>ure must have known we would see through it
immediately." She pulled a scrap of paper from her sweater pocket and handed
it to Fache. "Here is the decryption."
Fache looked at the card.
1-1-2-3-5-8-13-21
"This is it?" he snapped. "All you did was put the numbers in
increasing order!"
Sophie actually had the nerve to give a satisfied smile. "Exactly."
Fache's tone lowered to a guttural rumble. "Agent Neveu, I have no idea
where the hell you're going with this, but I suggest you get there fast." He
shot an anxious glance at Langdon, who stood nearby with the phone pressed
to his ear, apparently still listening to his phone message from the U.S.
Embassy. From Langdon's ashen expression, Fache sensed the news was bad.
"Captain," Sophie said, her tone dangerously defiant, "the sequence of
numbers you have in your hand happens to be one of the most famous
mathematical progressions in history."
Fache was not aware there even existed a mathematical progression that
qualified as famous, and he certainly didn't appreciate Sophie's off-handed
tone.
"This is the Fibonacci sequence," she declared, nodding toward the
piece of paper in Fache's hand. "A progression in which each term is equal
to the sum of the two preceding terms."
Fache studied the numbers. Each term was indeed the sum of the two
previous, and yet Fache could not imagine what the relevance of all this was
to Sauniure's death.
"Mathematician Leonardo Fibonacci created this succession of numbers in
the thirteenth-century. Obviously there can be no coincidence that all of
the numbers Sauniure wrote on the floor belong to Fibonacci's famous
sequence."
Fache stared at the young woman for several moments. "Fine, if there is
no coincidence, would you tell me why Jacques Sauniure chose to do this.
What is he saying? What does this mean?"
She shrugged. "Absolutely nothing. That's the point. It's a simplistic
cryptographic joke. Like taking the words of a famous poem and shuffling
them at random to see if anyone recognizes what all the words have in
common."
Fache took a menacing step forward, placing his face only inches from
Sophie's. "I certainly hope you have a much more satisfying explanation than
that."
Sophie's soft features grew surprisingly stern as she leaned in.
"Captain, considering what you have at stake here tonight, I thought you
might appreciate knowing that Jacques Sauniure might be playing games with
you. Apparently not. I'll inform the director of Cryptography you no longer
need our services."
With that, she turned on her heel, and marched off the way she had
come.
Stunned, Fache watched her disappear into the darkness. Is she out of
her mind? Sophie Neveu had just redefined le suicide professionnel.
Fache turned to Langdon, who was still on the phone, looking more
concerned than before, listening intently to his phone message. The U.S.
Embassy. Bezu Fache despised many things... but few drew more wrath than the
U.S. Embassy.
Fache and the ambassador locked horns regularly over shared affairs of
state--their most common battleground being law enforcement for visiting
Americans. Almost daily, DCPJ arrested American exchange students in
possession of drugs, U.S. businessmen for soliciting underage Prostitutes,
American tourists for shoplifting or destruction of property. Legally, the
U.S. Embassy could intervene and extradite guilty citizens back to the
United States, where they received nothing more than a slap on the wrist.
And the embassy invariably did just that.
L'umasculation de la Police Judiciaire, Fache called it. Paris Match
had run a cartoon recently depicting Fache as a police dog, trying to bite
an American criminal, but unable to reach because it was chained to the U.S.
Embassy.
Not tonight, Fache told himself. There is far too much at stake.
By the time Robert Langdon hung up the phone, he looked ill.
"Is everything all right?" Fache asked.
Weakly, Langdon shook his head.
Bad news from home, Fache sensed, noticing Langdon was sweating
slightly as Fache took back his cell phone.
"An accident," Langdon stammered, looking at Fache with a strange
expression. "A friend..." He hesitated. "I'll need to fly home first thing
in the morning."
Fache had no doubt the shock on Langdon's face was genuine, and yet he
sensed another emotion there too, as if a distant fear were suddenly
simmering in the American's eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that," Fache said,
watching Langdon closely. "Would you like to sit down?" He motioned toward
one of the viewing benches in the gallery.
Langdon nodded absently and took a few steps toward the bench. He
paused, looking more confused with every moment. "Actually, I think I'd like
to use the rest room."
