The idea of spending a day searching for the
appropriate attire to wear to an opera, of all things, was not attractive. She had work to do, though it seemed
everything had postponed itself for the cause of the events looming ahead. However, she knew shopping had to intertwine
with this day's festivities, as apart of her job. It would look conspicuous attending an opera in jeans and a tank
top.
It had to be long enough to conceal her firearms,
preferably with a jacket that fit to the waist. She intended to style her hair in a manner that would cover the
earpieces she planned on wearing to maintain contact with the backup
squad. Though she knew Dr. Lecter would
immediately recognize the smell of gunpowder as well as her extended efforts to
preserve communication for those 'crafting his doom,' anyone else wouldn't give
her a second glance.
Starling had no delusions of surprising Dr.
Lecter. Something told her he was
awaiting her arrival, probably had since killing Reuben Tow.
Shopping was quaint. She wasn't used to such indulgence, but since it was going on the
company credit card, she decided to let herself go. The look she foretold on Pearsall's face amused her, as well as
the explanation that was perfectly plausible, even a little expected.
She wanted nothing provocative, but knew in the end it
was inevitable. Settling for a long
burgundy dress, sleeveless, with a suitable jacket, she made the similar
purchase of matching shoes and a handbag. There was a slit in the gown that would hide a backup weapon, and she
planned on harboring a third in her purse, as well as bullets and a set of
handcuffs.
The thought of using the cuffs made her shiver. Somehow, in some mystical allusion of the
mind, she hoped to avoid using them tonight.
Briefly, Starling wondered how his injury was, if it
had healed accordingly. In the end, she
supposed, it amounted to little. At
least they still had both hands – even if his left was a little scathed.
When she arrived at the hotel, she only had two hours
to prepare. The opera didn't start
until eight o'clock, but Starling wanted to arrive early, alert security of the
trouble that might go down, as well ask their assistance in keeping an eye
open. However, she intended to keep Dr.
Lecter's an identity a secret. No one
need know who she was hunting, just enough to spot him when he arrived.
There were other things, too. Starling knew the afterward of the opera
would be difficult to follow-up in an evening dress. She had a set of regular clothes as well as FBI coveralls to get
her through the arrest. Pressing her
body to Dr. Lecter in revealing clothing would do little good for either of
them.
Though she was sure he wouldn't mind.
Starling shook her head as she stepped into her hotel
room. There were only a few hours, and
thoughts like that would assist little in preparations. Tonight was going to be easy for no one. Somehow, between now and then, she had to
get into the mindset that she was going after the scum of the earth, someone no
better than Jame Gumb or Evelda Drumgo. Anyone but Dr. Lecter.
In defiance, her mind flashed to their last few
minutes together, the kind but sad way he smiled at her. There were things she saw in his eyes,
things she shouldn't have seen, things she wanted to forget.
When she flicked on the light, Starling froze. Sitting on her bed, laid out nicely for her,
was the dress Dr. Lecter put her in the night of Paul Krendler's death. At first, she feared the worst, thinking
perhaps somehow the target of her search had infiltrated and set this out for
her tonight. It took a few minutes to
process how foolish that was. The only people
that knew she was going to the opera were those on her command. This dress was supposed to be in Washington,
turned in like everything else Dr. Lecter gave her, though there was little
point to that. Starling opted not to
save it, knowing how others would react. What little rumors would spring to existence, what would be added to
those already in active circulation.
A shadow crossed her eyes. She set her newly purchased outfit over a chair, angrily grasping
the dress and marching out into the hallway.
Raising her voice to assuredly be heard, she screamed:
"Gentlemen! Outside! Now!"
Slowly, the members of her team emerged from their
separate rooms, looking from her to the dress, then to her again. It was easily recognized, as everyone had
seen photos of her, taken both by the media and specialists within the Bureau. She examined the crowd quickly, waiting for
a look of chagrin.
"Who is responsible for this?" she demanded. "Who?!"
Nothing at first. A mocking silence. Starling felt
a rush of panic. Perhaps this *was* the
tidings of the Good Doctor. Perhaps he
wanted to see her wearing something given by him on her own accord, without
being subjected to morphine and dressed while she was unconscious.
But that thought was ridiculous. She would get nowhere if she were constantly
paranoid.
