gave him a test through which
he could prove he was worthy."
Sophie looked unsettled by this, and Langdon suddenly recalled her
mentioning how her grandfather used to make treasure hunts for her--preuves
de murite. Admittedly, the keystone was a similar concept. Then again, tests
like this were extremely common in secret societies. The best known was the
Masons', wherein members ascended to higher degrees by proving they could
keep a secret and by performing rituals and various tests of merit over many
years. The tasks became progressively harder until they culminated in a
successful candidate's induction as thirty-second-degree Mason.
"So the keystone is a preuve de murite," Sophie said. "If a rising
Priory sunuchal can open it, he proves himself worthy of the information it
holds."
Langdon nodded. "I forgot you'd had experience with this sort of
thing."
"Not only with my grandfather. In cryptology, that's called a
'self-authorizing language.' That is, if you're smart enough to read it,
you're permitted to know what is being said."
Langdon hesitated a moment. "Sophie, you realize that if this is indeed
the keystone, your grandfather's access to it implies he was exceptionally
powerful within the Priory of Sion. He would have to have been one of the
highest four members."
Sophie sighed. "He was powerful in a secret society. I'm certain of it.
I can only assume it was the Priory."
Langdon did a double take. "You knew he was in a secret society?"
"I saw some things I wasn't supposed to see ten years ago. We haven't
spoken since." She paused. "My grandfather was not only a ranking top member
of the group... I believe he was the top member."
Langdon could not believe what she had just said. "Grand Master? But...
there's no way you could know that!"
"I'd rather not talk about it." Sophie looked away, her expression as
determined as it was pained.
Langdon sat in stunned silence. Jacques Sauniure? Grand Master? Despite
the astonishing repercussions if it were true, Langdon had the eerie
sensation it almost made perfect sense. After all, previous Priory Grand
Masters had also been distinguished public figures with artistic souls.
Proof of that fact had been uncovered years ago in Paris's Bibliothuque
Nationale in papers that became known as Les Dossiers Secrets.
Every Priory historian and Grail buff had read the Dossiers. Cataloged
under Number 4° lm1 249, the Dossiers Secrets had been
authenticated by many specialists and incontrovertibly confirmed what
historians had suspected for a long time: Priory Grand Masters included
Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli, Sir Isaac Newton, Victor Hugo, and, more
recently, Jean Cocteau, the famous Parisian artist.
Why not Jacques Sauniure?
Langdon's incredulity intensified with the realization that he had been
slated to meet Sauniure tonight. The Priory Grand Master called a meeting
with me. Why? To make artistic small talk? It suddenly seemed unlikely.
After all, if Langdon's instincts were correct, the Grand Master of the
Priory of Sion had just transferred the brotherhood's legendary keystone to
his granddaughter and simultaneously commanded her to find Robert Langdon.
Inconceivable!
Langdon's imagination could conjure no set of circumstances that would
explain Sauniure's behavior. Even if Sauniure feared his own death, there
were three sunuchaux who also possessed the secret and therefore guaranteed
the Priory's security. Why would Sauniure take such an enormous risk giving
his granddaughter the keystone, especially when the two of them didn't get
along? And why involve Langdon... a total stranger?
A piece of this puzzle is missing, Langdon thought.
The answers were apparently going to have to wait. The sound of the
slowing engine caused them both to look up. Gravel crunched beneath the
tires. Why is he pulling over already? Langdon wondered. Vernet had told
them he would take them well outside the city to safety. The truck
decelerated to a crawl and made its way over unexpectedly rough terrain.
Sophie shot Langdon an uneasy look, hastily closing the cryptex box and
latching it. Langdon slipped his jacket back on.
When the truck came to a stop, the engine remained idling as the locks
on the rear doors began to turn. When the doors swung open, Langdon was
surprised to see they were parked in a wooded area, well off the road.
Vernet stepped into view, a strained look in his eye. In his hand, he held a
pistol.
"I'm sorry about this," he said. "I really have no choice."
CHAPTER 49
Andru Vernet looked awkward with a pistol, but his eyes shone with a
determination that Langdon sensed would be unwise to test.
"I'm afraid I must insist," Vernet said, training the weapon on the two
of them in the back of the idling truck. "Set the box down."
