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- Дэн Браун
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- Ангелы и демоны
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- Стр. 306/583
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Glick
accelerated
down
the
street
and
hung
a
left
after
the
Alpha
Romeos
.
"
Something
tells
me
you
and
I
are
not
the
only
ones
going
to
church
right
now
.
"
The
descent
was
slow
.
Langdon
dropped
rung
by
rung
down
the
creaking
ladder
…
deeper
and
deeper
beneath
the
floor
of
the
Chigi
Chapel
.
Into
the
Demon
’
s
hole
,
he
thought
.
He
was
facing
the
side
wall
,
his
back
to
the
chamber
,
and
he
wondered
how
many
more
dark
,
cramped
spaces
one
day
could
provide
.
The
ladder
groaned
with
every
step
,
and
the
pungent
smell
of
rotting
flesh
and
dampness
was
almost
asphyxiating
.
Langdon
wondered
where
the
hell
Olivetti
was
.
Vittoria
’
s
outline
was
still
visible
above
,
holding
the
blowtorch
inside
the
hole
,
lighting
Langdon
’
s
way
.
As
he
lowered
himself
deeper
into
the
darkness
,
the
bluish
glow
from
above
got
fainter
.
The
only
thing
that
got
stronger
was
the
stench
.
Twelve
rungs
down
,
it
happened
.
Langdon
’
s
foot
hit
a
spot
that
was
slippery
with
decay
,
and
he
faltered
.
Lunging
forward
,
he
caught
the
ladder
with
his
forearms
to
avoid
plummeting
to
the
bottom
.
Cursing
the
bruises
now
throbbing
on
his
arms
,
he
dragged
his
body
back
onto
the
ladder
and
began
his
descent
again
.
Three
rungs
deeper
,
he
almost
fell
again
,
but
this
time
it
was
not
a
rung
that
caused
the
mishap
.
It
was
a
bolt
of
fear
.
He
had
descended
past
a
hollowed
niche
in
the
wall
before
him
and
suddenly
found
himself
face
to
face
with
a
collection
of
skulls
.
As
he
caught
his
breath
and
looked
around
him
,
he
realized
the
wall
at
this
level
was
honeycombed
with
shelflike
openings
—
burial
niches
—
all
filled
with
skeletons
.
In
the
phosphorescent
light
,
it
made
for
an
eerie
collage
of
empty
sockets
and
decaying
rib
cages
flickering
around
him
.
Skeletons
by
firelight
,
he
grimaced
wryly
,
realizing
he
had
quite
coincidentally
endured
a
similar
evening
just
last
month
.
An
evening
of
bones
and
flames
.
The
New
York
Museum
of
Archeology
’
s
candlelight
benefit
dinner
—
salmon
flambé
in
the
shadow
of
a
brontosaurus
skeleton
.
He
had
attended
at
the
invitation
of
Rebecca
Strauss
—
one
-
time
fashion
model
now
art
critic
from
the
Times
,
a
whirlwind
of
black
velvet
,
cigarettes
,
and
not
-
so
-
subtly
enhanced
breasts
.
She
’
d
called
him
twice
since
.
Langdon
had
not
returned
her
calls
.
Most
ungentlemanly
,
he
chided
,
wondering
how
long
Rebecca
Strauss
would
last
in
a
stink
-
pit
like
this
.
Langdon
was
relieved
to
feel
the
final
rung
give
way
to
the
spongy
earth
at
the
bottom
.
The
ground
beneath
his
shoes
felt
damp
.
Assuring
himself
the
walls
were
not
going
to
close
in
on
him
,
he
turned
into
the
crypt
.
It
was
circular
,
about
twenty
feet
across
.
Breathing
through
his
sleeve
again
,
Langdon
turned
his
eyes
to
the
body
.
In
the
gloom
,
the
image
was
hazy
.
A
white
,
fleshy
outline
.
Facing
the
other
direction
.
Motionless
.
Silent
.
Advancing
through
the
murkiness
of
the
crypt
,
Langdon
tried
to
make
sense
of
what
he
was
looking
at
.
The
man
had
his
back
to
Langdon
,
and
Langdon
could
not
see
his
face
,
but
he
did
indeed
seem
to
be
standing
.
"
Hello
?
"
Langdon
choked
through
his
sleeve
.
Nothing
.
As
he
drew
nearer
,
he
realized
the
man
was
very
short
.
Too
short
…
