A smile lit up her face, a rare moment of happiness, as she again pictured that magical evening … an evening she had vividly recalled only hours earlier while sitting on the train with Langdon and Ferris.
Chicago. The blizzard.
January, six years ago … but it still feels like yesterday. I am trudging through snowbanks along the windswept Magnificent Mile, collar upturned against the blinding whiteout. Despite the cold, I tell myself that nothing will keep me from my destination. Tonight is my chance to hear the great Bertrand Zobrist speak … in person.
The hall is nearly deserted when Bertrand takes the stage, and he is tall … so very tall … with vibrant green eyes that seem to hold all the mysteries of the world.
“To hell with this empty auditorium,” he declares. “Let’s go to the bar!”
And then we are there, a handful of us, in a quiet booth, as he speaks of genetics, of population, and of his newest passion … Transhumanism.
As the drinks flow, I feel as if I’m having a private audience with a rock star. Every time Zobrist glances over at me, his green eyes ignite a wholly unexpected feeling inside me … the deep pull of sexual attraction.
It is a wholly new sensation for me.
And then we are alone.
“Thank you for tonight,” I say to him, feeling a little tipsy. “You’re an amazing teacher.”
“Flattery?” Zobrist smiles and leans closer, our legs touching now. “It will get you everywhere.”
The flirtation is clearly inappropriate, but it is a snowy night in a deserted Chicago hotel, and it feels as if the entire world has stopped.
“So what do you think?” Zobrist says. “Nightcap in my room?”
I freeze, knowing I must look like a deer in the headlights. I don’t know how to do this!
Zobrist’s eyes twinkle warmly. “Let me guess,” he whispers. “You’ve never been with a famous man.”
I feel myself flush, fighting to hide a surge of emotions—embarrassment, excitement, fear. “Actually, to be honest,” I say to him, “I’ve never been with any man.”
Zobrist smiles and inches closer. “I’m not sure what you’ve been waiting for, but please let me be your first.”
In that moment all the awkward sexual fears and frustrations of my childhood disappear … evaporating into the snowy night.
Then, I am naked in his arms.
“Relax, Sienna,” he whispers, and then, with patient hands, he coaxes from my inexperienced body a torrent of sensations that I have never imagined existed.
Basking in the cocoon of Zobrist’s embrace, I feel as if everything is finally right in the world, and I know my life has purpose.
I have found Love.
And I will follow it anywhere.
CHAPTER 80
Abovedecks on The Mendacium, Langdon gripped the polished teak railing, steadied his wavering legs, and tried to catch his breath. The sea air had grown colder, and the roar of low-flying commercial jets told him they were nearing the Venice Airport.
There are some things I have to tell you about Ms. Brooks.
Beside him at the railing, the provost and Dr. Sinskey remained silent but attentive, giving him a moment to get his bearings. What they had told Langdon downstairs had left him so disoriented and upset that Sinskey had brought him outside for some air.
The sea air was bracing, and yet Langdon felt no clearer in his head. All he could do was stare vacantly down at the churning wake of the ship, trying to find a shred of logic to what he had just heard.
According to the provost, Sienna Brooks and Bertrand Zobrist had been longtime lovers. They were active together in some kind of underground Transhumanist movement. Her full name was Felicity Sienna Brooks, but she also went by the code name FS-2080 … which had something to do with her initials, and the year of her one-hundredth birthday.
None of it makes any sense!
“I knew Sienna Brooks through a different source,” the provost had told Langdon, “and I trusted her. So, when she came to me last year and asked me to meet a wealthy potential client, I agreed. That prospect turned out to be Bertrand Zobrist. He hired me to provide him a safe haven where he could work undetected on his ‘masterpiece.’ I assumed he was developing a new technology that he didn’t want pirated … or maybe he was performing some cutting-edge genetic research that was in conflict with the WHO’s ethics regulations … I didn’t ask questions, but believe me, I never imagined he was creating … a plague.”
Langdon had only been able to nod vacantly … bewildered.
“Zobrist was a Dante fanatic,” the provost continued, “and he therefore chose Florence as the city in which he wanted to hide. So my organization set him up with everything he needed—a discreet lab facility with living quarters, various aliases and secure communication avenues, and a personal attaché who oversaw everything from his security to buying food and supplies. Zobrist never used his own credit cards or appeared in public, so he was impossible to track. We even provided him disguises, aliases, and alternate documentation for traveling unnoticed.” He paused. “Which he apparently did when he placed the Solublon bag.”
Sinskey exhaled, making little effort to hide her frustration. “The WHO has been trying to keep tabs on him since last year, but he seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth.”
“Even hiding from Sienna,” the provost said.
“I’m sorry?” Langdon glanced up, clearing the knot in his throat. “I thought you said they were lovers?”
“They were, but he cut her off suddenly when he went into hiding. Even though Sienna was the one who sent him to us, my agreement was with Zobrist himself, and part of our deal was that when he disappeared, he would disappear from the whole world, including Sienna. Apparently after he went into hiding, he sent her a farewell letter revealing that he was very ill, would be dead in a year or so, and didn’t want her to see him deteriorate.”