The pilot jumped out and helped them both inside.
As he strapped them in, the future queen of Spain gave him a weary nod.
“Thank you very much,” she whispered. “Mr. Langdon will tell you where to go.”
CHAPTER 78
ConspiracyNet.com
BREAKING NEWS
PALMARIAN CHURCH
KILLED EDMOND KIRSCH’S MOTHER?!
Our informant [email protected] has come through with yet another blockbuster revelation! According to exclusive documents verified by ConspiracyNet, Edmond Kirsch has attempted for years to sue the Palmarian Church for “brainwashing, psychological conditioning, and physical cruelty” allegedly resulting in the death of Paloma Kirsch—Edmond’s biological mother—more than three decades ago.
Paloma Kirsch is alleged to have been an active member of the Palmarian Church who attempted to break free, was shamed and psychologically abused by her superiors, and hanged herself in a nunnery bedroom.
CHAPTER 79
“THE KING HIMSELF,” Commander Garza muttered again, his voice resonating across the palace armory. “I still can’t fathom that my arrest order came from the king himself. After all my years of service.”
Mónica Martín placed a silencing finger to her lips and glanced through the suits of armor at the entryway to make sure the guards were not listening. “I told you, Bishop Valdespino has the king’s ear, and has convinced His Majesty that tonight’s accusations against him are your doing, and that you’re somehow framing him.”
I’ve become the king’s sacrificial lamb, Garza realized, always having suspected that if the king were forced to choose between his Guardia Real commander or Valdespino, he would choose Valdespino; the two men had been lifelong friends, and spiritual connections always trumped professional ones.
Even so, Garza could not help but feel that something about Mónica’s explanation wasn’t entirely logical. “The kidnapping story,” he said. “You’re telling me that it was ordered by the king?”
“Yes, His Majesty called me directly. He ordered me to announce that Ambra Vidal had been abducted. He had concocted the kidnapping story in an effort to save the reputation of the future queen—to soften the appearance that she had literally run off with another man.” Martín gave Garza an annoyed look. “Why are you questioning me about this? Especially now that you know the king phoned Agent Fonseca with the same kidnapping story?”
“I can’t believe the king would ever risk falsely accusing a prominent American of kidnapping,” Garza argued. “He’d have to be—”
“Insane?” she interrupted.
Garza stared in silence.
“Commander,” Martín pressed, “remember that His Majesty is failing. Maybe this was just a case of bad judgment?”
“Or a moment of brilliance,” Garza offered. “Reckless or not, the future queen is now safe and accounted for, in the hands of the Guardia.”
“Exactly.” Martín eyed him carefully. “So what’s bothering you?”
“Valdespino,” Garza said. “I admit I don’t like him, but my gut says he can’t possibly be behind Kirsch’s murder, or any of the rest of it.”
“Why not?” Her tone was acerbic. “Because he’s a priest? I’m pretty sure our Inquisition taught us a few things about the Church’s willingness to justify drastic measures. In my opinion, Valdespino is self-righteous, ruthless, opportunistic, and overly secretive. Am I missing something?”
“You are,” Garza fired back, startled to find himself defending the bishop. “Valdespino is everything you say he is, but he is also a person for whom tradition and dignity are everything. The king—who trusts almost no one—has steadfastly trusted the bishop for decades now. I find it very hard to believe that the king’s confidant could ever commit the kind of treachery we’re talking about.”
Martín sighed and pulled out her cell phone. “Commander, I hate to undermine your faith in the bishop, but I need you to see this. Suresh showed it to me.” She pressed a few buttons and handed Garza her phone.
The screen displayed a long text message.
“This is a screenshot of a text message Bishop Valdespino received tonight,” she whispered. “Read it. I guarantee it will change your mind.”
CHAPTER 80
DESPITE THE PAIN coursing through his body, Robert Langdon felt strangely buoyant, almost euphoric, as the helicopter thundered off the roof of Sagrada Família.
I’m alive.
He could feel the adrenaline build up in his bloodstream, as if all of the events of the past hour were now hitting him all at once. Breathing as slowly as possible, Langdon turned his attention outward, to the world beyond the helicopter windows.
All around him, massive church spires reached skyward, but as the helicopter rose, the church dropped away, dissolving into an illuminated grid of streets. Langdon gazed down at the sprawl of city blocks, which were not the usual squares and rectangles but rather much softer octagons.
L’Eixample, Langdon thought. The Widening.
Visionary city architect Ildefons Cerdà had widened all the intersections in this district by shaving the corners off the square blocks to create mini plazas, with better visibility, increased airflow, and abundant space for outdoor cafés.
“¿Adónde vamos?” the pilot shouted over his shoulder.
Langdon pointed two blocks to the south, where one of the city’s widest, brightest, and most aptly named avenues cut diagonally across Barcelona.
