bey was laid out in the shape of a giant crucifix. Unlike most churches,
however, it had its entrance on the side, rather than the standard rear of
the church via the narthex at the bottom of the nave. Moreover, the abbey
had a series of sprawling cloisters attached. One false step through the
wrong archway, and a visitor was lost in a labyrinth of outdoor passageways
surrounded by high walls.
"Docents wear crimson robes," Langdon said, approaching the center of
the church. Peering obliquely across the towering gilded altar to the far
end of the south transept, Langdon saw several people crawling on their
hands and knees. This prostrate pilgrimage was a common occurrence in Poets'
Corner, although it was far less holy than it appeared. Tourists doing grave
rubbings.
"I don't see any docents," Sophie said. "Maybe we can find the tomb on
our own?"
Without a word, Langdon led her another few steps to the center of the
abbey and pointed to the right.
Sophie drew a startled breath as she looked down the length of the
abbey's nave, the full magnitude of the building now visible. "Aah," she
said. "Let's find a docent."
At that moment, a hundred yards down the nave, out of sight behind the
choir screen, the stately tomb of Sir Isaac Newton had a lone visitor. The
Teacher had been scrutinizing the monument for ten minutes now.
Newton's tomb consisted of a massive black-marble sarcophagus on which
reclined the sculpted form of Sir Isaac Newton, wearing classical costume,
and leaning proudly against a stack of his own books--Divinity, Chronology,
Opticks, and Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica. At Newton's feet
stood two winged boys holding a scroll. Behind Newton's recumbent body rose
an austere pyramid. Although the pyramid itself seemed an oddity, it was the
giant shape mounted halfway up the pyramid that most intrigued the Teacher.
An orb.
The Teacher pondered Sauniure's beguiling riddle. You seek the orb that
ought be on his tomb. The massive orb protruding from the face of the
pyramid was carved in basso-relievo and depicted all kinds of heavenly
bodies--constellations, signs of the zodiac, comets, stars, and planets.
Above it, the image of the Goddess of Astronomy beneath a field of stars.
Countless orbs.
The Teacher had been convinced that once he found the tomb, discerning
the missing orb would be easy. Now he was not so sure. He was gazing at a
complicated map of the heavens. Was there a missing planet? Had some
astronomical orb been omitted from a constellation? He had no idea. Even so,
the Teacher could not help but suspect that the solution would be
ingeniously clean and simple--"a knight a pope interred." What orb am I
looking for? Certainly, an advanced knowledge of astrophysics was not a
prerequisite for finding the Holy Grail, was it?
It speaks of Rosy flesh and seeded womb.
The Teacher's concentration was broken by several approaching tourists.
He slipped the cryptex back in his pocket and watched warily as the visitors
went to a nearby table, left a donation in the cup, and restocked on the
complimentary grave-rubbing supplies set out by the abbey. Armed with fresh
charcoal pencils and large sheets of heavy paper, they headed off toward the
front of the abbey, probably to the popular Poets' Corner to pay their
respects to Chaucer, Tennyson, and Dickens by rubbing furiously on their
graves.
Alone again, he stepped closer to the tomb, scanning it from bottom to
top. He began with the clawed feet beneath the sarcophagus, moved upward
past Newton, past his books on science, past the two boys with their
mathematical scroll, up the face of the pyramid to the giant orb with its
constellations, and finally up to the niche's star-filled canopy.
What orb ought to be here... and yet is missing? He touched the cryptex
in his pocket as if he could somehow divine the answer from Sauniure's
crafted marble. Only five letters separate me from the Grail.
Pacing now near the corner of the choir screen, he took a deep breath
and glanced up the long nave toward the main altar in the distance. His gaze
dropped from the gilded altar down to the bright crimson robe of an abbey
docent who was being waved over by two very familiar individuals.
Langdon and Neveu.
Calmly, the Teacher moved two steps back behind the choir screen. That
was fast. He had anticipated Langdon and Sophie would eventually decipher
the poem's meaning and come to Newton's tomb, but this was sooner than he
had imagined. Taking a deep breath, the Teacher considered his options. He
had grown accustomed to dealing with surprises.
I am holding the cryptex.
Reaching down to his pocket, he touched the second object that gave him
his confidence: the Medusa revolver. As expected, the abbey's metal
detectors had blared as the Teacher passed through with the concealed gun.
