{"product_id":"the-secret-of-secrets-isbn-9780385546898","title":"The Secret of Secrets","description":"\u003cb\u003eINSTANT #1 \u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES\u003c\/i\u003e BESTSELLER • THE NEW ROBERT LANGDON THRILLER FROM THE ICONIC AUTHOR OF \u003ci\u003eTHE DA VINCI CODE\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A master of the brainy, twisty thriller. . . . \u003ci\u003eThe Secret of Secrets\u003c\/i\u003e is perhaps his most ambitious undertaking yet: a dense thriller that is also a meditation on the nature, and the possible future, of human consciousness.”—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“So riveting you’ll want to clear your calendar.”—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e Robert Langdon, esteemed professor of symbology, has traveled to Prague to attend a groundbreaking lecture by Katherine Solomon—a prominent noetic scientist with whom he has recently begun a romantic relationship. Katherine is on the verge of publishing a breakthrough book that contains explosive scientific discoveries about the nature of human consciousness . . . revelations that threaten to disrupt centuries of established belief. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen a brutal murder catapults the trip into chaos, Katherine suddenly goes missing—and her manuscript disappears. Desperate to find the woman he loves, Langdon embarks on a thrilling race through the mystical landscape of Prague, ruthlessly hunted by a powerful organization and a chilling assailant sprung from the city’s ancient mythology. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the action expands to London and New York, Langdon plunges into the dual worlds of futuristic science and historical lore—navigating a labyrinth of codes and symbols . . . and finally uncovering a shocking truth about a secret project that will forever change the way we think about the human mind. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLook for more Robert Langdon novels:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Da Vinci Code\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Lost Symbol\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eInferno\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eOrigin\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Intellectual fuel. . . . [\u003ci\u003eThe Secret of Secrets\u003c\/i\u003e is] a wistful testament to the power of the printed word.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Like so many things that are insanely popular. . . . Brown’s thrillers look easy to imitate but aren’t. He shatters dramatic moments into shiny, irresistible shards. . . . Dan Brown clearly had fun writing his new book. It’s contagious.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A master of the brainy, twisty thriller. . . . [Dan Brown's] novels move with kinetic energy, his plots are intricate puzzles shrouded in religious iconography [and] ancient cryptography.\u003ci\u003e The Secret of Secrets \u003c\/i\u003eis perhaps his most ambitious undertaking yet: a dense thriller that is also a meditation on the nature, and the possible future, of human consciousness.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cu\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e“A new Dan Brown book has the ability to make you happy about inclement fall weather so you have an excuse to just stay home and read. . . . The story is so riveting you’ll want to clear your calendar.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Brown’s talent for assembling research is also evident in this novel’s alter ego as a guidebook to Prague, whose history and attractions are described in great and glowing detail. . . . There’s no shortage of action, derring-do, explosions, high-tech torture machines, attempted and successful murders, and opportunities for split-second, last-minute escapes. . . . A standout in the series.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cu\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePraise for Dan Brown\u003c\/u\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Dan Brown is the master of the intellectual cliffhanger.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Brown is a master of the breathless, puzzle-driven thriller.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eRichmond Times-Dispatch\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eDan Brown is the author of eight #1 bestselling novels, including \u003ci\u003eThe Da Vinci Code\u003c\/i\u003e, which has become one of the bestselling books of all time, as well as \u003ci\u003eOrigin\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eInferno\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Lost Symbol\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eAngels \u0026amp; Demons\u003c\/i\u003e. His thrillers have captivated readers worldwide and been the subject of intellectual debate and speculation. He is also the author of the bestselling children’s book \u003ci\u003eWild Symphony\u003c\/i\u003e. Brown’s novels are published in 56 languages internationally, with over 250 million copies in print.Prologue \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI must have died\u003c\/i\u003e, the woman thought.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was drifting high above the spires of the old city. Beneath her, the illuminated towers of St. Vitus Cathedral glowed on a sea of twinkling lights. With her eyes, if she still had eyes, she traced the gentle slope of Castle Hill down into the heart of the Bohemian capital, following the labyrinth of winding streets that lay shrouded in a fresh blanket of snow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ePrague.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDisoriented, she strained to make sense of her predicament.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI am a neuroscientist\u003c\/i\u003e, she reassured herself.\u003ci\u003e I am of sound mind.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat second statement, she decided, was questionable.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe only thing Dr. Brigita Gessner knew for certain at the moment was that she was suspended over her home city of Prague. Her body was not with her. She was without mass and without form. And yet the rest of her, the real her—her essence, her consciousness seemed to be quite intact and alert, floating slowly through the air in the direction of the Vitava River.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGessner could recall nothing from her recent past except a faint memory of physical pain, but her body now seemed to consist only of the atmosphere through which she was floating.\u003cbr\u003eThe sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Against her every intellectual instinct, Gessner could find only one explanation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI have died. This is the afterlife.