a CAPTAIN SCARLET AND THE MYSTERONS short story

by Mary J. Rudy

Captain Scarlet sighed and frowned at his reflection in the mirror.

"I hate ceremonies," he grumbled.

Scarlet was usually able to get out of appearing at medal presentations, citing Spectrum duties as his excuse and receiving the honors through the Cloudbase courier service, but this was one time he couldn't avoid it. The notification had come straight from Buckingham Palace, requesting his presence before King George VII himself, and there was simply no way to refuse the King.

So here he was at the palace, fidgeting in front of one of the hall mirrors, twisting a finger inside the high collar of his dress uniform. A long row of medals shone on his chest, their multicolored ribbons bright against the charcoal-gray cloth. The decorations represented the achievements of a fabled military career--six distinguished years with the World Army Air Force, and two more with his current employer. Over that period of time, Scarlet had been awarded some of the World Government's highest military honors.

Around his neck hung the Spectrum Cross, his organization's award for valor, from a rainbow band of silk. Scarlet's cross was gold, rather than the usual silver, for he had been awarded the decoration numerous times. Spectrum had authorized a higher class of the medal so that Scarlet's neck ribbon wouldn't tear from all the clusters denoting repeat awards. Scarlet had approved the authorization of the gold medal on the condition that it would be the final Spectrum Cross issued to him.

Captain Scarlet didn't feel as though he deserved half of the medals and various awards he'd received since this fight with the Mysterons started. After all, he was different from most men, enabling him to take risks no one else could take. But for the past year and a half, Scarlet had proved his loyalty--and his amazing powers of recovery--again and again. The first time, before he was even returned to duty following the Car-Vu incident, was in fact one reason he was here at Buckingham Palace this December afternoon.

In the summer of 2068, he'd stopped the Alliance for World Justice from setting off a bomb in a museum where King George was about to dedicate a new wing. The terrorist responsible for the bombing was Major Anthony Canuso, commander of Spectrum Headquarters London, who had badly wounded Scarlet after the latter had uncovered the plot. Still restricted to nonessential ground work at the time, Scarlet escaped from his guard, raced to the museum and revealed Canuso as the detonator-wielding terrorist. In doing so he saved the life of the king and took a bullet meant for Captain Blue.

That act of intrepidity, combined with Scarlet's other accomplishments, prompted the World President and the commander-in-chief of Spectrum to recommend him for royal honors, for which he was instantly accepted. No one else knew about the investiture, especially when Scarlet found out just what kind of honors he was to receive.

Satisfied with his appearance in the mirror, but not necessarily with the thought of what lay before him, Captain Scarlet donned his gray-and-white dress uniform cap. Like the rest of the uniform, it was discreetly trimmed with piping in the same color as his code name. He checked that the cap was on straight and not at a "jaunty angle" as Colonel White detested, then started down the hallway toward the presentation room. Turning a corner at the end of the hall, he nearly collided head-on with a distinguished-looking older man.

His mumbled apology stopped abruptly. The gentleman he had almost bowled over was someone he knew, a former WAAF European Commander. Scarlet started to say something on reflex but saw that the man was not alone. He instead swept a white-gloved hand to his brow in salute.

"Good afternoon, Generals," he said, somewhat nervously. Then, to himself, What's he doing here? No one else is supposed to know about this.

The man, similarly startled, held out his hand. "And good afternoon to you as well, Captain Scarlet. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Nor I you, sir." Scarlet returned the handshake and nodded to the other man. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"Angus MacIntyre," he responded in a thick brogue befitting his name. "Commander, WAAF Scotland." MacIntyre shook hands, then turned his attention back to the other man. "If you'll excuse me, Charles, I'm going to go have a word with Admiral Andrews."

"Of course, Mac. We'll catch up to you."

Once MacIntyre was out of earshot, Scarlet grinned broadly, showing a side of himself not readily seen in public.

"Dad, what are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same thing. I thought your leave didn't begin until tomorrow."

"I told you that because I wanted to surprise you. Now, why didn't you tell me you would be here?"

"I thought it could wait until you got home for Christmas. Knight Commander is something generals my age receive for long and meritorious service, not for doing anything spectacular."

"Knight Commander?" The grin broadened even more. "Of the Order of the Bath?"

