John Miller got up from the game he was playing and scanned the folder that he had been adding to for a year and a half. It had not been easy to acquire the information. When he had first arrived in Toronto, he had almost been discovered, if he hadn't run into a certain police Mountie, who verified his identity, he would have been It had been a rather gutsy move, but apparently the man also had some kind of grudge against the older of his two targets. At least that's what the man known as Peterson has said. Miller had no reason to doubt the man, even though they've known each other for such a short time.

"When are you going to make your move?" the Mountie asked, not referring to the chess game they were currently playing. He had been waiting for this opportunity, waiting for something solid for several months.

"Soon," said Miller. "My sources say he should be returning within the next week."

"Are you sure this will draw your man out?"

"Positive. But there's one more person we're going to need if this game is going to succeed."

Miller threw a photo down on the board, scattering a couple of pawns in the process. A woman with blond shoulder-length hair and dark glasses looked out toward the photographer, smiling broadly.

"As soon as we have him, we take her. Then the real game will begin."

"How soon with this game start?" the Mounty asked.

"Actually, a few items have already been put into place. As soon as our man leaves Europe, we'll be waiting for him when he arrives. He won't know what hit him until its too late."

***

Peter Caine sat in meditation. He had just come back from the precinct after helping out with a baffling case that had stumped even Kermit. The case had involved more than just your typical thugs and crime-boss and it's resolution had special skills of a Shaolin. But Peter's night was not over yet. He had promised the Ancient he would mix up another batch of a very special tea for a woman undergoing chemotherapy. The tea contained at least 20 different kinds of herbs, some of which he had yet to be gind. The case, however, had taken a toll on his energy and he found that meditation worked to replenish that energy faster than if he had slept six or eight hours. Though, eventually, he was going to need sleep just the same. He could only banish his fatigue so much before it would catch up with him.

Peter let his mind drift and revel in the feel of the universe around him. As he was pulling more energy in, something touched his mind with overtones of an intention that was not good. Someone was planning harm to someone else. Images of darkness washed through him as well as a desparate need to breath. He felt like he was suffocating. Peter tried to focus more closely on the feeling, but it soon vanished as quickly as it had come. As he opened his eyes, a shiver ran through him, as if he had stepped on his own grave.

End of Prolog