Following the ambassador’s lead, Langdon and Katherine took their places on one of the sofas with the ambassador facing them on the other. She had been carrying papers with her, which she now laid facedown on the coffee table between them. She set an official embassy pen down on the papers, sat back, folded her hands in her lap, and exhaled.

  “I’ll skip the pleasantries,” she began. “First, I will tell you how extremely relieved I am that you are both safe. Your situation with ÚZSI, Mr. Langdon, was particularly dangerous, and I’m happy I was able to protect you.”

  Thank you…I think? Langdon was not entirely convinced he was any better off.

  The ambassador studied them both a moment, as if to be certain she had their full attention. “I brought you to my home today to say, in person, what needs to be said. Quite simply…I’m sorry. On behalf of the U.S. government, I would like to apologize. Our embassies were established to protect American citizens and interests overseas. As ambassador, I took an oath to do precisely that, and I take that oath seriously. I regret to inform you that several days ago, in service to that oath to protect U.S. interests, I was ordered to facilitate placing an audio surveillance device in your hotel room.”

  So there it is, Langdon thought, stunned as he pictured the arrangement of tulips and handwritten note from the ambassador. My suspicions were right. The woman on Charles Bridge was not a premonition, but rather some kind of bizarre performance in response to someone overhearing Katherine’s dream. But why?!

  “The surveillance order came from above me,” the ambassador said, “and I complied. I assumed it was for your protection, and I had no idea that the information gleaned would be used in a way that would put you both in danger. That was inexcusable, and I accept full responsibility.”

  Katherine glanced at Langdon, outrage registering on her face. “So you did bug our hotel room?” Katherine demanded, making little effort to hide her anger.

  “Before you get too indignant,” the ambassador replied, her tone hardening, “these are dangerous times in the world. I can assure you nobody cares about your bedroom habits or pillow talk. That surveillance device was placed there in the name of national security.”

  “With respect, Madam Ambassador,” Langdon said as calmly as possible, “do we look like a national security threat?”

  “With respect, Professor,” she fired back, “if you think national security threats have a look, then you are more naive than your résumé suggests. I am offering you an apology and some transparency about what happened to you this morning, and I suggest you work with me. Our time is short, and there are aspects to your situation that you both very much need to understand.”

  Langdon could not recall ever being reprimanded quite so succinctly. “Understood. Please…go on.”

  “First off,” Nagel said, “I am aware, Dr. Solomon, that you have written a book that will be published soon. What you need to understand is that there exist powerful entities who believe that this book, if published, will pose a substantial risk to national security.”

  “How?” Katherine demanded. “It’s a book about human consciousness!”

  The ambassador shrugged. “That is not information I have been given. However, the man who does have that information is arriving in Prague shortly to speak to you both.”

  Langdon was taken aback. “Speak to us—or interrogate us?”

  “A bit of both, I imagine,” Nagel replied, her gaze holding steady. “I am committed to protecting you, but I have limited power.”

  “How limited could it be?” Katherine asked. “You’re the U.S. ambassador.”

  Heide Nagel gave a tired chuckle. “Diplomats come and go, Dr. Solomon. The permanent forces in government are those who make the real decisions, and I’m sorry to report that those are the forces with whom you’re dealing.”

  Several guesses came to mind, and Langdon felt increasingly on edge.

  “I’ve been forbidden to discuss anything more specific without presenting these.” She reached down and flipped over the two pages she had set on the coffee table, sliding one page in front of each of them along with the pen. “Standard nondisclosure agreement—a promise to keep private the conversation you are about to have with the man arriving shortly. Once you sign these, I can brief you by telling you everything I know.”

  A single-page NDA? Langdon thought. Since when did lawyers accomplish anything in a single page? Langdon was no attorney, but he suspected that an NDA this abbreviated would have to be a sweeping exclusion of all topics discussed. Total blackout. There was also the odd coincidence of Gessner having also asked them to sign an NDA.

