He felt his heart rate climbing as he inched out of the lift, taking an uncertain step into the darkness. Before his foot had even touched the floor, a bank of floodlights blazed to life overhead, momentarily blinding him. He covered his eyes, hoping the lights had been activated automatically by a motion sensor…and not by an interrogation team or a firing squad.

  Slowly, he lowered his hand, squinting at the scene before him.

  As the image came into focus, he stared in disbelief.

  You’ve got to be kidding…

  They had clearly departed Crucifix Bastion. All the ancient, organic touches were now gone. The new world into which Langdon had just stepped was sleek, futuristic, and pure tech.

  “Unbelievable,” Katherine whispered, emerging behind him. “This looks expensive.”

  Langdon guessed the facility was probably funded through In-Q-Tel investments, outside the black budget, with no congressional oversight.

  Katherine walked onto the narrow metal platform outside the elevator, marveling at her surroundings. “It’s like…a tiny subway station.”

  Some kind of futuristic monorail, Langdon thought, peering down into the concrete channel beneath them, where a single narrow-gauge rail extended away from the platform into a circular tunnel and disappeared into darkness. The tunnel opening looked very tight, not nearly wide enough to handle a normal subway car, and yet when Langdon saw the vehicle that ran on this track, he realized the opening was plenty large enough.

  The car was a long, slender, open-air deck—more of a movable platform than a car—with two long benches that faced each other on either side. At the back, there was a section that looked like it was for transporting supplies, which currently included two wheelchairs strapped into place.

  Langdon was reminded that there was a similar underground system connecting buildings on Capitol Hill. Unlike the quaint, boxy tram cars in D.C., however, this system looked minimalist, sleek, and efficient.

  “I’m glad it’s at this end of the line,” Katherine said, moving toward the car. “That seems like a good omen.”

  Langdon immediately grasped her meaning. If the transport was here, that meant that whoever had taken Brigita’s card must have already been to Threshold and come back this way to exit. “Excellent point,” he said, relaxing slightly. “Also, the motion-sensor lights were off, so it seems like we’re alone.”

  Katherine stepped onto the deck, and Langdon joined her. As they boarded the transport, a low electric hum came to life beneath them, and the platform seemed to rise an inch or two.

  Someone or something knows we’re here, Langdon thought, hoping this train was fully automated…and not that someone was watching them and had just powered up the system.

  “Maglev,” Katherine said. “We’ve got one in California.”

  Like anyone who had played with magnets as a kid, Langdon was familiar with the repulsive effect that the same magnetic poles had on each other—a force strong enough, in this case, to levitate a platform and make it “hover” essentially friction-free.

  “I don’t see any controls,” Katherine said. “I guess we just sit down?”

  It was as good a guess as any, and Langdon took a seat beside her, both of them facing the right-hand side of the car. Within seconds, three low chimes echoed through the station, and the platform began moving forward, picking up speed.

  With the exception of the electric hum, the motion was silent.

  The rapid acceleration was startlingly smooth, and within seconds they were plunging into the opening of the tunnel, hurtling through the darkness in perfect silence except for the sound of air rushing past them.

  The tram’s headlight illuminated only a small portion of the single track directly in front of the car. In the darkness, it felt as if they had accelerated to an alarming speed, and it was hard to gauge how far they had traveled.

  Suddenly, Katherine grabbed Langdon’s arm and gasped, pointing down the tunnel ahead of them.

  Langdon had just spotted it too. Dead ahead, on the one-lane track, a headlight was approaching—another transport hurtling toward them on a collision course.

  Clearly, Langdon and Katherine were not supposed to have taken this tram.

  “There’s got to be an emergency brake!” Katherine shouted, turning in her seat and scanning their surroundings.

  Langdon wheeled in desperation to either side, looking for anywhere they could leap off, but concrete walls enveloped them tightly on both sides.

