Disclaimer: I don't own Starling, Lecter, etc. You know this. But now the question arises: why are you still reading this? The story's down there.

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The Night of the Jackal

Ch2: Welcome Home

Chacal rested comfortably in their living room. His meditation had taken him away from the scene, although an internal alarm clock in his mind allowed him to monitor the time. His eyes stared blankly at the living room window. As cars passed, their headlights shone dimly through the closed blinds, making his eyes dilate wider and narrower without any other reaction. His quiet repose allowed for a more thorough examination of his features. Dark black hair slicked against his head to prevent interference with his vision (normally it spiked off his head in strange patches or hung limply in his eyes) and dark blue emotionless eyes. He was lightly tanned, but most of his skin was covered by black clothing to make him less noticeable. Overall he was unremarkable- which was a necessity in his line of work.

LESSON FOUR: YOU SHALL NOT BE UNIQUE

Uniqueness would be a death sentence. To be noticed meant screwing up a job, and screwing up a job meant two things: that you would not be paid or you would get your ass killed. Quite suddenly Chacal stood up and stretched his legs. ETA had reached 30 minutes. Time to move. With a brief glance to the room, re-checking his work, he decided that it would suffice and unlocked the front door. Chacal prevented himself from swinging the door open abruptly, instead looking out through the tall clouded windows to make sure no one was around. Reassured of his secrecy, he opened the door and stepped into the cold night air. He did not shiver. He left the door slightly ajar- the telltale sign of a break in. Next, Chacal walked to the side of the house, around the corner and into some shadows where he could be completely out of sight of the street. He could see the driveway without being seen, and would not be discovered unless someone walked back here. He almost hoped that someone would. Perhaps Lecter would send his wife/lover alone out to this chilly darkness between the two houses. How much easier it would be that way. He allowed himself a minute to work review the possiblities which would be presented.

LESSON FIVE: NEVER LET THE ACT GUIDE YOU. ALWAYS ACOUNT FOR EVERY POSSIBLITY.

Chacal was driven from his pensive reverie by the sound of an approaching car. Jaguar 2005 XK, he knew without struggling to recall. The engine's roar was unmistakable. It was more sleek and grand than even his '67 Mustang. In any case: the targets were home. Chacal slowly sank to the ground behind some shrubberies and pressed himself against the house. Between the leaves he could see the driver get out cautiously and remove a small object from his jacket pocket. Spyderco Civilian, he knew from observation. Chacal smiled. He himself had a Buck knife on his back and a Stilletto on the inside of his left forearm. He was proficient in knife fights, having been in a few, and had allowed himself rely on knives before.

As Lecter exited the car, he approached the house cautiously. Starling climbed out as well and stood behind him. She spoke softly, but Chacal was still able to hear her.

"It looks like a break-in, Hannibal."

"So I see. And do you know if the 'burglars' are still inside?"

"Of course not."

"Then let's continue to proceed cautiously, shall we?"

Starling looked briefly indignant, but did not argue his logic.

Dr. Lecter cast a brief glance in Chacal's direction, but did not see him. Chacal had chosen the spot wisely. After another moment Starling shivered in the night air, and Lecter, seeing this, put an arm around her waist.

"Alright, Clarice. Inside then. I can't have you get sick, now can I?"

"So lead on."

Lecter nodded and walked to the front door. Clarice followed, apparently without any further caution. Chacal immediately stood up and walked as swiftly and silently as a lion in the final stages of the ambush, just before the prey is alerted to its presence.

Chacal caught Clarice just as she entered the door. In fluid motion, he put his Buck knife to her throat and pulled his .45, aiming at Dr. Lecter, who was then in the living room and presently examining the damage.

"If either of you move, I cut Starling's throat," said Chacal loudly. Lecter was not facing Chacal, so Chacal could not see his eyes glaring angrily. Still, he did not move. Instead, he spoke.

"It would be redundant to ask if you know with whom you are dealing with, so I will dispose of the usual banter. What do you want?"

"At the moment, to close this door. Keep still. I would hate to have this hand slip and cause unnecessary harm." With his foot, Chacal shut the door.

Starling had been debating whether or not now would be a good time for a leg sweep, but his knife pressed harder across her throat and the thought was banished. She couldn't even speak, for fear of causing more pressure on the knife.

When the door closed Dr. Lecter spoke again. "If you'll just take what you're after and leave, I'll give you a five minute headstart before I hunt you down."

"I don't want any of your things. What I want is for you to sit down cross-legged, facing me and Ms. Starling."

Here Clarice ventured to speak (the knife had eased off a tiny bit). "Mrs. Lecter to you."

"As you like. Face Mrs. Lecter, on the floor, hands on your head."