Fache frowned inwardly at the delay. "The rest room. Of course. Let's
take a break for a few minutes." He motioned back down the long hallway in
the direction they had come from. "The rest rooms are back toward the
curator's office."
Langdon hesitated, pointing in the other direction toward the far end
of the Grand Gallery corridor. "I believe there's a much closer rest room at
the end."
Fache realized Langdon was right. They were two thirds of the way down,
and the Grand Gallery dead-ended at a pair of rest rooms. "Shall I accompany
you?"
Langdon shook his head, already moving deeper into the gallery. "Not
necessary. I think I'd like a few minutes alone."
Fache was not wild about the idea of Langdon wandering alone down the
remaining length of corridor, but he took comfort in knowing the Grand
Gallery was a dead end whose only exit was at the other end--the gate under
which they had entered. Although French fire regulations required several
emergency stairwells for a space this large, those stairwells had been
sealed automatically when Sauniure tripped the security system. Granted,
that system had now been reset, unlocking the stairwells, but it didn't
matter--the external doors, if opened, would set off fire alarms and were
guarded outside by DCPJ agents. Langdon could not possibly leave without
Fache knowing about it.
"I need to return to Mr. Sauniure's office for a moment," Fache said.
"Please come find me directly, Mr. Langdon. There is more we need to
discuss."
Langdon gave a quiet wave as he disappeared into the darkness.
Turning, Fache marched angrily in the opposite direction. Arriving at
the gate, he slid under, exited the Grand Gallery, marched down the hall,
and stormed into the command center at Sauniure's office.
"Who gave the approval to let Sophie Neveu into this building!" Fache
bellowed.
Collet was the first to answer. "She told the guards outside she'd
broken the code."
Fache looked around. "Is she gone?"
"She's not with you?"
"She left." Fache glanced out at the darkened hallway. Apparently
Sophie had been in no mood to stop by and chat with the other officers on
her way out.
For a moment, Fache considered radioing the guards in the entresol and
telling them to stop Sophie and drag her back up here before she could leave
the premises. He thought better of it. That was only his pride talking...
wanting the last word. He'd had enough distractions tonight.
Deal with Agent Neveu later, he told himself, already looking forward
to firing her.
Pushing Sophie from his mind, Fache stared for a moment at the
miniature knight standing on Sauniure's desk. Then he turned back to Collet.
"Do you have him?"
Collet gave a curt nod and spun the laptop toward Fache. The red dot
was clearly visible on the floor plan overlay, blinking methodically in a
room marked TOILETTES PUBLIQUES.
"Good," Fache said, lighting a cigarette and stalking into the hall.
I've got a phone call to make. Be damned sure the rest room is the only
place Langdon goes."
CHAPTER 12
Robert Langdon felt light-headed as he trudged toward the end of the
Grand Gallery. Sophie's phone message played over and over in his mind. At
the end of the corridor, illuminated signs bearing the international
stick-figure symbols for rest rooms guided him through a maze-like series of
dividers displaying Italian drawings and hiding the rest rooms from sight.
Finding the men's room door, Langdon entered and turned on the lights.
The room was empty.
Walking to the sink, he splashed cold water on his face and tried to
wake up. Harsh fluorescent lights glared off the stark tile, and the room
smelled of ammonia. As he toweled off, the rest room's door creaked open
behind him. He spun.
Sophie Neveu entered, her green eyes flashing fear. "Thank God you
came. We don't have much time."
Langdon stood beside the sinks, staring in bewilderment at DCPJ
cryptographer Sophie Neveu. Only minutes ago, Langdon had listened to her
phone message, thinking the newly arrived cryptographer must be insane. And
yet, the more he listened, the more he sensed Sophie Neveu was speaking in
earnest. Do not react to this message. Just listen calmly. You are in danger
right now. Follow my directions very closely. Filled with uncertainty,
Langdon had decided to do exactly as Sophie advised. He told Fache that the
phone message was regarding an injured friend back home. Then he had asked
to use the rest room at the end of the Grand Gallery.
Sophie stood before him now, still catching her breath after doubling
back to the rest room. In the fluorescent lights, Langdon was surprised to
see that her strong air actually radiated from unexpectedly soft features.
