“I hope so.”

  “And Crucifix Bastion?” the man asked. “You’re confident ÚZSI has agreed to stand down? I don’t want anyone near Gessner’s lab or her work.”

  “Confirmed. Nobody is up there now.”

  “Good,” he said, sounding relieved. “I want you to send a Marine security detail up there immediately. Obviously, my main concern is our primary facility—but we can’t afford any leaks at the bastion either. Have your team secure it, and I’ll go up in person to assess after our meeting at your residence.”

  “Understood,” Nagel replied. “I’ll send a team up right away.”

  “See you shortly,” he said.

  The line went dead.

  In the silence, the ambassador double-checked that the call was indeed ended, and then she raised her eyes to Langdon and Katherine and let out a weary sigh.

  “What in the world just happened?!” Katherine demanded.

  The ambassador glanced overhead at the ceiling vents and, apparently not wanting to risk being overheard, led Langdon and Katherine into the pool’s utility room, where a single bulb illuminated two antique, cast-iron water boilers, which, despite nearly a century of nonuse, still smelled of coal.

  “The first thing you should know,” the ambassador said quietly, closing the door behind them, “is the man I just spoke to works for the Central Intelligence Agency.”

  Langdon stepped back, feigning surprise despite having been warned by Jonas. “I’m sorry?”

  Nagel nodded. “His name is Everett Finch, and he used to run the agency’s Directorate of Science and Technology.” She paused. “I should add that I also worked for the CIA. I was an attorney.”

  And there it is, Langdon thought, not sure whether he was relieved or unsettled that the ambassador had simply laid it out.

  Nagel now confirmed what Faukman had told Langdon on the phone—the CIA quietly ran a venture capital firm named In-Q-Tel, Q for short, which invested in national security technologies and protected their investments aggressively.

  “The CIA runs an investment bank?” Katherine asked.

  “More for patriotism than profit,” Nagel explained. “U.S. intelligence budgets have been slashed in recent years, and the CIA functions under an oath to defend the nation from all enemies—including the shortsightedness of our own Pollyanna politicians—and so the agency feels morally empowered, if not obligated, to find outside funding to facilitate important CIA programs that otherwise could not exist.”

  As Langdon listened, he realized that a project funded with Q money would bypass all traditional congressional oversight associated with a black-budget allocation, meaning the CIA could essentially do whatever it wanted and answer to no one.

  “A few years ago, the CIA director transferred Everett Finch to London and assigned him an off-book posting in Q’s European headquarters. His duties are confidential, but he seems to have been given carte blanche, and as you’ve no doubt figured out, Finch is gravely concerned about Katherine’s manuscript.”

  “Why?” Katherine pressed.

  “All I know,” Nagel replied, “is Finch considers your manuscript a threat to one of Q’s most important investments. For this reason, it is deemed a matter of national security, which affords Finch dangerous latitude in how he chooses to deal with you.”

  Langdon felt increasingly trapped down here in the windowless basement.

  “But how is it a threat?!” Katherine pressed. “I’ve been trying to imagine how anything I’ve writ—”

  “I don’t know. I have no specifics. Only orders—to force you to sign an NDA.”

  “But if the CIA thinks my book is a national security risk,” Katherine said, “then why not just call my publisher, cite national security, and demand I remove the dangerous material?”

  “As former CIA counsel,” Nagel replied, “I can tell you that isolating specific passages reveals too much about the CIA’s concerns. It would shine a light on precisely what they are trying to keep secret. Moreover, your publisher could simply refuse the CIA’s request and publish the full text under the banner: Read the book the CIA doesn’t want you to read…”

  Langdon knew she was right. The Vatican regularly made that mistake, fanning sales of popular books by insisting they were “anti-Catholic” and attempting to forbid Catholics to read them.

  “Did you read these NDAs?” Langdon asked.

