Hannibal (2001)
Directed by Ridley Scott
Written by David Mamet and Steven Zaillian
Based on the novel by Thomas Harris
Revision February 9, 2000

Anthony Hopkins .................. Dr. Hannibal Lecter
Julianne Moore ...................... Clarice Starling
Gary Oldman ............................. Mason Verger
Ray Liotta ............................. Paul Krendler
Frankie Faison .................. Nurse Barney Mathews
Giancarlo Giannini ........... Inspector Rinaldo Pazzi
Francesca Neri ......................... Allegra Pazzi
Zeljko Ivanek ................... Dr. Cordell Doemling
Hazelle Goodman ........................ Evelda Drumgo
David Andrews ............ F.B.I. Agent Clint Pearsall
Francis Guinan ................ F.B.I. Director Noonan
James Opher .................... D.E.A. Agent Eldridge
Enrico Lo Verso ............................... Gnocco
Ivano Marescotti .................... Carlo Deogracias
Fabrizio Gifuni .................... Matteo Deogracias

 1   INT. PANEL VAN - DAY                                           1   

     Clarice Starling is dead, laid out in fatigues across a bench 
     in the back of a ratty, rattling undercover van.  Three other 
     agents sit perched on the opposite bench, staring at her 
     lifeless body.

               How can she sleep at a time like 

               She's on a jump-out squad all night; 
               she's saving her strength.

 2   INT. UNDERGROUND GARAGE - DAY                                  2   

     Gray cement walls blur past as the panel van descends a 
     circular ramp to a lower level.  As it straightens out, the 
     view through the windshield reveals a gathering of men and 
     vehicles - marked and unmarked DC police cars - and two black 
     SWAT vans.

     The panel van - with Marcell's Crab House painted on its 
     sides - pulls to a stop.  The back doors open from the inside 
     and Starling is the first one out - well-rested and alert - 
     hoisting down her equipment bag.

     One of the DC policemen, the one whose girth and manner say 
     he's in charge, watches the woman by the van slip into a 
     Kevlar vest, drop a Colt .45 into a shoulder holster, and a 
     .38 into an ankle holster.  She straightens up, approaches 
     the men and lays a street plan across the hood of one of 
     their cars.

               All right, everyone, pay attention.  
               Here's the layout -

               Excuse me, I'm Officer Bolton, DC 

               Yes, I can see that from your uniform 
               and badge, how do you do?

               I'm in charge here.

     Starling studies him a moment.  He sniffs as if that might 
     help confirm his weighty position.


                                                             p. 2

               You are?

               Yes, ma'am.

     Starling's glance finds Brigham's.  His says, Just let it 
     go.  Hers says back, I can't.

               Officer Bolton, I'm Special Agent 
               Starling, and just so we don't get 
               off on the wrong foot, let me explain 
               why we're all here.

     Brigham shakes his head to himself in weary anticipation of 
     her 'explanation.'

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               I'm here because I know Evelda Drumgo, 
               I've arrested her twice on RICO 
               warrants, I know how she thinks.  
               DEA and BATF, in addition to backing 
               me up, are here for the drugs and 
               weapons.  You're here, and it's the 
               only reason you're here, because our 
               mayor wants to appear tough on drugs, 
               especially after his own cocaine 
               conviction, and thinks he can 
               accomplish that by the mere fact of 
               having you tag along with us.

     Silence as the gathering of agents and policemen stare at 
     her and Bolton.

               You got a smart mouth, lady.

               Officer, if you wouldn't mind, I'd 
               appreciate it if you took a step or 
               two back, you're in my light.

     Bolton takes his time, but eventually backs away a step.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Thank you.  All right.
                    (re: the street plan)
               The fish market backs on the water.  
               Across the street, ground floor, is 
               the meth lab --


                                                             p. 3

 3   EXT. FISH MARKET AND STREETS - DAY                             3   

     The Macarena blares from a boom box.  Snappers, artfully 
     arranged in schools on ice, stare up blankly.  Crabs scratch 
     at their crates.  Lobsters climb over one another in tanks.

     One of the black SWAT vans turns down a side street.  The 
     other takes an alley.  The Marcell's Crab House van continues 
     straight along Parcell Street.

 4   INT. PANEL VAN - DAY                                           4   

     A 150-pound block of dry ice tries to cool down the heat 
     from all the bodies in the van - Starling and Brigham, the 
     two other agents, Burke and Hare, and her new best friend, 
     Officer Bolton.  As they drive along, Bolton watches as she 
     takes several pairs of surgical gloves from her equipment 
     bag, slips one pair on, and hands the rest to the others, 
     the last pair offered to him.

               Drumgo's HIV positive and she will 
               spit and bite if she's cornered, so 
               you might want to put these on.
                    (Bolton takes the 
                    gloves and puts them 
               And if you happen to be the one who 
               puts her in a patrol car in front of 
               the cameras, and I have a feeling 
               you will be, you don't want to push 
               her head down, she'll likely have a 
               needle in her hair.

 5   EXT. FISH MARKET AREA - DAY                                    5   

     The swat vans pull into position, one to the side of the 
     building across from the fish market, the other around back.

     As the battered van pulls to the curb in front, a mint low-
     rider Impala convertible, stereo thumping, cruises past.

 6   INT. PANEL VAN - DAY                                           6   

     The thumping fades, leaving the Macarena filtering in.  

     Starling pulls the cover off the eyepiece of a periscope 
     bolted to the ceiling of the van and makes a full rotation 
     of the objective lens concealed in the roof ventilator, 
     catching glimpses of:

     A man with big forearms cutting up a mako shark with a curved 
     knife, hosing the big fish down with a powerful hand-held 


                                                             p. 4

     Young men idling on a corner in front of a bar.  Others 
     lounging in parked cars, talking.  Some children playing by 
     a burning mattress on the sidewalk; others in the rainbow 
     spray from the fishmonger's hose.

     The building across from the fish market with the metal door 
     above concrete steps.  It opens.

               Heads up.

     A large white man in a luau shirt and sandals comes out with 
     a satchel across his chest, other hand behind the case.

     A wiry black man comes out the door behind him, carrying a 
     raincoat, and behind him, Evelda Drumgo.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               It's her.  Behind two guys.  Both 

                    (into a radio)
               Strike One to all units.  Showdown.  
               She's out front, we're moving.

     Starling and the others put on their helmets.  Brigham racks 
     the slide of his riot gun.  The back doors open and Starling 
     is the first one out, barking -

               Down on the ground!  Down on the 

     No one gets down on the ground - not Evelda Drumgo, not her 
     men, none of the merchants or bystanders.  The Macarena keeps 

     Drumgo turns and Starling sees the baby in the blanketed 
     sling around her neck.  She can also hear the roar of a big 
     V8 and hopes it's her backup.

     Drumgo turns slightly and the baby blanket flutters as the 
     MAC 10 under it fires, shattering Brigham's face shield.  As 
     he goes down, Hawaiian Shirt drops his satchel and fires a 
     shotgun, blowing out the car window next to Burke.

     Gunshots from the V8, a Crip gunship, a Cadillac, coming 
     toward Starling.  Two shooters, Cheyenne-style in the rolled 
     down window frames, spraying automatic fire over the top.

     Starling dives behind two parked cars.  Hare and Bolton fire 
     from behind another.  Auto glass shatters and clangs on the 


                                                             p. 5

     Everyone in the market scrambling for cover, finally hitting 
     the fish-bloodied cement.  The Macarena still blasting.

     Pinned down, Starling watches the wiry black man drop back 
     against the building, Drumgo picks up the satchel, the gunship 
     slowing enough for someone to pull her in.

     Starling stands and fires several shots, taking out Hawaiian 
     Shirt, the other man by the building, the driver of the 
     accelerating Cadillac, one of the men perched on the window 
     frames - drops the magazine out of her .45 slams another in 
     before the empty hits the ground.

     The Cadillac goes out of control, sideswiping a line of cars, 
     grinds to a stop against them.  Starling moving toward it 
     now, following the sight of her gun.  A shooter still sitting 
     in a window frame, alive but trapped, chest compressed between 
     the Cadillac and a parked car.  Gunfire from somewhere behind 
     Starling hits him and shatters the rear window.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Hold it!  Hold your fire!  Watch the 
               door behind me!  Evelda!

     The firing stops but the pounding of The Macarena doesn't.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Evelda!  Put your hands out the 

     Nothing for a moment.  Then Drumgo emerges from the car, 
     head down, hands buried in the blanket-sling, cradling the 
     crying baby.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Show me your hands!
                    (Evelda doesn't)
               Please!  Show me your hands!

     Evelda looks up at her finally, fondly it seems, doesn't 
     show her hands.

               Is that you, Starling?

               Show me your hands!

               How you been?

               Don't do this!


                                                             p. 6

               Do what?

     She smiles sweetly.  The blanket flutters.  Starling falls.

     Fires high enough to miss the baby.  Hits Drumgo in the neck.

     She goes down.

     Starling crawling in the street, the wind knocked out of her 
     from the hits to her chest, to her vest.  Reaches Drumgo, 
     blood gushing out of her onto the baby.  She pulls out a 
     knife.  Cuts the harness straps.  Runs with the baby to the 
     merchant stalls as enterprising tourists click shots from 
     the ground with disposable cameras.

     Starling sweeps away knives and fish guts from a cutting 
     table.  Lays the baby down.  Strips it.  Grabs the handheld 
     sprayer and washes at the slick coating of HIV positive blood 
     covering the baby, a shark's head staring, Macarena pounding, 
     disposable cameras clicking, the river of bloody water running 
     along a gutter to where Brigham lies dead.

 7   EXT. ARLINGTON CEMETERY - DAY                                  7   

     Gray sky.  Rain coming down.  A large gathering, many in 
     uniform, standing in wet grass around an open grave, the 
     rain spilling off the rims of their umbrellas.

     A casket is being lowered in.  Starling watches as it 
     descends, watches the gears of the hoist working and the box 
     disappearing beneath the edge of the muddy hole, not allowing 
     herself to cry, or to meet the eyes of certain other mourners 
     watching her.

 8   EXT. ARLINGTON CEMETERY - LATER - DAY                          8   

     Long line of parked cars, some marked, most not, many with 
     government plates.  Smoke plumes from the exhaust of the one 
     idling nearest, a Crown Victoria.

     Inside the car, Starling sits in the front passenger seat 
     with a cardboard box on her lap, a middle-aged man in Marine 
     dress blues beside her at the wheel.  The wipers slap back 
     and forth.

               You like to think when it's over 
               your things would fill more than one 
               cardboard box.

     Starling touches the things in the box:  a BATF badge, a 
     couple of laminated clip-on ID cards with Brigham's face on


                                                             p. 7

     them, a medal, a pen set, a compass paper-weight, two guns 
     and a framed desk photo of a dog.

                           HAWKINS (CONT'D)
               John's parents don't want it.  Any 
               of it.  Except the dog.  Don't want 
               to be reminded.

               I want to be reminded.

               I figured.  He was your last compadre 
               on the street, wasn't he.

               My last compadre.

     He sits watching her touch the things, and will continue to 
     do so as long as she wants.  Eventually, she folds down the 
     cardboard flaps.  Hawkins looks up ahead -

               All they'll get with tinted windows 
               is pictures of themselves, but it 
               won't stop them from trying.  You 

     She is.  He pulls away from the curb.  A handful of wet 
     photographers appears in the windshield's view up ahead.  As 
     the car passes, their cameras swing around to point at 
     Starling's side of it and flash like stars.

 9   INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - FBI DC FIELD OFFICE - DAY               9   

     The words "Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity" skew as a glass 
     door opens.  Starling comes in to find several men awaiting 
     her, all balanced on Florsheim wingtips and tasseled Thom 
     McAn loafers.

               Agent Starling, this is John Eldredge 
               from DEA; Assistant Director Noonan, 
               of course you know; Larkin Wayne, 
               from our Office of Professional 
               Responsibility; Bob Sneed, BATF; 
               Benny Holcome, Assistant to the Mayor; 
               and Paul Krendler - you know Paul.  
               Paul's come over from Justice - 
               unofficially - as a favor to us.  In 
               other words, he's here and he's not 


                                                             p. 8

     A couple of the men bobbed their heads at the mention of 
     their names; none offered his hand.  Starling sits a thin 
     manila folder on her lap.  A silence stretches out as each 
     man regards her.  Finally -

               I take it you've seen the coverage 
               in the papers and on television.
                    (nothing from Starling)
               Agent Starling?

               I have nothing to do with the news, 
               Mr. Sneed.

               The woman had a baby in her arms.  
               There are pictures.  You can see the 

               Not in her arms, in a sling across 
               her chest.  In her arms, she had a 
               MAC 10.  Mr. Pearsall?  This is a 
               friendly meeting, right?


               Then why is Mr. Sneed wearing a wire?

     Pearsall glances to Sneed and his tie clasp.  Sneed sighs.

               We're here to help you, Starling.  
               That's going to be harder to do with 
               a combative attitude like -

               Help me what?  Your agency called 
               this office and got me assigned to 
               help you on the raid.  I gave Drumgo 
               a chance - two chances - to surrender.  
               She didn't.  She fired.  She shot 
               John Brigham.  She shot at me.  And 
               I shot her.  In that order.  You 
               might want to check your counter 
               right there, where I admit it.

     Silence before the man from the Mayor's Office speaks up -


                                                             p. 9

               Ms. Starling, did you make some kind 
               of inflammatory remark about Ms. 
               Drumgo in the van on the way?

               Is that what your Officer Bolton is 
                    (he chooses not to 
               I explained to him, and the others 
               in the van, that Drumgo was HIV 
               positive and would think nothing of 
               infecting them, and me, any way she 
               could given the chance.  If that's 
               inflamma -

               Did you also say to him at one point 
               that a splash of Canoe is not the 
               same as a shower?
                    (she doesn't answer)
               Did Officer Bolton smell bad to you?

               Incompetence smells bad to me.

               You shot five people out there, Agent 
               Starling.  That may be some kind of 
               record.  Is that how you define 

     A beeper goes off.  Every one of the men checks the little 
     box on his belt.  It's Noonan's.  He excuses himself from 
     the room.

               Can I speak freely, Mr. Pearsall?
                    (he nods)
               This raid was an ugly mess.  I ended 
               up in a position where I had a choice 
               of dying, or shooting a woman carrying 
               a child.  I chose.  I shot her -

     FLASHCUT to Drumgo - hit in the neck by Starling's bullet - 
     silently falling to the ground -

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               I killed a mother holding her child.  
               The lower animals don't do that.  
               And I regret it.  I resent myself 
               for it.


                                                            p. 10

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               But I resent you, too - whichever of 
               you thinks that by attacking me, bad 
               press will go away.  That Waco will 
               go away.  A mayor's drug habit.  All 
               of it.

     FLASHCUT to Drumgo, lying dead in the road, then back here 
     again to Starling, "watching" her in silence.

     Noonan pokes his head in, gestures to Pearsall to join him 
     in the anteroom.  Krendler invites himself along.  Sneed and 
     Holcome get up and stare out the window.  Eldredge paces, 
     his wingtips soundlessy dragging on the carpet.

               I know you haven't had a chance to 
               write your 302 yet, Starling, but -

               I have, sir.  A copy's on its way to 
               your office.  I also have a copy 
               with me if you want to review it 
               now.  Everything I did and saw.

     She hands it to him.  He begins leafing through it.

     Pearsall and Krendler reappear -

               Assistant Director Noonan is on his 
               way back to his office, Gentlemen.  
               I'm going to call a halt to this 
               meeting and get back to you 
               individually by phone.

     Sneed cocks his head like a confused dog.

               We've got to decide some things here.

               No, we don't.

               Clint -

               Bob, believe me, we don't have to 
               decide anything right this second.  
               I said I'll get back to you.


                                                            p. 11

                           PEARSALL (CONT'D)
                    (Pearsall's look to 
                    Starling says she's 
                    free to leave; she 
                    gets up)
               And, Bob?

     Pearsall grabs the wire behind Sneed's tie and pulls it down 
     hard, the adhesive tape taking some chest hair along with it - 
     judging from the grimace - as it comes away from his skin.

                           PEARSALL (CONT'D)
               You ever come in here wired again, 
               I'll stick it up your ass.

10   INT. HALL OUTSIDE - MOMENTS LATER                             10   

     Krendler - the only man who didn't speak in the meeting - 
     idles outside.  As Starling approaches -

               That was no free lunch, Starling.  
               I'll call you.

     She keeps going.  He admires the back of her legs.

11   EXT. COUNTRY CLUB - MIAMI - DAY                               11   

     Jack Crawford misses a 20-foot putt by inches.

                           GOLF PAL
               Oh ... bad luck, Jack.

     Crawford stares at the missed shot.  Then spikes across the 
     18th green, taps it in, and groans the way anyone over forty 
     does as he bends down to retrieve it.

     Pocketing it he turns, sees Starling standing outside the 
     club house.  She waves, bending just a couple of fingers, 
     and he smiles, pleased, but not surprised to see her.

12   EXT. MIAMI - DAY                                              12   

     Crawford and Starling driving in his car, the clubs in the 
     back seat.  Palm trees float by.

               What's your handicap?

               My handicap is I can't play golf.

               Maybe better clubs would help.


                                                            p. 12

               I play with the best clubs money can 
               buy.  It's not the clubs, it's a 
               woeful lack of talent.

               Or interest.

     He nods - yeah, that's the real problem with it - turns onto 
     another street.

               Were my flowers at John's service 
               okay?  Lot of times, flowers by wire, 
               you never know.

               They were canary daffodils.
                    (he groans)
               I put your name on my flowers.

               Thank you.

               Thank you.  For the call.  At the 
               Inquisition.  I don't know what you 
               said to them, but it worked.

               Don't thank me too quickly.

13   EXT. MIAMI - DAY                                              13   

     Downtown.  Skyscrapers.

14   INT. BUILDING - DAY                                           14   

     Frameless glass doors in a sleek office building, etched:

     Allied Security, Threat Assessment, Miami, Los Angeles, Rio 
     de Janeiro.  Crawford holds one open for Starling and follows 
     her into a handsome reception area.

               How was it?  Better today?

               The clubs are in the dumpster 
               downstairs if anyone wants them.

     He leads Starling deeper into the place, past pairs of men 
     in nice suits conferring in the doorway of a kitchenette and 
     over by a long bank of filing cabinets.


                                                            p. 13

     Male and female secretaries move about.

                           CRAWFORD (CONT'D)
               Nice, huh?  This could all be yours, 
               Starling.  I can get you a PI ticket 
               in Florida tomorrow, you can chase 
               insurance scams, extortion against 
               the cruise lines, put down the gun 
               and have some fun with me.

     Crawford accepts a handful of pink phone-message slips as 
     they come past his secretary's desk, holds another door open 
     and Starling steps into his office.


               Just wait.

     The door closing softly behind her says, "expensive hardware."

15   INT. CRAWFORD'S OFFICE - DAY                                  15   

     They sit, Crawford behind his mahogany desk, Starling in a 
     comfortable chair.  As he rifles through the phone messages -

               The call I made wasn't to Assistant 
               Director Noonan.  Whoever called 
               him, I don't know.  I called Mason 

     He lets the name sink in, lets her dive for it, try to place 
     it.  She can't.  It's familiar but doesn't connect to anything 

                           CRAWFORD (CONT'D)
               Lecter's fourth victim, Starling.  
               The one who lived, if you can call 
               it living.  The rich one.

     He slides over a couple of photographs of a young man with a 
     kind, trusting face.  Now she remembers him.

                           CRAWFORD (CONT'D)
               I told Mason I wanted you off the 
               street.  I told him what I told you 
               when I left the Bureau, "You go out 
               with a gun enough times, you will be 
               killed by one." I told him I want 
               you where you belong, in Behavioral 
               Science.  Know what he said?


                                                            p. 14

               He can speak?

               It's about the only thing he can do.  
               He said, after a very long pause, 
               "Oh, what a good idea, Jack."
                    (Crawford tries to 
               Who he called, I don't know.  Someone 
               higher up than anyone in that room 
               with you.  Maybe Representative 
               Vollmer, who Mason may not own, but 
               does rent from time to time.

     Silence as Starling tries to take it all in.  She looks up 
     with a question forming in her mind, and Crawford nods before 
     she can say it.  Very matter of fact -

                           CRAWFORD (CONT'D)
               Yeah, that's right, it means going 
               back on the Lecter case.

     He busies himself with the phone messages again, arranging 
     them in little, prioritized piles on his desk, as if perhaps 
     this conversation is about nothing more important than a 
     simple missing person case.

               What if I said to you I'd rather not 
               do that?  What if I said to you I 
               prefer the street?

               You think this is a cheap deal?  
               What you were getting was a cheap 
               deal.  What they say about federal 
               examiners is true: they arrive after 
               the battle and bayonet the wounded.  
               You're not safe on the street anymore.

     Starling takes another look at the photographs of Verger.

               Has something happened on the case?

               Has Lecter killed anybody lately?  I 
               wouldn't know, I'm retired from all 
               that.  Mason doesn't know either, 
               but he does apparently have some new 
               information - which he'll only share 
               with you.


                                                            p. 15

     They consider one another for a long moment.  Finally -

                           CRAWFORD (CONT'D)
               He's not pretty, Starling.  And I 
               don't just mean his face.

16   EXT. MARYLAND - DAY                                           16   

     Bare trees.  Overcast sky.  Starling's Mustang growling along 
     the rain-slicked expressway.

17   INT. MUSTANG - MOVING - DAY                                   17   

     A Maryland state map spread out across the passenger seat.

     Starling's eyes darting back and forth between the black and 
     red route-veins and the shrouded countryside out beyond the 
     slapping wiper blades.

     An exit sign - and the exit itself - looms suddenly and rushes 
     across the right side of her windshield.  She curses to 
     herself.  It's the exit she wanted, but now it's gone, 
     shrinking in her rearview mirror into the mist.

18   EXT. THE VERGER ESTATE - DAY                                  18   

     Coming back the other way along a service road, Starling 
     slows to consider a chain-link gate stretched across a muddy 
     road, then continues on.

     At the gate house of the main entrance, a security guard 
     checks her name against a list.  He seems reluctant to get 
     himself or his clipboard wet, but not her identification, 
     handing it out past the edge of his umbrella to her.

     The Mustang negotiates a long circuitous drive, taking her 
     deeper and deeper into vast forest land.  Eventually, though, 
     a good mile from the gate house behind her, the trees give 
     way to a clearing, and she sees the big Stanford White-
     designed mansion emerging from the mist up ahead.

     A man waits under an umbrella out front, indicates to her 
     where to park - anywhere, one should think - there's enough 
     space for fifty cars - then comes around to the driver's 
     side and opens the door.

               Ms. Starling.  Hi.  I'm Cordell.  
               Mr. Verger's private physician.

               How do you do?


                                                            p. 16

     She gathers her things out from under the map:  file folder, 
     micro-cassette recorder, extra tapes and batteries.  He helps 
     her out, then presses up against her to help maximize the 
     umbrella's effectiveness.

               Shall we make a run for it?

     As they hurry toward the porch - if it can be called a porch, 
     as grand an entrance as a king's, or English rock star's 
     manor - Starling notices the building's one modern wing, 
     sticking out like an extra limb attached in some grotesque 
     medical experiment.

