“We’ve got activity,” Chinburg announced, his face illuminated by his iPad’s screen, which displayed a full surveillance interface with Faukman’s phone—location, text, voice and data received and sent.

  The iPad speaker crackled with Faukman’s voice, who seemed to be leaving a voicemail.

  “Robert, it’s Jonas…call me immediately! You’re in danger—Katherine is too. This is going to sound crazy, but someone hacked into our server and deleted her manuscript…I don’t know why yet. I was literally abducted off the street near my office. I’m calling Katherine now, but you need to stay wherever you are. Don’t talk to anyone!”

  The call was severed, and another was immediately initiated.

  The second call also went to voicemail, this time Katherine’s. Faukman left another breathless message, similar to his first, except for one addition.

  “Katherine,” Faukman said, “these guys said you printed the manuscript this morning? If that’s true, then lock it up somewhere safe—it’s our only remaining copy! All the others are gone…literally every last one. Call me when you get this.”

  The call ended.

  “A bit of bonus intel,” Auger said, sounding smug. “Confirmation that the manuscript in Prague is the only one left.”

  “Finch will be pleased,” Chinburg said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll let him know.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Lieutenant Pavel’s head was still throbbing from the fire extinguisher blow, but it was nothing compared to the pain of seeing his uncle’s lifeless body at the bottom of the ravine. The embassy attaché Michael Harris believed the captain had jumped, but Pavel knew better.

  Janáček was fearless…not a quitter. He was murdered…and I know who killed him.

  Robert Langdon’s list of crimes against ÚZSI was growing ever longer since his hotel stunt—resisting arrest, assaulting an officer, stealing an ÚZSI weapon, and now, if the jumble of footprints on the ridge were to be believed, murdering Captain Janáček and fleeing the crime scene.

  Alone now at the bastion, Pavel was recuperating on the plush couch in Gessner’s reception room. Harris had given him a bag of ice, told him not to move, and then headed off to the U.S. embassy, promising to call ÚZSI headquarters immediately about Janáček.

  That fall was no accident, Pavel knew.

  He also knew that Harris was full of shit; the attaché had no intention of making that call. He was just buying time so the embassy could concoct their lies before ÚZSI even heard about Janáček’s death.

  Pavel had pulled out his phone to call headquarters himself, but after thinking a moment, he paused. He had no doubt that the arrest of a prominent American would end as it always did—infuriatingly—with the U.S. embassy stepping in, taking over, and finding some loophole to leave ÚZSI in the cold.

  “Oko za oko,” Pavel said aloud, knowing how his late captain would handle this situation. An eye for an eye.

  Nobody was aware yet of Janáček’s death, which meant Pavel had a small window of opportunity to handle Langdon himself. But first I have to find him. Locating a fugitive in a city this size would have been nearly impossible, except for one ace up Pavel’s sleeve…which would turn the tables on the American in an instant.

  Janáček taught me to bend the rules…to improvise for the greater good.

  Technically, Pavel did not hold sufficient rank to do what he had in mind, but he was in possession of Captain Janáček’s personal phone, which he had found on the snowy ridge.

  With one little lie, Pavel could change everything.

  Langdon would have nowhere to hide.

  Dana Daněk marched back into her office at the embassy, still fuming from her confrontation at the Four Seasons. The ghostly woman from Charles Bridge had scared the hell out of Dana, which was not easy to do.

  She aimed a fucking gun at my face!

  Dana’s jealousy had turned to seething rage.

  Who the hell is she?

  The answer, Dana knew, was already waiting on her computer—the results of the facial recognition search that Dana had launched nearly an hour ago with the screenshot from Charles Bridge.

  Dana hurried to her computer and sat down. As expected, the program had run its complete cycle.

  Dana stared at the results in disbelief.

  There must be some mistake…

  SEARCH COMPLETE

  MATCHES: 0

  Dana had never had a database search return no matches whatsoever. In the modern world, it was a physical impossibility to exist without leaving a single digital footprint anywhere.

