"Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies." - Proverbs 31:10

Silence. Total silence, with the only sound being from the wheels of the bumpy land rover thudding along the dirt road through the scorching sunlight of a sub-Saharan Africa springtime. The two occupants of the land rover had not spoken to each other for the entire hour they'd been traveling together, and the driver, one Kyle Abbot, couldn't blame his passenger for not wanting to talk.

An hour before, Abbot had arrived at Mundagaz Female Open Prison, the only women's prison in Zambesi, and had paid a very small fortune in bribes to the prison's staff to release one prisoner to him. The prison was out in the boondocks, there being much in the way of boondocks in that country, and he had at least some hope that the drive back to the capitol, Mzila, would be spiced up by the person whom he had rescued from the women's prison.

Abbot's passenger was Whisper A'Daire, and Whisper had not so much as cracked a smile since they'd met.

Abbot reflected on what he had been told by his new old boss, Ra's al Ghul. Ra's had been politely informing Abbot about some very specific matters while Abbot had been chained to a wooden chair. Abbot, Ra's, and several of Ra's' assassins had been in a barn in western Massachusetts during this midnight interview, and Ra's had carefully made clear to Abbot one particular thing.

"I normally have no patience with traitors," Ra's had said as a black-clothed League of Assassin's member pressed a smoldering laundry iron against Abbot's bare chest. Abbot wasn't too macho to let out a scream.

Ra's motioned for the assassin to step away, and removed a dagger from his belt. "However," Ra's had said, "irony of ironies, I have been having difficulty finding a large number of people within my organization whom I can trust. My own daughter, gods damn her soul, turned against me after all these years, confined me to a gilded cage, and proceeded to run the League into the ground." Ra's shook his head. "That business with 'Leviathan' was easily the most idiotic disaster which the League of Assassins has suffered since the Soviet-Afghan War."

Ra's casually slit a flesh-wound into Abbot's forehead with the dagger, causing Abbot to yelp loudly. Abbot normally would have tried to break free of his bonds by morphing into his wolf form. But he'd been too drunk at the roadside dive bar where Ra's' assassins had found him to resist being injected with a serum which temporarily negated that faculty. During this torture session, he barely had enough wits left in him to be thankful that whatever he'd been injected with didn't cause instant death due to it mixing badly with the three pints of Jack Daniels he'd just downed.

At this point in the torture session, Ra's apparently had had enough. He clapped his hands, and the attending assassins took away the torture instruments, unbound Abbot, and dragged him over to a cot. A soft-spoken young Asian gentleman in a suit then came forward and began tending his wounds.

"Abbot," said Ra's, "I am doing this so I can make it clear to you that if you, under any circumstances, stab me in the back again, I will stab you in the back… of the head." Ra's turned to leave, two of the eight assassins in the room following him out. "We'll talk more in the morning," he said. "Have a good night's sleep."

The next day, Abbot was given new clothes, a hot shower in the nearby farmhouse, fourteen hours of sleep in a real bed, and a large bag of McDonald's food. After he was done enjoying all of these creature comforts, he was shepherded by the attending assassins, most of whom were now in plainclothes, to a waiting, black SUV, which was part of a small convoy of such cars. He climbed into the back of the SUV, hoping against hope that he wasn't about to be shot. Instead, he found himself sitting next to Ra's, dressed in a subdued suit-and-tie, and holding a metal cane.

"How would you like to have your old job back, Abbot?" said Ra's. "Adventuring around the world, for excellent pay and benefits, frequent opportunities to experience the thrill of battle, all in the service of the most glorious cause of all? My cause?"

Abbot swallowed hard. Even someone as hardnosed as him couldn't help but be afraid of the Demon's Head. "Doesn't sound so bad," he said. "I… I've honestly hit rock bottom. I wouldn't mind a second chance."

"That's what I'm here to give you," said Ra's. "Now, your first task will probably surprise you, but I am almost certain you'll find it both relatively easy and possibly quite enjoyable."

"What would you like me to do… master?" said Abbot. His use of the word "master" in conversations with Ra's had become second nature during his eight years in the service of the League of Assassins. He now thought that starting to use it again when addressing Ra's might be a good idea.

