ressed, her tone firm. "My grandfather
called me tonight and told me he and I were in grave danger. He said he had
to give me something. He gave me a key to your bank. Now he is dead.
Anything you can tell us would be helpful."
Vernet broke a sweat. "We need to get out of the building. I'm afraid
the police will arrive shortly. My watchman felt obliged to call Interpol."
Sophie had feared as much. She took one last shot. "My grandfather said
he needed to tell me the truth about my family. Does that mean anything to
you?"
"Mademoiselle, your family died in a car accident when you were young.
I'm sorry. I know your grandfather loved you very much. He mentioned to me
several times how much it pained him that you two had fallen out of touch."
Sophie was uncertain how to respond.
Langdon asked, "Do the contents of this account have anything to do
with the Sangreal?"
Vernet gave him an odd look. "I have no idea what that is." Just then,
Vernet's cell phone rang, and he snatched it off his belt. "Oui?" He
listened a moment, his expression one of surprise and growing concern. "La
police? Si rapidement?" He cursed, gave some quick directions in French, and
said he would be up to the lobby in a minute.
Hanging up the phone, he turned back to Sophie. "The police have
responded far more quickly than usual. They are arriving as we speak."
Sophie had no intention of leaving empty-handed. "Tell them we came and
went already. If they want to search the bank, demand a search warrant. That
will take them time."
"Listen," Vernet said, "Jacques was a friend, and my bank does not need
this kind of press, so for those two reasons, I have no intention of
allowing this arrest to be made on my premises. Give me a minute and I will
see what I can do to help you leave the bank undetected. Beyond that, I
cannot get involved." He stood up and hurried for the door. "Stay here. I'll
make arrangements and be right back."
"But the safe-deposit box," Sophie declared. "We can't just leave."
"There's nothing I can do," Vernet said, hurrying out the door. "I'm
sorry."
Sophie stared after him a moment, wondering if maybe the account number
was buried in one of the countless letters and packages her grandfather had
sent her over the years and which she had left unopened.
Langdon stood suddenly, and Sophie sensed an unexpected glimmer of
contentment in his eyes.
"Robert? You're smiling."
"Your grandfather was a genius."
"I'm sorry?"
"Ten digits?"
Sophie had no idea what he was talking about.
"The account number," he said, a familiar lopsided grin now craning his
face. "I'm pretty sure he left it for us after all."
"Where?"
Langdon produced the printout of the crime scene photo and spread it
out on the coffee table. Sophie needed only to read the first line to know
Langdon was correct.
13-3-2-21-1-1-8-5
O, Draconian devil!
Oh, lame saint!
P.S. Find Robert Langdon
CHAPTER 44
"Ten digits," Sophie said, her cryptologic senses tingling as she
studied the printout.
13-3-2-21-1-1-8-5
Grand-pure wrote his account number on the Louvre floor!
When Sophie had first seen the scrambled Fibonacci sequence on the
parquet, she had assumed its sole purpose was to encourage DCPJ to call in
their cryptographers and get Sophie involved. Later, she realized the
numbers were also a clue as to how to decipher the other lines--a sequence
out of order... a numeric anagram. Now, utterly amazed, she saw the numbers
had a more important meaning still. They were almost certainly the final key
to opening her grandfather's mysterious safe-deposit box.
"He was the master of double-entendres," Sophie said, turning to
Langdon. "He loved anything with multiple layers of meaning. Codes within
codes."
Langdon was already moving toward the electronic podium near the
conveyor belt. Sophie grabbed the computer printout and followed.
The podium had a keypad similar to that of a bank ATM terminal. The
screen displayed the bank's cruciform logo. Beside the keypad was a
triangular hole. Sophie wasted no time inserting the shaft of her key into
the hole.
The screen refreshed instantly.
ACCOUNT NUMBER: _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The cursor blinked. Waiting.
Ten digits. Sophie read the numbers off the printout, and Langdon typed
them in.
ACCOUNT NUMBER: 1332211185
When he had typed the last digit, the screen refreshed again. A message
in several languages appeared. English was on top.
CAUTION:
Before you strike the enter key, please check the accuracy of your
account number.
For your own security, if the computer does not recognize your account
number, this system will automatically shut down.
