ANGELS & DEMONS BY DAN BROWN (PART 1)

PROLOGUE

P knew it was his own. He stared
you want!”
hysicist Leonardo Vetra smelled burning flesh, and he up in terror at the dark figure looming over him. “What do
“La chiave,” the raspy voice replied. “The password.” “But . . . I don’t-” The intruder pressed down again, grinding the white hot object deeper into Vetra’s chest.
a cried out in agony. “There is no password!” He felt himself drifting toward
nsciousness.
figure glared. “Ne avevo paura. I was afraid of that.”
r, the figure produced a blade and brought it to Vetra’s face. The blade hovered.
have married a younger man!” Her smile was
t reach
d an old
ace. Then
at resounded across the desert.
awoke with a start from his nightmare. The phone beside his bed was
bed and tried to clear his mind. “This . . . is Robert
A.M.
There was the hiss of broiling flesh.
Vetrunco
The Vetra fought to keep his senses, but the darkness was closing in. His only solace was in knowing his attacker would never obtain what he had come for. A moment later, howeve
Carefully. Surgically.
“For the love of God!” Vetra screamed. But it was too late.
1
H igh atop the steps of the Pyramid of Giza a young woman laughed and called downto him. “Robert, hurry up! I knew I should
magic.
He struggled to keep up, but his legs felt like stone. “Wait,” he begged. “Please . . .”
As he climbed, his vision began to blur. There was a thundering in his ears. I musher! But when he looked up again, the woman had disappeared. In her place stooman with rotting teeth. The man stared down, curling his lips into a lonely grim
he let out a scream of anguish th
Robert Langdon
ringing. Dazed, he picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“I’m looking for Robert Langdon,” a man’s voice said. Langdon sat up in his empty
Langdon.” He squinted at his digital clock. It was 5:18
“I must see you immediately.”
“Who is this?” “My name is Maximilian Kohler. I’m a discrete particle physicist.” “A what?” Langdon could barely focus. “Are you sure you’ve got the right Langdon?”
“You’re a professor of religious iconology at Harvard University. You’ve written thrbooks on symbology an
ee
d-”
n’t discuss it on the phone.”
s of
was the calls from religious zealots who wanted
Oklahoma had
wn and verify the authenticity
ts. The Shroud of Tulsa,
be polite, despite the hour.
umber. The man was obviously lying.
s no use. The
me
ritual insomnia remedy-a mug of steaming Nestlé’s Quik. The April moon
Maharishi’s chest and savored the warmth of the chocolate,
ppeal-wisps of gray in his thick
“Do you know what time it is?”
“I apologize. I have something you need to see. I ca
A knowing groan escaped Langdon’s lips. This had happened before. One of the perilwriting books about religious symbology
him to confirm their latest sign from God. Last month a stripper frompromised Langdon the best sex of his life if he would fly do
of a cruciform that had magically appeared on her bed sheeLangdon had called it.
“How did you get my number?” Langdon tried to
“On the Worldwide Web. The site for your book.” Langdon frowned. He was damn sure his book’s site did not include his home phone
n
“I need to see you,” the caller insisted. “I’ll pay you well.” Now Langdon was getting mad. “I’m sorry, but I really-” “If you leave immediately, you can be here by-” “I’m not going anywhere! It’s five o’clock in the morning!” Langdon hung up and collapsed back in bed. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. It wa
dream was emblazoned in his mind. Reluctantly, he put on his robe and went downstairs. Robert Langdon wandered barefoot through his deserted Massachusetts Victorian hoand nursed his
filtered through the bay windows and played on the oriental carpets. Langdon’s colleagues often joked that his place looked more like an anthropology museum than a home. His shelves were packed with religious artifacts from around the world-an ekuaba from Ghana, a gold cross from Spain, a cycladic idol from the Aegean, and even a rare woven boccus from Borneo, a young warrior’s symbol of perpetual youth. As Langdon sat on his brass
the bay window caught his reflection. The image was distorted and pale . . . like a ghost.An aging ghost, he thought, cruelly reminded that his youthful spirit was living in a mortal shell. Although not overly handsome in a classical sense, the forty-five-year-old Langdon had what his female colleagues referred to as an “erudite” a
brown hair, probing blue eyes, an arrestingly deep voice, and the strong, carefree smile of a collegiate athlete. A varsity diver in prep school and college, Langdon still had the body of a swimmer, a toned, six-foot physique that he vigilantly maintained with fifty laps a
day in the university pool. Langdon’s friends had always viewed him as a bit of an enigma-a man caught between centuries. On weekends he could be seen lounging on the quad in blue jeans, discussing
n
een asked to lecture.
t
of good clean fun.” He relished recreation with an infectious
g into the darkness, the silence of his home was
pty mug to the kitchen and walked slowly to his oak-paneled
study. The incoming fax lay in the tray. Sighing, he scooped up the paper and looked at
.
,
ly backward. On the victim’s chest was a
computer graphics or religious history with students; other times he could be spotted ihis Harris tweed and paisley vest, photographed in the pages of upscale art magazines atmuseum openings where he had b
Although a tough teacher and strict disciplinarian, Langdon was the first to embrace whahe hailed as the “lost art
fanaticism that had earned him a fraternal acceptance among his students. His campus nickname-“The Dolphin”-was a reference both to his affable nature and his legendary ability to dive into a pool and outmaneuver the entire opposing squad in a water polo match.
As Langdon sat alone, absently gazin
shattered again, this time by the ring of his fax machine. Too exhausted to be annoyed, Langdon forced a tired chuckle. God’s people, he thought. Two thousand years of waiting for their Messiah, and they’re still persistent as hell.
Wearily, he returned his em
it
Instantly, a wave of nausea hit him.
The image on the page was that of a human corpse. The body had been stripped nakedand its head had been twisted, facing complete
terrible burn. The man had been branded . . . imprinted with a single word. It was a word Langdon knew well. Very well. He stared at the ornate lettering in disbelief.
“Illuminati,” he stammered, his heart pounding. It can’t be . . .
In slow motion, afraid of what he was about to witness, Langdon rotated the fax 180 degrees. He looked at the word upside down.
Instantly, the breath went out of him. It was like he had been hit by a truck. Barely able to
collapsed in a chair. He sat a moment in utter bewilderment.
Gradually, his eyes were drawn to the blinking red light on his fax m
nking
me.
o I have your attention now?” the man’s voice said when Langdon finally answered
rself?”
m a physicist. I run a
focus. His mind was racing from the
ts. His book was virtually unknown in mainstream
.
information from the Web.”
ymbol.
believe his eyes, he rotated the fax again, reading the brand right-side up and then upside down.
“Illuminati,” he whispered. Stunned, Langdon
achine. Whoever had sent this fax was still on the line . . . waiting to talk. Langdon gazed at the blilight a long ti
Then, trembling, he picked up the receiver.
2
D
the line.
“Yes, sir, you damn well do. You want to explain you
“I tried to tell you before.” The voice was rigid, mechanical. “I’
research facility. We’ve had a murder. You saw the body.” “How did you find me?” Langdon could barely
image on the fax. “I already told you. The Worldwide Web. The site for your book, The Art of the Illuminati.”
Langdon tried to gather his though
literary circles, but it had developed quite a following on-line. Nonetheless, the caller’sclaim still made no sense. “That page has no contact information,” Langdon challenged“I’m certain of it.” “I have people here at the lab very adept at extracting user
Langdon was skeptical. “Sounds like your lab knows a lot about the Web.”
“We should,” the man fired back. “We invented it.”
Something in the man’s voice told Langdon he was not joking.
“I must see you,” the caller insisted. “This is not a matter we can discuss on the phone. My lab is only an hour’s flight from Boston.” Langdon stood in the dim light of his study and analyzed the fax in his hand. The image was overpowering, possibly representing the epigraphical find of the century, a decade ofhis research confirmed in a single s
“It’s urgent,” the voice pressured.
Langhad
don’s eyes were locked on the brand. Illuminati, he read over and over. His work
always been based on the symbolic equivalent of fossils-ancient documents and
age before him was today. Present tense. He felt like a
ken the liberty of sending a plane for you,” the voice said. “It will be in Boston in
outh go dry. An hour’s flight . . .
onfirmed in black and white. The
sently through the bay window. The first hint
as sifting through the birch trees in his backyard, but the view looked somehow
tion of fear and exhilaration settled over him,
k. Medieval.
Stone.
venuto,” the man in charge said. He was seated in the shadows, out of sight. “Were
ul?”
le.
ou have done well.”
historical hearsay-but this impaleontologist coming face to face with a living dinosaur. “I’ve ta
twenty minutes.” Langdon felt his m
“Please forgive my presumption,” the voice said. “I need you here.”
Langdon looked again at the fax-an ancient myth c
implications were frightening. He gazed abof dawn w
different this morning. As an odd combinaLangdon knew he had no choice.
“You win,” he said. “Tell me where to meet the plane.”

3
T housands of miles away, two men were meeting. The chamber was dar
“Benyou successf
“Si,” the dark figure replied. “Perfectamente.” His words were as hard as the rock walls. “And there will be no doubt who is responsible?” “None.”
“Superb. Do you have what I asked for?” The killer’s eyes glistened, black like oil. He produced a heavy electronic device and set it on the tab
The man in the shadows seemed pleased. “Y
“Serving the brotherhood is an honor,” the killer said.
“Phase two begins shortly. Get some rest. Tonight we change the world.”

4
R obert Langdon’s Saab 900S tore out of the Callahan Tunnel and emerged on the east
.
4”was painted on it. He pulled into the parking lot and got out of his car.
ldn’t
cking his car.
lease.”
s they circled the building, Langdon felt tense. He was not accustomed to cryptic phone
t. As
d. Branded corpses are a problem for me. Flying I can
.
.
was enormous. It was vaguely reminiscent of the space shuttle
ng it perfectly flat. Parked there on the
bragging
ust be in one helluva a hurry to see you. He doesn’t usually send the big boy.”
side of Boston Harbor near the entrance to Logan Airport. Checking his directions
Langdon found Aviation Road and turned left past the old Eastern Airlines BuildingThree hundred yards down the access road a hangar loomed in the darkness. A largenumber “
A round-faced man in a blue flight suit emerged from behind the building. “Robert
Langdon?” he called. The man’s voice was friendly. He had an accent Langdon couplace.
“That’s me,” Langdon said, lo
“Perfect timing,” the man said. “I’ve just landed. Follow me, p
A
calls and secret rendezvous with strangers. Not knowing what to expect he had donnedhis usual classroom attire-a pair of chinos, a turtleneck, and a Harris tweed suit jackethey walked, he thought about the fax in his jacket pocket, still unable to believe the image it depicted. The pilot seemed to sense Langdon’s anxiety. “Flying’s not a problem for you, is it, sir?” “Not at all,” Langdon replie
handle. The man led Langdon the length of the hangar. They rounded the corner onto the runwayLangdon stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at the aircraft parked on the tarmac
“We’re riding in that?”
The man grinned. “Like it?” Langdon stared a long moment. “Like it? What the hell is it?” The craft before them
except that the top had been shaved off, leavi
runway, it resembled a colossal wedge. Langdon’s first impression was that he must be dreaming. The vehicle looked as airworthy as a Buick. The wings were practically nonexistent-just two stubby fins on the rear of the fuselage. A pair of dorsal guiders rose out of the aft section. The rest of the plane was hull-about 200 feet from front to back-no windows, nothing but hull.
“Two hundred fifty thousand kilos fully fueled,” the pilot offered, like a father
about his newborn. “Runs on slush hydrogen. The shell’s a titanium matrix with silicon carbide fibers. She packs a 20:1 thrust/weight ratio; most jets run at 7:1. The director
m
“This thing flies?” Langdon said.
The pilot smiled. “Oh yeah.” He led Langdon across the tarmac toward the plane. “Lkind of startling, I know, but you better get used to it. In five years, all you’ll see arthese babies-HSCT’s-High Speed Civil Transports. Our lab’s one of the first to owone.”
ooks
e
n
d him into the
and disappeared toward the front of the aircraft.
gly like a wide-body commercial airliner. The only
ade Langdon uneasy. He had been
hole life by a mild case of claustrophobia-the vestige of a childhood
ll or squash, and he had gladly paid a small fortune for his airy, high-ceilinged
ilable. Langdon
rom his love of
h the hull. Langdon
began
playing quietly overhead.
gdon lifted the receiver.
fortable, Mr. Langdon?”
t at all.”
Must be one hell of a lab, Langdon thought. “This one’s a prototype of the Boeing X-33,” the pilot continued, “but there are dozens ofothers-the National Aero Space Plane, the Russians have Scramjet, the Brits have HOTOL. The future’s here, it’s just taking some time to get to the public sector. You can kiss conventional jets good-bye.”
Langdon looked up warily at the craft. “I think I’d prefer a conventional jet.” The pilot motioned up the gangplank. “This way, please, Mr. Langdon. Watch your step.”
Minutes later, Langdon was seated inside the empty cabin. The pilot buckle
front row
The cabin itself looked surprisinexception was that it had no windows, which m
haunted his w
incident he had never quite overcome.
Langdon’s aversion to closed spaces was by no means debilitating, but it had always frustrated him. It manifested itself in subtle ways. He avoided enclosed sports like racquetba
Victorian home even though economical faculty housing was readily avahad often suspected his attraction to the art world as a young boy sprang f
museums’ wide open spaces. The engines roared to life beneath him, sending a deep shudder throug
swallowed hard and waited. He felt the plane start taxiing. Piped-in country music
A phone on the wall beside him beeped twice. Lan
“Hello?”
“Com“No
“Just relax. We’ll be there in an hour.” “And where exactly is there?” Langdon asked, realizing he had no idea where he was headed.
“Geneva,” the pilot replied, revving the engines. “The lab’s in Geneva.”
“Geneva,” Langdon repeated, feeling a little better. “Upstate New York. I’ve actually got
family near Seneca Lake. I wasn’t aware Geneva had a physics lab.” The pilot laughed. “Not Geneva, New York, Mr. Langdon. Geneva, Switzerland.”
d?” Langdon felt his pulse surge. “I
s only an hour away!”
d. “This plane goes Mach fifteen.”
O a crowd. He was a powerful
still felt hard from the thrill of his
s face, the
killer felt honored to be in his presence. Had it really been only fifteen days since his
bered every word of that call . . .
I
killer replied.
“Of course. The brotherhood is legendary.”
“And yet you find yourself doubting I am genuine.”
“Everyone knows the brothers have faded to dust.”
“A devious ploy. The most dangerous enemy is that which no one fears.”
as skeptical. “The brotherhood endures?”
The word took a long moment to register. “Switzerlan
thought you said the lab wa
“It is, Mr. Langdon.” The pilot chuckle

5
n a busy European street, the killer serpentined through man. Dark and potent. Deceptively agile. His muscles
meeting.
It went well, he told himself. Although his employer had never revealed hi
employer had first made contact? The killer still remem
“My name is Janus,” the caller had said. “We are kinsmen of a sort. We share an enemy.hear your skills are for hire.”
“It depends whom you represent,” the
The caller told him.
“Is this your idea of a joke?”
“You have heard our name, I see,” the caller replied.
The killer w
“Deeper underground than ever before. Our roots infiltrate everything you see . . . eventhe sacred fortress of our most sworn enemy.”
“Impossible. They are invulnerable.” “Our reach is far.” “No one’s reach is that far.”
“Very soon, you will believe. An irrefutable demonstration of the brotherhood’s power
e act of treachery and proof.”
me
f
d
an
inion seemed limitless.
ame, obviously. Was it a reference, he wondered, to the
an two-faced god . . . or to the moon of Saturn? Not that it made any difference.
s wielded unfathomable power. He had proven that beyond a doubt.
the killer walked, he imagined his ancestors smiling down on him. Today he was
r back
nd,
lves. The army
ho wandered the
ere renowned not only
s a potent intoxicant they called .
me known by a single word-Hassassine
became synonymous with death
assassin.
has already transpired. A singl
“What have you done?” The caller told him.
The killer’s eyes went wide. “An impossible task.” The next day, newspapers around the globe carried the same headline. The killer becaa believer.
Now, fifteen days later, the killer’s faith had solidified beyond the shadow of a doubt. The brotherhood endures, he thought. Tonight they will surface to reveal their power. As he made his way through the streets, his black eyes gleamed with foreboding. One o
the most covert and feared fraternities ever to walk the earth had called on him for service. They have chosen wisely, he thought. His reputation for secrecy was exceedeonly by that of his deadliness. So far, he had served them nobly. He had made his kill and delivered the item to Janus as requested. Now, it was up to Janus to use his power to ensure the item’s placement.
The placement . . . The killer wondered how Janus could possibly handle such a staggering task. The mobviously had connections on the inside. The brotherhood’s dom
Janus, the killer thought. A code n
RomJanu
As fighting their battle, he was fighting the same enemy they had fought for ages, as faas the eleventh century . . . when the enemy’s crusading armies had first pillaged his laraping and killing his people, declaring them unclean, defiling their temples and gods. His ancestors had formed a small but deadly army to defend themse
became famous across the land as protectors-skilled executioners wcountryside slaughtering any of the enemy they could find. They w
for their brutal killings, but also for celebrating their slayings by plunging themselves intodrug-induced stupors. Their drug of choice wahashish
As their notoriety spread, these lethal men becaliterally “the followers of hashish.” The nam Hassassin
in almost every language on earth. The word was still used today, even in modern
English . . . but like the craft of killing, the word had evolved.
It was now pronounced assassin.

6
S ixty-four minutes had passed when an incredulous and slightly air-sick Robert
Langdon stepped down the gangplank onto the sun-drenched runway. A crisp breeze rustled the lapels of his tweed jacket. The open space felt wonderful. He squinted out at the lush green valley rising to snowcapped peaks all around them. I’m dreaming, he told himself. Any minute now I’ll be waking up. “Welcome to Switzerland,” the pilot said, yelling over the roar of the X-33’s misted-fuel
u feel?”
here. Lucky we only did a puddle jump. If we’d gone to Tokyo I’d
the way up-a hundred miles. Now that’ll get your insides rolling.”
e flight had
on during take off, the
wondered.
t us there alive?
HEDM engines winding down behind them. Langdon checked his watch. It read 7:07 A.M. “You just crossed six time zones,” the pilot offered. “It’s a little past 1 P.M. here.”
Langdon reset his watch. “How do yo
He rubbed his stomach. “Like I’ve been eating Styrofoam.”
The pilot nodded. “Altitude sickness. We were at sixty thousand feet. You’re thirty
percent lighter up thave taken her all
Langdon gave a wan nod and counted himself lucky. All things considered, th
been remarkably ordinary. Aside from a bone-crushing acceleratiplane’s motion had been fairly typical-occasional minor turbulence, a few pressure
changes as they’d climbed, but nothing at all to suggest they had been hurtling through space at the mind-numbing speed of 11,000 miles per hour. A handful of technicians scurried onto the runway to tend to the X-33. The pilot escorted Langdon to a black Peugeot sedan in a parking area beside the control tower. Momentslater they were speeding down a paved road that stretched out across the valley floor. A faint cluster of buildings rose in the distance. Outside, the grassy plains tore by in a blur.
Langdon watched in disbelief as the pilot pushed the speedometer up around 170 kilometers an hour-over 100 miles per hour. What is it with this guy and speed? he
“Five kilometers to the lab,” the pilot said. “I’ll have you there in two minutes.”
Langdon searched in vain for a seat belt. Why not make it three and ge
The car raced on.
“Do you like Reba?” the pilot asked, jamming a cassette into the tape deck.
A woman started singing. “It’s just the fear of being alone . . . ” No fear here, Langdon thought absently. His female colleagues often ribbed him that his
fill
sence of a
eep as late as he wanted, and enjoy quiet nights at home with a
am. “Not just
rmarkets, a hospital, even a cinema.”
t at the sprawling expanse of buildings rising
pilot added, “we possess the largest machine on earth.”
on scanned the countryside.
my passport!”
red. “We have a standing arrangement with
ernment.”
r name?”
ry arched his eyebrows. He turned and checked a computer printout, verifying it
uter screen. Then he returned to the window. “Enjoy your
he car shot off again, accelerating another 200 yards around a sweeping rotary that led
t
collection of museum-quality artifacts was nothing more than a transparent attempt toan empty home, a home they insisted would benefit greatly from the pre
woman. Langdon always laughed it off, reminding them he already had three loves in his life-symbology, water polo, and bachelorhood-the latter being a freedom that enabled him to travel the world, sl
brandy and a good book. “We’re like a small city,” the pilot said, pulling Langdon from his daydre
labs. We’ve got supe
Langdon nodded blankly and looked oubefore them.
“In fact,” the
“Really?” Langd
“You won’t see it out there, sir.” The pilot smiled. “It’s buried six stories below the earth.”
Langdon didn’t have time to ask. Without warning the pilot jammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a stop outside a reinforced sentry booth. Langdon read the sign before them. SECURITE. ARRETEZ. He suddenly felt a wave of panic, realizing where he was. “My God! I didn’t bring
“Passports are unnecessary,” the driver assu
the Swiss gov
Langdon watched dumbfounded as his driver gave the guard an ID. The sentry ran it through an electronic authentication device. The machine flashed green. “Passenge
“Robert Langdon,” the driver replied. “Guest of?”
“The director.”
The sentagainst the data on his compstay, Mr. Langdon.”
T
to the facility’s main entrance. Looming before them was a rectangular, ultramodern structure of glass and steel. Langdon was amazed by the building’s striking transparen
design. He had always had a fond love of architecture.
“The Glass Cathedral,” the escort offered.
“A church?” “Hell, no. A church is the one thing we don’t have. Physics is the religion around here. Use the Lord’s name in vain all you like,” he laughed, “just don’t slander any quarks or mesons.”
Langdon sat bewildered as the driver swung the car around and brought it to a stop in
o
s? The engraved granite slab in front of the building bore the
erche Nucléaire
lear Research?” Langdon asked, fairly certain his translation was correct.
ly
d dress
shoes propped firmly on the wheelchair’s footrest. Even at a distance his eyes looked
lammy hand. “Mr.
ohler, director general of CERN, was known behind his back as Könign
dedication to pure science.
front of the glass building. Quarks and mesons? No border control? Mach 15 jets? Whthe hell ARE these guy
answer:
(CERN) Conseil Européen pour la
Rech
“NucThe driver did not answer. He was leaning forward, busily adjusting the car’s cassette player. “This is your stop. The director will meet you at this entrance.” Langdon noted a man in a wheelchair exiting the building. He looked to be in his earsixties. Gaunt and totally bald with a sternly set jaw, he wore a white lab coat an
lifeless-like two gray stones. “Is that him?” Langdon asked. The driver looked up. “Well, I’ll be.” He turned and gave Langdon an ominous smile. “Speak of the devil.”
Uncertain what to expect, Langdon stepped from the vehicle.
The man in the wheelchair accelerated toward Langdon and offered a cLangdon? We spoke on the phone. My name is Maximilian Kohler.”
7
M aximilian K
King. It was a title more of fear than reverence for the figure who ruled over his dominion from a wheelchair throne. Although few knew him personally, the horrific story of how he had been crippled was lore at CERN, and there were few there who blamed him for his bitterness . . . nor for his swor
Langdon had only been in Kohler’s presence a few moments and already sensed the
director was a man who kept his distance. Langdon found himself practically jogging to keep up with Kohler’s electric wheelchair as it sped silently toward the main entranceThe wheelc
.
hair was like none Langdon had ever seen-equipped with a bank of
ngular shadows fell like
entists moved briskly about, their footsteps echoing in the
st computerized. His accent
ed and wiped his mouth on a
gdon. “Please hurry.” His
activity. The scientists who saw Kohler seemed to
are in surprise, eyeing Langdon as if wondering who he must be to command such
red, trying to make conversation, “that I’ve
er replied, his clipped response sounding harshly efficient. “Most
mericans do not see Europe as the world leader in scientific research. They see us as
alities
er the fax and fell silently into step.
ards and
commendations. A particularly large plaque dominated the entry. Langdon slowed to read
ARS ELECTRONICA AWARD
electronics including a multiline phone, a paging system, computer screen, even a small, detachable video camera. King Kohler’s mobile command center.
Langdon followed through a mechanical door into CERN’s voluminous main lobby. The Glass Cathedral, Langdon mused, gazing upward toward heaven. Overhead, the bluish glass roof shimmered in the afternoon sun, casting rays of geometric patterns in the air and giving the room a sense of grandeur. A
veins across the white tiled walls and down to the marble floors. The air smelled clean, sterile. A handful of sci
resonant space. “This way, please, Mr. Langdon.” His voice sounded almo
was rigid and precise, like his stern features. Kohler coughwhite handkerchief as he fixed his dead gray eyes on Lan
wheelchair seemed to leap across the tiled floor. Langdon followed past what seemed to be countless hallways branching off the main atrium. Every hallway was alive with
st
company. “I’m embarrassed to admit,” Langdon ventunever heard of CERN.” “Not surprising,” Kohl
A
nothing but a quaint shopping district-an odd perception if you consider the nationof men like Einstein, Galileo, and Newton.” Langdon was unsure how to respond. He pulled the fax from his pocket. “This man in the photograph, can you-”
Kohler cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Please. Not here. I am taking you to him now.” He held out his hand. “Perhaps I should take that.” Langdon handed ov
Kohler took a sharp left and entered a wide hallway adorned with aw
the engraved bronze as they passed.
For Cultural Innovation in the Digital Age Awarded to Tim Berners Lee and CERN
for the invention of the
WORLDWIDE WEB
Well I’ll be damned, Langdon thought, reading the text. This guy wasn’t kidding. Langdon had always thought of the Web as an American invention. Then again, his knowledge was limited to the site for his own book and the occasional on-line exploration
der the impression the Web is
?”
etty misconception over a petty
ing look. “Miracles?” The word “miracle” was certainly
ot part of the vocabulary around Harvard’s Fairchild Science Building. Miracles were
ft for the School of Divinity.
don was suddenly uncomfortable. “Not to disappoint you, sir, but I
he walls. It seemed to
.
“What’s that?” Langdon finally asked, having to yell. He felt like they were approaching
of the Louvre or El Prado on his old Macintosh.
“The Web,” Kohler said, coughing again and wiping his mouth, “began here as a network of in-house computer sites. It enabled scientists from different departments to share daily findings with one another. Of course, the entire world is un
U.S. technology.” Langdon followed down the hall. “Why not set the record straight
Kohler shrugged, apparently disinterested. “A p
technology. CERN is far greater than a global connection of computers. Our scientists produce miracles almost daily.”
Langdon gave Kohler a question
nle
“You sound skeptical,” Kohler said. “I thought you were a religious symbologist. Do you not believe in miracles?”
“I’m undecided on miracles,” Langdon said. Particularly those that take place in science labs.
“Perhaps miracle is the wrong word. I was simply trying to speak your language.” “My language?” Lang
study religious symbology-I’m an academic, not a priest.” Kohler slowed suddenly and turned, his gaze softening a bit. “Of course. How simple of me. One does not need to have cancer to analyze its symptoms.”
Langdon had never heard it put quite that way. As they moved down the hallway, Kohler gave an accepting nod. “I suspect you and I will understand each other perfectly, Mr. Langdon.”
Somehow Langdon doubted it. As the pair hurried on, Langdon began to sense a deep rumbling up ahead. The noise gotmore and more pronounced with every step, reverberating through t
be coming from the end of the hallway in front of them
an active volcano. “Free Fall Tube,” Kohler replied, his hollow voice cutting the air effortlessly. He offered
no other explanation. Langdon didn’t ask. He was exhausted, and Maximilian Kohler seemed disinterested in
to
lar chamber. Inside the chamber, floating as though weightless, were
people ersault in midair.
grid, like a giant sheet of chicken wire. Visible beneath
etallic blur of a huge propeller.
e fall tube,” Kohler said, stopping to wait for him. “Indoor skydiving. For stress
miled weakly and returned the gesture,
be a
er little
miles away, the
winning any hospitality awards. Langdon reminded himself why he was here. Illuminati. He assumed somewhere in this colossal facility was a body . . . a body branded with a symbol he had just flown 3,000 miles to see. As they approached the end of the hall, the rumble became almost deafening, vibrating up
through Langdon’s soles. They rounded the bend, and a viewing gallery appeared on the right. Four thick-paned portals were embedded in a curved wall, like windows in a submarine. Langdon stopped and looked through one of the holes.
Professor Robert Langdon had seen some strange things in his life, but this was the strangest. He blinked a few times, wondering if he was hallucinating. He was staring inan enormous circu
. Three of them. One waved and did a som
My God, he thought. I’m in the land of Oz. The floor of the room was a mesh
the grid was the m“Fre
relief. It’s a vertical wind tunnel.” Langdon looked on in amazement. One of the free fallers, an obese woman, maneuvered toward the window. She was being buffeted by the air currents but grinned and flashedLangdon the thumbs-up sign. Langdon s
wondering if she knew it was the ancient phallic symbol for masculine virility. The heavyset woman, Langdon noticed, was the only one wearing what appeared tominiature parachute. The swathe of fabric billowed over her like a toy. “What’s hchute for?” Langdon asked Kohler. “It can’t be more than a yard in diameter.” “Friction,” Kohler said. “Decreases her aerodynamics so the fan can lift her.” He started
down the the corridor again. “One square yard of drag will slow a falling body almost twenty percent.” Langdon nodded blankly. He never suspected that later that night, in a country hundreds of
information would save his life.
8
W hen Kohler and Langdon emerged from the rear of CERN’s main complex into the
e. The scene before
sters of sugar
rick dormitories and footpaths. Scholarly
hustled in and out of buildings. As if to
pies hurled a Frisbee back and
forth while enjoying Mahler’s Fourth Symphony blaring from a dorm window.
CERN single-handedly employs more than half of the world’s particle physicists-the
ts
guage of science.”
iversal language of science, but he was too
ly followed Kohler down the path.
gged by. His T-shirt proclaimed the message: NO
GUT, NO GLORY!
Langdon shrugged. “I’m familiar with general physics-falling bodies, that sort of thing.”
awesome
study of atoms, isn’t it?”
has been asking since the beginning of time. Where did we
stark Swiss sunlight, Langdon felt as if he’d been transported homhim looked like an Ivy League campus.
A grassy slope cascaded downward onto an expansive lowlands where clu
maples dotted quadrangles bordered by blooking individuals with stacks of books
accentuate the collegiate atmosphere, two longhaired hip
“These are our residential dorms,” Kohler explained as he accelerated his wheelchair down the path toward the buildings. “We have over three thousand physicists here.
brightest minds on earth-Germans, Japanese, Italians, Dutch, you name it. Our physicisrepresent over five hundred universities and sixty nationalities.” Langdon was amazed. “How do they all communicate?” “English, of course. The universal lan
Langdon had always heard math was the un
tired to argue. He dutiful
Halfway to the bottom, a young man jo
Langdon looked after him, mystified. “Gut?” “General Unified Theory.” Kohler quipped. “The theory of everything.” “I see,” Langdon said, not seeing at all. “Are you familiar with particle physics, Mr. Langdon?”
His years of high-diving experience had given him a profound respect for the
power of gravitational acceleration. “Particle physics is the
Kohler shook his head. “Atoms look like planets compared to what we deal with. Our interests lie with an atom’s nucleus-a mere ten-thousandth the size of the whole.” He coughed again, sounding sick. “The men and women of CERN are here to find answers to the same questions man
come from? What are we made of?”
“And these answers are in a physics lab?” “You sound surprised.” “I am. The questions seem spiritual.”
“Mr. Langdon, all questions were once spiritual. Since the beginning of time, spiritualityand religion have been called on to fill in the gaps that science did not understand. Thrising and s
e
etting of the sun was once attributed to Helios and a flaming chariot.
ience has now proven those
ods will be proven to be false idols. Science has now
rovided answers to almost every question man can ask. There are only a few questions
swer?”
are answering.”
d. “S’il vous plaît!”
angdon looked over. An elderly white-haired man in a COLLEGE PARIS sweatshirt
picked up the Frisbee and expertly threw it back. The old man
aught it on one finger and bounced it a few times before whipping it over his shoulder to
up. “You just played toss
, inventor of the multiwire proportional
wellucture
ky-note on one of them.
Earthquakes and tidal waves were the wrath of Poseidon. Scgods to be false idols. Soon all G
p
left, and they are the esoteric ones. Where do we come from? What are we doing here? What is the meaning of life and the universe?” Langdon was amazed. “And these are questions CERN is trying to an
“Correction. These are questions we
Langdon fell silent as the two men wound through the residential quadrangles. As theywalked, a Frisbee sailed overhead and skidded to a stop directly in front of them. Kohler ignored it and kept going. A voice called out from across the qua
L
waved to him. Langdon
c
his partner. “Merci!” he called to Langdon. “Congratulations,” Kohler said when Langdon finally caught
with a Noble prize-winner, Georges Charpakchamber.”
Langdon nodded. My lucky day.
It took Langdon and Kohler three more minutes to reach their destination-a large,kept dormitory sitting in a grove of aspens. Compared to the other dorms, this strseemed luxurious. The carved stone sign in front read BUILDING C.
Imaginative title, Langdon thought.
But despite its sterile name, Building C appealed to Langdon’s sense of architectural style-conservative and solid. It had a red brick facade, an ornate balustrade, and sat framed by sculpted symmetrical hedges. As the two men ascended the stone path toward the entry, they passed under a gateway formed by a pair of marble columns. Someone had put a stic
THIS COLUMN IS IONIC
Physicist graffiti? Langdon mused, eyeing the column and chuckling to himself. “I’m relieved to see that even brilliant physicists make mistakes.”
Kohler looked over. “What do you mean?” “Whoever wrote that note made a mistake. That column isn’t Ionic. Ionic columns are uniform in width. That one’s tapered. It’s Doric-the Greek counterpart. A common mistake.”
Kohler did not smile. “The author meant it as a joke, Mr. Langdon. Ionic means containing ions-electrically charged particles. Most objects contain them.”
Langdon looked back at the column and groaned.
Langdon was still feeling stupid when he stepped from the elevator on the top floor of
well-appointed corridor. The decor was
nexpected-traditional colonial French-a cherry divan, porcelain floor vase, and scrolled
-
that he was about to see a dead body. His stomach
vered as an art student
when the teacher informed the class that Leonardo da Vinci had gained his expertise in
ture.
as a single door. “The
. The name plate read:
O VETRA
rred to Langdon. The building seemed deserted. “Where is
Building C. He followed Kohler down a u
woodwork. “We like to keep our tenured scientists comfortable,” Kohler explained.
Evidently, Langdon thought. “So the man in the fax lived up here? One of your upperlevel employees?”
“Quite,” Kohler said. “He missed a meeting with me this morning and did not answer his page. I came up here to locate him and found him dead in his living room.” Langdon felt a sudden chill realizing
had never been particularly stalwart. It was a weakness he’d disco
the human form by exhuming corpses and dissecting their muscula
Kohler led the way to the far end of the hallway. There w
Penthouse, as you would say,” Kohler announced, dabbing a bead of perspiration from his forehead.
Langdon eyed the lone oak door before them
LEONARD
“Leonardo Vetra,” Kohler said, “would have been fifty-eight next week. He was one of the most brilliant scientists of our time. His death is a profound loss for science.”
For an instant Langdon thought he sensed emotion in Kohler’s hardened face. But as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Kohler reached in his pocket and began sifting through a large key ring.
An odd thought suddenly occu
everyone?” he asked. The lack of activity was hardly what he expected considering they were about to enter a murder scene.
“The residents are in their labs,” Kohler replied, finding the key. “I mean the police,” Langdon clarified. “Have they left already?”
y into the lock. “Police?”
”
. Leonardo’s adopted daughter. She is also a physicist here at CERN. She and her
r share a lab. They are partners. Ms. Vetra has been away this week doing field
rch. I have notified her of her father’s death, and she is returning as we speak.”
as gazing across the threshold of an alien world. The
flat before him was immersed in a thick, white fog. The mist swirled in smoky vortexes
What the . . . ?” Langdon stammered.
“Freon cooling system,” Kohler replied. “I chilled the flat to preserve the body.”
Langdon buttoned his tweed jacket against the cold. I’m in Oz, he thought. And I forgot
my magic slippers.
9
T he corpse on the floor before Langdon was hideous. The late Leonardo Vetra lay on
is back, stripped naked, his skin bluish-gray. His neck bones were jutting out where they
dle
ne, the hair around his shriveled genitals spidered with frost.
Kohler paused, his key halfwa
Langdon’s eyes met the director’s. “Police. You sent me a fax of a homicide. You must have called the police.” “I most certainly have not.”
“What?”
Kohler’s gray eyes sharpened. “The situation is complex, Mr. Langdon.”
Langdon felt a wave of apprehension. “But . . . certainly someone else knows about this!
“Yesfatheresea
“But a man has been murd-” “A formal investigation,” Kohler said, his voice firm, “will take place. However, it will most certainly involve a search of Vetra’s lab, a space he and his daughter hold most private. Therefore, it will wait until Ms. Vetra has arrived. I feel I owe her at least that modicum of discretion.”
Kohler turned the key. As the door swung open, a blast of icy air hissed into the hall and hit Langdon in the face. He fell back in bewilderment. He w
around the furniture and shrouded the room in opaque haze.
“
h
had been broken, and his head was twisted completely backward, pointing the wrong way. His face was out of view, pressed against the floor. The man lay in a frozen pudof his own uri
Fighting a wave of nausea, Langdon let his eyes fall to the victim’s chest. Although
ough his body was the air-
Langdon had stared at the symmetrical wound a dozen times on the fax, the burn was infinitely more commanding in real life. The raised, broiled flesh was perfectly delineated . . . the symbol flawlessly formed.
Langdon wondered if the intense chill now raking thr
conditioning or his utter amazement with the significance of what he was now staring at.
His heart pounded as he circled the body, reading the word upside down, reaffirming the
genius of the symmetry. The symbol seemed even less conceivable now that he was
not hear. He was in another world . . . his world, his element, a world where
nses. The gears turned.
nsified, his focus total. “How much do
time to read on your website. The word Illuminati means ‘the
, a
publications. As a scientist I have come to
urce. Your credentials seemed
staring at.
His heart pounded as he circled the body, reading the word upside down, reaffirming the
genius of the symmetry. The symbol seemed even less conceivable now that he was
not hear. He was in another world . . . his world, his element, a world where
nses. The gears turned.
nsified, his focus total. “How much do
time to read on your website. The word Illuminati means ‘the
, a
publications. As a scientist I have come to
urce. Your credentials seemed
staring at it. “Mr. Langdon?” Langdon did
history, myth, and fact collided, flooding his se
“Mr. Langdon?” Kohler’s eyes probed expectantly. Langdon did not look up. His disposition now inte
you already know?” “Only what I had
enlightened ones.’ It is the name of some sort of ancient brotherhood.”
Langdon nodded. “Had you heard the name before?” “Not until I saw it branded on Mr. Vetra.”
“So you ran a web search for it?” “Yes.” “And the word returned hundreds of references, no doubt.” “Thousands,” Kohler said. “Yours, however, contained references to Harvard, Oxfordreputable publisher, as well as a list of relatedlearn that information is only as valuable as its so
authentic.”
Langdon’s eyes were still riveted on the body.
Kohler said nothing more. He simply stared, apparently waiting for Langdon to shed
-ambi meaning “both”-signifying it was legible both ways. And although
ommon in symbology-swastikas, yin yang, Jewish stars, simple
word could be crafted into an ambigram seemed utterly
into a
rical style, but they had failed miserably. Most academics had now
yth.
ing of history,” Langdon explained, “a deep rift has existed between
ientists like Copernicus-”
red by the church for revealing scientific
ers-began meeting
ened
inati.”
inds . . . dedicated to the quest for
some light on the scene before them. Langdon looked up, glancing around the frozen flat. “Perhaps we should discuss this in a
warmer place?” “This room is fine.” Kohler seemed oblivious to the cold. “We’ll talk here.”
Langdon frowned. The Illuminati history was by no means a simple one. I’ll freeze to death trying to explain it. He gazed again at the brand, feeling a renewed sense of awe. Although accounts of the Illuminati emblem were legendary in modern symbology, no academic had ever actually seen it. Ancient documents described the symbol as an ambigram
ambigrams were ccrosses-the idea that a
impossible. Modern symbologists had tried for years to forge the word “Illuminati”perfectly symmet
decided the symbol’s existence was a m
“So who are the Illuminati?” Kohler demanded. Yes, Langdon thought, who indeed? He began his tale. “Since the beginnscience and religion. Outspoken sc
“Were murdered,” Kohler interjected. “Murde
truths. Religion has always persecuted science.” “Yes. But in the 1500s, a group of men in Rome fought back against the church. Some of Italy’s most enlightened men-physicists, mathematicians, astronom
secretly to share their concerns about the church’s inaccurate teachings. They feared that the church’s monopoly on ‘truth’ threatened academic enlightenment around the world. They founded the world’s first scientific think tank, calling themselves ‘the enlightones.’ ” “The Illum
“Yes,” Langdon said. “Europe’s most learned mscientific truth.”
Kohler fell silent.
“Of course, the Illuminati were hunted ruthlessly by the Catholic Church. Only through rites of extreme secrecy did the scientists remain safe. Word spread through the academic underground, and the Illuminati brotherhood grew to include academics from all over
Europe. The scientists met regularly in Rome at an ultrasecret lair they called the Cof Illumination.” Kohler coughed and shifted in his chair. “Many of the Il
hurch
luminati,” Langdon continued, “wanted to combat the church’s tyranny
against it. He was a
mer who had been arrested and almost executed by the church
n
y proclaiming that science did not undermine the
God, but rather reinforced it. He wrote once that when he looked through his
ets, he could hear God’s voice in the music of the spheres.
eaven and hell,
ejoiced in God’s
tared.
leo
Langdon cut to the chase. “Galileo’s arrest threw the
upheaval. Mistakes were made, and the church discovered the identities of
alive. On the chest. With the symbol of a cross.”
with acts of violence, but their most revered member persuaded thempacifist, as well as one of history’s most famous scientists.”
Langdon was certain Kohler would recognize the name. Even nonscientists were familiar with the ill-fated astrono
for proclaiming that the sun, and not the earth, was the center of the solar system. Although his data were incontrovertible, the astronomer was severely punished for implying that God had placed mankind somewhere other than at the center of His universe. “His name was Galileo Galilei,” Langdon said.
Kohler looked up. “Galileo?” “Yes. Galileo was an Illuminatus. And he was also a devout Catholic. He tried to softethe church’s position on science b
existence oftelescope at the spinning plan
He held that science and religion were not enemies, but rather allies-two different
languages telling the same story, a story of symmetry and balance . . . hnight and day, hot and cold, God and Satan. Both science and religion r
symmetry . . . the endless contest of light and dark.” Langdon paused, stamping his feet to stay warm. Kohler simply sat in his wheelchair and s
“Unfortunately,” Langdon added, “the unification of science and religion was not what the church wanted.” “Of course not,” Kohler interrupted. “The union would have nullified the church’s claim as the sole vessel through which man could understand God. So the church tried Galias a heretic, found him guilty, and put him under permanent house arrest. I am quite aware of scientific history, Mr. Langdon. But this was all centuries ago. What does it have to do with Leonardo Vetra?” The million dollar question.
Illuminati into
four members, whom they captured and interrogated. But the four scientists revealed nothing . . . even under torture.” “Torture?”
Langdon nodded. “They were branded
Kohler’s eyes widened, and he shot an uneasy glance at Vetra’s body. “Then the scientists were brutally murdered, their dead bodies dropped in the streets of Rome as a warning to others thinking of joining the Illuminati. With the church closing
remaining Illuminati fled Italy.”
ake his point. He looked directly into Kohler’s dead eyes. “The
inati went deep underground, where they began mixing with other refugee groups
w very powerful, employing
versary. The church chose Islam for the
this man’s chest . . . or why . . . but you are looking at the long-lost symbol of the world’s
ed
night, but sleep was the last thing on his
he
by his ancestors. His
different kind of gratification. He
more nourishing addiction than
in, the Langdon paused to m
Illumfleeing the Catholic purges-mystics, alchemists, occultists, Muslims, Jews. Over the years, the Illuminati began absorbing new members. A new Illuminati emerged. A darker Illuminati. A deeply anti-Christian Illuminati. They gre
mysterious rites, deadly secrecy, vowing someday to rise again and take revenge on the Catholic Church. Their power grew to the point where the church considered them the single most dangerous anti-Christian force on earth. The Vatican denounced the brotherhood as Shaitan.” “Shaitan?”
“It’s Islamic. It means ‘adversary’ . . . God’s ad
name because it was a language they considered dirty.” Langdon hesitated. “Shaitan is the root of an English word . . .Satan.” An uneasiness crossed Kohler’s face. Langdon’s voice was grim. “Mr. Kohler, I do not know how this marking appeared on
oldest and most powerful satanic cult.”
10
T he alley was narrow and deserted. The Hassassin strode quickly now, his black eyesfilling with anticipation. As he approached his destination, Janus’s parting words echoin his mind. Phase two begins shortly. Get some rest.
The Hassassin smirked. He had been awake all
mind. Sleep was for the weak. He was a warrior like his ancestors before him, and his people never slept once a battle had begun. This battle had most definitely begun, andhad been given the honor of spilling first blood. Now he had two hours to celebrate his glory before going back to work. Sleep? There are far better ways to relax . . .
An appetite for hedonistic pleasure was something bred into him
ascendants had indulged in hashish, but he preferred a
took pride in his body-a well-tuned, lethal machine, which, despite his heritage, he refused to pollute with narcotics. He had developed a
drugs . . . a far more healthy and satisfying reward.
Feeling a familiar anticipation swelling within him, the Hassassin moved faster doalley. He arrived at the nondescript door and rang
wn the
the bell. A view slit in the door opened,
shed
e and
e
he disappeared.
, he felt a carnal
ts,
A
of sexual fantasies stared back at him.
. A Japanese geisha. Lithe. No doubt skilled.
a. A stunning black vision. Muscular. Exotic.
xamined the entire album twice and made his choice. He pressed a button on the
lection. She smiled. “Follow me.”
s and then led him up a winding marble staircase to a luxurious
11
and two soft brown eyes studied him appraisingly. Then the door swung open. “Welcome,” the well-dressed woman said. She ushered him into an impeccably furnisitting room where the lights were low. The air was laced with expensive perfum
musk. “Whenever you are ready.” She handed him a book of photographs. “Ring mwhen you have made your choice.” Then s
The Hassassin smiled. As he sat on the plush divan and positioned the photo album on his lap
hunger stir. Although his people did not celebrate Christmas, he imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a Christian child, sitting before a stack of Christmas presenabout to discover the miracles inside. He opened the album and examined the photos. lifetime
Marisa. An Italian goddess. Fiery. A young Sophia Loren.
SachikoKanar
He etable beside him. A minute later the woman who had greeted him reappeared. He indicated his se
After handling the financial arrangements, the woman made a hushed phone call. She waited a few minute
hallway. “It’s the gold door on the end,” she said. “You have expensive taste.” I should, he thought. I am a connoisseur. The Hassassin padded the length of the hallway like a panther anticipating a long overduemeal. When he reached the doorway he smiled to himself. It was already ajar . . . welcoming him in. He pushed, and the door swung noiselessly open.
When he saw his selection, he knew he had chosen well. She was exactly as he had requested . . . nude, lying on her back, her arms tied to the bedposts with thick velvet cords.
He crossed the room and ran a dark finger across her ivory abdomen. I killed last night,he thought. You are my reward.
S atanic?” Kohler wiped his mouth and shifted uncomfortably. “This is the symbol of a satanic cult?”
Langdon paced the frozen room to keep warm. “The Illuminati were satanic. But not in
g
y the church as a smear campaign against their
h, wanting to emulate the Illuminati, began
hus, modern Satanism was born.
f Illuminati history
ents
.
er secret society . . . a brotherhood of wealthy Bavarian stone
er had heard of the group. The brotherhood
had over five million members worldwide, half of them residing
cret society. Then the Illuminati used the
of Masonic lodges to spread their influence.”
ed
ued
the modern sense.” Langdon quickly explained how most people pictured satanic cults as devil-worshipinfiends, and yet Satanists historically were educated men who stood as adversaries to the church. Shaitan. The rumors of satanic black-magic animal sacrifices and the pentagram ritual were nothing but lies spread b
adversaries. Over time, opponents of the churcbelieving the lies and acting them out. T
Kohler grunted abruptly. “This is all ancient history. I want to know how this symbol got here.”
