"Peter, I need a favor," Captain Paul Blaisdell walked briskly past the desk of his best detective and foster son, Peter Caine. Peter, who was absorbed in the medical examiner’s report of the city’s latest murder victim, looked up to find that Paul had already entered his office. Peter obediently followed the Captain and took a seat at his favorite place, on the corner of the desk. He found the box of donuts which were sitting on a stack of file folders and proceeded to help himself.

Paul knew he should admonish the brashness of Peter’s acts, but the boldness was endearing. It was what made Peter…well…Peter.

"What’s up?" Peter said, between his bites of a chocolate glazed donut.

"I need you to go to the airport and pick up a friend of mine."

"Sure, no problem. Who’s coming?" Peter’s curiosity was suddenly peaked.

"An old buddy of mine from my…huh…shall we say, more colorful days. You’ve never met him before. His name’s Kermit Griffin."

"The guy with the sunglasses?" Peter’s eyebrows raised in surprise. "Yeah, I remember him. He came to the house once when I was about 17. He was looking for you. It was when you were in Washington for a few weeks. Mom told him that he could find you there. He left and we never heard from him again."

Paul remembered Kermit’s sudden appearance in Washington. Paul had been called in as an advisor on a Special Ops mission in Iran. Kermit had needed Paul’s help in rescuing a friend who was being held captive in Central America. Paul’s choice between country and friendship was not difficult. He left the states with Kermit and spent the next three weeks in the deep jungle. Their mission had been successful. The friend was rescued and the rebel group that had taken him hostage was put out of commission. During the entire mission, Kermit had never mentioned that he had visited Paul’s family. Not surprising. Kermit knew how Paul felt about his family having any involvement in his mercenary life. In fact, Paul had never told Annie or the kids where he had really been. As far as they knew, he had spent the entire time in D.C. doing consulting work.

"Well, he hasn’t changed much since the last time you saw him. Do you remember what he looks like?"

"Sure…he had a look that was kind of hard to forget."

"His flight is coming in at 1:30, TransNational, gate 30. I’d go pick him up myself, but the Mayor has called an emergency Anti-Crime Unit Task Force meeting. Since I’m heading it up, I figure I should be there."

"So, why is an old mercenary friend of yours coming to town? Don’t tell me it's for a visit." Peter finished off the donut and poured himself a cup of coffee from the small coffee pot in the corner.

"I’m not really sure. I received a phone call from him early this morning. Said he had to see me, told me his flight number and then hung up. The whole call didn’t last longer than 10 seconds. It could be anything, knowing him."

"Do you think he’s in trouble?" Peter offered the coffee to Paul, who held out his cup.

"Well, even if he is, Kermit can take care of himself." Paul sat back in his chair, after Peter poured the remaining coffee into Paul’s mug. "But, I want you to watch your back, just in case."

"No problem…my head’s on a swivel," Peter grinned, his cockiness shining through the smile.

Paul looked at him in disbelief, "Right…how many times have you been in the hospital this past year?"

Peter quickly lost his cocky attitude as he shrugged, somewhat embarrassed, "Yeah, but those things weren’t my fault…really."

"So you keep telling me. Just whose fault do you think they were?"

"I was preoccupied…with Pop. You know that. He’s gone now…my mind’s back on the job," Peter smiled. Paul wasn’t sure how to interpret Peter’s response. Sometimes he would talk about Kwai Chang Caine’s sudden departure as if it was a non-issue. Other times, just the mention of Caine’s name would cause such sadness in Peter’s eyes, that he looked like he was ready to break down and cry. Paul was convinced that Peter was maintaining a stiff upper lip, trying to be brave. He didn’t want the rest of the world to know how much Caine’s absence was affecting him.

Caine had departed for parts unknown two months before. He had left because, as Peter put it, his path had become unclear. For days after Caine had made his hasty departure, Peter had been very quiet and pensive. He spent a lot of time with the Ancient attempting to fill the void his father’s absence had left in his soul.

