The characters, plotlines, quotes, etc. included here are owned by Chris Carter and 1013 Productions, all rights reserved. The following transcript is in no way a substitute for the show "The X-Files" and is merely meant as a homage. This transcript is not authorized or endorsed by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, or Fox Entertainment. It was painstakingly typed out by Libby and DrWeesh, and made available for your personal enjoyment by me, DrWeesh from my website, InsideTheX.


(A very pleasant, low-lit bar. Gentle piano music is being played. As the camera pans across the room, we hear a conversation.)

WOMAN: Thank you.

MAN: You're very welcome. Cheers.

(The MAN and the WOMAN are sitting at the bar.)

WOMAN: So, what do you do for a living?

MAN: I work for the government. I am based out at Nevada actually. I'm just here in town on business. My job, uh, kind of cloak and dagger you might say. It involves National security.

WOMAN: Really? Well I can keep a secret.

MAN: That's what I love to hear.

(The MAN puts his hands behind his back and pulls off his wedding ring and slips it into his trouser pocket. We now see that the man is MORRIS FLETCHER.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: How shall I put this? You ever see the movie Men In Black?

WOMAN: Mm-mm.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Well guess who Tommy Lee Jones' character was based on.

(The WOMAN looks surprised.)


(Now the WOMAN looks impressed.)


MORRIS FLETCHER: (grinning) Yeah. But it isn't all, you know (gives a spooky whistle). It can get lonely too.

(The WOMAN looks sympathetic.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: What you say I pay up and we find a place not so loud?

(The WOMAN nods. As MORRIS FLETCHER pulls out his wallet to pay, his wedding ring drops on to the bar counter with a tinkle. The WOMAN sees this and is not pleased. She gets to her feet.)

WOMAN: Excuse me!

(The WOMAN walks off. MORRIS FLETCHER sighs.)


(Cut to outside. Night. MORRIS FLETCHER walks to his car. As he goes to unlock the door, a bright light shines down from the sky. A sudden wind springs up. MORRIS FLETCHER shields his eyes as he tries to look at the light. The light descends towards him.)


(Cut to an interior room. It's just like when Mulder was being tortured by the aliens. Through the window we can see the moon, seemingly very near. MORRIS FLETCHER is strapped into the same chair as Mulder was but his hands are free. He appears to be waking up.)


(He begins to realise where he is.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Oh. Hello! Hello!

(He can't move his head as his face is held just as Mulder's was.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Can we talk about this?

(He sees an ALIEN moving towards him. It's pale grey and small but with round black eyes and a humanoid nose and mouth. It doesn't appear to be walking, rather gliding noiselessly towards MORRIS FLETCHER.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Alright, alright! I'm MIB, Majestic 12? We play for the same team.

(The ALIEN produces an instrument.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Oh no, not the nose thing, I hate the nose the thing.

(The ALIEN moves the instrument very close to MORRIS FLETCHER' nose.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Just tell me what!

ALIEN: You have information.


MORRIS FLETCHER: Hell, yeah, yes I do. What do you want to know?

ALIEN: What is Maharon?

(MORRIS FLETCHER hesitates so the ALIEN threatens him again with the nose thing.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: OK, OK, OK! OK, Maharon - that's our code name for technology we borrowed from you and I want to stress the word borrowed because we really do play for the same team. It's your photon aggregate technology. Your weapons system. We took it off the Roswell ship. Took us 50 years but we finally figured out how it works. But, hey you know what? I'm not a hardware guy.

ALIEN: Tell us everything.

(The ALIEN threatens the nose thing again.)



(Cut to road, night. The VW speeding along. Morris Fletcher' scream changes to a yee-haw as inside the VW FROHIKE takes off the alien mask. He is grinning, JIMMY is yee-hawing.)

JIMMY: We rock! We are the champions.

BYERS: (driving) What a coup! What a scoop!

FROHIKE: An honest-to-god Man In Black. It's unheard of.

LANGLY: That Morris Fletcher was totally fooled. It's amazing how much fun you can have with a couple of cc's of Pentathol and a Halloween mask.

JIMMY: We never even had to use this.

(JIMMY holds up what is best described as a vibrating sigmoidscope.)

(Suddenly there's a bright light and BYERS tries to shield his eyes.)

BYERS: Woah, guys!

(The VW screeches to a halt. In front of them are military vehicles and armed soldiers. Another military vehicle pulls in behind the VW. The soldiers run to the VW pointing their guns at the guys, who raise their hands.)

(Fade to opening credits.)



(The GUNMEN are outside the VW being pushed down to kneel on the road, their hands raised. Another vehicle arrives. The driver gets out - it's MORRIS FLETCHER.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Hello again. Remember me?

