Origin (40 page)

In an instant, Winston was gone.

Bounding up the steps, Langdon burst out of the stairwell turret onto the Casa Milà roof deck. He found himself in the middle of a deafening maelstrom. A helicopter was hovering very low beside the building, and Ambra was nowhere to be seen.

Dazed, Langdon scanned the area.
Where is she?
He had forgotten how bizarre this rooftop was—lopsided parapets … steep staircases … cement soldiers … bottomless pits.

“Ambra!”

When he spotted her, he felt a surge of dread. Ambra Vidal was lying crumpled on the cement at the edge of the light well.

As Langdon raced up and over a rise toward her, the sharp zing of a bullet whipped past his head and exploded in the cement behind him.

Jesus!
Langdon dropped to his knees and scrambled toward lower ground as two more bullets sailed over his head. For a moment, he thought the shots were coming from the helicopter, but as he clambered toward Ambra, he saw a swarm of police flooding out of another turret on the far side of the rooftop with their guns drawn.

They want to kill me
, he realized.
They think I kidnapped the future queen!
Her rooftop announcement apparently had gone unheard.

As Langdon looked toward Ambra, now only ten yards away, he realized to his horror that her arm was bleeding.
My God, she’s been shot!
Another bullet sailed over his head as Ambra began clawing at the railing that encircled the drop-off to the inner courtyard. She struggled to pull herself up.

“Stay down!” Langdon shouted, scrambling to Ambra and crouching protectively over her body. He looked up at the towering, helmeted storm-trooper figures that dotted the rooftop’s perimeter like silent guardians.

There was a deafening roar overhead, and buffeting winds whipped around them as the helicopter dropped down and hovered over the enormous shaft beside them, cutting off the police’s line of sight.

“
¡Dejen de disparar!
” boomed an amplified voice from the chopper. “
¡Enfunden las armas!
”
Stop shooting! Holster your weapons!

Directly in front of Langdon and Ambra, Agent Díaz was crouched in the open bay door with one foot balanced on the skid and one hand outstretched toward them.

“Get in!” he shouted.

Langdon felt Ambra recoil beneath him.

“NOW!” Díaz screamed over the deafening rotors.

The agent pointed to the light well’s safety railing, urging them to climb onto it, grab his hand, and make the short leap over the abyss into the hovering aircraft.

Langdon hesitated an instant too long.

Díaz grabbed the bullhorn from Fonseca and aimed it directly at Langdon’s face. “PROFESSOR, GET IN THE HELICOPTER NOW!” The agent’s voice boomed like thunder. “THE LOCAL POLICE HAVE ORDERS TO SHOOT YOU! WE KNOW YOU DID
NOT
KIDNAP MS. VIDAL! I NEED YOU BOTH ON BOARD IMMEDIATELY—BEFORE SOMEONE GETS KILLED!”

IN THE HOWLING
wind, Ambra felt Langdon’s arms lifting her up and guiding her toward Agent Díaz’s outstretched hand in the hovering chopper.

She was too dazed to protest.

“She’s bleeding!” Langdon shouted as he clambered into the aircraft after her.

Suddenly the helicopter was lifting skyward, away from the undulating rooftop, leaving behind a small army of confused policemen, all staring upward.

Fonseca heaved the fuselage door shut and then moved up front toward the pilot. Díaz slid in beside Ambra to examine her arm.

“It’s only a scrape,” she said blankly.

“I’ll find a first-aid kit.” Díaz headed to the rear of the cabin.

Langdon was seated opposite Ambra, facing backward. Now that the two of them were suddenly alone, he caught her eye and gave her a relieved smile. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Ambra replied with a weak nod, but before she could thank him, Langdon was leaning forward in his seat, whispering to her in an excited tone.

“I think I found our mysterious poet,” he exclaimed, his eyes filled with hope. “
William Blake
. Not only is there a copy of Blake’s complete works in Edmond’s library … but many of Blake’s poems are
prophecies
!” Langdon held out his hand. “Let me have Edmond’s phone—I’ll ask Winston to search Blake’s work for any forty-seven-letter lines of poetry!”