One day, Paul decided to take the proverbial "bull by the horns" and invite Peter to go to the cabin for the weekend. Paul was sure that Peter wouldn’t come; that he would continue to live in self-imposed isolation. He had been pleasantly surprised, however. Peter had agreed to come. Foster father and son spent the entire weekend fishing, and with fishing, came talking. Peter laughed and cried, releasing the emotions he had been holding back.

Peter admitted that he was hurt by Caine’s decision to leave, but that he also understood that his father needed space. He believed that Caine had become overwhelmed with emotions which he had been afraid to release. In the past year, he had experienced the happiness (and fear) of having found a son that he thought he had lost forever and assumed the responsibility of being a father and mentor to that son. He had become a teacher to so many and had taken many causes upon his shoulders. After years of wandering on his own, unattached, only an observer of the world around him, he suddenly become intricately bound. The emotional straw which had broke the camel’s back was clearing the family name after 100 years of shame. In the week in which Caine and Peter had served as bo jaia for the Emperor, Caine had run the gambit of emotional turmoil. He had asked for absolution from a family line which considered him the son of the son of a murderer, while choosing to voluntarily risk his own son’s life in the process…all in the name of honor. He had been so focused on his goal of clearing the family name and protecting the life of the Emperor, that he had failed to detect that the would-be assassin was in his home months before. Peter knew that Cheryl’s betrayal of Caine’s trust had done a great deal of damage to Caine’s spirit.

Paul smiled to himself. While Paul liked Kwai Chang Caine and missed his presence, he had to admit that his absence had been the best thing that had happened to Paul’s relationship with Peter. That weekend at the cabin had returned foster son and foster father…to son and father. The year of separation was over. Paul looked up into Peter’s hazel eyes and suddenly realized that his son had continued to talk while Paul had diverted his thoughts.

"So, what do you think?" Peter asked.

"What?…I’m sorry. My mind wandered off for a minute."

Peter grinned, " that happens to people your age. Pretty soon I’ll be getting you a hearing aid."

"Hey, watch it now. You're not too big for me to take down a notch. I can still hit you with my cane." Paul chuckled as he shot a rubberband at his son, who ducked as it sailed over his head.

"I’ll just learn to talk slower and louder, ok?" Peter’s voice became suddenly louder and more methodical as he leaned over the desk, near Paul’s ear. "I said, I’ll bring Kermit back here and then maybe we can all go out for dinner."

Paul tried to keep a look of disapproval on his face, but it didn’t work. He had to chuckle at Peter’s antics.

"All right, smart ass. I heard you." Paul playfully punched Peter in the arm. "Bring him back here and we'll run over to that new Mexican restaurant on 95^th."

"Will do." Peter downed the remaining coffee in his cup. "See you later." Peter exited the Captain’s office, stopped suddenly and peaked around the doorway. "Are you sure you should be eating Mexican food at your age?" A second rubberband was shot in his direction and rebounded off the door as he shut it quickly.

The lunch time traffic was heavy. Two accidents on the interstate caused Peter to have to re-route onto side roads. The normal 45 minute trip to the airport took over an hour.

At 1:15, Peter was pulling into one of the many airport short-term parking areas. He left his car and started the mile-long journey to the arrival gates. At exactly 1:30 he had found gate 30. The TransNational flight was just taxiing to the ramp. Peter thought back to his memory of Kermit Griffin. Really, all that he remembered was that the man wore green sunglasses. In fact, he never took them off the whole time he was talking to Annie in the living room. Peter recalled asking Annie who Kermit was, but she did not tell him anything more than he was an old acquaintance of Paul's.

Travelers from the flight began to disembark. Family members hugged as they were reunited. A twinge of sadness entered Peter's mind. He hoped and prayed that he would have the chance to experience a reunion with his father. The fear of never seeing Kwai Chang Caine again was overwhelming at times.

Person after person walked down the ramp way. No one came close to resembling the face Peter remembered. He started to think that Griffin had missed his flight or decided not to come. Then Peter saw the face of his memory.

