“I was not. It must have come on a private line.”
“Edmond played it for me. Valdespino urged him to cancel his presentation and also warned that the clerics with whom Edmond had consulted were considering a preemptive announcement to undermine him somehow before he could go public.” Langdon slowed on the stairs, permitting Ambra to press ahead. He lowered his voice. “Did you find any connection between Valdespino and Admiral Ávila?”
Winston paused a few seconds. “I found no direct connection, but that does not mean one does not exist. It just means it’s not documented.”
They approached the ground floor.
“Professor, if I may …,” Winston said. “Considering the events of this evening, logic would suggest that powerful forces are intent on burying Edmond’s discovery. Bearing in mind that his presentation named you as the person whose insight helped inspire his breakthrough, Edmond’s enemies might consider you a dangerous loose end.”
Langdon had never considered the possibility and felt a sudden flash of danger as he reached the ground floor. Ambra was already there, heaving open the metal door.
“When you exit,” Winston said, “you will find yourselves in an alley. Move to your left around the building and proceed down to the river. From there I will facilitate your transportation to the location we discussed.”
BIO-EC346, Langdon thought, having urged Winston to take them there. The place where Edmond and I were supposed to meet after the event. Langdon had finally deciphered the code, realizing that BIO-EC346 was not some secret science club at all. It was something far more mundane. Nonetheless, he hoped it would be the key to their escape from Bilbao.
If we can make it there undetected …, he thought, knowing there would soon be roadblocks everywhere. We need to move quickly.
As Langdon and Ambra stepped over the threshold into the cool night air, Langdon was startled to see what looked like rosary beads scattered across the ground. He didn’t have time to wonder why. Winston was still talking.
“Once you reach the river,” his voice commanded, “go to the walkway beneath La Salve Bridge and wait until—”
Langdon’s headset blared suddenly with deafening static.
“Winston?” Langdon shouted. “Wait until—what?!”
But Winston was gone, and the metal door had just slammed shut behind them.
CHAPTER 29
MILES TO THE south, on the outskirts of Bilbao, an Uber sedan raced south along Highway AP-68 en route toward Madrid. In the backseat, Admiral Ávila had removed his white jacket and naval cap, enjoying a sense of freedom as he sat back and reflected on his simple escape.
Precisely as the Regent promised.
Almost immediately after entering the Uber vehicle, Ávila had drawn his pistol and pressed it against the head of the trembling driver. At Ávila’s command, the driver had tossed his smartphone out the window, effectively severing his vehicle’s only connection with the company’s headquarters.
Then Ávila had gone through the man’s wallet, memorizing his home address and the names of his wife and two children. Do as I say, Ávila had told him, or your family will die. The man’s knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel, and Ávila knew he had a devoted driver for the night.
I am invisible now, Ávila thought as police cars raced by in the opposite direction, sirens wailing.
As the car sped south, Ávila settled in for the long ride, savoring the afterglow of his adrenaline-fueled high. I have served the cause well, he thought. He glanced at the tattoo on his palm, realizing that the protection it provided had been an unnecessary precaution. At least for now.
Feeling confident that his terrified Uber driver would obey orders, Ávila lowered his pistol. As the car rushed toward Madrid, he gazed once again at the two stickers on the car’s windshield.
What are the chances? he thought.
The first sticker was to be expected—the Uber logo. The second sticker, however, could only have been a sign from above.
The papal cross. The symbol was everywhere these days—Catholics around Europe showing solidarity with the new pope, praising his sweeping liberalization and modernization of the Church.
Ironically, Ávila’s realization that his driver was a devotee of the liberal pope had made pulling a gun on the man an almost pleasurable experience. Ávila was appalled at how the lazy masses adored this new pontiff, who was permitting the followers of Christ to pick and choose from a buffet table of God’s laws, deciding which rules were palatable to them and which were not. Almost overnight, inside the Vatican, questions of birth control, gay marriage, female priests, and other liberal causes were all on the table for discussion. Two thousand years of tradition seemed to be evaporating in the blink of an eye.
Fortunately, there are still those who fight for the old ways.
Ávila heard strains of the Oriamendi hymn playing in his mind.
And I am honored to serve them.
CHAPTER 30
SPAIN’S OLDEST AND most elite security force—the Guardia Real—has a fierce tradition that dates back to medieval times. Guardia agents consider it their sworn duty before God to ensure the safety of the royal family, to protect royal property, and to defend royal honor.
Commander Diego Garza—overseer of the Guardia’s nearly two thousand troops—was a stunted and weedy sixty-year-old with a swarthy complexion, tiny eyes, and thinning black hair worn slicked back over a mottled scalp. His rodent-like features and diminutive stature made Garza nearly invisible in a crowd, which helped camouflage his enormous influence within the palace walls.
