In the dark alley behind Casey's, Alvin Kurtzweil waited anxiously, sca
"Dr. Kurtzweil, isn't it? Dr Alvin Kurtzweil?"
"Jesus Christ…" Kurtzweil gasped and reached behind him for the door. He glanced around fearfully, trying to edge back outside, but the Well-Manicured Man only smiled.
"You're surprised. But certainly you've been expecting some response to your indiscretion…"
Kurtzweil shook his head furiously. "I didn't tell him anything."
"I'm quite sure that whatever you told Agent Mulder, you have your good reasons," the other man said evenly. "It's a weakness in men our age: the urge to confess." He paused, then added, "I have much to confess myself."
Kurtzweil stared at him, confused by his words and serene tone. Finally he blurted, "What are you doing here? What do you want from me?"
"I'd hoped to try and help you understand. What I'm here to do, is to try and protect my children.
That's all. You and I have but short lives left. I can only hope that the same isn't true for them."
He stood quite calmly and held the door open, as if in invitation. Kurtzweil stood there for a moment, as though considering the other man's words; then suddenly bolted, pushing past him and back into the alley. He ran toward the street, but had gone only a few paces when headlights blinded him. A town car pulled into the alley, accelerating as it roared down the narrow corridor. Kurtzweil stopped, panting, and squinted at the approaching car. He turned to stare with terrified eyes at the man still standing calmly in the doorway.
Fox Mulder barreled through the front door of Casey's, looking around frenziedly for Kurtz-weil. The bar was crowded, more people than he'd ever seen there. He elbowed past them, pausing to get his bearings and peer vainly through the dim room. There was no sign of Kurtzweil anywhere. Mulder sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and hurriedly made his way to the back to the doctor's usual booth.
It was empty. Mulder sucked his breath in, fighting real panic. He turned and ran to the dank hallway where the bathrooms were, edg-ing by a knot of laughing women, and burst out into the alley.
"Shit," he whispered.
A town car sat idling on the cobblestone pavement. At its rear, a tall, beautifully dressed man and his uniformed driver were arranging something in the car's trunk. As Mulder stared, they closed the trunk.
The elegant man looked up, and said in greeting, "Mr. Mulder."
Mulder's hands clenched. "What happened to Kurtzweil?"
The Well-Manicured Man shrugged off-handedly. "He's come and gone."
He started toward Mulder and Mulder backed away, still breathing hard. "Where's Scully?"
The Well-Manicured Man stopped a few feet in front of him. He took in Mulder's shoes, the too-short trousers and ill-fitting jacket bor-rowed from Byers. After a moment he looked up and said, "I have answers for you."
"Is she alive?"
"Yes." The Well-Manicured Man hesitated, then said, "I'm quite prepared to tell you every-thing, though there isn't much you haven't already guessed."
Mulder's throat felt tight. "About the con-spiracy?"
"I think of it as an agreement," the other man said lightly. "A word your father liked to use."
Mulder took a step toward him. "I want to know where Scully is."
The Well-Manicured Man nodded. Mulder tensed as he reached into his jacket pocket, and removed a thin envelope of dark-green felt. The Well-Manicured Man weighed it in his palm, then said, "The location of Agent Scully. And the means to save her life. Please—"
He gestured toward the car, where the driver stood holding the back door open. Mulder hesitated, then stepped toward it. He moved past the Well-Manicured Man and slid into the seat. The older man got in after him and closed the door. He motioned at the driver, and the town car pulled away.