am deeply concerned. I have changed my plans."
"You should not have."
"Do you have Silas?"
"No. His captors eluded the local police before I landed."
Aringarosa's anger rang sharply. "You assured me you would stop that
plane!"
Fache lowered his voice. "Bishop, considering your situation, I
recommend you not test my patience today. I will find Silas and the others
as soon as possible. Where are you landing?"
"One moment." Aringarosa covered the receiver and then came back. "The
pilot is trying to get clearance at Heathrow. I'm his only passenger, but
our redirect was unscheduled."
"Tell him to come to Biggin Hill Executive Airport in Kent. I'll get
him clearance. If I'm not here when you land, I'll have a car waiting for
you."
"Thank you."
"As I expressed when we first spoke, Bishop, you would do well to
remember that you are not the only man on the verge of losing everything."
CHAPTER 85
You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb.
Each of the carved knights within the Temple Church lay on his back
with his head resting on a rectangular stone pillow. Sophie felt a chill.
The poem's reference to an "orb" conjured images of the night in her
grandfather's basement.
Hieros Gamos. The orbs.
Sophie wondered if the ritual had been performed in this very
sanctuary. The circular room seemed custom-built for such a pagan rite. A
stone pew encircled a bare expanse of floor in the middle. A theater in the
round, as Robert had called it. She imagined this chamber at night, filled
with masked people, chanting by torchlight, all witnessing a "sacred
communion" in the center of the room.
Forcing the image from her mind, she advanced with Langdon and Teabing
toward the first group of knights. Despite Teabing's insistence that their
investigation should be conducted meticulously, Sophie felt eager and pushed
ahead of them, making a cursory walk-through of the five knights on the
left.
Scrutinizing these first tombs, Sophie noted the similarities and
differences between them. Every knight was on his back, but three of the
knights had their legs extended straight out while two had their legs
crossed. The oddity seemed to have no relevance to the missing orb.
Examining their clothing, Sophie noted that two of the knights wore tunics
over their armor, while the other three wore ankle-length robes. Again,
utterly unhelpful. Sophie turned her attention to the only other obvious
difference--their hand positions. Two knights clutched swords, two prayed,
and one had his arms at his side. After a long moment looking at the hands,
Sophie shrugged, having seen no hint anywhere of a conspicuously absent orb.
Feeling the weight of the cryptex in her sweater pocket, she glanced
back at Langdon and Teabing. The men were moving slowly, still only at the
third knight, apparently having no luck either. In no mood to wait, she
turned away from them toward the second group of knights.
As she crossed the open space, she quietly recited the poem she had
read so many times now that it was committed to memory.
In London lies a knight a Pope interred.
His labor's fruit a Holy wrath incurred.
You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb.
It speaks of Rosy flesh and seeded womb.
When Sophie arrived at the second group of knights, she found that this
second group was similar to the first. All lay with varied body positions,
wearing armor and swords.
That was, all except the tenth and final tomb.
Hurrying over to it, she stared down.
No pillow. No armor. No tunic. No sword.
"Robert? Leigh?" she called, her voice echoing around the chamber.
"There's something missing over here."
Both men looked up and immediately began to cross the room toward her.
"An orb?" Teabing called excitedly. His crutches clicked out a rapid
staccato as he hurried across the room. "Are we missing an orb?"
"Not exactly," Sophie said, frowning at the tenth tomb. "We seem to be
missing an entire knight."
Arriving beside her both men gazed down in confusion at the tenth tomb.
Rather than a knight lying in the open air, this tomb was a sealed stone
casket. The casket was trapezoidal, tapered at the feet, widening toward the
top, with a peaked lid.
"Why isn't this knight shown?" Langdon asked.
"Fascinating," Teabing said, stroking his chin. "I had forgotten about
this oddity. It's been years since I was here."
"This coffin," Sophie said, "looks like it was carved at the same time
and by the same sculptor as the other nine tombs. So why is this knight in a
casket rather than in the open?"
Teabing shook his head. "One of this church's mysteries. To the best of
my knowledge, nobody has ever found any explanation for it."
"Hello?" the altar boy said, arriving with a perturbed look on his
face. "Forgive me if this seems rude, but you told me you wanted to spread
ashes, and yet you seem to be sightseeing."
