Background & The Evolution of the Internet

The Internet has undergone explosive growth since the first connections were established in 1969. This growth has necessitated an extremely large system scale-up that has required new developments in the technology of information transfer. These new developments allow simplified solutions to the problem of how to reliably get information from point A to point B. Unfortunately, the rapid pace of the required technological advancement has not allowed for optimal solutions to the scale-up problem.Rather, these solutions appear to have been the most convenient and practical at the time. Thus, the information transfer technology of today’s internet does not guarantee the ‘best path’ for data transmission. The definition of the best path may mean the most cost effective or the fastest path or some path based on optimization of multiple protocols, but the current technology used in the internet cannot guarantee that the best path for data transmission will be chosen. The result is a reduction in economic and system resource efficiency. The Evolution of the InternetThe Internet has become integrated into the economic, technological and security infrastructure of virtually every country in the world. However, the internet had quite a humble beginning. It was originally designed as a back-up military communications network (MILNET) and as a university research communications network (National Science Foundation Network, NFSNET / Advanced Research Projects Agency Network, ARPANET). The original technology developed for these limited systems was not designed for the massive scale-up that has occurred since inception.Moreover, the original design of the internet system was based on the sharing of resources. The recent applications of the internet for commerce and proprietary information transfer processes make resource sharing an undesirable aspect. A more recent development is resource usage based on policies limiting what part of the internet can use a specific service or data transmission line. An Introduction to Networks and Routing What is a network? A network is a group of computers linked together by transmission lines that allow communication between the computers.Some of these computers are the equipment used by people on their desktop. Other computers in the network are computers that are designed only to direct traffic on the network or between different networks. Computer scientists often think of networks as large graphs with lines used to connect dots. The dots are called nodes and correspond to computers and the lines correspond to the transmission lines that connect the computers. The Internet is a giant network of smaller networks, called autonomous systems, that allows computers to be connected around the globe.What is routing? The process of transmitting information from a source computer to a destination computer is called routing. The way this is done can greatly effect how quickly the information is transmitte d between the two computers. What is a router? A router is a computer with more than one connection to the rest of the network that is programmed to choose which transmission lines to send information. Some routers or designed to route information between networks, as on the Internet, while other routers work to route information between computers on the same network.How do routers route? In order for routers to choose the best route (or path) from the source computer to the destination computer, it is necessary that the routers communicate with each other about what computers and networks they are connected to and the routes that can be used to reach these computers and networks. Often these routes must go through other routers. What are advertisements? Advertisements are the messages sent between routers to communicate information about routes to reach each destination. What is convergence?Convergence occurs on the network or internet when all the routers know all the routes to al l the destinations. The time required for all the routers to agree on the state of the network, the network topology, is known as the convergence time. When convergence does not occur, then data can be transmitted to a router which does not know how to get to a destination and this data is then lost. This is called a black hole. It is also possible that the data can be passed around a set of routers continuously without getting to the destination. This is called a routing loop. What is a data packet?When a large message is being transmitted, the message will probably be broken up into smaller messages called data packets, and these data packets may not all be sent by the same path across the Internet, although they will hopefully all reach the same destination What is a metric? A routing metric is a measure associated with a particular path between a source and a destination used by the router to decide what path is the best path. Typical metrics used by routing algorithms include p ath length, bandwidth, load, reliability, delay (or latency) and communication cost.Path length is a geometric measure of how long the transmission lines are. Bandwidth is used to describe the available transmission rate (bps) of a given section the possible transmission path. The load is the data packet transmission per unit time. The reliability of a data transmission path is essentially the number of errors per unit time. The delay in data transmission along a certain path is due to a combination of the metrics that have already been discussed, including geometric length of the transmission lines, bandwidth, and data traffic congestion.The communication cost is essentially the commercial cost of data transmission along a certain transmission line. What is a router protocol? A router protocol is the way the router is programmed to choose the best path for data transmission and communicate with other routers. This algorithm will consider path metrics associated with each path in a way defined by the by the manager of each AS. What is an internet address? In order for routers to identify the destination of a data transmission, every destination must have an address.The internet protocol (IP) method of addressing destinations uses a series of digits separated by dots. An example of an Internet address is 227. 130. 107. 5. Each of the 4 numbers separated by a dot has a value between 0 and 255. This range of values is set from the amount of computer memory designated for addressing at the beginning of the internet. The internet addressing scheme is similar to a scheme for international telephone calls. There is a ‘country code’ which is a fixed number for each country, and then there are other numbers which change on the phone number to refer to specific locations within the country.The numbers on the IP address for a network on the internet correspond to what would be the country code on an international phone number are referred to as ‘prefix ’. The other numbers on the IP address change to refer to individual computers on that particular network. A ‘netmask’ can also be used to specify which numbers on the IP address for a given network are fixed and which ones can be changed. A netmask is a series on ones and zeroes that can be put over the IP address. The part of the IP address under the ones is fixed as a network address.The part of the IP address under the zeros can be changed to indicate specific computers on the network. What is a Domain Name System (DNS), the domain name and the Uniform Resource Locator (URL)? The DNS is a combination of computer hardware and software that can rapidly match the text specification of an IP address, like www. helpmegetoutofthis. com, to an IP address. The part, helpmegetoutofthis. com, is called the domain name. The whole text, www. helpmegetoutofthis. com, is called the Uniform Resource Locator (URL).When you send an e-mail or use the Internet, you use the doma in name and the URL to locate specific sites. This allows people to type in the text name, or domain name, of an internet site into the Netscape browser instead of trying to remember the numerical IP address. The DNS automatically matches the text name to the IP address for the user when the transmission request is submitted. What are servers and clients? All of the computers on the Internet are classified as either servers or clients. The computers that provide services to other computers are called servers.The computers that connect to servers to use the services are called clients. Examples of servers are Web servers, e-mail servers, DNS servers and FTP servers. The computers used at the desktop are generally clients. How the internet works. Although the details of routing and software are complex, the operation of the internet from the users’ perspective is fairly straight forward. As an example of what happens when the Internet is used, consider that you type the URL www . helpmegetoutofthis. com into the Netscape browser.The browser contacts a DNS server to get the IP address. A DNS server would start its search for an IP address. If it finds the IP address for the site, then it returns the IP address to the browser, which then contacts the server for www. helpmegetoutofthis. com, which then transmits the web page to your computer and browser so you can view it. The user is not aware that of the operation of an infrastructure of routers and transmission lines behind this action of retrieving a web page and transmitting the data from one computer to another.The infrastructure of the internet can be seen as a massive array of data relay nodes (routers) interconnected by data transmission lines, where each node can service multiple transmission lines. In the general case where information must be sent across several nodes before being received, there will be many possible pathways over which this transmission might occur. The routers serve to find a p ath for the data transmission to occur. The routing of a file or data packets of a file is either be done by the technique of source routing or the technique of destination routing.In source routing, the path the data transmission will follow id specified at the source of the transmission, while destination routing is controlled by the routers along the path. In the modern internet, almost all routing is done by destination routing because of security issues associated with source routing. Thus, the routers must be programmed with protocols that allow a reasonable, perhaps optimum, path choice for each data packet. For the routers to choose an optimum path also requires that the interconnected routers communicate information concerning local transmission line metrics.Router communication is thus itself a massive information transfer process, given that there is more than 100,000 networks and millions of hosts on the Internet. When viewing the enormity of the problem, it is perhaps e asier to understand why engineers have accepted a sub-optimal solution to the problem of efficiency in data transfer on the Internet. When initially confronting a problem, the practical engineering approach is to simplify the problem to the point where a working solution can be obtained and then refine that solution once the system is functional.Some of the simplifying assumptions used by engineers for the current internet data transmission system include 1) A transmission line is never over capacity and is always available as a path choice. 