Sophie clutched the box to her chest. "You said you and my grandfather
were friends."
"I have a duty to protect your grandfather's assets," Vernet replied.
"And that is exactly what I am doing. Now set the box on the floor."
"My grandfather entrusted this to me!" Sophie declared.
"Do it," Vernet commanded, raising the gun.
Sophie set the box at her feet.
Langdon watched the gun barrel swing now in his direction.
"Mr. Langdon," Vernet said, "you will bring the box over to me. And be
aware that I'm asking you because you I would not hesitate to shoot."
Langdon stared at the banker in disbelief. "Why are you doing this?"
"Why do you imagine?" Vernet snapped, his accented English terse now.
"To protect my client's assets."
"We are your clients now," Sophie said.
Vernet's visage turned ice-cold, an eerie transformation. "Mademoiselle
Neveu, I don't know how you got that key and account number tonight, but it
seems obvious that foul play was involved. Had I known the extent of your
crimes, I would never have helped you leave the bank."
"I told you," Sophie said, "we had nothing to do with my grandfather's
death!"
Vernet looked at Langdon. "And yet the radio claims you are wanted not
only for the murder of Jacques Sauniure but for those of three other men as
well?"
"What!" Langdon was thunderstruck. Three more murders? The coincidental
number hit him harder than the fact that he was the prime suspect. It seemed
too unlikely to be a coincidence. The three sunuchaux? Langdon's eyes
dropped to the rosewood box. If the sunuchaux were murdered, Sauniure had no
options. He had to transfer the keystone to someone.
"The police can sort that out when I turn you in," Vernet said. "I have
gotten my bank involved too far already."
Sophie glared at Vernet. "You obviously have no intention of turning us
in. You would have driven us back to the bank. And instead you bring us out
here and hold us at gunpoint?"
"Your grandfather hired me for one reason--to keep his possessions both
safe and private. Whatever this box contains, I have no intention of letting
it become a piece of cataloged evidence in a police investigation. Mr.
Langdon, bring me the box."
Sophie shook her head. "Don't do it."
A gunshot roared, and a bullet tore into the wall above him. The
reverberation shook the back of the truck as a spent shell clinked onto the
cargo floor.
Shit! Langdon froze.
Vernet spoke more confidently now. "Mr. Langdon, pick up the box."
Langdon lifted the box.
"Now bring it over to me." Vernet was taking dead aim, standing on the
ground behind the rear bumper, his gun outstretched into the cargo hold now.
Box in hand, Langdon moved across the hold toward the open door.
I've got to do something! Langdon thought. I'm about to hand over the
Priory keystone! As Langdon moved toward the doorway, his position of higher
ground became more pronounced, and he began wondering if he could somehow
use it to his advantage. Vernet's gun, though raised, was at Langdon's knee
level. A well-placed kick perhaps? Unfortunately, as Langdon neared, Vernet
seemed to sense the dangerous dynamic developing, and he took several steps
back, repositioning himself six feet away. Well out of reach.
Vernet commanded, "Place the box beside the door."
Seeing no options, Langdon knelt down and set the rosewood box at the
edge of the cargo hold, directly in front of the open doors.
"Now stand up."
Langdon began to stand up but paused, spying the small, spent pistol
shell on the floor beside the truck's precision-crafted doorsill.
"Stand up, and step away from the box."
Langdon paused a moment longer, eyeing the metal threshold. Then he
stood. As he did, he discreetly brushed the shell over the edge onto the
narrow ledge that was the door's lower sill. Fully upright now, Langdon
stepped backward.
"Return to the back wall and turn around."
Langdon obeyed.
Vernet could feel his own heart pounding. Aiming the gun with his right
hand, he reached now with his left for the wooden box. He discovered that it
was far too heavy. I need two hands. Turning his eyes back to his captives,
he calculated the risk. Both were a good fifteen feet away, at the far end
of the cargo hold, facing away from him. Vernet made up his mind. Quickly,
he laid down the gun on the bumper, lifted the box with two hands, and set
it on the ground, immediately grabbing the gun again and aiming it back into
the hold. Neither of his prisoners had moved.
