"Do
you think the Church would actually be capable of uncovering hard evidence
of the Priory's date?"
"Why not--if we're assuming the Church was able to uncover the
identities of the Priory members, then certainly they could have learned of
their plans. And even if they don't have the exact date, their superstitions
may be getting the best of them."
"Superstitions?" Sophie asked.
"In terms of prophecy," Teabing said, "we are currently in an epoch of
enormous change. The millennium has recently passed, and with it has ended
the two-thousand-year-long astrological Age of Pisces--the fish, which is
also the sign of Jesus. As any astrological symbologist will tell you, the
Piscean ideal believes that man must be told what to do by higher powers
because man is incapable of thinking for himself. Hence it has been a time
of fervent religion. Now, however, we are entering the Age of Aquarius--the
water bearer--whose ideals claim that man will learn the truth and be able
to think for himself. The ideological shift is enormous, and it is occurring
right now."
Langdon felt a shiver. Astrological prophecy never held much interest
or credibility for him, but he knew there were those in the Church who
followed it very closely. "The Church calls this transitional period the End
of Days."
Sophie looked skeptical. "As in the end of the world? The Apocalypse?"
"No." Langdon replied. "That's a common misconception. Many religions
speak of the End of Days. It refers not to the end of the world, but rather
the end of our current age--Pisces, which began at the time of Christ's
birth, spanned two thousand years, and waned with the passing of the
millennium. Now that we've passed into the Age of Aquarius, the End of Days
has arrived."
"Many Grail historians," Teabing added, "believe that if the Priory is
indeed planning to release this truth, this point in history would be a
symbolically apt time. Most Priory academics, myself included, anticipated
the brotherhood's release would coincide precisely with the millennium.
Obviously, it did not. Admittedly, the Roman calendar does not mesh
perfectly with astrological markers, so there is some gray area in the
prediction. Whether the Church now has inside information that an exact date
is looming, or whether they are just getting nervous on account of
astrological prophecy, I don't know. Anyway, it's immaterial. Either
scenario explains how the Church might be motivated to launch a preemptive
attack against the Priory." Teabing frowned. "And believe me, if the Church
finds the Holy Grail, they will destroy it. The documents and the relics of
the blessed Mary Magdalene as well." His eyes grew heavy. "Then, my dear,
with the Sangreal documents gone, all evidence will be lost. The Church will
have won their age-old war to rewrite history. The past will be erased
forever."
Slowly, Sophie pulled the cruciform key from her sweater pocket and
held it out to Teabing.
Teabing took the key and studied it. "My goodness. The Priory seal.
Where did you get this?"
"My grandfather gave it to me tonight before he died."
Teabing ran his fingers across the cruciform. "A key to a church?"
She drew a deep breath. "This key provides access to the keystone."
Teabing's head snapped up, his face wild with disbelief. "Impossible!
What church did I miss? I've searched every church in France!"
"It's not in a church," Sophie said. "It's in a Swiss depository bank."
Teabing's look of excitement waned. "The keystone is in a bank?"
"A vault," Langdon offered.
"A bank vault?" Teabing shook his head violently. "That's impossible.
The keystone is supposed to be hidden beneath the sign of the Rose."
"It is," Langdon said. "It was stored in a rosewood box inlaid with a
five-petal Rose."
Teabing looked thunderstruck. "You've seen the keystone?"
Sophie nodded. "We visited the bank."
Teabing came over to them, his eyes wild with fear. "My friends, we
must do something. The keystone is in danger! We have a duty to protect it.
What if there are other keys? Perhaps stolen from the murdered sunuchaux? If
the Church can gain access to the bank as you have--"
"Then they will be too late," Sophie said. "We removed the keystone."
"What! You removed the keystone from its hiding place?"
"Don't worry," Langdon said. "The keystone is well hidden."
"Extremely well hidden, I hope!"
"Actually," Langdon said, unable to hide his grin, "that depends on how
often you dust under your couch."
The wind outside Chuteau Villette had picked up, and Silas's robe
danced in the breeze as he crouched near the window. Although he had been
unable to hear much of the conversation, the word keystone had sifted
through the glass on numerous occasions.
It is inside.
The Teacher's words were fresh in his mind. Enter Chuteau Villette.
Take the keystone. Hun no one.
