109
Meanwhile, in St. Peter's Square, the wall of Swiss Guards yelled orders and fanned outward, trying to push the crowds back to a safer distance. It was no use. The crowd was too dense and seemed far more interested in the Vatican's impending doom than in their own safety. The towering media screens in the square were now transmitting a live countdown of the antimatter canister - a direct feed from the Swiss Guard security monitor - compliments of the camerlegno. Unfortunately, the image of the canister counting down was doing nothing to repel the crowds. The people in the square apparently looked at the tiny droplet of liquid suspended in the canister and decided it was not as menacing as they had thought. They could also see the countdown clock now - a little under forty-five minutes until detonation. Plenty of time to stay and watch.
Nonetheless, the Swiss Guards unanimously agreed that the camerlegno's bold decision to address the world with the truth and then provide the media with actual visuals of Illuminati treachery had been a savvy maneuver. The Illuminati had no doubt expected the Vatican to be their usual reticent selves in the face of adversity. Not tonight. Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca had proven himself a commanding foe.
Inside the Sistine Chapel, Cardinal Mortati was getting restless. It was past 11:15 P.M. Many of the cardinals were continuing to pray, but others had clustered around the exit, clearly unsettled by the hour. Some of the cardinals began pounding on the door with their fists.
Outside the door Lieutenant Chartrand heard the pounding and didn't know what to do. He checked his watch. It was time. Captain Rocher had given strict orders that the cardinals were not to be let out until he gave the word. The pounding on the door became more intense, and Chartrand felt uneasy. He wondered if the captain had simply forgotten. The captain had been acting very erratic since his mysterious phone call.
Chartrand pulled out his walkie-talkie. "Captain? Chartrand here. It is past time. Should I open the Sistine?"
"That door stays shut. I believe I already gave you that order."
"Yes, sir, I just - "
"Our guest is arriving shortly. Take a few men upstairs, and guard the door of the Pope's office. The camerlegno is not to go anywhere."
"I'm sorry, sir?"
"What is it that you don't understand, Lieutenant?"
"Nothing, sir. I am on my way."
Upstairs in the Office of the Pope, the camerlegno stared in quiet meditation at the fire. Give me strength, God. Bring us a miracle. He poked at the coals, wondering if he would survive the night.
110
Eleven-twenty-three P.M.
Vittoria stood trembling on the balcony of Castle St. Angelo, staring out across Rome, her eyes moist with tears. She wanted badly to embrace Robert Langdon, but she could not. Her body felt anesthetized. Readjusting. Taking stock. The man who had killed her father lay far below, dead, and she had almost been a victim as well.
When Langdon's hand touched her shoulder, the infusion of warmth seemed to magically shatter the ice. Her body shuddered back to life. The fog lifted, and she turned. Robert looked like hell - wet and matted - he had obviously been through purgatory to come rescue her.
"Thank you..." she whispered.
Langdon gave an exhausted smile and reminded her that it was she who deserved thanks - her ability to practically dislocate her shoulders had just saved them both. Vittoria wiped her eyes. She could have stood there forever with him, but the reprieve was short-lived.
"We need to get out of here," Langdon said.
Vittoria's mind was elsewhere. She was staring out toward the Vatican. The world's smallest country looked unsettlingly close, glowing white under a barrage of media lights. To her shock, much of St. Peter's Square was still packed with people! The Swiss Guard had apparently been able to clear only about a hundred and fifty feet back - the area directly in front of the basilica - less than one-third of the square. The shell of congestion encompassing the square was compacted now, those at the safer distances pressing for a closer look, trapping the others inside. They are too close! Vittoria thought. Much too close!
"I'm going back in," Langdon said flatly.
Vittoria turned, incredulous. "Into the Vatican?"
Langdon told her about the Samaritan, and how it was a ploy. The Illuminati leader, a man named Janus, was actually coming himself to brand the camerlegno. A final Illuminati act of domination.
"Nobody in Vatican City knows," Langdon said. "I have no way to contact them, and this guy is arriving any minute. I have to warn the guards before they let him in."
"But you'll never get through the crowd!"
Langdon's voice was confident. "There's a way. Trust me."
Vittoria sensed once again that the historian knew something she did not. "I'm coming."
"No. Why risk both - "
"I have to find a way to get those people out of there! They're in incredible dange - "
Just then, the balcony they were standing on began to shake. A deafening rumble shook the whole castle. Then a white light from the direction of St. Peter's blinded them. Vittoria had only one thought. Oh my God! The antimatter annihilated early!
But instead of an explosion, a huge cheer went up from the crowd. Vittoria squinted into the light. It was a barrage of media lights from the square, now trained, it seemed, on them! Everyone was turned their way, hollering and pointing. The rumble grew louder. The air in the square seemed suddenly joyous.
Langdon looked baffled. "What the devil - "
The sky overhead roared.