(He walks past them to the OFFICER in charge.)

OFFICER: What shall we do with the prisoners?

MORRIS FLETCHER: Um. What do you suggest, guys?

FROHIKE: Let us go?

MORRIS FLETCHER: Well, yes, I guess I could do that. (laughs, then turns to the OFFICER) No, shoot 'em all in the head.

(MORRIS FLETCHER walks away.)

LANGLY: Woah, woah, woah!

BYERS: You can't do that!


(SOLDIERS stand behind the GUYS.)


(MORRIS FLETCHER turns back.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Oh, I almost forgot.

(The OFFICER raises his hand, the other SOLDIERS lower their weapons.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: How did you four maniacs know where to find me?

JIMMY: Why should we tell you if you are just going to kill us?

MORRIS FLETCHER: Fine. Be that way.

(He turns away again.)


(The SOLDIERS ready their guns.)


LANGLY: OK, OK, we got an email.

FROHIKE: They told us your name, who you were, what hotel you were staying at.

MORRIS FLETCHER: And who sent the email?

BYERS: We can't be sure. It was anonymous.

LANGLY: We backtraced it and we got a domain name off some military server. Romeo 61.

(This clearly means something to MORRIS FLETCHER. He shakes his head at the OFFICER. The SOLDIERS push the GUYS over on their faces and walk back to their vehicles. MORRIS FLETCHER drives away. The GUYS watch him go then turn to see the military drive off.)

FROHIKE: What the hell did we say?


(Cut to TLG HQ. KIMMY is there, yawning, working at a computer. LANGLY and FROHIKE sit either side of him, BYERS standing behind. JIMMY is sitting a little way off.)

KIMMY: You crack babies woke me up from one killer dream and I ain't talking about the dry kind.

(The GUYS look disapproving.)

KIMMY: Jessica Alba?

BYERS: We will make it up to you, Kimmy. Somehow. Just find us Romeo 61.

LANGLY: If you even can.

KIMMY: Oh, ha-ha. I tell you what, Langly. I was actually going to make this seem hard so you wouldn't break down crying in front of your sorority sisters, but it looks like grasshopper is in need of a little lesson in humility. Doh!

(KIMMY hits a key and the screen shows "Department of Defence - Secure Document Server - The contents of this server are Classified Military Access Only - Secure Login Required".)

KIMMY: Try and snatch that pebble. All right, what service branch is it in - Army, Navy, Cub Scouts, what?

BYERS: Try the Air Force, Area 51.

KIMMY: (To JIMMY) Hey, lurch. Howsabout you trot out and get me a java grande.

JIMMY: Howsabout I trot over and smack you across the head.

KIMMY: Okaaaay.

(FROHIKE smirks.)

KIMMY: The big guy has a temper. Nada on the Air Force, Byers. Anyway I need a department, otherwise we are talking a needle in a five-sided haystack.

LANGLY: The Pentagon's email server. Maybe if you can crack the server you can trace the root name back to the department it came from.

KIMMY: I have taught you much grasshopper. Soon it will be your time to wander the earth.

(KIMMY works some more on the computer. It shows user found: Romeo 61 but not much information - Department: N/A - Command: N/A - File Access Ref. No: 53421.)

KIMMY: There's no department.

BYERS: Open the file.

(KIMMY does and the screen shows a list of dates and place names. They all scrutinise the data.)

FROHIKE: What is all this?

JIMMY: Atlanta, 7-27-96. That was the summer of the Olympics.

BYERS: (searching on a computer) Atlanta 7-27-96. The date of the Centennial Olympic Park bombing. Alaska 3-24-89, the wreck of the Exxon Valdez in Prince William Sound. Harrisburg 3-28-79, Three Mile Island. All indicated as operations, all successful. Guys...

FROHIKE: This can't be what it looks like.

BYERS: Lockerbie, Scotland in 88. The Marine Barracks bombing in Lebanon in 83. Romeo 61, whatever it is, is it conceivable one group of terrorists is responsible for all these acts?

LANGLY: But they all can't be terrorist attacks, I mean, Three Mile Island, Exxon Valdez weren't. (thinks) Oh man.

JIMMY: But guys, what kind of a terrorist works out of the Pentagon?

BYERS: Government sanctioned ones.

FROHIKE: Like Kimmy says, one that doesn't appear in the chain of command.

KIMMY: Yo, I never said anything. Okay? 'Cause, 'cause I was not here.

(He goes to leave but BYERS grabs his arm.)

LANGLY: Kimmy.

KIMMY: Look, I never met any of you guys. Okay?

BYERS: You have to help us uncover this.

LANGLY: Where's your sense of patriotism?