Also as expected, the guards had backed off at once when the Teacher glared
indignantly and flashed his identification card. Official rank always
commanded the proper respect.
Although initially the Teacher had hoped to solve the cryptex alone and
avoid any further complications, he now sensed that the arrival of Langdon
and Neveu was actually a welcome development. Considering the lack of
success he was having with the "orb" reference, he might be able to use
their expertise. After all, if Langdon had deciphered the poem to find the
tomb, there was a reasonable chance he also knew something about the orb.
And if Langdon knew the password, then it was just a matter of applying the
right pressure.
Not here, of course.
Somewhere private.
The Teacher recalled a small announcement sign he had seen on his way
into the abbey. Immediately he knew the perfect place to lure them.
The only question now... what to use as bait.
CHAPTER 98
Langdon and Sophie moved slowly down the north aisle, keeping to the
shadows behind the ample pillars that separated it from the open nave.
Despite having traveled more than halfway down the nave, they still had no
clear view of Newton's tomb. The sarcophagus was recessed in a niche,
obscured from this oblique angle.
"At least there's nobody over there," Sophie whispered.
Langdon nodded, relieved. The entire section of the nave near Newton's
tomb was deserted. "I'll go over," he whispered. "You should stay hidden
just in case someone--"
Sophie had already stepped from the shadows and was headed across the
open floor.
"--is watching," Langdon sighed, hurrying to join her.
Crossing the massive nave on a diagonal, Langdon and Sophie remained
silent as the elaborate sepulchre revealed itself in tantalizing
increments... a black-marble sarcophagus... a reclining statue of Newton...
two winged boys... a huge pyramid... and... an enormous orb.
"Did you know about that?" Sophie said, sounding startled.
Langdon shook his head, also surprised.
"Those look like constellations carved on it," Sophie said.
As they approached the niche, Langdon felt a slow sinking sensation.
Newton's tomb was covered with orbs--stars, comets, planets. You seek the
orb that ought be on his tomb? It could turn out to be like trying to find a
missing blade of grass on a golf course.
"Astronomical bodies," Sophie said, looking concerned. "And a lot of
them."
Langdon frowned. The only link between the planets and the Grail that
Langdon could imagine was the pentacle of Venus, and he had already tried
the password "Venus" en route to the Temple Church.
Sophie moved directly to the sarcophagus, but Langdon hung back a few
feet, keeping an eye on the abbey around them.
"Divinity," Sophie said, tilting her head and reading the titles of the
books on which Newton was leaning. "Chronology. Opticks. Philosophiae
Naturalis Principia Mathematica?" She turned to him. "Ring any bells?"
Langdon stepped closer, considering it. "Principia Mathematica, as I
remember, has something to do with the gravitation pull of planets... which
admittedly are orbs, but it seems a little far-fetched."
"How about the signs of the zodiac?" Sophie asked, pointing to the
constellations on the orb. "You were talking about Pisces and Aquarius
earlier, weren't you?"
The End of Days, Langdon thought. "The end of Pisces and the beginning
of Aquarius was allegedly the historical marker at which the Priory planned
to release the Sangreal documents to the world." But the millennium came and
went without incident, leaving historians uncertain when the truth was
coming.
"It seems possible," Sophie said, "that the Priory's plans to reveal
the truth might be related to the last line of the poem."
It speaks of Rosy flesh and seeded womb. Langdon felt a shiver of
potential. He had not considered the line that way before.
"You told me earlier," she said, "that the timing of the Priory's plans
to unveil the truth about 'the Rose' and her fertile womb was linked
directly to the position of planets--orbs."
Langdon nodded, feeling the first faint wisps of possibility
materializing. Even so, his intuition told him astronomy was not the key.
The Grand Master's previous solutions had all possessed an eloquent,
symbolic significance--the Mona Lisa, Madonna of the Rocks, SOFIA. This
eloquence was definitely lacking in the concept of planetary orbs and the
zodiac. Thus far, Jacques Sauniure had proven himself a meticulous code
writer, and Langdon had to believe that his final password--those five
letters that unlocked the Priory's ultimate secret--would prove to be not
only symbolically fitting but also crystal clear. If this solution were
anything like the others, it would be painfully obvious once it dawned.