Ra's cracked an approving smile. "I would like you to go to Zambesi, in Africa," he said, "and secure the release of Whisper A'Daire, who is currently imprisoned there."

Abbot's mouth dropped open, and he had difficulty shaking off his surprise. "…Whisper?" he said. "She's still alive?"

"What made you think she was dead?"

"I… I don't know. A lot was going on during the Crisis, and with Intergaang… when we were part of Intergaang, I mean…" Abbot shook his head, and rubbed a hand over his face. "Oh… oh my God," he said. "I just… I haven't kept my ear to the ground. I've been too busy staring into a bottle. I've been out of the game for a while."

"I'll enlighten you," said Ra's. "Whisper was jailed in that country after a run-in with Vixen and the Justice League. I believe she was working with Intergaang at the time, but our intelligence on the matter is incomplete. I conjecture that her new allies did not sufficiently value her as an organizational asset to extract her from custody."

Here, Ra's let out the closest thing to a snicker which Abbot had ever heard from him. "And Abbot, about your drinking problem," Ra's said. "We have medical professionals who can help you with any problems with substance abuse you might have."

"Not an alcoholic… master," said Abbot. "I'm sober most of the time, actually. I just… really like to get drunk every once-in-a-while."

"This is serious, Abbot," said Ra's, a bit sterner now. "If you even so much as sniff a minibar while you're out in the field, I will know, and I will give you that stab wound in the back of the head which I promised you last night."

Abbot gulped, and nodded quickly. "Yes, master," said Abbot. "I understand."

And so, Abbot now found himself in Zambesi, after a long plane ride from New York and a connecting flight from Paris, topped off by a three-hour drive via a rented land rover with a broken air conditioning unit. When he'd arrived at the prison complex, he'd been greeted at the new iron gate by a corrections officer in a worn-out uniform, toting an AK-47. The corrections officer, speaking in stilted English, said to him, "What do you want? Are you American?"

"Yes, my friend, I'm an American," said Abbot, in an affected southern accent. The disguise was completed by a fake mustache, sunglasses, blue jeans and a plaid shirt, and a cowboy hat. Abbot had been born and raised in South Boston.

"Okay. What do you want?" said the officer.

Abbot said, "My friend, I'm here to visit a… friend. I'm here to pay her fine, as a matter of fact. I'd like to take her home if you don't mind."

Abbot's mention of "paying a fine" was the main passphrase he'd been instructed to use. The guard, unsmiling, nodded brusquely. "You got enough money to pay the fine, American?"

"Yes, my friend."

"Okay, good. This way."

A suitcase of U.S. dollars was delivered to the small prison's top officials and their cronies. Abbot had actually been given two suitcases of cash by his contact at the capitol, but he reasoned that one suitcase full of cash would be enough for this bribe. He could spend the contents of the other suitcase on something much nicer. Ra's probably wouldn't mind. The job had gotten done, after all. Surely he wouldn't mind.

After the money had been counted and the handshake part of the handshake deal had been concluded, Abbot was led to a cell, which was then unlocked, to reveal a sight which just crushed his heart.

Whisper was emaciated and frail, and she stank of sweat and urine. Her normally bright, healthy skin was pockmarked and pale. There was a massive scar totally disfiguring half of her face which she hadn't had when they'd last been together.

It was all he could do to not scoop her up in his arms when she was led out to him.

But she didn't say a word, only giving him a muted scowl. He was certain she recognized him underneath his disguise, but she didn't indicate if she did one way or the other. As they climbed into the land rover and they drove out on the dirt road which he had taken to get out to the prison, Abbot vainly tried to make conversation.

"Ra's wants you back," he said.

Silence.

"He says he has a job for us," said Abbot.

Silence.

"We'll be going back to Gotham together."

Silence.

"I still have some money left over from the bribe. …I could buy us a… farm, or… or something."

Silence.

Abbot shook his head. "Whisper," he said, "I… I love you. You know that, right?"

Whisper responded by slowly turning her head toward him, not changing her scowling expression. She then gave Abbot the finger.

Abbot sighed, and returned his focus to the road ahead. This is going to be a long drive, he thought.

