Angels Demons Chapter 98-101

98 The six pompieri fire fighters who reacted to the fire at the Church of Santa Maria Della Vittoria doused the campfire with impacts of Halon gas. Water was less expensive, however the steam it made would have demolished the frescoes in the house of prayer, and the Vatican paid Roman pompieri a sound allowance for quick and reasonable help in all Vatican-possessed structures. Pompieri, by the idea of their work, saw disaster practically day by day, yet the execution in this congregation was something none of them could ever overlook. Part torturous killing, part hanging, part consuming at the stake, the scene was something dug from a Gothic bad dream. Lamentably, the press, not surprisingly, had shown up before the local group of fire-fighters. They'd shot a lot of video before the pompieri cleared the congregation. When the fire fighters at last chop the casualty down and lay him on the floor, there was no uncertainty who the man was. â€Å"Cardinale Guidera,† one murmured. â€Å"Di Barcellona.† The casualty was bare. The lower half of his body was dark red dark, blood overflowing through expanding breaks in his thighs. His shinbones were uncovered. One fire fighter regurgitated. Another went outside to relax. The genuine frightfulness, however, was the image burned on the cardinal's chest. The crew boss circumnavigated the cadaver in awestruck fear. Lavoro del diavolo, he said to himself. Satan himself did this. He crossed himself just because since adolescence. â€Å"Un' altro corpo!† somebody shouted. One of the fire fighters had discovered another body. The subsequent casualty was a man the boss perceived right away. The grim authority of the Swiss Guard was a man for whom barely any open law authorization authorities had any warmth. The boss called the Vatican, however all the circuits were occupied. He realized it didn't make a difference. The Swiss Guard would catch wind of this on TV very quickly. As the boss overviewed the harm, attempting to reproduce what could have gone on here, he saw a specialty filled with slug openings. A final resting place had been moved off its backings and fallen topsy turvy in an evident battle. It was a wreck. That is for the police and Holy See to manage, the main idea, dismissing. As he turned, however, he halted. Originating from the casket he heard a sound. It was anything but a sound any fire fighter at any point got a kick out of the chance to hear. â€Å"Bomba!† he shouted out. â€Å"Tutti fuori!† At the point when the bomb crew turned the final resting place over, they found the wellspring of the electronic blaring. They gazed, befuddled. â€Å"Medico!† one at long last shouted. â€Å"Medico!† 99 â€Å"Any word from Olivetti?† the camerlegno asked, looking depleted as Rocher accompanied him again from the Sistine Chapel to the Pope's office. â€Å"No, signore. I am dreading the worst.† At the point when they arrived at the Pope's office, the camerlegno's voice was overwhelming. â€Å"Captain, there is nothing more I can do here today around evening time. I dread I have done a lot of as of now. I am going into this office to implore. I don't wish to be upset. The rest is in God's hands.† â€Å"Yes, signore.† â€Å"The hour is late, Captain. Find that canister.† â€Å"Our search continues.† Rocher dithered. â€Å"The weapon ends up being too well hidden.† The camerlegno recoiled, as though he was unable to consider it. â€Å"Yes. At precisely 11:15 P.M., if the congregation is still in hazard, I need you to empty the cardinals. I am placing their wellbeing in your grasp. I ask just a single thing. Let these men continue from this spot with nobility. Let them exit into St. Diminish's Square and stand next to each other with the remainder of the world. I don't need the last picture of this congregation to be terrified elderly people men escaping a back door.† â€Å"Very great, signore. Furthermore, you? Will I want you at 11:15 as well?† â€Å"There will be no need.† â€Å"Signore?† â€Å"I will leave when the soul moves me.† Rocher thought about whether the camerlegno proposed to go down with the boat. The camerlegno made the way for the Pope's office and entered. â€Å"Actually†¦Ã¢â‚¬  he stated, turning. â€Å"There is one thing.† â€Å"Signore?† â€Å"There is by all accounts a chill in this office today around evening time. I am trembling.† â€Å"The electric warmth is out. Let me lay you a fire.† The camerlegno grinned tiredly. â€Å"Thank you. Much thanks to you, very much.† Rocher left the Pope's office where he had left the camerlegno imploring by firelight before a little sculpture of the Blessed Mother Mary. It was a ghostly sight. A dark shadow bowing in the gleaming shine. As Rocher headed a few doors down, a gatekeeper showed up, running toward him. Indeed, even by candlelight Rocher perceived Lieutenant Chartrand. Youthful, green, and enthusiastic. â€Å"Captain,† Chartrand called, holding out a phone. â€Å"I figure the camerlegno's location may have worked. We have a guest here who says he has data that can support us. He called on one of the Vatican's private augmentations. I have no clue how he got the number.† Rocher halted. â€Å"What?† â€Å"He will just address the positioning officer.