ANGELS & DEMONS BY DAN BROWN (PART 2)

“Earth,” he whispered, tilting his head to see the symbol upside down. “Earth.” Then, in a wave of horror, he had one final cognition. There are three more.
candlelight in the Sistine Chapel, Cardinal Mortati was on
egun. And it had begun in a most inauspicious fashion.
t the appointed hour, Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca had entered the
to the front altar and gave opening prayer. Then, he unfolded his
68
D espite the soft glow of
edge. Conclave had officially b
Half an hour ago, achapel. He walked
hands and spoke to them in a tone as direct as anything Mortati had ever heard from the
erlegno said, “that our four preferiti are not present in
ask, in the name of his late Holiness, that you proceed as you
eyes.” Then he
“That I cannot honestly say.”
ine Chapel had been sealed, as was the custom, with two heavy
mplete the preparatory rituals leading up to this first vote.
ain altar as each cardinal, in order of seniority, had
ting procedure.
e
ho before God I think
dropped multiple ballots.
altar of the Sistine.
“You are well aware,” the camconclave at this moment. I
must . . . with faith and purpose. May you have only God before yourturned to go.
“But,” one cardinal blurted out, “where are they?” The camerlegno paused. “That I cannot honestly say.” “When will they return?”
“Are they okay?”
“That I cannot honestly say.” “Will they return?”
There was a long pause.
“Have faith,” the camerlegno said. Then he walked out of the room. The doors to the Sist
chains on the outside. Four Swiss Guards stood watch in the hallway beyond. Mortati knew the only way the doors could be opened now, prior to electing a Pope, was if someone inside fell deathly ill, or if the preferiti arrived. Mortati prayed it would be the latter, although from the knot in his stomach he was not so sure.
Proceed as we must, Mortati decided, taking his lead from the resolve in the camerlegno’s voice. So he had called for a vote. What else could he do?
It had taken thirty minutes to coMortati had waited patiently at the m
approached and performed the specific ballo
Now, at last, the final cardinal had arrived at the altar and was kneeling before him. “I call as my witness,” the cardinal declared, exactly as those before him, “Christ thLord, who will be my judge that my vote is given to the one w
should be elected.” The cardinal stood up. He held his ballot high over his head for everyone to see. Then he lowered the ballot to the altar, where a plate sat atop a large chalice. He placed the ballot on the plate. Next he picked up the plate and used it to drop the ballot into the chalice. Use of the plate was to ensure no one secretly
After he had submitted his ballot, he replaced the plate over the chalice, bowed to the cross, and returned to his seat. The final ballot had been cast. Now it was time for Mortati to go to work. Leaving the plate on top of the chalice, Mortati shook the ballots to mix them. Then he removed the plate and extracted a ballot at random. He unfolded it. The ballot was
ne to hear.
Eligo in summum pontificem . . .” he declared, reading the text that was embossed at the
e’s
ed needle
s was normal, the handwriting on each ballot was
g or flamboyant script. The concealment was ironic in this case
ly submitting votes for themselves. This apparent
, Mortati knew, had nothing to do with self-centered ambition. It was a holding
. A defensive maneuver. A stall tactic to ensure no cardinal received enough votes
rtati declared the vote “failed.”
He took the thread carrying all the ballots and tied the ends together to create a ring. Then
first
e
Earth . . . Earth . . .
exactly two inches wide. He read aloud for everyo
“
top of every ballot. I elect as Supreme Pontiff . . . Then he announced the nominename that had been written beneath it. After he read the name, he raised a thread
and pierced the ballot through the word Eligo, carefully sliding the ballot onto the thread. Then he made note of the vote in a logbook. Next, he repeated the entire procedure. He chose a ballot from the chalice, read it aloud, threaded it onto the line, and made note in his log. Almost immediately, Mortati sensed this first vote would be failed. No consensus. After only seven ballots, already seven different cardinals had been named. A
disguised by block printinbecause the cardinals were obvious
conceitpattern
to win . . . and another vote would be forced. The cardinals were waiting for their preferiti . . . When the last of the ballots had been tallied, Mo
he lay the ring of ballots on a silver tray. He added the proper chemicals and carried the tray to a small chimney behind him. Here he lit the ballots. As the ballots burned, the chemicals he’d added created black smoke. The smoke flowed up a pipe to a hole in the roof where it rose above the chapel for all to see. Cardinal Mortati had just sent hiscommunication to the outside world.
One balloting. No Pope. 69
N early asphyxiated by fumes, Langdon struggled up the ladder toward the light at thtop of the pit. Above him he heard voices, but nothing was making sense. His head was spinning with images of the branded cardinal.
As he pushed upward, his vision narrowed and he feared consciousness would slip awaTwo rung
y.
s from the top, his balance faltered. He lunged upward trying to find the lip, but
and almost tumbled backward into the dark.
uddenly Langdon was airborne, legs
ked him under the armpits and dragged him
d
d
was. Overhead he saw stars . . . orbiting
n’t you figure that out in the first
place!”
Vittoria was trying to explain the situation.
Olivetti cut her off midsentence and turned to bark orders to his men. “Get that body out
Langdon tried to sit up. The Chigi Chapel was packed with Swiss Guards. The plastic
ed, Langdon saw Vittoria coming toward
ay?” Vittoria took his arm and felt his pulse. Her hands were tender on his skin.
up fully. “Olivetti’s mad.”
o next time! We missed
d
turned dizzying circles, staring at the
it was too far. He lost his grip on the ladder There was a sharp pain under his arms, and s
swinging wildly out over the chasm. The strong hands of two Swiss Guards hoo
skyward. A moment later Langdon’s head emerged from the Demon’s hole, choking angasping for air. The guards dragged him over the lip of the opening, across the floor, anlay him down, back against the cold marble floor. For a moment, Langdon was unsure where he
planets. Hazy figures raced past him. People were shouting. He tried to sit up. He was lying at the base of a stone pyramid. The familiar bite of an angry tongue echoed inside
the chapel, and then Langdon knew.
Olivetti was screaming at Vittoria. “Why the hell did
of there! Search the rest of the building!”
curtain over the chapel opening had been torn off the entryway, and fresh air filled Langdon’s lungs. As his senses slowly return
him. She knelt down, her face like an angel. “You ok
“Thanks.” Langdon sat
Vittoria nodded. “He has a right to be. We blew it.” “You mean I blew it.” “So redeem yourself. Get him next time.” Next time? Langdon thought it was a cruel comment. There is n
our shot! Vittoria checked Langdon’s watch. “Mickey says we’ve got forty minutes. Get your heatogether and help me find the next marker.” “I told you, Vittoria, the sculptures are gone. The Path of Illumination is-” Langdon halted.
Vittoria smiled softly.
Suddenly Langdon was staggering to his feet. He
artwork around him. Pyramids, stars, planets, ellipses. Suddenly everything came back.
he way alcove, a literal hole-in-the-wall, a tribute to a great
ance
e killer.
nknown Illuminati sculptor was.”
around. “You what?”
sculptor was?” He had spent years trying
nzo
langelo himself. During the 1600s Bernini created more sculptures than any other
oking for was supposedly an unknown, a
nobody.
d.”
as a very famous man and a Catholic.”
r boy. The church loved Bernini. He was elected the
Vatican’s overall artistic authority. He practically lived inside Vatican City his entire
d to their secret artist as
“Yes, unknown to them. Think of the secrecy of the Masons-only the upper-echelon
This is the first altar of science! Not the Pantheon! It dawned on him now how perfectly Illuminati the chapel was, far more subtle and selective than the world famous Pantheon.The Chigi was an out of t
patron of science, decorated with earthly symbology. Perfect.
Langdon steadied himself against the wall and gazed up at the enormous pyramid sculptures. Vittoria was dead right. If this chapel was the first altar of science, it might still contain the Illuminati sculpture that served as the first marker. Langdon felt an electrifying rush of hope to realize there was still a chance. If the marker were indeed here, and they could follow it to the next altar of science, they might have another chto catch th
Vittoria moved closer. “I found out who the u
Langdon’s head whipped
“Now we just need to figure out which sculpture in here is the-”
“Wait a minute! You know who the Illuminati
to find that information.
Vittoria smiled. “It was Bernini.” She paused. “The Bernini.” Langdon immediately knew she was mistaken. Bernini was an impossibility. GianloreBernini was the second most famous sculptor of all time, his fame eclipsed only by Miche
artist. Unfortunately, the man they were lo
Vittoria frowned. “You don’t look excite
“Bernini is impossible.” “Why? Bernini was a contemporary of Galileo. He was a brilliant sculptor.” “He w
“Yes,” Vittoria said. “Exactly like Galileo.” “No,” Langdon argued. “Nothing like Galileo. Galileo was a thorn in the Vatican’s side. Bernini was the Vatican’s wonde
life!”
“A perfect cover. Illuminati infiltration.” Langdon felt flustered. “Vittoria, the Illuminati members referre
il maestro ignoto-the unknown master.”
members knew the whole truth. Galileo could have kept Bernini’s true identity secret
om most members . . . for Bernini’s own safety. That way, the Vatican would never find
admit Vittoria’s logic made strange sense. The
partmentalized, only revealing
e truth to upper-level members. It was the cornerstone of their ability to stay secret . . .
a
nzo Bernini.
doing carving pyramids?
felt totally disoriented. Two
had to be right. By default, Bernini was the Illuminati’s unknown master;
o
Illuminati ambigrams.
that here in this tiny Chigi Chapel, the worldnot
fr
out.” Langdon was unconvinced but had to Illuminati were famous for keeping secret information com
th
very few knew the whole story. “And Bernini’s affiliation with the Illuminati,” Vittoria added with a smile, “explains why he designed those two pyramids.”
Langdon turned to the huge sculpted pyramids and shook his head. “Bernini was religious sculptor. There’s no way he carved those pyramids.” Vittoria shrugged. “Tell that to the sign behind you.” Langdon turned to the plaque:
ART OF THE CHIGI CHAPEL While the architecture is Raphael’s, all interior adornments are those of Gianlore
Langdon read the plaque twice, and still he was not convinced. Gianlorenzo Bernini was celebrated for his intricate, holy sculptures of the Virgin Mary, angels, prophets, Popes. What was he
Langdon looked up at the towering monuments and
pyramids, each with a shining, elliptical medallion. They were about as un-Christian as sculpture could get. The pyramids, the stars above, the signs of the Zodiac. All interior adornments are those of Gianlorenzo Bernini. If that were true, Langdon realized, it meant Vittoria
nobody else had contributed artwork to this chapel! The implications came almost tofast for Langdon to process. Bernini was an Illuminatus. Bernini designed the
Bernini laid out the path of Illumination.
Langdon could barely speak. Could it be
renowned Bernini had placed a sculpture that pointed across Rome toward the next altar of science?
“Bernini,” he said. “I never would have guessed.” “Who other than a famous Vatican artist would have had the clout to put his artwork inspecific Catholic chapels around Rome and create the Path of Illumination? Certainlyan unknown.”
Langdon considered it. He looked at the pyramids, wondering if one of them could somehow be the marker. Maybe both of them? “The pyramids face opposite directions,Langdon said, not sure what to make of them. “They are also identical, so I don’t knowwhich . . .”
”
“I don’t think the pyramids are what we’re looking for.”
ed the line of her hand to the far wall. At first he saw nothing. Then
hite marble. An arm. A torso. And then a
figures intertwined.
ids and demon’s hole,
room, through the crowd. As he
?” Vittoria urged, arriving behind him.
voice almost
arker?”
science, he did not expect it to be
is it?”
n chuckled. It was true. Although both figures were pointing into the distance,
ere pointing in totally opposite directions. Langdon, however, had already solved
roblem. With a burst of energy he headed for the door.
“But they’re the only sculptures here.”
Vittoria cut him off by pointing toward Olivetti and some of his guards who were gathered near the demon’s hole.
Langdon followsomeone moved and he caught a glimpse. W
sculpted face. Partially hidden in its niche. Two life-size human
Langdon’s pulse accelerated. He had been so taken with the pyramhe had not even seen this sculpture. He moved across the
drew near, Langdon recognized the work was pure Bernini-the intensity of the artistic composition, the intricate faces and flowing clothing, all from the purest white marble Vatican money could buy. It was not until he was almost directly in front of it that Langdon recognized the sculpture itself. He stared up at the two faces and gasped. “Who are they
Langdon stood astonished. “Habakkuk and the Angel,” he said, his
inaudible. The piece was a fairly well-known Bernini work that was included in some art history texts. Langdon had forgotten it was here.
“Habakkuk?” “Yes. The prophet who predicted the annihilation of the earth.”
Vittoria looked uneasy. “You think this is the m
Langdon nodded in amazement. Never in his life had he been so sure of anything. This was the first Illuminati marker. No doubt. Although Langdon had fully expected the sculpture to somehow “point” to the next altar of
literal. Both the angel and Habakkuk had their arms outstretched and were pointing into the distance.
Langdon found himself suddenly smiling. “Not too subtle,
Vittoria looked excited but confused. “I see them pointing, but they are contradicting each other. The angel is pointing one way, and the prophet the other.”
Langdothey w
that p“Where are you going?” Vittoria called.
“Outside the building!” Langdon’s legs felt light again as he ran toward the door. “I nto see what direction that sculpture is pointing!”
eed
ly. “Well I’ll be damned!”
ey had arrived shortly after the four Alpha Romeos, just in
ad no idea what it all
d arrived, Chinita and Glick had seen a veritable army of young men
pons drawn. One
ow,
ther. Chinita
looked riveted. “You getting all this?”
lick sounded smug. “Still think we should go back to Pope-Watch?”
e
n
n
g on
“Who’s the dapper?”
“Wait! How do you know which finger to follow?” “The poem,” he called over his shoulder. “The last line!” “ ‘Let angels guide you on your lofty quest?’ ” She gazed upward at the outstretched finger of the angel. Her eyes misted unexpected
70 G unther Glick and Chinita Macri sat parked in the BBC van in the shadows at the far end of Piazza del Popolo. Th
time to witness an inconceivable chain of events. Chinita still hmeant, but she’d made sure the camera was rolling.
As soon as they’
pour out of the Alpha Romeos and surround the church. Some had weaof them, a stiff older man, led a team up the front steps of the church. The soldiers drew
guns and blew the locks off the front doors. Macri heard nothing and figured they must have had silencers. Then the soldiers entered. Chinita had recommended they sit tight and film from the shadows. After all, guns were guns, and they had a clear view of the action from the van. Glick had not argued. N
across the piazza, men moved in and out of the church. They yelled to each o
adjusted her camera to follow a team as they searched the surrounding area. All of them, though dressed in civilian clothes, seemed to move with military precision. “Who do you think they are?” she asked.
“Hell if I know.” Glick
“Every frame.”
G
Chinita wasn’t sure what to say. There was obviously something going on here, but shhad been in journalism long enough to know that there was often a very dull explanatiofor interesting events. “This could be nothing,” she said. “These guys could have gotte
the same tip you got and are just checking it out. Could be a false alarm.”
Glick grabbed her arm. “Over there! Focus.” He pointed back to the church. Chinita swung the camera back to the top of the stairs. “Hello there,” she said, traininthe man now emerging from the church.
Chinita moved in for a close-up. “Haven’t seen him before.” She tightened in on the
man’s face and smiled. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing him again.”
“Where the hell is your angel pointing?”
ithout
at the shops and apartments blocking his view. “The next
e fame of the first markerknow
the Earth-
Air A Bernini sculpture that has something to do
dral tower jutting up over the
igure out what churches were
Vittoria and Olivetti.
ap. One that shows all the churches in Rome.”
in front of
e cathedral. Langdon hoped he was going for a map.
Robert Langdon dashed down the stairs outside the church and into the middle of the piazza. It was getting dark now, the springtime sun setting late in southern Rome. Thesun had dropped below the surrounding buildings, and shadows streaked the square. “Okay, Bernini,” he said aloud to himself.
He turned and examined the orientation of the church from which he had just come. He pictured the Chigi Chapel inside, and the sculpture of the angel inside that. W
hesitation he turned due west, into the glow of the impending sunset. Time was evaporating. “Southwest,” he said, scowling
marker is out there.” Racking his brain, Langdon pictured page after page of Italian art history. Although very familiar with Bernini’s work, Langdon knew the sculptor had been far too prolific for any nonspecialist to know all of it. Still, considering the relativ
Habakkuk and the Angel-Langdon hoped the second marker was a work he might from memory.
Earth, Air, Fire, Water, he thought. Earth they had found-inside the Chapel of
Habakkuk, the prophet who predicted the earth’s annihilation.
is next. Langdon urged himself to think. with Air! He was drawing a total blank. Still he felt energized. I’m on the path of
Illumination! It is still intact!
Looking southwest, Langdon strained to see a spire or catheobstacles. He saw nothing. He needed a map. If they could f
southwest of here, maybe one of them would spark Langdon’s memory. Air, he pressed.Air. Bernini. Sculpture. Air. Think!
Langdon turned and headed back up the cathedral stairs. He was met beneath the scaffolding by
“Southwest,” Langdon said, panting. “The next church is southwest of here.” Olivetti’s whisper was cold. “You sure this time?”
Langdon didn’t bite. “We need a m
The commander studied him a moment, his expression never changing. Langdon checked his watch. “We only have half an hour.” Olivetti moved past Langdon down the stairs toward his car, parked directly
th
Vittoria looked excited. “So the angel’s pointing southwest? No idea which churches arsouthwest?”
e
Langdon turned and faced the square again. “And I
iazza again. Having ascended the church stairs, he was now
t rose six stories, almost to the top of the church’s rose window, far higher than the
knew in an instant where he was headed.
of the
the scaffolding. “He’s a little well
me.”
o’s Ms. Spidey?”
glanced at the attractive woman beneath the scaffolding. “Bet you’d like to find
old farts in there?”
however, got better with every step. He continued upward.
ire, the red-tiled rooftops of Rome spread
“I can’t see past the damn buildings.”
don’t know Rome’s churches well enou-” He stopped. Vittoria looked startled. “What?”
Langdon looked out at the p
higher, and his view was better. He still couldn’t see anything, but he realized he was moving in the right direction. His eyes climbed the tower of rickety scaffolding above him. I
other buildings in the square. He
Across the square, Chinita Macri and Gunther Glick sat glued to the windshieldBBC van.
“You getting this?” Gunther asked.
Macri tightened her shot on the man now climbing
dressed to be playing Spiderman if you ask
“And whChinita
out.”“Think I should call editorial?”
“Not yet. Let’s watch. Better to have something in the can before we admit we abandoned conclave.” “You think somebody really killed one of the
Chinita clucked. “You’re definitely going to hell.” “And I’ll be taking the Pulitzer with me.”
71 T he scaffolding seemed less stable the higher Langdon climbed. His view of Rome,
He was breathing harder than he expected when he reached the upper tier. He pulled himself onto the last platform, brushed off the plaster, and stood up. The height did not bother him at all. In fact, it was invigorating. The view was staggering. Like an ocean on f
out before him, glowing in the scarlet sunset. From that spot, for the first time in his lifeLangdon saw beyond the pollution and traffic of Rome to its ancient roots-Città di DiThe city of God. Squinting into the sunset, Langdon scanned the rooftops for a church steeple or bell
,
otower.
But as he looked farther and farther toward the horizon, he saw nothing. There are
-way
sanctuaries. Not to mention, Rome had changed dramatically since the 1600s when
gs allowed. Now, as Langdon looked out, he saw
partment buildings, high-rises, TV towers.
tance, on the very edge of Rome, Michelangelo’s massive
Rome the mystic elements unfold. The mystic elements were Earth, Air, Fire, Water. The
g
he pulled out a walkie-talkie and spoke into it.
urch. Like an American football
am breaking from a huddle, the soldiers formed a straight line across the top of the
church?”
to to probe the wall of men,
looking for an opening. One split second, she willed. A single frame. That’s all I need.
hundreds of churches in Rome, he thought. There must be one southwest of here! If the church is even visible, he reminded himself. Hell, if the church is even still standing!Forcing his eyes to trace the line slowly, he attempted the search again. He knew, of course, that not all churches would have visible spires, especially smaller, out-of-the
churches were by law the tallest buildin
a
For the second time, Langdon’s eye reached the horizon without seeing anything. Not one single spire. In the dis
dome blotted the setting sun. St. Peter’s Basilica. Vatican City. Langdon found himself wondering how the cardinals were faring, and if the Swiss Guards’ search had turned up the antimatter. Something told him it hadn’t . . . and wouldn’t. The poem was rattling through his head again. He considered it, carefully, line by line. From Santi’s earthly tomb with demon’s hole. They had found Santi’s tomb. ‘Cross
path of light is laid, the sacred test. The path of Illumination formed by Bernini’s sculptures. Let angels guide you on your lofty quest. The angel was pointing southwest . . .
“Front stairs!” Glick exclaimed, pointing wildly through the windshield of the BBC van.
“Something’s going on!” Macri dropped her shot back down to the main entrance. Something was definitely goinon. At the bottom of the stairs, the military-looking man had pulled one of the Alpha Romeos close to the stairs and opened the trunk. Now he was scanning the square as if checking for onlookers. For a moment, Macri thought the man had spotted them, but hiseyes kept moving. Apparently satisfied,
Almost instantly, it seemed an army emerged from the ch
te
stairs. Moving like a human wall, they began to descend. Behind them, almost entirely hidden by the wall, four soldiers seemed to be carrying something. Something heavy. Awkward. Glick leaned forward on the dashboard. “Are they stealing something from the
Chinita tightened her shot even more, using the telepho
But thesoldier
men moved as one. Come on! Macri stayed with them, and it paid off. When the
s tried to lift the object into the trunk, Macri found her opening. Ironically, it was
an who faltered. Only for an instant, but long enough. Macri had her frame.
ilian Kohler maneuvered his wheelchair into Leonardo
mechanical efficiency, he began sifting through Vetra’s files. Not
ved to Vetra’s bedroom. The top drawer of his
d it open with a knife from the kitchen.
ng and dropped back to the ground. He brushed the
uthwest?”
to let him through.
del Popolo and traced a straight line exactly southwest. The
’s major
s . . .
ould have been around in the 1600s.
y rising in him again. “Yes,
the older mActually, it was more like ten frames. “Call editorial,” Chinita said. “We’ve got a dead body.”
Far away, at CERN, MaximVetra’s study. With
finding what he was after, Kohler mobedside table was locked. Kohler prie
Inside Kohler found exactly what he was looking for.
72
L angdon swung off the scaffoldi
plaster dust from his clothes. Vittoria was there to greet him. “No luck?” she said.
He shook his head.
“They put the cardinal in the trunk.” Langdon looked over to the parked car where Olivetti and a group of soldiers now had amap spread out on the hood. “Are they looking so
She nodded. “No churches. From here the first one you hit is St. Peter’s.”
Langdon grunted. At least they were in agreement. He moved toward Olivetti. The soldiers parted
Olivetti looked up. “Nothing. But this doesn’t show every last church. Just the big ones. About fifty of them.”
“Where are we?” Langdon asked. Olivetti pointed to Piazza
line missed, by a substantial margin, the cluster of black squares indicating Romechurches. Unfortunately, Rome’s major churches were also Rome’s older churchethose that w
“I’ve got some decisions to make,” Olivetti said. “Are you certain of the direction?”
Langdon pictured the angel’s outstretched finger, the urgencsir. Positive.”
Olivetti shrugged and traced the straight line again. The path intersected the Margherita
Vittoria added, looking over Langdon’s
.”
Square. Langdon looked out
. An odd coincidence, he
y
another problem as well.
an officials for centuries have claimed
de-eyed. “And you know of one in St. Peter’s Square?”
ture. Probably not relevant.”
. I know every corner of St. Peter’s Square.”
eter’s Church.
Bridge, Via Cola di Riezo, and passed through Piazza del Risorgimento, hitting no churches at all until it dead-ended abruptly at the center of St. Peter’s Square. “What’s wrong with St. Peter’s?” one of the soldiers said. He had a deep scar under his left eye. “It’s a church.” Langdon shook his head. “Needs to be a public place. Hardly seems public at the moment.”
“But the line goes through St. Peter’s Square,”
shoulder. “The square is public
Langdon had already considered it. “No statues, though.” “Isn’t there a monolith in the middle?”
She was right. There was an Egyptian monolith in St. Peter’sat the monolith in the piazza in front of them. The lofty pyramid
thought. He shook it off. “The Vatican’s monolith is not by Bernini. It was brought in bCaligula. And it has nothing to do with Air.” There was
“Besides, the poem says the elements are spread across Rome. St. Peter’s Square is in Vatican City. Not Rome.”
“Depends who you ask,” a guard interjected.
Langdon looked up. “What?”
“Always a bone of contention. Most maps show St. Peter’s Square as part of Vatican City, but because it’s outside the walled city, Rom
it as part of Rome.” “You’re kidding,” Langdon said. He had never known that.
“I only mention it,” the guard continued, “because Commander Olivetti and Ms. Vetra were asking about a sculpture that had to do with Air.” Langdon was wi
“Not exactly. It’s not really a sculp
“Let’s hear it,” Olivetti pressed. The guard shrugged. “The only reason I know about it is because I’m usually on piazza duty
“The sculpture,” Langdon urged. “What does it look like?” Langdon was starting to wonder if the Illuminati could really have been gutsy enough to position their second
marker right outside St. P
“I patrol past it every day,” the guard said. “It’s in the center, directly where that line is
pointing. That’s what made me think of it. As I said, it’s not really a sculpture. It’s moreof a . . . block.” Olivetti looked mad. “A block?”
onolith. But the
he young soldier in amazement. “A relief!” he exclaimed suddenly.
shaping
i’s Chigi Chapel medallions were another perfect example.
Bas-relief!” Langdon rapped his knuckles on the hood. “I wasn’t thinking in those
That tile you’re talking about in St. Peter’s Square is called the West Ponente-the
ind. It’s also known as Respiro di Dio.”
esigned St. Peter’s.”
n of Alpha Romeos tore out of Piazza del Popolo, everyone was in too
ccelerator and swerved through traffic as he
eos across the Tiber River on Ponte Margherita.
k would have made an effort to maintain an inconspicuous distance, but
an finishing a phone call with London. She
the traffic. “You want the good news or
“Yes, sir. A marble block embedded in the square. At the base of the m
block is not a rectangle. It’s an ellipse. And the block is carved with the image of a billowing gust of wind.” He paused. “Air, I suppose, if you wanted to get scientific aboutit.”
Langdon stared at t
Everyone looked at him.
“Relief,” Langdon said, “is the other half of sculpture!” Sculpture is the art of
figures in the round and also in relief. He had written the definition on chalkboards for years. Reliefs were essentially two-dimensional sculptures, like Abraham Lincoln’s profile on the penny. Bernin
“Bassorelievo?” the guard asked, using the Italian art term.
“Yes! terms! West W
“Breath of God?” “Yes! Air! And it was carved and put there by the original architect!” Vittoria looked confused. “But I thought Michelangelo d
“Yes, the basilica!” Langdon exclaimed, triumph in his voice. “But St. Peter’s Square was designed by Bernini!” As the carava
much of a hurry to notice the BBC van pulling out behind them.
73
G unther Glick floored the BBC van’s a
tailed the four speeding Alpha RomNormally Glic
today he could barely keep up. These guys were flying.
Macri sat in her work area in the back of the vhung up and yelled to Glick over the sound of
bad news?”
Glick frowned. Nothing was ever simple when dealing with the home office. “Bad news.”
“Editorial is burned we abandoned our post.”
t of a proper tea.”
otage we just shot.”
Can’t transmit until we stop and get a fixed cell read.”
love. Something tells me we’re almost there.”
.
quare. They
ed to evaporate into the surroundings. As
Peter’s.
o
Square, a familiar question nagged. How does the Illuminati assassin plan to get away
view?
k or block or whatever the hell it is. Same drill. You’re tourists.
Use the phone if you see anything.”
“Surprise.”
“They also think your tipster is a fraud.” “Of course.”
“And the boss just warned me that you’re a few crumpets shor
Glick scowled. “Great. And the good news?”
“They agreed to look at the fo
Glick felt his scowl soften into a grin. I guess we’ll see who’s short a few crumpets. “So fire it off.”
“
Glick gunned the van onto Via Cola di Rienzo. “Can’t stop now.” He tailed the Alpha Romeos through a hard left swerve around Piazza Risorgimento. Macri held on to her computer gear in back as everything slid. “Break my transmitter,”she warned, “and we’ll have to walk this footage to London.” “Sit tight,
Macri looked up. “Where?” Glick gazed out at the familiar dome now looming directly in front of them. He smiled“Right back where we started.” The four Alpha Romeos slipped deftly into traffic surrounding St. Peter’s S
split up and spread out along the piazza perimeter, quietly unloading men at select points. The debarking guards moved into the throng of tourists and media vans on the edge of the square and instantly became invisible. Some of the guards entered the forest of pillars encompassing the colonnade. They too seem
Langdon watched through the windshield, he sensed a noose tightening around St.
In addition to the men Olivetti had just dispatched, the commander had radioed ahead tthe Vatican and sent additional undercover guards to the center where Bernini’s West Ponente was located. As Langdon looked out at the wide-open spaces of St. Peter’s
with this? How will he get a cardinal through all these people and kill him in plain Langdon checked his Mickey Mouse watch. It was 8:54 P.M. Six minutes. In the front seat, Olivetti turned and faced Langdon and Vittoria. “I want you two right on top of this Bernini bric
Before Langdon could respond, Vittoria had his hand and was pulling him out of the car.
Basilica, and a massive shadow spread,
d Vittoria moved into the
n found himself searching every
ssed, wondering if the killer was among them. Vittoria’s hand felt warm.
He
ut a
ture the brand. The
350-ton Egyptian obelisk. It stretched eightyly
containing relics of the cross on which Christ was crucified.
wo fountains flanked the obelisk in perfect symmetry. Art historians knew the fountains
The springtime sun was setting behind St. Peter’s
engulfing the piazza. Langdon felt an ominous chill as he ancool, black umbra. Snaking through the crowd, Langdo
face they pa
As they crossed the open expanse of St. Peter’s Square, Langdon sensed Bernini’s sprawling piazza having the exact effect the artist had been commissioned to create-that of “humbling all those who entered.” Langdon certainly felt humbled at the moment. Humbled and hungry, he realized, surprised such a mundane thought could enter his headat a moment like this.
“To the obelisk?” Vittoria asked. Langdon nodded, arching left across the piazza. “Time?” Vittoria asked, walking briskly, but casually.
“Five of.” Vittoria said nothing, but Langdon felt her grip tighten. He was still carrying the gun.hoped Vittoria would not decide she needed it. He could not imagine her whipping oweapon in St. Peter’s Square and blowing away the kneecaps of some killer while the
global media looked on. Then again, an incident like that would be nothing compared to the branding and murder of a cardinal out here. Air, Langdon thought. The second element of science. He tried to picmethod of murder. Again he scanned the sprawling expanse of granite beneath his feet-
St. Peter’s Square-an open desert surrounded by Swiss Guard. If the Hassassin really dared attempt this, Langdon could not imagine how he would escape. In the center of the piazza rose Caligula’s
one feet skyward to the pyramidal apex onto which was affixed a hollow iron cross. Sufficiently high to catch the last of the evening sun, the cross shone as if magic . . . purported
T
marked the exact geometric focal points of Bernini’s elliptical piazza, but it was an architectural oddity Langdon had never really considered until today. It seemed Rome was suddenly filled with ellipses, pyramids, and startling geometry. As they neared the obelisk, Vittoria slowed. She exhaled heavily, as if coaxing Langdonto relax along with her. Langdon made the effort, lowering his shoulders and loosening his clenched jaw.
Somewhere around the obelisk, boldly positioned outside the largest church in the world, was the second altar of science-Bernini’s West Ponente-an elliptical block in St. Peter’s Square.
Gunther Glick watched from the shadows of the pillars surrounding St. Peter’s Square.On any other day the man in the tweed jacket and the woman in khaki shorts would not have interested him in the least. They appeared to be nothing but tourists enjoying the square. But today was not any other day. Today had been a day of phone tips, corpses, unmarked cars racing through Rom
e, and men in tweed jackets climbing scaffolding in
to
era
e
ked body dumped in the trunk was playing at
y moment on the VCR transmitter back in the van. Glick knew the images were
over his head right now en route to London. He wondered what editorial would
say.
ed
m of anarchy, the killer had said. Glick wondered if he had
ther media vans in the distance
and watched Macri tailing the mysterious couple across the piazza. Something told Glick
arently saw
arer, everything seemed forbiddingly normal. Tourists wandered, nuns
e perimeter of the piazza, a girl fed pigeons at the base of the obelisk.
stop-
search of God only knew what. Glick would stay with them. He looked out across the square and saw Macri. She was exactly where he had told her go, on the far side of the couple, hovering on their flank. Macri carried her video cam
casually, but despite her imitation of a bored member of the press, she stood out morthan Glick would have liked. No other reporters were in this far corner of the square, andthe acronym “BBC” stenciled on her camera was drawing some looks from tourists. The tape Macri had shot earlier of the na
this versailing
He wished he and Macri had reached the body sooner, before the army of plainclothed soldiers had intervened. The same army, he knew, had now fanned out and surroundthis piazza. Something big was about to happen. The media is the right ar
missed his chance for a big scoop. He looked out at the o
he was still in the game . . .
74
L
angdon saw what he was looking for a good ten yards before they reached it. Through the scattered tourists, the white marble ellipse of Bernini’s West Ponente stood out against the gray granite cubes that made up the rest of the piazza. Vittoria app
it too. Her hand tensed.
“Relax,” Langdon whispered. “Do your piranha thing.” Vittoria loosened her grip.
As they drew nechatted along th
Langdon refrained from checking his watch. He knew it was almost time. The elliptical stone arrived beneath their feet, and Langdon and Vittoria slowed to a not overeagerly-just two tourists pausing dutifully at a point of mild interest.
“West Ponente,” Vittoria said, reading the inscription on the stone. Langdon gazed down at the marble relief and felt suddenly naïve. Not in his art books, not in his numerous trips to Rome, not ever had West Ponente’s significance jumped out
at him. Not until now.
The relief was elliptical, about three feet long, and carved with a rudimentary face-a
.
l zephyr blown from angel’s lips. As Langdon stared, he realized the
still. Bernini had carved the air in five distinct gusts
g the medallion were two shining stars. Langdon thought
ittoria began walking again almost immediately, leading Langdon away from the relief.
he
p
inati hires women with BBC cameras.”
he bells of St. Peter’s began their deafening clamor, both Langdon and Vittoria
. It was time. They had circled away from West Ponente in an attempt to lose the
rter but were now moving back toward the relief.
alm. Tourists wandered. A
are.
depiction of the West Wind as an angel-like countenance. Gusting from the angel’s mouth, Bernini had drawn a powerful breath of air blowing outward away from the Vatican . . . the breath of God. This was Bernini’s tribute to the second element . . . Air . . an etherea
significance of the relief went deeper . . . five! What was more, flankin
of Galileo. Two stars, five gusts, ellipses, symmetry . . . He felt hollow. His head hurt.
V
“I think someone’s following us,” she said. Langdon looked up. “Where?”
Vittoria moved a good thirty yards before speaking. She pointed up at the Vatican as if showing Langdon something on the dome. “The same person has been behind us all tway across the square.” Casually, Vittoria glanced over her shoulder. “Still on us. Keemoving.”
“You think it’s the Hassassin?”
Vittoria shook her head. “Not unless the Illum
When tjumped
repoDespite the clanging bells, the area seemed perfectly c
homeless drunk dozed awkwardly at the base of the obelisk. A little girl fed pigeons. Langdon wondered if the reporter had scared the killer off. Doubtful, he decided, recalling the killer’s promise. I will make your cardinals media luminaries. As the echo of the ninth bell faded away, a peaceful silence descended across the squ
Then . . . the little girl began to scream. 75
L angdon was the first to reach the screaming girl.
The terrified youngster stood frozen, pointing at the base of the obelisk where a shabby,
d his
n the middle, tottering forward. Langdon lunged, but he
angdon dropped to his knees. Vittoria arrived beside him. A crowd was gathering.
Vittoria put her fingers on the man’s throat from behind. “There’s a pulse,” she declared.
Roll him.”
ng the man’s shoulders, he rolled the body. As he
his
decrepit drunk sat slumped on the stairs. The man was a miserable sight . . . apparently one of Rome’s homeless. His gray hair hung in greasy strands in front of his face, an
entire body was wrapped in some sort of dirty cloth. The girl kept screaming as she scampered off into the crowd.
Langdon felt an upsurge of dread as he dashed toward the invalid. There was a dark, widening stain spreading across the man’s rags. Fresh, flowing blood. Then, it was as if everything happened at once.
The old man seemed to crumple i
was too late. The man pitched forward, toppled off the stairs, and hit the pavement facedown. Motionless.
L
“
Langdon was already in motion. Graspi
did, the loose rags seemed to slough away like dead flesh. The man flopped limp ontoback. Dead center of his naked chest was a wide area of charred flesh.
Vittoria gasped and pulled back. Langdon felt paralyzed, pinned somewhere between nausea and awe. The symbol had aterrifying simplicity to it.
“Air,” Vittoria choked. “It’s . . . him.”
Swiss Guards appeared from out of nowhere, shouting orders, racing after an unseen assassin. Nearby, a tourist explained that only minutes ago, a dark-skinned man had been kind enough to help this poor, wheezing, homeless man across the square . . . even sitting a
fore disappearing back into the crowd.
moment on the stairs with the invalid be
Vittowounds, one on either side of the brand, just below his rib cage
ria ripped the rest of the rags off the man’s abdomen. He had two deep puncture
. She cocked the man’s
. “His lungs . . .” she stammered. “They’re . . .
d.
nchor as she lumbered across St. Peter’s Square, pushing
she sensed others were after her, men she
ll sides.
ead
a decidedly militaristic
fore her. Their eyes met, and they both stopped. Like
lkie and spoke into it. Then he moved toward her. Macri
g the tape under her belt flush to her
knew she had little time. She
ridge from her case, she slapped it into
the camera. Then she prayed.
head back and began to administer mouth to mouth. Langdon was not prepared for what happened next. As Vittoria blew, the wounds on either side of the man’s midsection hissed and sprayed blood into the air like blowholes on a whale. The salty liquid hit Langdon in the face. Vittoria stopped short, looking horrified
punctured.” Langdon wiped his eyes as he looked down at the two perforations. The holes gurgleThe cardinal’s lungs were destroyed. He was gone.
Vittoria covered the body as the Swiss Guards moved in. Langdon stood, disoriented. As he did, he saw her. The woman who had been following them earlier was crouched nearby. Her BBC video camera was shouldered, aimed, and running. She and Langdon locked eyes, and he knew she’d gotten it all. Then, like a cat,
she bolted. 76
C hinita Macri was on the run. She had the story of her life. Her video camera felt like an a
through the gathering crowd. Everyone seemed to be moving in the opposite direction than her . . . toward the commotion. Macri was trying to get as far away as possible. The man in the tweed jacket had seen her, and now
could not see, closing in from a
Macri was still aghast from the images she had just recorded. She wondered if the d
man was really who she feared he was. Glick’s mysterious phone contact suddenly seemed a little less crazy.
As she hurried in the direction of the BBC van, a young man with
air emerged from the crowd belightning, he raised a walkie-ta
wheeled and doubled back into the crowd, her heart pounding. As she stumbled through the mass of arms and legs, she removed the spent video cassettefrom her camera. Cellulose gold, she thought, tuckin
backside and letting her coat tails cover it. For once she was glad she carried some extra weight. Glick, where the hell are you! Another soldier appeared to her left, closing in. Macri
banked into the crowd again. Yanking a blank cart
She was thirty yards from the BBC van when the two men materialized directly in front
s protectively around her camera. “No chance.”
de his jacket, revealing a sidearm.
he devil is Glick? Macri stamped her foot and yelled as loudly as possible, “I am
sional videographer with the BBC! By Article 12 of the Free Press Act, this film
rty of the British Broadcast Corporation!”
men did not flinch. The one with the gun took a step toward her. “I am a lieutenant
lled, “I will not under any circumstances give you the film in this camera
without speaking to my editor in London. I suggest you-”
bed
azie,” he said, leading
her through a jostling crowd.
at.
.
acrifices on the altars of science. So far, the Hassassin had made good on his
threat.
Langdon felt powerless as he gazed into the mirror. His eyes were drawn, and stubble had
of her, arms folded. She was going nowhere. “Film,” one snapped. “Now.” Macri recoiled, wrapping her arm
One of the men pulled asi
“So shoot me,” Macri said, amazed by the boldness of her voice. “Film,” the first one repeated. Where t
a profesis prope
Thewith the Swiss Guard, and by the Holy Doctrine governing the property on which you arenow standing, you are subject to search and seizure.” A crowd had started to gather now around them. Macri ye
The guards ended it. One yanked the camera out of her hands. The other forcibly grabher by the arm and twisted her in the direction of the Vatican. “Gr
Macri prayed they would not search her and find the tape. If she could somehow protect the film long enough to-
Suddenly, the unthinkable happened. Someone in the crowd was groping under her coMacri felt the video yanked away from her. She wheeled, but swallowed her words. Behind her, a breathless Gunther Glick gave her a wink and dissolved back into the crowd.
77
R obert Langdon staggered into the private bathroom adjoining the Office of the Pope. He dabbed the blood from his face and lips. The blood was not his own. It was that of Cardinal Lamassé, who had just died horribly in the crowded square outside the VaticanVirgin s
begun to darken his cheeks. The room around him was immaculate and lavish-black marble with gold fixtures, cotton towels, and scented hand soaps.
LangdoHe had
n tried to rid his mind of the bloody brand he had just seen. Air. The image stuck.
witnessed three ambigrams since waking up this morning . . . and he knew there
ing.
far.
der had gotten deeper inside the
t
emotions knotting his chest were so many, so incongruous. He was
ation hit him. This is the Pope’s toilet, he thought. I
ad to chuckle. The Holy Throne.
ite receiver unit and
dashed across the control room floor. She burst into the office of the editor-in-chief,
his VCR, and pressed play.
d him about the conversation she had just had with Gunther
-air talent to prep! Media coordinators, I want your
ontacts on line! We’ve got a story we’re selling! And we’ve got film!”
“Thirty-second trim,” the chief replied.
“Live homicide.”
were two more comOutside the door, it sounded as if Olivetti, the camerlegno, and Captain Rocher were debating what to do next. Apparently, the antimatter search had turned up nothing so Either the guards had missed the canister, or the intru
Vatican than Commander Olivetti had been willing to entertain. Langdon dried his hands and face. Then he turned and looked for a urinal. No urinal. Jusa bowl. He lifted the lid.
As he stood there, tension ebbing from his body, a giddy wave of exhaustion shuddered through his core. The
fatigued, running on no food or sleep, walking the Path of Illumination, traumatized by two brutal murders. Langdon felt a deepening horror over the possible outcome of this drama.
Think, he told himself. His mind was blank.
As he flushed, an unexpected realiz
just took a leak in the Pope’s toilet. He h
78
I n London, a BBC technician ejected a video cassette from a satell
slammed the video into
As the tape rolled, she tol
Glick in Vatican City. In addition, BBC photo archives had just given her a positive ID on the victim in St. Peter’s Square.
When the editor-in-chief emerged from his office, he was ringing a cowbell. Everything in editorial stopped.
“Live in five!” the man boomed. “On
c
The market coordinators grabbed their Rolodexes. “Film specs!” one of them yelled.
“Content?”
The co“A million
ordinators looked encouraged. “Usage and licensing price?”
U.S. per.”
he hell happened?” someone demanded. “The prime minister get skinned alive?”
, somewhere in Rome, the Hassassin enjoyed a fleeting moment of
comfortable chair. He admired the legendary chamber around him. I am
e Church of Illumination, he thought. The Illuminati lair. He could not believe
79
V
r,
quare. He looked dejected.
ok his head.
uiet suddenly when two Swiss Guards escorted
had looked drained before,
tti. From the look on the camerlegno’s
Heads shot up. “What!” “You heard me! I want top of the food chain. CNN, MSNBC, then the big three! Offer a dial-in preview. Give them five minutes to piggyback before BBC runs it.” “What t
The chief shook his head. “Better.”
At that exact instant
repose in asitting in th
it was still here after all of these centuries.
Dutifully, he dialed the BBC reporter to whom he had spoken earlier. It was time. Theworld had yet to hear the most shocking news of all.
ittoria Vetra sipped a glass of water and nibbled absently at some tea scones just set out by one of the Swiss Guards. She knew she should eat, but she had no appetite. The Office of the Pope was bustling now, echoing with tense conversations. Captain RocheCommander Olivetti, and half a dozen guards assessed the damage and debated the next move. Robert Langdon stood nearby staring out at St. Peter’s S
Vittoria walked over. “Ideas?” He sho
“Scone?”
His mood seemed to brighten at the sight of food. “Hell yes. Thanks.” He ate voraciously. The conversation behind them went q
Camerlegno Ventresca through the door. If the chamberlainVittoria thought, now he looked empty.
“What happened?” the camerlegno said to Olive
face, he appeared to have already been told the worst of it. Olivetti’s official update sounded like a battlefield casualty report. He gave the facts with flat efficacy. “Cardinal Ebner was found dead in the church of Santa Maria del Popolo just after eight o’clock. He had been suffocated and branded with the ambigrammatic
word ‘Earth.’ Cardinal Lamassé was murdered in St. Peter’s Square ten minutes ago. He died of perforations to the chest. He was branded with the word ‘Air,’ also ambigrammatic. The killer escaped in both instances.” The camerlegno crossed the room and sat heavily behind the Pope’s desk. He bowed his
”
the other guards-stern but not so rigid. Rocher’s voice was emotional and
our,
l, but I was under
ld take far more time than we have.”
after assessing the situation, I am confident the antimatter
sectors accessible to public
likely that an intruder gained access to the inner zones of
er had limited
relocate the camera and antimatter in
re focusing our search.”
uch of today in the
reas without the crowds. It is
head. “Cardinals Guidera and Baggia, however, are still alive.”
The camerlegno’s head shot up, his expression pained. “This is our consolation? Two cardinals have been murdered, commander. And the other two will obviously not be alive much longer unless you find them.”
“We will find them,” Olivetti assured. “I am encouraged.”
“Encouraged? We’ve had nothing but failure.” “Untrue. We’ve lost two battles, signore, but we’re winning the war. The Illuminati had intended to turn this evening into a media circus. So far we have thwarted their plan. Bothcardinals’ bodies have been recovered without incident. In addition,” Olivetti continued, “Captain Rocher tells me he is making excellent headway on the antimatter search.
Captain Rocher stepped forward in his red beret. Vittoria thought he looked more human somehow than
crystalline, like a violin. “I am hopeful we will have the canister for you within an hsignore.” “Captain,” the camerlegno said, “excuse me if I seem less than hopefu
the impression that a search of Vatican City wou
“A full search, yes. However, canister is located in one of our white zones-those Vatican
tours-the museums and St. Peter’s Basilica, for example. We have already killed power in those zones and are conducting our scan.”
“You intend to search only a small percentage of Vatican City?” “Yes, signore. It is highly un
Vatican City. The fact that the missing security camera was stolen from a public access area-a stairwell in one of the museums-clearly implies that the intrud
access. Therefore he would only have been able to another public access area. It is these areas on which we a
“But the intruder kidnapped four cardinals. That certainly implies deeper infiltration thanwe thought.”
“Not necessarily. We must remember that the cardinals spent mVatican museums and St. Peter’s Basilica, enjoying those a
probable that the missing cardinals were taken in one of these areas.”
“But how were they removed from our walls?” “We are still assessing that.” “I see.” The camerlegno exhaled and stood up. He walked over to Olivetti. “Commander,I would like to hear your contingency plan for eva
cuation.”
gnore. In the meantime, I am faithful Captain Rocher will
”
vote of confidence. “My men have
st
a
d, “but translating the exact bearing of the
oment. Then he scowled, stroking his chin.
Any of them have Bernini artwork that has to do with fire?”
ght! The first two markers had been located on or near piazzas that contained
arking the Illuminati path?
“We are still formalizing that, si
find the canister.
Rocher clicked his boots as if in appreciation of thealready scanned two-thirds of the white zones. Confidence is high.”
The camerlegno did not appear to share that confidence.
At that moment the guard with a scar beneath one eye came through the door carrying a clipboard and a map. He strode toward Langdon. “Mr. Langdon? I have the information you requested on the West Ponente.”
Langdon swallowed his scone. “Good. Let’s have a look.”
The others kept talking while Vittoria joined Robert and the guard as they spread out the
map on the Pope’s desk.
The soldier pointed to St. Peter’s Square. “This is where we are. The central line of WePonente’s breath points due east, directly away from Vatican City.” The guard tracedline with his finger from St. Peter’s Square across the Tiber River and up into the heart ofold Rome. “As you can see, the line passes through almost all of Rome. There are about twenty Catholic churches that fall near this line.”
Langdon slumped. “Twenty?” “Maybe more.”
“Do any of the churches fall directly on the line?”
“Some look closer than others,” the guard sai
West Ponente onto a map leaves margin for error.” Langdon looked out at St. Peter’s Square a m
“How about fire?
Silence. “How about obelisks?” he demanded. “Are any of the churches located near obelisks?”
The guard began checking the map. Vittoria saw a glimmer of hope in Langdon’s eyes and realized what he was thinking. He’s ri
obelisks! Maybe obelisks were a theme? Soaring pyramids m
The more Vittoria thought about it, the more perfect it seemed . . . four towering beacons rising over Rome to mark the altars of science.
e erected
rnini could have placed his markers near existing obelisks.”
.”
t it was a promising idea. Apparently, this was
sketches of Fireworks, but they’re not sculpture,
n?”
f
.”
priate.”
ose we could put four
was going to be. A mass stakeout means leaving Vatican City unprotected and canceling
dex of Bernini’s work. If we can scan
“It’s a long shot,” Langdon said, “but I know that many of Rome’s obelisks wer
or moved during Bernini’s reign. He was no doubt involved in their placement.” “Or,” Vittoria added, “Be
Langdon nodded. “True.”
“Bad news,” the guard said. “No obelisks on the line.” He traced his finger across themap. “None even remotely close. Nothing
Langdon sighed.
Vittoria’s shoulders slumped. She’d though
not going to be as easy as they’d hoped. She tried to stay positive. “Robert, think. You must know of a Bernini statue relating to fire. Anything at all.”