Now, Langdon and the others had adjourned suddenly to another room,
extinguishing the study lights as they went. Feeling like a panther stalking
prey, Silas crept to the glass doors. Finding them unlocked, he slipped
inside and closed the doors silently behind him. He could hear muffled
voices from another room. Silas pulled the pistol from his pocket, turned
off the safety, and inched down the hallway.
CHAPTER 63
Lieutenant Collet stood alone at the foot of Leigh Teabing's driveway
and gazed up at the massive house. Isolated. Dark. Good ground cover. Collet
watched his half-dozen agents spreading silently out along the length of the
fence. They could be over it and have the house surrounded in a matter of
minutes. Langdon could not have chosen a more ideal spot for Collet's men to
make a surprise assault.
Collet was about to call Fache himself when at last his phone rang.
Fache sounded not nearly as pleased with the developments as Collet
would have imagined. "Why didn't someone tell me we had a lead on Langdon?"
"You were on a phone call and--"
"Where exactly are you, Lieutenant Collet?"
Collet gave him the address. "The estate belongs to a British national
named Teabing. Langdon drove a fair distance to get here, and the vehicle is
inside the security gate, with no signs of forced entry, so chances are good
that Langdon knows the occupant."
"I'm coming out," Fache said. "Don't make a move. I'll handle this
personally."
Collet's jaw dropped. "But Captain, you're twenty minutes away! We
should act immediately. I have him staked out. I'm with eight men total.
Four of us have field rifles and the others have sidearms."
"Wait for me."
"Captain, what if Langdon has a hostage in there? What if he sees us
and decides to leave on foot? We need to move now! My men are in position
and ready to go."
"Lieutenant Collet, you will wait for me to arrive before taking
action. That is an order." Fache hung up.
Stunned, Lieutenant Collet switched off his phone. Why the hell is
Fache asking me to wait? Collet knew the answer. Fache, though famous for
his instinct, was notorious for his pride. Fache wants credit for the
arrest. After putting the American's face all over the television, Fache
wanted to be sure his own face got equal time. Collet's job was simply to
hold down the fort until the boss showed up to save the day.
As he stood there, Collet flashed on a second possible explanation for
this delay. Damage control. In law enforcement, hesitating to arrest a
fugitive only occurred when uncertainty had arisen regarding the suspect's
guilt. Is Fache having second thoughts that Langdon is the right man? The
thought was frightening. Captain Fache had gone out on a limb tonight to
arrest Robert Langdon--surveillance cachue, Interpol, and now television.
Not even the great Bezu Fache would survive the political fallout if he had
mistakenly splashed a prominent American's face all over French television,
claiming he was a murderer. If Fache now realized he'd made a mistake, then
it made perfect sense that he would tell Collet not to make a move. The last
thing Fache needed was for Collet to storm an innocent Brit's private estate
and take Langdon at gunpoint.
Moreover, Collet realized, if Langdon were innocent, it explained one
of this case's strangest paradoxes: Why had Sophie Neveu, the granddaughter
of the victim, helped the alleged killer escape? Unless Sophie knew Langdon
was falsely charged. Fache had posited all kinds of explanations tonight to
explain Sophie's odd behavior, including that Sophie, as Sauniure's sole
heir, had persuaded her secret lover Robert Langdon to kill off Sauniure for
the inheritance money. Sauniure, if he had suspected this, might have left
the police the message P.S. Find Robert Langdon. Collet was fairly certain
something else was going on here. Sophie Neveu seemed far too solid of
character to be mixed up in something that sordid.
"Lieutenant?" One of the field agents came running over. "We found a
car."
Collet followed the agent about fifty yards past the driveway. The
agent pointed to a wide shoulder on the opposite side of the road. There,
parked in the brush, almost out of sight, was a black Audi. It had rental
plates. Collet felt the hood. Still warm. Hot even.
"That must be how Langdon got here," Collet said. "Call the rental
company. Find out if it's stolen."
"Yes, sir."
Another agent waved Collet back over in the direction of the fence.
"Lieutenant, have a look at this." He handed Collet a pair of night vision
binoculars. "The grove of trees near the top of the driveway."