  The blinding headlight was racing toward them, now only seconds from a head-on collision. Langdon and Katherine grabbed hands and braced for impact, but suddenly their tram shifted smoothly to the left, while the oncoming tram shifted in the opposite direction, and the cars swooshed harmlessly past each other in a slightly wider section of tunnel. An instant later, their car shifted back to center, and the tunnel narrowed again to a single lane.

  Langdon exhaled, his heart still crashing in his chest. “It’s a passing loop,” he said, voice shaky. “Computer-timed.”

  Katherine let out a deep sigh of relief and gave his hand a tight squeeze.

  While the passing loop was an efficient way to avoid digging a two-lane tunnel, it had just brought Langdon closer to a near-death experience than he ever cared to be.

  The tram sped on another ten seconds and then began decelerating again, gliding to a comfortable stop at an identical station, a deserted metal platform devoid of any signage. Once they stepped off, the electronic hum disappeared, and the transport dropped an inch or two back into its dormant position.

  “A two-tram system,” Katherine said, “which means we can’t be sure that whoever entered before us…is already gone.”

  Langdon nodded. There’s always one car at either end.

  His best guess was that they were now somewhere beneath the northern edge of Folimanka Park, abutting the deepest reaches of the sprawling 1950s bomb shelter.

  Rather than an elevator door, this platform had an archway opening with no door. Langdon and Katherine stepped through and found their path blocked by an imposing security checkpoint—X-ray conveyer belt, body scanner, more biometrics, two guard desks—all of which were currently unmanned.

  This place will be a fortress when it’s up and running, Langdon realized as they sidestepped through the body scanner and exited the checkpoint into a main hallway.

  So far, Langdon had seen no signage anywhere to indicate this was a CIA facility. But as they arrived at a set of double glass doors, he saw a single word, in a small font, stenciled into the glass.

  Confirmation.

  Langdon reached for the doors, but they swung open automatically, the hallway beyond immediately illuminating. The light in this hall was more of a soft glow than the blazing spotlights they had seen prior. Two strips of muted floor lighting ran along the base of the corridor walls, stretching away from them in two parallel lines, reminiscent of an airport runway.

  The immaculate flooring was black terrazzo tile and resembled a strip of polished basalt. The walls here were silver metal, most likely a chrome veneer, and glistened in the baseboard lighting. The air carried the scent of fresh paint, concrete, and cleaning supplies.

  Walking briskly, Langdon and Katherine headed down the corridor, their footsteps echoing off the hard interior. After about twenty yards, they paused at an intersection where a secondary hallway branched off to their right. Tiled in a pale green, this hallway was completely dark, and Langdon could see only a few office doors before everything was black.

  A sign read: SUPPORT.

  Langdon’s gut told him that sorting through offices and files would be a waste of precious time. They needed hard evidence that showed what was going on in Threshold, and there was really only one way to do that.

  We need to find the heart of the facility.

  Conveniently, ahead of them on the black tile, Langdon saw a single word stenciled in bold letters: OPERATIONS.

  As they moved down the long, straight hallway, floor lighting ahead continued to come on automatically. They came to an alcove, which contained an oversized metal door that bore a familiar symbol.

  The caduceus? Langdon was surprised to find a medical symbol in a CIA facility, but there it was, prominently displayed. Iconographically, he knew this symbol was frequently misused, as it was here. The caduceus was actually the ancient symbol of Hermes, the Greek god of travel and commerce. The more accurate symbol would have been the Rod of Asclepius—the staff of the Greek god of healing—a similar icon with no wings and only a single snake, rather than the caduceus double snake. Embarrassingly, in 1902, the U.S. Army Medical Corps had mistakenly emblazoned the caduceus on their uniforms, and to this day the symbol was displayed in error by U.S. doctors and hospitals.

  Katherine walked over and opened the door.

  Langdon followed her through, into a suite of rooms that appeared to be a small hospital. A medical examination room was equipped with advanced diagnostic and imaging equipment. A narrow supply closet contained shelves stocked high with unopened medical supplies. A private room contained two beds surrounded by more medical gear than Langdon had seen even in an intensive care unit.

  Eerily, that room was marked RECOVERY.