As he strapped them in, the future queen of Spain gave him a weary nod.
“Thank you very much,” she whispered. “Mr. Langdon will tell you where to go.”
CHAPTER 78
ConspiracyNet.com
BREAKING NEWS
PALMARIAN CHURCH
KILLED EDMOND KIRSCH’S MOTHER?!
Our informant [email protected] has come through with yet another blockbuster revelation! According to exclusive documents verified by ConspiracyNet, Edmond Kirsch has attempted for years to sue the Palmarian Church for “brainwashing, psychological conditioning, and physical cruelty” allegedly resulting in the death of Paloma Kirsch—Edmond’s biological mother—more than three decades ago.
Paloma Kirsch is alleged to have been an active member of the Palmarian Church who attempted to break free, was shamed and psychologically abused by her superiors, and hanged herself in a nunnery bedroom.
CHAPTER 79
“THE KING HIMSELF,” Commander Garza muttered again, his voice resonating across the palace armory. “I still can’t fathom that my arrest order came from the king himself. After all my years of service.”
Mónica Martín placed a silencing finger to her lips and glanced through the suits of armor at the entryway to make sure the guards were not listening. “I told you, Bishop Valdespino has the king’s ear, and has convinced His Majesty that tonight’s accusations against him are your doing, and that you’re somehow framing him.”
I’ve become the king’s sacrificial lamb, Garza realized, always having suspected that if the king were forced to choose between his Guardia Real commander or Valdespino, he would choose Valdespino; the two men had been lifelong friends, and spiritual connections always trumped professional ones.
Even so, Garza could not help but feel that something about Mónica’s explanation wasn’t entirely logical. “The kidnapping story,” he said. “You’re telling me that it was ordered by the king?”
“Yes, His Majesty called me directly. He ordered me to announce that Ambra Vidal had been abducted. He had concocted the kidnapping story in an effort to save the reputation of the future queen—to soften the appearance that she had literally run off with another man.” Martín gave Garza an annoyed look. “Why are you questioning me about this? Especially now that you know the king phoned Agent Fonseca with the same kidnapping story?”
“I can’t believe the king would ever risk falsely accusing a prominent American of kidnapping,” Garza argued. “He’d have to be—”
“Insane?” she interrupted.
Garza stared in silence.
“Commander,” Martín pressed, “remember that His Majesty is failing. Maybe this was just a case of bad judgment?”
“Or a moment of brilliance,” Garza offered. “Reckless or not, the future queen is now safe and accounted for, in the hands of the Guardia.”
“Exactly.” Martín eyed him carefully. “So what’s bothering you?”
“Valdespino,” Garza said. “I admit I don’t like him, but my gut says he can’t possibly be behind Kirsch’s murder, or any of the rest of it.”
“Why not?” Her tone was acerbic. “Because he’s a priest? I’m pretty sure our Inquisition taught us a few things about the Church’s willingness to justify drastic measures. In my opinion, Valdespino is self-righteous, ruthless, opportunistic, and overly secretive. Am I missing something?”
“You are,” Garza fired back, startled to find himself defending the bishop. “Valdespino is everything you say he is, but he is also a person for whom tradition and dignity are everything. The king—who trusts almost no one—has steadfastly trusted the bishop for decades now. I find it very hard to believe that the king’s confidant could ever commit the kind of treachery we’re talking about.”
Martín sighed and pulled out her cell phone. “Commander, I hate to undermine your faith in the bishop, but I need you to see this. Suresh showed it to me.” She pressed a few buttons and handed Garza her phone.
The screen displayed a long text message.
“This is a screenshot of a text message Bishop Valdespino received tonight,” she whispered. “Read it. I guarantee it will change your mind.”
CHAPTER 80
DESPITE THE PAIN coursing through his body, Robert Langdon felt strangely buoyant, almost euphoric, as the helicopter thundered off the roof of Sagrada Família.
I’m alive.
He could feel the adrenaline build up in his bloodstream, as if all of the events of the past hour were now hitting him all at once. Breathing as slowly as possible, Langdon turned his attention outward, to the world beyond the helicopter windows.
All around him, massive church spires reached skyward, but as the helicopter rose, the church dropped away, dissolving into an illuminated grid of streets. Langdon gazed down at the sprawl of city blocks, which were not the usual squares and rectangles but rather much softer octagons.
L’Eixample, Langdon thought. The Widening.
Visionary city architect Ildefons Cerdà had widened all the intersections in this district by shaving the corners off the square blocks to create mini plazas, with better visibility, increased airflow, and abundant space for outdoor cafés.
“¿Adónde vamos?” the pilot shouted over his shoulder.
Langdon pointed two blocks to the south, where one of the city’s widest, brightest, and most aptly named avenues cut diagonally across Barcelona.
