Fifty yards ahead, in the center of the church, a ghost appeared… a diaphanous, glowing outline. The pale shape was that of the half-naked camerlegno. The specter seemed transparent, radiating light. Chartrand staggered to a stop, feeling a knot tighten in his chest.
Langdon had seen the phantom also. For a moment, he too thought he had witnessed a magical vision. But as he passed the stunned Chartrand and ran toward the spot where the camerlegno had disappeared, he realized what had just happened. The camerlegno had arrived at the Niche of the Palliums—the sunken chamber lit by ninety-nine oil lamps. The lamps in the niche shone up from beneath, illuminating him like a ghost. Then, as the camerlegno descended the stairs into the light, he had seemed to disappear beneath the floor.
Langdon arrived breathless at the rim overlooking the sunken room. He peered down the stairs. At the bottom, lit by the golden glow of oil lamps, the camerlegno dashed across the marble chamber toward the set of glass doors that led to the room holding the famous golden box.
The camerlegno yanked open the doors and ran inside. Oddly though, he totally ignored the golden box, rushing right past it. Five feet beyond the box, he dropped to his knees and began struggling to lift an iron grate embedded in the floor.
Langdon watched in horror, now realizing where the camerlegno was headed.
As Langdon opened the glass doors and ran toward the camerlegno, he saw the camerlegno heave on the grate. The hinged, iron bulkhead fell open with a deafening crash, revealing a narrow shaft and a steep stairway that dropped into nothingness. As the camerlegno moved toward the hole, Langdon grabbed his bare shoulders and pulled him back. The man’s skin was slippery with sweat, but Langdon held on.
The camerlegno wheeled, obviously startled. "What are you doing!"
Langdon was surprised when their eyes met. The camerlegno no longer had the glazed look of a man in a trance. His eyes were keen, glistening with a lucid determination. The brand on his chest looked excruciating.
"Father," Langdon urged, as calmly as possible, "you can’t go down there. We need to evacuate."
"My son," the camerlegno said, his voice eerily sane. "I have just had a message. I know—"
"Camerlegno!" It was Chartrand and the others. They came dashing down the stairs into the room, lit by Macri’s camera.
When Chartrand saw the open grate in the floor, his eyes filled with dread. He crossed himself and shot Langdon a thankful look for having stopped the camerlegno. Langdon understood; had read enough about Vatican architecture to know what lay beneath that grate. It was the most sacred place in all of Christendom.
"Signore," Chartrand pleaded. "You’re in shock. We need to leave this place. You cannot go down there. It’s suicide."
The camerlegno seemed suddenly stoic. He reached out and put a quiet hand on Chartrand’s shoulder. "Thank you for your concern and service. I cannot tell you how. I cannot tell you I understand. But I have had a revelation. I know where the antimatter is."
Everyone stared.
The camerlegno turned to the group. "Upon this rock I will build my church. That was the message. The meaning is clear."
Langdon was still unable to comprehend the camerlegno’s conviction that he had spoken to God, much less that he had deciphered the message.
Macri moved in for a closer shot. Glick was mute, as if shell-shocked.
The camerlegno spoke quickly now. "The Illuminati have placed their tool of destruction on the very cornerstone of this church. At the foundation." He motioned down the stairs. "On the very rock upon which this church was built. And I know where that rock is."
Langdon was certain the time had come to overpower the camerlegno and carry him off. As lucid as he seemed, the priest was talking nonsense.