The man was dressed in a black suit, red tie, white shirt and brown shoes. Quite an ensemble, Peter thought to himself. Definitely a fashion statement, especially when Peter caught sight of the white socks peaking out from beneath the trouser cuffs. The man wore the same dark green sunglasses that he wore ten years before. Griffin had a black duffle bag slung over one shoulder and lap top computer bag draped over the other. He glanced at the crowd which had gathered around the gate. He made eye contact (at least Peter figured it was eye contact when the sunglasses faced towards him) with Peter. Peter approached the man, holding out a hand.

"Hi, I'm Peter Caine. I don't know if you remember me or not, but I'm Paul Blaisdell's son."

Kermit Griffin did not reach out to shake Peter's hand. Instead he stared at the young detective, not responding to the greeting.

Peter, perplexed, pulled his hand back. "Uh…Paul couldn't make it here to pick you up. He asked that I bring you down to the station."

The man still said nothing. Peter, growing nervous and frustrated, continued. "I'm parked about a mile away. Do you have any baggage to pick up." Still no response.

Peter was now starting to get angry. "Look, I came out here to do Paul a favor. If you don’t want a ride into town, that's fine with me. You can take a cab and I'll be out of your hair." No response.

Peter shrugged his shoulders in defeat and turned to walk back to his car. He took one step and the man finally spoke, "So how's Annie?" Peter stopped and turned back to the mysterious guest. The man had reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. His fingers began to dig inside it.

"She's fine. She's in New York right now working on a project." Peter was watching the strange man's actions.

Kermit took a colored candy out of the bag and popped it into his mouth. He then held the bag out to Peter, "Gummi bear?." Startled at the sudden change in conversation, Peter shook his head no.

"Too bad Annie's not here, I was looking forward to seeing her again. Paul always could pick'em." Kermit adjusted the computer bag on his shoulder and took out walking in the direction Peter had been retreating towards.

Peter, surprised by the man's sudden dialog, allowed Kermit to walk past him and get ten feet ahead before he had the presence of mind to follow. He jogged to catch up.

"You haven't changed much," Kermit said to the detective.

"Neither have you," Peter responded. "I can't believe you remember me. I only met you briefly when I answered the door. Mom made me go to my room…not that I did. Actually, I spied on you the whole time you were talking to Mom."

"I know…I saw."

As soon as they were out of the terminal, Kermit pulled a package of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one, never breaking stride. "So where's your car?"

"It's on the other side of the lot over there," Peter motioned to a large parking lot on the right, "the black Corvette." Kermit headed the way Peter had pointed, not waiting for the detective to lead the way.

"So is this trip business or pleasure?" Peter asked, even though he suspected that he wouldn't get a straight answer from the mercenary.

"I don't take trips for pleasure."

"So it's business." Peter grew concerned. He reached out a hand and grabbed Kermit's upper arm. "Hey, you realize that Paul isn't in your kind of business anymore." It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact.

Kermit stopped and stared at the hand which held him. Peter, felt a sudden tingle of fear and let go. "And what kind of business would that be, pray tell?" Kermit continued walking.

"You know…the mercenary business…spy stuff. Paul has told me a little about what he used to do. But he's a cop now. He doesn't fight other people's wars anymore."

Kermit stopped walking and looked at Peter, "Don't let what Paul says fool you. You never quit the business."

"He has," Peter said quietly, not sure whether he was telling the truth or just trying to convince himself. "Why are you here?" Peter was not going to let this man put his foster father in danger.

Kermit seemed to ignore Peter's question as he took out walking again towards the black sports car. He approached the passenger side door and stopped, waiting for Peter to unlock it.

"Look, I'm not taking you anywhere until you tell me why you're here," Peter said stubbornly, not moving to unlock the door.

"Frankly, it's none of your business." Kermit waited patiently for Peter to move.

"If it concerns Paul, it is my business." Peter still didn't move. He could be as obstinate and frustrating as the mercenary.

Suddenly, Kermit's face seemed to soften a little. A small smile appeared on his face. "You care a lot about Paul, don't you?"

Peter, shocked by the man's sudden change in attitude, could only respond with, "Of course I do…he's my father."

"Well, I care a lot about him too…more than you could ever know. I'm here because I need his help. That's all I can tell you."

