Dan Brown: Inferno: A Novel

Sinskey smacked her hand down on the desk. “She destroyed the one thing that could help us prepare for this crisis? And you want me to trust her?”

“I know it’s asking a lot, in light of her actions, but rather than castigating her, it might be helpful to remember that Sienna has a unique intellect, including a rather startling capacity for recall.” Langdon paused. “What if she can re-create enough of Zobrist’s letter to be helpful to you?”

Sinskey narrowed her gaze, nodding slightly. “Well, Professor, in that case, what do you suggest I do?”

Langdon motioned to her empty coffee cup. “I suggest you order more coffee … and listen to the one condition that Sienna has requested.”

Sinskey’s pulse quickened, and she glanced at the phone. “You know how to reach her?”

“I do.”

“Tell me what she requested.”

Langdon told her, and Sinskey fell silent, considering the proposal.

“I think it’s the right thing to do,” Langdon added. “And what do you have to lose?”

“If everything you’re saying is true, then you have my word.” Sinskey pushed the phone toward him. “Please make the call.”

To Sinskey’s surprise, Langdon ignored the phone. Instead, he stood up and headed out the door, stating that he would be back in a minute. Puzzled, Sinskey walked into the hall and observed him striding through the consulate’s waiting area, pushing open the glass doors, and exiting into the elevator foyer beyond. For a moment, she thought he was leaving, but then, rather than summoning the elevator, he slipped quietly into the women’s restroom.

A few moments later, he emerged with a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. Sinskey needed a long moment to accept the fact that this was truly Sienna Brooks. The pretty ponytailed woman she had seen earlier in the day had been utterly transformed. She was totally bald, as if her scalp had been shaved clean.

When the two entered her office, they silently took seats facing the desk.

“Forgive me,” Sienna said quickly. “I know we have a lot to discuss, but first, I was hoping you would permit me to say something that I really need to say.”

Sinskey noted the sadness in Sienna’s voice. “Of course.”

“Ma’am,” she began, her voice frail, “you are the director of the World Health Organization. You know better than anyone that we are a species on the edge of collapse … a population out of control. For years, Bertrand Zobrist attempted to engage with influential people like yourself to discuss the impending crisis. He visited countless organizations that he believed could effect change—Worldwatch Institute, the Club of Rome, Population Matters, the Council on Foreign Relations—but he never found anyone who dared engage in a meaningful conversation about a real solution. You all responded with plans for better contraceptive education, tax incentives for smaller families, and even talk of colonizing the moon! It’s no wonder Bertrand lost his mind.”

Sinskey stared at her, offering no reaction.

Sienna took a deep breath. “Dr. Sinskey, Bertrand came to you personally. He begged you to acknowledge that we are on the brink … begged you to engage in some kind of dialogue. But rather than listening to his ideas, you called him a madman, put him on a watch list, and drove him underground.” Sienna’s voice grew heavy with emotion. “Bertrand died all alone because people like yourself refused to open your minds enough even to admit that our catastrophic circumstances might actually require an uncomfortable solution. All Bertrand ever did was speak the truth … and for that, he was ostracized.” Sienna wiped her eyes and gazed across the desk at Sinskey. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to feel all alone … the worst kind of loneliness in the world is the isolation that comes from being misunderstood. It can make people lose their grasp on reality.”

Sienna stopped talking, and a strained silence followed.

“That’s all I wanted to say,” she whispered.

Sinskey studied her for a long while and then sat down. “Ms. Brooks,” she said, as calmly as possible, “you’re right. I may not have listened before …” She folded her hands on the desk and looked directly at Sienna. “But I’m listening now.”

CHAPTER 102

The clock in the Swiss Consulate’s lobby had long since chimed 1 A.M.

The notepad on Sinskey’s desk was now a patchwork of handwritten text, questions, and diagrams. The director of the World Health Organization had neither moved nor spoken in more than five minutes. She stood at the window, staring out into the night.

Behind her, Langdon and Sienna waited, seated in silence, cradling the last of their Turkish coffee, the heavy aroma of its pulverized grounds and pistachio grains filling the room.

The only sound was the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.

Sienna could feel her own heart pounding, and she wondered what Sinskey was thinking, having now heard the truth in brutal detail. Bertrand’s virus is a sterility plague. One third of the human population will be infertile .

Throughout the explanation, Sienna had watched Sinskey’s range of emotions, which, while restrained, had been palpable. First, there was a stunned acceptance of the fact that Zobrist had actually created an airborne vector virus. Next she had displayed fleeting hope when she learned that the virus was not designed to kill people. Then … slowly, there had been the spiraling horror as the truth set in, and she realized that vast portions of the earth’s population would be rendered sterile. It was clear that the revelation that the virus attacked human fertility affected Sinskey on a deeply personal level.

In Sienna’s case, the overwhelming emotion was relief. She had shared the complete contents of Bertrand’s letter with the WHO director. I have no more secrets .

“Elizabeth?” Langdon ventured.

Sinskey emerged slowly from her thoughts. When she returned her gaze to them, her face was drawn. “Sienna,” she began, speaking in a flat tone, “the information you have provided will be very helpful in preparing a strategy to deal with this crisis. I appreciate your candor. As you know, pandemic vector viruses have been discussed theoretically as a possible way to immunize large populations, but everyone believed that the technology was still many years away.”

Sinskey returned to her desk, where she sat down.

“Forgive me,” she said, shaking her head. “This all feels like science fiction to me at the moment.”

Not surprising , Sienna thought. Every quantum leap in medicine had always felt this way—penicillin, anesthesia, X-rays, the first time humans looked through a microscope and saw a cell divide.

Dr. Sinskey gazed down at her notepad. “In a few hours, I will arrive in Geneva to a firestorm of questions. I have no doubt that the first question will be whether there is any way to counteract this virus.”

Sienna suspected she was right.

“And,” Sinskey continued, “I imagine the first proposed solution will be to analyze Bertrand’s virus, understand it as best as we can, and then attempt to engineer a second strain of it—a strain that we reprogram in order to change our DNA back to its original form.” Sinskey did not look optimistic as she turned her gaze to Sienna. “Whether a countervirus is even possible remains to be seen, but hypothetically speaking, I’d like to hear your thoughts on that approach.”

My thoughts? Sienna felt herself glance reflexively at Langdon. The professor gave her a nod, sending a very clear message: You’ve come this far. Speak your mind. Tell the truth as you see it .