2:32am, 10 May 2008
Washington, District of Columbia

The soft leather shoes made little to no sound as Clayton strode down 23rd Street past the State Department. He lengthened his stride some to reach the intersection at C Street while the 'DON'T WALK' sign was still lit.

Sure enough, as he turned around, the black trenchcoat was still there, as he had been since the Watergate, a block back and on the opposite side.

He sped up some as he crossed Constitution. The lack of traffic gave him little reason to dally. With purpose and style, he bore off to the left, toward the Vietnam Memorial.

As he walked down the ramp, he slowed down, as if waiting for someone. He looked around, eyeing the path up toward the Lincoln Memorial. The of grass above was his only warning before the black trenchcoat came tumbling down on top of him.

Wisely, the rangy Brujah attacked from above and behind, knowing how Presence worked. But the data he had been given on this Toreador Elder did not include the long claws that sliced upward, neatly removing his lower intestine, splashing blood all over the Wall. The moment of surprise was just long enough for the other handful of claws to slash across his neck. The long knife he had been carrying clattered to the cobblestones.

Clayton kicked the knife over toward the body, making sure not to step into any of the blood--no need to ruin a good pair of Bruno Maglis--and bent down to wipe the claws clean on the grass. Another suicide at the Wall: nothing new for the Park Service.

As he walked toward the Memorial Bridge, glittering in the hazy night, he mused to himself that his meeting in the Watergate had apparently brought him a bit too close to something important.