Angels and Demons by Dan Brown PDF Download

Angels and Demons by Dan Brown PDF Download

Angels and Demons by Dan Brown PDF Download

Angels & Demons is a 2000 bestselling mystery-thriller novel written by American author Dan Brown and published by Pocket Books and then by Corgi Books. When world-renowned Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon is summoned to a Swiss research facility to analyze a mysterious symbol — seared into the chest of a murdered physicist — he discovers evidence of the unimaginable: the resurgence of an ancient secret brotherhood known as the Illuminati… the most powerful underground organization ever to walk the earth. The Illuminati has surfaced from the shadows to carry out the final phase of its legendary vendetta against its most hated enemy… the Catholic Church. Langdon’s worst fears are confirmed on the eve of the Vatican’s holy conclave, when a messenger of the Illuminati announces he has hidden an unstoppable time bomb at the very heart of Vatican City. With the countdown under way, Langdon jets to Rome to join forces with Vittoria Vetra, a beautiful and mysterious Italian scientist, to assist the Vatican in a desperate bid for survival. Embarking on a frantic hunt through sealed crypts, dangerous catacombs, deserted cathedrals, and even to the heart of the most secretive vault on earth, Langdon and Vetra follow a 400-year old trail of ancient symbols that snakes across Rome toward the long-forgotten Illuminati lair… a secret location that contains the only hope for Vatican salvation. An explosive international thriller, Angels & Demons careens from enlightening epiphanies to dark truths as the battle between science and religion turns to war…

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Here are first few pages of Angels and Demons by Dan Brown :

have married a younger man!” Her smile was
t reach
d an old
ace. Then
at resounded across the desert.
awoke with a start from his nightmare. The phone beside his bed was
bed and tried to clear his mind. “This . . . is Robert
A.M.
1
H igh atop the steps of the Pyramid of Giza a young woman laughed and called down
to him. “Robert, hurry up! I knew I should
magic.
He struggled to keep up, but his legs felt like stone. “Wait,” he begged. “Please . . .”
As he climbed, his vision began to blur. There was a thundering in his ears. I mus
her! But when he looked up again, the woman had disappeared. In her place stoo
man with rotting teeth. The man stared down, curling his lips into a lonely grim
he let out a scream of anguish th
Robert Langdon
ringing. Dazed, he picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“I’m looking for Robert Langdon,” a man’s voice said.
Langdon sat up in his empty
Langdon.” He squinted at his digital clock. It was 5:18
“I must see you immediately.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Maximilian Kohler. I’m a discrete particle physicist.”
“A what?” Langdon could barely focus. “Are you sure you’ve got the right Langdon?” “You’re a professor of religious iconology at Harvard University. You’ve written thr
books on symbology an
ee
d-”
n’t discuss it on the phone.”
s of
was the calls from religious zealots who wanted
Oklahoma had
wn and verify the authenticity
ts. The Shroud of Tulsa,
be polite, despite the hour.
umber. The man was obviously lying.
s no use. The
me
ritual insomnia remedy-a mug of steaming Nestlé’s Quik. The April moon
Maharishi’s chest and savored the warmth of the chocolate,
ppeal-wisps of gray in his thick
“Do you know what time it is?”
“I apologize. I have something you need to see. I ca
A knowing groan escaped Langdon’s lips. This had happened before. One of the peril
writing books about religious symbology
him to confirm their latest sign from God. Last month a stripper from
promised Langdon the best sex of his life if he would fly do
of a cruciform that had magically appeared on her bed shee
Langdon had called it.
“How did you get my number?” Langdon tried to
“On the Worldwide Web. The site for your book.”
Langdon frowned. He was damn sure his book’s site did not include his home phone
n
“I need to see you,” the caller insisted. “I’ll pay you well.”
Now Langdon was getting mad. “I’m sorry, but I really-”
“If you leave immediately, you can be here by-”
“I’m not going anywhere! It’s five o’clock in the morning!” Langdon hung up and
collapsed back in bed. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. It wa
dream was emblazoned in his mind. Reluctantly, he put on his robe and went downstairs.
Robert Langdon wandered barefoot through his deserted Massachusetts Victorian ho
and nursed his
filtered through the bay windows and played on the oriental carpets. Langdon’s
colleagues often joked that his place looked more like an anthropology museum than a
home. His shelves were packed with religious artifacts from around the world-an ekuaba
from Ghana, a gold cross from Spain, a cycladic idol from the Aegean, and even a rare
woven boccus from Borneo, a young warrior’s symbol of perpetual youth.
As Langdon sat on his brass
the bay window caught his reflection. The image was distorted and pale . . . like a ghost.
An aging ghost, he thought, cruelly reminded that his youthful spirit was living in a
mortal shell.
Although not overly handsome in a classical sense, the forty-five-year-old Langdon had
what his female colleagues referred to as an “erudite” a
brown hair, probing blue eyes, an arrestingly deep voice, and the strong, carefree smile of
a collegiate athlete. A varsity diver in prep school and college, Langdon still had the body
of a swimmer, a toned, six-foot physique that he vigilantly maintained with fifty laps a day in the university pool.
Langdon’s friends had always viewed him as a bit of an enigma-a man caught between
centuries. On weekends he could be seen lounging on the quad in blue jeans, discussing
n
een asked to lecture.
t
of good clean fun.” He relished recreation with an infectious
g into the darkness, the silence of his home was
pty mug to the kitchen and walked slowly to his oak-paneled
study. The incoming fax lay in the tray. Sighing, he scooped up the paper and looked at
.
,
ly backward. On the victim’s chest was a
computer graphics or religious history with students; other times he could be spotted i
his Harris tweed and paisley vest, photographed in the pages of upscale art magazines at
museum openings where he had b
Although a tough teacher and strict disciplinarian, Langdon was the first to embrace wha
he hailed as the “lost art
fanaticism that had earned him a fraternal acceptance among his students. His campus
nickname-“The Dolphin”-was a reference both to his affable nature and his legendary
ability to dive into a pool and outmaneuver the entire opposing squad in a water polo
match.
As Langdon sat alone, absently gazin
shattered again, this time by the ring of his fax machine. Too exhausted to be annoyed,
Langdon forced a tired chuckle.
God’s people, he thought. Two thousand years of waiting for their Messiah, and they’re
still persistent as hell.
Wearily, he returned his em
it
Instantly, a wave of nausea hit him.
The image on the page was that of a human corpse. The body had been stripped naked
and its head had been twisted, facing complete
terrible burn. The man had been branded . . . imprinted with a single word. It was a word
Langdon knew well. Very well. He stared at the ornate lettering in disbelief.


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