...not everything is a labyrinth of dark conspiracy.
Look at you, you're shaking.
One at a time, boys. Now, what's going on?
- Frohike's close... - Don't use my name!
What the hell's wrong with you?! Now I'll have to kill you.
Langley and I performed three sweeps
with the CPM-700 and did not detect a single hot mic...
The CPM-700 is a piece of crap.
The acoustic correlator is reading only passive sounds.
I've been here 20 minutes,
and I'll still don't know what the hell is wrong.
No one would kill you, Frohike.
You're just a little puppy dog.
I don't utter another syllable
until a CSM-25 countermeasure filter is activated.
No electronic surveillance known
can cut through the CSM-25.
Okay, okay.
Now tell us what you're so close to.
Not a "what"-- a "who."
If you find the right starting point
and follow it, not even secrets
of the darkest of men are safe.
Cancer Man?
What did you find?
Possibly everything.
Maybe his background, who he is,
and who he wants to be.
August 20, 1940, Mexico City.
A Stalinist agent assassinated Leon Trotsky with an ice pick.
At that same moment, a thousand miles north
in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, he appears.
The father was an ardent Communist activist.
During the Nazi-Soviet pact, he kept the NKVD informed
on American plans to enter World War Two.
He was executed under the Espionage Act of 1917,
before his boy could walk.
The mother--
a cigarette smoker-- died of lung cancer
before her son uttered his first word.
With no surviving family, he became a ward of the state,
sent to various orphanages in the Midwest.
Didn't make friends,
spent all his time reading... alone.
And then... he appears to have vanished,
until a year and a half after the Bay of Pigs.
Premier Khrushchev, we want you!
We're going to kick your rang-a-dang-doo!
Fidel Castro, we want you!
We're going to kick your rang-a-dang-doo!
Mother Russia...
Why don't you just go see the movie?
I'd rather read the worst novel ever written than sit through
the best movie ever made.
Captain, sir, General Francis requests you
report to his office ASAP, sir.
My one-year-old just said his first word.
What was the word?
I'll catch you later, Mulder.
He's here, sir.
Send him in.
You wish to see me, sir?
Have a seat, Captain.
Captain, have you ever seen these two men,
met the general or myself?
No, sir.
In January 1961,
did you aid Congo President Kasavubu
in the arrest and assassination
of Patrice Lumumba?
No, sir.
Were you involved in the training of Cuban nationals
during Operation Zapata,
also known as the Bay of Pigs?
I'm sorry, sir. I'm unaware of any such operation.
On May 31, 1961, did you aid Dominican locals
in the assassination of Rafael Trujillo?
No, sir.
Your father was a convicted spy for the Soviet Union,
executed in a Louisiana electric chair,
was he not?
My only regret, sir, is
I was too young to throw the switch myself.
At ease, Captain.
Your father's actions were
totally out of your control.
Each of us in this room understands a life eviscerated
by the actions of another.
Cigarette?
No, thank you, sir.
I never touch them.
You see, Captain, most people seek to control life's events
in order to secure a more positive, productive
and free existence.
Often, however, the objectives
of others conflict with our objectives.
Viva la libertad.
Now...
most people-- common people, really--
can barely manage to control
their own self-centered, myopic existence.
They command armies of lawyers
armed with paper weapons,
attacking with spiteful, vengeful...
cowardly litigation.
Others... operate within
elephantine bureaucracies.
And then, Captain...
...there are extraordinary men.
Those who must identify,
comprehend and ultimately
shoulder the responsibility
for not only their own existence
but their country's and the world's as well.
Your father, Captain,
believed his country
should look to another form of government,
and he took control of that belief.
So, in that respect,
we view him as an extraordinary man.
And we believe--
we know, Captain--
that it runs in the family.
Now, don't misunderstand.
You father should have been executed.
Communism is without a doubt
the most heinous personification
of evil mankind has ever confronted,
and it is, in part,
the reason that you are before us here today.
