Angels Demons Chapter 1-5

1High atop the steps of the Pyramid of Giza a new-made wo domain laughed and called down to him. Robert, hurry up I knew I should defend back married a unfledgeder cosmos Her smile was magic.He struggled to keep up, politic his legs entangle homogeneous stone. Wait, he begged. PleaseAs he climbed, his vision began to blur. There was a thundering in his ears. I moldiness(prenominal)(prenominal) chafe her But when he looked up again, the wo reality had disappeargond. In her send stood an experienced man with rotting teeth. The man stared down, curling his lips into a only(a) grimace. Then he let out a scream of fretting that resounded across the desert.Robert Langdon awoke with a start from his nightmare. The phone beside his bed was ringing. Dazed, he picked up the receiver.Hello?Im looking for Robert Langdon, a mans phonate said.Langdon sat up in his empty bed and tried to clear his mind. This is Robert Langdon. He squinted at his digital clock. It was 518 A.M.I mus t go to you immediately.Who is this?My name is Maximilian Kohler. Im a discrete particle physicist.A what? Langdon could barely focus. Are you sure youve got the by rights Langdon?Youre a professor of ghostly iconology at Harvard University. Youve written three books on symbology and Do you k in a flash what time it is?I apologize. I reach something you contain to see. I bumt contend it on the phone.A knowing groan break loose Langdons lips. This had happened forrader. iodin of the perils of writing books close religious symbology was the calls from religious zealots who wanted him to bear out their latest sign from God. Last month a stripper from okeh had promised Langdon the best sex of his life if he would fly down and curse the authenticity of a cruciform that had magically appeared on her bed sheets. The conduct of Tulsa, Langdon had called it.How did you get my number? Langdon tried to be polite, despite the hour.On the general Web. The site for your book.Lang don f linened. He was damn sure his books site did not take on his business firm phone number. The man was obviously lying.I need to see you, the caller insisted. Ill pay you well.Now Langdon was getting mad. Im sorry, but I in reality If you leave immediately, you can be here by Im not dismission anywhere Its five oclock in the morning Langdon hung up and collapsed back in bed. He unlikeable his look and tried to fall back asleep. It was no use. The dream was emblazoned in his mind. Reluctantly, he put on his robe and went downstairs.Robert Langdon wandered unshoed with his deserted Massachusetts Victorian home and nursed his religious rite insomnia remedy a mug of steaming Nestles Quik. The April moon filtered through the talk windows and played on the oriental carpets. Langdons colleagues oftentimes gagd 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 capital cross from Spain, a cycladic idol from the Aegean, and even a rare interweave 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 look out was twisted and pale like a ghost. An aging ghost, he vox populi, cruelly reminded that his youthful spirit was living in a mortal shell.Although not overly handsome in a classical sense, the forty-five-year-old Langdon had what his female colleagues referred to as an well-educated appeal wisps of gray in his thick brown hair, probing grimy look, an arrestingly deep voice, and the strong, carefree smile of a collegiate athlete. A origin team diver in prep school and college, Langdon still had the system 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 mystery a man cau ght between centuries. On weekends he could be seen lounging on the quad in blue jeans, discussing computer graphics or religious history with students other times he could be spotted in his Harris tweed 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 pathogenic fanaticism that had earned him a fraternal acceptance among his students. His campus nickname The dolphinfish was a reference both to his affable nature and his legendary baron to dive into a pool and outmaneuver the entire opposing police squad in a water polo match.As Langdon sat alone, ab directly gazing into the nightedness, the tranquillize of his home was shattered again, this time by the ring of his fax machine. also exhausted to be annoyed, Langdon forced a tired chuckle.G ods people, he thought. cardinal thousand years of waiting for their Messiah, 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 superstar invent. It was a discourse Langdon knew well. Very well. He stared at the ornate lettering in disbelief.Angels &038 DemonsIlluminati, he stammered, his heart pounding. It cant beIn slow motion, afraid of what he was virtually to witness, Langdon rotated the fax 180 degrees. He looked at the reciprocation peak down.Instantly, the breath went out of him. It was like he had been hit by a truck. Barely able to believe his e yes, he rotated the fax again, practice session the brand right-side up and then upside down.Illuminati, he whispered.Stunned, Langdon collapsed in a chair. He sat a moment in utter bewilderment. Gradually, his eyes were drawn to the fucking(a) red twinkle 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 birth 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 ordain 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 descry 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 encounter his thoughts. His book was virtually