Perfect. Now all that remained was to close and lock the door. Leaving
the box on the ground for the moment, he grabbed the metal door and began to
heave it closed. As the door swung past him, Vernet reached up to grab the
single bolt that needed to be slid into place. The door closed with a thud,
and Vernet quickly grabbed the bolt, pulling it to the left. The bolt slid a
few inches and crunched to an unexpected halt, not lining up with its
sleeve. What's going on? Vernet pulled again, but the bolt wouldn't lock.
The mechanism was not properly aligned. The door isn't fully closed! Feeling
a surge of panic, Vernet shoved hard against the outside of the door, but it
refused to budge. Something is blocking it! Vernet turned to throw full
shoulder into the door, but this time the door exploded outward, striking
Vernet in the face and sending him reeling backward onto the ground, his
nose shattering in pain. The gun flew as Vernet reached for his face and
felt the warm blood running from his nose.
Robert Langdon hit the ground somewhere nearby, and Vernet tried to get
up, but he couldn't see. His vision blurred and he fell backward again.
Sophie Neveu was shouting. Moments later, Vernet felt a cloud of dirt and
exhaust billowing over him. He heard the crunching of tires on gravel and
sat up just in time to see the truck's wide wheelbase fail to navigate a
turn. There was a crash as the front bumper clipped a tree. The engine
roared, and the tree bent. Finally, it was the bumper that gave, tearing
half off. The armored car lurched away, its front bumper dragging. When the
truck reached the paved access road, a shower of sparks lit up the night,
trailing the truck as it sped away.
Vernet turned his eyes back to the ground where the truck had been
parked. Even in the faint moonlight he could see there was nothing there.
The wooden box was gone.
CHAPTER 50
The unmarked Fiat sedan departing Castel Gandolfo snaked downward
through the Alban Hills into the valley below. In the back seat, Bishop
Aringarosa smiled, feeling the weight of the bearer bonds in the briefcase
on his lap and wondering how long it would be before he and the Teacher
could make the exchange.
Twenty million euro.
The sum would buy Aringarosa power far more valuable than that.
As his car sped back toward Rome, Aringarosa again found himself
wondering why the Teacher had not yet contacted him. Pulling his cell phone
from his cassock pocket, he checked the carrier signal. Extremely faint.
"Cell service is intermittent up here," the driver said, glancing at
him in the rearview mirror. "In about five minutes, we'll be out of the
mountains, and service improves."
"Thank you." Aringarosa felt a sudden surge of concern. No service in
the mountains? Maybe the Teacher had been trying to reach him all this time.
Maybe something had gone terribly wrong.
Quickly, Aringarosa checked the phone's voice mail. Nothing. Then
again, he realized, the Teacher never would have left a recorded message; he
was a man who took enormous care with his communications. Nobody understood
better than the Teacher the perils of speaking openly in this modern world.
Electronic eavesdropping had played a major role in how he had gathered his
astonishing array of secret knowledge.
For this reason, he takes extra precautions.
Unfortunately, the Teacher's protocols for caution included a refusal
to give Aringarosa any kind of contact number. I alone will initiate
contact, the Teacher had informed him. So keep your phone close. Now that
Aringarosa realized his phone might not have been working properly, he
feared what the Teacher might think if he had been repeatedly phoning with
no answer.
He'll think something is wrong.
Or that I failed to get the bonds.
The bishop broke a light sweat.
Or worse... that I took the money and ran!
CHAPTER 51
Even at a modest sixty kilometers an hour, the dangling front bumper of
the armored truck grated against the deserted suburban road with a grinding
roar, spraying sparks up onto the hood.
We've got to get off the road, Langdon thought.
He could barely even see where they were headed. The truck's lone
working headlight had been knocked off-center and was casting a skewed
sidelong beam into the woods beside the country highway. Apparently the
armor in this "armored truck" referred only to the cargo hold and not the
front end.
Sophie sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly at the rosewood box
on her lap.
"Are you okay?" Langdon asked.
Sophie looked shaken. "Do you believe him?"
"About the three additional murders? Absolutely. It answers a lot of
questions--the issue of your grandfather's desperation to pass on the
keystone, as well as the intensity with which Fache is hunting me."
"No, I meant about Vernet trying to protect his bank."
Langdon glanced over. "As opposed to?"
"Taking the keystone for himself."
Langdon had not even considered it. "How would he even know what this
box contains?"
