Page 12 of The Secret of Secrets

Langdon heard the rapid approach of footfalls on the dock.

“Mr. Langdon!” the hotel manager shouted, arriving wild-eyed. He slipped to a stop on the snow-covered surface. “Are you all right, sir?! What happened here?!”

Langdon nodded. “I…thought…there was…”

“A fire?!”

Convulsing with cold, Langdon shook his head. “No…”

“Then why did you pull the alarm?!” The man’s normally gracious tone was frayed and angry.

“I thought…there was danger.”

“From what?!”

Langdon struggled to prop himself into a sitting position. His head pounded, and he could feel hypothermia setting in.

A hotel security guard sprinted down the dock and joined them. The muscular man reached down and roughly pulled Langdon to his feet, lifting him with a firm grasp beneath his armpits. Langdon was uncertain whether the guard was helping him up or restraining him.

“Why did you pull the alarm, sir?” the manager repeated, staring intently at him.

“I’m sorry…” Langdon replied, his teeth starting to chatter. “I was…confused.”

“Because of the police in the lobby? I told you that was nothing!” The manager seemed barely able to contain himself. “I need to know—is it safe to go back inside?”

Langdon could see guests still flowing from the rear emergency exit, and he could only imagine the chaos at the hotel’s main entrance. I can’t explain this to them. They’ll think I’m mad.

“Professor Langdon,” the manager said, his frustrated tone now turning angrier, “I need an answer! I have four hundred guests standing outside in the snow. Is the building safe? Yes or no! Can our guests return inside?”

Langdon again saw the image of the woman wearing the black radiant crown…the silver spear…and the putrid smell of death. There must be another explanation. The world does not work this way! Get a grip, Robert.

Langdon finally nodded. “Yes…I believe it’s safe. I’m terribly sorry. As I said…I was confus—”

“Vypněte alarm!” the manager said to the guard, who released Langdon abruptly. As Langdon teetered on trembling legs, the guard pulled out a radio and barked orders while the hotel manager placed a call on his mobile.

Within seconds, the alarms fell silent, replaced by the distant wail of approaching emergency vehicles. The manager closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly through pursed lips. Then he reopened his eyes and calmly brushed the snowflakes from his dark suit.

“Professor Langdon,” he whispered through clenched teeth, “I need to receive the authorities. My security guard will help you to your room. Do not go anywhere. The authorities will need to speak to you.”

Langdon nodded his understanding.

As the manager rushed off, the guard led Langdon through a smaller service entrance to a back staircase. Langdon’s sneakers squished with every step as the two men made their way up to the Royal Suite. The door was open, and the lights were on, exactly as Langdon had left it.

“Zůstaňte tady,” the guard commanded, pointing into the room.

Langdon didn’t speak Czech, but the guard’s body language was crystal clear. Enter and do not come out. Langdon nodded and entered the suite alone, closing the door behind him.

The bay window from which he had jumped was still open wide, the flower arrangement on the sill already wilting from the icy cold. The red, white, and blue tulips had been a gift from the U.S. ambassador to Katherine in honor of her anticipated lecture, the colors being those of both the American and Czech flags.

Langdon closed the window, morbidly recalling that the practice of defenestration—throwing a victim from a high window—had sparked both the Hussite Wars and the Thirty Years’ War. Fortunately, Langdon’s hotel window was significantly lower than Prague Castle Tower, and despite the trouble he’d caused this morning, Langdon doubted he’d started any wars.

I need to talk to Katherine…and tell her what I saw.

The encounter on Charles Bridge had been as disorienting as anything Langdon could ever remember, and despite Katherine’s open-mindedness to all things “paranormal,” Langdon doubted even she would have an explanation.

Hoping she might have texted to say she had safely exited the hotel, Langdon reached into the pockets of his dripping sweatpants to dig out his phone, but it was no longer there—most likely at the bottom of the Vltava River.

A fresh wave of cold shuddered through him as he hurried to the bedroom to use the hotel phone to call her. As he reached for the handset, though, he saw a handwritten note on the bedside table.