The Da Vinci Code

combination pleases you and ignore the rest. What kind of spiritual guidance is the Church offering?”

“Third-century laws,” the second cardinal said, “cannot be applied to the modern followers of Christ. The rules are not workable in today's society.”

“Well, they seem to be working for Opus Dei!”

“Bishop Aringarosa,” the secretariat said, his voice conclusive. “Out of respect for your organization's relationship with the previous Pope, His Holiness will be giving Opus Dei six months to voluntarily break away from the Vatican. I suggest you cite your differences of opinion with the Holy See and establish yourself as your own Christian organization.”

“I refuse!” Aringarosa declared. “And I'll tell him that in person!”

“I'm afraid His Holiness no longer cares to meet with you.”

Aringarosa stood up. “He would not dare abolish a personal prelature established by a previous Pope!”

“I'm sorry.” The secretariat's eyes did not flinch. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”

Aringarosa had staggered from that meeting in bewilderment and panic. Returning to New York, he stared out at the skyline in disillusionment for days, overwhelmed with sadness for the future of Christianity.

It was several weeks later that he received the phone call that changed all that. The caller sounded French and identified himself as the Teacher—a title common in the prelature. He said he knew of the Vatican's plans to pull support from Opus Dei.

How could he know that? Aringarosa wondered. He had hoped only a handful of Vatican power brokers knew of Opus Dei's impending annulment. Apparently the word was out. When it came to containing gossip, no walls in the world were as porous as those surrounding Vatican City.

“I have ears everywhere, Bishop,” the Teacher whispered, “and with these ears I have gained certain knowledge. With your help, I can uncover the hiding place of a sacred relic that will bring you enormous power… enough power to make the Vatican bow before you. Enough power to save the Faith.” He paused. “Not just for Opus Dei. But for all of us.”

The Lord taketh away… and the Lord giveth. Aringarosa felt a glorious ray of hope. “Tell me your plan.”

Bishop Aringarosa was unconscious when the doors of St. Mary's Hospital hissed open. Silas lurched into the entryway delirious with exhaustion. Dropping to his knees on the tile floor, he cried out for help. Everyone in the reception area gaped in wonderment at the half-naked albino offering forth a bleeding clergyman.

The doctor who helped Silas heave the delirious bishop onto a gurney looked gloomy as he felt Aringarosa's pulse. “He's lost a lot of blood. I am not hopeful.”

Aringarosa's eyes flickered, and he returned for a moment, his gaze locating Silas. “My child…”

Silas's soul thundered with remorse and rage. “Father, if it takes my lifetime, I will find the one who deceived us, and I will kill him.”

Aringarosa shook his head, looking sad as they prepared to wheel him away. “Silas… if you have learned nothing from me, please… learn this.” He took Silas's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Forgiveness is God's greatest gift.”

“But Father…”

Aringarosa closed his eyes. “Silas, you must pray.”

Chapter 101

Robert Langdon stood beneath the lofty cupola of the deserted Chapter House and stared into the barrel of Leigh Teabing's gun.

Robert, are you with me, or against me? The Royal Historian's words echoed in the silence of Langdon's mind.

There was no viable response, Langdon knew. Answer yes, and he would be selling out Sophie. Answer no, and Teabing would have no choice but to kill them both.

Langdon's years in the classroom had not imbued him with any skills relevant to handling confrontations at gunpoint, but the classroom had taught him something about answering paradoxical questions. When a question has no correct answer, there is only one honest response.

The gray area between yes and no.

Silence.

Staring at the cryptex in his hands, Langdon chose simply to walk away.

Without ever lifting his eyes, he stepped backward, out into the room's vast empty spaces. Neutral ground. He hoped his focus on the cryptex signaled Teabing that collaboration might be an option, and that his silence signaled Sophie he had not abandoned her.

All the while buying time to think.

The act of thinking, Langdon suspected, was exactly what Teabing wanted him to do. That's why he handed me the cryptex. So I could feel the weight of my decision. The British historian hoped the touch of the Grand Master's cryptex would make Langdon fully grasp the magnitude of its contents, coaxing his academic curiosity to overwhelm all else, forcing him to realize that failure to unlock the keystone would mean the loss of history itself.

With Sophie at gunpoint across the room, Langdon feared that discovering the cryptex's elusive password would be his only remaining hope of bartering her release. If I can free the map, Teabing will negotiate. Forcing his mind to this critical task, Langdon moved slowly toward the far windows… allowing his mind to fill with the numerous astronomical images on Newton's tomb.

You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb.

It speaks of Rosy flesh and seeded womb.

Turning his back to the others, he walked toward the towering windows, searching for any inspiration in their stained-glass mosaics. There was none.

Place yourself in Sauniere's mind, he urged, gazing outward now into College Garden. What would he believe is the orb that ought be on Newton's tomb? Images of stars, comets, and planets twinkled in the falling rain, but Langdon ignored them. Sauniere was not a man of science. He was a man of humanity, of art, of history. The sacred feminine… the chalice… the Rose… the banished Mary Magdalene… the decline of the goddess… the Holy Grail.

Legend had always portrayed the Grail as a cruel mistress, dancing in the shadows just out of sight, whispering in your ear, luring you one more step and then evaporating into the mist.

Gazing out at the rustling trees of College Garden, Langdon sensed her playful presence. The signs were everywhere. Like a taunting silhouette emerging from the fog, the branches of Britain's oldest apple tree burgeoned with five-petaled blossoms, all glistening like Venus. The goddess was in the garden now. She was dancing in the rain, singing songs of the ages, peeking out from behind the bud-filled branches as if to remind Langdon that the fruit of knowledge was growing just beyond his reach.

Across the room, Sir Leigh Teabing watched with confidence as Langdon gazed out the window as if under a spell.