It’s official, Katherine thought as she finished her preparations and got out of the tub. I’m in love.

  She suspected maybe she’d loved Langdon all along, and finally their timing was right. It didn’t matter. Either way, they were here now. Together. Savor these moments.

  After drying off, she reached beneath the sink and pulled out the handsomely wrapped package that she had hidden there earlier. It contained the most elegant piece of lingerie Katherine had ever purchased. Simone Pérèle macchiato silk. She hoped Robert liked the sophisticated one-piece from their Dream Collection.

  After letting her hair down, Katherine dropped her towel and slipped into the near-weightless lingerie. The silk felt luxurious against her warm skin, falling perfectly over her body. Forgoing her usual Balade Sauvage, she pulled out the tiny spritzer sampler of Mojave Ghost that had come with the lingerie. She sprayed a cloud of mist into the air and walked through it, her senses aroused by the notes of Chantilly musk and powdery violet.

  After checking herself one last time in the mirror, she opened the door to the bedroom, pleased to see that Langdon had already turned off the lights. Perfect, she thought, knowing her sheer lingerie was now backlit, leaving her lithe silhouette on full display. Smiling coyly, she struck a seductive pose in the doorframe awaiting Langdon’s reaction.

  But the only response she heard was the soft, rhythmic cadence of his gentle snoring.

  CHAPTER 128

  In a modest apartment in the Dejvice district, Dana Daněk sat alone on her couch watching television news. The U.S. military had now taken full responsibility for the Folimanka explosion, which had been caused apparently by a vast store of natural gas that the engineers had brought in to heat and cure the fresh concrete they were pouring. According to numerous outside construction specialists, this technique was very common, especially in damp underground spaces in winter, and this was not the first such accident.

  Even so, political pundits were starting to question the story. Nonetheless, whatever had caused the blast, the U.S. military was already sealing the area and preparing for a massive cleanup operation.

  “Ms. Daněk?” a man called from the hallway after knocking on her door. “It’s Sergeant Kerble.”

  Surprised, she walked over and looked through her peephole. Sure enough, it was the ambassador’s lead security detail. Am I in trouble? No Marine security guard had ever visited her home. Dana was wearing a sweatshirt, glasses, and no makeup, and she wondered if Sergeant Kerble would even recognize her.

  When she opened the door, the baby-faced Marine was standing a polite distance away. “Ms. Daněk,” he said, “I’m sorry to bother you at home. The ambassador asked me to convey once again her deep personal sadness over the passing of Attaché Harris. The entire embassy is shaken, of course, but Madam Ambassador said you two were very good friends.”

  “Thank you, Scott.”

  “I also should mention that the ambassador’s arrest was a misunderstanding, and she has been released with a full apology.”

  “She may regret it,” Dana said, motioning to the television behind her. “She’s going to have her hands full with this. Your government is already taking heat.”

  “Yes, this entire situation is a bit…”

  “Fucked?” Dana offered.

  Kerble smiled. “I was going to say ‘politically nuanced.’ ”

  “Then you should take over my post in PR.”

  “Actually,” he said, “that’s why I’m here. The ambassador very much hopes you’ll come back and work PR on this crisis.”

  Dana laughed out loud. “Scott, do you know what happened to me today?! A woman pointed a gun in my face, my boyfriend was strangled to death, the U.S. ambassador was arrested in front of me, I was escorted off embassy grounds, and Folimanka Park exploded! Am I missing anything?!”

  Kerble sighed. “I’m sorry, Dana, I admit today has been…”

  “Politically nuanced?”

  “I was going to say ‘fucked.’ ”

  Dana managed a smile. “So what the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t have all the facts. You should ask the ambassador tomorrow when you return to work.”

  “That’s your pitch?”

  “I’ve never been a good salesman. Would you please just think about it?”

  “I will. Have a good night.”

  Dana began to close the door, but Kerble stepped closer. “Actually, I was wondering if I might have a look in that cardboard box.” He pointed past her into the living room at her box of personal items from her office. “I think there may be a diplomatic pouch in there that belongs to the ambassador. I’m afraid I may have dropped it in your box by mistake. May I come in?”