You must understand, Captain, everything I'm about to say
is classified "compartmentalized"
so intensely that if you accept this assignment
and successfully execute it, you will no longer be an officer
of the United States Army,
nor will any record exist of your service.
The assignment... is the assassination
of an American civilian, aged 46...
former Naval PT-boat commander...
married, father of two.
Last week, Captain,
this country was brought to the brink
of nuclear annihilation--
a situation which never would have arisen
had the individual in question, as commander in chief,
provided an umbrella of air support
during the invasion of Bahia de Cochinos.
Is there a cover story?
Tell them it was done by men from outer space.
We've found and are setting up a patsy.
Where?
You shouldn't smoke those, Lee.
I'm reading studies that say they can kill you.
Well...
Mr. Hunt... sir.
I've heard about those reports,
and they are no doubt correct.
You'll have a good view of the president today.
Well, I like the president's family.
They're interesting people.
However, I have my own views
on the president's national policy.
I'll probably just eat lunch.
I'm going to the movies at the Texas Theatre.
It's only 90 cents.
I love the movies.
I brought the curtain rods, Lee.
I bought some curtain rods just like this
from a mail order back in March.
You did?
Or A.J. Hidell?
Well, Mr. Hunt,
Fidel's defenders have to be careful.
Yes, we do.
Speaking of which, Lee,
I've informed our fellow defender
that you will hide the curtain rods on the sixth floor
of the book depository
behind the cartons against the back wall.
Cuban visa?
Once I've been notified the curtain rods
have been safely removed from the depository,
the visa and the money for your trip
will be in your room.
Take a bus.
I left all my money with my wife.
That's all I've got.
13 and change.
You better get going, Lee.
You wouldn't want to miss your ride to work.
Oh. Good morning, Lee.
Starting work right on time.
Yes, sir.
The president should be driving past any minute.
I think I hear everyone down on the fifth floor.
Where's Lee? Does he want to come?
Hey, Lee, come on.
Will, hurry up!
...the president's car is now turning onto Elm Street.
I was on the Stemmons Freeway earlier and even the freeway was
jam-packed with spectators waiting to see the president.
People are really starting to crowd in now.
The motorcade is heading
down Elm Street now,
passing the Texas Schoolbook Depository.
It looks like all of Dallas has turned out...
I can't quite see from here...
We're hit! We're hit!
It appears something has
happened on the motorcade route.
Does anyone know what happened?
Is there any information?
Upstairs!
Do you know this man?
Yes, he works for me.
The President of the United States is dead.
It is official now.
President Kennedy is dead.
No. No. No, sir.
I won't be a patsy.
...weight about 165 pounds.
Possibly armed and should be considered dangerous.
Use caution approaching.
Afternoon.
I wish to see some form of identification, sir.
Now, easy there, partner.
I just want to talk a minute.
If I don't see valid credentials,
I'm going to assume you're with them.
"Them"? What do you mean, partner?
How about a cigarette?
Thank you.
You know, Kiefer knocked out a bunker.
All by himself, too.
He'll have more guts than I've got.
All I did was pick up the spoil.
But he's really got it.
After Connors and Thurston ran, he knocked out
the bunker with one grenade.
Now, that's really something, huh?
Yeah.
Take this side.
All right.
Get along.
Officer, what's going on?
Go ahead and settle down.
On your feet.
Come on.
It's going to be all over.
He's got a gun!
I'm not resisting arrest!
Stop hitting me, you sons of bitches!
I'm not the one! I'm not the one!
I'm not resisting arrest!
Police brutality!
This is police brutality!
I'm not resisting arrest!
Let me go! I can walk!
Get him in the car!
Let me go!
I can walk!
We must, with positive action,
seek to remove those conditions of poverty
insecurity and injustice,
which are the fertile soil
in which the seed of communism grows and develops.
These are revolutionary times.
All over the globe,
men are revolting against old systems
of exploitation and oppression,
and out of the wombs of a frail world,
new systems of justice and equality are being born.