"Look!" Sophie gasped, jarring his thoughts as she grabbed his arm.
From the fear in her touch Langdon sensed someone must be approaching, but
when he turned to her, she was staring aghast at the top of the black marble
sarcophagus. "Someone was here," she whispered, pointing to a spot on the
sarcophagus near Newton's outstretched right foot.
Langdon did not understand her concern. A careless tourist had left a
charcoal, grave-rubbing pencil on the sarcophagus lid near Newton's foot.
It's nothing. Langdon reached out to pick it up, but as he leaned toward the
sarcophagus, the light shifted on the polished black-marble slab, and
Langdon froze. Suddenly, he saw why Sophie was afraid.
Scrawled on the sarcophagus lid, at Newton's feet, shimmered a barely
visible charcoal-pencil message:
I have Teabing.
Go through Chapter House,
out south exit, to public garden.
Langdon read the words twice, his heart pounding wildly.
Sophie turned and scanned the nave.
Despite the pall of trepidation that settled over him upon seeing the
words, Langdon told himself this was good news. Leigh is still alive. There
was another implication here too. "They don't know the password either," he
whispered.
Sophie nodded. Otherwise why make their presence known?
"They may want to trade Leigh for the password."
"Or it's a trap."
Langdon shook his head. "I don't think so. The garden is outside the
abbey walls. A very public place." Langdon had once visited the abbey's
famous College Garden--a small fruit orchard and herb garden--left over from
the days when monks grew natural pharmacological remedies here. Boasting the
oldest living fruit trees in Great Britain, College Garden was a popular
spot for tourists to visit without having to enter the abbey. "I think
sending us outside is a show of faith. So we feel safe."
Sophie looked dubious. "You mean outside, where there are no metal
detectors?"
Langdon scowled. She had a point.
Gazing back at the orb-filled tomb, Langdon wished he had some idea
about the cryptex password... something with which to negotiate. I got Leigh
involved in this, and I'll do whatever it takes if there is a chance to help
him.
"The note says to go through the Chapter House to the south exit,"
Sophie said. "Maybe from the exit we would have a view of the garden? That
way we could assess the situation before we walked out there and exposed
ourselves to any danger?"
The idea was a good one. Langdon vaguely recalled the Chapter House as
a huge octagonal hall where the original British Parliament convened in the
days before the modern Parliament building existed. It had been years since
he had been there, but he remembered it being out through the cloister
somewhere. Taking several steps back from the tomb, Langdon peered around
the choir screen to his right, across the nave to the side opposite that
which they had descended.
A gaping vaulted passageway stood nearby, with a large sign.
THIS WAY TO:
CLOISTERS
DEANERY
COLLEGE HALL
MUSEUM
PYX CHAMBER
ST. FAITH'S CHAPEL
CHAPTER HOUSE
Langdon and Sophie were jogging as they passed beneath the sign, moving
too quickly to notice the small announcement apologizing that certain areas
were closed for renovations.
They emerged immediately into a high-walled, open-roof courtyard
through which morning rain was falling. Above them, the wind howled across
the opening with a low drone, like someone blowing over the mouth of a
bottle. Entering the narrow, low-hanging walkways that bordered the
courtyard perimeter, Langdon felt the familiar uneasiness he always felt in
enclosed spaces. These walkways were called cloisters, and Langdon noted
with uneasiness that these particular cloisters lived up to their Latin ties
to the word claustrophobic.
Focusing his mind straight ahead toward the end of the tunnel, Langdon
followed the signs for the Chapter House. The rain was spitting now, and the
walkway was cold and damp with gusts of rain that blew through the lone
pillared wall that was the cloister's only source of light. Another couple
scurried past them the other way, hurrying to get out of the worsening
weather. The cloisters looked deserted now, admittedly the abbey's least
enticing section in the wind and rain.
Forty yards down the east cloister, an archway materialized on their
left, giving way to another hallway. Although this was the entrance they
were looking for, the opening was cordoned off by a swag and an
official-looking sign.
