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- Дэн Браун
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- Ангелы и демоны
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- Стр. 490/583
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The
pilot
groaned
,
his
headache
worsening
.
He
half
considered
grabbing
the
windshield
’
s
vinyl
covering
and
putting
it
up
so
he
wouldn
’
t
have
to
watch
,
but
he
knew
he
would
be
airborne
in
a
matter
of
minutes
.
Lieutenant
Chartrand
had
just
radioed
with
terrible
news
.
The
camerlegno
had
been
attacked
by
Maximilian
Kohler
and
seriously
injured
.
Chartrand
,
the
American
,
and
the
woman
were
carrying
the
camerlegno
out
now
so
he
could
be
evacuated
to
a
hospital
.
The
pilot
felt
personally
responsible
for
the
attack
.
He
reprimanded
himself
for
not
acting
on
his
gut
.
Earlier
,
when
he
had
picked
up
Kohler
at
the
airport
,
he
had
sensed
something
in
the
scientist
’
s
dead
eyes
.
He
couldn
’
t
place
it
,
but
he
didn
’
t
like
it
.
Not
that
it
mattered
.
Rocher
was
running
the
show
,
and
Rocher
insisted
this
was
the
guy
.
Rocher
had
apparently
been
wrong
A
new
clamor
arose
from
the
crowd
,
and
the
pilot
looked
over
to
see
a
line
of
cardinals
processing
solemnly
out
of
the
Vatican
onto
St
.
Peter
’
s
Square
.
The
cardinals
’
relief
to
be
leaving
ground
zero
seemed
to
be
quickly
overcome
by
looks
of
bewilderment
at
the
spectacle
now
going
on
outside
the
church
.
The
crowd
noise
intensified
yet
again
.
The
pilot
’
s
head
pounded
.
He
needed
an
aspirin
.
Maybe
three
.
He
didn
’
t
like
to
fly
on
medication
,
but
a
few
aspirin
would
certainly
be
less
debilitating
than
this
raging
headache
.
He
reached
for
the
first
-
aid
kit
,
kept
with
assorted
maps
and
manuals
in
a
cargo
box
bolted
between
the
two
front
seats
.
When
he
tried
to
open
the
box
,
though
,
he
found
it
locked
.
He
looked
around
for
the
key
and
then
finally
gave
up
.
Tonight
was
clearly
not
his
lucky
night
.
He
went
back
to
massaging
his
temples
.
Inside
the
darkened
basilica
,
Langdon
,
Vittoria
,
and
the
two
guards
strained
breathlessly
toward
the
main
exit
.
Unable
to
find
anything
more
suitable
,
the
four
of
them
were
transporting
the
wounded
camerlegno
on
a
narrow
table
,
balancing
the
inert
body
between
them
as
though
on
a
stretcher
.
Outside
the
doors
,
the
faint
roar
of
human
chaos
was
now
audible
.
The
camerlegno
teetered
on
the
brink
of
unconsciousness
.
Time
was
running
out
.
It
was
11
:
39
P
.
M
.
when
Langdon
stepped
with
the
others
from
St
.
Peter
’
s
Basilica
.
The
glare
that
hit
his
eyes
was
searing
.
The
media
lights
shone
off
the
white
marble
like
sunlight
off
a
snowy
tundra
.
Langdon
squinted
,
trying
to
find
refuge
behind
the
façade
’
s
enormous
columns
,
but
the
light
came
from
all
directions
.
In
front
of
him
,
a
collage
of
massive
video
screens
rose
above
the
crowd
.
Standing
there
atop
the
magnificent
stairs
that
spilled
down
to
the
piazza
below
,
Langdon
felt
like
a
reluctant
player
on
the
world
’
s
biggest
stage
.
Somewhere
beyond
the
glaring
lights
,
Langdon
heard
an
idling
helicopter
and
the
roar
of
a
hundred
thousand
voices
.
To
their
left
,
a
procession
of
cardinals
was
now
evacuating
onto
the
square
.
They
all
stopped
in
apparent
distress
to
see
the
scene
now
unfolding
on
the
staircase
.
"
Careful
now
,
"
Chartrand
urged
,
sounding
focused
as
the
group
began
descending
the
stairs
toward
the
helicopter
.
Langdon
felt
like
they
were
moving
underwater
.
His
arms
ached
from
the
weight
of
the
camerlegno
and
the
table
.
He
wondered
how
the
moment
could
get
much
less
dignified
.
Then
he
saw
the
answer
.
The
two
BBC
reporters
had
apparently
been
crossing
the
open
square
on
their
way
back
to
the
press
area
.
But
now
,
with
the
roar
of
the
crowd
,
they
had
turned
.
Glick
and
Macri
were
now
running
back
toward
them
.
Macri
’
s
camera
was
raised
and
rolling
.
Here
come
the
vultures
,
Langdon
thought
.