"His bank stored it. He knew my grandfather. Maybe he knew things. He
might have decided he wanted the Grail for himself."
Langdon shook his head. Vernet hardly seemed the type. "In my
experience, there are only two reasons people seek the Grail. Either they
are naive and believe they are searching for the long-lost Cup of Christ..."
"Or?"
"Or they know the truth and are threatened by it. Many groups
throughout history have sought to destroy the Grail."
The silence between them accentuated the sound of the scraping bumper.
They had driven a few kilometers now, and as Langdon watched the cascade of
sparks coming off the front of the truck, he wondered if it was dangerous.
Either way, if they passed another car, it would certainly draw attention.
Langdon made up his mind.
"I'm going to see if I can bend this bumper back."
Pulling onto the shoulder, he brought the truck to a stop.
Silence at last.
As Langdon walked toward the front of the truck, he felt surprisingly
alert. Staring into the barrel of yet another gun tonight had given him a
second wind. He took a deep breath of nighttime air and tried to get his
wits about him. Accompanying the gravity of being a hunted man, Langdon was
starting to feel the ponderous weight of responsibility, the prospect that
he and Sophie might actually be holding an encrypted set of directions to
one of the most enduring mysteries of all time.
As if this burden were not great enough, Langdon now realized that any
possibility of finding a way to return the keystone to the Priory had just
evaporated. News of the three additional murders had dire implications. The
Priory has been infiltrated. They are compromised. The brotherhood was
obviously being watched, or there was a mole within the ranks. It seemed to
explain why Sauniure might have transferred the keystone to Sophie and
Langdon--people outside the brotherhood, people he knew were not
compromised. We can't very well give the keystone back to the brotherhood.
Even if Langdon had any idea how to find a Priory member, chances were good
that whoever stepped forward to take the keystone could be the enemy
himself. For the moment, at least, it seemed the keystone was in Sophie and
Langdon's hands, whether they wanted it or not.
The truck's front end looked worse than Langdon had imagined. The left
headlight was gone, and the right one looked like an eyeball dangling from
its socket. Langdon straightened it, and it dislodged again. The only good
news was that the front bumper had been torn almost clean off. Langdon gave
it a hard kick and sensed he might be able to break it off entirely.
As he repeatedly kicked the twisted metal, Langdon recalled his earlier
conversation with Sophie. My grandfather left me a phone message, Sophie had
told him. He said he needed to tell me the truth about my family. At the
time it had meant nothing, but now, knowing the Priory of Sion was involved,
Langdon felt a startling new possibility emerge.
The bumper broke off suddenly with a crash. Langdon paused to catch his
breath. At least the truck would no longer look like a Fourth of July
sparkler. He grabbed the bumper and began dragging it out of sight into the
woods, wondering where they should go next. They had no idea how to open the
cryptex, or why Sauniure had given it to them. Unfortunately, their survival
tonight seemed to depend on getting answers to those very questions.
We need help, Langdon decided. Professional help.
In the world of the Holy Grail and the Priory of Sion, that meant only
one man. The challenge, of course, would be selling the idea to Sophie.
Inside the armored car, while Sophie waited for Langdon to return, she
could feel the weight of the rosewood box on her lap and resented it. Why
did my grandfather give this to me? She had not the slightest idea what to
do with it.
Think, Sophie! Use your head. Grand-pure is trying to tell you
something!
Opening the box, she eyed the cryptex's dials. A proof of merit. She
could feel her grandfather's hand at work. The keystone is a map that can be
followed only by the worthy. It sounded like her grandfather to the core.
Lifting the cryptex out of the box, Sophie ran her fingers over the
dials. Five letters. She rotated the dials one by one. The mechanism moved
smoothly. She aligned the disks such that her chosen letters lined up
between the cryptex's two brass alignment arrows on either end of the
cylinder. The dials now spelled a five-letter word that Sophie knew was
absurdly obvious.
G-R-A-I-L.
Gently, she held the two ends of the cylinder and pulled, applying
pressure slowly. The cryptex didn't budge. She heard the vinegar inside
gurgle and stopped pulling. Then she tried again.
V-I-N-C-I
Again, no movement.
V-O-U-T-E
Nothing. The cryptex remained locked solid.
Frowning, she replaced it in the rosewood box and closed the lid.