“Believe me, I’ve been thinking. Bernini was incredibly prolific. Hundreds of works. I was hoping West Ponente would point to a single church. Something that would ring a bell.”
“Fuòco,” she pressed. “Fire. No Bernini titles jump out?” Langdon shrugged. “There’s his famous
and they’re in Leipzig, Germany.” Vittoria frowned. “And you’re sure the breath is what indicates the directio
“You saw the relief, Vittoria. The design was totally symmetrical. The only indication obearing was the breath
Vittoria knew he was right.
“Not to mention,” he added, “because the West Ponente signifies Air, following the breath seems symbolically appro
Vittoria nodded. So we follow the breath. But where? Olivetti came over. “What have you got?”
“Too many churches,” the soldier said. “Two dozen or so. I suppmen on each church-”
“Forget it,” Olivetti said. “We missed this guy twice when we knew exactly where he
the search.” “We need a reference book,” Vittoria said. “An in
titles, maybe something will jump out.”
“I don’t know,” Langdon said. “If it’s a work Bernini created specifically for the
lptures were fairly well-known. You’d
it was worth a shot. He turned to Olivetti. “I need a list of all
atican Museum? They must have Bernini
the scar frowned. “Power in the museum is out, and the records room is
said. “He was here almost his entire career. And certainly
i nodded. “Then there’s another reference.”
a felt a flicker of optimism. “Where?”
as
Illuminati, it may be very obscure. It probably won’t be listed in a book.” Vittoria refused to believe it. “The other two scu
heard of them both.”
Langdon shrugged. “Yeah.”
“If we scan titles for references to the word ‘fire,’ maybe we’ll find a statue that’s listed as being in the right direction.” Langdon seemed convinced
Bernini’s work. You guys probably don’t have a coffee-table Bernini book around here, do you?”
“Coffee-table book?” Olivetti seemed unfamiliar with the term.
“Never mind. Any list. How about the V
references.” The guard with
enormous. Without the staff there to help-” “The Bernini work in question,” Olivetti interrupted. “Would it have been created while Bernini was employed here at the Vatican?”
“Almost definitely,” Langdon
during the time period of the Galileo conflict.”
OlivettVittori
The commander did not reply. He took his guard aside and spoke in hushed tones. The guard seemed uncertain but nodded obediently. When Olivetti was finished talking, the guard turned to Langdon.
“This way please, Mr. Langdon. It’s nine-fifteen. We’ll have to hurry.” Langdon and the guard headed for the door. Vittoria started after them. “I’ll help.”
Olivetti caught her by the arm. “No, Ms. Vetra. I need a word with you.” His grasp wauthoritative.
Langdon and the guard left. Olivetti’s face was wooden as he took Vittoria aside. But whatever it was Olivetti had intended to say to her, he never got the chance. His walkie-talkie crackled loudly. “Commandante?”
Everyone in the room turned.
The voice on the transmitter was grim. “I think you better turn on the television.”
80
W hen Langdon had left the Vatican Secret Archives only two hours ago, he had neveimagined he would see them again. Now, winded from having jogged the entire way withis Swiss Guard escort, Langdon found himself back at the archives once again.
r
h
nt
e archives felt somehow more forbidding now, and Langdon
Real estate . . . currency . . . Vatican Bank . . . antiquities . . . The list went on.
that whatever Bernini created while under Vatican patronage
ht pay off. In Bernini’s
e, by law,
ncluding works placed in churches outside Vatican City?”
s that were located on a direct line with West Ponente’s breath. The third altar of
g for-the one church
ders are to escort you here and then return immediately to the security center.”
e leaving?”
“Yes. The Swiss Guard are not allowed inside the archives. I am breaching protocol by
His escort, the guard with the scar, now led Langdon through the rows of translucecubicles. The silence of th
was thankful when the guard broke it. “Over here, I think,” he said, escorting Langdon to the back of the chamber where a series of smaller vaults lined the wall. The guard scanned the titles on the vaults and motioned to one of them. “Yes, here it is. Right where the commander said it would be.” Langdon read the title. ATTIVI VATICANI. Vatican assets? He scanned the list of contents.
“Paperwork of all Vatican assets,” the guard said.
Langdon looked at the cubicle. Jesus. Even in the dark, he could tell it was packed.
“My commander saidwould be listed here as an asset.”
Langdon nodded, realizing the commander’s instincts just migday, everything an artist created while under the patronage of the Pope becam
property of the Vatican. It was more like feudalism than patronage, but top artists lived well and seldom complained. “I
The soldier gave him an odd look. “Of course. All Catholic churches in Rome are property of the Vatican.”
Langdon looked at the list in his hand. It contained the names of the twenty or so churche
science was one of them, and Langdon hoped he had time to figure out which it was. Under other circumstances, he would gladly have explored each church in person. Today,however, he had about twenty minutes to find what he was lookin
containing a Bernini tribute to fire.
Langdon walked to the vault’s electronic revolving door. The guard did not follow. Langdon sensed an uncertain hesitation. He smiled. “The air’s fine. Thin, but breathable.”
“My or“You’r
esco“Breaching protocol?” Do you have any idea what is going on here tonight? “Whois your damn commander on!” All friendliness disappeared from the guard’s face. The
rting you this far. The commander reminded me of that.”
se side
scar under his eye twitched. The
u are looking for, contact the commander immediately.”
e will he be?”
d
and everyone
male
ette.
SNBC news,” she announced, “this is Kelly Horan-Jones, live from Vatican
of St. Peter’s Basilica with all its lights
ns
members of the College of Cardinals have been
guard stared, looking suddenly a lot like Olivetti himself. “I apologize,” Langdon said, regretting the comment. “It’s just . . . I could use some help.”
The guard did not blink. “I am trained to follow orders. Not debate them. When you findwhat yo
Langdon was flustered. “But wher
The guard removed his walkie-talkie and set it on a nearby table. “Channel one.” Then he disappeared into the dark.
81
T he television in the Office of the Pope was an oversized Hitachi hidden in a recesse
cabinet opposite his desk. The doors to the cabinet were now open,gathered around. Vittoria moved in close. As the screen warmed up, a young fe
reporter came into view. She was a doe-eyed brun
“For M
City.” The image behind her was a night shot blazing.
“You’re not live,” Rocher snapped. “That’s stock footage! The lights in the basilica areout.”
Olivetti silenced him with a hiss. The reporter continued, sounding tense. “Shocking developments in the Vatican electiothis evening. We have reports that two
brutally murdered in Rome.”
Olivetti swore under his breath. As the reporter continued, a guard appeared at the door, breathless. “Commander, the central switchboard reports every line lit. They’re requesting our official position on-” “Disconnect it,” Olivetti said, never taking his eyes from the TV. The guard looked uncertain. “But, commander-”
“Go!”
The guard ran off.
Vittoria sensed the camerlegno had wanted to say something but had stopped himself.
manded.
bner of
e men removing his body from the church are believed to be
“At
ages
all audiences.”
oving through the
nd herself. In the corner of
to Olivetti. “I thought you said you
o find a little girl
ert Langdon entered
tightened.
ell face first onto the pavement. Vittoria appeared and called
reporter was saying, “was shot only minutes ago outside
is way and why he was not in conclave remain a mystery. So far,
the Vatican has refused to comment.” The tape began to roll again.
“Refused comment?” Rocher said. “Give us a damn minute!”
Instead, the man stared long and hard at Olivetti before turning back to the television.
MSNBC was now running tape. The Swiss Guards carried the body of Cardinal Ebner down the stairs outside Santa Maria del Popolo and lifted him into an Alpha Romeo. The tape froze and zoomed in as the cardinal’s naked body became visible just before they deposited him in the trunk of the car.
“Who the hell shot this footage?” Olivetti de
The MSNBC reporter kept talking. “This is believed to be the body of Cardinal EFrankfurt, Germany. Th
Vatican Swiss Guard.” The reporter looked like she was making every effort to appearappropriately moved. They closed in on her face, and she became even more somber. this time, MSNBC would like to issue our viewers a discretionary warning. The imwe are about to show are exceptionally vivid and may not be suitable for
Vittoria grunted at the station’s feigned concern for viewer sensibility, recognizing the warning as exactly what it was-the ultimate media “teaser line.” Nobody ever changed channels after a promise like that.
The reporter drove it home. “Again, this footage may be shocking to some viewers.” “What footage?” Olivetti demanded. “You just showed-”
The shot that filled the screen was of a couple in St. Peter’s Square, mcrowd. Vittoria instantly recognized the two people as Robert a
the screen was a text overlay: COURTESY OF THE BBC. A bell was tolling. “Oh, no,” Vittoria said aloud. “Oh . . . no.”
The camerlegno looked confused. He turnedconfiscated this tape!”
Suddenly, on television, a child was screaming. The image panned t
pointing at what appeared to be a bloody homeless man. Robabruptly into the frame, trying to help the little girl. The shot
Everyone in the Pope’s office stared in horrified silence as the drama unfolded before them. The cardinal’s body f
orders. There was blood. A brand. A ghastly, failed attempt to administer CPR. “This astonishing footage,” the
the Vatican. Our sources tell us this is the body of Cardinal Lamassé from France. How he came to be dressed th
The reporter was still talking, her eyebrows furrowing with intensity. “Althoughas yet to con
h MSNBC
firm a motive for the attack, our sources tell us that responsibility for the
evening. The body is believed
a is among the missing-”
unloaded vans and staked
The camerlegno looked momentarily too stunned to speak.
Olivetti shook his head. “No, signore. That is exactly what the Illuminati want you to doerlegno
pointed out the window. “There will be tens of
murders has been claimed by a group calling themselves the Illuminati.”
Olivetti exploded. “What!”
“. . . find out more about the Illuminati by visiting our website at-” “Non é posibile!” Olivetti declared. He switched channels. This station had a Hispanic male reporter. “-a satanic cult known as the Illuminati, who some historians believe-”
Olivetti began pressing the remote wildly. Every channel was in the middle of a live update. Most were in English.
“-Swiss Guards removing a body from a church earlier this to be that of Cardinal-”
“-lights in the basilica and museums are extinguished leaving speculation-”
“-will be speaking with conspiracy theorist Tyler Tingley, about this shocking resurgence-”
“-rumors of two more assassinations planned for later this evening-” “-questioning now whether papal hopeful Cardinal Baggi
Vittoria turned away. Everything was happening so fast. Outside the window, in the settling dark, the raw magnetism of human tragedy seemed to be sucking people toward Vatican City. The crowd in the square thickened almost by the instant. Pedestrians
streamed toward them while a new batch of media personnel their claim in St. Peter’s Square.
Olivetti set down the remote control and turned to the camerlegno. “Signore, I cannot
imagine how this could happen. We took the tape that was in that camera!”
Nobody said a word. The Swiss Guards stood rigid at attention.
“It appears,” the camerlegno said finally, sounding too devastated to be angry, “that we have not contained this crisis as well as I was led to believe.” He looked out the window at the gathering masses. “I need to make an address.”
confirm them, empower them. We must remain silent.” “And these people?” The cam
thousands shortly. Then hundreds of thousands. Continuing this charade only puts them in danger. I need to warn them. Then we need to evacuate our College of Cardinals.”
“There is still time. Let Captain Rocher find the antimatter.” The camerlegno turned. “Are you attempting to give me an order?” “No, I am giving you advice. If you are concerned about the people outside, we can
r the area, but admitting we are hostage is dangerous.”
e. I will not use this office as a pulpit to lie to the
e the truth.”
c terrorists? It only
d suddenly, grabbing the remote and increasing the volume on the
enuinely unnerved. Superimposed beside
mation. This just in from the BBC . .
uminati have just claimed responsibility for . . .” She hesitated. “They
ave claimed responsibility for the death of the Pope fifteen days ago.”
.
“By Vatican law,” the woman continued, “no formal autopsy is ever performed on a
ti
f the late Pope’s death was not a stroke as the Vatican reported, but
optimal
sensationalism.
announce a gas leak and clea
“Commander, I will only say this oncworld. If I announce anything at all, it will b
“The truth? That Vatican City is threatened to be destroyed by satani
weakens our position.” The camerlegno glared. “How much weaker could our position be?” Rocher shoute
television. Everyone turned.
On air, the woman from MSNBC now looked gher was a photo of the late Pope. “ . . . breaking infor
.” She glanced off camera as if to confirm she was really supposed to make this announcement. Apparently getting confirmation, she turned and grimly faced the viewers. “The Ill
h
The camerlegno’s jaw fell. Rocher dropped the remote control
Vittoria could barely process the information.
Pope, so the Illuminati claim of murder cannot be confirmed. Nonetheless, the Illuminahold that the cause o
poisoning.”
The room went totally silent again. Olivetti erupted. “Madness! A bold-faced lie!” Rocher began flipping channels again. The bulletin seemed to spread like a plague from station to station. Everyone had the same story. Headlines competed for
MURDER AT THE VATICAN POPE POISONED SATAN TOUCHES HOUSE OF GOD
The camerlegno looked away. “God help us.”
As Rocher flipped, he passed a BBC station. “-tipped me off about the killing at Santa
-looking man sat at a BBC news desk.
an with a red
VATICAN CITY. Reporter
ng, “BBC reporter
one contact twice
honed only
moments ago to pass along a message from the Illuminati?”
“He did.”
“And their message was that the Illuminati were somehow responsible for the Pope’s
but rather that the Pope had been poisoned by the Illuminati.”
“Poisoned?” the anchorman demanded. “But . . . but how!”
“They gave no specifics,” Glick replied, “except to say that they killed him with a drug
n.”
’t that . . . ?”
tion.”
gasted. “But Heparin isn’t a poison. Why would the Illuminati
a powerful anticoagulant.
assive internal bleeding and brain hemorrhages.”
Maria de Popolo-” “Wait!” the camerlegno said. “Back.”
Rocher went back. On screen, a prim
Superimposed over his shoulder was a still snapshot of an odd-looking mbeard. Underneath his photo, it said: GUNTHER GLICK-LIVE IN
Glick was apparently reporting by phone, the connection scratchy. “. . . my videographergot the footage of the cardinal being removed from the Chigi Chapel.”
“Let me reiterate for our viewers,” the anchorman in London was sayiGunther Glick is the man who first broke this story. He has been in ph
now with the alleged Illuminati assassin. Gunther, you say the assassin p
death?” The anchorman sounded incredulous.
“Correct. The caller told me that the Pope’s death was not a stroke, as the Vatican hadthought,
Everyone in the Pope’s office froze.
known as . . .”-there was a rustling of papers on the line-“something known as HepariThe camerlegno, Olivetti, and Rocher all exchanged confused looks. “Heparin?” Rocher demanded, looking unnerved. “But isn
The camerlegno blanched. “The Pope’s medica
Vittoria was stunned. “The Pope was on Heparin?” “He had thrombophlebitis,” the camerlegno said. “He took an injection once a day.” Rocher looked flabber
claim-” “Heparin is lethal in the wrong dosages,” Vittoria offered. “It’s
An overdose would cause m
Olivetti eyed her suspiciously. “How would you know that?”
“Marine biologists use it on sea mammals in captivity to prevent blood clotting from decreased activity. Animals have died from improper administration of the drug.” She
paused. “A Heparin overdose in a human would cause symptoms easily mistaken for a
ething else troubles me. No one
ce.
ia said, “his body would show signs.”
m disrespectful.
elieved to
sed’s soul inside. Gravity had become the mortar of choice, with coffin lids
s would bleed. Post mortem, the blood congeals and turns the inside of
a
d
rned and stared out the window.
if this claim about poisoning is true . . .”
Father was poisoned, then that has
ation implies a much
stroke . . . especially in the absence of a proper autopsy.” The camerlegno now looked deeply troubled. “Signore,” Olivetti said, “this is obviously an Illuminati ploy for publicity. Someone overdosing the Pope would be impossible. Nobody had access. And even if we take the bait and try to refute their claim, how could we? Papal law prohibits autopsy. Even with an autopsy, we would learn nothing. We would find traces of Heparin in his body from his daily injections.”
“True.” The camerlegno’s voice sharpened. “And yet som
on the outside knew His Holiness was taking this medication.” There was a silen
“If he overdosed with Heparin,” Vittor
Olivetti spun toward her. “Ms. Vetra, in case you didn’t hear me, papal autopsies are prohibited by Vatican Law. We are not about to defile His Holiness’s body by cutting him open just because an enemy makes a taunting claim!”
Vittoria felt shamed. “I was not implying . . .” She had not meant to see“I certainly was not suggesting you exhume the Pope . . .” She hesitated, though.
Something Robert told her in the Chigi passed like a ghost through her mind. He had
mentioned that papal sarcophagi were above ground and never cemented shut, a throwback to the days of the pharaohs when sealing and burying a casket was btrap the decea
often weighing hundreds of pounds. Technically, she realized, it would be possible to- “What sort of signs?” the camerlegno said suddenly. Vittoria felt her heart flutter with fear. “Overdoses can cause bleeding of the oral mucosa.”
“Oral what?” “The victim’s gum
the mouth black.” Vittoria had once seen a photo taken at an aquarium in London wherepair of killer whales had been mistakenly overdosed by their trainer. The whales floatelifeless in the tank, their mouths hanging open and their tongues black as soot. The camerlegno made no reply. He tu
Rocher’s voice had lost its optimism. “Signore,
“It’s not true,” Olivetti declared. “Access to the Pope by an outsider is utterly impossible.”
“If this claim is true,” Rocher repeated, “and our Holyprofound implications for our antimatter search. The alleged assassin
deeper infiltration of Vatican City than we had imagined. Searching the white zones may be inadequate. If we are compromised to such a deep extent, we may not find the canister in time.”
Olivetti leveled his captain with a cold stare. “Captain, I will tell you what is going to
ion whether or not to cancel conclave and evacuate Vatican City. My
to
ng Olivetti an uneasy glance.
this
e Illuminati have been communicating with him, he may be able
camerlegno turned and addressed the remaining guards. “Gentlemen, I will not
ny more loss of life this evening. By ten o’clock you will locate the remaining
inals and capture the monster responsible for these murders. Do I make myself
rstood?”
erlegno stopped. He turned to Vittoria. “Ms. Vetra. You too.
friend.”
82
happen.” “No,” the camerlegno said, turning suddenly. “I will tell you what is going to happen.” He looked directly at Olivetti. “This has gone far enough. In twenty minutes I will be making a decis
decision will be final. Is that clear?”
Olivetti did not blink. Nor did he respond.
The camerlegno spoke forcefully now, as though tapping a hidden reserve of power. “Captain Rocher, you will complete your search of the white zones and report directly me when you are finished.”
Rocher nodded, throwi
The camerlegno then singled out two guards. “I want the BBC reporter, Mr. Glick, in office immediately. If th
to help us. Go.”
The two soldiers disappeared.
Now thepermit atwo card
unde“But, signore,” Olivetti argued, “we have no idea where-” “Mr. Langdon is working on that. He seems capable. I have faith.”
With that, the camerlegno strode for the door, a new determination in his step. On his way out, he pointed to three guards. “You three, come with me. Now.” The guards followed. In the doorway, the cam
Please come with me.” Vittoria hesitated. “Where are we going?” He headed out the door. “To see an old
A t CERN, secretary Sylvie Baudeloque was hungry, wishing she could go home. To
er dismay, Kohler had apparently survived his trip to the infirmary; he had phoned and
late this evening. No explanation.
ver the years, Sylvie had programmed herself to ignore Kohler’s bizarre mood swings
et
g
te and headed for the staff
s de loisir”- a long hallway of lounges with
televisions-she noticed the rooms were overflowing with employees who had apparently
as going on. Sylvie entered the
with byte-heads-wild young computer programmers. When she
TV, she gasped.
e, man! The Pope!”
h
demanded-not asked, demanded-that Sylvie stay
O
and eccentricities-his silent treatments, his unnerving propensity to secretly film meetings with his wheelchair’s porta-video. She secretly hoped one day he would shoot himself during his weekly visit to CERN’s recreational pistol range, but apparently he was a
pretty good shot.
Now, sitting alone at her desk, Sylvie heard her stomach growling. Kohler had not yreturned, nor had he given her any additional work for the evening. To hell with sittinhere bored and starving, she decided. She left Kohler a no
dining commons to grab a quick bite.
She never made it.
As she passed CERN’s recreational “suite
abandoned dinner to watch the news. Something big w
first suite. It was packedsaw the headlines on the
TERROR AT THE VATICAN
Sylvie listened to the report, unable to believe her ears. Some ancient brotherhood killing cardinals? What did that prove? Their hatred? Their dominance? Their ignorance? And yet, incredibly, the mood in this suite seemed anything but somber. Two young techies ran by waving T-shirts that bore a picture of Bill Gates and the message: AND THE GEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH!
“Illuminati!” one shouted. “I told you these guys were real!” “Incredible! I thought it was just a game!” “They killed the Pop
“Jeez! I wonder how many points you get for that?” They ran off laughing. Sylvie stood in stunned amazement. As a Catholic working among scientists, she occasionally endured the antireligious whisperings, but the party these kids seemed to be having was all-out euphoria over the church’s loss. How could they be so callous? Why the hatred?
For Sylvie, the church had always been an innocuous entity . . . a place of fellowship and
g kinder. What could possibly be wrong with that?
to
ivine?
field the church denounced
ecause of its implications for genetic engineering. CERN never cared. Invariably, within
uld page Kohler, wherever the hell he was, and tell him to turn
news. Did he care? Had he heard? Of course, he’d heard. He was probably
ping the entire report with his freaky little camcorder, smiling for the first time in
nd
r
dside table.
Now he was watching the television reports. After a few minutes, he replaced Vetra’s
istine
introspection . . . sometimes just a place to sing out loud without people staring at her. The church recorded the benchmarks of her life-funerals, weddings, baptisms, holidays-and it asked for nothing in return. Even the monetary dues were voluntary. Her children emerged from Sunday School every week uplifted, filled with ideas about helping others and bein
It never ceased to amaze her that so many of CERN’s so-called “brilliant minds” failedcomprehend the importance of the church. Did they really believe quarks and mesons inspired the average human being? Or that equations could replace someone’s need for faith in the d
Dazed, Sylvie moved down the hallway past the other lounges. All the TV rooms were packed. She began wondering now about the call Kohler had gotten from the Vatican earlier. Coincidence? Perhaps. The Vatican called CERN from time to time as a “courtesy” before issuing scathing statements condemning CERN’s research-most recently for CERN’s breakthroughs in nanotechnology, a
b
minutes after a Vatican salvo, Kohler’s phone would ring off the hook with tech-investment companies wanting to license the new discovery. “No such thing as bad press,” Kohler would always say.
Sylvie wondered if she sho
on the videotaa year.
As Sylvie continued down the hall, she finally found a lounge where the mood was subdued . . . almost melancholy. Here the scientists watching the report were some of CERN’s oldest and most respected. They did not even look up as Sylvie slipped in atook a seat.
On the other side of CERN, in Leonardo Vetra’s frigid apartment, Maximilian Kohlehad finished reading the leather-bound journal he’d taken from Vetra’s be
journal, turned off the television, and left the apartment.
Far away, in Vatican City, Cardinal Mortati carried another tray of ballots to the SChapel chimney. He burned them, and the smoke was black. Two ballotings. No Pope.
83 F lashlights were no match for the voluminous blackness of St. Peter’s Basilica. The
void overhead pressed down like a starless night, and Vittoria felt the emptiness spout around her like a desolate ocean. She stayed close
read
as the Swiss Guards and the
, Vittoria knew, for all its impiety and inevitable horror, the task at hand was
tican Grottoes. She wondered what they
Did their power really reach so far? Am
t with barracuda. Nature was her refuge. She understood nature. But it
was matters of man and spirit that left her mystified. Killer fish gathering in the dark
r drowning her fear.
ry beneath the main altar-the sumptuous underground chamber
g
oil
golden casket.
as St. Peter’s tomb, but his true grave is
The Vatican excavated it in the forties.
rims traveling thousands of miles to
ontact with divinity . . . even if it is only imagined.”
camerlegno pushed on. High above, a dove cooed and fluttered away. As if sensing her discomfort, the camerlegno dropped back and lay a hand on her shoulder. A tangible strength transferred in the touch, as if the man were magically infusing her with the calm she needed to do what they were about to do. What are we about to do? she thought. This is madness! And yet
inescapable. The grave decisions facing the camerlegno required information . . . information entombed in a sarcophagus in the Vawould find. Did the Illuminati murder the Pope?
I really about to perform the first papal autopsy? Vittoria found it ironic that she felt more apprehensive in this unlit church than she would
swimming at nigh
conjured images of the press gathering outside. TV footage of branded bodies remindedher of her father’s corpse . . . and the killer’s harsh laugh. The killer was out there somewhere. Vittoria felt the ange
As they circled past a pillar-thicker in girth than any redwood she could imagine-Vittoria saw an orange glow up ahead. The light seemed to emanate from beneath the floor in thecenter of the basilica. As they came closer, she realized what she was seeing. It was the famous sunken sanctua
that held the Vatican’s most sacred relics. As they drew even with the gate surroundinthe hollow, Vittoria gazed down at the golden coffer surrounded by scores of glowing
lamps. “St. Peter’s bones?” she asked, knowing full well that they were. Everyone who came toSt. Peter’s knew what was in the
“Actually, no,” the camerlegno said. “A common misconception. That’s not a reliquary. The box holds palliums-woven sashes that the Pope gives to newly elected cardinals.” “But I thought-”
“As does everyone. The guidebooks label this
two stories beneath us, buried in the earth.Nobody is allowed down there.”
Vittoria was shocked. As they moved away from the glowing recession into the darkness again, she thought of the stories she’d heard of pilg
look at that golden box, thinking they were in the presence of St. Peter. “Shouldn’t the Vatican tell people?”
“We all benefit from a sense of c
Vittoria, as a scientist, could not argue the logic. She had read countless studies of the
ring cancer in people who believed they were using a miracle
ter all?
ss
earching for
rn
orn.”
hat I’ve always
k. It wasn’t until I was a
y purpose.”
ou were in the military?”
ly behind the controls. Camerlegno Ventresca possessed a grit that seemed to
cloud it. “Did you ever fly the Pope?”
. An accident that took my mother.”
placebo effect-aspirins cudrug. What was faith, af
“Change,” the camerlegno said, “is not something we do well within Vatican City. Admitting our past faults, modernization, are things we historically eschew. His Holinewas trying to change that.” He paused. “Reaching to the modern world. S
new paths to God.”
Vittoria nodded in the dark. “Like science?” “To be honest, science seems irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant?” Vittoria could think of a lot of words to describe science, but in the modeworld “irrelevant” did not seem like one of them.
“Science can heal, or science can kill. It depends on the soul of the man using the science. It is the soul that interests me.” “When did you hear your call?”
“Before I was b
Vittoria looked at him.
“I’m sorry, that always seems like a strange question. What I mean is t
known I would serve God. From the moment I could first thinyoung man, though, in the military, that I truly understood m
Vittoria was surprised. “Y
“Two years. I refused to fire a weapon, so they made me fly instead. Medevac helicopters. In fact, I still fly from time to time.” Vittoria tried to picture the young priest flying a helicopter. Oddly, she could see himperfect
accentuate his conviction rather than
“Heavens no. We left that precious cargo to the professionals. His Holiness let me take the helicopter to our retreat in Gandolfo sometimes.” He paused, looking at her. “Ms. Vetra, thank you for your help here today. I am very sorry about your father. Truly.” “Thank you.”
“I never knew my father. He died before I was born. I lost my mother when I was ten.” Vittoria looked up. “You were orphaned?” She felt a sudden kinship. “I survived an accident
“Who took care of you?”
“God,” the camerlegno said. “He quite literally sent me another father. A bishop from
hospital bed and took me in. At the time I was not surprised. I
ul hand over me even as a boy. The bishop’s appearance simply
God had somehow chosen me to serve
any years. He eventually became a cardinal.
e never forgot me. He is the father I remember.” A beam of a flashlight caught the
egno’s face, and Vittoria sensed a loneliness in his eyes.
group arrived beneath a towering pillar, and their lights converged on an opening in
“Le mie condoglianze,”
days
ini. He began his search
Palermo appeared at myhad sensed God’s watchf
confirmed what I had already suspected, that him.”
“You believed God chose you?”
“I did. And I do.” There was no trace of conceit in the camerlegno’s voice, only gratitude.“I worked under the bishop’s tutelage for m
Still, hcamerl
The the floor. Vittoria looked down at the staircase descending into the void and suddenly wanted to turn back. The guards were already helping the camerlegno onto the stairs. They helped her next.
“What became of him?” she asked, descending, trying to keep her voice steady. “The cardinal who took you in?” “He left the College of Cardinals for another position.”
Vittoria was surprised. “And then, I’m sorry to say, he passed on.”
Vittoria said. “Recently?” The camerlegno turned, shadows accentuating the pain on his face. “Exactly fifteenago. We are going to see him right now.” 84
T he dark lights glowed hot inside the archival vault. This vault was much smaller than the previous one Langdon had been in. Less air. Less time. He wished he’d asked Olivetti to turn on the recirculating fans.
Langdon quickly located the section of assets containing the ledgers cataloging Belle Arti. The section was impossible to miss. It occupied almost eight full stacks. The Catholic church owned millions of individual pieces worldwide. Langdon scanned the shelves searching for Gianlorenzo Bern
about midway down the first stack, at about the spot he thought the B’s would begin. After a moment of panic fearing the ledger was missing, he realized, to his greater dismay, that the ledgers were not arranged alphabetically. Why am I not surprised? It was not until Langdon circled back to the beginning of the collection and climbed a
rolling ladder to the top shelf that he understood the vault’s organization. Perched
the ledger marked Bernini. It was over five inches thick.
d
lf out on the floor and
etimes a rough sketch of the piece. Langdon fanned through the pages
ung
Fire. The previous two
He spent a minute or two flipping randomly through the ledger in hopes that an
ts
atch
u
angdon now realized he would never
precariously on the upper stacks he found the fattest ledgers of all-those belonging to the masters of the Renaissance-Michelangelo, Raphael, da Vinci, Botticelli. Langdon now realized, appropriate to a vault called “Vatican Assets,” the ledgers were arranged by the overall monetary value of each artist’s collection. Sandwiched between Raphael and Michelangelo, Langdon found
Already short of breath and struggling with the cumbersome volume, Langdon descendethe ladder. Then, like a kid with a comic book, he spread himse
opened the cover. The book was cloth-bound and very solid. The ledger was handwritten in Italian. Each page cataloged a single work, including a short description, date, location, cost of materials, and som
. . . over eight hundred in all. Bernini had been a busy man. As a young student of art, Langdon had wondered how single artists could create so muchwork in their lifetimes. Later he learned, much to his disappointment, that famous artists actually created very little of their own work. They ran studios where they trained yoartists to carry out their designs. Sculptors like Bernini created miniatures in clay and hired others to enlarge them into marble. Langdon knew that if Bernini had been requiredto personally complete all of his commissions, he would still be working today.
“Index,” he said aloud, trying to ward off the mental cobwebs. He flipped to the back of the book, intending to look under the letter F for titles containing the word fuòco-fire-but the F’s were not together. Langdon swore under his breath. What the hell do these people have against alphabetizing? The entries had apparently been logged chronologically, one by one, as Bernini created each new work. Everything was listed by date. No help at all. As Langdon stared at the list, another disheartening thought occurred to him. The title of the sculpture he was looking for might not even contain the word
works-Habakkuk and the Angel and West Ponente-had not contained specific references to Earth or Air.
illustration might jump out at him. Nothing did. He saw dozens of obscure works he hadnever heard of, but he also saw plenty he recognized . . . Daniel and the Lion, Apollo andDaphne, as well as a half dozen fountains. When he saw the fountains, his thoughskipped momentarily ahead. Water. He wondered if the fourth altar of science was a fountain. A fountain seemed a perfect tribute to water. Langdon hoped they could cthe killer before he had to consider Water-Bernini had carved dozens of fountains in Rome, most of them in front of churches. Langdon turned back to the matter at hand. Fire. As he looked through the book,
Vittoria’s words encouraged him. You were familiar with the first two sculptures . . . yoprobably know this one too. As he turned to the index again, he scanned for titles he knew. Some were familiar, but none jumped out. L
complete his search before passing out, so he decided, against his better judgment, that he
e volume, but as he did, he saw something that
s in
licit for the Vatican. He had
n was confused. It made no sense that Bernini had
asterpiece be hidden in some obscure location. All artists wanted their
yed prominently, not in some remotea
th?
e, but certainly not scientific.
n English critic had once condemned The Ecstasy of St. Teresa as “the most unfit
iption of the work. When he saw the
sketch, he felt an instantaneous and unexpected tingle of hope. In the sketch, St. Teresa
there was another figure in the statue who
id her a blissful visit in her
sleep. Critics later decided her encounter had probably been more sexual than spiritual.
would have to take the book outside the vault. It’s only a ledger, he told himself. It’s not like I’m removing an original Galilean folio. Langdon recalled the folio in his breast pocket and reminded himself to return it before leaving. Hurrying now, he reached down to lift th
gave him pause. Although there were numerous notations throughout the index, the one that had just caught his eye seemed odd. The note indicated that the famous Bernini sculpture, The Ecstasy of St. Teresa, shortly after its unveiling, had been moved from its original location inside the Vatican. Thiitself was not what had caught Langdon’s eye. He was already familiar with the sculpture’s checkered past. Though some thought it a masterpiece, Pope Urban VIII had rejected The Ecstasy of St. Teresa as too sexually exp
banished it to some obscure chapel across town. What had caught Langdon’s eye was that the work had apparently been placed in one of the five churches on his list. What was more, the note indicated it had been moved there per suggerimento del artista. By suggestion of the artist? Langdo
suggested his mwork displa
Langdon hesitated. Unless . . .
He was fearful even to entertain the notion. Was it possible? Had Bernini intentionally created a work so explicit that it forced the Vatican to hide it in some out-of-the-way spot? A location perhaps that Bernini himself could suggest? Maybe a remote church ondirect line with West Ponente’s brea
As Langdon’s excitement mounted, his vague familiarity with the statue intervened, insisting the work had nothing to do with fire. The sculpture, as anyone who had seen it could attest, was anything but scientific-pornographic mayb
A
ornament ever to be placed in a Christian Church.” Langdon certainly understood the controversy. Though brilliantly rendered, the statue depicted St. Teresa on her back in the throes of a toe-curling orgasm. Hardly Vatican fare.
Langdon hurriedly flipped to the ledger’s descr
did indeed appear to be enjoying herself, but
Langdon had forgotten was there.
An angel. The sordid legend suddenly came back . . . St. Teresa was a nun sainted after she claimed an angel had pa
Scrawled at the bottom of the ledger, Langdon saw a familiar excerpt. St. Teresa’s own
words left little to the imagination:
. . . his great golden spear . . . fille. . . a sweetness so extreme that one
d with fire . . . plunged into me several times . . . penetrated to my entrails
could not possibly wish it to stop.
s. He
ed significant. It’s a seraphim,
n realized. Seraphim literally means “the fiery one.”
Langdon was not a man who had ever looked for confirmation from above, but
he read the name of the church where the sculpture now resided, he decided he
of the shelf.
just killed power.
ilica.
Langdon smiled. If that’s not a metaphor for some serious sex, I don’t know what iwas smiling also because of the ledger’s description of the work. Although the paragraphwas in Italian, the word fuòco appeared a half dozen times:
. . . angel’s spear tipped with point of fire . . . . . . angel’s head emanating rays of fire . . .
. . . woman inflamed by passion’s fire . . .
Langdon was not entirely convinced until he glanced up at the sketch again. The angel’s fiery spear was raised like a beacon, pointing the way. Let angels guide you on your lofty quest. Even the type of angel Bernini had selected seem
LangdoRobert
whenmight become a believer after all. Santa Maria della Vittoria.
Vittoria, he thought, grinning. Perfect. Staggering to his feet, Langdon felt a rush of dizziness. He glanced up the ladder, wondering if he should replace the book. The hell with it, he thought. Father Jaqui can do it. He closed the book and left it neatly at the bottom
As he made his way toward the glowing button on the vault’s electronic exit, he was breathing in shallow gasps. Nonetheless, he felt rejuvenated by his good fortune. His good fortune, however, ran out before he reached the exit. Without warning, the vault let out a pained sigh. The lights dimmed, and the exit button went dead. Then, like an enormous expiring beast, the archival complex went totally black. Someone had
85 T he Holy Vatican Grottoes are located beneath the main floor of St. Peter’s Bas
They are the burial place of deceased Popes. Vittoria reached the bottom of the spiral staircase and entered the grotto. The darkened
tunnel reminded her of CERN’s Large Hadron Collider-black and cold. Lit now only bythe flashlights of the Swiss Guards, the tunnel carried a distinctly incorporeal feel. On both sides, hol
low niches lined the walls. Recessed in the alcoves, as far as the lights let
eir mortal restraints. The flashlight procession moved on, and the
step by heart. Vittoria suspected he had made this eerie promenade
der the cardinal’s tutelage for many years, the camerlegno had said. He was
all
as doing it without his mentor and
ere exactly in the darkness the most recent Pope
ssuredly and stopped before a marble tomb that
hen Vittoria recognized his face from television, a shot of fear gripped her. What
are we doing?
the camerlegno said. “I still ask we take a moment
of prayer.”
ttoria listened to his words, an unexpected grief surfaced as tears . . . tears
for her own mentor . . . her own holy father. The camerlegno’s words seemed as
them see, the hulking shadows of sarcophagi loomed. An iciness raked her flesh. It’s the cold, she told herself, knowing that was only partially true. She had the sense they were being watched, not by anyone in the flesh, but by specters in the dark. On top of each tomb, in full papal vestments, lay life-sized semblances of each Pope, shown in death, arms folded across their chests. The prostrate bodies seemed to emerge from within the tombs, pressing upward against the marble lids as if trying to escape th
papal silhouettes rose and fell against the walls, stretching and vanishing in a macabre shadowbox dance. A silence had fallen across the group, and Vittoria couldn’t tell whether it was one of respect or apprehension. She sensed both. The camerlegno moved with his eyes closed, as if he knew every
many times since the Pope’s death . . . perhaps to pray at his tomb for guidance. I worked un
like a father to me. Vittoria recalled the camerlegno speaking those words in reference to the cardinal who had “saved” him from the army. Now, however, Vittoria understood the rest of the story. That very cardinal who had taken the camerlegno under his wing had apparently later risen to the papacy and brought with him his young protégé to serve as chamberlain.
That explains a lot, Vittoria thought. She had always possessed a well-tuned perception for others’ inner emotions, and something about the camerlegno had been nagging her day. Since meeting him, she had sensed an anguish more soulful and private than the overwhelming crisis he now faced. Behind his pious calm, she saw a man tormented by personal demons. Now she knew her instincts had been correct. Not only was he facing the most devastating threat in Vatican history, but he w
friend . . . flying solo.
The guards slowed now, as if unsure whwas buried. The camerlegno continued a
seemed to glisten brighter than the others. Lying atop was a carved figure of the latePope. W
“I realize we do not have much time,”
The Swiss Guard all bowed their heads where they were standing. Vittoria followed suit, her heart pounding in the silence. The camerlegno knelt before the tomb and prayed in Italian. As Vi
appropriate for her father as they did for the Pope.
“Supreme father, counselor, friend.” The camerlegno’s voice echoed dully around thring. “You told me when I was young that the voice in my heart was that of God. Youtold me I must follow it no matter what painful places it leads. I hear that voice now, asking of me impossible tasks. Give me strength. Bestow on me forgiveness. What I do . . I do in the name of everything you believe. Amen.” “Amen,” the guards whispered.
e
.
d. “Someday I will ask your
ou in this position. Today I ask for your obedience. Vatican laws
that very spirit that I command you to break
et
b. Bracing their hands against the marble
b. When the lid did not move at
rolling up the sleeves of his cassock and preparing to
ong with them. “Ora!” Everyone heaved.
a was about to offer her own help, but just then, the lid began to slide. The men
ost primal growl of stone on stone, the lid rotated off the top
rest at an angle-the Pope’s carved head now pushed back into
tended out into the hallway.
he
Amen, Father. Vittoria wiped her eyes.
The camerlegno stood slowly and stepped away from the tomb. “Push the covering aside.”
The Swiss Guards hesitated. “Signore,” one said, “by law we are at your command.” He paused. “We will do as you say . . .” The camerlegno seemed to read the young man’s min
forgiveness for placing yare established to protect this church. It is in
them now.” There was a moment of silence and then the lead guard gave the order. The three men sdown their flashlights on the floor, and their shadows leapt overhead. Lit now from beneath, the men advanced toward the tom
covering near the head of the tomb, they planted their feet and prepared to push. On signal, they all thrust, straining against the enormous sla
all, Vittoria found herself almost hoping it was too heavy. She was suddenly fearful of what they would find inside. The men pushed harder, and still the stone did not move.
“Ancora,” the camerlegno said,
push alVittori
dug in again, and with an almof the tomb and came tothe niche and his feet ex
Everyone stepped back.
Tentatively, a guard bent and retrieved his flashlight. Then he aimed it into the tomb. Tbeam seemed to tremble a moment, and then the guard held it steady. The other guardsgathered one by one. Even in the darkness Vittoria sensed them recoil. In succession,
they crossed themselves. The camerlegno shuddered when he looked into the tomb, his shoulders dropping like weights. He stood a long moment before turning away.
Vittoria had feared the corpse’s mouth might be clenched tight with rigor mortis and that
she would have to suggest breaking the jaw to see the tongue. She now saw it would be unnecessary. The cheeks had collapsed, and the Pope’s mouth gaped wide. His tongue was black as death.
86 N o light. No sound.
The Secret Archives were black. Fear, Langdon now realized, was an intense motivator. Short of breath, he fumbled through the blackness toward the revolving door. He found the button on the wall and
e door was dead.
ut.
n, seeing stars. Now he realized it was the entire room turning, not
d hoped it would be heavy wood or iron, but it was aluminum. He
ore
erlegno present. It made sense at the time.
e.
t
t
rammed his palm against it. Nothing happened. He tried again. Th
Spinning blind, he called out, but his voice emerged strangled. The peril of his predicament suddenly closed in around him. His lungs strained for oxygen as the adrenaline doubled his heart rate. He felt like someone had just punched him in the gWhen he threw his weight into the door, for an instant he thought he felt the door start toturn. He pushed agai
the door. Staggering away, Langdon tripped over the base of a rolling ladder and fell hard. He tore his knee against the edge of a book stack. Swearing, he got up and groped for the ladder.
He found it. He ha
grabbed the ladder and held it like a battering ram. Then he ran through the dark at the glass wall. It was closer than he thought. The ladder hit head-on, bouncing off. From thefeeble sound of the collision, Langdon knew he was going to need a hell of a lot m
than an aluminum ladder to break this glass. When he flashed on the semiautomatic, his hopes surged and then instantly fell. The weapon was gone. Olivetti had relieved him of it in the Pope’s office, saying he did not want loaded weapons around with the cam
Langdon called out again, making less sound than the last tim
Next he remembered the walkie-talkie the guard had left on the table outside the vaul.Why the hell didn’t I bring it in! As the purple stars began to dance before his eyes, Langdon forced himself to think. You’ve been trapped before, he told himself. You survived worse. You were just a kid and you figured it out. The crushing darkness cameflooding in. Think!
Langdon lowered himself onto the floor. He rolled over on his back and laid his hands ahis sides. The first step was to gain control.
Relax. Conserve.
No longer fighting gravity to pump blood, Langdon’s heart began to slow. It was aswimmers used to re-oxygenate their blood between tightly scheduled races. There is plenty of air in here, he told himself. Plenty. Now think. He waited, half-expecting the lights to come back on at any m
trick
oment. They did not. As he lay there, able
ught
ouse glowed happily as if enjoying the dark: 9:33 P.M.
hell of a lot later. His mind,
plan for escape, was suddenly demanding an explanation.
hs
stored in heavy, steel, fireproof file
d seen them from time to time in other archives but had seen none
t to
ut in the dark for support. His hand found a stack. Waiting a
is.
floor. The stack creaked but
e hand on it to guide him as he raced in the dark
d he collided with it,
bed the stack at about
to breathe better now, an eerie resignation came across him. He felt peaceful. He foit. You will move, damn it! But where . . .
On Langdon’s wrist, Mickey MHalf an hour until Fire. Langdon thought it felt a whole
instead of coming up with a
Who turned off the power? Was Rocher expanding his search? Wouldn’t Olivetti have warned Rocher that I’m in here! Langdon knew at this point it made no difference. Opening his mouth wide and tipping back his head, Langdon pulled the deepest breat
he could manage. Each breath burned a little less than the last. His head cleared. He reeled his thoughts in and forced the gears into motion. Glass walls, he told himself. But damn thick glass. He wondered if any of the books in here were
cabinets. Langdon ha
here. Besides, finding one in the dark could prove time-consuming. Not that he could lift one anyway, particularly in his present state. How about the examination table? Langdon knew this vault, like the other, had an examination table in the center of the stacks. So what! He knew he couldn’t lift it. Nomention, even if he could drag it, he wouldn’t get it far. The stacks were closely packed, the aisles between them far too narrow. The aisles are too narrow . . . Suddenly, Langdon knew. With a burst of confidence, he jumped to his feet far too fast. Swaying in the fog of a head rush, he reached o
moment, he forced himself to conserve. He would need all of his strength to do th
Positioning himself against the book stack like a football player against a training sled, heplanted his feet and pushed. If I can somehow tip the shelf. But it barely moved. He realigned and pushed again. His feet slipped backward on the
did not move. He needed leverage. Finding the glass wall again, he placed on
toward the far end of the vault. The back wall loomed suddenly, ancrushing his shoulder. Cursing, Langdon circled the shelf and grab
eye level. Then, propping one leg on the glass behind him and another on the lower shelves, he started to climb. Books fell around him, fluttering into the darkness. He didn’tcare. Instinct for su
rvival had long since overridden archival decorum. He sensed his
pered by the total darkness and closed his eyes, coaxing his brain to
t. He moved faster now. The air felt leaner the higher he went. He
et up the glass wall until he
exertion, he planted his feet against the wall behind him, braced his arms
ack.
ike an oxygenless breath and
pain. The pendulum was in motion. Three more pushes,
self.
ack next to it. Langdon hung on, throwing his
the second shelf to topple. There was a moment of motionless
another. Metal on metal,
ar end was thick . . .
the most unwelcome
equilibrium was hamignore visual inpu
scrambled toward the upper shelves, stepping on books, trying to gain purchase, heaving himself upward. Then, like a rock climber conquering a rock face, Langdon grasped the top shelf. Stretching his legs out behind him, he walked his fe
was almost horizontal. Now or never, Robert, a voice urged. Just like the leg press in the Harvard gym. With dizzying
and chest against the stack, and pushed. Nothing happened. Fighting for air, he repositioned and tried again, extending his legs. Ever so slightly, the stack moved. He pushed again, and the stack rocked forward an inch or so and then bLangdon took advantage of the motion, inhaling what felt l
heaving again. The shelf rocked farther. Like a swing set, he told himself. Keep the rhythm. A little more. Langdon rocked the shelf, extending his legs farther with each push. His quadriceps burned now, and he blocked the
he urged him
It only took two. There was an instant of weightless uncertainty. Then, with a thundering of books sliding off the shelves, Langdon and the shelf were falling forward. Halfway to the ground, the shelf hit the st
weight forward, urging
panic, and then, creaking under the weight, the second stack began to tip. Langdon was falling again. Like enormous dominoes, the stacks began to topple, one after
books tumbling everywhere. Langdon held on as his inclined stack bounced downward like a ratchet on a jack. He wondered how many stacks there were in all. How much would they weigh? The glass at the f
Langdon’s stack had fallen almost to the horizontal when he heard what he was waiting for-a different kind of collision. Far off. At the end of the vault. The sharp smack of metalon glass. The vault around him shook, and Langdon knew the final stack, weighted down by the others, had hit the glass hard. The sound that followed was
sound Langdon had ever heard. Silence.
There was no crashing of glass, only the resounding thud as the wall accepted the weight
of the stacks now propped against it. He lay wide-eyed on the pile of books. Somewhere
ne second. Two . . .
floor.
d downward in the dark. With a great
, Vittoria was standing before a corpse when
-talkie broke the silence. The voice blaring out sounded
ards exchanged puzzled looks. One took a radio off his belt. “Mr. Langdon? You
channel three. The commander is waiting to hear from you on channel one.”
now he’s on channel one, damn it! I don’t want to speak to him. I want the
e
spoke at once, startling Langdon.
ill
i’s: “Mr.
angdon’s watch, now smeared with blood, read 9:41 P.M. as he ran across the
it
in the distance there was a creaking. Langdon would have held his breath to listen, but he had none left to hold.
O
Then, as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, Langdon heard a distant yielding . . . a ripple spidering outward through the glass. Suddenly, like a cannon, the glass exploded. The stack beneath Langdon collapsed to the
Like welcome rain on a desert, shards of glass tinkle
sucking hiss, the air gushed in.
Thirty seconds later, in the Vatican Grottoesthe electronic squawk of a walkie
short of breath. “This is Robert Langdon! Can anyone hear me?”
Vittoria looked up. Robert! She could not believe how much she suddenly wished he were there.
The guare on
“I kcamerlegno. Now! Somebody find him for me.” In the obscurity of the Secret Archives, Langdon stood amidst shattered glass and tried to catch his breath. He felt a warm liquid on his left hand and knew he was bleeding. Thcamerlegno’s voice
“This is Camerlegno Ventresca. What’s going on?”
Langdon pressed the button, his heart still pounding. “I think somebody just tried to kme!”
There was a silence on the line.
Langdon tried to calm himself. “I also know where the next killing is going to be.” The voice that came back was not the camerlegno’s. It was Commander Olivett
Langdon. Do not speak another word.” 87
L
Courtyard of the Belvedere and approached the fountain outside the Swiss Guard security center. His hand had stopped bleeding and now felt worse than it looked. As he arrived,
seemed everyone convened at once-Olivetti, Rocher, the camerlegno, Vittoria, and a
urried toward him immediately. “Robert, you’re hurt.”
as before him. “Mr. Langdon, I’m relieved
rward, sounding contrite. “I had no idea you
. We
e
ered. He was saturated. All he could feel
n said nothing. His green eyes seemed filled with a new
tti interrupted. “Mr. Langdon, when I asked you not to speak another word on
red into the security center. No indignity. Only compliance.
