"Alfred Collings?"

The name meant nothing to Skinner. He looked questioningly at his agent.

Scully met his gaze. "Twelve years ago, you participated in a raid on the Bowneville Encampment, near Culpepper."

Skinner's head snapped up as the memory clicked into place. "The man I shot."

Mulder nodded. "His name was Alfred Collings. He was paroled from prison two years ago."

The AD squinted at his agent. "Two years? And he waited this long?"

"His parole officer says he reported in for five months, and then she never heard from him again. She believes he linked up with another militia unit."

"We believe it took him this long to infiltrate deeply enough to supply you with the information he did," Scully said.

"So that I'd be sure to show up at that building."

Skinner closed his eyes; his head was pounding relentlessly. His doctor had ordered him to work half-days only, and he was vaguely surprised that Agent Scully hadn't mentioned the fact that he had missed it by four hours.

He opened his eyes, and was shocked to find himself lying on the couch in his office, Mulder's face inches above his.

"Christ, sir, you weigh a ton," the agent said, out of breath, backing away. Mulder jumped when he saw Skinner's eyes upon him. "Jesus!" Then he recovered and moved closer. "Do you know what happened?" he asked softly.

Skinner shook his head. His voice felt rusty, and he refused to show any more weakness.

"You passed out. Too much, too soon, Scully said. She's upset with you, but she's more upset with herself for not calling you on it."

"Where is she?" Skinner asked, hating his cracking voice.

"Gone to get her medical bag."

"She wants to examine me?" The very thought alarmed Skinner, and he struggled to a sitting position, pushing away his agent's offered hand. "I'm fine," he said, breathing heavily.

"Yes, sir," Mulder said, taking a step back and saying nothing more. The agent's face was carefully neutral, non-judgemental.

Skinner glared at him. "I can take care of myself."

Mulder shrugged. "I never said you couldn't."

Suddenly he felt like shit, and not just physically. He swiped the back of one bandaged hand across his wet forehead. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I just hate being like this."

The agent sat at the other end of the sofa. "Yes, sir." Mulder stared at him until Skinner relented and met his eyes. "She just wants to make sure you're okay."

Skinner sighed. "All right."

Scully bustled into the room, and Mulder stood up, close but not hovering. Except for a few medical commands, Scully said nothing to Skinner, and Skinner preferred it that way. Finally, she closed her bag, stood up, and looked down at him. "Go home and get some sleep," she said, not unkindly. "And take your pain medication. That's what it's for."

Skinner dared a look up at her, but his head hurt too much from the eye strain. "All right." Thanks, he wanted to say, but the word stuck in his throat. He didn't ask for her help, and he certainly didn't need it.

As soon as she left, Mulder walked to his desk and snatched up the vial of pills. The agent studied the instructions a moment, then popped open the container and shook out two of the small white pills. He offered them to Skinner, and Skinner stared at him defiantly. Silently, Mulder nodded his head. He retrieved a cup of water from the sink in Skinner's bathroom. The AD took the cup in both hands, and swallowed as Mulder placed the pills in Skinner's mouth.

"Doctors, huh?" Mulder said. "Tell you what to do but not how you're going to do it."

Skinner downed the last of awe water. "Yeah," he said in a low voice.

"Um... how'd you get here this morning?"

The AD narrowed his eyes. "I took a cab. Why?"

"No reason," Mulder said.

"I can't drive, Mulder." Skinner held up his hands. Soaking them in the water had really done a number on them. His palms had puffed up so badly that the doctor had one hell of a time getting all the slivers out. Skinner wasn't so sure that he had--both hands still hurt like a son of a bitch. He was scheduled for a follow-up in the morning, and he hoped that they'd take care of it then, and that that would be the last of it.

"You should probably let one of us drive you home."

Skinner's attention was drawn back to his agent. Mulder's attitude spoke of nonchalance, indifference even, but the concern in his eyes gave him away. The indignant refusal Skinner had automatically prepared for Mulder's proposal died before it made it to his lips. He thought about the episode at the desk. "All right."

The look of surprise on Mulder's face positively delighted him, and he couldn't suppress a laugh. Mulder's surprise turned to astonishment, and Skinner had to turn away before he gave the agent either a fond memory or a complex or both.

