danbrown.angels&demons-第73章

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　〃Now　you　are　mine；〃　a　voice　said。
　Then；　everything　went　black。
　
　Across　the　sanctuary；　on　the　left　lateral　wall；　Langdon　balanced　atop　a　pew　and　scraped　upward　on　the　wall　trying　to　reach　the　cleat。　The　cable　was　still　six　feet　above　his　head。　Cleats　like　these　were　mon　in　churches　and　were　placed　high　to　prevent　tampering。　Langdon　knew　priests　used　wooden　ladders　called　piuтli　to　access　the　cleats。　The　killer　had　obviously　used　the　church's　ladder　to　hoist　his　victim。　So　where　the　hell　is　the　ladder　now！　Langdon　looked　down；　searching　the　floor　around　him。　He　had　a　faint　recollection　of　seeing　a　ladder　in　here　somewhere。　But　where？　A　moment　later　his　heart　sank。　He　realized　where　he　had　seen　it。　He　turned　toward　the　raging　fire。　Sure　enough；　the　ladder　was　high　atop　the　blaze；　engulfed　in　flames。　
　Filled　now　with　desperation；　Langdon　scanned　the　entire　church　from　his　raised　platform；　looking　for　anything　at　all　that　could　help　him　reach　the　cleat。　As　his　eyes　probed　the　church；　he　had　a　sudden　realization。　
　Where　the　hell　is　Vittoria？　She　had　disappeared。　Did　she　go　for　help？　Langdon　screamed　out　her　name；　but　there　was　no　response。　And　where　is　Olivetti！　
　There　was　a　howl　of　pain　from　above；　and　Langdon　sensed　he　was　already　too　late。　As　his　eyes　went　skyward　again　and　saw　the　slowly　roasting　victim；　Langdon　had　thoughts　for　only　one　thing。　Water。　Lots　of　it。　Put　out　the　fire。　At　least　lower　the　flames。　〃I　need　water；　damn　it！〃　he　yelled　out　loud。
　〃That's　next；〃　a　voice　growled　from　the　back　of　the　church。　
　Langdon　wheeled；　almost　falling　off　the　pews。　
　Striding　up　the　side　aisle　directly　toward　him　came　a　dark　monster　of　a　man。　Even　in　the　glow　of　the　fire；　his　eyes　burned　black。　Langdon　recognized　the　gun　in　his　hand　as　the　one　from　his　own　jacket　pocket　。　。　。　the　one　Vittoria　had　been　carrying　when　they　came　in。
　The　sudden　wave　of　panic　that　rose　in　Langdon　was　a　frenzy　of　disjunct　fears。　His　initial　instinct　was　for　Vittoria。　What　had　this　animal　done　to　her？　Was　she　hurt？　Or　worse？　In　the　same　instant；　Langdon　realized　the　man　overhead　was　screaming　louder。　The　cardinal　would　die。　Helping　him　now　was　impossible。　Then；　as　the　Hassassin　leveled　the　gun　at　Langdon's　chest；　Langdon's　panic　turned　inward；　his　senses　on　overload。　He　reacted　on　instinct　as　the　shot　went　off。　Launching　off　the　bench；　Langdon　sailed　arms　first　over　the　sea　of　church　pews。
　When　he　hit　the　pews；　he　hit　harder　than　he　had　imagined；　immediately　rolling　to　the　floor。　The　marble　cushioned　his　fall　with　all　the　grace　of　cold　steel。　Footsteps　closed　to　his　right。　Langdon　turned　his　body　toward　the　front　of　the　church　and　began　scrambling　for　his　life　beneath　the　pews。
　
　High　above　the　chapel　floor；　Cardinal　Guidera　endured　his　last　torturous　moments　of　consciousness。　As　he　looked　down　the　length　of　his　naked　body；　he　saw　the　skin　on　his　legs　begin　to　blister　and　peel　away。　I　am　in　hell；　he　decided。　God；　why　hast　thou　forsaken　me？　He　knew　this　must　be　hell　because　he　was　looking　at　the　brand　on　his　chest　upside　down　。　。　。　and　yet；　as　if　by　the　devil's　magic；　the　word　made　perfect　sense。
　
　
　
　
　92

　Three　ballotings。　No　Pope。
　Inside　the　Sistine　Chapel；　Cardinal　Mortati　had　begun　praying　for　a　miracle。　Send　us　the　candidates！　The　delay　had　gone　long　enough。　A　single　missing　candidate；　Mortati　could　understand。　But　all　four？　It　left　no　options。　Under　these　conditions；　achieving　a　two…thirds　majority　would　take　an　act　of　God　Himself。
　When　the　bolts　on　the　outer　door　began　to　grind　open；　Mortati　and　the　entire　College　of　Cardinals　wheeled　in　unison　toward　the　entrance。　Mortati　knew　this　unsealing　could　mean　only　one　thing。　By　law；　the　chapel　door　could　only　be　unsealed　for　two　reasons…to　remove　the　very　ill；　or　to　admit　late　cardinals。
　The　preferiti　are　ing！　
　Mortati's　heart　soared。　Conclave　had　been　saved。
　But　when　the　door　opened；　the　gasp　that　echoed　through　the　chapel　was　not　one　of　joy。　Mortati　stared　in　incredulous　shock　as　the　man　walked　in。　For　the　first　time　in　Vatican　history；　a　camerlegno　had　just　crossed　the　sacred　threshold　of　conclave　after　sealing　the　doors。
　What　is　he　thinking！　
　The　camerlegno　strode　to　the　altar　and　turned　to　address　the　thunderstruck　audience。　〃Signori；〃　he　said；　〃I　have　waited　as　long　as　I　can。　There　is　something　you　have　a　right　to　know。〃
　
　93　

