Les Nautoniers/Grand Masters 3 page

“Could the poem be wrong?” Teabing asked. “Could Jacques Sauniere have made the same mistake I just did?”

Langdon considered it and shook his head. “Leigh, you said it yourself. This church was built by Templars, the military arm of the Priory. Something tells me the Grand Master of the Priory would have a pretty good idea if there were knights buried here.”

Teabing looked flabbergasted. “But this place is perfect.” He wheeled back toward the knights. “We must be missing something!”

Entering the annex, the altar boy was surprised to find it deserted. “Father Knowles?” I know I heard the door, he thought, moving forward until he could see the entryway.

A thin man in a tuxedo stood near the doorway, scratching his head and looking lost. The altar boy gave an irritated huff, realizing he had forgotten to relock the door when he let the others in. Now some pathetic sod had wandered in off the street, looking for directions to some wedding from the looks of it. “I’m sorry,” he called out, passing a large pillar, “we’re closed.”

A flurry of cloth ruffled behind him, and before the altar boy could turn, his head snapped backward, a powerful hand clamping hard over his mouth from behind, muffling his scream. The hand over the boy’s mouth was snow‑white, and he smelled alcohol.

The prim man in the tuxedo calmly produced a very small revolver, which he aimed directly at the boy’s forehead.

The altar boy felt his groin grow hot and realized he had wet himself.

“Listen carefully,” the tuxedoed man whispered. “You will exit this church silently, and you will run. You will not stop. Is that clear?”

The boy nodded as best he could with the hand over his mouth.

“If you call the police . . .” The tuxedoed man pressed the gun to his skin. “I will find you.”

The next thing the boy knew, he was sprinting across the outside courtyard with no plans of stopping until his legs gave out.

CHAPTER 86

Like a ghost, Silas drifted silently behind his target. Sophie Neveu sensed him too late. Before she could turn, Silas pressed the gun barrel into her spine and wrapped a powerful arm across her chest, pulling her back against his hulking body. She yelled in surprise. Teabing and Langdon both turned now, their expressions astonished and fearful.

“What . . . ?” Teabing choked out. “What did you do to Remy!”

“Your only concern,” Silas said calmly, “is that I leave here with the keystone.” This recovery mission, as Remy had described it, was to be clean and simple: Enter the church, take the keystone, and walk out; no killing, no struggle.

Holding Sophie firm, Silas dropped his hand from her chest, down to her waist, slipping it inside her deep sweater pockets, searching. He could smell the soft fragrance of her hair through his own alcohol‑laced breath. “Where is it?” he whispered. The keystone was in her sweater pocket earlier. So where is it now?

“It’s over here,” Langdon’s deep voice resonated from across the room.

Silas turned to see Langdon holding the black cryptex before him, waving it back and forth like a matador tempting a dumb animal.

“Set it down,” Silas demanded.

“Let Sophie and Leigh leave the church,” Langdon replied. “You and I can settle this.”

Silas pushed Sophie away from him and aimed the gun at Langdon, moving toward him.

“Not a step closer,” Langdon said. “Not until they leave the building.”

“You are in no position to make demands.”

“I disagree.” Langdon raised the cryptex high over his head. “I will not hesitate to smash this on the floor and break the vial inside.”

Although Silas sneered outwardly at the threat, he felt a flash of fear. This was unexpected. He aimed the gun at Langdon’s head and kept his voice as steady as his hand. “You would never break the keystone. You want to find the Grail as much as I do.”

“You’re wrong. You want it much more. You’ve proven you’re willing to kill for it.”

Forty feet away, peering out from the annex pews near the archway, Remy Legaludec felt a rising alarm. The maneuver had not gone as planned, and even from here, he could see Silas was uncertain how to handle the situation. At the Teacher’s orders, Remy had forbidden Silas to fire his gun.

“Let them go,” Langdon again demanded, holding the cryptex high over his head and staring into Silas’s gun.

The monk’s red eyes filled with anger and frustration, and Remy tightened with fear that Silas might actually shoot Langdon while he was holding the cryptex. The cryptex cannot fall!

