Olivetti persisted. "Signore, even if we used all the guards to search the complex, it could take days to find this camera. Also, after speaking to Ms. Vetra, I had one of my guards consult our most advanced ballistics guide for any mention of this substance called antimatter. I found no mention of it anywhere. Nothing."

Pompous ass, Vittoria thought. A ballistics guide? Did you try an encyclopedia? Under A!

Olivetti was still talking. "Signore, if you are suggesting we make a naked-eye search of the entirety of Vatican City then I must object."

"Commander." The camerlegno’s voice simmered with rage. "May I remind you that when you address me, you are addressing this office. I realize you do not take my position seriously—nonetheless, by law, I am in charge. If I am not mistaken, the cardinals are now safely within the Sistine Chapel, and your security concerns are at a minimum until the conclave breaks. I do not understand why you are hesitant to look for this device. If I did not know better it would appear that you are causing this conclave intentional danger."

Olivetti looked scornful. "How dare you! I have served your Pope for twelve years! And the Pope before that for fourteen years! Since 1438 the Swiss Guard have—"

The walkie-talkie on Olivetti’s belt squawked loudly, cutting him off. "Comandante?"

Olivetti snatched it up and pressed the transmitter. "Sto ocupato! Cosa voi!"

"Scusi," the Swiss Guard on the radio said. "Communications here. I thought you would want to be informed that we have received a bomb threat."

Olivetti could not have looked less interested. "So handle it! Run the usual trace, and write it up."

"We did, sir, but the caller…" The guard paused. "I would not trouble you, commander, except that he mentioned the substance you just asked me to research. Antimatter."

Everyone in the room exchanged stunned looks.

"He mentioned what?" Olivetti stammered.

"Antimatter, sir. While we were trying to run a trace, I did some additional research on his claim. The information on antimatter is… well, frankly, it’s quite troubling."

"I thought you said the ballistics guide showed no mention of it."

"I found it on-line."

Alleluia, Vittoria thought.

"The substance appears to be quite explosive," the guard said. "It’s hard to imagine this information is accurate but it says here that pound for pound antimatter carries about a hundred times more payload than a nuclear warhead."

Olivetti slumped. It was like watching a mountain crumble. Vittoria’s feeling of triumph was erased by the look of horror on the camerlegno’s face.

"Did you trace the call?" Olivetti stammered.

"No luck. Cellular with heavy encryption. The SAT lines are interfused, so triangulation is out. The IF signature suggests he’s somewhere in Rome, but there’s really no way to trace him."

"Did he make demands?" Olivetti said, his voice quiet.

"No, sir. Just warned us that there is antimatter hidden inside the complex. He seemed surprised I didn’t know. Asked me if I’d seen it yet. You’d asked me about antimatter, so I decided to advise you."

"You did the right thing," Olivetti said. "I’ll be down in a minute. Alert me immediately if he calls back."

There was a moment of silence on the walkie-talkie. "The caller is still on the line, sir."

Olivetti looked like he’d just been electrocuted. "The line is open?"

"Yes, sir. We’ve been trying to trace him for ten minutes, getting nothing but splayed ferreting. He must know we can’t touch him because he refuses to hang up until he speaks to the camerlegno."

"Patch him through," the camerlegno commanded. "Now!"

Olivetti wheeled. "Father, no. A trained Swiss Guard negotiator is much better suited to handle this."

"Now!"

Olivetti gave the order.

A moment later, the phone on Camerlegno Ventresca’s desk began to ring. The camerlegno rammed his finger down on the speaker-phone button. "Who in the name of God do you think you are?"

41

The voice emanating from the camerlegno’s speaker phone was metallic and cold, laced with arrogance. Everyone in the room listened.

Langdon tried to place the accent. Middle Eastern, perhaps?

"I am a messenger of an ancient brotherhood," the voice announced in an alien cadence. "A brotherhood you have wronged for centuries. I am a messenger of the Illuminati."

Langdon felt his muscles tighten, the last shreds of doubt withering away. For an instant he felt the familiar collision of thrill, privilege, and dead fear that he had experienced when he first saw the ambigram this morning.

"What do you want?" the camerlegno demanded.

"I represent men of science. Men who like yourselves are searching for the answers. Answers to man’s destiny, his purpose, his creator."

"Whoever you are," the camerlegno said, "I—"