19   INT. VERGER'S MANSION - DAY                                   19   

     They cross through a living room larger than most houses, 
     then down a hall, their shoes moving along a Moroccan runner, 
     sleeves past portraits of important-looking dead people.

     As they cross a threshold there's an abrupt shear in style: 
     the rich carpet giving way to polished institutional floors, 
     the portrait-lined walls to shiny white enamel.

     Cordell reaches for the handle of a closed door in the new 
     wing, and Starling notices line of lights appear around the 
     jamb where there were none.

     As the door opens, she squints.  Two small photographer's 
     spots on stands pitch narrow beams of light into her face 
     and seem to follow her progress into the room.

                    (a whisper)
               One's eyes adjust to the darkness.  
               This way is better.

     He leads her to a sitting area where a print of William 
     Blake's "The Ancient of Days" hangs above a large aquarium 
     divided in two by a wall of glass - an eel gliding around on 
     one side, a fish on the other.  A bank of security monitors 
     completes the decor.  To the spotlight -

                           CORDELL (CONT'D)
               Mr. Verger, Ms. Starling is here.

     The light stands flank a hospital bed, the beams effectively 
     camouflaging the figure on it in their glare.

               Good morning, Mr. Verger.


                                                            p. 17

               Cordell, do you address a judge as 

     The voice is steady and resonant.  An "educated" voice, not 
     unlike Lecter's.  Before Cordell can answer him -

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               Agent Starling is her proper title, 
               not "Ms."

               Agent Starling.

               Correct.  Good morning, Agent 

     Have a seat.  Make yourself comfortable.

               Thank you.

     Starling sits with her things.  Snaps open the little door 
     of her cassette recorder to verify there's a tape inside.

               Was that a Mustang I heard out there?

               Yes, it was.


               '88 Stroker.



               Where'd you get it?

               Dope auction.

               Very good.


                                                            p. 18

               Mr. Verger, the discussion we're 
               going to have is in the nature of a 
               deposition.  I'll need to tape record 
               it if that's all right with you.

               Cordell, I think you can leave us 

               I thought I might stay.  Perhaps I 
               could be useful if -

               You could be useful seeing about my 

     Starling gets up, but not to see him out.  Once he's gone -

               I'd like to attach this microphone 
               to your - clothing, or pillow - if 
               you're comfortable with that.

               By all means.

     She walks slowly toward the bed, or rather to the lights, 
     uncertain exactly what position Verger may be in - on his 
     back, his side; she has no way of knowing.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               Here, this should make it easier.

     A finger like a pale spider crab moves along the sheet and 
     depresses a button.  The lights suddenly extinguish and 
     Starling's pupils dilate.  As her eyes adjust to the darkness 
     Verger's face materializes in it like something dead rising 
     up through dark water:

     Face is the wrong word.  He has no face to speak of.  No 
     skin, at least.  Teeth he has.  He looks like some kind of 
     creature that resides in the lowest depths of the sea.

     She doesn't flinch.  Maybe the hand with the microphone 
     recoils an inch or two, but that's it.  She clips it to the 
     flannel lapel of his pajamas, drapes the skinny cord over 
     the side of the pillow and sets the recorder on the medical 
     table next to the bed.


                                                            p. 19

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               You know, I thank God for what 
               happened.  It was my salvation.  
               Have you accepted Jesus, Agent 
               Starling?  Do you have faith?

               I was raised Lutheran.

               That's not what I asked -

               This is Special Agent Clarice 
               Starling, FBI number 5143690, deposing 
               Mason R. Verger, Social Security 
               number -

                - 475-98-9823 - 

               - at his home on the date stamped 
               above, sworn and attested.
                    (she drags over a 
               Mr. Verger, you claim to have -

               I want to tell you about summer camp.  
               It was a wonderful childhood 
               experience -

               We can get to that later.  The -

               We can get to it now.  You see, it 
               all comes to bear, it's where I met 
               Jesus and I'll never tell you anything 
               more important than that.  It was a 
               Christian camp my father paid for.  
               Paid for the whole thing, all 125 
               campers on Lake Michigan.  Many of 
               them were unfortunate, cast-off little 
               boys and girls would do anything for 
               a candy bar.  Maybe I took advantage 
               of that.  Maybe I was rough with 
               them -

               Mr. Verger, I don't need to know 
               about the sex offenses.  I just -


                                                            p. 20

               It's all right.  I have immunity, so 
               it's all right now.  I have immunity 
               from the U.S. Attorney.  I have 
               immunity from the D.A. in Owings 
               Mills.  I have immunity from the 
               Risen Jesus and nobody beats the 

               What I'd like to know is if you'd 
               ever seen Dr. Lecter before the court 
               assigned you to him for therapy?

               You mean - socially?

               That is what I mean, yes.  Weren't 
               you both on the board of the Baltimore 

               Oh, no, my seat was just because my 
               family contributed.  I sent my lawyer 
               when there was a vote.

               Then I'm not sure I understand how 
               he ended up at your house that night, 
               if you don't mind talking about it.

               Not at all.  I'm not ashamed.

               I didn't say you should be.

               I invited him, of course.  He was 
               too professional to just sort of 
               "drop in." Answered the door in my 
               nicest come-hither leather outfit.

     FLASHCUT of the door opening, revealing Verger, in his leather 
     gear, his face young and pretty.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               I was concerned he'd be afraid of 
               me, but he didn't seem to be.  Afraid 
               of me; that's funny now.


                                                            p. 21

     FLASHCUT of Verger leading Lecter upstairs, each with a glass 
     of wine in hand.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               I showed him my toys, my noose set-
               up among other things - where you 
               sort of hang yourself but not really.  
               It feels good while you - you know.

     FLASHCUT to some dogs watching Verger with the noose around 
     his neck, and Lecter offering him some amyl nitrite.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               Anyway - he said, Would you like a 
               popper, Mason?  I said, Would I.  
               And whoa, once that kicked in I knew 
               it was more than simple amyl, it was 
               some kind of custom meth-angel-acid 
               highball.  Lovely.  I was flying -

     FLASHBACK to Mason's image in a full-length mirror shattering 
     as Lecter kicks it.

                           MASON'S VOICE
               The good doctor came over with a 
               piece of broken mirror.  Mason, he 
               said -

               - show me how you smile to get the 
               confidence of a child.

     Lecter holds a shard of mirror glass in front of him.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               Uh-huh.  Do you ever smile?  Oh, I 
               see how you do it.  Now Mason, let's 
               say you had to hide that kindly, 
               fictitious mask?  How would you do 

     Verger tries to look serious, or mean, but his features are 
     just too sweet, even with a noose around his neck.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               No, I still see it.  Try again.
                    (Verger tries again)
               No.  No, I'm afraid not.  Try this.
                    (hands him the glass)
               Try peeling off your face with this 
               and feeding it to the dogs.

     As Verger lifts the broken glass to his face -


                                                            p. 22

     BACK TO the faceless Verger in the bed, his claw of a hand 
     gripping invisible glass -

               Well, you know the rest.
               Seemed like a good idea at the time.

     Starling looks like someone who has just received much more 
     information than she ever needed or wanted.  Cordell comes 
     in quietly with Verger's lunch on a rolling cart, and trying 
     not to interrupt, arranges the silverware and pours some 

               Mr. Verger, you -

               Are you shocked, Agent S?

               You indicated to -
                    (her eyes dart to the 
                    tape, and his follow 
               - to my office - that you've received 
               some kind of new information.

               Look in the drawer of the end table.

     Starling takes out a pair of thin cotton gloves and puts 
     them on.  In the drawer she finds a large manila envelope 
     and in it, an x-ray of an arm.

               Where did this come from?

               Buenos Aires.  I received it two 
               weeks ago.

               Where's the package it came in?

               The package it came in... good 
               question.  I don't know.  There was 
               nothing written on it of interest.  
               Did I throw it out?

     Starling smells a rat, but keeps it to herself.  Takes a


                                                            p. 23

     closer look at the x-ray while Cordell busies himself climbing 
     a step ladder next to the aquarium.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               Think it will help?  I hope so.  I 
               hope it'll help you catch him, if 
               for no other reason than to heal the 
               stigma of your recent dishonor.

     She switches off the tape recorder.

               Thank you, that's all I -

               Did you feel some rapport with Dr. 
               Lecter in your talks at the asylum?  
               I know I did while I was peeling.

               We exchanged information in a civil 

               But always through the glass.


               The eel and fish become accustomed 
               to each other through the glass.  
               They're even company for one another.

     Cordell's gloved hand grips the snapper and transfers it to 
     the other side of the aquarium, where the eel at once rips a 
     piece out of it.  Starling tries to ignore it and reaches to 
     unclip the microphone from Verger's pajames lapel.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               Isn't it funny?

     Nothing is particularly funny to her right now.

               What's that?

               You can look at my face, but you 
               shied when I said the name of God.


                                                            p. 24

20   INT. EVIDENCE STORAGE - QUANTICO - DAY                        20   

     A clerk is cataloging strange items from another case as 
     Starling inspects what he brought her on Lecter.  There's 
     not much there.  One cardboard box-worth, some files, video 

               Not finding what you want?

               Are you sure this is all of it?

               That's all of it now.  There used to 
               be more, but it's been picked over 
               little by little over the years.  
               It's worth a lot of money in certain 
               circles.  Like the cocaine that 
               disappears around here.  Little by 

21   INT. BASEMENT - BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE - DAY                      21   

     The room Starling's been given to work out of used to be the 
     department's basement darkroom.  There's almost nothing in 
     it now.  Couple of old enlargers, chemical trays, an ugly 
     rented couch, a metal desk, a computer, and a blackboard on 
     wheels she has chalked with the headings "Lecter" and 
     "Verger," a few scribbled notes under each name.

     She's taken the video tape from the paltry contents of the 
     evidence box and puts in in a VCR.  In a moment, a scene in 
     black and white, captured by a security camera at the 
     Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, plays 
     out in silence:

     Lecter wired up for an EKG.  A female nurse getting too close.  
     Lecter attacking her.  Biting her.  A black orderly rushing 
     in and roughly subduing him, breaking his arm in the process, 
     then attending to the fallen nurse.

22   INT. BASEMENT - BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE - LATER                    22   

     A cursor blinks in a search panel.  Starling types in 
     "Hannibal Lecter," enters it and waits.

     The laptop screen fills with a listing of sites, the first 
     20 of 611,046, according to the engine.  A banner to one 
     side offers, "Amazon.com ... Hannibal Lec ... Save up to 50% 
     ... Shop-4-Pokemon."

     One of the listings is the FBI's own consumer site, others 
     refer to published articles by and about Lecter, but most


                                                            p. 25

     have names like, "Hannibal's Chamber of Horrors," and "Fava 
     Beans Anyone?"

     Starling scrolls down to the bottom query panel to narrow 
     her search.  Adds, "memorabilia," and hits Enter.  The screen 
     fills with another listing of sites, like, "Kenny's Trading 
     Post," and, "World Wide Collectibles," with brief descriptions 
     of some of the wares offered:

     "Credit card receipt from Dean & DeLuca w/genuine signature 
     of Hannibal Lecter, $550 OBO / PP."

     "Mark McGuire 1998 season home run ball (#67), w/papers, all 
     reasonable offers considered."

     "Flatware w/etched lions on handles, owned by Hannibal Lecter.  
     24 pieces, one spoon missing.  Real.  No dealers.  $6,500."

     "Hockey, basketball (and non-sports) trading cards."

     "Lecter victim (#3) Sam Sirrah's death certificate.  Not a 
     Xerox.  Nice frame.  Price upon request."

     "Hannibal Lecter's '62 Mercedes.  Really.  Only two owners 
     since incarceration.  Clean.  85,000."

     "Valentine card from H. Lecter.  Signed.  Sweet sentiment.  
     Hate to part with it but need money.  $950."

     No x-rays.  Starling thinks.  Clears the address in the top 
     panel and types something else.  A new screen appears, headed 
     with bold, colorful lettering:  "eBay."

     She types in "Hannibal Lecter" again.  Hits the "Find it!"  
     Button.  An auction screen appears.  14 items.  "H. Lecter x-
     ray" second from the top.  "Item #194482661."  61 bidders.  
     In red:  "Ends in 49 Mins."

     She highlights the item and is taken to the details screen.

     Scrolls down.  No photo, but there is a description:  "Left 
     arm x-ray of Hannibal Lecter.  Very rare.  Slightly used 
     metal light box included."

     She backs up to the previous screen.  Last bid, "$7,200."

     Next increment, $100.  She types in "$10,000" and hits Enter.

23   INT. SCI-FI COMICS - DAY                                      23   

     Strange denizens - collectors - roam the shelves lined with 
     plastic-sheathed science fiction comic books - browsing and 
     humming - each in his own world.


                                                            p. 26

     In truth, they're not really browsing; they're stealing 
     glances at Starling, the only woman in the place, and the 
     most beautiful one any of them has ever seen in real life.

     In truth, she isn't really browsing either.  She's stealing 
     glances at the proprietor behind the glass-top, trading card- 
     filled, counter.

               December you mean -

               No, not December.  November.  Volume 
               Four, Number Four.  Worst.  Issue.  

     The customer moves on.  Starling wanders over and several 
     pairs of eyes wander with her.  A tape of the X-Files plays 
     on a small television set at one end of the counter, which 
     the proprietor pays more attention to than her.  Quietly -

               I'm interested in Hannibal Lecter 

     The man's head slowly turns to her with the most withering 
     of looks.  She's the last person on earth who'd be interested 
     in Hannibal Lecter memorabilia.

               I don't handle Hannibal Lecter 
               memorabilia.  Hannibal Lecter 
               memorabilia - real Hannibal Lecter 
               memorabilia - would have to be stolen.  
               I don't deal in stolen goods.  Try 

               I'm confused.

               You're a policeman, of course you're 

               Not exactly.

               Oh, all right.  Police woman.  I 
               keep the politically-correct comics 
               in the back.  By the toilet scrubber.


                                                            p. 27

     She show him her identification.  Her FBI shield.  Some of 
     the other customers see it, too, and - crushed - begin gliding 
     toward the door.

               I'm confused because I just paid you 
               ten thousand dollars for an x-ray of 
               Hannibal Lecter.  I don't want to 
               wait for you to send it, I want to 
               pick it up now.

     The dime drops.  Just a fleeting spark of realization.

               No, if you paid me ten thousand 
               dollars for an x-ray of Hannibal 
               Lecter, I would possess a money order, 
               or cashiers check, for ten thousand 
               dollars, which I do not.  You bid 
               ten thousand dollars for an x-ray of 
               Hannibal Lecter.  I've decided, in 
               the interim, not to sell it.  You're 
               free to write a nasty comment about 
               me on the e-Bay message board.

               I'm free to write a nasty comment 
               about you on your arrest report.

               The x-ray I was thinking of selling, 
               but have now decided against, is not 
               of Hannibal Lecter.  How do I know 
               this?  Because it's of me.  This 
                    (pointing to it, then 
                    to the other one)
               No, this one.

     Now she sighs.  She should just leave.

                           PROPRIETOR (CONT'D)
               Wait a minute.  I know you.
                    (he brightens 
               You're -

     He rummages behind the counter and comes up with a recent, 
     plastic-wrapped issue of the National Tattler tabloid, with 
     gory pictures of the shoot-out and the screaming headline -



                                                            p. 28

                           PROPRIETOR (CONT'D)
               Would you be so kind, Miss Starling, 
               as to sign this for me?  I apologize 
               for my - um - my -

                           CUSTOMER'S VOICE (O.S.)
               Rude -

               Rude - behavior - before.

     He delicately slips the newspaper from its plastic cover.

     Checks the condition of the tip of a fine-line Sharpie.  His 
     eyes are eager now, his demeanor painfully solicitous, like 
     a sweetly disarming little boy waiting for the baseball 
     players to finish batting practice.  Starling turns and 


     A wailing siren.  Ambulance pulling up in front of an 
     Emergency Entrance.  Paramedics climb out, hoist down a gurney 
     and the bleeding gunshot victim on in, and hurry him in past 
     the automatic doors.  The doors thump shut.

     A moment later they open again and an orderly - same one 
     from the tape - steps out, finished with his shift, coat 
     over his uniform.  He hitches up his collar and steps out 
     into the drizzling rain as Starling, across the street in a 
     hooded sweatshirt, watches.

25   EXT. STREETS - LATER - DAY                                    25   

     The orderly moves along a wet sidewalk, heading home, Starling 
     following at a distance.  He stops.  She stops.  He glances 
     to something in the middle of the street.  A dead dove, one 
     wing fluttering in the wind.  He looks up.  Sees its mate 
     pacing on a wire.  Car tires hiss past below.

     Starling watches as he crosses to the center of the street, 
     picks up the dead dove and pockets it, crosses back and 
     continues on.  She, and the surviving bird, follow.

26   INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - UPSTAIRS HALL - DAY                 26   

     Starling knocks.  Waits.  The door opens and the orderly 
     peers out with the dead dove in his hands.

               Hi, Barney.  I need to talk with -


                                                            p. 29

               Would you agree, for the record, 
               Officer Starling, I've not been read 
               my rights?

               This is just informal.  I just need 
               to ask you about some stuff.

               How about saying it into your handbag?

     Starling opens her purse and speaks down into it as though 
     there were a troll inside -

               I have not Mirandized Barney.  He is 
               unaware of his rights.

     Barney widens the door so she can come in.

27   INT. BARNEY'S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS                          27   

     Barney sets the dove on a desk and drags a computer mouse to 
     the "file close" x.  Just before the screen reverts to the 
     AOL Welcome page, Starling glimpses the site he was on when 
     she interrupted him with her knock - stock quotes.

               How you been?

     He doesn't answer.  Sits his huge frame down on his desk 
     chair.  She moves some newspapers aside on a couch, one of 
     which shows a photo of her from the Drumgo raid.  They 
     consider each other for a moment.  Eventually -

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Barney, back when you turned Dr. 
               Lecter over to the Tennessee Police -

               They weren't civil to him.  And 
               they're all dead now.

               Yeah.  They only managed to survive 
               his company three days.  You survived 
               him six years at the asylum.  How'd 
               you do that?  It wasn't just being 

               Yes, it was.


                                                            p. 30

     They both hear something - a flutter - and glance out to the 
     fire escape.  The dead dove's mate has landed on the railing.

               Did you ever think, once he escaped, 
               he might come after you?

               No.  He told me once that, whenever 
               feasible, he preferred to eat the 
               rude. "Free-range rude," he called 

     He smiles.  Glances out the window again to the cooing dove.

     Picks up the dead one, carries it out and sets it down on 
     the wet grating.

               Any idea what happened to all his 
               stuff?  His books and papers and 
               drawings and -

               Everything got thrown out when the 
               place closed.

     He comes back in.  She starts to say something, hesitates.

     Once she starts on this subject, she knows one of them will 
     wind up very unhappy.

               Barney, I just found out that Dr. 
               Lecter's signed copy of The Joy of 
               Cooking went to a private collector 
               for sixteen thousand dollars.

               It was probably a fake.

               The seller's affidavit of ownership 
               was signed, Karen Phlox.  You know 
               Karen Phlox?  You should.  "She" 
               filled out your employment 
               application, only at the bottom she 
               signed it, Barney.  Same thing on 
               your tax returns.

     Long silence.  Then Barney sighs.


                                                            p. 31

               You want the book?  Maybe I could 
               get it back.

               I want the x-ray.  From when you 
               broke his arm after he attacked that 

     Barney gets up again, but doesn't run off to get it.  He 
     slowly paces around.

               We talked about a lot of things, 
               late at night, after all the screaming 
               died down.  We talked about you 
               sometimes.  Want to know what he 

               No, just the x-ray.

               Is there a reward?

               Yeah.  The reward is I don't have my 
               friend the Postal Inspector nail you 
               on Use of the Mails to Defraud, you 
               don't get ten years, and you don't 
               come out with a janitor's job and a 
               room at the Y, sitting on the side 
               of your bunk at night listening to 
               yourself cough.

     He stares at her, gets up finally, disappears into the 
     bedroom.  Starling looks out to the fire escape again.  The 
     surviving dove has dropped down and is now walking in circles 
     around its lifeless mate.

     Barney returns with a file box and a large envelope.  Hands 
     it all to her.  She unfurls the string-clasp.  Pulls out an 
     x-ray of an arm.  A radiologist's and Lecter's names are on 

               I'm not a bad guy.

               I didn't say you were.

               Dr. Chilton is a bad guy.


                                                            p. 32

                           BARNEY (CONT'D)
               After your first visit, he began 
               taping your conversations with Dr. 

     He produces from his jacket pocket several cassette tapes.

     As he hands them to her -

                           BARNEY (CONT'D)
               I was good to you.  Tried to make it 
               easy for you the first time you came 
               down to the violent ward to interview 
               Dr. Lecter.  Remember?


               You remember saying thank you?

     She doesn't because she didn't, and now regrets it.

               I'm sorry.  Thank you.

               You mean it?


               I'm going to show you something then.  
               I don't have to show it to you, 
               remember that.  But I believe your 
               gratitude is sincere.

     He goes to a fuse box on the wall.  Takes something out of 
     it.  Turns around to face Starling, wearing the famous mask 
     from Silence of the Lambs, and her hand flashes toward her 
     sidearm, a movement quickly stopped.

                           BARNEY (CONT'D)
               This is my retirement fund.
                    (removes the mask)
               If you'll let me keep it.  I can a 
               lot of money for this and get out of 
               here for good.  I want to travel, 
               and see every Vermeer in the world 
               before I die.

     She thinks about it, doesn't immediately answer him.  He 
     walks out onto the fire escape again and addresses the bird -


                                                            p. 33

                           BARNEY (CONT'D)
               Go on.  You've grieved long enough.

     He shoos the dove away, picks up the dead one, comes back in 
     and drops it in the wastebasket by his desk.

               What did he say?  About me?  Late at 

               We were talking about inherited, 
               hard-wired behavior.  He was using 
               genetics in roller pigeons as an 
               example.  They go way up in the air 
               and roll over backwards in a display, 
               falling toward the ground.  There 
               are shallow rollers and deep rollers.  
               You can't breed two deep rollers or 
               the offspring will roll all the way 
               down, crash and die.  He said, 
               "Officer Starling is a deep roller, 
               Barney.  Let's hope one of her parents 
               was not."

     As Starling gets up and gathers everything except the mask, 
     she hears the surviving dove call out once from somewhere in 
     the trees.

28   INT. FBI LAB - DAY                                            28   

     The two x-rays, one overlaid on the other, clipped to a light 
     box.  A technician adjusts them so the bone structures 
     correspond in position as closely as possible and points out 
     to Starling -

               They're the same arm.  The discrepancy 
               is the dates.  This one -

     He slides the x-rays apart, touches a thin gray line on one 
     of them -

                           TECHNICIAN (CONT'D)
               - shows the hairline fracture he 
               sustained in the fight with the 
               orderly.  This one -
                    (the other x-ray)
               - the more recent one, supposedly, 
               doesn't.  This is the newer of the 
               two -
                    (the other one)
               - the one from the asylum.


                                                            p. 34

29   INT. BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE - LATER                               29   

     Starling puts the earliest-dated cassette into a player, 
     presses "play," walks up to the blackboard and under Verger's 
     heading - below "Meat-packing heir" and some other notes -  
     writes, "He lies."  From the tape player -

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Surely the odd confluence of events
               hasn't escaped you, Clarice.  Jack 
               Crawford dangles you in front of me, 
               then I give you a bit of help.  Do 
               you think it's because I like to 
               look at you and imagine how good you 
               would taste?

