The Da Vinci Code

CHAPTER 102
The mist had settled low on Kensington Gardens as Silas limped into a quiet hollow out of sight. 
Kneeling on the wet grass, he could feel a warm stream of blood flowing from the bullet wound 
below his ribs. Still, he stared straight ahead.
The fog made it look like heaven here.
Raising his bloody hands to pray, he watched the raindrops caress his fingers, turning them white 
again. As the droplets fell harder across his back and shoulders, he could feel his body disappearing 
bit by bit into the mist.
I am a ghost.
A breeze rustled past him, carrying the damp, earthy scent of new life. With every living cell in his 
broken body, Silas prayed. He prayed for forgiveness. He prayed for mercy. And, above all, he 
prayed for his mentor... Bishop Aringarosa... that the Lord would not take him before his time. He 
has so much work left to do.
The fog was swirling around him now, and Silas felt so light that he was sure the wisps would 
carry him away. Closing his eyes, he said a final prayer.
From somewhere in the mist, the voice of Manuel Aringarosa whispered to him.
Our Lord is a good and merciful God.
Silas's pain at last began to fade, and he knew the bishop was right.
CHAPTER 103
It was late afternoon when the London sun broke through and the city began to dry. Bezu Fache 
felt weary as he emerged from the interrogation room and hailed a cab. Sir Leigh Teabing had 
vociferously proclaimed his innocence, and yet from his incoherent rantings about the Holy Grail, 

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secret documents, and mysterious brotherhoods, Fache suspected the wily historian was setting the 
stage for his lawyers to plead an insanity defense.
Sure, Fache thought. Insane. Teabing had displayed ingenious precision in formulating a plan that 
protected his innocence at every turn. He had exploited both the Vatican and Opus Dei, two groups 
that turned out to be completely innocent. His dirty work had been carried out unknowingly by a 
fanatical monk and a desperate bishop. More clever still, Teabing had situated his electronic 
listening post in the one place a man with polio could not possibly reach. The actual surveillance 
had been carried out by his manservant, Rémy—the lone person privy to Teabing's true 
identity—now conveniently dead of an allergic reaction.
Hardly the handiwork of someone lacking mental faculties, Fache thought.
The information coming from Collet out of Château Villette suggested that Teabing's cunning ran 
so deep that Fache himself might even learn from it. To successfully hide bugs in some of Paris's 
most powerful offices, the British historian had turned to the Greeks. Trojan horses. Some of 
Teabing's intended targets received lavish gifts of artwork, others unwittingly bid at auctions in 
which Teabing had placed specific lots. In Saunière's case, the curator had received a dinner 
invitation to Château Villette to discuss the possibility of Teabing's funding a new Da Vinci Wing 
at the Louvre. Saunière's invitation had contained an innocuous postscript expressing fascination 
with a robotic knight that Saunière was rumored to have built. Bring him to dinner, Teabing had 
suggested. Saunière apparently had done just that and left the knight unattended long enough for 
Rémy Legaludec to make one inconspicuous addition.
Now, sitting in the back of the cab, Fache closed his eyes. One more thing to attend to before I 
return to Paris.
The St. Mary's Hospital recovery room was sunny.
"You've impressed us all," the nurse said, smiling down at him. "Nothing short of miraculous."
Bishop Aringarosa gave a weak smile. "I have always been blessed."
The nurse finished puttering, leaving the bishop alone. The sunlight felt welcome and warm on his 
face. Last night had been the darkest night of his life.
Despondently, he thought of Silas, whose body had been found in the park.