Dan Brown - Origin

“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.”

Ambra’s eyes widened. “Forty-seven?! Edmond, you can’t even remember the four-digit PIN for your museum security card! How are you going to remember forty-seven random characters?”

He laughed again at her alarm. “I don’t have to; they’re not random.” He lowered his voice. “My password is actually my favorite line of poetry.”

Ambra felt confused. “You used a line of poetry as a password?”

“Why not? My favorite line of poetry has exactly forty-seven letters.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound very secure.”

“No? You think you can guess my favorite line of poetry?”

“I didn’t even know you like poetry.”

“Exactly. Even if someone found out that my password was a line of poetry, and even if someone guessed the exact line out of millions of possibilities, they would still need to guess the very long phone number I use to dial into my secure server.”

“The phone number you just speed-dialed from your phone?”

“Yes, a phone that has its own access PIN and never leaves my breast pocket.”

Ambra threw up her hands, smiling playfully. “Okay, you’re the boss,” she said. “By the way, who’s your favorite poet?”

“Nice try,” he said, wagging his finger. “You’ll have to wait till Saturday. The line of poetry I’ve chosen is perfect .” He grinned. “It’s about the future — a prophecy — and I’m happy to say it’s already coming true.”

Now, as her thoughts returned to the present, Ambra glanced over at Edmond’s body, and realized with a rush of panic that she was no longer able to see Langdon.

Where is he?!

More alarming, she now spotted the second Guardia officer — Agent Díaz — climbing back into the dome through the slit cut into the fabric wall. Díaz scanned the dome and then began moving directly toward Ambra.

He’ll never let me out of here!

Suddenly Langdon was beside her. He placed his hand gently on the small of her back and began guiding her away, the two of them moving briskly toward the far end of the dome — the passageway through which everyone had entered.

“Ms. Vidal!” Díaz shouted. “Where are you two going?!”

“We’ll be right back,” Langdon called, hastening her across the deserted expanse, moving in a direct line toward the rear of the room and the exit tunnel.

“Mr. Langdon!” It was Agent Fonseca’s voice, shouting behind them. “You are forbidden to leave this room!”

Ambra felt Langdon’s hand pressing more urgently on her back.

“Winston,” Langdon whispered into his headset. “ Now! ”

A moment later, the entire dome went black.

Agent Fonseca and his partner Díaz dashed through the darkened dome, illuminating the way with their cell-phone flashlights and plunging into the tunnel through which Langdon and Ambra had just disappeared.

Halfway up the tunnel, Fonseca found Ambra’s phone lying on the carpeted floor. The sight of it stunned him.

Ambra jettisoned her phone?

The Guardia Real, with Ambra’s permission, used a very simple tracking application to keep tabs on her location at all times. There could be only one explanation for her leaving her phone behind: she wanted to escape their protection.

The notion made Fonseca extremely nervous, although not nearly as nervous as the prospect of having to inform his boss that the future queen consort of Spain was now missing. The Guardia commander was obsessive and ruthless when it came to protecting the prince’s interests. Tonight, the commander had personally tasked Fonseca with the simplest of directives: “Keep Ambra Vidal safe and out of trouble at all times.”

I can’t keep her safe if I don’t know where she is!

The two agents hurried on to the end of the tunnel and arrived at the darkened anteroom, which now looked like a convention of ghosts — a host of pale shell-shocked faces illuminated by their cell-phone screens as they communicated to the outside world, relaying what they had just witnessed.

“Turn on the lights!” several people were shouting.

Fonseca’s phone rang, and he answered.

“Agent Fonseca, this is museum security,” said a young woman in terse Spanish. “We know you’ve lost lights up there. It appears to be a computer malfunction. We’ll have power back momentarily.”

“Are the internal security feeds still up?” Fonseca demanded, knowing the cameras were all equipped with night vision.

“They are, yes.”

Fonseca scanned the darkened room. “Ambra Vidal just entered the anteroom outside the main theater. Can you see where she went?”