“It’s been eighteen years,” Margot said. “I just had three sessions with him and he always just stood up behind his desk when I came in, he didn’t walk around. He was really still. I remember his voice more than anything else.”
Cordell’s voice on the intercom. “Mr. Verger, Carlo is here.”
Carlo smelled of the pigs and more. He came into the room holding his hat over his chest and the rank boar-sausage smell of his head made Krendler blow air out his nose. As a mark of respect, the Sardinian kidnapper withdrew all the way into his mouth the stag’s tooth he was chewing
“Carlo, look at this. Cordell, roll it back and walk him in from the door again.”
“That’s the ¡tronzo son of a bitch,” Carlo said before the subject on the screen had walked four paces. “The beard is new, but that’s the way he moves.”
“You saw his hands in Firenze, Carlo.”
“Sì.”
“Five fingers or six on the left?”
“…. Five.”
“You hesitated.”
“Only to think of cinque in English. It’s five, I’m sure.”
Mason parted his exposed teeth in all he had for a smile. “I love it. He’s wearing the mitten trying to keep the six fingers in his description,” he said.
Perhaps Carlo’s scent had entered the aquarium via the aeration pump. The eel came out to see, and remained out, turning, turning in his infinite Möbius eight, showing his teeth as he breathed.
“Carlo, I think we may finish this soon,” Mason said. “You and Piero and Tommaso are my first team. I’ve got confidence in you, even though he did beat you in Florence. I want you to keep Clarice Starling under surveillance for the day before her birthday, the day itself, and the day after. You’ll be relieved while she’s asleep in her house. I’ll give you a driver and the van.”
“Padrone,” Carlo said.
“Yes.”
“I want some private time with the dottore, for the sake of my brother, Matteo. You said I could have it.” Carlo crossed himself as he mentioned the dead man’s name.
“I understand your feelings completely, Carlo. You have my deepest sympathy. Carlo, I want Dr. Lecter consumed in two sittings. The first evening, I want the pigs to gnaw off his feet, with him watching through the bars. I want him in good shape for that. You bring him to me in good shape. No blows to the head, no broken bones, no eye damage. Then he can wait overnight without his feet, for the pigs to finish him the next day. I’ll talk to him for a while, and then you can have him for an hour before the final sitting. I’ll ask you to leave him an eye and leave him conscious so he can see them coming. I want him to see their faces when they eat his face. If you, say, should decide to unman him, it’s entirely up to you, but I want Cordell there to manage the bleeding. I want film.”
“What if he bleeds to death the first time in the pen?”
“He won’t. Nor will he die overnight. What he’ll do overnight is wait with his feet eaten off. Cordell will see to that and replace his body fluids, I expect he’ll be on an IV drip all night, maybe two drips.”
“Or four drips if we have to,” said Cordell’s disembodied voice on the speakers. “I can do cut-downs on his legs.”
“You can spit and piss in his IV at the last, before you roll him into the pen,” Mason told Carlo in his most sympathetic voice. “Or you can come in it if you like.”
Carlo’s face brightened at the thought, then he remembered the muscular signorina with a guilty sideways glance. “Grazie milk, Padrone. Can you come to see him die?”
“I don’t know, Carlo. The dust in the barn disturbs me. I may watch on video. Can you bring a pig to me? I want to put my hand on one.”
“To this room, Padrone?”
“No, they can bring me do
wnstairs briefly, on the power pack.”
“I would have to put one to sleep, Padrone,” Carlo said doubtfully.
“Do one of the sows. Bring her on the lawn outside the elevator. You can run the forklift over the grass.”
“You figure on doing this with one van, or a van and a crash car?” Krendler asked.