AUTHOR'S NOTE: St. Roch is actually a neighborhood of New Orleans. The Arrowverse never gives a location for its version of St. Roch, so I am going with the actual location.
"That's the research station?" Sara asked incredulously as Carter's Jeep trundled along the dirt trail from the main road.
The place was a decrepit cabin, with a beat-up pickup truck parked in front. Sara would have thought the site was abandoned, if not for the hum of the generator beside the cabin.
"Holland isn't completely off base when he complains about funding. He doesn't get a lot of it. In fact, if the aquarium didn't let him use their lab for free, he'd probably have to shut down," Carter replied as he parked the Jeep. "He's actually got some great ideas about improving ecosystems and turning deserts into gardens. But he just doesn't know how to charm potential funders into opening their wallets."
"Which is why you think our cover story will work," Len said, stepping out of the Jeep.
"One thing that hasn't changed in four thousand years. Money still makes the world go around," Carter said with a smile.
"It doesn't change in the next 150 years either, Dr. Hall," Rip said.
The cabin door banged open. A tall blond man carrying a wooden crate strode outside. "About damn time you got here!" he snarled at them. Then he stopped and blinked, seeming to suddenly recognize Carter. "Dr. Hall. I thought you were someone else."
"Sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Holland," Carter returned. "I think I may have a little help for your cash flow problem."
Holland narrowed his eyes at them and grunted. "Well, come on in."
He led them back into the cabin and set the crate down on a table. There was a soft yip from inside the box. Sara sidled over to investigate, and then let out an exclamation of delighted surprise. "Oh, how cute!"
The crate held a tiny pup in a nest of rags. It yipped again, standing and wagging its tail. She started to reach into the box to pet it.
"Don't touch it," Holland warned, and Sara froze. "That's not a puppy. It's a red wolf cub. We need to keep human contact minimal."
"I didn't think there were any of those left in Louisiana," Carter said in a surprised tone. "They're very endangered, aren't they?"
"Yeah. Maybe even a little more so now. I found him out in the swamp yesterday. His mother and littermates were all dead," Holland answered. Sara winced in sympathy for the little orphan. Holland continued, "I've been waiting for Fish and Wildlife to come get him. I thought you were them. Sorry for snapping at you, but this little guy is taking me away from my research. Time is money, and you know I don't have a lot of that, Dr. Hall."
He settled into a well-worn office chair, but didn't ask them to take seats. Not that there were any other seats to be taken. "So, tell me. How are you going to help me with my cash flow problem?"
Carter waved a hand toward Sara, Len and Rip. "My friends here are from the Louisiana Film Connection. They're looking for a location for a graduation project, and they're willing to pay a… significant… location fee straight to your project."
Holland tilted his head curiously. "And if you don't choose this site?"
"We'll still compensate you for the… courtesy of letting us take a look 'round," Rip said, pulling a wad of Gideon-made (but still legal tender) bills from his coat pocket.
Holland straightened up at the sight, and Sara could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. Carter leaned toward the scientist a little, giving him a significant look. "But they're asking for your discretion. We just need to keep this between ourselves."
Holland's eyebrows shot up at that. Then he looked over at Len and frowned. "Aren't you a little old to be a film student?"
Len merely raised his eyebrows. Rip cleared his throat. "It's my graduation project. Leonard and Sara are my leads. I want to see them in the atmosphere."
Holland pointed at the money. "A film student flashing that kind of cash?"
Rip considered the wad of bills. "This? Pocket change in my family."
"Which is why he keeps it in his pocket," Len added.
"Hmm. And you need discretion ." Holland leaned back in his chair. "What kind of movie?"
"Horror movie," Sara answered promptly, while Len said, "Art film," and Rip said, "Historical romance."
Holland looked at the three of them suspiciously. Then he shook his head with a soft chuckle. "You know, I don't care if you three are making a porno, as long as your money is good."
Mick tugged at his white collar in irritation. "This thing is a damned straitjacket. And the hat itches," he muttered as he followed Haircut through the kitchen entrance, nodding casually to the security guards on either side of the door.
The woman at the garden had told them the truck was taking crates of just-picked spinach and watercress to the kitchen at the Morial Convention Center, where preparations for the evening's big Bacchus party were underway. The smartphone tracker confirmed it, leading them from the garden through Tremé (and right past Louis Armstrong Park, but they didn't have time for Haircut's selfie), skirting the French Quarter and passing within sight of the Superdome before finally arriving at their heavily guarded destination.
"It may be uncomfortable, but it's the best way to get you past security," Birdgirl told them over the comms. "There are more than five thousand people coming to this party tonight, including some pretty big names in business and government, so they're not taking any chances. Even with Hawkman and Hawkgirl as special guests."
