Angels Demons Chapter 86-88

86No light. No full.The Secret Archives were black.Fear, Langdon without delay realized, was an intense motivator. Short of breath, he fumbled through the blackness toward the revolving door. He found the button on the w each and rammed his palm against it. Nothing happened. He well-tried again. The door was dead. revolve blind, he called out, but his articulation emerged strangled. The peril of his predicament suddenly closed in around him. His lungs agonistic for oxygen as the adrenaline doubled his heart rate. He matte standardised both(prenominal)one had salutary punched him in the gut.When he threw his weight down into the door, for an instant he image he felt the door grow to turn. He pushed again, seeing stars. at present he realized it was the entire room turning, non the door. Staggering away, Langdon tripped everywhere the base of a rolling ladder and fell hard. He disunite his knee against the edge of a book stack. S clothing, he got up and groped for the l adder.He found it. He had hoped it would be heavy wood or iron, but it was aluminum. He grabbed the ladder and held it like a battering ram. Then he ran through the tenebrious at the glass fence in. It was closer than he thought. The ladder hit head-on, bouncing off. From the feeble sound of the collision, Langdon knew he was expiry to need a hell of a chain reactor more than an aluminum ladder to offend this glass.When he flashed on the semi railroad carmatic, his hopes surged and then instantly fell. The weapon was gone. Olivetti had relieved him of it in the popes office, saying he did not want loaded weapons around with the camerlegno present. It made sense at the time.Langdon called out again, making less sound than the last time.Next he remembered the walkie-talkie the guard had left over(p) on the t adapted outside the vault. why the hell didnt I bring it in As the purple stars began to dance before his eyes, Langdon agonistic himself to think. Youve been pin down bef ore, he told himself. You survived worse. You were just a kid and you figured it out. The crushing contrabandness came flooding in. ThinkLangdon take down himself onto the floor. He rolled over on his back and laid his move overs at his sides. The first amount was to gain control.Relax. Conserve.No longer fighting gravity to pump blood, Langdons heart began to slow. It was a trick swimmers utilize to re-oxygenate their blood between tightly scheduled races.There is plenty of air in here, he told himself. Plenty. Now think. He waited, half-expecting the lights to come back on at any moment. They did not. As he lay there, able to breathe better now, an eerie resignation came across him. He felt peaceful. He fought it.You will move, prick it But whereOn Langdons wrist, Mickey Mouse glowed happily as if enjoying the sober 933 P.M. one-half an hour until Fire. Langdon thought it felt a whole hell of a lot later. His mind, instead of flood tide up with a plan for beat, was sudden ly de servicemanding an explanation. Who turned off the power? Was Rocher expanding his see? Wouldnt Olivetti have warned Rocher that Im in here Langdon knew at this point it made no difference.Opening his mouth wide and tipping back his head, Langdon pulled the deepest breaths he could manage. Each breath burned a little less than the last. His head cle atomic number 18d. He reeled his thoughts in and forced the gears into motion.Glass breakwaters, he told himself. But damn thick glass.He wondered if any of the books in here were stored in heavy, steel, fireproof file cabinets. Langdon had seen them from time to time in new(prenominal) archives but had seen none here. Besides, purpose one in the dark could prove time-consuming. Not that he could lift one anyway, particularly in his present state.How more or less the examination table? Langdon knew this vault, like the other, had an examination table in the center of the stack. So what? He knew he couldnt lift it. Not to menti on, even if he could drag it, he wouldnt get it ut virtually. The stacks were closely packed, the aisles between them far too narrow.The aisles are too narrowSuddenly, Langdon knew.With a burst of confidence, he jumped to his feet far too fast. Swaying in the fog of a head rush, he reached out in the dark for support. His hand found a stack. requireing a moment, he forced himself to conserve. He would need all of his strength to do this.Positioning himself against the book stack like a football player against a training sled, he planted his feet and pushed. If I can roundhow tip the shelf. But it barely moved. He realigned and pushed again. His feet slipped backward on the floor. The stack creaked but did not move.He needed leverage.Finding the glass wall again, he placed one hand on it to guide him as he raced in the dark toward the far end of the vault. The back wall loomed suddenly, and he collided with it, crushing his shoulder. Cursing, Langdon circled the shelf and grabbed the stack at about eye level. Then, propping one leg on the glass behind him and another on the lower shelves, he started to climb. Books fell around him, fluttering into the darkness. He didnt care. Instinct for survival had long since overridden archival decorum. He feel his equilibrium was hampered by the total darkness and closed his eyes, coaxing his brain to ignore visual input. He moved faster now. The air felt leaner the higher he went. He