Author's note: Yes, I know, couldn't keep the chapter-a-day thing up forever. I am but flesh and blood, you know. But enjoy, Dear Reader, here we are.
Jack Crawford sat at a borrowed desk in the air force base and sighed. It was finally time. He'd seen Dr. Lecter in his cell in Argentina. But this would be better. This would be his final victory. Dr. Lecter, returned to American soil, crossed off Jack Crawford's list once and for all.
He had an impressive show of force. Twenty FBI agents and ten federal marshals. The good doctor would have no chance at all of escape once the Air Force signed him into Jack Crawford's custody. That was important to him.
Clarice had escaped. That had been annoying. So far, Charlene didn't seem to have mentioned anything. He didn't think she knew much more than she said. She wasn't that good at lying. Crawford knew the shady sides of things far better than his idealistic employee. She had bought the triggers story. He'd thought moving Clarice to medium security would've allayed her niece's suspicions. It had, but now Clarice was out. Damn McQuerry! The man couldn't keep one freaking woman under wraps. Next time he would have to find somewhere else for Clarice.
But Dr. Lecter was his. That meant something. Never again would the doctor trouble Crawford's sleep. He was going back to prison, and this time he would never get out. Crawford would see to it that Dr. Lecter was held in a supermax facility until the end of his days. And Clarice would turn up.
He thought for a moment about what he had planned. At first, he'd hoped Clarice might turn on Dr. Lecter. Eventually, he had accepted that she would not. And then he had wondered what would be the best thing to do. Clarice as a witness for the prosecution would've been the crowning glory in Dr. Lecter's trial. Clarice as a witness for the defense could've created problems. Dr. Lecter was old. That could've swayed a jury towards him. The last thing Crawford wanted was a tearful wife on the stand pleading for her husband. So, instead, he had come to this idea. Clarice had betrayed the FBI and him personally by fleeing with a serial killer. There was something fitting in this. If she wouldn't help the good guys one way, she would help them another way. Plus, he thought, the look on Hannibal Lecter's face when they rolled his beloved into court in a wheelchair, vegetative and zombielike, would have been worth it.
But now it had all fallen apart. No more Clarice. Never mind; she'd turn up.
He shifted in his chair and waited. The plane was arcing over the southeastern United States. Dr. Lecter would be here soon.
…
Clarice Starling sat in her purchased van in a parking lot. She was ten minutes away from the air force base. She couldn't hope to get on the base itself. Too risky. But here would be OK. The damn plane wasn't here yet. She'd made a few more purchases today. A .308 sniper rifle and some ammunition for it. She'd sighted it in out in the boonies. She knew pistols better than rifles, but she was no slouch with a rifle. And with a big telescopic sight mounted atop the sniper rifle, she knew she could set him free.
She didn't want to kill anyone. But she would if she had to. She saw no other choice. Clarice knew perfectly well that the agents guarding Dr. Lecter would give up their lives before setting him free. Now was the hard part – all she had to do was sit here and wait until the plane got there.
It occurred to her that Charlene might well be there to watch Dr. Lecter hustled off to prison. That raised a great deal more trauma than killing any other of Jack Crawford's people did. She didn't want Charlene there. It would be so much easier that way. The thought of Charlene in her sights made her ill. Despite everything her niece had done, Clarice could not bear the thought of killing her or even wounding her enough to get Dr. Lecter free. Charlene had suffered a lot. Some was McCracken's fault. Some was Crawford's. And yes, some of it was hers. She hoped and prayed that it didn't come to that.
She had the scanner she'd purchased on. It sat on the passenger seat of the van. An earphone was stuck in her ear so that no nosy civilians might overhear her listening in on the air force base's frequencies. Once the plane had requested landing clearance, she was going to move on over to the air base. She could cut the fence with wire cutters. Drive on the runway if she absolutely had to. But she would free Dr. Lecter no matter what.
The tower was talking tersely to several inbound planes. None were his. Dammit. Clarice began to tap her feet nervously. Where the hell was he?
…
The park would be closing soon, and it occurred to Charlene that she would have to leave soon. Dr. Lecter was coming. At one point, she'd thought that the capture of Dr. Lecter would be the greatest. Over the past year, the capture of Dr. Lecter had been the driving force in her life. She'd captured him. Now came the final part – his return to US soil and to prison. She'd thought about what she would say to him as they took him off the plane. She'd worked so hard for this, and now she found it unsatisfying and sad.
