3

Whatever your new companion's faults and limitations, he respects age and power. And he knows authority when he sees it. The pilot listens to your instructions, gathers what equipment you might need, and sets out behind you.

As you walk, you contemplate everything that has happened.

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July 1916.

Even before this pointless war began, you knew of the cruelty and venality of your elders. You had wondered if the other sects' ancient ones held greater wisdom, but the Camarilla Princes are greedy oafs, and the masters of the Sabbat are unclean monsters who rule over a night-kingdom of shrieking barbarians.

The laws, the Traditions, the elders, their systems of hierarchy and control…all self-serving lies.

What have the elders among the Banu Haqim ever done for you, except order you about—order you into this insane war? What have the Traditions of the Camarilla ever done except justify some Prince's murder of a despised rival? These systems are corrupt by nature and design, and you will work to destroy them for as long as you walk the night.

[Conviction gained: The Traditions are tools of slavery and control.]

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Chapter Four: Kiowa Xenogenetics

Tucson, Arizona.

Night of November 22.

Sunrise: 6:59 a.m.

There's no traffic in Tucson that evening as you drive to the Viper and drift to a halt outside. It's quiet—no other couriers, no Prince Lettow. Just like your first mission, Riga watches you, and just like your first mission, a flunkie runs up to your car. He hands you a lock box.

You peel out.

You're at the edge of town when you realize that you've done two jobs for Prince Lettow and you're getting low on supplies: microfiber towels, zip ties, line for cinching a tarp shut if you're stuck out in the sun, that kind of thing. Fortunately it's still early, so you roll into an AutoZone across from a convenience store where you can stock up. You pass the pay phone there and check it to make sure it still works—you know every pay phone in Tucson. You get a dial tone. Good. You walk inside.

And you instantly know you're being watched.

You keep browsing and pick out what you need. You can definitely see people following you in the anti-theft mirrors, but you're not going to neglect your Mitsubishi just because people want to destroy you. People always want to destroy you.

You pay. The cashier watches you with an expression of barely controlled terror. Behind you in line is a woman the size of two big men. You can tell because she's got two big men behind her. All three wear too-tight black suits.

"Good evening, Krarr," the woman says. You've seen her before, and this time you memorize her features: white, middle-aged, graying brown hair in a French braid. Really huge. "My name is Agent Donati with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I've been doing this for longer than you know, and still I don't have a lot of time," Agent Donati says. "So I'll be quick. Oh, do you want to check your watch?"

You fight the urge.

"Lettow Kaminsky is the head of a crime syndicate that stretches across most of Arizona. His organization is involved with human trafficking, organlegging, racketeering, organized auto theft, and fraud so long-running and extensive that in order to encompass its full extent, I had to track down copies from the French Sûreté and the Spanish Guardia Civil and Turkish translations from the Ottoman Empire. Do you understand what I mean? Do you understand how long this has been going on?"

She sounds tired. Then her eyes narrow as more customers arrive. One watches you suspiciously from beneath a low-slung black cap. Hunter? Investigator? Whoever he is, this is a problem: Donati wants answers, but you don't want to say anything too revealing. The Masquerade is strained enough in Tucson without one more "curious citizen" tipping over into "active supernatural sleuth."

You chatter amiably and waste Donati's time, trying to get her to say something interesting. But she responds with details about how she wants to recruit you, and you worry that some of the customers can hear.

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You're starting to get worried. The Masquerade is growing thin around you. Any more mistakes, and you fear that hunters will find you.

And when they do, they will strike without mercy.

Agent Donati tries to hand you a card, but you don't take it, so she tucks it into the pocket of your leather jacket.

"Contact us if you want to survive what's coming," she says. Then she signals her goons, and they leave, never taking their eyes off you.

You check the card.

US DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

Samantha Donati

Special Affairs Division

There's a physical address, an email address, and two phone numbers.

When you glance up again, her dark blue Ford Fairlane is rolling out of the parking lot.

The cashier took off, so you just grab what you need and head back to your Mitsubishi.

Riga watches you from the roof of the AutoZone as you leave.

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