“Harris!” Janáček’s voice boomed from within. “Čekám!”

  “Už jdeme!” Harris yelled back in what sounded like perfect Czech and then gave Langdon a reassuring look. “Shall we?”

  They found Janáček seated in front of the fire, calmly puffing on a local Petra cigarette, tipping his head back and blowing smoke up into the air.

  So much for our nonsmoking suite.

  “Everyone sit,” Janáček commanded, tapping his cigarette into a potted plant on the floor. “Professor, before we get started, I would like your phone.” He held out a spindly hand.

  “No, Captain,” Harris intervened. “You have no legal—”

  “My phone’s gone,” Langdon said. “I lost it in the river.”

  “Of course you did,” Janáček grunted, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “How convenient for you. Sit.”

  Langdon and Harris took seats facing Janáček.

  “Professor,” the captain began, “while you were getting dressed, you questioned my handling of this situation. You told me you were shocked that I did not evacuate the hotel as soon as we found the bomb.”

  “I was surprised, but I wasn’t questioning your—”

  “Mr. Harris?” Janáček prompted, turning to the attaché and taking another pull on his cigarette. “Perhaps you could enlighten our professor?”

  “Of course,” Harris said calmly. “That’s a reasonable question, and while I cannot speak directly to Captain Janáček’s procedural methods, I can certainly confirm that his actions do match general counterterrorism strategy. Widely publicized attacks, even failed attacks, only embolden terrorists. The correct response, when possible, is to defuse the threat, pretend it never happened, and deny the terrorists any publicity whatsoever.”

  “Okay.” Langdon wondered how many terrorist attacks were thwarted every day without the public’s knowledge.

  Janáček leaned toward Langdon, elbows on knees. “Any other questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good, then let us move to my question…because I have only one. And it is one that, so far, you have refused to answer.” Janáček took another pull on his cigarette and drew out his question as if talking to a child. “Professor…how did you know about the bomb?”

  “I didn’t know,” Langdon replied. “I just—”

  “You pulled the alarm!” Janáček exploded. “You knew something! And Professor, please don’t say again, ‘It’s complicated.’ I appreciate that you are a famous scholar, but I too am a smart man. I believe I am capable of understanding your complications.”

  “Mr. Langdon,” Harris said calmly. “This is your moment; just tell the truth.”

  Langdon took a deep breath and hoped that John the Evangelist had been correct when he promised “the truth will set you free.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Editor Jonas Faukman clicked his computer mouse repeatedly, willing his terminal to boot up faster. Only two people on earth were supposed to have access to Katherine Solomon’s private SVW—Katherine herself and, as of this afternoon, Faukman.

  How could someone on the outside have gained access?!

  Faukman felt physically ill imagining what might have been compromised—all of Katherine’s scientific research, her notes, and, most importantly, the manuscript itself. Hurry up! he urged, waiting for his machine to power on.

  Behind him, the young data technician was peering over Faukman’s shoulder, fretfully humming to himself, which did little to calm Faukman’s nerves. When the computer finally came to life, Faukman navigated to the proper folder and clicked on the alias for the server partition named “SUM”: Solomon—Untitled Manuscript.

  Faukman had written Katherine’s access code on a file card and stored it safely in a drawer, but before he could move to retrieve it, the computer made an unfamiliar sound—three staccato beeps. Faukman turned back to the screen, expecting to see Katherine’s log-in window, but instead he was looking at a bright red error message.

  PARTITION NOT FOUND.

  “What the…?” Faukman clicked again on the SUM icon. There were three short beeps and the same error message. Partition not found? Faukman spun to Alex. “The entire partition is…gone?!” The partition had been there this afternoon when Faukman tested Katherine’s password. Where did it go?!

  Wide-eyed, the tech knelt down beside Faukman and commandeered his keyboard and mouse. Faukman held his breath as the tech worked, fingers flying. Attempt after attempt, the tech got the same result. Three loud beeps.

  PARTITION NOT FOUND.