"Fonction terminer," Sophie said, frowning. "Looks like we only get one
try." Standard ATM machines allowed users three attempts to type a PIN
before confiscating their bank card. This was obviously no ordinary cash
machine.
"The number looks right," Langdon confirmed, carefully checking what
they had typed and comparing it to the printout. He motioned to the ENTER
key. "Fire away."
Sophie extended her index finger toward the keypad, but hesitated, an
odd thought now hitting her.
"Go ahead," Langdon urged. "Vernet will be back soon."
"No." She pulled her hand away. "This isn't the right account number."
"Of course it is! Ten digits. What else would it be?"
"It's too random."
Too random? Langdon could not have disagreed more. Every bank advised
its customers to choose PINs at random so nobody could guess them. Certainly
clients here would be advised to choose their account numbers at random.
Sophie deleted everything she had just typed in and looked up at
Langdon, her gaze self-assured. "It's far too coincidental that this
supposedly random account number could be rearranged to form the Fibonacci
sequence."
Langdon realized she had a point. Earlier, Sophie had rearranged this
account number into the Fibonacci sequence. What were the odds of being able
to do that?
Sophie was at the keypad again, entering a different number, as if from
memory. "Moreover, with my grandfather's love of symbolism and codes, it
seems to follow that he would have chosen an account number that had meaning
to him, something he could easily remember." She finished typing the entry
and gave a sly smile. "Something that appeared random... but was not."
Langdon looked at the screen.
ACCOUNT NUMBER: 1123581321
It took him an instant, but when Langdon spotted it, he knew she was
right.
The Fibonacci sequence.
1-1-2-3-5-8-13-21
When the Fibonacci sequence was melded into a single ten-digit number,
it became virtually unrecognizable. Easy to remember, and yet seemingly
random. A brilliant ten-digit code that Sauniure would never forget.
Furthermore, it perfectly explained why the scrambled numbers on the Louvre
floor could be rearranged to form the famous progression.
Sophie reached down and pressed the ENTER key.
Nothing happened.
At least nothing they could detect.
At that moment, beneath them, in the bank's cavernous subterranean
vault, a robotic claw sprang to life. Sliding on a double-axis transport
system attached to the ceiling, the claw headed off in search of the proper
coordinates. On the cement floor below, hundreds of identical plastic crates
lay aligned on an enormous grid... like rows of small coffins in an
underground crypt.
Whirring to a stop over the correct spot on the floor, the claw dropped
down, an electric eye confirming the bar code on the box. Then, with
computer precision, the claw grasped the heavy handle and hoisted the crate
vertically. New gears engaged, and the claw transported the box to the far
side of the vault, coming to a stop over a stationary conveyor belt.
Gently now, the retrieval arm set down the crate and retracted.
Once the arm was clear, the conveyor belt whirred to life....
Upstairs, Sophie and Langdon exhaled in relief to see the conveyor belt
move. Standing beside the belt, they felt like weary travelers at baggage
claim awaiting a mysterious piece of luggage whose contents were unknown.
The conveyor belt entered the room on their right through a narrow slit
beneath a retractable door. The metal door slid up, and a huge plastic box
appeared, emerging from the depths on the inclined conveyor belt. The box
was black, heavy molded plastic, and far larger than she imagined. It looked
like an air-freight pet transport crate without any airholes.
The box coasted to a stop directly in front of them.
Langdon and Sophie stood there, silent, staring at the mysterious
container.
Like everything else about this bank, this crate was industrial--metal
clasps, a bar code sticker on top, and molded heavy-duty handle. Sophie
thought it looked like a giant toolbox.
Wasting no time, Sophie unhooked the two buckles facing her. Then she
glanced over at Langdon. Together, they raised the heavy lid and let it fall
back.
Stepping forward, they peered down into the crate.
At first glance, Sophie thought the crate was empty. Then she saw
something. Sitting at the bottom of the crate. A lone item.
The polished wooden box was about the size of a shoebox and had ornate
hinges. The wood was a lustrous deep purple with a strong grain. Rosewood,
Sophie realized. Her grandfather's favorite. The lid bore a beautiful inlaid
design of a rose. She and Langdon exchanged puzzled looks. Sophie leaned in
and grabbed the box, lifting it out.
My God, it's heavy!
She carried it gingerly to a large receiving table and set it down.