KIMMY: It gets overruled -

(KIMMY rushes back to the desk and wipes the keyboard with the end of his T-shirt.)

KIMMY: - by my sense of self-preservation. And yours should too. Seriously. Arrivederci baby.

(KIMMY leaves)

FROHIKE: These operations go back decades. This outfit must have been around since... Oh my god. Dallas, November 22nd 1963.

BYERS: JFK. The assassination.

LANGLY: It can't be. Can it?

FROHIKE: Where do we start?

JIMMY: Maybe we shouldn't. Maybe Kimmy's right. If all that's true, you got to know the people behind it aren't going to let us get away with writing a story about it.

LANGLY: JFK. You understand? This is the holy grail, this is why we called the paper 'The Lone Gunman', not because of hunting and fishing. I mean, you understand that, don't you?

JIMMY: Yeah. I understand that, Langly.

FROHIKE: Where do we start? This is just a list, there is no proof here.

BYERS: Who else knows about Romeo 61?

(Fade to black.)


(Cut to a hand swirling a glass of whisky and ice. We see it's MORRIS FLETCHER in a bar talking to another Woman.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Yeah, it can get lonely out there in that desert at night. Looking up at all those stars, it makes me think; I'm not going to be here forever, I'd better seize the moment. Carpe diem.

(The WOMAN laughs.)

SECOND WOMAN: I love the way French sounds.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Yeah. French, Greek, that whole region. What say, I pay up and we find some place not so loud.


(Cut to hotel room. MORRIS FLETCHER and the Woman enter. There's a bottle of champagne in a cooler.)

SECOND WOMAN: Wow. This is so nice.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Well, it's even nicer with champagne. Oh, we're missing glasses.

(FROHIKE enters the room wearing a bathrobe, he is holding three glasses.)

FROHIKE: Hello, lover. Oh my, what a tasty young morsel you've brought me.

SECOND WOMAN: Whoa, guys. This is so not my scene.

(She runs for the door.)


(MORRIS FLETCHER follows the Woman.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. What's your name again?

(But the WOMAN has left. MORRIS FLETCHER turns to glare at FROHIKE.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: You son of a...

(The rest of the LONE GUNMEN appear.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Oh, you've seen the last of Mr. Nice Guy. I really am going to have you shot in the head.

BYERS: We don't think so. We're betting that you need us.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Oh, and why's that?

FROHIKE: Romeo 61.

BYERS: You're scared of it, aren't you? It, them, whatever pronoun best applies.

LANGLY: You know they're stone killers. For some reason they put us on your trail.

FROHIKE: We want to know why. We're sure you do too.

BYERS: Mr. Fletcher, I believe we can be helpful. We're journalists.

MORRIS FLETCHER: I know who you are. You put out 'The Lone Gunman'. It's absolutely hilarious. Guys, it's why I let you live. It would have been like killing the staff of 'Mad Magazine'.

LANGLY: We tell the stories others refuse to tell.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Yeah, that's one way to put it.

BYERS: Sorry to waste your time.

(The GUNMEN go to leave.)


(MORRIS FLETCHER is serious now.)



(Cut to street scene. Night. JIMMY is standing, waiting. YVES drives up.)

JIMMY: Thanks for coming, Yves.

YVES: Jimmy, I'm in a rush.

JIMMY: I'm sorry to bother you, but it's the guys. You know how you're always joking about them being in over their heads?

YVES: I never mean it as a joke.

JIMMY: Well, this one time, I agree with you. They're looking into this secret group of government assassins, terrorists, supposedly they had something to do with JFK. Not the movie, the actual guy. Right now they're talking to this secret government agent, you know, men in black. Again, not the movie, but -

YVES: An actual guy.

JIMMY: I'm worried what might happen.

YVES: I was afraid of this, Jimmy, you are the smartest of the four. Don't let them go through with it, get them off the story.

JIMMY: I tried, they won't listen to me. That's why I need your help.

YVES: I'm sorry, Jimmy. I can't.

(YVES drives off.)


(Cut to another glass of whisky and ice.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Romeo 61. It's sort of a bogeyman story for guys in my line of work. Nobody knows who they are or what their mission is. They kill, torture, steal, do god knows what. Maybe they're just about causing chaos, or turning a profit, either way they are a seriously scary bunch. But, I've got bigger problems.

BYERS: Such as?

MORRIS FLETCHER: Well, there's this big meeting on Friday and I'm supposed to present this information. Never mind what or to whom, it's not important.

FROHIKE: The Maharon Project.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Anyway, it got stolen, and when I show up without it I'm dead. Not fired - dead. I can't go to the people I work with and there's no way I can find this woman.

BYERS: What woman?

