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属类: 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 丹-布朗] 阅读:[25888]
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兰登惊愕地看着有索尼埃附言的照片,半晌无语。附言:找到罗伯特。兰登。他感到脚下的地板在倾斜。索尼埃在附言中留下我的名字。任凭他怎么想象,兰登也弄不懂为什么。

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"现在你明白为什么法希今晚把你叫到这儿,为什么你是首要嫌疑犯了吧?"

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此刻,兰登唯一明白的,是为什么当兰登说索尼埃写下的应该是谋杀者的名字时,法希看起来是那么得意啦。

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找到罗伯特。兰登。

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"索尼埃为什么要这样写?"兰登问道。此时他的困惑已经变成了愤怒。"我为什么要杀雅克。索尼埃?"

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"法希还没有找到作案动机,但他已经把今晚你们谈话的全部内容都录了音,他希望你能泄露出动机。"兰登张大了嘴,却说不出话来。

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"他身上带着一个微型麦克风。"索菲解释说。"麦克风和他衣袋里的发射机相连接,发射机把无线电信号发回指挥部。""这不可能。"兰登结结巴巴地说。"我有不在场的证据,讲座过后我就立即回酒店了,你可以问酒店服务台。""法希已经询问过了。""他的报告表明你在大约十点半从门房那里取回你房间的钥匙。

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不幸的是,谋杀的时间更接近十一点钟。你可以在别人看不到的情况下轻易地离开酒店。""胡说八道!法希没有证据!"

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索菲的眼睛睁得老大,似乎在说:没有证据?"兰登先生,你的名字写在尸体旁的地板上,而且索尼埃的每日记事本上也说他大约是在谋杀发生的那段时间和您在一起。"她停了停。"法希有足够的证据拘留你,审问你。"

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兰登突然意识到他需要一名律师。"我没干这事。"

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索菲叹了一口气。"这不是美国电视,兰登先生。在法国,法律保护警察而不是犯人。

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不幸的是,在这个案子中,还得考虑媒体。在巴黎,雅克。索尼埃是一位杰出的、深受爱戴的人物,他被谋杀的消息明天一早就会传开去。法希将在重压之下陈述案情。有一个嫌疑犯可拘押,他现在看起来好过多了。不管你是否有罪,你都肯定被中央司法警察拘押,一直到他们弄清事实真相。"兰登感觉自己像一只笼中兽。"你为什么给我讲这些?"

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"因为,兰登先生,我相信你是无辜的。"索菲转过脸望着别处片刻后又看着他说:"而且也部分是由于我的过错给你惹了这麻烦。""你说什么?索尼埃圈定我是你的过错?"

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"索尼埃并不是要圈定你。这是个误会。地板上的那段文字是写给我看的。"

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兰登花了好一段时间也没弄懂这句话的意思。"我没听懂!"

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"那段文字并不是给警察看的,他是写给我的。我想他在匆忙中只能这么做,他根本没想到警察看到会怎么想。"她歇了口气。"那个数字密码没有意义。索尼埃那样写是想确保案件调查人员中会包括密码破译人员,确保我会尽快知道他出了什么事。"兰登感觉自己实在弄不明白其中复杂的关系,马上就糊涂了。姑且不论索菲。奈芙这会儿是不是真的疯了,但至少兰登明白为什么她在尽力帮助他。附言:找到兰登。她显然是相信馆长给她留下的一个秘密附言,告诉她去找兰登。"但为什么你认为那段文字是写给你的?"

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"维特鲁威人。"她干脆地说。"那幅画是达。芬奇画作中我最喜欢的一幅,今晚他用它来引起我的注意。""停一下,你说馆长知道你最喜欢的艺术品是什么?"

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她点点头。"对不起,一切都乱了套。雅克。索尼埃和我……"

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索菲哽咽了,兰登听得出有一段伤感、痛苦的过去在她内心深处炙烤着她。索菲和雅克。索尼埃显然有某种特殊的关系。兰登又仔细打量了站在他面前的这个年轻女人。他非常清楚法国上了些年纪的男人经常找年轻的情人。即使是这样,索菲。奈芙看起来也不像是一个"被包养的女人"。

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"我们十年前闹翻了。"索菲声音低得像耳语。"从那以后,我们几乎没说过话。今夜,密码破译部接到电话说他被谋杀了,我看了他的尸体的照片和地板上的文字,就意识到他在试图给我传达一个信息。""因为维特鲁威人?"

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"是的,还有字母P.S."

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"PostScript--附言?"

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她摇摇头。"P.S 是我的名字的首字母。"

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"但你的名字是索菲。奈芙--SophieNeveu."

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她把脸转到一边。"P.S 是我和他住在一起时他给我起的绰号。"她红着脸说。"它代表Princess Sophie--索菲公主。"兰登默不做声。

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"很傻的,我知道。"她说。"但那是多年以前的事了。我那时还是个小姑娘。"

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"你还是个小姑娘时就认识他?"

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"太熟悉他了。"她动了感情,泪水夺眶而出。"雅克。索尼埃是我祖父。"

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Robert Langdon felt light-headed as he trudged toward the end of the Grand Gallery. Sophie’s phone message played over and over in his mind. At the end of the corridor, illuminated signs bearing the international stick-figure symbols for rest rooms guided him through a maze-like series of dividers displaying Italian drawings and hiding the rest rooms from sight.

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Finding the men’s room door, Langdon entered and turned on the lights.

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The room was empty.