Teabing scowled at the boy and turned to Langdon. "Mr. Wren, apparently
your family's philanthropy does not buy you the time it used to, so perhaps
we should take out the ashes and get on with it." Teabing turned to Sophie.
"Mrs. Wren?"
Sophie played along, pulling the vellum-wrapped cryptex from her
pocket.
"Now then," Teabing snapped at the boy, "if you would give us some
privacy?"
The altar boy did not move. He was eyeing Langdon closely now. "You
look familiar."
Teabing huffed. "Perhaps that is because Mr. Wren comes here every
year!"
Or perhaps, Sophie now feared, because he saw Langdon on television at
the Vatican last year.
"I have never met Mr. Wren," the altar boy declared.
"You're mistaken," Langdon said politely. "I believe you and I met in
passing last year. Father Knowles failed to formally introduce us, but I
recognized your face as we came in. Now, I realize this is an intrusion, but
if you could afford me a few more minutes, I have traveled a great distance
to scatter ashes amongst these tombs." Langdon spoke his lines with
Teabing-esque believability.
The altar boy's expression turned even more skeptical. "These are not
tombs."
"I'm sorry?" Langdon said.
"Of course they are tombs," Teabing declared. "What are you talking
about?"
The altar boy shook his head. "Tombs contain bodies. These are
effigies. Stone tributes to real men. There are no bodies beneath these
figures."
"This is a crypt!" Teabing said.
"Only in outdated history books. This was believed to be a crypt but
was revealed as nothing of the sort during the 1950 renovation." He turned
back to Langdon. "And I imagine Mr. Wren would know that. Considering it was
his family that uncovered that fact."
An uneasy silence fell.
It was broken by the sound of a door slamming out in the annex.
"That must be Father Knowles," Teabing said. "Perhaps you should go
see?"
The altar boy looked doubtful but stalked back toward the annex,
leaving Langdon, Sophie, and Teabing to eye one another gloomily.
"Leigh," Langdon whispered. "No bodies? What is he talking about?"
Teabing looked distraught. "I don't know. I always thought...
certainly, this must be the place. I can't imagine he knows what he is
talking about. It makes no sense!"
"Can I see the poem again?" Langdon said.
Sophie pulled the cryptex from her pocket and carefully handed it to
him.
Langdon unwrapped the vellum, holding the cryptex in his hand while he
examined the poem. "Yes, the poem definitely references a tomb. Not an
effigy."
"Could the poem be wrong?" Teabing asked. "Could Jacques Sauniure have
made the same mistake I just did?"
Langdon considered it and shook his head. "Leigh, you said it yourself.
This church was built by Templars, the military arm of the Priory. Something
tells me the Grand Master of the Priory would have a pretty good idea if
there were knights buried here."
Teabing looked flabbergasted. "But this place is perfect." He wheeled
back toward the knights. "We must be missing something!"
Entering the annex, the altar boy was surprised to find it deserted.
"Father Knowles?" I know I heard the door, he thought, moving forward until
he could see the entryway.
A thin man in a tuxedo stood near the doorway, scratching his head and
looking lost. The altar boy gave an irritated huff, realizing he had
forgotten to relock the door when he let the others in. Now some pathetic
sod had wandered in off the street, looking for directions to some wedding
from the looks of it. "I'm sorry," he called out, passing a large pillar,
"we're closed."
A flurry of cloth ruffled behind him, and before the altar boy could
turn, his head snapped backward, a powerful hand clamping hard over his
mouth from behind, muffling his scream. The hand over the boy's mouth was
snow-white, and he smelled alcohol.
The prim man in the tuxedo calmly produced a very small revolver, which
he aimed directly at the boy's forehead.
The altar boy felt his groin grow hot and realized he had wet himself.
"Listen carefully," the tuxedoed man whispered. "You will exit this
church silently, and you will run. You will not stop. Is that clear?"
The boy nodded as best he could with the hand over his mouth.
"If you call the police..." The tuxedoed man pressed the gun to his
skin. "I will find you."
The next thing the boy knew, he was sprinting across the outside
courtyard with no plans of stopping until his legs gave out.
CHAPTER 86
Like a ghost, Silas drifted silently behind his target. Sophie Neveu
sensed him too late. Before she could turn, Silas pressed the gun barrel
into her spine and wrapped a powerful arm across her chest, pulling her back
against his hulking body. She yelled in surprise. Teabing and Langdon both
turned now, their expressions astonished and fearful.
