Author's note:
This chapter has been delayed a bit -- it seems that FF.net no longer likes the HTML that Microsoft Word 2000 writes. (I don't blame it, personally, but it is inconvenient.) All the text I had written showed up as exclamation points. Methinks the 'adjusting FF.net to meet Apple's new browser' had something to do with it.
Fortunately, I know how to hand-code HTML, and after using Notepad's search-and-replace to kill off all the bizarre and lengthy Microsoft tags we have a document which FF.net will accept.
So here we are...three women on the job.

               Prison was not quite what Clarice had ever expected.   She had spent a week in the Reception Center, locked away from the main prison. They'd given her a series of tests and tried to determine how best to rehabilitate her.   She'd had to lie and tell them she didn't have a college degree.

               Once she'd been assigned a cell in the prison, things had been a bit better.   She'd been assigned a medium-security cell that she shared with two other prisoners.   She was assigned a job working in the prison laundry.   That was pretty hard work, but she did all right.  

               Her two roommates were a bit of a surprise.   One was a quiet woman named Linda.   Clarice wasn't sure what she was in for.   She was hoping for parole at her next hearing.   That was about all she shared with Clarice.   The other was someone Clarice had heard of.  

               Her name was Brittany Tollman, and Clarice had heard of her.   At age eighteen, she and her boyfriend had set out on a killing spree across ten states.   They'd finally been caught in upstate New York.   Her boyfriend, Steven Dennis, was currently serving multiple life sentences. Brittany had claimed she'd been kidnapped by her boyfriend and hadn't killed anyone. Eventually, though, she'd struck a plea bargain with the state.   She testified against her boyfriend and all the murder charges except for one had been dropped.   She was serving twenty-five to life for that one murder.       

               Surprisingly, Brittany was not anything like Clarice had expected a spree killer to be like. She was quiet, reasonably well-behaved, and kept to herself.   She was short and pretty.   She regarded Clarice with a bit of suspicion, but all the inmates did.   Clarice was a new fish.   She had not become part of the prison social world yet.  

               The day itself was totally regimented.   Up at six. Headcount.   Breakfast.   Off to work. Lunch at twelve.   Dinner at six.   More headcounts.   After six, the prisoners were released to their dayrooms to watch TV or play ping-pong or whatever recreation they might want.    Lockdown at 10 PM.  

               Clarice had gotten herself a notebook as soon as she could.   It was hard to keep track of the things she saw.   She had to remember them and then write them in the book late at night when her cellmates were asleep.  

               And there was gonna be a ton of stuff for this report.   Clarice saw a lot.   Drugs were commonplace. She didn't know how they were getting into the prison, but they were.   Either the visitors or the guards.   Common sense dictated that.  

               She saw a lot of little stuff.   Male guards lurking around the shower room, even though they were not supposed to.   Some of the inmates had more-or-less consensual relationships with the staff.   Clarice could've stomached that, except that it was a felony anyways.   Plus, she had her doubts as to how really consensual they were.  

               As far as anything darker went, she had her suspicions, but nothing she could prove and nothing she had witnessed with her own eyes.   Crazily, she found herself wishing she had more time.   At the rate she was going, she'd be pulled out of here before anyone opened up enough to trust her.  

               It only struck her as odd occasionally how quickly she embraced her new identity. Dressed as a prisoner and treated like one, she found herself almost automatically sympathizing with her fellow inmates. The guards became an imposing force, to be hated and despised.   And yet for all her adult life she had been a law enforcement officer herself, imposing order on the world the same way they did.  

               She learned swiftly. A prisoner who caused problems got tickets.   These cost a fine of $5. She had always thought that was a small amount, but when you were paid fifteen dollars for two weeks of work, it became much more.   The guards were quick to come down hard on a prisoner they didn't like.   One who played along – one who went down to the corners and crannies where the cameras did not reach – got a lot more leniency. She'd seen herself some favored prisoners given coffee from the guard's machine, small baubles, cigarettes, and things of that nature.  

