Statuesque

An international spy thriller, written for the First Ever Crime & Punishment 2023 Story Event

Précis: Two Federal Agents search for Russian dark money, but can they find love?

Locations are mostly real, but all directly involved characters are fictional.

Thanks to Kenji Sato for editorial assistance.

Statuesque

~ Pentagon City Apartments, Washington DC, Tuesday, June 13, 2023 ~

As always, David is naked, ready for battle. His brow creased with a frown, a sling hangs over his left shoulder, and the rock he will use to fell Goliath, held in his right hand.

"What are you looking at?" Sienna asks, as she glances over at him. Then she takes his sculpted thighs into her hands, lifting the two-foot-high statue over the top of her laptop, to place it on her right. David's gaze is now glaring towards the kitchen, rather than at her.

Sienna's David isn't quite a two-foot-tall replica of Michelangelo's marble masterpiece. This copy features more generously proportioned genitalia than the original sculpture. An expensive commission piece she was happy to pay a premium for.

Sienna returns to looking at her computer screen, feeling deflated by another dead-end. On her desk, in front of David's plinth, is her badge, cell phone, and lanyard. The lanyard holds her photo identity cards and an electronic token; two-factor authentication that's required, when she's working from home.

Her work-issued weapon, a Glock 17M automatic pistol -- the type she trained on in the FBI -- is locked in her safe. It stays there most days, as it's a nuisance when visiting federal buildings, which her work frequently requires.

Sienna left the FBI three years ago, to join the Department of the Treasury. She is now an investigator, or, more specifically, a Treasury Enforcement Agent, with FinCEN, the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network. Her team investigates international financial crimes, like money laundering, or large-scale tax evasion. Not something that requires her to kick-in doors, with her weapon drawn. More typically, the crime had happened months ago and her team will sift through the records. Maybe write a memo, when they find something suspicious.

Russian bribery and manipulation is nothing new, for decades the Kremlin has been funding climate change denial, buying political influence, and paying for a soft-touch on 'bad press' stories, like the MH17 shoot-down, Navalny poisonings, Ryanair FR4978 interception, election meddling, or their extensive cyber-warfare operations. Anything to keep their oil flowing one way, and money, the other. Recently, since the war in Ukraine failed to go as planned, the Russian oligarchs have become far more desperate, careless, and ruthless. They were making more mistakes. Mistakes her team is tasked with finding.

~

Sienna puts on her wired headset, and places a call, through the encrypted Treasury network that her laptop is connected to. She is strictly adhering to her 'OpSec' training now. No more cell phones, or Bluetooth headsets, when discussing operational matters. The Russians are very capable signals-intelligence operators. She doesn't want to make it easy for them.

"Whatcha found?" answers Linda, who is working in the office today.

"Nothing definitive," Sienna admits. "Apart from the twenty-million Euros that went into cryptocurrency, a further fifty-mill went through the usual Russian laundromats -- Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania. That'll be in the Cayman Islands by now. So, short of another Panama-Papers, it's opaque to us."

"Not if we can prove it's Russian," says Linda. "We'll have some anti-laundering options if we can show it bypassed sanctions. Russians are on the nose at the moment, even the tax-havens don't want to associate with them. Well, not visibly, at least."

"Is Sabor Banka going to help?" Sienna asks.

"Nope. Not without an Interpol warrant. But Eric's trying an alternative, through the U.N." Linda replies.

Sienna looks at the static picture of her team leader. They seldom use video calls when working from home, the extra bandwidth it requires messes with the audio quality. The directory photo, subtitled 'Petowski, Linda Mrs,' is of a woman in her mid-fifties, married, and old enough to be her mother. Sienna smiles, she likes working for Linda.

"Okay," says Sienna. "I'm going to log out now, I'm out of ideas. See-ya tomorrow."

"Yeah, have a sleep on it, we'll see what comes up," Linda says, then disconnects.

~

At 27 years old, Sienna Piccrillo looked like most men would imagine a woman of that name, especially if they were in the middle of a wet dream. Five-foot-ten, athletic figure, with a generous bosom, an abundance of dark, hazel hair, and olive skin. Overall, a classic Italian beauty that had admirers comparing her to Sophia Loren, or Monica Bellucci; although, she looked more like a dark-eyed sister of Joan Severance.

Sienna began the shut-down process on her laptop. The screen briefly flashes the current time, '17:38,' between logout and power-down. She doesn't notice that, she was looking at David's thighs and crotch, instead.

