Page 40 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)

Langdon’s body eagerly absorbed the taxi’s warmth. His bitter trek across Folimanka Park had left him chilled, and he now kicked off his snow-caked loafers and massaged his frozen toes. Beside him, Sasha remained silent, her eyes still closed.

The woman on Charles Bridge continued to haunt him. Everything about the brief encounter felt otherworldly…the ghostly way she moved, the blank stare in her eyes, the smell of death, and the way she seemed not to hear him…as if she lived in a parallel reality.

Ghost sightings were reported almost nightly in this necromantic city, most commonly the local spirit celebrities—the headless Templar Knight who haunted Charles Bridge seeking revenge for his execution…

the White Lady of Prague Castle who walked the castle ramparts trying to escape imprisonment for allegedly practicing witchcraft…

the earthen golem monster who still moved through the shadows near the Old Jewish Synagogue protecting the weak.

Ghosts don’t exist, Langdon knew. And they certainly don’t leave footprints in the snow. Whatever had transpired on Charles Bridge was flesh and blood.

Langdon had always enjoyed Prague’s supernatural lore, even while instinctively dismissing it.

And this morning, his rational mind had cut through the mystical fog, arriving at a black-and-white conclusion.

There existed only three viable explanations for the startling presence of the woman on Charles Bridge.

First, the possibility that Katherine’s dream was indeed a miraculous precognitive vision of a future event. If that was true, Katherine had just experienced one of the most vividly accurate clairvoyant events anyone had ever reported. Probability near zero. Dismissed.

The second explanation felt equally unlikely. Coincidence. A woman dressed in a halo, carrying a spear, and smelling of sulfur had just happened to cross the bridge a few hours after Katherine’s dream. Statistically impossible to the point of absurdity.

The third scenario—while disturbing—seemed to be the only remaining rational explanation.

According to Sherlock Holmes: When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

The improbable truth, in this instance, was that someone else had learned about Katherine’s dream… and had orchestrated the spectacle.

A setup.

But why?

And how?

The question of why remained a mystery, but the question of how seemed eerily plausible.

While on book tour in Russia a few years back, Langdon had been warned that most luxury hotel rooms in Moscow were bugged by the government.

Could Prague be similar? This city felt nothing like Moscow, and yet history cast a long shadow.

Not too long ago, Prague had spent forty-five years behind the Iron Curtain, and aside from the all-too-brief “Prague Spring,” Soviet hard-liners had set the tone here with ubiquitous KGB surveillance.

If there was one suite in Prague worthy of monitoring, it was the Four Seasons Royal Suite—top choice for billionaires, world leaders, and diplomats.

Was someone listening when Katherine told me about her dream?

If the suite was surveilled, Langdon cringed to imagine what private moments might have been overheard, or recorded, during these past few passionate days with her.

But who would be listening? Janá?ek? úZSI?

Whatever the motive to re-create the disturbing dream, Langdon had run that same route across Charles Bridge at the same time for three days now, and he’d told Katherine this morning he’d be back at seven.

Clockwork.

By that logic, he felt more confident it had all been a setup.

And somehow, that felt scarier to him than the existence of any ghost.