Clarice Starling sits at her desk, buried deep within the modern crypt of the Investigative Support Unit. The fluorescent lights overhead are relentless. Her PC awaits her command. This room is much as it was before her daughter fled. There is a picture of Susana on her desk. A few days ago, it was a simple pleasant reminder of her daughter. Now it is a symbol that it was not before: the symbol of what Clarice must do.
Dr. Lecter's file is up on her screen, and her old notes spill across the white glow of the monitor. Her requests for sales reports from East Coast Jaguar dealerships, her notes on Dr. Lecter's preferences in food and china and art. All of it is there.
There is something in this file that she knows will help her. Even though it is two decades old, this is still the single best source of information on Hannibal Lecter. Some of the notes from her hypnotic recall sessions are here, too. Yet Clarice finds herself thinking that the key to finding her daughter lies in the old, not the new.
It has been three days since Susana disappeared. In that time, Clarice has forced herself to stop grieving and start working. The loss of her daughter cuts her deeply, but all the tears in the world will not bring her daughter back. Only action will do that.
Clarice knows that her co-workers in the FBI will do everything they can. Still, it is not the same. They want to find Susana; she needs to. It is with grim steeliness that she sets about her task.
When Clarice Starling was a young trainee in the Academy, Jack Crawford gave her many things: opportunities, a few accolades, and the desire to please him. Also twenty pounds of bullshit in a ten-pound bag, to be totally blunt about it. But he did give her one piece of advice that resonates now, years later, even after Jack Crawford has been rendered dry bones next to his Bella.
Freeze it. Freeze the business with Chilton. We'll kick his ass up between his shoulderblades when we get the chance. Keep your eyes on the prize for right now.
It had been useful then and it is useful now. She will freeze all her terror and grief over her daughter's foolishness. Freeze it and work on doing what she has done better than anyone else: track Hannibal Lecter. The prize then was Catherine Baker Martin safe and sound. The prize now will be her daughter, equally so.
Her original idea of tracking Dr. Lecter by his tastes has been expanded on, computerized, automated. Eleven years of searching have turned up nothing. Of course, Dr. Lecter probably knows of her original research and has changed his methods to compensate for their search parameters.
Even so, she thinks there is merit in the idea.
Wait a minute, she thinks. It isn't your tastes I should be looking for, is it? Because you're not going to be buying for yourself. You're going to be buying her things, things that she wants. First of all because you always loved spoiling her. Second of all because you want her to think you're just a fuzzy old bunny.
There are those who would argue with her, saying that Dr. Lecter wouldn't spoil his daughter because it would be rude and gauche. Clarice knows they are wrong; she was there. He spoiled Susana with guileless glee, giving the little girl everything she wanted. It had taken some adjustment when she'd gotten Susana back to the States. Now he will spoil her with a vengeance.
What does Susana like? That question she knows. Rock music, for one. She cannot hope to track sales of CD's across a city, let alone a continent. But she'll have to see if any of the groups that Susana likes are on tour in South America. Front row, probably. Clarice does not think he will accompany her to a rock concert; he'd hate it too much. What else? She's never been into jewelry or other stuff like that: she wears earrings and that's about it.
Music is a possibility; Susana played piano and Clarice had wanted her to stick with it. Dr. Lecter had owned a piano back in Buenos Aires. A harpsichord, too. That may be something. She jots that down: first-rate pianos.
She might want a cell phone; she'd bugged Clarice about wanting one until finally Clarice had broken down and bought her one of the prepaid ones, telling her she'd have to buy the cards herself. Dr. Lecter might well be canny enough to deny that request, knowing that a cell phone these days makes an incredibly convenient tracking device.
A computer and Internet access; that was another. Tracking one person across the entire Internet would be damn near impossible, but she was pretty sure Susana would want it. She'd have to contact Susana's friends, particularly Amika. If she did, and they got the right tracking software on Amika's computer – or better yet, spoofed her from here – that would be a huge help.
She is on the right track; she knows it. Dr. Lecter may be clever, but his taste was his weak point before, and his urge to spoil may be one now. With a hunter's grin, Clarice leans forward and begins making a list, seeking to hunt her own daughter by her tastes. This time, her confidence is justified.
...
Dr. Lecter's mansion in Asunción is directly on the water of the Río Paraguay, and he has grown fond of it. In his years in Buenos Aires, Dr. Lecter had always liked the water. The family had purchased a waterfront home in Mar del Plata, and some of Dr. Lecter's fondest memories of fatherhood were of Susana playing on their stretch of private beach along the South Atlantic. On the grounds of his current home are also a few trees he has deliberately planted where he can see them from the windows. Years ago, he once told Clarice Starling that he wanted to see a tree, or even water. Since he has been free, he has made it a point to have both.
