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A Power Broker Story
Prologue: Autumn 1987 - England
Smoke drifted lazily into the air from the end of Gerald Knebworthy's huge Cigar. Before him, a select group of his brightest students, all mellowed by several glasses of good brandy, eager to share with him the conclusions of their private project. It had started as a post-grad joke, three years ago- "Write a business plan to create an organisation which will be the most powerful organisation in the world within 30 years."
Paul Hegarty rose to his feet.
"As Managing Director Designate", he started with a big grin, "I will introduce you to The GODS Corporation, Global Organisation for the Destruction of Society, bringer of pestilence to the world's major powers."
His audience chuckled, as he launched into his presentation.
"First, what sort of enterprise? Political?, Industrial?, Financial?..."
Knebworthy sat forward in his seat. The guys had delivered...
."... only criminal certain enough,...need a real business plan..."
Knebworthy's mouth fell open. The plan being proposed was exactly the proposition he had come up with, but in a level of detail he had only dreamed about.
."...need seed capital, Rashchid's father could... operating cash from drugs? prostitution?..."
Knebworthy smiled to himself. This was going to work if they all bought into it.
."...all-pervasive power is essential... political... financial... violence... coercion..."
"What about the competition? You don't think people like the Mafia will just let you take over their path do you?" Knebworthy smiled to himself. Typical of Dan Hegarty to put his brother on the spot.
"No, of course not bro. We need new suppliers, new customers, niches, like these..."
Two hours later, Knebworthy, the newly elected CEO of GDS Ltd (GODS had sounded too pretentious when they discussed going "legit") dismissed his board and set them loose on the world.
London - 1989All business receptions were the same these days. The drinks always flowed, each host desperate to provide the most innovative cocktail. Platesful of fingerfood were just as boring. They were either raw vegetables to demonstrate health awareness, or the most implausible concoctions to demonstrate creativity. In either case, she always passed. As founder and head of Ames-Rassmussen, Ingeborg Rasmussen knew the score. PR was about contacts. People respected her. She would have preferred liked to respected, but few of her clients ever got to know her. She always succeeded, and though no one could accuse her of being stand-offish, her cool exterior helped to calm ragged nerves, exude confidence and always helped smooth the path to a contract.
She was fighting boredom as usual, her welcoming smile pasted to her face as she swanned her way around the crowd, glad handing here, small snippets of ego-building complements there. One of her A-list propects, Henry Jeavons MP was standing in the corner, facing into the room, deep in conversation with a tall man whose back prevented her catching Jeavon's eye. She moved closer. Jeavons looked up and spotted her approach.
"Inge, my dear, how lovely to see you."
"And you, Mr Jeavons. I didn't know you would be here today, it's really a pleasant surprise."
"Indeed it is for me too. May I introduce my friend Mr Paul Hegarty?"
Inge looked up into the bronzed face and bright blue eyes of the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He literally took her breath away. Speechless, she tried to compose herself and offered her hand. He ignored it, but smiled and offered her a drink.
"No thank you. I wave a glass, but rarely drink on duty."
"Then I will get you one another time when you are not." It was a statement, not a request. "Excuse me, I can see you need to talk." With that, he turned away and joined the group of people to his left, exchanging friendly greetings with all, and more intimate ones with a few, mainly good-looking ladies. Inge was astonished. She was truly annoyed that he had moved away so quickly. Men didn't do that to her. Several times over the next couple of hours she found herself searching for his face. Each time she found it, he was deep in animated conversation with a vivacious woman. Eventually she tried again and failed. He had gone without saying goodbye. Then, she thought to herself, why should he say goodbye, they had only spoken a couple of sentences.
The plan was simple but different. Providing hookers to influential people was a staple diet for organised crime, and if GDS were to expand it's own influence it would have to be in that market. The other issue was the market itself. Paul's plan was audatious in the extreme. The vice trade operated by supplying young women and boys to people willing to pay. GDS already had enough income from prostitution, several projects were already reaping benefits. The GDS objective was power. The most powerful people could afford a hundred street hookers, where was the attraction of that. What they would really appreciate was fucking a recognisable somebody, especially if they were also married to a famous face. It would appeal to the egotistical side that all such people had to their character. An experience was not enough, it had to be truly memorable. What better than sleeping with a film star or top model.