     There's a pause.  Starling, remembering the moment clearly 
     even now, mouths along with her recorded voice -

                           STARLING'S VOICE
               I don't know.  Is it?


     INSANE - DAY - (FLASHBACK - 1994)

     It's Lecter's cell.  And it's almost pitch black.  Then, as 
     he turns a rheostat, the lights slowly rise, revealing the 
     cell to be almost empty, stripped of its books.  He's lying 
     on his cot.

               I've been in this room for eight 
               years, Clarice.  I know they will 
               never - ever - let me out while I'm 
               alive.  What I want ... is a view.

31   EXT. FLORENCE - DAY                                           31   

     One of the most magnificent views in the world.

     Drifting across it, then down, reveals a piazza below.

     Outside a cafe, a figure in a dark overcoat, his back to us, 
     drops crumbs to a hundred pigeons surrounding him.

     Closer, the pigeons swirl around his shoes.  And slowly the 
     figure turns to face us.  It's not Hannibal Lecter.  It's 
     someone we don't recognize.

     He lets go the last of the crumbs, brushes his gloves 
     together, and crosses toward the ancient Palazzo Vecchio, 
     glancing once at its high, stone walls and arched windows, 
     its medieval bell tower soaring into the sky.


                                                            p. 35

32   INT. PALAZZO VECCHIO - DAY                                    32   

     Checking his watch, but in no hurry, he climbs a flight of 
     marble steps.  Unlike here, one more often smokes indoors 
     than out, and the man lights an MS cigarette, his reward for 
     reaching the landing.

                           ECHOING VOICE
               The Capponi correspondence goes back 
               to the 13th Century.  Dr. Fell might 
               hold in his hand, in his non-Italian 
               hand, a note from Dante Alighieri 
               himself, but would he recognize it?  
               I think not -

     He follows the echoing voice to the open doorway of a large 
     frescoed room, the Salon of Lilies, where another gentleman, 
     loitering outside it, pats at his pockets.  The man we've 
     been following offers, along with an outstretched hand holding 
     his pack of cigarettes -

               They're still arguing.

               The curatorship.  Sogliato wants the 
               job for his nephew.  The scholars 
               seem satisfied with the temporary 
               guy they appointed.

     Pazzi lights Ricci, glances down the hall to the far end, 
     where a janitor slowly guides a floor polisher back and forth 
     like a big, weak motorcycle, then crosses to and peers into 
     the Salon:

     It's under long-term restoration, scaffolding everywhere.  

     A large assembly of men ranging in age from middle-aged to 
     the Middle Ages, it seems, are gathered around a long 12th-
     century table.  The echoing voice belongs to -

               You have examined him in medieval 
               Italian, and I'll not deny his 
               language is admirable.  For a 
               straniero.  But what if he came upon 
               a note in the Capponi library, say, 
               from Guido de'Cavalcanti to Dante?  
               Would he recognize it?  I think not.

     Pazzi isn't sure which one is Fell.  Scanning the room from 
     the doorway, he tries to locate the source of the voice, but


                                                            p. 36

     it's difficult, the high ceilings playing hell with the 
     acoustics -

                           DR. FELL
               Professor Sogliato, if I might.  
               Cavalcanti, as we all know, replied 
               publicly to Dante's first sonnet in 
               La Vita Nuova.  If he commented 
               privately as well, if he wrote to a 
               Cappono, to which would it be?  In 
               your opinion?
                    (Sogliato clearly 
                    can't even name the 
               No?  Not even a guess?  Andrea, don't 
               you think?  Since he was more literary 
               than his brothers.

     Several of the other scholars nod their heads in agreement, 
     which only embarrasses Sogliato more.  Pazzi knows which man 
     at the table Fell is now, however he - and we - still can't 
     see his face, seated as he is with his back to the door.

               If he is such an expert on Dante let 
               him lecture on Dante - to the 
               Studiolo.  Let him face them, if he 

                           DR. FELL
               I'd look forward to it.  Shall we 
               set the date now?

     Sogliato has had enough and gets up, noisily gathering his 
     things.  As the meeting breaks up some of the other committee 
     members shake Fell's hand.  Pazzi comes in and approaches 
     Fell - from behind - as the others straggle out.

               Dr. Fell?

     Fell turns.  Of course, it's Hannibal Lecter.

                           PAZZI (CONT'D)
               Chief Inspector Rinaldo Pazzi of the 

                           DR. FELL
                    (shaking his hand)
               Commendatore.  How can I be of 


                                                            p. 37

               I'm investigating the disappearance 
               of your predecessor, Signore de 
               Bonaventura. I was wondering if -

                           DR. FELL
               Predecessor implies I have the job.  
               Unfortunately, I don't.  Not yet.  
               Though I'm hopeful.  They are letting 
               me look after the library.  For a 

     Fell begins gathering his books and papers, placing them 
     neatly in his satchel.

               Yes.  Well -

                           DR. FELL
               What do you think happened to him?

               To your - to the Signore - who can 
               say?  Perhaps he ran off.  Bad debts.  
               Bad love affair.  I was wondering if 
               you might -

                           DR. FELL
               Not another victim of Il Mostro?

               What?  No.  That I'm sure.  We find 
               Il Mostro's victims.  He makes sure 
               we find them.

                           DR. FELL
               Or she.

               Or she.

                           DR. FELL
               I never actually met Signore de 
               Bonaventura.  I have read several of 
               his monographs in the Nuova Antologia.

               The officers who first checked, didn't 
               find any sort of - farewell or - 
               suicide note.  I was wondering if -


                                                            p. 38

                           DR. FELL
               If I happen to come across anything 
               in the Capponi Library, stuffed in a 
               book or a drawer - yes, I'll call 
               you at once.

     He accepts Pazzi's card and slips it under a paperclip holding 
     some of his notes together.

               Thank -

                           DR. FELL
               You've been reassigned.

     Pazzi was just turning to leave.  Turns back.


                           DR. FELL
               You were on the Il Mostro case, I'm 
               sure I read.

               That's right.

     And it was a humiliation being taken off of it, which he 
     would no doubt rather not discuss here.

                           DR. FELL
               Now you're on this.  This is much 
               less - grand - a case, I would think.

               If I thought of my work in those 
               terms, yes, I guess I'd agree.

                           DR. FELL
               A missing person.

     Fell says it like it's not worth saying.  Pazzi's had enough 
     and turns to leave again.

                           DR. FELL (CONT'D)
               Were you unfairly dismissed from the 
               grander case?  Or did you deserve 

     Pazzi looks back again.  Fell isn't even looking at him; 
     putting things in his case.


                                                            p. 39

               Regarding this one, Dr. Fell.  Are 
               the Signore's personal effects still 
               at the Palazzo?

                           DR. FELL
               Packed neatly in two cases with an 
               inventory.  Alas, no note.

               I'll send someone over to pick them 
               up.  Thank you for your help.

     He starts to leave again.

                           DR. FELL
               Have you thought about Botticelli?

     Pazzi looks back again.  What is Fell talking about?

               Not since middle school art class, 
               I'm afraid.

                           DR. FELL
               Those awful pictures in the papers 
               of The Monster's victims.  His careful 
               arrangement of the young lovers' 
               bodies.  The flowers.  The women's 
               exposed left breast.  The tableaux 
               remind me of Botticelli.  Don't they, 

     Frankly, it never occurred to him.  Fell points to a place 
     just behind Pazzi and he turns to see a beautiful Botticelli 
     in a carved gold frame, the woman lying in flowers, her left 
     breast exposed.  Fell shrugs as he closes his satchel.

                           DR. FELL (CONT'D)
               Maybe a clue.

33   EXT. FELL'S RESIDENCE - NIGHT                                 33   

     A row of family palaces in an ancient street.  A figure 
     walking on the cobblestones.  Only vaguely familiar, his 
     path leads us to the front of an old residence, its windows 
     behind iron grates, all but one on an upper floor dark.  The 
     figure continues on down the street, but we go inside -

34   INT. FELL'S RESIDENCE - NIGHT                                 34   

     Even though the foyer is dark, we can tell it's large and 
     high-ceilinged.  We become aware of music - Bach's Goldberg 
     Variations - but can't be sure where it's coming from.


                                                            p. 40

     We notice a staircase and decide to climb it.  It's longer 
     than we thought at first - its steps made of thick slabs of 
     ancient stone, its rail of cold hammered iron.

     We reach the landing.  Notice a small darkened room to one 
     side.  But the music seems to be coming from elsewhere, so 
     we continue on, down the hall to a pair of tall double doors, 
     open, allowing us into the main salon.  The music seems to 
     be coming from somewhere in here.

     We move through the room, illuminated only faintly by the 
     occasional candle, look up to see that the height of the 
     room disappears into darkness, then down again as we are 
     almost upon the figure sitting at a piano.

     Lecter's fingers move among the yellowed ivory keys.  He 
     plays the Bach piece well, every so often glancing to a lyre-
     shaped music stand.  But coming slowing around the stand, we 
     discover there is no sheet music on it, but instead a copy 
     of the National Tattler with a picture of a black woman dead 
     in the street, and another picture of Clarice Starling - the 
     FBI's "ANGEL OF DEATH" - washing down a baby next to the 
     head of a shark.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Dear Clarice, I have followed with 
               enthusiasm the course of your disgrace 
               and public shaming.  My own never 
               bothered me, except for the 
               inconvenience of being incarcerated, 
               but you may lack perspective -

     The music continues over:

35   INT. FELL'S RESIDENCE - LATER - NIGHT                         35   

     Sitting at a 16th Century refectory table in a pool of lamp 
     light, Lecter dips the tip of a fountain pen into an etched 
     glass bottle of ink and signs the letter he has just written.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               In our discussions down in the 
               dungeon, it was apparent to me that 
               your father - the dead night watchman - 
               figures large in your value system.

     He adds a brief post-script, folds the linen-fiber paper 
     over once, careful to line up the edges, gives it a sharp 

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               I think your success in putting an 
               end to Jame Gumb's career as a


                                                            p. 41

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               couturier pleased you most because 
               you could imagine your father being 

     He places the letter in an envelope that is already addressed 
     to Special Agent Clarice Starling, and seals it with wax.  
     He places it into another, slightly larger envelope that 
     already has written on it a Las Vegas, Nevada, address.

36   EXT. FLORENCE - DAY                                           36   

     Lecter strolls across a bridge over the Arno and drops his 
     envelope into a post box on the other side.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Now you are in bad odour with the 
               FBI, alas.  Do you imagine Daddy 
               shamed by your disgrace?  Do you see 
               him in his plain pine box, crushed 
               by your failure?  The sorry, petty 
               end of a promising career?

37   EXT. LAS VEGAS - DAY                                          37   

     A U.S. Mail carrier's truck pulls into the parking lot of a 
     strip mall.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Do you dream now, not of screaming 
               lambs, but of yourself doing the 
               menial tasks your mother was reduced 
               to after the addicts busted a cap on 

38   INT. RE-MAILING SERVICE - LAS VEGAS - DAY                     38   

     Piles of mail on the counter.  A middle-aged man slits open 
     the envelope from Italy, takes out the smaller envelope, 
     puts a stamp on it, drops it onto a pile of outgoing mail 
     and throws the larger envelope away.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               What is worst about this humiliation?  
               Is it how your failure will reflect 
               on them?  Is your worst fear that 
               people will forever now believe your 
               parents were indeed trailer camp 
               tornado-bait white trash?  That you 
               are?  Hmmm?


                                                            p. 42

39   INT. FBI BASEMENT - DAY                                       39   

     The letter is among stacks of others in a metal cart as it 
     is wheeled along a basement corridor.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               I couldn't help noticing on its rather 
               dull public web site, Clarice, that 
               I've been hoisted from the Bureau's 
               Archives of the Common Criminal up 
               to the more prestigious 10 Most Wanted 

     The mail cart comes to and past a door on which, instead of 
     a nameplate, is Scotch-taped a piece of legal pad paper with 
     one hand-scrawled word:  "Starling."

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               Coincidence?  Or are you "back on 
               the case?"

40   INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - CONTINUOUS                        40   

     The mail room boy navigates the short maze of black right-
     angled darkroom walls that lead to the room itself.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               I imagine you sitting in a dark 
               basement room, bent over papers and 
               computer screens at clerk's distances 
               that mocks the prairie distance in 
               your eyes.  A zoo hawk, one wing 
               hanging down.

     The mail room boy sets three or four things down on Starling's 

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               Is that fairly accurate?  Tell me 
               truly, Special Agent Starling.  
               Regards, Hannibal Lecter, M.D.

     The music ends.  To the mail room boy -


     He doesn't immediately leave.  He watches her tack to a 
     bulletin board the last of several newspaper clippings and 
     Internet downloads of grisly unsolved murders world-wide.

               How's it going?  Any leads?


                                                            p. 43

               They're all leads.  They just don't 
               lead to him.

     She sits at her desk to take a look at the mail.  Geoffrey 
     wanders over to take a look at the clippings.  He grimaces 
     at one of them.

               I don't know how you live with this 

               Oh, God.

     He turns.  She's looking at one of her pieces of mail.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               It's from the Guinness Book of World 
               Records congratulating me on being 
               "The Female FBI Agent Who Has Shot 
               The Most People."

     She throws it in the wastebasket, picks up the envelope with 
     the wax seal and fine copperplate writing, and somehow 
     immediately knows who it's from.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Geoffrey - ?  Would you excuse me.

     He sees she isn't looking at him.  Leaves with his cart.

     Annoyed at herself for getting her paw prints all over the 
     letter, she reaches for her key chain, slits the envelope 
     with the Swiss Army knife on it, and extracts and unfolds 
     the letter with the blade.  As she reads it, there is a faint 
     echoing refrain of Bach's Goldberg Variations, and -

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               P.S.  Clearly this new assignment is 
               not your choice.  Rather, it is part 
               of "the bargain."  But you accepted 
               it, Clarice.  Your job is to craft 
               my doom.  As such, I'm not sure how 
               well to wish you.  Ta-ta.  H.

41   INT. FBI LAB - DAY                                            41   

     Digitized images of the letter alongside "Early Lecter" 
     handwriting samples on a computer monitor.


                                                            p. 44

               The letter was written by Lecter, 
               but you could probably tell that 
               just from reading it.

     Starling nods.  Other images replace the writing analyses: 
     sets of fingerprints.

                           TECHNICIAN (CONT'D)
               Naturally, there were several prints 
               on the envelope, including yours -

               - sorry -

               On the letter itself there's only 
               one "partial" - here - not enough to 
               hold up in court, but -

               We know it's him.  Where he was when 
               he wrote it is what I need.

     The image changes again - a greatly magnified patch of the 
     letter that reads, "screaming lambs."

               The paper isn't going to help.  Yes, 
               it's linen fiber.  Yes, it's on the 
               expensive side.  No, it's not so 
               rare that you couldn't find it in a 
               thousand stationery stores the world 
               over.  Same with the ink.  Same with 
               the wax.
                    (an image of the 
                    envelope appears on 
                    the monitor)
               The post mark.  Las Vegas.  You could 
               check it out, but odds are it came 
               from a a re-mailing service.  Afraid 
               you're out of luck.

               What about the crease?

               The what?

42   INT. PERFUMERY - NEW JERSEY - DAY                             42   

     Stainless stell tweezers pluck the letter from the evidence 
     bag and hold it, crease up, under an enormous nose.


                                                            p. 45

     The nose sniffs only once, but long, taking in a faint, 
     pleasant aroma of residue and a lot of air.

     The hand clutching the tweezers clutching the letter are 
     passed to another - feminine - hand, which holds it up to 
     another enormous nose with wide nostrils.  This nose sniffs 
     once and hands the tweezers to another - masculine - hand.

     This one lifts the letter to the biggest nose of all.

                           BIGGEST NOSE
               Hand soap ... Raw ambergris base ... 
               Tennessee lavender ... mountain sage 
               ...  trace of something else ...

                           LESS BIGGEST NOSE

                           LEAST BIGGEST NOSE

                           BIGGEST NOSE
               It's fleece, isn't it.  Lovely.

     The other two "perfume engineers" nod.  All three, and 
     Starling, are sitting in a sterile laboratory environment.

               What's ambergris?

                           BIGGEST NOSE
               Ambergris is a whale product.  Alas, 
               much as we'd like to, we can't import 
               it.  Endangered Species Act.

     The other two shake their heads as if to say, What a load of 
     crap that Endangered Species Act is.

               Where isn't it illegal?

                           BIGGEST NOSE
               Japan, of course.  Couple of places 
               in Europe.  You'd almost certainly 
               find it somewhere in Paris.  Rome.  

                           LESS BIGGEST NOSE
               Maybe London.

                           LEAST BIGGEST NOSE
               But not at Harrod's.  Small, exclusive 


                                                            p. 46

                           LEAST BIGGEST NOSE (CONT'D)
               This bouquet was hand-engineered to 
               someone's specifications.

               Is there any way of knowing which 

                           BIGGEST NOSE
               Of course.  We'll give you a list.
               It'll be short.

     The Biggest Nose can't resist taking one last savoring sniff 
     before returning the letter to the plastic bag.

43   EXT. FLORENCE - DAY                                           43   

     Vespas, Fiats and Innocenti speed around a traffic circle.

     Pedestrians move along the boulevard.  We follow one man who 
     seems vaguely familiar - we glimpsed him briefly several 
     days ago walking past Fell's residence just before we went 
     in, and once before that, if we recall, polishing the floor 
     in the Palazzo Vecchio.

     Right now, though, we're more interested in Pazzi who joins 
     the frame coming toward us, and we follow him instead, to 
     and up the steps of the Questura building.

44   INT. QUESTURA - DAY                                           44   

     A black and white step-framed image of Dr. Fell entering a 
     small perfume shop.  It plays on a monitor sitting atop two 
     VCR decks, one on Play, the other Record, the operator, a 
     young agent, smoking as he writes out a label.

     Pazzi hangs his coat on a rack, crosses through the large 
     room, and sits at his desk which happens to be right next to 
     the VCR, which he pays no attention to.  At the next desk, 
     Ricci sits working on a crossword puzzle.

               I need opera tickets.

                    (without looking up)
               Don't think I have any on me.

               It's sold out, whatever it's called.

     A couple of Pazzi's colleagues, ones who are now working on 
     the Il Mostro case instead of him, surrounded by photographs 
     and clippings on the crimes, exchange a look.


                                                            p. 47

               It's the pretty young wife with the 
               ever-open beak who needs opera 

     Pazzi glances over at them, not sure he heard right.  One 
     sneaks a glance at the other.  It's all they can do to keep 
     from laughing.  The tape of the customers coming and going 
     at the perfume store continues, but Pazzi doesn't notice.



               He arranges his victims like that 
               Botticelli painting.  You hadn't 

     As Pazzi glances away from them, he catches a glimpse of the 
     monitor, of Fell coming into the perfume shop again.  He 
     gets up and the Il Mostro detectives, thinking he's coming 
     for them, decide to go out for coffee.

                           PAZZI (CONT'D)
               Back that up.

                           YOUNG AGENT
               What?  I can't back it up.  I'm making 
               a copy.  I'm recording.

     The black and white images of customers, most of them women, 
     continue, until Pazzi hits the stop button and spins the 

     The young agent groans, but not too loud; Pazzi far outranks 
     him.  The image reverses.  Pazzi freezes it on one of the 
     step frames that shows Dr. Fell.

               What is this?

                           YOUNG AGENT
               Security camera from a perfume shop 
               on Villa Della Scula.  FBI through 
               Interpol requested a copy.


                           YOUNG AGENT
               They didn't say.


                                                            p. 48

               They didn't say?

                           YOUNG AGENT
               It was actually kind of weird.  Like 
               they were making a point of not 

     Pazzi unpauses it.  Watches Fell approach the counter and 
     then wait, it seems, for a long time as the perfumer mixes 
     up some kind of concoction.  Money exchanges hands and Fell, 
     with his purchase, leaves.

45   INT. PAZZI'S APARTMENT - STUDY - NIGHT                        45   

     As a search engine works, Pazzi glances down at copies of 
     Fell's state work permit and Permesso di Soggiorno resting 
     next to the computer.  The video cassette is there, too.

     And the over-night mailer.

     The FBI's consumer home page appears on the screen.  Pazzi 
     selects the 10 Most Wanted button, and in a moment, the list

     - with pictures - is displayed.

     The World Trade Center bombing mastermind is #1.  Beneath 
     him, nine other, lesser bombers and murderers, none of whom 
     look anything like Fell.

     He shifts back to the main page.  Selects Archives.  The 50 
     Most Wanted list appears - bank robbers and killers and 
     arsonists, all with photos or police sketches, all but one 
     man.  He scrolls down, stops.  Dr. Fell - Hannibal Lecter - 
     "Hannibal the Cannibal" - is looking right at him.


     He doesn't seem to hear her as he begins reading the text 
     under Lecter's digitally-enhanced picture.

                           ALLEGRA (CONT'D)

     He glances up finally.  His young wife - who is indeed pretty - 
     stands in the doorway of the study.

               I'm sorry.

               Are we going to the Teatro 


                                                            p. 49


               You got tickets.

               No.  But I will.  In fact, I was 
               just about to look here.
                    (on the Internet)

               Please not the third balcony.  I 
               would like to see it.

               Not in the balcony.  No matter what 
               the cost.

     Unconvinced the promise will hold, she leaves the room.

     Pazzi opens his filofax to the F tab, finds a number written 
     under no heading, a code, enters it into his computer and in 
     a moment is taken to the FBI's private VICAP site - Violent 
     Criminal Apprehensopn Program.

     He types in Lecter and scans the internal 302 reports that 
     are displayed, many of them prepared by Special Agent Clarice 

     He returns to the server screen.  Begins a new search.

     Hannibal Lecter.  Many of the same sites Starling found are 
     listed, the ones posted by nuts.

     He scrolls down to the Refine Search panel.  Adds one word 
     to his Hannibal Lecter query.  Reward.  Hits Return.

     Only one site includes the word in its page name.  Pazzi 
     goes to it.  No graphics other than the same picture the FBI 
     site showed.  No indication of whose site it is.

     Dry text describes Lecter, reminds the reader he should be 
     regarded as armed and dangerous, and encourages informants 
     to call the provided FBI number with any information.

     There is also a private number listed - European dialing 
     code, not U.S.  Oh, and one more small piece of information.

     The reward.  $3,000,000.


                                                            p. 50

46   INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - DAY                               46   

     The place is looking more and more like a museum, the bulletin 
     and blackboards covered now with notes and newsprint photos, 
     including some of Il Mostro's young victims.

     Paul Krendler makes his way through the right-angled 
     passageway leading into the darkened room.  The only light 
     is coming from a monitor showing Lecter's escape from Memphis, 
     as caught by high-angle security cameras.

     He considers a display Starling has erected to Lecter's nine 
     known victims.  One is Mason Verger.  Another, a man attached 
     to a tool shop peg board with metal rods piercing his body 
     as in an illustration next to it of the medieval Wound Man.

     He becomes intrigued by a sketch on a standing easel of 
     Starling, signed by Hannibal Lecter.  A piece of cloth has 
     been tacked at the neck and drapes down like a sari.  Is she 
     naked underneath it?  Krendler has to find out.  As he 
     carefully lifts the cloth -

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               What is your worst memory of 

     He jumps, startled, sees Starling sitting in a corner, in 
     the shadows, next to the cassette deck.

