A telephone call was forwarded to his chair through Mr. Fitzwilliam. A sympathetic member of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, calling to inform him that the epidemiologist with the Canary project, Dr. Ephraim Goodweather, had escaped.

“Escaped?” said Palmer. “How is that possible?”

“He had an elderly man with him who apparently was more wily than he’d seemed. He carried a long silver sword.”

Palmer was silent for one full respiration. Then, slowly, he smiled.

Forces were aligning against him. All well and good. Let them come together. It would be easier to clear them all away.

“Sir?” said the caller.

“Oh—nothing,” said Palmer. “I was just thinking of an old friend.”

Knickerbocker Loans and Curios, East 118th Street, Spanish Harlem

EPH AND NORA stood with Setrakian behind the locked doors of his pawnshop, the two epidemiologists still shaken up.

“I gave them your name,” said Eph, looking outside the window.

“The building is in my late wife’s name. We should be safe here for the moment.”

Setrakian was anxious to get downstairs to his basement armory, but the two doctors were still rattled. “They are coming after us,” said Eph.

“Clearing the way for infection,” said Setrakian. “The strain will move faster through an orderly society than one on high alert.”

“They who?” said Nora.

“Whoever had the influence to get that coffin loaded onto a transatlantic flight in this age of terrorism,” said Setrakian.

Eph said, pacing, “They’re framing us. Sending someone in there to steal Redfern’s remains…who looked like us?”

“As you said, you are the lead authority to sound the general alarm for disease control. Be thankful they only tried to discredit you.”

Nora said, “Without the CDC behind us, we have no authority.”

Setrakian said, “We must continue on our own now. This is disease control at its most elemental.”

Nora looked over at him. “You mean—murder.”

“What would you want? To become like that…or to have someone release you?”

Eph said, “It’s still a polite euphemism for murder. And easier said than done. How many heads do we have to cut off? There are three of us here.”

Setrakian said, “There are ways other than severing the spinal column. Sunlight, for example. Our most powerful ally.”

Eph’s phone trembled inside his pocket. He pulled it out, wary, checking the display.

An Atlanta exchange. CDC headquarters. “Pete O’Connell,” he said to Nora, and took the call.

Nora turned to Setrakian. “So where are they all right now, during the day?”

“Underground. Cellars and sewers. The dark bowels of buildings, such as maintenance rooms, in the heating and cooling systems. In the walls sometimes. But usually in dirt. That is where they prefer to make their nests.”

“So—they sleep during the day, right?”