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    Inferno: A Novel
    Inferno: A Novel
    Inferno: A Novel
    Ebook684 pages9 hours

    Inferno: A Novel

    By Dan Brown

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    #1 WORLDWIDE BESTSELLER • Harvard professor of symbology Robert Langdon awakens in an Italian hospital, disoriented and with no recollection of the past thirty-six hours, including the origin of the macabre object hidden in his belongings.

    “One hell of a good read.... As close as a book can come to a summertime cinematic blockbuster.” —USA Today

    “A diverting thriller.” —Entertainment Weekly

    With a relentless female assassin trailing them through Florence, he and his resourceful doctor, Sienna Brooks, are forced to flee.

    Embarking on a harrowing journey, they must unravel a series of codes, which are the work of a brilliant scientist whose obsession with the end of the world is matched only by his passion for one of the most influential masterpieces ever written, Dante Alighieri's The Inferno.
     
    Dan Brown has raised the bar yet again, combining classical Italian art, history, and literature with cutting-edge science in this captivating thriller.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKnopf Doubleday Publishing Group
    Release dateMay 14, 2013
    ISBN9780385537865
    Author

    Dan Brown

    Dan Brown ha vendido más de 234 millones de ejemplares de su obra en todo el mundo y sus libros han sido traducidos a 56 idiomas. Es el autor de grandes best sellers internacionales como El código Da Vinci, que a día de hoy sigue siendo el libro más vendido en español con más de ocho millones de ejemplares, Origen, Inferno, El símbolo perdido, Ángeles y demonios, La conspiración y Fortaleza digital. Es licenciado del Amherst College y de la Phillips Exeter Academy, donde fue profesor antes de dedicarse por completo a la escritura. Vive en Nueva Inglaterra. Puedes seguir su trabajo en www.danbrown.com y @authordanbrown.

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    Reviews for Inferno

    3.5/5

    3,179 ratings257 reviews

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    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 1/5
      Ridiculously pretentious. In the previous Robert Langdon books (and to a lesser extent in Dan Brown's other works) the amount of researched facts came across in an interesting way. For the most part they were tied intricately into the plot and created interesting, if made up, historical and contextual puzzles. However, in this latest installment Browns number of research assistants has apparently outpaced his actual ability to write. Instead of interesting facts that make a thrilling plot more interesting we get a perhaps decent plot buried under page after page of completely irrelevant factoids. As Brown walks us through Venice he describes the architecture and history of every mildly important structure even if it has absolutely no place in the plot. I bought this book to read a thriller not a tour guide. WOULD NOT RECOMMEND, even if you are a huge Dan Brown fan (as I was even after The Lost Symbol, but certainly not now).
    • 4/5
      This was great on audio and I especially enjoyed it after listening to Dan on an Amherst Zoom lecture this month. (I know him and we were in the same class at Amherst.) I appreciated this Langdon adventure even more because I've been to Italy and I could visualize all the places he was talking about. Brown says he spends about half each year abroad, and I can see why -- researching all the nooks and crannies of these historical landmarks for his books?! Also lots of interesting plot twists and a pertinent discussion of population growth. Lots of cool Dante (the painter) info. Recommended! And I'm glad I have book #5 in the series to look forward to.

      Favorite idea from his talk -- Brown says Langdon is smarter than he is and people say that can't be so, you made the character!! To which Brown replies that it takes Langdon no time at all to put things together and draw amazing, insightful conclusions, but it takes him days to write it. LOL
    • 5/5
      This giant doorstop of a book was worth hefting for days. Wowza. The intrepid Professor Langdon marches through symbolic hell and genuine danger after a brilliant madman who is determined to send humanity through a man-made apocalypse. Sure, there are parts of the book that require the reader to suspend disbelief with both hands, but in the long run, the gravitas of the book's message merits the reader's cooperation.
      Powerful, engaging story that will haunt the reader and broaden viewpoints.
    • 3/5
      This time Langdon wakes up in a hospital in Florence with Amnesia and somebody appears to be trying to kill him. With the help of a young doctor, Sienna Brooks, they escape. On discovering a biohazard container sewn into Langdon's suit, they have to try to retrace his steps over the past few days and find out what he was doing before his amnesia. As they run around Florence via secret passages, while being pursued by some nefarious organisation and the WHO, they realise a biohazard will be released soon and they have to try to stop it. This leads them to Venice and eventually to Istanbul. Lots of running around as usual, with some unexpected twists! Fast paced, with interesting details about art history, but a bit of an an anticlimax at the end.
    • 5/5
      Inferno is another amazing Dan Brown that leaves me hoping that he writes another novel for Robert Langdon.

      I was told by a friend of mine this novel was not as good as he would have hoped it to be, so I went in with a lowered expectations. And man, was my friend wrong! This novel was full of Dan Brown signature twists and turns, and this novel I couldn't even see the ending coming! Usually I guess the ending, but this novel was a lovely surprise!

      The chapters were easy to read, quick to read and kept me hooked on every word. I did feel like the novel had some chapters that didn't really need to be in there, but it was still amazing! I couldn't put this book down and I want more by Dan Brown immediately.

      His intelligence and research is evident in this novel and I applaud him for his hard work.

      Five out of five stars!
    • 4/5
      I enjoy reading Dan Brown, more for his sense of setting, which is its own character. He takes us on another wild ride, Robert Langdon fighting the clock to save the world, full of twists and turns and hidden passages through historical Florence, to Venice and ending in "The Final Destination." A mad scientist, frustrated that people aren't listening, takes matters into his own hands, a villain with a point. Dan brown walks the moral tightrope arguing the validity of the man's claims against the views of humanity and takes us to a satisfying conclusion. As with his other books, he gives you food for thought as he looks at global issues through the narrow lens of one very committed man.

      The scenery interrupts the story in places, stopping to give the reader a travelogue of Italy. For my part, having visited Florence, I found it interesting, a tour guide's view of some of the places I'd seen, and places I hadn't seen. The artwork, the architecture, the literature all play a role in this story, and as much as I might admit there was overkill in some places, I enjoyed it thoroughly.
    • 4/5
      This was my first Dan Brown book. I must say that I really enjoyed it. Fast paced with a tight story that does not get bogged down in the middle with filler like so many other books. Sure there are one or two "Deus Ex Machina" moments in the story but they do not take away from the drama and excitement that the book creates. The characters for the most part of sufficiently complex and believable. The action takes place in environments in which one longs for a museum picture book so that you guy better see the things he describes. But the descriptions are usually enough to allow you to see them in your minds eye.