  Katherine reached for the document, but Langdon, without breaking eye contact with the ambassador, placed a quiet hand on Katherine’s wrist, stopping her. “Madam Ambassador, as this situation clearly relates to Katherine’s book, she can’t sign these without speaking to a lawyer, or at least to her editor. If we could quickly use a phone, perha—”

  “That’s a reasonable request,” she interrupted, “and yet I’m unable to oblige. The man coming to speak to you gave me a clear directive prohibiting any outside contact until the NDAs were signed and he had spoken to you.”

  “Who is this man?” Katherine asked.

  “He goes by Mr. Finch, and these are his NDAs. You’re free to read them, of course.”

  “No need,” Langdon said. “I’m guessing it states that anything we discuss in our meeting can never be divulged outside this room.”

  Nagel nodded, beginning to look impatient. “That’s usually the point of a nondisclosure.”

  “Whoever Mr. Finch is,” Langdon said, “if he cannot even permit us to use a phone, then I hope you can understand why it’s difficult for us to blindly trust this request. I think it’s best if Katherine and I return to our hotel now.”

  Katherine looked startled by the comment, as did Ambassador Nagel, whose veneer of diplomacy was starting to crack. “If you truly wish to leave,” Nagel declared sharply, “I do not have the authority or desire to hold you against your will, but I don’t think leaving is in your best interest.” She paused, locking eyes with Langdon. “To be frank, I’m not sure it’s entirely safe for you out there.”

  “To be equally frank,” Langdon parried, “I’m not sure we feel entirely safe in here either.”

  Nagel’s expression was now a mix of confusion and indignance. “Professor, I had hoped my admission about bugging your hotel room might have bought me a bit of goodwill and trust, but in light—”

  A hollow ping from Nagel’s phone cut the air. Annoyed, she pulled out the device and read the incoming message. Her expression morphed from irritation to overt horror. She gasped and covered her mouth, jumping to her feet, eyes wide with emotion.

  “I’m…so sorry,” she stammered, steadying herself against the table. “I’m going to need ten minutes. This message is…I’m sorry.” With that, the ambassador rushed out of the door, her rapid footfalls echoing down the marble hallway as she left.

  Katherine looked alarmed. “I don’t think that was an act.”

  Langdon had the same impression, although politics and acting were more closely related than anyone liked to admit.

  “You were very short with her, Robert,” Katherine chided, clearly surprised with Langdon’s resistance to signing the documents. “After all, she had a fair point—she did tell us about the surveillance bug.”

  “The same bug I told you about while we were in the ambassador’s limousine. I suspect the ambassador, or perhaps Mr. Finch, eavesdropped on that conversation and realized they had no choice but to tell us what we already knew. I must admit, it was a clever attempt to gain our trust.”

  Katherine’s lips tightened into a thin frown. “My God, do you really think she bugged her own limo? You and I talked about…a lot.”

  “All I know,” Langdon replied, scooping up one of the documents, “is these NDAs are a trap.” He scanned the text, confirming his suspicions. “This basically says anything we discuss with Mr. Finch is instantly classified. All this guy has to do is mention topics in your book that concern him, and you can never speak or write about them again. You would be legally forbidden from publishing this book. Ever.”

  “They can do that?!”

  “Hell yes, if you sign this paper.” Langdon had a friend who wrote a thriller about a major tech company, only to have it blocked from publication because he had signed a “standard NDA” before touring the company’s offices.

  “Well…” Katherine said, staring into space. “This NDA answers one question I’ve had all day.”

  “What question is that?”

  She turned back to him. “Robert, when I learned someone was trying to destroy all the copies of my manuscript, I kept wondering why they weren’t concerned that I would just rewrite the book. Now we know. They thought I wouldn’t be allowed to.”

