The Da Vinci Code (31 page)

CHAPTER
68

New York
editor Jonas Faukman had just climbed into bed for the night when the telephone rang.
A little late for callers,
he grumbled, picking up the receiver.

An operator's voice asked him, “Will you accept charges for a collect call from Robert Langdon?”

Puzzled, Jonas turned on the light. “Uh . . . sure, okay.”

The line clicked. “Jonas?”

“Robert? You wake me up
and
you charge me for it?”

“Jonas, forgive me,” Langdon said. “I'll keep this very short. I really need to know. The manuscript I gave you. Have you—”

“Robert, I'm sorry, I know I said I'd send the edits out to you this week, but I'm swamped. Next Monday. I promise.”

“I'm not worried about the edits. I need to know if you sent any copies out for blurbs without telling me?”

Faukman hesitated. Langdon's newest manuscript—an exploration of the history of goddess worship—included several sections about Mary Magdalene that were going to raise some eyebrows. Although the material was well documented and had been covered by others, Faukman had no intention of printing Advance Reading Copies of Langdon's book without at least a few endorsements from serious historians and art luminaries. Jonas had chosen ten big names in the art world and sent them all sections of the manuscript along with a polite letter asking if they would be willing to write a short endorsement for the jacket. In Faukman's experience, most people jumped at the opportunity to see their name in print.

“Jonas?” Langdon pressed. “You sent out my manuscript, didn't you?”

Faukman frowned, sensing Langdon was not happy about it. “The manuscript was clean, Robert, and I wanted to surprise you with some terrific blurbs.”

A pause. “Did you send one to the curator of the Paris Louvre?”

“What do you think? Your manuscript referenced his Louvre collection several times, his books are in your bibliography, and the guy has some serious clout for foreign sales. Saunière was a no-brainer.”

The silence on the other end lasted a long time. “When did you send it?”

“About a month ago. I also mentioned you would be in Paris soon and suggested you two chat. Did he ever call you to meet?” Faukman paused, rubbing his eyes. “Hold on, aren't you supposed to
be
in Paris this week?”

“I
am
in Paris.”

Faukman sat upright. “You called me collect from
Paris?
”

“Take it out of my royalties, Jonas. Did you ever hear back from Saunière? Did he like the manuscript?”

“I don't know. I haven't yet heard from him.”

“Well, don't hold your breath. I've got to run, but this explains a lot. Thanks.”

“Robert—”

But Langdon was gone.

Faukman hung up the phone, shaking his head in disbelief.
Authors,
he thought.
Even the sane ones are nuts.

Inside the Range Rover, Leigh Teabing let out a guffaw. “Robert, you're saying you wrote a manuscript that delves into a secret society, and your editor
sent
a copy to that secret society?”

Langdon slumped. “Evidently.”

“A cruel coincidence, my friend.”

Coincidence has nothing to do with it,
Langdon knew. Asking Jacques Saunière to endorse a manuscript on goddess worship was as obvious as asking Tiger Woods to endorse a book on golf. Moreover, it was virtually guaranteed that any book on goddess worship would have to mention the Priory of Sion.

“Here's the million-dollar question,” Teabing said, still chuckling. “Was your position on the Priory favorable or unfavorable?”

Langdon could hear Teabing's true meaning loud and clear. Many historians questioned why the Priory was still keeping the Sangreal documents hidden. Some felt the information should have been shared with the world long ago. “I took no position on the Priory's actions.”

“You mean lack thereof.”

Langdon shrugged. Teabing was apparently on the side of making the documents public. “I simply provided history on the brotherhood and described them as a modern goddess worship society, keepers of the Grail, and guardians of ancient documents.”

Sophie looked at him. “Did you mention the keystone?”

Langdon winced. He had. Numerous times. “I talked about the supposed keystone as an example of the lengths to which the Priory would go to protect the Sangreal documents.”

Sophie looked amazed. “I guess that explains
P.S. Find Robert Langdon
.”

Langdon sensed it was actually something
else
in the manuscript that had piqued Saunière's interest, but that topic was something he would discuss with Sophie when they were alone.

“So,” Sophie said, “you lied to Captain Fache.”

“What?” Langdon demanded.

“You told him you had never corresponded with my grandfather.”

“I didn't! My editor sent him a manuscript.”

“Think about it, Robert. If Captain Fache didn't find the envelope in which your editor sent the manuscript, he would have to conclude that
you
sent it.” She paused. “Or worse, that you hand-delivered it and lied about it.”

When the Range Rover arrived at Le Bourget Airfield, Rémy drove to a small hangar at the far end of the airstrip. As they approached, a tousled man in wrinkled khakis hurried from the hangar, waved, and slid open the enormous corrugated metal door to reveal a sleek white jet within.

