"I've taken the liberty of sending a plane for you," the voice said. "It will be in Boston in twenty minutes."
Langdon felt his mouth go dry. An hour's flight...
"Please forgive my presumption," the voice said. "I need you here."
Langdon looked again at the fax - an ancient myth confirmed in black and white. The implications were frightening. He gazed absently through the bay window. The first hint of dawn was sifting through the birch trees in his backyard, but the view looked somehow different this morning. As an odd combination of fear and exhilaration settled over him, Langdon knew he had no choice.
"You win," he said. "Tell me where to meet the plane."
3
Thousands of miles away, two men were meeting. The chamber was dark. Medieval. Stone.
"Benvenuto," the man in charge said. He was seated in the shadows, out of sight. "Were you successful?"
"Si," the dark figure replied. "Perfectamente." His words were as hard as the rock walls.
"And there will be no doubt who is responsible?"
"None."
"Superb. Do you have what I asked for?"
The killer's eyes glistened, black like oil. He produced a heavy electronic device and set it on the table.
The man in the shadows seemed pleased. "You have done well."
"Serving the brotherhood is an honor," the killer said.
"Phase two begins shortly. Get some rest. Tonight we change the world."
4
Robert Langdon's Saab 900S tore out of the Callahan Tunnel and emerged on the east side of Boston Harbor near the entrance to Logan Airport. Checking his directions Langdon found Aviation Road and turned left past the old Eastern Airlines Building. Three hundred yards down the access road a hangar loomed in the darkness. A large number 4 was painted on it. He pulled into the parking lot and got out of his car.
A round-faced man in a blue flight suit emerged from behind the building. "Robert Langdon?" he called. The man's voice was friendly. He had an accent Langdon couldn't place.
"That's me," Langdon said, locking his car.
"Perfect timing," the man said. "I've just landed. Follow me, please."
As they circled the building, Langdon felt tense. He was not accustomed to cryptic phone calls and secret rendezvous with strangers. Not knowing what to expect he had donned his usual classroom attire - a pair of chinos, a turtleneck, and a Harris tweed suit jacket. As they walked, he thought about the fax in his jacket pocket, still unable to believe the image it depicted.
The pilot seemed to sense Langdon's anxiety. "Flying's not a problem for you, is it, sir?"
"Not at all," Langdon replied. Branded corpses are a problem for me. Flying I can handle.
The man led Langdon the length of the hangar. They rounded the corner onto the runway.
Langdon stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at the aircraft parked on the tarmac. "We're riding in that?"
The man grinned. "Like it?"
Langdon stared a long moment. "Like it? What the hell is it?"
The craft before them was enormous. It was vaguely reminiscent of the space shuttle except that the top had been shaved off, leaving it perfectly flat. Parked there on the runway, it resembled a colossal wedge. Langdon's first impression was that he must be dreaming. The vehicle looked as airworthy as a Buick. The wings were practically nonexistent - just two stubby fins on the rear of the fuselage. A pair of dorsal guiders rose out of the aft section. The rest of the plane was hull - about 200 feet from front to back - no windows, nothing but hull.
"Two hundred fifty thousand kilos fully fueled," the pilot offered, like a father bragging about his newborn. "Runs on slush hydrogen. The shell's a titanium matrix with silicon carbide fibers. She packs a 20:1 thrust/weight ratio; most jets run at 7:1. The director must be in one helluva a hurry to see you. He doesn't usually send the big boy."
"This thing flies?" Langdon said.
The pilot smiled. "Oh yeah." He led Langdon across the tarmac toward the plane. "Looks kind of startling, I know, but you better get used to it. In five years, all you'll see are these babies - HSCT's - High Speed Civil Transports. Our lab's one of the first to own one."
Must be one hell of a lab, Langdon thought.
"This one's a prototype of the Boeing X-33," the pilot continued, "but there are dozens of others - the National Aero Space Plane, the Russians have Scramjet, the Brits have HOTOL. The future's here, it's just taking some time to get to the public sector. You can kiss conventional