Alec Logan scowled to himself.  He never did trust Smith.  He also knew there was no chance of that changing in the future.

    He looked again at the now-blank prescription form…and at the clock.  The CURE agent would be here any minute, according to the vanished message.

    Another mission?  More deaths in the name of ‘international security?”  Alec preferred to choose his own battles, thank you.

    “Damned old walrus!” he grunted aloud.

    The expensive doorbell rang.

    “One day I’ve got to break down and hire a butler;” Alec thought to himself as he trudged to the front door of his breathtaking mansion, “one who’s good at telling people to bug off.”

    Alec was not a bit surprised to see a man in a black suit and shades at his doorstep.  He held up the prescription blank.  The man nodded.

    “Agent Kasey.” The man confided with a slight hint of a Southern drawl.

     “What army does he want dead now?” Alec asked with a clear tone of resigned contempt.

    “Nobody, Slick, I’m here on an educational mission,” the agent quipped.

     “Oh really.” Alec retorted suspiciously.  “I thought he already knew everything.”

    “He does, Slick.” The agent countered calmly, “The education part is for YOUR benefit.  The director is informing the field people of a new tool you will now have at your disposal.”

    Alec raised an eyebrow as the man in black pulled a large, penlike device from his jacket.  At the touch of a button the gadget telescoped to almost twice its length, as a red light glowed at the top.

    “I think you’ll find this quite useful.” The agent commented genially, “You see this little red light?”
 
 

            Alec Logan scowled to himself a little.  He wasn’t really sure he could fully trust Modesty, or any of the rest of their little, loosely-knit vigilante social club.  Since that day that they had all stumbled on each other in a mutual-interest pursuit of Ras Al Guhl, they had time and again banded together to use their combined talents against some truly nasty world threats.  “Suicide Squad” was Modesty’s name for their autonomous crimefighting collective.

            Alec preferred to act alone, though the self-proclaimed “Suicide Squad” had proven effective enough for him to toss his hat in from time to time.

            As NoMan had said after they had rescued him from HYDRA, “At least you chose to band together.  It’s not like you were drafted into some extra-governmental agency like T.H.U.N.D.E.R.”

            Alec had to agree.

    The lunch rush had passed at Little Tony's. Save for one low-slung black sedan, even the parking around the place seemed to have cleared out. Of course, maybe the owner of the black sedan was the very reason things had cleared out. It was not uncommon for a ranking Family man to pay Tony a visit, and such visits usually caused the locals to remember their respect for a private converstaion.

    As he strode up the sidewalk, Leon could picture the scene inside the restaurant. A ham-fisted bodygaurd would be doing his best to look big and bad while one of the bosses would chat Tony up. The boss would be dressed to the nine's: wing-tips, tailored suit, pinky ring. The boss would be dressed to send a message to anyone who saw him: I am a man who commands respect. Tony would hold his own in the conversation, not awed by mafia flash. Tony would be in his old stained apron and a sweaty work clothes, idly wringing a dish towel in his calloused hands. Tony would be sending his own message: I am a man who has earned respect through work and loyalty, not fancy clothes, and YOU are not a man who can take that away too easily.

    The sedan had no driver waiting. Must not be much of a big shot, Leon thought to himself.

    No report. No breaking class. Just a flash. An odd color, too. Leon was in a sprint for the door as he re-shuffled the possible scenario inside the pizzaria. No mob boss, hence no driver for the car. Someone lower, proving a point, maybe wants to bang Tony up a little. But no report from the flash? A silencer?

    This wasn't adding up. You don't heave a huge black car up to the front door and then do somebody with a silencer. Leon pulled up short and risked a
quick look through the shop window. Two men. Tony and one other. Both up. Both talking. No visible weapons. This wasn't adding up.

    Leon decided to play it off, but keep alert of the other man. He drew a deep breath and opened the door.

    "... and I think that about wraps it up, Tony. It really makes perfect sense when you think about it."

    "Yeah... yeah... makes perfect sense..." Tony seemed to be nodding along with whatever the other guy was saying. The stranger was definitely not a local. Definitely not Family. He was dressed like some sort of funeral director but he seemed to have the permanent smile of someone who sold used cars. And whatever he was selling, Tony seemed to be buying. This wasn't adding up.

    "Hey there, Buddy!" The man had wheeled on Leon just as he was taking his seat at the counter. Leon did his best to ignore the overture and gave Tony a hard look. This seemed to wake Tony up and he quickly snapped up a pint of milk from the cooler and a glass and slid them down the counter for Leon.

    "I was just telling your friend here about a new money-maker. The Sono-matic Glass Cleaner! Pretty soon everyone's gonna have one!" As he delivered his
schtick, the stranger's hand was drifting to his coat pocket. "They really are great! Even a kid could use one, just point and..."

    Click.

    With practiced ease, Leon had drawn a pistol. The click of the hammer stopped the man in mid-sales-pitch. His hand carefully drew back from his coat pocket.

    "Whoa there, fella! I know this is kind of a rough part of town. But we're all friends here right? Tony? Right?"

    Tony tossed a glance at Leon. His look said "fuggedaboutit." Leon lowered the pistol. Placed it conspicuously on the counter next his drink. Just then the man in black seemed to realize something about Leon; a detail he did not notice until that point.

    "Say... um... those glasses. Any reason you wear those around all the time?" The man in black extended a hand toward the smoked lenses on Leon's nose. Leon caught the man by the cuff.

