All the King's Horses
Authors: Fraternal Angst (LadyofTruths and Holly Graham)
Authors' Note: The characters used within this story that belong to Thomas Harris are being used for strictly entertainment purposes and no money is being made from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter One: Chosen One
It was a dreary morning in Seattle, Washington. Rain collected into dirty puddles over the training field behind the FBI field office. A lithe young man made his third trip around the circular track, trying his best to ignore the prickle of the rain as it hit his face and dripped down his thick neck, stinging his hot skin. A look of pure determination was etched into his square face; he was breathing hard, the grip on his joggers had worn itself thin, making his sprint slippery and uneven.
"Cartwright!" A strong voice echoed from the far side of the track. A stocky man holding an umbrella waved the young man down. "Bexter wants to see you in his office ASAP."
Dallas Cartwright nodded and headed off the track to wipe down with his sweat towel, though it was pointless, he was drenched from the rain. He guzzled at the water bottle he had left on one of the benches and headed for the covered pavement that ran from the gym to the towering FBI building and would ultimately take him to Behavioral Science inside. Several young women clad in tight Spandex shorts and tops passed by and greeted him with a smile and several winks. He nodded amusedly and continued on despite the fact he would much rather turn around and follow the women back into the gym. But a call from SAC Ian Bexter was high priority. As a rookie, it could mean anything: paperwork, surveillance, or if he was lucky, a field assignment.
The electronic doors opened to greet him with a wave of coolness; the air- conditioning would be turned to maximum speed and minimum temperate every day, despite the turning seasons. Cartwright, with his towel hung around his neck and carrying his water bottle, shuddered inwardly, wishing he'd brought a change of clothes with him.
"Dallas! Hey man! I heard Bexter called you in. What's with that?" Ryan Madison playfully tugged at his friend's shoulder.
"I'm not sure. Listen, I'm in a rush. You wanna head out for a beer tonight? Find some lucky girl to take home?" Cartwright turned and walked backward as he called to his friend walking the opposite direction down the hall.
"Yeah, sure," Madison called back over his shoulder. "Meet you at eight."
Cartwright turned back around and barely avoided running right smack into an open door.
"Shit," he muttered as he danced sideways to skirt the door.
He nodded slightly to the secretary that advanced through the door, laden with reports, as she let it swing closed behind her. The middle aged woman glanced up and did a double take, smiling shyly at him. As he continued on down the hall, Cartwright couldn't help but grin to himself. He knew he was attractive, it was one of his many gifts. He was over six feet three inches tall, with dark black hair and piercing blue eyes. He was well built and his olive skin held a tan very nicely. In addition to his striking good looks, Cartwright had also learned early on that he had a knack for charm and making people feel good about themselves. It was these qualities that made Cartwright widely liked by people.
Cartwright walked briskly into the office of Behavioral Science and noted the usual bustle that permeated the department. He weaved his way through rows of desks to Chief Bexter's office door, which was slightly ajar. Cartwright rapped his knuckles firmly against the door as he pushed it open and peered in.
Section Chief Ian Bexter, 48, was a short balding Caucasian man who enjoyed his evening wind downs with beer after beer, which was pronounced by his hefty belly. As Cartwright entered, his head was bent studiously over some reports spread out on his expansive desk, the fluorescent lighting gleaming off his head. He glanced up, his muddy brown eyes blinking.
"Ah Cartwright," Bexter muttered and gestured toward a chair in front of his desk. "Please, sit down."
Cartwright lowered his long frame down into the chair and kept his back rigid and straight against it. Rain water dripped slowly from his hair and his clothing, puddling on the carpet under the chair. Cartwright continued to towel himself off as best he could but his towel was fairly saturated. He waited for Bexter to speak again.
Bexter sighed heavily and eyed Cartwright with what seemed to be mixture of anger and sympathy, as one might look at a child who has been caught in a dreadful sin and is about to pass down judgment.
"Alright Cartwright," Bexter said. "Let's get to it. I called you in here to discuss the possibility of a 'job' with you."
"A job sir?" Cartwright asked, curious.
