Mary Magdalene and the Holy Grail 3 page

Langdon forced a pained smile. “Better, thanks.” It was killing him.

Beside her, Teabing glanced over his shoulder at the bound and gagged monk lying in the cramped luggage area behind the back seat. Teabing had the monk’s gun on his lap and looked like an old photo of a British safari chap posing over his kill.

“So glad you popped in this evening, Robert,” Teabing said, grinning as if he were having fun for the first time in years.

“Sorry to get you involved in this, Leigh.”

“Oh, please, I’ve waited my entire life to be involved.” Teabing looked past Langdon out the windshield at the shadow of a long hedgerow. He tapped Remy on the shoulder from behind. “Remember, no brake lights. Use the emergency brake if you need it. I want to get into the woods a bit. No reason to risk them seeing us from the house.”

Remy coasted to a crawl and guided the Range Rover through an opening in the hedge. As the vehicle lurched onto an overgrown pathway, almost immediately the trees overhead blotted out the moonlight.

I can’t see a thing, Langdon thought, straining to distinguish any shapes at all in front of them. It was pitch black. Branches rubbed against the left side of the vehicle, and Remy corrected in the other direction. Keeping the wheel more or less straight now, he inched ahead about thirty yards.

“You’re doing beautifully, Remy,” Teabing said. “That should be far enough. Robert, if you could press that little blue button just below the vent there. See it?”

Langdon found the button and pressed it.

A muted yellow glow fanned out across the path in front of them, revealing thick underbrush on either side of the pathway. Fog lights, Langdon realized. They gave off just enough light to keep them on the path, and yet they were deep enough into the woods now that the lights would not give them away.

“Well, Remy,” Teabing chimed happily. “The lights are on. Our lives are in your hands.”

“Where are we going?” Sophie asked.

“This trail continues about three kilometers into the forest,” Teabing said. “Cutting across the estate and then arching north. Provided we don’t hit any standing water or fallen trees, we shall emerge unscathed on the shoulder of highway five.”

Unscathed . Langdon’s head begged to differ. He turned his eyes down to his own lap, where the keystone was safely stowed in its wooden box. The inlaid Rose on the lid was back in place, and although his head felt muddled, Langdon was eager to remove the inlay again and examine the engraving beneath more closely. He unlatched the lid and began to raise it when Teabing laid a hand on his shoulder from behind.

“Patience, Robert,” Teabing said. “It’s bumpy and dark. God save us if we break anything. If you didn’t recognize the language in the light, you won’t do any better in the dark. Let’s focus on getting away in one piece, shall we? There will be time for that very soon.”

Langdon knew Teabing was right. With a nod, he relatched the box.

The monk in back was moaning now, struggling against his trusses. Suddenly, he began kicking wildly.

Teabing spun around and aimed the pistol over the seat. “I can’t imagine your complaint, sir. You trespassed in my home and planted a nasty welt on the skull of a dear friend. I would be well within my rights to shoot you right now and leave you to rot in the woods.”

The monk fell silent.

“Are you sure we should have brought him?” Langdon asked.

“Bloody well positive!” Teabing exclaimed. “You’re wanted for murder, Robert. This scoundrel is your ticket to freedom. The police apparently want you badly enough to have tailed you to my home.”

“My fault,” Sophie said. “The armored car probably had a transmitter.”

“Not the point,” Teabing said. “I’m not surprised the police found you, but I am surprised that this Opus Dei character found you. From all you’ve told me, I can’t imagine how this man could have tailed you to my home unless he had a contact either within the Judicial Police or within the Zurich Depository.”

Langdon considered it. Bezu Fache certainly seemed intent on finding a scapegoat for tonight’s murders. And Vernet had turned on them rather suddenly, although considering Langdon was being charged with four murders, the banker’s change of heart seemed understandable.

“This monk is not working alone, Robert,” Teabing said, “and until you learn who is behind all this, you both are in danger. The good news, my friend, is that you are now in the position of power. This monster behind me holds that information, and whoever is pulling his strings has got to be quite nervous right now.”

Remy was picking up speed, getting comfortable with the trail. They splashed through some water, climbed a small rise, and began descending again.