      Standard fiction is not something I typically read often, I am more a science fiction guy but I must say I found this novel a joy to read and I could not wait to get back to it when I had to take breaks. I consumed this novel entirely via audiobook and there was more than one time in which I found myself sitting in the parking garage at work or in the driveway at home and continue to listen until I reached a suitable stopping point that would not drive me crazy.

      As for this being Dan Brown, there are those who would care and those who do not. Most who care do so because of him being the author of "The Da Vinci Code". A book/movie that stirred much controversy. I for one have not read that book but I have read enough synopsis etc. to know that while the world in his book is one in which it thinks it has proven Christianity false it ultimately is a world of fantasy that essentially falls down under scrutiny if one tries to apply it to reality. I wont read it as I find the concept rubbish and it offends my faith. Having said that, I see no problem in reading his other works and enjoy them. I may try another of his at some point in the future.
    • 2/5
      I enjoy the info on art. Brown seems stuck in a predictable format. Wish he would surprise us.
    • 4/5
      Fun, adventure read.
    • 4/5
      I like the pace of the story and anticipation. But the plot was too crazy for me. I think the book is better as a travel log. If I ever go to Europe again I will be sure to reference it.
    • 3/5
      I liked "Inferno", but it was still a disappointment. A very long "listen" (audio book), and I felt like Dan Brown cheated the reader at the end. What the main characters were trying to accomplish throughout the course of the story - stop the bad guy from his evil deed - they never accomplished. Anticlimactic. Also, I got tired of so many history, art, and architecture lessons. Felt like I was reading a travel guide. And, I got tired of Brown using the expression "to this day".
    • 5/5
      Well-written and very informative novel. Great history of Italy and Istanbul. A lot of detail regarding Dante's Interno which I really enjoyed.
    • 5/5
      This is going on one of my all time favorite books even though it is long
      and sometimes the writing hard to get through. Lots of historical descriptions if you
      like that sort of thing.
      But the plot and the moral questions it asks is a very important issue. One that everyone
      should read and be discussing.
    • 3/5
      Good story, fits the pattern of the previous Robert Langdon books.
    • 5/5
      Very interesting book. I enjoyed Robert Langdon being in yet another thriller/action novel, but the overall subject content threw me for a loop. I finished this actually last night, and still am trying to process the ramifications. I know not how true the figures used in the story are, but either way.... wow.

    • 4/5
      Some of the plot devices were tiresome but I enjoyed the ideas the book tackles and the descriptions of historical sites and events.
    • 3/5
      3 stars because the twists at the end genuinely surprised me. I also enjoy the descriptions of historical art and architecture. But overall, meh.
    • 2/5
      The good: great backstories on historical events and geographical locations (in this case, mostly Florence - and 2 others, not mentioning here to avoid spoilers).

      The bad: formulaic, not just in setting and story arc, but also in types of characters and in how the movie (err, did I say that aloud? I meant book ;-) ends.
    • 2/5
      It's surely a page-turner, but besides catchy plotting, there's a preposterous story, lack of substantive characterization, repetitive action, and an abrupt ending.
    • 3/5
      Same characters, same story, different book. I really enjoyed listening to this book even though there's nothing new about it. It's another Robert Langdon story where he's saving the world and it's once again in Italy. It made my commute much shorter (except when Brown went off onto expositional tangents).
    • 5/5
      Awesome book
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed this one much more than the other 3, I thought it was very fast paced and the amnesia angle was a nice change. The plot twists got me at every turn, I loved all of the surprises.
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed this book very much. It was just a fun read. The fact that Robert Langdon has amnesia in this book works for me. It allows the reader to experience the discovery with Robert. Figuring out what is going on and who to trust is half the fun of the book. I will admit, at the end of the book when revelations are coming fast and quick, I was a little annoyed by some of them. But my overall feeling towards this book was that I liked it. I would recommend it to anyone who enjoyed The DaVinci Code.

      One of my favorite things about the book was the setting in Italy. I have never been there, but the writing made me feel as if I was. One thing I like about Dan Brown's books is I always feel like I learn something interesting. This time there were lots of interesting facts about Dante's Inferno, overpopulation and Italy itself. I am happy that I read this book.
    • 4/5
      When Robert Langdon wakes up in a hospital, he doesn’t realize he’s in Italy and when he finds that out, he has no recollection of why he’s there or how he got there. He quickly finds out someone has shot him in the head, and whoever it is is still coming after him! He and a doctor helping him escape together and try to find out why he is there and why someone is trying to kill him.

      I quite liked this. It did slow down for me in the middle, but it picked up again at the end. I almost never say this, but I was, in this instance, cheering for the bad guy!
    • 5/5
      One of the best books I've read so far. Robert Langdon, as usual, leaves me breathless and Dan Brown knows how to keep the story going. I couldn't put the book down. It is one of the many that still haunt me, after hours, and I believe it will haunt me for days and months. All the symbols in Dante's "Inferno", of which I wasn't aware of are simply amazing.
    • 5/5
      One of Dan Brown's best or maybe his best book! A billiant connection between historical facts and a thirlling research following the footsteps of Dante Alighieri and a burning nowadays topic.
    • 3/5
      Fast read, easy read. Parts of the plot are ludicrous (amnesia? a manual projector, because cameras didn't exist in 2014?). Some of the writing is terrible. The best parts are the descriptive asides, reminding me of European vacations. I think the twist is fun, and he wraps it up quickly.
    • 3/5
      I really enjoyed the mystery of it and have always liked Dan Brown's writing. I read this pretty quick and found it pretty interesting. His books always have alot of intellect and interesting facts that always tie in well with the story. After reading this, I might have to go back and read The lost symbol
    • 4/5
      Having read Dante's Inferno, I was pleasant surprised that I could easily following the references to that classic as Professor Langdon races through Florence attempting to prevent a global catastrophe. I'm not sure that the supporting characters were a s well written as in the previous insatallments of this book, but I will still read the next one.
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed listening to the loving descriptions and history of places I'll never visit. Of course the villain had to leave cryptic clues.

      Sienna's motives at the end made no sense.

    Book preview

    Inferno - Dan Brown

    PROLOGUE

    I am the Shade.

    Through the dolent city, I flee.

    Through the eternal woe, I take flight.

    Along the banks of the river Arno, I scramble, breathless … turning left onto Via dei Castellani, making my way northward, huddling in the shadows of the Uffizi.

    And still they pursue me.

    Their footsteps grow louder now as they hunt with relentless determination.

    For years they have pursued me. Their persistence has kept me underground … forced me to live in purgatory … laboring beneath the earth like a chthonic monster.

    I am the Shade.

    Here aboveground, I raise my eyes to the north, but I am unable to find a direct path to salvation … for the Apennine Mountains are blotting out the first light of dawn.

