Respect Des Fonds

Sent: Tuesday, September 19, 2000 TITLE Respect Des Fonds AUTHOR Rachel Vagts E-MAIL ADDRESS: rvagts@willinet.net ARCHIVE: Gossamer, Ephemeral, MTA, Spookys: Yes; Others, please ask. SPOILER WARNING: None RATING: PG-13 CLASSIFICATION: X - X-File SUMMARY: "One or two deaths would be a horrible coincidence, but this is the fifth one in as many months and they're coming quicker and quick. It's no coincidence. Whether or not these poisoned items have been lying in wait all along, there is someone making sure we know about it now." - from "Respect Des Fonds" For missing parts, please see my web-site at http://www.geocities.com/rvagts DISCLAIMER: This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended. All persons included in this work are fictional. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is coincidental. ~*~*~* Respect Des Fonds: Respect for the principle of provenance that the archives of an agency or person are not mixed or combined with those of other agencies or people. ~*~*~* National Archives and Records Administration March 12 10:45 am The man reached into the gray clamshell box. As he picked up the ledger, he averted his head and coughed into the sleeve of his lab coat. He set the ledger on the work table and brushed some of the dust from the cover. He coughed again. "Hey Chuck! Shoulda gotten that flu shot," the man's co-worker commented from across the room. The man just nodded as he opened up the ledger. When he began to make a choking sound, his co-worker got up and came across to assist him. "Chuck, Chuck!" he called as he moved to lay the man on the floor. He was in obvious distress. "Somebody, call 911!" The other technicians in the room looking startled and then curious, moved to the man on the floor. One of them had the presence of mind to pick up a nearby telephone and make the emergency call. The crowd gathered around the dying man as the skin around his nose turned red and mottled. He strained for breath, his lips growing blue, and then with a final shudder he was gone. Georgetown Later that night Scully climbed off the Metrobus and into the busy pedestrian traffic on Wisconsin Avenue. It had been a long week and she was exhausted. She picked up the pace hoping to get in and out of the grocery store as quickly as possible. The Safeway was filled with the usual after-work crowd. This grocery store was also a notorious pick-up spot, frequently referred to as the "Social Safeway." In front of her was a perfect example. Blocking her access to the romaine lettuce was a male lawyer type putting the moves on an equally lawyerly woman. Scully feinted right and then left, attempting to just get her hands on a piece of produce. After several miscues and an apology from the young man, she safely placed the lettuce in her cart. She then headed to the pasta aisle. Finding herself stuck behind a Georgetown co-ed standing in the middle of the pasta aisle, silently debating the differences between mostaccioli and ziti, she sighed as her phone rang. She pulled it from her interior blazer pocket and flipped it open. "Scully," she said, repeating the sigh of exasperation. "Hey partner," came the voice of the last person she wanted to hear from. If he had two tickets booked for Sioux Falls, South Dakota he was just going to have to eat hers. She had followed him the last three weekends and it had to end somewhere. "Mulder, it's Friday night. I'm trying to pick up some dinner and go home and take a bath. It's the weekend. I don't care what you've discovered, it's going to have to wait until Monday." "Actually, Scully, I was thinking about something else," her partner responded. "What's that?" she asked, pushing her cart aside for a couple trying to make their way down the aisle. Newlyweds, she thought as they passed her, arm in arm. "You know how we were discussing the breakdown of the middle-aged man's body, his unwillingness to admit he isn't 22 anymore?" "Yes," she said slowly, suddenly concerned where the conversation might be going. "Where are you, Mulder?" "The usual," he responded. Scully's mind rewound to the end of their work day. She had been finishing up their latest expense report when Mulder grabbed his gym bag and headed out the door. "You went to the gym. Where are you now?" she asked again, a sense of foreboding creeping over her. "Georgetown?" he responded, obviously not telling the whole truth. "Georgetown, my ass. You're at the hospital, aren't you? What did you do, Mulder?" she asked, her voice on the border between concern and annoyance. If she had stopped to think about it, she would have felt bad about her tone of voice, but it had been a very long week and if he was conscious enough to call he must not be injured too severely. "You got me. I'm in the emergency room, but it looks like I'm going to be here overnight. I was just wondering if . . ." "What do you need, Mulder?" she interrupted. "Boxers, some clean clothes? I have my gym clothes on and I'd already played three games." "So, I bet you stink pretty bad," she answered, chuckling softly, her mouth smoothing into a small smile. "Well, let's put it this way . . . they gave me my own cubicle," he said. "Okay, give me a little bit. I'll need to head home and get my car, but I'll get there as soon as I can. 395 shouldn't be a total parking lot." "Thanks, Scully," he answered, sounding grateful. "Not a problem," she answered. She waited a moment and then asked, "Well, don't keep me waiting any longer, Mulder, what did you do?" "Ever see an Achilles tendon erupt?" he asked. "Save the MRI for me, please," she responded. "I'm sure it will look great in my guest bedroom." Where you'll be spending the next month, she added silently. Scully ended the call, her mind now filled with Mulder and his latest emergency. She glanced around the aisle quickly and then walked away, her cart forgotten and abandoned in the middle of the pasta section. **** Georgetown Northwestern Memorial Hospital Two hours later Scully walked into the busy ER. After checking with the desk, she found her partner lying on a gurney in a cubicle, his foot covered with ice packs. "They haven't gotten you in yet?" she asked as she walked over to the bed, setting down the bag she had brought from Mulder's apartment. Mulder looked horrible, his face covered with a thin sheen of sweat and small lines betraying the pain he had been in. "No, seems there was a pile-up on 295, a shooting in Mount Pleasant and one heck of a party at the Kappa Delta Sig house at Georgetown. They're hoping to get me into surgery by midnight," Mulder responded, sitting up in the bed. Scully pulled up the pillow so he could sit more comfortably. "Unfortunately I skipped lunch in hopes of a happy hour bonanza after the gym so now I'm starving for the foreseeable future." "That's actually really good, Mulder. If you had food in your stomach you could aspirate and die," Scully answered. "Have I ever told you that too much information can be a bad thing?" Mulder asked. "Besides, the doc said they'll do this with a spinal block, so no general. Easier on the digestive tract. I'll be off the ice chips and onto the Jell-O in no time." Scully smiled and shook her head. "I'm a little frightened by how familiar you are with these types of procedures." She pointed toward his foot. "Are you in much pain?" "At the gym, yes. Here, not so bad. I have to admit, I took the morphine gratefully when it was offered." That and Scully appearing. He was surprised to discover how much her presence alone was making him feel better. It must have been bad, Scully mused. Mulder was notorious for his high pain tolerance. In med school they had described these kinds of tendon injuries as extremely painful. Her mind ran over what she knew about treatment and recovery. Surgery to repair the tear would be