"Sonia could do it."
"No. Sonia's needed elsewhere looking after our coke business. And besides, we need a completely legitimate business to act as cover. I think we need someone from outside. Someone with a track record in business. I want this to be a professional operation - quite different from traditional escort agency stuff. Can you imagine it. £10k for a dirty weekend with Madonna, or Britney Spears?"
"I suspect you would have to promise marriage and untold riches to get women like that."
"Maybe so, but they all have weaknesses, buttons to push. It's just a matter of finding the right ones. Anyway, to return to the matter in hand, I've had a headhunter looking for a candidate for us, and they've come up with three we should look at."
Dan Hegarty looked at the three plain green folders his brother passed to him and began to read.
"Looks like we have two certainties bro, let's get these two in."
Paul looked across at him with a faint smile on his face. "Why only two? What's wrong with the third?"
"Well, this one runs her own catering company, is still in her mid thirties, good enough looking, and has a penchant for having sex at parties. Sounds like the perfect choice - we could even use the catering company as cover."
"True."
"This second one looks an even better proposition. She has experience of the gambling business, ran her own Casino in Vegas, is still only in her early forties and looks the part. Very Tidy!"
"Also True. So why not the third? She runs the biggest PR Agency in London for gods sake, and she's only twenty eight."
"Well, frankly she looks too much of a challenge. She is stunning to look at, I'll grant you. but she has a reputation. I've met her. She is completely work focussed, only interested in making money and has no interest in sex. They don't call her the Ice Maiden for nothing.
"Let's interview any of the three that exhibits interest. You take the Caterer and Gambler, and I'll tackle the Ice Maiden. Set the interviews for three weeks time, and lets issue the invites in two. That should be long enough for us to figure out whether or not they would be interested."
"OK Paul, but I'm gonna have more fun than you. Enjoy the Ice Maiden."
Paul smiled to himself as Dan left. A bit of brotherly rivalry was good for the soul. Reaching into his desk drawer, he extracted a single sheet of paper and replaced it where it had been earlier - in the Ice Maiden's file. Unknown to Dan, Paul had already started doing his homework. What Dan didn't know, he wouldn't miss..."
Inge sat on the bench in the Public Library. She had passed Paul Hegarty in the street outside, and on impulse followed him in. She now had the problem of how to attract his attention. The last thing she wanted to do was walk up and ask him to shag her. A film came into her head. Angie dickenson dropping her glove in "Dressed to kill." Her intended lover had picked it up, followed her out to her taxi, got in the back with her and given her the big one. It might work for her.
Paul knew she was ready by the way she followed him inside. He was in no hurry. If she was prepared to go to this trouble to be near him, she would make the next move as well. As she stood up from the bench and headed for the door, her car keys rattled across the library floor. She made no move to retrieve them even though she must have been alerted by the noise. Pauls next move was obvious.
Pretending not to hear her keys fall wasn't easy. To Inge, it sounded like someone had kicked over a dustbin, but no-one looked up from their books. When she got to the door, she risked a surreptitious look backwards. Her keys were missing... and so was he. So far so good.
The walk to her car seemed interminable, she moved deliberately neither dawdling too much in case it became too obvious, nor rushing to get it over with. At the car door she stopped and went through an elaborate pretense of failing to find her keys. Her sigh of reief when he appeared from nowhere and dangled them in front of her was nothing to do with finding her keys. Her plan seemed to be working perfectly. Steeling herself she swivelled to face her saviour.
"Thank you! Oh, it's Mr Hegarty isn't it?" she gushed.
"Indeed, Ms Rassmussen?"
He leaned across her to open the door. The smell of his cologne drifted to her nose as his face passed within inches of hers. She had to force herself not to close the gap and kiss it.
"Please!" he said, indicating her seat with an extravagent wave of his hand.
She sat, knees primly together, feet on the kerb, and looked up at him with what she hoped was a "come hither" look.