She presses the switch box under the monitor, cutting over to her 'home' computer, and re-watches a Japanese pornographic video of two human 'statues,' engaging in various sexual positions, in a park. Their bodies painted as if they were weathered bronze.

Sienna strips off her clothes and moves to her bed, placed just behind her chair, in her small studio apartment. Her left hand rubs the lines under her breasts, where her underwire has been pressing all day. Her right hand is free to roam over her belly. She considers employing one of the toys she keeps in her bedside-table drawer, but they seldom come out on a weeknight. So, she allows her bare hand to move lower, seeking out the warm folds between her legs.

Sienna is not yet aroused enough to continue. This masturbation session was not compelled by need, it was more a conscious decision to delineate her work day -- like a factory siren heralding the end of a shift; punching-out her timecard with an orgasm. Although, her mind still lingers on work. More specifically, she thinks of her new colleague, Eric Wood. Too early yet to call him a 'partner,' in the law enforcement sense. Eric still works for the FBI, not Treasury, but is temporarily on secondment to FinCEN, as part of a career-development rotation.

Eric is built like Michelangelo's David, Sienna thinks. She has seen him in the work gym on a few occasions now. His broad chest, and defined muscles, are somehow complemented by the slender side profile of a swimmer, his arms and torso always seeming to come to rest in graceful, artistic poses. She imagines Eric as a statue of marble; a six-foot-two Adonis with an erect penis. Warm and silky where she mounts him -- and where she kisses him -- but otherwise made of solid, white, crystalline rock. Beautiful, and eternal.

Sienna's labia flowers open at such thoughts, her areolas wrinkle and nipples protrude. There is lubrication for her fingers now -- three of them making a lazy ellipse around her clitoris.

She sighs with satisfaction as she imagines riding her Eric-statue, her torso working her hips to the tune of their imaginary intercourse. Her breathing deepens, with small whimpers as she exhales. Fingers pressing harder now, while her left hand moves between nipples, squeezing, twisting, and stretching them. Her climax approaches; hips thrusting upwards off the bed, her neglected vagina seeking the phallus it was promised.

Sienna's orgasm arrives with her in that pose. Her pubic mound held high, her body arched upwards from shoulder blades to feet. She holds that position as her pleasure peaks, frozen like a statue herself, as she has become accustomed to enjoying her climaxes. Only the slightest movements of her fingers accompany the contractions, now pulsing in her vagina, and anus.

As her orgasm plateaus, she opens her eyes to look up at the picture of Medusa, painted on the ceiling, above her bed. "Take me now," she says, to the snake-haired image; imagining she could be turned to stone, mid-orgasm. Eric will surely come looking for me when I fail to show up at work, she thinks. He'll find me here, turned to stone, thighs open widely, fingers on clitoris, my face frozen in exquisite pleasure, forever. Maybe he'll take me home, use me as a coffee table to rest his feet upon, she fantasizes.

Sienna's big toe begins to cramp, so she collapses back onto the bed, as flesh and bone. Human. She continues to rub her vulva, slowly, spreading the secreted fluid around her skin, before it can form a dribble onto the bedspread. She stares up into Medusa's eyes, "Not today, huh?" she says, sardonically. Mocking herself, more than the artwork above.

Sienna knows her fetish -- agalmatophilia. A sexual attraction to statues, mannequins, and dolls. Normal enough to have a name, but still, too embarrassing to discuss with anyone.

When her post-orgasmic bliss passes, she rolls off her bed and heads to the bathroom, for a shower.

~

Eric is also thinking of Sienna, but not in a sexual way -- that was earlier, in the shower after he returned from the apartment gymnasium, quickly ejaculating to the thoughts of her curves and dark-brown eyes.

Grabbing his cell phone, he finds Sienna in his 'recent' list, and initiates a call. He looks at the generic silhouette, pictured in the directory, while the call connects. He's been meaning to get a photo of her, but hasn't had the right opportunity to ask her to pose for one, not without it sounding lewd. Mostly because he is always having lewd thoughts about her.

"Shit," Sienna swears, as her cell phone begins ringing. Then, she recognizes the distinctive ring of an encrypted Signal call. Quickly turning off the shower, she steps out, and wraps a towel around her shoulders. She presses the green button on the screen and puts the phone up to her wet ear.

"What's up, Eric?" she answers.

