gently. Although he had no idea how to open the cylinder, he sensed his own destiny lay inside.
In moments of failure, Teabing had questioned whether his life's quest would ever be rewarded.
Now those doubts were gone forever. He could hear the ancient words... the foundation of the
Grail legend:
Vous ne trouvez pas le Saint-Graal, c'est le Saint-Graal qui vous trouve.
You do not find the Grail, the Grail finds you.
And tonight, incredibly, the key to finding the Holy Grail had walked right through his front
door.
While Sophie and Teabing sat with the cryptex and talked about the vinegar, the dials, and what
the password might be, Langdon carried the rosewood box across the room to a well-lit table to
get a better look at it. Something Teabing had just said was now running through Langdon's
mind.
The key to the Grail is hidden beneath the sign of the Rose.
Langdon held the wooden box up to the light and examined the inlaid symbol of the Rose.
Although his familiarity with art did not include woodworking or inlaid furniture, he had just
recalled the famous tiled ceiling of the Spanish monastery outside of Madrid, where, three
centuries after its construction, the ceiling tiles began to fall out, revealing sacred texts scrawled
by monks on the plaster beneath.
Langdon looked again at the Rose.
Beneath the Rose.
Sub Rosa.
Secret.
A bump in the hallway behind him made Langdon turn. He saw nothing but shadows.
Teabing's manservant most likely had passed through. Langdon turned back to the box. He ran
his finger over the smooth edge of the inlay, wondering if he could pry the Rose out, but the
craftsmanship was perfect. He doubted even a razor blade could fit in between the inlaid Rose
and the carefully carved depression into which it was seated.
Opening the box, he examined the inside of the lid. It was smooth. As he shifted its
position, though, the light caught what appeared to be a small hole on the underside of the lid,
positioned in the exact center. Langdon closed the lid and examined the inlaid symbol from the
top. No hole.
It doesn't pass through.
Setting the box on the table, he looked around the room and spied a stack of papers with a
paper clip on it. Borrowing the clip, he returned to the box, opened it, and studied the hole again.
Carefully, he unbent the paper clip and inserted one end into the hole. He gave a gentle push. It
took almost no effort. He heard something clatter quietly onto the table. Langdon closed the lid
to look. It was a small piece of wood, like a puzzle piece. The wooden Rose had popped out of
the lid and fallen onto the desk.
Speechless, Langdon stared at the bare spot on the lid where the Rose had been. There,
engraved in the wood, written in an immaculate hand, were four lines of text in a language he
had never seen.
The characters look vaguely Semitic, Langdon thought to himself, and yet I don't recognize
the language!
A sudden movement behind him caught his attention. Out of nowhere, a crushing blow to
the head knocked Langdon to his knees.
As he fell, he thought for a moment he saw a pale ghost hovering over him, clutching a gun.
Then everything went black.
CHAPTER 65
Sophie Neveu, despite working in law enforcement, had never found herself at gunpoint until
tonight. Almost inconceivably, the gun into which she was now staring was clutched in the pale
hand of an enormous albino with long white hair. He looked at her with red eyes that radiated a
frightening, disembodied quality. Dressed in a wool robe with a rope tie, he resembled a
medieval cleric. Sophie could not imagine who he was, and yet she was feeling a sudden
newfound respect for Teabing's suspicions that the Church was behind this.
"You know what I have come for," the monk said, his voice hollow.
Sophie and Teabing were seated on the divan, arms raised as their attacker had commanded.
Langdon lay groaning on the floor. The monk's eyes fell immediately to the keystone on
Teabing's lap.
Teabing's tone was defiant. "You will not be able to open it."
"My Teacher is very wise," the monk replied, inching closer, the gun shifting between
Teabing and Sophie.
Sophie wondered where Teabing's manservant was. Didn't he hear Robert fall?
"Who is your teacher?" Teabing asked. "Perhaps we can make a financial arrangement."
"The Grail is priceless." He moved closer.