For the good of all, we can trust no one. Including our guards.” He
nside collusion implies-”
id a word yet, and Langdon sensed a new
going to break
handful of guards. Vittoria h
Before Langdon could answer, Olivetti w
you’re okay. I’m sorry about the crossed signals in the archives.” “Crossed signals?” Langdon demanded. “You knew damn well-” “It was my fault,” Rocher said, stepping fo
were in the archives. Portions of our white zones are cross-wired with that building
were extending our search. I’m the one who killed power. If I had known . . .” “Robert,” Vittoria said, taking his wounded hand in hers and looking it over, “the Popwas poisoned. The Illuminati killed him.” Langdon heard the words, but they barely regist
was the warmth of Vittoria’s hands.
The camerlegno pulled a silk handkerchief from his cassock and handed it to Langdon so he could clean himself. The ma
fire.
“Robert,” Vittoria pressed, “you said you found where the next cardinal is going to be killed?”
Langdon felt flighty. “I do, it’s at the-” “No,” Olive
the walkie-talkie, it was for a reason.” He turned to the handful of assembled Swiss Guards. “Excuse us, gentlemen.”
The soldiers disappea
Olivetti turned back to the remaining group. “As much as it pains me to say this, the murder of our Pope is an act that could only have been accomplished with help from within these walls.
seemed to be suffering as he spoke the words. Rocher looked anxious. “I
“Yes,” Olivetti said. “The integrity of your search is compromised. And yet it is a gamblewe must take. Keep looking.” Rocher looked like he was about to say something, thought better of it, and left. The camerlegno inhaled deeply. He had not sa
rigor in the man, as if a turning point had been reached. “Commander?” The camerlegno’s tone was impermeable. “I am
conclave.” Olivetti pursed his lips, looking dour. “I advise against it. We still have two hours and
twenty minutes.” “A heartbeat.”
Olivetti’s tone was now challenging “What do you intend to do? Evacuate the cardinals
I intend to save this church with whatever power God has given me. How I proceed is
authority to restrain you. Particularly in light of my apparent failure as head of security. I
r. Langdon’s
ation is correct, I may still have a chance to catch this assassin. There is still a
to preserve protocol and decorum.”
?” The camerlegno let out a choked laugh. “We have long since passed
s camerawoman meet me outside the
f
d with a
ed
to know, if it was already too late. How long before the camerlegno told the crowd in St.
single-handedly?”
“
no longer your concern.” Olivetti straightened. “Whatever you intend to do . . .” He paused. “I do not have the
ask only that you wait. Wait twenty minutes . . . until after ten o’clock. If M
informchance
“Decorumpropriety, commander. In case you hadn’t noticed, this is war.” A guard emerged from the security center and called out to the camerlegno, “Signore, I just got word we have detained the BBC reporter, Mr. Glick.” The camerlegno nodded. “Have both he and hi
Sistine Chapel.” Olivetti’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?” “Twenty minutes, commander. That’s all I’m giving you.” Then he was gone.
When Olivetti’s Alpha Romeo tore out of Vatican City, this time there was no line ounmarked cars following him. In the back seat, Vittoria bandaged Langdon’s hanfirst-aid kit she’d found in the glove box.
Olivetti stared straight ahead. “Okay, Mr. Langdon. Where are we going?” 88
E ven with its siren now affixed and blaring, Olivetti’s Alpha Romeo seemed to go unnoticed as it rocketed across the bridge into the heart of old Rome. All the traffic was moving in the other direction, toward the Vatican, as if the Holy See had suddenly become the hottest entertainment in Rome. Langdon sat in the backseat, the questions whipping through his mind. He wondered about the killer, if they would catch him this time, if he would tell them what they need
Peter’s Square they were in danger? The incident in the vault still nagged. A mistake.
d
felt a tinge of amazement as the news of
der finally registered in his mind. The thought was inconceivable, and yet
ed a perfectly logical event. Infiltration had always been the Illuminati
e
reager
ccessor, Boniface VIII. The researchers had hoped the X-ray might reveal some small
credibly, the X-ray had revealed a ten-inch
skull.
im
arvard
eemed a lot less paranoid. Langdon could see the articles clearly in
is mind . . .
ADCASTING CORPORATION
in 1978, fell victim to a plot by the P2 Masonic Lodge . . .
he secret society P2 decided to murder John Paul I when it saw he was determined to
The
re. No medical investigations were made. Cardinal Villot forbade
an autopsy on the grounds that no Pope was ever given a postmortem. And John Paul’s
ent.
Olivetti never touched the brakes as he snaked the howling Alpha Romeo toward the Church of Santa Maria della Vittoria. Langdon knew on any other day his knuckles would have been white. At the moment, however, he felt anesthetized. Only the throbbing in his hand reminded him where he was. Overhead, the siren wailed. Nothing like telling him we’re coming, Langdon thought. Anyet they were making incredible time. He guessed Olivetti would kill the siren as they
drew nearer.
Now with a moment to sit and reflect, Langdon the Pope’s mursomehow it seem
powerbase-rearrangements of power from within. And it was not as if Popes had never been murdered. Countless rumors of treachery abounded, although with no autopsy, nonwas ever confirmed. Until recently. Academics not long ago had gotten permission to X-ray the tomb of Pope Celestine V, who had allegedly died at the hands of his ove
su
hint of foul play-a broken bone perhaps. Innail driven into the Pope’s
Langdon now recalled a series of news clippings fellow Illuminati buffs had sent hyears ago. At first he had thought the clippings were a prank, so he’d gone to the Hmicrofiche collection to confirm the articles were authentic. Incredibly, they were. He now kept them on his bulletin board as examples of how even respectable news organizations sometimes got carried away with Illuminati paranoia. Suddenly, the media’s suspicions s
h
THE BRITISH BRO
June 14, 1998 Pope John Paul I, who died
T
dismiss the American Archbishop Paul Marcinkus as President of the Vatican Bank. TheBank had been implicated in shady financial deals with the Masonic Lodge . . .
THE NEW YORK TIMES August 24, 1998
Why was the late John Paul I wearing his day shirt in bed? Why was it torn?
questions don’t stop the
medicines mysteriously vanished from his bedside, as did his glasses, slippers and his last will and testam
LONDON DAILY MAIL August 27, 1998
ic lodge with tentacles
as to who might be calling her. Even from a few feet
obert Langdon has been
he covered the receiver, clearly annoyed. “Commander, this is the president of CERN.
handling this situation. You’re on an open
Vittoria looked waxen as she returned the phone to her pocket.
dded, her trembling fingers revealing the lie.
. . . a plot including a powerful, ruthless and illegal Mason
stretching into the Vatican.
The cellular in Vittoria’s pocket rang, thankfully erasing the memories from Langdon’s mind.
Vittoria answered, looking confused away, Langdon recognized the laserlike voice on the phone.
“Vittoria? This is Maximilian Kohler. Have you found the antimatter yet?”
“Max? You’re okay?”
“I saw the news. There was no mention of CERN or the antimatter. This is good. What is happening?”
“We haven’t located the canister yet. The situation is complex. Rquite an asset. We have a lead on catching the man assassinating cardinals. Right now we
are headed-”
“Ms. Vetra,” Olivetti interrupted. “You’ve said enough.”
S
Certainly he has a right to-” “He has a right,” Olivetti snapped, “to be here
cellular line. You’ve said enough.” Vittoria took a deep breath. “Max?” “I may have some information for you,” Max said. “About your father . . . I may know who he told about the antimatter.” Vittoria’s expression clouded. “Max, my father said he told no one.”
“I’m afraid, Vittoria, your father did tell someone. I need to check some security records. I will be in touch soon.” The line went dead.
“You okay?” Langdon asked. Vittoria no
“The church is on Piazza Barberini,” Olivetti said, killing the siren and checking his
watch. “We have nine minutes.” When Langdon had first realized the location of the third marker, the position of the church had rung some distant bell for him. Piazza Barberini. Something about the namewas familiar . . . something he could not place. Now Langdon realized what it was. The piazza was the sight of a controversial subway stop. Twenty years ago, construction of the subway terminal had created a stir among art historians who feared digging beneathPiazza Barberini might topple the multiton obelisk that stood in the center. City plann
ers
Whatever doubts Langdon had felt that this was the location of the third marker now
We can’t risk your being recognized,” he said. “You two were on television. I want you
ng in the back.” He
it to Langdon. “Just in case.”
e today he had been handed the gun. He slid it
he realized he was still carrying the folio from
forgotten to leave it behind. He pictured the
outrage at the thought of this priceless artifact
thought of the mess of
shattered glass and strewn documents that he’d left behind in the archives. The curator
za is that way. Keep
een.” He tapped the phone on his belt. “Ms.
ber she and Olivetti had
phone vibrated in silent-ring mode on his belt.
Good. If you see anything, I want to know.” He cocked his
iting. This heathen is mine.”
“Your position may be known. Someone is coming to stop you.”
had removed the obelisk and replaced it with a small fountain called the Triton. In Bernini’s day, Langdon now realized, Piazza Barberini had contained an obelisk!
totally evaporated. A block from the piazza, Olivetti turned into an alley, gunned the car halfway down, and
skidded to a stop. He pulled off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and loaded his weapon.
“
across the piazza, out of sight, watching the front entrance. I’m goi
produced a familiar pistol and handed
Langdon frowned. It was the second timinto his breast pocket. As he did,
Diagramma. He couldn’t believe he hadVatican Curator collapsing in spasms of
being packed around Rome like some tourist map. Then Langdon
had other problems. If the archives even survive the night . . .
Olivetti got out of the car and motioned back up the alley. “The piaz
your eyes open and don’t let yourselves be sVetra, let’s retest our auto dial.”
Vittoria removed her phone and hit the auto dial num
programmed at the Pantheon. Olivetti’s
The commander nodded. “weapon. “I’ll be inside wa
At that moment, very nearby, another cellular phone was ringing.
The Hassassin answered. “Speak.” “It is I,” the voice said. “Janus.”
The Hassassin smiled. “Hello, master.”
“They “Good. Make sure you escape alive. There is work yet to be done.”
are too late. I have already made the arrangements here.”
lier.
d ever
is Illuminati master. Finally, Janus spoke. “Eliminate them if need be.”
s
re, networks jockeyed for
rs-flat-screen displays.
rporate logo like a drive-in
orld was
serene. Lieutenant Chartrand and three other guards moved through the darkness.
rs
d nothing.
“Those who stand in my way will die.”
“Those who stand in your way are knowledgeable.” “You speak of an American scholar?” “You are aware of him?”
The Hassassin chuckled. “Cool-tempered but naïve. He spoke to me on the phone earHe is with a female who seems quite the opposite.” The killer felt a stirring of arousal as he recalled the fiery temperament of Leonardo Vetra’s daughter. There was a momentary silence on the line, the first hesitation the Hassassin hasensed from h
The killer smiled. “Consider it done.” He felt a warm anticipation spreading through hibody. Although the woman I may keep as a prize. 89
W ar had broken out in St. Peter’s Square. The piazza had exploded into a frenzy of aggression. Media trucks skidded into place likeassault vehicles claiming beachheads. Reporters unfurled high-tech electronics like
soldiers arming for battle. All around the perimeter of the squaposition as they raced to erect the newest weapon in media wa
Flat-screen displays were enormous video screens that could be assembled on top of trucks or portable scaffolding. The screens served as a kind of billboard advertisement for the network, broadcasting that network’s coverage and co
movie. If a screen were well-situated-in front of the action, for example-a competing network could not shoot the story without including an advertisement for their competitor.
The square was quickly becoming not only a multimedia extravaganza, but a frenzied public vigil. Onlookers poured in from all directions. Open space in the usually limitless square was fast becoming a valuable commodity. People clustered around the towering flat-screen displays, listening to live reports in stunned excitement.
Only a hundred yards away, inside the thick walls of St. Peter’s Basilica, the w
Wearing their infrared goggles, they fanned out across the nave, swinging their detectobefore them. The search of Vatican City’s public access areas so far had yielde
“Better remove your goggles up here,” the senior guard said. Chartrand was already doing it. They were nearing the Niche of the Palliums-the sunken area in the center of the basilica. It was lit by ninety-nine oil lamps, and the amplified infrared would have seared their eyes.
Chartrand enjoyed beidescended into the sunken nich
ng out of the heavy goggles, and he stretched his neck as they
e to scan the area. The room was beautiful . . . golden and
d learned some
with
they would burn until the end
hartrand swung his detector over the oil lamps. Nothing hidden in here. He was not
grate covering a hole in the floor.
went straight down. He had heard stories
uld not have to descend. Rocher’s orders
om the lamps,” one of them replied.
air, but
ls.
zed, never before
clear
glowing. He had not been down here yet.
It seemed every day since Chartrand had arrived in Vatican City he ha
new Vatican mystery. These oil lamps were one of them. There were exactly ninety-nine lamps burning at all times. It was tradition. The clergy vigilantly refilled the lampssacred oils such that no lamp ever burned out. It was said
of time.
Or at least until midnight, Chartrand thought, feeling his mouth go dry again.
C
surprised; the canister, according to the video feed, was hidden in a dark area. As he moved across the niche, he came to a bulkhead
The hole led to a steep and narrow stairway thatabout what lay down there. Thankfully, they wo
were clear. Search only the public access areas; ignore the white zones. “What’s that smell?” he asked, turning away from the grate. The niche smelled intoxicatingly sweet. “Fumes fr
Chartrand was surprised. “Smells more like cologne than kerosene.” “It’s not kerosene. These lamps are close to the papal altar, so they take a special, ambiental mixture-ethanol, sugar, butane, and perfume.” “Butane?” Chartrand eyed the lamps uneasily.
The guard nodded. “Don’t spill any. Smells like heaven, but burns like hell.” The guards had completed searching the Niche of the Palliums and were moving across the basilica again when their walkie-talkies went off.
It was an update. The guards listened in shock. Apparently there were troubling new developments, which could not be shared on-the camerlegno had decided to break tradition and enter conclave to address the cardinaNever before in history had this been done. Then again, Chartrand reali
in history had the Vatican been sitting on what amounted to some sort of neoteric nuwarhead.
Chartrand felt comforted to know the camerlegno was taking control. The camerlegno was the person inside Vatican City for whom Chartrand held the most respect. Some of the guards thought of the camerlegno as a beato-a religious zealot whose love ofbordered on obsession-
God
but even they agreed . . . when it came to fighting the enemies of
d the edges, his
; not
do it
rch
ing all over again. Sadly, the authorities never caught the
and the case faded away. No wonder the camerlegno despised apathy.
A couple months back, on a peaceful afternoon inside Vatican City, Chartrand had
into the camerlegno coming across the grounds. The camerlegno had apparently
tely at home.
hartrand said, “may I ask you a strange question?”
erstand.”
es, his frock
derstand this omnipotent-benevolent thing.”
ading Scripture.”
ans that God is all-powerful and well-meaning.”
tion.”
tradiction is pain. Man’s starvation, war, sickness . . .”
God, the camerlegno was the one man who would stand up and play hardball.
The Swiss Guards had seen a lot of the camerlegno this week in preparation for conclave, and everyone had commented that the man seemed a bit rough aroun
verdant eyes a bit more intense than usual. Not surprisingly, they had all commentedonly was the camerlegno responsible for planning the sacred conclave, but he had to
immediately on the heels of the loss of his mentor, the Pope. Chartrand had only been at the Vatican a few months when he heard the story of the bomb that blew up the camerlegno’s mother before the kid’s very eyes. A bomb in chu. . . and now it’s happen
bastards who planted the bomb . . . probably some anti-Christian hate group they said,
bumped
recognized Chartrand as a new guard and invited him to accompany him on a stroll. They had talked about nothing in particular, and the camerlegno made Chartrand feel immedia
“Father,” C
The camerlegno smiled. “Only if I may give you a strange answer.”
Chartrand laughed. “I have asked every priest I know, and I still don’t und
“What troubles you?” The camerlegno led the way in short, quick strid
kicking out in front of him as he walked. His black, crepe-sole shoess seemed befitting, Chartrand thought, like reflections of the man’s essence . . . modern but humble, and showing signs of wear. Chartrand took a deep breath. “I don’t un
The camerlegno smiled. “You’ve been re
“I try.” “You are confused because the Bible describes God as an omnipotent and benevolent deity.”
“Exactly.”
“Omnipotent-benevolent simply me
“I understand the concept. It’s just . . . there seems to be a contradic
“Yes. The con
“Exactly!” Chartrand knew the camerlegno would understand. “Terrible things happen in
an tragedy seems like proof that God could not possibly be both allwell-
meaning. If He loves us and has the power to change our situation, He
e?”
st didn’t ask? “Well . . . if God loves us, and He can protect us, He would
n . . . would you love him?”
nd did a double take. The camerlegno always seemed oddly “in touch” for a
an. “Yeah, I guess,” Chartrand said. “Sure, I’d let him skateboard, but I’d tell him
e careful.”
ur
angdon and Vittoria observed Piazza Barberini from the shadows of a small alleyway
he church was opposite them, a hazy cupola emerging from a
this world. Humpowerful and
would prevent our pain, wouldn’t H
The camerlegno frowned. “Would He?” Chartrand felt uneasy. Had he overstepped his bounds? Was this one of those religious questions you ju
have to. It seems He is either omnipotent and uncaring, or benevolent and powerless to help.”
“Do you have children, Lieutenant?”
Chartrand flushed. “No, signore.”
“Imagine you had an eight-year-old so
“Of course.” “Would you do everything in your power to prevent pain in his life?”
“Of course.”
“Would you let him skateboard?”
Chartraclergym
to b“So as this child’s father, you would give him some basic, good advice and then let him go off and make his own mistakes?” “I wouldn’t run behind him and mollycoddle him if that’s what you mean.” “But what if he fell and skinned his knee?”
“He would learn to be more careful.”
The camerlegno smiled. “So although you have the power to interfere and prevent yochild’s pain, you would choose to show your love by letting him learn his own lessons?” “Of course. Pain is part of growing up. It’s how we learn.” The camerlegno nodded. “Exactly.” 90
L
on the western corner. T
faint cluster of buildings across the square. The night had brought with it a welcome cool, and Langdon was surprised to find the square deserted. Above them, through open windows, blaring televisions reminded Langdon where everyone had disappeared to.
rs of two cardinals . . . satanic
l looked remarkably elliptical. High above, like some sort of
mous neon sign blinked on the roof of a
y pointed it out to Langdon. The sign seemed eerily
en
grabbed Langdon’s arm and pulled him back into the shadows. She
, but he couldn’t be sure in the
dark. One looked elderly and moved as if in pain, hunched over. The other, larger and
The gun glinted in her
cobblestone, she was
n
e
s in front of her, out of sight but accessible in a flash.
lare.
ear voices. No words. Just faint murmurings.
Beside him, Vittoria moved faster with every step. Her arms loosened before her, the gun
“. . . no comment yet from the Vatican . . . Illuminati murde
presence in Rome . . . speculation about further infiltration . . .” The news had spread like Nero’s fire. Rome sat riveted, as did the rest of the world. Langdon wondered if they would really be able to stop this runaway train. As he scannedthe piazza and waited, Langdon realized that despite the encroachment of modern buildings, the piazza stil
modern shrine to a bygone hero, an enorluxurious hotel. Vittoria had alread
befitting.
HOTEL BERNINI “Five of ten,” Vittoria said, cat eyes darting around the square. No sooner had she spokthe words than she
motioned into the center of the square. Langdon followed her gaze. When he saw it, he stiffened. Crossing in front of them, beneath a street lamp, two dark figures appeared. Both were cloaked, their heads covered with dark mantles, the traditional black covering of Catholicwidows. Langdon would have guessed they were women
stronger, was helping. “Give me the gun,” Vittoria said. “You can’t just-”
Fluid as a cat, Vittoria was in and out of his pocket once again.hand. Then, in absolute silence, as if her feet never touched the
circling left in the shadows, arching across the square to approach the couple from therear. Langdon stood transfixed as Vittoria disappeared. Then, swearing to himself, he hurried after her. The couple was moving slowly, and it was only a matter of half a minute before Langdoand Vittoria were positioned behind them, closing in from the rear. Vittoria concealed thgun beneath casually crossed arm
She seemed to float faster and faster as the gap lessened, and Langdon battled to keep up.When his shoes scuffed a stone and sent it skittering, Vittoria shot him a sideways gBut the couple did not seem to hear. They were talking. At thirty feet, Langdon could start to h
starting to peek out. Twenty feet. The voices were clearer-one much louder than the
t
w, on a collision course. They would have no time to
urged to his legs, and he
otion as swift as it
as she clutched
e, almost colliding
r.
confused by the sudden interruption.
? Where is the Church of-”
putting his hands on Vittoria’s shoulders and gently pulling her
almost attacked a pair of old ladies.
looked surprised. “Perchè?”
ngdon understood only parts of
s
as closing early.
he
d they
g the police. But the intruder had only laughed, telling them to be sure the
other. Angry. Ranting. Langdon sensed it was the voice of an old woman. Gruff. Androgynous. He strained to hear what she was saying, but another voice cut the night. “Mi scusi!” Vittoria’s friendly tone lit the square like a torch.
Langdon tensed as the cloaked couple stopped short and began to turn. Vittoria kepstriding toward them, even faster no
react. Langdon realized his own feet had stopped moving. From behind, he saw Vittoria’s arms loosening, her hand coming free, the gun swinging forward. Then, over her shoulder, he saw a face, lit now in the street lamp. The panic s
lunged forward. “Vittoria, no!” Vittoria, however, seemed to exist a split second ahead of him. In a m
was casual, Vittoria’s arms were raised again, the gun disappearing herself like a woman on a chilly night. Langdon stumbled to her sid
with the cloaked couple before them.
“Buona sera,” Vittoria blurted, her voice startled with retreat. Langdon exhaled in relief. Two elderly women stood before them scowling out from beneath their mantles. One was so old she could barely stand. The other was helping heBoth clutched rosaries. They seemed
Vittoria smiled, although she looked shaken. “Dov’è la chiesa Santa Maria della Vittoria
The two women motioned in unison to a bulky silhouette of a building on an inclined street from the direction they had come. “È là.” “Grazie,” Langdon said,
back. He couldn’t believe they’d
“Non si puó entrare,” one woman warned. “È chiusa temprano.” “Closed early?” Vittoria
Both women explained at once. They sounded irate. La
the grumbling Italian. Apparently, the women had been inside the church fifteen minuteago praying for the Vatican in its time of need, when some man had appeared and told them the church w
“Hanno conosciuto l’uomo?” Vittoria demanded, sounding tense. “Did you know the man?”
The women shook their heads. The man was a straniero crudo, they explained, and had forcibly made everyone inside leave, even the young priest and janitor, who saiwere callin
police brought cameras.
Cameras? Langdon wondered.
rabo?”Langdon asked Vittoria. “A barbarian?”
ked suddenly taut. “Not quite. Bar-àrabo is derogatory wordplay. It means
o . . . Arab.”
hed out and touched her arm. With a tremulous hand, he
lla
The church had no anteroom, so the entirety of the sanctuary spread out in one gasping
s so
s
ooden pews had been stacked high and were now ablaze in
some sort of epic funeral pyre. A bonfire shooting high into the dome. As Langdon’s eyes
r something
else . . .
Suspended from the cables was a human being. A naked man. Each wrist had been
n
The women clucked angrily and called the man a bar-àrabo. Then, grumbling, they continued on their way.
“Bar-àVittoria loo
ÀrabLangdon felt a shiver and turned toward the outline of the church. As he did, his eyes glimpsed something in the church’s stained-glass windows. The image shot dread through his body.
Unaware, Vittoria removed her cell phone and pressed the auto dial. “I’m warning Olivetti.” Speechless, Langdon reac
pointed to the church. Vittoria let out a gasp. Inside the building, glowing like evil eyes through the stained-glass windows . . . shone
the growing flash of flames. 91
L angdon and Vittoria dashed to the main entrance of the church of Santa Maria deVittoria and found the wooden door locked. Vittoria fired three shots from Olivetti’s semi-automatic into the ancient bolt, and it shattered.
sweep as Langdon and Vittoria threw open the main door. The scene before them waunexpected, so bizarre, that Langdon had to close his eyes and reopen them before himind could take it all in. The church was lavish baroque . . . gilded walls and altars. Dead center of the sanctuary,beneath the main cupola, w
followed the inferno upward, the true horror of the scene descended like a bird of prey. High overhead, from the left and right sides of the ceiling, hung two incensor cables-linesused for swinging frankincense vessels above the congregation. These lines, however, carried no incensors now. Nor were they swinging. They had been used fo
connected to an opposing cable, and he had been hoisted almost to the point of being tor
apart. His arms were outstretched in a spread-eagle as if he were nailed to some sort of invisible crucifix hovering within the house of God. Langdon felt paralyzed as he stared upward. A moment later, he witnessed the final
wall of heat. The skin on his
ce singed, and he fell back, shielding his eyes and landing hard on the marble floor.
the ceiling where they passed through pulleys,
side of the church. Langdon looked over at
f the church, Vittoria clutched the back of a pew, trying to gather her senses.
ic vibration. Nearby. The repetitive pulse seemed to emanate from the
loor
n
ed it to dial the commander .
abomination. The old man was alive, and he raised his head. A pair of terrified eyes gazed down in a silent plea for help. On the man’s chest was a scorched emblem. He hadbeen branded. Langdon could not see it clearly, but he had little doubt what the marking said. As the flames climbed higher, lapping at the man’s feet, the victim let out a cry of pain, his body trembling.
As if ignited by some unseen force, Langdon felt his body suddenly in motion, dashingdown the main aisle toward the conflagration. His lungs filled with smoke as he closed in. Ten feet from the inferno, at a full sprint, Langdon hit a
fa
Staggering upright, he pressed forward again, hands raised in protection. Instantly he knew. The fire was far too hot. Moving back again, he scanned the chapel walls. A heavy tapestry, he thought. If I can somehow smother the . . . But he knew a tapestry was not to be found. This is a baroque
chapel, Robert, not some damn German castle! Think! He forced his eyes back to the suspended man. High above, smoke and flames swirled in the cupola. The incensor cables stretched outward from the man’s wrists, rising toand descended again to metal cleats on either
one of the cleats. It was high on the wall, but he knew if he could get to it and loosen oneof the lines, the tension would slacken and the man would swing wide of the fire. A sudden surge of flames crackled higher, and Langdon heard a piercing scream from above. The skin on the man’s feet was starting to blister. The cardinal was being roasted alive. Langdon fixed his sights on the cleat and ran for it. In the rear o
The image overhead was horrid. She forced her eyes away. Do something! She wondered where Olivetti was. Had he seen the Hassassin? Had he caught him? Where were they now? Vittoria moved forward to help Langdon, but as she did, a sound stopped her. The crackling of the flames was getting louder by the instant, but a second sound also cut the air. A metall
end of the pews to her left. It was a stark rattle, like the ringing of a phone, but stony and hard. She clutched the gun firmly and moved down the row of pews. The sound grew louder. On. Off. A recurrent vibration.
As she approached the end of the aisle, she sensed the sound was coming from the fjust around the corner at the end of the pews. As she moved forward, gun outstretched iher right hand, she realized she was also holding something in her left hand-her cell phone. In her panic she had forgotten that outside she had us
. . setting off his phone’s silent vibration feature as a warning. Vittoria raised her phone
nder had never answered. Suddenly, with rising
what was making the sound. She stepped forward,
embling.
nst
ehind her.
e cleat. The cable was still six feet above his head.
nd were placed high to prevent tampering.
e cleats. The killer
. So where the hell is the ladder
around him. He had a faint recollection
d now with desperation, Langdon scanned the entire church from his raised platform,
d again and saw the slowly roasting victim, Langdon had thoughts
for only one thing. Water. Lots of it. Put out the fire. At least lower the flames. “I need
to her ear. It was still ringing. The commafear, Vittoria sensed she knew
tr
The entire church seemed to sink beneath her feet as her eyes met the lifeless form on thefloor. No stream of liquid flowed from the body. No signs of violence tattooed the flesh. There was only the fearful geometry of the commander’s head . . . torqued backward, twisted 180 degrees in the wrong direction. Vittoria fought the images of her own father’smangled body. The phone on the commander’s belt lay against the floor, vibrating over and over agaithe cold marble. Vittoria hung up her own phone, and the ringing stopped. In the silence,Vittoria heard a new sound. A breathing in the dark directly b
She started to spin, gun raised, but she knew she was too late. A laser beam of heat screamed from the top of her skull to the soles of her feet as the killer’s elbow crasheddown on the back of her neck.
“Now you are mine,” a voice said. Then, everything went black.
Across the sanctuary, on the left lateral wall, Langdon balanced atop a pew and scraped upward on the wall trying to reach thCleats like these were common in churches a
Langdon knew priests used wooden ladders called piuòli to access th
had obviously used the church’s ladder to hoist his victimnow! Langdon looked down, searching the floor
of seeing a ladder in here somewhere. But where? A moment later his heart sank. He realized where he had seen it. He turned toward the raging fire. Sure enough, the ladder was high atop the blaze, engulfed in flames. Fille
looking for anything at all that could help him reach the cleat. As his eyes probed the church, he had a sudden realization. Where the hell is Vittoria? She had disappeared. Did she go for help? Langdon screamed out her name, but there was no response. And where is Olivetti! There was a howl of pain from above, and Langdon sensed he was already too late. As his eyes went skywar
water, damn it!” he yelled out loud. “That’s next,” a voice growled from the back of the church. ost falling off the pews.
Langdon wheeled, alm
Striding up the side aisle directly toward him came a dark monster of a man. Even in tglow of the fire, his eyes burned black. Langdon recognized the gun in his hand as the one from his own jacket pocket . . . the one Vittoria had been carrying when they came in.
he
he sudden wave of panic that rose in Langdon was a frenzy of disjunct fears. His initial
stinct was for Vittoria. What had this animal done to her? Was she hurt? Or worse? In
the same instant, Langdon realized the man overhead was screaming louder. The cardinal
would die. Helping him now was impossible. Then, as the Hassassin leveled the gun at
Langdon’s chest, Langdon’s panic turned inward, his senses on overload. He reacted on
instinct as the shot went off. Launching off the bench, Langdon sailed arms first over the
sea of church pews.
When he hit the pews, he hit harder than he had imagined, immediately rolling to the
floor. The marble cushioned his fall with all the grace of cold steel. Footsteps closed to
his right. Langdon turned his body toward the front of the church and began scrambling
eneath the pews.
bove the chapel floor, Cardinal Guidera endured his last torturous moments of
usness. As he looked down the length of his naked body, he saw the skin on his
I am in hell, he decided. God, why hast thou forsaken
ust be hell because he was looking at the brand on his chest upside
evil’s magic, the word made perfect sense.
92 T hre
Inside the Sistine Chap
candidates! The delay had gone long enough. A single missing candidate, Mortati couunderstand. But all four? It left no options. Under these conditions, achieving a two-thirds majority
When thCardina
e bolts on the outer door began to grind open, Mortati and the entire College of
ls wheeled in unison toward the entrance. Mortati knew this unsealing could
could only be unsealed for two reasons-to
n walked in. For the first time in Vatican
.
r. His elbows and knees burned as he clambered beneath the pews. Still
he clawed on. Somewhere a voice was telling him to move left. If you can get to the main
w to his right.
n feet of
e very
He had entirely forgotten. Bernini’s Ecstasy of St.
n
d behind him, Langdon dove yet again, sliding out of control
rashing in a heap against the railing of a niche on the
g.
mean only one thing. By law, the chapel doorremove the very ill, or to admit late cardinals. The preferiti are coming! Mortati’s heart soared. Conclave had been saved. But when the door opened, the gasp that echoed through the chapel was not one of joy. Mortati stared in incredulous shock as the ma
history, a camerlegno had just crossed the sacred threshold of conclave after sealing the doors. What is he thinking! The camerlegno strode to the altar and turned to address the thunderstruck audience“Signori,” he said, “I have waited as long as I can. There is something you have a right to know.”
93 L angdon had no idea where he was going. Reflex was his only compass, driving him away from dange
aisle, you can dash for the exit. He knew it was impossible. There’s a wall of flames blocking the main aisle! His mind hunting for options, Langdon scrambled blindly on. The footsteps closed faster no
When it happened, Langdon was unprepared. He had guessed he had another tepews until he reached the front of the church. He had guessed wrong. Without warning, the cover above him ran out. He froze for an instant, half exposed at the front of the church. Rising in the recess to his left, gargantuan from this vantage point, was ththing that had brought him here.
Teresa rose up like some sort of pornographic still life . . . the saint on her back, arched ipleasure, mouth open in a moan, and over her, an angel pointing his spear of fire. A bullet exploded in the pew over Langdon’s head. He felt his body rise like a sprinter out of a gate. Fueled only by adrenaline, and barely conscious of his actions, he was suddenly running, hunched, head down, pounding across the front of the church to his right. As the bullets erupte
across the marble floor before cright-hand wall.
It was then that he saw her. A crumpled heap near the back of the church. Vittoria! Her bare legs were twisted beneath her, but Langdon sensed somehow that she was breathinHe had no time to help her.
Immediately, the killer rounded the pews on the far left of the church and bore relentlessly down. Langdon knew in a heartbeat it was over. The killer raised the weapon,and Langdon did the only thing he could do. He rolled his body over the banister into the niche. As he hit the floor on the other side, the marble columns of the balustrade exploded in a storm of bullets.
t like a cornered animal as he scrambled deeper into the semicircular niche.
ind him.
as
st. Blood surging,
beneath the casket. Scrambling across the
ulled himself out from beneath the casket and to the other side.
e
ch
s the gun went off. He could feel the shock wave of the bullets as they
Langdon fel
Rising before him, the niche’s sole contents seemed ironically apropos-a single sarcophagus. Mine perhaps, Langdon thought. Even the casket itself seemed fitting. It was a scàtola-a small, unadorned, marble box. Burial on a budget. The casket was raised off the floor on two marble blocks, and Langdon eyed the opening beneath it, wondering if he could slide through.
Footsteps echoed beh
With no other option in sight, Langdon pressed himself to the floor and slithered toward the casket. Grabbing the two marble supports, one with each hand, he pulled like a breaststroker, dragging his torso into the opening beneath the tomb. The gun went off. Accompanying the roar of the gun, Langdon felt a sensation he had never felt in his life . . . a bullet sailing past his flesh. There was a hiss of wind, like the backlash of a whip,the bullet just missed him and exploded in the marble with a puff of du
Langdon heaved his body the rest of the way marble floor, he p
Dead end.
Langdon was now face to face with the rear wall of the niche. He had no doubt that thistiny space behind the tomb would become his grave. And soon, he realized, as he saw thbarrel of the gun appear in the opening beneath the sarcophagus. The Hassassin held theweapon parallel with the floor, pointing directly at Langdon’s midsection.
Impossible to miss.
Langdon felt a trace of self-preservation grip his unconscious mind. He twisted his body onto his stomach, parallel with the casket. Facedown, he planted his hands flat on the floor, the glass cut from the archives pinching open with a stab. Ignoring the pain, hepushed. Driving his body upward in an awkward push-up, Langdon arched his stomaoff the floor just a
sailed beneath him and pulverized the porous travertine behind. Closing his eyes and straining against exhaustion, Langdon prayed for the thunder to stop. And then it did.
The roar of gunfire was replaced with the cold click of an empty chamber. Langdon opened his eyes slowly, almost fearful his eyelids would make a sound. Fighting the trembling pain, he held his position, arched like a cat. He didn’t even dare breathe. His eardrums numbed by gunfire, Langdon listened for any hint of the killer’s
departure. Silence. He thought of Vittoria and ached to help her. The sound that followed was deafening. Barely human. A guttural bellow of exertion.
g
orts. Directly overhead, though, Langdon found
entative lover, and then with a sticky crackling, it succumbed to gravity and peeled
, raining putrid bones and dust into
on could react, a blind arm was slithering through the opening beneath the
.
as a losing battle.
e only open space he had, his feet searching for the casket floor
aw grinding, the sarcophagus slid off the supports and landed on the floor. The
m crashed onto the killer’s arm, and there was a muffled scream of pain. The
released Langdon’s neck, twisting and jerking away into the dark. When the killer
The sarcophagus over Langdon’s head suddenly seemed to rise on its side. Langdon collapsed on the floor as hundreds of pounds teetered toward him. Gravity overcame friction, and the lid was the first to go, sliding off the tomb and crashing to the floorbeside him. The casket came next, rolling off its supports and toppling upside down toward Langdon.
As the box rolled, Langdon knew he would either be entombed in the hollow beneath it or crushed by one of the edges. Pulling in his legs and head, Langdon compacted his body and yanked his arms to his sides. Then he closed his eyes and awaited the sickenincrush.
When it came, the entire floor shook beneath him. The upper rim landed only millimeters from the top of his head, rattling his teeth in their sockets. His right arm, which Langdon had been certain would be crushed, miraculously still felt intact. He opened his eyes to see a shaft of light. The right rim of the casket had not fallen all the way to the floor and was still propped partially on its supp
himself staring quite literally into the face of death. The original occupant of the tomb was suspended above him, having adhered, as decaying bodies often did, to the bottom of the casket. The skeleton hovered a moment, like a taway. The carcass rushed down to embrace him
Langdon’s eyes and mouth.
Before Langd
casket, sifting through the carcass like a hungry python. It groped until it found Langdon’s neck and clamped down. Langdon tried to fight back against the iron fist nowcrushing his larynx, but he found his left sleeve pinched beneath the edge of the coffinHe had only one arm free, and the fight w
Langdon’s legs bent in th
above him. He found it. Coiling, he planted his feet. Then, as the hand around his neck squeezed tighter, Langdon closed his eyes and extended his legs like a ram. The casket shifted, ever so slightly, but enough.
With a rcasket ri
handfinally pulled his arm free, the casket fell with a conclusive thud against the flat marble floor. Complete darkness. Again. And silence.
There was no frustrated pounding outside the overturned sarcophagus. No prying to get in. Nothing. As Langdon lay in the dark amidst a pile of bones, he fought the closing darkness and turned his thoughts to her.
Vittoria. Are you alive? If Langdon had known the truth-the horror to which Vittoria would soon awake-he would
have wished for her sake that she were dead. 94
S itting in the Sistine Chapel among his stunned colleagues, Cardinal Mortati trcomprehend the words he was hearing. Before him, lit only by the candlelight, the camerlegno had just told a tale of such hatred and treachery that Mortati found himself trembling. The camerlegno spoke of kidna
ied to
pped cardinals, branded cardinals, murdered
and
against the church. With pain in his voice, the
n
n statement, live to the world.
ard. “To the
ce spread now to the deepest corners of the chapel. Mortati could hear the
thumping of his own heart.
is
e
cardinals. He spoke of the ancient Illuminati-a name that dredged up forgotten fears-of their resurgence and vow of revenge
camerlegno spoke of his late Pope . . . the victim of an Illuminati poisoning. And finally, his words almost a whisper, he spoke of a deadly new technology, antimatter, which in less than two hours threatened to destroy all of Vatican City.
When he was through, it was as if Satan himself had sucked the air from the room. Nobody could move. The camerlegno’s words hung in the darkness.
The only sound Mortati could now hear was the anomalous hum of a television camera iback-an electronic presence no conclave in history had ever endured-but a presence demanded by the camerlegno. To the utter astonishment of the cardinals, the camerlegno had entered the Sistine Chapel with two BBC reporters-a man and a woman-and announced that they would be transmitting his solem
Now, speaking directly to the camera, the camerlegno stepped forw
Illuminati,” he said, his voice deepening, “and to those of science, let me say this.” He paused. “You have won the war.”
The silendesperate
“The wheels have been in motion for a long time,” the camerlegno said. “Your victory has been inevitable. Never before has it been as obvious as it is at this moment. Science the new God.” What is he saying! Mortati thought. Has he gone mad? The entire world is hearing this! “Medicine, electronic communications, space travel, genetic manipulation . . . these arthe miracles about which we now tell our children. These are the miracles we herald as proof that science will bring us the answers. The ancient stories of immaculate conceptions, burning bushes, and parting seas are no longer relevant. God has become
obsolete. Science has won the battle. We concede.” A rustle of confusion and bewilderment swept through the chapel. “But science’s victory,” the camerlegno added, his voice intensifying, “has cost every
.
s on
the
in anything removed from
one of us. And it has cost us deeply.” Silence.
“Science may have alleviated the miseries of disease and drudgery and provided an array of gadgetry for our entertainment and convenience, but it has left us in a world without wonder. Our sunsets have been reduced to wavelengths and frequencies. The complexities of the universe have been shredded into mathematical equations. Even our self-worth as human beings has been destroyed. Science proclaims that Planet Earth and its inhabitants are a meaningless speck in the grand scheme. A cosmic accident.” He paused. “Even the technology that promises to unite us, divides us. Each of us is now electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone. We are bombardedwith violence, division, fracture, and betrayal. Skepticism has become a virtue. Cynicismand demand for proof has become enlightened thought. Is it any wonder that humans nowfeel more depressed and defeated than they have at any point in human history? Does science hold anything sacred? Science looks for answers by probing our unborn fetuses. Science even presumes to rearrange our own DNA. It shatters God’s world into smaller and smaller pieces in quest of meaning . . . and all it finds is more questions.”
Mortati watched in awe. The camerlegno was almost hypnotic now. He had a physicalstrength in his movements and voice that Mortati had never witnessed on a Vatican altarThe man’s voice was wrought with conviction and sadness. “The ancient war between science and religion is over,” the camerlegno said. “You havewon. But you have not won fairly. You have not won by providing answers. You have won by so radically reorienting our society that the truths we once saw as signposts now seem inapplicable. Religion cannot keep up. Scientific growth is exponential. It feeditself like a virus. Every new breakthrough opens doors for new breakthroughs. Mankind
took thousands of years to progress from the wheel to the car. Yet only decades fromcar into space. Now we measure scientific progress in weeks. We are spinning out of control. The rift between us grows deeper and deeper, and as religion is left behind, people find themselves in a spiritual void. We cry out for meaning. And believe me, we do cry out. We see UFOs, engage in channeling, spirit contact, out-of-body experiences, mindquests-all these eccentric ideas have a scientific veneer, but they are unashamedly irrational. They are the desperate cry of the modern soul, lonely and tormented, crippled by its own enlightenment and its inability to accept meaning
technology.”
Mortati could feel himself leaning forward in his seat. He and the other cardinals and people around the world were hanging on this priest’s every utterance. The camerlegnospoke with no rhetoric or vitriol. No references to scripture or Jesus Christ. He spoke in modern terms, unadorned and pure. Somehow, as though the words were flowing from God himself, he spoke the modern language . . . delivering the ancient message. In that
moment, Mortati saw one of the reasons the late Pope held this young man so dear. Inworld of apathy, cynicism, and technological deification, men like the camerlegno, realists who could speak to our souls like this man just had, were the church’s only hopeThe camerlegno was talking more forcefully now. “Science, you say, will save us. Science, I say, has destroyed us. Since the days of Galileo, the church has tried to slow the relentless march of science, sometimes with misguided means, but always with benevolent intention. Even so, the temptations are too great for man to resist. I warn youlook around yourselves. The promises of science have not been kept. Promises of efficiency and simplicity have bred nothing but pollution and chaos. We are a fractured and frantic species . . . moving down a path of destruction.” The camerlegno paused a long moment and then sharpened his eyes on the camera.
a
.
,
yet
ass
ng leaders to use restraint.
er?
,
a God, you say. I say use your
re one and the same. Do you not see God in
e
of billions? Have we become so spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in
“Who is this God science? Who is the God who offers his people power but no moral framework to tell you how to use that power? What kind of God gives a child fire but does not warn the child of its dangers? The language of science comes with no signposts about good and bad. Science textbooks tell us how to create a nuclear reaction, and they contain no chapter asking us if it is a good or a bad idea. “To science, I say this. The church is tired. We are exhausted from trying to be your signposts. Our resources are drying up from our campaign to be the voice of balance as you plow blindly on in your quest for smaller chips and larger profits. We ask not why you will not govern yourselves, but how can you? Your world moves so fast that if you stop even for an instant to consider the implications of your actions, someone more efficient will whip past you in a blur. So you move on. You proliferate weapons of mdestruction, but it is the Pope who travels the world beseechi
You clone living creatures, but it is the church reminding us to consider the moral implications of our actions. You encourage people to interact on phones, video screens, and computers, but it is the church who opens its doors and reminds us to commune in person as we were meant to do. You even murder unborn babies in the name of researchthat will save lives. Again, it is the church who points out the fallacy of this reasoning. “And all the while, you proclaim the church is ignorant. But who is more ignorant? The man who cannot define lightning, or the man who does not respect its awesome powThis church is reaching out to you. Reaching out to everyone. And yet the more we reachthe more you push us away. Show me proof there is
telescopes to look to the heavens, and tell me how there could not be a God!” The camerlegno had tears in his eyes now. “You ask what does God look like. I say, where did that question come from? The answers a
your science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in thforce of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe a lifeless mist rather than our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you fail to see God’s hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we simply chose the right card from a deck
mathematical impossibility than in a power greater than us? “Whether or not you believe in God,” the camerlegno said, his voice deepening with
deliberation, “you must believe this. When we as a species abandon our trust in the power
ee
inning out of control.”
e
e weak, the oppressed, the unborn child? Do we
ploring each of us
y?”
Vatican City
onger a building, it was people-people like the camerlegno who had spent their
he service of goodness.
night we are perched on a precipice,” the camerlegno said. “None of us can afford to
ss.”
e,
meone listening would realize the
ped to their knees to join him in prayer. Outside in St.
5
to
greater than us, we abandon our sense of accountability. Faith . . . all faiths . . . are admonitions that there is something we cannot understand, something to which we are accountable . . . With faith we are accountable to each other, to ourselves, and to a higher truth. Religion is flawed, but only because man is flawed. If the outside world could sthis church as I do . . . looking beyond the ritual of these walls . . . they would see a modern miracle . . . a brotherhood of imperfect, simple souls wanting only to be a voice of compassion in a world sp
The camerlegno motioned out over the College of Cardinals, and the BBC camerawomaninstinctively followed, panning the crowd. “Are we obsolete?” the camerlegno asked. “Are these men dino-saurs? Am I? Does thworld really need a voice for the poor, th
really need souls like these who, though imperfect, spend their lives imto read the signposts of morality and not lose our wa
Mortati now realized that the camerlegno, whether consciously or not, was making a brilliant move. By showing the cardinals, he was personalizing the church.
was no llives in t
“Tobe apathetic. Whether you see this evil as Satan, corruption, or immorality . . . the dark force is alive and growing every day. Do not ignore it.” The camerlegno lowered his voice to a whisper, and the camera moved in. “The force, though mighty, is not invincible. Goodness can prevail. Listen to your hearts. Listen to God. Together we can step back from this aby
Now Mortati understood. This was the reason. Conclave had been violated, but this was the only way. It was a dramatic and desperate plea for help. The camerlegno was speaking to both his enemy and his friends now. He was entreating anyone, friend or foto see the light and stop this madness. Certainly so
insanity of this plot and come forward. The camerlegno knelt at the altar. “Pray with me.” The College of Cardinals drop
Peter’s Square and around the globe . . . a stunned world knelt with them.
9
T he Hassassin lay his unconscious trophy in the rear of the van and took a moment admire her sprawled body. She was not as beautiful as the women he bought, and yet she had an animal strength that excited him. Her body was radiant, dewy with perspiration. She smelled of musk.
As the Hassasin stood there savoring his prize, he ignored the throb in his arm. The bruise
lation in knowing the American who
ad done this to him was probably dead by now.
e
.
ng room was dazed and somber. When she got back
the Vatican, Gunther Glick was walking on air as he followed the camerlegno
e Sistine Chapel. Glick and Macri had just made the live transmission of the
. And what a transmission it had been. The camerlegno had been spellbinding.
liness. I must warn you, these are not pleasant pictures. Ghastly burns.
ould like you to broadcast them to the world.”
r as it counts down.”
from the falling sarcophagus, although painful, was insignificant . . . well worth the compensation that lay before him. He took conso
h
Gazing down at his incapacitated prisoner, the Hassassin visualized what lay ahead. Hran a palm up beneath her shirt. Her breasts felt perfect beneath her bra. Yes, he smiledYou are more than worthy. Fighting the urge to take her right there, he closed the door
and drove off into the night. There was no need to alert the press about this killing . . . the flames would do that for him.
At CERN, Sylvie sat stunned by the camerlegno’s address. Never before had she felt so proud to be a Catholic and so ashamed to work at CERN. As she left the recreational wing, the mood in every single viewi
to Kohler’s office, all seven phone lines were ringing. Media inquiries were never routed to Kohler’s office, so the incoming calls could only be one thing.
Geld. Money calls.
Antimatter technology already had some takers.
Inside from thdecade
Now out in the hallway, the camerlegno turned to Glick and Macri. “I have asked theSwiss Guard to assemble photos for you-photos of the branded cardinals as well as one of His late Ho
Blackened tongues. But I w
Glick decided it must be perpetual Christmas inside Vatican City. He wants me to broadcast an exclusive photo of the dead Pope? “Are you sure?” Glick asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. The camerlegno nodded. “The Swiss Guard will also provide you a live video feed of the antimatter caniste
Glick stared. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas! “The Illuminati are about to find out,” the camerlegno declared, “that they have grossly overplayed their hand.”
96
L ike a recurring theme in some demonic symphony, the suffocating darkness hareturned.
d
!
The pinched sleeve of his jacket had thankfully come free when the casket fell, leaving
g of his
t it
sts, he cursed, now imperiled by the same
Precision can be suffocating.
, and then
e by images of the
t
ffin, Langdon found a shard of bone. A rib maybe? He
No light. No air. No exit.
Langdon lay trapped beneath the overturned sarcophagus and felt his mind careening dangerously close to the brink. Trying to drive his thoughts in any direction other than the crushing space around him, Langdon urged his mind toward some logical process . . . mathematics, music, anything. But there was no room for calming thoughts. I can’t moveI can’t breathe!
Langdon now with two mobile arms. Even so, as he pressed upward on the ceilintiny cell, he found it immovable. Oddly, he wished his sleeve were still caught. At leasmight create a crack for some air.
As Langdon pushed against the roof above, his sleeve fell back to reveal the faint glow ofan old friend. Mickey. The greenish cartoon face seemed mocking now. Langdon probed the blackness for any other sign of light, but the casket rim was flush against the floor. Goddamn Italian perfectioni
artistic excellence he taught his students to revere . . . impeccable edges, faultless parallels, and of course, use only of the most seamless and resilient Carrara marble.