“Edmond played it for me. Valdespino urged him to cancel his presentation and also warned that the clerics with whom Edmond had consulted were considering a preemptive announcement to undermine him somehow before he could go public.” Langdon slowed on the stairs, permitting Ambra to press ahead. He lowered his voice. “Did you find any connection between Valdespino and Admiral Ávila?”
Winston paused a few seconds. “I found no direct connection, but that does not mean one does not exist. It just means it’s not documented.”
They approached the ground floor.
“Professor, if I may …,” Winston said. “Considering the events of this evening, logic would suggest that powerful forces are intent on burying Edmond’s discovery. Bearing in mind that his presentation named you as the person whose insight helped inspire his breakthrough, Edmond’s enemies might consider you a dangerous loose end.”
Langdon had never considered the possibility and felt a sudden flash of danger as he reached the ground floor. Ambra was already there, heaving open the metal door.
“When you exit,” Winston said, “you will find yourselves in an alley. Move to your left around the building and proceed down to the river. From there I will facilitate your transportation to the location we discussed.”
BIO-EC346, Langdon thought, having urged Winston to take them there. The place where Edmond and I were supposed to meet after the event. Langdon had finally deciphered the code, realizing that BIO-EC346 was not some secret science club at all. It was something far more mundane. Nonetheless, he hoped it would be the key to their escape from Bilbao.
If we can make it there undetected …, he thought, knowing there would soon be roadblocks everywhere. We need to move quickly.
As Langdon and Ambra stepped over the threshold into the cool night air, Langdon was startled to see what looked like rosary beads scattered across the ground. He didn’t have time to wonder why. Winston was still talking.
“Once you reach the river,” his voice commanded, “go to the walkway beneath La Salve Bridge and wait until—”
Langdon’s headset blared suddenly with deafening static.
“Winston?” Langdon shouted. “Wait until—what?!”
But Winston was gone, and the metal door had just slammed shut behind them.
CHAPTER 29
MILES TO THE south, on the outskirts of Bilbao, an Uber sedan raced south along Highway AP-68 en route toward Madrid. In the backseat, Admiral Ávila had removed his white jacket and naval cap, enjoying a sense of freedom as he sat back and reflected on his simple escape.
Precisely as the Regent promised.
Almost immediately after entering the Uber vehicle, Ávila had drawn his pistol and pressed it against the head of the trembling driver. At Ávila’s command, the driver had tossed his smartphone out the window, effectively severing his vehicle’s only connection with the company’s headquarters.
Then Ávila had gone through the man’s wallet, memorizing his home address and the names of his wife and two children. Do as I say, Ávila had told him, or your family will die. The man’s knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel, and Ávila knew he had a devoted driver for the night.
I am invisible now, Ávila thought as police cars raced by in the opposite direction, sirens wailing.
As the car sped south, Ávila settled in for the long ride, savoring the afterglow of his adrenaline-fueled high. I have served the cause well, he thought. He glanced at the tattoo on his palm, realizing that the protection it provided had been an unnecessary precaution. At least for now.
Feeling confident that his terrified Uber driver would obey orders, Ávila lowered his pistol. As the car rushed toward Madrid, he gazed once again at the two stickers on the car’s windshield.
What are the chances? he thought.
The first sticker was to be expected—the Uber logo. The second sticker, however, could only have been a sign from above.
The papal cross. The symbol was everywhere these days—Catholics around Europe showing solidarity with the new pope, praising his sweeping liberalization and modernization of the Church.
Ironically, Ávila’s realization that his driver was a devotee of the liberal pope had made pulling a gun on the man an almost pleasurable experience. Ávila was appalled at how the lazy masses adored this new pontiff, who was permitting the followers of Christ to pick and choose from a buffet table of God’s laws, deciding which rules were palatable to them and which were not. Almost overnight, inside the Vatican, questions of birth control, gay marriage, female priests, and other liberal causes were all on the table for discussion. Two thousand years of tradition seemed to be evaporating in the blink of an eye.
Fortunately, there are still those who fight for the old ways.
Ávila heard strains of the Oriamendi hymn playing in his mind.
And I am honored to serve them.
CHAPTER 30
SPAIN’S OLDEST AND most elite security force—the Guardia Real—has a fierce tradition that dates back to medieval times. Guardia agents consider it their sworn duty before God to ensure the safety of the royal family, to protect royal property, and to defend royal honor.
Commander Diego Garza—overseer of the Guardia’s nearly two thousand troops—was a stunted and weedy sixty-year-old with a swarthy complexion, tiny eyes, and thinning black hair worn slicked back over a mottled scalp. His rodent-like features and diminutive stature made Garza nearly invisible in a crowd, which helped camouflage his enormous influence within the palace walls.