Only her gaze was sharp, and the juxtaposition conjured images of a
multilayered Renoir portrait... veiled but distinct, with a boldness that
somehow retained its shroud of mystery.
"I wanted to warn you, Mr. Langdon..." Sophie began, still catching her
breath, "that you are sous surveillance cachue. Under a guarded
observation." As she spoke, her accented English resonated off the tile
walls, giving her voice a hollow quality.
"But... why?" Langdon demanded. Sophie had already given him an
explanation on the phone, but he wanted to hear it from her lips.
"Because," she said, stepping toward him, "Fache's primary suspect in
this murder is you."
Langdon was braced for the words, and yet they still sounded utterly
ridiculous. According to Sophie, Langdon had been called to the Louvre
tonight not as a symbologist but rather as a suspect and was currently the
unwitting target of one of DCPJ's favorite interrogation
methods--surveillance cachue--a deft deception in which the police calmly
invited a suspect to a crime scene and interviewed him in hopes he would get
nervous and mistakenly incriminate himself.
"Look in your jacket's left pocket," Sophie said. "You'll find proof
they are watching you."
Langdon felt his apprehension rising. Look in my pocket? It sounded
like some kind of cheap magic trick.
"Just look."
Bewildered, Langdon reached his hand into his tweed jacket's left
pocket--one he never used. Feeling around inside, he found nothing. What the
devil did you expect? He began wondering if Sophie might just be insane
after all. Then his fingers brushed something unexpected. Small and hard.
Pinching the tiny object between his fingers, Langdon pulled it out and
stared in astonishment. It was a metallic, button-shaped disk, about the
size of a watch battery. He had never seen it before. "What the...?"
"GPS tracking dot," Sophie said. "Continuously transmits its location
to a Global Positioning System satellite that DCPJ can monitor. We use them
to monitor people's locations. It's accurate within two feet anywhere on the
globe. They have you on an electronic leash. The agent who picked you up at
the hotel slipped it inside your pocket before you left your room."
Langdon flashed back to the hotel room... his quick shower, getting
dressed, the DCPJ agent politely holding out Langdon's tweed coat as they
left the room. It's cool outside, Mr. Langdon, the agent had said. Spring in
Paris is not all your song boasts. Langdon had thanked him and donned the
jacket.
Sophie's olive gaze was keen. "I didn't tell you about the tracking dot
earlier because I didn't want you checking your pocket in front of Fache. He
can't know you've found it."
Langdon had no idea how to respond.
"They tagged you with GPS because they thought you might run." She
paused. "In fact, they hoped you would run; it would make their case
stronger."
"Why would I run!" Langdon demanded. "I'm innocent!"
"Fache feels otherwise."
Angrily, Langdon stalked toward the trash receptacle to dispose of the
tracking dot.
"No!" Sophie grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Leave it in your pocket.
If you throw it out, the signal will stop moving, and they'll know you found
the dot. The only reason Fache left you alone is because he can monitor
where you are. If he thinks you've discovered what he's doing..." Sophie did
not finish the thought. Instead, she pried the metallic disk from Langdon's
hand and slid it back into the pocket of his tweed coat. "The dot stays with
you. At least for the moment."
Langdon felt lost. "How the hell could Fache actually believe I killed
Jacques Sauniure!"
"He has some fairly persuasive reasons to suspect you." Sophie's
expression was grim. "There is a piece of evidence here that you have not
yet seen. Fache has kept it carefully hidden from you."
Langdon could only stare.
"Do you recall the three lines of text that Sauniure wrote on the
floor?"
Langdon nodded. The numbers and words were imprinted on Langdon's mind.
Sophie's voice dropped to a whisper now. "Unfortunately, what you saw
was not the entire message. There was a fourth line that Fache photographed
and then wiped clean before you arrived."
Although Langdon knew the soluble ink of a watermark stylus could
easily be wiped away, he could not imagine why Fache would erase evidence.
"The last line of the message," Sophie said, "was something Fache did
not want you to know about." She paused. "At least not until he was done
with you."
Sophie produced a computer printout of a photo from her sweater pocket
and began unfolding it. "Fache uploaded images of the crime scene to the
Cryptology Department earlier tonight in hopes we could figure out what
Sauniure's message was trying to say. This is a photo of the complete
message." She handed the page to Langdon.
