Angels Demons Page 0,10

center of His universe.

"His name was Galileo Galilei," Langdon said.

Kohler looked up. "Galileo?"

"Yes. Galileo was an Illuminatus. And he was also a devout Catholic. He tried to soften the church's position on science by proclaiming that science did not undermine the existence of God, but rather reinforced it. He wrote once that when he looked through his telescope at the spinning planets, he could hear God's voice in the music of the spheres. He held that science and religion were not enemies, but rather allies - two different languages telling the same story, a story of symmetry and balance... heaven and hell, night and day, hot and cold, God and Satan. Both science and religion rejoiced in God's symmetry... the endless contest of light and dark." Langdon paused, stamping his feet to stay warm.

Kohler simply sat in his wheelchair and stared.

"Unfortunately," Langdon added, "the unification of science and religion was not what the church wanted."

"Of course not," Kohler interrupted. "The union would have nullified the church's claim as the sole vessel through which man could understand God. So the church tried Galileo as a heretic, found him guilty, and put him under permanent house arrest. I am quite aware of scientific history, Mr. Langdon. But this was all centuries ago. What does it have to do with Leonardo Vetra?"

The million dollar question. Langdon cut to the chase. "Galileo's arrest threw the Illuminati into upheaval. Mistakes were made, and the church discovered the identities of four members, whom they captured and interrogated. But the four scientists revealed nothing... even under torture."

"Torture?"

Langdon nodded. "They were branded alive. On the chest. With the symbol of a cross."

Kohler's eyes widened, and he shot an uneasy glance at Vetra's body.

"Then the scientists were brutally murdered, their dead bodies dropped in the streets of Rome as a warning to others thinking of joining the Illuminati. With the church closing in, the remaining Illuminati fled Italy."

Langdon paused to make his point. He looked directly into Kohler's dead eyes. "The Illuminati went deep underground, where they began mixing with other refugee groups fleeing the Catholic purges - mystics, alchemists, occultists, Muslims, Jews. Over the years, the Illuminati began absorbing new members. A new Illuminati emerged. A darker Illuminati. A deeply anti-Christian Illuminati. They grew very powerful, employing mysterious rites, deadly secrecy, vowing someday to rise again and take revenge on the Catholic Church. Their power grew to the point where the church considered them the single most dangerous anti-Christian force on earth. The Vatican denounced the brotherhood as Shaitan."

"Shaitan?"

"It's Islamic. It means 'adversary'... God's adversary. The church chose Islam for the name because it was a language they considered dirty." Langdon hesitated. "Shaitan is the root of an English word...Satan."

An uneasiness crossed Kohler's face.

Langdon's voice was grim. "Mr. Kohler, I do not know how this marking appeared on this man's chest... or why... but you are looking at the long-lost symbol of the world's oldest and most powerful satanic cult."

10

The alley was narrow and deserted. The Hassassin strode quickly now, his black eyes filling with anticipation. As he approached his destination, Janus's parting words echoed in his mind. Phase two begins shortly. Get some rest.

The Hassassin smirked. He had been awake all night, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. Sleep was for the weak. He was a warrior like his ancestors before him, and his people never slept once a battle had begun. This battle had most definitely begun, and he had been given the honor of spilling first blood. Now he had two hours to celebrate his glory before going back to work.

Sleep? There are far better ways to relax...

An appetite for hedonistic pleasure was something bred into him by his ancestors. His ascendants had indulged in hashish, but he preferred a different kind of gratification. He took pride in his body - a well-tuned, lethal machine, which, despite his heritage, he refused to pollute with narcotics. He had developed a more nourishing addiction than drugs... a far more healthy and satisfying reward.

Feeling a familiar anticipation swelling within him, the Hassassin moved faster down the alley. He arrived at the nondescript door and rang the bell. A view slit in the door opened, and two soft brown eyes studied him appraisingly. Then the door swung open.

"Welcome," the well-dressed woman said. She ushered him into an impeccably furnished sitting room where the lights were low. The air was laced with expensive perfume and musk. "Whenever you are ready." She handed him a book of photographs.