    I pass behind the palazzo with its crenellated tower and one-handed clock … snaking through the early-morning vendors in Piazza di San Firenze with their hoarse voices smelling of lampredotto and roasted olives. Crossing before the Bargello, I cut west toward the spire of the Badia and come up hard against the iron gate at the base of the stairs.

    Here all hesitation must be left behind.

    I turn the handle and step into the passage from which I know there will be no return. I urge my leaden legs up the narrow staircase … spiraling skyward on soft marble treads, pitted and worn.

    The voices echo from below. Beseeching.

    They are behind me, unyielding, closing in.

    They do not understand what is coming … nor what I have done for them!

    Ungrateful land!

    As I climb, the visions come hard … the lustful bodies writhing in fiery rain, the gluttonous souls floating in excrement, the treacherous villains frozen in Satan’s icy grasp.

    I climb the final stairs and arrive at the top, staggering near dead into the damp morning air. I rush to the head-high wall, peering through the slits. Far below is the blessed city that I have made my sanctuary from those who exiled me.

    The voices call out, arriving close behind me. What you’ve done is madness!

    Madness breeds madness.

    For the love of God, they shout, tell us where you’ve hidden it!

    For precisely the love of God, I will not.

    I stand now, cornered, my back to the cold stone. They stare deep into my clear green eyes, and their expressions darken, no longer cajoling, but threatening. You know we have our methods. We can force you to tell us where it is.

    For that reason, I have climbed halfway to heaven.

    Without warning, I turn and reach up, curling my fingers onto the high ledge, pulling myself up, scrambling onto my knees, then standing … unsteady at the precipice. Guide me, dear Virgil, across the void.

    They rush forward in disbelief, wanting to grab at my feet, but fearing they will upset my balance and knock me off. They beg now, in quiet desperation, but I have turned my back. I know what I must do.

    Beneath me, dizzyingly far beneath me, the red tile roofs spread out like a sea of fire on the countryside, illuminating the fair land upon which giants once roamed … Giotto, Donatello, Brunelleschi, Michelangelo, Botticelli.

    I inch my toes to the edge.

    Come down! they shout. It’s not too late!

    O, willful ignorants! Do you not see the future? Do you not grasp the splendor of my creation? The necessity?

    I will gladly make this ultimate sacrifice … and with it I will extinguish your final hope of finding what you seek.

    You will never locate it in time.

    Hundreds of feet below, the cobblestone piazza beckons like a tranquil oasis. How I long for more time … but time is the one commodity even my vast fortunes cannot afford.

    In these final seconds, I gaze down at the piazza, and I behold a sight that startles me.

    I see your face.

    You are gazing up at me from the shadows. Your eyes are mournful, and yet in them I sense a veneration for what I have accomplished. You understand I have no choice. For the love of Mankind, I must protect my masterpiece.

    It grows even now … waiting … simmering beneath the bloodred waters of the lagoon that reflects no stars.

    And so, I lift my eyes from yours and I contemplate the horizon. High above this burdened world, I make my final supplication.

    Dearest God, I pray the world remembers my name not as a monstrous sinner, but as the glorious savior you know I truly am. I pray Mankind will understand the gift I leave behind.

    My gift is the future.

    My gift is salvation.

    My gift is Inferno.

    With that, I whisper my amen … and take my final step, into the abyss.

    CHAPTER 1

    The memories materialized slowly … like bubbles surfacing from the darkness of a bottomless well.

    A veiled woman.

    Robert Langdon gazed at her across a river whose churning waters ran red with blood. On the far bank, the woman stood facing him, motionless, solemn, her face hidden by a shroud. In her hand she gripped a blue tainia cloth, which she now raised in honor of the sea of corpses at her feet. The smell of death hung everywhere.

    Seek, the woman whispered. And ye shall find.

    Langdon heard the words as if she had spoken them inside his head. Who are you? he called out, but his voice made no sound.

    Time grows short, she whispered. Seek and find.

    Langdon took a step toward the river, but he could see the waters were bloodred and too deep to traverse. When Langdon raised his eyes again to the veiled woman, the bodies at her feet had multiplied. There were hundreds of them now, maybe thousands, some still alive, writhing in agony, dying unthinkable deaths … consumed by fire, buried in feces, devouring one another. He could hear the mournful cries of human suffering echoing across the water.

    The woman moved toward him, holding out her slender hands, as if beckoning for help.

    Who are you?! Langdon again shouted.

    In response, the woman reached up and slowly lifted the veil from her face. She was strikingly beautiful, and yet older than Langdon had imagined—in her sixties perhaps, stately and strong, like a timeless statue. She had a sternly set jaw, deep soulful eyes, and long, silver-gray hair that cascaded over her shoulders in ringlets. An amulet of lapis lazuli hung around her neck—a single snake coiled around a staff.

    Langdon sensed he knew her … trusted her. But how? Why?

    She pointed now to a writhing pair of legs, which protruded upside down from the earth, apparently belonging to some poor soul who had been buried headfirst to his waist. The man’s pale thigh bore a single letter—written in mud—R.

    R? Langdon thought, uncertain. As in … Robert? "Is that … me?"

    The woman’s face revealed nothing. Seek and find, she repeated.

    Without warning, she began radiating a white light … brighter and brighter. Her entire body started vibrating intensely, and then, in a rush of thunder, she exploded into a thousand splintering shards of light.

    Langdon bolted awake, shouting.

    The room was bright. He was alone. The sharp smell of medicinal alcohol hung in the air, and somewhere a machine pinged in quiet rhythm with his heart. Langdon tried to move his right arm, but a sharp pain restrained him. He looked down and saw an IV tugging at the skin of his forearm.

    His pulse quickened, and the machines kept pace, pinging more rapidly.

    Where am I? What happened?

    The back of Langdon’s head throbbed, a gnawing pain. Gingerly, he reached up with his free arm and touched his scalp, trying to locate the source of his headache. Beneath his matted hair, he found the hard nubs of a dozen or so stitches caked with dried blood.

    He closed his eyes, trying to remember an accident.

    Nothing. A total blank.

    Think.

    Only darkness.

    A man in scrubs hurried in, apparently alerted by Langdon’s racing heart monitor. He had a shaggy beard, bushy mustache, and gentle eyes that radiated a thoughtful calm beneath his overgrown eyebrows.

    What … happened? Langdon managed. Did I have an accident?

    The bearded man put a finger to his lips and then rushed out, calling for someone down the hall.

    Langdon turned his head, but the movement sent a spike of pain radiating through his skull. He took deep breaths and let the pain pass. Then, very gently and methodically, he surveyed his sterile surroundings.

    The hospital room had a single bed. No flowers. No cards. Langdon saw his clothes on a nearby counter, folded inside a clear plastic bag. They were covered with blood.

