Page 82 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)
The Golěm felt alive with anticipation as he approached Crucifix Bastion. By all appearances, Gessner’s hilltop lab was now deserted, meaning he would finally be able to retrieve what he had failed to secure earlier this morning.
This time, I will not be denied.
Gessner’s RFID key card was safely tucked into his pocket, and he estimated he would need less than three minutes to obtain the only remaining element he required. Then he would depart the lab for his final destination.
Threshold.
Which I will reduce to dust.
As he strode toward the bastion’s shattered doorway, he recalled the words of his legendary predecessor—the golem of Prague.
There are only two paths…Truth or Death.
The Golěm had chosen both.
Unveil Truth.
Accept Death.
The Golěm had died countless times, but death was never permanent. Unlike the ancient golem whose death had been final, The Golěm moved in and out of this form at will.
I am my own creator. I will always be my own master.
Each time he erased the Hebrew letter aleph from his forehead—transforming Truth to Death—The Golěm died…but only from view. He became invisible. His hulking outer shell evaporated, transforming a monster into…one of them. Unremarkable. Inconspicuous. His inner power hidden.
You cannot see me, but I am still here…watching over her.
Despite this morning’s unexpected obstacles, The Golěm had improvised well, protecting those who were innocent…and destroying those who were guilty. Now it was time to finish what he had started.
As he stepped through the entryway to Gessner’s lab, he was pleased to find the elegant hallway deserted. The Lab access stairwell ahead of him was secured with a biometric security panel, but the fingerprint would not be a problem; Sasha had unwittingly provided him access long ago.
The Golěm moved across the foyer toward the panel, his platform boots crunching loudly on the shattered glass on the floor. The sound crackled through the marble space.
An instant later, The Golěm heard a second sound, from down the hall. It was the distinctive click of a weapon being cocked.
Delirious from lack of sleep, Field Officer Housemore had helped herself to a cup of coffee and taken a seat at the bastion window to admire the panoramic views of Prague Castle, which sat serenely in the distance.
She had been daydreaming peacefully when an unexpected sound in the hallway jolted her back to attention, causing her to leap up and reflexively prep her weapon.
Now on high alert, Housemore moved toward the entryway, her gun at the ready. Finch had ordered her to secure this building, and while he had promised support, she knew it was too soon for it to have arrived. Certainly, any trained military support would have announced themselves before entering.
Someone else is here…
As Housemore moved stealthily around the corner into the hallway, she saw a hooded figure in a black cloak. He was heaving open the metal door to the lab stairwell.
“St?j!” Housemore shouted, running toward him. “Halt!”
The man ignored her, slipping quickly through the door as Housemore fired. The bullet clanged off the security door, just missing him. She ran forward, but she arrived just as the door resealed, locking her out.
Housemore put her face to the small reinforced window and peered into the stairwell.
Instantly, she froze. The cloaked figure was staring back at her…
only inches away from the other side of the glass.
His face was earthen, like the surface of the moon, and he had symbols carved into his forehead.
His icy eyes studied her a moment, as if memorizing her face, and then he turned and rushed down the stairs, his cloak billowing behind him as he descended from sight.
Housemore stepped back, gathering herself.
Who…or what was that?!
She had no idea how this intruder had unlocked the biometric door, but she needed to alert Finch immediately.
Housemore knew this was not the location of the agency’s secret facility, although Gessner’s lab obviously contained something of importance, and Finch had ordered her to protect it under any circumstance.
And someone had just slipped right past her.
The man who had entered, Housemore guessed, was Russian.
His steely pale eyes had a Slavic feel, and his thick clay makeup struck Housemore as a perfect example of Russian ingenuity; by embracing Prague’s tradition of “cosplay,” the intruder had effortlessly thwarted the city’s facial recognition security cameras.
Moreover, Russians were now masters at defeating biometrics with duplicate fingertips created on UV resin–based 3D printers.
Housemore kept one eye on the lab door as she holstered her weapon and reluctantly pulled out her phone. Finch was not going to take well to this news. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she decided it would be prudent to take a moment before the confrontation.
Slow down. Gather your thoughts.
Without relinquishing her watchful eye on the lab door, Housemore slowly backed out of the entryway, moving in reverse down the hall toward the reception room.
There, in the relative shelter of the hallway, still facing the stairwell door, she took several deep breaths and composed herself. She began to dial Finch.
Housemore never got the chance.
Someone was suddenly behind her.
A searing blast of electricity tore deep into her back.
Every muscle in her body seized, and she went rigid, pitching forward onto the tile floor, her phone skittering away.
Her attacker grabbed her and flipped her onto her back, pinning her down.
Impossibly, Housemore found herself looking up into the pale eyes of the earthen creature she had just seen enter the stairwell.
Where did he come from?! How…
It was as if this monster had materialized out of thin air directly behind her!
He was on top of her now, on the hard tile floor, with his hands around her neck. As he cut off her air supply, Housemore tried to resist, but her paralyzed muscles refused to respond. Helpless, Housemore could only wait, trying to stay conscious.
After nearly twenty seconds on her back with her windpipe blocked, she could feel her muscle control slowly starting to return.
She needed more time, but unfortunately, her vision was starting to blur.
Now or never. In a last-ditch effort, she summoned all the strength she could muster, raised her hands, and drove them firmly into his chest, trying to shove him off her.
But her attacker barely moved.
The feeling of this clay man’s flesh was odd—wholly unexpected.
“I am not as you think I am,” the monster whispered, gazing down into Housemore’s eyes as he tightened his grip. “I am The Golěm.”