spent three days with an English dictionary until she found them all.
"I can't imagine," Langdon said, staring at the printout, "how your
grandfather created such an
intricate anagram in the minutes before he died."
Sophie knew the explanation, and the realization made her feel even worse.
I should have seen this!
She now recalled that her grandfather—a wordplay aficionado and art lover—had entertained
himself as a young man by creating anagrams of famous works of art. In fact, one of his anagrams
had gotten him in trouble once when Sophie was a little girl. While being interviewed by an
American art magazine, Saunière had expressed his distaste for the modernist
Cubist movement by
noting that Picasso's masterpiece
Les Demoiselles d'Avignon was a perfect anagram of
vile
meaningless doodles. Picasso fans were not amused.
"My grandfather probably created this
Mona Lisa anagram long ago," Sophie said, glancing up at
Langdon.
And tonight he was forced to use it as a makeshift code. Her grandfather's
voice had
called out from beyond with chilling precision.
Leonardo da Vinci!
The Mona Lisa!
Why his final words to her referenced the famous painting, Sophie had no idea, but she could think
of only one possibility. A disturbing one.
Those were not his final words....
Was she supposed to visit the
Mona Lisa? Had her grandfather left her a message there? The idea
seemed perfectly plausible. After all, the famous painting hung in the Salle des Etats—a
private
viewing chamber accessible only from the Grand Gallery. In fact, Sophie now realized, the doors
that opened into the chamber were situated only twenty meters from where her grandfather had
been found dead.
He easily could have visited the Mona Lisa before he died.
Sophie gazed back up the emergency stairwell and felt torn. She knew she should usher Langdon
from the museum immediately, and yet instinct urged her to the contrary.
As Sophie recalled her
first childhood visit to the Denon Wing, she realized that if her grandfather had a secret to tell her,
few places on earth made a more apt rendezvous than Da Vinci's
Mona Lisa.
"She's just a little bit farther," her grandfather had whispered, clutching Sophie's tiny hand as he led
her through the deserted museum after hours.
Sophie was six years old. She felt small and insignificant as she gazed
up at the enormous ceilings
and down at the dizzying floor. The empty museum frightened her, although she was not about to
let her grandfather know that. She set her jaw firmly and let go of his hand.
"Up ahead is the Salle des Etats," her grandfather said as they approached the Louvre's most
famous room. Despite her grandfather's obvious excitement, Sophie wanted to go home. She had
seen
pictures of the Mona Lisa in books and didn't like it at all. She couldn't understand why
everyone made such a fuss.
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