"No, the Order of the British Empire, which is almost as good. The Bath is usually bestowed upon an officer for gallantry in battle--"

Metcalfe stopped suddenly. He'd figured it out.

"You're here for the Order of the Bath, aren't you?" he postulated, a smile beginning to form on his face. "What class?"

His son reddened and looked at the floor. "Knight Commander. Same class as you, but in a higher order."

"You're joking!" At first taken aback, the general nodded knowingly. "Now I understand why you didn't want to tell me at first. You'll outrank me, won't you?"

"Yes, sorry about that--"

"Sorry?" Metcalfe seemed ready to burst with pride. "Paul, surely you did something to deserve such an honor! What was it?"

"Among other things, saved his majesty from being blown to pieces by a terrorist bomb."

"Well done, son." General Metcalfe fought off the urge to embrace Scarlet but instead pumped his hand vigorously, gripping the young man's shoulder tightly with his other hand. "I say, well done!"

"Thanks." Scarlet, still clearly embarrassed, changed the subject. "Well, this at least makes one thing easier. Once this rubbish is finished I can just go home with you. I'll have my car collected here."

"It won't be that easy, I'm afraid. Your mother has prepared a reception for this evening back at the house." He smiled again, this time boyishly. "I'm not supposed to know about it."

Scarlet groaned. "Not for the family, I hope."

"No, just some of the friends I've made during the course of my career--" Metcalfe spotted MacIntyre returning and went back into "general" mode. "--You are invited, Captain, of course."

"Well, I appreciate that, sir, but I can't possibly--"

"Captain Scarlet, it's the least I can do, considering what you've done for me in the past. Please come to the party."

"With all due respect, General, thank you for the invitation but I'm afraid I don't have enough time to attend. You see, I'm due back at Cloudbase first thing tomorrow morning, and if the party goes on too late as they so often do--"

"Then you'd just have to stay the night, wouldn't you? My son is away, so you could have his room." The general smiled and added, "That is, of course, if you don't mind a Labrador sleeping on the foot of your bed. Neither Mary nor I can break him of that habit."

The younger man grinned and held open the door of the presentation room for the senior officers. "Sounds just like home, sir. I'll see you there."

Adam Svenson pulled up the collar of his leather jacket and hunched his shoulders against the wind. It was one of those typical mid-December days on the coast, one where the sea spray and gusting winds chilled a man right to the bone. Just like Massachusetts, he thought. If he closed his eyes he'd swear he was back home at the family's beach house on Nantucket instead of his distant cousins' home in Plymouth…

…England.

The American had wanted to visit this part of the British Isles for some time. He had more than a passing interest in the town; his mother's ancestors had sailed from Plymouth with the Mayflower pilgrims. This trip had been a kind of pilgrimage for him as well. Some months ago, he decided he'd become bored with going to London every time he was given leave in England. Why not take a side trip? Researching his family tree with the help of public and church records in the States, and enlisting the help of one of Paul's friends in Exeter, he was able to contact a distant cousin and arrange a visit.

The two days had been wonderful. Christopher Taylor was about the same age as his American cousin, but unlike Adam he had a wife and three children. Aside from that, however, they discovered they had a lot in common and enjoyed each other's company. Adam liked the tour of Plymouth Chris and Susan gave him, but he got along even better with their son and two daughters. The children couldn't get enough of him, in fact. He discovered over the course of his 48-hour pass that he liked the sound of "Uncle Adam."

Picking up the younger daughter, he took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "There now, Pamela, don't cry," he soothed. "I'll come back again." He gave her a kiss on the cheek and hugged her before handing her to her mother.

"Please do come back another time, Adam," Chris said, holding out his hand. "We enjoyed your visit ever so much, even though it was too short."

"Yes," agreed Susan, shifting Pamela to her other hip so she could shake hands as well. "And be sure to bring that girlfriend of yours next time."

"I sure will." Adam got into the car and started the engine, then blew a kiss to the little girl as he pulled away. When he was about ten miles from Plymouth he pulled a small two-way radio from the pocket of his jeans and activated it.

"Captain Blue to Cloudbase."

"Good evening, Captain," a cheerful Caribbean voice answered. "Did you enjoy your leave?"

