Chapter 102

           

           PiazzaNavona.FountainoftheFourRivers.

           NightsinRome,likethoseinthedesert,canbesurprisinglycool,evenafterawarmday.LangdonwashuddlednowonthefringesofPiazzaNavona,pullinghisjacketaroundhim.Likethedistantwhitenoiseoftraffic,acacophonyofnewsreportsechoedacrossthecity.Hecheckedhiswatch.Fifteenminutes.Hewasgratefulforafewmomentsofrest.

           Thepiazzawasdeserted.Bernini’smasterfulfountainsizzledbeforehimwithafearfulsorcery.Thefoamingpoolsentamagicalmistupward,litfrombeneathbyunderwaterfloodlights.Langdonsensedacoolelectricityintheair.

           Thefountain’smostarrestingqualitywasitsheight.Thecentralcorealonewasovertwentyfeettall—aruggedmountainoftravertinemarbleriddledwithcavesandgrottoesthroughwhichthewaterchurned.Theentiremoundwasdrapedwithpaganfigures.Atopthisstoodanobeliskthatclimbedanotherfortyfeet.Langdonlethiseyesclimb.Ontheobelisk’stip,afaintshadowblottedthesky,alonepigeonperchedsilently.

           Across,Langdonthought,stillamazedbythearrangementofthemarkersacrossRome.Bernini’sFountainoftheFourRiverswasthelastaltarofscience.OnlyhoursagoLangdonhadbeenstandinginthePantheonconvincedthePathofIlluminationhadbeenbrokenandhewouldnevergetthisfar.Ithadbeenafoolishblunder.Infact,theentirepathwasintact.Earth,Air,Fire,Water.AndLangdonhadfollowedit…frombeginningtoend.

           Notquitetotheend,heremindedhimself.Thepathhadfivestops,notfour.

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