well, led by an investigator. The woman and child are crying. Mulder looks down at Max sadly and reaches into his front shirt pocket. He pulls out his old business card given to Max long ago, stained in blood. Mulder puts the card away in his coat pocket and looks into the bodybag. Something is strange. He zips up Fenig's bodybag and unzips the next one in the row. The same anomaly, apparently. Mulder checks the next one in the column as well. Elsewhere in the hangar, Millar is conferring with various members of his team as well as Scully.)

MIKE MILLAR: Would you guys be willing to make a determination as to whether there was an explosion pre-impact or... as we can see from the fuel tank parts we've recovered from here...

(Mulder zips up the bag and starts towards Scully, who sees him and starts towards him.)

MIKE MILLAR: ...whether the data only points to an explosion after the aircraft...

SCULLY: Did you make a positive I.D. on Max Fenig?

(Mulder nods.)

SCULLY: Well, they've located the cockpit voice recorder and the flight data recorder.

MULDER: And?

SCULLY: And the I.I.C. is making a statement to the press, saying that there was a complete systems malfunction on the plane.

MULDER: In other words, there's still no explanation for what brought this plane down.

SCULLY: No, not yet, but they are taking a careful look at the emergency exit door, and while they cannot explain the radiation readings, they are not ready to attribute it as the direct cause.

MULDER: They're not able to, or they're not willing to?

SCULLY: Mulder, why can't you just accept the facts?

(Mulder leads her away from the other people, talking low.)

MULDER: Because there are no facts, Scully. What they're telling you, what they're going to report, they're the opposite of the facts. A claim to ignorance of the facts. Claimed steadfastly, ignorance becomes as acceptable as the truth.

SCULLY: What would you like them to report?

(They stop walking.)

MULDER: That there is not one wristwatch on any of those bagged bodies. All of the wristwatches have been stolen.

SCULLY: Are you accusing these men of covering evidence?

MULDER: These men, no. These men are trained to identify moving parts. Hydraulics, electronics. They're trained to reconstruct those parts and the past and arrive at the present. But they can't do that because somebody has stolen the past from them. Nine minutes of it. Nine minutes that became a lifetime for those passengers, and now for their families. Someone has got to figure out what happened in those nine minutes. Somehow, we've got to get them back.

(Mulder and Scully drive down the road to the building and stop the car. Getting out, a man named Louis Frish walks towards them, dressed in fatigues.)

MULDER: Louis Frish?

LOUIS FRISH: Yes, sir. I just got the call from the C.O., said you were coming out with some questions.

MULDER: I'm Agent Mulder.

(They shake hands.)

MULDER: This is Agent Scully.

LOUIS FRISH: If you're here about the crash the other night, I already told the N.T.S.B. guys exactly what I know about that.

SCULLY: They were already out here?

LOUIS FRISH: Yes, ma'am. Night of the crash.

MULDER: Were you in the tower that night?

LOUIS FRISH: Yes, sir. Me and Sergeant Armando Gonzales.

MULDER: Did Flight five-forty-nine show up on your radar?

LOUIS FRISH: Yes, sir, it did.

MULDER: Did you establish radio contact with them?

LOUIS FRISH: No, sir. We would have no reason to contact a commercial or a civilian airliner unless it crossed into military airspace.

MULDER: Would there be a record of five-forty-nine on your log?

LOUIS FRISH: Yes, sir. I know it by heart. At nineteen-fifty-two, Flight five-four-nine dropped from an altitude of twenty-nine thousand feet. About forty-five seconds later, we got an altitude reading of triple-x. I've never seen anything like it. Hope to never again.

SCULLY: Then what did you do?

LOUIS FRISH: We called five-four-nine, got no response. Then we called A.T.C. in Albany.

MULDER: What was their response?

LOUIS FRISH: We just gave them the information. Last we'd heard.

(Mulder sighs slightly, disappointed.)

LOUIS FRISH: Is there something else you're looking for?

MULDER: About nine minutes.

