danbrown.angels&demons-第89节

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rvature　of　the　windshield。　Langdon　had　grabbed　it；　slid　his　hands　through　the　loops；　held　on；　and　leapt　out　into　the　void。　
　His　last　great　act　of　youthful　defiance。　
　No　illusions　of　life　beyond　this　moment。
　Langdon　fell　like　a　rock。　Feet　first。　Arms　raised。　His　hands　gripping　the　loops。　The　tarp　billowed　like　a　mushroom　overhead。　The　wind　tore　past　him　violently。　
　As　he　plummeted　toward　earth；　there　was　a　deep　explosion　somewhere　above　him。　It　seemed　farther　off　than　he　had　expected。　Almost　instantly；　the　shock　wave　hit。　He　felt　the　breath　crushed　from　his　lungs。　There　was　a　sudden　warmth　in　the　air　all　around　him。　He　fought　to　hold　on。　A　wall　of　heat　raced　down　from　above。　The　top　of　the　tarp　began　to　smolder　。　。　。　but　held。
　Langdon　rocketed　downward；　on　the　edge　of　a　billowing　shroud　of　light；　feeling　like　a　surfer　trying　to　outrun　a　thousand…foot　tidal　wave。　Then　suddenly；　the　heat　receded。　
　He　was　falling　again　through　the　dark　coolness。
　For　an　instant；　Langdon　felt　hope。　A　moment　later；　though；　that　hope　faded　like　the　withdrawing　heat　above。　Despite　his　straining　arms　assuring　him　that　the　tarp　was　slowing　his　fall；　the　wind　still　tore　past　his　body　with　deafening　velocity。　Langdon　had　no　doubt　he　was　still　moving　too　fast　to　survive　the　fall。　He　would　be　crushed　when　he　hit　the　ground。　
　Mathematical　figures　tumbled　through　his　brain；　but　he　was　too　numb　to　make　sense　of　them　。　。　。　one　square　yard　of　drag　。　。　。　20　percent　reduction　of　speed。　All　Langdon　could　figure　was　that　the　tarp　over　his　head　was　big　enough　to　slow　him　more　than　20　percent。　Unfortunately；　though；　he　could　tell　from　the　wind　whipping　past　him　that　whatever　good　the　tarp　was　doing　was　not　enough。　He　was　still　falling　fast　。　。　。　there　would　be　no　surviving　the　impact　on　the　waiting　sea　of　concrete。
　Beneath　him；　the　lights　of　Rome　spread　out　in　all　directions。　The　city　looked　like　an　enormous　starlit　sky　that　Langdon　was　falling　into。　The　perfect　expanse　of　stars　was　marred　only　by　a　dark　strip　that　split　the　city　in　two…a　wide；　unlit　ribbon　that　wound　through　the　dots　of　light　like　a　fat　snake。　Langdon　stared　down　at　the　meandering　swatch　of　black。
　Suddenly；　like　the　surging　crest　of　an　unexpected　wave；　hope　filled　him　again。
　With　almost　maniacal　vigor；　Langdon　yanked　down　hard　with　his　right　hand　on　the　canopy。　The　tarp　suddenly　flapped　louder；　billowing；　cutting　right　to　find　the　path　of　least　resistance。　Langdon　felt　himself　drifting　sideways。　He　pulled　again；　harder；　ignoring　the　pain　in　his　palm。　The　tarp　flared；　and　Langdon　sensed　his　body　sliding　laterally。　Not　much。　But　some！　He　looked　beneath　him　again；　to　the　sinuous　serpent　of　black。　It　was　off　to　the　right；　but　he　was　still　pretty　high。　Had　he　waited　too　long？　He　pulled　with　all　his　might　and　accepted　somehow　that　it　was　now　in　the　hands　of　God。　He　focused　hard　on　the　widest　part　of　the　serpent　and　。　。　。　for　the　first　time　in　his　life；　prayed　for　a　miracle。
　The　rest　was　a　blur。　
