Hah! 
I loved the way Captain Courageous got himself volunteered for the assignment!
The descriptions of Mr. Hutchins and Beatrice seem familiar. Not that I've seen those characters before, but the way you pictured them is similar to something else I read once, though for the life of me I can't remember what it was. Mind sharing your inspiration for them?
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It reminds me of Night Watch.
My Stories
Look at that. A full-grown woman pulling off pigtails. Her crazy is off the charts.
I'm not sure what Night Watch is, but an archetype is an archetype. *heh* Bullit and Hutchins owe a lot of inspiration to Thomas Magnum and Jonathon Higgins. 
*edit*
And to address the full question, Beatrice didn't have any particular inspiration other than the archetypical secretary who knows what her boss needs before he knows it himself. If she has an inspiration, it would be this young lady. Ha ha!
What's interesting is that I was thinking of the Steve McQueen movie when I picked the name "James Bullit". It was only when I typed out the answer to Grog's question that I noticed the relationship between Bullit and Magnum. 
((Inspiration sometimes comes from strange places. SR))
Justice For All
Mission Assignment
The afternoon sunlight slanted in to the office of Robin Hutchins. Half-closed shades blocked the direct sun such that its rays spilled into a pool of light just short of the desk at which he was currently writing a letter to one of the firms semi-regular clients.
A private and unassuming man, Hutchins was the model of an Edwardian middle-aged gentleman bachelor. Meticulous to a fault, he oversaw the daily operations of Justice, Unlimited with a firm but understanding hand.
His past was a blank slate. It was a common game for the junior investigators to spend time around the water cooler speculating as to just how much of his known history was fact or fiction, and what the nature of his unknown history might be. All that anyone could prove for certain was that Robin Hutchins had sprung, fully formed as it were, from nothing in the year 1982. That was the year that _Nature_ published three different scholarly articles about various aspects of anthropological study by the hitherto unknown researcher.
Hutchins work in a variety of fields of scientific endeavor continued to find publication over the next decade in journals such as _Nature_, _Scientific American_, and the _British Medical Journal_. While he never achieved, nor appeared to crave, widespread fame, other scientists still sometimes cited his work and it was whispered that he had directly influenced more than one famous scientific breakthrough in the past two decades.
His office was large enough to impress, but small enough to avoid a sense of ostentation. The walls behind his desk were hung with photos of himself associating with the heads of state of a dozen countries, evidence as to his social contacts. Despite this, he seldom talked openly about his social station and never appeared to use his connections for any visible personal or political gain. He lived a moderately comfortable life, exhibiting scant evidence to support the rumors of millions of possibly illicit dollars secreted away in Swiss and Caribbean bank accounts.
That he was aristocracy seemed certain. It was less clear whether his family was American or British or possibly a combination. When he spoke, it was with the clipped lilt of a life-long Brit. Intriguingly, though, there were occasionally traces of Boston and Montreal, and on at least two occasions, he had startled one of his listeners by absent-mindedly uttering the Ayuh of the upper-New England rural farmer.
In short, he was an enigma wrapped in a riddle and all that anyone who looked into his background with any thoroughness could say was that he was a man with secrets and he preferred it that way.
The senior investigators typically put the new hires among the juniors through a kind of ceremonial hazing, by informing them that Hutchins kept a safe with an alarm system of his own design and describing the glory that would attach to anyone who could break into it. That safe, so it was rumored, held a dossier that related the true story of Robin Hutchins. Likewise, a hidden server on the corporate network held secrets that he trusted only to himself, waiting to be broken and exploited by a resourceful new hire who might style himself as a highly skilled hacker.
To date, no would-be safecracker had managed to breach Hutchins defenses. Rumor had it that one investigator had managed to briefly get a glimpse of the digital record, before being shut out and the security hole plugged. If true, the investigator in question had never owned up to it or attempted to exploit whatever knowledge he or she had gained.