Bewildered, Langdon looked at the image. The close-up photo revealed
the glowing message on the parquet floor. The final line hit Langdon like a
kick in the gut.
13-3-2-21-1-1-8-5
O, Draconian devil!
Oh, lame saint!
P.S. Find Robert Langdon
CHAPTER 13
For several seconds, Langdon stared in wonder at the photograph of
Sauniure's postscript. P.S. Find Robert Langdon. He felt as if the floor
were tilting beneath his feet. Sauniure left a postscript with my name on
it? In his wildest dreams, Langdon could not fathom why.
"Now do you understand," Sophie said, her eyes urgent, "why Fache
ordered you here tonight, and why you are his primary suspect?"
The only thing Langdon understood at the moment was why Fache had
looked so smug when Langdon suggested Sauniure would have accused his killer
by name.
Find Robert Langdon.
"Why would Sauniure write this?" Langdon demanded, his confusion now
giving way to anger. "Why would I want to kill Jacques Sauniure?"
"Fache has yet to uncover a motive, but he has been recording his
entire conversation with you tonight in hopes you might reveal one."
Langdon opened his mouth, but still no words came.
"He's fitted with a miniature microphone," Sophie explained. "It's
connected to a transmitter in his pocket that radios the signal back to the
command post."
"This is impossible," Langdon stammered. "I have an alibi. I went
directly back to my hotel after my lecture. You can ask the hotel desk."
"Fache already did. His report shows you retrieving your room key from
the concierge at about ten-thirty. Unfortunately, the time of the murder was
closer to eleven. You easily could have left your hotel room unseen."
"This is insanity! Fache has no evidence!"
Sophie's eyes widened as if to say: No evidence? "Mr. Langdon, your
name is written on the floor beside the body, and Sauniure's date book says
you were with him at approximately the time of the murder." She paused.
"Fache has more than enough evidence to take you into custody for
questioning."
Langdon suddenly sensed that he needed a lawyer. "I didn't do this."
Sophie sighed. "This is not American television, Mr. Langdon. In
France, the laws protect the police, not criminals. Unfortunately, in this
case, there is also the media consideration. Jacques Sauniure was a very
prominent and well-loved figure in Paris, and his murder will be news in the
morning. Fache will be under immediate pressure to make a statement, and he
looks a lot better having a suspect in custody already. Whether or not you
are guilty, you most certainly will be held by DCPJ until they can figure
out what really happened."
Langdon felt like a caged animal. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because, Mr. Langdon, I believe you are innocent." Sophie looked away
for a moment and then back into his eyes. "And also because it is partially
my fault that you're in trouble."
"I'm sorry? It's your fault Sauniure is trying to frame me?"
"Sauniure wasn't trying to frame you. It was a mistake. That message on
the floor was meant for me."
Langdon needed a minute to process that one. "I beg your pardon?"
"That message wasn't for the police. He wrote it for me. I think he was
forced to do everything in such a hurry that he just didn't realize how it
would look to the police." She paused. "The numbered code is meaningless.
Sauniure wrote it to make sure the investigation included cryptographers,
ensuring that I would know as soon as possible what had happened to him."
Langdon felt himself losing touch fast. Whether or not Sophie Neveu had
lost her mind was at this point up for grabs, but at least Langdon now
understood why she was trying to help him. P.S. Find Robert Langdon. She
apparently believed the curator had left her a cryptic postscript telling
her to find Langdon. "But why do you think his message was for you?"
"The Vitruvian Man," she said flatly. "That particular sketch has
always been my favorite Da Vinci work. Tonight he used it to catch my
attention."
"Hold on. You're saying the curator knew your favorite piece of art?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry. This is all coming out of order. Jacques Sauniure
and I..."
Sophie's voice caught, and Langdon heard a sudden melancholy there, a
painful past, simmering just below the surface. Sophie and Jacques Sauniure
apparently had some kind of special relationship. Langdon studied the
beautiful young woman before him, well aware that aging men in France often
took young mistresses. Even so, Sophie Neveu as a "kept woman" somehow
didn't seem to fit.
