Even at a modest sixty kilometers an hour, the dangling front bumper of the armored
truck grated against the deserted suburban road with a grinding roar, spraying sparks up
onto the hood.
We've got to get off the road, Langdon thought.
He could barely even see where they were headed. The truck's lone working headlight
had been knocked off-center and was casting a skewed sidelong beam into the woods
beside the country highway. Apparently the armor in this “armored truck” referred only
to the cargo hold and not the front end.
Sophie sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly at the rosewood box on her lap.
“Are you okay?” Langdon asked.
Sophie looked shaken. “Do you believe him?”
“About the three additional murders? Absolutely. It answers a lot of questions—the
issue of your grandfather's desperation to pass on the keystone, as well as the intensity
with which Fache is hunting me.”
“No, I meant about Vernet trying to protect his bank.”
Langdon glanced over. “As opposed to?”
“Taking the keystone for himself.”
Langdon had not even considered it. “How would he even know what this box
contains?”
“His bank stored it. He knew my grandfather. Maybe he knew things. He might have
decided he wanted the Grail for himself.”
Langdon shook his head. Vernet hardly seemed the type. “In my experience, there are
only two reasons people seek the Grail. Either they are naive and believe they are
searching for the long-lost Cup of Christ . . .”
“Or?”
“Or they know the truth and are threatened by it. Many groups throughout history
have sought to destroy the Grail.”
The silence between them accentuated the sound of the scraping bumper. They had
driven a few kilometers now, and as Langdon watched the cascade of sparks coming off
the front of the truck, he wondered if it was dangerous. Either way, if they passed
another car, it would certainly draw attention. Langdon made up his mind.
“I'm going to see if I can bend this bumper back.”
Pulling onto the shoulder, he brought the truck to a stop.
Silence at last.
As Langdon walked toward the front of the truck, he felt surprisingly alert. Staring
into the barrel of yet another gun tonight had given him a second wind. He took a deep
breath of nighttime air and tried to get his wits about him. Accompanying the gravity of
being a hunted man, Langdon was starting to feel the ponderous weight of responsibility,
the prospect that he and Sophie might actually be holding an encrypted set of directions
to one of the most enduring mysteries of all time.
As if this burden were not great enough, Langdon now realized that any possibility of
finding a way to return the keystone to the Priory had just evaporated. News of the three
additional murders had dire implications. The Priory has been infiltrated. They are
compromised. The brotherhood was obviously being watched, or there was a mole
within the ranks. It seemed to explain why Saunière might have transferred the keystone
to Sophie and Langdon—people outside the brotherhood, people he knew were not
compromised. We can't very well give the keystone back to the brotherhood. Even if
Langdon had any idea how to find a Priory member, chances were good that whoever
stepped forward to take the keystone could be the enemy himself. For the moment, at
least, it seemed the keystone was in Sophie and Langdon's hands, whether they wanted it
or not.
The truck's front end looked worse than Langdon had imagined. The left headlight was
gone, and the right one looked like an eyeball dangling from its socket. Langdon
straightened it, and it dislodged again. The only good news was that the front bumper
had been torn almost clean off. Langdon gave it a hard kick and sensed he might be able
to break it off entirely.
As he repeatedly kicked the twisted metal, Langdon recalled his earlier conversation
with Sophie. My grandfather left me a phone message, Sophie had told him. He said he
needed to tell me the truth about my family. At the time it had meant nothing, but now,
knowing the Priory of Sion was involved, Langdon felt a startling new possibility
emerge.
The bumper broke off suddenly with a crash. Langdon paused to catch his breath. At
least the truck would no longer look like a Fourth of July sparkler. He grabbed the
bumper and began dragging it out of sight into the woods, wondering where they should
go next. They had no idea how to open the cryptex, or why Saunière had given it to
them. Unfortunately, their survival tonight seemed to depend on getting answers to those
very questions.
We need help, Langdon decided. Professional help.
In the world of the Holy Grail and the Priory of Sion, that meant only one man. The
challenge, of course, would be selling the idea to Sophie.
