Chapter Nine: Baiting the Trap

Where are you, AC?

Chloe had been hunched over her computer for about fifteen minutes, trying to make contact with AC, Bart and Victor. At first she'd been relieved to get back to Watchtower, the hours of waiting on Oliver's private jet as they'd flown back to Metropolis doing nothing for her peace of mind. Hoskins' attack on the Green Arrow, AC's failure to check in, Dean's abduction – suddenly events were crowding in, and the joy that she'd felt just twenty-four hours earlier as she'd swam in the warm, crystal clear waters of the Caribbean now seemed a world away. Every possibility had flashed through her mind during the flight, from the plausible to the fantastic, but speculation was pointless; she had needed to get back to base, to use the power of Watchtower's systems to work out just what the hell was going on. That was why she had felt so relieved to get back, although the sight of a half eaten packet of Dorritos, AC's snack of choice, had provided a chilling welcome when they'd first arrived. Watchtower had felt strangely empty, and she had been glad when her computers had reassuringly sprung to life under her guiding hand.

That had been fifteen minutes ago. Now, with her attempts to get in touch with not only AC but also Bart and Victor drawing a blank, a wave of anxiety was beginning to creep over her. She had tried everything. The usual communication protocols, the emergency frequencies – nothing. Even the tracking devices that were implanted into the shoulders of the young heroes to ensure that they could always be located if they got into trouble were silent. The grid was empty – it was as if the three of them had disappeared off the face of the planet.

"Any luck?" asked Oliver, appearing at her side.

"Nothing – there's no trace of any of them," replied Chloe, looking up. "What's going on, Oliver? Where are they?"

"I wish I knew, Chloe – I wish I knew," said Oliver, staring at the empty monitor in front of them. He appeared thoughtful, a slight frown on his face; there was no sense of panic, but Chloe knew that deep down he was as worried for his team as she was.

"What about Clark?" he asked.

"He's at the Fortress," said Chloe; at least on this her systems were able to give a positive answer. "I've tried raising him, but I can't – must be some sort of field interfering with my communications."

"Clark certainly picks his times to play happy families," said Oliver ruefully, trying to hide his disappointment; with his team missing he needed the kryptonian by his side, even if he didn't like to admit it, even to himself.

"What about Dean? Have you found him?"

Whilst Chloe had been searching for AC and the others, Oliver had been doing some digging of his own, but what he'd found out was about to add to the sense of uncertainty and danger.

"There's no trace of him," he said. "He didn't report for duty a couple of hours ago, and he's not answering his cell. Whoever took him must still have him."

There was a pause in the conversation, both of them aware of what Dean's disappearance might mean. He knew Oliver's secret identity; if he was tortured and talked, a bad situation would get a whole lot worse.

"Run a search on LL Tech – that's the company that Dean said had paid Hoskins one hundred and fifty thousand dollars," said Oliver, hoping that his friend's last words down the phone might provide the breakthrough they needed.

Chloe's fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard. The search did not take long, but the results were not what they were expecting.

"LL Tech is a subsidiary of Queen Industries..?" said Chloe incredulously, turning to look at Oliver.

"That's impossible," said Oliver, staring at the screen. "This must be a mistake – run the search again."

Chloe did as she was told, but the outcome was the same; according to Watchtower's computers, the owner of LL Tech was Oliver himself.

There was silence in the room, each of them trying to figure out what this latest twist might mean.

It was then that Oliver's cell rang.

He pulled it from his jacket pocket, still preoccupied by what the screen in front of him had revealed. He glanced down at the cell's display, his heart almost skipping a beat when he saw the name displayed as the caller:

DEAN CARUSO CALLING

"It's Dean," he said, his excitement audible in his voice as he put the cell to his ear. "Dean? Is that you? Dean, where are you man?"


Dean Caruso knew he was in trouble.

Something like twenty four hours had passed since he'd been caught in Hoskins' office. He couldn't be exactly sure of how long he'd been a prisoner; the effects of the chloroform, and the fact that he'd been kept trussed up in a windowless room for what seemed like an eternity, meant that his natural rhythms had been hopelessly disrupted. He guessed that it was late afternoon, but without a watch he had no way of knowing for sure; that, along with his cell, his badge and his wallet, had been taken by his kidnappers.

