Page 187 of The Secret of Secrets

Finch had demanded the intruder’s identity, and the creature had calmly replied: You have betrayed Sasha’s trust…I am her protector.

Langdon thought about Sasha Vesna, wondering where she was, and even whether she was still alive somewhere in this city. He had decided that if he and Katherine got out of here in one piece, they would find Sasha and help her. Not only did Sasha deserve and need it, but Langdon and Katherine owed a debt of gratitude to the man who had just saved their lives. Sasha’s protector, he had called himself. If he is gone, helping Sasha is our moral imperative.

“Look,” Katherine whispered, placing her hand on his shoulder and turning him in the darkness. “Over there.”

Langdon squinted into blackness, seeing nothing. “Where?”

“Straight ahead,” she said, turning him slightly to the right.

Now he saw it.

In the distance, barely visible through the haze of settling dust, a faint sliver of daylight glimmered in the blackness.

On any normal day, an earthquake rattling Prague would have been high on the list of concerns for Ambassador Nagel. At the moment, however, the tremor she had just felt seemed trivial in comparison to her conversation with CIA Director Judd.

“Remove her handcuffs,” the director had ordered the Marine guards as soon as the connection had been established. “Stand post outside the room. Nobody in or out.”

The guards obeyed, and once Nagel was uncuffed and alone, Judd had lowered his voice and said, “Finch is a loose cannon. Consider this protective custody.”

With no further explanation, the CIA director had launched into a monologue, attempting to justify everything Nagel had heard in Gessner’s horrifying confession. Now, having made his argument, Judd leaned forward toward the camera, his expression both pleading and deadly serious.

“We’re in an arms race, Heide,” he said, “and our adversaries are growing more powerful and aggressive every day. The plans being formulated against the U.S. are very real and potentially catastrophic, and we need to know about them before they happen. Threshold represents the advantage our intelligence community requires to help our country survive the coming storm. If we fail to take an inside track in the technology of the human mind, someone else will…and rather than being the watchers, we will be the watched.”

The age-old argument, Nagel thought. Someone is going to do it, so it had better be us.

The most dangerous and ethically questionable scientific endeavor in history—building an atomic bomb—had been launched on a similar justification. And outside of ethical or political argument, it was true that the United States’ being first to have the bomb had ended a devastating war and cemented the U.S. as a superpower for the next half century…a persuasive example of the ends justifying the means. But this was a different landscape.

Nagel could not begin to imagine how this video would play on the world stage. Not only did it reveal the existence of a shocking classified technology, but it lifted the veil on an appalling and unforgivable truth; the CIA performed testing on kidnapped Russian psychiatric patients, one of whom, Dmitri Sysevich, had apparently perished in the program. The CIA would be crucified top down…starting with the director.

“As you probably guessed,” Judd said, “In-Q-Tel was not involved with Threshold in any way. I placed Finch in their London office as credible cover and for operational support, but he clearly overstepped.” The director looked regretful. “I should never have granted him so much power.”

A loud knock on the door drew Nagel’s attention, and one of the embassy guards stuck his head in.

“Madam Ambassador?” he said, looking shaken. “I apologize for the interruption. We have an emergency call for you.”

I’m already on one! she wanted to yell. “Who is it?”

“Sergeant Kerble,” the Marine said. “He says there’s been a massive underground explosion in Folimanka Park.”

Chapter 118

Three hundred meters from the epicenter of devastation, the subterranean tram tunnel back to Crucifix Bastion had survived more or less intact, despite no longer having power or lights. The small platform outside the entrance to Threshold was strewn with debris and dust.

Lying at the bottom of the concrete channel that housed the rails, a figure stirred.

In total darkness, The Golěm slowly rose to his knees, knowing he was lucky to be alive. His flight from Threshold had not gone as planned, and he had barely reached the tram before the blast had hurled him down into the concrete channel.

The question now was whether The Golěm would be able to exit this underground tomb. The route behind him was undoubtedly destroyed and blocked by rubble. The way forward, through the long, pitch-black tunnel, could easily have collapsed from the pressure wave, and there was no way to know if the elevator shaft leading to Crucifix Bastion was still intact. Despite his profound exhaustion, The Golěm knew he could not afford to perish down here.

I must escape so I can release Sasha.

Fueled by this knowledge, The Golěm located the side of the channel, placed a hand on it, and then forced himself onward into the blackness. Dragging his hand along the wall for guidance, he fell into a steady rhythm, his platform boots crunching on the uneven surface that was littered with occasional blast debris, his legs feeling heavier with every step.

A guardian angel cannot sleep.

Shaken and bruised, Langdon and Katherine inched through the murky garage, navigating the shattered edges of demolished vehicles and fallen concrete, moving toward the lone source of illumination—a sliver of daylight that grew brighter as the dust continued to settle.

When they finally reached the light, Langdon could see the garage’s massive sliding door had been knocked from its track. The bottom of the panel was bent outward, creating a low, narrow gap. Langdon crouched down and peered through, able to see a few feet of the inclined driveway beyond.