Origin: (Robert Langdon Book 5) Page 22

  One sunny morning, three weeks ago, Ambra was in Madrid, where she was scheduled to appear in a segment of a morning TV show about the Guggenheim’s upcoming exhibits. RTVE’s Telediario was watched by millions live around the country, and Ambra was a little apprehensive about doing live television, but she knew the spot would provide superb national coverage for the museum.

  The night before the show, she and Julián met for a deliciously casual dinner at Trattoria Malatesta and then slipped quietly through El Parque del Retiro. Watching the families out strolling and the scores of children laughing and running about, Ambra felt totally at peace, lost in the moment.

  “Do you like children?” Julián asked.

  “I adore them,” she replied honestly. “In fact, sometimes I feel like children are the only thing missing in my life.”

  Julián smiled broadly. “I know the feeling.”

  In that instant, the way he looked at her felt different somehow, and Ambra suddenly realized why Julián was asking the question. A surge of fear gripped her, and a voice in her head screamed out, Tell him! TELL HIM NOW!

  She tried to speak, but she couldn’t make a sound.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, looking concerned.

  Ambra smiled. “It’s the Telediario show. I’m just a little nervous.”

  “Exhale. You’ll be great.”

  Julián flashed her a broad smile and then leaned forward and gave her a quick soft kiss on the lips.

  The next morning, at seven thirty, Ambra found herself on a television soundstage, engaged in a surprisingly comfortable on-air chat with the three charming Telediario hosts. She was so caught up in her enthusiasm for the Guggenheim that she barely noticed the television cameras and the live studio audience, or remembered that five million people were watching at home.

  “Gracias, Ambra, y muy interesante,” said the female host as the segment concluded. “Un gran placer conocerte.”

  Ambra nodded her thanks and waited for the interview to end.

  Strangely, the female host gave her a coy smile and continued the segment by turning to address the home audience directly. “This morning,” she began in Spanish, “a very special guest has made a surprise visit to the Telediario studio, and we’d like to bring him out.”

  All three hosts stood up, clapping as a tall, elegant man strode onto the set. When the audience saw him, they jumped to their feet, cheering wildly.

  Ambra stood too, staring in shock.

  Julián?

  Prince Julián waved to the crowd and politely shook the hands of the three hosts. Then he walked over and stood beside Ambra, placing an arm around her.

  “My father has always been a romantic,” he said, speaking Spanish and looking directly into the camera to address the viewers. “When my mother died, he never stopped loving her. I inherited his romanticism, and I believe when a man finds love, he knows in an instant.” He looked at Ambra and smiled warmly. “And so …” Julián stepped back and faced her.

  When Ambra realized what was about to happen, she felt paralyzed with disbelief. NO! Julián! What are you doing?

  Without warning, the crown prince of Spain was suddenly kneeling down before her. “Ambra Vidal, I am asking you not as a prince, but simply as a man in love.” He looked up at her with misty eyes, and the cameras wheeled around to get a close-up of his face. “I love you. Will you marry me?”

  The audience and the show’s hosts all gasped in joy, and Ambra could feel millions of eyes around the country focusing intently on her. Blood rushed to her face, and the lights felt suddenly scalding hot on her skin. Her heart began to pound wildly as she stared down at Julián, a thousand thoughts racing through her head.

  How could you put me in this position?! We’ve only recently met! There are things I haven’t told you about myself … things that could change everything!

  Ambra had no idea how long she had stood in silent panic, but finally one of the hosts gave an awkward laugh and said, “I believe Ms. Vidal is in a trance! Ms. Vidal? A handsome prince is kneeling before you and professing his love before the entire world!”

  Ambra searched her mind for some graceful way out. All she heard was silence, and she knew she was trapped. There was only one way this public moment could end. “I’m hesitating because I can’t believe this fairy tale has a happy ending.” She relaxed her shoulders and smiled warmly down at Julián. “Of course I will marry you, Prince Julián.”

