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Suddenly the helicopter was lifting skyward, away from the undulating rooftop, leaving behind a small army of confused policemen, all staring upward.
Fonseca heaved the fuselage door shut and then moved up front toward the pilot. Díaz slid in beside Ambra to examine her arm.
“It’s only a scrape,” she said blankly.
“I’ll find a first-aid kit.” Díaz headed to the rear of the cabin.
Langdon was seated opposite Ambra, facing backward. Now that the two of them were suddenly alone, he caught her eye and gave her a relieved smile. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Ambra replied with a weak nod, but before she could thank him, Langdon was leaning forward in his seat, whispering to her in an excited tone.
“I think I found our mysterious poet,” he exclaimed, his eyes filled with hope. “William Blake. Not only is there a copy of Blake’s complete works in Edmond’s library … but many of Blake’s poems are prophecies!” Langdon held out his hand. “Let me have Edmond’s phone—I’ll ask Winston to search Blake’s work for any forty-seven-letter lines of poetry!”
Ambra looked at Langdon’s waiting palm and felt overcome with guilt. She reached out and took his hand in hers. “Robert,” she said with a remorseful sigh, “Edmond’s phone is gone. It fell off the edge of the building.”
Langdon stared back at her, and Ambra saw the blood drain from his face. I’m so sorry, Robert. She could see him struggling to process the news and figure out where the loss of Winston now left them.
In the cockpit, Fonseca was yelling into his phone. “Confirmed! We have both of them safely aboard. Prepare the transport plane for Madrid. I will contact the palace and alert—”
“Don’t bother!” Ambra shouted to the agent. “I am not going to the palace!”
Fonseca covered his phone, turned in his seat, and looked back at her. “You most certainly are! My orders tonight were to keep you safe. You should never have left my custody. You’re lucky I was able to get here to rescue you.”
“Rescue?!” Ambra demanded. “If that was a rescue, it was only necessary because the palace told ridiculous lies about Professor Langdon kidnappingme—which you know is not true! Is Prince Julián really so desperate that he’s willing to risk the life of an innocent man? Not to mention my life?”
Fonseca stared her down and turned back around in his seat.
Just then, Díaz returned with the first-aid kit.
“Ms. Vidal,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “Please understand that our chain of command has been disrupted tonight due to the arrest of Commander Garza. Nonetheless, I want you to know that Prince Julián had nothing to do with the media statement that came out of the palace. In fact, we cannot even confirm that the prince knows what’s happening right now. We have been unable to reach him for over an hour.”
What? Ambra stared at him. “Where is he?”
“His current whereabouts are unknown,” Díaz said, “but his communication with us earlier this evening was crystal clear. The prince wants you safe.”
“If that’s true,” Langdon declared, abruptly returning from his thoughts, “then taking Ms. Vidal to the palace is a deadly mistake.”
Fonseca spun around. “What did you say?!”
“I don’t know who is giving you orders now, sir,” Langdon said, “but if the prince truly wants to keep his fiancée safe, then I suggest you listen to me very carefully.” He paused, his tone intensifying. “Edmond Kirsch was murdered to keep his discovery from going public. And whoever silenced him will stop at nothing to make sure that job is finished.”
“It’s finished already,” Fonseca scoffed. “Edmond is dead.”
“But his discovery is not,” Langdon replied. “Edmond’s presentation is very much alive and can still be released to the world.”
“Which is why you came to his apartment,” Díaz ventured. “Because you believe you can launch it.”
“Precisely,” Langdon replied. “And that has made us targets. I don’t know who manufactured the media statement claiming Ambra was kidnapped, but it was clearly someone desperate to stop us. So if you are part of that group—the people trying to bury Edmond’s discovery forever—then you should simply toss Ms. Vidal and myself out of this helicopter right now while you still can.”
Ambra stared at Langdon, wondering if he’d lost his mind.
“However,” Langdon continued, “if your sworn duty as a Guardia Real agent is to protect the royal family, including the future queen of Spain, then you need to realize there is no more dangerous place for Ms. Vidal right now than a palace that just issued a public statement that almost got her killed.” Langdon reached into his pocket and extracted an elegantly embossed linen note card. “I suggest you take her to the address at the bottom of this card.”
Fonseca took the card and studied it, his brow furrowing. “That’s ridiculous.”
“There is a security fence around the entire property,” Langdon said. “Your pilot can touch down, drop the four of us off, and then fly away before anyone realizes we’re even there. I know the person in charge. We can hide there, off the grid, until we sort this all out. You can accompany us.”
“I’d feel safer in a military hangar at the airport.”
“Do you really want to trust a military team that is probably taking orders from the same people who just nearly got Ms. Vidal killed?”