2) The performance of the router and transmission line does not depend on the amount of traffic. These two assumptions do simplify the problem of path choice considerably because now all the transmission lines and nodes may be considered equal in capacity and performance completely independent of traffic. As such, it is a much simpler optimization problem consisting of finding the route with the shortest path length.To simplify the problem even further, another assumption is made: 3) Consider that an â€Å"Autonomous System† (AS), is a small internet inside the Internet. An AS is generally considered to be a sub-network of an Internet with a common administrative authority and is regulated by a specific set of administrative guidelines. It is assumed that every AS is the same and provides the same performance. The problem of Internet routing can now be broken down into the simpler problem of selecting optimum paths inside the AS and then considering the optimum paths between the AS.Since there are ‘only’ around 15,000 active AS’s on the Internet, the overall problem is reduced to finding the best route over 15,000 AS nodes, and then the much simpler problem of finding the best route through each AS. There is an important (to this thesis) set of protocols which control the exchange of routing information between the AS’s. The sort of routers in an AS which communicates with the rest of the internet and other AS’s are called border routers. Border routers are controlled by a set of programming instructions known as Border Gateway Protocol, BGP.A more detailed discussion of computer networking principals and the Internet facts can be found in e. g. [7]. An Introduction to Router Protocols. Routers are computers connected to multiple networks and programmed to control the data transmission between the networks. Usually, there are multiple paths that are possible for transmission of data between two points on the Internet. The routers involved in the transmission between two points can be programmed to choose the ‘best path’ based on some metric. The ‘protocols’ used to determine the path for data transmission are routing algorithms.Typical metrics used by routing algorithms include path length, bandwidth, load, reliability, delay (or latency) and communication cost. Path length. Path length is a geometric measure of how long the transmiss ion lines are. The routers can be programmed to assign weights to each transmission line proportional to the length of the line or each network node. The path length is then the sum of the weights of the nodes, lines or lines plus nodes along the possible transmission path. Bandwidth. Bandwidth is used to describe the available transmission rate (bps) of a given section the possible transmission path.An open 64 kbps line would not generally be chosen as the pathway for data transmission if an open 10 Mbps Ethernet link is also open, assuming everything else is equal. However, sometimes the higher bandwidth path is very busy and the time required for transmission on a busy, high bandwidth line is actually longer than on a path with a lower bandwidth. Load. This data packet transmission per unit time or the percent of CPU utilization of a router on a given path is referred to as the load on this path. Reliability.The reliability of a data transmission path can be quantitatively descri bed as the bit error rate and results in the assignment of numeric reliability metrics for the possible data transmission pathways. Delay. The delay in data transmission along a certain path is due to a combination of the metrics that have already been discussed, including geometric length of the transmission lines, bandwidth, and data traffic congestion. Because of the hybrid nature of the communications delay metric, it is commonly used in routing algorithms. Communication Cost.In some cases, the commercial cost of data transmission may be more important the time cost. Commercial organisations often prefer to transmit data over low capacity lines which they own as opposed to using public, high capacity lines that have usage charges. The routing algorithms do not have to use just one metric to determine the optimum route; rather it is possible to choose the optimum route based on multiple metrics. In order for the optimum path to be chosen by the routers between the data source and the data destination, the routers must communicate information about the relevant metrics with other routers.This nature of this communication process is also defined by the routing algorithm and the transmission time is linked to the time required for the routers to have the necessary information about the states of the surrounding routers. The time required for all the routers to agree on the state of the network, the network topology, is known as the convergence time and when all routers are aware of the network topology, the network is said to have converged. Some of the common routing algorithm types can indeed affect the convergence of the network.Some of the different algorithms characteristics that must be chosen when designing are static or dynamic routing, single path or multi-path routing and link state or distance vector routing. Static Routing. Static routing is done by use of a static list of attributes describing the network topology at the initiation of the network. This list, called a routing table, is used by the routers to decide the optimum routes for each type of data transmission and can only be changed manually. Therefore, if anything changes in the network, such as a cable breaking or a router crashing, the viability of the network is likely to be compromised.The advantage is that there is no communication required between routers, thus the network is always converged. Dynamic Routing. In contrast to static routing, dynamic routing continually updates the routing tables according to changes that might occur in the network topology. This type of real time information processing allows the network to adjust to variations in data traffic and component reliability, but does require communication between the routers and thus there is a convergence time cost associated with this solution.Single Path vs Multi-path Routing. Single path and muli-path routing are accurate descriptive terms regarding the use of either a single line to send multip le packets of data from a given source to a given destination as opposed to using multiple paths to send all the data packets from the source to the destination. Multiple path algorithms achieve a much higher transmission rate because of a more efficient utilization of available resources. Link State vs Dynamic Routing Protocols.Link-state algorithms are dynamic routing algorithms which require routers to send routing table information to all the routers in the network, but only that information which describes its own operational state. Distance-vector algorithms, however, require each router to send the whole of its router table, but only to the neighbouring routers. Because the link-state algorithms require small amounts of information to be sent to a large number of routers and the distance vector algorithm requires large amounts of information sent to a small number of routers, the link state algorithm will converge faster.However, link state algorithms require more system reso urces (CPU time and memory). There is a new type of algorithm developed by CISCO which is a hybrid of the link-state algorithm and the distance vector algorithm [8].. This proprietary algorithm converges faster than the typical distance-vector algorithm but provides more information to the routers than the typical link-state algorithm. This is because the routers are allowed to actively query one another to obtain the necessary information missing from the partial tables communicated by the link-state algorithms.At the same time, this hybrid algorithm avoids communication of any superfluous information exhibited in the router communications of the full tables associated with distance-vector algorithm. Switching. The distance vector, link state or hybrid algorithms all have the same purpose, to insure that all of the routers have an updated table that gives information on all the data transmission paths to a specific destination. Each of these protocols requires that when data is tra nsmitted from a source to a destination, the routers have the ability to ‘switch’ the address on the data transmission.When a router receives a data packet from a source with the destination address, it examines the address of the destination. If the router has a path to that destination in the routing table, then the router determines the address of the next router the data packet will ‘hop’ to and changes the physical address of packet to that of the next hop, and then transmits the packet. This process of physical address change is called ‘switching’. It will be repeated at each hop until the packet reaches the final destination.Although the physical address for the forwarding transmission of the data packet changes as the packet moves across the Internet, the final destination address remains associated with the packet and is a constant. The internet is divided up into hierarchical groups that are useful in the description of the switching process. At the bottom of this hierarchy are network devices without the capability to switch and forward packets between sub-networks, where an AS is a sub-network.These network devices are called end systems (ESs), because if a packet is transmitted there, it cannot be forwarded and has come to the end. At the top of the hierarchy are the network devices that can switch physical addresses are called intermediate systems (ISs). An IS which can only forward packets within a sub-network are referred to as intra-domain ISs while those which communicate either within or between sub-networks are called intra-domain ISs. Details of Routing Algorithms Link State AlgorithmsIn a link state algorithm, every router in the network is notified of a topology change at the same time. This avoids some of the problems associated with the nearest neighbour update propagation that occurs in the distance vector algorithms. The ‘Open Shortest Path First’ (OSPF) protocol uses a graph topolo gy algorithm like Dijkstra’s Algorithm to determine the best path for data transmission between a given data source and a data destination. The metric used for route optimisation is specific to the manual configuration of the router.However, the default metric is the speed of the interface. The OSPF uses a two level, hierarchical network classification. The lower level of hierarchy is groups of routers called areas. All the routers in an area have full knowledge of all the other routers in the area, but reduced knowledge of routers in a different area. The different areas organized within the OSPF algorithm are connected by border routers, which have full knowledge of multiple areas. The upper level of the hierarchy is the backbone network, to which all areas must be connected.That is, all data traffic going from one area to another must pass through the backbone routers. Distance Vector Algorithms In order for data to be transmitted from a source to a destination on the Inte rnet, the destination must be identified using some mechanism. That is, each possible destination for data transmission must be described with an address. The scheme currently used to address the internet space is the Internet Protocol (IP) version 4. The IP version 4 uses an address length limited by 32 bits. An example of an Internet address is 227. 130. 107.5 with the corresponding bit vector 11100011 10000010 01101011 00000101. An initial difficulty in managing the available address space was the implementation of a class structure, where large blocks of internet address space was reserved for organisations such as universities, leaving commercial applications with limited address space. Routing of data transmission in this address environment was referred to as class-full routing. To alleviate this problem of limited address space, the internet community has slowly evolved to a classless structure, with classless routing.In distance vector protocols, each router sends adjacent routers information about known paths to specific addresses. The neighbouring routers are sent information giving a distance metric of each one from a destination address. The distance metric could be the number of routers which must be used to reach the destination address, known as the ‘hop count’, or it could be the actual transmission distance in the network. Although this information is advertised only to the adjacent routers, these routers will then communicate the information with their neighbouring routers, and so on, until the entire network has the same information.This information is then used to build the routing table which associates the distance metric with a destination address. The distance vector protocol is implemented when a router receives a packet, notes the destination, determines the path with the shortest distance to the destination and then forwards the packet to the next router along the shortest distance path. One of the first distance vector protocols implemented on the Internet was the Routing Information Protocol (RIP). RIP uses the distance metric of hop count to determine the shortest distance to the destination address.It also implements several protocols to avoid having data packets pass through the same router more than once (router loops). The path vector protocol is a distance vector protocol that includes information on the routes over which the routing updates have been transmitted. It is this information on path structure which is used to avoid routing loops. Path Vector Protocols are also somewhat more sophisticated than RIP because an attempt is made to ‘weight’ each path based on a locally defined criteria that may not simply reflect the highest quality of service, but rather the highest profit for an ISP.The implementation of these types of router algorithms may be different in different parts of the Internet. When the algorithms are implemented inside an autonomous system, they are called Interior Gateway Protocols (IGP). Because the different autonomous systems that make up the Internet are independent from one another, the type of routing algorithm used within the autonomous systems can also be independent of one another.That is, the managers of each autonomous system are free to choose the type of algorithm which best suits their particular network, whether it is static or dynamic link-state or dynamic distance-vector. When the algorithms are implemented to control data transmission between autonomous systems, they are referred to as Exterior Gateway Protocols (EGP). The EGP connect all autonomous systems together to form the Internet and thus all EGP should use the same algorithm.The specific algorithm currently used as the EGP on the Internet is the Border Gateway Protocol (BGP), which is a type of distance vector algorithm called a path vector algorithm [9]. A path vector algorithm uses information about the final destination of the data transmission in additio n to the attributes of the neighbouring links. It should be noted that the BGP algorithm can also be used as a router protocol within an autonomous system and is called an interior BGP (IBGP) in that instance. This necessitates calling the BGP an EBGP when it is implemented as an EGP.

