Langdon read the plaque twice, and still he was not convinced. Gianlorenzo Bernini was celebrated for his intricate, holy sculptures of the Virgin Mary, angels, prophets, Popes. What was he doing carving pyramids?

Langdon looked up at the towering monuments and felt totally disoriented. Two pyramids, each with a shining, elliptical medallion. They were about as un-Christian as sculpture could get. The pyramids, the stars above, the signs of the Zodiac. All interior adornments are those of Gianlorenzo Bernini. If that were true, Langdon realized, it meant Vittoria had to be right. By default, Bernini was the Illuminati’s unknown master; nobody else had contributed artwork to this chapel! The implications came almost too fast for Langdon to process.

Bernini was an Illuminatus.

Bernini designed the Illuminati ambigrams.

Bernini laid out the path of Illumination.

Langdon could barely speak. Could it be that here in this tiny Chigi Chapel, the world-renowned Bernini had placed a sculpture that pointed across Rome toward the next altar of science?

"Bernini," he said. "I never would have guessed."

"Who other than a famous Vatican artist would have had the clout to put his artwork in specific Catholic chapels around Rome and create the Path of Illumination? Certainly not an unknown."

Langdon considered it. He looked at the pyramids, wondering if one of them could somehow be the marker. Maybe both of them? "The pyramids face opposite directions," Langdon said, not sure what to make of them. "They are also identical, so I don’t know which…"

"I don’t think the pyramids are what we’re looking for."

"But they’re the only sculptures here."

Vittoria cut him off by pointing toward Olivetti and some of his guards who were gathered near the demon’s hole.

Langdon followed the line of her hand to the far wall. At first he saw nothing. Then someone moved and he caught a glimpse. White marble. An arm. A torso. And then a sculpted face. Partially hidden in its niche. Two life-size human figures intertwined. Langdon’s pulse accelerated. He had been so taken with the pyramids and demon’s hole, he had not even seen this sculpture. He moved across the room, through the crowd. As he drew near, Langdon recognized the work was pure Bernini—the intensity of the artistic composition, the intricate faces and flowing clothing, all from the purest white marble Vatican money could buy. It was not until he was almost directly in front of it that Langdon recognized the sculpture itself. He stared up at the two faces and gasped.

"Who are they?" Vittoria urged, arriving behind him.

Langdon stood astonished. "Habakkuk and the Angel," he said, his voice almost inaudible. The piece was a fairly well-known Bernini work that was included in some art history texts. Langdon had forgotten it was here.

"Habakkuk?"

"Yes. The prophet who predicted the annihilation of the earth."

Vittoria looked uneasy. "You think this is the marker?"

Langdon nodded in amazement. Never in his life had he been so sure of anything. This was the first Illuminati marker. No doubt. Although Langdon had fully expected the sculpture to somehow "point" to the next altar of science, he did not expect it to be literal. Both the angel and Habakkuk had their arms outstretched and were pointing into the distance.

Langdon found himself suddenly smiling. "Not too subtle, is it?"

Vittoria looked excited but confused. "I see them pointing, but they are contradicting each other. The angel is pointing one way, and the prophet the other."

Langdon chuckled. It was true. Although both figures were pointing into the distance, they were pointing in totally opposite directions. Langdon, however, had already solved that problem. With a burst of energy he headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Vittoria called.

"Outside the building!" Langdon’s legs felt light again as he ran toward the door. "I need to see what direction that sculpture is pointing!"

"Wait! How do you know which finger to follow?"

"The poem," he called over his shoulder. "The last line!"

" ‘Let angels guide you on your lofty quest?’ " She gazed upward at the outstretched finger of the angel. Her eyes misted unexpectedly. "Well I’ll be damned!"

70

Gunther Glick and Chinita Macri sat parked in the BBC van in the shadows at the far end of Piazza del Popolo. They had arrived shortly after the four Alpha Romeos, just in time to witness an inconceivable chain of events. Chinita still had no idea what it all meant, but she’d made sure the camera was rolling.