"We had a falling-out ten years ago," Sophie said, her voice a whisper
now. "We've barely spoken since. Tonight, when Crypto got the call that he
had been murdered, and I saw the images of his body and text on the floor, I
realized he was trying to send me a message."
"Because of The Vitruvian Man?"
"Yes. And the letters P.S."
"Post Script?"
She shook her head. "P.S. are my initials."
"But your name is Sophie Neveu."
She looked away. "P.S. is the nickname he called me when I lived with
him." She blushed. "It stood for Princesse Sophie"
Langdon had no response.
"Silly, I know," she said. "But it was years ago. When I was a little
girl."
"You knew him when you were a little girl?"
"Quite well," she said, her eyes welling now with emotion. "Jacques
Sauniure was my grandfather."
CHAPTER 14
"Where's Langdon?" Fache demanded, exhaling the last of a cigarette as
he paced back into the command post.
"Still in the men's room, sir." Lieutenant Collet had been expecting
the question.
Fache grumbled, "Taking his time, I see."
The captain eyed the GPS dot over Collet's shoulder, and Collet could
almost hear the wheels turning. Fache was fighting the urge to go check on
Langdon. Ideally, the subject of an observation was allowed the most time
and freedom possible, lulling him into a false sense of security. Langdon
needed to return of his own volition. Still, it had been almost ten minutes.
Too long.
"Any chance Langdon is onto us?" Fache asked.
Collet shook his head. "We're still seeing small movements inside the
men's room, so the GPS dot is obviously still on him. Perhaps he feels ill?
If he had found the dot, he would have removed it and tried to run."
Fache checked his watch. "Fine."
Still Fache seemed preoccupied. All evening, Collet had sensed an
atypical intensity in his captain. Usually detached and cool under pressure,
Fache tonight seemed emotionally engaged, as if this were somehow a personal
matter for him.
Not surprising, Collet thought. Fache needs this arrest desperately.
Recently the Board of Ministers and the media had become more openly
critical of Fache's aggressive tactics, his clashes with powerful foreign
embassies, and his gross overbudgeting on new technologies. Tonight, a
high-tech, high-profile arrest of an American would go a long way to silence
Fache's critics, helping him secure the job a few more years until he could
retire with the lucrative pension. God knows he needs the pension, Collet
thought. Fache's zeal for technology had hurt him both professionally and
personally. Fache was rumored to have invested his entire savings in the
technology craze a few years back and lost his shirt. And Fache is a man who
wears only the finest shirts.
Tonight, there was still plenty of time. Sophie Neveu's odd
interruption, though unfortunate, had been only a minor wrinkle. She was
gone now, and Fache still had cards to play. He had yet to inform Langdon
that his name had been scrawled on the floor by the victim. P.S. Find Robert
Langdon. The American's reaction to that little bit of evidence would be
telling indeed.
"Captain?" one of the DCPJ agents now called from across the office. "I
think you better take this call." He was holding out a telephone receiver,
looking concerned.
"Who is it?" Fache said.
The agent frowned. "It's the director of our Cryptology Department."
"And?"
"It's about Sophie Neveu, sir. Something is not quite right."
CHAPTER 15
It was time.
Silas felt strong as he stepped from the black Audi, the nighttime
breeze rustling his loose-fitting robe. The winds of change are in the air.
He knew the task before him would require more finesse than force, and he
left his handgun in the car. The thirteen-round Heckler Koch USP 40 had been
provided by the Teacher.
A weapon of death has no place in a house of God.
The plaza before the great church was deserted at this hour, the only
visible souls on the far side of Place Saint-Sulpice a couple of teenage
hookers showing their wares to the late night tourist traffic. Their nubile
bodies sent a familiar longing to Silas's loins. His thigh flexed
instinctively, causing the barbed cilice belt to cut painfully into his
flesh.
The lust evaporated instantly. For ten years now, Silas had faithfully
denied himself all sexual indulgence, even self-administered. It was The
Way. He knew he had sacrificed much to follow Opus Dei, but he had received
much more in return. A vow of celibacy and the relinquishment of all
personal assets hardly seemed a sacrifice. Considering the poverty from
which he had come and the sexual horrors he had endured in prison, celibacy
was a welcome change.