first, followed by a short hospital stay and then a period of immobility. "Deep in thought?" he asked, interrupting her mental run through the Physician's Desk Reference. "I was just trying to remember what I learned about the recovery from this injury. Has the doctor given you any timeline?" she asked, pulling the chair next to his bed closer before she sat down. "Not really. He said they'll keep me here a few days, then I'll be stuck at home for a while. It could take like 6 to 8 weeks to be back to speed," Mulder responded. "How are you going to manage? You'll probably need some help at home." "I figure that there has to be some kind of well-endowed Swedish nurse to help me with my bed bath," he responded, his mouth in a characteristic smirk. Swedish nurse, Irish FBI agent...anything would do, really. "More likely a retired Army nurse with kinked up hair ready to help with the enema," Scully said, moving to adjust his pillows. She had to admit he looked rather pathetic lying there, propped up, wearing only a hospital gown. The nurse at the desk had warned her to not open the bag containing Mulder's gym clothes. Even with the clothes removed, he smelled pretty ripe. "So, did you win?" she asked, sitting back down. "Two games. It was me and Henricks from VCU against some guy from State and that Olson kid from HUD. Those desk jockeys can never keep up. It's kind of pathetic." The conversation was interrupted as the curtain was pulled back by a young man in blue scrubs. Scully stood up and offered her hand to the visitor. "I'm Dana Scully, Agent Mulder's partner," she said as the young man took her hand. "Mike Kennerly, orthopod," he responded, shaking her hand firmly. He pulled up a stool and sat next to the bed. "We've cleared the docket and will get you upstairs in a little bit. I wanted to detail the procedure before we go in. The tear is pretty typical. We call you guys 'weekend warriors.' You're in good shape, but unfortunately your age is catching up with you. Fortunately the recovery for middle-aged males is pretty good." Kennerly paused as he observed Mulder's pained expression. It was clear that he didn't consider himself anywhere near middle-aged, and this reminder of his mortality was not very welcome. "Anyway, we go in, stitch the two tendon pieces together and put you in a cast. It's a lower leg cast for about six weeks. There will be a fair amount of follow-up therapy to deal with the ankle involvement, but in a couple of months, you'll be back to normal." Mulder sighed and lay back against the gurney. Two months was a lifetime, but there was little to be done now. What a stupid thing to do. He had felt the twinge in game two, ignored it thinking it would go away, but then in game three, taking the fade-away jumper for the win, he heard it pop. It was a sickening sound, loud enough for everyone on the court to hear. "You'll be fine," Scully said, patting his arm. "Anything I can do while you're here?" "Fish?" he simply said. "Consider it done," she answered as the surgical team came in to prepare him. Of course she would watch after the fish...and him. It was what she did. She wasn't even sure it was a conscious decision any longer. **** Herbert Hoover Presidential Library West Branch, Iowa March 23 2:35 p.m. John Steiner had been volunteering at the Hoover Presidential Library since his retirement from the IRS in 1994. Tuesdays and Thursdays were his days to work in the reading room, helping patrons with the more routine research requests. The large collection of Depression-related material seemed to attract a wide variety of researchers. He had been starting to put away the photographs he had been labeling, when one of the patrons, a young woman, caught his eye. She motioned that she had a question for him. "Having some trouble?" he asked, stopping at her table. "Yes, this letter is still in its envelope. May I take it out?" she asked. He took the envelope from her and looked at it. It was unlabelled, but there didn't seem to be a good reason for it to remain sealed. He took the document back over to his table. He slid his small spatula underneath the seal and carefully opened the letter. He could feel his throat tightening. He struggled for a breath as the world turned black. **** FBI Headquarters March 29 8:45 am Scully walked into Skinner's office, surprised to see Mulder sitting in his usual spot, his bad leg propped up on a chair. After a few post-op days in her guest bedroom she had dropped him off at his apartment. He had called her regularly trying to keep track of her investigations, but he had not mentioned anything about coming into the office. Skinner was nowhere to be seen and Mulder was seemingly engrossed in a file. She walked over to stand next to him. She stood there for a moment, finally clearing her throat. "Is this an early April Fool's joke?" "Hey, Scully. I didn't notice you there," Mulder said, ignoring her remark. He laid aside the file and pulled his glasses off, setting the wire rims down on the desk. "How was your weekend? Any exciting Scully activity?" "If you call three loads of laundry, lunch with my mother and a trip to Pentagon City exciting, then I guess it would qualify," she responded, pulling a chair over. "What has you so excited on this Monday? Aren't you still on medical leave?" Mulder nodded. "I am, but Skinner called me about a case this morning. Something I can work on at home. Ah, that explained the uncharacteristic excitement in his eyes, Scully thought. She knew he was bored at home. She had considered a book of Mad Libs and some brain teasers to keep him occupied, but it appeared that the assistant director had his own ideas about diversionary activities. "Two weeks ago a processing archivist at the National Archives was working on a portion of the 1920 census. Within 10 minutes of working on the material he collapsed. He was pronounced dead by the Beltsville Fire Department upon their arrival at the Archives." "So, what does that have to do with us?" Scully asked, pulling the file over so she could look at it. "When the police were re-interviewing his co-workers yesterday, someone mentioned she thought she had heard of similar deaths. When she showed the investigators the back issues of announcements from the Society of American Archivists, they discovered that this is the fourth death of this kind in the past few months. A high level staff member at the National Archives who has some connection to Skinner requested priority attention on the case. Skinner asked for me." "The fourth death? Have they all been at the Archives?" Scully asked, picking up several pages of the report to look at more closely. "What do you mean Skinner requested you? You're still on restricted duty." "Well, to answer your first question, no. One was at a Texas state records storage facility in Austin, another was an elderly volunteer at the Hoover Presidential library in Iowa and the third one was a technician at the University of Maryland. On the second point, I think Skinner hopes to engage my mind while my body is laid up." "Oh, your master mind? What is my part in all of this?" "Watson to my Holmes?" "Were they all working on the census?" Scully asked, ignoring Mulder's comment. "No, each person had been working on different projects. There doesn't seem to be any unifying theme. Some were government records, others manuscript collections. The repositories are private, public, academic. There doesn't seem to be anything that would connect them, but these deaths are too similar to be coincidental." "What is the cause of death? Have autopsies been done?" Scully asked. "Each victim was autopsied. They all presented with similar causes of death. The skin near their nose and mouth was red and irritated and their lungs damaged beyond repair. They have been described as looking