H A N N I B A L

                                     DISSOLVES TO:

     A RECLINING WOMAN

     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
               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
               You don't need to hide it.  Your doctor
               did a nice job.  You can hardly see it -

     The roar of a jet covers his last word -

                                      DISSOLVE TO:

     A RECLINING SLEEPING BOY

     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.
    
                          BOY
               What's that?

     Lecter sighs.  Then turns to the boy and makes a smile.

                          LECTER
               Which?

                          BOY
               That.

                          LECTER
               Liver.

                          BOY
               What are those?

                          LECTER
               Figs.

                          BOY
               And that?

     Something in a plastic container.

                          LECTER
               That I don't think you'd like.

                          BOY
               It looks good.

                          LECTER
               It is good.

                          BOY
               Can I have some?

                          LECTER
               You're a very unusual boy, aren't you?

                          BOY
               I didn't eat what they gave me.