"I think I shall take you to lunch to buy that drink I offered"
Not knowing how to repond to such a direct instruction from a man she hardly knew, she decided to stall for time and swung her legs into the car. Or at least she would have done had he not deftly stood on the toe of one shoe. The effect was humiliating for Inge. One leg travelled as intended into the footwell of the car. The other remained pinned to the pavement, splaying her legs, causing her dress to ride up her thighs, and giving any passers-by an uninterrupted view of her stocking tops and Janet Reger camiknickers. If she expected him to take advantage of the situation she was disappointed. His eyes never left hers. Over his shoulder, she could see a couple of youths nudging each other at the show she was being forced to put on. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks as one of the boys made wanking gestures to his mate. Still Paul's eyes never left hers.
."... be there at twelve thirty. I may be late, but wait..."
She snapped out of her reverie as she felt his foot innocuously slide off hers, releasing her leg to swiftly join it's partner. Looking down, she read the card he had put in her hand. She knew the Cafe Parisienne. She would not be late.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!... The bass drummed through his head, the flashing lights drilling into his eyeballs.
"This is definitely not my scene, must be getting old," he mused. In truth, Dan Hegarty was in his element. He had always been a party animal and exuded the natural aura of someone used to scoring in such an environment. He leaned casually against the door frame, his eyes scanning the room with apparent boredom. He caught the eye of several winsome and interested women before finally spotting his target. Claire Brady was small but, in the words of a similarly vertically challenged well known comedian, perfectly formed. She sported a short bob of bright auburn hair, streaked with dark red which, coupled with her small pointed features gave her an attractive pixie-like appearance. He knew from her file that she was married, but the absence of a wedding ring suggested that wouldn't be an issue. For a brief second their eyes met across the floor. He smiled, holding eye contact until he forced her to avert her gaze, noting with satisfaction the small smile she allowed herself as she turned away. Now it was just a matter of time.
Two hours later, she allowed herself to be led by the hand into an upstairs bedroom.
She loved parties. The music, drink, sometimes other substances, all heightened her anticipation for her real turn-on - Sex. She had married too early in life,at 19. Fortunately she had chosen well. Her husband, Rick, was more interested in his Rugby and Golf pals, but was comfortably well-off. His small inheritance removed any fear that he, or she, would ever need money but she needed her own life. As Ricks interests focussed more on the lads, she found herself doing more of the girlie things with her own mates, clubbing, parties, getting drunk, gambling and eventually, screwing around. A chance encounter with an alcoholic businessman led to her biggest gamble, buying out his small catering company. Although providing the funds, Rick could never understand her need to have purpose in her life. He was a misogynistic bastard at heart. Sure, her business was struggling, but the time to worry about that was tomorrow. Tonight she had other priorities.
As the door closed behind them, he took her in his arms and kissed her. She could feel his surprise as she mashed her lips against his, and ran her hand across the front of his trousers in response. He lifted her by the waist, raising her off the floor. Turning around, he carried her over to the bed and lowered her, none too gently onto it. They both smiled at each other as he slowly removed his shirt and unbuckled his belt. His trousers fell to the floor, leaving him standing in a pair of boxers, every inch the conquering male. He flipped her legs up, grasped her tiny knickers and pulled them off. If the speed of their removal surprised her, it was nothing to the shock of his next action. He swiftly knelt down, thrust his face between her stocking tops, and coverd her already damp sex with his mouth. The sensation was fantastic. Immediately his tongue began to tease her clitoris, and the suction created by his mouth forced her to juice up more than she ever thought possible. A long moan burst from her throat as she pushed her hips at his thrusting tongue.
He stood up, gave her no time to recover, pulled her down the bed until her legs, splayed, hung off the end on either side of him, lowered himself on to her and thrust deep into her cunt.
"OOphh Give it to me, give it to me..."
She couldn't think of anything else to say. He began to pound in to her, the end of his huge dick bumping against her cervix, until first one, then a second climax coursed through her jerking torso. She bit her lip to stifle her cry of delight, drawing blood as her teeth sank into her engorged lower lip. Her long moan of pleasure slowly turned into panting gratitude as he brought her to a shuddering finish.