The cryptex was to be Remy’s ticket to freedom and wealth. A little over a year ago, he was simply a fifty‑five‑year‑old manservant living within the walls of Chateau Villette, catering to the whims of the insufferable cripple Sir Leigh Teabing. Then he was approached with an extraordinary proposition. Remy’s association with Sir Leigh Teabing—the preeminent Grail historian on earth—was going to bring Remy everything he had ever dreamed of in life. Since then, every moment he had spent inside Chateau Villette had been leading him to this very instant.

I am so close, Remy told himself, gazing into the sanctuary of the Temple Church and the keystone in Robert Langdon’s hand. If Langdon dropped it, all would be lost.

Am I willing to show my face? It was something the Teacher had strictly forbidden. Remy was the only one who knew the Teacher’s identity.

“Are you certain you want Silas to carry out this task?” Remy had asked the Teacher less than half an hour ago, upon getting orders to steal the keystone. “I myself am capable.”

The Teacher was resolute. “Silas served us well with the four Priory members. He will recover the keystone. You must remain anonymous. If others see you, they will need to be eliminated, and there has been enough killing already. Do not reveal your face.”

My face will change, Remy thought. With what you’ve promised to pay me, I will become an entirely new man . Surgery could even change his fingerprints, the Teacher had told him. Soon he would be free—another unrecognizable, beautiful face soaking up the sun on the beach. “Understood,” Remy said. “I will assist Silas from the shadows.”

“For your own knowledge, Remy,” the Teacher had told him, “the tomb in question is not in the Temple Church. So have no fear. They are looking in the wrong place.”

Remy was stunned. “And you know where the tomb is?”

“Of course. Later, I will tell you. For the moment, you must act quickly. If the others figure out the true location of the tomb and leave the church before you take the cryptex, we could lose the Grail forever.”

Remy didn’t give a damn about the Grail, except that the Teacher refused to pay him until it was found. Remy felt giddy every time he thought of the money he soon would have. One third of twenty million euro. Plenty to disappear forever . Remy had pictured the beach towns on the Cote d'Azur, where he planned to live out his days basking in the sun and letting others serve him for a change.

Now, however, here in the Temple Church, with Langdon threatening to break the keystone, Remy’s future was at risk. Unable to bear the thought of coming this close only to lose it all, Remy made the decision to take bold action. The gun in his hand was a concealable, small‑caliber, J‑frame Medusa, but it would be plenty deadly at close range.

Stepping from the shadows, Remy marched into the circular chamber and aimed the gun directly at Teabing’s head. “Old man, I’ve been waiting a long time to do this.”

Sir Leigh Teabing’s heart practically stalled to see Remy aiming a gun at him. What is he doing! Teabing recognized the tiny Medusa revolver as his own, the one he kept locked in the limousine glove box for safety.

“Remy?” Teabing sputtered in shock. “What is going on?”

Langdon and Sophie looked equally dumbstruck.

Remy circled behind Teabing and rammed the pistol barrel into his back, high and on the left, directly behind his heart.

Teabing felt his muscles seize with terror. “Remy, I don’t—“

“I’ll make it simple,” Remy snapped, eyeing Langdon over Teabing’s shoulder. “Set down the keystone, or I pull the trigger.”

Langdon seemed momentarily paralyzed. “The keystone is worthless to you,” he stammered. “You cannot possibly open it.”

“Arrogant fools,” Remy sneered. “Have you not noticed that I have been listening tonight as you discussed these poems? Everything I heard, I have shared with others. Others who know more than you. You are not even looking in the right place. The tomb you seek is in another location entirely!”

Teabing felt panicked. What is he saying!

“Why do you want the Grail?” Langdon demanded. “To destroy it? Before the End of Days?”

Remy called to the monk. “Silas, take the keystone from Mr. Langdon.”

As the monk advanced, Langdon stepped back, raising the keystone high, looking fully prepared to hurl it at the floor.

“I would rather break it,” Langdon said, “than see it in the wrong hands.”

Teabing now felt a wave of horror. He could see his life’s work evaporating before his eyes. All his dreams about to be shattered.

“Robert, no!” Teabing exclaimed. “Don’t! That’s the Grail you’re holding! Remy would never shoot me. We’ve known each other for ten—“

Remy aimed at the ceiling and fired the Medusa. The blast was enormous for such a small weapon, the gunshot echoing like thunder inside the stone chamber.