“Lift the damn thing,” he said aloud, pressing harder through the tangle of bones. The box shifted slightly. Setting his jaw, he heaved again. The box felt like a boulder, but this time it raised a quarter of an inch. A fleeting glimmer of light surrounded him
the casket thudded back down. Langdon lay panting in the dark. He tried to use his legs to lift as he had before, but now that the sarcophagus had fallen flat, there was no roomeven to straighten his knees. As the claustrophobic panic closed in, Langdon was overcom
sarcophagus shrinking around him. Squeezed by delirium, he fought the illusion with every logical shred of intellect he had.
“Sarcophagus,” he stated aloud, with as much academic sterility as he could muster. Bueven erudition seemed to be his enemy today. Sarcophagus is from the Greek “sarx”meaning “flesh,” and “phagein” meaning “to eat.” I’m trapped in a box literally designed to “eat flesh.” Images of flesh eaten from bone only served as a grim reminder that Langdon lay covered in human remains. The notion brought nausea and chills. But it also brought an idea. Fumbling blindly around the co
didn’t care. All he wanted was a wedge. If he could lift the box, even a crack, and slide
the bone fragment beneath the rim, then maybe enough air could . . . Reaching across his body and wedging the tapered end of the bone into the crack betweenthe floor and the coffin, Langdon reached up with his other hand and heaved skyward.
his body, Langdon
islodge it, he raised both hands above him. As the stifling confine began to smother him,
e felt a welling of intensified panic. It was the second time today he had been trapped
sket
ainst
lder slipped outward into the widening crack. When the casket fell again, the
up. A tiny slit of
his throat would pass,
e walls squeezed closer, Langdon felt the old fears sweep
ld. The
nce his
.
thought, laughing as he ran across the
meadow. He wished his parents had come along. But his parents were busy pitching
too far,” his mother had said.
ended not to hear as he bounded off into the woods.
omething else-a brilliant lady’s slipper-the rarest
and most beautiful flower in New Hampshire. He had only ever seen them in books.
Excited, the boy moved toward the flower. He knelt down. The ground beneath him felt
The box did not move. Not even slightly. He tried again. For a moment, it seemed to tremble slightly, but that was all. With the fetid stench and lack of oxygen choking the strength from
realized he only had time for one more effort. He also knew he would need both arms. Regrouping, he placed the tapered edge of the bone against the crack, and shifting his body, he wedged the bone against his shoulder, pinning it in place. Careful not to
dh
with no air. Hollering aloud, Langdon thrust upward in one explosive motion. The cajostled off the floor for an instant. But long enough. The bone shard he had braced aghis shou
bone shattered. But this time Langdon could see the casket was propped light showed beneath the rim.
Exhausted, Langdon collapsed. Hoping the strangling sensation in
he waited. But it only worsened as the seconds passed. Whatever air was coming throughthe slit seemed imperceptible. Langdon wondered if it would be enough to keep him alive. And if so, for how long? If he passed out, who would know he was even in there? With arms like lead, Langdon raised his watch again: 10:12 P.M. Fighting trembling
fingers, he fumbled with the watch and made his final play. He twisted one of the tiny dials and pressed a button. As consciousness faded, and th
over him. He tried to imagine, as he had so many times, that he was in an open fieimage he conjured, however, was no help. The nightmare that had haunted him siyouth came crashing back . .
The flowers here are like paintings, the child
camp. “Don’t explore
He had pret
Now, traversing this glorious field, the boy came across a pile of fieldstones. He figured it must be the foundation of an old homestead. He would not go near it. He knew better. Besides, his eyes had been drawn to s
mulchy and hollow. He realized his flower had found an extra-fertile spot. It was growifrom a patch of rotting wood. Thrilled by the thought of taking home his prize, the boy reached out . . . fingers extending toward the stem. ng
He never reached it.
no pain.
iented
y
Above him. Miles above him, it seemed.
e
.
rying out. He was tormented by visions of the walls
on, the shaft deepened. The walls inched quietly inward. The boy
d
team arrived, they found the boy barely conscious. He had been
tory
d up . . . spiraling higher in the
stone tunnel, grateful his load was slender.
With a sickening crack, the earth gave way. In the three seconds of dizzying terror as he fell, the boy knew he would die. Plummeting downward, he braced for the bone-crushing collision. When it came, there was
Only softness. And cold.
He hit the deep liquid face first, plunging into a narrow blackness. Spinning disorsomersaults, he groped the sheer walls that enclosed him on all sides. Somehow, as if binstinct, he sputtered to the surface.
Light. Faint.
His arms clawed at the water, searching the walls of the hollow for something to grab onto. Only smooth stone. He had fallen through an abandoned well covering. Hscreamed for help, but his cries reverberated in the tight shaft. He called out again andagain. Above him, the tattered hole grew dim
Night fell.
Time seemed to contort in the darkness. Numbness set in as he treaded water in the depths of the chasm, calling, c
collapsing in, burying him alive. His arms ached with fatigue. A few times he thought he heard voices. He shouted out, but his own voice was muted . . . like a dream. As the night wore
pressed out against the enclosure, pushing it away. Exhausted, he wanted to give up. Anyet he felt the water buoy him, cooling his burning fears until he was numb. When the rescue
treading water for five hours. Two days later, the Boston Globe ran a front-page scalled “The Little Swimmer That Could.”
97
T he Hassassin smiled as he pulled his van into the mammoth stone structure overlooking the Tiber River. He carried his prize up an
He arrived at the door. The Church of Illumination, he gloated. The ancient Illuminati meeting room. Who would
ork to be done.
ile away, naked under the glare of hundreds of press lights.
id aloud, picturing the thousands of Muslims slaughtered during
ting her wake up.
odisiac.
nscious while he was
ur strength preserved . . . for me.
her head slightly, he placed his palm beneath her neck and found the hollow
beneath her skull. The crown/meridian pressure point was one he had used
es. With crushing force, he drove his thumb into the soft cartilage and felt it
he final task. He walked to the table and revered the sacred, metal forms that
ite hot, he carried it to the cell.
have imagined it to be here? Inside, he lay her on a plush divan. Then he expertly bound her arms behind her back and tied her feet. He knew that what he longed for would have to wait until his final task was
finished. Water. Still, he thought, he had a moment for indulgence. Kneeling beside her, he ran his hand along her thigh. It was smooth. Higher. His dark fingers snaked beneath the cuff of her shorts. Higher. He stopped. Patience, he told himself, feeling aroused. There is w
He walked for a moment out onto the chamber’s high stone balcony. The evening breeze slowly cooled his ardor. Far below the Tiber raged. He raised his eyes to the dome of St. Peter’s, three quarters of a m
“Your final hour,” he sa
the Crusades. “At midnight you will meet your God.” Behind him, the woman stirred. The Hassassin turned. He considered let
Seeing terror in a woman’s eyes was his ultimate aphr
He opted for prudence. It would be better if she remained uncogone. Although she was tied and would never escape, the Hassassin did not want to
return and find her exhausted from struggling. I want yo
Liftingdirectly
countless timdepress. The woman slumped instantly.Twenty minutes, he thought. She would be a tantalizing end to a perfect day. After she had served him and died doing it, he would stand on the balcony and watch the midnight Vatican fireworks. Leaving his prize unconscious on the couch, the Hassassin went downstairs into a torchlit dungeon. T
had been left there for him. Water. It was his last. Removing a torch from the wall as he had done three times already, he began heating the end. When the end of the object was wh
Inside, a single man stood in silence. Old and alone. “Cardinal Baggia,” the killer hissed. “Have you prayed yet?”
The Italian’s eyes were fearless. “Only for your soul.”
98
T he six pompieri firemen who responded to the fire at the Church of Santa Maria DellVittoria extinguished the bonfire with blasts of Halon gas. Water was cheaper, but thsteam it created would have ruined the frescoes in the chapel, and the V
a
e
atican paid
f his body was crimson-black, blood oozing
inbones were exposed. One fireman vomited.
read. Lavoro del diavolo, he said to himself. Satan
t time since childhood.
ro corpo!” someone yelled. One of the firemen had found another body.
nd victim was a man the chief recognized immediately. The austere commander
e Swiss Guard was a man for whom few public law enforcement officials had any
g to recreate what possibly could have gone on
holes. A coffin had been rolled off its supports
not a
n ever liked to hear.
c
beeping. They stared, confused.
Roman pompieri a healthy stipend for swift and prudent service in all Vatican-ownedbuildings.
Pompieri, by the nature of their work, witnessed tragedy almost daily, but the execution in this church was something none of them would ever forget. Part crucifixion, part hanging, part burning at the stake, the scene was something dredged from a Gothic nightmare.
Unfortunately, the press, as usual, had arrived before the fire department. They’d shot plenty of video before the pompieri cleared the church. When the firemen finally cut the victim down and lay him on the floor, there was no doubt who the man was.
“Cardinale Guidera,” one whispered. “Di Barcellona.” The victim was nude. The lower half o
through gaping cracks in his thighs. His shAnother went outside to breathe.
The true horror, though, was the symbol seared on the cardinal’s chest. The squad chief circled the corpse in awestruck d
himself did this. He crossed himself for the firs
“Un’ altThe seco
of thaffection. The chief called the Vatican, but all the circuits were busy. He knew it didn’t matter. The Swiss Guard would hear about this on television in a matter of minutes.
As the chief surveyed the damage, tryinhere, he saw a niche riddled with bullet
and fallen upside down in an apparent struggle. It was a mess. That’s for the police and Holy See to deal with, the chief thought, turning away. As he turned, though, he stopped. Coming from the coffin he heard a sound. It was
sound any firema
“Bomba!” he cried out. “Tutti fuori!”
When the bomb squad rolled the coffin over, they discovered the source of the electroni
“Mèdico!” one finally screamed. “Mèdico!”
99
A ny word from Olivetti?” the camerlegno asked, looking drained as Rocher escorted
“No, signore. I am fearing the worst.”
erlegno’s voice was heavy. “Captain, there
r I have done too much already. I am going
hands.”
that canister.”
continues.” Rocher hesitated. “The weapon proves to be too well hidden.”
actly 11:15 P.M., if the
cardinals. I am putting their safety in
roceed from this place with dignity. Let
the world. I do not
ant the last image of this church to be frightened old men sneaking out a back door.”
“Signore?”
trembling.”
e lay you a fire.”
iled tiredly. “Thank you. Thank you, very much.”
f the Blessed Mother Mary. It was an eerie sight. A black shadow
him back from the Sistine Chapel to the Pope’s office.
When they reached the Pope’s office, the camis nothing more I can do here tonight. I fea
into this office to pray. I do not wish to be disturbed. The rest is in God’s
“Yes, signore.” “The hour is late, Captain. Find
“Our search
The camerlegno winced, as if he could not think of it. “Yes. At ex
church is still in peril, I want you to evacuate theyour hands. I ask only one thing. Let these men p
them exit into St. Peter’s Square and stand side by side with the rest of
w
“Very good, signore. And you? Shall I come for you at 11:15 as well?” “There will be no need.” “Signore?”
“I will leave when the spirit moves me.” Rocher wondered if the camerlegno intended to go down with the ship. The camerlegno opened the door to the Pope’s office and entered. “Actually . . .” he said, turning. “There is one thing.”
“There seems to be a chill in this office tonight. I am
“The electric heat is out. Let m
The camerlegno sm
Rocher exited the Pope’s office where he had left the camerlegno praying by firelight in front of a small statue o
kneeling in the flickering glow. As Rocher headed down the hall, a guard appeared, running toward him. Even by candlelight Rocher recognized Lieutenant Chartrand.
Young, green, and eager.
idea how he got
ly speak to the ranking officer.”
d from Olivetti?”
, sir.”
om
rders.
Back at CERN, Sylvie Baudeloque was frantically trying to keep track of all the licensing
r’s desk
nswered.
ntact my pilot. My jet is to be ready in five
obert Langdon had no idea where he was or how long he had been unconscious when
ound himself staring up at the underside of a baroque, frescoed
upola. Smoke drifted overhead. Something was covering his mouth. An oxygen mask.
, his head spiraling like the smoke overhead. What the hell
“Captain,” Chartrand called, holding out a cellular phone. “I think the camerlegno’s address may have worked. We’ve got a caller here who says he has information that can help us. He phoned on one of the Vatican’s private extensions. I have no
the number.”
Rocher stopped. “What?” “He will on
“Any wor
“NoHe took the receiver. “This is Captain Rocher. I am ranking officer here.” “Rocher,” the voice said. “I will explain to you who I am. Then I will tell you what you are going to do next.”
When the caller stopped talking and hung up, Rocher stood stunned. He now knew frwhom he was taking o
inquiries coming in on Kohler’s voice mail. When the private line on the directobegan to ring, Sylvie jumped. Nobody had that number. She a
“Yes?”
“Ms. Baudeloque? This is Director Kohler. Co
minutes.” 100
R
he opened his eyes and f
c
He pulled it off. There was a terrible smell in the room-like burning flesh. Langdon winced at the pounding in his head. He tried to sit up. A man in white was kneeling beside him.
“Riposati!” the man said, easing Langdon onto his back again. “Sono il paramédico.” Langdon succumbed
happened? Wispy feelings of panic sifted through his mind. “Sórcio salvatore,” the paramedic said. “Mouse . . . savior.”
Langdon felt even more lost. Mouse savior? The man motioned to the Mickey Mouse watch on Langdon’s wrist. Langdon’s thoughts began to clear. He remembered setting the alarm. As he stared absently at the watch face,
seen Vittoria unconscious on the floor. Now she was gone. The only explanation he came
t a comforting one. The killer had not been subtle on the phone. A woman
“Still no contact. Vatican lines are jammed.”
d footage of the third
had evaporated from his mind. The war was
. It was simple. Stark. Primal.
In
at the
Langdon also noted the hour. 10:28 P.M.
He sat bolt upright.
Then, it all came back.
Langdon stood near the main altar with the fire chief and a few of his men. They hadbeen rattling him with questions. Langdon wasn’t listening. He had questions of his own. His whole body ached, but he knew he needed to act immediately. A pompiero approached Langdon across the church. “I checked again, sir. The only
bodies we found are Cardinal Guidera and the Swiss Guard commander. There’s no signof a woman here.” “Grazie,” Langdon said, unsure whether he was relieved or horrified. He knew he had
up with was no
of spirit. I am aroused. Perhaps before this night is over, I will find you. And when I do . . .” Langdon looked around. “Where is the Swiss Guard?”
Langdon felt overwhelmed and alone. Olivetti was dead. The cardinal was dead. Vittoria was missing. A half hour of his life had disappeared in a blink. Outside, Langdon could hear the press swarming. He suspecte
cardinal’s horrific death would no doubt air soon, if it hadn’t already. Langdon hoped the camerlegno had long since assumed the worst and taken action. Evacuate the damn Vatican! Enough games! We lose!
Langdon suddenly realized that all of the catalysts that had been driving him-helping to save Vatican City, rescuing the four cardinals, coming face to face with the brotherhood he had studied for years-all of these things
lost. A new compulsion had ignited within him
Find Vittoria. He felt an unexpected emptiness inside. Langdon had often heard that intense situations could unite two people in ways that decades together often did not. He now believed it. Vittoria’s absence he felt something he had not felt in years. Loneliness. The pain gave him strength.
Pushing all else from his mind, Langdon mustered his concentration. He prayed th
Hassassin would take care of business before pleasure. Otherwise, Langdon knew he was
r had one final task. Earth. Air. Fire.
the firemen toward
n had
nothing there. Langdon
ens. Why?”
ap. Right away.”
e
Triton-the Greek God of the sea. Then he realized
He
er? Neptune and Apollo? Unfortunately that statue was in London’s Victoria & Albert
tailed as any
already too late. No, he told himself, you have time. Vittoria’s captor still had work to do. He had to surface one last time before disappearing forever.
The last altar of science, Langdon thought. The killeWater.
He looked at his watch. Thirty minutes. Langdon moved past
Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa. This time, as he stared at Bernini’s marker, Langdono doubt what he was looking for.
Let angels guide you on your lofty quest . . .
Directly over the recumbent saint, against a backdrop of gilded flame, hovered Bernini’s angel. The angel’s hand clutched a pointed spear of fire. Langdon’s eyes followed the direction of the shaft, arching toward the right side of the church. His eyes hit the wall. He scanned the spot where the spear was pointing. There was
knew, of course, the spear was pointing far beyond the wall, into the night, somewhere across Rome. “What direction is that?” Langdon asked, turning and addressing the chief with a newfound determination.
“Direction?” The chief glanced where Langdon was pointing. He sounded confused. “I don’t know . . . west, I think.”
“What churches are in that direction?” The chief’s puzzlement seemed to deepen. “Doz
Langdon frowned. Of course there were dozens. “I need a city m
The chief sent someone running out to the fire truck for a map. Langdon turned back to the statue. Earth . . . Air . . . Fire . . . VITTORIA. The final marker is Water, he told himself. Bernini’s Water. It was in a church out there somewhere. A needle in a haystack. He spurred his mind through all the Bernini works hcould recall. I need a tribute to Water! Langdon flashed on Bernini’s statue of
it was located in the square outside this very church, in entirely the wrong direction. forced himself to think. What figure would Bernini have carved as a glorification of wat
Museum. “Signore?” A fireman ran in with a map. Langdon thanked him and spread it out on the altar. He immediately realized he had asked the right people; the fire department’s map of Rome was as deLangdon had ever seen. “Where are we now?”
The man pointed. “Next to Piazza Barberini.”
e map, the spear was pointing west. Langdon traced a line from
the suburbs of Rome. He exhaled and stepped
. here .
Langdon double-checked. He was not
s.
s.
to retain the symmetry was to place the
tal.
lic
the
a
l.
d
Langdon looked at the angel’s spear again to get his bearings. The chief had estimated correctly. According to th
his current location west across the map. Almost instantly his hopes began to sink. It seemed that with every inch his finger traveled, he passed yet another building marked by a tiny black cross. Churches. The city was riddled with them. Finally, Langdon’s finger ran out of churches and trailed off into
back from the map. Damn. Surveying the whole of Rome, Langdon’s eyes touched down on the three churches where the first three cardinals had been killed. The Chigi Chapel . . . St. Peter’s . .. .
Seeing them all laid out before him now, Langdon noted an oddity in their locations. Somehow he had imagined the churches would be scattered randomly across Rome. But they most definitely were not. Improbably, the three churches seemed to be separated systematically, in an enormous city-wide triangle.
imagining things. “Penna,” he said suddenly, without looking up. Someone handed him a ballpoint pen. Langdon circled the three churches. His pulse quickened. He triple-checked his markingA symmetrical triangle!
Langdon’s first thought was for the Great Seal on the one-dollar bill-the triangle containing the all-seeing eye. But it didn’t make sense. He had marked only three pointThere were supposed to be four in all. So where the hell is Water? Langdon knew that anywhere he placed the fourth point, the triangle would be destroyed. The only option
fourth marker inside the triangle, at the center. He looked at the spot on the map.
Nothing. The idea bothered him anyway. The four elements of science were considered equal. Water was not special; Water would not be at the center of the others. Still, his instinct told him the systematic arrangement could not possibly be acciden
I’m not yet seeing the whole picture. There was only one alternative. The four points did not make a triangle; they made some other shape. Langdon looked at the map. A square, perhaps? Although a square made no symbosense, squares were symmetrical at least. Langdon put his finger on the map at one ofpoints that would turn the triangle into a square. He saw immediately that a perfect squarewas impossible. The angles of the original triangle were oblique and created more of distorted quadrilatera
As he studied the other possible points around the triangle, something unexpected happened. He noticed that the line he had drawn earlier to indicate the direction of the angel’s spear passed perfectly through one of the possibilities. Stupefied, Langdon circlethat point. He was now looking at four ink marks on the map, arranged in somewhat of an
awkward, kitelike diamond.
He frowned. Diamonds were not an Illuminati symbol either. He paused. Then againFor an instant Langdon flashed on the famed Illuminati Diamond. The thought, of course,
. . .
was oblong-like a kite-hardly an
ini works. The church was called Saint Agnes in Agony, named for St.
picturing the inside of
s at all inside, much less anything to do
rangement on the map was bothering him too. A diamond. It was far
oincidence, but it was not accurate enough to make any sense. A kite?
n
ienced in his academic career.
jacent points. The Illuminati
re his eyes . . . sprawled across Rome in an enormous,
city-wide cross.
As he stared in wonder, a line of poetry rang in his mind . . . like an old friend with a new
’Cross Rome . . .
The fog began to clear. Langdon saw that the answer had been in front of him all night!
’Cross Rome the mystic elements unfold!
It was cunning wordplay. Langdon had originally read the word ’Cross as an abbreviation
n clue.
was ridiculous. He dismissed it. Besides, this diamond
example of the flawless symmetry for which the Illuminati Diamond was revered. When he leaned in to examine where he had placed the final mark, Langdon was surprised to find that the fourth point lay dead center of Rome’s famed Piazza Navona. He knew the piazza contained a major church, but he had already traced his finger through that piazza and considered the church there. To the best of his knowledge it contained no Bern
Agnes, a ravishing teenage virgin banished to a life of sexual slavery for refusing to renounce her faith.
There must be something in that church! Langdon racked his brain, the church. He could think of no Bernini work
with water. The artoo accurate to be c
Langdon wondered if he had chosen the wrong point. What am I missing! The answer took another thirty seconds to hit him, but when it did, Langdon felt a
exhilaration like nothing he had ever exper
The Illuminati genius, it seemed, would never cease. The shape he was looking at was not intended as a diamond at all. The four points only formed a diamond because Langdon had connected ad
believe in opposites! Connecting opposite vertices with his pen, Langdon’s fingers were trembling. There before him on the map was a giant cruciform. It’s a cross! The four elements of science unfolded befo
face.
’Cross Rome the mystic elements unfold . . .
The Illuminati poem had been telling him how the altars were laid out. A cross!
of Across. He assumed it was poetic license intended to retain the meter of the poem. But it was so much more than that! Another hidde
The cruciform on the map, Langdon realized, was the ultimate Illuminati duality. It was a religious symbol formed by elements of science. Galileo’s path of Illumination was a
e fell into place almost immediately.
r
p
stood a towering obelisk.
Leaving confused firemen in his wake, Langdon ran across the church in the direction of
10:31 P.M., he thought. Plenty of time. It was the first instant all day that Langdon felt
s was not the place to do it. The final altar of science needed to
remain a secret for now. The media and fire department racing with sirens blaring to
ither
out of range or the transmitter needed some kind of authorization code. Langdon adjusted
il. Abruptly, he realized his plan to get help was
Feeling his initial surge of confidence decay, Langdon stood a moment and took stock of
ne dust, cut, deliriously exhausted, and hungry.
d over the cupola, lit by the media
fire trucks. He wondered if he should go back and get help. Instinct warned
ver that extra help, especially untrained help, would be nothing but a liability. If
tribute to both science and God! The rest of the puzzl
Piazza Navona. Dead center of Piazza Navona, outside the church of St. Agnes in Agony, Bernini had forged one of his most celebrated sculptures. Everyone who came to Rome went to see it. The Fountain of the Four Rivers!
A flawless tribute to water, Bernini’s Fountain of the Four Rivers glorified the four majorivers of the Old World-The Nile, Ganges, Danube, and Rio Plata. Water, Langdon thought. The final marker. It was perfect. And even more perfect, Langdon realized, the cherry on the cake, was that high atoBernini’s fountain
Olivetti’s lifeless body.
ahead of the game. Kneeling beside Olivetti, out of sight behind some pews, Langdon discreetly took possession of the commander’s semiautomatic and walkie-talkie. Langdon knew he would call for help, but thi
Piazza Navona would be no help at all. Without a word, Langdon slipped out the door and skirted the press, who were now entering the church in droves. He crossed Piazza Barberini. In the shadows he turned on the walkie-talkie. He tried to hail Vatican City but heard nothing but static. He was e
the complex dials and buttons to no ava
not going to work. He spun, looking for a pay phone. None. Vatican circuits were jammed anyway. He was alone.
his pitiful state-covered in bo
Langdon glanced back at the church. Smoke spirale
lights andhim howe
the Hchance to face her captor. Piazza Navona, he thought, knowing he could get there in plenty of time and stake it out. He scanned the area for a taxi, but the streets were almost entirely deserted. Even the drivers, it seemed, about a mile away, but Langdon had no intenti
assassin sees us coming . . . He thought of Vittoria and knew this would be his final
taxi
had dropped everything to find a television. Piazza Navona was only
on of wasting precious energy on foot. He
cision. Pulling the gun
on a bench in a holding tank inside the office of the Swiss Guard.
g the camerlegno’s address, she and Glick had provided the world
e camerlegno’s behest, so that was not the reason
arly
w. Shortly after the camerlegno’s address, Glick had again,
’d overheard Rocher giving new
glanced back at the church, wondering if he could borrow a vehicle from someone. A fire truck? A press van? Be serious. Sensing options and minutes slipping away, Langdon made his de
from his pocket, he committed an act so out of character that he suspected his soul must now be possessed. Running over to a lone Citroën sedan idling at a stoplight, Langdon pointed the weapon through the driver’s open window. “Fuori!” he yelled. The trembling man got out.
Langdon jumped behind the wheel and hit the gas. 101
G unther Glick sat
He prayed to every god he could think of. Please let this NOT be a dream. It had been thescoop of his life. The scoop of anyone’s life. Every reporter on earth wished he were Glick right now. You are awake, he told himself. And you are a star. Dan Rather is crying right now. Macri was beside him, looking a little bit stunned. Glick didn’t blame her. In addition to exclusively broadcastin
with gruesome photos of the cardinals and of the Pope-that tongue!-as well as a live video feed of the antimatter canister counting down. Incredible! Of course, all of that had all been at th
Glick and Macri were now locked in a Swiss Guard holding tank. It had been Glick’s daring addendum to their coverage that the guards had not appreciated. Glick knew the conversation on which he had just reported was not intended for his ears, but this was hismoment in the sun. Another Glick scoop! “The 11th Hour Samaritan?” Macri groaned on the bench beside him, cle
unimpressed.
Glick smiled. “Brilliant, wasn’t it?” “Brilliantly dumb.”
She’s just jealous, Glick kne
by chance, been in the right place at the right time. He
orders to his men. Apparently Rocher had received a phone call from a mysterious
prepare
ay that a mystery guest was coming to Vatican
bridge.
e had thrown
ed us,” Macri said. “You totally blew it.”
ent George Bush? An Illuminatus?”
cy
ck of evidence. And all those speeches about “a
e
se of the Illuminati?”
pear. The Illuminati had to go somewhere.
not saying everyone at CERN is Illuminati.
ople are innocent, but the upper
individual who Rocher claimed had critical information regarding the current crisis. Rocher was talking as if this man could help them and was advising his guards to
for the guest’s arrival. Although the information was clearly private, Glick had acted as any dedicated reporter would-without honor. He’d found a dark corner, ordered Macri to fire up her remote camera, and he’d reported the news.
“Shocking new developments in God’s city,” he had announced, squinting his eyes foradded intensity. Then he’d gone on to s
City to save the day. The 11th Hour Samaritan, Glick had called him-a perfect name forthe faceless man appearing at the last moment to do a good deed. The other networks had picked up the catchy sound bite, and Glick was yet again immortalized. I’m brilliant, he mused. Peter Jennings just jumped off a
Of course Glick had not stopped there. While he had the world’s attention, h
in a little of his own conspiracy theory for good measure. Brilliant. Utterly brilliant. “You screw
“What do you mean? I was great!”
Macri stared disbelievingly. “Former Presid
Glick smiled. How much more obvious could it be? George Bush was a well-documented, 33rd-degree Mason, and he was the head of the CIA when the agenclosed their Illuminati investigation for la
thousand points of light” and a “New World Order” . . . Bush was obviously Illuminati. “And that bit about CERN?” Macri chided. “You are going to have a very big line of lawyers outside your door tomorrow.” “CERN? Oh come on! It’s so obvious! Think about it! The Illuminati disappear off thface of the earth in the 1950s at about the same time CERN is founded. CERN is a haven for the most enlightened people on earth. Tons of private funding. They build a weapon that can destroy the church, and oops! . . . they lose it!”
“So you tell the world that CERN is the new home ba
“Obviously! Brotherhoods don’t just disapCERN is a perfect place for them to hide. I’m
It’s probably like a huge Masonic lodge, where most pe
echelons-” “Have you ever heard of slander, Glick? Liability?” “Have you ever heard of real journalism!”
“Journalism? You were pulling bullshit out of thin air! I should have turned off the camera! And what the hell was that crap about CERN’s corporate logo? Satanic symbology? Have you lost your mind?” Glick smiled. Macri’s jealousy was definitely showing. The CERN logo had been the
most brilliant coup of all. Ever since the camerlegno’s address, all the networks were
e stations were showing the CERN corporate
ed standard enough-two intersecting circles
left the symbology to the Harvard guy.”
this logo is so obvious!
eaming inside. Although CERN had lots of accelerators, their logo showed only
Two is the Illuminati number of duality. Although most accelerators had only one
umber of the Illuminati pentagram.
of all. Glick pointed out that the logo
e Illuminati kept their infamous
r
n Rome, like those in the desert, can be surprisingly cool, even after a warm day.
talking about CERN and antimatter. Somlogo as a backdrop. The logo seem
representing two particle accelerators, and five tangential lines representing particle injection tubes. The whole world was staring at this logo, but it had been Glick, a bit of a symbologist himself, who had first seen the Illuminati symbology hidden in it. “You’re not a symbologist,” Macri chided, “you’re just one lucky-ass reporter. You should have
“The Harvard guy missed it,” Glick said.
The Illuminati significance inHe was b
two. injection tube, the logo showed five. Five is the nThen had come the coup-the most brilliant point
contained a large numeral “6-clearly formed by one of the lines and circles-and when the logo was rotated, another six appeared . . . and then another. The logo contained three sixes! 666! The devil’s number! The mark of the beast! Glick was a genius.
Macri looked ready to slug him. The jealousy would pass, Glick knew, his mind now wandering to another thought. If CERN was Illuminati headquarters, was CERN where th
Illuminati Diamond? Glick had read about it on the Internet-“a flawless diamond, born of the ancient elements with such perfection that all those who saw it could only stand in wonder.” Glick wondered if the secret whereabouts of the Illuminati Diamond might be yet anothemystery he could unveil tonight.
102 P iazza Navona. Fountain of the Four Rivers. Nights i
Langdon was huddled now on the fringes of Piazza Navona, pulling his jacket around him. Like the distant white noise of traffic, a cacophony of news reports echoed across the city. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes. He was grateful for a few moments of
rest. The piazza was deserted. Bernini’s masterful fountain sizzled before him with a fearful
p
rrangement of the markers across Rome.
angdon had been standing in the Pantheon convinced the Path of Illumination had been
he reminded himself. The path had five stops, not four. This fourth
ered if
he was overcome by an unsettling awareness. This fountain contained no angels
ontained none Langdon could see from where he was standing .
ad ever seen in the past. The Fountain of the Four Rivers was a pagan
perfect.
e
hadows beside the huge stairway leading up to
d out at the piazza, his pulse climbing.
sorcery. The foaming pool sent a magical mist upward, lit from beneath by underwater floodlights. Langdon sensed a cool electricity in the air. The fountain’s most arresting quality was its height. The central core alone was over twenty feet tall-a rugged mountain of travertine marble riddled with caves and grottoes through which the water churned. The entire mound was draped with pagan figures. Atothis stood an obelisk that climbed another forty feet. Langdon let his eyes climb. On the obelisk’s tip, a faint shadow blotted the sky, a lone pigeon perched silently.
A cross, Langdon thought, still amazed by the aFountain of the Four Rivers was the last altar of science. Only hours ago
Bernini’s L
broken and he would never get this far. It had been a foolish blunder. In fact, the entire path was intact. Earth, Air, Fire, Water. And Langdon had followed it . . . from beginning to end. Not quite to the end,
marker fountain somehow pointed to the ultimate destiny-the Illuminati’s sacred lair-the Church of Illumination. Langdon wondered if the lair were still standing. He wond
that was where the Hassassin had taken Vittoria. Langdon found his eyes probing the figures in the fountain, looking for any clue as to the direction of the lair. Let angels guide you on your lofty quest. Almost immediately, though,
whatsoever. It certainly c. . and none he h
work. The carvings were all profane-humans, animals, even an awkward armadillo. An angel here would stick out like a sore thumb. Is this the wrong place? He considered the cruciform arrangement of the four obelisks. He clenched his fists. This fountain is
It was only 10:46 P.M. when a black van emerged from the alleyway on the far side of thpiazza. Langdon would not have given it a second look except that the van drove with no headlights. Like a shark patrolling a moonlit bay, the vehicle circled the perimeter of the piazza. Langdon hunkered lower, crouched in the s
the Church of St. Agnes in Agony. He gaze
After making two complete circuits, the van banked inward toward Bernini’s fountain. It pulled abreast of the basin, moving laterally along the rim until its side was flush with the fountain. Then it parked, its sliding door positioned only inches above the churning water.
Mist billowed. Langdon felt an uneasy premonition. Had the Hassassin arrived early? Had he come in a van? Langdon had imagined the killer escorting his last victim across the piazza on foot, like he had at St. Peter’s, giving Langdon an open shot. But if the Hassassin had arrived
in a van, the rules had just changed.
y.
bisected the man’s mouth like a horse’s bit, stifling his cries for help. It
the
the ground. He didn’t want the
ps. When he reached the fountain, he climbed over the rim and dropped into
ist deep and like ice. Langdon grit his teeth and plowed through the
was slippery, made doubly treacherous by a stratum of coins thrown
ngdon sensed he would need more than good luck. As the mist rose all
around him, he wondered if it was the cold or the fear that was causing the gun in his
k to his left. He waded hard,
arble forms. Hiding himself behind the huge carved form of
The van was only fifteen feet away. The Hassassin was
the fountain.
the mist, feeling
like some sort of aquatic cowboy making a final stand. “Don’t move.” His voice was
e seemed confused, as though he had seen a
Suddenly, the van’s side door slid open. On the floor of the van, contorted in agony, lay a naked man. The man was wrapped in yards of heavy chains. He thrashed against the iron links, but the chains were too heavOne of the links
was then that Langdon saw the second figure, moving around behind the prisoner indark, as though making final preparations. Langdon knew he had only seconds to act. Taking the gun, he slipped off his jacket and dropped it on
added encumbrance of a tweed jacket, nor did he have any intention of taking Galileo’s Diagramma anywhere near the water. The document would stay here where it was safe and dry.
Langdon scrambled to his right. Circling the perimeter of the fountain, he positioned himself directly opposite the van. The fountain’s massive centerpiece obscured his view. Standing, he ran directly toward the basin. He hoped the thundering water was drowning his footste
the foaming pool.
The water was wawater. The bottom
for good luck. La
hand to shake.
He reached the interior of the fountain and circled bac
clinging to the cover of the ma horse, Langdon peered out.
crouched on the floor of the van, hands planted on the cardinal’s chain-clad body, preparing to roll him out the open door into
Waist-deep in water, Robert Langdon raised his gun and stepped out of
steadier than the gun.
The Hassassin looked up. For a moment h
ghost. Then his lips curled into an evil smile. He raised his arms in submission. “And so it goes.”
“Get out of the van.”
“You look wet.”
“You’re early.” “I am eager to return to my prize.”
Langdon leveled the gun. “I won’t hesitate to shoot.”
“You’ve already hesitated.”
otionless now. He
Where?”
ly revealed recently.
I would die before I break that trust.”
be done with
it. No. He knows where Vittoria is. He knows where the antimatter is. I need information!
rom the darkness of the van the Hassassin gazed out at his aggressor and couldn’t help
es
You had the advantage-the element of surprise. You squandered it.
.
Langdon felt his finger tighten on the trigger. The cardinal lay m
looked exhausted, moribund. “Untie him.”
“Forget him. You’ve come for the woman. Do not pretend otherwise.” Langdon fought the urge to end it right there. “Where is she?” “Somewhere safe. Awaiting my return.”
She’s alive. Langdon felt a ray of hope. “At the Church of Illumination?” The killer smiled. “You will never find its location.” Langdon was incredulous. The lair is still standing. He aimed the gun. “
“The location has remained secret for centuries. Even to me it was on
“I can find it without you.”
“An arrogant thought.”
Langdon motioned to the fountain. “I’ve come this far.”
“So have many. The final step is the hardest.” Langdon stepped closer, his footing tentative beneath the water. The Hassassin looked
remarkably calm, squatting there in the back of the van with his arms raised over his head. Langdon aimed at his chest, wondering if he should simply shoot and
F
but feel an amused pity. The American was brave, that he had proven. But he was also untrained. That he had also proven. Valor without expertise was suicide. There were rulof survival. Ancient rules. And the American was breaking all of them.
The American was indecisive . . . hoping for backup most likely . . . or perhaps a slip of the tongue that would reveal critical information
Never interrogate before you disable your prey. A cornered enemy is a deadly enemy. The American was talking again. Probing. Maneuvering.
The killer almost laughed aloud. This is not one of your Hollbe no long discussions at gunpoint before the final shoot-out. This is the end. Now.
ywood movies . . . there will
nto the cardinal’s side and launching the chain-laden
d. The killer had
oe of
in’s left boot. Instantly Langdon felt the soles of the Hassassin’s boots
id engulfed Langdon’s body, his first cognition was pain. Survival instinct
ay.
f
ssault would come. He needed to find the gun! His hands
r element.
hen Langdon’s fingers found metal a second time, he was certain his luck had changed.
The object in his hand was no handful of coins. He gripped it and tried to pull it toward
im, but when he did, he found himself gliding through the water. The object was
realized even before he coasted over the cardinal’s writhing body that he had
art of the metal chain that was weighing the man down. Langdon hovered a
immobilized by the sight of the terrified face staring up at him from the floor of
the fountain.
Without breaking eye contact, the killer inched his hands across the ceiling of the van until he found what he was looking for. Staring dead ahead, he grasped it. Then he made his play.
The motion was utterly unexpected. For an instant, Langdon thought the laws of physics had ceased to exist. The killer seemed to hang weightless in the air as his legs shot out from beneath him, his boots driving i
body out the door. The cardinal splashed down, sending up a sheet of spray. Water dousing his face, Langdon realized too late what had happene
grasped one of the van’s roll bars and used it to swing outward. Now the Hassassin was sailing toward him, feet-first through the spray. Langdon pulled the trigger, and the silencer spat. The bullet exploded through the tthe Hassass
connect with his chest, driving him back with a crushing kick. The two men splashed down in a spray of blood and water. As the icy liqu
came next. He realized he was no longer holding his weapon. It had been knocked awDiving deep, he groped along the slimy bottom. His hand gripped metal. A handful ocoins. He dropped them. Opening his eyes, Langdon scanned the glowing basin. The water churned around him like a frigid Jacuzzi. Despite the instinct to breathe, fear kept him on the bottom. Always moving. He did notknow from where the next a
groped desperately in front of him. You have the advantage, he told himself. You are in your element. Even in a soaked turtleneck Langdon was an agile swimmer. Water is you
W
h
stationary.
Langdon grasped pmoment,
Joltedtrying to heave him toward the surface. The body came slowly . . . like an anchor. Langdon pulled harder. When the cardinal’s head broke the surface, the old man gaspedfew sucking, desperate breaths. Then, violently, his body rolled, causing Langdon tohis grip on the slippery chains. Like a stone, Baggia went down again and disappeared beneath the foaming water.
by the life in the man’s eyes, Langdon reached down and grabbed the chains,
a
lose
Langdon dove, eyes wide in the liquid murkiness. He found the cardinal. This time, when Langdon grabbed on, the chains across Baggia’s chest shifted . . . parting to reveal a further wickedness . . . a word stamped in seared flesh.An instant later, two boots strode into view. One was gushing blood.
103 A s a water polo player, Robert Langdon had endured more than his fair share of underwater battles. The competitive savagery that raged beneath the surface of a water polo pool, away from the eyes of the referees, could rival even the ugliest wrestling
match. Langdon had bdefenseman from whom Langdon ha
een kicked, scratched, held, and even bitten once by a frustrated
d continuously twisted away.
ike a torpedo. Break the hold! But the grip torqued him back,
polo defenseman ever had-two feet on solid
own feet beneath him. The Hassassin
Now, though, thrashing in the frigid water of Bernini’s fountain, Langdon knew he was a long way from the Harvard pool. He was fighting not for a game, but for his life. This was the second time they had battled. No referees here. No rematches. The arms driving his face toward the bottom of the basin thrust with a force that left no doubt that it intended to kill. Langdon instinctively spun l
his attacker enjoying an advantage no water ground. Langdon contorted, trying to get his
seemed to be favoring one arm . . . but nonetheless, his grip held firm. It was then that Langdon knew he was not coming up. He did the only thing he could think of to do. He stopped trying to surface. If you can’t go north, go east. Marshallingthe last of his strength, Langdon dolphin-kicked his legs and pulled his arms beneath himin an awkward butterfly stroke. His body lurched forward.
The sudden switch in direction seemed to take the Hassassin off guard. Langdon’s lateral
but the Hassassin’s leg swung out, cutting Langdon down.
e
er here. A blinding light flashed in his
ter. It was hot. Langdon tried to
pull himself free, but the contraption was mounted on hinges and pivoted in his hand. His
instantly lost.
of Olivetti’s gun! Langdon reached out, but as his
fingers wrapped around the cylinder, he did not feel metal, he felt plastic. When he
le rubber hose came flopping toward him like a flimsy snake. It was
bout two feet long with a jet of bubbles surging from the end. Langdon had not found
d never imagined the end would be
held underwater by an
othing compared to
r the thrashing of a battle raging nearby. He could not bear the thought
ould
.
motion dragged his captor’s arms sideways, compromising his balance. The man’s grip faltered, and Langdon kicked again. The sensation felt like a towline had snapped. Suddenly Langdon was free. Blowing the stale air from his lungs, Langdon clawed for the surface. A single breath was all he got. With crashing force the Hassassin was on top of him again, palms on his shoulders, all of his weight bearing down. Langdon scrambled to plant his feet beneath him
He went under again.
Langdon’s muscles burned as he twisted beneath the water. This time his maneuvers werin vain. Through the bubbling water, Langdon scanned the bottom, looking for the gun. Everything was blurred. The bubbles were dens
face as the killer wrestled him deeper, toward a submerged spotlight bolted on the floor of the fountain. Langdon reached out, grabbing the canis
leverage was
The Hassassin drove him deeper still. It was then Langdon saw it. Poking out from under the coins directly beneath his face. Anarrow, black cylinder. The silencer
pulled, the flexib
a
the gun at all. It was one of the fountain’s many harmless spumanti . . . bubble makers. Only a few feet away, Cardinal Baggia felt his soul straining to leave his body. Although he had prepared for this moment his entire life, he ha
like this. His physical shell was in agony . . . burned, bruised, andimmovable weight. He reminded himself that this suffering was n
what Jesus had endured. He died for my sins . . .
Baggia could hea
of it. His captor was about to extinguish yet another life . . . the man with kind eyes, the man who had tried to help. As the pain mounted, Baggia lay on his back and stared up through the water at the black sky above him. For a moment he thought he saw stars.
It was time. Releasing all fear and doubt, Baggia opened his mouth and expelled what he knew wbe his final breath. He watched his spirit gurgle heavenward in a burst of transparent bubbles. Then, reflexively, he gasped. The water poured in like icy daggers to his sidesThe pain lasted only a few seconds.
Then . . . peace. The Hassassin ignored the burning in his foot and focused on the drowning American,
eneath him in the churning water. Finish it fully. He
ghtened his grip, knowing this time Robert Langdon would not survive. As he predicted,
p. It was over. The Hassassin held him down
he
find a double surprise in the Fountain of the Four Rivers.
” the Hassassin swore, clambering out of the fountain and looking at his
toe. The tip of his boot was shredded, and the front of his big toe had been
tore the cuff from his pant leg and rammed
bric into the toe of his boot. Pain shot up his leg. “Ibn al-kalb!” He clenched his
d wet, felt himself stiffen.
back. All of her muscles felt like
to move, she felt spasms in her
ere tied behind her back. Her
din.
Nearby, a set of double doors stood open,
whom he now held pinned b
ti
his victim’s struggling became weaker and weaker. Suddenly Langdon’s body went rigid. He began to shake wildly. Yes, the Hassassin mused. The rigors. When the water first hits the lungs. The rigors, he knew, would last about five seconds.
They lasted six. Then, exactly as the Hassassin expected, his victim went suddenly flaccid. Like a greatdeflating balloon, Robert Langdon fell lim
for another thirty seconds to let the water flood all of his pulmonary tissue. Gradually, felt Langdon’s body sink, on its own accord, to the bottom. Finally, the Hassassin let go. The media would
“Tabban!bleeding sheared off. Angry at his own carelessness, he
the fafists and rammed the cloth deeper. The bleeding slowed until it was only a trickle. Turning his thoughts from pain to pleasure, the Hassassin got into his van. His work in Rome was done. He knew exactly what would soothe his discomfort. Vittoria Vetra was bound and waiting. The Hassassin, even cold an
I have earned my reward. Across town Vittoria awoke in pain. She was on her
stone. Tight. Brittle. Her arms hurt. When she tried shoulders. It took her a moment to comprehend her hands w
initial reaction was confusion. Am I dreaming? But when she tried to lift her head, the pain at the base of her skull informed her of her wakefulness. Confusion transforming to fear, she scanned her surroundings. She was in a crude, stone room-large and well-furnished, lit by torches. Some kind of ancient meeting hall. Olfashioned benches sat in a circle nearby.
Vittoria felt a breeze, cold now on her sk
beyond them a balcony. Through the slits in the balustrade, Vittoria could have sworn she saw the Vatican. 104
R obert Langdon lay on a bed of coins at the bottom of the Fountain of the Four RiverHis mouth was still wrapped around the plastic h
s.
ose. The air being pumped through the
been
had done his best.
ait.
ill out there. Taking
s,
d chances of revival were slim, but he had to try.
ngdon found the body, he planted his feet on either side, reached down, and
he chains wrapped around the cardinal. Then Langdon pulled. When the
roke water, Langdon could see the eyes were already rolled upward, bulging.
a good sign. There was no breath or pulse.
d
of
inal’s chain-clad chest, Langdon pumped the
Counting carefully. Deliberately. Resisting the
r three minutes Langdon tried to revive the old
if
spumanti tube to froth the fountain had been polluted by the pump, and his throat burned. He was not complaining, though. He was alive. He was not sure how accurate his imitation of a drowning man had been, but havingaround water his entire life, Langdon had certainly heard accounts. He
Near the end, he had even blown all the air from his lungs and stopped breathing so that his muscle mass would carry his body to the floor. Thankfully, the Hassassin had bought it and let go. Now, resting on the bottom of the fountain, Langdon had waited as long as he could w
He was about to start choking. He wondered if the Hassassin was st
an acrid breath from the tube, Langdon let go and swam across the bottom of the fountain until he found the smooth swell of the central core. Silently, he followed it upward, surfacing out of sight, in the shadows beneath the huge marble figures. The van was gone.
That was all Langdon needed to see. Pulling a long breath of fresh air back into his lunghe scrambled back toward where Cardinal Baggia had gone down. Langdon knew the man would be unconscious now, an
When Lagrabbed tcardinal b
NotKnowing he could never get the body up and over the fountain rim, Langdon luggeCardinal Baggia through the water and into the hollow beneath the central mound marble. Here the water became shallow, and there was an inclined ledge. Langdon dragged the naked body up onto the ledge as far as he could. Not far. Then he went to work. Compressing the card
water from his lungs. Then he began CPR. instinct to blow too hard and too fast. Fo
man. After five minutes, Langdon knew it was over. Il preferito. The man who would be Pope. Lying dead before him. Somehow, even now, prostrate in the shadows on the semisubmerged ledge, Cardinal Baggia retained an air of quiet dignity. The water lapped softly across his chest, seemingalmost remorseful . . . as if asking forgiveness for being the man’s ultimate killer . . . as
trying to cleanse the scalded wound that bore its name. Gently, Langdon ran a hand across the man’s face and closed his upturned eyes. As he
did, he felt an exhausted shudder of tears well from within. It startled him. Then, for the first time in years, Langdon cried.
105 T he fog of weary emotion lifted slowly as Langdon waded away from the dead
cardinal, back into deep water. Depleted and alone in the fountain, Langdon halfre
seemed to gurgle
els guide you on your lofty quest. Langdon glared at
in the Egyptian symbology. He immediately dismissed the idea. The
more time and
tell whether time was
flying or crawling. Images of Vittoria and the Hassassin started to swirl hauntingly as
d the fountain, the frustration mounting as he
med in his throat.
expected to collapse. But instead, he felt a new compulsion rising within him. Undeniable. Frantic. He sensed his muscles hardening with an unexpected grit. His mind, as though ignoring the pain in his heart, forced aside the past and brought into focus the single, desperate task ahead.
Find the Illuminati lair. Help Vittoria. Turning now to the mountainous core of Bernini’s fountain, Langdon summoned hopeand launched himself into his quest for the final Illuminati marker. He knew somewheon this gnarled mass of figures was a clue that pointed to the lair. As Langdon scannedthe fountain, though, his hope withered quickly. The words of the segno
mockingly all around him. Let ang
the carved forms before him. The fountain is pagan! It has no damn angels anywhere! When Langdon completed his fruitless search of the core, his eyes instinctively climbed the towering stone pillar. Four markers, he thought, spread across Rome in a giant cross. Scanning the hieroglyphics covering the obelisk, he wondered if perhaps there were a
clue hidden
hieroglyphs predated Bernini by centuries, and hieroglyphs had not even been decipherable until the Rosetta Stone was discovered. Still, Langdon ventured, maybe Bernini had carved an additional symbol? One that would go unnoticed among all the hieroglyphs? Feeling a shimmer of hope, Langdon circumnavigated the fountain one
studied all four façades of the obelisk. It took him two minutes, and when he reached the end of the final face, his hopes sank. Nothing in the hieroglyphs stood out as any kind of addition. Certainly no angels. Langdon checked his watch. It was eleven on the dot. He couldn’t
Langdon clambered his way aroun
frantically completed yet another fruitless circle. Beaten and exhausted, Langdon felt ready to collapse. He threw back his head to scream into the night.
The sound jam
Langdon was staring straight up the obelisk. The object perched at the very top was one he had seen earlier and ignored. Now, however, it stopped him short. It was not an angel. Far from it. In fact, he had not even perceived it as part of Bernini’s fountain. He thought it was a living creature, another one of the city’s scavengers perched on a lofty tower.