Analysis of “The School of Athens” by Raphael Essay

Raphael, the youngest of the three great artists who defined the Italian High Renaissance, was born in the small yet artistically significant Central Italian city of Urbino. It seems that Raphael attained his natural gift of creativity from his father who was a poet and a painter. Orphaned at an early age, Raphael was sent to be an apprentice to the distinguished painter Perugino, and by the tender age of twenty-one had flourished into an impeccable artist with talent surpassing that of his mentor. Over the course of the next four years, Raphael lived and worked in Florence alongside Leonardo DaVinci and Michelangelo. Raphael could not escape the imminent influence of these two legendary artists. By 1508, Raphael’s reputation had already been established and at the age of twenty-five he was summoned by Pope Julius II to decorate the walls of the papal apartments in the Vatican Palace, which happened to be just steps away from where Michelangelo’s Sistine Ceiling was in progress. This commission allowed for the creation of the world-renowned fresco titled, The School of Athens. This work is revered as one of Raphael’s greatest achievements and possibly the greatest achievement of the High Renaissance period. This commission would bring Raphael deserved recognition and notoriety and ultimately led to him becoming the leading painter in all of Rome. The School of Athens is a painting of world-renowned stature because of its impeccable harmony, which was characteristic of Raphael’s work. In order to understand the influence of this piece one must recognize Raphael’s overall achievement here: he successfully created a scene of nearly sixty figures, each individual and alive, that yet combines in a design that is harmonious, clear, and befitting the classic importance and dignity of its subject. Harmony is created in part by the use of contrasting elements. Most obvious of these elements would be the differing philosophical ideas of the two principal characters, Plato and Aristotle. Plato is shown pointing upward suggesting his emphasis on the existence of a spiritual realm beyond the physical world. The gesture is a reference to, â€Å"Plato’s interest in the world of ideas, a meta-world that exists beyond our comprehension of reality† (Crenshaw 126). On the other hand, Aristotle gestures his hand downward stressing his belief that the physical world is the basis of all knowledge and understanding. Plato carries the Timaeus, one of his dialogues that explains his belief in the reality of a world of ideal forms which exists beyond the material universe. Aristotle is shown holding his famous Niomachian Ethics that illustrates his belief that knowledge is only gained through empirical observation and experience of the material world. The two figures are further differentiated by their sense of movement and their age. Plato appears to be an older gentleman who seems to be moving with an air of patience and grace while Aristotle is a younger man who se ems to be moving forward with a greater sense of urgency and energy. The picture is then divided neatly in half, the idealists or â€Å"thinkers who concerned themselves with ideas and abstract concepts† (Crenshaw 126) are on the left side with Plato. To the left of Plato in a dark green robe, Socrates can be seen engaging in an argument amongst a circle of his disciples enumerating points on his fingers, â€Å"in a classic visualization of the Socratic argumentation technique† (Crenshaw 126). Socrates was an influential and revolutionary Grecian philosopher whose work was meant to show how argument, debate, and discussion could help man to understand and resolve difficult issues. Although the notion that this figure is indeed Socrates has been widely accepted for generations, a new idea has recently emerged among art historians. These historians speculate that Socrates is actually the figure shown sprawled about on the steps directly in front of Plato and Aristotle. Some interesting theories support their argument. The first point they make states that, â€Å"compared to most of Raphael’s figures who are rather richly dressed, this man, with his simple, bare-shouldered himation, gives the impression of far more modest tastes. He also seems to have come from an earlier era† (Bell 641). These obvious features accurately describe Socrates. Another important point to note would be the placement of this figure. One cannot deny that the figure is in a place of specific significance and attention. Our eye is drawn first to the central figures, Plato and Aristotle, and secondly to the figure lying on the steps in front of them. The new identification of Socrates suggested here, â€Å"places the three most important philosophers in the center of the School of Athens, where they are depicted without any intervening figures between them† (Bell 641). This strategic placement allows for a natural emphasis on the three most influential philosophers of all time. This new identification becomes problematic when one considers the fact that for most of history, this figure on the steps has been identified as Diogenes the Cynic. Diogenes’ philosophy encouraged men to live a life of simplicity and to reje ct all forms of luxury. He sought to expose the falsity of most conventional standards set by society. While Diogenes was a philosopher of significant stature he does not measure up to the over arching influence of the famed Socrates. This figure has been widely accepted as Diogenes because of his apparent demeanor and clothing. The figure is shown in what some refer to as rags, which supports the argument that this character is Diogenes. Another element that supports this man being Diogenes is the way the character interacts with the philosophers around him. He appears to be withdrawn from the rest of the group, which was characteristic of Diogenes, who was considered by most to be an individual who lived on the fringes of society. Although this figure could possibly be Diogenes, I conclude that the new identification suggesting that this figure is actually Socrates proves more convincing. If the figure on the steps is Socrates, where is Diogenes? Some art historians have theorized that Diogenes is the man standing alone under the statue of the God Minerva. No other philosopher appears so unkempt and disheveled, almost shunned by his fellow Athenians. Adding further evidence to this theory, â€Å"it would be appropriate to portray Diogenes as a very old man, dressed in only a simple red-brown cloak, which, according to Laertius, he wore everywhere† (Bell 643). In my opinion, I would argue that this new identification is indeed more valid than the previously accepted version. The fact that not all of these figures have been correctly identified or even identified at all, keep art historians interested in the work. Perhaps Raphael intentionally left the identities of these two figures unexplained to spark the viewer’s curiosity. In the lower left foreground Pythagoras is shown â€Å"illustrating his musical theorem† (Crenshaw 126) to a group of his students. Shown leaning on a block in the foreground is the pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus, who claimed that understanding is realized through introspection. Heraclitus seems to be lost in thought and appears to be uninterested in interacting with the other figur es surrounding him. This figure is thought to be a portrait of Michelangelo therefore portraying him as a man of little social capability. Raphael is possibly also contrasting himself to Michelangelo suggesting that Michelangelo is a man of quiet introspection while he is a sociable man who is well liked by all. The realists or Aristotelians are on the right side with Aristotle. Further emphasizing their realist ideals the right side of the painting is shown under the statue of Minerva, the goddess of wisdom and the sense of sight (Crenshaw 126). Shown in the lower left foreground is Euclid, the Greek mathematician, and his four students absorbed in their mathematical demonstration. Euclid is remembered as the â€Å"Father of Geometry†. He also researched and closely observed optics and perspective (Janes 57). Euclid resembles the influential architect Bramante, who was a friend of Raphael. Zoroaster and Ptolemy are shown facing opposite one another directly above Euclid. Zoroaster, a philosopher of ancient Persia, shown here holding a celestial globe is discussing with Ptolemy, the Greek geographer who believed that the earth was the center of the universe, holds a terrestrial globe (Janes 57). Directly above Ptolemy and Zoroaster is a figure standing alone wrapped up in his cloak and his thoughts. This figure is the lawgiver Solon. Tucked into the right corner of the composition is Raphael’s teacher Perugino. By placing Perugino in the composition, Raphael is showing his deep respect for his mentor and thanking him for sharing his knowledge. The figure next to Sodoma is actually a self-portrait of Raphael himself. By placing himself along with other artists in the scene, â€Å"Raphael asserts that art is, in fact, an intellectual enterprise — a form of study and enquiry, n ot merely a manual activity† (Crenshaw 126). It is also no coincidence that Raphael places himself on the Aristotelian side, among philosophers who work from observation. The School of Athens is considered to be one of the most important achievements of the High Renaissance. This work exemplifies the High Renaissance in the graceful movements and gestures of the figures. All the figures appear to be moving and actively interacting with one another. The figures are also very large in scale and fully idealized in form. The fact that this gathering is completely idealized is also characteristic of the High Renaissance. The philosophers come from a wide range of times and places who could not have possibly met or interacted with one another. The composition displays the gathering under an architectural framework that is reminiscent of the Italian Renaissance architect Bramante’s plan for the New St. Peters. During the early 16th century, architecture was inspired by the grandiosity and monumentality of ancient Roman building s such as the Coliseum in Rome. The main architectural element portrayed in the fresco is executed in the classic Doric style, characterized by simplicity and minimalism of decoration. The architectural framework also creates a sense of symmetry and special depth. All of the elements stated above combine to make this work a masterpiece of the High Renaissance. The School of Athens is undoubtedly a work of art that will continue to be viewed as an outstanding achievement of the High Renaissance, and the most impeccable work produced by the famous Raphael. Art historians will continue to research the work and perhaps uncover the philosophers depicted whose identities have yet to be revealed. The legacy of this pià ©ce de rà ©sistance lives on.

