Page 98 of The Secret of Secrets (Robert Langdon #6)
In a dank corner of his basement, CIA Director Gregory Judd was sweating profusely.
Six minutes remained to finish his morning workout on the Airdyne stationary bike he’d owned since his early days as a senator.
His wife, Muffy, had placed a new Peloton in the sunroom for him, but Judd preferred darkness and solitude.
Mornings were his private time to think—usually about how to stop the world from blowing up.
When the cell phone in his cup holder rang, he was surprised to see an unknown caller. Very few people had this number, and there were even fewer who would dare phone before dawn.
He stopped pedaling, caught his breath, and answered. “Yes?”
“Good morning, Director,” said a woman’s voice with an urgent edge. “This is Heide Nagel in Prague.”
“Heide?” The call from his former senior counsel was entirely unexpected. “You’re an ambassador now—call me Greg.”
“Never going to happen, sir.”
He smiled. “Okay then, how can I help you?” And who gave you this number?
“I need to ask you a direct question,” she began. “And I would appreciate an honest answer.”
Troubled by her agitated tone, Judd got off his bike. “Actually, I’m on a cell phone, and I can see you’re not using a secure platform, so a landline would—”
“I explained to your overnight staff that I was a U.S. ambassador, and this was a national security emergency. This is the line they gave me.”
“A security emergency? Heide, depending on what you would like to discuss, we can—”
“I should have asked you this over two years ago,” she said. “But I’m asking you now.” Before Judd could interject, Nagel said, “The classified documents I was accused of removing from Langley—are you aware that Q framed me? Are you aware I was set up as a puppet in Prague?”
Judd exhaled, no stranger to keeping calm in pressure-filled moments. He opted for the truth. “Yes, Heide, I am aware of that.”
The silence that followed felt like a gathering storm.
“However,” Judd added quickly, “I found out after the fact. At the time it happened, I had no idea. You were my top legal adviser, and I hated losing you.”
“Finch did this behind your back?!”
“He had complete autonomy to carry out his duty as he saw fit,” Judd said, pacing the basement.
“I was furious when I found out, but you were already established in Prague, and there also were national security considerations in the region. Blowing it up seemed counterproductive. You know firsthand how valuable it is for the agency to have one of their own on the diplomatic side to help navigate the complexity of overseas intelligence work.”
“Yes, I’ve been quite valuable to Finch and this project—flexing diplomatic muscle whenever asked—cutting through red tape, bypassing local law enforcement, eavesdropping on hotel rooms…coercing Michael Harris to surveil Sasha Vesna.”
Shit. “I’d prefer not to use names on an open—”
“Do you know I forced Michael into that situation based on Finch’s claim that Sasha was a person of interest. But he refused to tell me why she was of interest. Do you know, Greg?”
“That’s enough. I’m hanging—”
“Does it have anything to do with the classified facility you’re about to open beneath Folimanka Park?”
Director Judd stopped pacing and stood dead still. “Ambassador Nagel,” he replied with as much calm as he could muster. “While I have no idea what you’re talking about, I suggest you give me fifteen min—”
“I sent you a video link,” she said, her voice like stone. “You’ll get it at the office. And once you see it, you’re going to do something for me.”
“Am I really?” he challenged.
“Call me when you’ve watched the video. I think you’ll find my demands reasonable.”
“Your demands…And if I can’t meet them?”
“You’re the director of the CIA. There’s little you can’t do.”
You’d be wise not to forget that. “And if I choose not to?”
“Then this video will become public,” she said flatly. “It contains detailed information about your project, and the content is exceptionally disturbing. You’ll want to hurry. This is a public link, and someone will stumble across it eventually, probably within the next few hours.”
Heide Nagel was in way over her depth. “Heide, you do know my people can simply delete—”
“I’ve downloaded the file and made copies. Plenty of them. They’re in safe hands.”
“Have you lost your mind?!” Judd demanded. “I understand your anger, but why would you ever threaten—”
“Because, Greg, ” Nagel exploded, “I’ve been collateral damage long enough! I’ve been nothing but a loyal colleague, and I deserve some fucking loyalty coming my way for a change. So get off your ass and do the right thing, goddammit!”
Judd had never heard Nagel lose her cool, and frankly, it scared him. Heide Nagel was formidable. And unhinged people make incredibly poor decisions.
