CHAPTER 58

  Night watchman Mark S. Dole reveled in his job at Random House Tower. For two years now, he had been securing this building, feeling a sense of pride whenever he donned his blue jacket and security cap and took his place behind the lobby’s imposing security counter. He was twenty-eight and had promised his wife he’d be promoted to the day shift by the time he was thirty.

  One of the perks he loved most about working here was the free employee library—a basement storeroom brimming with everything from old classics to modern thrillers. Since taking the job, Dole had read more than three dozen books, and tonight he was working his way through Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath and feeling blessed to support his family with a job that did not rely on the weather.

  Dole glanced up from his book when a black SUV skidded jarringly to a halt in front of the main entrance. He had never seen such a thing, particularly at 3:48 a.m. Even more surprising, the man who leaped from the driver’s seat was editor Jonas Faukman. Dole could not remember Faukman ever driving to work, and considering the man’s parking job, that was probably a good thing.

  Faukman was now outside the electronic door, frantically searching his pockets. Dole had seen this dance many times before. He forgot his key card. The night watchman pressed a button under his counter, and the door clicked open.

  Faukman rushed into the lobby, looking somewhat crazed.

  “Is everything okay, sir?” Dole asked.

  “Fine, fine,” the editor assured him, although he seemed anything but fine. His wild hair and beleaguered expression looked more like he’d been riding the Coney Island roller coaster all night. “I lost my backpack. My key card was in it.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I’ll make you a temporary card.” He pulled out a fresh plastic card and put it into the magnetizing machine.

  Faukman waited, leaning heavily on the counter, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

  “Mr. Faukman?” Dole said. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Faukman opened his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Mark. Just…a long night.”

  “Working on a tough manuscript?” Dole asked, handing him a fresh entry card.

  The editor gave a wry nod and headed for the elevators. “This one’s been more complicated than expected.”

  Having followed the signal from Faukman’s phone, operatives Auger and Chinburg had caught up with his stolen SUV just before he threw his phone out the window. From there, they had discreetly tailed the SUV to the corner of Fifty-Sixth and Broadway, where it was now parked at a canted angle in front of Random House Tower.

  The question was how to proceed.

  They pulled over on the far side of Broadway, and Auger placed another secure call to Finch, who answered with a curt “Go.”

  “Sir,” Auger said, “we lost audio on the editor, but we intercepted some startling intel. The PRH tech seems to have learned that one of the Americans in Prague is dead.”

  Finch was silent for a beat. “Where did he get his information?” he asked, his tone revealing nothing.

  Auger shared what they had overheard on the call between the tech and Faukman.

  “It’s not your concern,” Finch said, shutting down the inquiry. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir,” Auger said, having saved the worst for last. “The tech also claims to know who was responsible for the hack on their servers.”

  Finch drew a sharp breath. “Give me Chinburg.”

  Auger put the phone on speaker and held it up to his partner.

  “Sir,” Chinburg said, “we believe the tech’s info is wrong. He has shared no specific details, so we have no idea if he’s even on the right track.”

  “Have you spoken to your penetration team?” Finch demanded.

  “Yes, sir. Just now. They assured me the hack was clean.” Chinburg hesitated. “They did mention, however, that because the operation was carried out under such tight time restraints, they were forced to prioritize speed and efficiency over redundant anonymity measures.”

  “I’m sorry? They took shortcuts?”

  “No, sir, they performed the best possible operation feasible in the window provided them. They assure me confidence is high.”

  “Confidence is high?” Finch snapped, his tone like ice. “In my experience, that phrase is used only by those whose confidence is lacking.” There was a full three-second pause on the line. “Find out what this tech knows…and contain it immediately. However you deem necessary.”

  The call went dead.

  Chinburg looked shaken. “Shit.”

  Auger looked amused. “Confidence is high?”

  “Don’t be an asshole.”

  Auger glanced across the street into the lobby of the towering skyscraper. “If Finch wants intel, we’ll have to get inside.”