  Dana had endured more than her fair share of lousy pickup schemes, and had she not held Sergeant Kerble in such high regard, she would have guessed this was another. Still, she motioned for him to wait in the doorway. “I’ll look for you.”

  Dana walked over and dug through the box, astonished to encounter a sealed diplomatic pouch addressed to Ambassador Heide Nagel. The pouch had a sticky note affixed:

  D— Tell no one about this. Someone will contact you.

  Dana spun to him in shock. “What the hell is this?! And what’s it doing in my box?!”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied. “I put it there. And now I need it back.”

  At the U.S. embassy, Heide Nagel sat alone in her office and stared into her now-empty tumbler of Becherovka. She seldom drank hard liquor, and never two cocktails in one day.

  If not today, when?

  She and the director had arrived at an agreement—a détente of sorts—but even so, Nagel was not about to relinquish her leverage and trust him blindly. I still have the USB of the video.

  Kerble had gone to recover it from Dana, and from the sound of footsteps now climbing her marble stairs, Kerble had returned…except the face that appeared in the doorway was not his. It belonged to one of the embassy’s newer Marine guards.

  “Ma’am?” the young man said, looking uneasy. “I’m sorry, but we have a situation at the front door that requires your attention.”

  “No more situations today,” she said. “Please just have your team handle it.”

  “We’re not officially qualified, ma’am. It’s a diplomatic matter.”

  Nagel’s head felt foggy. A diplomatic matter…at the front door?

  The young man entered, holding out a slip of paper. “This is for you.”

  Nagel took the paper and eyed the two handwritten words.

  САША ВЕСНА

  “I don’t know what this is,” she said, annoyed. “I don’t speak Russian.”

  The Marine looked puzzled. “She assured me you would know who she is.”

  “I’m sorry, who?”

  “The Russian at the front door. She asked to speak to Michael Harris.”

  A Russian looking for Michael? Here? Now?

  “I asked her to write down her name.” The Marine motioned to the slip of paper. “I believe it’s pronounced ‘Sasha Vesna.’ ”

  CHAPTER 129

  As he drove away from Dana’s apartment, Sergeant Kerble felt drained. He switched on the car radio and cranked the volume to help him stay alert. The diplomatic pouch sat on the seat beside him, and as ordered, he would deliver it to the ambassador at once.

  Halfway around the massive rotary in Vítězné Square, Kerble felt the phone in his pocket begin to vibrate. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID—a U.S. embassy extension.

  “Kerble,” he answered, turning down the radio.

  “Thank God you answered!” The woman’s voice was familiar but sounded uncharacteristically frantic.

  “Madam Ambassador?” Kerble was instantly on high alert. “Is everything—”

  “Where are you right now?!” she interrupted.

  The ambassador’s abruptness was unusual, and Kerble had the odd sense she’d been drinking, which was also out of character. “I’m just leaving Dejvice,” he said. “I have the item you requested, and I’m headed—”

  “I need you to do something else. Right away.”

  As the ambassador explained, Kerble’s instinct told him something about this situation was seriously wrong. “Ma’am, I’m having trouble hearing you,” he lied, implementing their agreed-upon security protocol. “Are you in town? Running errands?”

  “For Christ’s sake, Scott!” she snapped. “You know I don’t run errands! Just do what I asked!”

  Ambassador Nagel’s heart was pounding as she descended the marble staircase into the embassy’s elegant foyer. The anteroom that separated the embassy from the street was always manned by a Marine guard, but tonight, as Nagel had requested moments earlier, there were three muscular Marines positioned in the foyer. The young corporal in charge looked relieved to see her approaching.

  The guards were standing with a new arrival—a blond woman in jeans, a parka, and sneakers. Her shoulder-length hair was wet and disheveled, and her posture was slumped, as if she was profoundly weary, or perhaps even injured.

  Nagel recognized the woman at once, having seen her in photos.