"Very much so, Lieutenant Green, thanks. I've just left Plymouth, and I should be back on Cloudbase ahead of schedule--"

"Just as well," the young black man interrupted. "I was about to recall you and Captain Scarlet when you reported."

"What's going on? The Mysterons up to something?"

"No, sir. Colonel's calling a senior staff conference."

Blue glanced at his watch. "Well, it must be important if he wants Scarlet back. He probably just arrived in Winchester."

"Didn't he leave for his furlough this morning?"

"Yes, but he said he needed to sort out some Spectrum business in London before he could go home."

"Spectrum business?" The lieutenant sounded doubtful. "Not that I'm aware of. Nothing's come across my desk for London since this morning's courier traffic."

"Maybe it doesn't involve Cloudbase. He did say something about that major we arrested for terrorist activity last year."

There was a muffled snicker from the other end of the transmission. "From what Lieutenant Stephens was telling me about him, sir, it's likely he's been called down to sort out some of the paperwork he did. He's no bureaucrat, that's for sure."

Blue smiled, reflecting on his partner's frustration while on his probationary period at London HQ. "You're right there, Lieutenant. He's certainly not cut out for a desk job." He paused. "What are my orders?"

"Requisition Helicopter A22 at a farm five miles east of your present position. Collect Captain Scarlet from Winchester and report directly to Cloudbase. The conference will begin as soon as you arrive, so make sure you're already in uniform when you get here."

"S.I.G., Lieutenant Green. Do you want to break the news to him yourself, or can it wait until I get there?"

The response came from the distinguished British voice of Colonel White, the men's superior. "He hasn't been home for a very long time, Captain. Let him enjoy a little time with his family, but report back as soon as you can."

"Yes, sir." Blue thought that strange; the colonel usually wasn't that flexible. Either he's in the Christmas spirit, or he knows something about Scarlet's plans that I don't, he said to himself.

A short time later, a silver-and-blue Spectrum helijet swooped down over the ancient Winchester Cathedral, toward the Metcalfe family home outside of the city. Blue noted with surprise the number of vehicles parked around the rustic Tudor house. The Bostonian smiled to himself. No wonder Paul was in no hurry to get home; they're probably throwing him a birthday party and he doesn't want to be anywhere near it.

Blue nudged the controls and the helicopter obediently descended. He guided it toward a clearing a good distance from the house -- and more importantly, far away from the garden. He'd made that mistake earlier in the year, his rotor wash destroying the prize rose bushes the general had planted only the day before. Although Spectrum would gladly have compensated General Metcalfe for the damage, Captain Blue paid for new shrubs out of his own pocket. He didn't want Scarlet to find out, otherwise he'd never live it down. Thank goodness his partner had not been with him at the time of the incident.

The blond American officer expertly landed the helijet and shut down its engines. Before he headed for the house, he checked his reflection in the cockpit canopy, as he always did when he was about to see the general. "Can't risk having one hair out of place," he muttered. He grabbed a suede brush from his travel kit and freshened up his azure uniform vest, then started across the lawn.

A middle-aged woman with a simple beauty about her answered the knock on the door, smiling as soon as she recognized him. Blue never ceased to marvel at the fact that although Scarlet acted so much like his father, he got all of his good looks from his mother.

He grinned at the woman in return and took off his uniform cap, relieved that she had come to the door rather than her husband. "Hi, Mrs. Metcalfe!" he said cheerily. "Can Paul come out and play?"

She laughed softly, her blue eyes twinkling. "It's good to see you again, Adam. I was wondering when you'd join the party."

"Yeah, I saw all the cars when I came in. How's the birthday boy holding up?"

"Actually, Charles is the guest of honor. He was knighted today."

"Oh! I didn't know anything about it. I'll have to be sure to offer my congratulations to him."

"So, Paul didn't tell you, either," remarked Mrs. Metcalfe. "He really kept this a secret, didn't he?"

"Oh, I don't know if he intentionally kept it from me. He always speaks so highly of his father."

"That's not the secret I meant. Paul was knighted today as well."

Blue's jaw dropped. "What?!"

Mrs. Metcalfe smiled blissfully. "They met each other there, neither one having told the other."

Blue returned the smile with a broader one of his own. "You must be very proud of them both, ma'am."