More typically, the hapless new investigator was caught, identified, and subjected to the humiliation of a public rebuke from The Director about misuse of company resources and the sardonic scorn of the senior investigators.
Very rarely, when some show of ingenuity actually impressed him, the Director rewarded the perpetrator in an oblique fashion, by dropping a hint about some facet of his past that the water cooler crowd might recently have been pondering.
The system worked well on two levels. It engendered respect for Hutchins own defensive skills, and it weeded out those entry-level candidates who could not take the heat. Those that stuck with it and rose to the challenge became exemplary investigators while also strengthening the defenses of Justice, Unlimited against the very real enemies that sought to breach its physical and metaphorical borders.
In short, Robin Hutchins, man of mystery, ran Justice, Unlimited as a benevolent dictatorship; the proverbial iron fist in a velvet glove.
He sat now, preparing a report for one of the firms more obscure clients. Perfectly manicured hands held the beautiful and expensive Mont Blanc fountain pen as it skittered its way across the company stationary.
[ QUOTE ]
My Dear Mr. LeGrange;
Enclosed you will find an account of the curious matter of the Spectral Maiden of the Misty Wood. You may inform the Mayor of Salamanca that the Wood is once again safe for travel, or at least as safe as that supernaturally touched area has ever been.
Mister Mystico, the field operative assigned to the case, is currently on medical leave in Haiti after bringing the affair to a successful, if unexpected, conclusion. The Houngan informs me that he expects Mystico to make a full recovery aside from a disconcerting compulsion to bark like a frog at socially awkward moments.
We at Justice, Unlimited value your business, as always, and look forward to being of service to your investigations in the future.
Warm regards,
Robin Hutchins
Director, Justice, Unlimited
[/ QUOTE ]
Signing his name with the customary flourish, he placed the letter atop a pile of laser printed documents and slid the entire manuscript into a manila envelope. After sealing and addressing the envelope for the post, he glanced at the Rolex adorning his right wrist and allowed himself a sigh of pleasure.
An entire hour with no commitments! he said enthusiastically to nobody in particular. How shall I spend it?
The question appeared at least partly rhetorical as he immediately turned to the bookcase set in the corner of the room and opened the glass-windowed door. The contents would have made any bibliophile green with envy. It stood five feet square and its shelves held row after row of rare first editions, some dating back nearly two-hundred years.
Perhaps some Dunsany, he mused aloud. Running his fingers lovingly over the spines of the treasured volumes, he stopped when he reached The King of Elflands Daughter. Extracting the book from the grip of its fellows, he leaned back in his chair and reverently opened the cover.
That, of course, was the moment that his intercom buzzed.
He frowned at the sound. Beatrice scheduled his appointments, and she knew his habits better than anyone did. She would know that a free hour during the day was really the equivalent of hanging a Do Not Disturb sign on his door.
Beatrice Spaulding was the forty-five-year-old receptionist of Justice, Unlimited. Her official title was Personal secretary to the Director. Those new hires who mistakenly assumed that the title implied someone who fetched coffee and took dictation had a rude awakening when they suddenly found themselves doing all of the most unsavory and undesirable jobs taken on by the firm.
In practice, she was the personal assistant to the Director, and the de facto office manager. Her eidetic memory and organizational skills insured that she knew more about the day-to-day operations than any other staff member did. While the firm had no official vice president, the senior staff had an unspoken understanding amongst themselves that Beatrice was unofficial second-in-command after the Director himself.
She stood five-five, with long blond hair that she wore tied up in a bun while she was at work. Her style-of-dress tended towards the stylish but conservative. She wore black-framed glasses that gave her an appearance of severity, especially if she had reason to frown in disapproval at the antics of one junior investigator or another.
Conversely, when she rewarded an investigator or a field operative with a pleased smile, the glasses highlighted her large emerald eyes. More than one male staffer had found himself dazed and confused by the sudden reversal of his lizard brain switching mid-gear from fear of the Dragon Queen to fantasies of what it might be like to remove those glasses and let down that long blond hair.