Langdon took a deep breath. “The symbol itself was created by an anonymous sixteenth-century Illuminati artist as a tribute to Galileo’s love of symmetry-a kind of sacred
Illuminati logo. The brotherhood kept the design secret, allegedly planning to reveal it only when they had amassed enough power to resurface and carry out their final goal.” Kohler looked unsettled. “So this symbol means the Illuminati brotherhood is resurfacing?” Langdon frowned. “That would be impossible. There is one chapter o
that I have not yet explained.” Kohler’s voice intensified. “Enlighten me.” Langdon rubbed his palms together, mentally sorting through the hundreds of documhe’d read or written on the Illuminati. “The Illuminati were survivors,” he explained“When they fled Rome, they traveled across Europe looking for a safe place to regroup.
They were taken in by anoth
craftsmen called the Freemasons.” Kohler looked startled. “The Masons?” Langdon nodded, not at all surprised that Kohl
of the Masons currently
in the United States, and over one million of them in Europe. “Certainly the Masons are not satanic,” Kohler declared, sounding suddenly skeptical. “Absolutely not. The Masons fell victim of their own benevolence. After harboring the fleeing scientists in the 1700s, the Masons unknowingly became a front for the Illuminati. The Illuminati grew within their ranks, gradually taking over positions of power within the lodges. They quietly reestablished their scientific brotherhood deep within the Masons-a kind of secret society within a se
worldwide connection
Langdon drew a cold breath before racing on. “Obliteration of Catholicism was the Illuminati’s central covenant. The brotherhood held that the superstitious dogma spewforth by the church was mankind’s greatest enemy. They feared that if religion contin
to promote pious myth as absolute fact, scientific progress would halt, and mankind
d. “The Illuminati grew more powerful in
any of whose leaders
d-fearing men who were
e
ed Lucifer was intended in its literal Latin meaningost-
covered chair.
st
a was one of CERN’s greatest assets. He
me locate the Illuminati.”
won’t-”
stand
y
s put here by the Illuminati. There has been no evidence of
would be doomed to an ignorant future of senseless holy wars.”
“Much like we see today.”
Langdon frowned. Kohler was right. Holy wars were still making headlines. My God is better than your God. It seemed there was always close correlation between true believers and high body counts.
“Go on,” Kohler said. Langdon gathered his thoughts and continue
Europe and set their sights on America, a fledgling government mwere Masons-George Washington, Ben Franklin-honest, Go
unaware of the Illuminati stronghold on the Masons. The Illuminati took advantage of thinfiltration and helped found banks, universities, and industry to finance their ultimate quest.” Langdon paused. “The creation of a single unified world state-a kind of secular New World Order.” Kohler did not move.
“A New World Order,” Langdon repeated, “based on scientific enlightenment. They called it their Luciferian Doctrine. The church claimed Lucifer was a reference to the devil, but the brotherhood insist
bringer of light. Or Illuminator.” Kohler sighed, and his voice grew suddenly solemn. “Mr. Langdon, please sit down.” Langdon sat tentatively on a fr
Kohler moved his wheelchair closer. “I am not sure I understand everything you have ju
told me, but I do understand this. Leonardo Vetrwas also a friend. I need you to help
Langdon didn’t know how to respond. “Locate the Illuminati?” He’s kidding, right? “I’mafraid, sir, that will be utterly impossible.” Kohler’s brow creased. “What do you mean? You
“Mr. Kohler.” Langdon leaned toward his host, uncertain how to make him underwhat he was about to say. “I did not finish my story. Despite appearances, it is extremelunlikely that this brand wa
their existence for over half a century, and most scholars agree the Illuminati have been defunct for many years.” The words hit silence. Kohler stared through the fog with a look somewhere between stupefaction and anger. “How the hell can you tell me this group is extinct when their name is seared into this man!” Langdon had been asking himself that question all morning. The appearance of the
Illuminati ambigram was astonishing. Symbologists worldwide would be dazzled. And
inati go out of existence, their
r groups. It’s called transference. It’s
Apparently a lot of people think
still active.”
hype
e of Kent, Peter Sellers, Irving
rn-day
in Leonardo Vetra’s death.”
he Illuminati may have believed in the abolition of Christianity, but they wielded
wer through political and financial means, not through terrorists acts.
more, the Illuminati had a strict code of morality regarding who they saw as
mies. They held men of science in the highest regard. There is no way they would
yet, the academic in Langdon understood that the brand’s reemergence proved absolutely nothing about the Illuminati.
“Symbols,” Langdon said, “in no way confirm the presence of their original creators.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “It means that when organized philosophies like the Illum
symbols remain . . . available for adoption by othe
very common in symbology. The Nazis took the swastika from the Hindus, the Christians adopted the cruciform from the Egyptians, the-” “This morning,” Kohler challenged, “when I typed the word ‘Illuminati’ into the computer, it returned thousands of current references.
this group is
“Conspiracy buffs,” Langdon replied. He had always been annoyed by the plethora of conspiracy theories that circulated in modern pop culture. The media craved apocalyptic headlines, and self-proclaimed “cult specialists” were still cashing in on millenniumwith fabricated stories that the Illuminati were alive and well and organizing their NewWorld Order. Recently the New York Times had reported the eerie Masonic ties of countless famous men-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the Duk
Berlin, Prince Philip, Louis Armstrong, as well as a pantheon of well-known modeindustrialists and banking magnates.
Kohler pointed angrily at Vetra’s body. “Considering the evidence, I would say perhaps the conspiracy buffs are correct.”
“I realize how it appears,” Langdon said as diplomatically as he could. “And yet a far more plausible explanation is that some other organization has taken control of the Illuminati brand and is using it for their own purposes.”
“What purposes? What does this murder prove?”
Good question, Langdon thought. He also was having trouble imagining where anyone could have turned up the Illuminati brand after 400 years. “All I can tell you is that even if the Illuminati were still active today, which I am virtually positive they are not, they would never be involved
“No?”
“No. Ttheir poFurther
enehave murdered a fellow scientist like Leonardo Vetra.” Kohler’s eyes turned to ice. “Perhaps I failed to mention that Leonardo Vetra was anything but an ordinary scientist.”
Langdon exhaled patiently. “Mr. Kohler, I’m sure Leonardo Vetra was brilliant in many
ains-”
air and accelerated out of the living room,
swirling mist as he disappeared down a hallway.
on groaned. He followed. Kohler was waiting for him in a
rstand things differently.” With an awkward grunt, Kohler heaved,
pansive bank of video
rs. He watched as images flashed before him-live feeds from hundreds of wireless
ameras that surveyed the sprawling complex. The images went by in an endless
ion.
flexive
e
His nerves tingling, he leaned toward the screen for a closer look. The reading on the
ost definitely not a hallway.
angdon stared in bewilderment at the study before him. “What is this place?” Despite
the welcome blast of warm air on his face, he stepped through the door with trepidation.
ways, but the fact rem
Without warning, Kohler spun in his wheelchleaving a wake of
For the love of God, Langd
small alcove at the end of the hallway. “This is Leonardo’s study,” Kohler said, motioning to the sliding door. “Perhaps when you see it you’ll unde
and the door slid open. Langdon peered into the study and immediately felt his skin crawl. Holy mother of Jesus, he said to himself.
12
I n another country, a young guard sat patiently before an ex
monitovideo cprocess
An ornate hallway. A private office.
An industrial-size kitchen.
As the pictures went by, the guard fought off a daydream. He was nearing the end of his shift, and yet he was still vigilant. Service was an honor. Someday he would be granted his ultimate reward. As his thoughts drifted, an image before him registered alarm. Suddenly, with a rejerk that startled even himself, his hand shot out and hit a button on the control panel. Thpicture before him froze.
monitor told him the image was being transmitted from camera #86-a camera that was supposed to be overlooking a hallway. But the image before him was m
13
L
Kohler said nothingLangdon scanned theost peculiar mi
as he followed Langdon inside.
room, not having the slightest idea what to make of it. It contained
x of artifacts he had ever seen. On the far wall, dominating the decor,
as an enormous wooden crucifix, which Langdon placed as fourteenth-century Spanish.
etallic mobile of the orbiting
lanets. To the left was an oil painting of the Virgin Mary, and beside that was a
inated periodic table of ents. On the side wall, two additional brass cruciforms
, his famous quote reading, GOD DOES NOT PLAY DICE
angdon moved into the room, looking around in astonishment. A leather-bound Bible
of an atom and a miniature replica of
mething about the
cle physics,” Kohler said, “has made some shocking discoveries latelye
bizarre surroundings.
“Spirituality and physics?” Langdon had spent his career studying religious history, and
the mw
Above the cruciform, suspended from the ceiling, was a m
p
lam elemflanked a poster of Albert EinsteinWITH THE UNIVERSE.
L
sat on Vetra’s desk beside a plastic Bohr model Michelangelo’s Moses.
Talk about eclectic, Langdon thought. The warmth felt good, but so
decor sent a new set of chills through his body. He felt like he was witnessing the clash of two philosophical titans . . . an unsettling blur of opposing forces. He scanned the titleson the bookshelf:
The God Particle The Tao of Physics
God: The Evidence
One of the bookends was etched with a quote: TRUE SCIENCE DISCOVERS GOD WAITING BEHIND EVERY DOOR.
-POPE PIUS XII “Leonardo was a Catholic priest,” Kohler said.
Langdon turned. “A priest? I thought you said he was a physicist.”
“He was both. Men of science and religion are not unprecedented in history. Leonardo was one of them. He considered physics ‘God’s natural law.’ He claimed God’s handwriting was visible in the natural order all around us. Through science he hoped toprove God’s existence to the doubting masses. He considered himself a theo-physicist.”Theo-physicist? Langdon thought it sounded impossibly oxymoronic. “The field of parti
discoveries quite spiritual in implication. Leonardo was responsible for many of them.” Langdon studied CERN’s director, still trying to process th
if there was one recurring theme, it was that science and religion had been oil and water since day one . . . archenemies . . . unmixable.
e
believed his research had the potential to convert millions to a more spiritual life. Last
nites us all. He
rer
tists
eir reign over science, ask
nd religion is still raging, Mr.
s, but it is still raging.”
n
“Vetra was on the cutting edge of particle physics,” Kohler said. “He was starting to fusscience and religion . . . showing that they complement each other in most unanticipatedways. He called the field New Physics.” Kohler pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to Langdon. Langdon studied the cover. God, Miracles, and the New Physics-by Leonardo Vetra.
“The field is small,” Kohler said, “but it’s bringing fresh answers to some old questions-questions about the origin of the universe and the forces that bind us all. Leonardo
year he categorically proved the existence of an energy force that u
actually demonstrated that we are all physically connected . . . that the molecules in your body are intertwined with the molecules in mine . . . that there is a single force moving within all of us.” Langdon felt disconcerted. And the power of God shall unite us all. “Mr. Vetra actually found a way to demonstrate that particles are connected?” “Conclusive evidence. A recent Scientific American article hailed New Physics as a su
path to God than religion itself.” The comment hit home. Langdon suddenly found himself thinking of the antireligious Illuminati. Reluctantly, he forced himself to permit a momentary intellectual foray into the impossible. If the Illuminati were indeed still active, would they have killed Leonardo to stop him from bringing his religious message to the masses? Langdon shook off the thought. Absurd! The Illuminati are ancient history! All academics know that!
“Vetra had plenty of enemies in the scientific world,” Kohler went on. “Many scientific purists despised him. Even here at CERN. They felt that using analytical physics to support religious principles was a treason against science.”
“But aren’t scientists today a bit less defensive about the church?” Kohler grunted in disgust. “Why should we be? The church may not be burning scien
at the stake anymore, but if you think they’ve released thyourself why half the schools in your country are not allowed to teach evolution. Ask
yourself why the U.S. Christian Coalition is the most influential lobby against scientific progress in the world. The battle between science a
Langdon. It has moved from the battlefields to the boardroom
Langdon realized Kohler was right. Just last week the Harvard School of Divinity had marched on the Biology Building, protesting the genetic engineering taking place in the graduate program. The chairman of the Bio Department, famed ornithologist Richard Aaronian, defended his curriculum by hanging a huge banner from his office window. The banner depicted the Christian “fish” modified with four little feet-a tribute, Aaroniaclaimed, to the African lungfishes ’ evolution onto dry land. Beneath the fish, instead of
the word “Jesus,” was the proclamation “DARWIN!”
don looked up. Kohler reached down into the
holder and read the
is Leonardo’s daughter. Ms. Vetra is arriving at the helipad right now. We
ere. I think it best she not come up here and see her father this way.”
.
work ”
and
“There is, however, one more
me.”
ector propelled his wheelchair back into the fog-filled living room. Langdon
maneuvered to within inches of Vetra’s
s stolen.
n. He tried to see Vetra’s face, but the head was twisted
A sharp beeping sound cut the air, and Lang
array of electronics on his wheelchair. He slipped a beeper out of itsincoming message.
“Good. That
will meet her th
Langdon agreed. It would be a shock no child deserved. “I will ask Ms. Vetra to explain the project she and her father have been working on . . perhaps shedding light on why he was murdered.”
“You think Vetra’s is why he was killed?
“Quite possibly. Leonardo told me he was working on something groundbreaking. That is all he said. He had become very secretive about the project. He had a private lab
demanded seclusion, which I gladly afforded him on account of his brilliance. His workhad been consuming huge amounts of electric power lately, but I refrained from questioning him.” Kohler rotated toward the study door.
thing you need to know before we leave this flat.” Langdon was not sure he wanted to hear it.
“An item was stolen from Vetra by his murderer.” “An item?”
“FollowThe dir
followed, not knowing what to expect. Kohler body and stopped. He ushered Langdon to join him. Reluctantly, Langdon came close, bile rising in his throat at the smell of the victim’s frozen urine.
“Look at his face,” Kohler said. Look at his face? Langdon frowned. I thought you said something wa
Hesitantly, Langdon knelt dow
180 degrees backward, his face pressed into the carpet.
Struggling against his handicap Kohler reached down and carefully twisted Vetra’s frozen head. Cracking loudly, the corpse’s face rotated into view, contorted in agony. Kohler held it there a moment.
“Sweet Jesus!” Langdon cried, stumbling back in horror. Vetra’s face was covered in blood. A single hazel eye stared lifelessly back at him. The other socket was tattered and empty. “They stole his eye? ”
14
L angdon stepped out of Building C into the open air, grateful to be outside Vetra’s flat.
ind.
“This way, please,” Kohler said, veering up a steep path. The electric wheelchair seemed
moment.”
So,” Kohler asked. “Do you still doubt the Illuminati’s involvement?”
inge sects-zealots who commit random acts
lly removing someone’s eyeball is not deliberate?”
“It sends no clear message. It serves no higher purpose.”
angdon, believe
to the west. A chopper appeared, arching across the open valley toward them. It banked
ake his current disorientation any clearer. Somehow, he doubted it.
ch
iological research in the Balearic Sea.”
The sun helped dissolve the image of the empty eye socket emblazoned into his m
to accelerate effortlessly. “Ms. Vetra will be arriving any
Langdon hurried to keep up.
“
Langdon had no idea what to think anymore. Vetra’s religious affiliations were definitelytroubling, and yet Langdon could not bring himself to abandon every shred of academic evidence he had ever researched. Besides, there was the eye . . .
“I still maintain,” Langdon said, more forcefully than he intended. “that the Illuminati are not responsible for this murder. The missing eye is proof.”
“What?” “Random mutilation,” Langdon explained, “is very . . . un-Illuminati. Cult specialists see desultory defacement from inexperienced fr
of terrorism-but the Illuminati have always been more deliberate.” “Deliberate? Surgica
Kohler’s wheelchair stopped short at the top of the hill. He turned. “Mr. L
me, that missing eye does indeed serve a higher purpose . . . a much higher purpose.” As the two men crossed the grassy rise, the beating of helicopter blades became audible
sharply, then slowed to a hover over a helipad painted on the grass. Langdon watched, detached, his mind churning circles like the blades, wondering if a full night’s sleep would m
As the skids touched down, a pilot jumped out and started unloading gear. There was alot of it-duffels, vinyl wet bags, scuba tanks, and crates of what appeared to be high-tediving equipment. Langdon was confused. “Is that Ms. Vetra’s gear?” he yelled to Kohler over the roar of the engines. Kohler nodded and yelled back, “She was doing b
“I thought you said she was a physicist! ” “She is. She’s a Bio Entanglement Physicist. She studies the interconnectivity of life systems. Her work ties closely with her father’s work in particle physics. Recently she
ia Vetra looked nothing like the bookish
atures that even at twenty yards seemed
the air currents buffeted her body, her clothes clung,
o and small breasts.
e spends months at a time working in dangerous ecological
art of meditative stretching seemed
r deep sable eyes
. Still, she moved toward them with fire and
command. Her limbs were strong and toned, radiating the healthy luminescence of
yed long hours in the sun.
hed. “My deepest condolences. It’s a terrible loss
, her voice was smooth-a throaty, accented
onsible yet?”
e
und by the depth of her watery gaze.
alist from the
disproved one of Einstein’s fundamental theories by using atomically synchronized cameras to observe a school of tuna fish.”
Langdon searched his host’s face for any glint of humor. Einstein and tuna fish? He was starting to wonder if the X-33 space plane had mistakenly dropped him off on the wrong planet. A moment later, Vittoria Vetra emerged from the fuselage. Robert Langdon realized
today was going to be a day of endless surprises. Descending from the chopper in her khaki shorts and white sleeveless top, Vittor
physicist he had expected. Lithe and graceful, she was tall with chestnut skin and long black hair that swirled in the backwind of the rotors. Her face was unmistakably Italian-not overly beautiful, but possessing full, earthy fe
to exude a raw sensuality. Asaccentuating her slender tors
“Ms. Vetra is a woman of tremendous personal strength,” Kohler said, seeming to sense Langdon’s captivation. “Sh
systems. She is a strict vegetarian and CERN’s resident guru of Hatha yoga.” Hatha yoga? Langdon mused. The ancient Buddhist
an odd proficiency for the physicist daughter of a Catholic priest. Langdon watched Vittoria approach. She had obviously been crying, he
filled with emotions Langdon could not place
Mediterranean flesh that had enjo
“Vittoria,” Kohler said as she approac
for science . . . for all of us here at CERN.”
Vittoria nodded gratefully. When she spokeEnglish. “Do you know who is resp
“We’re still working on it.”
She turned to Langdon, holding out a slender hand. “My name is Vittoria Vetra. You’rfrom Interpol, I assume?”
Langdon took her hand, momentarily spellbo
“Robert Langdon.” He was unsure what else to say.
“Mr. Langdon is not with the authorities,” Kohler explained. “He is a speciU.S. He’s here to help us locate who is responsible for this situation.”
Vittoria looked uncertain. “And the police?”
Kohler exhaled but said nothing.
“Where is his body?” she demanded. “Being attended to.”
The white lie surprised Langdon.
“I want to see him,” Vittoria said.
en an awkward wave as they passed. Then she turned to Kohler, her
d
on as I report your
n investigation of CERN. Including a thorough
respect your father’s privacy. Your father
rrent project. One, that it has the potential to
bring CERN millions of francs in licensing contracts in the next decade. And two, that it
gy. Considering
his lab and either steal
e. Do I make myself
a stared, saying nothing. Langdon sensed in her a reluctant respect and acceptance
ohler’s logic.
.
possibly have anything to do with my father’s murder.”
“Vittoria,” Kohler urged, “your father was brutally murdered. You would be better to remember him as he was.” Vittoria began to speak but was interrupted. “Hey, Vittoria!” voices called from the distance. “Welcome home!” She turned. A group of scientists passing near the helipad waved happily. “Disprove any more of Einstein’s theories?” one shouted.
Another added, “Your dad must be proud!” Vittoria gave the m
face now clouded with confusion. “Nobody knows yet?” “I decided discretion was paramount.”
“You haven’t told the staff my father was murdered? ” Her mystified tone was now lacewith anger.
Kohler’s tone hardened instantly. “Perhaps you forget, Ms. Vetra, as so
father’s murder, there will be aexamination of his lab. I have always tried to
has told me only two things about your cu
is not ready for public disclosure because it is still hazardous technolo
these two facts, I would prefer strangers not poke around insidehis work or kill themselves in the process and hold CERN liabl
clear?”Vittori
of K“Before we report anything to the authorities,” Kohler said, “I need to know what you two were working on. I need you to take us to your lab.” “The lab is irrelevant,” Vittoria said. “Nobody knew what my father and I were doingThe experiment could not
Kohler exhaled a raspy, ailing breath. “Evidence suggests otherwise.”
“Evidence? What evidence?” Langdon was wondering the same thing. Kohler was dabbing his mouth again. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
It was clear, from Vittoria’s smoldering gaze, that she did not.
15
L angdon strode silently behind Vittoria and Kohler as they moved back into the maatrium where Langdon’s bizarre visit had begun. Vittoria’s legs drove in fluid efficiency-like an Olympic diver-a potency, Langdon figured, no doubt born from
in
the flexibility and
control of yoga. He could hear her breathing slowly and deliberately, as if somehow
Langdon wanted to say something to her, offer his sympathy. He too had once felt the
ostly,
d
re
et simply by holding her husband’s hand
er to “stop
seen . . . the way the sun
gdon got a stool, retrieved the rose, and took it back to
ria and Kohler were in
n doors.
arriage. He only used
rred the more open spaces of stairwells.
ohler said.
angdon thought as he stepped across the cleft, feeling an icy wind churn up
hs of the shaft. The doors closed, and the car began to descend.
Kohler said blankly, like an analytical engine.
trying to filter her grief.
abrupt hollowness of unexpectedly losing a parent. He remembered the funeral m
rainy and gray. Two days after his twelfth birthday. The house was filled with gray-suitemen from the office, men who squeezed his hand too hard when they shook it. They weall mumbling words like cardiac and stress. His mother joked through teary eyes that
she’d always been able to follow the stock mark. . . his pulse her own private ticker tape.
Once, when his father was alive, Langdon had heard his mom begging his fathand smell the roses.” That year, Langdon bought his father a tiny blown-glass rose for
Christmas. It was the most beautiful thing Langdon had ever
caught it, throwing a rainbow of colors on the wall. “It’s lovely,” his father had said when he opened it, kissing Robert on the forehead. “Let’s find a safe spot for it.” Then his father had carefully placed the rose on a high dusty shelf in the darkest corner of the living room. A few days later, Lan
the store. His father never noticed it was gone.
The ping of an elevator pulled Langdon back to the present. Vittofront of him, boarding the lift. Langdon hesitated outside the ope
“Is something wrong?” Kohler asked, sounding more impatient than concerned. “Not at all,” Langdon said, forcing himself toward the cramped c
elevators when absolutely necessary. He prefe
“Dr. Vetra’s lab is subterranean,” K
Wonderful, Lfrom the dept
“Six stories,”
Langdon pictured the darkness of the empty shaft below them. He tried to block it out by
t
f
conducting Super Collider!”
cts of the century! Two
mn Bible-Belt lobbyists!”
hen Brownell finally calmed down, he explained that a particle accelerator was a large,
be
reached tremendous velocities. Fully accelerated particles circled the tube at over
essors exclaimed.
So CERN has a particle accelerator? Langdon thought, as the elevator dropped. A
staring at the numbered display of changing floors. Oddly, the elevator showed only two stops. GROUND LEVEL and LHC. “What’s LHC stand for?” Langdon asked, trying not to sound nervous.
“Large Hadron Collider,” Kohler said. “A particle accelerator.” Particle accelerator? Langdon was vaguely familiar with the term. He had first heard iover dinner with some colleagues at Dunster House in Cambridge. A physicist friend otheirs, Bob Brownell, had arrived for dinner one night in a rage.
“The bastards canceled it!” Brownell cursed.
“Canceled what?” they all asked. “The SSC!” “The what?” “The Super
Someone shrugged. “I didn’t know Harvard was building one.” “Not Harvard!” he exclaimed. “The U.S.! It was going to be the world’s most powerful particle accelerator! One of the most important scientific proje
billion dollars into it and the Senate sacks the project! Da
W
circular tube through which subatomic particles were accelerated. Magnets in the tuturned on and off in rapid succession to “push” particles around and around until they
180,000 miles per second. “But that’s almost the speed of light,” one of the prof
“Damn right,” Brownell said. He went on to say that by accelerating two particles inopposite directions around the tube and then colliding them, scientists could shatter the particles into their constituent parts and get a glimpse of nature’s most fundamental components. “Particle accelerators,” Brownell declared, “are critical to the future of science. Colliding particles is the key to understanding the building blocks of the universe.” Harvard’s Poet in Residence, a quiet man named Charles Pratt, did not look impressed.
“It sounds to me,” he said, “like a rather Neanderthal approach to science . . . akin to smashing clocks together to discern their internal workings.” Brownell dropped his fork and stormed out of the room.
circular tube for smashing particles. He wondered why they had buried it underground.
e doors slid open, his relief evaporated. Robert Langdon found
out
ness-an unsettling reminder that they were now deep in the earth. Langdon
s
path. The
unnel were alive . . . anticipating her
ng a distance behind. The lights
d quietly. “It’s down this tunnel someplace?”
along the
t in diameter, and extended
oks
perceptible-like
that of the earth.”
Langdon was flabbergasted. This is a circle? “But . . . it must be enormous!”
HC is the largest machine in the world.”
don did a double take. He remembered the CERN driver saying something about a
ilometers in diameter . . . and twenty-seven kilometers long.”
ctor
s tunnel is twentyored
in a perfect circle. It extends all the way into France before
than
When the elevator thumped to a stop, Langdon was relieved to feel terra firma beneath his feet. But when th
himself standing once again in a totally alien world. The passageway stretched out indefinitely in both directions, left and right. It was a smooth cement tunnel, wide enough to allow passage of an eighteen wheeler. Brightly lit where they stood, the corridor turned pitch black farther down. A damp wind rustled of the dark
could almost sense the weight of the dirt and stone now hanging above his head. For an instant he was nine years old . . . the darkness forcing him back . . . back to the five hourof crushing blackness that haunted him still. Clenching his fists, he fought it off.
Vittoria remained hushed as she exited the elevator and strode off without hesitation into the darkness without them. Overhead the flourescents flickered on to light her
effect was unsettling, Langdon thought, as if the tevery move. Langdon and Kohler followed, traili
extinguished automatically behind them. “This particle accelerator,” Langdon sai
“That’s it there.” Kohler motioned to his left where a polished, chrome tube ran
tunnel’s inner wall. Langdon eyed the tube, confused. “That’s the accelerator?” The device looked nothing like he had imagined. It was perfectly straight, about three fee
horizontally the visible length of the tunnel before disappearing into the darkness. Lomore like a high-tech sewer, Langdon thought. “I thought particle accelerators were circular.”
“This accelerator is a circle,” Kohler said. “It appears straight, but that is an optical illusion. The circumference of this tunnel is so large that the curve is im
“The L
Langhuge machine buried in the earth. But- “It is over eight k
Langdon’s head whipped around. “Twenty-seven kilometers?” He stared at the direand then turned and looked into the darkened tunnel before him. “Thi
seven kilometers long? That’s . . . that’s over sixteen miles!” Kohler nodded. “B
curving back here to this spot. Fully accelerated particles will circle the tube more
ten thousand times in a single second before they collide.”
e telling me that
H
the button on his transmitter.
roke a light sweat. Finally
ved it.”
l
we still getting a signal? He knew, of
era was still inside the complex, and
here
walkie-
Considering the small size of the video camera and the fact that it was wireless, the
6 could be transmitting from just about anywhere within
droom
Langdon’s legs felt rubbery as he stared down the gaping tunnel. “You’r
CERN dug out millions of tons of earth just to smash tiny particles?” Kohler shrugged. “Sometimes to find truth, one must move mountains.”
16
hundreds of miles from CERN, a voice crackled through a walkie-talkie. “Okay, I’min the hallway.” The technician monitoring the video screens pressed
“You’re looking for camera #86. It’s supposed to be at the far end.” There was a long silence on the radio. The waiting technician b
his radio clicked.
“The camera isn’t here,” the voice said. “I can see where it was mounted, though. Somebody must have remo
The technician exhaled heavily. “Thanks. Hold on a second, will you?” Sighing, he redirected his attention to the bank of video screens in front of him. Huge portions of the complex were open to the public, and wireless cameras had gone missing before, usually stolen by visiting pranksters looking for souvenirs. But as soon as a camera left the facility and was out of range, the signal was lost, and the screen went blank. Perplexed, the technician gazed up at the monitor. A crystal clear image was stilcoming from camera #86.
If the camera was stolen, he wondered, why are course, there was only one explanation. The cam
someone had simply moved it. But who? And why? He studied the monitor a long moment. Finally he picked up his walkie-talkie. “Are tany closets in that stairwell? Any cupboards or dark alcoves?”
The voice replying sounded confused. “No. Why?” The technician frowned. “Never mind. Thanks for your help.” He turned off his talkie and pursed his lips.
technician knew that camera #8
the heavily guarded compound-a densely packed collection of thirty-two separate buildings covering a half-mile radius. The only clue was that the camera seemed to have been placed somewhere dark. Of course, that wasn’t much help. The complex contained endless dark locations-maintenance closets, heating ducts, gardening sheds, be
wardrobes, even a labyrinth of underground tunnels. Camera #86 could take weeks to
t’s the least of my problems, he thought.
ite the dilemma posed by the camera’s relocation, there was another far more
hey remembered the day they met their father, but
ad, Orfanotrofio
nts she never knew. It was
come to dinner, but as always she
, staring up at the raindrops . . .
one would land next. The nuns called
again, threatening that pneumonia might make an insufferably headstrong child a lot less
e. Vittoria waited for him to grab her and drag her back inside. But
young man said.
re questions bad?”
are you doing out here?”
locate. But tha
Despunsettling matter at hand. The technician gazed up at the image the lost camera was transmitting. It was a stationary object. A modern-looking device like nothing the technician had ever seen. He studied the blinking electronic display at its base. Although the guard had undergone rigorous training preparing him for tense situations, he still sensed his pulse rising. He told himself not to panic. There had to be an explanation. The object appeared too small to be of significant danger. Then again, its presence inside the complex was troubling. Very troubling, indeed.
Today of all days, he thought.
Security was always a top priority for his employer, but today, more than any other day inthe past twelve years, security was of the utmost importance. The technician stared at the object for a long time and sensed the rumblings of a distant gathering storm.
Then, sweating, he dialed his superior.
17
N ot many children could say t
Vittoria Vetra could. She was eight years old, living where she always hdi Siena, a Catholic orphanage near Florence, deserted by pare
raining that day. The nuns had called for her twice topretended not to hear. She lay outside in the courtyard
feeling them hit her body . . . trying to guess where
curious about nature.
I can’t hear you, Vittoria thought.
She was soaked to the bone when the young priest came out to get her. She didn’t know him. He was new ther
he didn’t. Instead, to her wonder, he lay down beside her, soaking his robes in a puddle. “They say you ask a lot of questions,” the
Vittoria scowled. “A
He laughed. “Guess they were right.”
“What
“Same thing you’re doing . . . wondering why raindrops fall.”
“I’m not wondering why they fall! I already know!”
The priest gave her an astonished look. “You do?”
“Sister Francisca says raindrops are angels’ tears coming down to wash away our sins.” “Wow!” he said, sounding amazed. “So that explains it.” “No it doesn’t!” the girl fired back. “Raindrops fall because everything falls! Everything falls! Not just rain!” The priest scratched his head, looking perplexed. “You know, young lady, you’re right. Everything does fall. It must be gravity.”
gravity?” she demanded. “Tell me!”
over dinner.”
to the seminary. Leonardo
ul
h God and science. Vittoria’s
innate intellect and curiosity made her a captivating student. Leonardo protected her like
e had never known the joy of having a father. When every
t hours
eonardo would
ardo told
of physics are
e canvas God laid down on which to paint his masterpiece.”
“It must be what?” He gave her an astonished look. “You haven’t heard of gravity?” “No.”
The priest shrugged sadly. “Too bad. Gravity answers a lot of questions.” Vittoria sat up. “What’s
The priest gave her a wink. “What do you say I tell you
The young priest was Leonardo Vetra. Although he had been an award-winning physics student while in university, he’d heard another call and gone in
and Vittoria became unlikely best friends in the lonely world of nuns and regulations. Vittoria made Leonardo laugh, and he took her under his wing, teaching her that beautifthings like rainbows and the rivers had many explanations. He told her about light,
planets, stars, and all of nature through the eyes of bot
a daughter.
Vittoria was happy too. Sh
other adult answered her questions with a slap on the wrist, Leonardo spenshowing her books. He even asked what her ideas were. Vittoria prayed L
stay with her forever. Then one day, her worst nightmare came true. Father Leonher he was leaving the orphanage. “I’m moving to Switzerland,” Leonardo said. “I have a grant to study physics at the University of Geneva.”
“Physics?” Vittoria cried. “I thought you loved God!” “I do, very much. Which is why I want to study his divine rules. The laws
th
Vittoria was devastated. But Father Leonardo had some other news. He told Vittoria he had spoken to his superiors, and they said it was okay if Father Leonardo adopted her.
“Would you like me to adopt you?” Leonardo asked. “What’s adopt mean?” Vittoria said.
Father Leonardo told her. Vittoria hugged him for five minutes, crying tears of joy. “Oh yes! Yes!”
Leonardo told her he had to leave for a while and get their new home settled in Switzerland, but he promised to send for her in six months. It was the longest wait of Vittoria’s life, but Leonardo kept his word. Five days before her ninth birthday, Vittoria
d
CERN. Vittoria and Leonardo relocated to
strode down the LHC tunnel. She saw her muted
f
CERN, her world since she was twelve,
her, the man who had made it magical, was gone.
t
one
uld they kill him?
ather’s lab, Vittoria realized she was
in
t together. But here she was alone. No colleagues. No happy faces. Just
moved to Geneva. She attended Geneva International School during the day and learnefrom her father at night. Three years later Leonardo Vetra was hired by
a wonderland the likes of which the young Vittoria had never imagined. Vittoria Vetra’s body felt numb as she
reflection in the LHC and sensed her father’s absence. Normally she existed in a state odeep calm, in harmony with the world around her. But now, very suddenly, nothing made sense. The last three hours had been a blur. It had been 10 A.M. in the Balearic Islands when Kohler’s call came through. Your father has been murdered. Come home immediately. Despite the sweltering heat on the deck of the dive boat, the words had chilled her to the bone, Kohler’s emotionless tone hurting asmuch as the news. Now she had returned home. But home to what?
seemed suddenly foreign. Her fat
Deep breaths, she told herself, but she couldn’t calm her mind. The questions circled faster and faster. Who killed her father? And why? Who was this American “specialist”? Why was Kohler insisting on seeing the lab? Kohler had said there was evidence that her father’s murder was related to the currenproject. What evidence? Nobody knew what we were working on! And even if somefound out, why wo
As she moved down the LHC tunnel toward her f
about to unveil her father’s greatest achievement without him there. She had pictured this moment much differently. She had imagined her father calling CERN’s top scientists to his lab, showing them his discovery, watching their awestruck faces. Then he would beam with fatherly pride as he explained to them how it had been one of Vittoria’s ideas that had helped him make the project a reality . . . that his daughter had been integral his breakthrough. Vittoria felt a lump in her throat. My father and I were supposed toshare this momen
an American stranger and Maximilian Kohler. Maximilian Kohler. Der König.
Even as a child, Vittoria had disliked the man. Although she eventually came to respect his potent intellect, his icy demeanor always seemed inhuman, the exact antithesis of her father’s warmth. Kohler pursued science for its immaculate logic . . . her father for its
. Dead.
tile.
lum. Lining the
nd-white images. Although Langdon had made a
entirely alien to him. They looked like chaotic
id, apparently noting Langdon’s interest. “Computer
.
well be the smallest building block in nature. Matter is
hotograph and wondered what his buddies in the Harvard physics
department would say when he told them he’d spent the weekend hanging out in a Large
slightly. “You did?”
ething else.” Kohler motioned to an intricate electronic device
mounted beside the door.
ne
pulling a deep breath, she walked to the mechanism
arefully aligned her right eye with a protruding
t looked like a telescope. Then she pressed a button. Inside the machine,
ing clicked. A shaft of light oscillated back and forth, scanning her eyeball like a
achine.
spiritual wonder. And yet oddly there had always seemed to be an unspoken respect between the two men. Genius, someone had once explained to her, accepts genius unconditionally. Genius, she thought. My father . . . Dad
The entry to Leonardo Vetra’s lab was a long sterile hallway paved entirely in whiteLangdon felt like he was entering some kind of underground insane asy
corridor were dozens of framed, black-acareer of studying images, these were
negatives of random streaks and spirals. Modern art? he mused. Jackson Pollock on amphetamines? “Scatter plots,” Vittoria sa
representations of particle collisions. That’s the Z-particle,” she said, pointing to a fainttrack that was almost invisible in the confusion. “My father discovered it five years agoPure energy-no mass at all. It may
nothing but trapped energy.”
Matter is energy? Langdon cocked his head. Sounds pretty Zen. He gazed at the tiny streak in the p
Hadron Collider admiring Z-particles.
“Vittoria,” Kohler said, as they approached the lab’s imposing steel door, “I should mention that I came down here this morning looking for your father.” Vittoria flushed
“Yes. And imagine my surprise when I discovered he had replaced CERN’s standard keypad security with som
“I apologize,” she said. “You know how he was about privacy. He didn’t want anyobut the two of us to have access.” Kohler said, “Fine. Open the door.”
Vittoria stood a long moment. Then,
on the wall.
Langdon was in no way prepared for what happened next. Vittoria stepped up to the device and c
lens thasomethcopy m
“It’sMine and my father’s.” Robert Langdon stood in horrified revelation. The image of Leonardo Vetra came back ingrisly detail-the bloody face, the solitary hazel eye staring back, and the empty eye
a retina scan,” she said. “Infallible security. Authorized for two retina patterns only.
socket. He tried to reject the obvious truth, but then he saw it . . . beneath the scanner on
essage was clear: As I told you . . . the
r
traded
d killed last night, killed and mutilated, and for him killing was like
. . . each encounter satisfying only temporarily before increasing his longing for
he exhilaration had worn off. The craving had returned.
tudied the sleeping woman beside him. Running his palm across her neck, he felt
ould end her life in an instant. What would it
pleasure and service. His strong fingers
l could not
ed
How, he would never know. .
he
the white tile floor . . . faint droplets of crimson. Dried blood.
Vittoria, thankfully, did not notice. The steel door slid open and she walked through. Kohler fixed Langdon with an adamant stare. His m
missing eye serves a higher purpose.
18
T he woman’s hands were tied, her wrists now purple and swollen from chafing. Themahogany-skinned Hassassin lay beside her, spent, admiring his naked prize. He wondered if her current slumber was just a deception, a pathetic attempt to avoid furtheservice to him.
He did not care. He had reaped sufficient reward. Sated, he sat up in bed. In his country women were possessions. Weak. Tools of pleasure. Chattel to belike livestock. And they understood their place. But here, in Europe, women feigned a strength and independence that both amused and excited him. Forcing them into physical
submission was a gratification he always enjoyed. Now, despite the contentment in his loins, the Hassassin sensed another appetite growing within him. He ha
heroin more. T
He saroused with the knowledge that he cmatter? She was subhuman, a vehicle only of
encircled her throat, savoring her delicate pulse. Then, fighting desire, he removed his hand. There was work to do. Service to a higher cause than his own desire. As he got out of bed, he reveled in the honor of the job before him. He stil
fathom the influence of this man named Janus and the ancient brotherhood he commanded. Wondrously, the brotherhood had chosen him. Somehow they had learnof his loathing . . . and of his skills.Their roots reach wide
Now they had bestowed on him the ultimate honor. He would be their hands and their voice. Their assassin and their messenger. The one his people knew as Malak al-haq-tAngel of Truth.
19
V etra’s lab was wildly futuristic.
Stark white and bounded on all sides by computers and specializit looked like some sort of operating room. Langdon wondered what secrets this place
ed electronic equipment,
.
y as they entered, his eyes seeming to dart about for signs of an
feet
wever,
k, transparent canister about
e
a scan only allows entry to us.”
shrugged. “Everything
.
parently he decided to leave it for the moment. Moving his
otional, as if being here brought
d at Kohler, who
is ritual before. Ten seconds passed before
es.
could possibly hold to justify cutting out someone’s eye to gain entrance
Kohler looked uneas
intruder. But the lab was deserted. Vittoria moved slowly too . . . as if the lab felt unknown without her father there.
Langdon’s gaze landed immediately in the center of the room, where a series of short pillars rose from the floor. Like a miniature Stonehenge, a dozen or so columns of polished steel stood in a circle in the middle of the room. The pillars were about three tall, reminding Langdon of museum displays for valuable gems. These pillars, howere clearly not for precious stones. Each supported a thic
the size of a tennis ball can. They appeared empty.
Kohler eyed the canisters, looking puzzled. He apparently decided to ignore them for thtime being. He turned to Vittoria. “Has anything been stolen?”
“Stolen? How?” she argued. “The retin
“Just look around.” Vittoria sighed and surveyed the room for a few moments. She
looks as my father always leaves it. Ordered chaos.” Langdon sensed Kohler weighing his options, as if wondering how far to push Vittoria . . how much to tell her. Ap
wheelchair toward the center of the room, he surveyed the mysterious cluster of seemingly empty canisters. “Secrets,” Kohler finally said, “are a luxury we can no longer afford.”
Vittoria nodded in acquiescence, looking suddenly emwith it a torrent of memories.
Give her a minute, Langdon thought.
As though preparing for what she was about to reveal, Vittoria closed her eyes and breathed. Then she breathed again. And again. And again . . . Langdon watched her, suddenly concerned. Is she okay? He glance
appeared unfazed, apparently having seen thVittoria opened her ey
Langdon could not believe the metamorphosis. Vittoria Vetra had been transformed. Her
full lips were lax, her shoulders down, and her eyes soft and assenting. It was as though
l.
ll us about your father’s experiment.”
ent
as
tly . . . he conceived of a way to do that.”
one of the most bitter conflicts in
ondered which conflict she could mean. There were so many.
t this stalemate. The idea that God allegedly created “something
accepted laws of modern physics and therefore,
rning, “I assume you are familiar with the Big Bang
Langdon shrugged. “More or less.” The Big Bang, he knew, was the scientifically
, a single point of intensely focused energy erupted in a
inued. “When the Catholic Church first proposed the Big Bang Theory in
lic idea?”
,
er
she had realigned every muscle in her body to accept the situation. The resentful fire and personal anguish had been quelled somehow beneath a deeper, watery coo
“Where to begin . . .” she said, her accent unruffled.
“At the beginning,” Kohler said. “Te
“Rectifying science with religion has been my father’s life dream,” Vittoria said. “He hoped to prove that science and religion are two totally compatible fields-two differapproaches to finding the same truth.” She paused as if unable to believe what she wabout to say. “And recen
Kohler said nothing. “He devised an experiment, one he hoped would settle
the history of science and religion.” Langdon w
“Creationism,” Vittoria declared. “The battle over how the universe came to be.” Oh, Langdon thought. THE debate. “The Bible, of course, states that God created the universe,” she explained. “God said,
‘Let there be light,’ and everything we see appeared out of a vast emptiness. Unfortunately, one of the fundamental laws of physics states that matter cannot be created out of nothing.”
Langdon had read aboufrom nothing” was totally contrary to
scientists claimed, Genesis was scientifically absurd. “Mr. Langdon,” Vittoria said, tu
Theory?”
accepted model for the creation of the universe. He didn’t really understand it, but according to the theory
cataclysmic explosion, expanding outward to form the universe. Or something like that. Vittoria cont
1927, the-” “I’m sorry?” Langdon interrupted, before he could stop himself. “You say the Big Bang was a Catho
Vittoria looked surprised by his question “Of course. Proposed by a Catholic monkGeorges Lemaître in 1927.”
“But, I thought . . .” he hesitated. “Wasn’t the Big Bang proposed by Harvard astronom
Edwin Hubble?” Kohler glowered. “Again, American scientific arrogance. Hubble published in 1929, two years after Lemaître.”
Langdon scowled. It’s called the Hubble Telescope, sir-I’ve never heard of any Lemaître
Telescope!
t ever mentioned Lemaître in their lectures.
curate. The divine truth.”
veries used by the church to
ia said. “The exact moment of creation. Time zero.” She
oked at Langdon. “Even today, science cannot grasp the initial moment of creation. Our
ectively, but as we move back in time,
sintegrates, and everything becomes
eaningless.”
proof
lasermy
face
Langdon read the message:
.
“Mr. Kohler is right,” Vittoria said, “the idea belonged to Lemaître. Hubble only confirmed it by gathering the hard evidence that proved the Big Bang was scientifically probable.”
“Oh,” Langdon said, wondering if the Hubble-fanatics in the Harvard Astronomy Departmen
“When Lemaître first proposed the Big Bang Theory,” Vittoria continued, “scientists claimed it was utterly ridiculous. Matter, science said, could not be created out of nothing. So, when Hubble shocked the world by scientifically proving the Big Bang was accurate, the church claimed victory, heralding this as proof that the Bible was scientifically ac
Langdon nodded, focusing intently now. “Of course scientists did not appreciate having their disco
promote religion, so they immediately mathematicized the Big Bang Theory, removed allreligious overtones, and claimed it as their own. Unfortunately for science, however, theirequations, even today, have one serious deficiency that the church likes to point out.” Kohler grunted. “The singularity.” He spoke the word as if it were the bane of his existence.
“Yes, the singularity,” Vittor
lo
equations explain the early universe quite effapproaching time zero, suddenly our mathematics di
m
“Correct,” Kohler said, his voice edgy, “and the church holds up this deficiency asof God’s miraculous involvement. Come to your point.” Vittoria’s expression became distant. “My point is that my father had always believed in God’s involvement in the Big Bang. Even though science was unable to comprehend thedivine moment of creation, he believed someday it would.” She motioned sadly to a
printed memo tacked over her father’s work area. “My dad used to wave that inevery time I had doubts.”
SCIENCE AND RELIGION ARE NOT AT ODDS
SCIENCE IS SIMPLY TOO YOUNG TO UNDERSTAND.
e
ss the room. “I beg your pardon?”
rse? Recreating the Big Bang?
“The
te
m of units, and the
said, “was nothing short of wondrous. When it is published, it will
ing
is point of
d
sult is the same. Science and religion support the same truth-pure energy is the
“My dad wanted to bring science to a higher level,” Vittoria said, “where sciencsupported the concept of God.” She ran a hand through her long hair, looking
melancholy. “He set out to do something no scientist had ever thought to do. Something that no one has ever had the technology to do.” She paused, as though uncertain how to speak the next words. “He designed an experiment to prove Genesis was possible.” Prove Genesis? Langdon wondered. Let there be light? Matter from nothing? Kohler’s dead gaze bore acro
“My father created a universe . . . from nothing at all.” Kohler snapped his head around. “What!”
“Better said, he recreated the Big Bang.” Kohler looked ready to jump to his feet.
Langdon was officially lost. Creating a unive
“It was done on a much smaller scale, of course,” Vittoria said, talking faster now. process was remarkably simple. He accelerated two ultrathin particle beams in opposidirections around the accelerator tube. The two beams collided head-on at enormous speeds, driving into one another and compressing all their energy into a single pinpoint. He achieved extreme energy densities.” She started rattling off a strea
director’s eyes grew wider.
Langdon tried to keep up. So Leonardo Vetra was simulating the compressed point of energy from which the universe supposedly sprang. “The result,” Vittoria
shake the very foundation of modern physics.” She spoke slowly now, as though savorthe immensity of her news. “Without warning, inside the accelerator tube, at thhighly focused energy, particles of matter began appearing out of nowhere.”
Kohler made no reaction. He simply stared.