"What...?" Teabing choked out. "What did you do to Rumy!"
"Your only concern," Silas said calmly, "is that I leave here with the
keystone." This recovery mission, as Rumy had described it, was to be clean
and simple: Enter the church, take the keystone, and walk out; no killing,
no struggle.
Holding Sophie firm, Silas dropped his hand from her chest, down to her
waist, slipping it inside her deep sweater pockets, searching. He could
smell the soft fragrance of her hair through his own alcohol-laced breath.
"Where is it?" he whispered. The keystone was in her sweater pocket earlier.
So where is it now?
"It's over here," Langdon's deep voice resonated from across the room.
Silas turned to see Langdon holding the black cryptex before him,
waving it back and forth like a matador tempting a dumb animal.
"Set it down," Silas demanded.
"Let Sophie and Leigh leave the church," Langdon replied. "You and I
can settle this."
Silas pushed Sophie away from him and aimed the gun at Langdon, moving
toward him.
"Not a step closer," Langdon said. "Not until they leave the building."
"You are in no position to make demands."
"I disagree." Langdon raised the cryptex high over his head. "I will
not hesitate to smash this on the floor and break the vial inside."
Although Silas sneered outwardly at the threat, he felt a flash of
fear. This was unexpected. He aimed the gun at Langdon's head and kept his
voice as steady as his hand. "You would never break the keystone. You want
to find the Grail as much as I do."
"You're wrong. You want it much more. You've proven you're willing to
kill for it."
Forty feet away, peering out from the annex pews near the archway, Rumy
Legaludec felt a rising alarm. The maneuver had not gone as planned, and
even from here, he could see Silas was uncertain how to handle the
situation. At the Teacher's orders, Rumy had forbidden Silas to fire his
gun.
"Let them go," Langdon again demanded, holding the cryptex high over
his head and staring into Silas's gun.
The monk's red eyes filled with anger and frustration, and Rumy
tightened with fear that Silas might actually shoot Langdon while he was
holding the cryptex. The cryptex cannot fall!
The cryptex was to be Rumy's ticket to freedom and wealth. A little
over a year ago, he was simply a fifty-five-year-old manservant living
within the walls of Chuteau Villette, catering to the whims of the
insufferable cripple Sir Leigh Teabing. Then he was approached with an
extraordinary proposition. Rumy's association with Sir Leigh Teabing--the
preeminent Grail historian on earth--was going to bring Rumy everything he
had ever dreamed of in life. Since then, every moment he had spent inside
Chuteau Villette had been leading him to this very instant.
I am so close, Rumy told himself, gazing into the sanctuary of the
Temple Church and the keystone in Robert Langdon's hand. If Langdon dropped
it, all would be lost.
Am I willing to show my face? It was something the Teacher had strictly
forbidden. Rumy was the only one who knew the Teacher's identity.
"Are you certain you want Silas to carry out this task?" Rumy had asked
the Teacher less than half an hour ago, upon getting orders to steal the
keystone. "I myself am capable."
The Teacher was resolute. "Silas served us well with the four Priory
members. He will recover the keystone. You must remain anonymous. If others
see you, they will need to be eliminated, and there has been enough killing
already. Do not reveal your face."
My face will change, Rumy thought. With what you've promised to pay me,
I will become an entirely new man. Surgery could even change his
fingerprints, the Teacher had told him. Soon he would be free--another
unrecognizable, beautiful face soaking up the sun on the beach.
"Understood," Rumy said. "I will assist Silas from the shadows."
"For your own knowledge, Rumy," the Teacher had told him, "the tomb in
question is not in the Temple Church. So have no fear. They are looking in
the wrong place."
Rumy was stunned. "And you know where the tomb is?"
"Of course. Later, I will tell you. For the moment, you must act
quickly. If the others figure out the true location of the tomb and leave
the church before you take the cryptex, we could lose the Grail forever."
Rumy didn't give a damn about the Grail, except that the Teacher
refused to pay him until it was found. Rumy felt giddy every time he thought
of the money he soon would have. One third of twenty million euro. Plenty to
disappear forever. Rumy had pictured the beach towns on the Cute d'Azur,
where he planned to live out his days basking in the sun and letting others
serve him for a change.
