danbrown.angels&demons-第54部分

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　I　worked　under　the　cardinal's　tutelage　for　many　years；　the　camerlegno　had　said。　He　was　like　a　father　to　me。　Vittoria　recalled　the　camerlegno　speaking　those　words　in　reference　to　the　cardinal　who　had　〃saved〃　him　from　the　army。　Now；　however；　Vittoria　understood　the　rest　of　the　story。　That　very　cardinal　who　had　taken　the　camerlegno　under　his　wing　had　apparently　later　risen　to　the　papacy　and　brought　with　him　his　young　protйgй　to　serve　as　chamberlain。
　That　explains　a　lot；　Vittoria　thought。　She　had　always　possessed　a　well…tuned　perception　for　others'　inner　emotions；　and　something　about　the　camerlegno　had　been　nagging　her　all　day。　Since　meeting　him；　she　had　sensed　an　anguish　more　soulful　and　private　than　the　overwhelming　crisis　he　now　faced。　Behind　his　pious　calm；　she　saw　a　man　tormented　by　personal　demons。　Now　she　knew　her　instincts　had　been　correct。　Not　only　was　he　facing　the　most　devastating　threat　in　Vatican　history；　but　he　was　doing　it　without　his　mentor　and　friend　。　。　。　flying　solo。
　The　guards　slowed　now；　as　if　unsure　where　exactly　in　the　darkness　the　most　recent　Pope　was　buried。　The　camerlegno　continued　assuredly　and　stopped　before　a　marble　tomb　that　seemed　to　glisten　brighter　than　the　others。　Lying　atop　was　a　carved　figure　of　the　late　Pope。　When　Vittoria　recognized　his　face　from　television；　a　shot　of　fear　gripped　her。　What　are　we　doing？　
　〃I　realize　we　do　not　have　much　time；〃　the　camerlegno　said。　〃I　still　ask　we　take　a　moment　of　prayer。〃
　The　Swiss　Guard　all　bowed　their　heads　where　they　were　standing。　Vittoria　followed　suit；　her　heart　pounding　in　the　silence。　The　camerlegno　knelt　before　the　tomb　and　prayed　in　Italian。　As　Vittoria　listened　to　his　words；　an　unexpected　grief　surfaced　as　tears　。　。　。　tears　for　her　own　mentor　。　。　。　her　own　holy　father。　The　camerlegno's　words　seemed　as　appropriate　for　her　father　as　they　did　for　the　Pope。
　〃Supreme　father；　counselor；　friend。〃　The　camerlegno's　voice　echoed　dully　around　the　ring。　〃You　told　me　when　I　was　young　that　the　voice　in　my　heart　was　that　of　God。　You　told　me　I　must　follow　it　no　matter　what　painful　places　it　leads。　I　hear　that　voice　now；　asking　of　me　impossible　tasks。　Give　me　strength。　Bestow　on　me　forgiveness。　What　I　do　。　。　。　I　do　in　the　name　of　everything　you　believe。　Amen。〃
　〃Amen；〃　the　guards　whispered。
　Amen；　Father。　Vittoria　wiped　her　eyes。
　The　camerlegno　stood　slowly　and　stepped　away　from　the　tomb。　〃Push　the　covering　aside。〃
　The　Swiss　Guards　hesitated。　〃Signore；〃　one　said；　〃by　law　we　are　at　your　mand。〃　He　paused。　〃We　will　do　as　you　say　。　。　。〃
　The　camerlegno　seemed　to　read　the　young　man's　mind。　〃Someday　I　will　ask　your　forgiveness　for　placing　you　in　this　position。　Today　I　ask　for　your　obedience。　Vatican　laws　are　established　to　protect　this　church。　It　is　in　that　very　spirit　that　I　mand　you　to　break　them　now。〃　
　There　was　a　moment　of　silence　and　then　the　lead　guard　gave　the　order。　The　three　men　set　down　their　flashlights　on　the　floor；　and　their　shadows　leapt　overhead。　Lit　now　from　beneath；　the　men　advanced　toward　the　tomb。　Bracing　their　hands　against　the　marble　covering　near　the　head　of　the　tomb；　they　planted　their　feet　and　prepared　to　push。　On　signal；　they　all　thrust；　straining　against　the　enormous　slab。　When　the　lid　did　not　move　at　all；　Vittoria　found　herself　almost　hoping　it　was　too　heavy。　She　was　suddenly　fearful　of　what　they　would　find　inside。　
