Two days later proved to be a warm and sunny day, a beautiful day. A day tailor-made for going to the park, for picnics and Frisbees and dogs. Lisa Starling stood in a row of agents in a green, verdant field. But the field was Arlington National Cemetery, and the occasion was hardly a joyful one. Will Graham's graveside service was a sad, but memorable occasion.
It seemed that every current FBI agent in Washington, DC was there to pay their final respects: the rows behind Lisa seemed to go on forever with somber faces in dark suits. There were even police officers from local jurisdictions present; occasional dress uniforms dotted the landscape of business suits. Ahead of her, Will's stepson Willy – or Bill, as he had introduced himself – stood with his family, stolid grief on his face. Lisa sighed and brushed a speck of dirt from her skirt. It wasn't a real black suit, but it was a dark gray. She hadn't been able to find the black pants suit she usually reserved for such occasions.
Laura Miehns was not visibly present. The HRT had taken up positions around the gravesite. It was possible that Susana Alvarez Lecter might try to attend the funeral. Lisa knew that they were around, hidden in trees and vans and inserted in plainclothes at the service itself. So far, nothing had been seen.
Her face was healing nicely. The bruising around her eyes had gone down some, but was still there. She was still vaguely bothered by the idea of her face resembling Clarice's. For Lisa, Clarice had always been the dark shadow over her, the one who came before her who had chosen evil. Chosen evil and birthed evil. Clarice had turned her back on the FBI, knowingly betrayed her oath to protect and serve, and had borne the daughter who was responsible for so much death. To wear her face creeped Lisa out. As soon as this was over, Lisa was going to have whatever she could undone.
The crime reports had been added to Susana's file, already as thick as the DC Yellow Pages. It galled Lisa that a photograph of her, hanging on the cross in her bra and panties, was now part of Susana's file, where any FBI agent could get it. But Susana was quite effective at finding ways to humiliate and torment. And the photographs of Will's horrific torment still made her stomach churn in a way that other crime scene photos did not. It had simple redoubled Lisa's determination to see her cousin in handcuffs once again.
They had been running records and trying to track down the three men on Lisa's list. Charles Pearson was probably not it. He was married, had a son, and didn't seem to be a killer at all. Plus, he had been the first of the ministers sent to try and counsel Susana. Lisa didn't think it was him. The other two were more questionable. Bart Stapleton was a real possibility. He was an ex-con himself. He'd served four years for aggravated assault, getting out six years ago. He claimed to have reformed, but that made Lisa wonder. His prison records indicated a man with dark hair, but hair color was easy to change, as her own Clarice-style reddish-brown hair indicated. Luke Taylor was simply hard to find. He worked for a local financial company as a systems administrator, but hardly anyone knew him personally there and he had recently taken time off. A patrol car sent by his house had discovered he wasn't there. It was hard to say: he could just be on vacation, but he could be shacked up with Susana.
So she had to choose from the violent and the vanished. They hadn't come up with any plane tickets or hotel reservations for him. The field offices had all been notified, and they were looking. Lisa hoped that he would turn up and they could finalize it before…well, before Susana struck again.
The minister was talking, but Lisa found it hard to pay attention. She could not reconcile the words of peace and love that he was talking about with Graham being tortured to death in front of her eyes. Her eyes flicked around the graveyard. Idly she wondered if Susana would attempt to show up. It wouldn't have surprised her – Susana liked to flaunt it when she could – but Lisa could not shake the thought that she wasn't, and that made her nervous. When Susana was laying back in the tall grass, that usually meant she was planning something.
…
Six o'clock. Graham's wake had been from two until four. All the victims would be at home now, hopefully. Some might be eating, some might not. Susana had been preparing all afternoon. This would not be easy, but it would be doable. With a little bit of luck, they'd be able to do this. Fortunately, Cousin Lisa had been out and about, so that everyone in the FBI would have seen her new hair color and bruised eyes. So passing would be easy.
Susana adjusted the sunglasses she wore and checked the 9mm on her belt. Her briefcase was packed and ready. Latex gloves, knives, and everything else she might need. Luke was checking over his fatigues again and making sure his collar was straight. That bothered Susana not in the slightest. He had to pass for HRT, after all.