Now, having returned to France for the first time since being arrested
and shipped to prison in Andorra, Silas could feel his homeland testing him,
dragging violent memories from his redeemed soul. You have been reborn, he
reminded himself. His service to God today had required the sin of murder,
and it was a sacrifice Silas knew he would have to hold silently in his
heart for all eternity.
The measure of your faith is the measure of the pain you can endure,
the Teacher had told him. Silas was no stranger to pain and felt eager to
prove himself to the Teacher, the one who had assured him his actions were
ordained by a higher power.
"Hago la obra de Dios," Silas whispered, moving now toward the church
entrance.
Pausing in the shadow of the massive doorway, he took a deep breath. It
was not until this instant that he truly realized what he was about to do,
and what awaited him inside.
The keystone. It will lead us to our final goal.
He raised his ghost-white fist and banged three times on the door.
Moments later, the bolts of the enormous wooden portal began to move.
CHAPTER 16
Sophie wondered how long it would take Fache to figure out she had not
left the building. Seeing that Langdon was clearly overwhelmed, Sophie
questioned whether she had done the right thing by cornering him here in the
men's room.
What else was I supposed to do?
She pictured her grandfather's body, naked and spread-eagle on the
floor. There was a time when he had meant the world to her, yet tonight,
Sophie was surprised to feel almost no sadness for the man. Jacques Sauniure
was a stranger to her now. Their relationship had evaporated in a single
instant one March night when she was twenty-two. Ten years ago. Sophie had
come home a few days early from graduate university in England and
mistakenly witnessed her grandfather engaged in something Sophie was
obviously not supposed to see. It was an image she barely could believe to
this day.
If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes...
Too ashamed and stunned to endure her grandfather's pained attempts to
explain, Sophie immediately moved out on her own, taking money she had
saved, and getting a small flat with some roommates. She vowed never to
speak to anyone about what she had seen. Her grandfather tried desperately
to reach her, sending cards and letters, begging Sophie to meet him so he
could explain. Explain how!? Sophie never responded except once--to forbid
him ever to call her or try to meet her in public. She was afraid his
explanation would be more terrifying than the incident itself.
Incredibly, Sauniure had never given up on her, and Sophie now
possessed a decade's worth of correspondence unopened in a dresser drawer.
To her grandfather's credit, he had never once disobeyed her request and
phoned her.
Until this afternoon.
"Sophie?" His voice had sounded startlingly old on her answering
machine. "I have abided by your wishes for so long... and it pains me to
call, but I must speak to you. Something terrible has happened."
Standing in the kitchen of her Paris flat, Sophie felt a chill to hear
him again after all these years. His gentle voice brought back a flood of
fond childhood memories.
"Sophie, please listen." He was speaking English to her, as he always
did when she was a little girl. Practice French at school. Practice English
at home. "You cannot be mad forever. Have you not read the letters that I've
sent all these years? Do you not yet understand?" He paused. "We must speak
at once. Please grant your grandfather this one wish. Call me at the Louvre.
Right away. I believe you and I are in grave danger." Sophie stared at the
answering machine. Danger? What was he talking about?
"Princess..." Her grandfather's voice cracked with an emotion Sophie
could not place. "I know I've kept things from you, and I know it has cost
me your love. But it was for your own safety. Now you must know the truth.
Please, I must tell you the truth about your family."
Sophie suddenly could hear her own heart. My family? Sophie's parents
had died when she was only four. Their car went off a bridge into
fast-moving water. Her grandmother and younger brother had also been in the
car, and Sophie's entire family had been erased in an instant. She had a box
of newspaper clippings to confirm it.
His words had sent an unexpected surge of longing through her bones. My
family! In that fleeting instant, Sophie saw images from the dream that had
awoken her countless times when she was a little girl: My family is alive!
They are coming home! But, as in her dream, the pictures evaporated into
oblivion.
Your family is dead, Sophie. They are not coming home.
"Sophie..." her grandfather said on the machine. "I have been waiting
for years to tell you. Waiting for the right moment, but now time has run
out. Call me at the Louvre. As soon as you get this. I'll wait here all
night. I fear we both may be in danger. There's so much you need to know."
The message ended.
