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crude
Prigioni …
and then feeling his gaze dragged upward, inexorably, to the seventeen-foot-tall masterpiece. The
David
’s sheer enormity and defined musculature startled most first-time visitors, and yet for Langdon, it had been the genius of David’s pose that he found most captivating. Michelangelo had employed the classical tradition of
contrapposto
to create the illusion that David was leaning to his right, his left leg bearing almost no weight, when, in fact, his left leg was supporting tons of marble.
    The
David
had sparked in Langdon his first true appreciation for the power of great sculpture. Now Langdon wondered if he had visited the masterpiece during the last several days, but the only memory he could conjure was that of awakening in the hospital and watching an innocent doctor murdered before his eyes.
Very sorry. Very sorry
.
    The guilt he felt was almost nauseating.
What have I done?
    As he stood at the window, his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of a laptop computer sitting on the desk beside him. Whatever had happened to Langdon last night, he suddenly realized, might be in the news.
    If I can access the Internet, I might find answers
.
    Langdon turned toward the doorway and called out: “Sienna?!”
    Silence. She was still at the neighbor’s apartment looking for clothes.
    Having no doubt Sienna would understand the intrusion, Langdon opened the laptop and powered it up.
    Sienna’s home screen flickered to life—a standard Windows “blue cloud” background. Langdon immediately went to the Google Italia search page and typed in
Robert Langdon
.
    If my students could see me now
, he thought as he began the search. Langdon continually admonished his students for Googling themselves—a bizarre new pastime that reflected the obsession with personal celebrity that now seemed to possess American youth.
    A page of search results materialized—hundreds of hits pertaining to Langdon, his books, and his lectures.
Not what I’m looking for
.
    Langdon restricted the search by selecting the news button.
    A fresh page appeared:
News results for “Robert Langdon.”
    Book signings: Robert Langdon to appear …
    Graduation address by Robert Langdon …
    Robert Langdon publishes Symbol primer for …
    The list was several pages long, and yet Langdon saw nothing recent—certainly nothing that would explain his current predicament.
What happened last night?
Langdon pushed on, accessing the Web site for
The Florentine
, an English-language newspaper published in Florence. He scanned the headlines, breaking-news sections, and police blog, seeing articles on an apartment fire, a government embezzling scandal, and assorted incidents of petty crime.
    Anything at all?!
    He paused at a breaking-news blurb about a city official who, last night, had died of a heart attack in the plaza outside the cathedral. The official’s name had yet to be released, but no foul play was suspected.
    Finally, not knowing what else to do, Langdon logged on to his Harvard e-mail account and checked his messages, wondering if he might find answers there. All he found was the usual stream of mail from colleagues, students, and friends, much of it referencing appointments for the coming week.
    It’s as if nobody knows I’m gone
.
    With rising uncertainty, Langdon shut down the computer and closed the lid. He was about to leave when something caught his eye. On the corner of Sienna’s desk, atop a stack of old medical journals and papers, sat a Polaroid photograph. The snapshot was of Sienna Brooks and her bearded doctor colleague, laughing together in a hospital hallway.
    Dr. Marconi
, Langdon thought, racked with guilt as he picked up the photo and studied it.
    As Langdon replaced the photo on the stack of books, he noticed with surprise the yellow booklet on top—a tattered playbill from the London Globe Theatre. According to the cover, it was for a production of Shakespeare’s
A Midsummer Night’s Dream …
staged nearly