“Matter,” Vittoria repeated. “Blossoming out of nothing. An incredible display of subatomic fireworks. A miniature universe springing to life. He proved not only that matter can be created from nothing, but that the Big Bang and Genesis can be explainesimply by accepting the presence of an enormous source of energy.”
“You mean God?” Kohler demanded. “God, Buddha, The Force, Yahweh, the singularity, the unicity point-call it whatever youlike-the re
father of creation.”
When Kohler finally spoke, his voice was somber. “Vittoria, you have me at a loss. It
’ve obviously missed something,” he said. “How do
icles are unique.
had to be
pe of matter, and it-” Kohler stopped short.
e
r.
ion,
ated everything in the universe with an opposite.”
a nodded. “And when my father ran his experiment, sure enough, two kinds of
appeared.”
gdon wondered what this meant. Leonardo Vetra created matter’s opposite?
where in the
d.”
.” She gazed proudly at the canisters. “Director, you are looking at the world’s first
sounds like you’re telling me your father created matter . . . out of nothing?” “Yes.” Vittoria motioned to the canisters. “And there is the proof. In those canisters are specimens of the matter he created.”
Kohler coughed and moved toward the canisters like a wary animal circling something he instinctively sensed was wrong. “I
you expect anyone to believe these canisters contain particles of matter your father actually created? They could be particles from anywhere at all.” “Actually,” Vittoria said, sounding confident, “they couldn’t. These part
They are a type of matter that does not exist anywhere on earth . . . hence they created.”
Kohler’s expression darkened. “Vittoria, what do you mean a certain type of matter? There is only one ty
Vittoria’s expression was triumphant. “You’ve lectured on it yourself, director. Th
universe contains two kinds of matter. Scientific fact.” Vittoria turned to Langdon. “MLangdon, what does the Bible say about the Creation? What did God create?”
Langdon felt awkward, not sure what this had to do with anything. “Um, God created . . .light and dark, heaven and hell-”
“Exactly,” Vittoria said. “He created everything in opposites. Symmetry. Perfect balance.” She turned back to Kohler. “Director, science claims the same thing as religthat the Big Bang cre
“Including matter itself,” Kohler whispered, as if to himself.
Vittorimatter
LanKohler looked angry. “The substance you’re referring to only exists else
universe. Certainly not on earth. And possibly not even in our galaxy!” “Exactly,” Vittoria replied, “which is proof that the particles in these canisters had to be create
Kohler’s face hardened. “Vittoria, surely you can’t be saying those canisters contain actual specimens?” “I am
specimens of antimatter.”
20
P hase two, the Hassassin thought, striding into the darkened tunnel.
The torch in his hand was overkill. He knew that. But it was for effect. Effect was everything. Fear, he had learned, was his ally. Fear cripples faster than any implement owar. There was no mirror in the passage to admire his disguise, but he could sense from
f
the
ildest dreams he had never imagined playing this
eeks ago, he would have considered the task awaiting him at the far end of this
possible. A suicide mission. Walking naked into a lion’s lair. But Janus had
assassin in the last two weeks had been numerous
inside
red him someone on the inside
bic as he neared the
” Vittoria was studying him, her dark
tudents enjoy . . .” He frowned. “Isn’t antimatter what fuels
posite. Protons have electrons. Up-quarks have
shadow of his billowing robe that he was perfect. Blending in was part of the plan . . . part of the depravity of the plot. In his w
part. Two w
tunnel imchanged the definition of impossible. The secrets Janus had shared with the H
. . . this very tunnel being one of them. Ancient, and yet still perfectly passable.
As he drew closer to his enemy, the Hassassin wondered if what awaited himwould be as easy as Janus had promised. Janus had assu
would make the necessary arrangements. Someone on the inside. Incredible. The more he considered it, the more he realized it was child’s play.
Wahad . . . tintain . . . thalatha . . . arbaa, he said to himself in Araend. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .
21 I sense you’ve heard of antimatter, Mr. Langdon?
skin in stark contrast to the white lab.
Langdon looked up. He felt suddenly dumb. “Yes. Well . . . sort of.” A faint smile crossed her lips. “You watch Star Trek.” Langdon flushed. “Well, my s
the U.S.S. Enterprise?” She nodded. “Good science fiction has its roots in good science.”
“So antimatter is real?” “A fact of nature. Everything has an op
down-quarks. There is a cosmic symmetry at the subatomic level. Antimatter is yin to matter’s yang. It balances the physical equation.”
Langdon thought of Galileo’s belief of duality.
“Scientists have known since 1918,” Vittoria said, “that two kinds of matter were created
ut
e
Kohler scowled. “But a vacuum would pull out the matter also. There would be no way
arced left. They are polar
re made of matter. Antimatter cannot be
react with-”
literally trap the antimatter in the center of the canister, suspending it at a
s. The
annonlike barrel
ed
s.
llected visible amounts?”
the particle beam through a jet of xenon,
ted on keeping the exact procedure a secret, but it
raw electrons into the accelerator.”
in the Big Bang. One matter is the kind we see here on earth, making up rocks, trees, people. The other is its inverse-identical to matter in all respects except that the charges of its particles are reversed.” Kohler spoke as though emerging from a fog. His voice sounded suddenly precarious. “But there are enormous technological barriers to actually storing antimatter. What abo
neutralization?” “My father built a reverse polarity vacuum to pull the antimatter positrons out of thaccelerator before they could decay.”
to separate the particles.”
“He applied a magnetic field. Matter arced right, and antimatter
opposites.” At that instant, Kohler’s wall of doubt seemed to crack. He looked up at Vittoria in clear astonishment and then without warning was overcome by a fit of coughing. “Incred . . . ible . . .” he said, wiping his mouth, “and yet . . .” It seemed his logic was still resisting. “Yet even if the vacuum worked, these canisters a
stored inside canisters made out of matter. The antimatter would instantly
“The specimen is not touching the canister,” Vittoria said, apparently expecting the question. “The antimatter is suspended. The canisters are called ‘antimatter traps’ because they
safe distance from the sides and bottom.”
“Suspended? But . . . how?” “Between two intersecting magnetic fields. Here, have a look.”
Vittoria walked across the room and retrieved a large electronic apparatucontraption reminded Langdon of some sort of cartoon ray gun-a wide c
with a sighting scope on top and a tangle of electronics dangling below. Vittoria alignthe scope with one of the canisters, peered into the eyepiece, and calibrated some knobThen she stepped away, offering Kohler a look.
Kohler looked nonplussed. “You co
“Five thousand nanograms,” Vittoria said. “A liquid plasma containing millions of positrons.” “Millions? But a few particles is all anyone has ever detected . . . anywhere.”
“Xenon,” Vittoria said flatly. “He acceleratedstripping away the electrons. He insis
involved simultaneously injecting
Langdon felt lost, wondering if their conversation was still in English. Kohler paused, the lines in his brow deepening. Suddenly he drew a short breath. He
his gaze to the canister before him. With a look of uncertainty, he hoisted
laced his eye to the viewer, peering inside. He stared a long time
sweat.
“Would you like a look?” She motioned to the viewing
Metallic wavelets rippled across the
reminded Langdon of a video he had once seen of
the globule was microscopic, he could see
ge and undulation as the ball of plasma rolled slowly in suspension.
atter is highly unstable. Energetically
atter, so the two instantly cancel each other
isolated from matter is a challenge, of
rticles of antimatter but
slumped like he’d been hit with a bullet. “Technically that would leave . . .” Vittoria nodded. “Yes. Lots of it.”
Kohler returned himself in his chair and p
without saying anything. When he finally sat down, his forehead was covered with The lines on his face had disappeared. His voice was a whisper. “My God . . . you reallydid it.” Vittoria nodded. “My father did it.” “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
Vittoria turned to Langdon.
device. Uncertain what to expect, Langdon moved forward. From two feet away, the canister appeared empty. Whatever was inside was infinitesimal. Langdon placed his eye to theviewer. It took a moment for the image before him to come into focus.
Then he saw it.
The object was not on the bottom of the container as he expected, but rather it was floating in the center-suspended in midair-a shimmering globule of mercurylike liquid.Hovering as if by magic, the liquid tumbled in space.
droplet’s surface. The suspended fluid a water droplet in zero G. Although he knew
every changing gor
“It’s . . . floating,” he said. “It had better be,” Vittoria replied. “Antimspeaking, antimatter is the mirror image of m
out if they come in contact. Keeping antimatter
course, because everything on earth is made of matter. The samples have to be stored without ever touching anything at all-even air.” Langdon was amazed. Talk about working in a vacuum. “These antimatter traps?” Kohler interrupted, looking amazed as he ran a pallid finger
around one’s base. “They are your father’s design?” “Actually,” she said, “they are mine.”
Kohler looked up.
Vittoria’s voice was unassuming. “My father produced the first pa
was stymied by how to store them. I suggested these. Airtight nanocomposite shells with
s genius has rubbed off.”
fish between
er of
um.”
the canister. Antimatter floating in a vacuum, not touching
of the trap, and we
ilation?” He didn’t like the sound of it.
a looked unconcerned. “Yes. If antimatter and matter make contact, both are
ed instantly. Physicists call the process ‘annihilation.’ ”
don nodded. “Oh.”
atter combine
Klingons.
ed to unscrew it from its charging podium.
ing her hands
ria! You can’t remove that trap!”
opposing electromagnets at each end.” “It seems your father’
“Not really. I borrowed the idea from nature. Portuguese man-o’-wars trap
their tentacles using nematocystic charges. Same principle here. Each canister has two electromagnets, one at each end. Their opposing magnetic fields intersect in the centthe canister and hold the antimatter there, suspended in midvacu
Langdon looked again at
anything at all. Kohler was right. It was genius. “Where’s the power source for the magnets?” Kohler asked.
Vittoria pointed. “In the pillar beneath the trap. The canisters are screwed into a docking port that continuously recharges them so the magnets never fail.”
“And if the field fails?” “The obvious. The antimatter falls out of suspension, hits the bottom
see an annihilation.” Langdon’s ears pricked up. “Annih
Vittoridestroy
Lang“It is nature’s simplest reaction. A particle of matter and a particle of antimto release two new particles-called photons. A photon is effectively a tiny puff of light.”
Langdon had read about photons-light particles-the purest form of energy. He decided to
refrain from asking about Captain Kirk’s use of photon torpedoes against the
“So if the antimatter falls, we see a tiny puff of light?” Vittoria shrugged. “Depends what you call tiny. Here, let me demonstrate.” She reached for the canister and start
Without warning, Kohler let out a cry of terror and lunged forward, knock
away. “Vittoria! Are you insane!” 22 K ohler, incredibly, was standing for a moment, teetering on two withered legs. His face was white with fear. “Vitto
Langdon watched, bewildered by the director’s sudden panic.
“Five hundred nanograms!” Kohler said. “If you break the magnetic field-” “Director,” Vittoria assured, “it’s perfectly safe. Every trap has a failsafe-a back-up battery in case it is removed from its recharger. The specimen remains suspended even if
Like a reserve tank of gas.” She turned to
hold as much energy as about two hundred metric tons of
d was spinning again.
orrow. A thousand times more powerful than nuclear
w
ould power a major city for a week.”
canister again and twisted it from its
sharp beep, and a
e
. It
said. “But the mobility allows us to study it.”
side to
body graffiti.
I remove the canister.”
Kohler looked uncertain. Then, hesitantly, he settled back into his chair. “The batteries activate automatically,” Vittoria said, “when the trap is moved from the recharger. They work for twenty-four hours.
Langdon, as if sensing his discomfort. “Antimatter has some astonishing characteristics, Mr. Langdon, which make it quite dangerous. A ten milligram sample-the volume of a grain of sand-is hypothesized to
conventional rocket fuel.” Langdon’s hea“It is the energy source of tom
energy. One hundred percent efficient. No byproducts. No radiation. No pollution. A fegrams c
Grams? Langdon stepped uneasily back from the podium. “Don’t worry,” Vittoria said. “These samples are minuscule fractions of a gram-millionths. Relatively harmless.” She reached for the
docking platform.
Kohler twitched but did not interfere. As the trap came free, there was a
small LED display activated near the base of the trap. The red digits blinked, counting down from twenty-four hours. 24:00:00 . . . 23:59:59 . . .
23:59:58 . . .
Langdon studied the descending counter and decided it looked unsettlingly like a timbomb.
“The battery,” Vittoria explained, “will run for the full twenty-four hours before dyingcan be recharged by placing the trap back on the podium. It’s designed as a safety measure, but it’s also convenient for transport.” “Transport?” Kohler looked thunderstruck. “You take this stuff out of the lab?” “Of course not,” Vittoria
Vittoria led Langdon and Kohler to the far end of the room. She pulled a curtain areveal a window, beyond which was a large room. The walls, floors, and ceiling were
entirely plated in steel. The room reminded Langdon of the holding tank of an oil freighter he had once taken to Papua New Guinea to study Hanta
“It’s an annihilation tank,” Vittoria declared. Kohler looked up. “You actually observe annihilations?” “My father was fascinated with the physics of the Big Bang-large amounts of energy
Vittoria pulled open a steel drawer beneath the
window. She placed the trap inside the drawer and closed it. Then she pulled a lever
er
e window, looking uncertain.
uch .
otons. So don’t look directly at the sample. Shield your eyes.”
ed Vittoria was being overly dramatic. Don’t look
away, behind an ultrathick
le, microscopic.
my eyes? Langdon thought. How much energy could that speck possiblya
pressed the button.
t
,
k inward, absorbing in on itself, and collapsing into a tiny speck that
disappeared to nothing. Langdon blinked in pain, slowly recovering his eyesight. He
.
y father said.”
from minuscule kernels of matter.”
beside the drawer. A moment later, the trap appeared on the other side of the glass, rolling smoothly in a wide arc across the metal floor until it came to a stop near the cent
of the room. Vittoria gave a tight smile. “You’re about to witness your first antimatter-matter annihilation. A few millionths of a gram. A relatively minuscule specimen.” Langdon looked out at the antimatter trap sitting alone on the floor of the enormous tank.
Kohler also turned toward th
“Normally,” Vittoria explained, “we’d have to wait the full twenty-four hours until the batteries died, but this chamber contains magnets beneath the floor that can override the trap, pulling the antimatter out of suspension. And when the matter and antimatter to. .” “Annihilation,” Kohler whispered. “One more thing,” Vittoria said. “Antimatter releases pure energy. A one hundred percent conversion of mass to ph
Langdon was wary, but he now sens
directly at the canister? The device was more than thirty yards wall of tinted Plexiglas. Moreover, the speck in the canister was invisib
Shield Vittori
Instantly, Langdon was blinded. A brilliant point of light shone in the canister and then exploded outward in a shock wave of light that radiated in all directions, erupting againsthe window before him with thunderous force. He stumbled back as the detonation
rocked the vault. The light burned bright for a moment, searing, and then, after an instantit rushed bac
squinted into the smoldering chamber. The canister on the floor had entirely disappearedVaporized. Not a trace.
He stared in wonder. “G . . . God.”
Vittoria nodded sadly. “That’s precisely what m
23
K ohler was staring into the annihilation chamber with a look of utter amazement at the
showed you the lab. Now I want to see
ly, apparently not hearing her. “Why did you wait so long, Vittoria?
it. Now I want-”
d I would vote to license it out?”
oria fired back, feeling herself dragged into the argument.
“Antimatter is important technology. But it’s also dangerous. My father and I wanted
the procedures and make it safe.”
as
”
at the opposite. Commercialism was critical
lthough antimatter technology had staggering
ource-if unveiled prematurely,
ting science and religion.”
spectacle he had just seen. Robert Langdon was beside him, looking even more dazed. “I want to see my father,” Vittoria demanded. “I
my father.” Kohler turned slow
You and your father should have told me about this discovery immediately.” Vittoria stared at him. How many reasons do you want? “Director, we can argue about
this later. Right now, I want to see my father.”
“Do you know what this technology implies?” “Sure,” Vittoria shot back. “Revenue for CERN. A lot of
“Is that why you kept it secret?” Kohler demanded, clearly baiting her. “Because you feared the board an
“It should be licensed,” Vitt
time to refine
“In other words, you didn’t trust the board of directors to place prudent science before financial greed.” Vittoria was surprised with the indifference in Kohler’s tone. “There were other issueswell,” she said. “My father wanted time to present antimatter in the appropriate light.“Meaning?”
What do you think I mean? “Matter from energy? Something from nothing? It’s practically proof that Genesis is a scientific possibility.”
“So he didn’t want the religious implications of his discovery lost in an onslaught of
commercialism?” “In a manner of speaking.”
“And you?”
Vittoria’s concerns, ironically, were somewhfor the success of any new energy source. A
potential as an efficient and nonpolluting energy s
antimatter ran the risk of being vilified by the politics and PR fiascoes that had killed nuclear and solar power. Nuclear had proliferated before it was safe, and there were accidents. Solar had proliferated before it was efficient, and people lost money. Both technologies got bad reputations and withered on the vine.
“My interests,” Vittoria said, “were a bit less lofty than uni
“The environment,” Kohler ventured assuredly.
“Limitless energy. No strip mining. No pollution. No radiation. Antimatter technology
hill
”
gh choosing his next words carefully. “Suppose
meone gained access to this lab. What do you
ould be after? Did your father have notes down here? Documentation of
I need some answers now. You keep talking about a breaktoria
angrily scanned the lab. All the antimatter specimens were
could save the planet.”
“Or destroy it,” Kohler quipped. “Depending on who uses it for what.” Vittoria felt a cemanating from Kohler’s crippled form. “Who else knew about this?” he asked. “No one,” Vittoria said. “I told you that.” “Then why do you think your father was killed?
Vittoria’s muscles tightened. “I have no idea. He had enemies here at CERN, you know that, but it couldn’t have had anything to do with antimatter. We swore to each other to
keep it between us for another few months, until we were ready.”
“And you’re certain your father kept his vow of silence?” Now Vittoria was getting mad. “My father has kept tougher vows than that!”
“And you told no one?”
“Of course not!”
Kohler exhaled. He paused, as thousomeone did find out. And suppose so
imagine they w
his processes?” “Director, I’ve been patient.
in, but you saw the retina scan. My father has been vigilant about secrecy and security.”
“Humor me,” Kohler snapped, startling her. “What would be missing?” “I have no idea.” Vit
accounted for. Her father’s work area looked in order. “Nobody came in here,” she declared. “Everything up here looks fine.”
Kohler looked surprised. “Up here?”
Vittoria had said it instinctively. “Yes, here in the upper lab.”
“You’re using the lower lab too?”
“For storage.”
Kohler rolled toward her, coughing again. “You’re using the Haz-Mat chamber for storage? Storage of what?”
Hazardous material, what else! Vittoria was losing her patience. “Antimatter.” Kohler lifted himself on the arms of his chair. “There are other specimens? Why the hell
didn’t you tell me!” “I just did,” Vittoria fired back. “And you’ve barely given me a chance!” “We need to check those specimens,” Kohler said. “Now.”
“Specimen,” Vittoria corrected. “Singular. And it’s fine. Nobody could ever-” “Only one?” Kohler hesitated. “Why isn’t it up here?” “My father wanted it below the bedrock as a precaution. It’s larger than the others.” The look of alarm that shot between Kohler and Langdon was not lost on Vittoria. Kohler rolled toward her again. “You created a specimen larger than five hundred nanograms?” “A necessity,” Vittoria defended. “We had to prove the input/yield threshold could be
t
s a losing endeavor. However, if that same rig, with minimal
tter
f
s of a larger magnitude.
arge specimen, Vittoria had
pushed him hard. She argued that in order for antimatter to be taken seriously, she and
ed.
nd she had won, and her
”
was no microscopic speck. This was a droplet the size of a BB.
. “A
and her father never used. A kiloton was
r weaponry. Payload. Destructive
ower. She and her father spoke in electron volts and joules-constructive energy output.
safely crossed.” The question with new fuel sources, she knew, was always one of inpuvs. yield-how much money one had to expend to harvest the fuel. Building an oil rig toyield a single barrel of oil wa
added expense, could deliver millions of barrels, then you were in business. Antimawas the same way. Firing up sixteen miles of electromagnets to create a tiny specimen oantimatter expended more energy than the resulting antimatter contained. In order to prove antimatter efficient and viable, one had to create specimen
Although Vittoria’s father had been hesitant to create a l
her father had to prove two things. First, that cost-effective amounts could be producAnd second, that the specimens could be safely stored. In the e
father had acquiesced against his better judgment. Not, however, without some firm guidelines regarding secrecy and access. The antimatter, her father had insisted, would be stored in Haz-Mat-a small granite hollow, an additional seventy-five feet below ground. The specimen would be their secret. And only the two of them would have access.
“Vittoria?” Kohler insisted, his voice tense. “How large a specimen did you and your father create?
Vittoria felt a wry pleasure inside. She knew the amount would stun even the great
Maximilian Kohler. She pictured the antimatter below. An incredible sight. Suspended inside the trap, perfectly visible to the naked eye, danced a tiny sphere of antimatter. This
Vittoria took a deep breath. “A full quarter of a gram.”
The blood drained from Kohler’s face. “What!” He broke into a fit of coughingquarter of a gram? That converts to . . . almost five kilotons!”
Kilotons. Vittoria hated the word. It was one she
equal to 1,000 metric tons of TNT. Kilotons were fo
p
“That much antimatter could literally liquidate everything in a half-mile radius!” Kohler
ept it in Haz-Mat under a fail-safe power and a redundant
or fell deeper. Kohler’s
he sample is enormous, but
Vittoria led the way down the dimly lit corridor. Up ahead the
lled back. Something was wrong. The usually spotless lens was spattered . . .
ething that looked like . . . blood? Confused she turned to the two men,
er gaze met waxen faces. Both Kohler and Langdon were white, their eyes fixed on
tterly foreign and
ed like a
here.
exclaimed.
“Yes, if annihilated all at once,” Vittoria shot back, “which nobody would ever do!” “Except someone who didn’t know better. Or if your power source failed!” Kohler was already heading for the elevator.
“Which is why my father k
security system.” Kohler turned, looking hopeful. “You have additional security on Haz-Mat?” “Yes. A second retina-scan.”
Kohler spoke only two words. “Downstairs. Now.” The freight elevator dropped like a rock.
Another seventy-five feet into the earth.
Vittoria was certain she sensed fear in both men as the elevatusually emotionless face was taut. I know, Vittoria thought, t
the precautions we’ve taken are- They reached the bottom.
The elevator opened, and
corridor dead-ended at a huge steel door. HAZ-MAT. The retina scan device beside the door was identical to the one upstairs. She approached. Carefully, she aligned her eye with the lens.
She pusmeared with som
but hthe floor at her feet. Vittoria followed their line of sight . . . down.
“No!” Langdon yelled, reaching for her. But it was too late. Vittoria’s vision locked on the object on the floor. It was both u
intimately familiar to her.
It took only an instant. Then, with a reeling horror, she knew. Staring up at her from the floor, discard
piece of trash, was an eyeball. She would have recognized that shade of hazel anyw
24
T he security technician held his breath as his commander leaned over his shoulder,
at is he thinking?
onitor was a canister of some sort-a canister
sy. It was the rest that was difficult.
orward, squinting closer at something that had just come visible on
into the retina scan. She sensed the
t,
s
nism beeped.
itional
he
r father’s eye to steal it. The implications
came too fast for her to fully comprehend. Everything had backfired. The specimen that
studying the bank of security monitors before them. A minute passed. The commander’s silence was to be expected, the technician told himself. The
commander was a man of rigid protocol. He had not risen to command one of the world’s most elite security forces by talking first and thinking second.
But wh
The object they were pondering on the mwith transparent sides. That much was ea
Inside the container, as if by some special effect, a small droplet of metallic liquid seemed to be floating in midair. The droplet appeared and disappeared in the robotic red blinking of a digital LED descending resolutely, making the technician’s skin crawl. “Can you lighten the contrast?” the commander asked, startling the technician. The technician heeded the instruction, and the image lightened somewhat. The
commander leaned f
the base of the container. The technician followed his commander’s gaze. Ever so faintly, printed next to the LED was an acronym. Four capital letters gleaming in the intermittent spurts of light.
“Stay here,” the commander said. “Say nothing. I’ll handle this.” 25 H az-Mat. Fifty meters below ground.
Vittoria Vetra stumbled forward, almost falling
American rushing to help her, holding her, supporting her weight. On the floor at her feeher father’s eyeball stared up. She felt the air crushed from her lungs. They cut out his eye! Her world twisted. Kohler pressed close behind, speaking. Langdon guided her. Aif in a dream, she found herself gazing into the retina scan. The mecha
The door slid open.
Even with the terror of her father’s eye boring into her soul, Vittoria sensed an addhorror awaited inside. When she leveled her blurry gaze into the room, she confirmed tnext chapter of the nightmare. Before her, the solitary recharging podium was empty. The canister was gone. They had cut out he
was supposed to prove antimatter was a safe and viable energy source had been stolen.
had no idea about the project.
ne
t. Uncontrollable,
lentless guilt. Vittoria knew it had been she who convinced her father to create the
atter was a lethal weapon. Potent, and
o trip
ce, no fuse to deactivate if the
w what else to do. He took his handkerchief and lay it on the floor
yeball. Vittoria was standing now in the doorway of the empty
Haz-Mat chamber, her expression wrought with grief and panic. Langdon moved toward
nstinctively, but Kohler intervened.
ssionless. He motioned Langdon out of earshot.
g Vittoria to fend for herself. “You’re the
isper intense. “I want to know what these Illuminati
e
and by that. This crime could be anything-maybe
But nobody knew this specimen even existed! The truth, however, was undeniable. Someone had found out. Vittoria could not imagine who. Even Kohler, whom they said knew everything at CERN, clearly
Her father was dead. Murdered for his genius. As the grief strafed her heart, a new emotion surged into Vittoria’s conscious. This owas far worse. Crushing. Stabbing at her. The emotion was guil
re
specimen. Against his better judgment. And he had been killed for it. A quarter of a gram . . . Like any technology-fire, gunpowder, the combustion engine-in the wrong hands, antimatter could be deadly. Very deadly. Antim
unstoppable. Once removed from its recharging platform at CERN, the canister would count down inexorably. A runaway train. And when time ran out . . .
A blinding light. The roar of thunder. Spontaneous incineration. Just the flash . . . and anempty crater. A big empty crater. The image of her father’s quiet genius being used as a tool of destruction was like poisonin her blood. Antimatter was the ultimate terrorist weapon. It had no metallic parts tmetal detectors, no chemical signature for dogs to tra
authorities located the canister. The countdown had begun . . . Langdon didn’t kno
over Leonardo Vetra’s e
her again, i
“Mr. Langdon?” Kohler’s face was expre
Langdon reluctantly followed, leavinspecialist,” Kohler said, his wh
bastards intend to do with this antimatter.” Langdon tried to focus. Despite the madness around him, his first reaction was logical.Academic rejection. Kohler was still making assumptions. Impossible assumptions. “ThIlluminati are defunct, Mr. Kohler. I st
even another CERN employee who found out about Mr. Vetra’s breakthrough and thought the project was too dangerous to continue.” Kohler looked stunned. “You think this is a crime of conscience, Mr. Langdon? Absurd. Whoever killed Leonardo wanted one thing-the antimatter specimen. And no doubt they have plans for it.”
“You mean terrorism.” “Plainly.”
“But the Illuminati were not terrorists.” “Tell that to Leonardo Vetra.”
Langdon felt a pang of truth in the statement. Leonardo Vetra had indeed been branded
their intention? What would be
smissed it
y was inconceivable. It was entirely out of character. Yes, the Illuminati
s wielded tremendous
most valuable gem on earth-the Illuminati
as twenty-four hours before the batteries die.
they learned anything at all.”
They could recharge it before it explodes. They could build a compatible recharging
if they stole the schematics, a
gineer, not hours!”
with the Illuminati symbol. Where had it come from? The sacred brand seemed too difficult a hoax for someone trying to cover his tracks by casting suspicion elsewhere. There had to be another explanation. Again, Langdon forced himself to consider the implausible. If the Illuminati were still active, and if they stole the antimatter, what would be
their target? The answer furnished by his brain was instantaneous. Langdon dijust as fast. True, the Illuminati had an obvious enemy, but a wide-scale terrorist attack against that enem
had killed people, but individuals, carefully conscripted targets. Mass destruction was somehow heavy-handed. Langdon paused. Then again, he thought, there would be a
rather majestic eloquence to it-antimatter, the ultimate scientific achievement, being used to vaporize-
He refused to accept the preposterous thought. “There is,” he said suddenly, “a logical explanation other than terrorism.”
Kohler stared, obviously waiting. Langdon tried to sort out the thought. The Illuminati had alway
power through financial means. They controlled banks. They owned gold bullion. They were even rumored to possess the single
Diamond, a flawless diamond of enormous proportions. “Money,” Langdon said. “The antimatter could have been stolen for financial gain.”
Kohler looked incredulous. “Financial gain? Where does one sell a droplet of antimatter?”
“Not the specimen,” Langdon countered. “The technology. Antimatter technology must be worth a mint. Maybe someone stole the specimen to do analysis and R and D.” “Industrial espionage? But that canister h
The researchers would blow themselves up before
“
podium like the ones here at CERN.” “In twenty-four hours?” Kohler challenged. “Even
recharger like that would take months to en
“He’s right.” Vittoria’s voice was frail.
Both men turned. Vittoria was moving toward them, her gait as tremulous as her words.
coils, power conditioning alloys, all calibrated to
tter trap was not something one could
simply plug into a wall socket. Once rem as on a oney
not.”
f a half mile! Nine city blocks!”
lt like she’d been stabbed. “But . . . we took every precaution.”
en monitored.
“He’s right. Nobody could reverse engineer a recharger in time. The interface alone would take weeks. Flux filters, servo-
the specific energy grade of the locale.” Langdon frowned. The point was taken. An antima
oved from CERN, the canister wway, twenty-four-hour trip to oblivion.
Which left only one, very disturbing, conclusion.
“We need to call Interpol,” Vittoria said. Even to herself, her voice sounded distant. “We need to call the proper authorities. Immediately.”
Kohler shook his head. “Absolutel
The words stunned her. “No? What do you mean?”
“You and your father have put me in a very difficult position here.” “Director, we need help. We need to find that trap and get it back here before someone gets hurt. We have a responsibility!” “We have a responsibility to think,” Kohler said, his tone hardening. “This situation could have very, very serious repercussions for CERN.” “You’re worried about CERN’s reputation? Do you know what that canister could do to an urban area? It has a blast radius o
“Perhaps you and your father should have considered that before you created the
specimen.” Vittoria fe
“Apparently, it was not enough.”
“But nobody knew about the antimatter.” She realized, of course, it was an absurd argument. Of course somebody knew. Someone had found out.
Vittoria had told no one. That left only two explanations. Either her father had taken someone into his confidence without telling her, which made no sense because it was her father who had sworn them both to secrecy, or she and her father had be
The cell phone maybe? She knew they had spoken a few times while Vittoria was traveling. Had they said too much? It was possible. There was also their E-mail. But they had been discreet, hadn’t they? CERN’s security system? Had they been monitored
somehow without their knowledge? She knew none of that mattered anymore. What wasdone, was done. My father is dead. The thought spurred her to action. She pulled her cell phone from her shorts pocket.
Kohler accelerated toward her, coughing violently, eyes flashing anger. “Who . . . are you
connect us to Interpol.”
front of her. “Are you really so naïve?
nywhere in the world by now. No intelligence agency on earth
do nothing?” Vittoria felt compunction challenging a man in such frail health, but
didn’t even know him anymore.
what is smart,” Kohler said. “We don’t risk CERN’s reputation by involving
ties who cannot help anyway. Not yet. Not without thinking.”
oria knew there was logic somewhere in Kohler’s argument, but she also knew that
a
he said.
ill burned bright, the
ixing with the smell of moss and stale air. Silence surrounded him. The iron
ocking his way looked as old as the tunnel itself, rusted but still holding strong. He
in the darkness, trusting.
on the inside would open the door. The Hassassin marveled
he appointed hour, there was a loud clank of heavy keys on the
calling?”
“CERN’s switchboard. They can
“Think!” Kohler choked, screeching to a halt inThat canister could be a
could possibly mobilize to find it in time.” “So we
the director was so far out of line she
“We doauthori
Vittlogic, by definition, was bereft of moral responsibility. Her father had lived for moral responsibility-careful science, accountability, faith in man’s inherent goodness. Vittoribelieved in those things too, but she saw them in terms of karma. Turning away from Kohler, she snapped open her phone.
“You can’t do that,”
“Just try and stop me.” Kohler did not move.
An instant later, Vittoria realized why. This far underground, her cell phone had no dial tone. Fuming, she headed for the elevator.
26
T he Hassassin stood at the end of the stone tunnel. His torch st
smoke mdoor blwaited
It was almost time. Janus had promised someone
at the betrayal. He would have waited all night at that door to carry out his task, but he sensed it would not be necessary. He was working for determined men. Minutes later, exactly at t
other side of the door. Metal scraped on metal as multiple locks disengaged. One by one, three huge deadbolts ground open. The locks creaked as if they had not been used in centuries. Finally all three were open.
Then there was silence. The Hassassin waited patiently, five minutes, exactly as he had been told. Then, with
electricity in his blood, he pushed. The great door swung open.
27 V ittoria, I will not allow it!” Kohler’s breath was labored and getting worse as the
t. She craved sanctuary, something familiar in this place that no
find
killer. Langdon was being no help at all. His warmth and kindness seemed
o an international incident and CERN suffers-”
ty
le’s
angering lives,” Kohler said, “life is exactly what this is about. You
ohler’s Science-as-God lecture before, and she never bought it.
Scientific advancement carries risk,” Kohler argued. “It always has. Space programs,
oral issues with scientific detachment.
his inner spirit. “You think
Haz-Mat elevator ascended.
Vittoria blocked him ou
longer felt like home. She knew it was not to be. Right now, she had to swallow the pain and act. Get to a phone. Robert Langdon was beside her, silent as usual. Vittoria had given up wondering who the man was. A specialist? Could Kohler be any less specific? Mr. Langdon can help us your father’s
genuine, but he was clearly hiding something. They both were. Kohler was at her again. “As director of CERN, I have a responsibility to the future ofscience. If you amplify this int
“Future of science?” Vittoria turned on him. “Do you really plan to escape accountabiliby never admitting this antimatter came from CERN? Do you plan to ignore the peoplives we’ve put in danger?”
“Not we,” Kohler countered. “You. You and your father.” Vittoria looked away. “And as far as end
know antimatter technology has enormous implications for life on this planet. If CERNgoes bankrupt, destroyed by scandal, everybody loses. Man’s future is in the hands of places like CERN, scientists like you and your father, working to solve tomorrow’s problems.” Vittoria had heard K
Science itself caused half the problems it was trying to solve. “Progress” was MotherEarth’s ultimate malignancy.
“
genetic research, medicine-they all make mistakes. Science needs to survive its own blunders, at any cost. For everyone’s sake.”
Vittoria was amazed at Kohler’s ability to weigh mHis intellect seemed to be the product of an icy divorce from
CERN is so critical to the earth’s future that we should be immune from moral responsibility?”
“Do not argue morals with me. You crossed a line when you made that specimen, and
the jobs of the three
tation. Think about him. A
er does not deserve to be remembered as the creator of a weapon of
”
onvinced my father to create that
tepped out of the elevator,
pulled out her phone, and tried again.
r. “Slow
down. We need to talk.”
“Basta di parlare!”
“Think of your father,” Kohler urged. “What would he do?”
She kept going.
was just trying to protect you. Just
tell me what you want. We need to work together here.”
what?”
ft somewhat of a calling card. That’s the
iming responsibility is his specialty.”
rist group?”
thing began
you have put this entire facility at risk. I’m trying to protect not only thousand scientists who work here, but also your father’s repu
man like your fathmass destruction.
Vittoria felt his spear hit home. I am the one who c
specimen. This is my fault!
When the door opened, Kohler was still talking. Vittoria s
Still no dial tone. Damn! She headed for the door.
“Vittoria, stop.” The director sounded asthmatic now, as he accelerated after he
“Vittoria, I haven’t been totally honest with you.”
Vittoria felt her legs slow.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Kohler said. “I
Vittoria came to a full stop halfway across the lab, but she did not turn. “I want to find the antimatter. And I want to know who killed my father.” She waited. Kohler sighed. “Vittoria, we already know who killed your father. I’m sorry.” Now Vittoria turned. “You
“I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s a difficult-”
“You know who killed my father?”
“We have a very good idea, yes. The killer lereason I called Mr. Langdon. The group cla
“The group? A terro
“Vittoria, they stole a quarter gram of antimatter.”
Vittoria looked at Robert Langdon standing there across the room. Every
falling into place. That explains some of the secrecy. She was amazed it hadn’t occurredto her earlier. Kohler had called the authorities after all. The authorities. Now it seemed
obvious. Robert Langdon was American, clean-cut, conservative, obviously very sharp.
now if your agency
ry at Harvard University.”
ith ice water. “An art teacher?”
ur father
.
ing responsibility calls themselves the Illuminati.”
t Kohler and then at Langdon, wondering if this was some kind of
inati?” she demanded. “As in the Bavarian Illuminati?”
t’s a computer
“the Illuminati is the group claiming responsibility for your
death.”
self
ad suffered a major breach of
nd
Who else could it be? Vittoria should have guessed from the start. She felt a newfound hope as she turned to him.
“Mr. Langdon, I want to know who killed my father. And I want to k
can find the antimatter.” Langdon looked flustered. “My agency?”
“You’re with U.S. Intelligence, I assume.”
“Actually . . . no.” Kohler intervened. “Mr. Langdon is a professor of art histo
Vittoria felt like she had been doused w
“He is a specialist in cult symbology.” Kohler sighed. “Vittoria, we believe yowas killed by a satanic cult.”
Vittoria heard the words in her mind, but she was unable to process them. A satanic cult“The group claim
Vittoria looked aperverse joke. “The Illum
Kohler looked stunned. “You’ve heard of them?” Vittoria felt the tears of frustration welling right below the surface. “Bavarian Illuminati: New World Order. Steve Jackson computer games. Half the techies here play it on the Internet.” Her voice cracked. “But I don’t understand . . .”
Kohler shot Langdon a confused look. Langdon nodded. “Popular game. Ancient brotherhood takes over the world.
Semihistorical. I didn’t know it was in Europe too.”
Vittoria was bewildered. “What are you talking about? The Illuminati? Igame!”
“Vittoria,” Kohler said,father’s
Vittoria mustered every bit of courage she could find to fight the tears. She forced herto hold on and assess the situation logically. But the harder she focused, the less she understood. Her father had been murdered. CERN h
security. There was a bomb counting down somewhere that she was responsible for. Athe director had nominated an art teacher to help them find a mythical fraternity of Satanists.
Vittoria felt suddenly all alone. She turned to go, but Kohler cut her off. He reached for
He produced a crumpled piece of fax paper and handed it to her.
in
d
hear
him on his modem, his phone, faxing, talking. Then Kohler rolled out again. He hadn’t
r Kohlerian melodrama, but she
ern for the director’s health was taking a back
essing dilemma. The CERN switchboard had
.
n
something in his pocket.
Vittoria swayed in horror as her eyes hit the image. “They branded him,” Kohler said. “They branded his goddamn chest.” 28
S ecretary Sylvie Baudeloque was now in a panic. She paced outside the director’s empty office. Where the hell is he? What do I do? It had been a bizarre day. Of course, any day working for Maximilian Kohler had the potential to be strange, but Kohler had been in rare form today.
“Find me Leonardo Vetra!” he had demanded when Sylvie arrived this morning. Dutifully, Sylvie paged, phoned, and E-mailed Leonardo Vetra. Nothing.
So Kohler had left in a huff, apparently to go find Vetra himself. When he rolled back a few hours later, Kohler looked decidedly not well . . . not that he ever actually lookewell, but he looked worse than usual. He locked himself in his office, and she could
been back since.
Sylvie had decided to ignore the antics as yet anothe
began to get concerned when Kohler failed to return at the proper time for his daily injections; the director’s physical condition required regular treatment, and when he decided to push his luck, the results were never pretty-respiratory shock, coughing fits, and a mad dash by the infirmary personnel. Sometimes Sylvie thought Maximilian Kohler had a death wish.
She considered paging him to remind him, but she’d learned charity was something Kohlers’s pride despised. Last week, he had become so enraged with a visiting scientist who had shown him undue pity that Kohler clambered to his feet and threw a clipboard at the man’s head. King Kohler could be surprisingly agile when he was pissé.
At the moment, however, Sylvie’s concburner . . . replaced by a much more pr
phoned five minutes ago in a frenzy to say they had an urgent call for the director. “He’s not available,” Sylvie had said. Then the CERN operator told her who was calling
Sylvie half laughed aloud. “You’re kidding, right?” She listened, and her face cloudedwith disbelief. “And your caller ID confirms-” Sylvie was frowning. “I see. Okay. Ca
you ask what the-” She sighed. “No. That’s fine. Tell him to hold. I’ll locate the director
ctor. She had called his cell line three times
h time gotten the same message: “The mobile customer you are trying to reach is
ange.” Out of range? How far could he go? So Sylvie had dialed Kohler’s beeper.
ce. No response. Most unlike him. She’d even E-mailed his mobile computer.
the director’s attention. He would not be pleased, but the man on the phone
ent to the metal box on his wall behind his desk. She opened the cover,
and found the correct button.
V emember how they had gotten to the main elevator, but they were
. Kohler was behind her, his breathing labored now. Langdon’s
ike a ghost. He had taken the fax from her hand and
slipped it in his jacket pocket away from her sight, but the image was still burned into her
As the elevator climbed, Vittoria’s world swirled into darkness. Papa! In her mind she
the oasis of her memory, Vittoria was with him.
d, rolling down hills of edelweiss flowers, the Swiss sky spinning
hat is it, angel?”
tter!”
the matter?”
?”
he matter! Rocks!
Trees! Atoms! Even anteaters! Everything is the matter!”
right away. Yes, I understand. I’ll hurry.”
But Sylvie had not been able to find the direand eacout of r
TwiNothing. It was like the man had disappeared off the face of the earth. So what do I do? she now wondered. Short of searching CERN’s entire complex herself, Sylvie knew there was only one other way to get
was not someone the director should keep waiting. Nor did it sound like the caller was in any mood to be told the director was unavailable. Startled with her own boldness, Sylvie made her decision. She walked into Kohler’s office and w
stared at the controls,
Then she took a deep breath and grabbed the microphone.
29
ittoria did not rthere. Ascending
concerned gaze passed through her l
memory.
reached for him. For just a moment, in
She was nine years oloverhead.
Papa! Papa!
Leonardo Vetra was laughing beside her, beaming. “W
“Papa!” she giggled, nuzzling close to him. “Ask me what’s the ma
“But you look happy, sweetie. Why would I ask you what’s
“Just ask me.”
He shrugged. “What’s the matter
She immediately started laughing. “What’s the matter? Everything is t
He laughed. “Did you make that up?”
“Pretty smart, huh?” “My little Einstein.”
She frowned. “He has stupid hair. I saw his picture.”
“He’s got a smart head, though. I told you what he proved, right?”
”
I’m glad you hate it. Because girls aren’t even allowed to do math.”
ly no math for little girls.”
rry,” her father said. “I could tell you about math, but if I got caught . . .” He
nervously around the deserted hills.
ria followed his gaze. “Okay,” she whispered, “just tell me quietly.”
nest
A single sentient thought began pounding at Vittoria with unrelenting force.
Where is the antimatter?
The horrifying answer was only a moment away.
Her eyes widened with dread. “Dad! No! You promised!
“E=MC2!” He tickled her playfully. “E=MC2!”
“No math! I told you! I hate it!”
“
Vittoria stopped short. “They aren’t?”
“Of course not. Everyone knows that. Girls play with dollies. Boys do math. No math for girls. I’m not even permitted to talk to little girls about math.”
“What! But that’s not fair!”
“Rules are rules. Absolute
Vittoria looked horrified. “But dolls are boring!”
“I’m solooked
Vitto
The motion of the elevator startled her. Vittoria opened her eyes. He was gone. Reality rushed in, wrapping a frosty grip around her. She looked to Langdon. The earconcern in his gaze felt like the warmth of a guardian angel, especially in the aura of Kohler’s chill.
30
M aximilian Kohler. Kindly call your office immediately.”
Blazing sunbeams flooded Langdon’s eyes as the elevator doors opened into the maatrium. Before the echo of the announcement on the intercom overhead faded, every electronic device on Kohler’s wheelchair started beeping and buzzing simultaneously. His pager. H
in
is phone. His E-mail. Kohler glanced down at the blinking lights in apparent
tension between them had been erased and replaced by a single, unifying foreboding.
bterranean, out of
. . . at Leonardo da Vinci Airport. Forty
to be failing him now. He descended into a fit of
words, “Locate the canister immediately .
ssed but detached.
t,
been breached. The ambigram.
The murdered priest/scientist. The antimatter. And now . . . the target. Leonardo da Vinci
thing. In a moment of stark realization, Langdon knew he
e light.
lt by
tists in the hall stopped and stood back.
t
bewilderment. The director had resurfaced, and he was back in range.
“Director Kohler. Please call your office.” The sound of his name on the PA seemed to startle Kohler. He glanced up, looking angered and then almost immediately concerned. Langdon’s eyes met his, and Vittoria’s too. The three of them were motionless a moment, as if all the
Kohler took his cell phone from the armrest. He dialed an extension and fought off another coughing fit. Vittoria and Langdon waited.
“This is . . . Director Kohler,” he said, wheezing. “Yes? I was surange.” He listened, his gray eyes widening. “Who? Yes, patch it through.” There was a
pause. “Hello? This is Maximilian Kohler. I am the director of CERN. With whom am I speaking?” Vittoria and Langdon watched in silence as Kohler listened. “It would be unwise,” Kohler finally said, “to speak of this by phone. I will be there immediately.” He was coughing again. “Meet me
minutes.” Kohler’s breath seemedcoughing and barely managed to choke out the
. . I am coming.” Then he clicked off his phone. Vittoria ran to Kohler’s side, but Kohler could no longer speak. Langdon watched as
Vittoria pulled out her cell phone and paged CERN’s infirmary. Langdon felt like a ship on the periphery of a storm . . . to
Meet me at Leonardo da Vinci Airport. Kohler’s words echoed.
The uncertain shadows that had fogged Langdon’s mind all morning, in a single instansolidified into a vivid image. As he stood there in the swirl of confusion, he felt a door inside him open . . . as if some mystic threshold had just
Airport could only mean one
had just crossed over. He had become a believer. Five kilotons. Let there b
Two paramedics materialized, racing across the atrium in white smocks. They kneKohler, putting an oxygen mask on his face. Scien
Kohler took two long pulls, pushed the mask aside, and still gasping for air, looked up aVittoria and Langdon. “Rome.”
“Rome?Kohler’s face was twisted, his gray eyes wa
” Vittoria demanded. “The antimatter is in Rome? Who called?”
tering. “The Swiss . . .” He choked on the
s, and the paramedics put the mask back over his face. As they prepared to take him
s mask. “Go . . . call me . . .” Then the paramedics
d to Langdon.
n minutes had been a blur. Now that he had finished
ng Vittoria on the Illuminati and their covenant against the Vatican, the scope of
ituation was starting to sink in.
g
owledge of the Illuminati could
e.
m
d if all of the art could possibly be evacuated if necessary.
hing tons. Not to
St. Peter’s Basilica,
ments
wordaway, Kohler reached up and grabbed Langdon’s arm. Langdon nodded. He knew. “Go . . .” Kohler wheezed beneath hi
were rolling him away. Vittoria stood riveted to the floor, watching him go. Then she turne
“Rome? But . . . what was that about the Swiss?” Langdon put a hand on her shoulder, barely whispering the words. “The Swiss Guard,” he said. “The sworn sentinels of Vatican City.” 31
T he X-33 space plane roared into the sky and arched south toward Rome. On board, Langdon sat in silence. The last fiftee
briefithis s
What the hell am I doing? Langdon wondered. I should have gone home when I had the chance! Deep down, though, he knew he’d never had the chance. Langdon’s better judgment had screamed at him to return to Boston. Nonetheless, academic astonishment had somehow vetoed prudence. Everything he had ever believed about the demise of the Illuminati was suddenly looking like a brilliant sham. Part of him craved proof. Confirmation. There was also a question of conscience. With Kohler ailin
and Vittoria on her own, Langdon knew that if his knassist in any way, he had a moral obligation to be her
There was more, though. Although Langdon was ashamed to admit it, his initial horror on hearing about the antimatter’s location was not only the danger to human life in Vatican City, but for something else as well. Art.
