danbrown.angels&demons-第38部分

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　That　had　been　twenty…three　years　ago。
　
　Now；　as　Camerlegno　Carlo　Ventresca　descended　the　Royal　Staircase；　he　tried　to　prehend　the　chain　of　events　that　had　delivered　him　to　this　extraordinary　crossroads。　
　Abandon　all　fear；　he　told　himself；　and　give　this　night　over　to　God。　
　He　could　see　the　great　bronze　door　of　the　Sistine　Chapel　now；　dutifully　protected　by　four　Swiss　Guards。　The　guards　unbolted　the　door　and　pulled　it　open。　Inside；　every　head　turned。　The　camerlegno　gazed　out　at　the　black　robes　and　red　sashes　before　him。　He　understood　what　God's　plans　for　him　were。　The　fate　of　the　church　had　been　placed　in　his　hands。
　The　camerlegno　crossed　himself　and　stepped　over　the　threshold。
　
　48

　BBC　journalist　Gunther　Glick　sat　sweating　in　the　BBC　network　van　parked　on　the　eastern　edge　of　St。　Peter's　Square　and　cursed　his　assignment　editor。　Although　Glick's　first　monthly　review　had　e　back　filled　with　superlatives…resourceful；　sharp；　dependable…here　he　was　in　Vatican　City　on　〃Pope…Watch。〃　He　reminded　himself　that　reporting　for　the　BBC　carried　a　hell　of　a　lot　more　credibility　than　fabricating　fodder　for　the　British　Tattler；　but　still；　this　was　not　his　idea　of　reporting。
　Glick's　assignment　was　simple。　Insultingly　simple。　He　was　to　sit　here　waiting　for　a　bunch　of　old　farts　to　elect　their　next　chief　old　fart；　then　he　was　to　step　outside　and　record　a　fifteen…second　〃live〃　spot　with　the　Vatican　as　a　backdrop。
　Brilliant。
　Glick　couldn't　believe　the　BBC　still　sent　reporters　into　the　field　to　cover　this　schlock。　You　don't　see　the　American　networks　here　tonight。　Hell　no！　That　was　because　the　big　boys　did　it　right。　They　watched　CNN；　synopsized　it；　and　then　filmed　their　〃live〃　report　in　front　of　a　blue　screen；　superimposing　stock　video　for　a　realistic　backdrop。　MSNBC　even　used　in…studio　wind　and　rain　machines　to　give　that　on…the…scene　authenticity。　Viewers　didn't　want　truth　anymore；　they　wanted　entertainment。
　Glick　gazed　out　through　the　windshield　and　felt　more　and　more　depressed　by　the　minute。　The　imperial　mountain　of　Vatican　City　rose　before　him　as　a　dismal　reminder　of　what　men　could　acplish　when　they　put　their　minds　to　it。
　〃What　have　I　acplished　in　my　life？〃　he　wondered　aloud。　〃Nothing。〃　
　〃So　give　up；〃　a　woman's　voice　said　from　behind　him。　
　Glick　jumped。　He　had　almost　forgotten　he　was　not　alone。　He　turned　to　the　back　seat；　where　his　camerawoman；　Chinita　Macri；　sat　silently　polishing　her　glasses。　She　was　always　polishing　her　glasses。　Chinita　was　black；　although　she　preferred　African　American；　a　little　heavy；　and　smart　as　hell。　She　wouldn't　let　you　forget　it　either。　She　was　an　odd　bird；　but　Glick　liked　her。　And　Glick　could　sure　as　hell　use　the　pany。　
　〃What's　the　problem；　Gunth？〃　Chinita　asked。
　〃What　are　we　doing　here？〃
　She　kept　polishing。　〃Witnessing　an　exciting　event。〃
　〃Old　men　locked　in　the　dark　is　exciting？〃　
　〃You　do　know　you're　going　to　hell；　don't　you？〃　
　〃Already　there。〃
　〃Talk　to　me。〃　She　sounded　like　his　mother。
　〃I　just　feel　like　I　want　to　leave　my　mark。〃
　〃You　wrote　for　the　British　Tattler。〃　
　〃Yeah；　but　nothing　with　any　resonance。〃
　〃Oh；　e　on；　I　heard　you　did　a　groundbreaking　article　on　the　queen's　secret　sex　life　with　aliens。〃
　〃Thanks。〃
　〃Hey；　things　are　looking　up。　Tonight　you　make　your　first　fifteen　seconds　of　TV　history。〃
　Glick　groaned。　He　could　hear　the　news　anchor　already。　〃Thanks　Gunther；　great　report。〃　Then　the　anchor　would　roll　his　eyes　and　move　on　to　the　weather。　〃I　should　have　tried　for　an　anchor　spot。〃
　Macri　laughed。　〃With　no　experience？　And　that　beard？　Forget　it。〃
　Glick　ran　his　hands　through　the　reddish　gob　of　hair　on　his　chin。　〃I　think　it　makes　me　look　clever。〃
　The　van's　cell　phone　rang；　mercifully　interrupting　yet　another　one　of　Glick's　failures。　〃Maybe　that's　editorial；〃　he　said；　suddenly　hopeful。　〃You　think　they　want　a　live　update？〃
　〃On　this　story？〃　Macri　laughed。　〃You　keep　dreaming。〃
　Glick　answered　the　phone　in　his　best　anchorman　voice。　〃Gunther　Glick；　BBC；　Live　in　Vatican　City。〃
　The　man　on　the　line　had　a　thick　Arabic　accent。　〃Listen　carefully；〃　he　said。　〃I　am　about　to　change　your　life。〃
　
　49