Inside the armored car, while Sophie waited for Langdon to return, she could feel the
weight of the rosewood box on her lap and resented it. Why did my grandfather give this
to me? She had not the slightest idea what to do with it.
Think, Sophie! Use your head. Grand-père is trying to tell you something!
Opening the box, she eyed the cryptex's dials. A proof of merit. She could feel her
grandfather's hand at work. The keystone is a map that can be followed only by the
worthy. It sounded like her grandfather to the core.
Lifting the cryptex out of the box, Sophie ran her fingers over the dials. Five letters.
She rotated the dials one by one. The mechanism moved smoothly. She aligned the disks
such that her chosen letters lined up between the cryptex's two brass alignment arrows on
either end of the cylinder. The dials now spelled a five-letter word that Sophie knew was
absurdly obvious.
G-R-A-I-L.
Gently, she held the two ends of the cylinder and pulled, applying pressure slowly.
The cryptex didn't budge. She heard the vinegar inside gurgle and stopped pulling. Then
she tried again.
V-I-N-C-I
Again, no movement.
V-O-U-T-E
Nothing. The cryptex remained locked solid.
Frowning, she replaced it in the rosewood box and closed the lid. Looking outside at
Langdon, Sophie felt grateful he was with her tonight. P.S. Find Robert Langdon. Her
grandfather's rationale for including him was now clear. Sophie was not equipped to
understand her grandfather's intentions, and so he had assigned Robert Langdon as her
guide. A tutor to oversee her education. Unfortunately for Langdon, he had turned out to
be far more than a tutor tonight. He had become the target of Bezu Fache . . . and some
unseen force intent on possessing the Holy Grail.
Whatever the Grail turns out to be.
Sophie wondered if finding out was worth her life.
As the armored truck accelerated again, Langdon was pleased how much more smoothly
it drove. “Do you know how to get to Versailles?”
Sophie eyed him. “Sightseeing?”
“No, I have a plan. There's a religious historian I know who lives near Versailles. I
can't remember exactly where, but we can look it up. I've been to his estate a few times.
His name is Leigh Teabing. He's a former British Royal Historian.”
“And he lives in Paris?”
“Teabing's life passion is the Grail. When whisperings of the Priory keystone surfaced
about fifteen years ago, he moved to France to search churches in hopes of finding it.
He's written some books on the keystone and the Grail. He may be able to help us figure
out how to open it and what to do with it.”
Sophie's eyes were wary. “Can you trust him?”
“Trust him to what? Not steal the information?”
“And not to turn us in.”
“I don't intend to tell him we're wanted by the police. I'm hoping he'll take us in until
we can sort all this out.”
“Robert, has it occurred to you that every television in France is probably getting ready
to broadcast our pictures? Bezu Fache always uses the media to his advantage. He'll make
it impossible for us to move around without being recognized.”
Terrific, Langdon thought. My French TV debut will be on “Paris's Most Wanted.” At
least Jonas Faukman would be pleased; every time Langdon made the news, his book
sales jumped.
“Is this man a good enough friend?” Sophie asked.
Langdon doubted Teabing was someone who watched television, especially at this
hour, but still the question deserved consideration. Instinct told Langdon that Teabing
would be totally trustworthy. An ideal safe harbor. Considering the circumstances,
Teabing would probably trip over himself to help them as much as possible. Not only did
he owe Langdon a favor, but Teabing was a Grail researcher, and Sophie claimed her
grandfather was the actual Grand Master of the Priory of Sion. If Teabing heard that, he
would salivate at the thought of helping them figure this out.
“Teabing could be a powerful ally,” Langdon said. Depending on how much you want
to tell him.
“Fache probably will be offering a monetary reward.”
Langdon laughed. “Believe me, money is the last thing this guy needs.” Leigh Teabing
was wealthy in the way small countries were wealthy. A descendant of Britain's First
Duke of Lancaster, Teabing had gotten his money the old-fashioned way—he'd inherited
it. His estate outside of Paris was a seventeenth-century palace with two private lakes.
