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CHAPTER

1

You would think that such a day

would trein …

CLARICE STARLING’S Mustang boomed up the entrance ramp at the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms on Massachusetts Avenue, a headquarters rented fro Moon in the interest of economy

The strike force waited in three vehicles, a battered undercover van to lead and two black SWAT vans behind it, e

Starling hoisted the equip out of her car and ran to the lead vehicle, a dirty white panel van with MARCELL’S CRAB HOUSE signs stuck on the sides

Through the open back doors of the van, four ues and ht of her equiphts

“Women Always late,” a DC police officer said

BATF Special Agent John Brighae

“She’s not late—I didn’t beep her until we got the squeal,” Brigha, pass ”

She gave hih five “Hey, John”

Brigham spoke to the scruffy undercover officer at the wheel and the van was rolling before the back doors closed, out into the pleasant fall afternoon

Clarice Starling, a veteran of surveillance vans, ducked under the eyepiece of the periscope and took a seat in the back as close as possible to the hundred-fifty-pound block of dry ice that served as air-conditioning when they had to lurk with the engine turned off

The old van had the monkey-house smell of fear and sweat that never scrubs out It had borne ns on the doors were thirty ed with BondO were older

The back ere one-wayblack SWAT vans following She hoped they wouldn’t spend hours buttoned down in the vans

The male officers looked her over whenever her face was turned to the

FBI Special Agent Clarice Starling, thirty-two, always looked her age and she always ues

Brighaer seat

“How co

“Because you keep asking for me,” she said

“For this I need you But I see you serving warrants on jump-out squads for Christ’s sake I don’t ask, but somebody at Buzzard’s Point hates you, I think You should coents Marquez Burke and John Hare, and this is Officer Bolton from the DC Police Department”