Langdon stood beside her, both of them staring at the small treasure chest
her grandfather apparently had sent them to retrieve.
Langdon stared in wonderment at the lid's hand-carved inlay--a
five-petal rose. He had seen this type of rose many times. "The five-petal
rose," he whispered, "is a Priory symbol for the Holy Grail."
Sophie turned and looked at him. Langdon could see what she was
thinking, and he was thinking it too. The dimensions of the box, the
apparent weight of its contents, and a Priory symbol for the Grail all
seemed to imply one unfathomable conclusion. The Cup of Christ is in this
wooden box. Langdon again told himself it was impossible.
"It's a perfect size," Sophie whispered, "to hold... a chalice."
It can't be a chalice.
Sophie pulled the box toward her across the table, preparing to open
it. As she moved it, though, something unexpected happened. The box let out
an odd gurgling sound.
Langdon did a double take. There's liquid inside?
Sophie looked equally confused. "Did you just hear...?"
Langdon nodded, lost. "Liquid."
Reaching forward, Sophie slowly unhooked the clasp and raised the lid.
The object inside was unlike anything Langdon had ever seen. One thing
was immediately clear to both of them, however. This was definitely not the
Cup of Christ.
CHAPTER 45
"The police are blocking the street," Andru Vernet said, walking into
the waiting room. "Getting you out will be difficult." As he closed the door
behind him, Vernet saw the heavy-duty plastic case on the conveyor belt and
halted in his tracks. My God! They accessed Sauniure's account?
Sophie and Langdon were at the table, huddling over what looked to be a
large wooden jewelry box. Sophie immediately closed the lid and looked up.
"We had the account number after all," she said.
Vernet was speechless. This changed everything. He respectfully
diverted his eyes from the box and tried to figure out his next move. I have
to get them out of the bank! But with the police already having set up a
roadblock, Vernet could imagine only one way to do that. "Mademoiselle
Neveu, if I can get you safely out of the bank, will you be taking the item
with you or returning it to the vault before you leave?"
Sophie glanced at Langdon and then back to Vernet. "We need to take
it."
Vernet nodded. "Very well. Then whatever the item is, I suggest you
wrap it in your jacket as we move through the hallways. I would prefer
nobody else see it."
As Langdon shed his jacket, Vernet hurried over to the conveyor belt,
closed the now empty crate, and typed a series of simple commands. The
conveyor belt began moving again, carrying the plastic container back down
to the vault. Pulling the gold key from the podium, he handed it to Sophie.
"This way please. Hurry."
When they reached the rear loading dock, Vernet could see the flash of
police lights filtering through the underground garage. He frowned. They
were probably blocking the ramp. Am I really going to try to pull this off?
He was sweating now.
Vernet motioned to one of the bank's small armored trucks. Transport
sur was another service offered by the Depository Bank of Zurich.
"Get in the cargo hold," he said, heaving open the massive rear door
and motioning to the glistening steel compartment. "I'll be right back."
As Sophie and Langdon climbed in, Vernet hurried across the loading
dock to the dock overseer's office, let himself in, collected the keys for
the truck, and found a driver's uniform jacket and cap. Shedding his own
suit coat and tie, he began to put on the driver's jacket. Reconsidering, he
donned a shoulder holster beneath the uniform. On his way out, he grabbed a
driver's pistol from the rack, put in a clip, and stuffed it in the holster,
buttoning his uniform over it. Returning to the truck, Vernet pulled the
driver's cap down low and peered in at Sophie and Langdon, who were standing
inside the empty steel box.
"You'll want this on," Vernet said, reaching inside and flicking a wall
switch to illuminate the lone courtesy bulb on the hold's ceiling. "And
you'd better sit down. Not a sound on our way out the gate."
Sophie and Langdon sat down on the metal floor. Langdon cradled the
treasure wadded in his tweed jacket. Swinging the heavy doors closed, Vernet
locked them inside. Then he got in behind the wheel and revved the engine.
As the armored truck lumbered toward the top of the ramp, Vernet could
feel the sweat already collecting beneath his driver's cap. He could see
there were far more police lights in front than he had imagined. As the
truck powered up the ramp, the interior gate swung inward to let him pass.
Vernet advanced and waited while the gate behind him closed before pulling
forward and tripping the next sensor. The second gate opened, and the exit
beckoned.
