“Take me to the plane.”
Arriving at the hangar, Fache needed only sixty seconds to locate an anomalous smear of blood on the pavement near where the limousine had been parked. Fache walked up to the plane and rapped loudly on the fuselage.
“This is the captain of the French Judicial Police. Open the door!”
The terrified pilot opened the hatch and lowered the stairs.
Fache ascended. Three minutes later, with the help of his sidearm, he had a full confession, including a description of the bound albino monk. In addition, he learned that the pilot saw Langdon and Sophie leave something behind in Teabing's safe, a wooden box of some sort. Although the pilot denied knowing what was in the box, he admitted it had been the focus of Langdon's full attention during the flight to London.
“Open the safe,” Fache demanded.
The pilot looked terrified. “I don't know the combination!”
“That's too bad. I was going to offer to let you keep your pilot's license.”
The pilot wrung his hands. “I know some men in maintenance here. Maybe they could drill it?”
“You have half an hour.”
The pilot leapt for his radio.
Fache strode to the back of the plane and poured himself a hard drink. It was early, but he had not yet slept, so this hardly counted as drinking before noon. Sitting in a plush bucket seat, he closed his eyes, trying to sort out what was going on.
Fache's phone rang, and he wished for a moment's peace.
“I'm en route to London.” It was Bishop Aringarosa. “I'll be arriving in an hour.”
Fache sat up. “I thought you were going to Paris.”
“I am deeply concerned. I have changed my plans.”
“You should not have.”
“Do you have Silas?”
“No. His captors eluded the local police before I landed.”
Aringarosa's anger rang sharply. “You assured me you would stop that plane!”
Fache lowered his voice. “Bishop, considering your situation, I recommend you not test my patience today. I will find Silas and the others as soon as possible. Where are you landing?”
“One moment.” Aringarosa covered the receiver and then came back. “The pilot is trying to get clearance at Heathrow. I'm his only passenger, but our redirect was unscheduled.”
“Tell him to come to Biggin Hill Executive Airport in Kent. I'll get him clearance. If I'm not here when you land, I'll have a car waiting for you.”
“Thank you.”
“As I expressed when we first spoke, Bishop, you would do well to remember that you are not the only man on the verge of losing everything.”
Chapter 85
Each of the carved knights within the Temple Church lay on his back with his head resting on a rectangular stone pillow. Sophie felt a chill. The poem's reference to an “orb” conjured images of the night in her grandfather's basement.
Sophie wondered if the ritual had been performed in this very sanctuary. The circular room seemed custom-built for such a pagan rite. A stone pew encircled a bare expanse of floor in the middle.
Forcing the image from her mind, she advanced with Langdon and Teabing toward the first group of knights. Despite Teabing's insistence that their investigation should be conducted meticulously, Sophie felt eager and pushed ahead of them, making a cursory walk-through of the five knights on the left.
Scrutinizing these first tombs, Sophie noted the similarities and differences between them. Every knight was on his back, but three of the knights had their legs extended straight out while two had their legs crossed. The oddity seemed to have no relevance to the missing orb. Examining their clothing, Sophie noted that two of the knights wore tunics over their armor, while the other three wore ankle-length robes. Again, utterly unhelpful. Sophie turned her attention to the only other obvious difference—their hand positions. Two knights clutched swords, two prayed, and one had his arms at his side. After a long moment looking at the hands, Sophie shrugged, having seen no hint anywhere of a conspicuously absent orb.
Feeling the weight of the cryptex in her sweater pocket, she glanced back at Langdon and Teabing. The men were moving slowly, still only at the third knight, apparently having no luck either. In no mood to wait, she turned away from them toward the second group of knights.
As she crossed the open space, she quietly recited the poem she had read so many times now that it was committed to memory.
In London lies a knight a Pope interred.
His labor's fruit a Holy wrath incurred.
You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb.
It speaks of Rosy flesh and seeded womb.
When Sophie arrived at the second group of knights, she found that this second group was similar to the first. All lay with varied body positions, wearing armor and swords.
That was, all except the tenth and final tomb.
Hurrying over to it, she stared down.
“Robert? Leigh?” she called, her voice echoing around the chamber. “There's something missing over here.”
Both men looked up and immediately began to cross the room toward her.
“An orb?” Teabing called excitedly. His crutches clicked out a rapid staccato as he hurried across the room. “Are we missing an orb?”
“Not exactly,” Sophie said, frowning at the tenth tomb. “We seem to be missing an entire knight.”
Arriving beside her both men gazed down in confusion at the tenth tomb. Rather than a knight lying in the open air, this tomb was a sealed stone casket. The casket was trapezoidal, tapered at the feet, widening toward the top, with a peaked lid.
“Why isn't this knight shown?” Langdon asked.
“Fascinating,” Teabing said, stroking his chin. “I had forgotten about this oddity. It's been years since I was here.”
“This coffin,” Sophie said, “looks like it was carved at the same time and by the same sculptor as the other nine tombs. So why is this knight in a casket rather than in the open?”
Teabing shook his head. “One of this church's mysteries. To the best of my knowledge, nobody has ever found any explanation for it.”
“Hello?” the altar boy said, arriving with a perturbed look on his face. “Forgive me if this seems rude, but you told me you wanted to spread ashes, and yet you seem to be sightseeing.”
Teabing scowled at the boy and turned to Langdon. “Mr. Wren, apparently your family's philanthropy does not buy you the time it used to, so perhaps we should take out the ashes and get on with it.” Teabing turned to
