d. "I never would have guessed."
"Who other than a famous Vatican artist would have had the clout to put his artwork in specific Catholic
chapels around Rome and create the Path of Illumination? Certainly not an unknown."
Langdon considered it. He looked at the pyramids, wondering if one of them could somehow be the
marker. Maybe both of them? "The pyramids face opposite directions," Langdon said, not sure what to
make of them. "They are also identical, so I don't know which . . ."
"I don't think the pyramids are what we're looking for."
"But they're the only sculptures here."
Vittoria cut him off by pointing toward Olivetti and some of his guards who were gathered near the
demon's hole.
Langdon followed the line of her hand to the far wall. At first he saw nothing. Then someone moved and
he caught a glimpse. White marble. An arm. A torso. And then a sculpted face. Partially hidden in its
niche. Two life-size human figures intertwined. Langdon's pulse accelerated. He had been so taken with
the pyramids and demon's hole, he had not even seen this sculpture. He moved across the room, through
the crowd. As he drew near, Langdon recognized the work was pure Bernini-the intensity of the artistic
composition, the intricate faces and flowing clothing, all from the purest white marble Vatican money
could buy. It was not until he was almost directly in front of it that Langdon recognized the sculpture
itself. He stared up at the two faces and gasped.
"Who are they?" Vittoria urged, arriving behind him.
Langdon stood astonished. "Habakkuk and the Angel," he said, his voice almost inaudible. The piece was
a fairly well-known Bernini work that was included in some art history texts. Langdon had forgotten it
was here.
"Habakkuk?"
"Yes. The prophet who predicted the annihilation of the earth."
Vittoria looked uneasy. "You think this is the marker?"
Langdon nodded in amazement. Never in his life had he been so sure of anything. This was the first
Illuminati marker. No doubt. Although Langdon had fully expected the sculpture to somehow "point" to
the next altar of science, he did not expect it to be literal. Both the angel and Habakkuk had their arms
outstretched and were pointing into the distance.
Langdon found himself suddenly smiling. "Not too subtle, is it?"
Vittoria looked excited but confused. "I see them pointing, but they are contradicting each other. The
angel is pointing one way, and the prophet the other."
Langdon chuckled. It was true. Although both figures were pointing into the distance, they were pointing
in totally opposite directions. Langdon, however, had already solved that problem. With a burst of energy
he headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Vittoria called.
"Outside the building!" Langdon's legs felt light again as he ran toward the door. "I need to see what
direction that sculpture is pointing!"
"Wait! How do you know which finger to follow?"
"The poem," he called over his shoulder. "The last line!"
" 'Let angels guide you on your lofty quest?' " She gazed upward at the outstretched finger of the angel.
Her eyes misted unexpectedly. "Well I'll be damned!"
70
G unther Glick and Chinita Macri sat parked in the BBC van in the shadows at the far end of Piazza del
Popolo. They had arrived shortly after the four Alpha Romeos, just in time to witness an inconceivable
chain of events. Chinita still had no idea what it all meant, but she'd made sure the camera was rolling.
As soon as they'd arrived, Chinita and Glick had seen a veritable army of young men pour out of the
Alpha Romeos and surround the church. Some had weapons drawn. One of them, a stiff older man, led a
team up the front steps of the church. The soldiers drew guns and blew the locks off the front doors.
Macri heard nothing and figured they must have had silencers. Then the soldiers entered.
Chinita had recommended they sit tight and film from the shadows. After all, guns were guns, and they
had a clear view of the action from the van. Glick had not argued. Now, across the piazza, men moved in
and out of the church. They yelled to each other. Chinita adjusted her camera to follow a team as they
searched the surrounding area. All of them, though dressed in civilian clothes, seemed to move with
military precision. "Who do you think they are?" she asked.
"Hell if I know." Glick looked riveted. "You getting all this?"
"Every frame."
Glick sounded smug. "Still think we should go back to Pope-Watch?"
Chinita wasn't sure what to say. There was obviously something going on here, but she had been in
journalism long enough to know that there was often a very dull explanation for interesting events. "This
could be nothing," she said. "These guys could have gotten the same tip you got and are just checking it
out. Could be a false alarm."
Glick grabbed her arm. "Over there! Focus." He pointed back to the church.
Chinita swung the camera back to the top of the stairs. "Hello there," she said, training on the man now
emerging from the church.
"Who's the dapper?"