               Can I help you, Mr. Krendler?

               Jesus.  What are you doing sitting 
               there in the dark?


     She gets up.  Lets the tape of Lecter's voice continue.

     Krendler works at slowing the pace of his heart, at regaining 
     most of his unpleasant hauteur.

               Some people in Justice are thinking, 
               too.  They're thinking, what exactly 
               is she doing about Lecter?

               Thinking.  About cannibalism.


                                                            p. 51

               What's the point of that, are you 
               catching a crook, or writing a book?

               Aren't you curious why he dines on 
               his victims?

               Not particularly, no.

               To show his contempt for those who 
               exasperate him, I think.

     Which she wouldn't mind showing Krendler in similar fashion.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Or, sometimes, to perform a public 
               service.  In the case of the flautist, 
               Benjamin Raspail -
                    (shows him a picture)
               - he did it to improve the sound of 
               the Baltimore Philharmonic Orchestra, 
               serving the not-so-talented flute 
               player's sweet-breads to the board 
               with a nice Chateau d'Y quem at forty-
               six hundred dollars a bottle.  That 
               meal began with green oysters from 
               the Gironde, followed by the 
               sweetbreads, a sorbet and then, you 
               can read here in Town & Country:  A 
               notable dark and glossy ragout, the 
               constituents never determined, on 
               saffron rice.  Its taste was darkly 
               thrilling with great bass tones that 
               only the vast and careful reduction 
               of the fond can give.

     Krendler is looking at her, not at the magazine.  Then -

               I always figured him for a queer.

               Now why would you say that, Paul?

               All this artsy-fartsy stuff.  Chamber 
               music and tea-party food.  Not that 
               I mean anything personal, if you've 
               got a lot of sympathy for those 


                                                            p. 52

     There wasn't a lot of spin on his words, but they carried an 
     inkling of implication which she doesn't misinterpret.  She 
     ignores it, though, and him, looks through her receipts.

                           KRENDLER (CONT'D)
               What I came here to impress upon 
               you, Starling, is I'd better see 
               cooperation.  There are no little 
               fiefdoms.  I want to be copied on 
               every 302.  Work with me and your so-
               called career here might improve.  
               If you don't, all I have to do is 
               draw a line through your name rather 
               than under it, and it's over.

     He turns to leave.

               Paul?  What is it with you?  I told 
               you to go home to your wife.  That 
               was wrong?

               Don't flatter yourself, Starling.  
               Why would I hold that against you?  
               That was a long time ago, and besides, 
               this town is full of cornpone country 

     He seems pleased he came up with the phrase so easily.

                           KRENDLER (CONT'D)
               That said, I wouldn't mind having a 
               go with you now if you want to 

               In the gym, anytime.  No pads.

     He smiles.  Leaves.  She sits down at her desk, listens to 
     his footsteps down the hall fade, glances at the tape of 
     Lecter's escape.

47   EXT. FLORENCE - DAY                                           47   

     A fistful of 1,000-lira coins makes a dull ching as Pazzi 
     shakes them in his hand like dice he's not sure he wants to 
     throw.  He's staring at a pay phone ten paces away.  No one's 
     using it.  It's his if he wants it; clearly he isn't sure.

     He finally walks over to it.  Lifts the receiver.  Presses 
     in the sequence of numbers scribbled in pen on the back of 
     the hand that holds the change.


                                                            p. 53

     A series of long distance tones beeps like a tinny death 
     knell.  A tinny recorded voice tells him to deposit 9,000-
     lira for the first three minutes.

     He drops nine coins in the slot with a shaky hand.  The call 
     connects and another recorded voice tells him the number he 
     has dialed is no longer in service.

     He hangs up, relieved.  Begins to walk away with his so-called 
     reputation intact.  The phone rings.  He looks back at it.  
     It rings again.  He begins to walk toward it.  It rings again.  
     He reaches for it, hesitates, picks it up, and hears a voice - 
     not recorded - American accent - a man.

                    (Pazzi doesn't answer)

               I have information about Hannibal 

               Does it include where he is now?

               Is the reward still in effect?

               Yes, it is.  Have you shared your 
               information with the police, sir?


               I'm required to encourage you to do 

               Uh-huh.  Is the reward payable under 
               ... special circumstances?

               Do you mean a bounty?  It's against 
               international convention and U.S. 
               Law to offer a bounty for someone's 
               death, sir.

               I mean in the case of, say, someone 
               who might not ordinarily be eligible 
               to accept a reward.


                                                            p. 54

               May I suggest you contact an attorney, 
               sir, before taking any possible-
               illegal action?  There's one in Geneva 
               who's excellent in these matters.  
               May I recommend an attorney?  May I 
               give you his toll-free number?

     The voice enunciates the number clearly.  Pazzi writes it on 
     the back of his hand next to the other one, the pen shaking.

                           VOICE (CONT'D)
               Thank you for calling.

     The call disconnects.  Pazzi takes a breath.  Crosses the 
     street to another pay phone.  Dials the toll-free number and 
     pockets the coins.  The call connects.  Another male voice.

     This one with a dry, Swiss, lawyerly tone:

                           VOICE 2
               Hello -

               Yes.  I was just speaking with someone 
               who suggested I -

                           VOICE 2
               There is a one hundred thousand dollar 
               advance.  To qualify for the advance, 
               a fingerprint must be provided - in 
               situ - on an object -
                    (the voice is a 
               Once the print is positively 
               identified, the balance of the money 
               will be placed in escrow at Geneva 
               Credit Suisse, and may be viewed at 
               any time subject to 24-hour-prior-
               notification.  To repeat this message 
               in French, press 2.  In Spanish, 
               press 3.  In German, press 4.  In 
               Japanese -

48   INT. CAFE RESTROOM - LATER - DAY                              48   

     Pazzi scrubs at his hands like Lady Macbeth, trying to get 
     the stain of the phone numbers off his skin, the black ink 
     clouding the water pooling in the sink before going down the 


                                                            p. 55

49   INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - DAY                               49   

     A security tape of mostly-Japanese customers entering and 
     exiting an exclusive Tokyo perfumery plays on Starling's 

     The mail room boy watches it as Starling speaks on the phone -

               Is it possible it went out with the 
               regular mail?

                           YOUNG AGENT'S VOICE
               No.  No, I over-nighted it.  I filled 
               out the slip myself.

50   INT. QUESTURA - INTERCUT                                      50   

     It's the same young agent who copied the security tape -

                           YOUNG AGENT
               This was the day after your request.
               I did it right away.  I don't 
               understand what happened.  You should 
               have it.

51   INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - CONTINUED                         51   

     There are three other tapes, marked with the names of stores 
     in Paris, Rome and Amsterdam, stacked on top of the machine 
     that plays the Japanese perfumery.

               I don't.  Can you send me another 

                           YOUNG AGENT'S VOICE
               I'll have to make another one.

               I'd appreciate it.

     She hangs up.  Geoffrey gestures to the monitor.

               Nothing, huh?

               Nothing yet.  Still waiting on 
               Florence and London.  London says 
               they're sniffing around.  I don't 
               know, is that British humor?


                                                            p. 56

52   EXT. PALAZZO CAPPONI - DAY                                    52   

     Pazzi's clean finger presses a button on the intercom set 
     into the stone wall of the entry.  As he waits, he glances 
     up at the security camera, then down at the hammered-iron 
     handle on the door.  No way to get a print off that.

                           DR. FELL'S VOICE

               Dr. Fell?  It's Inspector Pazzi.

                           DR. FELL'S VOICE
               Yes, I can see.

     A buzzer releases the lock and Pazzi pulls the door open.

53   INT. PALAZZO CAPPONI - DAY                                    53   

     As Fell leads Pazzi across the main salon upstairs, past 
     furniture draped with sheets, the inspector's glance darts 
     from object to object he'd like to steal for prints - a glass, 
     a book, a vase, a pen.

                           DR. FELL
               I should've encouraged you to bring 
               someone along.  The cases, I'm afraid, 
               are on the heavy side.

               Maybe you could help me with them.

                           DR. FELL

               Just down the stairs I mean.

     They reach two big suitcases, closed.  Two typewritten sheets 
     of paper rest on a small table next to them.

                           PAZZI (CONT'D)
               Is that the inventory?

                           DR. FELL

               May I see it?

                           DR. FELL
               Of course.


                                                            p. 57

     Pazzi waits for Fell to hand it to him.  Unfortunately, it's 
     just as close to him.  Once it's clear Fell has no intention 
     of picking it up, Pazzi does - carefully, but not too 
     carefully - and pretends to read it.

                           DR. FELL (CONT'D)
               You are a Pazzi of the Pazzi, I think.
                    (Pazzi doesn't answer)
               Wasn't it at the Palazzo Vecchio 
               your ancestor was hanged?  Francesco 
               de'Pazzi?  Thrown naked with a noose 
               around his neck from the window?  
               Writhing alongside the archbishop 
               against the cold stone wall?

     Pazzi stares at Fell, who only pleasantly smiles back.

                           DR. FELL (CONT'D)
               I found a nice rendering of it here 
               in the library the other day.  If 
               you'd like perhaps I could sneak it 
               out for you.

               I'd think that might jeopardize your 
               chances for permanent appointment to 
               the curatorship.

                           DR. FELL
               Only if you told.
                    (Fell smiles again)
               Remind me.  What was his crime?

               He was accused of killing Giuliano 

                           DR. FELL

               No, I don't think so.

                           DR. FELL
               Then he wasn't just accused.  He did 
               it.  He was guilty.

     A knowing look from Fell makes Pazzi wonder if he somehow 
     knows he knows he's Lecter.

                           DR. FELL (CONT'D)
               I'd think that would make living in 
               Florence with the name Pazzi 
               uncomfortable, even 500 years later.


                                                            p. 58

               Not really.  In fact, I can't remember 
               the last time - before today - someone 
               brought it up.

                           DR. FELL
               But people don't always tell you 
               what they're thinking ...  They just 
               see to it you don't advance.
               I'm sorry, I too often say what I'm 
               thinking.  I'll be right back to 
               help you.

     Fell leaves Pazzi alone in the room ...

                           FELL'S VOICE
               Any developments in the Il Mostro 

               I believe my colleagues are checking 
               suspects' homes to see if they have 
               any Botticelli prints.

                           FELL'S VOICE
               In their homes?  That would be rather 
               obvious, wouldn't it?

               Serial killers are obvious.  Their 
               primary motivation is to be obvious, 
               to be noticed.

                           FELL'S VOICE
               But not caught.

     In another room, Fell opens a drawer and takes out a pair of 
     leather gloves.

                           PAZZI'S VOICE
               Yes, that too, I think.

                           DR. FELL
               Not really.

                           PAZZI'S VOICE

                           FELL'S VOICE

     In the salon, Pazzi peers closely at the handles of the 
     suitcases to see if he can tell which, if either, has the


                                                            p. 59

     better print.  It doesn't matter really; in a few moments 
     he'll get another, fresh one.

                           FELL'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               By the way, the room you're standing 
               in was built in the 15th-century.

               It's beautiful.

                           FELL'S VOICE
               Yes.  Unfortunately, I think the 
               heating system was installed just 
               about the same time.

     Fell reappears pulling on the gloves.  Elaborating a shiver, 
     he rubs them together.

               All right, let's drag these things 
               down.  They're as heavy as bodies.

54   INT/EXT. PERFUMERY - DAY                                      54   

     From across the street, Pazzi watches Fell inside the small 
     shop browsing at the glass bottles that line the shelves, 
     his ungloved hands clasped behind his back like someone 
     looking at great art, his nose taking in the cacophony of 

     The hands unclasp.  A finger reaches to a bottle - but doesn't 
     touch it - moving slowly back and forth an inch away from 
     the label as a reading aid.  The hands return then to their 
     clasped position behind the back.

55   EXT. CAFE - LATER                                             55   

     Fell, alone at a table, his hand grasping a wine glass firmly, 
     bringing it to his lips, and setting it back down.

     Pazzi, watching from across the street, smiles ... until 
     Fell takes a last sip, touches a napkin to his lips, slides 
     the cloth across the glass in a single, mechanical motion, 
     gets up and leaves.

56   INT. JEWELRY STORE - DAY                                      56   

     Pazzi's hands peel tens of thousands of lira from his money 
     clip as a jeweler's hands rub a soft cloth at the blank face 
     of a silver ID bracelet.

               What would you like engraved on it, 


                                                            p. 60


               May I apply an anti-tarnish coating?


57   EXT. ROAD TO PRATO - DAY                                      57   

     Sollicciano, the dreaded Florentine jail.

58   INT. JAIL - WOMEN'S DIVISION - DAY                            58   

     A young woman's eyes drift down from Pazzi's tie clasp, to 
     his wedding band, to his silver ID bracelet.  In a crowd on 
     the street, she could remove all three in an instant and he 
     wouldn't even notice they were gone until he got home.

               What do you want?  Information?

               What sort of information would you 
               be willing to give me, Romula?  Names 
               and descriptions of fifteen Gypsy 
               pickpockets who never existed?  No, 
               what I want is to get you out of 
               here.  And to make your arrest record 
               permanently disappear.  In exchange, 
               all I want from you is the usual 
               thing.  Only I want you to fail.

59   EXT. FELL'S RESIDENCE - DAY                                   59   

     Fell emerges from his residence with a cloth shopping bag.

     As he walks away on the cobblestoned street, a Vespa - with 
     Pazzi driving and Romula holding him around the waist - races 
     past and disappears into the traffic.

60   EXT. VERA DAL 1926 - LATER                                    60   

     Pazzi and Romula, on the parked scooter, watch Fell inside 
     the exclusive food shop selecting figs and white truffles.

               When you fumble for his wallet, he'll 
               catch you by the wrist -

               I've done this a few times, Inspector -


                                                            p. 61

               Not like this.  If there isn't a 
               clean print on that bracelet -
                    (on her wrist now)
               - it's back to Sollicciano.

               If there's a problem and someone 
               helps, don't hurt him.  My friend 
               doesn't know anything, and won't 
               take anything, let him run off.

               There won't be a problem.  The man 
               can't afford a problem.  He'll want 
               to get away from you more than you 
               will from him.

     Here he comes, out the door of the shop, the little bell 
     above it tinkling.  Pazzi waits a moment, then starts the 
     Vespa, puts it in gear.  As he blends in among cars racing 
     past Fell, the sound of a choir practicing - somewhere - 
     begins and carries over:

61   INT. CHURCH OF SAN CROCE - LATER                              61   

     Tourists drop 200-lira pieces into coin boxes that trigger 
     light to be thrown across the great frescos of Christ.  The 
     clicking timers wind down after only a few moments and the 
     murals plunge back into incense-smoky darkness.

     Pazzi, lurking in the vast cathedral by Galileo's grave, 
     points with his chin to a transept to the left of the main 
     altar.  There, Romula can see the kneeling shape of a lone 
     figure and the outline of his shopping bag.

     Fell has brought along his art supplies and uses some now to 
     carefully make a charcoal rubbing of an inscription in the 
     stone.  To keep his hands clean, he wears a pair of thin 
     cotton gloves.

     A bell sounds.  Midday closing.  Sextons coming out with 
     their keys to empty the coin boxes.  Tourists looking around 
     puzzled in the dark, not yet understanding they all have to 
     leave.  Pazzi watches Fell rise from his labors, carefully 
     place the charcoal rubbing in his shopping bag and pull the 
     gloves off.

                    (a whisper)

     She nods, moves away to the entrance of the church.  The 
     crowd will force Fell to pass right by her here.


                                                            p. 62

     Troubled by something, though - a feeling - she looks down.  
     Sees she's standing on the tomb of Michelangelo.  Steps off 
     and whispers to the slab -


     Fell is coming toward her in the dark, oblivious to what is 
     about to happen.  Someone reaches into a purse and fishes 
     out a 200-lira coin.

     Romula begins to move toward the dark shape moving toward 
     her.  Her friend and protector, Gnocco, falls in a couple 
     steps behind her.  A hand drops the coin in a slot.

     Just as Romula and her target are upon one another, a light 
     goes on illuminating a fresco of a bloodied Christ and Fell's 
     eyes, looking straight into hers and chilling her heart.  
     The ticking of the coin box accompanies an awkward moment 
     before Romula manages -

                           ROMULA (CONT'D)
               Excuse me.

     She continues past Fell, the bracelet - untouched - jangling 
     dully on her wrist.  Fell looks back over his shoulder at 
     the woman.  She looks back over hers for a second, and the 
     light goes out leaving him in silhouette.

     Fell walks away out past the doors and into the blinding 
     sunlight.  Pazzi wanders around in the dark and finally finds 
     Romula at a font, scrubbing her hands in the holy water.

                           ROMULA (CONT'D)
               That's the Devil.

     She takes the bracelet off and hands it to Pazzi.  He watches 
     water drip from it and his hands to the floor.

               So I'll drive you back to jail then.


     She splashes holy water on her face.  Pazzi shakes his head 
     and glances away, watches absently as a sexton empties one 
     of the coin boxes, then notices Gnocco, standing in the 

62   EXT. PIAZZA SANTO SPIRITO - NIGHT                             62   

     The dark water of the Arno drifts slowly under a bridge.  On 
     the left bank, by the fountain, Gnocco and some other Gypsies


                                                            p. 63

     share a joint.  In between hits, Gnocco slices up an orange, 
     his eyes hazy but his hand quick with the blade, the juice 
     of the fruit dripping onto his fingers.

               Two million lire.


               Give me the bracelet.

               Wash your fuckin' hands.

63   EXT. VIA SAN LEONARDO - NIGHT                                 63   

     Steep cobbled ill-lit street.  Gnocco leaning in a dark, 
     gated niche built into a high stone wall protecting villas 
     inside.  He finishes a joint, tosses it away.  Spits on the 
     bracelet and wipes it clean with the tail of his shirt.  As 
     he's about to put it on his wrist, his jacket vibrates.  
     With his free hand he removes a cell phone from the pocket.

                           PAZZI'S VOICE
               He's coming.

     The call disconnects.  Gnocco slips the phone back into the 
     pocket, clasps the bracelet around his wrist and steps out 
     of the shadows.  Several people appear around the corner, 
     all of them well-dressed.  A show must have just let out.  
     Gnocco walks up the narrow street toward the column of 
     advancing bobbing heads, keeping his eyes on one of them.  

     Gnocco and the group are upon each other.  Stoned and swimming 
     against the current, the pickpocket angles toward his mark, 
     bumps into him, reaches inside the elegant coat, feels the 
     wrist with the bracelet seized in a terrific grip, twists it 
     free hardly breaking stride, and emerges from the tail of 
     the throng.

     He veers into another dark niche and bends over slightly to 
     catch his breath.  In a moment, quick footsteps announce 
     Pazzi's arrival.

               I got it.  He grabbed me just right.  
               Ride to hit me in the balls, but he 

     He holds out the arm with the braclet for Pazzi to take it 


                                                            p. 64

     As the Inspector works carefully at the clasp, Gnocco sucks 
     in another deep breath of air.

                           GNOCCO (CONT'D)
               Jesus -

               What - ?

     Gnocco suddenly collapses to one knee, the bracelet pulling 
     from Pazzi's hands.  Blood begins to gush out of a neat tear 
     in his pants.

     More confused than in pain, Gnocco looks down at the blood 
     only to have it spray up into his face.  Trying to ignore 
     the blood - even as it sprays on him - Pazzi works to get 
     the bracelet off, and finally frees it.

     Gnocco stares dumbly at himself in his praying position, 
     then tries to stop the flow of blood with his hand.  As he 
     collapses against the iron gate.  Pazzi sets the bracelet in 
     the box it came in, pockets it, then reaches into Gnocco's 
     bloody pocket and takes the phone.

                           PAZZI (CONT'D)
               Here, let me help you.

     Gnocco looks up at Pazzi gratefully, feels his hand being 
     moved away from the wound and held, feels nothing pressed in 
     its place, feels his blood draining out of his body, then 
     feels nothing.  He's dead.

     Pazzi gets up.  Takes out a handkerchief.  Wrapped inside is 
     a used syringe.  He tosses it on the ground and walks away.

64   INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - DAY                                   64   

     Verger, lying in the dark, watches a technician in a pool of 
     bright light in the sitting area using a cordless power 
     screwdriver to back out the screws that secure the bracelet 
     to the jeweler's stand.  Carefully, he lifts it out of the 
     velvet box and sets it on a china plate.

     A few flecks of dried blood fall onto the porcelain.  More 
     dried blood encrusts the silver.  He dusts the bracelet with 
     Dragon's Blood powder, angles a hot lamp at it and photographs 
     the one - in situ - print.

     He comes around the tripod then and lifts the print, tapes 
     it to a slide and compares it to Lecter's FBI print card 
     under a microscope.  The swirling lines come into sharp focus.


                                                            p. 65

               Middle finger of the left hand.  
               Sixteen point match.

65   EXT. SARDINIA - DAY                                           65   

     On a mountain farm deep in central Sardinia, a young man 
     wheels an empty, battered metal gurney along the fence-line 
     of a large pen.

     Inside the adjacent shed, another young man picks through a 
     pile of old clothes.  In a corner, a third young man shuffles 
     through a small handful of audio cassette tapes.

     Carlo and his gurney arrive.  His brother Matteo has chosen 
     an ensemble of pants and shirt, and lays it out on the sheet.

     Carlo's cell phone rings.  He flips it open.

                           MASON'S VOICE


                           MASON'S VOICE
               Ciao, Bello.  Come stai?  You have 
               all your shots?  There's a nasty 
               winter flu going around.

               Am I coming to see you?

                           MASON'S VOICE
               Soon, I think, but first I need you 
               to pack off the boys.  Yes, I know, 
               the day you never thought would 
               arrive, has.  Got a pencil?

     Carlo grabs a pen and a scrap of paper from the trestle table 
     by the gurney, where his brother is now filling the clothes 
     with meat and acorns and entrails and bread.

                           MASON'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               You need to get certified cholera
               inoculations - well, not you - and 
               Acepromazine for sedation.  That's a-
               c-e-p-r- oh, the hell with it, you'll 
               find it.  Cordell will fax the 
               Veterinary Service forms directly to 
               Animal and Plant Health - but you 
               need to get the veterinary affidavits 
               from Sardinia.


                                                            p. 66

     As Carlo scribbles the shipping instructions, Piero decides 
     on a tape, drops it in and carries the boom box outside.

                           MASON'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               The airbus will await you in Cagliari.  
               Count Fleet Airlines.  The crates 
               can be no larger than four-by-six - 
               it's as bad as carry-on rules.  An 
               on-board inspector has to travel 
               with them.  They'll be met at 
               Baltimore-Washington Airport - not 
               the Key West quarantine facility - 
               by my people who will clear them 
               through Customs.  Va bene?

               Got it.

                           MASON'S VOICE
               How are they?

               They're really big, Mason.  About 
               two hundred and seventy kilos.

                           MASON'S VOICE

     Someone starts screaming outside; a recorded male voice from 
     the boom box.  Matteo splashes some expensive cologne on the 
     stuffed clothes and wheels the gurney out.

                           MASON'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               Oh, I called at a good time.  I can 
               hear that.  Would it be too much 
               trouble to take the phone outside?

