“Use your head, Scully. It’ll save your ass.”
“Save your own ass, sir. You’ll save your head along with it.”
Skinner shook his head and sighed. Things were supposed to be easier with Mulder and Scully assigned to a different division. Mulder’s impulsive, often downright idiotic escapades were none of his concern anymore. He was under no obligation to do a single thing with the information Scully had shown him.
The problem, of course, was that he genuinely liked Mulder. For all of his attitude and professional screw-ups, Mulder was a hell of an agent, with integrity and a heart that was almost always in the right place. He fought the fights Skinner couldn’t (or at least risked more than Skinner was willing to, most of the time). Chances were less than zero that A.D. Kersh felt the same way about his new subordinate; there was no way he would help if Scully appealed to him next.
Even worse, Scully wouldn’t let that stop her. She would go sailing out, God only knew where, and then there might well be two lost agents on his conscience.
Grimacing, he returned to his desk and flipped through his Rolodex. He didn’t have any personal contacts at ONI, but he did know someone in the Marine Corps Intelligence Activity. Bob Paxton was a smug sonofabitch and a royal pain in the ass, ordinarily not someone Skinner relished the idea of asking for help, but he would probably be able to get the information Scully needed. Skinner took a deep breath and dialed.
“Go for Paxton.”
Skinner rolled his eyes. Clearly his old platoon leader hadn’t changed much in the last 20-odd years. “Major Paxton, good morning. This is--”
“That’s Colonel Paxton, actually. Whoever the hell you are, you should do your research before you open your damned mouth.”
“My apologies, Colonel.” As Assistant Director, Skinner technically held a position with a military equivalent rank of brigadier general, and he fought the urge to remind his former commanding officer of this fact in the most condescending way possible. Getting Paxton’s help was a long shot anyway, and the arrogant bastard would never play ball if Skinner pissed him off. “As I was saying, this is A.D. Walter Skinner of the FBI.”
He heard the other man clear his throat, then laugh. “Well, if it isn’t PFC Skinny, all grown up. You know I like keeping tabs on my boys. Heard you were on your way to being a big-shot over there with the DOJ, and here you are calling me. To what do I owe the pleasure, sir?”
Skinner chose to ignore the unmistakable sneer in Paxton’s voice. “I’ve just received word that there may be a potential search and rescue situation south-southeast of Bermuda, related to an ongoing FBI matter. I’m calling on the off-chance you have the authority to put an AWACS bird in the air and confirm some coordinates for me so I’m not sending my agent on a wild goose chase.”
Paxton laughed again, loud enough this time that Skinner winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. “--be damned if that’s not a hell of a coincidence. ONI just called me not ten minutes ago ranting about something they picked up in a routine imaging sweep. I told ‘em to sit tight and monitor. Not our problem until it crosses into US waters. But you’re telling me this is something the FBI knows about?”
Skinner sat up straighter. This could be even easier than he’d imagined, if he could get the coordinates Scully wanted without having to come up with a justification for scrambling aircraft. He still had to get Paxton to give up the information without sounding any alarms, though, so he’d have to choose his words carefully. “Potentially. I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the details at this time, but if you could read me those coordinates, it would be extremely helpful.”
“Well, now, I know you’re Mister Big Time over there and all, but you know I’m going to need a little more than that if you want me to just give you sensitive ONI data over the phone, without even going through proper channels.”
He suppressed a groan and tried again. “As I said, I’m really just looking to confirm some intel we already have, make sure our source isn’t giving us a runaround.”
“Then why don’t you tell me what you’ve got, and I’ll tell you if you’re being played like a dime store fiddle?”
Paxton thought he was so damned clever. “I don’t have the numbers in front of me. My agent took them with her to pursue the lead through other channels, and I said I would try to find out what I could through my own resources.”
“Well I don’t know how the FBI does things, but here at the MCIA we make sure we are fully prepared before we go asking questions.” Paxton sighed and tsked as though Skinner were still some wet-behind-the-ears 18 year-old, and Skinner’s face begin to heat with anger and irritation. He was about to pull rank and snap at the other man when Paxton continued. “I suppose, though, that I could help you out just this once, so long as you ask nicely.”
Through gritted teeth, Skinner said, “Colonel Paxton, would you be so kind as to give me those coordinates now, sir?”
“I’m sorry, who’s asking?”
What in the…? “This is Assistant Director Walter Skinner of the FBI.”
“Boy, you know, I might be willing to break protocol for a friend, and ‘Walter Skinner’ does sort of ring a bell, but I just can’t quite… No, I’m drawing a blank.”
Ah. Never could resist the opportunity to have a laugh at someone else’s expense, could he? Skinner closed his eyes, reminding himself that this was a small price to pay for Mulder’s life.
“Colonel, this is former Private First Class Skinny requesting coordinates for a possible bogey in the water south-southeast of Bermuda.”
“Oh that’s why I knew that name. Why sure, son! Anything for one of my boys.”
Skinner wrote down the numbers, wrapped up the conversation as quickly as humanly possible, then hung up and dialed Scully’s desk phone. When that went to voicemail, he pulled his cell phone out from the drawer and stood, dialing as he walked out into the hallway.