The world’s largest art collection was now sitting on a time bomb. The Vatican Museuhoused over 60,000 priceless pieces in 1,407 rooms-Michelangelo, da Vinci, Bernini, Botticelli. Langdon wondere
He knew it was impossible. Many of the pieces were sculptures weigmention, the greatest treasures were architectural-the Sistine Chapel,
Michelangelo’s famed spiral staircase leading to the Musèo Vaticano-priceless testato man’s creative genius. Langdon wondered how much time was left on the canister.
“Thanks for coming,” Vittoria said, her voice quiet. Langdon emerged from his daydream and looked up. Vittoria was sitting across the aisle.
Even in the stark fluorescent light of the cabin, there was an aura of composure about
s
d to imagine himself in an open field.
had happened.
. Although he
an. He respected the power of
ell, it’s not that easy. Having faith requires leaps of faith, cerebral
ns and divine interventions. And then there
ran, Buddhist scripture . . . they all carry
nalties. They claim that if I don’t live by a specific
hell. I can’t imagine a God who would rule that way.”
lessly.”
caught him off guard. “What?”
sked if you
ds and history of
ning. I am not asking you to pass
judgment on literature. I am asking if you believe in God. When you lie out under the
rk
of God’s hand?”
her-an almost magnetic radiance of wholeness. Her breathing seemed deeper now, as if a spark of self-preservation had ignited within her . . . a craving for justice and retribution, fueled by a daughter’s love.
Vittoria had not had time to change from her shorts and sleeveless top, and her tawny legs were now goose-bumped in the cold of the plane. Instinctively Langdon removed hijacket and offered it to her. “American chivalry?” She accepted, her eyes thanking him silently. The plane jostled across some turbulence, and Langdon felt a surge of danger. The windowless cabin felt cramped again, and he trie
The notion, he realized, was ironic. He had been in an open field when it
Crushing darkness. He pushed the memory from his mind. Ancient history. Vittoria was watching him. “Do you believe in God, Mr. Langdon?” The question startled him. The earnestness in Vittoria’s voice was even more disarmingthan the inquiry. Do I believe in God? He had hoped for a lighter topic of conversation to pass the trip.
A spiritual conundrum, Langdon thought. That’s what my friends call me
studied religion for years, Langdon was not a religious m
faith, the benevolence of churches, the strength religion gave so many people . . . and yet, for him, the intellectual suspension of disbelief that was imperative if one were truly going to “believe” had always proved too big an obstacle for his academic mind. “I want to believe,” he heard himself say. Vittoria’s reply carried no judgment or challenge. “So why don’t you?” He chuckled. “W
acceptance of miracles-immaculate conceptio
are the codes of conduct. The Bible, the Kosimilar requirements-and similar pe
code I will go to
“I hope you don’t let your students dodge questions that shame
The comment
“Mr. Langdon, I did not ask if you believe what man says about God. I abelieved in God. There is a difference. Holy scripture is stories . . . legen
man’s quest to understand his own need for mea
stars, do you sense the divine? Do you feel in your gut that you are staring up at the wo
Langdon took a long moment to consider it. “I’m prying,” Vittoria apologized.
“No, I just . . .”
“Certainly you must debate issues of faith with your classes.”
“Endlessly.”
“And you play devil’s advocate, I imagine. Always fueling the debate.”
Langdon smiled. “You must be a teacher too.” “No, but I learned from a master. My father could argue two sides of a Möbius Strip.” Langdon laughed, picturing the artful crafting of a Möbius Strip-a twisted ring of paper,
ddenly sensing his own age. “Vittoria, I’m Robert.”
Vittoria paused, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. “Religion is like language or dress.
re
ower
tian or a Muslim
ook at the diffusion of religion around the globe.”
fic methods for understanding it are arbitrary. Some
e God must exist. My mind tells me I
I am not meant to.”
t, but we will never
which technically possessed only one side. Langdon had first seen the single-sided shapein the artwork of M. C. Escher. “May I ask you a question, Ms. Vetra?”
“Call me Vittoria. Ms. Vetra makes me feel old.”
He sighed inwardly, su
“You had a question.” “Yes. As a scientist and the daughter of a Catholic priest, what do you think of religion?”
We gravitate toward the practices with which we were raised. In the end, though, we aall proclaiming the same thing. That life has meaning. That we are grateful for the p
that created us.” Langdon was intrigued. “So you’re saying that whether you are a Chris
simply depends on where you were born?” “Isn’t it obvious? L
“So faith is random?”
“Hardly. Faith is universal. Our speci
of us pray to Jesus, some of us go to Mecca, some of us study subatomic particles. In the end we are all just searching for truth, that which is greater than ourselves.”
Langdon wished his students could express themselves so clearly. Hell, he wished he could express himself so clearly. “And God?” he asked. “Do you believe in God?”
Vittoria was silent for a long time. “Science tells mwill never understand God. And my heart tells me
How’s that for concise, he thought. “So you believe God is fac
understand Him.”
“Her,” she said with a smile. “Your Native Americans had it right.”
felt something stir within him that he had not felt in a long time.
. . . a purity in her voice. He felt drawn.
inati?”
Langdon thought back. “Actually, it was money.”
inted. “Money? Consulting, you mean?”
currency.” He
dollar bill. “I
im seriously.
”
ce of Illumination. See what’s above it?”
Vittoria studied the bill. “An eye inside a triangle.”
”
enlightened
Langdon chuckled. “Mother Earth.”
“Gaea. The planet is an organism. All of us are cells with different purposes. And yet weare intertwined. Serving each other. Serving the whole.” Looking at her, LangdonThere was a bewitching clarity in her eyes
“Mr. Langdon, let me ask you another question.”
“Robert,” he said. Mr. Langdon makes me feel old. I am old!
“If you don’t mind my asking, Robert, how did you get involved with the Illum
Vittoria looked disappo
Langdon laughed, realizing how it must have sounded. “No. Money as in
reached in his pants pocket and pulled out some money. He found a one-
became fascinated with the cult when I first learned that U.S. currency is covered with Illuminati symbology.”
Vittoria’s eyes narrowed, apparently not knowing whether or not to take h
Langdon handed her the bill. “Look at the back. See the Great Seal on the left?”
Vittoria turned the one-dollar bill over. “You mean the pyramid?”
“The pyramid. Do you know what pyramids have to do with U.S. history?
Vittoria shrugged.
“Exactly,” Langdon said. “Absolutely nothing.” Vittoria frowned. “So why is it the central symbol of your Great Seal?” “An eerie bit of history,” Langdon said. “The pyramid is an occult symbol representing a convergence upward, toward the ultimate sour
“It’s called the trinacria. Have you ever seen that eye in a triangle anywhere else?
Vittoria was silent a moment. “Actually, yes, but I’m not sure . . .”
“It’s emblazoned on Masonic lodges around the world.”
“The symbol is Masonic?”
“Actually, no. It’s Illuminati. They called it their ‘shining delta.’ A call for
change. The eye signifies the Illuminati’s ability to infiltrate and watch all things. The
lta,
lking to a scientist.”
d down at the bill again. “The writing under the
. In God We Trust.”
bology end up on the most
ency in the world?”
r
fluence, nobody knows. But it was Wallace who sold the design
reat Seal to the president.”
hy would the president have agreed to-”
symbol
was a
shining triangle represents enlightenment. And the triangle is also the Greek letter dewhich is the mathematical symbol for-”
“Change. Transition.” Langdon smiled. “I forgot I was ta
“So you’re saying the U.S. Great Seal is a call for enlightened, all-seeing change?” “Some would call it a New World Order.” Vittoria seemed startled. She glance
pyramid says Novus . . . Ordo . . .”
“Novus Ordo Seculorum,” Langdon said. “It means New Secular Order.” “Secular as in nonreligious?”
“Nonreligious. The phrase not only clearly states the Illuminati objective, but it also blatantly contradicts the phrase beside it
Vittoria seemed troubled. “But how could all this sym
powerful curr
“Most academics believe it was through Vice President Henry Wallace. He was an uppeechelon Mason and certainly had ties to the Illuminati. Whether it was as a member or innocently under their in
of the G“How? W
“The president was Franklin D. Roosevelt. Wallace simply told him Novus OrdoSeculorum meant New Deal.” Vittoria seemed skeptical. “And Roosevelt didn’t have anyone else look at the
before telling the Treasury to print it?” “No need. He and Wallace were like brothers.”
“Brothers?”
“Check your history books,” Langdon said with a smile. “Franklin D. Roosevelt
well-known Mason.”
32
L
angdon held his breath as the X-33 spiraled into Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci International Airport. Vittoria sat across from him, eyes closed as if trying to will the
situation into control. The craft touched down and taxied to a private hangar.
ging from the cockpit. “Had to trim
atch. They had been airborne thirty-seven minutes.
nt to tell me what’s going on?”
sic.
e mystical replenishing energy.
used, already sweating.
med to having to defend his timepiece. The
n Mickey Mouse watch had been a childhood gift from his parents.
rted foolishness of Mickey’s outstretched arms designating the hour, it
ing from
a
and had
ace plane rides, Langdon
had hoped the Vatican would send a car.
al seal of the Vatican-the sacred symbol of the Holy See or “holy seat” of
“Sorry for the slow flight,” the pilot apologized, emer
her back. Noise regulations over populated areas.”
Langdon checked his w
The pilot popped the outer door. “Anybody wa
Neither Vittoria nor Langdon responded. “Fine,” he said, stretching. “I’ll be in the cockpit with the air-conditioning and my muJust me and Garth.” The late-afternoon sun blazed outside the hangar. Langdon carried his tweed jacket over his shoulder. Vittoria turned her face skyward and inhaled deeply, as if the sun’s rays somehow transferred to her som
Mediterraneans, Langdon m
“Little old for cartoons, aren’t you?” Vittoria asked, without opening her eyes.
“I’m sorry?” “Your wristwatch. I saw it on the plane.” Langdon flushed slightly. He was accusto
collector’s editioDespite the conto
was the only watch Langdon had ever worn. Waterproof and glow-in-the-dark, it was perfect for swimming laps or walking unlit college paths at night. When Langdon’s students questioned his fashion sense, he told them he wore Mickey as a daily reminder to stay young at heart. “It’s six o’clock,” he said.
Vittoria nodded, eyes still closed. “I think our ride’s here.” Langdon heard the distant whine, looked up, and felt a sinking feeling. Approach
the north was a helicopter, slicing low across the runway. Langdon had been onhelicopter once in the Andean Palpa Valley looking at the Nazca sand drawings
not enjoyed it one bit. A flying shoebox. After a morning of sp
Apparently not.
The chopper slowed overhead, hovered a moment, and dropped toward the runway in front of them. The craft was white and carried a coat of arms emblazoned on the side-two skeleton keys crossing a shield and papal crown. He knew the symbol well. It was the tradition
government, the seat being literally the ancient throne of St. Peter. The Holy Chopper, Langdon groaned, watching the craft land. He’d forgotten the Vatican owned one of these things, used for transporting the Pope to the airport, to meetings, or to
The pilot looked like he was festooned for a Shakespearean melodrama. His puffy tunic
ts.
at looked like slippers. On top of it all, he wore a black felt
“I admit, not one of Michelangelo’s
e moved
any
et 6 inches, trained by the Swiss
Army, and unmarried. This imperial corps was envied by world governments as the most
ade remarkable time,” he said, giving the X-33 a mystified stare. He turned to
ria’s legs and frowned. He had forgotten. Vatican City
-both male and female. The regulation was
a way of showing respect for the sanctity of God’s city.
his summer palace in Gandolfo. Langdon definitely would have preferred a car. The pilot jumped from the cockpit and strode toward them across the tarmac. Now it was Vittoria who looked uneasy. “That’s our pilot?” Langdon shared her concern. “To fly, or not to fly. That is the question.”
was vertically striped in brilliant blue and gold. He wore matching pantaloons and spa
On his feet were black flats thberet.
“Traditional Swiss Guard uniforms,” Langdon explained. “Designed by Michelangelo himself.” As the man drew closer, Langdon winced.
better efforts.”
Despite the man’s garish attire, Langdon could tell the pilot meant business. Htoward them with all the rigidity and dignity of a U.S. Marine. Langdon had read m
times about the rigorous requirements for becoming one of the elite Swiss Guard. Recruited from one of Switzerland’s four Catholic cantons, applicants had to be Swiss males between nineteen and thirty years old, at least 5 fe
allegiant and deadly security force in the world.
“You are from CERN?” the guard asked, arriving before them. His voice was steely.
“Yes, sir,” Langdon replied. “You m
Vittoria. “Ma’am, do you have any other clothing?” “I beg your pardon?” He motioned to her legs. “Short pants are not permitted inside Vatican City.” Langdon glanced down at Vitto
had a strict ban on visible legs above the knee
“This is all I have,” she said. “We came in a hurry.”
The guard nodded, clearly displeased. He turned next to Langdon. “Are you carrying anyweapons?”
Weapons? Langdon thought. I’m not even carrying a change of underwear! He shook his head.
The officer crouched at Langdon’s feet and began patting him down, starting at his socks.
oved up Langdon’s legs,
n. Finally they moved up to his chest and
Vittoria. He ran
learly intended to intimidate. Vittoria did not
What’s that?” the guard said, pointing to a faint square bulge in the front pocket of her
deed nothing more than a phone,
, please,” the guard said.
er arms out and rotating a full 360 degrees.
me to the same conclusion.
don and Vittoria approached.
n stooping as she passed beneath the
Guard, who was climbing in the
e
t?”
anister. You called CERN about a canister?”
man shrugged. “No idea what you’re talking about. We’ve been very busy today. My
Trusting guy, Langdon thought. The guard’s strong hands mcoming uncomfortably close to his groi
shoulders. Apparently content Langdon was clean, the guard turned to his eyes up her legs and torso.
Vittoria glared. “Don’t even think about it.” The guard fixed Vittoria with a gaze c
flinch.
“
shorts. Vittoria removed an ultrathin cell phone. The guard took it, clicked it on, waited for a dial tone, and then, apparently satisfied that it was in
returned it to her. Vittoria slid it back into her pocket. “Turn around
Vittoria obliged, holding h
The guard carefully studied her. Langdon had already decided that Vittoria’s form-fitting shorts and blouse were not bulging anywhere they shouldn’t have been. Apparently the guard ca
“Thank you. This way please.”
The Swiss Guard chopper churned in neutral as LangVittoria boarded first, like a seasoned pro, barely eve
whirling rotors. Langdon held back a moment. “No chance of a car?” he yelled, half-joking to the Swiss
pilot’s seat.
The man did not answer.
Langdon knew that with Rome’s maniacal drivers, flying was probably safer anyway. Htook a deep breath and boarded, stooping cautiously as he passed beneath the spinning rotors.
As the guard fired up the engines, Vittoria called out, “Have you located the canister?” The guard glanced over his shoulder, looking confused. “The wha
“The c
Thecommander told me to pick you up. That’s all I know.”
Vittoria gave Langdon an unsettled look.
“Buckle up, please,” the pilot said as the engine revved. Langdon reached for his seat belt and strapped himself in. The tiny fuselage seemed to shrink around him. Then with a roar, the craft shot up and banked sharply north toward Rome.
Rome . . . the caput mundi, where Caesar once ruled, where St. Peter was crucified. The
cradle of modern civilization. And at its core . . . a ticking bomb.
g
, he thought, recalling the Hopi term for “life out of balance.”
dignified symbol for the rise of human
t to host centuries of barbaric eventsbattling
to the death, gang rapes of
d served as the
where the ancient
oodshed
ian
d
ven
33 R ome from the air is a labyrinth-an indecipherable maze of ancient roadways windinaround buildings, fountains, and crumbling ruins. The Vatican chopper stayed low in the sky as it sliced northwest through the permanent smog layer coughed up by the congestion below. Langdon gazed down at the mopeds, sight-seeing buses, and armies of miniature Fiat sedans buzzing around rotaries in all directions. Koyaanisqatsi
Vittoria sat in silent determination in the seat beside him. The chopper banked hard.
His stomach dropping, Langdon gazed farther into the distance. His eyes found the crumbling ruins of the Roman Coliseum. The Coliseum, Langdon had always thought, was one of history’s greatest ironies. Now a
culture and civilization, the stadium had been builhungry lions shredding prisoners, armies of slaves
exotic women captured from far-off lands, as well as public beheadings and castrations. It was ironic, Langdon thought, or perhaps fitting, that the Coliseum haarchitectural blueprint for Harvard’s Soldier Field-the football stadium
traditions of savagery were reenacted every fall . . . crazed fans screaming for bl
as Harvard battled Yale. As the chopper headed north, Langdon spied the Roman Forum-the heart of pre-ChristRome. The decaying columns looked like toppled gravestones in a cemetery that hasomehow avoided being swallowed by the metropolis surrounding it. To the west the wide basin of the Tiber River wound enormous arcs across the city. E
from the air Langdon could tell the water was deep. The churning currents were brown, filled with silt and foam from heavy rains. “Straight ahead,” the pilot said, climbing higher. Langdon and Vittoria looked out and saw it. Like a mountain parting the morning fog, the
colossal dome rose out of the haze before them: St. Peter’s Basilica.
“Now that,” Langdon said to Vittoria, “is something Michelangelo got right.” Langdon had never seen St. Peter’s from the air. The marble façade blazed like fire in the afternoon sun. Adorned with 140 statues of saints, martyrs, and angels, the Herculean
edifice stretched two football fields wide and a staggering six long. The cavernous
this magnitude could dwarf the piazza before it.
al trompe de l’oiel used to heighten the piazza’s sense of grandeur.
ine before him, Langdon wondered what St. Peter
Vatican City,” the pilot said, sounding anything but welcoming.
the towering stone bastions that loomed ahead-impenetrable
urrounding the complex . . . a strangely earthly defense for a spiritual
ery.
Look!” Vittoria said suddenly, grabbing Langdon’s arm. She motioned frantically
e
looked.
or
. Huge satellite dishes pointed skyward from the roof of every truck. The
dishes were emblazoned with familiar names:
A
BC
NITED PRESS INTERNATIONAL
nse. “Why is the press here? What’s going on?”
interior of the basilica had room for over 60,000 worshipers . . . over one hundred times the population of Vatican City, the smallest country in the world. Incredibly, though, not even a citadel of
A sprawling expanse of granite, St. Peter’s Square was a staggering open space in the congestion of Rome, like a classical Central Park. In front of the basilica, bordering the vast oval common, 284 columns swept outward in four concentric arcs of diminishing size . . . an architectur
As he stared at the magnificent shr
would think if he were here now. The Saint had died a gruesome death, crucified upside down on this very spot. Now he rested in the most sacred of tombs, buried five stories down, directly beneath the central cupola of the basilica.
“
Langdon looked out atfortifications sworld of secrets, power, and myst
“
downward toward St. Peter’s Square directly beneath them. Langdon put his face to thwindow and
“Over there,” she said, pointing.
Langdon looked. The rear of the piazza looked like a parking lot crowded with a dozenso trailer trucks
TELEVISOR EUROPEA VIDEO ITALI
BU
Langdon felt suddenly confused, wondering if the news of the antimatter had already leaked out. Vittoria seemed suddenly te
The pilot turned and gave her an odd look over his shoulder. “What’s going on? You don’t know?” “No,” she fired back, her accent husky and strong.
“Il Conclavo,” he said. “It is to be sealed in about an hour. The whole world is watching.”
Il Conclavo. The word rang a long moment in Langdon’s ears before dropping like a brick to the pit of
his stombeen in
ach. Il Conclavo. The Vatican Conclave. How could he have forgotten? It had
the news recently.
en days ago, the Pope, after a tremendously popular twelve-year reign, had passed
n was
athered in Vatican City to elect the new Pope.
r
.
in numerous languages, the universal tongues
ering radiance that
r
decided who among them would be the next Pope.
Fifteaway. Every paper in the world had carried the story about the Pope’s fatal stroke while sleeping-a sudden and unexpected death many whispered was suspicious. But now, in keeping with the sacred tradition, fifteen days after the death of a Pope, the Vaticaholding Il Conclavo-the sacred ceremony in which the 165 cardinals of the world-the most powerful men in Christendom-g
Every cardinal on the planet is here today, Langdon thought as the chopper passed oveSt. Peter’s Basilica. The expansive inner world of Vatican City spread out beneath himThe entire power structure of the Roman Catholic Church is sitting on a time bomb. 34
C ardinal Mortati gazed up at the lavish ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and tried to find a moment of quiet reflection. The frescoed walls echoed with the voices of cardinals fromnations around the globe. The men jostled in the candlelit tabernacle, whispering excitedly and consulting with one another
being English, Italian, and Spanish. The light in the chapel was usually sublime-long rays of tinted sun slicing through the darkness like rays from heaven-but not today. As was the custom, all of the chapel’s windows had been covered in black velvet in the name of secrecy. This ensured that no one on the inside could send signals or communicate in any way with the outside world.The result was a profound darkness lit only by candles . . . a shimm
seemed to purify everyone it touched, making them all ghostly . . . like saints. What privilege, Mortati thought, that I am to oversee this sanctified event. Cardinals oveeighty years of age were too old to be eligible for election and did not attend conclave, but at seventy-nine years old, Mortati was the most senior cardinal here and had been appointed to oversee the proceedings.
Following tradition, the cardinals gathered here two hours before conclave to catch upwith friends and engage in last-minute discussion. At 7 P.M., the late Pope’s chamberlain would arrive, give opening prayer, and then leave. Then the Swiss Guard would seal the doors and lock all the cardinals inside. It was then that the oldest and most secretive political ritual in the world would begin. The cardinals would not be released until they
Conclave. Even the name was secretive. “Con clave” literally meant “locked with a key.”
atched and waited, speculating as
inals would become the ruler of one billion Catholics worldwide.
an intense, politically charged atmosphere, and over the centuries they
ent had emerged. Mystifyingly, four cardinals
the chapel. Mortati knew that all the exits to Vatican City were
d, and the missing cardinals could not have gone far, but still, with less than an
fore opening prayer, he was feeling disconcerted. After all, the four missing men
o ordinary cardinals. They were the cardinals.
per channels
ther
f all
Cardinal Mortati was starting to fear it might be a
Terra firma,” the pilot announced as they touched down. He exited and opened the
or for Langdon and Vittoria.
the craft and turned to help Vittoria, but she had already
the ground. Every muscle in her body seemed tuned to one
timatter before it left a horrific legacy.
The cardinals were permitted no contact whatsoever with the outside world. No phone calls. No messages. No whispers through doorways. Conclave was a vacuum, not to be influenced by anything in the outside world. This would ensure that the cardinals kept Solum Dum prae oculis . . . only God before their eyes. Outside the walls of the chapel, of course, the media w
to which of the cardConclaves created
had turned deadly; poisonings, fist fights, and even murder had erupted within the sacredwalls. Ancient history, Mortati thought. Tonight’s conclave will be unified, blissful, and above all . . . brief. Or at least that had been his speculation.
Now, however, an unexpected developmwere absent from
guardehour bewere n
The chosen four. As overseer of the conclave, Mortati had already sent word through the pro
to the Swiss Guard alerting them to the cardinals’ absence. He had yet to hear back. Ocardinals had now noticed the puzzling absence. The anxious whispers had begun. Ocardinals, these four should be on time!
long evening after all. He had no idea.
35 T he Vatican’s helipad, for reasons of safety and noise control, is located in the northwest tip of Vatican City, as far from St. Peter’s Basilica as possible.
“sliding do
Langdon descended fromdropped effortlessly to ding the an
objective-fin
After stretching a reflective sun tarp across the cockpit window, the pilot ushered them to an oversized electric golf cart waiting near the helipad. The cart whisked them silently alongside the country’s western border-a fifty-foot-tall cement bulwark thick enough to ward off attacks even by tanks. Lining the interior of the wall, posted at fifty-meter
intervals, Swiss Guards stood at attention, surveying the interior of the grounds. The cart
manicured road past a squat building marked RADIO VATICANA.
-to
ers
f
d
ime for a
ways.
he guard checked his black, military-style chronograph-an odd anachronism beneath his
y for secrecy and security until the conclave concludes.”
d oddly literal.
k of the
nd followed it
turned sharply right onto Via della Osservatorio. Signs pointed in all directions: PALAZZIO GOVERNATORIO COLLEGIO ETHIOPIANA BASILICA SAN PIETRO CAPELLA SISTINA They accelerated up the
This, Langdon realized to his amazement, was the hub of the world’s most listenedradio programming-Radio Vaticana-spreading the word of God to millions of listen
around the globe. “Attenzione,” the pilot said, turning sharply into a rotary.
As the cart wound round, Langdon could barely believe the sight now coming into view. Giardini Vaticani, he thought. The heart of Vatican City. Directly ahead rose the rear oSt. Peter’s Basilica, a view, Langdon realized, most people never saw. To the right loomed the Palace of the Tribunal, the lush papal residence rivaled only by Versailles in its baroque embellishment. The severe-looking Governatorato building was now behin
them, housing Vatican City’s administration. And up ahead on the left, the massive rectangular edifice of the Vatican Museum. Langdon knew there would be no t
museum visit this trip.
“Where is everyone?” Vittoria asked, surveying the deserted lawns and walk
T
puffy sleeve. “The cardinals are convened in the Sistine Chapel. Conclave begins in a little under an hour.” Langdon nodded, vaguely recalling that before conclave the cardinals spent two hours inside the Sistine Chapel in quiet reflection and visitations with their fellow cardinals from around the globe. The time was meant to renew old friendships among the cardinals and facilitate a less heated election process. “And the rest of the residents and staff?” “Banned from the cit
“And when does it conclude?” The guard shrugged. “God only knows.” The words sounde
After parking the cart on the wide lawn directly behind St. Peter’s Basilica, the guard escorted Langdon and Vittoria up a stone escarpment to a marble plaza off the bacbasilica. Crossing the plaza, they approached the rear wall of the basilica a
through a triangular courtyard, across Via Belvedere, and into a series of buildings closely huddled together. Langdon’s art history had taught him enough Italian to pick out signs for the Vatican Printing Office, the Tapestry Restoration Lab, Post Office
Management, and the Church of St. Ann. They crossed another small square and arrived
stone building. On either side of
e entrance, like two stone statues, stood a pair of guards.
defending the Christian crusaders in the fifteenth century.
forward, crossing their long
he
off. “Il comandante vuole vederli subito.”
ped aside.
d
inted down a steep set of stairs. “Down, please.”
the white marble treads as they descended between a
one of the most horrific tragedies in Renaissance art. In 1857, Pope Pius IX
that the accurate representation of the male form might incite lust inside the
. So he got a chisel and mallet and hacked off the genitalia of every single male
ue inside Vatican City. He defaced works by Michelangelo, Bramante, and Bernini.
h the damage. Hundreds of sculptures had been
ondered if there was a huge crate of stone penises
.
at their destination.
The Office of the Swiss Guard is housed adjacent to Il Corpo di Vigilanza, directly northeast of St. Peter’s Basilica. The office is a squat,
th
Langdon had to admit, these guards did not look quite so comical. Although they also wore the blue and gold uniform, each wielded the traditional “Vatican long sword”-an eight-foot spear with a razor-sharp scythe-rumored to have decapitated countless Muslims while
As Langdon and Vittoria approached, the two guards stepped
swords, blocking the entrance. One looked up at the pilot in confusion. “I pantaloni,”said, motioning to Vittoria’s shorts. The pilot waved them
The guards frowned. Reluctantly they step
Inside, the air was cool. It looked nothing like the administrative security offices Langdon would have imagined. Ornate and impeccably furnished, the hallways containepaintings Langdon was certain any museum worldwide would gladly have featured in itsmain gallery. The pilot po
Langdon and Vittoria followed
gauntlet of nude male sculptures. Each statue wore a fig leaf that was lighter in color than the rest of the body.
The Great Castration, Langdon thought.
It was decidedVatican
statPlaster fig leaves were used to patcemasculated. Langdon had often w
someplace. “Here,” the guard announced. They reached the bottom of the stairs and dead-ended at a heavy, steel door. The guard typed an entry code, and the door slid open. Langdon and Vittoria entered.
Beyond the threshold was absolute mayhem
36 T he Office of the Swiss Guard.
Langdon stood in the doorway, surveying the collision of centuries before them. Mixed
m was a lushly adorned Renaissance library complete with inlaid
stries . . . and yet the room bristled with
tronic maps of the Vatican complex, and
and
to an exceptionally tall, wiry
on a cellular phone and stood so
. The guard said something to him, and the man
ttoria. He nodded, then turned his back on them and
stairs.
that the security center was currently in
an who had weathered tempests, his face hale and steeled.
th
media. The roo
bookshelves, oriental carpets, and colorful tapehigh-tech gear-banks of computers, faxes, elec
televisions tuned to CNN. Men in colorful pantaloons typed feverishly on computers listened intently in futuristic headphones. “Wait here,” the guard said.
Langdon and Vittoria waited as the guard crossed the roomman in a dark blue military uniform. He was talking
straight he was almost bent backwardshot a glance over at Langdon and Vi
continued his phone call. The guard returned. “Commander Olivetti will be with you in a moment.”
“Thank you.”
The guard left and headed back up the
Langdon studied Commander Olivetti across the room, realizing he was actually the Commander in Chief of the armed forces of an entire country. Vittoria and Langdon waited, observing the action before them. Brightly dressed guards bustled about yelling orders in Italian. “Continua cercando!” one yelled into a telephone. “Probasti il museo?”another asked. Langdon did not need fluent Italian to discern
intense search mode. This was the good news. The bad news was that they obviously hadnot yet found the antimatter. “You okay?” Langdon asked Vittoria.
She shrugged, offering a tired smile.
When the commander finally clicked off his phone and approached across the room, he seemed to grow with each step. Langdon was tall himself and not accustomed to lookingup at many people, but Commander Olivetti demanded it. Langdon sensed immediately that the commander was a m
His dark hair was cropped in a military buzz cut, and his eyes burned with the kind of hardened determination only attainable through years of intense training. He moved wi
ramrod exactness, the earpiece hidden discreetly behind one ear making him look more
in accented English. His voice was startlingly quiet for
per. It bit with a tight, military efficiency. “Good
. “Thank you for seeing us, sir.”
lazily through a series of black-and-white
pointed to it. Then he turned toward his
en somewhere inside Vatican City. I’d
’s antimatter canister. Inside, a shimmering droplet of
tter
loset or darkened room. At the top of the monitor flashed superimposed text:
aining on the flashing indicator on the canister. “Under six
watch. “So we have until . . .” He stopped, a knot tightening in his
e
t night had timed it perfectly. A stark foreboding set in as he realized he was
. “Does this object belong to your
like U.S. Secret Service than Swiss Guard.
The commander addressed themsuch a large man, barely a whis
afternoon,” he said. “I am Commander Olivetti-Comandante Principale of the Swiss Guard. I’m the one who called your director.” Vittoria gazed upward
The commander did not respond. He motioned for them to follow and led them through the tangle of electronics to a door in the side wall of the chamber. “Enter,” he said, holding the door for them. Langdon and Vittoria walked through and found themselves in a darkened control room where a wall of video monitors was cycling
images of the complex. A young guard sat watching the images intently. “Fuori,” Olivetti said.
The guard packed up and left. Olivetti walked over to one of the screens and
guests. “This image is from a remote camera hidd
like an explanation.” Langdon and Vittoria looked at the screen and inhaled in unison. The image was absolute. No doubt. It was CERN
metallic liquid hung ominously in the air, lit by the rhythmic blinking of the LED digital clock. Eerily, the area around the canister was almost entirely dark, as if the antimawere in a c
LIVE FEED-CAMERA #86. Vittoria looked at the time rem
hours,” she whispered to Langdon, her face tense. Langdon checked his
stomach.
“Midnight,” Vittoria said, with a withering look. Midnight, Langdon thought. A flair for the dramatic. Apparently whoever stole thcanister las
currently sitting at ground zero. Olivetti’s whisper now sounded more like a hiss
facility?”
Vittoria nodded. “Yes, sir. It was stolen from us. It contains an extremely combustible substance called antimatter.”
Olivetti looked unmoved. “I am quite familiar with incendiaries, Ms. Vetra. I have heard of antimatter.”
not
ty.”
e-
Olivetti’s pupils seemed to recede into his head. He had the passionless look of an insect.
y, and I do not have the luxury of
, “that being that in six
orize this entire complex.”
know.” His tone
ty, every single
ipped with the most advanced sensing equipment
any sort of incendiary device it would be
y the
e
nonradioactive, its chemical signature is that of pure hydrogen, and the canister is plastic.
.
smallest trace of nickel-cadmium would register as-”
Olivetti’s patience was clearly starting to wane. “Plastic batteries?”
“It’s new technology. We need to locate it immediately or evacuate Vatican Ci
Olivetti closed his eyes slowly and reopened them, as if refocusing on Vittoria might change what he just heard. “Evacuate? Are you aware what is going on here this evening?” “Yes, sir. And the lives of your cardinals are in danger. We have about six hours. Have you made any headway locating the canister?”
Olivetti shook his head. “We haven’t started looking.”
Vittoria choked. “What? But we expressly heard your guards talking about searching th” “Searching, yes,” Olivetti said, “but not for your canister. My men are looking for something else that does not concern you.” Vittoria’s voice cracked. “You haven’t even begun looking for this canister?”
“Ms. Vetra, is it? Let me explain something to you. The director of your facility refused to share any details about this object with me over the phone except to say that I needed to find it immediately. We are exceptionally bus
dedicating manpower to a situation until I get some facts.” “There is only one relevant fact at this moment, sir,” Vittoria said
hours that device is going to vap
Olivetti stood motionless. “Ms. Vetra, there is something you need tohinted at patronizing. “Despite the archaic appearance of Vatican Ci
entrance, both public and private, is equknown to man. If someone tried to enter with
detected instantly. We have radioactive isotope scanners, olfactory filters designed bAmerican DEA to detect the faintest chemical signatures of combustibles and toxins. Walso use the most advanced metal detectors and X-ray scanners available.” “Very impressive,” Vittoria said, matching Olivetti’s cool. “Unfortunately, antimatter is
None of those devices would have detected it.”
“But the device has an energy source,” Olivetti said, motioning to the blinking LED“Even the
“The batteries are also plastic.”
“Polymer gel electrolyte with Teflon.”
Olivetti leaned toward her, as if to accentuate his height advantage. “Signorina, the Vatican is the target of dozens of bomb threats a month. I personally train every Swiss
with a fervent stare. “Nature has many mysteries yet to unveil.”
eing rude, but if this is indeed a crisis, why am I dealing with you and
ress code. Then again, he realized, if stone penises could induce lustful
orts could certainly be a threat to
nd
n. I’m a professor of religious
onstration
e reason
ping to disrupt
r
er,” Vittoria said. “Right away.”
take days to locate.”
He pointed to
l contraptions appearing mysteriously inside my walls. I
Guard in modern explosive technology. I am well aware that there is no substance on earth powerful enough to do what you are describing unless you are talking about a nuclear warhead with a fuel core the size of a baseball.” Vittoria framed him
Olivetti leaned closer. “Might I ask exactly who you are? What is your position at CERN?” “I am a senior member of the research staff and appointed liaison to the Vatican for this crisis.” “Excuse me for b
not your director? And what disrespect do you intend by coming into Vatican City in short pants?” Langdon groaned. He couldn’t believe that under the circumstances the man was being a stickler for d
thoughts in Vatican residents, Vittoria Vetra in shnational security.
“Commander Olivetti,” Langdon intervened, trying to diffuse what looked like a seco
bomb about to explode. “My name is Robert Langdo
studies in the U.S. and unaffiliated with CERN. I have seen an antimatter demand will vouch for Ms. Vetra’s claim that it is exceptionally dangerous. We hav
to believe it was placed inside your complex by an antireligious cult hoyour conclave.”
Olivetti turned, peering down at Langdon. “I have a woman in shorts telling me that a droplet of liquid is going to blow up Vatican City, and I have an American professotelling me we are being targeted by some antireligious cult. What exactly is it you expect me to do?” “Find the canist
“Impossible. That device could be anywhere. Vatican City is enormous.”
“Your cameras don’t have GPS locators on them?”
“They are not generally stolen. This missing camera will
“We don’t have days,” Vittoria said adamantly. “We have six hours.” “Six hours until what, Ms. Vetra?” Olivetti’s voice grew louder suddenly.
the image on the screen. “Until these numbers count down? Until Vatican City disappears? Believe me, I do not take kindly to people tampering with my security system. Nor do I like mechanica
am concerned. It is my job to be concerned. But what you have told me here is
unacceptable.” Langdon spoke before he could stop himself. “Have you heard of the Illuminati?”
The commander’s icy exterior cracked. His eyes went white, like a shark a“I am warning you. I do not have time for this.”
bout to attack.
uminati?”
ing a
yet the appearance of this
aps Ms. Vetra has not informed you, but
io
an
Murdered. You
now until I get some answers that make sense, there
rm. Vigilance and discretion are my duty . . . such
th clarity of mind. Today of all days.”
an
sacred event with a strict code and
rld are waiting for a leader.
ls for this event are holy-not
modification. Since 1179, conclaves have survived earthquakes, famines, and
even the plague. Believe m t about to be canceled on account of a murdered
“So you have heard of the Ill
Olivetti’s eyes stabbed like bayonets. “I am a sworn defendant of the Catholic Church. Of course I have heard of the Illuminati. They have been dead for decades.” Langdon reached in his pocket and pulled out the fax image of Leonardo Vetra’s branded body. He handed it to Olivetti. “I am an Illuminati scholar,” Langdon said as Olivetti studied the picture. “I am havdifficult time accepting that the Illuminati are still active, and
brand combined with the fact that the Illuminati have a well-known covenant against Vatican City has changed my mind.”
“A computer-generated hoax.” Olivetti handed the fax back to Langdon. Langdon stared, incredulous. “Hoax? Look at the symmetry! You of all people should realize the authenticity of-”
“Authenticity is precisely what you lack. Perh
CERN scientists have been criticizing Vatican policies for decades. They regularly petition us for retraction of Creationist theory, formal apologies for Galileo and Copernicus, repeal of our criticism against dangerous or immoral research. What scenarseems more likely to you-that a four-hundred-year-old satanic cult has resurfaced withadvanced weapon of mass destruction, or that some prankster at CERN is trying to disrupt a sacred Vatican event with a well-executed fraud?” “That photo,” Vittoria said, her voice like boiling lava, “is of my father.
think this is my idea of a joke?”
“I don’t know, Ms. Vetra. But I do kis no way I will raise any sort of ala
that spiritual matters can take place here wi
Langdon said, “At least postpone the event.” “Postpone?” Olivetti’s jaw dropped. “Such arrogance! A conclave is not some Americbaseball game you call on account of rain. This is a
process. Never mind that one billion Catholics in the woNever mind that the world media is outside. The protoco
subject to
e, it is noscientist and a droplet of God knows what.”
“Take me to the person in charge,” Vittoria demanded. Olivetti glared. “You’ve got him.” “No,” she said. “Someone in the clergy.”
The veins on Olivetti’s brow began to show. “The clergy has gone. With the exception of the Swiss Guard, the only ones present in Vatican City at this time are the College of Cardinals. And they are inside the Sistine Chapel.”
tated flatly.
r shifted temporarily to the late Pope’s
n-a secretarial underling who oversaw conclave until the
ther. “I believe the chamberlain is the man in charge at
not even
you answer to him.”
his
l
egno is in the Office of the
pond but was interrupted by a knocking at the door.
pointing to his watch. “ÉÉ l’ora, comandante.”
a like
a water cooler. “I will be back in ten minutes. I suggest you use the time to
“How about the chamberlain?” Langdon s
“Who?” “The late Pope’s chamberlain.” Langdon repeated the word self-assuredly, praying his memory served him. He recalled reading once about the curious arrangement of Vatican authority following the death of a Pope. If Langdon was correct, during the interim between Popes, complete autonomous powe
personal assistant-his chamberlaicardinals chose the new Holy Fa
the moment.” “Il camerlegno?” Olivetti scowled. “The camerlegno is only a priest here. He is
canonized. He is the late Pope’s hand servant.” “But he is here. And
Olivetti crossed his arms. “Mr. Langdon, it is true that Vatican rule dictates the
camerlegno assume chief executive office during conclave, but it is only because his lack of eligibility for the papacy ensures an unbiased election. It is as if your president died, and one of his aides temporarily sat in the oval office. The camerlegno is young, andunderstanding of security, or anything else for that matter, is extremely limited. For alintents and purposes, I am in charge here.” “Take us to him,” Vittoria said.
“Impossible. Conclave begins in forty minutes. The camerl
Pope preparing. I have no intention of disturbing him with matters of security.” Vittoria opened her mouth to res
Olivetti opened it.
A guard in full regalia stood outside,
Olivetti checked his own watch and nodded. He turned back to Langdon and Vittoria judge pondering their fate. “Follow me.” He led them out of the monitoring room
across the security center to a small clear cubicle against the rear wall. “My office.” Olivetti ushered them inside. The room was unspecial-a cluttered desk, file cabinets, folding chairs,
decide how you would like to proceed.”
Vittoria wheeled. “You can’t just leave! That canister is-”
“I do not have time for this,” Olivetti seethed. “Perhaps I should detain you until after the
Olivetti nodded and started to leave.
sweep the chapel?”
i turned, his eyes boring through her. “We sweep for electronic bugs, Miss Vetra-a
discretion.” He motioned to her legs. “Not something I would expect you to
rstand.”
otion he produced
side of the glass, arms crossed, a large sidearm visible on his hip.
e sensed, however, from the look on his face, that he was more
it was
’s
se, he was probably still incapacitated. Not that it mattered . . .
that one once knew the answer created the mindset that
.
ople
conclave when I do have time.” “Signore,” the guard urged, pointing to his watch again. “Spazzare di capella.”
“Spazzare di capella?” Vittoria demanded. “You’re leaving to
Olivettmatter of
undeWith that he slammed the door, rattling the heavy glass. In one fluid ma key, inserted it, and twisted. A heavy deadbolt slid into place.
“Idiòta!” Vittoria yelled. “You can’t keep us in here!”
Through the glass, Langdon could see Olivetti say something to the guard. The sentinel nodded. As Olivetti strode out of the room, the guard spun and faced them on the other
Perfect, Langdon thought. Just bloody perfect. 37
V ittoria glared at the Swiss Guard standing outside Olivetti’s locked door. The sentinelglared back, his colorful costume belying his decidedly ominous air. “Che fiasco,” Vittoria thought. Held hostage by an armed man in pajamas. Langdon had fallen silent, and Vittoria hoped he was using that Harvard brain of his to think them out of this. Sh
in shock than in thought. She regretted getting him so involved. Vittoria’s first instinct was to pull out her cell phone and call Kohler, but she knew foolish. First, the guard would probably walk in and take her phone. Second, if Kohlerepisode ran its usual cour
Olivetti seemed unlikely to take anybody’s word on anything at the moment.
Remember! she told herself. Remember the solution to this test! Remembrance was a Buddhist philosopher’s trick. Rather than asking her mind to search for a solution to a potentially impossible challenge, Vittoria asked her mind simply toremember it. The presupposition
the answer must exist . . . thus eliminating the crippling conception of hopelessnessVittoria often used the process to solve scientific quandaries . . . those that most pe
thought had no solution.
At the moment, however, her remembrance trick was drawing a major blank. So she
eone at the
ow? She was in a
told herself. There are always tools. Reevaluate your environment.
ered her shoulders, relaxed her eyes, and took three deep breaths into
d her heart rate slow and her muscles soften. The chaotic panic in her
his situation
positive? What are my assets?
The analytical mind of Vittoria Vetra, once calmed, was a powerful force. Within
ally their key to escape.
to suggest you call Kohler, but-”
said the camerlegno was in the Pope’s office.”
high-tech phone system on
ve a
direct line to the Pope’s office.”
as
gun.”
going-”
measured her options . . . her needs. She needed to warn someone. SomVatican needed to take her seriously. But who? The camerlegno? H
glass box with one exit.
Tools, she
Instinctively she lowher lungs. She sense
mind dissolved. Okay, she thought, let your mind be free. What makes t
seconds she realized their incarceration was actu
“I’m making a phone call,” she said suddenly. Langdon looked up. “I was about
“Not Kohler. Someone else.”
“Who?”
“The camerlegno.”
Langdon looked totally lost. “You’re calling the chamberlain? How?” “Olivetti
“Okay. You know the Pope’s private number?”
“No. But I’m not calling on my phone.” She nodded to a
Olivetti’s desk. It was riddled with speed dial buttons. “The head of security must ha
“He also has a weight lifter with a gun planted six feet away.”
“And we’re locked in.” “I was actually aware of that.”
“I mean the guard is locked out. This is Olivetti’s private office. I doubt anyone else ha key.” Langdon looked out at the guard. “This is pretty thin glass, and that’s a pretty big
“What’s he going to do, shoot me for using the phone?” “Who the hell knows! This is a pretty strange place, and the way things are
“Either that,” Vittoria said, “or we can spend the next five hours and forty-eight minutes
e second you pick up that phone.
one and
ommander?”
t down the phone.
a winked at him. The guard seemed to inflate with rage.
gdon moved away from the door and turned back to Vittoria. “You damn well better
ed. “The Pope has an answering machine?”
menu
f
dly,
espite St. Peter’s Square being filled with press trucks, the vans looked to be
in Vatican Prison. At least we’ll have a front-row seat when the antimatter goes off.” Langdon paled. “But the guard will get Olivetti th
Besides, there are twenty buttons on there. And I don’t see any identification. You going to try them all and hope to get lucky?”
“Nope,” she said, striding to the phone. “Just one.” Vittoria picked up the ph
pressed the top button. “Number one. I bet you one of those Illuminati U.S. dollars you have in your pocket that this is the Pope’s office. What else would take primary importance for a Swiss Guard c
Langdon did not have time to respond. The guard outside the door started rapping on the glass with the butt of his gun. He motioned for her to se
Vittori
Lanbe right, ‘cause this guy does not look amused!” “Damn!” she said, listening to the receiver. “A recording.” “Recording?” Langdon demand
“It wasn’t the Pope’s office,” Vittoria said, hanging up. “It was the damn weeklyfor the Vatican commissary.” Langdon offered a weak smile to the guard outside who was now glaring angrily though the glass while he hailed Olivetti on his walkie-talkie.
38 T he Vatican switchboard is located in the Ufficio di Communicazione behind the Vatican post office. It is a relatively small room containing an eight-line Corelco 141 switchboard. The office handles over 2,000 calls a day, most routed automatically to the recording information system.
Tonight, the sole communications operator on duty sat quietly sipping a cup of caffeinated tea. He felt proud to be one of only a handful of employees still allowed inside Vatican City tonight. Of course the honor was tainted somewhat by the presence othe Swiss Guards hovering outside his door. An escort to the bathroom, the operator thought. Ah, the indignities we endure in the name of Holy Conclave.
Fortunately, the calls this evening had been light. Or maybe it was not so fortunate, he thought. World interest in Vatican events seemed to have dwindled in the last few years. The number of press calls had thinned, and even the crazies weren’t calling as often. The press office had hoped tonight’s event would have more of a festive buzz about it. Sathough, d
mostly standard Italian and Euro press. Only a handful of global cover-all networks were
so,
favored to become Pope
an’s voice, the operator stood suddenly, almost spilling his tea. He
and furiously. The operator had spent enough years on the
ffice
s
’re where?
n
s
ard on the walkie-talkie had just told him; Vittoria Vetra
there . . . no doubt having sent their giornalisti secundari. The operator gripped his mug and wondered how long tonight would last. Midnight orhe guessed. Nowadays, most insiders already knew who was
well before conclave convened, so the process was more of a three- or four-hour ritual than an actual election. Of course, last-minute dissension in the ranks could prolong the ceremony through dawn . . . or beyond. The conclave of 1831 had lasted fifty-four days. Not tonight, he told himself; rumor was this conclave would be a “smoke-watch.”