"Hi Sienna, we got a response from GPML," he says.

"The who?"

"The United Nations Global Program against Money Laundering. I asked them where the twenty-million euros came from, that went from Sabor Banka to the crypto exchange in Slovakia," he answers.

"Oh, yeah, and?" Sienna prompts.

"Deposited in Zadar, Croatia," he says, "as gold bullion."

"Holy shit. Is it traceable?" Sienna asks.

"Unlikely, the bars were marked as Swiss, but appear to be duplicate serial numbers. The bank's spectral analysis says it's very pure, but that means it's fake markings. Twenty-four-carat is four-nines of purity, so when you're as big as the Swiss refineries, you pad out the last ten-thousandth with silver. Not this stuff, it's five-nines."

"Croatia doesn't share a border with Russia. It's just to the right of Italy," Sienna considers.

"To the East, yeah, but it's a port city on the Adriatic, so I've got a hunch," Eric says. "You know how Russians love their luxury yachts? I bet that's how they got around the sanctions. Plenty of places to hide eight-hundred-pounds of gold, on a custom-built yacht. Ballast, black-water tanks, hidden compartments, or just pay off the customs officer."

"It's more than that," Sienna adds. "A further fifty-million left that account, as a SWIFT transfer. So, what's that? Twenty-five-hundred pounds? A pickup-truck worth of gold."

"Jesus! Then it's got to be Russian dark money. And probably moved by ship. I wouldn't trust a small boat, not with that weight of gold."

"So, you think we should look at the yachts in Zadar, in the days leading up to the deposit?" Sienna considers. "Can we get the records? There must be thousands of movements."

"Yeah, it's all online. Called AIS, for Automatic Identification System," Eric answers.

"Really?"

"Yep, all superyachts are tracked. That's anything over about eighty-foot in length. Commercial shipping too. It's international maritime law," Eric says. "So, it looks like we'll be spending the next day or two in the office."

"I can't do detail work in the office, too much noise. How about you come over and we work from my place tomorrow?" Sienna suggests.

There's a moment of silence as the implications, and potential, of what she's suggesting sinks in with both of them.

Eric recovers first, wanting to get in before Sienna suggests an alternative. "Yeah, good plan. I'll bring my laptop. What's your address?"

"Just meet me at eight-thirty tomorrow. Pentagon City Metro station. Take the tunnel towards the Fashion Center and I'll meet you there. I'll show you a shortcut. And where to get the best coffee," she answers.

"Where are you now?" he asks, "I hear an echo."

"Bathroom," she replies, looking at herself in the mirror. "I was in the shower -- still got conditioner in my hair. I look like I've been to a bukkake party."

Eric is flustered, as he recalls his recent masturbation session, in his own shower, then realizes Sienna is probably naked right now, and digests the sexual reference she just made.

"Sorry," adds Sienna, worried that she's overstepped a boundary. Her recent orgasm, and current nudity, has caught her unprepared for workplace norms.

"No, that's fine," says Eric, recovering his composure, "partners can say stuff like that."

Sienna smiles at her elevated status.

"I'm getting cold. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Don't be late. Partner," she finishes.

"Okay. See-ya," says Eric, listening for a few extra seconds before he hangs-up, smiling.

Sienna is happy, also, and excited, as she turns the shower back on. In this mood, she could easily pleasure herself again, she thinks, but decides that tidying up her apartment will be a better use of her time tonight. She realizes she's been masturbating much more frequently, since Eric joined the investigation team, three weeks ago.

~ Fashion Mall at Pentagon City, Washington DC, Wednesday, June 14, 2023 ~

The following morning, Sienna rushes down to the Metro tunnel with only a minute to spare, having taken too long to decide what she was going to wear. Striking the right balance between working-from-home casual, and co-working business attire, proved to be hard. She finally settled for basic office wear; a black knee-length skirt, and a burgundy-colored blouse. The 'winter' color-palette, that suits her best.

Eric is already waiting at the top of the escalator, at the end of the tunnel. She sees him, holding his laptop bag, and observing the mix of people in the shopping center. It is still ninety minutes before most stores open. Typical FBI agent, she thinks -- always 'people watching.' Sienna is pleased that he's wearing a collared, long-sleeve shirt, with no tie. Both chose to dress like they were going into the office.

"Sorry, I meant to be here when you arrived," Sienna says, as she approaches Eric.

