This facility-wide alarm sequence confirmed for Mr. Finch two inescapable realities. First, his attacker’s final words had been true. I closed your helium valves…and sealed your vent. And second, Threshold and everything in it were about to be destroyed.

  The SMES is overheating.

  Installing the superconducting magnetic energy storage system had been Finch’s brainchild—a way to discreetly disguise Threshold’s energy consumption spikes during operations that would require vast amounts of power. Rather than drawing the attention of local utilities, Threshold pulled inconspicuous amounts of low power from the grid around the clock, building it up in the superconducting coils for use whenever they needed it.

  Constant, uninterruptable power.

  It was technology that was extremely stable and safe. That was, unless someone decided to weaponize it, which held true for most technologies.

  There are no fail-safes for espionage.

  Finch now understood he was going to die, and he forced himself to accept that fact with the same detached coolness he had called upon to handle every decision and crossroads in his life. Having now realized the true identity of his killer, he felt like he was trapped in some kind of classical myth. A monster returns to destroy its creator. The irony of Prague’s historical golem was not lost on him.

  As Finch pictured the SMES downstairs, he knew it was only a matter of seconds. What was about to happen would be cataclysmic.

  A pressure bomb…detonated deep underground.

  The last sound Finch perceived before his eardrums imploded was the isolated crackle and shattering of the pod’s lid above him. As his point of view accelerated upward toward the domed ceiling, he was uncertain whether his spirit was rocketing from his body, or if the entire dome floor was rushing skyward. Either way, he felt no pain…only a vague detachment as his physical body was torn to pieces by the howling white wind.

  The concussion wave erupted from its subterranean prison with unfathomable force. In less than a tenth of a second, it tore through the floor of the domed chamber and spread laterally through the lower level of Threshold, leveling the quantum computing lab before exploding upward into the RTD lab, medical center, and surgery space, obliterating them all. The billowing cloud of gas, still expanding, pushed out in all directions, seeking the path of least resistance.

  An instant later, that path was found.

  It took a lot to rattle a U.S. Marine.

  Even so, Sergeant Scott Kerble felt as off-balance as he’d felt in his entire career. The spectacle unfolding before him was unlike anything he had ever witnessed or even imagined possible.

  Having located the ambassador’s SUV parked discreetly among some trees on the access road to Crucifix Bastion, Kerble had been standing on the ridgeline, puzzling over the situation, when he felt the ground shudder violently beneath his feet.

  Earthquake had been his first instinct, but the trembling was just a single jolt, accompanied by a deep roar within the earth. As Kerble glanced down at the snowy expanse of Folimanka Park far below him, he realized he was witnessing something else entirely.

  In slow motion, the center of the park seemed to be rising up, straining skyward in a vast, bulbous mound, as if a colossal subterranean beast were trying to break free. The snow was shedding down the sides of the hill as the ground continued climbing higher. Then, with a thunderous crack, a violent geyser of white gas rocketed through the surface of the earth, projecting hundreds of feet into the air.

  Stupefied, Kerble staggered backward as the pillar of vapor climbed into the sky over the park. The deafening howl from below lasted only seconds before subsiding…followed by the impact of the mountain of earth collapsing back on itself.

  He inched forward in disbelief and surveyed the devastation. A deep crater had opened where the center of Folimanka Park had once been. The gaping hole contained a twisted heap of rubble and rising dust.

  A moment later, a deathly cold wafted up from the park.

  And then, as if by magic, the air around him crystallized and filled with snowflakes as fine as confectioners’ sugar.

  CHAPTER 117

  Seconds before the blast, with sirens at full volume, Langdon and Katherine had shouted for help as the fortified garage door slid closed and sealed them inside. Desperate to be heard, Langdon yanked open the driver’s door of a nearby sedan and began honking the horn, but even that was barely audible over the noise.

  It didn’t matter anymore. Langdon now felt a palpable shift in the air…a sudden pressure in his ears, accompanied by the first wave of a deep, guttural howl.

  Whatever was happening at Threshold…was happening now. Langdon hoped this garage was far enough away from the core of the facility to avoid the blast.

  “Get in front!” Katherine shouted as she pulled open the sedan’s back door and climbed in. Langdon jumped in behind the steering wheel, both of them slamming their doors in unison. “Get down and buckle your—”

  The car windows exploded, and a torrent of frigid wind whipped through the car. With the force of a passing high-speed train, a hurricane tore through the garage, extinguishing all light and lifting the sedan like a toy. In an instant, they were upside down in the darkness, their car tumbling side over side across the garage floor.

  “Katherine!” Langdon shouted into the deafening storm, holding on to the steering wheel and trying to brace himself as best he could as the car rolled sidelong. A barrel roll in a fighter jet was said to be the least jarring of maneuvers because the centripetal force held you in your seat. Langdon now realized it was true…at least for a couple of moments.

  Then came the impact.

  The sedan collided with something immovable and jolted to an abrupt halt.

  Langdon launched from his seat and crash-landed on his chest…somewhere. Dazed and in total darkness, he felt startlingly cold. His brain took a quick inventory of his body, gauging the pain merely as cuts and bruises rather than torn limbs. The fury of the explosion had subsided as quickly as it came. The warning sirens had fallen silent too.