To date, no staff member had accomplished either of those pleasures. Aside from the occasional gentle flirting with some of her most well-liked investigators and field operatives, Beatrice left her personal life at the door of the firm.
That, of course, gave the water cooler speculators yet another topic for conversation. The wilder claims held that she was Hutchins secret lover; that she knew enough of his secrets to hold her position by dint of blackmail; that she was his bodyguard trained in six different martial arts, and even all of those simultaneously.
Whatever the truth of the matter, she was currently the person interrupting Hutchins rare moment of peaceful leisure. He could be forgiven if there was a trace of annoyance in his voice when he answered the intercom.
Yes, Beatrice? What is it?
A prospective client has presented herself, Sir. A Mrs. Agatha Belson. Beatrice paused as if that was all the explanation necessary.
Hutchins frowned. The name was unfamiliar.
Is she a referral from a previous client?
No, Sir, replied Beatrice. She is here on the advice of her mother, it seems.
Very well, Beatrice. Have someone assigned for an initial consultation per normal procedures. For the sake of the aforementioned Mrs. Belson, he refrained from saying, That was hardly worth disturbing my free time for.
Yes Sir, as you wish, replied the voice of Beatrice from the intercom. When this was NOT followed by the click that normally indicated a switched off intercom, Hutchins waited a beat and then asked, Well?
Sir, you have a free slot in your schedule and I know that you occasionally take it upon yourself to have a personal hand in these matters.
Hutchins paused with his finger on the disconnect button. One of his secretarys most important unstated duties was to anticipate his needs and interests, a duty at which she typically excelled. For Beatrice to be uncharacteristically insistent, there must be something unusal about the case.
He considered briefly, then said You had better shew her in then.
As you say, Sir, came the answer, this time followed by the expected click of a disconnected intercom.
Hutchins regretfully replaced The King of Elflands Daughter into its accustomed slot in the bookcase and shut the glass-paneled door. The office door opened, and he stood respectfully as Beatrice entered and stood to one side. She smiled reassuringly at the doorway and a plump dark-haired woman in a flower-print dress stepped forward and stood uncertainly just within the room.
"Mrs. Belson, I presume?"
Hutchins bowed politely, noting with amusement the flush of embarrassment that this caused his visitor. She was a woman unaccustomed to having a fuss made over her. He extended his hand invitingly towards a well-padded wooden chair placed in front of his desk.
"Please, sit here and make yourself comfortable."
Beatrice placed her hand on the woman's arm and gently guided her across the room. As the woman sat tentatively in the chair, Beatrice stepped to one side of the desk.
"This is Mr. Hutchins," she explained. "He is the Director of Justice, Unlimited. There is no higher authority here."
Hutchins inclined his head in acknowledgement and turned his eyes to the would-be client sitting across from him. Beatrice laid an opened folder next to his left hand, containing the notes from the introductory interview that she had given Mrs. Belson. She nodded at their visitor with a small smile and retired, shutting the door softly behind her.
As the door clicked shut, Hutchins appraised his guest. Her clothes were neat, though well worn. She was in reasonable physical shape and he guessed that she was rather stronger than one might believe at first glance. She wore no makeup and the visible grey roots of the hair at her scalp indicated that she did not visit the stylist as often as she might wish. A glance at the top page of the folder showed a King's Row address, giving some confirmation to his initial deduction that she had made her own dress out of necessity rather than as a result of a hobby.
"Well," he said as he leaned forward attentively. "I see by your initial paperwork that the case that brought you to us is a missing person. A child?"
"My son, Sir," she replied. She was wringing her hands nervously and Hutchins smiled in an attempt to put her at ease. According to the folder, his name was Terrence and he was 14-years-old.
"Did the police department look into the disappearance?" he asked her.
She frowned and began wringing her hands again.
"The officers that I spoke to were sympathetic, but they told me that there was not much they could do."
She looked up at Hutchins imploringly.
"My Terry wouldn't run away, Mr. Hutchins! He just wouldn't!"
