television. The news station was broadcasting photos of a man and woman... the same two
individuals to whom Rémy had just served tea.
CHAPTER 57
Standing at the roadblock outside the Depository Bank of Zurich, Lieutenant Collet wondered
what was taking Fache so long to come up with the search warrant. The bankers were obviously
hiding something. They claimed Langdon and Neveu had arrived earlier and were turned away
from the bank because they did not have proper account identification.
So why won't they let us inside for a look?
Finally, Collet's cellular phone rang. It was the command post at the Louvre. "Do we have a
search warrant yet?" Collet demanded.
"Forget about the bank, Lieutenant," the agent told him. "We just got a tip. We have the
exact location where Langdon and Neveu are hiding."
Collet sat down hard on the hood of his car. "You're kidding."
"I have an address in the suburbs. Somewhere near Versailles."
"Does Captain Fache know?"
"Not yet. He's busy on an important call."
"I'm on my way. Have him call as soon as he's free." Collet took down the address and
jumped in his car. As he peeled away from the bank, Collet realized he had forgotten to ask who
had tipped DCPJ off to Langdon's location. Not that it mattered. Collet had been blessed with a
chance to redeem his skepticism and earlier blunders. He was about to make the most high-
profile arrest of his career.
Collet radioed the five cars accompanying him. "No sirens, men. Langdon can't know we're
coming."
Forty kilometers away, a black Audi pulled off a rural road and parked in the shadows on the
edge of a field. Silas got out and peered through the rungs of the wrought-iron fence that
encircled the vast compound before him. He gazed up the long moonlit slope to the chateau in
the distance.
The downstairs lights were all ablaze. Odd for this hour, Silas thought, smiling. The
information the Teacher had given him was obviously accurate. I will not leave this house
without the keystone, he vowed. I will not fail the bishop and the Teacher.
Checking the thirteen-round clip in his Heckler Koch, Silas pushed it through the bars and
let it fall onto the mossy ground inside the compound. Then, gripping the top of the fence, he
heaved himself up and over, dropping to the ground on the other side. Ignoring the slash of pain
from his cilice, Silas retrieved his gun and began the long trek up the grassy slope.
CHAPTER 58
Teabing's "study" was like no study Sophie had ever seen. Six or seven times larger than even
the most luxurious of office spaces, the knight's cabinet de travail resembled an ungainly hybrid
of science laboratory, archival library, and indoor flea market. Lit by three overhead chandeliers,
the boundless tile floor was dotted with clustered islands of worktables buried beneath books,
artwork, artifacts, and a surprising amount of electronic gear— computers, projectors,
microscopes, copy machines, and flatbed scanners.
"I converted the ballroom," Teabing said, looking sheepish as he shuffled into the room. "I
have little occasion to dance."
Sophie felt as if the entire night had become some kind of twilight zone where nothing was
as she expected. "This is all for your work?"
"Learning the truth has become my life's love," Teabing said. "And the Sangreal is my
favorite mistress."
The Holy Grail is a woman, Sophie thought, her mind a collage of interrelated ideas that
seemed to make no sense. "You said you have a picture of this woman who you claim is the
Holy Grail."
"Yes, but it is not I who claim she is the Grail. Christ Himself made that claim."
"Which one is the painting?" Sophie asked, scanning the walls.
"Hmmm..." Teabing made a show of seeming to have forgotten. "The Holy Grail. The
Sangreal. The Chalice." He wheeled suddenly and pointed to the far wall. On it hung an eight-
foot-long print of The Last Supper, the same exact image Sophie had just been looking at. "There
she is!"
Sophie was certain she had missed something. "That's the same painting you just showed
me."
He winked. "I know, but the enlargement is so much more exciting. Don't you think?"
Sophie turned to Langdon for help. "I'm lost."
Langdon smiled. "As it turns out, the Holy Grail does indeed make an appearance in The
Last Supper. Leonardo included her prominently."
"Hold on," Sophie said. "You told me the Holy Grail is a woman. The Last Supper is a
painting of thirteen men."
"Is it?" Teabing arched his eyebrows. "Take a closer look."
Uncertain, Sophie made her way closer to the painting, scanning the thirteen figures— Jesus
Christ in the middle, six disciples on His left, and six on His right. "They're all men," she
confirmed.
"Oh?" Teabing said. "How about the one seated in the place of honor, at the right hand of
the Lord?"
Sophie examined the figure to Jesus' immediate right, focusing in. As she studied the
person's face and body, a wave of astonishment rose within her. The individual had flowing red
hair, delicate folded hands, and the hint of a bosom. It was, without a doubt... female.
"That's a woman!" Sophie exclaimed.
Teabing was laughing. "Surprise, surprise. Believe me, it's no mistake. Leonardo was
skilled at painting the difference between the sexes."
Sophie could not take her eyes from the woman beside Christ. The Last Supper is supposed
to be thirteen men. Who is this woman? Although Sophie had seen this classic image many
times, she had not once noticed this glaring discrepancy.
"Everyone misses it," Teabing said. "Our preconceived notions of this scene are so
powerful that our mind blocks out the incongruity and overrides our eyes."
"It's known as skitoma," Langdon added. "The brain does it sometimes with powerful
symbols."
"Another reason you might have missed the woman," Teabing said, "is that many of the
photographs in art books were taken before 1954, when the details were still hidden beneath
layers of grime and several restorative repaintings done by clumsy hands in the eighteenth
century. Now, at last, the fresco has been cleaned down to Da Vinci's original layer of paint." He
motioned to the photograph. "Et voilà!"
Sophie moved closer to the image. The woman to Jesus' right was young and pious-looking,
with a demure face, beautiful red hair, and hands folded quietly. This is the woman who
singlehandedly could crumble the Church?