"Indeed," Bexter nodded slowly. "Listen an assignment's come up and I thought of you."
Cartwright beamed inwardly. 'At last,' he thought, 'a chance to prove myself. Finally, real detective work, no more analyzing data bullshit.'
Bexter leaned his bulky frame back into his chair and continued to eye Cartwright. Cartwright did not mind the appraisal, it was often a tactic used by the higher-ups at the Bureau as a means of sensing any fear and or intimidation their scrutiny might cause in a rookie. In his case, there was none, he merely gazed back calmly at his superior, emotionless. Finally satisfied, Bexter nodded and leaned forward again, his thick arms laid on the desk.
"First let me start off by saying that the main reason you were chosen for this case is your personality and easy going manner. You're nice, polite, charming, and you have a talent for getting close to people because of all that," Bexter sighed again and held up his right forefinger for emphasis. "Now listen carefully Cartwright; this assignment calls for some shall we say unpleasant activities."
Cartwright was immensely intrigued. 'Unpleasant activities?' he thought. 'How cool!'
Being a rookie, Cartwright had merely participated in mundane activities during the three months of his employment with the FBI. He was ready for some excitement. He was ready to prove his worthiness to be here. He was ready to catch some 'bad guys.'
"What sort of unpleasant activities, sir?" Cartwright asked evenly, not wanting to come across as either too excited or scared. He did not want to lose this assignment.
"I'll get to that in a moment Cartwright," Bexter grunted. "We've been handed a case by Violent Crimes because they think it now falls under our heading. For the last four years or so, they've been investigating a slew of missing people and kidnapping cases from all over the state, mostly young women, early 20's. Now they're thinking the majority of the cases are connected.
"An anonymous tip led them to an isolated area immediately east of Chelan in the Cascade Mountains. At first glance it appears to be some sort of compound. It's similar to the Branch Davidian compound down in Waco, surrounded by a large wall running the perimeter, you remember right? Two agents attempted to contact the individuals within the compound and was denied access. The individual the agents spoke with at the gate said they are a community of law abiding citizens but refused the agents access to the compound without good reason. Without a warrant the compound cannot be searched but no judge will grant a warrant without probable cause so basically we cannot get into the compound to search it unless the residents will let us in, which they won't." Bexter paused for breath.
"The Bureau thinks the missing young women are being held within the compound?" Cartwright asked.
"Not sure," Bexter replied and leaned back in his chair again, his hands laced across his vast belly. "The agents that initially went to the compound requesting access saw a young woman matching one of missing women's descriptions but they couldn't be sure it was her. And she didn't signal to them that she was being held against her will or anything. But subsequent covert surveillance of the compound produced an interesting find. Apparently a former patient of Dr. Hannibal Lecter resides there and appears to be the self proclaimed leader of the enclosed community." Bexter paused for dramatic effect, eyeing Cartwright. "After Lecter's incarceration, despite state laws protecting doctor-patient privilege, his patient files were purged by an unknown source and leaked to the media. This particular patient confided to Dr. Lecter that he had..." Bexter flipped through some papers until he found the one he needed. "...and I quote, 'cannibalistic tendencies.' He was a priest at the time and the Catholic Church sent him to Lecter for counseling." He chuckled. "Interesting eh? A budding cannibal seeking help from a real cannibal."
Cartwright took a deep breath, pondering the words. He, along with every other person in the world had been bombarded a few years ago by images and stories of Hannibal Lecter after his bloody escape from custody in Memphis. With regards to Lecter, fact and fantasy had become blurred so badly by the media that he was almost a mythological figure, a mythological figure that remained on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted Persons list. Cartwright smiled inwardly.
'Imagine if Lecter is at the compound or has contact with them,' he thought. 'Imagine if I am the one who captures him. I'd be famous. The book deal alone would make me rich.'
Cartwright looked at Bexter who had been watching him silently, watching the wheels of his brain spin in contemplation. Bexter knew the young rookie was eager to prove himself and thought very highly of himself. That was another reason he had been chosen for this assignment. It would take a particular type of person to do what would be required in this case, the type of person who would do anything in the hopes of flattering recognition when the case was done.