He shifted awkwardly, trying to give his tired muscles some respite from their latest test of endurance. An hour or so earlier he'd been dragged from his place of captivity, taken to a car in an underground parking lot, and thrown into the trunk. He was now being driven through the streets of Metropolis to an unknown destination, the constant stop-start of the car a sign that they were at least still in the traffic-choked confines of the city. But where he was being taken, and what they intended to do with him, Dean hadn't a clue.

One thing was certain – whatever he'd got himself mixed up in, it was much bigger than Hoskins. The DA was part of it, sure, but Dean felt certain that he was just a pawn in a much bigger game. The guys who'd taken him were in a different league to Hoskins; they were professionals, clinical in their approach and, from what he'd seen of them so far, men who wouldn't shy away from using brutal force to get what they wanted. He'd discovered that to his cost when he'd first come to in his former prison. He'd tried to loosen the rope that they'd used to bind his hands behind his back, and when they found out they had given him a beating that he'd never forget. Punched and kicked in the gut, he'd discovered to his cost that having a cop as their captive was an opportunity they did not intend to miss.

Getting beat up he could handle – although his muscles still ached from the punishment that they'd received. Less easy to stomach had been the attentions of the woman who appeared to be in charge of the operation. She had stood and watched as her men had attacked him, apparently amused at his inability to protect himself as the blows had rained down on him. Later she had offered him food and water, propping him up like a doll against the wall as she held the bottle and bread to his lips. He'd not had anything for hours, and reluctantly he'd accepted what she'd offered greedily. But he'd felt sick as he'd done it, repulsed by the way she'd run her fingers though his hair and kissed his neck suggestively as he'd eaten. She'd flirted with him – and it had left him feeling dirty, violated. And there was something else - something about the way she looked at him, the playful coldness of her touch. He had felt soiled when she had left, but also afraid; she knew what was planned for him, and something told him that when she had whispered into his ear that everything was going to be alright, she was lying.

What were they planning to do with him? They knew about his relationship with the Green Arrow; worse still, if they had been listening in to his call to Oliver then they knew his friend's real identity. He felt sure that he was now a pawn in some bigger game, a game in which Oliver was the target. He cursed his own stupidity in allowing himself to get caught. He should have listened to Oliver; he might have known that he wasn't likely to get lucky and break into Hoskins' office a second time without running into trouble. However, it was too late now, and there was no use in going over past mistakes. He needed to focus on the present, and on staying alive.

The car began to slow, until eventually Dean felt it come to a halt. His body tensed as he heard voices and the sound of car doors being opened and then slammed shut; whatever they had planned for him, he was soon going to find out.

The door to the trunk swung open above him. He squinted, his eyes adjusting to the light. He looked up, to find two of the men who had roughed him up earlier leering down at him.

"How did you enjoy your journey, pretty boy?" sneered one of them, before reaching down and untying the ropes that bound his feet together. Dean could not reply, a strip of duct tape plastered across his mouth; all he could do was glare up at his captors as first his legs were freed, and then he was pulled from the trunk.

He swayed a little, the time he'd spent trussed up in the trunk of the car momentarily leaving him feeling disorientated. Looking around, he could see that he was in one of the city's run down industrial areas. The canal was off to his right, and off to his left as well as in front of him he could see apparently disused industrial units. A couple of cars and a van were parked up nearby, the only signs of life apart from himself and his kidnappers.

"Move it, pig!" ordered one of the men, the press of a barrel of a gun in the small of his back a reminder of what would happen if he didn't cooperate. He was pushed forwards, following the second man to a door in the side of one of the warehouses. Stepping inside, Dean found himself in a largely empty building, a vast, cavernous space opening out in front of him. Twenty or so feet from the door he could see seven or eight men standing around, dressed in black uniforms. Dean could see that they were heavily armed; most carried machine guns, and those who didn't had pistols holstered against their sides. Standing at the center of the group he could see the woman who had done so much to unsettle him earlier. She was talking to another man, who towered above her at well over six feet tall. Until that moment Dean had believed the woman was in charge, but now, looking at the two figures, it was clear that the balance of power amongst his kidnappers had shifted; the other man appeared to be very much in control.

Another shove and Dean was walking forwards towards the group, his heart beating a little faster in his chest in expectation of what might be about to happen.

"And here he is – right on time," said the woman, turning as he approached. Subconsciously Dean straightened his back as she looked him up and down; he might have been her prisoner, bound and gagged, but he was still a member of the Metropolis PD – and he was damned if he was going to bow down to the scum who now had him at their mercy.

