Giannini speaks no English. Sergio shows him a photo of Stefano, and Giannini’s eyes widen as he listens. The young doctor shakes his head frantically as he sputters his reply.

“He swears he has only seen Stefano a few times,” Sergio translates. “Apparently the monk told him he had a chronic chest condition that required long-term antibiotics.”

“And he just took his word for that?” Alana asks.

Sergio speaks to the doctor, whose waving grows even more frantic. Sergio turns back to Alana. “Dr. Giannini says he sometimes has to see more than fifty patients a day. I believe him. Our medical system . . .” He grunts in disdain. “He also says he trusted Stefano because he was a monk. He keeps asking, ‘Why would the brother lie?’ ”

To wipe out the planet. Alana doesn’t verbalize the thought.

Sergio questions Giannini further, but even without the benefit of translation Alana can tell the skittish physician has nothing else useful to offer.

Sergio and Alana return to his car, and he drives westward toward the center of the city. He pulls up in front of a more modern building, perched up a hill. They ride the elevator to an office on the fifth floor, where the receptionist is politer than the previous one but equally as reluctant to disturb her doctor. Eventually she makes a call, and moments later, a short balding man in a bow tie joins them at the desk. He introduces himself as Dr. Lonzo, and then escorts them down a hallway and into his private office. With its light color tones and soothing décor, the room epitomizes psychotherapy to Alana.

Once they’re all seated, Lonzo asks in English, “How can I help you?”

“We wanted to discuss a patient of yours,” Alana says. “A monk by the name of Stefano Russo.”

Lonzo strokes his chin with a finger and thumb. “Dr. Vaughn, you must appreciate the sanctity of doctor-patient privilege. I am not at liberty to discuss my clients.”

“We already know you prescribed him several psychotropic medications,” Alana persists. “I am assuming he suffers from schizophrenia or, perhaps, bipolar disorder.”

“I really cannot comment.”

“Dr. Lonzo, this is a matter of national security,” Sergio says.

“Maybe so,” the psychiatrist replies. “But unless you have a legal order, I am ethically and professionally bound not to discuss my patients.”

“Your patient is deliberately spreading the plague across Italy,” Alana says quietly.

Lonzo shakes his head as if he misheard. “No, no, no . . . How could this be? This is not possible.”

“It could be and it is,” Alana says. “Stefano disappeared right before the outbreak here in Genoa. We have photos of him in Naples days before it hit there, and a witness who saw him acting suspiciously. And we know he was carrying a supply of several months’ worth of antibiotics.”

“Antibiotics?”

“To protect himself from becoming infected by his own rats.”

Lonzo slumps back in his seat, shaken. “Schizoaffective disorder,” he finally says.