Statuesque

"I'm early," he says.

"Get in here," she replies, smiling, then closing the door behind him.

He audibly inhales, as he sees her lingerie. She is wearing an emerald-colored babydoll chemise. Sheer enough to reveal her nipples, and the matching G-string.

"You came prepared," Eric says, in his admiration.

"Always. Us accountants never know when we'll need to use our bodies to fight crime. Bodypaint one day, leather harness the next."

"What if I told you I fudged some of my deductibles, on my last tax return? Would you punish me?" Eric says, as he drops his bag of clothes in the general direction of the luggage rack, never taking his eyes off Sienna.

"Still searching for a new fetish, are you?... Then get undressed, slave. I haven't seen you naked, yet."

Eric leans forward, almost touching Sienna, as he removes his shoes and socks. Then sheds his shirt, his eyes returning to Sienna, as soon as they can. They stare into each other's eyes as he undoes his jeans, then pushes them down, freeing his erection. He is soon fully naked.

"Stand in the corner," Sienna instructs.

Eric smiles, then slowly circles past her, watching her always, until they begin to part. Then he spots Sienna's practice spear, leaning in the corner. It has no tip, so it's more of a staff, but he takes it in his right hand and assumes the same pose as Sienna's statue. Standing still in the empty space, near the foot of the bed.

"Hmm," Sienna purrs, now following him. "You're trying to please me -- I think it's working. But don't let me bore you with my weird obsession."

"Don't be ashamed of your fetishes. Unless your fetish is being humiliated, in which case, you should be very ashamed."

Sienna giggles. "I hadn't heard that one before -- did you make it up."

"No. It's on rotation at Reddit, but it seemed appropriate."

"Shh. Let me admire you, like you got to see me, in the park... Just for a bit."

Eric holds still, while Sienna circles him, tracing his various contours with her finger. His skin quickly forming goose bumps, from her light touch. This isn't how he got to admire her, Eric thinks, but he holds his tongue -- and his pose -- as she cups his buttock. He can feel her fingernails press into the crease, at the top of his thigh. Then her hand moves to his other buttock.

Sienna can feel him trembling. She sees his muscles tense, and ease, as he fights to control his response. She continues her circle. Passing his spear hand, her fingers run along his forearm, then off the knuckles of his hand, as she returns to his anterior position, with its projecting penis.

He remains still, only his eyes watching hers, as she descends from his view, to kneel on the carpet in front of him. Her eyes are level with his abdominals now. Her fingers resume their pursuit of his contours, they're almost as defined as David's.

Eric flinches as her hair drags across his erection, accidentally. She repeats her move, on purpose this time, evoking an involuntary moan, from Eric.

"It's not easy, is it? Being a statue," she sympathizes.

She's happy that he doesn't answer. He's doing his best to please her quirk. Time to release him, she thinks, but then spots a clear trickle of pre-cum running down the underside of his erection. She can't help herself, so leans down to run her tongue up the discharge, causing a groan and shudder from her statue.

She's aware of her own secretions. Her selfish playtime is concluding. She's ready for Eric to take an active role in their coupling, now. To consummate their partnership, or affair, or whatever it is that's happening to their relationship. But first, on a whim, she reaches her left hand around, inside the shaft of the spear, to palm his bum. Then she lifts her right arm to take Eric's erection into the grasp of her armpit. She propels him forward a few times within her embrace, while his whole body quivers, presumably trying to stifle his laughter.

Satisfied with her joke, she releases him. There's potential for the armpit to work, but it would require lubrication. She stands before him, his eyes watching her again.

"I'm going to release you, with a snap of my fingers. When I do, you're going to come to my bed. Not with your fingers. Not with your tongue. I want your cock in me -- I can't wait any longer."

She moves away to pull down the bedding. Exposing the white sheets. Then she picks up a condom from the bedside table, tearing open the sachet, before returning to prepare Eric's penis.

They're both breathing heavily, now. Their unusual foreplay has excited them both.

Sienna returns to the bed, rolling onto her back and centering herself. Her legs parted, knees bent.

"Ready... You are released," she says, with an accompanying snap of her fingers.

Eric wastes no time to step to the bed, converting to a crawl, as he mounts the mattress. As he reaches her legs, he takes hold of Sienna's knees, pushing them up towards her shoulders, spreading them apart until they frame the flattened orbs of her breasts.