  The studio erupted in wild applause.

  Julián stood up and took Ambra in his arms. As they embraced, she realized that they had never shared a long hug before this moment.

  Ten minutes later, the two were sitting in the back of his limousine.

  “I can see I startled you,” Julián said. “I’m sorry. I was trying to be romantic. I have strong feelings for you, and—”

  “Julián,” Ambra interrupted forcefully, “I have strong feelings for you too, but you put me in an impossible position back there! I never imagined you would propose so quickly! You and I barely know each other. There are so many things I need to tell you—important things about my past.”

  “Nothing in your past matters.”

  “This might matter. A lot.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I love you. It won’t matter. Try me.”

  Ambra studied the man before her. Okay, then. This was most certainly not how she had wanted this conversation to go, but he had given her no choice. “Well, here it is, Julián. When I was a little girl, I had a terrible infection that almost killed me.”

  “Okay.”

  As Ambra spoke, she felt a deep emptiness welling up inside her. “And the result was that my life’s dream of having children … well, it can only be a dream.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Julián,” she said flatly. “I can’t have children. My childhood health problems left me infertile. I’ve always wanted children, but I am unable to have any of my own. I’m sorry. I know how important that is to you, but you’ve just proposed to a woman who cannot give you an heir.”

  Julián went white.

  Ambra locked eyes with him, willing him to speak. Julián, this is the moment when you hold me close and tell me everything’s okay. This is the moment you tell me it doesn’t matter, and that you love me anyway.

  And then it happened.

  Julián shifted away from her ever so slightly.

  In that instant, Ambra knew it was over.

  CHAPTER 45

  THE GUARDIA’S DIVISION of electronic security is located in a windowless warren of rooms on the subterranean level of the Royal Palace. Intentionally isolated from the palace’s vast Guardia barracks and armory, the division’s headquarters consists of a dozen computer cubicles, one telephone switchboard, and a wall of security monitors. The eight-person staff—all under the age of thirty-five—is responsible for providing secure communication networks for the staff of the Royal Palace and the Guardia Real, as well as handling electronic surveillance support for the physical palace itself.

  Tonight, as always, the basement suite of rooms was stuffy, reeking of microwaved noodles and popcorn. The fluorescent lights hummed loudly.

  This is where I asked them to put my office, Martín thought.

  Although “public relations coordinator” was technically not a Guardia post, Martín’s job required access to powerful computers and a tech-savvy staff; thus, the division of electronic security had seemed a far more logical home for her than an underequipped office upstairs.

  Tonight, Martín thought, I will need every bit of technology available.

  For the past few months, her primary focus had been to help the palace stay on message during the gradual transfer of power to Prince Julián. It had not been easy. The transition between leaders had provided an opportunity for protesters to speak out against the monarchy.

  According to the Spanish constitution, the monarchy stood as “a symbol of Spain’s enduring unity and permanence.” But Martín knew ther
e had been nothing unified about Spain for some time now. In 1931, the Second Republic had marked the end of the monarchy, and then the putsch of General Franco in 1936 had plunged the country into civil war.

  Today, although the reinstated monarchy was considered a liberal democracy, many liberals continued to denounce the king as an outdated vestige of an oppressive religio-military past, as well as a daily reminder that Spain still had a way to go before it could fully join the modern world.

  Mónica Martín’s messaging this month had included the usual portrayals of the king as a beloved symbol who held no real power. Of course, it was a tough sell when the sovereign was commander in chief of the armed forces as well as head of state.

  Head of state, Martín mused, in a country where separation between church and state has always been controversial. The ailing king’s close relationship with Bishop Valdespino had been a thorn in the side of secularists and liberals for many years.

  And then there is Prince Julián, she thought.

  Martín knew she owed her job to the prince, but he certainly had been making that job more difficult recently. A few weeks ago, the prince had made the worst PR blunder Martín had ever witnessed.

