The mild hum of the rotor was the first thing Dr. Lecter's ears picked up when he came to. He shifted a little, making the nylon ropes to dig further into his skin. His nose caught a whiff of mud, straw and gunpowder...the kidnappers, along with a note of garlic pungency associated with stagnant, immobile muscles...Mason.
He followed the odor and turned his head before opening his eyes slowly
"Greetings, Dr. Lecter," Mason said, veiled behind Dr. Lecter's infamous hockey mask. He was spread over a travelling gurney like a corpse, tubes emanating from his body toward medical equipment. A portable respirator was beeping in the background. "I would have stood if I could. Sorry for the discourtesy."
Dr. Lecter's eyes crackled, his lips curved upward as he took in Mason's appearance.
His enemy's plight did not excite him as some of the so-called experts of psychology might have conjectured if they observed the scene; it simply amused him.
"It's perfectly alright, Mason." He gave a slight nod toward Margot, who was standing behind the gurney, to acknowledge her presence. Piero and Mogli were looking at the scene from one corner. Dr. Lecter didn't look at them.
"May I ask where we are headed, Margot?" His deep baritone voice didn't have any element of shock or confusion. It would have been difficult to prove that he was unconscious a minute ago.
Before Margot could reply, Mason answered excitedly, "To India. I've got a little something planned for you there. Tell me Doctor, did you ever think India would be your final resting place? I'm sure you'd have preferred Europe, Italy in particular. But we can't have everything we wish for, now can we Doctor?" A beat. "Now that I think about it, we can always transport the hogs back to Italy. That way your remains will be mixed with the soil of your beloved Italy when they shit."
Mason peered closely, trying to catch any change in Dr. Lecter's rigid features…twitch of an eye…crease on the forehead, any sign that would give away his trepidation. Nothing. His refined features remained as passive as ever.
"You know what your problem is, Mason? You try too hard. Your penchant for drama is your worst enemy. You could have straight away told me your plans involving the hogs and I. But no. You twisted it to evoke...what? Did you expect my eyes to bulge in shock? Did you hope I'd gasp? Tell me Mason, do you by any chance remember my expression or better yet yours when you peeled off your face that faithful evening? Make a little effort and you might recall the smile on your lips as you swallowed your nose. You said it tasted like chicken."
Silence. No one dared to move or say anything.
A few minutes passed before Mason said, "I don't know about that time, Doctor but I'll definitely remember my smile as the hogs feast on your face. Piero! No water for him till we reach the farm, understood?"
Mason was wheeled away to his cabin in the front section of the airplane. The goons waited for their captive to wriggle in his seat, show any hint of discomfort. They were disappointed when Dr. Lecter simply turned his head. His face was devoid of emotion as he gazed out the window. He analyzed what had transpired at the grocery store parking lot while simultaneously processing the new piece of information regarding the pigs and India. He paused as a stray piece came loose, adamant and interfering, and felt a pang of...regret?
Interesting.
Unbridled, images he had captured in the past filled his mind...Clarice getting out of her car…Mischa getting out of her copper bathtub, dripping wet…Clarice's wet eyes when he extracted the information about the screaming lambs from her…tears streaking down Mischa's face as she told him how she fell down near the pond.
He would have liked to see Clarice's reaction to his gift. He would have liked to see her reaction to her father's bones. He would have liked to witness her transformation.
Regret, indeed.
Dwelling on the matter was of no use, so he deftly set it aside as a new subject emerged. He wondered whether the Lagrangian approach was good enough to determine the external flow characteristics of the jet. Or should he take into account Euler's theory of fluid mechanics?
Aria on the harp flowed easily in his mind as he tried to ascertain the velocity of flue gases leaving through the nozzle of the jet. Dr. Lecter hummed along to the music.