Sienna gasps at his actions, her statue is now free, and is going to have his way with her. Like she always dreamed.

They both watch, as Eric aligns himself and enters her with a sustained thrust, both of them gasping as their groins meet, his erection now fully sheathed in her eager channel.

Their gaze returns to their partner's eyes -- glazed, dilated, and ravenous.

Eric withdraws slightly, then thrusts again, firmly; compressing Sienna's vulva and electrifying her clitoris. Her whimpers and moans encourage him to repeat the movement, over and over; her heels hooking over his hips, encouraging him harder and harder.

With an arch of her back, and an upturn of her head, Sienna's orgasm hits. She doesn't freeze, this time -- the snap of her fingers has released her, too. Her heels continue to grapple, while her pelvis rocks, and her hands clutch at Eric's shoulders and biceps. She's one of the living, making love to her live Adonis.

The spasm of her vagina triggers Eric's orgasm. He joins her in the moment -- the one they've both dreamed about, for so many weeks.

~ Astoria, NY, FBI Observation Post, Thursday, August 10, 2023 ~

Linda and Michael return to the FBI's apartment at nine o'clock, after meeting for breakfast.

"No account activity, yet," Claude tells the pair. "Sokolov is booked on Egyptair at noon -- JFK to Algiers, via Cairo. The iPhone 6 is still offline, last seen at the consulate."

"Back to waiting then," Linda says.

"One other thing; take a look at the park," Claude says, gesturing towards the window.

The two move to the window to peek through the blind.

"Socrates say foot traffic has quadrupled, for a weekday. People are hanging around, too, waiting to see Sienna's statue, after it made the news last night. Socrates have asked if we could return it, for the publicity."

"No," states Linda, "Sienna's done her bit. We're not going to leave her statue -- her nude statue -- out in the park just to titillate their patrons. That wasn't the agreement."

"Legally, it's FBI's statue -- we created it. It'll be good publicity for us, too," Claude begins, "but I do agree. It's Sienna's decision to make."

"You're forgetting something," responds Michael. "It's hollow. Lightweight concrete. It's not structurally sound enough to last. The first kid to swing off her arm is going to break it off. I doubt the FBI want liability for their injury."

"Good point," Leon nods, "I'll tell them no."

Michael checks in with the network analysts at Langley, who are monitoring the Internet connections to the Polish exchange server. Linda updates her team, by Signal chat, posting periodically as Sokolov is taken to the airport.

Two hours later, at eleven-forty-four, activity kicks into high gear.

"The iPhone came back online, still triangulated to the consulate," warns the current watchkeeper.

Four minutes later, she reports, "SMS verification code just got sent. They're logging in to Corey's account.

"Langley have the TCP connection identified... from a French VPN service. TCP latency is forty-six-milliseconds, that's about right for a New York source," adds the watchkeeper.

"They've just created a transaction -- full balance transfer to another wallet. Unknown, we're looking that one up."

"Any browser cookies?" Michael asks.

"The web server scored a few. Haven't been analyzed yet. Browser is Firefox 116 on Ubuntu Linux, x86, full HD, landscape, accelerated graphics -- it's not a phone."

"Where's Sokolov? Not in the VIP lounge with a laptop, I hope?" Leon asks.

"Negative, CCTV has him walking to the gate. He didn't have a laptop at screening and he can't be using a remote desktop session -- he's not even holding his phone," responds the watchkeeper.

"No, it's someone at the consulate. Let's take a look -- go for a camera shot," Leon directs.

The watchkeeper speaks into his headset to an FBI technician in Washington, DC. They exploit a software vulnerability on the old phone, remotely capturing photos from the front and back cameras. Half-a-minute later they receive two black images.

"Nothing. They covered the lens," she reports.

"I was hoping they'd make it easy for us," Leon smiles.

"Phone's gone off. TCP connection dropped, too. It looks like we spooked them - they must have been watching the camera status," the watchkeeper reports.

"Okay, we've got what we expected," Leon tells the team, "now let's identify it. Wallet, VPN, certificates -- there must be something we can match to the Russians. Get to work."

~

Sienna and Eric arrive, at noon. Eric depositing a bag of bagels onto the kitchen countertop.

They converge on Linda, sitting in her usual position on the couch, her laptop perched upon the flat armrest, to her right.

"So, they went for the money?" Eric asks Linda.

