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 that could be rotated
to spell different words.
"Amazing, isn't it?"
Sophie whispered.
Langdon glanced up.
"I don't know.
What the hell is it?"
Now there was a glint in Sophie's eye.
"My grandfather used to craft these as a hobby.
They were invented by Leonardo da Vinci."
Even in the diffuse light, Sophie could see
Langdon's surprise.
"Da Vinci?" he muttered, looking again at
the canister.
"Yes.
It's called a cryptex.
According to my grandfather, the blueprints
come from one of Da Vinci's secret diaries."
"What is it for?"
Considering tonight's events, Sophie knew
the answer might have some interesting implications.
"It's a vault," she said.
"For storing secret information."
Langdon's eyes widened further.
Sophie explained that creating models of Da
Vinci's inventions was one of her grandfather's
best-loved hobbies.
A talented craftsman who spent hours in his
wood and metal shop, Jacques Saunière enjoyed
imitating master craftsmen—Fabergé, assorted
cloisonne artisans, and the less artistic,
but far more practical, Leonardo da Vinci.
Even a cursory glance through Da Vinci's journals
revealed why the luminary was as notorious
for his lack of follow-through as he was famous
for his brilliance.
Da Vinci had drawn up blueprints for hundreds
of inventions he had never built.
One of Jacques Saunière's favorite pastimes
was bringing Da Vinci's more obscure brainstorms
to life—timepieces, water pumps, cryptexes,
and even a fully articulated model of a medieval
French knight, which now stood proudly on
the desk in his office.
Designed by Da Vinci in 1495 as an outgrowth
of his earliest anatomy and kinesiology studies,
the internal mechanism of the robot knight
possessed accurate joints and tendons, and
was designed to sit up, wave its arms, and
move its head via a flexible neck while opening
and closing an anatomically correct jaw.
This armor-clad knight, Sophie had always
believed, was the most beautiful object her
grandfather had ever built... that was, until
she had seen the cryptex in this rosewood
box.
"He made me one of these when I was little,"
Sophie said.
"But I've never seen one so ornate and large."
Langdon's eyes had never left the box.
"I've never heard of a cryptex."
Sophie was not surprised.
Most of Leonardo's unbuilt inventions had
never been studied or even named.
The term cryptex possibly had been her grandfather's
creation, an apt title for this device that
used the science of cryptology to protect
information written on the contained scroll
or codex.
Da Vinci had been a cryptology pioneer, Sophie
knew, although he was seldom given credit.
Sophie's university instructors, while presenting
computer encryption methods for securing data,
praised modern cryptologists like Zimmerman
and Schneier but failed to mention that it
was Leonardo who had invented one of the first
rudimentary forms of public key encryption
centuries ago.
Sophie's grandfather, of course, had been
the one to tell her all about that.
As their armored truck roared down the highway,
Sophie explained to Langdon that the cryptex
had been Da Vinci's solution to the dilemma
of sending secure messages over long distances.
In an era without telephones or e-mail, anyone
wanting to convey private information to someone
far away had no option but to write it down
and then trust a messenger to carry the letter.
Unfortunately, if a messenger suspected the
letter might contain valuable information,
he could make far more money selling the information
to adversaries than he could delivering the
letter properly.
Many great minds in history had invented cryptologic
solutions to the challenge of data protection:
Julius Caesar devised a code-writing scheme
called the Caesar Box; Mary, Queen of Scots
created a transposition cipher and sent secret
communiqués from prison; and the brilliant
Arab scientist Abu Yusuf Ismail al-Kindi protected
his secrets with an ingeniously conceived
polyalphabetic substitution cipher.
Da Vinci, however, eschewed mathematics and
cryptology for a mechanical solution.
The cryptex.
A portable container that could safeguard
letters, maps, diagrams, anything at all.
Once information was sealed inside the cryptex,
only the individual with the proper password
could access it.
"We require a password," Sophie said, pointing
out the lettered dials.
"A cryptex works much like a bicycle's combination
lock.
If you align the dials in the proper position,
the lock slides open.
This cryptex has five lettered dials.
