So it has begun to propagate itself, just as it was prophesized. He supposes he should be pleased. His mission will be complete only once he has become redundant in God’s plan. But as he looks around the bleak motel room—which smells even mustier than the last one—he feels anything but satisfaction.

God has not spoken to him since the morning he arrived at the train station in Naples. At first he assumed he was being punished for defying His command. But it has been days, and his doubt grows by the hour.

He grabs his head in his hands. He cannot help but remember Dr. Lonzo’s words: “The voices you hear, they sound as real to you as mine does. But they are not real. They are nothing more than auditory hallucinations. A symptom of your schizoaffective disorder. No different from a runny nose caused by a cold.”

Dr. Lonzo is such a kind man, and so easy to talk to. Were he not a doctor, he would have made a wonderful priest. What if Dr. Lonzo has been right all along? Maybe the voices are all attributable to “persecutory delusions,” as the doctor called them.

He rocks on the bed, squeezing his temples as hard as he can. What if I spread all of this death and suffering for nothing? Have I been acting in the service of Satan instead of God?

He feels the sweat forming under his arms. His throat tightens. The walls seem to encroach on him. The guilt smothers like a cloth to his mouth.

“Hear me!” the voice booms in his head, louder and angrier than ever before. “To doubt my word is to sin!”

He pulls his hands from his head and sits up. As much as he respects Dr. Lonzo, the voice is purer than any sound he has ever heard.

“Will you defy me again?” the voice challenges.

No, Lord. I have been so very weak.

“Go forth!” the voice commands.

Go where, O Lord?

“You will spread my righteous discontent beyond the shores.” The voice grows so loud that his head throbs. “All of mankind will soon know my wrath!”

Chapter

Forty-Four

The awkward silence continues for most of the short flight from Genoa to Naples. Byron has been working on his laptop since takeoff and has hardly acknowledged Alana.

She checks her watch. They won’t be touching down in Naples until after ten in the morning, as their departure was delayed for almost an hour. Alana and Byron had been partly responsible. Like all passengers departing Genoa, they each had had to answer at the security gate an extensive questionnaire about potential plague exposure. The screeners had even measured their body temperatures, twice, with digital forehead thermometers. As soon as the authorities had learned of their involvement in managing the epidemic, they whisked them off to a special holding area. Despite their diplomatic credentials, it had taken a phone call to WHO Headquarters before they were freed to board the flight.