Part II
The Stratagems
Hannibal Lecter's eyes narrowed as he observed the computer screen. He watched the picture slowly creep into existence. He could hardly understand the enthusiasm over this pitiful machine. Yet Lecter waited patiently while the blurry pictures began to focus. It was what he needed to pinpoint the signal.
He touched the stack of newspapers next to him with one finger. Mostly tabloids. Clarice Starling had been moved from building to building to avoid the press, but the newspapers still carefully followed her whereabouts.
Her current location was classified, but that was no problem. The location chip was working quite nicely. Lecter had planted the chip on Clarice a few weeks ago, knowing it might be needed.
However, the signal had been far too weak until, four days ago, the signal had surged back, stronger than ever. Lecter knew that Clarice had probably placed it in a better electrical conductor. Silver or gold, he thought, from the strength of the signal. Clever girl.
Even under the circumstances, Lecter was supremely confident that getting her out would be no problem. A bit awkward, perhaps, but not difficult. Clarice could manage until then. If there was one thing that Lecter admired in her, it was her self-reliance. She managed that better than even he could have taught her.
Was the computer finished? No, another minute. Lecter supported his chin with two fingers as he waited.
He had not seen Clarice's capture. He was outside for intermission when her scream reached his ear. The police car was just pulling away when he arrived on the scene. A failure on his part that he would be sure never to repeat.
"Hannibal! Hannibal!" she had cried. Lecter closed his eyes and allowed his first image of Clarice to appear in his mind. A nervous FBI trainee. It never failed to amaze him just how much she had changed since then. How deeply she trusted in him. Perhaps he felt that the first time she made love to him.
"Well, Clarice," he said to himself, "I can't let you down then, can I?"
Lecter opened his maroon eyes. The computer was finally finished. Lecter's eyes looked at the map on the computer screen. He blinked once, like a camera clicking. Lecter allowed himself to drift away. In his memory palace, he ran up marble stairs, the map clutched in his hand. He reached a table where the receiver of the signal was located. Lecter placed the map next to the receiver and quickly pinpointed Clarice's location. A few miles away from Quantico. No trouble.
In the real world, Lecter's head came around as he heard a sound to his right. He quickly shut down the computer and unplugged the locator. He had no transportation. His Jaguar had been parked in the area Clarice was taken. The FBI had confiscated it. Lecter had meant for this to be a weekend excursion to Broadway, and his other automobile was in Buenos Aires. However...
* * *
Ardelia Mapp was tired and burned-out when she flopped down on her bed. She had spent the last few days in a mind-numbing miasma, dodging reporters. Her life was down in the pits and everyone seemed intent on knocking her down lower. Especially Clarice.
She had watched Starling through the one-way mirror as questions were politely asked and finally shouted into her face. Clarice's expression had never changed from one of enticing boredom. Whenever Mapp stood behind the mirror, Clarice's head would turn towards her and her eyes seemed to see right through the mirror. Mapp had watched as the Director and Pearsall had become more and more agitated as each day passed. It was infuriating, for they knew that Clarice was hiding something. A hoard of information placed just out of their reach.
Here in her room, Mapp closed her eyes and tried to forget it all. She was just drifting off to sleep when scratching claws descended into her lap.
"Ahhh!"
Mapp kicked frantically and the object flew to the floor. She looked and her heart dropped back down to her feet.
"Amy, what the hell are you doing?!"
The tiger-striped cat picked itself from the floor, shaking each paw in disgust. Mapp poked her finger through the rips in her shirt.
"Great..."
Amy hissed and rubbed against Mapp's leg. Then she lay down and began to shred the carpet.
"Amy, stop it." Mapp bent to pick up the cat. Amy hung on, her claws stretching. She let go abruptly and began rubbing against the doorjamb.
"Amy, what is it?" More than a little annoyed now. Then she didn't need to ask again because she heard the loud popping noises and ran for the garage. She arrived just in time to see her car pulling out of the driveway.
She ran after it, pulling her gun. "Stop! Stop right there!" The driver didn't even slow. Mapp fired at the tires and missed. She watched in frustration as her car turned a corner and disappeared.
* * *
With a deep breath, Clint Pearsall slid into the seat across from Director Tunberry. A few minutes passed before Tunberry said a word. Pearsall shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He did not like Tunberry, but he was his boss. If Tunberry told Pearsall to sit his ass down, he had to do it.
Tunberry cleared his throat and set his paper cup of coffee down on the table. "We have two days to make Starling talk. We have nothing on her except resisting arrest and the board won't let us keep her any longer."
Pearsall ventured his opinion. "She knows where Lecter is, sir. I'm sure of that."
Tunberry stared at him levelly. "I am not quite the asshole you might think I am that I do not recognize that, Agent Pearsall." He paused. "What was your relationship with former Special Agent Clarice Starling?"
"She was an agent under my jurisdiction while she worked in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms."