Chinita moved in for a close-up. "Haven't seen him before." She tightened in on the man's face and
smiled. "But I wouldn't mind seeing him again."
Robert Langdon dashed down the stairs outside the church and into the middle of the piazza. It was
getting dark now, the springtime sun setting late in southern Rome. The sun had dropped below the
surrounding buildings, and shadows streaked the square.
"Okay, Bernini," he said aloud to himself. "Where the hell is your angel pointing?"
He turned and examined the orientation of the church from which he had just come. He pictured the Chigi
Chapel inside, and the sculpture of the angel inside that. Without hesitation he turned due west, into the
glow of the impending sunset. Time was evaporating.
"Southwest," he said, scowling at the shops and apartments blocking his view. "The next marker is out
there."
Racking his brain, Langdon pictured page after page of Italian art history. Although very familiar with
Bernini's work, Langdon knew the sculptor had been far too prolific for any nonspecialist to know all of
it. Still, considering the relative fame of the first marker-Habakkuk and the Angel-Langdon hoped the
second marker was a work he might know from memory.
Earth, Air, Fire, Water, he thought. Earth they had found-inside the Chapel of the Earth-Habakkuk,
the prophet who predicted the earth's annihilation.
Air is next. Langdon urged himself to think. A Bernini sculpture that has something to do with Air! He
was drawing a total blank. Still he felt energized. I'm on the path of Illumination! It is still intact!
Looking southwest, Langdon strained to see a spire or cathedral tower jutting up over the obstacles. He
saw nothing. He needed a map. If they could figure out what churches were southwest of here, maybe one
of them would spark Langdon's memory. Air, he pressed. Air. Bernini. Sculpture. Air. Think!
Langdon turned and headed back up the cathedral stairs. He was met beneath the scaffolding by Vittoria
and Olivetti.
"Southwest," Langdon said, panting. "The next church is southwest of here."
Olivetti's whisper was cold. "You sure this time?"
Langdon didn't bite. "We need a map. One that shows all the churches in Rome."
The commander studied him a moment, his expression never changing.
Langdon checked his watch. "We only have half an hour."
Olivetti moved past Langdon down the stairs toward his car, parked directly in front of the cathedral.
Langdon hoped he was going for a map.
Vittoria looked excited. "So the angel's pointing southwest? No idea which churches are southwest?"
"I can't see past the damn buildings." Langdon turned and faced the square again. "And I don't know
Rome's churches well enou-" He stopped.
Vittoria looked startled. "What?"
Langdon looked out at the piazza again. Having ascended the church stairs, he was now higher, and his
view was better. He still couldn't see anything, but he realized he was moving in the right direction. His
eyes climbed the tower of rickety scaffolding above him. It rose six stories, almost to the top of the
church's rose window, far higher than the other buildings in the square. He knew in an instant where he
was headed.
Across the square, Chinita Macri and Gunther Glick sat glued to the windshield of the BBC van.
"You getting this?" Gunther asked.
Macri tightened her shot on the man now climbing the scaffolding. "He's a little well dressed to be
playing Spiderman if you ask me."
"And who's Ms. Spidey?"
Chinita glanced at the attractive woman beneath the scaffolding. "Bet you'd like to find out."
"Think I should call editorial?"
"Not yet. Let's watch. Better to have something in the can before we admit we abandoned conclave."
"You think somebody really killed one of the old farts in there?"
Chinita clucked. "You're definitely going to hell."
"And I'll be taking the Pulitzer with me."
71
T he scaffolding seemed less stable the higher Langdon climbed. His view of Rome, however, got
better with every step. He continued upward.
He was breathing harder than he expected when he reached the upper tier. He pulled himself onto the last
platform, brushed off the plaster, and stood up. The height did not bother him at all. In fact, it was
invigorating.
The view was staggering. Like an ocean on fire, the red-tiled rooftops of Rome spread out before him,
glowing in the scarlet sunset. From that spot, for the first time in his life, Langdon saw beyond the
pollution and traffic of Rome to its ancient roots-Città di Dio-The city of God.
Squinting into the sunset, Langdon scanned the rooftops for a church steeple or bell tower. But as he
looked farther and farther toward the horizon, he saw nothing. There are hundreds of churches in Rome,
he thought. There must be one southwest of here! If the church is even visible, he reminded himself. Hell,
if the church is even still standing!
Forcing his e