Collet aimed the binoculars up the hill and adjusted the image
intensifier dials. Slowly, the greenish shapes came into focus. He located
the curve of the driveway and slowly followed it up, reaching the grove of
trees. All he could do was stare. There, shrouded in the greenery, was an
armored truck. A truck identical to the one Collet had permitted to leave
the Depository Bank of Zurich earlier tonight. He prayed this was some kind
of bizarre coincidence, but he knew it could not be.
"It seems obvious," the agent said, "that this truck is how Langdon and
Neveu got away from the bank."
Collet was speechless. He thought of the armored truck driver he had
stopped at the roadblock. The Rolex. His impatience to leave. I never
checked the cargo hold.
Incredulous, Collet realized that someone in the bank had actually lied
to DCPJ about Langdon and Sophie's whereabouts and then helped them escape.
But who? And why? Collet wondered if maybe this were the reason Fache had
told him not to take action yet. Maybe Fache realized there were more people
involved tonight than just Langdon and Sophie. And if Langdon and Neveu
arrived in the armored truck, then who drove the Audi?
Hundreds of miles to the south, a chartered Beechcraft Baron 58 raced
northward over the Tyrrhenian Sea. Despite calm skies, Bishop Aringarosa
clutched an airsickness bag, certain he could be ill at any moment. His
conversation with Paris had not at all been what he had imagined.
Alone in the small cabin, Aringarosa twisted the gold ring on his
finger and tried to ease his overwhelming sense of fear and desperation.
Everything in Paris has gone terribly wrong. Closing his eyes, Aringarosa
said a prayer that Bezu Fache would have the means to fix it.
CHAPTER 64
Teabing sat on the divan, cradling the wooden box on his lap and
admiring the lid's intricate inlaid Rose. Tonight has become the strangest
and most magical night of my life.
"Lift the lid," Sophie whispered, standing over him, beside Langdon.
Teabing smiled. Do not rush me. Having spent over a decade searching
for this keystone, he wanted to savor every millisecond of this moment. He
ran a palm across the wooden lid, feeling the texture of the inlaid flower.
"The Rose," he whispered. The Rose is Magdalene is the Holy Grail. The
Rose is the compass that guides the way. Teabing felt foolish. For years he
had traveled to cathedrals and churches all over France, paying for special
access, examining hundreds of archways beneath rose windows, searching for
an encrypted keystone. La clef de voute--a stone key beneath the sign of the
Rose.
Teabing slowly unlatched the lid and raised it.
As his eyes finally gazed upon the contents, he knew in an instant it
could only be the keystone. He was staring at a stone cylinder, crafted of
interconnecting lettered dials. The device seemed surprisingly familiar to
him.
"Designed from Da Vinci's diaries," Sophie said. "My grandfather made
them as a hobby."
Of course, Teabing realized. He had seen the sketches and blueprints.
The key to finding the Holy Grail lies inside this stone. Teabing lifted the
heavy cryptex from the box, holding it gently. Although he had no idea how
to open the cylinder, he sensed his own destiny lay inside. In moments of
failure, Teabing had questioned whether his life's quest would ever be
rewarded. Now those doubts were gone forever. He could hear the ancient
words... the foundation of the Grail legend:
Vous ne trouvez pas le Saint-Graal, c'est le Saint-Graal qui vous
trouve.
You do not find the Grail, the Grail finds you.
And tonight, incredibly, the key to finding the Holy Grail had walked
right through his front door.
While Sophie and Teabing sat with the cryptex and talked about the
vinegar, the dials, and what the password might be, Langdon carried the
rosewood box across the room to a well-lit table to get a better look at it.
Something Teabing had just said was now running through Langdon's mind.
The key to the Grail is hidden beneath the sign of the Rose.
Langdon held the wooden box up to the light and examined the inlaid
symbol of the Rose. Although his familiarity with art did not include
woodworking or inlaid furniture, he had just recalled the famous tiled
ceiling of the Spanish monastery outside of Madrid, where, three centuries
after its construction, the ceiling tiles began to fall out, revealing
sacred texts scrawled by monks on the plaster beneath.
Langdon looked again at the Rose.
Beneath the Rose.
Sub Rosa.
Secret.
A bump in the hallway behind him made Langdon turn. He saw nothing but
shadows. Teabing's manservant most likely had passed through. Langdon turned
back to the box. He ran his finger over the smooth edge of the inlay,
wondering if he could pry the Rose out, but the craftsmanship was perfect.
He doubted even a razor blade could fit in between the inlaid Rose and the
carefully carved depression into which it was seated.