The shirtless and barefoot people of the land
are rising up as never before.
I can kill you whenever I please...
The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light.
We in the West must support these revolutions.
But not today.
It is a sad fact
that because of comfort, complacency,
a morbid fear of communism
and our proneness to adjust to injustice,
the Western nations that initiated
so much of the revolutionary spirit of the modern world
have now become the arch anti-revolutionaries.
This has driven many to feel
that only Marxism has the revolutionary spirit.
Therefore, communism is a judgment
against our failure to make democracy real
and follow through on the revolutions
that we initiated.
No, no. Why did you have to do that?
...to recapture the revolution...
Why didn't you know this was coming... Edgar?
Last year, the House was not smiling
on non-eye to eye surveillance.
So I stopped.
We called Ramsey Clark
to receive a go-ahead on tapping King's phone,
but he refused.
Our behind-the-fence operations on Willie
believes that King's ally Stokely Carmichael
is recruiting a Negro army
to wage war on white America.
Wouldn't you if you were them?
If this were only a civil rights issue, I'd vote
for a King/Benjamin Spock presidential ticket.
But after last night, it's not.
You actually sound sad about it.
I respect King.
He's an extraordinary man.
But now he's talking like a Maoist,
and if he convinces Negroes not to fight in Vietnam,
we'll lose.
And the first domino will have fallen.
We must step up our efforts to discredit him.
Like your ridiculous suicide project?
"There is but one way out for you."
That dumb letter attempting to drive King into despair
only alerted him to the level of our surveillance.
We could create a film of him
with a woman other than his wife.
Using existing footage,
we could insert him in a film we make of a woman...
a white woman.
The solution is more intense... than just dirty tricks.
If you'll excuse us, gentlemen,
the director has a meeting at the White House.
Sit down.
You've enough plausible deniability
to last the rest of your nine lives.
A sig force can execute a wet-insert operation.
One day,
he and his immediate circle
are just found dead.
Too many questions.
Americans believe the South is still fighting the Civil War.
We find ourselves a cracker patsy,
and the motives become very black and white.
Another patsy.
Should we... advise the president?
I work very hard to keep any president
from knowing I even exist.
Who will you order to do it?
I'll do it myself.
I have too much respect for the man.
The nation is sick.
Trouble is in the land.
Confusion all around.
That's a strange statement.
But I know somehow
that only when it is dark enough can you see the stars.
And I see God working
in this period of the 20th century...
...in a way...
that men in some strange way are responding.
Something is happening in our world.
The masses of people are rising up...
and wherever they are assembled today,
whether they are in Johannesburg, South Africa;
Nairobi, Kenya; Accra, Ghana;
New York City; Atlanta, Georgia;
Jackson, Mississippi; or Memphis, Tennessee;
"We want to be free."
Raul...
got the binoculars you sent me out for.
Just put them down by your clothes.
I heard, uh, Dr. King is staying
at the Lorraine Motel right behind here.
Our gun buyer's coming by
to look at the rifle.
Well... I gave it to you this morning.
I have it.
Look, uh, three's a crowd.
Here's a couple of hundred.
Go to a movie or something.
Come back in two or three hours.
Leave the Mustang. I'll need it later.
Well, I don't know what will happen now.
We've got some difficult days ahead.
But it really doesn't matter with me now,
because I've been to the mountaintop.
I don't mind.
Like anybody, I would like to live...
a long life.
Longevity has its place.
But I'm not concerned about that now.
I just want to do God's will.
And he's allowed me to go up to the mountain,
and I've looked over...
and I've seen... the Promised Land.
I may not get there with you,
but I want you to know tonight
that we as a people will get to the Promised Land!
So I'm happy tonight.
I'm not worried about anything.
I'm not fearing any man.
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!
Memphis police found
a rifle wrapped in a blanket,
as well as some personal belongings
believed to be that of the assassin
in the doorway of the Canipe Amusement Company.