MORRIS FLETCHER: The one who ripped me off. A real two knuckler. Just - (He puts two knuckles between his teeth.) Exotic, tall, brunette, talked like Elizabeth Hurley.

LANGLY: What was her name?

MORRIS FLETCHER: It doesn't matter. It was a fake, I had it checked out.

(The GUNMEN look at him, waiting for an answer.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Darva Loye Welshe.

(LANGLY grabs a pen and notepad and starts writing.)


BYERS: Go on, tell us what happened.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Two nights ago, I'm sitting in the bar downstairs, just minding my own business.


(Flash cut to MORRIS FLETCHER in the bar talking to a WOMAN with long blonde hair.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: So, I said "Lesbian? I thought you said Lebanese!"

(The BLONDE WOMAN slaps MORRIS FLETCHER across the face and leaves. MORRIS FLETCHER is stunned for a moment then sees another woman, YVES, walking up to the bar.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: (VO) And then she showed up.

(MORRIS FLETCHER watches YVES as she approaches the bar and sits down.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: (VO) My god. I mean, this gorgeous, gorgeous woman and here she comes sitting down right next to me.

(Actually YVES is sitting some way away from him. MORRIS FLETCHER takes a swig of his drink and then rushes round to where YVES is sitting. ANOTHER MAN has approached the bar and looks as if he's about to talk to YVES but MORRIS FLETCHER sits in between them and grins at the MAN. He turns and smiles at YVES.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: (to Yves) Evening.

(YVES smiles at him.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: (VO) One thing led to another. You know, I laid on the old charm.

(MORRIS FLETCHER picks up a peanut from a jar.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: (to Yves) - and by this time it's swollen to the size of a Texas grapefruit!

(MORRIS FLETCHER laughs and throws the peanut into the air and catches it in his mouth. YVES is looking very unamused.)


(Cut to MORRIS FLETCHER and YVES in Morris Fletcher' hotel room.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: (VO) And the next thing I knew.

(He kisses YVES on the neck.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: (VO) I should have seen it coming, the whole thing was a setup.

(MORRIS FLETCHER draws back from YVES, looking puzzled, then collapses to the floor unconscious. YVES unpeels some artificial skin from her neck. She goes over to a wall safe and using an electronic device to give her the safe's combination, she opens the safe and removes a computer disk.)


(Flash cut back to MORRIS FLETCHER with the GUNMEN in his hotel room.)

LANGLY: Darva Loye Welshe. You spell it with a couple of extra E's, you get Lee Harvey Oswald or Yves Adele Harlow.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Wait, you know this woman?

FROHIKE: We've had dealings with her.

BYERS: But what does this have to do with Romeo 61?

MORRIS FLETCHER: Boys! Don't you get it? She rips me off, then she emails you. (pause) Romeo 61, she's a member!

(The LONE GUNMEN look astounded.)

(Fade to black.)


(Back at the Gunmen's HQ, MORRIS FLETCHER is there with them.)

LANGLY: I mean, what do we really know about Yves? Next to nothing.

(BYERS is on the phone.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: (to Byers) Any luck?

BYERS: Not only is she not answering her cell phone, but apparently she just cancelled the account.

MORRIS FLETCHER: I thought you guys were hackers. Trace her billing address.

LANGLY: We tried that the day she gave us the number. Somehow she figured a way to bill it to the offices of 'Martha Stewart Living'.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Oh she's good, she's very good.

JIMMY: What's he doing here?

FROHIKE: Hey, relax, man.

JIMMY: Guys, please, get off this story. If you won't listen to me, listen to Yves.

MORRIS FLETCHER: What about Yves?

JIMMY: She said stay away from it.

LANGLY: You told her about it? Einstein here, told her about it. Of course she's going to stay away if she's part of Romeo 61.

JIMMY: Part of Romeo 61? Who in the hell told you that?

BYERS: Jimmy, Yves is the only connection we have between data stolen from Mr. Fletcher and the email we received informing us of it.

JIMMY: So that makes her some kind of government killer? Have you even seen her kill anybody?

LANGLY: The only thing I've ever seen her do is protect her own interests. All those secrets she keeps, why?

JIMMY: She's a very private person.


LANGLY: You don't even know her real name. And what's with that anagram? Lee Harvey Oswald. Could someone please explain what that's supposed to signify?

JIMMY: You're wrong about her, Langly.


(Cut to laptop showing voice synthesizing software. A call is made to an answering machine. A typed message on the laptop is being scanned and translated into speech using Frohike's voice.)

MULDER'S VOICE: (answering machine) You can leave me a message after the beep.

"FROHIKE": Hey, man. Me and the boys have come across something you'll find very tasty. I can't tell you over the phone, but call me so we can meet some place out of the way of prying eyes, if you catch my drift. You can reach me at 240 555 0106. Later.