"And how is my handsome detective?" said the woman, walking up to Dean. "I hope my men have been looking after you, Dean – I'd hate for anything to happen to the city's favourite poster boy."

As she spoke she fingered the collar of Dean's leather jacket, before stroking the back of her hand against his cheek. Dean flinched, turning away in disgust; his stomach turned over, just as it had done when she'd run her hands through his hair back in his makeshift cell.

The woman laughed. "Awww, is the hunky detective shy? Surely the hero of Metropolis is used to a little female attention?"

Dean scowled in mute defiance.

"I'm here to do a job, Cohen – not watch you play with your new toy."

Slade's words, hard and businesslike, made it clear that he was not in the mood for games. Dean saw the woman's face drop slightly, as if she had had an unwelcome reminder that she was no longer in charge.

"Bring him," ordered Slade.

The two men who had brought Dean from the car grabbed him roughly and marched him over to a table standing a few feet away. Slammed down onto a chair, he was surprised to find his hands being untied. His moment of freedom was fleeting, however, as immediately his left arm was brought forward from behind his back and tied to the chair's arm. Hs right arm was also brought forward, but this time it was stretched out to the side so that it lay on the table. Dean looked across, and for the first time saw the large metal hammer which was the only object on the table. Immediately he understood. The hammer was there for a purpose – they intended to torture him.

He started to struggle, kicking out with his legs against the men who held him. Catching them off guard, he managed to land a few blows, his flailing limbs proving surprisingly effective weapons.

"Stop struggling, you stinking pig!" snarled one of the men, driving his fist hard into Dean's face. The punch was enough to bring the young cop's show of resistance to an end; dazed, he could only watch as one man shackled his ankles to the legs of the chair whilst the other held his right arm down firmly on the surface of the table.

Satisfied that their victim was secure, Slade and Cohen now took up places by his side. Dean could feel his heart pumping harder in his chest, and beads of sweat began to run down his forehead. He was determined to stay strong, but he knew that that resolve was about to be tested to breaking point.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but we have to do this," said Cohen, reaching down and tearing the duct tape from Dean's mouth.

"You can torture me all you like – I won't talk," said Dean, his voice dry and cracked.

"I know, Dean. But we don't need you to talk – we just need you to scream."

"What the...?" Dean did not finish, his attention distracted by Slade grabbing the wrist of his right hand and pinioning it onto the table. He was vaguely aware of Cohen dialling a number on her cell, but his attention was now fixed on Slade, who had picked up the hammer and was holding it like a sword of Damocles over the young cop's trapped hand.

"Please...please don't do this," he said, trying to keep calm.

Cohen heard someone pick up the phone at the other end of the line.

"Dean? Is that you? Where are you, man?"

Cohen smiled; it was Oliver Queen's voice. She nodded at Slade, and then held her cell a couple of inches from Dean's mouth.

Dean did not have time to shout a warning to his friend. Slade smashed the hammer down in the young man's hand, targeting his fingers with devastating accuracy. Dean howled in agony, throwing his head back and screaming as the pain seared through his body.

"Dean? Dean!"

Oliver could be heard shouting at the other end of the line as Cohen calmly passed the cell to Slade.

"I'm afraid Detective Caruso can't come to the phone just now," said Slade, the icy calmness of his voice a terrible contrast to the sobs of the young cop; Dean was writhing in torment, tears rolling down his face as he tried to recover from the savage assault of just moments earlier.

"Who is this? What have you done with Dean?"

"Your friend Caruso is being tortured," replied Slade, his tone businesslike. "And as you can hear, he's hurting – even this tough guy cop weeps when his bones are being broken, one by one. Do as I say, and his pain will stop – fail to follow my instructions, and he will die."

There was a pause, the brutal certainty of Slade's words seeming to echo in the silence.

"What do you want?"

"What do you think I want? I want you, Green Arrow."

"It's a trap! Don't..." Dean's warning was cruelly cut short as Cohen clamped her hand across his mouth, reducing his words to no more than muffled cries.

"Sssshhh," she whispered, leaning down and pressing a knife against his throat. "Be a good little cop, or I will hurt you, understand?"

Dean nodded, eyes wide with terror as he felt the blade pressed against his skin.

"The Slater Warehouse by the canal," continued Slade. "Come at ten tonight – any tricks, and the cop here dies."