  Langdon’s ears were ringing, and with no light, he felt entirely disoriented. A biting cold had descended around them, although Langdon sensed he was still inside the car.

  “Katherine?” Langdon ventured.

  The voice that replied was weak but very close. “Here.”

  Langdon felt a wave of relief. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m not…sure,” she managed. “You’re…crushing me.”

  Langdon now realized he was lying directly on top of her. Carefully, he shifted his weight to one side, rolling off her. His shoulder landed painfully on pieces of broken safety glass, and he shifted again, finding a clean area on which to support himself. As he got his bearings, he realized the car in which they had taken refuge was upside down, and they were now lying against its roof.

  Wriggling forward, Langdon felt his way through the darkness until his hands found the frame of a shattered window. The opening felt too small for him to pass through, and he continued groping his way around the interior of the car until he located a larger opening—the windshield or rear window. Grasping one side, he heaved himself forward, slithering through the opening onto the hard floor of the garage.

  The floor was slippery and cold with a layer of what felt like frost. On hands and knees, Langdon turned around and reached back through the opening.

  “Katherine, over here,” he said as calmly as he could, anxious to know whether she was injured. “Can you find my hand? Are you hurt?”

  He could hear her movement in the darkness, and he kept speaking to her, guiding her in his direction. Finally, their hands touched. Katherine’s fingers were cold, her hands trembling in shock. Gently, he eased her toward him, helping her out of the car. She immediately got to her feet and wrapped her arms around him, holding tight.

  As they embraced, Langdon felt a sense of déjà vu—holding her once again in cold darkness, a feeling of overwhelming relief to know she was safe.

  “My bag…” she whispered. “I lost it…the binder…”

  “Forget it,” he said, holding her tighter. We’re alive. That’s all that matters.

  Langdon had no idea what had just happened or how extensive the damage was, but he suspected the U.S. government would be answering myriad questions in the coming days. With luck, he and Katherine might now be the least of the CIA’s concerns.

  Finch is most likely gone, Langdon thought, feeling little sorrow for the loss. The pang of sadness and guilt that Langdon felt was for the other lost soul—the man in the golem’s mask of clay—the creature who had literally risen out of the earth to save their lives.

  Finch had demanded the intruder’s identity, and the creature had calmly replied: You have betrayed Sasha’s trust…I am her protector.

  Langdon thought about Sasha Vesna, wondering where she was, and even whether she was still alive somewhere in this city. He had decided that if he and Katherine got out of here in one piece, they would find Sasha and help her. Not only did Sasha deserve and need it, but Langdon and Katherine owed a debt of gratitude to the man who had just saved their lives. Sasha’s protector, he had called himself. If he is gone, helping Sasha is our moral imperative.

  “Look,” Katherine whispered, placing her hand on his shoulder and turning him in the darkness. “Over there.”

  Langdon squinted into blackness, seeing nothing. “Where?”

  “Straight ahead,” she said, turning him slightly to the right.

  Now he saw it.

  In the distance, barely visible through the haze of settling dust, a faint sliver of daylight glimmered in the blackness.

  On any normal day, an earthquake rattling Prague would have been high on the list of concerns for Ambassador Nagel. At the moment, however, the tremor she had just felt seemed trivial in comparison to her conversation with CIA Director Judd.

  “Remove her handcuffs,” the director had ordered the Marine guards as soon as the connection had been established. “Stand post outside the room. Nobody in or out.”

  The guards obeyed, and once Nagel was uncuffed and alone, Judd had lowered his voice and said, “Finch is a loose cannon. Consider this protective custody.”

  With no further explanation, the CIA director had launched into a monologue, attempting to justify everything Nagel had heard in Gessner’s horrifying confession. Now, having made his argument, Judd leaned forward toward the camera, his expression both pleading and deadly serious.

  “We’re in an arms race, Heide,” he said, “and our adversaries are growing more powerful and aggressive every day. The plans being formulated against the U.S. are very real and potentially catastrophic, and we need to know about them before they happen. Threshold represents the advantage our intelligence community requires to help our country survive the coming storm. If we fail to take an inside track in the technology of the human mind, someone else will…and rather than being the watchers, we will be the watched.”

  The age-old argument, Nagel thought. Someone is going to do it, so it had better be us.

  The most dangerous and ethically questionable scientific endeavor in history—building an atomic bomb—had been launched on a similar justification. And outside of ethical or political argument, it was true that the United States’ being first to have the bomb had ended a devastating war and cemented the U.S. as a superpower for the next half century…a persuasive example of the ends justifying the means. But this was a different landscape.

  Nagel could not begin to imagine how this video would play on the world stage. Not only did it reveal the existence of a shocking classified technology, but it lifted the veil on an appalling and unforgivable truth; the CIA performed testing on kidnapped Russian psychiatric patients, one of whom, Dmitri Sysevich, had apparently perished in the program. The CIA would be crucified top down…starting with the director.