Opening the box, he examined the inside of the lid. It was smooth. As
he shifted its position, though, the light caught what appeared to be a
small hole on the underside of the lid, positioned in the exact center.
Langdon closed the lid and examined the inlaid symbol from the top. No hole.
It doesn't pass through.
Setting the box on the table, he looked around the room and spied a
stack of papers with a paper clip on it. Borrowing the clip, he returned to
the box, opened it, and studied the hole again. Carefully, he unbent the
paper clip and inserted one end into the hole. He gave a gentle push. It
took almost no effort. He heard something clatter quietly onto the table.
Langdon closed the lid to look. It was a small piece of wood, like a puzzle
piece. The wooden Rose had popped out of the lid and fallen onto the desk.
Speechless, Langdon stared at the bare spot on the lid where the Rose
had been. There, engraved in the wood, written in an immaculate hand, were
four lines of text in a language he had never seen.
The characters look vaguely Semitic, Langdon thought to himself, and
yet I don't recognize the language!
A sudden movement behind him caught his attention. Out of nowhere, a
crushing blow to the head knocked Langdon to his knees.
As he fell, he thought for a moment he saw a pale ghost hovering over
him, clutching a gun. Then everything went black.
CHAPTER 65
Sophie Neveu, despite working in law enforcement, had never found
herself at gunpoint until tonight. Almost inconceivably, the gun into which
she was now staring was clutched in the pale hand of an enormous albino with
long white hair. He looked at her with red eyes that radiated a frightening,
disembodied quality. Dressed in a wool robe with a rope tie, he resembled a
medieval cleric. Sophie could not imagine who he was, and yet she was
feeling a sudden newfound respect for Teabing's suspicions that the Church
was behind this.
"You know what I have come for," the monk said, his voice hollow.
Sophie and Teabing were seated on the divan, arms raised as their
attacker had commanded. Langdon lay groaning on the floor. The monk's eyes
fell immediately to the keystone on Teabing's lap.
Teabing's tone was defiant. "You will not be able to open it."
"My Teacher is very wise," the monk replied, inching closer, the gun
shifting between Teabing and Sophie.
Sophie wondered where Teabing's manservant was. Didn't he hear Robert
fall?
"Who is your teacher?" Teabing asked. "Perhaps we can make a financial
arrangement."
"The Grail is priceless." He moved closer.
"You're bleeding," Teabing noted calmly, nodding to the monk's right
ankle where a trickle of blood had run down his leg. "And you're limping."
"As do you," the monk replied, motioning to the metal crutches propped
beside Teabing. "Now, hand me the keystone."
"You know of the keystone?" Teabing said, sounding surprised.
"Never mind what I know. Stand up slowly, and give it to me."
"Standing is difficult for me."
"Precisely. I would prefer nobody attempt any quick moves."
Teabing slipped his right hand through one of his crutches and grasped
the keystone in his left. Lurching to his feet, he stood erect, palming the
heavy cylinder in his left hand, and leaning unsteadily on his crutch with
his right.
The monk closed to within a few feet, keeping the gun aimed directly at
Teabing's head. Sophie watched, feeling helpless as the monk reached out to
take the cylinder.
"You will not succeed," Teabing said. "Only the worthy can unlock this
stone."
God alone judges the worthy, Silas thought.
"It's quite heavy," the man on crutches said, his arm wavering now. "If
you don't take it soon, I'm afraid I shall drop it!" He swayed perilously.
Silas stepped quickly forward to take the stone, and as he did, the man
on crutches lost his balance. The crutch slid out from under him, and he
began to topple sideways to his right. No! Silas lunged to save the stone,
lowering his weapon in the process. But the keystone was moving away from
him now. As the man fell to his right, his left hand swung backward, and the
cylinder tumbled from his palm onto the couch. At the same instant, the
metal crutch that had been sliding out from under the man seemed to
accelerate, cutting a wide arc through the air toward Silas's leg.
Splinters of pain tore up Silas's body as the crutch made perfect
contact with his cilice, crushing the barbs into his already raw flesh.
Buckling, Silas crumpled to his knees, causing the belt to cut deeper still.
The pistol discharged with a deafening roar, the bullet burying itself
harmlessly in the floorboards as Silas fell. Before he could raise the gun
and fire again, the woman's foot caught him square beneath the jaw.