    My God. It must have been bad.

    Now Langdon rotated his head very slowly toward the window beside his bed. It was dark outside. Night. All Langdon could see in the glass was his own reflection—an ashen stranger, pale and weary, attached to tubes and wires, surrounded by medical equipment.

    Voices approached in the hall, and Langdon turned his gaze back toward the room. The doctor returned, now accompanied by a woman.

    She appeared to be in her early thirties. She wore blue scrubs and had tied her blond hair back in a thick ponytail that swung behind her as she walked.

    I’m Dr. Sienna Brooks, she said, giving Langdon a smile as she entered. I’ll be working with Dr. Marconi tonight.

    Langdon nodded weakly.

    Tall and lissome, Dr. Brooks moved with the assertive gait of an athlete. Even in shapeless scrubs, she had a willowy elegance about her. Despite the absence of any makeup that Langdon could see, her complexion appeared unusually smooth, the only blemish a tiny beauty mark just above her lips. Her eyes, though a gentle brown, seemed unusually penetrating, as if they had witnessed a profundity of experience rarely encountered by a person her age.

    Dr. Marconi doesn’t speak much English, she said, sitting down beside him, and he asked me to fill out your admittance form. She gave him another smile.

    Thanks, Langdon croaked.

    Okay, she began, her tone businesslike. What is your name?

    It took him a moment. Robert … Langdon.

    She shone a penlight in Langdon’s eyes. Occupation?

    This information surfaced even more slowly. Professor. Art history … and symbology. Harvard University.

    Dr. Brooks lowered the light, looking startled. The doctor with the bushy eyebrows looked equally surprised.

    You’re … an American?

    Langdon gave her a confused look.

    It’s just … She hesitated. You had no identification when you arrived tonight. You were wearing Harris Tweed and Somerset loafers, so we guessed British.

    I’m American, Langdon assured her, too exhausted to explain his preference for well-tailored clothing.

    Any pain?

    My head, Langdon replied, his throbbing skull only made worse by the bright penlight. Thankfully, she now pocketed it, taking Langdon’s wrist and checking his pulse.

    You woke up shouting, the woman said. Do you remember why?

    Langdon flashed again on the strange vision of the veiled woman surrounded by writhing bodies. Seek and ye shall find. I was having a nightmare.

    About?

    Langdon told her.

    Dr. Brooks’s expression remained neutral as she made notes on a clipboard. Any idea what might have sparked such a frightening vision?

    Langdon probed his memory and then shook his head, which pounded in protest.

    Okay, Mr. Langdon, she said, still writing, a couple of routine questions for you. What day of the week is it?

    Langdon thought for a moment. It’s Saturday. I remember earlier today walking across campus … going to an afternoon lecture series, and then … that’s pretty much the last thing I remember. Did I fall?

    We’ll get to that. Do you know where you are?

    Langdon took his best guess. Massachusetts General Hospital?

    Dr. Brooks made another note. And is there someone we should call for you? Wife? Children?

    Nobody, Langdon replied instinctively. He had always enjoyed the solitude and independence provided him by his chosen life of bachelorhood, although he had to admit, in his current situation, he’d prefer to have a familiar face at his side. There are some colleagues I could call, but I’m fine.

    Dr. Brooks finished writing, and the older doctor approached. Smoothing back his bushy eyebrows, he produced a small voice recorder from his pocket and showed it to Dr. Brooks. She nodded in understanding and turned back to her patient.

    Mr. Langdon, when you arrived tonight, you were mumbling something over and over. She glanced at Dr. Marconi, who held up the digital recorder and pressed a button.

    A recording began to play, and Langdon heard his own groggy voice, repeatedly muttering the same phrase: Ve … sorry. Ve … sorry.

    It sounds to me, the woman said, like you’re saying, ‘Very sorry. Very sorry.’ 

    Langdon agreed, and yet he had no recollection of it.

    Dr. Brooks fixed him with a disquietingly intense stare. Do you have any idea why you’d be saying this? Are you sorry about something?

    As Langdon probed the dark recesses of his memory, he again saw the veiled woman. She was standing on the banks of a bloodred river surrounded by bodies. The stench of death returned.

    Langdon was overcome by a sudden, instinctive sense of danger … not just for himself … but for everyone. The pinging of his heart monitor accelerated rapidly. His muscles tightened, and he tried to sit up.

    Dr. Brooks quickly placed a firm hand on Langdon’s sternum, forcing him back down. She shot a glance at the bearded doctor, who walked over to a nearby counter and began preparing something.

    Dr. Brooks hovered over Langdon, whispering now. Mr. Langdon, anxiety is common with brain injuries, but you need to keep your pulse rate down. No movement. No excitement. Just lie still and rest. You’ll be okay. Your memory will come back slowly.

    The doctor returned now with a syringe, which he handed to Dr. Brooks. She injected its contents into Langdon’s IV.

    Just a mild sedative to calm you down, she explained, and also to help with the pain. She stood to go. You’ll be fine, Mr. Langdon. Just sleep. If you need anything, press the button on your bedside.

    She turned out the light and departed with the bearded doctor.

    In the darkness, Langdon felt the drugs washing through his system almost instantly, dragging his body back down into that deep well from which he had emerged. He fought the feeling, forcing his eyes open in the darkness of his room. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like cement.

    As Langdon shifted, he found himself again facing the window. The lights were out, and in the dark glass, his own reflection had disappeared, replaced by an illuminated skyline in the distance.

    Amid a contour of spires and domes, a single regal facade dominated Langdon’s field of view. The building was an imposing stone fortress with a notched parapet and a three-hundred-foot tower that swelled near the top, bulging outward into a massive machicolated battlement.

    Langdon sat bolt upright in bed, pain exploding in his head. He fought off the searing throb and fixed his gaze on the tower.

    Langdon knew the medieval structure well.

    It was unique in the world.

    Unfortunately, it was also located four thousand miles from Massachusetts.

    Outside his window, hidden in the shadows of the Via Torregalli, a powerfully built woman effortlessly unstraddled her BMW motorcycle and advanced with the intensity of a panther stalking its prey. Her gaze was sharp. Her close-cropped hair—styled into spikes—stood out against the upturned collar of her black leather riding suit. She checked her silenced weapon, and stared up at the window where Robert Langdon’s light had just gone out.

    Earlier tonight her original mission had gone horribly awry.

    The coo of a single dove had changed everything.

    Now she had come to make it right.

    CHAPTER 2

    I’m in Florence!?

    Robert Langdon’s head throbbed. He was now seated upright in his hospital bed, repeatedly jamming his finger into the call button. Despite the sedatives in his system, his heart was racing.

    Dr. Brooks hurried back in, her ponytail bobbing. Are you okay?

