Angels Demons Page 0,52

combative now, as if he now sensed the reality facing him. He looked like a man searching for an out. Any out. "And what if some of that bullion went to fund your cause?"

"Do not insult us both."

"We have money."

"As do we. More than you can fathom."

Langdon flashed on the alleged Illuminati fortunes, the ancient wealth of the Bavarian stone masons, the Rothschilds, the Bilderbergers, the legendary Illuminati Diamond.

"I preferiti," the camerlegno said, changing the subject. His voice was pleading. "Spare them. They are old. They - "

"They are virgin sacrifices." The caller laughed. "Tell me, do you think they are really virgins? Will the little lambs squeal when they die? Sacrifici vergini nell' altare di scienza."

The camerlegno was silent for a long time. "They are men of faith," he finally said. "They do not fear death."

The caller sneered. "Leonardo Vetra was a man of faith, and yet I saw fear in his eyes last night. A fear I removed."

Vittoria, who had been silent, was suddenly airborne, her body taut with hatred. "Asino! He was my father!"

A cackle echoed from the speaker. "Your father? What is this? Vetra has a daughter? You should know your father whimpered like a child at the end. Pitiful really. A pathetic man."

Vittoria reeled as if knocked backward by the words. Langdon reached for her, but she regained her balance and fixed her dark eyes on the phone. "I swear on my life, before this night is over, I will find you." Her voice sharpened like a laser. "And when I do..."

The caller laughed coarsely. "A woman of spirit. I am aroused. Perhaps before this night is over, I will find you. And when I do..."

The words hung like a blade. Then he was gone.

Chapter 42-45

42

Cardinal Mortati was sweating now in his black robe. Not only was the Sistine Chapel starting to feel like a sauna, but conclave was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes, and there was still no word on the four missing cardinals. In their absence, the initial whispers of confusion among the other cardinals had turned to outspoken anxiety.

Mortati could not imagine where the truant men could be. With the camerlegno perhaps? He knew the camerlegno had held the traditional private tea for the four preferiti earlier that afternoon, but that had been hours ago. Were they ill? Something they ate? Mortati doubted it. Even on the verge of death the preferiti would be here. It was once in a lifetime, usually never, that a cardinal had the chance to be elected Supreme Pontiff, and by Vatican Law the cardinal had to be inside the Sistine Chapel when the vote took place. Otherwise, he was ineligible.

Although there were four preferiti, few cardinals had any doubt who the next Pope would be. The past fifteen days had seen a blizzard of faxes and phone calls discussing potential candidates. As was the custom, four names had been chosen as preferiti, each of them fulfilling the unspoken requisites for becoming Pope:

Multilingual in Italian, Spanish, and English.

No skeletons in his closet.

Between sixty-five and eighty years old.

As usual, one of the preferiti had risen above the others as the man the college proposed to elect. Tonight that man was Cardinal Aldo Baggia from Milan. Baggia's untainted record of service, combined with unparalleled language skills and the ability to communicate the essence of spirituality, had made him the clear favorite.

So where the devil is he? Mortati wondered.

Mortati was particularly unnerved by the missing cardinals because the task of supervising this conclave had fallen to him. A week ago, the College of Cardinals had unanimously chosen Mortati for the office known as The Great Elector - the conclave's internal master of ceremonies. Even though the camerlegno was the church's ranking official, the camerlegno was only a priest and had little familiarity with the complex election process, so one cardinal was selected to oversee the ceremony from within the Sistine Chapel.

Cardinals often joked that being appointed The Great Elector was the cruelest honor in Christendom. The appointment made one ineligible as a candidate during the election, and it also required one spend many days prior to conclave poring over the pages of the Universi Dominici Gregis reviewing the subtleties of conclave's arcane rituals to ensure the election was properly administered.

Mortati held no grudge, though. He knew he was the logical choice. Not only was he the senior cardinal, but he had also been a confidant of the late Pope, a fact that elevated his esteem. Although Mortati was