Langdon stared at the glistening fuselage. “
That's
Elizabeth?”

Teabing grinned. “Beats the bloody Chunnel.”

The man in khakis hurried toward them, squinting into the headlights. “Almost ready, sir,” he called in a British accent. “My apologies for the delay, but you took me by surprise and—” He stopped short as the group unloaded. He looked at Sophie and Langdon, and then Teabing.

Teabing said, “My associates and I have urgent business in London. We've no time to waste. Please prepare to depart immediately.” As he spoke, Teabing took the pistol out of the vehicle and handed it to Langdon.

The pilot's eyes bulged at the sight of the weapon. He walked over to Teabing and whispered, “Sir, my humble apologies, but my diplomatic flight allowance provides only for you and your manservant. I cannot take your guests.”

“Richard,” Teabing said, smiling warmly, “two thousand pounds sterling and that loaded gun say you
can
take my guests.” He motioned to the Range Rover. “And the unfortunate fellow in the back.”

CHAPTER
69

The Hawker
731's twin Garrett TFE-731 engines thundered, powering the plane skyward with gut-wrenching force. Outside the window, Le Bourget Airfield dropped away with startling speed.

I'm fleeing the country,
Sophie thought, her body forced back into the leather seat. Until this moment, she had believed her game of cat and mouse with Fache would be somehow justifiable to the Ministry of Defense.
I was attempting to protect an innocent man. I was trying to fulfill my grandfather's dying wishes.
That window of opportunity, Sophie knew, had just closed. She was leaving the country, without documentation, accompanying a wanted man, and transporting a bound hostage. If a “line of reason” had ever existed, she had just crossed it.
At almost the speed of sound
.

Sophie was seated with Langdon and Teabing near the front of the cabin—the
Fan Jet Executive Elite Design
, according to the gold medallion on the door. Their plush swivel chairs were bolted to tracks on the floor and could be repositioned and locked around a rectangular hardwood table. A mini-boardroom. The dignified surroundings, however, did little to camouflage the less than dignified state of affairs in the rear of the plane where, in a separate seating area near the rest room, Teabing's manservant Rémy sat with the pistol in hand, begrudgingly carrying out Teabing's orders to stand guard over the bloody monk who lay trussed at his feet like a piece of luggage.

“Before we turn our attention to the keystone,” Teabing said, “I was wondering if you would permit me a few words.” He sounded apprehensive, like a father about to give the birds-and-the-bees lecture to his children. “My friends, I realize I am but a guest on this journey, and I am honored as such. And yet, as someone who has spent his life in search of the Grail, I feel it is my duty to warn you that you are about to step onto a path from which there is no return, regardless of the dangers involved.” He turned to Sophie. “Miss Neveu, your grandfather gave you this cryptex in hopes you would keep the secret of the Holy Grail alive.”

“Yes.”

“Understandably, you feel obliged to follow the trail wherever it leads.”

Sophie nodded, although she felt a second motivation still burning within her.
The truth about my family.
Despite Langdon's assurances that the keystone had nothing to do with her past, Sophie still sensed something deeply personal entwined within this mystery, as if this cryptex, forged by her grandfather's own hands, were trying to speak to her and offer some kind of resolution to the emptiness that had haunted her all these years.

“Your grandfather and three others died tonight,” Teabing continued, “and they did so to keep this keystone away from the Church. Opus Dei came within inches tonight of possessing it. You understand, I hope, that this puts you in a position of exceptional responsibility. You have been handed a torch. A two-thousand-year-old flame that cannot be allowed to go out. This torch cannot fall into the wrong hands.” He paused, glancing at the rosewood box. “I realize you have been given no choice in this matter, Miss Neveu, but considering what is at stake here, you must either fully embrace this responsibility . . . or you must pass that responsibility to someone else.”

“My grandfather gave the cryptex to me. I'm sure he thought I could handle the responsibility.”

Teabing looked encouraged but unconvinced. “Good. A strong will is necessary. And yet, I am curious if you understand that successfully unlocking the keystone will bring with it a far greater trial.”

“How so?”

“My dear, imagine that you are suddenly holding a map that reveals the location of the Holy Grail. In that moment, you will be in possession of a truth capable of altering history forever. You will be the keeper of a truth that man has sought for centuries. You will be faced with the responsibility of revealing that truth to the world. The individual who does so will be revered by many and despised by many. The question is whether you will have the necessary strength to carry out that task.”

Sophie paused. “I'm not sure that is
my
decision to make.”

Teabing's eyebrows arched. “No? If not the possessor of the keystone, then who?”

“The brotherhood who has successfully protected the secret for so long.”

