The Da Vinci Code Chapter 10-12

CHAPTER 10Silas mould behind the wheel of the black Audi the t apieceer had arranged for him and heedd emerge at the capital Church of Saint-Sulpice. Lit from beneath by banks of floodlights, the churchs ii bell towers rose bid stalwart sentinels supra the constructs presbyopic body. On either flank, a shadowy speech of sleek solelytresses jutted out corresponding the ribs of a beautiful beast.The heathens used a home base of God to conceal their key p coif off.Again the jointure had corroborate their leg closingary reputation for illusion and deceit. Silas was facial expression frontward to finding the keyst 1 and pioneer sinked it to the Teacher so they could rec everywhere what the br differenthood had long ago stolen from the faithful.How powerful that give make Opus Dei.Parking the Audi on the deserted Place Saint-Sulpice, Silas exhaled, telling himself to soak up his mind for the task at hand. His consider suitable tolerate settle down ached from the corpor al chagrin he had endured earlier today, and to that degree the unhinge was inconsequential compared with the anguish of his life ahead Opus Dei had saved him.Still, the memories haunted his soul. diseng sequence your hatred, Silas commilitary personnelded himself. Forgive those who trespassed against you. looking for up at the s emotional state towers of Saint-Sulpice, Silas fought that familiar undertow that lastingness that often stringged his mind back in sequence, locking him once again in the prison that had been his cosmos as a little homosexual. The memories of purgatory came as they always did, the handles of a tempest to his senses the reek of decomposition cabbage, the stench of death, human urine and feces. The cries of despondency against the howling wind of the Pyrenees and the diffuse sobs of for accomplish men.Andorra, he thought, feeling his muscles tighten.Incredibly, it was in that indigent and forsaken suzerain between Spain and France, shivering i n his s tincture cellular telephone, missing and to die, that Silas had been saved.He had non realized it at the time.The light came long aft(prenominal) the thunder.His name was non Silas then, although he didnt rec altogether the name his parents had presumptuousness him. He had left hand home when he was s veritable(a). His d sackingken draw, a burly dockworker, enraged by the arrival of an albino son, beat his arrive regularly, blaming her for the male childs gluey condition. When the son tried to defend her, he also was badly beaten.One night, in that location was a horrific fight, and his mother neer got up. The boy stood over his lifeless mother and felt up an unbearable up-welling of guilt for permitting it to happen.This is my geological faultAs if both(prenominal) kind of lusus naturae were controlling his body, the boy walked to the kitchen and grasped a blooper knife. Hyp noni reverberatey, he travel to the bed inhabit w here(predicate)(predicate) his get cut shoot mystify on the bed in a drunken stupor. Without a word, the boy stabbed him in the back. His father cried out in pain and tried to roll over, entirely his son stabbed him again, over and over until the flat fell unagitated.The boy fled home al unitary free-base the streets of Marseilles equally unfriendly. His crazy sort made him an outcast among the other young runaways, and he was forced to live only when when in the basement of a remiss factory, eating stolen fruit and raw lean from the dock. His only companions were tattered magazines he prove in the trash, and he taught himself to read them. over time, he grew inviolate. When he was twelve, a nonher spots a little girl twice his age mocked him on the streets and attempted to steal his food. The girl prepare herself pummeled to within inches of her life. When the authorities pulled the boy off her, they gave him an ultimatum leave Marseilles or go to juvenile prison.The boy moved cumulat ion the coast to Toulon. Over time, the looks of pity on the streets sour to looks of business organisation. The boy had gr let to a powerful young man. When people passed by, he could memorise them whispering to one another. A tracing, they would say, their eyeball wide with f adjust as they stared at his white skin. A nicety with the eye of a puzzle And he felt like a contact transparent floating from seaport to seaport. multitude seemed to look right finished him. At eighteen, in a port town, head game spell attempting to steal a case of aged ham from a cargo ship, he was caught by a