Hutchins nodded sympathetically. Runaway teens were the rule more than the exception in some King's Row neighborhoods. Overworked police officers were likely to assume a missing teen to be a runaway, particularly since it most often proved out to be the case in the long run.
"Tell me about the police investigation."
She looked at the floor glumly.
"I had to wait twenty-four hours to file a missing person report. They took the report and they asked a few questions in the neighborhood."
"After two days they told me they had done all they could do. The detective gave me a card with his phone number on it in case Terry showed up or I got more information."
Its been five days now, without any word from Terry. Im going out of my mind, Mr. Hutchins!
She looked up and Hutchins read the dread in her eyes as clearly as if she had spoken it.
Mrs. Belson, he said, softly. Are you certain that you want to pursue this?
What do you mean, Mr. Hutchins?
His voice was steady and a bit stern when he answered.
If Terrence had no reason to run away, then you must be prepared for the worst. It is an unfortunate fact that most child abductions result in, ah, grave consequences to the abductee if he or she is not found within the first twenty-four hours.
Agatha Belson blanched, and for a second Hutchins believed she might faint altogether. Instead, she buried her face in her hands and wept uncontrollably. Hutchins waited patiently, and after a couple of moments the spell had passed and she regained her composure somewhat.
As she wiped her eyes, Hutchins reached into his pocket, shook out his handkerchief and held it out. She accepted gratefully. After wiping her face and blowing her nose, she looked around the office in embarrassment and finally offered it back to Hutchins. He waved a hand dismissively, and after a pause, she nodded and put it in her handbag.
I apologize for being so abrupt, Madam, but these things are best faced head-on rather than hidden beneath layers of false hope and courtesy.
She shook her head and said, with the conviction of a grieving Mother, Terry is alive, Mr. Hutchins. A mother knows these things. I feel it in my heart.
He gazed at her levelly, and nodded in acceptance.
Very well, we will certainly pray that is the case. In the meantime, we will spare no effort in our investigations.
He paused, letting his gaze move once again from her Wal-Mart handbag to her homemade dress as he flipped through the folder that Beatrice had left on his desk. He stopped at the standard time-payment contract. After a moment of thought, he closed the folder and slid it aside.
As to the payment , he began, when his guest interrupted him.
Oh, yes, one second, Mr. Hutchins, she said and she began rummaging in her handbag.
Hutchins paused in surprise, which was no way assuaged when her hand emerged clutching a red, white and blue colored plastic card that was roughly the size and shape of a credit card.
She held the card out to him and he accepted it. A picture of the firms flagship field operative, Captain Courageous, splashed across the card. He was giving the purchaser of the card his trademark thumbs-up gesture and the High School Quarterback grin that said Yes, I AM all that and more! The words Justice Unlimited: Justice For All! were printed in large gold-colored block letters behind him.
His eyes went from the card to Mrs. Belson, as he said, I am not sure I understand.
Her face fell, and the hopeful look changed to fear and uncertainty.
It was my mother, Mr. Hutchins.
Hutchins nodded, remembering that Beatrice had mentioned a referral from a mother.
Shes old, Sir, and she doesnt always understand these things. She bought it at the Quickie-Mart, using the money she had saved for Terrys birthday. She insisted that it would pay for your services. Agatha Belson sagged in her chair. I told her she had to be mistaken, but she insisted, and I dared to hope
He turned the card over in his hands. The back of the card was printed in a tiny typeface that elderly eyes would likely be unable to make out clearly. This gift card is only valid for purchase of Super Store items in the online computer game Justice Unlimited Online. It has no cash value until activated by store personnel where it was purchased. All sales final. May not be redeemed for cash. Void where prohibited. For card balance information, call 1-800-JUST4AL
Hutchins suppressed a smile, and said, Excuse me, one moment, Mrs. Belson.
He scratched off the grey rubber coating that covered the serial number of the card, picked up the phone and dialed the number indicated. A youthful-sounding male voice answered.