“The Priory?” Teabing looked skeptical. “But how? The brotherhood was shattered tonight.
Decapitated,
as you so aptly put it. Whether they were infiltrated by some kind of eavesdropping or by a spy within their ranks, we will never know, but the fact remains that someone got to them and uncovered the identities of their four top members. I would not trust anyone who stepped forward from the brotherhood at this point.”

“So what do you suggest?” Langdon asked.

“Robert, you know as well as I do that the Priory has not protected the truth all these years to have it gather dust until eternity. They have been waiting for the right moment in history to share their secret. A time when the world is ready to handle the truth.”

“And you believe that moment has arrived?” Langdon asked.

“Absolutely. It could not be more obvious. All the historical signs are in place, and if the Priory did not intend to make their secret known very soon, why has the Church now attacked?”

Sophie argued, “The monk has not yet told us his purpose.”

“The monk's purpose is the Church's purpose,” Teabing replied, “to destroy the documents that reveal the great deception. The Church came closer tonight than they have ever come, and the Priory has put its trust in you, Miss Neveu. The task of saving the Holy Grail clearly includes carrying out the Priory's final wishes of sharing the truth with the world.”

Langdon intervened. “Leigh, asking Sophie to make that decision is quite a load to drop on someone who only an hour ago learned the Sangreal documents exist.”

Teabing sighed. “I apologize if I am pressing, Miss Neveu. Clearly I have always believed these documents should be made public, but in the end the decision belongs to you. I simply feel it is important that you begin to think about what happens should we succeed in opening the keystone.”

“Gentlemen,” Sophie said, her voice firm. “To quote your words, ‘You do not find the Grail, the Grail finds you.' I am going to trust that the Grail has found me for a reason, and when the time comes, I will know what to do.”

Both of them looked startled.

“So then,” she said, motioning to the rosewood box. “Let's move on.”

CHAPTER
70

Standing in
the drawing room of Château Villette, Lieutenant Collet watched the dying fire and felt despondent. Captain Fache had arrived moments earlier and was now in the next room, yelling into the phone, trying to coordinate the failed attempt to locate the missing Range Rover.

It could be anywhere by now,
Collet thought.

Having disobeyed Fache's direct orders and lost Langdon for a second time, Collet was grateful that PTS had located a bullet hole in the floor, which at least corroborated Collet's claims that a shot had been fired. Still, Fache's mood was sour, and Collet sensed there would be dire repercussions when the dust settled.

Unfortunately, the clues they were turning up here seemed to shed no light at all on what was going on or who was involved. The black Audi outside had been rented in a false name with false credit card numbers, and the prints in the car matched nothing in the Interpol database.

Another agent hurried into the living room, his eyes urgent. “Where's Captain Fache?”

Collet barely looked up from the burning embers. “He's on the phone.”

“I'm off the phone,” Fache snapped, stalking into the room. “What have you got?”

The second agent said, “Sir, Central just heard from André Vernet at the Depository Bank of Zurich. He wants to talk to you privately. He is changing his story.”

“Oh?” Fache said.

Now Collet looked up.

“Vernet is admitting that Langdon and Neveu spent time inside his bank tonight.”

“We figured that out,” Fache said. “Why did Vernet lie about it?”

“He said he'll talk only to you, but he's agreed to cooperate fully.”

“In exchange for what?”

“For our keeping his bank's name out of the news and also for helping him recover some stolen property. It sounds like Langdon and Neveu stole something from Saunière's account.”

“What?” Collet blurted. “How?”

Fache never flinched, his eyes riveted on the second agent. “What did they steal?”

“Vernet didn't elaborate, but he sounds like he's willing to do anything to get it back.”

Collet tried to imagine how this could happen. Maybe Langdon and Neveu had held a bank employee at gunpoint? Maybe they forced Vernet to open Saunière's account and facilitate an escape in the armored truck. As feasible as it was, Collet was having trouble believing Sophie Neveu could be involved in anything like that.

From the kitchen, another agent yelled to Fache. “Captain? I'm going through Mr. Teabing's speed dial numbers, and I'm on the phone with Le Bourget Airfield. I've got some bad news.”

Thirty seconds later, Fache was packing up and preparing to leave Château Villette. He had just learned that Teabing kept a private jet nearby at Le Bourget Airfield and that the plane had taken off about a half hour ago.

The Bourget representative on the phone had claimed not to know who was on the plane or where it was headed. The takeoff had been unscheduled, and no flight plan had been logged. Highly illegal, even for a small airfield. Fache was certain that by applying the right pressure, he could get the answers he was looking for.

“Lieutenant Collet,” Fache barked, heading for the door. “I have no choice but to leave you in charge of the PTS investigation here. Try to do something right for a change.”