Prequel: Assembling the team

"My apologies!" Kenneth says. He also stands to shake Natasha's hand. "My name is Kenneth Davis, I am a doctor of medicine. And a good friend of Jackson Elias."

After Natasha has read the telegram, he also takes it and gives it a read. "Well, now you know all I know," he says. "When he called me, he simply said that he'd found something, and that I needed to meet O'neil, here." He points to the other man. "It seems Jackson's flair for the dramatic is complicating things for all of us," he says with a wry smile.

Natasha raises an eyebrow, "So he telegraph you Sgt. O’Neil two weeks and he phones you Dr. Davis yesterday? Today? And neither of you knows the other? Which one of you did he tell to contact me? Why?"

She sighs and leans back, "You know what this means?"

"You’re going to have to get dressed?" Iris offers.

"I am going to have to get dressed." She replies with a groan.

Natasha stands up inhaling sharply, "I hates getting dressed on a Sunday."

"She really does," Iris adds with an apologetic wince.

Natasha makes her way to the stairs with Iris at her side, "Please allow me a couple minutes to put my face on."

Mr. Butler looks at Sgt. O’Neil and Dr. Davis, "If I can interest you gentlemen in some biscuits and jam I have a fresh batch that just came out of the oven."

"Carlyle," Natasha says from the bottom of the stairs, "he is Egyptologist playboy fellow that went missing, no?"

Kenneth nods to Mr. Butler, "Yes, thank you. That would be wonderful."

Kenneth answers Natasha, even though she might be out of earshot, "No, I'd never met him before, but it's not uncommon that I meet new people when working with Jackson. He's a bit of a social butterfly, always in every circle, it seems."

You are familiar with the the name Carlyle - Roger came from wealthy Long Island stock and was known as a bit of a playboy. The expedition itself left New York for Egypt prior to your arrival, but you certainly recall the news of the expedition's demise at the hands of black African cultists - it was a rather sensational affair several years back. There were some rumors that they uncovered something important, but you don't recall what, and the search parties Roger's sister Erica sent (at no small expense) uncovered nothing but further questions.

Caleb, The Chelsea Hotel is a fairly nice 10-story lodging in midtown Manhattan. Given that you live up north in Yonkers, this is probably a good 1-2 hours by train or taxi, assuming decent weather and traffic. As the haze clears from your head, you glance over at your clock and take note that it is currently 3pm (God, how did you sleep so late?) on January 15th.

"January 15th? That's the date on the note!" Caleb quickly grabs his coat and hat from the coat stand, pulling the wooden contraption over in his haste. While still trying to put on his coat, he dashes down the stairs two steps at the time. His plan is to make his way to the hotel as quickly as possible and knock on the door of room 400. He feels a slightly silly acting on a piece of paper he doesn't really remember having written, but if the life of this Jackson Elias is at stake, he'd better take the risk. Hopefully it's not yet too late...

Kenneth and Morgan have successfully polished off a half dozen biscuits and two cups of coffee As Mr. Butler prepares several plates of bacon and eggs with toast.

Natasha shows up just as the food is plated and put down on the kitchen table. She’s wearing a geometric patterned modcloth jacket and matching skinny scarf, white trousers and a white blouse. Despite a modest application of lipstick, blush and eyeshadow she still looks pale and rather ill. She sits at the table as Mr. Butler serves afternoon breakfast for everyone.

"Mr. B, you are a life saver," Natasha says with a smile, "I would probably be dead a hundred times over were it not for your attention."

"It’s nothing madam, only to happy to be of assistance."

"Iris reminds me," Natasha says putting a pair of white gloves on the table and grabbing a fork, "it was cultists, or natives. His fiancée..."

"Sister." Iris corrects.

"Sister, Amelia..."

"Erica."

"Erica, she launches every expensive expedition and finds nothing." Natasha picks up a strip of crispy bacon with her fork and bites the end off, "I dislike cultists immensely, nasty folk. I wonder what Mr. Elias has been finding after all these years."

"Her English is usually so much better than this," Iris says apologetically as she dips some toast in the yolk of poached egg.

"It really is not," Natasha adds with a wink, "but is part of what makes me so delightful."

"Yes it is."

Natasha smiles wiping the corners of her mouth carefully with a napkin, "You Americans are always in such a hurry to go nowhere in particular." She pulls a small tube of lipstick out of her clutch along with a mirror and quickly touches up.

"Is what I love about this city, always rush rush rush but no one ever seems to know why. Of course in Paris, everyone is knowing where they are supposed to be going, but no one is in a hurry to get there." She smiles again.

"Come along Dr. Davis, Sgt. O'Neil, let us go see what Mr. Elias has found."

She looks back at Iris as she makes her way to the front door, "Iris, if I is not back by 9 call the police because these two men have kidnapped me."

Akila simply smiles and nods as Elias sets the meeting time. After standing by himself for a moment Akila decides to return to his hotel and seek a meal in their dining room. What could he have meant by much farther away.

Monday, January 4, 1925
China Town, Lower Manhattan, New York
Office of Lucas Ellis, Private Eye
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Lucas Ellis, you take a long drag on your cigarette and exhale the smoke across the papers scattered about your desk. You shuffle through them, mentally categorizing the cases before you: "Another cheating spouse - no, make that two...possible insurance fraud...accountant giving his employer the old 'Chinese Squeeze'...New York Giant's pitcher suspected of throwing a game - that could be interesting...." You reach for your notepad and begin to jot down some notes and a list of priorities for the day. As you do so, you scratch the scruff on your neck and realize you've neglected to shave all weekend. *Sigh*. Extinguishing your cigarette in a mug of cold coffee, you begin to walk up the back stairs to the flat over your office, when you hear a chime at your front door, signaling the entrance of a customer.

Natasha smiles and nods slightly as she adjusts the cloche hat on her head, reaching into her clutch she produces a long, wicked looking hatpin with a lantern shaped deco head which she carefully runs through her hat.

"Ellis, this name is familar, is he reporter?" Natasha winces as the car bumps and rattles its way through New York’s streets.

She adjusts her jacket several times during the ride, smoothing her pants and looking quietly out the window.

Kenneth shrugs, "I've never met the man, nor heard of him. But if he's in Jackson's circle, I'm sure he'll be useful at whatever it is he does." He watches Natasha for a little bit during the journey and then brings himself to ask, "So, what is it that you bring to the investigation, Natasha? I'm sure you're capable, but I'm not sure in what."