As the chief surveyed the damage, trying to recreate what possibly could have gone on here, he saw a niche riddled with bullet holes. A coffin had been rolled off its supports and fallen upside down in an apparent struggle. It was a mess. That’s for the police and Holy See to deal with, the chief thought, turning away.

As he turned, though, he stopped. Coming from the coffin he heard a sound. It was not a sound any fireman ever liked to hear.

"Bomba!" he cried out. "Tutti fuori!"

When the bomb squad rolled the coffin over, they discovered the source of the electronic beeping. They stared, confused.

"Mèdico!" one finally screamed. "Mèdico!"

99

"Any word from Olivetti?" the camerlegno asked, looking drained as Rocher escorted him back from the Sistine Chapel to the Pope’s office.

"No, signore. I am fearing the worst."

When they reached the Pope’s office, the camerlegno’s voice was heavy. "Captain, there is nothing more I can do here tonight. I fear I have done too much already. I am going into this office to pray. I do not wish to be disturbed. The rest is in God’s hands."

"Yes, signore."

"The hour is late, Captain. Find that canister."

"Our search continues." Rocher hesitated. "The weapon proves to be too well hidden."

The camerlegno winced, as if he could not think of it. "Yes. At exactly 11:15 P.M., if the church is still in peril, I want you to evacuate the cardinals. I am putting their safety in your hands. I ask only one thing. Let these men proceed from this place with dignity. Let them exit into St. Peter’s Square and stand side by side with the rest of the world. I do not want the last image of this church to be frightened old men sneaking out a back door."

"Very good, signore. And you? Shall I come for you at 11:15 as well?"

"There will be no need."

"Signore?"

"I will leave when the spirit moves me."

Rocher wondered if the camerlegno intended to go down with the ship.

The camerlegno opened the door to the Pope’s office and entered. "Actually…" he said, turning. "There is one thing."

"Signore?"

"There seems to be a chill in this office tonight. I am trembling."

"The electric heat is out. Let me lay you a fire."

The camerlegno smiled tiredly. "Thank you. Thank you, very much."

Rocher exited the Pope’s office where he had left the camerlegno praying by firelight in front of a small statue of the Blessed Mother Mary. It was an eerie sight. A black shadow kneeling in the flickering glow. As Rocher headed down the hall, a guard appeared, running toward him. Even by candlelight Rocher recognized Lieutenant Chartrand. Young, green, and eager.

"Captain," Chartrand called, holding out a cellular phone. "I think the camerlegno’s address may have worked. We’ve got a caller here who says he has information that can help us. He phoned on one of the Vatican’s private extensions. I have no idea how he got the number."

Rocher stopped. "What?"

"He will only speak to the ranking officer."

"Any word from Olivetti?"

"No, sir."

He took the receiver. "This is Captain Rocher. I am ranking officer here."

"Rocher," the voice said. "I will explain to you who I am. Then I will tell you what you are going to do next."

When the caller stopped talking and hung up, Rocher stood stunned. He now knew from whom he was taking orders.

Back at CERN, Sylvie Baudeloque was frantically trying to keep track of all the licensing inquiries coming in on Kohler’s voice mail. When the private line on the director’s desk began to ring, Sylvie jumped. Nobody had that number. She answered.

"Yes?"

"Ms. Baudeloque? This is Director Kohler. Contact my pilot. My jet is to be ready in five minutes."

100

Robert Langdon had no idea where he was or how long he had been unconscious when he opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the underside of a baroque, frescoed cupola. Smoke drifted overhead. Something was covering his mouth. An oxygen mask. He pulled it off. There was a terrible smell in the room—like burning flesh.

Langdon winced at the pounding in his head. He tried to sit up. A man in white was kneeling beside him.

"Riposati!" the man said, easing Langdon onto his back again. "Sono il paramédico."

Langdon succumbed, his head spiraling like the smoke overhead. What the hell happened? Wispy feelings of panic sifted through his mind.

"Sórcio salvatore," the paramedic said. "Mouse… savior."

Langdon felt even more lost. Mouse savior?

The man motioned to the Mickey Mouse watch on Langdon’s wrist. Langdon’s thoughts began to clear. He remembered setting the alarm. As he stared absently at the watch face, Langdon also noted the hour. 10:28 P.M.

He sat bolt upright.

Then, it all came back.

Langdon stood near the main altar with the fire chief and a few of his men. They had been rattling him with questions. Langdon wasn’t listening. He had questions of his own. His whole body ached, but he knew he needed to act immediately.