Fonseca’s stony expression never wavered.
Ambra’s thoughts were racing wildly now, and she wondered what was written on the card. Where does Langdon want to go? His sudden intensity seemed to imply there was more at stake than simply keeping her safe. She heard a renewed optimism in his voice and sensed he had not yet given up hope that they could somehow still launch Edmond’s presentation.
Langdon retrieved the linen card from Fonseca and handed it to Ambra. “I found this in Edmond’s library.”
Ambra studied the card, immediately recognizing what it was.
Known as “loan logs” or “title cards,” these elegantly embossed placeholders were given by museum curators to donors in exchange for a piece of artwork on temporary loan. Traditionally, two identical cards were printed—one placed on display in the museum to thank the donor, and one held by the donor as collateral for the piece he had loaned.
Edmond loaned out his book of Blake’s poetry?
According to the card, Edmond’s book had traveled no more than a few kilometers away from his Barcelona apartment.
THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF WILLIAM BLAKE
From the private collection of
EDMOND KIRSCH
On loan to
LA BASÍLICA DE LA
SAGRADA FAMÍLIA
Carrer de Mallorca, 401
08013 Barcelona, Spain
“I don’t understand,” Ambra said. “Why would an outspoken atheist lend a book to a church?”
“Not just any church,” Langdon countered. “Gaudí’s most enigmatic architectural masterpiece …” He pointed out the window, into the distance behind them. “And soon to be the tallest church in Europe.”
Ambra turned her head, peering back across the city to the north. In the distance—surrounded by cranes, scaffolding, and construction lights—the unfinished towers of Sagrada Família shone brightly, a cluster of perforated spires that resembled giant sea sponges climbing off the ocean floor toward the light.
For more than a century, Gaudí’s controversial Basílica de la Sagrada Família had been under construction, relying solely on private donations from the faithful. Criticized by traditionalists for its eerie organic shape and use of “biomimetic design,” the church was hailed by modernists for its structural fluidity and use of “hyperboloid” forms to reflect the natural world.
“I’ll admit it’s unusual,” Ambra said, turning back to Langdon, “but it’s still a Catholic church. And you know Edmond.”
I do know Edmond, Langdon thought. Enough to know he believes Sagrada Família hides a secret purpose and symbolism that go far beyond Christianity.
Since the bizarre church’s groundbreaking in 1882, conspiracy theories had swirled about its mysteriously encoded doors, cosmically inspired helicoid columns, symbol-laden facades, magic-square mathematical carvings, and ghostly “skeletal” construction that clearly resembled twisting bones and connective tissue.
Langdon was aware of the theories, of course, and yet never gave them much credence. A few years back, however, Langdon was surprised when Edmond confessed that he was one of a growing number of Gaudí fans who quietly believed that Sagrada Família was secretly conceived as something other than a Christian church, perhaps even as a mystical shrine to science and nature.
Langdon found the notion highly unlikely, and he reminded Edmond that Gaudí was a devout Catholic whom the Vatican had held in such high esteem that they christened him “God’s architect,” and even considered him for beatification. Sagrada Família’s unusual design, Langdon assured Kirsch, was nothing more than an example of Gaudí’s unique modernist approach to Christian symbolism.
Edmond’s reply was a coy smile, as if he were secretly holding some mysterious piece of the puzzle that he was not ready to share.
Another Kirsch secret, Langdon now thought. Like his hidden battle with cancer.
“Even if Edmond did loan his book to Sagrada Família,” Ambra continued, “and even if we find it, we will never be able to locate the correct line by reading it page by page. And I really doubt Edmond used a highlighter on a priceless manuscript.”
“Ambra?” Langdon replied with a calm smile. “Look at the back of the card.”
She glanced down at the card, flipped it over, and read the text on the back.
Then, with a look of disbelief, Ambra read it again.
When her eyes snapped back up to Langdon’s, they were filled with hope.
“As I was saying,” Langdon said with a smile, “I think we should go there.”
Ambra’s excited expression faded as quickly as it came. “There is still a problem. Even if we find his password—”
“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.”