“Labe, labe, labe,” chanted the three assassins in unison, their horrifying voices blending into a monstrous chorus of sound. “Phradzou!”

An instant later, an unseen door opened and closed and they were gone. The hunters were off on their mission to seek and destroy.

Boris rose to his feet, scratching his head in bewilderment. Dull and unimaginative, he still wished he understood the purpose of that final burst of noise.

Years before, he had smuggled into the meeting a compact tape machine and had recorded the mysterious words. A KGB language specialist had identified the phrase as ancient Greek and translated it for him as “Seize him, seize him, seize him; mark him!”

The translation left Boris as much in the dark as before. He had no idea what the statement signified or why the three assassins pronounced it at the end of each meeting.

A plain, simple man, not educated in the classics, Boris had never studied the famous Greek playwrights. He had never heard of Aeschylus or his most famous play. Which, all things considered, was probably for the best.

1

Stretching both arms high over his head. Jack Collins inhaled deeply, pulling lungfuls of fresh air into his chest. He smiled. It felt good lolling in bed with no thoughts of rushing off to an early-morning class. After attending college nine years straight, a little laziness never hurt anyone.

Idly, Jack checked the clock by the side of his bed. It was a few minutes after nine in the morning. Under normal circumstances, he would have shaved, dressed, and breakfasted an hour and a half ago. Right about now, he would be greeting the shuffling, half-asleep zombies who constituted his first mathematics lecture class of the day. But times and circumstances were anything but normal.