(He starts back to his car.)

SCULLY: We've been traveling a long way.

(She follows Mulder back to the car. As Frish watches, they talk outside the car.)

MULDER: Wasn't the initial report that there was no radar confirmation of the crash?

SCULLY: Yeah, that must have come after our briefing.

(They get in and drive off the way they came. Another man dressed in fatigues, Sergeant Armando Gonzales, walks up to Frish and stands next to him, watching the agents drive off.)

ARMANDO GONZALES: What did you tell them?

LOUIS FRISH: What I was supposed to say.

ARMANDO GONZALES: Somebody's going to figure out what's going on.

LOUIS FRISH: I don't ask. I don't know. I don't want to know.

ARMANDO GONZALES: They find out the truth, you think anybody's going to take the heat for us?

LOUIS FRISH: I'm not the only liar here.

ARMANDO GONZALES: They come back here to talk to me, I'm telling the truth. I'm not going to have no blood on me.

(Frish turns to face him and grabs him by the collar.)

LOUIS FRISH: Then you make me the liar.

(He pushes him away and goes into his army truck. He drives off, Gonzales watching angrily.)

<NORTHVILLE, NEW YORK; 2:32 P.M.>

(A police officer is on the wire.)

POLICE OFFICER: Right.

(He walks away. Mulder and Scully pull up to the hotel. The police officer is talking to the motel manager.)

MOTEL MANAGER: We don't want any trouble. Did they find her?

POLICE OFFICER: No, ma'am.

MOTEL MANAGER: Well, we need some answers. The place is a mess.

(The officer looks to Mulder and Scully, who are getting out of the car. Mulder is wearing sunglasses.)

POLICE OFFICER: You'll have to take care of this.

(He walks away. The manager goes over to Mulder.)

MOTEL MANAGER: Hey, you're going to have to take care of this. You're going to have to pay.

(She joins them as they walk towards the room.)

SCULLY: Excuse me?

MOTEL MANAGER: The room you rented for the woman? Well, she trashed it and split.

MULDER: Sharon Graffia?

MOTEL MANAGER: It was under your name.

MULDER: Yeah.

(They reach the doorway and look inside. The door is missing.)

MOTEL MANAGER: Look at this. I don't know what kind of game she was playing in here.

(The agents walk inside, followed by the manager.)

MOTEL MANAGER: She blew the door right out of the jamb.

(Mulder takes off his sunglasses. No place in the room is clean. Papers are everywhere, the bed is in disarray. Furniture, such as chairs, are wrecked. She sighs.)

MOTEL MANAGER: I doubt insurance will cover it.

(She sighs again. Mulder runs his fingers over the door leaned against the outside wall.)

MULDER: Does your policy cover the acts of extraterrestrials?

SCULLY: We'll take care of it.

MOTEL MANAGER: Right.

(She sounds less than believing, walking away.)

MULDER: Okay, Scully, hit me with your best shot. What do you think happened here?

SCULLY: I haven't a clue.

MULDER: It looks an awful lot to me like this place fell from twenty-nine thousand feet.

SCULLY: You think Max's sister was...

MULDER: Was abducted, just like Max. Maybe it runs in the family.

(Millar walks in, appalled by the disheveled room.)

MIKE MILLAR: What happened here?

MULDER: You're the experts. Why don't you bring your team down here and work it out?

MIKE MILLAR: They've got their hands full.

MULDER: Yeah, coming up with all that inconclusive evidence.

MIKE MILLAR: I've come to tell you we've found some evidence. Good evidence.

SCULLY: About what caused the crash?

MIKE MILLAR: Quite possibly, though I'm not ready to make an announcement.

MULDER: Why not?

MIKE MILLAR: I'm afraid I'd sound as crazy as you.

(Mulder grins.)

MIKE MILLAR: Is there some place I can show you these? Some place with a door?

(They walk over to the window, where Millar is showing the agents an x-ray of a part of the plane he posted up. He runs his finger over thin lines in the diagram.)