               The lieutenants and sergeants on duty seemed amenable to all this.   Clarice found that intensely annoying.   A guard offering some inmate a trinket to do him some close personal favors was not good.   A guard harassing an inmate for refusing was bad.    But in Clarice's book, the rank who simply looked the other way were the worst: they could have stopped it and didn't.

               But Clarice knew what her job was, and she knew this wasn't forever.   Knowing that – and knowing that she would probably be the only voice for these forgotten women – gave her the strength to carry on. She did what she was supposed to. She observed.   She took names.   And she wrote them down and waited until she would be free of this place to tell her tale.


               Isabelle Pierce was discharged from the hospital two days after her operation.   Although she was tired, she was feeling in much better shape.   Dr. Litton had prescribed her painkillers.   She'd really been quite helpful throughout the surgery.   Detective Pierce found herself feeling some mixed emotions about what she was about to do.  

               Isabelle Pierce was not the only detective who had ever found Dr. Hannibal Lecter in his sanctuary.   But she was not so base as Rinaldo Pazzi had been.   Her determination was to capture the criminal, not sell him. She held back not because she meant to sell him, but because she simply had to have the background. She knew perfectly well what would happen if she attempted to arrest Dr. Lecter without any type of proof.   She'd recognized Dr. Lecter when she was recuperating from anesthesia.   She needed some sort of proof before she could simply run them in. Her superiors would not be inclined to grant her an arrest warrant on someone she'd seen while just after being operated on.   She could see it now:   So, Detective Pierce, you were groggy and half-awake at the time you believed you saw Hannibal Lecter?   And you expect an arrest warrant based on that?  

               Besides, she knew perfectly well that if she were wrong, she'd be likely to be a crossing guard for the remainder of her career.   The Littons were fairly well known in Sydney society.   She had to have all her ducks in a row before she could possibly think of arresting him.   For that matter, there was the question of Elaine Litton.   Did she know who her husband was?  

               She made her way back into the office, moving slowly just a bit.   Most of the detectives and police officers seemed glad to see her. Her capture of Steven Armington had not gone unnoticed in the department, particularly when the bastard had shot her in trying to get away.   Of course, there were a few ockers in the department who thought that police work was a man's job, but most of them seemed positive.  

               "G'day, Isabelle!" one of them said as she made her way back to her desk.  

               "G'day," she said, smiling.

               "Good to have you back," the officer continued.  

               "Good to be back," she said.   She sat down at her desk and stared at her computer monitor for a moment.   She pulled up the files they had on the Sydney cannibal killer.   That was what she was supposed to be doing.  

               Then she stopped and picked up the phone.   She had to at least check.  

               She opened up Internet Explorer on her computer and settled her fingers on the keyboard.

               You're being silly. She's just an American surgeon who came here with her husband.   You were high as a kite when you saw him and you were just confused.   Leave it be.   Catch the cannibal killer; that's what your job is.  

               But the connection was there, clear as day.   The murders looked awfully like Dr. Hannibal Lecter's prior work.   She'd be a sloppy detective if she didn't at least see.

               She typed www.fbi.gov in the window. A few moments later, the FBI's web site appeared.   She clicked the link for 'Most Wanted'.   Dr. Hannibal Lecter's picture appeared with other criminals who had made the most-wanted list.

               Isabelle clicked on it.   She was rewarded with a few larger pictures of Dr. Lecter.   Was he the man who had smiled at her in the hallway?   It was hard to say.   The eyes were different, but then his wife was a surgeon.   She could've easily done the work herself. It had been dark and hard to see.

She read the vitals under the picture.   According to his date of birth, he very well could be the man she'd seen.   Height and weight…she thought so, but it was hard to be sure.   She'd been quite groggy and out of it when she saw him.    The Remarks section caught her eye.  

