Arrival in Beijing was dull and anticlimactic. The crew Pearsall assigned her with watched
her all through the flight, though she failed to gratify their stares with one
of her own. Occasionally she heard a
snide remark, but everything was kept quiet. Like she were a ticking time bomb.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock.
Exasperatedly, Starling didn't bother shaking her
head. It was obvious his voice would
remain with her no matter what she did. Given their recent meeting, it was understandable though
aggravating. She told Barney not too
long ago that she thought of Dr. Lecter perhaps thirty seconds of every
day. Damn, how she wished that were
still applicable. After what she went
through, she was lucky to go thirty seconds without flashing to his face.
A rush of hatred for Pearsall sped through her. How dare he send her on this escapade,
knowing everything that he did? Knowing
how this would affect her, had affected her, and would assuredly continue to
affect her after this mission was over and they were all home again.
Still, this had its upsides. She was in charge. Wholly. Solely. Only. All the better to get you in trouble with, she told herself in
grim forewarning. Yes, that was
true. If she failed this time, there
was no reprise, no hope of reinstatement. Knowing what the Bureau was willing to do to its agents in order to get
what it wanted nearly made that thought arrive in relief. Shedding her would hurt them, they knew, but
she, like any agent, was replaceable.
But for now, she was in charge, and would not tolerate
failure.
She wondered if Dr. Lecter was aware of her near
proximity when she stepped off the plane, and realized he probably had to
be. The sensation reminded her of the
'Beauty and the Beast' special Linda Hamilton used to star in, given their
eerie connection.
The fact that the show was called 'Beauty and the
Beast' didn't help much.
Starling didn't allow herself to take a good look
around until she was situated at their resort of the next few days, a rather
convenient place called the Lien Hotel. Unlike other inns
that falsely advertised their handy-dandy location, this place actually suited
their needs, being stationed in the more or less center of town.
At ten o'clock that morning,
a small conference was held in ordinance with local authority, and the FBI and
DEA office hopefuls that were still trying to root in Beijing. Starling made a point to note as few people
as possible should get involved in this, for the more who knew, greater were
the chances of failure. Despite the
tightness of law enforcement, there was always that minority that ruined it for
everyone else. Dr. Lecter would be
alert to anything – always on his toes. They had to be cautious.
Starling stood at the head
of a long table, waiting calmly for the last of her team to enter. There were a few representatives of Chinese
law enforcement, but they had cooperated to remain as ambiguous in this project
as possible. More or less used as
backup, should the situation turn out of hand. It was clear they wanted to avoid another mess like Florence.
As the last of the group
entered, she nodded for the doors to shut and raised her voice abruptly to be
heard over the quiet bickering. "Excuse
me! Gentlemen…might I have your
attention?"
Her country-twanged accident
rang loudly, emphasized to the point where it almost hurt her ears.
That bore another
memory.
("And that accent you've
tried so desperately to shed, pure West Virginian.")
On its own accord, the room
fell silent, all eyes directed to her.
"Thank you. I think it's time we got down to
business. First of all, I want a list
of all luxury inns in the area, extravagant, lavish…comfortable room service,
expensive to the wazoo. Our man isn't
modest with money." Starling's eyes
fell to her notepad before her, but it was blank. There was nothing to say that she didn't have memorized. It almost made her sick to her stomach. "Next, surveillance on all museums, antique
stores, wine sales. The full kitten
caboodle."
There were nods, though
Starling sensed it hadn't registered. If she were to go over a list of everything they should watch, they
might be here for a while. How could
she word this efficiently without leaving anything out? Her mind traveled back a few months, and
suddenly she was in the presence of the late Paul Krendler, who told her he
believed Dr. Lecter to be 'queer' because of his interest in 'artsy fartsy'
stuff. Avoiding the grimace that memory
provoked, she shook her head subconsciously, wondering how to state the same to
these men without lowering herself to quote such a pompous ass.
"Basically, gentlemen,
anything and everything that would interest the Brothers Crane, I want
watched. Understood?"
A room full of nods. No one vocally replied, but their
enlightened faces told her everything she needed to know. She would have to remember to send the
President of NBC a thank-you note.
Why, Clarice, you almost
sounded professional.
Anyone closely observing her
might note her nose wrinkled a bit as a telltale sign of disgust, but they were
too busy processing her orders. "If any
unusual or suspicious action is reported, or if you should see the Good Doctor
himself…now, listen gentlemen, this is *very* important."