Now, however, here in the Temple Church, with Langdon threatening to
break the keystone, Rumy's future was at risk. Unable to bear the thought of
coming this close only to lose it all, Rumy made the decision to take bold
action. The gun in his hand was a concealable, small-caliber, J-frame
Medusa, but it would be plenty deadly at close range.
Stepping from the shadows, Rumy marched into the circular chamber and
aimed the gun directly at Teabing's head. "Old man, I've been waiting a long
time to do this."
Sir Leigh Teabing's heart practically stalled to see Rumy aiming a gun
at him. What is he doing! Teabing recognized the tiny Medusa revolver as his
own, the one he kept locked in the limousine glove box for safety.
"Rumy?" Teabing sputtered in shock. "What is going on?"
Langdon and Sophie looked equally dumbstruck.
Rumy circled behind Teabing and rammed the pistol barrel into his back,
high and on the left, directly behind his heart.
Teabing felt his muscles seize with terror. "Rumy, I don't--"
"I'll make it simple," Rumy snapped, eyeing Langdon over Teabing's
shoulder. "Set down the keystone, or I pull the trigger."
Langdon seemed momentarily paralyzed. "The keystone is worthless to
you," he stammered. "You cannot possibly open it."
"Arrogant fools," Rumy sneered. "Have you not noticed that I have been
listening tonight as you discussed these poems? Everything I heard, I have
shared with others. Others who know more than you. You are not even looking
in the right place. The tomb you seek is in another location entirely!"
Teabing felt panicked. What is he saying!
"Why do you want the Grail?" Langdon demanded. "To destroy it? Before
the End of Days?"
Rumy called to the monk. "Silas, take the keystone from Mr. Langdon."
As the monk advanced, Langdon stepped back, raising the keystone high,
looking fully prepared to hurl it at the floor.
"I would rather break it," Langdon said, "than see it in the wrong
hands."
Teabing now felt a wave of horror. He could see his life's work
evaporating before his eyes. All his dreams about to be shattered.
"Robert, no!" Teabing exclaimed. "Don't! That's the Grail you're
holding! Rumy would never shoot me. We've known each other for ten--"
Rumy aimed at the ceiling and fired the Medusa. The blast was enormous
for such a small weapon, the gunshot echoing like thunder inside the stone
chamber.
Everyone froze.
"I am not playing games," Rumy said. "The next one is in his back. Hand
the keystone to Silas."
Langdon reluctantly held out the cryptex. Silas stepped forward and
took it, his red eyes gleaming with the self-satisfaction of vengeance.
Slipping the keystone in the pocket of his robe, Silas backed off, still
holding Langdon and Sophie at gunpoint.
Teabing felt Rumy's arm clamp hard around his neck as the servant began
backing out of the building, dragging Teabing with him, the gun still
pressed in his back.
"Let him go," Langdon demanded.
"We're taking Mr. Teabing for a drive," Rumy said, still backing up.
"If you call the police, he will die. If you do anything to interfere, he
will die. Is that clear?"
"Take me," Langdon demanded, his voice cracking with emotion. "Let
Leigh go."
Rumy laughed. "I don't think so. He and I have such a nice history.
Besides, he still might prove useful."
Silas was backing up now, keeping Langdon and Sophie at gunpoint as
Rumy pulled Leigh toward the exit, his crutches dragging behind him.
Sophie's voice was unwavering. "Who are you working for?"
The question brought a smirk to the departing Rumy's face. "You would
be surprised, Mademoiselle Neveu."
CHAPTER 87
The fireplace in Chuteau Villette's drawing room was cold, but Collet
paced before it nonetheless as he read the faxes from Interpol.
Not at all what he expected.
Andru Vernet, according to official records, was a model citizen. No
police record--not even a parking ticket. Educated at prep school and the
Sorbonne, he had a cum laude degree in international finance. Interpol said
Vernet's name appeared in the newspapers from time to time, but always in a
positive light. Apparently the man had helped design the security parameters
that kept the Depository Bank of Zurich a leader in the ultramodern world of
electronic security. Vernet's credit card records showed a penchant for art
books, expensive wine, and classical CD's--mostly Brahms--which he
apparently enjoyed on an exceptionally high-end stereo system he had
purchased several years ago.