　The　darkness　rushing　up　beneath　him　。　。　。　the　diving　instincts　ing　back　。　。　。　the　reflexive　locking　of　his　spine　and　pointing　of　the　toes　。　。　。　the　inflating　of　his　lungs　to　protect　his　vital　organs　。　。　。　the　flexing　of　his　legs　into　a　battering　ram　。　。　。　and　finally　。　。　。　the　thankfulness　that　the　winding　Tiber　River　was　raging　。　。　。　making　its　waters　frothy　and　air…filled　。　。　。　and　three　times　softer　than　standing　water。　
　Then　there　was　impact　。　。　。　and　blackness。
　
　It　had　been　the　thundering　sound　of　the　flapping　canopy　that　drew　the　group's　eyes　away　from　the　fireball　in　the　sky。　The　sky　above　Rome　had　been　filled　with　sights　tonight　。　。　。　a　skyrocketing　helicopter；　an　enormous　explosion；　and　now　this　strange　object　that　had　plummeted　into　the　churning　waters　of　the　Tiber　River；　directly　off　the　shore　of　the　river's　tiny　island；　Isola　Tiberina。
　Ever　since　the　island　had　been　used　to　quarantine　the　sick　during　the　Roman　plague　of　A。D。　1656；　it　had　been　thought　to　have　mystic　healing　properties。　For　this　reason；　the　island　had　later　bee　the　site　for　Rome's　Hospital　Tiberina。
　The　body　was　battered　when　they　pulled　it　onto　shore。　The　man　still　had　a　faint　pulse；　which　was　amazing；　they　thought。　They　wondered　if　it　was　Isola　Tiberina's　mythical　reputation　for　healing　that　had　somehow　kept　his　heart　pumping。　Minutes　later；　when　the　man　began　coughing　and　slowly　regained　consciousness；　the　group　decided　the　island　must　indeed　be　magical。
　
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　Cardinal　Mortati　knew　there　were　no　words　in　any　language　that　could　have　added　to　the　mystery　of　this　moment。　The　silence　of　the　vision　over　St。　Peter's　Square　sang　louder　than　any　chorus　of　angels。
　As　he　stared　up　at　Camerlegno　Ventresca；　Mortati　felt　the　paralyzing　collision　of　his　heart　and　mind。　The　vision　seemed　real；　tangible。　And　yet　。　。　。　how　could　it　be？　Everyone　had　seen　the　camerlegno　get　in　the　helicopter。　They　had　all　witnessed　the　ball　of　light　in　the　sky。　And　now；　somehow；　the　camerlegno　stood　high　above　them　on　the　rooftop　terrace。　Transported　by　angels？　Reincarnated　by　the　hand　of　God？　
　This　is　impossible　。　。　。　
　Mortati's　heart　wanted　nothing　more　than　to　believe；　but　his　mind　cried　out　for　reason。　And　yet　all　around　him；　the　cardinals　stared　up；　obviously　seeing　what　he　was　seeing；　paralyzed　with　wonder。　
　It　was　the　camerlegno。　There　was　no　doubt。　But　he　looked　different　somehow。　Divine。　As　if　he　had　been　purified。　A　spirit？　A　man？　His　white　flesh　shone　in　the　spotlights　with　an　incorporeal　weightlessness。
　In　the　square　there　was　crying；　cheering；　spontaneous　applause。　A　group　of　nuns　fell　to　their　knees　and　wailed　saetas。　A　pulsing　grew　from　in　the　crowd。　Suddenly；　the　entire　square　was　chanting　the　camerlegno's　name。　The　cardinals；　some　with　tears　rolling　down　their　faces；　joined　in。　Mortati　looked　around　him　and　tried　to　prehend。　Is　this　really　happening？　
　