  Digital “whitewashing” was the only possible way for a person to remain outside this Echelon database. The network was U.S. owned and operated, meaning the American government could create “invisible people” simply by limiting search results to exclude any faces they preferred untraceable. This technique was employed often to ensure the privacy and security for government officials, prominent American businesspeople, and undercover military or intelligence personnel.

  Dana considered the puzzling bouquet of red, white, and blue tulips she had seen in the Royal Suite. These flowers were the standard welcome gift from the U.S. ambassador to American VIPs visiting Prague, and as PR liaison, Dana was responsible for having them delivered. The problem was that these tulips, Dana had never even heard about.

  Did the ambassador organize these herself?

  “Ms. Daněk!” a woman bellowed from the doorway.

  Dana spun, knowing the voice at once. “Madam Ambassador?! I was just—”

  “Were you at the Four Seasons?!”

  Dana opened her mouth, but no words came.

  “Did you follow Mr. Harris there?”

  “No!” Dana blurted. “Well, sort of…I thought…”

  “You thought…what?” The ambassador’s glare cut through her.

  Dana stared at the floor. Shit.

  “Ms. Daněk, this is precisely why we don’t sleep with coworkers.”

  CHAPTER 46

  As Langdon’s taxi ascended the wooded hill toward Petřín Tower, he realized he was still clutching the note that had been slid under Sasha’s door.

  I have Katherine.

  Come to Petřín Tower.

  Whoever had left it had a grim sense of symbolism; the tower stood on a hilltop noted for its macabre history of death and human sacrifice.

  Specifically, the death of women…at the hands of zealots.

  According to lore, a sacrificial altar once sat atop Petřín Hill, where pagan priests would burn young virgins to delight the pagan gods. The sacrifices continued for centuries until the Christians took over, demolished the altar, and built the Church of St. Lawrence on that spot. To this day, however, mysterious fires broke out regularly on Petřín Hill and were believed by some to be the handiwork of the ghosts of the sacrificed women who still haunted these woods by the hundreds.

  The fortysomething, ponytailed cabdriver navigated the winding road up Petřín Hill, glancing in the rearview mirror at his passenger. The man in the back seemed on edge, craning his neck and squinting nervously up at the top of Petřín Tower.

  If you’re afraid of heights, my friend, just don’t go up.

  The passenger was tall with dark hair, and while his American accent and expensive sweater screamed tourist, he had jumped into the cab with the urgency of a man fleeing a wildfire. The cabbie had warned him that Petřín Tower might not be open at this hour and also that he was underdressed for the cold winds, but the man had insisted.

  Suit yourself…A fare is a fare.

  As the taxi climbed the hill, the cabbie tapped happily on his steering wheel, keeping rhythm with the song streaming on his phone. His favorite oldie “Klokočí” was playing, but as the song reached its lilting clarinet solo, the music cut out abruptly, replaced by a high-pitched series of tones.

  “Sakra!!” the cabbie cursed, annoyed by the interruption.

  Czech law enforcement had taken to broadcasting these irritating “public alerts” in hopes of recruiting the public’s help with local police work. The first wave of alerts was always sent to transportation employees, airport personnel, and local hospitals.

  I’ve got my own job, he grumbled. Why am I doing yours?!

  Annoyingly, most of Europe had adopted the American system of “AMBER Alerts,” despite the acronym’s literal meaning: America’s Missing: Broadcast Emergency Response.

  The cabbie reached down to dismiss the alert and get back to his song, but the blinking banner on his phone’s display gave him pause. This alert was coded blue, which was extremely rare in Prague. Normally alerts were coded amber or silver, requesting the public’s help locating a missing child or a disorientated elderly person. Blue was much more serious. It meant a law enforcement officer had been killed and a criminal was still at large.

  Someone killed an officer in Prague?!

  Then the cabbie saw the photo of the suspect.

  That guy…is my passenger!

  Stunned, the driver confirmed with a quick glance in the rearview mirror. Then he nonchalantly picked up his phone and placed a call to the number on the alert, calmly relaying information in Czech to the officer who answered.

