WHO had been monitoring similar code names for years.
“The Transhumanist movement,” she said. “Are you familiar with it?”
The provost shook his head.
“In the simplest terms,” Sinskey explained, “Transhumanism is a philosophy stating that humans should use all available technologies to engineer our own species to make it stronger. Survival of the fittest.”
The provost shrugged as if unmoved.
“Generally speaking,” she continued, “the Transhumanist movement is made up of responsible individuals—ethically accountable scientists, futurists, visionaries—but, as in many movements, there exists a small but militant faction that believes the movement is not moving fast enough. They are apocalyptic thinkers who believe the end is coming and that someone needs to take drastic action to save the future of the species.”
“And I’m guessing,” the provost said, “that Bertrand Zobrist was one of these people?”
“Absolutely,” Sinskey said. “A leader of the movement. In addition to being highly intelligent, he was enormously charismatic and penned doomsday articles that spawned an entire cult of zealots for Transhumanism. Today, many of his fanatical disciples use these code names, all of which take a similar form—two letters and a four-digit number—for example, DG-2064, BA-2105, or the one you just mentioned.”
“FS-2080.”
Sinskey nodded. “That could only be a Transhumanist code name.”
“Do the numbers and letters have meaning?”
Sinskey motioned to his computer. “Pull up your browser. I’ll show you.”
The provost looked uncertain but went to his computer and launched a search engine.
“Search for ‘FM-2030,’ ” Sinskey said, settling in behind him.
The provost typed FM-2030, and thousands of Web pages appeared.
“Click any of them,” Sinskey said.
The provost clicked the top hit, which returned a Wikipedia page showing a picture of a handsome Iranian man—Fereidoun M. Esfandiary—whom it described as an author, philosopher, futurist, and forefather of the Transhumanist movement. Born in 1930, he was credited with introducing Transhumanist philosophy to the multitudes, as well as presciently predicting in vitro fertilization, genetic engineering, and the globalization of civilization.
According to Wikipedia, Esfandiary’s boldest claim was that new technologies would enable him to live to be a hundred years old, a rarity for his generation. As a display of his confidence in future technology, Fereidoun M. Esfandiary changed his name to FM-2030, a code name created by combining his first and middle initials along with the year in which he would turn one hundred. Sadly, he succumbed to pancreatic cancer at age seventy and never reached his goal, but in honor of his memory, zealous Transhumanist followers still paid tribute to FM-2030 by adopting his naming technique.
When the provost finished reading, he stood up and walked to the window, staring blankly out at the ocean for a long moment.
“So,” he finally whispered, as if thinking aloud. “Bertrand Zobrist’s lover—this FS-2080—is obviously one of these … Transhumanists.”
“Without a doubt,” Sinskey replied. “I’m sorry I don’t know exactly who this FS-2080 is, but—”
“That was my point,” the provost interrupted, still staring out to sea. “I do know. I know exactly who it is.”
CHAPTER 74
The air itself seems fashioned of gold.
Robert Langdon had visited many magnificent cathedrals in his life, but the ambience of St. Mark’s Chiesa d’Oro always struck him as truly singular. For centuries it had been claimed that simply breathing the air of St. Mark’s would make you a richer person. The statement was intended to be understood not only metaphorically, but also literally.
With an interior veneer consisting of several million ancient gold tiles, many of the dust particles hovering in the air were said to be actual flecks of gold. This suspended gold dust, combined with the bright sunlight that streamed through the large western window, made for a vibrant atmosphere that helped the faithful attain both spiritual wealth and, provided they inhaled deeply, a more worldly enrichment in the form of gilding their lungs.
At this hour, the low sun piercing the west window spread out over Langdon’s head like a broad, gleaming fan, or an awning of radiant silk. Langdon could not help but draw an awestruck breath, and he sensed Sienna and Ferris do the same beside him.
“Which way?” Sienna whispered.
Langdon motioned toward a set of ascending stairs. The museum section of the church was on the upper level and contained an extensive exhibit devoted to the Horses of St. Mark’s, which Langdon believed would quickly reveal the identity of the mysterious doge who had severed the animals’ heads.
As they climbed the stairs, he could see that Ferris was struggling again with his breathing, and Sienna caught Langdon’s eye, which she had been trying to do for several minutes now. Her expression