CLOSED FOR RENOVATION
PYX CHAMBER
ST. FAITH'S CHAPEL
CHAPTER HOUSE
The long, deserted corridor beyond the swag was littered with
scaffolding and drop cloths. Immediately beyond the swag, Langdon could see
the entrances to the Pyx Chamber and St. Faith's Chapel on the right and
left. The entrance to the Chapter House, however, was much farther away, at
the far end of the long hallway. Even from here, Langdon could see that its
heavy wooden door was wide open, and the spacious octagonal interior was
bathed in a grayish natural light from the room's enormous windows that
looked out on College Garden. Go through Chapter House, out south exit, to
public garden.
"We just left the east cloister," Langdon said, "so the south exit to
the garden must be through there and to the right."
Sophie was already stepping over the swag and moving forward.
As they hurried down the dark corridor, the sounds of the wind and rain
from the open cloister faded behind them. The Chapter House was a kind of
satellite structure--a freestanding annex at the end of the long hallway to
ensure the privacy of the Parliament proceedings housed there.
"It looks huge," Sophie whispered as they approached.
Langdon had forgotten just how large this room was. Even from outside
the entrance, he could gaze across the vast expanse of floor to the
breathtaking windows on the far side of the octagon, which rose five stories
to a vaulted ceiling. They would certainly have a clear view of the garden
from in here.
Crossing the threshold, both Langdon and Sophie found themselves having
to squint. After the gloomy cloisters, the Chapter House felt like a
solarium. They were a good ten feet into the room, searching the south wall,
when they realized the door they had been promised was not there.
They were standing in an enormous dead end.
The creaking of a heavy door behind them made them turn, just as the
door closed with a resounding thud and the latch fell into place.
The lone man who had been standing behind the door looked calm as he
aimed a small revolver at them. He was portly and was propped on a pair of
aluminum crutches.
For a moment Langdon thought he must be dreaming.
It was Leigh Teabing.
CHAPTER 99
Sir Leigh Teabing felt rueful as he gazed out over the barrel of his
Medusa revolver at Robert Langdon and Sophie Neveu. "My friends," he said,
"since the moment you walked into my home last night, I have done everything
in my power to keep you out of harm's way. But your persistence has now put
me in a difficult position."
He could see the expressions of shock and betrayal on Sophie's and
Langdon's faces, and yet he was confident that soon they would both
understand the chain of events that had guided the three of them to this
unlikely crossroads.
There is so much I have to tell you both... so much you do not yet
understand.
"Please believe," Teabing said, "I never had any intention of your
being involved. You came to my home. You came searching for me."
"Leigh?" Langdon finally managed. "What the hell are you doing? We
thought you were in trouble. We came here to help you!"
"As I trusted you would," he said. "We have much to discuss."
Langdon and Sophie seemed unable to tear their stunned gazes from the
revolver aimed at them.
"It is simply to ensure your full attention," Teabing said. "If I had
wanted to harm you, you would be dead by now. When you walked into my home
last night, I risked everything to spare your lives. I am a man of honor,
and I vowed in my deepest conscience only to sacrifice those who had
betrayed the Sangreal."
"What are you talking about?" Langdon said. "Betrayed the Sangreal?"
"I discovered a terrible truth," Teabing said, sighing. "I learned why
the Sangreal documents were never revealed to the world. I learned that the
Priory had decided not to release the truth after all. That's why the
millennium passed without any revelation, why nothing happened as we entered
the End of Days."
Langdon drew a breath, about to protest.
"The Priory," Teabing continued, "was given a sacred charge to share
the truth. To release the Sangreal documents when the End of Days arrived.
For centuries, men like Da Vinci, Botticelli, and Newton risked everything
to protect the documents and carry out that charge. And now, at the ultimate
moment of truth, Jacques Sauniure changed his mind. The man honored with the
greatest responsibility in Christian history eschewed his duty. He decided
the time was not right." Teabing turned to Sophie. "He failed the Grail. He
failed the Priory. And he failed the memory of all the generations that had
worked to make that moment possible."
"You?" Sophie declared, glancing up now, her green eyes boring into him
with rage and realization. "You are the one responsible for my grandfather's
murder?"
Teabing scoffed. "Your grandfather and his sunuchaux were traitors to
the Grail."
Sophie felt a fury rising from deep within. He's lying!
Teabing's voice was relentless. "Your grandfather sold out to the
Church. It is obvious they pressured him to keep the truth quiet."