    Langdon shook his head in bewilderment. I’m in … Italy!?

    Good, she said. You’re remembering.

    No! Langdon pointed out the window at the commanding edifice in the distance. I recognize the Palazzo Vecchio.

    Dr. Brooks flicked the lights back on, and the Florence skyline disappeared. She came to his bedside, whispering calmly. Mr. Langdon, there’s no need to worry. You’re suffering from mild amnesia, but Dr. Marconi confirmed that your brain function is fine.

    The bearded doctor rushed in as well, apparently hearing the call button. He checked Langdon’s heart monitor as the young doctor spoke to him in rapid, fluent Italian—something about how Langdon was agitato to learn he was in Italy.

    Agitated? Langdon thought angrily. More like stupefied! The adrenaline surging through his system was now doing battle with the sedatives. What happened to me? he demanded. What day is it?!

    Everything is fine, she said. It’s early morning. Monday, March eighteenth.

    Monday. Langdon forced his aching mind to reel back to the last images he could recall—cold and dark—walking alone across the Harvard campus to a Saturday-night lecture series. That was two days ago?! A sharper panic now gripped him as he tried to recall anything at all from the lecture or afterward. Nothing. The ping of his heart monitor accelerated.

    The older doctor scratched at his beard and continued adjusting equipment while Dr. Brooks sat again beside Langdon.

    You’re going to be okay, she reassured him, speaking gently. We’ve diagnosed you with retrograde amnesia, which is very common in head trauma. Your memories of the past few days may be muddled or missing, but you should suffer no permanent damage. She paused. Do you remember my first name? I told you when I walked in.

    Langdon thought a moment. Sienna. Dr. Sienna Brooks.

    She smiled. See? You’re already forming new memories.

    The pain in Langdon’s head was almost unbearable, and his near-field vision remained blurry. What … happened? How did I get here?

    I think you should rest, and maybe—

    How did I get here?! he demanded, his heart monitor accelerating further.

    Okay, just breathe easy, Dr. Brooks said, exchanging a nervous look with her colleague. I’ll tell you. Her voice turned markedly more serious. Mr. Langdon, three hours ago, you staggered into our emergency room, bleeding from a head wound, and you immediately collapsed. Nobody had any idea who you were or how you got here. You were mumbling in English, so Dr. Marconi asked me to assist. I’m on sabbatical here from the U.K.

    Langdon felt like he had awoken inside a Max Ernst painting. What the hell am I doing in Italy? Normally Langdon came here every other June for an art conference, but this was March.

    The sedatives pulled harder at him now, and he felt as if earth’s gravity were growing stronger by the second, trying to drag him down through his mattress. Langdon fought it, hoisting his head, trying to stay alert.

    Dr. Brooks leaned over him, hovering like an angel. Please, Mr. Langdon, she whispered. Head trauma is delicate in the first twenty-four hours. You need to rest, or you could do serious damage.

    A voice crackled suddenly on the room’s intercom. Dr. Marconi?

    The bearded doctor touched a button on the wall and replied, Sì?

    The voice on the intercom spoke in rapid Italian. Langdon didn’t catch what it said, but he did catch the two doctors exchanging a look of surprise. Or is it alarm?

    Momento, Marconi replied, ending the conversation.

    What’s going on? Langdon asked.

    Dr. Brooks’s eyes seemed to narrow a bit. That was the ICU receptionist. Someone’s here to visit you.

    A ray of hope cut through Langdon’s grogginess. That’s good news! Maybe this person knows what happened to me.

    She looked uncertain. It’s just odd that someone’s here. We didn’t have your name, and you’re not even registered in the system yet.

    Langdon battled the sedatives and awkwardly hoisted himself upright in his bed. If someone knows I’m here, that person must know what happened!

    Dr. Brooks glanced at Dr. Marconi, who immediately shook his head and tapped his watch. She turned back to Langdon.

    This is the ICU, she explained. Nobody is allowed in until nine A.M. at the earliest. In a moment Dr. Marconi will go out and see who the visitor is and what he or she wants.

    "What about what I want?" Langdon demanded.

    Dr. Brooks smiled patiently and lowered her voice, leaning closer. Mr. Langdon, there are some things you don’t know about last night … about what happened to you. And before you speak to anyone, I think it’s only fair that you have all the facts. Unfortunately, I don’t think you’re strong enough yet to—

    What facts!? Langdon demanded, struggling to prop himself higher. The IV in his arm pinched, and his body felt like it weighed several hundred pounds. All I know is I’m in a Florence hospital and I arrived repeating the words ‘very sorry …’ 

    A frightening thought now occurred to him.

    Was I responsible for a car accident? Langdon asked. Did I hurt someone?!

    No, no, she said. I don’t believe so.

    "Then what? Langdon insisted, eyeing both doctors furiously. I have a right to know what’s going on!"

    There was a long silence, and Dr. Marconi finally gave his attractive young colleague a reluctant nod. Dr. Brooks exhaled and moved closer to his bedside. Okay, let me tell you what I know … and you’ll listen calmly, agreed?

    Langdon nodded, the head movement sending a jolt of pain radiating through his skull. He ignored it, eager for answers.

    The first thing is this … Your head wound was not caused by an accident.

    Well, that’s a relief.

    Not really. Your wound, in fact, was caused by a bullet.

    Langdon’s heart monitor pinged faster. I beg your pardon!?

    Dr. Brooks spoke steadily but quickly. A bullet grazed the top of your skull and most likely gave you a concussion. You’re very lucky to be alive. An inch lower, and … She shook her head.

    Langdon stared at her in disbelief. Someone shot me?

    Angry voices erupted in the hall as an argument broke out. It sounded as if whoever had arrived to visit Langdon did not want to wait. Almost immediately, Langdon heard a heavy door at the far end of the hallway burst open. He watched until he saw a figure approaching down the corridor.

    The woman was dressed entirely in black leather. She was toned and strong with dark, spiked hair. She moved effortlessly, as if her feet weren’t touching the ground, and she was headed directly for Langdon’s room.

    Without hesitation, Dr. Marconi stepped into the open doorway to block the visitor’s passage. Ferma! the man commanded, holding out his palm like a policeman.

    The stranger, without breaking stride, produced a silenced handgun. She aimed directly at Dr. Marconi’s chest and fired.

    There was a staccato hiss.

    Langdon watched in horror as Dr. Marconi staggered backward into the room, falling to the floor, clutching his chest, his white lab coat drenched in blood.

    CHAPTER 3

    Five miles off the coast of Italy, the 237-foot luxury yacht The Mendacium motored through the predawn mist that rose from the gently rolling swells of the Adriatic. The ship’s stealth-profile hull was painted gunmetal gray, giving it the distinctly unwelcoming aura of a military vessel.