               Dr. Lecter is an avid reader with an interest in medieval history. He has worked in museums under cover identities in other countries.   He is physically fit and quite strong for his age.   He is believed to be traveling with his female companion, Dr. Erin Lander.   He was sent to a maximum-security asylum for the criminally insane in the 1980's and escaped in 1992.   Two correctional officers were murdered in his escape.   After hiding for a time in Florence, Italy, Dr. Lecter murdered an Italian police officer and returned to the United States where he murdered Mason Verger and several others.   He kidnapped a federal agent and killed another.  

               Dr. Lecter was discovered in 2002 in Berlin, Germany.   Although he escaped arrest, his female companion was captured.   She was held briefly by the FBI and escaped federal custody. Dr. Lecter is known to carry a knife and should be considered armed and extremely dangerous.  


               There was a link over the name 'Dr. Erin Lander', and Isabelle clicked it.   It brought her to another page.    This one did not have a blue 'FBI Top Ten Most Wanted Fugitive' banner atop it; instead it had a red 'Wanted by the FBI' banner on it. Under that were the words HARBORING A FEDERAL FUGITIVE in black and the name ERIN MARIE LANDER in red. There were photos of the woman the FBI sought.   In one, she had long black hair.   In the other, she was blonde. Isabelle thought she must've had a good beautician.   Dr. Litton had chin-length brown hair, but that could've easily come from a bottle.

               The aliases listed for Dr. Lander were simply Angela Lind and Angela Brinkley.   The date of birth seemed close enough to be Dr. Litton. The occupation noted for her was 'Surgeon'.   That made Isabelle think.

               Remarks: Erin Lander has a dual kidney transplant.   It is believed she obtained this transplant from Dr. Hannibal Lecter, with whom she is traveling. She requires extensive immune suppressant medication.   Dr. Lander fraudulently obtained German citizenship, which has since been revoked. She may be working as a surgeon.

               Hmmm, Isabelle thought and tapped her pen thoughtfully against her teeth.   Did Elaine Litton have a kidney transplant?   That would be harder to find out.   Medical records were confidential.   Still, she'd have a scar, and she'd need a chemist if she were a kidney transplant patient.   A bit of poking around might turn up something.  

               The Department of Immigration and Multicultural Affairs would have files on them.   She thought about calling them and seeing what they might have.   Only one way to find out.

               A lieutenant stuck his head out of a meeting room.  

               "Cannibal Task Force meeting," he said.   "Everyone on the Cannibal Task Force, assemble now in the meeting room.  

               She had to make that.   They hadn't sent her to America for nothing.   Isabelle fired off a quick email to the police contact at Immigration asking for any files they might have on Hamilton and Elaine Litton.   Then she got up and went into the meeting, wondering if she might have a suspect for these murders.  


               Deputy Assistant Attorney General Bob Sneed entered the FBI's building at Quantico and glanced around.   For him, this was a subordinate agency.   But there was a good offer in it for him.   He proceeded down past the security checkpoints and took the elevator down to the offices of Behavioral Sciences.  

               Once there, he checked in with the secretary and walked down to an office.   It had a new nameplate on the door reading Rebecca DeGould. Seated behind her desk was the very agent he had sought.  

               "Hi, DeGould," he said calmly.   "How're you doing?"

               Rebecca DeGould turned around and eyed him.   

               "Hello, Bob," she said calmly.   "How are you?"

               "Doin' all right," he said. "Wanted to see how you were settling in now that you're back."  

               Rebecca DeGould smiled coldly.   "I'm just fine," she assured him.   "Back in the swing of things.   I do have some things I want to talk to you about.   Could you close the door?"

               Sneed did and then sat down without being asked.  

               "What's on your mind?" he asked.  

               Her eyes turned cold. She ran a hand through her reddish-blonde hair.   At the corner of her forehead was a small scar.   Sneed looked at it with some regret.   That was where that psycho Lynch had worked her over with a crowbar.  