     Carlo walks out to the pen with the phone.  Matteo is there, 
     lowering the gurney while Piero raises the volume on the 
     boom box.  The recorded screams echo out across the mountains - 
     a fitting overture for the dark shadows coming out of the 

66   EXT. BANK - GENEVA - DAY                                      66   

     The unassuming facade of Geneva Credit Suisse.

67   INT. CREDIT SUISSE VAULT - DAY                                67   

     A bank clerk and another man, both in business suits, work 
     their keys to open four deep lock boxes with brass plates.


                                                            p. 67

68   INT. ADJACENT PRIVACY ROOM - DAY                              68   

     Alone in this severe, scrubbed, very Swiss room, Pazzi can 
     hear the sound of wheels.  In a moment a cart with four large 
     metal deposit boxes is pushed in.

     The clerk excuses himself.  The other man raises the lids of 
     the boxes revealing three hundred banded blocks of non-
     sequential hundred dollar bills.

     Pazzi watches the man tear the paper bands off ten of the 
     neat stacks and set the loose bills in a counting machine.

     The numbers on the LCD display climb.

                           MR. KONIE
               The full balance of the money is 
               payable upon receipt of the doctor 
                    (the same dry Swiss 
                    voice Pazzi heard on 
                    the phone recording)
               Of course, you won't have to seize 
               him yourself, but merely point him 
               out to us.  In fact, it's preferable 
               to all concerned if that's the extent 
               of your involvement from this point.

               I prefer to stay involved.  To make 
               sure things go right.

                           MR. KONIE
               Professionals will see to that, sir.

               I'm a professional.

     The glowing LCD display stops at $100,000.

69   INT. FLORENCE PERFUMERY - DAY                                 69   

     Flushed with the feeling that one of the bundles of money 
     makes against his thigh, Pazzi enters the exclusive shop and 
     browses at the bottles of scents on the shelves.

               May I help you, sir?

               Yes.  Yes, you may.


                                                            p. 68

70   INT. PAZZI'S APARTMENT - EVENING                              70   

     An aria can be heard as Allegra Pazzi, sitting at her dressing 
     table in her underclothes, uncaps a small unlabeled bottle 
     of perfume and carefully touches a drop to her wrist.

     Across the bedroom, knotting a new tie that drapes against a 
     handmade linen shirt that still shows the fold-creases, Pazzi 
     watches as his wife lifts the wrist to her beautiful face, 
     smells the scent on it and smiles to herself.

     Pazzi smiles, too, to himself, as he watches her place another 
     drop on the other wrist and two more just under her diamond-
     studded ear lobes.

     It's almost like watching sex.

71   INT. TEATRO MICHAHELLES - NIGHT                               71   

     The aria fills the grand darkened interior of the theatre.

     In a private box overlooking the stage, Pazzi sits with his 
     wife's hand in his - he in his new Sulka suit, she in her 
     new evening gown.  The scalped tickets for these seats must 
     have cost him a fortune, but then he can afford it now.

     A whiteness down below, caught by the bounce of a stage light, 
     draws Pazzi's attention from the diva.  The bright glow 
     belongs to the starched French cuffs of a white dress shirt 
     poking out of dark sleeves, the hands intertwined, the chin 
     resting on them.

     It's Dr. Fell, engrossed in the drama, lost in the harrowed 
     beauty of the prima donna's voice.  But then, the head come 
     around like an owl's, the eyes peering up to the private 

     Pazzi had a second of opportunity to look away but missed 
     it, and now their eyes meet.

     Pazzi involuntarily squeezes his wife's hand.  The pressure 
     draws a loving look from her, but Pazzi's is still locked on 
     Fell's enigmatic little smile, much as he wishes it wasn't, 
     until a crescendo in the music - finally - draws Fell's head 
     and eyes back to the stage.  Applause.

72   EXT. TEATRO PICCOLOMINI - NIGHT                               72   

     A crush of theatergoers maneuvers for cabs.

                           DR. FELL
               Enjoy the performance, Commendatore?


                                                            p. 69

     Pazzi and his wife, waiting for a free cab, turn to see Fell 
     standing behind them.  He smiles pleasantly.

               Very much.  Allegra, this is Dr. 
               Fell, Curator of the Capponi Library.

                           DR. FELL
               Curator protempore, Signora Pazzi.  
               I'm honored.

     Pazzi's eyes follow Fell's hand as it reaches to and holds 
     his wife's, his wrist bowing slightly.  Allegra smiles at 
     his grace and the graceful tone of his voice.

               Is that an American accent, doctor?

                           DR. FELL
               Canadian, wrung through the eastern 
               seaboard of America.

               I've always wanted to visit.  New 
               England especially.

                           DR. FELL
               Umm.  It's nice.  I've enjoyed many 
               excellent meals there.

     Pazzi would very much enjoy leaving, and looks away hoping 
     to see a driver interested in his patronage.

                           DR. FELL (CONT'D)
               Did I notice you following the score, 
               Signora?  Hardly anyone does it 
               anymore.  Would this interest you?

     From a portfolio under his arm, he produces a hand-copied 
     score on parchment - c. 1688 - each page in a plastic sleeve.

                           DR. FELL (CONT'D)
               I've marked in overlay some of the 
               differences from the modern score, 
               which might amuse you.  Please take 

               Look at this, Rinaldo.

               I can see it.

     And both of their hands, Fell's and hers, on it.


                                                            p. 70

               I did have some trouble with the 
               recitative at the beginning.

                           DR. FELL
               Dante's first sonnet from La Vita 
               Nuova.  He saw Beatrice Portinari 
               across a chapel and he loved her at 
               that instant and for the rest of his 
               life.  But then had a disturbing 
               dream -

                    (reading from text)
               Joyous Love seemed to me, the while 
               he held my heart in his hands, and 
               in his arms, My lady lay asleep 
               wrapped in a veil -

                           DR. FELL
                    (continuing from memory)
               He woke her then, and trembling and 
               obedient, she ate that burning heart 
               out of his hand.  Weeping, I saw him 
               then depart from me.

               He saw her eat his heart!
                    (Fell likes that as 
                    much as she does)
               Do you believe a man could become so 
               obsessed with a woman from a single 

                           DR. FELL
               Could he daily feel a stab of hunger 
               for her?  Find nourishment in the 
               very sight of her?  I think so.  But 
               would she see through the bars of 
               his plight, and ache for him?

     Allegra waits for the answer, but Fell doesn't have it; he 
     just looks away wistfully as his fingers slide away from the 
     plastic like snakes.

               Thank you for this.

     Fell's nod says, I'm your servant.  Pazzi pulls open the 
     back door of a cab.

                           DR. FELL


                                                            p. 71

                           DR. FELL (CONT'D)
                    (as he shakes Pazzi's 
               A ...  lle ...  gra ...

     It's all Pazzi can do to keep from arresting the man as he 
     watches Fell rape his wife with a kiss of her hand.  His 
     head stays down there longer than it should as he savors the 
     aroma emanating from her wrist.  Finally the head rises back 
     up and Pazzi all but shoves Allegra into the cab.  As Fell 
     watches after it driving away, a couple passes behind them.

               Let's get something to eat.

                           DR. FELL
                    (to himself)
               Yes, quite.

     The hand that held Allegra's when he kissed it comes up to 
     his face.  He takes in the residue of the scent.

73   INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - LATE NIGHT                            73   

     Empty coffee cup and dinner debris on Starling's desk.

     Sitting at her computer, she types in a code summoning the 
     FBI's private VICAP site.  Navigating deep into it with other 
     codes, she reaches a page with a query panel and types in - 
     "Cookies." The screen fills with long lines of text - words 
     and numbers and slashes and hyphens - the "fingerprints" 
     left by everyone who has accessed the site over the last 

     Most have addresses within the FBI itself and Justice 
     Department; the majority of the rest from Interpol and other 
     internationl police organizations.  The scrolling list goes 
     on forever.

     She narrows her search to show only those who have visited 
     the VICAP Lecter files, then narrows it further to those who 
     have "knocked" more than twenty times in the last month.

     Her own screen name - "cstarling" - appears on the new list 
     more than any other.  There are also several flagged hits by 
     "pkrendler."  She smiles at one name - "jcrawford."  He isn't 
     supposed to be accessing the VICAP files anymore, now that 
     he's retired, but just can't help himself.

     The next heaviest user is a name she doesn't recognize.  
     Someone who calls him or herself, "pfrancesco."  She stares 
     long at the screen name and finally whispers to it -


                                                            p. 72

               Could that be you, Doctor?

74   EXT. CEMETERY - FLORENCE - NIGHT                              74   

     We slowly approach - from someone's moving point of view - a 
     pair of young lovers walking toward us under the trees.  As 
     they draw closer - oblivious to us, and our breath, and our 
     footsteps on the cobblestone path - Pazzi enters his own 
     POV.  Once past the lovers, he takes out a pencil-thin Maglite 
     and rakes its narrow beam across names on the chipped-marble 
     tombstones he passes, the light settling eventually on someone 
     called "Lorenzo Mametti."

     He tosses a cheap bunch of wilting flowers onto the grave 
     and looks around for whoever it is he's supposed to be meeting 
     here.  A shadowy figure emerges almost soundlessly from behind 
     a crypt and Pazzi finds the face with his pen light.


     Pazzi snaps it off.  Carlo comes out into the open looking 
     like a grave digger in his work clothes, perches on a squat 
     headstone, and first offering one to Pazzi, who declines, 
     lights himself a cigarette.

                           CARLO (CONT'D)
               I want him in the open street with 
               not a lot of people around.

               How will you take him down?

               That's my business.

               It's my business too.

               You're a cop, aren't you.

               I asked you a question.

               Yeah, you're a cop, all right.  I'll 
               stun him with a beanbag gun, net 
               him, give him a shot.

               He has to lecture tomorrow night.


                                                            p. 73

                           PAZZI (CONT'D)
               It won't be strange if I attend; he 
               actually thinks I'm interested.  Can 
               you do it that soon?

               Will you walk with him or are you 
               afraid of him?

               I'll do what I'm paid to do and so 
               will you, only I'll be better paid 
               for it.

     Carlo removes his hat and bows his head as if to pray.  
     Someone is walking on a path intersecting theirs down by the 
     mausoleums.  The figure disappears behind the stone walls.

                           PAZZI (CONT'D)
               I want him out of Tuscany fast.

               Believe me, he'll be gone from the 
               face of the earth fast.  Feet first.

75   INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - DAY                               75   

     Starling glances from an international number jotted down on 
     her blotter to the phone on which she's dialing it.  A paused 
     time-coded frame of Lecter at the Florence perfumery, taking 
     in a scent on his hand, glows on her television as she listens 
     to a European ring.

76   INT. QUESTURA - SAME TIME - EVENING                           76   

     Pictures of Il Mostro's victims stare at the detective who 
     picks up the ringing phone.

               Questura.  Pandolfini.

                           STARLING'S VOICE
               I'd like to speak with Chief Inspector 
               Rinaldo Pazzi, please.  I'm Agent 
               Clarice Starling with the American 

     The detective puts her on hold and shouts "Pazzi!" across 
     the room to where Pazzi was just grabbing his coat off the 
     rack to leave.  He holds the receiver up, then cradles it.

     Pazzi groans.  Keeps his coat on.  Lifts the receiver of 
     another phone near him and pushes the blinking light.


                                                            p. 74


                           STARLING'S VOICE
               Inspector Pazzi, it's Agent Starling 
               with the FBI.  How do you do?

     He was doing fine until this instant.

     INTERCUT him here and Starling in her basement room -

               Actually I was just leaving for the 
               day, can I call you back tomorrow?

               This won't take long.  I'd appreciate 

     Pazzi groans again to himself as he glances to the clock.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               I wanted to thank you, first of all, 
               for sending me the security tape 
               from the perfume store.

     The security tape?  Pazzi thought he buried that tape.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               When I say you, I mean your 
               department.  Agent Benetti.  Is he 
               there?  Can I speak with him?

     Pazzi is looking right at the young man pouring himself a 
     cup of water at the dispenser.

               I'm sorry, he's gone home.

               That's all right.  I should tell you 
               this rather than him anyway -

               I'm late for an important lec - an 
               important appointment -

               The person I'm looking for, Inspector -
               who was indeed shown on that tape - 
               is Hannibal Lecter.



                                                            p. 75

               Dr. Hannibal Lecter.  You've never 
               heard of him?  He's quite well-known, 
               at least in America.

               I'm sorry, I'm not familiar -

               And the tape confirms that he is - 
               or was recently - in Florence.


               He's a very dangerous man, Inspector 
               Pazzi.  He's killed nine people - 
               that we know of.

               We know about dangerous men around 
               here, too, unfortunately.

               Il Mostro.

               You don't think -

               No, I don't.  The crimes of Il Mostro 
               bear no resemblance to Lecter's in... 
               in style.

               I really have to go, Miss -

               Starling.  Just another minute.  Are 
               you sure you've never heard of him?

               I haven't -

               Because I'm confused.  I'm confused 
               by that because someone there has 
               been accessing our private VICAP 
               files on Dr. Lecter with some 
               regularity, on your computer.


                                                            p. 76

               Everybody uses everybody's computer 
               here.  Maybe one of the detectives 
               on Il Mostro was looking at profiles 
               of killers to -

               I'm speaking about the computer at 
               your home, sir.

     Silence on both ends of the line.  A printout on her desk 
     shows the Internet trail.  Scribbled on a Post-It stuck to 
     it is "pfrancesco = rinaldo pazzi."

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               You're trying to catch him yourself, 
               aren't you, Inspector?  For the 
               reward.  I cannot warn you strongly 
               enough against that.  He killed three 
               policemen down in Memphis, while he 
               was in custody, tearing the face off 
               one of them - and he will kill you 
               too if you -

     He hangs up on her.

77   INT/EXT. PALAZZO VECCHIO - LATER - EVENING                    77   

     As the sky darkens, floodlights across the piazza blink on 
     and wash across the rough stone walls of the Palazzo Vecchio.

     As bats fly out from the jack-o'-lantern teeth of the parapets 
     the image suddenly goes to - BLACK AND WHITE - a security 
     monitor in the foyer, on which a guard watches the creatures 
     circling the building looking for darker quarters.

     A clunking sound draws our attention, but not his, to the 
     stairs, where we briefly glimpse the bottom half of a hand 
     truck - with something big strapped to it - as it's pulled 
     with some effort up the top steps.


     The hand truck is Wheeling toward us now, along the long 
     hall, and we see that it is a lectern - as big as a pulpit - 
     strapped to it.  We watch it coming, and the worker pushing 
     it - that same man again, the Palazzo's custodian - into - 
     THE SALON OF LILIES - where the restorers are climbing down 
     from their scaffolding, closing up their cans of spirits and 
     paints, packing up to leave for the day.

     Metal folding chairs have been arranged on the drop cloths 
     covering the floor in split rows of six.  Fell is at a small 
     table in back of them, setting up a slide projector.


                                                            p. 77

     He turns it on and angle its bright white light onto a home 
     movie screen draping off the arm of its metal stand.

     He sees the custodian coming in with the hand truck and points 
     out to him that he'd like the lectern up front, to one side 
     of the screen.

     The screen.  It's too small.  The projector light spilling 
     way wide of its edges.  The drop cloth hanging from the 
     scaffolding behind it would work much better.

     As the custodian unstraps and sets up the lectern, Fell takes 
     down the little screen, sets it aside, and stands before the 
     cloth, smoothing at its flickering folds.

     The last of the restorers straggles out.  The custodian 
     unplugs and coils the long orange cord of the floor polisher, 
     hand-over-elbow.  Fell adds a brown extension cord to the 
     projector remote and snakes it along the ersatz aisle between 
     the chairs to the lectern.

     He sets some books on the podium, places his hands on its 
     sides to test the comfort of its height - it's satisfactory - 
     and looks out over his invisible audience.

     The custodian is finished straightening up.  Fell watches 
     him cross behind the back row of folding chairs, approach 
     the open doorway, and pauses for a few moments - too many 
     moments - to gaze up at the Botticelli before leaving.

78   EXT. PALAZZO VECCHIO - NIGHT                                  78   

     A great shadow rears up against the floodlit wall.  It belongs 
     to Pazzi, as he crossed the piazza, glancing once to Carlo 
     and his brother Matteo smoking next to a van before 
     disappearing into the palazzo's front entrance.

                           FELL'S VOICE
               Avarice and hanging are linked in 
               the medieval mind -

79   INT. SALON OF LILIES - NIGHT                                  79   

     The "dragons" of the Studiolo - and Sogliato - face us in 
     the folding chairs, listening to the lecture -

                           FELL'S VOICE
               St. Jerome writes that Judas' very 
               surname - Iscariot - means 'money,' 
               or 'price.'

     A ringing phone interrupts.  The heads all turn.  Pazzi, 
     standing just inside the doors, gropes for his cell phone, 
     extracts it from his jacket pocket.


                                                            p. 78

               Ah, Commendatore Pazzi.

                           STARLING'S VOICE
               It wasn't easy, but I got this number
               without telling them why, Inspector 
               Paz - 

     He hangs up on her.  Switches off the phone's power.


               Not at all.  Welcome.  Since you are 
               closest to the lights, would you be 
               so kind as to dim the lights?

     Pazzi twists a dimmer on the wall and the lights come down.

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               Thank you.  You'll be interested in 
               this, Commendatore, since there is a 
               Pazzi already in Dante's Inferno.

     An art slide appears on the drop cloth.  Fell improves the 
     focus with the remote.

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               Here is the earliest known depiction 
               of the Crucifixion, carved on an 
               ivory box in Gaul about A.D.  Four 
               Hundred.  It includes the death by 
               hanging of Judas, his face upturned 
               to the branch that suspends him.
                    (the slide changes)
               And here he is, on the doors of the 
               Benevento Cathedral, hanging with 
               his bowels falling out as St. Luke 
               the physician described him in the 
               Acts of the Apostles - still looking 

     The shadow of a bat flies across the image, but everyone, so 
     accustomed to the occurrence, ignores it.

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               In this plate, from a fifteenth-
               century edition of the Inferno, Pier 
               della Vigna's body hangs from a 
               bleeding tree.  I will not belabor 
               the obvious parallel with Judas 


                                                            p. 79

     Pazzi, still in the back of the room, tries desperately to 
     separate the legs of a folding chair without having them 

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               But Dante Alighieri needed no drawn 
               illustration.  It is his genius to 
               make Pier della Vigna, now in Hell, 
               speak in strained hisses and coughing 
               sibilants as though he is hanging 
               still.  Listen as he drags with the 
               other damned his own dead body to 
               hang upon the thorn tree:

     Fell's normally composed face pains as he recites from memory 
     Dante's words of the agonal Pier della Vigna -

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               Come l'altre verrem per nostre 
               spoglie, ma no pero ch'alcuna sen 
               rivesta, che non e giusto aver cio 
               ch'om si toglie.  Qui le 
               strascineremo, e per la mesta selva 
               saranno i nostri corpi appesi, 
               ciascuno al prun de l'ombra sua 

     A single metallic squeak from the back of the room punctuates 
     the last word.

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               Avarice, hanging, self-destruction, 
               with avarice counting as self-
               destruction as much as hanging.  And 
               what does the anonymous Florentine 
               suicide say in his torment at the 
               end of the canto?
               Io fei gibetto a me de le mie case.  
               I - I make my own house be my gallows.
               Thank you for your kind attention.

     Now there are, gratefully, a lot of chair squeaks as the 
     scholars stand to applaud Fell and come around him to shake 
     his hand.  Pazzi has to step aside to keep from being knocked 
     over by Sogliato leaving.

     The lights stay dimmed.  Pazzi makes his way to Fell and 
     waits, as an autograph-seeker waits, for the last of the 
     fans to shake the doctor's hand and step away.


                                                            p. 80

               I'm not a scholar, but I think you've 
               got the job.  Can I buy you a 
               celebratory drink?

               How kind of you.  Yes, I'd like that.  
               I'll just be a minute gathering my 

     As Fell takes his tomes from the lectern and carries them 
     back to the projector table, Pazzi switches the power back 
     on his cell phone.  Nothing happens.  He realizes he has 
     pressed the ring/vibrate, not the power button, powers it up 
     now and makes a call.

               Allegra, cara, I'll be home just a 
               little later than I said.  I'm taking 
               Dr. Fell out for a drink.

     INTERCUT Carlo, outside, watching the entry of the Palazzo.

               I can see the people coming out now.

     Back in the Salon, Pazzi hangs up.  Fell gathers his slides.

               Oh, I should've shown them this one.  
               I can't imagine how I missed it.  
               This one will interest you.

     He drops the slide in front of the projector bulb and the 
     image appears on the drop cloth:  a drawing of a man hanging 
     naked beneath the battlements of this palace, the Palazzo 
     Vecchio, from the exact same angle we saw on the security 

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               Can you make it out all right?

     It's a little blurry but Fell works with the remote and the 
     illustration passes back and forth across the plane of focus.

     Keeping the remote in one hand, he takes a rag from his 
     satchel with the other, and approaches Pazzi, his silhouette 
     against on the drop cloth looming large as he comes.

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               There's a name down here, can you 
               see it?


                                                            p. 81

     Pazzi comes close to look.  The projector's focusing motor 
     purrs as Fell works it with the remote.  The lettering 
     sharpens:  Francesco Pazzi.  Cheerfully -

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               It's your ancestor, Commendatore.  
               Hanging beneath these very windows.  
               On a related subject, I must confess 
               to you I'm giving serious thought to 
               eating your wife.

     He pulls at the heavy drop cloth.  It comes down, enveloping 
     Pazzi.  Fell seizes him around the chest and presses the 
     ether-soaked rag over the canvas where Pazzi's face must be - 
     the image of his hanging ancestor splashed across the wall 
     under the scaffolding.

80   EXT. PALAZZO VECCHIO - NIGHT                                  80   

     At the back of the van, its doors open, Carlo unzips a black 
     vinyl guitar gig-bag.  Inside is his beanbag stun rifle.  He 
     sets it next to the case and leans past the side of the door 
     to check on his brother, Matteo, stationed across the piazza 
     at the far end of the palazzo.

     From Matteo's position - if he were looking - he could see 
     that his brother Carlo would like him to pay attention.

     Matteo is paying attention, only it's to a young couple in a 
     car parked in the shadows across the street, necking.

     A rock hits Matteo's pant leg and he finally looks up to his 
     brother by the van, who is saying with the arm that threw 
     the rock, What's the matter with you?

     Neither one of them pays any attention to the worker sitting 
     on the ledge of the fountain - the custodian from the Palazzo 
     Vecchio - who glances up from time to time from the tip of 
     his burning cigarette to the young lovers in the car.

81   INT. SALON OF LILIES - NIGHT                                  81   

     Pazzi's gun, his plastic handcuffs strips and his wallet sit 
     next to Fell's work permit and permesso di soggiorno on the 

     Fell himself is standing next to it, working the plug-end of 
     the long orange floor polisher cord into a hangman's noose 
     with the traditional thirteen wraps.  Finishing, he crosses 
     the room with it, the tail of the orange snake uncurling and 
     slithering after him.