"Did you get to know her?"
"Not very well, sir."
"It was you who suspended her, am I right?"
"I helped, yes."
"What sort of person was she?"
"She did her duty as an FBI agent."
Pause. Tunberry said, "Agent Pearsall, I must say that you remind me of a stubborn tube of toothpaste that I have to keep squeezing for information. What can you tell me about Starling that might be remotely useful in figuring out whether or not she will answer our questions?"
Pearsall sighed. "Clarice Starling had a mind of her own. She didn't seem to agree with the FBI's ideals. All the work she did on Lecter was on her own. She cleaned out every file she could find in the library and created her own office in our proposed darkroom. She seemed to be doing a good job, and then...something happened and she was suspended."
"One week before her disappearance...Was there ever doubt about Starling's loyalty to the Bureau?"
"No, sir." --- Pearsall remembered the last desperate phone call. "You're not a law officer while you're on suspension...You're Joe Blow." "Yes, sir, I know." ---
Pearsall sighed. "I'm afraid I...was not sure about Starling's loyalty to the Bureau at that time."
"That, is what we need to prove." Tunberry sounded surprisingly cheerful. "We need Starling to prove that to herself." He slid something from his pocket and placed it in front of Pearsall. "You are the one that will make sure it happens."
Pearsall looked at the small package wrapped in brown paper. The black printing on the package was small, but he could not mistake the medical staff-and-snakes symbol. Or the complicated Latin printed in jet-black capitals.
"Sodium amytal? Sir, we need a court order for this. Drugs cannot be used unless the suspect shows clear signs of mental disorder..." Pearsall withered under Tunberry's stare. "I'll have the answers for you tomorrow."
"Fantastic." Tunberry picked up his coffee cup and folded up his newspaper. "Good day, Agent Pearsall."
Clint Pearsall was alone in the FBI break room. His hand picked up the needle wrapped in brown paper and his eyes looked at it as if it were a filthy bug. This was absolutely illegal and he felt as if he was being forced to cross over a dangerous line. It might have interested Pearsall to know that this was exactly how Clarice Starling felt, right before her journey to the dark side.
* * *
Inside Ardelia Mapp's car, Hannibal Lecter removed bottle after bottle from his briefcase. They were the same bottles he had stolen from Maryland-Misercordia Hospital so many years ago. The drugs in most bottles were almost empty, but he still had enough of what he needed: stimulants, anesthetics, sleeping draughts, and deadly poisons.
The Stratagems
Hannibal Lecter's eyes narrowed as he observed the computer screen. He watched the picture slowly creep into existence. He could hardly understand the enthusiasm over this pitiful machine. Yet Lecter waited patiently while the blurry pictures began to focus. It was what he needed to pinpoint the signal.
He touched the stack of newspapers next to him with one finger. Mostly tabloids. Clarice Starling had been moved from building to building to avoid the press, but the newspapers still carefully followed her whereabouts.
Her current location was classified, but that was no problem. The location chip was working quite nicely. Lecter had planted the chip on Clarice a few weeks ago, knowing it might be needed.
However, the signal had been far too weak until, four days ago, the signal had surged back, stronger than ever. Lecter knew that Clarice had probably placed it in a better electrical conductor. Silver or gold, he thought, from the strength of the signal. Clever girl.
Even under the circumstances, Lecter was supremely confident that getting her out would be no problem. A bit awkward, perhaps, but not difficult. Clarice could manage until then. If there was one thing that Lecter admired in her, it was her self-reliance. She managed that better than even he could have taught her.
Was the computer finished? No, another minute. Lecter supported his chin with two fingers as he waited.
He had not seen Clarice's capture. He was outside for intermission when her scream reached his ear. The police car was just pulling away when he arrived on the scene. A failure on his part that he would be sure never to repeat.
"Hannibal! Hannibal!" she had cried. Lecter closed his eyes and allowed his first image of Clarice to appear in his mind. A nervous FBI trainee. It never failed to amaze him just how much she had changed since then. How deeply she trusted in him. Perhaps he felt that the first time she made love to him.
"Well, Clarice," he said to himself, "I can't let you down then, can I?"
Lecter opened his maroon eyes. The computer was finally finished. Lecter's eyes looked at the map on the computer screen. He blinked once, like a camera clicking. Lecter allowed himself to drift away. In his memory palace, he ran up marble stairs, the map clutched in his hand. He reached a table where the receiver of the signal was located. Lecter placed the map next to the receiver and quickly pinpointed Clarice's location. A few miles away from Quantico. No trouble.
In the real world, Lecter's head came around as he heard a sound to his right. He quickly shut down the computer and unplugged the locator. He had no transportation. His Jaguar had been parked in the area Clarice was taken. The FBI had confiscated it. Lecter had meant for this to be a weekend excursion to Broadway, and his other automobile was in Buenos Aires. However...
