Without blinking, Langdon reached into the breast pocket of his tweed coat and carefully
extracted a delicate rolled papyrus. Only a few yards from where Teabing lay, Langdon unrolled
the scroll and looked at it. After a long moment, a knowing smile crossed Langdon's face.
He knows! Teabing's heart craved that knowledge. His life's dream was right in front of
him. "Tell me!" Teabing demanded. "Please! Oh God, please! It's not too late!"
As the sound of heavy footsteps thundered down the hall toward the Chapter House,
Langdon quietly rolled the papyrus and slipped it back in his pocket.
"No!" Teabing cried out, trying in vain to stand.
When the doors burst open, Bezu Fache entered like a bull into a ring, his feral eyes
scanning, finding his target— Leigh Teabing— helpless on the floor. Exhaling in relief, Fache
holstered his Manurhin sidearm and turned to Sophie. "Agent Neveu, I am relieved you and Mr.
Langdon are safe. You should have come in when I asked."
The British police entered on Fache's heels, seizing the anguished prisoner and placing him
in handcuffs.
Sophie seemed stunned to see Fache. "How did you find us?"
Fache pointed to Teabing. "He made the mistake of showing his ID when he entered the
abbey. The guards heard a police broadcast about our search for him."
"It's in Langdon's pocket!" Teabing was screaming like a madman. "The map to the Holy
Grail!"
As they hoisted Teabing and carried him out, he threw back his head and howled. "Robert!
Tell me where it's hidden!"
As Teabing passed, Langdon looked him in the eye. "Only the worthy find the Grail, Leigh.
You taught me that."
CHAPTER 102
The mist had settled low on Kensington Gardens as Silas limped into a quiet hollow out of sight.
Kneeling on the wet grass, he could feel a warm stream of blood flowing from the bullet wound
below his ribs. Still, he stared straight ahead.
The fog made it look like heaven here.
Raising his bloody hands to pray, he watched the raindrops caress his fingers, turning them
white again. As the droplets fell harder across his back and shoulders, he could feel his body
disappearing bit by bit into the mist.
I am a ghost.
A breeze rustled past him, carrying the damp, earthy scent of new life. With every living
cell in his broken body, Silas prayed. He prayed for forgiveness. He prayed for mercy. And,
above all, he prayed for his mentor... Bishop Aringarosa... that the Lord would not take him
before his time. He has so much work left to do.
The fog was swirling around him now, and Silas felt so light that he was sure the wisps
would carry him away. Closing his eyes, he said a final prayer.
From somewhere in the mist, the voice of Manuel Aringarosa whispered to him.
Our Lord is a good and merciful God.
Silas's pain at last began to fade, and he knew the bishop was right.
CHAPTER 103
It was late afternoon when the London sun broke through and the city began to dry. Bezu Fache
felt weary as he emerged from the interrogation room and hailed a cab. Sir Leigh Teabing had
vociferously proclaimed his innocence, and yet from his incoherent rantings about the Holy
Grail, secret documents, and mysterious brotherhoods, Fache suspected the wily historian was
setting the stage for his lawyers to plead an insanity defense.
Sure, Fache thought. Insane. Teabing had displayed ingenious precision in formulating a
plan that protected his innocence at every turn. He had exploited both the Vatican and Opus Dei,
two groups that turned out to be completely innocent. His dirty work had been carried out
unknowingly by a fanatical monk and a desperate bishop. More clever still, Teabing had situated
his electronic listening post in the one place a man with polio could not possibly reach. The
actual surveillance had been carried out by his manservant, Rémy— the lone person privy to
Teabing's true identity— now conveniently dead of an allergic reaction.
Hardly the handiwork of someone lacking mental faculties, Fache thought.