Everyone froze.

“I am not playing games,” Remy said. “The next one is in his back. Hand the keystone to Silas.”

Langdon reluctantly held out the cryptex. Silas stepped forward and took it, his red eyes gleaming with the self‑satisfaction of vengeance. Slipping the keystone in the pocket of his robe, Silas backed off, still holding Langdon and Sophie at gunpoint.

Teabing felt Remy’s arm clamp hard around his neck as the servant began backing out of the building, dragging Teabing with him, the gun still pressed in his back.

“Let him go,” Langdon demanded.

“We’re taking Mr. Teabing for a drive,” Remy said, still backing up. “If you call the police, he will die. If you do anything to interfere, he will die. Is that clear?”

“Take me,” Langdon demanded, his voice cracking with emotion. “Let Leigh go.”

Remy laughed. “I don’t think so. He and I have such a nice history. Besides, he still might prove useful.”

Silas was backing up now, keeping Langdon and Sophie at gunpoint as Remy pulled Leigh toward the exit, his crutches dragging behind him.

Sophie’s voice was unwavering. “Who are you working for?”

The question brought a smirk to the departing Remy’s face. “You would be surprised, Mademoiselle Neveu.”

CHAPTER 87

The fireplace in Chateau Villette’s drawing room was cold, but Collet paced before it nonetheless as he read the faxes from Interpol.

Not at all what he expected.

Andre Vernet, according to official records, was a model citizen. No police record—not even a parking ticket. Educated at prep school and the Sorbonne, he had a cum laude degree in international finance. Interpol said Vernet’s name appeared in the newspapers from time to time, but always in a positive light. Apparently the man had helped design the security parameters that kept the Depository Bank of Zurich a leader in the ultramodern world of electronic security. Vernet’s credit card records showed a penchant for art books, expensive wine, and classical CD’s—mostly Brahms—which he apparently enjoyed on an exceptionally high‑end stereo system he had purchased several years ago.

Zero, Collet sighed.

The only red flag tonight from Interpol had been a set of fingerprints that apparently belonged to Teabing’s servant. The chief PTS examiner was reading the report in a comfortable chair across the room.

Collet looked over. “Anything?”

The examiner shrugged. “Prints belong to Remy Legaludec. Wanted for petty crime. Nothing serious. Looks like he got kicked out of university for rewiring phone jacks to get free service . . . later did some petty theft. Breaking and entering. Skipped out on a hospital bill once for an emergency tracheotomy.” He glanced up, chuckling. “Peanut allergy.”

Collet nodded, recalling a police investigation into a restaurant that had failed to notate on its menu that the chili recipe contained peanut oil. An unsuspecting patron had died of anaphylactic shock at the table after a single bite.

“Legaludec is probably a live‑in here to avoid getting picked up.” The examiner looked amused. “His lucky night.”

Collet sighed. “All right, you better forward this info to Captain Fache.”

The examiner headed off just as another PTS agent burst into the living room. “Lieutenant! We found something in the barn.”

From the anxious look on the agent’s face, Collet could only guess. “A body.”

“No, sir. Something more . . .” He hesitated. “Unexpected.”

Rubbing his eyes, Collet followed the agent out to the barn. As they entered the musty, cavernous space, the agent motioned toward the center of the room, where a wooden ladder now ascended high into the rafters, propped against the ledge of a hayloft suspended high above them.

“That ladder wasn’t there earlier,” Collet said.

“No, sir. I set that up. We were dusting for prints near the Rolls when I saw the ladder lying on the floor. I wouldn’t have given it a second thought except the rungs were worn and muddy. This ladder gets regular use. The height of the hayloft matched the ladder, so I raised it and climbed up to have a look.”

Collet’s eyes climbed the ladder’s steep incline to the soaring hayloft. Someone goes up there regularly? From down here, the loft appeared to be a deserted platform, and yet admittedly most of it was invisible from this line of sight.

A senior PTS agent appeared at the top of the ladder, looking down. “You’ll definitely want to see this, Lieutenant,” he said, waving Collet up with a latex‑gloved hand.