Aunt Clarice wanted him free. Aunt Clarice was just going to have to deal on that. She'd toyed with telling Crawford to beef up the security detail. Then she'd seen what he was bringing and decided it wasn't necessary. Thirty officers. Talk about male overcompensation. But it would have the desired effect. The good doctor would go to prison. And there he would stay.
Why did Aunt Clarice want him free anyway? Could she really ignore all the atrocities he'd committed? Did she really think that he wouldn't go gunning for Charlene the minute he was capable of so doing? Dr. Lecter was dangerous. Pure and simple. So long as he was free innocent people were in jeopardy. If someone was rude to you, Charlene thought, the appropriate retaliation was to politely avoid them or snub them or something. You didn't chop out their internal organs and serve them with shallots and berries. Why, if everybody did that, then where would the world be?
Besides, she thought, if that was how the world worked, then she supposed she had Dr. Lecter's left kidney or something due her for the way he'd treated her in Argentina. But she could understand that. The old doctor had been enraged that she'd caught him. He'd underestimated her. Most people did.
She ought to head over to the air force base. Dr. Lecter would be due in. Mr. Crawford would expect her there. It seemed so long ago that she had once put so much weight by his opinions. But he was still her boss, and facts were facts – Dr. Lecter would not be on that plane if not for her. Charlene got up and began to walk slowly back to the car.
…
Dr. Lecter had been speaking with the tower via radio. Up until now. They would be watching him and waiting for him to land. Landing was something he planned on doing. After all, the plane would only fly for so long. He just planned to do it slightly differently from what they had planned.
He was on his final approach to the air force base. The closer he got, the more surprised they would be. According to the instrumentation he had plenty of fuel. That was good. But Dr. Lecter did not plan on doing much different.
Dr. Lecter cleared his throat. He had been disguising his voice with a twang rather like Clarice's. He supposed she might be bright enough to be listening. If she was, she'd appreciate it. What about Charlene? Was she listening?
"Air Force 325, we have you for final approach," the tower radioed back.
"Roger," Dr. Lecter said in his twang. "Say, who's down there to take charge of the prisoner once I land?"
There was a momentary pause. "Jack Crawford and a contingent of federal marshals are ready to take him."
"Is he on the line?" Dr. Lecter knew it wasn't terribly wise, but by the time they realized what was happening it would be too late. And he just couldn't resist.
"He can hear you but he can't transmit."
Dr. Lecter nodded. Good enough. He dropped the twang and cleared his throat again, speaking in the careful, mocking tones he favored.
"Jacky-boy," Dr. Lecter said, "how are you? But I'm afraid I won't be in your clutches today. Plans have changed, you know."
He turned the radio off, as it wouldn't do anything more than annoy him. Then he grabbed the yoke and turned the plane into a deep turn west. The engines of the C-20 made a throaty roar as Dr. Lecter throttled them up to full.
Below, Jack Crawford recognized the voice. His face turned red with rage. Dr. Lecter had the plane? No. This would not be taken from him.
"Track that plane!" he shouted, even though the air force base's radar had never stopped tracking it. What the hell was Lecter doing? Even as the small blip on the radar screen arced away from the air force base, countermeasures were rapidly being prepared. In post-9/11 America, the base had several armed fighter craft available. They could be scrambled within minutes to force Dr. Lecter's unarmed jet to the ground.
Lecter's plane turned west and began descending leisurely. He stopped answering the radio. At the air base, flight crews began readying two fighters to go up and force him down. Crawford eyed the blip on the radar screen. What was he doing?
Then it hit him.
"What airports are west of here?" he asked one of the airmen milling about. "Local little places where he could land that thing? Say within twenty miles or so."
The young man considered. "Well, there's Manassas Regional Airport. That's thirty miles away. A little jet like that could land there."
Crawford nodded. "That's where he's going," he said tightly. "He can land there before we get anything up to intercept him."
The young man blinked. "Then he has to radio their tower and get permission," he argued.
"No, he doesn't," Crawford confirmed, his eyes locked on the blip representing his fleeing prey. "If he just goes and lands that puppy, anyone in his way is gonna get out of his way real fast." He turned his head. "Everyone get over to Manassas Regional now. Inform local police. Get as many men as you can there now."
Unbeknownst to Jack Crawford, a dirty white van not far from the airbase intercepted the order as it went out over the radio and began racing for the regional airport as well.
Jack Crawford pulled out his cell phone. Lecter had pulled a fast one. He might have a card up his sleeve himself. He scrolled down the list of numbers and found the one he wanted.