  On national television, Prince Julián had gotten down on his knees and made a ludicrous proposal to Ambra Vidal. The excruciating moment could not have been any more awkward unless Ambra had declined to marry him, which, fortunately, she had the good sense not to do.

  Unfortunately, in the aftermath, Ambra Vidal had revealed herself to be more of a handful than Julián had anticipated, and the fallout from her extracurricular behavior this month had become one of Martín’s primary PR concerns.

  Tonight, however, Ambra’s indiscretions seemed all but forgotten. The tidal wave of media activity generated by the events in Bilbao had swelled to an unprecedented magnitude. In the past hour, a viral proliferation of conspiracy theories had taken the world by storm, including several new hypotheses involving Bishop Valdespino.

  The most significant development concerned the Guggenheim assassin, who had been given access to Kirsch’s event “on orders of someone inside the Royal Palace.” This damning bit of news had unleashed a deluge of conspiracy theories accusing the bedridden king and Bishop Valdespino of conspiring to murder Edmond Kirsch—a virtual demigod in the digital world, and a beloved American hero who had chosen to live in Spain.

  This is going to destroy Valdespino, Martín thought.

  “Everyone, listen up!” Garza now shouted as he strode into the control room. “Prince Julián and Bishop Valdespino are together somewhere on the premises! Check all security feeds and find them. Now!”

  The commander stalked into Martín’s office and quietly updated her on the situation with the prince and the bishop.

  “Gone?” she said, incredulous. “And they left their phones in the prince’s safe?”

  Garza shrugged. “Apparently so we can’t track them.”

  “Well, we’d better find them,” Martín declared. “Prince Julián needs to make a statement right now, and he needs to distance himself from Valdespino as much as possible.” She relayed all the latest developments.

  Now it was Garza’s turn to look incredulous. “It’s all hearsay. There’s no way Valdespino could be behind an assassination.”

  “Maybe not, but the killing seems to be tied to the Catholic Church. Someone just found a direct connection between the shooter and a highly placed church official. Have a look.” Martín pulled up the latest ConspiracyNet update, which was once again credited to the whistle-blower called monte@iglesia.org. “This went live a few minutes ago.”

  Garza crouched down and began reading the update. “The pope!” he protested. “Ávila has a personal connection with—”

  “Keep reading.”

  When Garza finished, he stepped back from the screen and blinked his eyes repeatedly, as if trying to wake himself from a bad dream.

  At that moment, a male voice called from the control room. “Commander Garza? I’ve located them!”

  Garza and Martín hurried over to the cubicle of Agent Suresh Bhalla, an Indian-born surveillance specialist who pointed to the security feed on his monitor, on which two forms were visible—one in flowing bishop’s robes and the other in a formal suit. They appeared to be walking on a wooded path.

  “East garden,” Suresh said. “Two minutes ago.”

  “They’ve exited the building?!” Garza demanded.

  “Hold on, sir.” Suresh fast-forwarded the footage, managing to follow the bishop and the prince on various cameras located at intervals across the palace complex as the two men left the garden and moved through an enclosed courtyard.

  “Where are they going?!”

  Martín had a good idea where they were going, and she noted that Valdespino had taken a shrewd circuitous route that kept them out of sight of the media trucks on the main plaza.

  As she anticipated, Valdespino and Julián arrived at the southern service entrance of Almudena Cathedral, where the bishop unlocked the door and ushered Prince Julián inside. The door swung shut, and the two men were gone.

  Garza stared mutely at the screen, clearly struggling to make sense of what he had just seen. “Keep me posted,” he finally said, and motioned Martín aside.

  Once they were out of earshot, Garza whispered, “I have no idea how Bishop Valdespino persuaded Prince Julián to follow him out of the palace, or to leave his phone behind, but clearly the prince has no idea about these accusations against Valdespino, or he would know to distance himself.”

  “I agree,” Martín said. “And I’d hate to speculate as to what the bishop’s endgame might be, but …” She stopped.