"Did you take your pills?" Scully walked in his door, and the no-nonsense look on her face quelled his humor in about half a second.

"Yes," he answered, feeling the blush at how he'd had to take them.

"Sir?" The stern doctor tone gave way to worried agent tone. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing's wrong, Agent Scully."

She looked as though she didn't believe him but was willing to let it slide--for the moment--as she nodded. "We may have more information on Collings in the morning. His current location, anyway."

"Okay," he said, rising, and not missing as he did, his agents' muscles tensing. Ready to catch him. But other than an overall feeling of exhaustion, and the residual aches from the bruisings he received in the fall, he felt fine. Even the stinging in his hands was gone. Good stuff, he thought, thinking about the pills in his pocket. "My office. 8 tomorrow. Before the team meeting. We'll go over what else you learn then."

"Yes, sir," both agents said, following him to the door.

He stopped, just short of opening the door. "Don't stay too late. You should follow your own advice, Agent Scully."

If she was surprised, she didn't let it show, and once again Skinner admired the tight reign she kept on her emotions, unlike her partner, who usually wore his like a placard. "Yes, sir."

Satisfied, he opened the door and strolled over to his assistant. While apprising her of his plans, he heard the muffled voices of Mulder and Scully behind him. "I'll see you in the morning then, Kimberly," Skinner said, and started walking.

"I'll be back in about an hour," he heard Mulder telling his partner. "Do you want me to bring you the usual?"

"Mm, hm. But no mayo this time, Mulder. Just plain, okay?"

"Right," Mulder said, as she turned toward the stairway to the basement and he trotted after Skinner.

'The usual.' Skinner suddenly yearned for the camaraderie of his days as an agent, of always having someone at his side. Someone he could talk to, joke with, confide in. Where everything was black and white and not a thousand different shades of grey. Where what he said and did and thought actually made a difference. At least to him.

Those days were gone, he reminded himself; an Assistant Director did not belong in the field. Unconsciously, he quickened his stride. "Did you find anything else out about Collings?" he asked.

The agent's answer came out in short spurts as he tried to keep up and talk at the same time. "We didn't get a chance to tell you. While he was in prison his wife left him. Took their four-year-old son and went to live in Sweden. Collings never got to see him before they left. Hasn't seen him since. Sir, did you forget to feed the fish or something?"

"What?" Skinner asked, not looking at him, heading for the garage elevator.

"Why are you in such a hurry?"

Skinner immediately slowed. "Oh." They reached the elevator, and he stabbed the "up" button with his knuckle, perturbed to find himself still thinking about his bygone days, and angry with Mulder that for him they weren't. The doors opened, and Skinner stalked inside. His hand hovered over the control panel. "Floor?"

"Five," Mulder said, lightly pressing the number.

Skinner's hand tensed, and he let it drop uselessly to his side. As Mulder leaned against the back of the elevator, Skinner glared at him. The agent blinked in surprise, and Skinner realized how close he'd come to taking his frustrations out on the younger man. All of a sudden, Skinner felt sorry for the agent. Skinner had memories of something Mulder never had, nor was ever likely to have. The man did not make friends easily. And he trusted no one but his partner.

Yet here he was.

The surge of adrenaline abruptly left Skinner. When the doors opened, he no longer saw Mulder as someone who irritated him. Just someone who cared.

Kimberly poked her head in the door, and Skinner looked up. "Line two, sir. I think you'll want to take this one."

"Is it him?"

She nodded. "I think so, yes."

The AD returned the nod. "Thanks." He waited until the door closed, picking up line two and pressing the "record" feature simultaneously; he darted a glance at the two agents in front of him.

"The bomber?" Mulder mouthed silently.

Skinner nodded, even as he barked his official, "Walter Skinner. May I help you?" into the mouthpiece.

When the terse conversation was over, he replaced the phone in its cradle. Silently, he rewound the tape and pressed, "Play."

The conversation began with Skinner's, "May I help you?"

The voice was gravelly. "Take Route 33 into the park. Go in exactly six point two miles due north."

"And?"

"An exchange. I'll give you their encampment."

"Why should I believe you? You set us up the last time."

