Page 15 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)

Robert Langdon felt like a criminal as Captain Janá?ek escorted him through the hotel lobby. When they passed the reception desk, Janá?ek’s phone rang, and the captain peeled off to take the call out of earshot.

“Professor,” Harris whispered beside him, seizing their moment alone.

“Please understand—Captain Janá?ek already knew the lab’s location.

He was baiting you into an obstruction charge.

I disclosed the location of the lab so Captain Janá?ek could not claim you impeded his investigation.

You would have been arrested immediately. ”

Thank you…I guess?

“Dost ?e?í!” Janá?ek shouted, ending his call and marching across the lobby to Langdon. “Enough talking! We’re leaving!”

Langdon dutifully followed Janá?ek and Harris out of the hotel into the light flurry of snow.

Dawn came late in February, but the sun was finally up, spreading a grayish glow across the city.

As they walked to the curb, Harris glanced up from his phone and said, “Captain, I’ve involved the ambassador. ”

“Madam ambassador herself?” Janá?ek chided. “You don’t trust your own judgment?”

“It’s your judgment I don’t trust,” Harris replied, unflinching. “Considering the seriousness of your accusation and the prominence of the individuals accused, I have a duty to involve the embassy at the highest level.”

“Do as you will.” Janá?ek smirked, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m sure Mr. Langdon and I will be fine without you.”

“Wrong,” Harris countered. “I will be taking Mr. Langdon to the embassy with me. He can wait more comfortably there while you collect Dr. Solomon.”

Langdon had no intention of leaving Katherine alone with Janá?ek and was about to protest, when the captain laughed out loud. “Mr. Harris, you may leave, of course, but my suspect Mr. Langdon is coming with me to the lab.”

“Suspect?” Harris challenged. “You haven’t charged him with anything, and he has every right—”

“I will be happy to charge him, if you prefer. It would not be difficult considering he evacuated one of Prague’s finest hotels, and his excuse is some fantastical dream.”

Harris fell silent, weighing his options. After a moment, Harris turned to Langdon, looking gravely concerned. “Professor, I’ve requested an emergency meeting with the ambassador. Are you okay on your own for about half an hour?”

“Absolutely,” Langdon said.

“Good. I’ll brief the ambassador and then join you at the lab—perhaps with the ambassador herself.”

“Thank you,” Langdon said. “I’m sure we’ll sort this out as soon as we speak with Katherine.”

Harris turned back to Janá?ek, who had lit another cigarette. “Captain, be aware that the embassy is watching you. We cannot stop you from being impolite, but if you dare cross any ethical or legal—”

“Got it,” Janá?ek snapped, cigarette dangling from his thin lips. He turned away and signaled to a nearby car, which roared to life and sped toward the group, skidding to a stop only inches from them.

Langdon jumped backward. Look out!

The black ?koda sedan was emblazoned with the úZSI logo on both sides. Janá?ek opened the back door and motioned for Langdon to get into the car.

As Langdon climbed inside, Janá?ek turned to Harris. “Fair warning, Attaché. You should hurry. I have no intention of delaying my interrogation of Ms. Solomon.”

Michael Harris’s taxi pulled out of the Four Seasons. The cabbie signaled a right-hand turn, indicating that he had mistaken Harris for an unsuspecting American tourist with no idea how to get to the U.S. embassy—a perfect target for an inflated fare.

“Je?te p?es Mánes?v most, sakra!” Harris shouted in profanity-laced Czech. “Spěchám!”

The driver’s eyes went wide, and he swerved to the left. Locals were always startled when an American spoke fluent Czech—especially when the American happened to be a six-two Black man in a tailored suit.

Michael Okhu Harris had grown up in a wealthy Philadelphia household, raised primarily by his nanny, an immigrant from Brno.

At his parents’ suggestion, the nanny spoke only Czech to the boy, and by the age of fifteen, Michael was entirely bilingual.

After UCLA law school, Harris had decided to put his language expertise to work by pursuing a post at the U.S.

embassy in Prague—an exotic city with sophisticated food, beautiful women, and stimulating work.

In recent weeks, however, that work had become far more interesting than he had wanted. And this morning had taken “interesting” to an entirely new level.

The incident on Charles Bridge remained incomprehensible to Harris.

Janá?ek’s claim that it was a publicity stunt for Katherine Solomon’s upcoming book seemed preposterous, and yet Harris had to acknowledge there was a strange logic to it; he was always astonished by the risks successful people took in an attempt to advance their own careers.

Myself included, Harris reminded himself.

For several months now, Harris had been performing some “off the book” work for the ambassador, and while the work was technically legal, it was on the edges…

and decidedly distasteful. Even so, the under-the-table financial remuneration, along with the ambassador’s personal leverage over him, had been impossible for Harris to decline.

I hope it doesn’t come back to haunt me, Harris thought.

But he had an uneasy feeling it would.