In the silence, Sophie stood trembling for what felt like minutes. As
she considered her grandfather's message, only one possibility made sense,
and his true intent dawned.
It was bait.
Obviously, her grandfather wanted desperately to see her. He was trying
anything. Her disgust for the man deepened. Sophie wondered if maybe he had
fallen terminally ill and had decided to attempt any ploy he could think of
to get Sophie to visit him one last time. If so, he had chosen wisely.
My family.
Now, standing in the darkness of the Louvre men's room, Sophie could
hear the echoes of this afternoon's phone message. Sophie, we both may be in
danger. Call me.
She had not called him. Nor had she planned to. Now, however, her
skepticism had been deeply challenged. Her grandfather lay murdered inside
his own museum. And he had written a code on the floor.
A code for her. Of this, she was certain.
Despite not understanding the meaning of his message, Sophie was
certain its cryptic nature was additional proof that the words were intended
for her. Sophie's passion and aptitude for cryptography were a product of
growing up with Jacques Sauniure--a fanatic himself for codes, word games,
and puzzles. How many Sundays did we spend doing the cryptograms and
crosswords in the newspaper?
At the age of twelve, Sophie could finish the Le Monde crossword
without any help, and her grandfather graduated her to crosswords in
English, mathematical puzzles, and substitution ciphers. Sophie devoured
them all. Eventually she turned her passion into a profession by becoming a
codebreaker for the Judicial Police.
Tonight, the cryptographer in Sophie was forced to respect the
efficiency with which her grandfather had used a simple code to unite two
total strangers--Sophie Neveu and Robert Langdon.
The question was why?
Unfortunately, from the bewildered look in Langdon's eyes, Sophie
sensed the American had no more idea than she did why her grandfather had
thrown them together.
She pressed again. "You and my grandfather had planned to meet tonight.
What about?"
Langdon looked truly perplexed. "His secretary set the meeting and
didn't offer any specific reason, and I didn't ask. I assumed he'd heard I
would be lecturing on the pagan iconography of French cathedrals, was
interested in the topic, and thought it would be fun to meet for drinks
after the talk."
Sophie didn't buy it. The connection was flimsy. Her grandfather knew
more about pagan iconography than anyone else on earth. Moreover, he an
exceptionally private man, not someone prone to chatting with random
American professors unless there were an important reason.
Sophie took a deep breath and probed further. "My grandfather called me
this afternoon and told me he and I were in grave danger. Does that mean
anything to you?"
Langdon's blue eyes now clouded with concern. "No, but considering what
just happened..."
Sophie nodded. Considering tonight's events, she would be a fool not to
be frightened. Feeling drained, she walked to the small plate-glass window
at the far end of the bathroom and gazed out in silence through the mesh of
alarm tape embedded in the glass. They were high up--forty feet at least.
Sighing, she raised her eyes and gazed out at Paris's dazzling
landscape. On her left, across the Seine, the illuminated Eiffel Tower.
Straight ahead, the Arc de Triomphe. And to the right, high atop the sloping
rise of Montmartre, the graceful arabesque dome of Sacru-Coeur, its polished
stone glowing white like a resplendent sanctuary.
Here at the westernmost tip of the Denon Wing, the north-south
thoroughfare of Place du Carrousel ran almost flush with the building with
only a narrow sidewalk separating it from the Louvre's outer wall. Far
below, the usual caravan of the city's nighttime delivery trucks sat idling,
waiting for the signals to change, their running lights seeming to twinkle
mockingly up at Sophie.
"I don't know what to say," Langdon said, coming up behind her. "Your
grandfather is obviously trying to tell us something. I'm sorry I'm so
little help."
Sophie turned from the window, sensing a sincere regret in Langdon's
deep voice. Even with all the trouble around him, he obviously wanted to
help her. The teacher in him, she thought, having read DCPJ's workup on
their suspect. This was an academic who clearly despised not understanding.
We have that in common, she thought.
As a codebreaker, Sophie made her living extracting meaning from
seemingly senseless data. Tonight, her best guess was that Robert Langdon,
whether he knew it or not, possessed information that she desperately
needed. Princesse Sophie, Find Robert Langdon. How much clearer could her
grandfather's message be? Sophie needed more time with Langdon. Time to
think. Time to sort out this mystery together. Unfortunately, time was
running out.