At the bottom of the driveway, Collet heard the gunshot. The muffled
pop sent panic through his veins. With Fache on the way, Collet had already
relinquished any hopes of claiming personal credit for finding Langdon
tonight. But Collet would be damned if Fache's ego landed him in front of a
Ministerial Review Board for negligent police procedure.
A weapon was discharged inside a private home! And you waited at the
bottom of the driveway?
Collet knew the opportunity for a stealth approach had long since
passed. He also knew if he stood idly by for another second, his entire
career would be history by morning. Eyeing the estate's iron gate, he made
his decision.
"Tie on, and pull it down."
In the distant recesses of his groggy mind, Robert Langdon had heard
the gunshot. He'd also heard a scream of pain. His own? A jackhammer was
boring a hole into the back of his cranium. Somewhere nearby, people were
talking.
"Where the devil were you?" Teabing was yelling.
The manservant hurried in. "What happened? Oh my God! Who is that? I'll
call the police!"
"Bloody hell! Don't call the police. Make yourself useful and get us
something with which to restrain this monster."
"And some ice!" Sophie called after him.
Langdon drifted out again. More voices. Movement. Now he was seated on
the divan. Sophie was holding an ice pack to his head. His skull ached. As
Langdon's vision finally began to clear, he found himself staring at a body
on the floor. Am I hallucinating? The massive body of an albino monk lay
bound and gagged with duct tape. His chin was split open, and the robe over
his right thigh was soaked with blood. He too appeared to be just now coming
to.
Langdon turned to Sophie. "Who is that? What... happened?"
Teabing hobbled over. "You were rescued by a knight brandishing an
Excalibur made by Acme Orthopedic."
Huh? Langdon tried to sit up.
Sophie's touch was shaken but tender. "Just give yourself a minute,
Robert."
"I fear," Teabing said, "that I've just demonstrated for your lady
friend the unfortunate benefit of my condition. It seems everyone
underestimates you."
From his seat on the divan, Langdon gazed down at the monk and tried to
imagine what had happened.
"He was wearing a cilice," Teabing explained.
"A what?"
Teabing pointed to a bloody strip of barbed leather that lay on the
floor. "A Discipline belt. He wore it on his thigh. I took careful aim."
Langdon rubbed his head. He knew of Discipline belts. "But how... did
you know?"
Teabing grinned. "Christianity is my field of study, Robert, and there
are certain sects who wear their hearts on their sleeves." He pointed his
crutch at the blood soaking through the monk's cloak. "As it were."
"Opus Dei," Langdon whispered, recalling recent media coverage of
several prominent Boston businessmen who were members of Opus Dei.
Apprehensive coworkers had falsely and publicly accused the men of wearing
Discipline belts beneath their three-piece suits. In fact, the three men did
no such thing. Like many members of Opus Dei, these businessmen were at the
"supernumerary" stage and practiced no corporal mortification at all. They
were devout Catholics, caring fathers to their children, and deeply
dedicated members of the community. Not surprisingly, the media spotlighted
their spiritual commitment only briefly before moving on to the shock value
of the sect's more stringent "numerary" members... members like the monk now
lying on the floor before Langdon.
Teabing was looking closely at the bloody belt. "But why would Opus Dei
be trying to find the Holy Grail?"
Langdon was too groggy to consider it.
"Robert," Sophie said, walking to the wooden box. "What's this?" She
was holding the small Rose inlay he had removed from the lid.
"It covered an engraving on the box. I think the text might tell us how
to open the keystone."
Before Sophie and Teabing could respond, a sea of blue police lights
and sirens erupted at the bottom of the hill and began snaking up the
half-mile driveway.
Teabing frowned. "My friends, it seems we have a decision to make. And
we'd better make it fast."
CHAPTER 66
Collet and his agents burst through the front door of Sir Leigh
Teabing's estate with their guns drawn. Fanning out, they began searching
all the rooms on the first level. They found a bullet hole in the drawing
room floor, signs of a struggle, a small amount of blood, a strange, barbed
leather belt, and a partially used roll of duct tape. The entire level
seemed deserted.
Just as Collet was about to divide his men to search the basement and
grounds behind the house, he heard voices on the level above them.
"They're upstairs!"
