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Clarice rushes to her, clamping one knee down on her gun hand, still keeping her covered in case of movement. then we hear the shrill blast of a WHISTLE from somewhere, off screen, as normal ACTION and SOUND are restored.
FBI ACADEMY GROUNDS, QUANTICO, VIRGINIA - DAY Crawford is watching a group of trainees on the firing range, as Clarice joins him. Between master and student, we sense a subtle, muted tug of sexuality.
Crawford doesn't respond, except to study her face. But Crawford pulls her aside, a hand on her shoulder.
She fires repeatedly, flames leaping from the muzzle; the SOUND is an echoing roar in these close quarters, but - Clarice has come up on one knee, beside an armchair, and is already firing back herself, two quick SHOTS, which send - THE "HOSTAGE" pitching over the bed, backwards, to shudder and lie still in a haze of gunsmoke. Clarice's voice has just a soft trace of southern accent.
He smiles, stroking her card with his beloved gold pen. ASYLUM CORRIDOR - UPPER FLOOR - DAY Clarice flinches as a heavy steel gate CLANGS shut behind her, the bolt shooting home. CHILTON Lecter carved up nine people - that we're sure of - and cooked his favorite bits.
A smarmy little peacock, behind a vast desk; he's conceived an instant, hopeless letch for Clarice.
I want that by 0800 Wednesday, and keep this to yourself. His driver stamps on a cigarette, climbs in behind the wheel.
The Director himself will see your report, over your own signature - if I decide it's good enough.