MIKE MILLAR: These lines you see here, running outward from center, these are what we call fatigue cracks, caused by cyclic stress on the fuselage structure.

SCULLY: From what?

MIKE MILLAR: Wear and tear. Most commercial planes have an average twenty, thirty thousand hours' flight time. Except five-forty-nine was a new plane. Five-forty-nine had no wear and tear.

MULDER: Then what caused that?

MIKE MILLAR: I can't tell you that. But I can tell you this...

(He puts up another diagram up over the first one.)

MIKE MILLAR: The way all these cracks radiate from a central point, it looks like the door was shaken and blown outward straight off its frame. Right off the plane. If it hadn't been for you, we wouldn't have known what to look for.

SCULLY: Sounds like what you're describing is physically impossible.

MIKE MILLAR: In normal operation, it could never happen. Not this way.

MULDER: But it did.

(They stare at the diagram.)

(Gonzales is watching the read-outs, facing the window. Frish walks up the stairs and takes off his coat.)

LOUIS FRISH: Hey, man. How you doing?

(He walks over to Gonzales, who doesn't move.)

LOUIS FRISH: I'm sorry about before. It's a... I was way out of line. I just...

(He sighs.)

LOUIS FRISH: I've just been letting this thing get to me, I guess. Hey, Gonzales.

(He puts his hand on Gonzales' shoulder and sees Gonzales is holding a gun. He spins him around and sees that Gonzales is dead, a bullet wound in his forehead. Frish looks ready to have a nervous breakdown when he sees three cars quickly approaching out the window. Downstairs, an agent opens the door to the tower and numerous agents file in, followed by Garrett. Garrett looks down a hallway, then starts up the stairs. The rest of the agents are running down to him.)

SCOTT GARRETT: Did you find him?

MAN: Not up there.

(They run out the door, carrying flashlights, spreading around the building. On the roof, Frish looks down, then lays flat on the floor, fearing for his life.)

<7:04 P.M.>

(Mulder is listening to the tape again.)

TOWER: Thirty-five thousand feet. It's negligible. Nothing to be concerned about.

PILOT: Copy, Tower, please advise. Do you see a need to adjust?

TOWER: Negative, five-four-nine. Steady airspeed of two-niner-six knots. Maintain heading one-zero-zero and two-niner thousand feet. Go ahead, five-four-nine.

(There is a beeping.)

PILOT: What the hell is this?

TOWER: Five-four-nine, do you read?

(When the pilot's transmission picks back up, the beeping continues.)

PILOT: We've got something... on intercept.

(Mulder picks up the phone and starts to dial.)

PILOT: Oh my God! My God! Mayday! Mayday, mayday!

(Static. Mulder presses stop and puts the phone to his ear. There is a dialtone.)

SCULLY: Scully.

MULDER: Hey, Scully, it's me. I, I just realized something. The, the voice of the air-traffic controller, I've heard it before.

SCULLY: Mulder, we've been up for over thirty-six hours, can't it wait...

MULDER: No, I know, I know, I know, I know, I just need you to come over and listen to this right now, okay?

SCULLY: I'm on my way.

(There is a click on the other end, then Mulder hangs up. Down the hall, Scully leaves her hotel room, tying her robe. As she reaches a corner, a hand reaches out and grabs her. She gasps. The hand covers her mouth, the man firmly holding her in place.)

LOUIS FRISH: Just don't scream. Just listen to me. Listen to me. I'm the man responsible. I'm the one who caused that plane crash.

(She turns around and looks at Frish, shocked.)

<8:21 P.M.>

(Millar and a few other officials are going over the tail section of the plane. He looks over to see Scully and Mulder entering the hangar.)

MIKE MILLAR: Uh, give me a second.

(He walks over to the agents.)

MIKE MILLAR: You said you had someone who had some information.

(Frish walks in behind them.)

SCULLY: This is Louis Frish, Sergeant Frish. He's the air-traffic controller you heard on the recording that you played for us the other night.

