unexpected surge of longing through her bones.
My family!
In that fleeting instant, Sophie saw images from the dream that had awoken her countless times when she was a little girl:
My family is alive! They are coming home!
But, as in her dream, the pictures evaporated into oblivion.
Your family is dead, Sophie. They are not coming home.
“Sophie . . .” her grandfather said on the machine. “I have been waiting for years to tell you. Waiting for the right moment, but now time has run out. Call me at the Louvre. As soon as you get this. I'll wait here all night. I fear we both may be in danger. There's so much you need to know.”
The message ended.
In the silence, Sophie stood trembling for what felt like minutes. As she considered her grandfather's message, only one possibility made sense, and his true intent dawned.
It was bait.
Obviously, her grandfather wanted desperately to see her. He was trying anything. Her disgust for the man deepened. Sophie wondered if maybe he had fallen terminally ill and had decided to attempt any ploy he could think of to get Sophie to visit him one last time. If so, he had chosen wisely.
My family.
Now, standing in the darkness of the Louvre men's room, Sophie could hear the echoes of this afternoon's phone message.
Sophie, we both may be in danger. Call me
.
She had not called him. Nor had she planned to. Now, however, her skepticism had been deeply challenged. Her grandfather lay murdered inside his own museum. And he had written a code on the floor.
A code for
her
. Of this, she was certain.
Despite not understanding the meaning of his message, Sophie was certain its cryptic nature was additional proof that the words were intended for her. Sophie's passion and aptitude for cryptography were a product of growing up with Jacques Saunière—a fanatic himself for codes, word games, and puzzles.
How many Sundays did we spend doing the cryptograms and crosswords in the newspaper?
At the age of twelve, Sophie could finish the
Le Monde
crossword without any help, and her grandfather graduated her to crosswords in English, mathematical puzzles, and substitution ciphers. Sophie devoured them all. Eventually she turned her passion into a profession by becoming a codebreaker for the Judicial Police.
Tonight, the cryptographer in Sophie was forced to respect the efficiency with which her grandfather had used a simple code to unite two total strangers—Sophie Neveu and Robert Langdon.
The question was
why?
Unfortunately, from the bewildered look in Langdon's eyes, Sophie sensed the American had no more idea than she did why her grandfather had thrown them together.
She pressed again. “You and my grandfather had planned to meet tonight. What about?”
Langdon looked truly perplexed. “His secretary set the meeting and didn't offer any specific reason, and I didn't ask. I assumed he'd heard I would be lecturing on the pagan iconography of French cathedrals, was interested in the topic, and thought it would be fun to meet for drinks after the talk.”
Sophie didn't buy it. The connection was flimsy. Her grandfather knew more about pagan iconography than anyone else on earth. Moreover, he was an exceptionally private man, not someone prone to chatting with random American professors unless there were an important reason.
Sophie took a deep breath and probed further. “My grandfather called me this afternoon and told me he and I were in grave danger. Does
that
mean anything to you?”
Langdon's blue eyes now clouded with concern. “No, but considering what just happened . . .”
Sophie nodded. Considering tonight's events, she would be a fool not to be frightened. Feeling drained, she walked to the small plate-glass window at the far end of the bathroom and gazed out in silence through the mesh of alarm tape embedded in the glass. They were high up—forty feet at least.
Sighing, she raised her eyes and gazed out at Paris's dazzling landscape. On her left, across the Seine, the
My family!
In that fleeting instant, Sophie saw images from the dream that had awoken her countless times when she was a little girl:
My family is alive! They are coming home!
But, as in her dream, the pictures evaporated into oblivion.
Your family is dead, Sophie. They are not coming home.
“Sophie . . .” her grandfather said on the machine. “I have been waiting for years to tell you. Waiting for the right moment, but now time has run out. Call me at the Louvre. As soon as you get this. I'll wait here all night. I fear we both may be in danger. There's so much you need to know.”
The message ended.
In the silence, Sophie stood trembling for what felt like minutes. As she considered her grandfather's message, only one possibility made sense, and his true intent dawned.
It was bait.
Obviously, her grandfather wanted desperately to see her. He was trying anything. Her disgust for the man deepened. Sophie wondered if maybe he had fallen terminally ill and had decided to attempt any ploy he could think of to get Sophie to visit him one last time. If so, he had chosen wisely.
My family.
Now, standing in the darkness of the Louvre men's room, Sophie could hear the echoes of this afternoon's phone message.
Sophie, we both may be in danger. Call me
.
She had not called him. Nor had she planned to. Now, however, her skepticism had been deeply challenged. Her grandfather lay murdered inside his own museum. And he had written a code on the floor.
A code for
her
. Of this, she was certain.
Despite not understanding the meaning of his message, Sophie was certain its cryptic nature was additional proof that the words were intended for her. Sophie's passion and aptitude for cryptography were a product of growing up with Jacques Saunière—a fanatic himself for codes, word games, and puzzles.
How many Sundays did we spend doing the cryptograms and crosswords in the newspaper?
At the age of twelve, Sophie could finish the
Le Monde
crossword without any help, and her grandfather graduated her to crosswords in English, mathematical puzzles, and substitution ciphers. Sophie devoured them all. Eventually she turned her passion into a profession by becoming a codebreaker for the Judicial Police.
Tonight, the cryptographer in Sophie was forced to respect the efficiency with which her grandfather had used a simple code to unite two total strangers—Sophie Neveu and Robert Langdon.
The question was
why?
Unfortunately, from the bewildered look in Langdon's eyes, Sophie sensed the American had no more idea than she did why her grandfather had thrown them together.
She pressed again. “You and my grandfather had planned to meet tonight. What about?”
Langdon looked truly perplexed. “His secretary set the meeting and didn't offer any specific reason, and I didn't ask. I assumed he'd heard I would be lecturing on the pagan iconography of French cathedrals, was interested in the topic, and thought it would be fun to meet for drinks after the talk.”
Sophie didn't buy it. The connection was flimsy. Her grandfather knew more about pagan iconography than anyone else on earth. Moreover, he was an exceptionally private man, not someone prone to chatting with random American professors unless there were an important reason.
Sophie took a deep breath and probed further. “My grandfather called me this afternoon and told me he and I were in grave danger. Does
that
mean anything to you?”
Langdon's blue eyes now clouded with concern. “No, but considering what just happened . . .”
Sophie nodded. Considering tonight's events, she would be a fool not to be frightened. Feeling drained, she walked to the small plate-glass window at the far end of the bathroom and gazed out in silence through the mesh of alarm tape embedded in the glass. They were high up—forty feet at least.
Sighing, she raised her eyes and gazed out at Paris's dazzling landscape. On her left, across the Seine, the
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