    With a price tag of over 300 million U.S. dollars, the craft boasted all the usual amenities—spa, pool, cinema, personal submarine, and helicopter pad. The ship’s creature comforts, however, were of little interest to its owner, who had taken delivery of the yacht five years ago and immediately gutted most of these spaces to install a lead-lined, military-grade, electronic command center.

    Fed by three dedicated satellite links and a redundant array of terrestrial relay stations, the control room on The Mendacium had a staff of nearly two dozen—technicians, analysts, operation coordinators—who lived on board and remained in constant contact with the organization’s various land-based operation centers.

    The ship’s onboard security included a small unit of military-trained soldiers, two missile-detection systems, and an arsenal of the latest weapons available. Other support staff—cooks, cleaning, and service—pushed the total number on board to more than forty. The Mendacium was, in effect, the portable office building from which the owner ran his empire.

    Known to his employees only as the provost, he was a tiny, stunted man with tanned skin and deep-set eyes. His unimposing physique and direct manner seemed well suited to one who had made a vast fortune providing a private menu of covert services along the shadowy fringes of society.

    He had been called many things—a soulless mercenary, a facilitator of sin, the devil’s enabler—but he was none of these. The provost simply provided his clients with the opportunity to pursue their ambitions and desires without consequence; that mankind was sinful in nature was not his problem.

    Despite his detractors and their ethical objections, the provost’s moral compass was a fixed star. He had built his reputation—and the Consortium itself—on two golden rules.

    Never make a promise you cannot keep.

    And never lie to a client.

    Ever.

    In his professional career, the provost had never broken a promise or reneged on a deal. His word was bankable—an absolute guarantee—and while there were certainly contracts he regretted having made, backing out of them was never an option.

    This morning, as he stepped onto the private balcony of his yacht’s stateroom, the provost looked across the churning sea and tried to fend off the disquiet that had settled in his gut.

    The decisions of our past are the architects of our present.

    The decisions of the provost’s past had put him in a position to negotiate almost any minefield and always come out on top. Today, however, as he gazed out the window at the distant lights of the Italian mainland, he felt uncharacteristically on edge.

    One year ago, on this very yacht, he had made a decision whose ramifications now threatened to unravel everything he had built. I agreed to provide services to the wrong man. There had been no way the provost could have known at the time, and yet now the miscalculation had brought a tempest of unforeseen challenges, forcing him to send some of his best agents into the field with orders to do whatever it took to keep his listing ship from capsizing.

    At the moment the provost was waiting to hear from one field agent in particular.

    Vayentha, he thought, picturing the sinewy, spike-haired specialist. Vayentha, who had served him perfectly until this mission, had made a mistake last night that had dire consequences. The last six hours had been a scramble, a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.

    Vayentha claimed her error was the result of simple bad luck—the untimely coo of a dove.

    The provost, however, did not believe in luck. Everything he did was orchestrated to eradicate randomness and remove chance. Control was the provost’s expertise—foreseeing every possibility, anticipating every response, and molding reality toward the desired outcome. He had an immaculate track record of success and secrecy, and with it came a staggering clientele—billionaires, politicians, sheikhs, and even entire governments.

    To the east, the first faint light of morning had begun to consume the lowest stars on the horizon. On the deck the provost stood and patiently awaited word from Vayentha that her mission had gone exactly as planned.

    CHAPTER 4

    For an instant, Langdon felt as if time had stopped.

    Dr. Marconi lay motionless on the floor, blood gushing from his chest. Fighting the sedatives in his system, Langdon raised his eyes to the spike-haired assassin, who was still striding down the hall, covering the last few yards toward his open door. As she neared the threshold, she looked toward Langdon and instantly swung her weapon in his direction … aiming at his head.

    I’m going to die, Langdon realized. Here and now.

    The bang was deafening in the small hospital room.

    Langdon recoiled, certain he had been shot, but the noise had not been the attacker’s gun. Rather, the bang had been the slam of the room’s heavy metal door as Dr. Brooks threw herself against it and turned the lock.

    Eyes wild with fear, Dr. Brooks immediately spun and crouched beside her blood-soaked colleague, searching for a pulse. Dr. Marconi coughed up a mouthful of blood, which dribbled down his cheek across his thick beard. Then he fell limp.

    Enrico, no! Ti prego! she screamed.

    Outside, a barrage of bullets exploded against the metal exterior of the door. Shouts of alarm filled the hall.

    Somehow, Langdon’s body was in motion, panic and instinct now overruling his sedatives. As he clambered awkwardly out of bed, a searing hot pain tore into his right forearm. For an instant, he thought a bullet had passed through the door and hit him, but when he looked down, he realized his IV had snapped off in his arm. The plastic catheter poked out of a jagged hole in his forearm, and warm blood was already flowing backward out of the tube.

    Langdon was now fully awake.

    Crouched beside Marconi’s body, Dr. Brooks kept searching for a pulse as tears welled in her eyes. Then, as if a switch had been flipped inside her, she stood and turned to Langdon. Her expression transformed before his eyes, her young features hardening with all the detached composure of a seasoned ER doctor dealing with a crisis.

    Follow me, she commanded.

    Dr. Brooks grabbed Langdon’s arm and pulled him across the room. The sounds of gunfire and chaos continued in the hallway as Langdon lurched forward on unstable legs. His mind felt alert but his heavily drugged body was slow to respond. Move! The tile floor felt cold beneath his feet, and his thin hospital johnny was scarcely long enough to cover his six-foot frame. He could feel blood dripping down his forearm and pooling in his palm.

    Bullets continued to slam against the heavy doorknob, and Dr. Brooks pushed Langdon roughly into a small bathroom. She was about to follow when she paused, turned around, and ran back toward the counter and grabbed his bloody Harris Tweed.

    Forget my damned jacket!

    She returned clutching his jacket and quickly locked the bathroom door. Just then, the door in the outer room crashed open.

    The young doctor took control. She strode through the tiny bathroom to a second door, yanked it open, and led Langdon into an adjoining recovery room. Gunfire echoed behind them as Dr. Brooks stuck her head out into the hallway and quickly grabbed Langdon’s arm, pulling him across the corridor into a stairwell. The sudden motion made Langdon dizzy; he sensed that he could pass out at any moment.

    The next fifteen seconds were a blur … descending stairs … stumbling … falling. The pounding in Langdon’s head was almost unbearable. His vision seemed even more blurry now, and his muscles were sluggish, each movement feeling like a delayed reaction.

    And then the air grew cold.

    I’m outside.

    As Dr. Brooks hustled him along a dark alley away from the building, Langdon stepped on something sharp and fell, hitting the pavement hard. She struggled to get him back to his feet, cursing out loud the fact that he had been sedated.