Angels Demons Chapter 9397

Still he clawed on. Somewhere a voice was telling him to move left. If you can get to the main aisle, you can dash for the exit. He knew it was impossible. There’s a wall of flames blocking the main aisle! His mind hunting for options, Langdon scrambled blindly on. The footsteps closed faster now to his right. When it happened, Langdon was unprepared. He had guessed he had another ten feet of pews until he reached the front of the church. He had guessed wrong. Without warning, the cover above him ran out. He froze for an instant, half exposed at the front of the church. Rising in the recess to his left, gargantuan from this vantage point, was the very thing that had brought him here. He had entirely forgotten. Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa rose up like some sort of pornographic still life†¦ the saint on her back, arched in pleasure, mouth open in a moan, and over her, an angel pointing his spear of fire. A bullet exploded in the pew over Langdon’s head. He felt his body rise like a sprinter out of a gate. Fueled only by adrenaline, and barely conscious of his actions, he was suddenly running, hunched, head down, pounding across the front of the church to his right. As the bullets erupted behind him, Langdon dove yet again, sliding out of control across the marble floor before crashing in a heap against the railing of a niche on the right-hand wall. It was then that he saw her. A crumpled heap near the back of the church. Vittoria! Her bare legs were twisted beneath her, but Langdon sensed somehow that she was breathing. He had no time to help her. Immediately, the killer rounded the pews on the far left of the church and bore relentlessly down. Langdon knew in a heartbeat it was over. The killer raised the weapon, and Langdon did the only thing he could do. He rolled his body over the banister into the niche. As he hit the floor on the other side, the marble columns of the balustrade exploded in a storm of bullets. Langdon felt like a cornered animal as he scrambled deeper into the semicircular niche. Rising before him, the niche’s sole contents seemed ironically apropos – a single sarcophagus. Mine perhaps, Langdon thought. Even the casket itself seemed fitting. It was a sctola – a small, unadorned, marble box. Burial on a budget. The casket was raised off the floor on two marble blocks, and Langdon eyed the opening beneath it, wondering if he could slide through. Footsteps echoed behind him. With no other option in sight, Langdon pressed himself to the floor and slithered toward the casket. Grabbing the two marble supports, one with each hand, he pulled like a breaststroker, dragging his torso into the opening beneath the tomb. The gun went off. Accompanying the roar of the gun, Langdon felt a sensation he had never felt in his life†¦ a bullet sailing past his flesh. There was a hiss of wind, like the backlash of a whip, as the bullet just missed him and exploded in the marble with a puff of dust. Blood surging, Langdon heaved his body the rest of the way beneath the casket. Scrambling across the marble floor, he pulled himself out from beneath the casket and to the other side. Dead end. Langdon was now face to face with the rear wall of the niche. He had no doubt that this tiny space behind the tomb would become his grave. And soon, he realized, as he saw the barrel of the gun appear in the opening beneath the sarcophagus. The Hassassin held the weapon parallel with the floor, pointing directly at Langdon’s midsection. Impossible to miss. Langdon felt a trace of self-preservation grip his unconscious mind. He twisted his body onto his stomach, parallel with the casket. Facedown, he planted his hands flat on the floor, the glass cut from the archives pinching open with a stab. Ignoring the pain, he pushed. Driving his body upward in an awkward push-up, Langdon arched his stomach off the floor just as the gun went off. He could feel the shock wave of the bullets as they sailed beneath him and pulverized the porous travertine behind. Closing his eyes and straining against exhaustion, Langdon prayed for the thunder to stop. And then it did. The roar of gunfire was replaced with the cold click of an empty chamber. Langdon opened his eyes slowly, almost fearful his eyelids would make a sound. Fighting the trembling pain, he held his position, arched like a cat. He didn’t even dare breathe. His eardrums numbed by gunfire, Langdon listened for any hint of the killer’s departure. Silence. He thought of Vittoria and ached to help her. The sound that followed was deafening. Barely human. A guttural bellow of exertion. The sarcophagus over Langdon’s head suddenly seemed to rise on its side. Langdon collapsed on the floor as hundreds of pounds teetered toward him. Gravity overcame friction, and the lid was the first to go, sliding off the tomb and crashing to the floor beside him. The casket came next, rolling off its supports and toppling upside down toward Langdon. As the box rolled, Langdon knew he would either be entombed in the hollow beneath it or crushed by one of the edges. Pulling in his legs and head, Langdon compacted his body and yanked his arms to his sides. Then he closed his eyes and awaited the sickening crush. When it came, the entire floor shook beneath him. The upper rim landed only millimeters from the top of his head, rattling his teeth in their sockets. His right arm, which Langdon had been certain would be crushed, miraculously still felt intact. He opened his eyes to see a shaft of light. The right rim of the casket had not fallen all the way to the floor and was still propped partially on its supports. Directly overhead, though, Langdon found himself staring quite literally into the face of death. The original occupant of the tomb was suspended above him, having adhered, as decaying bodies often did, to the bottom of the casket. The skeleton hovered a moment, like a tentative lover, and then with a sticky crackling, it succumbed to gravity and peeled away. The carcass rushed down to embrace him, raining putrid bones and dust into Langdon’s eyes and mouth. Before Langdon could react, a blind arm was slithering through the opening beneath the casket, sifting through the carcass like a hungry python. It groped until it found Langdon’s neck and clamped down. Langdon tried to fight back against the iron fist now crushing his larynx, but he found his left sleeve pinched beneath the edge of the coffin. He had only one arm free, and the fight was a losing battle. Langdon’s legs bent in the only open space he had, his feet searching for the casket floor above him. He found it. Coiling, he planted his feet. Then, as the hand around his neck squeezed tighter, Langdon closed his eyes and extended his legs like a ram. The casket shifted, ever so slightly, but enough. With a raw grinding, the sarcophagus slid off the supports and landed on the floor. The casket rim crashed onto the killer’s arm, and there was a muffled scream of pain. The hand released Langdon’s neck, twisting and jerking away into the dark. When the killer finally pulled his arm free, the casket fell with a conclusive thud against the flat marble floor. Complete darkness. Again. And silence. There was no frustrated pounding outside the overturned sarcophagus. No prying to get in. Nothing. As Langdon lay in the dark amidst a pile of bones, he fought the closing darkness and turned his thoughts to her. Vittoria. Are you alive? If Langdon had known the truth – the horror to which Vittoria would soon awake – he would have wished for her sake that she were dead. 94 Sitting in the Sistine Chapel among his stunned colleagues, Cardinal Mortati tried to comprehend the words he was hearing. Before him, lit only by the candlelight, the camerlegno had just told a tale of such hatred and treachery that Mortati found himself trembling. The camerlegno spoke of kidnapped cardinals, branded cardinals, murdered cardinals. He spoke of the ancient Illuminati – a name that dredged up forgotten fears – and of their resurgence and vow of revenge against the church. With pain in his voice, the camerlegno spoke of his late Pope†¦ the victim of an Illuminati poisoning. And finally, his words almost a whisper, he spoke of a deadly new technology, antimatter, which in less than two hours threatened to destroy all of Vatican City. When he was through, it was as if Satan himself had sucked the air from the room. Nobody could move. The camerlegno’s words hung in the darkness. The only sound Mortati could now hear was the anomalous hum of a television camera in back – an electronic presence no conclave in history had ever endured – but a presence demanded by the camerlegno. To the utter astonishment of the cardinals, the camerlegno had entered the Sistine Chapel with two BBC reporters – a man and a woman – and announced that they would be transmitting his solemn statement, live to the world. Now, speaking directly to the camera, the camerlegno stepped forward. â€Å"To the Illuminati,† he said, his voice deepening, â€Å"and to those of science, let me say this.† He paused. â€Å"You have won the war.† The silence spread now to the deepest corners of the chapel. Mortati could hear the desperate thumping of his own heart. â€Å"The wheels have been in motion for a long time,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"Your victory has been inevitable. Never before has it been as obvious as it is at this moment. Science is the new God.† What is he saying? Mortati thought. Has he gone mad? The entire world is hearing this! â€Å"Medicine, electronic communications, space travel, genetic manipulation†¦ these are the miracles about which we now tell our children. These are the miracles we herald as proof that science will bring us the answers. The ancient stories of immaculate conceptions, burning bushes, and parting seas are no longer relevant. God has become obsolete. Science has won the battle. We concede.† A rustle of confusion and bewilderment swept through the chapel. â€Å"But science’s victory,† the camerlegno added, his voice intensifying, â€Å"has cost every one of us. And it has cost us deeply.† Silence. â€Å"Science may have alleviated the miseries of disease and drudgery and provided an array of gadgetry for our entertainment and convenience, but it has left us in a world without wonder. Our sunsets have been reduced to wavelengths and frequencies. The complexities of the universe have been shredded into mathematical equations. Even our self-worth as human beings has been destroyed. Science proclaims that Planet Earth and its inhabitants are a meaningless speck in the grand scheme. A cosmic accident.† He paused. â€Å"Even the technology that promises to unite us, divides us. Each of us is now electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone. We are bombarded with violence, division, fracture, and betrayal. Skepticism has become a virtue. Cynicism and demand for proof has become enlightened thought. Is it any wonder that humans now feel more depressed and defeated than they have at any point in human history? Does science hold anything sacred? Science l ooks for answers by probing our unborn fetuses. Science even presumes to rearrange our own DNA. It shatters God’s world into smaller and smaller pieces in quest of meaning†¦ and all it finds is more questions.† Mortati watched in awe. The camerlegno was almost hypnotic now. He had a physical strength in his movements and voice that Mortati had never witnessed on a Vatican altar. The man’s voice was wrought with conviction and sadness. â€Å"The ancient war between science and religion is over,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"You have won. But you have not won fairly. You have not won by providing answers. You have won by so radically reorienting our society that the truths we once saw as signposts now seem inapplicable. Religion cannot keep up. Scientific growth is exponential. It feeds on itself like a virus. Every new breakthrough opens doors for new breakthroughs. Mankind took thousands of years to progress from the wheel to the car. Yet only decades from the car into space. Now we measure scientific progress in weeks. We are spinning out of control. The rift between us grows deeper and deeper, and as religion is left behind, people find themselves in a spiritual void. We cry out for meaning. And believe me, we do cry out. We see UFOs, engage in channeling, spirit contact, out-of-body experiences, mindquests – all these eccentric ideas have a scientific veneer, but they are unashamedly irrational. Th ey are the desperate cry of the modern soul, lonely and tormented, crippled by its own enlightenment and its inability to accept meaning in anything removed from technology.