  Sasha Vesna…and she looks like she’s been through a war.

  The Russian woman’s presence here—bedraggled but alive—came as a sobering shock. Seeing her, Nagel felt momentarily disoriented, especially considering what she knew about Sasha’s complex personality. If Langdon and Solomon were correct about the woman’s dissociative identity disorder, then the first thing Nagel had to do—as bizarre as it seemed to her—was to discern which Sasha had just shown up at the embassy.

  “Ms. Vesna,” the ambassador said politely, keeping her distance. “I am Ambassador Nagel. I was informed you are looking for Michael Harris?”

  “Yes,” the woman said, her voice frail with a thick Russian accent. “Michael is my friend. He said if I was in trouble, I should come see him here.” The young woman was shivering in the cold, and her voice faltered. “And…I think I’m in trouble.”

  You think you’re in trouble?! Nagel wanted to shout. You killed Michael Harris and blew up a top secret government installation! When the ambassador spoke, however, her tone was calm. “I’m afraid Michael is not here right now.” And I think you know that already. Don’t you?

  “Will he be back soon?” Sasha asked. “Michael said I could come unannounced if I ever felt I was in danger.”

  “Are you in danger?” Nagel asked.

  “Yes, I…think so,” she said, on the verge of tears.

  “From whom?”

  “I don’t know!” she said, tears flowing freely now. “I don’t know what happened to me! I’m confused and I don’t remember…I just know I need a safe place to be!”

  “So are you requesting asylum?” the ambassador asked.

  “I don’t know what that is,” she said, taking a step toward Nagel. “I just need—”

  “Sasha, stop!” Nagel bellowed as two Marines stepped between them, causing Sasha to halt immediately in her tracks. She looked genuinely terrified that she’d done something wrong.

  “Ms. Vesna,” Nagel said, regaining her calm. “I want to help you, but first I need you to listen to me very carefully. It’s extremely important.”

  Sasha nodded.

  “This embassy is considered U.S. soil, and when a non–U.S. citizen requests safe harbor on U.S. soil, we call that ‘a petition for asylum.’ All asylum petitions require an immediate assessment interview by a ranking consular officer. That would be me.”

  Sasha nodded her understanding.

  “The rules for these interviews,” Nagel continued, “are very strict. Standardized protocol under the Asylum Adjudication Framework necessitates a procedural mandate we term ‘controlled restraint.’ ”

  The Marine standing closest to Sasha eyed Nagel askance, which was not surprising considering the ambassador was making this up as she went.

  “You are not in trouble, Ms. Vesna, despite it perhaps feeling that way. Controlled restraint is an essential part of our asylum protocol. It is a precautionary measure and ensures a secure environment for both you and the embassy staff mem—”

  “I understand,” Sasha said, extending her hands and offering her wrists. “It’s okay if you restrain me.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Nagel said, surprised by Sasha’s instant compliance. “My team will now restrain you per our protocols. You will be placed in a safe, locked conference room, where you will be given food, water, access to restroom facilities, and medical attention should you require it.”

  The Marine guards hesitated just long enough to see Nagel staring daggers, and the lead corporal sprang into action. Within seconds, he had affixed a set of standard-issue flex cuffs to Sasha’s outstretched wrists and, together with the other guards, guided her through the security divider.

  Nagel gave them a wide berth, glancing at her watch. It was 8:30 p.m. “I will join you as soon as I’m able, Ms. Vesna, but it may take some time. In the meanwhile, my staff will ensure you are warm and fed.”

  Sasha had tears in her eyes as she passed by. “Thank you for your kindness,” she managed to whisper.

  As Nagel gathered herself and headed back upstairs, she realized she had some very big unanticipated decisions to make.

  And fast.

  CHAPTER 130

  The Manhattan sidewalk glistened beneath Faukman’s feet as he made his way up Broadway. The afternoon rain had finally passed, and it was time to go home.