(Frish walks past them, looking out at the wreckage.)

MIKE MILLAR: That was from the Albany Control Center. It was the voice of a civilian air-traffic controller.

LOUIS FRISH: No, sir.

MULDER: There seems to be more than a little discrepancy. What you've been told, what you've been led to believe, was built upon a lie that Sergeant Frish was asked to perpetuate, along with Sergeant Gonzales, who is now dead.

LOUIS FRISH: I was asked to lie. I was ordered to lie about what happened to Flight five-four-nine.

(He walks over to them.)

MIKE MILLAR: By whom?

LOUIS FRISH: My C.O. Flight five-four-nine appeared on my radar at nineteen-hundred hours, when we were asked to give its coordinates at fifteen-second intervals. About two minutes past thirty degrees north, we saw a second aircraft enter five-four-nine's airspace in an intercept pattern. It shadowed five-four-nine for another ten minutes before we were asked to give a new set of coordinates. A few seconds later, there was an explosion... and five-four-nine disappeared from my radar screen.

(Millar stares at Frish for a few seconds, then looks to the agents.)

MIKE MILLAR: I don't believe this man. There's not one speck of forensic detail to support it. No sign of an explosion, no flashing, no residues, no nitrated or oxidation, nothing.

LOUIS FRISH: I'm telling you what I saw. That we shot down a civilian jet, knowingly and willingly.

(Millar turns to the agents again.)

MIKE MILLAR: I'm going to tell you two something. I have a responsibility to the truth here.

MULDER: And so do we.

MIKE MILLAR: This man can't testify to this story, not without evidence.

MULDER: The military is working to cover up that evidence.

MIKE MILLAR: The sergeant's story makes no sense.

MULDER: Unless the aircraft that was fired on never appeared on his radar screen. A third, unidentified aircraft that engaged the civilian jet which the sergeant never saw.

MIKE MILLAR: A stealth aircraft?

MULDER: Shot down by the intercept aircraft, which, in turn, may have caused the crash of Flight five-forty-nine, which means that the cause of this crash is not here in this hangar, but is out there somewhere at a second crash site.

SCULLY: Somebody would have spotted it.

MULDER: No, they didn't know to look for that. They didn't know about a second aircraft, except the military. Which means that this man's life is in danger because he can put the pieces together.

(He nods in the direction of Frish, indicating him.)

SCULLY: Then somebody has to get him someplace safe.

(Millar looks to Frish, then looks at Mulder, the look on his face indicating that he does not believe.)

MIKE MILLAR: If there's a second crash site... let's find it.

(Millar gets in his car and pulls out. Mulder, Scully and Frish get in their own car, pull out and start driving down the runway. They see a number of cars approaching towards them.)

SCULLY: Mulder.

MULDER: Hold on.

(Tires squeal as Mulder spins the car around and starts driving the other way. Mulder steps on the gas, speeding away from their attackers. Not too far behind is the other vehicles, keeping pace. They look ahead to see a red dot approaching, followed by the airplane it is on. The airplane turns on its headlights, barreling down towards the agents.)

SCULLY: Mulder...

MULDER: Louis, help me out.

LOUIS FRISH: Don't take your foot off the gas.

MULDER: Is he going to see us?

LOUIS FRISH: No. We've got to get under him.

(The agents pick up speed, but the airplane is much faster, about to touch down. Scully's eyes widen.)

MULDER: We're not going to make it.

(Everyone holds their breath in bated anticipation. The airplane sails over them just barely. They look behind to see cars spinning out, avoiding the oncoming jetliner. They all collectively sigh in relief. The other vehicles have no chance of catching up.)

(Millar is driving down to the crash site. He slows down and stops slowly, then gets out and looks around. His breath is visible by the cold air. His eyes widen. He is seeing a strange craft hovering over the crash site, a light shining down around the area. He makes his way towards it, walking through the underbrush. He stops at the hole full of water, watching the craft from a distance. The searchlight centers on something, then shuts off. The craft is seemingly not there anymore. Millar looks around until the light shines down upon him. He squints, looking up at the light shining down on him. It holds for a few more seconds, then shuts off. A blur of the craft is all that's left.)