Except for the police car blocking the top of the ramp.
Vernet dabbed his brow and pulled forward.
A lanky officer stepped out and waved him to a stop a few meters from
the roadblock. Four patrol cars were parked out front.
Vernet stopped. Pulling his driver's cap down farther, he effected as
rough a facade as his cultured upbringing would allow. Not budging from
behind the wheel, he opened the door and gazed down at the agent, whose face
was stern and sallow.
"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" Vernet asked, his tone rough.
"Je suis Jurome Collet," the agent said. "Lieutenant Police
Judiciaire." He motioned to the truck's cargo hold. "Qu'est-ce qu'ily a lu
dedans?"
"Hell if I know," Vernet replied in crude French. "I'm only a driver."
Collet looked unimpressed. "We're looking for two criminals."
Vernet laughed. "Then you came to the right spot. Some of these
bastards I drive for have so much money they must be criminals."
The agent held up a passport picture of Robert Langdon. "Was this man
in your bank tonight?"
Vernet shrugged. "No clue. I'm a dock rat. They don't let us anywhere
near the clients. You need to go in and ask the front desk."
"Your bank is demanding a search warrant before we can enter."
Vernet put on a disgusted look. "Administrators. Don't get me started."
"Open your truck, please." Collet motioned toward the cargo hold.
Vernet stared at the agent and forced an obnoxious laugh. "Open the
truck? You think I have keys? You think they trust us? You should see the
crap wages I get paid."
The agent's head tilted to one side, his skepticism evident. "You're
telling me you don't have keys to your own truck?"
Vernet shook his head. "Not the cargo area. Ignition only. These trucks
get sealed by overseers on the loading dock. Then the truck sits in dock
while someone drives the cargo keys to the drop-off. Once we get the call
that the cargo keys are with the recipient, then I get the okay to drive.
Not a second before. I never know what the hell I'm lugging."
"When was this truck sealed?"
"Must have been hours ago. I'm driving all the way up to St. Thurial
tonight. Cargo keys are already up there."
The agent made no response, his eyes probing as if trying to read
Vernet's mind.
A drop of sweat was preparing to slide down Vernet's nose. "You mind?"
he said, wiping his nose with his sleeve and motioning to the police car
blocking his way. "I'm on a tight schedule."
"Do all the drivers wear Rolexes?" the agent asked, pointing to
Vernet's wrist.
Vernet glanced down and saw the glistening band of his absurdly
expensive watch peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his jacket. Merde.
"This piece of shit? Bought it for twenty euro from a Taiwanese street
vendor in St. Germain des Prus. I'll sell it to you for forty."
The agent paused and finally stepped aside. "No thanks. Have a safe
trip."
Vernet did not breathe again until the truck was a good fifty meters
down the street. And now he had another problem. His cargo. Where do I take
them?
CHAPTER 46
Silas lay prone on the canvas mat in his room, allowing the lash wounds
on his back to clot in the air. Tonight's second session with the Discipline
had left him dizzy and weak. He had yet to remove the cilice belt, and he
could feel the blood trickling down his inner thigh. Still, he could not
justify removing the strap.
I have failed the Church.
Far worse, I have failed the bishop.
Tonight was supposed to be Bishop Aringarosa's salvation. Five months
ago, the bishop had returned from a meeting at the Vatican Observatory,
where he had learned something that left him deeply changed. Depressed for
weeks, Aringarosa had finally shared the news with Silas.
"But this is impossible!" Silas had cried out. "I cannot accept it!"
"It is true," Aringarosa said. "Unthinkable, but true. In only six
months."
The bishop's words terrified Silas. He prayed for deliverance, and even
in those dark days, his trust in God and The Way never wavered. It was only
a month later that the clouds parted miraculously and the light of
possibility shone through.
Divine intervention, Aringarosa had called it.
The bishop had seemed hopeful for the first time. "Silas," he
whispered, "God has bestowed upon us an opportunity to protect The Way. Our
battle, like all battles, will take sacrifice. Will you be a soldier of
God?"
Silas fell to his knees before Bishop Aringarosa--the man who had given
him a new life--and he said, "I am a lamb of God. Shepherd me as your heart
commands."
