“Professor,” the priest whispered, smiling softly. “This is Sagrada Família. Within these walls, Gaudí blended God, science, and nature. The theme of this painting is nothing new to us.” His eyes twinkled cryptically. “Not all of our clergy are as progressive as I am, but as you know, for all of us, Christianity remains a work in progress.” He smiled gently, nodding back to the book. “I’m just glad Mr. Kirsch agreed not to display his title card with the book. Considering his reputation, I’m not sure how I would have explained that, especially after his presentation tonight.” Be?a paused, his face somber. “Do I sense, however, that this image is not what you had hoped to find?”
“You’re right. We’re looking for a line of Blake’s poetry.”
“?‘Tyger Tyger, burning bright’?” Be?a offered. “?‘In the forests of the night’?”
Langdon smiled, impressed that Be?a knew the first line of Blake’s most famous poem—a six-stanza religious query that asked if the same God who had designed the fearsome tiger had also designed the docile lamb.
“Father Be?a?” Ambra asked, crouching down and peering intently through the glass. “Do you happen to have a phone or a flashlight with you?”
“No, I’m sorry. Shall I borrow a lantern from Antoni’s tomb?”
“Would you, please?” Ambra asked. “That would be helpful.”
Be?a hurried off.
The instant he left, she whispered urgently to Langdon, “Robert! Edmond didn’t choose page one sixty-three because of the painting!”
“What do you mean?” There’s nothing else on page 163.
“It’s a clever decoy.”
“You’ve lost me,” Langdon said, eyeing the painting.
“Edmond chose page one sixty-three because it’s impossible to display that page without simultaneously displaying the page next to it—page one sixty-two!”
Langdon shifted his gaze to the left, examining the folio preceding The Ancient of Days. In the dim light, he could not make out much on the page, except that it appeared to consist entirely of tiny handwritten text.
Be?a returned with a lantern and handed it to Ambra, who held it up over the book. As the soft glow spread out across the open tome, Langdon drew a startled breath.
The facing page was indeed text—handwritten, as were all of Blake’s original manuscripts—its margins embellished with drawings, frames, and various figures. Most significantly, however, the text on the page appeared to be designed in elegant stanzas of poetry.
—
Directly overhead in the main sanctuary, Agent Díaz paced in the darkness, wondering where his partner was.
Fonseca should have returned by now.
When the phone in his pocket began vibrating, he thought it was probably Fonseca calling him, but when he checked the caller ID, Díaz saw a name he had never expected to see.
Mónica Martín
He could not imagine what the PR coordinator wanted, but whatever it was, she should be calling Fonseca directly. He is lead agent on this team.
“Hello,” he answered. “This is Díaz.”
“Agent Díaz, this is Mónica Martín. I have someone here who needs to speak to you.”
A moment later, a strong familiar voice came on the line. “Agent Díaz, this is Commander Garza. Please assure me that Ms. Vidal is safe.”
“Yes, Commander,” Díaz blurted, feeling himself bolt to attention at the sound of Garza’s voice. “Ms. Vidal is perfectly safe. Agent Fonseca and I are currently with her and safely situated inside—”
“Not on an open phone line,” Garza interrupted forcefully. “If she is in a safe location, keep her there. Don’t move. I’m relieved to hear your voice. We tried to phone Agent Fonseca, but there was no answer. Is he with you?”
“Yes, sir. He stepped away to make a call but should return—”
“I don’t have time to wait. I’m being detained at the moment, and Ms. Martín has loaned me her phone. Listen to me very carefully. The kidnapping story, as you were no doubt aware, was wholly false. It put Ms. Vidal at great risk.”
You have no idea, Díaz thought, recalling the chaotic scene on the roof of Casa Milà.
“Equally untrue is the report that I framed Bishop Valdespino.”
“I had imagined as much, sir, but—”
“Ms. Martín and I are trying to figure out how best to manage this situation, but until we do, you need to keep the future queen out of the public eye. Is that clear?”
“Of course, sir. But who issued the order?”