SHARON GRAFFIA: Somebody help me!

(Millar looks to his right to see Graffia, sobbing.)

SHARON GRAFFIA: Please!

MIKE MILLAR: Who's there?

(He walks over to her. She is crying.)

SHARON GRAFFIA: Oh, don't... don't let them take me again...

(She cries into his shoulder. Millar's eyes dart around worriedly.)

(A small airplane rolls by, preparing to take off. Mulder runs towards another one, where Scully and Frish are.)

MULDER: Scully! Louis! I want to ask you something.

(He runs over to them, holding a map. He unfolds it, showing it to them. The map, as well as their hair, are going wild due to the propellers. Mulder points to the crash site on the map.)

MULDER: This is where Flight five-forty-nine went down. As far as you know, there's been no substantiation of a second crash site?

LOUIS FRISH: Right.

MULDER: What if that's because there is no second crash site, because that second aircraft never fell to the ground?

(He moves his finger over to Great Sacandaga Lake.)

MULDER: It came down somewhere around here.

SCULLY: In Great Sacandaga Lake?

MULDER: Yeah.

LOUIS FRISH: Traveling north to south at fifteen degrees... it's a shallower descent. Yeah, that's very possible.

MULDER: Possible?

(Frish nods. Mulder looks to Scully.)

MULDER: Are you okay taking Sergeant Frish back to D.C.?

SCULLY: By myself?

MULDER: Yeah.

SCULLY: You just let me know what's going on, Mulder.

MULDER: As soon as I know.

(He runs out. Frish gets in the plane and Mulder waves. The plane speeds off. Afterwards, Mulder is driving down to the lake. He sees a sign that says "Bearfeld Hunting & Fishing Tours." He pulls up to a man standing next to a pick-up truck and gets out.)

MULDER: I saw the sign. Are you Bearfeld?

BRUCE BEARFELD: Yeah.

(Bearfeld shines the flashlight in his face. He is agitated.)

MULDER: I stopped by your place. Nobody was home.

BRUCE BEARFELD: Who are you?

MULDER: Fox Mulder. I'm with the F.B.I.

(He shows Bearfeld his badge.)

BRUCE BEARFELD: You got anything to do with what's going on out there?

MULDER: What's going on out there?

BRUCE BEARFELD: Some kind of search-and-rescue operation or some damn thing, I don't know.

MULDER: Where?

BRUCE BEARFELD: Out over Democrat Point. Some kind of hovering lights, there and then go.

(Mulder looks out onto the lake and the pier.)

MULDER: Can you show me?

(Bearfeld shines his flashlight in the direction, but Mulder moves his arm down.)

MULDER: No, no, no. I need you to take me.

(Bearfeld is slightly suspicious.)

<SCULLY'S APARTMENT; WASHINGTON, D.C.>

(Scully walks in and flips on the light, followed by Frish.)

SCULLY: I'm just going to get some things.

LOUIS FRISH: What then?

SCULLY: I'm going to ask for some kind of protective arrangement.

(She walks into her bedroom and pulls some clothes out of a drawer.)

SCULLY: I need to talk to my agent in charge to get a feel for how to go on this, but, uh, I think it's pretty clear you're going to want to talk to the right people.

(She puts the clothes in a suitcase.)

LOUIS FRISH: You think I'll be prosecuted?

SCULLY: For what?

LOUIS FRISH: I gave the coordinates.

(Scully walks towards him.)

SCULLY: You didn't bring that plane down, Louis.

LOUIS FRISH: I lied. I misled a federal investigator, I misled you. A hundred and thirty-four people, Sergeant Gonzales, they're all dead.

SCULLY: It wasn't your fault.

LOUIS FRISH: But I'll have to live with it.

