The Da Vinci Code

CHAPTER 24
Silas gazed upward at the Saint-Sulpice obelisk, taking in the length of the massive marble shaft. 
His sinews felt taut with exhilaration. He glanced around the church one more time to make sure he 
was alone. Then he knelt at the base of the structure, not out of reverence, but out of necessity.
The keystone is hidden beneath the Rose Line.
At the base of the Sulpice obelisk.
All the brothers had concurred.
On his knees now, Silas ran his hands across the stone floor. He saw no cracks or markings to 
indicate a movable tile, so he began rapping softly with his knuckles on the floor. Following the 
brass line closer to the obelisk, he knocked on each tile adjacent to the brass line. Finally, one of 
them echoed strangely.
There's a hollow area beneath the floor!
Silas smiled. His victims had spoken the truth.
Standing, he searched the sanctuary for something with which to break the floor tile.
High above Silas, in the balcony, Sister Sandrine stifled a gasp. Her darkest fears had just been 
confirmed. This visitor was not who he seemed. The mysterious Opus Dei monk had come to Saint-
Sulpice for another purpose.
A secret purpose.
You are not the only one with secrets, she thought.
Sister Sandrine Bieil was more than the keeper of this church. She was a sentry. And tonight, the 
ancient wheels had been set in motion. The arrival of this stranger at the base of the obelisk was a 
signal from the brotherhood.
It was a silent call of distress.

---

CHAPTER 25
The U.S. Embassy in Paris is a compact complex on Avenue Gabriel, just north of the Champs-
Elysées. The three-acre compound is considered U.S. soil, meaning all those who stand on it are 
subject to the same laws and protections as they would encounter standing in the United States.
The embassy's night operator was reading Time magazine's International Edition when the sound of 
her phone interrupted.
"U.S. Embassy," she answered.
"Good evening." The caller spoke English accented with French. "I need some assistance." Despite 
the politeness of the man's words, his tone sounded gruff and official. "I was told you had a phone 
message for me on your automated system. The name is Langdon. Unfortunately, I have forgotten 
my three-digit access code. If you could help me, I would be most grateful."
The operator paused, confused. "I'm sorry, sir. Your message must be quite old. That system was 
removed two years ago for security precautions. Moreover, all the access codes were five-digit. 
Who told you we had a message for you?"
"You have no automated phone system?"
"No, sir. Any message for you would be handwritten in our services department. What was your 
name again?"
But the man had hung up.
Bezu Fache felt dumbstruck as he paced the banks of the Seine. He was certain he had seen 
Langdon dial a local number, enter a three-digit code, and then listen to a recording. But if Langdon 
didn't phone the embassy, then who the hell did he call?
It was at that moment, eyeing his cellular phone, that Fache realized the answers were in the palm 
of his hand. Langdon used my phone to place that call.
Keying into the cell phone's menu, Fache pulled up the list of recently dialed numbers and found 
the call Langdon had placed.
A Paris exchange, followed by the three-digit code 454.
Redialing the phone number, Fache waited as the line began ringing.

---

Finally a woman's voice answered. "Bonjour, vous êtes bien chez Sophie Neveu," the recording 
announced. "Je suis absente pour le moment, mais..."
Fache's blood was boiling as he typed the numbers 4... 5... 4.