  Ascertaining how much the tech knew should have been as simple as remotely activating the microphone on Faukman’s phone and listening to the conversation he was about to have with the tech. Unfortunately, the editor had performed his first security-savvy move of the evening, and his phone was now resting on the bottom of the Hudson River beneath the George Washington Bridge.

  Seeing no other option, Auger packed several items into the compartments of his black tactical jacket and backpack. The technology-assisted portion of the evening had just concluded, which meant it was time to get their hands dirty.

  CHAPTER 59

  In Prague, U.S. Ambassador Heide Nagel stood at her office window and gazed wearily at the Alchymist Hotel across Tržiště Street. Having just finished briefing Dana Daněk on the covert operation she had unwittingly stumbled upon this morning, the ambassador had sent the media liaison back to her office to await further orders. Not surprisingly, Dana had been frightened by what she had learned.

  Good, Nagel thought. Fear may be the only way to control her.

  A quiet knock at the door drew Nagel’s attention. She turned to see a U.S. Marine standing at attention in his traditional blue-white dress uniform. An eight-man Marine Corps embassy security group was part of the team that secured U.S. embassies and key diplomats around the world.

  “Madam Ambassador,” the Marine said. “We have a situation.”

  The more the merrier…I’ve already got a goddamned situation, she thought, but waved him in.

  The man stepped into her office. “Ma’am, ÚZSI Captain Janáček has issued a public alert for an American citizen.” He checked a note card. “His name is Robert Langdon.”

  Nagel closed her eyes, incredulous that her threat to expose Janáček had not stopped the captain in his tracks. Janáček is going all in on Robert Langdon? Shit. Clearly, she had not been as persuasive or intimidating as she had imagined.

  “And the APB is a Blue Alert,” the Marine added, “meaning ÚZSI is claiming Langdon killed one of their own.”

  “What!” she exploded. “That’s a goddamned lie!”

  “If we don’t find Langdon right away…” the Marine said quietly, “someone’s going to take him down.”

  Nagel took several breaths and gave him a tight nod of thanks. “I’ll have orders for you shortly. Please close the door on your way out.”

  The Marine spun and departed.

  Nagel immediately placed a Signal call to Mr. Finch.

  “Go ahead,” he said, answering on the first ring.

  Nagel gave him the rundown on the deteriorating situation in Prague:

  ÚZSI is pursuing Robert Langdon with lethal force.

  Katherine Solomon is missing.

  Attaché Harris went to Crucifix Bastion but is no longer answering his phone.

  Finch, as anticipated, was furious. “I thought you handled ÚZSI! What kind of half-assed operation are you running there?!”

  “This is your operation!” Nagel fired back. “And this situation is your own goddamned fault!”

  Even as she spoke the words, Nagel knew she had overstepped.

  Finch’s voice grew uncharacteristically quiet. “Heide,” he whispered, eschewing her formal title as if to remind her she was a mere pawn in his world. “I suggest you remember who placed you in this position…and why.”

  Field Officer Housemore had slept less than an hour.

  She was now standing bleary-eyed at her sink, having just been awoken by a new call from Mr. Finch issuing updated orders.

  Go to Crucifix Bastion immediately.

  Secure Gessner’s lab.

  Housemore’s knowledge of the Prague operation was “compartmentalized.” While she knew Gessner was integral to Threshold, she also knew the underground facility Finch had built was located somewhere else in the city. So why secure Gessner’s lab?

  In addition to the new directive, Finch gave her the startling news that he was coming to Prague in person. If the overlord himself was on his way to Prague, then Housemore knew that this mission had definitely gone haywire.

  As The Golěm crossed Old Town Square, he passed near a throng of tourists huddled around a bronze statue and sipping hot svařák out of plastic cups. The voice of their tour guide blared loudly over a handheld megaphone.

  “This Art Nouveau masterpiece,” the guide declared, “depicts the leader of the Czech reform movement—Jan Hus—who was burned at the stake in 1415 for refusing to obey papal orders.”