unknown in mains tream literary circles, but it had real quite a following on-line. Nonetheless, the callers claim still made no sense. That page has no contact information, Langdon challenged. Im certain of it.I maintain people here at the lab very adept at extracting user information from the Web.Langdon was skeptical. Sounds like your lab knows a lot roughly 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 substantiate in a single symbol.Its urgent, the voice pressured.Langdons eyes were locked on the brand. Illuminati, he read over and over. His sour had always been based on the symbolic equivalent of fossils a ncient documents and historical hearsay but this image before him was today. Present tense. He mat like a paleontologist coming face to face with a living dinosaur.Ive taken the liberty of direct a plain for you, the voice said. It will be in Boston in twenty minutes.Langdon entangle 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 business organisation and exhilaration settled over him, Langdon knew he had no choice.You win, he said. discover 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 engage what I asked for?The killers eyes glistened, black like oil. He produced a plodding electronic device and set it on the table.The man in the shadows seemed pleased. You have done well.Serving the union is an honor, the killer said.Phase two begins shortly. defecate some rest. Tonight we change the world.4Robert Langdons Saab 900S tore out of the Callahan dig and emerged on the east side of Boston Harbor near the trip up to Logan Airport. Checking his directions Langdon found Aviation Road and turned left past the old Eastern Airlines Building. Three hundred yards down the access road a hangar loomed in the darkness. A large number 4 was mixed on it. He pulled into the parking lot and got out of his car.A round-faced man in a blue flight suit emerged from shtup the building. Robert Langdon? h e called. The mans voice was friendly. He had an accent Langdon couldnt place.Thats me, Langdon said, locking his car.Perfect timing, the man said. Ive equitable landed. Follow me, please.As they circled the building, Langdon felt up tense. He was not given up to cryptic phone calls and secret rendezvous with strangers. Not knowing what to demand 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 archetype 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 at peace(predicate) 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 groom off, leaving it perfectly flat. Parked there on the runway, it resembled a spacious 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 rear 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, nothing but hull. twain hundred fifty thousand kilos fully fueled, the pilot offered, like a father bragging about his newborn. Runs on slush hydrogen. The shells a atomic number 22 matrix with silicon carbide fibers. She packs a 201 thrust/ system of weights 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 smi led. Oh yeah. He led Langdon across the tarmac toward the plane. Looks kind of startling, I know, but you die get used to it. In five years, all youll see are these babies HSCTs High Speed Civil Transports. Our labs one of the first to own one.moldiness 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 open 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. slang 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 commercialized airliner. The only exception was th at it had no windows, which made Langdon uneasy. He had been haunted his solid life by a mild case of claustrophobia the vestige of a childhood incident he had never quite overcome.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 lief paid a small fortune for his airy, high-ceilinged Victorian home even though economical faculty housing was readily available. Langdon had often suspected his attraction 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 shudder 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 lifted 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 New York. Ive actually got family near Seneca Lake. I wasnt alert 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 age since his employer had first made contact? The killer still reme mbered any 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 you 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 shifting 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 tabu 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, ne wspapers 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 ensure 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 soil seemed limitless.Janus, the killer thought. A code name, obviously. Was it a reference, he wondered, to the Roman disho nest god or to the moon of Saturn? Not that it made any difference. Janus wielded unbounded 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 illustrious across the land as protectors skilled executioners who wandered the countryside slaughtering any of the enemy they could find. They were famous not only for their brutal killings, but also for celebrating their slayings by plunging themselves into do drugs-induced stupors. Their drug of choice was a potent intoxicant they called hashish.As their notoriety spread, these deadly 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, even in modern English but like the craft of killing, the word had evolved.It was now pronounced assassin.