    As they neared the end of the alley, Langdon stumbled again. This time she left him on the ground, rushing into the street and yelling to someone in the distance. Langdon could make out the faint green light of a taxi parked in front of the hospital. The car didn’t move, its driver undoubtedly asleep. Dr. Brooks screamed and waved her arms wildly. Finally the taxi’s headlights came on and it moved lazily toward them.

    Behind Langdon in the alley, a door burst open, followed by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. He turned and saw the dark figure bounding toward him. Langdon tried to get back to his feet, but the doctor was already grabbing him, forcing him into the backseat of an idling Fiat taxi. He landed half on the seat and half on the floor as Dr. Brooks dove on top of him, yanking the door shut.

    The sleepy-eyed driver turned and stared at the bizarre duo that had just tumbled into his cab—a young, ponytailed woman in scrubs and a man in a half-torn johnny with a bleeding arm. He clearly was about ready to tell them to get the hell out of his car, when the side mirror exploded. The woman in black leather sprinted out of the alley, gun extended. Her pistol hissed again just as Dr. Brooks grabbed Langdon’s head, pulling it down. The rear window exploded, showering them with glass.

    The driver needed no further encouragement. He slammed his foot down on the gas, and the taxi peeled out.

    Langdon teetered on the brink of consciousness. Someone is trying to kill me?

    Once they had rounded a corner, Dr. Brooks sat up and grabbed Langdon’s bloody arm. The catheter was protruding awkwardly from a hole in his flesh.

    Look out the window, she commanded.

    Langdon obeyed. Outside, ghostly tombstones rushed by in the darkness. It seemed somehow fitting that they were passing a cemetery. Langdon felt the doctor’s fingers probing gently for the catheter and then, without warning, she wrenched it out.

    A searing bolt of pain traveled directly to Langdon’s head. He felt his eyes rolling back, and then everything went black.

    CHAPTER 5

    The shrill ring of his phone drew the provost’s gaze from the calming mist of the Adriatic, and he quickly stepped back into his stateroom office.

    It’s about time, he thought, eager for news.

    The computer screen on his desk had flickered to life, informing him that the incoming call was from a Swedish Sectra Tiger XS personal voice-encrypting phone, which had been redirected through four untraceable routers before being connected to his ship.

    He donned his headset. This is the provost, he answered, his words slow and meticulous. Go ahead.

    It’s Vayentha, the voice replied.

    The provost sensed an unusual nervousness in her tone. Field agents rarely spoke to the provost directly, and even more rarely did they remain in his employ after a debacle like the one last night. Nonetheless, the provost had required an agent on-site to help remedy the crisis, and Vayentha had been the best person for the job.

    I have an update, Vayentha said.

    The provost was silent, his cue for her to continue.

    When she spoke, her tone was emotionless, clearly an attempt at professionalism. Langdon has escaped, she said. He has the object.

    The provost sat down at his desk and remained silent for a very long time. Understood, he finally said. I imagine he will reach out to the authorities as soon as he possibly can.

    Two decks beneath the provost, in the ship’s secure control center, senior facilitator Laurence Knowlton sat in his private cubicle and noticed that the provost’s encrypted call had ended. He hoped the news was good. The provost’s tension had been palpable for the past two days, and every operative on board sensed there was some kind of high-stakes operation going on.

    The stakes are inconceivably high, and Vayentha had better get it right this time.

    Knowlton was accustomed to quarterbacking carefully constructed game plans, but this particular scenario had disintegrated into chaos, and the provost had taken over personally.

    We’ve moved into uncharted territory.

    Although a half-dozen other missions were currently in process around the world, all of them were being serviced by the Consortium’s various field offices, freeing the provost and his staff aboard The Mendacium to focus exclusively on this one.

    Their client had jumped to his death several days ago in Florence, but the Consortium still had numerous outstanding services on his docket—specific tasks the man had entrusted to this organization regardless of the circumstances—and the Consortium, as always, intended to follow through without question.

    I have my orders, Knowlton thought, fully intending to comply. He exited his soundproofed glass cubicle, walking past a half-dozen other chambers—some transparent, some opaque—in which duty officers were handling other aspects of this same mission.

    Knowlton crossed through the thin, processed air of the main control room, nodding to the tech crew, and entered a small walk-in vault containing a dozen strongboxes. He opened one of the boxes and retrieved its contents—in this case, a bright red memory stick. According to the task card attached, the memory stick contained a large video file, which the client had directed them to upload to key media outlets at a specific time tomorrow morning.

    Tomorrow’s anonymous upload would be simple enough, but in keeping protocol for all digital files, the flowchart had flagged this file for review today—twenty-four hours prior to delivery—to ensure the Consortium had adequate time to perform any necessary decryption, compiling, or other preparation that might be required before uploading it at the precise hour.

    Nothing left to chance.

    Knowlton returned to his transparent cubicle and closed the heavy glass door, blocking out the outside world.

    He flipped a switch on the wall, and his cubicle instantly turned opaque. For privacy, all of the glass-walled offices aboard The Mendacium were built with suspended particle device glass. The transparency of SPD glass was easily controlled by the application or removal of an electric current, which either aligned or randomized millions of tiny rodlike particles suspended within the panel.

    Compartmentalization was a cornerstone of the Consortium’s success.

    Know only your own mission. Share nothing.

    Now, ensconced in his private space, Knowlton inserted the memory stick into his computer and clicked the file to begin his assessment.

    Immediately his screen faded to black … and his speakers began playing the soft sound of lapping water. An image slowly appeared on-screen … amorphous and shadowy. Emerging from the darkness, a scene began to take shape … the interior of a cave … or a giant chamber of some sort. The floor of the cavern was water, like an underground lake. Strangely, the water appeared to be illuminated … as if from within.

    Knowlton had never seen anything like it. The entire cavern shone with an eerie reddish hue, its pale walls awash with tendril-like reflections of rippling water. What … is this place?

    As the lapping continued, the camera began to tilt downward and descend vertically, directly toward the water until the camera pierced the illuminated surface. The sounds of rippling disappeared, replaced by an eerie hush beneath the water. Submerged now, the camera kept descending, moving down through several feet of water until it stopped, focusing on the cavern’s silt-covered floor.

    Bolted to the floor was a rectangular plaque of shimmering titanium.

    The plaque bore an inscription.

    IN THIS PLACE, ON THIS DATE, THE WORLD WAS CHANGED FOREVER.

    Engraved at the bottom of the plaque was a name and a date.

    The name was that of their client.

    The date … tomorrow.