like they had emphysema." "How long from the initial onset until death?" Scully asked, taking notes on a pad of paper. "Approximately fifteen seconds," Mulder responded. Scully stopped writing and looked up at him, a stunned expression on her face. "Fifteen seconds? Are you sure about that?" she asked. Mulder nodded and pushed the autopsy reports toward her. She picked up the top report, the technician at Maryland. He had been working in the special collections reading room. Upon opening a box to examine it before serving it to a patron, he had been observed coughing slightly, and then collapsing. He was dead when the campus security officer reached him. Scully looked up as Skinner entered the office. He acknowledged the agents with a nod and took a seat behind his desk. "Sir, do you really think this is a good idea?" Scully asked, jerking her head towards Mulder. "You don't need to talk like I'm not in the room," Mulder said, his voice reflecting the pout his face was beginning to betray. Good lord. He appreciated all of her help, the errands she had run when he really couldn't get around, but she had to know how stir-crazy he was getting. "Mulder, I know you. I know how dedicated, obsessed even, you become while working on a case. Do you know what the rate of re-injury is for a man your age? You would have to start all over with your therapy. You could end up with a limp." "Can we please stop discussing how old and decrepit my body is and focus on this case?" Mulder asked. "I am going to work on it from my apartment or possibly from our office. Any field work that has to be done will be done by you." "Those are the only conditions under which I released the file to him, Agent Scully," Skinner answered. "He violates any of one of those and he's off the case. I also said it would be up to you. Are you comfortable working under these conditions?" Scully paused for a moment. She really wasn't sure. She knew that Mulder needed something to do, but why couldn't he take up a hobby? If she had a few weeks at home she could definitely enjoy some books she had been planning on reading for the past three years. But that was her, not Mulder. "Fine. It'll work." "Good. I'm sure my friend will appreciate your efforts. The archives community is very close-knit and they are justifiably concerned that something toxic is in their midst." **** Mulder's apartment 11:15 a.m. "So each of these repositories has archivists trained at no less than fifteen different universities, with previous work experience at forty-six different repositories. This is like a needle in a haystack," Scully said, pulling her glasses off and rubbing her eyes. "We're talking about a group of how many?" Mulder asked, leaning forward to set his coffee cup back down on the table. "With the number at the National Archives it's over 200 and those are only the professionals. That doesn't take into account technicians, student workers, anyone else." "We must be missing something here," Mulder said reaching down to scratch under his cast. Scully swatted his hand away. "Don't do that." "I have to, it itches," Mulder complained. "You're only going to make it worse," Scully replied. Mulder pulled his hand away, making a face at her. Mulder opened the file again. "This makes no sense. The tech at the University of Maryland died as soon as he opened the box. The woman at the Hoover library handled the envelope and only when Steiner opened the envelope did he die." "What was in the envelope?" "A standard report from the department of Treasury. Something that Hoover's office would have gotten every week. The lab has been able to find no trace of toxin on the sheet. It did, however, disintegrate where Steiner had touched it." "But no one else was affected?" Scully asked. "No. The woman, Lauren Gibbons, was less than a foot away. There's no logical reason why she would not have also been affected, yet she was examined for trace evidence and there was none. It's like this toxin jumped up, killed Steiner and then just disappeared." **** Pathology Lab Quantico, Virginia 8:15 p.m. Scully leaned back and rolled her neck. She had spent the last seven hours examining the four victims. Although it was an interesting case, her back had begun to ache and she was more than aware of the pounding in the back of her head. Her eyes began to slip closed when she snapped back to attention at the sound of her cell phone ringing. "Scully." "Hey, how soon can you get down here?" Mulder asked. "I'm just finishing up Weissman." The victim from Texas had been their first and his body was definitely in the worst shape. "Well, I may have something, so get here as soon as you can. And Scully?" he asked. "Yeah, Mulder." "Get some of that fantastic Szechuan chicken at Hunan's. I'll have the crab Rangoon and the hot and sour soup." Scully snapped her phone close without further comment. She was intrigued with this case, but sometimes it felt like it was just a way for Mulder to save on tips to the delivery boy. **** Continued in Part Two Disclaimers in Part One For missing parts, please see http://www.geocities.com/rvagts **** Mulder's apartment 9:30 p.m. Mulder's door swung open to allow Scully to enter. Hopping back to his desk using one crutch, he stopped as Scully began to admonish him. "They give you two crutches for a good reason," Scully said as she walked into the living room. She set the bags of steaming Chinese down on the table. Mulder continued his path back to the desk chair where he plopped down with a sigh. "Nah, it's just a racket to make more money. I really only need one," Mulder replied, swiveling so he could see her sitting on the couch. He reached forward for the smaller of the two bags and pulled out the container of hot and sour soup. "Believe me, Mulder, between the cost containment of the federal HMO and your proclivity for exercising the acute rather than preventive treatment plan, no one is coming out ahead one crutch or two. Just follow the physical therapist's treatment plan." Mulder nodded his agreement as he slurped the soup from his spoon. "What did you find?" Scully asked. "It sounded urgent on the phone." "An interesting e-mail showed up in my box this morning. It came from a Hotmail account registered to a Marie Livingston." "Who's Marie Livingston?" "As far as I can tell, it's a made up name, but I called Danny and he was able to track down the IP address the message originated from. It was sent from a terminal in the library at the University of Wisconsin." "So what was in the message?" Scully asked, crossing over to look at Mulder's computer screen. He scrolled down so the entire message was visible. Agent Mulder- Archives deaths are related. 