Coat of arms of Alexander Chigi whose tomb is located in the secondary left apse of this Cathedral

Langdon nodded. Chigi’s coat of arms was a pyramid and star? He suddenly found himself wondering if the wealthy patron Chigi had been an Illuminatus. He nodded to Vittoria. “Nice work, Nancy Drew.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I—”

A piece of metal clattered to the floor only yards away. The clang echoed through the entire church. Langdon pulled Vittoria behind a pillar as she whipped the gun toward the sound and held it there. Silence. They waited. Again there was sound, this time a rustling. Langdon held his breath. I never should have let us come in here! The sound moved closer, an intermittent scuffling, like a man with a limp. Suddenly around the base of the pillar, an object came into view.

“Figlio di puttana! “Vittoria cursed under her breath, jumping back. Langdon fell back with her.

Beside the pillar, dragging a half‑eaten sandwich in paper, was an enormous rat. The creature paused when it saw them, staring a long moment down the barrel of Vittoria’s weapon, and then, apparently unmoved, continued dragging its prize off to the recesses of the church.

“Son of a . . .” Langdon gasped, his heart racing.

Vittoria lowered the gun, quickly regaining her composure. Langdon peered around the side of the column to see a workman’s lunchbox splayed on the floor, apparently knocked off a sawhorse by the resourceful rodent.

Langdon scanned the basilica for movement and whispered, “If this guy’s here, he sure as hell heard that. You sure you don’t want to wait for Olivetti?”

“Secondary left apse,” Vittoria repeated. “Where is it?”

Reluctantly Langdon turned and tried to get his bearings. Cathedral terminology was like stage directions—totally counterintuitive. He faced the main altar. Stage center. Then he pointed with his thumb backward over his shoulder.

They both turned and looked where he was pointing.

It seemed the Chigi Chapel was located in the third of four recessed alcoves to their right. The good news was that Langdon and Vittoria were on the correct side of the church. The bad news was that they were at the wrong end. They would have to traverse the length of the cathedral, passing three other chapels, each of them, like the Chigi Chapel, covered with translucent plastic shrouds.

“Wait,” Langdon said. “I’ll go first.”

“Forget it.”

“I’m the one who screwed up at the Pantheon.”

She turned. “But I’m the one with the gun.”

In her eyes Langdon could see what she was really thinking . . . I’m the one who lost my father. I’m the one who helped build a weapon of mass destruction. This guy’s kneecaps are mine . . .

Langdon sensed the futility and let her go. He moved beside her, cautiously, down the east side of the basilica. As they passed the first shrouded alcove, Langdon felt taut, like a contestant on some surreal game show. I’ll take curtain number three, he thought.

The church was quiet, the thick stone walls blocking out all hints of the outside world. As they hurried past one chapel after the other, pale humanoid forms wavered like ghosts behind the rustling plastic. Carved marble, Langdon told himself, hoping he was right. It was 8:06 P.M. Had the killer been punctual and slipped out before Langdon and Vittoria had entered? Or was he still here? Langdon was unsure which scenario he preferred.

They passed the second apse, ominous in the slowly darkening cathedral. Night seemed to be falling quickly now, accentuated by the musty tint of the stained‑glass windows. As they pressed on, the plastic curtain beside them billowed suddenly, as if caught in a draft. Langdon wondered if someone somewhere had opened a door.

Vittoria slowed as the third niche loomed before them. She held the gun before her, motioning with her head to the stele beside the apse. Carved in the granite block were two words: