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cocktail connoisseurs. Of course, the Sex Machines Museum was open late and drew crowds of gawkers well into the night. As The Golěm snaked through the maze
him.
impatience had
the pain shooting through his ankles and wrists. Swim, Robert… Resorting to an awkward breaststroke, Langdon strained against the current, trying to make his way toward the hotel dock. He glanced beyond it and feared being dragged over the waterfall that was not far downstream—although he knew he would probably be unconscious and submerged long before he went over the edge. Push, dammit!
wearing the black radiant halo. The headpiece could have been a startling coincidence…but her spear? And
protec—” “Hold on, what exactly was accessed?” Faukman swiveled to his desk
atop a wooded ridgeline that defines the
including consciousness, could be explained solely in
loudly, breaking Langdon’s train of thought. “You know I’ve never been shy about my distaste for the paranormal and PSI science. Remember my Scientific American cover?” “I do,” Katherine said, smiling. “Dr. Brigita Gessner, don’t call her a neuro-PSI-entist.” “Yes,” she said, laughing too loudly again. “Everyone got in on that joke. A fan sent me a mouse pad with my quote: ‘There’s no PSI in science.’ And a colleague even joked that I should
you
and you’re aiming a gun at me. Moreover, it appears you’re
eyes and a politely diplomatic manner, she often lulled adversaries into a false sense of security before she dispatched
staff. “No,
to Prague.
truth. He knew his mission today
in,” the ambassador said. “And
had a way of getting to the point. Dana picked up a pen and
hundred and sixty
depicting an ocean liner in distress…sinking into a sea of ones and zeros. The caption read: Loose Bits Sink Ships. The spoof on the famous World War II slogan was supposed to be a reminder to secure data at
hard parquet. The collision with the floor sent searing pain
of unpredictability—probability