Word of Dr. King's death at 7:05 p.m.
has touched off declarations of states of emergency
in several cities,
including Washington, D.C.; Chicago and Detroit.
Tonight in Indianapolis,
New York State Senator Robert F. Kennedy
made an appeal for calm.
I can only say that I can also feel in my own heart
the same kind of feeling.
I had a member of my family killed...
and he was killed by a white man.
My favorite poet was Aeschylus,
and he once wrote...
"Even in our sleep,
"pain which cannot forget...
"falls drop by drop upon the heart
"until in our own despair,
"against our will, comes wisdom
through the awful grace of God."
All right, gentleman,
let's make this short and sweet
so we can all go home for Christmas.
Domestic unrest operations?
Yeah, the Anita Hill thing has lost steam since October.
Well, let it go.
We played it right.
Unfounded allegations will be flying around in no time.
The Rodney King trial's been moved to Simi Valley,
just as you instructed.
Call back.
Internationally-- Bosnia-Herzegovina
is set for a February vote on independence from Yugoslavia.
America couldn't care less.
I am working on next month's Oscar nominations.
Any preference?
I couldn't care less.
What I don't want to see
is the Bills winning a Super Bowl.
As long as I'm alive, that doesn't happen.
Could be tough, sir.
Buffalo wants it bad.
So did the Soviets in '80.
What, you saying you rigged the Olympic hockey game?
What's the matter?
Don't you believe in miracles?
The boss gave the Russian goaltender a little
pre-game good-luck pat on the back--
unseen novocaine needle on a bogus wedding ring.
Goalie's a little slow on the stick side--
4-3, home team.
Payback's a bitch, Ivan.
Well, gentlemen, if that will be all...
One thing internally, sir.
That "Spooky" kid
who talked his way into opening X Files--
feels like trouble.
He's mine to keep an eye on.
Gorbachev has just resigned.
There's no more enemies.
Merry Christmas.
If you don't have any plans, sir...
we're all getting together with our families out in Virginia.
You're more than welcome to...
Oh... well... um...
I have to, uh, see some, uh... family.
♪ It's the most wonderful time of the year ♪
♪ With the kids jingle-belling ♪
♪ And everyone telling you ♪
♪ Be of good cheer ♪
♪ It's the most wonderful time of the year ♪
♪ It's the hap-happiest season of all ♪
♪ With those holiday greetings and gay happy feelings ♪
♪ When friends come to call ♪
♪ It's the hap-happiest season... ♪
Yeah.
You'll never believe
what we just got for Christmas.
Craft matches the dimensions
of the vehicle spotted over Hanoi
when I was in Vietnam with the company
that the Marines couldn't shoot down.
Occupant?
Critical.
Timing couldn't be worse.
The Roswell story we concocted was gathering momentum.
Had them all looking in the wrong direction.
With luck, we'll get away with it.
Yeah. No luck tonight.
Our Aurora spy planes confirmed the Russians
tracked entry and have pinpointed touchdown.
Haven't you heard?
There are no Russians anymore.
I don't care if they're in the midst of ruin.
The KGB is not going to ignore
an event of this magnitude, nor are the Chinese,
nor the Germans, nor the British, or anyone
who has the capability
of discovering what happened here tonight.
I'm certain each of them has operatives advancing
on us right now.
How many historic events
have only the two of us witnessed together, Ronald?
How often did we make or change history?
And our names can never grace any pages of record.
No monument will ever bear our image,
and yet once again tonight,
the course of human history will be set
by two unknown men standing in the shadows.
A living EBE could advance
Bill Mulder's project by decades.
Security Council Resolution 10.13
states "any country capturing such an entity
is responsible for its immediate extermination."
I'm the liar.
You're the killer.
Your lies have killed more men in a day
than I have in a lifetime.
I've never killed anybody.
Maybe I'm not the liar.
I have a chance to go an entire lifetime
without killing anybody... or any thing.