He snapped the cell shut.

"You really think he'll come?" gasped Dean, now released from Cohen's smothering grip.

"With bait as pretty as you? Ohh, I think your friend Oliver Queen will come – and then leather boy will be ours," sneered Cohen, pulling her own cell from her jacket. "I'll call the boss – he'll want to know how the operation is proceeding."

She walked away, so that Dean could not hear the call that she was about to make. At the same time the men who had been standing around when Dean had entered the warehouse began to fan out, their guns at the ready; it was clear that now their location had been revealed, they were under instructions to be on a high state of readiness.

"You won't get away with this," said Dean, staring at the man who had just inflicted so much pain on him.

Slade did not reply, but instead looked at the two men who had earlier tied Dean to the chair.

"You know what to do – gag him and chain him up."

Within seconds Dean was being dragged away. Again he resisted, cursing his captors and struggling to get free as they manhandled him towards the thick chains that hung menacingly from the roof in the center of the warehouse. Like a worm on a hook, Dean was to be displayed as bait; Slade was certain that the leader of the Justice League would have no choice but to take it.

"Brave cop," he thought to himself, watching Dean kick out at his captors as his wrists were shackled. "Shame he has to die."


Oliver slowly took the cell from his ear, before replacing it in his jacket pocket. Grim faced, he appeared pensive, stern; Chloe did not need to ask what had happened.

"They're torturing him, Chloe," he said, the anger that he was feeling audible in his strained voice. "They've got Dean, and they're torturing him."

"What did they say?" asked Chloe, sensing how upset Oliver was; she knew that he and Dean had formed a strong bond over the previous few months, and he was clearly hurting.

"They want the Green Arrow – and if I don't show, they'll kill him."

"Do they know your identity?"

"They didn't use my name, but they know, Chloe – I can feel it," replied Oliver, turning and walking away. "Damnit, why did I let him go in there? I should have stopped him, Chloe – I should have made him wait."

Chloe got up and walked over to him, slipping her arm under his; his hands were balled into fists of frustration, and she could feel the tension in his muscles.

"Hey, he'll be okay," she said soothingly. "They'll all be okay, alright?"

She felt him relax a little. He turned to look at her, kissing her softly on the lips.

"Keep trying to raise Clark, okay?" he said as their lips parted, a weak smile of reassurance on his face. He then began to walk towards a side door.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm suiting up. They want the Green Arrow, they can have him – but I'm damned if I'm going to make it easy for these guys."

It took Oliver ten minutes to prepare himself, casting off his identity as Oliver Queen and emerging as his alter ego, the Green Arrow. As he slipped into his costume, the smooth leather moulding itself to his muscles like a second skin, he was filled with a sense of grim resolution. For the last twenty four hours events had spiralled out of control, and now not only was his team missing, but the life of a brave cop was on the line. It was too much of a coincidence for the two events not to be connected, and as he began to arm himself for the mission that lay ahead he was acutely aware that he was facing a threat that was not simply unknown, but also highly organised, powerful and ruthlessly professional. He could feel the net closing in around him, and it was almost certain that they already knew his true identity. At that moment he didn't care about that; what mattered was Dean's life, and the lives of his friends. He would find them, and he would save them – whatever the cost.

As he strode back into Watchtower's control room he knew what he had to do – and what's more, he had a plan.

"You know this is a trap, right?" said Chloe, wrapping her arms around his body and pulling him close. She was afraid – as afraid as he was – but she knew better than to try to talk him out of whatever he had decided to do. His friends were in danger, and he was going to do all he could to save them. That was what made him a hero – and if he hadn't been heading out at that moment then he wouldn't have been the man she'd fallen hopelessly in love with.

"Be careful, okay?" she said, hugging him even tighter.

"Hey, I'll be okay," he said, cupping her face in his hands and staring deep into her eyes. "I've got Watchtower watching my back, right? Besides, I've got one or two cards of my own to play. Whoever's got Dean, I'm going to make them regret they ever started this."


Ollie and Chloe are back - yay! Get ready for some GA action in future chapters - as well as some serious danger for our hero!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Only a few weeks before Smallville comes back - I am SO hoping for LOTS of Ollie/GA screentime, and a great Chlollie reunion! Thanks for reading, and of course a HUGE thankyou to my reviewers. Please do leave some feedback if you can - it really does mean the world to me!