† Mortati could feel himself leaning forward in his seat. He and the other cardinals and people around the world were hanging on this priest’s every utterance. The camerlegno spoke with no rhetoric or vitriol. No references to scripture or Jesus Christ. He spoke in modern terms, unadorned and pure. Somehow, as though the words were flowing from God himself, he spoke the modern language†¦ delivering the ancient message. In that moment, Mortati saw one of the reasons the late Pope held this young man so dear. In a world of apathy, cynicism, and technological deification, men like the camerlegno, realists who could speak to our souls like this man just had, were the church’s only hope. The camerlegno was talking more forcefully now. â€Å"Science, you say, will save us. Science, I say, has destroyed us. Since the days of Galileo, the church has tried to slow the relentless march of science, sometimes with misguided means, but always with benevolent intention. Even so, the temptations are too great for man to resist. I warn you, look around yourselves. The promises of science have not been kept. Promises of efficiency and simplicity have bred nothing but pollution and chaos. We are a fractured and frantic species†¦ moving down a path of destruction.† The camerlegno paused a long moment and then sharpened his eyes on the camera. â€Å"Who is this God science? Who is the God who offers his people power but no moral framework to tell you how to use that power? What kind of God gives a child fire but does not warn the child of its dangers? The language of science comes with no signposts about good and bad. Science textbooks tell us how to create a nuclear reaction, and yet they contain no chapter asking us if it is a good or a bad idea. â€Å"To science, I say this. The church is tired. We are exhausted from trying to be your signposts. Our resources are drying up from our campaign to be the voice of balance as you plow blindly on in your quest for smaller chips and larger profits. We ask not why you will not govern yourselves, but how can you? Your world moves so fast that if you stop even for an instant to consider the implications of your actions, someone more efficient will whip past you in a blur. So you move on. You proliferate weapons of mass destruction, but it is the Pope who travels the world beseeching leaders to use restraint. You clone living creatures, but it is the church reminding us to consider the moral implications of our actions. You encourage people to interact on phones, video screens, and computers, but it is the church who opens its doors and reminds us to commune in person as we were meant to do. You even murder unborn babies in the name of research that will save lives. Again, it is the ch urch who points out the fallacy of this reasoning. â€Å"And all the while, you proclaim the church is ignorant. But who is more ignorant? The man who cannot define lightning, or the man who does not respect its awesome power? This church is reaching out to you. Reaching out to everyone. And yet the more we reach, the more you push us away. Show me proof there is a God, you say. I say use your telescopes to look to the heavens, and tell me how there could not be a God!† The camerlegno had tears in his eyes now. â€Å"You ask what does God look like. I say, where did that question come from? The answers are one and the same. Do you not see God in your science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in the force of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe a lifeless mist rather than our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you fail to see God’s hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we simply chose the right card from a deck of billions? Have w e become so spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in mathematical impossibility than in a power greater than us? â€Å"Whether or not you believe in God,† the camerlegno said, his voice deepening with deliberation, â€Å"you must believe this. When we as a species abandon our trust in the power greater than us, we abandon our sense of accountability. Faith†¦ all faiths†¦ are admonitions that there is something we cannot understand, something to which we are accountable†¦ With faith we are accountable to each other, to ourselves, and to a higher truth. Religion is flawed, but only because man is flawed. If the outside world could see this church as I do†¦ looking beyond the ritual of these walls†¦ they would see a modern miracle†¦ a brotherhood of imperfect, simple souls wanting only to be a voice of compassion in a world spinning out of control.† The camerlegno motioned out over the College of Cardinals, and the BBC camerawoman instinctively followed, panning the crowd. â€Å"Are we obsolete?† the camerlegno asked. â€Å"Are these men dino-saurs? Am I? Does the world really need a voice for the poor, the weak, the oppressed, the unborn child? Do we really need souls like these who, though imperfect, spend their lives imploring each of us to read the signposts of morality and not lose our way?† Mortati now realized that the camerlegno, whether consciously or not, was making a brilliant move. By showing the cardinals, he was personalizing the church. Vatican City was no longer a building, it was people – people like the camerlegno who had spent their lives in the service of goodness. â€Å"Tonight we are perched on a precipice,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"None of us can afford to be apathetic. Whether you see this evil as Satan, corruption, or immorality†¦ the dark force is alive and growing every day. Do not ignore it.† The camerlegno lowered his voice to a whisper, and the camera moved in. â€Å"The force, though mighty, is not invincible. Goodness can prevail. Listen to your hearts. Listen to God. Together we can step back from this abyss.† Now Mortati understood. This was the reason. Conclave had been violated, but this was the only way. It was a dramatic and desperate plea for help. The camerlegno was speaking to both his enemy and his friends now. He was entreating anyone, friend or foe, to see the light and stop this madness. Certainly someone listening would realize the insanity of this plot and come forward. The camerlegno knelt at the altar. â€Å"Pray with me.† The College of Cardinals dropped to their knees to join him in prayer. Outside in St. Peter’s Square and around the globe†¦ a stunned world knelt with them. 95 The Hassassin lay his unconscious trophy in the rear of the van and took a moment to admire her sprawled body. She was not as beautiful as the women he bought, and yet she had an animal strength that excited him. Her body was radiant, dewy with perspiration. She smelled of musk. As the Hassasin stood there savoring his prize, he ignored the throb in his arm. The bruise from the falling sarcophagus, although painful, was insignificant†¦ well worth the compensation that lay before him. He took consolation in knowing the American who had done this to him was probably dead by now. Gazing down at his incapacitated prisoner, the Hassassin visualized what lay ahead. He ran a palm up beneath her shirt. Her breasts felt perfect beneath her bra. Yes, he smiled. You are more than worthy. Fighting the urge to take her right there, he closed the door and drove off into the night. There was no need to alert the press about this killing†¦ the flames would do that for him. At CERN, Sylvie sat stunned by the camerlegno’s address. Never before had she felt so proud to be a Catholic and so ashamed to work at CERN. As she left the recreational wing, the mood in every single viewing room was dazed and somber. When she got back to Kohler’s office, all seven phone lines were ringing. Media inquiries were never routed to Kohler’s office, so the incoming calls could only be one thing. Geld. Money calls. Antimatter technology already had some takers. Inside the Vatican, Gunther Glick was walking on air as he followed the camerlegno from the Sistine Chapel. Glick and Macri had just made the live transmission of the decade. And what a transmission it had been. The camerlegno had been spellbinding. Now out in the hallway, the camerlegno turned to Glick and Macri. â€Å"I have asked the Swiss Guard to assemble photos for you – photos of the branded cardinals as well as one of His late Holiness. I must warn you, these are not pleasant pictures. Ghastly burns. Blackened tongues. But I would like you to broadcast them to the world.† Glick decided it must be perpetual Christmas inside Vatican City. He wants me to broadcast an exclusive photo of the dead Pope? â€Å"Are you sure?† Glick asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. The camerlegno nodded. â€Å"The Swiss Guard will also provide you a live video feed of the antimatter canister as it counts down.† Glick stared. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas! â€Å"The Illuminati are about to find out,† the camerlegno declared, â€Å"that they have grossly overplayed their hand.† 96 Like a recurring theme in some demonic symphony, the suffocating darkness had returned. No light. No air. No exit. Langdon lay trapped beneath the overturned sarcophagus and felt his mind careening dangerously close to the brink. Trying to drive his thoughts in any direction other than the crushing space around him, Langdon urged his mind toward some logical process†¦ mathematics, music, anything. But there was no room for calming thoughts. I can’t move! I can’t breathe! The pinched sleeve of his jacket had thankfully come free when the casket fell, leaving Langdon now with two mobile arms. Even so, as he pressed upward on the ceiling of his tiny cell, he found it immovable. Oddly, he wished his sleeve were still caught. At least it might create a crack for some air. As Langdon pushed against the roof above, his sleeve fell back to reveal the faint glow of an old friend. Mickey. The greenish cartoon face seemed mocking now. Langdon probed the blackness for any other sign of light, but the casket rim was flush against the floor. Goddamn Italian perfectionists, he cursed, now imperiled by the same artistic excellence he taught his students to revere†¦ impeccable edges, faultless parallels, and of course, use only of the most seamless and resilient Carrara marble. Precision can be suffocating. â€Å"Lift the damn thing,† he said aloud, pressing harder through the tangle of bones. The box shifted slightly. Setting his jaw, he heaved again. The box felt like a boulder, but this time it raised a quarter of an inch. A fleeting glimmer of light surrounded him, and then the casket thudded back down. Langdon lay panting in the dark. He tried to use his legs to lift as he had before, but now that the sarcophagus had fallen flat, there was no room even to straighten his knees. As the claustrophobic panic closed in, Langdon was overcome by images of the sarcophagus shrinking around him. Squeezed by delirium, he fought the illusion with every logical shred of intellect he had. â€Å"Sarcophagus,† he stated aloud, with as much academic sterility as he could muster. But even erudition seemed to be his enemy today. Sarcophagus is from the Greek â€Å"sarx† meaning â€Å"flesh,† and â€Å"phagein† meaning â€Å"to eat.† I’m trapped in a box literally designed to â€Å"eat flesh.