  His call with Prague had been brief, as Langdon was hesitant to say much on the phone. He offered assurances that he and Katherine were safe and also alerted Faukman that they were considering a stop in New York on their way home so they could all debrief face-to-face about everything that had transpired with the manuscript.

  Not much to discuss, the editor lamented. Even if Katherine could wrap her head around rewriting her entire book, the CIA would almost certainly have something to say about it. For Faukman, losing this book was a considerable professional blow, and yet he took solace in knowing Robert and Katherine were safe.

  As he neared Columbus Circle, Faukman smelled the earthy scent of dark roast coffee, and he slipped into the city’s busiest Starbucks. If ever there were a day that warranted an extra dose of caffeine for the walk home, it was today.

  With apologies to Robert, he mused as he placed his order.

  The Harvard professor had long boycotted Starbucks for what he proclaimed to be their “egregious misuse of a classical symbol.”

  Faukman chuckled as he eyed the familiar logo emblazoned on every coffee cup in the establishment.

  “The Starbucks mermaid,” Langdon had railed, “has two tails! That means she’s not a mermaid at all, but rather a siren—an evil seductress who lures sailors to follow her blindly toward shipwreck and ultimately toward death! I can’t trust a corporation that neglected to conduct any iconographic research before adorning Frappuccinos with a deadly sea monster…”

  Leave it to a symbologist to ruin a good cup of coffee, Faukman thought, feeling no guilt as he took his first heavenly sip of the creamiest flat white in the city. Then, turning up the collar of his vintage gray peacoat, he stepped back outside and headed home.

  CHAPTER 131

  Hovering in darkness, Robert Langdon floated high above Prague. He gazed down at Charles Bridge far below him, the gas lanterns glimmering like strings of pearls that stretched across the black river. Weightless and detached, Langdon drifted downstream, crossing over the waterfall, feeling no emotion except a vague annoyance at a distant pounding noise. As the pounding grew louder, gravity suddenly seized him, and Langdon felt himself being dragged downward in a panicked free fall…accelerating toward the frigid river…until he shattered its mirrored surface.

  Jolting awake, Langdon sat up in bed, surprised that he had not realized he was dreaming. It was a baffling paradox to him—the human mind’s ability to find itself in an obviously impossible situation and yet accept the situation as fact, ignore every incongruity, and never suspect it was not really happening.

  Alert now from the adrenaline of the dream, Langdon scanned the darkened hotel room. All was silent except for Katherine’s soft breathing beside him. The scent of her exotic perfume hung in the air, and Langdon could still feel the luxuriously smooth texture of whatever she had been wearing when she sat on the edge of the bed and whispered, “So sorry to wake you, Professor…”

  Langdon could still feel the afterglow.

  Dr. Solomon, please feel free to wake me like that anytime.

  He slipped quietly out of bed, put on a bathrobe, and walked into the suite’s living room. To his dismay, the grandfather clock showed just past 9 p.m.

  I’ve barely slept at all.

  He gazed out the bay window, realizing his bizarre dream was not all that surprising. His brain was probably still trying to sort through the trauma of his frantic leap from this very window into the frigid water. Dreams had always fascinated Langdon, and he’d been shocked today when Katherine claimed to have discovered what caused them.

  Incredibly, her experiments had revealed that a dreaming brain was similar to a dying brain. In both instances, GABA levels plummeted, thus lowering the brain’s filters, opening the door to wider bandwidths of information. The influx of unfiltered data was the reason dreams manifested as such illogical jumbles of images and ideas. Furthermore, it explained why, within seconds after waking, even the most vivid dreams began to fade despite our desperate attempts to remember them. The brain reset, GABA levels increased, and filters reengaged…purging the information and once again regulating our perception of reality.

  Dying felt a lot like dreaming, she had explained, describing how in dreams we often perceived ourselves as weightless, massless beings, with the ability to move through obstacles, fly through the air, or shift locations—in essence, we became a consciousness without a physical form. The bardo body, Langdon thought, recalling its description from The Tibetan Book of the Dead. In many cultures, the dream body was held sacred for its perceived ability to pass back and forth between the realms of life and death.