The million dollar question. Langdon cut to the chase. "Galileo’s arrest threw the Illuminati into upheaval. Mistakes were made, and the church discovered the identities of four members, whom they captured and interrogated. But the four scientists revealed nothing… even under torture."

"Torture?"

Langdon nodded. "They were branded alive. On the chest. With the symbol of a cross."

Kohler’s eyes widened, and he shot an uneasy glance at Vetra’s body.

"Then the scientists were brutally murdered, their dead bodies dropped in the streets of Rome as a warning to others thinking of joining the Illuminati. With the church closing in, the remaining Illuminati fled Italy."

Langdon paused to make his point. He looked directly into Kohler’s dead eyes. "The Illuminati went deep underground, where they began mixing with other refugee groups fleeing the Catholic purges—mystics, alchemists, occultists, Muslims, Jews. Over the years, the Illuminati began absorbing new members. A new Illuminati emerged. A darker Illuminati. A deeply anti-Christian Illuminati. They grew very powerful, employing mysterious rites, deadly secrecy, vowing someday to rise again and take revenge on the Catholic Church. Their power grew to the point where the church considered them the single most dangerous anti-Christian force on earth. The Vatican denounced the brotherhood as Shaitan."

"Shaitan?"

"It’s Islamic. It means ‘adversary’… God’s adversary. The church chose Islam for the name because it was a language they considered dirty." Langdon hesitated. "Shaitan is the root of an English word…Satan."

An uneasiness crossed Kohler’s face.

Langdon’s voice was grim. "Mr. Kohler, I do not know how this marking appeared on this man’s chest… or why… but you are looking at the long-lost symbol of the world’s oldest and most powerful satanic cult."

The alley was narrow and deserted. The Hassassin strode quickly now, his black eyes filling with anticipation. As he approached his destination, Janus’s parting words echoed in his mind. Phase two begins shortly. Get some rest.

The Hassassin smirked. He had been awake all night, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. Sleep was for the weak. He was a warrior like his ancestors before him, and his people never slept once a battle had begun. This battle had most definitely begun, and he had been given the honor of spilling first blood. Now he had two hours to celebrate his glory before going back to work.

Sleep? There are far better ways to relax…

An appetite for hedonistic pleasure was something bred into him by his ancestors. His ascendants had indulged in hashish, but he preferred a different kind of gratification. He took pride in his body—a well-tuned, lethal machine, which, despite his heritage, he refused to pollute with narcotics. He had developed a more nourishing addiction than drugs… a far more healthy and satisfying reward.

Feeling a familiar anticipation swelling within him, the Hassassin moved faster down the alley. He arrived at the nondescript door and rang the bell. A view slit in the door opened, and two soft brown eyes studied him appraisingly. Then the door swung open.

"Welcome," the well-dressed woman said. She ushered him into an impeccably furnished sitting room where the lights were low. The air was laced with expensive perfume and musk. "Whenever you are ready." She handed him a book of photographs. "Ring me when you have made your choice." Then she disappeared.

The Hassassin smiled.

As he sat on the plush divan and positioned the photo album on his lap, he felt a carnal hunger stir. Although his people did not celebrate Christmas, he imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a Christian child, sitting before a stack of Christmas presents, about to discover the miracles inside. He opened the album and examined the photos. A lifetime of sexual fantasies stared back at him.

Marisa. An Italian goddess. Fiery. A young Sophia Loren.

Sachiko. A Japanese geisha. Lithe. No doubt skilled.

Kanara. A stunning black vision. Muscular. Exotic.

He examined the entire album twice and made his choice. He pressed a button on the table beside him. A minute later the woman who had greeted him reappeared. He indicated his selection. She smiled. "Follow me."

After handling the financial arrangements, the woman made a hushed phone call. She waited a few minutes and then led him up a winding marble staircase to a luxurious hallway. "It’s the gold door on the end," she said. "You have expensive taste."

I should, he thought. I am a connoisseur.

The Hassassin padded the length of the hallway like a panther anticipating a long overdue meal. When he reached the doorway he smiled to himself. It was already ajar… welcoming him in. He pushed, and the door swung noiselessly open.

When he saw his selection, he knew he had chosen well. She was exactly as he had requested… nude, lying on her back, her arms tied to the bedposts with thick velvet cords.

He crossed the room and ran a dark finger across her ivory abdomen. I killed last night, he thought. You are my reward.

"Satanic?" Kohler wiped his mouth and shifted uncomfortably. "This is the symbol of a satanic cult?"

Langdon paced the frozen room to keep warm. "The Illuminati were satanic. But not in the modern sense."

Langdon quickly explained how most people pictured satanic cults as devil-worshiping fiends, and yet Satanists historically were educated men who stood as adversaries to the church. Shaitan. The rumors of satanic black-magic animal sacrifices and the pentagram ritual were nothing but lies spread by the church as a smear campaign against their adversaries. Over time, opponents of the church, wanting to emulate the Illuminati, began believing the lies and acting them out. Thus, modern Satanism was born.

Kohler grunted abruptly. "This is all ancient history. I want to know how this symbol got here."

Langdon took a deep breath. "The symbol itself was created by an anonymous sixteenth-century Illuminati artist as a tribute to Galileo’s love of symmetry—a kind of sacred Illuminati logo. The brotherhood kept the design secret, allegedly planning to reveal it only when they had amassed enough power to resurface and carry out their final goal."

Kohler looked unsettled. "So this symbol means the Illuminati brotherhood is resurfacing?"

Langdon frowned. "That would be impossible. There is one chapter of Illuminati history that I have not yet explained."

Kohler’s voice intensified. "Enlighten me."

Langdon rubbed his palms together, mentally sorting through the hundreds of documents he’d read or written on the Illuminati. "The Illuminati were survivors," he explained. "When they fled Rome, they traveled across Europe looking for a safe place to regroup. They were taken in by another secret society… a brotherhood of wealthy Bavarian stone craftsmen called the Freemasons."

Kohler looked startled. "The Masons?"

Langdon nodded, not at all surprised that Kohler had heard of the group. The brotherhood of the Masons currently had over five million members worldwide, half of them residing in the United States, and over one million of them in Europe.

"Certainly the Masons are not satanic," Kohler declared, sounding suddenly skeptical.

"Absolutely not. The Masons fell victim of their own benevolence. After harboring the fleeing scientists in the 1700s, the Masons unknowingly became a front for the Illuminati. The Illuminati grew within their ranks, gradually taking over positions of power within the lodges. They quietly reestablished their scientific brotherhood deep within the Masons—a kind of secret society within a secret society. Then the Illuminati used the worldwide connection of Masonic lodges to spread their influence."