"Yes. Probably from the consulate, but it came through a VPN -- French, so we're seeking logs."

Michael continues after Linda, "Destination wallet is associated with a gold mining company, operating in Mali, West Africa, and Kirill Gadar is on the board of directors. The Wagner Group supported the recent coup there, the new government is paying ten-million, per month, for Russian military support. So this has Russian hands all over it. I wouldn't be surprised if the gold originated there."

Michael is smiling, as he steps over to the bag of bagels, helping himself to one.

"So, Gadar has the twenty-million back in Russian hands?" Sienna asks.

"No, it's strange," Linda answers, "It hasn't appeared on the blockchain, and the payment isn't even pending in the mempool. They definitely submitted the transaction."

Michael has his palm cupped below his mouth, trying to catch the falling crumbs. As he watches Sienna walk behind Eric, she brushes her fingertips across his buttocks, discreetly. Eric doesn't visibly respond. It's obvious to Michael that they're in an intimate relationship. Linda probably doesn't know about it, or she would have mentioned it in the planning stage. He won't mention it, either. The sensitive part of the operation is over and it doesn't seem to have affected their performance. They're a good-looking couple, he assesses, always intrigued by the machinations of the people around him.

"Michael," calls Linda, "the Bitcoin still hasn't moved. Should it take this long?"

Michael shakes his head.

"Ask the Polish exchange," he suggests, after swallowing some bagel.

"It's already the early evening in Warsaw, I doubt anyone will answer," Linda shrugs.

"Then we'll sort that out tomorrow," Leon says, "Focus on identifying who logged in."

By mid-afternoon, progress is being made. Despite some initial reluctance, the French National Police obtained the raw connection information for the browser session. The one that connected to the Polish exchange. The source IP address was a gateway used by the Russian Consulate in New York.

"I take it all back," says Leon, "the Russians are making it easy for us. Why didn't they tether to a burner phone? Or an Internet cafe?"

"Okay, let's go over it," says Linda. "So, we've got a Russian yacht, likely belonging to Kirril Gadar -- a Putin ally, spoofing its AIS identity to make a run to Syria. It docks next to Russian military transports -- we have a photo of that -- then makes its way to Croatia, where around seventy-million euros of gold is deposited. Fifty-million to tax havens, twenty-million into cryptocurrency. Gadar and Sokolov are identified on the yacht, a few days later in Monaco. Sokolov then shows up in New York, using Corey to divide up the coin, discreetly. We step in, get Corey to move the money to a unique wallet. Sokolov takes sole possession of the two-factor-authentication means, over in the park. The next day, they move the funds to a Russian mining company that's related to Gadar. The transaction is initiated from the Russian Consulate, while Sokolov is sitting in the departure lounge. That, to me, indicates Russian government involvement. Will that be enough to satisfy State Department?"

"They attempted to recover the funds," says Michael. "The remaining eighteen-million hasn't moved, but we have a record of their attempted transaction. Some of the individual evidence is a little weak, but overall, it's compelling."

"Good. I'll just need a copy of the French VPN report, so I can get the FinCEN legal team to start sending the seizure instruments. We're going for Gadar's yacht, and the money. Bitcoin first, then the SWIFT transfers, then every account that Corey split off. Let's confiscate some dark money," she says.

Linda, Sienna, and Eric, in New York, along with Eva, in DC, spend the rest of the afternoon on their laptops, writing the voluminous documentation required to prosecute sanctions under 'AML' -- the international anti-money laundering agreements. Because most of the financial activity took place in Europe, the Strasbourg Treaty of 1993 has become the relevant framework to conduct their pursuit.

Just after six PM, the sole remaining FBI operator makes an announcement to the room.

"The transaction just went through," he says. "No, wait... that's not right."

"What?" asks Leon, as he moves to look over his shoulder.

"Only a few thousand Satoshi went through, about eight-dollars worth. The bulk of it went to two other wallets."

"Whose?" Claude demands, while Eric joins him, at the watchkeeper's other shoulder.

"The bulk of it went to a well-known handle -- the Ukrainian Government's donations address. About one percent went to an unknown wallet. The Russians only got the scraps."

"What the fuck?" mutters Leon.

"One percent. That was Corey's standard fee. Where is he?" Eric asks.

"Safe house. He's not allowed online," Leon answers.

"Get him on the phone."

