Alana and Byron head out in Byron’s rental sedan, while the AISI team follows at a safe distance in a pair of unmarked SUVs. At Nico’s request, Byron picks him up a half a mile away from the hospital.

“It’s a disaster” are Nico’s first words as he climbs into the backseat.

Byron glances over his shoulder. “Have there been new cases in the past two hours?”

“At least three others, two of them critically ill. The hospital is under siege by the media. And the emergency room is overrun with the worried and the neurotic. To them, every cold and sniffle must mean the plague.”

“Always happens,” Byron says. “Next, some of the staff will get too scared to report to work.”

“Yes, it’s already happening. The hospital has had to close two wards because of staffing shortages.”

“Wait until people hear that the spread might be deliberate,” Alana says. “Then you’ll see real panic.”

They fall into somber silence. Alana suspects that Byron and Nico must harbor the same dark fear that she does: while the body count might still be relatively low for this epidemic, it’s rapidly approaching the level of critical mass—the dreaded point in any new outbreak when there are enough cases to simultaneously propagate the spread in multiple places. If that were to happen, the death toll would skyrocket. It could reach into the tens of thousands or more.

The car’s GPS leads them deeper and deeper into Cornigliano, the same working-class neighborhood where they met Emilio. Once the GPS announces that they have arrived, Byron rolls the car to a stop with two wheels perched on the sidewalk. One of the two black SUVs pulls up behind them, while the other drives past, carrying the four agents who will guard the perimeter.

As Alana walks between Byron and Nico, she feels on edge. Sergio and his younger partner, both in dark suits and ties, seamlessly fall in line a few yards behind them. As silent as they are, she’s aware of their presence as acutely as footsteps behind her in a dark alley.

Halfway down the block, they reach the nondescript apartment building with the address that matches the one Brussels forwarded to her. The lobby door is ajar. Alana inhales the scent of cooked meat and spices. Two men in traditional North African tunics walk past, one of whom glances warily at Alana, and she wonders if it’s because her head is not covered.

Sergio opens the door to the stairwell. Alana starts to follow when she feels Nico’s hand on her elbow. She turns to him. His encouraging nod doesn’t conceal the concern in his eyes. She flashes him a reassuring smile. There’s something so painfully intimate in the brief interaction that she has to break off eye contact.

As they step out of the stairwell onto the third floor, Alana hears a man and woman shouting angrily from behind one of the nearby doors. She notices Sergio and his partner unbutton their jackets to allow easier access to their holstered weapons.