And unless I take bold action, Langdon knew, my student’s greatest accomplishment will never see the light of day.
Positioning himself so that the podium was partially blocking Fonseca’s line of sight, Langdon knelt down beside Edmond’s body, closed his eyes, folded his hands together, and assumed the reverent posture of prayer.
The irony of praying over an atheist almost caused Langdon to smile. Edmond, I know that you of all people don’t want anyone praying for you. Don’t worry, my friend, I’m not actually here to pray.
As he knelt over Edmond, Langdon fought a rising fear. I assured you the bishop was harmless. If Valdespino turns out to be involved in this … Langdon pushed it from his mind.
Once he felt certain that Fonseca had spotted him praying, Langdon very discreetly leaned forward and reached inside Edmond’s leather jacket, removing his oversized turquoise phone.
He glanced quickly back toward Fonseca, who was still on the phone and now seemed less interested in Langdon than he did in Ambra, who appeared to be engrossed in her own phone call and was wandering farther and farther away from Fonseca.
Langdon returned his eyes to Edmond’s phone and took a calming breath.
One more thing to do.
Gently, he reached down and lifted Edmond’s right hand. It already felt cold. Bringing the phone to his fingertips, Langdon carefully pressed Edmond’s index finger to the fingerprint recognition disk.
The phone clicked and unlocked.
Langdon quickly scrolled to the settings menu and disabled the password protection feature. Permanently unlocked. Then he slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and covered Edmond’s body again with the blanket.
Sirens wailed in the distance as Ambra stood alone in the center of the deserted auditorium and held her cell phone to her ear, pretending to be absorbed in a conversation, all the while very aware of Fonseca’s eyes on her.
Hurry, Robert.
A minute ago, the American professor had leaped into action after Ambra had shared with him a recent conversation she’d had with Edmond Kirsch. Ambra told Langdon that two nights ago, in this very room, she and Edmond had been working late on the final details of the presentation when Edmond had taken a break to have his third spinach smoothie of the night. Ambra had noticed how exhausted he looked.
“I’ve got to say, Edmond,” she had said, “I’m not sure this vegan diet is working for you. You’re looking pale, and much too thin.”
“Too thin?” He laughed. “Look who’s talking.”
“I’m not too thin!”
“Borderline.” He winked playfully at her indignant expression. “As for my being pale, give me a break. I’m a computer geek who sits all day in the glow of an LCD screen.”
“Well, you’re addressing the entire world in two days, and a little color would do you some good. Either get outside tomorrow or invent a computer screen that gives you a tan.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, looking impressed. “You should patent that.” He laughed and then returned his attention to the matter at hand. “So you’re clear on the order of events for Saturday night?”
Ambra nodded, glancing down at the script. “I welcome people inside the anteroom, and then we all move into this auditorium for your introductory video, after which you magically appear at the podium over there.” She pointed to the front of the room. “And then, at the podium, you make your announcement.”
“Perfect,” Edmond said, “with one small addition.” He grinned. “When I speak at the podium, it will be more of an intermission—a chance for me to welcome my guests in person, let everyone stretch their legs, and prep them a bit more before I begin the second half of the evening—a multimedia presentation that explains my discovery.”
“So the announcement itself is prerecorded? Like the intro?”
“Yes, I just finished it a few days ago. We’re a visual culture—multimedia presentations are always more gripping than some scientist talking at a podium.”
“You’re not exactly ‘just some scientist,’” Ambra said, “but I agree. I can’t wait to see it.”
For security purposes, Ambra knew, Edmond’s presentation was stored on his own private, trusted, off-site servers. Everything would be live-streamed into the museum projection system from a remote location.
“When we’re ready for the second half,” she asked, “who will activate the presentation, you or me?”
“I’ll do it myself,” he said, pulling out his phone. “With this.” He held up his oversized smartphone with its turquoise Gaudí case. “It’s all part of the show. I simply dial into my remote server on an encrypted connection …”
Edmond pressed a few buttons and the speakerphone rang once and connected.
A computerized female voice answered. “GOOD EVENING, EDMOND. I AM AWAITING YOUR PASSWORD.”
Edmond smiled. “And then, with the whole world watching, I simply type my password into my phone, and my discovery is live-streamed to our theater here and, simultaneously, to the entire world.”
“Sounds dramatic,” Ambra said, impressed. “Unless, of course, you forget your password.”
“That would be awkward, yes.”
“I trust you’ve written it down?” she said wryly.
“Blasphemy,” Edmond said, laughing. “Computer scientists never write down passwords. Not to worry, though. Mine is only forty-seven characters long. I’m sure I won’t forget it.”