                                                            p. 82

               If you tell me what I need to know, 
               Commendatore, it would be convenient 
               for me to leave without my meal.  
               I'll ask you questions and then we'll 

     Pazzi is cinched to the hand truck with the same canvas straps 
     used to secure the lecturn on its journey up to the salon.  
     With his mouth taped, it's difficult for him to express his 

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               Was it Mason Verger you sold me to?
               Blink twice for yes.  Yes.  Thank 
               you.  Are his men waiting outside?  
               Umm hmmm.  And one of them smells 
               like tainted boar sausage?  Was that 
               a single blink?  Oh, now you're 
               confused.  Try not to be confused or 
               I may have to fillet Signora Pazzi 
               after all.  Have you told anyone in 
               the Questura about me?  No, I thought 
               not.  Have you told A-lle-gra?  No.  
               You're sure?  I believe you.

     Fell comes around behind Pazzi to the back of the hand truck, 
     hooks the cord-noose around one of its handles and gently 
     tips it back.

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               Here we go.  Hold on.

     Pazzi struggles against the straps.  He struggles to speak, 
     to beg, but all that comes past the tape over his mouth is a 
     purr.  Fell wheels him close to a balcony, fully uprights 
     the hand truck again, takes the noose from the handle, drapes 
     it delicately around Pazzi's neck and tightens the slack.

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               Your heart is palpitating.  I can 
               see it.

     Pazzi's heart is beating so hard the fabric of his jacket is 

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               No.  That's not your heart.

     Fell slips a hand under the taut lapel as if to extract 
     Pazzi's heart.  Instead he finds in there the cell phone.  
     It vibrates silently in Fell's hand.


                                                            p. 83

                           FELL (CONT'D)
               Who could that be?  Should I answer 

     Why not.  Fell flips it open.

                           FELL (CONT'D)

                           STARLING'S VOICE
               I've gone above you, Inspector.  
               I've spoken to your section chief.  
               Someday you'll thank me - or you 
               won't - I don't care - you'll be 
               Inspector Pazzi?

               I'm afraid I have bad news, Clarice.

82   INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - SAME TIME                         82   

     Dead silence except for a low rumble from the boiler room.  
     Starling at her desk, like a statue clutching a phone.  
     Finally -

               Is he dead?

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               You got my note.  I hope you liked 
               the hand cream.  I had it made 
               especially for you.

               Is he dead, Dr. Lecter?

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Clarice, there's nothing I'd love 
               more in the world than to chat with 
               you.  Unfortunately, you've caught 
               me at an awkward moment.  Forgive 

83   INT. SALON OF LILIES - CONTINUED                              83   

     Lecter closes up the phone.  Switches off the power.  Returns 
     it to Pazzi's breast pocket.

               An old friend.


                                                            p. 84

     He glances off with the faintest hint of wistfulness.  The 
     wall behind the scaffolding is still displaying the slide of 
     the hanging Francesco Pazzi.  Fell looks back to his great-

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               What do you think?  Bowels in?  Or 
               out, like Cousin Francesco?

     Pazzi's eyes blink and blink and blink and blink in terror.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               Oh, now you are confused.  I'll decide 
               for you, if you'll permit me.

     Flash of a knife as it comes up Pazzi's front.  Another swipe 
     as it severs his attachment to the dolly.  One push and the 
     railing catches Pazzi at the waist.  He goes over it, the 
     orange cord trailing, the ground coming up in a rush, the 
     floor polisher yanked down and sliding across the floor, 
     gathering up the drop cloth and slamming against the railing.

     Pazzi's neck snaps and his bowels, and phone, spill out.

84   EXT. PALAZZO VECCHIO - NIGHT                                  84   

     The lovers in the car break their embrace at the sound of 
     the phone clattering to the ground, and stare up into the 
     face of the palazzo custodian - Il Mostro - standing just 
     outside the windshield with a big knife in his hand.  He 

     Carlo is running too, from the the van toward the palazzo, 
     yelling to his brother -

               Cover the back.  If he comes out 
               just kill him, cut him.

     Matteo hurries around back.  Carlo jumps the steps three at 
     a time to the front doors as the security guard comes out to 
     see the thing in color that he couldn't quite make out in 
     black and white on his monitor.

85   INT. SALON OF LILIES - NIGHT                                  85   

     The great doors of the salon stand ajar.  Carlo swings his 
     gun around them onto the projected illustration of the hanging 
     figure on the wall.

86   EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT                                            86   

     Matteo, knife out, stands before the back door of the palazzo.  
     Breathing hard, he reaches slowly for the handle, careful to


                                                            p. 85

     position himself in a way that will allow the door to act as 
     his shield if it opens.  He grasps the handle and pulls.  
     It's locked.  As the hand is letting go and coming away, the 
     door suddenly swings open hard into his face -

87   INT. SALON OF LILIES - NIGHT                                  87   

     Carlo hears the cry coming from the rear of the building.

     He runs from the salon and down the back stairs, stumbling 
     down them, catching himself, reaching the back door that's 
     standing open.

88   EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT                                            88   

     He emerges from the doorway, leading with his gun, sees his 
     brother on the ground, covered in blood, hurries to him and 
     kneels.  Matteo's dead.

89   EXT. PIAZZA VECCHIO - NIGHT                                   89   

     A crowd is gathering, peering up at the spectacle that is 
     Rinaldo Pazzi swaying slowly back and forth against the stone 
     walls, lit up as if in a stadium under the floodlights.

     A motorcycle comes toward the square on a narrow side street.

     A figure steps out into the glare of its headlight.  The 
     cyclist slows to a stop.

               Young man, if I'm not at the Piazza 
               Bellosquardo in ten minutes, my wife 
               will kill me.

     Lecter's gloved hand offers a 50,000-lira note.

               That's all you want?  A ride?

               That's all.

     He hands the cyclist the bill and climbs on back, careful 
     not to touch the young man with his hands, lest he get the 
     wrong idea.  The Moto-Guzzi turns around and speeds off the 
     way it came, away from the piazza.


     And out of the black materializes -

     A BLACK AND WHITE image of Pazzi, small and stark in the 
     floodlights, swinging against the wall of the Palazzo Vecchio.


                                                            p. 86

90   INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - DAY                               90   

     The event, captured on tape by the security camera across 
     the piazza, copied and sent by the Questura at her request, 
     plays on Starling's VCR setup.  As she watches it -

91   INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - DAY                                   91   

     A copy of a copy of the tape - at the same point in the action - 
     plays for Verger.  Noticing something - some movement in an 
     upper corner of the frame - he reverse-searches the tape 
     with his remote to look at it again.

     The movement belongs to a silhouette of a figure appearing 
     briefly on the balcony above the hanged Pazzi.  An arm of 
     the figure rises up and the hand waves - not down to Pazzi - 
     but across to the viewer.  Verger freezes the image and 
     studies it for a long moment in silence.  Eventually -

               Cordell?  To you:  Does that look 
               like a wave goodbye? ... Or hello?

92   INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - CONTINUED                         92   

     Starling's copy of the tape frozen on the same frame.  She, 
     too, reverse-searches it and plays the wave again, no doubt 
     wondering the same thing Verger is.  Her phone rings.


                           CRAWFORD'S VOICE
               Don't tell anyone but I'm sitting 
               here watching an mpeg off the VICAP 
               of a man swinging from a rope against 
               a building in Florence.

               It's an electrical cord, Mr. Crawford, 
               and you know you shouldn't be doing 

93   INT. CRAWFORD'S OFFICE - MIAMI - SAME TIME                    93   

     The same image glows on Crawford's computer screen.

               Ummm, I can't see it that clearly 
               but I can see his intestines hanging 
               out.  And the figure on the balcony 


                                                            p. 87

94   INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - CONTINUED                         94   

     She unpauses her better quaility tape and the wave plays 

               If I was concerned -

                           CRAWFORD'S VOICE
               You should be concerned.  Where do 
               you think he'll go, now that you've 
               disturbed his comfortable life?

               Not here.  Somewhere else he can 
               live without denying himself the 
               things he likes.

                           CRAWFORD'S VOICE
               What does he like?

               You know.  Good food, good wine, 
               music, books -

                           CRAWFORD'S VOICE
               He likes you, Starling.  Seven years 
               gone, not a trace, and he writes to 
               you.  You know what that means.


                           CRAWFORD'S VOICE
               The stalker who says he likes you is 
               far more dangerous than the one who 
               says he wants to kill you.

95   EXT. VERGER'S FARM - DAY                                      95   

     The holes in the side of the livestock truck aren't big enough 
     to see what's inside.  The guard at the main entrance, 
     clipboard in hand, jumps back when something bangs up against 
     the metal wall of the trailer.  To the driver -

               You have to turn around - or back 
               down - go half a mile up the frontage 
               road to a gate - then up the service 

     As the truck begins to turn around, the guard waves Cordell's 
     car through.  Barney is in the passenger seat.


                                                            p. 88

96   INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - DAY                                   96   

     A man with glasses and a dry comb-over sits staring into the 
     glare of Verger's bed-lights.

                           DR. DOEMLING
               I don't understand what you think he 
               can offer.

               A second opinion, doctor.  I know 
               that's anathema to those in your 
               profession, but it's not in mine.

     Cordell leads Barney into the darkened chamber.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               Speak of the devil.  Welcome, Barney.  
               I'm Mason.  This is Dr. Doemling, 
               who is head of the Baylor University 
               Psychology Department.  He holds the 
               Verger Chair.

               How do you do?

     Barney sets down a pink dessert box tied with string and 
     offers his hand to the doctor, receiving back for his trouble 
     a limp shake.  Peering into the lights he can see beyond 
     them only the vague shape of the figure in the hospital bed.

               I see you've brought dessert.  That's 
               very kind.  Cookies?  I might be 
               able to get a cookie down somehow.  
               So Barney - is Barney your real name 
               by the way?


               First of all, Barney, thank you for 
               the wealth of wonderful items you've 
               provided me from your personal Lecter 
               treasure trove.  I've enjoyed them 

               Thank you for outbidding everyone.  
               Is Mason your real name?


                                                            p. 89

               Oh, yes.  Please sit.  Yes, beside 
               Dr. Doemling is fine.  That's his 
               real name, too.  There.  Good.  Now -

                           DR. DOEMLING
               Barney, if I could ask, what exactly 
               is your professional training?

               I have an LPN.

                           DR. DOEMLING
               You're a licensed practical nurse.


                           DR. DOEMLING
               Good for you.

               Okay, everybody has everybody's real 
               names and credentials now.  Except 
               mine.  Mine are, well, I'm just very 
               wealthy, aren't I?  Okay.  Let's 

                           DR. DOEMLING
               Barney, while you were working at 
               the state hospital - I assume not as 
               licensed practical nurse -

               - as an orderly -

                           DR. DOEMLING
               - as an orderly - you observed Clarice 
               Starling and Hannibal Lecter 


                           DR. DOEMLING
               Talking to one another.

               Yes.  Yes, it seemed to me they -

                           DR. DOEMLING
               I can see you're eager to justify 
               your consulting fee, but why don't


                                                            p. 90

                           DR. DOEMLING (CONT'D)
               we start with what you saw, not what 
               you thought about what you saw.

               Barney's smart enough to give us his 
               opinion.  Barney, give us your opinion 
               of what you saw.  What was it between 

               Most of the time Dr. Lecter didn't 
               respond at all to visitors, he would 
               just, for instance, open his eyes 
               long enough to insult some academic 
               who was there to look him over.
                    (he looks Doemling 
               With Starling, though, he answered 
               her questions.  She interested him.  
               She intrigued him.  He thought she 
               was charming and amusing.


                           DR. DOEMLING
               You can judge what Hannibal Lecter 
               found amusing?  Just how do you go 
               about that, Nurse Barney?

               By listening to him laugh, Dr. 

                           DR. DOEMLING

               Sometimes Dr. Lecter and I would 
               talk when things got quiet enough.  
               About the science courses I was taking 
               and -

                           DR. DOEMLING
               Some kind of mail-order courses in 

               No, sir.  I don't consider psychology 
               a science, and neither did Dr. Lecter.

     A small laugh from behind the lights.


                                                            p. 91

               And about her?  You talked about 

               I can just repeat what he told me 
               about her.

               That's why you're here.

               He said things like how she was 
               charming the way a cub is charming a 
               small cub that will grow up to be a 
               big cat - one that you can't play 
               with later.

     She had a cub-like earnestness, he said.

               Does she still in your opinion?  
               Have you seen her lately?

               Yes, I have, and no, I don't think 
               she does.  That quality in her, I 
               think, is gone.

               So Clarice Starling and Hannibal 
               Lecter became ... friendly.

               Inside a kind of formal structure, 

               And he was fond of her.


               Thank you, Barney.  Thank you very 
               much for your candor.  And keep all 
               those wonderful products coming.  
               Cordell, see that Barney receives a 
               real nice tip.

                           DR. DOEMLING
               Goodbye, Nurse Barney.


                                                            p. 92

                    (picking up the pink 
               Mr. Verger -

               The cookies.  Yes, let's have one.

               It's not cookies.

     He opens the box.  It's the Lecter mask.  Verger stares long 
     at it in reverential silence.  Finally -

               How much?

               Two hundred and fifty.  Thousand.

               Cut Barney a check, Cordell.  Now.

     Barney sets the mask on the bed and leaves.  Verger hooks a 
     talon-like finger over the wire and holds on.  Eventually he 
     comes out of his reverie -

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               So what do you think, doctor?  Does 
               Lecter want to fuck her or kill her 
               or eat her or what?

                           DR. DOEMLING
               Probably all three, though I wouldn't 
               want to predict in what order.


                           DR. DOEMLING
               No matter how Barney might want to 
               romanticize it and try to make it 
               Beauty and the Beast, Lecter's object -
               as you know from personal experience - 
               is always degradation and suffering.  
               He comes in the guise of a mentor - 
               as he did to you - and her - but 
               it's distress that excites him.  To 
               draw him - if that's the goal - she 
               needs to be distressed.  If you want 
               to make her attractive to him, let 
               him see her distressed.  Let the 
               damage he sees suggest the damage he 
               could do.


                                                            p. 93

               When the fox hears a rabbit scream, 
               he comes running ... but not to help.

97   EXT. VIRGINIA STATE PARK - DAY                                97   

     A rabbit on a path, staring, listening, hears the footsteps 
     before we do and bounds away back into the woods.  Starling 
     appears a moment later, running on the same dirt path through 
     the trees, two or three miles into her five-mile run, working 
     up a sweat.

     She hears footsteps before we do, too, and, like a rabbit, 
     bounds off the path.  Stopping just off it, she bends to 
     catch her breath, then picks up a dead branch.

     The footsteps and the panting close in.  She lets the first 
     running man go past, but grabs the second one, throws him to 
     the ground, straddles him and pushes the branch against his 
     throat.  At once calm but firm -

               Don't say a word.

     She needn't warn him; the young man seems too terrified to 
     speak.  Starling reaches behind his track suit, pulls out 
     his .38, and keeping the branch tight against his neck, lets 
     the other runner, who's running back now, know that she has 
     his friend's gun.  To him, again very calmly, as he nears -

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Stop.  Catch your breath.  Take your 
               gun out very slowly with your left 
               hand, set it on the ground and take 
               five steps away from it.

     The second young man does exactly as he's told.  Then -

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               All right.  Who are you?

                           2ND RUNNER
               We work for Jack Crawford.  We're 
               supposed to keep an eye on you.  To 
               keep you safe from - you know - 
               Hannibal the Cannibal.

               Show me.

     He knows what that means, and shows her identification from 
     Crawford's private security firm.


                                                            p. 94

     She gets up off the other one then, tosses the branch away 
     and walks over to the gun resting on the fallen leaves.  She 
     picks it up.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Okay, here it is:  I don't need you 
               looking after me.  I'm not in any 
               danger. If you talk to him before I 
               do tell him that.

                           2ND RUNNER
               Yes, ma'am.

     She returns the guns to each of them, first giving the one 
     on the ground a hand up.

               Sorry if I hurt you.

     She leaves them, continues on her run.  As the one she threw 
     to the ground dusts himself off, the perspective changes to - 
     VIEW THROUGH BINOCULARS - of the two private security men 
     off in the distance. 

     They blur then as the binoculars are shifted.  Trees, too, 
     blur across the lenses.  The view overtakes Starling, returns 
     and follows her, focusing as she runs through the trees, 
     staying on her until she disappears down a sloping path.

     Lecter lowers the small, expensive field glasses.  Returns 
     them to their case slung over his shoulder.  Crosses the 
     dirt parking area to her mustang.  Peers inside and sees no 
     blinking red light on the dash.

     He takes out a slim jim.  Slips it down and across the 
     driver's side jamb, tripping the lock.  He opens the door 
     and sits in the bucket seat a long moment before delicately 
     touching the ten and two o'clock points on the leather-clad 
     steering wheel where her hands rest most often.  He leans 
     closer to smell her on the leather.  Then licks it.

98   INT. KRENDLER'S DC TOWNHOUSE - NIGHT                          98   

     Krendler, just back from a jog himself, sweaty T-shirt and 
     headband, sits with Cordell and reads a postcard from London 
     sheathed in plastic, written in Lecter's distinctive 
     copperplate.  Finishing, he looks up at a speaker phone -

               I'm not sure I understand.

                           MASON'S VOICE
               You don't have to understand, Paul.


                                                            p. 95

                           MASON'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               All you have to understand is what 
               it's worth to you.

               No, I don't understand why she didn't 
               turn this over; she's such a - 
               straight arrow.

99   INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - SAME TIME                             99   

     Looking at his speakerphone, Verger sighs.  Maybe he's making 
     a terrible mistake.  Maybe Krendler is just too stupid to be 
     of any real use to him.  As if to a child -

               She didn't turn it over because she 
               didn't receive it.  She didn't receive 
               it because it was never delivered to 
               her.  It was delivered to me for a 
               nice gratuity to a not-so-nice mail 
               room boy.

                           KRENDLER'S VOICE
               Oh.  Ohhh.

     The realization, and Krendler's look of admiration that 
     follows it, only make Verger worry more about his stupidity.

               So what do you think?

                           KRENDLER'S VOICE
               I think you'd have been better off 
               if you hadn't gotten her out of 
               trouble in the first place.

               Woulda, shoulda, coulda - I meant, 
               what do you think of the money?

100   INT. KRENDLER'S TOWNHOUSE - CONTINUED                       100   


                           MASON'S VOICE
               Well, let's just toss it off like, 
               "five."  Let's say it with the respect 
               it deserves.

               Five hundred thousand dollars.


                                                            p. 96

                           MASON'S VOICE
               That's better, but not much, but 
               don't say it again.  Will it work?

     Krendler considers the forged postcard again.  Eventually -

               It won't be pretty.

                           MASON'S VOICE
               What ever is?

101   INT. ASSISTANT DIRECTOR NOONAN'S OFFICE - DAY               101   

     Starling sits next to her boss, Pearsall, and across from 
     his boss, Noonan.  Krendler, too, is there, and a federal 
     marshal standing in a corner of the quiet room.

               Would you identify yourself, please, 
               for the record.

               Special Agent Clarice Starling.  Is 
               there a record, Director Noonan?  
               I'd like there to be since I have no 
               idea what this is about.  Do you 
               mind if I run a tape?

     She takes a little Nagra from her purse, sets it on the desk 
     and turns it on.

               Tell her the charges.

               Withholding evidence and obstruction 
               of justice.

     The marshal sets the postcard with the familiar-looking 
     copperplate in front of Starling.  Her eyes move quickly 
     back and forth across the lines of words.  She doesn't touch 

               Like to comment?  On tape?

               Yes, I would.  I've never seen this 
               before in my life.

               How do you account for it being found 
               in your - office - your - basement?


                                                            p. 97

               Found by who?

               By me.

               I don't think you want me to answer 
               that, Mr. Krendler.  Let me ask you 
               this:  What possible reason might I 
               have to withhold it?

               Perhaps because of the nature of its 
               content.  It reads like a - like a 
               love letter to me.

     As Krendler comes over and hovers over her shoulder, it's 
     all she can do to keep herself from slugging him.

               Has it been tested for prints?

               No prints on it.  None on the last 

               Handwriting (analysis) - ?

                    (before Noonan can 
               Did you ever think, Clarice, why the 
               Philistines don't understand you?  
               It's because you're the answer to 
               Samson's riddle:  You are the honey 
               in the lion.  Sounds like him to me.

               Do you mean, Mr. Krendler, like a 

               Like a nut with a crush.

     Noonan, not a bad guy, chooses his next words carefully -

               Clarice, I'm placing you on 
               administrative leave until Document 
               Analysis tells me, unequivocally, a 
               mistake's been made.


                                                            p. 98

                           NOONAN (CONT'D)
               In the meantime you'll remain eligible 
               for insurance and medical benefits.  
               Please surrender your weapons and 
               identification to Agent Pearsall.

     Looking steadily at Krendler, Starling takes out her .45, 
     drops the clip into her hand, shucks the round out of the 
     pistol's chamber and sets it all down on the desk.  As she 
     places her ID next to it, Pearsall asks her sadly -

               Backup sidearm?

               Locked in my car.

               Other tactical equipment?

               Helmet and vest.

                    (to the marshal)
               You'll retrieve those when you escort 
               Miss Starling from the building.

     The marshal comes toward her.

               I want to say something.  I think 
               I'm entitled.

               Go ahead.

               I think Mr. Mason Verger is trying 
               to capture Dr. Lecter himself for 
               the purpose of personal revenge.  I 
               think Mr. Krendler is in collusion 
               with him and wants the FBI'S effort 
               against Dr. Lecter to work for Mr. 
               Verger.  I think Mr. Krendler is 
               being paid to do this.

               It's a good thing you're not sworn 
               here today.

               Swear me!  You swear, too!


                                                            p. 99

               Starling.  If the evidence is lacking, 
               you'll be entitled to full 
               reinstatement without prejudice - if 
               you don't do - or say - something in 
               the meantime that would make that 

     Starling just keeps staring at Krendler as she gathers her 
     Nagra and purse.  Finally, she glances over to her boss and 
     friend, Pearsall, who mouths -

               Sorry, Starling.

     She lets the marshal lead her from the room.

102   INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - DAY                                 102   

     Lecter, clutching a shopping bag, stands in the electronics 
     department before a wall of television sets all tuned to the 
     same channel, local news, a talking head with an inset of a 
     photograph of Starling.

                           TALKING HEAD
               - relieved of field duty pending an 
               internal investigation into the 
               charges.  Starling, a 7-year veteran 
               on the Bureau began her career with 
               an assignment to interview lethal 
               madman, Hannibal Lecter -

               - Doctor -

                           SALES CLERK
               May I help you, sir?

     Lecter glances to the young sales clerk, a teenager with a 
     name tag.

               I was looking for some good steak 
               knives, Toby, but I'm afraid I got 

                           SALES CLERK
               Kitchenware, right over there.

               Thank you.


                                                           p. 100

     The clerk walks away.  Lecter glances back to the TVs to see 
     that a black and white inset photograph of himself has been 
     added to the one of Starling.

                           TALKING HEAD
               - receiving information from him 
               which led to killer Jame Gumb and 
               the release of his hostage Catherine 
               Martin, daughter of the former U.S. 
               Senator from Tennessee.

     Lecter glances over to "Toby," who is busy pointing out to a 
     customer the features of various VCRs, his back to the 
     screens.  Footage of Krendler appears on them -

                           KRENDLER ON TV
               FBI and the Justice Department are 
               looking carefully into the charges, 
               and yes, they are serious.  But I 
               want to say this:  Starling's one of 
               the best agents we have and having 
               known her for a number of years now, 
               I would be very surprised if the 
               accusations turn out to be true.  
               It's much too soon to condemn her.

