though, something unexpected happened. The box let out an odd gurgling sound.
Langdon did a double take. There's liquid inside?
Sophie looked equally confused. "Did you just hear...?"
Langdon nodded, lost. "Liquid."
Reaching forward, Sophie slowly unhooked the clasp and raised the lid.
The object inside was unlike anything Langdon had ever seen. One thing was immediately
clear to both of them, however. This was definitely not the Cup of Christ.
CHAPTER 45
"The police are blocking the street," AndréVernet said, walking into the waiting room. "Getting
you out will be difficult." As he closed the door behind him, Vernet saw the heavy-duty plastic
case on the conveyor belt and halted in his tracks. My God! They accessed Saunière's account?
Sophie and Langdon were at the table, huddling over what looked to be a large wooden
jewelry box. Sophie immediately closed the lid and looked up. "We had the account number
after all," she said.
Vernet was speechless. This changed everything. He respectfully diverted his eyes from the
box and tried to figure out his next move. I have to get them out of the bank! But with the police
already having set up a roadblock, Vernet could imagine only one way to do that. "Mademoiselle
Neveu, if I can get you safely out of the bank, will you be taking the item with you or returning it
to the vault before you leave?"
Sophie glanced at Langdon and then back to Vernet. "We need to take it."
Vernet nodded. "Very well. Then whatever the item is, I suggest you wrap it in your jacket
as we move through the hallways. I would prefer nobody else see it."
As Langdon shed his jacket, Vernet hurried over to the conveyor belt, closed the now empty
crate, and typed a series of simple commands. The conveyor belt began moving again, carrying
the plastic container back down to the vault. Pulling the gold key from the podium, he handed it
to Sophie.
"This way please. Hurry."
When they reached the rear loading dock, Vernet could see the flash of police lights
filtering through the underground garage. He frowned. They were probably blocking the ramp.
Am I really going to try to pull this off? He was sweating now.
Vernet motioned to one of the bank's small armored trucks. Transport sur was another
service offered by the Depository Bank of Zurich.
"Get in the cargo hold," he said, heaving open the massive rear door and motioning to the
glistening steel compartment. "I'll be right back."
As Sophie and Langdon climbed in, Vernet hurried across the loading dock to the dock
overseer's office, let himself in, collected the keys for the truck, and found a driver's uniform
jacket and cap. Shedding his own suit coat and tie, he began to put on the driver's jacket.
Reconsidering, he donned a shoulder holster beneath the uniform. On his way out, he grabbed a
driver's pistol from the rack, put in a clip, and stuffed it in the holster, buttoning his uniform over
it. Returning to the truck, Vernet pulled the driver's cap down low and peered in at Sophie and
Langdon, who were standing inside the empty steel box.
"You'll want this on," Vernet said, reaching inside and flicking a wall switch to illuminate
the lone courtesy bulb on the hold's ceiling. "And you'd better sit down. Not a sound on our way
out the gate."
Sophie and Langdon sat down on the metal floor. Langdon cradled the treasure wadded in
his tweed jacket. Swinging the heavy doors closed, Vernet locked them inside. Then he got in
behind the wheel and revved the engine.
As the armored truck lumbered toward the top of the ramp, Vernet could feel the sweat
already collecting beneath his driver's cap. He could see there were far more police lights in front
than he had imagined. As the truck powered up the ramp, the interior gate swung inward to let
him pass. Vernet advanced and waited while the gate behind him closed before pulling forward
and tripping the next sensor. The second gate opened, and the exit beckoned.
Except for the police car blocking the top of the ramp.
Vernet dabbed his brow and pulled forward.
A lanky officer stepped out and waved him to a stop a few meters from the roadblock. Four
patrol cars were parked out front.
Vernet stopped. Pulling his driver's cap down farther, he effected as rough a facade as his
cultured upbringing would allow. Not budging from behind the wheel, he opened the door and
gazed down at the agent, whose face was stern and sallow.