  “Don’t panic,” the kid said, sounding utterly panicked. “This just means that in an effort to cover their tracks, they purged the partition.”

  “Purged?”

  “Yes, sir, it means deleted. Your data—”

  “Thanks, I’m familiar with the definition of ‘purged.’ Are you saying someone deleted all the research and manuscript drafts associated with this title?”

  “Yes, sir. Purging is a common post-hack protocol. It makes tracking the hackers more difficult.” He began typing again. “But don’t worry, Mr. Faukman, we have redundant systems, and all your data will still exist on PRH’s off-site backup. It’s located in our distribution warehouse in Maryland. I’m logging in now to recover it.”

  Alex’s fingertips were a blur. “We just have to access the remote partition and migrate—”

  The computer pinged three short beeps again. A familiar dialogue box flashed on the screen.

  PARTITION NOT FOUND.

  The tech’s eyes went wider as he tried the redundant server again.

  PARTITION NOT FOUND.

  “Oh…no,” the kid said.

  Faukman felt suddenly weak. Katherine’s partition is deleted from both servers?! Along with her manuscript and notes?

  Alex Conan jumped up and headed for the door. “I need to get to my terminal, sir. I’ve never seen anything like this before—it’s a serious breach.”

  No shit!

  Faukman sat numbly at his chair as the kid’s footsteps receded down the empty hallway. “I need those files, Alex!” he called after him. “My author entrusted me with a year’s worth of her work!”

  Throughout the night in London, Mr. Finch had been monitoring a changing landscape.

  First had been Brigita Gessner. The neuroscientist had sent Finch a deeply troubling message about Katherine Solomon’s manuscript and then had seemingly evaporated. Total radio silence.

  Second had been Katherine Solomon herself. Thirty-five minutes earlier in Prague, Solomon had done something so unexpected that it could not be ignored. Immediate action had been required.

  Finch had considered alerting his superior in the U.S., but it was the middle of the night there, and they had given him “unilateral operative control” to make strategic decisions. His superiors’ positions of power also required plausible deniability from operations that were ethically ambiguous.

  Operations like this one, Finch thought, knowing his colleagues preferred not to know how Finch achieved his results.

  And so, within minutes of learning of Solomon’s actions, he had followed his instincts and pulled the trigger, transmitting two words into the field.

  Execute now.

  The order had been confirmed by his contacts standing by in Prague and New York City.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Is this the woman you saw?” Captain Janáček demanded, holding up a computer tablet. The screen showed a grainy video capture of the woman with black spines encircling her head and carrying a spear.

  Janáček and Attaché Harris were seated facing Langdon in front of the fire.

  “Yes, that’s her,” Langdon replied, recalling his panic.

  “According to the surveillance videos,” Janáček said, “you were on the bridge, you passed this woman halfway across, stopped to speak to her, and then suddenly ran back here and evacuated the hotel. What did this woman say to you?”

  “Nothing,” Langdon replied. “She ignored me and kept walking.”

  “She said nothing?” Janáček laughed. “Professor, if she said nothing…what made you panic?”

  Harris looked equally confused.

  “She was wearing that unusual spiked headpiece…and carrying a spear,” Langdon said. “There was also a very strong…smell.” Langdon immediately realized how strange this sounded.

  The captain raised his eyebrows. “You did not like her smell? So you ran away?”

  “She smelled of…death.”

  Janáček stared at him. “Death? And what exactly does death smell like?”

  “I don’t know…decay, sulfur, rot…It’s a complicated—”

  “Professor Langdon!” Janáček barked. “How did you know this building needed to be evacuated?!”

  “Captain,” Harris intervened. “Perhaps we can give Mr. Langdon a moment to explain himself?”

  Janáček drummed his pen against his notepad, never breaking eye contact.

