Prequel: Assembling the team

The money and affluence of the surrounding neighborhoods slowly fades as the taxi continues South. It slows upon entering the district as it attempts to maneuver among the the various Chinese street hawkers and grocers. It comes to a complete stop in front of a shabby-looking storefront that trades in porcelain Buddha statues, various good luck charms, and other oriental tchotchkes. The driver opens the cab door and extends his hand for the $0.50 fee. After paying, you observe your surroundings: next to the trinket shop you spy a weathered teal door at the mezzanine level of an old-looking apartment building. The lettering on the door reads:

"Lucas D. Ellis - Private Investigator"

The steam rising from the surrounding street vents pushes the noxious vapors of various Eastern spices and slaughtered animals into your nostrils, causing your eyes to water slightly.

Natasha smiles and pats Kenneth on the knee, "Dr. Davis, I drink far to much and I know things I should not. Is probably reason I drink to much."

She leans back and adjusts her scarf slightly, "I look in the dark corners of the room for the things that science does not like to talk about, I get smart men to do silly things and when I feel like it I obtain the things that people are looking for."

She hops out of the cab and Inspects the sign on the door prior to knocking.

"I still can not help but think I know that name." Natasha remarks pointing to the sign.

Got it. Adjusted.

I look at my cigarette and I think damn I couldn't even finish my cigarette or coffee. I walk over to the door anticipating who's at the door. I open the door slowly and...

Lucas Ellis looks out the door into the sparkling blue eyes of a very familiar looking woman accompanied by two men, one rather scholarly looking and the other with the ridged posture of a military man.

The woman looks Ellis in the eye and her smile turns changes into a frown, "Ellis," she says bitterly her Russian accent coming back, "I knew I am knowing this name."

Natasha gestures towards the scholarly looking fellow then to the military man, "Dr. Davis, Sgt. O'Neil, this is Officer Ellis of New York Police Department, or he was. He arrests me at some, how you say, Speak Easy? Yes? Speak Easy in Greenwich Village, first week I am in New York for some stupid rule violation."

She walks past Ellis and takes a cigarette from the pack on his desk. "These gentlemen," she says looking through her clutch for a lighter, "is looking for investigators, mutual acquaintance, Mr Elias, says he has information about old disappearance."

A smirk spreads across her face as she sits on the corner of his desk, "Roger Carlyle."

Natasha looks at Ellis and then at the cigarette as she continues to look through her clutch, "She thinks I has quit, so not one word from you."

"Nice office by the way."

i look intently at Natasha feeling the gears turning in my head oh yes I do remember you when I was a police officer at that speak easy in Greenwich Village. Ahh you like my office. What can I do for all of you?

"You tried to have me deported," she pulls an engraved platinum lighter out of her clutch and lights her cigarette before winking at Lucas. "Fortunately paperwork never makes it to district attorney office."

Natasha takes a long pull on the cigarette and exhales slowly, "They are looking for investigators to be looking into Redmond, Richmond? I forget, something an R. Carlyle case. You remember, good looking, adventurer, playboy, heir to the Carlyle fortune, abducted by cultists in Cairo or some other dreadfully hot place a few years back."

She regards the burning tip of the cigarette carefully for a moment, "I am just here to see what kind of story Mr. Elias can spin before I decides."

Kenneth looks back and forth between Natasha and Ellis, enjoying the peeks into both peoples' past. When Natasha finishes speaking, Kenneth steps forward, adjusting his coat, and says, "I'm afraid that we don't have a lot of information, but if you know Jackson Elias, you'll know that, whatever this is, it's something you don't want to miss out on. Has he contacted you, at all?"

Lucas, here's what you know about Jackson Elias:

Jackson Elias is in his late 30's, of medium height and build, and dark-complexion. He has a feisty and friendly air about him and, as an orphan in Stratford, Connecticut, he learned to make his own way early in life. He has no living relatives and no permanent address. He's seen the world and has written several well-regarded works on death cults he's encountered in his travels.

He's approached and asked questions of you on several occasions over the years regarding various groups and societies in New York, typically with an eye toward any sinister angle they might contain. He certainly has an interest in the occult and seems to spy something nefarious in the everyday, no matter how mundane. Some might find that type of behavior irritating and unbecoming a professional writer and explorer, but, to the contrary, you've found that you like him and value his friendship, even though months and sometimes years separate one meeting from the next.[/note]

[note="Lwunder"]Lucas, here's what you know of the Carlyle Expedition:

Roger Carlyle was a millionaire playboy who inexplicably turned from the life of a wastrel to finance and head an archaeological expedition to Egypt just after the War ended. He and his team left New York for Cairo, by way of London, where they made several excursions into the desert, though no one is clear what they found or even what they were looking for. Thereafter, the team traveled to East Africa where they vanished.

Roger's sister, Erica, organized several search parties (at no small expense) and was able to locate their encampment and their bodies. She pressed local authorities on trying their murderers, and while several local tribesmen were tried and hung, you got the impression they were afforded little more than a kangaroo court and hearing. Despite this, the matter was considered settled and mostly forgotten over the past few years.

Lucas looks at the telegram, studying the name Carlyle for a moment before looking up. "Yes, this sounds like a Jackson Elias type of escapade: occult, mystery, murder, mayhem," he says with a weak smile. "Well, looks like we have a few days before we're supposed to meet. What do you suggest?"

You head back to the hotel dining room and grab a quick bite to eat. The offerings here are somewhat limited, given your dietary restrictions, so you stick with a meat-less Cobb Salad. You wipe the corners of your mouth, and, with Elias' words still ringing in your ears (what could he have meant by that?), you head to your room shortly after 9PM. Either the recent meal or the come-down off your adrenaline high renders you completely exhausted, and you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Kenneth shrugs. "I suggest we ready ourselves for a trip. I have no idea how long it might be, but I would say at least a week, maybe two." He smiles and licks his lips a little. "I relish the chance to get away and get some of the excitement Jackson always brings to wherever he goes."

"A few days?" Natasha says in disbelief, "why did you drag me out of my bath?"

She groans, "I suppose we could look for information on what is his name. Newspaper articles, journal, find out where he goes and then find out what we can about this place."

Natasha takes a long pull on her cigarette and exhales slowly, "If it is a cult of some kind Carstairs has run afoul of we should be discrete with our inquiries. Try not to mention directly, look for things around locations or times but does not be specific."