Page 78 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)
The U.S. ambassador’s residence in Prague—known as Petschek Villa—is a palatial Beaux Arts chateau whose French architectural grandeur inspired its local nickname, Le Petit Versailles.
Built for Otto Petschek, a wealthy Jewish industrialist whose family was driven out of Prague by the Nazi occupation, Petschek Villa was overrun and inhabited by the armies of both the Nazis and the Russians.
A touchstone of history, the villa now stands as an iconic landmark to the region’s dark history of occupation, oppression, and genocide.
After Hitler declared his intention to turn Prague into a “museum of an extinct race,” Petschek Villa was selected as a “trophy case” for Nazi triumph.
He ordered that all of Petschek’s finest artwork and furniture be marked with swastikas, cataloged, and carefully stored in the basement for display once Germany won the war.
The thought made Langdon ill. He stared out the window as the limo curled up the driveway into a sprawling garden surrounded by a high iron fence with sharpened vertical members and security cameras. This fortress, he noted, would be as difficult to exit as it would be to enter.
“Oh my,” Katherine whispered as the regal home came into view. “This is the U.S. ambassador’s house ?”
Built on a gently sloping convex line, its luxurious columned facade stretched nearly a hundred yards in length and climbed three stories to a copper mansard roof with hooded dormers—a European palace, quite literally.
“Now I know why my taxes are so high,” Katherine joked. “We house government employees in private palaces…”
Not quite that simple, Langdon knew, having read former ambassador Norm Eisen’s book The Last Palace, a detailed historical portrait of this astonishing home.
In fact, the U.S. had spent an astronomical sum to purchase and restore the villa to its original glory after the war, having maintained it now for almost a century at great expense.
America’s way of helping preserve the heritage of Prague.
Langdon had met Eisen once and recalled him sharing an inspiring account of his mother, Frieda, an Auschwitz survivor, who often said, “The Nazis took us out of Czechoslovakia in cattle cars, and my son flew back on Air Force One.”
“All in a single generation,” Eisen had pointed out.
Now, as the limo glided to a stop beneath the mansion’s columned porte cochere the U.S. Marine in the front seat jumped out, circled the vehicle, and opened their door.
“Watch your step, please,” he said. “These cobbles get slick in the snow.”
A cold wind whipped as Langdon and Katherine followed the Marine into a small, elliptical anteroom whose carpet bore the colorful symbols of an American eagle and American flag.
Overhead, a cylindrical chandelier cast a sunburst pattern on the molded ceiling and walls, illuminating a stern portrait of U.S. Ambassador Heide Nagel.
Langdon immediately recognized Nagel from photos. Sixtysomething, she was a serious-looking woman whose pale skin was accentuated by stylish jet-black hair, which she wore in precise box bangs.
Footsteps approached, and a cheerful older man in a well-worn herringbone sport coat entered and welcomed them. After dismissing the Marine, the man motioned for Langdon and Katherine to follow him into the home.
As they moved down a wide hallway, Langdon could smell the homey scent of a wood fire, but he also detected a second scent hanging in the air—the unmistakable aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
Subtle, Langdon thought, always amused when luxury hotels did the same.
The hospitality tactic had been invented by a 1950s real estate agent and was now widely implemented to impart a sense of comfort and “home.”
Langdon and Katherine followed the man into a sprawling living room, where he seated them in front of a freshly lit fire.
The table before them contained a small buffet—assorted pastries, a fruit basket, a pot of coffee, a large bottle of water, two bottles of Coca-Cola, and a fresh plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies.
“I apologize it’s a mishmash,” the man said. “Madam Ambassador just now told me she had guests arriving. She’s on a call and will be with you in about ten minutes. Cookies are fresh out of the oven, so be careful—they’re hot.”
With that, the old man departed, leaving Langdon and Katherine alone in front of the fire with a tableful of food.
“Well,” Langdon whispered, “we may be dancing with the devil, but at least she’s a terrific host.”
Upstairs in Petschek Villa, Ambassador Nagel hung up the phone and stared a long moment out the bay window of her home office.
The snow-dusted estate looked foreign to her today, lonely somehow.
For nearly three years now, this palace had been her home, and when she thought back to her first months as ambassador—her naivete and optimism—she knew both had long since dissolved in the harsh light of reality.
The debacle with úZSI and Langdon was now a closed chapter. The official story was that Captain Janá?ek had fabricated evidence against two prominent Americans and, upon learning that his crime had been discovered, leaped to his own death at Crucifix Bastion.
Nagel had threatened a public investigation if úZSI did not comply with her demands to stay far away from Crucifix Bastion and recover Janá?ek’s body only by accessing the bottom of the ravine through Folimanka Park. úZSI had no choice but to comply.
Now, turning from the window, Nagel snapped her attention back to the unresolved matter at hand—Robert Langdon and Katherine Solomon. On her desk, the printer whirred, kicking out two documents that Mr. Finch had just sent to her.
Let’s hope this works.
Nagel retrieved the pages, snatched a black lacquer “U.S. Embassy” pen from the desk, and headed down to meet her guests.
In the living room, having enjoyed two cookies and a strong cup of coffee, Langdon felt somewhat refreshed and resigned to whatever awaited them with the ambassador.
He had already advised Katherine that they should not discuss their private thoughts any further once they entered the ambassadorial residence.
The walls have ears. Regrettably, Langdon feared he might have already said too much in the back of the limo, wondering if the ornate car had an intercom—and if anyone was listening.
His carelessness occurred to him only after they arrived, having talked openly about the stunning ideas in Katherine’s book…
and, of course, the listening device in the tulips in their suite…
and Langdon’s growing distrust of the embassy.
Nothing we can do about it now. We’ll find out what’s going on when we meet the ambassador.
As they waited, Langdon spied the formal dining room across the hall. He recalled the documentary he had seen about this mansion and an unusual tale he’d heard about the dining chairs.
I’m curious, he thought, motioning for Katherine to follow him to the next room to the long satinwood table surrounded by antique hand-tooled leather chairs.
He grabbed one of them, flipped it upside down, and instantly realized he was holding a piece of dark history.
On the bottom of the seat was affixed a faded yellow sticker bearing a stamped catalog number 206 along with the Nazi symbols of the Reichsadler Imperial Eagle and the swastika.
Katherine drew a startled breath to see it. “What in the world is that doing here?!”
Langdon held the chair up, examining the sticker more closely.
“Apparently, when the Nazis took over Prague and occupied this villa, they cataloged all the furnishings to claim them for later use as museum pieces. These stickers are the original Nazi catalog numbers. The embassy decided to leave them in place as a reminder of the horrors of the war.”
A voice spoke behind them. “A professor of furniture, I see.”
Langdon and Katherine spun to find themselves face-to-face with United States Ambassador Heide Nagel. Her blunt-cut bangs were instantly recognizable from the portrait in the hall. She wore a black power suit and a necklace of colorful beads.
Ambassador Nagel was definitely not smiling.
Langdon awkwardly scrambled to flip the antique chair. “Sorry about that,” he said, carefully setting the chair down and sliding it back into place at the table.
“Professor,” the ambassador said tautly, “if there are apologies to be made, they are mine. As far as I can tell, the U.S. government owes you both one hell of an explanation.”