　Camerlegno　Carlo　Ventresca　stood　on　the　rooftop　terrace　of　St。　Peter's　Basilica　and　looked　down　over　the　multitudes　of　people　staring　up　at　him。　Was　he　awake　or　dreaming？　He　felt　transformed；　otherworldly。　He　wondered　if　it　was　his　body　or　just　his　spirit　that　had　floated　down　from　heaven　toward　the　soft；　darkened　expanse　of　the　Vatican　City　Gardens　。　。　。　alighting　like　a　silent　angel　on　the　deserted　lawns；　his　black　parachute　shrouded　from　the　madness　by　the　towering　shadow　of　St。　Peter's　Basilica。　He　wondered　if　it　was　his　body　or　his　spirit　that　had　possessed　the　strength　to　climb　the　ancient　Stairway　of　Medallions　to　the　rooftop　terrace　where　he　now　stood。　
　He　felt　as　light　as　a　ghost。
　Although　the　people　below　were　chanting　his　name；　he　knew　it　was　not　him　they　were　cheering。　They　were　cheering　from　impulsive　joy；　the　same　kind　of　joy　he　felt　every　day　of　his　life　as　he　pondered　the　Almighty。　They　were　experiencing　what　each　of　them　had　always　longed　for　。　。　。　an　assurance　of　the　beyond　。　。　。　a　substantiation　of　the　power　of　the　Creator。　
　Camerlegno　Ventresca　had　prayed　all　his　life　for　this　moment；　and　still；　even　he　could　not　fathom　that　God　had　found　a　way　to　make　it　manifest。　He　wanted　to　cry　out　to　them。　Your　God　is　a　living　God！　Behold　the　miracles　all　around　you！　
　He　stood　there　a　while；　numb　and　yet　feeling　more　than　he　had　ever　felt。　When；　at　last；　the　spirit　moved　him；　he　bowed　his　head　and　stepped　back　from　the　edge。
　Alone　now；　he　knelt　on　the　roof；　and　prayed。
　
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　The　images　around　him　blurred；　drifting　in　and　out。　Langdon's　eyes　slowly　began　to　focus。　His　legs　ached；　and　his　body　felt　like　it　had　been　run　over　by　a　truck。　He　was　lying　on　his　side　on　the　ground。　Something　stunk；　like　bile。　He　could　still　hear　the　incessant　sound　of　lapping　water。　It　no　longer　sounded　peaceful　to　him。　There　were　other　sounds　too…talking　close　around　him。　He　saw　blurry　white　forms。　Were　they　all　wearing　white？　Langdon　decided　he　was　either　in　an　asylum　or　heaven。　From　the　burning　in　his　throat；　Langdon　decided　it　could　not　be　heaven。
　〃He's　finished　vomiting；〃　one　man　said　in　Italian。　〃Turn　him。〃　The　voice　was　firm　and　professional。　
　Langdon　felt　hands　slowly　rolling　him　onto　his　back。　His　head　swam。　He　tried　to　sit　up；　but　the　hands　gently　forced　him　back　down。　His　body　submitted。　Then　Langdon　felt　someone　going　through　his　pockets；　removing　items。　
　Then　he　passed　out　cold。
　
　Dr。　Jacobus　was　not　a　religious　man；　the　science　of　medicine　had　bred　that　from　him　long　ago。　And　yet；　the　events　in　Vatican　City　tonight　had　put　his　systematic　logic　to　the　test。　Now　bodies　are　falling　from　the　sky？　
　Dr。　Jacobus　felt　the　pulse　of　the　bedraggled　man　they　had　just　pulled　from　the　Tiber　River。　The　doctor　decided　that　God　himself　had　hand…delivered　this　one　to　safety。　The　concussion　of　hitting　the　water　had　knocked　the　victim　unconscious；　and　if　it　had　not　been　for　Jacobus　and　his　crew　standing　out　on　the　shore　watching　the　spectacle　in　the　sky；　this　falling　soul　would　surely　have　gone　unnoticed　and　drowned。　
　〃Й　Americano；〃　a　nurse　said；　going　through　the　man's　wallet　after　they　pulled　him　to　dry　land。
　American？　Romans　often　joked　that　Americans　had　gotten　so　abundant　in　Rome　that　hamburgers　should　bee　the　official　Italian　food。　But　Americans　falling　from　the　sky？　Jacobus　flicked　a　penlight　in　the　man