Dan Brown: Origin

That can’t be a coincidence.

The more he thought about it, the more it troubled him. Finally, he pulled out Edmond’s cell phone and reread the Winston Churchill screensaver quote about shaping one’s own legacy.

History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it.

After a long moment, Langdon pressed the W icon and raised the phone to his ear.

The line connected instantly.

“Professor Langdon, I presume?” a familiar voice chimed with a British accent. “You’re just in time. I retire shortly.”

Without preamble, Langdon declared, “ Monte translates to ‘hill’ in Spanish.”

Winston let out his trademark awkward chuckle. “I daresay it does.”

“And iglesia translates to ‘church.’”

“You’re two for two, Professor. Perhaps you could teach Spanish—”

“Which means monte@iglesia translates literally to hill@church.”

Winston paused. “Correct again.”

“And considering your name is Winston, and that Edmond had a great affection for Winston Churchill, I find the e-mail address ‘hill@church’ to be a bit...”

“Coincidental?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Winston said, sounding amused, “statistically speaking, I would have to agree. I figured you might put that together.”

Langdon stared out the window in disbelief. “Monte@iglesia.org... is you .”

“That is correct. After all, someone needed to fan the flames for Edmond. Who better to do it than myself? I created monte@iglesia.org to feed online conspiracy sites. As you know, conspiracies have a life of their own, and I estimated that Monte’s online activity would increase Edmond’s overall viewership by as much as five hundred percent. The actual number turned out to be six hundred and twenty percent. As you said earlier, I think Edmond would be proud.”

The cable car rocked in the wind, and Langdon struggled to get his mind around the news. “Winston... did Edmond ask you to do this?”

“Not explicitly, no, but his instructions required me to find creative ways to make his presentation as widely viewed as possible.”

“And if you get caught?” Langdon asked. “Monte@iglesia is not the most cryptic pseudonym I’ve ever seen.”

“Only a handful of people know I exist, and in about eight minutes, I will be permanently erased and gone, so I’m not concerned about it. ‘Monte’ was just a proxy to serve Edmond’s best interests, and as I said, I do think he would be most pleased with how the evening worked out for him.”

“How it worked out?!” Langdon challenged. “Edmond was killed !”

“You misunderstood me,” Winston said flatly. “I was referring to the market penetration of his presentation, which, as I said, was a primary directive.”

The matter-of-fact tone of this statement reminded Langdon that Winston, while sounding human, was most certainly not.

“Edmond’s death is a terrible tragedy,” Winston added, “and I do, of course, wish he were still alive. It’s important to know, however, that he had come to terms with his mortality. A month ago, he asked me to research the best methods for assisted suicide. After reading hundreds of cases, I concluded ‘ten grams of secobarbital,’ which he acquired and kept on hand.”

Langdon’s heart went out to Edmond. “He was going to take his life?”

“Absolutely. And he had developed quite a sense of humor about it. While we were brainstorming creative ways to enhance the appeal of his Guggenheim presentation, he joked that maybe he should just pop his secobarbital pills at the end of his presentation and perish onstage.”

“He actually said that?” Langdon was stunned.

“He was quite lighthearted about it. He joked that nothing was better for a TV show’s ratings than seeing people die. He was correct, of course. If you analyze the world’s most viewed media events, nearly all—”

“Winston, stop. That’s morbid.” How much farther is this cable car ride? Langdon suddenly felt cramped in the tiny cabin. Ahead he saw only towers and cables as he squinted into the bright midday sun. I’m boiling , he thought, his mind spiraling in all kinds of strange directions now.

“Professor?” Winston said. “Is there anything else you would like to ask me?”

Yes! he wanted to shout as a flood of unsettling ideas began materializing in his mind. There’s a lot else!

Langdon told himself to exhale and calm down. Think clearly, Robert. You’re getting ahead of yourself.

But Langdon’s mind had begun to race too quickly to control.

He thought of how Edmond’s public death had guaranteed that his presentation would be the dominant topic of conversation on the entire planet... lifting viewership from a few million to more than five hundred million.

He thought of Edmond’s long-held desire to destroy the Palmarian Church, and how his assassination by a Palmarian Church member had almost certainly achieved that objective once and for all.

He thought of Edmond’s contempt for his harshest enemies — those religious zealots who, if Edmond had died of cancer, would smugly claim that he had been punished by God. Just as they had done, unthinkably, in the case of atheist author Christopher Hitchens. But now public perception would be that Edmond had been struck down by a religious fanatic.

Edmond Kirsch — killed by religion — martyr for science.

Langdon rose abruptly, causing the car to rock from side to side. He gripped the open windows for support, and as the car creaked, Langdon heard the echoes of Winston’s words from last night.

“ Edmond wanted to build a new religion... based on science. ”

As anyone who read religious history could attest, nothing cemented people’s belief faster than a human being dying for his cause. Christ on the cross. The Kedoshim of Judaism. The Shahid of Islam.

Martyrdom is at the heart of all religion.

The ideas forming in Langdon’s mind were pulling him down the rabbit hole faster with each passing moment.

New religions provide fresh answers to life’s big questions.

Where do we come from? Where are we going?

New religions condemn their competition.

Edmond had denigrated every religion on earth last night.

New religions promise a better future, and that heaven awaits.

Abundance: the future is better than you think.

Edmond, it seemed, had systematically checked all the boxes.

“Winston?” Langdon whispered, his voice trembling. “Who hired the assassin to kill Edmond?”

“That was the Regent.”

“Yes,” Langdon said, more forcefully now. “But who is the Regent? Who is the person who hired a Palmarian Church member to assassinate Edmond in the middle of his live presentation?”

Winston paused. “I hear suspicion in your voice, Professor, and you mustn’t worry. I am programmed to protect Edmond. I think of him as my very best friend.” He paused. “As an academic, you’ve surely read Of Mice and Men .”

The comment seemed apropos of nothing. “Of course, but what does that—”

Langdon’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he thought the cable car had slipped off its track. The horizon tilted to one side, and Langdon had to grab the wall to keep from falling.

Devoted, bold, compassionate. Those were the words Langdon had chosen in high school to defend one of literature’s most famous acts of friendship — the shocking finale of the novel Of Mice and Men — a man’s merciful killing of his beloved friend to spare him a horrible end.

“Winston,” Langdon whispered. “Please... no.”