  “Blanket verbal,” Nagel said, nodding. “Dangerously general. It basically means you would have a recorded conversation with Finch, and anything mentioned therein would immediately be considered ‘protected information.’ Depending on what Finch says to you, that NDA would have the legal teeth to shut down Katherine’s book immediately and permanently.”

  Langdon’s thoughts again churned through all that Katherine had told him about her manuscript and her discoveries—brain filters, GABA, nonlocal consciousness. Why would the CIA care about any of it?

  “You just told us,” Langdon pressed, “that Mr. Finch believes Katherine’s book poses a threat to one of Q’s most important investments…which begs an obvious question: Do you know what that investment is?”

  “I know it relates to a top secret CIA facility here in Prague.”

  “In Prague?” Langdon was surprised. “You’re kidding. What do they do there?”

  Nagel shook her head with frustration. “I don’t know. All I can say is the facility has a code name. They call it ‘Threshold.’ ”

  CHAPTER 81

  “I have been provided very few details,” Nagel said as the three of them huddled in the dingy boiler room beneath the villa. “The agency claims I’m insulated for my own safety. All I know is the CIA director himself considers Threshold the agency’s single most important endeavor…absolutely critical to future security.”

  The bold statement hung in the air.

  “And you’re not involved?” Langdon asked.

  “Only as a political facilitator,” she said. “Three years ago, behind my back, the CIA orchestrated my embassy posting here so I could be their diplomatic pawn—an agency insider who would answer to Finch and help cut through the legal red tape involved in secretly building the Threshold facility.”

  “And you still don’t know what kind of operation it is?” he asked.

  Nagel shook her head. “I know it’s a science research facility. From what little Finch has said and judging by Brigita Gessner’s prominent involvement, I’m fairly certain they’re doing brain research of some sort…perhaps in human consciousness—but the intense military security means there’s far more going on down there than simple scientific curiosity.”

  Katherine seemed riveted. “Is the facility up and running?”

  “The structure is complete but not yet fully operational. I know they’ve done some isolated testing…which I gather was successful because they’re now gearing up to begin in earnest; they’re currently training staff off-site in the U.S. and expect the facility to be live within a matter of weeks.”

  “And this facility is here in Prague?” she asked.

  Nagel paused, as if debating one last time whether to reveal the details. “Technically beneath Prague,” she said. “The whole thing is subterranean.”

  For an instant, Langdon flashed on the lower floor of Gessner’s small lab. “Not Crucifix Bastion, I assume?”

  “No,” the ambassador replied. “That’s Brigita Gessner’s private research lab. The CIA invested in her technologies, but the Threshold facility lies elsewhere. It’s actually not far from the bastion, but it has over ten thousand square feet of space.”

  Ten thousand square feet? All underground?! “How could anyone possibly build something that big in total secrecy underneath a city like this?”

  Nagel shrugged. “Pretty simple, actually—the basic structure was already there. The CIA took it over and rebuilt it.” She paused. “Although, publicly, it was the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers that took it over.”

  Langdon needed only a moment to put the pieces together.

  In the 1950s, one of Europe’s largest Soviet-era bomb shelters had been built in Prague. The massive network of dank subterranean chambers was said to contain space for some 1,500 people along with its own power station, air-filtration system, showers, toilets, gathering hall, and even its own morgue. The bunker was long since abandoned, although a portion of it was still open today as a tourist attraction.

  “Folimanka Shelter…” Langdon whispered, amazed to realize he had literally walked over parts of the bunker earlier today; it was buried beneath the sprawling expanse of Folimanka Park.

  Langdon had never been inside, but he’d seen the tourist entrance—a cement tunnel festooned with colorful spray-painted graffiti depicting atomic bomb explosions and the words KRYT FOLIMANKA, which Langdon had assumed meant Folimanka Crypt but was informed meant Folimanka Shelter.

