The soft hum of the engine worsened the silence, as it had for the past ten minutes. The shifting eyes in the rearview mirror kept checking on the limo's passenger who was consumed with looking out a window. It was raining, not very hard, but enough to give a solemn feeling of gloom. The front doors of Merlyn Global Group loomed a gateway into something much worse than the stormy city streets.
"Mrs. Steel?" The driver spoke up, bringing Moira's attention back on him. "We've been here ten minutes, ma'am."
"Yes, Mr. Diggle. I know how long it has been."
"Do you want to go in, or do you want me to take you home?" Diggle asked in a hushed voice.
With a sigh, Moira took hold of her small purse and nodded. "Take me inside. I have been putting off a meeting for some time. It is best I just face it and move on."
"Yes ma'am." Getting out, Diggle opened an umbrella and moved to get her door. Moira Steel stepped out and nodded to her chauffer to make for the double-panes of glass that slid apart to lead inside the building. They opened automatically as they both stepped through and into the steel and glass cathedral that was the lobby. It stretched out and around as a magnificent show of modern architecture. To Moira, it felt like she was walking into a tomb. No matter how far away they were, the walls felt as if they were about to close in upon her. Turning to Diggle, she feigned a smile.
"That will be all, Mr. Diggle. You may wait until I call for you. This may take some time."
"Are you sure, ma'am? Rather hard for me to do my job from the limo." Glancing quickly towards the eight security guards at the desk alone, Moira scoffed. Letting out a slow, frustrated sigh Diggle relented begrudgingly and watched Moira make her way to the elevators where two men in suits awaited her. They escorted her in, and that was it.
Now all Diggle had was a question that burned in his mind. Find an excuse to follow, or make his way back to the limo; it was one or the other. At least two of the guards at the lobby desk were boring holes into the side of his head. He could feel their gazes as if their eyes were lasers. It was no doubt a terrible decision to make a scene in the lobby of a multinational conglomerate without an actual reason that he could fall back on. At least not without lying profusely.
His suspicions did not make his decision easy, he wanted to know what Moira was up to. Going out into the cold and rain was essentially admitting defeat, but with a terse complaint in mind he complied. This wasn't a fight he could win. Unlocking the doors and dropping into the driver's seat, he felt as if he had just entered into a kill zone. That feeling of being in the crosshairs, something dangerous and vicious aiming directly at him. Goosebumps, every hair standing on end as he looked into the rearview mirror-directly into that mask. Hunter green on one side, pitch black on the other. The black hood that ended at a point. He had long since stopped wondering how the Archer always so easily slipped past every security measure he was aware of.
"I told you to follow her," the dark, deepened voice spoke. The mask no doubt had some kind of voice scrambler.
"Kind of hard when I'm supposed to do what she says. That and the dozen or so men ready to make sure I did what she said."
"Moira Queen is to be watched. You said it yourself. If you want to help, then that's how."
"She goes by Steel, you know."
"Not my concern, John. She's a Queen."
"You know, it wouldn't be so frustrating if…" Diggle had turned around, but the backseat was empty. The only thing was a single green-tipped arrow on the seat. "… You ever stayed in one spot." Starting the engine, Diggle pulled the limo away from the front door. It pulled away into the rain, and vanished quickly.
From the darkness of a corner alley, the Archer watched. The almost solid black of the hooded suit made it vanish in the gloom and dark. Still, the open end of the alley gave a sense of exposure. If Diggle couldn't follow Moira, it was time to eavesdrop another way. A quick glance up, and everything of note was taken in for the climb to begin. Within a few seconds the Archer was halfway up to the adjacent roof to Merlyn Global. Rain pelted and slid off the black combat suit like the two were mortal enemies.
The Archer knocked and drew an arrow with a single swipe of an arm. It had been a good decision to put the tracker on Moira after all. There was interference, a jammer perhaps, but not strong enough. The signal ended on the forty-fifth floor. That was thirty floors higher up and on the other side of the building. Good thing for special arrows. Tapping the side of the mask made the arrow tip begin to subtly glow and four fins popped out. The mask had only one open eye, and that closed with a special display. Aiming away from the furthest corner of the building, the Archer released.
Aiming and releasing an arrow was simple. The new self-guided arrows made even a job like this all the more simple, though not without giving the Archer a feeling of overcompensating. There was a sense of cheating the primal nature that archery was intended to maintain. Still, the arrow turned and flew gracefully all the way to its target, attaching to the steel just beneath the window of the conference room and connecting wirelessly to the mask. Listening devices made easy through modern technology.
"Thank you. Yes, we're looking for a path to expansion for the second quarter. Though I can't say merger is on the board as of yet." Malcolm Merlyn, CEO… on the list.