Zero, Collet sighed.
The only red flag tonight from Interpol had been a set of fingerprints
that apparently belonged to Teabing's servant. The chief PTS examiner was
reading the report in a comfortable chair across the room.
Collet looked over. "Anything?"
The examiner shrugged. "Prints belong to Rumy Legaludec. Wanted for
petty crime. Nothing serious. Looks like he got kicked out of university for
rewiring phone jacks to get free service... later did some petty theft.
Breaking and entering. Skipped out on a hospital bill once for an emergency
tracheotomy." He glanced up, chuckling. "Peanut allergy."
Collet nodded, recalling a police investigation into a restaurant that
had failed to notate on its menu that the chili recipe contained peanut oil.
An unsuspecting patron had died of anaphylactic shock at the table after a
single bite.
"Legaludec is probably a live-in here to avoid getting picked up." The
examiner looked amused. "His lucky night."
Collet sighed. "All right, you better forward this info to Captain
Fache."
The examiner headed off just as another PTS agent burst into the living
room. "Lieutenant! We found something in the barn."
From the anxious look on the agent's face, Collet could only guess. "A
body."
"No, sir. Something more..." He hesitated. "Unexpected."
Rubbing his eyes, Collet followed the agent out to the barn. As they
entered the musty, cavernous space, the agent motioned toward the center of
the room, where a wooden ladder now ascended high into the rafters, propped
against the ledge of a hayloft suspended high above them.
"That ladder wasn't there earlier," Collet said.
"No, sir. I set that up. We were dusting for prints near the Rolls when
I saw the ladder lying on the floor. I wouldn't have given it a second
thought except the rungs were worn and muddy. This ladder gets regular use.
The height of the hayloft matched the ladder, so I raised it and climbed up
to have a look."
Collet's eyes climbed the ladder's steep incline to the soaring
hayloft. Someone goes up there regularly? From down here, the loft appeared
to be a deserted platform, and yet admittedly most of it was invisible from
this line of sight.
A senior PTS agent appeared at the top of the ladder, looking down.
"You'll definitely want to see this, Lieutenant," he said, waving Collet up
with a latex-gloved hand.
Nodding tiredly, Collet walked over to the base of the old ladder and
grasped the bottom rungs. The ladder was an antique tapered design and
narrowed as Collet ascended. As he neared the top, Collet almost lost his
footing on a thin rung. The barn below him spun. Alert now, he moved on,
finally reaching the top. The agent above him reached out, offering his
wrist. Collet grabbed it and made the awkward transition onto the platform.
"It's over there," the PTS agent said, pointing deep into the
immaculately clean loft. "Only one set of prints up here. We'll have an ID
shortly."
Collet squinted through the dim light toward the far wall. What the
hell? Nestled against the far wall sat an elaborate computer
workstation--two tower CPUs, a flat-screen video monitor with speakers, an
array of hard drives, and a multichannel audio console that appeared to have
its own filtered power supply.
Why in the world would anyone work all the way up here? Collet moved
toward the gear. "Have you examined the system?"
"It's a listening post."
Collet spun. "Surveillance?"
The agent nodded. "Very advanced surveillance." He motioned to a long
project table strewn with electronic parts, manuals, tools, wires, soldering
irons, and other electronic components. "Someone clearly knows what he's
doing. A lot of this gear is as sophisticated as our own equipment.
Miniature microphones, photoelectric recharging cells, high-capacity RAM
chips. He's even got some of those new nano drives."
Collet was impressed.
"Here's a complete system," the agent said, handing Collet an assembly
not much larger than a pocket calculator. Dangling off the contraption was a
foot-long wire with a stamp-sized piece of wafer-thin foil stuck on the end.
"The base is a high-capacity hard disk audio recording system with
rechargeable battery. That strip of foil at the end of the wire is a
combination microphone and photoelectric recharging cell."
Collet knew them well. These foil-like, photocell microphones had been
an enormous breakthrough a few years back. Now, a hard disk recorder could
be affixed behind a lamp, for example, with its foil microphone molded into
the contour of the base and dyed to match. As long as the microphone was
positioned such that it received a few hours of sunlight per day, the photo
cells would keep recharging the system. Bugs like this one could listen
indefinitely.
"Reception method?" Collet asked.