(Scully nods slightly.)

LOUIS FRISH: I watched that plane fall out of the sky. It was just a dot on the screen, just a... set of numbers. The wreckage... I can't get that out of my mind. How those people died... how easy it is to lie, just to say it was a dot on the screen... until you see it.

(There is an uncomfortable silence.)

SCULLY: Look, I can't tell you how to feel, Louis, but I can tell you that I will do everything I can to make sure you tell your story to somebody who will do the right thing.

(Frish nods slightly.)

LOUIS FRISH: Yeah. Thank you. You think it's safe to make a phone call? I'd, I'd like to tell my girlfriend that I'm... whatever.

SCULLY: Yeah, um... just tell her you're okay.

(She walks away. He picks up the phone.)

(A large motorboat speeds across the water.)

MULDER: Over there.

(Mulder and Bearfeld head towards a spot in the water where bubbles are breaking the surface and stop. Mulder is wearing a wetsuit.)

MULDER: How deep is it here?

BRUCE BEARFELD: Fifty, sixty maybe.

(He tosses the flashlight down into the water.)

BRUCE BEARFELD: Have you worked at this depth before?

(Mulder puts on his goggles.)

MULDER: Not exactly.

BRUCE BEARFELD: What exactly is your experience?

MULDER: Once, I, uh... I got a quarter off of the deep end at the "Y" pool.

(Bearfeld looks flabbergasted. Mulder nods, secures his mouthpiece and falls backwards into the icy water.)

(The bartender leans on the bar.)

BARTENDER: Last call, folks!

(He points to a man in the bar.)

BARTENDER: Cocktail?

(The man shakes his head. People yammer on. Scully and Frish walk in.)

SCULLY: We're going to be met here by a federal marshall. You're probably going to end up sleeping in somebody's office.

(Frish sits, back to the door.)

SCULLY: You want a drink? You need a drink.

(She walks over to the bar but is grabbed and turned around gently by a familiar hand.)

PENDRELL: Hey! Birthday girl!

SCULLY: Agent Pendrell, how are you doing?

(Pendrell is obviously drunk.)

PENDRELL: I, I have something for you. Where have you been?

SCULLY: I've been, uh, gone.

PENDRELL: Oh. Can I buy you a drink?

SCULLY: No, you know what? That's okay, I'm with somebody.

PENDRELL: Oh.

(He looks over to Frish, then chuckles drunkenly.)

PENDRELL: Let me buy him a drink too.

SCULLY: No, you know what? It's okay.

PENDRELL: No, no, no, I insist, I insist. Bartender, bartender!

(The bartender walks over.)

BARTENDER: Yeah.

PENDRELL: Set me up with, uh, a couple of, uh, birthday girl drinks here.

(Scully starts back to the table.)

PENDRELL: Can I have a couple of your finest beers, skip the glasses, and another one of these...

(She sits, facing the door. Someone in the door catches her eye. Pendrell starts back to the table, carrying three beers. The man at the door, Garrett, eyes the group and spots Frish.)

SCULLY: Get down!

(She stands. Garrett whips out his gun as Frish looks behind him. Pendrell turns to look. Garrett's line of fire is broken by a beer bottle. Pendrell's beer bottle. Pendrell groans and goes down, being hit in the chest. As he falls, Scully shoots Garrett in the leg. Men and women empty the bar. Scully bends down over Pendrell, who gags.)

SCULLY: You're going to keep breathing, Pendrell. Do you hear me?

(She checks his pulse, shocked.)

(Mulder swims towards the bottom. A dim light shines down from above, presumably the boat. He reaches a large chunk of metal on the ocean floor, what looks to be a part of a construct. He swims down along the side of the sunken machine and looks into a glass casing, where a dead "gray" alien sits. Mulder is taken aback. Suddenly, a bright light shines down and Mulder, who places his hand to try to divert the light. The bright light approaches as Mulder faces the horror that they may have come to claim him.)

4X17 Tempus Fugit劇情

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