  Langdon took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

  “Last night,” he began, his tone as matter-of-fact as possible, “my colleague Katherine Solomon gave a lecture at Prague Castle. Afterward, she and I returned to this hotel and had a drink in the bar downstairs. We were joined by a well-known Czech neuroscientist—Dr. Brigita Gessner—who was instrumental in inviting Katherine to Prague. Dr. Gessner insisted Katherine try the local Bohemian absinthe, which she did, and it caused a restless night’s sleep.”

  Janáček took notes. “Continue.”

  “At some point, around one thirty a.m.,” Langdon continued, “Katherine awoke in a panic from a nightmare. She was extremely upset. I brought her out to this room, sat her down by the fire, made some tea, let her get her bearings, and then, when she calmed down, we both went back to bed.”

  “How nice of you,” Janáček grumbled. “And this relates to your evacuation stunt how?”

  Langdon fell silent, formulating how best to explain it. Then, steeling himself for their response, he spoke the truth. “Katherine’s nightmare,” he said as calmly as possible. “She dreamed there was a deadly explosion…in this hotel.”

  Langdon could see that neither Janáček nor Harris had anticipated this response.

  “That’s obviously quite alarming…” Harris said quietly. “But the woman…on the bridge? Why did you run when you saw her?”

  Langdon sighed, speaking slowly. “Because in Katherine’s dream, a woman appeared beside our bed in this suite. She was dressed in black and was wearing…” Langdon pointed to the image on the iPad. “Exactly this—a black spiked headpiece. And she was carrying a silver spear. The woman reeked of death and said Katherine was going to die.” Langdon paused. “And then, in the dream, this entire hotel exploded, killing everyone.”

  “Hovadina!” Janáček erupted. “Bullshit! As you Americans say! I don’t believe a word of this!”

  Harris’s expression looked equally incredulous.

  “I understand your reaction,” Langdon said. “I’m still trying to grasp it myself, but I’m telling the truth. This morning, when I saw the same woman from Katherine’s dream, in the flesh, I panicked. I was afraid maybe the dream had been some kind of…I don’t know…warning.”

  “A dream warning?!” Janáček snapped, his heavy Czech accent making the scenario sound even less plausible. “So tell me, in Ms. Solomon’s magical dream, what time did the bomb explode?”

  Langdon thought about it. “I don’t know. She didn’t mention a time.”

  “And yet you jumped out of the window to escape by seven a.m., the exact time the bomb was set to detonate. How did you know seven a.m.?!”

  “I didn’t,” Langdon said. “The church bells started tolling, and for some reason, it all just collided in my mind—”

  “Ještě větší hovadina!” Janáček spat, jumping to his feet and pitching threateningly toward Langdon. “Double bullshit! You’re lying to me!”

  Harris leaped up in defense, facing Janáček. “Captain, that’s enough.”

  “Really?” Janáček snapped, turning to the attaché. “At seven a.m. this morning—the precise time the bomb was set to explode—both Robert Langdon and Katherine Solomon were conveniently out of the hotel. Clearly, they were afraid for their lives.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Langdon exclaimed, unable to contain his anger.

  “As ridiculous as a sulfur-scented dream?!”

  “Captain Janáček,” Harris warned firmly. “You’re way over the line here.”

  “What line?!” the captain shouted. “A terrorist attack was narrowly avoided, and the evidence shows these two Americans knew about the explosion beforehand. I’m not accepting the alibi of a magical dream!”

  Harris stared at Janáček and did not back up an inch. “You and I both know it’s wholly inconceivable that Robert Langdon or Katherine Solomon would plot to blow up a hotel. It makes no sense at all.”

  “It does make sense when you consider Katherine had a clear motive.”

  “A motive to blow up a hotel?!” Langdon demanded in disbelief.

  “Absolutely,” Janáček replied. “In criminal investigations, I always ask myself one simple question: Who stands to benefit from the crime? Whoever that person is, no matter how unlikely, he or she is my prime suspect.”

  “Captain,” Harris interjected, “what benefit could Katherine Solomon possibly derive—”

  “Let me ask you something, Professor,” Janáček interrupted, turning back to Langdon. “It is my understanding that Ms. Solomon is writing a book, no?”