The laugh still gave Skinner the shivers. "There was a deal going down. Two 'suppliers.' One decided to eliminate the other. They got wind of it, so neither showed."

"Just us." Skinner's voice was tight.

"Hey, man, if I knew I would have told you. It happens. You know?"

"Yeah, I know. So how do I know they'll be there this time?"

"This ain't a deal. This is the base. I want out, man. You can have the whole enchilada this time." The man paused, and Skinner could just picture him licking his lips. "I want five times the usual. This is my last call, and it's gonna be worth a helluva lot more than that. You're gettin' off cheap, man."

"I don't know if I can--"

"They got an A-bomb."

Skinner's voice was a horrified whisper. "What?"

"They got this fuckin' genius workin' for them. They got him some plutonium, and the fucker built them an atomic bomb. No way do I want to be a part of that. I mean, killin's one thing, but that's like... annihilation."

"Jesus," Skinner breathed.

"So what about it? You make the drop at those coordinates, and I'll hand you the location on a silver platter."

"Is it near there?"

"It's within a 50-mile radius."

"What? That's--"

"If I told you where it was, you wouldn't need me any more, would you?"

"A deal is a deal. I won't renege--"

"That's my deal. Take it or leave it."

Skinner hesitated.

"They have a target and a date. And it's real soon."

Skinner heard himself sighing. "Okay. When and what time?"

"Tomorrow. Bright and early. Six a.m. Exit the car, walk past the trash barrel into the woods. There's a tree that was struck by lightning. Leave the money behind it."

"I'm not coming alone."

"Then there's no deal."

"I can't drive. My hands were injured as a result of our last 'deal.'"

There was a brief silence. "Okay. A driver and you."

"I'll be there."

"Don't be late."

Skinner clicked the tape off. "That's it."

"You're not seriously considering going, are you?" Scully asked.

"How can I not?"

"Sir, he's targeted you. That part about the bomb is probably false."

"But what if it's not?" he asked. "I can't afford not to go."

"It's obviously a set-up!"

"You don't know that."

"It's a good possibility." Mulder's was the calm voice of reason, and Skinner stared at him. With Mulder's track record of launching himself into dangerous situations, Skinner thought that he would be the last person to argue against his going. "But I think it's a risk he has to take." He directed this last toward his partner; Skinner didn't know if he wanted to thank him for his support or hit him for agreeing with him.

"You're both crazy. This is so--"

"If there's even the possibility that he's telling the truth, if he's willing to give us this information, it could save thousands of lives." Skinner's voice was quiet.

"For the price of yours." The AD heard her anger, but he also heard her fear. For him. And even though he was quite likely to be dead at this time tomorrow, it made him smile inside.

"Hopefully not, but if that's the only way... yes."

Scully stood up, nearly knocking her chair over. "I refuse to be a party to this... condoned suicide."

Skinner nodded. "That's your privilege, Agent Scully. Your participation in this particular operation has been fulfilled. You identified the informant, and a combined ATF/FBI unit will handle the raid."

"I'd like to go with you, sir," Mulder said, not looking at his partner.

Skinner glanced quickly at Scully before turning his gaze to Mulder; other than her jaw stiffening, there was no outward sign that she had even heard him. "Very well, Agent Mulder. I'll include you on the team."

"Not the raid. With you. To meet Collings."

Skinner considered the offer. He wasn't willing to risk any other lives on what was clearly a personal matter between him and Collings, yet he needed someone to drive him. And Mulder was the obvious choice. "I had you in mind, Agent Mulder."

Mulder nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"I'm going, too," Scully said, her voice deathly quiet.

Skinner turned to her, surprised; it never even crossed his mind to tell her of Collings' "driver only" limitation.

"As much as I abhor this whole situation, and since you're so determined to see it through, I will accompany you in my role as medical doctor." Still standing, she leaned over his desk, laying her palms flat on the surface. "I forbid you to avail yourself of my pathology services, however."

He remembered to take a breath. "I'll bear that in mind, Agent Scully."

"See that you do," she said, reseating herself.

The intercom on his phone buzzed sharply, and all three jumped. He depressed the "Listen" button.

"Your nine o'clock's here," came Kimberly's voice. "Shall I send them in?"