"Someone better come clean here," Starling threatened
through gritted teeth. "Cause if you
don't, and I find out who you are…you don't want to see what—"
"Agent Starling?" A timid voice arose from the
group. Slowly, one she didn't know by
name stepped forward. "Sorry. Really sorry."
Her gaze did not reflect compassion, and she didn't
offer it in her voice. "Pack up. You're going home."
The face before her blinked his surprise, opened his
mouth to protest, then likewise knew it was useless. Nodding dejectedly, he turned and blended back into the
crowd. Starling didn't look at
him. Instead, she turned her attention
to the others, eyes afire.
"Anyone else who decides to get cute, you're in for a
world of trouble. Am I understood?"
Solemn nods, several astonished stares. No one said a word as they returned to their
rooms. Starling stood in the silence of
the hall for a minute, overcome with anger and confusion. No matter what, there would always be some
smartass like Paul Krendler to remind her of her 'claim to fame.'
Sighing, she reentered her room and closed the
door. Despite everything, she had to
get ready. Tonight was the night.
* * *
Starling let out a quivering breath as she stepped
inside the Beijing Opera House, wishing briefly she belonged to a religion. Tonight's events were going to be difficult
enough to execute; it would be of some comfort to know that someone was praying
for her.
At least for the thought, if not the institution.
A few people evidently shared her desire of early
arrival. Luckily, none of them bore Dr.
Lecter's face. Starling didn't realize
how nervous she was until she approached the security guard, waving her
badge. This was it. After she told him what to look for, there
was no going back.
He must have thought it bizarre: a woman in a lovely
dress, carrying a bag at her side as well as a matching purse, waving her
identification in the air. The idea
that the attempted arrest was only a few hours away made her glad she declined
coffee that morning. Starling cursed
herself for being so jumpy. If she was
this unnerved now, how did she expect to carry out tonight?
You will, she
told herself unconvincingly. You'll
do exactly what you're supposed to do, then you and the boys can get the hell
out of here.
"Good evening, Officer…" Starling felt a rush of
embarrassment her lack of experience in foreign handlings, but knew no other
way to approach.
The man gazed back at her, glancing uncertainly to her
badge before replying. "Zheng," he said
in a thick accent. Starling cursed her
luck. It was bad enough trying to
explain the situation, but it would be horribly embarrassing if she asked him
to repeat himself.
"Officer
Zheng. I'm Special Agent Clarice
Starling with the American FBI. I'm
here to tell you we might be making an arrest of an attendant here at the
opera." She breathed out a low
breath.
What she
received was little more than a confused stare. "Here? Tonight?" the man
replied, clearly in disbelief.
"Yes. He's a very dangerous man, Officer. I don't want you or any of your crew to get
involved, but I thought it was appropriate that you're aware of what's going
on." Refusing to let herself skip a
beat, she reached into her bag and withdrew a photograph of Dr. Lecter, the
same she had spent hours studying the last time she was given this
assignment.
Officer Zheng
frowned as he observed the name aside the photo, and she bit down on her lip
hard enough to coax blood, hating herself that moment. It was never her intention for them to know
exactly whom they were dealing with. The less this man knew, the happier he would be.
"Hannibal
Lecter?" he questioned, the name sounding horribly distorted when spoken with
that accent. In spite of herself,
Starling almost barked a laugh. Maybe
they weren't familiar with Dr. Lecter here. She might just luck out.
No. A wave of recollection swept over the
officer. He knew exactly who Hannibal
Lecter was. After all, the last
Lecter-news was only three months in the past, and even then, the media refused
to let the story die.
"Hannibal
Lecter…here, tonight?"
"We think
so. We don't have hard-core
evidence." This was only half
true. While there was no actual
confirmation that Dr. Haller Shepard was indeed their man, Starling knew it was
him. It had to be. Her conviction on the matter convinced
everyone else. They knew not to
question her. "Listen, Officer, if you
see him, alert me immediately. Don't
try to go after him yourself."
There was a
chuckle in reply. "Do not worry, Agent
Starling. Have no desire to be…" He
trailed off, as though searching for the right word. She could tell he found it when his eyebrows lifted
spontaneously, finding the pun of a bad joke. "Eaten."