  “That’s correct.” Even though Katherine had mentioned her book last night in her lecture, Langdon still felt unnerved that this man knew about it.

  “Furthermore,” Janáček said, “it is my understanding that this book supports the existence of paranormal powers like ESP, seeing the future, that sort of thing—a specialty of Ms. Solomon. It seems to me that a news story about a mystical dream that saved a hotel full of people would be very helpful to her book’s credibility…and sales?”

  Langdon stared at the officer in disbelief.

  “Captain,” Harris said, sounding equally taken aback. “Your insinuation is clearly—”

  “The only possible explanation,” Janáček said.

  “Sir,” Langdon said quietly. “Are you implying the fire alarm and nightmare were…some kind of publicity stunt?”

  Janáček smirked and took a long pull on his cigarette. “After thirty-eight years of investigative work, Professor, I thought I had seen everything. But now, in your social media world, I’m continually shocked what people will do for media coverage…to go ‘viral,’ as you Americans love to say. Your plan was ingenious, actually, surprisingly safe and easy to pull off.”

  “How can you say planting a bomb would be safe?!” Langdon demanded.

  Harris had fallen silent.

  “You ensured it was safe,” Janáček repeated. “The bomb we found was quite small and placed in a basement location where it would have done minimal damage. You called in an anonymous tip to be sure the explosive was discovered before anybody got hurt.”

  The police dogs in the lobby…

  “By the way,” Janáček added, “the crown of spikes was a nice touch—very memorable and hard to miss on security tapes.”

  Langdon felt slightly nauseous. “Sir, nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “If you believe that,” the captain said, “then perhaps you don’t know the truth. Perhaps you don’t know Katherine Solomon as well as you think. Perhaps she did all this behind your back and used you as an unwitting accessory.”

  Langdon refused to dignify his words with a response.

  “I’m quite skilled at discovering the truth, Professor,” Janáček said flatly, “which is why I am eager to hear Ms. Solomon’s version of the story. If, in fact, she had a dream that came true, then perhaps she is innocent. But that would mean that Katherine Solomon can see the future, which would make her very special indeed. Is she that special, Mr. Langdon?”

  The sarcasm in the man’s voice left little doubt that Langdon and Katherine were now fighting an uphill battle. Guilty until proven innocent.

  “Which leads me to my final question,” Janáček said. “Where is Ms. Solomon right now?”

  “Meeting a colleague,” Langdon replied tersely.

  “Who?”

  “The Czech neuroscientist I mentioned—Dr. Gessner.”

  “And the two women are meeting at Dr. Gessner’s lab?”

  Langdon was startled the officer would know that.

  “Relax,” Janáček said. He held up a note. “I took this from your bedroom along with both your passports.”

  It was the note Katherine had left. Janáček had merely been testing him.

  “What time is the meeting?”

  “Eight a.m.,” Langdon replied.

  Janáček checked his watch. “Which is in a few minutes. Where is this lab?”

  Langdon had learned last night that Gessner’s lab was located in a secure Prague landmark—Crucifix Bastion—a small medieval fortification that had been renovated into an ultramodern research facility four kilometers from the city center. “I’ll call Katherine,” he offered, suspecting she would not want to be interrogated in front of Gessner. “I’m sure she will come back immed—”

  “Where is the lab?!” Janáček exploded, pushing past Harris and stopping inches from Langdon’s face. “I will arrest you this instant, Professor, and your consulate will need weeks to cut through the red tape.”

  Langdon stood his ground. “I’d like to speak privately with Mr. Harris.”

  “Last chance,” Janáček snapped. “Where is the lab?”

  There was a long silence, and the voice that spoke next felt like a knife in Langdon’s back.

  “Crucifix Bastion,” Harris said flatly. “Four kilometers from here.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Robert Langdon felt like a criminal as Captain Janáček escorted him through the hotel lobby. When they passed the reception desk, Janáček’s phone rang, and the captain peeled off to take the call out of earshot.