The information coming from Collet out of Chateau Villette suggested that Teabing's
cunning ran so deep that Fache himself might even learn from it. To successfully hide bugs in
some of Paris's most powerful offices, the British historian had turned to the Greeks. Trojan
horses. Some of Teabing's intended targets received lavish gifts of artwork, others unwittingly
bid at auctions in which Teabing had placed specific lots. In Saunière's case, the curator had
received a dinner invitation to Chateau Villette to discuss the possibility of Teabing's funding a
new Da Vinci Wing at the Louvre. Saunière's invitation had contained an innocuous postscript
expressing fascination with a robotic knight that Saunière was rumored to have built. Bring him
to dinner, Teabing had suggested. Saunière apparently had done just that and left the knight
unattended long enough for Rémy Legaludec to make one inconspicuous addition.
Now, sitting in the back of the cab, Fache closed his eyes. One more thing to attend to
before I return to Paris.
The St. Mary's Hospital recovery room was sunny.
"You've impressed us all," the nurse said, smiling down at him. "Nothing short of
miraculous."
Bishop Aringarosa gave a weak smile. "I have always been blessed."
The nurse finished puttering, leaving the bishop alone. The sunlight felt welcome and warm
on his face. Last night had been the darkest night of his life.
Despondently, he thought of Silas, whose body had been found in the park.
Please forgive me, my son.
Aringarosa had longed for Silas to be part of his glorious plan. Last night, however,
Aringarosa had received a call from Bezu Fache, questioning the bishop about his apparent
connection to a nun who had been murdered in Saint-Sulpice. Aringarosa realized the evening
had taken a horrifying turn. News of the four additional murders transformed his horror to
anguish. Silas, what have you done! Unable to reach the Teacher, the bishop knew he had been
cut loose. Used. The only way to stop the horrific chain of events he had helped put in motion
was to confess everything to Fache, and from that moment on, Aringarosa and Fache had been
racing to catch up with Silas before the Teacher persuaded him to kill again.
Feeling bone weary, Aringarosa closed his eyes and listened to the television coverage of
the arrest of a prominent British knight, Sir Leigh Teabing. The Teacher laid bare for all to
see. Teabing had caught wind of the Vatican's plans to disassociate itself from Opus Dei. He had
chosen Aringarosa as the perfect pawn in his plan. After all, who more likely to leap blindly after
the Holy Grail than a man like myself with everything to lose? The Grail would have brought
enormous power to anyone who possessed it.
Leigh Teabing had protected his identity shrewdly— feigning a French accent and a pious
heart, and demanding as payment the one thing he did not need— money. Aringarosa had been
far too eager to be suspicious. The price tag of twenty million euro was paltry when compared
with the prize of obtaining the Grail, and with the Vatican's separation payment to Opus Dei, the
finances had worked nicely. The blind see what they want to see. Teabing's ultimate insult, of
course, had been to demand payment in Vatican bonds, such that if anything went wrong, the
investigation would lead to Rome.
"I am glad to see you're well, My Lord."
Aringarosa recognized the gruff voice in the doorway, but the face was unexpected— stern,
powerful features, slicked-back hair, and a broad neck that strained against his dark suit.
"Captain Fache?" Aringarosa asked. The compassion and concern the captain had shown for
Aringarosa's plight last night had conjured images of a far gentler physique.
The captain approached the bed and hoisted a familiar, heavy black briefcase onto a chair.
"I believe this belongs to you."
Aringarosa looked at the briefcase filled with bonds and immediately looked away, feeling
only shame. "Yes... thank you." He paused while working his fingers across the seam of his
bedsheet, then continued. "Captain, I have been giving this deep thought, and I need to ask a
favor of you."
"Of course."
"The families of those in Paris who Silas..." He paused, swallowing the emotion. "I realize
no sum could possibly serve as sufficient restitution, and yet, if you could be kind enough to
divide the contents of this briefcase among them... the families of the deceased."
Fache's dark eyes studied him a long moment. "A virtuous gesture, My Lord. I will see to it
your wishes are carried out."
A heavy silence fell between them.
On the television, a lean French police officer was giving a press conference in front of a
sprawling mansion. Fache saw who it was and turned his attention to the screen.