Positioning himself so that the podium was partially blocking Fonseca’s line of sight, Langdon knelt down beside Edmond’s body, closed his eyes, folded his hands together, and assumed the reverent posture of prayer.
The irony of praying over an atheist almost caused Langdon to smile. Edmond, I know that you of all people don’t want anyone praying for you. Don’t worry, my friend, I’m not actually here to pray.
As he knelt over Edmond, Langdon fought a rising fear. I assured you the bishop was harmless. If Valdespino turns out to be involved in this … Langdon pushed it from his mind.
Once he felt certain that Fonseca had spotted him praying, Langdon very discreetly leaned forward and reached inside Edmond’s leather jacket, removing his oversized turquoise phone.
He glanced quickly back toward Fonseca, who was still on the phone and now seemed less interested in Langdon than he did in Ambra, who appeared to be engrossed in her own phone call and was wandering farther and farther away from Fonseca.
Langdon returned his eyes to Edmond’s phone and took a calming breath.
One more thing to do.
Gently, he reached down and lifted Edmond’s right hand. It already felt cold. Bringing the phone to his fingertips, Langdon carefully pressed Edmond’s index finger to the fingerprint recognition disk.
The phone clicked and unlocked.
Langdon quickly scrolled to the settings menu and disabled the password protection feature. Permanently unlocked. Then he slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and covered Edmond’s body again with the blanket.
Sirens wailed in the distance as Ambra stood alone in the center of the deserted auditorium and held her cell phone to her ear, pretending to be absorbed in a conversation, all the while very aware of Fonseca’s eyes on her.
Hurry, Robert.
A minute ago, the American professor had leaped into action after Ambra had shared with him a recent conversation she’d had with Edmond Kirsch. Ambra told Langdon that two nights ago, in this very room, she and Edmond had been working late on the final details of the presentation when Edmond had taken a break to have his third spinach smoothie of the night. Ambra had noticed how exhausted he looked.
“I’ve got to say, Edmond,” she had said, “I’m not sure this vegan diet is working for you. You’re looking pale, and much too thin.”
“Too thin?” He laughed. “Look who’s talking.”
“I’m not too thin!”
“Borderline.” He winked playfully at her indignant expression. “As for my being pale, give me a break. I’m a computer geek who sits all day in the glow of an LCD screen.”
“Well, you’re addressing the entire world in two days, and a little color would do you some good. Either get outside tomorrow or invent a computer screen that gives you a tan.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, looking impressed. “You should patent that.” He laughed and then returned his attention to the matter at hand. “So you’re clear on the order of events for Saturday night?”
Ambra nodded, glancing down at the script. “I welcome people inside the anteroom, and then we all move into this auditorium for your introductory video, after which you magically appear at the podium over there.” She pointed to the front of the room. “And then, at the podium, you make your announcement.”
“Perfect,” Edmond said, “with one small addition.” He grinned. “When I speak at the podium, it will be more of an intermission—a chance for me to welcome my guests in person, let everyone stretch their legs, and prep them a bit more before I begin the second half of the evening—a multimedia presentation that explains my discovery.”
“So the announcement itself is prerecorded? Like the intro?”
“Yes, I just finished it a few days ago. We’re a visual culture—multimedia presentations are always more gripping than some scientist talking at a podium.”
“You’re not exactly ‘just some scientist,’” Ambra said, “but I agree. I can’t wait to see it.”
For security purposes, Ambra knew, Edmond’s presentation was stored on his own private, trusted, off-site servers. Everything would be live-streamed into the museum projection system from a remote location.
“When we’re ready for the second half,” she asked, “who will activate the presentation, you or me?”
“I’ll do it myself,” he said, pulling out his phone. “With this.” He held up his oversized smartphone with its turquoise Gaudí case. “It’s all part of the show. I simply dial into my remote server on an encrypted connection …”
Edmond pressed a few buttons and the speakerphone rang once and connected.
A computerized female voice answered. “GOOD EVENING, EDMOND. I AM AWAITING YOUR PASSWORD.”
Edmond smiled. “And then, with the whole world watching, I simply type my password into my phone, and my discovery is live-streamed to our theater here and, simultaneously, to the entire world.”
“Sounds dramatic,” Ambra said, impressed. “Unless, of course, you forget your password.”
“That would be awkward, yes.”
“I trust you’ve written it down?” she said wryly.
“Blasphemy,” Edmond said, laughing. “Computer scientists never write down passwords. Not to worry, though. Mine is only forty-seven characters long. I’m sure I won’t forget it.”