Sophie shook her head. "The Church had no influence on my grandfather!"
Teabing laughed coldly. "My dear, the Church has two thousand years of
experience pressuring those who threaten to unveil its lies. Since the days
of Constantine, the Church has successfully hidden the truth about Mary
Magdalene and Jesus. We should not be surprised that now, once again, they
have found a way to keep the world in the dark. The Church may no longer
employ crusaders to slaughter non-believers, but their influence is no less
persuasive. No less insidious." He paused, as if to punctuate his next
point. "Miss Neveu, for some time now your grandfather has wanted to tell
you the truth about your family."
Sophie was stunned. "How could you know that?"
"My methods are immaterial. The important thing for you to grasp right
now is this." He took a deep breath. "The deaths of your mother, father,
grandmother, and brother were not accidental."
The words sent Sophie's emotions reeling. She opened her mouth to speak
but was unable.
Langdon shook his head. "What are you saying?"
"Robert, it explains everything. All the pieces fit. History repeats
itself. The Church has a precedent of murder when it comes to silencing the
Sangreal. With the End of Days imminent, killing the Grand Master's loved
ones sent a very clear message. Be quiet, or you and Sophie are next."
"It was a car accident," Sophie stammered, feeling the childhood pain
welling inside her. "An accident!"
"Bedtime stories to protect your innocence," Teabing said. "Consider
that only two family members went untouched--the Priory's Grand Master and
his lone granddaughter--the perfect pair to provide the Church with control
over the brotherhood. I can only imagine the terror the Church wielded over
your grandfather these past years, threatening to kill you if he dared
release the Sangreal secret, threatening to finish the job they started
unless Sauniure influenced the Priory to reconsider its ancient vow."
"Leigh," Langdon argued, now visibly riled, "certainly you have no
proof that the Church had anything to do with those deaths, or that it
influenced the Priory's decision to remain silent."
"Proof?" Teabing fired back. "You want proof the Priory was influenced?
The new millennium has arrived, and yet the world remains ignorant! Is that
not proof enough?"
In the echoes of Teabing's words, Sophie heard another voice speaking.
Sophie, I must tell you the truth about your family. She realized she was
trembling. Could this possibly be that truth her grandfather had wanted to
tell her? That her family had been murdered? What did she truly know about
the crash that took her family? Only sketchy details. Even the stories in
the newspaper had been vague. An accident? Bedtime stories? Sophie flashed
suddenly on her grandfather's overprotectiveness, how he never liked to
leave her alone when she was young. Even when Sophie was grown and away at
university, she had the sense her grandfather was watching over. She
wondered if there had been Priory members in the shadows throughout her
entire life, looking after her.
"You suspected he was being manipulated," Langdon said, glaring with
disbelief at Teabing. "So you murdered him?"
"I did not pull the trigger," Teabing said. "Sauniure was dead years
ago, when the Church stole his family from him. He was compromised. Now he
is free of that pain, released from the shame caused by his inability to
carry out his sacred duty. Consider the alternative. Something had to be
done. Shall the world be ignorant forever? Shall the Church be allowed to
cement its lies into our history books for all eternity? Shall the Church be
permitted to influence indefinitely with murder and extortion? No, something
needed to be done! And now we are poised to carry out Sauniure's legacy and
right a terrible wrong." He paused. "The three of us. Together."
Sophie felt only incredulity. "How could you possibly believe that we
would help you?"
"Because, my dear, you are the reason the Priory failed to release the
documents. Your grandfather's love for you prevented him from challenging
the Church. His fear of reprisal against his only remaining family crippled
him. He never had a chance to explain the truth because you rejected him,
tying his hands, making him wait. Now you owe the world the truth. You owe
it to the memory of your grandfather."
Robert Langdon had given up trying to get his bearings. Despite the
torrent of questions running through his mind, he knew only one thing
mattered now--getting Sophie out of here alive. All the guilt Langdon had
mistakenly felt earlier for involving Teabing had now been transferred to
Sophie.
I took her to Chuteau Villette. I am responsible.
Langdon could not fathom that Leigh Teabing would be capable of killing
them in cold blood here in the Chapter House, and yet Teabing certainly had
been involved in killing others during his misguided quest. Langdon had the
uneasy feeling that gunshots in this secluded, thick-walled chamber would go
unheard, especially in this rain. And Leigh just admitted his guilt to us.