“I’ll call you within the hour,” Nagel snapped. “And if I disappear, believe me, you’ll be seeing this video on every news feed on earth.”
“Ambassador, I would suggest—”
She had already hung up.
Nagel rarely drank, especially midday, but the tumbler of Becherovka she had just poured from her office bar felt warranted.
Her hands were still a bit unsteady as she slid in behind her computer and downloaded a copy of the video to her desktop.
Just for safety, she downloaded a second copy, renamed it innocuously as “Recipes,” and buried it deep in her hierarchy of folders.
Next she searched her desk drawers and found a lone USB stick—an old PowerPoint for a speech she’d given to the International Women’s Association of Prague.
After deleting the presentation, she copied Gessner’s confession video onto the USB and placed the stick inside a letter-sized diplomatic pouch that bore the embassy seal.
She zipped the pouch shut and inserted the plastic security ring into the zipper, clamping it down until it locked permanently in place.
Then she addressed the pouch’s routing fields, conveying the pouch directly to…
herself. In accordance with Article 27.3 of the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations, anyone else who opened this pouch was committing a punishable crime.
As Nagel began searching her office for a safe place to store the sealed pouch, she realized there was no truly safe place in this office. She wanted to believe that Director Judd would make the right call, but if he decided to cross her, this office would be the first place he would target.
“Scott!” she shouted, carrying the pouch toward the door.
Her sentry was waiting outside and entered immediately.
“I need to entrust this to you,” she said.
“Of course, ma’am,” he said, eyeing her hands. “The pouch or the cocktail?”
She looked down. Ugh. “The pouch, Scott.” She handed it to him. “Keep it safe. Mention it to no one. And I mean no one. Can I trust you with that?”
“Of course, ma’am.” He slid the pouch into the breast pocket of his uniform and gave her a concerned look. “Is everything okay, ma’am?”
“Everything is fine, thank you. Mr. Harris’s death has left me somewhat…” Her voice trailed off. “Is there any news from forensics?”
“Not yet, ma’am.”
“Would you please contact Ms. Daněk and ask her to come back here at once.”
“Of course, ma’am.” The Marine hesitated. “Although…I should warn you that Ms. Daněk was extremely upset when we found Mr. Harris’s body. It seems they were close.”
Yes, Nagel thought, ashamed for having used their romance as leverage. “Thanks for alerting me. I have an urgent situation here that requires her skills.” I’m hoping she’ll be professional.
Sergeant Kerble departed, and Nagel returned to her desk. She took a long swallow from her drink. The letter from Harris’s killer was staring up at her.
Please help Sasha.
I can’t help her if I can’t find her, Nagel thought, slipping the letter into her desk drawer. Fortunately, Prague had an unparalleled surveillance system. The challenge was not going to be finding Sasha—it would be persuading Dana Daněk to help with the task.
The Golěm had traversed a cramped mechanical passageway that extended nearly a hundred meters, extending like an elongated spine beneath the core of Threshold. Having reached the end, he was now standing before an unusual portal.
The door was steel, oval in shape and windowless, with a heavy turn wheel for sealing and unsealing it. It resembled an airtight submarine hatch.
The sign read:
SMES
Authorized Personnel Only
Last night, Gessner had revealed to him the surprising technology that was housed inside this unique chamber. The Golěm’s web research this morning had provided the rest of the information he needed, including confirmation of the scientific reason the machine was located in this precise spot.
Directly beneath a popular feature in Folimanka Park.
The structure above them was one of the lone visible remnants of the 1950s bomb shelter, and tourists regularly photographed themselves standing in the park beside it.
None suspected, of course, what The Golěm had recently learned—that the feature had been ingeniously repurposed to serve the needs of Threshold.
It is now a ventilation shaft for the sealed room behind this door.
The Golěm took a moment to catch his breath before attempting to turn the wheel. Without his wand, he needed to be prudent; another seizure down here could be dangerous, especially surrounded by so many hard surfaces and sharp edges.
Once he felt centered, The Golěm planted his feet, gripped the turn wheel, and heaved it counterclockwise. The wheel barely moved, rotating only a few centimeters.
He pictured Sasha’s face, and her innocence gave him strength.
I do this for all who have been abused here. For you…for me…and for all those to come.
Gritting his teeth, he heaved the wheel again.