“Wally Cat,” I said.

“First things first,” he said. “How are you? How are the little ones?”

Like me, Wally is a graduate of the Epidemic Intelligence Service—the EIS—and also like me, he’s an occasional mentor there, devoting time to training a new squad of public health warriors every two years. Because the EIS is partly staffed by the Commissioned Corps of the U.S. Public Health Service—the public health arm of America’s eight uniformed services—commissioned EIS officers are sometimes required to wear one of several uniforms, which are supposed to invoke a crisp, militaristic sense of esprit de corps. Every time Wally dons his Service Dress Blues, Summer Whites, Service Khakis, or—my favorite—Operational Dress Uniform (ODU) Woodland Camouflage, he manages to undermine the desired impression. Even in uniform, I’d say Wally presents more of a . . . rakish vibe.

“Beau is thriving. Rorie is currently more of a parenting challenge,” I answered, striding a few dozen yards away from the children so they wouldn’t hear me discussing them. I don’t believe in a response of “fine” to such questions, as that makes the whole exchange a pointless formality and therefore a waste of everyone’s time. If you take the time to ask the question, you deserve a thoughtful answer. To be thorough, I continued: “But I believe they are well adjusted, overall.”

“Uh-huh,” said Wally. He sounded nonplussed at my answer. “Right. I know you’re on vacation, so I won’t take too much time. I wanted to talk to you about some activity in southern Spain.”

“I’m in Spain right now, Wally.”

“Yes, I know. That’s what I just said.”

“No, you said you wanted to talk about activity in—”

“Forgive me. I will try to be more literal. There’ve been some reports on Pro-EID Com coming out of northern Africa and southern Spain, and I wondered if you’re aware of them.”

“Wait, Wally, back up. How do you know where I am?”

“I follow Rorie on Instagram.”

Wally was on Instagram? Was everyone on Instagram? Damn social media. I made a mental note to tell Rorie to stop geotagging her locations, even though in this instance it wasn’t particularly creepy that Wally, a man in his fifties, was following my teenage daughter online, since Wally is Beau’s godfather and, with the exception of Vani and Declan, the closest adult friend my children have.

“It may be nothing,” Wally continued. “But I’ve heard an interesting report.”

“Okay . . .”

“I don’t yet know exactly what’s going on,” he said. “But I heard a report of some unusual deaths. Not sure if WHO is on it.”

“Reports from who?”

“No, I meant I wondered if WHO was involved.”

“I meant whom.”

“What?”

“Reports from whom?”