"Indeed. We're especially proud of Paul, of course. To have received his honors at such a young age, not to mention receiving a higher honor than his father, is quite rare."

"Higher honors?" Blue looked puzzled. "I thought knights were knights."

Mrs. Metcalfe gestured toward the hall as she explained. "There are several different orders, and different classes in each order. Paul was invested in the highest of the military orders, and Charles in a lesser, but still very respectable one."

"Thanks for the explanation. You have to remember I'm an American and not up on these things." As they approached the library, Blue caught a glimpse of his partner for a moment as one of the French doors opened. The fair-haired officer began to chuckle.

"What is it, Adam?" Mrs. Metcalfe asked.

"He looks like he needs rescuing. He'll probably be glad I'm here to recall him to duty."

The look Scarlet's mother gave him was one of disappointment yet understanding. This had happened too many times before. "Do you have to leave straight away, or can we cut the cake first?" She motioned toward a sheet cake with "Congratulations Sir Charles" inscribed on the top in blue icing.

"Oh, we certainly have time for that." Blue opened the doors and gestured for her to precede him into the library.

Captain Scarlet, General Metcalfe and another World Army Air Force officer were engaged in conversation, or more accurately, monologue. The general was evidently in full "windbag" mode, regaling the other two officers with one of his many stories collected during the course of his long and illustrious military career.

A waiter, holding a tray of champagne glasses, approached the trio just before Blue did. Each officer took a glass, but Scarlet's never reached his lips. A dark-sleeved hand snatched it out of his grasp and placed it back on the tray.

"What the--?"

"Sorry, Captain Scarlet, but you are now officially on duty," a stern American voice said. "No alcohol allowed."

Scarlet, recognizing Captain Blue's New England accent right away, whirled around and stared at his partner. The look he gave Blue indicated that Scarlet would prefer a confrontation with Captain Black himself over being the center of attention at the general's reception.

"Captain Blue, what on earth are you doing?" thundered General Metcalfe before Scarlet had a chance to speak.

Blue snapped to attention. "My apologies, General -- and my congratulations." He nodded toward Scarlet. "To both of you."

"Thank you, Captain," Metcalfe replied.

Scarlet nodded warily, still wondering why his American counterpart was here when he should have been returning to Cloudbase from his own leave -- and why he was congratulating him for something no one besides Colonel White was supposed to know about.

"Unfortunately, sir," Blue continued, "I have to take Captain Scarlet back to Cloudbase with me. He's been recalled for a meeting."

"Oh." Scarlet sounded both disappointed and relieved. "I'll get my kit."

"Not so fast. Your hostess wants to cut the cake before we go."

The waiter, as if he'd been cued, wheeled out a serving trolley containing the cake, a knife, and dessert plates with silverware wrapped in napkins. Mrs. Metcalfe ushered her husband to the center of the room. "Care to say a few words, Charles?" she asked.

"A few?" whispered Blue. "That'll be the day." His partner glared at him, hoping the comment went unheard.

Metcalfe put down his empty champagne glass and launched into a protracted speech, thanking his wife for the "surprise" party and congratulating the other officers present who had also received royal honors. He smiled warmly when he came to Captain Scarlet, whom he had saved for last.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," he began, placing a hand on his son's shoulder, "here is a true hero. This young man deserves his knighthood more than any of us here today do. I know this for a fact because Captain Scarlet has saved my own life on two separate occasions. Take a look at the medals he's collected over the years as I speak. Note particularly the Victoria Cross on his breast, the highest decoration our sceptered isle can award. And that gold Spectrum Cross round his neck, his own organization's highest honor. These alone, ladies and gentlemen, should prove my point. I am proud to know him, and I consider him as close to me as my own son."

"And how is your boy doing these days, Charles?" MacIntyre interrupted. "I haven't seen him since he was a young laddie."

"Fine, Mac, just fine. He's so busy in his work that I don't get to see him too often or for too long. He might not even make it home for Christmas this year." He imperceptibly squeezed Scarlet's shoulder.

"Aren't they all that way," sighed MacIntyre. The Scot turned his attention to Scarlet. "If you don't mind my saying so, Captain, you could pass for Charles' son any day. There is a similarity."

"Sorry, General, I can't say I see any resemblance."

