Title: The Death of the League, Part 1
Author: Sherry Thornburg
Author's Email: Thornburgs77 a gmail
Feedback: Yes, please
Permission to Archive: Privately only, with notice and location.
Category: Crossover, Suspense
Rating/Warning: K+
Disclaimer: SAJV and original characters copywrite Tailsman/Promark/etc., and The Wild Wild West is a production of the CBS television network from 1965 to 1969. No infringement is intended.
Characters: The Cast of SAJV, and The Wild Wild West, with Matthew and Mark Ridgemont.
Summary: Phileas has had enough of the League of Darkness intruding on his life and others. He makes it a personal crusade to put an end to the organization that leads him to France. While he helps route the League of Darkness out of that country, Matthew and Mark Ridgemont and Jules Verne leave England for safer territory in America. So, they thought, but in Texas, all three are again threatened by the League.
Chapter 1
On a cool rainy morning in London, a carriage brought a visitor to the offices of the Secret Service in Whitehall. The edifice felt just as Phileas Fogg remembered it from his many years at this place. In the early hours, it was sparsely attended and cold, which suited Phileas's cold mood and wish for privacy. He stood on the walk just a moment past the need, looking at it, taking a long breath and heading to the main entrance.
He took the stairs quietly. Strode down the hall to his father's old office without even thinking about the route. He had taken it so often. If he thought about it, Phileas could probably have recounted how many steps it took to get from the stairs to his old office and then the steps needed to get to the director's office.
Phileas had spent the majority of his young adulthood here. He had lost most of his innocence and all his preconceived notions of fair play and the innate goodwill of mankind in the employ of its business. This building and its counterparts around the world were where monarchs and politicians plotted behind closed doors to maintain their self-made sense of superiority over one another. This was where his father had plotted to keep the Napoleonic Wars from happening again. This was where the covert planning of a peace treaty and an investigation into an agency leak had led to the loss of his brother's life. And this is where I promised I would never come again after breaking off with father.
That last vow had been broken many times over in concern for Rebecca and at the Queen's request. The building itself he was not at odds with, nor were the people who worked here. Even his hostility towards Sir Boniface, still closely cherished and strong, had lost its edge. It was the underlying principles that the place stood for, the arrogance of the idea that a few could control the course of the world at large. That bottom-line flaw Phileas held in contempt. He had seen random factors and outside entity's trash the well-laid plans of diplomats, politicians and sovereign monarchs too often to believe in the delusion. But this is where he had to come to make a start at running the League of Darkness to ground.
With purposeful strides, he made it to Chatsworth's office half an hour before Sir Jonathan normally arrived.
How do I know? Phileas smiled. I still have contacts.
Opening the door, Phileas walked into the office quietly, holding a key he had not been sure would still work. The key had been his from the time he had been named senior agent. Sir Boniface had given it to him, and Phileas had given it back when he resigned. After his father's death, he found it in Sir Boniface's effects at Shillingworth Magna.
He still puzzled over his father, never turning it in. Not like him to make such an oversight–but, exactly like him to hold some arrogant assurance that I would come back.
He walked into the darkened office, jaw tightened. "Here I am."
No ghost answered. No shadowy presence greeted him with the rays of the sunrise coming through the window. He dismissed the misplaced anticipation and let go his held breath. Father wouldn't be haunting these halls, though lord knows, he wouldn't find anything changed if he did.
The desk still sat before the window, allowing its light to illuminate the working space. Sir Jonathan's picture was on the wall where it had been since the day the man took office. It covered the safe that held the more sensitive files. The combination Phileas was certain had been changed, but he did not see fit to check. Barrister boxes of books along the walls and the big hutch were still in place. The floor was still bare. Why no one had thought to add a rug to the room he could not understand, but it did not really matter.
Phileas sat down in the only chair available, the desk chair. The other he had absently noticed beside the secretary's desk in the outer office space. A noise from the chair broke the silence.
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. Still squeaks. It used to grate on me how he never had the damned thing fixed. If I had taken the position when it was offered, the first thing I would have done was to replace it.
Turning toward the window, he looked out on the rooftops. Not much of a view. One would think the director's office would have afforded a better one–maybe the palace or something. He turned away from the window and set himself for the meeting to take place in–He pulled his watch. "Yes, twenty more minutes."