"If you are sure, Mr. Merlyn. I feel our businesses could greatly benefit from combined resources." Bradley Mason, wealthy entrepreneur from South Gotham. Not on the list, purely business meeting.
"Perhaps, but I feel that only profit may not be in my company's best interests. I say at the present we maintain our current holdings and accounts alongside the agreement we've posed over the past three days. I feel my board will be pleased with the possibilities of expanding, but we have no intention of consolidating presently." The sound of a door opening, high heeled shoes. The tracker wasn't moving, has to be someone else.
"Well Mr. Merlyn-"
"Please, call me Malcolm. We're nowhere that needs special image."
"Ah, Malcolm, ehem… I feel this venture has been fruitful none the less. My associates will be very pleased that you have agreed to future proceedings. As well as the generous investments you have promised. I expect our future meetings will be equally profitable."
"As do I. Now, if you will excuse me. I do have a four 'o'clock."
"Of course. Good day."
"Have a good flight home, Bradley."
"Mrs. Steel is here, Mr. Merlyn." Secretary, the high heels. Low importance.
"Ah, good. Send her in." Some hustle and bustle came and went. Drivel and small talk. Nothing worth paying attention to. Ten minutes pass and two new voices enter. Doug Miller, Warren Patel; the head of Queen Consolidated Applied Sciences and the VP of KRC Enterprises. Both also on the list.
"Gentlemen, Mrs. Steel, thank you all for coming. I imagine you think this meeting is going to be about the thorn in our side."
"I would hardly call nine dead from the list, and dozens involved with them a 'thorn' in anyone's side. We're being executed. Summarily eliminated by someone who has access to the list!"
"Warren, please do not interrupt me. Thank you. The Black Hood is 'maybe' a danger, perhaps. More a nuisance really. Despite everything, the Undertaking is still in full effect. If not more in force than ever. These losses are only greater drive to move forward with our plans. Martyrs to a noble cause."
"And how do we expect to defend ourselves, Malcolm? This Black Hood has proved to easily breach any security or show of force. Hunt had twenty men and was dead with three arrows through the chest and no one saw a thing. That was before he was robbed of every penny he had associated with his name."
"I believe that we are off track. If the Black Hood is of such a concern then make steps towards protecting yourself as I have. The Undertaking is only three weeks away. Two if Mr. Miller can increase his productivity average."
"I'll see what I can do."
"Malcolm." Hint of aggravation in Moira's voice. She's not happy with him. Use that later.
"Ah yes, and the subject at hand. The business of what we shall do after the Undertaking has been successfully implemented. It is a matter of who will take up the reconstruction and welfare of the dispossessed."
"After all this I would not take you to be forgiving, Malcolm. Helping the dispossessed?"
"That's where you are wrong, Moira. I am seeking to cut out the cancer, not destroy everything in my path. This will be a great opportunity to apply our resources to a city in need."
"My family, Malcolm. The ruins that you have left it in at least; that is all I care about after the Undertaking."
"And our families… of course. So long as secrecy is maintained, we are all free of one another. This whole course of events will never have happened as far as I am concerned." They said very little else that was of any concern or too important that the recording could not be used later. The Archer clenched a hand into a fist and stood suddenly. It wasn't time yet; to act too soon would be disastrous. But, the Archer could make at least one move. A sign that none of them were safe.
The meeting went on about business and deals for after this "Undertaking," something that seemed hardly worth a second look in this campaign, but one that the Archer's associates were entangled in. It was the conclusion of the meeting that was most interesting. The end meant there was now a countdown for when the next target was going to be available. That time was fast approaching.
The meeting area was easy enough to find. It was the shortest possible path to the safety of a fast vehicle. Warren Patel's guards were escorting him out the front door to the limo not fifty feet away. He waited for the door to be opened. A split second's hesitation, a fault on his guards. The arrow that hit his neck surprised every watching eye as the man contorted away from the impact as two more arrows drove right into his chest.
The men with guns aimed this way and that, desperate to get a bead on something. Sauntering away from the firing point, the Archer just shifted a hand into one of the several pockets on the black combat suit. Pulling out a weathered and old-looking book the Archer flipped to a specific page. "Warren Patel, eliminated." A swipe of red over the name, a flip of the wrist replaced the book in the pocket and the Black Hood was all but gone. Nothing more than a number of arrows left in the wake of the sudden and decisive assassination. Only one calling card left at the scene. The note that accompanied every one of the executions. Written in bold red on the paper that was wrapped around the arrow that pierced the heart was "this man failed his city."
