"Nice to finally meet you . . . Doctor Fell. I have heard a lot about your wonderful work in your home country and around Europe." the dark-skinned man uttered with a pleasant smile.
"Thank you. I didn't expect my work's impact would reach until here." The assassin feigned thankfulness and a touch of embarrassment.
"I'm sorry it seems I am unfamiliar with your works Doctor Fell." The curator admitted, seeming unprofessional considering he would oversee the value of his present colleagues' works.
"It's quite exclusive, I am surprised that Mister Keller is informed of its existence." Hannibal humoured, trying to lose some of the strong devotion that 'Dr. Keller' may have.
"You humble yourself doctor, your very revered . . . In the community. You have a lot of fans. Especially your lectures . . . Very riveting, some would say it's a touch sensual." The statement repulsed the blonde man. It was an obvious taunt and even a little personal flirting. Which, Hannibal personally did not prefer.
Hannibal did not like this character that his enemy has worn. A flirtatious intellectual, lonely, looking for attention and affirmation of his value, very unlike 'fancy'. It seemed like Tobias intentionally wore this character out in preparation for their confrontation. The tension was palpable. The thick atmosphere evading all sense of new found acquaintances. The lingering context severely lost on the curator.
"What is the focus of your work Doctor Fell? It seems that I am not well versed in your works." Sagliato inserted, feeling competitive for the new member's attention.
"Tactics. I am an anthropologist specializing in European battle and espionage tactics." Hannibal lied superbly, making no ounce of his being vulnerable to any holes in his story.
"The information I have retrieved from your . . . Works are life changing, especially in terms of perspective. The way you write your work, makes me embody the great tacticians and generals of history." Tobias uttered with elation, slowly manipulating the conversation.
"Like the famous general . . . Hannibal was it? I'm not quite sure." The man added to his previous nudge.
"Yes . . . Very much." The assassin uttered passively, already feeling the growing pains his admirer will bring.
"There is this theory they said that the famous general wasn't a very . . . Intellectual man. The reason why he was so greatly publicized as such is to, render Scipio's fame further." Budge pushed his luck trying to get a response from his idol.
"Yes, but he won a lot of battles in his time. More than the average man and even more than the politicians that lives in that period."
"But lost the last, isn't that the most important battle?"
" but you forget, he was more than a soldier. He took his fate into his own hands. And need I remind you; you can never win all your battles. History may play it further, and the times may change, but we still know his name. On the other hand Scipio is only remembered by a few. An integral footnote in history." Hannibal bit back his retort in a scholarly way, but the underlying meaning is there.
"But in the end, the romans won. As a proud Italian, I feel like that is its only importance. The power to elevate the sensibilities of the facts." Emilio intervened, in the simmering argument. Lost in the context. Reading it as a competition of intellectual prowess.
"After all the winner would always write the known perspective of history." Hannibal agreed, silently challenging the other.
"So tell me professor Keller. . . What is your specialty?" The assassin added, plastering a face of faux interest.
"Music, specifically my study involves around the history of European musical instruments." Tobias said conservatively, making it seem like he wasn't prepared for the turn of tides.
"I, myself play a few instruments. Maybe I can ask for assistance regarding their conditions." This peaked the killer's interest, the subtle defenses peeling off.
"And what family are they from? So at least I could prepare in case we meet again."
"I play string instruments. I find that their sounds tell a story more than most instruments. . . I was personally invested in their creation. I'm sure you know this process already professor, but antique violins used to be manufactured from cat innards for strings. It is a fascinating find that the sound differs depending of the quality and material of the strings." A subtle threat and mock were thrown to the admirer's field. An inching humor lies below.
"Yes . . . Very much so. They affect the tonal quality of a note. I'd like to invite you to visit my office if you have any questions about the topic. I assure you, your input is most valued, Doctor Fell." Tobias gathered himself after the jab, a glare replaced his kinder expression, but his lips maintained a smile.
"The same sentiments Professor Keller."
Emilio looked at his watch, it was time to leave. He has an engagement following this introduction. And the time that his two colleagues were consuming was already unwise in unchecked.
"Well then, shall we?" The curator uttered, already leading the assassin away from his admirer.
" goodbye Dr. Fell, I sincerely hope to work with you." Tobias uttered, as his smile finally dropped, as Sagliato's back faced him. Only Hannibal saw the sudden change of expression, like a puppeteer cutting the string of his doll, leaving it limp and unmoving on the floor.
Jack was having a bad day. He was slowly understanding why Will hated his position in the company. Jack was of the people that cosigned documents in the event of Will's absence. He was the lefthand man to Beverly's right.
The piles and piles of documents needing approval, statements and reviews were scattered around the office. He didn't know that the young man did so much work in a day, considering he seemed relax and work never really piled up this badly. Maybe he was out of practice, or maybe because this wasn't his job, but the appreciation as well as frustration was piling high, in parallel to the stacks of paper work around him.
Its been nearing the end of the week, and he would soon be allowed to call Interpol about Will's whereabouts. His deal with Beverly was still still standing, until it ends in approximately seven hours. And the possibility of even finding a lead on Will's whereabouts is giving him anxiety.
"Jack, the manager of the Italian branch of Las Casa called—"
"And?" He was in no mood to hear a complaint about a hotel miles away from him, in another continent.
"There was a shooting." Beverly seemed a little antsy, unable to be fully coherent. Trying to find a way to arrange the words she wants to say.
"And? Get to the fucking point Bev." The thinning patience was evident, in Jack's voice.
"Will checked in about a few days ago. The manager said that Will was there for an inspection. There was a shooting happening in the floor below the penthouse. And when they checked if Will was okay after the incident, he was gone. As well as the residents of the suite that was shot at."
"A kidnapping? HE WAS KIDNAPPED?!" Jack stood from his seat, ready to bolt and arrange a plane out of the country immediately.
"Calm down Jack! I don't think it is. . . it looks like a separate incident, the couple in the suite below have been staying there for weeks before Will got there."
"But he was gone when they disappeared?"
"Technically yes. . . According to Salvador it must be a mafia related problem."
"We better check it out. There are no coincidences concerning Will."
"BUT knowing Will he is more likely to use this as a way to disappear. To blend in with the chaos."
"Bev, this isn't the first time the mafia tried to kidnap Will. Think about it."
"Do we have a name on the couple?"
"According to records they only got the initials R.F. And even paid in cash."
"Well do we have security footage of what they look Like?"
"Gone as well, it's an Italian hit on their grounds Jack. Even if they have it, I'm sure they won't release it, it's their territory not our home field." Beverly reasoned with Jack, but the elder was already infuriated as it is. And adding the anonymity of the only people he can squeeze answers from, is fueling it harder.
"Even just a description?"
"An American woman and an Eastern European man. Both are blonde and supposedly married."
A beat of silence echoes between them.
". . . Do you think, its—" Jack started again, piecing the puzzle accurately even with lack of proof and living in pure speculation.
"It can be. . . But it's unlikely."
"I'm leaving, I'm going to find Will."
"Jack—"
"No Bev, if you allowed me to find him a week ago, this wouldn't happen! If he is injured, it's on you."
Beverly felt the strain in their friendship. She could feel the guilt and regret creeping in. All she could do is stand there in silence, as Jack scurries to the elevator.