Ms. Vetra. Mickey's ticking."
Chapter 51-54
51
BBC reporter Gunther Glick stared at the cell phone in his hand for ten seconds before he finally hung up.
Chinita Macri studied him from the back of the van. "What happened? Who was that?"
Glick turned, feeling like a child who had just received a Christmas gift he feared was not really for him. "I just got a tip. Something's going on inside the Vatican."
"It's called conclave," Chinita said. "Helluva tip."
"No, something else." Something big. He wondered if the story the caller had just told him could possibly be true. Glick felt ashamed when he realized he was praying it was. "What if I told you four cardinals have been kidnapped and are going to be murdered at different churches tonight."
"I'd say you're being hazed by someone at the office with a sick sense of humor."
"What if I told you we were going to be given the exact location of the first murder?"
"I'd want to know who the hell you just talked to."
"He didn't say."
"Perhaps because he's full of shit?"
Glick had come to expect Macri's cynicism, but what she was forgetting was that liars and lunatics had been Glick's business for almost a decade at the British Tattler. This caller had been neither. This man had been coldly sane. Logical. I will call you just before eight, the man had said, and tell you where the first killing will occur. The images you record will make you famous. When Glick had demanded why the caller was giving him this information, the answer had been as icy as the man's Mideastern accent. The media is the right arm of anarchy.
"He told me something else too," Glick said.
"What? That Elvis Presley was just elected Pope?"
"Dial into the BBC database, will you?" Glick's adrenaline was pumping now. "I want to see what other stories we've run on these guys."
"What guys?"
"Indulge me."
Macri sighed and pulled up the connection to the BBC database. "This'll take a minute."
Glick's mind was swimming. "The caller was very intent to know if I had a cameraman."
"Videographer."
"And if we could transmit live."
"One point five three seven megahertz. What is this about?" The database beeped. "Okay, we're in. Who is it you're looking for?"
Glick gave her the keyword.
Macri turned and stared. "I sure as hell hope you're kidding."
52
The internal organization of Archival Vault 10 was not as intuitive as Langdon had hoped, and the Diagramma manuscript did not appear to be located with other similar Galilean publications. Without access to the computerized Biblion and a reference locator, Langdon and Vittoria were stuck.
"You're sure Diagramma is in here?" Vittoria asked.
"Positive. It's a confirmed listing in both the Uficcio della Propaganda delle Fede - "
"Fine. As long as you're sure." She headed left, while he went right.
Langdon began his manual search. He needed every bit of self-restraint not to stop and read every treasure he passed. The collection was staggering. The Assayer... The Starry Messenger... The Sunspot Letters... Letter to the Grand Duchess Christina... Apologia pro Galileo... On and on.
It was Vittoria who finally struck gold near the back of the vault. Her throaty voice called out, "Diagramma della Verita!"
Langdon dashed through the crimson haze to join her. "Where?"
Vittoria pointed, and Langdon immediately realized why they had not found it earlier. The manuscript was in a folio bin, not on the shelves. Folio bins were a common means of storing unbound pages. The label on the front of the container left no doubt about the contents.
Diagramma Della Verita
Galileo Galilei, 1639
Langdon dropped to his knees, his heart pounding. "Diagramma." He gave her a grin. "Nice work. Help me pull out this bin."
Vittoria knelt beside him, and they heaved. The metal tray on which the bin was sitting rolled toward them on castors, revealing the top of the container.
"No lock?" Vittoria said, sounding surprised at the simple latch.
"Never. Documents sometimes need to be evacuated quickly. Floods and fires."
"So open it."
Langdon didn't need any encouragement. With his academic life's dream right in front of him and the thinning air in the chamber, he was in no mood to dawdle. He unsnapped the latch and lifted the lid. Inside, flat on the floor of the bin, lay a black, duck-cloth pouch. The cloth's breathability was critical to the preservation of its contents. Reaching in with both hands and keeping the pouch horizontal, Langdon lifted it out of the bin.
"I expected a treasure chest," Vittoria said. "Looks more like a pillowcase."
"Follow me," he said. Holding the bag before him like a sacred offering, Langdon