In Plain Sight

She looked as if she were about to object, but something she saw in his face made her hesitate.

“This way, then,” she said, pulling free of his grasp and making her way toward the back of the room where a large stage and podium had been set up. She moved behind the podium and entered a small door so cleverly set into the wall that Alex didn’t even see it until Sorsha opened it. Inside the door was a hallway that ran behind the ballroom and enabled the hotel staff to deliver food or move furniture without being seen.

“Now,” she said, imperiously. “What is so important?”

“This convention isn’t the target for that plague,” he said. “You are.”

As quickly as he could, Alex recounted the story of finding the dead alchemists, Dietrich Strand’s journal, and his theory about how the plague could be used to start a civil war. Sorsha listened quietly with her arms crossed, absently tapping her arm with her fingernail.

“That does make some sense,” she grudgingly admitted when Alex had finished.

“The only thing I can’t figure is, why haven’t they acted yet?” Alex said. “I mean they’ve had their plague for almost a week now.”

“I can answer that,” Sorsha said. “As soon as I learned of this alchemical plague, I warned my fellow sorcerers. They’ve had round-the-clock protection since then. Whoever these agents are, they’re going to find it difficult to get up to one of our flying homes and carry out their attack. After all, there are more than policemen guarding those dwellings.”

“Policemen?” Alex asked. He’d naturally assumed a sorcerer would have living gargoyles or something like that to protect his house.

“The sorcerers contract with the New York Police for our protection,” Sorsha said.

“So what now?” Alex asked. “Whoever has that plague isn’t going to stop just because the job is hard.”

Sorsha turned and set off at a fast walk, moving along the hallway toward its end.

“I’ll need to speak to Captain Rooney,” she was saying. “If we organize it right, we might be able to create a weakness the German agents will believe they can exploit.”

“You want to set a trap?”

“Yes,” Sorsha sighed. “I want to set a trap.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that?” Alex asked, irritation in his voice.

“Mr. Lockerby,” Sorsha fumed. “I hardly need—”

“Sorsha, there you are,” a new voice boomed.

Alex’s hand dropped into his jacket pocket and curled around the grip of his pistol as he turned. The newcomer was a well-dressed man in an expensive dark suit. He still wore a turned-down fedora, so he’d only just arrived, having not had time to check his hat. He was tall with a mass of close-cut curly hair the same color as copper and bright, intelligent eyes. His smile was crooked and his jaw angled down from his sharp cheekbones to a cleft in his chin.

Alex decided he didn’t like the man.

“Director Stevens,” Sorsha said, a surprised look on her face. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

He took Sorsha’s hand and kissed it gently.

“How could I not come when you call for help?” he said, the crooked smile returning to his face. Sorsha, on the other hand looked confused. “Call for help?”

“I know you didn’t do that exactly,” Stevens said, and laughed. “But I think you were right to request more security. Who’s your friend?” he wondered, pointing to Alex.

“Uh,” Sorsha said, clearly thrown off balance. “Director Adam Stevens of the FBI’s New York field office, this is Alexander Lockerby, Private Investigator.”

“The one who found out where the plague came from,” Stevens said with raised eyebrows. He stuck out his hand and shook Alex’s. “I have to be frank,” he said. “I’ve never had much use for P.I.s, but that was some damn fine work, Mr. Lockerby.”

“Thanks,” Alex said.

Maybe this guy isn’t so bad.

“What did you mean about me requesting additional security here?” Sorsha said. She seemed confused.

“Not here,” Stevens said. “For the sorcerers.”

“What?” Alex and Sorsha said together. Now Stevens looked confused.

“Agent Warner called a few hours ago,” he said. “Told us to round up the agents that you wanted and send them up to flesh out the police details protecting the sorcerers.”

“Where are they now?” Sorsha demanded. Steven shrugged.

“I sent them over to Police Headquarters,” he said. “They’ll catch a floater there to take them up to their posts.”

Floaters were basically flying police cars invented by the sorcerer William Todd. They could fly, but they weren’t fast, and they could only hold about five people at a time, so the police didn’t use them often.

“They’re going to need more than one floater,” Alex said. “If I were the police dispatcher I’d probably send each group up in their own car.”

“Stevens,” Sorsha said, her tone one of a general commanding field troops. “Call whoever’s in charge at Manhattan Station and tell them to stop those floaters from leaving. All the FBI agents are to be detained and warn the police to be careful; some of them are German spies carrying the three remaining jars of plague.”