Chapter 4 - Unexpected Meetings

Washington, America: September 5th, 1899

Tom Sawyer was now on the verge of tears from frustration. The minute he thought he had conquered the mountain of paperwork, one of the receptionists slumped an even larger pile onto his desk. Sawyer was sure he heard a little creak from the old wooden table. Being back at his office, which was nestled in the headquarters of the Secret Service, proved to be irritatingly tiring.

"Miss Finch, is there any more of this... paperwork?" Sawyer asked, refraining from using any colourful language in front of the young woman. Miss Finch was a small and dainty woman with her curly brown hair reaching down to her shoulders. She reminded him of an expensive porcelain doll; beautiful, fragile, and a treasure to respect.

"I'm afraid so, Mr Sawyer. A lot happened when you were away," she answered, straightening up the pile before rubbing her arm.
Sawyer groaned, crossing his arms on the desk and allowing his head to drop onto them.
"I expect you'd like a coffee?" she asked. Sawyer sighed. Of course he needed it; it was only ten in the morning.

"Coffee sounds great, Angelina. Thanks," he said. He looked up to her as he spoke and then let his head fall against the desk again. "Y'know, sometimes I really hate this job... I need something to do. Please say someone is runnin' in here with a mission for me. I'm not cut out for paperwork."

Sawyer jolted upright, scaring himself as there was a knock on the door. He'd been told off far too many times by his boss for slouching and he didn't want to imagine the response if he was found imitating a tablecloth.

"You certainly have a way with timing, Mr Sawyer," Miss Finch remarked with a smile. She brushed the wrinkles out of her navy blue dress.
"I guess I do, don't I? Come on in."

Briskly, Mr White entered Sawyer's office. He was an impressive-looking man that gave off an air of pride and strength with whatever he did. At almost six feet tall, broad at the shoulders and narrower at the hips, he was not a man Sawyer would like to annoy. His bulging brown eyes could cut through stone, a glare famous among Sawyer's peers. White was not the friendliest of men, but you could always trust him to get results.

He kept away from all the mess scattered around the room. Sawyer was now very grateful he had sat up. Mr White was even worse than the boss. He hated any kind of dirt or unkemptness with a burning passion. It was like he was allergic to it. It surprised Sawyer that he didn't at least get a lecture for his office's current state. Was Sawyer's involvement in helping to prevent a world war the reasoning behind the minor restraint? Somehow, Sawyer doubted it made a huge difference to the man who was slightly his superior.

There was still an expression of displeasure on Mr White's face. Sawyer's office was not in the best state, but it had been worse. There were lots of random papers on the top of filing cabinets and desks. He'd known it would be best to clean it up at some point, but for the time being, he just wanted to be outside and let it continue to pile up. The floor was clear, but the desk in the far corner was the only place that was truly spotless. It was his old partner's, Agent Finn. Or rather, Huck, as Sawyer always called him. He still wasn't used to be it being empty, he doubted he ever would.

The desk was made of some kind of dark wood, with patterns etched across the sides and down into its drawers and cupboards. Sawyer remembered when the two first moved in. Huck had won the fight for the nice desk. Even after everything, Sawyer couldn't consider the idea of taking it over. It was, and always would be, Huck's desk.

He missed Huck sitting at that desk, doing daft things behind Mr White's back. Though the large man intimidated most and made people try to avoid his bad side, Huck seemed to take it as a challenge. Sawyer had no idea how he managed to keep straight-faced during his partner's attempts to bother Mr White.

Sawyer smiled to himself, thinking of the times when Huck had sat behind White, imitating him. He would also show his emotions through pantomime. For pity and sorrow, he'd play the violin. A surprise was mockingly putting his hands on his cheeks and dropping his jaw. Sawyer's personal favourite was whenever he could no longer fight the urge of not snickering, White's bellows would intensify. Huck's answer to this was to act afraid, which made it even harder to stay straight-faced. And yet whenever White turned around, Huck managed to be sitting normal, letting Sawyer get into trouble. Those had been good days...

But times had changed. He couldn't think too much about his memories of the past. It was time to focus on the present and future.

"A letter for you, Sawyer. It was mixed in with my post," Mr White grumbled.

"Thank you, sir."

Happy for any distraction from his piles of paperwork, Sawyer took the white envelope. He examined it for a moment. Mr White tugged at the bottom of his grey blazer and left as quickly as he came, eager to leave the mess and chaos of the room behind. Sawyer ignored him and looked at the wax that had sealed the envelope. Pressed into the wax was an 'N' with a small emblem above it. That was Nemo's mark. Sawyer's chest fizzled with excitement, hoping that the letter was what he thought it was.

"If I may say so, it's not often you receive letters, Mr Sawyer."
"Oh, this? It's from a group of close friends."
He opened it with a little silver letter opener from his desk and read the contents of the letter:

Dear Tom Sawyer,

While I wish the circumstances of our correspondence to you were of a happier note, I am afraid we are in urgent need of your assistance. Captain Nemo has been taken.

A short time ago, Dr Jekyll found a thief stealing a few bottles of his potion. However, before he could get to them, two other men both drank two bottles each of the formula. The expected results of such action soon followed.

Dr Jekyll transformed into Mr Hyde to aid the fight, but their combined strength overwhelmed us. During the attack, Nemo was taken by the monsters. He received several injuries but, from what I observed, none looked to be potentially fatal, or at least that's what we hope. We do not know who is responsible or why he was the target of this attack.