Gazing up at Langdon, Sophie made the only play she could think of.
"Bezu Fache will be taking you into custody at any minute. I can get you out
of this museum. But we need to act now."
Langdon's eyes went wide. "You want me to run?"
"It's the smartest thing you could do. If you let Fache take you into
custody now, you'll spend weeks in a French jail while DCPJ and the U.S.
Embassy fight over which courts try your case. But if we get you out of
here, and make it to your embassy, then your government will protect your
rights while you and I prove you had nothing to do with this murder."
Langdon looked not even vaguely convinced. "Forget it! Fache has armed
guards on every single exit! Even if we escape without being shot, running
away only makes me look guilty. You need to tell Fache that the message on
the floor was for you, and that my name is not there as an accusation."
"I will do that," Sophie said, speaking hurriedly, "but after you're
safely inside the U.S. Embassy. It's only about a mile from here, and my car
is parked just outside the museum. Dealing with Fache from here is too much
of a gamble. Don't you see? Fache has made it his mission tonight to prove
you are guilty. The only reason he postponed your arrest was to run this
observance in hopes you did something that made his case stronger."
"Exactly. Like running!"
The cell phone in Sophie's sweater pocket suddenly began ringing. Fache
probably. She reached in her sweater and turned off the phone.
"Mr. Langdon," she said hurriedly, "I need to ask you one last
question." And your entire future may depend on it. "The writing on the
floor is obviously not proof of your guilt, and yet Fache told our team he
is certain you are his man. Can you think of any other reason he might be
convinced you're guilty?"
Langdon was silent for several seconds. "None whatsoever."
Sophie sighed. Which means Fache is lying. Why, Sophie could not begin
to imagine, but that was hardly the issue at this point. The fact remained
that Bezu Fache was determined to put Robert Langdon behind bars tonight, at
any cost. Sophie needed Langdon for herself, and it was this dilemma that
left Sophie only one logical conclusion.
I need to get Langdon to the U.S. Embassy.
Turning toward the window, Sophie gazed through the alarm mesh embedded
in the plate glass, down the dizzying forty feet to the pavement below. A
leap from this height would leave Langdon with a couple of broken legs. At
best.
Nonetheless, Sophie made her decision.
Robert Langdon was about to escape the Louvre, whether he wanted to or
not.
CHAPTER 17
"What do you mean she's not answering?" Fache looked incredulous.
"You're calling her cell phone, right? I know she's carrying it."
Collet had been trying to reach Sophie now for several minutes. "Maybe
her batteries are dead. Or her ringer's off."
Fache had looked distressed ever since talking to the director of
Cryptology on the phone. After hanging up, he had marched over to Collet and
demanded he get Agent Neveu on the line. Now Collet had failed, and Fache
was pacing like a caged lion.
"Why did Crypto call?" Collet now ventured.
Fache turned. "To tell us they found no references to Draconian devils
and lame saints."
"That's all?"
"No, also to tell us that they had just identified the numerics as
Fibonacci numbers, but they suspected the series was meaningless."
Collet was confused. "But they already sent Agent Neveu to tell us
that."
Fache shook his head. "They didn't send Neveu."
"What?"
"According to the director, at my orders he paged his entire team to
look at the images I'd wired him. When Agent Neveu arrived, she took one
look at the photos of Sauniure and the code and left the office without a
word. The director said he didn't question her behavior because she was
understandably upset by the photos."
"Upset? She's never seen a picture of a dead body?"
Fache was silent a moment. "I was not aware of this, and it seems
neither was the director until a coworker informed him, but apparently
Sophie Neveu is Jacques Sauniure's granddaughter."
Collet was speechless.
"The director said she never once mentioned Sauniure to him, and he
assumed it was because she probably didn't want preferential treatment for
having a famous grandfather."
No wonder she was upset by the pictures. Collet could barely conceive
of the unfortunate coincidence that called in a young woman to decipher a
code written by a dead family member. Still, her actions made no sense. "But
she obviously recognized the numbers as Fibonacci numbers because she came
here and told us. I don't understand why she would leave the office without
telling any