1 comments/ 9233 views/ 4 favorites The Venetian Series 01: When the Masks Come Off in Venice By: AlwaysHungry Gentle readers: welcome to my entry for the Literotica Halloween Contest. It has benefited immensely from the invaluable editing of the lovely and talented legerdemer. I hope you will enjoy it. * On this particular October morning, Helmut was pretending to be someone that he was not. He was assuming the role of a savvy investor with money burning a hole in his pocket. Helmut had spent most of the previous year living in Hong Kong under the name "Helmut Pagel". He had spent plenty of the German government's money on various financial deals, in order to make his disguise convincing, and he had done well with them. It was necessary to make trades on a large enough scale that it would make him interesting as a potential client. He had made quite a splash in Hong Kong. But now he was in Venice. His nostrils were full of it. It was a heady mix of aromas, and a confusing one, at first. As Helmut strode deliberately along the paving stones next to the canal, he was gradually able to sort it out -- the omnipresent smell of salt water, plus the sharp (Helmut did not find it unpleasant) scent of the fumes from boat motors, and finally the heavenly aroma of freshly baked bread that wafted from the nearby shops. He liked the olfactory cocktail; he liked the way that his path was alternately brilliant with the morning sun, then subdued with the deep shade of the buildings he passed; he liked the feeling of the espresso he drank in place of breakfast, assaulting his central nervous system. Helmut walked close to the water's edge, smiling to himself as a bright yellow, red and blue ice cream vendor's boat glided past on his left. He wore his blond hair stylishly long, and had worn it that way over the past year as he had grown into his identity as Herr Pagel. He was wearing a pricey geometric-patterned polo shirt, Santoni shoes, and slacks. He could pass for a member of the Schickeria, the fashionable set, but he was still, at heart, a cop. His years of experience as an investigator for the Financial Intelligence Unit of the Bundeskriminalamt, the Federal Criminal Police of Germany, had prepared him well. Helmut knew the world of finance, and he knew that the line between clever investing and criminal activity was often difficult to discern. Nonetheless, Helmut was more than able to discern it. Helmut looked out across the green waters of the canal, watching a gondola skim through them with the grace of a swan. He was on his way to meet his new quarry for the first time, Mr. Till Acquati. Acquati was a leading executive of the famous Assicurazioni Generali, the giant Italian reinsurance firm often referred to simply as "Generali." He was known to be a specialist in the complicated world of financial derivatives, the convoluted system of financial "hedging" that often devolved to nothing more than complex wagers. Derivatives traders hired whiz-kid math PhDs right out of college just to try to follow the twists and turns of the bets they were making. Acquati had a reputation among derivatives dealers. It wasn't that he was quick about understanding the details of the bets (although he was). It was that he always knew who was making them, and why. He was a strategist, said to possess a prescience that verged on clairvoyance. This reputation inevitably attracted the attention of criminal investigators, because it smelled like insider trading, or some related practice that was just a few steps to the wrong side of that line between what is legal and what is not. The amounts of money that passed through Acquati's hands on a daily basis were legendary. However, if Acquati were doing something untoward, it had thus far escaped the scrutiny of law enforcement investigators. Generali would have state-of-the art security and intelligence capabilities, so Helmut had lavished a lot of care and expertise on creating a false identity that would stand up to scrutiny. Now it was time to put it to the test. Helmut crossed over a small tributary canal on an arched footbridge, then entered the lobby of the Metropole Hotel. He passed through the glass doors into the palatial interior, admiring the geometric tiled floor. He cast his eyes around the lobby for a minute or two before he spotted Acquati, who was relaxing inconspicuously in a corner with a large, sober looking man whom Helmut took to be a bodyguard. Acquati had an aquiline nose, intelligent brown eyes and an impeccably barbered mane of iron-colored hair, swept back from the forehead and ending precisely at collar level in the back. He wore a dark suit from a tailor too exclusive to be in the men's magazines, and a silk shirt open at the collar. Helmut was halfway across the lobby to him before Acquati raised his eyes and acknowledged him. He