  Lieutenant Pavel’s head was pounding as he dashed out of Crucifix Bastion and leaped behind the wheel of his ÚZSI sedan. The Blue Alert he had issued with Janáček’s phone had just generated a response call, within minutes…which, as Pavel had arranged, came back directly to Janáček’s phone.

  Nobody else has the information I just received.

  Robert Langdon was headed to Petřín Tower, and while Pavel could not imagine why, there could be no place better for Pavel to take the American. The area around Petřín Hill was isolated and vast. Most importantly, at this early hour on a winter morning, it would be nearly deserted.

  It will be my pleasure to take Langdon down.

  All I need is a weapon.

  Pavel found Janáček’s handgun inside the glove box. As he slid the weapon into his empty side holster, Pavel fantasized about how fitting it would feel to fire his captain’s gun and kill the man who had murdered Janáček in cold blood.

  An eye for an eye.

  CHAPTER 47

  In 1889, after Prague city officials visited the Exposition Universelle in Paris and saw Gustave Eiffel’s showstopping tower, they decided soon after to build their own “miniature” Eiffel Tower in Prague. Situated atop Petřín Hill and completed in 1891, the tower was hardly miniature, rising two hundred feet above a hilltop that was already more than a thousand feet tall.

  Like its Parisian inspiration, Petřín Tower was built in an open-lattice construction of riveted steel beams and supports. Apart from their differing heights, the towers of Paris and Prague look markedly similar in silhouette, the only obvious exception being Eiffel Tower’s square base and Petřín Tower’s octagonal one.

  When Langdon’s taxi finally reached the wooded parking lot at the base of Petřín Tower, he anxiously scanned the deserted area for signs of life.

  I have Katherine. Come to Petřín Tower.

  Langdon quickly paid the fare, including a generous tip, and asked the driver to wait for him. The cabbie muttered something in tense Czech and sped off as soon as Langdon had stepped out and closed the door, leaving him alone in the windy parking lot.

  Thanks a lot.

  Petřín Tower was considerably taller than Langdon recalled, and today it seemed to sway against the gray sky. The snow-dusted forest surrounding the tower looked quiet and majestic, with only a handful of groundskeepers and employees starting their day. Langdon saw no sign of Katherine, nor anyone suspicious. Trying to forget this hill’s history of human sacrifice, Langdon moved quickly toward the tower itself, hoping with a pang in his chest that Katherine would indeed be somewhere up here…and safe.

  Beneath Petřín Tower stood the visitor’s center, a low octagonal building nestled perfectly within the tower’s eight massive supporting legs. The building had a gently sloping roof through which ascended a slender shaft that climbed all the way to the top of the tower. Tiny elevator, Langdon knew. Unfortunately, option number two was a tightly wound, open-air staircase that spiraled around the shaft all the way up. Neither mode of ascent looked particularly inviting.

  As he neared the tower, Langdon heard the grinding of elevator gears and the scraping of metal on metal as the carriage moved upward into the shaft.

  Someone is going to the top, he thought expectantly. Katherine?

  He rushed into the visitor’s hall, an octagonal room decorated with historical photos of the tower’s construction. The hall was deserted except for a young female attendant who was unpacking boxes of Prague paraphernalia.

  “Dobré ráno!” she said cheerily. “Good morning!”

  “Good morning,” Langdon replied. “Is the tower open?”

  “Just now,” she replied. “Only two people at the top. Would you like a ticket?”

  Langdon felt his pulse quicken. Two people. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was Katherine and her captor. Am I supposed to go up? The note had not been specific, but Langdon was not about to take that chance. The thought of Katherine in the hands of some lunatic, hundreds of feet up on an open-air observation platform, filled him with dread.

  Langdon bought a ticket and waited outside the elevator door. Somewhere above him, the carriage ground its way noisily back down from the top. When the doors finally rattled open, Langdon found himself peering into a tiny, awkwardly shaped cabin that looked like it hadn’t been refurbished since the 1800s.

