Angels & Demons

Langdon nodded blankly and looked out at the sprawling expanse of buildings rising before them.

"In fact," the pilot added, "we possess the largest machine on earth."

"Really?" Langdon scanned the countryside.

"You won’t see it out there, sir." The pilot smiled. "It’s buried six stories below the earth."

Langdon didn’t have time to ask. Without warning the pilot jammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a stop outside a reinforced sentry booth.

Langdon read the sign before them.

Securite. Arretez

He suddenly felt a wave of panic, realizing where he was. "My God! I didn’t bring my passport!"

"Passports are unnecessary," the driver assured. "We have a standing arrangement with the Swiss government."

Langdon watched dumbfounded as his driver gave the guard an ID. The sentry ran it through an electronic authentication device. The machine flashed green.

"Passenger name?"

"Robert Langdon," the driver replied.

"Guest of?"

"The director."

The sentry arched his eyebrows. He turned and checked a computer printout, verifying it against the data on his computer screen. Then he returned to the window. "Enjoy your stay, Mr. Langdon."

The car shot off again, accelerating another 200 yards around a sweeping rotary that led to the facility’s main entrance. Looming before them was a rectangular, ultramodern structure of glass and steel. Langdon was amazed by the building’s striking transparent design. He had always had a fond love of architecture.

"The Glass Cathedral," the escort offered.

"A church?"

"Hell, no. A church is the one thing we don’t have. Physics is the religion around here. Use the Lord’s name in vain all you like," he laughed, "just don’t slander any quarks or mesons."

Langdon sat bewildered as the driver swung the car around and brought it to a stop in front of the glass building. Quarks and mesons? No border control? Mach 15 jets? Who the hell are these guys? The engraved granite slab in front of the building bore the answer:

CERN
Conseil Europeen pour la Recherche Nucleaire

"Nuclear Research?" Langdon asked, fairly certain his translation was correct.

The driver did not answer. He was leaning forward, busily adjusting the car’s cassette player. "This is your stop. The director will meet you at this entrance."

Langdon noted a man in a wheelchair exiting the building. He looked to be in his early sixties. Gaunt and totally bald with a sternly set jaw, he wore a white lab coat and dress shoes propped firmly on the wheelchair’s footrest. Even at a distance his eyes looked lifeless – like two gray stones.

"Is that him?" Langdon asked.

The driver looked up. "Well, I’ll be." He turned and gave Langdon an ominous smile. "Speak of the devil."

Uncertain what to expect, Langdon stepped from the vehicle.

The man in the wheelchair accelerated toward Langdon and offered a clammy hand. "Mr. Langdon? We spoke on the phone. My name is Maximilian Kohler."

7

Maximilian Kohler, director general of CERN, was known behind his back as Konig – King. It was a title more of fear than reverence for the figure who ruled over his dominion from a wheelchair throne. Although few knew him personally, the horrific story of how he had been crippled was lore at CERN, and there were few there who blamed him for his bitterness… nor for his sworn dedication to pure science.

Langdon had only been in Kohler’s presence a few moments and already sensed the director was a man who kept his distance. Langdon found himself practically jogging to keep up with Kohler’s electric wheelchair as it sped silently toward the main entrance. The wheelchair was like none Langdon had ever seen – equipped with a bank of electronics including a multiline phone, a paging system, computer screen, even a small, detachable video camera. King Kohler’s mobile command center.

Langdon followed through a mechanical door into CERN’s voluminous main lobby.

The Glass Cathedral, Langdon mused, gazing upward toward heaven.

Overhead, the bluish glass roof shimmered in the afternoon sun, casting rays of geometric patterns in the air and giving the room a sense of grandeur. Angular shadows fell like veins across the white tiled walls and down to the marble floors. The air smelled clean, sterile. A handful of scientists moved briskly about, their footsteps echoing in the resonant space.

"This way, please, Mr. Langdon." His voice sounded almost computerized. His accent was rigid and precise, like his stern features. Kohler coughed and wiped his mouth on a white handkerchief as he fixed his dead gray eyes on Langdon. "Please hurry." His wheelchair seemed to leap across the tiled floor.

Langdon followed past what seemed to be countless hallways branching off the main atrium. Every hallway was alive with activity. The scientists who saw Kohler seemed to stare in surprise, eyeing Langdon as if wondering who he must be to command such company.

"I’m embarrassed to admit," Langdon ventured, trying to make conversation, "that I’ve never heard of CERN."

"Not surprising," Kohler replied, his clipped response sounding harshly efficient. "Most Americans do not see Europe as the world leader in scientific research. They see us as nothing but a quaint shopping district – an odd perception if you consider the nationalities of men like Einstein, Galileo, and Newton."

Langdon was unsure how to respond. He pulled the fax from his pocket. "This man in the photograph, can you – "

Kohler cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Please. Not here. I am taking you to him now." He held out his hand. "Perhaps I should take that."

Langdon handed over the fax and fell silently into step.

Kohler took a sharp left and entered a wide hallway adorned with awards and commendations. A particularly large plaque dominated the entry. Langdon slowed to read the engraved bronze as they passed.

ARS ELECTRONICA AWARD
For Cultural Innovation in the Digital Age
Awarded to Tim Berners Lee and CERN
for the invention of the
WORLDWIDE WEB

Well I’ll be damned, Langdon thought, reading the text. This guy wasn’t kidding. Langdon had always thought of the Web as an American invention. Then again, his knowledge was limited to the site for his own book and the occasional on-line exploration of the Louvre or El Prado on his old Macintosh.

"The Web," Kohler said, coughing again and wiping his mouth, "began here as a network of in-house computer sites. It enabled scientists from different departments to share daily findings with one another. Of course, the entire world is under the impression the Web is U.S. technology."

Langdon followed down the hall. "Why not set the record straight?"

Kohler shrugged, apparently disinterested. "A petty misconception over a petty technology. CERN is far greater than a global connection of computers. Our scientists produce miracles almost daily."

Langdon gave Kohler a questioning look. "Miracles?" The word "miracle" was certainly not part of the vocabulary around Harvard’s Fairchild Science Building. Miracles were left for the School of Divinity.

"You sound skeptical," Kohler said. "I thought you were a religious symbologist. Do you not believe in miracles?"

"I’m undecided on miracles," Langdon said. Particularly those that take place in science labs.

"Perhaps miracle is the wrong word. I was simply trying to speak your language."

"My language?" Langdon was suddenly uncomfortable. "Not to disappoint you, sir, but I study religious symbology – I’m an academic, not a priest."