She listened, and her face clouded with disbelief. “And your caller ID confirms-” Sylvie was frowning. “I see. Okay. Can you ask what the-” She sighed. “No. That’s fine. Tell him to hold. I’ll locate the director right away. Yes, I understand. I’ll hurry.”
But Sylvie had not been able to find the director. She had called his cell line three times and each time gotten the same message: “The mobile customer you are trying to reach is out of range.” Out of range? How far could he go? So Sylvie had dialed Kohler’s beeper. Twice. No response. Most unlike him. She’d even E-mailed his mobile computer. Nothing. It was like the man had disappeared off the face of the earth.
So what do I do? she now wondered.
Short of searching CERN’s entire complex herself, Sylvie knew there was only one other way to get the director’s attention. He would not be pleased, but the man on the phone was not someone the director should keep waiting. Nor did it sound like the caller was in any mood to be told the director was unavailable.
Startled with her own boldness, Sylvie made her decision. She walked into Kohler’s office and went to the metal box on his wall behind his desk. She opened the cover, stared at the controls, and found the correct button.
Then she took a deep breath and grabbed the microphone.
29
Vittoria did not remember how they had gotten to the main elevator, but they were there. Ascending. Kohler was behind her, his breathing labored now. Langdon’s concerned gaze passed through her like a ghost. He had taken the fax from her hand and slipped it in his jacket pocket away from her sight, but the image was still burned into her memory.
As the elevator climbed, Vittoria’s world swirled into darkness. Papa! In her mind she reached for him. For just a moment, in the oasis of her memory, Vittoria was with him. She was nine years old, rolling down hills of edelweiss flowers, the Swiss sky spinning overhead.
Papa! Papa!
Leonardo Vetra was laughing beside her, beaming. “What is it, angel?”
“Papa!” she giggled, nuzzling close to him. “Ask me what’s the matter!”
“But you look happy, sweetie. Why would I ask you what’s the matter?”
“Just ask me.”
He shrugged. “What’s the matter?”
She immediately started laughing. “What’s the matter? Everything is the matter! Rocks! Trees! Atoms! Even anteaters! Everything is the matter!”
He laughed. “Did you make that up?”
“Pretty smart, huh?”
“My little Einstein.”
She frowned. “He has stupid hair. I saw his picture.”
“He’s got a smart head, though. I told you what he proved, right?”
Her eyes widened with dread. “Dad! No! You promised!”
“E=MC2!” He tickled her playfully. “E=MC2!”
“No math! I told you! I hate it!”
“I’m glad you hate it. Because girls aren’t even allowed to do math.”
Vittoria stopped short. “They aren’t?”
“Of course not. Everyone knows that. Girls play with dollies. Boys do math. No math for girls. I’m not even permitted to talk to little girls about math.”
“What! But that’s not fair!”
“Rules are rules. Absolutely no math for little girls.”
Vittoria looked horrified. “But dolls are boring!”
“I’m sorry,” her father said. “I could tell you about math, but if I got caught . . .” He looked nervously around the deserted hills.
Vittoria followed his gaze. “Okay,” she whispered, “just tell me quietly.”
The motion of the elevator startled her. Vittoria opened her eyes. He was gone.
Reality rushed in, wrapping a frosty grip around her. She looked to Langdon. The earnest concern in his gaze felt like the warmth of a guardian angel, especially in the aura of Kohler’s chill.
A single sentient thought began pounding at Vittoria with unrelenting force.
Where is the antimatter?