Soon the world will change forever, and you will be there, to make sure Cainites can survive and thrive. The mob, the rivalries of clans and sects, the endless, bitter struggle just to survive another night—all must go. And you will find a way to bring it about.
[Conviction gained: A better world for Kindred is possible.]
Next
You've learned quite a bit on your journeys. You might want to consider applying your experience toward training skills, abilities, or the dark arts of the Kindred.
For once you have your pick of late-night options, since quite a few Tucson gyms are open twenty-four hours. But you want more than just a gym; you want a place where you can conduct all kinds of physical training, and maybe even a place where you can employ specialists to help you out. Finally you remember a former blood doll turned useful contact you met one of the first times you were in Tucson.
You hop online and find that your old contact Simon runs a gym called Paragon Fitness not far away. You head there and find an impressive-looking modern gym. Simon is watching two kickboxers practice their technique. You renew your acquaintance with the now middle-aged athlete and ask after "unusual facilities."
"Gym, shooting range, regular and vehicle obstacle course, and we hold fights every Monday and Friday nights," Simon says. "I still owe you for that thing in Tijuana, so you're welcome at any time. Just don't let anyone know, ah, what you are. We have citizens in here."
Tucson, Arizona.
Night of November 15.
Sunrise: 6:53 a.m.
The parking lot outside the Viper is a mess, even though it's too early for the party to really start. As you turn in, you have to slam on your brakes as a piss-yellow Chevy Nova SS roars past you and accelerates the wrong way down West Alameda. Asshole.
"Do I have to make the 'roll down the window' gesture?" a clear, slightly accented voice says. "Do people still understand that, or is it an anachronism?"
Prince Lettow himself is standing outside, dressed in white and flanked by the mortal flunkie you remember from last time. He tries to say something but a GMC Denali rumbles past and he has to wait. Finally he says, "You have two deliveries this time, Krarr."
Your response is drowned out by a Kawasaki bike that revs up and takes off. At least its rider goes the right way down the street.
"This is everything you need for Elin Olivecrona," Prince Lettow says. He hands you an unlocked USB on a lanyard, a typewritten sheet of directions to Camp Scheffler, and a false government ID and registration.
"Only deliver to Elin Olivecrona," the Eagle Prince says, making sure you meet his gaze. He uses no powers of the Blood to compel you, but he really doesn't want the USB going to some underling.
"What about the other delivery?" you ask.
"Someone will find you on the road," the Prince says. "Look for a red Corolla."
That's dangerous and complicated, but Prince Lettow has already walked away to talk to another courier. There are, what, five in this parking lot? You don't recognize any of the others. Most of them must be Prince Lettow's personal flunkies. What the hell is going on?
You want to turn this mystery over in your mind, but you have work. You know where you're going. Whatever finds you on the road will find you.
The flunkie also makes sure you have your typewritten sheet of directions and false government IDs.
"Only deliver to Elin Olivecrona," he says.
It's a seven-hour drive to the big nothing on the map between Texas and Chihuahua, assuming this information is accurate. That means you can get there in one night and back the next. You've checked where you can stay on the way if you're refused shelter. There are a few hotels nearby, but you're going to be heading right out into the desert. You hope you don't have to spend a day wrapped up in a body bag. It's bad for the nerves.
Julian calls you somewhere outside of Benson.
"A kill team is coming for Elin Olivecrona," he says. "Details are on the USB."
You glance at the USB. Unlike the last one, it's not in a portable lock box, but it's definitely encrypted.
A kill team? The SI? In that case, why didn't Prince Lettow tell you to, uh, hurry?
"You're probably wondering why you weren't told to hurry," Julian says. "I can hear you sighing. That's good, it's good to keep breathing. Anyway, as usual, the Ivory Tower is acting like a good thing will last forever. Maybe you've passed that rat's nest of a mobile home park in Mescal? That's their work, too. But this is worse. The program at Camp Scheffler could fuel half of our people in Texas, but it's run by a greedy idiot. No offense to your sire, but she is. I'm offering you a deal—let's take it over, like I wanted at St. Basil's."
You consider what to say. Obviously Julian just blew your phone's cover so badly that you'll have to get rid of it, but now that you're talking, you need information.