ll 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 of conclave. 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 fourhundred-
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 Raphael's 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 City. It's only by luck that we know where the first kill zone is. The Pantheon is
your one chance to catch this guy."
"More contradictions," Olivetti said. "One chance? I thought you said there was some sort of pathway. A
series of markers. If the Pantheon is the right spot, we can follow the pathway to the other markers. We
will have four chances to catch this guy."
"I had hoped so," Langdon said. "And we would have . . . a century ago."
Langdon's realization that the Pantheon was the first altar of science had been a 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, but part of Langdon
had fantasized about following the path all 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 and destroyed 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 barked to the
driver.
The driver swerved the car toward the curb and put on the brakes. Three other Alpha Romeos skidded in
behind them. The Swiss Guard convoy screeched to a halt.
"What are you doing!" Vittoria demanded.
"My job," Olivetti said, turning in his seat, his voice like stone. "Mr. Langdon, when you told 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 I am abandoning critical duties by being here, and
because I have found very little that makes sense in this theory of yours about virgin sacrifices and
ancient poetry, I cannot in good conscience continue. I am recalling this mission immediately." He pulled
out his walkie-talkie 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 Pantheon is a single room. A circular cell made 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
terrorists, and gypsy tourist scams."
"Your point?" she said coolly.
"My point?" Olivetti's knuckles gripped the seat. "My point is that what you have just told me is going to
happen is utterly impossible! Can you give me one plausible scenario 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. Langdon? One plausible scenario."
Langdon felt the tiny car shrink around him. I have no idea! I'm not an assassin! I don't know how he will
do it! I only know-
"One scenario?" Vittoria quipped, her voice unruffled. "How about this? The killer flies over in a
helicopter and drops a screaming, branded cardinal down through the hole in the 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 you are quick.
Olivetti frowned. "Possible, I admit . . . but hardly-"
"Or the killer drugs the cardinal," Vittoria said, "brings him to the Pantheon in a wheelchair like some old
tourist. He wheels him inside, quietly slits his throat, and then walks out."
This seemed to wake up Olivetti a bit.
Not bad! Langdon thought.
"Or," she said, "the killer could-"
"I heard you," Olivetti said. "Enough." He took a deep breath and blew it out. Someone 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
time to get in position."
Olivetti nodded vaguely but said nothing for many moments. He ran a finger back and forth across the
dash, making a line in the dust. He studied Langdon in the side-view mirror, and Langdon felt himself
being measured and weighed. Finally Olivetti turned back to the guard. There was reluctance in his voice.
"I'll want separate approaches. Cars to Piazza della Rotunda, Via delgi Orfani, Piazza Sant'Ignacio, and
Sant'Eustachio. No closer 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 director of CERN, Maximilian Kohler, opened his eyes to the cool rush of cromolyn and
leukotriene in his body, dilating his bronchial tubes and pulmonary capillaries. He was breathing normally
again. He found himself lying in a private room in the CERN infirmary, his wheelchair beside the bed.
He took stock, examining the paper robe they had put him in. His clothing was folded on the chair beside
the bed. Outside he could hear a nurse making the rounds. He lay there a long minute listening. Then, as
quietly as possible, he pulled himself to the edge of the bed and retrieved his clothing. Struggling with his
dead legs, he dressed himself. Then he dragged his body onto his wheelchair.
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-six and thirty . . . mark." Even speaking into his walkie-talkie, Olivetti's voice never
seemed to rise above a whisper.
Langdon felt himself sweating now in his Harris tweed in the backseat of the Alpha Romeo, which was
idling in Piazza de la Concorde, three blocks from the Pantheon. Vittoria sat beside him, looking
engrossed by Olivetti, who was transmitting his final 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. We'll need someone to
spot the roof. Target is primary. Asset secondary."
Jesus, Langdon thought, chilled by the efficiency with which Olivetti had just told his men the cardinal
was expendable. Asset secondary.
"I repeat. Nonmortal procurement. We need the target alive. Go." Olivetti snapped off his 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?"
"Attento," Olivetti said, his eyes fossilizing. "If my ranks have been infiltrated, my men may be known
by sight. Your colleague has just finished warning me that this will be our sole chance to catch the target.
I have no intention of scaring anyone off by marching my men inside."
"But what if the killer is already inside?"
Olivetti checked his watch. "The target was specific. Eight o'clock. We have fifteen minutes."
"He said he would kill the cardinal at eight 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 is? Someone needs to make
sure the inside is clean."
"Too risky at this point."
"Not if the person going in was unrecognizable."
"Disguising operatives is time consuming and-"
"I meant me," Vittoria said.
Langdon turned and stared at her.
Olivetti shook his head. "Absolutely not."
"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. He sure as hell
doesn't know what I look like. I could walk in like a tourist. If I see anything suspicious, I could walk into
the square and signal your men to move in."
"I'm sorry, I cannot allow that."
"Comandante?" Olivetti's receiver crackled. "We've got a situation from the north point. The fountain is
blocking our line of sight. We can't see the entrance unless we move into plain view on the piazza.
What's y