Earlier, in Texas...

Tybalt smoothed his jacket and straightened his sleeves as he stood in front of the closed door. Within the room he could hear the shouts of the archbishop. There was a sudden loud crash followed by a faint gurgling sound. Tybalt thought it best to wait a moment before making his entrance.

Regardless of being the bearer of good news, he knew what the archbishop was like when he was in one of his moods. Unreasonable was a vast understatement. A little patients would go a long way under the circumstances. Especially since he was wearing a new suit and Tybalt didn’t relish the idea of being thrown out of a fifth story window. Certainly not again.

After a prolonged silence, Tybalt ran a hand through his curly hair and opened the door. The archbishop stood in the centre of a scene of chaos. Much of the furniture in the study was smashed to kindling. A large desk stood up against the far wall at an impossible angle. Chairs were upended and pictures, once hanging from walls, were strewn across the floor.

Hoisted into the air by throat was a now dead ghoul which the archbishop still clung to. From the look on his face, Tybalt was under the distinct impression that the archbishop was literally trying to squeeze answers out of the dead retainer. The archbishop turned towards the door.

“Tybalt!”

With an effortless pivot the archbishop hurled the corpse at his templar. Tybalt deftly sidestepped the projectile body as it sprawled through the air out the office. But no sooner had he dodged, the archbishop was upon him. With one hand, the archbishop cradled Tybalt’s head under his chin and with the other, pointed a taloned finger directly between his eyes. Tybalt knew that it would take little effort for his grace to bury the finger into the back of his skull. He stood very still.

“How, Tybalt? How?”

The archbishop was a hair’s breath away from frenzy. Tybalt remained calm, speaking quickly and clearly.

“The how is not important, your grace. The true question is where. And I know where they are going. Which in turn leads to the second most important question, who. And I know who we can use to remedy this.”

The archbishop’s eyes narrowed.

“No,Tybalt. No outsiders. You, my templar, will handle this. If news of this reached the counsel of cardinals, the blow to my credibility would be beyond repair.”

Tybalt could feel the vice like grip loosen as the archbishop lowered the claw from his face.

“With all due respect my grace, they have moved faster than anticipated. And contrary to previous intel, when they left Houston they headed not for the east coast but rather westward.”

“West!” bellowed the archbishop. “They could already be in anarch infested LA.”

“No, my grace,” interjected Tybalt. “They have stopped moving. It would seem they have found an interested party in Nevada.”

“Nevada? You mean...”

“Yes, my grace. Las Vegas.”

The archbishop smiled.

“The Bremen Four are currently touring Vegas, are they not?”

“I have already made the call, my grace. The Band are ready to serve with the utmost loyalty and,” Tybalt paused as he deliberately mouthed the word, “discretion.”

The archbishop turned from Tybalt. He walked towards the end of his study and removed the desk from the wall.

“Good, we have some luck on our side.”

“What shall I give the Band as their mandate?” asked Tybalt.

The archbishop considered this. There was no doubt that rumours of the theft had already spread beyond his containment. He would have to be clever in his approach.

“Find those responsible. Destroy them. Take back what is rightfully mine.”

“And return it, my grace?” asked Tybalt.

The archbishop gave a fanged grin.

“No. I shall make it seem that it was always my intention for it to leave Houston. They are to delivery it to a worthy comrade. A gift from the generosity of Houston to our brothers fighting the good fight on the west coast.”

Tybalt gave a short nod.

“I shall make it so, your grace.”