Origin: (Robert Langdon Book 5)

by Dan Brown

  Tell Fonseca you decided to call Prince Julián.

  As Langdon reached the podium, he reluctantly turned his gaze to the crumpled form on the floor. Edmond. Gently, Langdon pulled back the blanket that Ambra had placed over him. Edmond’s once bright eyes were now two lifeless slits below a crimson hole in his forehead. Langdon shuddered at the gruesome image, his heart pounding with loss and rage.

  For an instant, Langdon could still see the young mop-haired student who had entered his class full of hope and talent—and had gone on to accomplish so much in so brief a time. Horrifically, tonight, someone had murdered this astonishingly gifted human being, almost certainly in an attempt to bury his discovery forever.

  And unless I take bold action, Langdon knew, my student’s greatest accomplishment will never see the light of day.

  Positioning himself so that the podium was partially blocking Fonseca’s line of sight, Langdon knelt down beside Edmond’s body, closed his eyes, folded his hands together, and assumed the reverent posture of prayer.

  The irony of praying over an atheist almost caused Langdon to smile. Edmond, I know that you of all people don’t want anyone praying for you. Don’t worry, my friend, I’m not actually here to pray.

  As he knelt over Edmond, Langdon fought a rising fear. I assured you the bishop was harmless. If Valdespino turns out to be involved in this … Langdon pushed it from his mind.

  Once he felt certain that Fonseca had spotted him praying, Langdon very discreetly leaned forward and reached inside Edmond’s leather jacket, removing his oversized turquoise phone.

  He glanced quickly back toward Fonseca, who was still on the phone and now seemed less interested in Langdon than he did in Ambra, who appeared to be engrossed in her own phone call and was wandering farther and farther away from Fonseca.

  Langdon returned his eyes to Edmond’s phone and took a calming breath.

  One more thing to do.

  Gently, he reached down and lifted Edmond’s right hand. It already felt cold. Bringing the phone to his fingertips, Langdon carefully pressed Edmond’s index finger to the fingerprint recognition disk.

  The phone clicked and unlocked.

  Langdon quickly scrolled to the settings menu and disabled the password protection feature. Permanently unlocked. Then he slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and covered Edmond’s body again with the blanket.

  Sirens wailed in the distance as Ambra stood alone in the center of the deserted auditorium and held her cell phone to her ear, pretending to be absorbed in a conversation, all the while very aware of Fonseca’s eyes on her.

  Hurry, Robert.

  A minute ago, the American professor had leaped into action after Ambra had shared with him a recent conversation she’d had with Edmond Kirsch. Ambra told Langdon that two nights ago, in this very room, she and Edmond had been working late on the final details of the presentation when Edmond had taken a break to have his third spinach smoothie of the night. Ambra had noticed how exhausted he looked.

  “I’ve got to say, Edmond,” she had said, “I’m not sure this vegan diet is working for you. You’re looking pale, and much too thin.”

  “Too thin?” He laughed. “Look who’s talking.”

  “I’m not too thin!”

  “Borderline.” He winked playfully at her indignant expression. “As for my being pale, give me a break. I’m a computer geek who sits all day in the glow of an LCD screen.”

  “Well, you’re addressing the entire world in two days, and a little color would do you some good. Either get outside tomorrow or invent a computer screen that gives you a tan.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” he said, looking impressed. “You should patent that.” He laughed and then returned his attention to the matter at hand. “So you’re clear on the order of events for Saturday night?”

  Ambra nodded, glancing down at the script. “I welcome people inside the anteroom, and then we all move into this auditorium for your introductory video, after which you magically appear at the podium over there.” She pointed to the front of the room. “And then, at the podium, you make your announcement.”

  “Perfect,” Edmond said, “with one small addition.” He grinned. “When I speak at the podium, it will be more of an intermission—a chance for me to welcome my guests in person, let everyone stretch their legs, and prep them a bit more before I begin the second half of the evening—a multimedia presentation that explains my discovery.”

  “So the announcement itself is prerecorded? Like the intro?”