"You're bleeding," Teabing noted calmly, nodding to the monk's right ankle where a trickle
of blood had run down his leg. "And you're limping."
"As do you," the monk replied, motioning to the metal crutches propped beside Teabing.
"Now, hand me the keystone."
"You know of the keystone?" Teabing said, sounding surprised.
"Never mind what I know. Stand up slowly, and give it to me."
"Standing is difficult for me."
"Precisely. I would prefer nobody attempt any quick moves."
Teabing slipped his right hand through one of his crutches and grasped the keystone in his
left. Lurching to his feet, he stood erect, palming the heavy cylinder in his left hand, and leaning
unsteadily on his crutch with his right.
The monk closed to within a few feet, keeping the gun aimed directly at Teabing's head.
Sophie watched, feeling helpless as the monk reached out to take the cylinder.
"You will not succeed," Teabing said. "Only the worthy can unlock this stone."
God alone judges the worthy, Silas thought.
"It's quite heavy," the man on crutches said, his arm wavering now. "If you don't take it
soon, I'm afraid I shall drop it!" He swayed perilously.
Silas stepped quickly forward to take the stone, and as he did, the man on crutches lost his
balance. The crutch slid out from under him, and he began to topple sideways to his right. No!
Silas lunged to save the stone, lowering his weapon in the process. But the keystone was moving
away from him now. As the man fell to his right, his left hand swung backward, and the cylinder
tumbled from his palm onto the couch. At the same instant, the metal crutch that had been
sliding out from under the man seemed to accelerate, cutting a wide arc through the air toward
Silas's leg.
Splinters of pain tore up Silas's body as the crutch made perfect contact with his cilice,
crushing the barbs into his already raw flesh. Buckling, Silas crumpled to his knees, causing the
belt to cut deeper still. The pistol discharged with a deafening roar, the bullet burying itself
harmlessly in the floorboards as Silas fell. Before he could raise the gun and fire again, the
woman's foot caught him square beneath the jaw.
At the bottom of the driveway, Collet heard the gunshot. The muffled pop sent panic through his
veins. With Fache on the way, Collet had already relinquished any hopes of claiming personal
credit for finding Langdon tonight. But Collet would be damned if Fache's ego landed him in
front of a Ministerial Review Board for negligent police procedure.
A weapon was discharged inside a private home! And you waited at the bottom of the
driveway?
Collet knew the opportunity for a stealth approach had long since passed. He also knew if
he stood idly by for another second, his entire career would be history by morning. Eyeing the
estate's iron gate, he made his decision.
"Tie on, and pull it down."
In the distant recesses of his groggy mind, Robert Langdon had heard the gunshot. He'd also
heard a scream of pain. His own? A jackhammer was boring a hole into the back of his cranium.
Somewhere nearby, people were talking.
"Where the devil were you?" Teabing was yelling.
The manservant hurried in. "What happened? Oh my God! Who is that? I'll call the police!"
"Bloody hell! Don't call the police. Make yourself useful and get us something with which
to restrain this monster."
"And some ice!" Sophie called after him.
Langdon drifted out again. More voices. Movement. Now he was seated on the divan.
Sophie was holding an ice pack to his head. His skull ached. As Langdon's vision finally began
to clear, he found himself staring at a body on the floor. Am I hallucinating? The massive body
of an albino monk lay bound and gagged with duct tape. His chin was split open, and the robe
over his right thigh was soaked with blood. He too appeared to be just now coming to.
Langdon turned to Sophie. "Who is that? What... happened?"
Teabing hobbled over. "You were rescued by a knight brandishing an Excalibur made by
Acme Orthopedic."
Huh? Langdon tried to sit up.
Sophie's touch was shaken but tender. "Just give yourself a minute, Robert."
"I fear," Teabing said, "that I've just demonstrated for your lady friend the unfortunate
benefit of my condition. It seems everyone underestimates you."