The agent signaled to an insulated wire that ran out of the back of the
computer, up the wall, through a hole in the barn roof. "Simple radio wave.
Small antenna on the roof."
Collet knew these recording systems were generally placed in offices,
were voice-activated to save hard disk space, and recorded snippets of
conversation during the day, transmitting compressed audio files at night to
avoid detection. After transmitting, the hard drive erased itself and
prepared to do it all over again the next day.
Collet's gaze moved now to a shelf on which were stacked several
hundred audio cassettes, all labeled with dates and numbers. Someone has
been very busy. He turned back to the agent. "Do you have any idea what
target is being bugged?"
"Well, Lieutenant," the agent said, walking to the computer and
launching a piece of software. "It's the strangest thing...."
CHAPTER 88
Langdon felt utterly spent as he and Sophie hurdled a turnstile at the
Temple tube station and dashed deep into the grimy labyrinth of tunnels and
platforms. The guilt ripped through him.
I involved Leigh, and now he's in enormous danger.
Rumy's involvement had been a shock, and yet it made sense. Whoever was
pursuing the Grail had recruited someone on the inside. They went to
Teabing's for the same reason I did. Throughout history, those who held
knowledge of the Grail had always been magnets for thieves and scholars
alike. The fact that Teabing had been a target all along should have made
Langdon feel less guilty about involving him. It did not. We need to find
Leigh and help him. Immediately.
Langdon followed Sophie to the westbound District and Circle Line
platform, where she hurried to a pay phone to call the police, despite
Rumy's warning to the contrary. Langdon sat on a grungy bench nearby,
feeling remorseful.
"The best way to help Leigh," Sophie reiterated as she dialed, "is to
involve the London authorities immediately. Trust me."
Langdon had not initially agreed with this idea, but as they had
hatched their plan, Sophie's logic began to make sense. Teabing was safe at
the moment. Even if Rumy and the others knew where the knight's tomb was
located, they still might need Teabing's help deciphering the orb reference.
What worried Langdon was what would happen after the Grail map had been
found. Leigh will become a huge liability.
If Langdon were to have any chance of helping Leigh, or of ever seeing
the keystone again, it was essential that he find the tomb first.
Unfortunately, Rumy has a big head start.
Slowing Rumy down had become Sophie's task.
Finding the right tomb had become Langdon's.
Sophie would make Rumy and Silas fugitives of the London police,
forcing them into hiding or, better yet, catching them. Langdon's plan was
less certain--to take the tube to nearby King's College, which was renowned
for its electronic theological database. The ultimate research tool, Langdon
had heard. Instant answers to any religious historical question. He wondered
what the database would have to say about "a knight a Pope interred."
He stood up and paced, wishing the train would hurry.
At the pay phone, Sophie's call finally connected to the London police.
"Snow Hill Division," the dispatcher said. "How may I direct your
call?"
"I'm reporting a kidnapping." Sophie knew to be concise.
"Name please?"
Sophie paused. "Agent Sophie Neveu with the French Judicial Police."
The title had the desired effect. "Right away, ma'am. Let me get a
detective on the line for you."
As the call went through, Sophie began wondering if the police would
even believe her description of Teabing's captors. A man in a tuxedo. How
much easier to identify could a suspect be? Even if Rumy changed clothes, he
was partnered with an albino monk. Impossible to miss. Moreover, they had a
hostage and could not take public transportation. She wondered how many
Jaguar stretch limos there could be in London.
Sophie's connection to the detective seemed to be taking forever. Come
on! She could hear the line clicking and buzzing, as if she was being
transferred.
Fifteen seconds passed.
Finally a man came on the line. "Agent Neveu?"
Stunned, Sophie registered the gruff tone immediately.
"Agent Neveu," Bezu Fache demanded. "Where the hell are you?"
Sophie was speechless. Captain Fache had apparently requested the
London police dispatcher alert him if Sophie called in.
"Listen," Fache said, speaking to her in terse French. "I made a
terrible mistake tonight. Robert Langdon is innocent. All charges against
him have been dropped. Even so, both of you are in danger. You need to come
in."
Sophie's jaw fell slack. She had no idea how to respond. Fache was not
a man who apologized for anything.