† Images of flesh eaten from bone only served as a grim reminder that Langdon lay covered in human remains. The notion brought nausea and chills. But it also brought an idea. Fumbling blindly around the coffin, Langdon found a shard of bone. A rib maybe? He didn’t care. All he wanted was a wedge. If he could lift the box, even a crack, and slide the bone fragment beneath the rim, then maybe enough air could†¦ Reaching across his body and wedging the tapered end of the bone into the crack between the floor and the coffin, Langdon reached up with his other hand and heaved skyward. The box did not move. Not even slightly. He tried again. For a moment, it seemed to tremble slightly, but that was all. With the fetid stench and lack of oxygen choking the strength from his body, Langdon realized he only had time for one more effort. He also knew he would need both arms. Regrouping, he placed the tapered edge of the bone against the crack, and shifting his body, he wedged the bone against his shoulder, pinning it in place. Careful not to dislodge it, he raised both hands above him. As the stifling confine began to smother him, he felt a welling of intensified panic. It was the second time today he had been trapped with no air. Hollering aloud, Langdon thrust upward in one explosive motion. The casket jostled off the floor for an instant. But long enough. The bone shard he had braced against his shoulder slipped outward into the widening crack. When the casket fell again, the bone shattered. But this time Langdon could see the casket was propped up. A tiny slit of light showed beneath the rim. Exhausted, Langdon collapsed. Hoping the strangling sensation in his throat would pass, he waited. But it only worsened as the seconds passed. Whatever air was coming through the slit seemed imperceptible. Langdon wondered if it would be enough to keep him alive. And if so, for how long? If he passed out, who would know he was even in there? With arms like lead, Langdon raised his watch again: 10:12 P.M. Fighting trembling fingers, he fumbled with the watch and made his final play. He twisted one of the tiny dials and pressed a button. As consciousness faded, and the walls squeezed closer, Langdon felt the old fears sweep over him. He tried to imagine, as he had so many times, that he was in an open field. The image he conjured, however, was no help. The nightmare that had haunted him since his youth came crashing back†¦ The flowers here are like paintings, the child thought, laughing as he ran across the meadow. He wished his parents had come along. But his parents were busy pitching camp. â€Å"Don’t explore too far,† his mother had said. He had pretended not to hear as he bounded off into the woods. Now, traversing this glorious field, the boy came across a pile of fieldstones. He figured it must be the foundation of an old homestead. He would not go near it. He knew better. Besides, his eyes had been drawn to something else – a brilliant lady’s slipper – the rarest and most beautiful flower in New Hampshire. He had only ever seen them in books. Excited, the boy moved toward the flower. He knelt down. The ground beneath him felt mulchy and hollow. He realized his flower had found an extra-fertile spot. It was growing from a patch of rotting wood. Thrilled by the thought of taking home his prize, the boy reached out†¦ fingers extending toward the stem. He never reached it. With a sickening crack, the earth gave way. In the three seconds of dizzying terror as he fell, the boy knew he would die. Plummeting downward, he braced for the bone-crushing collision. When it came, there was no pain. Only softness. And cold. He hit the deep liquid face first, plunging into a narrow blackness. Spinning disoriented somersaults, he groped the sheer walls thatenclosed him on all sides. Somehow, as if by instinct, he sputtered to the surface. Light. Faint. Above him. Miles above him, it seemed. His arms clawed at the water, searching the walls of the hollow for something to grab onto. Only smooth stone. He had fallen through an abandoned well covering. He screamed for help, but his cries reverberated in the tight shaft. He called out again and again. Above him, the tattered hole grew dim. Night fell. Time seemed to contort in the darkness. Numbness set in as he treaded water in the depths of the chasm, calling, crying out. He was tormented by visions of the walls collapsing in, burying him alive. His arms ached with fatigue. A few times he thought he heard voices. He shouted out, but his own voice was muted†¦ like a dream. As the night wore on, the shaft deepened. The walls inched quietly inward. The boy pressed out against the enclosure, pushing it away. Exhausted, he wanted to give up. And yet he felt the water buoy him, cooling his burning fears until he was numb. When the rescue team arrived, they found the boy barely conscious. He had been treading water for five hours. Two days later, the Boston Globe ran a front-page story called â€Å"The Little Swimmer That Could.† 97 The Hassassin smiled as he pulled his van into the mammoth stone structure overlooking the Tiber River. He carried his prize up and up†¦ spiraling higher in the stone tunnel, grateful his load was slender. He arrived at the door. The Church of Illumination, he gloated. The ancient Illuminati meeting room. Who would have imagined it to be here? Inside, he lay her on a plush divan. Then he expertly bound her arms behind her back and tied her feet. He knew that what he longed for would have to wait until his final task was finished. Water. Still, he thought, he had a moment for indulgence. Kneeling beside her, he ran his hand along her thigh. It was smooth. Higher. His dark fingers snaked beneath the cuff of her shorts. Higher. He stopped. Patience, he told himself, feeling aroused. There is work to be done. He walked for a moment out onto the chamber’s high stone balcony. The evening breeze slowly cooled his ardor. Far below the Tiber raged. He raised his eyes to the dome of St. Peter’s, three quarters of a mile away, naked under the glare of hundreds of press lights. â€Å"Your final hour,† he said aloud, picturing the thousands of Muslims slaughtered during the Crusades. â€Å"At midnight you will meet your God.† Behind him, the woman stirred. The Hassassin turned. He considered letting her wake up. Seeing terror in a woman’s eyes was his ultimate aphrodisiac. He opted for prudence. It would be better if she remained unconscious while he was gone. Although she was tied and would never escape, the Hassassin did not want to return and find her exhausted from struggling. I want your strength preserved†¦ for me. Lifting her head slightly, he placed his palm beneath her neck and found the hollow directly beneath her skull. The crown/meridian pressure point was one he had used countless times. With crushing force, he drove his thumb into the soft cartilage and felt it depress. The woman slumped instantly. Twenty minutes, he thought. She would be a tantalizing end to a perfect day. After she had served him and died doing it, he would stand on the balcony and watch the midnight Vatican fireworks. Leaving his prize unconscious on the couch, the Hassassin went downstairs into a torchlit dungeon. The final task. He walked to the table and revered the sacred, metal forms that had been left there for him. Water. It was his last. Removing a torch from the wall as he had done three times already, he began heating the end. When the end of the object was white hot, he carried it to the cell. Inside, a single man stood in silence. Old and alone. â€Å"Cardinal Baggia,† the killer hissed. â€Å"Have you prayed yet?† The Italian’s eyes were fearless. â€Å"Only for your soul.† Angels Demons Chapter 9397 Still he clawed on. Somewhere a voice was telling him to move left. If you can get to the main aisle, you can dash for the exit. He knew it was impossible. There’s a wall of flames blocking the main aisle! His mind hunting for options, Langdon scrambled blindly on. The footsteps closed faster now to his right. When it happened, Langdon was unprepared. He had guessed he had another ten feet of pews until he reached the front of the church. He had guessed wrong. Without warning, the cover above him ran out. He froze for an instant, half exposed at the front of the church. Rising in the recess to his left, gargantuan from this vantage point, was the very thing that had brought him here. He had entirely forgotten. Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa rose up like some sort of pornographic still life†¦ the saint on her back, arched in pleasure, mouth open in a moan, and over her, an angel pointing his spear of fire. A bullet exploded in the pew over Langdon’s head. He felt his body rise like a sprinter out of a gate. Fueled only by adrenaline, and barely conscious of his actions, he was suddenly running, hunched, head down, pounding across the front of the church to his right. As the bullets erupted behind him, Langdon dove yet again, sliding out of control across the marble floor before crashing in a heap against the railing of a niche on the right-hand wall. It was then that he saw her. A crumpled heap near the back of the church. Vittoria! Her bare legs were twisted beneath her, but Langdon sensed somehow that she was breathing. He had no time to help her. Immediately, the killer rounded the pews on the far left of the church and bore relentlessly down. Langdon knew in a heartbeat it was over. The killer raised the weapon, and Langdon did the only thing he could do. He rolled his body over the banister into the niche. As he hit the floor on the other side, the marble columns of the balustrade exploded in a storm of bullets. Langdon felt like a cornered animal as he scrambled deeper into the semicircular niche. Rising before him, the niche’s sole contents seemed ironically apropos – a single sarcophagus. Mine perhaps, Langdon thought. Even the casket itself seemed fitting. It was a sctola – a small, unadorned, marble box. Burial on a budget. The casket was raised off the floor on two marble blocks, and Langdon eyed the opening beneath it, wondering if he could slide through. Footsteps echoed behind him. With no other option in sight, Langdon pressed himself to the floor and slithered toward the casket. Grabbing the two marble supports, one with each hand, he pulled like a breaststroker, dragging his torso into the opening beneath the tomb. The gun went off. Accompanying the roar of the gun, Langdon felt a sensation he had never felt in his life†¦ a bullet sailing past his flesh. There was a hiss of wind, like the backlash of a whip, as the bullet just missed him and exploded in the marble with a puff of dust. Blood surging, Langdon heaved his body the rest of the way beneath the casket. Scrambling across the marble floor, he pulled himself out from beneath the casket and to the other side. Dead end. Langdon was now face to face with the rear wall of the niche. He had no doubt that this tiny space behind the tomb would become his grave. And soon, he realized, as he saw the barrel of the gun appear in the opening beneath the sarcophagus. The Hassassin held the weapon parallel with the floor, pointing directly at Langdon’s midsection. Impossible to miss. Langdon felt a trace of self-preservation grip his unconscious mind. He twisted his body onto his stomach, parallel with the casket. Facedown, he planted his hands flat on the floor, the glass cut from the archives pinching open with a stab. Ignoring the pain, he pushed. Driving his body upward in an awkward push-up, Langdon arched his stomach off the floor just as the gun went off. He could feel the shock wave of the bullets as they sailed beneath him and pulverized the porous travertine behind. Closing his eyes and straining against exhaustion, Langdon prayed for the thunder to stop. And then it did. The roar of gunfire was replaced with the cold click of an empty chamber. Langdon opened his eyes slowly, almost fearful his eyelids would make a sound. Fighting the trembling pain, he held his position, arched like a cat. He didn’t even dare breathe. His eardrums numbed by gunfire, Langdon listened for any hint of the killer’s departure. Silence. He thought of Vittoria and ached to help her. The sound that followed was deafening. Barely human. A guttural bellow of exertion. The sarcophagus over Langdon’s head suddenly seemed to rise on its side. Langdon collapsed on the floor as hundreds of pounds teetered toward him. Gravity overcame friction, and the lid was the first to go, sliding off the tomb and crashing to the floor beside him. The casket came next, rolling off its supports and toppling upside down toward Langdon. As the box rolled, Langdon knew he would either be entombed in the hollow beneath it or crushed by one of the edges. Pulling in his legs and head, Langdon compacted his body and yanked his arms to his sides. Then he closed his eyes and awaited the sickening crush. When it came, the entire floor shook beneath him. The upper rim landed only millimeters from the top of his head, rattling his teeth in their sockets. His right arm, which Langdon had been certain would be crushed, miraculously still felt intact. He opened his eyes to see a shaft of light. The right rim of the casket had not fallen all the way to the floor and was still propped partially on its supports. Directly overhead, though, Langdon found himself staring quite literally into the face of death. The original occupant of the tomb was suspended above him, having adhered, as decaying bodies often did, to the bottom of the casket. The skeleton hovered a moment, like a tentative lover, and then with a sticky crackling, it succumbed to gravity and peeled away. The carcass rushed down to embrace him, raining putrid bones and dust into Langdon’s eyes and mouth. Before Langdon could react, a blind arm was slithering through the opening beneath the casket, sifting through the carcass like a hungry python. It groped until it found Langdon’s neck and clamped down. Langdon tried to fight back