rose courteously and offered his hand. "You must be Mr. Pagel," he said. "That I am," said Helmut, accepting his handshake. Both men spoke English, the language of business, confidently and with almost no trace of an accent. "Well, I'm delighted to meet you, sir. I understand that you have an interest in derivatives." Acquati's smile was a perfect balance of accessible warmth and professional decorum. "I do. I have had some experience with them, but I increasingly feel that I am out of my depth, and I'm hoping to benefit from the experience of yourself and your firm." Of course, Generali's intelligence division would know exactly what Helmut had done with derivatives. "Well, I hope that we may be able to assist you." Acquati was inscrutable. "Mr. Pagel, I'm guessing that perhaps you are German?" "Yes. Does it show?" Helmut smiled wryly, or at least, he hoped that he did. "Well, your name does suggest it. My mother was Austrian, which is how I came to be named Till. My father was Italian, of course." Of course. Helmut, in turn, was already fully aware of these things, having done his own homework. Seeing no perceptible sign on hesitation on the part of Mr. Acquati, he launched into a discussion of the business relationship he hoped to establish, a discussion which continued cordially for 20 more minutes, until Acquati excused himself and promised to soon develop some proposals that Mr. Pagel would find interesting. Acquati rose, offered his hand once again, and made his way through the lobby to the hotel entrance, accompanied by his silent companion (who, Helmut realized, had remained standing during the entire encounter). Helmut watched through the hotel windows as the two of them strolled to the canal outside and boarded a sleek powerboat that materialized just as they reached the water's edge, then carried them off into the distance. The Venetian Series 01: When the Masks Come Off in Venice "We don't need to go too far into the past, Helmut. Assicurazioni Generali was part of the syndicate that funded Mussolini. You will always find them mixed up in that sort of thing. Do you remember Propaganda-2?" "Propaganda-2? Sorry, I don't know what that is." "Propaganda-2 was a Masonic lodge, founded in 1966. Sometimes it is simply called P-2. A lot of big-shot politicians belonged to it. It was called a 'shadow government'. They took over the big newspaper, Corriere della Sera. It was exposed in 1981 that they were mixed up in all sorts of crime and terrorism. Generali financed that one, too." "What was their motive for doing all that?" "Basically, they wanted to return to the old, bad ways. The ways that were developed right here in Venice." Bedrich shot Helmut a sardonic smile. As they conversed, the waterbus proceeded up the canal, passing gondolas and powerboats that were weaving hither and yon through the water. On either side of the canal there were buildings that spoke of past centuries -- old, weather-beaten structures adorned with sculpture and ornate architectural facades. Near the edge of the water, poles protruded from its surface, to be used to secure various kinds of watercraft. Some of them were gaily painted in spirals like barber poles. Many of the buildings flew flags from their balconies, both the Italian national flag and others that Helmut did not recognize. Helmut inquired, "What do these things have to do with the possibility that Acquati is involved in some sort of insider trading or fraud?" Bedrich smiled patiently. "In Venice, it's never just about money. You must understand that during the middle ages, Venice ruled most of the world. Did they do it through force of arms? No. They did it through finance, and spying. They didn't conquer all the other kingdoms, they learned to manipulate them. That's what they do." "So what do you think Acquati might be doing now?" "I don't know. But I may have an idea for how to find out." The waterbus was arriving at the desired destination now, and Bedrich shepherded Helmut off the boat and on to dry land. The two of them now set out on foot, and soon were in the vicinity of the Campo San Giacomo di Rialto. "May I ask you a personal question?" said Helmut. "Certainly," replied Bedrich. "What is your connection to all this?" Bedrich smiled broadly. "Well, I'm retired now. But before... I suppose you could say I was in the information business. People paid me to find things out." He turned and grinned at Helmut. "Don't worry -- there will be no charge for my services. It is no longer my vocation. Now it is my... avocation. I'm doing it because Rodica likes you. And I think I like you, too. You seem like an honest fellow." He gestured toward a flight of stairs that led up the side of a grand old building. "We'll go up here." They ascended two flights of stairs, and stood on a shaded balcony overlooking a busy square. The