Hannibal by Thomas Harris EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Authors: Thomas Harris
- Language: English
- Genre: Psychological Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
You would think that such a day
would tremble to begin ….
CLARICE STARLING’S Mustang boomed up the entrance ramp at the Bureau
of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms on Massachusetts Avenue, a
headquarters rented from the Reverend Sun Myung 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, manned and idling in the
cavernous garage.
Starling hoisted the equipment bag 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 men watched Starling
coming. She was slender in her fatigues and moving fast under the
weight of her equipment, her hair shining in the ghastly fluorescent
lights.
“Women. Always late,” a D.C. police officer said.
BATF Special Agent John Brigham was in charge.
“She’s not late—I didn’t beep her until we got the squeal,” Brigham
said. “She must have hauled ass from Quantico— Hey, Starling, pass
me the bag.”
She gave him a fast high 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 airconditioning 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 many labels in its time. The dirty and
faded signs on the doors were thirty minutes old. The bullet holes
plugged with BondO were older.
The back windows were one-way mirror, appropriately tarnished.
Starling could watch the big black 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 window.
FBI Special Agent Clarice Starling, thirty-two, always looked her
age and she always made that age look good, even in fatigues.
Brigham retrieved his clipboard from the front passenger seat.
“How come you always catch this crap, Starling?” he said, smiling.
“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 come to work with me. These are my
guys, Agents Marquez Burke and John Hare, and this is Officer Bolton
from the D.C. Police Department.”
A composite raid team of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and
Firearms, the Drug Enforcement Administration SWAT teams and the
FBI was the force-fit product of budget constraints in a time when
even the FBI Academy was closed for lack of funding.
Burke and Hare looked like agents. The D.C. policeman, Bolton,
looked like a bailiff. He was about forty-five, overweight and yeasty.
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