　Langdon　and　Vittoria　stood　alone　now　outside　the　double　doors　that　led　to　the　inner　sanctum　of　the　Secret　Archives。　The　decor　in　the　colonnade　was　an　incongruous　mix　of　wall…to…wall　carpets　over　marble　floors　and　wireless　security　cameras　gazing　down　from　beside　carved　cherubs　in　the　ceiling。　Langdon　dubbed　it　Sterile　Renaissance。　Beside　the　arched　ingress　hung　a　small　bronze　plaque。
　
　ARCHIVIO　VATICANO　
　Curatore；　Padre　Jaqui　Tomaso
　
　Father　Jaqui　Tomaso。　Langdon　recognized　the　curator's　name　from　the　rejection　letters　at　home　in　his　desk。　Dear　Mr。　Langdon；　It　is　with　regret　that　I　am　writing　to　deny　。　。　。　
　Regret。　Bullshit。　Since　Jaqui　Tomaso's　reign　had　begun；　Langdon　had　never　met　a　single　non…Catholic　American　scholar　who　had　been　given　access　to　the　Secret　Vatican　Archives。　Il　gaurdiano；　historians　called　him。　Jaqui　Tomaso　was　the　toughest　librarian　on　earth。　
　As　Langdon　pushed　the　doors　open　and　stepped　through　the　vaulted　portal　into　the　inner　sanctum；　he　half　expected　to　see　Father　Jaqui　in　full　military　fatigues　and　helmet　standing　guard　with　a　bazooka。　The　space；　however；　was　deserted。　
　Silence。　Soft　lighting。
　Archivio　Vaticano。　One　of　his　life　dreams。
　As　Langdon's　eyes　took　in　the　sacred　chamber；　his　first　reaction　was　one　of　embarrassment。　He　realized　what　a　callow　romantic　he　was。　The　images　he　had　held　for　so　many　years　of　this　room　could　not　have　been　more　inaccurate。　He　had　imagined　dusty　bookshelves　piled　high　with　tattered　volumes；　priests　cataloging　by　the　light　of　candles　and　stained…glass　windows；　monks　poring　over　scrolls　。　。　。　
　Not　even　close。
　At　first　glance　the　room　appeared　to　be　a　darkened　airline　hangar　in　which　someone　had　built　a　dozen　free…standing　racquetball　courts。　Langdon　knew　of　course　what　the　glass…walled　enclosures　were。　He　was　not　surprised　to　see　them；　humidity　and　heat　eroded　ancient　vellums　and　parchments；　and　proper　preservation　required　hermitic　vaults　like　these…airtight　cubicles　that　kept　out　humidity　and　natural　acids　in　the　air。　Langdon　had　been　inside　hermetic　vaults　many　times；　but　it　was　always　an　unsettling　experience　。　。　。　something　about　entering　an　airtight　container　where　the　oxygen　was　regulated　by　a　reference　librarian。　
　The　vaults　were　dark；　ghostly　even；　faintly　outlined　by　tiny　dome　lights　at　the　end　of　each　stack。　In　the　blackness　of　each　cell；　Langdon　sensed　the　phantom　giants；　row　upon　row　of　towering　stacks；　laden　with　history。　This　was　one　hell　of　a　collection。　
　Vittoria　also　seemed　dazzled。　She　stood　beside　him　staring　mutely　at　the　giant　transparent　cubes。
　Time　was　short；　and　Langdon　wasted　none　of　it　scanning　the　dimly　lit　room　for　a　book　catalog…a　bound　encyclopedia　that　cataloged　the　library's　collection。　All　he　saw　was　the　glow　of　a　handful　of　puter　terminals　dotting　the　room。　〃Looks　like　they've　got　a　Biblion。　Their　index　is　puterized。〃
　Vittoria　looked　hopeful。　〃That　should　speed　things　up。〃
　Langdon　wished　he　shared　her　enthusiasm；　but　he　sensed　this　was　bad　news。　He　walked　to　a　terminal　and　began　typing。　His　fears　were　instantly　confirmed。　〃The　old…fashioned　method　would　have　been　better。〃
　〃Why？〃
　He　stepped　back　from　the　monitor。　〃Because　real　books　don't　have　password　protection。　I　don't　suppose　physicists　are　natural　born　hackers？〃
　Vittoria　shook　her　head。　〃I　can　open　oysters；　that's　about　it。〃
　Langdon　took　a　deep　breath　and　turned　to　face　the　eerie　collection　of　diaphanous　vaults。　He　walked　to　the　nearest　one　and　squinted　into　the　dim　interior。　Inside　the　glass　were　amorphous　shapes　Langdon　recognized　as　the　usual　bookshelves；　parchment　bins；　and　examination　tables。　He　looked　up　at　the　indicator　tabs　glowing　at　the　end　of　each　stack。　As　in　all　libraries；　the　tabs　indicated　the　contents　of　that　row。　He　read　the　headings　as　he　moved　down　the　transparent　barrier。
　PIETRO　IL　ERIMITO　。　。　。　LE　CROCIATE　。　。　。　URBANO　II　。　。　。　LEVANT　。　。　。　
　〃They're　labeled；〃　he　said；　still　walking。　〃But　it's　not　alpha…author。〃　He　wasn't　surprised。　Ancient　archives　were　almost　never　cataloged　alphabetically　because　so　man