Justice Unlimited Online Customer Service. How may I help you?
I would like to ascertain the balance on a card. Here is the serial number. He rattled it off, and a half-second later, the voice on the phone said, The balance on that card is currently 1000 Justice Points, Sir.
How much is that in real world terms, young man?
Ten dollars, Sir.
Hutchins shook his head in bemusement.
May I be of any further help to you, Sir?
No, thank you. That will do nicely.
Thank you for calling Customer Service, Sir. Dont forget to login next week when the new jet pack arrives in the Super Store!
He replaced the receiver in its cradle and turned his attention to his guest. The twinkle in his eye might have betrayed him, but his voice was its normal authoritarian tone as he held up the card and said This will be more than adequate, Mrs. Belson.
She leapt to her feet and for a moment Hutchins feared she would come around the desk and embrace him. Instead, she reached across the desk and grasped his hands in both of hers.
Oh, thank you, Mr. Hutchins! Thank you! I know youll find Terry, I just know it!
The office door opened as if on cue and Beatrice entered, allowing Hutchins a polite excuse to rescue his hands from the grateful grip of Mrs. Belson. He stood and she did likewise. As Beatrice resumed her place at the end of his desk, he handed her the folder.
Mrs. Belson has agreed to engage our services in the location of her son, Terrence, he informed her. Please open a new investigation and schedule an interview.
Certainly, Director Hutchins. I have our newest investigator prepared to interview Mrs. Belson directly.
He raised an eyebrow at that, but Beatrice merely returned his gaze attentively, and finally he harrumphed and turned back to Mrs. Belson.
We WILL find Terrence, Mrs. Belson. When Justice, Unlimited accepts a case, we do not leave it half-completed.
The joy illuminating her face made the distraught mother as radiant as a Madonna.
Thank you, Mr. Hutchins! She looked at the gift card lying on the desk and asked, hopefully, Will Captain Courageous be looking for my Terry?
Hutchins shook his head.
We assign our field operatives based upon their availability and their suitability for a particular assignment. Whichever operative is given the task, you have my assurance that it will be the best effort possible.
If she was disappointed at failing to rate the attention of the flagship operative, she covered it well. She thanked him again and followed Beatrice out of the office.
When he was alone again, Hutchins sat once more and pulled the phone across the desk. He dialed and on the third ring, a voice answered that oozed confidence even across the electronic distance separating them.
Bullit here. Speak your piece.
James, welcome home.
Hutchins! cried the voice of James Captain Courageous Bullit. Youre a sight for sore eyes, or you would be if I was looking at you.
I trust that your trip was pleasant, said Hutchins. The tropics can be taxing on the unprepared.
Bullit waved off the implied criticism. No worries, Hutchins. The production company takes good care of their stars when theyre off-screen. Most of what the viewers see is manufactured drama. It was a little disappointing, to tell the truth.
I see, said Hutchins dryly. I must say, James, that the drama that I witnessed appeared authentic enough. I am undecided as to which besmirching of the firms reputation vexes me more: The fact that you agreed to participate in a low-brow example of television programming like Im a Super. Save me! or the fact that you managed to be the first participant to be voted off of the island.
They wanted me to eat ROACHES, Hutchins! exclaimed Bullit. Big, honking, scary, ROACHES!
Hutchins snorted contemptuously.
You are aware, James, that insects are a dietary staple in many parts of the world? In my travels amongst some of the so-called primitive peoples of the world, I personally have eaten cicadas, mealworms, crickets, and six different kinds of beetle larvae.
ROACHES! repeated Bullit. I dont know about the rest of the world. In Brooklyn, we didnt eat them, we terminated them with extreme prejudice!
Indeed, said Hutchins with the barest hint of sarcasm. It sounds terribly traumatic.
Yeah, yeah, said Bullit dismissively. Youre Mr. Indiana Jones, World Traveler. You eat everything thats put in front of you. I get it. Did you call just to gloat or have some cases piled up while Ive been away?
