Page 128 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)
Langdon stood in Sasha Vesna’s kitchen, still grappling with what he and Katherine had uncovered. Sasha’s two Siamese cats were twisting affectionately around his ankles, and the scent of Russian Caravan tea still hung in the air. Even so, her home felt utterly foreign to him now.
When I was here, I was probably not talking to the real Sasha.
The revelation was deeply disturbing, and yet Sasha’s psychological condition answered a lot of questions—The Golěm’s access to Crucifix Bastion…
Sasha’s memory loss…the strange flat upstairs…
and perhaps even why Langdon had been given a key to Sasha’s apartment and urged to return.
Did he want me to find Harris’s body and deliver the envelope to the ambassador?
Either way, the realization about Sasha’s identity was providing aspects of clarity.
Katherine joined him in the kitchen after looking around the apartment.
“I wonder,” she ventured, “if Threshold chose epileptics as test subjects because of their natural predisposition to out-of-body experiences…or because epileptics provided Brigita the perfect cover to do brain surgery without raising suspicion.”
It was a good question, and Langdon imagined it might have been both. “Either way, it’s unforgivable. I suspect something went terribly wrong with Dmitri and he is dead, as his records suggested.”
A long silence hung between them as Langdon scanned the sweet, even childlike, decorations around the kitchen.
“And what about these two?” Katherine asked, crouching down and petting Sasha’s immaculately groomed cats. “When is the last time they were fed ?”
True, Langdon thought. Someone will need to adopt them. He went to the cupboard beneath the sink and pulled out their bag of cat food.
“I’ll do it,” Katherine said, taking the bag. “You should make the call.”
Langdon went to the phone on the wall and dialed the number that Scott Kerble had given him.
As the line began to ring, he wondered what he would say when Kerble asked about Sasha Vesna.
We didn’t find her. She died in Threshold.
By the way, she killed Michael Harris. Langdon was still trying to comprehend that Sasha could have deeply loved Harris at the same time her protector knew the truth about Harris and loathed him. Two people. One body.
Langdon recalled hearing once of a court case involving an alleged rapist, William Milligan, who had proven in a lie detector test that he had no recollection of his alleged crimes.
As it turned out, Milligan was an unwitting sufferer of DID; one of his alters had committed the crimes without his knowledge.
Milligan was acquitted and placed in a psychiatric facility.
Before modern psychiatric care, many of those exhibiting a split personality were taken to the only psychiatric professionals available—priests.
The Church frequently diagnosed them with “demonic possession” and prescribed a common treatment plan: “exorcism.” To this day, the Rite of Exorcism was still performed regularly on individuals with mental disorders, and while Langdon had always been horrified by this, he had to admit that Katherine’s description of nonlocal consciousness added a new perspective.
Perhaps an exorcist is not trying to coax a demon out of a body…but rather trying to retune the body’s receiver to block the unwanted station.
“Kerble here,” a familiar voice said on the phone, pulling Langdon back to the moment.
“Hello, this is Robert Langdon.”
“We’ve been expecting your call, sir. Please hold for Ambassador Nagel.”
Langdon was surprised the ambassador was available to speak. I thought she was under arrest. It appeared something had shifted at the embassy.
“Professor,” the ambassador’s voice chimed in on the line. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re both safe. Scott told me it was…quite close.”
“I’m not sure it could have been any closer,” Langdon said. “And we heard you were arrested by the CIA director?”
“Yes, although Director Judd claimed the detainment was a temporary protective custody to ensure my safety.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I’d like to,” Nagel said. “He claimed he was concerned Finch might…I don’t know. Anyhow, I’ve had no contact from Finch since our last phone call.”
“Finch is dead,” Langdon said bluntly. “We saw him at Threshold just before the blast. Katherine and I were the last ones out, and Finch—”
“Okay,” she interrupted, sounding shaken. “Not on the phone. We’ll discuss it in person.”
“We have a lot to share,” Langdon said. “Is the embassy a safe place to talk?”
“I’m not confident of that,” Nagel replied. “I’d suggest your hotel, but it’s too obvious, and I really can’t promise we’d be safe. Not yet.” She paused a moment. “Are you familiar with the Dripstone Wall?”
“I am,” Langdon said, puzzled that she would mention such a public place…especially one that was notoriously creepy. “It’s near the embassy, but I’m not sure—”
“Get there as fast as you can.”
At úZSI headquarters, Lieutenant Pavel was solemnly gathering the last of his personal belongings from his locker. His lengthy interrogation at the hands of his new superior officer had resulted in his demotion and a three-month probationary leave.
I won’t be coming back, Pavel knew.
Everything was different now. Although his recollection of the day was foggy, Pavel would never forget the image of his uncle lying dead in an icy ravine.
The captain’s death had been officially cataloged as an accident, and as much as Pavel wanted to protest, he was in no position.
Moreover, any further úZSI investigation had been shut down by the U.S.
ambassador, who held all the cards after uncovering Janá?ek’s deceitful methods in detaining two prominent Americans.
Pavel exited the building and trudged toward the bus stop. When he arrived, there was a young woman waiting for the bus. She had a kind face, and Pavel gave her a weary smile.
“To je ale zima,” he said politely. It’s so cold.
The woman immediately turned away and relocated to the far end of the stop.
Pavel felt suddenly very alone in the world.
When the bus arrived, Pavel boarded and moved toward the back. None of the other passengers glanced up, their eyes all focused downward on their devices. Pavel took a seat and pulled out his own phone, reflexively opening Dream Zone, his virtual dating simulator.
Several new requests pinged in, and he expected to feel the glimmer of warmth that always accompanied the hope of fresh possibilities.
Tonight, however, the phone felt cold in his hand.
He gazed into its glare a long moment and then startled himself by powering it off and sliding it back into his pocket.
Then, closing his eyes, he said a prayer for his uncle and listened to the hum of the bus as it carried him home.