  “As you probably guessed,” Judd said, “In-Q-Tel was not involved with Threshold in any way. I placed Finch in their London office as credible cover and for operational support, but he clearly overstepped.” The director looked regretful. “I should never have granted him so much power.”

  A loud knock on the door drew Nagel’s attention, and one of the embassy guards stuck his head in.

  “Madam Ambassador?” he said, looking shaken. “I apologize for the interruption. We have an emergency call for you.”

  I’m already on one! she wanted to yell. “Who is it?”

  “Sergeant Kerble,” the Marine said. “He says there’s been a massive underground explosion in Folimanka Park.”

  CHAPTER 118

  Three hundred meters from the epicenter of devastation, the subterranean tram tunnel back to Crucifix Bastion had survived more or less intact, despite no longer having power or lights. The small platform outside the entrance to Threshold was strewn with debris and dust.

  Lying at the bottom of the concrete channel that housed the rails, a figure stirred.

  In total darkness, The Golěm slowly rose to his knees, knowing he was lucky to be alive. His flight from Threshold had not gone as planned, and he had barely reached the tram before the blast had hurled him down into the concrete channel.

  The question now was whether The Golěm would be able to exit this underground tomb. The route behind him was undoubtedly destroyed and blocked by rubble. The way forward, through the long, pitch-black tunnel, could easily have collapsed from the pressure wave, and there was no way to know if the elevator shaft leading to Crucifix Bastion was still intact. Despite his profound exhaustion, The Golěm knew he could not afford to perish down here.

  I must escape so I can release Sasha.

  Fueled by this knowledge, The Golěm located the side of the channel, placed a hand on it, and then forced himself onward into the blackness. Dragging his hand along the wall for guidance, he fell into a steady rhythm, his platform boots crunching on the uneven surface that was littered with occasional blast debris, his legs feeling heavier with every step.

  A guardian angel cannot sleep.

  Shaken and bruised, Langdon and Katherine inched through the murky garage, navigating the shattered edges of demolished vehicles and fallen concrete, moving toward the lone source of illumination—a sliver of daylight that grew brighter as the dust continued to settle.

  When they finally reached the light, Langdon could see the garage’s massive sliding door had been knocked from its track. The bottom of the panel was bent outward, creating a low, narrow gap. Langdon crouched down and peered through, able to see a few feet of the inclined driveway beyond.

  Unsure what they would find on the other side, Langdon went first, lying on his side and shimmying into the gap. Inch by inch, he pulled himself headfirst through the opening. The breach was tighter than imagined, and halfway through he felt another wave of claustrophobia grip him. Desperately, he bucked his body until his hips finally cleared, enabling him to roll onto his hands and knees and scramble out into the open air.

  The relief he felt to be free, however, was quickly dampened by the two black-clad soldiers standing over him with assault rifles aimed at his chest.

  That went well.

  Before Langdon could warn Katherine, she was already slithering through the opening, pulling her slender frame out onto the driveway with much less difficulty. As she looked up, the second soldier shifted his aim to her.

  “Identification!” he shouted. “Now!”

  Langdon squinted at his surroundings, seeing precisely what he feared—the heavily guarded construction entrance they had seen earlier, enclosed within the triangle of fencing.

  “Identification!” the soldier repeated, stepping closer. “I’ll give you precisely—”

  “STAND DOWN, SOLDIER!” an authoritative American voice shouted from the top of the driveway. An imposing U.S. Marine in full dress blues came striding down the incline. “THOSE TWO ARE WITH ME!”

  The startled guards took a step back from Langdon and Katherine to engage with the Marine, who apparently outranked them. Their conversation was brief, and the two soldiers, clearly displeased at having been overruled, retreated back up the incline.

  Langdon appreciated no longer having guns aimed at him, but he now feared he and Katherine might have fallen into an even more serious situation.

  Who is this Marine? CIA? One of Finch’s cronies?

  As the soldiers departed, the Marine’s stern demeanor softened, his affable expression now out of synch with his rigid attire. “Mr. Langdon…Ms. Solomon,” he said as he helped them to their feet. “I’m Scott Kerble. I work for Ambassador Nagel.”

  Langdon hoped he was telling the truth. “We need to see her right away.”

  The Marine was about to respond when one of the army guards came back down the incline, took a snapshot of all three of them together, and then marched back up, placing a call as he went.

  Kerble cursed under his breath. “I’ve got to get you out of here right away.”

  “To the embassy?” Langdon asked.

  “We can talk about that in the car,” he said, starting up the incline. “Follow me.”

  Talk about it? The comment made Langdon doubly wary. “Actually, before we go anywhere, we’d like to speak to Ambassador Nagel.”

  “I agree,” Katherine said. “If we—”

  “Both of you, listen,” the Marine snapped, spinning back to them and standing close, his affable demeanor vanishing. “The ambassador has been detained on orders from the CIA director himself. And I’m fairly certain you two are next on his list.”

  CHAPTER 119

  Behind the wheel of the embassy sedan, Scott Kerble sped northward along the river, racing back the way he had come. In the opposite direction, a line of rescue vehicles streaked toward Folimanka Park.