Page 189 of The Secret of Secrets

As he drove toward the embassy, in case his sedan was being tracked, Kerble’s instincts told him that delivering Langdon and Solomon into the hands of the CIA director was not what Nagel would want. He also sensed there was a lot he was not being told by the Americans in the backseat.

“We need to get out,” Langdon declared, his voice surprisingly authoritative considering the circumstances. “I can’t give you details, but trust me when I tell you that your ambassador is in grave danger—especially if the CIA director has detained her.”

Grave danger? Kerble was well aware of Gregory Judd’s reputation for taking no prisoners when it came to national security. But would he really harm an ambassador? Kerble considered mentioning the diplomatic pouch that the director had seemed intent on finding, but the ambassador’s orders about the pouch had been clear. Tell no one.

“If the ambassador is going to survive this—physically or politically,” Langdon said, “I believe there is only one thing left that can help her. I also believe I can find it.”

Despite the boldness of the claim, Kerble sensed the man at least believed what he was saying. “What is it you’re looking for?”

“It’s not a what,” Langdon replied. “It’s a whom.”

Kerble glanced up, locking eyes with the professor in the rearview mirror. “Who is it?”

“Her name is Sasha Vesna,” Langdon said, “and everything the ambassador needs to weather this storm is located in Sasha’s head.”

Robert knows how to find Sasha?

For a moment, Katherine feared Langdon might be bluffing, but his nod of assurance told her he was speaking in earnest.

Finding Sasha is the key to everything…

Far more conclusive than the binder Katherine had lost in the blast, Sasha herself was the most irrefutable proof that Threshold had even existed. A single brain scan would prove not only that this advanced implant was real, but also that the CIA had tricked a young Russian psychiatric patient into becoming a medical test subject.

Locating Sasha was even more important now, as the destruction of Threshold had made their tenuous situation even more dangerous. The CIA would be in damage-control mode, and with all evidence of wrongdoing conveniently buried beneath Folimanka Park, the agency would be moving quickly to tie up all loose ends.

Robert and I definitely qualify as unresolved details, she knew. As do Sasha Vesna and Dmitri Sysevich.

Katherine pictured the eerily cloaked figure they had seen in Threshold. The man had proclaimed himself “Sasha’s protector” and was almost certainly Sysevich—the dark-haired Russian epileptic who, like Sasha, had been taken from an institution. His medical records, at first glance, had suggested to Katherine that he had died, but it now appeared something else had happened to him. Perhaps he had escaped their grasp. Whatever his situation, nobody more than Dmitri possessed the motivation to return and obliterate the facility that had subjected him to untold horrors.

Mental illness, Katherine suspected, was almost certainly involved. The man smeared himself with clay and sacrificed his life to destroy Threshold. She wondered if Dmitri had a preexisting psychological condition in the institution, or whether it had been caused by the trauma of invasive brain surgery and forced psychedelic drug use. Either way, Dmitri Sysevich was clearly not a well man.

Sasha is somewhere safe, the man had said.

“Robert,” Katherine urged. “You really know where to find Sasha?”

“I just figured it out,” he replied. “There’s only one place she could be…but in order to find her, I need to get into her apartment—”

“She’s not there,” Kerble interrupted. “I was the one who found Harris’s body. Sasha was long gone. Our team quickly retrieved Harris, locked up, and left.”

“I understand,” Langdon said. “But I still need to get inside. There’s something there that can help us. How did you gain access to her apartment?”

“My colleague, Dana Daněk. She had a key.”

“On a Krazy Kitten key ring?” Langdon asked.

Kerble glanced over his shoulder. “How did you know that?”

“Because I’m the one who gave it to Ms. Daněk. And now I need it back from her immediately.”

“That’s impossible,” Kerble said. “Dana no longer has it.”

Langdon cursed under his breath. “Who has it now?”

Kerble reached into his pocket and tossed a small object back to Langdon. “You do, Professor.”

A massive explosion in Prague?!

Jonas Faukman frantically skimmed the New York Times alert on his computer and tried to convince himself that the blast was just a coincidence. Despite the statistical improbability that Langdon had been anywhere near the blast, his friend had a disconcerting habit of finding himself at the epicenter of trouble.