Inferno: (Robert Langdon Book 4)

again—although probably only delaying the inevitable—shuffling backward on all fours into the second cavern, which was smaller, deeper, and darker. It, too, was dominatedby a central piece of art—in this case, a statue of two intertwined lovers—behind which Langdon and Sienna now hid anew.
    Veiled in shadow, Langdon carefully peered out around the base of the statue and watched their approaching assailants. As the two soldiers reached the drone, one stopped and crouched down to tend to it, picking it up and examining the camera.
    Did the device spot us? Langdon wondered, fearing he knew the answer.
    The third and last soldier, the muscular one with the cold eyes, was still moving with icy focus in Langdon’s direction. The man approached until he was nearly at the mouth of the cave. He’s coming in. Langdon prepared to pull back behind the statue and tell Sienna it was over, but in that instant, he witnessed something unexpected.
    The soldier, rather than entering the grotto, suddenly peeled off to the left and disappeared.
    Where is he going?! He doesn’t know we’re here?
    A few moments later, Langdon heard pounding—a fist knocking on wood.
    The little gray door , Langdon thought. He must know where it leads.

    Pitti Palace security guard Ernesto Russo had always wanted to play European football, but at twenty-nine years old and overweight, he had finally begun to accept that his childhood dream would never come true. For the past three years, Ernesto had worked as a guard here at the Pitti Palace, always in the same closet-size office, always with the same dull job.
    Ernesto was no stranger to curious tourists knocking on the little gray door outside the office in which he was stationed, and he usually just ignored them until they stopped. Today, however, the banging was intense and continuous.
    Annoyed, he refocused on his television set, which was loudly playing a football rerun—Fiorentina versus Juventus. The knocking only grew louder. Finally, cursing the tourists, he marched out of his office down the narrow corridor toward the sound. Halfway there, he stopped at the massive steel grate that remained sealed across this hallway except at a few specific hours.
    He entered the combination on the padlock and unlocked the grate, pulling it to one side. After stepping through, he followed protocol and relocked the grate behind him. Then he walked to the gray wooden door.
    “È chiuso!” he yelled through the door, hoping the person outside would hear. “Non si può entrare!”
    The banging continued.
    Ernesto gritted his teeth. New Yorkers , he wagered. They want what they want. The only reason their Red Bulls soccer team was having any success on the world stage was that they’d pilfered one of Europe’s best coaches.
    The banging continued, and Ernesto reluctantly unlocked the door and pushed it open a few inches. “È chiuso!”
    The banging finally stopped, and Ernesto found himself face-to-face with a soldier whose eyes were so cold they literally made Ernesto step back. The man held up an official carnet bearing an acronym Ernesto did not recognize.
    “Cosa succede?!” Ernesto demanded, alarmed. What’s going on?!
    Behind the soldier, a second was crouched down, tinkering with what appeared to be a toy helicopter. Still farther away, another soldier stood guard on the staircase. Ernesto heard police sirens nearby.
    “Do you speak English?” The soldier’s accent was definitely not New York. Europe somewhere?
    Ernesto nodded. “A bit, yes.”
    “Has anyone come through this door this morning?”
    “No, signore. Nessuno.”
    “Excellent. Keep it locked. Nobody in or out. Is that clear?”
    Ernesto shrugged. That was his job anyway. “ Sì , I understand. Non deve entrare, né uscire nessuno. ”
    “Tell me, please, is this door the sole entrance?”
    Ernesto considered the question. Technically, nowadays this door was considered an exit , which was why it had no handle on the outside, but he understood what the man was asking. “Yes, l’accesso is this door only. No other way.” The original entrance inside the palace had been sealed for many years.
    “And are there any other hidden exits from the Boboli Gardens? Other than the traditional gates?”
    “ No, signore. Big walls everywhere. This only secret exit.”
    The soldier nodded. “Thank you for your help.” He motioned for Ernesto to close and lock the door.
    Puzzled, Ernesto obeyed. Then he headed back up the