"You did not tell me," Fache continued, "that Jacques Sauniure was your
grandfather. I fully intend to overlook your insubordination last night on
account of the emotional stress you must be under. At the moment, however,
you and Langdon need to go to the nearest London police headquarters for
refuge."
He knows I'm in London? What else does Fache know? Sophie heard what
sounded like drilling or machinery in the background. She also heard an odd
clicking on the line. "Are you tracing this call, Captain?"
Fache's voice was firm now. "You and I need to cooperate, Agent Neveu.
We both have a lot to lose here. This is damage control. I made errors in
judgment last night, and if those errors result in the deaths of an American
professor and a DCPJ cryptologist, my career will be over. I've been trying
to pull you back into safety for the last several hours."
A warm wind was now pushing through the station as a train approached
with a low rumble. Sophie had every intention of being on it. Langdon
apparently had the same idea; he was gathering himself together and moving
toward her now.
"The man you want is Rumy Legaludec," Sophie said. "He is Teabing's
servant. He just kidnapped Teabing inside the Temple Church and--"
"Agent Neveu!" Fache bellowed as the train thundered into the station.
"This is not something to discuss on an open line. You and Langdon will come
in now. For your own well-being! That is a direct order!"
Sophie hung up and dashed with Langdon onto the train.
CHAPTER 89
The immaculate cabin of Teabing's Hawker was now covered with steel
shavings and smelled of compressed air and propane. Bezu Fache had sent
everyone away and sat alone with his drink and the heavy wooden box found in
Teabing's safe.
Running his finger across the inlaid Rose, he lifted the ornate lid.
Inside he found a stone cylinder with lettered dials. The five dials were
arranged to spell SOFIA. Fache stared at the word a long moment and then
lifted the cylinder from its padded resting place and examined every inch.
Then, pulling slowly on the ends, Fache slid off one of the end caps. The
cylinder was empty.
Fache set it back in the box and gazed absently out the jet's window at
the hangar, pondering his brief conversation with Sophie, as well as the
information he'd received from PTS in Chuteau Villette. The sound of his
phone shook him from his daydream.
It was the DCPJ switchboard. The dispatcher was apologetic. The
president of the Depository Bank of Zurich had been calling repeatedly, and
although he had been told several times that the captain was in London on
business, he just kept calling. Begrudgingly Fache told the operator to
forward the call.
"Monsieur Vernet," Fache said, before the man could even speak, "I am
sorry I did not call you earlier. I have been busy. As promised, the name of
your bank has not appeared in the media. So what precisely is your concern?"
Vernet's voice was anxious as he told Fache how Langdon and Sophie had
extracted a small wooden box from the bank and then persuaded Vernet to help
them escape. "Then when I heard on the radio that they were criminals,"
Vernet said, "I pulled over and demanded the box back, but they attacked me
and stole the truck."
"You are concerned for a wooden box," Fache said, eyeing the Rose inlay
on the cover and again gently opening the lid to reveal the white cylinder.
"Can you tell me what was in the box?"
"The contents are immaterial," Vernet fired back. "I am concerned with
the reputation of my bank. We have never had a robbery. Ever. It will ruin
us if I cannot recover this property on behalf of my client."
"You said Agent Neveu and Robert Langdon had a password and a key. What
makes you say they stole the box?"
"They murdered people tonight. Including Sophie Neveu's grandfather.
The key and password were obviously ill-gotten."
"Mr. Vernet, my men have done some checking into your background and
your interests. You are obviously a man of great culture and refinement. I
would imagine you are a man of honor, as well. As am I. That said, I give
you my word as commanding officer of the Police Judiciaire that your box,
along with your bank's reputation, are in the safest of hands."
CHAPTER 90
High in the hayloft at Chuteau Villette, Collet stared at the computer
monitor in amazement. "This system is eavesdropping on all these locations?"
"Yes," the agent said. "It looks like data has been collected for over
a year now."
Collet read the list again, speechless.
COLBERT SOSTAQUE--Chairman of the Conseil Constitutionnel
JEAN CHAFFuE--Curator, Musue du Jeu de Paume
EDOUARD DESROCHERS--Senior Archivist, Mitterrand Library
JACQUES SAUNIuRE--Curator, Musue du Louvre
MICHEL BRETON--Head of DAS (French Intelligence)
The agent pointed to the screen. "Number four is of obvious concern."
