hem, and
Langdon hoped he had time to figure out which it was. Under other circumstances, he would gladly have
explored each church in person. Today, however, he had about twenty minutes to find what he was
looking for-the one church containing a Bernini tribute to fire.
Langdon walked to the vault's electronic revolving door. The guard did not follow. Langdon sensed an
uncertain hesitation. He smiled. "The air's fine. Thin, but breathable."
"My orders are to escort you here and then return immediately to the security center."
"You're leaving?"
"Yes. The Swiss Guard are not allowed inside the archives. I am breaching protocol by escorting you this
far. The commander reminded me of that."
"Breaching protocol?" Do you have any idea what is going on here tonight? "Whose side is your damn
commander on!"
All friendliness disappeared from the guard's face. The scar under his eye twitched. The guard stared,
looking suddenly a lot like Olivetti himself.
"I apologize," Langdon said, regretting the comment. "It's just . . . I could use some help."
The guard did not blink. "I am trained to follow orders. Not debate them. When you find what you are
looking for, contact the commander immediately."
Langdon was flustered. "But where will he be?"
The guard removed his walkie-talkie and set it on a nearby table. "Channel one." Then he disappeared
into the dark.
81
T he television in the Office of the Pope was an oversized Hitachi hidden in a recessed cabinet opposite
his desk. The doors to the cabinet were now open, and everyone gathered around. Vittoria moved in close.
As the screen warmed up, a young female reporter came into view. She was a doe-eyed brunette.
"For MSNBC news," she announced, "this is Kelly Horan-Jones, live from Vatican City." The image
behind her was a night shot of St. Peter's Basilica with all its lights blazing.
"You're not live," Rocher snapped. "That's stock footage! The lights in the basilica are out."
Olivetti silenced him with a hiss.
The reporter continued, sounding tense. "Shocking developments in the Vatican elections this evening.
We have reports that two members of the College of Cardinals have been brutally murdered in Rome."
Olivetti swore under his breath.
As the reporter continued, a guard appeared at the door, breathless. "Commander, the central switchboard
reports every line lit. They're requesting our official position on-"
"Disconnect it," Olivetti said, never taking his eyes from the TV.
The guard looked uncertain. "But, commander-"
"Go!"
The guard ran off.
Vittoria sensed the camerlegno had wanted to say something but had stopped himself. Instead, the man
stared long and hard at Olivetti before turning back to the television.
MSNBC was now running tape. The Swiss Guards carried the body of Cardinal Ebner down the stairs
outside Santa Maria del Popolo and lifted him into an Alpha Romeo. The tape froze and zoomed in as the
cardinal's naked body became visible just before they deposited him in the trunk of the car.
"Who the hell shot this footage?" Olivetti demanded.
The MSNBC reporter kept talking. "This is believed to be the body of Cardinal Ebner of Frankfurt,
Germany. The men removing his body from the church are believed to be Vatican Swiss Guard." The
reporter looked like she was making every effort to appear appropriately moved. They closed in on her
face, and she became even more somber. "At this time, MSNBC would like to issue our viewers a
discretionary warning. The images we are about to show are exceptionally vivid and may not be suitable
for all audiences."
Vittoria grunted at the station's feigned concern for viewer sensibility, recognizing the warning as exactly
what it was-the ultimate media "teaser line." Nobody ever changed channels after a promise like that.
The reporter drove it home. "Again, this footage may be shocking to some viewers."
"What footage?" Olivetti demanded. "You just showed-"
The shot that filled the screen was of a couple in St. Peter's Square, moving through the crowd. Vittoria
instantly recognized the two people as Robert and herself. In the corner of the screen was a text overlay:
COURTESY OF THE BBC. A bell was tolling.
"Oh, no," Vittoria said aloud. "Oh . . . no."
The camerlegno looked confused. He turned to Olivetti. "I thought you said you confiscated this tape!"
Suddenly, on television, a child was screaming. The image panned to find a little girl pointing at what
appeared to be a bloody homeless man. Robert Langdon entered abruptly into the frame, trying to help the
little girl. The shot tightened.
Everyone in the Pope's office stared in horrified silence as the drama unfolded before them. The
cardinal's body fell face first onto the pavement. Vittoria appeared and called orders. There was blood. A
brand. A ghastly, failed attempt to administer CPR.
"This astonishing footage," the reporter was saying, "was shot only minutes ago outside the Vatican. Our
sources tell us this is the body of Cardinal Lamassé from France. How he came to be dressed this way and
why he was not in conclave remain a mystery. So far, the Vatican has refused to comment." The tape
began to roll again.