With all of our work in the past 30 years--
all of our victories--
if the world were to see this,
it would destroy all we've gained in a few hours.
Tonight... we have a new...
enemy.
Heads.
Go ahead.
Make history.
...might have been desperate.
At that point, your work in the basement
was getting attention from the top floor.
That's why you were brought in.
Agent Scully, thank you for coming
on such short notice. Please.
Are you familiar with an agent named Fox Mulder?
Yes, I am.
How so?
By reputation.
Um, he's an Oxford-educated psychologist who wrote
a monograph on serial killers and the occult
that helped catch Monty Propps in 1988.
Generally thought of as the best analyst
in the violent crime section.
He had a nickname at the academy.
Um, "Spooky" Mulder.
What I'll also tell you is that Agent Mulder
has developed a consuming devotion
to an unassigned project outside the Bureau mainstream.
Are you familiar with the so-called "X Files"?
Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted.
Agent Mulder, I'm Dana Scully.
I've been assigned to work with you.
Oh, isn't it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded.
So who did you tick off to get stuck with this detail, Scully?
Actually, I'm looking forward to working with you.
I've heard a lot about you.
Oh, really?
I was under the impression that you were sent to spy on me.
Henry David Thoreau wrote:
"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."
His life has been anything but quiet,
yet I believe nothing but desperate.
He's the most dangerous man alive,
not so much because he believes in his actions,
but because he believes these actions
are all which life allows him,
and yet the only person that can never escape him... is himself.
Pivotal Publishing.
Um, Walden Roth, please.
One moment.
Walden Roth.
Oh, Mr. Roth, hello.
Um, this is Raul Bloodworth,
uh, author of Second Chance: A Jack Colquitt Adventure.
Yes, of course, Mr. Bloodworth.
What an active imagination you have-- alien assassinations!
Uh, is it too much?
I mean, is my imagination too active?
No, no. I love it!
Now, as I've expressed in the letter,
I wish to serialize your novel
in our publication Roman á Clef.
Many outstanding authors received their first printing
in our publication.
That's... that's great.
Um, I had an idea about the artwork.
I thought it could have
a kind of Tom Clancy-ish kind of look and that...
Great, great. That's why we work with young writers,
but I'll be honest, however--
you'll have to relinquish some control.
Of course. Of course.
After all, it is our publication and I can assure you,
we will handle it with the utmost respect.
No, no, no. I-I'm sure you will.
I'm just excited.
Understandable. Now, do you have an agent or attorney?
No.
That's fine. It's a minimum agreement of $2,500,
and you'll save yourself ten percent.
Well, that's fine, that's fine. Anything.
When do you plan to publish the story?
Roman á Clef-- it'll be on the newsstands
the morning of November 12.
Excuse me, sir.
Have you got this week's issue of Roman á Clef?
Thanks.
There you are.
This isn't the ending that I wrote.
It's all wrong.
Look, if you're going to stand there and read it,
I got to ask you to buy it.
Of course, I don't know why
anybody in their right mind
would want to buy that sort of crap.
That be it?
Pack of Morleys.
Life... is like a box of chocolates--
cheap, thoughtless, perfunctory gift
that nobody ever asks for--
unreturnable, because all you get back
is another box of chocolates.
So you're stuck with this undefinable whipped-mint crap
that you mindlessly wolf down
when there's nothing else left to eat.
Sure, once in a while, there's a peanut butter cup
or an English toffee,
but they're gone too fast and the taste is... fleeting.
So you end up with nothing but broken bits
filled with hardened jelly and teeth-shattering nuts,
and if you're desperate enough to eat those,
all you've got left is a...
is an empty box
filled with useless brown paper wrappers.
So far, this is based only on a story I read in
one of my weekly subscriptions that rang a few bells.
I'm going out to check on the private hacker source
who's been working on tracking a few leads
that can produce definitive proof, and then
we'll have him nailed.
I can kill you whenever I please.
But not today.