Looking outside at Langdon, Sophie felt grateful he was with her tonight.
P.S. Find Robert Langdon. Her grandfather's rationale for including him was
now clear. Sophie was not equipped to understand her grandfather's
intentions, and so he had assigned Robert Langdon as her guide. A tutor to
oversee her education. Unfortunately for Langdon, he had turned out to be
far more than a tutor tonight. He had become the target of Bezu Fache... and
some unseen force intent on possessing the Holy Grail.
Whatever the Grail turns out to be.
Sophie wondered if finding out was worth her life.
As the armored truck accelerated again, Langdon was pleased how much
more smoothly it drove. "Do you know how to get to Versailles?"
Sophie eyed him. "Sightseeing?"
"No, I have a plan. There's a religious historian I know who lives near
Versailles. I can't remember exactly where, but we can look it up. I've been
to his estate a few times. His name is Leigh Teabing. He's a former British
Royal Historian."
"And he lives in Paris?"
"Teabing's life passion is the Grail. When whisperings of the Priory
keystone surfaced about fifteen years ago, he moved to France to search
churches in hopes of finding it. He's written some books on the keystone and
the Grail. He may be able to help us figure out how to open it and what to
do with it."
Sophie's eyes were wary. "Can you trust him?"
"Trust him to what? Not steal the information?"
"And not to turn us in."
"I don't intend to tell him we're wanted by the police. I'm hoping
he'll take us in until we can sort all this out."
"Robert, has it occurred to you that every television in France is
probably getting ready to broadcast our pictures? Bezu Fache always uses the
media to his advantage. He'll make it impossible for us to move around
without being recognized."
Terrific, Langdon thought. My French TV debut will be on "Paris's Most
Wanted." At least Jonas Faukman would be pleased; every time Langdon made
the news, his book sales jumped.
"Is this man a good enough friend?" Sophie asked.
Langdon doubted Teabing was someone who watched television, especially
at this hour, but still the question deserved consideration. Instinct told
Langdon that Teabing would be totally trustworthy. An ideal safe harbor.
Considering the circumstances, Teabing would probably trip over himself to
help them as much as possible. Not only did he owe Langdon a favor, but
Teabing was a Grail researcher, and Sophie claimed her grandfather was the
actual Grand Master of the Priory of Sion. If Teabing heard that, he would
salivate at the thought of helping them figure this out.
"Teabing could be a powerful ally," Langdon said. Depending on how much
you want to tell him.
"Fache probably will be offering a monetary reward."
Langdon laughed. "Believe me, money is the last thing this guy needs."
Leigh Teabing was wealthy in the way small countries were wealthy. A
descendant of Britain's First Duke of Lancaster, Teabing had gotten his
money the old-fashioned way--he'd inherited it. His estate outside of Paris
was a seventeenth-century palace with two private lakes.
Langdon had first met Teabing several years ago through the British
Broadcasting Corporation. Teabing had approached the BBC with a proposal for
a historical documentary in which he would expose the explosive history of
the Holy Grail to a mainstream television audience. The BBC producers loved
Teabing's hot premise, his research, and his credentials, but they had
concerns that the concept was so shocking and hard to swallow that the
network might end up tarnishing its reputation for quality journalism. At
Teabing's suggestion, the BBC solved its credibility fears by soliciting
three cameos from respected historians from around the world, all of whom
corroborated the stunning nature of the Holy Grail secret with their own
research.
Langdon had been among those chosen.
The BBC had flown Langdon to Teabing's Paris estate for the filming. He
sat before cameras in Teabing's opulent drawing room and shared his story,
admitting his initial skepticism on hearing of the alternate Holy Grail
story, then describing how years of research had persuaded him that the
story was true. Finally, Langdon offered some of his own research--a series
of symbologic connections that strongly supported the seemingly
controversial claims.
When the program aired in Britain, despite its ensemble cast and
well-documented evidence, the premise rubbed so hard against the grain of
popular Christian thought that it instantly confronted a firestorm of
hostility. It never aired in the States, but the repercussions echoed across
the Atlantic. Shortly afterward, Langdon received a postcard from an old
friend--the Catholic Bishop of Philadelphia. The card simply read: Et tu,
Robert?
"Robert," Sophie asked, "you're certain we can trust this man?"
