grandfather made this. It can't be part of any ancient Grail legend."
"Actually," Langdon replied, feeling a tingle of excitement ripple through him, "the
keystone is believed to have been created by the Priory sometime in the past couple of decades."
Sophie's eyes flashed disbelief. "But if this cryptex reveals the hiding place of the Holy
Grail, why would my grandfather give it to me? I have no idea how to open it or what to do with
it. I don't even know what the Holy Grail is!"
Langdon realized to his surprise that she was right. He had not yet had a chance to explain
to Sophie the true nature of the Holy Grail. That story would have to wait. At the moment, they
were focused on the keystone.
If that is indeed what this is....
Against the hum of the bulletproof wheels beneath them, Langdon quickly explained to
Sophie everything he had heard about the keystone. Allegedly, for centuries, the Priory's biggest
secret— the location of the Holy Grail— was never written down. For security's sake, it was
verbally transferred to each new rising sénéchal at a clandestine ceremony. However, at some
point during the last century, whisperings began to surface that the Priory policy had changed.
Perhaps it was on account of new electronic eavesdropping capabilities, but the Priory vowed
never again even to speak the location of the sacred hiding place.
"But then how could they pass on the secret?" Sophie asked.
"That's where the keystone comes in," Langdon explained. "When one of the top four
members died, the remaining three would choose from the lower echelons the next candidate to
ascend as sénéchal. Rather than telling the new sénéchal where the Grail was hidden, they gave
him a test through which he could prove he was worthy."
Sophie looked unsettled by this, and Langdon suddenly recalled her mentioning how her
grandfather used to make treasure hunts for her—preuves de m érite. Admittedly, the keystone
was a similar concept. Then again, tests like this were extremely common in secret societies. The
best known was the Masons', wherein members ascended to higher degrees by proving they
could keep a secret and by performing rituals and various tests of merit over many years. The
tasks became progressively harder until they culminated in a successful candidate's induction as
thirty-second-degree Mason.
"So the keystone is apreuve de m érite," Sophie said. "If a rising Priory sénéchal can open
it, he proves himself worthy of the information it holds."
Langdon nodded. "I forgot you'd had experience with this sort of thing."
"Not only with my grandfather. In cryptology, that's called a 'self-authorizing language.'
That is, if you're smart enough to read it, you're permitted to know what is being said."
Langdon hesitated a moment. "Sophie, you realize that if this is indeed the keystone, your
grandfather's access to it implies he was exceptionally powerful within the Priory of Sion. He
would have to have been one of the highest four members."
Sophie sighed. "He was powerful in a secret society. I'm certain of it. I can only assume it
was the Priory."
Langdon did a double take. "You knew he was in a secret society?"
"I saw some things I wasn't supposed to see ten years ago. We haven't spoken since." She
paused. "My grandfather was not only a ranking top member of the group... I believe he was the
top member."
Langdon could not believe what she had just said. "Grand Master? But... there's no way you
could know that!"
"I'd rather not talk about it." Sophie looked away, her expression as determined as it was
pained.
Langdon sat in stunned silence. Jacques Saunière? Grand Master? Despite the astonishing
repercussions if it were true, Langdon had the eerie sensation it almost made perfect sense. After
all, previous Priory Grand Masters had also been distinguished public figures with artistic souls.
Proof of that fact had been uncovered years ago in Paris's Biblioth èque Nationale in papers that
became known as Les Dossiers Secrets.
Every Priory historian and Grail buff had read the Dossiers. Cataloged under Number 4°
1
lm 249, the Dossiers Secrets had been authenticated by many specialists and incontrovertibly
confirmed what historians had suspected for a long time: Priory Grand Masters included
Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli, Sir Isaac Newton, Victor Hugo, and, more recently, Jean Cocteau,
the famous Parisian artist.
Why not Jacques Saunière?
Langdon's incredulity intensified with the realization that he had been slated to meet
Saunière tonight. The Priory Grand Master called a meeting with me. Why? To make artistic
small talk? It suddenly seemed unlikely. After all, if Langdon's instincts were correct, the Grand
Master of the Priory of Sion had just transferred the brotherhood's legendary keystone to his
granddaughter and simultaneously commanded her to find Robert Langdon.
Inconceivable!
Langdon's imagination could conjure no set of circumstances that would explain Saunière's
behavior. Even if Saunière feared his own death, there were three sénéchaux who also possessed
the secret and therefore guaranteed the Priory's security. Why would Saunière take such an
enormous risk giving his granddaughter the keystone, especially when the two of them didn't get
along? And why involve Langdon... a total stranger?
A piece of this puzzle is missing, Langdon thought.
The answers were apparently going to have to wait. The sound of the slowing engine
caused them both to look up. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. Why is he pulling over already?
Langdon wondered. Vernet had told them he would take them well outside the city to safety. The
truck decelerated to a crawl and made its way over unexpectedly rough terrain. Sophie shot
Langdon an uneasy look, hastily closing the cryptex box and latching it. Langdon slipped his
jacket back on.
When the truck came to a stop, the engine remained idling as the locks on the rear doors
began to turn. When the doors swung open, Langdon was surprised to see they were parked
in a wooded area, well off the road. Vernet stepped into view, a strained look in his eye. In his
hand, he held a pistol.
"I'm sorry about this," he said. "I really have no choice."
CHAPTER 49
AndréVernet looked awkward with a pistol, but his eyes shone with a determination that
Langdon sensed would be unwise to test.
"I'm afraid I must insist," Vernet said, training the weapon on the two of them in the back of
the idling truck. "Set the box down."
Sophie clutched the box to her chest. "You said you and my grandfather were friends."
"I have a duty to protect your grandfather's assets," Vernet replied. "And that is exactly
what I am doing. Now set the box on the floor."
