Origin

“Winston … is that image live?” Ambra asked.

“Yes, live feed from our exterior security cameras. I thought you should know. They arrived several seconds ago.”

The display screens showed a fish-eye view of the chapel’s main entrance, where a small army of police had assembled, pressing the call button, trying the door, talking on radios.

“Don’t worry,” Winston assured them, “they will never get in. And we’re less than four minutes until launch.”

“We should launch right now,” Ambra urged.

Winston replied evenly. “I believe Edmond would prefer that we wait and launch at the top of the hour, as promised. He was a man of his word. Moreover, I am monitoring our global viewer engagement, and our audience is still growing. In the next four minutes, at the current rate, our audience will increase by 12.7 percent, and, I predict, approach maximum penetration.” Winston paused, sounding almost pleasantly surprised. “I must say, despite all that has transpired this evening, it appears Edmond’s release will be optimally timed. I think he would be deeply grateful to both of you.”

CHAPTER 88

UNDER FOUR MINUTES, Langdon thought, lowering himself into Edmond’s mesh desk chair and turning his eyes to the three huge LCD panels that dominated this end of the room. On-screen, the live security feeds still played, showing police gathering around the chapel.

“You’re sure they can’t get in?” Ambra urged, shifting anxiously behind Langdon.

“Trust me,” Winston replied. “Edmond took security very seriously.”

“And if they cut power to the building?” Langdon ventured.

“Isolated power supply,” Winston replied flatly. “Redundant buried trunks. Nobody can interfere at this point. I assure you.”

Langdon let it go. Winston has been correct on all fronts tonight … And he’s had our backs the whole way.

Settling in at the center of the horseshoe-shaped desk, Langdon turned his attention to the unusual keyboard before him. It had at least twice the normal number of keys—traditional alphanumerics augmented by an array of symbols that even he didn’t recognize. The keyboard was split down the middle, each half ergonomically angled away from the other.

“Some guidance here?” Langdon asked, staring at the bewildering array of keys.

“Wrong keyboard,” Winston replied. “That’s E-Wave’s main access point. As I mentioned, Edmond kept this presentation hidden from everyone, including me. The presentation must be triggered from a different machine. Slide to your right. All the way to the end.”

Langdon glanced to his right, where a half-dozen freestanding computers were aligned along the length of the desk. As he rolled toward them, he was surprised to see that the first few machines were quite old and outdated. Strangely, the farther he rolled, the older the machines seemed to get.

This can’t be right, he thought, passing a clunky-looking, beige IBM DOS system that had to be decades old. “Winston, what are these machines?”

“Edmond’s childhood computers,” Winston said. “He kept them as a reminder of his roots. Sometimes, on difficult days here, he would power them up and run old programs—a way to reconnect with the wonder he felt as a boy when he discovered programming.”

“I love that idea,” Langdon said.

“Just like your Mickey Mouse watch,” Winston said.

Startled, Langdon glanced down, pulling back the sleeve of his suit jacket to reveal the antique timepiece he had worn since he had received it as a boy. That Winston knew about his watch was surprising, although Langdon recalled telling Edmond recently about wearing it as a reminder to stay young at heart.

“Robert,” Ambra said, “your fashion sense aside, could we please enter the password? Even your mouse is waving—trying to get your attention.”

Sure enough, Mickey’s gloved hand was high over his head, his index finger pointing almost straight up. Three minutes till the hour.

Langdon quickly slid along the desk, and Ambra joined him at the last computer in the series—an ungainly, mushroom-colored box with a floppy-disk slot, a 1,200-baud telephone modem, and a bulbous twelve-inch convex monitor sitting on top.

“Tandy TRS-80,” Winston said. “Edmond’s first machine. He bought it used and taught himself BASIC when he was about eight years old.”

Langdon was happy to see that this computer, despite being a dinosaur, was already turned on and waiting. Its screen—a flickering black-and-white display—glowed with a promising message, spelled out in a jagged bitmapped font.

WELCOME, EDMOND.

PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD:

After the word “password,” a black cursor blinked expectantly.

“That’s it?” Langdon asked, feeling somehow like it was all too simple. “I just enter it here?”