Richardson, Edison and Dayton: Central Office(#598RFJ)

This is a small law office, and only the closest observation reveals
exactly how busy it really is. The waiting area is comfortable and
relaxed, the atmosphere is quiet and almost sombre in its seriousness, but
small indicators rise: a continual background flurry of keystrokes,
rustling paper and murmured telephone conversation, not always in English.
The distinctive hum of an always-active fax machine and laser printer. The
official-looking vistors in and out, the FedEx packages in and out, the
messengers, all camoflauged by the prompt and easy completion of their
tasks from appearing frantic to just appearing natural. 

Obvious exits:
Out <O>  Main Office <MO>

Out <O>

The door back out to the entrance is wooden, deeply lacquered, aged, and
altogether sedate. It swings silently, which, considering the traffic, is
a blessing. 

You hear someone's voice coming from Out <O> "I'm afraid I do have every
right to walk in there, miss. This is government business..." 

Harold speaks in the direction of Out <O>. He says "Let him in,
Carrie...." 

Eli has arrived.

The man who said that is a security guard. "Can I help you, sir?" he says. 
The security guard nods and opens a small notebook, copying down the ID
number as if this were a matter of course around here. "Yes, sir." the
guard says. "Let me get one of our cleared interns to talk to you." 
Suddenly Harold is seen walking along between one of the cubicles. He
turns and looks suddenly, adjusting his glasses, then approaches,
gesturing to the guard for the notebook. 

Harold looks at the notebook. "You're a hard man to get a hold of." he
says, without looking up to Carrington. "Come right back. Paula, hold my
calls, Chris, tell the New York team I'll be in after this meeting." 

Briefly touching his nose with his thumb, Eli prods his glasses up a bit.
He gives a half-inward smile, the rest spilling through the crease of his
mouth. "I hope I've not come at an inoppurturne time, Mr. Dayton..." He
tucks his ID back into his inside pocket.

Eli looked at you.

Eli
        You see a caucasian man in his thirties or so. He's not especially
tall, and might even be called a little on the short side. The
blonde-reddish hair on his head is clipped short and neat, its style
economical and not very suave. His brown eyes ar e positioned behind a
pair of black government issue eyeglasses...the hornrimmed kind. Somewhat
hardworn, his appearance is a mixture of boyish good looks and weariness. 
        He's clad in a dull sort of grey salt and pepper suit, with no
vest, and a blandly appropiate off-white dress shirt under it. A squarish,
black, almost completely flat tie is worn over his shirt. It doesn't seem
to move much, and must be pretty ti ght around the collar. His shoes are
two-tone black and white, and pretty decently polished. You note a steel
wristband above his left hand, with an electronic LCD display on the
square watch face. 

Harold says curtly, "Nope. Come on in." He opens the door to the cubicles
and starts walkind towards his office. 

You step into the inner office.

Richardson, Edison and Dayton: Main Office(#1195RF)

The desk is broad and made from heavy mahogany, and is clear of any papers
or equipment other than a dark green, old-fashioned desk blotter. The
chair behind the desk is comfortable-looking and a nearly-black leather
color: the chairs before the desk are similar and well-worn. Wooden
cabinets built into the wall contain rows and rows of law books, titles
too small to distract, but whose presence fills the room with the familiar
smell of old paper. The windows behind and to the right of the desk
command a stunning view of downtown Metropolis, the shining spires of the
skyscrapers extending upwards across it. 

Obvious exits:
Out <O>

Eli enters.
Eli has arrived.

Harold closes the door behind them with a click. He walks over to his
desk, gesturing at the chair in front of it. He looks out the window a
brief moment before sitting down. 

Harold narrows his eyes behind his glasses at Eli, but only for a split
second, and then says casually, "What can I do for you, Mr. Carrington?" 

Eli starts reaching for his breast pocket, and the pack of namebrand
cigarettes therein. Reconsidering, he lets his hand drop, and he glances
at the room's decor...and the window. "Done quite good for yourself since
the old days, Dayton." He motions to a seat with a questioning glance,
then smiles, taking the seat anyways. "...always knew you would." 

Harold smiles genially, maybe even a little blandly. "There are some
things I miss about Washington. The money isn't one of them." 

Eli laughs, genuinely. "I think my old supervisor has that on his
gravestone." Steepling his fingers over his lap, Eli gets comfortable. 

Harold smiles back. If he's relaxing, he isn't showing it. Of course, he
looks relaxed anyway. 

"Well, down to business then?" Leaning his head back, Eli gives a pointed
look at Dayton. "My reason for being here is pretty straightforwards; to
discuss the current difficulties involving Dinah Laurel Lance, AKA 'The
Black Canary'. Difficulties that go beyond this trial or the charges
brought against her. I need to ask a few questions, Dayton. Simple. But a
little blunt. Fair warning." 

Harold chuckles. "I do, too. And I know you're not used to it, so that's
-my- warning." The chuckle seemed geniune enough. Maybe he switched masks
when you weren't looking. 

Eli nods, screwing up his mouth as he collects his thoughts. "Okay...I
suppose I'll ask you a question, then you can ask me one, and so on until
we're both at a dead end. Agreed?" Without waiting for a reply, he makes a
lazy gesture with his hand. "First;  Has Miss Lance discussed her
experiences with Oliver Queen...'The Green Arrow' to the kids...with you?
In any manner?" 

You say "Only in regards to his alleged death, though I am aware of his
subsequent return." 

Eli nods, a twinge passing over his features.

Harold leans forward a little. "Does the.....agency have any interest in
this case beyond general domestic intelligence?" 