Ambra looked at Langdon’s waiting palm and felt overcome with guilt. She reached out and took his hand in hers. “Robert,” she said with a remorseful sigh, “Edmond’s phone is gone. It fell off the edge of the building.”

Langdon stared back at her, and Ambra saw the blood drain from his face.
I’m so sorry, Robert.
She could see him struggling to process the news and figure out where the loss of Winston now left them.

In the cockpit, Fonseca was yelling into his phone. “Confirmed! We
have both of them safely aboard. Prepare the transport plane for Madrid. I will contact the palace and alert—”

“Don’t bother!” Ambra shouted to the agent. “I am not going to the palace!”

Fonseca covered his phone, turned in his seat, and looked back at her. “You most certainly
are
! My orders tonight were to keep you safe. You should never have left my custody. You’re lucky I was able to get here to rescue you.”

“
Rescue?!
” Ambra demanded. “If that was a
rescue
, it was only necessary because the palace told ridiculous lies about Professor Langdon kidnappingme—which
you
know is not true! Is Prince Julián really so desperate that he’s willing to risk the life of an innocent man? Not to mention
my
life?”

Fonseca stared her down and turned back around in his seat.

Just then, Díaz returned with the first-aid kit.

“Ms. Vidal,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “Please understand that our chain of command has been disrupted tonight due to the arrest of Commander Garza. Nonetheless, I want you to know that Prince Julián had
nothing
to do with the media statement that came out of the palace. In fact, we cannot even confirm that the prince knows what’s happening right now. We have been unable to reach him for over an hour.”

What?
Ambra stared at him. “Where is he?”

“His current whereabouts are unknown,” Díaz said, “but his communication with us earlier this evening was crystal clear. The prince wants you
safe
.”

“If that’s true,” Langdon declared, abruptly returning from his thoughts, “then taking Ms. Vidal to the palace is a deadly mistake.”

Fonseca spun around. “What did you say?!”

“I don’t know who is giving you orders now, sir,” Langdon said, “but if the prince
truly
wants to keep his fiancée safe, then I suggest you listen to me very carefully.” He paused, his tone intensifying. “Edmond Kirsch was murdered to keep his discovery from going public. And whoever silenced him will stop at nothing to make sure that job is finished.”

“It’s finished already,” Fonseca scoffed. “Edmond is dead.”

“But his discovery is not,” Langdon replied. “Edmond’s presentation is very much alive and can
still
be released to the world.”

“Which is why you came to his apartment,” Díaz ventured. “Because you believe you can launch it.”

“Precisely,” Langdon replied. “And
that
has made us targets. I don’t know who manufactured the media statement claiming Ambra was
kidnapped, but it was clearly someone desperate to stop us. So if you are part of
that
group—the people trying to bury Edmond’s discovery forever—then you should simply toss Ms. Vidal and myself out of this helicopter right now while you still can.”

Ambra stared at Langdon, wondering if he’d lost his mind.

“
However
,” Langdon continued, “if your sworn duty as a Guardia Real agent is to protect the royal family, including the future queen of Spain, then you need to realize there is no more dangerous place for Ms. Vidal right now than a palace that just issued a public statement that almost got her killed.” Langdon reached into his pocket and extracted an elegantly embossed linen note card. “I suggest you take her to the address at the bottom of this card.”

Fonseca took the card and studied it, his brow furrowing. “That’s ridiculous.”

“There is a security fence around the entire property,” Langdon said. “Your pilot can touch down, drop the four of us off, and then fly away before anyone realizes we’re even there. I know the person in charge. We can hide there, off the grid, until we sort this all out. You can accompany us.”

“I’d feel safer in a military hangar at the airport.”

“Do you really want to trust a military team that is probably taking orders from the same people who just nearly got Ms. Vidal killed?”

Fonseca’s stony expression never wavered.

Ambra’s thoughts were racing wildly now, and she wondered what was written on the card.
Where does Langdon want to go?
His sudden intensity seemed to imply there was more at stake than simply keeping her safe. She heard a renewed optimism in his voice and sensed he had not yet given up hope that they could somehow still launch Edmond’s presentation.