scrambled toward the stop number shelves, stepping on books, trying to gain purchase, heaving himself upward. Then, like a rock climber conquering a rock face, Langdon grasped the top shelf. Stretching his legs out behind him, he walked his feet up the glass wall until he was almost horizontal.Now or never, Robert, a voice urged. Just like the leg press in the Harvard gym.With dizzying exertion, he planted his feet against the wall behind him, braced his arms and chest against the stack, and pushed. Nothing happened.Fighting for air, he repositioned and tried again, extending his legs. Ever so slightly, the stack moved. He pushed again, and the stack rocked forward an inch or so and then back. Langdon took advantage of the motion, inhaling what felt like an oxygenless breath and heaving again. The shelf rocked farther. the like a throw off set, he told himself. Keep the rhythm. A little more.Langdon rocked the shelf, extending his legs farther with each push. His quadriceps burned now, and he obturate the pain. The pendulum was in motion. Three more pushes, he urged himself.It only took two.There was an instant of weightless uncertainty. Then, with a move of books sliding off the shelves, Langdon and the shelf were falling forward.Halfway to the ground, the shelf hit the stack next to it. Langdon hung on, throwing his weight forward, urging the spot shelf to topple. There was a moment of motionless panic, and then, creaking under the weight, the second stack began to tip. Langdon was falling again.Like enormou s dominoes, the stacks began to topple, one after another. Metal on metal, books aerobatics everywhere. Langdon held on as his inclined stack bounced downward like a ratchet on a jack. He wondered how many stacks there were in all. How much would they weigh? The glass at the far end was thickLangdons stack had fallen almost to the horizontal when he heard what he was time lag for a different kind of collision. Far off. At the end of the vault. The sharp smack of metal on glass. The vault around him shook, and Langdon knew the final stack, weighted down by the others, had hit the glass hard. The sound that followed was the most unwelcome sound Langdon had ever heard.Silence.There was no crashing of glass, only the re seem thud as the wall accepted the weight of the stacks now propped against it. He lay wide-eyed on the pile of books. someplace in the distance there was a creaking. Langdon would have held his breath to listen, but he had none left to hold.One second. TwoThen, as h e teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, Langdon heard a distant gentle a ripple spidering outward through the glass. Suddenly, like a cannon, the glass exploded. The stack beneath Langdon collapsed to the floor.Like welcome rain on a desert, shards of glass tinkled downward in the dark. With a great sucking hiss, the air gushed in.Thirty seconds later, in the Vatican Grottoes, Vittoria was standing before a corpse when the electronic squawk of a walkie-talkie broke the repose. The voice blaring out sounded short of breath. This is Robert Langdon Can anyone hear me?Vittoria looked up. Robert She could not mean how much she suddenly wished he were there.The guards exchanged puzzled looks. One took a radio off his belt. Mr. Langdon? You are on channel three. The commander is waiting to hear from you on channel one.I chicane hes on channel one, damn it I dont want to deal to him. I want the camerlegno. Now Somebody amaze him for me.In the obscurity of the Secret Archives, Lang don stood amidst shattered glass and tried to catch his breath. He felt a warm liquid on his left hand and knew he was bleeding. The camerlegnos voice radius at once, take aback Langdon.This is Camerlegno Ventresca. Whats going on?Langdon pressed the button, his heart static pounding. I think somebody just tried to bulge out meThere was a silence on the line.Langdon tried to calm himself. I also know where the next killing is going to be.The voice that came back was not the camerlegnos. It was Commander Olivettis Mr. Langdon. Do not speak another news program.87Langdons watch, now smeared with blood, read 941 P.M. as he ran across the homage of the Belvedere and approached the fountain outside the Swiss Guard security measure center. His hand had stopped bleeding and now felt worse than it looked. As he arrived, it seemed everyone convened at once Olivetti, Rocher, the camerlegno, Vittoria, and a handful of guards.Vittoria hurried toward him immediately. Robert, youre hurt. o riginally Langdon could answer, Olivetti was before him. Mr. Langdon, Im relieved youre okay. Im sorry about the crossed signals in the archives.Crossed signals? Langdon demanded. You knew damn well It was my fault, Rocher said, stepping forward, sounding contrite. I had no idea you were in the archives. Portions of our white zones are cross-wired with that building. We were extending our search. Im the one who killed power. If I had knownRobert, Vittoria said, winning his wounded hand in hers and flavor it over, the pope was poisoned. The Illuminati killed him.Langdon heard the words, but they barely registered. He was saturated. all(prenominal) he could feel was the warmth of Vittorias hands.The camerlegno pulled a silk handkerchief from his cassock and handed it to Langdon so he could clean himself. The man said nothing. His green eyes seemed filled with a new fire.Robert, Vittoria pressed, you