Prequel: Assembling the team

December 31, 1924
Garden City, New York
St. Steven's Memorial Hospital
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Dr. Kenneth Davis, it's about 8 PM when you finally finish your last case for the day and begin to wash-up. Thank God, too, because you had plans to celebrate the New Year's with your brother Marcus and his family out in Hoboken, and what with the weather and everyone heading into the city for the night, you'd be lucky to get there in under 3 hours, and that's if you managed to catch the next train.

After packing-up your doctor's bag and grabbing your coat, you make you way downstairs and through the lobby when Margie, the receptionist, flags you down. "Doctor Davis! Telephone call for you!" she says in her thick Brooklyn accent. She hands the transceiver over to you from across the desk with a slight smile. Listening into the earpiece, you hear the cheery voice of the switchboard operator chirp through on the other end, "Doctor Kenneth Davis? Please hold while I patch you through."

January 1, 1925
Greenwich Village, Manhattan
Willowbrook Lodging
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Morgan O'Neil, you awake with a mild headache, no doubt a consequence of the free-flowing, illicit booze from the Bixby, a local cabaret and speakeasy here in the Village. 1925 promised to be, you thought, a departure from the dreary ennui that marked 1924 for you. The time would come very shortly when you would gladly trade the quiet tedium that defined your old life for the cosmic horrors that would come to define your new one.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and grab a quick shower and hot shave before heading out into a typical frigid and gray New York January morning. A few blocks down is Antonio's Cafe, where you'd eaten several times over the past few weeks that you've been in New York. It was, in your opinion, the best coffee you could get outside of your native Boston.

A bell atop the door chimes loudly as you enter the cafe and cross the black and white checkered tiles over to a wooden table that buts-up against the wall. You order your usual - fried eggs and bacon with strong black coffee - and open a copy of the New York Herald. A few moments later, a pretty 30-something waitress lumbers over to your table, tray in hand, and asks in a cheery tone, "You Morgan O'Neil? Got a telegram for you this morning. Sorry about the coffee stains," she adds with a slight smile and hands you a slip of yellow paper with the rest of your order:

Akila had made the drive drown from Providence to his hotel in Manhattan just yesterday and had left his car with the hotel's staff to store while he was in town for the conference. He had eaten a late dinner in the Hotel and had a good night's sleep. He was on the front steps of the hotel waiting for a cab and thinking about the presentation he would be making later that day. There were no real surprises in what he had to say, it was mostly previously revealed knowledge, but connection he would be making to other cultures may shock some people.

Kenneth says, "And you as well, Jackson!" Jackson hangs up the phone before Kenneth is even halfway done saying it. He hands the phone back to the nurse and shakes his head. "What have you gotten yourself into now, Jackson?" he mutters to himself as he makes his way to the hospital administrator. If Jackson needs him, he's going to need to take some time off to help him out.

I guess he only bluffs in cards Morgan thinks to himself.

January 14, 1925
Midtown, Manhattan
The Chelsea Hotel
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Akila, you manage to hail a taxi from the steps of the Chelsea Hotel which, like most other attendees and speakers, is where you're staying for the duration of the conference (room 450 to be exact). The 14th Annual Conference on Antiquities and Anthropology is attracting a lot of the standard names - peoples like Winters, Von Kluck, Evans, and the like - all fairly dry academics, but the one you're really interested in seeing is Jackson Elias. It's rumored he's returning from another expedition to the Kenya Colony with new findings on some of the local blood-cults there. Sure, some of his stuff is sensationalized and embellished for commercial purposes, but it's largely factual, and, frankly, his ability to spin a fantastic tale is part of why you like him.

You give the cabby the address for the conference - a few blocks down Broadway - and the Checker cab delivers you a few minutes later along with a $0.30 fee.

Akila gives the cabbie two quarters and tells him to keep the change. He strides into the Conference Center and stops for a moment to take in the momentous expanse. He finds a registration table and approaches hoping to get an agenda of the day's events and perhaps a map of the venue.

Paying for his meal, Morgan stands-up, preparing to return to his apartment to pack his equipment and clothes, when a chime on the on the door signals another customer entering.
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Kenneth, you enter Antonio's Cafe in search of the man Jackson had mentioned on the phone last night. The cafe itself is a rather small affair, with about half a dozen Jacobean-styled tables sitting atop a white and black checkered tile floor. You spot only a few patrons, which makes sense given that it's New Year's: two older, working class bearded men drinking coffee, allowing the steam of which to wash the red from their puffy eyes, and one younger gentleman, stout and young with the look of a soldier about him. The lattermost stands as if to leave when you lock eyes with him.

Kenneth nods at the other man and in a moderated voice asks, "Are you O'neil?" He pulls off his coat, hanging it on one arm as he takes another step into the restaurant.

You turn northward and look at the municipal building before you where the conference is held - an art deco affair of dull, gray concrete with a central stair leading to the main entrance. Upon entering, you find yourself in a crowded concourse of tile and concrete; to your left you see a concession stand serving coffee and pastries, to the right you see a sign naming the entrance to the African Exhibitions, and straight ahead, where the crowd is slowly shuffling, you see a sign pointing you toward registration. A severe-looking bespectacled woman waves you forward to the desk and asks your name. You give it, and after signing in, she hands you a map of the conference:



You also ask about the agenda, and she points to a small pamphlet on the table in front of you. You pick up a copy and move to the side to allow the other attendees access to the registrar and peruse the contents:

It seems Jacques Marot will be speaking shortly after lunch on findings in French Indochina. If rumors are true, then recent excavations north of the Sangkhae suggest a connection to the famed Ankor Wat, which could be interesting. Von Kluck is speaking at 3PM on the Sudanese pyramids. You make a mental note to check this out, given its proximity to your own field of expertise. Speaking of which, it looks like you're to speak this evening at 6PM. You flip through the remainder of the pamphlet and see that Jackson Elias isn't to speak until the 15th, the last day of the exhibition. You frown at this last piece of information, but it makes sense for them to save the best for last.

Morgan stops as the stranger asks him about his name. "I am Morgan O'Neil, bit you have me st a disadvantage sir. I'm not sure who you are?" Doing his best to appear non-threatening Morgan waits for the stranger to speak.

Kenneth holds out his hand, "Dr. Kenneth Davis, at your service, sir. I was told to meet you here by Jackson Elias. Have you spoken with him recently?"

Morgan visibly relaxes as Kenneth introduces himself. Shaking the offered hand, Morgan responds in kind. "It's good to meet you sir. I indeed know our mutual friend. Jackson Elias. I've ran security for him on a few of his expeditions. As far as speaking with him, it's been a while on that one. I did in fact receive a telegram this very day from him."

Morgan takes the telegram and shows it to Kenneth.

Kenneth quickly reads the note and then snorts a laugh and hands the note back to O'neil. "Well, he certainly does have a way with words, doesn't he?" He shakes his head. "So, it seems we are both in the dark. He told me he found something, but couldn't discuss it over the telephone. He told you he needs a team. I wonder if he gave any other bits of information to anyone else?" Kenneth looks around, as if expecting someone else to walk in at Jackson's invitation.