Langdon retrieved the linen card from Fonseca and handed it to Ambra. “I found this in Edmond’s library.”

Ambra studied the card, immediately recognizing what it was.

Known as “loan logs” or “title cards,” these elegantly embossed placeholders were given by museum curators to donors in exchange for a piece of artwork on temporary loan. Traditionally, two identical cards were printed—one placed on display in the museum to thank the donor, and one held by the donor as collateral for the piece he had loaned.

Edmond loaned out his book of Blake’s poetry?

According to the card, Edmond’s book had traveled no more than a few kilometers away from his Barcelona apartment.

“I don’t understand,” Ambra said. “Why would an outspoken atheist lend a book to a
church
?”

“Not just any church,” Langdon countered. “Gaudí’s most enigmatic architectural masterpiece …” He pointed out the window, into the distance behind them. “And soon to be the tallest church in Europe.”

Ambra turned her head, peering back across the city to the north. In the distance—surrounded by cranes, scaffolding, and construction lights—the unfinished towers of Sagrada Família shone brightly, a cluster of perforated spires that resembled giant sea sponges climbing off the ocean floor toward the light.

For more than a century, Gaudí’s controversial Basílica de la Sagrada Família had been under construction, relying solely on private donations from the faithful. Criticized by traditionalists for its eerie organic shape and use of “biomimetic design,” the church was hailed by modernists for its structural fluidity and use of “hyperboloid” forms to reflect the natural world.

“I’ll admit it’s unusual,” Ambra said, turning back to Langdon, “but it’s
still
a Catholic church. And you know Edmond.”

I do know Edmond
, Langdon thought.
Enough to know he believes Sagrada Família hides a secret purpose and symbolism that go far beyond Christianity.

Since the bizarre church’s groundbreaking in 1882, conspiracy theories had swirled about its mysteriously encoded doors, cosmically inspired helicoid columns, symbol-laden facades, magic-square mathematical
carvings, and ghostly “skeletal” construction that clearly resembled twisting bones and connective tissue.

Langdon was aware of the theories, of course, and yet never gave them much credence. A few years back, however, Langdon was surprised when Edmond confessed that he was one of a growing number of Gaudí fans who quietly believed that Sagrada Família was secretly conceived as something other than a Christian church, perhaps even as a mystical shrine to science and nature.

Langdon found the notion highly unlikely, and he reminded Edmond that Gaudí was a devout Catholic whom the Vatican had held in such high esteem that they christened him “God’s architect,” and even considered him for beatification. Sagrada Família’s unusual design, Langdon assured Kirsch, was nothing more than an example of Gaudí’s unique modernist approach to Christian symbolism.

Edmond’s reply was a coy smile, as if he were secretly holding some mysterious piece of the puzzle that he was not ready to share.

Another Kirsch secret
, Langdon now thought.
Like his hidden battle with cancer.

“Even if Edmond did loan his book to Sagrada Família,” Ambra continued, “and even if we find it, we will never be able to locate the correct line by reading it page by page. And I really doubt Edmond used a highlighter on a priceless manuscript.”

“Ambra?” Langdon replied with a calm smile. “Look at the
back
of the card.”

She glanced down at the card, flipped it over, and read the text on the back.

Then, with a look of disbelief, Ambra read it again.

When her eyes snapped back up to Langdon’s, they were filled with hope.

“As I was saying,” Langdon said with a smile, “I think we should go there.”

Ambra’s excited expression faded as quickly as it came. “There is still a problem. Even if we find his password—”

“I know—we lost Edmond’s phone, meaning we have no way to access Winston and communicate with him.”

“Exactly.”

“I believe I can solve that problem.”

Ambra eyed him skeptically. “I’m sorry?”

“All we need is to locate Winston
himself
—the actual computer that
Edmond built. If we no longer have access to Winston remotely, we’ll just have to take the password to Winston
in person
.”

Ambra stared at him as if he were mad.

Langdon continued. “You told me Edmond built Winston in a secret facility.”

“Yes, but that facility could be
anywhere
in the world!”