Peter, despite Kermit's sudden friendliness, still didn't move to unlock the door. "Look, Kid, I'll tell Paul why I'm here. It's up to him whether to involve you."

Peter weighed his options. He could refuse to unlock the door until Kermit told him what was going on, in which case the mercenary would probably leave and catch a taxi into town and Peter would still not know what was happening. On top of that, Paul would be furious with him for having not transported Kermit to the station as Paul had requested. Or, he could give Griffin a ride to the station as Paul had wanted and possibly be included in the events that were about to unfold and keep Paul happy with him. No option, really. He unlocked the car for the mercenary. Kermit smiled and climbed in, realizing that this battle of wills was over.

In an hour, Peter was pulling his car into the 101^st Precinct's parking lot. The ride from the airport had been quiet…very quiet. Kermit had said nothing more, not even small talk. Peter, who had never been quiet for more than five minutes in his life (other than when he was sleeping or under anesthesia), had tried to keep a conversation going, but to no avail.

As soon as Peter had turned off the engine of the car, Kermit had climbed out, duffel bag and computer case in hand. Once again, he didn't wait for Peter to lead the way. He proceeded to cross the street to the station as if he already knew where he was going. Peter had to jog to keep up.

As soon as Kermit entered the squad room Peter could see him scanning over the chaos. He spotted Paul's office against the back wall and made a beeline for it, Peter following.

Without stopping to be invited in, Kermit opened the office door and walked in and closed it behind him…in Peter's face. Peter tried for the handle, but the door was locked. Peter suddenly panicked…fearful that this "friend" was here to hurt Paul. He pushed hard against the door, twisting the handle angrily. Suddenly, the door opened and Paul was standing there. He looked into Peter's eyes. "It's okay. Get back to work, Detective." Paul shut the door, locking it again. Peter, dumbfounded, turned back to his desk.

Frank Strenlich, Chief of Detectives, was staring at Peter. To break Peter's shocked gaze, he approached the young man, handing him a file. "Detective, there was another murder this morning. The case is yours."

Peter took the file absently. He turned back towards Paul's office, fighting the instinct to break the door down. He hated being shut out. He took one step to the office door when Frank's hand came down on his shoulder. "Detective Caine, you have work to do."

Peter froze and turned back to the Chief. He found his voice again, "Yeah, right…work."

The Chief guided him back to his desk "I think there are some witnesses you need to talk to."

Peter opened the file. Sure enough, there were names of witnesses on the report. The Chief, still looking at Peter, ordered, "Get going, Detective."

Peter left the precinct to question the witnesses to the newest homicide, but his mind never left Paul's door.

Paul leaned back in his chair, the springs creaking with age. "It's good to see you again, Kermit. How long has it been?"

"Two years in August."

"Iraq," inwardly Paul shuddered. "That was a hell of a mission…always hated the desert. I was shaking sand out of my boots for a month after."

"Yeah, well you should've seen what it did to my modem."

Paul chuckled. The room fell silent for a moment. Paul looked up to see that Kermit had removed his sunglasses. The eyes beneath them were tired, dark shadows surrounding them. "What's up, Kermit?"

"I need your help, Paul."

"I figured as much. You aren't the type to take vacations to see old friends." Kermit didn't respond. "It must be pretty serious for you to come here."

Kermit's voice was soft when he spoke. "Paul, I'm in trouble…serious trouble."

Paul frowned at his friend. Kermit being in trouble was nothing new. In his line of work, one was always in trouble. It was just a question of how much and how deep. What scared Paul was the fact that Kermit was concerned about being in trouble. That was not typical for the mercenary. Kermit was usually cool as the proverbial cucumber…never flinched at anything. Now he looked like he was ready to break down.

"What's happened?" Paul rose from his desk and came around to the side that Kermit was sitting on. He took the chair next to Kermit and turned it towards his friend.

"I've been set up. The FBI thinks I killed Douglas Fairchild." Kermit was having trouble making eye contact.

"Who?" Paul thought he had heard the name before, but couldn't place it.