The mansion has windows running the length of the house. Dr. Lecter does not like to be in a room that he cannot see out of. Even now, with his freedom measured in decades, the indignity of incarceration has left its mark.
Paraguay is an empty quarter of South America, a country little known even to its neighbors. The country still bears marks from its time as the most durable police state in South America, just as Dr. Lecter still bears some marks from his incarceration.
And now, an antique black Jaguar glides smoothly up the driveway and halts. The door opens and Dr. Hannibal Lecter steps from the passenger side of the automobile. He has allowed his daughter to drive. That has caused him some slight displeasure; even at eighty-two, Dr. Lecter prefers the control of driving himself. Still, she enjoyed driving the Jaguar, and it was well worth it. Her driving was not that bad.
She alights from the car, her head moving up, up, up, as she stares at the house. Dr. Lecter is unreasonably pleased. If she is impressed, it will be easier to convince her to stay with him. He is fairly confident of his ability to accomplish that goal.
"Wow," she says. "You live here?"
Dr. Lecter nods. "I do," he confirms. "Along with my servants." His eyes twinkle. "It is here that I have made my sanctuary," he says, carefully modulating his tone to lend it the proper touch of angst. "Here I hoped for years that your mother would come to her senses and come home to me."
Susana's lips purse. Dr. Lecter supposes that she has always wondered about him. Perhaps now she resents her mother's decision to flee. That would not be a bad thing for his purposes. For now, he must observe her personality and map out her mind. To obtain a basic understanding of her will not be difficult; his curiosity remains as strong now as it ever was.
He will give her a day or so in the house, to re-accustom herself to the pleasures of having servants whose morale is high and will thus actively work to fulfill her every whim. Then shopping in Asunciòn; electronics, stereo equipment, and the other things a teenager might want. Part of him shudders to think of what her musical tastes will be, but she can be taught, he supposes.
His time is short: eventually, she will ask about returning to her life in Virginia. Dr. Lecter cannot and will not let that happen. Clarice may suffer, but Clarice saw fit to deprive him of wife and daughter for eleven years. Turnabout is fair play, as it were. It is likely that she will buck the idea of staying here, but Dr. Lecter is prepared for that contingency. After all, he has convinced an unrepentant child molester to cut off his own face and feed it to dogs, he suggested to a madman that he swallow his tongue...and he had, long ago, convinced Clarice Starling to abandon her quest and stay with him.
Dr. Lecter closes his eyes like a lizard for a moment and thinks of Mischa, this girl's aunt. Although almost eight decades have passed since Mischa last walked the earth, the memory is crystal clear and brilliant. If she, by some happenstance, believed it was her duty to follow the deserters out from the barn, would he have let her?
Of course not.
He is eighty-two and far from naïve. Confronting his own mortality is not something that frightens him, but to pretend that decades more await him is foolish. He is not afraid to die here in Asunciòn, but he does not want to die alone.
Mischa to Clarice to Susana; the links are there. Mischa had been taken from him never to return; Clarice had taken herself and Susana away from him. It had taken him years to accept that he would never be able to retrieve Mischa. Now, however, things are different.
Susana is here and must remain here. In the event that she demands to leave, he has an extensive repertoire of tools to change that perception: spoiling her is only one arrow in his quiver, and he has many others. What of Clarice? Obviously she knows that Susana is on this continent now; she will find out that he and Susana were in Buenos Aires shortly, if she hasn't already. That was as he had intended.
Will she realize it is a red herring? Probably. Will she follow his trail to Paraguay? Of that he is not so sure. He was not so foolish as to take a direct train from Buenos Aires to here. His route back to his home was far more circuitous, criss-crossing countries and switching identities. Yet he has been reminded – both pleasantly and unpleasantly – that Clarice Starling can surprise him. Even so, the old monster has a trick or two up his sleeve, should she pay him a visit.
But for now, he is safe, and he can re-acquaint himself with his daughter here. He smiles pleasantly at his daughter and gestures at his front door. The butler – just as well-trained and just as polite and deferent as his servants in Buenos Aires – opens the door and bids them welcome.
"Dinner is prepared, señor," the butler says politely. He nods at Susana in polite greeting. "Bienvenidos, señorita."
"Thank you," Dr. Lecter says calmly, and smiles. "Allow me to show you your room, Susana. We will furnish it shortly, to your liking."
She seems surprised, but does not protest. Good. Eventually, of course, it will be necessary to disabuse her of the notion that she will be returning to the US, but that can wait. For now, a pleasant dinner with his daughter in his own home is something he has waited eleven years for, and now he will have it.
Dinner is excellent; he expects no less. He paternally ignores the fact that she wears jeans to the the dinner table. She can be taught about proper dress later. He can be patient; there is plenty of time.