　The　men　pushed　harder；　and　still　the　stone　did　not　move。　
　〃Ancora；〃　the　camerlegno　said；　rolling　up　the　sleeves　of　his　cassock　and　preparing　to　push　along　with　them。　〃Ora！〃　Everyone　heaved。
　Vittoria　was　about　to　offer　her　own　help；　but　just　then；　the　lid　began　to　slide。　The　men　dug　in　again；　and　with　an　almost　primal　growl　of　stone　on　stone；　the　lid　rotated　off　the　top　of　the　tomb　and　came　to　rest　at　an　angle…the　Pope's　carved　head　now　pushed　back　into　the　niche　and　his　feet　extended　out　into　the　hallway。　
　Everyone　stepped　back。
　Tentatively；　a　guard　bent　and　retrieved　his　flashlight。　Then　he　aimed　it　into　the　tomb。　The　beam　seemed　to　tremble　a　moment；　and　then　the　guard　held　it　steady。　The　other　guards　gathered　one　by　one。　Even　in　the　darkness　Vittoria　sensed　them　recoil。　In　succession；　they　crossed　themselves。　
　The　camerlegno　shuddered　when　he　looked　into　the　tomb；　his　shoulders　dropping　like　weights。　He　stood　a　long　moment　before　turning　away。
　Vittoria　had　feared　the　corpse's　mouth　might　be　clenched　tight　with　rigor　mortis　and　that　she　would　have　to　suggest　breaking　the　jaw　to　see　the　tongue。　She　now　saw　it　would　be　unnecessary。　The　cheeks　had　collapsed；　and　the　Pope's　mouth　gaped　wide。　
　His　tongue　was　black　as　death。
　
　86

　No　light。　No　sound。
　The　Secret　Archives　were　black。
　Fear；　Langdon　now　realized；　was　an　intense　motivator。　Short　of　breath；　he　fumbled　through　the　blackness　toward　the　revolving　door。　He　found　the　button　on　the　wall　and　rammed　his　palm　against　it。　Nothing　happened。　He　tried　again。　The　door　was　dead。　
　Spinning　blind；　he　called　out；　but　his　voice　emerged　strangled。　The　peril　of　his　predicament　suddenly　closed　in　around　him。　His　lungs　strained　for　oxygen　as　the　adrenaline　doubled　his　heart　rate。　He　felt　like　someone　had　just　punched　him　in　the　gut。
　When　he　threw　his　weight　into　the　door；　for　an　instant　he　thought　he　felt　the　door　start　to　turn。　He　pushed　again；　seeing　stars。　Now　he　realized　it　was　the　entire　room　turning；　not　the　door。　Staggering　away；　Langdon　tripped　over　the　base　of　a　rolling　ladder　and　fell　hard。　He　tore　his　knee　against　the　edge　of　a　book　stack。　Swearing；　he　got　up　and　groped　for　the　ladder。　
　He　found　it。　He　had　hoped　it　would　be　heavy　wood　or　iron；　but　it　was　aluminum。　He　grabbed　the　ladder　and　held　it　like　a　battering　ram。　Then　he　ran　through　the　dark　at　the　glass　wall。　It　was　closer　than　he　thought。　The　ladder　hit　head…on；　bouncing　off。　From　the　feeble　sound　of　the　collision；　Langdon　knew　he　was　going　to　need　a　hell　of　a　lot　more　than　an　aluminum　ladder　to　break　this　glass。
　When　he　flashed　on　the　semiautomatic；　his　hopes　surged　and　then　instantly　fell。　The　weapon　was　gone。　Olivetti　had　relieved　him　of　it　in　the　Pope's　office；　saying　he　did　not　want　loaded　weapons　around　with　the　camerlegno　present。　It　made　sense　at　the　time。
　Langdon　called　out　again；　making　less　sound　than　the　last　time。　
　Next　he　remembered　the　walkie…talkie　the　guard　had　left　on　the　table　outside　the　vault。　Why　the　hell　didn't　I　bring　it　in！　As　the　purple　stars　began　to　dance　before　his　eyes；　Langdon　forced　himself　to　think。　You've　been　trapped　before；　he　told　himself。　You　survived　worse。　You　were　just　a　kid　and　you　figured　it　out。　The　crushing　darkness　came　flooding　in。　Think！　
　Langdon　lowered　himself　onto　the　floor。　He　rolled　over　on　his　back　and　laid　his　hands　at　his　sides。　The　first　step　was　to　gain　control。
　Relax。　Conserve。