† â€Å"Any word from Olivetti?† â€Å"No, sir.† He took the recipient. â€Å"This is Captain Rocher. I am positioning official here.† â€Å"Rocher,† the voice said. â€Å"I will disclose to you who I am. At that point I will mention to you what you will do next.† At the point when the guest quit talking and hung up, Rocher stood staggered. He presently knew from whom he was taking requests. Back at CERN, Sylvie Baudeloque was quickly attempting to monitor all the authorizing requests coming in on Kohler's voice message. At the point when the private line on the chief's work area started to ring, Sylvie hopped. No one had that number. She replied. â€Å"Yes?† â€Å"Ms. Baudeloque? This is Director Kohler. Contact my pilot. My stream is to be prepared in five minutes.† 100 Robert Langdon had no clue where he was or to what extent he had been oblivious when he opened his eyes and wound up gazing up at the underside of a florid, frescoed dome. Smoke floated overhead. Something was covering his mouth. A breathing device. He pulled it off. There was an awful smell in the room †like consuming substance. Langdon recoiled at the beating in his mind. He attempted to sit up. A man dressed in white was stooping close to him. â€Å"Riposati!† the man stated, moving Langdon onto his back once more. â€Å"Sono il paramedico.† Langdon surrendered, his head spiraling like the smoke overhead. What the heck occurred? Wispy sentiments of frenzy filtered through his brain. â€Å"Sorcio salvatore,† the paramedic said. â€Å"Mouse†¦ savior.† Langdon felt considerably increasingly lost. Mouse guardian angel? The man motioned to the Mickey Mouse watch on Langdon's wrist. Langdon's considerations started to clear. He set the alert. As he gazed absently at the watch face, Langdon additionally noticed the hour. 10:28 P.M. He sat straight as an arrow. At that point, everything returned. Langdon remained close to the principle special raised area with the fire boss and a couple of his men. They had been shaking him with questions. Langdon wasn't tuning in. He had inquiries of his own. His entire body hurt, however he realized he expected to act right away. A pompiero drew nearer Langdon over the congregation. â€Å"I checked once more, sir. The main bodies we discovered are Cardinal Guidera and the Swiss Guard officer. There's no indication of a lady here.† â€Å"Grazie,† Langdon stated, uncertain whether he was diminished or sickened. He realized he had seen Vittoria oblivious on the floor. Presently she was no more. The main clarification he thought of was not a soothing one. The executioner had not been unpretentious on the telephone. A lady of soul. I am stimulated. Maybe before this night is finished, I will discover you. Also, when I do†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Langdon glanced around. â€Å"Where is the Swiss Guard?† â€Å"Still no contact. Vatican lines are jammed.† Langdon felt overpowered and alone. Olivetti was dead. The cardinal was dead. Vittoria was missing. A half hour of his life had vanished in a matter of seconds. Outside, Langdon could hear the press amassing. He associated film with the third cardinal's awful passing would no uncertainty air soon, on the off chance that it hadn't as of now. Langdon trusted the camerlegno had since a long time ago expected the most exceedingly terrible and made a move. Empty the damn Vatican! Enough games! We lose! Langdon abruptly understood that the entirety of the impetuses that had been driving him †assisting with sparing Vatican City, safeguarding the four cardinals, encountering the fraternity he had read for quite a long time †these things had dissipated from his brain. The war was lost. Another impulse encapsulated touched off. It was basic. Obvious. Base. Discover Vittoria. He felt a sudden void inside. Langdon had regularly heard that serious circumstances could join two individuals in manners that decades together frequently didn't. He presently trusted it. In Vittoria's nonattendance he felt something he had not felt in years. Dejection. The torment invigorated him. Pushing all else from his psyche, Langdon assembled his fixation. He asked that the Hassassin would do what needs to be done before joy. Something else, Langdon realized he was at that point past the point of no return. No, he let himself know, you have time. Vittoria's captor despite everything had work to do. He needed to surface one final time before vanishing for eternity. The last special stepped area of science, Langdon thought. The executioner had one last errand. Earth. Air. Fire. Water. He checked the time. Thirty minutes. Langdon moved past the fire fighters toward Bernini's Ecstasy of St. Teresa. This time, as he gazed at Bernini's marker, Langdon had presumably what he was searching for. Let blessed messengers direct you on your grand quest†¦ Straightforwardly over the prostrate holy person, against a background of plated fire, drifted Bernini's blessed messenger. The blessed messenger's hand grasped a sharp lance of fire. Langdon's eyes followed the course of the pole, curving toward the correct side of the congregation. His eyes hit the stopping point. He filtered the spot where the lance was