Page 87 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)

The “personal use” SUV provided with the ambassador’s residence was a nondescript, cream-colored Hyundai Tucson with Czech plates, which Heide Nagel occasionally used for private weekends to escape the city.

Her most recent outing had been to Tisá Rocks Labyrinth in Bohemian Switzerland, a maze of hiking trails through breathtaking sandstone formations that were so otherworldly as to have made an appearance in the fantasy film The Chronicles of Narnia.

I wish I were there right now, Nagel thought, still feeling sickened over the death of Michael Harris.

As she pulled out of the residence, alone now in her SUV, she felt the weight of the treachery she was committing by helping these two Americans. She genuinely hoped Langdon knew what he was doing.

If this doesn’t work, Finch will bury me…probably literally.

Nagel approached the security gate, and she tapped her horn twice. The Marine guard in the sentry booth jumped up from his bank of security monitors and hurried to the window, looking surprised. The ambassador seldom departed unannounced, seldom in her own vehicle, and she never beeped her horn.

“Sorry, Carlton,” she said, lowering her window. “Just zipping back to the embassy. Forgot my Enbrel shot. Damn snow is wreaking havoc with my arthritis.”

“Ma’am, I’d be happy to send—”

“Simpler to do it myself. Meds are locked in my desk drawer, and I have to grab some paperwork too. I’ll be right back.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The guard pressed a button, and the gate swung open. He turned back toward the security monitors that covered the grounds, but Nagel called him back.

“One more thing, Carlton,” she said. “I’m sorry—I have two American guests waiting in the library, and I’m expecting another guest shortly, a Mr. Finch.

I’ll be back before he arrives, but if for some reason he beats me here, I’ve asked my staff to make him comfortable in the living room until I’m back to make introductions.

I just wanted to be sure you know he’s expected. ”

“I do now, ma’am,” he said, smiling. “Thank you. I’ll see you shortly.”

Nagel thanked the Marine and prepared to pull forward, but as she planned, the gate timed out and began swinging closed again. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Espresso always make me chatty!”

The guard smiled. “No worries, ma’am.” He pressed the button to reopen the gate.

As she prepared to move through, she popped the clutch and stalled the Hyundai. “Oh my heavens, how embarrassing. I rarely drive anymore!” She restarted the car, but not before the gate closed a second time.

They repeated the process, and this time Nagel made it through.

She pulled out onto Ronald Reagan Street and turned immediately left on Bubene?ská, hoping her antics had kept the guard’s eyes off the security feeds long enough for Langdon and Solomon, upon hearing the cue of her car horn, to hurry out of the conservatory and across the lawn to the far side of the grounds, where, if one could find the hidden latch, a wrought-iron pedestrian gate opened from the inside out onto ?eskoslovenské armády.

Sure enough, as she circled the property, Langdon and Solomon were visible on the street corner, both underdressed for the weather. The ambassador pulled up beside them, and they jumped into the vehicle, Katherine motioning for Langdon to sit in front beside Nagel.

As they accelerated away from the residence, no one said a word. All of them, it seemed, were starting to grasp the dangers of the plan that Langdon had proposed.

The fourth option.

“There’s a good possibility,” Langdon had told them minutes earlier in the basement boiler room, “that even if we take the meeting with Finch, and he believes we’ve signed those NDAs, he’ll never share what’s really happening at Threshold.

There’s only one way to be certain we have the information and the proof we’ll need to protect ourselves—and that’s documentation and photos.

” He paused, eyeing them both. “Somehow, we need to get inside Threshold.”

“Impossible,” Nagel said. “Searching Threshold is a nonstarter.”

“Why?” Solomon pressed. “You said the facility is unmanned right now, and everyone is training off-site. It would be deserted.”

“That’s true,” Nagel replied. “But I haven’t explained just how secure this installation is. Threshold’s entrance is basically a reinforced tunnel protected by steel barricades, security cameras, armed guards, and sophisticated biometrics.”

“As I would expect,” Langdon said. “But I have a plan to get us in.”

Now Ambassador Nagel found herself guiding her SUV farther away from the residence, setting a course for the south side of Prague. No turning back, she thought. I’m officially an accomplice.

Taking precautions that her unsanctioned departure would not be tracked by Finch, Nagel had left her diplomatic cell phone at the residence, connected to her home network.

Instead, she had dug out her old personal Samsung, which she never powered up except to stream after-hours entertainment at home.

No need for the embassy to know I listen to Taylor Swift and watch reruns of Ted Lasso.

The Samsung’s battery had been dead but was now recharging on the dash. Nagel hoped it would charge fast enough to take photos of whatever was happening inside Threshold.

If Langdon truly can get us inside.

Langdon had yet to share the details of his plan, but the more Nagel thought of the impenetrable barrier that sealed the entrance, the less optimistic she was feeling.

On the snow-dusted tarmac at Václav Havel Airport, Mr. Finch’s Citation taxied toward the private terminal, where a Town Car was waiting to take him into Prague.

Finch was glad to be on the ground, and yet he could not shake the nagging sense that something about his call with the ambassador had been… off.

He and Nagel had always had bad blood, but something about her manner on the phone earlier had left him feeling unsettled. He decided to give her another quick call, if only to ease his mind and reconfirm that she had indeed sent a Marine detail to secure Crucifix Bastion.

When he called her cell, however, the ambassador didn’t answer. Odd. He immediately sent her a secure message, but this communiqué went unanswered as well.

As the sleek jet rolled to a stop and the engines powered down, Mr. Finch felt the knot in his gut tighten further.

On the lower floor of Crucifix Bastion, The Golěm pulled his hood tightly over his clay-caked skull and mentally prepared for what lay ahead.

He had returned to the cluttered workroom in which he had killed Brigita Gessner last night, and her pale corpse still lay bloodied and grim in the open EPR pod.

Gessner and her assistant were the only two people who worked here, and so far, the embassy and local authorities had no means of access.

On a worktable nearby, The Golěm saw Gessner’s leather briefcase, which he had pried open last night with a flathead screwdriver, extracting the black RFID key card that she kept protected in a special sheath inside the lid.

But the card had not been enough; Gessner had withheld that detail last night.

To access Threshold, The Golěm required one final item.

Pulling a pair of heavy wire cutters from the full rack of tools, he walked to the EPR pod and knelt beside Gessner’s corpse.

“For Sasha,” he whispered as he gently took the doctor’s lifeless hand in his.

Sixty seconds later, The Golěm was back to the hallway, preparing to leave the bastion. He now carried with him everything he would need to gain access to Threshold…and reduce the secret facility to a pit of rubble.