The operator’s thoughts evaporated with the buzz of an inside line on his switchboard. He looked at the blinking red light and scratched his head. That’s odd, he thought. The zero-line. Who on the inside would be calling operator information tonight? Who is even inside?
“Città del Vaticano, prego?” he said, picking up the phone. The voice on the line spoke in rapid Italian. The operator vaguely recognized the accent as that common to Swiss Guards-fluent Italian tainted by the Franco-Swiss influence. This caller, however, was most definitely not Swiss Guard. On hearing the wom
shot a look back down at the line. He had not been mistaken. An internal extension. The call was from the inside. There must be some mistake! he thought. A woman inside Vatican City? Tonight?
The woman was speaking fast
phones to know when he was dealing with a pazzo. This woman did not sound crazy. She was urgent but rational. Calm and efficient. He listened to her request, bewildered.
“Il camerlegno?” the operator said, still trying to figure out where the hell the call was coming from. “I cannot possibly connect . . . yes, I am aware he is in the Pope’s obut . . . who are you again? . . . and you want to warn him of . . .” He listened, more andmore unnerved. Everyone is in danger? How? And where are you calling from? “PerhapI should contact the Swiss . . .” The operator stopped short. “You say you
Where?”
He listened in shock, then made a decision. “Hold, please,” he said, putting the woman ohold before she could respond. Then he called Commander Olivetti’s direct line. There ino way that woman is really-
The line picked up instantly.
“Per l’amore di Dio!” a familiar woman’s voice shouted at him. “Place the damn call!”
The door of the Swiss Guards’ security center hissed open. The guards parted as Commander Olivetti entered the room like a rocket. Turning the corner to his office, Olivetti confirmed what his gu
was staChe coglioni che ha questa!
nding at his desk talking on the commander’s private telephone.
he thought. The balls on this one!
warn-”
posture slumped. “Yes, camerlegno . . .”
am
l
the Pope.
as Commander Olivetti led them down a long
of
oria an acrimonious scowl.
Vittoria didn’t flinch. She reached over Olivetti and knocked loudly on the door.
Livid, he strode to the door and rammed the key into the lock. He pulled open the door and demanded, “What are you doing!” Vittoria ignored him. “Yes,” she was saying into the phone. “And I must
Olivetti ripped the receiver from her hand, and raised it to his ear. “Who the hell is this!”For the tiniest of an instant, Olivetti’s inelastic
he said. “Correct, signore . . . but questions of security demand . . . of course not . . . Iholding her here for . . . certainly, but . . .” He listened. “Yes, sir,” he said finally. “I wilbring them up immediately.” 39
T
he Apostolic Palace is a conglomeration of buildings located near the Sistine Chapel in the northeast corner of Vatican City. With a commanding view of St. Peter’s Square,the palace houses both the Papal Apartments and the Office of
Vittoria and Langdon followed in silence
rococo corridor, the muscles in his neck pulsing with rage. After climbing three setsstairs, they entered a wide, dimly lit hallway.
Langdon could not believe the artwork on the walls-mint-condition busts, tapestries, friezes-works worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Two-thirds of the way down the hall they passed an alabaster fountain. Olivetti turned left into an alcove and strode to one of the largest doors Langdon had ever seen.
“Ufficio di Papa,” the commander declared, giving Vitt
Office of the Pope, Langdon thought, having difficulty fathoming that he was standing outside one of the most sacred rooms in all of world religion.
“Avanti!” someone called from within.
When the door opened, Langdon had to shield his eyes. The sunlight was blinding.
Slowly, the image before him came into focus. The Office of the Pope seemed more of a ballroom than an office. Red marble floors sprawled out in all directions to walls adorned with vivid frescoes. A colossal chandelier hung overhead, beyond which a bank of arched windows offered a stunning panorama of the sun-drenched St. Peter’s Square. My God, Langdon thought. This is a room with a view.
At the far end of the hall, at a carved desk, a man sat writing furiously. “Avanti,” he called out again, setting down his pen and waving them over.
Olivetti led the way, his gait military. “Signore,” he said apologetically. “No ho potuto-” The man cut him off. He stood and studied his two visitors.
The camerlegno was nothing like the images of frail, beatific old men Langdon usually
.
a surprisingly handsome face, a swirl of coarse brown hair, and almost radiant
e said, his English perfect. “The late Pope’s camerlegno.” His
. “Thank you for seeing
itched as the camerlegno shook Vittoria’s hand.
from Harvard University.”
ess’s office does
eed.”
his desk.
, and eyed his
erlegno replied, sounding too exhausted to
ator calls me a half hour before I begin conclave to
calling from your private office to warn me of some sort of major
hich I have not been informed, that concerns me.”
imagined roaming the Vatican. He wore no rosary beads or pendants. No heavy robes. He
was dressed instead in a simple black cassock that seemed to amplify the solidity of his substantial frame. He looked to be in his late-thirties, indeed a child by Vatican standardsHe had
green eyes that shone as if they were somehow fueled by the mysteries of the universe. As the man drew nearer, though, Langdon saw in his eyes a profound exhaustion-like a soul who had been through the toughest fifteen days of his life.
“I am Carlo Ventresca,” h
voice was unpretentious and kind, with only the slightest hint of Italian inflection. “Vittoria Vetra,” she said, stepping forward and offering her hand
us.” Olivetti tw
“This is Robert Langdon,” Vittoria said. “A religious historian
“Padre,” Langdon said, in his best Italian accent. He bowed his head as he extended his hand. “No, no,” the camerlegno insisted, lifting Langdon back up. “His Holin
not make me holy. I am merely a priest-a chamberlain serving in a time of n
Langdon stood upright. “Please,” the camerlegno said, “everyone sit.” He arranged some chairs around
Langdon and Vittoria sat. Olivetti apparently preferred to stand. The camerlegno seated himself at the desk, folded his hands, sighed
visitors. “Signore,” Olivetti said. “The woman’s attire is my fault. I-”
“Her attire is not what concerns me,” the cambe bothered. “When the Vatican oper
tell me a woman is security threat of w
Olivetti stood rigid, his back arched like a soldier under intense inspection.
Langdon felt hypnotized by the camerlegno’s presence. Young and wearied as he was, the priest had the air of some mythical hero-radiating charisma and authority.
“Signore,” Olivetti said, his tone apologetic but still unyielding. “You should not concern
“I have the situation under control.”
Commander Olivetti stepped forward, trying to intervene. “Father, please do not trouble
Vittoria said, her voice wavering. “He was a priest and a man of
the name, yes, but . . .”
e turned and contemplated
i lore . . . and the legend
ust warn you, I am a man of the present tense. Christianity
l enemies without resurrecting ghosts.”
e fax for the camerlegno.
forge a symmetrical
yourself with matters of security. You have other responsibilities.” “I am well aware of my other responsibilities. I am also aware that as direttore
intermediario, I have a responsibility for the safety and well-being of everyone at this conclave. What is going on here?”
“Apparently not.” “Father,” Langdon interrupted, taking out the crumpled fax and handing it to the camerlegno, “please.”
your thoughts with-”
The camerlegno took the fax, ignoring Olivetti for a long moment. He looked at the
image of the murdered Leonardo Vetra and drew a startled breath. “What is this?” “That is my father,”
science. He was murdered last night.” The camerlegno’s face softened instantly. He looked up at her. “My dear child. I’m so sorry.” He crossed himself and looked again at the fax, his eyes seeming to pool with waves of abhorrence. “Who would . . . and this burn on his . . .” The camerlegno paused, squinting closer at the image.
“It says Illuminati,” Langdon said. “No doubt you are familiar with the name.” An odd look came across the camerlegno’s face. “I have heard
“The Illuminati murdered Leonardo Vetra so they could steal a new technology he was-”
“Signore,” Olivetti interjected. “This is absurd. The Illuminati? This is clearly some sort of elaborate hoax.”
The camerlegno seemed to ponder Olivetti’s words. Then hLangdon so fully that Langdon felt the air leave his lungs. “Mr. Langdon, I have spent
my life in the Catholic Church. I am familiar with the Illuminat
of the brandings. And yet I mhas enough rea
“The symbol is authentic,” Langdon said, a little too defensively he thought. He reached over and rotated th
The camerlegno fell silent when he saw the symmetry.
“Even modern computers,” Langdon added, “have been unable to
ambigram of this word.”
The camerlegno folded his hands and said nothing for a long time. “The Illuminati are
rday?”
fore today’s chain of events. I believe the Illuminati have resurfaced to make good on
e. My history is rusty. What ancient pact is this?”
amerlegno looked less frightened than confused. “But that
ve some more bad news.”
it there is some sort of device here. It is visible on
“Wait a minute,” the camerlegno said. “You can see this thing?”
nd Vittoria sensed his growing concern. “Are you certain it is
is
otect our
would not
it.”
an
e
dead,” he finally said. “Long ago. That is historical fact.”
Langdon nodded. “Yesterday, I would have agreed with you.” “Yeste
“Bean ancient pact.” “Forgive m
Langdon took a deep breath. “The destruction of Vatican City.” “Destroy Vatican City?” The c
would be impossible.”
Vittoria shook her head. “I’m afraid we ha
40
I s this true?” the camerlegno demanded, looking amazed as he turned from Vittoria to Olivetti. “Signore,” Olivetti assured, “I’ll adm
one of our security monitors, but as for Ms. Vetra’s claims as to the power of this substance, I cannot possibly-”
“Yes, signore. On wireless camera #86.”
“Then why haven’t you recovered it?” The camerlegno’s voice echoed anger now. “Very difficult, signore.” Olivetti stood straight as he explained the situation. The camerlegno listened, a
inside Vatican City?” the camerlegno asked. “Maybe someone took the camera out andtransmitting from somewhere else.”
“Impossible,” Olivetti said. “Our external walls are shielded electronically to printernal communications. This signal can only be coming from the inside or webe receiving
“And I assume,” he said, “that you are now looking for this missing camera with all available resources?” Olivetti shook his head. “No, signore. Locating that camera could take hundreds of mhours. We have a number of other security concerns at the moment, and with all du
respect to Ms. Vetra, this droplet she talks about is very small. It could not possibly be aexplosive as she claims.” Vittoria’s patience evaporated. “That droplet is enough to level Vatican City! Did you
s
fired back, equally tough. “Despite my attire, which I
Your time is being wasted by pranksters.
ed to echo
be
could
for any mention of this substance called
Vittoria thought.
search of
. “May I remind you that
when you address me, you are addressing this office. I realize you do not take my
als
Sistine Chapel, and your security concerns are at a minimum
erved your Pope for twelve years! And
1438 the Swiss Guard have-”
even listen to a word I told you?” “Ma’am,” Olivetti said, his voice like steel, “my experience with explosives is extensive.” “Your experience is obsolete,” she
realize you find troublesome, I am a senior level physicist at the world’s most advanced subatomic research facility. I personally designed the antimatter trap that is keeping that sample from annihilating right now. And I am warning you that unless you find thatcanister in the next six hours, your guards will have nothing to protect for the next century but a big hole in the ground.”
Olivetti wheeled to the camerlegno, his insect eyes flashing rage. “Signore, I cannot in good conscience allow this to go any further.
The Illuminati? A droplet that will destroy us all?” “Basta,” the camerlegno declared. He spoke the word quietly and yet it seem
across the chamber. Then there was silence. He continued in a whisper. “Dangerous ornot, Illuminati or no Illuminati, whatever this thing is, it most certainly should not inside Vatican City . . . no less on the eve of the conclave. I want it found and removed. Organize a search immediately.” Olivetti persisted. “Signore, even if we used all the guards to search the complex, ittake days to find this camera. Also, after speaking to Ms. Vetra, I had one of my guards consult our most advanced ballistics guide
antimatter. I found no mention of it anywhere. Nothing.” Pompous ass,A ballistics guide? Did you try an encyclopedia? Under
A!
Olivetti was still talking. “Signore, if you are suggesting we make a naked-eye
the entirety of Vatican City then I must object.” “Commander.” The camerlegno’s voice simmered with rage
position seriously-nonetheless, by law, I am in charge. If I am not mistaken, the cardinare now safely within the
until the conclave breaks. I do not understand why you are hesitant to look for this device. If I did not know better it would appear that you are causing this conclave intentional danger.”
Olivetti looked scornful. “How dare you! I have s
the Pope before that for fourteen years! Since
The walkie-talkie on Olivetti’s belt squawked loudly, cutting him off. “Comandante?”
Olivetti snatched it up and pressed the transmitter. “Sto ocupato! Cosa voi!!”
“Scusi,” the Swiss Guard on the radio said. “Communications here. I thought you would
ed. “So handle it! Run the usual trace, and
,
trace, I did some additional research on
horror on the camerlegno’s face.
“Did you trace the call?” Olivetti stammered.
“No, sir. Just warned us that there is antimatter hidden inside the complex. He seemed
vise you.”
the right thing,” Olivetti said. “I’ll be down in a minute. Alert me immediately
”
m for ten minutes, getting nothing but splayed
ferreting. He must know we can’t touch him because he refuses to hang up until he
want to be informed that we have received a bomb threat.”
Olivetti could not have looked less interestwrite it up.”
“We did, sir, but the caller . . .” The guard paused. “I would not trouble you, commanderexcept that he mentioned the substance you just asked me to research. Antimatter.”
Everyone in the room exchanged stunned looks. “He mentioned what?” Olivetti stammered.
“Antimatter, sir. While we were trying to run a
his claim. The information on antimatter is . . . well, frankly, it’s quite troubling.” “I thought you said the ballistics guide showed no mention of it.” “I found it on-line.”
Alleluia, Vittoria thought.
“The substance appears to be quite explosive,” the guard said. “It’s hard to imagine this information is accurate but it says here that pound for pound antimatter carries about a hundred times more payload than a nuclear warhead.”
Olivetti slumped. It was like watching a mountain crumble. Vittoria’s feeling of triumph was erased by the look of
“No luck. Cellular with heavy encryption. The SAT lines are interfused, so triangulation
is out. The IF signature suggests he’s somewhere in Rome, but there’s really no way totrace him.” “Did he make demands?” Olivetti said, his voice quiet.
surprised I didn’t know. Asked me if I’d seen it yet. You’d asked me about antimatter, soI decided to ad
“You did
if he calls back.”
There was a moment of silence on the walkie-talkie. “The caller is still on the line, sir.Olivetti looked like he’d just been electrocuted. “The line is open?” “Yes, sir. We’ve been trying to trace hi
speaks“Patch him
to the camerlegno.”
through,” the camerlegno commanded. “Now!”
to
41
Langdon tried to place the accent.
nt
ollision of thrill, privilege, and dead fear that he had experienced
t of enlightened men from
four hundred years for this
ld
Olivetti wheeled. “Father, no. A trained Swiss Guard negotiator is much better suited handle this.”
“Now!”
Olivetti gave the order. A moment later, the phone on Camerlegno Ventresca’s desk began to ring. The
camerlegno rammed his finger down on the speaker-phone button. “Who in the name of God do you think you are?”
T he voice emanating from the camerlegno’s speaker phone was metallic and cold, laced with arrogance. Everyone in the room listened.
Middle Eastern, perhaps?
“I am a messenger of an ancient brotherhood,” the voice announced in an alien cadence. “A brotherhood you have wronged for centuries. I am a messenger of the Illuminati.” Langdon felt his muscles tighten, the last shreds of doubt withering away. For an instahe felt the familiar c
when he first saw the ambigram this morning.
“What do you want?” the camerlegno demanded. “I represent men of science. Men who like yourselves are searching for the answers. Answers to man’s destiny, his purpose, his creator.”
“Whoever you are,” the camerlegno said, “I-”
“Silenzio. You will do better to listen. For two millennia your church has dominated the quest for truth. You have crushed your opposition with lies and prophesies of doom. You have manipulated the truth to serve your needs, murdering those whose discoveries did not serve your politics. Are you surprised you are the targe
around the globe?” “Enlightened men do not resort to blackmail to further their causes.” “Blackmail?” The caller laughed. “This is not blackmail. We have no demands. The abolition of the Vatican is nonnegotiable. We have waited
day. At midnight, your city will be destroyed. There is nothing you can do.”
Olivetti stormed toward the speaker phone. “Access to this city is impossible! You cou
not possibly have planted explosives in here!” “You speak with the ignorant devotion of a Swiss Guard. Perhaps even an officer? Sureyou are aware that for centuries the Illuminati have infiltrated elitist organizations across the globe. Do you really believe the Vatican is immune?
ly
”
Langdon thought, . It was no secret that
infiltrated the Masons, major
h
n over in one month.
nnot possibly extend so far.”
watch every corner of
ou
noon.”
though
ing you the truth . . . that four cardinals he had
this information!”
have not yet reported to the Sistine Chapel, but there is no need for alarm. Every one of
fely inside
ying the grounds.”
Jesus,they’ve got someone on the inside
infiltration was the Illuminati trademark of power. They had
banking networks, government bodies. In fact, Churchill had once told reporters that if English spies had infiltrated the Nazis to the degree the Illuminati had infiltrated EnglisParliament, the war would have bee
“A transparent bluff,” Olivetti snapped. “Your influence ca
“Why? Because your Swiss Guards are vigilant? Because they
your private world? How about the Swiss Guards themselves? Are they not men? Do ytruly believe they stake their lives on a fable about a man who walks on water? Ask yourself how else the canister could have entered your city. Or how four of your most precious assets could have disappeared this after
“Our assets?” Olivetti scowled. “What do you mean?”
“One, two, three, four. You haven’t missed them by now?”
“What the hell are you talk-” Olivetti stopped short, his eyes rocketing wide ashe’d just been punched in the gut.
“Light dawns,” the caller said. “Shall I read their names?” “What’s going on?” the camerlegno said, looking bewildered. The caller laughed. “Your officer has not yet informed you? How sinful. No surprise. Such pride. I imagine the disgrace of tell
sworn to protect seem to have disappeared . . .” Olivetti erupted. “Where did you get
“Camerlegno,” the caller gloated, “ask your commander if all your cardinals are present in the Sistine Chapel.”
The camerlegno turned to Olivetti, his green eyes demanding an explanation. “Signore,” Olivetti whispered in the camerlegno’s ear, “it is true that four of our cardinals
them checked into the residence hall this morning, so we know they are sa
Vatican City. You yourself had tea with them only hours ago. They are simply late for the fellowship preceding conclave. We are searching, but I’m sure they just lost track of time and are still out enjo
“Enjoying the grounds?” The calm departed from the camerlegno’s voice. “They were due in the chapel over an hour ago!”
Langdon shot Vittoria a look of amazement. Missing cardinals? So that’s what they werelooking for dow
nstairs?
. .
ly . .
.
four
w
on the camerlegno’s face. Although technically any cardinal under eighty
as
w the name well. The church had made some deadly
plar, armies that had been
“Forget your four cardinals. They are lost to you. Be assured their deaths will be
by one. By midnight the Illuminati will have everyone’s attention. Why
was silent.
nyway. Perhaps because their history shames them?”
elf say. “Sixteen sixty-eight. The church branded four
g?” the voice demanded, sounding more intrigued than concerned. “Who
“Our inventory,” the caller said, “you will find quite convincing. There is CardinalLamassé from Paris, Cardinal Guidera from Barcelona, Cardinal Ebner from Frankfurt.” Olivetti seemed to shrink smaller and smaller after each name was read.
The caller paused, as though taking special pleasure in the final name. “And from Ita. Cardinal Baggia.”
The camerlegno loosened like a tall ship that had just run sheets first into a dead calm
His frock billowed, and he collapsed in his chair. “I preferiti,” he whispered. “The favorites . . . including Baggia . . . the most likely successor as Supreme Pontiff . . . hois it possible?”
Langdon had read enough about modern papal elections to understand the look of desperation
years old could become Pope, only a very few had the respect necessary to command a two-thirds majority in the ferociously partisan balloting procedure. They were knownthe preferiti. And they were all gone. Sweat dripped from the camerlegno’s brow. “What do you intend with these men?” “What do you think I intend? I am a descendant of the Hassassin.”
Langdon felt a shiver. He kneenemies through the years-the Hassassin, the Knights Tem
either hunted by the Vatican or betrayed by them. “Let the cardinals go,” the camerlegno said. “Isn’t threatening to destroy the City of God
enough?”
remembered though . . . by millions. Every martyr’s dream. I will make them media luminaries. One
change the world if the world is not watching? Public killings have an intoxicating horror about them, don’t they? You proved that long ago . . . the inquisition, the torture of the Knights Templar, the Crusades.” He paused. “And of course, la purga.” The camerlegno
“Do you not recall la purga?” the caller asked. “Of course not, you are a child. Priests are poor historians, a
“La purga,” Langdon heard hims
Illuminati scientists with the symbol of the cross. To purge their sins.” “Who is speakin
else is there?” Langdon felt shaky. “My name is not important,” he said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. Speaking to a living Illuminatus was disorienting for him . . . like speaking to George Washington. “I am an academic who has studied the history of your
itated. What else do I know? That this whole situation is insanity, that’s what
the same. . Consider it symbolic retribution for our
one every hour starting at eight. By midnight
four
ing bodies when no one was looking. It seems so
“Very good. Although it depends what you consider public. I realize not many people go
“You’re bluffing,” Olivetti said, the cool back in his voice. “You cannot kill a man in a
ove four of your cardinals
f we stake guards in every church?” Olivetti said.
brotherhood.” “Superb,” the voice replied. “I am pleased there are still those alive who remember the crimes against us.”
“Most of us think you are dead.”
“A misconception the brotherhood has worked hard to promote. What else do you know of la purga?” Langdon hes
I know! “After the brandings, the scientists were murdered, and their bodies were dropped in public locations around Rome as a warning to other scientists not to join the Illuminati.”
“Yes. So we shall do Quid pro quoslain brothers. Your four cardinals will die,
the whole world will be enthralled.”
Langdon moved toward the phone. “You actually intend to brand and kill thesemen?”
“History repeats itself, does it not? Of course, we will be more elegant and bold than thechurch was. They killed privately, dropp
cowardly.” “What are you saying?” Langdon asked. “That you are going to brand and kill these men in public?”
to church anymore.”
Langdon did a double take. “You’re going to kill them in churches?” “A gesture of kindness. Enabling God to command their souls to heaven more expeditiously. It seems only right. Of course the press will enjoy it too, I imagine.”
church and expect to get away with it.” “Bluffing? We move among your Swiss Guard like ghosts, rem
from within your walls, plant a deadly explosive at the heart of your most sacred shrine,
and you think this is a bluff? As the killings occur and the victims are found, the media will swarm. By midnight the world will know the Illuminati cause.” “And i
The caller laughed. “I fear the prolific nature of your religion will make that a tryinHave you not counted lately? There are over four hundred Catholic churches in Rome. Cathedrals, chapels, tabernacles, abbeys, monasteries, convents, parochia
g task.
l schools . . .”
anded. “Tell me about the brands you intend to use on these men.”
used. “I suspect you know what the brands will be already. Or
luminati folklore spoke of five brands in
erlegno said, “to bring a new Pope tonight. Sworn by God.”
“Camerlegno,” the caller said, “the world does not need a new Pope. After midnight he
rtar
f faith . . . any faith. You cannot
tican City
dollars. Quite a nest egg
o be reflected in Olivetti’s and the camerlegno’s
gdon wasn’t sure what was more amazing, that the Catholic
the Illuminati somehow knew about it.
The camerlegno sighed heavily. “Faith, not money, is the backbone of this church.”
illion dollars trying to support
Olivetti’s face remained hard.
“In ninety minutes it begins,” the caller said with a note of finality. “One an hour. A mathematical progression of death. Now I must go.” “Wait!” Langdon dem
The killer sounded am
perhaps you are a skeptic? You will see them soon enough. Proof the ancient legends are true.” Langdon felt light-headed. He knew exactly what the man was claiming. Langdon pictured the brand on Leonardo Vetra’s chest. Il
all. Four brands are left, Langdon thought, and four missing cardinals. “I am sworn,” the cam
will have nothing to rule over but a pile of rubble. The Catholic Church is finished. Your run on earth is done.” Silence hung. The camerlegno looked sincerely sad. “You are misguided. A church is more than moand stone. You cannot simply erase two thousand years o
crush faith simply by removing its earthly manifestations. The Catholic Church will continue with or without Vatican City.” “A noble lie. But a lie all the same. We both know the truth. Tell me, why is Va
a walled citadel?”
“Men of God live in a dangerous world,” the camerlegno said. “How young are you? The Vatican is a fortress because the Catholic Church holds half ofits equity inside its walls-rare paintings, sculpture, devalued jewels, priceless books . . . then there is the gold bullion and the real estate deeds inside the Vatican Bank vaults. Inside estimates put the raw value of Vatican City at 48.5 billion
you’re sitting on. Tomorrow it will be ash. Liquidated assets as it were. You will be bankrupt. Not even men of cloth can work for nothing.” The accuracy of the statement seemed t
shell-shocked looks. LanChurch had that kind of money, or that
“More lies,” the caller said. “Last year you spent 183 m
your struggling dioceses worldwide. Church attendance is at an all-time low-down fortysix percent in the last decade. Donations are half what they were only seven years ago
-
.
inati fortunes, the ancient wealth of the Bavarian
erlegno said, changing the subject. His voice was pleading. “Spare
re virgin sacrifices.” The caller laughed. “Tell me, do you think they are ly
? Will the little lambs squeal when they die? Sacrifici vergini nell’ altare di
an of faith, and yet I saw fear in his eyes last
rne, her body taut with hatred. “Asino!
my father!”
the speaker. “Your father? What is this? Vetra has a daughter? You
ld know your father whimpered like a child at the end. Pitiful really. A pathetic
Fewer and fewer men are entering the seminary. Although you will not admit it, your church is dying. Consider this a chance to go out with a bang.”
Olivetti stepped forward. He seemed less combative now, as if he now sensed the reality facing him. He looked like a man searching for an out. Any out. “And what if some of that bullion went to fund your cause?”
“Do not insult us both.” “We have money.”
“As do we. More than you can fathom.” Langdon flashed on the alleged Illum
stone masons, the Rothschilds, the Bilderbergers, the legendary Illuminati Diamond. “I preferiti,” the cam
them. They are old. They-” “They arealvirgins
scienza.” The camerlegno was silent for a long time. “They are men of faith,” he finally said. “They do not fear death.”
The caller sneered. “Leonardo Vetra was a mnight. A fear I removed.”
Vittoria, who had been silent, was suddenly airbo
He wasA cackle echoed from
shouman.” Vittoria reeled as if knocked backward by the words. Langdon reached for her, but she regained her balance and fixed her dark eyes on the phone. “I swear on my life, before this night is over, I will find you.” Her voice sharpened like a laser. “And when I do . . .”
The caller laughed coarsely. “A woman of spirit. I am aroused. Perhaps before this night is over, I will find you. And when I do . . .” The words hung like a blade. Then he was gone. 42
C ardinal Mortati was sweating now in his black robe. Not only was the Sistine Chapstarting to feel like a sauna, but conclave was schedule
el
d to begin in twenty minutes, and
als. In their absence, the initial whispers
ned to outspoken anxiety.
nt men could be. With the camerlegno perhaps?
tiff, and
ote took place.
pe would
ial
e and eighty years old.
’s
ection,
ior to conclave poring over the pages of the
Universi Dominici Gregis reviewing the subtleties of conclave’s arcane rituals to ensure
oken threshold beyond which the college no longer trusted one’s health
there was still no word on the four missing cardinof confusion among the other cardinals had turMortati could not imagine where the trua
He knew the camerlegno had held the traditional private tea for the four preferiti earlier that afternoon, but that had been hours ago. Were they ill? Something they ate? Mortati doubted it. Even on the verge of death the preferiti would be here. It was once in a lifetime, usually never, that a cardinal had the chance to be elected Supreme Ponby Vatican Law the cardinal had to be inside the Sistine Chapel when the v
Otherwise, he was ineligible.
Although there were four preferiti, few cardinals had any doubt who the next Pobe. The past fifteen days had seen a blizzard of faxes and phone calls discussing potentcandidates. As was the custom, four names had been chosen as preferiti, each of them fulfilling the unspoken requisites for becoming Pope: Multilingual in Italian, Spanish, and English. No skeletons in his closet. Between sixty-fiv
As usual, one of the preferiti had risen above the others as the man the college proposedto elect. Tonight that man was Cardinal Aldo Baggia from Milan. Baggia’s untainted record of service, combined with unparalleled language skills and the ability to communicate the essence of spirituality, had made him the clear favorite.
So where the devil is he? Mortati wondered. Mortati was particularly unnerved by the missing cardinals because the task of supervising this conclave had fallen to him. A week ago, the College of Cardinals had unanimously chosen Mortati for the office known as The Great Elector-the conclaveinternal master of ceremonies. Even though the camerlegno was the church’s ranking official, the camerlegno was only a priest and had little familiarity with the complex election process, so one cardinal was selected to oversee the ceremony from within the Sistine Chapel.
Cardinals often joked that being appointed The Great Elector was the cruelest honor in Christendom. The appointment made one ineligible as a candidate during the eland it also required one spend many days pr
the election was properly administered. Mortati held no grudge, though. He knew he was the logical choice. Not only was he the senior cardinal, but he had also been a confidant of the late Pope, a fact that elevated his esteem. Although Mortati was technically still within the legal age window for election,he was getting a bit old to be a serious candidate. At seventy-nine years old he had crossed the unsp
to withstand the rigorous schedule of the papacy. A Pope usually worked fourteen-hour
tion in an average of 6.3 years. The inside
cepting the papacy was a cardinal’s “fastest route to heaven.”
en it came to pursuing the papacy, there was a Holy Trinitych,
the Pope had made overtures, softening
”
it
thodox!” The cardinal frowned mistrustingly.
ired the young man, secretly applauding the late Pope’s selection for
oked in the camerlegno’s eyes, and
erlegno put church and faith before petty politics.
gno’s steadfast devotion had become legendary. Many
that would have left a
er of it, Mortati thought,
aith.
days, seven days a week, and died of exhausjoke was that ac
Mortati, many believed, could have been Pope in his younger days had he not been so broad-minded. Wh
Conservative. Conservative. Conservative.
Mortati had always found it pleasantly ironic that the late Pope, God rest his soul, had revealed himself as surprisingly liberal once he had taken office. Perhaps sensing the modern world progressing away from the chur
the church’s position on the sciences, even donating money to selective scientific causes.Sadly, it had been political suicide. Conservative Catholics declared the Pope “senile,while scientific purists accused him of trying to spread the church’s influence wheredid not belong. “So where are they?” Mortati turned.
One of the cardinals was tapping him nervously on the shoulder. “You know where they are, don’t you?” Mortati tried not to show too much concern. “Perhaps still with the camerlegno.” “At this hour? That would be highly unor
“Perhaps the camerlegno lost track of time?” Mortati sincerely doubted it, but he said nothing. He was well aware that most cardinals did not much care for the camerlegno, feeling he was too young to serve the Pope so closely. Mortati suspected much of the cardinals’ dislike was jealousy, and Mortati actually adm
chamberlain. Mortati saw only conviction when he lo
unlike many of the cardinals, the camHe was truly a man of God.
Throughout his tenure, the camerle
attributed it to the miraculous event in his childhood . . . an eventpermanent impression on any man’s heart. The miracle and wond
often wishing his own childhood had presented an event that fostered that kind of doubtless f
Unfortunately for the church, Mortati knew, the camerlegno would never become Pope inhis elder years. Attaining the papacy required a certain amount of political ambition, something the young camerlegno apparently lacked; he had refused his Pope’s offers for higher clerical stations many times, saying he preferred to serve the church as a simple man. “What next?” The cardinal tapped Mortati, waiting.
Mortati looked up. “I’m sorry?”
!”
can we do?” Mortati replied. “We wait. And have faith.”
Mortati’s response, the cardinal shrunk back into the
ows.
horrifying, fifty-footted
for a carnival wrestling booth by
nless at the Pope’s bulletproof window and gazed down at the
d left him
. distended somehow. Not himself.
o demands. No negotiation. Just retribution.
ears in the making. It seemed that after
k.
one. Olivetti was the first to
ence. “Carlo,” he said, using the camerlegno’s first name and sounding more
friend than an officer. “For twenty-six years, I have sworn my life to the
situation . . .” Olivetti looked
action. I have a responsibility for the
safety of the College of Cardinals.”
“They’re late! What shall we do
“What Looking entirely unsatisfied with
shadMortati stood a moment, dabbing his temples and trying to clear his mind. Indeed, what shall we do? He gazed past the altar up to Michelangelo’s renowned fresco, “The Last Judgment.” The painting did nothing to soothe his anxiety. It was a
tall depiction of Jesus Christ separating mankind into the righteous and sinners, casting the sinners into hell. There was flayed flesh, burning bodies, and even one of Michelangelo’s rivals sitting in hell wearing ass’s ears. Guy de Maupassant had once written that the painting looked like something pain
an ignorant coal heaver. Cardinal Mortati had to agree. 43
L angdon stood motio
bustle of media trailers in St. Peter’s Square. The eerie phone conversation hafeeling turgid . .
The Illuminati, like a serpent from the forgotten depths of history, had risen and wrappedthemselves around an ancient foe. N
Demonically simple. Squeezing. A revenge 400 ycenturies of persecution, science had bitten bac
The camerlegno stood at his desk, staring blankly at the ph
break the sillike a weary
protection of this office. It seems tonight I am dishonored.” The camerlegno shook his head. “You and I serve God in different capacities, but service always brings honor.”
“These events . . . I can’t imagine how . . . this
overwhelmed.
“You realize we have only one possible course of
“I fear that responsibility was mine, signore.” “Then your men will oversee the immediate evacuation.”
“Signore?” “Other options can be exercised later-a search for this device, a manhunt for the missing
he sanctity of
ighed and turned to the window, his eyes drifting out onto the
ld me that a Pope is a man torn between
voice sounded suddenly wise for its
more pure. Let
h
.
est?”
erlegno looked troubled. “Are you suggesting I lock the entire College of
b?”
with the
prepared
cardinals and their captors. But first the cardinals must be taken to safety. T
human life weighs above all. Those men are the foundation of this church.”
“You suggest we cancel conclave right now?” “Do I have a choice?” “What about your charge to bring a new Pope?”
The young chamberlain ssprawl of Rome below. “His Holiness once to
two worlds . . . the real world and the divine. He warned that any church that ignored reality would not survive to enjoy the divine.” His
years. “The real world is upon us tonight. We would be vain to ignore it. Pride and precedent cannot overshadow reason.”
Olivetti nodded, looking impressed. “I have underestimated you, signore.”
The camerlegno did not seem to hear. His gaze was distant on the window.
“I will speak openly, signore. The real world is my world. I immerse myself in its ugliness every day such that others are unencumbered to seek something
me advise you on the present situation. It is what I am trained for. Your instincts, thougworthy . . . could be disastrous.” The camerlegno turned
Olivetti sighed. “The evacuation of the College of Cardinals from the Sistine Chapel is the worst possible thing you could do right now.” The camerlegno did not look indignant, only at a loss. “What do you sugg
“Say nothing to the cardinals. Seal conclave. It will buy us time to try other options.” The camCardinals on top of a time bom
“Yes, signore. For now. Later, if need be, we can arrange evacuation.” The camerlegno shook his head. “Postponing the ceremony before it starts is grounds alone for an inquiry, but after the doors are sealed nothing intervenes. Conclave procedure obligates-”
“Real world, signore. You’re in it tonight. Listen closely.” Olivetti spoke now efficient rattle of a field officer. “Marching one hundred sixty-five cardinals un
and unprotected into Rome would be reckless. It would cause confusion and panic in some very old men, and frankly, one fatal stroke this month is enough.”
One fatal stroke. The commander’s words recalled the headlines Langdon had read over dinner with some students in the Harvard Commons: POPE SUFFERS STROKE. DIES IN SLEEP.
“In addition,” Olivetti said, “the Sistine Chapel is a fortress. Although we don’t advertithe fact, the structure is heavily reinforced and can repel any attack short of missiles. Apreparation we searched every inch of the chapel this afternoon, scanning for bugs and
se
s
confident the
right now. We can
round,
ter . . .
owd in St.
Peter’s Square.
en my sole
charge for over two decades. I have no intention of allowing this weapon to detonate.”
ou can find it?”
e of my surveillance specialists. There is a
possibility, if we kill power to Vatican City, that we can eliminate the background RF
field.”
ever
l except a few of my perimeter guards and
begin a search. A hundred men could cover a lot of ground in five hours.”
ister back to CERN. Detonation is
unavoidable without recharging the batteries.”
arge here?”
me
b. As we get closer to the critical hour, we will make the critical decisions.”
other surveillance equipment. The chapel is clean, a safe haven, and I amantimatter is not inside. There is no safer place those men can be
always discuss emergency evacuation later if it comes to that.” Langdon was impressed. Olivetti’s cold, smart logic reminded him of Kohler.
“Commander,” Vittoria said, her voice tense, “there are other concerns. Nobody has ever created this much antimatter. The blast radius, I can only estimate. Some of surrounding
Rome may be in danger. If the canister is in one of your central buildings or undergthe effect outside these walls may be minimal, but if the canister is near the perime
in this building for example . . .” She glanced warily out the window at the cr
“I am well aware of my responsibilities to the outside world,” Olivetti replied, “and it makes this situation no more grave. The protection of this sanctuary has be
Camerlegno Ventresca looked up. “You think y
“Let me discuss our options with som
and create a clean enough environment to get a reading on that canister’s magnetic
Vittoria looked surprised, and then impressed. “You want to black out Vatican City?”“Possibly. I don’t yet know if it’s possible, but it is one option I want to explore.”
“The cardinals would certainly wonder what happened,” Vittoria remarked.
Olivetti shook his head. “Conclaves are held by candlelight. The cardinals would nknow. After conclave is sealed, I could pull al
“Four hours,” Vittoria corrected. “I need to fly the can
“There’s no way to rech
Vittoria shook her head. “The interface is complex. I’d have brought it if I could.” “Four hours then,” Olivetti said, frowning. “Still time enough. Panic serves no one.
Signore, you have ten minutes. Go to the chapel, seal conclave. Give my men some tito do their jo
Langdon wondered how close to “the critical hour” Olivetti would let things get. The camerlegno looked troubled. “But the college will ask about the preferiti . . . especially about Baggia . . . where they are.”
signore. Tell them you served the four
o keep the
.”
ow where the early evening sun glinted off an endless sea of Roman
five million is not within my power. I will not waste
talk?”
sonal,” she said. “The killer knows where the antimatter is . . . and the
to stake out hundreds of churches is what the Illuminati hope we will do . . .
Roman Police?” the camerlegno asked. “We could alert citywide
know how the Roman Carbonieri feel about us.
crisis to the
edia soon
enough as it is.”
“Then you will have to think of something,
cardinals something at tea that disagreed with them.” The camerlegno looked riled. “Stand on the altar of the Sistine Chapel and lie to the College of Cardinals?” “For their own safety. Una bugia veniale. A white lie. Your job will be t
peace.” Olivetti headed for the door. “Now if you will excuse me, I need to get started
“Comandante,” the camerlegno urged, “we cannot simply turn our backs on missing cardinals.”
Olivetti stopped in the doorway. “Baggia and the others are currently outside our sphere of influence. We must let them go . . . for the good of the whole. The military calls it triage.”
“Don’t you mean abandonment?” His voice hardened. “If there were any way, signore . . . any way in heaven to locate those four cardinals, I would lay down my life to do it. And yet . . .” He pointed across
the room at the windrooftops. “Searching a city of
precious time to appease my conscience in a futile exercise. I’m sorry.” Vittoria spoke suddenly. “But if we caught the killer, couldn’t you make him
Olivetti frowned at her. “Soldiers cannot afford to be saints, Ms. Vetra. Believe me, I empathize with your personal incentive to catch this man.” “It’s not only per
missing cardinals. If we could somehow find him . . .” “Play into their hands?” Olivetti said. “Believe me, removing all protection from Vatican City in order
wasting precious time and manpower when we should be searching . . . or worse yet, leaving the Vatican Bank totally unprotected. Not to mention the remaining cardinals.”
The point hit home. “How about the
enforcement of the crisis. Enlist their help in finding the cardinals’ captor.” “Another mistake,” Olivetti said. “You
We’d get a half-hearted effort of a few men in exchange for their selling ourglobal media. Exactly what our enemies want. We’ll have to deal with the m
I will mwords.
ake your cardinals media luminaries, Langdon thought, recalling the killer’s
The first cardinal’s body appears at eight o’clock. Then one every hour. The press
ve it.
t
prayer of St. Francis, signore. Do
line with pain in his voice. “God, grant me strength to
id. “This is one of those things.” Then he was gone.
) is in London just west
rcus. The switchboard phone rang, and a junior content editor picked up.
unhill cigarette.
reaking story your
ing?”
BC had run a preliminary story yesterday to mediocre
What’s the angle?”
have a TV reporter in Rome covering the election?”
tly.”
can tell you.”
will loThe camerlegno was talking again, a trace of anger in his voice. “Commander, we cannoin good conscience do nothing about the missing cardinals!”
Olivetti looked the camerlegno dead in the eye. “The
you recall it?” The young priest spoke the single
accept those things I cannot change.”
“Trust me,” Olivetti sa
44
T he central office of the British Broadcast Corporation (BBC
of Piccadilly Ci
“BBC,” she said, stubbing out her D
The voice on the line was raspy, with a Mid-East accent. “I have a bnetwork might be interested in.”
The editor took out a pen and a standard Lead Sheet. “Regard
“The papal election.”
She frowned wearily. The B
response. The public, it seemed, had little interest in Vatican City. “
“Do you
“I believe so.” “I need to speak to him direc
“I’m sorry, but I cannot give you that number without some idea-”
“There is a threat to the conclave. That is all I
The editor took notes. “Your name?” “My name is immaterial.”
The editor was not surprised. “And you have proof of this claim?” “I do.”
“I would be happy to take the information, but it is not our policy to give out our reporters’ numbers unless-” “I understand. I will call another network. Thank you for your time. Good-b-” “Just a moment,” she said. “Can you hold?”
ial
d the BBC’s
e
ately for her, reporters lived in eternal fear of missing the big story, so they seldom
ed her for passing along the occasional delusional psychotic. Wasting five minutes
r’s time was forgivable. Missing a headline was not.
.” When
ost likely be grateful for a break in the monotony.
Vatican City.
mber.
the Pope’s office. She looked up at the
team can filter electronic interference, they will have
tal
u need to act now.”
.
The editor put the caller on hold and stretched her neck. The art of screening out potentcrank calls was by no means a perfect science, but this caller had just passe
two tacit tests for authenticity of a phone source. He had refused to give his name, and hwas eager to get off the phone. Hacks and glory hounds usually whined and pleaded.
Fortunchastisof a reporte
Yawning, she looked at her computer and typed in the keywords “Vatican Cityshe saw the name of the field reporter covering the papal election, she chuckled to herself. He was a new guy the BBC had just brought up from some trashy London tabloid to handle some of the BBC’s more mundane coverage. Editorial had obviously started him at the bottom rung. He was probably bored out of his mind, waiting all night to record his live ten-second video spot. He would m
The BBC content editor copied down the reporter’s satellite extension in
Then, lighting another cigarette, she gave the anonymous caller the reporter’s nu45 I
t won’t work,” Vittoria said, pacing camerlegno. “Even if a Swiss Guard
to be practically on top of the canister before they detect any signal. And that’s if the canister is even accessible . . . unenclosed by other barriers. What if it’s buried in a mebox somewhere on your grounds? Or up in a metal ventilating duct. There’s no way they’ll trace it. And what if the Swiss Guards have been infiltrated? Who’s to say the search will be clean?” The camerlegno looked drained. “What are you proposing, Ms. Vetra?”
Vittoria felt flustered. Isn’t it obvious! “I am proposing, sir, that you take other precautions immediately. We can hope against all hope that the commander’s search is successful. At the same time, look out the window. Do you see those people? Those buildings across the piazza? Those media vans? The tourists? They are quite possibly within range of the blast. Yo
The camerlegno nodded vacantly
Vittoria felt frustrated. Olivetti had convinced everyone there was plenty of time. But Vittoria knew if news of the Vatican predicament leaked out, the entire area could fill with onlookers in a matter of minutes. She had seen it once outside the Swiss Parliament
ery
ur
ffice . . . because I have a responsibility to you. To you and others. Lives are in danger,
ere the antimatter is . . . hell, he
you always have tools. But it was no use. Her thoughts
was a problem
erself to
she could not. She was suffocating.
g the edges of rationality. He
e camerlegno, but his vision was blurred by hideous images:
explosions, press swarming, cameras rolling, four branded humans.
Shaitan . . . Lucifer . . . Bringer of light . . . Satan . . .
He shook the fiendish images from his mind. Calculated terrorism, he reminded himself,
ce
professor had lectured, “has a singular goal. What is it?”
people?” a student ventured.
building. During a hostage situation involving a bomb, thousands had congregated outside the building to witness the outcome. Despite police warnings that they were in danger, the crowd packed in closer and closer. Nothing captured human interest like human tragedy. “Signore,” Vittoria urged, “the man who killed my father is out there somewhere. Evcell in this body wants to run from here and hunt him down. But I am standing in yo
o
signore. Do you hear me?” The camerlegno did not answer. Vittoria could hear her own heart racing. Why couldn’t the Swiss Guard trace that damn
caller? The Illuminati assassin is the key! He knows wh
knows where the cardinals are! Catch the killer, and everything is solved. Vittoria sensed she was starting to come unhinged, an alien distress she recalled only faintly from childhood, the orphanage years, frustration with no tools to handle it. You have tools, she told herself,
intruded, strangling her. She was a researcher and problem solver. But thiswith no solution. What data do you require? What do you want? She told h
breathe deeply, but for the first time in her life,
Langdon’s head ached, and he felt like he was skirtin
watched Vittoria and th
grasping at reality. Planned chaos. He thought back to a Radcliffe seminar he had onaudited while researching praetorian symbolism. He had never seen terrorists the sameway since. “Terrorism,” the
“Killing innocent
“Incorrect. Death is only a byproduct of terrorism.” “A show of strength?” “No. A weaker persuasion does not exist.”
“To cause terror?”
“Concisely put. Quite simply, the goal of terrorism is to create terror and fear. Fear undermines faith in the establishment. It weakens the enemy from within . . . causing unrest in the masses. Write this down. Terrorism is not an expression of rage. Terrois a political wea
rism
pon. Remove a government’s façade of infallibility, and you remove its
uld
id
n’s
as pounding louder now . . . tiny voices playing tug of war.
nd airbags . . . those are things that protect you.
th in
water?
. . computers, vaccines, space stations . . . even the
divine miracle of creation. Matter from nothing . . . in a lab. Who needs God? No!
The killer’s voice resonated in Langdon’s mind. Midnight . . . mathematical progression
Robert Langdon bolted to his feet. His chair fell backward and crashed on the marble
“I missed it,” Langdon whispered, spellbound. “It was right in front of me . . .”
“Missed what?” Vittoria demanded.
to the priest. “Father, for three years I have petitioned this office for
access to the Vatican Archives. I have been denied seven times.”
hardly seems the moment to raise such complaints.”
ssing cardinals. I may be able to figure out where
they’re going to be killed.”
t me
ve this information is in our archives?”
l in four minutes. The archives are across
people’s faith.” Loss of faith . . .
Is that what this was all about? Langdon wondered how Christians of the world wo
react to cardinals being laid out like mutilated dogs. If the faith of a canonized priest dnot protect him from the evils of Satan, what hope was there for the rest of us? Langdohead w
Faith does not protect you. Medicine a
God does not protect you. Intelligence protects you. Enlightenment. Put your faisomething with tangible results. How long has it been since someone walked on
Modern miracles belong to science .
Science is God.
of death . . . sacrifici vergini nell’ altare di scienza.”