     Lecter smiles at Krendler's image.  He always smiles upon 
     finding himself in the presence of bad liars.

103   INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - NIGHT                               103   

     Silent.  Still.  Then the lock turning in the front door.

     It opens.  Starling, looking weary, carries in a cardboard 
     box, her things from her desk at "the office," no bigger 
     than Brigham's was.  As she passes us -

     Later.  Laundry room.  Absently dropping clothes in a washing 
     machine filling with water, she then slides down to the floor 
     in despair, her back against the warm enamel - 

     Later.  Living room.  Pouring herself a neat Jack Daniels to 
     the accompaniment of the first message on her answering 
     machine, the voice sounding almost as tired as her -

                           CRAWFORD'S VOICE
               Hey.  It's Jack.  How you doing?  
               I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks.  
               I feel it's my fault.  I got you 
               into all this.  Call me.  Make me 
               feel better.

     She carries the drink to the sofa, lies down, hasn't bothered 
     to turn off any lights.  Drinks as the second message plays -


                                                           p. 101

                           BARNEY'S VOICE
               It's Barney.  Remember me?  I got 
               your number from, uh - I mean I know 
               it's unlisted, but, I, ummm, I'm 
               pretty good on the computer ... - 
               save a few bucks on my phone bill, 
               don't arrest me -
                    (she smiles; closes 
                    her eyes)
               I'm sorry, uh - about what happened 
               to you.  I feel bad.  For you.  I 
               was, umm, wondering if you might 
               want to call me if you get the chance - 
                    (in a firmer tone:)
               I think she's nice.  She's always 
               been nice to me.  Polite.  Don't you 

     Tight on Starling's cassette deck - the spindles turning the 
     tape inside.  Stack of other tapes she got from Barney lying 
     next to it.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Do you know what a roller pigeon is, 

     Starling is asleep on the sofa now.  Still in her clothes.

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               They climb high and fast, then roll 
               over and fall just as fast toward 
               the earth.  There are shallow rollers 
               and deep rollers.  You can't breed 
               two deep rollers, or their young 
               will roll all the way down, hit, and 
               die.  Officer Starling is a deep 
               roller, Barney.  We should hope one 
               of her parents was not.

     The tape reaches its leader an stops.  The green power light 
     stays on.  Then it goes off, then comes back on again: an 
     electrical interruption that is quickly reestablished.

104   INT. BASEMENT - STARLING'S HOUSE - SAME TIME                104   

     A basement window slightly open.  A piece of insulated wire 
     clipped to the alarm contacts.  A shadow of a figure floating 
     away from it.

     The figure moves toward the stairs, passing a rusty bicycle 
     hanging on the wall and some shooting trophies gathering 
     dust on a shelf, and begins up the stairs.


                                                           p. 102

105   INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - MOMENTS LATER                       105   

     The microwave oven's glowing reset numbers "88:88" are 
     obscured a moment as the figure soundlessly passes.  Ice 
     tumbles from the refrigerator's ice-maker into the bin.

     In the living room, Starling is still asleep, her empty glass 
     resting on a wood coffee table.

     A digital desk clock blinks "00:00."  Tiny sounds echo in 
     the dark house - the hum of the furnace, the whistle of a 
     pant leg touching fabric on a chair, slick pages being turned 
     ...  a sigh.

106   EXT. STARLING'S HOUSE - DAWN                                106   

     The basement window, closed now, reflecting the glow of 
     sunrise.  Power lines against the red sky.  A pigeon sitting 
     on the wire, calling out once.

107   INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - DAWN                                107   

     Starling wakes in the same position she fell asleep.  In 
     front of her is her empty glass.  Set down not on top of the 
     wood as she left it, but on a thick magazine.

     She knows that's not right.  Sits up enough to see the cover 
     of the magazine.  Italian Vogue.  Edge of a Post-It peeking 
     out from the pages.  She uses the Post-It to turn to the 
     marked page.  A glossy Prada advertisement for expensive - 
     unsensible - shoes.

     He's been in her house.  Right here as she slept.  She's up 
     fast, rushing to her bedroom.  The the closet.  Pulling down 
     from the top shelf the box containing Brigham's guns and ID.

     She slams a clip into the .45.  As she's loading the little 
     .38, the phone rings, startling her.  She stares at it on 
     the night stand next to the alarm clock:  10:30 A.M.  It 
     rings again.  She slowly crosses toward it.  Another ring.  
     She lifts the receiver.  Says nothing.  Hears nothing.  Until -

                           RECORDED VOICE
               If you're not receiving frequent 
               flyer miles on your credit card, 
               you're missing out on -

     She hangs up.  Returns to loading the gun.  The cell phone 
     on her hip rings, and a bullet falls to the floor.  She pulls 
     the phone from its holster.  Answers it, again, by saying 
     nothing.  Only listens.  Hears a little static.  Connection 
     to another cell phone probably.  Then -


                                                           p. 103

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               The power on that battery is low, 
               Clarice.  I would've changed it, but 
               I didn't want to wake you.  You're 
               going to have to use the other one.  
               In the charger.  Hopefully the light 
               on it is green by now.

     The charger is right in front of her on the dresser.  And 
     the light on it is green - fully charged.

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               - because this is going to be a long 
               call and I can't let you off because - 
               even though you've been stripped of 
               your duties, I know you won't abandon 
               them, you'll try to put on a trace.  
               So we'll disconnect only long enough 
               for you to exchange the battery in 
               the phone for the one in the charger.  
               Shall we say - three seconds?  That 
               should be enough.  You can change 
               the clip on a .45 quicker than that.  
               So when I tell you to, disengage the 
               dying battery.  That'll disconnect 
               us.  I'll speed dial back.  If you've 
               succeeded in your task in the allotted 
               time - wonderful.  If not?  Well 
               maybe some other time.  Are you ready?


                           LECTER'S VOICE

     It looks like changing the clip in a gun - the low battery 
     falling away from the body of the phone into her hand, the 
     charged one slapped in its place in just over two seconds.

     She hits the power button.  The LCD display lights up and 
     beeps.  The phone rings and she flips it open.

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               Very good.

               Thank you.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Get in your car.

     She begins gathering the guns and holsters and ammo.


                                                           p. 104

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               Oh, all right, bring the guns if you 
               want.  But remember, if you get caught 
               with a concealed, unlicensed firearm 
               in the District of Columbia, the 
               penalty is pretty stiff.

108   INT. STARLING'S MUSTANG - MOVING - DAY                      108   

     She's in the far right lane of a highway.  Keeping just under 
     the speed limit.  The cell phone rests atop the open ashtray.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               The reason we're doing it like this, 
               Clarice, is because I'd like to see 
               you as we speak.  With your eyes 
               open.  No, it doesn't excite me.  
               Yes, it pleases me.  You have very 
               shapely feet.  Call it out.

               Exit 14-A.  Three hundred yards - 
               two hundred - one hundred - fifty -

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Take it.

     She veers onto the ramp without a signal.  A van, several 
     lengths back, takes the exit, too.

109   INT. UNION STATION - DAY                                    109   

     Starling enters the huge, echoing interior of the station 
     with a crush of travelers and Christmas shoppers.  She has 
     the phone to her ear, and through it, can hear the sounds 
     not dissimilar to those around her.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               I thought, to begin, you might tell 
               me how you're feeling.

               About what?

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               The masters you serve and how they've 
               treated you.  Your career, such as 
               it is.  Your life, Clarice.

     The place is not just trains, but also a mall of stores, 
     many of them playing Christmas music.  Outside one of them, 
     on the second tier, Lecter, cell phone to his ear, watches 
     Starling trying to sort out the cacophony of sounds down 


                                                           p. 105

                           STARLING'S VOICE
               I thought we might talk about yours.

               Mine?  What is there to say about 
               mine?  I'm happy.  Healthy.  A little 
               nomadic at the moment but that'll 
               soon change.  You, though.  You, I'm 
               worried about.

     Carlo and Piero, without phones, have entered the building 
     and brush past people as they scan its interior, looking for 
     and eventually spotting Starling rising up an escalator.

               I'm fine.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               No, you're not.  You fell in love 
               with the Bureau - with The Institution - 
               only to discover, after giving it 
               everything - that it doesn't love 
               you back.  That it resents you, more 
               than the husband and children you 
               gave up to it ever would.

     Lecter is going down an escalator as Starling approaches 
     where he was just moments ago, outside the Gap Kids store.

               Why is that, do you think?  Why are 
               you so resented?

                           STARLING'S VOICE
               Tell me.

               Tell you?  Isn't it clear?  You serve 
               the idea of order, Clarice - they 
               don't.  You believe in the oath you 
               took - they don't.  You feel it's 
               your duty to protect the sheep - 
               they don't.  They don't like you 
               because they're not like you.  They're 
               weak and unruly and believe in 

     She's lost him.  Peers down over the railing.  Listens to 
     the background sounds in her phone.

               Mason Verger wants to kill you, Dr. 
               Lecter.  Turn yourself in to me and 
               I promise no one will hurt you.


                                                           p. 106

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Will you stay with me in my prison 
               cell?  Hmmm?  I suppose it wouldn't 
               be that much worse than yours.

     She hears a bell clanging.  Sees a Salvation Army "soldier" 
     in the far distance below, his back to her, his arm moving 
     up and down, but can't tell if it synchronizes with the sound 
     in her phone.

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               Mason doesn't want to kill me, 
               Clarice, any more than I wanted to 
               kill him.  He wants me to suffer in 
               some - unimaginable way.  He's rather 
               twisted, you know.  Always has been.  
               Have you had the pleasure?

               I have.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Attractive, isn't he.  But back to 
               you -

     She steps off the down escalator and heads toward the 
     Salvation Army soldier and his little kettle hanging from 
     the tripod, the bell in her phone diminishing proportionally, 
     it seems, as she nears the live one.

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               I want to know what it is you think 
               you will do, now that all you cared 
               about in the world is gone.  Will 
               you work as a chambermaid at a motel 
               on Route 66, like Mom?

               I don't know, Dr. Lec -

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Don't you want to harm those who 
               have forced you to consider it?  I 
               know you never would, but wouldn't 
               you like to?  Wouldn't it feel good?  
               It's all right to admit it.  It's 
               perfectly natural.  To want to taste 
               the enemy.

     She stops moving.  Listens.  Hears Jingle Bells in her phone.

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               Are you thinking?  Or tracking, Ex-
               Special Agent Starling?


                                                           p. 107

     Jingle Bells begins to fade in her phone.  He's moving again.

     She turns.  Carlo and Piero do an abrupt about-face.  But 
     not before Starling sees them.

               They're following me, Dr. Lecter.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               I know.  I see them.  Now you're in 
               a real dilemma, aren't you?  Do you 
               continue to try to find me, knowing 
               that you're leading them to me?  Do 
               you have so much faith in your 
               abilities that you believe you could
               somehow - simultaneously - arrest me -
               and them?  It could get messy, 
               Clarice.  Like Memphis.

     She can hear another voice - both "live" and in the phone -

     "Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas" - and can see above heads in 
     the distance, a department store Santa Claus in a painted 
     plywood sleigh.  She moves toward him.

                           LECTER'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               What if I did it for you?

               Did what?

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Harmed them, Clarice.  The ones who've 
               harmed you.  What if I made them 
               scream apologies?  No, I shouldn't 
               even say it because you'll feel - 
               with your perfect grasp on right and 
               wrong - that you were somehow - 
               accompli - even though you wouldn't 

               Don't - help me.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               No.  Of course not.  Forget I said 

     She's closing in on the sleigh and the barricade of kids and 
     parents around it, her free hand settling on the stock of 
     her .45, Carlo and Piero closing with her several steps back.

                           SANTA CLAUS
               Ho - Ho - Ho.


                                                           p. 108

     Lecter sees her and the Sardinians pushing through the crowd.

               Ho, ho, ho, indeed.  I think I'll be 
               going now.  I have some shopping to 
               do anyway.  Chin up, Clarice.  Merry 

     He disconnects the call.  Starling breaks through the front 
     of the crowd, moving just in front of the sleigh to scan the 
     faces all around her.  Lecter is gone.

110   EXT. D.C. DOWNTOWN - DAY                                    110   

     Traffic crawls past Christofle.

111   INT. CHRISTOFLE - DAY                                       111   

     An armed security guard's glance drifts across Lecter pointing 
     out to a saleswoman the Gien French china he'd like to 

     Later, she rings up several purchases as Lecter looks on, 
     credit card out:  the plates, a set of aperitif glasses and 
     Riedel crystal, linen place mats and napkins, 19th-century 
     silverware with a pleasing heft like good dueling pistols.

112   INT. HAMMACHER SCHLEMMER - DAY                              112   

     Lecter chooses a set of exquisite copper saute pans and a 
     couple of whisks.  Elsewhere, a salesman demonstrates for 
     him the adjustable height of the flame on a portable 35,000 
     BTU stainless stell grill.

113   INT. MEDICAL SUPPLY STORE - DAY                             113   

     And finally, to complete his batterie de cuisine, he pays 
     for a newly-new Stryker autopsy saw.

114   EXT. CHESAPEAKE BAY - EVENING                               114   

     A late-model, but not new, Ford Ranger pickup pulls into the 
     driveway of a small yet charming cottage nestled in the woods.

     Lecter climbs out and gathers his bungy-corded shopping bags 
     from the truck bed, including the one with the distinctive 
     powder blue coloring.

     He leaves the boxed Parker grill in back, at least for the 
     moment, carries the rest of his purchases to the front door, 
     fiddles with the lock to get it open and disappears inside.


                                                           p. 109

115   INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - EVENING                             115   

     Light bleeds along the edges of a scanner.  Images appear on 
     Starling's computer screen:  Brigham's FBI identification 
     next to a photo-booth picture of her.  Using a paint-program, 
     she replaces his photo with hers and prints it out.

116   INT. WINE STORE - ANNAPOLIS - DAY                           116   

     As a wine merchant leans slightly to take a closer look at 
     Starling's new ID, laminated now, she closes its leatherette 
     holder.  Christmas Muzak plays softly from somewhere.

               You're sure it was Chateau d'Y quem.

                           WINE MERCHANT
               Not only was it Chateau d'Y quem, it 
               was Chateau d'Y quem - sixty-seven.  
               The best bottle of wine in the store.

               Can I see the tape?  If his car was 
               parked out front, you may have caught 
               the license plate.

117   EXT. STREET - ANNAPOLIS - SAME TIME                         117   

     The rear license plate of the Ford Ranger.  10-foot Noble 
     Christmas tree in back.  The pickup parked across the street 
     from the shopping center the wine store is part of.

     Behind the windshield, Lecter carefully surveys the people 
     and vehicles in the large parking lot and those appearing 
     and disappearing in his side and rearview mirrors, well aware 
     that one of them could contain the Sardinians.

118   INT. WINE STORE - CONTINUED                                 118   

     Starling has come behind the counter to join the merchant as 
     he fast-forwards through a security tape on a small black 
     and white monitor.

119   EXT. STREET - CONTINUED                                     119   

     Still in his truck, Lecter watches the parking lot across 
     the street.  He watches the trunk lid of a yellow cab spring 
     open and the driver setting his elderly fare's grocery bags 
     into it.  He watches a man struggling to twine a big Douglas 
     fir to the roof of a sub-compact that's too small for it.  
     He watches a rolling, rattling cart without anyone attached 
     to it.


                                                           p. 110

120   INT. WINE STORE - CONTINUED                                 120   

     Starling watches the fuzzy video tape.  Watches the man come 
     in wearing a parka and mittens and a billed cap pulled low 
     enough to hide his face, but can't make out the license plates 
     on the cars parked outside.

121   EXT. STREET / PARKING LOT - SAME TIME                       121   

     Lecter puts the same hat on, unlatches his door, climbs down.  
     He crosses the street to the lot and walks past parked cars, 
     a box in his hand wrapped in Christmas angels paper.

122   INT. WINE STORE - CONTINUED                                 122   

     The video tape shows the wine merchant returning from the 
     back room, wiping dust from a bottle and displaying its label 
     to the man in the billed hat.  Through the window of the 
     store now, if she was looking, she would see the same man 
     approaching her Mustang.

123   EXT. PARKING LOT - CONTINUED                                123   

     A slim jim drops down the sleeve of Lecter's overcoat into 
     his hand.  A barrel of a rifle, somewhere, rises.  The blade 
     of the slim jim slides down between the driver's side jamb 
     and trips the lock.  Something slaps at the air across the 
     lot.  Something silver embeds itself in Lecter's neck.

124   INT/EXT. WINE STORE / PARKING LOT - CONTINUOUS              124   

     Starling glances up at the air-rifle sound.  Glimpses a figure 
     outside collapsing against the open door of her car.

     Squealing tires.  A van racing across the lot sends a cart 
     crashing into the door panel of an Audi.

     The Christmas gift falls to the pavement.

     Starling pulls out Brigham's .45 and the wine merchant 
     retreats quickly to the back room.  She runs from the store 
     and kneels to aim at the van just as a Lincoln Towncar pulls 
     up right in front of her, blocking her view.

     The van's back doors fling open and two men leap down, 
     grabbing Lecter.

     Starling back on her feet, aims over the hood of the Lincoln.

               Hold it!  FBI!  On the ground!

     The handicapped parking placard and two old panicked faces 
     in the windshield of the Lincoln.


                                                           p. 111

     The screech of its tires as it almost runs Starling over as 
     she comes around it.

     The back doors of the van yanked shut from inside.

     Starling running toward the van, then kneeling again to aim 
     as it takes off -

     An oblivious couple sharing the weight of a Christmas tree 
     twenty yards ahead, blocking the clear shot she almost had.

     The van sliding into the street and accelerating.

     Starling running to her car and writing down the license 
     plate number in the dirt on its hood.

     Then seeing beside her slashed front tire, the trampled 
     Christmas package.  The box torn open.  The Prada shoes.

125   INT. FBI DC FIELD OFFICE - AN HOUR LATER - DAY              125   

     Halos around the mundane contents of a purse as it passes 
     through an x-ray machine; the visitor it belongs to stepping 
     through the metal detector.  Shouldering the purse she crosses 
     the lobby to the elevators, passing Pearsall coming the other 
     way.  He strides to where Starling waits - on the street 
     side of the security station - unable, in her current lowly 
     status, to get any deeper into the building.

               I know the first thing a hysteric 
               says is, "I'm not a hysteric," but 
               I'm not a hysteric.  I'm calm.

               I'll ask you one time.  Think before 
               you answer.  Think about every good 
               thing you ever did here.  Think about 
               what you swore.  What did you see?

               Two men in a van.  A third driving.
               Another man shot and put into the 
               back.  I've given you the license 
               plate and I'm reporting it all again 
               to you, Clint Pearsall, at SAC 
               Buzzard's Point.

     He glances at the purse hanging from her shoulder.  No doubt 
     her Nagra is in it and taping.  Finally -

               All right.


                                                           p. 112

                           PEARSALL (CONT'D)
               I'll go with it as a kidnapping.  
               I'll send someone out there with the 
               local authorities - if he'll let us 
               on the property without a warrant -

               I'm going, too.  You could deputize -

               You're not going.  Unless you want 
               to be arrested.  You're going home 
               where you'll wait for me to call and 
               tell you what, if anything, we found.

     He turns and strides away.

126   EXT. VERGER'S ESTATE - NIGHT                                126   

     Cordell standing amidst several idling marked and unmarked 
     police cars as the officers climb in and shut the doors.

               Please thank Mr. Verger for letting 
               us look around.  Sorry if we 
               inconvenienced him.

               Not at all.  He's always happy to 
               see you.  He also wanted me to wish 
               you and your families a Merry 
               Christmas for him, and to assure you 
               this'll not effect, in any way, his 
               annual contribution to the Police 
               Benevolence Fund.

     One of the plain clothes men speaks into a cell phone -

                           FBI AGENT
               Nothing here, Clint ... We're sure.

127   INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - SAME TIME                           127   

     The flashing lights of the patrol cars flare across the black 
     and white security monitors as the police drive away.

     Verger, watching from his bed, presses a button on a remote 
     that dials a number.

128   INT. VAN - NIGHT                                            128   

     The ringing of a cell phone cuts through the voices and static 
     of a police scanner.  Carlo answers it.


                                                           p. 113

                           MASON'S VOICE
               How is he?

     Lecter lies unconscious, handcuffed and bound on the floor 
     of the van.  One of Piero's hands - perilously close to the 
     doctor's mouth - feels for the pulse on his neck.  The other 
     holds a milk shake.


                           MASON'S VOICE
               Bring him home.

129   EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT                                    129   

     The van's headlights blink on as it pulls out of the fast 
     food restaurant.

130   INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - NIGHT                               130   

     The phone rings here in the darkened house.  The machine 
     answers it.

                           PEARSALL'S VOICE
               Pick up, Starling... There was nothing 
               out there... I'm going to say it 
               again in case you didn't hear me 
               clearly before: You are not a law 
               officer while on suspension.  You're 
               Joe Blow.  For your sake I hope you're 
               just in the bathroom.


     The police cars, their flashing lights dark now, pass 
     Starling's Mustang, headlights off, parked on a turn-out.

132   INT. VERGER'S MANSION - NIGHT                               132   

     Cordell's shoes move along the same Moroccan runner as in 
     the first scene; only now there are others, work boots, three 
     sets, moving along with them, and the wheels of a hand truck.

     They all cross onto the polished linoleum floor.

133   INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - NIGHT                               133   

     The hand truck stops.  Strapped to it is a singletree, a 
     thick oak crosspiece from a horse cart harness, and tied to 
     it with rope, Hannibal Lecter, wearing the famous mask from 
     The Silence of the Lambs.  Just coming out of the sedative 
     from the dart, he squints into the lights surrounding the 
     hospital bed.


                                                           p. 114

               Hylochoerus Meinertzhageni ...  Does 
               that ring a bell from high school 
               biology, doctor?  No?  I could list 
               its most conspicuous features if 
               that would help jog the memory.

     Suddenly the lights go out, allowing Lecter - and us - to 
     see Verger in the shadows in his bed.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               Three pairs of incisors, one pair of 
               elongated canines, three pairs of 
               molars, four pairs of pre-molars 
               upper and lower, for a total of forty-
               four teeth.

     Lecter is conscious, but seems not be particularly interested 
     in the science lecture.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               The meal will begin with an apertivo 
               tartare.  Your feet.  The main course -
               the rest of you - won't be served 
               until seven hours later, but during 
               that time you'll be able to enjoy 
               the effects of the consumed appetizer 
               with a full-bodied saline drip.

     No reaction, that can be read at least, from Lecter.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               Much as I'd love to, I won't be 
               joining you at the table since I 
               can't move, but I will be watching a 
               3-camera video feed here, and I'll 
               try to stay awake.
                    (he smiles as much as 
                    he's able; then)
               I guess you wish now you'd fed the 
               rest of me to the dogs?  Hmmm?

               No, Mason.  I much prefer you the 
               way you are.

                    (pause; then buoyantly)
               So.  Dinner at eight?  Bon appetit.

134   EXT. VERGER'S ESTATE - DAY                                  134   

     Starling's Mustang creeps along the service road without the 
     aid of its headlights.


                                                           p. 115

     Up ahead about a quarter mile, in the trees, she can see the 
     glare of a floodlight.