When Aringarosa described the opportunity that had presented itself,
Silas knew it could only be the hand of God at work. Miraculous fate!
Aringarosa put Silas in contact with the man who had proposed the plan--a
man who called himself the Teacher. Although the Teacher and Silas never met
face-to-face, each time they spoke by phone, Silas was awed, both by the
profundity of the Teacher's faith and by the scope of his power. The Teacher
seemed to be a man who knew all, a man with eyes and ears in all places. How
the Teacher gathered his information, Silas did not know, but Aringarosa had
placed enormous trust in the Teacher, and he had told Silas to do the same.
"Do as the Teacher commands you," the bishop told Silas. "And we will be
victorious."
Victorious. Silas now gazed at the bare floor and feared victory had
eluded them. The Teacher had been tricked. The keystone was a devious dead
end. And with the deception, all hope had vanished.
Silas wished he could call Bishop Aringarosa and warn him, but the
Teacher had removed all their lines of direct communication tonight. For our
safety.
Finally, overcoming enormous trepidation, Silas crawled to his feet and
found his robe, which lay on the floor. He dug his cell phone from the
pocket. Hanging his head in shame, he dialed.
"Teacher," he whispered, "all is lost." Silas truthfully told the man
how he had been tricked.
"You lose your faith too quickly," the Teacher replied. "I have just
received news. Most unexpected and welcome. The secret lives. Jacques
Sauniure transferred information before he died. I will call you soon. Our
work tonight is not yet done."
CHAPTER 47
Riding inside the dimly lit cargo hold of the armored truck was like
being transported inside a cell for solitary confinement. Langdon fought the
all too familiar anxiety that haunted him in confined spaces. Vernet said he
would take us a safe distance out of the city. Where? How far?
Langdon's legs had gotten stiff from sitting cross-legged on the metal
floor, and he shifted his position, wincing to feel the blood pouring back
into his lower body. In his arms, he still clutched the bizarre treasure
they had extricated from the bank.
"I think we're on the highway now," Sophie whispered.
Langdon sensed the same thing. The truck, after an unnerving pause atop
the bank ramp, had moved on, snaking left and right for a minute or two, and
was now accelerating to what felt like top speed. Beneath them, the
bulletproof tires hummed on smooth pavement. Forcing his attention to the
rosewood box in his arms, Langdon laid the precious bundle on the floor,
unwrapped his jacket, and extracted the box, pulling it toward him. Sophie
shifted her position so they were sitting side by side. Langdon suddenly
felt like they were two kids huddled over a Christmas present.
In contrast to the warm colors of the rosewood box, the inlaid rose had
been crafted of a pale wood, probably ash, which shone clearly in the dim
light. The Rose. Entire armies and religions had been built on this symbol,
as had secret societies. The Rosicrucians. The Knights of the Rosy Cross.
"Go ahead," Sophie said. "Open it."
Langdon took a deep breath. Reaching for the lid, he stole one more
admiring glance at the intricate woodwork and then, unhooking the clasp, he
opened the lid, revealing the object within.
Langdon had harbored several fantasies about what they might find
inside this box, but clearly he had been wrong on every account. Nestled
snugly inside the box's heavily padded interior of crimson silk lay an
object Langdon could not even begin to comprehend.
Crafted of polished white marble, it was a stone cylinder approximately
the dimensions of a tennis ball can. More complicated than a simple column
of stone, however, the cylinder appeared to have been assembled in many
pieces. Six doughnut-sized disks of marble had been stacked and affixed to
one another within a delicate brass framework. It looked like some kind of
tubular, multiwheeled kaleidoscope. Each end of the cylinder was affixed
with an end cap, also marble, making it impossible to see inside. Having
heard liquid within, Langdon assumed the cylinder was hollow.
As mystifying as the construction of the cylinder was, however, it was
the engravings around the tube's circumference that drew Langdon's primary
focus. Each of the six disks had been carefully carved with the same
unlikely series of letters--the entire alphabet. The lettered cylinder
reminded Langdon of one of his childhood toys--a rod threaded with lettered
tumblers that could be rotated to spell different words.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Sophie whispered.
Langdon glanced up. "I don't know. What the hell is it?"
Now there was a glint in Sophie's eye. "My grandfather used to craft
these as a hobby. They were invented by Leonardo da Vinci."
