It was early morning in the gray corridors of Behavioral Sciences. Charlene was the only one there. It had been this way countless times. She'd arrived early and stayed late in her desperate year-long search for Dr. Lecter. She had always liked the morning quiet. It allowed her to get a lot more done. No one sticking their head in her office. No one in the halls. Just Charlene.
And so it was now. It was six in the morning, and Charlene knew she wouldn't be alone for long. She stuck her head out the hall and glanced down at the office at the end of the hall. JACK CRAWFORD was on the nameplate. Charlene tapped her fingers nervously.
Well, it would just be a look. Couldn't hurt to look, could it?
Charlene took a CD-ROM from her desk drawer and sat down at her own computer. She'd gone on the Internet last night and surfed around until she'd figured out how to do what she wanted. Charlene knew computers fairly well. It hadn't been that hard. She tested it in her own computer and nodded. It worked. Then she walked down the hall and stood in front of Jack Crawford's inner sanctum.
He wasn't there. In his time, he'd been a workaholic, coming in at six and leaving at nine. These days he usually came in around seven-thirty or eight. Charlene tried his door. It was unlocked.
The office was neat, almost military. On his desk was a picture of his late wife. There were a few wanted posters on the walls. They were all serial killers Jack Crawford had successfully hunted. One of them was Dr. Hannibal Lecter's. Noted on the poster in red magic marker were Dr. Lecter's original capture date and the date of his recapture. The date of his recapture noted that he had been recaptured by Agent Charlene Starling. Charlene pressed her lips together at that. A mark of appreciation in his inner sanctum made her feel guilty about this. Maybe Crawford was right. Maybe Aunt Clarice was just…well, not wrong. Suffering from delusions.
But she had to know. And this was the easiest way of finding out.
From her pocket, Charlene withdrew a pair of latex gloves. She'd taken these from the evidence labs. No one would think anything of that; she had to handle evidence occasionally too. She put the CD-ROM in the drive and turned the computer on.
Instead of Windows 2000 appearing on the monitor, the PC flashed a bright spear of light at her once and then the monitor turned black. There were no friendly icons there. Instead she saw only the cryptic prompt:
C:\
Her ears pricked. Was someone coming? She had to finish this quickly. Fortunately, she needed little time to accomplish what she wanted. Charlene typed dir. A list of files and folders scrolled up the screen. Was it here? Wait…there it was. NTLDR. The NT loader file.
Charlene typed rename NTLDR NTLDC. Then she held her breath. Would this work? Charlene thought it would.
She got no error message, just another C prompt. Good. She typed dir again and verified it. There was no more file called NTLDR. There was a file called NTLDC. Charlene grinned. She'd read somewhere that there were 37 million lines of code in Windows 2000. And all it took to bring everything to a screeching halt was one itty-bitty little letter.
"G'bye," she told the file. Then she took her CD out of the drive and left the office swiftly. There was her bait. Now she just had to wait a little bit and see if Crawford took it. She thought that he might.
She puttered around, making a few more notations on the Lecter file. A cup of coffee and the Internet served to amuse her until she heard the clicking of a cane coming from the elevator. Crawford leaned into her office.
"Morning, Starling," he said.
"Good morning, sir," Charlene said, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
C'mon, go to your office, Charlene thought.
She heard him enter his office. Tick tick tick, she thought. She tensed nervously. Never had she ever thought of committing perfidy like this. Jack Crawford had done a lot to help her career. That was not in denial. But she didn't feel guilty at all about it. Instead, she just wanted things to get done.
"Goddam computers," she heard him grumble. "What the hell is this?"
Tick tick BOOM, Charlene thought, and grinned.
She heard him bang on the keyboard. Fat lot of good that'll do you, Mr. Crawford, sir, she thought sarcastically. But now it was time to play Helpful Young Person to the Rescue. Charlene got up, pulled her hair back into a thick ponytail, and waited outside Crawford's door. She let him cuss and swear a bit more. Pretty tame, really.
"Something wrong, Mr. Crawford?" she said.
Crawford scowled at his computer and gestured at it with a hand. "Look at this," he said. "What is this? 'Cannot find NTLDR. Hit any key to restart.' I can't get my email. And it'll take hours to get someone from IT down here."
"What happens when you hit a key?" Charlene asked sweetly.
"The same thing," Crawford grumbled.
Charlene nodded. "I'll have a look at it, if you like," she said.
Crawford shrugged. "I gotta make a few phone calls," he said.
"Oh, I'll take it back to my office," Charlene assured him. "I won't break it, Mr. Crawford. Let me have a go at it. Won't cost you a thing."
She waited and watched Crawford carefully. C'mon, she thought. C'mon c'mon c'mon.
He gestured at the computer. "Sure," he said desultorily.