  The well-known tourist portion of the bunker—located at the easternmost edge of Folimanka Park—was relatively shallow, in fair condition, and perfectly safe to tour. The larger portion of the bunker, however, extended deeper and farther out into Folimanka Park. Over the decades, its vast network of tunnels and chambers had flooded, fallen into disrepair, and were sealed off and forgotten.

  The ambassador quickly described how the CIA had managed to take control of the abandoned portion of the bunker. As a fellow member of NATO, the U.S. government regularly cooperated on military matters and political affairs here. From time to time, this also meant lending civil assistance for infrastructure—in the case of Folimanka Park, figuring out how to save the vast expanse, which city officials announced had begun to sag and they feared might one day collapse into the abandoned hollows of the decaying bunkers beneath it.

  The cavalry had arrived in the form of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, who dug a new entry tunnel at the western end of the park and began the multiyear project of draining, sealing, and reinforcing the expansive system of bunkers.

  The project was now about to be completed, and yet the ambassador said anti-U.S. conspiracy theories still swirled: Folimanka Park was never really sagging…It was being rebuilt as a secret military prison…or a chemical weapons bunker. Another claimed that the deeper caverns didn’t even exist, and the U.S. was actually digging them—a suspicion fueled by the absence of any reliable Soviet-era blueprints outlining the full bunker, which either had never existed or had been effectively purged from history.

  Whatever the truth was, Langdon had to admire the devilishly simple ploy, except for one glaring question. “Why build here?” he asked. “Why not locate Threshold in a warehouse in the Arizona desert?”

  “Quite simple,” Nagel replied. “Crowded urban settings provide a level of camouflage from satellite surveillance, which is not something you get when transporting extensive materials and personnel to an isolated desert location. More intelligence facilities are being moved to urban centers now, and selecting a city outside the U.S. helps keep congressional oversight and domestic legal restrictions to a minimum.”

  That last statement Langdon found ominous. “Why are you telling us all of this?” he asked, startled by the ambassador’s candor.

  “Yes,” Katherine agreed. “It seems—”

  “Treasonous?” The ambassador’s gaze turned distant. “My reasons are personal, but whatever ends up happening to me, please believe me when I tell you I will make it my first order of business to keep you both safe.”

  Langdon knew there were many unanswered questions, but he was inclined to believe her.

  “I need to warn you, though,” Nagel said, “you’re dealing with powerful forces. In the orbit of the CIA and Threshold, the stakes are unimaginably high—and frankly, people die.” She sighed and looked at Langdon and Katherine; for a fleeting moment it appeared she might cry. “Dr. Gessner was killed last night, but she’s not the only casualty. I just received word that my legal attaché, Michael Harris, was found dead half an hour ago.”

  Langdon felt sickened as he recalled his interactions with Harris at the hotel just hours earlier. “I’m so very sorry.”

  Nagel quietly explained that Harris’s body had been found in the apartment of Sasha Vesna, with whom Harris was having an “insincere” relationship as a form of surveillance ordered by Mr. Finch, who wanted to keep close tabs on Gessner’s Russian assistant. Sasha’s whereabouts were still unknown, but Nagel was not optimistic.

  Langdon felt an immediate concern for Sasha’s safety.

  The ambassador continued, pursing her lips and letting out a deep sigh. “I’m directly responsible for Michael Harris’s death…and I’ll carry that forever.” She raised her eyes to meet them both, forcing herself to stand straighter. “I have no idea how to start making amends for Michael, and for blindly going along with Finch’s orders…except that right now I know I need to do whatever is required to make this right and to protect you both.”

  “How do you intend to do that?” Katherine pressed.

  “We have three possible moves,” Nagel said. “Unfortunately, you’re not going to like any of them. The first option would be the safest. I would reprint the nondisclosure agreements, you would sign them, and you would have your meeting with Mr. Finch as planned, providing him the guarantee of silence he desires. This would essentially remove you from his radar, but it would likely mean you could never publish your book, and Ms. Solomon, there might be fields of study that you would no longer be completely free to pursue.”