said you found where the next cardinal grosbeak is going to be killed?Langdon fel t flighty. I do, its at the No, Olivetti interrupted. Mr. Langdon, when I asked you not to speak another word on the walkie-talkie, it was for a reason. He turned to the handful of assembled Swiss Guards. Excuse us, gentlemen.The soldiers disappeared into the security center. No indignity. still compliance.Olivetti turned back to the remaining group. As much as it pains me to say this, the murder of our Pope is an act that could only have been accomplished with help from within these walls. For the good of all, we can trust no one. Including our guards. He seemed to be suffering as he spoke the words.Rocher looked anxious. Inside collusion implies Yes, Olivetti said. The integrity of your search is compromised. And yet it is a gamble we must take. Keep looking.Rocher looked like he was about to say something, thought better of it, and left.The camerlegno inhaled deeply. He had not said a word yet, and Langdon sensed a new severity in the man, as if a turning point had been reach ed.Commander? The camerlegnos trace was impermeable. I am going to break conclave.Olivetti pursed his lips, looking dour. I advise against it. We still have two hours and twenty minutes.A heartbeat.Olivettis tone was now challenging What do you intend to do? Evacuate the cardinals single-handedly?I intend to give birth this church with whatever power God has given me. How I proceed is no longer your concern.Olivetti straightened. whatever you intend to do He paused. I do not have the authority to restrain you. especially in light of my apparent failure as head of security. I ask only that you wait. Wait twenty minutes until after ten oclock. If Mr. Langdons information is correct, I may still have a chance to catch this assassin. There is still a chance to preserve protocol and decorum.Decorum? The camerlegno permit out a choked laugh. We have long since passed propriety, commander. In case you hadnt noticed, this is war.A guard emerged from the security center and called out to the camerlegno, Signore, I just got word we have detained the BBC reporter, Mr. Glick.The camerlegno nodded. Have both he and his camerawoman bring me outside the Sistine Chapel.Olivettis eyes widened. What are you doing?Twenty minutes, commander. Thats all Im giving you. Then he was gone.When Olivettis Alpha Romeo tore out of Vatican City, this time there was no line of unmarked cars following him. In the back seat, Vittoria secure Langdons hand with a first-aid kit shed found in the glove box.Olivetti stared straight ahead. Okay, Mr. Langdon. Where are we going?88Even with its siren now affixed and blaring, Olivettis Alpha Romeo seemed to go unnoticed as it rocketed across the curb going into the heart of old Rome. All the traffic was moving in the other direction, toward the Vatican, as if the Holy envision had suddenly become the hottest entertainment in Rome.Langdon sat in the backseat, the questions whipping through his mind. He wondered about the killer, if they would c atch him this time, if he would tell them what they needed to know, if it was already too late. How long before the camerlegno told the crowd in St. Peters Square they were in danger? The incident in the vault still nagged. A mistake.Olivetti never affected the brakes as he snaked the howling Alpha Romeo toward the Church of Santa Maria della Vittoria. Langdon knew on any other day his knuckles would have been white. At the moment, however, he felt anesthetized. Only the throbbing in his hand reminded him where he was.Overhead, the siren wailed. Nothing like telling him were climax, Langdon thought. And yet they were making incredible time. He guessed Olivetti would kill the siren as they drew nearer.Now with a moment to sit and reflect, Langdon felt a have-to doe with of amazement as the news of the Popes murder finally registered in his mind. The thought was inconceivable, and yet somehow it seemed a perfectly logical event. Infiltration had always been the Illuminati powerbase rearrangements of power from within. And it was not as if Popes had never been murdered. Countless rumors of imposture abounded, although with no autopsy, none was ever confirmed. Until recently. Academics not long ago had gotten permission to X-ray the tomb of Pope Celestine V, who had allegedly died at the hands of his overeager successor, Boniface VIII. The researchers had hoped the X-ray might reveal some lessened hint of foul play a broken bone perhaps. Incredibly, the X-ray had revealed a ten-inch nail drive into the Popes skull.Langdon now recalled a series of news clippings fellow Illuminati buffs had sent him years ago. At first he had thought the clippings were a prank, so hed gone to the Harvard microfiche collection to confirm the articles were authentic. Incredibly, they were. He now kept them on his bulletin board as examples of how even respectable news organizations sometimes got carried away with Illuminati paranoia. Suddenly, the medias suspicions seemed a lot less paranoid. Langdon could see the articles clearly in his mindThe British Broadcasting Corporation June 14, 1998Pope throne Paul I, who died in 1978, fell victim to a plot by the P2 masonic Lodge The clandestine society P2 decided to murder John Paul I when it saw he was determined to cast off the American Archbishop Paul Marcinkus as President of the Vatican Bank. The Bank had