All activity simultaneously
stopped once more. Every pair of eyes
in the room fell on her.
"No one is to go after the
Doctor except me. To do so is to
endanger your lives, and I'm sure you'll be missed back in the States. If you corner him, you're in for a world of
trouble. He killed three policemen
while in custody. Free, out in the open
where he's had time to memorize the terrain…you are to take *no* chances." Starling sighed, turning briefly from the
faces of the men. Her decision on the
matter was only part for their benefit. While it remained true that she wanted this to go down quietly, she also
wanted to evade the chance of seeing Dr. Lecter wounded or dead. Three months before, she told him she would
never deny him his life. If he were to
lose it under her command, she didn't know if she could ever forgive
herself.
And *that* thought shook her
to her very core.
"Now, should you see him,
you are to report it to me immediately. Make sure he doesn't get out of your sight," Starling continued a minute
later, letting out an exhausted breath. This speech was difficult to give, knowing every face in this room was
aware of her prior relationship with the fugitive, and that it very well
appeared she was setting it up to have some more private time. The thought made her nauseous, either at
their assumptions or something else…
Despite what they might
think of her, Starling refused to let that alter her decision. To let them go after Dr. Lecter was to
endanger both their lives and his. She
couldn't allow that, though she was having trouble weighing which side of the
equation she preferred to lose first.
Something told her she
didn't want to know. These men were
just faces, people she had never seen before and had no intention of seeing
again. She *knew* Dr. Lecter.
Though despite the shadows
of sneers and snickers, Starling also felt a wave of appreciation. No one in here wanted to go after Hannibal
the Cannibal. Stories of such
foolishness had undoubtedly reached them. The brave Chief Inspector Rinaldo Pazzi who lost his life in the midst
of the near-capture, due to his assumption he knew the system would prevail,
and three men could easily bring down one.
Poor unfortunate soul. Oh well. She warned him.
"Is that perfectly
understood?" Starling demanded, eyes ablaze with the utmost seriousness.
This time, a few 'yes's'
were heard.
"Thank you," she replied
with a conclusive breath, though everyone in the room heard the forewarning of
an epilogue. Rummaging through her
papers, she found her query and raised it to eye level. It was a photograph.
"This is Reuben T. Tow, last place of employment was Banca Commerciale Italiana - Beijing Rep. An Italian
establishment here in town. We know
that Dr. Lecter had several overseas bank accounts, but whether this man's
death is related to that, we are still investigating. I want you to memorize this picture. Hey! Gentlemen!" Her eyes fell on a few faces in the back
that refused to look at the photo. It
wasn't pretty sight, she knew, but these days, Starling was indifferent to
death. When she first glanced at it,
she barely flickered an eyebrow in surprise, much less disgust. After everything she had seen, done, and experienced,
graphic violence had as much affect on her as a splattered bug on a windshield.
It occurred to Starling that
she should be discouraged at such knowledge that she had allowed herself to
grow accustomed to this, but at this stage in life, it came as little
surprise.
The picture was nothing
short of grotesque. Body visibly
mutilated, incision lines where Dr. Lecter removed his thymus and liver for
later consumption.
When Starling realized she
was acting no better than Dr. Chilton, she swallowed slowly and decided to
continue, forcing that disturbing thought away.
"This man's family deserves
closure." Her eyes skimmed over the
room and randomly picked a name out, making the man jump as she called it. "Agent Kratt, I want you to look for a possible
connection with any of Mr. Tow's clients and the areas I already
mentioned. Credit card receipts,
withdraws of a substantial kind, anything that suggests extremely good taste."
She paused then, wondering if she added that last line out of her general bias,
or because of its truth. Either way, no
one seemed to notice. "Dr. Lecter will
also want to maintain the 'doctor' image, and his name may very well be an
anagram. Keep that in mind."
Starling adjourned the
meeting shortly, sighing as she moved to a seat. Once alone, she allowed her head to collapse into waiting arms,
overwhelmed with fatigue. But she
couldn't rest, she knew, she had to maintain some level of alertness, should
something arise.
A flash. She was ten years younger again, standing
before Stacy Hubka, questioning her on the disappearance of Fredricka
Bimmel.
("Is that a pretty good job,
FBI agent? You get to travel around and stuff? I mean, better places then
this?")
