BOWMAN'S MISSION
Lloyd's eyes were fixated on his computer monitor. He had watched the video a minimum of seventy- five times. The first part showing the handshake was worthless for identification. The man Bowman believed to be Lecter kept his back to the camera the entire time. The person holding the camera focused almost exclusively on the heavier man's face contorting in agony or the actual grip of the handshake. The handshake did pose an identification problem because of the scar in plain sight on the smaller man's left hand. It was obviously a fairly recent injury as the disfigurement was of a very intense hue. There was no way around that. The second part of the video had a little more detail.
The woman's face was not clearly shown and the man either had his head lowered and tilted to one side or viewed in partial profile. The lighting in the restaurant was dim and the camera used was probably an older cell phone therefore the quality was not good. It could be enhanced somewhat, but there was no getting around the fact that this man, though similar to Lecter physically, seemed to have a very different bearing. After the handshake leading to the kiss, he was relaxed, almost jovial.
Nothing in that exchange seemed like Lecter, though a man in love would have a different demeanor than a man that had been incarcerated for more than eight years. His eyes appeared a very deep shade of blue, not the intense and unsettling maroon Lecter was known for, though contact lenses could account for that. That scar was the conundrum. If the man had not removed his jacket and pushed his sleeves up to shake the larger man's hand, Lloyd would have sworn on a stack of bibles that it was Hannibal Lecter in the video.
Could you have injured it after you escaped from the Chesapeake, Doctor?
Lloyd walked into his kitchen to get a glass of iced tea. He rattled the ice back and forth pinging the cubes against the inside the glass. Sipping the tea he paced around his kitchen staring at the phone sitting on the counter.
Just call him…don't be such a wimp.
Lloyd argued with himself for fifteen minutes before he picked up the phone and dialed Clint Pearsall.
Pearsall was in bed but rolled over and picked up the receiver on the second ring. His wife, accustomed to the phone ringing all hours of the night, barely stirred.
"Pearsall." He was curt as he massaged the sleep from his eyes.
"Hello, Sir. Lloyd Bowman here, I think I have found some information that may prove Hannibal Lecter is alive and possibly in the company of Clarice Starling. I'd like you to take a look at it if you would."
"For God's sake, Bowman how many times are you going to chase your tail with this?"
"Do you have access to your computer now Sir?"
Pearsall was angry that he had been awakened from a sound sleep in the middle of what was looking to be a very promising dream featuring a very beautiful woman, to thoughts of Hannibal Lecter.
"Are you kidding me, Bowman?"
"Sir, please…I wouldn't call you at this hour if it wasn't something that I felt was important. Do you have access to your computer? I sent you an email with a link I think you should look at."
Pearsall flipped his blanket aside and left his bed with a very large chip on his shoulder. He walked over to his desk, turned on his laptop and logged on to his email. "Okay, I have the link."
"Please watch it, I'll hold. I want to hear your first impressions when you see it."
Pearsall watched the video half-heartedly at first until the woman appeared.
"Jesus Christ…Jesus Christ…Lloyd it looks like Starling!"
"Keep watching Sir…watch what the man does…tell me what you think."
Pearsall's eyes were fixed. His heart was pounding as he watched Hannibal Lecter passionately kiss Clarice Starling. "Holy Shit! That's Lecter!"
"The only obstacle to a true identification is the area of the left arm between the forearm and the hand. There's a very broad scar that seems to wrap around the forearm approximately two inches above the wrist. It looks as though that hand had been severed. Obviously Lecter never presented such an injury."
"Maybe it happened after he escaped. I'll get a bulletin out to the local hospitals. We'll see if anyone was treated in what…the last five or six months for a severe injury to the arm possibly including the possibility of reattachment surgery."
"I would cover Washington, Baltimore and Virginia, just in case. Much further and it would be impossible to travel with that sort of damage…if it even happened in the United States at all."
"Okay Lloyd…It's not a good enough for a positive identification…Lord knows it wouldn't stand up in court but I think it's enough to initiate an investigation. I'll let you run with it. Keep me posted. I'll handle contacting the hospitals. We'll see where this one goes."
"Thank you, Sir. Sorry to have disturbed your sleep."
"No apologies necessary, Lloyd. Well done." Pearsall turned off his computer, put the phone back on the cradle and slipped into bed. His wife lifted her head from the pillow.
"Did I hear you say you saw Hannibal Lecter on the internet?"
"It could be him. It's not conclusive."
"If he is alive…I want the house watched, Clint. He got to our daughter once. He could again."
"He won't come anywhere near us…he isn't stupid. Plus, if he wanted to hurt her he could have. He might be a monster but he's never killed a woman or a child. If anything, I'm more likely to be his target than either of you."
"Can't you just leave well enough alone…If he got away just let him stay there. Don't do anything to draw his attention or his anger."
"I'm not going to do anything to draw the attention of Hannibal Lecter. Bowman is just running down leads. It's probably nothing."
