That morning of July 12, 2025 was not so dissimilar from the years before
in which Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling had fled to Argentina.
Computers were faster and so were planes. But Buenos Aires to Miami was
still a long flight, and Susana had ample time to amuse herself by keeping
the stewardesses busy. She demanded coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice,
and poked critically at her meal, as if dissecting it. By the time the
plane landed in Miami, the flight crew was more than happy to see her
leave.
Customs was the usual minor hassle. Susana produced her Argentinian passport and dutifully promised that she would not seek work while in the United States and that she would leave in ninety days. The Customs agent noted her English was excellent and sounded vaguely Southern. Susana told him her mother was from West Virginia, which was true. She told him her trip here was for pleasure, which was not. Her trip here was business. All business.
Susana Alvarez Lecter – or so she liked to think of herself, even though she had no paperwork at all in that name – was duly admitted into the United States with plenty of time to catch her connecting flight. She crossed the airport to get to her departing gate, where she offered her ticket to the gate agent.
"Washington, D.C.?" asked the perky gate agent.
"Of course," Susana said, and got on that plane. It was a shorter hop, but still she was glad to reach the final airport. At Reagan National, she got her bag and headed for the car rental counters. America certainly seemed to be a country of paperwork, she thought. She handed over her credit card and was given the promised car – a 2025 Mustang, smelling of new vinyl. It was a sports model, pure gasoline engine, none of this hybrid stuff.
Her mother would have liked this car, she thought, pumping the accelerator. It was bright red. The engine roared as she dropped it into drive and pulled out of the lot, leaving a trail of scorched rubber behind. She found her way to the Beltway, then to her hotel. Although she had never been in the U.S. before, she had studied maps of Washington and the nearby Virginia and Maryland suburbs.
Her hotel room was registered in the name Susan Starling. Her father would have been displeased at that, she knew – it was too obvious. But part of him would have found it amusing and daring. Susana offered a credit card in that name, got her room, and was pleased. It was a suite, with a nice view of the city. She could see the Capitol and the White House, standing out like white pieces of ivory against the darkness of the nighttime city.
She scarfed a Coke out of the minibar and got out the Yellow Pages. She indulged her mother in a quick call to tell her she was all right and had arrived safely. When Starling began to try suggesting that her daughter come home, Susana simply told her she would come home when she was done and not before. Then she said goodbye and hung up.
Next, she called room service and indulged herself. There was plenty of chocolate in the minibar, but she needed nutrition. She could be as discriminating as her father when it came to food, and she warned the room service people that the sushi had better be fresh. The room service person she spoke to swore on his own honor that the sushi would be fresh. Susana elected to take him at his word. After all, she could always sample his sweetbreads tomorrow if they weren't.
As she looked out at the city below her, she flipped through the Yellow Pages. The page she stopped at was 'Knife Merchants.' Tomorrow, it would be time to get a Harpy, Daddy's favorite. And a Spyderco Civilian. After all, Susana had some up close and personal work to do. The hotel room had a computer terminal, but she refrained from using it; even now, it was possible to track what one did on the Internet.
She took a memo pad from the desk and began to jot names on it. Names of people she needed to see. Some, she intended simply to convey her father's thanks to. Others needed to be punished for their various sins against her father. The degree of punishment varied.
"Nat'l Tattler – Smithfield, Jameson, Dover" she wrote first.
Under that, she added "Barney".
She added "Crawford" but crossed it out a moment later. She wouldn't be able to get to Jack Crawford unless she remembered to pick up a Ouija board. In its place, she wrote Verger, Margot. She stared at the name for a few moments, trying to remember what her father had told her of this person and why.
Next, after doodling a bit as she thought, she added "Mapp".
Customs was the usual minor hassle. Susana produced her Argentinian passport and dutifully promised that she would not seek work while in the United States and that she would leave in ninety days. The Customs agent noted her English was excellent and sounded vaguely Southern. Susana told him her mother was from West Virginia, which was true. She told him her trip here was for pleasure, which was not. Her trip here was business. All business.
Susana Alvarez Lecter – or so she liked to think of herself, even though she had no paperwork at all in that name – was duly admitted into the United States with plenty of time to catch her connecting flight. She crossed the airport to get to her departing gate, where she offered her ticket to the gate agent.
"Washington, D.C.?" asked the perky gate agent.
"Of course," Susana said, and got on that plane. It was a shorter hop, but still she was glad to reach the final airport. At Reagan National, she got her bag and headed for the car rental counters. America certainly seemed to be a country of paperwork, she thought. She handed over her credit card and was given the promised car – a 2025 Mustang, smelling of new vinyl. It was a sports model, pure gasoline engine, none of this hybrid stuff.
Her mother would have liked this car, she thought, pumping the accelerator. It was bright red. The engine roared as she dropped it into drive and pulled out of the lot, leaving a trail of scorched rubber behind. She found her way to the Beltway, then to her hotel. Although she had never been in the U.S. before, she had studied maps of Washington and the nearby Virginia and Maryland suburbs.
Her hotel room was registered in the name Susan Starling. Her father would have been displeased at that, she knew – it was too obvious. But part of him would have found it amusing and daring. Susana offered a credit card in that name, got her room, and was pleased. It was a suite, with a nice view of the city. She could see the Capitol and the White House, standing out like white pieces of ivory against the darkness of the nighttime city.
She scarfed a Coke out of the minibar and got out the Yellow Pages. She indulged her mother in a quick call to tell her she was all right and had arrived safely. When Starling began to try suggesting that her daughter come home, Susana simply told her she would come home when she was done and not before. Then she said goodbye and hung up.
Next, she called room service and indulged herself. There was plenty of chocolate in the minibar, but she needed nutrition. She could be as discriminating as her father when it came to food, and she warned the room service people that the sushi had better be fresh. The room service person she spoke to swore on his own honor that the sushi would be fresh. Susana elected to take him at his word. After all, she could always sample his sweetbreads tomorrow if they weren't.
As she looked out at the city below her, she flipped through the Yellow Pages. The page she stopped at was 'Knife Merchants.' Tomorrow, it would be time to get a Harpy, Daddy's favorite. And a Spyderco Civilian. After all, Susana had some up close and personal work to do. The hotel room had a computer terminal, but she refrained from using it; even now, it was possible to track what one did on the Internet.
She took a memo pad from the desk and began to jot names on it. Names of people she needed to see. Some, she intended simply to convey her father's thanks to. Others needed to be punished for their various sins against her father. The degree of punishment varied.
"Nat'l Tattler – Smithfield, Jameson, Dover" she wrote first.
Under that, she added "Barney".
She added "Crawford" but crossed it out a moment later. She wouldn't be able to get to Jack Crawford unless she remembered to pick up a Ouija board. In its place, she wrote Verger, Margot. She stared at the name for a few moments, trying to remember what her father had told her of this person and why.
Next, after doodling a bit as she thought, she added "Mapp".