(It's YVES who is sending the message.)

(Cut to the hotel bar. BYERS is showing a photograph of Yves to the BARTENDER.)

JIMMY: You're not going to find her if she doesn't want to be found.

MORRIS FLETCHER: The valet remembered her from the night she ripped me off.

FROHIKE: They pulled her silver BMW out of the lot at 10:26. She headed north on Wisconsin.

(The GUNMEN and MORRIS FLETCHER leave the bar. JIMMY is looking disconsolate.)


(Cut to street, day. FROHIKE leaves the VW and goes up to an ATM, inserts a card attached by a cable to a cellphone and taps keys on the cellphone.)

FROHIKE: Here it comes.

(LANGLY is working on the computer which shows shots from the ATM's security camera.)

LANGLY: Big left onto O Street.

(The VW moves to O Street. More security camera stills.)

LANGLY: A right on 35th.

(Checking another camera leads them to Reservoir Road.)

LANGLY: Got her. Bishop Place.


(Cut to hotel room with "Do No Disturb" sign on the door. LANGLY knocks on the door.)

FROHIKE: Nobody's home.

(FROHIKE starts breaking the electronic lock.)

JIMMY: Oh, come on, don't do that.

LANGLY: We didn't spend four hours tracking her here for nothing.

MORRIS FLETCHER: That's right, Poindexter. I'm going to get my computer disk back.

FROHIKE: There we go.

(FROHIKE opens the door.)

LANGLY: Hold up. Booby traps.

(Holding the door ajar LANGLY spots a horizontal wire, low down.)

LANGLY: Way ahead of you, Spiderlady.

(He cuts the wire, opens the door, steps in, and gets hit in the face with bright blue security dye. MORRIS FLETCHER finds this hilarious.)

(A drawer is opened revealing a lacy, see-through brassiere. FROHIKE holds it up. JIMMY, exasperated, pulls it away from him.)

FROHIKE: Hey, I'm working here.

JIMMY: How would you like it if I went through your underwear?

(LANGLY enters the room with a towel to his face.)

BYERS: Did the dye come off?

LANGLY: Don't even...

(He removes the towel and he's still very blue. He starts searching a chest of drawers by tossing clothing from it over his shoulders and onto the floor.)

JIMMY: Langly! Guys, what are we doing here?

BYERS: Getting to the truth, Jimmy. Like I said before.

JIMMY: The truth about what? This whole thing has gone from JFK to Romeo 61 and secret assassins, to us rummaging through a woman's underwear.

(FROHIKE actually looks a little ashamed.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Well, this guy's a broken record. What do you keep him around for? You got a lot of hard-to-open jars?

JIMMY: We're looking for the truth and we're doing it with a man that (shouts) lies for a living!


JIMMY: I'm really not feeling good about this.

LANGLY: Then leave, why don't you? Just shut the hell up and leave.

BYERS: Langly.

FROHIKE: Come on, buddy. The kid doesn't know any better.

JIMMY: I do know one thing, you three aren't as smart as I thought.

(JIMMY leaves.)

BYERS: Jimmy. Come on.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Guys, can we get back to work here, see if we can find my stolen disk? Huh, please.

LANGLY: Uh huh.

(He has found a document taped under a drawer.)


LANGLY: Concerned Financial.

BYERS: It's an opening receipt. No account owner's name, just a number.

FROHIKE: Yesterday's date. Yves just opened up a Swiss bank account. Check out the opening deposit.

MORRIS FLETCHER: 10.13 million from Fenix Atlantic Corporation. Who the hell is that?

LANGLY: It may be another name for Romeo 61.

BYERS: Either way, I'm guessing these are the people who have your disk.


(Racks of shelving, people working at desks. YVES walks through to a counter and rings the bell attracting the attention of white-haired CLERK is working at a desk behind the counter.)

CLERK: May I help you?

YVES: Yes. I'm researching Etruscan pottery. I understand you have a new acquisition.

CLERK: We do. It's in the back.

(The CLERK and YVES go into the back room.)

CLERK: This is a pleasant surprise. You are here to sell, aren't you? Word is out about your new acquisition.

YVES: Word does seem to travel.

CLERK: I must say, I'm rather cross at you. I feel left out of a large number of opportunities - the Octium IV chip, the water powered car - none of these items ever made it to market. Strange.

YVES: Who have you told about me?

(The CLERK is silent.)

YVES: (whispers, threatening) Who have you told!

CLERK: There's a dozen potential witnesses right outside the door. You'd be seen.

YVES: I don't care. Do they know where I am?


(Cut to YVES re-entering the main office. As she walks through it, a SHARPLY DRESSED MAN steps out from behind a rack of shelving and watches her leave.)