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEven as the notion materialized, she rejected it as absurd.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe afterlife is a shared delusion... created to make our actual life bearable.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs a physician, Gessner was intimately familiar with death, and also with its finality. In medical school, while dissecting human brains, Gessner came to understand that all those personal attributes that made us who we are-our hopes, fears, dreams, memories-were nothing but chemical compounds held in suspension by electrical charges in our brains. When a person died, the brain's power source was severed, and all of those chemicals simply dissolved into a meaningless puddle of liquid, erasing every last trace of who that person had once been.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhen you die, you die.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eFull stop.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow, however, as she drifted over the symmetrical gardens of Wallenstein Palace, she felt very much alive. She watched the snow falling around her—or \u003ci\u003ethrough\u003c\/i\u003e her?—-and oddly, she sensed no cold at all. It was as if her mind were simply hovering in space, with all reason and logic intact.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI have brain function\u003c\/i\u003e, she told herself. \u003ci\u003eSo I must be alive.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll Gessner could conclude was that she was now in the throes of what medical literature termed an OBE-out-of-body experience, a hallucination that occurred when critically injured patients were resuscitated after clinically dying.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOBEs almost always presented in the same manner-—the perception that one's mind had been temporarily separated from its physical body, floating upward and hovering without form.\u003cbr\u003eDespite feeling like real experiences, OBEs were nothing but imagined journeys, usually triggered by the effects of extreme stress and hypoxia on the brain, sometimes in conjunction with emergency room anesthetics like ketamine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI am hallucinating these images\u003c\/i\u003e, Gessner assured herself, gazing down at the dark curve of the Vltava River snaking through the city.\u003ci\u003e But if this is an OBE... then I must be in the process of dying.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSurprised by her own calm, Gessner tried to remember what had happened to her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI am a healthy forty-nine-year-old woman... Why would I be dying?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn a blinding flash, a frightening memory materialized in Gessner's consciousness. She now realized where her physical body was lying at this very instant... and, even more terrifying, what was being done to her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was on her back, tightly strapped into a machine she herself had created. A monster stood over her. The creature looked like some kind of primordial man who had crawled out of the earth. His face and hairless skull were coated with a thick layer of filthy clay, cracked and fractured like the surface of the moon. Only his hate-filled eyes were visible behind his earthen mask. Crudely etched across his forehead were three letters in an ancient language.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Why are you doing this?!\" Gessner had screamed in panic. \"Who are you?!\" \u003ci\u003eWhat are you?!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I am her protector,\" the monster replied. His voice was hollow, his accent vaguely Slavic. \"She trusted you... and you betrayed her.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Who?!\" Gessner demanded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe monster spoke a woman's name, and Gessner felt a stab of panic. \u003ci\u003eHow can he possibly know what I have done?!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn icy weight materialized in her arms, and Gessner realized the monster had started the process. An instant later, an unbearable pinpoint of pain blossomed in her left arm, spreading along her median cubital vein, clawing its way sharply toward her shoulder. \"Please, stop,\" she gasped.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Tell me everything,\" he demanded as the excruciating sensation reached her armpit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I will!\" Gessner frantically agreed, and the monster paused the machine, halting the pain at her shoulder, though the intense burning remained.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRacked with terror, Gessner spoke as quickly as she could through clenched teeth, frantically revealing the secrets she had vowed to keep. She answered his questions, divulging the disturbing truth about what she and her partners had created deep beneath the city of Prague.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe monster stared down at her from behind his thick clay mask, his cold eyes flashing with comprehension ... and hatred.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You've built an underground house of horrors,\" he whispered. \"You all deserve to die.\" Without hesitation, he turned the machine back on and headed for the door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No...!\" she shrieked as the agony seized her anew, surging through her shoulder and into her chest. \"Please don't leave … This will kill me!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes,\" he said over his shoulder. \"But death is not the end. I have died many times.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith that, the monster evaporated, and Gessner was suddenly hovering again. She tried to shout an appeal for mercy, but her voice was muted by a deafening thunderclap as the sky above her seemed to open wide. She felt herself gripped by an unseen force—a kind of reverse gravity-lifting her higher, dragging her upward.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor years, Dr. Brigita Gessner had derided her patients' claims of returning from the brink of death. Now she found herself praying that she could join the ranks of those rare souls who had danced to the edge of oblivion, peered into the abyss, and somehow stepped back from the precipice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI can't die. I have to warn the others!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut she knew it was too late.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis life was over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRobert Langdon awoke peacefully, enjoying the gentle strains of classical music from his phone's alarm on the bedside table. Grieg's \"Morning Mood\" was probably an obvious choice, but he had always considered it the perfect four minutes of music to start his day. As the woodwinds swelled, Langdon savored the uncertainty of not being able to recall quite where he was.