  Recovery from what?

  As they pushed deeper into the suite, they came upon a small, ride-on forklift with a massive crate in its tongs. Katherine crouched down to read the labels on the crate. “NIRS,” she said. “Near-infrared spectroscopy. Advanced real-time imaging.”

  “In a medical facility?” Langdon associated NIRS with astronomy.

  “Neuroscientists use it to analyze brain activity by assessing oxygen saturation.” Katherine stood, a look of concern in her eyes. “I don’t understand…Why would the CIA build a secret hospital under Folimanka Park?”

  Langdon was wondering the same thing as he walked over to a set of swinging doors and cautiously pushed them open a crack. There was only darkness within. He pushed a bit farther, and the lights inside blazed to life.

  When he stepped through the doors, he found himself in a surgical scrub room. On the far wall, a plate-glass window offered a view of the adjoining chamber—a glistening white operating room. There, suspended ominously over a sleek surgical table, hung a device unlike anything Langdon had ever seen.

  “I don’t know what that machine is…” he whispered as Katherine arrived behind him. “But it looks terrifying.”

  CHAPTER 97

  The traffic on Evropská was at a crawl, and Finch estimated another thirty minutes before he reached the ambassador’s residence. He hoped Nagel was making Langdon and Solomon as comfortable as possible.

  Offer them an afternoon cocktail, Finch thought. Or two.

  Nagel had been an effective asset in Prague, and despite her bitterness over how she had been hired, she had carried out Finch’s directives effectively and flexed her diplomatic muscle when necessary. Granted, she had pushed back on his order to use Michael Harris to get close to Sasha Vesna.

  “Why monitor Sasha?” Nagel had asked him. “Do you think she’s spying?”

  “Sasha is not a spy,” Finch assured Nagel truthfully. “Nor is she dangerous.”

  Sasha Vesna is far more valuable than a spy.

  She is an investment…a work in progress…an unwitting CIA asset.

  “She needs to be watched…simply as a precaution,” he explained.

  She remains entirely unaware…

  Finch’s phone chirped with an incoming Signal call, which he guessed was Housemore with an update from the bastion. When he checked the caller ID, however, Finch sat up straight, seeing it was his boss on the line.

  “Greg,” he answered calmly, skipping the formalities generally due a CIA director. “This is a surprise.”

  “It won’t be a pleasant one,” Judd fired back, apparently in no mood for small talk. “It’s about Nagel. She knows you framed her for those documents.”

  “She’s known that for a long time. As have you.”

  “Be that as it may, I’m still appalled by the way you recruited her.”

  Appalled? Really? Finch had no patience for the man’s self-righteous commentary. The director had hired Finch to oversee Prague for one reason only—his track record of doing whatever was necessary to win a war, even if it meant circumventing policy.

  “I intentionally left you out of the loop, Greg—for your own protection,” Finch said. “To shield you from accountability.” You’re welcome.

  “I appreciate that, but Nagel deserved better.”

  “Better than an ambassadorship? She’s now a United States diplomat! And she’s served us incredibly well in Prague. Win-win.”

  “Maybe not the win you think. She’s threatening to go public with everything she knows about the project.”

  Finch was certain he had misheard. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “A threat to go public…That makes no sense.”

  “She’s incredibly pissed off. And she has demands.”

  “But…she knows nothing!”

  “She claims to have detailed proof. She sent some kind of video to me at Langley. I’m headed in shortly to see it.”

  “A video of what?!” Finch snapped. “Nagel is far too smart to cross the agency. I have no idea what she’s playing at…but she’s bluffing.”

  “I worked with her for years,” Judd said. “She was the goddamned general counsel of the CIA—Nagel does not bluff.”

  Finch felt his stomach tighten uncomfortably. Did the ambassador cross me?! “What are her demands?”

  “She hasn’t made any yet.”

  Finch wondered if that was true.

  “I’m speaking to her again shortly,” Judd said. “But if there are security concerns you need to deal with, do it immediately. I don’t need to remind you that it would be catastrophic if details of this project were to leak.”