Charlene scurried back to her office and returned with her office chair. She loaded the murdered PC onto it and prepared to roll it back to her office for a little hacking. Casually, almost as an afterthought, she asked, "Oh, by the way, can I get your password, sir?"
Crawford's eyes narrowed at her. "My password? What do you want that for?"
"Just to test your PC," Charlene assured him. "I'll give it right back, then you can change it to whatever you want. I just want to make sure that, um, your BIOS isn't conflicting with your VxD drivers, cause then it'll hose your registry."
Crawford eyed her. Was he buying it? Charlene stood there and looked as innocent as she could.
"I guess hosing the registry is bad," he said finally.
"Very bad, Mr. Crawford," she assured him.
"Fine. Username is jcrawford, and my password is 'bella', b-e-l-l-a."
"Okay," she said. "Lemme have a look at it, Mr. Crawford. Give me half an hour. I think I can get it up and running."
"Have fun," Crawford said, and eyed her carefully. She struggled to look innocent and met his gaze.
"How's your aunt doing?" he asked.
Charlene paused. "She's all right," she said calmly. "She's still having some triggers."
Crawford nodded. "They're helping her, Starling. You know that, right?"
"Yes, sir," she said.
Then she rolled the PC back to her office. It took a few moments to connect Crawford's computer to her monitor, keyboard, and mouse. She shut down her computer, pulled the plug out of the network drop, and plugged in Crawford's.
It took only a few seconds to boot up with the CD-ROM and rename the file back to NTLDR. Then Charlene took the CD out and restarted the PC. The familiar colors of Windows 2000 came to life on the computer. Charlene typed Crawford's username and password. The computer thought for a moment and then obediently displayed icons.
Charlene is on a roll, Charlene has got control. She opened up Crawford's email. He had tons of it. After scanning a few, she realized most of them were just noise. Nothing there.
A few emails from McQuerry, Raymond caught her eye. That date was a week ago. Was Mr. Crawford checking up on Aunt Clarice? That made sense. She clicked on it to open it up.
From: McQuerry, Raymond
To: Jack Crawford
Subject: Clarice Starling
Mr. Crawford, I got your mail. I am sorry to say that Clarice is largely resistant to therapy. She continues to maintain that Dr. Lecter did not brainwash her and that she was happy with him. I know you want her to possibly testify at the trial, but it would take several more months of therapy.
Hmm. So he had been checking up on Aunt Clarice, and with something other than her own interests at heart. Her aunt's words echoed in her mind. Don't make any mistakes about Jack Crawford. He has his own goals. Always has.
There was another email from Lloyd Bowman. She knew Lloyd. He'd been part of Mr. Crawford's team for years. He seemed pretty decent. Carefully, she clicked on that, feeling like a spy. Here she was, seeing something she had a feeling she wasn't supposed to see.
From: Lloyd Bowman
To: Jack Crawford
Jack,
I know you're annoyed with Clarice, but I really have to ask if this is the right thing to do. I mean, it's not like we need her to get to Lecter. It's really just a question of whether we try Lecter for murder or whether they just send him back to the asylum. Are you sure this is the right thing to do? Does she really deserve that?
Charlene tensed. Oh boy. Was this true? She bit her lip and stared at the screen. At the bottom of the list of folders was Crawford's 'Sent Items' folder. She clicked on that. Here were all the mails he had sent out. She saw McQuerry's name and tensed. She clicked on it and gasped.
From: Jack Crawford
To: McQuerry, Raymond
Subject: Starling
Dr. McQuerry, we've rolled the dice here. We've given her a chance; if she chose to blow it that's her lookout. Go to special measures as we discussed on the phone. I'll cover you if you need it.
Don't worry about Charlene Starling. She works for me. As long as Clarice is promoted to medium security and stays there Charlene shouldn't be much of a problem. I'll keep on her from my end. All you have to do is deny it and she'll buy the triggers story.
Jack Crawford
Horror washed over Charlene like a wave of dirty water. She stared at the screen and shook her head. Her hand covered her mouth as she read. Her blue eyes stared wide at the screen in shock and horror.
For several minutes she stared at the screen mutely. Then it occurred to her there was someplace that Crawford would not follow her. She got up and left the room quickly.
The ladies' room was a calm oasis of sanity. Charlene locked herself in a stall and sat down. The horrible, unbelievable truth hit her.
Jack Crawford had planned to torture her aunt into insanity. Jack Crawford had fed her a line of bull from the start. She had hunted down Dr. Lecter for him, believing him guilty of her aunt's murder. He had known Aunt Clarice was alive. She had believed him when he told her Aunt Clarice would get help. She had believed him when he had told her Aunt Clarice was suffering from triggers.