1983 was a very important year for the fellows at the Library of Congress. Of course now they're dead and dying. Better talk to them fast. ML "I did some preliminary searching and the results are rather interesting," Mulder said. "The message tells us to take a closer look at the 1983 Junior Fellows at the Library of Congress, but when I looked for that class, there wasn't one. Every other year there is a group of about 20 undergraduate and graduate students." "So the message is a hoax?" Scully asked. "I don't think so. Despite the austerity of non-defense spending during the Reagan years, the Library remained largely untouched, even undergoing a significant renovation during the mid-80s, but that didn't start until 1985." "So, who would know?" Scully asked, as she reached for the box of fried rice. "I'm pretty sure Gen used to work over there. We could ask her," Mulder responded. Scully nodded. Gen Wilson, one of the FBI archivists, had been helpful to them on a number of occasions. Mulder reached for his phone, dialing the main switch number. He was quickly connected to the archives reading room. "FBI Archives, Gen speaking," the older woman's voice came over the line. "Gen, it's Fox Mulder. I see you're still burning the midnight oil." They exchanged pleasantries and then Mulder explained his problem. Gen had been working in the manuscripts section at the library in the 1980s. She couldn't remember which year for sure, but one of the years there had been a change in the junior fellows program. Instead of working at the library, a group of fellows had worked at the Pentagon. It had been some kind of records management project that had been funded by the Department of Defense. Mulder thanked her and got off the phone. "We need to look for a Wisconsin connection. This may be the break we've been looking for," Mulder told Scully. **** They got a list of the participants in the 1983 DOD project. It looked rather innocuous. There were fifteen participants from thirteen different graduate programs. At the time of their fellowship, each had been working at an archival institution, including the Hoover Library, NARA, the repository in Texas and Maryland. Of the fifteen, nine were still in the profession, four had taken jobs in other fields and two were dead. Scully no longer regretted not getting Mulder a book of brainteasers. The numbers here were worthy of any analytical section of the GRE. She felt like she needed a piece of graph paper just to keep them all straight. Two of the participants had gone to Wisconsin. Jim Everson now worked as an insurance agent in New Hope, MN and Leann Morrison was dead. She had died of lung cancer the year before after working her entire career at the State Historical Society of Wisconsin. None of the other participants had any connection to Wisconsin. Mulder called Everson, but he professed to not remember anything remarkable about the 1983 project. They had spent the summer working in a windowless room removing staples from World War II munitions shipping lists. It had been some of the most boring work he had ever done, and after graduation he had not sought a position as an archivist. He had not been back to Wisconsin since the football team's run to the Rose Bowl in 1994. **** National Airport April 3 8:15 a.m. "I can't believe you talked me into this," Scully said as the cab pulled up in front of the Midwest Express curbside check-in. The driver hopped out and started unloading their luggage as she helped Mulder from the car. He slipped a backpack over his shoulders and tucked the crutches under his arms. "What could possibly happen? Besides, you know that you'll get much further with my charm and good looks," Mulder responded. "Skinner is going to kill me when he finds out. And he will find out. Just sit in this wheelchair and don't give me any more crap," Scully threatened, taking the chair from the skycap. Mulder grudgingly settled himself into it, complaining the entire time that he was not an invalid. Scully took the baggage claim tickets from the ticketing agent and started pushing him toward the gate. "We're going to go to Madison and figure out who sent me that message. We're talking about archivists. It's not like we'll be running up against the Flukeman," Mulder responded as Scully backed the wheelchair into a corner out of the way. She plopped down into the chair next to him and gave him a long stare. "When is it ever as easy as we think it's going to be?" she asked. "So far we have every indication that this is part of a government conspiracy. These people, our people, do not play nice. Somebody could get hurt. What we should be doing is getting you home and finding me someone to make this trip with." While Scully had continued to examine the physical evidence for some indication of what had killed their victims, Mulder had worked from home trying to find a link to their Madison connection. He had joined the Archives-L listserv to get a sense of the community. There had been significant discussion of the deaths, but no concrete leads...until the day before. There had been a message from an archivist at the Wisconsin State Historical Society admonishing the lack of response from the Society of American Archivists...and the FBI. The e-mail was signed by Gwen Murphy. There was something about the message. The cadence was very similar to the one received by Mulder earlier that week. Before Scully arrived for their daily meeting, he had booked them seats on the first flight to Madison the next morning. **** State Historical Society of Wisconsin Madison, WI April 4 8:30 a.m. The elevator slowly creaked toward the fourth floor as Mulder leaned back against the wall, trying to take some weight off his sore foot. He looked over at the young woman with a cart full of boxes. "Hi." She smiled back. "Do you work here?" he asked. She was cute. Young. She laughed lightly. "No, I just push this cart of boxes for fun." He nodded. "Can you tell me where to find Gwen Murphy?" "Sure, just go straight down the hall. The receptionist can call Gwen for you. Her desk is back in the processing room." The elevator finally arrived and Mulder waited for a moment as the young woman pushed her cart off the elevator. He followed her slowly down the long hall. She stopped to unlock a door, turning back to smile at Mulder again and then disappeared with her cart into the bowels of the archives. Mulder approached the receptionist, asking for Gwen. "I'm Gwen Murphy," a slight, brown-haired woman standing at the mailboxes responded. "I'm Fox Mulder." He moved to pull his identification from his pocket, but before he could get it fully out, she stopped him. "Please, let's talk somewhere more private, Mr. Mulder," she stated, leading him down the hall to an empty office. Inside the office she pointed to a chair for Mulder to sit down. "How did you find me?" she asked. "I'm more concerned with how you found me, what you know about this case," Mulder replied. "Were you in the class, the 1983 fellows?" Gwen shook her head. "No, I graduated in 1991." "Then what do you know?" "I'm not sure. There...people talked. There are a lot of people here with a lot of history, they know people, they know things," she said, her voice raising higher. "Do you have any concrete evidence? Why is this happening?" Mulder asked. "I don't know . I don't know anything. I shouldn't have contacted you. I'm sorry. This was a mistake," Murphy answered. Before Mulder could respond, she stood up and walked out of the room. **** State Street Madison, WI 10:15 a.m. Scully walked into the bagel shop. The room was filled with students working at tables, the floor littered with their bags and related paraphernalia. She caught Mulder's eye as he signaled her over to his table. She carefully navigated the obstacle course, nearly tripping over one woman's bag which was attached to a small luggage cart. Mulder had created his own obstacle course of sorts, his crutches propped up against the wall, his bum leg sticking out into what passed for an aisle between the small round tables. "Dangerous place, this Madison," she said, taking a seat across from her partner. "Actually, according to _Money_ magazine, it's supposed to be the best place to live in America," Mulder responded, pushing a cup of latte towards her. "I got you a double shot and an asiago cheese bagel. Real cream cheese, too. I remembered you were real particular about that." Scully nodded and accepted the food and drink. She bit into the bagel as Mulder pulled out a set of papers. "Hey, did you know that it was rumored that Leo Burt, the only participant in the bombing of the Army Math Research Center never to be caught, was actually the Unabomber?" Scully cocked her eyebrow at him, her mouth still occupied with the bagel. "Of course, it wasn't him, but his accomplice Karleton Armstrong has not only served his time and returned to society, but he was outside Memorial Library selling Smoothies