Origin

Ambra glanced up and saw a FedEx truck idling at a red light on Avenue of Pedralbes.

Secret symbol? All Ambra could see was the company’s ubiquitous logo.

“Their name is coded,” Langdon told her. “It contains a second level of meaning—a hidden symbol that reflects the company’s forward motion.”

Ambra stared. “It’s just letters.”

“Trust me, there’s a very common symbol in the FedEx logo—and it happens to be pointing the way forward.”

“Pointing? You mean like … an arrow?”

“Exactly.” Langdon grinned. “You’re a curator—think negative space.”

Ambra stared at the logo but saw nothing. When the truck drove off, she wheeled to Langdon. “Tell me!”

He laughed. “No, someday you’ll see it. And when you do … good luck un-seeing it.”

Ambra was about to protest but her Guardia agents were approaching. “Ms. Vidal, the plane is waiting.”

She nodded and turned back to Langdon. “Why don’t you come?” she whispered. “I’m sure the prince would love to thank you in pers—”

“That’s kind,” he interrupted. “I think you and I both know I’d be a third wheel, and I’ve already booked my bed right over there.” Langdon pointed to the nearby tower of the Gran Hotel Princesa Sofía, where he and Edmond had once had lunch. “I’ve got my credit card, and I borrowed a phone from Edmond’s lab. I’m all set.”

The sudden prospect of saying good-bye pulled at Ambra’s heart, and she sensed that Langdon, despite his stoic expression, was feeling some of the same. No longer caring what her guards might think, she boldly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Robert Langdon.

The professor received her warmly, his strong hands on her back pulling her very close. He held her for several seconds, longer than he probably should have, then he gently let her go.

In that moment, Ambra Vidal felt something stir inside her. She suddenly understood what Edmond had been saying about the energy of love and light … blossoming outward infinitely to fill the universe.

Love is not a finite emotion.

We don’t have only so much to share.

Our hearts create love as we need it.

Just as parents could love a newborn instantly without diminishing their love for each other, so now could Ambra feel affection for two different men.

Love truly is not a finite emotion, she realized. It can be generated spontaneously out of nothing at all.

Now, as the car that was taking her back to her prince slowly pulled away, she gazed at Langdon, who was standing alone in the garden. He was watching with steadfast eyes. He gave a soft smile and a tender wave and then abruptly glanced away … seeming to need a moment before he hoisted his jacket over his shoulder again and began walking alone to his hotel.

CHAPTER 103

AS THE PALACE clocks struck noon, Mónica Martín gathered her notes and prepared to walk out to Plaza de la Almudena and address the assembled media.

Earlier that morning, from Hospital El Escorial, Prince Julián had gone on live television and announced the passing of his father. With heartfelt emotion and regal poise, the prince had spoken about the king’s legacy and his own aspirations for the country. Julián called for tolerance in a world divided. He promised to learn from history and open his heart to change. He hailed the culture and beauty of Spain, and proclaimed his deep, undying love for her people.

It was one of the finest speeches Martín had ever heard, and she could imagine no more powerful way for the future king to begin his reign.

At the end of his moving speech, Julián had taken a somber moment to honor the two Guardia agents who had lost their lives in the line of duty the previous night while protecting the future queen of Spain. Then, after a brief silence, he had shared news of another sad development. The king’s devoted lifelong friend, Bishop Antonio Valdespino, had also passed away this morning, only a few hours after the king. The aging bishop had succumbed to heart failure, apparently too weak to cope with the profound distress he felt over the loss of the king as well as the cruel barrage of allegations leveled against him last night.

News of Valdespino’s death, of course, had immediately quelled the public’s call for an investigation, and some had even gone so far as to suggest an apology was in order; after all, the evidence against the bishop was all circumstantial and could easily have been fabricated by his enemies.

As Martín neared the plaza door, Suresh Bhalla materialized beside her. “They’re calling you a hero,” he said, gushing. “All hail, [email protected]—purveyor of truth and disciple of Edmond Kirsch!”

“Suresh, I am not Monte,” she insisted, rolling her eyes. “I promise you.”