Page 153 of The Secret of Secrets

Katherine let out a deep sigh of relief and gave his hand a tight squeeze.

While the passing loop was an efficient way to avoid digging a two-lane tunnel, it had just brought Langdon closer to a near-death experience than he ever cared to be.

The tram sped on another ten seconds and then began decelerating again, gliding to a comfortable stop at an identical station, a deserted metal platform devoid of any signage. Once they stepped off, the electronic hum disappeared, and the transport dropped an inch or two back into its dormant position.

“A two-tram system,” Katherine said, “which means we can’t be sure that whoever entered before us…is already gone.”

Langdon nodded. There’s always one car at either end.

His best guess was that they were now somewhere beneath the northern edge of Folimanka Park, abutting the deepest reaches of the sprawling 1950s bomb shelter.

Rather than an elevator door, this platform had an archway opening with no door. Langdon and Katherine stepped through and found their path blocked by an imposing security checkpoint—X-ray conveyer belt, body scanner, more biometrics, two guard desks—all of which were currently unmanned.

This place will be a fortress when it’s up and running, Langdon realized as they sidestepped through the body scanner and exited the checkpoint into a main hallway.

So far, Langdon had seen no signage anywhere to indicate this was a CIA facility. But as they arrived at a set of double glass doors, he saw a single word, in a small font, stenciled into the glass.

Confirmation.

Langdon reached for the doors, but they swung open automatically, the hallway beyond immediately illuminating. The light in this hall was more of a soft glow than the blazing spotlights they had seen prior. Two strips of muted floor lighting ran along the base of the corridor walls, stretching away from them in two parallel lines, reminiscent of an airport runway.

The immaculate flooring was black terrazzo tile and resembled a strip of polished basalt. The walls here were silver metal, most likely a chrome veneer, and glistened in the baseboard lighting. The air carried the scent of fresh paint, concrete, and cleaning supplies.

Walking briskly, Langdon and Katherine headed down the corridor, their footsteps echoing off the hard interior. After about twenty yards, they paused at an intersection where a secondary hallway branched off to their right. Tiled in a pale green, this hallway was completely dark, and Langdon could see only a few office doors before everything was black.

A sign read: Support.

Langdon’s gut told him that sorting through offices and files would be a waste of precious time. They needed hard evidence that showed what was going on in Threshold, and there was really only one way to do that.

We need to find the heart of the facility.

Conveniently, ahead of them on the black tile, Langdon saw a single word stenciled in bold letters: Operations.

As they moved down the long, straight hallway, floor lighting ahead continued to come on automatically. They came to an alcove, which contained an oversized metal door that bore a familiar symbol.

The caduceus? Langdon was surprised to find a medical symbol in a CIA facility, but there it was, prominently displayed. Iconographically, he knew this symbol was frequently misused, as it was here. The caduceus was actually the ancient symbol of Hermes, the Greek god of travel and commerce. The more accurate symbol would have been the Rod of Asclepius—the staff of the Greek god of healing—a similar icon with no wings and only a single snake, rather than the caduceus double snake. Embarrassingly, in 1902, the U.S. Army Medical Corps had mistakenly emblazoned the caduceus on their uniforms, and to this day the symbol was displayed in error by U.S. doctors and hospitals.

Katherine walked over and opened the door.

Langdon followed her through, into a suite of rooms that appeared to be a small hospital. A medical examination room was equipped with advanced diagnostic and imaging equipment. A narrow supply closet contained shelves stocked high with unopened medical supplies. A private room contained two beds surrounded by more medical gear than Langdon had seen even in an intensive care unit.

Eerily, that room was marked Recovery.

Recovery from what?

As they pushed deeper into the suite, they came upon a small, ride-on forklift with a massive crate in its tongs. Katherine crouched down to read the labels on the crate. “NIRS,” she said. “Near-infrared spectroscopy. Advanced real-time imaging.”

“In a medical facility?” Langdon associated NIRS with astronomy.

“Neuroscientists use it to analyze brain activity by assessing oxygen saturation.” Katherine stood, a look of concern in her eyes. “I don’t understand…Why would the CIA build a secret hospital under Folimanka Park?”

Langdon was wondering the same thing as he walked over to a set of swinging doors and cautiously pushed them open a crack. There was only darkness within. He pushed a bit farther, and the lights inside blazed to life.

When he stepped through the doors, he found himself in a surgical scrub room. On the far wall, a plate-glass window offered a view of the adjoining chamber—a glistening white operating room. There, suspended ominously over a sleek surgical table, hung a device unlike anything Langdon had ever seen.

“I don’t know what that machine is…” he whispered as Katherine arrived behind him. “But it looks terrifying.”

Chapter 97