　No　longer　fighting　gravity　to　pump　blood；　Langdon's　heart　began　to　slow。　It　was　a　trick　swimmers　used　to　re…oxygenate　their　blood　between　tightly　scheduled　races。
　There　is　plenty　of　air　in　here；　he　told　himself。　Plenty。　Now　think。　He　waited；　half…expecting　the　lights　to　e　back　on　at　any　moment。　They　did　not。　As　he　lay　there；　able　to　breathe　better　now；　an　eerie　resignation　came　across　him。　He　felt　peaceful。　He　fought　it。
　You　will　move；　damn　it！　But　where　。　。　。　
　On　Langdon's　wrist；　Mickey　Mouse　glowed　happily　as　if　enjoying　the　dark：　9：33　P。M。　Half　an　hour　until　Fire。　Langdon　thought　it　felt　a　whole　hell　of　a　lot　later。　His　mind；　instead　of　ing　up　with　a　plan　for　escape；　was　suddenly　demanding　an　explanation。　Who　turned　off　the　power？　Was　Rocher　expanding　his　search？　Wouldn't　Olivetti　have　warned　Rocher　that　I'm　in　here！　Langdon　knew　at　this　point　it　made　no　difference。　
　Opening　his　mouth　wide　and　tipping　back　his　head；　Langdon　pulled　the　deepest　breaths　he　could　manage。　Each　breath　burned　a　little　less　than　the　last。　His　head　cleared。　He　reeled　his　thoughts　in　and　forced　the　gears　into　motion。
　Glass　walls；　he　told　himself。　But　damn　thick　glass。　
　He　wondered　if　any　of　the　books　in　here　were　stored　in　heavy；　steel；　fireproof　file　cabinets。　Langdon　had　seen　them　from　time　to　time　in　other　archives　but　had　seen　none　here。　Besides；　finding　one　in　the　dark　could　prove　time…consuming。　Not　that　he　could　lift　one　anyway；　particularly　in　his　present　state。
　How　about　the　examination　table？　Langdon　knew　this　vault；　like　the　other；　had　an　examination　table　in　the　center　of　the　stacks。　So　what！　He　knew　he　couldn't　lift　it。　Not　to　mention；　even　if　he　could　drag　it；　he　wouldn't　get　it　far。　The　stacks　were　closely　packed；　the　aisles　between　them　far　too　narrow。
　The　aisles　are　too　narrow　。　。　。　
　Suddenly；　Langdon　knew。　
　With　a　burst　of　confidence；　he　jumped　to　his　feet　far　too　fast。　Swaying　in　the　fog　of　a　head　rush；　he　reached　out　in　the　dark　for　support。　His　hand　found　a　stack。　Waiting　a　moment；　he　forced　himself　to　conserve。　He　would　need　all　of　his　strength　to　do　this。
　Positioning　himself　against　the　book　stack　like　a　football　player　against　a　training　sled；　he　planted　his　feet　and　pushed。　If　I　can　somehow　tip　the　shelf。　But　it　barely　moved。　He　realigned　and　pushed　again。　His　feet　slipped　backward　on　the　floor。　The　stack　creaked　but　did　not　move。　
　He　needed　leverage。
　Finding　the　glass　wall　again；　he　placed　one　hand　on　it　to　guide　him　as　he　raced　in　the　dark　toward　the　far　end　of　the　vault。　The　back　wall　loomed　suddenly；　and　he　collided　with　it；　crushing　his　shoulder。　Cursing；　Langdon　circled　the　shelf　and　grabbed　the　stack　at　about　eye　level。　Then；　propping　one　leg　on　the　glass　behind　him　and　another　on　the　lower　shelves；　he　started　to　climb。　Books　fell　around　him；　fluttering　into　the　darkness。　He　didn't　care。　Instinct　for　survival　had　long　since　overridden　archival　decorum。　He　sensed　his　equilibrium　was　hampered　by　the　total　darkness　and　closed　his　eyes；　coaxing　his　brain　to　ignore　visual　input。　He　moved　faster　now。　The　air　felt　leaner　the　higher　he　went。　He　scrambled　toward　the　upper　shelves；　stepping　on　books；　trying　to　gain　purchase；　heaving　himself　upward。　Then；　like　a　rock　climber　conquering　a　rock　face；　Langdon　grasped　the　top　shelf。　Stretching　his　legs　out　behind　him；　he　walked　his　feet　up　the　glass　wall　until　he　was　almost　horizontal。
　Now　or　never；　Robert；　a　voice　urged。　Just　like　th