  “Exactly,” Langdon said. “And I don’t like the fact that we’re at a private residence rather than the U.S. embassy.” He motioned out the window toward the high security fences surrounding the property. “Think about it. There’s no way out, we can’t use a phone, and some strange guy is coming to talk to us. Here? In a private home? Someone who can order a U.S. ambassador to plant listening devices?”

  Katherine’s expressive brown eyes seldom flashed fear, but there was definitely concern in them now. “What scares me,” she said, “is nobody knows we’re here. And we don’t even know if Jonas is safe.”

  Langdon stood up. “Which is why I’m going to kill those two birds with one phone.”

  She gave him an odd look. “You mean ‘stone’?”

  No, I mean phone.

  Langdon walked toward the vintage club chair, whose leather cushion he had noticed was deeply indented from use. “She said this library is the most private room in the house…and where she makes all her calls. So where’s her phone?”

  “She has a mobile,” Katherine said.

  Langdon shook his head. “Her legal attaché told me landlines are required for all official business.”

  Taking a seat in the worn leather chair, Langdon looked around, eyeing its unusual side table—an octagonal pillar whose unique Beaux Arts design was popular in the late 1800s during alcohol prohibitions. Gripping the lip of the tabletop, he lifted. The tabletop hinged open to reveal the cavity within. As Langdon imagined, this cabinet contained not hidden alcohol, but rather the ambassador’s hardwired telephone.

  He reached in, lifted it out, and placed the phone on his lap.

  “You’re ridiculous,” Katherine said.

  “Lucky guess.” Langdon lifted the receiver to his ear, hearing a dial tone.

  “Do you really think you should use that phone?” Katherine looked wary.

  “Why not?” he replied, dialing. “It’s probably the safest line in the country.”

  CHAPTER 77

  Buoyed by the double espresso, Jonas Faukman had now left the children’s publishing floor and returned to his office with a clear mission—to figure out exactly why Katherine’s manuscript had been hacked, particularly by such a formidable entity. Alex Conan had joined him, eager to help—at least until his boss summoned him for the inevitable interrogation.

  Faukman was at his desk computer, and the tech was seated opposite him with an open laptop. They had just begun to work when the piercing ring of Faukman’s office phone broke the silence.

  A business call at 5:15 a.m.? Faukman wondered. When he saw the caller ID was a European exchange, he lunged for the phone and pressed the speaker button. “Hello?!”

  “Jonas!” The familiar baritone of Robert Langdon crackled through the room. “Thank God, you’re safe! I tried your cell and home numbers. What are you doing at your office so early?!”

  “Jesus, Robert…” Faukman’s heart pounded. “We thought you were…”

  “I know what you heard,” Langdon said, “Katherine told me, but it was just my phone that drowned, not me.”

  “Katherine is with you?”

  “She is, and we’re both relieved to hear your voice. The last we heard, you were missing.”

  “That’s a long story to be told over martinis,” Faukman said. “As you probably know, Katherine’s manuscript is gone. We were hacked, and it was deleted right out of the PRH system.”

  “I heard. Is there any chance of resurrecting a backup from the server?”

  Faukman glanced at Alex, who was shaking his head.

  “It was wiped clean,” Faukman replied dejectedly. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Langdon let out a sigh. “Too bad they didn’t delete my last book instead.”

  Harsh but true, Faukman thought. Langdon’s last book—Symbols, Semiotics, and the Evolution of Language—had gotten rave reviews but never found an audience outside academia. “I was told Katherine printed a hard copy of her manuscript. Is that true?”

  “Yes…but that one’s gone as well.”

  Faukman took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s focus on what matters—you’re both safe. We can deal with the book later.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m calling,” Langdon said. “I’m actually not sure we’re safe. We’re with the U.S. ambassador at her private residence, but it’s a peculiar situation. I’m not even supposed to be calling—”

  “Wait! You’re with the American ambassador?!” Faukman tried not to sound panicked. “Robert, I would be very careful about trusting anyone in our government. Our tech here traced the PRH hackers back to an extremely powerful organization.” He recalled the strange hyphenated name that Alex had typed earlier in the PRH Security Center. “The organization is called In-Q-Tel.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “I hadn’t either. From all I can gather, they’re an incredibly well-funded venture capital firm that develops advanced technologies, mostly under the radar, so it’s no surprise you don’t know who they are.”