"Absolutely. We're colleagues, he doesn't need money, and I happen to
know he despises the French authorities. The French government taxes him at
absurd rates because he bought a historic landmark. He'll be in no hurry to
cooperate with Fache."
Sophie stared out at the dark roadway. "If we go to him, how much do
you want to tell him?"
Langdon looked unconcerned. "Believe me, Leigh Teabing knows more about
the Priory of Sion and the Holy Grail than anyone on earth."
Sophie eyed him. "More than my grandfather?"
"I meant more than anyone outside the brotherhood."
"How do you know Teabing isn't a member of the brotherhood?"
"Teabing has spent his life trying to broadcast the truth about the
Holy Grail. The Priory's oath is to keep its true nature hidden."
"Sounds to me like a conflict of interest."
Langdon understood her concerns. Sauniure had given the cryptex
directly to Sophie, and although she didn't know what it contained or what
she was supposed to do with it, she was hesitant to involve a total
stranger. Considering the information potentially enclosed, the instinct was
probably a good one. "We don't need to tell Teabing about the keystone
immediately. Or at all, even. His house will give us a place to hide and
think, and maybe when we talk to him about the Grail, you'll start to have
an idea why your grandfather gave this to you."
"Us," Sophie reminded.
Langdon felt a humble pride and wondered yet again why Sauniure had
included him.
"Do you know more or less where Mr. Teabing lives?" Sophie asked.
"His estate is called Chuteau Villette."
Sophie turned with an incredulous look. "The Chuteau Villette?"
"That's the one."
"Nice friends."
"You know the estate?"
"I've passed it. It's in the castle district. Twenty minutes from
here."
Langdon frowned. "That far?"
"Yes, which will give you enough time to tell me what the Holy Grail
really is."
Langdon paused. "I'll tell you at Teabing's. He and I specialize in
different areas of the legend, so between the two of us, you'll get the full
story." Langdon smiled. "Besides, the Grail has been Teabing's life, and
hearing the story of the Holy Grail from Leigh Teabing will be like hearing
the theory of relativity from Einstein himself."
"Let's hope Leigh doesn't mind late-night visitors."
"For the record, it's Sir Leigh." Langdon had made that mistake only
once. "Teabing is quite a character. He was knighted by the Queen several
years back after composing an extensive history on the House of York."
Sophie looked over. "You're kidding, right? We're going to visit a
knight?"
Langdon gave an awkward smile. "We're on a Grail quest, Sophie. Who
better to help us than a knight?"
CHAPTER 52
The Sprawling 185-acre estate of Chuteau Villette was located
twenty-five minutes northwest of Paris in the environs of Versailles.
Designed by Franuois Mansart in 1668 for the Count of Aufflay, it was one of
Paris's most significant historical chuteaux. Complete with two rectangular
lakes and gardens designed by Le Nutre, Chuteau Villette was more of a
modest castle than a mansion. The estate fondly had become known as la
Petite Versailles.
Langdon brought the armored truck to a shuddering stop at the foot of
the mile-long driveway. Beyond the imposing security gate, Sir Leigh
Teabing's residence rose on a meadow in the distance. The sign on the gate
was in English: PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING.
As if to proclaim his home a British Isle unto itself, Teabing had not
only posted his signs in English, but he had installed his gate's intercom
entry system on the right-hand side of the truck--the passenger's side
everywhere in Europe except England.
Sophie gave the misplaced intercom an odd look. "And if someone arrives
without a passenger?"
"Don't ask." Langdon had already been through that with Teabing. "He
prefers things the way they are at home."
Sophie rolled down her window. "Robert, you'd better do the talking."
Langdon shifted his position, leaning out across Sophie to press the
intercom button. As he did, an alluring whiff of Sophie's perfume filled his
nostrils, and he realized how close they were. He waited there, awkwardly
prone, while a telephone began ringing over the small speaker.
Finally, the intercom crackled and an irritated French accent spoke.
"Chuteau Villette. Who is calling?"
"This is Robert Langdon," Langdon called out, sprawled across Sophie's
lap. "I'm a friend of Sir Leigh Teabing. I need his help."
"My master is sleeping. As was I. What is your business with him?"
"It is a private matter. One of great interest to him."