A pigeon.
Langdon squinted skyward at the object, his vision blurred by the glowing mist around him. It was a pigeon, wasn’t it? He could clearly see the head and beak silhouetted against a cluster of stars. And yet the bird had not budged since Langdon’s arrival, even
westward.
the
re.
the connection. He realized the bird was not a pigeon at all.
mbling up the travertine mountain, clambering over huge arms and heads,
self higher. Halfway to the base of the obelisk, he emerged from the mist and
it him. He had
ng.
an symbol for the Angel of Peace.
he way to the obelisk. Bernini had chosen the
kes the beautiful
was
To his left, the chaotic media lights surrounding St. Peter’s. To his right, the smoking
with the battle below. The bird sat now exactly as it had been when Langdon entered the square. It was perched high atop the obelisk, gazing calmly
Langdon stared at it a moment and then plunged his hand into the fountain and grabbed a fistful of coins. He hurled the coins skyward. They clattered across the upper levels of thegranite obelisk. The bird did not budge. He tried again. This time, one of the coins hit mark. A faint sound of metal on metal clanged across the squa
The damned pigeon was bronze. You’re looking for an angel, not a pigeon, a voice reminded him. But it was too late. Langdon had made
It was a dove. Barely aware of his own actions, Langdon splashed toward the center of the fountain andbegan scrapulling him
could see the head of the bird more clearly. There was no doubt. It was a dove. The bird’s deceptively dark color was the result of Rome’s pollution tarnishing the original bronze. Then the significance h
seen a pair of doves earlier today at the Pantheon. A pair of doves carried no meaniThis dove, however, was alone.
The lone dove is the pag
The truth almost lifted Langdon the rest of t
pagan symbol for the angel so he could disguise it in a pagan fountain. Let angels guide you on your lofty quest. The dove is the angel! Langdon could think of no more lofty perch for the Illuminati’s final marker than atop this obelisk. The bird was looking west. Langdon tried to follow its gaze, but he could not see over thebuildings. He climbed higher. A quote from St. Gregory of Nyssa emerged from his memory most unexpectedly. As the soul becomes enlightened . . . it ta
shape of the dove. Langdon rose heavenward. Toward the dove. He was almost flying now. He reached theplatform from which the obelisk rose and could climb no higher. With one look around, though, he knew he didn’t have to. All of Rome spread out before him. The viewstunning.
cupola of Santa Maria della Vittoria. In front of him in the distance, Piazza del Popolo. Beneath him, the fourth and final point. A giant cross of obelisks. Trembling, Langdon looked to the dove overhead. He turned and faced the proper
direction, and then he lowered his eyes to the skyline. In an instant he saw it.
So obviouStaring at
s. So clear. So deviously simple.
it now, Langdon could not believe the Illuminati lair had stayed hidden for so
ny years. The entire city seemed to fade away as he looked out at the monstrous stone
e. It
pentagram.
The ancient stone ramparts before him were dramatically lit by soft floodlights. High atop
d at
angdon realized Bernini’s city-wide cross of obelisks
e into the accelerator, speeding
a, parallel with the river, Langdon could now see his destination
ht.
d
of
mastructure across the river in front of him. The building was as famous as any in Romstood on the banks of the Tiber River diagonally adjacent to the Vatican. The building’s geometry was stark-a circular castle, within a square fortress, and then, outside its walls, surrounding the entire structure, a park in the shape of a
the castle stood the mammoth bronze angel. The angel pointed his sword downwarthe exact center of the castle. And as if that were not enough, leading solely and directly to the castle’s main entrance stood the famous Bridge of Angels . . . a dramatic approachway adorned by twelve towering angels carved by none other than Bernini himself. In a final breathtaking revelation, L
marked the fortress in perfect Illuminati fashion; the cross’s central arm passed directlythrough the center of the castle’s bridge, dividing it into two equal halves. Langdon retrieved his tweed coat, holding it away from his dripping body. Then he jumped into the stolen sedan and rammed his soggy shooff into the night.
106 I t was 11:07 P.M. Langdon’s car raced through the Roman night. Speeding down Lungotevere Tor Di Non
rising like a mountain to his rig
Castel Sant’ Angelo. Castle of the Angel. Without warning, the turnoff to the narrow Bridge of Angels-Ponte Sant’ Angelo-appeared suddenly. Langdon slammed on his brakes and swerved. He turned in time, but the bridge was barricaded. He skidded ten feet and collided with a series of short cement pillars blocking his way. Langdon lurched forward as the vehicle stalled, wheezing anshuddering. He had forgotten the Bridge of Angels, in order to preserve it, was now zoned pedestrians only.
Shaken, Langdon staggered from the crumpled car, wishing now he had chosen onethe other routes. He felt chilled, shivering from the fountain. He donned his Harris tweed over his damp shirt, grateful for Harris’s trademark double lining. The Diagramma folio would remain dry. Before him, across the bridge, the stone fortress rose like a mountain.
Aching and depleted, Langdon broke into a loping run.
corts, a procession of Bernini angels
ore
’s
ces of
l parking
otere Angelo. On this wall he found a second castle entrance, a drawbridgetype
ingress, raised and sealed shut. Langdon gazed upward again.
The only lights on the castle were exterior floods illuminating the façade. All the tiny
lcony
re
?
Someone is up there!
voice was swallowed by the
wiss
as parked. Langdon ran toward it. A paunchy man in
On both sides of him now, like a gauntlet of es
whipped past, funneling him toward his final destination. Let angels guide you on your lofty quest. The castle seemed to rise as he advanced, an unscalable peak, m
intimidating to him even than St. Peter’s. He sprinted toward the bastion, running on fumes, gazing upward at the citadel’s circular core as it shot skyward to a gargantuan, sword-wielding angel.
The castle appeared deserted. Langdon knew through the centuries the building had been used by the Vatican as a tomb, a fortress, a papal hideout, a prison for enemies of the church, and a museum. Apparently, the castle had other tenants as well-the Illuminati. Somehow it made eerie sense. Although the castle was property of the Vatican, it was used only sporadically, andBernini had made numerous renovations to it over the years. The building was now
rumored to be honeycombed with secret entries, passageways, and hidden chambers. Langdon had little doubt that the angel and surrounding pentagonal park were Berninidoing as well.
Arriving at the castle’s elephantine double doors, Langdon shoved them hard. Not surprisingly, they were immovable. Two iron knockers hung at eye level. Langdon didn’t bother. He stepped back, his eyes climbing the sheer outer wall. These ramparts had fended off armies of Berbers, heathens, and Moors. Somehow he sensed his chan
breaking in were slim.
Vittoria, Langdon thought. Are you in there?
Langdon hurried around the outer wall. There must be another entrance!
Rounding the second bulwark to the west, Langdon arrived breathless in a smalarea off Lung
windows inside seemed black. Langdon’s eyes climbed higher. At the very peak of the
central tower, a hundred feet above, directly beneath the angel’s sword, a single baprotruded. The marble parapet seemed to shimmer slightly, as if the room beyond it weaglow with torchlight. Langdon paused, his soaked body shivering suddenly. A shadowHe waited, straining. Then he saw it again. His spine prickled.
“Vittoria!” he called out, unable to help himself, but his
raging Tiber behind him. He wheeled in circles, wondering where the hell the SGuard were. Had they even heard his transmission?
Across the lot a large media truck w
headphones sat in the cabin adjusting levers. Langdon rapped on the side of the truck. The man jumped, saw Langdon’s dripping clothes, and yanked off his headset.
“What’s the worry, mate?” His accent was Australian. “I need your phone.” Langdon was frenzied. The man shrugged. “No dial tone. Been trying all night. Circuits are packed.”
,” the Aussie said, gazing up at the tower, and then frowning at his
obstructed view of the Vatican. “I bet the view from up there is perfect. I couldn’t get
ur Samaritan for real?”
e Captain of the Swiss Guard got a call from somebody who claims
now is if he saves the day .
help? Did the person
Guard?
e to
figure out what.
ore closely. “Ain’t you that guy I saw on
castle
he could clear the
confused. “Fifteen meters. Why?”
What are you talking about?”
ie’s eyes went wide. “Are you insane? That’s a two-
Langdon swore aloud. “Have you seen anyone go in there?” He pointed to the drawbridge.
“Actually, yeah. A black van’s been going in and out all night.” Langdon felt a brick hit the bottom of his stomach. “Lucky bastard
through the traffic in St. Peter’s, so I’m shooting from here.”
Langdon wasn’t listening. He was looking for options.
“What do you say?” the Australian said. “This 11th Ho
Langdon turned. “The what?”
“You didn’t hear? Th
to have some primo info. The guy’s flying in right now. All I k. . there go the ratings!” The man laughed.
Langdon was suddenly confused. A good Samaritan flying in to
somehow know where the antimatter was? Then why didn’t he just tell the Swiss Why was he coming in person? Something was odd, but Langdon didn’t have tim
“Hey,” the Aussie said, studying Langdon m
TV? Trying to save that cardinal in St. Peter’s Square?”
Langdon did not answer. His eyes had suddenly locked on a contraption attached to the top of the truck-a satellite dish on a collapsible appendage. Langdon looked at the again. The outer rampart was fifty feet tall. The inner fortress climbed farther still. A
shelled defense. The top was impossibly high from here, but maybe iffirst wall . . .
Langdon spun to the newsman and pointed to the satellite arm. “How high does that go?” “Huh?” The man looked
“Move the truck. Park next to the wall. I need help.”
“
Langdon explained. The Auss
hundred-thousand-dollar telescoping extension. Not a ladder!”
eal in exchange for the favor.
conds later, Robert Langdon was gripping the top of the satellite arm wavering
t, he grabbed the top of the first
ark, dragged himself onto the wall, and dropped onto the castle’s lower bastion.
.
chamber high above the city, the Hassassin removed his soaking boots and
oe. There was pain, but not so much that he couldn’t enjoy
his prize.
d
to its original state.
courtyard to the central core of the fortress. The circular
citadel shot skyward 107 feet to the bronze angel above. The balcony at the top still
“You want ratings? I’ve got information that will make your day.” Langdon was desperate. “Information worth two hundred grand?”
Langdon told him what he would rev
Ninety sein the breeze fifty feet off the ground. Leaning ou
bulw“Now keep your bargain!” the Aussie called up. “Where is he?” Langdon felt guilt-ridden for revealing this information, but a deal was a deal. Besides, the Hassassin would probably call the press anyway. “Piazza Navona,” Langdon shouted“He’s in the fountain.”
The Aussie lowered his satellite dish and peeled out after the scoop of his career. In a stone
bandaged his wounded thimself.
He turned to
She was in the corner of the room, on her back on a rudimentary divan, hands tied behindher, mouth gagged. The Hassassin moved toward her. She was awake now. This pleased him. Surprisingly, in her eyes, he saw fire instead of fear. The fear will come.
107 R obert Langdon dashed around the outer bulwark of the castle, grateful for the glow of the floodlights. As he circled the wall, the courtyard beneath him looked like a museum of ancient warfare-catapults, stacks of marble cannonballs, and an arsenal of fearful contraptions. Parts of the castle were open to tourists during the day, and the courtyarhad been partially restored
Langdon’s eyes crossed the
glowed from within. Langdon wanted to call out but knew better. He would have to find away in.
He checked his watch.
11:12 P.M.
Dashing down the stone ramp that hugged the inside of the wall, Langdon descended to
on. He passed two modern entrances, but they were
s
ck
other end, the drive disappeared into
giant spiral ramp that circled up
pening, his
xcitement disappeared.
h,
o other options, he dashed down into the tunnel.
The ultimate pleasure.
of light . . . fuzzy
the courtyard. Back on ground level, he ran through shadows, clockwise around the fort. He passed three porticos, but all of them were permanently sealed. How did the Hassassin get in? Langdon pushed
padlocked from the outside. Not here. He kept running. Langdon had circled almost the entire building when he saw a gravel drive cutting acrosthe courtyard in front of him. At one end, on the outer wall of the castle, he saw the baof the gated drawbridge leading back outside. At the
the fortress. The drive seemed to enter a kind of tunnel-a gaping entry in the central core. Il traforo! Langdon had read about this castle’s traforo, a
inside the fort, used by commanders on horseback to ride from top to bottom rapidly. The Hassassin drove up! The gate blocking the tunnel was raised, ushering Langdon in. He felt almost exuberant as he ran toward the tunnel. But as he reached the o
e
The tunnel spiraled down.
The wrong way. This section of the traforo apparently descended to the dungeons, not to the top. Standing at the mouth of a dark bore that seemed to twist endlessly deeper into the eartLangdon hesitated, looking up again at the balcony. He could swear he saw motion upthere. Decide! With n
High overhead, the Hassassin stood over his prey. He ran a hand across her arm. Her skinwas like cream. The anticipation of exploring her bodily treasures was inebriating. How many ways could he violate her?
The Hassassin knew he deserved this woman. He had served Janus well. She was a spoil of war, and when he was finished with her, he would pull her from the divan and force her to her knees. She would service him again. The ultimate submission. Then, at the moment of his own climax, he would slit her throat.
Ghayat assa’adah, they called it.
Afterward, basking in his glory, he would stand on the balcony and savor the culmination of the Illuminati triumph . . . a revenge desired by so many for so long. The tunnel grew darker. Langdon descended.
After one complete turn into the earth, the light was all but gone. The tunnel leveled out, and Langdon slowed, sensing by the echo of his footfalls that he had just entered a largerchamber. Before him in the murkiness, he thought he saw glimmers
reflections in the ambient gleam. He moved forward, reaching out his hand. He found
smooth surfaces. Chrome and glass. It was a vehicle. He groped the surface, found adoor, and opened it.
around him blazed into
a simple chamber. Langdon guessed the room was once used
.
He thought of the killer’s words at the fountain. She is in
f Illumination . . . awaiting my return. Langdon had come too far to fail now.
is
ng.
s of blood were only on the left foot. The Hassassin!
not believe his eyes. The granite block in
e was not a square like the others. He was looking at another signpost. The
block was carved into a perfect pentagram, arranged with the tip pointing into the corner.
ore gruesome.
The vehicle’s interior dome-light flashed on. He stepped back and recognized the black van immediately. Feeling a surge of loathing, he stared a moment, then he dove in, rooting around in hopes of finding a weapon to replace the one he’d lost in the fountain. He found none. He did, however, find Vittoria’s cell phone. It was shattered and useless. The sight of it filled Langdon with fear. He prayed he was not too late. He reached up and turned on the van’s headlights. The room
existence, harsh shadows in
for horses and ammunition. It was also a dead end. No exit. I came the wrong way! At the end of his rope, Langdon jumped from the van and scanned the walls around himNo doorways. No gates. He thought of the angel over the tunnel entrance and wondered if it had been a coincidence. No!
the Church o
His heart was pounding. Frustration and hatred were starting to cripple his senses. When he saw the blood on the floor, Langdon’s first thought was for Vittoria. But as heyes followed the stains, he realized they were bloody footprints. The strides were loThe splotche
Langdon followed the footprints toward the corner of the room, his sprawling shadow growing fainter. He felt more and more puzzled with every step. The bloody prints looked as though they walked directly into the corner of the room and then disappeared. When Langdon arrived in the corner, he could
the floor her
Ingeniously concealed by overlapping walls, a narrow slit in the stone served as an exit. Langdon slid through. He was in a passage. In front of him were the remains of a woodenbarrier that had once been blocking this tunnel. Beyond it there was light. Langdon was running now. He clambered over the wood and headed for the light. The passage quickly opened into another, larger chamber. Here a single torch flickered on thewall. Langdon was in a section of the castle that had no electricity . . . a section no tourists would ever see. The room would have been frightful in daylight, but the torch made it even m
Il prigione. There were a dozen tiny jail cells, the iron bars on most eroded away. One of the larger cells, however, remained intact, and on the floor Langdon saw something that almost stopped his heart. Black robes and red sashes on the floor. This is where he held the
cardinals!
Near the cell was an iron doorway in the wall. The door was ajar and beyond it Langdon could see some sort of passage. He ran toward it. But Langdon stopped before he got there. The trail of blood did not enter the passage. When Langdon saw the words carved over the archway, he knew why. Il Passetto.
He was stunned. He had heard of this tunnel many times, never knowing where exactly the entrance was. Il Passetto-The Little Passage-was a slender, three-quarter-mile tunnel built between Castle St. Angelo and the Vatican. It had been used by various Popes to escape to safety during sieges of the Vatican . . .secretly visit mistresses or oversee the torture of their enem
as well as by a few less pious Popes to
ies. Nowadays both ends of
floor here was also marked
with a pentagramal block. Langdon stared at the block, trembling, wondering if Bernini
a weapon, any weapon. He found a four-foot
the
to tip the scales in his advantage. Most of all,
ircase’s spiral treads were worn and twisted steeply upward. Langdon ascended,
stening for sounds. None. As he climbed, the light from the prison area faded away. He
out
under the Vatican’s nose. It suddenly seemed so perfect. Bernini, as head
s
the tunnel were supposedly sealed with impenetrable locks whose keys were kept in someVatican vault. Langdon suddenly feared he knew how the Illuminati had been moving in and out of the Vatican. He found himself wondering who on the inside had betrayed thechurch and coughed up the keys. Olivetti? One of the Swiss Guard? None of it mattered anymore. The blood on the floor led to the opposite end of the prison. Langdon followed. Here, a rusty gate hung draped with chains. The lock had been removed and the gate stood ajar.
Beyond the gate was a steep ascension of spiral stairs. The
himself had held the chisel that had shaped these chunks. Overhead, the archway wasadorned with a tiny carved cherub. This was it. The trail of blood curved up the stairs. Before ascending, Langdon knew he needed
section of iron bar near one of the cells. It had a sharp, splintered end. Although absurdlyheavy, it was the best he could do. He hoped the element of surprise, combined withHassassin’s wound, would be enough
though, he hoped he was not too late. The sta
li
ascended into the total darkness, keeping one hand on the wall. Higher. In the blackness, Langdon sensed the ghost of Galileo, climbing these very stairs, eager to share his visionsof heaven with other men of science and faith. Langdon was still in a state of shock over the location of the lair. The Illuminati meeting hall was in a building owned by the Vatican. No doubt while the Vatican guards were searching basements and homes of well-known scientists, the Illuminati were meeting here . . . right
architect of renovations here, would have had unlimited access to this structure . . . remodeling it to his own specifications with no questions asked. How many secret entriehad Bernini added? How many subtle embellishments pointing the way?
The Church of Illumination. Langdon knew he was close.
the threshold of a door in front
gel atop the castle and
d for the
The beast had returned. Now he was standing over her, his chest bare and
powerful, scarred from battles he had endured. His eyes looked like two black slits as he
n at her body. Vittoria sensed he was imagining the deeds he was about to
unt her, the Hassassin removed his soaking belt and dropped it
the floor.
al
g in her ear.
Vittoria knew in that instant that she was capable of killing.
The Hassassin turned the blade again and began sawing upward through the fabric of her
the room.
Vittoria could not see who had spoken, but she recognized the voice. Robert! He’s alive!
sassin looked as if he had seen a ghost. “Mr. Langdon, you must have a guardian
angel.”
As the stairs began narrowing, Langdon felt the passage closing around him. The shadows of history were whispering in the dark, but he moved on. When he saw the horizontal shaft of light before him, he realized he was standing a few steps beneath a landing, where the glow of torchlight spilled out beneath
of him. Silently he moved up.
Langdon had no idea where in the castle he was right now, but he knew he had climbed far enough to be near the peak. He pictured the mammoth an
suspected it was directly overhead. Watch over me, angel, he thought, gripping the bar. Then, silently, he reache
door.
On the divan, Vittoria’s arms ached. When she had first awoken to find them tied behind
her back, she’d thought she might be able to relax and work her hands free. But time had run out.
stared dowperform. Slowly, as if to ta
onVittoria felt a loathing horror. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the Hassassin had produced a switchblade knife. He snapped it open directly in front of her face.
Vittoria saw her own terrified reflection in the steel.
The Hassassin turned the blade over and ran the back of it across her belly. The icy metgave her chills. With a contemptuous stare, he slipped the blade below the waistline of her shorts. She inhaled. He moved back and forth, slowly, dangerously . . . lower. Then he leaned forward, his hot breath whisperin
“This blade cut out your father’s eye.”
khaki shorts. Suddenly, he stopped, looking up. Someone was in
“Get away from her,” a deep voice growled from the doorway.
The Has
108 I n the split second it took Langdon to take in his surroundings, he realized he was in a
e
nt of him, framed in the opening of the balcony, stood the Hassassin. He
ut loud. “And this time you come for me with that?”
’s throat. “I will kill her.”
lt. “You’re right. She has much to offer. It would be a
The Hassassin seemed for a moment to be considering it. Exhaling, he dropped his
de
s knees at that moment, he
didn’t know, but the knife sailed past his left ear and clattered to the floor behind him.
like a
lt
much faster, the
wound on his foot apparently not slowing him at all. Langdon sensed this was a man
d he were holding a very
g
rd
sacred place. The embellishments in the oblong room, though old and faded, were repletwith familiar symbology. Pentagram tiles. Planet frescoes. Doves. Pyramids. The Church of Illumination. Simple and pure. He had arrived. Directly in fro
was bare chested, standing over Vittoria, who lay bound but very much alive. Langdon felt a wave of relief to see her. For an instant, their eyes met, and a torrent of emotions flowed-gratitude, desperation, and regret. “So we meet yet again,” the Hassassin said. He looked at the bar in Langdon’s hand and laughed o
“Untie her.” The Hassassin put the knife to Vittoria
Langdon had no doubt the Hassassin was capable of such an act. He forced a calm into his voice. “I imagine she would welcome it . . . considering the alternative.”
The Hassassin smiled at the insu
waste.” Langdon stepped forward, grasping the rusted bar, and aimed the splintered end directly at the Hassassin. The cut on his hand bit sharply. “Let her go.”
shoulders. It was a clear motion of surrender, and yet at that exact instant the Hassassin’s arm seemed to accelerate unexpectedly. There was a blur of dark muscle, and a blasuddenly came tearing through the air toward Langdon’s chest. Whether it was instinct or exhaustion that buckled Langdon’
The Hassassin seemed unfazed. He smiled at Langdon, who was kneeling now, holding the metal bar. The killer stepped away from Vittoria and moved toward Langdon stalking lion. As Langdon scrambled to his feet, lifting the bar again, his wet turtleneck and pants fesuddenly more restrictive. The Hassassin, half-clothed, seemed to move
accustomed to pain. For the first time in his life, Langdon wishe
big gun. The Hassassin circled slowly, as if enjoying himself, always just out of reach, movintoward the knife on the floor. Langdon cut him off. Then the killer moved back towa
Vittoria. Again Langdon cut him off.
“There’s still time,” Langdon ventured. “Tell me where the canister is. The Vatican will
what? The killer kept circling, a master at positioning himself. It was like an
e of chess. The weapon in Langdon’s hand was getting heavy, and he
to read Langdon’s mind, shifting again, as if intentionally leading
as a
e
f
d.
e. Langdon fought to recover
hung in his mind. Although the brands themselves were mesmerizing-artifacts
few Illuminati scholars even believed existed-Langdon suddenly realized there had been
lance downward.
pay more than the Illuminati ever could.” “You are naïve.” Langdon jabbed with the bar. The Hassassin dodged. He navigated around a bench, holding the weapon in front of him, trying to corner the Hassassin in the oval room. This damn room has no corners! Oddly, the Hassassin did not seem interested in attacking or fleeing. He was simply playing Langdon’s game. Coolly waiting.
Waiting forendless gam
suddenly sensed he knew what the Hassassin was waiting for. He’s tiring me out. It was working, too. Langdon was hit by a surge of weariness, the adrenaline alone no longer enough to keep him alert. He knew he had to make a move.
The Hassassin seemed
Langdon toward a table in the middle of the room. Langdon could tell there was something on the table. Something glinted in the torchlight. A weapon? Langdon kept his eyes focused on the Hassassin and maneuvered himself closer to the table. When the Hassassin cast a long, guileless glance at the table, Langdon tried to fight the obvious bait. But instinct overruled. He stole a glance. The damage was done. It was not a weapon at all. The sight momentarily riveted him. On the table lay a rudimentary copper chest, crusted with ancient patina. The chest w
pentagon. The lid lay open. Arranged inside in five padded compartments were fivbrands. The brands were forged of iron-large embossing tools with stout handles owood. Langdon had no doubt what they sai
ILLUMINATI, EARTH, AIR, FIRE, WATER. Langdon snapped his head back up, fearing the Hassassin would lunge. He did not. The killer was waiting, almost as if he were refreshed by the gam
his focus, locking eyes again with his quarry, thrusting with the pipe. But the image of the box
something else about the box that had ignited a wave of foreboding within. As the Hassassin maneuvered again, Langdon stole another g
My God!
In the chest, the five brands sat in compartments around the outer edge. But in the center, there was another compartment. This partition was empty, but it clearly was intended to hold another brand . . . a brand much larger than the others, and perfectly square.
The attack was a blur.
The Hassassin swooped toward him like a bird of prey. Langdon, his concentration
ured
en struggled. Langdon felt the
An instant later, Langdon was
had become the hunted.
e Hassassin circled, smiling now,
r American adàgio?” he chided.
“Something about curiosity and the cat?”
Langdon could barely focus. He cursed his carelessness as the Hassassin moved in.
h Illuminati brand? In frustration he blurted, “I’ve
“A perfect union of the ancient elements,” the Hassassin said. “The final brand is the
ent. He kept backing
up, searching the room for an option. “And you’ve seen this final brand?” Langdon
to buy time.
. He had the feeling the Hassassin was directing him around
the wall toward some unseen destination. Where? Langdon could not afford to look
is it?”
“Janus?” Langdon did not recognize the name.
“The Illuminati leader. He is arriving shortly.”
“The Illuminati leader is coming here?”
“To perform the final branding.”
Langdon shot a frightened glance to Vittoria. She looked strangely calm, her eyes closed
?
“Such conceit,” the Hassassin sneered, watching Langdon’s eyes. “The two of you are
having been masterfully diverted, tried to counter, but the pipe felt like a tree trunk in his hands. His parry was too slow. The Hassassin dodged. As Langdon tried to retract the bar, the Hassassin’s hands shot out and grabbed it. The man’s grip was strong, his injarm seeming no longer to affect him. Violently, the two m
bar ripped away, and a searing pain shot through his palm. staring into the splintered point of the weapon. The hunter
Langdon felt like he’d been hit by a cyclone. Th
backing Langdon against the wall. “What is you
Nothing was making sense. A sixt
never read anything about a sixth Illuminati brand!” “I think you probably have.” The killer chuckled as he herded Langdon around the oval wall.
Langdon was lost. He most certainly had not. There were five Illuminati brands. He backed up, searching the room for any weapon at all.
most brilliant of all. I’m afraid you will never see it, though.” Langdon sensed he would not be seeing much of anything in a mom
demanded, trying
“Someday perhaps they will honor me. As I prove myself.” He jabbed at Langdon, as ifenjoying a game. Langdon slid backward again
behind him. “The brand?” he demanded. “Where
“Not here. Janus is apparently the only one who holds it.”
to the world around her, her lungs pulling slowly . . . deeply. Was she the final victimWas he?
nothing. You will die, of course, that is for certain. But the final victim of whom I speak
t.
eorists. Apparently he would pay the price. He was
round the wall. “That honor
onfused. The only person expected at the Vatican right now was the
’s
n
nus coming to Vatican City on a suicide
s mind took in the entire
is a truly dangerous enemy.” Langdon tried to make sense of the Hassassin’s words. A dangerous enemy? The top cardinals were all dead. The Pope was dead. The Illuminati had wiped them all ou
Langdon found the answer in the vacuum of the Hassassin’s eyes. The camerlegno. Camerlegno Ventresca was the one man who had been a beacon of hope for the world through this entire tribulation. The camerlegno had done more to condemn the Illuminati tonight than decades of conspiracy th
the Illuminati’s final target.
“You’ll never get to him,” Langdon challenged.
“Not I,” the Hassassin replied, forcing Langdon farther back a
is reserved for Janus himself.” “The Illuminati leader himself intends to brand the camerlegno?” “Power has its privileges.” “But no one could possibly get into Vatican City right now!”
The Hassassin looked smug. “Not unless he had an appointment.” Langdon was c
person the press was calling the 11th Hour Samaritan-the person Rocher said had information that could save- Langdon stopped short. Good God! The Hassassin smirked, clearly enjoying Langdon’s sickening cognition. “I too wonderedhow Janus would gain entrance. Then in the van I heard the radio-a report about an 11th hour Samaritan.” He smiled. “The Vatican will welcome Janus with open arms.”
Langdon almost stumbled backward. Janus is the Samaritan! It was an unthinkable deception. The Illuminati leader would get a royal escort directly to the camerlegnochambers. But how did Janus fool Rocher? Or was Rocher somehow involved? Langdofelt a chill. Ever since he had almost suffocated in the secret archives, Langdon had not entirely trusted Rocher.
The Hassassin jabbed suddenly, nicking Langdon in the side.
Langdon jumped back, his temper flaring. “Janus will never get out alive!” The Hassassin shrugged. “Some causes are worth dying for.” Langdon sensed the killer was serious. Ja
mission? A question of honor? For an instant, Langdon’
terrifying cycle. The Illuminati plot had come full circle. The priest whom the Illuminahad inadvertently brought to power by killing the Pope had emerged as a worthy adversary. In a final act of defiance, the Illuminati leader would destroy him. Suddenly, Langdon felt the wall behind him disappear. There was a rush of cool air, and
ti
sliced toward Langdon’s midsection. Langdon
ame
ff balance as he tried to ram his foot down on the Hassassin’s injured toe.
ainst the railing.
st beneath his
e it into Langdon’s chest.
rashing
swell out of nothing behind
g fireball.
through his swing, the Hassassin dropped the bar and screamed in agony.
ar clattered past Langdon out into the night. The Hassassin spun away from
ngdon saw a blistering torch burn on the killer’s back. Langdon pulled
he staggered backward into the night. The balcony! He now realized what the Hassassin had in mind. Langdon immediately sensed the precipice behind him-a hundred-foot drop to the courtyard below. He had seen it on his way in. The Hassassin wasted no time. With a violent surge, he lunged. The spear
skidded back, and the point came up short, catching only his shirt. Again the point c
at him. Langdon slid farther back, feeling the banister right behind him. Certain the next jab would kill him, Langdon attempted the absurd. Spinning to one side, he reached out and grabbed the shaft, sending a jolt of pain through his palm. Langdon held on.
The Hassassin seemed unfazed. They strained for a moment against one another, face to face, the Hassassin’s breath fetid in Langdon’s nostrils. The bar began to slip. The Hassassin was too strong. In a final act of desperation, Langdon stretched out his leg, dangerously o
But the man was a professional and adjusted to protect his weakness. Langdon had just played his final card. And he knew he had lost the hand. The Hassassin’s arms exploded upward, driving Langdon back ag
Langdon sensed nothing but empty space behind him as the railing hit jubuttocks. The Hassassin held the bar crosswise and drov
Langdon’s back arched over the chasm. “Ma’assalamah,” the Hassassin sneered. “Good-bye.”
With a merciless glare, the Hassassin gave a final shove. Langdon’s center of gravity shifted, and his feet swung up off the floor. With only one hope of survival, Langdon grabbed on to the railing as he went over. His left hand slipped, but his right hand held on. He ended up hanging upside down by his legs and one hand . . . straining to hold on. Looming over him, the Hassassin raised the bar overhead, preparing to bring it c
down. As the bar began to accelerate, Langdon saw a vision. Perhaps it was the imminence of death or simply blind fear, but in that moment, he sensed a sudden aura surrounding the Hassassin. A glowing effulgence seemed to
him . . . like an incomin
Halfway The iron b
him, and Lahimself up to see Vittoria, eyes flaring, now facing the Hassassin. Vittoria waved a torch in front of her, the vengeance in her face resplendent in the flames.
How she had escaped, Langdon did not know or care. He began scrambling back upthe banister. The battle would be short. The Hassassin was a deadly match. Screaming with ragkiller lunged for her. She tried to dodge, but the man was on her, holding the torch and about to wrestle it away. Langdon did not wait. Leaping off the banister, Langdon jabbed his clenched fist into the blistered burn on the Hassassin’s back.
over
e, the
Eye for an eye,” Vittoria hissed. This time she swung the torch like a bat, and when it
of Swiss Guards yelled orders and fanned
as no use. The crowd was
ed far more interested in the Vatican’s impending doom than in their
wering media screens in the square were now transmitting a live
at the tiny droplet of liquid suspended in the canister and decided it
countdown clock nowty
of time to stay and watch.
animously agreed that the camerlegno’s bold decision
address the world with the truth and then provide the media with actual visuals of
Sistine Chapel, Cardinal Mortati was getting restless. It was past 11:15 P.M.
the cardinals were continuing to pray, but others had clustered around the exit,
The scream seemed to echo all the way to the Vatican. The Hassassin froze a moment, his back arched in anguish. He let go of the torch, and Vittoria thrust it hard into his face. There was a hiss of flesh as his left eye sizzled. He screamed again, raising his hands to his face.
“
connected, the Hassassin stumbled back against the railing. Langdon and Vittoria went for him at the same instant, both heaving and pushing. The Hassassin’s body sailed backward over the banister into the night. There was no scream. The only sound was the crack of his spine as he landed spread-eagle on a pile of cannonballs far below.
Langdon turned and stared at Vittoria in bewilderment. Slackened ropes hung off her midsection and shoulders. Her eyes blazed like an inferno. “Houdini knew yoga.” 109
M eanwhile, in St. Peter’s Square, the wall
outward, trying to push the crowds back to a safer distance. It w
too dense and seemown safety. The to
countdown of the antimatter canister-a direct feed from the Swiss Guard security monitor-compliments of the camerlegno. Unfortunately, the image of the canister counting down was doing nothing to repel the crowds. The people in the square
apparently looked
was not as menacing as they had thought. They could also see the a little under forty-five minutes until detonation. Plen
Nonetheless, the Swiss Guards un
to
Illuminati treachery had been a savvy maneuver. The Illuminati had no doubt expected the Vatican to be their usual reticent selves in the face of adversity. Not tonight. Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca had proven himself a commanding foe.
Inside theMany of
cleartheir fists.
ly unsettled by the hour. Some of the cardinals began pounding on the door with
ad simply
I
“That door stays shut. I believe I already gave you that order.”
me,
wanted badly to embrace Robert Langdon, but she could
r, the infusion of warmth seemed to magically
life. The fog lifted, and she turned. Robert
gh purgatory to come rescue
ile and reminded her that it was she who deserved thanksped
her eyes. She could have stood there forever with him, but the reprieve was short-lived.
Outside the door Lieutenant Chartrand heard the pounding and didn’t know what to do.He checked his watch. It was time. Captain Rocher had given strict orders that the cardinals were not to be let out until he gave the word. The pounding on the door becamemore intense, and Chartrand felt uneasy. He wondered if the captain h
forgotten. The captain had been acting very erratic since his mysterious phone call. Chartrand pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Captain? Chartrand here. It is past time. Shouldopen the Sistine?”
“Yes, sir, I just-”
“Our guest is arriving shortly. Take a few men upstairs, and guard the door of the Pope’s office. The camerlegno is not to go anywhere.”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“What is it that you don’t understand, Lieutenant?” “Nothing, sir. I am on my way.” Upstairs in the Office of the Pope, the camerlegno stared in quiet meditation at the fire. Give me strength, God. Bring us a miracle. He poked at the coals, wondering if he wouldsurvive the night.
110
E
leven-twenty-three P.M. Vittoria stood trembling on the balcony of Castle St. Angelo, staring out across Roher eyes moist with tears. She
not. Her body felt anesthetized. Readjusting. Taking stock. The man who had killed her father lay far below, dead, and she had almost been a victim as well.
When Langdon’s hand touched her shouldeshatter the ice. Her body shuddered back to
looked like hell-wet and matted-he had obviously been throuher.
“Thank you . . .” she whispered.
Langdon gave an exhausted sm
her ability to practically dislocate her shoulders had just saved them both. Vittoria wi
“We need to get out of here,” Langdon said. Vittoria’s mind was elsewhere. She was staring out toward the Vatican. The world’smallest country looked unsettlingly close, glowing white under a barrage of m
s
edia
rea
those at the safer distances pressing for a
o close! Vittoria thought. Much too
don said flatly.
o. A final
is
ve to find a way to get those people out of there! They’re in incredible dange-”
the light. It was a barrage of media lights from the square, now trained, it seemed, on
eir way, hollering and pointing. The rumble grew louder.
suddenly joyous.
looked baffled. “What the devil-”
overhead roared.
were too late as they watched the mammoth machine
lights. To her shock, much of St. Peter’s Square was still packed with people! The Swiss Guard had apparently been able to clear only about a hundred and fifty feet back-the adirectly in front of the basilica-less than one-third of the square. The shell of congestion encompassing the square was compacted now,
closer look, trapping the others inside. They are toclose!
“I’m going back in,” Lang
Vittoria turned, incredulous. “Into the Vatican?” Langdon told her about the Samaritan, and how it was a ploy. The Illuminati leader, a man named Janus, was actually coming himself to brand the camerlegn
Illuminati act of domination. “Nobody in Vatican City knows,” Langdon said. “I have no way to contact them, and thguy is arriving any minute. I have to warn the guards before they let him in.” “But you’ll never get through the crowd!”
Langdon’s voice was confident. “There’s a way. Trust me.” Vittoria sensed once again that the historian knew something she did not. “I’m coming.”
“No. Why risk both-” “I ha
Just then, the balcony they were standing on began to shake. A deafening rumble shookthe whole castle. Then a white light from the direction of St. Peter’s blinded them. Vittoria had only one thought. Oh my God! The antimatter annihilated early! But instead of an explosion, a huge cheer went up from the crowd. Vittoria squinted into
them! Everyone was turned th
The air in the square seemed
LangdonThe sky
Emerging from behind the tower, without warning, came the papal helicopter. It thundered fifty feet above them, on a beeline for Vatican City. As it passed overhead, radiant in the media lights, the castle trembled. The lights followed the helicopter as it passed by, and Langdon and Vittoria were suddenly again in the dark.
Vittoria had the uneasy feeling they
slow to a stop over St. Peter’s Square. Kicking up a cloud of dust, the chopper dropponto the open portion of the square be
ed
tween the crowd and the basilica, touching down at
” Vittoria said. Against the white marble, she could see a tiny
emerge from the Vatican and move toward the chopper. She would
n something else, something her eyes
pointed toward the chopper. Even from this
ing the gangplank was another figure . . . a
only be one man. Although the figure was
seated, he accelerated across the open square with effortless control and startling speed.
as sickened by the opulence of the Hallway of the Belvedere. The gold leaf in
earch. Rocher
led Kohler up a handicapped ramp on a circuitous route into the Apostolic Palace.
“Part of our search tactic.”
e top floor and started down the hallway toward the Pope’s office,
s ran toward them, looking troubled. “Captain, what are you doing up
“Tell the camerlegno,” Rocher said forcefully, “that the director of CERN, Maximilian
the bottom of the basilica’s staircase.
“Talk about an entrance,speck of a person
never have recognized the figure except for the bright red beret on his head. “Red carpet greeting. That’s Rocher.”
Langdon pounded his fist on the banister. “Somebody’s got to warn them!” He turned to go. Vittoria caught his arm. “Wait!” She had just see
refused to believe. Fingers trembling, shedistance, there was no mistaking. Descend
figure who moved so uniquely that it could
A king on an electric throne.
It was Maximilian Kohler. 111
K ohler w
the ceiling alone probably could have funded a year’s worth of cancer res
“No elevator?” Kohler demanded. “No power.” Rocher motioned to the candles burning around them in the darkened building.
“Tactics which no doubt failed.” Rocher nodded.
Kohler broke into another coughing fit and knew it might be one of his last. It was not an entirely unwelcome thought.
When they reached thfour Swiss Guard
here? I thought this man had information that-” “He will only speak to the camerlegno.”
The guards recoiled, looking suspicious.
Kohler, is here to see him. Immediately.” “Yes, sir!” One of the guards ran off in the direction of the camerlegno’s office. The others stood their ground. They studied Rocher, looking uneasy. “Just one moment, captain. We will announce your guest.” Kohler, however, did not stop. He turned sharply and maneuvered his chair around the sentinels.
The guards spun and broke into a jog beside him. “Fermati! Sir! Stop!”
Kohler felt repugnance for them. Not even the most elite security force in the world wasimmune to the pity everyone felt for cripples. Had Kohler been a healthy man, the guardswould have tackled him. Cripples are powerless, Kohler thought. Or so the world believes. Kohler knew he had v
ery little time to accomplish what he had come for. He also knew
e cared. Death was a price he was
e his work destroyed by someone
nd forming a line across the hallway.
trite. “Mr. Kohler, please. It will only be a moment. No
er’s eyes that he had no choice but to wait. Fine, Kohler
stopped Kohler next to a full-length gilded mirror. The
of his dignity. These were the people. Because of them he had never felt
damn it! A book of ancient fables? Promises of miracles to
Tonight I may die at the hands of
In the shadows stood three of Frankfurt’s best doctors.
he might die here tonight. He was surprised how little hready to pay. He had endured too much in his life to hav
like Camerlegno Ventresca. “Signore!” the guards shouted, running ahead a
“You must stop!” One of them pulled a sidearm and aimed it at Kohler.
Kohler stopped. Rocher stepped in, looking con
one enters the Office of the Pope unannounced.” Kohler could see in Roch
thought. We wait. The guards, cruelly it seemed, had
sight of his own twisted form repulsed Kohler. The ancient rage brimmed yet again to the surface. It empowered him. He was among the enemy now. These were the people who had robbed him
the touch of a woman . . . had never stood tall to accept an award. What truth do these people possess? What proof,
come? Science creates miracles every day!
Kohler stared a moment into his own stony eyes.religion, he thought. But it will not be the first time.
For a moment, he was eleven years old again, lying in his bed in his parents’ Frankfurt mansion. The sheets beneath him were Europe’s finest linen, but they were soaked with sweat. Young Max felt like he was on fire, the pain wracking his body unimaginable. Kneeling beside his bed, where they had been for two days, were his mother and father. They were praying.
“I urge you to reconsider!” one of the doctors said. “Look at the boy! His fever is
God will protect me
e
have
to be strong. She explained that God was testing him . . . like the Bible story of Abraham
cious. Every muscle in his body spasmed in agony. Where
is Jesus? he wondered. Doesn’t he love me? Max felt the life slipping from his body.
a
Max could hear the low mumble of his ceaseless prayers for mercy.
was then that Max sensed the figure hovering over him. An angel? Max could barely
gnized it as one of the doctors . . . the one who had sat in the corner
administer some new drug
red, “if I do not do this.” Then the doctor
increasing. He is in terrible pain. And danger!”
But Max knew his mother’s reply before she even said it. “Gott wird ihn beschuetzen.” Yes, Max thought. God will protect me. The conviction in his mother’s voice gave him
strength. . An hour later, Max felt like his whole body was being crushed beneath a car. He could not even breathe to cry.
“Your son is in great suffering,” another doctor said. “Let me at least ease his pain. I havin my bag a simple injection of-” “Ruhe, bitte!” Max’s father silenced the doctor without ever opening his eyes. He simply kept praying.
“Father, please!” Max wanted to scream. “Let them stop the pain!” But his words were lost in a spasm of coughing.
An hour later, the pain had worsened.
“Your son could become paralyzed,” one of the doctors scolded. “Or even die! Wemedicines that will help!”
Frau and Herr Kohler would not allow it. They did not believe in medicine. Who were they to interfere with God’s master plan? They prayed harder. After all, God had blessed them with this boy, why would God take the child away? His mother whispered to Max
. . . a test of his faith. Max tried to have faith, but the pain was excruciating.
“I cannot watch this!” one of the doctors finally said, running from the room.
By dawn, Max was barely cons
His mother had fallen asleep at the bedside, her hands still clasped over him. Max’s
father stood across the room at the window staring out at the dawn. He seemed to be intrance.
It
see. His eyes were swollen shut. The figure whispered in his ear, but it was not the voice of an angel. Max reco
for two days, never leaving, begging Max’s parents to let himfrom England.
“I will never forgive myself,” the doctor whispe
gently took Max’s frail arm. “I wish I had done it sooner.”
Max felt a tiny prick in his arm-barely discernible through the pain.
ax’s
great faith in the power of medicine.”
ithin minutes, Max felt as if some sort of magic spirit were flowing through his veins.
“It was only by the grace of God,” the priest told them, “that this boy survived.”
t nodded sadly. “Yes. It seems God has punished him for not having enough
l
urprised by your visit,” the guard said.
tector was rendered
they relieve him of the other object . . . the
.
e you come to make me a martyr?”
Then the doctor quietly packed his things. Before he left, he put a hand on M
forehead. “This will save your life. I have
W
The warmth spread through his body numbing his pain. Finally, for the first time in days, Max slept. When the fever broke, his mother and father proclaimed a miracle of God. But when it became evident that their son was crippled, they became despondent. They wheeled their son into the church and begged the priest for counseling.
Max listened, saying nothing.
“But our son cannot walk!” Frau Kohler was weeping.
The priesfaith.”
“Mr. Kohler?” It was the Swiss Guard who had run ahead. “The camerlegno says he wilgrant you audience.” Kohler grunted, accelerating again down the hall. “He is s
“I’m sure.” Kohler rolled on. “I would like to see him alone.” “Impossible,” the guard said. “No one-”
“Lieutenant,” Rocher barked. “The meeting will be as Mr. Kohler wishes.” The guard stared in obvious disbelief. Outside the door to the Pope’s office, Rocher allowed his guards to take standard precautions before letting Kohler in. Their handheld metal de
worthless by the myriad of electronic devices on Kohler’s wheelchair. The guards frisked him but were obviously too ashamed of his disability to do it properly. They never found the revolver affixed beneath his chair. Nor did
one that Kohler knew would bring unforgettable closure to this evening’s chain of eventsWhen Kohler entered the Pope’s office, Camerlegno Ventresca was alone, kneeling in
prayer beside a dying fire. He did not open his eyes. “Mr. Kohler,” the camerlegno said. “Hav
112 A ll the while, the narrow tunnel called Il Passetto stretched out before Langdon and
Vittoria as they dashed toward Vatican City. The torch in Langdon’s hand threw only
ng
is
stle St. Angelo, proceeding upward into the
eled
s
ors of a gold bullion and a flawless
brand.
never do anything to
a public beating tonight, all because of
ow
ity were the game, then antimatter was the jackpot
. T. Barnum said,” Langdon called over his shoulder. “ ‘I
er
enough light to see a few yards ahead. The walls were close on either side, and the ceililow. The air smelled dank. Langdon raced on into the darkness with Vittoria close at hheels. The tunnel inclined steeply as it left the Ca
underside of a stone bastion that looked like a Roman aqueduct. There, the tunnel levout and began its secret course toward Vatican City.
As Langdon ran, his thoughts turned over and over in a kaleidoscope of confounding images-Kohler, Janus, the Hassassin, Rocher . . . a sixth brand? I’m sure you’ve heard about the sixth brand, the killer had said. The most brilliant of all. Langdon was quite certain he had not. Even in conspiracy theory lore, Langdon could think of no reference
to any sixth brand. Real or imagined. There were rumIlluminati Diamond but never any mention of a sixth
“Kohler can’t be Janus!” Vittoria declared as they ran down the interior of the dike. “It’s impossible!” Impossible was one word Langdon had stopped using tonight. “I don’t know,” Langdon yelled as they ran. “Kohler has a serious grudge, and he also has some serious influence.” “This crisis has made CERN look like monsters! Max would
damage CERN’s reputation!” On one count, Langdon knew CERN had taken
the Illuminati’s insistence on making this a public spectacle. And yet, he wondered hmuch CERN had really been damaged. Criticism from the church was nothing new for CERN. In fact, the more Langdon thought about it, the more he wondered if this crisis might actually benefit CERN. If public
winner tonight. The entire planet was talking about it. “You know what promoter P
don’t care what you say about me, just spell my name right!’ I bet people are already secretly lining up to license antimatter technology. And after they see its true power at midnight tonight . . .”
“Illogical,” Vittoria said. “Publicizing scientific breakthroughs is not about showing destructive power! This is terrible for antimatter, trust me!”
Langdon’s torch was fading now. “Then maybe it’s all much simpler than that. Maybe Kohler gambled that the Vatican would keep the antimatter a secret-refusing to empow
the Illuminati by confirming the weapon’s existence. Kohler expected the Vatican to be their usual tight-lipped selves about the threat, but the camerlegno changed the rules.”
Vittoria was silent as they dashed down the tunnel. Suddenly the scenario was making more sense to Langdon. “Yes! Kohler never counted on the camerlegno’s reaction. The camerlegno broke the Vatican tradition of secrecy and
’s
hole
ader
never have
In Langdon’s mind, it was Kohler’s voice that answered.
des, Max Kohler would never have
idance from Maximilian Kohler?” Vittoria snorted. “I don’t think so!”
s torch
behind the whole thing?”
covered his bases. He made
gdon. Langdon’s involvement had
iven the Illuminati a level of credibility. His credentials and publications had been
ound the world that the Illuminati
brotherhood was not only a historical fact, but a force to be reckoned with.
m. She pulled herself up and ran on. “He said that!?”
od within.”
went public about the crisis. He was dead honest. He put the antimatter on TV, for Godsake. It was a brilliant response, and Kohler never expected it. And the irony of the wthing is that the Illuminati attack backfired. It inadvertently produced a new church lein the camerlegno. And now Kohler is coming to kill him!” “Max is a bastard,” Vittoria declared, “but he is not a murderer. And he wouldbeen involved in my father’s assassination.”
Leonardo was considered
dangerous by many purists at CERN.Fusing science and God is the ultimate scientific
blasphemy. “Maybe Kohler found out about the antimatter project weeks ago and didn’t like the religious implications.”
“So he killed my father over it? Ridiculous! Besiknown the project existed.”
“While you were gone, maybe your father broke down and consulted Kohler, asking for guidance. You yourself said your father was concerned about the moral implications of creating such a deadly substance.”
“Asking moral gu
The tunnel banked slightly westward. The faster they ran, the dimmer Langdon’
became. He began to fear what the place would look like if the light went out. Black. “Besides,” Vittoria argued, “why would Kohler have bothered to call you in this morning and ask for help if he is
Langdon had already considered it. “By calling me, Kohler
sure no one would accuse him of nonaction in the face of crisis. He probably never expected us to get this far.”