When you rotate them to their proper sequence,
the tumblers inside align, and the entire
cylinder slides apart."
"And inside?"
"Once the cylinder slides apart, you have
access to a hollow central compartment, which
can hold a scroll of paper on which is the
information you want to keep private."
Langdon looked incredulous.
"And you say your grandfather built these
for you when you were younger?"
"Some smaller ones, yes.
A couple times for my birthday, he gave me
a cryptex and told me a riddle.
The answer to the riddle was the password
to the cryptex, and once I figured it out,
I could
open it up and find my birthday card."
"A lot of work for a card."
"No, the cards always contained another riddle
or clue.
My grandfather loved creating elaborate treasure
hunts around our house, a string of clues
that eventually led to my real gift.
Each treasure hunt was a test of character
and merit, to ensure I earned my rewards.
And the tests were never simple."
Langdon eyed the device again, still looking
skeptical.
"But why not just pry it apart?
Or smash it?
The metal looks delicate, and marble is a
soft rock."
Sophie smiled.
"Because Da Vinci is too smart for that.
He designed the cryptex so that if you try
to force it open in any way, the information
self-destructs.
Watch."
Sophie reached into the box and carefully
lifted out the cylinder.
"Any information to be inserted is first written
on a papyrus scroll."
"Not vellum?"
Sophie shook her head.
"Papyrus.
I know sheep's vellum was more durable and
more common in those days, but it had to be
papyrus.
The thinner the better."
"Okay."
"Before the papyrus was inserted into the
cryptex's compartment, it was rolled around
a delicate glass vial."
She tipped the cryptex, and the liquid inside
gurgled.
"A vial of liquid."
"Liquid what?"
Sophie smiled.
"Vinegar."
Langdon hesitated a moment and then began
nodding.
"Brilliant."
Vinegar and papyrus, Sophie thought.
If someone attempted to force open the cryptex,
the glass vial would break, and the vinegar
would quickly dissolve the papyrus.
By the time anyone extracted the secret message,
it would be a glob of meaningless pulp.
"As you can see," Sophie told him, "the only
way to access the information inside is to
know the proper five-letter password.
And with five dials, each with twenty-six
letters, that's twenty-six to the fifth power."
She quickly estimated the permutations.
"Approximately twelve million possibilities."
"If you say so," Langdon said, looking like
he had approximately twelve million questions
running
through his head.
"What information do you think is inside?"
"Whatever it is, my grandfather obviously
wanted very badly to keep it secret."
She paused, closing the box lid and eyeing
the five-petal Rose inlaid on it.
Something was bothering her.
"Did you say earlier that the Rose is a symbol
for the Grail?"
"Exactly.
In Priory symbolism, the Rose and the Grail
are synonymous."
Sophie furrowed her brow.
"That's strange, because my grandfather always
told me the Rose meant secrecy.
He used to hang a rose on his office door
at home when he was having a confidential
phone call and didn't want me to disturb him.
He encouraged me to do the same."
Sweetie, her grandfather said, rather than
lock each other out, we can each hang a rose—la
fleur des secrets—on our door when we need
privacy.
This way we learn to respect and trust each
other.
Hanging a rose is an ancient Roman custom.
"Sub rosa," Langdon said.
"The Romans hung a rose over meetings to indicate
the meeting was confidential.
Attendees understood that whatever was said
under the rose—or sub rosa—had to remain
a secret."
Langdon quickly explained that the Rose's
overtone of secrecy was not the only reason
the Priory used it as a symbol for the Grail.
Rosa rugosa, one of the oldest species of
rose, had five petals and pentagonal symmetry,
just like the guiding star of Venus, giving
the Rose strong iconographic ties to womanhood.
In addition, the Rose had close ties to the
concept of "true direction" and navigating
one's way.
The Compass Rose helped travelers navigate,
as did Rose Lines, the longitudinal lines
on maps.
For this reason, the Rose was a symbol that
spoke of the Grail on many levels—secrecy,
womanhood, and guidance—the feminine chalice
and guiding star that led to secret truth.
As Langdon finished his explanation, his expression
seemed to tighten suddenly.
"Robert?
