»
Langdon had little doubt. His books on religious paintings and cult symbology had made him a reluctant celebrity in the art world, and last year Langdon’s visibility had increased a hundred fold after his involvement in a widely publicized incident at the Vatican. Since then, the stream of self- important historians and art buffs arriving at his door had seemed never-ending.
«If you would be so kind,» Langdon said, doing his best to remain polite,» could you take the man’s name and number, and tell him I’ll try to call him before I leave Paris on Tuesday? Thank you.» He hung up before the concierge could protest.
Sitting up now, Langdon frowned at his bedside
If Boston Magazine could see me now.
Last month, much to Langdon’s embarrassment,
«Ladies and gentlemen…» the hostess had announced to a full house at the American University of Paris’s Pavilion Dauphine,» Our guest tonight needs no introduction. He is the author of numerous books:
intriguing
Boston
The crowd applauded.
«Although Professor Langdon might not be considered hunk-handsome like some of our younger awardees, this forty-something academic has more than his share of scholarly allure. His captivating presence is punctuated by an unusually low, baritone speaking voice, which his female students describe as ‘chocolate for the ears.’
The hall erupted in laughter.
Langdon forced an awkward smile. He knew what came next – some ridiculous line about» Harrison Ford in Harris tweed» – and because this evening he had figured it was finally safe again to wear his Harris tweed and Burberry turtleneck, he decided to take action.
«Thank you, Monique,» Langdon said, standing prematurely and edging her away from the podium. «
The crowd laughed.
«Well, folks, as you all know, I’m here tonight to talk about the power of symbols ...»
The ringing of Langdon’s hotel phone once again broke the silence.
Groaning in disbelief, he picked up. «Yes?»
As expected, it was the concierge. «Mr. Langdon, again my apologies. I am calling to inform you that your guest is now en route to your room. I thought I should alert you.»
Langdon was wide awake now. «You sent someone to my
Almost immediately, a heavy fist pounded on Langdon’s door.
Uncertain, Langdon slid off the bed, feeling his toes sink deep into the savonniere carpet. He donned the hotel bathrobe and moved toward the door. «Who is it?»
«Mr. Langdon? I need to speak with you.» The man’s English was accented – a sharp, authoritative bark. «My name is Lieutenant Jerome Collet. Direction Centrale Police Judiciaire.»
Langdon paused.
«May I come in?» the agent asked.
Langdon hesitated, feeling uncertain as the stranger’s sallow eyes studied him. «What is this all about?»
«My
requires your expertise in a private matter.» «Now?» Langdon managed. «It’s after midnight.» «Am I correct that you were scheduled to meet with the curator of the Louvre this evening?»
Langdon felt a sudden surge of uneasiness. He and the revered curator Jacques Saunière had been slated to meet for drinks after Langdon’s lecture tonight, but Saunière had never shown up. «Yes. How did you know that?»
«We found your name in his daily planner.»
«I trust nothing is wrong?»
The agent gave a dire sigh and slid a Polaroid snapshot through the narrow opening in the door. When Langdon saw the photo, his entire body went rigid.» This photo was taken less than an hour ago. Inside the Louvre.»
As Langdon stared at the bizarre image, his initial revulsion and shock gave way to a sudden upwelling of anger. «Who would do this!»
«We had hoped that you might help us answer that very question, considering your knowledge in symbology and your plans to meet with him.»
Langdon stared at the picture, his horror now laced with fear. The image was gruesome and profoundly strange, bringing with it an unsettling sense of déjà vu. A little over a year ago, Langdon had received a photograph of a corpse and a similar request for help. Twenty-four hours later, he had almost lost his life inside Vatican City. This photo was entirely different, and yet something about the scenario felt disquietingly familiar.
The agent checked his watch. «My
is waiting, sir.»
Langdon barely heard him. His eyes were still riveted on the picture. «This symbol here, and the way his body is so oddly…»
«Positioned?» the agent offered.
Langdon nodded, feeling a chill as he looked up. «I can’t imagine who would do this to someone.»
The agent looked grim. «You don’t understand, Mr. Langdon. What you see in this photograph…» He paused. «Monsieur Saunière did that to himself.»
cilice
The room was spartan – hardwood floors, a pine dresser, a canvas mat in the corner that served as his bed. He was a visitor here this week, and yet for many years he had been blessed with a similar sanctuary in New York City.
The Lord has provided me shelter and purpose in my life.
Tonight, at last, Silas felt he had begun to repay his debt. Hurrying to the dresser, he found the cell phone hidden in his bottom drawer and placed a call.
«Yes?» a male voice answered. «Teacher, I have returned.» «Speak,» the voice commanded, sounding pleased to hear from him.
«All four are gone. The three sénéchaux … and the Grand Master himself.»