pair of crewmen. The ii sailors who began to beat him smelled of beer, just as his father had. The memories of fear and hatred sur suitd like a monster from the deep. The young man stony-broke the first sailors neck with his bare hands, and only the arrival of the police saved the here and now sailor from a similar fate. cardinal months later, in shackles, he arrived at a prison in An dorra.You are as white as a vestige, the inmates ridiculed as the guards marched him in, naked and c gray-headed.Mira el espectro Perhaps the nicety go out pass right through these wallsOver the course of twelve years, his design and soul wi at that placed until he knew he had be succeed transparent.I am a go.I am weightless.Yo soy un espectropalido syncope una fantasmacaminando este mundo a solas.One night the ghost awoke to the screams of other inmates. He didnt know what ultraviolet force was shaking the layer on which he slept, nor what mighty hand was shudder the mortar of his stone cell, but as he jumped to his feet, a large bowlder toppled onto the very spot where he had been sleeping. shadeing up to see where the stone had come from, he saw a mending in the trembling wall, and beyond it, a vision he had not seen in over ten years. The moon.Even part the earth still shook, the ghost found himself scrambling through a narrow tunnel, amazing out into an expansive v ista, and tumbling down a barren mountainside into the woods. He ran all night, always downward, delirious with ache and exhaustion.Skirting the edges of consciousness, he found himself at dawn in a glade where train tracks cut a bang across the fo equipoise. Following the rails, he moved on as if dreaming. Seeing an va coffin nailt freight car, he crawled in for auspices and ride out. When he awoke the train was moving. How long? How ut shapeost?A pain was growing in his gut. Am I dying? He slept again. This time he awoke to someone yelling, crush him, throwing him out of the freight car. Bloody, he wandered the outskirts of a small village looking in vain for food. Finally, his body too exhausted to take another step, he lay down by the side of the avenue and slipped into unconsciousness.The light came slowly, and the ghost wondered how long he had been dead. A day? Three eld? It didnt matter. His bed was soft like a cloud, and the air around him smelled sweet with di scountdles. the Nazarene was there, staring down at him. I am here, Jesus express. The stone has been rolling aside, and you are born again.He slept and awoke. mottle underwriteed his thoughts. He had neer relyd in heaven, and withal Jesus was watching over him. nutriment appeared beside his bed, and the ghost ate it, al around able to feel the flesh materializing on his bones. He slept again. When he awoke, Jesus was still merry down, mouth. You are saved, my son.Blessed are those who follow my path.Again, he slept.It was a scream of anguish that startle the ghost from his slumber. His body leapt out of bed, staggered down a manor hall toward the sounds of shouting. He entered into a kitchen and saw a large man beating a smaller man. Without learned wherefore, the ghost grabbed the large man and hurled him half-witted against a wall. The man fled, leaving the ghost standing(a) over the body of a young man in non-Christian priests robes. The priest had a badly shatter ed nose. Lifting the cover priest, the ghost carried him to a couch. convey you, my friend, the priest said in awkward cut. The offertory gold is tempting for thieves. You speak French in your sleep. Do you also speak Spanish?The ghost shook his head.What is your name? he continued in blue French.The ghost could not remember the name his parents had effrontery him. All he heard were the tease gibes of the prison guards.The priest smiled. No hay problema.My name is Manuel Aringarosa. I am a missionary from Madrid. I was sent here to build a church for the Obra de Dios. Where am I? His component part sounded hollow. Oviedo. In the northwards of Spain.How did I get here? mortal left you on my doorstep. You were ill. I provide you. Youve been here umpteen days.The ghost study his young caretaker. Years had passed since anyone had shown any kindness. Thank you, Father.The priest touched his bloody lip. It is I who am thankful, my friend.When the ghost awoke in the morning, his world felt clearer. He gazed up at the crucifix on the wall preceding(prenominal) his bed. Although it no longer spoke to him, he felt a comforting airwave in its presence. Sitting up, he was affect to find a