"I'm not referring to physical appearances. Your actions are similar--"

Mrs. Metcalfe, sensing that her son needed help, cleared her throat loudly. "Charles, these young men have to leave."

"And so they shall, darling, but I haven't finished my speech yet--"

"Oh yes, you have," was her abrupt reply. "They have to return to their duties. Cut the cake, dear."

Several of the other generals laughed at Mary's comment. Captain Scarlet shot an eternally grateful look at his mother, the blush from his youthful cheeks approaching the same shade as his uniform piping.

An equally red-faced Metcalfe accepted the cake knife from his wife and approached the serving trolley. He was about to make the first cut when Scarlet shook his head, clucking his tongue.

Metcalfe scowled, still recovering from his wife's admonishment. "Now what's wrong, Captain?"

"General, this is a military celebration. Allow me." Removing an antique officer's sword from the scabbard at his waist, he held it out in both hands, bowing as the general accepted it. Metcalfe sliced through the entire width of the cake with the sword, wiped it on a napkin and, bowing in return, gave it back to the Spectrum officer. As Scarlet rejoined Captain Blue in a corner of the library, the assembled guests applauded him. He gave a casual wave in acknowledgment.

"Well, I see you finally put Granddad's sword to use," Blue quipped.

Scarlet busied himself cleaning the sword with his handkerchief. "Feels good just to wear it," he noted, shoving it authoritatively back into the scabbard. "I always feel naked without some sort of weapon whilst in uniform."

Blue nodded. He was well aware of Scarlet's excellent swordsmanship and knew that even a ceremonial antique sword in his partner's hands would be a very effective weapon should trouble arise.

Presently General Metcalfe returned with two small bundles. "She's still ordering me about," he muttered. "I'm to deliver your cake and see you off while she tends to the other guests. She said to say goodbye for her." He gestured toward the hall.

As they left the library behind and had the rest of the house to themselves, the general began, "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Paul--"

"It's all right, Dad, but you really should remember what that champagne does to you. You never could hold it, you know."

"Indeed, give me a large whisky any time. But I'm just so proud of you. I often wish we didn't have to keep so many things secret."

So do I, Dad, thought Scarlet.

After retrieving Scarlet's gear from his car, the threesome eventually reached the Spectrum helijet. Making sure the helicopter stood between them and the house, Metcalfe said his goodbyes.

"When do you think you'll get home again, son? We hoped to have you home for your birthday and Christmas for a change."

"We're only going up there for a meeting, sir," Blue reassured him. "With any luck, he'll be back tomorrow."

"I was in the service too long to believe that, Captain. When one has to cancel his leave for 'just a meeting,' you can be sure there's more to it."

"Of course, sir." He extended his hand. "It was good to see you, General. And congratulations again."

Metcalfe returned Blue's handshake, then embraced Scarlet warmly. "Take care of yourself, Paul. Your mother and I often worry about you."

Scarlet patted him on the back, then broke the embrace and climbed into the helijet's right-hand seat. He gave his father a thumbs-up as the craft ascended.

Once underway, Captain Blue sat back in his seat and looked thoughtfully at his copilot. "So, do I have to call you Sir Paul now?"

"If you breathe one word of this to anyone, I'll have your guts for garters."

Blue winked devilishly. "Not even the daughter of a certain English lord?"

"Especially not Rhapsody. Her father already considers me a prize catch based on my family's background alone. He reckons I'm a dead cert for a peerage, let alone a knighthood, and he keeps dropping hints about us every time she goes home on leave." Scarlet smiled warmly at the thought of the Spectrum Angel pilot, the copper-haired English beauty whose heart he had claimed for his own.

"Imagine what he'd do if he found out you two are seeing each other."

"That's what I'm afraid of. He'll probably go to the church straight away to book a wedding date for us. I'll let on in due time, thank you very much."

"Don't worry, my lips are sealed. Well, anyway, congratulations." Blue reached his hand across the controls. "You deserve it, and don't you start telling me that you don't because of your special circumstances. You'd still take the exact same chances even if you weren't indestructible."

"Virtually indestructible," Scarlet reminded him as he shook his partner's hand.

Blue nodded in reply, then smiled, shaking his head.

His British counterpart scowled, the reaction markedly similar to his father's at the cake-cutting. "Now what are you on about?"

