the GPS dot over Collet's shoulder, and Collet could almost hear the wheels turning. Fache was fighting the urge to go check on Langdon. Ideally, the subject of an observation was allowed the most time and freedom possible, lulling him into a false sense of security. Langdon needed to return of his own volition. Still, it had been almost ten minutes.
Too long.
“Any chance Langdon is onto us?” Fache asked.
Collet shook his head. “We're still seeing small movements inside the men's room, so the GPS dot is obviously still on him. Perhaps he feels ill? If he had found the dot, he would have removed it and tried to run.”
Fache checked his watch. “Fine.”
Still Fache seemed preoccupied. All evening, Collet had sensed an atypical intensity in his captain. Usually detached and cool under pressure, Fache tonight seemed emotionally engaged, as if this were somehow a personal matter for him.
Not surprising,
Collet thought.
Fache needs this arrest desperately
. Recently the Board of Ministers and the media had become more openly critical of Fache's aggressive tactics, his clashes with powerful foreign embassies, and his gross overbudgeting on new technologies. Tonight, a high-tech, high-profile arrest of an American would go a long way to silence Fache's critics, helping him secure the job a few more years until he could retire with the lucrative pension.
God knows he needs the pension,
Collet thought. Fache's zeal for technology had hurt him both professionally and personally. Fache was rumored to have invested his entire savings in the technology craze a few years back and lost his shirt.
And Fache is a man who wears only the finest shirts.
Tonight, there was still plenty of time. Sophie Neveu's odd interruption, though unfortunate, had been only a minor wrinkle. She was gone now, and Fache still had cards to play. He had yet to inform Langdon that his name had been scrawled on the floor by the victim.
P.S. Find Robert Langdon
. The American's reaction to that little bit of evidence would be telling indeed.
“Captain?” one of the DCPJ agents now called from across the office. “I think you better take this call.” He was holding out a telephone receiver, looking concerned.
“Who is it?” Fache said.
The agent frowned. “It's the director of our Cryptology Department.”
“And?”
“It's about Sophie Neveu, sir. Something is not quite right.”
CHAPTER 15
It was time.
Silas felt strong as he stepped from the black Audi, the nighttime breeze rustling his loose-fitting robe.
The winds of change are in the air
. He knew the task before him would require more finesse than force, and he left his handgun in the car. The thirteen-round Heckler Koch USP 40 had been provided by the Teacher.
A weapon of death has no place in a house of God.
The plaza before the great church was deserted at this hour, the only visible souls on the far side of Place Saint-Sulpice a couple of teenage hookers showing their wares to the late night tourist traffic. Their nubile bodies sent a familiar longing to Silas's loins. His thigh flexed instinctively, causing the barbed
cilice
belt to cut painfully into his flesh.
The lust evaporated instantly. For ten years now, Silas had faithfully denied himself all sexual indulgence, even self-administered. It was
The Way
. He knew he had sacrificed much to follow Opus Dei, but he had received much more in return. A vow of celibacy and the relinquishment of all personal assets hardly seemed a sacrifice. Considering the poverty from which he had come and the sexual horrors he had endured in prison, celibacy was a welcome change.
Now, having returned to France for the first time since being arrested and shipped to prison in Andorra, Silas could feel his homeland testing him, dragging violent memories from his redeemed soul.
You have been reborn,
he reminded himself. His service to God today had required the sin of murder, and it was a sacrifice Silas knew he would have to hold silently in
Too long.
“Any chance Langdon is onto us?” Fache asked.
Collet shook his head. “We're still seeing small movements inside the men's room, so the GPS dot is obviously still on him. Perhaps he feels ill? If he had found the dot, he would have removed it and tried to run.”
Fache checked his watch. “Fine.”
Still Fache seemed preoccupied. All evening, Collet had sensed an atypical intensity in his captain. Usually detached and cool under pressure, Fache tonight seemed emotionally engaged, as if this were somehow a personal matter for him.
Not surprising,
Collet thought.
Fache needs this arrest desperately
. Recently the Board of Ministers and the media had become more openly critical of Fache's aggressive tactics, his clashes with powerful foreign embassies, and his gross overbudgeting on new technologies. Tonight, a high-tech, high-profile arrest of an American would go a long way to silence Fache's critics, helping him secure the job a few more years until he could retire with the lucrative pension.
God knows he needs the pension,
Collet thought. Fache's zeal for technology had hurt him both professionally and personally. Fache was rumored to have invested his entire savings in the technology craze a few years back and lost his shirt.
And Fache is a man who wears only the finest shirts.
Tonight, there was still plenty of time. Sophie Neveu's odd interruption, though unfortunate, had been only a minor wrinkle. She was gone now, and Fache still had cards to play. He had yet to inform Langdon that his name had been scrawled on the floor by the victim.
P.S. Find Robert Langdon
. The American's reaction to that little bit of evidence would be telling indeed.
“Captain?” one of the DCPJ agents now called from across the office. “I think you better take this call.” He was holding out a telephone receiver, looking concerned.
“Who is it?” Fache said.
The agent frowned. “It's the director of our Cryptology Department.”
“And?”
“It's about Sophie Neveu, sir. Something is not quite right.”
CHAPTER 15
It was time.
Silas felt strong as he stepped from the black Audi, the nighttime breeze rustling his loose-fitting robe.
The winds of change are in the air
. He knew the task before him would require more finesse than force, and he left his handgun in the car. The thirteen-round Heckler Koch USP 40 had been provided by the Teacher.
A weapon of death has no place in a house of God.
The plaza before the great church was deserted at this hour, the only visible souls on the far side of Place Saint-Sulpice a couple of teenage hookers showing their wares to the late night tourist traffic. Their nubile bodies sent a familiar longing to Silas's loins. His thigh flexed instinctively, causing the barbed
cilice
belt to cut painfully into his flesh.
The lust evaporated instantly. For ten years now, Silas had faithfully denied himself all sexual indulgence, even self-administered. It was
The Way
. He knew he had sacrificed much to follow Opus Dei, but he had received much more in return. A vow of celibacy and the relinquishment of all personal assets hardly seemed a sacrifice. Considering the poverty from which he had come and the sexual horrors he had endured in prison, celibacy was a welcome change.
Now, having returned to France for the first time since being arrested and shipped to prison in Andorra, Silas could feel his homeland testing him, dragging violent memories from his redeemed soul.
You have been reborn,
he reminded himself. His service to God today had required the sin of murder, and it was a sacrifice Silas knew he would have to hold silently in
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