Clarice Starling's engine roared as she drove to the destination Dave McCracken had told her to go to. It wasn't the rural factory that Dr. Lecter had supposed. That didn't surprise her. Wherever she went would be a phone booth. Despite what McCracken thought, it wasn't really original. Criminals did stuff like this all the time. What it would do was make it difficult for law enforcement to track Clarice. Too bad most criminals didn't realize how easy it was to put a GPS transmitter on an agent and track 'em wherever you want from miles away.
Too bad, too, that she hadn't had time for such niceties.
The idea of simply storming the factory had occurred to her. There were two reasons why she'd decided against it. The first, simply put, was that McCracken had his schedule down tight. If he expected her to answer the phone at Union Station – the first place he was sending her to, and probably not the last – and she didn't, Charlene would pay the price. It was enough that she knew where his hideout was. The second, quite honestly, was that she wasn't totally sure she could trust Dr. Lecter. Maybe he was on the level. But it wouldn't be out of his league at all to send her to the wrong destination. She knew that after having heard about what he'd said to Senator Martin.
If he was lying, she'd just gotten around his game. If he wasn't, it was still safer to do what McCracken wanted. As long as Charlene's neck was on the line, she'd play his game. Once she got close enough to McCracken, though, that was it. He was going down. If he was alive when the smoke cleared, that was fine. If he didn't survive, she wouldn't shed any tears over him.
She glanced in her rearview mirror. She'd told Dr. Lecter not to follow her. One serial killer at a time, that was her rule. Still, she wouldn't put it past him to follow her anyway. Dr. Lecter wasn't known for listening to law enforcement officers.
She reached Union Station and located the phone booth on the street ringing without much effort. The Mustang stayed on the street while she grabbed it. Her FBI badge would keep any traffic cop at bay. Besides, all she needed was a couple of minutes.
The hard plastic of the payphone receiver was satisfyingly strong in her hand. She lifted it to her ear. Her eyes narrowed.
"Starling," she said.
"Hey, Starling," Dave McCracken said jovially. "You got there. Good. Your little niece gets out of making tape number three for now."
She wanted to ask him why he was doing this but didn't want to. Her eyes searched the roadway for any cars. Had Dr. Lecter followed her anyway? She didn't see a fancy car. Then again, he probably had cars that weren't so fancy. Or had he gone directly there? That idea chilled her. Dave McCracken and Dr. Lecter together. God only knew what games they could come up with.
"So what now?" she asked. "I know you're not here."
"You're right. I'm not. Head to Ballston Commons Mall. There'll be pay phones by the food court. The last one on the end will be ringing. You've got twenty minutes."
Click.
Clarice sucked in air and jumped back in the Mustang. She left the phone hanging – she had little time. Twenty minutes didn't give her a lot of time. The Mustang roared across the Beltway. God, she'd better not get a speeding ticket.
You really ought to think about calling for some backup, her mind whispered. No, that was out. Starling, come into the office, Starling, let's talk about this. It would all boil down to one thing: Starling, wait. Meanwhile McCracken would be doing God only knew what to Charlene. She was in it now and she had to follow it through.
The knife on her ankle dug into her as she drove, but she ignored it. God only knew what Charlene was going through. Within relatively short order, Clarice pulled into the parking lot at the mall and jumped out. She wind-sprinted from the car to inside and almost bowled over a few shoppers.
Good thing I don't have my gun out, she thought.
But she made it to the food court and to the ringing phone. She grabbed it and held it to her ear. Made it.
"Starling," she said breathlessly.
"How nice to hear from you," McCracken sneered.
"I want to talk to Charlene," Clarice demanded.
McCracken chuckled. "You're not giving the orders here, Starling," he said blandly.
"I know. Just let me talk to her. I want to know you haven't killed her." Although it galled her to show any kind of weakness to this killer, she cleared her throat and put a pleading tone in her voice. "Please? I've shown good faith. No other cops, no bugs, no nothing. Just let me talk to her." I could have been followed by a killer who makes you look like a Cub Scout, fella, so cut me some slack, she followed it up with mentally.
McCracken seemed satisfied. She heard the phone click and then her niece spoke shakily.
"Aunt Clarice?"
"Charlene, it's gonna be okay," Clarice said. "You just sit tight."
"Aunt Clarice, he's gonna kill us both," Charlene said, her voice choked with tears. Clarice felt a lump growing in her own throat, imagining what her niece had been through.
"No, he ain't," Clarice said, swallowing to force the lump away. She had to be strong. She was the warrior.
McCracken interrupted the tearful scene. "Aww, ain't that cute," he sneered. "OK, Starling, good job. Get your ass out of the city. Go down to the Arlington exit. When you get off the exit there'll be that road sign sayin' where gas stations and such are. There'll be an envelope at the bottom of the sign. Directions are in there."
You asshole, I live in Arlington, Clarice thought but dared not say. You could've saved me a lot of time. But of course, his entire goal had been to waste her time and bounce her around town so she knew she wasn't followed. And he might well have buddies watching her to make sure she wasn't followed.
So she ran out to the car again and started her lonely vigil again. It wasn't too far to the Arlington exit. It was somewhat windy. Clarice wondered what would happen if the envelope was gone. The thought lined her throat with slate. She swallowed once and took the exit. At the bottom of the exit, she wrenched the wheel to the right, bouncing the right wheels of the Mustang up onto the curb. A car behind her honked angrily, and she ignored it.
