St. James’s Park is a sea of green in the middle of London, a public park bordering the palaces ofWestminster, Buckingham, and St. James’s. Once enclosed by King Henry VIII and stocked withdeer for the hunt, St. James’s Park is now open to the public. On sunny afternoons, Londonerspicnic beneath the willows and feed the pond’s resident pelicans, whose ancestors were a gift toCharles II from the Russian ambassador.
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The Teacher saw no pelicans today. The stormy weather had brought instead seagulls from theocean. The lawns were covered with them—hundreds of white bodies all facing the same direction,patiently riding out the damp wind. Despite the morning fog, the park afforded splendid views ofthe Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. Gazing across the sloping lawns, past the duck pond andthe delicate silhouettes of the weeping willows, the Teacher could see the spires of the building thathoused the knight’s tomb—the real reason he had told Rémy to come to this spot.
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As the Teacher approached the front passenger door of the parked limousine, Rémy leaned acrossand opened the door. The Teacher paused outside, taking a pull from the flask of cognac he wascarrying. Then, dabbing his mouth, he slid in beside Rémy and closed the door.
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Rémy held up the keystone like a trophy. "It was almost lost.""You have done well," the Teacher said.
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"We have done well," Rémy replied, laying the keystone in the Teacher’s eager hands.
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The Teacher admired it a long moment, smiling. "And the gun? You wiped it down?""Back in the glove box where I found it.""Excellent." The Teacher took another drink of cognac and handed the flask to Rémy. "Let’s toastour success. The end is near."Rémy accepted the bottle gratefully. The cognac tasted salty, but Rémy didn’t care. He and theTeacher were truly partners now. He could feel himself ascending to a higher station in life. I willnever be a servant again. As Rémy gazed down the embankment at the duck pond below, ChateauVillette seemed miles away.
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Taking another swig from the flask, Rémy could feel the cognac warming his blood. The warmth inRémy’s throat, however, mutated quickly to an uncomfortable heat. Loosening his bow tie, Rémytasted an unpleasant grittiness and handed the flask back to the Teacher. "I’ve probably hadenough," he managed, weakly.
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Taking the flask, the Teacher said, "Rémy, as you are aware, you are the only one who knows myface. I placed enormous trust in you.""Yes," he said, feeling feverish as he loosened his tie further. "And your identity shall go with meto the grave."The Teacher was silent a long moment. "I believe you." Pocketing the flask and the keystone, theTeacher reached for the glove box and pulled out the tiny Medusarevolver. For an instant, Rémyfelt a surge of fear, but the Teacher simply slipped it in his trousers pocket.
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What is he doing? Rémy felt himself sweating suddenly.
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"I know I promised you freedom," the Teacher said, his voice now sounding regretful. "Butconsidering your circumstances, this is the best I can do."The swelling in Rémy’s throat came on like an earthquake, and he lurched against the steeringcolumn, grabbing his throat and tasting vomit in his narrowing esophagus. He let out a muted croakof a scream, not even loud enough to be heard outside the car. The saltiness in the cognac nowregistered.
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I’m being murdered!
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Incredulous, Rémy turned to see the Teacher sitting calmly beside him, staring straight ahead outthe windshield. Rémy’s eyesight blurred, and he gasped for breath. I made everything possible forhim! How could he do this! Whether the Teacher had intended to kill Rémy all along or whether ithad been Rémy’s actions in the Temple Church that had made the Teacher lose faith, Rémy wouldnever know. Terror and rage coursed through him now. Rémy tried to lunge for the Teacher, buthis stiffening body could barely move. I trusted you with everything!
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Rémy tried to lift his clenched fists to blow the horn, but instead he slipped sideways, rolling ontothe seat, lying on his side beside the Teacher, clutching at his throat. The rain fell harder now.
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Rémy could no longer see, but he could sense his oxygen-deprived brain straining to cling to hislast faint shreds of lucidity. As his world slowly went black, Rémy Legaludec could have sworn heheard the sounds of the soft Riviera surf.
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The Teacher stepped from the limousine, pleased to see that nobody was looking in his direction. Ihad no choice, he told himself, surprised how little remorse he felt for what he had just done. Rémysealed his own fate. The Teacher had feared all along that Rémy might need to be eliminated whenthe mission was complete, but by brazenly showing himself in the Temple Church, Rémy hadaccelerated the necessity dramatically. Robert Langdon’s unexpected visit to Chateau Villette hadbrought the Teacher both a fortuitouswindfall and an intricate dilemma. Langdon had delivered thekeystone directly to the heart of the operation, which was a pleasant surprise, and yet he hadbrought the police on his tail. Rémy’s prints were all over Chateau Villette, as well as in the barn’slistening post, where Rémy had carried out the surveillance. The Teacher was grateful he had takenso much care in preventing any ties between Rémy’s activities and his own. Nobody couldimplicate the Teacher unless Rémy talked, and that was no longer a concern.
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One more loose end to tie up here, the Teacher thought, moving now toward the rear door of thelimousine. The police will have no idea what happened... and no living witness left to tell them.
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Glancing around to ensure nobody was watching, he pulled open the door and climbed into thespacious rear compartment.
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Minutes later, the Teacher was crossing St. James’s Park. Only two people now remain. Langdonand Neveu. They were more complicated. But manageable. At the moment, however, the Teacherhad the cryptex to attend to.
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Gazing triumphantly across the park, he could see his destination. In London lies a knight a Popeinterred. As soon as the Teacher had heard the poem, he had known the answer. Even so, that theothers had not figured it out was not surprising. I have an unfair advantage. Having listened toSaunière’s conversations for months now, the Teacher had heard the Grand Master mention thisfamous knight on occasion, expressing esteem almost matching that he held for Da Vinci. Thepoem’s reference to the knight was brutally simple once one saw it—a credit to Saunière’s wit—andyet how this tomb would reveal the final password was still a mystery.
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You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb.
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The Teacher vaguely recalled photos of the famous tomb and, in particular, its most distinguishingfeature. A magnificent orb. The huge sphere mounted atop the tomb was almost as large as thetomb itself. The presence of the orb seemed both encouraging and troubling to the Teacher. On onehand, it felt like a signpost, and yet, according to the poem, the missing piece of the puzzle was anorb that ought to be on his tomb... not one that was already there. He was counting on his closerinspection of the tomb to unveil the answer.
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The rain was getting heavier now, and he tucked the cryptex deep in his right-hand pocket toprotect it from the dampness. He kept the tiny Medusarevolver in his left, out of sight. Withinminutes, he was stepping into the quiet sanctuary of London’s grandest nine-hundred-year-oldbuilding.
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Just as the Teacher was stepping out of the rain, Bishop Aringarosa was stepping into it. On therainy tarmac at Biggin Hill Executive Airport, Aringarosa emerged from his cramped plane,bundling his cassock against the cold damp. He had hoped to be greeted by Captain Fache. Insteada young British police officer approached with an umbrella.
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"Bishop Aringarosa? Captain Fache had to leave. He asked me to look after you. He suggested Itake you to Scotland Yard. He thought it would be safest."Safest? Aringarosa looked down at the heavy briefcase of Vatican bonds clutched in his hand. Hehad almost forgotten. "Yes, thank you."Aringarosa climbed into the police car, wondering where Silas could be. Minutes later, the policescanner crackled with the answer.