Then suddenly, like a crowd dispersed by a single gunshot, the voices were gone.
floor.
Vittoria and the camerlegno jumped.
Langdon turned
“Mr. Langdon, I am sorry, but this
“I need access immediately. The four mi
Vittoria stared, looking certain she had misunderstood.
The camerlegno looked troubled, as if he were the brunt of a cruel joke. “You expecto belie
“I can’t promise I can locate it in time, but if you let me in . . .” “Mr. Langdon, I am due in the Sistine Chape
Vatican City.”
“You’re serious aren’t you?” Vittoria interrupted, staring deep into Langdon’s eyesseeming to sense his earnes
,
tness.
” Langdon said.
f
these killings are going to happen, we could stake out the locations and-”
said, “will take longer than you’ve got. But if I’m right, we can
sacred codices are in that archive. Treasures I myself am not
ator and the Board of Vatican
andate. It says so in every rejection letter your
not mistaken a papal mandate comes from
it. “Mr. Langdon, I
ensed nothing but truth in the man’s eyes.
se four churches?”
is
interrupted. “Forgive me. My mind cannot process any more
“Hardly a joking time,
“Father,” Vittoria said, turning to the camerlegno, “if there’s a chance . . . any at all ofinding where
“But the archives?” the camerlegno insisted. “How could they possibly contain any clue?”
“Explaining it,” Langdon
use the information to catch the Hassassin.” The camerlegno looked as though he wanted to believe but somehow could not. “Christianity’s most
privileged enough to see.” “I am aware of that.”
“Access is permitted only by written decree of the cur
Librarians.” “Or,” Langdon declared, “by papal m
curator ever sent me.” The camerlegno nodded. “Not to be rude,” Langdon urged, “but if I’m
this office. As far as I can tell, tonight you hold the trust of his station. Considering the circumstances . . .”
The camerlegno pulled a pocket watch from his cassock and looked at
am prepared to give my life tonight, quite literally, to save this church.” Langdon s
“This document,” the camerlegno said, “do you truly believe it is here? And that it can help us locate the
“I would not have made countless solicitations for access if I were not convinced. Italy is a bit far to come on a lark when you make a teacher’s salary. The document you have
an ancient-” “Please,” the camerlegno
details at the moment. Do you know where the secret archives are located?” Langdon felt a rush of excitement. “Just behind the Santa Ana Gate.” “Impressive. Most scholars believe it is through the secret door behind St. Peter’s
Throne.”
“No. That would be the Archivio della Reverenda di Fabbrica di S. Pietro. A commonmisconception.” “A librarian docent accompanie
s every entrant at all times. Tonight, the docents are gone.
ou are requesting is carte blanche access. Not even our cardinals enter alone.”
e utmost respect and care. Your librarians will find not
e that I was there.”
orgia Courtyard directly
20,000 volumes and are rumored
nci’s missing diaries and even unpublished
Holy Bible.
Fondamenta toward the archives,
le to accept that he was about to be granted access. Vittoria was at his
effortlessly. Her almond-scented hair tossed lightly in the breeze, and
.”
an ultrasecret Illuminati meeting place here
What y“I will treat your treasures with th
a tracOverhead the bells of St. Peter’s began to toll. The camerlegno checked his pocket watch. “I must go.” He paused a taut moment and looked up at Langdon. “I will have a Swiss Guard meet you at the archives. I am giving you my trust, Mr. Langdon. Go now.”
Langdon was speechless. The young priest now seemed to possess an eerie poise. Reaching over, he squeezed Langdon’s shoulder with surprising strength. “I want you to find what you are looking for. And find it quickly.”
46
T he Secret Vatican Archives are located at the far end of the B
up a hill from the Gate of Santa Ana. They contain over
to hold such treasures as Leonardo da Vibooks of the
Langdon strode powerfully up the deserted Via della
his mind barely abside, keeping pace
Langdon breathed it in. He felt his thoughts straying and reeled himself back. Vittoria said, “You going to tell me what we’re looking for?”
“A little book written by a guy named Galileo
She sounded surprised. “You don’t mess around. What’s in it?” “It is supposed to contain something called il segno.” “The sign?”
“Sign, clue, signal . . . depends on your translation.”
“Sign to what?” Langdon picked up the pace. “A secret location. Galileo’s Illuminati needed to protect themselves from the Vatican, so they founded
in Rome. They called it The Church of Illumination.”
“Pretty bold calling a satanic lair a church.” Langdon shook his head. “Galileo’s Illuminati were not the least bit satanic. They were scientists who revered enlightenment. Their meeting place was simply where they couldsafely congregate and discuss topics forbidden by the Vatican. Although we know the secret lair existed, to this day nobody has ever located it.” “Sounds like the Illuminati k
now how to keep a secret.”
deaway to anyone outside
em, but it also posed a problem when it came
“They couldn’t grow if they couldn’t advertise,” Vittoria said, her legs and mind keeping
ts
ade secret pilgrimages to Rome hoping to join the Illuminati . . .
ause of the Illuminati’s secrecy, scientists arriving in Rome
nd a solution. A brilliant one,
map? Sounds careless. If a copy fell
said. “No copies existed anywhere. It was not the kind of map that
. eventually leading to the Illuminati lair.”
of speaking, it is. The Illuminati called their string of
“Absolutely. In fact, they never revealed the location of their hi
the brotherhood. This secrecy protected thto recruiting new members.”
perfect pace. “Exactly. Word of Galileo’s brotherhood started to spread in the 1630s, and scientisfrom around the world m
eager for a chance to look through Galileo’s telescope and hear the master’s ideas. Unfortunately, though, bec
never knew where to go for the meetings or to whom they could safely speak. The Illuminati wanted new blood, but they could not afford to risk their secrecy by making their whereabouts known.”
Vittoria frowned. “Sounds like a situazione senza soluzione.”
“Exactly. A catch-22, as we would say.” “So what did they do?”
“They were scientists. They examined the problem and fou
actually. The Illuminati created a kind of ingenious map directing scientists to their sanctuary.” Vittoria looked suddenly skeptical and slowed. “A
into the wrong hands . . .” “It couldn’t,” Langdon
fit on paper. It was enormous. A blazed trail of sorts across the city.” Vittoria slowed even further. “Arrows painted on sidewalks?” “In a sense, yes, but much more subtle. The map consisted of a series of carefullyconcealed symbolic markers placed in public locations around the city. One marker led to the next . . . and the next . . . a trail . .
Vittoria eyed him askance. “Sounds like a treasure hunt.” Langdon chuckled. “In a manner
markers ‘The Path of Illumination,’ and anyone who wanted to join the brotherhood hadto follow it all the way to the end. A kind of test.”
“But if the Vatican wanted to find the Illuminati,” Vittoria argued, “couldn’t they simply follow the markers?” “No. The path was hidden. A puzzle, constructed in such a way that only certain people
bility to track the markers and figure out where the Illuminati church
f initiation, functioning not only as a
to ensure that only the brightest
00s the clergy were some of the most educated men in the world.
wn in symbology as
she said. “Nature’s best defense. Try spotting a trumpet fish floating
rass.”
that
an Illuminati artistmatic
symbol ‘Illuminati’-
ents-four
lly
would have the a
was hidden. The Illuminati intended it as a kind osecurity measure but also as a screening process
scientists arrived at their door.” “I don’t buy it. In the 16
If these markers were in public locations, certainly there existed members of the Vatican who could have figured it out.” “Sure,” Langdon said, “if they had known about the markers. But they didn’t. And they never noticed them because the Illuminati designed them in such a way that clerics wouldnever suspect what they were. They used a method kno
dissimulation.”
“Camouflage.” Langdon was impressed. “You know the term.”
“Dissimulacione,”vertically in seag
“Okay,” Langdon said. “The Illuminati used the same concept. They created markersfaded into the backdrop of ancient Rome. They couldn’t use ambigrams or scientificsymbology because it would be far too conspicuous, so they called on
the same anonymous prodigy who had created their ambigramand they commissioned him to carve four sculptures.”
“Illuminati sculptures?”
“Yes, sculptures with two strict guidelines. First, the sculptures had to look like the rest of the artwork in Rome . . . artwork that the Vatican would never suspect belonged to the Illuminati.” “Religious art.” Langdon nodded, feeling a tinge of excitement, talking faster now. “And the second guideline was that the four sculptures had to have very specific themes. Each piece needed to be a subtle tribute to one of the four elements of science.”
“Four elements?” Vittoria said. “There are over a hundred.” “Not in the 1600s,” Langdon reminded her. “Early alchemists believed the entire universe
was made up of only four substances: Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.” The early cross, Langdon knew, was the most common symbol of the four elemarms representing Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. Beyond that, though, there existed litera
dozens of symbolic occurrences of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water throughout history-thePythagorean cycles of life, the Chinese Hong-Fan, the Jungian male and female rudiments, the quadrants of the Zodiac, even the Muslims revered the four ancient elements . . . although in Islam they were known as “squares, clouds, lightning, and waves.” For Lan
gdon, though, it was a more modern usage that always gave him chillsfied.
“So this Illuminati artist created four pieces of art that looked
Sentinel toward the archives. “The
arker . . . subtly pointing to the next church . . .
.
rch of
less and less clear. “And this has something to do with catching the
Illuminati assassin?”
Langdon smiled as he played his ace. “Oh, yes. The Illuminati called these four churches
”
ce.”
ars.
ore. Their secret lair is probably long gone
bs,
d
the Mason’s four mystic grades of Absolute Initiation: Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. Vittoria seemed mysti
religious, but were actually tributes to Earth, Air, Fire, and Water?” “Exactly,” Langdon said, quickly turning up Via
pieces blended into the sea of religious artwork all over Rome. By donating the artwork anonymously to specific churches and then using their political influence, the brotherhood facilitated placement of these four pieces in carefully chosen churches in Rome. Each piece of course was a m
where the next marker awaited. It functioned as a trail of clues disguised as religious artIf an Illuminati candidate could find the first church and the marker for Earth, he could
follow it to Air . . . and then to Fire . . . and then to Water . . . and finally to the ChuIllumination.”
Vittoria was looking
by a very special name. The Altars of Science.” Vittoria frowned. “I’m sorry, that means noth-” She stopped short. “L’altare di scienza?she exclaimed. “The Illuminati assassin. He warned that the cardinals would be virgin sacrifices on the altars of science!” Langdon gave her a smile. “Four cardinals. Four churches. The four altars of scien
She looked stunned. “You’re saying the four churches where the cardinals will be sacrificed are the same four churches that mark the ancient Path of Illumination?” “I believe so, yes.” “But why would the killer have given us that clue?” “Why not?” Langdon replied. “Very few historians know about these sculptures. Evenfewer believe they exist. And their locations have remained secret for four hundred yeNo doubt the Illuminati trusted the secret for another five hours. Besides, the Illuminati don’t need their Path of Illumination anym
anyway. They live in the modern world. They meet in bank boardrooms, eating cluprivate golf courses. Tonight they want to make their secrets public. This is their moment. Their grand unveiling.” Langdon feared the Illuminati unveiling would have a special symmetry to it that he hadnot yet mentioned. The four brands. The killer had sworn each cardinal would be brande
with a different symbol. Proof the ancient legends are true, the killer had said. The
ent elements of science. The rumor that
tay silent as long as it took, amassing enough
tly
y bark coming back was indecipherable to
guard slumped, put away the walkie-talkie, and
y passed through
entries, down a long stairwell, and into a foyer with two
combination keypads. Passing through a high-tech series of electronic gates, they arrived
rd turned, speaking to them for the first time. “The archives are beyond that door.
een instructed to escort you this far and return for briefing on another matter.”
u’re leaving?” Vittoria demanded.
difficulties.” That being the entirety of the
conversation, the guard spun on his heel and marched off down the hall.
legend of the four ambigrammatic brands was as old as the Illuminati itself: earth, air, fire, water-four words crafted in perfect symmetry. Just like the word Illuminati. Each cardinal was to be branded with one of the anci
the four brands were in English rather than Italian remained a point of debate amonghistorians. English seemed a random deviation from their natural tongue . . . and the Illuminati did nothing randomly. Langdon turned up the brick pathway before the archive building. Ghastly images thrashed in his mind. The overall Illuminati plot was starting to reveal its patient grandeur. The brotherhood had vowed to s
influence and power that they could resurface without fear, make their stand, fight their cause in broad daylight. The Illuminati were no longer about hiding. They were about flaunting their power, confirming the conspiratorial myths as fact. Tonight was a global publicity stunt. Vittoria said, “Here comes our escort.” Langdon looked up to see a Swiss Guard hurrying across an adjacent lawn toward the front door.
When the guard saw them, he stopped in his tracks. He stared at them, as though he thought he was hallucinating. Without a word he turned away and pulled out his walkie-talkie. Apparently incredulous at what he was being asked to do, the guard spoke urgen
to the person on the other end. The angrLangdon, but its message was clear. The
turned to them with a look of discontent. Not a word was spoken as the guard guided them into the building. The
four steel doors, two passkey
at the end of a long hallway outside a set of wide oak double doors. The guard stopped, looked them over again and, mumbling under his breath, walked to a metal box on the
wall. He unlocked it, reached inside, and pressed a code. The doors before them buzzed, and the deadbolt fell open.
The guaI have b
“Yo“Swiss Guards are not cleared for access to the Secret Archives. You are here only because my commander received a direct order from the camerlegno.” “But how do we get out?”
“Monodirectional security. You will have no
Vittoria made some comment, but Langdon did not hear. His mind was fixed on the double doors before him, wondering what mysteries lay beyond.
47
A lthough he knew time was short, Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca walked slowly. He needed the time alone to gather his thoughts before facing opening prayer. So much whappening. As he moved in dim solitude down the Northern Wing, the challenge of the past fifteen days weighed heavy in his bones. He had followed his holy duties to the letter. As was Vatican
as
tradition, following the Pope’s death the camerlegno had personally
hen
ie
e thought. The final hurdle. It was one of the oldest traditions in Christendom.
o
. It
ts, the mixing of ancient chemicals, the
XIII, he wondered if
t. Certainly Mortati had noticed the preferiti were
em, the voting would go on all night. Mortati’s appointment as the
reat Elector, the camerlegno assured himself, was a good one. The man was a
ht
confirmed expiration by placing his fingers on the Pope’s carotid artery, listening for breath, and then calling the Pope’s name three times. By law there was no autopsy. The had sealed the Pope’s bedroom, destroyed the papal fisherman’s ring, shattered the dused to make lead seals, and arranged for the funeral. That done, he began preparationsfor the conclave. Conclave, h
Nowadays, because the outcome of conclave was usually known before it began, the process was criticized as obsolete-more of a burlesque than an election. The camerlegnknew, however, this was only a lack of understanding. Conclave was not an electionwas an ancient, mystic transference of power. The tradition was timeless . . . the secrecy,
the folded slips of paper, the burning of the ballo
smoke signals. As the camerlegno approached through the Loggias of Gregory
Cardinal Mortati was in a panic yemissing. Without th
G
freethinker and could speak his mind. The conclave would need a leader tonight more than ever. As the camerlegno arrived at the top of the Royal Staircase, he felt as though he were standing on the precipice of his life. Even from up here he could hear the rumble of activity in the Sistine Chapel below-the uneasy chatter of 165 cardinals. One hundred sixty-one cardinals, he corrected.
For an instant the camerlegno was falling, plummeting toward hell, people screaming,
flames engulfing him, stones and blood raining from the sky. And then silence.
When the child awoke, he was in heaven. Everything around him was white. The ligwas blinding and pure. Although some would say a ten year old could not possibly understand heaven, the young Carlo Ventresca understood heaven very well. He was in heaven right now. Where else would he be? Even in his short decade on earth Carlo had
felt the majesty of God-the thundering pipe organs, the towering domes, the voices raised
ied. “And a promise to God is the most
of all. Never break a promise to God.”
all. He knelt with her as she
and listening to the murmur of her voice as
the rosary. Hail Mary, Mother of God . . . pray for us sinners . . . now and at
arlo asked, already knowing his father had died before he was
born.
the blinding lights were turned off, was actually the
een the sole
apsed a chapel where he and his mother had
on vacation. Thirty-seven people had died, including Carlo’s
ing
was torn apart. He
other’s blood! The blessed
ad told him.
in song, the stained glass, shimmering bronze and gold. Carlo’s mother, Maria, brought him to Mass every day. The church was Carlo’s home.
“Why do we come to Mass every single day?” Carlo asked, not that he minded at all.
“Because I promised God I would,” she replimportant promise
Carlo promised her he would never break a promise to God. He loved his mother more than anything in the world. She was his holy angel. Sometimes he called her Maria benedetta-the Blessed Mary-although she did not like that at
prayed, smelling the sweet scent of her flesh she counted
the hour of our death.
“Where is my father?” C
“God is your father, now,” she would always reply. “You are a child of the church.” Carlo loved that. “Whenever you feel frightened,” she said, “remember that God is your father now. He will watch over you and protect you forever. God has big plans for you, Carlo.” The boy knew she was right. He could already feel God in his blood.
Blood . . .
Blood raining from the sky! Silence. Then heaven. His heaven, Carlo learned as
Intensive Care Unit in Santa Clara Hospital outside of Palermo. Carlo had b
survivor of a terrorist bombing that had collbeen attending Mass while
mother. The papers called Carlo’s survival The Miracle of St. Francis. Carlo had, for some unknown reason, only moments before the blast, left his mother’s side and ventured into a protected alcove to ponder a tapestry depicting the story of St. Francis. God called me there, he decided. He wanted to save me. Carlo was delirious with pain. He could still see his mother, kneeling at the pew, blowhim a kiss, and then with a concussive roar, her sweet-smelling flesh
could still taste man’s evil. Blood showered down. His mMaria!
God will watch over you and protect you forever, his mother h
But where was God now!
Then, like a worldly manifestation of his mother’s truth, a clergyman had come to the hospital. He was not any clergyman. He was a bishop. He prayed over Carlo. The Miraof St. Francis. When Carlo
cle
recovered, the bishop arranged for him to live in a small
which the bishop presided. Carlo lived and
became an altar boy for his new protector. The bishop
ing. The bishop told Carlo that if he entered seminary he would be exempt
urch fighting evil, first he
you return.”
rlo’s youth had been one of
o home. But he was determined to stick it out. He
ad yet to understand evil. He refused to fire a gun, so the military taught him how to fly
. . .
monastery attached to the cathedral over tutored with the monks. He even
suggested Carlo enter public school, but Carlo refused. He could not have been more happy with his new home. He now truly lived in the house of God. Every night Carlo prayed for his mother.
God saved me for a reason, he thought. What is the reason?
When Carlo turned sixteen, he was obliged by Italian law to serve two years of reserve military train
from this duty. Carlo told the priest that he planned to enter seminary but that first he needed to understand evil. The bishop did not understand. Carlo told him that if he was going to spend his life in the ch
had to understand it. He could not think of any better place to understand evil than in the army. The army used guns and bombs. A bomb killed my Blessed mother! The bishop tried to dissuade him, but Carlo’s mind was made up. “Be careful, my son,” the bishop had said. “And remember the church awaits you when
Carlo’s two years of military service had been dreadful. Ca
silence and reflection. But in the army there was no quiet for reflection. Endless noise. Huge machines everywhere. Not a moment of peace. Although the soldiers went to Massonce a week at the barracks, Carlo did not sense God’s presence in any of his fellow soldiers. Their minds were too filled with chaos to see God.
Carlo hated his new life and wanted to g
h
a medical helicopter. Carlo hated the noise and the smell, but at least it let him fly up in the sky and be closer to his mother in heaven. When he was informed his pilot’s training included learning how to parachute, Carlo was terrified. Still, he had no choice.
God will protect me, he told himself.
Carlo’s first parachute jump was the most exhilarating physical experience of his life. It was like flying with God. Carlo could not get enough . . . the silence . . . the floatingseeing his mother’s face in the billowing white clouds as he soared to earth. God has plans for you, Carlo. When he returned from the military, Carlo entered the seminary.
That had been twenty-three years ago.
Now, acompre
s Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca descended the Royal Staircase, he tried to
hend the chain of events that had delivered him to this extraordinary crossroads.
don all fear, he told himself, and give this night over to God.
ur
ad
B
he field to cover this schlock. You
That was because the big boys did
of
d inn’t
want
inute.
fore him as a dismal reminder of what men
inds to it.
“Nothing.”
.
ly polishing her glasses. She was
er glasses. Chinita was black, although she preferred African
heavy, and smart as hell. She wouldn’t let you forget it either. She was
ould sure as hell use the company.
AbanHe could see the great bronze door of the Sistine Chapel now, dutifully protected by foSwiss Guards. The guards unbolted the door and pulled it open. Inside, every heturned. The camerlegno gazed out at the black robes and red sashes before him. He understood what God’s plans for him were. The fate of the church had been placed in hishands.
The camerlegno crossed himself and stepped over the threshold. 48
BC journalist Gunther Glick sat sweating in the BBC network van parked on the eastern edge of St. Peter’s Square and cursed his assignment editor. Although Glick’s first monthly review had come back filled with superlatives-resourceful, sharp, dependable-here he was in Vatican City on “Pope-Watch.” He reminded himself that reporting for the BBC carried a hell of a lot more credibility than fabricating fodder for the British Tattler, but still, this was not his idea of reporting.
Glick’s assignment was simple. Insultingly simple. He was to sit here waiting for a bunch of old farts to elect their next chief old fart, then he was to step outside and record a fifteen-second “live” spot with the Vatican as a backdrop.
Brilliant.
Glick couldn’t believe the BBC still sent reporters into tdon’t see the American networks here tonight. Hell no!
it right. They watched CNN, synopsized it, and then filmed their “live” report in fronta blue screen, superimposing stock video for a realistic backdrop. MSNBC even usestudio wind and rain machines to give that on-the-scene authenticity. Viewers didtruth anymore; they wanted entertainment. Glick gazed out through the windshield and felt more and more depressed by the m
The imperial mountain of Vatican City rose be
could accomplish when they put their m
“What have I accomplished in my life?” he wondered aloud.
“So give up,” a woman’s voice said from behind him
Glick jumped. He had almost forgotten he was not alone. He turned to the back seat, where his camerawoman, Chinita Macri, sat silent
always polishing hAmerican, a little
an odd bird, but Glick liked her. And Glick c
“What’s the problem, Gunth?” Chinita asked.
g event.”
“You know you’re going to hell, don’t you?”
ere.”
e British Tattler.”
s.”
t fifteen seconds of TV history.”
r
an his hands through the reddish gob of hair on his chin. “I think it makes me look
”
van’s cell phone rang, mercifully interrupting yet another one of Glick’s failures.
?”
he man on the line had a thick Arabic accent. “Listen carefully,” he said. “I am about to
9
“What are we doing here?”
She kept polishing. “Witnessing an excitin
“Old men locked in the dark is exciting?” do
“Already th
“Talk to me.” She sounded like his mother.
“I just feel like I want to leave my mark.” “You wrote for th
“Yeah, but nothing with any resonance.”
“Oh, come on, I heard you did a groundbreaking article on the queen’s secret sex life with alien
“Thanks.”
“Hey, things are looking up. Tonight you make your firs
Glick groaned. He could hear the news anchor already. “Thanks Gunther, great report.”Then the anchor would roll his eyes and move on to the weather. “I should have tried foan anchor spot.”
Macri laughed. “With no experience? And that beard? Forget it.”
Glick rclever.
The“Maybe that’s editorial,” he said, suddenly hopeful. “You think they want a live update“On this story?” Macri laughed. “You keep dreaming.” Glick answered the phone in his best anchorman voice. “Gunther Glick, BBC, Live in Vatican City.”
T
change your life.”
4
L angdon and Vittoria stood alone now outside the double doors that led to the inner
sanctum of the Secret Archives. The decor in the colonnade was an incongruous mix of wall-to-wall carpets over marble floors and wireless security cameras gazing dowbeside carved cherubs in the ceiling. Langdon dubbed it Sterile Renaissance. Beside the arched i
n from
ngress hung a small bronze plaque.
Father Jaqui Tomaso. Langdon recognized the curator’s name from the rejection letters
s with regret that I am writing to deny . . .
met a single
As Langdon pushed the doors open and stepped through the vaulted portal into the inner
d to see Father Jaqui in full military fatigues and helmet standing
sty
h with tattered volumes, priests cataloging by the light of candles
enclosures were. He was not surprised to see them; humidity and heat eroded
.
tainer where the oxygen was regulated by a
reference librarian.
The vaults were dark, ghostly even, faintly outlined by tiny dome lights at the end of each
f
Vittoria also seemed dazzled. She stood beside him staring mutely at the giant transparent
ARCHIVIO VATICANO Curatore, Padre Jaqui Tomaso
at home in his desk. Dear Mr. Langdon, It i
Regret. Bullshit. Since Jaqui Tomaso’s reign had begun, Langdon had never non-Catholic American scholar who had been given access to the Secret Vatican Archives. Il gaurdiano, historians called him. Jaqui Tomaso was the toughest librarian on earth.
sanctum, he half expecte
guard with a bazooka. The space, however, was deserted. Silence. Soft lighting. Archivio Vaticano. One of his life dreams. As Langdon’s eyes took in the sacred chamber, his first reaction was one of embarrassment. He realized what a callow romantic he was. The images he had held forso many years of this room could not have been more inaccurate. He had imagined dubookshelves piled hig
and stained-glass windows, monks poring over scrolls . . . Not even close.
At first glance the room appeared to be a darkened airline hangar in which someone had built a dozen free-standing racquetball courts. Langdon knew of course what the glass-walled
ancient vellums and parchments, and proper preservation required hermitic vaults like these-airtight cubicles that kept out humidity and natural acids in the air. Langdon had been inside hermetic vaults many times, but it was always an unsettling experience . .something about entering an airtight con
stack. In the blackness of each cell, Langdon sensed the phantom giants, row upon row otowering stacks, laden with history. This was one hell of a collection.
cubes.
Time was short, and Langdon wasted none of it scanning the dimly lit room for a book catalog-a bound encyclopedia that cataloged the library’s collection. All he saw was the
He stepped back from the monitor. “Because books don’t have password protection.
lts.
ere
raries, the tabs indicated the contents of that row. He read the headings as he
nsparent barrier.
“They’re labeled,” he said, still walking. “But it’s not alpha-author.” He wasn’t surprised.
nefficient.”
ilar philosophy.
glow of a handful of computer terminals dotting the room. “Looks like they’ve got a Biblion. Their index is computerized.”
Vittoria looked hopeful. “That should speed things up.” Langdon wished he shared her enthusiasm, but he sensed this was bad news. He walkedto a terminal and began typing. His fears were instantly confirmed. “The old-fashioned method would have been better.” “Why?”
real
I don’t suppose physicists are natural born hackers?” Vittoria shook her head. “I can open oysters, that’s about it.” Langdon took a deep breath and turned to face the eerie collection of diaphanous vauHe walked to the nearest one and squinted into the dim interior. Inside the glass w
amorphous shapes Langdon recognized as the usual bookshelves, parchment bins, and examination tables. He looked up at the indicator tabs glowing at the end of each stack. As in all lib
moved down the tra
PIETRO IL ERIMITO . . . LE CROCIATE . . . URBANO II . . . LEVANT . . .
Ancient archives were almost never cataloged alphabetically because so many of the
authors were unknown. Titles didn’t work either because many historical documents were untitled letters or parchment fragments. Most cataloging was done chronologically. Disconcertingly, however, this arrangement did not appear to be chronological. Langdon felt precious time already slipping away. “Looks like the Vatican has its own system.”
“What a surprise.” He examined the labels again. The documents spanned centuries, but all the keywords, herealized, were interrelated. “I think it’s a thematic classification.”
“Thematic?” Vittoria said, sounding like a disapproving scientist. “Sounds i
Actually . . . Langdon thought, considering it more closely. This may be the shrewdest cataloging I’ve ever seen. He had always urged his students to understand the overall tones and motifs of an artistic period rather than getting lost in the minutia of dates and specific works. The Vatican Archives, it seemed, were cataloged on a sim
Broad strokes . . . “Everything in this vault,” Langdon said, feeling more confident now, “centuries of
material, has to do with the Crusades. That’s this vault’s theme.” It was all here, he realized. Historical accounts, letters, artwork, socio-political data, modern analyses. All
cuments. “Those indicate
her hips and surveyed the
e of this
re in the dark, it’s waiting.
e,” Langdon said. He started briskly down the first aisle, examining the
owing closely.
rkers, they needed
ven if they knew the path existed, scientists would have no way of knowing
e is huge.”
next aisle, scanning the tabs as he talked. “About fifteen
inati letters
where it began.”
academics, myself included, have uncovered
d publications. He published many books and
ver the years.”
in one place . . . encouraging a deeper understanding of a topic. Brilliant. Vittoria frowned. “But data can relate to multiple themes simultaneously.” “Which is why they cross-reference with proxy markers.” Langdon pointed through the
glass to the colorful plastic tabs inserted among the do
secondary documents located elsewhere with their primary themes.” “Sure,” she said, apparently letting it go. She put her hands on
enormous space. Then she looked at Langdon. “So, Professor, what’s the namGalileo thing we’re looking for?”
Langdon couldn’t help but smile. He still couldn’t fathom that he was standing in this room. It’s in here, he thought. Somewhe
“Follow m
indicator tabs of each vault. “Remember how I told you about the Path of Illumination?How the Illuminati recruited new members using an elaborate test?” “The treasure hunt,” Vittoria said, foll
“The challenge the Illuminati had was that after they placed the ma
some way to tell the scientific community the path existed.” “Logical,” Vittoria said. “Otherwise nobody would know to look for it.” “Yes, and e
where the path began. Rom
“Okay.” Langdon proceeded down the
years ago, some historians at the Sorbonne and I uncovered a series of Illumfilled with references to the segno.”
“The sign. The announcement about the path and
“Yes. And since then, plenty of Illuminati
other references to the segno. It is accepted theory now that the clue exists and that Galileo mass distributed it to the scientific community without the Vatican ever knowing.”
“How?”
“We’re not sure, but most likely printe
newsletters o
“That the Vatican no doubt saw. Sounds dangerous.”
“True. Nonetheless the segno was distributed.” “But nobody has ever actually found it?”
“No. Oddly though, wherever allusions to the segno appear-Masonic diaries, scientific journals, Illuminati letters-it is often referred to by a number.”
ancient
s work. “Are you
ed Diàlogo?”
alileo had wanted to publish a book endorsing the
tican would not permit the
ence for the church’s
still seen as heretical, and the Vatican placed him under house arrest.”
rrest, he
se with Diàlogo. That
Vittoria nodded. “I’ve heard of it. Discourses on the Tides.”
“666?”
Langdon smiled. “Actually it’s 503.”
“Meaning?” “None of us could ever figure it out. I became fascinated with 503, trying everything to find meaning in the number-numerology, map references, latitudes.” Langdon reached the end of the aisle, turned the corner, and hurried to scan the next row of tabs as he spoke. “For many years the only clue seemed to be that 503 began with the number five .. . one of the sacred Illuminati digits.” He paused.
“Something tells me you recently figured it out, and that’s why we’re here.” “Correct,” Langdon said, allowing himself a rare moment of pride in hi
familiar with a book by Galileo call
“Of course. Famous among scientists as the ultimate scientific sellout.” Sellout wasn’t quite the word Langdon would have used, but he knew what Vittoria meant. In the early 1630s, G
Copernican heliocentric model of the solar system, but the Vabook’s release unless Galileo included equally persuasive evid
geocentric model-a model Galileo knew to be dead wrong. Galileo had no choice but to acquiesce to the church’s demands and publish a book giving equal time to both the accurate and inaccurate models.
“As you probably know,” Langdon said, “despite Galileo’s compromise, Diàlogo was
“No good deed goes unpunished.” Langdon smiled. “So true. And yet Galileo was persistent. While under house a
secretly wrote a lesser-known manuscript that scholars often confubook is called Discorsi.”
Langdon stopped short, amazed she had heard of the obscure publication about planetary motion and its effect on the tides. “Hey,” she said, “you’re talking to an Italian marine physicist whose father worshiped Galileo.”
Langdon laughed. Discorsi however was not what they were looking for. Langdon explained that Discorsi had not been Galileo’s only work while under house arrest.
gramma was Galileo’s most secretive work-supposedly some sort
acts he held to be true but was not allowed to share. Like some of
nd
ound. Then the Vatican caught wind of it and went on a book-burning
g the indicator tabs. “Archivists have been
l integrity.
Diagramma was printed on sedge papyrus. It’s like tissue paper. Life span of no more
any scientists caught with a copy
t’s
n
the
Diagramma
tters? 503?”
Historians believed he had also written an obscure booklet called Diagramma. “Diagramma della Verità,” Langdon said. “Diagram of Truth.” “Never heard of it.”
“I’m not surprised. Diaof treatise on scientific f
Galileo’s previous manuscripts, Diagramma was smuggled out of Rome by a friend aquietly published in Holland. The booklet became wildly popular in the European scientific undergr
campaign.”
Vittoria now looked intrigued. “And you think Diagramma contained the clue? The segno. The information about the Path of Illumination.” “Diagramma is how Galileo got the word out. That I’m sure of.” Langdon entered the third row of vaults and continued surveyin
looking for a copy of Diagramma for years. But between the Vatican burnings and the booklet’s low permanence rating, the booklet has disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Permanence rating?” “Durability. Archivists rate documents one through ten for their structura
than a century.”
“Why not something stronger?” “Galileo’s behest. To protect his followers. This way
could simply drop it in water and the booklet would dissolve. It was great for destruction of evidence, but terrible for archivists. It is believed that only one copy of Diagramma survived beyond the eighteenth century.”
“One?” Vittoria looked momentarily starstruck as she glanced around the room. “And ihere?”
“Confiscated from the Netherlands by the Vatican shortly after Galileo’s death. I’ve beepetitioning to see it for years now. Ever since I realized what was in it.” As if reading Langdon’s mind, Vittoria moved across the aisle and began scanningadjacent bay of vaults, doubling their pace.
“Thanks,” he said. “Look for reference tabs that have anything to do with Galileo,
science, scientists. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“Okay, but you still haven’t told me how you figured out contained the clue. It had something to do with the number you kept seeing in Illuminati le
Langdon smiled. “Yes. It took some time, but I finally figured out that 503 is a simple
Diagramma.”
ding of the son of a colleague. Bagpipes
s with 602?”
the rehearsal luncheon.”
ut at the barge. The DCII, he
s an
umeral. The
Of course, Don’t we all
lilean documents most commonly confused.
a quick breath. “Diàlogo . . . Discorsi . . . Diagramma.”
controversial. 503 is DIII. . The
. “But one thing still doesn’t make sense. If this segno, this clue,
code. It clearly points to
For an instant Langdon relived his moment of unexpected revelation: August 16. Two years ago. He was standing lakeside at the wed
droned on the water as the wedding party made their unique entrance . . . across the lake on a barge. The craft was festooned with flowers and wreaths. It carried a Roman numeral painted proudly on the hull-DCII.
Puzzled by the marking Langdon asked the father of the bride, “What’
“602?”
Langdon pointed to the barge. “DCII is the Roman numeral for 602.” The man laughed. “That’s not a Roman numeral. That’s the name of the barge.”
“The DCII?”
The man nodded. “The Dick and Connie II.”
Langdon felt sheepish. Dick and Connie were the wedding couple. The barge obviously had been named in their honor. “What happened to the DCI?”
The man groaned. “It sank yesterday during
Langdon laughed. “Sorry to hear that.” He looked back o
thought. Like a miniature QEII. A second later, it had hit him. Now Langdon turned to Vittoria. “503,” he said, “as I mentioned, is a code. It’
Illuminati trick for concealing what was actually intended as a Roman nnumber 503 in Roman numerals is-”
“DIII.”
Langdon glanced up. “That was fast. Please don’t tell me you’re an Illuminata.” She laughed. “I use Roman numerals to codify pelagic strata.”
Langdon thought. . Vittoria looked over. “So what is the meaning of DIII?” “DI and DII and DIII are very old abbreviations. They were used by ancient scientists to distinguish between the three Ga
Vittoria drew
“D-one. D-two. D-three. All scientific. AllDiagrammathird of his books.”
Vittoria looked troubled
this advertisement about the Path of Illumination was really in Galileo’s Diagramma,
ee it when they repossessed all the copies?”
segno was revealed in a
was a scientist after all, and he was
would be a logical language in which to lay out the clue. The
Diagramma,
hy didn’t you
publish? Then someone who did have access to the Vatican Archives could have come in
time ago.”
-
o embarrassed. You’re talking to a scientist. Publish or perish. At CERN we
t only wanting to be the first. I was also concerned that if the wrong people
re wrong, per se, but the church has always downplayed the Illuminati
so far as to say the Illuminati were a figment
nd perhaps rightly so, that the last thing
ry powerful anti-Christian movement
why didn’t the Vatican s
“They may have seen it and not noticed. Remember the Illuminati markers? Hiding things in plain view? Dissimulation? The segno apparently was hidden the same way-in plain view. Invisible to those who were not looking for it. And also invisible to those whodidn’t understand it.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Galileo hid it well. According to historic record, the mode the Illuminati called lingua pura.”
“The pure language?” “Yes.”
“Mathematics?” “That’s my guess. Seems pretty obvious. Galileo
writing for scientists. Math
booklet is called so mathematical diagrams may also be part of the code.”
Vittoria sounded only slightly more hopeful. “I suppose Galileo could have created some sort of mathematical code that went unnoticed by the clergy.”
“You don’t sound sold,” Langdon said, moving down the row. “I’m not. Mainly because you aren’t. If you were so sure about DIII, w
here and checked out Diagramma a long
“I didn’t want to publish,” Langdon said. “I had worked hard to find the information and” He stopped himself, embarrassed. “You wanted the glory.” Langdon felt himself flush. “In a manner of speaking. It’s just that-” “Don’t look s
call it ‘Substantiate or suffocate.’ ” “It wasn’
found out about the information in Diagramma, it might disappear.”
“The wrong people being the Vatican?” “Not that they a
threat. In the early 1900s the Vatican wentof overactive imaginations. The clergy felt, a
Christians needed to know was that there was a ve
infiltrating their banks, politics, and universities.” Present tense, Robert, he reminded himself. There IS a powerful anti-Christian force infiltrating their banks, politics, and
s faith in the church’s power.”
ore question.” Vittoria stopped short and looked at him like he was an alien. “Are
ious?”
don stopped. “What do you mean?”
ean is this really your plan to save the day?”
ean
Diagramma, locating a four-hundred-year-old segno, deciphering
en able to follow . . . all in the next four hours.”
obert Langdon stood outside Archive Vault 9 and read the labels on the stacks.
RAHE . . . CLAVIUS . . . COPERNICUS . . . KEPLER . . . NEWTON . . .
but
as she motioned to the next vault. “He’s over here. But I
ult is his.”
ria was right. Every indictor tab in Vault 10 carried the same
keyword.
stacks.
universities. “So you think the Vatican would have buried any evidence corroborating the Illuminati threat?”
“Quite possibly. Any threat, real or imagined, weaken
“One myou ser
Lang“I m
Langdon wasn’t sure whether he saw amused pity or sheer terror in her eyes. “You m
finding Diagramma?” “No, I mean finding
some mathematical code, and following an ancient trail of art that only the most brilliant scientists in history have ever be
Langdon shrugged. “I’m open to other suggestions.”
50
R
B
As he read the names again, he felt a sudden uneasiness. Here are the scientists . . .where is Galileo? He turned to Vittoria, who was checking the contents of a nearby vault. “I found the right theme, but Galileo’s missing.”
“No he isn’t,” she said, frowning
hope you brought your reading glasses, because this entire va
Langdon ran over. Vitto
IL PROCESO GALILEANO
Langdon let out a low whistle, now realizing why Galileo had his own vault. “The
Galileo Affair,” he marveled, peering through the glass at the dark outlines of the
“The longest and most expensive legal proceeding in Vatican history. Fourteen years and
“Neither have sharks.”
of the vault. He pressed it, and a bank
s always done with dark lights.”
c revolving door. Langdon noted the common
t of four access buttons on the door’s inner shaft, one accessible from each
compartment. When a button was pressed, the motorized door would kick into gear and
d began to rotate. As he followed its motion, Langdon prepared his body for the
Nausea and light-headedness were not uncommon. Double vision, double over, he
op. There was a
n
or something. Breathing more normally now, he looked around the vault. Despite
six hundred million lire. It’s all here.” “Have a few legal documents.” “I guess lawyers haven’t evolved much over the centuries.”
Langdon strode to a large yellow button on the side
of overhead lights hummed on inside. The lights were deep red, turning the cube into a glowing crimson cell . . . a maze of towering shelves. “My God,” Vittoria said, looking spooked. “Are we tanning or working?” “Parchment and vellum fades, so vault lighting i
“You could go mad in here.”
Or worse, Langdon thought, moving toward the vault’s sole entrance. “A quick word of warning. Oxygen is an oxidant, so hermetic vaults contain very little of it. It’s a partial vacuum inside. Your breathing will feel strained.” “Hey, if old cardinals can survive it.” True, Langdon thought. May we be as lucky. The vault entrance was a single electroni
arrangemen
make the conventional half rotation before grinding to a halt-a standard procedure to preserve the integrity of the inner atmosphere. “After I’m in,” Langdon said, “just press the button and follow me through. There’s only eight percent humidity inside, so be prepared to feel some dry mouth.” Langdon stepped into the rotating compartment and pressed the button. The door buzzed loudly an
physical shock that always accompanied the first few seconds in a hermetic vault. Entering a sealed archive was like going from sea level to 20,000 feet in an instant.
reminded himself, quoting the archivist’s mantra. Langdon felt his ears p
hiss of air, and the door spun to a stop. He was in.
Langdon’s first realization was that the air inside was thinner than he had anticipated. The Vatican, it seemed, took their archives a bit more seriously than most. Langdofought the gag reflex and relaxed his chest while his pulmonary capillaries dilated. The tightness passed quickly. Enter the Dolphin, he mused, gratified his fifty laps a day were good f
the transparent outer walls, he felt a familiar anxiety. I’m in a box, he thought. A blood
ter. When she
he started breathing heavily.
“If you get light-headed, bend over.”
was
rmetic vault. The tour had ended
with Langdon giving mouth-to-mouth to an old woman who’d almost aspirated her false
oves.
oria asked.
r acid. We can’t handle the documents without them. You’ll need a pair.”
oria donned some gloves. “How long do we have?”
.”
re
he finally hung up.
red box.
The door buzzed behind him, and Langdon turned to watch Vittoria enarrived inside, her eyes immediately began watering, and s
“Give it a minute,” Langdon said.
“I . . . feel . . .” Vittoria choked, “like I’m . . . scuba diving . . . with the wrong . . .
mixture.”
Langdon waited for her to acclimatize. He knew she would be fine. Vittoria Vetraobviously in terrific shape, nothing like the doddering ancient Radcliffe alumnae
Langdon had once squired through Widener Library’s he
teeth.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
Vittoria nodded. “I rode your damn space plane, so I thought I owed you.”
This brought a smile. “Touché.”
Langdon reached into the box beside the door and extracted some white cotton gl“Formal affair?” Vitt
“Finge
VittLangdon checked his Mickey Mouse watch. “It’s just past seven.”
“We have to find this thing within the hour.”
“Actually,” Langdon said, “we don’t have that kind of time.” He pointed overhead to a filtered duct. “Normally the curator would turn on a reoxygenation system when someone is inside the vault. Not today. Twenty minutes, we’ll both be sucking wind
Vittoria blanched noticeably in the reddish glow.
Langdon smiled and smoothed his gloves. “Substantiate or suffocate, Ms. Vetra. Mickey’s ticking.”
51
B BC reporter Gunther Glick stared at the cell phone in his hand for ten seconds befo
Chinita Macri studied him from the back of the van. “What happened? Who was that?”
ing like a child who had just received a Christmas gift he feared was not
thing’s going on inside the Vatican.”
as.
the exact location of the first murder?”
to expect Macri’s cynicism, but what she was forgetting was that liars
d been Glick’s business for almost a decade at the British Tattler. This
his man had been coldly sane. Logical. I will call you just
arm of anarchy.
Glick said.
k’s adrenaline was pumping now. “I want to
un on these guys.”
e me.”
ighed and pulled up the connection to the BBC database. “This’ll take a minute.”
.”
out?” The database beeped. “Okay,
Glick turned, feel
really for him. “I just got a tip. Some
“It’s called conclave,” Chinita said. “Helluva tip.” “No, something else.” Something big. He wondered if the story the caller had just told him could possibly be true. Glick felt ashamed when he realized he was praying it w“What if I told you four cardinals have been kidnapped and are going to be murdered at different churches tonight.” “I’d say you’re being hazed by someone at the office with a sick sense of humor.”
“What if I told you we were going to be given
“I’d want to know who the hell you just talked to.”
“He didn’t say.” “Perhaps because he’s full of shit?”
Glick had come
and lunatics hacaller had been neither. T
before eight, the man had said, and tell you where the first killing will occur. The images
you record will make you famous. When Glick had demanded why the caller was giving him this information, the answer had been as icy as the man’s Mideastern accent. The
media is the right
“He told me something else too,”
“What? That Elvis Presley was just elected Pope?” “Dial into the BBC database, will you?” Glic
see what other stories we’ve r
“What guys?”
“IndulgMacri s
Glick’s mind was swimming. “The caller was very intent to know if I had a cameraman“Videographer.” “And if we could transmit live.”
“One point five three seven megahertz. What is this abwe’re in. Who is it you’re looking for?”
Glick gave her the keyword.
Macri turned and stared. “I sure as hell hope you’re kidding.” 52
T he internal organization of Archival Vault 10 was not as intuitive as Langdon had hoped, and the Diagramma manuscript did not appear to be located with other similar
and a reference
Fine. As long as you’re sure.” She headed left, while he went right.
y bit of self-restraint not to stop and
The collection was staggering. The Assayer . . . The Starry
essenger . . . The Sunspot Letters . . . Letter to the Grand Duchess Christina . . .
ar the back of the vault. Her throaty voice called
means
of storing unbound pages. The label on the front of the container left no doubt about the
Galilean publications. Without access to the computerized Biblion
locator, Langdon and Vittoria were stuck. “You’re sure Diagramma is in here?” Vittoria asked. “Positive. It’s a confirmed listing in both the Uficcio della Propaganda delle Fede-”
“
Langdon began his manual search. He needed ever
read every treasure he passed. M
Apologia pro Galileo . . . On and on. It was Vittoria who finally struck gold ne
out, “Diagramma della Verità!” Langdon dashed through the crimson haze to join her. “Where?”
Vittoria pointed, and Langdon immediately realized why they had not found it earlier.
The manuscript was in a folio bin, not on the shelves. Folio bins were a common
contents.
DIAGRAMMA DELLA VERITA Galileo Galilei, 1639 Langdon dropped to his knees, his heart pounding. “Diagramma.” He gave her a grin.
“Nice work. Help me pull out this bin.”
Vittoria knelt beside him, and they heaved. The metal tray on which the bin was sitting rolled toward them on castors, revealing the top of the container. “No lock?” Vittoria said, sounding surprised at the simple latch. “Never. Documents sometimes need to be evacuated quickly. Floods and fires.”
“So open it.”
Langdon didn’t need any encouragement. With his academic life’s dream right in him and the thinning air in the chamber, he was in no mood to dawdle. He unsnapped the latch and lifted the lid. Inside, flat on the floor of the bin, lay a black, duck-cloth pThe cloth’s breathability was critical to the preservation of its contents. Reaching in with both hands and keeping the pouch horizontal, Langdon lifted it
front of
ouch.
out of the bin.
ore like a pillowcase.”
ed
.
p vaults of the world, and most academics did not
d unbuttoned the opening. Vittoria stood by.
pened the bag. Fingers
e stack of documents inside and was careful to apply
the lamp beneath the glass. “Small
In that instant, Langdon forgot the cramped quarters, forgot his exhaustion, forgot the
he Mona Lisa.