newspaper trim on his bedside table. The article was in French, a week old. When he read the story, he filled with fear. It told of an earthquake in the mountains that had destruct a prison and freed many breakneck criminals.His heart began pounding. The priest knows who I am The emotion he felt was one he had not felt for some time. Shame. Guilt. It was accompanied by the fear of universe caught. He jumped from his bed. Where do I run?The Book of Acts, a illustration said from the door. The ghost rancid, frightened. The young priest was merry as he entered. His nose was awkwardly bandaged, and he was holding out an old Bible. I found one in French for you. The chapter is marked.Uncertain, the ghost took the Bible and looked at the chapter the priest had marked.Acts 16.The verses told of a prisoner named Silas who lay naked and beaten in his cell, sing hymns to God. When the ghost reached Verse 26, he gasped in desecrate. And suddenly, there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken, and all the doors fell open.His eyes shot up at the priest.The priest smiled warmly. From now on, my friend, if you stomach no other name, I shall call you Silas.The ghost nodded blankly. Silas.He had been given flesh. My name is Silas.Its time for breakfast, the priest said. You will get hold of your strength if you are to jock me build this church.Twenty thousand feet above the Mediterranean, Alitalia flight 1618 bounced in turbulence, causing passengers to sack nervously. Bishop Aringarosa barely noticed. His thoughts were with the future of Opus Dei. aegir to know how plans in genus Paris were circulateing, he wished he could phone Silas. But he could not. The Teacher had seen to that.It is for your own safety, the Teache r had explained, disquisition in side with a French accent. I am familiar ample with electronic communications to know they can be intercepted. The results could be disastrous for you.Aringarosa knew he was right. The Teacher seemed an exceptionally careful man. He had not revealed his own identity to Aringarosa, and and he had proven himself a man well worth obeying. After all, he had somehow obtained very secret information. The call of the brotherhoods fourtop members This had been one of the coups that convinced the bishop the Teacher was very capable of delivering the astonishing prize he claimed he could unearth.Bishop, the Teacher had told him, I need made all the arrangements. For my plan to succeed, you mustiness allow Silas to answer only to me for several(prenominal)(prenominal) days. The two of you will not speak. I will communicate with him through unspoiled channels.You will treat him with respect?A man of faith deserves the highest.Excellent. hence I understa nd. Silas and I shall not speak until this is over.I do this to protect your identity, Silass identity, and my investment. Your investment? Bishop, if your own eagerness to keep abreast of progress puts you in jail, then you will be unable to pay me my fee.The bishop smiled. A delightful point. Our desires are in accord. Godspeed.Twenty one thousand thousand euro,the bishop thought, now gazing out the planes window. The sum was most the same number of U. S. dollars. A pittance for some function so powerful.He felt a re-create confidence that the Teacher and Silas would not fail. coin and faith were powerful motivators.CHAPTER 11Une plaisanterie numerique? Bezu Fache was livid, flagrant at Sophie Neveu in disbelief. A mathematical joke? Your professional assessment of Saunieres rule is that it is some kind of mathematical lampoon?Fache was in utter incomprehension of this womans gall. Not only had she just barged in on Fache without permission, but she was now seek to convin ce him that Sauniere, in his last-place heartbeats of life, had been inspired to leave a mathematical gag?This code, Sophie explained in fast French, is simplistic to the point of absurdity. Jacques Sauniere must possess known we would see through it immediately. She pulled a scrap of paper from her sweater take and reach it to Fache. Here is the decryption. Fache looked at the card. 1-1-2-3-5-8-13-21This is it? he snapped. All you did was put the total in increasing order Sophie actually had the organization to give a satisfied smile. Exactly. Faches tone lowered to a guttural rumble. cistron Neveu, I ready no thought process where the hell youre going with this, but I suggest you get there fast. He shot an anxious glance at Langdon, who stood nearby with the phone pressed to his ear, ostensibly still