"So Cartwright," Bexter continued. "Basically the assignment calls for an agent to work at infiltrating the compound to determine if there are any illegal activities occurring. But most importantly, the assignment is to determine if Lecter's former patient has any contact at all with Lecter or knows where he is. That would require one to become extremely close to the man." Bexter passed a black and white surveillance photograph from the compound across the desk to Cartwright.
The photo showed an older, Caucasian man, lean yet muscular and Cartwright could tell even from the grainy photo that the man seemed to carry himself with an air of regality.
"His name's Shane McNally. According to his patient records he often discussed with Lecter his 'dream' of creating his own little community; a private, secret community where he and his followers could worship in private the way they saw fit with no government interference. He never came right out and said it would be a cannibal cult, but that seems to be the indication."
Cartwright's head popped up from the photo and regarded Bexter carefully. "I'm sorry sir, did you say a 'cannibal cult'?" He asked quietly.
Bexter nodded. "You got it sport."
Cartwright's mind raced and silence permeated the office as he thought.
"But I've never heard of any religion that condoned cannibalism, especially the Catholics. In fact don't all religions classify it as an abomination?" Cartwright breathed.
"Apparently McNally's background in Catholicism came to take on a twisted view with regards to human sacrifice because of several Bible passages that he claimed denoted God's blood lust," Bexter said. "It's completely detailed in the case file but only the agent who agrees to this assignment will have access to that information," he paused and looked directly at Cartwright. "I guess what I'm getting at Cartwright is this: the assignment to infiltrate a suspected cannibal cult is yours if you want it."
Cartwright, stunned at the words 'cannibal cult' just sat and stared at his superior. He realized that if it was indeed a cannibal cult, in order to infiltrate it he'd have to participate with them in the act of consuming human beings. The very thought made his bile rise. But..on the other hand...the prospect of bringing down Lecter's former patient and possibly having a shot at Lecter himself would be worth the price no matter what the cost.
"I'm your man, sir," Cartwright nodded his head.
To be continued. Please review.
Authors: Fraternal Angst (LadyofTruths and Holly Graham)
Authors' Note: The characters used within this story that belong to Thomas Harris are being used for strictly entertainment purposes and no money is being made from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter One: Chosen One
It was a dreary morning in Seattle, Washington. Rain collected into dirty puddles over the training field behind the FBI field office. A lithe young man made his third trip around the circular track, trying his best to ignore the prickle of the rain as it hit his face and dripped down his thick neck, stinging his hot skin. A look of pure determination was etched into his square face; he was breathing hard, the grip on his joggers had worn itself thin, making his sprint slippery and uneven.
"Cartwright!" A strong voice echoed from the far side of the track. A stocky man holding an umbrella waved the young man down. "Bexter wants to see you in his office ASAP."
Dallas Cartwright nodded and headed off the track to wipe down with his sweat towel, though it was pointless, he was drenched from the rain. He guzzled at the water bottle he had left on one of the benches and headed for the covered pavement that ran from the gym to the towering FBI building and would ultimately take him to Behavioral Science inside. Several young women clad in tight Spandex shorts and tops passed by and greeted him with a smile and several winks. He nodded amusedly and continued on despite the fact he would much rather turn around and follow the women back into the gym. But a call from SAC Ian Bexter was high priority. As a rookie, it could mean anything: paperwork, surveillance, or if he was lucky, a field assignment.
The electronic doors opened to greet him with a wave of coolness; the air- conditioning would be turned to maximum speed and minimum temperate every day, despite the turning seasons. Cartwright, with his towel hung around his neck and carrying his water bottle, shuddered inwardly, wishing he'd brought a change of clothes with him.
"Dallas! Hey man! I heard Bexter called you in. What's with that?" Ryan Madison playfully tugged at his friend's shoulder.
"I'm not sure. Listen, I'm in a rush. You wanna head out for a beer tonight? Find some lucky girl to take home?" Cartwright turned and walked backward as he called to his friend walking the opposite direction down the hall.
"Yeah, sure," Madison called back over his shoulder. "Meet you at eight."