Emerging from behind the tower, without warning, came the papal helicopter. It thundered fifty feet above them, on a beeline for Vatican City. As it passed overhead, radiant in the media lights, the castle trembled. The lights followed the helicopter as it passed by, and Langdon and Vittoria were suddenly again in the dark.
Vittoria had the uneasy feeling they were too late as they watched the mammoth machine slow to a stop over St. Peter's Square. Kicking up a cloud of dust, the chopper dropped onto the open portion of the square between the crowd and the basilica, touching down at the bottom of the basilica's staircase.
"Talk about an entrance," Vittoria said. Against the white marble, she could see a tiny speck of a person emerge from the Vatican and move toward the chopper. She would never have recognized the figure except for the bright red beret on his head. "Red carpet greeting. That's Rocher."
Langdon pounded his fist on the banister. "Somebody's got to warn them!" He turned to go.
Vittoria caught his arm. "Wait!" She had just seen something else, something her eyes refused to believe. Fingers trembling, she pointed toward the chopper. Even from this distance, there was no mistaking. Descending the gangplank was another figure... a figure who moved so uniquely that it could only be one man. Although the figure was seated, he accelerated across the open square with effortless control and startling speed.
A king on an electric throne.
It was Maximilian Kohler.
111
Kohler was sickened by the opulence of the Hallway of the Belvedere. The gold leaf in the ceiling alone probably could have funded a year's worth of cancer research. Rocher led Kohler up a handicapped ramp on a circuitous route into the Apostolic Palace.
"No elevator?" Kohler demanded.
"No power." Rocher motioned to the candles burning around them in the darkened building. "Part of our search tactic."
"Tactics which no doubt failed."
Rocher nodded.
Kohler broke into another coughing fit and knew it might be one of his last. It was not an entirely unwelcome thought.
When they reached the top floor and started down the hallway toward the Pope's office, four Swiss Guards ran toward them, looking troubled. "Captain, what are you doing up here? I thought this man had information that - "
"He will only speak to the camerlegno."
The guards recoiled, looking suspicious.
"Tell the camerlegno," Rocher said forcefully, "that the director of CERN, Maximilian Kohler, is here to see him. Immediately."
"Yes, sir!" One of the guards ran off in the direction of the camerlegno's office. The others stood their ground. They studied Rocher, looking uneasy. "Just one moment, captain. We will announce your guest."
Kohler, however, did not stop. He turned sharply and maneuvered his chair around the sentinels.
The guards spun and broke into a jog beside him. "Fermati! Sir! Stop!"
Kohler felt repugnance for them. Not even the most elite security force in the world was immune to the pity everyone felt for cripples. Had Kohler been a healthy man, the guards would have tackled him. Cripples are powerless, Kohler thought. Or so the world believes.
Kohler knew he had very little time to accomplish what he had come for. He also knew he might die here tonight. He was surprised how little he cared. Death was a price he was ready to pay. He had endured too much in his life to have his work destroyed by someone like Camerlegno Ventresca.
"Signore!" the guards shouted, running ahead and forming a line across the hallway. "You must stop!" One of them pulled a sidearm and aimed it at Kohler.
Kohler stopped.
Rocher stepped in, looking contrite. "Mr. Kohler, please. It will only be a moment. No one enters the Office of the Pope unannounced."
Kohler could see in Rocher's eyes that he had no choice but to wait. Fine, Kohler thought. We wait.
The guards, cruelly it seemed, had stopped Kohler next to a full-length gilded mirror. The sight of his own twisted form repulsed Kohler. The ancient rage brimmed yet again to the surface. It empowered him. He was among the enemy now. These were the people who had robbed him of his dignity. These were the people. Because of them he had never felt the touch of a woman... had never stood tall to accept an award. What truth do these people possess? What proof, damn it! A book of ancient fables? Promises of miracles to come? Science creates miracles every day!
Kohler stared a moment into his own stony eyes. Tonight I may die at the hands of religion, he thought. But it will not be the first time.
For a moment, he was eleven years old again, lying in his bed in his parents' Frankfurt mansion. The sheets beneath him were Europe's finest linen, but they were soaked with sweat. Young Max felt like he was on fire, the pain wracking his body unimaginable. Kneeling beside his bed, where they had been for two days, were his mother and father. They were praying.
In the shadows stood three of Frankfurt's best doctors.
"I urge you to reconsider!" one of the doctors said. "Look at the boy! His fever is increasing. He is in terrible pain. And danger!"
But Max knew his mother's reply before she even said it. "Gott wird ihn beschuetzen."
Yes, Max thought. God will protect me. The conviction in his mother's voice gave him strength. God will protect me.
An hour later, Max felt like his whole body was being crushed beneath a car. He could not even breathe to cry.
"Your son is in great suffering," another doctor said. "Let me at least ease his pain. I have in my bag a simple injection of - "