Starling forced
herself to a small smile. "Yes, very
good. I will not be seated with the
other guests. You'll be able to find
me, should you see him." With that, she
raised her bag hand slightly, successfully averting his attention. "If it is all right with you, I'd like to
store this in the ladies room. Would
you oblige in writing me an 'Out of Order' sign for one of the stalls?"
Considering
briefly, Zheng evidently decided it was all right. "Yes. Be with you in a
minute."
Once she was
alone again, Starling let out another quivering breath. Attendants were slowly mounting inward, but
none of them gave her a second glance. She knew if she missed Dr. Lecter upon arrival, something she highly
doubted, that she would catch him looking at her, or at least pausing to catch
a whiff of her familiar scent before he seated.
Zheng returned
in time, a common and rather tasteless warning to lavatory users in both
Chinese and English on a sheet of off-white paper. A whimsical piece of tape clung to it lopsidedly. Apparently not
wanting to venture into the forbidden territory of the ladies room, he handed
it to her and smiled sheepishly. "There
you go."
Doing her best
to offer a sincere smile, Starling nodded. "Thank you, Officer Zheng."
When she was
safely out of sight, and when the rather clueless officer's back was turned,
the man claiming to be Dr. Haller Shepard walked in briskly, smiled nicely at
the usherette, and took his seat.
* * *
In the duration
of the first act, Starling learned more than she cared to about the Kunqu Opera. She was too nervous to pay attention to the
performance, too afraid of what she might see if she skimmed the audience,
against all rationality. So, she
succumbed to reading the program over and over, as though it was a favorite
book she couldn't put down.
Without looking, she felt
his eyes on her.
For a while, she debated why
she elected to wear fancy clothing in the first place. If she intended to change, why bother at
all? Well, it was obvious. She didn't want to make a scene, or distract
too much attention to herself with outlandish attire. That gave her nice
food-for-thought for a while, but eventually, she knew she had to risk a
glance.
Thankfully, her perception
wasn't as keen as Dr. Lecter's. After
she yielded to the first look and found nothing, bravado surged through
her. She went as far as a second,
third, even fourth scan. Nothing. No, she suspected she would have to wait
until the intermission.
That thought was
poison. The instant it occurred to her,
the curtains closed and signified the end of the first half. Starling's head pounded, suddenly in need of
a drink. She took a minute to contact
her backup and report nothing significant as of now; though she was in good
spirits he was near. Still, no one
questioned her judgment.
Starling positioned herself
in the lobby, glancing at the couples, mainly Chinese, who were talking amongst
themselves about the fantastic first part and their eagerness to get to the
second, regardless if they had seen the opera a thousand times.
Picking Dr. Lecter out of
this bunch should've been easier. Starling felt a sinking sensation after a few minutes, thinking perhaps
her raw instinct led her to a dead end. Of course, he might be waiting in the main hall for the performance to
resume.
No. A negative shake of the head from the reliable
Officer Zheng took that from her. Sighing, Starling glanced over the entourage once more; her desire to
prove she was right to assume he was here now overriding anxiety. The gut feeling was unavoidable, and had
never failed her in the past.
Then Starling looked up and
felt her blood run cold.
Standing comfortably at the
other end of the hall was the object of her search, a wine glass in hand. His eyes were fixated on her. Unlike anyone in the brink of normality that
might look away once caught staring, Dr. Lecter's gaze seemed only to
intensify.
Even from here, Starling
read that he was unsurprised at her presence. A wave of self-congratulation overcame her. It was ruined only with the remembrance of her duties, and again,
she found herself apprehensive.
Dr. Lecter's face was
unreadable, though she could feel his eyes moving over her slowly. It caused her breath to catch, but she
couldn't identify why.
As the people began the
slowly move back into the auditorium, it occurred to her that he might use this
time to make his escape, and that she should be ready. Starling started for the .45 attached to her
leg under the dress, but stopped as she watched him finish his drink, tip the
waiter, and return with the rest of the guests.
He did not look at her as he
left.
Immediately, Starling bolted
to see where he was seated, pushing through the remaining crowd and being
careful not to trip over her heels. Her
eyes caught his once more as he made idle chitchat with the gentlemen next to
him. Though he watched her, his mouth
was still in full motion. He broke to
smile and glance back to his conversationalist before sitting.