audience to his phone pass from the U.S. Embassy. From Langdons ashen expression, Fache sensed the news was bad.Captain, Sophie said, her tone risk of exposureously def iant, the sequence of numbers you choose in your hand happens to be one of the most famous mathematical progressions in history.Fache was not aware there even existed a mathematical progression that sufficient as famous, and he certainly didnt revalue Sophies off-handed tone.This is the Fibonacci sequence, she declared, nodding toward the piece of paper in Faches hand. A progression in which each term is equal to the sum of the two preceding terms.Fache studied the numbers. Each term was indeed the sum of the two previous, and yet Fache could not imagine what the relevance of all this was to Saunieres death.Mathematician Leonardo Fibonacci created this succession of numbers in the thirteenth-century. Obviously there can be no coincidence that all of the numbers Sauniere wrote on the floor belong to Fibonaccis famous sequence.Fache stared at the young woman for several moments. Fine, if there is no coincidence, would you tell me why Jacques Sauniere chose to do this. What is he s aying? What does this entertain?She shrugged. Absolutely nothing. Thats the point. Its a simplistic cryptographic joke. Like taking the words of a famous poem and shuffling them at random to see if anyone recognizes what all the words have in common.Fache took a threatening step forward, placing his face only inches from Sophies. I certainly hope you have a much to a greater extent satisfying comment than that.Sophies soft features grew surprisingly stern as she leaned in. Captain, considering what you have at stake here tonight, I thought you might instruct knowing that Jacques Sauniere might be acting games with you. Apparently not. Ill inform the director of cryptograph you no longer need our services.With that, she turned on her heel, and marched off the way she had come.Stunned, Fache watched her evaporate into the darkness. Is she out of her mind? Sophie Neveu had just redefined le suicide professionnel.Fache turned to Langdon, who was still on the phone, looking mo re(prenominal) concerned than in the first place, listening intently to his phone communicate. The U. S.Embassy.Bezu Fache despised many things but a few(prenominal) drew more wrath than the U. S. Embassy.Fache and the ambassador locked horns regularly over shared affairs of state their most common battleground being legality enforcement for visiting Americans. Almost daily, DCPJ ar lie downed American tack students in possession of drugs, U. S. businessmen for soliciting small Prostitutes, American tourists for shoplifting or destruction of property. Legally, the U. S. Embassy could intervene and extradite guilty citizens back to the United States, where they received nothing more than a slap on the wrist.And the embassy ever did just that.Lemasculation de la Police Judiciaire, Fache called it. Paris Match had run a toon recently depicting Fache as a police dog, trying to bite an American criminal, but unable to reach because it was arrange to the U. S. Embassy.Not tonig ht, Fache told himself. in that respect is far too much at stake.By the time Robert Langdon hung up the phone, he looked ill. Is everything all right? Fache asked. Weakly, Langdon shook his head.Bad news from home, Fache sensed, noticing Langdon was sudate slightly as Fache took back his cell phone.An accident, Langdon stammered, looking at Fache with a strange expression. A friend He hesitated. Ill need to fly home first thing in the morning.Fache had no doubt the shock on Langdons face was genuine, and yet he sensed another emotion there too, as if a distant fear were suddenly simmering in the Americans eyes. Im pathetic to hear that, Fache said, watching Langdon closely. Would you like to sit down? He motioned toward one of the display benches in the gallery.Langdon nodded absently and took a few steps toward the bench. He paused, looking more confused with every moment. Actually, I cipher Id like to use the rest means.Fache frowned deep down at the delay. The rest room. O f course. Lets take a break for a few proceedings. He motioned back down the long hallway in the direction they had come from. The rest rooms are back toward the curators office.Langdon hesitated, pointing in the other direction toward the far end of the Grand Gallery corridor. I believe theres a much closer rest room at the end.Fache realized Langdon was right. They were two thirds of the way down, and the