  “But what?” Garza demanded.

  Martín sighed. “It appears Valdespino may have just taken an extremely valuable hostage.”

  Some 250 miles to the north, inside the atrium of the Guggenheim Museum, Agent Fonseca’s phone began buzzing. It was the sixth time in twenty minutes. When he glanced down at the caller ID, he felt his body snap to attention.

  “¿Sí?” he answered, his heart pounding.

  The voice on the line spoke in Spanish, slowly and deliberately. “Agent Fonseca, as you are well aware, Spain’s future queen consort has made some terrible missteps this evening, associating herself with the wrong people and causing significant embarrassment to the Royal Palace. In order that no further damage be done, it is crucial that you get her back to the palace as quickly as possible.”

  “I’m afraid Ms. Vidal’s location is unknown at the moment.”

  “Forty minutes ago, Edmond Kirsch’s jet took off from Bilbao Airport—headed for Barcelona,” the voice asserted. “I believe Ms. Vidal was on that plane.”

  “How would you know that?” Fonseca blurted, and then instantly regretted his impertinent tone.

  “If you were doing your job,” the voice replied sharply, “you would know too. I want you and your partner to pursue her at once. A military transport is fueling at Bilbao Airport for you right now.”

  “If Ms. Vidal is on that jet,” Fonseca said, “she is probably traveling with the American professor Robert Langdon.”

  “Yes,” the caller said angrily. “I have no idea how this man persuaded Ms. Vidal to abandon her security and run off with him, but Mr. Langdon is clearly a liability. Your mission is to find Ms. Vidal and bring her back, by force if necessary.”

  “And if Langdon interferes?”

  There was a heavy silence. “Do your best to limit collateral damage,” the caller replied, “but this crisis is severe enough that Professor Langdon would be an acceptable casualty.”

  CHAPTER 46

  ConspiracyNet.com

  BREAKING NEWS

  KIRSCH COVERAGE GOES MAINSTREAM!

  Edmond Kirsch’s scientific announcement tonight began as an online presentation that attracted a staggering three million online viewers. In the wake of his assassination, however, the Kirsch story is now being covered on mainstream networks live
around the world, with current viewership estimated at over eighty million.

  CHAPTER 47

  AS KIRSCH’S GULFSTREAM G550 began its descent into Barcelona, Robert Langdon drained his second mug of coffee and gazed down at the remains of the impromptu late-night snack that he and Ambra had just shared from Edmond’s galley—nuts, rice cakes, and assorted “vegan bars” that all tasted the same to him.

  Across the table, Ambra had just finished her second glass of red wine and was looking much more relaxed.

  “Thanks for listening,” she said, sounding sheepish. “Obviously, I haven’t been able to talk about Julián with anyone.”

  Langdon gave her an understanding nod, having just heard the story of Julián’s awkward proposal to her on television. She didn’t have a choice, Langdon agreed, knowing full well that Ambra could not risk shaming the future king of Spain on national television.

  “Obviously, if I’d known he was going to propose so quickly,” Ambra said, “I would have told him I can’t have children. But it all happened without warning.” She shook her head and looked sadly out the window. “I thought I liked him. I don’t know, maybe it was just the thrill of—”

  “A tall, dark, handsome prince?” Langdon ventured with a lopsided grin.

  Ambra laughed quietly and turned back to him. “He did have that going for him. I don’t know, he seemed like a good man. Sheltered maybe, but a romantic—not the kind of man who would ever be involved in killing Edmond.”

  Langdon suspected she was right. The prince had little to gain from Edmond’s death, and there was no solid evidence to suggest that the prince was involved in any way—only a phone call from someone inside the palace asking to add Admiral Ávila to the guest list. At this point, Bishop Valdespino seemed to be the most obvious suspect, having been privy to Edmond’s announcement early enough to formulate a plan to stop it, and also knowing better than anyone just how destructive it might be to the authority of the world’s religions.