Skinner glanced at his watch. 8:57. "Yes. Go ahead." He moved from his desk to the conference table, waving Mulder and Scully to seats.

The agents filed in. A few eyebrows were raised and a snicker or two was heard at the sight of the X-Files agents. Scully shifted uncomfortably, and Mulder gazed at her in sympathy. Skinner simply stared at the offending agents until they squirmed.

He filled them in on the phone call, their parts in the operation, and sent them all on their way. The team would follow him into the forest, but the last mile would be just him, Mulder, and Scully.

"You'll be wearing a vest, won't you sir," Scully asked, even though it was not really posed as a question.

He considered refusing. If Collings wanted him dead, a kevlar vest was not going to prevent it. But what could it hurt? "Yes," he finally said. "We'll all wear vests."

"Any idea how he's going to play this, sir?" Mulder asked.

Skinner took a minute to think. "If he follows his MO, I leave the money at the designated site, then he phones me on my cell to tell me where I can find the information."

"You, personally, have left the money?" Mulder asked.

"That was always part of the arrangement, yes."

"That means he's watching you," Scully said.

Skinner nodded. "He could have taken me out any time he wanted. Why wait until now?"

"Maybe he's after more than just you."

Skinner looked at her in alarm. "You think this was all a prelude to taking out an entire squad?"

"He almost succeeded five days ago."

He thought it over, then shook his head. "No. This feels personal. The previous raids netted us not only commodities, but personnel."

"Sacrificial pawns," Scully threw back. "Giving themselves up for the greater good."

Skinner stared at her, mulling it over. "You could be right, Agent Scully. We'll proceed under both assumptions." He glanced at the clock on his desk. "If you'll both excuse me now, I've got a date to get these damned bandages removed."

Mulder stood, but Scully leaned in closer, stretching her hands toward him. "May I?" She indicated his wrapped hands. Somewhat confused, he nodded his assent, and moved his hands closer to her.

After a few seconds of intense scrutiny, she pressed a thumb into his palm. He yelped and pulled his hand out of her grip.

"That hurt?" She sounded surprised.

"Yes, it hurt." He cradled the still-stinging hand in his lap.

"Let me see the other one."

"What for?" he asked, not willing to consciously submit himself to this particular brand of torture.

"I just want to look at it," she said softly. "I won't hurt you again."

His hackles immediately raised at her soothing tone, one she might use to placate a crying child. Yet as he slowly raised his hand, he realized that that promise was the only reason he was allowing her another chance. He grit his teeth and laid his hand on the table.

"Is this one sore, too?" she asked, looking but not touching.

He glanced at Mulder, still standing silently behind his partner, then looked back at Scully. "Yes."

"How long have they hurt like this?"

He blew out a breath. "I don't know. A couple of days, I guess."

She stood up. "Well, I wouldn't count on getting rid of those bandages today," she said. "It looks like they missed a few slivers." She nodded to his hands. "Those are infected."

He looked down at the guilty hands, then back at her. "Infected?"

She nodded. "They look like they're full of fluid. They'll probably give you something to numb them, then drain the fluid and go after those slivers." Her look changed from detached professional to sympathetic friend. "They'll most likely bandage you up again."

He felt a little stupefied, although he knew he shouldn't be so surprised. His hands hurt when they should have been healing; now that he knew the reason, he was appalled at his stupidity.

"Well, I'd better be on my way, then." He nodded to the agents, dismissing them.

Scully hesitated, then followed her partner out the door. Skinner looked at his hands and decided to indulge his position of Assistant Director. He called Kimberly on the intercom and requested a car and driver for the remainder of the day.

"There." Skinner pointed to the sign up ahead.

Mulder set the marker on the odometer to zero just as the sedan entered Shenandoah National Park. It was decided that Skinner, Mulder and Scully would retrieve the information, but no agents would be sent to the encampment until a reconaissance team sketched a layout of the facility.

Once the director got wind of the risks involved to the AD, Skinner had to fight long and hard for the privilege of making himself a walking target. The stakes involved, however, convinced the director that the risk had to be taken. Even he couldn't put the life of one AD above ten thousand civilians.

"Which one's north?" Mulder asked, as the road split in three different directions.

"That one." Skinner pointed to the right, and Mulder turned onto the dirt road.