"God", she thought to herself, "I just love this!"
Vanessa Draper was nervous. She was a beautiful girl. Short, dark, small delicate features set off by a pair of the largest dark blue eyes you have ever seen. She was the sort of girl who could stop traffic. She didn't ought to be nervous, but she was.
Three years ago, she would have expected to be nervous. Then she was straight out of drama school, one of hundreds of budding starlets looking for her big break. It had come in the most unexpected fashion. She had been invited to join the audience in a television pop music show by a friend and had been spotted by a scout looking for new talent. An audition, an interview, and she landed a small part in a new soap opera "City Slickers" centred on the City of London, or "the square mile" as it was known. The lure of the wheeling and dealing in the world's greatest financial centre proved irresistable, and the soap took off big time. At the same time, Vanessa proved not only to be the most beautiful actress in the cast, but also to have that indefineable quality that makes the camera love you. Her role grew. Vanessa was the Soap Star of the moment.
Still, she was nervous. When Inge had told her about the interview, she had been pretty blase about it. Now, as she sat outside the hotel room waiting to meet them, it was a different matter. The door opened and one of the most recognisable faces in Hollywood appeared.
"Miss Draper? we can see you now."
Twelve-thirty he had said. It was now One-thirty. Much as she wanted to see him, she had a meeting at two. Taking a last look around, and seeing no Mr Hegarty, she gathered her bag, paid the bill for the coffee she had been nursing, stood up, and made her way to the door.
Across the street, Paul Hegarty noted her leaving with quiet amusement. He had spent the last hour leaning on the corner waiting to test her commitment. It was time to turn the screw. He pushed off the wall and strode purposefully across the street, every inch a committed host late for a lunch date. He arrived a split second after she had closed the door behind her, and set off back to the office, stuffing the receipt in her small bag. She looked up just as they collided.
"Oh! It's you. I thought you had forgotten. I was just on my way back to the office."
He smiled at her with condescention all over his face.
"I told you I might be late. I also told you to wait didn't I."
"Yes, you did."
"In that case it only seems right that you be punished. Meet me here again tomorrow. Same time. Don't be late, oh!, he paused, make sure you leave your underwear in the office or you will never get your drink."
Her mouth opened in astonishment, but he turned and was gone, leaving her looking like a fish out of water, her mouth opening and closing, but no words of indignation coming out.
"Left a bit, a bit more, just a tad, that's it. Great!"
Mike Levine was getting good at this. He was a brilliant photographer who had carved a serious career for himself in the glamour and Porn market. Mark Harrison, head of security at GDS had recruited him early on, and now, here he was exercising his not inconsiderable skills on a new venture.
The house was a mansion. It had fourteen suites, several bedrooms, pool, Sauna, steam room, Snooker room, and a small cinema/theatre. Now, with the positioning of the final camera, all but two of the rooms were fully wired for film and sound. No-one but Mark, Mike himself, and Napoleon (Boney to his friends) Wiltshire, his trusty helper and stud, knew the location of the cameras, and it was going to stay that way.
The mansion, deep in the Sussex countryside was owned by a wealthy Arab on behalf of GDS, but he had never been there. Officially, the house was leased to Hugo Challenor, famously wild man of the acting profession, who used the house simply as a location for one long round of parties for the rich and famous. In reality it was a GDS honey trap with Challenor the front man, Mark Harrison's creation for scandal generation.
Of the two rooms not covered by cameras, one was the Loft appartment, whose use was restricted only to those people who had Paul Hegarty's personal approval. It was usually empty. The other was where Mike now made his way. A discrete security system limited access to a small room tucked away at the back of the house. No one would find it if they were not invited. Two of the four walls were covered in TV monitors and banks of recording equipment. From here, Mike Levine was master of his kingdom. Ruler of his technological empire, Mike had more than two hundred cameras at his disposal. Nothing would happen in this house without Mike knowing about it. He walked across to the main isolation box and powered up his control room.
"We have lift off!" he muttered under his breath. "Let the games begin."