Rushing up the wide staircase, Collet and his men moved room by room
through the huge home, securing darkened bedrooms and hallways as they
closed in on the sounds of voices. The sound seemed to be coming from the
last bedroom on an exceptionally long hallway. The agents inched down the
corridor, sealing off alternate exits.
As they neared the final bedroom, Collet could see the door was wide
open. The voices had stopped suddenly, and had been replaced by an odd
rumbling, like an engine.
Sidearm raised, Collet gave the signal. Reaching silently around the
door frame, he found the light switch and flicked it on. Spinning into the
room with men pouring in after him, Collet shouted and aimed his weapon
at... nothing.
An empty guest bedroom. Pristine.
The rumbling sounds of an automobile engine poured from a black
electronic panel on the wall beside the bed. Collet had seen these elsewhere
in the house. Some kind of intercom system. He raced over. The panel had
about a dozen labeled buttons:
STUDY... KITCHEN... LAUNDRY... CELLAR...
So where the hell do I hear a car?
MASTER BEDROOM... SUN ROOM... BARN... LIBRARY...
Barn! Collet was downstairs in seconds, running toward the back door,
grabbing one of his agents on the way. The men crossed the rear lawn and
arrived breathless at the front of a weathered gray barn. Even before they
entered, Collet could hear the fading sounds of a car engine. He drew his
weapon, rushed in, and flicked on the lights.
The right side of the barn was a rudimentary workshop--lawn-mowers,
automotive tools, gardening supplies. A familiar intercom panel hung on the
wall nearby. One of its buttons was flipped down, transmitting.
GUEST BEDROOM II.
Collet wheeled, anger brimming. They lured us upstairs with the
intercom! Searching the other side of the barn, he found a long line of
horse stalls. No horses. Apparently the owner preferred a different kind of
horsepower; the stalls had been converted into an impressive automotive
parking facility. The collection was astonishing--a black Ferrari, a
pristine Rolls-Royce, an antique Astin Martin sports coupe, a vintage
Porsche 356.
The last stall was empty.
Collet ran over and saw oil stains on the stall floor. They can't get
off the compound. The driveway and gate were barricaded with two patrol cars
to prevent this very situation.
"Sir?" The agent pointed down the length of the stalls.
The barn's rear slider was wide open, giving way to a dark, muddy slope
of rugged fields that stretched out into the night behind the barn. Collet
ran to the door, trying to see out into the darkness. All he could make out
was the faint shadow of a forest in the distance. No headlights. This wooded
valley was probably crisscrossed by dozens of unmapped fire roads and
hunting trails, but Collet was confident his quarry would never make the
woods. "Get some men spread out down there. They're probably already stuck
somewhere nearby. These fancy sports cars can't handle terrain."
"Um, sir?" The agent pointed to a nearby pegboard on which hung several
sets of keys. The labels above the keys bore familiar names.
DAIMLER... ROLLS-ROYCE... ASTIN MARTIN... PORSCHE...
The last peg was empty.
When Collet read the label above the empty peg, he knew he was in
trouble.
CHAPTER 67
The Range Rover was Java Black Pearl, four-wheel drive, standard
transmission, with high-strength polypropylene lamps, rear light cluster
fittings, and the steering wheel on the right.
Langdon was pleased he was not driving.
Teabing's manservant Rumy, on orders from his master, was doing an
impressive job of maneuvering the vehicle across the moonlit fields behind
Chuteau Villette. With no headlights, he had crossed an open knoll and was
now descending a long slope, moving farther away from the estate. He seemed
to be heading toward a jagged silhouette of wooded land in the distance.
Langdon, cradling the keystone, turned in the passenger seat and eyed
Teabing and Sophie in the back seat.
"How's your head, Robert?" Sophie asked, sounding concerned.
Langdon forced a pained smile. "Better, thanks." It was killing him.
Beside her, Teabing glanced over his shoulder at the bound and gagged
monk lying in the cramped luggage area behind the back seat. Teabing had the
monk's gun on his lap and looked like an old photo of a British safari chap
posing over his kill.
"So glad you popped in this evening, Robert," Teabing said, grinning as
if he were having fun for the first time in years.
"Sorry to get you involved in this, Leigh."
"Oh, please, I've waited my entire life to be involved." Teabing looked
past Langdon out the windshield at the shadow of a long hedgerow. He tapped
Rumy on the shoulder from behind. "Remember, no brake lights. Use the
emergency brake if you need it. I want to get into the woods a bit. No
reason to risk them seeing us from the house."