square was surrounded by chic shops of various kinds, and full of tables where people were eating, drinking and socializing. Bedrich spent a few minutes scanning the crowd in silence, then seized Helmut's elbow while gesturing with the other arm toward the far end of the square. Helmut followed the gesture with his eyes, and saw Acquati entering the square, accompanied by his tall, silent associate. "I am familiar with Mr. Acquati's routine," said Bedrich. They both watched as Acquati made his way through the square, stopping at tables occasionally to exchange greetings. Finally he and his companion came to a stop at an empty table, away from the busy part of the square and not far from the balcony where Bedrich and Helmut were watching. Acquati remained there in silence for a minute or two, until a man wearing a dark windbreaker and a baseball cap emerged from the shadows to join him. The two of them began to converse in confidence, while the bodyguard stood impassively, his eyes roaming the crowd. "This is not what I expected," muttered Bedrich. "Why? What is happening?" "Acquati is speaking with a bravo." Trying not to seem impatient, Helmut asked, "What's a bravo?" Speaking softly, Bedrich replied, "A bravo is an assassin. When Venice was a city-state, the Supreme Tribunal of the three state inquisitors was in charge of internal security. When a person was regarded as a threat to the state, a bravo would be dispatched to neutralize that person, typically with a stiletto." Helmut was skeptical. "There is still such a thing today?" "Like I said, things don't change much in Venice." Bedrich seemed agitated. "I need to follow that man, to learn what I can." "Should I come along?" "No. He would see you right away. He won't see me. Meet me tomorrow at the cafe again, same time." And with that, Bedrich disappeared down the stairs. Helmut stood alone on the balcony for a few minutes in bemused silence. Then he, too, made his way down the stairs, and ventured out into the square for a little sight-seeing, as he tried to make sense of what was going on with this Bedrich character. He was attracted by a shop that was selling silk shirts and began to make his way toward it, when he heard someone call his cover name. "Mr. Pagel! Won't you join us for a spritz?" Helmut turned and saw Acquati, seated with a group of others at a table. He walked over to join them. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Acquati. I'm afraid I don't know what a spritz is. It may mean something else in my language." "No, it is the very same word -- a spray. But allow me to introduce my friends." Helmut noticed that Acquati's facial expression rarely changed. It was always one of cultivated serenity. He made his introductions, going around the table. The tall, well-dressed man with the carefully coiffed pompadour of chestnut-brown hair was Jason Bowman, the American Consul in Venice. To his right, the attractive redheaded woman was Jason's wife, Heather. Next, a short, bald, heavy-set fellow wearing mirrored aviator-style sunglasses and possessing no perceptible neck, was Bob Cole, introduced as being an American businessman. Finally, to Bob's right, was Michela da Rimini. She appeared to be in her 40s and was blond and very tan, her tan being nicely offset by some rather spectacular jewelry, earrings and a necklace that looked like real rubies. Helmut greeted each of them in turn, and when he got to Michela, she gave him a frankly appraising look and held on to his hand just a little too long. Acquati did not introduce his bodyguard, who was standing a short distance from the table. He was now explaining that a spritz is is a cocktail prepared with prosecco wine, a dash of Select, and topped off with sparkling mineral water. He summoned a waiter and ordered one for Helmut. Meanwhile, Michela was pressing ahead with her new acquaintance: "Mr. Pagel, I am hosting a little costume ball this weekend. For Halloween! You may know that we here in Venice don't actually celebrate it as holiday, but we are always looking for an opportunity to wear our masks. We like to show off for our out-of-town guests. Won't you attend?" Bob Cole interjected, his voice booming. "Mr. Pagel, you don't want to miss one of Michela's parties. They're the damn talk of the town!" At this point he lowered his sunglasses enough to wink at Helmut. Helmut looked to Acquati for guidance. His chief concern was to remain in Acquati's good graces, after wandering accidentally into a social encounter with him. Acquati spoke graciously. "Mr. Pagel, we all enjoy Michela's social gatherings. I'd encourage you to come." Heather added her endorsement. "Michela is an exceptional hostess, who has an appreciation for the finer and more... interesting things in life." She turned to Michela and gave her a significant smile, which Michela