Читаем Angels & Demons полностью

Langdon tried to make sense of the Hassassin’s words. A dangerous enemy? The top cardinals were all dead. The Pope was dead. The Illuminati had wiped them all out. Langdon found the answer in the vacuum of the Hassassin’s eyes.

The camerlegno.

Camerlegno Ventresca was the one man who had been a beacon of hope for the world through this entire tribulation. The camerlegno had done more to condemn the Illuminati tonight than decades of conspiracy theorists. Apparently he would pay the price. He was the Illuminati’s final target.

"You’ll never get to him," Langdon challenged.

"Not I," the Hassassin replied, forcing Langdon farther back around the wall. "That honor is reserved for Janus himself."

"The Illuminati leader himself intends to brand the camerlegno?"

"Power has its privileges."

"But no one could possibly get into Vatican City right now!"

The Hassassin looked smug. "Not unless he had an appointment."

Langdon was confused. The only person expected at the Vatican right now was the person the press was calling the 11th Hour Samaritan—the person Rocher said had information that could save—

Langdon stopped short. Good God!

The Hassassin smirked, clearly enjoying Langdon’s sickening cognition. "I too wondered how Janus would gain entrance. Then in the van I heard the radio—a report about an 11th hour Samaritan." He smiled. "The Vatican will welcome Janus with open arms."

Langdon almost stumbled backward. Janus is the Samaritan! It was an unthinkable deception. The Illuminati leader would get a royal escort directly to the camerlegno’s chambers. But how did Janus fool Rocher? Or was Rocher somehow involved? Langdon felt a chill. Ever since he had almost suffocated in the secret archives, Langdon had not entirely trusted Rocher.

The Hassassin jabbed suddenly, nicking Langdon in the side.

Langdon jumped back, his temper flaring. "Janus will never get out alive!"

The Hassassin shrugged. "Some causes are worth dying for."

Langdon sensed the killer was serious. Janus coming to Vatican City on a suicide mission? A question of honor? For an instant, Langdon’s mind took in the entire terrifying cycle. The Illuminati plot had come full circle. The priest whom the Illuminati had inadvertently brought to power by killing the Pope had emerged as a worthy adversary. In a final act of defiance, the Illuminati leader would destroy him.

Suddenly, Langdon felt the wall behind him disappear. There was a rush of cool air, and he staggered backward into the night. The balcony! He now realized what the Hassassin had in mind.

Langdon immediately sensed the precipice behind him—a hundred-foot drop to the courtyard below. He had seen it on his way in. The Hassassin wasted no time. With a violent surge, he lunged. The spear sliced toward Langdon’s midsection. Langdon skidded back, and the point came up short, catching only his shirt. Again the point came at him. Langdon slid farther back, feeling the banister right behind him. Certain the next jab would kill him, Langdon attempted the absurd. Spinning to one side, he reached out and grabbed the shaft, sending a jolt of pain through his palm. Langdon held on.

The Hassassin seemed unfazed. They strained for a moment against one another, face to face, the Hassassin’s breath fetid in Langdon’s nostrils. The bar began to slip. The Hassassin was too strong. In a final act of desperation, Langdon stretched out his leg, dangerously off balance as he tried to ram his foot down on the Hassassin’s injured toe. But the man was a professional and adjusted to protect his weakness.

Langdon had just played his final card. And he knew he had lost the hand.

The Hassassin’s arms exploded upward, driving Langdon back against the railing. Langdon sensed nothing but empty space behind him as the railing hit just beneath his buttocks. The Hassassin held the bar crosswise and drove it into Langdon’s chest. Langdon’s back arched over the chasm.

"Ma’assalamah," the Hassassin sneered. "Good-bye."

With a merciless glare, the Hassassin gave a final shove. Langdon’s center of gravity shifted, and his feet swung up off the floor. With only one hope of survival, Langdon grabbed on to the railing as he went over. His left hand slipped, but his right hand held on. He ended up hanging upside down by his legs and one hand… straining to hold on.

Looming over him, the Hassassin raised the bar overhead, preparing to bring it crashing down. As the bar began to accelerate, Langdon saw a vision. Perhaps it was the imminence of death or simply blind fear, but in that moment, he sensed a sudden aura surrounding the Hassassin. A glowing effulgence seemed to swell out of nothing behind him… like an incoming fireball.

Halfway through his swing, the Hassassin dropped the bar and screamed in agony.