"Refused comment?" Rocher said. "Give us a damn minute!"
The reporter was still talking, her eyebrows furrowing with intensity. "Although MSNBC has yet to
confirm a motive for the attack, our sources tell us that responsibility for the murders has been claimed by
a group calling themselves the Illuminati."
Olivetti exploded. "What!"
". . . find out more about the Illuminati by visiting our website at-"
"Non é posibile!" Olivetti declared. He switched channels.
This station had a Hispanic male reporter. "-a satanic cult known as the Illuminati, who some historians
believe-"
Olivetti began pressing the remote wildly. Every channel was in the middle of a live update. Most were in
English.
"-Swiss Guards removing a body from a church earlier this evening. The body is believed to be that of
Cardinal-"
"-lights in the basilica and museums are extinguished leaving speculation-"
"-will be speaking with conspiracy theorist Tyler Tingley, about this shocking resurgence-"
"-rumors of two more assassinations planned for later this evening-"
"-questioning now whether papal hopeful Cardinal Baggia is among the missing-"
Vittoria turned away. Everything was happening so fast. Outside the window, in the settling dark, the raw
magnetism of human tragedy seemed to be sucking people toward Vatican City. The crowd in the square
thickened almost by the instant. Pedestrians streamed toward them while a new batch of media personnel
unloaded vans and staked their claim in St. Peter's Square.
Olivetti set down the remote control and turned to the camerlegno. "Signore, I cannot imagine how this
could happen. We took the tape that was in that camera!"
The camerlegno looked momentarily too stunned to speak.
Nobody said a word. The Swiss Guards stood rigid at attention.
"It appears," the camerlegno said finally, sounding too devastated to be angry, "that we have not
contained this crisis as well as I was led to believe." He looked out the window at the gathering masses. "I
need to make an address."
Olivetti shook his head. "No, signore. That is exactly what the Illuminati want you to do-confirm them,
empower them. We must remain silent."
"And these people?" The camerlegno pointed out the window. "There will be tens of thousands shortly.
Then hundreds of thousands. Continuing this charade only puts them in danger. I need to warn them.
Then we need to evacuate our College of Cardinals."
"There is still time. Let Captain Rocher find the antimatter."
The camerlegno turned. "Are you attempting to give me an order?"
"No, I am giving you advice. If you are concerned about the people outside, we can announce a gas leak
and clear the area, but admitting we are hostage is dangerous."
"Commander, I will only say this once. I will not use this office as a pulpit to lie to the world. If I
announce anything at all, it will be the truth."
"The truth? That Vatican City is threatened to be destroyed by satanic terrorists? It only weakens our
position."
The camerlegno glared. "How much weaker could our position be?"
Rocher shouted suddenly, grabbing the remote and increasing the volume on the television. Everyone
turned.
On air, the woman from MSNBC now looked genuinely unnerved. Superimposed beside her was a photo
of the late Pope. " . . . breaking information. This just in from the BBC . . ." She glanced off camera as if
to confirm she was really supposed to make this announcement. Apparently getting confirmation, she
turned and grimly faced the viewers. "The Illuminati have just claimed responsibility for . . ." She
hesitated. "They have claimed responsibility for the death of the Pope fifteen days ago."
The camerlegno's jaw fell.
Rocher dropped the remote control.
Vittoria could barely process the information.
"By Vatican law," the woman continued, "no formal autopsy is ever performed on a Pope, so the
Illuminati claim of murder cannot be confirmed. Nonetheless, the Illuminati hold that the cause of the late
Pope's death was not a stroke as the Vatican reported, but poisoning."
The room went totally silent again.
Olivetti erupted. "Madness! A bold-faced lie!"
Rocher began flipping channels again. The bulletin seemed to spread like a plague from station to station.
Everyone had the same story. Headlines competed for optimal sensationalism.
MURDER AT THE VATICAN
POPE POISONED
SATAN TOUCHES HOUSE OF GOD
The camerlegno looked away. "God help us."
As Rocher flipped, he passed a BBC station. "-tipped me off about the killing at Santa Maria de
Popolo-"
"Wait!" the camerlegno said. "Back."
Rocher went back. On screen, a prim-looking man sat at a BBC news desk. Superimposed over his
shoulder was a still snapshot of an odd-looking man with a red beard. Underneath his photo, it said:
GUNTHER