Diggle only got a glance at it as he rushed Moira away from the building. He cursed under his breath as reporters who had swarmed the scene tried to grab a statement. The killer that attacked in broad daylight without a trace. No person was safe from this silent assassin's deadly mark. And he was wrapped in it as deep as it went. What in the hell had he gotten himself into?
Getting Moira home was an uneventful drive. She had never looked frightened, or even surprised. Sitting in the lounge she gave Diggle dead, faraway look before simply glaring into nothing. He waited a few minutes, and once she turned on the TV to watch the news coverage he excused himself silently. He was only a few steps into the foyer when the front door opened. The presence that accompanied it was unmistakable. "Mr. Steel," Diggle greeted his employer.
"Ah, Mr. Diggle. I heard what happened, good work keeping my wife from any harm."
"I don't feel she was ever the actual target, Mr. Steel."
"Indeed. Your military training, or simply gut instinct?"
"Maybe, could be something else." Walter nodded and offered the half-smile he was well known for. But Diggle knew better. He had worked for Walter Steel for several years. There were several "half-smiles" and this one was definitely one of the warning kinds. Walter drew close, whispering into John's ear.
"It would be best that even a hint to our mutual… 'Associate' be strictly kept where we have less fear of being overheard. No matter where."
"Yes sir," John almost mouthed his response it was so low.
Walter drew back with a smile as he made his way to sit with his wife. "Also, Mr. Diggle, my technical department also has something for you to consider. I believe you know who to meet with to make sure all ends are met."
"Of course sir." How hollow it felt. Walter Steel, Felicity Smoak, his own foolish self, all wrapped up in a crusade to save the city masterminded by a serial killing archer. Sure, he knew the targets were scum. He knew what they were doing was to fight a conspiracy that could cost hundreds even thousands of lives. But when he saw how paranoid and secretive it required him and those he saw as worth protecting it was disheartening at the very least, depressing at the worst of times.
He checked in on the guard assigned to Thea. She was first in line to Excalibur, Tommy Merlyn's new club. He'd long since stopped trying to fight her partying nature, but it seemed since the Merlyn boy had started to come to his senses, he was dragging others along with him. Thea had begun associating less with the drug-uninhibited and with a more socially acceptable crowd. Maybe Laurel had worked some sense into her, but more than likely it was just that Tommy had kicked her out eleven times for illicit behavior. Either way, she kept going back. Whatever bad blood had perhaps existed between the Lance and Queen families was slowly melting away. Diggle needed to track Tommy down at some point and simply ask him what he did.
That was free-time thinking Diggle was more worried with those close to him now. Thea had been surprisingly immune to what had been going on, and that was refreshing. Walter had made it his official stance to protect Thea before the killer in the mask and hood inflamed his suspicions of Moira. Suspicions he had no doubt Walter equally shared, though they had kept quiet to one another about them. It was less a question of if Moira was involved, it was "how."
The Black Hood, as his masked co-conspirator had been aptly labeled, was hardly forthcoming. Felicity was trying to find even the simplest connection, but found little success in her technical wizardry. Perhaps it really was down to age-old suspicion and plotting, back-room deals and careful whispers without the assistance of modern technology. It would hardly surprise John Diggle. This city wasn't what he remembered it to be. Either on the low ends or at the top.
Pulled away from his thoughts after hearing something of interest, Diggle stepped into the lounge to watch the TV. The reporter was speaking about the bust on the Chinese Triads after an anonymous tip informed them of a gun-running operation. They had arrived more as a clean-up than anything else. Eight triad members had been found dead, and the ninth left in critical condition. The reporter said the Black Hood was the cause, though reasons remain unknown.
The camera panned to show the bodies that were littered on the ground of a warehouse. All of them were hit with the Archer's signature number, three arrows. One always through the heart. It was a calling card. He didn't have a clue why the mask and hood would go after this level of crime, it didn't fit the vendetta feel that this whole strange adventure had grown to exude. Still, whatever the reason could be he was glad that this wasn't just an execution line. There was some good coming from it, if such methods could be considered such a thing.
Diggle's phone ringing pulled him from the report and he answered it immediately. "Hello?"
"John, it's Felicity. Did Walter tell you?"
"He said you wanted to see me."
"How soon?"
"Now, if you need me to."
"I do need you… to. I need you to. I need you to head over to my place, office! Head to my office! Just… can we meet to discuss business?"
"When and where."
"The usual, and as soon as you can." With a nod to Walter, Diggle was already out the door. Usual place, that meant the clock tower. The clock tower meant this was related to their mutual associate. He hated this cloak and dagger insanity. But, he was still in the car and driving. Either he was insane as well… actually, he relented. He had to be. No other explanation. The world had gone nuts, and taken him with it.