Nemo was moved onto a small ship but we could not pursue them. The two monsters and a third man caused a lot of damage on board the Nautilus. We couldn't follow the ship until we repaired our engine which provided plenty of time for their escape.

We are on our way to collect you even as I send this message. By the time you receive it, we shall no doubt already be at the port waiting.

Yours Faithfully,

Wilhelmina 'Mina' Harker.

As he finished reading, Sawyer grimaced, "I'd rather do the paperwork than have this happen." Then he shook his head and turned towards his secretary, "Miss Finch, I'm afraid I have to leave right away. Could you go and tell Mr White for me, please? My friends need my help- it's an emergency."

Miss Finch nodded and scurried after Mr White without a word. The lack of comments or questions about the letter was welcome. There were plenty of thoughts on his mind now without more input.

Sawyer had been back from his previous mission for a few months now. It had involved the fate of the world and the newly-formed League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, of which they considered him a member. He didn't see himself as extraordinary, especially in comparison to the others. But he had found the challenge of the adventure to be exhilarating and he'd enjoyed his time with all of them, especially Quatermain.

Sawyer took a measured breath, rubbing the back of his neck. His concern for Nemo only managed to worsen as memories crept back into his thoughts. Quatermain had taken him under his wing during his time with the League. He had taught, led, and watched out for Sawyer while they chased down their enemy across the globe. When they finally cornered James Moriarty in Mongolia, events took a darker turn.

Allan Quatermain had died to protect him. Behind his thick mask, Sawyer was still grieving. Sawyer glanced up to the empty desk tucked away in the corner of the room. He had not even finished grieving for his fellow agent and best friend before it happened- and now this?

He ran his hands down his face before picking up the next piece of paperwork and began to flick through the pages, hoping to take his mind away from the old hunter and his brother-like partner and on to something useful. He needed to figure out the best way to make his excuses to his superiors. He couldn't leave without an explanation. Would the letter be enough?

Sawyer sighed again and continued to flick through the papers for inspiration. A distinct image caught his eye: A sun on a black background with several stars dotted around it. Simple enough but, for some reason, the image captured Sawyer's interest. Curiosity urged him to look closer, although the hum of activity outside the room prevented him from focusing. He only succeeded in it reminding him of Nemo's insignia.

Grim pictures flashed through his mind of Nemo being held by his captors. What were they doing to him at that very moment? Were they looking after him? Hurting him? Sawyer gave up. Any possibility of searching further among the paperwork for valid excuses was futile. He'd have to be honest with his superiors and hope they accepted his reasoning. If all else failed, he could arrange for some time off from his job for 'personal reasons'. Regardless, he couldn't stay at his desk any longer. He'd rather lose his job than not be able to help.

Nemo was the one man in the League whom Sawyer did not expect to be in such danger. For all that he was mortal and unaltered by science, Nemo seemed nearly invincible in person and could hold his own among the League. Only now did Sawyer consider the possibility of someone beating him.

A shiver crawled up Sawyer's back- he now also hated his imagination. His mind was betraying him with unpleasant ideas of what might be happening to the man. Sawyer threw the booklet down onto his desk in frustration and held his head in his hands.

"She's a nice girl," a voice remarked loudly, almost a shout.

Sawyer flung himself out of his seat. Unfortunately, the instinct to dodge possible threats did not come with grace and coordination. He ended up in a heap on the floor. The paperwork slipped from the desk, stray papers flew into the air and then fluttered to the ground. One of the drawers had fallen out from the dark green filing cabinet where the American agent had tried to save himself and a few files escaped. Only after the chaos did recognition strike.

"Skinner!" he scolded, throwing a pencil at where he guessed the invisible man to be standing. "Well, hello to you too," Skinner said casually, avoiding the little projectile. Sawyer could hear him chuckling beneath his breath.

"Yeah, well- How the hell did you get in here, anyway?" Sawyer asked, standing up and dusting himself off. "I'm invisible, Sawyer," he said, his tone demonstrating that Skinner was grinning. "It's easy. I put the letter in some grumpy fella's pile and he led me straight to you."

"Very funny. Though I gotta admit it's nice to see you again," Sawyer said, doing his best to pick up all the work. Skinner snorted a slight chuckle. Sawyer still ended up saying it was nice to see him. In all honesty, Sawyer had missed him, even with his exceptional skill in aggravating him.

"You know what I meant! Let's get out of here and you can explain what's going on the way. I'll have to find an excuse for why I'm leaving first though."

"Well, ladies first."

Sawyer grumbled, but he didn't hide his smile. He finished putting the paperwork into a quick pile and led the way towards the door. Sawyer hoped Skinner would have the good sense to remain silent during that meeting. No one would be happy with the idea of someone infiltrating the building.

Sawyer looked back and felt sorry at the pile that Miss Finch would have to sort through. He would have to make it up to her in some way.

"Come on, Sawyer. Time for another little adventure."

Sawyer shook his head and tried to smile. He usually loved the action-packed times like this but concern dampened his spirits. The situation ruined any enjoyment he had at the idea of reuniting with the League.

Still, something told Sawyer that Nemo would be all right. Perhaps it was his optimism or simple instinct. Either way, there was a small glow of confidence that they would find him. They had to and there was no chance of them giving up.

With that hopeful thought in mind, Sawyer grabbed his black coat from beside his desk and headed out the door.