　Langdon　had　no　idea　where　he　was　going。　Reflex　was　his　only　pass；　driving　him　away　from　danger。　His　elbows　and　knees　burned　as　he　clambered　beneath　the　pews。　Still　he　clawed　on。　Somewhere　a　voice　was　telling　him　to　move　left。　If　you　can　get　to　the　main　aisle；　you　can　dash　for　the　exit。　He　knew　it　was　impossible。　There's　a　wall　of　flames　blocking　the　main　aisle！　His　mind　hunting　for　options；　Langdon　scrambled　blindly　on。　The　footsteps　closed　faster　now　to　his　right。
　When　it　happened；　Langdon　was　unprepared。　He　had　guessed　he　had　another　ten　feet　of　pews　until　he　reached　the　front　of　the　church。　He　had　guessed　wrong。　Without　warning；　the　cover　above　him　ran　out。　He　froze　for　an　instant；　half　exposed　at　the　front　of　the　church。　Rising　in　the　recess　to　his　left；　gargantuan　from　this　vantage　point；　was　the　very　thing　that　had　brought　him　here。　He　had　entirely　forgotten。　Bernini's　Ecstasy　of　St。　Teresa　rose　up　like　some　sort　of　pornographic　still　life　。　。　。　the　saint　on　her　back；　arched　in　pleasure；　mouth　open　in　a　moan；　and　over　her；　an　angel　pointing　his　spear　of　fire。　
　A　bullet　exploded　in　the　pew　over　Langdon's　head。　He　felt　his　body　rise　like　a　sprinter　out　of　a　gate。　Fueled　only　by　adrenaline；　and　barely　conscious　of　his　actions；　he　was　suddenly　running；　hunched；　head　down；　pounding　across　the　front　of　the　church　to　his　right。　As　the　bullets　erupted　behind　him；　Langdon　dove　yet　again；　sliding　out　of　control　across　the　marble　floor　before　crashing　in　a　heap　against　the　railing　of　a　niche　on　the　right…hand　wall。
　It　was　then　that　he　saw　her。　A　crumpled　heap　near　the　back　of　the　church。　Vittoria！　Her　bare　legs　were　twisted　beneath　her；　but　Langdon　sensed　somehow　that　she　was　breathing。　He　had　no　time　to　help　her。　
　Immediately；　the　killer　rounded　the　pews　on　the　far　left　of　the　church　and　bore　relentlessly　down。　Langdon　knew　in　a　heartbeat　it　was　over。　The　killer　raised　the　weapon；　and　Langdon　did　the　only　thing　he　could　do。　He　rolled　his　body　over　the　banister　into　the　niche。　As　he　hit　the　floor　on　the　other　side；　the　marble　columns　of　the　balustrade　exploded　in　a　storm　of　bullets。　
　Langdon　felt　like　a　cornered　animal　as　he　scrambled　deeper　into　the　semicircular　niche。　Rising　before　him；　the　niche's　sole　contents　seemed　ironically　apropos…a　single　sarcophagus。　Mine　perhaps；　Langdon　thought。　Even　the　casket　itself　seemed　fitting。　It　was　a　scаtola…a　small；　unadorned；　marble　box。　Burial　on　a　budget。　The　casket　was　raised　off　the　floor　on　two　marble　blocks；　and　Langdon　eyed　the　opening　beneath　it；　wondering　if　he　could　slide　through。
　Footsteps　echoed　behind　him。
　With　no　other　option　in　sight；　Langdon　pressed　himself　to　the　floor　and　slithered　toward　the　casket。　Grabbing　the　two　marble　supports；　one　with　each　hand；　he　pulled　like　a　breaststroker；　dragging　his　torso　into　the　opening　beneath　the　tomb。　The　gun　went　off。
　Acpanying　the　roar　of　the　gun；　Langdon　felt　a　sensation　he　had　never　felt　in　his　life　。　。　。　a　bullet　sailing　past　his　flesh。　There　was　a　hiss　of　wind；　like　the　backlash　of　a　whip；　as　the　bullet　just　missed　him　and　exploded　in　the　marble　with　a　puff　of　dust。　Blood　surging；　Langdon　heaved　his　body　the　rest　of　the　way　beneath　the　casket。　Scrambling　across　the　marble　floor；　he　pulled　himself　out　from　beneath　the　casket　and　to　the　other　side。
　Dead　end。　
　Langdon　was　now　face　to　face　with　the　rear　wall　of　the　niche。　He　had　no　doubt　that　this　tiny　space　behind　the　tomb　would　bee　his　grave。　And　soon；　he　realized；　as　he　saw　the　barrel　of　the　gun　appear　in　the　opening　beneath　the　sarcophagus。　The　Hassassin　held　the　weapon　parallel　with　the　floor；　pointing　directly　at　Langdon's　midsection。　
　Impossible　to　miss。
　Langdon　felt　a　trace　of　self…preservation　grip　his　unconscious　mind。　He　twisted　his　body　onto　his　stomach；　parallel　with　the　casket。　Facedown；　he　planted　his　hands　flat