Collet nodded blankly. He had noticed it immediately. Jacques Sauniure
was being bugged. He looked at the rest of the list again. How could anyone
possibly manage to bug these prominent people? "Have you heard any of the
audio files?"
"A few. Here's one of the most recent." The agent clicked a few
computer keys. The speakers crackled to life. "Capitaine, un agent du
Dupartement de Cryptographie est arrivu."
Collet could not believe his ears. "That's me! That's my voice!" He
recalled sitting at Sauniure's desk and radioing Fache in the Grand Gallery
to alert him of Sophie Neveu's arrival.
The agent nodded. "A lot of our Louvre investigation tonight would have
been audible if someone had been interested."
"Have you sent anyone in to sweep for the bug?"
"No need. I know exactly where it is." The agent went to a pile of old
notes and blueprints on the worktable. He selected a page and handed it to
Collet. "Look familiar?"
Collet was amazed. He was holding a photocopy of an ancient schematic
diagram, which depicted a rudimentary machine. He was unable to read the
handwritten Italian labels, and yet he knew what he was looking at. A model
for a fully articulated medieval French knight.
The knight sitting on Sauniure's desk!
Collet's eyes moved to the margins, where someone had scribbled notes
on the photocopy in red felt-tipped marker. The notes were in French and
appeared to be ideas outlining how best to insert a listening device into
the knight.
CHAPTER 91
Silas sat in the passenger seat of the parked Jaguar limousine near the
Temple Church. His hands felt damp on the keystone as he waited for Rumy to
finish tying and gagging Teabing in back with the rope they had found in the
trunk.
Finally, Rumy climbed out of the rear of the limo, walked around, and
slid into the driver's seat beside Silas.
"Secure?" Silas asked.
Rumy chuckled, shaking off the rain and glancing over his shoulder
through the open partition at the crumpled form of Leigh Teabing, who was
barely visible in the shadows in the rear. "He's not going anywhere."
Silas could hear Teabing's muffled cries and realized Rumy had used
some of the old duct tape to gag him.
"Ferme ta gueule!" Rumy shouted over his shoulder at Teabing. Reaching
to a control panel on the elaborate dash, Rumy pressed a button. An opaque
partition raised behind them, sealing off the back. Teabing disappeared, and
his voice was silenced. Rumy glanced at Silas. "I've been listening to his
miserable whimpering long enough."
Minutes later, as the Jaguar stretch limo powered through the streets,
Silas's cell phone rang. The Teacher. He answered excitedly. "Hello?"
"Silas," the Teacher's familiar French accent said, "I am relieved to
hear your voice. This means you are safe."
Silas was equally comforted to hear the Teacher. It had been hours, and
the operation had veered wildly off course. Now, at last, it seemed to be
back on track. "I have the keystone."
"This is superb news," the Teacher told him. "Is Rumy with you?"
Silas was surprised to hear the Teacher use Rumy's name. "Yes. Rumy
freed me."
"As I ordered him to do. I am only sorry you had to endure captivity
for so long."
"Physical discomfort has no meaning. The important thing is that the
keystone is ours."
"Yes. I need it delivered to me at once. Time is of the essence."
Silas was eager to meet the Teacher face-to-face at last. "Yes, sir, I
would be honored."
"Silas, I would like Rumy to bring it to me."
Rumy? Silas was crestfallen. After everything Silas had done for the
Teacher, he had believed he would be the one to hand over the prize. The
Teacher favors Rumy?
"I sense your disappointment," the Teacher said, "which tells me you do
not understand my meaning." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "You must
believe that I would much prefer to receive the keystone from you--a man of
God rather than a criminal--but Rumy must be dealt with. He disobeyed my
orders and made a grave mistake that has put our entire mission at risk."
Silas felt a chill and glanced over at Rumy. Kidnapping Teabing had not
been part of the plan, and deciding what to do with him posed a new problem.
"You and I are men of God," the Teacher whispered. "We cannot be
deterred from our goal." There was an ominous pause on the line. "For this
reason alone, I will ask Rumy to bring me the keystone. Do you understand?"
Silas sensed anger in the Teacher's voice and was surprised the man was
not more understanding. Showing his face could not be avoided, Silas
thought. Rumy did what he had to do. He saved the keystone. "I understand,"
Silas managed.
"Good. For your own safety, you n