Dr. Lecter complied slowly. Had Chacal been a fraction weaker, he would have pissed himself in fear because of the look he received. Chacal kept the knife on Clarice at all times. If she got away from him now, there would be more trouble than he wanted. So far everything was going smoothly.

LESSON 6: SHOW NO EMOTION. YOU SHALL NOT BE A PERSON, BUT A MACHINE. ACT ACCORDINGLY.

Chacal had his favorite lesson (# 6) in mind as he pulled one of the syringes he kept on his belt. "You will inject this into your arm so that I can see it. Fuck around and the knife goes in."

Had Chacal known Dr. Lecter more intimately, or at least had more insight into his relationship with his wife, he would not have bothered to threaten him. Dr. Lecter would never allow himself to be the cause of her pain. Even if he was sorely tempted otherwise, which he was now.

Chacal tossed the syringe to Dr. Lecter, and it hit the ground inches in front of him. Dr. Lecter regarded it pointedly, and looked back up to Chacal. Chacal tightened his grip suddenly on Clarice, and she accidently released a squeak of surprise. Dr. Lecter's face softened, and he picked up the needle. Without flinching he inserted the needle and pushed in the plunger slowly.

Chacal watched with keen interest. He had put enough sedatives in that one to knock out a horse, so it should at least slow him down a bit. Dr. Lecter removed the offending needle as one would pick a flea off their arm. Chacal could see that he had indeed injected himself. Excellent.

"Would you mind removing that knife from my wife's neck now?" Dr. Lecter asked politely.

"Yes I would. We'll be staying exactly this way until you fall unconscious, even if it takes five more needles."

Clarice didn't know about the stranger, but she was getting cramped from having to stay absolutely still. Pressed as she was into his chest she could feel his heart thumping on her back. It beat serenely without any hint of exitement. It disturbed her to discover that this man was absolutely calm in dealing with one of the most notorious killers in history.

She decided to pay attention to her husband, who was staring alternately at her and her attacker. For a second he looked normal but as time went by, she could see his eyes were roving a little too uncontrollably. Then, as clamly as a child curling up in bed, he went to the ground with his eyes shut and began to sleep.

The moment passed by without Chacal moving. There was absolutely no chance that he would move from this position right away. He had seen a disgruntled drunk rise up out of what Chacal had thought unconsciousness to wheel about and try to escape. Not that he had, of course. It was simply a careless mistake to take it for granted that he had been asleep. And now, when a very dangerous serial killer (there was no denying that point) lay here, possibly playing possum, to act without caution would be, in a word, STUPID. So he waited a minute longer.

For Clarice's part, she thought he might have fallen asleep behind her. Except that once the knife trembled. That was her only indication that he wasn't gone too. Then the knife went away and the hands moved quickly to pull her arms behind her back painfully. It happened so fast that she grunted in pain. Hannibal made no move on the floor. She believed he was really unconscious.

"Ow, you asshole," she hissed.

"Pardon me. Making sure he's asleep," he replied without feeling.

"What do you want from us?"

"Me? Nothing whatsoever. My employers? You'd have to ask them." Chacal was now much more at ease. Only one target to deal with. He would not tell him her his real motive yet, and to do so would only complicate things, so he humored her hopes.

"So who hired you?"

Chacal ignored the question and took the handcuffs from his pants with one hand and her arms in the other. When he snapped them shut around her wrists he began to lead her back towards the door. Always keeping her so that she could not see what he was doing, he opened the door and pulled her out of it, leaving the door open. Without speaking he led her to his truck and opened up the back.

Now she could see him. He looked to her, glanced to the open bed, under the camper, and then back to her. Nope. Not gonna happen, she thought.

"Get in," he said flatly.

As if I didn't know what you wanted already thought Clarice balefully. She stood still and quiet.

"Get in or I throw you in. Pick one."

She stood still, daring him.

He shrugged his shoulders and came towards her, kneeling down to grab her around the thighs. Immediately she began kicking, trying to get free, but was forced into the truck despite her efforts. As he slid her in under the camper, she kicked him square between the legs. To her surprise a plastic -thock- rang out, and he grinned: his first emotion that he had shown her as of yet. The bastard was wearing a cup.

Through his smile he spoke again. "Stay."

He slammed the door closed, and stood by for a moment, making sure she would not be able to escape. No, things were running smoothly. She was in there till he let her go.

He spun on his heels and walked back to the house, removing his gun. From the car, Clarice saw this and began yelling. Chacal heard her, but kept moving as if he did not.

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Computer was broken. Would've had this out sooner otherwise. Please please review!!! Otherwise I'll just lose interest and stop writing.

Vilest of Worms