Inferno: (Robert Langdon Book 4)

monitor behind her, Langdon was now holding the mask up to the light and studying it.
    “I took it out only for a moment,” Langdon insisted, praying that this was true. “Ignazio assured me you wouldn’t mind!”
    Marta did not reply. She looked stupefied, clearly trying to imagine why Langdon had lied to her … and indeed how in the world Langdon could have calmly stood by and let the tape play when he knew what it would reveal.
    I had no idea I opened the case!
    “Robert,” Sienna whispered. “Look! You found something!” Sienna remained riveted on the playback, focusing on getting answers despite their predicament.
    On-screen, Langdon was now holding the mask up and angling it toward the light, his attention apparently drawn to something of interest on the back of the artifact.
    From this camera angle, for a split second, the raised mask partially blocked Langdon’s face in such a way that Dante’s dead eyes were aligned with Langdon’s. He remembered the pronouncement— the truth can be glimpsed only through the eyes of death —and felt a chill.
    Langdon had no idea what he might have been examining on the back of the mask, but at that moment in the video, as he shared his discovery with Ignazio, the obese man recoiled, immediately fumbling for his spectacles and looking again … and again. He began shaking his head vigorously and pacing the andito in an agitated state.
    Suddenly both men glanced up, clearly having heard something in the hallway—most likely Marta returning from the restroom. Hurriedly, Langdon pulled from his pocket a large Ziploc bag, into which he sealed the death mask before gently handing it to Ignazio, who placed it, with seeming reluctance, inside his briefcase. Langdon quickly closed the antique glass door on the now-empty display case, and the two men strode briskly up the hall to encounter Marta before she could discover their theft.
    Both guards now had their guns trained on Langdon.
    Marta wobbled on her feet, grasping the table for support. “I don’t understand!” she sputtered. “You and Ignazio Busoni stole the Dante death mask?!”
    “No!” Langdon insisted, bluffing as best as he could. “We had permission from the owner to take the mask out of the building for the night.”
    “Permission from the owner?” she questioned. “From Bertrand Zobrist!?”
    “Yes! Mr. Zobrist agreed to let us examine some markings on the back! We met with him yesterday afternoon!”
    Marta’s eyes shot daggers. “Professor, I am quite certain you did not meet with Bertrand Zobrist yesterday afternoon.”
    “We most certainly did—”
    Sienna placed a restraining hand on Langdon’s arm. “Robert …” She gave a grim sigh. “Six days ago, Bertrand Zobrist threw himself off the top of the Badia tower only a few blocks away from here.”

CHAPTER 42
    VAYENTHA HAD ABANDONED her motorcycle just north of the Palazzo Vecchio and was approaching on foot along the perimeter of the Piazza della Signoria. As she wound her way through the Loggia dei Lanzi’s outdoor statuary, she could not help but notice that all the figures seemed to be enacting a variation on a single theme: violent displays of male dominance over women.
    The Rape of the Sabines.
    The Rape of Polyxena.
    Perseus Holding the Severed Head of Medusa.
    Lovely , Vayentha thought, pulling her cap low over her eyes and edging her way through the morning crowd toward the entrance of the palace, which was just admitting the first tourists of the day. From all appearances, it was business as usual here at the Palazzo Vecchio.
    No police , Vayentha thought. At least not yet.
    She zipped her jacket high around her neck, making certain that her weapon was concealed, and headed through the entrance. Following signs for Il Museo di Palazzo, she passed through two ornate atriums and then up a massive staircase toward the second floor.
    As she climbed, she replayed the police dispatch in her head.
    Il Museo di Palazzo Vecchio … Dante Alighieri.
    Langdon has to be here.
    The signs for the museum led Vayentha into a massive, spectacularly adorned gallery—the Hall of the Five Hundred—where a scattering of tourists mingled, admiring the colossal murals on the walls. Vayentha had no interest in observing the art here and quickly located another museum sign in the far right-hand corner of the room, pointing up a staircase.
    As she made her way across the hall, she noticed a group of university kids all gathered around a