"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" Vernet asked, his tone rough.
"Je suis Jérome Collet," the agent said. "Lieutenant Police Judiciaire." He motioned to the
truck's cargo hold. "Qu'est-ce qu'ily a làdedans?"
"Hell if I know," Vernet replied in crude French. "I'm only a driver."
Collet looked unimpressed. "We're looking for two criminals."
Vernet laughed. "Then you came to the right spot. Some of these bastards I drive for have
so much money they must be criminals."
The agent held up a passport picture of Robert Langdon. "Was this man in your bank
tonight?"
Vernet shrugged. "No clue. I'm a dock rat. They don't let us anywhere near the clients. You
need to go in and ask the front desk."
"Your bank is demanding a search warrant before we can enter."
Vernet put on a disgusted look. "Administrators. Don't get me started."
"Open your truck, please." Collet motioned toward the cargo hold.
Vernet stared at the agent and forced an obnoxious laugh. "Open the truck? You think I
have keys? You think they trust us? You should see the crap wages I get paid."
The agent's head tilted to one side, his skepticism evident. "You're telling me you don't have
keys to your own truck?"
Vernet shook his head. "Not the cargo area. Ignition only. These trucks get sealed by
overseers on the loading dock. Then the truck sits in dock while someone drives the cargo keys
to the drop-off. Once we get the call that the cargo keys are with the recipient, then I get the
okay to drive. Not a second before. I never know what the hell I'm lugging."
"When was this truck sealed?"
"Must have been hours ago. I'm driving all the way up to St. Thurial tonight. Cargo keys are
already up there."
The agent made no response, his eyes probing as if trying to read Vernet's mind.
A drop of sweat was preparing to slide down Vernet's nose. "You mind?" he said, wiping
his nose with his sleeve and motioning to the police car blocking his way. "I'm on a tight
schedule."
"Do all the drivers wear Rolexes?" the agent asked, pointing to Vernet's wrist.
Vernet glanced down and saw the glistening band of his absurdly expensive watch peeking
out from beneath the sleeve of his jacket. Merde. "This piece of shit? Bought it for twenty euro
from a Taiwanese street vendor in St. Germain des Prés. I'll sell it to you for forty."
The agent paused and finally stepped aside. "No thanks. Have a safe trip."
Vernet did not breathe again until the truck was a good fifty meters down the street. And
now he had another problem. His cargo. Where do I take them?
CHAPTER 46
Silas lay prone on the canvas mat in his room, allowing the lash wounds on his back to clot in
the air. Tonight's second session with the Discipline had left him dizzy and weak. He had yet to
remove the cilice belt, and he could feel the blood trickling down his inner thigh. Still, he could
not justify removing the strap.
I have failed the Church.
Far worse, I have failed the bishop.
Tonight was supposed to be Bishop Aringarosa's salvation. Five months ago, the bishop had
returned from a meeting at the Vatican Observatory, where he had learned something that left
him deeply changed. Depressed for weeks, Aringarosa had finally shared the news with Silas.
"But this is impossible!" Silas had cried out. "I cannot accept it!"
"It is true," Aringarosa said. "Unthinkable, but true. In only six months."
The bishop's words terrified Silas. He prayed for deliverance, and even in those dark days,
his trust in God and The Way never wavered. It was only a month later that the clouds parted
miraculously and the light of possibility shone through.
Divine intervention, Aringarosa had called it.
The bishop had seemed hopeful for the first time. "Silas," he whispered, "God has bestowed
upon us an opportunity to protect The Way. Our battle, like all battles, will take sacrifice. Will
you be a soldier of God?"
Silas fell to his knees before Bishop Aringarosa— the man who had given him a new life—
and he said, "I am a lamb of God. Shepherd me as your heart commands."
