达芬奇密码 作者: 美 丹·布朗(英文版)-第2章

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If　Boston　Magazine　could　see　me　now。
Last　month；　much　to　Langdon's　embarrassment；　Boston　Magazine　had　listed　him　as　one　of　that　city's　top　ten　most　intriguing　people—a　dubious　honor　that　made　him　the　brunt　of　endless　ribbing　by　his　Harvard　colleagues。　Tonight；　three　thousand　miles　from　home；　the　accolade　had　resurfaced　to　haunt　him　at　the　lecture　he　had　given。
〃Ladies　and　gentlemen。。。〃　the　hostess　had　announced　to　a　full　house　at　the　American　University　of　Paris's　Pavilion　Dauphine；　〃Our　guest　tonight　needs　no　introduction。　He　is　the　author　of　numerous　books：　The　Symbology　of　Secret　Sects；　The　An　of　the　Illuminati；　The　Lost　Language　of　Ideograms；　and　when　I　say　he　wrote　the　book　on　Religious　Iconology；　I　mean　that　quite　literally。　Many　of　you　use　his　textbooks　in　class。〃
The　students　in　the　crowd　nodded　enthusiastically。
〃I　had　planned　to　introduce　him　tonight　by　sharing　his　impressive　curriculum　vitae。　However。。。〃　She　glanced　playfully　at　Langdon；　who　was　seated　onstage。　〃An　audience　member　has　just　handed　me　a　far　more；　shall　we　say。。。　intriguing　introduction。〃
She　held　up　a　copy　of　Boston　Magazine。
Langdon　cringed。　Where　the　hell　did　she　get　that？
The　hostess　began　reading　choice　excerpts　from　the　inane　article；　and　Langdon　felt　himself　sinking　lower　and　lower　in　his　chair。　Thirty　seconds　later；　the　crowd　was　grinning；　and　the　woman　showed　no　signs　of　letting　up。　〃And　Mr。　Langdon's　refusal　to　speak　publicly　about　his　unusual　role　in　last　year's　Vatican　conclave　certainly　wins　him　points　on　our　intrigue…o…meter。〃　The　hostess　goaded　the　crowd。　〃Would　you　like　to　hear　more？〃
The　crowd　applauded。
Somebody　stop　her；　Langdon　pleaded　as　she　dove　into　the　article　again。
〃Although　Professor　Langdon　might　not　be　considered　hunk…handsome　like　some　of　our　younger　awardees；　this　forty…something　academic　has　more　than　his　share　of　scholarly　allure。　His　captivating　presence　is　punctuated　by　an　unusually　low；　baritone　speaking　voice；　which　his　female　students　describe　as　'chocolate　for　the　ears。'　〃
The　hall　erupted　in　laughter。
Langdon　forced　an　awkward　smile。　He　knew　what　came　next—some　ridiculous　line　about　〃Harrison　Ford　in　Harris　tweed〃—and　because　this　evening　he　had　figured　it　was　finally　safe　again　to　wear　his　Harris　tweed　and　Burberry　turtleneck；　he　decided　to　take　action。
〃Thank　you；　Monique；〃　Langdon　said；　standing　prematurely　and　edging　her　away　from　the　podium。　〃Boston　Magazine　clearly　has　a　gift　for　fiction。〃　He　turned　to　the　audience　with　an　embarrassed　sigh。　〃And　if　I　find　which　one　of　you　provided　that　article；　I'll　have　the　consulate　deport　you。〃
The　crowd　laughed。
〃Well；　folks；　as　you　all　know；　I'm　here　tonight　to　talk　about　the　power　of　symbols。。。〃
　
The　ringing　of　Langdon's　hotel　phone　once　again　broke　the　silence。
Groaning　in　disbelief；　he　picked　up。　〃Yes？〃
As　expected；　it　was　the　concierge。　〃Mr。　Langdon；　again　my　apologies。　I　am　calling　to　inform　you　that　your　guest　is　now　en　route　to　your　room。　I　thought　I　should　alert　you。〃
Langdon　was　wide　awake　now。　〃You　sent　someone　to　my　room？〃
〃I　apologize；　monsieur；　but　a　man　like　this。。。　I　cannot　presume　the　authority　to　stop　him。〃
〃Who　exactly　is　he？〃
But　the　concierge　was　gone。
Almost　immediately；　a　heavy　fist　pounded　on　Langdon's　door。
Uncertain；　Langdon　slid　off　the　bed；　feeling　his　toes　sink　deep　into　the　savonniere　carpet。　He　donned　the　hotel　bathrobe　and　moved　toward　the　door。　〃Who　is　it？〃
〃Mr。　Langdon？　I　need　to　speak　with　you。〃　The　man's　English　was　accented—a　sharp；　authoritative　bark。　〃My　name　is　Lieutenant　Jerome　Collet。　Direction　Centrale　Police　Judiciaire。〃
Langdon　paused。　The　Judicial　Police？　The　DCPJ　was　the　rough　equivalent　of　the　U。S。　FBI。
