Agent of Chaos (The X-Files: Origins #1)(60)

But Bill Mulder wasn’t in the mood for sightseeing. Gimble had barely taken a step when he said, “Department of Justice. Federal Bureau of Investigation. Now, let’s check in or you’ll be late.”

He strode past them to the security desk.

Phoebe tightened her pigtails with a fierce look in her eye, as if she was adjusting her armor, then marched over to the seal. Mulder and Gimble followed.

When they caught up with her at the wall, she turned to Mulder. “Remember all the times I lectured you about being too hard on your dad? I feel bad saying this, but you were right. He is a jerk.”

Mulder nudged her shoulder. “I think he has a chronic condition that prevents him from acting like a human being for longer than ten minutes at a time.”

“Maybe he’s a cyborg?” Gimble grinned, on the verge of cracking up at his own joke.

“He’d have a higher likability quotient,” Mulder said, watching as his dad turned away from the desk and looked around for them. Bill Mulder shook his head and scowled when he realized they had ignored his pointless order. Mulder had seen that expression on his dad’s face plenty of times, and it always bothered him.

Until today.

Mulder ushered Gimble and Phoebe back to the desk where his father was waiting. He ignored his son and continued making small talk with the man behind the desk until an agent arrived to escort them up to the fifth floor.

When everyone got off the elevator, Mulder and his friends followed the adults, who were engaged in a boring conversation about the State Department. Mulder studied the framed photos on the walls as he walked down the hallway. Most of them were old black-and-white photos of DC—the White House and the Capitol Building, the Lincoln Memorial and the view of the Reflecting Pool, and the previous FBI building.

The agent led them into a large office suite with a waiting area. A tall man wearing round wire glasses and a conservative navy suit stood at the desk, talking to the woman behind it. Her lipstick was a dark shade of red, like Mulder’s mom used to wear when his father took her somewhere special—back when she still had special places to go.

“I’m scheduled for an interview with Agent Barnes,” the man in the glasses told her. He kept adjusting his tie, tightening it and then loosening it again, as if he wasn’t used to wearing one.

It made Mulder less self-conscious about all the tie readjusting he’d been doing.

The woman with the red lipstick handed him his driver’s license. “Relax. If you’re meeting with Agent Barnes, the bureau is interested in you.”

“I hope you’re right,” he confided, adjusting his tie again. “I’m graduating in May, and this is the first job that has interested me.”

Phoebe kicked Mulder’s foot just hard enough to get his attention. “Check out the posters,” she whispered.

Empty eyes and cold expressions stared at them from the WANTED BY THE FBI posters plastered on the walls. Mulder turned in a circle, examining the faces. Some were familiar—John Wayne Gacy, the Killer Clown, who had finally been caught last year after slaughtering thirty-three teenage boys in Illinois; David Berkowitz, Son of Sam; Edward Wayne Edwards, a convicted serial killer who had started killing again after he was paroled. Some of the posters had the word CAPTURED stamped across them in red.

“This room is gonna give me nightmares,” Gimble whispered.

Not Mulder.

The images sent pinpricks up the back of his neck and a rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. The thought of catching monsters like the ones pictured on the posters made him think about Samantha, Billy, and Sarah. Catching those monsters mattered.

“It will only be a minute,” said the young agent who had escorted them upstairs.

“Right,” Mulder’s dad snapped, the moment the agent was out of earshot. He barely got the words out before a door opened and another agent came out to greet them.

“Special Agent John Douglas, from the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit.” He extended his hand to Bill Mulder, who gave it a quick shake.

“William Mulder. I’m with the State Department. Someone from your office called and asked me to bring in my son.”

Agent Douglas had a hardscrabble look about him that Mulder liked.

“I’m actually scheduled to meet with Gary Winchester—”

“That’s me.” Gimble stepped forward.

“Nice to meet you,” Agent Douglas said to Gimble, before continuing his conversation with Mulder’s father. “Special Agent Ressler will be out in a minute. He’ll be conducting the interview with your son.”

Mulder’s dad sighed, annoyed by the delay.

Agent Douglas ignored him. “So where’s your father, Gary? I spoke with him on the phone briefly after the other agents spoke to him at your house.”

“Oh. He doesn’t leave the house,” Gimble said, as if it was completely normal. “He told me to give you this.” He handed Agent Douglas a sheet of paper folded into a perfect square.

The FBI agent raised an eyebrow and opened it. “‘I, Major William Wyatt Winchester, retired major of the 128th Recon Squadron of the United States Air Force, grant the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation permission to interview my son, Gary William Winchester, on April 4, 1979. I do not grant permission for FBI agents, or other persons employed by the United States government, to ask my son questions about myself, or my work as a civilian. Sincerely, Major William Wyatt Winchester, USAF.’”