“Not surprising,” Langdon said to Sophie. “Some of our keywords have the same names as individual cards.” He reached for the mouse to click on a hyperlink. “I'm not sure if your grandfather ever mentioned it when you played Tarot with him, Sophie, but this game is a 'flash-card catechism' into the story of the Lost Bride and her subjugation by the evil Church.”
Sophie eyed him, looking incredulous. “I had no idea.”
“That's the point. By teaching through a metaphorical game, the followers of the Grail disguised their message from the watchful eye of the Church.” Langdon often wondered how many modern card players had any clue that their four suits—spades, hearts, clubs, diamonds—were Grail-related symbols that came directly from Tarot's four suits of swords, cups, scepters, and pentacles.
Four minutes later, as Langdon began feeling fearful they would not find what they had come for, the computer produced another hit.
Gettum stuck her head around the corner. “How modern? Please don't tell me it's your Sir Rudy Giuliani. Personally, I found that one a bit off the mark.”
Langdon had his own qualms about the newly knighted Sir Mick Jagger, but this hardly seemed the moment to debate the politics of modern British knighthood. “Let's have a look.” Langdon summoned up the hypertext keywords.
“I guess 'modern' is a relative term,” Sophie called to Gettum. “It's an old book. About Sir Isaac Newton.”
Gettum shook her head in the doorway. “No good. Newton was buried in Westminster Abbey, the seat of English Protestantism. There's no way a Catholic Pope was present. Cream and sugar?”
Sophie nodded.
Gettum waited. “Robert?”
Langdon's heart was hammering. He pulled his eyes from the screen and stood up. “Sir Isaac Newton is our knight.”
Sophie remained seated. “What are you talking about?”
“Newton is buried in London,” Langdon said. “His labors produced new sciences that incurred the wrath of the Church. And he was a Grand Master of the Priory of Sion. What more could we want?”
“What more?” Sophie pointed to the poem. “How about a knight a Pope interred? You heard Ms. Gettum. Newton was not buried by a Catholic Pope.”
Langdon reached for the mouse. “Who said anything about a
Langdon looked at Sophie. “We had the correct Pope on our second hit. Alexander.” He paused. “A. Pope.”
Sophie stood up, looking stunned.
Jacques Sauniere, the master of double-entendres, had proven once again that he was a frighteningly clever man.
Chapter 96
Silas awoke with a start.
He had no idea what had awoken him or how long he had been asleep.
And yet he felt a sudden and unexpected wariness.
Standing, wearing only his undergarments, Silas walked to the window.
Silas reacted on instinct, surging across the room and sliding to a stop just behind the door as it crashed open. The first police officer stormed through, swinging his gun left then right at what appeared an empty room. Before he realized where Silas was, Silas had thrown his shoulder into the door, crushing a second officer as he came through. As the first officer wheeled to shoot, Silas dove for his legs. The gun went off, the bullet sailing above Silas's head, just as he connected with the officer's shins, driving his legs out from under him, and sending the man down, his head hitting the floor. The second officer staggered to his feet in the doorway, and Silas drove a knee into his groin, then went clambering over the writhing body into the hall.
Almost naked, Silas hurled his pale body down the staircase. He knew he had been betrayed, but by whom? When he reached the foyer, more officers were surging through the front door. Silas turned the other way and dashed deeper into the residence hall.