(GUNMEN HQ. JIMMY is putting his things into a bag. He is alerted by an 'Incoming Mail' message on a monitor. He opens it. The heading is:


JIMMY: (reading) 'Boys. Couldn't reach you at your phone number just now. Can't make 9. How about 10 o'clock at the parking deck - 14th and K?'

(JIMMY is confused)

JIMMY: What? Who's this from? Fox. What Fox do I know? (thinks) Oh, man. Yves.

8:27 P.M.

(Night. The VW is parked in the road outside a factory. The periscope rotates and a monitor shows the view: a chain link fence with industrial-type buildings behind.)

FROHIKE: This is where Romeo 61 hangs. They've got one ugly club house.

LANGLY: (looking at drawings on a screen) We've got floor plans, we've got security systems. Man, oh man, this is heavy duty stuff.

FROHIKE: What is that?

LANGLY: It's a vault. Data storage. In the pit of the building, sixteen floors down. Massive.

FROHIKE: What the hell kind of data do they store down there anyway?

MORRIS FLETCHER: Hey, don't look at me, this is your town.

LANGLY: Guys, I think we're sitting on the mother lode here.

BYERS: Romeo 61, JFK, who knows, maybe every answer we've ever dreamed of recovering.

MORRIS FLETCHER: (to Langly) You know, maybe the boys wouldn't treat you like such a tramp if you'd wear less make-up.

LANGLY: That just gets funnier and funnier. Keep it up.

MORRIS FLETCHER: (in a fake Scottish accent) Aye, Braveheart, and you will lead us to victory over the English dogs.

LANGLY: And you can blow my bagpipe, pal.

BYERS: Mr. Fletcher, we're supposed to be working together.

MORRIS FLETCHER: I know, I know, but this is pointless. I'm a dead man. I should be using these last hours constructively - drinking at the bar and juggling blonde triplets. No offence, fellows, but there's no way you're getting in there.

FROHIKE: How about it?

LANGLY: It's tricky. They've got a wicked access system based on facial recognition. If your face doesn't match one in their database, they lock you in.

BYERS: Can you crack the database, add our photos to it?

LANGLY: Negatory. It's built as a ROM file. It'd be like changing Moses' stone tablets.

MORRIS FLETCHER: That's what I'm saying. And even then, how would blue boy pass with his complexion?

FROHIKE: He's right. With that shade of blue, the scanner would probably read your face as invisible. Like the chromakey they use behind the TV weather map.

BYERS: Chromakey. That's the answer.

9:16 P.M.

(YVES is waiting in the underground car park. She checks her watch, looking worried. A car arrives. As she watches the car drive past, its headlights sweep across another car illuminating the driver. She quickly gets into her car and drives off. The mystery car follows but is temporarily slowed by a third car, driven by JIMMY.)

JIMMY: (shouts to the mystery car) Little thing called speed limit, buddy!

(YVES drives through the streets, the mystery car following her. She turns into an alley, the other car follows and stops behind Yves' parked car. There's no sign of Yves. Then she taps on the window of the mystery man's car with her gun. She shoots out the front tyre then taps on the window again. The man winds the window down and Yves pushes the gun barrel up against his neck. It's the man who was watching her in the Smithsonian Institution.)


YVES: You should be.

SHARPLY DRESSED MAN: I have a message for you. People that you care about may die tonight.

YVES: There's no one I care about.

(He hands her a copy of 'The Lone Gunman'.)

SHARPLY DRESSED MAN: It's up to you. If you come with me now, they'll be safe. Perhaps we could take your car.

(She shoots out his rear tyre, gets back in her car and leaves.)


(Cut to VW. LANGLY'S face is entirely blue now, and several small pink dots have been applied to it.)

BYERS: There we are, that should do it. Number fifteen.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Now what exactly does this do? Aside from making sure he never gets laid again.

LANGLY: Ah, bite me, Fletcher.

MORRIS FLETCHER: Maybe. You taste like blueberries?

BYERS: Guys. Facial recognition works by scanning the shape of each face and measuring a sampling of its prominent features.

LANGLY: Fifteen sampling points with this system.

BYERS: So, if Langly's face is chromakey blue, and hence invisible to the scanner, all the machine picks up are these fifteen pink dots, which correspond to the exact sampling points of one Walter Belofsky, whom we pulled off the Fenix Atlantic database.

(The monitor shows the face of Frank Spotnitz, with corresponding dots.)

LANGLY: And presto, I'm in like Flynn.

MORRIS FLETCHER: You guys never went to your high school prom, did you?

(The VW door opens and FROHIKE climbs in.)

FROHIKE: The gate and the outer door are standard keypad entry. Plain vanilla stuff. Coming, Skizics?