Rumy coasted to a crawl and guided the Range Rover through an opening
in the hedge. As the vehicle lurched onto an overgrown pathway, almost
immediately the trees overhead blotted out the moonlight.
I can't see a thing, Langdon thought, straining to distinguish any
shapes at all in front of them. It was pitch black. Branches rubbed against
the left side of the vehicle, and Rumy corrected in the other direction.
Keeping the wheel more or less straight now, he inched ahead about thirty
yards.
"You're doing beautifully, Rumy," Teabing said. "That should be far
enough. Robert, if you could press that little blue button just below the
vent there. See it?"
Langdon found the button and pressed it.
A muted yellow glow fanned out across the path in front of them,
revealing thick underbrush on either side of the pathway. Fog lights,
Langdon realized. They gave off just enough light to keep them on the path,
and yet they were deep enough into the woods now that the lights would not
give them away.
"Well, Rumy," Teabing chimed happily. "The lights are on. Our lives are
in your hands."
"Where are we going?" Sophie asked.
"This trail continues about three kilometers into the forest," Teabing
said. "Cutting across the estate and then arching north. Provided we don't
hit any standing water or fallen trees, we shall emerge unscathed on the
shoulder of highway five."
Unscathed. Langdon's head begged to differ. He turned his eyes down to
his own lap, where the keystone was safely stowed in its wooden box. The
inlaid Rose on the lid was back in place, and although his head felt
muddled, Langdon was eager to remove the inlay again and examine the
engraving beneath more closely. He unlatched the lid and began to raise it
when Teabing laid a hand on his shoulder from behind.
"Patience, Robert," Teabing said. "It's bumpy and dark. God save us if
we break anything. If you didn't recognize the language in the light, you
won't do any better in the dark. Let's focus on getting away in one piece,
shall we? There will be time for that very soon."
Langdon knew Teabing was right. With a nod, he relatched the box.
The monk in back was moaning now, struggling against his trusses.
Suddenly, he began kicking wildly.
Teabing spun around and aimed the pistol over the seat. "I can't
imagine your complaint, sir. You trespassed in my home and planted a nasty
welt on the skull of a dear friend. I would be well within my rights to
shoot you right now and leave you to rot in the woods."
The monk fell silent.
"Are you sure we should have brought him?" Langdon asked.
"Bloody well positive!" Teabing exclaimed. "You're wanted for murder,
Robert. This scoundrel is your ticket to freedom. The police apparently want
you badly enough to have tailed you to my home."
"My fault," Sophie said. "The armored car probably had a transmitter."
"Not the point," Teabing said. "I'm not surprised the police found you,
but I am surprised that this Opus Dei character found you. From all you've
told me, I can't imagine how this man could have tailed you to my home
unless he had a contact either within the Judicial Police or within the
Zurich Depository."
Langdon considered it. Bezu Fache certainly seemed intent on finding a
scapegoat for tonight's murders. And Vernet had turned on them rather
suddenly, although considering Langdon was being charged with four murders,
the banker's change of heart seemed understandable.
"This monk is not working alone, Robert," Teabing said, "and until you
learn who is behind all this, you both are in danger. The good news, my
friend, is that you are now in the position of power. This monster behind me
holds that information, and whoever is pulling his strings has got to be
quite nervous right now."
Rumy was picking up speed, getting comfortable with the trail. They
splashed through some water, climbed a small rise, and began descending
again.
"Robert, could you be so kind as to hand me that phone?" Teabing
pointed to the car phone on the dash. Langdon handed it back, and Teabing
dialed a number. He waited for a very long time before someone answered.
"Richard? Did I wake you? Of course, I did. Silly question. I'm sorry. I
have a small problem. I'm feeling a bit off. Rumy and I need to pop up to
the Isles for my treatments. Well, right away, actually. Sorry for the short
notice. Can you have Elizabeth ready in about twenty minutes? I know, do the
best you can. See you shortly." He hung up.
"Elizabeth?" Langdon said.
"My plane. She cost me a Queen's ransom."
Langdon turned full around and looked at him.
"What?" Teabing demanded. "You two can't expect to stay in France with
the entire Judicial Police after you. London will be much safer."
