uld like to invite a guest to join me."
Chinita's hands froze on the camera. A guest? What the hell is he doing? What guest! Sign off! But she
knew it was too late. Glick had committed.
"The man I am about to introduce," Glick said, "is an American . . . a renowned scholar."
Chinita hesitated. She held her breath as Glick turned to the small crowd around them and motioned for
his guest to step forward. Macri said a silent prayer. Please tell me he somehow located Robert Langdon .
. . and not some Illuminati-conspiracy nutcase.
But as Glick's guest stepped out, Macri's heart sank. It was not Robert Langdon at all. It was a bald man
in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. He had a cane and thick glasses. Macri felt terror. Nutcase!
"May I introduce," Glick announced, "the renowned Vatican scholar from De Paul University in Chicago.
Dr. Joseph Vanek."
Macri now hesitated as the man joined Glick on camera. This was no conspiracy buff; Macri had actually
heard of this guy.
"Dr. Vanek," Glick said. "You have some rather startling information to share with us regarding last
night's conclave."
"I do indeed," Vanek said. "After a night of such surprises, it is hard to imagine there are any surprises
left . . . and yet . . ." He paused.
Glick smiled. "And yet, there is a strange twist to all this."
Vanek nodded. "Yes. As perplexing as this will sound, I believe the College of Cardinals unknowingly
elected two Popes this weekend."
Macri almost dropped the camera.
Glick gave a shrewd smile. "Two Popes, you say?"
The scholar nodded. "Yes. I should first say that I have spent my life studying the laws of papal election.
Conclave judicature is extremely complex, and much of it is now forgotten or ignored as obsolete. Even
the Great Elector is probably not aware of what I am about to reveal. Nonetheless . . . according to the
ancient forgotten laws put forth in the Romano Pontifici Eligendo, Numero 63 . . . balloting is not the only
method by which a Pope can be elected. There is another, more divine method. It is called 'Acclamation
by Adoration.' " He paused. "And it happened last night."
Glick gave his guest a riveted look. "Please, go on."
"As you may recall," the scholar continued, "last night, when Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca was standing
on the roof of the basilica, all of the cardinals below began calling out his name in unison."
"Yes, I recall."
"With that image in mind, allow me to read verbatim from the ancient electoral laws." The man pulled
some papers from his pocket, cleared his throat, and began to read. " 'Election by Adoration occurs when
. . . all the cardinals, as if by inspiration of the Holy Spirit, freely and spontaneously, unanimously and
aloud, proclaim one individual's name.' "
Glick smiled. "So you're saying that last night, when the cardinals chanted Carlo Ventresca's name
together, they actually elected him Pope?"
"They did indeed. Furthermore, the law states that Election by Adoration supercedes the cardinal
eligibility requirement and permits any clergyman-ordained priest, bishop, or cardinal-to be elected.
So, as you can see, the camerlegno was perfectly qualified for papal election by this procedure." Dr.
Vanek looked directly into the camera now. "The facts are these . . . Carlo Ventresca was elected Pope
last night. He reigned for just under seventeen minutes. And had he not ascended miraculously into a
pillar of fire, he would now be buried in the Vatican Grottoes along with the other Popes."
"Thank you, doctor." Glick turned to Macri with a mischievous wink. "Most illuminating . . ."
137
H igh atop the steps of the Roman Coliseum, Vittoria laughed and called down to him. "Robert, hurry
up! I knew I should have married a younger man!" Her smile was magic.
He struggled to keep up, but his legs felt like stone. "Wait," he begged. "Please . . ."
There was a pounding in his head.
Robert Langdon awoke with a start.
Darkness.
He lay still for a long time in the foreign softness of the bed, unable to figure out where he was. The
pillows were goose down, oversized and wonderful. The air smelled of potpourri. Across the room, two
glass doors stood open to a lavish balcony, where a light breeze played beneath a glistening cloud-swept
moon. Langdon tried to remember how he had gotten here . . . and where here was.
Surreal wisps of memory sifted back into his consciousness . . .
A pyre of mystical fire . . . an angel materializing from out of the crowd . . . her soft hand taking his and
leading him into the night . . . guiding his exhausted, battered body through the streets . . . leading him
here . . . to this suite . . . propping him half-sleeping in a scalding hot shower . . . leading him to this bed .
. . and watching over him as he fell asleep like the dead.
In the dimness now, Langdon could see a second bed. The sheets were tousled, but the bed was empty.
From one of the adjoining rooms, he could hear the faint, steady stream of a shower.