  “Yes, I just finished it a few days ago. We’re a visual culture—multimedia presentations are always more gripping than some scientist talking at a podium.”

  “You’re not exactly ‘just some scientist,’” Ambra said, “but I agree. I can’t wait to see it.”

  For security purposes, Ambra knew, Edmond’s presentation was stored on his own private, trusted, off-site servers. Everything would be live-streamed into the museum projection system from a remote location.

  “When we’re ready for the second half,” she asked, “who will activate the presentation, you or me?”

  “I’ll do it myself,” he said, pulling out his phone. “With this.” He held up his oversized smartphone with its turquoise Gaudí case. “It’s all part of the show. I simply dial into my remote server on an encrypted connection …”

  Edmond pressed a few buttons and the speakerphone rang once and connected.

  A computerized female voice answered. “GOOD EVENING, EDMOND. I AM AWAITING YOUR PASSWORD.”

  Edmond smiled. “And then, with the whole world watching, I simply type my password into my phone, and my discovery is live-streamed to our theater here and, simultaneously, to the entire world.”

  “Sounds dramatic,” Ambra said, impressed. “Unless, of course, you forget your password.”

  “That would be awkward, yes.”

  “I trust you’ve written it down?” she said wryly.

  “Blasphemy,” Edmond said, laughing. “Computer scientists never write down passwords. Not to worry, though. Mine is only forty-seven characters long. I’m sure I won’t forget it.”

  Ambra’s eyes widened. “Forty-seven?! Edmond, you can’t even remember the four-digit PIN for your museum security card! How are you going to remember forty-seven random characters?”

  He laughed again at her alarm. “I don’t have to; they’re not random.” He lowered his voice. “My password is actually my favorite line of poetry.”

  Ambra felt confused. “You used a line of poetry as a password?”

  “Why not? My favorite line of poetry has exactly forty-seven letters.”

  “Well, it doesn’t sound very secure.”

  “No? You think you can guess my favorite line of poetry?”

  “I didn’t even know you like poetry.”

  “Exactly. Even if someone found out that my password was a line of poetry, and even if someone guessed the exact line out of millions of possibilities, they would still need to guess the very long phone number I use to dial into my secure server.”

  “The phone number you just speed-dialed from your phone?”

  “Yes, a phone that has its own access PIN and never leaves my breast pocket.”

  Ambra threw up her hands, smiling playfully. “Okay, you’re the boss,” she said. “By the way, who’s your favorite poet?”

  “Nice try,” he said, wagging his finger. “You’ll have to wait till Saturday. The line of poetry I’ve chosen is perfect.” He grinned. “It’s about the future—a prophecy—and I’m happy to say it’s already coming true.”

  Now, as her thoughts returned to the present, Ambra glanced over at Edmond’s body, and realized with a rush of panic that she was no longer able to see Langdon.

  Where is he?!

  More alarming, she now spotted the second Guardia officer—Agent Díaz—climbing back into the dome through the slit cut into the fabric wall. Díaz scanned the dome and then began moving directly toward Ambra.
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br />   He’ll never let me out of here!

  Suddenly Langdon was beside her. He placed his hand gently on the small of her back and began guiding her away, the two of them moving briskly toward the far end of the dome—the passageway through which everyone had entered.

  “Ms. Vidal!” Díaz shouted. “Where are you two going?!”

  “We’ll be right back,” Langdon called, hastening her across the deserted expanse, moving in a direct line toward the rear of the room and the exit tunnel.

  “Mr. Langdon!” It was Agent Fonseca’s voice, shouting behind them. “You are forbidden to leave this room!”

  Ambra felt Langdon’s hand pressing more urgently on her back.

  “Winston,” Langdon whispered into his headset. “Now!”

  A moment later, the entire dome went black.

  CHAPTER 28

  AGENT FONSECA AND his partner Díaz dashed through the darkened dome, illuminating the way with their cell-phone flashlights and plunging into the tunnel through which Langdon and Ambra had just disappeared.