.
ering and cohesion of the papyrus. But all in
don motioned beside Vittoria to a tray filled with
“I expected a treasure chest,” Vittoria said. “Looks m
“Follow me,” he said. Holding the bag before him like a sacred offering, Langdon walkto the center of the vault where he found the customary glass-topped archival exam tableAlthough the central location was intended to minimize in-vault travel of documents, researchers appreciated the privacy the surrounding stacks afforded. Career-making discoveries were uncovered in the to
like rivals peering through the glass as they worked. Langdon lay the pouch on the table an
Rummaging through a tray of archivist tools, Langdon found the felt-pad pincers archivists called finger cymbals-oversized tweezers with flattened disks on each arm. Ashis excitement mounted, Langdon feared at any moment he might awake back in Cambridge with a pile of test papers to grade. Inhaling deeply, he o
trembling in their cotton gloves, he reached in with his tongs. “Relax,” Vittoria said. “It’s paper, not plutonium.” Langdon slid the tongs around th
even pressure. Then, rather than pulling out the documents, he held them in place while he slid off the bag-an archivist’s procedure for minimizing torque on the artifact. Not until the bag was removed and Langdon had turned on the exam darklight beneath the table did he begin breathing again. Vittoria looked like a specter now, lit from below by
sheets,” she said, her voice reverent. Langdon nodded. The stack of folios before them looked like loose pages from a small paperback novel. Langdon could see that the top sheet was an ornate pen and ink cover sheet with the title, the date, and Galileo’s name in his own hand.
horrifying situation that had brought him here. He simply stared in wonder. Close encounters with history always left Langdon numbed with reverence . . . like seeing the brushstrokes on t
The muted, yellow papyrus left no doubt in Langdon’s mind as to its age and authenticity, but excluding the inevitable fading, the document was in superb conditionSlight bleaching of the pigment. Minor sund
all . . . in damn fine condition. He studied the ornate hand etching of the cover, his vision blurring in the lack of humidity. Vittoria was silent. “Hand me a spatula, please.” Lang
stainless-steel archival tools. She handed it to him. Langdon took the tool in his hand. It
y.
t.
lip the next page. Another essay. No math or diagrams. Langdon’s hands
ria said, translating the title.
ly
d telescopes,
said. “He’s talking about retrograde motions and elliptical orbits or
sted heavenly motion must be only circular. Galileo’s Illuminati, however,
ent even today in modern Masonic tracing boards and
footing inlays.
“Next,” Vittoria said.
Langdon flipped.
“Lunar phases and tidal motion,” she said. “No numbers. No diagrams.”
Langdon flipped again. Nothing. He kept flipping through a dozen or so pages. Nothing.
gs beginning to thin. His hopes were thinning too. The pile
math. A few dates, a few standard figures, but nothing
that looks like it could be a clue.”
Langdon flipped over the last folio and sighed. It, too, was an essay.
was a good one. He ran his fingers across the face to remove any static charge and then, ever so carefully, slid the blade beneath the cover. Then, lifting the spatula, he turned over the cover sheet.
The first page was written in longhand, the tiny, stylized calligraphy almost impossible to read. Langdon immediately noticed that there were no diagrams or numbers on the page.It was an essa
“Heliocentricity,” Vittoria said, translating the heading on folio one. She scanned the tex“Looks like Galileo renouncing the geocentric model once and for all. Ancient Italian, though, so no promises on the translation.” “Forget it,” Langdon said. “We’re looking for math. The pure language.” He used the spatula tool to f
began to sweat inside his gloves.
“Movement of the Planets,” Vitto
Langdon frowned. On any other day, he would have been fascinated to read it; incredibNASA’s current model of planetary orbits, observed through high-powere
was supposedly almost identical to Galileo’s original predictions. “No math,” Vittoria
something.”
Elliptical orbits. Langdon recalled that much of Galileo’s legal trouble had begun when he described planetary motion as elliptical. The Vatican exalted the perfection of the circle and insi
saw perfection in the ellipse as well, revering the mathematical duality of its twin foci. The Illuminati’s ellipse was promin
Nothing. Nothing. “I thought this guy was a mathematician,” Vittoria said. “This is all text.” Langdon felt the air in his lun
was waning.
“Nothing here,” Vittoria said. “No
“Short book,” Vittoria said, frowning.
Langdon nodded.
ge
ck at him this morning from his bay window. An aging ghost. “There’s got to
ation in his voice surprising him. “The segno is
it!”
logical.”
y. “The numbers must be written longhand.
ome time to read all the pages.”
don’t have. We’ll have to split the work.” Langdon flipped the
extra tool from the tray. “Use the spatula.”
earing gloves,” she grumbled. “How much damage could I cause?”
”
ath.”
ad
“Merda, as we say in Rome.”
Shit is right, Langdon thought. His reflection in the glass seemed mocking, like the imastaring ba
be something,” he said, the hoarse desperhere somewhere. I know
“Maybe you were wrong about DIII?”
Langdon turned and stared at her.
“Okay,” she agreed, “DIII makes perfect sense. But maybe the clue isn’t mathematical?” “Lingua pura. What else would it be?” “Art?”
“Except there are no diagrams or pictures in the book.”
“All I know is that lingua pura refers to something other than Italian. Math just seems
“I agree.”
Langdon refused to accept defeat so quickl
The math must be in words rather than equations.”
“It’ll take s
“Time’s something we
stack back over to the beginning. “I know enough Italian to spot numbers.” Using his spatula, he cut the stack like a deck of cards and lay the first half-dozen pages in front ofVittoria. “It’s in here somewhere. I’m sure.” Vittoria reached down and flipped her first page by hand.
“Spatula!” Langdon said, grabbing her an
“I’m w“Just use it.
Vittoria picked up the spatula. “You feeling what I’m feeling?” “Tense?” “No. Short of bre
Langdon was definitely starting to feel it too. The air was thinning faster than he h
imagined. He knew they had to hurry. Archival conundrums were nothing new for him,
, making the air hot
ounded the corner he saw them, exactly as he had left them-four old men,
d, sealed behind rusted iron bars in a stone cubicle.
ui êtes-vous?” one of the men demanded in French. “What do you want with us?”
one asked in English, his accent Spanish.
The killer checked his watch and then returned his gaze to the prisoners. “Now then,” he
rt Langdon recited Italian numbers as he scanned the
he
steady. Minutes later, he looked down and realized he had abandoned his spatula and was
but usually he had more than a few minutes to work them out. Without another word, Langdon bowed his head and began translating the first page in his stack.
Show yourself, damn it! Show yourself!
53
S omewhere beneath Rome the dark figure prowled down a stone ramp into the underground tunnel. The ancient passageway was lit only by torches
and thick. Up ahead the frightened voices of grown men called out in vain, echoing in thecramped spaces.
As he rterrifie
“Q“Hilfe!” another said in German. “Let us go!” “Are you aware who we are?”
“Silence,” the raspy voice commanded. There was a finality about the word. The fourth prisoner, an Italian, quiet and thoughtful, looked into the inky void of his captor’s eyes and swore he saw hell itself. God help us, he thought.
said. “Who will be first?”
54
I nside Archive Vault 10 Robe
calligraphy before him. Mille . . . centi . . . uno, duo, tre . . . cincuanta. I need a numerical reference! Anything, damnit! When he reached the end of his current folio, he lifted the spatula to flip the page. As aligned the blade with the next page, he fumbled, having difficulty holding the tool
turning pages by hand. Oops, he thought, feeling vaguely criminal. The lack of oxygen was affecting his inhibitions. Looks like I’ll burn in archivist’s hell.
“About damn time,” Vittoria choked when she saw Langdon turning pages by hand. She dropped her spatula and followed suit.
“Any luck?”
Vittoria shook her head. “Nothing that looks purely mathematical. I’m skimming . . . but
ere
it?” he
”
s a footnote. It’s obscured in a crease.”
nt for the
e. Folio Five.
lluminati would
sh fog surrounding
mathematical?”
line. Very small printing. Almost illegible.”
d
ight is laid, the sacred test.”
Illumination as he could imagine. Path of light. Sacred
none of this reads like a clue.” Langdon continued translating his folios with increasing difficulty. His Italian skills wrocky at best, and the tiny penmanship and archaic language was making it slow going. Vittoria reached the end of her stack before Langdon and looked disheartened as she flipped the pages back over. She hunkered down for another more intense inspection. When Langdon finished his final page, he cursed under his breath and looked over at
Vittoria. She was scowling, squinting at something on one of her folios. “What is
asked.
Vittoria did not look up. “Did you have any footnotes on your pages?” “Not that I noticed. Why?
“This page ha
Langdon tried to see what she was looking at, but all he could make out was the page
number in the upper right-hand corner of the sheet. Folio 5. It took a momecoincidence to register, and even when it did the connection seemed vagu
Five, Pythagoras, pentagrams, Illuminati. Langdon wondered if the Ihave chosen page five on which to hide their clue. Through the reddi
them, Langdon sensed a tiny ray of hope. “Is the footnote
Vittoria shook her head. “Text. One
His hopes faded. “It’s supposed to be math. Lingua pura.” “Yeah, I know.” She hesitated. “I think you’ll want to hear this, though.” Langdon senseexcitement in her voice.
“Go ahead.” Squinting at the folio, Vittoria read the line. “The path of l
The words were nothing like what Langdon had imagined. “I’m sorry?”
Vittoria repeated the line. “The path of light is laid, the sacred test.” “Path of light?” Langdon felt his posture straightening. “That’s what it says. Path of light.”
As the words sank in, Langdon felt his delirium pierced by an instant of clarity. The path of light is laid, the sacred test. He had no idea how it helped them, but the line was as direct a reference to the Path of
test. His head felt like an engine revving on bad fuel. “Are you sure of the translation?” Vittoria hesitated. “Actually . . .” She glanced over at him with a strange look. “It’s not technically a translation. The line is written in English.”
For an instant, Langdon thought the acoustics in the chamber had affected his hearin“English?” Vittoria pushed the document over to him, and Langdon read the minuscule printing at the bottom of the page. “The path of light is laid, the sacred test. English? What is
g.
English doing in an Italian book?”
guage of science. It’s all we speak at
“Nobody spoke English in Italy, not even-”
ed in high gear. “In the 1600s,” he said, talking faster
n like
espeare.” Langdon flashed suddenly on the Illuminati brands of Earth,
ow made a bizarre kind of
English, Galileo was subtly restricting the
who?”
schoolmaster named Bissell, leapt onto
eter, Greer! Think of home plate! A penta-gon! Five
ta! Jeeeesh!”
Vittoria shrugged. She too was looking tipsy. “Maybe English is what they meant by the lingua pura? It’s considered the international lan
CERN.” “But this was in the 1600s,” Langdon argued.
He stopped short, realizing what he was about to say. “Not even . . . the clergy.” Langdon’s academic mind humm
now, “English was one language the Vatican had not yet embraced. They dealt in Italian, Latin, German, even Spanish and French, but English was totally foreign inside the Vatican. They considered English a polluted, free-thinkers language for profane meChaucer and Shak
Air, Fire, Water. The legend that the brands were in English nsense.
“So you’re saying maybe Galileo considered English la lingua pura because it was the one language the Vatican did not control?”
“Yes. Or maybe by putting the clue inreadership away from the Vatican.”
“But it’s not even a clue,” Vittoria argued. “The path of light is laid, the sacred test? What the hell does that mean?” She’s right, Langdon thought. The line didn’t help in any way. But as he spoke the phraseagain in his mind, a strange fact hit him. Now that’s odd, he thought. What are the chances of that?
“We need to get out of here,” Vittoria said, sounding hoarse. Langdon wasn’t listening. The path of light is laid, the sacred test. “It’s a damn line of
iambic pentameter,” he said suddenly, counting the syllables again. “Five couplets of alternating stressed and unstressed syllables.” Vittoria looked lost. “Iambic
For an instant Langdon was back at Phillips Exeter Academy sitting in a Saturday morning English class. Hell on earth. The school baseball star, Peter Greer, was having trouble remembering the number of couplets necessary for a line of Shakespearean iambic pentameter. Their professor, an animated
the table and bellowed, “Penta-msides! Penta! Penta! Pen
Five couplets, Langdon thought. Each couplet, by definition, having two syllables. He
could not believe in his entire career he had never made the connection. Iambic
hing! Langdon told himself, trying to push it from his mind. A meaningless
Five . . . for Pythagoras and the pentagram. Two . . .
of all things.
umbing sensation down his legs. Iambic
unt of its simplicity, was often called “pure verse” or “pure meter.”
ld this have been the pure language the Illuminati had been referring
Vittoria said.
?”
line.”
s.” She cocked her head over the last line.
f
d men,” but he had held meetings with
any Renaissance
which hung even now
pentameter was a symmetrical meter based on the sacred Illuminati numbers of 5 and 2! You’re reac
coincidence! But the thought stuck. for the duality
A moment later, another realization sent a n
pentameter, on accoLa lingua pura? Cou
to? The path of light is laid, the sacred test . . . “Uh oh,”
Langdon wheeled to see her rotating the folio upside down. He felt a knot in his gut. Not
again. “There’s no way that line is an ambigram!” “No, it’s not an ambigram . . . but it’s . . .” She kept turning the document, 90 degrees at every turn.
“It’s what
Vittoria looked up. “It’s not the only
“There’s another?” “There’s a different line on every margin. Top, bottom, left, and right. I think it’s a poem.” “Four lines?” Langdon bristled with excitement. Galileo was a poet? “Let me see!” Vittoria did not relinquish the page. She kept turning the page in quarter turns. “I didn’t see the lines before because they’re on the edge
“Huh. You know what? Galileo didn’t even write this.” “What!”
“The poem is signed John Milton.” “John Milton?” The influential English poet who wrote Paradise Lost was a contemporary of Galileo’s and a savant who conspiracy buffs put at the top of their list oIlluminati suspects. Milton’s alleged affiliation with Galileo’s Illuminati was one legend Langdon suspected was true. Not only had Milton made a well-documented 1638 pilgrimage to Rome to “commune with enlightene
Galileo during the scientist’s house arrest, meetings portrayed in mpaintings, including Annibale Gatti’s famous Galileo and Milton,
in the IMSS Museum in Florence.
“Milton knew Galileo, didn’t he?” Vittoria said, finally pushing the folio over to Langdon. “Maybe he wrote the poem as a favor?”
Langdon clenched his teeth as he took the sheathed document. Leaving it flat on the
rotated the page 90 degrees, reading the line in
and he read the bottom. Another twist, the left. A final
mpleted the circle. There were four lines in all. The first line Vittoria had found
tually the third line of the poem. Utterly agape, he read the four lines again,
ise in sequence: top, right, bottom, left. When he was done, he exhaled. There was
ubt in his mind. “You found it, Ms. Vetra.”
her head. “Forget it, professor. No time to play scribe. Mickey’s ticking.”
It’s a-”
s. The
said, I am giving
of Olivetti’s office.
decipher this thing, we can return their sacred Folio 5.”
ture.
Langdon kept moving.
table, he read the line at the top. Then he the right margin. Another twist,
twist cowas acclockw
no doShe smiled tightly. “Good, now can we get the hell out of here?” “I have to copy these lines down. I need to find a pencil and paper.” Vittoria shook
She took the page from him and headed for the door. Langdon stood up. “You can’t take that outside!
But Vittoria was already gone.
55
L angdon and Vittoria exploded onto the courtyard outside the Secret Archive
fresh air felt like a drug as it flowed into Langdon’s lungs. The purple spots in his vision quickly faded. The guilt, however, did not. He had just been accomplice to stealing a priceless relic from the world’s most private vault. The camerlegno had
you my trust. “Hurry,” Vittoria said, still holding the folio in her hand and striding at a half-jog across Via Borgia in the direction
“If any water gets on that papyrus-”
“Calm down. When we
Langdon accelerated to keep up. Beyond feeling like a criminal, he was still dazed over
the document’s spellbinding implications. John Milton was an Illuminatus. He composed the poem for Galileo to publish in Folio 5 . . . far from the eyes of the Vatican. As they left the courtyard, Vittoria held out the folio for Langdon. “You think you can decipher this thing? Or did we just kill all those brain cells for kicks?” Langdon took the document carefully in his hands. Without hesitation he slipped it into one of the breast pockets of his tweed jacket, out of the sunlight and dangers of mois
“I deciphered it already.” Vittoria stopped short. “You what?”
Vittoria hustled to catch up. “You read it once! I thought it was supposed to be hard!” Langdon knew she was right, and yet he had deciphered the segno in a single reading. A perfect stanza of iambic pentameter, and the first altar of science had revealed itself in pristine clarity. Admittedly, the ease with which he had accomplished the task left him
ittoria closed in on him. “How could you already know? Let me see that thing again.”
e hand into his pocket and pulled out the
ittoria ignored him. Folio in hand, she floated beside him, holding the document up to
syllables in perfect rhythm with her gait.
ltars of science . . . the four markers that
lazed a secret path across Rome. The verse flowed from Vittoria’s lips like a song.
ross Rome the mystic elements unfold.
cient words resonate on their
r
with a nagging disquietude. He was a child of the Puritan work ethic. He could still hear his father speaking the old New England aphorism: If it wasn’t painfully difficult, you did it wrong. Langdon hoped the saying was false. “I deciphered it,” he said, moving faster now. “I know where the first killing is going to happen. We need to warn Olivetti.”
V
With the sleight of a boxer, she slipped a lissomfolio again. “Careful!” Langdon said. “You can’t-”
V
the evening light, examining the margins. As she began reading aloud, Langdon moved toretrieve the folio but instead found himself bewitched by Vittoria’s accented alto speaking the
For a moment, hearing the verse aloud, Langdon felt transported in time . . . as though he were one of Galileo’s contemporaries, listening to the poem for the first time . . . knowing ap, a clue unveiling the four a
it was a test, a mb
From Santi’s earthly tomb with demon’s hole, ‘C
The path of light is laid, the sacred test, Let angels guide you on your lofty quest.
Vittoria read it twice and then fell silent, as if letting the anown.
From Santi’s earthly tomb, Langdon repeated in his mind. The poem was crystal clea
about that. The Path of Illumination began at Santi’s tomb. From there, across Rome, the markers blazed the trail. From Santi’s earthly tomb with demon’s hole, ‘Cross Rome the mystic elements unfold. Mystic elements. Also clear. Earth, Air, Fire, Water. Elements of science, the four Illuminati markers disguised as religious sculpture. “The first marker,” Vittoria said, “sounds like it’s at Santi’s tomb.”
Langdon smiled. “I told you it wasn’t that tough.”
“So who is Santi?” she asked, sounding suddenly excited. “And where’s his tomb?”
st name
ts ever to live. His first name was world
e age of twenty-five was already doing
donna, Jewel, and the
Langdon chuckled to himself. He was amazed how few people knew Santi, the la
of one of the most famous Renaissance artisrenowned . . . the child prodigy who at th
commissions for Pope Julius II, and when he died at only thirty-eight, left behind the greatest collection of frescoes the world had ever seen. Santi was a behemoth in the art world, and being known solely by one’s first name was a level of fame achieved only by an elite few . . . people like Napoleon, Galileo, and Jesus . . . and, of course, the demigods Langdon now heard blaring from Harvard dormitories-Sting, Ma
artist formerly known as Prince, who had changed his name to the symbol , causing
Langdon to dub him “The Tau Cross With Intersecting Hermaphroditic Ankh.”
“Santi,” Langdon said, “is the last name of the great Renaissance master, Raphael.”
they rushed on. “The Illuminati often
considered great artists and sculptors honorary brothers in enlightenment. The Illuminati
s a kind of tribute.” Langdon also knew that Raphael,
re is he buried?”
Vittoria looked skeptical. “The Pantheon?”
eon.” Langdon had to admit, the Pantheon was not what he had
expected for the placement of the first marker. He would have guessed the first altar of
best known sites in Rome.
ia asked.
u really think the first cardinal could be killed at the
e busiest tourist spots in Rome.”
e Illuminati said they wanted the whole world watching. Killing a
ainly open some eyes.”
ay unnoticed?
Vittoria looked surprised. “Raphael? As in the Raphael?” “The one and only.” Langdon pushed on toward the Office of the Swiss Guard. “So the path starts at Raphael’s tomb?”
“It actually makes perfect sense,” Langdon said as
could have chosen Raphael’s tomb a
like many other religious artists, was a suspected closet atheist. Vittoria slipped the folio carefully back in Langdon’s pocket. “So whe
Langdon took a deep breath. “Believe it or not, Raphael’s buried in the Pantheon.”
“The Raphael at the Panth
science to be at some quiet, out of the way church, something subtle. Even in the 1600s,
the Pantheon, with its tremendous, holed dome, was one of the
“Is the Pantheon even a church?” Vittor
“Oldest Catholic church in Rome.”
Vittoria shook her head. “But do yoPantheon? That’s got to be one of th
Langdon shrugged. “Th
cardinal at the Pantheon would cert
“But how does this guy expect to kill someone at the Pantheon and get awIt would be impossible.”
“As impossible as kidnapping four cardinals from Vatican City? The poem is precise.” “And you’re certain Raphael is buried inside the Pantheon?” “I’ve seen his tomb many times.”
“Is the Pantheon far?”
here-Pantheism-the worship of all gods, specifically the
pagan gods of Mother Earth.”
r to spare.
ti’s
about this. “Demon’s hole must mean the oculus,” he said,
making a logical guess. “The famous circular opening in the Pantheon’s roof.”
“But it’s a church,” Vittoria said, moving effortlessly beside him. “Why would they call
Langdon had actually been wondering that himself. He had never heard the term
id recall a famous sixth-century critique of the Pantheon whose
i if he was really known as Raphael?”
that.”
yllables. It would have
Vittoria nodded, still looking troubled. “What time is it?” Langdon checked. “Seven-thirty.”
“A mile maybe. We’ve got time.”
“The poem said Santi’s earthly tomb. Does that mean anything to you?” Langdon hastened diagonally across the Courtyard of the Sentinel. “Earthly? Actually,
there’s probably no more earthly place in Rome than the Pantheon. It got its name from the original religion practiced t
As a student of architecture, Langdon had been amazed to learn that the dimensions of the Pantheon’s main chamber were a tribute to Gaea-the goddess of the Earth. The proportions were so exact that a giant spherical globe could fit perfectly inside the building with less than a millimete
“Okay,” Vittoria said, sounding more convinced. “And demon’s hole? From Sanearthly tomb with demon’s hole?”
Langdon was not quite as sure
the opening a demon’s hole?”
“demon’s hole,” but he d
words seemed oddly appropriate now. The Venerable Bede had once written that the hole in the Pantheon’s roof had been bored by demons trying to escape the building when it was consecrated by Boniface IV.
“And why,” Vittoria added as they entered a smaller courtyard, “why would the Illuminati use the name Sant
“You ask a lot of questions.” “My dad used to say
“Two possible reasons. One, the word Raphael has too many s
destroyed the poem’s iambic pentameter.”
“Sounds like a stretch.” Langdon agreed. “Okay, then maybe using ‘Santi’ was to make the clue more obscure, so
ze the reference to Raphael.”
ll
bol. Raphael shunned his last
mple. She never uses her
Madonna’s last name?”
arbage a mind picked up
ed the final gate toward the Office of the Swiss Guard, their
hout warning.
cking the weapon.
tyard. Olivetti was emerging from
urity center. “Let them go!”
ard looked bewildered. “Ma, signore, è una donna-”
he four unmarked Alpha Romeo 155 T-Sparks roared down Via dei Coronari like
only very enlightened men would recogni
Vittoria didn’t appear to buy this either. “I’m sure Raphael’s last name was very we
known when he was alive.”
“Surprisingly not. Single name recognition was a status symname much like pop stars do today. Take Madonna, for exa
surname, Ciccone.” Vittoria looked amused. “You know
Langdon regretted the example. It was amazing the kind of g
living with 10,000 adolescents.
As he and Vittoria passprogress was halted wit
“Para!” a voice bellowed behind them.
Langdon and Vittoria wheeled to find themselves looking into the barrel of a rifle. “Attento!” Vittoria exclaimed, jumping back. “Watch it with-”
“Non sportarti!” the guard snapped, co
“Soldato!” a voice commanded from across the cour
the secThe gu
“Inside!” he yelled at the guard. “Signore, non posso-” “Now! You have new orders. Captain Rocher will be briefing the corps in two minutes. We will be organizing a search.”
Looking bewildered, the guard hurried into the security center. Olivetti marched toward Langdon, rigid and steaming. “Our most secret archives? I’ll want an explanation.”
“We have good news,” Langdon said.
Olivetti’s eyes narrowed. “It better be damn good.” 56 T
fighter jets off a runway. The vehicles carried twelve plainclothed Swiss Guards armed with Cherchi-Pardini semiautomatics, local-radius nerve gas canisters, and long-range stun guns. The three sharpshooters carried laser-sighted rifles.
gdon
f conclave.
Raphael’s
ity. It’s only by luck that we know where
is your one chance to catch this guy.”
s of markers. If the Pantheon is the right spot, we can follow the
would
alization that the Pantheon was the first altar of science had been a
but part of Langdon had fantasized about following the path all
d
Sitting in the passenger seat of the lead car, Olivetti turned backward toward Lan
and Vittoria. His eyes were filled with rage. “You assured me a sound explanation, and this is what I get?”
Langdon felt cramped in the small car. “I understand your-” “No, you don’t understand!” Olivetti never raised his voice, but his intensity tripled. “I have just removed a dozen of my best men from Vatican City on the eve o
And I have done this to stake out the Pantheon based on the testimony of some American I have never met who has just interpreted a four-hundred-year-old poem. I have also just left the search for this antimatter weapon in the hands of secondary officers.”
Langdon resisted the urge to pull Folio 5 from his pocket and wave it in Olivetti’s face. “All I know is that the information we found refers to Raphael’s tomb, and
tomb is inside the Pantheon.” The officer behind the wheel nodded. “He’s right, commander. My wife and I-” “Drive,” Olivetti snapped. He turned back to Langdon. “How could a killer accomplish an assassination in such a crowded place and escape unseen?” “I don’t know,” Langdon said. “But the Illuminati are obviously highly resourceful. They’ve broken into both CERN and Vatican C
the first kill zone is. The Pantheon
“More contradictions,” Olivetti said. “One chance? I thought you said there was some sort of pathway. A serie
pathway to the other markers. We will have four chances to catch this guy.”
“I had hoped so,” Langdon said. “And we have . . . a century ago.” Langdon’s re
bittersweet moment. History had a way of playing cruel tricks on those who chased it. It was a long shot that the Path of Illumination would be intact after all of these years, with all of its statues in place,
the way to the end and coming face to face with the sacred Illuminati lair. Alas, he realized, it was not to be. “The Vatican had all the statues in the Pantheon removed andestroyed in the late 1800s.”
Vittoria looked shocked. “Why?”
“The statues were pagan Olympian Gods. Unfortunately, that means the first marker is gone . . . and with it-” “Any hope,” Vittoria said, “of finding the Path of Illumination and additional markers?”
Langdon shook his head. “We have one shot. The Pantheon. After that, the path disappears.”
Olivetti stared at them both a long moment and then turned and faced front. “Pull over,”
he curb and put on the brakes. Three other Alpha
Romeos skidded in behind them. The Swiss Guard convoy screeched to a halt.
n you
I am
ecause I have found very little that makes
ut virgin sacrifices and ancient poetry, I cannot in good
-
on is a single room. A circular cell made
ts, and gypsy tourist scams.”
is that what you have just
you give me one plausible scenario
angdon? One plausible scenario.”
him. I have no idea! I’m not an assassin! I don’t
y knowher
voice unruffled. “How about this? The killer flies
eaming, branded cardinal down through the hole in the
u are quick.
he barked to the driver. The driver swerved the car toward t
“What are you doing!” Vittoria demanded. “My job,” Olivetti said, turning in his seat, his voice like stone. “Mr. Langdon, whetold me you would explain the situation en route, I assumed I would be approaching the Pantheon with a clear idea of why my men are here. That is not the case. Because
abandoning critical duties by being here, and bsense in this theory of yours abo
conscience continue. I am recalling this mission immediately.” He pulled out his walkietalkie and clicked it on. Vittoria reached across the seat and grabbed his arm. “You can’t!” Olivetti slammed down the walkie-talkie and fixed her with a red-hot stare. “Have you been to the Pantheon, Ms. Vetra?”
“No, but I-” “Let me tell you something about it. The Panthe
of stone and cement. It has one entrance. No windows. One narrow entrance. That entrance is flanked at all times by no less than four armed Roman policemen who protect this shrine from art defacers, anti-Christian terroris
“Your point?” she said coolly. “My point?” Olivetti’s knuckles gripped the seat. “My point
told me is going to happen is utterly impossible! Can
of how someone could kill a cardinal inside the Pantheon? How does one even get a hostage past the guards into the Pantheon in the first place? Much less actually kill him and get away?” Olivetti leaned over the seat, his coffee breath now in Langdon’s face. “How, Mr. L
Langdon felt the tiny car shrink around
know how he will do it! I onl
“One scenario?” Vittoria quipped, over in a helicopter and drops a scr
roof. The cardinal hits the marble floor and dies.” Everyone in the car turned and stared at Vittoria. Langdon didn’t know what to think. You’ve got one sick imagination, lady, but yo
Olivetti frowned. “Possible, I admit . . . but hardly-” “Or the killer drugs the cardinal,” Vittoria said, “brings him to the Pantheon in a
aid, “the killer could-”
deep breath and blew it out. Someone
e to get in position.”
or many moments. He ran a finger back and
ross the dash, making a line in the dust. He studied Langdon in the side-view
and Langdon felt himself being measured and weighed. Finally Olivetti turned
voice. “I’ll want separate approaches. Cars
azza della Rotunda, Via delgi Orfani, Piazza Sant’Ignacio, and Sant’Eustachio. No
director of CERN, Maximilian Kohler, opened his eyes to the cool rush of
yn and leukotriene in his body, dilating his bronchial tubes and pulmonary
llaries. He was breathing normally again. He found himself lying in a private room in
had put him in. His clothing was folded on
re a
e
wheelchair like some old tourist. He wheels him inside, quietly slits his throat, and thenwalks out.” This seemed to wake up Olivetti a bit. Not bad! Langdon thought. “Or,” she s
“I heard you,” Olivetti said. “Enough.” He took a
rapped sharply on the window, and everyone jumped. It was a soldier from one of the other cars. Olivetti rolled down the window.
“Everything all right, commander?” The soldier was dressed in street clothes. He pulled back the sleeve of his denim shirt to reveal a black chronograph military watch. “Seven-forty, commander. We’ll need tim
Olivetti nodded vaguely but said nothing f
forth acmirror,back to the guard. There was reluctance in his
to Picloser than two blocks. Once you’re parked, gear up and await my orders. Three minutes.” “Very good, sir.” The soldier returned to his car.
Langdon gave Vittoria an impressed nod. She smiled back, and for an instant Langdon felt an unexpected connection . . . a thread of magnetism between them. The commander turned in his seat and locked eyes with Langdon. “Mr. Langdon, this had better not blow up in our faces.”
Langdon smiled uneasily. How could it? 57
T he cromol
capithe CERN infirmary, his wheelchair beside the bed. He took stock, examining the paper robe they
the chair beside the bed. Outside he could hear a nurse making the rounds. He lay thelong minute listening. Then, as quietly as possible, he pulled himself to the edge of th
bed and retrieved his clothing. Struggling with his dead legs, he dressed himself. Thendragged
he
his body onto his wheelchair.
six and thirty . . . mark.” Even speaking into his walkie-talkie, Olivetti’s
Langdon felt himself sweating now in his Harris tweed in the backseat of the Alpha
the Pantheon.
was transmitting his final
e’ll need someone to spot the roof. Target is primary. Asset secondary.”
ciency with which Olivetti had just told his
onmortal procurement. We need the target alive. Go.” Olivetti snapped off his
”
“Attento,” y ranks have been infiltrated, my men
inished warning me that this will be our
t. I have no intention of scaring anyone off by marching my
side?”
specific. Eight o’clock. We have fifteen
t o’clock. But he may already have gotten the
victim inside somehow. What if your men see the target come out but don’t know who he
Muffling a cough, he wheeled himself to the door. He moved manually, careful not to engage the motor. When he arrived at the door he peered out. The hall was empty. Silently, Maximilian Kohler slipped out of the infirmary.
58
S even-forty-
voice never seemed to rise above a whisper.
Romeo, which was idling in Piazza de la Concorde, three blocks fromVittoria sat beside him, looking engrossed by Olivetti, who
orders. “Deployment will be an eight-point hem,” the commander said. “Full perimeter with a bias on the entry. Target may know you visually, so you will be pas-visible. Nonmortal force only. W
Jesus, Langdon thought, chilled by the effi
men the cardinal was expendable. Asset secondary. “I repeat. N
walkie-talkie. Vittoria looked stunned, almost angry. “Commander, isn’t anyone going inside?”
Olivetti turned. “Inside?”
“Inside the Pantheon! Where this is supposed to happen?
Olivetti said, his eyes fossilizing. “If mmay be known by sight. Your colleague has just f
sole chance to catch the targemen inside.”
“But what if the killer is already in
Olivetti checked his watch. “The target was
minutes.”
“He said he would kill the cardinal at eigh
is? Someone needs to make sure the inside is clean.” “Too risky at this point.”
“Not if the person going in was unrecognizable.”
hook his head. “Absolutely not.”
know what I look like. I could walk in like a tourist. If I see anything
nal your men to move in.”
t a situation from the north point.
ove into
za. What’s your call? Do you want us blind or vulnerable?”
nd
alkie-talkie and jumped out of the car, circling in front of Vittoria.
t too. What the hell is she doing!
econ point inside, but . . .”
ia demanded. “But I’m a woman?”
it-”
e you away.”
Vittoria reached in her shirt pocket and produced her cell phone. “Plenty of tourists carry
“Disguising operatives is time consuming and-” “I meant me,” Vittoria said.
Langdon turned and stared at her. Olivetti s
“He killed my father.”
“Exactly, so he may know who you are.”
“You heard him on the phone. He had no idea Leonardo Vetra even had a daughter. Hesure as hell doesn’t
suspicious, I could walk into the square and sig
“I’m sorry, I cannot allow that.”
“Comandante?” Olivetti’s receiver crackled. “We’ve goThe fountain is blocking our line of sight. We can’t see the entrance unless we m
plain view on the piaz
Vittoria apparently had endured enough. “That’s it. I’m going.” She opened her door agot out.
Olivetti dropped his w
Langdon got ou
Olivetti blocked Vittoria’s way. “Ms. Vetra, your instincts are good, but I cannot let a civilian interfere.”
“Interfere? You’re flying blind. Let me help.” “I would love to have a r
“But what?” Vittor
Olivetti said nothing. “That had better not be what you were going to say, Commander, because you knowdamn well this is a good idea, and if you let some archaic macho bullsh
“Let us do our job.”
“Let me help.” “Too dangerous. We would have no lines of communication with you. I can’t let you
carry a walkie-talkie, it would giv
phones.”
Olivetti frowned. Vittoria unsnapped the phone and mimicked a call. “Hi, honey, I’m standing in the Pantheon. You should see this place!” She snapped the phone shut and glared at Olivetti.
tion. Let me be your eyes!” She
motioned to the cell phone on Olivetti’s belt. “What’s your number?”
ave some thoughts of his own. He got out
mber.” He began dictating digits.
ing. He picked it up
etra, look around, exit the
e instinct. “Wait a minute,” he said
alone.”
ia.
n’t work alone. My lieutenant has just
n hesitated. Actually, what I meanton
holiday. You
ur call. I’d like you to have protection.” He pulled out his pistol. “Do
don’t need a gun!
“Who the hell is going to know? It is a no-risk situa
Olivetti did not reply.
The driver had been looking on and seemed to h
of the car and took the commander aside. They spoke in hushed tones for ten seconds. Finally Olivetti nodded and returned. “Program this nu
Vittoria programmed her phone.
“Now call the number.”
Vittoria pressed the auto dial. The phone on Olivetti’s belt began ringand spoke into the receiver. “Go into the building, Ms. V
building, then call and tell me what you see.” Vittoria snapped the phone shut. “Thank you, sir.”
Langdon felt a sudden, unexpected surge of protectiv
to Olivetti. “You’re sending her in there
Vittoria scowled at him. “Robert, I’ll be fine.” The Swiss Guard driver was talking to Olivetti again. “It’s dangerous,” Langdon said to Vittor
“He’s right,” Olivetti said. “Even my best men do
pointed out that the masquerade will be more convincing with both of you anyway.” Both of us? Langdo
“Both of you entering together,” Olivetti said, “will look like a couple
can also back each other up. I’m more comfortable with that.”
Vittoria shrugged. “Fine, but we’ll need to go fast.” Langdon groaned. Nice move, cowboy. Olivetti pointed down the street. “First street you hit will be Via degli Orfani. Go left. It
takes you directly to the Pantheon. Two-minute walk, tops. I’ll be here, directing my men and waiting for yo
either of you know how to use a gun?” Langdon’s heart skipped. We
Vittoria held her hand out. “I can tag a breaching porpoise from forty meters off the bow of a rocking ship.”
” Olivetti handed the gun to her. “You’ll have to conceal it.”
ced down at her shorts. Then she looked at Langdon.
int of
and is used primarily for planning the security surrounding papal appearances and public
his tone had the clarity of a musical instrument. Despite the
precision of his inflection, Rocher’s eyes were cloudy like those of some nocturnal
her was
Rookie Lieutenant Chartrand stood in the back of the room wishing he had been among
ercent of applicants who had not qualified to be here. At twenty years old,
three
d two
ern before qualifying for the grueling Vatican pròva
ared
“Good.Vittoria glan
Oh no you don’t! Langdon thought, but Vittoria was too fast. She opened his jacket, and inserted the weapon into one of his breast pockets. It felt like a rock dropping into his coat, his only consolation being that Diagramma was in the other pocket.
“We look harmless,” Vittoria said. “We’re leaving.” She took Langdon’s arm and headeddown the street. The driver called out, “Arm in arm is good. Remember, you’re tourists. Newlyweds even. Perhaps if you held hands?” As they turned the corner Langdon could have sworn he saw on Vittoria’s face the ha smile. 59
T he Swiss Guard “staging room” is located adjacent to the Corpo di Vigilanza barracks
Vatican events. Today, however, it was being used for something else. The man addressing the assembled task force was the second-in-command of the Swiss Guard, Captain Elias Rocher. Rocher was a barrel-chested man with soft, puttylike features. He wore the traditional blue captain’s uniform with his own personal flair-a red beret cocked sideways on his head. His voice was surprisingly crystalline for such a large man, and when he spoke,
mammal. His men called him “orso”-grizzly bear. They sometimes joked that Roc“the bear who walked in the viper’s shadow.” Commander Olivetti was the viper. Rocher was just as deadly as the viper, but at least you could see him coming.
Rocher’s men stood at sharp attention, nobody moving a muscle, although the information they had just received had increased their aggregate blood pressure by a few thousand points.
the 99 p
Chartrand was the youngest guard on the force. He had been in Vatican City onlymonths. Like every man there, Chartrand was Swiss Army trained and had endureyears of additional ausbilding in B
held in a secret barracks outside of Rome. Nothing in his training, however, had prephim for a crisis like this.
At firstFuturis
Chartrand thought the briefing was some sort of bizarre training exercise.
tic weapons? Ancient cults? Kidnapped cardinals? Then Rocher had shown them
stion. Apparently this was no exercise.
-
m flux fields. Any questions?”
and Vittoria approached on foot past a line of
rs sleeping in the front seats. Nap time was eternal in the Eternal City-the
on of the afternoon siestas born of ancient
ts, but the situation was too bizarre to grasp
ep in Cambridge. Now he was in Europe,
itans, packing a semiautomatic in his Harris
lding hands with a woman he had only just met.
ead. There was a strength in her grasper
fingers wrapped around his with the
nnate acceptance. No hesitation. Langdon felt a growing attraction. Get real,
he told himself.
Vittoria seemed to sense his uneasiness. “Relax,” she said, without turning her head.
the live video feed of the weapon in que“We will be killing power in selected areas,” Rocher was saying, “to eradicate extraneous magnetic interference. We will move in teams of four. We will wear infrared goggles for vision. Reconnaissance will be done with traditional bug sweepers, recalibrated for subthree-oh
None. Chartrand’s mind was on overload. “What if we don’t find it in time?” he asked, immediately wishing he had not.
The grizzly bear gazed out at him from beneath his red beret. Then he dismissed the group with a somber salute. “Godspeed, men.” 60
T wo blocks from the Pantheon, Langdon
taxis, their driveubiquitous public dozing a perfected extensi
Spain.
Langdon fought to focus his though
rationally. Six hours ago he had been sound aslecaught up in a surreal battle of ancient t
tweed, and ho
He looked at Vittoria. She was focused straight ahthat of an independent and determined woman. H
comfort of i
“We’re supposed to look like newlyweds.” “I’m relaxed.” “You’re crushing my hand.” Langdon flushed and loosened up.
“Breathe through your eyes,” she said. “I’m sorry?” “It relaxes the muscles. It’s called pranayama.”
“Piranha?”
“Not the fish. Pranayama. Never mind.” As they rounded the corner into Piazza della Rotunda, the Pantheon rose before them. Langdon admired it, as always, with awe. The Pantheon. Temple to all gods. Pagan godGods of Nature and Earth. The structure seemed boxier from the outside than he remembered. The vertical pillars and triangular pronaus all but obscured the circular dome behind it. Still, the bold and immodest
s.
inscription over the entrance assured him
PPA L F COS TERTIUM FECIT. Langdon translated it, as
.
So much for humility,
four
ded, but he felt troubled. Now that he was standing here in person, the
d.
b with demon’s hole. YES, he told himself. This was the spot.
en here many times beneath the Pantheon’s oculus and stood
ael.
n checked his watch. “Seven-fifty. Ten minutes till show time.”
these guys are good,” Vittoria said, eyeing the scattered tourists entering the
heon. “If anything happens inside that dome, we’ll all be in the crossfire.”
to Vittoria. “Ever fire anything other than a tranquilizer gun?”
e?”
he air inside the Pantheon was cool and damp, heavy with history. The sprawling
they were in the right spot. M AGRI
always, with amusement. Marcus Agrippa, Consul for the third time, built this
he thought, turning his eyes to the surrounding area. A scattering of tourists with video cameras wandered the area. Others sat enjoying Rome’s best icedcoffee at La Tazza di Oro’s outdoor cafe. Outside the entrance to the Pantheon,
armed Roman policemen stood at attention just as Olivetti had predicted. “Looks pretty quiet,” Vittoria said. Langdon nod
whole scenario seemed surreal. Despite Vittoria’s apparent faith that he was right, Langdon realized he had put everyone on the line here. The Illuminati poem lingere
From Santi’s earthly tomSanti’s tomb. He had be
before the grave of the great Raph
“What time is it?” Vittoria asked.
Langdo“Hope
PantLangdon exhaled heavily as they moved toward the entrance. The gun felt heavy in his pocket. He wondered what would happen if the policemen frisked him and found the weapon, but the officers did not give them a second look. Apparently the disguise was convincing. Langdon whispered
“Don’t you trust m
“Trust you? I barely know you.” Vittoria frowned. “And here I thought we were newlyweds.”
61
T
ceiling hovered overhead as though weightless-the 141-foot unsupported span larger even
s
ed around the dome. Langdon scanned the dozen or so
g aimlessly in the shadows. Are you here?
nd.
ed when the Vatican converted the Pantheon to
rker-a
aid, indicating the left half of the circumference. “You go
his
r in
than the cupola at St. Peter’s. As always, Langdon felt a chill as he entered the cavernous room. It was a remarkable fusion of engineering and art. Above them the famous circular hole in the roof glowed with a narrow shaft of evening sun. The oculus, Langdon thought. The demon’s hole.
They had arrived.
Langdon’s eyes traced the arch of the ceiling sloping outward to the columned walls and finally down to the polished marble floor beneath their feet. The faint echo of footfalland tourist murmurs reverberat
tourists wanderin
“Looks pretty quiet,” Vittoria said, still holding his ha
Langdon nodded. “Where’s Raphael’s tomb?” Langdon thought for a moment, trying to get his bearings. He surveyed the circumference of the room. Tombs. Altars. Pillars. Niches. He motioned to a particularly ornate funeraryacross the dome and to the left. “I think that’s Raphael’s over there.” Vittoria scanned the rest of the room. “I don’t see anyone who looks like an assassin about to kill a cardinal. Shall we look around?”
Langdon nodded. “There’s only one spot in here where anyone could be hiding. We better check the rientranze.”
“The recesses?”
“Yes.” Langdon pointed. “The recesses in the wall.” Around the perimeter, interspersed with the tombs, a series of semicircular niches were hewn in the wall. The niches, although not enormous, were big enough to hide someone in the shadows. Sadly, Langdon knew they once contained statues of the Olympian gods, but the pagan sculptures had been destroy
a Christian church. He felt a pang of frustration to know he was standing at the first altar of science, and the marker was gone. He wondered which statue it had been, and where ithad pointed. Langdon could imagine no greater thrill than finding an Illuminati mastatue that surreptitiously pointed the way down the Path of Illumination. Again he wondered who the anonymous Illuminati sculptor had been. “I’ll take the left arc,” Vittoria s
right. See you in a hundred and eighty degrees.” Langdon smiled grimly.
As Vittoria moved off, Langdon felt the eerie horror of the situation seeping back intomind. As he turned and made his way to the right, the killer’s voice seemed to whispe
the dead space around him. Eight o’clock. Virgin sacrifices on the altars of science. A
e passed the tomb of one of Italy’s Catholic
like many in Rome, was askew with the wall, positioned
by this. Langdon did not stop to
igned with the architecture so they
. It was an ancient superstition that Langdon’s Symbology 212 class
had discussed just last month.
“That’s totally incongruous!” a female student in the front had blurted when Langdon
e’re talking about Christianity . . . not sun worship!”
A young man dozing in back sat up with a start. “What! Me?”
naissance art poster on the wall. “Who is that man kneeling
before God?”
“Um . . . some saint?”
“Brilliant. And how do you know he’s a saint?”
t, and does that golden halo remind you of anything?”
to the class. “Halos, like
orrowed from the ancient Egyptian religion of sun
worship. Christianity is filled with examples of sun worship.”
sun
of sol
mathematical progression of death. Eight, nine, ten, eleven . . . and at midnight. Langdon checked his watch: 7:52. Eight minutes.
As Langdon moved toward the first recess, hkings. The sarcophagus,
awkwardly. A group of visitors seemed confusedexplain. Formal Christian tombs were often misal
could lie facing east
explained the reason for east-facing tombs. “Why would Christians want their tombs to face the rising sun? W
Langdon smiled, pacing before the blackboard, chewing an apple. “Mr. Hitzrot!” he shouted.
Langdon pointed to a Re
“He’s got a halo?”
“Excellen
Hitzrot broke into a smile. “Yeah! Those Egyptian things we studied last term. Those . . . um . . . sun disks!” “Thank you, Hitzrot. Go back to sleep.” Langdon turned back
much of Christian symbology, were b
“Excuse me?” the girl in front said. “I go to church all the time, and I don’t see muchworshiping going on!” “Really? What do you celebrate on December twenty-fifth?”
“Christmas. The birth of Jesus Christ.”
“And yet according to the Bible, Christ was born in March, so what are we doing celebrating in late December?” Silence. Langdon smiled. “December twenty-fifth, my friends, is the ancient pagan holiday
invictus-Unconquered Sun-coinciding with the winter solstice. It’s that wonderful time of
n
eople acclimatize to the new faith.
Worshipers keep the same holy dates, pray in the same sacred locations, use a similar
f
sively Christian; the self-sacrifice of a
Religions are not born from scratch.
odern religion is a collage . . . an assimilated historical
cord of man’s quest to understand the divine.”
unding awake now. “I know something Christian
d their former deitiesey
asked the church what
their new Christian God looked like. Wisely, the church chose the most feared, powerful .
Hitzrot looked skeptical. “An old man with a white, flowing beard?”
Langdon pointed to a hierarchy of ancient gods on the wall. At the top sat an old man
ed right on cue.
ng,” a man’s voice said.
year when the sun returns, and the days start getting longer.”