  The guide was about to continue, when he spotted The Golěm’s dark form passing by. Even though Prague was overrun with costumed actors posing for tips, the guide apparently decided to seize the moment to create a little drama for his customers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced excitedly. “We have an unexpected guest this morning! One of Prague’s most famous celebrities!”

  The tourists spun around as if expecting to see Ivan Lendl or Martina Navratilova. Instead, they saw a cloaked figure with a clay-caked face.

  “The golem monster!” a young boy exclaimed. “You just told us about him in the synagogue!”

  “Excellent,” the guide said, turning to the boy. “And do you remember the meaning of the Hebrew letters on his head?”

  “Truth!” said the kid. “Until the rabbi erased one letter and killed him!”

  “Excellent,” the guide said as The Golěm passed by. “Okay, well it looks like no photo op with the golem today, but who can name the second-most-famous monster in Prague?”

  Nobody answered.

  “The cockroach!” the guide said dramatically. “Franz Kafka wrote a novella, right here in this city, called The Metamorphosis—in which a young man wakes up in bed one morning and discovers he’s been transformed…into a giant cockroach!”

  The Golěm quickly left the group behind, exiting the square and heading north. As he walked, he found himself thinking of Franz Kafka and recalling the first time he had seen Prague’s famously eerie statue of the author—a cloaked giant with no head…carrying on his shoulders a much smaller man.

  A faceless creature who carries the burden of a weaker soul.

  The Golěm had felt an immediate kinship with the statue.

  The tiny supported man represented Kafka, who, in his story Description of a Struggle, had been supported by a protective friend called his “acquaintance.”

  The acquaintance carried Kafka, The Golěm had realized, just as the golem carried the Jewish people. Just as I carry Sasha.

  Thoughts of Sasha drew his mind back to the task at hand.

  Today I will infiltrate Threshold.

  Sasha had not been their first victim…nor would she be their last. It all had to be destroyed. Forever.

  CHAPTER 60

  Langdon hurried along the sidewalk toward the Klementinum, his eyes scanning the sparse crowd for any sign of Katherine. A cold wind was whipping around him once again as he aimed for the museum’s astronomical tower, which was visible above the other buildings less than a kilometer away.

  He passed the opulent Mozart Prague hotel, where Wolfgang himself had played numerous private concerts, and he recalled once having witnessed its pale facade magically transformed into towering staves of sheet music that scrolled past in synch with an amplified recording of Eine kleine Nachtmusik. Every October, Prague hosted the Signal Festival, a week during which architectural landmarks were converted into canvases using light projection and video mapping. Langdon’s favorite had been a soaring projection on the Archbishop’s Palace depicting the origin and evolution of species—an irony that mirrored Prague’s unflinching affinity for avant-garde artistry.

  As he passed the hotel, Langdon’s gait slowed suddenly, his eyes drawn to an advertising kiosk in a tiny park. The poster depicted a futuristic army of soldiers marching across a desolate planet. Above the armed warriors hung a single word whose appearance at this instant felt jarringly coincidental.

  HALO.

  Is the universe taunting me?

  This ominous poster, of course, was not referencing a radiant symbol of the enlightened mind but rather a hugely popular computer game series, which, according to Langdon’s students, had cleverly appropriated the cultural resonance of Christianity by incorporating biblical terms like the Covenant, the Ark, the Prophets, and the Flood, along with a tapestry of erudite religious references.

  “Sounds like I might like it,” Langdon had told his class.

  “You won’t,” quipped a student. “Brutes with manglers would kill you instantly.”

  Langdon had no idea what he meant but decided to stick with online backgammon.

  Nonetheless, at this moment, here in Prague, the appearance of the word halo felt like an eerily timed allusion to Katherine. He was uncertain whether to take this as a good omen or a foreboding one, considering they had just discussed the topic two days earlier.