"My grandfather entrusted this to me!" Sophie declared.
"Do it," Vernet commanded, raising the gun.
Sophie set the box at her feet.
Langdon watched the gun barrel swing now in his direction.
"Mr. Langdon," Vernet said, "you will bring the box over to me. And be aware that I'm
asking you because you I would not hesitate to shoot."
Langdon stared at the banker in disbelief. "Why are you doing this?"
"Why do you imagine?" Vernet snapped, his accented English terse now. "To protect my
client's assets."
"We are your clients now," Sophie said.
Vernet's visage turned ice-cold, an eerie transformation. "Mademoiselle Neveu, I don't
know how you got that key and account number tonight, but it seems obvious that foul play was
involved. Had I known the extent of your crimes, I would never have helped you leave the
bank."
"I told you," Sophie said, "we had nothing to do with my grandfather's death!"
Vernet looked at Langdon. "And yet the radio claims you are wanted not only for the
murder of Jacques Saunière but for those of three other men as well?"
"What!" Langdon was thunderstruck. Three more murders? The coincidental number hit
him harder than the fact that he was the prime suspect. It seemed too unlikely to be a
coincidence. The three sénéchaux? Langdon's eyes dropped to the rosewood box. If the
sénéchaux were murdered, Saunière had no options. He had to transfer the keystone to someone.
"The police can sort that out when I turn you in," Vernet said. "I have gotten my bank
involved too far already."
Sophie glared at Vernet. "You obviously have no intention of turning us in. You would
have driven us back to the bank. And instead you bring us out here and hold us at gunpoint?"
"Your grandfather hired me for one reason— to keep his possessions both safe and private.
Whatever this box contains, I have no intention of letting it become a piece of cataloged
evidence in a police investigation. Mr. Langdon, bring me the box."
Sophie shook her head. "Don't do it."
A gunshot roared, and a bullet tore into the wall above him. The reverberation shook the
back of the truck as a spent shell clinked onto the cargo floor.
Shit! Langdon froze.
Vernet spoke more confidently now. "Mr. Langdon, pick up the box."
Langdon lifted the box.
"Now bring it over to me." Vernet was taking dead aim, standing on the ground behind the
rear bumper, his gun outstretched into the cargo hold now.
Box in hand, Langdon moved across the hold toward the open door.
I've got to do something! Langdon thought. I'm about to hand over the Priory keystone! As
Langdon moved toward the doorway, his position of higher ground became more pronounced,
and he began wondering if he could somehow use it to his advantage. Vernet's gun, though
raised, was at Langdon's knee level. A well-placed kick perhaps? Unfortunately, as Langdon
neared, Vernet seemed to sense the dangerous dynamic developing, and he took several steps
back, repositioning himself six feet away. Well out of reach.
Vernet commanded, "Place the box beside the door."
Seeing no options, Langdon knelt down and set the rosewood box at the edge of the cargo
hold, directly in front of the open doors.
"Now stand up."
Langdon began to stand up but paused, spying the small, spent pistol shell on the floor
beside the truck's precision-crafted doorsill.
"Stand up, and step away from the box."
Langdon paused a moment longer, eyeing the metal threshold. Then he stood. As he did, he
discreetly brushed the shell over the edge onto the narrow ledge that was the door's lower sill.
Fully upright now, Langdon stepped backward.
"Return to the back wall and turn around."
Langdon obeyed.
Vernet could feel his own heart pounding. Aiming the gun with his right hand, he reached now
with his left for the wooden box. He discovered that it was far too heavy. I need two hands.
Turning his eyes back to his captives, he calculated the risk. Both were a good fifteen feet away,
at the far end of the cargo hold, facing away from him. Vernet made up his mind. Quickly, he
laid down the gun on the bumper, lifted the box with two hands, and set it on the ground,
immediately grabbing the gun again and aiming it back into the hold. Neither of his prisoners
had moved.
Perfect. Now all that remained was to close and lock the door. Leaving the box on the
ground for the moment, he grabbed the metal door and began to heave it closed. As the door
swung past him, Vernet reached up to grab the single bolt that needed to be slid into place. The
door closed with a thud, and Vernet quickly grabbed the bolt, pulling it to the left. The bolt slid a
few inches and crunched to an unexpected halt, not lining up with its sleeve. What's going on?
Vernet pulled again, but the bolt wouldn't lock. The mechanism was not properly aligned. The
door isn't fully closed! Feeling a surge of panic, Vernet shoved hard against the outside of the
door, but it refused to budge. Something is blocking it! Vernet turned to throw full shoulder into
the door, but this time the door exploded outward, striking Vernet in the face and sending him
reeling backward onto the ground, his nose shattering in pain. The gun flew as Vernet reached
for his face and felt the warm blood running from his nose.
Robert Langdon hit the ground somewhere nearby, and Vernet tried to get up, but he
couldn't see. His vision blurred and he fell backward again. Sophie Neveu was shouting.
Moments later, Vernet felt a cloud of dirt and exhaust billowing over him. He heard the
crunching of tires on gravel and sat up just in time to see the truck's wide wheelbase fail to
navigate a turn. There was a crash as the front bumper clipped a tree. The engine roared, and the
tree bent. Finally, it was the bumper that gave, tearing half off. The armored car lurched away,
its front bumper dragging. When the truck reached the paved access road, a shower of sparks lit
up the night, trailing the truck as it sped away.
Vernet turned his eyes back to the ground where the truck had been parked. Even in the
faint moonlight he could see there was nothing there.
The wooden box was gone.
CHAPTER 50
The unmarked Fiat sedan departing Castel Gandolfo snaked downward through the Alban Hills
into the valley below. In the back seat, Bishop Aringarosa smiled, feeling the weight of the