Leaving　the　security　chain　in　place；　Langdon　opened　the　door　a　few　inches。　The　face　staring　back　at　him　was　thin　and　washed　out。　The　man　was　exceptionally　lean；　dressed　in　an　official…looking　blue　uniform。
〃May　I　e　in？〃　the　agent　asked。
Langdon　hesitated；　feeling　uncertain　as　the　stranger's　sallow　eyes　studied　him。　〃What　is　this　all　about？〃
〃My　capitaine　requires　your　expertise　in　a　private　matter。〃
〃Now？〃　Langdon　managed。　〃It's　after　midnight。〃
〃Am　I　correct　that　you　were　scheduled　to　meet　with　the　curator　of　the　Louvre　this　evening？〃
Langdon　felt　a　sudden　surge　of　uneasiness。　He　and　the　revered　curator　Jacques　Saunière　had　been　slated　to　meet　for　drinks　after　Langdon's　lecture　tonight；　but　Saunière　had　never　shown　up。　〃Yes。　How　did　you　know　that？〃
〃We　found　your　name　in　his　daily　planner。〃
〃I　trust　nothing　is　wrong？〃
The　agent　gave　a　dire　sigh　and　slid　a　Polaroid　snapshot　through　the　narrow　opening　in　the　door。
When　Langdon　saw　the　photo；　his　entire　body　went　rigid。
〃This　photo　was　taken　less　than　an　hour　ago。　Inside　the　Louvre。〃
As　Langdon　stared　at　the　bizarre　image；　his　initial　revulsion　and　shock　gave　way　to　a　sudden　upwelling　of　anger。　〃Who　would　do　this！〃
〃We　had　hoped　that　you　might　help　us　answer　that　very　question；　considering　your　knowledge　in　symbology　and　your　plans　to　meet　with　him。〃
Langdon　stared　at　the　picture；　his　horror　now　laced　with　fear。　The　image　was　gruesome　and　profoundly　strange；　bringing　with　it　an　unsettling　sense　of　déjà　vu。　A　little　over　a　year　ago；　Langdon　had　received　a　photograph　of　a　corpse　and　a　similar　request　for　help。　Twenty…four　hours　later；　he　had　almost　lost　his　life　inside　Vatican　City。　This　photo　was　entirely　different；　and　yet　something　about　the　scenario　felt　disquietingly　familiar。
The　agent　checked　his　watch。　〃My　capitaine　is　waiting；　sir。〃
Langdon　barely　heard　him。　His　eyes　were　still　riveted　on　the　picture。　〃This　symbol　here；　and　the　way　his　body　is　so　oddly。。。〃
〃Positioned？〃　the　agent　offered。
Langdon　nodded；　feeling　a　chill　as　he　looked　up。　〃I　can't　imagine　who　would　do　this　to　someone。〃
The　agent　looked　grim。　〃You　don't　understand；　Mr。　Langdon。　What　you　see　in　this　photograph。。。〃　He　paused。　〃Monsieur　Saunière　did　that　to　himself。〃


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CHAPTER　2
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One　mile　away；　the　hulking　albino　named　Silas　limped　through　the　front　gate　of　the　luxurious　brownstone　residence　on　Rue　La　Bruyère。　The　spiked　cilice　belt　that　he　wore　around　his　thigh　cut　into　his　flesh；　and　yet　his　soul　sang　with　satisfaction　of　service　to　the　Lord。
Pain　is　good。
His　red　eyes　scanned　the　lobby　as　he　entered　the　residence。　Empty。　He　climbed　the　stairs　quietly；　not　wanting　to　awaken　any　of　his　fellow　numeraries。　His　bedroom　door　was　open；　locks　were　forbidden　here。　He　entered；　closing　the　door　behind　him。
The　room　was　spartan—hardwood　floors；　a　pine　dresser；　a　canvas　mat　in　the　corner　that　served　as　his　bed。　He　was　a　visitor　here　this　week；　and　yet　for　many　years　he　had　been　blessed　with　a　similar　sanctuary　in　New　York　City。
The　Lord　has　provided　me　shelter　and　purpose　in　my　life。
Tonight；　at　last；　Silas　felt　he　had　begun　to　repay　his　debt。　Hurrying　to　the　dresser；　he　found　the　cell　phone　hidden　in　his　bottom　drawer　and　placed　a　call。
〃Yes？〃　a　male　voice　answered。
〃Teacher；　I　have　returned。〃
〃Speak；〃　the　voice　manded；　sounding　pleased　to　hear　from　him。
〃All　four　are　gone。　The　three　sénéchaux。。。　and　the　Grand　Master　himself。〃
There　was　a　momentary　pause；　as　if　for　prayer。　〃Then　I　assume　you　have　the　information？〃
〃All　four　concurred。　Independently。〃
〃And　you　believed　them？〃
〃Their　agreement　was　too　great　for　coincidence。〃
An　excited　breath。　〃Excellent。　I　had　feared　the　brotherhood's　reputation　for　secrecy　might　prevail。〃
〃The　prospect　of　death　is　strong　motivation。〃
〃So；　my　pupil；　tell　me　what　I　must　know。〃