  Halfway up the tunnel, Fonseca found Ambra’s phone lying on the carpeted floor. The sight of it stunned him.

  Ambra jettisoned her phone?

  The Guardia Real, with Ambra’s permission, used a very simple tracking application to keep tabs on her location at all times. There could be only one explanation for her leaving her phone behind: she wanted to escape their protection.

  The notion made Fonseca extremely nervous, although not nearly as nervous as the prospect of having to inform his boss that the future queen consort of Spain was now missing. The Guardia commander was obsessive and ruthless when it came to protecting the prince’s interests. Tonight, the commander had personally tasked Fonseca with the simplest of directives: “Keep Ambra Vidal safe and out of trouble at all times.”

  I can’t keep her safe if I don’t know where she is!

  The two agents hurried on to the end of the tunnel and arrived at the darkened anteroom, which now looked like a convention of ghosts—a host of pale shell-shocked faces illuminated by their cell-phone screens as they communicated to the outside world, relaying what they had just witnessed.

  “Turn on the lights!” several people were shouting.

  Fonseca’s phone rang, and he answered.

  “Agent Fonseca, this is museum security,” said a young woman in terse Spanish. “We know you’ve lost lights up there. It appears to be a computer malfunction. We’ll have power back momentarily.”

  “Are the internal security feeds still up?” Fonseca demanded, knowing the cameras were all equipped with night vision.

  “They are, yes.”

  Fonseca scanned the darkened room. “Ambra Vidal just entered the anteroom outside the main theater. Can you see where she went?”

  “One moment, please.”

  Fonseca waited, heart pounding with frustration. He had just received word that Uber was experiencing difficulties tracking the shooter’s getaway car.

  Could anything else go wrong tonight?

  Fatefully, tonight was his first time on Ambra Vidal’s detail. Normally, as a senior officer, Fonseca was assigned only to Prince Julián himself, and yet, this morning, his boss had taken him aside and informed him: “Tonight, Ms. Vidal will be hosting an event against the wishes of Prince Julián. You will accompany her and make sure she is safe.”

  Fonseca never imagined that the event Ambra was hosting would turn out to be an all-out assault on religion, culminating in a public assassination. He was still trying to digest Ambra’s angry refusal to take Prince Julián’s concerned call.

  It all seemed inconceivable, and yet her bizarre behavior was only escalating. By all appearances, Ambra Vidal was attempting to ditch her security detail so she could run off with an American professor.

  If Prince Julián hears about this …

  “Agent Fonseca?” The security woman’s voice returned. “We can see that Ms. Vidal and a male companion exited the anteroom. They moved down the catwalk and have just entered the gallery housing Louise Bourgeois’s Cells exhibit. Out the door, turn right, second gallery on your right.”

  “Thank you! Keep tracking them!”

  Fonseca and Díaz ran through the anteroom and exited onto the catwalk. Far below, they could see throngs of guests moving quickly across the lobby toward the exits.

  To the right, exactly as security had promised, Fonseca saw the opening into a large gallery. The exhibit sign read: CELLS.

  The gallery was expansive and housed a collection of strange cage-like enclosures, each containing its own amorphous white sculpture.

  “Ms. Vidal!” Fonseca shouted. “Mr. Langdon!”

  Receiving no answer, the two agents began searching.

  Several rooms behind the Guardia agents, just outside the domed auditorium, Langdon and Ambra were climbing carefully through a maze of scaffolding, making their way silently toward the dimly lit “Exit” sign in the distance.

  Their actions of the last minute had been a blur—with Langdon and Winston collaborating on a quick deception.

  On Langdon’s cue, Winston had killed the lights and plunged the dome into darkness. Langdon had made a mental snapshot of the distance between their position and the tunnel exit, his estimate nearly perfect. At the mouth of the tunnel, Ambra had hurled her phone into the darkened passageway. Then, rather than entering the passage, they turned around, remaining inside the dome, and doubled back along the inner wall, running their hands along the fabric until they found the torn opening through which the Guardia agent had exited in order to pursue Edmond’s killer. After climbing through the opening in the fabric wall, the two made their way to the outer wall of the room and moved toward a lit sign that marked an emergency exit stairwell.