If all goes well, I will be on my way in a short order. If not, I will make an appointment on number ten Downing Street. That I hope won't have to happen. I was always on good terms with the former Prime Minister who offered me the position. The present office holder I know, so can't be certain of his cooperation. I might persuade him to see things my way, but then again, he might not.
The idea of taking on his father's office sent a shudder through him, Necessary–will have to replace Chatsworth if he lacks the courage to cooperate.
Sounds came to his attention from outside the office, pulling his mind back to the task at hand. Ah, Chatsworth's new secretary has arrived, getting ready for his day. The treacherous weasel that had preceded him had been discovered and killed many months ago. It's enough for me to hold the present office holder in contempt. Chatsworth was completely oblivious to his own secretary's treachery.
Other people's shoes could be heard strolling or briskly clattering by. Greetings were being offered.
At exactly seven fifteen, footfalls came toward the door and turned a key in the lock.
Sir Jonathan expected nothing out of the ordinary as entered his office, took off his coat, left it on the coat tree, and thumbed through papers on the way to his desk. He did not even see his early morning caller until he was a footfall from the desk.
Chatsworth started at the sight of Phileas Fogg sitting at his desk. The man looked at him blandly, mostly blandly. That arrogance and hooded insolence that he so hated could be seen in his eyes. Surprise registered, along with the accompanying questions, as to why Michaels hadn't told him. The surprise only showed a few seconds before Chatsworth compressed his already thin mouth into an impatient line.
"You have some business with me, Fogg?"
"Indeed," Phileas said with a cordial nod of the head, refusing to remove himself from the chair. There was still no place to remove himself to, so he left Chatsworth standing in his own office.
"You have a major problem," Phileas said. "The League is using England to smuggle arms into America, and their new president does not want them reaching his shores. Two Americans sent to England for schooling have been attacked, along with a visiting Frenchman. How are your young guests, by the way?"
"Safe, secure and bothersome," Chatsworth said, dropping his papers on the desk with a resounded plop, as he turned away from his uninvited guest. "The Ridgemonts are climbing the walls from inactivity, and Verne is not much better. Rebecca's visits do nothing to curtail their restlessness. Matthew Ridgemont has even made noises about requesting a visit from the American Ambassador. If he actually makes that a formal request, I cannot refuse. It is only by their consent that we have them under protective arrest as it is. They will have to be freed if that consent is withdrawn."
"And that suit the Americans have filed against our wartime trade with the former confederacy?" Phileas said.
"A wishful thought on their part, I assure you," Chatsworth said, face going dark. "It will come to nothing."
"So, you say," Phileas said. "But then again, what will come of their finding arms still being moved onto their shores originating from England? Our raid on Fairmont Shipping, while successful, will not stop the League for long. There are plenty of shipping companies that can take over the contract, and most are of English registry. It comes from being the sea power we are, you know?"
"What do you want, Fogg?" Chatsworth said tightly.
"I want to help solve your problem," Phileas said.
He stood and closed the distance between them.
"I want to go into France and find their training ground; the one that Mathew Ridgemont and Jules Verne were to be taken to. I want to do it in a quiet enough fashion that the League's ears in His Imperial Majesty's French court will not hear of it. I intend to close it and find out exactly where the League is sending their arms. Then, I intend to hand the League to the Americans on a silver platter. In that present government's mood, discovering a foreign influence building up on its shores will not sit well. And I expect they will be grateful enough to even rethink that ill-conceived suit against Her Majesty's government."
Standing toe to toe with a man a head taller was not a position Chatsworth liked. But, he did like what Phileas was proposing. Phileas Fogg was officially resigned from the service, but nonetheless was still of use to the service at Her Majesty's request.
I truly don't have the manpower to make a quiet incursion into France to handle the League's threat, as much as I wish otherwise. My plate was full at the moment. Only Rebecca and Phileas know enough about the League to handle such a mission.
Sir Jonathan backed away from Phileas, eyes focusing on possibilities. I have a have a few agents in France who monitor the League. They could be turned over for Fogg's use.