"Then I'm sure he will be pleased to receive you in the morning."
Langdon shifted his weight. "It's quite important."
"As is Sir Leigh's sleep. If you are a friend, then you are aware he is
in poor health."
Sir Leigh Teabing had suffered from polio as a child and now wore leg
braces and walked with crutches, but Langdon had found him such a lively and
colorful man on his last visit that it hardly seemed an infirmity. "If you
would, please tell him I have uncovered new information about the Grail.
Information that cannot wait until morning."
There was a long pause.
Langdon and Sophie waited, the truck idling loudly.
A full minute passed.
Finally, someone spoke. "My good man, I daresay you are still on
Harvard Standard Time." The voice was crisp and light.
Langdon grinned, recognizing the thick British accent. "Leigh, my
apologies for waking you at this obscene hour."
"My manservant tells me that not only are you in Paris, but you speak
of the Grail."
"I thought that might get you out of bed."
"And so it has."
"Any chance you'd open the gate for an old friend?"
"Those who seek the truth are more than friends. They are brothers."
Langdon rolled his eyes at Sophie, well accustomed to Teabing's
predilection for dramatic antics.
"Indeed I will open the gate," Teabing proclaimed, "but first I must
confirm your heart is true. A test of your honor. You will answer three
questions."
Langdon groaned, whispering at Sophie. "Bear with me here. As I
mentioned, he's something of a character."
"Your first question," Teabing declared, his tone Herculean. "Shall I
serve you coffee, or tea?"
Langdon knew Teabing's feelings about the American phenomenon of
coffee. "Tea," he replied. "Earl Grey."
"Excellent. Your second question. Milk or sugar?"
Langdon hesitated.
"Milk," Sophie whispered in his ear. "I think the British take milk."
"Milk," Langdon said.
Silence.
"Sugar?"
Teabing made no reply.
Wait! Langdon now recalled the bitter beverage he had been served on
his last visit and realized this question was a trick. "Lemon!" he declared.
"Earl Grey with lemon"
"Indeed." Teabing sounded deeply amused now. "And finally, I must make
the most grave of inquiries." Teabing paused and then spoke in a solemn
tone. "In which year did a Harvard sculler last outrow an Oxford man at
Henley?"
Langdon had no idea, but he could imagine only one reason the question
had been asked. "Surely such a travesty has never occurred."
The gate clicked open. "Your heart is true, my friend. You may pass."
CHAPTER 53
"Monsieur Vernet!" The night manager of the Depository Bank of Zurich
felt relieved to hear the bank president's voice on the phone. "Where did
you go, sir? The police are here, everyone is waiting for you!"
"I have a little problem," the bank president said, sounding
distressed. "I need your help right away."
You have more than a little problem, the manager thought. The police
had entirely surrounded the bank and were threatening to have the DCPJ
captain himself show up with the warrant the bank had demanded. "How can I
help you, sir?"
"Armored truck number three. I need to find it."
Puzzled, the manager checked his delivery schedule. "It's here.
Downstairs at the loading dock."
"Actually, no. The truck was stolen by the two individuals the police
are tracking."
"What? How did they drive out?"
"I can't go into the specifics on the phone, but we have a situation
here that could potentially be extremely unfortunate for the bank."
"What do you need me to do, sir?"
"I'd like you to activate the truck's emergency transponder."
The night manager's eyes moved to the LoJack control box across the
room. Like many armored cars, each of the bank's trucks had been equipped
with a radio-controlled homing device, which could be activated remotely
from the bank. The manager had only used the emergency system once, after a
hijacking, and it had worked flawlessly--locating the truck and transmitting
the coordinates to the authorities automatically. Tonight, however, the
manager had the impression the president was hoping for a bit more prudence.
"Sir, you are aware that if I activate the LoJack system, the transponder
will simultaneously inform the authorities that we have a problem."
Vernet was silent for several seconds. "Yes, I know. Do it anyway.
Truck number three. I'll hold. I need the exact location of that truck the
instant you have it."
"Right away, sir."
Thirty seconds later, forty kilometers away, hidden in the
undercarriage of the armored truck, a tiny transponder blinked to life.
CHAPTER 54
As Langdon and Sophie drove the armored truck up the winding,
poplar-lined driveway toward the house, Sophie could already feel her
muscles relaxing. It was a relief to be off the road, and she could think of
few safer places to get their feet under them than this private, gated
estate owned by a good-natured foreigner.