"Well, it's working so far. We're in," Haircut answered, looking at his phone as they made their way past rows of workers chopping vegetables, stirring sauces and pounding raw meat with wooden mallets. "Looks like our target is right…"
"Hey! You there!"
They both looked up at the sound of an angry, thickly accented voice. It came from a florid little man wearing a red chef's coat and one of those poofy-topped hats that made him look a foot taller than he really was. "Give me that cell phone!"
He held his hand out imperiously. Haircut shot Mick a wide-eyed look, and Poofy Hat snapped his fingers. "Now!" he ordered.
Haircut gulped and held out the phone. The little man took it and shook it at him. "I thought I gave orders: No cell phones in here! No distractions!"
He put the phone down on the metallic counter next to them… and then smashed it with one of the wooden mallets.
"Now, get to work, both of you!" the man snapped before stomping off to harangue other kitchen workers.
Haircut picked up the remains of the phone, then dropped them again when they sparked a little. "Uh, guys? I think we have a problem."
Rip could still feel a little of the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks as they picked their way carefully through the marshy wetlands along the edge of the lagoon, following the indicator on his tracker. Leonard and Sara were still snickering and bumping each other's shoulders.
"Will you two please stop it?" Rip finally snapped in irritation.
"Oh, c'mon, Rip!" Sara answered, amusement thick in her tone. "You've got to admit it's funny."
"I'm kind of flattered that somebody can take me for a porn star at my age," Leonard said with a smirk.
"Don't either of you get any ideas!" Rip warned them while Dr. Hall outright guffawed. "And don't you encourage them!"
Dr. Hall shrugged, still grinning. "Loosen up, Captain. Sara's right. It is funny. And it's nice to know your missions aren't always grim."
Rip paused, the stiffness dropping away from his shoulders as he reflected that Dr. Hall's experience on the Waverider had been grim indeed. He chuckled softly in concession. "I suppose you're right," he admitted. Then he pointed a warning finger at Leonard and Sara. "But still... No ideas!"
"Can't stop us from thinking, Rip," Leonard drawled, still looking insufferably smug.
Rip rolled his eyes. "Then keep your… thinking … out of the common areas, all right?"
Sara bumped Leonard's shoulder one more time. "I think we can manage that," she said with a smile, before stage-whispering, "Behave!" to her lover, who merely kept smirking.
Rip gave Dr. Hall a half shrug that said, What can you do? Then he turned his attention back to his device. "It looks like our item is just about a hundred meters in that direction. Let's go retrieve it, and then you two can… think … all you want… out of my sight!"
He rolled his eyes once more as they began snickering again.
Stein adjusted his toque and tugged at his crisp white chef's coat, then nodded to the security guards before leading Jefferson and Miss Saunders into the convention center kitchen. After a moment, they spotted Dr. Palmer and Mr. Rory washing a crateful of greens at one of the large double sinks, and made their way over to their teammates.
"Had any luck yet?" Jefferson asked.
"Would we still be up to our elbows in green stuff if we did?" Mr. Rory grumbled.
Dr. Palmer shook his head. "This is the second crate so far. No sign of any ancient Egyptian anything. And there were a dozen crates from the garden."
"Well, now we've got five sets of eyes looking," Jefferson said, picking up another crate filled with spinach. "We should find it pretty quick if all of us start washing veggies."
"You! You there!"
Mick growled under his breath. "Not this guy again!"
A man in a red chef's coat and matching toque stormed over to their group, planting himself in front of Stein like an angry little bulldog. He looked at the school name embroidered on Stein's jacket and then looked up at him. "You are here from the St. Roch Culinary School?"
"As it says on my coat," Stein replied calmly. "I am Chef… Victor… and these are some of my top students."
The little man looked around at the group. " Hmph . Then we should not be wasting so many of them on simply washing vegetables! You two!" He pointed at Jefferson and Kendra. "Go help the team working on the crab cakes."
His finger moved to Dr. Palmer. "You… keep washing. It will teach you to follow orders and not bring cell phones where they are not wanted!"
He glared at Stein, who held up his hands and said, "I did warn them."
The other man huffed, and then pointed at Mr. Rory. "And you!" He wrinkled his brow. "Aren't you a little old to be a culinary student?"
Mr. Rory snorted. "Learning a trade is a condition of my parole," he said.
The little man's eyebrows shot up into his toque for a moment. " Hmph . You may be joking…"
"I'm not," Mr. Rory said.
The chef ignored him. "But we are too busy for me to care even if you are not. How are you with a chef's torch?"