* * *
Ardelia Mapp was tired and burned-out when she flopped down on her bed. She had spent the last few days in a mind-numbing miasma, dodging reporters. Her life was down in the pits and everyone seemed intent on knocking her down lower. Especially Clarice.
She had watched Starling through the one-way mirror as questions were politely asked and finally shouted into her face. Clarice's expression had never changed from one of enticing boredom. Whenever Mapp stood behind the mirror, Clarice's head would turn towards her and her eyes seemed to see right through the mirror. Mapp had watched as the Director and Pearsall had become more and more agitated as each day passed. It was infuriating, for they knew that Clarice was hiding something. A hoard of information placed just out of their reach.
Here in her room, Mapp closed her eyes and tried to forget it all. She was just drifting off to sleep when scratching claws descended into her lap.
"Ahhh!"
Mapp kicked frantically and the object flew to the floor. She looked and her heart dropped back down to her feet.
"Amy, what the hell are you doing?!"
The tiger-striped cat picked itself from the floor, shaking each paw in disgust. Mapp poked her finger through the rips in her shirt.
"Great..."
Amy hissed and rubbed against Mapp's leg. Then she lay down and began to shred the carpet.
"Amy, stop it." Mapp bent to pick up the cat. Amy hung on, her claws stretching. She let go abruptly and began rubbing against the doorjamb.
"Amy, what is it?" More than a little annoyed now. Then she didn't need to ask again because she heard the loud popping noises and ran for the garage. She arrived just in time to see her car pulling out of the driveway.
She ran after it, pulling her gun. "Stop! Stop right there!" The driver didn't even slow. Mapp fired at the tires and missed. She watched in frustration as her car turned a corner and disappeared.
* * *
With a deep breath, Clint Pearsall slid into the seat across from Director Tunberry. A few minutes passed before Tunberry said a word. Pearsall shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He did not like Tunberry, but he was his boss. If Tunberry told Pearsall to sit his ass down, he had to do it.
Tunberry cleared his throat and set his paper cup of coffee down on the table. "We have two days to make Starling talk. We have nothing on her except resisting arrest and the board won't let us keep her any longer."
Pearsall ventured his opinion. "She knows where Lecter is, sir. I'm sure of that."
Tunberry stared at him levelly. "I am not quite the asshole you might think I am that I do not recognize that, Agent Pearsall." He paused. "What was your relationship with former Special Agent Clarice Starling?"
"She was an agent under my jurisdiction while she worked in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms."
"Did you get to know her?"
"Not very well, sir."
"It was you who suspended her, am I right?"
"I helped, yes."
"What sort of person was she?"
"She did her duty as an FBI agent."
Pause. Tunberry said, "Agent Pearsall, I must say that you remind me of a stubborn tube of toothpaste that I have to keep squeezing for information. What can you tell me about Starling that might be remotely useful in figuring out whether or not she will answer our questions?"
Pearsall sighed. "Clarice Starling had a mind of her own. She didn't seem to agree with the FBI's ideals. All the work she did on Lecter was on her own. She cleaned out every file she could find in the library and created her own office in our proposed darkroom. She seemed to be doing a good job, and then...something happened and she was suspended."
"One week before her disappearance...Was there ever doubt about Starling's loyalty to the Bureau?"
"No, sir." --- Pearsall remembered the last desperate phone call. "You're not a law officer while you're on suspension...You're Joe Blow." "Yes, sir, I know." ---
Pearsall sighed. "I'm afraid I...was not sure about Starling's loyalty to the Bureau at that time."
"That, is what we need to prove." Tunberry sounded surprisingly cheerful. "We need Starling to prove that to herself." He slid something from his pocket and placed it in front of Pearsall. "You are the one that will make sure it happens."
Pearsall looked at the small package wrapped in brown paper. The black printing on the package was small, but he could not mistake the medical staff-and-snakes symbol. Or the complicated Latin printed in jet-black capitals.
"Sodium amytal? Sir, we need a court order for this. Drugs cannot be used unless the suspect shows clear signs of mental disorder..." Pearsall withered under Tunberry's stare. "I'll have the answers for you tomorrow."
"Fantastic." Tunberry picked up his coffee cup and folded up his newspaper. "Good day, Agent Pearsall."
Clint Pearsall was alone in the FBI break room. His hand picked up the needle wrapped in brown paper and his eyes looked at it as if it were a filthy bug. This was absolutely illegal and he felt as if he was being forced to cross over a dangerous line. It might have interested Pearsall to know that this was exactly how Clarice Starling felt, right before her journey to the dark side.
* * *
Inside Ardelia Mapp's car, Hannibal Lecter removed bottle after bottle from his briefcase. They were the same bottles he had stolen from Maryland-Misercordia Hospital so many years ago. The drugs in most bottles were almost empty, but he still had enough of what he needed: stimulants, anesthetics, sleeping draughts, and deadly poisons.