Page 38 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)

The lobby of the Four Seasons smelled like roses.

Just like the roses Michael used to bring me, thought Dana Daněk as she marched toward the reception desk. She had already searched the hotel lobby and restaurant, but Michael and his pretty little friend were nowhere to be seen.

Upstairs…

As Dana approached the man behind the reception desk, she forced a smile and handed him her U.S.

embassy ID. “Good morning, sir,” she said sweetly.

“I’m sorry to trouble you. I’m with the U.S.

embassy here in Prague and my boss, Michael Harris, is in your hotel at the moment.

He asked me to deliver something to him urgently.

Perhaps you saw him enter about fifteen minutes ago?

He’s a tall African American gentleman with—”

“Yes, of course,” the man said, handing back her ID. “Mr. Harris is upstairs in the Royal Suite. Would you like me to deliver something to him?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “It’s a sensitive diplomatic paper that I’m required to hand-deliver personally. Remind me, which number is the Royal Suite?”

The concierge gave her directions to the back of the hotel, and a minute later Dana had climbed a private staircase and was standing in a foyer outside the hotel’s most expensive room.

Seriously, Michael? The Royal Suite?!

Dana knocked softly and called out, “ úklid! Housekeeping!”

She could not wait to see Michael’s face when she walked in. She put her ear to the door and listened, definitely hearing movement inside.

“Housekeeping!” she called again, knocking more forcefully.

Footsteps approached the door, which opened slightly, and a familiar pair of doe eyes peered out. “I’m sorry,” said the woman from the bridge. “Can you come ba—”

Dana launched herself against the door, driving the petite woman backward onto the floor. Dana stormed past her into the suite, heading straight back through the living room to what was obviously the master bedroom suite.

Empty.

Dana checked the master bath.

Empty.

No sign of Michael anywhere.

The suite was unkempt—with dresser drawers open, suitcases open, even the hotel safe ajar—as if the room was being… searched ?

When Dana exited back into the living room, the dimpled woman was waiting for her, staring over the barrel of a menacing matte-black handgun that was aimed directly at Dana’s forehead.

My God!

“I’m going to ask you once,” the woman said with an eerie calm. “What are you doing here?” Her accent was American.

The steadiness of the woman’s voice, as well as that of her weapon hand, suggested she was no stranger to firing a gun. Dana had never had a gun trained on her, and the experience was sobering.

“I’m…looking for…Michael Harris,” she heard herself say.

The gun remained leveled. “He’s not here.”

Dana had noticed the embassy sedan was no longer in front of the hotel when she entered, but she assumed Michael had asked his driver to park elsewhere so as not to draw attention.

“You need to leave immediately,” the woman said. “This is not your concern.”

“It is very much my concern,” Dana replied, finding her voice. “I am an employee of the U.S. embassy, and you’re aiming a gun at me. Moreover, it appears you’re searching the hotel room of two American citizens.”

“As I said,” she repeated, stepping forward with the gun still leveled. “This is not your concern.”

Who in the world are you?! Dana knew she had only one card to play. She glanced out the bay window toward Charles Bridge and said, “I know what happened on that bridge this morning. Where’s your crown of thorns?”

The woman with the gun did not so much as flinch. She took yet another step toward Dana. “Whoever you are,” she said firmly, “I would strongly recommend you return to the embassy and speak to your ambassador before you mention this to anyone at all.”

“First, tell me where Michael Harris is.”

“Your ambassador sent him over to provide me access to this suite, which he did, and then he left. That’s all I know about him.” She motioned toward the exit. “Now leave. And close the door on your way out.”

Field Officer Susan Housemore waited until the door had clicked shut before she lowered her weapon and placed it into the discreet holster at the small of her back. Then she pulled out her phone and placed a secure call to Mr. Finch in London.

Across town, in the backseat of the embassy car roaring toward Crucifix Bastion, Michael Harris was relieved to have completed the ambassador’s bizarre errand at the Four Seasons.

The contact he had been ordered to “assist” had accepted Harris’s discreet room key handoff without even making eye contact.

Serious professional.

As Crucifix Bastion appeared ahead, Harris was pleased to see no signs of a demo team or any additional úZSI vehicles. The ambassador’s call to Janá?ek had clearly stopped the man cold, and Harris was eager to meet up again with Robert Langdon, as promised.

As Harris exited the sedan, however, he hesitated.

The lab’s front door appeared to be shattered and wide open.

What the hell happened here?! As Harris hurried toward the door, an úZSI agent lurched through the opening, clutching his head.

Harris recognized him as the muscular lieutenant driving Janá?ek’s car this morning at the Four Seasons.

Harris ran over to steady the man. “Are you okay? What happened?!” And why is the front door destroyed?

“Katherine Solomon,” the man stammered. “She…hit me…”

The claim made no sense. “You’re sure it was Dr. Solomon ?”

“I saw her in the mirror…tall…blond…”

Definitely not Katherine Solomon. Harris knew there was only one tall blonde with access to this lab—Gessner’s assistant, Sasha Vesna—and he found it hard to imagine Sasha was capable of violence. “Where is Robert Langdon?”

“He ran…with her.”

The story sounded delusional, and yet Harris now noticed a series of footprints departing the front walkway…as if headed for the woods. Langdon fled?!

“Did you see anyone else inside?” Dr. Gessner?

“No…I came straight up to report this to my captain.” The lieutenant motioned to the far end of the courtyard. “He’s out there.”

Harris looked out toward the ridge, but Janá?ek was nowhere to be seen. “I don’t see him.”

“He went out there to make a phone call…”

Harris was not surprised. He was probably doing damage control after he spoke to the ambassador. “You should really sit down, Lieutenant.”

The man was already moving toward the ridgeline, and Harris scooped up a handful of snow, hurrying to catch up. “Here. Hold this on your head.”

The man took the ball of snow and pressed it to the back of his skull as he walked. “He was out here on the phone…but he never came back in.”

Harris saw a tangle of footprints on the ridgeline, as if Janá?ek had been pacing or perhaps had been joined by someone else, but the area was now deserted.

As the two men neared the edge, the lieutenant stopped and retrieved a metallic object from the ground.

He dusted it off, his eyes wide with concern. “This is his phone!” he exclaimed.

Why would Janá?ek have left his phone?

Tentatively, they moved the final few yards to the edge of the ravine and peered over the ridge.

The scene below was grisly. At the bottom of the chasm, grotesquely sprawled and broken on the rocks, lay a body in a dark suit.

The man’s head was encircled with red snow that radiated several feet in all directions.

Even from this height, Harris had no doubt he was dead… and no doubt who he was.

My God…Janá?ek jumped?

Beside Harris, the lieutenant turned away and bellowed like a wounded animal. His voice echoed with the pain of true loss…and uncontrollable rage.