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The Da Vinci Code

Silas recoiled, startled. "You know my name?" The servant smiled. Silas sat up now, rubbing his stiff muscles, his emotions a torrent of incredulity, appreciation, and confusion. "Are you… the Teacher?"

Remy shook his head, laughing at the proposition. "I wish I had that kind of power. No, I am not the Teacher. Like you, I serve him. But the Teacher speaks highly of you. My name is Remy."

Silas was amazed. "I don’t understand. If you work for the Teacher, why did Langdon bring the keystone to your home?"

"Not my home. The home of the world’s foremost Grail historian, Sir Leigh Teabing." "But you live there. The odds…" Remy smiled, seeming to have no trouble with the apparent coincidence of Langdon’s chosen refuge. "It was all utterly predictable. Robert Langdon was in possession of the keystone, and he needed help. What more logical place to run than to the home of Leigh Teabing? That I happen to live there is why the Teacher approached me in the first place." He paused. "How do you think the Teacher knows so much about the Grail?"

Now it dawned, and Silas was stunned. The Teacher had recruited a servant who had access to all of Sir Leigh Teabing’s research. It was brilliant.

"There is much I have to tell you," Remy said, handing Silas the loaded Heckler Koch pistol. Then he reached through the open partition and retrieved a small, palm-sized revolver from the glove box. "But first, you and I have a job to do."

Captain Fache descended from his transport plane at Biggin Hill and listened in disbelief to the Kent chief inspector’s account of what had happened in Teabing’s hangar.

"I searched the plane myself," the inspector insisted," and there was no one inside." His tone turned haughty. "And I should add that if Sir Leigh Teabing presses charges against me, I will – "

"Did you interrogate the pilot?"

"Of course not. He is French, and our jurisdiction requires – "Take me to the plane." Arriving at the hangar, Fache needed only sixty seconds to locate an anomalous smear of blood on the pavement near where the limousine had been parked. Fache walked up to the plane and rapped loudly on the fuselage.

"This is the captain of the French Judicial Police. Open the door!" The terrified pilot opened the hatch and lowered the stairs. Fache ascended. Three minutes later, with the help of his sidearm, he had a full confession, including a description of the bound albino monk. In addition, he learned that the pilot saw Langdon and Sophie leave something behind in Teabing’s safe, a wooden box of some sort. Although the pilot denied knowing what was in the box, he admitted it had been the focus of Langdon’s full attention during the flight to London.

"Open the safe," Fache demanded.

The pilot looked terrified. "I don’t know the combination!"

"That’s too bad. I was going to offer to let you keep your pilot’s license."

The pilot wrung his hands. "I know some men in maintenance here. Maybe they could drill it?" "You have half an hour." The pilot leapt for his radio.

Fache strode to the back of the plane and poured himself a hard drink. It was early, but he had not yet slept, so this hardly counted as drinking before noon. Sitting in a plush bucket seat, he closed his eyes, trying to sort out what was going on. The Kent police’s blunder could cost me dearly. Everyone was now on the lookout for a black Jaguar limousine. Fache’s phone rang, and he wished for a moment’s peace. "Allo?" "I’m en route to London." It was Bishop Aringarosa. "I’ll be arriving in an hour." Fache sat up. "I thought you were going to Paris." "I am deeply concerned. I have changed my plans." "You should not have." "Do you have Silas?"

"No. His captors eluded the local police before I landed."

Aringarosa’s anger rang sharply. "You assured me you would stop that plane!"

Fache lowered his voice. "Bishop, considering your situation, I recommend you not test my patience today. I will find Silas and the others as soon as possible. Where are you landing?"

"One moment." Aringarosa covered the receiver and then came back. "The pilot is trying to get clearance at Heathrow. I’m his only passenger, but our redirect was unscheduled."

"Tell him to come to Biggin Hill Executive Airport in Kent. I’ll get him clearance. If I’m not here when you land, I’ll have a car waiting for you."

"Thank you."

"As I expressed when we first spoke, Bishop, you would do well to remember that you are not the only man on the verge of losing everything."

CHAPTER 85

You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb.

Each of the carved knights within the Temple Church lay on his back with his head resting on a rectangular stone pillow. Sophie felt a chill. The poem’s reference to an" orb" conjured images of the night in her grandfather’s basement.

Hieros Gamos. The orbs.

Sophie wondered if the ritual had been performed in this very sanctuary. The circular room seemed custom-built for such a pagan rite. A stone pew encircled a bare expanse of floor in the middle. A theater in the round, as Robert had called it. She imagined this chamber at night, filled with masked people, chanting by torchlight, all witnessing a" sacred communion" in the center of the room.

Forcing the image from her mind, she advanced with Langdon and Teabing toward the first group of knights. Despite Teabing’s insistence that their investigation should be conducted meticulously, Sophie felt eager and pushed ahead of them, making a cursory walk-through of the five knights on the left.

Scrutinizing these first tombs, Sophie noted the similarities and differences between them. Every knight was on his back, but three of the knights had their legs extended straight out while two had their legs crossed. The oddity seemed to have no relevance to the missing orb. Examining their clothing, Sophie noted that two of the knights wore tunics over their armor, while the other three wore ankle-length robes. Again, utterly unhelpful. Sophie turned her attention to the only other obvious difference – their hand positions. Two knights clutched swords, two prayed, and one had his arms at his side. After a long moment looking at the hands, Sophie shrugged, having seen no hint anywhere of a conspicuously absent orb.

Feeling the weight of the cryptex in her sweater pocket, she glanced back at Langdon and Teabing. The men were moving slowly, still only at the third knight, apparently having no luck either. In no mood to wait, she turned away from them toward the second group of knights.

As she crossed the open space, she quietly recited the poem she had read so many times now that it was committed to memory.

In London lies a knight a Pope interred. His labor’s fruit a Holy wrath incurred. You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb. It speaks of Rosy flesh and seeded womb.

When Sophie arrived at the second group of knights, she found that this second group was similar to the first. All lay with varied body positions, wearing armor and swords. That was, all except the tenth and final tomb. Hurrying over to it, she stared down.

No pillow. No armor. No tunic. No sword.

"Robert? Leigh?" she called, her voice echoing around the chamber. "There’s something missing over here."

Both men looked up and immediately began to cross the room toward her.

"An orb?" Teabing called excitedly. His crutches clicked out a rapid staccato as he hurried across the room. "Are we missing an orb?" "Not exactly," Sophie said, frowning at the tenth tomb. "We seem to be missing an entire knight." Arriving beside her both men gazed down in confusion at the tenth tomb. Rather than a knight lying in the open air, this tomb was a sealed stone casket. The casket was trapezoidal, tapered at the feet, widening toward the top, with a peaked lid.

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