But it was about to get even longer. Just as they were pulling up to the last one-horse bush village they'd be passing before they got onto the paved highway, Abbot, to his great alarm, saw something which he had been assured would not be there: a convoy of armed men in the uniforms of the Zambesi National Police.

"Dammit," muttered Abbot, "not what I'm looking for."

Then, Whisper spoke. "Don't you have backup?" she said.

Abbot didn't take the time to be surprised at Whisper's sudden capacity to speak. He had a handgun under his seat, but the twenty-or-so cops occupying the road ahead of him were armed too, with bigger guns. He wagered that the prison officials had pocketed the money he'd given them and then called their buddies to tip them off about the American briber.

"I was supposed to," said Abbot, talking quietly to Whisper as several of the armed policemen approached the land rover. "But we're supposed to meet them at a safehouse in Mzila, and then catch a plane to Yemen. This wasn't part of the plan!"

"Kyle," said Whisper, "you're a professional. Nothing ever goes according to plan. You know that."

Abbot settled back into his seat as the African policemen finally arrived at the driver's side window of his land rover. At least he and Whisper were still on a first name basis.

"Howdy, pardner," said Abbot kindly to the officer who came up to him. "What can I do for you, sonny?"

"Get out of the car," said the policeman, in slightly better English than the corrections officer from Mundagaz Female Open Prison. "You match the description for a wanted criminal. We will now search your vehicle."

Abbot cursed under his breath. Great. Now what?

But then, Abbot had an idea. He still had that suitcase full of money he'd planned to embezzle stuffed in the back seat.

Abbot raised his hands, and slowly got out of the car. "I have something in the car, actually," he said, still putting on his southern accent, "which I think you might find very interesting, my friend." Abbot smiled brightly. "I think I might have to pay a very large unlicensed vehicle ticket, you see."

The policeman who had addressed Abbot frowned, but then nodded. "Right," he said. "Let me see it."

Abbot nodded, and, being held at gunpoint by the policeman the whole time, reached back into the land rover, and pulled out the extra suitcase. "Here you go," he said, handing it to the cop. "Will this be enough to make this all go away… my friend?"

The cop opened the suitcase, inspected the contents, and closed it, before nodding to his subordinates behind him. "Get out of here," he said to Abbot.

Abbot nodded, and climbed back into the car, before driving past the group of policemen who had assembled to stop him.

"That's it?" said Whisper after they had gotten on to the main highway. "That's how the great Kyle Abbot solves his problems now? He bribes his way to safety?"

"What would you have done?" said Abbot, feeling weary. He needed a drink.

Then, Whisper said something which actually sounded happy. "The exact same thing," she said. "The Kyle I know would have gotten out of that car, wolfed up, and then tore into those twenty guys like they were nothing, AK-47s or not. But… you decided to do the sane thing instead. You've changed."

"It's because of Ra's," said Abbot. "Ever since Leviathan went belly-up, the international law enforcement community has been pressing down on the League harder than it ever has in the history of either. Hell, there's rumors floating around that heavies like Superman and Martian Manhunter are beginning to take an interest in us. Our new policy is to try and be as subtle as we can. No more public bloodbaths and mass urban destruction which winds up on national television."

Here, Abbot let out a smile. "All the same…" he said. "When it comes to the two of us, I've always thought that I was the sane one."

Whisper let out a laugh, and socked Abbot in the arm. "Jerk," she said.

"Whore."

Whisper laughed even more. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she said.

"If you don't like my flattery," said Abbot, "then wait 'til you hear my insults."

"You want to hear insults? You look ridiculous in that cowboy get-up."

"The handlers over in New York came up with it. They said that it would throw off people who are looking for a big, hairy, tough guy with a faint East Coast accent. My passport says that I'm from Colorado."

Whisper settled back into her seat, wiping sweat off of her brow. "So," she said, "we're going to Yemen next? And then back to Gotham?"

Abbot nodded. "Yeah," he said. "We're going to get debriefed in Yemen before going back to good ol' Got-Ham." Abbot reached over and put a hand on Whisper's. She didn't shake it off.

"Uh, yeah, yeah," said Abbot. "Ra's is going to give us some new marching orders when we get there. Something about one of the Bat-kids. Uh… yeah, yeah. He wants us to find Tim Drake."