“Robert, could you be so kind as to hand me that phone?” Teabing pointed to the car phone on the dash. Langdon handed it back, and Teabing dialed a number. He waited for a very long time before someone answered. “Richard? Did I wake you? Of course, I did. Silly question. I’m sorry. I have a small problem. I’m feeling a bit off. Remy and I need to pop up to the Isles for my treatments. Well, right away, actually. Sorry for the short notice. Can you have Elizabeth ready in about twenty minutes? I know, do the best you can. See you shortly.” He hung up.

“Elizabeth?” Langdon said.

“My plane. She cost me a Queen’s ransom.”

Langdon turned full around and looked at him.

“What?” Teabing demanded. “You two can’t expect to stay in France with the entire Judicial Police after you. London will be much safer.”

Sophie had turned to Teabing as well. “You think we should leave the country?”

“My friends, I am far more influential in the civilized world than here in France. Furthermore, the Grail is believed to be in Great Britain. If we unlock the keystone, I am certain we will discover a map that indicates we have moved in the proper direction.”

“You’re running a big risk,” Sophie said, “by helping us. You won’t make any friends with the French police.”

Teabing gave a wave of disgust. “I am finished with France. I moved here to find the keystone. That work is now done. I shan’t care if I ever again see Chateau Villette.”

Sophie sounded uncertain. “How will we get through airport security?”

Teabing chuckled. “I fly from Le Bourget—an executive airfield not far from here. French doctors make me nervous, so every fortnight, I fly north to take my treatments in England. I pay for certain special privileges at both ends. Once we’re airborne, you can make a decision as to whether or not you’d like someone from the U.S. Embassy to meet us.”

Langdon suddenly didn’t want anything to do with the embassy. All he could think of was the keystone, the inscription, and whether it would all lead to the Grail. He wondered if Teabing was right about Britain. Admittedly most modern legends placed the Grail somewhere in the United Kingdom. Even King Arthur’s mythical, Grail‑rich Isle of Avalon was now believed to be none other than Glastonbury, England. Wherever the Grail lay, Langdon never imagined he would actually be looking for it. The Sangreal documents. The true history of Jesus Christ. The tomb of Mary Magdalene . He suddenly felt as if he were living in some kind of limbo tonight . . . a bubble where the real world could not reach him.

“Sir?” Remy said. “Are you truly thinking of returning to England for good?”

“Remy, you needn’t worry,” Teabing assured. “Just because I am returning to the Queen’s realm does not mean I intend to subject my palate to bangers and mash for the rest of my days. I expect you will join me there permanently. I’m planning to buy a splendid villa in Devonshire, and we’ll have all your things shipped up immediately. An adventure, Remy. I say, an adventure!”

Langdon had to smile. As Teabing railed on about his plans for a triumphant return to Britain, Langdon felt himself caught up in the man’s infectious enthusiasm.

Gazing absently out the window, Langdon watched the woods passing by, ghostly pale in the yellow blush of the fog lights. The side mirror was tipped inward, brushed askew by branches, and Langdon saw the reflection of Sophie sitting quietly in the back seat. He watched her for a long while and felt an unexpected upwelling of contentment. Despite his troubles tonight, Langdon was thankful to have landed in such good company.

After several minutes, as if suddenly sensing his eyes on her, Sophie leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders, giving him a quick rub. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Langdon said. “Somehow.”

Sophie sat back in her seat, and Langdon saw a quiet smile cross her lips. He realized that he too was now grinning.

Wedged in the back of the Range Rover, Silas could barely breathe. His arms were wrenched backward and heavily lashed to his ankles with kitchen twine and duct tape. Every bump in the road sent pain shooting through his twisted shoulders. At least his captors had removed the cilice . Unable to inhale through the strip of tape over his mouth, he could only breathe through his nostrils, which were slowly clogging up due to the dusty rear cargo area into which he had been crammed. He began coughing.

“I think he’s choking,” the French driver said, sounding concerned.

The British man who had struck Silas with his crutch now turned and peered over the seat, frowning coldly at Silas. “Fortunately for you, we British judge man’s civility not by his compassion for his friends, but by his compassion for his enemies.” The Brit reached down and grabbed the duct tape on Silas’s mouth. In one fast motion, he tore it off.