They turned into the sweeping circular driveway, and Chuteau Villette
came into view on their right. Three stories tall and at least sixty meters
long, the edifice had gray stone facing illuminated by outside spotlights.
The coarse facade stood in stark juxtaposition to the immaculately
landscaped gardens and glassy pond.
The inside lights were just now coming on.
Rather than driving to the front door, Langdon pulled into a parking
area nestled in the evergreens. "No reason to risk being spotted from the
road," he said. "Or having Leigh wonder why we arrived in a wrecked armored
truck."
Sophie nodded. "What do we do with the cryptex? We probably shouldn't
leave it out here, but if Leigh sees it, he'll certainly want to know what
it is."
"Not to worry," Langdon said, removing his jacket as he stepped out of
the car. He wrapped the tweed coat around the box and held the bundle in his
arms like a baby.
Sophie looked dubious. "Subtle."
"Teabing never answers his own door; he prefers to make an entrance.
I'll find somewhere inside to stash this before he joins us." Langdon
paused. "Actually, I should probably warn you before you meet him. Sir Leigh
has a sense of humor that people often find a bit... strange."
Sophie doubted anything tonight would strike her as strange anymore.
The pathway to the main entrance was hand-laid cobblestone. It curved
to a door of carved oak and cherry with a brass knocker the size of a
grapefruit. Before Sophie could grasp the knocker, the door swung open from
within.
A prim and elegant butler stood before them, making final adjustments
on the white tie and tuxedo he had apparently just donned. He looked to be
about fifty, with refined features and an austere expression that left
little doubt he was unamused by their presence here.
"Sir Leigh will be down presently," he declared, his accent thick
French. "He is dressing. He prefers not to greet visitors while wearing only
a nightshirt. May I take your coat?" He scowled at the bunched-up tweed in
Langdon's arms.
"Thank you, I'm fine."
"Of course you are. Right this way, please."
The butler guided them through a lush marble foyer into an exquisitely
adorned drawing room, softly lit by tassel-draped Victorian lamps. The air
inside smelled antediluvian, regal somehow, with traces of pipe tobacco, tea
leaves, cooking sherry, and the earthen aroma of stone architecture. Against
the far wall, flanked between two glistening suits of chain mail armor, was
a rough-hewn fireplace large enough to roast an ox. Walking to the hearth,
the butler knelt and touched a match to a pre-laid arrangement of oak logs
and kindling. A fire quickly crackled to life.
The man stood, straightening his jacket. "His master requests that you
make yourselves at home." With that, he departed, leaving Langdon and Sophie
alone.
Sophie wondered which of the fireside antiques she was supposed to sit
on--the Renaissance velvet divan, the rustic eagle-claw rocker, or the pair
of stone pews that looked like they'd been lifted from some Byzantine
temple.
Langdon unwrapped the cryptex from his coat, walked to the velvet
divan, and slid the wooden box deep underneath it, well out of sight. Then,
shaking out his jacket, he put it back on, smoothed the lapels, and smiled
at Sophie as he sat down directly over the stashed treasure.
The divan it is, Sophie thought, taking a seat beside him.
As she stared into the growing fire, enjoying the warmth, Sophie had
the sensation that her grandfather would have loved this room. The dark wood
paneling was bedecked with Old Master paintings, one of which Sophie
recognized as a Poussin, her grandfather's second-favorite painter. On the
mantel above the fireplace, an alabaster bust of Isis watched over the room.
Beneath the Egyptian goddess, inside the fireplace, two stone gargoyles
served as andirons, their mouths gaping to reveal their menacing hollow
throats. Gargoyles had always terrified Sophie as a child; that was, until
her grandfather cured her of the fear by taking her atop Notre Dame
Cathedral in a rainstorm. "Princess, look at these silly creatures," he had
told her, pointing to the gargoyle rainspouts with their mouths gushing
water. "Do you hear that funny sound in their throats?" Sophie nodded,
having to smile at the burping sound of the water gurgling through their
throats. "They're gargling," her grandfather told her. "Gargariser! And
that's where they get the silly name 'gargoyles.' " Sophie had never again
been afraid.