Langdon glanced at Sophie, who looked shaken. The Church murdered
Sophie's family to silence the Priory? Langdon felt certain the modern
Church did not murder people. There had to be some other explanation.
"Let Sophie leave," Langdon declared, staring at Leigh. "You and I
should discuss this alone."
Teabing gave an unnatural laugh. "I'm afraid that is one show of faith
I cannot afford. I can, however, offer you this." He propped himself fully
on his crutches, gracelessly keeping the gun aimed at Sophie, and removed
the keystone from his pocket. He swayed a bit as he held it out for Langdon.
"A token of trust, Robert."
Robert felt wary and didn't move. Leigh is giving the keystone back to
us?
"Take it," Teabing said, thrusting it awkwardly toward Langdon.
Langdon could imagine only one reason Teabing would give it back. "You
opened it already. You removed the map."
Teabing was shaking his head. "Robert, if I had solved the keystone, I
would have disappeared to find the Grail myself and kept you uninvolved. No,
I do not know the answer. And I can admit that freely. A true knight learns
humility in the face of the Grail. He learns to obey the signs placed before
him. When I saw you enter the abbey, I understood. You were here for a
reason. To help. I am not looking for singular glory here. I serve a far
greater master than my own pride. The Truth. Mankind deserves to know that
truth. The Grail found us all, and now she is begging to be revealed. We
must work together."
Despite Teabing's pleas for cooperation and trust, his gun remained
trained on Sophie as Langdon stepped forward and accepted the cold marble
cylinder. The vinegar inside gurgled as Langdon grasped it and stepped
backward. The dials were still in random order, and the cryptex remained
locked.
Langdon eyed Teabing. "How do you know I won't smash it right now?"
Teabing's laugh was an eerie chortle. "I should have realized your
threat to break it in the Temple Church was an empty one. Robert Langdon
would never break the keystone. You are an historian, Robert. You are
holding the key to two thousand years of history--the lost key to the
Sangreal. You can feel the souls of all the knights burned at the stake to
protect her secret. Would you have them die in vain? No, you will vindicate
them. You will join the ranks of the great men you admire--Da Vinci,
Botticelli, Newton--each of whom would have been honored to be in your shoes
right now. The contents of the keystone are crying out to us. Longing to be
set free. The time has come. Destiny has led us to this moment."
"I cannot help you, Leigh. I have no idea how to open this. I only saw
Newton's tomb for a moment. And even if I knew the password..." Langdon
paused, realizing he had said too much.
"You would not tell me?" Teabing sighed. "I am disappointed and
surprised, Robert, that you do not appreciate the extent to which you are in
my debt. My task would have been far simpler had Rumy and I eliminated you
both when you walked into Chuteau Villette. Instead I risked everything to
take the nobler course."
"This is noble?" Langdon demanded, eyeing the gun.
"Sauniure's fault," Teabing said. "He and his sunuchaux lied to Silas.
Otherwise, I would have obtained the keystone without complication. How was
I to imagine the Grand Master would go to such ends to deceive me and
bequeath the keystone to an estranged granddaughter?" Teabing looked at
Sophie with disdain. "Someone so unqualified to hold this knowledge that she
required a symbologist baby-sitter." Teabing glanced back at Langdon.
"Fortunately, Robert, your involvement turned out to be my saving grace.
Rather than the keystone remaining locked in the depository bank forever,
you extracted it and walked into my home."
Where else would I run? Langdon thought. The community of Grail
historians is small, and Teabing and I have a history together.
Teabing now looked smug. "When I learned Sauniure left you a dying
message, I had a pretty good idea you were holding valuable Priory
information. Whether it was the keystone itself, or information on where to
find it, I was not sure. But with the police on your heels, I had a sneaking
suspicion you might arrive on my doorstep."
Langdon glared. "And if we had not?"
"I was formulating a plan to extend you a helping hand. One way or
another, the keystone was coming to Chuteau Villette. The fact that you
delivered it into my waiting hands only serves as proof that my cause is
just."
"What!" Langdon was appalled.
