Origin

“I know—we lost Edmond’s phone, meaning we have no way to access Winston and communicate with him.”

“Exactly.”

“I believe I can solve that problem.”

Ambra eyed him skeptically. “I’m sorry?”

“All we need is to locate Winston himself—the actual computer that Edmond built. If we no longer have access to Winston remotely, we’ll just have to take the password to Winston in person.”

Ambra stared at him as if he were mad.

Langdon continued. “You told me Edmond built Winston in a secret facility.”

“Yes, but that facility could be anywhere in the world!”

“It’s not. It’s here in Barcelona. It has to be. Barcelona is the city where Edmond lived and worked. And building this synthetic intelligence machine was one of his most recent projects, so it only makes sense that Edmond would have built Winston here.”

“Robert, even if you’re right, you’re looking for a needle in a haystack. Barcelona is an enormous city. It would be impossible—”

“I can find Winston,” Langdon said. “I’m sure of it.” He smiled and motioned to the sprawl of city lights beneath them. “This will sound crazy, but seeing this aerial view of Barcelona just now helped me realize something …”

His voice trailed off as he looked out the window.

“Would you care to elaborate?” Ambra asked expectantly.

“I should have seen it earlier,” he said. “There’s something about Winston—an intriguing puzzle—that has been bothering me all night. I think I finally figured it out.”

Langdon shot a cautious glance at the Guardia agents and then lowered his voice, leaning toward Ambra. “Will you just trust me on this?” he asked quietly. “I believe I can find Winston. The problem is that finding Winston will do us no good without Edmond’s password. Right now, you and I need to focus on finding that line of poetry. Sagrada Família is our best chance of doing that.”

Ambra studied Langdon a long moment. Then, with a bewildered nod, she looked toward the front seat and called, “Agent Fonseca! Please have the pilot turn around and take us to Sagrada Família right away!”

Fonseca spun in his seat, glaring at her. “Ms. Vidal, as I told you, I have my orders—”

“Agent Fonseca,” interrupted the future queen of Spain, leaning forward and locking eyes with him. “Take us to Sagrada Família, right now, or my first order of business when we return will be to have you fired.”

CHAPTER 62

ConspiracyNet.com

BREAKING NEWS

ASSASSIN CULT CONNECTION!

Thanks to yet another tip from monte@iglesia.org, we have just learned that Edmond Kirsch’s killer is a member of an ultraconservative, secretive Christian sect known as the Palmarian Church!

Luís Ávila has been recruiting online for the Palmarians for more than a year now, and his membership in this controversial religio-military organization also explains the “victor” tattoo on his palm.

This Francoist symbol is in regular use by the Palmarian Church, which, according to Spain’s national newspaper, El Pais, has its own “pope” and has canonized several ruthless leaders—including Francisco Franco and Adolf Hitler—as saints!

Don’t believe us? Look it up.

It all began with a mystical vision.

In 1975, an insurance broker named Clemente Domínguez y Gómez claimed to have had a vision in which he was crowned pope by Jesus Christ Himself. Clemente took the papal name Gregory XVII, breaking from the Vatican and appointing his own cardinals. Although rejected by Rome, this new antipope amassed thousands of followers and vast wealth enabling him to construct a fortresslike church, expand his ministry internationally, and consecrate hundreds of Palmarian bishops worldwide.

The schismatic Palmarian Church still functions today out of its world headquarters—a secure, walled compound called the Mount of Christ the King in El Palmar de Troya, Spain. The Palmarians are not recognized by the Vatican in Rome, and yet continue to attract an ultraconservative Catholic following.

More news on this sect soon, as well as an update on Bishop Antonio Valdespino, who also seems to be implicated in tonight’s conspiracy.

CHAPTER 63

OKAY, I’M IMPRESSED, Langdon thought.

With a few strong words, Ambra had just forced the crew of the EC145 helicopter to make a wide-banking turn and redirect toward the Basílica of the Sagrada Família.

As the aircraft leveled out and began skimming back across the city, Ambra turned to Agent Díaz and demanded the use of his cell phone, which the Guardia agent reluctantly handed over. Ambra promptly launched his browser and began scanning news headlines.

“Damn,” she whispered, shaking her head with frustration. “I tried to tell the media you did not kidnap me. Nobody could hear me.”

“Maybe they need more time to post?” Langdon offered. This happened less than ten minutes ago.

“They’ve had enough time,” she replied. “I’m seeing video clips of our helicopter speeding away from Casa Milà.”