Grand Gallery dead-ended at a pair of rest rooms. Shall I accompany you?Langdon shook his head, already moving deeper into the gallery. Not necessary. I think Id like a few minutes alone.Fache was not wild about the stem of Langdon wandering alone down the remaining continuance of corridor, but he took comfort in knowing the Grand Gallery was a dead end whose only pass by was at the other end the ingress under which they had entered. Although French fire regulations necessitate several emergency stairwells for a infinite this large, those stairwells had been sealed autom atically when Sauniere tripped the security formation. Granted, that system had now been reset, unlocking the stairwells, but it didnt matter the outside(a) doors, if opened, would set off fire alarms and were guarded outside by DCPJ doers. Langdon could not peradventure leave without Fache knowing about it.I need to return to Mr. Saunieres office for a moment, Fache said. Please come find me directly, Mr. Langdon. There is more we need to discuss.Langdon gave a quiet wave as he disappeared into the darkness.Turning, Fache marched angrily in the opposite direction. Arriving at the gate, he slid under, exited the Grand Gallery, marched down the hall, and stormed into the command concentrate at Saunieres office.Who gave the approval to let Sophie Neveu into this building Fache bellowed. collet was the first to answer. She told the guards outside shed broken the code. Fache looked around. Is she gone? Shes not with you?She left. Fache glanced out at the darkened hallway. Appare ntly Sophie had been in no mood to breaker point by and cackle with the other officers on her way out.For a moment, Fache considered radioing the guards in the entresol and telling them to stop Sophie and drag her back up here onward she could leave the premises. He thought disclose of it. That was only his pride talking necessitateing the last word. Hed had enough distractions tonight.Deal with means Neveu later, he told himself, already looking forward to firing her.Pushing Sophie from his mind, Fache stared for a moment at the miniature knight standing on Saunieres desk. Then he turned back to Collet. Do you have him?Collet gave a curt nod and spun the laptop toward Fache. The red spread was clearly panoptical on the floor plan overlay, trice methodically in a room marked TOILETTES PUBLIQUES.Good, Fache said, lighting a poove and stalking into the hall. Ive got a phone call to make. Be damned sure the rest room is the only place Langdon goes.CHAPTER 12Robert Langdon fe lt light-headed as he trudged toward the end of the Grand Gallery. Sophies phone marrow played over and over in his mind. At the end of the corridor, illuminated signs complaint the international stick-figure symbols for rest rooms steer him through a maze-like series of dividers displaying Italian drawings and hiding the rest rooms from sight. determination the mens room door, Langdon entered and turned on the lights. The room was empty. Walking to the sink, he spattered cold water on his face and tried to wake up. Harsh light lights glared off the stark tile, and the room smelled of ammonia. As he toweled off, the rest rooms door creaked open behind him. He spun.Sophie Neveu entered, her green eyes flashing fear. Thank God you came. We dont have much time.Langdon stood beside the sinks, staring in confusion at DCPJ cryptanalyst Sophie Neveu. Only minutes ago, Langdon had listened to her phone message, thinking the newly arrived cryptographer must be barmy. And yet, the more h e listened, the more he sensed Sophie Neveu was speaking in earnest. Do not act to this message.Just listen calmly.You are in danger rightnow.Follow my directions very closely.Filled with uncertainty, Langdon had decided to do only as Sophie advised. He told Fache that the phone message was regarding an injured friend back home. Then he had asked to use the rest room at the end of the Grand Gallery.Sophie stood before him now, still catching her breath after doubling back to the rest room. In the fluorescent lights, Langdon was surprised to see that her strong air actually radiated from unexpectedly soft features. Only her gaze was sharp, and the juxtaposition conjured images of a multilayered Renoir portrait veiled but distinct, with a boldness that somehow retained its shroud of mystery.I essentialed to warn you, Mr. Langdon Sophie began, still catching her breath, that you are sous surveillance cachee.Under a guarded observation. As she spoke, her accented English resonated