Cartwright turned back around and barely avoided running right smack into an open door.
"Shit," he muttered as he danced sideways to skirt the door.
He nodded slightly to the secretary that advanced through the door, laden with reports, as she let it swing closed behind her. The middle aged woman glanced up and did a double take, smiling shyly at him. As he continued on down the hall, Cartwright couldn't help but grin to himself. He knew he was attractive, it was one of his many gifts. He was over six feet three inches tall, with dark black hair and piercing blue eyes. He was well built and his olive skin held a tan very nicely. In addition to his striking good looks, Cartwright had also learned early on that he had a knack for charm and making people feel good about themselves. It was these qualities that made Cartwright widely liked by people.
Cartwright walked briskly into the office of Behavioral Science and noted the usual bustle that permeated the department. He weaved his way through rows of desks to Chief Bexter's office door, which was slightly ajar. Cartwright rapped his knuckles firmly against the door as he pushed it open and peered in.
Section Chief Ian Bexter, 48, was a short balding Caucasian man who enjoyed his evening wind downs with beer after beer, which was pronounced by his hefty belly. As Cartwright entered, his head was bent studiously over some reports spread out on his expansive desk, the fluorescent lighting gleaming off his head. He glanced up, his muddy brown eyes blinking.
"Ah Cartwright," Bexter muttered and gestured toward a chair in front of his desk. "Please, sit down."
Cartwright lowered his long frame down into the chair and kept his back rigid and straight against it. Rain water dripped slowly from his hair and his clothing, puddling on the carpet under the chair. Cartwright continued to towel himself off as best he could but his towel was fairly saturated. He waited for Bexter to speak again.
Bexter sighed heavily and eyed Cartwright with what seemed to be mixture of anger and sympathy, as one might look at a child who has been caught in a dreadful sin and is about to pass down judgment.
"Alright Cartwright," Bexter said. "Let's get to it. I called you in here to discuss the possibility of a 'job' with you."
"A job sir?" Cartwright asked, curious.
"Indeed," Bexter nodded slowly. "Listen an assignment's come up and I thought of you."
Cartwright beamed inwardly. 'At last,' he thought, 'a chance to prove myself. Finally, real detective work, no more analyzing data bullshit.'
Bexter leaned his bulky frame back into his chair and continued to eye Cartwright. Cartwright did not mind the appraisal, it was often a tactic used by the higher-ups at the Bureau as a means of sensing any fear and or intimidation their scrutiny might cause in a rookie. In his case, there was none, he merely gazed back calmly at his superior, emotionless. Finally satisfied, Bexter nodded and leaned forward again, his thick arms laid on the desk.
"First let me start off by saying that the main reason you were chosen for this case is your personality and easy going manner. You're nice, polite, charming, and you have a talent for getting close to people because of all that," Bexter sighed again and held up his right forefinger for emphasis. "Now listen carefully Cartwright; this assignment calls for some shall we say unpleasant activities."
Cartwright was immensely intrigued. 'Unpleasant activities?' he thought. 'How cool!'
Being a rookie, Cartwright had merely participated in mundane activities during the three months of his employment with the FBI. He was ready for some excitement. He was ready to prove his worthiness to be here. He was ready to catch some 'bad guys.'
"What sort of unpleasant activities, sir?" Cartwright asked evenly, not wanting to come across as either too excited or scared. He did not want to lose this assignment.
"I'll get to that in a moment Cartwright," Bexter grunted. "We've been handed a case by Violent Crimes because they think it now falls under our heading. For the last four years or so, they've been investigating a slew of missing people and kidnapping cases from all over the state, mostly young women, early 20's. Now they're thinking the majority of the cases are connected.
"An anonymous tip led them to an isolated area immediately east of Chelan in the Cascade Mountains. At first glance it appears to be some sort of compound. It's similar to the Branch Davidian compound down in Waco, surrounded by a large wall running the perimeter, you remember right? Two agents attempted to contact the individuals within the compound and was denied access. The individual the agents spoke with at the gate said they are a community of law abiding citizens but refused the agents access to the compound without good reason. Without a warrant the compound cannot be searched but no judge will grant a warrant without probable cause so basically we cannot get into the compound to search it unless the residents will let us in, which they won't." Bexter paused for breath.
