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safe than sorry. It’s Latin. Beautiful language. You should pick it up someday.”
    The screen went black as Aeolus disconnected the call.
    Hank grunted. “Dr. Summers, enough of this nonsense. This investigation is closed. Go back to your regular duties.”

    On the WHO side, the junior staffers were shocked by how rude their boss had just been to the CDC’s director. The seniors who had been around long enough were used to it by now. Walt snickered. He loved these confrontations between Aeolus and Hank. It made him feel powerful and important, although he was not quite certain why.
    “Okay,” said Aeolus, tapping his cane into the floor, “This is what we’re going to do, I want briefs, but we write only what we’re certain of, which isn’t very much. The evidence requirement for forming hypotheses in this room is a lot lower than what is required for formal statements from the WHO. Describe the symptoms in general terms but do not include any speculation as to the source or nature of the illness. I’ll want to sign off on all text myself.”
    “But Dr. Hughes, we can’t withhold potentially vital information from the scientific and medical community.” It was a junior staffer who had spoken up, not realizing that he had, most likely, just forfeited his job.
    “Yes we can, young man. First of all, we are not withholding information, because at this stage we don’t
know
anything. Also, there is, indeed, a trade-off between sharing information and instigating panic. In this Hank was, in principle, right. That’s why I ended the call – to avoid giving him the satisfaction of hearing me admit that he was right.”
    Aeolus sat down, indicating the discussion was over. The thinking was done, it was time for execution, and that was the time of Walt, who set group in motion. “So, what are you all waiting for? You know what to do! Get going!”
    “How do you want to deal with the ECDC?” Walt asked after the others had cleared the room.
    “Forget the ECDC. They’re nothing. Don’t get me wrong. They’re well intentioned and they have some guys with serious skills. They’re doing necessary research. But they’re useless for outbreak management.I mean, I can get a meeting with the Security Council, within an hour if required, and Hank, for all his flaws, can get the American president on the phone, but whom are they going to call? The Presidency of the Council of the European Union? Malta? I don’t think they have any nuclear weapons.”
    Aeolus paused briefly then added, “That is, at least, I hope they don’t have any nuclear weapons...”

ITA INFIT
    (And so it begins)

JULY 28 TH , FINALE OF THE SECOND ACT, LA SCALA, MILAN, ITALY
    A eolus couldn’t help but love it. He knew he was not “supposed” to like Puccini and especially not La Bohème. His friends from Cambridge who majored in music would call it vulgar, naïve and simplistic. And to some extent he agreed it was all of that. He was supposed to prefer Stravinsky, Rachmaninov or, best of all, some obscure composer like Messiaen. And he did. There was just something about La Bohème, and especially seeing it here at La Scala, in the comfort of his private box decorated in plush red velvet. It was without question the world’s best opera house. It was the place where Toscanini’s career had been launched, when he took over in mid-performance from a conductor who left the stage in anger. It was the only stage in the world where the audience would happily boo and throw tomatoes at the cast if disappointed with the performance.
    La Scala had been closed for refurbishment between 2002 and 2004. Only in its absence did he realize howmuch he loved it here. Since it reopened he’d made it a point to visit at least every other month.
    The show was now in the middle of Musetta’s waltz and Aeolus shivered as a tear trickled down his cheek. His music tutor had taught him that music that does not make you cry is either poorly written or poorly