when I hobbled by. You should try the strawberry. Very good." Scully set down the half-eaten bagel, reaching across the table to take Mulder's hand in hers. "Mulder, you need to do something about this recitation of trivia. Use your talents for good, not evil. Try out for Jeopardy or something." Mulder laughed and turned his attention back to the open file. "I just thought you could use some local context. I don't know what kind of luck you had, but I'm starting to think we're on to something here. I spoke to Gwen Murphy about the junior fellows program. She graduated from the program here in 1991, but when I talked to her, she was very uncomfortable about the whole situation. I got the sense that she had more to tell me." "So, she's a dead end?" "I'm not sure. What did you find out from Jeanne Ness?" Scully flipped open her notebook. "Jeanne was Leann Morrison's co-worker in the state records division of the archives. More importantly, she supervised Morrison's work before and after Morrison's summer in DC. I asked her about Leann's health. She said that it was never really the same after Leann returned from Washington. They had tested the building for ventilation issues and while there were some traces of mold, it was nothing that would harm any healthy adult. When they finally discovered Leann's lung cancer, she was already on partial disability from her asthma. With her health so frail, no one was surprised that she died very quickly." "That has to be the key," Mulder responded. "I'm going to call Gwen. She knows more about this than she's telling us." **** Paisan's Italian Restaurant 12:20 p.m. Mulder hobbled into the darkened restaurant, Scully holding the door for him. Waiting near the coat rack, Gwen Murphy saw Mulder and Scully enter. She indicated that they should follow her through the restaurant to a booth in the back where they would have some privacy. Mulder slid awkwardly into the booth, Scully propping his crutches up against the wall. The server appeared promptly and after ordering they were again left to talk privately. "I really shouldn't be here at all," Gwen said, leaning across the table whispering. "I wish you had just left me alone." "Obviously you were concerned enough to find out that we were investigating the case and to send me the clue. Miss Murphy, we need your help on this. What do you know about the toxin?" Mulder asked. "I--I just know what Leann told me," Gwen answered, turning her head to see if anyone was listening. They were alone in the last row of booths. "Why don't you just tell us what you know," Scully said, trying to soothe the agitated woman. "We--Leann was my--we had been together for about five years when she got sick. She--she thought it might have something to do with her work at the Pentagon. She was only 40 when they diagnosed the cancer. They did operate, but it had already spread to her back and then her brain. She went really quickly, never responding to treatment." "What made her think that her work at the Pentagon might have caused the cancer?" Mulder asked. Gwen sat silent for a moment. She had kept this in for so long, blaming herself for not helping Leann when she could. But Leann had always told her that worse things would happen if they talked. Well, now Leann was dead and it didn't feel like there was anything else they could take from her. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "She was part of the group that was split off, eight of them. One, Peter Harkin, he's dead--emphysema or something. He was 37. I think there are four others that are sick. She said that something had been sent back with them, a spray treatment that was supposed to be a test for a program working with de-acidification. They were supposed to spray something in the collection they were working on." "At the Pentagon?" Scully asked. "No, when they got back home. They were supposed to spray it on whatever collection they were working on at the time and not tell anyone. It would test whether or not you could draw acid out of paper. Leann said it didn't make any sense, but it was the federal government, so she figured they knew what they were talking about. She never told me about this, not until the end, when she knew she was going to die." "The others, what are they sick with?" Scully asked, taking advantage of Gwen's sudden candor. "Lung diseases. Leann had cancer, but the main reason she went so fast was her asthma. She was pretty weak before they ever started the chemotherapy. I didn't even want her to do it, but she...she wanted to beat the cancer, whatever it took." "And you think there's a connection?" Mulder asked. "All I know is that Leann thought so and that's good enough for me." "Do you know what she was working on, what collection the toxin might be in?" Mulder asked. "No, she never had a chance to tell me, but maybe Jeanne would know. She's pretty anal about tracking all that stuff, keeps a work journal and all." Mulder reached for his cell phone. Gwen grabbed his hand. "There wasn't something we could have done sooner, Mr. Mulder, was there? Could we have saved Leann?" Mulder flipped the phone closed. "I don't know. But, we will find out who is responsible for this, I promise you that." ****** State Historical Society of Wisconsin Archives Division 2 p.m. "You need to know what Leann was working on fifteen years ago?" Jeanne Ness said as she looked up from her desk. Mulder nodded. She indicated the chair next to her desk. "You might as well sit down. I should have the information, but it may take a while to find it." Mulder gratefully sat down. The walk back from lunch had started a small ache around his ankle and now his entire calf seemed to be on fire. "So, do they make all of you work when you should be in the sick bay?" she asked. "You should have seen me on a case when I was in a full upper body cast," Mulder deadpanned. She smiled and turned back to her computer. "1983. Well, we were just starting to really use these computers then. I think I had my journal here. Of course it would have been on a 5 1/4" disk, but we converted those in the 90s." Mulder's head began to droop as she droned on. "I'm not boring you, Agent Mulder, am I?" His head snapped back up. "Not at all, Ms. Ness. It's the pain killers." She nodded and again began searching. "Ah, here we go. Student activities. Well, let me...yes...that's what I thought. Leann was working on a collection of materials from the International Union of Life Insurance Actuaries. She processed that right after she got back from DC. You know, I remember that. I had offered her either that collection or the chance to work on part of the International Harvester collection. I was pretty surprised when she turned me down on the IH collection." "Would that collection be heavily used?" "Absolutely, it's one of the jewels of our collection," Jeanne answered. "Tractor guys come from all over." "Tractor guys?" "Mostly looking to restore old implements. We can hear from up to five hundred of them a year. They use the old owner's guides." "And the actuaries?" "I doubt the collection has been off the shelf since we finished the finding guide." Mulder pulled his phone out. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder. I need a level four hazmat team to the State Historical Society of Wisconsin, Archives Division. Immediately." ****** Outside the State Historical Society of Wisconsin 5:15 p.m. "I'll call you as soon as I know anything," Scully said as she closed the door to Mulder's cab. He leaned back as the car pulled away from the curb. Scully was going to the lab at University Hospital to test Leann Morrison's collection to see if they could find evidence of the toxin. Mulder was going home to physical therapy. Although this case was pretty bread and butter, it intrigued him and it seemed so unfair that his portion of the investigation was being interrupted by his physical infirmities. They still didn't know if Leann Morrison had sprayed anything in the actuary collection, but her comments to Jeanne Ness indicated that not only had she gone ahead with the project, but that she was also aware of its potential ramifications. He needed to talk to someone else who had been there that summer. Perhaps they knew something as well. Mulder pulled the list of names from the case file. Two were dead. That left six names to investigate. **** Concluded in Part Three Disclaimers in Part One For missing parts, please see http://www.geocities.com/rvagts ***** University Hospital Labs Madison, WI April 5 2 p.m. "Mulder, pick up, it's me." Scully thrummed her hands on the counter as she waited for Mulder to answer the phone. "Okay, you're not home. Call me as soon as you have a chance. I think we've isolated the substance." Scully ended the call and set the phone down on the counter. Where could Mulder be? After the hazmat team had removed 10 small boxes of material from the historical society, they had examined each document in the collection. There was one blank piece of paper. Scully had tested it for all known biotoxins. Although there had been no exact match, there had been a near match to a toxin used by the Iraqi army during the Persian Gulf war. It was the toxin that was now being blamed for Gulf War Syndrome. Scully turned to see Dave Peterson, the chief investigator in the lab. "I think I've figured out the reason the rates of infection were so disparate," the researcher said, holding out a page of results. Scully reached for the results and scanned them quickly. "Oxidation. I can't believe I didn't think of that. So, the composition of the toxin would slowly change over time. Could the type of materials it had been sprayed on also affect the rate?" "That would be my conclusion, but we would have to look at the other items that had been exposed." Scully nodded. "We should be able to isolate the exposed collections in the next couple of days. I called for two more field agents to search the remaining repositories. Do you mind finishing this one up? I think I had better get back to D.C." **** Baxter, KS Same day 2:15 p.m. Mulder reached for the small cane as he climbed from the rented Taurus. At his appointment the day before he had been given a large walking brace, which he immediately hated. Despite the therapist's admonition to keep using the crutches, he had found a cane at the local medical supply store. It would be much easier to maneuver this way. He hobbled up the sidewalk to Paul Holden's house. Holden had worked at the Texas record center in the 1980s. More recently he had been the archivist at Baxter College, a local private liberal arts college. Mulder lifted his hand and knocked on the door. "Yes?" A dark-haired woman answered the door. "I'm looking for Paul Holden," Mulder responded, holding up his badge. The woman pushed the door open and allowed him to step into the hallway. "I'm sorry, my husband is finishing his treatment, but if you can wait a couple minutes, I'm sure he would be glad to speak with you, Agent..." "Mulder." "Yes, Agent Mulder." She led him into the kitchen and invited him to sit down. Mulder could hear a small motor running in the other room and a man coughing. "My husband has emphysema," Mrs. Holden explained. Mulder looked at her more carefully. She couldn't be older than 45 and he under the impression that her husband was any older. Who had done this to these people? He looked up to see a gaunt man walk into the kitchen. "Agent Mulder, my wife says you would like to talk?" Mulder nodded. "Well, then, let's talk." **** Holden led the way out onto a screened-in porch. He sat down on a chaise lounge and indicated that Mulder should have a seat as well. "Have they found something?" "Why do you ask, Mr. Holden?" "You're an FBI agent. I'm assuming you're here to talk about something more serious than the taxes I didn't pay on the stuff I sold on eBay." "No, that's not it, Mr. Holden," Mulder replied. "Paul. I know that Leann and Peter died. I know that I'm sick and I know that Kathy Olson, George Murphy and Susan Strom have all had their own health problems. I don't think that can be a coincidence." "Are you aware that a technician at the Texas State Records depository died three months ago?" "How?" "He was doing a basic inventory for a new location system they were putting in place. He was checking a box of receipts for the Texas Penal system when he was overcome and died instantly. It was some kind of toxin that affected his respiratory system." Holden began to cough, finally stopping when he took a drink of water. "The penal records?" "Yes. Was that the collection you worked on after you returned from Washington?" "Please don't ask me that, Agent Mulder." "Why?" "I have a wife, a family. It's...it's going to hard enough for them when I'm gone. Don't make this any worse." "Why do you say that, Mr. Holden? What would make it worse?" Mulder asked, leaning toward Holden. "We were warned. The man, in charge, he seemed, I don't know...he scared me." Holden had begun to sweat, his breathing becoming more labored. Holden's wife appeared at the door. "Mr. Mulder, I think you had better go." "I just..." Mulder stopped. He handed Holden his card. "Please, I think ultimately it's better for you to talk to me." Holden took the card. "I just can't. I can't risk it. I'm sorry." Mulder nodded and turned to leave. "I...I hope you feel better." **** Metropolitan Topeka Airport Topeka, KS 4:30 p.m. Mulder's phone rang as he sat near the gate waiting for his plane back to Washington. He pulled the phone from his jacket, flipping it open to answer. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder, this is Paul Holden." Mulder grabbed his bag and started hunting for a pad of paper and a pen. "Thanks for calling me, Paul. I was just about to get on my plane." "I talked to my wife and well, we decided it was better that I tell you what I know. The others, they aren't as sick as me. Maybe you can save them from this." "So, something did happen that summer?" Mulder asked. "Yes. They...they gave us something to put in it, into our collection." "What did they say the spray was?" "It was a new type of de-acidification spray, it was supposed to take the acidity out of other papers. Acid will destroy the paper of a document as well as the other things around it if you don't treat it. They needed a longitudinal test in a variety of locations. It didn't really make any sense to me, but they were the Pentagon, I figured they had to know what they were talking about. You said something happened at the depository, someone died?" "Yes and by all indications, the project you participated in is related. Who ran the project, who gave you the spray to use on your collection?" Mulder asked, furiously taking notes. "There was one man, someone in charge. Matthew Bailey. I don't know much about him, but he was definitely the one calling the shots." "Thank you, Paul. Thank you very much," Mulder said, ending the call. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes until his flight. He immediately dialed another number. "Danny, I need you to run a name for me. He probably is or was a federal employee, maybe CIA. Or DOD. Matthew Bailey. Yeah. Thanks, Danny. I owe you. Yeah, again." Mulder ended the call and leaned back into the uncomfortable plastic chair. He should get back to DC by midnight for more therapy tomorrow morning and hopefully some resolution on this case. The answer had to be in there somewhere. What was this spray? Why had things been treated in such varied areas? It seemed that if the government wanted to test something they would just use their labs. Why would they unleash it on unsuspecting people? Once again, he was amazed that people would so blindly trust the government. Both Gwen Murphy and Paul Holden had commented on it. His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. "Mulder." "Hey, you didn't answer at home." Quick, man, excuse. As far as Scully knew, he was sacked out on the couch. "Yeah, something with the line. So, what did you find out?" Scully explained the suspected origin of the toxin as well as the oxidation effect. "Skinner assigned Menendez and Simpson to follow-up on the other potentially exposed collections." "Good. I think I have a solid lead. I spoke with one of the other participants and he gave me the name of the man they worked with in 1983." Mulder tried to cover the phone as the ticket agent began to call the boarding for his flight. "What was that, Mulder?" Scully asked. "TV, sorry, I'll turn it down." "Well, good luck with your lead. I'm out of here in a couple hours. Should I stop by tonight?" "Uh...no. I'm...I'm really beat and I think I'm just going to hit the sack now. But, I'll be in the office around noon. See you then?" Mulder asked, watching everyone around get up to board the plane. Damn. He had wanted to pre-board. It was so hard with the cane, his bag, his coat... "Sure, noon," Scully answered. Mulder ended the call before Scully got any more clues that he was not where he was supposed to be. ****** University of Wisconsin labs 3 hours later "Well, I think I'm going to go back to the hotel. You'll call me if find out anything else?" Scully asked. She had been hunched over the microscope for most of the day and even the hot tub at the Howard Johnson's was not going to help her tonight." Dave Peterson, the director of the lab nodded. "Yeah, go ahead Agent Scully. These grad students live for a project like this one. I've got your cell." Scully pulled off her gloves and set the protective eye gear down on the counter. As she went to put on her coat Peterson called her back to his office. "Agent Scully, I think you need to see this," he said, gesturing to his computer screen. Scully leaned over to read the e-mail message on his screen. He had sent their preliminary results to a number of colleagues hoping that one of them had seen something similar before. "Who is this person?" Scully asked. "She was a classmate of mine at Harvard. She went on to get her PhD in biochemistry through some Defense Department program. I think she's been working for the feds since then. Does this make any sense to you?" "I need to call my partner," Scully answered, pulling her phone out. ***** Mulder's apartment April 6 11:25 a.m. "Mulder." "Hey, it's me. I'm glad I caught you. My flight got canceled, so I'm still in Madison. Looks like I'll either get out of here in a little bit if the fog clears or I might try driving to Milwaukee to get a flight out of there." "You get the results from the toxin?" Mulder asked. "I tried to call you back last night but there was no answer. After we got off the phone, a colleague of Dave Peterson, the scientist I had been working with, called. This woman had worked on the project before it was ended and had recognized the chemical formula he sent to her. There was a guy working no the project, Matthew Bailey. She didn't know what had happened to him, but said he was trouble. When I described what's been happening she said it totally fit his profile. He's controlling and totally unpredictable." "Thanks Scully. I'll get Danny on Bailey," Mulder said, writing down Scully's information. It all fit with what Holden had told him the night before. "I'll come over as soon as I get in," Scully said. Mulder agreed and she hung up. The phone rang again a moment later. "What did you forget?" Mulder asked as he answered the phone. "Agent Mulder?" "Sorry, sir. I was expecting Scully," Mulder replied, taking a seat on the couch. "Sorry to bother you at home, Agent Mulder. I just received notification from the police in San Marino, California. There's been another death, this time at the Huntington Library." "He's escalating," Mulder responded. "What do you mean, Agent Mulder?" "One or two deaths would be a horrible coincidence, but this is the fifth one in as many months and they're coming quicker and quick. It's no coincidence. Whether or not these poisoned items have been lying in wait all along, there is someone making sure we know about it now." "Do you have a suspect, Agent Mulder?" "Uh yes...maybe. Let me make some calls," Mulder replied. "Keep me in the loop, Mulder. We had a deal, right?" Skinner asked, feeling like Mulder was not being completely forthcoming. Mulder agreed and hung up the phone. He pulled his notes out and dialed again. "Danny, what do you have for me?" **** Arlington, VA 12:15 p.m. Mulder turned onto the Columbia Pike. Danny had managed to track down Matthew Bailey in Falls Church. It appeared that his career with the CIA had ended abruptly in the mid 1980s. There wasn't a lot of information about his activities with the CIA, but there were indications that he had worked with counter-terrorism, most likely in the Middle East. Danny hadn't been able to get the specifics, but it looked like his departure from the Agency was related to a short hospitalization in a Northern Virginia mental health center in early 1983. Bailey had been running a soup kitchen out of a warehouse in Fairfax County but there had been no sign of him for about a month. Mulder parked his car outside the warehouse and got out. There were no signs of activity like Danny had reported. He had tried to call Scully to give her an update, but there was no answer on her cell phone. The weather must have cleared and she was in route to Washington. He left her a message telling her he would meet her at the office instead. Finishing the call, he walked up the steps to the door, first knocking and then entering. "Mr. Bailey. Matthew Bailey. Federal agent." Mulder paused for a moment and then walked forward slowly. There was movement in the dimly lit office area to the right of the main warehouse. Well, that was a surprise, Mulder thought. He advanced carefully toward the office. "Matthew Bailey?" Mulder questioned, moving toward the man as he slipped his gun from his hip holster. "I need to speak to you, about the project," Mulder said. "Project?" Bailey asked, stepping closer to Mulder. Out of the shadows, Mulder could see that the man had to be near 70. He was stoop-shouldered and his hair was completely gray. In Bailey's hand Mulder could see a small spray can. What was it? The toxin? DWD-40? "At the Pentagon. The archivists. Your summer project." He should have called Skinner back after he talked to Danny. Having the cavalry arrive would not be the worst thing that had ever happened. Of course he knew why he had not called Skinner. He might be able to convince Scully to let him go, but Skinner was a different story all together. If he had called their boss, he would be sitting on his leather couch listening to the police scanner as this whole thing went down. "They should have not tried to stop me. I proved it to them. It worked. Now everyone will know." Bailey held the can up higher. "Know what?" Mulder asked. He saw Bailey hold the can out as the older man pulled a mask over his face. It took Mulder a second to realize what was happening. Shit, this was it. Mulder tried to turn and leave, but his cane caught on the edge of a pallet tripping him. Falling to the floor, he started to choke and then everything went black. ******* Fairfax Hospital 6:15 p.m. Mulder slowly opened his eyes, the room slowly coming into focus. He could hear the beeping of monitors and felt the tube in his throat, gagging slightly as he tried to breathe on his own. "Hey there, Mr. Mulder. Just relax. Let me get the doctor and we'll get that tube out of there." Mulder looked to the side to identify