o ff the tile walls, giving her voice a hollow quality.But why? Langdon demanded. Sophie had already given him an explanation on the phone, but he wanted to hear it from her lips.Because, she said, stepping toward him, Faches primary suspect in this off is you.Langdon was braced for the words, and yet they still sounded abruptly ridiculous. According to Sophie, Langdon had been called to the Louvre tonight not as a symbologist but sooner as a suspect and was currently the unwitting target of one of DCPJs best-loved interrogation methods surveillance cachee a clever deception in which the police calmly invited a suspect to a plague scene and interviewed him in hopes he would get nervous and mistakenly incriminate himself.Look in your jackets left liberation, Sophie said. Youll find evidence they are watching you.Langdon felt his exigency rising. Look in my bag? It sounded like some kind of cheap magic trick.Just look.Bewildered, Langdon reached his hand into his tweed jacke ts left pocket one he never used. Feeling around inside, he found nothing. What the devil did you expect? He began enquire if Sophie might just be insane after all. Then his fingers brushed something unexpected. lowly and hard. Pinching the tiny object between his fingers, Langdon pulled it out and stared in astonishment. It was a metallic, button-shaped disk, about the sizing of a watch battery. He had never seen it before. What the ?GPS tracking dot, Sophie said. Continuously transmits its location to a Global Positioning System orbiter that DCPJ can monitor. We use them to monitor peoples locations. Its holy within two feet anywhere on the globe. They have you on an electronic leash. The operator who picked you up at the hotel slipped it inside your pocket before you left your room.Langdon flashed back to the hotel room his quick shower, getting dressed, the DCPJ agent politely holding out Langdons tweed covering as they left the room. Its cool outside, Mr.Langdon, the a gent had said. Spring in Paris is not all your song boasts.Langdon had thanked him and donned the jacket.Sophies olive gaze was keen. I didnt tell you about the tracking dot earlier because I didnt want you checking your pocket in front of Fache. He cant know youve found it.Langdon had no idea how to respond.They tagged you with GPS because they thought you might run. She paused. In fact, they hopedyou would run it would make their case stronger.why would I run Langdon demanded. Im innocent Fache feels otherwise. Angrily, Langdon stalk toward the trash receptacle to dispose of the tracking dot.No Sophie grabbed his arm and stopped him. Leave it in your pocket. If you throw it out, the signal will stop moving, and theyll know you found the dot. The only rationality Fache left you alone is because he can monitor where you are. If he thinks youve discovered what hes doing Sophie did not finish the thought. Instead, she pried the metallic disk from Langdons hand and slid it back into the pocket of his tweed coat. The dot stays with you. At least for the moment.Langdon felt lost. How the hell could Fache actually believe I killed Jacques SauniereHe has some fairly glib reasons to suspect you. Sophies expression was grim. There is a piece of evidence here that you have not yet seen. Fache has kept it guardedly hidden from you.Langdon could only stare.Do you yield the three lines of text that Sauniere wrote on the floor?Langdon nodded. The numbers and words were imprinted on Langdons mind.Sophies voice dropped to a whisper now. Unfortunately, what you saw was not the entire message. There was a after part line that Fache photographed and then wiped clean before you arrived.Although Langdon knew the soluble ink of a water line stylus could easily be wiped away, he could not imagine why Fache would cancel evidence.The last line of the message, Sophie said, was something Fache did not want you to know about. She paused. At least not until he was done with you.So phie produced a computing device printout of a photo from her sweater pocket and began unfolding it. Fache uploaded images of the crime scene to the cryptography Department earlier tonight in hopes we could figure out what Saunieres message was trying to say. This is a photo of the complete message. She handed the page to Langdon.Bewildered, Langdon looked at the image. The close-up photo revealed the glowing message on the parquet floor. The final line hit Langdon like a kick in the gut. 13-3-2-21-1-1-8-5 O, Draconian devil Oh, lame saint P. S.Find Robert Langdon