She glanced down at the cell phone she had purchased that afternoon, while Lisa and the rest of the FBI had been at the wake. Weeping over their dead old man. There were about to be a lot more dead people. The phone was a prepaid deal, bought for cash in a convenience store. It had been a simple matter to buy a few cards for it and call to have it activated. They'd asked her for her name and address and she'd given them Lisa's.
She'd preprogrammed the numbers she planned to call in it while Luke cleaned the weapons and prepared. He did well at that. He'd also picked through the various things he wanted to do. That had annoyed Susana a bit – this was work. Given her preferences, she would have simply shot each one and moved on. But then again, Luke's style could be fun. She thought of her Toronto murders and grinned. There had been some art to it, after all. One of these days she really ought to find out how long poor Meagan had lasted before she let go of the tourniquets….
"Ready?" Luke asked.
Susana nodded and grinned. "You know what you're supposed to do, right?"
Luke snapped to attention, assumed a parade rest position, and stared straight forward like the soldier he had once been. "Agent Taylor, HRT. I'm detailed to the BSU Protective Detail." His voice was almost robotic. Susana clapped her hands approvingly.
"Very nice," she said.
"Then I just stand around and shut up. Until we get inside. And then…we martyr."
"Yes, yes," Susana said. "Nothing too involved, though. We've got a lot of work to do."
"I did it myself, before," Luke offered. "Not that hard, really. God was watching."
They left the suite and headed down to the front of the hotel, where the rented sedan waited. Susana slid into the passenger seat and let him drive. That slightly irked her – she preferred to drive when she could – but it was necessary. She was disguised as an ally, and she needed to pass for one. She dialed the first number and waited. When she spoke, her voice was a bit higher than normal, and she spoke with the accent she delighted in tormenting her cousin with. Since it wasn't Lisa on the other end of the line, she did not indulge herself in country speech.
A man's voice answered. "Baker residence," he said tonelessly.
"Hi," she said. "This is Agent Starling. Is Agent Baker there?"
"One moment," the military robot on the other end of the line said. Then he came back. "I need your ID number, Agent Starling."
Susana flipped open the case she'd stuck her duplicate ID card in and squinted at the number. So carefully had Luke constructed the card that it was legible. "B504435213," she said.
"This isn't a contact number we have for you," he said.
Susana sighed and tried to envision Lisa exasperated. "It's my personal phone, okay? The battery on my FBI phone died. You should be able to see it's me on the caller ID."
"You're supposed to contact other profilers only via recognized numbers," the voice said implacably.
Throwing herself into her role, Susana lay her head back against the seat. How would Lisa react to this? She gritted her teeth and adopted a frustrated tone.
"Listen," she said. "My phone battery died, all right? I just came back from Will Graham's wake and saw him buried. How about cutting me a little slack?"
The voice was silent on the other end for a moment. "Just one moment, Agent Starling." A few minutes passed. Then Bart Baker, of the FBI's Behavioral Sciences division, came on the line.
"Hi, Starling," he said. "What's up?"
"Hi," Susana said, making sure to draw out the vowels in her mother's accent. "I was looking at a few things and wanted to drop by and get your opinion on something."
"Susana's accomplice?" he asked. Susana's ears perked. The FBI knew about Luke? How much did they know?
"Yes," she said. "I've been running some names and came up with some records. I'd like to sit down with you and see if you could tell me anything from what you see."
He seemed surprised. Susana supposed that Lisa did not have much truck with him. But even that was okay. Just play the knight in shining armor, buddy, and this'll work just fine.
"Sure, all right," he said. "You doing okay? You sound a little different."
"It's just hard," Susana admitted, throwing herself into her role. "I mean, I had to watch while she…while she…,"
"I know, Starling. I'll tell the guard to expect you. See you in a bit."
"Thanks," Susana cooed, and grinned. This was going to be easy. She closed her eyes and consulted the Hall of Enemies in her memory palace. It took her only a minute to come up with the address, which was about twenty minutes away. Traffic wasn't too bad and soon they were in suburban Virginia.
There was a local police cruiser parked outside Baker's door. Susana nodded calmly. Luke pulled the car over and they alighted . Almost immediately, the local cop was on them, asking for identification. Susana pulled out her duplicate FBI ID and flashed it at him.
