As Langdon pictured the biohazard symbol on the tube that had contained the modified map of Dante’s inferno, a chilling thought struck him: the eerie little projector had been created by someone … and Bertrand Zobrist—a biochemist and Dante fanatic—now seemed to be a logical candidate.
The father of genetic germ-line manipulation. Langdon sensed pieces of the puzzle now falling into place. Regrettably, the picture coming into focus felt increasingly frightening.
“Fast-forward through this part,” Marta ordered the guard, sounding eager to get past the real-time playback of Langdon and Ignazio Busoni studying the mask so she could find out who had broken into the museum and stolen it.
The guard hit the fast-forward button, and the time stamp accelerated.
Three minutes … six minutes … eight minutes.
On-screen, Marta could be seen standing behind the men, shifting her weight with increasing frequency and repeatedly checking her watch.
“I’m sorry we talked so long,” Langdon said. “You look uncomfortable.”
“My own fault,” Marta replied. “You both insisted that I should go home and the guards could let you out, but I felt that would be rude.”
Suddenly, on-screen, Marta disappeared. The guard slowed the video to normal speed.
“It’s okay,” Marta said. “I remember going to the restroom.”
The guard nodded and reached again for the fast-forward button, but before he pressed it, Marta grabbed his arm. “Aspetti!”
She cocked her head and stared at the monitor in confusion.
Langdon had seen it, too. What in the world?!
On-screen, Langdon had just reached into the pocket of his tweed coat and produced a pair of surgical gloves, which he was now pulling onto his hands.
Simultaneously, il Duomino positioned himself behind Langdon, peering down the hallway where Marta had moments earlier trudged off to use the restroom. After a moment the obese man nodded to Langdon in a way that seemed to mean that the coast was clear.
What the hell are we doing?!
Langdon watched himself on the video as his gloved hand reached out and found the edge of the cabinet door … and then, ever so gently, pulled back until the antique hinge shifted and the door swung slowly open … exposing the Dante death mask.
Marta Alvarez let out a horrified gasp and brought her hands to her face.
Sharing Marta’s horror, Langdon watched himself in utter disbelief as he reached into the case, gently gripped the Dante death mask with both hands, and lifted it out.
“Dio mi salvi!” Marta exploded, heaving herself to her feet and spinning around to face Langdon. “Cos’ha fatto? Perché?”
Before Langdon could respond, one of the guards whipped out a black Beretta and aimed it directly at Langdon’s chest.
Jesus!
Robert Langdon stared down the barrel of the guard’s handgun and felt the tiny room closing in around him. Marta Alvarez was on her feet now, glaring up at him with an incredulous look of betrayal on her face. On the security monitor behind her, Langdon was now holding the mask up to the light and studying it.
“I took it out only for a moment,” Langdon insisted, praying that this was true. “Ignazio assured me you wouldn’t mind!”
Marta did not reply. She looked stupefied, clearly trying to imagine why Langdon had lied to her … and indeed how in the world Langdon could have calmly stood by and let the tape play when he knew what it would reveal.
I had no idea I opened the case!
“Robert,” Sienna whispered. “Look! You found something!” Sienna remained riveted on the playback, focusing on getting answers despite their predicament.
On-screen, Langdon was now holding the mask up and angling it toward the light, his attention apparently drawn to something of interest on the back of the artifact.
From this camera angle, for a split second, the raised mask partially blocked Langdon’s face in such a way that Dante’s dead eyes were aligned with Langdon’s. He remembered the pronouncement—the truth can be glimpsed only through the eyes of death—and felt a chill.
Langdon had no idea what he might have been examining on the back of the mask, but at that moment in the video, as he shared his discovery with Ignazio, the obese man recoiled, immediately fumbling for his spectacles and looking again … and again. He began shaking his head vigorously and pacing the andito in an agitated state.
Suddenly both men glanced up, clearly having heard something in the hallway—most likely Marta returning from the restroom. Hurriedly, Langdon pulled from his pocket a large Ziploc bag, into which he sealed the death mask before gently handing it to Ignazio, who placed it, with seeming reluctance, inside his briefcase. Langdon quickly closed the antique glass door on the now-empty display case, and the two men strode briskly up the hall to encounter Marta before she could discover their theft.
Both guards now had their guns trained on Langdon.
Marta wobbled on her feet, grasping the table for support. “I don’t understand!” she sputtered. “You and Ignazio Busoni stole the Dante death mask?!”
“No!” Langdon insisted, bluffing as best as he could. “We had permission from the owner to take the mask out of the building for the night.”
“Permission from the owner?” she questioned. “From Bertrand Zobrist!?”
“Yes! Mr. Zobrist agreed to let us examine some markings on the back! We met with him yesterday afternoon!”
Marta’s eyes shot daggers. “Professor, I am quite certain you did not meet with Bertrand Zobrist yesterday afternoon.”