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Valdespino fell silent for a long time. “I’m glad you said that,” he finally agreed. “I have to admit, I too find it quite difficult to accept that this was a suicide.”
“Then … who could be responsible?”
“Anyone who wanted Edmond Kirsch’s discovery to remain a secret,” the bishop replied quickly. “Someone who believed, as we did, that his announcement was still weeks away.”
“But Kirsch said nobody else knew about the discovery!” Köves argued. “Only you, Allamah al-Fadl, and myself.”
“Maybe Kirsch lied about that too. But even if the three of us are the only ones he told, don’t forget how desperately our friend Syed al-Fadl wanted to go public. It’s possible that the allamah shared information about Kirsch’s discovery with a colleague in the Emirates. And maybe that colleague believed, as I do, that Kirsch’s discovery would have dangerous repercussions.”
“Implying what?” the rabbi demanded angrily. “That an associate of al-Fadl killed him in order to keep this quiet? That’s ridiculous!”
“Rabbi,” the bishop replied calmly, “I certainly don’t know what happened. I’m only trying to imagine answers, as you are.”
Köves exhaled. “I’m sorry. I’m still trying to absorb the news of Syed’s death.”
“As am I. And if Syed was murdered for what he knew, then we need to be careful ourselves. It is possible that you and I are also targeted.”
Köves considered this. “Once the news goes public, we are irrelevant.”
“True, but it is not yet public.”
“Your Grace, the announcement is only minutes away. Every station is carrying it.”
“Yes …” Valdespino let out a tired sigh. “It seems I’ll have to accept that my prayers have gone unanswered.”
Köves wondered if the bishop had literally prayed for God to intervene and change Kirsch’s mind.
“Even when this goes public,” Valdespino said, “we are not safe. I suspect Kirsch will take great pleasure in telling the world that he consulted with religious leaders three days ago. I’m now wondering if an appearance of ethical transparency was his true motive for calling the meeting. And if he mentions us by name, well, you and I will become the focus of intense scrutiny and perhaps even criticism from our own flocks, who might believe we should have taken action. I’m sorry, I’m just …” The bishop hesitated as if he had something more he wanted to say.
“What is it?” Köves pressed.
“We can discuss it later. I’ll phone you again after we witness how Kirsch handles his presentation. Until then, please stay inside. Lock your doors. Speak to nobody. And be safe.”
“You’re worrying me, Antonio.”
“I don’t mean to,” Valdespino replied. “All we can do is wait and see how the world reacts. This is in God’s hands now.”
CHAPTER 17
THE BREEZY MEADOW inside the Guggenheim Museum had grown quiet after Edmond Kirsch’s voice boomed down from the heavens. Hundreds of guests were reclined on blankets, gazing up into a dazzling sky of stars. Robert Langdon lay near the center of the field, caught up in the growing anticipation.
“Tonight, let us be children again,” Kirsch’s voice continued. “Let us lie out beneath the stars, with our minds wide open to all possibilities.”
Langdon could feel the excitement rippling through the crowd.
“Tonight, let us be like the early explorers,” Kirsch declared, “those who left everything behind and set out across vast oceans … those who first glimpsed a land that had never before been seen … those who fell to their knees in awestruck realization that the world was far greater than their philosophies had dared imagine. Their long-held beliefs about their world disintegrated in the face of new discovery. This will be our mind-set tonight.”
Impressive, Langdon mused, curious if Edmond’s narration was pre-recorded or whether Kirsch himself was backstage somewhere reading from a script.
“My friends”—Edmond’s voice resounded above them—“we have all gathered tonight to hear news of an important discovery. I ask your indulgence in allowing me to set the stage. Tonight, as with all shifts in human philosophy, it is critical we understand the historical context into which a moment like this is born.”
Thunder rolled in the distance, right on cue. Langdon could feel the deep bass from the audio speakers rumbling in his gut.
“To help us get acclimated tonight,” Edmond continued, “we are very fortunate to have with us a celebrated scholar—a legend in the world of symbols, codes, history, religion, and art. He is also a dear friend. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Harvard University professor Robert Langdon.”
Langdon jolted up onto his elbows as the crowd clapped enthusiastically and the stars overhead dissolved into a wide-angle shot of a large auditorium packed with people. Onstage, Langdon paced back and forth in his Harris Tweed jacket before a rapt audience.
So this is the role that Edmond mentioned, he thought, settling back uneasily into the grass.
“Early humans,” Langdon lectured on-screen, “had a relationship of wonder with their universe, especially with those phenomena they could not rationally understand. To solve these mysteries, they created a vast pantheon of gods and goddesses to explain anything that was beyond their understanding—thunder, tides, earthquakes, volcanoes, infertility, plagues, even love.”
