Earth 1. Central City/Waashington
A week later, Dibney turned up at Nate's apartment with a hefty package and an equally hefty bill. Nate paid it without too much in the way of qualms. Dibney usually came up with the goods - it made a welcome change from the divorce/alimony cases that were the investigator's bread and butter work. He was thorough, if not very scrupulous - he'd been kicked off the police force for that reason.
The centrepiece was a photo, taken in an exclusive restaurant. A private party of a dozen people. Nate looked at each person in turn, thinking about what Dibney had dug up on each of them.
First off, 'Naomi', a young Hispanic woman, apparently living legally in the States. She owned a seaside bar - Nate called there and found she'd taken leave of absence. Her interim manager had been loyal to her - no questions please. Dibney had supplied a photograph of her with one Floyd Lawton -international assassin until a few years ago, now apparently non-existent. Now it was true - he was one of the two buried at Dead End.
''Hervey's cousin?'' Nate murmured sceptically.
Next to her was Sara Lance - mystery woman. Connected to a former Police Captain, current Assistant District Attorney and Oliver Queen - billionaire, playboy, suspected (not proved) vigilante. Sara had been reported dead, twice, apparently in error. Some thought she might be the Black Canary. In the photo, her head was resting on the shoulder of the man o her left - Snart.
Leonard Snart. Mick Rory beyond him - well documented records. Beyond Rory was Joanne Hervey.
Dibney had managed to record a conversation between Hervey and another guest - Nora Darhk.
''I killed some of them'' Nora had appeared upset. ''And I used black magic to do it. ''
''We've all killed - or most of us have'' Joanne plainly wasn't used to handing out sympathy.
Killed? Black magic? What exactly was this? This 'magic' theme seemed to run through Darhk's teenage years in foster homes and children's homes.
Beyond Hervey were the totally inexplicable pair of Professor Martin Stein and a young motor mechanic, Jefferson Jackson. What they were doing in this company was a mystery. The only direct connection between the two appeared to be that Stein's wife was a friend of Jackson's mother.
Dr Ray Palmer was sitting next to Nora, to whom he was currently engaged. Nate looked from Palmer to Rory and back again, a few times. Then his gaze began to include Snart, Lance, Stein, Jackson - in fact most of the people at the table. He'd read and enjoyed Rip's books. Now he began to feel he was looking at the living embodiment of Rip's main characters - Sara/Tara, Len/Ken - right round to the apparent Mr and Mrs Average, Carter Hall and Kendra Saunders.
That took him to the last person at the table. Rip Hunter, author - and his friend. Had Rip really known these people long enough to base his characters on them? Why had he done so?
'What have you got yourself into, Rip?'' he asked the image in the photo.
X
They met in a motel room about fifty miles from Washington. He showed her the evidence that Dibley had collected for him.
''Rip's my friend'' he told her ''Yes, he can be a bit of an idiot but he wouldn't willingly get involved in something underhand. He definitely wouldn't miss a book publication deadline - yet he has gone missing.''
''I'll look into it'' she promised - yet again. ''And get back to you.''
She meant that she would talk to her boss about it. She was not an informer. She would not compromise US National Security. But she had given him valuable information over the years, when the powers that be decided he was looking into a matter that was best dealt with through the official court system.
X
It was not even dawn when he heard the noises. Someone - more than one someone - was in the apartment. Even as he sat up, somebody turned his bedroom light on. He blinked and saw a tall black man in some kind of dark uniform looking at him. He was holding a gun, as were his two companions. Blinking again, Nate read the lettering on the intruder's uniform. A.R.G.U.S. Diggle.
''What -'' he managed to get out. He swung his legs from under the bedcovers. Diggle shifted the position of his gun.
''You're being detained, Mr Heywood.''
''What -'' he tried again, but couldn't get the words out before the other two agents had hauled him to his feet. ''You can't do this!''
But they could. They handcuffed him and began to march him out of the apartment. They didn't even read him his rights.