Mulder knew how it felt to keep secrets about your life. He hadn’t told Gimble about his sister—or even mentioned that he had one. Transferring to a new school for senior year gave Mulder a chance to walk through the halls with people who didn’t know the story that plagued him back home.
When Samantha disappeared, everyone on the island heard the same version of events. One minute his sister was watching television in the living room with Mulder … and the next minute she was gone. He was there the whole time, so why couldn’t he remember anything? That was the first question people asked. Overnight, he became the poor kid who froze when his little sister needed him.
The police and the FBI never recovered any evidence to explain Samantha’s disappearance. Mulder believed she’d been kidnapped, but no one took him seriously. Why should they when his father refused to acknowledge the possibility?
Instead, Bill Mulder sent his son to a shrink. Mulder’s parents never used the word kidnapped, at least not around him. They saved it for the endless arguments they had in their bedroom at night, when they thought he was asleep. But Mulder rarely slept. He spent his nights lying awake, making a silent vow. If the authorities refused to figure out what happened to his sister, he would do it himself.
“Mulder? You okay?” Gimble was waving his hand in front of Mulder’s face.
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.” He fake-yawned.
“Gary? Are you coming down?” the Major called from downstairs. “It’s almost sixteen hundred.”
“I’ll be down in a minute,” Gimble yelled, red-faced.
“Gary?” Mulder grinned. “That’s your real name?”
“No one calls me that except my father. Gimble is my true name. And I don’t make fun of your name, Fox.”
“Hey, I’m not judging.” Mulder held up his hands in surrender. “As long as I don’t have to call you Lord Manhammer.”
When they reached the staircase, the Major was stationed at the bottom, waiting. He had the tired look of a man who had fought too many battles. Deep lines were etched into his face, and his standard military-style buzz cut was uneven, as if it had been trimmed by a shaky hand. The Major was dressed in freshly ironed olive green fatigues. The button-down shirt hung from his tall frame, too tight in some places and too loose in others. It looked like a real military uniform—complete with a blue air force patch sewn above one pocket and Winchester, his last name, sewn above the other pocket. There were other patches, too, stars and a fancy crest with gold wings on the sides.
Gimble leaned toward Mulder and whispered, “Whatever you do, just don’t tell him that your dad works for the government.”
“Why not?” Fox glanced at the intimidating man staring up at him.
“You don’t want to know.”
CHAPTER 3
Winchester Residence
3:56 P.M.
The Major extended his hand before Mulder made it down the steps. “Major William Wyatt Winchester, United States Air Force, 128th Reconnaissance Squadron.”
Mulder stuck out his sweaty palm. “Fox Mulder. Gim—I mean, Gary’s friend from school.”
The Major clasped his hand in a death grip and shook it. “Gary tells me you have security clearance?”
Security clearance?
Mulder’s dad tossed around the term all the time in an attempt to make his boring job at the State Department sound interesting. Mulder wasn’t sure the Major had enough clearance to get into his own bank account.
Gimble did a face-palm, Mulder’s cue to play along. “Of course, sir.”
The Major nodded and headed for the living room, motioning for the boys to follow him. “Glad to hear it. I can never be too careful. My work is highly classified, and the government would kill to get their hands on it.” He gestured at the sofa and turned on the TV set and the VHS player. “Have a seat.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your clearance level?” After seeing the house, Mulder couldn’t resist asking.
Gimble’s eyes bugged out, and he mouthed, What the hell?
The Major laughed. “This is a black op, son, and it’s my operation. Clearance doesn’t get much higher than that. Every move I make is classified.” He tapped on an AM radio on the shelf above the VHS player. “All my communications are encrypted, and information is supplied on a need-to-know basis.”
“Which means no one knows anything,” Gimble said under his breath.
“How many people are in your unit?” Mulder asked.
And are they real?
If the Major knew that Mulder was humoring him, he didn’t let on. “I keep my unit small—three people, including myself. The members of my unit are true patriots, willing to risk their lives to expose a government conspiracy of epic proportions.”
“I’m going to show Mulder the telescope,” Gimble said.
“You’re not going to watch the transmission?” the Major asked.
“I’ll watch Project U.F.O. with you tomorrow. Mulder wants to see the telescope. He’s into space stuff.”
“We can check it out after the episode,” Mulder offered, sitting on the shag carpet. “I don’t mind.”
The Major nodded his approval. “That’s what I like to hear.”
“Fine.” Gimble looked annoyed. “Then can we start watching it?”