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Walking to the sink, he splashed cold water on his face and tried to wake up. Harsh fluorescent lights glared off the stark tile, and the room smelled of ammonia. As he toweled off, the rest room’s door creaked open behind him. He spun.

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Sophie Neveu entered, her green eyes flashing fear. "Thank God you came. We don’t have much time."

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Langdon stood beside the sinks, staring in bewilderment at DCPJ cryptographer Sophie Neveu. Only minutes ago, Langdon had listened to her phone message, thinking the newly arrived cryptographer must be insane. And yet, the more he listened, the more he sensed Sophie Neveu was speaking in earnest. Do not react to this message. Just listen calmly. You are in danger right now. Follow my directions very closely. Filled with uncertainty, Langdon had decided to do exactly as Sophie advised. He told Fache that the phone message was regarding an injured friend back home. Then he had asked to use the rest room at the end of the Grand Gallery.

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Sophie stood before him now, still catching her breath after doubling back to the rest room. In the fluorescent lights, Langdon was surprised to see that her strong air actually radiated from unexpectedly soft features. Only her gaze was sharp, and the juxtaposition conjured images of a multilayered Renoir portrait... veiled but distinct, with a boldness that somehow retained its shroud of mystery.

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"I wanted to warn you, Mr. Langdon..." Sophie began, still catching her breath, "that you are sous surveillance cachée. Under a guarded observation." As she spoke, her accented English resonated off the tile walls, giving her voice a hollow quality.

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"But... why?" Langdon demanded. Sophie had already given him an explanation on the phone, but he wanted to hear it from her lips.

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"Because," she said, stepping toward him, "Fache’s primary suspect in this murder is you."

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Langdon was braced for the words, and yet they still sounded utterly ridiculous. According to Sophie, Langdon had been called to the Louvre tonight not as a symbologist but rather as a suspect and was currently the unwitting target of one of DCPJ’s favorite interrogation methods—surveillance cachée—a deft deception in which the police calmly invited a suspect to a crime scene and interviewed him in hopes he would get nervous and mistakenly incriminate himself.

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"Look in your jacket’s left pocket," Sophie said. "You’ll find proof they are watching you."

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Langdon felt his apprehension rising. Look in my pocket? It sounded like some kind of cheap magic trick.

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"Just look."

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Bewildered, Langdon reached his hand into his tweed jacket’s left pocket—one he never used. Feeling around inside, he found nothing. What the devil did you expect? He began wondering if Sophie might just be insane after all. Then his fingers brushed something unexpected. Small and hard. Pinching the tiny object between his fingers, Langdon pulled it out and stared in astonishment. It was a metallic, button-shaped disk, about the size of a watch battery. He had never seen it before. "What the...?"

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"GPS tracking dot," Sophie said. "Continuously transmits its location to a Global Positioning System satellite that DCPJ can monitor. We use them to monitor people’s locations. It’s accurate within two feet anywhere on the globe. They have you on an electronic leash. The agent who picked you up at the hotel slipped it inside your pocket before you left your room."

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Langdon flashed back to the hotel room... his quick shower, getting dressed, the DCPJ agent politely holding out Langdon’s tweed coat as they left the room. It’s cool outside, Mr. Langdon, the agent had said. Spring in Paris is not all your song boasts. Langdon had thanked him and donned the jacket.

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Sophie’s olive gaze was keen. "I didn’t tell you about the tracking dot earlier because I didn’t want you checking your pocket in front of Fache. He can’t know you’ve found it."

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Langdon had no idea how to respond.

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"They tagged you with GPS because they thought you might run." She paused. "In fact, they hoped you would run; it would make their case stronger."

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"Why would I run!" Langdon demanded. "I’m innocent!"

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"Fache feels otherwise."

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Angrily, Langdon stalked toward the trash receptacle to dispose of the tracking dot.

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"No!" Sophie grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Leave it in your pocket. If you throw it out, the signal will stop moving, and they’ll know you found the dot. The only reason Fache left you alone is because he can monitor where you are. If he thinks you’ve discovered what he’s doing..." Sophie did not finish the thought. Instead, she pried the metallic disk from Langdon’s hand and slid it back into the pocket of his tweed coat. "The dot stays with you. At least for the moment."

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Langdon felt lost. "How the hell could Fache actually believe I killed Jacques Saunière!"

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"He has some fairly persuasive reasons to suspect you." Sophie’s expression was grim. "There is a piece of evidence here that you have not yet seen. Fache has kept it carefully hidden from you."

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Langdon could only stare.

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"Do you recall the three lines of text that Saunière wrote on the floor?"

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Langdon nodded. The numbers and words were imprinted on Langdon’s mind.

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Sophie’s voice dropped to a whisper now. "Unfortunately, what you saw was not the entire message. There was a fourth line that Fache photographed and then wiped clean before you arrived."

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Although Langdon knew the soluble ink of a watermark stylus could easily be wiped away, he could not imagine why Fache would erase evidence.

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"The last line of the message," Sophie said, "was something Fache did not want you to know about." She paused. "At least not until he was done with you."

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Sophie produced a computer printout of a photo from her sweater pocket and began unfolding it. "Fache uploaded images of the crime scene to the Cryptology Department earlier tonight in hopes we could figure out what Saunière’s message was trying to say. This is a photo of the complete message." She handed the page to Langdon.

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Bewildered, Langdon looked at the image. The close-up photo revealed the glowing message on the parquet floor. The final line hit Langdon like a kick in the gut.

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13-3-2-21-1-1-8-5

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O, Draconian devil!

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Oh, lame saint!

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P.S. Find Robert Langdon

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