Page 11 of The Secret of Secrets

The sound filled Langdon with an overwhelming terror. Something told him he would never make it out of the hotel in time. Fearing for his life and acting on adrenaline, he sprinted to the bay window and looked down at the deep waters of the Vltava.

The river’s smooth, dark surface lay directly beneath him.

The bell tolled louder.

He tried to think, but there was no thought, only an overpowering human instinct—survival.

Without hesitation, Langdon yanked open the window and climbed up onto the sill. The blast of cold air and snow rushing past him did nothing to quell his panic.

It’s your only choice.

He stepped to the edge of the windowsill.

Then, taking a deep breath, Langdon launched himself out into the darkness.

Chapter 5

Robert Langdon gasped for breath.

The icy waters of the Vltava River had shocked his system into near paralysis, and as he struggled to stay afloat, he could feel the weight of his wet clothes threatening to drag him under.

Katherine…

Langdon looked up at the second-story window from which he’d leaped. The explosion he had feared was coming…had not occurred. The Four Seasons Hotel was still standing, still very much intact.

In the stark glare of emergency lighting, hotel guests were now flowing out the side exit onto a wide terrace that overlooked the hotel’s mooring docks, which jutted out into the river.

As he fought to tread water, Langdon suddenly realized the current was pulling him away; the hotel dock would be his only chance of climbing out of the water before being carried downstream.

Doing his best to avoid panic, he attempted to freestyle toward the dock, but he could barely lift his arms. His soaking sweatshirt was like an anchor around him. The cold water was already constricting his circulatory system, and Langdon could feel the first warning signs of hypothermia in the pain shooting through his ankles and wrists.

Swim, Robert…

Resorting to an awkward breaststroke, Langdon strained against the current, trying to make his way toward the hotel dock. He glanced beyond it and feared being dragged over the waterfall that was not far downstream—although he knew he would probably be unconscious and submerged long before he went over the edge.

Push, dammit!

As his arms pulled him through the water, Langdon’s mind burned with the image of the ghostly woman wearing the black radiant halo. The headpiece could have been a startling coincidence…but her spear? And the smell of death?

Impossible.

Beyond explanation.

For an instant, Langdon wondered if he was still asleep, trapped in a vivid nightmare like the one Katherine had experienced last night. No. The biting cold and frantic beat of his heart assured him he was awake. As anyone who had plunged through pond ice could attest, the onset of acute hypothermia brought with it a unique succession of mental states—shock, panic, reflection, and finally, acceptance.

Use the panic, he told himself. Swim harder.

Angling across the current, Langdon stroked awkwardly in the direction of the dock, trying to ignore his intensifying pain. With each effort it grew worse, although the blare of the hotel alarm seemed to be growing louder. Closer. His eyes stung in the freezing water, and his vision was beginning to fade.

The dock was close now, a dark mass in the glare of the security lighting, and Langdon urged himself toward it, making a final push. When his hand groped something solid, his numb fingers were barely able to feel the rough wood, much less take hold. He pulled himself hand over hand down the dock to the small metal ladder mounted there. Using every last bit of strength, he pulled himself up, flopping like a deadweight onto the landing, his soaking-wet clothes shedding water all around him.

Langdon lay immobile, shivering and spent, knowing he was still very much in danger.

I’ll freeze quickly out here. I need to get warm.

He crawled to his knees and looked up at the hotel. The terrace was already jammed with guests, many wearing bathrobes, standing in the snow. He turned and looked back toward Charles Bridge, which looked like a postcard, its gas lanterns glowing warmly in the falling snow.

I saw what I saw.