She jackknifed across the seat and opened the passenger door. Ahead, at the bottom of the sign, was the envelope. A great leap of hope leaped up in Clarice Starling's soul at the sight of that envelope. Her profiler's mind ticked away the similarities. He's used the rock-and-paper method before. Sticking to what he knows. Good deal.
Her fingers shredded the envelope with no regard for what the evidence people might think. Screw 'em. They could've been along for the ride. Inside was a lined piece of note paper. The handwriting was clearly Charlene's, not McCracken's. She nodded bitterly.
Abandoned calculator factory outside of town was the first thing she read, and suddenly found herself disappointed. The directions to it were just where she'd expected. Just where Dr. Lecter had told her they would be.
He'd been honest. He hadn't done her wrong. And he'd done more in less time to pop up McCracken's location than all of the FBI. And she'd told him not to follow her and not trusted him.
Clarice let out a long sigh.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Lecter," she said regretfully.
Well hell's bells, she could settle this with him later. His continued freedom would be a fine reward. The important thing was rescuing Charlene. Once that was done she'd make it up to him. Delete his fingerprint records out of the VICAP database or something. Charlene needed her now.
Clarice's Mustang rocketed out of the city limits to where the old calculator factory lay in the woods, where it wouldn't bother people nearby. It stood there like a dark and desolate temple, its concrete walls reminding her of a medieval castle. A few rusting trailers were in the parking lot. Weeds grew in cracks in the asphalt of the parking lot. Nothing there now – except McCracken and Charlene. Clarice pulled into the cracked parking lot and parked near the door.
Her .45 was in her hand before she realized it. Clarice headed up a few concrete steps to the door and stopped. Her nerves were alive with panic, her ears pricked for any unknown sound. She put her hand on the scarred knob and waited a few beats.
Lights came around from the road, and Clarice whirled, aiming her weapon. A battered pickup truck with a pipe-frame on the back came into view from around the curve. Country music played from the speakers, loud enough to be audible from where she sat. The driver was in silhouette, wearing a baseball cap. Clarice was tense enough to almost pump a few bullets into the truck, but once the truck passed on without stopping she let out a sigh. Just some country fella heading home.
She turned back to the door and opened it. Automatically, her arms, head, and body all swung like a turret on liquid ball-bearings, smoothly covering everything in her sight. Old machinery, concrete walls, dirty windows far overhead. Clarice took a deep breath. She felt her nervousness begin to slide away. She was a warrior now, doing what she was born to do. In place of her nervousness was an icy, cautious calm that enabled her to knowingly approach armed madmen and walk out of the experience alive. The tall windows allowed enough moonlight in to see by. Thank God for small favors.
Clarice walked slowly forward, gun out. Broken glass gritted under her feet. The gun swung back and forth in careful half-circles. Nothing in Clarice Starling's line of sight could move and not be covered by the gun in half a second's time. The main room of the factory was huge, with long-dead machines that reached the ceiling far above. All this to turn out calculators? Shit. She waited for the machines to turn on, for something to happen, but none did.
A lightbulb guttered from a hall on the other side of the main room. Clarice's eyes narrowed. McCracken had been an electrician; of course he would turn on the electricity in his hidey-hole. Moving as quietly as she could, she headed towards the hall.
Once she was closer, she could hear something. Someone, actually. Clarice edged a little closer down the deserted hall. Ahead was a scarred and battered gray door on her left. It hung open on its hinges. The sound was coming from there. She turned a little to see and her eyes widened.
Once, the room had been an office. It was a windowless concrete room. A battered wooden desk was in one corner. Overhead was a fluorescent light which was pretty clearly on its last legs, guttering on and off with an audible plink. In the center of the room was Charlene.
She was wearing only a dirty blue T-shirt. Her bare legs were in front of her. Clarice could see bruises on them and was instantly filled with a combination of sadness and rage. Her hands were behind her and a silver piece of duct tape masked her mouth. Her eyes widened when she saw Clarice and she let out an mmmmph.
Clarice knew better than to break and run. She carefully covered the room. She wished she'd brought a flashlight with her. No McCracken. Then she turned around and backed into the room. The .45's muzzle remained centered on the doorway. If McCracken appeared she'd shoot him right in the guts. Three times. She'd face the Board of Inquiry with a smile.
She backed past Charlene, who was trying desperately to get the tape off her mouth. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. Her wide eyes locked on her aunt's. Clarice was still in her zone and reacted more as the trained FBI agent than the loving aunt.
"Charlene," she said calmly, "I need you to turn around for me."
Charlene did, still mmmphing through her gag. Clarice glanced down – just one quick look, to show her where she needed to go. Then she grabbed the edge of the tape covering Charlene's mouth and ripped it free quickly.
"Charlene, you OK?" she asked.
"Aunt Clarice, no!" Charlene said. "It's a trap!"
Just then, the heavy steel door to the room slammed shut. Clarice started, but she could not cover the distance in time. There was a banging of metal as Dave McCracken slid a heavy steel bar into place, to seal the door shut. A cruel laugh echoed from beyond the door.
Then the light overhead clicked off, plunging the room and both women in it into total darkness.