"Yes." Vittoria motioned to the canisters. "And there is the proof. In those canisters are specimens of the matter he created."
Kohler coughed and moved toward the canisters like a wary animal circling something he instinctively sensed was wrong. "I’ve obviously missed something," he said. "How do you expect anyone to believe these canisters contain particles of matter your father actually created? They could be particles from anywhere at all."
"Actually," Vittoria said, sounding confident, "they couldn’t. These particles are unique. They are a type of matter that does not exist anywhere on earth… hence they had to be created."
Kohler’s expression darkened. "Vittoria, what do you mean a certain type of matter? There is only one type of matter, and it—" Kohler stopped short.
Vittoria’s expression was triumphant. "You’ve lectured on it yourself, director. The universe contains two kinds of matter. Scientific fact." Vittoria turned to Langdon. "Mr. Langdon, what does the Bible say about the Creation? What did God create?"
Langdon felt awkward, not sure what this had to do with anything. "Um, God created… light and dark, heaven and hell—"
"Exactly," Vittoria said. "He created everything in opposites. Symmetry. Perfect balance." She turned back to Kohler. "Director, science claims the same thing as religion, that the Big Bang created everything in the universe with an opposite."
"Including matter itself," Kohler whispered, as if to himself.
Vittoria nodded. "And when my father ran his experiment, sure enough, two kinds of matter appeared."
Langdon wondered what this meant. Leonardo Vetra created matter’s opposite?
Kohler looked angry. "The substance you’re referring to only exists elsewhere in the universe. Certainly not on earth. And possibly not even in our galaxy!"
"Exactly," Vittoria replied, "which is proof that the particles in these canisters had to be created."
Kohler’s face hardened. "Vittoria, surely you can’t be saying those canisters contain actual specimens?"
"I am." She gazed proudly at the canisters. "Director, you are looking at the world’s first specimens of antimatter."
20
Phase two, the Hassassin thought, striding into the darkened tunnel.
The torch in his hand was overkill. He knew that. But it was for effect. Effect was everything. Fear, he had learned, was his ally. Fear cripples faster than any implement of war.
There was no mirror in the passage to admire his disguise, but he could sense from the shadow of his billowing robe that he was perfect. Blending in was part of the plan… part of the depravity of the plot. In his wildest dreams he had never imagined playing this part.
Two weeks ago, he would have considered the task awaiting him at the far end of this tunnel impossible. A suicide mission. Walking naked into a lion’s lair. But Janus had changed the definition of impossible.
The secrets Janus had shared with the Hassassin in the last two weeks had been numerous… this very tunnel being one of them. Ancient, and yet still perfectly passable.
As he drew closer to his enemy, the Hassassin wondered if what awaited him inside would be as easy as Janus had promised. Janus had assured him someone on the inside would make the necessary arrangements. Someone on the inside. Incredible. The more he considered it, the more he realized it was child’s play.
Wahad… tintain… thalatha… arbaa, he said to himself in Arabic as he neared the end. One… two… three… four…
21
"I sense you’ve heard of antimatter, Mr. Langdon?" Vittoria was studying him, her dark skin in stark contrast to the white lab.
Langdon looked up. He felt suddenly dumb. "Yes. Well… sort of."
A faint smile crossed her lips. "You watch Star Trek."
Langdon flushed. "Well, my students enjoy…" He frowned. "Isn’t antimatter what fuels the U.S.S. Enterprise?"
She nodded. "Good science fiction has its roots in good science."
"So antimatter is real?"
"A fact of nature. Everything has an opposite. Protons have electrons. Up-quarks have down-quarks. There is a cosmic symmetry at the subatomic level. Antimatter is yin to matter’s yang. It balances the physical equation."
Langdon thought of Galileo’s belief of duality.
"Scientists have known since 1918," Vittoria said, "that two kinds of matter were created in the Big Bang. One matter is the kind we see here on earth, making up rocks, trees, people. The other is its inverse—identical to matter in all respects except that the charges of its particles are reversed."
Kohler spoke as though emerging from a fog. His voice sounded suddenly precarious. "But there are enormous technological barriers to actually storing antimatter. What about neutralization?"
"My father built a reverse polarity vacuum to pull the antimatter positrons out of the accelerator before they could decay."
Kohler scowled. "But a vacuum would pull out the matter also. There would be no way to separate the particles."
"He applied a magnetic field. Matter arced right, and antimatter arced left. They are polar opposites."
At that instant, Kohler’s wall of doubt seemed to crack. He looked up at Vittoria in clear astonishment and then without warning was overcome by a fit of coughing. "Incred… ible…" he said, wiping his mouth, "and yet…" It seemed his logic was still resisting. "Yet even if the vacuum worked, these canisters are made of matter. Antimatter cannot be stored inside canisters made out of matter. The antimatter would instantly react with—"
"The specimen is not touching the canister," Vittoria said, apparently expecting the question. "The antimatter is suspended. The canisters are called ‘antimatter traps’ because they literally trap the antimatter in the center of the canister, suspending it at a safe distance from the sides and bottom."
"Suspended? But… how?"
"Between two intersecting magnetic fields. Here, have a look."
Vittoria walked across the room and retrieved a large electronic apparatus. The contraption reminded Langdon of some sort of cartoon ray gun—a wide cannonlike barrel with a sighting scope on top and a tangle of electronics dangling below. Vittoria aligned the scope with one of the canisters, peered into the eyepiece, and calibrated some knobs. Then she stepped away, offering Kohler a look.
Kohler looked nonplussed. "You collected visible amounts?"
"Five thousand nanograms," Vittoria said. "A liquid plasma containing millions of positrons."
"Millions? But a few particles is all anyone has ever detected… anywhere."
"Xenon," Vittoria said flatly. "He accelerated the particle beam through a jet of xenon, stripping away the electrons. He insisted on keeping the exact procedure a secret, but it involved simultaneously injecting raw electrons into the accelerator."
Langdon felt lost, wondering if their conversation was still in English.
Kohler paused, the lines in his brow deepening. Suddenly he drew a short breath. He slumped like he’d been hit with a bullet. "Technically that would leave…"
Vittoria nodded. "Yes. Lots of it."
Kohler returned his gaze to the canister before him. With a look of uncertainty, he hoisted himself in his chair and placed his eye to the viewer, peering inside. He stared a long time without saying anything. When he finally sat down, his forehead was covered with sweat. The lines on his face had disappeared. His voice was a whisper. "My God… you really did it."