“What if he’s not traveling under his own name?” Byron asks.

Sergio motions to the pages. “Arturo specifically asks Stefano if his passport is in order. And he confirmed it.”

Alana exhales heavily. “If Stefano releases those rats in Asia . . .”

“Can you imagine trying to contain this plague in cities like Jakarta or Shanghai?” Byron says.

“Jesus! It’s like the plague ships of the Middle Ages all over again. Only this time in reverse. They’ll be carrying the Black Death back to Asia.”

Sergio veers off into the driveway of the Seminario Arcivescovile and abandons the car in front of the main doors. The three of them race through the common area and up the stairs to Don Arturo’s apartment.

Sergio slips the gun from his holster as he pounds on the door with his other fist. No one answers. Just as he lowers his shoulder to ram the door, it opens a crack. Alana recognizes the widow’s peak through the gap. “Vattene, per favore!” Brother Samuel says.

Without replying, Sergio thrusts his shoulder against the door. It flies open. Samuel stumbles back. He regains his balance and tries to block their entry with his body, his arms spread wide. “Leave Father Abbot be!” he cries.

Sergio levels the gun at his chest.

“Basta!” Arturo cries, as he steps out from behind Samuel. “It is enough.”

Samuel hesitates and then steps aside, his chin hung in defeat.

The abbot doesn’t appear the least surprised. “You know, then?”

Sergio addresses Arturo in Italian. The abbot only juts his lower lip and nods, showing not an iota of contrition.

Head held high, Arturo accompanies them back down to the car. He sits next to Alana in the backseat, his mood seemingly tranquil.

She knows Sergio intends to formally question the abbot in the controlled setting of an interview room, but she’s too enraged to hold her tongue. “Why?” she growls.

“Why what, Dr. Vaughn?” Don Arturo smiles as if they were still making small talk over coffee.

“Why the hell would you encourage someone as ill and deluded as Brother Stefano?”

Arturo frowns. “How do you know Stefano is ill?”

“He was diagnosed by a qualified psychiatrist,” she says in disbelief.

“Yes, with delusions and hallucinations. How does Dr. Lonzo know those are manifestations of his imagination? What if the voices are real?”

“You honestly believe Stefano speaks directly to God?”

“He would not be the first,” Arturo says. “The English thought Joan of Arc was crazy, too.”

“What is wrong with you?” she snaps. “The man is a schizophrenic. And you were enabling his lethal delusions.”

Arturo folds his arms over his chest. “I believe Stefano is an agent of God.”

“So God intends for the Black Death to reign again?” Alana resists the urge to grab the abbot by the neck. “To wipe out half the world like the last time?”

Arturo smiles and then slowly shakes his head. “God must be so fed up with the world as it is. All the greed. All the sin. And so little faith or repentance. This world is not worth saving.”