and his thoughts about the future of genetic engineering. As the drinks flow, the topic turns to Zobrist’s newfound passion for Transhumanist philosophy.
“I believe Transhumanism is mankind’s only hope for long-term survival,” Zobrist preaches, pulling aside his shirt and showing them all the “H+” tattoo inscribed on his shoulder. “As you can see, I’m fully committed.”
I feel as if I’m having a private audience with a rock star. I never imagined the lauded “genius of genetics” would be so charismatic or beguiling in person. Every time Zobrist glances over at me, his green eyes ignite a wholly unexpected feeling inside me … the deep pull of sexual attraction.
As the night wears on, the group slowly thins as the guests excuse themselves to get back to reality. By midnight, I am seated all alone with Bertrand Zobrist.
“Thank you for tonight,” I say to him, a little tipsy from one drink too many. “You’re an amazing teacher.”
“Flattery?” Zobrist smiles and leans closer, our legs touching now. “It will get you everywhere.”
The flirtation is clearly inappropriate, but it is a snowy night in a deserted Chicago hotel, and it feels as if the entire world has stopped.
“So what do you think?” Zobrist says. “Nightcap in my room?”
I freeze, knowing I must look like a deer in the headlights.
Zobrist’s eyes twinkle warmly. “Let me guess,” he whispers. “You’ve never been with a famous man.”
I feel myself flush, fighting to hide a surge of emotions—embarrassment, excitement, fear. “Actually, to be honest,” I say to him, “I’ve never been with any man.”
Zobrist smiles and inches closer. “I’m not sure what you’ve been waiting for, but please let me be your first.”
In that moment all the awkward sexual fears and frustrations of my childhood disappear … evaporating into the snowy night.
For the first time ever, I feel a yearning unfettered by shame.
I want him.
Ten minutes later, we are in Zobrist’s hotel room, naked in each other’s arms. Zobrist takes his time, his patient hands coaxing sensations I’ve never felt before out of my inexperienced body.
This is my choice. He didn’t force me.
In the cocoon of Zobrist’s embrace, I feel as if everything is right in the world. Lying there, staring out the window at the snowy night, I know I will follow this man anywhere.
The Frecciargento train slowed suddenly, and FS-2080 emerged from the blissful memory and back into the depressing present.
Bertrand … you’re gone.
Their first night together had been the first step of an incredible journey.
I became more than his lover. I became his disciple.
“Libertà Bridge,” Langdon said. “We’re almost there.”
FS-2080 nodded mournfully, staring out at the waters of the Laguna Veneta, remembering sailing here once with Bertrand … a peaceful image that dissolved now into a horrific memory from a week before.
I was there when he jumped off the Badia tower.
Mine were the last eyes he ever saw.
CHAPTER 67
The NetJets Citation Excel bounced through heavy turbulence as it rocketed skyward out of Tassignano Airport and banked toward Venice. On board, Dr. Elizabeth Sinskey barely noticed the bumpy departure as she absently stroked her amulet and gazed out the window into empty space.
They had finally stopped giving her the injections, and Sinskey’s mind was already feeling clearer. In the seat beside her, Agent Brüder remained silent, probably pondering the bizarre turn of events that had just transpired.
Everything is upside down, Sinskey thought, still struggling to believe what she had just witnessed.
Thirty minutes ago, they had stormed the tiny airfield to intercept Langdon as he boarded the private jet he had summoned. Instead of finding the professor, however, they discovered an idling Citation Excel and two NetJets pilots pacing the tarmac and checking their watches.
Robert Langdon was a no-show.
Then came the phone call.
When the cell phone rang, Sinskey was where she had been all day—in the backseat of the black van. Agent Brüder entered the vehicle with a stupefied look on his face as he handed her his phone.
“Urgent call for you, ma’am.”
“Who is it?” she asked.
“He asked me to tell you only that he has pressing information to give you about Bertrand Zobrist.”
Sinskey grabbed the phone. “This is Dr. Elizabeth Sinskey.”
“Dr. Sinskey, you and I have never met, but my organization has been responsible for hiding Bertrand Zobrist from you for the last year.”
Sinskey sat bolt upright. “Whoever the hell you are, you’ve been harboring a criminal!”
“We’ve done nothing illegal, but that’s not—”
“The hell you haven’t!”
The man on the line took a long, patient breath, speaking very softly now. “You and I will have plenty of