“I grew up on a farm in Kansas. My parents are real hicks,” Justine says with a note of affection. “Come to think of it, that’s probably true of my biological family back in China, too. Who knows? Never met them.” She shrugs. “I was always around animals. Fascinated by them. Way more so than humans. Zoology was the natural choice for me when I went away to college in the big city of Manhattan—the one in Kansas, not New York—and one of my profs got me into rodents. The rest is history.”

“There’s no one in the world better at chasing down zoological vectors and their spread,” Byron says.

“Love all the smoke up my ass, boss,” Justine says. “But all in all, I’d prefer a raise.”

The laughter is contagious, and they make small talk for the rest of the ride.

Byron turns off onto the dirt road and parks his car between the construction vehicles in the same gravel lot as Nico did. Alana notices that the stench of diesel is even thicker today. New frameworks of wood and rebar have already popped up in the base of the gaping excavation pit since yesterday. Numerous workers scurry around the site, but Alana doesn’t see any sign of the old monk whom Zanetti had described as a fixture on the site.

Zanetti greets them alone in front of the trailer-office. He wears another dark suit, and his silver-framed sunglasses match the color of his carefully swept-back hair. He shakes hands with Byron and Justine, and leans in to kiss Alana on both cheeks. “Such a pleasure to see this gorgeous face again so soon.”

Alana suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. “Hello, Marcello.”

“So now the World Health Organization is interested in my condominiums?” he asks.

“Mr. Zanetti, the WHO is interested in the woman we believe is the index case behind the spread of the plague,” Byron says.

“Ah, Vittoria. Such a terrible loss.” Zanetti sighs heavily. “I was told she acquired this . . . thing in Ethiopia.”

“We haven’t confirmed that,” Byron says.

“You will, no doubt,” Zanetti says.

Justine pipes up. “What about rats?”

“I do not understand your question, signora.”

“Rodents.” Justine makes a scurrying motion with two fingers. “Have there been reports of rats, mice, squirrels, et cetera, around here?”

“Not to my knowledge. No.”

“What about carcasses or small skeletons? Have you seen any of those?”

“This was once an old monastery. There could have been rats underground, I suppose. There usually are.”

“Not usually. Always.”

“Mr. Zanetti,” Byron says. “We understand that you saw Vittoria Fornero at a time when she might have been most contagious.”

“I am taking the medicines the Public Health people provided to all of us here.” Zanetti turns to Alana with palms extended. “Alana, we discussed this,” he says, sounding like an exasperated father. “Did you not tell your friends?”

“The infection has spread from Vittoria to others, Marcello. Two more have already died. We want to make sure it doesn’t spread here, too.”