Origin (18 page)

Fonseca looked on, clearly lost.

“There must be some mistake, Winston,” Langdon said. “Why would anyone display the symbol for an alchemical process?”

“I don’t know,” Winston replied. “This is the only match I got, and I’m showing ninety-nine percent correspondence.”

Langdon’s eidetic memory quickly conjured the alchemical symbol for amalgamation.

“Winston, describe exactly what you see in the car window.”

The computer replied immediately. “The symbol consists of one vertical line crossed by three transverse lines. On top of the vertical line sits an upward-facing arch.”

Precisely.
Langdon frowned. “The arch on top—does it have capstones?”

“Yes. A short horizontal line sits on top of each arm.”

Okay then, it’s amalgamation.

Langdon puzzled for a moment. “Winston, can you send us the photo from the security feed?”

“Of course.”

“Send it to
my
phone,” Fonseca demanded.

Langdon relayed the agent’s cell-phone number to Winston, and a moment later, Fonseca’s device pinged. They all gathered around the agent and looked at the grainy black-and-white photo. It was an overhead shot of a black sedan in a deserted service alley.

Sure enough, in the lower-left-hand corner of the windshield, Langdon could see a sticker displaying the exact symbol Winston had described.

Amalgamation. How bizarre.

Puzzled, Langdon reached over and used his fingertips to enlarge the photo on Fonseca’s screen. Leaning in, he studied the more detailed image.

Immediately Langdon saw the problem. “It’s not amalgamation,” he announced.

Although the image was very
close
to what Winston had described, it was not exact. And in symbology, the difference between “close” and “exact” could be the difference between a Nazi swastika and a Buddhist symbol of prosperity.

This is why the human mind is sometimes better than a computer.

“It’s not
one
sticker,” Langdon declared. “It’s
two
different stickers overlapping a bit. The sticker on the bottom is a special crucifix called the papal cross. It’s very popular right now.”

With the election of the most liberal pontiff in Vatican history, thousands of people around the globe were showing their support for the pope’s new policies by displaying the triple cross, even in Langdon’s hometown of Cambridge, Massachusetts.

“The U-shaped symbol on top,” Langdon said, “is a separate sticker entirely.”

“I now see you are correct,” Winston said. “I’ll find the phone number for the company.”

Again Langdon was amazed by Winston’s speed.
He’s already
identified the company logo?
“Excellent,” Langdon said. “If we call them, they can track the car.”

Fonseca looked bewildered. “Track the car! How?”

“This getaway car was
hired
,” Langdon said, pointing to the stylized
U
on the windshield. “It’s an Uber.”

FROM THE LOOK
of wide-eyed disbelief on Fonseca’s face, Langdon couldn’t tell what surprised the agent more: the quick decryption of the windshield sticker, or Admiral Ávila’s odd choice of getaway car.
He hired an Uber
, Langdon thought, wondering if the move was brilliant or incredibly shortsighted.

Uber’s ubiquitous “on-demand driver” service had taken the world by storm over the past few years. Via smartphone, anyone requiring a ride could instantly connect with a growing army of Uber drivers who made extra money by hiring out their own cars as improvised taxis. Only recently legalized in Spain, Uber required its Spanish drivers to display Uber’s
U
logo on their windshields. Apparently, the driver of this Uber getaway car was also a fan of the new pope.

“Agent Fonseca,” Langdon said. “Winston says he has taken the liberty of sending the image of the getaway car to local authorities to distribute at roadblocks.”

Fonseca’s mouth fell open, and Langdon sensed that this highly trained agent was not accustomed to playing catch-up. Fonseca seemed uncertain whether to thank Winston or tell him to mind his own damn business.

“And he is now dialing Uber’s emergency number.”

“No!” Fonseca commanded. “Give
me
the number. I’ll call myself. Uber will be more likely to assist a senior member of the Royal Guard than they will a computer.”

Langdon had to admit Fonseca was probably right. Besides, it seemed far better that the Guardia assist in the manhunt than waste their skills transporting Ambra to Madrid.

After getting the number from Winston, Fonseca dialed, and Langdon felt rising confidence that they might catch the assassin in a matter of minutes. Locating vehicles was at the heart of Uber’s business; any customer with a smartphone could literally access the precise locations
of every Uber driver on earth. All Fonseca would need to do was ask the company to locate the driver who had just picked up a passenger behind the Guggenheim Museum.

“
¡Hostia!
” Fonseca cursed. “
Automatizada.
” He stabbed at a number on his keypad and waited, apparently having reached an automated list of menu options. “Professor, once I get through to Uber and order a trace on the car, I will be handing this matter over to local authorities so Agent Díaz and I can transport you and Ms. Vidal to Madrid.”