The thought of being used by Kohler incensed Lan
g
quoted all night by the media, and as ridiculous as it was, the presence of a Harvardprofessor in Vatican City had somehow raised the whole emergency beyond the scope of paranoid delusion and convinced skeptics ar
“That BBC reporter,” Langdon said, “thinks CERN is the new Illuminati lair.” “What!” Vittoria stumbled behind hi
“On air. He likened CERN to the Masonic lodges-an innocent organization unknowinglyharboring the Illuminati brotherho
“My God, this is going to destroy CERN.” Langdon was not so sure. Either way, the theory suddenly seemed less far-fetched. CERNwas the ultimate scientific haven. It was home to scientists from over a dozen countries.
ilian Kohler was their director.
me
he camerlegno.”
urself! It would be a suicide mission. Max would never get out alive.”
ne of a steel gate loomed ahead, blocking their progress down the tunnel.
ost stopped. When they approached, however, they found the ancient
hanging open. The gate swung freely.
he had suspected, that the ancient tunnel
d
s
avier. It too was unlocked. The sound of St. Peter’s
nsed they had passed through the outer
ge would
last
at his watch. Mickey glowed.
They seemed to have endless private funding. And Maxim
Kohler is Janus. “If Kohler’s not involved,” Langdon challenged, “then what is he doing here?”
“Probably trying to stop this madness. Show support. Maybe he really is acting as theSamaritan! He could have found out who knew about the antimatter project and has coto share information.”
“The killer said he was coming to brand t
“Listen to yo
Langdon considered it. Maybe that was the point.
The outliLangdon’s heart alm
lockLangdon breathed a sigh of relief, realizing as
was in use. Recently. As in today. He now had little doubt that four terrified cardinals habeen secreted through here earlier. They ran on. Langdon could now hear the sounds of chaos to his left. It was St. Peter’Square. They were getting close.
They hit another gate, this one heSquare faded behind them now, and Langdon se
wall of Vatican City. He wondered where inside the Vatican this ancient passaconclude. In the gardens? In the basilica? In the papal residence? Then, without warning, the tunnel ended.
The cumbrous door blocking their way was a thick wall of riveted iron. Even by the flickers of his torch, Langdon could see that the portal was perfectly smooth-no handles,
no knobs, no keyholes, no hinges. No entry. He felt a surge of panic. In architect-speak, this rare kind of door was called a senza chiave-a one-way portal, used for security, and only operable from one side-the other side. Langdon’s hope dimmed to black . . . along with the torch in his hand. He looked
11:29 P.M.
With a scream of frustration, Langdon swung the torch and started pounding on the door. 113 S omething was wrong.
Lieutenant Chartrand stood outside the Pope’s office and sensed in the uneasy stance of the soldier standing with him that they shared the same anxiety. The private meeting theywere shielding, Rocher had said, could save the Vatican from destruction. So Chartrandwondered why his protective instincts were tingling. And why was Rocher acting so
d barely recognized the captain. Rocher had not been
h more bothering Chartrand. The cardinals. The cardinals were still
locked in the Sistine Chapel. This was absolute insanity. The camerlegno had wanted
ed
is
in the Swiss Guard, and Rocher was now
im light
ill,
ather have handling this crisis than the camerlegno.
The man had been tested beyond reason tonight, and he had not flinched. He had
n
from down the hall. The pounding was distant and muffled, but
incessant. Rocher looked up. The captain turned to Chartrand and motioned down the
ing from around the corner, beyond the Sala
lementina. Chartrand felt perplexed. There was only one room back there-the Pope’s
rivate librar . His Holiness’s private library had been locked since the Pope’s death.
strangely? Something definitely was awry. Captain Rocher stood to Chartrand’s right, staring dead ahead, his sharp gaze uncharacteristically distant. Chartran
himself in the last hour. His decisions made no sense. Someone should be present inside this meeting! Chartrand thought. He had heard Maximilian Kohler bolt the door after he entered. Why had Rocher permitted this? But there was so muc
them evacuated fifteen minutes ago! Rocher had overruled the decision and not informthe camerlegno. Chartrand had expressed concern, and Rocher had almost taken off hhead. Chain of command was never questioned
top dog. Half an hour, Rocher thought, discreetly checking his Swiss chronometer in the dof the candelabra lighting the hall. Please hurry. Chartrand wished he could hear what was happening on the other side of the doors. Sthe knew there was no one he would r
confronted the problem head-on . . . truthful, candid, shining like an example to all. Chartrand felt proud right now to be a Catholic. The Illuminati had made a mistake whethey challenged Camerlegno Ventresca. At that moment, however, Chartrand’s thoughts were jolted by an unexpected sound. A banging. It was coming
hall. Chartrand understood. He turned on his flashlight and took off to investigate. The banging was more desperate now. Chartrand ran thirty yards down the corridor to an intersection. The noise seemed to be com
Cp
y
Nobody could possibly be in there!
d
een inside the private library. Few had. No one was allowed in without an escort
ging was louder. Then he heard
out!
but he could hear the panic in their shouts. Was
Swiss Guard not properly evacuated the
ng if he should go back and consult Rocher. The
hell with that. Chartrand had been trained to make decisions, and he would make one
. The wood
e
of this place-three
ds of current magazines and
was covered with journals
f
ade.
Chartrand hurried down the second corridor, turned another corner, and rushed to the library door. The wooden portico was diminutive, but it stood in the dark like a dour sentinel. The banging was coming from somewhere inside. Chartrand hesitated. He hanever b
by the Pope himself. Tentatively, Chartrand reached for the doorknob and turned. As he had imagined, the door was locked. He put his ear to the door. The ban
something else. Voices! Someone calling
He could not make out the words, someone trapped in the library? Had the
building? Chartrand hesitated, wonderi
now. He pulled out his side arm and fired a single shot into the door latch
exploded, and the door swung open.
Beyond the threshold Chartrand saw nothing but blackness. He shone his flashlight. Throom was rectangular-oriental carpets, high oak shelves packed with books, a stitched leather couch, and a marble fireplace. Chartrand had heard stories
thousand ancient volumes side by side with hundreperiodicals, anything His Holiness requested. The coffee table
of science and politics. The banging was clearer now. Chartrand shone his light across the room toward the sound. On the far wall, beyond the sitting area, was a huge door made of iron. It looked impenetrable as a vault. It had four mammoth locks. The tiny etched letters dead center othe door took Chartrand’s breath away.
IL PASSETTO Chartrand stared. The Pope’s secret escape route! Chartrand had certainly heard of Il Passetto, and he had even heard rumors that it had once had an entrance here in the
library, but the tunnel had not been used in ages! Who could be banging on the other side?
Chartrand took his flashlight and rapped on the door. There was a muffled exultation from the other side. The banging stopped, and the voices yelled louder. Chartrand could
barely make out their words through the barric
“. . . Kohler . . . lie . . . camerlegno . . .”
“Who is that?” Chartrand yelled. “. . . ert Langdon . . . Vittoria Ve . . .”
Chartrand understood enough to be confused. I thought you were dead!
“. . . the door,” the voices yelled. “Open . . . !” Chartrand looked at the iron barrier and knew he would need dynamite to get through
there. “Impossible!” he yelled. “Too thick!”
er . . .”
on the hazards of panic, Chartrand felt a sudden rush of fear at the
oor .
ing more shocking even than the message coming from beyond it. Emerging
keyholes of each of the door’s massive locks were keys. Chartrand stared. The
here? He blinked in disbelief. The keys to this door were supposed to be in a
someplace! This passage was never used-not for centuries!
or. He grabbed the first key and turned. The
b of iron creaked open. He grabbed his light and shone it into the passage.
ed like apparitions as they staggered into the
library. Both were ragged and tired, but they were very much alive.
”
ce,
ng his gun at them. “Alt!”
yelled, raising his arms in surrender as he slid to
camerlegno!”
“. . . meeting . . . stop . . . erlegno . . . dang
Despite his training
last few words. Had he understood correctly? Heart pounding, he turned to run back to the office. As he turned, though, he stalled. His gaze had fallen to something on the d
. . somethfrom the keys were
vaultChartrand dropped his flashlight on the flo
mechanism was rusted and stiff, but it still worked. Someone had opened it recently. Chartrand worked the next lock. And the next. When the last bolt slid aside, Chartrand pulled. The sla
Robert Langdon and Vittoria Vetra look
“What is this!” Chartrand demanded. “What’s going on! Where did you come from?“Where’s Max Kohler?” Langdon demanded. Chartrand pointed. “In a private meeting with the camer-”
Langdon and Vittoria pushed past him and ran down the darkened hall. Chartrand turned, instinctively raising his gun at their backs. He quickly lowered it and ran after them. Rocher apparently heard them coming, because as they arrived outside the Pope’s offiRocher had spread his legs in a protective stance and was leveli
“The camerlegno is in danger!” Langdon
a stop. “Open the door! Max Kohler is going to kill the
Rocher looked angry. “Open the door!” Vittoria said. “Hurry!”
But it was too late.
From inside the Pope’s office came a bloodcurdling scream. It was the camerlegno. 114
T he confrontation lasted only seconds. Camerlegno Ventresca was still screaming when Chartrand stepped past Rocher and blew open the door of the Pope’s office. The guards dashed in. Langdon and Vittoria ran in
behind them. The scene before them was staggering. The chamber was lit only by candlelight and a dying fire. Kohler was near the fireplace, standing awkwardly in front of his wheelchair. He brandished a pistol, aimed at the camerlegno, who lay on the floor at his feet, writhing in agony. The camerlegno’s
cassock was torn open, and his bare chest was seared black. Langdon could not make othe symbol from across the room, but a large, square brand lay on the floor near KohlerThe metal still glowed red. Two of the Swiss Guards acted without hesitation. They opened fire. The bullets smashed into Kohler’s chest, driving him backward. Kohler collapsed into his wheelchair, hichest gurgling blood. His gun went skittering
ut
.
s
across the floor.
he whispered.
he camerlegno, still twisting on the floor, rolled toward Rocher, and with the trancelike
terror of the early witch hunts, pointed his index finger at Rocher and yelled a single
word. “ILLUMINATUS!”
“You bastard,” Rocher said, running at him. “You sanctimonious bas-”
This time it was Chartrand who reacted on instinct, putting three bullets in Rocher’s back.
The captain fell face first on the tile floor and slid lifeless through his own blood.
Chartrand and the guards dashed immediately to the camerlegno, who lay clutching
himself, convulsing in pain.
Both guards let out exclamations of horror when they saw the symbol seared on the
amerlegno’s chest. The second guard saw the brand upside down and immediately
aggered backward with fear in his eyes. Chartrand, looking equally overwhelmed by the
.
ense of what he was seeing. A crippled scientist, in a final act
of symbolic dominance, had flown into Vatican City and branded the church’s highest
’t matter how he did it! Kohler accomplished his mission!
ended, and
Langdon stood stunned in the doorway. Vittoria seemed paralyzed. “Max . . .” s
T
cst
symbol, pulled the camerlegno’s torn cassock up over the burn, shielding it from viewLangdon felt delirious as he moved across the room. Through a mist of insanity and violence, he tried to make s
official. Some things are worth dying for, the Hassassin had said. Langdon wondered howa handicapped man could possibly have overpowered the camerlegno. Then again, Kohler had a gun. It doesn
Langdon moved toward the gruesome scene. The camerlegno was being att
Langdon felt himself drawn toward the smoking brand on the floor near Kohler’s wheelchair. The sixth brand? The closer Langdon got, the more confused he became. The
brand seemed to be a perfect square, quite large, and had obviously come from the sacredcenter compartment of the chest in the Illuminati Lair. A sixth and final brand, the Hassassin had said. The most brilliant of a
ll.
Langdon knelt beside Kohler and reached for the object. The metal still radiated heat. Grasping the wooden handle, Langdon picked it up. He was not sure what he expected to see, but it most certainly was not this.
Langdon stared a long, confused moment. Nothing was making sense. Why had the guards cried out in horror when they saw this? It was a square of meaningless squiggles.
The most brilliant of all? It was symmetrical, Langdon could tell as he rotated it in his
der, Langdon looked up, expecting Vittoria. The hand,
ing
n his wheelchair, the dying director was still breathing, albeit barely, sucking in
gasps. Kohler’s eyes met Langdon’s, and it was the same stony gaze that had
eeted Langdon at CERN earlier that day. The eyes looked even harder in death, the
nsity radiating from Kohler in these final seconds
ce off
ohler’s final words were a gurgling whisper. “G-give this . . . to the mhe
words SONY RUVI were
hand, but it was gibberish.
When he felt a hand on his shoul
however, was covered with blood. It belonged to Maximilian Kohler, who was reachout from his wheelchair.
Langdon dropped the brand and staggered to his feet. Kohler’s still alive!
Slumped isputtering
grloathing and enmity rising to the surface. The scientist’s body quivered, and Langdon sensed he was trying to move. Everyone else in the room was focused on the camerlegno, and Langdon wanted to call out, but he couldnot react. He was transfixed by the inte
of his life. The director, with tremulous effort, lifted his arm and pulled a small devithe arm of his wheelchair. It was the size of a matchbox. He held it out, quivering. For aninstant, Langdon feared Kohler had a weapon. But it was something else. “G-give . . .” K
media.” Kohler collapsed motionless, and the device fell in his lap. Shocked, Langdon stared at the device. It was electronic. T
printed across the front. Langdon recognized it as one of those new ultraminiature, palmuy!
he thought. Kohler had apparently recorded some
sort of final suicide message he wanted the media to broadcast . . . no doubt some sermon
science and the evils of religion. Langdon decided he had done
onight. Before Chartrand saw Kohler’s camcorder, Langdon
Kohler’s final message can rot in hell!
Chartrand sent one of the other guards running off to let the cardinals out.
as
orous masses. Banners waved over the crowd.
eadache worsening. He half considered grabbing the windshield’s
ering and putting it up so he wouldn’t have to watch, but he knew he would be
in a matter of minutes. Lieutenant Chartrand had just radioed with terrible news.
y Maximilian Kohler and seriously injured.
artrand, the American, and the woman were carrying the camerlegno out now so he
cting
held camcorders. The balls on this g
about the importance of
enough for this man’s cause t
slipped it into his deepest jacket pocket.
It was the voice of the camerlegno that broke the silence. He was trying to sit up. “The cardinals,” he gasped to Chartrand. “Still in the Sistine Chapel!” Chartrand exclaimed. “Captain Rocher ordered-” “Evacuate . . . now. Everyone.”
The camerlegno grimaced in pain. “Helicopter . . . out front . . . get me to a hospital.” 115
I n St. Peter’s Square, the Swiss Guard pilot sat in the cockpit of the parked Vatican helicopter and rubbed his temples. The chaos in the square around him was so loud that it drowned out the sound of his idling rotors. This was no solemn candlelight vigil. He wamazed a riot had not broken out yet.
With less than twenty-five minutes left until midnight, the people were still packed together, some praying, some weeping for the church, others screaming obscenities andproclaiming that this was what the church deserved, still others chanting apocalyptic Bible verses. The pilot’s head pounded as the media lights glinted off his windshield. He squinted out at the clam
ANTIMATTER IS THE ANTICHRIST! SCIENTIST=SATANIST WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW?
The pilot groaned, his h
vinyl covairborne The camerlegno had been attacked b
Chcould be evacuated to a hospital. The pilot felt personally responsible for the attack. He reprimanded himself for not a
on his gut. Earlier, when he had picked up Kohler at the airport, he had sensed somethingin the scientist’s dead eyes. He couldn’t place it, but he didn’t like it. Not that it mattereRocher was running the show, and Rocher ins
d.
isted this was the guy. Rocher had
fly on medication, but a few aspirin would certainly be
and the two guards strained breathlessly
ything more suitable, the four of them were
e
ra. Langdon squinted, trying to find refuge behind the façade’s
gdon
o
topped
on the staircase.
ged, sounding focused as the group began descending the
rwater. His arms ached from the weight of the
e moment could get much less dignified.
The two BBC reporters had apparently been crossing the open
apparently been wrong. A new clamor arose from the crowd, and the pilot looked over to see a line of cardinals processing solemnly out of the Vatican onto St. Peter’s Square. The cardinals’ relief to beleaving ground zero seemed to be quickly overcome by looks of bewilderment at the spectacle now going on outside the church.
The crowd noise intensified yet again. The pilot’s head pounded. He needed an aspirin.Maybe three. He didn’t like to
less debilitating than this raging headache. He reached for the first-aid kit, kept with assorted maps and manuals in a cargo box bolted between the two front seats. When he tried to open the box, though, he found it locked. He looked around for the key and then finally gave up. Tonight was clearly not his lucky night. He went back to massaging his temples.
Inside the darkened basilica, Langdon, Vittoria,toward the main exit. Unable to find an
transporting the wounded camerlegno on a narrow table, balancing the inert body between them as though on a stretcher. Outside the doors, the faint roar of human chaos was now audible. The camerlegno teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. Time was running out. 116
I t was 11:39 P.M. when Langdon stepped with the others from St. Peter’s Basilica. Theglare that hit his eyes was searing. The media lights shone off the white marble liksunlight off a snowy tund
enormous columns, but the light came from all directions. In front of him, a collage of massive video screens rose above the crowd. Standing there atop the magnificent stairs that spilled down to the piazza below, Lanfelt like a reluctant player on the world’s biggest stage. Somewhere beyond the glaring lights, Langdon heard an idling helicopter and the roar of a hundred thousand voices. Ttheir left, a procession of cardinals was now evacuating onto the square. They all sin apparent distress to see the scene now unfolding
“Careful now,” Chartrand ur
stairs toward the helicopter. Langdon felt like they were moving unde
camerlegno and the table. He wondered how thThen he saw the answer.
square on their way back to the press area. But now, with the roar of the crowd, they had turned. Glick and Macri were now running back toward them. Macri’s camera was raisand rolling. Here come the vultures, Langdon thought. “Alt!” Chartrand yelled. “Get back!”
ed
iazza
itting
footage swooping up the Vatican stairs. Now,
d to run down the stairs and interfere, but he
wn, but it was too late. The camerlegno slid off the front.
arble, and he swayed upright. He stood a
efore anyone could stop him, he lurched
.
hartrand rushed forward, trying to reign in the camerlegno. But the camerlegno turned
on him, wild-eyed, crazed. “Leave me!”
hartrand jumped back.
e went from bad to worse. The camerlegno’s torn cassock, having been only laid
hest by Chartrand, began to slip lower. For a moment, Langdon thought the
might hold, but that moment passed. The cassock let go, sliding off his shoulders
around his waist.
and on the screens. Although it was the imprint of the square
t sense. The marking’s
But the reporters kept coming. Langdon guessed the other networks would take about six seconds to pick up this live BBC feed again. He was wrong. They took two. As if connected by some sort of universal consciousness, every last media screen in the pcut away from their countdown clocks and their Vatican experts and began transm
the same picture-a jiggling action
everywhere Langdon looked, he saw the camerlegno’s limp body in a Technicolor close-up. This is wrong! Langdon thought. He wante
could not. It wouldn’t have helped anyway. Whether it was the roar of the crowd or the cool night air that caused it, Langdon would never know, but at that moment, the inconceivable occurred.
Like a man awakening from a nightmare, the camerlegno’s eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright. Taken entirely by surprise, Langdon and the others fumbled with the shiftingweight. The front of the table dipped. The camerlegno began to slide. They tried to recover by setting the table do
Incredibly, he did not fall. His feet hit the mmoment, looking disoriented, and then, b
forward, staggering down the stairs toward Macri.
“No!” Langdon screamed
C
C
The scenover his cgarment
downThe gasp that went up from the crowd seemed to travel around the globe and back in an instant. Cameras rolled, flashbulbs exploded. On media screens everywhere, the image of the camerlegno’s branded chest was projected, towering and in grisly detail. Some screens were even freezing the image and rotating it 180 degrees.
The ultimate Illuminati victory. Langdon stared at the br
brand he had held earlier, the symbol now made sense. Perfecawesome power hit Langdon like a train.
Orientation. Langdon had forgotten the first rule of symbology. When is a square not a
ative!
choed with new meaning: “A flawless
true.
square? He had also forgotten that iron brands, just like rubber stamps, never looked like their imprints. They were in reverse. Langdon had been looking at the brand’s neg
As the chaos grew, an old Illuminati quote e
diamond, born of the ancient elements with such perfection that all those who saw it could only stare in wonder.” Langdon knew now the myth was
Earth, Air, Fire, Water.
The Illuminati Diamond.
117
R obert Langdon had little doubt that the chaos and hysteria coursing through St. Peter’s Square at this very instant exceeded anything Vatican Hill had ever witnessed. No
ystical vision . . . nothing in the shrine’s 2,000-
ope and drama of this very moment.
in a time warp, all the insanity
battle, no crucifixion, no pilgrimage, no myear history could possibly match the sc
As the tragedy unfolded, Langdon felt oddly separate, as if hovering there beside Vittoriaat the top of the stairs. The action seemed to distend, as if
slowing to a crawl . . .
The branded camerlegno . . . raving for the world to see . . . The Illuminati Diamond . . . unveiled in its diabolical genius . . .
The countdown clock registering the final twenty minutes of Vatican history . . . The drama, however, had only just begun.
The camerlegno, as if in some sort of post-traumatic trance, seemed suddenly puissant, possessed by demons. He began babbling, whispering to unseen spirits, looking up at the sky and raising his arms to God.
“Speak!” the camerlegno yelled to the heavens. “Yes, I hear you!”
His heart dropped like a rock.
, Langdon thought. It was a wretched and embarrassing end.
an to a hospital!
on the stairs, Chinita Macri was poised and filming, apparently having
ed her ideal vantage point. The images she filmed appeared instantly across the
a screens . . . like endless drive-in movies all playing the same
n who had overcome the rings of
ou, God!”
omplete. He looked up at the
on this rock I will build my
no idea why the camerlegno could possibly be
In that moment, Langdon understood.
Vittoria apparently understood too. She went white. “He’s in shock,” she said. “He’s
hallucinating. He thinks he’s talking to God!” Somebody’s got to stop this
Get this mBelow them
locatsquare behind her on medi
grisly tragedy. The whole scene felt epic. The camerlegno, in his torn cassock, with the scorched brandon his chest, looked like some sort of battered champio
hell for this one moment of revelation. He bellowed to the heavens. “Ti sento, Dio! I hear y
Chartrand backed off, a look of awe on his face. The hush that fell across the crowd was instant and absolute. For a moment it was as if the silence had fallen across the entire planet . . . everyone in front of their TVs rigid, a communal holding of breath.
The camerlegno stood on the stairs, before the world, and held out his arms. He looked almost Christlike, bare and wounded before the world. He raised his arms to the heavens and, looking up, exclaimed, “Grazie! Grazie, Dio!”
The silence of the masses never broke.
“Grazie, Dio!” the camerlegno cried out again. Like the sun breaking through a stormy sky, a look of joy spread across his face. “Grazie, Dio!” Thank you, God? Langdon stared in wonder.
The camerlegno was radiant now, his eerie transformation csky, still nodding furiously. He shouted to the heavens, “Up
church!”
Langdon knew the words, but he had
shouting them.
The camerlegno turned back to the crowd and bellowed again into the night. “Upon this rock I will build my church!” Then he raised his hands to the sky and laughed out loud.
E
e would be part of . . . much less leading. But he
ad been closest to the door and had acted on instinct.
farther than a few feet before his
’s
.
!” Chartrand yelled, fear in his voice. “Wait! Signore!”
e
nning behind her, microphone
he time!
“Grazie, Dio! Grazie!” The man had clearly gone mad.
The world watched, spellbound. The culmination, however, was something no one expected.
With a final joyous exultation, the camerlegno turned and dashed back into St. Peter’s Basilica.
118
leven-forty-two P.M. The frenzied convoy that plunged back into the basilica to retrieve the camerlegno wasnot one Langdon had ever imagined h
h
He’ll die in here, Langdon thought, sprinting over the threshold into the darkened void.“Camerlegno! Stop!” The wall of blackness that hit Langdon was absolute. His pupils were contracted from the glare outside, and his field of vision now extended no
face. He skidded to a stop. Somewhere in the blackness ahead, he heard the camerlegnocassock rustle as the priest ran blindly into the abyss.
Vittoria and the guards arrived immediately. Flashlights came on, but the lights were almost dead now and did not even begin to probe the depths of the basilica before themThe beams swept back and forth, revealing only columns and bare floor. The camerlegnowas nowhere to be seen.
“Camerlegno
A commotion in the doorway behind them caused everyone to turn. Chinita Macri’s largframe lurched through the entry. Her camera was shouldered, and the glowing red light on top revealed that it was still transmitting. Glick was ru
in hand, yelling for her to slow down. Langdon could not believe these two. This is not t
“Out!” Chartrand snapped. “This is not for your eyes!” But Macri and Glick kept coming.
“Chinita!” Glick sounded fearful now. “This is suicide! I’m not coming!”
Macri ignored himb
. She threw a switch on her camera. The spotlight on top glared to life,
linding everyone.
wheeled her camera toward the sound. Far off, in the grayness at the end of the
broke. Chartrand pushed past Langdon and sprinted after the camerlegno.
elt like twice that. As the
e
ring
artrand recalled
ed like wishful delusions to him-the product of overzealous minds hearing
moment later, though, as if the Holy Spirit Himself had descended to persuade
the church, a ghost appeared . . . a diaphanous, glowing
Langdon shielded his face and turned away in pain. Damn it! When he looked up, though, the church around them was illuminated for thirty yards. At that moment the camerlegno’s voice echoed somewhere in the distance. “Upon this rock I will build my church!” Macri
spotlight’s reach, black fabric billowed, revealing a familiar form running down the main aisle of the basilica. There was a fleeting instant of hesitation as everyone’s eyes took in the bizarre image. Then the dam
Langdon took off next. Then the guards and Vittoria.
Macri brought up the rear, lighting everyone’s way and transmitting the sepulchral chase to the world. An unwilling Glick cursed aloud as he tagged along, fumbling through a terrified blow-by-blow commentary.
The main aisle of St. Peter’s Basilica, Lieutenant Chartrand had once figured out, was longer than an Olympic soccer field. Tonight, however, it f
guard sprinted after the camerlegno, he wondered where the man was headed. Thcamerlegno was clearly in shock, delirious no doubt from his physical trauma and beawitness to the horrific massacre in the Pope’s office. Somewhere up ahead, beyond the reach of the BBC spotlight, the camerlegno’s voice rang out joyously. “Upon this rock I will build my church!”
Chartrand knew the man was shouting Scripture-Matthew 16:18, if Ch
correctly. Upon this rock I will build my church. It was an almost cruelly inapt inspiration-the church was about to be destroyed. Surely the camerlegno had gone mad. Or had he?
For a fleeting instant, Chartrand’s soul fluttered. Holy visions and divine messages had always seem
what they wanted to hear-God did not interact directly! A
Chartrand of His power, Chartrand had a vision. Fifty yards ahead, in the center of
outline. The pale shape was that of the half-naked camerlegno. The specter seemed transparent, radiating light. Chartrand staggered to a stop, feeling a knot tighten in his chest. The camerlegno is glowing! The body seemed to shine brighter now. Then, it
began to sink . . . deeper and deeper, until it disappeared as if by magic into the blacknof the floor. Langdon had seen the phantom also. For a moment, he too thought he had witnessed a
ess
magical vision. But as he passed the stunned Chartrand and ran toward the spot where the
liums-the sunken chamber lit by ninety-nine oil lamps. The
ng the sunken room. He peered down the
m, lit by the golden glow of oil lamps, the camerlegno dashed across
s
mbedded in the floor.
aded. Good God,
is eyes were keen, glistening with a lucid determination. The
o
his voice eerily sane. “I have just had a message. I knowcamerlegno
had disappeared, he realized what had just happened. The camerlegno had arrived at the Niche of the Pal
lamps in the niche shone up from beneath, illuminating him like a ghost. Then, as the camerlegno descended the stairs into the light, he had seemed to disappear beneath the floor.
Langdon arrived breathless at the rim overlookistairs. At the botto
the marble chamber toward the set of glass doors that led to the room holding the famougolden box.
What is he doing? Langdon wondered. Certainly he can’t think the golden box- The camerlegno yanked open the doors and ran inside. Oddly though, he totally ignoredthe golden box, rushing right past it. Five feet beyond the box, he dropped to his knees and began struggling to lift an iron grate e
Langdon watched in horror, now realizing where the camerlegno was he
no! He dashed down the stairs after him. “Father! Don’t!” As Langdon opened the glass doors and ran toward the camerlegno, he saw the camerlegno heave on the grate. The hinged, iron bulkhead fell open with a deafening
crash, revealing a narrow shaft and a steep stairway that dropped into nothingness. As thecamerlegno moved toward the hole, Langdon grabbed his bare shoulders and pulled him back. The man’s skin was slippery with sweat, but Langdon held on. The camerlegno wheeled, obviously startled. “What are you doing!”
Langdon was surprised when their eyes met. The camerlegno no longer had the glazedlook of a man in a trance. H
brand on his chest looked excruciating.
“Father,” Langdon urged, as calmly as possible, “you can’t go down there. We need tevacuate.” “My son,” the camerlegno said,
”
“Camerlegno!” It was Chartrand and the others. They came dashing down the stairs intothe room, lit by Macri’s camera. When Chartrand saw the open grate in the floor, his eyes filled with dread. He crossed himself and shot Langdon a thankful look for having stopped the camerlegno. Langdon understood; had read enough about Vatican architecture to know what lay beneath that
grate. It was the most sacred place in all of Christendom. Terra Santa. Holy Ground.
rom
aze
the
cannot
I know where the antimatter is.”
g is clear.”
as still unable to comprehend the camerlegno’s conviction that he had spoken
uch less that he had deciphered the message. Upon this rock I will build my
rch? They were the words spoken by Jesus when he chose Peter as his first apostle.
stairs.
off.
the
the
staring down the long staircase, he realized that there was indeed a rock buried in the
Some called it the Necropolis. Some called it the Catacombs. According to accounts fthe select few clergy who had descended over the years, the Necropolis was a dark m
of subterranean crypts that could swallow a visitor whole if he lost his way. It was not kind of place through which they wanted to be chasing the camerlegno. “Signore,” Chartrand pleaded. “You’re in shock. We need to leave this place. You go down there. It’s suicide.”
The camerlegno seemed suddenly stoic. He reached out and put a quiet hand on Chartrand’s shoulder. “Thank you for your concern and service. I cannot tell you how. I cannot tell you I understand. But I have had a revelation.
Everyone stared.
The camerlegno turned to the group. “Upon this rock I will build my church. That was the message. The meanin
Langdon wto God, m
chuWhat did they have to do with anything?
Macri moved in for a closer shot. Glick was mute, as if shell-shocked. The camerlegno spoke quickly now. “The Illuminati have placed their tool of destruction on the very cornerstone of this church. At the foundation.” He motioned down the “On the very rock upon which this church was built. And I know where that rock is.”
Langdon was certain the time had come to overpower the camerlegno and carry himAs lucid as he seemed, the priest was talking nonsense. A rock? The cornerstone infoundation? The stairway before them didn’t lead to the foundation, it led to
necropolis! “The quote is a metaphor, Father! There is no actual rock!” The camerlegno looked strangely sad. “There is a rock, my son.” He pointed into the hole. “Pietro è la pietra.” Langdon froze. In an instant it all came clear. The austere simplicity of it gave him chills. As Langdon stood there with the others,
darkness beneath this church. Pietro è la pietra. Peter is the rock.
Peter’s faith in God was so steadfast that Jesus called Peter “the rock”-the unwavering disciple on whose shoulders Jesus would build his church. On this very location, Langdon realized-Vatican Hill-Peter had been crucified and buried. The early Christians built a small shrine over his tomb. As Christianity spread, the shrine got bigger, layer upon layer, culminating in this colossal basilica. The entire Catholic faith had been built,
quite literally, upon St. Peter. The rock. “The antimatter is on St. Peter’s tomb,” the camerlegno said, his voice crystalline. Despite the seemingly supernatural origin of the information, Langdon sensed a stark logic in it. Placing the antimatter on St. Peter’s tomb seemed painfully obvious now. The Illuminati, in an act of symbolic defiance, had located the antimatter at the core of Christendom, both literally and figuratively. The ultimate infiltration. “And if you all need worldly proof,” the camerlegno said, sounding impatient now, “Ijust found that grate unlocked.” He pointed to the open bulkhead in the floor. “It is never unlocked. So
meone has been down there . . . recently.”
steeply into the earth.
ria thought, gripping the heavy rope banister as she
de
,
the
ld
g witness to this insanity.
them could see where they were going.
hat could
antimatter three stories beneath the earth seemed an almost noble and
rumbling into a crater.
Everyone stared into the hole.
An instant later, with deceptive agility, the camerlegno spun, grabbed an oil lamp, and headed for the opening. 119 T he stone steps declined
I’m going to die down here, Vitto
bounded down the cramped passageway behind the others. Although Langdon had maa move to stop the camerlegno from entering the shaft, Chartrand had intervenedgrabbing Langdon and holding on. Apparently, the young guard was now convincedcamerlegno knew what he was doing.
After a brief scuffle, Langdon had freed himself and pursued the camerlegno with Chartrand close on his heels. Instinctively, Vittoria had dashed after them. Now she was racing headlong down a precipitous grade where any misplaced step coumean a deadly fall. Far below, she could see the golden glow of the camerlegno’s oil lamp. Behind her, Vittoria could hear the BBC reporters hurrying to keep up. The camera spotlight threw gnarled shadows beyond her down the shaft, illuminating Chartrand and Langdon. Vittoria could scarcely believe the world was bearin
Turn off the damn camera! Then again, she knew the light was the only reason any of
As the bizarre chase continued, Vittoria’s thoughts whipped like a tempest. Wthe camerlegno possibly do down here? Even if he found the antimatter? There was no time! Vittoria was surprised to find her intuition now telling her the camerlegno was probably right. Placing the
merciful choice. Deep underground-much as in Z-lab-an antimatter annihilation would be partially contained. There would be no heat blast, no flying shrapnel to injure onlookers,just a biblical opening of the earth and a towering basilica c
Was this Kohler’s one act of decency? Sparing lives? Vittoria still could not fathom the director’s involvement. She could accept his hatred of religion . . . but this awesome
o doubt Captain Rocher had keys to everything-the Pope’s chambers, Il
er
d
ated with the camerlegno? Vittoria’s gut said no, and yet hers was the
es of jellyfish pulsating in
her faith. He had once explained divine
he had made her believe. She still
” He
her. “As you
probably know, Vittoria, human beings normally use a very small percentage of their
sical
”
ible
problems often occur in these moments of clarity. It’s what gurus call higher
sts call it super-sentience.” He
rt
s
so hard to believe that the camerlegno’s trauma had put his mind in a state
where he had simply “realized” the antimatter’s location?
conspiracy seemed beyond him. Was Kohler’s loathing really this profound? Destruction of the Vatican? Hiring an assassin? The murders of her father, the Pope, and four cardinals? It seemed unthinkable. And how had Kohler managed all this treachery withinthe Vatican walls? Rocher was Kohler’s inside man, Vittoria told herself. Rocher was anIlluminatus. N
Passetto, the Necropolis, St. Peter’s tomb, all of it. He could have placed the antimatton St. Peter’s tomb-a highly restricted locale-and then commanded his guards not to waste time searching the Vatican’s restricted areas. Rocher knew nobody would ever finthe canister.
But Rocher never counted on the camerlegno’s message from above. The message. This was the leap of faith Vittoria was still struggling to accept. Had God actually communic
science of entanglement physics-the study of interconnectedness. She witnessed miraculous communications every day-twin sea-turtle eggs separated and placed in labsthousands of miles apart hatching at the same instant . . . acr
perfect rhythm as if of a single mind. There are invisible lines of communication everywhere, she thought. But between God and man?
Vittoria wished her father were there to give communication to her in scientific terms, and
remembered the day she had seen him praying and asked him, “Father, why do you bother to pray? God cannot answer you.”
Leonardo Vetra had looked up from his meditations with a paternal smile. “My daughterthe skeptic. So you don’t believe God speaks to man? Let me put it in your language.took a model of the human brain down from a shelf and set it in front of
brain power. However, if you put them in emotionally charged situations-like phy
trauma, extreme joy or fear, deep meditation-all of a sudden their neurons start firing like crazy, resulting in massively enhanced mental clarity.” “So what?” Vittoria said. “Just because you think clearly doesn’t mean you talk to God.“Aha!” Vetra exclaimed. “And yet remarkable solutions to seemingly imposs
consciousness. Biologists call it altered states. Psychologi
paused. “And Christians call it answered prayer.” Smiling broadly, he added, “Sometimes, divine revelation simply means adjusting your brain to hear what your heaalready knows.”
Now, as she dashed down, headlong into the dark, Vittoria sensed perhaps her father waright. Was it
Each of us is a God, Buddha had said. Each of us knows all.We need only open our minds to hear our own wisdom.
er
urface. She sensed now without a doubt what the
a
ltitudes of people surrounding Vatican City, and her blood ran cold. “If
ntimatter up . . . everyone will die!”
by a
lantern’s glow. “You must
antimatter where it is! There’s no other choice!”
angdon spoke the words, he could not believe them. Not only had he accepted
amerlegno’s divine revelation of the antimatter’s location, but he was lobbying for
r’s Basilica-one of the greatest architectural feats on earth . . . as
well as all of the art inside.
But the people outside . . . it’s the only way.
f the stairs loomed abruptly from out of the shadows. A wrought-iron gate with
It was in that moment of clarity, as Vittoria plunged deeper into the earth, that she felt hown mind open . . . her own wisdom s
camerlegno’s intentions were. Her awareness brought with it a fear like nothing she had ever known.
“Camerlegno, no!” she shouted down the passage. “You don’t understand!” Vittori
pictured the muyou bring the a
Langdon was leaping three steps at a time now, gaining ground. The passage was cramped, but he felt no claustrophobia. His once debilitating fear was overshadowed far deeper dread.
“Camerlegno!” Langdon felt himself closing the gap on the
leave the Even as L
the cthe destruction of St. Pete
It seemed a cruel irony that the only way to save the people now was to destroy the church. Langdon figured the Illuminati were amused by the symbolism. The air coming up from the bottom of the tunnel was cool and dank. Somewhere down here was the sacred necropolis . . . burial place of St. Peter and countless other early Christians. Langdon felt a chill, hoping this was not a suicide mission.
Suddenly, the camerlegno’s lantern seemed to halt. Langdon closed on him fast. The end o
three embossed skulls blocked the bottom of the stairs. The camerlegno was there, pulling the gate open. Langdon leapt, pushing the gate shut, blocking the camerlegno’s way. The others came thundering down the stairs, everyone ghostly white in the BBC spotlight . . . especially Glick, who was looking more pasty with every step. Chartrand grabbed Langdon. “Let the camerlegno pass!”
“No!” Vittoria said from above, breathless. “We must evacuate right now! You cannot take the antimatter out of here! If you bring it up, everyone outside will die!”
The camerlegno’s voice was remarkably calm. “All of you . . . we must trust. We have little time.”
“You don’t understand,” Vittoria said. “An explosion at ground level will be much worsethan one down here!” The camerlegno looked at her, his green eyes resplendently sane. “Who said anything about an explosion at ground level?”
camerlegno’s voice plunged to a compelling hush. “I am not
asking anyone to join me. You are all free to go. All I am asking is that you not interfere
The silence that followed might as well have been thunder.
Necropolis literally means City of the Dead.
lifeless. An awkward grid of narrow
alkways wound between the decaying memorials, most of which were fractured brick
ith marble platings. Like columns of dust, countless pillars of unexcavated earth rose
ich hung low over the penumbral hamlet.
amerlegno’s spell, yanking open the gate
s a
intuition.
is
no is wrong.
e mausoleums, Langdon felt his legs tiring, noting to his
Vittoria stared. “You’re leaving it down here?” The camerlegno’s certitude was hypnotic. “There will be no more death tonight.” “Father, but-” “Please . . . some faith.” The
with His bidding. Let me do what I have been called to do.” The camerlegno’s stare intensified. “I am to save this church. And I can. I swear on my life.”
120
E leven-fifty-one P.M.
Nothing Robert Langdon had ever read about this place prepared him for the sight of it. The colossal subterranean hollow was filled with crumbling mausoleums, like small houses on the floor of a cave. The air smelled
ww
up, supporting a dirt sky, wh
City of the dead, Langdon thought, feeling trapped between academic wonder and raw fear. He and the others dashed deeper down the winding passages. Did I make the wrong choice?
Chartrand had been the first to fall under the c
and declaring his faith in the camerlegno. Glick and Macri, at the camerlegno’s suggestion, had nobly agreed to provide light to the quest, although considering what accolades awaited them if they got out of here alive, their motivations were certainly suspect. Vittoria had been the least eager of all, and Langdon had seen in her eyewariness that looked, unsettlingly, a lot like female
It’s too late now, he thought, he and Vittoria dashing after the others. We’re committed. Vittoria was silent, but Langdon knew they were thinking the same thing. Nine minutesnot enough time to get the hell out of Vatican City if the camerleg
As they ran on through th
surprise that the group was ascending a steady incline. The explanation, when it dawned on him, sent shivers to his core. The topography beneath his feet was that of Christ’s time. He was running up the original Vatican Hill! Langdon had heard Vatican scholars claim that St. Peter’s tomb was near the top of Vatican Hill, and he had always wonderedhow they
knew. Now he understood. The damn hill is still here!
rough the pages of history. Somewhere ahead was St.
eter’s tomb-the Christian relic. It was hard to imagine that the original grave had been
atch. Eight
and Vittoria would be joining the deceased
me. A series of small holes riddled the path before them. He leapt,
just clearing them.
Vittoria jumped too, barely avoiding the narrow hollows. She looked uneasy as they ran
on. “Snake holes?”
st me, you don’t want to know.” The
just realized, were libation tubes. The early Christians had believed in the
ouring
knew he had precious little time.
ts behind him, for which he was grateful, the camerlegno carried his
.
ce of
Langdon felt like he was running th
P
marked only with a modest shrine. Not any more. As Peter’s eminence spread, new shrines were built on top of the old, and now, the homage stretched 440 feet overhead to the top of Michelangelo’s dome, the apex positioned directly over the original tomb within a fraction of an inch.
They continued ascending the sinuous passages. Langdon checked his wminutes. He was beginning to wonder if he
here permanently.
“Look out!” Glick yelled from behind them. “Snake holes!” Langdon saw it in ti
“Snack holes, actually,” Langdon corrected. “Truholes, he had
resurrection of the flesh, and they’d used the holes to literally “feed the dead” by pmilk and honey into crypts beneath the floor. The camerlegno felt weak.
He dashed onward, his legs finding strength in his duty to God and man. Almost there. He was in incredible pain. The mind can bring so much more pain than the body. Still he felttired. He
“I will save your church, Father. I swear it.” Despite the BBC ligh
oil lamp high. I am a beacon in the darkness .I am the light. The lamp sloshed as he ran, and for an instant he feared the flammable oil might spill and burn him. He had experienced enough burned flesh for one evening.
As he approached the top of the hill, he was drenched in sweat, barely able to breatheBut when he emerged over the crest, he felt reborn. He staggered onto the flat pie
earth where he had stood many times. Here the path ended. The necropolis came to anabrupt halt at a wall of earth. A tiny marker read: Mausoleum S. La tomba di San Pietro.
Before him, at waist level, was an opening in the wall. There was no gilded plaque here. No fanfare. Just a simple hole in the wall, beyond which lay a small grotto and a meager,
to the hole and smiled in exhaustion. He
hind him. He set down his oil lamp and knelt
o appear on St. Peter’sngle
was unsteady, but it was clear enough. The image
om behind, the camerlegno was kneeling in prayer on the earthen floor. In front
s a rough-hewn hole in the wall. Inside the hollow, among the rubble of ancient
, was a terra cotta casket. Although Mortati had seen the coffin only once in his life,
ntaneous prayer and thanksgiving. It was the object on top of his tomb.
. . . where it had been all day . . . hiding in the
was
at
final
e most frightful image he had seen in his
r, however, that it was about to get worse.
crumbling sarcophagus. The camerlegno gazed incould hear the others coming up the hill be
to pray.
Thank you, God. It is almost over.
Outside in the square, surrounded by astounded cardinals, Cardinal Mortati stared up atthe media screen and watched the drama unfold in the crypt below. He no longer knew what to believe. Had the entire world just witnessed what he had seen? Had God truly spoken to the camerlegno? Was the antimatter really going t
“Look!” A gasp went up from the throngs.
“There!” Everyone was suddenly pointing at the screen. “It’s a miracle!”
Mortati looked up. The camera awas unforgettable.
Filmed frof him wa
stonehe knew beyond a doubt what it contained. San Pietro. Mortati was not naïve enough to think that the shouts of joy and amazement now thundering through the crowd were exaltations from bearing witness to one of Christianity’s most sacred relics. St. Peter’s tomb was not what had people falling to theirknees in spo
The antimatter canister. It was there
darkness of the Necropolis. Sleek. Relentless. Deadly. The camerlegno’s revelationcorrect. Mortati stared in wonder at the transparent cylinder. The globule of liquid still hovered
its core. The grotto around the canister blinked red as the LED counted down into its five minutes of life. Also sitting on the tomb, inches away from the canister, was the wireless Swiss Guard security camera that had been pointed at the canister and transmitting all along.
Mortati crossed himself, certain this was thentire life. He realized, a moment late
The camerlegno stood suddenly. He grabbed the antimatter in his hands and wheeled toward the others. His face showing total focus. He pushed past the others and began descending the Necropolis the way he had come, running down the hill.
The camera caught Vittoria Vetra, frozen in terror. “Where are you going! Camerlegno! I
ittoria spun toward Langdon. “What do we do?”
ed to stop the camerlegno, but Chartrand was running interference
d
e
”
Basilica at exactly 11:56 P.M.
re
the media screens around the
quare was like none the
g, chanting, praying . . . a mix of veneration
st ended in
m, to throw the
,
he Lord works in mysterious ways.
ti
thought you said-”
“Have faith!” he exclaimed as he ran off.
V
Robert Langdon tri
now, apparently trusting the camerlegno’s conviction. The picture coming from the BBC camera was like a roller coaster ride now, winding, twisting. Fleeting freeze-frames of confusion and terror as the chaotic cortege stumblethrough the shadows back toward the Necropolis entrance. Out in the square, Mortati let out a fearful gasp. “Is he bringing that up here?” On televisions all over the world, larger than life, the camerlegno raced upward out of th
Necropolis with the antimatter before him. “There will be no more death tonight!
But the camerlegno was wrong.
121
T he camerlegno erupted through the doors of St. Peter’s
He staggered into the dazzling glare of the world spotlight, carrying the antimatter befohim like some sort of numinous offering. Through burning eyes he could see his ownform, half-naked and wounded, towering like a giant on
square. The roar that went up from the crowd in St. Peter’s Scamerlegno had ever heard-crying, screamin
and terror. Deliver us from evil, he whispered.
He felt totally depleted from his race out of the Necropolis. It had almodisaster. Robert Langdon and Vittoria Vetra had wanted to intercept hi
canister back into its subterranean hiding place, to run outside for cover. Blind fools! The camerlegno realized now, with fearful clarity, that on any other night, he would never have won the race. Tonight, however, God again had been with him. Robert Langdon, on the verge of overtaking the camerlegno, had been grabbed by Chartrand, ever trusting and dutiful to the camerlegno’s demands for faith. The reporters, of coursewere spellbound and lugging too much equipment to interfere.
T
The camerlegno could hear the others behind him now . . . see them on the screens,
closing in. Mustering the last of his physical strength, he raised the antimatter high over his head. Then, throwing back his bare shoulders in an act of defiance to the Illumina
brand on his chest, he dashed down the stairs.
alo of
ld to have faith, running toward the masses carrying this weapon of destruction.
that moment, as Langdon saw where the camerlegno was headed, the glorious truth
erlegno had summoned to take him to the hospital sat dead ahead,
the cockpit, blades already humming in neutral. As the camerlegno ran
ghts that tore through Langdon’s mind came as a torrent . . .
out
tless
The marble quarries north of the city were less than three
!”
erlegno
approached them.
There was one final act.
Godspeed, he thought. Godspeed.
Four minutes . . .
Langdon could barely see as he burst out of the basilica. Again the sea of media lights bore into his retinas. All he could make out was the murky outline of the camerlegno, directly ahead of him, running down the stairs. For an instant, refulgent in his h
media lights, the camerlegno looked celestial, like some kind of modern deity. His cassock was at his waist like a shroud. His body was scarred and wounded by the handsof his enemies, and still he endured. The camerlegno ran on, standing tall, calling out tothe wor
Langdon ran down the stairs after him. What is he doing? He will kill them all!
“Satan’s work,” the camerlegno screamed, “has no place in the House of God!” He ran on toward a now terrified crowd.
“Father!” Langdon screamed, behind him. “There’s nowhere to go!”
“Look to the heavens! We forget to look to the heavens!”
In
came flooding all around him. Although Langdon could not see it on account of the lights, he knew their salvation was directly overhead. A star-filled Italian sky. The escape route. The helicopter the cam
pilot already in
toward it, Langdon felt a sudden overwhelming exhilaration. The thou
First he pictured the wide-open expanse of the Mediterranean Sea. How far was it? Five
miles? Ten? He knew the beach at Fiumocino was only about seven minutes by train. But by helicopter, 200 miles an hour, no stops . . . If they could fly the canister far enough to sea, and drop it . . . There were other options too, he realized, feeling almost weighas he ran. La Cava Romana!
miles away. How large were they? Two square miles? Certainly they were deserted at this hour! Dropping the canister there . . .
“Everyone back!” the camerlegno yelled. His chest ached as he ran. “Get away! NowThe Swiss Guard standing around the chopper stood slack-jawed as the cam
“Back!” the priest screamed. The guards moved back.
With the pilot’s door and yanked it open. “Out, son! Now!”
entire world watching in wonder, the camerlegno ran around the chopper to the
,
the
ister was. He ran to the other side of
urs
in
odless with dread. “What are you
”
w
Three!”
The guard jumped out. The camerlegno looked at the high cockpit seat and knew that in his exhausted state, he would need both hands to pull himself up. He turned to the pilot, trembling beside him, and thrust the canister into his hands. “Hold this. Hand it back when I’m in.”