Sighing, Starling turned to
a shield of fresh air, cheek reclined on propped arms. "It would be," she answered, "if you got to
travel for the sake of going somewhere you actually wanted to be…and you
weren't looking for a crazed cannibalistic murderer, who just so happens to—"
Jerking herself up, she
forced herself to silence, knowing that speaking to oneself was just a step
closer to the inevitable full mental breakdown. Starling sighed and pushed herself away from
the table, hesitated, then finally stood. Walking at a comfortable pace, she rejoined the others outside, pleased
to note they were getting started on the multiple tasks, and decided to get
busy. She decided to start with a few
phone calls.
* * *
"Agent Starling?"
Starling looked up,
surprised at the sound of her name. A
few hours had passed since the informational meeting, resulting in a relatively
quiet evening. It was nearly five
o'clock, and the signs of the time change were beginning to wear on her. Nevertheless, she knew she couldn't
sleep. The night promised tossing and
turning, followed by immediate sleepiness when she gave into the urge to sit
up, thence to follow the cycle until dawn.
Coffee became essentially
important.
The man in the doorway
waited patiently to be acknowledged.
"Yes, come in, Agent
Witbroth," she said a minute later, placing her pen down and reclining
comfortably in the chair. Earlier that
day, she opted to return to the meeting room, accompanied by her laptop and
several stacks of reports, as well as her trustworthy cell phone. It was nice to have an open area to work in,
a place that wasn't a basement and did not contain an overly illustrated
Hannibal Wall.
"We haven't found much. I don't think this guy uses credit cards—"
Starling smiled a bit. "I don't think so, either, but it was worth
investigating. Anything else?"
"Yeah…you didn't let me
finish. There is one special instance,
though, that I think warrantees your opinion." He approached. "There *was* a
credit card purchase. Tomorrow night's
presentation of the Kunqu Opera. The
buyer is a client of Reuben T. Tow, or
was, I should say."
Lurching forward, Starling's eyes widened with
intensity. Though she wasn't sure if
Dr. Lecter would enjoy a Chinese opera, it seemed entirely possible that he
would go just for the sake of appreciating the cultural diversion. Her mind was made up already, before she
could be fed any more information. Pulse racing for the thrill of the hunt; she jumped up, collecting her
things.
"What was the buyer's name?" she demanded, eyes
focused on her filling arms.
"Here's the clincher," replied her informant with a
smile. "Dr. Haller Shepard."
Starling stared at him blankly for a minute, vaguely
aware of her heart pounding ferociously. "Any hotels register him as a guest? Have you checked?"
"Yes, of course we checked," Witbroth replied
defensively. "Nothing even similar to
that name came up."
"Hmm…" Starling considered, setting her things down
once more as the frenzy calmed. Pursing
her lips, she took a few paces away from him in thought. "Then he has himself a permanent residence
here…he wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon." She turned around sharply. "Investigate realty…see if any owners have mysteriously disappeared. Be especially particular of large estates,
or houses in good neighborhoods. Let's
say…a fifty mile radius of the city?"
"Sure. I'll
get right on it."
"Okay. Good. And get me a ticket to
that opera."
He nodded, moving toward the door. "How many?"
"Just one."
Pause. Blank
stare.
"If anyone else goes, he'll know it immediately,"
Starling excused, feeling no need to justify her decision, but knew an
explanation was appreciated. "If I go
alone, he'll want to talk to me, or so I'm hoping."
The blank stare intensified. "Are you so confident that you will find him? It'll be crowded."
"Are you so insecure to suggest that I *can't* find
him? After all, I have had a run-in or
two with him in the past. If I don't
find him, he'll find me." Starling's
eyes reflected her conviction, and her unquestionable knowledge.
At once, Witbroth nodded, a flash of understanding
coming over him. He recognized the
dangerous ground on which he treaded. "All right, Agent Starling. One
ticket it is, then. I'll get everything
read ASAP."
Nodding, Starling didn't look at him as he left. Instead, she turned her attention to her
things, scattered on the desk. Collecting them once more, she heaved a sigh and started for the
door. There was no point in working late
now. They had all the leads they were
going to get. Besides, she needed to
rest up for tomorrow evening.
That thought made her pulse race. She closed the door behind her, omitting a
quivering breath. A horrible sense of
dread overtook her, dread…and something else.
She didn't want to think about that. Couldn't afford to, not now. Not when there was a job to do.
* * *