    CHAPTER 6

    Langdon felt firm hands lifting him now … urging him from his delirium, helping him out of the taxi. The pavement felt cold beneath his bare feet.

    Half supported by the slender frame of Dr. Brooks, Langdon staggered down a deserted walkway between two apartment buildings. The dawn air rustled, billowing his hospital gown, and Langdon felt cold air in places he knew he shouldn’t.

    The sedative he’d been given in the hospital had left his mind as blurred as his vision. Langdon felt like he was underwater, attempting to claw his way through a viscous, dimly lit world. Sienna Brooks dragged him onward, supporting him with surprising strength.

    Stairs, she said, and Langdon realized they had reached a side entrance of the building.

    Langdon gripped the railing and trudged dizzily upward, one step at a time. His body felt ponderous. Dr. Brooks physically pushed him now. When they reached the landing, she typed some numbers into a rusted old keypad and the door buzzed open.

    The air inside was not much warmer, but the tile floors felt like soft carpet on the soles of his feet compared to the rough pavement outside. Dr. Brooks led Langdon to a tiny elevator and yanked open a folding door, herding Langdon into a cubicle that was about the size of a phone booth. The air inside smelled of MS cigarettes—a bittersweet fragrance as ubiquitous in Italy as the aroma of fresh espresso. Ever so slightly, the smell helped clear Langdon’s mind. Dr. Brooks pressed a button, and somewhere high above them, a series of tired gears clunked and whirred into motion.

    Upward …

    The creaky carriage shimmied and vibrated as it began its ascent. Because the walls were nothing but metal screens, Langdon found himself watching the inside of the elevator shaft slide rhythmically past them. Even in his semiconscious state, Langdon’s lifelong fear of cramped spaces was alive and well.

    Don’t look.

    He leaned on the wall, trying to catch his breath. His forearm ached, and when he looked down, he saw that the sleeve of his Harris Tweed had been tied awkwardly around his arm like a bandage. The remainder of the jacket was dragging behind him on the ground, frayed and filthy.

    He closed his eyes against his pounding headache, but the blackness engulfed him again.

    A familiar vision materialized—the statuesque, veiled woman with the amulet and silver hair in ringlets. As before, she was on the banks of a bloodred river and surrounded by writhing bodies. She spoke to Langdon, her voice pleading. Seek and ye shall find!

    Langdon was overcome with the feeling that he had to save her … save them all. The half-buried, upside-down legs were falling limp … one by one.

    Who are you!? he called out in silence. What do you want?!

    Her luxuriant silver hair began fluttering in a hot wind. Our time grows short, she whispered, touching her amulet necklace. Then, without warning, she erupted in a blinding pillar of fire, which billowed across the river, engulfing them both.

    Langdon shouted, his eyes flying open.

    Dr. Brooks eyed him with concern. What is it?

    I keep hallucinating! Langdon exclaimed. The same scene.

    The silver-haired woman? And all the dead bodies?

    Langdon nodded, perspiration beading on his brow.

    You’ll be okay, she assured him, despite sounding shaky herself. Recurring visions are common with amnesia. The brain function that sorts and catalogs your memories has been temporarily shaken up, and so it throws everything into one picture.

    Not a very nice picture, he managed.

    I know, but until you heal, your memories will be muddled and uncataloged—past, present, and imagination all mixed together. The same thing happens in dreams.

    The elevator lurched to a stop, and Dr. Brooks yanked open the folding door. They were walking again, this time down a dark, narrow corridor. They passed a window, outside of which the murky silhouettes of Florence rooftops had begun emerging in the predawn light. At the far end of the hall, she crouched down and retrieved a key from beneath a thirsty-looking houseplant and unlocked a door.

    The apartment was tiny, the air inside hinting at an ongoing battle between a vanilla-scented candle and old carpeting. The furniture and artwork were meager at best—as if she had furnished it at a yard sale. Dr. Brooks adjusted a thermostat, and the radiators banged to life.

    She stood a moment and closed her eyes, exhaling heavily, as if to collect herself. Then she turned and helped Langdon into a modest kitchenette whose Formica table had two flimsy chairs.

    Langdon made a move toward a chair in hopes of sitting down, but Dr. Brooks grabbed his arm with one hand and opened a cabinet with her other. The cabinet was nearly bare … crackers, a few bags of pasta, a can of Coke, and a bottle of NoDoz.

    She took out the bottle and dumped six caplets into Langdon’s palm. Caffeine, she said. For when I work night shifts like tonight.

    Langdon put the pills in his mouth and glanced around for some water.

    Chew them, she said. They’ll hit your system faster and help counteract the sedative.

    Langdon began chewing and instantly cringed. The pills were bitter, clearly meant to be swallowed whole. Dr. Brooks opened the refrigerator and handed Langdon a half-empty bottle of San Pellegrino. He gratefully took a long drink.

    The ponytailed doctor now took his right arm and removed the makeshift bandage that she’d fashioned out of his jacket, which she laid on the kitchen table. Then she carefully examined his wound. As she held his bare arm, Langdon could feel her slender hands trembling.

    You’ll live, she announced.

    Langdon hoped she was going to be okay. He could barely fathom what they’d both just endured. Dr. Brooks, he said, we need to call somebody. The consulate … the police. Somebody.

    She nodded in agreement. Also, you can stop calling me Dr. Brooks—my name is Sienna.

    Langdon nodded. Thanks. I’m Robert. It seemed the bond they’d just forged fleeing for their lives warranted a first-name basis. You said you’re British?

    By birth, yes.

    I don’t hear an accent.

    Good, she replied. I worked hard to lose it.

    Langdon was about to inquire why, but Sienna motioned for him to follow. She led him down a narrow corridor to a small, gloomy bathroom. In the mirror above the sink, Langdon glimpsed his reflection for the first time since seeing it in the window of his hospital room.

    Not good. Langdon’s thick dark hair was matted, and his eyes looked bloodshot and weary. A shroud of stubble obscured his jaw.

    Sienna turned on the faucet and guided Langdon’s injured forearm under the ice-cold water. It stung sharply, but he held it there, wincing.

    Sienna retrieved a fresh washcloth and squirted it with antibacterial soap. You may want to look away.

    It’s fine. I’m not bothered by—

    Sienna began scrubbing violently, and white-hot pain shot up Langdon’s arm. He clenched his jaw to prevent himself from shouting out in protest.

    You don’t want an infection, she said, scrubbing harder now. Besides, if you’re going to call the authorities, you’ll want to be more alert than you are now. Nothing activates adrenaline production like pain.

    Langdon held on for what felt like a full ten seconds of scrubbing before he forcefully yanked his arm away. Enough! Admittedly, he felt stronger and more awake; the pain in his arm had now entirely overshadowed his headache.

    Good, she said, turning

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