"I still don't like this," Scully muttered from the back seat. "You're leaving yourself too exposed. He can take you out any time."

"We've been over this already, Agent Scully--"

"And I don't like it any better now than I did then." He heard the agent take a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she breathed out. "I understand that this has to be done. I just wish there had been another way."

"I'm still open to suggestions."

"No suggestions, sir." He almost jumped when he felt her hand on his shoulder. "Except to please be careful. I'd hate to have to break in a new AD now that we've just gotten the old one broken in."

"Old?" He shifted around in his seat and threw a quick glance over his shoulder. God, she really was so young.

In the seat beside him, Mulder stifled a laugh. "And they say I've got no tact."

"And they're right," she shot back.

Mulder's lazy smile gave way to concentration as the road narrowed and he tried to avoid debris still not removed from the last storm. After several stops mid-road to remove branches too big to skirt, Mulder pulled over to the side of the road, beside a trash barrel.

"This it?" Skinner asked.

"Six point two miles," Mulder replied. "Exactly."

Skinner pulled at the door handle, hissing at the pain the contact with his hands induced.

"Here. Let me get it." Mulder leaned across his lap and snapped the lever, then pushed the door ajar before returning to his seat.

The AD propped it open with his elbow. "Thanks." He placed one foot onto the grassy surface, then turned to his agents. "Stay in the car. No matter what happens, you don't get out of this car." He looked from one face to the other. "Clear?"

Neither wavered from his gaze as they both answered, "Yes, sir." And although the agents never made eye contact, Skinner got the impression that through some silent communication they agreed to totally disregard his command.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he nodded and stepped out of the car, the briefcase containing Collings' payment tucked under his arm. He walked what he estimated to be about fifty yards before he spotted a tree split almost down the middle. Reaching for the briefcase with his bandaged hands, he missed the handle, and the leather case slipped out of his grasp to land on the grass with a dull "thwump." Sighing, he bent to retrieve it.

Suddenly, the crack of an M1 rifle rang in his ears, and the unmistakable sound of a bullet whizzed over his head. Leaving the money, he dove for cover behind the thick trunk of the tree. He reached for his gun, but couldn't grab hold of it because of the bandages. Savagely tearing at the gauze with his teeth, he freed up his fingers and pulled the weapon out. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was telling himself that he would regret that move later, while another part of his mind prayed there'd be a later to regret.

The security normally engendered just by the feel of cold metal against warm flesh was notably absent; the only sensations relayed to his brain were the seventy million knives stabbing him in each finger. He had a fleeting picture of his squeezing the trigger and fainting dead away, offering up his best, "Here I am; kill me," pose.

Several more shots pealed out, and he ducked, but nothing came his way. The "ping, ping" of metal striking metal told him that Mulder and Scully were under fire. Almost simultaneously, the sharp report of a hunting rifle reached his ears, and Skinner swore. Those shots were being fired from the road, not from the sniper in the woods. Damn Scully; she was right: there was no information; there was no bomb. They'd walked into a trap.

A hail of bullets peppered the tree trunk beside his face; pieces of bark chipped off, showering his cheeks and eyes, and he jerked back involuntarily. Less than a second later, his arm was on fire. Still blinking furiously against the foreign objects in his eyes, he gasped and flattened himself back into the tree. He looked down at his arm; damn, he had forgotten how much a graze could sting!

A muted "phwtt!" sounded off to his left, and he froze as he recognized the sound of a bazooka being fired. "Mulder! Scully!" From the sound of the explosion, the shell had only nicked its target. "Get out of the car! Get out of the car!" he shouted.

Another "phwtt" and a thunderous explosion as the car's gas tank exploded. He choked back a cry, uncertain if it emanated because of his injuries or his sense of loss. Were they out? Or did he lose two more agents? Two more friends.

Suddenly feeling supremely reckless, self-preservation be damned, he started for the car; a volley of bullets drove him back behind the tree. He was panting heavily, exertion and pain making him lightheaded. Just as he felt about to pass out, the sound of tires skidding on dirt, a slamming car door, and branches being trampled reached his ears. It appeared that reinforcements had arrived.

The only question that remained was: whose were they?

End of part 3/4