  “Halos are entirely misunderstood,” she had said. “They have always been imagined as radiant streams of light encircling the head and depicting energy flowing out of an enlightened mind. But I believe we are interpreting halos in reverse. Those rays represent beams of consciousness…flowing in…not out. To say someone has an ‘enlightened mind’ is simply another way of saying they have a ‘better receiver.’ ”

  Langdon had studied halos as prominent religious symbols for many years, and yet he had never considered them in the way Katherine had just expressed. Like most people, he had always viewed halos as radiating outward. The reverse interpretation felt disorienting. He had to admit, however, that the Bible invariably described prophets as receiving divine wisdom from God…never formulating or broadcasting it.

  In Acts 9, the Apostle Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus was described as the result of a burst of energy received from heaven. In Acts 2, the Holy Spirit flowed into the apostles and gave them the instantaneous power to speak in multiple languages so they could preach the gospel. Sudden savant syndrome?

  The symbol of the halo was widely associated with Christianity, but Langdon knew there were many earlier versions—from Mithraism, Buddhism, and Zoroastrianism—that portrayed rays of energy around their subjects. When Christianity adopted the symbol of the halo, the rays were gradually removed in favor of a simple disk hovering over one’s head. Thus, an important symbolic element of the halo had been lost to history, and Katherine believed that the lost version might confirm a forgotten understanding and ancient wisdom…the lost understanding of what had now become nonlocal consciousness theory.

  The brain is a receiver…and consciousness flows in, not out.

  “You still can’t quite believe the concept, can you?” she had challenged playfully. “You’re waiting for some kind of proof that your brain is a receiver.”

  Langdon considered it. Scientific models were never proven in any kind of absolute sense. They gained acceptance by consistently explaining and predicting observations better than alternative models. Katherine’s concept was convincing and also could explain many anomalies like ESP, out-of-body experiences, and sudden savant syndrome.

  “If you ask me,” Katherine said, “your eidetic memory should be proof enough, Robert. I know you believe your brain has stored every single image you’ve ever seen. But full photographic recall is a physical impossibility. Your lifetime of vivid image data would fill a warehouse, even using the most advanced digital storage methods, and yet you can still recall that data perfectly. The truth is, the human brain—even your brain—is physically far too small to hold that much information.”

  Langdon’s attention was piqued. “You’re saying our memories function like cloud computing? All of our memory data are sitting elsewhere…waiting for us to access them.”

  “Exactly. Your eidetic brain simply has a superior mechanism for reaching out and grabbing data. Your receiver is sophisticated and highly tuned to accessing images.” She smiled. “But maybe a bit less tuned to accessing faith and trust.”

  Langdon laughed. “Well, I have faith in you, and I trust that soon you’ll share your scientific experiments…and explain to me exactly what you’ve discovered.”

  “Nice try, Professor,” she said. “But you’ll have to wait and read the book.”

  CHAPTER 61

  The Klementinum—like so many of the stunning buildings of Europe—was erected to further the glory of the Christian God.

  Emperor Ferdinand I, in an effort to increase the presence of the Catholic Church in Bohemia in the 1500s, invited to Prague members of the growing Society of Jesus—the Jesuits—and offered them the city’s finest real estate on which to build a Jesuit college. By the end of the century, the Jesuit’s “Klementinum”—named after St. Clement—had become one of the largest building complexes in the land, second only to Prague Castle.

  Celebrated for its dedication to the sciences, the Klementinum university eventually included an Astronomical Tower that rose to sixty-eight meters, a scientific library of thousands of books, and an ingenious Meridian Room, which used geometry and sunlight to indicate the precise time of noon every day, at which moment the official timekeeper would fire a cannon to mark midday for everyone in town.

  In modern times, the Klementinum functioned primarily as the seat of the Czech National Library and as a historical museum. Savvy tourists seeking the best views of Prague climbed the Klementinum’s Astronomical Tower, their 172-step ascent rewarded by stunning vistas as well as an absorbing exhibit of eighteenth-century astronomical instruments.