  “I’m handling it personally. I’ve just arrived in Prag—” Finch winced, realizing he’d said too much.

  Judd paused carefully. “If you are in Prague, then clearly you already knew there was an issue brewing.”

  Among other things, Gessner is missing. “Yes, a few small wrinkles last night, but everything is under control. I’m on my way now to tie up loose ends.”

  “You damn well better. Don’t make me regret putting you in charge—this is one of the most important ventures this agency is running.”

  “You chose me, sir, because you know my capabilities.”

  “Yes…and on that topic,” the director said, “a word of warning. If anything happens to Heide Nagel, anything at all, I will be sure you pay. For everything.”

  “I’m not the enemy,” Finch said flippantly. “I’m on your side.”

  “Watch yourself,” Judd said. “You don’t want to test me.”

  The line clicked and went dead, and Finch sat in dazed silence as his vehicle raced toward Prague.

  Finally, fuming, he called Ambassador Nagel.

  The call went straight to voicemail without ringing once.

  Has she turned off her phone?

  Anxious, he dialed Housemore at Crucifix Bastion, and thankfully her line began to ring. After eight rings, however, it too went to voicemail as well. What’s going on? Field Officer Housemore answered Finch’s calls on the first ring, day or night…without fail. He tried her again. No answer.

  Finch pocketed his phone and gazed out at the skyline for a long moment, thinking.

  Then he made up his mind.

  “Change of plans,” he said to his driver. “Skip the residence. Take me to Crucifix Bastion.”

  CHAPTER 98

  The machine dominating the center of the subterranean operating room looked like a futuristic torture device. Mounted on the ceiling directly above a lone surgical bed, four articulated robotic arms with pincerlike fingers protruded from an organized tangle of cables and wires. The mechanized claws appeared poised to attack whoever was unfortunate enough to be lying on the slablike bed below.

  For Langdon, the most frightening feature of this contraption was not the robotic limbs but rather the bed’s restraint system. A dozen or so heavy Velcro straps hung off the bed, clearly designed to bind arms, legs, and chest to render the patient incapable of the slightest movement. And further, arching over one end of the bed was a semicircular band of metal from which five thin rods protruded at different angles—cranial immobilization screws. Langdon shuddered. He could not imagine the terror of being bound here, skull screwed in place, with this mechanical monster hovering over one’s face.

  Claustrophobia on steroids.

  “Unbelievable…they have a robotic-assisted brain surgeon,” Katherine said. “You probably remember the first one invented was called the da Vinci.”

  Langdon vaguely recalled the news stories.

  Katherine walked over to the skull clamp and examined the long screws radiating outward. “These remind me of my nightmare.”

  A spiked halo, Langdon thought, seeing the object in a new light.

  “Control room is over here,” Katherine said, walking over to a plate-glass window and peering through.

  Langdon joined her and could see three ergometric chairs facing a series of flat-panel monitors equipped with LCD awnings for stereoscopic 3D viewing. They were accompanied by a perfectly aligned array of gleaming stainless-steel input devices—mouse, rollerball, e-stylus, editing shuttle, console, and joysticks. A tray marked HOLOGRAPHIC KINETICS contained a pair of mesh gloves.

  “Amazing,” Katherine said. “I knew robotic surgery was progressing, but this device looks years beyond anything I’ve ever even heard about.”

  Langdon wondered if maybe Gessner had designed it. Another lucrative patent. “So this is how she implants her epilepsy chips?”

  “Heavens, no,” Katherine said. “Placing an RLS chip is rudimentary—technically not even brain surgery. It’s just placed in a thumb-sized hollow in the skull; there’s no actual contact with the brain.” She walked back to scrutinize the device mounted on the ceiling again, examining it from several angles. “No…this is a different universe. This is for deep brain work—removing complex tumors, cauterizing aneurysms, or…perhaps for extracting specialized delicate tissue samples for analysis.” Katherine turned to him. “You said Sasha Vesna had scars on her skull. Substantial ones?”