"Special Agent Starling, FBI," she said. "This is Agent Taylor, HRT. He's my bodyguard. The guy inside should have told you we were coming."
The cop's doughy face changed from challenging to servile. "Oh, yeah. Go on in, Agent Starling."
Susana strutted unchallenged up the driveway to the door. This was actually sort of fun. Was this what it was like for Lisa? Just flash her ID and get whatever she wanted? Her fake wouldn't have gotten her into Quantico, but it would work for these jury-rigged protective custody arrangements. Susana could have planned it a lot better. She knew what those who might target profilers would be thinking.
Her face was close enough to Lisa's new face. The sunglasses hid her eye color. And no one would think anything of them, not after seeing the bruises her surgery had left. The guard at the door, a federal marshal, let her in. That was good. No HRT. They would know Luke wasn't real. She knew eventually she would hit someone being guarded by HRT, and that was going to require a shootout to get to her victim.
She was feeling better about this than she had before. Susana's rare brain could calculate strategy and tactics as easily as her father's. She still thought that way, but she found herself in an excellent mood as she entered Bart Baker's house. This was work, but it was also fun. And Susana liked her fun. Luke's first strike must have been a cakewalk – no guards at all. There was only one guard here, standing by the door as she and Luke came in.
Bart Baker appeared in the doorway, a small man trim and neat in a white shirt and black Dockers. Susana smiled at him. She traded a glance with Luke and reached for her briefcase with her left hand. Her right hand hovered near her right hip.
"Hi, Baker," she said. "How're you?"
Baker's face furrowed a bit. Susana realized that he suspected something. Up close, she didn't pass exactly for Lisa. Or she'd forgotten the accent. Well, it was time anyway. She looked at Luke.
"Go," she said, and pivoted. Her right hand dug in her jacket and drew the 9mm. As Luke sprinted across the room to grab Baker, Susana grabbed the marshal with her left hand. She pressed the gun into his temple and fired twice.
There was little sound: the muzzle was firm against the marshal's head and the escaping gases were vented into his skin rather than the surrounding air. Brains and blood splattered on the wall behind him in a great Pollock canvas of death. The marshal's corpse slithered to the ground, life dying out in his eyes as suddenly and clearly as a candle flame being blown out. Susana relieved the corpse of his pistol and handcuffs and went after Luke and Baker.
Luke had Baker in the kitchen. He had the shorter man's right arm twisted behind his back and an arm around his throat. He was grinning. Baker's eyes were wide, staring at Susana as she came in. She dug in her briefcase and came out with a silver roll of duct tape.
"What the…what…Starling?" he asked. It had been no more than thirty seconds since Susana had asked him how he was. Emotional shock, Susana supposed. A wonder the human race managed to get by.
"Only on my mother's side," Susana admitted, and pulled off a strip of the duct tape. She slapped it neatly over his mouth. Luke dragged the other man into the living room. It was easy for him to control the frightened, struggling profiler while Susana perused the room thoughtfully for what she wanted, a hand on her chin like a woman deciding how to decorate her bedroom. She gestured to the bannister, and Luke compliantly dragged their victim over to it. He slammed Baker against the side of the stairs.
"Can you hold up his arms?" she asked. Luke shrugged and nodded, holding up Baker's right arm. Susana eyed it carefully. She tried to measure how this would work.
"A little to the left," she said. Luke shuffled his prisoner two steps left. Susana scowled. "No, back the other way. I liked it better the first time." Luke let out a sigh.
"He's not a Christmas tree," Luke said.
"No, that'll do." Susana allowed ,and walked forward. She took the handcuffs and locked them onto Bart Baker's wrists, running the chain between a post of the bannister so that he was forced to stand with his hands cuffed overhead. Then she returned to her briefcase and removed two surgical robes and two pairs of latex gloves. She slipped into one robe and then helped Luke to tie on his. Finally, from the briefcase, she removed two long, sharp knives. The blades were almost a foot long, making the knives seem to be short swords. The point was almost square, rising to a diagonal point. Luke grinned ecstatically when he saw them. Just like St. Bartholomew, he thought. Bart. Bartholomew. Susana gave one to Luke and replaced it with a scalpel.