Silas felt as if his lips had just caught fire, but the air pouring into his lungs was sent from God.

“Whom do you work for?” the British man demanded.

“I do the work of God,” Silas spat back through the pain in his jaw where the woman had kicked him.

“You belong to Opus Dei,” the man said. It was not a question.

“You know nothing of who I am.”

“Why does Opus Dei want the keystone?”

Silas had no intention of answering. The keystone was the link to the Holy Grail, and the Holy Grail was the key to protecting the faith.

I do the work of God. The Way is in peril.

Now, in the Range Rover, struggling against his bonds, Silas feared he had failed the Teacher and the bishop forever. He had no way even to contact them and tell them the terrible turn of events. My captors have the keystone! They will reach the Grail before we do! In the stifling darkness, Silas prayed. He let the pain of his body fuel his supplications.

A miracle, Lord. I need a miracle . Silas had no way of knowing that hours from now, he would get one.

“Robert?” Sophie was still watching him. “A funny look just crossed your face.”

Langdon glanced back at her, realizing his jaw was firmly set and his heart was racing. An incredible notion had just occurred to him. Could it really be that simple an explanation? “I need to use your cell phone, Sophie.”

“Now?”

“I think I just figured something out.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. I need your phone.”

Sophie looked wary. “I doubt Fache is tracing, but keep it under a minute just in case.” She gave him her phone.

“How do I dial the States?”

“You need to reverse the charges. My service doesn’t cover transatlantic.”

Langdon dialed zero, knowing that the next sixty seconds might answer a question that had been puzzling him all night.

CHAPTER 68

New York editor Jonas Faukman had just climbed into bed for the night when the telephone rang. A little late for callers, he grumbled, picking up the receiver.

An operator’s voice asked him, “Will you accept charges for a collect call from Robert Langdon?”

Puzzled, Jonas turned on the light. “Uh . . . sure, okay.”

The line clicked. “Jonas?”

“Robert? You wake me up and you charge me for it?”

“Jonas, forgive me,” Langdon said. “I’ll keep this very short. I really need to know. The manuscript I gave you. Have you—“

“Robert, I’m sorry, I know I said I’d send the edits out to you this week, but I’m swamped. Next Monday. I promise.”

“I’m not worried about the edits. I need to know if you sent any copies out for blurbs without telling me?”

Faukman hesitated. Langdon’s newest manuscript—an exploration of the history of goddess worship—included several sections about Mary Magdalene that were going to raise some eyebrows. Although the material was well documented and had been covered by others, Faukman had no intention of printing Advance Reading Copies of Langdon’s book without at least a few endorsements from serious historians and art luminaries. Jonas had chosen ten big names in the art world and sent them all sections of the manuscript along with a polite letter asking if they would be willing to write a short endorsement for the jacket. In Faukman’s experience, most people jumped at the opportunity to see their name in print.

“Jonas?” Langdon pressed. “You sent out my manuscript, didn’t you?”

Faukman frowned, sensing Langdon was not happy about it. “The manuscript was clean, Robert, and I wanted to surprise you with some terrific blurbs.”

A pause. “Did you send one to the curator of the Paris Louvre?”

“What do you think? Your manuscript referenced his Louvre collection several times, his books are in your bibliography, and the guy has some serious clout for foreign sales. Sauniere was a no‑brainer.”

The silence on the other end lasted a long time. “When did you send it?”

“About a month ago. I also mentioned you would be in Paris soon and suggested you two chat. Did he ever call you to meet?” Faukman paused, rubbing his eyes. “Hold on, aren’t you supposed to be in Paris this week?”

“I am in Paris.”

Faukman sat upright. “You called me collect from Paris?”

“Take it out of my royalties, Jonas. Did you ever hear back from Sauniere? Did he like the manuscript?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t yet heard from him.”

“Well, don’t hold your breath. I’ve got to run, but this explains a lot Thanks.”

“Robert—“

But Langdon was gone.

Faukman hung up the phone, shaking his head in disbelief Authors, he thought. Even the sane ones are nuts.