When Aringarosa described the opportunity that had presented itself, Silas knew it could
only be the hand of God at work. Miraculous fate! Aringarosa put Silas in contact with the man
who had proposed the plan— a man who called himself the Teacher. Although the Teacher and
Silas never met face-to-face, each time they spoke by phone, Silas was awed, both by the
profundity of the Teacher's faith and by the scope of his power. The Teacher seemed to be a man
who knew all, a man with eyes and ears in all places. How the Teacher gathered his information,
Silas did not know, but Aringarosa had placed enormous trust in the Teacher, and he had told
Silas to do the same. "Do as the Teacher commands you," the bishop told Silas. "And we will be
victorious."
Victorious. Silas now gazed at the bare floor and feared victory had eluded them. The
Teacher had been tricked. The keystone was a devious dead end. And with the deception, all
hope had vanished.
Silas wished he could call Bishop Aringarosa and warn him, but the Teacher had removed
all their lines of direct communication tonight. For our safety.
Finally, overcoming enormous trepidation, Silas crawled to his feet and found his robe,
which lay on the floor. He dug his cell phone from the pocket. Hanging his head in shame, he
dialed.
"Teacher," he whispered, "all is lost." Silas truthfully told the man how he had been tricked.
"You lose your faith too quickly," the Teacher replied. "I have just received news. Most
unexpected and welcome. The secret lives. Jacques Saunière transferred information before he
died. I will call you soon. Our work tonight is not yet done."
CHAPTER 47
Riding inside the dimly lit cargo hold of the armored truck was like being transported inside a
cell for solitary confinement. Langdon fought the all too familiar anxiety that haunted him in
confined spaces. Vernet said he would take us a safe distance out of the city. Where? How far?
Langdon's legs had gotten stiff from sitting cross-legged on the metal floor, and he shifted
his position, wincing to feel the blood pouring back into his lower body. In his arms, he still
clutched the bizarre treasure they had extricated from the bank.
"I think we're on the highway now," Sophie whispered.
Langdon sensed the same thing. The truck, after an unnerving pause atop the bank ramp,
had moved on, snaking left and right for a minute or two, and was now accelerating to what felt
like top speed. Beneath them, the bulletproof tires hummed on smooth pavement. Forcing his
attention to the rosewood box in his arms, Langdon laid the precious bundle on the floor,
unwrapped his jacket, and extracted the box, pulling it toward him. Sophie shifted her position
so they were sitting side by side. Langdon suddenly felt like they were two kids huddled over a
Christmas present.
In contrast to the warm colors of the rosewood box, the inlaid rose had been crafted of a
pale wood, probably ash, which shone clearly in the dim light. The Rose. Entire armies and
religions had been built on this symbol, as had secret societies. The Rosicrucians. The Knights of
the Rosy Cross.
"Go ahead," Sophie said. "Open it."
Langdon took a deep breath. Reaching for the lid, he stole one more admiring glance at the
intricate woodwork and then, unhooking the clasp, he opened the lid, revealing the object within.
Langdon had harbored several fantasies about what they might find inside this box, but
clearly he had been wrong on every account. Nestled snugly inside the box's heavily padded
interior of crimson silk lay an object Langdon could not even begin to comprehend.
Crafted of polished white marble, it was a stone cylinder approximately the dimensions of a
tennis ball can. More complicated than a simple column of stone, however, the cylinder appeared
to have been assembled in many pieces. Six doughnut-sized disks of marble had been stacked
and affixed to one another within a delicate brass framework. It looked like some kind of
tubular, multiwheeled kaleidoscope. Each end of the cylinder was affixed with an end cap, also
marble, making it impossible to see inside. Having heard liquid within, Langdon assumed the
cylinder was hollow.
As mystifying as the construction of the cylinder was, however, it was the engravings
around the tube's circumference that drew Langdon's primary focus. Each of the six disks had
been carefully carved with the same unlikely series of letters— the entire alphabet. The lettered
cylinder reminded Langdon of one of his childhood toys— a rod threaded with lettered tumblers