Even in the diffuse light, Sophie could see Langdon's surprise.
"Da Vinci?" he muttered, looking again at the canister.
"Yes. It's called a cryptex. According to my grandfather, the
blueprints come from one of Da Vinci's secret diaries."
"What is it for?"
Considering tonight's events, Sophie knew the answer might have some
interesting implications. "It's a vault," she said. "For storing secret
information."
Langdon's eyes widened further.
Sophie explained that creating models of Da Vinci's inventions was one
of her grandfather's best-loved hobbies. A talented craftsman who spent
hours in his wood and metal shop, Jacques Sauniure enjoyed imitating master
craftsmen--Fabergu, assorted cloisonne artisans, and the less artistic, but
far more practical, Leonardo da Vinci.
Even a cursory glance through Da Vinci's journals revealed why the
luminary was as notorious for his lack of follow-through as he was famous
for his brilliance. Da Vinci had drawn up blueprints for hundreds of
inventions he had never built. One of Jacques Sauniure's favorite pastimes
was bringing Da Vinci's more obscure brainstorms to life--timepieces, water
pumps, cryptexes, and even a fully articulated model of a medieval French
knight, which now stood proudly on the desk in his office. Designed by Da
Vinci in 1495 as an outgrowth of his earliest anatomy and kinesiology
studies, the internal mechanism of the robot knight possessed accurate
joints and tendons, and was designed to sit up, wave its arms, and move its
head via a flexible neck while opening and closing an anatomically correct
jaw. This armor-clad knight, Sophie had always believed, was the most
beautiful object her grandfather had ever built... that was, until she had
seen the cryptex in this rosewood box.
"He made me one of these when I was little," Sophie said. "But I've
never seen one so ornate and large."
Langdon's eyes had never left the box. "I've never heard of a cryptex."
Sophie was not surprised. Most of Leonardo's unbuilt inventions had
never been studied or even named. The term cryptex possibly had been her
grandfather's creation, an apt title for this device that used the science
of cryptology to protect information written on the contained scroll or
codex.
Da Vinci had been a cryptology pioneer, Sophie knew, although he was
seldom given credit. Sophie's university instructors, while presenting
computer encryption methods for securing data, praised modern cryptologists
like Zimmerman and Schneier but failed to mention that it was Leonardo who
had invented one of the first rudimentary forms of public key encryption
centuries ago. Sophie's grandfather, of course, had been the one to tell her
all about that.
As their armored truck roared down the highway, Sophie explained to
Langdon that the cryptex had been Da Vinci's solution to the dilemma of
sending secure messages over long distances. In an era without telephones or
e-mail, anyone wanting to convey private information to someone far away had
no option but to write it down and then trust a messenger to carry the
letter. Unfortunately, if a messenger suspected the letter might contain
valuable information, he could make far more money selling the information
to adversaries than he could delivering the letter properly.
Many great minds in history had invented cryptologic solutions to the
challenge of data protection: Julius Caesar devised a code-writing scheme
called the Caesar Box; Mary, Queen of Scots created a transposition cipher
and sent secret communiquus from prison; and the brilliant Arab scientist
Abu Yusuf Ismail al-Kindi protected his secrets with an ingeniously
conceived polyalphabetic substitution cipher.
Da Vinci, however, eschewed mathematics and cryptology for a mechanical
solution. The cryptex. A portable container that could safeguard letters,
maps, diagrams, anything at all. Once information was sealed inside the
cryptex, only the individual with the proper password could access it.
"We require a password," Sophie said, pointing out the lettered dials.
"A cryptex works much like a bicycle's combination lock. If you align the
dials in the proper position, the lock slides open. This cryptex has five
lettered dials. When you rotate them to their proper sequence, the tumblers
inside align, and the entire cylinder slides apart."
"And inside?"
"Once the cylinder slides apart, you have access to a hollow central
compartment, which can hold a scroll of paper on which is the information
you want to keep private."
Langdon looked incredulous. "And you say your grandfather built these
for you when you were younger?"
"Some smaller ones, yes. A couple times for my birthday, he gave me a
cryptex and told me a riddle. The answer to the riddle was the password to
the cryptex, and once I figured it out, I could open it up and find my
birthday card."
"A lot of work for a card."