Clint Pearsall rolled onto his side and pulled the covers over his shoulders gathering them tightly around his neck, much like a young child would when attempting to hide from the monsters under the bed.
Why can't this bastard just die!
A deep chilling anxiety shuddered through his body. The thought of Hannibal Lecter alive and well was deeply disturbing to Pearsall. Sleep would not find him. Fear would now be his constant companion.
Lloyd placed the receiver back on the cradle, his heart pounding with excitement. He was smiling from ear to ear.
Hannibal... I know you aren't going to want to see us…but…if we actually do catch up to you, you brilliant son of a bitch… we could really use your help.
STUART
Stuart rested on his bed, staring at the small monitor, the only light illuminating his bedroom. He watched intently as Mariyah shifted uncomfortably against her bonds. Her head occasionally rolled from side to side as her body, obviously exhausted but very uncomfortable, desperately sought sleep. Stuart picked up a yellowed copy of the National Tattler. The focus of the story was obvious to anyone reading the banner headline, "Hannibal Lecter and His Lover Clarice: Meet the Cannibal Count's Concubine."
Stuart read the article, the worn copy obviously having been reviewed with regularity.
Shifting his attention to Mariyah, Stuart's hand slipped down the front of his boxers. He moved slowly, his eyes did not waver from the monitor. His release was quick and less than satisfying. Some things are better left to others. He decided to visit the trailer.
The Cannibal Count
Hannibal removed the mirror frame from the bedroom and walked outside the home with it. Clarice followed him into the garage. He seemed unconcerned as he placed the broken pieces of the mirror into a large cardboard box.
"Clarice, let us not be dramatic. The video should be considered no more than a minor distraction. Keep in mind that it is by no means evidence of either our existence or our location. I have reviewed the content many, many times and while it may pique the interest of the FBI and may even initiate an investigation, it will not lead anyone to us. The shot of the restaurant is nondescript, the angles that show the pair of us not entirely focused, our faces are partially obstructed and my scar is very, very visible. The scar alone is enough to obviate identification."
His wife stood quietly as he packed away the broken pieces of mirror for safe disposal. Her arms were folded protectively across her chest. "Are you sure there isn't anything they can identify?"
As soon as he finished loading the box, seeing that Clarice was truly distressed, Hannibal put his arms around her and pulled her tightly against his body, kissing her forehead.
"My Love, there is nothing to fear. You must remember that we live in an Orwellian society. You cannot concern yourself with the presence of cameras as there will be absolutely no way for us to avoid them. Our only concern is being certain that we are good neighbors and live our lives quietly."
Hannibal placed an arm around his wife and the pair walked back to the house. She was preoccupied with the information relayed to her by Ardelia. Clarice's FBI training subconsciously kicked in and her mind now worked overtime to process a variety of scenarios considering what her next move would be if she had been assigned lead agent on the case.
"What if they find out where we are?"
Hannibal could see the wheels turning in her mind. He smiled and teased her affectionately.
"Do not overly concern yourself, Ex-Special Agent Starling. If the FBI gets close, Ardelia will provide you with enough advance warning for us to take our leave of this place. Hopefully, that will not be the case, but if it is, know that I am prepared every moment of every day for just such an eventuality. I have several choices of alternate identification for each of us, cash and another set of passports ready at a moment's notice. I have additional travel and financial resources available should the immediate need arise. We will be safe no matter what the FBI's next course of action may be."
Clarice wrapped her arms around Hannibal. She was feeling a bit more secure. "Sometimes I forget this isn't your first rodeo."
"Yes, it is hardly my first, Clarice." He laughed. "Rest assured I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Though it may seem in the past that I had been willing to tempt fate do not forget, I wanted you to catch up to me. If I do not want to be found…we will not be found."
Hannibal opened the door to their home and allowed Clarice to enter first.
"You just said whatever it takes, Hannibal?" She questioned as they walked into the main hallway and Hannibal reactivated their security system. "What did you mean by that?"
"That is precisely what I said and I meant exactly that…I will do whatever it takes to defend you. That is the only time I may be unable to keep my promise to you. You have seen me when I am at my most primal for lack of a better word and though you do not fully understand, I know what I am capable of in that state of consciousness…in that frame of mind. You must be aware that if your safety is threatened, if I perceive any danger to your person, I will act swiftly and decisively I will offer no mercy and absolutely no apology for it. Whether or not you understand, you will be safe and that is my only concern."
"I would understand only if it is to protect us from a direct mortal threat, Hannibal…not for any other reason. I cannot condone being the cause of a standoff or a massive shootout."
"Clarice, as you are well aware I do not carry a gun. The only weapons I possess are my mind, my hands and my Harpy and while I will not attack unprovoked, please keep in mind if your life is threatened in anyway, I will not pause for your approval before I move to act. If I am forced to violence in order to defend you Clarice, with or without your permission, my Harpy will be in my hand and no matter the target…my blade will find its mark."