Nodding tiredly, Collet walked over to the base of the old ladder and grasped the bottom rungs. The ladder was an antique tapered design and narrowed as Collet ascended. As he neared the top, Collet almost lost his footing on a thin rung. The barn below him spun. Alert now, he moved on, finally reaching the top. The agent above him reached out, offering his wrist. Collet grabbed it and made the awkward transition onto the platform.

“It’s over there,” the PTS agent said, pointing deep into the immaculately clean loft. “Only one set of prints up here. We’ll have an ID shortly.”

Collet squinted through the dim light toward the far wall. What the hell? Nestled against the far wall sat an elaborate computer workstation—two tower CPUs, a flat‑screen video monitor with speakers, an array of hard drives, and a multichannel audio console that appeared to have its own filtered power supply.

Why in the world would anyone work all the way up here? Collet moved toward the gear. “Have you examined the system?”

“It’s a listening post.”

Collet spun. “Surveillance?”

The agent nodded. “Very advanced surveillance.” He motioned to a long project table strewn with electronic parts, manuals, tools, wires, soldering irons, and other electronic components. “Someone clearly knows what he’s doing. A lot of this gear is as sophisticated as our own equipment. Miniature microphones, photoelectric recharging cells, high‑capacity RAM chips. He’s even got some of those new nano drives.”

Collet was impressed.

“Here’s a complete system,” the agent said, handing Collet an assembly not much larger than a pocket calculator. Dangling off the contraption was a foot‑long wire with a stamp‑sized piece of wafer‑thin foil stuck on the end. “The base is a high‑capacity hard disk audio recording system with rechargeable battery. That strip of foil at the end of the wire is a combination microphone and photoelectric recharging cell.”

Collet knew them well. These foil‑like, photocell microphones had been an enormous breakthrough a few years back. Now, a hard disk recorder could be affixed behind a lamp, for example, with its foil microphone molded into the contour of the base and dyed to match. As long as the microphone was positioned such that it received a few hours of sunlight per day, the photo cells would keep recharging the system. Bugs like this one could listen indefinitely.

“Reception method?” Collet asked.

The agent signaled to an insulated wire that ran out of the back of the computer, up the wall, through a hole in the barn roof. “Simple radio wave. Small antenna on the roof.”

Collet knew these recording systems were generally placed in offices, were voice‑activated to save hard disk space, and recorded snippets of conversation during the day, transmitting compressed audio files at night to avoid detection. After transmitting, the hard drive erased itself and prepared to do it all over again the next day.

Collet’s gaze moved now to a shelf on which were stacked several hundred audio cassettes, all labeled with dates and numbers. Someone has been very busy . He turned back to the agent. “Do you have any idea what target is being bugged?”

“Well, Lieutenant,” the agent said, walking to the computer and launching a piece of software. “It’s the strangest thing . . .”

CHAPTER 88

Langdon felt utterly spent as he and Sophie hurdled a turnstile at the Temple tube station and dashed deep into the grimy labyrinth of tunnels and platforms. The guilt ripped through him.

I involved Leigh, and now he’s in enormous danger.

Remy’s involvement had been a shock, and yet it made sense. Whoever was pursuing the Grail had recruited someone on the inside. They went to Teabing’s for the same reason I did . Throughout history, those who held knowledge of the Grail had always been magnets for thieves and scholars alike. The fact that Teabing had been a target all along should have made Langdon feel less guilty about involving him. It did not. We need to find Leigh and help him. Immediately.

Langdon followed Sophie to the westbound District and Circle Line platform, where she hurried to a pay phone to call the police, despite Remy’s warning to the contrary. Langdon sat on a grungy bench nearby, feeling remorseful.

“The best way to help Leigh,” Sophie reiterated as she dialed, “is to involve the London authorities immediately. Trust me.”

Langdon had not initially agreed with this idea, but as they had hatched their plan, Sophie’s logic began to make sense. Teabing was safe at the moment. Even if Remy and the others knew where the knight’s tomb was located, they still might need Teabing’s help deciphering the orb reference. What worried Langdon was what would happen after the Grail map had been found. Leigh will become a huge liability.

