H A N N I B A L

                          JEWELER
               What would you like engraved on it, sir?

                          PAZZI
               Nothing.

                          JEWELER
               May I apply an anti-tarnish coating?

                          PAZZI
               No.

     EXT. ROAD TO PRATO - DAY

     Sollicciano, the dreaded Florentine jail.

     INT. JAIL - WOMEN'S DIVISION - DAY

     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.

                          ROMULA
               What do you want?  Information?

                          PAZZI
               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.

     EXT. FELL'S RESIDENCE - DAY

     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.

     EXT. VERA DAL 1926 - LATER

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

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

                          ROMULA
               I've done this a few times, Inspector -

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

                          ROMULA
               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.

                          PAZZI
               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:

     INT. CHURCH OF SAN CROCE - LATER

     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.

                          PAZZI
                   (a whisper)
               Okay?

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

                          ROMULA
               Sorry.

     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
               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
               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.

                          PAZZI
               So I'll drive you back to jail then.

                          ROMULA
               Yes.

     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 shadows.

     EXT. PIAZZA SANTO SPIRITO - NIGHT

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

                          GNOCCO
               Two million lire.

                          PAZZI
               Fine.

                          GNOCCO
               Give me the bracelet.

                          PAZZI
               Wash your fuckin hands.

     EXT. VIA SAN LEONARDO - NIGHT

     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.  Fell.

     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.

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

     He holds out the arm with the braclet for Pazzi to take it
     off.  As the Inspector works carefully at the clasp, Gnocco
     sucks in another deep breath of air.

                          GNOCCO
               Jesus -

                          PAZZI
               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 confuses 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
               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 drainging 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.

     INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - DAY

     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.

                          TECHNICIAN
               Middle finger of the left hand.  Sixteen
               point match.

     EXT. SARDINIA - DAY

     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
               Carlo?

                          CARLO
               Mason?

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

                          CARLO
               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
               You need to get certified cholera
               inoculations - well, not you - and Ace-
               promazine 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.

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

                          MASON'S VOICE
               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?

                          CARLO
               Got it.

                          MASON'S VOICE
               How are they?

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

                          MASON'S VOICE
               Wow.

     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
               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
     woods.

     EXT. BANK - GENEVA - DAY

     The unassuming facade of Geneva Credit Suisse.

     INT. CREDIT SUISSE VAULT - DAY

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

     INT. ADJACENT PRIVACY ROOM - DAY

     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 alive.
                   (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.

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

                          MR. KONIE
               Professionals will see to that, sir.

                          PAZZI
               I'm a professional.

     The glowing LCD display stops at $100,000.

     INT. FLORENCE PERFUMERY - DAY

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

                          PERFUMER
               May I help you, sir?

                          PAZZI
               Yes.  Yes, you may.

     INT. PAZZI'S APARTMENT - EVENING

     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.

     INT. TEATRO MICHAHELLES - NIGHT

     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 box.
     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.

     EXT. TEATRO PICCOLOMINI - NIGHT

     A crush of theatergoers maneuvers for cabs.

                          DR. FELL
               Enjoy the performance, Commendatore?

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

                          PAZZI
               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.

                          ALLEGRA
               Is that an American accent, doctor?

                          DR. FELL
               Canadian, wrung through the eastern sea-
               board of America.

                          ALLEGRA
               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
               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
               I've marked in overlay some of the
               differences from the modern score, which
               might amuse you.  Please take it.

                          ALLEGRA
               Look at this, Rinaldo.

                          PAZZI
               I can see it.

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

                          ALLEGRA
               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 -

                          ALLEGRA
                   (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.

                          ALLEGRA
               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
               encounter?

                          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.

                          ALLEGRA
               Thank you for this.

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

                          DR. FELL
               Commendatore.
                   (as he shakes Pazzi's hand)
               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.

                          THEATERGOER
               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.

     INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - LATE NIGHT

     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 year.

     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 -

                          STARLING
               Could that be you, Doctor?

     EXT. CEMETERY - FLORENCE - NIGHT

     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 -