Langdon had first met Teabing several years ago through the British Broadcasting
Corporation. Teabing had approached the BBC with a proposal for a historical
documentary in which he would expose the explosive history of the Holy Grail to a
mainstream television audience. The BBC producers loved Teabing's hot premise, his
research, and his credentials, but they had concerns that the concept was so shocking and
hard to swallow that the network might end up tarnishing its reputation for quality
journalism. At Teabing's suggestion, the BBC solved its credibility fears by soliciting
three cameos from respected historians from around the world, all of whom corroborated
the stunning nature of the Holy Grail secret with their own research.
Langdon had been among those chosen.
The BBC had flown Langdon to Teabing's Paris estate for the filming. He sat before
cameras in Teabing's opulent drawing room and shared his story, admitting his initial
skepticism on hearing of the alternate Holy Grail story, then describing how years of
research had persuaded him that the story was true. Finally, Langdon offered some of his
own research—a series of symbologic connections that strongly supported the seemingly
controversial claims.
When the program aired in Britain, despite its ensemble cast and well-documented
evidence, the premise rubbed so hard against the grain of popular Christian thought that
it instantly confronted a firestorm of hostility. It never aired in the States, but the
repercussions echoed across the Atlantic. Shortly afterward, Langdon received a postcard
from an old friend—the Catholic Bishop of Philadelphia. The card simply read: Et tu,
Robert?
“Robert,” Sophie asked, “you're certain we can trust this man?”
“Absolutely. We're colleagues, he doesn't need money, and I happen to know he
despises the French authorities. The French government taxes him at absurd rates because
he bought a historic landmark. He'll be in no hurry to cooperate with Fache.”
Sophie stared out at the dark roadway. “If we go to him, how much do you want to tell
him?”
Langdon looked unconcerned. “Believe me, Leigh Teabing knows more about the
Priory of Sion and the Holy Grail than anyone on earth.”
Sophie eyed him. “More than my grandfather?”
“I meant more than anyone outside the brotherhood.”
“How do you know Teabing isn't a member of the brotherhood?”
“Teabing has spent his life trying to broadcast the truth about the Holy Grail. The
Priory's oath is to keep its true nature hidden.”
“Sounds to me like a conflict of interest.”
Langdon understood her concerns. Saunière had given the cryptex directly to Sophie,
and although she didn't know what it contained or what she was supposed to do with it,
she was hesitant to involve a total stranger. Considering the information potentially
enclosed, the instinct was probably a good one. “We don't need to tell Teabing about the
keystone immediately. Or at all, even. His house will give us a place to hide and think,
and maybe when we talk to him about the Grail, you'll start to have an idea why your
grandfather gave this to you.”
“Us,” Sophie reminded.
Langdon felt a humble pride and wondered yet again why Saunière had included him.
“Do you know more or less where Mr. Teabing lives?” Sophie asked.
“His estate is called Château Villette.”
Sophie turned with an incredulous look. “The Château Villette?”
“That's the one.”
“Nice friends.”
“You know the estate?”
“I've passed it. It's in the castle district. Twenty minutes from here.”
Langdon frowned. “That far?”
“Yes, which will give you enough time to tell me what the Holy Grail really is.”
Langdon paused. “I'll tell you at Teabing's. He and I specialize in different areas of the
legend, so between the two of us, you'll get the full story.” Langdon smiled. “Besides, the
Grail has been Teabing's life, and hearing the story of the Holy Grail from Leigh Teabing
will be like hearing the theory of relativity from Einstein himself.”
“Let's hope Leigh doesn't mind late-night visitors.”
“For the record, it's Sir Leigh.” Langdon had made that mistake only once. “Teabing is
quite a character. He was knighted by the Queen several years back after composing an
extensive history on the House of York.”
Sophie looked over. “You're kidding, right? We're going to visit a knight?”
Langdon gave an awkward smile. “We're on a Grail quest, Sophie. Who better to help
us than a knight?”