"Lieutenant Collet," a BBC reporter said, her voice accusing. "Last night, your captain
publicly charged two innocent people with murder. Will Robert Langdon and Sophie Neveu be
seeking accountability from your department? Will this cost Captain Fache his job?"
Lieutenant Collet's smile was tired but calm. "It is my experience that Captain Bezu Fache
seldom makes mistakes. I have not yet spoken to him on this matter, but knowing how he
operates, I suspect his public manhunt for Agent Neveu and Mr. Langdon was part of a ruse to
lure out the real killer."
The reporters exchanged surprised looks.
Collet continued. "Whether or not Mr. Langdon and Agent Neveu were willing participants
in the sting, I do not know. Captain Fache tends to keep his more creative methods to himself.
All I can confirm at this point is that the captain has successfully arrested the man responsible,
and that Mr. Langdon and Agent Neveu are both innocent and safe."
Fache had a faint smile on his lips as he turned back to Aringarosa. "A good man, that
Collet."
Several moments passed. Finally, Fache ran his hand over his forehead, slicking back his
hair as he gazed down at Aringarosa. "My Lord, before I return to Paris, there is one final matter
I'd like to discuss— your impromptu flight to London. You bribed a pilot to change course. In
doing so, you broke a number of international laws."
Aringarosa slumped. "I was desperate."
"Yes. As was the pilot when my men interrogated him." Fache reached in his pocket and
produced a purple amethyst ring with a familiar hand-tooled mitre-crozier appliqué.
Aringarosa felt tears welling as he accepted the ring and slipped it back on his finger.
"You've been so kind." He held out his hand and clasped Fache's. "Thank you."
Fache waved off the gesture, walking to the window and gazing out at the city, his thoughts
obviously far away. When he turned, there was an uncertainty about him. "My Lord, where do
you go from here?"
Aringarosa had been asked the exact same question as he left Castel Gandolfo the night
before. "I suspect my path is as uncertain as yours."
"Yes." Fache paused. "I suspect I will be retiring early."
Aringarosa smiled. "A little faith can do wonders, Captain. A little faith."
CHAPTER 104
Rosslyn Chapel— often called the Cathedral of Codes— stands seven miles south of Edinburgh,
Scotland, on the site of an ancient Mithraic temple. Built by the Knights Templar in 1446, the
chapel is engraved with a mind-boggling array of symbols from the Jewish, Christian, Egyptian,
Masonic, and pagan traditions.
The chapel's geographic coordinates fall precisely on the north-south meridian that runs
through Glastonbury. This longitudinal Rose Line is the traditional marker of King Arthur's Isle
of Avalon and is considered the central pillar of Britain's sacred geometry. It is from this
hallowed Rose Line that Rosslyn— originally spelled Roslin— takes its name.
Rosslyn's rugged spires were casting long evening shadows as Robert Langdon and Sophie
Neveu pulled their rental car into the grassy parking area at the foot of the bluff on which the
chapel stood. Their short flight from London to Edinburgh had been restful, although neither of
them had slept for the anticipation of what lay ahead. Gazing up at the stark edifice framed
against a cloud-swept sky, Langdon felt like Alice falling headlong into the rabbit hole. This
must be a dream. And yet he knew the text of Saunière's final message could not have been more
specific.
The Holy Grail 'neath ancient Roslin waits.
Langdon had fantasized that Saunière's "Grail map" would be a diagram— a drawing with
an X-marks-the-spot— and yet the Priory's final secret had been unveiled in the same way
Saunière had spoken to them from the beginning. Simple verse. Four explicit lines that pointed
without a doubt to this very spot. In addition to identifying Rosslyn by name, the verse made
reference to several of the chapel's renowned architectural features.
Despite the clarity of Saunière's final revelation, Langdon had been left feeling more off
balance than enlightened. To him, Rosslyn Chapel seemed far too obvious a location. For
centuries, this stone chapel had echoed with whispers of the Holy Grail's presence. The whispers
had turned to shouts in recent decades when ground-penetrating radar revealed the presence of
an astonishing structure beneath the chapel— a massive subterranean chamber. Not only did this