Sophie had turned to Teabing as well. "You think we should leave the
country?"
"My friends, I am far more influential in the civilized world than here
in France. Furthermore, the Grail is believed to be in Great Britain. If we
unlock the keystone, I am certain we will discover a map that indicates we
have moved in the proper direction."
"You're running a big risk," Sophie said, "by helping us. You won't
make any friends with the French police."
Teabing gave a wave of disgust. "I am finished with France. I moved
here to find the keystone. That work is now done. I shan't care if I ever
again see Chuteau Villette."
Sophie sounded uncertain. "How will we get through airport security?"
Teabing chuckled. "I fly from Le Bourget--an executive airfield not far
from here. French doctors make me nervous, so every fortnight, I fly north
to take my treatments in England. I pay for certain special privileges at
both ends. Once we're airborne, you can make a decision as to whether or not
you'd like someone from the U.S. Embassy to meet us."
Langdon suddenly didn't want anything to do with the embassy. All he
could think of was the keystone, the inscription, and whether it would all
lead to the Grail. He wondered if Teabing was right about Britain.
Admittedly most modern legends placed the Grail somewhere in the United
Kingdom. Even King Arthur's mythical, Grail-rich Isle of Avalon was now
believed to be none other than Glastonbury, England. Wherever the Grail lay,
Langdon never imagined he would actually be looking for it. The Sangreal
documents. The true history of Jesus Christ. The tomb of Mary Magdalene. He
suddenly felt as if he were living in some kind of limbo tonight... a bubble
where the real world could not reach him.
"Sir?" Rumy said. "Are you truly thinking of returning to England for
good?"
"Rumy, you needn't worry," Teabing assured. "Just because I am
returning to the Queen's realm does not mean I intend to subject my palate
to bangers and mash for the rest of my days. I expect you will join me there
permanently. I'm planning to buy a splendid villa in Devonshire, and we'll
have all your things shipped up immediately. An adventure, Rumy. I say, an
adventure!"
Langdon had to smile. As Teabing railed on about his plans for a
triumphant return to Britain, Langdon felt himself caught up in the man's
infectious enthusiasm.
Gazing absently out the window, Langdon watched the woods passing by,
ghostly pale in the yellow blush of the fog lights. The side mirror was
tipped inward, brushed askew by branches, and Langdon saw the reflection of
Sophie sitting quietly in the back seat. He watched her for a long while and
felt an unexpected upwelling of contentment. Despite his troubles tonight,
Langdon was thankful to have landed in such good company.
After several minutes, as if suddenly sensing his eyes on her, Sophie
leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders, giving him a quick rub.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," Langdon said. "Somehow."
Sophie sat back in her seat, and Langdon saw a quiet smile cross her
lips. He realized that he too was now grinning.
Wedged in the back of the Range Rover, Silas could barely breathe. His
arms were wrenched backward and heavily lashed to his ankles with kitchen
twine and duct tape. Every bump in the road sent pain shooting through his
twisted shoulders. At least his captors had removed the cilice. Unable to
inhale through the strip of tape over his mouth, he could only breathe
through his nostrils, which were slowly clogging up due to the dusty rear
cargo area into which he had been crammed. He began coughing.
"I think he's choking," the French driver said, sounding concerned.
The British man who had struck Silas with his crutch now turned and
peered over the seat, frowning coldly at Silas. "Fortunately for you, we
British judge man's civility not by his compassion for his friends, but by
his compassion for his enemies." The Brit reached down and grabbed the duct
tape on Silas's mouth. In one fast motion, he tore it off.
Silas felt as if his lips had just caught fire, but the air pouring
into his lungs was sent from God.
"Whom do you work for?" the British man demanded.
"I do the work of God," Silas spat back through the pain in his jaw
where the woman had kicked him.
"You belong to Opus Dei," the man said. It was not a question.
"You know nothing of who I am."
"Why does Opus Dei want the keystone?"
Silas had no intention of answering. The keystone was the link to the
Holy Grail, and the Holy Grail was the key to protecting the faith.
I do the work of God. The Way is in peril.
Now, in the Range Rover, struggling against his bonds, Silas feared he
had failed the Teacher and the bishop forever. He had no way even to contact
them and tell them the terrible turn of events. My captors have the
keystone! They will reach the Grail before we do! In the stifli