As the camerlegno pulled himself up, he could hear Robert Langdon yelling excitedlyrunning toward the craft. Now you understand, the camerlegno thought. Now you have faith!
The camerlegno pulled himself up into the cockpit, adjusted a few familiar levers, and then turned back to his window for the canister.
But the guard to whom he had given the canister stood empty-handed. “He took it!” guard yelled. The camerlegno felt his heart seize. “Who!” The guard pointed. “Him!” Robert Langdon was surprised by how heavy the can
the chopper and jumped in the rear compartment where he and Vittoria had sat only hoago. He left the door open and buckled himself in. Then he yelled to the camerlegnothe front seat. “Fly, Father!”
The camerlegno craned back at Langdon, his face blodoing!”
“You fly! I’ll throw!” Langdon barked. “There’s no time! Just fly the blessed chopper!The camerlegno seemed momentarily paralyzed, the media lights glaring through the cockpit darkening the creases in his face. “I can do this alone,” he whispered. “I am supposed to do this alone.” Langdon wasn’t listening. Fly! he heard himself screaming. Now! I’m here to help you!Langdon looked down at the canister and felt his breath catch in his throat when he sa
the numbers. “Three minutes, Father!
The number seemed to stun the camerlegno back to sobriety. Without hesitation, he turned back to the controls. With a grinding roar, the helicopter lifted off.
Through a swirl of dust, Langdon could see Vittoria running toward the chopper. Their
en door assaulted
ellipse radiating in a sea
ed in the glow of the LED countdown clock.
m spread out in all directions. In the distance to the west,
inkling delineation of the Mediterranean coast-a jagged border
scence beyond which spread an endless dark expanse of nothingness. The sea
rther now than Langdon had imagined. Moreover, the concentration of lights at
the coast was a stark reminder that even far out at sea an explosion might have
in the night. The hills were spotted with lights-the villas of the very wealthy-but a
mile or so north, the hills grew dark. There were no lights at all-just a huge pocket of
hought. La Cava Romana!
inting directly toward it! The quarries! Oddly, however, as the engines
strained louder and the chopper hurtled through the air, Langdon could see that the
thousands of feet straight down, glowed the media lights in St. Peter’s Square.
high enough! You’ve got to start
moving forward! We can’t drop the canister back over Vatican City!”
eyes met, and then she dropped away like a sinking stone. 122
I nside the chopper, the whine of the engines and the gale from the op
Langdon’s senses with a deafening chaos. He steadied himself against the magnified drag of gravity as the camerlegno accelerated the craft straight up. The glow of St. Peter’s Square shrank beneath them until it was an amorphous glowing
of city lights.
The antimatter canister felt like deadweight in Langdon’s hands. He held tighter, his palms slick now with sweat and blood. Inside the trap, the globule of antimatter hovered calmly, pulsing r
“Two minutes!” Langdon yelled, wondering where the camerlegno intended to drop the canister.
The city lights beneath theLangdon could see the tw
of luminelooked fa
devastating effects. Langdon had not even considered the effects of a ten-kiloton tidal wave hitting the coast. When Langdon turned and looked straight ahead through the cockpit window, he was more hopeful. Directly in front of them, the rolling shadows of the Roman foothills loomed
blackness. Nothing. The quarries! Langdon t
Staring intently at the barren pocket of land, Langdon sensed that it was plenty large enough. It seemed close, too. Much closer than the ocean. Excitement surged through him. This was obviously where the camerlegno planned to take the antimatter! The chopper was po
quarries were not getting any closer. Bewildered, he shot a glance out the side door to get his bearings. What he saw doused his excitement in a wave of panic. Directly beneath them,
We’re still over the Vatican! “Camerlegno!” Langdon choked. “Go forward! We’re
The camerlegno did not reply. He appeared to be concentrating on flying the craft.
inutes!” Langdon shouted, holding up the canister. “I can see
No,” the camerlegno said. “It’s far too dangerous. I’m sorry.” As the chopper continued
ournful smile. “I wish
rifice.”
Look
humanly possible.
nt
all peoples, all faiths . . . all hearts beating
s
e. Some folded
s in prayer. Most stood motionless, transfixed. Some wept. The seconds ticked
mes, bars, businesses, airports, hospitals around the world, souls were joined in
nds. Others held their children. Time
“We’ve got less than two m
them! La Cava Romana! A couple of miles north! We don’t have-”
“
to claw heavenward, the camerlegno turned and gave Langdon a myou had not come, my friend. You have made the ultimate sac
Langdon looked in the camerlegno’s exhausted eyes and suddenly understood. His blood turned to ice. “But . . . there must be somewhere we can go!”
“Up,” the camerlegno replied, his voice resigned. “It’s the only guarantee.”
Langdon could barely think. He had entirely misinterpreted the camerlegno’s plan. to the heavens! Heaven, Langdon now realized, was literally where he was headed. The camerlegno had never intended to drop the antimatter. He was simply getting it as far away from VaticanCity as
This was a one-way trip.
123 I n St. Peter’s Square, Vittoria Vetra stared upward. The helicopter was a speck now, themedia lights no longer reaching it. Even the pounding of the rotors had faded to a distahum. It seemed, in that instant, that the entire world was focused upward, silenced in anticipation, necks craned to the heavens . . .
as one.
Vittoria’s emotions were a cyclone of twisting agonies. As the helicopter disappeared from sight, she pictured Robert’s face, rising above her. What had he been thinking? Didn’t he understand? Around the square, television cameras probed the darkness, waiting. A sea of faces stared heavenward, united in a silent countdown. The media screens all flickered the same tranquil scene . . . a Roman sky illuminated with brilliant stars. Vittoria felt the tear
begin to well. Behind her on the marble escarpment, 161 cardinals stared up in silent aw
their handpast.
In houniversal witness. Men and women locked ha
seemed to hover in limbo, souls suspended in unison.
Then, cruelly, the bells of St. Peter’s began to toll. Vittoria let the tears come. Then . . . with the whole world watching . . . time ran out.
instant, a
ting
e
urgeoning
fiend preparing to consume the entire sky. It raced downward, toward them, picking up
faces gasped as one, shielding their eyes,
led fear.
ginable occurred. As if bound by God’s
It was as if the explosion were
ontained somehow in a giant glass sphere. The light rebounded inward, sharpening,
r and
ed
ng
of people’s lungs, sending others stumbling backward. The reverberation
lonnade, followed by a sudden torrent of warm air. The wind tore through
St. Peter’s Square, one by one, averted their eyes from the darkening sky and
The dead silence of the event was the most terrifying of all. High above Vatican City, a pinpoint of light appeared in the sky. For a fleeting
new heavenly body had been born . . . a speck of light as pure and white as anyone had ever seen. Then it happened. A flash. The point billowed, as if feeding on itself, unraveling across the sky in a dilaradius of blinding white. It shot out in all directions, accelerating with incomprehensiblspeed, gobbling up the dark. As the sphere of light grew, it intensified, like a b
speed.
Blinded, the multitudes of starkly lit human
crying out in strang
As the light roared out in all directions, the unimaown will, the surging radius seemed to hit a wall.
c
rippling across itself. The wave appeared to have reached a predetermined diametehovered there. For that instant, a perfect and silent sphere of light glowed over Rome. Night had become day. Then it hit. The concussion was deep and hollow-a thunderous shock wave from above. It descendon them like the wrath of hell, shaking the granite foundation of Vatican City, knocki
the breath outcircled the co
the square, letting out a sepulchral moan as it whistled through the columns and buffeted the walls. Dust swirled overhead as people huddled . . . witnesses to Armageddon. Then, as fast as it appeared, the sphere imploded, sucking back in on itself, crushing inward to the tiny point of light from which it had come.
124 N
ever before had so many been so silent. The faces in
turned downward, each person in his or her own private moment of wonder. The mlights followed suit, dropping their beams back to earth as if out of reverence for the blacknes
edia
s now settling upon them. It seemed for a moment the entire world was bowing
they had just witnessed.
od trembling at the foot of the basilica’s sweeping stairs. She closed her
timatter’s mind-boggling power . . . the Vatican’s
d echoed . . . tolling through the chaos with a stinging loneliness.
e for her at Castle St. Angelo.
part of
imply the result of man’s greatest weakness-his need for proof.
Miracles were nothing but stories we all clung to because we wished they were true.
h. Why was this so hard to believe? What would it say
Almighty did not care? That He was
owerless to stop it? A miracle was the only possible response!
.
its head in unison.
Cardinal Mortati knelt to pray, and the other cardinals joined him. The Swiss Guard lowered their long swords and stood numb. No one spoke. No one moved. Everywhere, hearts shuddered with spontaneous emotion. Bereavement. Fear. Wonder. Belief. And a dread-filled respect for the new and awesome power
Vittoria Vetra sto
eyes. Through the tempest of emotions now coursing through her blood, a single word tolled like a distant bell. Pristine. Cruel. She forced it away. And yet the word echoed. Again she drove it back. The pain was too great. She tried to lose herself in the images that blazed in other’s minds . . . an
deliverance . . . the camerlegno . . . feats of bravery . . . miracles . . . selflessness. And still the wor
Robert. He had com
He had saved her.
And now he had been destroyed by her creation.
As Cardinal Mortati prayed, he wondered if he too would hear God’s voice as the camerlegno had. Does one need to believe in miracles to experience them? Mortati was a modern man in an ancient faith. Miracles had never played a part in his belief. Certainly his faith spoke of miracles . . . bleeding palms, ascensions from the dead, imprints on shrouds . . . and yet, Mortati’s rational mind had always justified these accounts as
the myth. They were s
And yet . . . Am I so modern that I cannot accept what my eyes have just witnessed? It was a miracle, was it not? Yes! God, with a few whispered words in the camerlegno’s ear, had intervened and saved this churc
about God if God had done nothing? That the
p
As Mortati knelt in wonder, he prayed for the camerlegno’s soul. He gave thanks to theyoung chamberlain who, even in his youthful years, had opened this old man’s eyes tothe miracles of unquestioning faith. Incredibly, though, Mortati never suspected the extent to which his faith was about to be tested . .
The silence of St. Peter’s Square broke with a ripple at first. The ripple grew to a
,
s.
s
rlegno Carlo
f lapping water, as though he were comfortably asleep on a beach.
and he did not wish it back at any
uld only have been conjured in hell.
g him back. It
e
he helicopter was in a dizzying dead climb. He was trapped inside. Beyond the open
an
of
murmur. And then, suddenly, to a roar. Without warning, the multitudes were crying out as one. “Look! Look!” Mortati opened his eyes and turned to the crowd. Everyone was pointing behind himtoward the front of St. Peter’s Basilica. Their faces were white. Some fell to their knee
Some fainted. Some burst into uncontrollable sobs.
“Look! Look!” Mortati turned, bewildered, following their outstretched hands. They were pointing to the uppermost level of the basilica, the rooftop terrace, where huge statues of Christ and hiapostles watched over the crowd. There, on the right of Jesus, arms outstretched to the world . . . stood Came
Ventresca. 125
R obert Langdon was no longer falling.
There was no more terror. No pain. Not even the sound of the racing wind. There was only the soft sound o
In a paradox of self-awareness, Langdon sensed this was death. He felt glad for it. He allowed the drifting numbness to possess him entirely. He let it carry him wherever it was he would go. His pain and fear had been anesthetized,
price. His final memory had been one that co
Take me. Please . . .
But the lapping that lulled in him a far-off sense of peace was also pullinwas trying to awaken him from a dream. No! Let me be! He did not want to awaken. He
sensed demons gathering on the perimeter of his bliss, pounding to shatter his rapture. Fuzzy images swirled. Voices yelled. Wind churned. No, please! The more he fought, thmore the fury filtered through.
Then, harshly, he was living it all again . . .
T
door, the lights of Rome looked farther away with every passing second. His survival instinct told him to jettison the canister right now. Langdon knew it would take less thtwenty seconds for the canister to fall half a mile. But it would be falling toward a city people.
Higher! Higher! Langdon wondered how high they were now. Small prop planes, he knew, flew at altitudes of about four miles. This helicopter had to be at a good fraction of that by nowTwo miles up? Three? There wasstill a chance. If they timed the drop perfectly, the canister would fall only partway toward earth, exploding a safe distance overand away from the chopper. Langdon looked out at the city sprawling below them
.
the ground
.
erlegno said.
erlegno was not even looking at him, apparently
aving read Langdon’s thoughts from the ghostly reflection in the windshield. Oddly, the
eiling of the cockpit, fishing
o.
felt his soul falling with it.
k and slipped his arms through the straps. He
fastened a waist clamp around his stomach and cinched it all down like a backpack. He
attered frames of sheer panic. He lay halfway between death and
nightmare, begging for deliverance, but the pictures grew brighter in his mind.
“And if you calculate incorrectly?” the cam
Langdon turned, startled. The camh
camerlegno was no longer engrossed in his controls. His hands were not even on the throttle. The chopper, it seemed, was now in some sort of autopilot mode, locked in a climb. The camerlegno reached above his head, to the c
behind a cable-housing, where he removed a key, taped there out of view. Langdon watched in bewilderment as the camerlegno quickly unlocked the metal cargobox bolted between the seats. He removed some sort of large, black, nylon pack. He lay it on the seat next to him. Langdon’s thoughts churned. The camerlegno’s movements seemed composed, as if he had a solution.
“Give me the canister,” the camerlegno said, his tone serene. Langdon did not know what to think anymore. He thrust the canister to the camerlegn“Ninety seconds!” What the camerlegno did with the antimatter took Langdon totally by surprise. Holding the canister carefully in his hands, the camerlegno placed it inside the cargo box. Then he closed the heavy lid and used the key to lock it tight.
“What are you doing!” Langdon demanded. “Leading us from temptation.” The camerlegno threw the key out the open window. As the key tumbled into the night, Langdon
The camerlegno then took the nylon pac
turned to a dumbstruck Robert Langdon.
“I’m sorry,” the camerlegno said. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” Then he opened his door and hurled himself into the night.
The image burned in Langdon’s unconscious mind, and with it came the pain. Real pain. Physical pain. Aching. Searing. He begged to be taken, to let it end, but as the water lapped louder in his ears, new images began to flash. His hell had only just begun. He saw bits and pieces. Sc
The antimatter canister was locked out of reach. It counted relentlessly downward as thechopper shot upward. Fifty seconds. Higher. Higher. Langdon spun wildly in the cabi
n,
rty-five seconds. He dug under seats
here was none! There had to be an
in the
able choice . . .
ver,
orning standing at CERN’s free-fall tube. One
ent,
g
deep explosion somewhere above him. It
ost instantly, the shock wave hit. He felt the
reath crushed from his lungs. There was a sudden warmth in the air all around him. He
trying to make sense of what he had just seen. Fosearching for another parachute. Forty seconds. T
option! Thirty-five seconds. He raced to the open doorway of the chopper and stood raging wind, gazing down at the lights of Rome below. Thirty-two seconds. And then he made the choice. The unbeliev
With no parachute, Robert Langdon had jumped out the door. As the night swallowed histumbling body, the helicopter seemed to rocket off above him, the sound of its rotors evaporating in the deafening rush of his own free fall. As he plummeted toward earth, Robert Langdon felt something he had not experienced since his years on the high dive-the inexorable pull of gravity during a dead drop. The
faster he fell, the harder the earth seemed to pull, sucking him down. This time, howethe drop was not fifty feet into a pool. The drop was thousands of feet into a city-an endless expanse of pavement and concrete. Somewhere in the torrent of wind and desperation, Kohler’s voice echoed from the grave . . . words he had spoken earlier this m
square yard of drag will slow a falling body almost twenty percent. Twenty perc
Langdon now realized, was not even close to what one would need to survive a fall like this. Nonetheless, more out of paralysis than hope, he clenched in his hands the sole object he had grabbed from the chopper on his way out the door. It was an odd memento, but it was one that for a fleeting instant had given him hope. The windshield tarp had been lying in the back of the helicopter. It was a concave rectangle-about four yards by two-like a huge fitted sheet . . . the crudest approximationof a parachute imaginable. It had no harness, only bungie loops at either end for fasteninit to the curvature of the windshield. Langdon had grabbed it, slid his hands through the
loops, held on, and leapt out into the void.
His last great act of youthful defiance. No illusions of life beyond this moment. Langdon fell like a rock. Feet first. Arms raised. His hands gripping the loops. The tarp billowed like a mushroom overhead. The wind tore past him violently.
As he plummeted toward earth, there was aed farther off than he had expected. Alm
seemb
fought to hold on. A wall of heat raced down from above. The top of the tarp began to smolder . . . but held.
Langdon rocketed downward, on the edge of a billowing shroud of light, feeling likesurfer trying to outrun a thousand-f
a
oot tidal wave. Then suddenly, the heat receded.
no
t
them . . . . 20 percent reduction of speed. All Langdon could
s that the tarp over his head was big enough to slow him more than 20 percent.
ately, though, he could tell from the wind whipping past him that whatever good
till falling fast . . . there would be no
ngdon was falling into. The perfect expanse of stars was
t hand on the
ly flapped louder, billowing, cutting right to find the path of least
off
ill pretty high. Had he waited too long? He pulled with all his
d
nd three times softer than standing water.
. a
d
He was falling again through the dark coolness. For an instant, Langdon felt hope. A moment later, though, that hope faded like the withdrawing heat above. Despite his straining arms assuring him that the tarp was
slowing his fall, the wind still tore past his body with deafening velocity. Langdon had doubt he was still moving too fast to survive the fall. He would be crushed when he hithe ground. Mathematical figures tumbled through his brain, but he was too numb to make sense of one square yard of drag . .
figure waUnfortun
the tarp was doing was not enough. He was ssurviving the impact on the waiting sea of concrete. Beneath him, the lights of Rome spread out in all directions. The city looked like an enormous starlit sky that La
marred only by a dark strip that split the city in two-a wide, unlit ribbon that wound through the dots of light like a fat snake. Langdon stared down at the meandering swatch of black. Suddenly, like the surging crest of an unexpected wave, hope filled him again. With almost maniacal vigor, Langdon yanked down hard with his righ
canopy. The tarp sudden
resistance. Langdon felt himself drifting sideways. He pulled again, harder, ignoring the pain in his palm. The tarp flared, and Langdon sensed his body sliding laterally. Not much. But some! He looked beneath him again, to the sinuous serpent of black. It was to the right, but he was st
might and accepted somehow that it was now in the hands of God. He focused hard on the widest part of the serpent and . . . for the first time in his life, prayed for a miracle. The rest was a blur.
The darkness rushing up beneath him . . . the diving instincts coming back . . . the reflexive locking of his spine and pointing of the toes . . . the inflating of his lungs to protect his vital organs . . . the flexing of his legs into a battering ram . . . and finally . . . the thankfulness that the winding Tiber River was raging . . . making its waters frothy anair-filled . . . a
Then there was impact . . . and blackness. It had been the thundering sound of the flapping canopy that drew the group’s eyes awayfrom the fireball in the sky. The sky above Rome had been filled with sights tonight . .skyrocketing helicopter, an enormous explosion, and now this strange object that ha
plummeted into the churning waters of the Tiber River, directly off the shore of the river’s tiny island, Isola Tiberina. Ever since the island had been used to quarantine the sick during the Roman plague of
ght to have mystic healing properties. For this reason, the
coughing and slowly regained consciousness, the group decided the island
ave added to
the mystery of this moment. The silence of the vision over St. Peter’s Square sang louder
red up at Camerlegno Ventresca, Mortati felt the paralyzing collision of his
mind. The vision seemed real, tangible. And yet . . . how could it be? Everyone
seen the camerlegno get in the helicopter. They had all witnessed the ball of light in
s
purified. A spirit? A man? His white flesh shone in the spotlights with an
to
the crowd. Suddenly, the entire
erlegno’s name. The cardinals, some with tears rolling down
tati looked around him and tried to comprehend. Is this really
appening?
ople staring up at him. Was he awake or dreaming?
at
A.D. 1656, it had been thou
island had later become the site for Rome’s Hospital Tiberina. The body was battered when they pulled it onto shore. The man still had a faint pulse, which was amazing, they thought. They wondered if it was Isola Tiberina’s mythical reputation for healing that had somehow kept his heart pumping. Minutes later, when the man began
must indeed be magical. 126
C ardinal Mortati knew there were no words in any language that could h
than any chorus of angels.
As he staheart and
hadthe sky. And now, somehow, the camerlegno stood high above them on the rooftop terrace. Transported by angels? Reincarnated by the hand of God? This is impossible . . . Mortati’s heart wanted nothing more than to believe, but his mind cried out for reason. And yet all around him, the cardinals stared up, obviously seeing what he was seeing, paralyzed with wonder.
It was the camerlegno. There was no doubt. But he looked different somehow. Divine. Aif he had been
incorporeal weightlessness. In the square there was crying, cheering, spontaneous applause. A group of nuns fell their knees and wailed saetas. A pulsing grew from in
square was chanting the camtheir faces, joined in. Mor
h
Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca stood on the rooftop terrace of St. Peter’s Basilica and looked down over the multitudes of pe
He felt transformed, otherworldly. He wondered if it was his body or just his spirit thhad floated down from heaven toward the soft, darkened expanse of the Vatican City Gardens . . . alighting like a silent angel on the deserted lawns, his black parachute
shrouded from the madness by the towering shadow of St. Peter’s Basilica. He wonderif it was his body or his spirit that had possessed the strength to climb th
ed
e ancient
t as light as a ghost.
nce of the beyond . . . a substantiation of the power of the
for this moment, and still, even he could not
. Your
an he had ever felt. When, at last,
o
s ached, and his body felt like it had been run over by a truck. He was lying
e?
t,
decided it could not be heaven.
d
rofessional.
,
him long
ematic logic to the test.
the bedraggled man they had just pulled from the Tiber
had hand-delivered this one to safety. The
ed the victim unconscious, and if it had not
Stairway of Medallions to the rooftop terrace where he now stood. He fel
Although the people below were chanting his name, he knew it was not him they werecheering. They were cheering from impulsive joy, the same kind of joy he felt every day of his life as he pondered the Almighty. They were experiencing what each of them had always longed for . . . an assura
Creator. Camerlegno Ventresca had prayed all his life
fathom that God had found a way to make it manifest. He wanted to cry out to themGod is a living God! Behold the miracles all around you!
He stood there a while, numb and yet feeling more th
the spirit moved him, he bowed his head and stepped back from the edge. Alone now, he knelt on the roof, and prayed. 127
T he images around him blurred, drifting in and out. Langdon’s eyes slowly began tfocus. His leg
on his side on the ground. Something stunk, like bile. He could still hear the incessant sound of lapping water. It no longer sounded peaceful to him. There were other sounds too-talking close around him. He saw blurry white forms. Were they all wearing whitLangdon decided he was either in an asylum or heaven. From the burning in his throaLangdon
“He’s finished vomiting,” one man said in Italian. “Turn him.” The voice was firm an
p
Langdon felt hands slowly rolling him onto his back. His head swam. He tried to sit upbut the hands gently forced him back down. His body submitted. Then Langdon felt someone going through his pockets, removing items.
Then he passed out cold.
Dr. Jacobus was not a religious man; the science of medicine had bred that fromago. And yet, the events in Vatican City tonight had put his syst
Now bodies are falling from the sky? Dr. Jacobus felt the pulse of
River. The doctor decided that God himself concussion of hitting the water had knock
been for Jacobus and his crew standing out on the shore watching the spectacle in the
sky, this falling soul would surely have gone unnoticed and drowned. “É Americano,” a nurse said, going through the man’s wallet after they pulled him to dry
joked that Americans had gotten so abundant in Rome that
hamburgers should become the official Italian food. But Americans falling from the sky?
d vomited a lot
the television-the
obus had seen Mr. Langdon,
ng from the hospital entryway. It was one of the patients. She
his clothes.
anted were histeadying
him. His badge read Dr. Jacobus. He
arkably human.
land. American? Romans often
Jacobus flicked a penlight in the man’s eyes, testing his dilation. “Sir? Can you hear me?Do you know where you are?”
The man was unconscious again. Jacobus was not surprised. The man haof water after Jacobus had performed CPR.
“Si chiama Robert Langdon,” the nurse said, reading the man’s driver’s license.
The group assembled on the dock all stopped short.
“Impossibile!” Jacobus declared. Robert Langdon was the man fromAmerican professor who had been helping the Vatican. Jac
only minutes ago, getting into a helicopter in St. Peter’s Square and flying miles up into the air. Jacobus and the others had run out to the dock to witness the antimatter explosion-a tremendous sphere of light like nothing any of them had ever seen. Howcould this be the same man!
“It’s him!” the nurse exclaimed, brushing his soaked hair back. “And I recognize his tweed coat!”
Suddenly someone was yelli
was screaming, going mad, holding her portable radio to the sky and praising God. Apparently Camerlegno Ventresca had just miraculously appeared on the roof of the Vatican.
Dr. Jacobus decided, when his shift got off at 8 A.M., he was going straight to church. The lights over Langdon’s head were brighter now, sterile. He was on some kind of examination table. He smelled astringents, strange chemicals. Someone had just given him an injection, and they had removed
Definitely not gypsies, he decided in his semiconscious delirium. Aliens, perhaps? Yes, he had heard about things like this. Fortunately these beings would not harm him. All they w
“Not on your life!” Langdon sat bolt upright, eyes flying open. “Attento!” one of the creatures yelled, s
looked rem
Langdon stammered, “I . . . thought . . .”
“Easy, Mr. Langdon. You’re in a hospital.” The fog began to lift. Langdon felt a wave of relief. He hated hospitals, but they certainly
his testicles.
nse of his own memories . . . the
d. He was wearing a paper robe.
off you.”
at his shredded Harris tweed and frowned.
some Kleenex in your pocket,” the nurse said.
ramma. The last copy on earth had just
.
er ear. “Keeps
it to
and
em
as
began playing again from the beginning, Langdon lowered the
beat aliens harvesting
“My name is Dr. Jacobus,” the man said. He explained what had just happened. “You are very lucky to be alive.”
Langdon did not feel lucky. He could barely make se
helicopter . . . the camerlegno. His body ached everywhere. They gave him some water, and he rinsed out his mouth. They placed a new gauze on his palm.
“Where are my clothes?” Langdon aske
One of the nurses motioned to a dripping wad of shredded khaki and tweed on the counter. “They were soaked. We had to cut them
Langdon looked
“You had
It was then that Langdon saw the ravaged shreds of parchment clinging all over the liningof his jacket. The folio from Galileo’s Diag
dissolved. He was too numb to know how to react. He just stared. “We saved your personal items.” She held up a plastic bin. “Wallet, camcorder, and penI dried the camcorder off the best I could.”
“I don’t own a camcorder.”
The nurse frowned and held out the bin. Langdon looked at the contents. Along with his wallet and pen was a tiny Sony RUVI camcorder. He recalled it now. Kohler had handed it to him and asked him to give it to the media.
“We found it in your pocket. I think you’ll need a new one, though.” The nurse flipped open the two-inch screen on the back. “Your viewer is cracked.” Then she brightened. “The sound still works, though. Barely.” She held the device up to h
playing something over and over.” She listened a moment and then scowled, handingLangdon. “Two guys arguing, I think.”
Puzzled, Langdon took the camcorder and held it to his ear. The voices were pinchedmetallic, but they were discernible. One close. One far away. Langdon recognized thboth.
Sitting there in his paper gown, Langdon listened in amazement to the conversation.
Although he couldn’t see what was happening, when he heard the shocking finale, he wthankful he had been spared the visual. My God!
As the conversation
camcorder from his ear and sat in appalled mystification. The antimatter . . . the
ind now kicked into gear.
eans . . .
anted to vomit again. With a rising fury of disorientation and rage, Langdon got off
less
es,” the doctor said. “Perhaps
tomorrow a friend could bring you some.”
Langdon drew a slow patient breath and locked eyes with the doctor. “Dr. Jacobus, I am
ing to Vatican City. One does
an City with one’s ass hanging out. Do I make myself clear?”
e
ith
anying him was heavyset and wore a similar suit. The doctor had
cerned. She pointed proudly to one of her patches. “Sono
ulanza?” That explained it. Langdon felt like he could use an ambulance ride.
he woman led him around the side of the building. On an outcropping over the water
He hung his head.
helicopter . . . Langdon’s mBut that m
He wthe table and stood on shaky legs. “Mr. Langdon!” the doctor said, trying to stop him. “I need some clothes,” Langdon demanded, feeling the draft on his rear from the backgown. “But, you need to rest.”
“I’m checking out. Now. I need some clothes.” “But, sir, you-”
“Now!”
Everyone exchanged bewildered looks. “We have no cloth
walking out your door right now. I need clothes. I am go
not go to Vatic
Dr. Jacobus swallowed hard. “Get this man something to wear.”
When Langdon limped out of Hospital Tiberina, he felt like an overgrown Cub Scout. Hwas wearing a blue paramedic’s jumpsuit that zipped up the front and was adorned wcloth badges that apparently depicted his numerous qualifications.
The woman accomp
assured Langdon she would get him to the Vatican in record time. “Molto traffico,” Langdon said, reminding her that the area around the Vatican was packed with cars and people. The woman looked uncon
conducente di ambulanza.” “Amb
T
was a cement deck where her vehicle sat waiting. When Langdon saw the vehicle hestopped in his tracks. It was an aging medevac chopper. The hull read Aero-Ambulanza.
The woman smiled. “Fly Vatican City. Very fast.”
128
T he College of Cardinals bristled with ebullience and electricity as they streamed back into the Sistine Chapel. In contrast, Mortati felt in himself a rising confusion he thought might lift him off the floor and carry him away. He believed in the ancient miracles of thScriptures, and yet what he had just witnessed in person was som
e
ething he could not
votion, seventy-nine years, Mortati knew
et all he felt was a growing spectral unease. Something did not feel right.
erlegno is . . . flesh! He is a true man! He is not a spirit! He is
im . . . his cardinals await.”
bind his wounds? He must be in pain.”
Mortati headed for the chapel. The rest of the cardinals were inside now. As he walked
al
bly be.
apel. There was a riotous excitement. He closed the door. God help
rotor Aero-Ambulanza circled in behind Vatican City, and
After convincing the pilot that the rules governing Vatican airspace were the least of the
possibly comprehend. After a lifetime of dethese events should ignite in him a pious exuberance . . . a fervent and living faith. And
y
“Signore Mortati!” a Swiss Guard yelled, running down the hall. “We have gone to theroof as you asked. The cam
exactly as we knew him!”
“Did he speak to you?”
“He kneels in silent prayer! We are afraid to touch him!” Mortati was at a loss. “Tell h
“Signore, because he is a man . . .” the guard hesitated.
“What is it?”
“His chest . . . he is burned. Should we
Mortati considered it. Nothing in his lifetime of service to the church had prepared him for this situation. “He is a man, so serve him as a man. Bathe him. Bind his wounds. Dress him in fresh robes. We await his arrival in the Sistine Chapel.” The guard ran off.
down the hall, he saw Vittoria Vetra slumped alone on a bench at the foot of the RoyStaircase. He could see the pain and loneliness of her loss and wanted to go to her, but he knew it would have to wait. He had work to do . . . although he had no idea what that work could possi
Mortati entered the ch
me. Hospital Tiberina’s twin-
Langdon clenched his teeth, swearing to God this was the very last helicopter ride of his life.
Vatican’s concerns right now, he guided her in, unseen, over the rear wall, and landed
to
eter registered close to empty. Langdon
erred no one see him coming.
meone agreed. “The laws of conclave are man’s laws. God’s will is before us! I
balloting immediately!”
e cardinals studying him. They seemed distant, at a loss, offended
by his sobriety. Mortati longed to feel his heart swept up in the miraculous exultation he
xplicable pain in his soul . . .
th
t seem his own. “I
f what I have witnessed
t us wait. Let us hear him before
them on the Vatican’s helipad. “Grazie,” he said, lowering himself painfully onto the ground. She blew him a kiss and quickly took off, disappearing back over the wall and into the night. Langdon exhaled, trying to clear his head, hoping to make sense of what he was aboutdo. With the camcorder in hand, he boarded the same golf cart he had ridden earlier that day. It had not been charged, and the battery-m
drove without headlights to conserve power. He also pref
At the back of the Sistine Chapel, Cardinal Mortati stood in a daze as he watched the pandemonium before him.
“It was a miracle!” one of the cardinals shouted. “The work of God!”
“Yes!” others exclaimed. “God has made His will manifest!” “The camerlegno will be our Pope!” another shouted. “He is not a cardinal, but God has sent a miraculous sign!”
“Yes!” socall for a
“A balloting?” Mortati demanded, moving toward them. “I believe that is my job.” Everyone turned. Mortati could sense th
saw in the faces around him. But he was not. He felt an ine
an aching sadness he could not explain. He had vowed to guide these proceedings wipurity of soul, and this hesitancy was something he could not deny.
“My friends,” Mortati said, stepping to the altar. His voice did nosuspect I will struggle for the rest of my days with the meaning o
tonight. And yet, what you are suggesting regarding the camerlegno . . . it cannot possibly be God’s will.” The room fell silent.
“How . . . can you say that?” one of the cardinals finally demanded. “The camerlegno saved the church. God spoke to the camerlegno directly! The man survived death itself! What sign do we need!”
“The camerlegno is coming to us now,” Mortati said. “Le
we have a balloting. There may be an explanation.”
“An explanation?”
“As your Great Elector, I have vowed to uphold the laws of conclave. You are no doubt aware that by Holy Law the camerlegno is ineligible for election to the papacy. He is na cardinal. He is a priest . . . a chamberlain. There is also the question of his inadequateage.” Mortati felt the stares hardening. “By even allowing
ot
a balloting, I would be
ght,” someone stammered, “it certainly transcends our
Mortati’s voice bellowed now with a resonance he had never known. “I am not
d we
29
on a bench at the
e
ping, and wearing some
iabolical explosion?”
d from the back of the chapel.
onder at the bedraggled form coming up the center
requesting that you endorse a man who Vatican Law proclaims ineligible. I would be asking each of you to break a sacred oath.”
“But what happened here tonilaws!”
“Does it?” Mortati boomed, not even knowing now where his words were coming from. “Is it God’s will that we discard the rules of the church? Is it God’s will that we abandon reason and give ourselves over to frenzy?” “But did you not see what we saw?” another challenged angrily. “How can you presumeto question that kind of power!”
questioning God’s power! It is God who gave us reason and circumspection! It is Goserve by exercising prudence!”
1
I n the hallway outside the Sistine Chapel, Vittoria Vetra sat benumbed
foot of the Royal Staircase. When she saw the figure coming through the rear door, shwondered if she were seeing another spirit. He was bandaged, lim
kind of medical suit.
She stood . . . unable to believe the vision. “Ro . . . bert?”
He never answered. He strode directly to her and wrapped her in his arms. When he pressed his lips to hers, it was an impulsive, longing kiss filled with thankfulness.
Vittoria felt the tears coming. “Oh, God . . . oh, thank God . . .”
He kissed her again, more passionately, and she pressed against him, losing herself in his embrace. Their bodies locked, as if they had known each other for years. She forgot the fear and pain. She closed her eyes, weightless in the moment.
“It is God’s will!” someone was yelling, his voice echoing in the Sistine Chapel. “Who but the chosen one could have survived that d
“Me,” a voice reverberate
Mortati and the others turned in w
aisle. “Mr. . . . Langdon?”
Without a word, Langdon walked slowly to the front of the chapel. Vittoria Vetra entered
ng the door behind them.
I’s
ion. Then he pressed PLAY.
d
e
ing to someone else-whoever was
filmed by Maximilian Kohler, the
h the
o Vetra kept diaries?” the camerlegno was saying. “I suppose that is good news
. If the diaries contain his processes for creating antimatter-”
should not have granted
u have done.”
r story you told him, Rocher is a Swiss Guard and far too
dence that
too. Then two guards hurried in, pushing a cart with a large television on it. Langdon waited while they plugged it in, facing the cardinals. Then Langdon motioned for the guards to leave. They did, closi
Now it was only Langdon, Vittoria, and the cardinals. Langdon plugged the Sony RUVoutput into the televis
The television blared to life.
The scene that materialized before the cardinals revealed the Pope’s office. The video habeen awkwardly filmed, as if by hidden camera. Off center on the screen the camerlegnostood in the dimness, in front of a fire. Although he appeared to be talking directly to th
camera, it quickly became evident that he was speakmaking this video. Langdon told them the video was
director of CERN. Only an hour ago Kohler had secretly recorded his meeting witcamerlegno by using a tiny camcorder covertly mounted under the arm of his wheelchair.Mortati and the cardinals watched in bewilderment. Although the conversation was already in progress, Langdon did not bother to rewind. Apparently, whatever Langdon wanted the cardinals to see was coming up . . .
“Leonardfor CERN
“They don’t,” Kohler said. “You will be relieved to know those processes died with Leonardo. However, his diaries spoke of something else. You.” The camerlegno looked troubled. “I don’t understand.” “They described a meeting Leonardo had last month. With you.”
The camerlegno hesitated, then looked toward the door. “Rocher
you access without consulting me. How did you get in here?” “Rocher knows the truth. I called earlier and told him what yo
“What I have done? Whateve
faithful to this church to believe a bitter scientist over his camerlegno.” “Actually, he is too faithful not to believe. He is so faithful that despite the evione of his loyal guards had betrayed the church, he refused to accept it. All day long he has been searching for another explanation.” “So you gave him one.”
“The truth. Shocking as it was.”
“If Rocher believed you, he would have arrested me.” “No. I wouldn’t let him. I offered him my silence in exchange for this meeting.”
“I have no need of blackmail. I simply want to hear the truth from your lips. Leonardo
pe
r of Leonardo’s work and because Leonardo said it was an emergency.”
g.
ughter’s
ations. He had proved Genesis was physically
God-could duplicate the
tinued. “He wanted Leonardo to go public. His
he
Creation experiment, exactly as
ed everything in pairs. Opposites. Light and dark. Vetra found
himself, in addition to creating matter, creating antimatter. Shall I go on?”
The camerlegno was silent. He bent down and stoked the coals.
“After Leonardo Vetra came here,” Kohler said, “you came to CERN to see his work.
diaries said you made a personal trip to his lab.”
ut attracting media attention, so he sent
you. Leonardo gave you a secret tour of his lab. He showed you an antimatter
to Vatican City to report to the Pope what you had
The camerlegno let out an odd laugh. “You plan to blackmail the church with a story that no one will possibly believe?”
Vetra was a friend.”
The camerlegno said nothing. He simply stared down at Kohler. “Try this,” Kohler snapped. “About a month ago, Leonardo Vetra contacted you requesting an urgent audience with the Pope-an audience you granted because the Powas an admire
The camerlegno turned to the fire. He said nothin
“Leonardo came to the Vatican in great secrecy. He was betraying his daconfidence by coming here, a fact that troubled him deeply, but he felt he had no choice.
His research had left him deeply conflicted and in need of spiritual guidance from the church. In a private meeting, he told you and the Pope that he had made a scientificdiscovery with profound religious implic
possible, and that intense sources of energy-what Vetra calledmoment of Creation.”
Silence.
“The Pope was stunned,” Kohler con
Holiness thought this discovery might begin to bridge the gap between science and religion-one of the Pope’s life dreams. Then Leonardo explained to you the downside-treason he required the church’s guidance. It seemed his
your Bible predicts, produc
Leonardo’s
The camerlegno looked up. Kohler went on. “The Pope could not travel witho
annihilation-the Big Bang-the power of Creation. He also showed you a large specimen he kept locked away as proof that his new process could produce antimatter on a large
scale. You were in awe. You returnedwitnessed.”
The camerlegno sighed. “And what is it that troubles you? That I would respect
Leonardo’s confidentiality by pretending before the world tonight that I knew nothing antimatter?” “No! It troubles me that Leonardo Vetra practically proved the existence of your God, and you had him murdered!” The camerlegno turned now, his face revealing nothing. The only sound was the crackle of the fire. Suddenly, the camera jiggled, and Kohler’s arm appeared in the frame. He leaned forward, seeming to struggle with something affixed beneath his wheelchair. When he sback down, he held a pistol out before him. The camera angle was a chilling one . . . looking from behind . . . down the length of the ou
of
at
tstretched gun . . . directly at the
camerlegno.
r sins, Father. Now.”
is outside,” Kohler challenged. “He too is prepared to kill you.”
e
suited to the glorious
etimes with swords. And we have always survived.”
Kohler said, “Confess you
The camerlegno looked startled. “You will never get out of here alive.” “Death would be a welcome relief from the misery your faith has put me through since Iwas a boy.” Kohler held the gun with both hands now. “I am giving you a choice. Confess your sins . . . or die right now.” The camerlegno glanced toward the door. “Rocher
“Rocher is a sworn protector of th-”
“Rocher let me in here. Armed. He is sickened by your lies. You have a single option. Confess to me. I have to hear it from your very lips.” The camerlegno hesitated.
Kohler cocked his gun. “Do you really doubt I will kill you?”
“No matter what I tell you,” the camerlegno said, “a man like you will never understand.”“Try me.” The camerlegno stood still for a moment, a dominant silhouette in the dim light of th
fire. When he spoke, his words echoed with a dignity morerecounting of altruism than that of a confession.
“Since the beginning of time,” the camerlegno said, “this church has fought the enemies of God. Sometimes with words. Som
The camerlegno radiated conviction.
“But the demons of the past,” he continued, “were demons of fire and abomination . . . they were enemies we could fight-enemies who inspired fear. Yet Satan is shrewd. As
time passed, he cast off his diabolical countenance for a new face . . . the face of pure reason. Transparent and insidious, but soulless all the same.” The camerlegno’s voice
e in
And so your evil
hing but pure goodness. Science has come to save us from our
the fractured loneliness and
endless peril. Science is here!” The camerlegno stepped toward the gun. “But I have seen
n the peril . . .”
“Ally? Science and religion are not in this together! We do not seek the same God, you
? How does your
!
ided. His work was not religious, it was sacrilegious! Man cannot put
does not
onfessing your sins is the escape.” He
ard the door. “When God is on your side, you have options a man like you
r comprehend.” With his words still hanging in the air, the camerlegno
tore it open, revealing his bare chest.
d
r demanded, his gun still leveled. “What are you doing!”
nd.
flashed sudden anger-an almost maniacal transition. “Tell me, Mr. Kohler! How can the church condemn that which makes logical sense to our minds! How can we decry that which is now the very foundation of our society! Each time the church raises its voicwarning, you shout back, calling us ignorant. Paranoid. Controlling!
grows. Shrouded in a veil of self-righteous intellectualism. It spreads like a cancer. Sanctified by the miracles of its own technology. Deifying itself! Until we no longer suspect you are anyt
sickness, hunger, and pain! Behold science-the new God of endless miracles, omnipotent and benevolent! Ignore the weapons and the chaos. Forget
Satan’s face lurking . . . I have see
“What are you talking about! Vetra’s science practically proved the existence of your God! He was your ally!”
and I! Who is your God? One of protons, masses, and particle charges
God inspire? How does your God reach into the hearts of man and remind him he is accountable to a greater power! Remind him that he is accountable to his fellow manVetra was misgu
God’s Creation in a test tube and wave it around for the world to see! Thisglorify God, it demeans God!” The camerlegno was clawing at his body now, his voice
manic.
“And so you had Leonardo Vetra killed!” “For the church! For all mankind! The madness of it! Man is not ready to hold the powerof Creation in his hands. God in a test tube? A droplet of liquid that can vaporize an entire city? He had to be stopped!” The camerlegno fell abruptly silent. He looked away, back toward the fire. He seemed to be contemplating his options.
Kohler’s hands leveled the gun. “You have confessed. You have no escape.”
The camerlegno laughed sadly. “Don’t you see. C
looked towcould neve
grabbed the neck of his cassock and violentlyKohler jolted, obviously startled. “What are you doing!” The camerlegno did not reply. He stepped backward, toward the fireplace, and removean object from the glowing embers.
“Stop!” Kohle
When the camerlegno turned, he was holding a red-hot brand. The Illuminati DiamoThe man’s eyes looked wild suddenly. “I had intended to do this all alone.” His voice
seethed with a feral intensity. “But now . . . I see God meant for you to be here. You are my salvation.”
med
r of his own chest. His flesh hissed. “Mother Mary!
your son!” He screamed out in agony.
anding awkwardly on his feet, gun wavering
.
ithing in agony.
as a great flurry onscreen as the Swiss Guard burst into the room. The soundtrack
r.
dled,
e fog of wonder and adrenaline dissipating. As the
down the Royal Staircase toward the Sistine Chapel, the
ng in St. Peter’s Square and he knew that mountains had been
given it to him. At moments when he had
n, God had said. I will give you strength.
Before Kohler could react, the camerlegno closed his eyes, arched his back, and ram
the red hot brand into the centeBlessed Mother . . . Behold
Kohler lurched into the frame now . . . st
wildly before him. The camerlegno screamed louder, teetering in shock. He threw the brand at Kohler’s feetThen the priest collapsed on the floor, wr
What happened next was a blur. There w
exploded with gunfire. Kohler clutched his chest, blown backward, bleeding, falling into his wheelchair. “No!” Rocher called, trying to stop his guards from firing on Kohle
The camerlegno, still writhing on the floor, rolled and pointed frantically at Rocher. “Illuminatus!” “You bastard,” Rocher yelled, running at him. “You sanctimonious bas-” Chartrand cut him down with three bullets. Rocher slid dead across the floor. Then the guards ran to the wounded camerlegno, gathering around him. As they hudthe video caught the face of a dazed Robert Langdon, kneeling beside the wheelchair,
looking at the brand. Then, the entire frame began lurching wildly. Kohler had regainedconsciousness and was detaching the tiny camcorder from its holder under the arm of thewheelchair. Then he tried to hand the camcorder to Langdon. “G-give . . .” Kohler gasped. “G-give this to the m-media.” Then the screen went blank.
130
T he camerlegno began to feel th
Swiss Guard helped himcamerlegno heard singi
moved.
Grazie Dio.
He had prayed for strength, and God haddoubted, God had spoken. Yours is a Holy missio
Even with God’s strength, the camerlegno had felt fear, questioning the righteousness of his path. If not you, God had challenged, then WHO?
he
changed the world.
o. Time had eroded the miracle. People had forgotten. They had
deities and miracles of the mind. What about miracles of the
uld still remember lying on the floor in tattered nightclothes, clawing
e pain brought on by a vile truth he had just
n like a
bted even God could forgive it. “Your vow!” the
b.
om this
d like peals of thunder. “Did you vow to serve your God?”
camerlegno cried out.
uld you die for your God?”
ver me!”
If not now, then WHEN?
If not this way, then HOW? Jesus, God reminded him, had saved them all . . . saved them from their own apathy. With two deeds, Jesus had opened their eyes. Horror and Hope. The crucifixion and tresurrection. He had
But that was millennia ag
turned to false idols-techno-
heart!
The camerlegno had often prayed to God to show him how to make the people believe again. But God had been silent. It was not until the camerlegno’s moment of deepest darkness that God had come to him. Oh, the horror of that night!
The camerlegno coat his own flesh, trying to purge his soul of th
learned. It cannot be! he had screamed. And yet he knew it was. The deception tore at him like the fires of hell. The bishop who had taken him in, the man who had beefather to him, the clergyman whom the camerlegno had stood beside while he rose to the papacy . . . was a fraud. A common sinner. Lying to the world about a deed so traitorous at its core that the camerlegno dou
camerlegno had screamed at the Pope. “You broke your vow to God! You, of all men!” The Pope had tried to explain himself, but the camerlegno could not listen. He had run out, staggering blindly through the hallways, vomiting, tearing at his own skin, until he found himself bloody and alone, lying on the cold earthen floor before St. Peter’s tomMother Mary, what do I do? It was in that moment of pain and betrayal, as the camerlegno lay devastated in the Necropolis, praying for God to take him fr
faithless world, that God had come.
The voice in his head resounde“Yes!” the
“Wo“Yes! Take me now!” “Would you die for your church?” “Yes! Please deli
“But would you die for . . . mankind?”
It was in the silence that followed that the camerlegno felt himself falling into the abyss.
an! Like your son, I would die for
floor. He saw his mother’s face. God
for you, she was saying. The camerlegno plunged deeper into madness. It was
had spoken again. This time with silence. But the camerlegno understood.
. . then when?
s the guards unbolted the door of the Sistine Chapel, Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca felt
d his pain for three days on the cross! He could already feel the drug uprooting his
e was not at all surprised to see the cardinals staring at
ent in every
face. And yet, with each new face he passed, he sensed something else in their eyes.
aisle of the Sistine Chapel. The cardinals
r the front of the church, turned, staring at him. Robert Langdon was
on the altar beside a television that was on endless loop, playing a scene the camerlegno
ad come to be. Vittoria Vetra stood beside him,
orphine was making him
scene might be different. But it was not.
He tumbled farther, faster, out of control. And yet he knew the answer. He had always known.
“Yes!” he shouted into the madness. “I would die for mthem!”
Hours later, the camerlegno still lay shivering on his
has plansthen God
Restore their faith.
If not me . . . then who? If not now .
A
the power moving in his veins . . . exactly as it had when he was a boy. God had chosen him. Long ago. His will be done.
The camerlegno felt reborn. The Swiss Guard had bandaged his chest, bathed him, anddressed him in a fresh white linen robe. They had also given him an injection of morphine for the burn. The camerlegno wished they had not given him painkillers. Jesusendure
senses . . . a dizzying undertow. As he walked into the chapel, h
him in wonder. They are in awe of God, he reminded himself. Not of me, but how God works THROUGH me. As he moved up the center aisle, he saw bewilderm
What was it? The camerlegno had tried to imagine how they would receive him tonight. Joyfully? Reverently? He tried to read their eyes and saw neither emotion. It was then the camerlegno looked at the altar and saw Robert Langdon.
131 C amerlegno Carlo Ventresca stood in the
were all standing nea
recognized but could not imagine how it h
her face drawn.
The camerlegno closed his eyes for a moment, hoping the mhallucinate and that when he opened them the
They knew. Oddly, he felt no fear. Show me the way, Father. Give me the words that I can make thesee Your vision. m
o reply.
The camerlegno did not know whose voice he heard in his own mind, but the message
oved toward the cardinals, not even the diffused
.
ong!
s,” the camerlegno said, as he moved
down the aisle, “would you?”