"No, the cards always contained another riddle or clue. My grandfather
loved creating elaborate treasure hunts around our house, a string of clues
that eventually led to my real gift. Each treasure hunt was a test of
character and merit, to ensure I earned my rewards. And the tests were never
simple."
Langdon eyed the device again, still looking skeptical. "But why not
just pry it apart? Or smash it? The metal looks delicate, and marble is a
soft rock."
Sophie smiled. "Because Da Vinci is too smart for that. He designed the
cryptex so that if you try to force it open in any way, the information
self-destructs. Watch." Sophie reached into the box and carefully lifted out
the cylinder. "Any information to be inserted is first written on a papyrus
scroll."
"Not vellum?"
Sophie shook her head. "Papyrus. I know sheep's vellum was more durable
and more common in those days, but it had to be papyrus. The thinner the
better."
"Okay."
"Before the papyrus was inserted into the cryptex's compartment, it was
rolled around a delicate glass vial." She tipped the cryptex, and the liquid
inside gurgled. "A vial of liquid."
"Liquid what?"
Sophie smiled. "Vinegar."
Langdon hesitated a moment and then began nodding. "Brilliant."
Vinegar and papyrus, Sophie thought. If someone attempted to force open
the cryptex, the glass vial would break, and the vinegar would quickly
dissolve the papyrus. By the time anyone extracted the secret message, it
would be a glob of meaningless pulp.
"As you can see," Sophie told him, "the only way to access the
information inside is to know the proper five-letter password. And with five
dials, each with twenty-six letters, that's twenty-six to the fifth power."
She quickly estimated the permutations. "Approximately twelve million
possibilities."
"If you say so," Langdon said, looking like he had approximately twelve
million questions running through his head. "What information do you think
is inside?"
"Whatever it is, my grandfather obviously wanted very badly to keep it
secret." She paused, closing the box lid and eyeing the five-petal Rose
inlaid on it. Something was bothering her. "Did you say earlier that the
Rose is a symbol for the Grail?"
"Exactly. In Priory symbolism, the Rose and the Grail are synonymous."
Sophie furrowed her brow. "That's strange, because my grandfather
always told me the Rose meant secrecy. He used to hang a rose on his office
door at home when he was having a confidential phone call and didn't want me
to disturb him. He encouraged me to do the same." Sweetie, her grandfather
said, rather than lock each other out, we can each hang a rose--la fleur des
secrets--on our door when we need privacy. This way we learn to respect and
trust each other. Hanging a rose is an ancient Roman custom.
"Sub rosa," Langdon said. "The Romans hung a rose over meetings to
indicate the meeting was confidential. Attendees understood that whatever
was said under the rose--or sub rosa--had to remain a secret."
Langdon quickly explained that the Rose's overtone of secrecy was not
the only reason the Priory used it as a symbol for the Grail. Rosa rugosa,
one of the oldest species of rose, had five petals and pentagonal symmetry,
just like the guiding star of Venus, giving the Rose strong iconographic
ties to womanhood. In addition, the Rose had close ties to the concept of
"true direction" and navigating one's way. The Compass Rose helped travelers
navigate, as did Rose Lines, the longitudinal lines on maps. For this
reason, the Rose was a symbol that spoke of the Grail on many
levels--secrecy, womanhood, and guidance--the feminine chalice and guiding
star that led to secret truth.
As Langdon finished his explanation, his expression seemed to tighten
suddenly.
"Robert? Are you okay?"
His eyes were riveted to the rosewood box. "Sub... rosa," he choked, a
fearful bewilderment sweeping across his face. "It can't be."
"What?"
Langdon slowly raised his eyes. "Under the sign of the Rose," he
whispered. "This cryptex... I think I know what it is."
CHAPTER 48
Langdon could scarcely believe his own supposition, and yet,
considering who had given this stone cylinder to them, how he had given it
to them, and now, the inlaid Rose on the container, Langdon could formulate
only one conclusion.
I am holding the Priory keystone.
The legend was specific.
The keystone is an encoded stone that lies beneath the sign of the
Rose.
"Robert?" Sophie was watching him. "What's going on?"
Langdon needed a moment to gather his thoughts. "Did your grandfather
ever speak to you of something called la clef de voute?"
"The key to the vault?" Sophie translated.