"He was the head of Defense Technologies Institute…the big arms manufacturer."

Paul remembered the man. His company was one of the biggest supplier of military weaponry for the United States and most of its allies.

"When was he killed?" Paul had heard nothing about the industrialist's death in either the papers or through his government sources

"Late last night. He was shot in his office. Bullet took off half his head…from a Desert Eagle." Paul immediately recognized the gun as Kermit's favorite.

"Why would someone want to frame you?"

Kermit was silent for a moment, organizing his thoughts. "I've been working in D.C. the past month. Yesterday, I received an encrypted e-mail message to meet at 8:30 in front of the Jefferson memorial. The message said that if I didn't show, I would live to regret it. I went, mostly out of curiosity."

"Not real smart…Could've been a set up."

"Yeah, but I know how to take care of myself…you know that."

"So what happened?"

"Charles Nabours showed up."

"The Charles Nabours…as in Secretary of Defense Charles Nabours?"

"The one…the only." Kermit took his sunglasses in his hand, fiddling with the ear pieces. "He said he had a job for me…a hit. I told him I wasn't in that line of business…never had been, never will be." Kermit laid the sunglasses down and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "He said that he had read my file. That he didn't see much difference between fighting wars for money and murder for money…that it was just a matter of how many body bags were needed."

Down deep, Paul had struggled with that fine line himself. He had been in the mercenary game for a long time. He told himself that he was in it to help those who couldn't help themselves…but sometimes the ethical line became fuzzy and he started to suspect that he was really just doing someone else's dirty work. That's when he decided to hang it up and go into a line of business where he knew he was helping…where he was always one of the good guys. When he left the mercenary game, he had invited Kermit to come with him. Kermit, who had just turned twenty-three, refused, saying he wasn't the type to settle down. That there were many more battles to be fought before he could rest. At the time, Paul was disappointed that Kermit had chosen to stay in the business. Paul considered Kermit to be the kid brother that he had never had, but he also knew that Kermit had to fight his own battles, had to live his own life.

Paul joined the police department and married Annie, whom he had met a couple of years before. When he first met her he had been married to his first wife at the time, in fact, he had two daughters by that marriage. His wife had left him, though. Couldn't stand the emotional strain of being married to a man who lived for war. He didn't fight her for custody of Carolyn and Kelly. A year after Paul and Annie had married, Paul's first wife died, and he and Annie became parents to the girls. At the time, the girls were seven and four. A couple of years later, Peter came into Paul and Annie's lives. Paul had never regretted leaving his life as a mercenary. He had gained so much more with a loving wife, two beautiful daughters and a son he adored.

Paul tried to distance himself from his previous life, but every once in awhile, it would make a reappearance. He would be asked to help on a special mission. Even though he knew he should refuse the requests, sometimes he helped because he felt it was his duty, "for God and country" so to speak…and sometimes it was to help friends.

"Nabours offered me $500,000 to take out Fairchild." Kermit closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair.

"What?…Why?" Paul was dumbfounded. He didn't know much about Defense Secretary Nabours, but he had trouble believing that the man would openly attempt to engage a hitman.

"My sources say that Nabours has been receiving kickbacks from Fairchild's company over the past five years. I hacked into Fairchild's computer and found that Fairchild had decided to change the rules of the game. He had decided to blackmail Nabours. I downloaded records of payments that Fairchild had received from Nabours, as well as records of the kickback payments made to Nabours over the years."

Paul shook his head. "So what did you tell him?"

"I told him not only no…but hell no." Kermit looked back at Paul. "He proceeded to inform me that he would make sure that it looked like I did the hit anyway; that I could either do the job and make a substantial amount of money for it or I could find myself being framed and hunted down by every law enforcement agency in the country."

"And…" Paul was intrigued.

"I walked away. I honestly didn't think Nabours could make anything stick to me. I have taken great care over the years to delete any records that show up under my name." Kermit sighed, "I was wrong. I went to Fairchild's house to warn him, but he wasn't home. So I went to DTI. By the time I arrived, he had already been killed. I tapped into his computer, found the files and went back to my apartment. By the time I made it home, the FBI had stormed the place. I made a quick get away. I contacted one of my friends at the Bureau who proceeded to tell me that they found my fingerprints and a Desert Eagle registered in my name at the scene. I picked up some ID from another acquaintance and then I called you."

