Page 67 of The Secret of Secrets

Sasha stood up and looked at the message, immediately drawing a startled breath. With trembling fingers, she handed the note to Langdon. “It’s for you.”

Me? Langdon took the slip of paper and read it, his chest tightening instantly.

Filled with fear, he yanked open the apartment door, burst into the deserted entryway, and ran out of the building into the snow, wearing only his socks. Wheeling in circles in the slush, he shouted into the empty air, “Who are you?! What have you done with her?!”

Twenty yards from where Langdon was shouting, The Golěm watched from the shadows.

The note The Golěm had just placed at Sasha Vesna’s door had sparked the desired reaction. If all went to plan, Robert Langdon would soon be rushing off alone to a deserted location.

Fear is motivational.

Chapter 42

Michael Harris could still hear Sasha’s desperate phone call as he sped down the road away from Crucifix Bastion.

I’m with Robert Langdon! We need your help!

When he reached the main road, Harris turned right, racing north toward Sasha’s apartment. A place I know all too well, he lamented, having visited numerous times, always against his better judgment.

Harris had first met Sasha two months ago at David Rio Chai Latte, where Sasha stopped every morning on her way to work. Sasha was alone at a standing table, and Harris approached her with a smile.

“Privet, Sasha,” he said in Russian. Hello, Sasha.

The tall blonde glanced up, looking alarmed. “How do you know my name?”

Harris smiled and pointed to her paper cup, on which the barista had written: Saša.

“Oh,” Sasha said, looking sheepish but still uncertain. “But…you spoke Russian.”

“Lucky guess,” Harris said. “I heard your accent when you ordered.”

Now Sasha looked embarrassed. “Of course. Sorry to be jumpy. Russians aren’t exactly the most popular people in Prague.”

“Try being American!” he replied, showing her his Mickale cup. “The barista misspelled my name on purpose, I’m sure.” He smiled and put on his best Bogart impersonation. “Of all the coffee joints in all the towns in all the world, I walk into this one.”

“Casablanca!” She brightened. “I love that movie!”

Over the next half hour, they swapped stories, and Sasha shared a heartbreaking tale of debilitating epilepsy and childhood abandonment in a Russian mental institution…until a neurosurgeon rescued her and brought her to Prague.

“And this Dr. Gessner cured you?” Harris asked.

“Perfectly,” Sasha said, gratitude in her eyes. “She invented a brain implant that I can activate by rubbing a magnetic wand over my skull whenever I feel the fog.”

“The fog?”

“Yes, sorry, before a seizure, epileptics get a hazy, tingling warning…kind of like that prickly sensation before you sneeze. When it happens, I rub the wand on top of my head, and the magnet triggers the chip inside my skull.” She hesitated, looking suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, it’s kind of unappealing to talk about.”

“Not at all—I can’t see a thing,” Harris said honestly. “If there are scars, they’re totally hidden beneath all that beautiful blond hair!”

The compliment was earnest, but Sasha averted her gaze, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I can’t believe I told you all this. How embarrassing. I don’t talk to many people, so…anyway, I have to go to work.” She abruptly drained the rest of her chai and quickly started packing up.

“I have to go too,” Harris said, “but it was fun talking, and if you ever want to have lunch sometime, I’d love to talk more.”

Sasha looked startled by the request. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course, sorry,” Harris said, fumbling. “I didn’t mean a date date. I just…anyhow, you’re probably seeing someone, so—”

“Me? No, I’m not seeing anyone,” she blurted clumsily. “It’s just…” Her eyes suddenly welled with tears, as if she were about to break down.