Jack Crawford had used her. Everything she had believed, everything she had worked for…none of it was true. It was all a lie. Next thing would be that Dr. Lecter was innocent.
Charlene felt nausea rise up into her throat and swiftly turned around. Her breakfast came up hard from her stomach into the bowl. She gripped the porcelain sides, her head spinning. What was next? What could she possibly be expected to give up now?
After a few minutes, she rose, left the stall, and rinsed out her mouth. Her pale, trembling visage in the mirror was not promising. A splash of cold water on her face made her feel less like she was going to faint.
She went back to her office and sat for a few minutes before turning off Crawford's computer. Dear God, how was she supposed to look at him the same way? What was she going to do about Aunt Clarice?
After a few minutes of sitting and trembling, it came to her. She packed up Crawford's computer and returned it to him. He turned from where he was on the phone and covered the mouthpiece with one hand.
"All fixed?" he asked.
Charlene nodded. "Bad swap file," she said, the first thing that came to mind.
"Thanks." Those hooded laser eyes swept over her, taking her measure. What was he planning now?
"You don't look too good, Starling," he said. "Is something wrong?"
No, not at all, you lousy bastard, I just found out you're planning to fry my aunt's brain and that you used me.
"I'm…feeling a little funny," Charlene said tonelessly. "I was thinking. John Jay Library's still got the Lecter exhibit. We may need it for his trial. I was thinking about getting out there and arranging it to come back here."
He nodded. "Sounds fine, Starling," he said. "Been talking to the Air Force. Dr. Lecter's coming back in three days. We're sending a little jet down there to get him. You know we wouldn't have caught him without you, right?"
Charlene nodded and fled from his chamber before she either puked again or shot him or both.
She did not go to the library at first. She had different plans. A mission. Having a mission gave her the ability to function. She could concentrate on what she needed to do and ignore the fact that her life was swiftly falling apart.
First, she went to a Home Depot first and bought two things. Then to an army-navy store, where she picked up a couple more things. Then, after changing clothes in the Mustang, she headed to the asylum.
Aunt Clarice was happy to see her, and they went back into the visiting room. After chatting for a while, Charlene excused herself to the bathroom. The asylum's bathroom was like any other, except for the fact that there was a thick metal screen over the window and the mirrors were polished steel rather than glass.
Charlene studied the metal screen. There were four stout steel bolts driven into the corners holding it onto the window. Was Aunt Clarice's room similar? She thought it would be. The real loonies were kept downstairs in more secure quarters. Or over at Quantico in the subterranean depths, Charlene supposed.
She didn't need to use the bathroom. Instead, she jumped up on the toilet and touched the dropped ceiling. The pane of sheet rock moved aside easily. Charlene stuck a bundle up in the dropped ceiling and replaced the tile. It seemed to hold. Good.
She returned to the visiting room. Her aunt seemed nervous. That made sense; she was probably afraid they would come fry her brain while Charlene was away. The vicious bastards. Charlene found herself unsure if she wanted to scream or cry or what.
"Charlene, honey, is something wrong?" Clarice asked.
Charlene smiled joylessly. "No," she said. "Yes. Hell, everything." She looked back and forth as if expecting someone to eavesdrop.
Aunt Clarice looked at her with some concern. "What's going on? I mean, you can tell me."
Charlene shook her head. "It's OK," she said indifferently. "But you know, at the rate things are going I'll be in the padded cell next to yours."
Clarice leaned forward and put her hand on her niece's. She did it often in visits because it was one of the few signs of affection she was allowed to show. She looked troubled for Charlene's sake. Charlene felt herself shot through with guilt. After everything Aunt Clarice had done for her, Charlene had let those sickos throw her in the loony bin and shock her. What was next?
"Tell me what's wrong, Charlene," Clarice said.
Charlene shook her head. "It'll all be right," she said. "Well, most of it, anyway. Listen, Aunt Clarice, I got to go." She rose. A bolt of alarm shot through Aunt Clarice's features. Charlene knew what it was for. Therapy time. Well, it was only one more time. Then she would be free forever.
They were allowed one hug at the end of the visit, and took advantage of it. Charlene grabbed her aunt tight and put her mouth next to Aunt Clarice's ear.
"Before you go to bed," she said deliberately, "go to the bathroom. Middle stall. Look in the dropped ceiling. See you at 2:30 tonight."
As she let her go, she could see a new sort of surprise come over Aunt Clarice's face, mixed with a dawning look of hope.
Charlene pressed her lips together. She had to concentrate on her mission. Otherwise she would start thinking about how cruelly both she and Aunt Clarice had been used and they'd both end up in the loony bin. At this point a nice padded cell seemed like a good idea. Everything she'd tried to do had just screwed everything up. In a cell she wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else. But she couldn't crack. Not yet. Not until her mission was complete.