    "Part of my work."

    "Oh, sure. Sure!" The man grinned, extricating his cuff from Leon's grip. "Say! I bet the ol' Sono-matic would really do wonders for those! Crystal clear vision! That would probably help with your work, too. Right?"

    Leon had his hand on the pistol again. "Why don't you go f-"

    "Leon!" Tony had cut Leon off before he could finish giving the man his suggestion. "He's a nice kid. Relax! He was tellin' me all about this gizmo. Gonna be the next big thing someday. Just you wait. Everybody's gonna have one."

    Yeah, right. Leon thought to himself. And we'll all have our own little telephone we carry around, too. Leon had just about had enough and was about to make for the door. But Tony would not have it. Apparently, Leon had drifted into the territory of offending a costomer that Tony had taken a liking to. Which meant Tony would have to be apeased. Which meant that Leon would probably have to suffer through whatever pitch this guy had left. Tony had his arms crossed now, looking stern. He raised one hand and tapped a finger on his temple; gesturing that Leon should fork over his glasses for a demonstration. Leon lifted his glasses from the bridge of his nose.

    It didn't add up. Leon was sure he had seen one of the mafia boys' cars when he walked up the street. But the place was empty except for Tony. And when he turned around, the sedan was no longer there. It just didn't add up. He needed a breather; time to lay low. His connection with Modesty Blaise had been lucky, allowing him to settle some old scores and still look out for Matilda. And the jobs always paid well. But the work had been piling up lately. Modesty always seemed to have something going down. This is why he had some to Tony's in the first place; to lay low for a bit and catch up with his old friend. It all made perfect sense. He had waited for the lunch rush to die down so he could see his old friend and relax for a while. Soon, he knew, Modesty would be scaring up more work for him.

    Modesty looked over Smith’s list.

    “Britt, too?” she sighed.

    “Everyone but Moreau,” Smith confirmed. “That vicious little froggy does other services for CURE besides his bloody, little stints as Guillotine.  Like you, Dunn, and the ESC operatives, we had to keep him in the loop.”

    “What will you do with Peyton’s lab?” she asked.

    “It’s in another upstate New York locale,” Smith replied with a smile. “He will think YOU and Benson paid for it.”

     “Cute,” Modesty quipped with a grin.

     “Did Zed complain about you commandeering so much of K’s time?” Modesty continued.

     “A little,” Smith admitted, "but he agreed that Suicide Squad would work better if most of them had no memory of CURE and thought it had been their own idea."

     “Here’s to a new beginning.” MacCleary said whimsically, breaking his silence. The others smiled. A moment later, MacCleary's communicator beeped. "Excuse me." He stepped away from Smith's desk as he answered it.

    "So this is retirement for you, then, Commissioner?" Modesty asked Smith, her eyebrow cocked.

    "I like to stay busy," Smith said and held up the Ras' al Ghul file. "He's arming insurgents in Viet Nam. Slip this to Gray Ghost. Tell him your secret intellegence contacts gave it to you. He'll want in."

    "It's not even a lie, really," she said and took the file.

    "That's what makes it even more fun," Smith said and puffed on his pipe.

    MacCleary turned back toward the desk and slowly put the communicator back in his pocket. His expression was no longer fesitve.

    Smith picked up on it instantly. "What is it?" he asked gravely.

    "They missed. One got away."

    "Damn it to hell," Smith muttered.

    "Who?" Modesty asked.

    MacClearly sighed. "Who do you think?'

    A grim silence filled the room.

    Smith turned to Modesty. "Find him."

    "Find him?"

    "If we're going to have to kill him, Modesty, we'd best find that out right quick," he said evenly.

    The meeting was short. The new leader briefed them on the situation, and the task that was now before them. Most left quickly afterward, especially Magda.

    One lingered, however, trying to get a feel for the new leader whom he had pledged his life to serve.  "Whatta' ya' think boss?"

    "It is sufficient."

    "The old boss never had any problems with security here. Nobody knows about this place. I know you's worried about that."

    "I don't get worried." A flash of anger through the yellowed bandages.

    Benny had seen a lot of weird stuff as both a cabbie and especially in the service of the man who saved his life, but he already knew that the man who had been given his old master's legacy was something he never wanted to experience, even as just a witness. He took a step back. "Sorry boss; I'm just that saying that old outfit of yours sounds pretty shifty is all."

    If the man heard him, he made no sign. "Go. Tell the other agents I will meet with them again individually at a time of my choosing. We have much to discuss. And much to do."

    "Ah. Handing out new marching orders, huh, boss?"

    "If I have been given an army, it is fitting that I now have a war." He laughed. Deep, raw, utterly without humor or mercy. It was... familiar. At times, it made perfect sense to Benny why this man had had been chosen to take over the operation. The man stopped and looked at Benny for the first time. His eyes narrowed and regarded the short man coldly. He then walked to the opulent liquor cabinet and threw it open roughly. He plucked out two small glasses and filled them with brandy, carelessly pouring almost as much onto the mahogany bar as into the glasses. He walked over to Benny and thrust one of the glasses into his hand.

    "Do you know who watches the watchers?" he asked, glaring down at the Benny, while absently swirling the brandy with a bandaged hand.

    "Uh, no, boss..."

    "We do!" He slugged the brandy down in one gulp and hurled the glass against the wall. "Here's to a new beginning!"

    And then the laughter again, rising higher and higher and chilling the old cabbie's bones more than even his former employer's ever did.