He tapped his feet impatiently as the phone began to ring and wished he had authority to order the air force base's anti-aircraft guns to be used to take down Lecter's plane. Dammit! He had been so close. Lecter would not get away.
"Starling," came a young woman's voice.
"Starling. Crawford. Where are you?"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't there, sir, I've just…,"
"Never mind that. Where are you?"
"Manassas," Charlene said, seemingly surprised.
"Lecter's hijacked the plane. He's gonna try and land at the little regional airport in Manassas. How fast can you be there?"
There was silence on the other end of the line, but just for a moment or two. Good, Crawford thought, and made a note to congratulate her later on her quick reaction time.
"Quick as I can," she said. "It's not too far away. And I got one of those red bubble lights in my car. I guess I can use that."
She wasn't supposed to have that in her personal car, but at the time Crawford did not care. He would give her a friendly warning about it later. For now, it was convenient. He could hear her heading back to her car. That was good.
"Starling, I have backup on the way," he promised. "Don't try any heroics. Just try to detain him until backup gets there. And don't let him talk to you. You don't need Hannibal Lecter in your head."
"Yes, sir," she said in a clipped tone. Crawford heard a powerful V8 roar to life in the background. That's my girl, he thought and grinned tightly.
"If he resists you, you have my authorization to use deadly force," Crawford said. "I'll back you."
It had just become a four-party race, with three of the parties competing for the fourth as the prize.
…
The tower was squawking at Dr. Lecter and demanding to know what the hell he was doing. That should be relatively obvious. He was landing. After all, the air force base would have fighter jets, and they would be scrambling soon. Dr. Lecter did not particularly want to end this journey by having the jet torn apart by missiles. And Jacky-boy would shoot him down. He had no doubt of that. Conveniently, everything he'd needed had been right here in the cockpit. Finding an airport not far away from the base – close enough that he could land there before they sent up whatever Jack Crawford could come up with to shoot him down.
Would Clarice be there? He hoped so. If he had to free her, he supposed that couldn't be too hard. But a ride would be useful. And Clarice was much more resourceful than Crawford had ever given her credit for.
Once he was on final approach to the airport, it was not terribly hard to land the craft, even with the tower screaming at him that he did not have landing clearance and would be arrested if he landed the craft there. Dr. Lecter was not quite as skilled as the pilot he had killed, and the landing was a little bumpy. No matter. Dr. Lecter remembered what his long-ago flight instructor had told him. It's a good landing if the plane's on the ground and in one piece. It's a really good landing if you can use the plane again.
Dr. Lecter unbuckled his safety harness and got out of the seat. It was not terribly hard to open the plane's door and jump to the ground. He suavely shot his cuffs and began to walk towards the airport. He had the gun, if he needed it. He'd need a car.
A white van pulled up near the fence separating the airport. Dr. Lecter turned his head and looked. A few hundred yards. He would have ample time to evade them if it was the authorities.
But it was not. Clarice poked her head out the window and screamed his name. For the first time in a few weeks, Dr. Lecter beheld Clarice Starling. A smile creased his lips and he began to move towards her at a fast trot. Even at this distance he could see her face light up.
A gunshot echoed over his head and brought him to an abrupt halt. From behind him a voice spoke.
"Dr. Lecter! FREEZE!"
Dr. Lecter turned around and beheld the figure of Charlene Stenson Starling standing fifteen feet behind him. Her eyes burned holes through him. She was trembling and her mouth working. But her .45 was out, and the muzzle aimed directly at his chest.
"Charlene," Dr. Lecter said calmly. "My, you're--,"
"Dr. Lecter, be quiet," Charlene said. The big muzzle of the .45 jittered back and forth nervously. "Put your hands on your head and kneel down. And tell Aunt Clarice not to come any closer. I see her too, y'know."
"You seem frightened," Dr. Lecter observed. "Charlene, now really."
Before he could finish the sentence the .45 firmed up. The hole in its muzzle seemed absurdly large. She centered it on his chest again, so that a fat .45 slug fired at him would punch through the heart. Then follow up with two rounds to the head, as she had been trained. Her mouth pressed into a line. She was afraid, but not a coward. But that fear made his job harder; she would not act rationally.
"Dr. Lecter, I am not going to argue with you and I am not going to put up with your games and your taunting. Turn around. Kneel down on the ground. Call out to Aunt Clarice and tell her not to come any closer. Do it now. If you don't do what I tell you or if you try to fuck with me, I will shoot you dead."
In the distance, sirens began to fill the air.