"Silas was supposed to break in and steal the keystone from you in
Chuteau Villette--thus removing you from the equation without hurting you,
and exonerating me from any suspicion of complicity. However, when I saw the
intricacy of Sauniure's codes, I decided to include you both in my quest a
bit longer. I could have Silas steal the keystone later, once I knew enough
to carry on alone."
"The Temple Church," Sophie said, her tone awash with betrayal.
Light begins to dawn, Teabing thought. The Temple Church was the
perfect location to steal the keystone from Robert and Sophie, and its
apparent relevance to the poem made it a plausible decoy. Rumy's orders had
been clear--stay out of sight while Silas recovers the keystone.
Unfortunately, Langdon's threat to smash the keystone on the chapel floor
had caused Rumy to panic. If only Rumy had not revealed himself, Teabing
thought ruefully, recalling his own mock kidnapping. Rumy was the sole link
to me, and he showed his face!
Fortunately, Silas remained unaware of Teabing's true identity and was
easily fooled into taking him from the church and then watching naively as
Rumy pretended to tie their hostage in the back of the limousine. With the
soundproof divider raised, Teabing was able to phone Silas in the front
seat, use the fake French accent of the Teacher, and direct Silas to go
straight to Opus Dei. A simple anonymous tip to the police was all it would
take to remove Silas from the picture.
One loose end tied up.
The other loose end was harder. Rumy.
Teabing struggled deeply with the decision, but in the end Rumy had
proven himself a liability. Every Grail quest requires sacrifice. The
cleanest solution had been staring Teabing in the face from the limousine's
wet bar--a flask, some cognac, and a can of peanuts. The powder at the
bottom of the can would be more than enough to trigger Rumy's deadly
allergy. When Rumy parked the limo on Horse Guards Parade, Teabing climbed
out of the back, walked to the side passenger door, and sat in the front
next to Rumy. Minutes later, Teabing got out of the car, climbed into the
rear again, cleaned up the evidence, and finally emerged to carry out the
final phase of his mission.
Westminster Abbey had been a short walk, and although Teabing's leg
braces, crutches, and gun had set off the metal detector, the rent-a-cops
never knew what to do. Do we ask him to remove his braces and crawl through?
Do we frisk his deformed body? Teabing presented the flustered guards a far
easier solution--an embossed card identifying him as Knight of the Realm.
The poor fellows practically tripped over one another ushering him in.
Now, eyeing the bewildered Langdon and Neveu, Teabing resisted the urge
to reveal how he had brilliantly implicated Opus Dei in the plot that would
soon bring about the demise of the entire Church. That would have to wait.
Right now there was work to do.
"Mes amis," Teabing declared in flawless French, "vous ne trouvez pas
le Saint-Graal, c'est le Saint-Graal qui vous trouve." He smiled. "Our paths
together could not be more clear. The Grail has found us."
Silence.
He spoke to them in a whisper now. "Listen. Can you hear it? The Grail
is speaking to us across the centuries. She is begging to be saved from the
Priory's folly. I implore you both to recognize this opportunity. There
could not possibly be three more capable people assembled at this moment to
break the final code and open the cryptex." Teabing paused, his eyes alight.
"We need to swear an oath together. A pledge of faith to one another. A
knight's allegiance to uncover the truth and make it known."
Sophie stared deep into Teabing's eyes and spoke in a steely tone. "I
will never swear an oath with my grandfather's murderer. Except an oath that
I will see you go to prison."
Teabing's heart turned grave, then resolute. "I am sorry you feel that
way, mademoiselle." He turned and aimed the gun at Langdon. "And you,
Robert? Are you with me, or against me?"
CHAPTER 100
Bishop Manuel Aringarosa's body had endured many kinds of pain, and yet
the searing heat of the bullet wound in his chest felt profoundly foreign to
him. Deep and grave. Not a wound of the flesh... but closer to the soul.
He opened his eyes, trying to see, but the rain on his face blurred his
vision. Where am I? He could feel powerful arms holding him, carrying his
limp body like a rag doll, his black cassock flapping.
Lifting a weary arm, he mopped his eyes and saw the man holding him was
Silas. The great albino was struggling down a misty sidewalk, shouting for a
hospital, his voice a heartrending wail of agony. His red eyes were focused
dead ahead, tears streaming down his pale, blood-spattered face.
"My son," Aringarosa whispered, "you're hurt."