Inside the Range Rover, Leigh Teabing let out a guffaw. “Robert, you’re saying you wrote a manuscript that delves into a secret society, and your editor sent a copy to that secret society?”

Langdon slumped. “Evidently.”

“A cruel coincidence, my friend.”

Coincidence has nothing to do with it, Langdon knew. Asking Jacques Sauniere to endorse a manuscript on goddess worship was as obvious as asking Tiger Woods to endorse a book on golf. Moreover, it was virtually guaranteed that any book on goddess worship would have to mention the Priory of Sion.

“Here’s the million‑dollar question,” Teabing said, still chuckling. “Was your position on the Priory favorable or unfavorable?”

Langdon could hear Teabing’s true meaning loud and clear. Many historians questioned why the Priory was still keeping the Sangreal documents hidden. Some felt the information should have been shared with the world long ago. “I took no position on the Priory’s actions.”

“You mean lack thereof.”

Langdon shrugged. Teabing was apparently on the side of making the documents public. “I simply provided history on the brotherhood and described them as a modern goddess worship society, keepers of the Grail, and guardians of ancient documents.”

Sophie looked at him. “Did you mention the keystone?”

Langdon winced. He had. Numerous times. “I talked about the supposed keystone as an example of the lengths to which the Priory would go to protect the Sangreal documents.”

Sophie looked amazed. “I guess that explains P.S. Find Robert Langdon.”

Langdon sensed it was actually something else in the manuscript that had piqued Sauniere’s interest, but that topic was something he would discuss with Sophie when they were alone.

“So,” Sophie said, “you lied to Captain Fache.”

“What?” Langdon demanded.

“You told him you had never corresponded with my grandfather.”

“I didn’t! My editor sent him a manuscript.”

“Think about it, Robert. If Captain Fache didn’t find the envelope in which your editor sent the manuscript, he would have to conclude that you sent it.” She paused. “Or worse, that you hand‑delivered it and lied about it.”

When the Range Rover arrived at Le Bourget Airfield, Remy drove to a small hangar at the far end of the airstrip. As they approached, a tousled man in wrinkled khakis hurried from the hangar, waved, and slid open the enormous corrugated metal door to reveal a sleek white jet within.

Langdon stared at the glistening fuselage. “That’s Elizabeth?”

Teabing grinned. “Beats the bloody Chunnel.”

The man in khakis hurried toward them, squinting into the headlights. “Almost ready, sir,” he called in a British accent. “My apologies for the delay, but you took me by surprise and—“He stopped short as the group unloaded. He looked at Sophie and Langdon, and then Teabing.

Teabing said, “My associates and I have urgent business in London. We’ve no time to waste. Please prepare to depart immediately.” As he spoke, Teabing took the pistol out of the vehicle and handed it to Langdon.

The pilot’s eyes bulged at the sight of the weapon. He walked over to Teabing and whispered, “Sir, my humble apologies, but my diplomatic flight allowance provides only for you and your manservant. I cannot take your guests.”

“Richard,” Teabing said, smiling warmly, “two thousand pounds sterling and that loaded gun say you can take my guests.” He motioned to the Range Rover. “And the unfortunate fellow in the back.”

CHAPTER 69

The Hawker 731’s twin Garrett TFE‑731 engines thundered, powering the plane skyward with gut‑wrenching force. Outside the window, Le Bourget Airfield dropped away with startling speed.

I’m fleeing the country, Sophie thought, her body forced back into the leather seat. Until this moment, she had believed her game of cat and mouse with Fache would be somehow justifiable to the Ministry of Defense. I was attempting to protect an innocent man. I was trying to fulfill my grandfather’s dying wishes . That window of opportunity, Sophie knew, had just closed. She was leaving the country, without documentation, accompanying a wanted man, and transporting a bound hostage. If a “line of reason” had ever existed, she had just crossed it. At almost the speed of sound.

