Langdon could feel Ambra stagger slightly beside him as Mónica Martín continued reading.
“Regarding our future queen, Ambra Vidal,” the PR coordinator said in an ominous tone, “and the American professor Robert Langdon, I’m afraid I have some deeply disturbing news.”
Langdon and Ambra exchanged a startled glance.
“The palace has just received confirmation from Ms. Vidal’s security detail,” Martín continued, “that Ms. Vidal was taken from the Guggenheim Museum against her will tonight by Robert Langdon. Our Guardia Real are now on full alert, coordinating with local authorities in Barcelona, where it is believed that Robert Langdon is holding Ms. Vidal hostage.”
Langdon was speechless.
“As this is now formally classified as a hostage situation, the public is urged to assist the authorities by reporting any and all information relating to the whereabouts of Ms. Vidal or Mr. Langdon. The palace has no further comment at this time.”
Reporters started screaming questions at Martín, who abruptly turned and marched off toward the palace.
“This is … madness,” Ambra stammered. “My agents saw me leave the museum willingly!”
Langdon stared at the phone, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed. Despite the torrent of questions now swirling in his mind, he was entirely lucid about one key point.
I am in serious danger.
CHAPTER 56
“ROBERT, I’M SO sorry.” Ambra Vidal’s dark eyes were wild with fear and guilt. “I have no idea who is behind this false story, but they’ve just put you at enormous risk.” The future queen of Spain reached for Edmond’s phone. “I’m going to call Mónica Martín right now.”
“Do not call Ms. Martín,” Winston’s voice chimed from the phone. “That is precisely what the palace wants. It’s a ploy. They’re trying to flush you out, trick you into making contact and revealing your location. Think logically. Your two Guardia agents know you were not kidnapped, and yet they’ve agreed to help spread this lie and fly to Barcelona to hunt you? Clearly, the entire palace is involved in this. And with the commander of the Royal Guard under arrest, these orders must be coming from higher up.”
Ambra drew a short breath. “Meaning … Julián?”
“An inescapable conclusion,” Winston said. “The prince is the only one in the palace who has the authority to arrest Commander Garza.”
Ambra closed her eyes for a long moment, and Langdon sensed a wave of melancholy washing over her, as if this seemingly incontrovertible proof of Julián’s involvement had just erased her last remaining hope that perhaps her fiancé was an innocent bystander in all of this.
“This is about Edmond’s discovery,” Langdon declared. “Someone in the palace knows we are trying to show Edmond’s video to the world, and they’re desperate to stop us.”
“Perhaps they thought their work was finished when they silenced Edmond,” Winston added. “They didn’t realize that there were loose ends.”
An uncomfortable silence hung between them.
“Ambra,” Langdon said quietly, “I obviously don’t know your fiancé, but I strongly suspect Bishop Valdespino has Julián’s ear in this matter. Remember, Edmond and Valdespino were at odds before the museum event even started.”
She nodded, looking uncertain. “Either way, you’re in danger.”
Suddenly they became aware of the faint sound of sirens wailing in the distance.
Langdon felt his pulse quicken. “We need to find this poem now,” he declared, resuming his search of the bookshelves. “Launching Edmond’s presentation is the key to our safety. If we go public, then whoever is trying to silence us will realize they’re too late.”
“True,” Winston said, “but the local authorities will still be hunting for you as a kidnapper. You won’t be safe unless you beat the palace at their own game.”
“How?” Ambra demanded.
Winston continued without hesitation. “The palace used the media against you, but that’s a knife that cuts both ways.”
Langdon and Ambra listened as Winston quickly outlined a very simple plan, one that Langdon had to admit would instantly create confusion and chaos among their assailants.
“I’ll do it,” Ambra readily agreed.
“Are you sure?” Langdon asked her warily. “There will be no going back for you.”
“Robert,” she said, “I’m the one who got you into this, and now you’re in danger. The palace had the gall to use the media as a weapon against you, and now I’m going to turn it around on them.”
“Fittingly so,” Winston added. “Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.”
Langdon did a double take. Did Edmond’s computer really just paraphrase Aeschylus? He wondered if it might not be more appropriate to quote Nietzsche: “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”
Before Langdon could protest any further, Ambra was moving down the hall, Edmond’s phone in hand. “Find that password, Robert!” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
Langdon watched her disappear into a narrow turret whose staircase spiraled up to Casa Milà’s notoriously precarious rooftop deck.
“Be careful!” he called after her.
Alone now in Edmond’s apartment, Langdon peered down the winding snake-rib hallway and tried to make sense of what he had seen here—cases of unusual artifacts, a framed quote proclaiming that God was dead, and a priceless Gauguin that posed the same questions Edmond had asked of the world earlier tonight. Where do we come from? Where are we going?