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAh yes\u003c\/i\u003e, he remembered, smiling to himself. \u003ci\u003eThe City of a Hundred Spires\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the dim light, Langdon surveyed the room's massive arched window, flanked by an antique Edwardian dresser and an alabaster lamp. The plush, hand-knotted carpet was still scattered with rose petals from last night's turndown service.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLangdon had come to Prague three days earlier and, as he had on previous visits, checked into the Four Seasons Hotel. When the manager insisted on upgrading Langdon's reservation to the three-bedroom Royal Suite, he wondered if it was due to his own brand loyalty or, more likely, to the prominence of the woman with whom he was traveling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Our most celebrated guests deserve our most celebrated accommodation,\" the manager had \u003cbr\u003einsisted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe suite included three separate bedrooms with en suite baths, a living room, a dining room, a grand piano, and a central bay window with a lavish arrangement of red, white, and blue tulips, a welcome gift from the U.S. embassy. Langdon's private dressing room offered a pair of brushed wool slippers monogrammed with the initials RL. \u003ci\u003eSomething tells me that's not Ralph Lauren\u003c\/i\u003e, he thought, impressed by the personalized touch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow, as he luxuriated in bed and listened to the music from his alarm, he felt a tender hand touch his shoulder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Robert?\" a soft voice whispered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLangdon rolled over and felt his pulse quicken. She was there, smiling at him, her smoky gray eyes still half-asleep, her long black hair tousled around her shoulders.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Good morning, beautiful,\" he replied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe reached over and stroked his cheek, the scent of Balade Sauvage still on her wrists.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLangdon admired the elegance of her features. Despite being four years older than Langdon, she was more stunning every time he saw her—the deepening laugh lines, the faint wisps of gray in her dark hair, her playful eyes, and that mesmerizing intellect.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLangdon had known this remarkable woman since his days at Princeton, where she was a young assistant professor while he was an undergrad. His quiet schoolboy crush on her had gone either unnoticed or unrequited, but they'd enjoyed a flirta-tious, platonic friendship ever since. Even after her professional career skyrocketed, and Langdon became a high-profile professor known throughout the world, the two of them had kept in casual contact.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eTiming is everything\u003c\/i\u003e, Langdon now realized, still marveling at how quickly they had fallen for each other during this spontaneous business trip.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs \"Morning Mood\" crescendoed into the full orchestration of the theme, he pulled her close with a strong arm, and she nuzzled into his chest. \"Sleep okay?\" he whispered. \"No more bad dreams?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe shook her head and sighed. \"I'm so embarrassed. That was awful.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEarlier in the night, she had awoken in terror from an exceptionally vivid nightmare, and Langdon had needed to comfort her for nearly an hour before she could get back to sleep. The dream's unusual intensity, Langdon assured her, had been the result of her ill-advised nightcap of Bohemian absinthe, which Langdon had always believed should be served with a disclaimer:\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ePopular during the Belle Epoque for its hallucinogenic properties\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Never again,\" she assured him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLangdon reached over and turned off the music. \"Close your eyes. I'll be back in time for breakfast.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Stay with me,\" she teased, holding him. \"You can skip one day of swimming.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Not if you want me to remain a chiseled younger man,\" he said, sitting up with a lopsided grin. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEach morning, Langdon had jogged the three kilometers to Strahov Swimming Center for his morning laps.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's dark out,\" she pressed. \"Can't you just swim here?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"In the\u003ci\u003e hotel\u003c\/i\u003e pool?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Why not? It's water.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's tiny. Two strokes and I'm finished.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"There's a joke there, Robert, but I'll be kind.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLangdon smiled. \"Funny girl. Go back to sleep, and I'll meet you for breakfast.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe pouted, threw a pillow at him, and rolled over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLangdon donned his faculty-issue Harvard sweats and headed for the door, choosing to take the stairs rather than the suite's cramped private elevator.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDownstairs, he strode through the elegant hallway that connected the hotel's Baroque riverfront annex with the building's lobby. Along the way, he passed an elegant display case marked PRAGUE HAPPENINGS, featuring a series of framed posters announcing this week's concerts, tours, and lectures.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe glossy poster at the center made him smile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCHARLES UNIVERSITY LECTURE SERIES\u003cbr\u003eWELCOMES TO PRAGUE CASTLE \u003cbr\u003eINTERNATIONALLY ACCLAIMED\u003cbr\u003eNOETIC SCIENTIST\u003cbr\u003eDR. KATHERINE SOLOMON\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eGood morning, beautiful\u003c\/i\u003e, he mused, admiring the headshot of the woman he had just kissed upstairs.","brand":"Doubleday","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233740861669,"sku":"NP9780385546898","price":38.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780385546898.jpg?v=1767741419","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-secret-of-secrets-isbn-9780385546898","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}