The faces in the chapel simply stared. No one moved. No one spoke. Beyond the walls,
darkened vault . . . and He seemed
But the camerlegno heard n
Father, We have come too far together to fail now. Silence. They do not understand what We have done.
was stark. And the truth shall set you free . . . And so it was that Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca held his head high as he walked toward the front of the Sistine Chapel. As he m
light of the candles could soften the eyes boring into him. Explain yourself, the faces saidMake sense of this madness. Tell us our fears are wr
Truth, the camerlegno told himself. Only truth. There were too many secrets in these walls . . . one so dark it had driven him to madness. But from the madness had come the light.
“If you could give your own soul to save million
the joyous strains of song could be heard in the square.
The camerlegno walked toward them. “Which is the greater sin? Killing one’s enemy? Orstanding idle while your true love is strangled?” They are singing in St. Peter’s Square! The camerlegno stopped for a moment and gazed up at the ceiling of the Sistine. Michelangelo’s God was staring down from the
pleased.
“I could no longer stand by,” the camerlegno said. Still, as he drew nearer, he saw no flicker of understanding in anyone’s eyes. Didn’t they see the radiant simplicity of his deeds? Didn’t they see the utter necessity! It had been so pure. The Illuminati. Science and Satan as one.
Resurrect the ancient fear. Then crush it. Horror and Hope. Make them believe again.
Tonight, the power of the Illuminati had been unleashed anew . . . and with glorious consequence. The apathy had evaporated. The fear had shot out across the world like a bolt of lightning, uniting the people. And then God’s majesty had vanquished the darkness.
I could not stand idly by!
o wondered why.
d not
genius
“God’s work is not done in a lab. It is done in the heart.”
as
s he
t
could
l long ago. And his mother’s blood rained down.
on-
The inspiration had been God’s own-appearing like a beacon in the camerlegno’s night of agony. Oh, this faithless world! Someone must deliver them. You. If not you, who? You have been saved for a reason. Show them the old demons. Remind them of their fear. Apathy is death. Without darkness, there is no light. Without evil, there is no good. Make them choose. Dark or light. Where is the fear? Where are the heroes? If not now, when? The camerlegno walked up the center aisle directly toward the crowd of standing cardinals. He felt like Moses as the sea of red sashes and caps parted before him, allowing him to pass. On the altar, Robert Langdon switched off the television, took Vittoria’s hand, and relinquished the altar. The fact that Robert Langdon had survived, the camerlegno knew, could only have been God’s will. God had saved Robert Langdon. The camerlegn
The voice that broke the silence was the voice of the only woman in the Sistine Chapel. “You killed my father?” she said, stepping forward. When the camerlegno turned to Vittoria Vetra, the look on her face was one he coulquite understand-pain yes, but anger? Certainly she must understand. Her father’s
was deadly. He had to be stopped. For the good of Mankind. “He was doing God’s work,” Vittoria said.
“My father’s heart was pure! And his research proved-”
“His research proved yet again that man’s mind is progressing faster than his soul!” The camerlegno’s voice was sharper than he had expected. He lowered his voice. “If a manspiritual as your father could create a weapon like the one we saw tonight, imagine what an ordinary man will do with his technology.” “A man like you?” The camerlegno took a deep breath. Did she not see? Man’s morality was not advancing as fast as man’s science. Mankind was not spiritually evolved enough for the powerpossessed. We have never created a weapon we have not used! And yet he knew thaantimatter was nothing-another weapon in man’s already burgeoning arsenal. Man
already destroy. Man learned to kilLeonardo Vetra’s genius was dangerous for another reason.
“For centuries,” the camerlegno said, “the church has stood by while science picked awayat religion bit by bit. Debunking miracles. Training the mind to overcome the heart.
Condemning religion as the opiate of the masses. They denounce God as a hallucinati
a delusional crutch for those too weak to accept that life is meaningless. I could not stand by while science presumed to harness the power of God himself! Proof, you say? Yes, proof of science’s ignorance! What is wrong with the admission that something existsbeyond our understanding? The day science substantiates God in a lab is the day peoplestop needing faith!” “You m
ean the day they stop needing the church,” Vittoria challenged, moving toward
heir
y that
n, is soulless. Divorced from the heart. Intellectual miracles like antimatter arrive
lf is perilous! But when
romising answers to
r
.
ers
ould
The camerlegno saw the horror in Mortati’s eyes and again felt confused. Was it the
him. “Doubt is your last shred of control. It is doubt that brings souls to you. Our need toknow that life has meaning. Man’s insecurity and need for an enlightened soul assuring him everything is part of a master plan. But the church is not the only enlightened soul onthe planet! We all seek God in different ways. What are you afraid of? That God will show himself somewhere other than inside these walls? That people will find him in town lives and leave your antiquated rituals behind? Religions evolve! The mind finds answers, the heart grapples with new truths. My father was on your quest! A parallel
path! Why couldn’t you see that? God is not some omnipotent authority looking down from above, threatening to throw us into a pit of fire if we disobey. God is the energflows through the synapses of our nervous system and the chambers of our hearts! God isin all things!” “Except science,” the camerlegno fired back, his eyes showing only pity. “Science, by definitio
in this world with no ethical instructions attached. This in itsescience heralds its Godless pursuits as the enlightened path? P
questions whose beauty is that they have no answers?” He shook his head. “No.” There was a moment of silence. The camerlegno felt suddenly tired as he returned Vittoria’s unbending stare. This was not how it was supposed to be. Is this God’s final test?
It was Mortati who broke the spell. “The preferiti,” he said in a horrified whisper. “Baggia and the others. Please tell me you did not . . .”
The camerlegno turned to him, surprised by the pain in his voice. Certainly Mortati couldunderstand. Headlines carried science’s miracles every day. How long had it been foreligion? Centuries? Religion needed a miracle! Something to awaken a sleeping worldBring them back to the path of righteousness. Restore faith. The preferiti were not leadanyway, they were transformers-liberals prepared to embrace the new world and abandonthe old ways! This was the only way. A new leader. Young. Powerful. Vibrant. Miraculous. The preferiti served the church far more effectively in death than they ever could alive. Horror and Hope. Offer four souls to save millions. The world would remember them forever as martyrs. The church would raise glorious tribute to their names. How many thousands have died for the glory of God? They are only four. “The preferiti,” Mortati repeated.
“I shared their pain,” the camerlegno defended, motioning to his chest. “And I too w
die for God, but my work is only just begun. They are singing in St. Peter’s Square!”
morphine? Mortati was looking at him as if the camerlegno himself had killed these men
that for God, the camerlegno thought, and yet he
een carried out by the Hassassin-a heathen soul tricked into
he work of the Illuminati. I am Janus, the camerlegno had told
wer. And he had. The Hassassin’s hatred had made him God’s
d, smiling, his own heart rejoicing. “Nothing
unites hearts like the presence of evil. Burn a church and the community rises up, holding
s
r
long deceased. Only their myth was alive. The
camerlegno had resurrected the Illuminati as a reminder. Those who knew the Illuminati
The camerlegno did not answer. Mortati had no way of knowing, but the brands had been
-the Pope’s private reliquary, deep within his Borgia
ned those items the church deemed too dangerous for
resca had
gotten. The camerlegno, however, had disagreed.
ed destroying the Vatican!”
with his bare hands. I would do evenhad not. The deeds had b
thinking he was doing thim. I will prove my po
pawn.
“Listen to the singing,” the camerlegno sai
hands, singing hymns of defiance as they rebuild. Look how they flock tonight. Fear habrought them home. Forge modern demons for modern man. Apathy is dead. Show them the face of evil-Satanists lurking among us-running our governments, our banks, ouschools, threatening to obliterate the very House of God with their misguided science. Depravity runs deep. Man must be vigilant. Seek the goodness. Become the goodness!” In the silence, the camerlegno hoped they now understood. The Illuminati had not resurfaced. The Illuminati were
history relived their evil. Those who did not, had learned of it and were amazed how blind they had been. The ancient demons had been resurrected to awaken an indifferent world.
“But . . . the brands?” Mortati’s voice was stiff with outrage.
confiscated by the Vatican over a century ago. They had been locked away, forgotten and dust covered, in the Papal Vault
apartments. The Papal Vault contaianyone’s eyes except the Pope’s.
Why did they hide that which inspired fear? Fear brought people to God!
The vault’s key was passed down from Pope to Pope. Camerlegno Carlo Vent
purloined the key and ventured inside; the myth of what the vault contained was bewitching-the original manuscript for the fourteen unpublished books of the Bible known as the Apocrypha, the third prophecy of Fatima, the first two having come true and the third so terrifying the church would never reveal it. In addition to these, the camerlegno had found the Illuminati Collection-all the secrets the church had uncovered after banishing the group from Rome . . . their contemptible Path of Illumination . . . the cunning deceit of the Vatican’s head artist, Bernini . . . Europe’s top scientists mocking religion as they secretly assembled in the Vatican’s own Castle St. Angelo. The
collection included a pentagon box containing iron brands, one of them the mythical Illuminati Diamond. This was a part of Vatican history the ancients thought best for
“But the antimatter . . .” Vittoria demanded. “You risk
“There is no risk when God is at your side,” the camerlegno said. “This cause was His.”
“You’re insane!” she seethed.
“Millions were saved.” “People were killed!”
“Souls were saved.”
“Tell that“CERN’s
to my father and Max Kohler!”
arrogance needed to be revealed. A droplet of liquid that can vaporize a half
? And you call me mad?” The camerlegno felt a rage rising in him. Did they think his
ll overcome!”
nd silence
Last Judgment rose ominously behind him . . .
Mortati’s eyes.
until that very
them, they would see! His Holiness was the most nefarious deceiver the church had ever
ered that terrible night. He had returned from his trip
f
exclaimed.
science,” the Pope had replied. “Something I have hidden my entire
life. Science gave me a gift when I was a young man. A gift I have never forgotten.”
milewas a simple charge? “Those who believe undergo great tests for God! God asked Abraham to sacrifice his child! God commanded Jesus to endure crucifixion! And so we hang the symbol of the crucifix before our eyes-bloody, painful, agonizing-to remind usof evil’s power! To keep our hearts vigilant! The scars on Jesus’ body are a living
reminder of the powers of darkness! My scars are a living reminder! Evil lives, but the power of God wi
His shouts echoed off the back wall of the Sistine Chapel and then a profou
fell. Time seemed to stop. Michelangelo’s Jesus casting sinners into hell. Tears brimmed in
“What have you done, Carlo?” Mortati asked in a whisper. He closed his eyes, and a tear rolled. “His Holiness?” A collective sigh of pain went up, as if everyone in the room had forgotten
moment. The Pope. Poisoned.
“A vile liar,” the camerlegno said. Mortati looked shattered. “What do you mean? He was honest! He . . . loved you.” “And I him.” Oh, how I loved him! But the deceit! The broken vows to God!
The camerlegno knew they did not understand right now, but they would. When he told
seen. The camerlegno still rememb
to CERN with news of Vetra’s Genesis and of antimatter’s horrific power. The camerlegno was certain the Pope would see the perils, but the Holy Father saw only hopein Vetra’s breakthrough. He even suggested the Vatican fund Vetra’s work as a gesture ogoodwill toward spiritually based scientific research.
Madness! The church investing in research that threatened to make the church obsolete? Work that spawned weapons of mass destruction? The bomb that had killed his mother . .. “But . . . you can’t!” the camerlegno had
“I owe a deep debt to
“I don’t understand. What does science have to offer a man of God?”
plicated,” the Pope had said. “I will need time to make you understand. But
e is a simple fact about me that you must know. I have kept it hidden all these
astonishing truth.
on the dirt floor in front of St. Peter’s tomb. The
elped clot the blood flowing from the wounds he had torn at
d . . .”
had brought the camerlegno’s world crashing down
believed about his mentor was shattered
“Wait!” the Pope had cried, chasing after him. “Please let me explain!”
h,
ars, until he awoke before St. Peter’s tomb.
VENGEFUL GOD!
less world. Evil was everywhere. And yet the world had
the
yes
“It is comfirst, ther
years. I believe it is time I told you.” Then the Pope had told him the
132 T he camerlegno lay curled in a ball
Necropolis was cold, but it h
his own flesh. His Holiness would not find him here. Nobody would find him here . . . “It is complicated,” the Pope’s voice echoed in his mind. “I will need time to make you understan
But the camerlegno knew no amount of time could make him understand. Liar! I believed in you! GOD believed in you! With a single sentence, the Pope
around him. Everything the camerlegno had ever before his eyes. The truth drilled into the camerlegno’s heart with such force that he
staggered backward out of the Pope’s office and vomited in the hallway.
But the camerlegno ran off. How could His Holiness expect him to endure any more? Othe wretched depravity of it! What if someone else found out? Imagine the desecration to the church! Did the Pope’s holy vows mean nothing?
The madness came quickly, screaming in his e
It was then that God came to him with an awesome fierceness. YOURS IS A
Together, they made their plans. Together they would protect the church. Together they
would restore faith to this faith
become immune! Together they would unveil the darkness for the world to see . . . and God would overcome! Horror and Hope. Then the world would believe! God’s first test had been less horrible than the camerlegno imagined. Sneaking into Papal bed chambers . . . filling his syringe . . . covering the deceiver’s mouth as his body spasmed into death. In the moonlight, the camerlegno could see in the Pope’s wild ethere was something he wanted to say. But it was too late.
The Pope had said enough.
133
T he Pope fathered a child.”
Inside the Sistine Chapel, the camerlegno stood unwavering as he spoke. Five solitary words of astonishing disclosure. The entire assembly seemed to recoil in unison. The cardinals’ accusing miens evaporated into aghast stares, as if every soul in the room were
ave hit him too. Vittoria’s hand, tight in his, jolted, while
e
There was a communal gasp.
ably true. The infamous
“Devil’s Advocate” was the authority when it came to scandalous information inside the
s
ath. The Devil’s Advocate
praying the camerlegno was wrong.
The Pope fathered a child. Langdon felt the shock w
Langdon’s mind, already numb with unanswered questions, wrestled to find a center of gravity. The camerlegno’s utterance seemed like it would hang forever in the air above them.
Even in the camerlegno’s frenzied eyes, Langdon could see pure conviction. Langdon wanted to disengage, tell himself he was lost in some grotesque nightmare, soon to wakup in a world that made sense.
“This must be a lie!” one of the cardinals yelled.
“I will not believe it!” another protested. “His Holiness was as devout a man as ever lived!” It was Mortati who spoke next, his voice thin with devastation. “My friends. What the camerlegno says is true.” Every cardinal in the chapel spun as though Mortati had just shouted an obscenity. “The Pope indeed fathered a child.” The cardinals blanched with dread. The camerlegno looked stunned. “You knew? But . . . how could you possibly know this?” Mortati sighed. “When His Holiness was elected . . . I was the Devil’s Advocate.”
Langdon understood. This meant the information was prob
Vatican. Skeletons in a Pope’s closet were dangerous, and prior to elections, secret inquiries into a candidate’s background were carried out by a lone cardinal who served athe “Devil’s Advocate”-that individual responsible for unearthing reasons why the eligible cardinals should not become Pope. The Devil’s Advocate was appointed in advance by the reigning Pope in preparation for his own de
was never supposed to reveal his identity. Ever.
“I was the Devil’s Advocate,” Mortati repeated. “That is how I found out.”
all the rules were going out the
ed the entire
y heart guide my decision as to whether or not to reveal
e
ered a child! He broke his sacred vow of celibacy!” The camerlegno was
no
he
sadly, Mortati let the tale unfold. Many years ago, the Pope, when he was still
expected-to participate in God’s ultimate
iracle of creation-a child. Their child. The yearning, especially in her, became
me first. A year later, when the frustration had reached
without breaking his vow of celibacy. His Holiness told me he had
e in the church prohibited him from being
fant grow up.”
felt the madness setting in again. He wanted to claw at his
Mouths dropped. Apparently tonight was a night when
window. The camerlegno felt his heart filling with rage. “And you . . . told no one?”
“I confronted His Holiness,” Mortati said. “And he confessed. He explain
story and asked only that I let mhis secret.”
“And your heart told you to bury the information?”
“He was the runaway favorite for the papacy. People loved him. The scandal would havhurt the church deeply.” “But he fath
screaming now. He could hear his mother’s voice. A promise to God is the most important promise of all. Never break a promise to God. “The Pope broke his vow!” Mortati looked delirious with angst. “Carlo, his love . . . was chaste. He had brokenvow. He didn’t explain it to you?” “Explain what?” The camerlegno remembered running out of the Pope’s office while tPope was calling to him. Let me explain! Slowly,
just a priest, had fallen in love with a young nun. Both of them had taken vows of celibacy and never even considered breaking their covenant with God. Still, as they felldeeper in love, although they could resist the temptations of the flesh, they both found selves longing for something they never
themm
overwhelming. Still, God ca
almost unbearable proportions, she came to him in a whirl of excitement. She had just read an article about a new miracle of science-a process by which two people, without ever having sexual relations, could have a child. She sensed this was a sign from God. The priest could see the happiness in her eyes and agreed. A year later she had a child through the miracle of artificial insemination . . .
“This cannot . . . be true,” the camerlegno said, panicked, hoping it was the morphine washing over his senses. Certainly he was hearing things. Mortati now had tears in his eyes. “Carlo, this is why His Holiness has always had an affection for the sciences. He felt he owed a debt to science. Science let him experience the joys of fatherhood
no regrets except one-that his advancing staturwith the woman he loved and seeing his in
Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca
flesh. How could I have known?
“The Pope committed no sin, Carlo. He was chaste.”
k
What if this whore of his came
child?
feel the fire of faith dim in his heart. He stood
he
e to you in the hospital
he nun he
loved was Maria . . . your mother. She left the nunnery to raise you, but she never
d he would never
ins. They kept their vows to
ld. You were their miraculous
violently to his knees
e the four walls of the chapel. Vittoria felt
ed to have gripped them all. She let
go of Langdon’s hand and began moving through the crowd of cardinals. The chapel door
e.
a foreboding cognition as she moved toward the
door. She had almost reached the back of the crowd when a hand caught her arm. The
ge
“But . . .” The camerlegno searched his anguished mind for any kind of rationale. “Thinof the jeopardy . . . of his deeds.” His voice felt weak. “
forward? Or, heaven forbid, his Imagine the shame the church would endure.” Mortati’s voice was tremulous. “The child has already come forward.” Everything stopped.
“Carlo . . . ?” Mortati crumbled. “His Holiness’s child . . . is you.” At that moment, the camerlegno could
trembling on the altar, framed by Michelangelo’s towering Last Judgment. He knewhad just glimpsed hell itself. He opened his mouth to speak, but his lips wavered, soundless.
“Don’t you see?” Mortati choked. “That is why His Holiness cam
in Palermo when you were a boy. That is why he took you in and raised you. T
abandoned her strict devotion to God. When the Pope heard she had died in an explosion and that you, his son, had miraculously survived . . . he swore to Go
leave you alone again. Carlo, your parents were both virgGod. And still they found a way to bring you into the wor
child.” The camerlegno covered his ears, trying to block out the words. He stood paralyzed on the altar. Then, with his world yanked from beneath him, he fell
and let out a wail of anguish.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Time seemed to have lost all meaning insid
herself slowly breaking free of the paralysis that seem
seemed miles away, and she felt like she was moving underwater . . . slow motion. As she maneuvered through the robes, her motion seemed to pull others from their trancSome of the cardinals began to pray. Others wept. Some turned to watch her go, their blank expressions turning slowly to
touch was frail but resolute. She turned, face to face with a wizened cardinal. His visawas clouded by fear. “No,” the man whispered. “You cannot.” Vittoria stared, incredulous.
Another cardinal was at her side now. “We must think before we act.” And another. “The pain this could cause . . .”
Vittoria was surrounded. She looked at them all, stunned. “But these deeds here today,
ld should know the truth.”
agrees,” the wizened cardinal said, still holding her arm, “and yet it is a path
there is no return. We must consider the shattered hopes. The cynicism. How
ever trust again?”
r
r said. “We must act with foresight. The
What are you going to do?” she exclaimed. “Kill me?”
“I want . . .” the wizened cardinal said, “. . . to do what is right.”
nd take hers. “Ms. Vetra
and I are leaving this chapel. Right now.”
Faltering, hesitant, the cardinals began to step aside.
“Wait!” It was Mortati. He moved toward them now, down the center aisle, leaving the
otion was burdened with shame. He arrived, putting a hand on
angdon’s shoulder and one on Vittoria’s as well. Vittoria felt sincerity in his touch. The
e right now and find a
should come from within. Our failures should be our own to expose.”
tonight . . . certainly the wor
“My heart from which
could the people Suddenly, more cardinals seemed to be blocking her way. There was a wall of black robes before her. “Listen to the people in the square,” one said. “What will this do to theihearts? We must exercise prudence.” “We need time to think and pray,” anothe
repercussions of this . . .” “He killed my father!” Vittoria said. “He killed his own father!” “I’m certain he will pay for his sins,” the cardinal holding her arm said sadly.
Vittoria was certain too, and she intended to ensure he paid. She tried to push toward the door again, but the cardinals huddled closer, their faces frightened.
“
The old men blanched, and Vittoria immediately regretted her words. She could see these men were gentle souls. They had seen enough violence tonight. They meant no threat. They were simply trapped. Scared. Trying to get their bearings.
“Then you will let her out,” a deep voice declared behind her. The words were calm but absolute. Robert Langdon arrived at her side, and she felt his ha
camerlegno alone and defeated on the altar. Mortati looked older all of a sudden, wearied beyond his years. His m
L
man’s eyes were more tearful now.
“Of course you are free to go,” Mortati said. “Of course.” The man paused, his grief almost tangible. “I ask only this . . .” He stared down at his feet a long moment then back up at Vittoria and Langdon. “Let me do it. I will go into the squar
way. I will tell them. I don’t know how . . . but I will find a way. The church’s confession
Mortati turned sadly back toward the altar. “Carlo, you have brought this church to a disastrous juncture.” He paused, looking around. The altar was bare. There was a rustle of cloth down the side aisle, and the door clicked shut. The camerlegno was gone.
134
C amerlegno Ventresca’s white robe billowed as he moved down the hallway away
all
ude. But they had
man
.” The camerlegno had
her” and “son” were religious tradition, but now he knew
literal.
self reeling madly through
e darkness.
was raining the morning the Vatican staff banged on the camerlegno’s door, awakening
pe’s
hery . . . not yet. That would come later.
o
ck to
Certainly not one of the preferiti. They were old . . . walking death . . . liberals who
from the Sistine Chapel. The Swiss Guards had seemed perplexed when he emergedalone from the chapel and told them he needed a moment of solit
obeyed, letting him go. Now as he rounded the corner and left their sight, the camerlegno felt a maelstrom of emotions like nothing he thought possible in human experience. He had poisoned the he called “Holy Father,” the man who addressed him as “my son
always believed the words “fatthe diabolical truth-the words had been
Like that fateful night wth
eeks ago, the camerlegno now felt him
It
him from a fitful sleep. The Pope, they said, was not answering his door or his phone. The clergy were frightened. The camerlegno was the only one who could enter the Pochambers unannounced. The camerlegno entered alone to find the Pope, as he was the night before, twisted and
dead in his bed. His Holiness’s face looked like that of Satan. His tongue black like death. The Devil himself had been sleeping in the Pope’s bed. The camerlegno felt no remorse. God had spoken.
Nobody would see the treac
He announced the terrible news-His Holiness was dead of a stroke. Then the camerlegnprepared for conclave. Mother Maria’s voice was whispering in his ear. “Never break a promise to God.”
“I hear you, Mother,” he replied. “It is a faithless world. They need to be brought bathe path of righteousness. Horror and Hope. It is the only way.” “Yes,” she said. “If not you . . . then who? Who will lead the church out of darkness?”
would follow the Pope, endorsing science in his memory, seeking modern followers by
re! Jesus inspired! Young, vibrant,
had been offered a chance to enter the
legno, before leaving them, had unlocked
ehow,
father, through the pain and
ne . . . he had found a brilliant clarity. A
ught, awed by the lucidity of it.
ad gone exactly as he had planned. Unforeseen
in the Sistine Chapel, wondering if God had forsaken him!
ained! He had fallen to his knees, awash with doubt, his ears
raining for the voice of God but hearing only silence. He had begged for a sign.
o was not alone. He would
abandoning the ancient ways. Old men desperately behind the times, pathetically pretending they were not. They would fail, of course. The church’s strength was its tradition, not its transience. The whole world was transitory. The church did not need to change, it simply needed to remind the world it was relevant! Evil lives! God will overcome!
The church needed a leader. Old men do not inspi
powerful . . . MIRACULOUS.
“Enjoy your tea,” the camerlegno told the four preferiti, leaving them in the Pope’s private library before conclave. “Your guide will be here soon.”
The preferiti thanked him, all abuzz that theyfamed Passetto. Most uncommon! The camer
the door to the Passetto, and exactly on schedule, the door had opened, and a foreign-looking priest with a torch had ushered the excited preferiti in. The men had never come out. They will be the Horror. I will be the Hope.
No . . . I am the horror.
The camerlegno staggered now through the darkness of St. Peter’s Basilica. Somthrough the insanity and guilt, through the images of his
revelation, even through the pull of the morphisense of destiny. I know my purpose, he tho
From the beginning, nothing tonight h
obstacles had presented themselves, but the camerlegno had adapted, making bold adjustments. Still, he had never imagined tonight would end this way, and yet now he saw the preordained majesty of it. It could end no other way.
Oh, what terror he had felt Oh, what deeds He had ord
st
Guidance. Direction. Was this God’s will? The church destroyed by scandal and abomination? No! God was the one who had willed the camerlegno to act! Hadn’t He? Then he had seen it. Sitting on the altar. A sign. Divine communication-something ordinary seen in an extraordinary light. The crucifix. Humble, wooden. Jesus on the cross. In that moment, it had all come clear . . . the camerlegn
never be alone.
This was His will . . . His meaning. God had always asked great sacrifice of those he loved most. Why had the camerlegno been so slow to understand? Was he too fearful? Too humble? It made no difference. Godhad found a way. The camerlegno even understood now why Robert Langdon had beensaved. It was to bring the truth. To compel this ending. This was the sole path to the c
hurch’s salvation!
him. Not in time.
t led down to the
end. In the sacred darkness below.
his sides, watching his own image. Then he turned, looking back up the stairs.
Three minutes had passed in the chaotic hallways outside the Sistine Chapel, and still
no. It was as if the man had been swallowed up by the
rtled looks.
The camerlegno felt like he was floating as he descended into the Niche of the Palliums. The surge of morphine seemed relentless now, but he knew God was guiding him. In the distance, he could hear the cardinals clamoring in confusion as they poured fromthe chapel, yelling commands to the Swiss Guard.
But they would never find
The camerlegno felt himself drawn . . . faster . . . descending the stairs into the sunken area where the ninety-nine oil lamps shone brightly. God was returning him to Holy Ground. The camerlegno moved toward the grate covering the hole tha
Necropolis. The Necropolis is where this night wouldHe lifted an oil lamp, preparing to descend.
But as he moved across the Niche, the camerlegno paused. Something about this felt wrong. How did this serve God? A solitary and silent end? Jesus had suffered before the eyes of the entire world. Surely this could not be God’s will! The camerlegno listened for the voice of his God, but heard only the blurring buzz of drugs.
“Carlo.” It was his mother. “God has plans for you.”
Bewildered, the camerlegno kept moving. Then, without warning, God arrived. The camerlegno stopped short, staring. The light of the ninety-nine oil lanterns had thrown the camerlegno’s shadow on the marble wall beside him. Giant and fearful. A hazy form surrounded by golden light. With flames flickering all around him, the camerlegno looked like an angel ascending to heaven. He stood a moment, raising his arms to
God’s meaning was clear.
nobody could locate the camerleg
night. Mortati was about to demand a full-scale search of Vatican City when a roar of jubilation erupted outside in St. Peter’s Square. The spontaneous celebration of the crowd was tumultuous. The cardinals all exchanged sta
Mortati closed his eyes. “God help us.”
For the second time that evening, the College of Cardinals flooded onto St. Peter’s Square. Langdon and Vittoria were swept up in the jostling crowd of cardinals, and they
edia lights and cameras were all pivoted toward the
ng just stepped onto the sacred Papal Balcony located in the
egno Carlo Ventresca stood with his arms
ked like purity incarnate. A figurine. Dressed
d in around the front of the basilica, the
er. One by one, then dozens by dozens, then
people bowed their heads along with him.
n cast.
yers were a torrent of hopes
and sorrows . . . forgive me, Father . . . Mother . . . full of grace . . . you are the church . .
rayed
ant heart all firing in tandem, the people reached for God, in
languages, in hundreds of countries. The words they whispered were newborn
familiar to them as their own voices . . . ancient truths . . . imprinted on the
r
too emerged into the night air. The mbasilica. And there, havi
exact center of the towering façade, Camerlraised to the heavens. Even far away, he loo
in white. Flooded with light. The energy in the square seemed to grow like a cresting wave, and all at once the Swiss Guard barriers gave way. The masses streamed toward the basilica in a euphoric torrentof humanity. The onslaught rushed forward-people crying, singing, media cameras flashing. Pandemonium. As the people floode
chaos intensified, until it seemed nothing could stop it. And then something did.
High above, the camerlegno made the smallest of gestures. He folded his hands before him. Then he bowed his head in silent pray
hundreds by hundreds, the
The square fell silent . . . as if a spell had bee
In his mind, swirling and distant now, the camerlegno’s pra
. may you understand this sacrifice of your only begotten son. Oh, my Jesus . . . save us from the fires of hell . . . take all souls to heaven, especially, those most in need of thy mercy . . . The camerlegno did not open his eyes to see the throngs below him, the television cameras, the whole world watching. He could feel it in his soul. Even in his anguish, the unity of the moment was intoxicating. It was as if a connective web had shot out in all directions around the globe. In front of televisions, at home, and in cars, the world pas one. Like synapses of a gi
dozens ofand yet assoul.
The consonance felt eternal.
As the silence lifted, the joyous strains of singing began to rise again. He knew the moment had come. Most Holy Trinity, I offer Thee the most precious Body, Blood, Soul . . . in reparation fothe outrages, sacrileges, and indifferences . . .
The camerlegno already felt the physical pain setting in. It was spreading across his skin like a plague, making him want to claw at his flesh like he had weeks ago when God had
first come to him. Do not forget what pain Jesus endured. He could taste the fumes now in his throat. Not even the morphine could dull the bite.
They smelled sweet like his mother, but they burned. His
erse from Judgments. And when the flame went up toward heaven, the
e world witnessed no one would ever forget.
eal restrains, a luminous
from the camerlegno’s center. The fire shot upward, engulfing his
e did not scream. He raised his arms over his head and looked
dually, the flames dissipated.
ed
D
St. Peter’s Square. The media stayed on,
ting on the evening’s events. Across the
eflection and discussion . . . in all religions.
Questions abounded, and yet the answers seemed only to bring deeper questions. Thus
emained silent, issuing no statement whatsoever.
s.
My work here is done. The Horror was his. The Hope was theirs. In the Niche of the Palliums, the camerlegno had followed God’s will and anointed his body. His hair. His face. His linen robe. His flesh. He was soaking now with the sacred, vitreous oils from the lamps.
would be a merciful ascension. Miraculous and swift. And he would leave behind not scandal . . . but a new strength and wonder.
He slipped his hand into the pocket of his robe and fingered the small, golden lighter he had brought with him from the Pallium incendiario. He whispered a v
angel of the Lord ascended in the flame. He positioned his thumb.
They were singing in St. Peter’s Square . . . The vision th
High above on the balcony, like a soul tearing free of its corpor
pyre of flame erupted entire body instantly. H
toward heaven. The conflagration roared around him, entirely shrouding his body in a column of light. It raged for what seemed like an eternity, the whole world bearing witness. The light flared brighter and brighter. Then, gra
The camerlegno was gone. Whether he had collapsed behind the balustrade or evaporat
into thin air was impossible to tell. All that was left was a cloud of smoke spiraling skyward over Vatican City.
135
awn came late to Rome.
An early rainstorm had washed the crowds from huddling under umbrellas and in vans, commenta
world, churches overflowed. It was a time of r
far, the Vatican had r
Deep in the Vatican Grottoes, Cardinal Mortati knelt alone before the open sarcophagu
He reached in and closed the old man’s blackened mouth. His Holiness looked peaceful
ss,” he said to His Holiness,
love is greater than that of a
th the papal robes. He knew
d grotto was reserved exclusively for the relics of Popes, but somehow Mortati
is was appropriate.
nore?” someone said, entering the grottoes. It was Lieutenant Chartrand. He was
,
guards. “It is time for His Holiness to have the peace
rd and with enormous effort slid the lid of the Pope’s sarcophagus
e
beside him.
“May I have the honor of escorting you to conclave, signore?”
e.”
you an apology for last
night. We were blinded by-”
ed you be eligible.”
ed to
f the night before had
now. In quiet repose for eternity.
At Mortati’s feet was a golden urn, heavy with ashes. Mortati had gathered the ashes himself and brought them here. “A chance for forgivene
laying the urn inside the sarcophagus at the Pope’s side. “Nofather for His son.” Mortati tucked the urn out of sight benea
this sacresensed th
“Sigaccompanied by three Swiss Guards. “They are ready for you in conclave.” Mortati nodded. “In a moment.” He gazed one last time into the sarcophagus before himand then stood up. He turned to the
he has earned.” The guards came forwa
back into place. It thundered shut with finality.
Mortati was alone as he crossed the Borgia Courtyard toward the Sistine Chapel. A damp breeze tossed his robe. A fellow cardinal emerged from the Apostolic Palace and strod
“The honor is min
“Signore,” the cardinal said, looking troubled. “The college owes
“Please,” Mortati replied. “Our minds sometimes see what our hearts wish were true.” The cardinal was silent a long time. Finally he spoke. “Have you been told? You are no longer our Great Elector.”
Mortati smiled. “Yes. I thank God for small blessings.”
“The college insist
“It seems charity is not dead in the church.”
“You are a wise man. You would lead us well.”
“I am an old man. I would lead you briefly.”
They both laughed. As they reached the end of the Borgia Courtyard, the cardinal hesitated. He turn
Mortati with a troubled mystification, as if the precarious awe o
slipped back into his heart.
ains on the balcony?”
lence.
ehind and hoisted her camera onto her shoulder.
nd them to watch.
d
he didn’t want to
think about it. He was sure the BBC would let him go; no doubt they would have legal
among them.
th a
rap.”
“Were you aware,” the cardinal whispered, “that we found no rem
Mortati smiled. “Perhaps the rain washed them away.” The man looked to the stormy heavens. “Yes, perhaps . . .”
136 T he midmorning sky still hung heavy with clouds as the Sistine Chapel’s chimney gave up its first faint puffs of white smoke. The pearly wisps curled upward toward the firmament and slowly dissipated.
Far below, in St. Peter’s Square, reporter Gunther Glick watched in reflective siThe final chapter . . . Chinita Macri approached him from b
“It’s time,” she said. Glick nodded dolefully. He turned toward her, smoothed his hair, and took a deep breath.
My last transmission, he thought. A small crowd had gathered arou
“Live in sixty seconds,” Macri announced. Glick glanced over his shoulder at the roof of the Sistine Chapel behind him. “Can you get the smoke?” Macri patiently nodded. “I know how to frame a shot, Gunther.” Glick felt dumb. Of course she did. Macri’s performance behind the camera last night haprobably won her the Pulitzer. His performance, on the other hand . . .
troubles from numerous powerful entities . . . CERN and George Bush
“You look good,” Chinita patronized, looking out from behind her camera now wihint of concern. “I wonder if I might offer you . . .” She hesitated, holding her tongue. “Some advice?” Macri sighed. “I was only going to say that there’s no need to go out with a bang.”
“I know,” he said. “You want a straight w
“The straightest in history. I’m trusting you.” Glick smiled. A straight wrap? Is she crazy? A story like last night’s deserved so much more. A twist. A final bombshell. An unforeseen revelation of shocking truth. Fortunately, Glick had just the ticket waiting in the wings . . .
* * * “You’re on in . . . five . . . four . . . three . . .”
As Chinita Macri looked through her camera, she sensed a sly glint in Glick’s eye. I was
insane to let him do this, she thought. What was I thinking?
from Vatican City,” Glick announced on cue, “this is Gunther Glick reporting.” He
gave the camera a solemn stare as the white smoke rose behind him from the Sistine
Cardinal Saverio Mortati, a seventyan
er, it
th
the Swiss Guard, both in the line of duty.
effort to help but reportedly passed away in the
brought on by a long-time illness.”
Vatican last night, CERN’s
tists, sparking excitement
and controversy. A statement read by Mr. Kohler’s assistant in Geneva, Sylvie
ending all research and licensing until
e examined.”
“Notably absent from our screens tonight,” Glick reported, “is the face of Robert
Langdon, the Harvard professor who came to Vatican City yesterday to lend his expertise
during this Illuminati crisis. Although originally thought to have perished in the
antimatter blast, we now have reports that Langdon was spotted in St. Peter’s Square
after the explosion. How he got there is still speculation, although a spokesman from
But the moment for second thoughts had passed. They were on.
“Live
Chapel. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is now official.
nine-year-old progressive, has just been elected the next Pope of Vatican City. Although an unlikely candidate, Mortati was chosen by an unprecedented unanimous vote by theCollege of Cardinals.”
As Macri watched him, she began to breathe easier. Glick seemed surprisingly
professional today. Even austere. For the first time in his life, Glick actually looked and sounded somewhat like a newsman. “And as we reported earlier,” Glick added, his voice intensifying perfectly, “the Vatic
has yet to offer any statement whatsoever regarding the miraculous events of last night.” Good. Chinita’s nervousness waned some more. So far, so good.
Glick’s expression grew sorrowful now. “And though last night was a night of wondwas also a night of tragedy. Four cardinals perished in yesterday’s conflict, along wiCommander Olivetti and Captain Rocher of
Other casualties include Leonardo Vetra, the renowned CERN physicist and pioneer ofantimatter technology, as well as Maximilian Kohler, the director of CERN, who apparently came to Vatican City in an
process. No official report has been issued yet on Mr. Kohler’s death, but conjecture is that he died due to complications
Macri nodded. The report was going perfectly. Just as they discussed. “And in the wake of the explosion in the sky over the
antimatter technology has become the hot topic among scien
Baudeloque, announced this morning that CERN’s board of directors, although enthusiastic about antimatter’s potential, are susp
further inquiries into its safety can b
Excellent, Macri thought. Home stretch.
Hospital Tiberina claims that Mr. Langdon fell out of the sky into the Tiber River shortly
after midnight, was treated, and released.” Glick arched his eyebrows at the camera.
“And if that is true . . . it was indeed a night of miracles.”
Perfect ending! Macri felt herself smiling broadly. Flawless wrap! Now sign off!
But Glick did not sign off. Instead, he paused a moment and then stepped toward the
camera. He had a mysterious smile. “But before we sign off . . .”
No!
“. . . I would like to invite a guest to join me.”
Chinita’s hands froze on the camera. A guest? What the hell is he doing? What guest!
Sign off! But she knew it was too late. Glick had committed.
“The man I am about to introduce,” Glick said, “is an American . . . a renowned scholar.”
Chinita hesitated. She held her breath as Glick turned to the small crowd around them and
motioned for his guest to step forward. Macri said a silent prayer. Please tell me he
somehow located Robert Langdon . . . and not some Illuminati-conspiracy nutcase.
But as Glick’s guest stepped out, Macri’s heart sank. It was not Robert Langdon at all. It
was a bald man in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. He had a cane and thick glasses. Macri
felt terror. Nutcase!
“May I introduce,” Glick announced, “the renowned Vatican scholar from De Paul
University in Chicago. Dr. Joseph Vanek.”
Macri now hesitated as the man joined Glick on camera. This was no conspiracy buff;
Macri had actually heard of this guy.
“Dr. Vanek,” Glick said. “You have some rather startling information to share with us
regarding last night’s conclave.”
“I do indeed,” Vanek said. “After a night of such surprises, it is hard to imagine there are
any surprises left . . . and yet . . .” He paused.
Glick smiled. “And yet, there is a strange twist to all this.”
Vanek nodded. “Yes. As perplexing as this will sound, I believe the College of Cardinals
unknowingly elected two Popes this weekend.”
Macri almost dropped the camera.
Glick gave a shrewd smile. “Two Popes, you say?”
The scholar nodded. “Yes. I should first say that I have spent my life studying the laws of
papal election. Conclave judicature is extremely complex, and much of it is now
forgotten or ignored as obsolete. Even the Great Elector is probably not aware of what I
am about to reveal. Nonetheless . . . according to the ancient forgotten laws put forth in
the Romano Pontifici Eligendo, Numero 63 . . . balloting is not the only method by which
a Pope can be elected. There is another, more divine method. It is called ‘Acclamation by
Adoration.’ ” He paused. “And it happened last night.”
Glick gave his guest a riveted look. “Please, go on.”
“As you may recall,” the scholar continued, “last night, when Camerlegno Carlo
Ventresca was standing on the roof of the basilica, all of the cardinals below began
calling out his name in unison.”
“Yes, I recall.”
“With that image in mind, allow me to read verbatim from the ancient electoral laws.”
The man pulled some papers from his pocket, cleared his throat, and began to read. “
‘Election by Adoration occurs when . . . all the cardinals, as if by inspiration of the Holy
Spirit, freely and spontaneously, unanimously and aloud, proclaim one individual’s
name.’ ”
Glick smiled. “So you’re saying that last night, when the cardinals chanted Carlo
Ventresca’s name together, they actually elected him Pope?”
“They did indeed. Furthermore, the law states that Election by Adoration supercedes the
cardinal eligibility requirement and permits any clergyman-ordained priest, bishop, or
cardinal-to be elected. So, as you can see, the camerlegno was perfectly qualified for
papal election by this procedure.” Dr. Vanek looked directly into the camera now. “The
facts are these . . . Carlo Ventresca was elected Pope last night. He reigned for just under
seventeen minutes. And had he not ascended miraculously into a pillar of fire, he would
now be buried in the Vatican Grottoes along with the other Popes.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Glick turned to Macri with a mischievous wink. “Most illuminating
. . .”
137
H igh atop the steps of the Roman Coliseum, Vittoria laughed and called down to him.
“Robert, hurry up! I knew I should have married a younger man!” Her smile was magic.
He struggled to keep up, but his legs felt like stone. “Wait,” he begged. “Please . . .”
There was a pounding in his head.
Robert Langdon awoke with a start.
Darkness.
He lay still for a long time in the foreign softness of the bed, unable to figure out where
he was. The pillows were goose down, oversized and wonderful. The air smelled of
potpourri. Across the room, two glass doors stood open to a lavish balcony, where a light
breeze played beneath a glistening cloud-swept moon. Langdon tried to remember how
he had gotten here . . . and where here was.
Surreal wisps of memory sifted back into his consciousness . . .
A pyre of mystical fire . . . an angel materializing from out of the crowd . . . her soft hand
taking his and leading him into the night . . . guiding his exhausted, battered body
through the streets . . . leading him here . . . to this suite . . . propping him half-sleeping
in a scalding hot shower . . . leading him to this bed . . . and watching over him as he fell
asleep like the dead.
In the dimness now, Langdon could see a second bed. The sheets were tousled, but the
bed was empty. From one of the adjoining rooms, he could hear the faint, steady stream
of a shower.
As he gazed at Vittoria’s bed, he saw a boldly embroidered seal on her pillowcase. It
read: HOTEL BERNINI. Langdon had to smile. Vittoria had chosen well. Old World luxury
overlooking Bernini’s Triton Fountain . . . there was no more fitting hotel in all of Rome.
As Langdon lay there, he heard a pounding and realized what had awoken him. Someone
was knocking at the door. It grew louder.
Confused, Langdon got up. Nobody knows we’re here, he thought, feeling a trace of
uneasiness. Donning a luxuriant Hotel Bernini robe, he walked out of the bedroom into
the suite’s foyer. He stood a moment at the heavy oak door, and then pulled it open.
A powerful man adorned in lavish purple and yellow regalia stared down at him. “I am
Lieutenant Chartrand,” the man said. “Vatican Swiss Guard.”
Langdon knew full well who he was. “How . . . how did you find us?”
“I saw you leave the square last night. I followed you. I’m relieved you’re still here.”
Langdon felt a sudden anxiety, wondering if the cardinals had sent Chartrand to escort
Langdon and Vittoria back to Vatican City. After all, the two of them were the only two
people beyond the College of Cardinals who knew the truth. They were a liability.
“His Holiness asked me to give this to you,” Chartrand said, handing over an envelope
sealed with the Vatican signet. Langdon opened the envelope and read the handwritten
note.
Mr. Langdon and Ms. Vetra,
Although it is my profound desire to request your discretion in the matters of the past 24
hours, I cannot possibly presume to ask more of you than you have already given. I
therefore humbly retreat hoping only that you let your hearts guide you in this matter.
The world seems a better place today . . . maybe the questions are more powerful than the
answers.
My door is always open,
His Holiness, Saverio Mortati
Langdon read the message twice. The College of Cardinals had obviously chosen a noble
and munificent leader.
Before Langdon could say anything, Chartrand produced a small package. “A token of
thanks from His Holiness.”
Langdon took the package. It was heavy, wrapped in brown paper.
“By his decree,” Chartrand said, “this artifact is on indefinite loan to you from the sacred
Papal Vault. His Holiness asks only that in your last will and testament you ensure it
finds its way home.”
Langdon opened the package and was struck speechless. It was the brand. The Illuminati
Diamond.
Chartrand smiled. “May peace be with you.” He turned to go.
“Thank . . . you,” Langdon managed, his hands trembling around the precious gift.
The guard hesitated in the hall. “Mr. Langdon, may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“My fellow guards and I are curious. Those last few minutes . . . what happened up there
in the helicopter?”
Langdon felt a rush of anxiety. He knew this moment was coming-the moment of truth.
He and Vittoria had talked about it last night as they stole away from St. Peter’s Square.
And they had made their decision. Even before the Pope’s note.
Vittoria’s father had dreamed his antimatter discovery would bring about a spiritual
awakening. Last night’s events were no doubt not what he had intended, but the
undeniable fact remained . . . at this moment, around the world, people were considering
God in ways they never had before. How long the magic would last, Langdon and
Vittoria had no idea, but they knew they could never shatter the wonderment with scandal
and doubt. The Lord works in strange ways, Langdon told himself, wondering wryly if
maybe . . . just maybe . . . yesterday had been God’s will after all.
“Mr. Langdon?” Chartrand repeated. “I was asking about the helicopter?”
Langdon gave a sad smile. “Yes, I know . . .” He felt the words flow not from his mind
but from his heart. “Perhaps it was the shock of the fall . . . but my memory . . . it seems .
. . it’s all a blur . . .”
Chartrand slumped. “You remember nothing?”
Langdon sighed. “I fear it will remain a mystery forever.”
When Robert Langdon returned to the bedroom, the vision awaiting him stopped him in
his tracks. Vittoria stood on the balcony, her back to the railing, her eyes gazing deeply at
him. She looked like a heavenly apparition . . . a radiant silhouette with the moon behind
her. She could have been a Roman goddess, enshrouded in her white terrycloth robe, the
drawstring cinched tight, accentuating her slender curves. Behind her, a pale mist hung
like a halo over Bernini’s Triton Fountain.
Langdon felt wildly drawn to her . . . more than to any woman in his life. Quietly, he lay
the Illuminati Diamond and the Pope’s letter on his bedside table. There would be time to
explain all of that later. He went to her on the balcony.
Vittoria looked happy to see him. “You’re awake,” she said, in a coy whisper. “Finally.”
Langdon smiled. “Long day.”
She ran a hand through her luxuriant hair, the neck of her robe falling open slightly. “And
now . . . I suppose you want your reward.”
The comment took Langdon off guard. “I’m . . . sorry?”
“We’re adults, Robert. You can admit it. You feel a longing. I see it in your eyes. A deep,
carnal hunger.” She smiled. “I feel it too. And that craving is about to be satisfied.”
“It is?” He felt emboldened and took a step toward her.
“Completely.” She held up a room-service menu. “I ordered everything they’ve got.”
The feast was sumptuous. They dined together by moonlight . . . sitting on their balcony .
. . savoring frisée, truffles, and risotto. They sipped Dolcetto wine and talked late into the
night.
Langdon did not need to be a symbologist to read the signs Vittoria was sending him.
During dessert of boysenberry cream with savoiardi and steaming Romcaffé, Vittoria
pressed her bare legs against his beneath the table and fixed him with a sultry stare. She
seemed to be willing him to set down his fork and carry her off in his arms.
But Langdon did nothing. He remained the perfect gentleman. Two can play at this game,
he thought, hiding a roguish smile.
When all the food was eaten, Langdon retired to the edge of his bed where he sat alone,
turning the Illuminati Diamond over and over in his hands, making repeated comments
about the miracle of its symmetry. Vittoria stared at him, her confusion growing to an
obvious frustration.
“You find that ambigram terribly interesting, don’t you?” she demanded.
Langdon nodded. “Mesmerizing.”
“Would you say it’s the most interesting thing in this room?” Langdon scratched his head, making a show of pondering it. “Well, there is one thing that
interests me more.”
She smiled and took a step toward him. “That being?”
“How you disproved that Einstein theory using tuna fish.”
Vittoria threw up her hands. “Dio mìo! Enough with the tuna fish! Don’t play with me,
I’m warning you.”
Langdon grinned. “Maybe for your next experiment, you could study flounders and prove
the earth is flat.”
Vittoria was steaming now, but the first faint hints of an exasperated smile appeared on her lips. “For your information, professor, my next experiment will make scientific
history. I plan to prove neutrinos have mass.”
“Neutrinos have mass?” Langdon shot her a stunned look. “I didn’t even know they were
Catholic!”
With one fluid motion, she was on him, pinning him down. “I hope you believe in life
after death, Robert Langdon.” Vittoria was laughing as she straddled him, her hands
holding him down, her eyes ablaze with a mischievous fire.
“Actually,” he choked, laughing harder now, “I’ve always had trouble picturing anything
beyond this world.”
“Really? So you’ve never had a religious experience? A perfect moment of glorious
rapture?”
Langdon shook his head. “No, and I seriously doubt I’m the kind of man who could ever
have a religious experience.”
Vittoria slipped off her robe. “You’ve never been to bed with a yoga master, have you?” ABOUT THE AUTHOR DAN BROWN is the bestselling author of Digital Fortress. He is a graduate of Phillips
Exeter Academy, where he has taught English and creative writing. He lives in New
England with his wife.