“E for Edmond,” Langdon mused.
And E is one step beyond D, Ambra thought, recalling Edmond’s story about the famous computer in 2001: A Space Odyssey, which, according to urban legend, had been named HAL because each letter occurred alphabetically one letter ahead of IBM.
“And the car key?” Langdon asked. “You said you know where he hides it.”
“He doesn’t use a key.” Ambra held up Edmond’s phone. “He showed me this when we came here last month.” She touched the phone screen, launched the Tesla app, and selected the summon command.
Instantly, in the corner of the hangar, the SUV’s headlights blazed to life, and the Tesla—without the slightest sound—slid smoothly up beside them and stopped.
Langdon cocked his head, looking unnerved by the prospect of a car that drove itself.
“Don’t worry,” Ambra assured him. “I’ll let you drive to Edmond’s apartment.”
Langdon nodded his agreement and began circling around to the driver’s side. As he passed the front of the car, he paused, staring down at the license plate and laughing out loud.
Ambra knew exactly what had amused him—Edmond’s license-plate frame: AND THE GEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH.
“Only Edmond,” Langdon said as he climbed in behind the wheel. “Subtlety was never his forte.”
“He loved this car,” Ambra said, getting in next to Langdon. “Fully electric and faster than a Ferrari.”
Langdon shrugged, eyeing the high-tech dashboard. “I’m not really a car guy.”
Ambra smiled. “You will be.”
CHAPTER 48
As ávila’s Uber raced eastward through the darkness, the admiral wondered how many times during his years as a naval officer he had made port in Barcelona.
His previous life seemed a world away now, having ended in a fiery flash in Seville. Fate was a cruel and unpredictable mistress, and yet there seemed an eerie equilibrium about her now. The same fate that had torn out his soul in the Cathedral of Seville had now granted him a second life—a fresh start born within the sanctuary walls of a very different cathedral.
Ironically, the person who had taken him there was a simple physical therapist named Marco.
“A meeting with the pope?” ávila had asked his trainer months ago, when Marco first proposed the idea. “Tomorrow? In Rome?”
“Tomorrow in Spain,” Marco had replied. “The pope is here.”
ávila eyed him as if he were crazy. “The media have said nothing about His Holiness being in Spain.”
“A little trust, Admiral,” Marco replied with a laugh. “Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be tomorrow?”
ávila glanced down at his injured leg.
“We’ll leave at nine,” Marco prompted. “I promise our little trip will be far less painful than rehab.”
The next morning, ávila got dressed in a navy uniform that Marco had retrieved from ávila’s home, grabbed a pair of crutches, and hobbled out to Marco’s car—an old Fiat. Marco drove out of the hospital lot and headed south on Avenida de la Raza, eventually leaving the city and getting on Highway N-IV heading south.
“Where are we going?” ávila asked, suddenly uneasy.
“Relax,” Marco said, smiling. “Just trust me. It’ll only take half an hour.”
ávila knew there was nothing but parched pastureland on the N-IV for at least another 150 kilometers. He was beginning to think he had made a terrible mistake. Half an hour into the journey, they approached the eerie ghost town of El Torbiscal—a once prosperous farming village whose population had recently dwindled to zero. Where in the world is he taking me?! Marco drove on for several minutes, then exited the highway and turned north.
“Can you see it?” Marco asked, pointing into the distance across a fallow field.
ávila saw nothing. Either the young trainer was hallucinating or ávila’s eyes were getting old.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Marco declared.
ávila squinted into the sun, and finally saw a dark form rising out of the landscape. As they drew closer, his eyes widened in disbelief.
Is that…a cathedral?
The scale of the building looked like something he might expect to see in Madrid or Paris. ávila had lived in Seville his entire life but had never known of a cathedral out here in the middle of nowhere. The closer they drove, the more impressive the complex appeared, its massive cement walls providing a level of security that ávila had seen only in Vatican City.
Marco left the main highway and drove along a short access road toward the cathedral, approaching a towering iron gate that blocked their way. As they came to a stop, Marco pulled a laminated card from the glove box and placed it on the dashboard.
A security guard approached, eyed the card, and then peered into the vehicle, smiling broadly when he saw Marco. “Bienvenidos,” the guard said. “?Qué tal, Marco?”
The two men shook hands, and Marco introduced Admiral ávila.
“Ha venido a conocer al papa,” Marco told the guard. He’s come to meet the pope.
The guard nodded, admiring the medals on ávila’s uniform, and waved them on. As the huge gate swung open, ávila felt like he was entering a medieval castle.
The soaring Gothic cathedral that appeared before them had eight towering spires, each with a triple-tiered bell tower. A trio of massive cupolas made up the body of the structure, the exterior of which was composed of dark brown and white stone, giving it an unusually modern feel.
ávila lowered his gaze to the access road, which forked into three parallel roadways, each lined with a phalanx of tall palm trees. To his surprise, the entire area was jammed with parked vehicles—hundreds of them—luxury sedans, dilapidated buses, mud-covered mopeds…everything imaginable.
Marco bypassed them all, driving straight to the church’s front courtyard, where a security guard saw them, checked his watch, and waved them into an empty parking spot that had clearly been reserved for them.
“We’re a little late,” Marco said. “We should hurry inside.”
ávila was about to reply, but the words were lodged in his throat.
He had just seen the sign in front of the church:
IGLESIA CATóLICA PALMARIANA
My God! ávila felt himself recoil. I’ve heard of this church!
He turned to Marco, trying to control his pounding heart. “This is your church, Marco?” ávila tried not to sound alarmed. “You’re a…Palmarian?”
Marco smiled. “You say the word like it’s some kind of disease. I’m just a devout Catholic who believes that Rome has gone astray.”
ávila raised his eyes again to the church. Marco’s strange claim about knowing the pope suddenly made sense. The pope is here in Spain.
A few years ago, the television network Canal Sur had aired a documentary titled La Iglesia Oscura, whose purpose was to unveil some of the secrets of the Palmarian Church. ávila had been stunned to learn of the strange church’s existence, not to mention its growing congregation and influence.
According to lore, the Palmarian Church had been founded after some local residents claimed to have witnessed a series of mystical visions in a field nearby. Allegedly, the Virgin Mary had appeared to them and warned that the Catholic Church was rife with the “heresy of modernism” and that the true faith needed to be protected.
The Virgin Mary had urged the Palmarians to establish an alternative church and denounce the current pope in Rome as a false pope. This conviction that the Vatican’s pope was not the valid pontiff was known as sedevacantism—a belief that St. Peter’s “seat” was literally “vacant.”