Silas glanced down, his visage contorted in anguish. "I am so very
sorry, Father." He seemed almost too pained to speak.
"No, Silas," Aringarosa replied. "It is I who am sorry. This is my
fault." The Teacher promised me there would be no killing, and I told you to
obey him fully. "I was too eager. Too fearful. You and I were deceived." The
Teacher was never going to deliver us the Holy Grail.
Cradled in the arms of the man he had taken in all those years ago,
Bishop Aringarosa felt himself reel back in time. To Spain. To his modest
beginnings, building a small Catholic church in Oviedo with Silas. And
later, to New York City, where he had proclaimed the glory of God with the
towering Opus Dei Center on Lexington Avenue.
Five months ago, Aringarosa had received devastating news. His life's
work was in jeopardy. He recalled, with vivid detail, the meeting inside
Castel Gandolfo that had changed his life... the news that had set this
entire calamity into motion.
Aringarosa had entered Gandolfo's Astronomy Library with his head held
high, fully expecting to be lauded by throngs of welcoming hands, all eager
to pat him on the back for his superior work representing Catholicism in
America.
But only three people were present.
The Vatican secretariat. Obese. Dour.
Two high-ranking Italian cardinals. Sanctimonious. Smug.
"Secretariat?" Aringarosa said, puzzled.
The rotund overseer of legal affairs shook Aringarosa's hand and
motioned to the chair opposite him. "Please, make yourself comfortable."
Aringarosa sat, sensing something was wrong.
"I am not skilled in small talk, Bishop," the secretariat said, "so let
me be direct about the reason for your visit."
"Please. Speak openly." Aringarosa glanced at the two cardinals, who
seemed to be measuring him with self-righteous anticipation.
"As you are well aware," the secretariat said, "His Holiness and others
in Rome have been concerned lately with the political fallout from Opus
Dei's more controversial practices."
Aringarosa felt himself bristle instantly. He already had been through
this on numerous occasions with the new pontiff, who, to Aringarosa's great
dismay, had turned out to be a distressingly fervent voice for liberal
change in the Church.
"I want to assure you," the secretariat added quickly, "that His
Holiness does not seek to change anything about the way you run your
ministry."
I should hope not! "Then why am I here?"
The enormous man sighed. "Bishop, I am not sure how to say this
delicately, so I will state it directly. Two days ago, the Secretariat
Council voted unanimously to revoke the Vatican's sanction of Opus Dei."
Aringarosa was certain he had heard incorrectly. "I beg your pardon?"
"Plainly stated, six months from today, Opus Dei will no longer be
considered a prelature of the Vatican. You will be a church unto yourself.
The Holy See will be disassociating itself from you. His Holiness agrees and
we are already drawing up the legal papers."
"But... that is impossible!"
"On the contrary, it is quite possible. And necessary. His Holiness has
become uneasy with your aggressive recruiting policies and your practices of
corporal mortification." He paused. "Also your policies regarding women.
Quite frankly, Opus Dei has become a liability and an embarrassment."
Bishop Aringarosa was stupefied. "An embarrassment?"
"Certainly you cannot be surprised it has come to this."
"Opus Dei is the only Catholic organization whose numbers are growing!
We now have over eleven hundred priests!"
"True. A troubling issue for us all."
Aringarosa shot to his feet. "Ask His Holiness if Opus Dei was an
embarrassment in 1982 when we helped the Vatican Bank!"
"The Vatican will always be grateful for that," the secretariat said,
his tone appeasing, "and yet there are those who still believe your
financial munificence in 1982 is the only reason you were granted prelature
status in the first place."
"That is not true!" The insinuation offended Aringarosa deeply.
"Whatever the case, we plan to act in good faith. We are drawing up
severance terms that will include a reimbursement of those monies. It will
be paid in five installments."
"You are buying me off?" Aringarosa demanded. "Paying me to go quietly?
When Opus Dei is the only remaining voice of reason!"
One of the cardinals glanced up. "I'm sorry, did you say reason?"
Aringarosa leaned across the table, sharpening his tone to a point. "Do
you really wonder why Catholics are leaving the Church? Look around you,
Cardinal. People have lost respect. The rigors of faith are gone. The
doctrine has become a buffet line. Abstinence, confessi