Part I Part 160 (1/2)

Michael shrugged, smiling, and opened his mouth to speak.

I held up my hand. ”We must have faith,” I said, doing my best to imitate Michael's voice. ”How did I guess. Did you bring Fidelacchius Fidelacchius?”

”In the tool locker,” Michael said.

I nodded. ”s.h.i.+ro's going to need it back.”

Michael was quiet for a moment before he said, ”Yes, of course.”

”We're going to save him.”

”I pray it is so, Harry.”

”We will,” I said. I stared out the window as Michael pulled into the airport proper. ”It's not too late.”

O'Hare is huge. We drove around in crowded parking lots and auto loading zones for nearly half an hour before Michael abruptly slowed the truck down outside the international concourse, his spine and neck straightening as if he'd heard a warning klaxon.

Sanya glanced aside at Michael and said, ”What is it?”

”Do you feel that?” Michael asked him.

”Feel what?”

”Close your eyes,” Michael said. ”Try to still your thoughts.”

I muttered, ”I sense a great disturbance in the Force.”

”You do?” Michael asked, blinking at me.

I sighed and rubbed at the bridge of my nose. Sanya closed his eyes, and a second later his expression twisted in distaste. ”Rot,” the Russian reported. ”Sour milk. Mildew. The air smells greasy.”

”There's a Pizza Hut kiosk about fifty feet away,” I pointed out, looking through the windows of the concourse. ”But maybe it's just a coincidence.”

”No,” Michael said. ”It's Nicodemus. He leaves a kind of stain everywhere he goes. Arrogance. Ambition. Disregard.”

”I only smell rotten things,” Sanya said.

”You're sensing him too,” Michael said. ”Your mind is interpreting it differently. He's here.” He started pulling forward, but a cab zipped in front of him and stopped. The cabby got out and began unloading an elderly couple's bags.

I muttered to myself and sniffed. I even reached out with my magical senses, trying to detect what Michael had. I felt nothing but the usual-patternless white noise of thousands of lives moving around us.

I opened my eyes, and found myself staring at the back of Detective Rudolph's head. He had on the usual expensive suit, and stood with a spare, well-coiffed man I recognized from the district attorney's office.

I froze for a second. Then I s.n.a.t.c.hed Sanya's black Stetson and pulled it down over my head. I tugged the brim down over my eyes and slouched down as low as I could.

”What is it?” Michael asked.

”Police,” I said. I took a more careful look around. I spotted seven uniformed officers and maybe ten other men who wore suits and casual clothes but walked and stood like cops. ”I pa.s.sed word to them that the Shroud might be on the way out of Chicago through here.”

”Then why are you hiding?”

”A witness reported me leaving the scene of a murder. If someone identifies me, I'm going to spend the next day or so getting questioned, and that won't help s.h.i.+ro.”

Michael's brow knitted in concern. ”True. Do the police know of the Denarians?”

”Probably not. SI isn't on the case. Probably they've been told they're some kind of terrorists and to be considered dangerous.”

The cabby in front of us finally finished up, and Michael pulled away from the loading zone and toward the parking lot. ”That isn't good enough. We can't have them there.”

”As long as the police are around, it will restrict the Denarians' movements. Make them keep their heads down and play nice.”

Michael shook his head. ”Most supernatural creatures will hesitate before killing a mortal police officer. But Nicodemus won't. He has nothing but contempt for mortal authorities. If we confront him, he will will kill anyone who attempts to stop him, as well as taking hostages to use against us.” kill anyone who attempts to stop him, as well as taking hostages to use against us.”

Sanya nodded. ”Not to mention that if this plague curse is as formidable as you say, it would be dangerous to those nearby.”

”It's worse than that,” I said.

Michael rolled the steering wheel toward a parking s.p.a.ce. ”How so?”

”Forthill told me that the Denarians get a power boost from hurting people, right? Causing mayhem and destruction?”

”Yes,” Michael said.

”The curse is only going to last a few days, but while it does it's going to make the Black Death look like chicken pox. That's why he's here. It's one of the busiest international terminals on the planet.”

”Mother of G.o.d,” Michael swore.

Sanya whistled. ”Flights from here go directly to every major nation in the world. If the Denarians' plague is easily communicable...”

”I think I pretty well summed that up with the Black Death comment, Sanya.”

The Russian shrugged. ”Sorry. What do we do?”

”We call in a bomb threat. Clear out the people and shut down the planes.”

”We need to be inside immediately,” Sanya said. ”How long would it take the authorities to react?”

”It would only work if I knew who to call to get an immediate reaction.”

”Do you?” Sanya asked.

I held out my hand out to Michael. He slapped his cell phone into it. ”No,” I said. ”But I know someone who does.”

I called Murphy, trying to remain calm and hoping that the phone didn't explode against my head. When I got the connection, it was cloudy with bursts of static, but I managed to tell her what was going on.

”You're insane, Dresden,” Murphy said. ”Do you know how incredibly irresponsible-and illegal-it is to falsify a bomb threat?”

”Yeah. Less irresponsible than letting cops and civilians get in these people's way.”

Murphy was quiet for a second, and then asked, ”How dangerous are they?”