"The idea has merit," Sir Jonathan said after a moment. "All said, I would be quite happy to have the League run to ground. It's a sore spot in our relations with France, especially as they seem to allow them safe harbor." Well paid safe harbor, he didn't mention.
He turned away from Fogg and circled the desk to take back his chair. "The papers we confiscated from the New Market warehouse proved the League is planning a move to America. You know that. One would like to think our minor victories against them over the last year have made England and Europe less comfortable for them."
"Had we not been watching the Ridgemont brothers, the organization may have made the transition unnoticed. And it is a full transition we are discussing here," Chatsworth said. "The seat of power is to be moved to America. With so much of America, and Canada sparely inhabited, the League has the chance of becoming well entrenched before anyone knew they had moved in. Our efforts last spring blocked their move to Canada. I can only surmise that an alternative American site was developed soon after."
"Then we agree?" Phileas said, standing over the desk. "You understand we must attack France first before turning our attentions to America?"
"Certainly," Chatsworth said. "It does us no good to mention America's problems if ours have not been dealt with first. Besides," he said with a wane smile, "we do not want the League coming back to give us future grief. They must be rooted out of our territory, with no hope of coming back."
Chatsworth said, "In the time you have been formulating your plan, I have been making plans as well." He shook out the papers he had tossed on his desk. "There was enough documentation in that warehouse to tell us just where the League's minions in England were. I have been raiding League sites and strongholds one after another with a speed designed to stay ahead of any attempt on their part to flee. England is now a very inhospitable place."
Phileas actually blinked in shocked surprise. Wonders never cease–Chatsworth showing competence?
"Then what say you to my suggestion?" Phileas pressed.
"Give me a few days to arrange things," Chatsworth said. "My moves against the League are by now public knowledge. France still turns a blind eye to activities on their own soil, officially. And as you say, activity between France and America will invariably involve England. I will not have that. I know a few French officials who would happily join us in this fox hunt. A quasi-official collaboration could be set up."
Phileas smiled at the bureaucrat behind the desk and gave him a nod before heading to the door. That worked out far easier than Phileas had hoped. They were almost working in step with each other.
"One thing though," Chatsworth called out before Phileas could open the door. "As His Imperial Majesty's government cannot be told of this mission into his sovereign soil without tipping the League off, you do understand that the Queen cannot be seen to condone or even know of this matter?"
The great game was often called cloak and dagger for good reason. Chatsworth had accepted that in cold recognition as part of taking this office. All major countries knew that each participant in the game had spies that acted on orders from their governments. Under most circumstances, the agent acted as he saw fit in the situation given. If there was a misstep where the receiving end caught the agent or objected to that agent's activities strongly enough, it was common practice to disavow knowledge of what that agent had been about.
In this case, Phileas Fogg is a resigned agent. One who resigned under protest to the methods of his superiors and their direct consequences. As such, Fogg is the best person for this job because I can disavow him the easiest if anything goes wrong. France is our friend, and one doesn't send agents into one's ally's backyard to handle problems they did not choose to acknowledge, unless it is to our friend's best interests.
"You will be working on your own," Chatsworth said. "If you fail, Her Majesty's government will not come to your aid."
Phileas's eyes hardened. So much for mutual aid and respect. The political weasel would wash his hands of the entire affair if anything went wrong, leaving me and Rebecca high and dry. And, no doubt, take all credit if all went well. Phileas chose not to comment on the man's lack of political courage or how cold-blooded Chatsworth had become since the office settled on his shoulders.
Like father, came an unbidden thought.
Chatsworth was becoming as accomplished a chess master as Sir Boniface. Phileas resented the hell out of being made a pawn again. He stood with his back to the man staring at the doorframe, holding down his temper. Suddenly, a second unbidden thought came to his mind.
Better him than me.
Phileas turned slowly to view Sir Jonathan, still sitting at the desk with a hard stern expression marring his face. For a long moment, he just stood contemplating.
The other man met his gaze, unwavering, awaiting his move.
Phileas's expression and mood lightened. He reached into his pocket for the old key and tossed it across the room to its present inhabitant. "This belongs to you, I believe," he said, grinning satisfaction. He turned, leaving the office with the memory of Chatsworth's puzzled expression, trying to figure out where the extra key came from.