Hurriedly, Starling motioned
for Officer Zheng, who was chatting with an usherette. As soon as he saw her, his eyes widened in
recognition and he dismissed himself.
Nearly out of breath simply
by rushing across the lobby, Zheng nodded in question, not needing to ask.
Starling offered a nod in
return, pointing to the audience. "There, row twenty four, sixteen seats in. See him?"
It wasn't hard to pick him
out now. Notably the only non-Asian in
attendance. She wondered how she missed
him before.
"Yes, yes, Agent
Starling, I see."
"Watch him. I'm going to have to go change. Don't make any attempt to approach him, or
have anyone else approach him. Should
he move, you are to come get me immediately. Don't worry, I'm not that modest," Starling ordered roughly. These orders were in vain. Dr. Lecter was situated and didn't intend on
making an exit until viewing the performance in its entirety.
Zheng gave her a
mortified look. "But—"
"Can I trust you
to do that?" she demanded, patience slipping. Though the opera still had an hour or so, she was acutely aware of
time. She wanted to be the epitome of
preparation when presented with the last few minutes of this escapade.
The man's
concerns were visible; he didn't want to catch her indisposed. However, the urgency in her voice must have
convinced him of the importance, and furthermore, that she didn't care. With a defeated nod, he conceded.
"Thank you," she
offered in reply, spinning to an abrupt about-face and rushing for the ladies
room.
When she
emerged, dressed casually, she took a vain minute to enjoy the sensation
normality brought. It was nice, not
having to fret about tripping over three-inch heels. A negative shake of the head from Zheng confirmed that Dr. Lecter
remained seated where she last saw him. Still reveling in the comfort of her casual attire, Starling forced
herself to relax.
It seemed only a
few minutes had passed when the audience erupted, cheering and clapping in a
terrific standing ovation. Starling
forced herself upright. Considering,
she pursed her lips, deciding it was best to await him outside. Hopefully this would attract less
attention.
So she paced
outdoors and waited. Five minutes
turned to ten, then to twenty. By the
time she was convinced everyone had retired and gone home, she fretted having
missed him on a loop of bad judgment.
She felt like
kicking herself.
Then, as briskly
as she had ever seen a person move, Dr. Lecter emerged on the other side of the
entrance, not passing her glance, though visibly alerted to her presence. Starling immediately withdrew her gun, not considering
the weight of her actions. In a hoarse
voice, she called: "Dr. Lecter! Freeze!"
No move to
comply. Instead, he turned abruptly in
the other direction; knowing as well as she did that she wouldn't shoot. Shoot to kill, anyway. But he was covered in shadows now, and to risk
a shot at his leg was to put too much faith in her aim.
Or so she told
herself.
Moving without
realizing it, Starling took off after him. By the time she caught up, it was too late. He was stored in the safety of his car, driving quickly without
speeding. In the relatively condensed
traffic, a getaway was not entirely implausible.
But Starling was
not focused on that. Instead, she
climbed into the rental car she managed for the evening, as though she had
anticipated that it would end in a chase rather than a peaceful arrest.
But she
hadn't. And for that, she bit her
tongue to keep the self-degradation from spitting out. After all, nothing with this man ever
happened the way it was supposed to.
Now they were
both on the road. Starling could still
see his car, racing at full speed, avoiding the minor traffic and instead
turning to the back roads. She wondered
if he trusted his sense of geography enough to lead her on a wild goose chase,
and likewise realized how silly it was to doubt. After all, Dr. Lecter had three months to memorize the city, and
notably put good use to his time.
Keeping her eye
on the road, Starling referred to the headset, still safely covered by her
festive hairdo, and hurriedly contacted her backup squad.
"I'm currently
in pursuit of a black Sudan, license plate number unknown, heading north on Dong San Huan
South Road, Chao Yang District. Request
assistance immediately."
In the last of
her message, a roar of static caught her voice and cut the transmission through. After her failed attempts to reestablish,
Starling, beyond irritation, freed herself of the wiring. She hoped they received enough of her
request to make good of it. Otherwise,
it was just them.
Herself and Dr.
Lecter.
Just like old
times.
"Jesus!" she
cursed to herself. "Please be on your
way…"
And the chase
continued.
* * *