~

"What have you done?" Eric asks into the speaker-phone.

"It's after six. Does that mean it went through?" Corey asks, excitedly.

"Yes. What did you do?" Eric repeats.

"So, it got donated to Ukraine?" Corey confirms.

"Yes, minus your fee, I presume."

"Sweet! Nearly two-hundred-thousand-dollars! Now I'll be able to sign the immunity document with the IRS... They really let it go through?"

"Answer the question, Corey. What did you do?"

"I scheduled a transaction, yesterday, for six PM, today. A donation to Ukraine. That's where our politicians said they wanted seized Russian assets to go. Minus my fee, of course. The UI -- the interface on that exchange sucks. The Russian's transfer got queued behind the ones I'd scheduled. It's not obvious from the payment page, but I thought they would have worked it out, when the money didn't move. Are they really that stupid?"

"No, they're not, but we spooked them by activating the phone camera. They pulled the plug pretty quickly after that. They haven't been back," Eric tells him.

"You won't be able to keep the money," Linda says.

"Yes I can," Corey responds. "I've just signed my agreement with the IRS, as we speak. Forgiveness for prior cryptocurrency endeavors."

"Corey. Is there anything else we need to know about? Any other scheduled transactions? Private deals? Agreements?" Michael asks.

"No. That's enough for one day," he answers.

"We'll be in touch," says Leon, hanging up on the call.

"Slimy prick," Linda observes.

Michael chuckles, "I think he's done us a favor. We were letting the Russians take the twenty-million back, just for the chance to see who collected it. Now they can't have it. And he's right about donating it to Ukraine -- it's not official policy, but multiple politicians have stated that intent."

"But he took a cut, too," says Linda.

"Maybe. But they were his rates -- we didn't renegotiate. I think one percent is a bargain for keeping eighteen-million out of Russian hands. That's a rounding error for most CIA ops against Russia. I'd say he earned it."

"Shit. That's six-months salary for my team. I guess New York is as unfair as Washington," Linda shrugs.

"It is," says Michael. "The worst part is, Wall Street are using their money to buy influence, too. Subverting the media to complain about red tape, and convincing voters they want 'smaller government.' All so the corporations can take control. They don't want interference from the likes of us."

"You'll still have a job. Oligarchies always need an intelligence apparatus."

"Ha! If it comes to that, then I'll offer your team a job at the corporate intelligence agency."

~ FinCEN, 2070 Chain Bridge Road, Tyson's Corner, Tuesday, August 15, 2023 ~

After nearly a week of anxious waiting, Aloja is finally seized by Spanish police, at her home port in Barcelona. The FinCEN team celebrate by eating their lunch outside.

After demonstrating the Russians had bypassed sanctions, more leads are being shaken from the opaque banking institutions, through the use of anti-money laundering treaties. This will keep them busy for weeks, or months. However, they're also investigating a series of daily transactions, coming from Mexico, that are somehow bypassing mandatory reporting. Plus a non-profit that's abusing its position to direct funds to lobby groups. At least other countries are now picking at the evidence trail, too.

~ Pentagon City Apartments, Washington DC, Thursday, September 7, 2023 ~

A month later, Eva is still feeling smug about her matchmaking skills -- Eric and Sienna are 'perfect' for each other. The couple have started looking for a new apartment -- one large enough to share. For now, they are mostly sleeping at Sienna's flat, in Pentagon City.

Eric lets himself in the front door, with his key. Sienna is still working at her desk, as he approaches to place a large box on the bed, before giving her a kiss.

"What's this," she asks.

"A present. Hazel, at the FBI workshop, helped me out," Eric says.

"For me?"

"No. For David, actually. To apologize for stealing his girl," he smiles, as he opens the box.

Eric extracts the two-foot-high model of Sienna, from the bubble wrap.

"Hazel scaled-down your scan, to match David's size. She had to cast it in bronze, or the spear arm would be too fragile. But the detail is better -- I don't think David will be disappointed."

"Oh, she's heavy!" says Sienna, standing up to heave it onto her desk, beside the statue of David.

"I bet he can't wait to get his hands on her," says Eric.

"What? Like Toy Story? They'll come to life when we leave the room?"

"Possibly," he says, putting his arms around Sienna's waist. "But we're not going anywhere just yet. First we're going to show them how it's done."

Eric leans in to kiss her waiting lips.