Dan and Paul sat together in Paul's Canary Wharf office discussing the events of the past two weeks.
"So why don't we interview Casino lady?"
Dan looked slightly abashed as he answered.
"Well, there were two reasons really."
"Mmm"
"The first was that I found a couple of names in her flat. I recognised one of them as Vegas Mafiosi, so that slowed me down for a start."
"And the second?"
"This is embarassing."
"I don't care. Tell me."
"OK", but don't laugh."
Paul looked slightly bemused, but nodded his agreement, waiting for his brothers revelations.
"Well, when we got back to her hotel room, she excused herself to get changed. That's when I looked round and noticed the names. She came back into the room and fell straight into my arms, so I had no trouble screwing her, quite the contrary in fact."
"I'm all ears."Paul smiled.
"Well I kissed her. When I ran my hands up to grab her arse, she starts panting. I'm not joking it sounded like a dog in heat. and it gets worse. I strip off and stick my dick up her cunt. She loves it, just like we expected she would, but suddenly I hear this noise. It sounds like someone had started up a buzz saw, a low quiet rattle with a background hum. I had never heard a noise like it. The next thing, the volume starts going up, and I realise its coming from her. I only poke her a couple of times before the hum becomes a full blooded wail, and by the time I get some speed up she's screaming at the top of her voice. The noise was fucking awful."
"Is that it?" Paul started to chuckle as the story unfolded.
"Not likely!" The screaming gets louder and louder. The guy next door starts banging on the wall. Then the guy on the other side starts banging on HIS wall shouting "Shut the fuck up" or something similar. Well I'd had enough by then, but she wouldn't shut up. She starts doing railway whistle impressions, and someone from the Hotel staff starts banging on the door telling her to shut up because she's disturbing the other guests.
Paul by this time was helpless, tears of mirth running down his cheeks.
"Anyway I thought if I got off her, she would quieten down. Fat Chance! While I'm struggling into my trousers, she's giving it the five finger shuffle. Whole fucking hand in up to the wrist. Honest Paul, any self respecting bloke would run a mile, and I did. I sprinted out the door and legged it fast.
"Guess you decided not to invite her for seconds then? laughed Paul, regaining at least a vestige of control."
"Too right"
The two sat in silence trying their best to acquire sufficient dignity to sensibly discuss their options with the other two women. Dan had been completely won over by Claire Brady. He was sure that Paul would agree. She was up for it, and would be ideal. In the meantime, Pauls investment in Ingeborg Rassmussen had convinced him and he was coming to the same conclusion about her. It took them only a few minutes to make their decision. Do both!. Claire could run a catering company where the waitresses would offer the full service, and if Inge passed her final test, she could run the exclusive executive service as an extension to her PR Portfolio.
"In that case, why don't you get Claire started. Saturday's party would be ideal. We will only need a few girls, and Sonja will be able to provide them. In the meantime, I will finish checking out our PR Lady."
"OK! Consider it done. Are you going to the party?"
"No. Leave that to the boys. I think it's best to keep our distance don't you?"
"Yeah your right, but it's a pity eh?"
It had been a long morning for Ingeborg Rassmussen. She sat behind her large desk staring into space. Her secretary had been so concerned she had cancelled Inge's appointments for the morning without being asked. She knew she had to decide now. It would take her exactly twenty minutes to reach the cafe once she left, so she had to make her mind up. She decided! She wouldn't be treated like that by any man. In a highly agitated state she went for a pee. Sitting in the confines of the toilet stall, the gushing of the warm liquid did nothing to put her mind at rest. She stared at the knickers lying in a heap around her ankles. In that moment she knew she would succumb. It was the second time that morning she had made such a decision. When she had dressed in the morning, she had decided to wear a loose jumper which disguised the fact that she had left off her bra. She didn't want anyone in the office noticing that she had removed it at lunchtime, they might rightly assume the worst. At least, as she stuffed her knickers in her bag, no-one would notice she had left them off. No-one, that is, but that damned Paul Hegarty. At 12.30am she was outside the cafe. In a reversal of yesterday's role, Paul came out as she approached.
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