against the iron fist now crushing his larynx, but he found his left sleeve pinched beneath the edge of the coffin. He had only one arm free, and the fight was a losing battle. Langdon’s legs bent in the only open space he had, his feet searching for the casket floor above him. He found it. Coiling, he planted his feet. Then, as the hand around his neck squeezed tighter, Langdon closed his eyes and extended his legs like a ram. The casket shifted, ever so slightly, but enough. With a raw grinding, the sarcophagus slid off the supports and landed on the floor. The casket rim crashed onto the killer’s arm, and there was a muffled scream of pain. The hand released Langdon’s neck, twisting and jerking away into the dark. When the killer finally pulled his arm free, the casket fell with a conclusive thud against the flat marble floor. Complete darkness. Again. And silence. There was no frustrated pounding outside the overturned sarcophagus. No prying to get in. Nothing. As Langdon lay in the dark amidst a pile of bones, he fought the closing darkness and turned his thoughts to her. Vittoria. Are you alive? If Langdon had known the truth – the horror to which Vittoria would soon awake – he would have wished for her sake that she were dead. 94 Sitting in the Sistine Chapel among his stunned colleagues, Cardinal Mortati tried to comprehend the words he was hearing. Before him, lit only by the candlelight, the camerlegno had just told a tale of such hatred and treachery that Mortati found himself trembling. The camerlegno spoke of kidnapped cardinals, branded cardinals, murdered cardinals. He spoke of the ancient Illuminati – a name that dredged up forgotten fears – and of their resurgence and vow of revenge against the church. With pain in his voice, the camerlegno spoke of his late Pope†¦ the victim of an Illuminati poisoning. And finally, his words almost a whisper, he spoke of a deadly new technology, antimatter, which in less than two hours threatened to destroy all of Vatican City. When he was through, it was as if Satan himself had sucked the air from the room. Nobody could move. The camerlegno’s words hung in the darkness. The only sound Mortati could now hear was the anomalous hum of a television camera in back – an electronic presence no conclave in history had ever endured – but a presence demanded by the camerlegno. To the utter astonishment of the cardinals, the camerlegno had entered the Sistine Chapel with two BBC reporters – a man and a woman – and announced that they would be transmitting his solemn statement, live to the world. Now, speaking directly to the camera, the camerlegno stepped forward. â€Å"To the Illuminati,† he said, his voice deepening, â€Å"and to those of science, let me say this.† He paused. â€Å"You have won the war.† The silence spread now to the deepest corners of the chapel. Mortati could hear the desperate thumping of his own heart. â€Å"The wheels have been in motion for a long time,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"Your victory has been inevitable. Never before has it been as obvious as it is at this moment. Science is the new God.† What is he saying? Mortati thought. Has he gone mad? The entire world is hearing this! â€Å"Medicine, electronic communications, space travel, genetic manipulation†¦ these are the miracles about which we now tell our children. These are the miracles we herald as proof that science will bring us the answers. The ancient stories of immaculate conceptions, burning bushes, and parting seas are no longer relevant. God has become obsolete. Science has won the battle. We concede.† A rustle of confusion and bewilderment swept through the chapel. â€Å"But science’s victory,† the camerlegno added, his voice intensifying, â€Å"has cost every one of us. And it has cost us deeply.† Silence. â€Å"Science may have alleviated the miseries of disease and drudgery and provided an array of gadgetry for our entertainment and convenience, but it has left us in a world without wonder. Our sunsets have been reduced to wavelengths and frequencies. The complexities of the universe have been shredded into mathematical equations. Even our self-worth as human beings has been destroyed. Science proclaims that Planet Earth and its inhabitants are a meaningless speck in the grand scheme. A cosmic accident.† He paused. â€Å"Even the technology that promises to unite us, divides us. Each of us is now electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone. We are bombarded with violence, division, fracture, and betrayal. Skepticism has become a virtue. Cynicism and demand for proof has become enlightened thought. Is it any wonder that humans now feel more depressed and defeated than they have at any point in human history? Does science hold anything sacred? Science l ooks for answers by probing our unborn fetuses. Science even presumes to rearrange our own DNA. It shatters God’s world into smaller and smaller pieces in quest of meaning†¦ and all it finds is more questions.† Mortati watched in awe. The camerlegno was almost hypnotic now. He had a physical strength in his movements and voice that Mortati had never witnessed on a Vatican altar. The man’s voice was wrought with conviction and sadness. â€Å"The ancient war between science and religion is over,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"You have won. But you have not won fairly. You have not won by providing answers. You have won by so radically reorienting our society that the truths we once saw as signposts now seem inapplicable. Religion cannot keep up. Scientific growth is exponential. It feeds on itself like a virus. Every new breakthrough opens doors for new breakthroughs. Mankind took thousands of years to progress from the wheel to the car. Yet only decades from the car into space. Now we measure scientific progress in weeks. We are spinning out of control. The rift between us grows deeper and deeper, and as religion is left behind, people find themselves in a spiritual void. We cry out for meaning. And believe me, we do cry out. We see UFOs, engage in channeling, spirit contact, out-of-body experiences, mindquests – all these eccentric ideas have a scientific veneer, but they are unashamedly irrational. Th ey are the desperate cry of the modern soul, lonely and tormented, crippled by its own enlightenment and its inability to accept meaning in anything removed from technology.† Mortati could feel himself leaning forward in his seat. He and the other cardinals and people around the world were hanging on this priest’s every utterance. The camerlegno spoke with no rhetoric or vitriol. No references to scripture or Jesus Christ. He spoke in modern terms, unadorned and pure. Somehow, as though the words were flowing from God himself, he spoke the modern language†¦ delivering the ancient message. In that moment, Mortati saw one of the reasons the late Pope held this young man so dear. In a world of apathy, cynicism, and technological deification, men like the camerlegno, realists who could speak to our souls like this man just had, were the church’s only hope. The camerlegno was talking more forcefully now. â€Å"Science, you say, will save us. Science, I say, has destroyed us. Since the days of Galileo, the church has tried to slow the relentless march of science, sometimes with misguided means, but always with benevolent intention. Even so, the temptations are too great for man to resist. I warn you, look around yourselves. The promises of science have not been kept. Promises of efficiency and simplicity have bred nothing but pollution and chaos. We are a fractured and frantic species†¦ moving down a path of destruction.† The camerlegno paused a long moment and then sharpened his eyes on the camera. â€Å"Who is this God science? Who is the God who offers his people power but no moral framework to tell you how to use that power? What kind of God gives a child fire but does not warn the child of its dangers? The language of science comes with no signposts about good and bad. Science textbooks tell us how to create a nuclear reaction, and yet they contain no chapter asking us if it is a good or a bad idea. â€Å"To science, I say this. The church is tired. We are exhausted from trying to be your signposts. Our resources are drying up from our campaign to be the voice of balance as you plow blindly on in your quest for smaller chips and larger profits. We ask not why you will not govern yourselves, but how can you? Your world moves so fast that if you stop even for an instant to consider the implications of your actions, someone more efficient will whip past you in a blur. So you move on. You proliferate weapons of mass destruction, but it is the Pope who travels the world beseeching leaders to use restraint. You clone living creatures, but it is the church reminding us to consider the moral implications of our actions. You encourage people to interact on phones, video screens, and computers, but it is the church who opens its doors and reminds us to commune in person as we were meant to do. You even murder unborn babies in the name of research that will save lives. Again, it is the ch urch who points out the fallacy of this reasoning. â€Å"And all the while, you proclaim the church is ignorant. But who is more ignorant? The man who cannot define lightning, or the man who does not respect its awesome power? This church is reaching out to you. Reaching out to everyone. And yet the more we reach, the more you push us away. Show me proof there is a God, you say. I say use your telescopes to look to the heavens, and tell me how there could not be a God!† The camerlegno had tears in his eyes now. â€Å"You ask what does God look like. I say, where did that question come from? The answers are one and the same. Do you not see God in your science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in the force of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe a lifeless mist rather than our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you fail to see God’s hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we simply chose the right card from a deck of billions? Have w e become so spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in mathematical impossibility than in a power greater than us? â€Å"Whether or not you believe in God,† the camerlegno said, his voice deepening with deliberation, â€Å"you must believe this. When we as a species abandon our trust in the power greater than us, we abandon our sense of accountability. Faith†¦ all faiths†¦ are admonitions that there is something we cannot understand, something to which we are accountable†¦ With faith we are accountable to each other, to ourselves, and to a higher truth. Religion is flawed, but only because man is flawed. If the outside world could see this church as I do†¦ looking beyond the ritual of these walls†¦ they would see a modern miracle†¦ a brotherhood of imperfect, simple souls wanting only to be a voice of compassion in a world spinning out of control.† The camerlegno motioned out over the College of Cardinals, and the BBC camerawoman instinctively followed, panning the crowd. â€Å"Are we obsolete?† the camerlegno asked. â€Å"Are these men dino-saurs? Am I? Does the world really need a voice for the poor, the weak, the oppressed, the unborn child? Do we really need souls like these who, though imperfect, spend their lives imploring each of us to read the signposts of morality and not lose our way?† Mortati now realized that the camerlegno, whether consciously or not, was making a brilliant move. By showing the cardinals, he was personalizing the church. Vatican City was no longer a building, it was people – people like the camerlegno who had spent their lives in the service of goodness. â€Å"Tonight we are perched on a precipice,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"None of us can afford to be apathetic. Whether you see this evil as Satan, corruption, or immorality†¦ the dark force is alive and growing every day. Do not ignore it.† The camerlegno lowered his voice to a whisper, and the camera moved in. â€Å"The force, though mighty, is not invincible. Goodness can prevail. Listen to your hearts. Listen to God. Together we can step back from this abyss.† Now Mortati understood. This was the reason. Conclave had been violated, but this was the only way. It was a dramatic and desperate plea for help. The camerlegno was speaking to both his enemy and his friends now. He was entreating anyone, friend or foe, to see the light and stop this madness. Certainly someone listening would realize the insanity of this plot and come forward. The camerlegno knelt at the altar. â€Å"Pray with me.