"No, that's the literal translation. Clef de voute is a common
architectural term. Voute refers not to a bank vault, but to a vault in an
archway. Like a vaulted ceiling."
"But vaulted ceilings don't have keys."
"Actually they do. Every stone archway requires a central, wedge-shaped
stone at the top which locks the pieces together and carries all the weight.
This stone is, in an architectural sense, the key to the vault. In English
we call it a keystone." Langdon watched her eyes for any spark of
recognition.
Sophie shrugged, glancing down at the cryptex. "But this obviously is
not a keystone."
Langdon didn't know where to begin. Keystones as a masonry technique
for building stone archways had been one of the best-kept secrets of the
early Masonic brotherhood. The Royal Arch Degree. Architecture. Keystones.
It was all interconnected. The secret knowledge of how to use a wedged
keystone to build a vaulted archway was part of the wisdom that had made the
Masons such wealthy craftsmen, and it was a secret they guarded carefully.
Keystones had always had a tradition of secrecy. And yet, the stone cylinder
in the rosewood box was obviously something quite different. The Priory
keystone--if this was indeed what they were holding--was not at all what
Langdon had imagined.
"The Priory keystone is not my specialty," Langdon admitted. "My
interest in the Holy Grail is primarily symbologic, so I tend to ignore the
plethora of lore regarding how to actually find it."
Sophie's eyebrows arched. "Find the Holy Grail?"
Langdon gave an uneasy nod, speaking his next words carefully. "Sophie,
according to Priory lore, the keystone is an encoded map... a map that
reveals the hiding place of the Holy Grail."
Sophie's face went blank. "And you think this is it?"
Langdon didn't know what to say. Even to him it sounded unbelievable,
and yet the keystone was the only logical conclusion he could muster. An
encrypted stone, hidden beneath the sign of the Rose.
The idea that the cryptex had been designed by Leonardo da
Vinci--former Grand Master of the Priory of Sion--shone as another
tantalizing indicator that this was indeed the Priory keystone. A former
Grand Master's blueprint... brought to life centuries later by another
Priory member. The bond was too palpable to dismiss.
For the last decade, historians had been searching for the keystone in
French churches. Grail seekers, familiar with the Priory's history of
cryptic double-talk, had concluded la clef de voute was a literal
keystone--an architectural wedge--an engraved, encrypted stone, inserted
into a vaulted archway in a church. Beneath the sign of the Rose. In
architecture, there was no shortage of roses. Rose windows. Rosette reliefs.
And, of course, an abundance of cinquefoils--the five-petaled decorative
flowers often found at the top of archways, directly over the keystone. The
hiding place seemed diabolically simple. The map to the Holy Grail was
incorporated high in an archway of some forgotten church, mocking the blind
churchgoers who wandered beneath it.
"This cryptex can't be the keystone," Sophie argued. "It's not old
enough. I'm certain my grandfather made this. It can't be part of any
ancient Grail legend."
"Actually," Langdon replied, feeling a tingle of excitement ripple
through him, "the keystone is believed to have been created by the Priory
sometime in the past couple of decades."
Sophie's eyes flashed disbelief. "But if this cryptex reveals the
hiding place of the Holy Grail, why would my grandfather give it to me? I
have no idea how to open it or what to do with it. I don't even know what
the Holy Grail is!"
Langdon realized to his surprise that she was right. He had not yet had
a chance to explain to Sophie the true nature of the Holy Grail. That story
would have to wait. At the moment, they were focused on the keystone.
If that is indeed what this is....
Against the hum of the bulletproof wheels beneath them, Langdon quickly
explained to Sophie everything he had heard about the keystone. Allegedly,
for centuries, the Priory's biggest secret--the location of the Holy
Grail--was never written down. For security's sake, it was verbally
transferred to each new rising sunuchal at a clandestine ceremony. However,
at some point during the last century, whisperings began to surface that the
Priory policy had changed. Perhaps it was on account of new electronic
eavesdropping capabilities, but the Priory vowed never again even to speak
the location of the sacred hiding place.
"But then how could they pass on the secret?" Sophie asked.
"That's where the keystone comes in," Langdon explained. "When one of
the top four members died, the remaining three would choose from the lower
echelons the next candidate to ascend as sunuchal. Rather than telling the
new sunuchal where the Grail was hidden, they