Silas　knew　the　information　he　had　gleaned　from　his　victims　would　e　as　a　shock。　〃Teacher；　all　four　confirmed　the　existence　of　the　clef　de　vo？te。。。　the　legendary　keystone。〃
He　heard　a　quick　intake　of　breath　over　the　phone　and　could　feel　the　Teacher's　excitement。　〃The　keystone。　Exactly　as　we　suspected。〃
According　to　lore；　the　brotherhood　had　created　a　map　of　stone—a　clef　de　vo？te。。。　or　keystone—an　engraved　tablet　that　revealed　the　final　resting　place　of　the　brotherhood's　greatest　secret。。。　information　so　powerful　that　its　protection　was　the　reason　for　the　brotherhood's　very　existence。
〃When　we　possess　the　keystone；〃　the　Teacher　said；　〃we　will　be　only　one　step　away。〃
〃We　are　closer　than　you　think。　The　keystone　is　here　in　Paris。〃
〃Paris？　Incredible。　It　is　almost　too　easy。〃
Silas　relayed　the　earlier　events　of　the　evening。。。　how　all　four　of　his　victims；　moments　before　death；　had　desperately　tried　to　buy　back　their　godless　lives　by　telling　their　secret。　Each　had　told　Silas　the　exact　same　thing—that　the　keystone　was　ingeniously　hidden　at　a　precise　location　inside　one　of　Paris's　ancient　churches—the　Eglise　de　Saint…Sulpice。
〃Inside　a　house　of　the　Lord；〃　the　Teacher　exclaimed。　〃How　they　mock　us！〃
〃As　they　have　for　centuries。〃
The　Teacher　fell　silent；　as　if　letting　the　triumph　of　this　moment　settle　over　him。　Finally；　he　spoke。　〃You　have　done　a　great　service　to　God。　We　have　waited　centuries　for　this。　You　must　retrieve　the　stone　for　me。　Immediately。　Tonight。　You　understand　the　stakes。〃
Silas　knew　the　stakes　were　incalculable；　and　yet　what　the　Teacher　was　now　manding　seemed　impossible。　〃But　the　church；　it　is　a　fortress。　Especially　at　night。　How　will　I　enter？〃
With　the　confident　tone　of　a　man　of　enormous　influence；　the　Teacher　explained　what　was　to　be　done。
　
When　Silas　hung　up　the　phone；　his　skin　tingled　with　anticipation。
One　hour；　he　told　himself；　grateful　that　the　Teacher　had　given　him　time　to　carry　out　the　necessary　penance　before　entering　a　house　of　God。　I　must　purge　my　soul　of　today's　sins。　The　sins　mitted　today　had　been　holy　in　purpose。　Acts　of　war　against　the　enemies　of　God　had　been　mitted　for　centuries。　Forgiveness　was　assured。
Even　so；　Silas　knew；　absolution　required　sacrifice。
Pulling　his　shades；　he　stripped　naked　and　knelt　in　the　center　of　his　room。　Looking　down；　he　examined　the　spiked　cilice　belt　clamped　around　his　thigh。　All　true　followers　of　The　Way　wore　this　device—a　leather　strap；　studded　with　sharp　metal　barbs　that　cut　into　the　flesh　as　a　perpetual　reminder　of　Christ's　suffering。　The　pain　caused　by　the　device　also　helped　counteract　the　desires　of　the　flesh。
Although　Silas　already　had　worn　his　cilice　today　longer　than　the　requisite　two　hours；　he　knew　today　was　no　ordinary　day。　Grasping　the　buckle；　he　cinched　it　one　notch　tighter；　wincing　as　the　barbs　dug　deeper　into　his　flesh。　Exhaling　slowly；　he　savored　the　cleansing　ritual　of　his　pain。
Pain　is　good；　Silas　whispered；　repeating　the　sacred　mantra　of　Father　Josemaría　Escrivá—the　Teacher　of　all　Teachers。　Although　Escrivá　had　died　in　1975；　his　wisdom　lived　on；　his　words　still　whispered　by　thousands　of　faithful　servants　around　the　globe　as　they　knelt　on　the　floor　and　performed　the　sacred　practice　known　as　〃corporal　mortification。〃
Silas　turned　his　attention　now　to　a　heavy　knotted　rope　coiled　neatly　on　the　floor　beside　him。　The　Discipline。　The　knots　were　caked　with　dried　blood。　Eager　for　the　purifying　effects　of　his　own　agony；　Silas　said　a　quick　prayer。　Then；　gripping　one　end　of　the　rope；　he　closed　his　eyes　and　swung　it　hard　over　his　shoulder；　feeling　the　knots　slap　against　his　back。　He　whipped　it　over　his　shoulder　again；　slashing　at　his　flesh。　Again　and　again；　he　lashed。
Castigo　corpus　meum。
Finally；　he　felt　the　blood　begin　to　flow。
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CHAPTER　3
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The　crisp　April　ai