"You, during your dad's speech. I haven't seen you that embarrassed since our Spectrum training. You remember, when Harmony flipped you in our first martial arts class."

"And if you remember," Scarlet countered, "I held back a bit. After all, I'm twice the size she is."

"Since when do you compromise your position?"

"But I didn't want to hurt her."

"Yeah, that's what you said then too. But she said she was a judo black belt, for crying out loud. Didn't you think she could take care of herself?"

"Yes, but--"

"I think you were too stubborn to admit she caught you off guard. Threw your back out too, if I recall."

"Maybe, but at least she apologized by way of massaging it back into place. Another of her hidden Oriental talents." He unbuckled his safety harness and moved to the back of the craft as a way of changing the subject.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Blue scrambled to adjust the helicopter's controls as the weight shifted.

"Changing out of this dress uniform before we get to Cloudbase. I'm not turning up for that conference in this-- what does Ochre call it, a 'monkey suit'?"

Blue laughed, imagining what smart-aleck remark Captain Ochre would have about Scarlet's knighthood, when the helijet's radio crackled to life. He quickly regained his composure in anticipation of a message from Cloudbase. Instead the radio intoned:

"This is the voice of the Mysterons…"

"And a merry Christmas to you, too," Blue grumbled.

The jingling of medals stopped as Scarlet poked his head into the cockpit. Both men listened intently:

"…We know that you can hear us, Earthmen. Together with one of mankind's enemies, we shall destroy that which has troubled us for far too long. We have not forgotten!"

"Now what's that supposed to mean?" Blue said aloud.

His companion returned to putting away his dress grays, zipping the garment bag closed. "Well, I know one thing it definitely means. Your volunteering to take my Christmas duty just might have been in vain."

At first glance, Nick and Marco Francesco epitomized the concept of identical twins. They were certainly physically identical, as was to be expected. Their physical mannerisms were identical, and even their manner of dress was similar. Both were married, and while the brothers did not marry twins there was a resemblance between their wives. They even had the same number and gender of children.

But there the similarity ended. Their personalities were vastly different. Were it not for the fact that the Francesco brothers were physically identical, no one would have expected them to be related at all.

Nick and Marco were born and raised in South Philadelphia, a neighborhood in that Pennsylvania city long known for strong ties to family, friends and the ways of the Old World. Life in the working-class neighborhood was difficult at times but never impossible. Some families, including the Francescos, actually seemed to thrive on adversity rather than merely survive it.

Nick Francesco was the success story of the family. Never one to join in with the bad crowd, Nick kept to himself and his schoolbooks. His hard work and strong belief in God kept him out of the trouble that usually befell his younger brother. Eventually his introverted lifestyle paid off; he was awarded a full scholarship to Drexel University's School of Engineering and graduated near the top of his class.

Several years and two boring technical jobs later, Nick finally found his calling. While working for the WAAF Aviation Supply Office, he saw an announcement on the lunchroom bulletin board. A new organization called Spectrum needed volunteers from all branches of the World Government. He sought out the group's representative and joined its fledgling Research Division. There he astounded his superiors with his innovations in the development of anti-Mysteron devices.

It was the first job he actually enjoyed. While his previous occupations had kept him and his family in comfortable middle-class suburban life, the work was dull. This may have been all right for Nick's fellow engineers, but Nick Francesco was not like his colleagues. He had a life beyond formulae and calculations.

After his wife Maryanne and the kids, Nick's love of sports came a close second. He'd always been interested in outdoor activities of all kinds. His family and co-workers joked that they could tell the time of year without checking the calendar or even looking out the window. All they had to do was see which equipment Nick was loading into his car--or which sports pool he was running. This was the only place in Nick's life where he imitated his brother.

Marco Francesco could have had the same breaks as his brother Nick, but he did not have the ambition to attain them. He was a little on the lazy side, to put it mildly. Marco would rather talk his way out of doing the work, talk Nick or someone else into doing it for him. If there was an easier way to do something, Marco Francesco usually found it. Most of his life had been managed in this fashion.

