The minister turns to Alana, her stare penetrating. “Dr. Vaughn, what does NATO have to say? Have you determined whether or not this is an act of terrorism?”

“No, not for certain. This microbe isn’t a match for any known form of bioweapon. But we still cannot rule out deliberate spread.”

“How do you explain Yasin Ahmed?” Pivetti asks. “And his disappearance?”

“I can’t,” Alana admits. “Not yet.”

“There has been no trace of him in over a week, Minister.” Sergio speaks up for the first time. “However, we have found no evidence to link him to Islamic extremism. The terrorists we arrested yesterday were working on an attack unrelated to the plague.”

The minister folds hers arms across her chest. “So, to summarize: we do not know where the germ comes from, how it spreads, who is spreading it, or how to stop it.” She glances around the table. “Does anyone have anything helpful to add?”

The simmering room explodes in multiple voices. Byron eventually quells the racket with a whistle. The heated discussion devolves into a rehash of conflicting ideas. Pivetti soon loses patience. She cuts the discussion off and sets another meeting for the same time the following afternoon. As she rises from the table, she stares at Byron. “By then, hopefully, we might have a few actual answers.”

“Minister, in all deference to your expertise in managing emerging epidemics”—Byron’s smile is pure frost—“in my experience, this outbreak is unique. We may not have a specific answer for weeks or more.”

Alana and Byron leave City Hall together and step out into the bright sunshine. Once out of earshot of the others, she asks him, “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Antagonize people that way. Especially the minister.”

His nose crinkles. “You didn’t think she was challenging me?”

“Okay, maybe not the best example. But you have a way of goading people with that smile of yours. The way you do with Nico.”

“Ah.” The same grin reemerges. “That’s what this is about.”

“It’s only an example,” she says, maybe a little too quickly.

He views her with curiosity. “You’re very protective of him. You two have a . . . relationship that goes beyond the professional.”

It’s Alana’s turn to fold her arms. “That’s none of your business.”

“No offense intended.” He looks away. “Aside from your . . . um . . . credentials, I don’t know a lot about you.”

Byron seems awkward all of a sudden. Alana realizes she doesn’t know much about him, either, beyond his professional status. She’s not even sure whether he has a partner or children.

Before she can reply, Sergio Fassino strides up to them. “You need to come with me,” he announces. “Both of you.”

“Where?” Alana asks.

“The hospital.”

Byron lifts his chin. “What’s going on, Sergio?”

“Yasin Ahmed.”

Alana’s throat thickens. “He’s in hospital?”

Sergio walks on without answering.

Less than thirty minutes later, Alana, Byron, Nico, and Sergio—who appears fidgety and uncomfortable in his protective gear—gather around a bedside on the sixth floor of Ospedale San Martino. The man on the stretcher looks up at them from behind his hospital mask with wide fearful eyes.