Sophie was seated with Langdon and Teabing near the front of the cabin—the Fan Jet Executive Elite Design, according to the gold medallion on the door. Their plush swivel chairs were bolted to tracks on the floor and could be repositioned and locked around a rectangular hardwood table. A mini‑boardroom. The dignified surroundings, however, did little to camouflage the less than dignified state of affairs in the rear of the plane where, in a separate seating area near the rest room, Teabing’s manservant Remy sat with the pistol in hand, begrudgingly carrying out Teabing’s orders to stand guard over the bloody monk who lay trussed at his feet like a piece of luggage.

“Before we turn our attention to the keystone,” Teabing said, “I was wondering if you would permit me a few words.” He sounded apprehensive, like a father about to give the birds‑and‑the‑bees lecture to his children. “My friends, I realize I am but a guest on this journey, and I am honored as such. And yet, as someone who has spent his life in search of the Grail, I feel it is my duty to warn you that you are about to step onto a path from which there is no return, regardless of the dangers involved.” He turned to Sophie. “Miss Neveu, your grandfather gave you this cryptex in hopes you would keep the secret of the Holy Grail alive.”

“Yes.”

“Understandably, you feel obliged to follow the trail wherever it leads.”

Sophie nodded, although she felt a second motivation still burning within her. The truth about my family . Despite Langdon’s assurances that the keystone had nothing to do with her past, Sophie still sensed something deeply personal entwined within this mystery, as if this cryptex, forged by her grandfather’s own hands, were trying to speak to her and offer some kind of resolution to the emptiness that had haunted her all these years.

“Your grandfather and three others died tonight,” Teabing continued, “and they did so to keep this keystone away from the Church. Opus Dei came within inches tonight of possessing it. You understand, I hope, that this puts you in a position of exceptional responsibility. You have been handed a torch. A two‑thousand‑year‑old flame that cannot be allowed to go out. This torch cannot fall into the wrong hands.” He paused, glancing at the rosewood box. “I realize you have been given no choice in this matter, Miss Neveu, but considering what is at stake here, you must either fully embrace this responsibility . . . or you must pass that responsibility to someone else.”

“My grandfather gave the cryptex to me. I’m sure he thought I could handle the responsibility.”

Teabing looked encouraged but unconvinced. “Good. A strong will is necessary. And yet, I am curious if you understand that successfully unlocking the keystone will bring with it a far greater trial.”

“How so?”

“My dear, imagine that you are suddenly holding a map that reveals the location of the Holy Grail. In that moment, you will be in possession of a truth capable of altering history forever. You will be the keeper of a truth that man has sought for centuries. You will be faced with the responsibility of revealing that truth to the world. The individual who does so will be revered by many and despised by many. The question is whether you will have the necessary strength to carry out that task.”

Sophie paused. “I’m not sure that is my decision to make.”

Teabing’s eyebrows arched. “No? If not the possessor of the keystone, then who?”

“The brotherhood who has successfully protected the secret for so long.”

“The Priory?” Teabing looked skeptical. “But how? The brotherhood was shattered tonight. Decapitated, as you so aptly put it. Whether they were infiltrated by some kind of eavesdropping or by a spy within their ranks, we will never know, but the fact remains that someone got to them and uncovered the identities of their four top members. I would not trust anyone who stepped forward from the brotherhood at this point.”

“So what do you suggest?” Langdon asked.

“Robert, you know as well as I do that the Priory has not protected the truth all these years to have it gather dust until eternity. They have been waiting for the right moment in history to share their secret. A time when the world is ready to handle the truth.”

“And you believe that moment has arrived?” Langdon asked.

“Absolutely. It could not be more obvious. All the historical signs are in place, and if the Priory did not intend to make their secret known very soon, why has the Church now attacked?”

Sophie argued, “The monk has not yet told us his purpose.”

“The monk’s purpose is the Church’s purpose,” Teabing replied, “to destroy the documents that reveal the great deception. The Church came closer tonight than they have ever come, and the Priory has put its trust in you, Miss Neveu. The task of saving the Holy Grail clearly includes carrying out the Priory’s final wishes of sharing the truth with the world.”

Langdon intervened. “Leigh, asking Sophie to make that decision is quite a load to drop on someone who only an hour ago learned the Sangreal documents exist.”