been implicated in shady financial deals with the Masonic LodgeThe New York Times August 24, 1998Why was the late John Paul I wearing his day shirt in bed? Why was it torn? The questions dont stop there. No medical investigations were made. profound Villot forbade an autopsy on the grounds that no Pope was ever given a postmortem. And John Pauls medicines cryptically vanished from his bedside, as did his glasses, slippers and his last will and testament.London Daily Mail August 27, 1998 a plot including a powerful, ruthless and illegal Masonic lodge with tentacles stretching into the Vatican.The cellul ar in Vittorias pocket rang, thankfully erasing the memories from Langdons mind.Vittoria answered, looking confused as to who might be calling her. Even from a few feet away, Langdon recognized the laserlike voice on the send for.Vittoria? This is Maximilian Kohler. Have you found the antimatter yet?Max? Youre okay?I saw the news. There was no mention of CERN or the antimatter. This is good. What is happening?We havent located the canister yet. The situation is complex. Robert Langdon has been quite an asset. We have a guide on on catching the man assassinating cardinals. Right now we are headed Ms. Vetra, Olivetti interrupted. Youve said enough.She covered the receiver, clearly annoyed. Commander, this is the chair of CERN. Certainly he has a right to He has a right, Olivetti snapped, to be here handling this situation. Youre on an open cellular line. Youve said enough.Vittoria took a deep breath. Max?I may have some information for you, Max said. About your father I may know who he told about the antimatter.Vittorias materialisation clouded. Max, my father said he told no one.Im afraid, Vittoria, your father did tell someone. I need to check some security records. I will be in touch soon. The line went dead.Vittoria looked waxen as she returned the phone to her pocket.You okay? Langdon asked.Vittoria nodded, her trembling fingers revealing the lie.The church is on Piazza Barberini, Olivetti said, killing the siren and checking his watch. We have guild minutes.When Langdon had first realized the location of the third marker, the position of the church had rung some distant bell for him. Piazza Barberini. Something about the name was familiar something he could not place. Now Langdon realized what it was. The piazza was the visual sensation of a controversial subway stop. Twenty years ago, construction of the subway terminal had created a spatter among art historians who feared digging beneath Piazza Barberini might topple the multiton obelisk that s tood in the center. City planners had withdraw the obelisk and replaced it with a small fountain called the Triton.In Berninis day, Langdon now realized, Piazza Barberini had contained an obelisk Whatever doubts Langdon had felt that this was the location of the third marker now totally evaporated.A block from the piazza, Olivetti turned into an alley, gunned the car midway down, and skidded to a stop. He pulled off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and loaded his weapon.We cant risk your being recognized, he said. You two were on television. I want you across the piazza, out of sight, watching the front entrance. Im going in the back. He produced a familiar pistol and handed it to Langdon. Just in case.Langdon frowned. It was the second time right away he had been handed the gun. He slid it into his breast pocket. As he did, he realized he was still carrying the folio from Diagramma. He couldnt believe he had forgotten to leave it behind. He pictured the Vatican Curator col lapsing in spasms of outrage at the thought of this priceless artifact being packed around Rome like some tourist map. Then Langdon thought of the mess of shattered glass and strewn documents that hed left behind in the archives. The curator had other problems. If the archives even survive the nightOlivetti got out of the car and motioned back up the alley. The piazza is that way. Keep your eyes open and dont let yourselves be seen. He tapped the phone on his belt. Ms. Vetra, lets retest our auto dial.Vittoria removed her phone and hit the auto dial number she and Olivetti had programmed at the Pantheon. Olivettis phone vibrated in silent-ring direction on his belt.The commander nodded. Good. If you see anything, I want to know. He cocked his weapon. Ill be inside waiting. This heathen is mine.At that moment, very nearby, another cellular phone was ringing.The Hassassin answered. Speak.It is I, the voice said. Janus.The Hassassin smiled. Hello, master.Your position may be known. So meone is coming to stop you.They are too late. I have already made the arrangements here.Good. Make sure you escape alive. There is work yet to be done.Those who stand in my way will die.Those who stand in your way are knowledgeable.You speak of an American scholar?You are aware of him?The Hassassin chuckled. Cool-tempered but naive. He spoke to me on the phone earlier. He is with a female who seems quite the opposite. The killer felt a inspiration of arousal as he recalled the fiery temperament of Leonardo Vetras daughter.There was a momentary silence on the line, the first hesitation the Hassassin had ever sensed from his Illuminati master. Finally, Janus spoke. Eliminate them if need be.The killer smiled. Consider it done. He felt a warm anticipation spreading through his body. Although the woman I may keep as a prize.