Page 16 of The Secret of Secrets

Katherine pointed her clicker at the screen behind her, and an image appeared—a test subject wearing a brain monitor and sitting in the dark in front of a small movie screen.

“While monitoring a subject’s brain waves with specialized equipment,” she began, “we show him a random stream of images. These images fall into three distinct categories—horrifying violence, tranquil calm, or explicit sexual content. Because each type of image triggers a different section of the brain, we are able to watch in real time as his conscious mind registers the image.”

She clicked again and displayed a graph of brain waves with intermittent spikes—each color-coded to indicate what type of image had been shown. “As expected, the appropriate sections of the brain light up with the appearance of each specific image. Follow me so far?”

Heads nodded eagerly.

“Great,” she said, now zooming in on the graph’s horizontal axis. “This timeline is an extremely accurate record to indicate the precise moment at which the computer flashed each image at random and the precise moment the brain spiked.”

Langdon wondered where this was going.

“If we zoom in farther,” she said, clicking to display increasingly shorter time increments, “we get down to the millisecond range…and we discover there is a big problem.”

She said nothing further, but within seconds there was a communal murmur of bewilderment around the large hall. Langdon shared in the confusion. According to these graphs, the subject’s brain spiked before the computer had shown the image.

“As you clearly see,” Katherine said, “this man is registering each image far too early. The appropriate part of his brain is lighting up a full four hundred milliseconds before the image is displayed. Somehow, his consciousness already knows what type of image he is about to see.” She smiled. “And that’s not even the most startling part…”

The hall fell silent.

“As it turns out,” Katherine said, “the brain reacts not only before the image is displayed…but before the computer’s random-number generator has even chosen which image to show! It’s as if the brain is not predicting reality…so much as creating it.”

Like everyone around him, Langdon was stunned. He also knew that this very idea—the notion that human thoughts create reality—existed at the core of most major spiritual teachings.

Buddha: With our thoughts, we create the world.

Jesus: Whatever you ask for in prayer, it will be yours.

Hinduism: You have the power of God.

The concept, Langdon knew, was echoed by modern progressive thinkers and artistic geniuses as well. Business guru Robin Sharma declared: Everything is created twice; first in the mind, and then in reality. Pablo Picasso’s most enduring quote proclaimed: Everything you can imagine is real.

A knock startled Langdon, and Vladislav Hall dissolved from his mind. He was back in the shower and heard the bathroom door opening. Through the translucent shower enclosure, Langdon saw the hazy outline of a person entering and he breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness she’s back early. No doubt Katherine had heard about the hotel incident and quickly returned.

“Just finished,” Langdon called, turning off the hot water and forgoing his usual ice-cold rinse. I’ve had enough cold water for one morning. He grabbed the towel hanging inside the enclosed shower door, wrapped it around his waist, and stepped out into the bathroom. “Katherine—”

He stopped short.

Katherine was not there.

Langdon was standing face-to-face with an angular man in a leather suitcoat.

“Who the hell are you?!” Langdon demanded. How did you get in here?!

The intruder moved several inches closer, his expression humorless. “Mr. Robert Langdon?” he said with a heavy Czech accent. “Good morning. I am Captain Janáček of the Úřad pro zahraniční styky a informace. I took the liberty of securing your passport from your bedroom. I trust you don’t mind.”

You took my passport? Langdon felt naked standing in only a towel before this strange man. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

The man flashed an identification badge, but in the steamy air Langdon could see very little except the organization’s bold emblem—a lion reared up on his hind legs. The Lion Rampant? The symbol was quite common, and it also happened to be the logo of Langdon’s prep school alma mater, although he was fairly certain this guy was not from Phillips Exeter Academy.

“I’m with ÚZSI,” the man said gruffly. “Czech national intelligence service.”

You don’t look like an intelligence agent, Langdon thought. The man’s eyes were bloodshot and weepy, his thinning hair was uncombed, and his shirt was badly wrinkled beneath his leather jacket.

“I will say this once, Mr. Langdon.” The Czech official stepped toward him as if making a point of crossing some invisible line between them. “You just evacuated a five-star hotel. Either you give me a very good reason why, or I arrest you immediately.”

Langdon was at a loss for words. “I…I’m terribly sorry,” he stammered. “It’s difficult to explain, Captain. I made a mistake.”

“I agree,” the man fired back, his expression revealing nothing. “A substantial one. Why did you pull the alarm?”