Update, but you won't like it.

I find that I have an intense dislike for everything I write. As a result, I have very little will to write anything.

For the one person who reads this, I have fulfilled your request.

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It was raining and lightning creased the sky. A man ran across the brick courtyard and pulled open a set of double doors and entered. A fire burned next to him and as he brushed water from his coat, steam arose.
He was in a great hall. The walls were painted white, appeared yellow from the fires burning in the occasional fireplace. Wires to electric lights had been bolted onto the brick and plaster walls and ceiling, but the lights remained off, even on a dark night. The fires created enough light.
The man stood at one end of the room. Ahead of him was a vast carpet and on either side was a group of chairs and couches, which were empty. At the far end of the room, was another set of couches, these were dark leather. There were three men seated in them. He looked over to them expectedly and spoke, “I was summoned.”
A corpulent man with a deeply receded widows peak motioned for him to cross the room and sit. As the man walked, his footsteps echoed sharply on the floor, and then hollowly on the carpet.
The leather couches were arranged in a C shape, with a large coffee table between them. Two men sat on the top of the C, and one on the side. They viewed this man crossing the room with interest for his reputation preceded him. He was a hunter, and a famous one at that.
The hunter walked into the C, nodded at each of the seated men individually and sat at the far end of the bottom couch. His wet leather duster made an uncomfortable squeak as he did so. He quickly observed the three men. The one who motioned was a large man with broken veins in his nose. He had a briefcase on the table, opened. Next to him was a man in cardinal red. He had a golden crucifix on his chest, his hands folded in his lap. He was a old man, in his late 70s. You could see the contours of his facial bones through his tight and tanned skin. The third man, who sat on the side of the C, by himself, was much younger, in his 30s maybe. He wore his jet black hair slicked back. He too had a briefcase, but it was upright next to him on the floor.
The large man spoke, his voice was proper British, “You know the Cardinal, but you haven’t met myself or this gentleman yet.” He motioned toward the younger man. “I am the new envoy between his holiness and his hunters and this is Mr. Harris, he is a representative of the US government.”
“It is a pleasure Sir,” he nodded at the envoy, “Sir,” he nodded at Mr. Harris, “Cardinal.” He nodded to the Cardinal and smiled.
The Cardinal smiled back and said, “How are you, young man? It has been a long time.”
“Yes, sir, it has. Allow me to say that you look very well after your surgery.”
“Thank you.” The Cardinal nodded.
“*ahem* If we can move past the formalities?” the envoy asked.
“Of course,” Said the Cardinal.
The envoy looked at the hunter and said, “Agent 92, what is the countersign? Vatican.”
“Kilimanjaro,” Was the reply.

From the open briefcase came a manila folder closed by a butterfly clamp. The envoy handed it to the hunter.

Without waiting for it to be opened, the envoy spoke. “Your mission is one of extreme importance. Two nights from now, at approximately 21:00 hours, the leader or “Duke” of the dominant clan in the Midwest will be in Chicago, attending a meeting with the heads of other clans. This meeting is secret and impromptu. Security is expected to be very light, some might say laughable.
“We have selected a building for you to shoot from, which we understand is out of the ordinary, but we have good reason for it. You are free to select your weapon, but we must stress that accuracy is essential; there may not be many guards, but a half-dozen vampires can easily overwhelm even the most skilled hunter.
“The target will leave his transportation and enter a large entryway in an office complex. When he enters, you will strike with precision, through the windows of the building, killing the Duke from behind. You will then proceed to extraction via the pre-designated route illustrated in the folder. Your pay will be standard fare, plus bonuses for any other vampire kills. Human casualties will not be acceptable under and circumstances. Do you understand? Good. All needed information is in the brief. Do you have any questions?”
“You seem to be in quite a hurry. Your predecessor was more of a chatter and would usually offer me coffee,” said the Hunter.
The envoy blinked, then blinked again. “You see we are in a bit of a hurry, as you might be able to grasp. Mr. Harris, of your state department, will provide you with papers certifying you as a diplomatic aide to the Vatican’s ambassador, with full immunity attached. Most American police think that it means they can’t arrest you, to your obvious advantage.”
Mr. Harris lifted his briefcase to his lap and opened it; he removed an envelope and slid it across the table. The hunter picked it up and slid it under the butterfly clamp on the folder.
“Is there anything else,” asked the hunter, “or am I dismissed?”
Mr. Harris said, “In exchange for these documents, I am requiring you to take along one of my agents. He is very experienced and I’m sure he will prove at be a valuable asset.”
“What, like to get me coffee?” sneered the hunter.
“I take offense at that,” said Mr. Harris, “my agents are very highly trained.”
“Yeah, sure. I don’t dispute that. But, I don’t hunt terrorists or drug dealers. Your men are trained to kill humans and I hunt non-humans. A few years back, the Germans offered to help me. They sent a GSG9 squad to help me. They made a great distraction as the vampire tore them to pieces.”
“That was very hard to explain away, if I do remember,” said the Cardinal with a smile, “we couldn’t find a suitable explanation for the closed caskets.”
“Mr. Harris, I will not take your man with me. He will only get in the way.” The Hunter said.
“No,” the envoy spoke sternly, “this is the price of their cooperation. You will take their agent with you and be sure that he makes it back not too worse for the wear.”
The Hunter snorted and walked across the room, hollow echoes sounded off the rug.

Page 18 of his instructions told him where to meet this agent. Pages 1-17 detailed background and mission plans. He read these on a Lufthansa commuter flight to New York.
He was authorized to bring 3 complete changes of clothes, 35 pounds of personal baggage, not including weapons and he was to draw up a list of what weapons and material he would need for the mission.
His target was one Charles, no last name. He was the titular head of the Counsel of Clans, a group that claimed the right to decide all matters pertaining to vampires in the United States. In Europe, clans do not attempt such governance and instead stay in a state of war with each other and clan hierarchy is determined by strength of blood. Ostensibly, the same goes in the American extensions of the clans, but the Counsel has more say over clan leadership than blood.
Charles is the “Blood Duke” of the Judas Clan. Research leads the Vatican to believe that they claim the Disciple Judas Iscariot as their origin following the Greek legend that Judas did not hang himself, but rather was made into a vampire.
Charles made his throne the city of Chicago, instead of the more trendy New York or Los Angeles, to avoid unwanted attention.