† The College of Cardinals dropped to their knees to join him in prayer. Outside in St. Peter’s Square and around the globe†¦ a stunned world knelt with them. 95 The Hassassin lay his unconscious trophy in the rear of the van and took a moment to admire her sprawled body. She was not as beautiful as the women he bought, and yet she had an animal strength that excited him. Her body was radiant, dewy with perspiration. She smelled of musk. As the Hassasin stood there savoring his prize, he ignored the throb in his arm. The bruise from the falling sarcophagus, although painful, was insignificant†¦ well worth the compensation that lay before him. He took consolation in knowing the American who had done this to him was probably dead by now. Gazing down at his incapacitated prisoner, the Hassassin visualized what lay ahead. He ran a palm up beneath her shirt. Her breasts felt perfect beneath her bra. Yes, he smiled. You are more than worthy. Fighting the urge to take her right there, he closed the door and drove off into the night. There was no need to alert the press about this killing†¦ the flames would do that for him. At CERN, Sylvie sat stunned by the camerlegno’s address. Never before had she felt so proud to be a Catholic and so ashamed to work at CERN. As she left the recreational wing, the mood in every single viewing room was dazed and somber. When she got back to Kohler’s office, all seven phone lines were ringing. Media inquiries were never routed to Kohler’s office, so the incoming calls could only be one thing. Geld. Money calls. Antimatter technology already had some takers. Inside the Vatican, Gunther Glick was walking on air as he followed the camerlegno from the Sistine Chapel. Glick and Macri had just made the live transmission of the decade. And what a transmission it had been. The camerlegno had been spellbinding. Now out in the hallway, the camerlegno turned to Glick and Macri. â€Å"I have asked the Swiss Guard to assemble photos for you – photos of the branded cardinals as well as one of His late Holiness. I must warn you, these are not pleasant pictures. Ghastly burns. Blackened tongues. But I would like you to broadcast them to the world.† Glick decided it must be perpetual Christmas inside Vatican City. He wants me to broadcast an exclusive photo of the dead Pope? â€Å"Are you sure?† Glick asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. The camerlegno nodded. â€Å"The Swiss Guard will also provide you a live video feed of the antimatter canister as it counts down.† Glick stared. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas! â€Å"The Illuminati are about to find out,† the camerlegno declared, â€Å"that they have grossly overplayed their hand.† 96 Like a recurring theme in some demonic symphony, the suffocating darkness had returned. No light. No air. No exit. Langdon lay trapped beneath the overturned sarcophagus and felt his mind careening dangerously close to the brink. Trying to drive his thoughts in any direction other than the crushing space around him, Langdon urged his mind toward some logical process†¦ mathematics, music, anything. But there was no room for calming thoughts. I can’t move! I can’t breathe! The pinched sleeve of his jacket had thankfully come free when the casket fell, leaving Langdon now with two mobile arms. Even so, as he pressed upward on the ceiling of his tiny cell, he found it immovable. Oddly, he wished his sleeve were still caught. At least it might create a crack for some air. As Langdon pushed against the roof above, his sleeve fell back to reveal the faint glow of an old friend. Mickey. The greenish cartoon face seemed mocking now. Langdon probed the blackness for any other sign of light, but the casket rim was flush against the floor. Goddamn Italian perfectionists, he cursed, now imperiled by the same artistic excellence he taught his students to revere†¦ impeccable edges, faultless parallels, and of course, use only of the most seamless and resilient Carrara marble. Precision can be suffocating. â€Å"Lift the damn thing,† he said aloud, pressing harder through the tangle of bones. The box shifted slightly. Setting his jaw, he heaved again. The box felt like a boulder, but this time it raised a quarter of an inch. A fleeting glimmer of light surrounded him, and then the casket thudded back down. Langdon lay panting in the dark. He tried to use his legs to lift as he had before, but now that the sarcophagus had fallen flat, there was no room even to straighten his knees. As the claustrophobic panic closed in, Langdon was overcome by images of the sarcophagus shrinking around him. Squeezed by delirium, he fought the illusion with every logical shred of intellect he had. â€Å"Sarcophagus,† he stated aloud, with as much academic sterility as he could muster. But even erudition seemed to be his enemy today. Sarcophagus is from the Greek â€Å"sarx† meaning â€Å"flesh,† and â€Å"phagein† meaning â€Å"to eat.† I’m trapped in a box literally designed to â€Å"eat flesh.† Images of flesh eaten from bone only served as a grim reminder that Langdon lay covered in human remains. The notion brought nausea and chills. But it also brought an idea. Fumbling blindly around the coffin, Langdon found a shard of bone. A rib maybe? He didn’t care. All he wanted was a wedge. If he could lift the box, even a crack, and slide the bone fragment beneath the rim, then maybe enough air could†¦ Reaching across his body and wedging the tapered end of the bone into the crack between the floor and the coffin, Langdon reached up with his other hand and heaved skyward. The box did not move. Not even slightly. He tried again. For a moment, it seemed to tremble slightly, but that was all. With the fetid stench and lack of oxygen choking the strength from his body, Langdon realized he only had time for one more effort. He also knew he would need both arms. Regrouping, he placed the tapered edge of the bone against the crack, and shifting his body, he wedged the bone against his shoulder, pinning it in place. Careful not to dislodge it, he raised both hands above him. As the stifling confine began to smother him, he felt a welling of intensified panic. It was the second time today he had been trapped with no air. Hollering aloud, Langdon thrust upward in one explosive motion. The casket jostled off the floor for an instant. But long enough. The bone shard he had braced against his shoulder slipped outward into the widening crack. When the casket fell again, the bone shattered. But this time Langdon could see the casket was propped up. A tiny slit of light showed beneath the rim. Exhausted, Langdon collapsed. Hoping the strangling sensation in his throat would pass, he waited. But it only worsened as the seconds passed. Whatever air was coming through the slit seemed imperceptible. Langdon wondered if it would be enough to keep him alive. And if so, for how long? If he passed out, who would know he was even in there? With arms like lead, Langdon raised his watch again: 10:12 P.M. Fighting trembling fingers, he fumbled with the watch and made his final play. He twisted one of the tiny dials and pressed a button. As consciousness faded, and the walls squeezed closer, Langdon felt the old fears sweep over him. He tried to imagine, as he had so many times, that he was in an open field. The image he conjured, however, was no help. The nightmare that had haunted him since his youth came crashing back†¦ The flowers here are like paintings, the child thought, laughing as he ran across the meadow. He wished his parents had come along. But his parents were busy pitching camp. â€Å"Don’t explore too far,† his mother had said. He had pretended not to hear as he bounded off into the woods. Now, traversing this glorious field, the boy came across a pile of fieldstones. He figured it must be the foundation of an old homestead. He would not go near it. He knew better. Besides, his eyes had been drawn to something else – a brilliant lady’s slipper – the rarest and most beautiful flower in New Hampshire. He had only ever seen them in books. Excited, the boy moved toward the flower. He knelt down. The ground beneath him felt mulchy and hollow. He realized his flower had found an extra-fertile spot. It was growing from a patch of rotting wood. Thrilled by the thought of taking home his prize, the boy reached out†¦ fingers extending toward the stem. He never reached it. With a sickening crack, the earth gave way. In the three seconds of dizzying terror as he fell, the boy knew he would die. Plummeting downward, he braced for the bone-crushing collision. When it came, there was no pain. Only softness. And cold. He hit the deep liquid face first, plunging into a narrow blackness. Spinning disoriented somersaults, he groped the sheer walls thatenclosed him on all sides. Somehow, as if by instinct, he sputtered to the surface. Light. Faint. Above him. Miles above him, it seemed. His arms clawed at the water, searching the walls of the hollow for something to grab onto. Only smooth stone. He had fallen through an abandoned well covering. He screamed for help, but his cries reverberated in the tight shaft. He called out again and again. Above him, the tattered hole grew dim. Night fell. Time seemed to contort in the darkness. Numbness set in as he treaded water in the depths of the chasm, calling, crying out. He was tormented by visions of the walls collapsing in, burying him alive. His arms ached with fatigue. A few times he thought he heard voices. He shouted out, but his own voice was muted†¦ like a dream. As the night wore on, the shaft deepened. The walls inched quietly inward. The boy pressed out against the enclosure, pushing it away. Exhausted, he wanted to give up. And yet he felt the water buoy him, cooling his burning fears until he was numb. When the rescue team arrived, they found the boy barely conscious. He had been treading water for five hours. Two days later, the Boston Globe ran a front-page story called â€Å"The Little Swimmer That Could.† 97 The Hassassin smiled as he pulled his van into the mammoth stone structure overlooking the Tiber River. He carried his prize up and up†¦ spiraling higher in the stone tunnel, grateful his load was slender. He arrived at the door. The Church of Illumination, he gloated. The ancient Illuminati meeting room. Who would have imagined it to be here? Inside, he lay her on a plush divan. Then he expertly bound her arms behind her back and tied her feet. He knew that what he longed for would have to wait until his final task was finished. Water. Still, he thought, he had a moment for indulgence. Kneeling beside her, he ran his hand along her thigh. It was smooth. Higher. His dark fingers snaked beneath the cuff of her shorts. Higher. He stopped. Patience, he told himself, feeling aroused. There is work to be done. He walked for a moment out onto the chamber’s high stone balcony. The evening breeze slowly cooled his ardor. Far below the Tiber raged. He raised his eyes to the dome of St. Peter’s, three quarters of a mile away, naked under the glare of hundreds of press lights. â€Å"Your final hour,† he said aloud, picturing the thousands of Muslims slaughtered during the Crusades. â€Å"At midnight you will meet your God.† Behind him, the woman stirred. The Hassassin turned. He considered letting her wake up. Seeing terror in a woman’s eyes was his ultimate aphrodisiac. He opted for prudence. It would be better if she remained unconscious while he was gone. Although she was tied and would never escape, the Hassassin did not want to return and find her exhausted from struggling. I want your strength preserved†¦ for me. Lifting her head slightly, he placed his palm beneath her neck and found the hollow directly beneath her skull. The crown/meridian pressure point was one he had used countless times. With crushing force, he drove his thumb into the soft cartilage and felt it depress. The woman slumped instantly. Twenty minutes, he thought. She would be a tantalizing end to a perfect day. After she had served him and died doing it, he would stand on the balcony and watch the midnight Vatican fireworks. Leaving his prize unconscious on the couch, the Hassassin went downstairs into a torchlit dungeon. The final task. He walked to the table and revered the sacred, metal forms that had been left there for him. Water. It was his last. Removing a torch from the wall as he had done three times already, he began heating the end. When the end of the object was white hot, he carried it to the cell. Inside, a single man stood in silence. Old and alone. â€Å"Cardinal Baggia,† the killer hissed. â€Å"Have you prayed yet?† The Italian’s eyes were fearless. â€Å"Only for your soul.†