(He offers to paint MORRIS FLETCHER blue.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Oh no, thanks. I think I'll sit this one out.

BYERS: Suit yourself.

(FROHIKE starts painting BYERS' face.)

10:06 P.M.

(JIMMY is sat in his car in the car-park. He gets out.)

JIMMY: Yves? Yves? (Approaches a pillar.) Yves?

(MULDER walks past, on the other side of the pillar, looking for someone. He's startled by JIMMY'S presence, then suspicious.)



(MULDER walks past JIMMY as TXF theme tune plays, stops and puts his hands in his pockets. They both stand there, a few feet apart. TXF theme again.)

MULDER: You wouldn't happen to know a guy named Frohike, would you?

JIMMY: Frohike. Yeah, I live with him. I mean, I used to.

MULDER: Was that a kind of a May to December thing?

JIMMY: What about Frohike?

MULDER: I'm supposed to meet him here.

JIMMY: Yeah? You wouldn't happen to know a woman named Yves, would you?

MULDER: No. You're supposed to meet her here too?

JIMMY: What are the chances of that? Unless maybe you're talking about some other Frohike.

MULDER: The Frohike I know, I'm hoping he's the only one. My name's Mulder, by the way.

JIMMY: Jimmy. (pause) Mulder... You're that FBI agent the guys are always solving the crimes for. You're the one that says he was abducted by aliens.

MULDER: I was abducted.

JIMMY: Wow! Did they probe you? Did they use the nose thing on you? Or the big one?

MULDER: Jimmy, let's put our heads together and see if we can't figure this thing out.


(Cut to three figures outside the chain link fence at Fenix's building.)

LANGLY: Bingo. We're in.

FROHIKE: Told you. Plain vanilla.


(In the VW, MORRIS FLETCHER is making a call on his cellphone.)

SHARPLY DRESSED MAN: (answering) Hello.

MORRIS FLETCHER: How's it going?

SHARPLY DRESSED MAN: As expected. Your end?

MORRIS FLETCHER: Hold on a second. (shouts to the Lone Gunmen) Right on, guys. Let your freak flag fly. (to Sharply Dressed Man) Three blue mice headed for the cheese.


(The LONE GUNMEN move off into the complex as the gate closes again.)

(Fade to black.)


(GUNMEN HQ. The door opens and KIMMY is standing there.)

KIMMY: This is kidnapping.

(JIMMY pushes KIMMY in the room.)

JIMMY: Yeah, I know. I'm real sorry.

KIMMY: I thought I'd made myself abundantly clear. I plan to keep on breathing. I don't care how big a doo pile your little Mongoloid girl scout troop has burrowed itself into, you've got no right to involve me in this.

JIMMY: It's true, I don't.

KIMMY: Exactly. So, bye bye.

(He heads for the door but JIMMY grabs him by the ear.)

KIMMY: Ow. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting. Hurting.

(JIMMY slams the door shut and leads KIMMY over to a computer.)

JIMMY: I have no right, but that doesn't mean you're not going to help me. Understand?

KIMMY: All right. Lay it out for me already.

JIMMY: I ran into this FBI agent, he thought he was meeting Frohike, who was going to give him secret information. Only Frohike never showed up. This agent, he gave me a phone number for a Frohike that I'd never seen before. It's disconnected. I need you to run it down for me.

KIMMY: Using me to trace phone numbers. It's like watching Michael Jordan play chequers.

(KIMMY does a very quick trace on the computer.)

KIMMY: 'Martha Stewart Living' - that's who it bills to.

JIMMY: It's Yves!

KIMMY: Yves Harlow?

JIMMY: She was going to meet with Mulder. She was going to give him the disk she took from Morris Fletcher.

(YVES somehow is there although there was no sound of the door opening or closing.)

YVES: You are the smartest of the four. (She hands the disk to Jimmy) See that it gets to Agent Mulder. (to Kimmy) Move.

KIMMY: Whatever.

(He stands up and YVES takes his place at the computer.)

YVES: I assume neither of you knows the whereabouts of Byers, Langly or Frohike.

(She starts using the computer.)

JIMMY: What's on this? (Hold up disk.) The Maharon Project? An alien weapon?

YVES: Nothing so exotic. It's a detailed file of alien abductees, or rather, innocent people who've been brainwashed by the likes of Morris Fletcher. (Kimmy tries to leave but Jimmy puts him in a head lock.) It's all there - their modus operandi, their disinformation. I reckon that man, Agent Mulder, will find it useful.

JIMMY: What about Romeo 61?

YVES: What about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny? Classic disinformation, Jimmy. Bait. Shiny lures to dangle in front of your three friends. Something they couldn't resist.

