Angels Demons Chapter 1-5

1High atop the steps of the Pyramid of Giza a youngish adult female laughed and cal take down to him. Robert, hurry up I knew I should soak up married a younger man Her smile was magic.He struggled to keep up, provided his legs entangle like stone. Wait, he begged. PleaseAs he climbed, his vision began to blur. There was a thundering in his ears. I must(prenominal) reach her But when he looked up once again, the woman had disappe ared. In her place stood an old man with rotting teeth. The man stared down, curling his lips into a lonely grimace. Then he let verboten a scream of anguish that resounded across the desert.Robert Langdon awoke with a st fine art from his nightmare. The phone beside his bed was ringing. Dazed, he picked up the receiver.Hello?Im looking for Robert Langdon, a mans voice tell.Langdon sit down up in his empty bed and go steadyk to clear his mind. This is Robert Langdon. He squinted at his digital clock. It was 518 A.M.I must see you immediately.Who is this?My get wind is Maximilian Kohler. Im a discrete particle physicist.A what? Langdon could barely focus. Are you sure youve got the right Langdon?Youre a professor of religious iconology at Harvard University. Youve written three agrees on symbology and Do you know what time it is?I apologize. I accept something you need to see. I cant discuss it on the phone.A knowing groan escaped Langdons lips. This had happened before. oneness of the perils of writing books ab protrude religious symbology was the calls from religious zealots who wanted him to confirm their latest sign from God. Last month a stripper from Oklahoma had promised Langdon the best shake up of his life if he would fly down and verify the authenticity of a cruciform that had magically appeared on her bed sheets. The Shroud of Tulsa, Langdon had called it.How did you get my number? Langdon tried to be polite, despite the hour.On the Worldwide Web. The site for your book.Langdon frowned. He was damn sure his books site did not include his home phone number. The man was patently lying.I need to see you, the caller insisted. Ill pay you well.Now Langdon was getting mad. Im sorry, but I really If you leave immediately, you can be here by Im not going anywhere Its five oclock in the morning Langdon hung up and collapsed natural c all overing in bed. He shut his eyes and tried to fall spine asleep. It was no use. The dream was emblazoned in his mind. Reluctantly, he put on his robe and went downstairs.Robert Langdon wandered barefoot through his deserted Massachusetts Victorian home and nursed his ritual insomnia remedy a mug of steaming Nestles Quik. The April moon filtered through the bay windows and p coiffureed on the oriental carpets. Langdons colleagues often joked that his place looked more like an anthropology museum than a home. His shelves were packed with religious artifacts from around the world an ekuaba from Ghana, a gold cross from Spain, a cycladic idol from the Aegea n, and even a rare woven boccus from Borneo, a young warriors symbol of perpetual youth.As Langdon sat on his brass Maharishis chest and savored the warmth of the chocolate, the bay window caught his reflection. The ambit was distorted and pale like a ghost. An aging ghost, he thinking, cruelly reminded that his youthful spirit was living in a mortal shell.Although not overly handsome in a unpolluted sense, the forty-five-year-old Langdon had what his female colleagues referred to as an erudite appeal wisps of gray in his thick brown hair, probing blue eyes, an arrestingly deep voice, and the strong, carefree smile of a collegiate athlete. A varsity diver in prep school and college, Langdon still had the organic structure of a swimmer, a toned, six-foot physique that he vigilantly maintained with fifty laps a day in the university pool.Langdons friends had always viewed him as a bit of an enigma a man caught between centuries. On weekends he could be seen lounging on the qua d in blue jeans, discussing computer graphics or religious history with students other times he could be spotted in his Harris whiteness and paisley vest, photographed in the pages of upscale art magazines at museum openings where he had been asked to lecture.Although a tough teacher and strict disciplinarian, Langdon was the first to embrace what he hailed as the lost art of good clean fun. He relished recreation with an infectious fanaticism that had earned him a fraternal acceptance among his students. His campus nick call off The Dolphin was a reference twain to his affable nature and his legendary ability to dive into a pool and outmaneuver the entire opposing squad in a water polo match.As Langdon sat alone, absently gazing into the darkness, the silence of his home was shattered again, this time by the ring of his facsimile machine. Too exhausted to be annoyed, Langdon forced a deteriorate chuckle.Gods people, he thought. Two thousand years of postponement for their Me ssiah, and theyre still persistent as hell.Wearily, he returned his empty mug to the kitchen and walked slowly to his oak-paneled study. The incoming fax lay in the tray. Sighing, he scooped up the paper and looked at it.Instantly, a wave of nausea hit him.The image on the page was that of a human corpse. The body had been stripped naked, and its head had been twisted, facing completely backward. On the victims chest was a terrible burn. The man had been branded imprinted with a single word. It was a word Langdon knew well. really well. He stared at the ornate lettering in disbelief.Angels & DemonsIlluminati, he stammered, his heart pounding. It cant beIn slow motion, afraid of what he was about to witness, Langdon rotated the fax 180 degrees. He looked at the word upside down.Instantly, the breath went out of him. It was like he had been hit by a truck. Barely able to consider his eyes, he rotated the fax again, reading the brand right-side up and then upside down.Illuminati, he w hispered.Stunned, Langdon collapsed