Teabing sighed. “I apologize if I am pressing, Miss Neveu. Clearly I have always believed these documents should be made public, but in the end the decision belongs to you. I simply feel it is important that you begin to think about what happens should we succeed in opening the keystone.”

“Gentlemen,” Sophie said, her voice firm. “To quote your words, 'You do not find the Grail, the Grail finds you.' I am going to trust that the Grail has found me for a reason, and when the time comes, I will know what to do.”

Both of them looked startled.

“So then,” she said, motioning to the rosewood box. “Let’s move on.”

CHAPTER 70

Standing in the drawing room of Chateau Villette, Lieutenant Collet watched the dying fire and felt despondent. Captain Fache had arrived moments earlier and was now in the next room, yelling into the phone, trying to coordinate the failed attempt to locate the missing Range Rover.

It could be anywhere by now, Collet thought.

Having disobeyed Fache’s direct orders and lost Langdon for a second time, Collet was grateful that PTS had located a bullet hole in the floor, which at least corroborated Collet’s claims that a shot had been fired. Still, Fache’s mood was sour, and Collet sensed there would be dire repercussions when the dust settled.

Unfortunately, the clues they were turning up here seemed to shed no light at all on what was going on or who was involved. The black Audi outside had been rented in a false name with false credit card numbers, and the prints in the car matched nothing in the Interpol database.

Another agent hurried into the living room, his eyes urgent. “Where’s Captain Fache?”

Collet barely looked up from the burning embers. “He’s on the phone.”

“I’m off the phone,” Fache snapped, stalking into the room. “What have you got?”

The second agent said, “Sir, Central just heard from Andre Vernet at the Depository Bank of Zurich. He wants to talk to you privately. He is changing his story.”

“Oh?” Fache said.

Now Collet looked up.

“Vernet is admitting that Langdon and Neveu spent time inside his bank tonight.”

“We figured that out,” Fache said. “Why did Vernet lie about it?”

“He said he’ll talk only to you, but he’s agreed to cooperate fully.”

“In exchange for what?”

“For our keeping his bank’s name out of the news and also for helping him recover some stolen property. It sounds like Langdon and Neveu stole something from Sauniere’s account.”

“What?” Collet blurted. “How?”

Fache never flinched, his eyes riveted on the second agent. “What did they steal?”

“Vernet didn’t elaborate, but he sounds like he’s willing to do anything to get it back.”

Collet tried to imagine how this could happen. Maybe Langdon and Neveu had held a bank employee at gunpoint? Maybe they forced Vernet to open Sauniere’s account and facilitate an escape in the armored truck. As feasible as it was, Collet was having trouble believing Sophie Neveu could be involved in anything like that.

From the kitchen, another agent yelled to Fache. “Captain? I’m going through Mr. Teabing’s speed dial numbers, and I’m on the phone with Le Bourget Airfield. I’ve got some bad news.”

Thirty seconds later, Fache was packing up and preparing to leave Chateau Villette. He had just learned that Teabing kept a private jet nearby at Le Bourget Airfield and that the plane had taken off about a half hour ago.

The Bourget representative on the phone had claimed not to know who was on the plane or where it was headed. The takeoff had been unscheduled, and no flight plan had been logged. Highly illegal, even for a small airfield. Fache was certain that by applying the right pressure, he could get the answers he was looking for.

“Lieutenant Collet,” Fache barked, heading for the door. “I have no choice but to leave you in charge of the PTS investigation here. Try to do something right for a change.”

CHAPTER 71

As the Hawker leveled off, with its nose aimed for England, Langdon carefully lifted the rosewood box from his lap, where he had been protecting it during takeoff. Now, as he set the box on the table, he could sense Sophie and Teabing leaning forward with anticipation.

Unlatching the lid and opening the box, Langdon turned his attention not to the lettered dials of the cryptex, but rather to the tiny hole on the underside of the box lid. Using the tip of a pen, he carefully removed the inlaid Rose on top and revealed the text beneath it. Sub Rosa, he mused, hoping a fresh look at the text would bring clarity. Focusing all his energies, Langdon studied the strange text.

After several seconds, he began to feel the initial frustration resurfacing. “Leigh, I just can’t seem to place it.”

Date: 2016-03-03; view: 465