"The Bureau thinks the missing young women are being held within the compound?" Cartwright asked.
"Not sure," Bexter replied and leaned back in his chair again, his hands laced across his vast belly. "The agents that initially went to the compound requesting access saw a young woman matching one of missing women's descriptions but they couldn't be sure it was her. And she didn't signal to them that she was being held against her will or anything. But subsequent covert surveillance of the compound produced an interesting find. Apparently a former patient of Dr. Hannibal Lecter resides there and appears to be the self proclaimed leader of the enclosed community." Bexter paused for dramatic effect, eyeing Cartwright. "After Lecter's incarceration, despite state laws protecting doctor-patient privilege, his patient files were purged by an unknown source and leaked to the media. This particular patient confided to Dr. Lecter that he had..." Bexter flipped through some papers until he found the one he needed. "...and I quote, 'cannibalistic tendencies.' He was a priest at the time and the Catholic Church sent him to Lecter for counseling." He chuckled. "Interesting eh? A budding cannibal seeking help from a real cannibal."
Cartwright took a deep breath, pondering the words. He, along with every other person in the world had been bombarded a few years ago by images and stories of Hannibal Lecter after his bloody escape from custody in Memphis. With regards to Lecter, fact and fantasy had become blurred so badly by the media that he was almost a mythological figure, a mythological figure that remained on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted Persons list. Cartwright smiled inwardly.
'Imagine if Lecter is at the compound or has contact with them,' he thought. 'Imagine if I am the one who captures him. I'd be famous. The book deal alone would make me rich.'
Cartwright looked at Bexter who had been watching him silently, watching the wheels of his brain spin in contemplation. Bexter knew the young rookie was eager to prove himself and thought very highly of himself. That was another reason he had been chosen for this assignment. It would take a particular type of person to do what would be required in this case, the type of person who would do anything in the hopes of flattering recognition when the case was done.
"So Cartwright," Bexter continued. "Basically the assignment calls for an agent to work at infiltrating the compound to determine if there are any illegal activities occurring. But most importantly, the assignment is to determine if Lecter's former patient has any contact at all with Lecter or knows where he is. That would require one to become extremely close to the man." Bexter passed a black and white surveillance photograph from the compound across the desk to Cartwright.
The photo showed an older, Caucasian man, lean yet muscular and Cartwright could tell even from the grainy photo that the man seemed to carry himself with an air of regality.
"His name's Shane McNally. According to his patient records he often discussed with Lecter his 'dream' of creating his own little community; a private, secret community where he and his followers could worship in private the way they saw fit with no government interference. He never came right out and said it would be a cannibal cult, but that seems to be the indication."
Cartwright's head popped up from the photo and regarded Bexter carefully. "I'm sorry sir, did you say a 'cannibal cult'?" He asked quietly.
Bexter nodded. "You got it sport."
Cartwright's mind raced and silence permeated the office as he thought.
"But I've never heard of any religion that condoned cannibalism, especially the Catholics. In fact don't all religions classify it as an abomination?" Cartwright breathed.
"Apparently McNally's background in Catholicism came to take on a twisted view with regards to human sacrifice because of several Bible passages that he claimed denoted God's blood lust," Bexter said. "It's completely detailed in the case file but only the agent who agrees to this assignment will have access to that information," he paused and looked directly at Cartwright. "I guess what I'm getting at Cartwright is this: the assignment to infiltrate a suspected cannibal cult is yours if you want it."
Cartwright, stunned at the words 'cannibal cult' just sat and stared at his superior. He realized that if it was indeed a cannibal cult, in order to infiltrate it he'd have to participate with them in the act of consuming human beings. The very thought made his bile rise. But..on the other hand...the prospect of bringing down Lecter's former patient and possibly having a shot at Lecter himself would be worth the price no matter what the cost.
"I'm your man, sir," Cartwright nodded his head.
To be continued. Please review.