Tapping a finger against his knee, Eli gives a short nod. "Quite beyond."
He gives a brazen grin. 

Harold gives it right back. "Don't play cross-examination games with me,
Mr. Carrington." he says in a friendly tone. "What is their interest?" 

Eli picks at some lint on his pants leg. He studies it. "...alright, if
you insist on pressing the matter..." He furrows his brow a little,
flicking the lint away. "There are issues involving third party interests
tangled up in all of this, Dayton. And I don't mean the Post Office."

Harold's smile slips a little, "Enlighten me."

Eli shakes his head. "Afraid I can't divulge anything further, Dayton.
Even if I did know for sure. Besides...what little I do know would be of
no use to your client." 

Harold doesn't look happy with this. "We'll talk about it more later." he
says. "What else can I answer for you?" 

Eli scratches his cheek. "Did Miss Lance discuss her escape time with the
parties who are coordinating the trial...and, if so, what was the result?
I include you in the aforementioned parties, of course." 

Harold adjusts his glasses. "From all indications that I have, she was
abducted, and so 'escape' is the wrong term for it. I was informed by a
third party that she mentioned to Oliver Queen subsequent to their reunion
that she might escape, but I do not think much can be made of this: she
was clearly in a highly-strung emotional state, seeing him after believing
him dead so many weeks. She never mentioned anything to me but the desire
to see her deed tried in a courtroom." 

Eli nods, tracing a finger over his cufflink. "Hmmm. Alright."

Harold smiles coolly. "Who are those men in jail in New York?"

Eli gives a half-hearted smirk. "Which ones...? Oh, wait...you mean the
ones from the attack on the mayor? Hm. Well, I can't really say; the NYPD
seems to have its own ideas." 

Harold gives a suddenly icy smirk of his own. "I'll settle for who they
work for." 

Eli shrugs a little. "Freeh's boys are working on that, Dayton." He weighs
some information in his head, shaving a bit off here, tacking on something
there. "In essence, here's what I know...or suspect..." 

Harold nods, listening again, the steel in his demeanor gone again, hidden.

Eli says "The Mayor of New York was attacked by some independent
operatives, most likely with European backgrounds, and most likely paid in
a quiet fashion by an as yet unidentified intermediary. Possible
'managers' of the op range from the obscure to the ridiculous. The
Bureau's little friends had a long chat with that New York shock
jock...Krantz...because he'd talked about 'getting at the mayor' to fix
the city. A few 'family men' were given the once over...some of the
Islamic community...the usual suspects. My own guess, for what its worth,
is someone with connections to a european special ops unit. GSG9, maybe.
But, thats are far as the chain will reach before I let go, Dayton."" 

Harold squints a little. "Motive?" he says absently, asking himself as
much as Carrington. 

Eli throws his hands up. "The question that's driving everybody and his
gimp sister crazy. This whole thing was too loopy to have been anything
other than a smokescreen, anyways. That much is obvious. The perogative
for making a move on the Mayor of New York City in the middle of a Fourth
of July parade and then making up this APA connection; its a snowstorm. 
Feed the press and the public, and reap the rewards of...who knows what." 
He scowls a little. "In the end, there's not much here for you or Lance to
hold onto for leverage, Dayton; why do you care?" 

Harold waves his hand a little. "Sorry." he says. "I just hate loose ends.
Too many of them have bitten me." 

Harold is clearly still thinking about it, though, and is about to ask
another question when he stops himself, and gestures with a quick grin to
Eli. 

Eli clasps his hands. "...what sort of evidence procedure will the
League's trial be following?" 

Harold sighs a little. "I don't know what the final form will be. It will
probably be similar to an intelligence agency internal review, with
perhaps a little more stringent restrictions regarding the identity of
some participants. The Martian Manhunter will be presiding. Superman will
represent the agency. I don't know if I will even be allowed to be present
yet. As for evidence, since it's an internal procedure...you know how that
works. Anything goes." 

Eli rubs his jaw. "I see." (Internal Procedure. Unless that applies to
"Us", it always means trouble)Oo. 

Harold taps his chin. "What compartments are you cleared for, Carrington?"
he says. "If you've got access, I'll get you everything that happens
there." 

Eli says "Does Little Mary Three still flip any switches?"

Harold chuckles. "Yeah," he says. "I've only got Seagate Four Baseball,
myself, but I've been brevetted up and down so many times sometimes I
don't know if I'm cleared to know my own address. I'll get you what we
find out at the meeting." He frowns a little suddenly, "Afraid I can't
give you much insight on our case that you won't already know. Most of
what we're using is from the NYPD and the investigators we have poking
through things out there."

Eli gives a short smile. "No problem. Well, I think thats it for now." He
stands, and extends a hand. "Just remember, Dayton; I'm not one of the bad
guys. Honest." 

Harold shakes Eli's hand. "I have one more question coming." he says.
"Where can I contact you?" He rises. 

Eli fishes around behind the unwrapped pack of cigarettes stuffed in his
breast pocket. "...Call this number, and leave voice mail. If its urgent,
I'll be buzzed and in your location in an hour or less." He hands a simple
white business card with a number printed on it.

Harold takes it and pockets it, grinning. "Don't worry, I won't tell
anyone the NSA is operating domestically again. Wouldn't that be an
embarassment." He says this with understated sarcasm. "I'm glad you came
in, Carrington. I'll contact you soon." 

Eli nods briefly. "Yes; we're an odd bunch. I don't even trust myself,
sometimes." He gives a half-grin, then walks back out. 

Eli steps out.
Eli has left.