Langdon took another bite of apple. “Conquering religions,” he continued, “often adopt existing holidays to make conversioless shocking. It’s called transmutation. It helps p
symbology . . . and they simply substitute a different god.” Now the girl in front looked furious. “You’re implying Christianity is just some kind of .. . repackaged sun worship!”
“Not at all. Christianity did not borrow only from sun worship. The ritual of Christiancanonization is taken from the ancient ‘god-making’ rite of Euhemerus. The practice o‘god-eating’-that is, Holy Communion-was borrowed from the Aztecs. Even the concept of Christ dying for our sins is arguably not exclu
young man to absolve the sins of his people appears in the earliest tradition of the Quetzalcoatl.”
The girl glared. “So, is anything in Christianity original?”
“Very little in any organized faith is truly original. They grow from one another. M
re
“Um . . . hold on,” Hitzrot ventured, so
that’s original. How about our image of God? Christian art never portrays God as the hawk sun god, or as an Aztec, or as anything weird. It always shows God as an old man with a white beard. So our image of God is original, right?”
Langdon smiled. “When the early Christian converts abandone
pagan gods, Roman gods, Greek, sun, Mithraic, whatever-th
. . and familiar face in all of recorded history.”
with a white, flowing beard. “Does Zeus look familiar?” The class end
“Good eveni
Langdon jumped. He was back in the Pantheon. He turned to face an elderly man in a blue cape with a red cross on the chest. The man gave him a gray-toothed smile.
“You’re English, right?” The man’s accent was thick Tuscan.
Langdon blinked, confused. “Actually, no. I’m American.” The man looked embarrassed. “Oh heavens, forgive me. You were so nicely dressed, I
ogies.”
“Actually I thought perhaps I could help you. I am the cicerone here.” The man pointed
Rome more
s certain this particular visit to Rome was plenty
ind
on,” the man declared, launching into his memorized spiel, “was built by
It was the world’s largest free-standing dome until 1960 when it was eclipsed by the
g
ing the marble floor. Now that would be a media
f, there’s nothing worse than
st
just figured . . . my apol
“Can I help you?” Langdon asked, his heart beating wildly.
proudly to his city-issued badge. “It is my job to make your visit to
interesting.” More interesting? Langdon wa
interesting.
“You look like a man of distinction,” the guide fawned, “no doubt more interested in culture than most. Perhaps I can give you some history on this fascinating building.”
Langdon smiled politely. “Kind of you, but I’m actually an art historian myself, and-” “Superb!” The man’s eyes lit up like he’d hit the jackpot. “Then you will no doubt fthis delightful!” “I think I’d prefer to-” “The Panthe
Marcus Agrippa in 27 B.C.” “Yes,” Langdon interjected, “and rebuilt by Hadrian in 119 A.D.”
“
Superdome in New Orleans!” Langdon groaned. The man was unstoppable. “And a fifth-century theologian once called the Pantheon the House of the Devil, warninthat the hole in the roof was an entrance for demons!” Langdon blocked him out. His eyes climbed skyward to the oculus, and the memory of Vittoria’s suggested plot flashed a bone-numbing image in his mind . . . a branded cardinal falling through the hole and hitt
event. Langdon found himself scanning the Pantheon for reporters. None. He inhaled deeply. It was an absurd idea. The logistics of pulling off a stunt like that would be ridiculous. As Langdon moved off to continue his inspection, the babbling docent followed like a love-starved puppy. Remind me, Langdon thought to himsel
a gung ho art historian. Across the room, Vittoria was immersed in her own search. Standing all alone for the first time since she had heard the news of her father, she felt the stark reality of the la
eight hours closing in around her. Her father had been murdered-cruelly and abruptly. Almost equally painful was that her father’s creation had been corrupted-now a tool oterrorists. Vittoria was plagued with guilt to think that it was her invention that
f
had
elt right in her life at the moment was the presence of a total
icable refuge in his eyes . . . like the
left behind early that morning. She was glad he was there.
ick
as she continued her search, moving around the perimeter. She
e unexpected images of personal revenge that had dominated her
worn lover of all life . . . she wanted this executioner dead.
No amount of good karma could make her turn the other cheek today. Alarmed and
never
ore . . . the whispers of Sicilian ancestors defending family honor with brutal
Vendetta, Vittoria thought, and for the first time in her life understood.
ions of reprisal spurred her on. She approached the tomb of Raphael Santi. Even from
b.
oss the floor. “Robert! Robert!”
the Pantheon was being hampered somewhat by
the guide on his heels, now continuing his tireless narration as Langdon prepared to
“You certainly seem to be enjoying those niches!” the docent said, looking delighted.
Langdon nodded, not hearing a word as he prepared to examine another niche. Suddenly
enabled the antimatter to be transported . . . her canister that was now counting down inside the Vatican. In an effort to serve her father’s quest for the simplicity of truth . . . she had become a conspirator of chaos. Oddly, the only thing that f
stranger. Robert Langdon. She found an inexplharmony of the oceans she had
Not only had he been a source of strength and hope for her, Langdon had used his qumind to render this one chance to catch her father’s killer.
Vittoria breathed deeplywas overwhelmed by th
thoughts all day. Even as a s
electrified, she sensed something coursing through her Italian blood that she had
felt befjustice.
Visa distance she could tell this guy was special. His casket, unlike the others, was protected by a Plexiglas shield and recessed into the wall. Through the barrier she could see the front of the sarcophagus.
RAPHAEL SANTI, 1483-1520 Vittoria studied the grave and then read the one-sentence descriptive plaque beside Raphael’s tom
Then she read it again. Then . . . she read it again. A moment later, she was dashing in horror acr
62
L angdon’s progress around his side of
check the final alcove.
“Were you aware that the tapering thickness of the walls is the reason the dome appears weightless?”
someone grabbed him from behind. It was Vittoria. She was breathless and tugging at his arm. From the look of terror on her face, Langdon could only imagine one thing. She found a body. He felt an upswelling of dread.
uest. He
toria’s eyes narrowed. “I’m Italian.”
rn her back on the guide. “Galileo’s
ainly know your
used by Vittoria’s panic. He took her
extracting the Diagramma folio. “What’s going
on them again, staring at the folio, mouth agape. “That’s not . . . really . .
and
When did Galileo publish . . .”
r liner. “That’s the pub date. What’s
century after Diagramma was
,” he replied. “Raphael died
“Ah, your wife!” the docent exclaimed, clearly thrilled to have another g
motioned to her short pants and hiking boots. “Now you I can tell are American!” Vit
The guide’s smile dimmed. “Oh, dear.” “Robert,” Vittoria whispered, trying to tu
Diagramma. I need to see it.”
“Diagramma?” the docent said, wheedling back in. “My! You two cert
history! Unfortunately that document is not viewable. It is under secret preservation in the Vatican Arc-”
“Could you excuse us?” Langdon said. He was confaside and reached in his pocket, carefully
on?”
“What’s the date on this thing?” Vittoria demanded, scanning the sheet. The docent was
.”
“Tourist reproduction,” Langdon quipped. “Thank you for your help. Please, my wife I would like a moment alone.”
The docent backed off, eyes never leaving the paper. “Date,” Vittoria repeated to Langdon. “
Langdon pointed to the Roman numeral in the lowe
going on?”
Vittoria deciphered the number. “1639?” “Yes. What’s wrong?”
Vittoria’s eyes filled with foreboding. “We’re in trouble, Robert. Big trouble. The dates
don’t match.” “What dates don’t match?”
“Raphael’s tomb. He wasn’t buried here until 1759. A
published.”
Langdon stared at her, trying to make sense of the words. “Noin 1520, long before Diagramma.”
“Yes, but he wasn’t buried here until much later.” Langdon was lost. “What are you talking about?”
“I just read it. Raphael’s body was relocated to the Pantheon in 1758. It was part of some
As the words settled in, Langdon felt like a rug had just been yanked out from under him.
e.
ng at all to do with Raphael!”
”
ed. “His birthplace.”
he Illuminati altars of science were here in
ati?” The docent gasped, looking again at the document in Langdon’s hand.
g for something called Santi’s earthly tomb. In Rome.
ot that I know of.”
ous at all? Maybe a scientist or a poet or an astronomer named
like he wanted to leave. “No, ma’am. The only Santi I’ve ever
hitect.”
s a painter!”
hey all were. Michelangelo, da Vinci, Raphael.”
historic tribute to eminent Italians.”
“When that poem was written,” Vittoria declared, “Raphael’s tomb was somewhere elsBack then, the Pantheon had nothi
Langdon could not breathe. “But that . . . means . . .”
“Yes! It means we’re in the wrong place!”
Langdon felt himself sway. Impossible . . . I was certain . . . Vittoria ran over and grabbed the docent, pulling him back. “Signore, excuse us. Where was Raphael’s body in the 1600s?
“Urb . . . Urbino,” he stammered, now looking bewilder
“Impossible!” Langdon cursed to himself. “T
Rome. I’m certain of it!” “Illumin
“Who are you people?” Vittoria took charge. “We’re lookin
Can you tell us what that might be?”
The docent looked unsettled. “This was Raphael’s only tomb in Rome.”
Langdon tried to think, but his mind refused to engage. If Raphael’s tomb wasn’t in Rome in 1655, then what was the poem referring to? Santi’s earthly tomb with demon’s hole? What the hell is it? Think! “Was there another artist called Santi?” Vittoria asked.
The docent shrugged. “N
“How about anyone famSanti?”
The docent now looked
heard of is Raphael the arc
“Architect?” Vittoria said. “I thought he wa
“He was both, of course. T
Langdon didn’t know whether it was the docent’s words or the ornate tombs around them
ind, but it didn’t matter. The thought occurred. Santi was
gression of thoughts fell like dominoes. Renaissance
designed
b
issed it. Half of the sculpting done
ork.
hael’s work had never captivated him.
sing Langdon’s stymie, Vittoria turned to the docent, who was now
and reeled him in. “I need a tomb. Designed by
ean a chapel by Raphael, not a tomb. Architects always
an was right.
earthly?”
that brought the revelation to man architect. From there the pro
architects lived for only two reasons-to glorify God with big churches, and to glorify dignitaries with lavish tombs. Santi’s tomb. Could it be? The images came faster now . . . da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.
Monet’s Water Lilies.
Michelangelo’s David.
Santi’s earthly tomb . . .
“Santi the tomb,” Langdon said. Vittoria turned. “What?” “It’s not a reference to where Raphael is buried, it’s referring to a tomb he designed.”
“What are you talking about?” “I misunderstood the clue. It’s not Raphael’s burial site we’re looking for, it’s a tomRaphael designed for someone else. I can’t believe I m
in Renaissance and Baroque Rome was for the funeraries.” Langdon smiled with the revelation. “Raphael must have designed hundreds of tombs!” Vittoria did not look happy. “Hundreds?”
Langdon’s smile faded. “Oh.”
“Any of them earthly, professor?”
Langdon felt suddenly inadequate. He knew embarrassingly little about Raphael’s wMichelangelo he could have helped with, but Rap
Langdon could only name a couple of Raphael’s more famous tombs, but he wasn’t sure what they looked like.
Apparently seninching away. She grabbed his arm
Raphael. A tomb that could be considered earthly.” The docent now looked distressed. “A tomb of Raphael’s? I don’t know. He designed so many. And you probably would m
designed the chapels in conjunction with the tomb.” Langdon realized the m
“Are any of Raphael’s tombs or chapels considered
The man shrugged. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean. Earthly really doesn’t
describe anything I know of. I should be going.”
?”
ine.
el’s chapels
hook his head. “To my knowledge the Pantheon is unique.” He paused. “But
?”
“Yes, but a specific kind of crypt. I believe a demon’s hole is an ancient term for a
ed, immediately recognizing what the man was
describing.
The docent looked impressed. “Yes! That is the term I was looking for!”
Langdon considered it. Ossuary annexes were a cheap ecclesiastic fix to an awkward
heir most distinguished members with ornate tombs
e tombs for an entire family,
the tomb where they buried
lthough convenient, the ossuary annex went out of style
quickly because of the stench that often wafted up into the cathedral. Demon’s hole,
art was now pounding fiercely. From Santi’s earthly tomb with demon’s
ft to ask. “Did Raphael design any tombs
Vittoria held his arm and read from the top line of the folio. “From Santi’s earthly tombwith demon’s hole. Does that mean anything to you
“Not a thing.”
Langdon looked up suddenly. He had momentarily forgotten the second part of the lDemon’s hole? “Yes!” he said to the docent. “That’s it! Do any of Rapha
have an oculus in them?” The docent s
. . .”
“But what!” Vittoria and Langdon said in unison. Now the docent cocked his head, stepping toward them again. “A demon’s hole?” He muttered to himself and picked at his teeth. “Demon’s hole . . . that is . . . buco diàvoloVittoria nodded. “Literally, yes.” The docent smiled faintly. “Now there’s a term I have not heard in a while. If I’m not mistaken, a buco diàvolo refers to an undercroft.” “An undercroft?” Langdon asked. “As in a crypt?”
massive burial cavity located in a chapel . . . underneath another tomb.” “An ossuary annex?” Langdon demand
dilemma. When churches honored t
inside the sanctuary, surviving family members often demanded the family be buried together . . . thus ensuring they too would have a coveted burial spot inside the church. However, if the church did not have space or funds to creat
they sometimes dug an ossuary annex-a hole in the floor nearthe less worthy family members. The hole was then covered with the Renaissance
equivalent of a manhole cover. A
Langdon thought. He had never heard the term. It seemed eerily fitting. Langdon’s he
hole. There seemed to be only one question lethat had one of these demon’s holes?”
The docent scratched his head. “Actually. I’m sorry . . . I can only think of one.”
Only one? Langdon could not have dreamed of a better response.
“Where!” Vittoria almost shouted. The docent eyed them strangely. “It’s called the Chigi Chapel. Tomb of Agostino Chigi
Vittoria.
e of service. “As for
it is . . . shall we say
ome other sculptor
cked taste,” the docent said. “Dio mio! Atrocitàs!
angdon could scarcely believe his ears. “Pyramids? The chapel contains pyramids?”
igi Chapel?”
pped short. “Please don’t tell me you made a mistake.”
n me earlier. The Chigi Chapel was
g place!”
mean?”
and his brother, wealthy patrons of the arts and sciences.”
“Sciences?” Langdon said, exchanging looks with
“Where?” Vittoria asked again.
The docent ignored the question, seeming enthusiastic again to b
whether or not the tomb is earthly, I don’t know, but certainly differénte.”
“Different?” Langdon said. “How?”
“Incoherent with the architecture. Raphael was only the architect. S
did the interior adornments. I can’t remember who.” Langdon was now all ears. The anonymous Illuminati master, perhaps?
“Whoever did the interior monuments la
Who would want to be buried beneath pirámides?”
L
“I know,” the docent scoffed. “Terrible, isn’t it?”
Vittoria grabbed the docent’s arm. “Signore, where is this Ch
“About a mile north. In the church of Santa Maria del Popolo.”
Vittoria exhaled. “Thank you. Let’s-”
“Hey,” the docent said, “I just thought of something. What a fool I am.” Vittoria sto
He shook his head. “No, but it should have dawned o
not always known as the Chigi. It used to be called Capella della Terra.”
“Chapel of the Land?” Langdon asked.
“No,” Vittoria said, heading for the door. “Chapel of the Earth.” Vittoria Vetra whipped out her cell phone as she dashed into Piazza della Rotunda.“Commander Olivetti,” she said. “This is the wron
Olivetti sounded bewildered. “Wrong? What do you
“The first altar of science is at the Chigi Chapel!”
“Where?” Now Olivetti sounded angry. “But Mr. Langdon said-”
Maria del Popolo! One mile north. Get your men over there now! We’ve got four
s!”
my men are in position here! I can’t possibly-”
, Langdon emerged from the Pantheon, dazed.
on the hood of the first car in line. The sleeping driver
the driver hit the accelerator, peeling out down the
G from Chinita Macri, who now
onfusion over Glick’s
ck said, typing some more keys. “The British Tattler isn’t the only paper
years on the brotherhood
you.”
on’t know why you’re such a skeptic. The Illuminati are well
the Loch Ness Monster.”
storical a while back on Churchill’s life. Staunch Catholic by the way. Did
“Santaminute
“But “Move!” Vittoria snapped the phone shut. Behind her
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the queue of seemingly driverless taxis waiting by the curb. She pounded
bolted upright with a startled yelp. Vittoria yanked open the rear door and pushed Langdon inside. Then she jumped in behind him. “Santa Maria del Popolo,” she ordered. “Presto!”
Looking delirious and half terrified,street.
63
unther Glick had assumed control of the computerstood hunched in the back of the cramped BBC van staring in c
shoulder.
“I told you,” Gli
that runs stories on these guys.” Macri peered closer. Glick was right. The BBC database showed their distinguished network as having picked up and run six stories in the past ten
called the Illuminati. Well, paint me purple, she thought. “Who are the journalists who ran the stories,” Macri asked. “Schlock jocks?”
“BBC doesn’t hire schlock jocks.”
“They hired
Glick scowled. “I d
documented throughout history.” “So are witches, UFOs, and
Glick read the list of stories. “You ever heard of a guy called Winston Churchill?” “Rings a bell.”
“BBC did a hi
you know that in 1920 Churchill published a statement condemning the Illuminati anwarning Brits of a worldwide conspiracy against morality?” Macri was dubious. “W
d
here did it run? In the British Tattler?”
“No way.”
. “Looks like Woodrow Wilson gave three
lluminati control over the U.S. banking
dio transcript?”
e anyway. “He said, ‘There is a power so organized, so subtle, so
speak above their breath when they speak in
f it.’ ”
ever heard anything about this.”
a kid.”
new her years were showing. At forty-
’re
e day you
.
sked.
hodes Scholarships were funds set up
recruit the world’s brightest young minds into the Illuminati.”
Glick smiled. “London Herald. February 8, 1920.”
“Feast your eyes.” Macri looked closer at the clip. London Herald. Feb. 8, 1920. I had no idea. “Well, Churchill was a paranoid.”
“He wasn’t alone,” Glick said, reading furtherradio broadcasts in 1921 warning of growing I
system. You want a direct quote from the ra
“Not really.”
Glick gave her oncomplete, so pervasive, that none had better
condemnation o
“I’ve n
“Maybe because in 1921 you were just
“Charming.” Macri took the jab in stride. She k
three, her bushy black curls were streaked with gray. She was too proud for dye. Her mom, a Southern Baptist, had taught Chinita contentedness and self-respect. When youa black woman, her mother said, ain’t no hiding what you are. Day you try, is th
die. Stand tall, smile bright, and let ’em wonder what secret’s making you laugh
“Ever heard of Cecil Rhodes?” Glick a
Macri looked up. “The British financier?” “Yeah. Founded the Rhodes Scholarships.”
“Don’t tell me-” “Illuminatus.” “BS.”
“BBC, actually. November 16, 1984.”
“We wrote that Cecil Rhodes was Illuminati?” “Sure did. And according to our network, the R
centuries ago to
“That’s ridiculous! My uncle was a Rhodes Scholar!” Glick winked. “So was Bill Clinton.”
Macri was getting mad Still, she knew enough about the BBC to know
now. She had never had tolerance for shoddy, alarmist reporting.
that every story they ran was carefully
mbers of British Parliament who were Masons to
s within the Masons exerted considerable
ed the Masons for networking and
ccounts tracing the
itself.”
e
recent Wall Street Journal.”
“Guess what the most popular Internet computer game in America is right now?”
e tail on Pamela Anderson.”
se. It’s called, Illuminati: New World Order.”
ll.
id. “Religion in general.” Glick cocked his head and
researched and confirmed. “Here’s one you’ll remember,” Glick said. “BBC, March 5, 1998. Parliament Committee Chair, Chris Mullin, required all me
declare their affiliation.”
Macri remembered it. The decree had eventually extended to include policemen and judges as well. “Why was it again?”
Glick read. “. . . concern that secret faction
control over political and financial systems.”
“That’s right.”
“Caused quite a bustle. The Masons in parliament were furious. Had a right to be. The vast majority turned out to be innocent men who join
charity work. They had no clue about the brotherhood’s past affiliations.” “Alleged affiliations.” “Whatever.” Glick scanned the articles. “Look at this stuff. A
Illuminati back to Galileo, the Guerenets of France, the Alumbrados of Spain. Even Karl Marx and the Russian Revolution.” “History has a way of rewriting
“Fine, you want something current? Have a look at this. Here’s an Illuminati referencfrom a
This caught Macri’s ear. “The Journal?”
“Pin th
“CloMacri looked over his shoulder at the blurb. “Steve Jackson Games has a runaway hit . . . a quasi-historical adventure in which an ancient satanic brotherhood from Bavaria setsout to take over the world. You can find them on-line at . . .” Macri looked up, feeling i“What do these Illuminati guys have against Christianity?” “Not just Christianity,” Glick sa
grinned. “Although from the phone call we just got, it appears they do have a special spot in their hearts for the Vatican.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t really think that guy who called is who he claims to be, do you?” “A messenger of the Illuminati? Preparing to kill four cardinals?” Glick smiled. “I sure hope so.”
64
L angdon and Vittoria’s taxi completed the one-mile sprint up the wide Via della Scrofain just over a minute. They skidded to a stop on the south side of the Piazza del Popolo just before eight. Not having any lire, Langdon overpaid the driver in U.S. dollars. He and Vittoria jumped out. The piazza was quiet except for the laughter of a handful of locals seated outside the popular
Rosati Café-a hot spot of the Italian literati. The breeze
rsory glance at this
square, however, his sixth sense was already tingling. The piazza seemed subtly filled
pillar of stone with a distinctively
elisks were scattered across
e
cred pyramidal form.
ess. “Have a
ay
or
symbolic engraving. “Look
familiar?”
Illumination over a pyramid.”
ere’s this damn church?”
was
ard the edifice. He stared up at the
smelled of espresso and pastry.
Langdon was still in shock over his mistake at the Pantheon. With a cu
with Illuminati significance. Not only was it laid out in a perfectly elliptical shape, but
dead center stood a towering Egyptian obelisk-a square pyramidal tip. Spoils of Rome’s imperial plundering, ob
Rome and referred to by symbologists as “Lofty Pyramids”-skyward extensions of th
sa
As Langdon’s eyes moved up the monolith, though, his sight was suddenly drawn to something else in the background. Something even more remarkable. “We’re in the right place,” he said quietly, feeling a sudden exposed warin
look at that.” Langdon pointed to the imposing Porta del Popolo-the high stone archwat the far end of the piazza. The vaulted structure had been overlooking the piazza fcenturies. Dead center of the archway’s highest point was a
Vittoria looked up at the huge carving. “A shining star over a triangular pile of stones?” Langdon shook his head. “A source of
Vittoria turned, her eyes suddenly wide. “Like . . . the Great Seal of the United States?”
“Exactly. The Masonic symbol on the one-dollar bill.”
Vittoria took a deep breath and scanned the piazza. “So wh
The Church of Santa Maria del Popolo stood out like a misplaced battleship, askew at the base of a hill on the southeast corner of the piazza. The eleventh-century stone aerie made even more clumsy by the tower of scaffolding covering the façade.
Langdon’s thoughts were a blur as they raced tow
church in wonder. Could a murder really be about to take place inside? He wished Olivetti would hurry. The gun felt awkward in his pocket.
The church’s front stairs were ventaglio-a welcoming, curved fan-ironic in this case because they were blocked with scaffolding, construction equipment, and a sign warning:
Langdon realized that a church closed for renovation meant total privacy for a killer. Not
t hesitation between the sawhorses and headed up the staircase.
Vittoria did not seem to hear. She ascended the main portico to the church’s sole wooden
re’s another way in, there’s another way out. If
on both
head was an unassuming wooden door with heavy hinges.
ard porta sacra-a private entrance for clergy. Most of
years ago as encroaching buildings and limited real
own at the doorknob, apparently
erplexed. Langdon arrived behind her and eyed the peculiar donut-shaped hoop hanging
hand.
hifted, looking suddenly
kwise. It spun loosely 360 degrees, not
”
CONSTRUZZIONE. NON ENTRARE.
like the Pantheon. No fancy tricks needed here. Only to find a way in. Vittoria slipped withou
“Vittoria,” Langdon cautioned. “If he’s still in there . . .”
door. Langdon hurried up the stairs behind her. Before he could say a word she had grasped the handle and pulled. Langdon held his breath. The door did not budge. “There must be another entrance,” Vittoria said.
“Probably,” Langdon said, exhaling, “but Olivetti will be here in a minute. It’s too dangerous to go in. We should cover the church from out here until-” Vittoria turned, her eyes blazing. “If the
this guy disappears, we’re fungito.” Langdon knew enough Italian to know she was right. The alley on the right side of the church was pinched and dark, with high walls
sides. It smelled of urine-a common aroma in a city where bars outnumbered public restrooms twenty to one.
Langdon and Vittoria hurried into the fetid dimness. They had gone about fifteen yards down when Vittoria tugged Langdon’s arm and pointed. Langdon saw it too. Up a
Langdon recognized it as the standthese entrances had gone out of use
estate relegated side entrances to inconvenient alleyways. Vittoria hurried to the door. She arrived and stared d
p
where the doorknob should have been. “An annulus,” he whispered. Langdon reached out and quietly lifted the ring in his
He pulled the ring toward him. The fixture clicked. Vittoria suneasy. Quietly, Langdon twisted the ring cloc
engaging. Langdon frowned and tried the other direction with the same result. Vittoria looked down the remainder of the alley. “You think there’s another entrance?
Langdon doubted it. Most Renaissance cathedrals were designed as makeshift fortresses
as few entrances as possible. “If there is
obably recessed in the rear bastion-more of an escape
hear Vittoria the first time she called to him. He had slowed at a
ars and was trying to peer inside the church.
whisper.
f the alley. She was pointing around the
back of the church and waving to him. Langdon jogged reluctantly toward her. At the
stone bulwark jutted out concealing a narrow grotto-a kind of
ting directly into the foundation of the church.
the
on sighed. “I’ll go first.”
prised. “More chivalry?”
beauty.”
compliment?”
into the dark. “Careful on the stairs.”
on
th of Daedelus, how the boy
s
nd the end.
ace. He sensed Vittoria close
in the event a city was stormed. They had another way in,” he said, “it’s pr
route than an entrance.”
Vittoria was already on the move.
Langdon followed deeper into the alley. The walls shot skyward on both sides of him. Somewhere a bell began ringing eight o’clock . . .
Robert Langdon did not
stained-glass window covered with b
“Robert!” Her voice was a loud
Langdon looked up. Vittoria was at the end o
base of the rear wall, a
compressed passageway cut
“An entrance?” Vittoria asked.
Langdon nodded. Actually an exit, but we won’t get technical. Vittoria knelt and peered into the tunnel. “Let’s check the door. See if it’s open.” Langdon opened his mouth to object, but Vittoria took his hand and pulled him into opening.
“Wait,” Langdon said. She turned impatiently toward him. Langd
Vittoria looked sur
“Age before
“Was that a
Langdon smiled and moved past her
He inched slowly into the darkness, keeping one hand on the wall. The stone felt sharp his fingertips. For an instant Langdon recalled the ancient my
kept one hand on the wall as he moved through the Minotaur’s labyrinth, knowing he waguaranteed to find the end if he never broke contact with the wall. Langdon moved forward, not entirely certain he wanted to fi
The tunnel narrowed slightly, and Langdon slowed his p
behind him. As the wall curved left, the tunnel opened into a semicircular alcove. Oddly, there was faint light here. In the dimness Langdon saw the outline of a heavy wooden door. “Uh oh,” he said. “Locked?”
“It was.”
“Was?Langdo
” Vittoria arrived at his side.
n pointed. Lit by a shaft of light coming from within, the door hung ajar . . . its
es splintered by a wrecking bar still lodged in the wood.
his
dark, and the guards wore U.S. Marine issue infrared
goggles. The goggles made everything appear an eerie shade of green. Every guard wore
f
er
ary was
the muted glow of the stained glass. Langdon stood
with Vittoria beneath a sprawling Pinturicchio fresco and scanned the gutted shrine.
, if he
was even still here. Langdon felt guilt-ridden over the blunder that had cost everyone
ion to insist on precaution now; he was
hingThey stood a moment in silence. Then, in the dark, Langdon felt Vittoria’s hands on chest, groping, sliding beneath his jacket. “Relax, professor,” she said. “I’m just getting the gun.” At that moment, inside the Vatican Museums, a task force of Swiss Guards spread out in
all directions. The museum was
headphones connected to an antennalike detector that he waved rhythmically in front ohim-the same devices they used twice a week to sweep for electronic bugs inside the Vatican. They moved methodically, checking behind statues, inside niches, closets, undfurniture. The antennae would sound if they detected even the tiniest magnetic field. Tonight, however, they were getting no readings at all.
65
T he interior of Santa Maria del Popolo was a murky cave in the dimming light. It looked more like a half-finished subway station than a cathedral. The main sanctuan obstacle course of torn-up flooring, brick pallets, mounds of dirt, wheelbarrows, and even a rusty backhoe. Mammoth columns rose through the floor, supporting a vaultedroof. In the air, silt drifted lazily in
Nothing moved. Dead silence. Vittoria held the gun out in front of her with both hands. Langdon checked his watch: 8:04 P.M. We’re crazy to be in here, he thought. It’s too dangerous. Still he knew if the
killer were inside, the man could leave through any door he wanted, making a one-gun outside stakeout totally fruitless. Catching him inside was the only way . . . that was
their chance at the Pantheon. He was in no posit
the one who had backed them into this corner. Vittoria looked harrowed as she scanned the church. “So,” she whispered. “Where is this
variably contained multiple chapels, huge cathedrals like Notre Dame having dozens.
hollows-semicircular niches holding tombs
ad news, Langdon thought, seeing the four recesses on each side wall. There were eight
the
e any of those draped recesses,” Langdon said. “No way to know which is the
out looking inside every one. Could be a good reason to wait for Oliv-”
ndary left apse?” she asked.
It
side it read:
RMS OF ALEXANDER CHIGI
WHOSE TOMB IS LOCATED IN THE
i had been an Illuminatus. He nodded to
e a rustling.
in here! The sound moved
jumping back. Langdon fell back
with her.
Chigi Chapel?” Langdon gazed through the dusky ghostliness toward the back of the cathedral and udied the outer walls. Contrary to common perception, Renaissance cathedrals
stin
Chapels were less rooms than they werearound a church’s perimeter wall.
B
chapels in all. Although eight was not a particularly overwhelming number, all eight openings were covered with huge sheets of clear polyurethane due to the construction, translucent curtains apparently intended to keep dust off the tombs inside the alcoves.
“It could bChigi with
“Which is the seco
Langdon studied her, surprised by her command of architectural terminology. “Secondaryleft apse?” Vittoria pointed at the wall behind him. A decorative tile was embedded in the stone. was engraved with the same symbol they had seen outside-a pyramid beneath a shining star. The grime-covered plaque be
COAT OF A
SECONDARY LEFT APSE OF THIS CATHEDRAL Langdon nodded. Chigi’s coat of arms was a pyramid and star? He suddenly found himself wondering if the wealthy patron Chig
Vittoria. “Nice work, Nancy Drew.”
“What?” “Never mind. I-”
A piece of metal clattered to the floor only yards away. The clang echoed through the entire church. Langdon pulled Vittoria behind a pillar as she whipped the gun toward the sound and held it there. Silence. They waited. Again there was sound, this tim
Langdon held his breath. I never should have let us come
closer, an intermittent scuffling, like a man with a limp. Suddenly around the base of the pillar, an object came into view. “Figlio di puttana!” Vittoria cursed under her breath,
Beside the pillar, dragging a half-eaten sandwich in paper, was an enormous rat. The
aining her composure. Langdon peered around the
se by the resourceful rodent.
ispered, “If this guy’s here, he sure as
for Olivetti?”
ere is it?”
is thumb backward over his shoulder.
right.
y
s
he futility and let her go. He moved beside her, cautiously, down the
e first shrouded alcove, Langdon felt taut, like a
ontestant on some surreal game show. I’ll take curtain number three, he thought.
self, hoping he was right. It
.
ed
creature paused when it saw them, staring a long moment down the barrel of Vittoria’s weapon, and then, apparently unmoved, continued dragging its prize off to the recesses of the church. “Son of a . . .” Langdon gasped, his heart racing. Vittoria lowered the gun, quickly reg
side of the column to see a workman’s lunchbox splayed on the floor, apparently knocked
off a sawhor
Langdon scanned the basilica for movement and whhell heard that. You sure you don’t want to wait
“Secondary left apse,” Vittoria repeated. “Wh
Reluctantly Langdon turned and tried to get his bearings. Cathedral terminology was likestage directions-totally counterintuitive. He faced the main altar. Stage center. Then he pointed with h
They both turned and looked where he was pointing. It seemed the Chigi Chapel was located in the third of four recessed alcoves to their
The good news was that Langdon and Vittoria were on the correct side of the church. The bad news was that they were at the wrong end. They would have to traverse the length of the cathedral, passing three other chapels, each of them, like the Chigi Chapel, covered with translucent plastic shrouds. “Wait,” Langdon said. “I’ll go first.”
“Forget it.” “I’m the one who screwed up at the Pantheon.” She turned. “But I’m the one with the gun.”
In her eyes Langdon could see what she was really thinking . . . I’m the one who lost mfather. I’m the one who helped build a weapon of mass destruction. This guy’s kneecapare mine. . .
Langdon sensed t
east side of the basilica. As they passed thc
The church was quiet, the thick stone walls blocking out all hints of the outside world. Asthey hurried past one chapel after the other, pale humanoid forms wavered like ghosts behind the rustling plastic. Carved marble, Langdon told him
was 8:06 P.M. Had the killer been punctual and slipped out before Langdon and Vittoria had entered? Or was he still here? Langdon was unsure which scenario he preferredThey passed the second apse, ominous in the slowly darkening cathedral. Night seem
to be falling quickly now, accentuated by the musty tint of the stained-glass windows.they presse
As
d on, the plastic curtain beside them billowed suddenly, as if caught in a draft.
ranite block were
Langdon nodded. Without a sound they moved to the corner of the opening, positioning
stic.
s
s possible, he began to pull the plastic aside. It moved an inch and then
crinkled loudly. They both froze. Silence. After a moment, moving in slow motion,
er
re too late.”
r imagined a chapel that looked like this. Finished entirely in chestnut
s. It
minati
representing power, intellect, ardor, emotion. Earth is for power, Langdon
ible than any of this were the
two huge structures dominating the room. Langdon stared at them in silent wonder.It
c
pyramids doing inside a
embedded in their anterior façades, were gold medallions . . . medallions like few
Langdon wondered if someone somewhere had opened a door.
Vittoria slowed as the third niche loomed before them. She held the gun before her, motioning with her head to the stele beside the apse. Carved in the g
two words: CAPELLA CHIGI
themselves behind a wide pillar. Vittoria leveled the gun around a corner at the plaThen she signaled for Langdon to pull back the shroud. A good time to start praying, he thought. Reluctantly, he reached over her shoulder. Acarefully a
Vittoria leaned forward and peered through the narrow slit. Langdon looked over hshoulder. For a moment, neither one of them breathed. “Empty,” Vittoria finally said, lowering the gun. “We’
Langdon did not hear. He was in awe, transported for an instant to another world. In his life, he had neve
marble, the Chigi Chapel was breathtaking. Langdon’s trained eye devoured it in gulpwas as earthly a chapel as Langdon could fathom, almost as if Galileo and the Illuhad designed it themselves. Overhead, the domed cupola shone with a field of illuminated stars and the seven astronomical planets. Below that the twelve signs of the zodiac-pagan, earthly symbols rooted in astronomy. The zodiac was also tied directly to Earth, Air, Fire, Water . . . the quadrants
recalled.
Farther down the wall, Langdon saw tributes to the Earth’s four temporal seasons-primavera, estate, autunno, invérno. But far more incred
can’t be, he thought. It just can’t be! But it was. On either side of the chapel, in perfect symmetry, were two ten-foot-high marble pyramids. “I don’t see a cardinal,” Vittoria whispered. “Or an assassin.” She pulled aside the plastiand stepped in. Langdon’s eyes were transfixed on the pyramids. What are
Christian chapel? And incredibly, there was more. Dead center of each pyramid,
Langdon had ever seen . . . perfect ellipses. The burnished disks glimmered in the setting
sun as it sifted through the cupola. Galileo’s ellipses? Pyramids? A cupola of stars?room had more Illuminati significance than any roo
The
m Langdon could have fabricated in
his eyes dropped to where she was pointing.
outed, jumping backward.
de. It was not the image, however, that had
fact that the mosaic was mounted on a circular
stone-a cupermento-that had been lifted out of the floor like a manhole cover and was
“Demon’s hole,” Langdon gasped. He had been so taken with the ceiling he had not even
rwhelming.
uth. “Che puzzo.”
aying bone.” He breathed through his
Holding his breath, he
ep into the darkness. Slowly, as his eyes
to open into a small
e better in the dark. When he opened his eyes again, a pale muted
figure hovered below in the darkness. Langdon shivered but fought the instinct to pull
ngdon closed his eyes again
his mind. “Robert,” Vittoria blurted, her voice cracking. “Look!”
Langdon wheeled, reality returning as
“Bloody hell!” he sh
Sneering up at them from the floor was the image of a skeleton-an intricately detailed, marble mosaic depicting “death in flight.” The skeleton was carrying a tablet portrayingthe same pyramid and stars they had seen outsi
turned Langdon’s blood cold. It was the
now sitting off to one side of a dark opening in the floor.
seen it. Tentatively he moved toward the pit. The stench coming up was ove
Vittoria put a hand over her mo
“Effluvium,” Langdon said. “Vapors from dec
sleeve as he leaned out over the hole, peering down. Blackness. “I can’t see a thing.” “You think anybody’s down there?” “No way to know.” Vittoria motioned to the far side of the hole where a rotting, wooden ladder descended into the depths. Langdon shook his head. “Like hell.”
“Maybe there’s a flashlight outside in those tools.” She sounded eager for an excuse to escape the smell. “I’ll look.” “Careful!” Langdon warned. “We don’t know for sure that the Hassassin-” But Vittoria was already gone.
One strong-willed woman, Langdon thought. As he turned back to the pit, he felt light-headed from the fumes.
dropped his head below the rim and peered deadjusted, he began to see faint shapes below. The pit appeared
chamber. Demon’s hole. He wondered how many generations of Chigis had been unceremoniously dumped in. Langdon closed his eyes and waited, forcing his pupils todilate so he could se
out. Am I seeing things? Is that a body? The figure faded. La
and waited, longer this time, so his eyes would pick up the faintest light.
the blackness. Just a few more
es or holding his head at a low
g to feel squeamish. When he finally
inexplicable.
him. Startled, Langdon scrambled up.
ed behind him.
hell are you doing?”
No flashlights.”
e
“Let’s hope not.”
e hole. Cautiously, he advanced to the rim
hole, lighting the side wall. As he directed the light,
enty
dark and mottled.
ot to turn away.
een stripped
ell else it would be. He stared
angdon hesitated. There was
oned. He seemed to be . . .
Dizziness started to set in, and his thoughts wandered in
seconds. He wasn’t sure if it was breathing the fuminclination, but Langdon was definitely startin
opened his eyes again, the image before him was totally
He was now staring at a crypt bathed in an eerie bluish light. A faint hissing sound reverberated in his ears. Light flickered on the steep walls of the shaft. Suddenly, a long shadow materialized over
“Look out!” someone exclaim
Before Langdon could turn, he felt a sharp pain on the back of his neck. He spun to see Vittoria twisting a lit blowtorch away from him, the hissing flame throwing blue light around the chapel. Langdon grabbed his neck. “What the
“I was giving you some light,” she said. “You backed right into me.” Langdon glared at the portable blowtorch in her hand.
“Best I could do,” she said. “
Langdon rubbed his neck. “I didn’t hear you come in.” Vittoria handed him the torch, wincing again at the stench of the crypt. “You think thosfumes are combustible?”
He took the torch and moved slowly toward th
and pointed the flame down into the
his eyes traced the outline of the wall downward. The crypt was circular and about twfeet across. Thirty feet down, the glow found the floor. The ground was
Earthy. Then Langdon saw the body.
His instinct was to recoil. “He’s here,” Langdon said, forcing himself nThe figure was a pallid outline against the earthen floor. “I think he’s b
naked.” Langdon flashed on the nude corpse of Leonardo Vetra. “Is it one of the cardinals?”
Langdon had no idea, but he couldn’t imagine who the hdown at the pale blob. Unmoving. Lifeless. And yet . . . L
something very strange about the way the figure was positi
Langdon called out. “Hello?”
“You think he’s alive?”
There w“He’s not moving,” Langdon said. “But he looks . . .”
as no response from below.
No, impossible.
le. “Hello?! Mi puó sentire?”
ickety ladder. “I’m going down.”
t.
el Popolo,” Glick insisted. “That’s what we’re looking for. There’s a church
nita wished, as she often did, that she was the
or
s
edians to have given him a name like
he guy felt like he had something to prove. Nonetheless,
lative and annoying eagerness to make a mark, Glick was
strung sort of way. Like Hugh Grant on
lithium.
“Shouldn’t we be back at St. Peter’s?” Macri said as patiently as possible. “We can check
a decision while we’re gone?”
“He looks what?” Vittoria was peering over the edge now too. Langdon squinted into the darkness. “He looks like he’s standing up.”
Vittoria held her breath and lowered her face over the edge for a better look. After a moment, she pulled back. “You’re right. He’s standing up! Maybe he’s alive and needshelp!” She called into the ho
There was no echo off the mossy interior. Only silence.
Vittoria headed for the r
Langdon caught her arm. “No. It’s dangerous. I’ll go.” This time Vittoria didn’t argue. 66
C hinita Macri was mad. She sat in the passenger’s seat of the BBC van as it idled at a corner on Via Tomacelli. Gunther Glick was checking his map of Rome, apparently losAs she had feared, his mystery caller had phoned back, this time with information. “Piazza d
there. And inside is proof.” “Proof.” Chinita stopped polishing the lens in her hand and turned to him. “Proof that a cardinal has been murdered?”
“That’s what he said.” “You believe everything you hear?” Chi
one in charge. Videographers, however, were at the whim of the crazy reporters fwhom they shot footage. If Gunther Glick wanted to follow a feeble phone tip, Macri wahis dog on a leash. She looked at him, sitting there in the driver’s seat, his jaw set intently. The man’s parents, she decided, must have been frustrated com
Gunther Glick. No wonder tdespite his unfortunate appel
sweet . . . charming in a pasty, Briddish, un
this mystery church out later. Conclave started an hour ago. What if the cardinals come to
Glick did not seem to hear. “I think we go to the right, here.” He tilted the map and
a right . . . and then an immediate left.” He began to pull
efore them.
Macri yelled. She was a video technician, and her eyes were sharp.
ed on the brakes and avoided entering
os appeared out of nowhere and tore by
ed, decelerating, and cut sharply left one block ahead,
taking the exact route Glick had intended to take.
were all the same.”
y were maniacs with no imagination.”
e cars were also full.”
w from
studied it again. “Yes, if I take out onto the narrow street b
“Look out!”
Fortunately, Glick was pretty fast too. He slammthe intersection just as a line of four Alpha Rome
in a blur. Once past, the cars skidd
“Maniacs!” Macri shouted.
Glick looked shaken. “Did you see that?”
“Yeah, I saw that! They almost killed us!” “No, I mean the cars,” Glick said, his voice suddenly excited. “They
“So the
“Th“So what?”
“Four identical cars, all with four passengers?” “You ever heard of carpooling?” “In Italy?” Glick checked the intersection. “They haven’t even heard of unleaded gas.” He hit the accelerator and peeled out after the cars.
Macri was thrown back in her seat. “What the hell are you doing?” Glick accelerated down the street and hung a left after the Alpha Romeos. “Something tells me you and I are not the only ones going to church right now.”
67 T
he descent was slow. Langdon dropped rung by rung down the creaking ladder . . . deeper and deeper beneath the floor of the Chigi Chapel. Into the Demon’s hole, he thought. He was facing the side wall, his back to the chamber, and he wondered how many more dark, cramped spaces one day could provide. The ladder groaned with every step, and the pungent smell of rotting flesh and dampness was almost asphyxiating. Langdon wondered where the hell
Olivetti was. Vittoria’s outline was still visible above, holding the blowtorch inside the hole, lighting Langdon’s way. As he lowered himself deeper into the darkness, the bluish glo
above got fainter. The only thing that got stronger was the stench. Twelve rungs down, it happened. Langdon’s foot hit a spot that was slippery with decay, and he faltered. Lunging forward, he caught the ladder with his forearms to avoid plummeting to the bottom. Cursing the bruises now throbbing on his arms, he dragged his
body back onto the ladder and began his descent again.
e
e openings-burial niches-all filled with skeletons. In the phosphorescent light, it
mpty sockets and decaying rib cages flickering around him.
a
r-salmon flambé in the shadow of a
e Times, a whirlwind of black velvet, cigarettes, and
cca Strauss would
ess of the crypt, Langdon tried to make sense of what he
alized the
ery short. Too short . . .
m. Emerging like a
an . . . or at least half of him. He was buried
ht with half of him below ground. Stripped
Three rungs deeper, he almost fell again, but this time it was not a rung that caused the mishap. It was a bolt of fear. He had descended past a hollowed niche in the wall beforhim and suddenly found himself face to face with a collection of skulls. As he caught hisbreath and looked around him, he realized the wall at this level was honeycombed with shelflikmade for an eerie collage of e
Skeletons by firelight, he grimaced wryly, realizing he had quite coincidentally endured similar evening just last month. An evening of bones and flames. The New York Museumof Archeology’s candlelight benefit dinne
brontosaurus skeleton. He had attended at the invitation of Rebecca Strauss-one-time fashion model now art critic from th
not-so-subtly enhanced breasts. She’d called him twice since. Langdon had not returned her calls. Most ungentlemanly, he chided, wondering how long Rebe
last in a stink-pit like this. Langdon was relieved to feel the final rung give way to the spongy earth at the bottom. The ground beneath his shoes felt damp. Assuring himself the walls were not going to close in on him, he turned into the crypt. It was circular, about twenty feet across. Breathing through his sleeve again, Langdon turned his eyes to the body. In the gloom, the image was hazy. A white, fleshy outline. Facing the other direction. Motionless. Silent.
Advancing through the murkin
was looking at. The man had his back to Langdon, and Langdon could not see his face, but he did indeed seem to be standing. “Hello?” Langdon choked through his sleeve. Nothing. As he drew nearer, he re
man was v
“What’s happening?” Vittoria called from above, shifting the light. Langdon did not answer. He was now close enough to see it all. With a tremor of repulsion, he understood. The chamber seemed to contract around hi
demon from the earthen floor was an old mup to his waist in the earth. Standing uprig
naked. His hands tied behind his back with a red cardinal’s sash. He was propped limply upward, spine arched backward like some sort of hideous punching bag. The man’s head lay backward, eyes toward the heavens as if pleading for help from God himself. “Is he dead?” Vittoria called.
Langdon moved toward the body. I hope so, for his sake. As he drew to within a few feet, he looked down at the upturned eyes. They bulged outward, blue and bloodshot. Langdon leaned down to listen for breath but immediately recoiled. “For Christ’s sake!”
angdon almost gagged. “He’s dead all right. I just saw the cause of death.” The sight
was gruesome. The man’s mouth had been jammed open and packed solid with dirt.
“Somebody stuffed a fistful of dirt down his throat. He suffocated.”
“Dirt?” Vittoria said. “As in . . . earth?”
Langdon did a double take. Earth. He had almost forgotten. The brands. Earth, Air, Fire,
Water. The killer had threatened to brand each victim with one of the ancient elements of
science. The first element was Earth. From Santi’s earthly tomb. Dizzy from the fumes,
Langdon circled to the front of the body. As he did, the symbologist within him loudly
reasserted the artistic challenge of creating the mythical ambigram. Earth? How? And
yet, an instant later, it was before him. Centuries of Illuminati legend whirled in his mind.
he marking on the cardinal’s chest was charred and oozing. The flesh was seared black.
“What!”
L
T
La lingua pura . . .
Langdon stared at the brand as the room began to spin.