Mulder shook his head. "No you didn't."
"Oh, yeah. Had you big time."
"No, you didn't—"
She slid past him into the stairwell, ignor' ing his protests as she headed for the freight elevator. She punched a button and waited for the welcoming ping as the doors opened.
"Sure did," she said smoothly, still gri
Mulder stood with forced dignity as the ele-vator dropped. "Panic?" he said, and shook his head.
"Have you ever seen me panic, Scully?"
The elevator drew to a halt. Refreshingly chill air pooled around them as the doors opened on to a busy lobby: suits with brief-cases and sheaves of paper, deliverymen, uni-formed couriers, and a bored-looking security guard.
"1 just did," Scully said triumphantly as she sailed into the lobby. Before her a group of schoolchildren parted, heads turning excitedly at sight of her FBI jacket.
"When I panic, I make this face," said Mulder, staring at her completely deadpan.
Scully glanced at him. "Yeah, that's the face you made. You're buying."
Mulder followed her, heedless of the teacher now trying futilely to herd her charges into an adjoining elevator. "All right," he said reluctantly.
Scully stood with her arms crossed and stared pointedly at a door crowned by a sign that read SNACKS/BEVERAGES. Mulder dug in his pocket, fishing for change as he asked, "What'll it be?
Coke, Pepsi? A saline IV?"
"Something sweet." She flashed a victory smile. Mulder rolled his eyes and headed for the lounge. He walked slowly, sorting through a handful of change, as someone else elbowed by him on his way out of the room. A tall man in a blue vendor's uniform, hair close-cropped. His gaze passed briefly and casually over Mulder. Mulder glanced back, then hurried inside to catch the door before it closed.
Inside the windowless room he bypassed the ranks of snack and candy machines for a large, brightly lit monstrosity displaying soft drinks. He counted out the correct change and one by one plunked the coins through the slot, waiting for the reassuring chunk as each one hit bottom. Then he hit a button, leaned back on his heels, and—
Nothing.
"Oh, come on," groaned Mulder. He beat his fist against the front of the machine—still nothing—and finally rummaged through his pocket for more change. Slid it into the machine, stabbed the button—nothing.
"Damn it."
He stared at the cheerfully glowing display of cans, then pounded it with both fists; after a moment he gave one last jab at a button.
Nothing.
Swearing under his breath, Mulder stepped away from it, glared, then moved around to the back of the machine. There was perhaps a hand's-span of space between it and the wall. He crouched and peered there, frowning.
On the floor snaked a heavy black electri-cal cord. The plug lay a few inches from Mulder.
The machine wasn't plugged in.
He picked up the plug, stared at it with growing comprehension. Then, very quickly and very carefully he set it back onto the floor, and lightly stepped once more to the front of the machine he had just been pounding at. He opened the front panel and stared inside in hor-ror. He grimaced at the memory of slamming his fist against the brightly lit surface, then turned and hurried to the door. He grabbed the knob, turned it—and met resistance.
"Shit," he murmured. He jiggled the knob, pulled on it, twisted it back and forth… but there was no longer a shred of doubt in his mind. He was locked in.
Frantically, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number, pressed the phone tight against his ear as he stared at the soda machine. A moment later Scully's voice fil-tered through the receiver.
"Scully."