Charles Grant - The X-Files - Goblins

He smiled quickly.

Dr. Elkhart uncrossed her legs.

“Well, good!” Tonero smiled purposefully at each of them in turn before rubbing his hands briskly together. “And what can I do to help?”

Mulder raised his eyebrows— Gee, sir, I’m not really sure —and glanced at Scully as if looking for guidance before facing the major again. “Well, I guess you could tell me what your project has to do with goblins.”

Tonero sputtered into a laugh that proved he could appreciate a good joke when he heard one; but the laugh faded into a scowl when neither Mulder nor the others joined him. His back straightened; his expression became somber.

“I’m sorry, Agent Mulder, but what we do here is classified. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do, believe me,” he answered agreeably. “The DoD can be pretty tough sometimes.”

“Absolutely. Now—” He waved one hand to indicate the closing and packing he had to do. “As you can see, we’re being transferred — the orders came just this morning — and we’re in a hell of a mess.” A look over his shoulder that Dr. Elkhart ignored. “Dr. Tymons — you may recall meeting him yesterday — seems to have gone ahead without telling us, so it’s kind of hectic around here at the moment.”

He stepped forward, with the intention of easing the agents back into the outer room.

Mulder sidestepped around him, his right hand brushing across the edge of the desk before he leaned on it and turned his head. “Dr. Elkhart, where were you last night? I don’t know, about nine?”

Elkhart started, and blinked. “What?”

“Last night,” he repeated.

“Now look here, Agent Mulder,” Tonero snapped. “Dr. Elkhart is one of our most—”

“Home,” the woman answered, crossing her legs again. “I was home. Watching TV.” Her smile was crooked. “Why, Agent Mulder? Am I a suspect?”

Mulder matched the smile, didn’t answer the question as he turned his back to her. “And you, Major?”

“How—” Tonero’s face darkened. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you know who—”

“Chameleons,” said Scully mildly from her chair.

“Lizards,” Elkhart responded immediately, not quite as mildly. “Not, I’m afraid, from the goblin family.”

“Goblins?” The major’s voice rose. “Goblins? What are you talking about? What does some old woman’s rantings have to do with my cousin’s murder?”

Mulder shrugged. “I don’t know, Major. But just as you have to explore all possibilities within the scope of your projects, so do we, in murder investigations.” He turned to Scully. “Do you think we should come back later? I think they’re in a hurry.”

Scully agreed and headed for the door with the others.

Mulder, however, didn’t move. “Major, can I assume you’ll be around later this afternoon? Just in case?” He scanned the room. “Looks like you have a lot of work left here. And in your project office, too, I would guess.”

“Absolutely, absolutely.” Tonero moved again, and this time Mulder gave way. “Just call ahead, if you don’t mind. I have—” He gave Mulder a brief martyred look. “Superiors, if you know what I mean. This relocation makes them nervous.”

“I’ll bet,” Mulder said. “Nice to talk to you again, Dr. Elkhart,” and was gone before the woman could reply.

Once in the silent corridor, the door closed firmly behind them, he held up a palm to keep the others from talking, then checked left, toward the elevator bank, before looking in the opposite direction, where he saw another, single elevator. A snap of his fingers sent Webber there on the silent run, and a sign that told him there was no button to push.

“Well?” Andrews demanded when they reached the lobby.

“Well,” Mulder said, “they sure don’t make majors like they used to.” He took his left hand out of his pocket and held out his palm, showing them the key ring he’d lifted from the major’s desk.

“Not a word, Scully,” he said lightly when she began to object. He told Webber and Andrews to get back to town and track down Aaron Noel, Barney’s bartender, to see if the man knew how close Pierce and Ulman had been, and if Barelli had been in asking questions.

“And find out where that dispatcher—”

“Vincent,” Webber said.

“Right. Find out where she was last night, what time she came home. You know the drill.”

“What about you?”

Mulder shrugged. “If we leave now, whatever this key takes us to will be gone before we get back. We’re going to snoop around a little.”

“But isn’t that against—”

Mulder hushed him with a look and hurried outside with them.

The post looked deserted.

Nothing moved but a light rain that shifted now and then as a light wind passed through it.

He opened the door for Andrews, then stood back and wondered what the mighty Douglas would say when he found out that the other car was Swiss cheese and useless. He could see Webber and Licia arguing heatedly inside, but with the windows up, he couldn’t hear a word.

He almost intervened, rolled his eyes and changed his mind. That woman will be the death of me yet, he thought, and wished they’d be gone. Now. He wanted to be sure; he didn’t want them suddenly turning up again.

The car jerked forward a few feet and stalled.

He smiled gamely and decided to get inside before he added pneumonia to his ills. He mimed giving the car a push with one foot, waved when Webber saw him in the rearview mirror, and trotted back to the lobby when the engine fired and held. The receptionist was clearly puzzled, but he assured her they had only forgotten something in Major Tonero’s office and would be gone before she knew it.

The woman seemed to doubt it.

“Mulder,” Scully said as they walked purposefully toward the elevator bank, “if we get caught…”

He didn’t answer.

After a check over his shoulder, he took her elbow and ducked around the corner.

The corridor was empty, and only half the lights embedded in the ceiling’s acoustic tiles were lit.

Whispers from the front, echoing softly.

He found the right key on the second try, and held his breath until the door opened onto an empty car. Once in, he inserted the key again and sent them down.

Scully said nothing; she had been on this road with him too many times before. The obligatory warning had been given — if we’re caught; now she would be focused.

He wouldn’t disturb that; it was too valuable.

He only hoped the major was still too angry to think straight, and realize what was going on.

The corridor was short, and the air not quite stale. No ceiling lights here — just a hooded bulb at the far end, and one at the entrance. The floor, like the walls, was unpainted concrete. “Like a bunker,” Scully whispered. In and out was the order of the day. They hurried to the first door, and Mulder turned the knob. It was unlocked and, when he looked in, empty. A desk, metal shelves on the wall, a small, open safe on the floor beside the desk, and a blackboard.

Nevertheless, they searched, checking drawers and corners. Tonero had said that Tymons was already gone, but Mulder doubted it was to the relocation point. By the looks of it — the papers and pads left behind in the desk, the handful of books on the shelves — this room had been emptied in a hurry.

“I smell gunpowder,” Scully said, returning to the corridor. “And smoke.” She wrinkled her nose. “Something else. I’m not sure.”

The middle door was unlocked as well, and open a few inches. Mulder pushed it with his foot and stood back, shaking his head.

“Jesus.”

What was once on the single shelf was now on the floor, smashed and scattered, some of it scorched or charred. He counted the hulks of at least three monitors and a pair of keyboards; he counted at least a half-dozen bullet holes in the wall beneath what looked to be a one-way window.