(KIMMY and JIMMY exchange looks although it's a little uncomfortable for KIMMY who is still in a headlock.)


(Cut to a door being carefully opened. A mirror on a stick is pushed through the opening to check the interior. It's FROHIKE, LANGLY and BYERS. They enter the room and FROHIKE uses a device to unlock the electronic lock to another door. This second room is a gateway - a glass column rotates until the opening is in front of where BYERS is standing. FROHIKE has accessed the computer controls. BYERS nods to FROHIKE then enters the gateway. The column rotates sealing BYERS in. A scanner moves down into front of Byers's face. The computer finds a match - John Shiban's face appears on the screen. The scanner moves up and the column rotates further giving BYERS access to the area beyond. He looks back and LANGLY gives the thumbs-up sign to him.)


(Cut back to YVES, still in the GUNMEN HQ, and who in frustration hits the keyboard.)

YVES: Damn it!

KIMMY: Are you running a plate trace?

YVES: Late model Jaguar sedan. I need an owner's name, it's not coming up.

KIMMY: Run the VIN number. Let me try something.

(JIMMY releases KIMMY from the headlock.)

JIMMY: (to YVES) Morris Fletcher is using the guys as bait to get to you? Why? What does he want with you?

YVES: He simply wants his disk back. I imagine that's why he got involved. He's working for someone else, however, someone who's been looking for me for quite some time now.


YVES: All you need to know is that I won't turn myself over to him. Which means if we can't track down Byers, Frohike and Langly ourselves...

JIMMY: They'll kill them.


(Cut to computer recognition system - FROHIKE'S face has been scanned and is matched to Vince Gilligan. Now LANGLY is being scanned - the face is Frank Spotnitz. All three GUNMEN are now in the inner area. They climb up a couple of steps to an elevator door. FROHIKE hits the button.)


(Cut back to TLG HQ.)

KIMMY: Sorry. A whole lot of nothing.

JIMMY: Think. Think. Last time I saw the guys, they were at your hotel room. Maybe there's some clue there.

YVES: What do you mean, my hotel room?

JIMMY: We, er, tracked you to your room at the Bishop Place.

YVES: I don't have a room at the Bishop Place. (to Kimmy) Crack the in-house server.

KIMMY: Censured.

YVES: What's the room number?

JIMMY: I think it was the Presidential Suite.

(YVES has sat down next to KIMMY who is admiring her cleavage.)

YVES: Eyes forward. Check the billing file. Who rented the room?

KIMMY: There you go.

YVES: Fenix Atlantic.


(Cut back to the GUNMEN. The door opens into a circular elevator, shiny metal walls. They enter and FROHIKE punches the bottom of about 20 buttons. The elevator descends and opens into a room, again shiny metal walls, with a very large safe which the GUNMEN approach.)

BYERS: Gentlemen, this is it. I suspect that every answer to every question we've every asked - lies behind this door.

FROHIKE: And all we've got to do is open it.


(Cut to street outside Fenix building. Yves' car draws up. YVES, JIMMY and KIMMY get out and JIMMY checks the VW.)

JIMMY: Nobody's here. Where'd they go?

YVES: Come on. (She goes over to the gate.) They're probably inside, from the looks of things. This isn't too promising.

JIMMY: Okay. So, I've got a plan.

YVES: You do?

JIMMY: You and Kimmy figure out how to get the doors open and I'll go in by myself. Whoever's after you, is after you, not me.

YVES: It's a smart plan, Jimmy.

(She kisses him on the check, much to his delight, then beckons KIMMY over and shoots JIMMY with a knockout gun.)

KIMMY: (as JIMMY collapses into his arms) What? What the hell?

YVES: Take him home. Stay there.

KIMMY: You are, like, dangerous, lady.

YVES: Let's hope so.

(YVES opens the gate and enters the complex.)


(Cut to TLG trying to open the safe.)

FROHIKE: Come on. Come on.

BYERS: (using a computer showing floor plans of the building) I don't understand, Langly. Your schematics clearly showed a different vault door.

FROHIKE: Yeah, one that had a control panel. One we actually had a chance of breaking in to.

LANGLY: It doesn't make any damn sense. It's like these stupid schematics are like...

FROHIKE: Fake. (The lift is descending) Oh crap.

(The door opens. MORRIS FLETCHER, the SHARPLY DRESSED MAN and armed SOLDIERS are standing there.)

MORRIS FLETCHER: Hi, guys. Why so blue? (sniggers) Sorry.

(The SOLDIERS move in and start handcuffing the GUNMEN. More armed soldiers arrive with YVES in handcuffs. MORRIS FLETCHER smiles at them all.)

(Fade to black.)


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