The Da Vinci Code

where Langdon and Neveu are hiding.”

Collet sat down hard on the hood of his car. “You're kidding.”

“I have an address in the suburbs. Somewhere near Versailles.”

“Does Captain Fache know?”

“Not yet. He's busy on an important call.”

“I'm on my way. Have him call as soon as he's free.” Collet took down the address and jumped in his car. As he peeled away from the bank, Collet realized he had forgotten to ask who had tipped DCPJ off to Langdon's location. Not that it mattered. Collet had been blessed with a chance to redeem his skepticism and earlier blunders. He was about to make the most high-profile arrest of his career.

Collet radioed the five cars accompanying him. “No sirens, men. Langdon can't know we're coming.”

* * *

Forty kilometers away, a black Audi pulled off a rural road and parked in the shadows on the edge of a field. Silas got out and peered through the rungs of the wrought-iron fence that encircled the vast compound before him. He gazed up the long moonlit slope to the chateau in the distance.

The downstairs lights were all ablaze. Odd for this hour, Silas thought, smiling. The information the Teacher had given him was obviously accurate. I will not leave this house without the keystone, he vowed. I will not fail the bishop and the Teacher.

Checking the thirteen-round clip in his Heckler Koch, Silas pushed it through the bars and let it fall onto the mossy ground inside the compound. Then, gripping the top of the fence, he heaved himself up and over, dropping to the ground on the other side. Ignoring the slash of pain from his cilice, Silas retrieved his gun and began the long trek up the grassy slope.

Chapter 58

Teabing's “study” was like no study Sophie had ever seen. Six or seven times larger than even the most luxurious of office spaces, the knight's cabinet de travail resembled an ungainly hybrid of science laboratory, archival library, and indoor flea market. Lit by three overhead chandeliers, the boundless tile floor was dotted with clustered islands of worktables buried beneath books, artwork, artifacts, and a surprising amount of electronic gear—computers, projectors, microscopes, copy machines, and flatbed scanners.

“I converted the ballroom,” Teabing said, looking sheepish as he shuffled into the room. “I have little occasion to dance.”

Sophie felt as if the entire night had become some kind of twilight zone where nothing was as she expected. “This is all for your work?”

“Learning the truth has become my life's love,” Teabing said. “And the Sangreal is my favorite mistress.”

The Holy Grail is a woman, Sophie thought, her mind a collage of interrelated ideas that seemed to make no sense. “You said you have a picture of this woman who you claim is the Holy Grail.”

“Yes, but it is not I who claim she is the Grail. Christ Himself made that claim.”

“Which one is the painting?” Sophie asked, scanning the walls.

“Hmmm…” Teabing made a show of seeming to have forgotten. “The Holy Grail. The Sangreal. The Chalice.” He wheeled suddenly and pointed to the far wall. On it hung an eight-foot-long print of The Last Supper, the same exact image Sophie had just been looking at. “There she is!”

Sophie was certain she had missed something. “That's the same painting you just showed me.”

He winked. “I know, but the enlargement is so much more exciting. Don't you think?”

Sophie turned to Langdon for help. “I'm lost.”

Langdon smiled. “As it turns out, the Holy Grail does indeed make an appearance in The Last Supper. Leonardo included her prominently.”

“Hold on,” Sophie said. “You told me the Holy Grail is a woman. The Last Supper is a painting of thirteen men.”

“Is it?” Teabing arched his eyebrows. “Take a closer look.”

Uncertain, Sophie made her way closer to the painting, scanning the thirteen figures—Jesus Christ in the middle, six disciples on His left, and six on His right. “They're all men,” she confirmed.

“Oh?” Teabing said. “How about the one seated in the place of honor, at the right hand of the Lord?”

Sophie examined the figure to Jesus' immediate right, focusing in. As she studied the person's face and body, a wave of astonishment rose within her. The individual had flowing red hair, delicate folded hands, and the hint of a bosom. It was, without a doubt… female.

“That's a woman!” Sophie exclaimed.

Teabing was laughing. “Surprise, surprise. Believe me, it's no mistake. Leonardo was skilled at painting the difference between the sexes.”

Sophie could not take her eyes from the woman beside Christ. The Last Supper is supposed to be thirteen men. Who is this woman? Although Sophie had seen this classic image many times, she had not once noticed this glaring discrepancy.

“Everyone misses it,” Teabing said. “Our preconceived notions of this scene are so powerful that our mind blocks out the incongruity and overrides our eyes.”

“It's known as skitoma,” Langdon added. “The brain does it sometimes with powerful symbols.”

“Another reason you might have missed the woman,” Teabing said, “is that many of the photographs in art books were taken before 1954, when the details were still hidden beneath layers of grime and several restorative repaintings done by clumsy hands in the eighteenth century. Now, at last, the fresco has been cleaned down to Da Vinci's original layer of paint.” He motioned to the photograph. “Et voilа!”

Sophie moved closer to the image. The woman to Jesus' right was young and pious-looking, with a demure face, beautiful red hair, and hands folded quietly. This is the woman who singlehandedly could crumble the Church?

“Who is she?” Sophie asked.

“That, my dear,” Teabing replied, “is Mary Magdalene.”

Sophie turned. “The prostitute?”

Teabing drew a short breath, as if the word had injured him personally. “Magdalene was no such thing. That unfortunate misconception is the legacy of a smear campaign launched by the early Church. The Church needed to defame Mary Magdalene in order to cover up her dangerous secret—her role as the Holy Grail.”

“Her role?”

“As I mentioned,” Teabing clarified, “the early Church needed to convince the world that the mortal prophet Jesus was a divine being. Therefore, any gospels that described earthly aspects of Jesus' life had to be omitted from the Bible. Unfortunately for the early editors, one particularly troubling earthly theme kept recurring in the gospels. Mary Magdalene.” He paused. “More specifically, her marriage to Jesus Christ.”

“I beg your pardon?” Sophie's eyes moved to Langdon and then back to Teabing.

“It's a matter of historical record,” Teabing said, “and Da Vinci was certainly aware of that fact. The Last Supper practically shouts at the viewer that Jesus and Magdalene were a pair.”

Sophie glanced back to the fresco.

“Notice that Jesus and Magdalene are clothed as mirror images of one another.” Teabing pointed to the two individuals in the center of the fresco.