“Me?” Langdon replied, startled. “No, I can’t possibly join you.”

“You can and you
will
,” Fonseca declared. “As will your computer toy,” he added, pointing to Langdon’s headset.

“I’m sorry,” Langdon responded, his tone hardening. “There is no way I can accompany you to Madrid.”

“That’s odd,” Fonseca replied. “I thought you were a Harvard professor?”

Langdon gave him a puzzled look. “I am.”

“Good,” Fonseca snapped. “Then I assume you’re smart enough to realize you have no choice.”

With that, the agent stalked off, returning to his phone call. Langdon watched him go.
What the hell?

“Professor?” Ambra had stepped very close to Langdon and whispered behind him. “I need you to listen to me. It’s very important.”

Langdon turned, startled to see that Ambra’s expression was one of profound fear. Her mute shock seemed to have passed, and her tone was desperate and clear.

“Professor,” she said, “Edmond showed you enormous respect by featuring you in his presentation. For this reason, I’m going to trust you. I need to tell you something.”

Langdon eyed her, uncertain.

“Edmond’s murder was my fault,” she whispered, her deep brown eyes welling with tears.

“I beg your pardon?”

Ambra glanced nervously at Fonseca, who was now out of earshot. “The guest list,” she said, returning to Langdon. “The last-minute addition. The name that was added?”

“Yes, Luis Ávila.”

“
I
am the person who added that name,” she confessed, her voice cracking. “It was
me
!”

Winston was correct …
, Langdon thought, stunned.

“
I’m
the reason Edmond was murdered,” she said, now on the verge of tears. “I let his killer inside this building.”

“Hold on,” Langdon said, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder. “Just talk to me.
Why
did you add his name?”

Ambra shot another anxious glance at Fonseca, who was still on the phone twenty yards away. “Professor, I received a last-minute request from someone I trust deeply. He asked me to add Admiral Ávila’s name to the guest list as a personal favor. The request came only minutes before the doors opened, and I was busy, so I added the name without thinking. I mean, he was an admiral in the navy! How could I possibly have known?” She looked again at Edmond’s body and covered her mouth with a slender hand. “And now …”

“Ambra,” Langdon whispered. “
Who
was it that asked you to add Ávila’s name?”

Ambra swallowed hard. “It was my fiancé … the crown prince of Spain. Don Julián.”

Langdon stared at her in disbelief, trying to process her words. The director of the Guggenheim had just claimed that the crown prince of Spain had helped orchestrate the assassination of Edmond Kirsch.
That’s impossible.

“I’m sure the palace never expected I would learn the killer’s identity,” she said. “But now that I know … I fear I’m in danger.”

Langdon put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re perfectly safe here.”

“No,” she whispered forcefully, “there are things going on here that you don’t understand. You and I need to get out.
Now!
”

“We can’t run,” Langdon countered. “We’ll never—”

“Please listen to me,” she urged. “I
know
how to help Edmond.”

“I’m sorry?” Langdon sensed that she was still in shock. “Edmond can’t
be
helped.”

“Yes, he can,” she insisted, her tone lucid. “But first, we’ll need to get inside his home in Barcelona.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please just listen to me carefully. I know what Edmond would want us to do.”

For the next fifteen seconds, Ambra Vidal spoke to Langdon in hushed tones. As she talked, Langdon felt his heart rate climbing.
My God
, he thought.
She’s right. This changes everything.

When she was finished, Ambra looked up at him defiantly. “Now do you see why we need to go?”

Langdon nodded without hesitation. “Winston,” he said into his headset. “Did you hear what Ambra just told me?”

“I did, Professor.”

“Were you already aware of this?”

“No.”

Langdon considered his next words very carefully. “Winston, I don’t know if computers can feel loyalty to their creators, but if you can, this is your moment of truth. We could really use your help.”

AS LANGDON MOVED
toward the podium, he kept one eye on Fonseca, who was still engrossed in his phone call to Uber. He watched as Ambra drifted casually toward the center of the dome, talking on her phone too—or at least
pretending
to talk—precisely as Langdon had suggested.

Tell Fonseca you decided to call Prince Julián.

As Langdon reached the podium, he reluctantly turned his gaze to the crumpled form on the floor.
Edmond.
Gently, Langdon pulled back the blanket that Ambra had placed over him. Edmond’s once bright eyes were now two lifeless slits below a crimson hole in his forehead. Langdon shuddered at the gruesome image, his heart pounding with loss and rage.

For an instant, Langdon could still see the young mop-haired student who had entered his class full of hope and talent—and had gone on to accomplish so much in so brief a time. Horrifically, tonight, someone had murdered this astonishingly gifted human being, almost certainly in an attempt to bury his discovery forever.

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.