  Langdon recalled with amazement how quickly Winston had arrived at the decision to help them. “If Edmond’s announcement can be triggered by a password,” Winston had said, “then we must find it and use it at once. My original directive was to assist Edmond in every way possible to make his announcement tonight a success. Obviously, I have failed him in this, and anything I can do to help rectify that failure I will do.”

  Langdon was about to thank him, but Winston raced on without taking a breath. The words streamed from Winston at an inhumanly fast pace, like an audiobook playing at accelerated speed.

  “If I myself were able to access Edmond’s presentation,” Winston said, “I would do so immediately, but as you heard, it is stored in a secure server off-site. It appears that all we require to release his discovery to the world is his customized phone and password. I have already searched all published texts for a forty-seven-letter line of poetry, and unfortunately the possibilities number in the hundreds of thousands, if not more, depending on how one breaks the stanzas. Furthermore, because Edmond’s interfaces generally lock out users after a few failed password attempts, a brute-force attack will be impossible. This leaves us only one option: we must find his password in another manner. I am in agreement with Ms. Vidal that you must gain access immediately to Edmond’s home in Barcelona. It seems logical that if he had a favorite line of poetry, he would possess a book containing that poem, and perhaps even have highlighted his favorite line in some manner. Therefore, I calculate a very high probability that Edmond would want you to go to Barcelona, find his password, and use it to release his announcement as planned. In addition, I have now determined that the last-minute phone call that requested Admiral Ávila be added to the guest list did indeed originate in the Royal Palace in Madrid, as Ms. Vidal stated. For this reason, I have decided that we cannot trust the Guardia Real agents, and I will devise a way to divert them and thereby facilitate your escape.”

  Incredibly, it appeared that Winston had found a way to do just that.

  Langdon and Ambra had now reached the emergency exit, where Langdon quietly opened the door, ushered Ambra through, and closed the door behind them.

  “Good,” Winston’s voice said, materializing again in Langdon’s he
ad. “You’re in the stairwell.”

  “And the Guardia agents?” Langdon asked.

  “Far away,” Winston replied. “I am currently on the phone with them, posing as a museum security officer and misdirecting them to a gallery at the far end of the building.”

  Incredible, Langdon thought, giving Ambra a reassuring nod. “All good.”

  “Descend the stairs to ground level,” Winston said, “and exit the museum. Also, please be advised, once you exit the building, your museum headset will no longer have a connection to me.”

  Damn. The thought had not occurred to Langdon. “Winston,” he said hurriedly, “are you aware that Edmond shared his discovery with a number of religious leaders last week?”

  “That seems unlikely,” Winston replied, “although his introduction tonight certainly implied that his work has profound religious implications, so perhaps he wanted to discuss his findings with leaders in that field?”

  “I think so, yes. One of them, however, was Bishop Valdespino from Madrid.”

  “Interesting. I see numerous references online stating that he is a very close adviser to the king of Spain.”

  “Yes, and one more thing,” Langdon said. “Were you aware that Edmond received a threatening voice mail from Valdespino after their meeting?”

  “I was not. It must have come on a private line.”

  “Edmond played it for me. Valdespino urged him to cancel his presentation and also warned that the clerics with whom Edmond had consulted were considering a preemptive announcement to undermine him somehow before he could go public.” Langdon slowed on the stairs, permitting Ambra to press ahead. He lowered his voice. “Did you find any connection between Valdespino and Admiral Ávila?”

  Winston paused a few seconds. “I found no direct connection, but that does not mean one does not exist. It just means it’s not documented.”

  They approached the ground floor.

  “Professor, if I may …,” Winston said. “Considering the events of this evening, logic would suggest that powerful forces are intent on burying Edmond’s discovery. Bearing in mind that his presentation named you as the person whose insight helped inspire his breakthrough, Edmond’s enemies might consider you a dangerous loose end.”