“I cannot tell you that over the phone. Just do as I ask, and keep Ambra Vidal away from the media and away from danger. Ms. Martín will keep you apprised of further developments.”
Garza hung up, and Díaz stood alone in the darkness, trying to make sense of the call.
As he reached inside his blazer to slide the phone back into his pocket, he heard a rustle of fabric behind him. As he turned, two pale hands emerged from the blackness and clamped down hard on Díaz’s head. With blinding speed, the hands wrenched hard to one side.
Díaz felt his neck snap and a searing heat erupt inside his skull.
Then, all went black.
CHAPTER 71
ConspiracyNet.com
BREAKING NEWS
NEW HOPE FOR KIRSCH BOMBSHELL DISCOVERY!
Madrid palace PR coordinator Mónica Martín made an official statement earlier claiming that Spain’s queen-to-be Ambra Vidal was kidnapped and is being held captive by American professor Robert Langdon. The palace urged local authorities to get involved and find the queen.
Civilian watchdog [email protected] has just sent us the following statement:
PALACE’S KIDNAPPING ALLEGATION 100% BOGUS—A PLOY TO USE LOCAL POLICE TO STOP LANGDON FROM ACHIEVING HIS GOAL IN BARCELONA (LANGDON/VIDAL BELIEVE THEY CAN STILL FIND WAY TO TRIGGER WORLDWIDE RELEASE OF KIRSCH DISCOVERY). IF THEY SUCCEED, KIRSCH PRESENTATION COULD GO LIVE AT ANY MOMENT. STAY TUNED.
Incredible! And you heard it here first—Langdon and Vidal are on the run because they want to finish what Edmond Kirsch started! The palace appears desperate to stop them. (Valdespino again? And where is the prince in all of this?)
More news as we have it, but stay tuned because Kirsch’s secrets might still be revealed tonight!
CHAPTER 72
Prince Julián gazed out of the acolyte’s Opel sedan at the passing countryside and tried to make sense of the bishop’s strange behavior.
Valdespino is hiding something.
It had been over an hour since the bishop had covertly ushered Julián out of the palace—a highly irregular action—assuring him it was for his own safety.
He asked me not to question…only to trust.
The bishop had always been like an uncle to him, and a trusted confidant of Julián’s father. But Valdespino’s proposal of hiding out in the prince’s summerhouse had sounded dubious to Julián from the start. Something is off. I’m being isolated—no phone, no security, no news, and nobody knows where I am.
Now, as the car bumped over the railroad tracks near Casita del Príncipe, Julián gazed down the wooded road before them. A hundred yards ahead on the left loomed the mouth of the long, tree-lined driveway that led to the remote cottage retreat.
As Julián pictured the deserted residence, he felt a sudden instinct for caution. He leaned forward and placed a firm hand on the shoulder of the acolyte behind the wheel. “Pull over here, please.”
Valdespino turned, surprised. “We’re almost—”
“I want to know what’s going on!” the prince barked, his voice loud inside the small car.
“Don Julián, tonight has been tumultuous, but you must—”
“I must trust you?” Julián demanded.
“Yes.”
Julián squeezed the shoulder of the young driver and pointed to a grassy shoulder on the deserted country road. “Pull over,” he ordered sharply.
“Keep going,” Valdespino countered. “Don Julián, I’ll explain—”
“Stop the car!” the prince bellowed.
The acolyte swerved onto the shoulder, skidding to a stop on the grass.
“Give us some privacy, please,” Julián ordered, his heart beating fast.
The acolyte did not need to be told twice. He leaped out of the idling car and hurried off into the darkness, leaving Valdespino and Julián alone in the backseat.
In the pale moonlight, Valdespino looked suddenly frightened.
“You should be scared,” Julián said in a voice so authoritative that it startled even himself. Valdespino pulled back, looking stunned by the threatening tone—one that Julián had never before used with the bishop.
“I am the future king of Spain,” Julián said. “Tonight you’ve removed my security detail, denied me access to my phone and my staff, prohibited me from hearing any news, and refused to let me contact my fiancée.”