  “But that makes no sense,” Langdon argued. “Venture capital firms don’t hire hackers and field operatives.”

  “I believe this one does. You may not have heard of In-Q-Tel, but you’ve definitely heard of their parent organization.”

  “Who is that?”

  Faukman sighed heavily. “A little group called the CIA.”

  The line went silent.

  I know, Faukman thought, recalling his own stunned reaction. “Here’s all I know,” Faukman continued. “The CIA owns and operates In-Q-Tel as a private venture capital firm to discreetly invest in technologies related to national security. They control hundreds of high-tech patents, as well as majority stakes in some of the boldest new tech companies.” The editor had turned back to his computer, pulling up the screen he had just been reading. “Their critics—mostly in competing investment firms—consistently complain that In-Q-Tel’s affiliation with the U.S. intelligence machine affords them, and I quote, ‘an alarming flexibility in the way they pursue their goals.’ Something tells me we’ve witnessed some of that flexibility tonight.”

  “Incredible,” Langdon whispered, sounding shaken. “Who knows why the CIA would target Katherine’s book, but considering all that’s happened, their fingerprints seem to be all over this—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Alex exclaimed, waving wildly and spinning his laptop so Faukman could see the screen. “Look at this!”

  The laptop displayed a Wikipedia page, which Alex had apparently opened after hearing Langdon mention the ambassador.

  Wikipedia:

  Heide Nagel: U.S. Ambassador to the Czech Republic:

  The citation was several pages long and dotted by a series of underlined highlights, underscoring the results of the document search Alex had just conducted.

  …Nagel was hired by CIA directly out of NYU Law…

  …overseeing CIA policy counsel…

  …promoted to CIA general counsel advising agency director…

  …retired from CIA to serve as ambassador…

  “Oh shit, Robert…” Faukman whispered into the phone. “Get out of that house! Now!”

  CHAPTER 78

  Upstairs in her sprawling master bathroom, Ambassador Nagel gripped the sides of the marble sink and threw up. The text that had just arrived from Dana was only four words.

  MICHAEL HARRIS IS DEAD.

  Horrified, the ambassador had immediately excused herself and called Dana, who fumbled her way through a tearful, frantic update. Apparently, Dana and her Marine escort had found Sasha’s apartment unlocked. Kerble had entered to ensure all was safe and was immediately confronted by a body on the hallway floor.

  Michael Harris’s strangled corpse.

  No trace of Sasha Vesna or anyone else.

  Despite the waves of emotion Nagel felt, she kept her cool long enough to give orders for Kerble to secure the apartment and call a forensics team to recover the body. And keep this quiet! The last thing Nagel needed was the press exploding with headlines of a consulate official’s murder on foreign soil. Not today.

  Whatever had transpired in that apartment, her first order of business was her own employee. Michael. Nagel felt ill. His blood is on my hands. She stared into her bathroom mirror now, overwhelmed with guilt and regret…not just for Michael, but for everything that had occurred in the last three years since coming to Prague…

  Unlike so many ambassadors who attained their coveted appointments by having donated a small fortune to the winning presidential candidate, Heide Nagel had simply been in the right place at the right time.

  Or the wrong place, as it turned out.

  Several years ago, during her tenure as general counsel for the CIA, an important file of classified documents had gone missing until an agency task force broke into her home and located the file buried in a desk drawer. Not surprisingly, Nagel was escorted to the top floor of Langley for a meeting with the agency overlord.

  CIA Director Gregory Judd was a former U.S. senator with a quiet and thoughtful demeanor, despite his reputation for total intolerance of anything short of perfection. CIA insiders said Judd knew where all the bodies were buried, because he had buried many of them.