As he gazed at Vittoria's bed, he saw a boldly embroidered seal on her pillowcase. It read: HOTEL
BERNINI. Langdon had to smile. Vittoria had chosen well. Old World luxury overlooking Bernini's Triton
Fountain . . . there was no more fitting hotel in all of Rome.
As Langdon lay there, he heard a pounding and realized what had awoken him. Someone was knocking at
the door. It grew louder.
Confused, Langdon got up. Nobody knows we're here, he thought, feeling a trace of uneasiness. Donning
a luxuriant Hotel Bernini robe, he walked out of the bedroom into the suite's foyer. He stood a moment at
the heavy oak door, and then pulled it open.
A powerful man adorned in lavish purple and yellow regalia stared down at him. "I am Lieutenant
Chartrand," the man said. "Vatican Swiss Guard."
Langdon knew full well who he was. "How . . . how did you find us?"
"I saw you leave the square last night. I followed you. I'm relieved you're still here."
Langdon felt a sudden anxiety, wondering if the cardinals had sent Chartrand to escort Langdon and
Vittoria back to Vatican City. After all, the two of them were the only two people beyond the College of
Cardinals who knew the truth. They were a liability.
"His Holiness asked me to give this to you," Chartrand said, handing over an envelope sealed with the
Vatican signet. Langdon opened the envelope and read the handwritten note.
Mr. Langdon and Ms. Vetra,
Although it is my profound desire to request your discretion in the matters of the past 24 hours, I cannot
possibly presume to ask more of you than you have already given. I therefore humbly retreat hoping only
that you let your hearts guide you in this matter. The world seems a better place today . . . maybe the
questions are more powerful than the answers.
My door is always open,
His Holiness, Saverio Mortati
Langdon read the message twice. The College of Cardinals had obviously chosen a noble and munificent
leader.
Before Langdon could say anything, Chartrand produced a small package. "A token of thanks from His
Holiness."
Langdon took the package. It was heavy, wrapped in brown paper.
"By his decree," Chartrand said, "this artifact is on indefinite loan to you from the sacred Papal Vault. His
Holiness asks only that in your last will and testament you ensure it finds its way home."
Langdon opened the package and was struck speechless. It was the brand. The Illuminati Diamond.
Chartrand smiled. "May peace be with you." He turned to go.
"Thank . . . you," Langdon managed, his hands trembling around the precious gift.
The guard hesitated in the hall. "Mr. Langdon, may I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"My fellow guards and I are curious. Those last few minutes . . . what happened up there in the
helicopter?"
Langdon felt a rush of anxiety. He knew this moment was coming-the moment of truth. He and Vittoria
had talked about it last night as they stole away from St. Peter's Square. And they had made their
decision. Even before the Pope's note.
Vittoria's father had dreamed his antimatter discovery would bring about a spiritual awakening. Last
night's events were no doubt not what he had intended, but the undeniable fact remained . . . at this
moment, around the world, people were considering God in ways they never had before. How long the
magic would last, Langdon and Vittoria had no idea, but they knew they could never shatter the
wonderment with scandal and doubt. The Lord works in strange ways, Langdon told himself, wondering
wryly if maybe . . . just maybe . . . yesterday had been God's will after all.
"Mr. Langdon?" Chartrand repeated. "I was asking about the helicopter?"
Langdon gave a sad smile. "Yes, I know . . ." He felt the words flow not from his mind but from his heart.
"Perhaps it was the shock of the fall . . . but my memory . . . it seems . . . it's all a blur . . ."
Chartrand slumped. "You remember nothing?"
Langdon sighed. "I fear it will remain a mystery forever."
When Robert Langdon returned to the bedroom, the vision awaiting him stopped him in his tracks.
Vittoria stood on the balcony, her back to the railing, her eyes gazing deeply at him. She looked like a
heavenly apparition . . . a radiant silhouette with the moon behind her. She could have been a Roman
goddess, enshrouded in her white terrycloth robe, the drawstring cinched tight, accentuating her slender
curves. Behind her, a pale mist hung like a halo over Bernini's Triton Fountain.
Langdon felt wildly drawn to her . . . more than to any woman in his life. Quietly, he lay the Illuminati
Diamond and the Pope's letter on his bedside table. There would be time to explain all of that later. He
went to her on the balcony.
Vittoria looked happy to see him. "You're awake," she said, in a coy whisper. "Finally."
Langdon smiled. "Long day."
She ran a hand through her luxuriant hair, the neck of her robe falling open slightly. "And now . . . I
suppose you want your reward."
The comment took Langd