     She stops.  Pulls the trunk release.  Climbs out and comes 
     around to it.  Rummages around the debris inside and selects 
     four pairs of cuffs, extra ammo, a knife and a flashlight.

     She leaves the trunk ajar, aims the flashlight down, switches 
     it on and leads herself with its beam - careful to keep it 
     no more than two or three steps ahead - into the woods.

135   INT. BARN - NIGHT                                           135   

     Lecter, still trussed to the singletree, prone now on the 
     hand truck, stares up at the rafters where Tommaso sits in a 
     cane chair, a rifle in his lap.

     Below, one of three closed-circuit video cameras mounted on 
     tripods watches as Carlo, not being too careful about it, 
     pierces his wrist with an IV needle.

               Your brother must smell worse than 
               you do by now.

     The blade of Carlo's knife is against Lecter's throat in an 
     instant.  From an intercom -

                           MASON'S VOICE
               No, no, no - don't hurt him.

     Lecter smiles at the Sardinian.  The knife slowly comes away 
     from his neck, leaving only a little blood.

     Piero meanwhile is adjusting the angle of a gilt-framed mirror 
     hanging above the slatted gate Lecter's feet will soon be 
     stuck through.

                           MASON'S VOICE (CONT'D)
               And turn off that radio, I can't 
               hear anything.

     A shortwave radio on a wooden table that's broadcasting a 
     soccer game in Italian.  As Piero crosses to it -

136   EXT. WOODS - NIGHT                                          136   

     Starling, still, listens as the already-faint sound of the 
     Italian announcer's voice fades to nothing.  She continues 
     on again toward the floodlit area beyond the trees until 
     another sound stops her.  Another recorded voice.  Begging 
     and screaming in Italian.


                                                           p. 116

     Suddenly, through the trees all around her, dark shapes are 
     moving fast.  She wants to but dares not point the flashlight 
     at them; if they're armed, the beam may as well be a painted 
     target on her chest.

     She crouches.  Catches a glimpse of something big running 
     close to the ground past the trucks of the trees near her.

     Then it's gone.

137   INT/EXT. BARN - NIGHT                                       137   

     The wild boars appear in the reflection of the large-gold-
     framed mirror, jostling into a semi-circle like berserk 
     linemen posing for a team photo.

     Piero dials down the screaming tape.  Carlo rights the hand 
     truck, hooks a saline bag to it, and wheels it toward the 
     slatted gate.  Tipped back, rolling slowly closer to his 
     death, Lecter begins humming Pomp and Circumstance.

138   INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - NIGHT                               138   

     Verger, glancing between three monitors displaying the 
     upcoming live event, glimpses something in one of them as it 
     darts along the fence line of the pen, then disappears.

               What was that?  Cordell?  Did you 
               see that?

139   INT/EXT. BARN - NIGHT                                       139   

     A boom of a .45 echoes in the barn.  Tommaso, still up in 
     the loft, throws himself down against the planks.

               Hold it!  Hands where I can see -

     Carlo's hand swings around with a .357 in it.  Starling fires 
     once, knocking him back against the gate.  Piero makes a 
     move toward the fallen gun, but stops when he sees a slat 
     splinter right next to it, the boars surging at the gate to 
     get to Carlo on the ground just inside it.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)

     Piero kneels with his empty hands aloft.  Starling crosses 
     quickly with a set of handcuffs.  In the loft, Tommaso crawls 
     along the planks as she disappears from his view.  Down below 
     Lecter cranes his head to watch Starling pick up the gun.


                                                           p. 117

               Good evening, Clar -

               Shut up.

     She kneels.  Lecter tries to bend his head to watch her snap 
     a cuff around one of Carlo's wrists.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Can you walk?

               Well, I don't know.  May I try?

     The boars pound against the gate, trying to get at Carlo.

     Starling drags him a couple of feet away and pulls a knife 
     from an ankle strap.

               I'm going to cut you loose.  If you 
               touch me, I'll shoot you.

               Understood perfectly.

               Do right and you'll live through 

               Spoken like a Protestant.

     She cuts one of his arms free, keeping her gun trained on 
     Piero, still on the ground by Carlo.  The boars shatter 
     another slat.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               This might go a little quicker if 
               you give me the knife.

     She hesitates.  Then gives it to him.  As he cuts at the 
     ropes, she works to lock the other end of Carlo's cuffs onto 
     Piero's wrist.  As he removes the mask -

                           LECTER (CONT'D)



                                                           p. 118

               My back was turned when you came in.  
               Was that a warning shot, or did you 
               kill the one in the loft?

     She spins around, aiming up, just as the bullet from the 
     rifle slams into her unvested abdomen.  Going down, she pulls 
     off three quick shots, hitting Tommaso in the chest.

     As he falls from the loft, the boars come crashing through 
     the gate.  Piero desperately tries to get away, dragging the 
     dead weight of Carlo behind him.  Lecter lifts Starling from 
     the ground, blood running onto his fingers.

     Piero is pulled down.  Lecter, holding Starling, surrounded 
     by the animals, too, stands perfectly still as the boars 
     ravage the three Sardinians.

140   INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - SAME TIME                           140   

     Verger stares in disbelief at the monitor that shows nothing 
     but the moving mass of the boars thrashing around but leaving 
     alone Lecter's legs.

               Why aren't they - ?  Cordell -

               I have to go now -

               No.  In the drawer - right by your 
               hand.  Open it.  Open it!

     Cordell opens the drawer revealing a semi-automatic pistol.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               Take it.  Go down there.  Shoot him.

               No, I -

               You're involved is what you are.

     He's frightened is what he is.  He's a medical doctor, for 
     Christ's sake, not a hunter of madmen.  He stares at Verger.

               What did you say - ?

               I said you're involved.  In all of 


                                                           p. 119

     Cordell seems to understand, nods in resignation, and turns 
     as if to take the gun.

                           MASON (CONT'D)
               Good.  Now -

     Cordell plunges his hand into the aquarium and turns back 
     holding the writhing eel.  Watching him approach the bed 
     with it, Verger, for once, is speechless, staring at the 
     serpent's clicking teeth.

               Good night, Mason.

     As Cordell thrusts the head of the eel toward Verger's gaping 
     mouth -

141   INT/EXT. BARN - SAME TIME                                   141   

     Lecter, carrying Starling, stares a couple of the boars in 
     the eye, wades through them with impunity, steps out past 
     the splintered gate and disappears into the woods ...

142   EXT. CHESAPEAKE BAY - EVENING                               142   

     A pair of distant headlights floating along the shoreline.

143   INT. KRENDLER'S CAR - EVENING                               143   

     Krendler, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice, 
     speaks with an assistant on his car phone as he negotiates 
     the dark ribbon of road.

               I'll be out at my weekend place 
               through Sunday.  I don't want any 
               calls forwarded.  No, not even him.  

     He hangs up.  Wipes at beads of sweat just below the sweatband 
     of his jogging ensemble as his destination, his weekend 
     cottage, comes into view through the windshield.

144   EXT. KRENDLER'S COTTAGE - NIGHT                             144   

     The car pulls into the driveway.  Krendler gathers up the 
     grocery bag from the passenger seat and carries it toward 
     the front door of his cottage, which also happens to be 

145   INT. KRENDLER'S/LECTER'S COTTAGE - NIGHT                    145   

     Krendler comes into the darkened kitchen.  Tries a light 
     switch that doesn't work.


                                                           p. 120

     Sets the grocery bag on a counter, pulls open a drawer and 
     takes out a corkscrew.  As he takes a bottle of cheap Chianti 
     from the bag, he notices a simple strand of Christmas lights 
     around a window.  Doesn't remember hanging them.  Stares, 
     cocking his head the way he does.

                           LECTER'S VOICE
               Oh, good, you brought wine.

     Before Krendler can turn, his mouth is covered with an ether-
     soaked dish towel.

146   INT. KRENDLER'S BEDROOM - NIGHT                             146   

     Starling's eyes open and slowly take in her surroundings: 
     the small, unfamiliar room, the bed she's in, the night stand 
     and the empty morphine vials on it, the silver tray with the 
     crumpled bullet on it.

     She eases the blanket down enough to see her T-shirt, eases 
     the T-shirt up enough to see the bandage, ease the bandage 
     away enough to see the stitched gunshot wound.

     She hears quiet Christmas music and muffled voices from 
     elsewhere in the house.  Two men speaking in conversational 
     tones.  She drags herself from the bed, steadies herself, 
     slowly crosses the room to, and down, a hallway.

     At the end of it, she see:  A decorated Christmas tree.

     An archway to a dining room, candles on the dining table.

     Krendler, in his running clothes and sweatband, sitting at 
     the head of it.  Lecter, standing beside a portable grill on 
     a service cart, stirring at a saute pan with a wooden spoon.

               Are those shallots?

               Ummm.  And caper berries.

               The butter smells wonderful.

     Starling glances from Krendler's face to his hands.  He 
     doesn't seem to notice or care that they're duct-taped to 
     the arms of a wheelchair.

147   INT. BEDROOM - MOMENTS LATER                                147   

     Back in the bedroom, Starling uses her teeth to strip the 4-
     pin telephone wire that's been yanked from the wall jack.


                                                           p. 121

148   INT. DINING ROOM - SAME TIME                                148   

     As Lecter executes a modest flambe with a little brandy -

               I hope you're hungry, Paul.

               Very.  What's the main course?

               Oh, you never ask.  It spoils the 

     Lecter notices, but seems unconcerned, as the line-light 
     blinks on a telephone.

149   INT. BEDROOM - CONTINUED                                    149   

     Starling searches drawers for some kind of weapon as she 
     whispers into the phone -

               I don't have the address, but I think 
               the house belongs to the hostage, 
               whose name is Paul Krendler -

                           911 OPERATOR
               I have it from the phone number.  
               Now if you can safely do it, get out 
               of the house.  Otherwise, stay on 
               the line where you are.  The response 
               time should be ten minutes.  I'm 
               putting you on hold for just a moment.

     Starling hears an unusual sound from the other room, but not 
     so unusual that she doesn't recognize it:  It's the whir of 
     an autopsy saw.  She sets the receiver on the bed and -

                           911 OPERATOR (CONT'D)
               I'm back.  Ma'am - ?

     The phone goes dead as Starling yanks the 25-foot cord from 
     the wall and wraps it quickly around her hand, taking it 
     with her, perhaps to use as a garrote, as she leaves the 

150   INT. HALL / DINING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER                     150   

     She's moving along the hall again.  Hears the whir of the 
     saw grinding through - something - then stop.  She picks up 
     a heavy glass paperweight from a bookcase shelf and conceals 
     it in her hand.


                                                           p. 122

     She reaches the doorway to the living room and adjacent dining 
     area.  Sees Lecter straightening Krendler's sweatband.

     The doctor glances up and regards her calmly.

               Clarice.  What are you doing up?  
               You should be resting.  Get back to 

               I'm hungry.

     Krendler's head slowly turns to follow her as she crosses 
     into the dining room unsteadily.

                           STARLING (CONT'D)
               Hello, Paul.

     He doesn't respond.  He seems in some kind of trance.

               Paul.  Don't be rude.  Say hello to 
               Agent Starling.

               Hello, Starling.  I always wanted to 
               watch you eat.

     As Lecter lays out another place setting of fine china (but 
     not silverware) for Starling, she sees the spent syringe and 
     the autopsy saw on a trivet next to the butane grill.

               Would you like to say grace?

               Me?  Grace?  Okay.

     He bows his head.  Starling and Lecter don't.  She glances 
     to the twisting pendulum of a hurricane clock.  The doctor 
     just smiles faintly, well aware of the response time.

                           KRENDLER (CONT'D)
               Father, we thank thee for the 
               blessings we are about to receive 
               and dedicate them to Thy mercy.  
               Forgive us all, even white trash 
               like Starling here, and bring her 
               into my service.  Amen.

     As his head comes back up, a single rivulet of blood drips 
     out from under the sweatband.  Lecter stirs at his beurre-


                                                           p. 123

               Paul, I have to tell you, the Apostle 
               Paul couldn't have done better.  He 
               hated women, too.

     Krendler smiles rather stupidly at Starling.  As much as she 
     hates him, she doesn't want to see what she thinks Lecter 
     has in store for him, and tries to forestall it with 
     conversation and requests -

               May I have some wine?

               I don't think that's a good idea, 
               Clarice.  Not with the morphine.  
               Better you should have some broth.

     Lecter sets about ladling her and Krendler tureens of it.

               By the way, Starling, that was a job 
               offer I worked into the blessing.  
               I'm going to Congress, you know.

               Are you?

               Come around campaign headquarters.  
               You could be an office girl.  Can 
               you type and file?  Can you take 
               dictation?  Take this down:  
               Washington is full of cornpone country 

               I already took that down.  You said 
               it before.

               Paul.  Please.  Now you are being 
               rude.  Drink your broth.

     As Lecter puts a straw in the tureen to Krendler's lips and 
     whispers something in his ear, Starling eyes the sharper 
     utensils on the other side of the table next to the grill.

               This soup's not very good.


                                                           p. 124

               I admit I added a little something 
               extra to yours.  Perhaps it's clashing 
               with the cumin.  I assure you, though, 
               you'll love the second course, that 
               is if I can serve it before Clarice 
               bashes my head in.

     He commands her to show him what's in the hand in her lap 
     with a smile and a slight tip of his head.  She obeys, setting 
     the paperweight weapon on the table.

               Hey, that's mine.

     Lecter rakes it across to him with a folk like a croupier.

     As Krendler shakes it and watches snow fall on the Capital 
     building, he's oblivious to Lecter taking off his sweatband 
     revealing the neat incision carved all the way around.

     Starling can do little more than we can as Lecter lifts the 
     top of Krendler's head off - staring in disbelief at the 
     pinky-gray dome of Krendler's exposed brain.  Lecter reaches 
     for a set of tonsil spoons as the butter in the saute pan 
     sizzles to a golden brown.

               I really would like some wine.

     Lecter, poised over Krendler's brain with the tongs, looks 
     at her disapprovingly.  She's holding out her empty glass 
     like Oliver as the pendulum twists back and forth.

               All right.  But just a little.

     He sets the spoons down.  Pours some Chateau d'Y quem into 
     her glass as he glances to the twisting pendulum.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               Unlike Paul, I unfortunately can't 
               offer you a job in government.  But 
               I am curious.  What will you do now?

     Right now her hand is slowly inching across the tablecloth 
     toward a serrated knife.  Lecter picks it up and one of the 
     tongs and deftly severs the thalamus of Krendler's brain -

               Doctor Lec -


                                                           p. 125

               You certainly can't return to the 
               bureau.  Not that you'd want to.  
               Even if you could convince them to 
               take you back after all this, the 
               Stain of Reinstatement would never 
               go away.

     Krendler's eyes look up as if to see what's going on, then 
     follow Lecter's hands as he sets his prefrontal lobe in the 
     saute pan.

               What did you say?

               I didn't say anything.

               I had plans for that smart mouth, 
               but I'd never hire you now.  Who 
               gave you an appointment anyway?

     Lecter picks up the tongs again to scoop out another lobe.

               The brain itself feels no pain, 
               Clarice, if that concerns you.  And 
               Paul certainly won't miss this - the 
               prefrontal lobe is the seat of 

               Dr. Lecter, your profile at the border 
               stations has five features.  I'll 
               trade you.  Stop now and I'll tell 
               you what they are.

               Trade?  How does that word taste to 
               you, Clarice?  Cheap and metallic 
               like sucking on a greasy coin to me.  
               Your soup is getting cold.

     He spoons out a second lobe and stirs it into the pan -

               That smells great.

               Have a taste, Paul.

     He slides a taste of the "second course" onto a small plate, 
     forks a piece and slips it into Krendler's open mouth.


                                                           p. 126

               Ummm, it is good.

               Dr. Lec -

               No, I think a new life lies before 
               you.  A better life.  With me?  Hmmm, 
               there's a thought.

     Is he serious?  He seems to be.  Krendler glances stupidly 
     from him to her and back again.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               I came halfway around the world just 
               to watch you run in the woods.  Run 
               with me, Clarice.

               Who's Clarice?

               Agent Starling, Paul.  If you can't 
               keep up with the conversation, it's 
               better you don't try to join in at 


               Me, Paul.  I'm Starling.

               I don't think you could even answer 
               my phones, whoever you are.  That 
               accent is just too - Appalachian.  
               "The Honorable Paul Krendler's 



               Remember what I said before?  If you 
               can't be polite to the other guests, 
               you have to sit at the kids' table.


                                                           p. 127

     He sets the plates and sauce pan and all the utensils -
     including the knife - in Krendler's lap, and unlocks the 
     wheels of the chair.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               I'll just be a minute cleaning up, 
               Clarice.  Don't get up, Paul will 
               help me clear.

     As Lecter pushes Krendler toward the kitchen, he glimpses on 
     the way the headlights of a line of cars coming silently 
     along the shoreline.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               Think about what I said, but don't 
               drink any more wine while you do.  
               Doctor's orders.

     As soon as the door to the kitchen swings shut, she gets up, 
     too fast, almost faints, sits back down.  Listening for a 
     moment to the scraping of plates, she tries again to stand, 
     slower this time.  she blows out a candle, grasps the stem 
     of the heavy brass holder and with it and the phone cord, 
     slowly crosses toward the closed kitchen door.

     She slowly eases it open, revealing:  Lecter, his back to 
     her, scraping the leftovers into Krendler's head and setting 
     the plates neatly in the dishwasher.  He closes its door 
     then and switches it on, and, keeping his back to her, begins 
     wiping down the counters with a dish towel.

     She eases past the door, gripping the heavy candlestick, and 
     slowly approaches Lecter from behind, grateful for the hum 
     of the dishwasher that covers the creaking of the floorboards.

     Krendler is staring right at her as he shakes his Capital 
     paperweight.  She places a finger to her lips to tell him 
     not to speak, and he glances away to the tiny falling snow.

               Would you like to swing on a star - 
               Carry moonbeams home in a jar -

     The candlestick comes up and hangs there - as if Starling 
     isn't entirely sure she wants to crack Lecter's skull open -
     but then it does come down hard right at his head, and -

     Turning, he catches her wrist in his hand and pushes her 
     roughly against the refrigerator, toppling the wheelchair 
     and Krendler, the rest of his brain and some leftovers 
     spilling onto the floor.  Lecter holds Starling firmly in 
     his grip, staring at her, intending, it appears, to kill 
     her.  But then, quietly -


                                                           p. 128

               That's my girl.  If you hadn't tried, 
               I would have killed you ... But don't 
               try again ... I mean it.

     He lets her hands go and she immediately lunges for him again.  
     He grabs her wrists again, pushes her back up against the 
     fridge, opens it enough to catch her ponytail in the door 
     and shoves the candlestick through the side-by-side handles.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               Oh, Clarice, you are the honey in 
               the lion.  In times to come, whenever 
               you see yourself naked, whenever you 
               see the scar - the quality of the 
               stitching - you'll remember this 
               moment -

     His face, his sharp teeth, come threateningly close to her.

     He kisses her hard on the mouth.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               - and your lips will burn.

     He steps away, past Krendler and the wheelchair, picks up a 
     small Tupperware container from the counter and walks out, 
     leaving her to try to free herself.

151   EXT. THE COTTAGE - MOMENTS LATER                            151   

     Starling comes slowly out onto the porch.  Looks for movement 
     in the dark shapes of the trees across the road and sees 
     none.  Looks out across the Chesapeake and sees nothing in 
     its dark water - except that the little rowboat, once tied 
     to the dock, is now gone.

     Feeling faint again - or just tired of it all - she sits on 
     the porch swing, slows her breathing and the pounding of her 
     heart, listens to the creak of the chains and the growl of 
     the approaching police cars, and watches the glare of the 
     approaching headlights play across the dark trees of the 
     forest ...

                                                     DISSOLVE TO:


     hanging in a gallery.  Foreign museum visitors strolling 
     past, giving it a glance before moving on.  One man, though, 
     seems unable to get enough of it, standing before it as if


                                                           p. 129

     before a shrine as the others keep moving past.  It's Barney.  
     The painting, Woman Holding the Balance -

                                                    DISSOLVES TO:


     asleep on a blanket on a beach.  Starling.  A beach ball and 
     a Walkman resting beside her.  The cord runs up across the 
     scar on her exposed midriff to a light pair of head-phones.  
     Instead of music, she hears static, before -

                           MAN V/O
               How are you covering yourself?

                           WOMAN V/O
               Polaroids, monkey business, and none 
               of your business.  I'm not going to 
               run.  One-point-five-mil, Ricky, 
               flat fee.

     The conversation is overtaken by static again.  Keeping her 
     eyes closed, Starling nudges the beach ball and the voices 
     of the man and woman, just two tiny figures waist deep in 
     the Miami beach surf, reemerge from the static -

                           WOMAN V/O (CONT'D)
               No discussion.  Just yes or no.

                           MAN V/O
               Yes.  We'll make the transfer at the 
               Sun Trust conference room in the 
               vault.  I'll bring my lockbox, you 
               bring yours.

     A beachcomber passes, walking along the wet sand between 
     Starling on the beach and the couple in the water.  Crawford.

     In the headphones Starling hears -

                           CRAWFORD V/O
               And we'll join the party, too.  That's 
               it, Starling.  You just made us our 
               ten percent.  And all you had to do 
               was put on sun screen.

     She smiles without opening her eyes.  Reaches down out of 
     habit to adjust her top to cover the scar.

                           CRAWFORD V/O (CONT'D)
               You don't need to hide it.  Your 
               doctor did a nice job.  You can hardly 
               see it -


                                                           p. 130

     The roar of a jet covers his last word -

                                                     DISSOLVE TO:


     in a darkened 747 cabin, window shades down, movie flickering.  
     Stewardesses move down the aisle gathering the last of the 
     lunch trays.

     Sitting in coach next to the sleeping six year old boy, 
     Lecter, in Toronto Maple Leafs sweats, waits until he's sure 
     no one is looking at him, then, careful not to wake the boy, 
     reaches down under the seat in front of him, finds a box and 
     sets it on his lap.

     It's from Dean & DeLuca.  Tied with a ribbon.  Lecter unknots 
     it.  Opens the lid.  Inside are Anatolian figs, pate de foie 
     gras, a half-bottle of St. Estephe and some silverware.

               What's that?

     Lecter sighs.  Then turns to the boy and makes a smile.




               What are those?


               And that?

     Something in a plastic container.

               That I don't think you'd like.

               It looks good.

               It is good.


                                                           p. 131

               Can I have some?

               You're a very unusual boy, aren't 

               I didn't eat what they gave me.

               Nor should you have.  It's not even 
               food, as I understand the definition.  
               Which is why I always travel with my 
                    (the boy smiles; Lecter 
               Are you sure your mother wouldn't 
               disapprove of your accepting food 
               from a stranger?

               She would.

               Ah, but she's asleep.

     The boy's eyebrows lift conspiratorially.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               Which would you like to try?

     The boy points to the plastic container.

                           LECTER (CONT'D)

     The boy nods.  Lecter thinks about it.  Finally -

                           LECTER (CONT'D)
               I suppose it's all right.  After 
               all, as I'm sure your mother tells 
               you - mine certainly did:  It is 
               important to always try new things.

     As Lecter dips his fork into the appetizer and feeds it to 
     his young, grateful, adventurous fellow traveler -