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Mary Magdalene. He suddenly felt as if he were living in some kind of limbo tonight... a bubble
where the real world could not reach him.
"Sir?" Rémy said. "Are you truly thinking of returning to England for good?"
"Rémy, you needn't worry," Teabing assured. "Just because I am returning to the Queen's realm
does not mean I intend to subject my palate to bangers and mash for the rest of my days. I expect
you will join me there permanently. I'm planning to buy a splendid villa in Devonshire, and we'll
have all your things shipped up immediately. An adventure, Rémy. I say, an adventure!"
Langdon had to smile. As Teabing railed on about his plans for a triumphant return to Britain,
Langdon felt himself caught up in the man's infectious enthusiasm.
Gazing absently out the window, Langdon watched the woods passing by, ghostly pale in the
yellow blush of the fog lights. The side mirror was tipped inward, brushed askew by branches, and
Langdon saw the reflection of Sophie sitting quietly in the back seat. He watched her for a long
while and felt an unexpected upwelling of contentment. Despite his troubles tonight, Langdon was
thankful to have landed in such good company.
After several minutes, as if suddenly sensing his eyes on her, Sophie leaned forward and put her
hands on his shoulders, giving him a quick rub. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Langdon said. "Somehow."
Sophie sat back in her seat, and Langdon saw a quiet smile cross her lips. He realized that he too
was now grinning.
Wedged in the back of the Range Rover, Silas could barely breathe. His arms were wrenched
backward and heavily lashed to his ankles with kitchen twine and duct tape. Every bump in the
road sent pain shooting through his twisted shoulders. At least his captors had removed the cilice.
Unable to inhale through the strip of tape over his mouth, he could only breathe through his
nostrils, which were slowly clogging up due to the dusty rear cargo area into which he had been
crammed. He began coughing.
"I think he's choking," the French driver said, sounding concerned.
The British man who had struck Silas with his crutch now turned and peered over the seat,
frowning coldly at Silas. "Fortunately for you, we British judge man's civility not by his
compassion for his friends, but by his compassion for his enemies." The Brit reached down and
grabbed the duct tape on Silas's mouth. In one fast motion, he tore it off.
Silas felt as if his lips had just caught fire, but the air pouring into his lungs was sent from God.
"Whom do you work for?" the British man demanded.
"I do the work of God," Silas spat back through the pain in his jaw where the woman had kicked
him.
"You belong to Opus Dei," the man said. It was not a question.
"You know nothing of who I am."
"Why does Opus Dei want the keystone?"
Silas had no intention of answering. The keystone was the link to the Holy Grail, and the Holy
Grail was the key to protecting the faith.
I do the work of God. The Way is in peril.
Now, in the Range Rover, struggling against his bonds, Silas feared he had failed the Teacher and
the bishop forever. He had no way even to contact them and tell them the terrible turn of events.
My captors have the keystone! They will reach the Grail before we do! In the stifling darkness,
Silas prayed. He let the pain of his body fuel his supplications.
A miracle, Lord. I need a miracle. Silas had no way of knowing that hours from now, he would get
one.
"Robert?" Sophie was still watching him. "A funny look just crossed your face."
Langdon glanced back at her, realizing his jaw was firmly set and his heart was racing. An
incredible notion had just occurred to him. Could it really be that simple an explanation? "I need to
use your cell phone, Sophie."
"Now?"
"I think I just figured something out."
"What?"
"I'll tell you in a minute. I need your phone."
Sophie looked wary. "I doubt Fache is tracing, but keep it under a minute just in case." She gave
him her phone.
"How do I dial the States?"
"You need to reverse the charges. My service doesn't cover transatlantic."
Langdon dialed zero, knowing that the next sixty seconds might answer a question that had been
puzzling him all night.
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