  Instinctively, he turned his gaze to the nearby spiral staircase, which was cordoned off with a swag and a placard: ZAVŘENO / CLOSED. Another sign warned that the 299 stairs were extremely steep.

  “Are the stairs open?” Langdon asked, hoping the attendant was just now opening and had not yet removed the sign for the day.

  “Closed for winter,” she said. “Too windy…and the snow and ice today!”

  Terrific. He peered reluctantly into the lift’s tiny compartment, and three words echoed in his mind.

  I have Katherine.

  Taking a deep breath, Langdon stepped into the lift. He pressed the button, and the doors lurched shut. As the carriage rattled upward, he focused his attention on the metal engraving on the wall, where a series of red lights blinked on and off to indicate his progress.

  As the lift climbed, Langdon began feeling increasingly unprepared for whomever or whatever he might find up here. He wondered if he had been a fool not to take the gun from Sasha. What if her captor is armed? The higher he went, the more the elevator walls began closing in around him. Langdon closed his eyes and hummed the country song “Wide Open Spaces.”

  When the lift finally slowed to a stop, Langdon braced himself and opened his eyes. The elevator doors rumbled open, and Langdon felt an instantaneous surge of relief to see open air, but that emotion was immediately dampened by disappointment. The couple on top of the tower were both in their twenties, of Indian descent, and happily taking pictures of Prague.

  Katherine was not here.

  Langdon urged himself to be patient; he had, after all, left Sasha’s apartment immediately upon receiving the note and arrived here quickly. I’m early, he concluded, which in some ways might even be better. I can see them coming, he thought, walking to the railing and peering down at the parking lot far below.

  The wind was gusting more fiercely now, and the swaying tower only accentuated Langdon’s already precarious mind-set. As he paced the narrow observation platform that encircled the elevator, he passed the descending spiral staircase, its entrance cordoned off by a NO ENTRY sign and the ominous graphic of a person being blown off the tower. No, thank you.

  Langdon found a somewhat sheltered spot to wait, overlooking the woods of Petřín Park. The popular tourist site offered numerous attractions for children, including a secret garden, a rope playground, swingsets, and a carousel, which was just now being uncovered for the day. His eye fell on the Church of St. Lawrence far below, where the ancient pagan sacrificial altar had once existed, and Langdon thought again of the rumors of roaming ghosts and murdered virgins.

  Not exactly family-friendly, he mused and raised his gaze higher, tracing the quintessential Prague panorama…the twin spires of Vyšehrad, the Powder Tower, Charles Bridge, and the monolithic St. Vitus Cathedral, surrounded by the sprawling fortification of Prague Castle.

  Katherine had lectured in that castle just last night, and Langdon now wondered if perhaps her abduction might in some way relate to something she’d said in her lecture…or in her scientific research. If so, he had no idea what it could be.

  Another possibility had occurred to Langdon as well. He was starting to have misgivings about the authenticity of Katherine’s ransom note. Something about the message seemed off. Who are you? Why Petřín Tower? None of it made a lot of rational sense, and it seemed possible that the note was all part of some strange ploy.

  “Sir?” a voice said behind him.

  Langdon turned to see the young Indian couple. The woman was smiling and holding out her phone to Langdon. “Would you mind taking our photo? I left my selfie stick in the hotel.”

  The young man looked apologetic. “Sorry. Instagram honeymoon.”

  Langdon gathered himself. “Of course.”

  The woman positioned her husband at the railing, joined him, and gave Langdon the all clear. After taking several photos, Langdon was about to return the phone, but the woman asked him to keep shooting while they tried out various poses and expressions.

  “She has a lot of followers,” the man said, clearly mortified.

  Immortality through fame, Langdon mused as he took photographs, recalling that Shakespeare, Homer, and Horace had all opined that the uniquely human desire to be “famous” was, in fact, the symptom of another uniquely human trait—our fear of death. To be famous meant you would be remembered long after you died…fame a kind of eternal life.