in a chair. He sat a implication in utter bewilderment. Gradually, his eyes were drawn to the blinking red light on his fax machine. Whoever had sent this fax was still on the line waiting to talk. Langdon gazed at the blinking light a long time.Then, trembling, he picked up the receiver.2Do I have your attention now? the mans voice said when Langdon finally answered the line.Yes, sir, you damn well do. You want to explain yourself?I tried to tell you before. The voice was rigid, mechanical. Im a physicist. I run a research facility. Weve had a murder. You saw the body.How did you find me? Langdon could barely focus. His mind was racing from the image on the fax.I already told you. The Worldwide Web. The site for your book, The Art of the Illuminati.Langdon tried to gather his thoughts. His book was virtually unknown in mainstream literary circles, but it had developed quite a following on-line. Nonetheless, the callers claim still make no sense. That page has no contact information, Langdon challenged. Im certain of it.I have people here at the testing ground very adept at extracting user information from the Web.Langdon was skeptical. Sounds like your lab knows a lot about the Web.We should, the man fired back. We invented it.Something in the mans voice told Langdon he was not joking.I must see you, the caller insisted. This is not a matter we can discuss on the phone. My lab is only an hours flight from Boston.Langdon stood in the dim light of his study and analyzed the fax in his hand. The image was overpowering, possibly representing the epigraphical find of the century, a decade of his research confirmed in a single symbol.Its urgent, the voice pressured.Langdons eyes were locked on the brand. Illuminati, he read over and over. His work had always been based on the symbolic equivalent of fossils ancient documents and historical hearsay but this image before him was today. Present tense. He mat like a paleontologis t coming face to face with a living dinosaur.Ive taken the liberty of sending a canvas for you, the voice said. It result be in Boston in twenty minutes.Langdon felt his mouth go dry. An hours flightPlease forgive my presumption, the voice said. I need you here.Langdon looked again at the fax an ancient myth confirmed in black and white. The implications were frightening. He gazed absently through the bay window. The first hint of dawn was sifting through the birch trees in his backyard, but the view looked somehow different this morning. As an odd combination of fear and exhilaration settled over him, Langdon knew he had no alternative.You win, he said. Tell me where to meet the plane.3Thousands of miles away, two men were meeting. The chamber was dark. Medieval. Stone.Benvenuto, the man in charge said. He was seated in the shadows, out of sight. Were you successful?Si, the dark figure replied. Perfectamente. His words were as hard as the rock walls.And there will be no doubt who is responsible?None.Superb. Do you have what I asked for?The slayers eyes glistened, black like oil. He produced a heavy electronic device and set it on the table.The man in the shadows seemed pleased. You have done well.Serving the brotherhood is an honor, the killer said.Phase two begins shortly. Get some rest. Tonight we change the world.4Robert Langdons Saab 900S tore out of the Callahan Tunnel and emerged on the east side of Boston Harbor near the entrance to Logan Airport. Checking his directions Langdon found Aviation Road and turned left past the old Eastern Airlines Building. deuce-ace hundred yards down the access road a hangar loomed in the darkness. A large number 4 was painted on it. He pulled into the place lot and got out of his car.A round-faced man in a blue flight suit emerged from behind the building. Robert Langdon? he called. The mans voice was friendly. He had an artistic style Langdon couldnt place.Thats me, Langdon said, locking his car.Perfect timing , the man said. Ive just landed. Follow me, please.As they circled the building, Langdon felt tense. He was not accustomed to cryptic phone calls and secret rendezvous with strangers. non knowing what to expect he had donned his usual classroom attire a pair of chinos, a turtleneck, and a Harris tweed suit jacket. As they walked, he thought about the fax in his jacket pocket, still unable to believe the image it depicted.The buffer store seemed to sense Langdons anxiety. Flyings not a problem for you, is it, sir?Not at all, Langdon replied. Branded corpses are a problem for me. Flying I can handle.The man led Langdon the length of the hangar. They rounded the corner onto the runway.Langdon stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at the aircraft parked on the tarmac. Were riding in that?The man grinned. Like it?Langdon stared a long moment. Like it? What the hell is it?The craft before them was enormous. It was vaguely reminiscent of the space shuttle except that the top had been sh aved off, leaving it perfectly flat. Parked there on the runway, it resembled a colossal wedge. Langdons first impression was that he must be dreaming. The vehicle looked as airworthy as a Buick. The wings were practically nonexistent just two stubby fins on the fuck of the fuselage. A pair of dorsal guiders rose out of the aft section. The rest of the plane was hull about 200 feet from front to back no windows, energy but hull.Two hundred fifty thousand kilos fully fueled, the pilot offered, like a father bragging about his newborn. Runs on slush hydrogen. The shells a titanium matrix with silicon carbide fibers. She packs a 201 thrust/weight ratio most jets run at 71. The director must be in one helluva a hurry to see you. He doesnt usually send the big boy.This thing flies? Langdon said.The pilot smiled. Oh yeah. He led Langdon across the tarmac toward the plane. Looks kind of startling, I know, but you better get used to it. In five years, all youll see are these babies HS CTs High bucket along Civil Transports. Our labs one of the first