reciprocated. "All right, then," said Helmut. Michela looked pleased, and extracted an invitation from her purse. "Marvelous," she said, handing him the invitation. Jason Bowman cleared his throat. "Till, I have a little surprise I've prepared for you." Acquati replied, "A surprise?" "Yes. The U.S. Department of State is going to be honoring a number of cities around the world for their contributions to the fight against Climate Change. We call it the "Sustainable Cities" initiative. Now, this is not yet set in stone, but I plan to nominate Venice -- this town seems to me to be a stellar example of the kind of stewardship that needs to be recognized and appreciated. If my nomination does go through, we'll need a representative of the Venetian business community to say a few words at a reception that we will be hosting, and you are the person who came to my mind right off the bat." Acquati replied, "Well, Jason, I am flattered, and I hope you will keep me apprised of further developments as they unfold." "So, if this thing comes through, you wouldn't mind making a few remarks?" "It would be my pleasure, Jason." Jason looked immensely gratified, like a schoolboy who has just received praise from the teacher. His wife scratched her elbow and appeared to be distracted by something that was going on across the square. Bob Cole arose from his seat and announced, "I hate to be a wet blanket, but I'm due attend a meeting over at HighPacific. I'll be seeing you folks on Saturday." Acquati added, "Yes, I'm afraid that my presence is required at that very same meeting. I look forward to seeing you all this weekend." The two businessmen departed together. Michela turned to Jason and Heather. "My dears, don't you think it's high time you tried out my new Jacuzzi?" She added suggestively, "I've been waiting for an opportunity to get to know the both of you a little better. I find the Jacuzzi quite stimulating." She turned to Helmut with her smile turned up to full volume. "You would be most welcome to join us, Mr. Pagel." Helmut watched the reactions of Jason and Heather. Heather's eyes glittered with interest. Jason, on the other hand, looked mildly offended and offered an awkward apology, saying that he was needed at the office. Helmut thanked Michela gallantly for the offer, but said that his professional obligations sadly prevented him as well from taking up her invitation. She gave him a wicked smile and said "Another time, then." Jason and Heather rose from the table, followed by Michela and Helmut, and they went their separate ways. The Venetian Series 01: When the Masks Come Off in Venice She stood facing the bed and leaning forward to rest her arms on it. Her wishes were clear to Helmut, who positioned himself behind her, and slowly pushed his cock as deep within her as it would go. He pulled it out once more, dragging it sensually against her clit, and began to fuck her. They found their rhythm, slowly burying Helmut's cock over and over in her innermost core, then accelerating very, very gradually until they became a runaway train and crashed into ecstasy. The Venetian Series 01: When the Masks Come Off in Venice Helmut used his phone to send a courier to Acquati's home to pick up the second prospectus. Then at 10:00 AM on the dot, Helmut seated himself across from Bedrich at the cafe and ordered an espresso from the attentive waiter. Bedrich looked at him expectantly. "I found out a few things," said Helmut. "There's a company called HighPacific. It trades in futures for raw materials. It's well capitalized, but some people want to stage a hostile takeover, which could happen if something disrupted the relationship of their top shareholders. There are four of those: Mr. Bob Cole, Till Acquati using a consortium as a mask, and two others, Pennington and O'Shaughnessy. So it looks like Acquati would want to keep things stable, right?" "It would seem so." "But that's not the game he's playing. Do you know what financial derivatives are?" "I've heard of them." "They are fancy wagers, made with very large sums of money. Acquati is betting against his own company." "So if Mr. Cole dies?" "Acquati wins big." Helmut paused. "I think we ought to get local law enforcement involved in this." "Do you have any contacts?" "I have one. I don't think he will help us." "Who is it?" "Antonio Durante. He thinks that Acquati is clean." "No, he doesn't." "What?" Helmut thought that he had misheard. "Antonio Durante's division has been investigating Acquati for years." "You know him?" "Of course." "So then, why did he tell me that Acquati was not crossing the line?" "Because he doesn't like foreign cops. He's afraid they will compromise his investigation." "Shit. How are we going to get him to work with us?" "Don't worry. I know him. Meet me at his office at noon. I have something that I need to do."