If Langdon were to have any chance of helping Leigh, or of ever seeing the keystone again, it was essential that he find the tomb first. Unfortunately, Remy has a big head start.

Slowing Remy down had become Sophie’s task.

Finding the right tomb had become Langdon’s.

Sophie would make Remy and Silas fugitives of the London police, forcing them into hiding or, better yet, catching them. Langdon’s plan was less certain—to take the tube to nearby King’s College, which was renowned for its electronic theological database. The ultimate research tool, Langdon had heard. Instant answers to any religious historical question . He wondered what the database would have to say about “a knight a Pope interred.”

He stood up and paced, wishing the train would hurry.

At the pay phone, Sophie’s call finally connected to the London police.

“Snow Hill Division,” the dispatcher said. “How may I direct your call?”

“I’m reporting a kidnapping.” Sophie knew to be concise.

“Name please?”

Sophie paused. “Agent Sophie Neveu with the French Judicial Police.”

The title had the desired effect. “Right away, ma'am. Let me get a detective on the line for you.”

As the call went through, Sophie began wondering if the police would even believe her description of Teabing’s captors. A man in a tuxedo . How much easier to identify could a suspect be? Even if Remy changed clothes, he was partnered with an albino monk. Impossible to miss . Moreover, they had a hostage and could not take public transportation. She wondered how many Jaguar stretch limos there could be in London.

Sophie’s connection to the detective seemed to be taking forever. Come on! She could hear the line clicking and buzzing, as if she was being transferred.

Fifteen seconds passed.

Finally a man came on the line. “Agent Neveu?”

Stunned, Sophie registered the gruff tone immediately.

“Agent Neveu,” Bezu Fache demanded. “Where the hell are you?”

Sophie was speechless. Captain Fache had apparently requested the London police dispatcher alert him if Sophie called in.

“Listen,” Fache said, speaking to her in terse French. “I made a terrible mistake tonight. Robert Langdon is innocent. All charges against him have been dropped. Even so, both of you are in danger. You need to come in.”

Sophie’s jaw fell slack. She had no idea how to respond. Fache was not a man who apologized for anything.

“You did not tell me,” Fache continued, “that Jacques Sauniere was your grandfather. I fully intend to overlook your insubordination last night on account of the emotional stress you must be under. At the moment, however, you and Langdon need to go to the nearest London police headquarters for refuge.”

He knows I’m in London? What else does Fache know? Sophie heard what sounded like drilling or machinery in the background. She also heard an odd clicking on the line. “Are you tracing this call, Captain?”

Fache’s voice was firm now. “You and I need to cooperate, Agent Neveu. We both have a lot to lose here. This is damage control. I made errors in judgment last night, and if those errors result in the deaths of an American professor and a DCPJ cryptologist, my career will be over. I’ve been trying to pull you back into safety for the last several hours.”

A warm wind was now pushing through the station as a train approached with a low rumble. Sophie had every intention of being on it. Langdon apparently had the same idea; he was gathering himself together and moving toward her now.

“The man you want is Remy Legaludec,” Sophie said. “He is Teabing’s servant. He just kidnapped Teabing inside the Temple Church and—“

“Agent Neveu!” Fache bellowed as the train thundered into the station. “This is not something to discuss on an open line. You and Langdon will come in now. For your own well‑being! That is a direct order!”

Sophie hung up and dashed with Langdon onto the train.

CHAPTER 89

The immaculate cabin of Teabing’s Hawker was now covered with steel shavings and smelled of compressed air and propane. Bezu Fache had sent everyone away and sat alone with his drink and the heavy wooden box found in Teabing’s safe.

Running his finger across the inlaid Rose, he lifted the ornate lid. Inside he found a stone cylinder with lettered dials. The five dials were arranged to spell SOFIA. Fache stared at the word a long moment and then lifted the cylinder from its padded resting place and examined every inch. Then, pulling slowly on the ends, Fache slid off one of the end caps. The cylinder was empty.

Fache set it back in the box and gazed absently out the jet’s window at the hangar, pondering his brief conversation with Sophie, as well as the information he’d received from PTS in Chateau Villette. The sound of his phone shook him from his daydream.