               "Look," she said. "I came back here to do something. I have no plans to make the FBI a career.   You know what I did before I came here?"  

               Sneed shrugged. "I hadn't heard," he said delicately.

               "That's because you didn't care.   That's fine," she said. "I can deal with you on a quid pro quo basis, that's just fine.   I worked in the brokerage house my father runs.   Made three times what I did here.   Now listen up, Sneed, I know you've got two kids and one's going to college pretty soon. "  

               Rebecca DeGould tossed her head.   "I'm back here because I need to be.   I want revenge for what happened to me, Sneed.   Clarice Starling did this to me.   I know she did."  

               Sneed coughed. He didn't know if Starling had anything to do with it or not.   But there might be something in it for him.  

               "Gregory Lynch got straightened out in the asylum," she continued.   "He admitted what he'd done and said Dr. Lecter told him that I was a dirty girl and that he needed to take care of me.   Dr. Lecter didn't know me from Adam; he would've only done it if Starling told him to.   Bitch was probably dealing with him all the time."   Her voice was hard.

               "Whatever happened to him?" Sneed asked curiously.   "I mean…if you don't want to tell me."  

               DeGould's eyes clouded over with repressed rage.   "We got him declared competent and had him stand trial," she said.   "He drew a twenty-year term.   Worked in the prison laundry.   A year ago he was killed by another prisoner."   She smiled with no kindness.   "Died breathing in Hexlite and lye cleaner.   They had to ID him by his fingerprints.    What a tragedy.   But he did verify that it was Dr. Lecter who sicced him on me."

               Sneed strongly suspected DeGould had more of a hand in the death of Gregory Lynch than she let on, but did not say anything.    DeGould continued.  

               "Before…before I was going to take it easy on Starling.   She'd have lost her job and that would've been it.   But if she wants to play hardball…then I can play hardball too." Her eyes shifted to Sneed as if over open sights.  

               "If you help me, Sneed, I can get you out of government service and get you making some real money. Quarter-million a year. No biggie.   Your kids go to college and you'll be a millionaire in short order.   I just have to talk to my dad, and he'll give you a shot.   And it's easy enough.   Just making deals, that's all."  

               Sneed nodded. "I'm listening," he said instantly.

               "I'm going to want some things, and I'm going to want to know how to do some things.   What I need from you is how to do them and no questions asked."  

               Sneed considered. "You know you're probably taking a risk," he said.   "What if we get caught?"

               "If I get caught, you'll be OK.   If you get caught I'll protect you as much as I can.   My dad has people in the House and Senate on speed dial.   Shouldn't be an issue.   You're a good sneak, Sneed.   That's why I want you."  

               He considered. His kids were coming up on college and some money would be helpful.   A job in the big New York brokerage house that Charles DeGould ran would help. Whatever DeGould had planned for Starling…well, Starling was just small fish anyway.   Who cared what happened to her?

               "What do you want?" he asked.  

               "Your first assignment for me," Rebecca DeGould said.   "Chief Conway has an FBI credit card.   I want the account number and the expiration date."   She chuckled.   "Everything I need to…make a few purchases."    

               Sneed snapped his fingers. "Easy," he said.   "DOJ can get that for you quietly.   I'll pull nine other ones random to smokescreen it."

               Rebecca DeGould smiled. "Good," she said.   "Stick with me, Sneed."   Then she stopped and kept a firm eye on him.  

               "You probably don't understand why I'm doing this," she said.   "You think I'm being stupid; I can see it in your eyes.   But I am doing this, Sneed.   If you help me, you'll be a rich man for your trouble, and once you're in the family fold I can guarantee you that any legal issues will be stopped. We've got enough Senators and Representatives in our pockets.   Fail me and you're toast.    Screw me over, and you'll be in the same boat with Starling.   Stick with me and you'll be rich.   I want this, Bob.   I will have my revenge."