From his seat on the divan, Langdon gazed down at the monk and tried to imagine what had
happened.
"He was wearing a cilice," Teabing explained.
"A what?"
Teabing pointed to a bloody strip of barbed leather that lay on the floor. "A Discipline belt.
He wore it on his thigh. I took careful aim."
Langdon rubbed his head. He knew of Discipline belts. "But how... did you know?"
Teabing grinned. "Christianity is my field of study, Robert, and there are certain sects who
wear their hearts on their sleeves." He pointed his crutch at the blood soaking through the monk's
cloak. "As it were."
"Opus Dei," Langdon whispered, recalling recent media coverage of several prominent
Boston businessmen who were members of Opus Dei. Apprehensive coworkers had falsely and
publicly accused the men of wearing Discipline belts beneath their three-piece suits. In fact, the
three men did no such thing. Like many members of Opus Dei, these businessmen were at the
"supernumerary" stage and practiced no corporal mortification at all. They were devout
Catholics, caring fathers to their children, and deeply dedicated members of the community. Not
surprisingly, the media spotlighted their spiritual commitment only briefly before moving on to
the shock value of the sect's more stringent "numerary" members... members like the monk now
lying on the floor before Langdon.
Teabing was looking closely at the bloody belt. "But why would Opus Dei be trying to find
the Holy Grail?"
Langdon was too groggy to consider it.
"Robert," Sophie said, walking to the wooden box. "What's this?" She was holding the
small Rose inlay he had removed from the lid.
"It covered an engraving on the box. I think the text might tell us how to open the
keystone."
Before Sophie and Teabing could respond, a sea of blue police lights and sirens erupted at
the bottom of the hill and began snaking up the half -mile driveway.
Teabing frowned. "My friends, it seems we have a decision to make. And we'd better make
it fast."
CHAPTER 66
Collet and his agents burst through the front door of Sir Leigh Teabing's estate with their guns
drawn. Fanning out, they began searching all the rooms on the first level. They found a bullet
hole in the drawing room floor, signs of a struggle, a small amount of blood, a strange, barbed
leather belt, and a partially used roll of duct tape. The entire level seemed deserted.
Just as Collet was about to divide his men to search the basement and grounds behind the
house, he heard voices on the level above them.
"They're upstairs!"
Rushing up the wide staircase, Collet and his men moved room by room through the huge
home, securing darkened bedrooms and hallways as they closed in on the sounds of voices. The
sound seemed to be coming from the last bedroom on an exceptionally long hallway. The agents
inched down the corridor, sealing off alternate exits.
As they neared the final bedroom, Collet could see the door was wide open. The voices had
stopped suddenly, and had been replaced by an odd rumbling, like an engine.
Sidearm raised, Collet gave the signal. Reaching silently around the door frame, he found
the light switch and flicked it on. Spinning into the room with men pouring in after him, Collet
shouted and aimed his weapon at... nothing.
An empty guest bedroom. Pristine.
The rumbling sounds of an automobile engine poured from a black electronic panel on the
wall beside the bed. Collet had seen these elsewhere in the house. Some kind of intercom
system. He raced over. The panel had about a dozen labeled buttons:
STUDY... KITCHEN... LAUNDRY... CELLAR...
So where the hell do I hear a car?
MASTER BEDROOM... SUN ROOM... BARN... LIBRARY...
Barn! Collet was downstairs in seconds, running toward the back door, grabbing one of his
agents on the way. The men crossed the rear lawn and arrived breathless at the front of a
weathered gray barn. Even before they entered, Collet could hear the fading sounds of a car
engine. He drew his weapon, rushed in, and flicked on the lights.
The right side of the barn was a rudimentary workshop— lawn-mowers, automotive tools,
gardening supplies. A familiar intercom panel hung on the wall nearby. One of its buttons was
flipped down, transmitting.
GUEST BEDROOM II.
Collet wheeled, anger brimming. They lured us upstairs with the intercom! Searching the
