Vittoria hurried to the door. She arrived and stared down at the doorknob, apparently perplexed. Langdon arrived behind her and eyed the peculiar donut-shaped hoop hanging where the doorknob should have been.
"An annulus," he whispered. Langdon reached out and quietly lifted the ring in his hand. He pulled the ring toward him. The fixture clicked. Vittoria shifted, looking suddenly uneasy. Quietly, Langdon twisted the ring clockwise. It spun loosely 360 degrees, not engaging. Langdon frowned and tried the other direction with the same result.
Vittoria looked down the remainder of the alley. "You think there’s another entrance?"
Langdon doubted it. Most Renaissance cathedrals were designed as makeshift fortresses in the event a city was stormed. They had as few entrances as possible. "If there is another way in," he said, "it’s probably recessed in the rear bastion—more of an escape route than an entrance."
Vittoria was already on the move.
Langdon followed deeper into the alley. The walls shot skyward on both sides of him. Somewhere a bell began ringing eight o’clock…
Robert Langdon did not hear Vittoria the first time she called to him. He had slowed at a stained-glass window covered with bars and was trying to peer inside the church.
"Robert!" Her voice was a loud whisper.
Langdon looked up. Vittoria was at the end of the alley. She was pointing around the back of the church and waving to him. Langdon jogged reluctantly toward her. At the base of the rear wall, a stone bulwark jutted out concealing a narrow grotto—a kind of compressed passageway cutting directly into the foundation of the church.
"An entrance?" Vittoria asked.
Langdon nodded. Actually an exit, but we won’t get technical.
Vittoria knelt and peered into the tunnel. "Let’s check the door. See if it’s open."
Langdon opened his mouth to object, but Vittoria took his hand and pulled him into the opening.
"Wait," Langdon said.
She turned impatiently toward him.
Langdon sighed. "I’ll go first."
Vittoria looked surprised. "More chivalry?"
"Age before beauty."
"Was that a compliment?"
Langdon smiled and moved past her into the dark. "Careful on the stairs."
He inched slowly into the darkness, keeping one hand on the wall. The stone felt sharp on his fingertips. For an instant Langdon recalled the ancient myth of Daedelus, how the boy kept one hand on the wall as he moved through the Minotaur’s labyrinth, knowing he was guaranteed to find the end if he never broke contact with the wall. Langdon moved forward, not entirely certain he wanted to find the end.
The tunnel narrowed slightly, and Langdon slowed his pace. He sensed Vittoria close behind him. As the wall curved left, the tunnel opened into a semicircular alcove. Oddly, there was faint light here. In the dimness Langdon saw the outline of a heavy wooden door.
"Uh oh," he said.
"Locked?"
"It was."
"Was?" Vittoria arrived at his side.
Langdon pointed. Lit by a shaft of light coming from within, the door hung ajar… its hinges splintered by a wrecking bar still lodged in the wood.
They stood a moment in silence. Then, in the dark, Langdon felt Vittoria’s hands on his chest, groping, sliding beneath his jacket.
"Relax, professor," she said. "I’m just getting the gun."
At that moment, inside the Vatican Museums, a task force of Swiss Guards spread out in all directions. The museum was dark, and the guards wore U.S. Marine issue infrared goggles. The goggles made everything appear an eerie shade of green. Every guard wore headphones connected to an antennalike detector that he waved rhythmically in front of him—the same devices they used twice a week to sweep for electronic bugs inside the Vatican. They moved methodically, checking behind statues, inside niches, closets, under furniture. The antennae would sound if they detected even the tiniest magnetic field.
Tonight, however, they were getting no readings at all.
65
The interior of Santa Maria del Popolo was a murky cave in the dimming light. It looked more like a half-finished subway station than a cathedral. The main sanctuary was an obstacle course of torn-up flooring, brick pallets, mounds of dirt, wheelbarrows, and even a rusty backhoe. Mammoth columns rose through the floor, supporting a vaulted roof. In the air, silt drifted lazily in the muted glow of the stained glass. Langdon stood with Vittoria beneath a sprawling Pinturicchio fresco and scanned the gutted shrine.
Nothing moved. Dead silence.
Vittoria held the gun out in front of her with both hands. Langdon checked his watch: 8:04 P.M. We’re crazy to be in here, he thought. It’s too dangerous. Still he knew if the killer were inside, the man could leave through any door he wanted, making a one-gun outside stakeout totally fruitless. Catching him inside was the only way… that was, if he was even still here. Langdon felt guilt-ridden over the blunder that had cost everyone their chance at the Pantheon. He was in no position to insist on precaution now; he was the one who had backed them into this corner.
Vittoria looked harrowed as she scanned the church. "So," she whispered. "Where is this Chigi Chapel?"
Langdon gazed through the dusky ghostliness toward the back of the cathedral and studied the outer walls. Contrary to common perception, Renaissance cathedrals invariably contained multiple chapels, huge cathedrals like Notre Dame having dozens. Chapels were less rooms than they were hollows—semicircular niches holding tombs around a church’s perimeter wall.
Bad news, Langdon thought, seeing the four recesses on each side wall. There were eight chapels in all. Although eight was not a particularly overwhelming number, all eight openings were covered with huge sheets of clear polyurethane due to the construction, the translucent curtains apparently intended to keep dust off the tombs inside the alcoves.
"It could be any of those draped recesses," Langdon said. "No way to know which is the Chigi without looking inside every one. Could be a good reason to wait for Oliv—"
"Which is the secondary left apse?" she asked.
Langdon studied her, surprised by her command of architectural terminology. "Secondary left apse?"
Vittoria pointed at the wall behind him. A decorative tile was embedded in the stone. It was engraved with the same symbol they had seen outside—a pyramid beneath a shining star. The grime-covered plaque beside it read:
Langdon nodded. Chigi’s coat of arms was a pyramid and star? He suddenly found himself wondering if the wealthy patron Chigi had been an Illuminatus. He nodded to Vittoria. "Nice work, Nancy Drew."
"What?"
"Never mind. I—"
A piece of metal clattered to the floor only yards away. The clang echoed through the entire church. Langdon pulled Vittoria behind a pillar as she whipped the gun toward the sound and held it there. Silence. They waited. Again there was sound, this time a rustling. Langdon held his breath. I never should have let us come in here! The sound moved closer, an intermittent scuffling, like a man with a limp. Suddenly around the base of the pillar, an object came into view.
"Figlio di puttana!" Vittoria cursed under her breath, jumping back. Langdon fell back with her.
Beside the pillar, dragging a half-eaten sandwich in paper, was an enormous rat. The creature paused when it saw them, staring a long moment down the barrel of Vittoria’s weapon, and then, apparently unmoved, continued dragging its prize off to the recesses of the church.