to own one.Must be one hell of a lab, Langdon thought.This ones a prototype of the Boeing X-33, the pilot continued, but there are dozens of others the National Aero Space Plane, the Russians have Scramjet, the Brits have HOTOL. The futures here, its just taking some time to get to the public sector. You can kiss conventional jets good-bye.Langdon looked up warily at the craft. I think Id prefer a conventional jet.The pilot motioned up the gangplank. This way, please, Mr. Langdon. Watch your step.Minutes later, Langdon was seated inside the empty cabin. The pilot buckled him into the front row and disappeared toward the front of the aircraft.The cabin itself looked surprisingly like a wide-body commercial airliner. The only exception was that it had no windows, which made Langdon uneasy. He had been haunt his whole life by a mild case of claustrophobia the vestige of a childhood incident he had never quite overco me.Langdons aversion to closed spaces was by no means debilitating, but it had always frustrated him. It manifested itself in subtle ways. He avoided enclosed sports like racquetball or squash, and he had gladly give a small fortune for his airy, high-ceilinged Victorian home even though economical faculty housing was readily available. Langdon had often suspected his affection to the art world as a young boy sprang from his love of museums wide open spaces.The engines roared to life beneath him, sending a deep microseism through the hull. Langdon swallowed hard and waited. He felt the plane start taxiing. Piped-in country music began playing quietly overhead.A phone on the wall beside him beeped twice. Langdon bring up the receiver.Hello?Comfortable, Mr. Langdon?Not at all.Just relax. Well be there in an hour.And where exactly is there? Langdon asked, realizing he had no idea where he was headed.Geneva, the pilot replied, revving the engines. The labs in Geneva.Geneva, Langdon repeated, feeling a little better. Upstate impertinent York. Ive actually got family near Seneca Lake. I wasnt aware Geneva had a physics lab.The pilot laughed. Not Geneva, New York, Mr. Langdon. Geneva, Switzerland.The word took a long moment to register. Switzerland? Langdon felt his pulse surge. I thought you said the lab was only an hour awayIt is, Mr. Langdon. The pilot chuckled. This plane goes Mach fifteen.5On a busy European street, the killer serpentined through a crowd. He was a powerful man. Dark and potent. Deceptively agile. His muscles still felt hard from the thrill of his meeting.It went well, he told himself. Although his employer had never revealed his face, the killer felt honored to be in his presence. Had it really been only fifteen days since his employer had first made contact? The killer still remembered every word of that callMy name is Janus, the caller had said. We are kinsmen of a sort. We share an enemy. I hear your skills are for hire.It depends whom y ou represent, the killer replied.The caller told him.Is this your idea of a joke?You have heard our name, I see, the caller replied.Of course. The brotherhood is legendary.And yet you find yourself doubting I am genuine.Everyone knows the brothers have faded to dust.A devious ploy. The most dangerous enemy is that which no one fears.The killer was skeptical. The brotherhood endures?Deeper underground than ever before. Our roots infiltrate everything you see even the sacred fortress of our most sworn enemy.Impossible. They are invulnerable.Our reach is far.No ones reach is that far.Very soon, you will believe. An irrefutable demonstration of the brotherhoods power has already transpired. A single act of treachery and proof.What have you done?The caller told him.The killers eyes went wide. An impossible task.The next day, newspapers around the globe carried the same headline. The killer became a believer.Now, fifteen days later, the killers faith had solidified beyond the shadow of a doubt. The brotherhood endures, he thought. Tonight they will surface to reveal their power.As he made his way through the streets, his black eyes gleamed with foreboding. One of the most covert and feared fraternities ever to walk the earth had called on him for service. They have chosen wisely, he thought. His reputation for secrecy was exceeded only by that of his deadliness.So far, he had served them nobly. He had made his kill and delivered the item to Janus as requested. Now, it was up to Janus to use his power to get a line the items placement.The placementThe killer wondered how Janus could possibly handle such a staggering task. The man obviously had connections on the inside. The brotherhoods dominion seemed limitless.Janus, the killer thought. A code name, obviously. Was it a reference, he wondered, to the Roman two-faced god or to the moon of Saturn? Not that it made any difference. Janus wielded unfathomable power. He had proven that beyond a doubt.As the killer walked , he imagined his ancestors smiling down on him. Today he was fighting their battle, he was fighting the same enemy they had fought for ages, as far back as the eleventh century when the enemys crusading armies had first pillaged his land, raping and killing his people, declaring them unclean, defiling their temples and gods.His ancestors had formed a small but deadly army to defend themselves. The army became famous across the land as protectors skilled executioners who wandered the countryside slaughtering any of the enemy they could find. They were renowned not only for their brutal killings, but also for celebrating their slayings by plunging themselves into drug-induced stupors. Their drug of choice was a potent intoxicant they called hashish.As their notoriety spread, these lethal men became known by a single word Hassassin literally the followers of hashish. The name Hassassin became synonymous with death in almost every language on earth. The word was still used today, e ven in modern English but like the craft of killing, the word had evolved.It was now pronounced assassin.