Inferno: (Robert Langdon Book 4)

be?”
    Knowlton shook his head.
    The camera panned left now, revealing the submerged plastic sack of gelatinous, yellow-brown fluid.
    “What in God’s name?!” The provost pulled up a chair and settled in, staring at the undulating bubble, suspended like a tethered balloon beneath the water.
    An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as the video progressed. Soon the screen went dark, and then a strange, beak-nosed shadow appeared on the cavern wall and began talking in its arcane language.
    I am the Shade …
    Driven underground, I must speak to the world from deep within the earth, exiled to this gloomy cavern where the bloodred waters collect in the lagoon that reflects no stars.
    But this is my paradise … the perfect womb for my fragile child.
    Inferno.
    The provost glanced up. “Inferno?”
    Knowlton shrugged. “As I said, it’s disturbing.”
    The provost returned his eyes to the screen, watching intently.
    The beak-nosed shadow continued speaking for several minutes, talking of plagues, of the population’s need for purging, of his own glorious role in the future, of his battle against the ignorant souls who had been trying to stop him, and of the faithful few who realized that drastic action was the only way to save the planet.
    Whatever this war was about, Knowlton had been wondering all morning if the Consortium might be fighting on the wrong side.
    The voice continued.
    I have forged a masterpiece of salvation, and yet my efforts have been rewarded not with trumpets and laurels … but with threats of death.
    I do not fear death … for death transforms visionaries into martyrs … converts noble ideas into powerful movements.
    Jesus. Socrates. Martin Luther King.
    One day soon I will join them.
    The masterpiece I have created is the work of God Himself … a gift from the One who imbued me with the intellect, tools, and courage required to forge such a creation.
    Now the day grows near.
    Inferno sleeps beneath me, preparing to spring from its watery womb … under the watchful eye of the chthonic monster and all her Furies.
    Despite the virtue of my deeds, like you, I am no stranger to Sin. Even I am guilty of the darkest of the seven—that lone temptation from which so few find sanctuary.
    Pride.
    By recording this very message I have succumbed to Pride’s goading pull … eager to ensure that the world would know my work.
    And why not?
    Mankind should know the source of his own salvation … the name of he who sealed the yawning gates of hell forever!
    With each passing hour, the outcome grows more certain. Mathematics—as relentless as the law of gravity—is nonnegotiable. The same exponential blossoming of life that has nearly killed Mankind shall also be his deliverance. The beauty of a living organism—be it good or evil—is that it will follow the law of God with singular vision.
    Be fruitful and multiply.
    And so I fight fire … with fire.
    “That’s enough,” the provost interrupted so quietly that Knowlton barely heard him.
    “Sir?”
    “Stop the video.”
    Knowlton paused the playback. “Sir, the end is actually the most frightening part.”
    “I’ve seen enough.” The provost looked ill. He paced the cubicle for several moments and then turned suddenly. “We need to make contact with FS-2080.”
    Knowlton considered the move.
    FS-2080 was the code name of one of the provost’s trusted contacts—the same contact who had referred Zobrist to the Consortium as a client. The provost was no doubt at this very moment chiding himself for trusting FS-2080’s judgment; the recommendation of Bertrand Zobrist as a client had brought chaos into the Consortium’s delicately structured world.
    FS-2080 is the reason for this crisis.
    The growing chain of calamities surrounding Zobrist only seemed to be getting worse, not merely for the Consortium, but quite possibly … for the world.
    “We need to discover Zobrist’s true intentions,” the provost declared. “I want to know exactly what he created, and if this threat is real.”
    Knowlton knew that if anyone had the answers to these questions, it would be FS-2080. Nobody knew Bertrand Zobrist better. It was time for the Consortium to break protocol and assess what kind of insanity the organization might have unwittingly supported over the past year.
    Knowlton considered the possible ramifications of confronting FS-2080 directly. The mere act of initiating contact carried certain risks.
    “Obviously, sir,” Knowlton