Page 155 of The Secret of Secrets

“I’m speaking to her again shortly,” Judd said. “But if there are security concerns you need to deal with, do it immediately. I don’t need to remind you that it would be catastrophic if details of this project were to leak.”

“I’m handling it personally. I’ve just arrived in Prag—” Finch winced, realizing he’d said too much.

Judd paused carefully. “If you are in Prague, then clearly you already knew there was an issue brewing.”

Among other things, Gessner is missing. “Yes, a few small wrinkles last night, but everything is under control. I’m on my way now to tie up loose ends.”

“You damn well better. Don’t make me regret putting you in charge—this is one of the most important ventures this agency is running.”

“You chose me, sir, because you know my capabilities.”

“Yes…and on that topic,” the director said, “a word of warning. If anything happens to Heide Nagel, anything at all, I will be sure you pay. For everything.”

“I’m not the enemy,” Finch said flippantly. “I’m on your side.”

“Watch yourself,” Judd said. “You don’t want to test me.”

The line clicked and went dead, and Finch sat in dazed silence as his vehicle raced toward Prague.

Finally, fuming, he called Ambassador Nagel.

The call went straight to voicemail without ringing once.

Has she turned off her phone?

Anxious, he dialed Housemore at Crucifix Bastion, and thankfully her line began to ring. After eight rings, however, it too went to voicemail as well. What’s going on? Field Officer Housemore answered Finch’s calls on the first ring, day or night…without fail. He tried her again. No answer.

Finch pocketed his phone and gazed out at the skyline for a long moment, thinking.

Then he made up his mind.

“Change of plans,” he said to his driver. “Skip the residence. Take me to Crucifix Bastion.”

Chapter 98

The machine dominating the center of the subterranean operating room looked like a futuristic torture device. Mounted on the ceiling directly above a lone surgical bed, four articulated robotic arms with pincerlike fingers protruded from an organized tangle of cables and wires. The mechanized claws appeared poised to attack whoever was unfortunate enough to be lying on the slablike bed below.

For Langdon, the most frightening feature of this contraption was not the robotic limbs but rather the bed’s restraint system. A dozen or so heavy Velcro straps hung off the bed, clearly designed to bind arms, legs, and chest to render the patient incapable of the slightest movement. And further, arching over one end of the bed was a semicircular band of metal from which five thin rods protruded at different angles—cranial immobilization screws. Langdon shuddered. He could not imagine the terror of being bound here, skull screwed in place, with this mechanical monster hovering over one’s face.

Claustrophobia on steroids.

“Unbelievable…they have a robotic-assisted brain surgeon,” Katherine said. “You probably remember the first one invented was called the da Vinci.”

Langdon vaguely recalled the news stories.

Katherine walked over to the skull clamp and examined the long screws radiating outward. “These remind me of my nightmare.”

A spiked halo, Langdon thought, seeing the object in a new light.

“Control room is over here,” Katherine said, walking over to a plate-glass window and peering through.

Langdon joined her and could see three ergometric chairs facing a series of flat-panel monitors equipped with LCD awnings for stereoscopic 3D viewing. They were accompanied by a perfectly aligned array of gleaming stainless-steel input devices—mouse, rollerball, e-stylus, editing shuttle, console, and joysticks. A tray marked Holographic Kinetics contained a pair of mesh gloves.

“Amazing,” Katherine said. “I knew robotic surgery was progressing, but this device looks years beyond anything I’ve ever even heard about.”

Langdon wondered if maybe Gessner had designed it. Another lucrative patent. “So this is how she implants her epilepsy chips?”

“Heavens, no,” Katherine said. “Placing an RLS chip is rudimentary—technically not even brain surgery. It’s just placed in a thumb-sized hollow in the skull; there’s no actual contact with the brain.” She walked back to scrutinize the device mounted on the ceiling again, examining it from several angles. “No…this is a different universe. This is for deep brain work—removing complex tumors, cauterizing aneurysms, or…perhaps for extracting specialized delicate tissue samples for analysis.” Katherine turned to him. “You said Sasha Vesna had scars on her skull. Substantial ones?”