"What do you want me to do?" Paul asked, not sure what he could do to assist the man.

Kermit looked dejectedly at his friend. "Honestly, Paul, I'm not sure. I didn't know where else to go." He sat quietly for a moment. "I was an idiot to come here in the first place. I mean, here I am sitting in the middle of a police squad room when I'm suspected of an assassination."

"Like I said earlier, we haven't heard anything about this shooting here. It hasn't gone out over the wire yet."

"But it will. And when it does, your career could be over. You'll be helping a fugitive. Not to mention the fact, that I could have just put your life in danger." Suddenly angry with himself, Kermit got up from his chair. "Paul, never mind. I'm getting out of here. Forget you saw me." He grabbed the duffle bag and computer and started for the door, but before he could open it, Paul's hand pushed against it.

"Kermit, you're not going anywhere. I'm going to help you. I'm not sure how, yet, but I'll figure something out.

"Paul…"

"Kermit, shut up. You came here for my help and that's what you're going to get." Paul smiled at his friend. "The first thing we're going to do is set you up in a safe house…and I have the perfect place in mind."

Within thirty minutes, Paul had brought Kermit to the Ancient's apartment. Paul had only been at the apartment one other time. But like the last time, Paul found the door was standing wide open. He prepared to knock on the door frame to announce his presence, concerned that he would startle the old man. Before he could complete the motion, he heard the Ancient's voice, "Welcome Captain Blaisdell. What a pleasant surprise! It has been a long time since you came to visit me last." The slightly stooped elderly man walked into the living room. He turned towards his visitors with a warm, friendly smile on his face. "Oh, I see that you have brought another. Please come in and sit with me."

"Hello Lo Si." Blaisdell bowed respectfully. "It is nice to see you again." Paul turned to Kermit, who was still standing in the doorway, looking confused. "This is my friend, Kermit Griffin."

"Ah…it is nice to meet you, Kermit Griffin. You are in need of my help. You are looking for a place to…hide?"

Kermit had a surprised look on his face. Paul chuckled. Rarely was Kermit taken aback by anything…but Lo Si definitely had him off balance. "How'd he…" Kermit looked at Paul, then at the Ancient "How'd you know why we here?"

The Ancient had a mischevious grin on his face, "Ah…I know many things. When you are as old as I am there is very little that…takes you by surprise."

Kermit found the old man to be endearing, in an irritating sort of way. He looked at Paul to see if he could figure out what Paul thought of the man. Paul was still grinning.

"You're right, Lo Si. I need a place to hide my friend. He is in trouble and I'm going to see what I can do to help him." Paul wasn't sure how much more to tell the man.

"This trouble…it involves murder, does it not?" The Ancient was not looking at Paul, he was looking at Kermit.

Kermit suddenly uncomfortable, said "Yes. But I didn't do it. I've been framed for the killing. I need Paul's help to catch the real killer."

Paul interrupted, "I was hoping you would let me hide Kermit at the apartment which was used to hide Emperor Sing Ling. I know that it is deserted now. No one that Kermit knows would think of looking for him there."

"Ah…you are right. That would be a very good place to hide your friend. It protected our Emperor for many years. I will take you there right now, if you would like."

At this point, Kermit was completely lost in the conversation. He remembered hearing about a young boy who held the title of Emperor of China, but at the time, he was finishing up a mission in Bosnia…too far away to be interested in the Chinese Imperial throne.

"Thank you, Lo Si. I would appreciate it if you would help me take Kermit there." Paul stood.

The Ancient rose to his feet. "Let us go while it is still safe."

Once again, Kermit looked amazed at the man, "How do you know its safe?"

"I know."

Paul chuckled again. He grabbed Kermit by the arm and guided him back to his car. Lo Si followed, the smile never leaving his face either.

End Part 1