Page 199 of The Secret of Secrets

One of the perks of being U.S. ambassador, she thought. The wealthy Americans who owned what lay beyond this door had loaned Nagel a key, giving her access to this discreet backdoor entrance in hopes she would visit often, which she did.

As they entered, Nagel wondered what Langdon would think if he knew where they were now headed. Behind this wall, in any of six candlelit chambers, the professor might find himself lying naked on a granite slab while robed attendants poured hot wax across his flesh.

She has a key?

If Langdon’s memory served, Prague’s famous Dripstone Wall had been erected against the rear facade of a thirteenth-century Augustine friary—the St. Thomas Monastery—meaning he had just stepped through the wall into ancient, hallowed hallways.

Not so hallowed anymore, he mused.

This grand monastery, like so many in Europe, had been repurposed to serve the needs of an increasingly secular world. In this case, it had been transformed into a Marriott Hotel—the Augustine Luxury. The monks’ ancient brewery was now reimagined as the ultrahip Refectory Bar, and the monastery’s original scriptorium had been preserved fully intact, complete with ancient texts, writing implements, and sharpening stones for quills.

“As quietly as possible,” Nagel whispered, guiding them down a narrow passageway to a service door. When she pushed it open, Langdon found himself in an elegant hallway that smelled of tea tree, incense, and eucalyptus.

“You brought us to a spa?” he asked as they arrived at a golden door, where a placard listed various treatments, including their specialty—the Monastic Ritual. He was no cloistral specialist, but he was fairly certain monastic rituals did not involve lavender body candles and collagen facials.

“We’re safe here,” she whispered. “I know the staff, and the walls are soundproofed.”

With that, Nagel motioned for them to wait as she slipped inside. Within a matter of seconds, she returned with a key fob and ushered them down the hall, where she unlocked one of the spa’s private, post-treatment salóneks.

The windowless lounge had a faux-ecclesiastical feel with flickering electric candles, stained-glass art, and piped-in Gregorian chant. The soundtrack, Langdon noted, predated the monastery by four centuries. But anachronisms aside, he could imagine worse places to be. It’s private and warm. Better yet, Kerble had headed into the hotel to see if he could find them some food.

“First off,” Nagel said, shedding her winter coat and motioning them to sit on the comfortable couches, “I can’t possibly imagine what you’ve both endured today. I’m relieved that you’re okay, and I realize we have a lot to discuss. But before we delve too deeply into it, I wanted to share some very good news.” She gave them both a tired smile. “As it turns out, the incriminating evidence that we were hoping to obtain about Threshold…We now have it.”

How? Langdon wondered, imagining that all physical evidence of Threshold’s existence was pulverized and buried in rubble…along with, tragically, the most potent proof of all. Sasha Vesna herself.

Nagel eyed them both, looking tired but energized. “As it turns out, we have a guardian angel. Stated more accurately, Sasha Vesna has a guardian angel.”

Langdon was startled by the comment. He immediately pictured the cloaked figure who had declared himself Sasha’s protector and guardian. Does Nagel know about her split personality?

“And her guardian angel,” she added, “sent me this.”

Nagel produced a sheet of paper and laid it in front of them. When Katherine saw it, she let out a little gasp. Langdon felt a similar pall to read the handwritten message scrawled on a piece of cat-themed stationery.

Please help Sasha.

My God, he thought, picturing Sasha’s hands writing these very words…a desperate call for help…an appeal that, strangely, Sasha knew nothing about.

The ambassador quickly explained that the URL included in the message led to a tortured video confession in which Gessner divulged all she knew about Threshold—human testing, brain surgeries, implants, psychopharmaceuticals, near-death experiences, the list of people involved…all of it.

“The video is very difficult to watch,” Nagel said, “but its existence means the CIA can never again come after you.”

She let that sink in.

“I’ve safeguarded a copy, and I intend to make backups. In short, no matter what else happens, this video is the only insurance you’ll ever need.” Her eyes flashed in the candlelight. “It’s your atomic bomb.”

“Yours too, I hope,” Katherine said quietly.

Nagel nodded. “Although I’m not sure how much we’ll need it. The director seemed as appalled as I was to learn some of the things that had gone on at Threshold.”

“He had to know,” Langdon argued. “He’s the director.”

“Yes, which is why he might not have known,” Nagel countered. “The agency is hypercompartmentalized on process—plausible deniability, autocratic efficiency. He put Finch in charge and therefore would have known only the details Finch chose to share.”

Maybe, Langdon thought, maybe not. He picked up the letter, sensing the ambassador knew nothing of Sasha’s condition. “But why would Sasha’s guardian address this to you? Why not send the video directly to the press?”

“In the video,” Nagel said, “Dr. Gessner admits that I knew almost nothing about Threshold’s true purpose and would be horrified by its existence. I suspect that admission is why Sasha’s guardian entrusted the video to me…imagining I was influential enough to help Sasha…or to make a difference. It goes without saying that if we ever locate Sasha, I am poised to help her in any way I can. She is a victim, and I did play a role in making Threshold a reality…despite being coerced and unaware.” She glanced away suddenly, staring into space. “But Michael Harris…” she whispered, almost tearfully, “what I forced him to do…spying on Sasha for Finch…It cost Michael his life.” Her eyes returned to them. “I will carry that guilt and shame forever.”

Langdon wondered how Nagel would feel when she learned the complicated truth about Harris’s killer. The woman you ordered Harris to seduce was, in an odd sense, the one who murdered him.