"No problem, I'm early," he smiles, briefly glancing at the tight-fitting profile of her skirt. "Where's this coffee?"

"This way, I'm buying," she nods, heading for a kiosk within the atrium.

"Okay then. Medium latte, whole milk, no sugar, thanks," he replies.

Eric looks up at the shopping floors above the atrium, and the glass roof overhead. "I haven't come here before, fashion centers don't really appeal to me," he says.

"Oh, you can usually find enough other stuff here to get by," Sienna says. "Notice all the uniforms heading to work? Accommodation here is popular with the Pentagon crowd. They can get to work, Metro, or shops, entirely indoors. Some of them make it through winter without ever going outside."

"Hopefully, they got their fair share of foul-weather in basic training, then," he comments. Then waits short of the cafe kiosk, while Sienna approaches the counter. He sees the cashier and barista both smile and greet her by name, obviously she's a regular.

Out of earshot of Eric, the cashier leans closer to Sienna to ask, "Who's the cute latte?"

"A work-mate -- partner -- we're investigating a case together," Sienna replies.

"So, he's law-enforcement, too? Are you sure?" she asks, with a smile.

"What do you mean?" Sienna responds.

"I've got a display case full of donuts here, but he's checking out your ass instead."

"Stop it, Jen. I'm having enough trouble focusing already," Sienna giggles.

"Do you think he'll use his handcuffs on you? Or maybe his nightstick?" says Jen, continuing to tease.

"I told you before, I'm all spreadsheets and ledger-books now. We leave it up to the uniformed cops to 'cuff the perps,'" Sienna says, with a laugh, before moving over to the pick-up area.

Eric walks over to join her while they wait for their coffees. "She seems like fun," he says.

The bearded barista hears Eric's comment, so replies, "Ha! Come back during the morning rush and she'll be a right bitch," he jokes, while tamping down the grind in the group-head.

Their conversation flows easily, while they wait for their coffee. Although, they habitually stay away from work topics, in public areas.

With coffee in hand, Sienna waves a quick farewell, then leads Eric on the shortest path to the residential area, and her apartment.

~

Sienna unlocks her apartment door and gestures for Eric to enter first.

"You'll have to set up on the kitchen counter. My desk barely fits one laptop," she says, retrieving her key from the dead-lock, before closing the door.

Eric sees a small living area to the right, just a two-seater couch, low table, and a television mounted on the wall. To the left of the door, is the kitchen, also small. With its two stools, the kitchen counter probably serves as the dinner table and breakfast bar, too, because there is no dining table to be seen.

Between these stools and the windows, on the far wall, is a double bed. The back right corner of the room is walled off, as a wet area for the bathroom and laundry, he presumes.

Near the foot of the bed, up against the bathroom wall, is Sienna's desk. Apart from the kitchen cabinets, the only real storage space is a row of built-in cupboards, to his right, beyond the couch. They look like a closet, to Eric.

"I think the bed is supposed to go over there," he says, pointing to the coffee table.

"Yeah, I know. But the aircon blows too hard over there and you get all the plumbing noises from the pipes. So I swapped."

"I think it's smaller than my apartment, but it's nice and bright. You could try some mirrors too," Eric says, while twisting his head to look up at the image of Medusa.

"You're saying I should put a mirror over the bed?" she prompts, playfully.

"No, it's just that -- that's a little unusual," he responds, still looking at Medusa.

"Yes, it is," she agrees. "Like it?"

"It doesn't give you nightmares?"

"No, not at all. She only looks fierce," Sienna says. "It's my mother's sketch -- she's the artistic one -- I only copied it onto my ceiling. Of course, I'll have to paint over it when I leave."

Eric is finding their conversation more awkward, now that they're alone, effectively in Sienna's bedroom. He told himself he would need to avoid sexual innuendo, if he was going to maintain his professionalism today. Yet, here they were, talking about mirrors over the bed, before he even sits down.

"I'll get my laptop set up. Wired or WiFi?" Eric asks.

"Router's over here, if you've got a cable long enough. Otherwise, I'll give you the password."

Sienna sits at the desk and unlocks her screen, while Eric is setting up, on the kitchen counter.

As soon as Sienna's laptop connects, Eva Tidell -- the twenty-three year old graduate, and fourth member of the investigation team -- starts a chat session:

      [Tidell,Eva] Got Wood?

[Piccrillo,Sienna] Grow up Eva. :-)