Chapter 35

Hannibal reached the Indian. He lay Adam on the ground next to it and searched the man's pockets. Then he changed his bloodied clothes with fresh ones from his bag. His face was not as serene as usual. Good thing the place where he had parked was out of sight.

He walked back to the storage facility. Quite a crowd had gathered to watch the burning building. Hannibal walked over to the truck. It was in front of the facility, but on the other side of the road. It was unharmed. Hannibal got in, started it and drove back to Adam.

A quick search of the truck revealed it was empty, except for some standard equipment for loading and unloading. He drove his bike up an improvised ramp, into the truck, then secured it. He lifted Adam and put him in the back as well. He drove off, his shifting causing the gearbox to protest loudly.

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Images and words were creating chaos in Hannibal's brain. A cacophony of bony concoctions was doing its utmost best to disembowel his usual mental dominion.

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The radio was on. "Schubert," the man on the radio said, "Gruppe aus dem Tartarus."

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His mother was saying some things to Lothar, then turned to him. "Hannibal, come with us." He walked over to her and took her hand. Together, they walked over to the drawing room. Lothar followed, talking to her. There was a touch of unease in his voice. His mother's voice as steady as ever.

They walked around the drawing room. Mother pointed at the paintings and sculptures. Lothar took some of them down, as Mother told him to. Some of them were very nice pictures. Bight colors and deep shadows. "They are lovely paintings, aren't they?"

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Hannibal nodded.

A bump in the road and the truck's leaf springs squealed in dissent. Hannibal saw places where the bricks were completely missing, the bare earth visible.

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The men ordered them to dig. The pain in his arm was terrible, he could not block it. The men brought them halfway the lodge and the barn. The two other children had to dig, they told him to move the earth to the reeking stool-pit. His arm protested, but he had no choice. He took the earth.

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The streets he was driving through were getting livelier. Shops on both sides. Maybe not the best shops, but they would do. Hannibal parked and entered one of the stores. No time to lose.

A tiny bell announced the new customer. Within seconds, a man came from behind and asked if he could help him. The sound of the bell was still audible to Hannibal.

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Hearing the harsh sounds of the hard consonants echoing off the walls. Hannibal enjoyed the space his voice revealed. Aaron's words to Tamora.

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It had been no problem to buy the salt, sesame oil and parsley. But the man had to be coaxed into selling him one of the display plates. A nice number of bank-notes did the job. Hannibal had to hurry, Adam was in a terrible state, but he needed privacy.

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He drove the truck slightly over the speed limit, looking intently for an isolated place. His heart jumped somewhat when he saw one. Driving the truck down the broken down road, Hannibal hoped his preparations had not been in vain. A few trees clustered together. Splendid. The truck would be almost invisible there.

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Hannibal handed his mother the rope hackamore. She put it on Licorne and led the horse outside. Hannibal took his little sister's hand and followed his mother. A moment later he heard the Akita rise and follow.

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"Mr. Werth. We've met before. And since it was some time ago, you might not recognize me. And we weren't properly introduced then anyway. So, let me introduce myself now."

Hannibal was sitting on his bike sideways, looking at Adam on the floor of the truck next to him. He had not moved or died. He was conscious, but pale and weak. The man's breathing had turned stertorous. Hannibal knew he had very limited time with him.

"My name is Hannibal Lecter. You ate my sister. You ate her, while you were in Lithuania with Joe, Junka and Paul. And you looted my family's castle."

Adam's answer was hard to understand, his voice was rather unsteady.

"Lithuania... Yes..., " then he groaned somewhat before he continued. "Cold. We were trapped.... Damn those days."

"You stole the art. You ate my sister! Didn't you?"

Hannibal took the man by his lapels and lifted him somewhat. Adam did not seem to respond to Hannibal moving him.

"Jackpot... So many paintings..."

"Where is the art now?" Hannibal yelled at him.

It took some time before Adam spoke again, the effort draining his final reserves.

"Art? … Maa.. Maarat."

"All? Junka thought everything was there!"

"All... Buyer tomorrow..."

"What about my sister? What about Mischa?" cried Hannibal.

Adam no longer responded, or talked. He no longer breathed either. The last looter had died.

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As Adam's death registered, Hannibal dropped the man on the floor. His hands, first dangling in the air, went up. Hannibal gripped his hair and cried bitter tears. A frail, thin scream escaped from his lips and for a short time, he rocked to and fro. His grip almost ripped hairs from his head.

It took some time before he loosened his hold. His eyes had a new shininess in them no-one had seen before. Only some would see it later. Only a few of those would survive and remember it.

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Hannibal continued talking to Adam, but the conversation became de facto a monologue.

"It is such a shame we were not able to finish our wonderful conversation, I really would have liked to settle the account with you. And it would have been so nice to regain possession of my belongings. But now the art is gone."

Hannibal opened the bag he had bought in Rome and placed its contents on the floor next to Adam. He smelled the sesame oil he had bought, then added some salt to it. Now it was perfect. Hannibal could smell the sea.

"You are not able to repay what is due to me. But I won't demand Shylock's bond, since Shylock did not get what he wanted. May I quote something else from Shakespeare? It's from Titus Andronicus:

Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,

Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.

Though Aaron is eventually captured and judged, he had his way in his days. I will follow his lead."

Hannibal decided to add the fresh parsley at the end and kept it in the bag. He took his knife and looked at Adam.

"By the way, do you like Japanese cuisine? I just love Ikizukuri and Rebasashi. Too bad there aren't that many opportunities to procure these dishes. Sometimes we just have to make do with what we have."

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As a true garde manger, Hannibal had handled the ingredients with care. The plate looked as if done by a food stylist. Symmetrical slices of raw liver at six o'clock, some parsley at two, and a small bowl of sesame oil at ten so it would be easier to dip.

"Hm, I must say, Mr. Werth, this does look fabulous!"

Hannibal did not turn to the remains of Adam as he addressed him, but kept his eyes on his meal and smiled.

Delicately taking a bit of the liver, Hannibal dipped it in the oil and brought it to his mouth. His nostrils flared slightly at the scent of blood and sesame. He savored the rich flavors for some time before swallowing.

"My, my, Mr. Werth. That was absolutely fabulous. You know, too bad you are not Prometheus. Your liver is quite excellent and suitable for repetition."

Hannibal was delighted and took another bite.

And so, with the death of all looters, part 3 (Italy) ends. But not yet the end of the story: A prologue and notes on chapters 30+ will follow.