When she approached Bart Baker, he pulled away hard enough to dig the handcuffs into his wrists. Susana simply ignored this and ripped open his shirt. His slightly paunchy belly lay exposed. She stared at it for a second or two, calculating.
"Here," she said. "You want to try this, right? I'll do one, you watch me, and then you try."
She cut a line approximately the length of the blade in Baker's stomach. The gloved fingers of her left hand grasped the edge of the strip of flesh firmly. She wiggled the blade into position and then began to press hard. The knife was made for this task, and it did its job well. It sank between the epidermis and body of Bartholomew Baker quite easily. Baker screamed and keened, the noise muted and foghorning from the duct tape over his mouth. Susana grunted with the effort as she carefully flayed a wide strip of flesh away from his abdomen and lower ribcage. Blood began to well almost immediately, and she had to step back to avoid getting the pants of her suit stained. She pulled the strip away at the belt buckle and cut it off square. Satisfied, she turned back to Luke, the bloody flaying knife in her right hand, a twelve-inch-long, fourteen-inch-wide strip of human flesh in her left.
"See?" she said. "Now you try."
Luke took the scalpel and cut a line in Baker's skin on the other side. He was not a trained surgeon, and his line was not straight. He felt uncomfortable under Susana's level gaze, even as Baker squirmed and struggled in his grip. He had to pick at the edge to get it to come free from the body. But once the blade got started moving through gristle and muscle it wasn't too hard. His strip was a little more ragged than hers, but it would do.
It seemed to be mostly a question of force, once you actually got to the flaying part. Baker's struggles seemed weaker already. Blood seemed to sheet from the wounds: an amazing amount of blood, even considering that the wounds were so large and wide. Perhaps he knew it would do no good. Luke glanced up at his hands: red where the cuffs were digging into them. Luke had killed enough to know that the fists would reveal half-moon-shaped bruises where the fingernails were digging into the palms. The sign of a martyr.
She seemed interested in his work, and told him to do another. He was anxious to show her that he was worthy of her interest, so he set about flaying Bart Baker alive with great zeal and interest. He began higher than she had, at the shoulder level, and steadily worked the blade, separating Baker's skin and his body with precision and care. Luke was debating whether to turn him around or start on the legs. He didn't want to take Baker's pants off in front of Susana. The decision was made for him when Bartholomew Baker died of blood loss, hanging limp in his handcuffs.
Susana strode across to the kitchen and hunted up a plastic bag, in which she placed the bloody robes and knives. She smiled brightly at Luke as he put his trash into the bag. Once that was done, the plastic bundle disappeared into Susana's briefcase.
"C'mon," Susana said brightly. "Nice work, Luke." She seemed pleased with him. Luke felt his heart swell with joy as he washed his hands in the kitchen sink. "We've got more left to do, you know."
"Are we going to…martyr them?" he asked. "All of them?"
"Martyr some, shoot some," Susana said airily. "But we've got a schedule to keep."
Hit hard, hit fast, and hit brutally. That was what Susana had told Luke to do at the first strike, and what they were doing now. The method was brutally simple: take out three or four as quickly as you could, within a few hours, so that by the time the FBI put two and two together, four people were dead instead of one or two. It was a task only for cool, skilled killers.
Susana checked him over for signs of obvious blood. There was none. Satisfied, they closed the door behind them and strolled back nonchalantly to their car. The local cop glanced at them.
"That was quick, Agent Starling," he said.
Susana shrugged. "Sometimes you take care of things quickly," she answered. Luke simply nodded at the cop and slid behind the wheel, one man sworn to protect acknowledging another. Susana opened her door and sat down. The sedan's big engine grumbled to life.
"Are we going to…?" Luke asked, not looking at the local cop.
Susana shook her head. "No need," she said. "Baker's taken care of, isn't he? It'll be much more fun when they find out and he has to explain how he let us in." She chuckled.
Luke pulled out into the street as Susana consulted the next name on her list. She dialed a number and waited a moment for the call to connect.
"Hi, this is Special Agent Starling," she said again. "Is Agent McGee there?"
The third strike had begun.