Mr. Rory's eyes lit up at the word torch . "Fire is what I'm best at," he answered.
The little man in red looked over at Stein, who could only nod in agreement. It was the truth, after all.
"Very well, I need you to help with the crème brûlées. Follow me, s'il vous plais ."
They looked uncertainly at each other as he turned on his heel and began to walk away. In a low tone, Stein said, "Remember what Captain Hunter said about being unobtrusive. Let's just play along."
The little chef turned back toward them and clapped his hands twice, sharply. "What is all this chatter? Get to work! Allons-y! "
"Yes, Chef," Kendra replied obediently. Jefferson and Dr. Palmer echoed her, while Mr. Rory just gave an affirmative grunt and followed the little man. They'd taken just a few steps when he turned back. "Chef Victor? Would you please join us?"
Stein started. "Oh… of course!" He shrugged at the others and fell into step beside the chef. "What can I do for you, Chef... ?"
"Gilles," the little man supplied. "Let us get your student started on the crème brûlées first."
He led them over to a narrow metal table covered with the custards in small white dishes. Chef Gilles picked up a chef's torch from a nearby counter and pressed a button, lighting the flame.
"Now, watch!" He turned toward the table and set the flame to one of the white dishes. "Like this, do you see? Just thin layers, very nice." He turned off the torch and handed it to Mr. Rory. "Now, show me what you have learned."
Mr. Rory took the torch, met Stein's eyes and grinned before turning it on. Stein swallowed hard as Mr. Rory turned to the table and laid the flame against one of the custards.
After just a few seconds, the arsonist lifted the torch away and turned off the flame. Chef Gilles nodded in satisfaction. " Ca c'est bon . Now do the rest."
He turned to Stein and jerked a thumb toward a window above the kitchen. "Chef Victor, let us go... supervise from the manager's office, oui ?" He pulled a flask slightly out of his coat pocket. "Teacher's privilege, no?" he asked in a low voice, with a conspiratorial smile.
"Uh, yes, I suppose," Stein answered. Before following Chef Gilles, he took one more look at Mr. Rory, who was again focused on his flame.
"Heaven help us," Stein muttered.
Traveling about a hundred meters was a simple thing when you were walking down a city block or through a grassy meadow. But slogging through about a hundred meters of swamp land was quite another matter. Rip and his team found themselves obliged to take more than a few "long cuts" around boggy areas.
It would have been easier if Hawkman could have simply flown to the site. But even if Dr. Hall had brought his uniform, once they were out of sight of the research station the trees and their streamers of trailing Spanish moss were too dense for safe flying, obliging them to continue on foot.
The only good thing about this hike was that Leonard and Sara had finally ceased their infernal snickering. Although… now Leonard was complaining about the midday heat and the bugs.
Perhaps the snickering was better.
Rip sighed and looked at his device again. "Just a little farther."
"Good," Dr. Hall said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "You know, the Cajuns say this is monster country, but I think it's too hot for monsters."
"Monsters?" Sara asked with a laugh. "What kind of monsters?"
"Well, there's the Cajun version of the werewolf," Dr. Hall answered. "They call him the rougarou . And swamps like this are also supposed to be the perfect hideout for Père Malfait, the Cajun boogeyman."
"Sounds like you've gone native," Leonard observed.
Dr. Hall shrugged. "Legends and folk tales have always interested me. One of the reasons I chose archaeology."
"And not just because you have insider information on ancient Egypt?" Sara asked archly.
"Ah! Here we are at last!" Rip announced.
The tracker had led them to a tarp, strung high in the air like a hammock between a trio of cypresses. "What in the world?" Sara wondered.
"This is one of Holland's rainwater sampling stations. He borrowed the idea from Berkeley. He sets them up high so animals don't get at them," Dr. Hall explained. Then he shrugged. "He bent my ear about it at the last faculty party."
"Before or after the fists started flying?" Leonard asked drily.
"Well, our artifact is in there," Rip said, the tracker flashing madly as he moved under the tarp. "Dr. Hall, could you…"
Hawkman's wings were already unfurled and beating to lift him off the ground. "Yeah, it's here. It's the sceptre." He grimaced as he reached into the tarp. "Wonder when Holland last checked this station. There's a lot of algae in here." With a frown he started tugging. "The talons are tangled in something…."
Suddenly there was a tearing sound, and Hawkman's wings flapped frantically to steady himself as he jerked backward. The tarp split open...
And Rip found himself being showered with a shimmering green slime.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Found the idea for the rainwater sampling station online; there actually is such a setup in Berkeley. Although I don't think they have the algae problem!