  “That’s not an option at all,” Katherine said flat out.

  “Agreed,” Langdon said. “Second choice?”

  “Option number two…” Nagel said, looking from one to the other. “We have about an hour until Finch gets here. We could leave right now. I drive you both immediately to the airport and get you out of the country. There would be repercussions, of course—for all three of us—but at least we would buy some time to come up with other solutions.”

  “Such as?” Langdon asked.

  “For one, Ms. Solomon could publish her book immediately. Its publication would provide some level of immunit—”

  “My book is gone,” Katherine interjected. “It would take a very long time to re-create.”

  “And even if she did have a copy,” Langdon noted, “it takes months for a book to be produced and published. Not to mention, wouldn’t a move like that make her a target of the CIA forever?”

  “On some level, yes.”

  “No thanks,” Katherine said. “I have no interest in looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. What’s the third option?”

  Nagel was silent for a moment, as if formulating details in her mind. When she spoke, her tone was matter-of-fact, that of an attorney advising a client. “In the intelligence business, there is only one true source of power. Information. It is the only leverage anyone understands…and you are now in a position to receive a vast quantity of it. Remember, Mr. Finch believes you signed NDAs, and he is coming here to orchestrate a conversation that uses those NDAs against you. He’ll tell you as much as he possibly can—to ensure every topic he mentions is off-limits to you going forward. The more he tells you, the more information you will have…and therefore, the more leverage.”

  Langdon realized they were playing with a pro. And playing with fire. Even so, Nagel’s plan hardly seemed as simple as she made it sound. “I understand how we obtain the information,” he said. “But then what?”

  “I would help you,” she said. “We would entrust all the data to a third party—an outside attorney, for example—who would create a mechanism by which if anything happens to any of us, or we fail to touch base with him regularly, the information would be sent immediately to the press. Lawyers call it an ‘untimely death clause.’ ”

  “I believe the word is ‘blackmail,’ ” Langdon said.

  “In crude terms, yes. Though it’s perfectly legal.”

  Katherine took a step backward. “You’re suggesting we blackmail the CIA…”

  “Think of it as informational leverage, Ms. Solomon. Intelligence threats are a language these people speak and understand. If they attack you, they know they will suffer damage. And so they will leave you alone.”

  “And vice versa,” Langdon said. “You protect their secrets in return for immunity.”

  “Mutually assured destruction,” Nagel said. “It’s a proven model. If it didn’t work, the world’s superpowers would have launched nuclear weapons at each other in the 1960s. Instead, self-preservation creates a standoff; we simply agree to disagree.”

  Katherine still looked wary.

  “Having leverage would instantly deescalate this crisis,” Nagel said. “The agency would have to back off, regroup, give everyone a chance to take a breath and negotiate; maybe they even tell you what they don’t like about your book, and you offer to remove it. This path at least gives you options.” Nagel caught Katherine’s eye and held it. “And I hope you know I’m taking an enormous personal risk here helping you, Ms. Solomon, which makes me a powerful ally for you.”

  “Thank you,” Katherine said, sounding increasingly convinced.

  Langdon liked the concept in principle, but execution was another matter. “Not to rain on the parade here,” he said, “but what happens if Mr. Finch demands to see the signed NDAs before we talk to him?”

  “He probably will,” the ambassador replied. “I’ll simply tell him I knew the documents were crucial to his plan, so I had a Marine escort transport them under diplomatic seal to the embassy and lock them in my personal safe. He’ll have to trust me…or move this meeting to the embassy, which he definitely will not want to do.”

  Langdon weighed the plan, still feeling wary. It was a stretch to assume that he and Katherine could learn enough in this conversation with Finch to have any leverage at all. We’ll be talking to a trained CIA veteran. And even if this man believed Langdon and Katherine had signed the restrictive NDAs, would he really reveal data that would compromise the agency or a top secret project?

  “You look uncertain,” Katherine said.