Since you ask, said Hutchins, A case came across my desk today that I thought would benefit from your special talents.
Really? What sort of case? A bombing? Theft of classified weaponry? Mass mind control?
Nothing so dramatic, replied Hutchins. A missing person case.
Oh. Bullit sounded disappointed. An abduction?
Possibly. That remains to be determined.
I see. Bullit pondered for a moment and asked, Whos the principal? A CEO? A politician?
A fourteen-year-old boy. His mother assures me that he would not run away voluntarily.
Bullits rejoinder was dripping with suspicion.
This isnt one of your pro bono cases is it, Hutchins? Maseratis dont pay for themselves, you know.
Hutchins picked up the gift card, turned it over in his hands twice, and grinned.
James, he said, I can assure you with no dissemblance whatsoever that this is a paying customer.
Terrific! Bullits enthusiasm was palpable. Whos the investigator?
One moment. Hutchins reached for a nearby computer keyboard and typed on it briefly.
The case is assigned to a recent hire, a Donna Steele.
Bullit whistled appreciatively.
Isnt she the redhead with legs up to there?
Hutchins frowned.
I am sure I wouldnt know, he said reproachfully.
A disbelieving snort was emitted by the phone handset.
Hutchins, said Bullit, That dedicated bachelor stuff may fly at the office but I know better. I saw you at that big art gallery opening last month, for instance.
Hutchins stiffened. I was there with my adopted daughter, as you ought to know, he said icily.
Bullit laughed good-naturedly and Hutchins warmed up despite his annoyance. Damn his charm, he thought. I suppose I should be happy that he does have some morals despite my cajoling.
Sure, Hutchins, you were there with the erstwhile Ms. Hutchins, said Bullit mischievously. Along with her three runway model friends. Or did they pay their own way at a $500 a ticket gala event?
Hutchins face reddened despite being alone in the office.
I am not going to dignify that insinuation with an answer, he said petulantly.
Yeah, sure, thats what I figured youd say, replied Bullit. His mocking laughter needled Hutchins, who surrendered and changed the subject.
It is reassuring that a week in the jungle has not adversely affected your libido, James. I take it you are fit for duty? If you needed a day or two respite, I wouldd understand. Such a trying experience, and all.
Bullit ignored the bait this time.
Im ready and rarin to go, he proclaimed. Hook me up today.
Very well, James, if you insist. I wouldnt want to interfere with your recuperation by returning you to work early.
Oh, I insist, said Bullit. My Maserati dealer insists as well. Lets get cracking today.
Hutchins smiled.
As you wish. I will make arrangements for a video conference with your investigator once she has her initial findings ready this afternoon. Welcome back, James.
Thanks, Hutchins. Its good to be home.
Hutchins hung up the phone and and began typing. A few minutes later he had made the neccesary assignments and requisitions for the disposal of the Belson case. He pressed the 'commit' button and leaned back in his padded chair contentedly. It had been a fine afternoons work. A glance at his wristwatch showed that he was nearly due to begin preparations for a fund-raiser that he had been coerced into attending. He frowned, then looked over at the bookcase and came to a decision.
Yes, Sir? asked Beatrice in response to the beep of the intercom.
Beatrice, please tender my regrets to the Vice-Presidents secretary, and cancel my appointments for the rest of the afternoon.
Of course, Sir. Will there be anything else?
He looked once again at the plastic card that lay on his desk and allowed himself a small smile of self-satisfaction.
Yes. Before Mrs. Belson departs, please inform her that Captain Courageous INSISTED on personally handling her case beginning this afternoon.
He didnt have to see Beatrice to imagine her own smile. Her voice over the intercom, however, was her normal serene montone as she said, Certainly, Director. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.
He switched off the intercom and turned towards the bookcase feeling completely satisfied. With an air of contentment that would have made him the envy of any other corporate leader in a similar position, he once again opened the covers of his treasured Dunsany, and soon was wandering alongside Alveric, lost among the wonders of Erl and Elfland.