"New," Sanya said. "Will stop civilian munitions, even some military rounds."

"But not knives or claws," Michael murmured. "Or arrows."

Sanya buttoned his coat back up, frowning. "Yours will not stop bullets."

Michael said, "My faith protects me."

I exchanged a skeptical look with Sanya and said, "Okeydokey, Michael. Do we have any idea where the bad guys are?"

"The airport," Michael said.

I sat there silently for a second before I said, "Needle, haystack. Where, at the airport?"

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?"

"In the tool locker," Michael said.

I nodded. "Shiro'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 snatched 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 passed 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 Shiro."

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 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 space. "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 God," 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?"

"Worse than the loup-garou," I said.

"I'll make the call."

"Did you get in touch with him?" I asked.

"I think so, yes. Do you need any more muscle?"

"Got plenty," I said. "What I'm short on is time. Please hurry."

"Be careful, Harry."

I hung up the phone and got out of the truck. Michael and Sanya came with me. "Murphy's going to report a bomb threat. The cops will clear everyone out of the building. That will clear out the area for us."

"Leaving the Denarians without anyone to infect, or take hostage," Sanya said.

"That's the idea. After that, they'll call in the bomb squad and backup. We'll have twenty minutes, tops, to take advantage of the confusion."

Michael unlocked the tool locker in the back of the pickup, and drew out Shiro's cane. He tied a strap to it and slung it over his shoulder. While he did, Sanya buckled Esperacchius to his hip, then drew a freaking assault rifle out of the tool locker.

"Kalashnikov, isn't it?" I asked. "That's an extremely Chuck Heston look for the Knights of the Cross."

Sanya slapped a magazine into the weapon, chambered a round, and made sure the gun's safety was on. "I consider myself a progressive."

"Too random for my taste," Michael said. "Too easy to hurt the wrong person."

"Maybe," Sanya said. "But the only people inside should be the Denarians, yes?"

"And Shiro," I said.

"I will not shoot Shiro," Sanya assured me.

Michael buckled Amoracchius onto his hip. "How much longer will it take?"

The buzzing ring of a fire alarm blared from the concourse, and the police got together. A grizzled detective in a bad suit took charge and started directing suits and uniforms around. People started hurrying out of the concourse.

"Ask and ye shall receive," I said. "Let's circle around. Get in through one of the service entrances."