ole. There seemed
to be only one question left to ask. "Did Raphael design any tombs that 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 and his brother,
wealthy patrons of the arts and sciences."
"Sciences?" Langdon said, exchanging looks with Vittoria.
"Where?" Vittoria asked again.
The docent ignored the question, seeming enthusiastic again to be of service. "As for whether or not the
tomb is earthly, I don't know, but certainly it is . . . shall we say differénte."
"Different?" Langdon said. "How?"
"Incoherent with the architecture. Raphael was only the architect. Some other sculptor did the interior
adornments. I can't remember who."
Langdon was now all ears. The anonymous Illuminati master, perhaps?
"Whoever did the interior monuments lacked taste," the docent said. "Dio mio! Atrocitàs! Who would
want to be buried beneath pirámides?"
Langdon could scarcely believe his ears. "Pyramids? The chapel contains pyramids?"
"I know," the docent scoffed. "Terrible, isn't it?"
Vittoria grabbed the docent's arm. "Signore, where is this Chigi Chapel?"
"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 stopped short. "Please don't tell me you made a mistake."
He shook his head. "No, but it should have dawned on me earlier. The Chigi Chapel was 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 wrong place!"
Olivetti sounded bewildered. "Wrong? What do you mean?"
"The first altar of science is at the Chigi Chapel!"
"Where?" Now Olivetti sounded angry. "But Mr. Langdon said-"
"Santa Maria del Popolo! One mile north. Get your men over there now! We've got four minutes!"
"But my men are in position here! I can't possibly-"
"Move!" Vittoria snapped the phone shut.
Behind her, Langdon emerged from the Pantheon, dazed.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the queue of seemingly driverless taxis waiting by the curb.
She pounded on the hood of the first car in line. The sleeping driver 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, the driver hit the accelerator, peeling out down the street.
63
G unther Glick had assumed control of the computer from Chinita Macri, who now stood hunched in
the back of the cramped BBC van staring in confusion over Glick's shoulder.
"I told you," Glick said, typing some more keys. "The British Tattler isn't the only paper 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 years on the brotherhood 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 you."
Glick scowled. "I don't know why you're such a skeptic. The Illuminati are well documented throughout
history."
"So are witches, UFOs, and the Loch Ness Monster."
Glick read the list of stories. "You ever heard of a guy called Winston Churchill?"
"Rings a bell."
"BBC did a historical a while back on Churchill's life. Staunch Catholic by the way. Did you know that in
1920 Churchill published a statement condemning the Illuminati and warning Brits of a worldwide
conspiracy against morality?"
Macri was dubious. "Where did it run? In the British Tattler?"
Glick smiled. "London Herald. February 8, 1920."
"No way."
"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 further. "Looks like Woodrow Wilson gave three radio broadcasts
in 1921 warning of growing Illuminati control over the U.S. banking system. You want a direct quote
from the radio transcript?"
"Not really."
Glick gave her one anyway. "He said, 'There is a power so organized, so subtle, so complete, so
pervasive, that none had better speak above their breath when they speak in condemnation of it.' "
"I've never heard anything about this."
"Maybe because in 1921 you were just a kid."
"Charming." Macri took the jab in stride. She knew her years were showing. At forty-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 you're a black woman, her mother said, ain't no hiding
what you are. Day you try, is the day you die. Stand tall, smile bright, and let 'em wonder what secret's
making you laugh.
"Ever heard of Cecil Rhodes?" Glick asked.
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 Rhodes Scholarships were funds set up centuries ago to
recruit the world's brightest young minds into the Illuminati."
"That's ridiculous! My uncle was a Rhodes Scholar!"
Glick winked. "So was Bill Clinton."
Macri was getting mad now. She had never had tolerance for shoddy, alarmist reporting. Still, she knew
enough about the BBC to know that every story they ran was carefully researched and confirmed.
"Here's one you'll remember," Glick said. "BBC, March 5, 1998. Parliament Committee Chair, Chris
Mullin, required all members of British Parliament who were Masons to 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 factions within the Masons exerted considerable 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 joined the Masons for networking and charity work. They had no clue
about the brotherhood's past affiliations."
"Alleged affiliations."
"Whatever." Glick scanned the articles. "Look at this stuff. Accounts tracing the 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 itself."
"Fine, you want something current? Have a look at this. Here's an Illuminati reference from a recent Wall
Street Journal."
This caught Macri's ear. "The Journal?"
"Guess what the most popular Internet computer game in America is right now?"
"Pin the tail on Pamela Anderson."
"Close. It's called, Illuminati: New World Order."
Macri looked over his shoulder at the blurb. "Steve Jackson Games has a runaway hit . . . a quasihistorical
adventure in which an ancient satanic brotherhood from Bavaria sets out to take over the
world. You can find them on-line at . . ." Macri looked up, feeling ill. "What do these Illuminati guys have
against Christianity?"
"Not just Christianity," Glick said. "Religion in general." Glick cocked his head and 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 Scrofa in 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 smelled of espresso and pastry.
Langdon was still in shock over his mistake at the Pantheon. With a cursory glance at this square,
however, his sixth sense was already tingling. The piazza seemed subtly filled with Illuminati
significance. Not only was it laid out in a perfectly elliptical shape, but dead center stood a towering
Egyptian obelisk-a square pillar of stone with a distinctively pyramidal tip. Spoils of Rome's imperial
plundering, obelisks were scattered across Rome and referred to by symbologists as "Lofty
Pyramids"-skyward extensions of the sacred pyramidal form.
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 wariness. "Have a look at that."
Langdon pointed to the imposing Porta del Popolo-the high stone archway at the far end of the piazza.
The vaulted structure had been overlooking the piazza for centuries. Dead center of the archway's highest
point was a symbolic engraving. "Look familiar?"
Vittoria looked up at the huge carving. "A shining star over a triangular pile of stones?"
Langdon shook his head. "A source of Illumination over a pyramid."
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 where's this damn church?"
The Church of Sant