It was the DCPJ switchboard. The dispatcher was apologetic. The president of the Depository Bank of Zurich had been calling repeatedly, and although he had been told several times that the captain was in London on business, he just kept calling. Begrudgingly Fache told the operator to forward the call.

“Monsieur Vernet,” Fache said, before the man could even speak, “I am sorry I did not call you earlier. I have been busy. As promised, the name of your bank has not appeared in the media. So what precisely is your concern?”

Vernet’s voice was anxious as he told Fache how Langdon and Sophie had extracted a small wooden box from the bank and then persuaded Vernet to help them escape. “Then when I heard on the radio that they were criminals,” Vernet said, “I pulled over and demanded the box back, but they attacked me and stole the truck.”

“You are concerned for a wooden box,” Fache said, eyeing the Rose inlay on the cover and again gently opening the lid to reveal the white cylinder. “Can you tell me what was in the box?”

“The contents are immaterial,” Vernet fired back. “I am concerned with the reputation of my bank. We have never had a robbery. Ever . It will ruin us if I cannot recover this property on behalf of my client.”

“You said Agent Neveu and Robert Langdon had a password and a key. What makes you say they stole the box?”

“They murdered people tonight. Including Sophie Neveu’s grandfather. The key and password were obviously ill‑gotten.”

“Mr. Vernet, my men have done some checking into your background and your interests. You are obviously a man of great culture and refinement. I would imagine you are a man of honor, as well. As am I. That said, I give you my word as commanding officer of the Police Judiciaire that your box, along with your bank’s reputation, are in the safest of hands.”

CHAPTER 90

High in the hayloft at Chateau Villette, Collet stared at the computer monitor in amazement. “This system is eavesdropping on all these locations?”

“Yes,” the agent said. “It looks like data has been collected for over a year now.”

Collet read the list again, speechless.

COLBERT SOSTAQUE—Chairman of the Conseil Constitutionnel

JEAN CHAFFeE—Curator, Musee du Jeu de Paume

EDOUARD DESROCHERS—Senior Archivist, Mitterrand Library

JACQUES SAUNIeRE—Curator, Musee du Louvre

MICHEL BRETON—Head of DAS (French Intelligence)

The agent pointed to the screen. “Number four is of obvious concern.”

Collet nodded blankly. He had noticed it immediately. Jacques Sauniere was being bugged . He looked at the rest of the list again. How could anyone possibly manage to bug these prominent people? “Have you heard any of the audio files?”

“A few. Here’s one of the most recent.” The agent clicked a few computer keys. The speakers crackled to life. “Capitaine, un agent du Departement de Cryptographie est arriv e.”

Collet could not believe his ears. “That’s me! That’s my voice!” He recalled sitting at Sauniere’s desk and radioing Fache in the Grand Gallery to alert him of Sophie Neveu’s arrival.

The agent nodded. “A lot of our Louvre investigation tonight would have been audible if someone had been interested.”

“Have you sent anyone in to sweep for the bug?”

“No need. I know exactly where it is.” The agent went to a pile of old notes and blueprints on the worktable. He selected a page and handed it to Collet. “Look familiar?”

Collet was amazed. He was holding a photocopy of an ancient schematic diagram, which depicted a rudimentary machine. He was unable to read the handwritten Italian labels, and yet he knew what he was looking at. A model for a fully articulated medieval French knight.

The knight sitting on Sauniere’s desk!

Collet’s eyes moved to the margins, where someone had scribbled notes on the photocopy in red felt‑tipped marker. The notes were in French and appeared to be ideas outlining how best to insert a listening device into the knight.

CHAPTER 91

Silas sat in the passenger seat of the parked Jaguar limousine near the Temple Church. His hands felt damp on the keystone as he waited for Remy to finish tying and gagging Teabing in back with the rope they had found in the trunk.

Finally, Remy climbed out of the rear of the limo, walked around, and slid into the driver’s seat beside Silas.

“Secure?” Silas asked.

Remy chuckled, shaking off the rain and glancing over his shoulder through the open partition at the crumpled form of Leigh Teabing, who was barely visible in the shadows in the rear. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Silas could hear Teabing’s muffled cries and realized Remy had used some of the old duct tape to gag him.

Date: 2016-03-03; view: 412