the dark-haired nurse standing next to his bed. She made note of one of the monitors and then left, presumably to get the doctor. "Hey there, partner." Mulder's eyes drifted the other way to see Scully, her face covered with concern. Quickly the look dissolved and was replaced with a disapproving glare. "Would it have killed you to call someone with some actual details? You could have let another set of agents go question Bailey...even Skinner would have gone." Taking advantage of Mulder's inability to speak, she continued, dropping down on the chair next to the bed. "Do you have a death wish?" Mulder started to shake his head no, then stopped as his head began to pound and the tube dragged uncomfortably in his throat. "You have a slight concussion, Mr. Mulder." Mulder snapped his eyes open again at the sound of a new voice. A tall woman in a lab coat stood next to Scully. "I'm Doctor Kemp. You're lucky they found you so quickly. We treated your lungs for exposure to a biotoxin. We were giving those lungs a little rest, but I think we can get that tube out of there now. Take as deep a breath as possible and then exhale. Good." Mulder tried to blow as hard as he could as the doctor extracted the tube. "Bailey?" he gasped as the tube came out. "Mulder, he almost killed you!" "Catch him?" Mulder gratefully took the ice chips offered by the nurse. "No, but the FBI and the Virginia State Patrol are looking for him. He did it. The whole thing was his project. The toxin was from a biological warfare experiment run by the DOD and closed down in 1982. For whatever reason Bailey decided to resurrect it and gave the toxin to the archives fellows." "Why?" "We won't know until we find him. I do know that he was removed from the project because of mental health problems. The records are sealed, but one of the other participants in the study said Bailey had begun to fantasize." "How did you find this out?" "Danny. He got access to a few more records after he talked to you. He tried your cell, but you didn't answer. He tried me next. I called Skinner. Fortunately, Danny knew where you were going." "Stupid." Very stupid. And stubborn. Crippled. Impatient. The list went on and on. "Yes, you were. You're just lucky they found you when they did. My God, Mulder...you could have died! Thankfully your exposure was slight and we had an antidote. Instead of carrying an oxygen tank around for the rest of your days like Paul Holden, you'll just have to endure a couple of weeks of respiratory therapy." Mulder just groaned at the thought of more doctors, more therapy. "Sorry. Just impulsive..." Mulder gasped out. It wasn't totally impulsive. He hadn't known for sure Bailey was going to be there. Once he did find him, Mulder had even tried to leave. Mulder stopped his thoughts mid-way through. This argument was not going to win him any points. "I know," she responded, moving over to the side of his bed. "Besides, you screwed this one up and I'm not dealing with OPR on my own...not this time." ***** Two weeks later Scully entered Assistant Director Skinner's office to once again find Mulder in the chair with his foot propped up. He had actually listened to the doctor and had been taking it easy at home the last couple weeks, so she was surprised to see him here. "Isn't that foot supposed to be better?" she asked, smiling as she sat down next to him. "Soon. Something about missing physical therapy," Mulder responded. "I don't know, it seemed like some kind of conspiracy to me." More like personal stupidity and stubborn behavior, but he wasn't going to open that door at this juncture. "Agent Scully. Agent Mulder," Skinner said, coming in and sitting down behind his desk. "Good to have you back again, Agent Mulder. I trust you've read Agent Scully's report." Mulder nodded. Several times. Once again she had pulled his ass out of a sling on this one. Scully spoke up, saying, "I do think it's important to highlight that although Agents Menendez and Simpson have identified all the remaining infected collections, Matthew Bailey remains at large. We've established a national alert. Since we have not established where his most recent source of the toxin was, we don't know is if he still has more available." "What's the next step, agents?" Skinner asked. "Based on the psychiatric records, Bailey is diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. He's prone to delusion. He seems to have some kind of notion that this project was his to complete. Right before he attacked me he said that it was his project, that the Pentagon had no right to stop him from completing the testing. He wants the whole world to know what he could create," Mulder began. "Agent Scully noted that the toxin is very similar to one used by the Iraqis in the Gulf. The antidote they treated me with is from that research. " Mulder paused to cough lightly into his hand and then continued. "I think that if we were given access to the records we might find that the project did continue, that we shared that science with Iraq when our government was assisting them in the 1970s and 1980s. It's possible that Bailey knew this, that this caused him to try to bring his actions to light. In further contact with the repositories where the victims died, I found that all of the collections had been requested. When I tried to contact Lauren Gibbons, the researcher in Iowa I discovered her records had been falsified. She doesn't exist." "When we went back to the warehouse and talked to the people Bailey had served they reported that he was very suspicious of the government, talked about conspiracies against him. There was a young woman that also worked with him. We think she may have posed as Lauren Gibbons," Scully added. Mulder leaned forward in his chair, "I think that Bailey orchestrated these deaths as a result of his paranoia and I think he's capable of killing many, many more. I think that we will find him attempting to spread his toxin as far and as wide as possible. We need to find a place where he would reach a large audience, something related to archives, paper preservation. It could be a conference, he could become a consultant. He will probably try to go after a lesser educated audience." ******* Family Memories scrapbook workshop West Phoenix Community College October 11 6:45 p.m. "And it has been proven to be more effective than Wei-To in de-acidifying materials. But don't trust me, take a bottle and try it at home. We've been tested by all the leading laboratories. This spray is completely harmless and safe to use." A woman in the back raised her hand. "Why should we use this?" "The acid in your precious family documents will destroy the paper and the paper around it. By taking the acid out of the paper, you can keep that scrapbook you've worked on so hard for as long as you want, generations even," answered the kind-faced older gentleman. "I've been doing these workshops all over the United States, in church basements and community halls. We've never had anybody complain. But again, don't trust me, try it for yourself." The man smiled as the participants all came up to take a bottle. FINIS Author's Notes: This is the amalgamation of the second and third pieces of X-Files fanfic I ever started...two years ago. After languishing on my hard drive for many, many months they finally turned into "Respect Des Fonds." Many thanks to all the folks who helped out with beta and general hand-holding. In no particular order, thanks go to Marti, Beth, Lynne, Jamie, Sandy, Marie, Gerry and Jo-Ann. I guess not only does it take a village to raise a child, but also for Rachel to write a fic. Finally, thanks to Josh who once commented that to lose something forever all you would have to do is put the archives box on the wrong shelf. I'd love to hear what you thoughts...rvagts@willinet.net.