Are you okay?"
His eyes were riveted to the rosewood box.
"Sub... rosa," he choked, a fearful bewilderment
sweeping across his face.
"It can't be."
"What?"
Langdon slowly raised his eyes.
"Under the sign of the Rose," he whispered.
"This cryptex...
I think I know what it is."
CHAPTER 48
Langdon could scarcely believe his own supposition,
and yet, considering who had given this stone
cylinder to them, how he had given it to them,
and now, the inlaid Rose on the container,
Langdon could formulate only one conclusion.
I am holding the Priory keystone.
The legend was specific.
The keystone is an encoded stone that lies
beneath the sign of the Rose.
"Robert?"
Sophie was watching him.
"What's going on?"
Langdon needed a moment to gather his thoughts.
"Did your grandfather ever speak to you of
something called la clef de voûte?"
"The key to the vault?"
Sophie translated.
"No, that's the literal translation.
Clef de voûte is a common architectural term.
Voûte refers not to a bank vault, but to
a vault in an archway.
Like a vaulted ceiling."
"But vaulted ceilings don't have keys."
"Actually they do.
Every stone archway requires a central, wedge-shaped
stone at the top which locks the pieces together
and carries all the weight.
This stone is, in an architectural sense,
the key to the vault.
In English we call it a keystone."
Langdon watched her eyes for any spark of
recognition.
Sophie shrugged, glancing down at the cryptex.
"But this obviously is not a keystone."
Langdon didn't know where to begin.
Keystones as a masonry technique for building
stone archways had been one of the best-kept
secrets of the early Masonic brotherhood.
The Royal Arch Degree.
Architecture.
Keystones.
It was all interconnected.
The secret knowledge of how to use a wedged
keystone to build a vaulted archway was part
of the wisdom that had made the Masons such
wealthy craftsmen, and it was a secret they
guarded carefully.
Keystones had always had a tradition of secrecy.
And yet, the stone cylinder in the rosewood
box was obviously something quite different.
The Priory keystone—if this was indeed what
they were holding—was not at all what Langdon
had imagined.
"The Priory keystone is not my specialty,"
Langdon admitted.
"My interest in the Holy Grail is primarily
symbologic, so I tend to ignore the plethora
of lore regarding how to actually find it."
Sophie's eyebrows arched.
"Find the Holy Grail?"
Langdon gave an uneasy nod, speaking his next
words carefully.
"Sophie, according to Priory lore, the keystone
is an encoded map... a map that reveals the
hiding place of the Holy Grail."
Sophie's face went blank.
"And you think this is it?"
Langdon didn't know what to say.
Even to him it sounded unbelievable, and yet
the keystone was the only logical conclusion
he could muster.
An encrypted stone, hidden beneath the sign
of the
Rose.
The idea that the cryptex had been designed
by Leonardo da Vinci—former Grand Master
of the Priory of Sion—shone as another tantalizing
indicator that this was indeed the Priory
keystone.
A former Grand Master's blueprint... brought
to life centuries later by another Priory
member.
The bond was too palpable to dismiss.
For the last decade, historians had been searching
for the keystone in French churches.
Grail seekers, familiar with the Priory's
history of cryptic double-talk, had concluded
la clef de voûte was a literal keystone—an
architectural wedge—an engraved, encrypted
stone, inserted into a vaulted archway in
a church.
Beneath the sign of the Rose.
In architecture, there was no shortage of
roses.
Rose windows.
Rosette reliefs.
And, of course, an abundance of cinquefoils—the
five-petaled decorative flowers often found
at the top of archways, directly over the
keystone.
The hiding place seemed diabolically simple.
The map to the Holy Grail was incorporated
high in an archway of some forgotten church,
mocking the blind churchgoers who wandered
beneath it.
"This cryptex can't be the keystone," Sophie
argued.
"It's not old enough.
I'm certain my 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 mérite.
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 a preuve de mérite,"
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 Bibliothèque Nationale in
papers that became known as Les Dossiers Secrets.
Every Priory historian and Grail buff had
read the Dossiers.
Cataloged under Number 4° lm1 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
André Vernet 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.
