Dan Brown - Origin

Valdespino gasped, looking horrified.

An icy chill gripped Julián. My father is dead?

“No! I–I’m so sorry!” the agent stammered, regretting his poor choice of words. “His Majesty is gone — he left El Escorial an hour ago. He took his lead security detail, and they left.”

Julián’s relief turned quickly to confusion. Left the hospital here? “That’s absurd,” Valdespino yelled. “The king told me to bring Prince Julián here right away!”

“Yes, we have specific orders, Your Excellency, and if you would, please exit the car so we can transfer you both to a Guardia vehicle.”

Valdespino and Julián exchanged puzzled looks and dutifully got out of the car. The agent advised the acolyte that his services were no longer required and that he should return to the palace. The frightened young man sped off into the night without a word, clearly relieved to end his role in this evening’s bizarre events.

As the guards guided the prince and Valdespino into the back of an SUV, the bishop became increasingly agitated. “Where is the king?” he demanded. “Where are you taking us?”

“We are following His Majesty’s direct orders,” the agent said. “He asked us to give you a vehicle, a driver, and this letter.” The agent produced a sealed envelope and handed it through the window to Prince Julián.

A letter from my father? The prince was disconcerted by the formality, especially when he noticed that the envelope bore the royal wax seal. What is he doing? He felt increasing concern that the king’s faculties might be failing.

Anxiously, Julián broke the seal, opened the envelope, and extracted a handwritten note card. His father’s penmanship was not what it used to be but was still legible. As Julián began to read the letter, he felt his bewilderment growing with every word.

When he finished, he slipped the card back into the envelope and closed his eyes, considering his options. There was only one, of course.

“Drive north, please,” Julián told the driver.

As the vehicle pulled away from El Escorial, the prince could feel Valdespino staring at him. “What did your father say?” the bishop demanded. “Where are you taking me?!”

Julián exhaled and turned to his father’s trusted friend. “You said it best earlier.” He gave the aging bishop a sad smile. “My father is still the king. We love him, and we do as he commands.”

“Robert...?” A voice whispered.

Langdon tried to respond, but his head was pounding.

“Robert...?”

A soft hand touched his face, and Langdon slowly opened his eyes. Momentarily disoriented, he actually thought he was dreaming. An angel in white is hovering over me.

When Langdon recognized her face, he managed a weak smile.

“Thank God,” Ambra said, exhaling all at once. “We heard the gunshot.” She crouched beside him. “Stay down.”

As Langdon’s awareness returned, he felt a sudden rush of fear. “The man who attacked—”

“He’s gone,” Ambra whispered, her voice calm. “You’re safe.” She gestured over the edge of the shaft. “He fell. All the way down.”

Langdon strained to absorb the news. It was all slowly coming back. He fought to clear the fog from his mind and take inventory of his wounds, his attention moving to the deep throbbing in his left hip and the sharp pain in his head. Otherwise, nothing felt broken. The sound of police radios echoed up the stairwell.

“How long... have I been...”

“A few minutes,” Ambra said. “You’ve been in and out. We need to get you checked.”

Gingerly, Langdon pulled himself to a sitting position, leaning against the wall of the staircase. “It was the navy... officer,” he said. “The one who—”

“I know,” Ambra said, nodding. “The one who killed Edmond. The police just ID’d him. They’re at the bottom of the stairwell with the body, and they want a statement from you, but Father Beña told them nobody comes up here before the medical team, who should be here any minute now.”

Langdon nodded, his head pounding.

“They’ll probably take you to the hospital,” Ambra told him, “which means you and I need to talk right now... before they arrive.”

“Talk... about what ?”

Ambra studied him, looking concerned. She leaned down close to his ear and whispered, “Robert, don’t you remember? We found it — Edmond’s password: ‘The dark religions are departed and sweet science reigns.’”

Her words pierced the fog like an arrow, and Langdon bolted upright, the murkiness in his mind clearing abruptly.

“You’ve brought us this far,” Ambra said. “I can do the rest. You said you know how to find Winston. The location of Edmond’s computer lab? Just tell me where to go, and I’ll do the rest.”

Langdon’s memories rushed back now in torrents. “I do know.” At least I think I can figure it out.

“Tell me.”

“We need to go across town.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know the address,” Langdon said, now climbing unsteadily to his feet. “But I can take you—”

“Sit down, Robert, please!” Ambra said.

“Yes, sit down,” a man echoed, coming into view on the stairs below them. It was Father Beña, trudging up the staircase, breathless. “The EMTs are almost here.”

“I’m fine,” Langdon lied, feeling woozy as he leaned against the wall. “Ambra and I need to go now.”

“You won’t get very far,” Beña said, climbing slowly. “The police are waiting. They want a statement. Besides, the church is surrounded by media. Someone tipped off the press that you’re here.” The priest arrived beside them and gave Langdon a tired smile. “By the way, Ms. Vidal and I are relieved to see you’re okay. You saved our lives.”

Langdon laughed. “I’m pretty sure you saved ours.”

“Well, in either case, I just want you to know that you’ll be unable to leave this stairwell without facing the police.”

Langdon carefully placed his hands on the stone railing and leaned out, peering down. The macabre scene on the ground seemed so far away — Ávila’s awkwardly splayed body illuminated by the beams of several flashlights in the hands of police officers.

As Langdon peered down the spiral shaft, once again noting Gaudí’s elegant nautilus design, he flashed on the website for the Gaudí museum in the basement of this church. The online site, which Langdon had visited not long ago, featured a spectacular series of scale models of Sagrada Família — accurately rendered by CAD programs and massive 3-D printers — depicting the long evolution of the structure, from the laying of its foundation all the way to the church’s glorious future completion, still at least a decade away.

Where do we come from? Langdon thought. Where are we going?

A sudden memory struck him — one of the scale models of the church’s exterior. The image was lodged in his eidetic memory. It was a prototype depicting the church’s current stage of construction and was titled “Sagrada Família Today.”

If that model is up-to-date, then there could be a way out.

Langdon turned suddenly to Beña. “Father, could you please relay a message from me to someone outside?”

The priest looked puzzled.

As Langdon explained his plan to get out of the building, Ambra shook her head. “Robert, that’s impossible. There’s nowhere up there for—”

“Actually,” Beña interjected, “there is . It won’t be there forever, but at the moment, Mr. Langdon is correct. What he’s suggesting is possible.”

Ambra looked surprised. “But Robert... even if we can escape unseen, are you sure that you shouldn’t go to the hospital?”