Langdon sat tentatively on a frost-covered chair.

Kohler moved his wheelchair closer. "I am not sure I understand everything you have just told me, but I do understand this. Leonardo Vetra was one of CERN’s greatest assets. He was also a friend. I need you to help me locate the Illuminati."

Langdon didn’t know how to respond. "Locate the Illuminati?" He’s kidding, right? "I’m afraid, sir, that will be utterly impossible."

Kohler’s brow creased. "What do you mean? You won’t—"

"Mr. Kohler." Langdon leaned toward his host, uncertain how to make him understand what he was about to say. "I did not finish my story. Despite appearances, it is extremely unlikely that this brand was put here by the Illuminati. There has been no evidence of their existence for over half a century, and most scholars agree the Illuminati have been defunct for many years."

The words hit silence. Kohler stared through the fog with a look somewhere between stupefaction and anger. "How the hell can you tell me this group is extinct when their name is seared into this man!"

Langdon had been asking himself that question all morning. The appearance of the Illuminati ambigram was astonishing. Symbologists worldwide would be dazzled. And yet, the academic in Langdon understood that the brand’s reemergence proved absolutely nothing about the Illuminati.

"Symbols," Langdon said, "in no way confirm the presence of their original creators."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that when organized philosophies like the Illuminati go out of existence, their symbols remain… available for adoption by other groups. It’s called transference. It’s very common in symbology. The Nazis took the swastika from the Hindus, the Christians adopted the cruciform from the Egyptians, the—"