--- on a television monitor in st. peter's square. the reporter, a japanese woman, is giving a stand-up report on the progress so far, gesturing to the chimney over the sistine chapel.
st. peter's has been cleared out, the throng moved to barricades at its edges so that the crime scene can be properly investigated. flashbulbs pop everywhere.
st. peter's square is even more crowded than before. another move down the row of international television reporters, but this one's about twice as fast as the last one.
the square is more crowded than ever, and now the helicopter. chartrand called swoops in low overhead as vatican police frantically try to clear a landing area.
in st. peter's square, the helicopter that was brought in for the camerlengo waits, propellers spinning.
-- the helicopter lifts off.
the crowd falls silent, all eyes turning upward, watching the helicopter recede into the clouds.
all eyes are upturned, all voices have fallen still, watching as the helicopter's anti-collision lights disappear into the clouded night sky.
in the crowd, faces turn, people point. there's something in the sky above them.
up in the sky over st. peter's square, the pinpoint of light is tiny at first, then it shoots out to either side in a searing white line, then the white line balloons out on either side, expanding into a gigantic ball of hot white light.
the second wave of the blast comes, and this one's ten times as powerful as the first.
in the square, langdon and vittoria dodge falling debris. vittoria loses her footing as a chunk of plaster crunches off a building, plummeting toward her.
the only sound that remains in the square is a soft night wind.
-- the crowd in st. peter's square, in rapture. there is singing, there's chanting of the camerlengo's name. it's exactly midnight.