While Nick breezed through school, Marco unsuccessfully struggled to graduate but eventually attained his high school equivalency through a stint in the World Navy. He spent three years in its famous "Seabees" construction battalion, which taught him basic building trade skills but not the usual discipline and responsibility most veterans acquired. Even after his discharge, he could usually be found "hanging out" with the guys on the street corner until the wee hours.

Marco placed a higher priority on his social life than his brother, but he was still better behaved than his friends. He got a job with a building demolition company while most of them remained idle. But Marco had a taste for the finer things in life and as a result was always short of money. While he didn't resort to theft, he found another not-so-legal way of making ends meet--he fell in with the local organized crime family.

The Mafia was still around in the late 2060's, though a mere shadow of itself compared to its heyday in the previous century. Marco started out collecting weekly loan shark payments and shaking down businessmen for the DiSalvo "family." When threats and broken bones didn't work, he resorted to that which later made him Don DiSalvo's number-one choice for getting rid of mob informants--he sent the "client" high explosives in flower arrangements, earning him the street name of "The Florist."

Later on Marco was called upon to head up the bookmaking operation, which was the reason he'd met his brother today for lunch at a popular bar near the Spectrum facility. Illegal gambling was still going strong in the Philadelphia area; one could place a bet on just about any major sports event with ease. The chief attraction was that the Philadelphia mob offered much better odds than its legal counterparts in Atlantic City or Las Vegas. Marco made a name for himself by expanding the operation to include several of the area's major corporations. He had connections in many places: in the local government offices, in the public utilities, even in some of the military installations.

About the only large organization heretofore untapped was Spectrum, mainly because it was so new. That was where Marco's brother Nick came in. Nick had run pools ever since college, informal bets on sporting events and the occasional new baby. The pool at Spectrum was especially popular; due to its numerous worldwide offices, all international sporting events were represented as well. Marco wanted a piece of this one so bad he could taste it.

But as usual, Nick was giving him a rough time. His older brother felt it his duty to act as his conscience, more so when the underworld was concerned, and he was not giving up easily. Marco was satisfied at present that Nick was even listening to him. He'd ended their lunchtime conversation by agreeing to go skiing with Nick this weekend, and they would continue the discussion when they got back to the metropolitan area on Monday.

Before Marco could head for the Pocono Mountains, however, he had to report to his boss. He eased his car to a halt in front of an unimposing building near his home. A small brass plaque beside the door identified the structure as the "Palermo Social Club."

An ornate Victorian bar and oak-paneled lounge were housed inside. Several of the bar patrons greeted him as though they hadn't seen him in years, when in fact they only spoke to him earlier in the day. Hoping Marco had brought back good news, they gathered around him and started to ask questions.

"Yo, Marco, we got Spectrum yet?"

"What kind of a cut did their guy want?"

"When can I get in on the South American soccer action?"

Marco threw up his hands in frustration. "Guys, come on! I ain't got that far yet!"

"What's the big deal? Ain't the guy who runs it your brother?"

"Later," Marco insisted. He jerked his thumb toward a closed door at the other end of the room. "Don DiSalvo don't like to be kept waitin'."

At the mention of the don's name, the room fell silent. Marco crossed the floor of the club, straightened his necktie and knocked on the door.

A barely audible grunt acknowledged him, the don's usual greeting. Marco cautiously entered the small room. He knew the don was in his office although he couldn't see him. All the signs were there--the opera playing in the background, the smoke from an expensive cigar curling lazily upward from the ashtray, and the slow rocking of the high-backed swivel chair facing the window. It was the usual picture he saw when he reported to his superior.

Marco cleared his throat. "Don DiSalvo," he began, his voice slightly shaky, "I got good news about Spectrum--"

The swivel chair spun around to reveal a gaunt man clad all in black. "Not as good as mine, Earthman," he said in a dolorous voice.

"You're not Don DiSalvo--"

Marco Francesco never finished his sentence as a bullet entered his skull between his eyes. The handsome Italian-American crumpled to the floor, dead before he hit the imported marble tile. As he lay there, two green circles of light passed over him.

Just as quickly, another Marco Francesco stood over the body.

Mysteron agent Captain Black unscrewed the silencer from the barrel of the gun and looked up at his minion. "You know what you must do," he continued without emotion.

The new Marco nodded. Black then vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.

Marco stuffed the body into the closet, wiped up the blood from the tile floor and left the office. As soon as he closed the door behind him, the questions began again.