"Who is she?" Sophie asked.
"That, my dear," Teabing replied, "is Mary Magdalene."
Sophie turned. "The prostitute?"
Teabing drew a short breath, as if the word had injured him personally. "Magdalene was no
such thing. That unfortunate misconception is the legacy of a smear campaign launched by the
early Church. The Church needed to defame Mary Magdalene in order to cover up her dangerous
secret— her role as the Holy Grail."
"Her role?"
"As I mentioned," Teabing clarified, "the early Church needed to convince the world that
the mortal prophet Jesus was a divine being. Therefore, any gospels that described earthly
aspects of Jesus' life had to be omitted from the Bible. Unfortunately for the early editors, one
particularly troubling earthly theme kept recurring in the gospels. Mary Magdalene." He paused.
"More specifically, her marriage to Jesus Christ."
"I beg your pardon?" Sophie's eyes moved to Langdon and then back to Teabing.
"It's a matter of historical record," Teabing said, "and Da Vinci was certainly aware of that
fact. The Last Supper practically shouts at the viewer that Jesus and Magdalene were a pair."
Sophie glanced back to the fresco.
"Notice that Jesus and Magdalene are clothed as mirror images of one another." Teabing
pointed to the two individuals in the center of the fresco.
Sophie was mesmerized. Sure enough, their clothes were inverse colors. Jesus wore a red
robe and blue cloak; Mary Magdalene wore a blue robe and red cloak. Yin and yang.
"Venturing into the more bizarre," Teabing said, "note that Jesus and His bride appear to be
joined at the hip and are leaning away from one another as if to create this clearly delineated
negative space between them."
Even before Teabing traced the contour for her, Sophie saw it— the indisputable V shape at
the focal point of the painting. It was the same symbol Langdon had drawn earlier for the Grail,
the chalice, and the female womb.
"Finally," Teabing said, "if you view Jesus and Magdalene as compositional elements rather
than as people, you will see another obvious shape leap out at you." He paused. "A letter of the
alphabet."
Sophie saw it at once. To say the letter leapt out at her was an understatement. The letter
was suddenly all Sophie could see. Glaring in the center of the painting was the unquestionable
outline of an enormous, flawlessly formed letter M.
"A bit too perfect for coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Teabing asked.
Sophie was amazed. "Why is it there?"
Teabing shrugged. "Conspiracy theorists will tell you it stands for Matrimonio or Mary
Magdalene. To be honest, nobody is certain. The only certainty is that the hidden M is no
mistake. Countless Grail -related works contain the hidden letter M— whether as watermarks,
underpaintings, or compositional allusions. The most blatant M, of course, is emblazoned on the
altar at Our Lady of Paris in London, which was designed by a former Grand Master of the
Priory of Sion, Jean Cocteau."
Sophie weighed the information. "I'll admit, the hidden M's are intriguing, although I
assume nobody is claiming they are proof of Jesus' marriage to Magdalene."
"No, no," Teabing said, going to a nearby table of books. "As I said earlier, the marriage of
Jesus and Mary Magdalene is part of the historical record." He began pawing through his book
collection. "Moreover, Jesus as a married man makes infinitely more sense than our standard
biblical view of Jesus as a bachelor."
"Why?" Sophie asked.
"Because Jesus was a Jew," Langdon said, taking over while Teabing searched for his book,
"and the social decorum during that time virtually forbid a Jewish man to be unmarried.
According to Jewish custom, celibacy was condemned, and the obligation for a Jewish father
was to find a suitable wife for his son. If Jesus were not married, at least one of the Bible's
gospels would have mentioned it and offered some explanation for His unnatural state of
bachelorhood."
Teabing located a huge book and pulled it toward him across the table. The leather-bound
edition was poster-sized, like a huge atlas. The cover read: The Gnostic Gospels. Teabing heaved
it open, and Langdon and Sophie joined him. Sophie could see it contained photographs of what
appeared to be magnified passages of ancient documents— tattered papyrus with handwritten
text. She did not recognize the ancient language, but the facing pages bore typed translations.
"These are photocopies of the Nag Hammadi and Dead Sea scrolls, which I mentioned
earlier," Teabing said. "The earliest Christian records. Troublingly, they do not match up with
the gospels in the Bible." Flipping toward the middle of the book, Teabing pointed to a passage.
"The Gospel of Philip is always a good place to start." Sophie read the passage:
And the companion of the Saviour is Mary Magdalene. Christ loved her more
than all the disciples and used to kiss her often on her mouth. The rest of the
disciples were offended by it and expressed disapproval. They said to him, "Why do
you love her more than all of us?"
The words surprised Sophie, and yet they hardly seemed conclusive. "It says nothing of
marriage."
"Au contraire." Teabing smiled, pointing to the first line. "As any Aramaic scholar will tell
you, the word companion, in those days, literally meant spouse."
Langdon concurred with a nod.
Sophie read the first line again. And the companion of the Saviour is Mary Magdalene.
Teabing flipped through the book and pointed out several other passages that, to Sophie's
surprise, clearly suggested Magdalene and Jesus had a romantic relationship. As she read the
passages, Sophie recalled an angry priest who had banged on her grandfather's door when she
was a schoolgirl.
"Is this the home of Jacques Saunière?" the priest had demanded, glaring down at young
Sophie when she pulled open the door. "I want to talk to him about this editorial he wrote." The
priest held up a newspaper.
Sophie summoned her grandfather, and the two men disappeared into his study and closed
the door. My grandfather wrote something in the paper? Sophie immediately ran to the kitchen
and flipped through that morning's paper. She found her grandfather's name on an article on the
second page. She read it. Sophie didn't understand all of what was said, but it sounded like the
French government, under pressure from priests, had agreed to ban an American movie called
