The Da Vinci Code

“Oh?” Fache said.

Now Collet looked up.

“Vernet is admitting that Langdon and Neveu spent time inside his bank tonight.”

“We figured that out,” Fache said. “Why did Vernet lie about it?”

“He said he'll talk only to you, but he's agreed to cooperate fully.”

“In exchange for what?”

“For our keeping his bank's name out of the news and also for helping him recover some stolen property. It sounds like Langdon and Neveu stole something from Sauniere's account.”

“What?” Collet blurted. “How?”

Fache never flinched, his eyes riveted on the second agent. “What did they steal?”

“Vernet didn't elaborate, but he sounds like he's willing to do anything to get it back.”

Collet tried to imagine how this could happen. Maybe Langdon and Neveu had held a bank employee at gunpoint? Maybe they forced Vernet to open Sauniere's account and facilitate an escape in the armored truck. As feasible as it was, Collet was having trouble believing Sophie Neveu could be involved in anything like that.

From the kitchen, another agent yelled to Fache. “Captain? I'm going through Mr. Teabing's speed dial numbers, and I'm on the phone with Le Bourget Airfield. I've got some bad news.”

Thirty seconds later, Fache was packing up and preparing to leave Chateau Villette. He had just learned that Teabing kept a private jet nearby at Le Bourget Airfield and that the plane had taken off about a half hour ago.

The Bourget representative on the phone had claimed not to know who was on the plane or where it was headed. The takeoff had been unscheduled, and no flight plan had been logged. Highly illegal, even for a small airfield. Fache was certain that by applying the right pressure, he could get the answers he was looking for.

“Lieutenant Collet,” Fache barked, heading for the door. “I have no choice but to leave you in charge of the PTS investigation here. Try to do something right for a change.”

Chapter 71

As the Hawker leveled off, with its nose aimed for England, Langdon carefully lifted the rosewood box from his lap, where he had been protecting it during takeoff. Now, as he set the box on the table, he could sense Sophie and Teabing leaning forward with anticipation.

Unlatching the lid and opening the box, Langdon turned his attention not to the lettered dials of the cryptex, but rather to the tiny hole on the underside of the box lid. Using the tip of a pen, he carefully removed the inlaid Rose on top and revealed the text beneath it. Sub Rosa, he mused, hoping a fresh look at the text would bring clarity. Focusing all his energies, Langdon studied the strange text.

After several seconds, he began to feel the initial frustration resurfacing. “Leigh, I just can't seem to place it.”

From where Sophie was seated across the table, she could not yet see the text, but Langdon's inability to immediately identify the language surprised her. My grandfather spoke a language so obscure that even a symbologist can't identify it? She quickly realized she should not find this surprising. This would not be the first secret Jacques Sauniere had kept from his granddaughter.

Opposite Sophie, Leigh Teabing felt ready to burst. Eager for his chance to see the text, he quivered with excitement, leaning in, trying to see around Langdon, who was still hunched over the box.

“I don't know,” Langdon whispered intently. “My first guess is a Semitic, but now I'm not so sure. Most primary Semitics include nekkudot. This has none.”

“Probably ancient,” Teabing offered.

“Nekkudot?” Sophie inquired.

Teabing never took his eyes from the box. “Most modern Semitic alphabets have no vowels and use nekkudot—tiny dots and dashes written either below or within the consonants—to indicate what vowel sound accompanies them. Historically speaking, nekkudot are a relatively modern addition to language.”

Langdon was still hovering over the script. “A Sephardic transliteration, perhaps…?”

Teabing could bear it no longer. “Perhaps if I just…” Reaching over, he edged the box away from Langdon and pulled it toward himself. No doubt Langdon had a solid familiarity with the standard ancients—Greek, Latin, the Romances—but from the fleeting glance Teabing had of this language, he thought it looked more specialized, possibly a Rashi script or a STA'M with crowns.

Taking a deep breath, Teabing feasted his eyes upon the engraving. He said nothing for a very long time. With each passing second, Teabing felt his confidence deflating. “I'm astonished,” he said. “This language looks like nothing I've ever seen!”

Langdon slumped.

“Might I see it?” Sophie asked.

Teabing pretended not to hear her. “Robert, you said earlier that you thought you'd seen something like this before?”

Langdon looked vexed. “I thought so. I'm not sure. The script looks familiar somehow.”

“Leigh?” Sophie repeated, clearly not appreciating being left out of the discussion. “Might I have a look at the box my grandfather made?”

“Of course, dear,” Teabing said, pushing it over to her. He hadn't meant to sound belittling, and yet Sophie Neveu was light-years out of her league. If a British Royal Historian and a Harvard symbologist could not even identify the language—

“Aah,” Sophie said, seconds after examining the box. “I should have guessed.”

Teabing and Langdon turned in unison, staring at her.

“Guessed what?” Teabing demanded.

Sophie shrugged. “Guessed that this would be the language my grandfather would have used.”

“You're saying you can read this text?” Teabing exclaimed.

“Quite easily,” Sophie chimed, obviously enjoying herself now. “My grandfather taught me this language when I was only six years old. I'm fluent.” She leaned across the table and fixed Teabing with an admonishing glare. “And frankly, sir, considering your allegiance to the Crown, I'm a little surprised you didn't recognize it.”

In a flash, Langdon knew.

No wonder the script looks so damned familiar!

Several years ago, Langdon had attended an event at Harvard's Fogg Museum. Harvard dropout Bill Gates had returned to his alma mater to lend to the museum one of his priceless acquisitions—eighteen sheets of paper he had recently purchased at auction from the Armand Hammar Estate.

His winning bid—a cool $30.8 million.

The author of the pages—Leonardo da Vinci.

The eighteen folios—now known as Leonardo's Codex Leicester after their famous owner, the Earl of Leicester—were all that remained of one of Leonardo's most fascinating notebooks: essays and drawings outlining Da Vinci's progressive theories on astronomy, geology, archaeology, and hydrology.

Langdon would never forget his reaction after waiting in line and finally viewing the priceless parchment.