"Well, Marco? What did he say?"

"Yeah, does Don DiSalvo approve?"

"He'll give us an answer next week. Right now, he don't want to be disturbed." The Mysteronized gangster smiled and exited the club.

Colonel White, commander-in-chief of Spectrum and former World Navy admiral, was already in his seat in Cloudbase's Conference Room. Instead of sitting at the head of a long wooden table one would usually find in such a place, he sat at the center of a round, glass-topped affair. It was perfect for the room, with its contemporary architecture and decor, and also for the unique aircraft carrier that was his command.

Cloudbase was unlike any other vessel on earth, namely because it did not even physically touch the planet's surface or her seas. Rather, the headquarters of Spectrum hovered in the atmosphere, 40,000 feet up and in locations always kept secret. It was, literally, a base in the clouds, a platform from which the security of the world could be maintained. A variety of aircraft were housed in the massive base and could deliver agents to anywhere they were needed in a matter of hours.

The colonel looked up as the door to the Conference Room opened. His two best field agents had arrived. "Welcome back, gentlemen," he greeted. "Please have a seat. The others will be in shortly."

Captains Scarlet and Blue doffed their uniform caps and sat down at the table. The colonel couldn't help but notice that Scarlet's cap went down on the glass tabletop a little more loudly than normal.

"I would have apologized for recalling you to duty, Captain, but I thought it a moot point considering the current emergency."

Scarlet shrugged. "I wasn't expecting an apology, sir. I'm aware of the situation."

The senior officer nodded. "How is your father?"

"Proud as a peacock, sir, now that we've gained two Knights Commanders in the family in one day. I found him at the palace, awaiting his own investiture."

The colonel smiled slightly. "It appears that keeping secrets runs in your family, doesn't it?"

Scarlet returned an icy blue-eyed stare. "Yes, Colonel, it does, but in my case it isn't exactly by choice."

White was taken aback by his junior officer's response. "Yes, quite," he replied apologetically. "Please relay my congratulations to him the next time you see him."

"I certainly will, sir. As soon as the all-clear is given, I'd like to return home for my leave. With any luck, I'll be back the day after Boxing Day."

"I'll do my best to ensure you an uninterrupted Christmas, Captain, but as always there are no guarantees."

"Thank you, sir. At least this will get me out of that birthday party my parents have planned."

Just then the other members of the senior staff filed into the Conference Room. Captain Ochre, discovering an opportunity for a wisecrack, grinned as he heard Scarlet's last words. "Oh, I don't know, Scarlet. We could always throw you a party here."

"If you do, Captain Ochre," snapped White, "I shall insist that someone else make the punch. At the last party, I couldn't understand why everyone kept going back for refills -- that is, until I tasted it."

"I didn't spike it, sir, I swear!"

"Wouldn't do any good anyway," Captain Magenta pointed out. "We can't even get Scarlet drunk."

"Who said the punch was for Scarlet?" retorted Ochre.

"Gentlemen!" White cut them off. "Let's begin the meeting. Captain Scarlet feels badly enough as it is, being recalled to duty in the midst of his furlough."

Ochre winced. "Sorry, buddy. I forgot how long it's been since you went on leave."

Captain Grey added, "Yeah, God knows you need a vacation as much as the rest of us."

"I'd say more than the rest of us," noted Blue. The others nodded in silent agreement as they took their seats around their commanding officer.

Colonel White gathered up his notes and tapped them into a neat pile. "Members of Spectrum, you've all heard the latest Mysteron threat--" He stopped suddenly, his gaze turning to Scarlet and Blue. "You did hear it, didn't you? You weren't on base at the time."

Captain Blue nodded, sighing. "Yes, sir, we heard it, but neither of us has any idea what it means."

"We don't either, Colonel," said Grey on behalf of the others.

"I was afraid of that." The Spectrum chief frowned as he studied his notes. "Well, there's only one thing for it. We'll have to break the message down into its component parts and tackle them separately."

There was a collective groan from White's senior staff. They knew what that meant.

"This is going to be a long night," Captain Magenta grumbled.

White acknowledged Magenta's complaint. "I'm afraid it looks that way, Captain. The threat is in two parts, neither of them obvious.