达芬奇密码 作者: 美 丹·布朗(英文版)-第9节

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ent　ink　that　was　visible　only　under　black　light。　Nowadays；　museum　maintenance　staffs　carried　these　markers　on　their　daily　rounds　to　place　invisible　〃tick　marks〃　on　the　frames　of　paintings　that　needed　restoration。
As　Langdon　stood　up；　Fache　walked　over　to　the　spotlight　and　turned　it　off。　The　gallery　plunged　into　sudden　darkness。
Momentarily　blinded；　Langdon　felt　a　rising　uncertainty。　Fache's　silhouette　appeared；　illuminated　in　bright　purple。　He　approached　carrying　a　portable　light　source；　which　shrouded　him　in　a　violet　haze。
〃As　you　may　know；〃　Fache　said；　his　eyes　luminescing　in　the　violet　glow；　〃police　use　black…light　illumination　to　search　crime　scenes　for　blood　and　other　forensic　evidence。　So　you　can　imagine　our　surprise。。。〃　Abruptly；　he　pointed　the　light　down　at　the　corpse。
Langdon　looked　down　and　jumped　back　in　shock。
His　heart　pounded　as　he　took　in　the　bizarre　sight　now　glowing　before　him　on　the　parquet　floor。　Scrawled　in　luminescent　handwriting；　the　curator's　final　words　glowed　purple　beside　his　corpse。　As　Langdon　stared　at　the　shimmering　text；　he　felt　the　fog　that　had　surrounded　this　entire　night　growing　thicker。
Langdon　read　the　message　again　and　looked　up　at　Fache。　〃What　the　hell　does　this　mean！〃
Fache's　eyes　shone　white。　〃That；　monsieur；　is　precisely　the　question　you　are　here　to　answer。〃
　
Not　far　away；　inside　Saunière's　office；　Lieutenant　Collet　had　returned　to　the　Louvre　and　was　huddled　over　an　audio　console　set　up　on　the　curator's　enormous　desk。　With　the　exception　of　the　eerie；　robot…like　doll　of　a　medieval　knight　that　seemed　to　be　staring　at　him　from　the　corner　of　Saunière's　desk；　Collet　was　fortable。　He　adjusted　his　AKG　headphones　and　checked　the　input　levels　on　the　hard…disk　recording　system。　All　systems　were　go。　The　microphones　were　functioning　flawlessly；　and　the　audio　feed　was　crystal　clear。
Le　moment　de　vérité；　he　mused。
Smiling；　he　closed　his　eyes　and　settled　in　to　enjoy　the　rest　of　the　conversation　now　being　taped　inside　the　Grand　Gallery。
…　
CHAPTER　7
…
The　modest　dwelling　within　the　Church　of　Saint…Sulpice　was　located　on　the　second　floor　of　the　church　itself；　to　the　left　of　the　choir　balcony。　A　two…room　suite　with　a　stone　floor　and　minimal　furnishings；　it　had　been　home　to　Sister　Sandrine　Bieil　for　over　a　decade。　The　nearby　convent　was　her　formal　residence；　if　anyone　asked；　but　she　preferred　the　quiet　of　the　church　and　had　made　herself　quite　fortable　upstairs　with　a　bed；　phone；　and　hot　plate。
As　the　church's　conservatrice　d'affaires；　Sister　Sandrine　was　responsible　for　overseeing　all　nonreligious　aspects　of　church　operations—general　maintenance；　hiring　support　staff　and　guides；　securing　the　building　after　hours；　and　ordering　supplies　like　munion　wine　and　wafers。
Tonight；　asleep　in　her　small　bed；　she　awoke　to　the　shrill　of　her　telephone。　Tiredly；　she　lifted　the　receiver。
〃Soeur　Sandrine。　Eglise　Saint…Sulpice。〃
〃Hello；　Sister；〃　the　man　said　in　French。
Sister　Sandrine　sat　up。　What　time　is　it？　Although　she　recognized　her　boss's　voice；　in　fifteen　years　she　had　never　been　awoken　by　him。　The　abbé　was　a　deeply　pious　man　who　went　home　to　bed　immediately　after　mass。
〃I　apologize　if　I　have　awoken　you；　Sister；〃　the　abbé　said；　his　own　voice　sounding　groggy　and　on　edge。　〃I　have　a　favor　to　ask　of　you。　I　just　received　a　call　from　an　influential　American　bishop。　Perhaps　you　know　him？　Manuel　Aringarosa？〃
〃The　head　of　Opus　Dei？〃　Of　course　I　know　of　him。　Who　in　the　Church　doesn't？　Aringarosa's　conservative　prelature　had　grown　powerful　in　recent　years。　Their　ascension　to　grace　was　jump…started　in　1982　when　Pope　John　Paul　II　unexpectedly　elevated　them　to　a　〃personal　prelature　of　the　Pope；〃　officially　sanctioning　all　of　their　practices。　Suspiciously；　Opus　Dei's　elevation　occurred　the　same　year　the　wealthy　sect　allegedly　had　transferred　almost　one　billion　dollars　into　the　Vatican's　Institute　for　Religious　Works—monly　known　as　the　Vatican　Bank—bailing　it　out　of　an　embarrassing　bankruptcy。　In　a　second　maneuver　that　raised　eyebrows；　the　Pope　placed　the　founder　of　Opus　Dei　on　the　〃fast　track〃　for　sainthood；　accelerating　an　often　century…long　waiting　period　for　canonization　to　a　mere　twenty　years。　Sister　Sandrine　could　not　help　but　feel　that　Opus　Dei's　good　standing　in　Rome　was　suspect；　but　one　did　not　argue　with　the　Holy　See。
〃Bishop　Aringarosa　called　to　ask　me　a　favor；〃　the　abbé　told　her；　his　voice　nervous。　〃One　of　his　numeraries　is　in　Paris　tonight。。。。〃
As　Sister　Sandrine　listened　to　the　odd　request；　she　felt　a　deepening　confusion。　〃I'm　sorry；　you　say　this　visiting　Opus　Dei　numerary　cannot　wait　until　morning？〃
〃I'm　afraid　not。　His　plane　leaves　very　early。　He　has　always　dreamed　of　seeing　Saint…Sulpice。〃
〃But　the　church　is　far　more　interesting　by　day。　The　sun's　rays　through　the　oculus；　the　graduated　shadows　on　the　gnomon；　this　is　what　makes　Saint…Sulpice　unique。〃
〃Sister；　I　agree；　and　yet　I　would　consider　it　a　personal　favor　if　you　could　let　him　in　tonight。　He　can　be　there　at。。。　say　one　o'clock？　That's　in　twenty　minutes。〃
Sister　Sandrine　frowned。　〃Of　course。　It　would　be　my　pleasure。〃
The　abbé　thanked　her　and　hung　up。
Puzzled；　Sister　Sandrine　remained　a　moment　in　the　warmth　of　her　bed；　trying　to　shake　off　the　cobwebs　of　sleep。　Her　sixty…year…old　body　did　not　awake　as　fast　as　it　used　to；　although　tonight's　phone　call　had　certainly　roused　her　senses。　Opus　Dei　had　always　made　her　uneasy。　Beyond　the　prelature's　adherence　to　the　arcane　ritual　of　corporal　mortification；　their　views　on　women　were　medieval　at　best。　She　had　been　shocked　to　learn　that　female　numeraries　were　forced　to　clean　the　men's　residence　halls　for　no　pay　while　the　men　were　at　mass；　women　slept　on　hardwood　floors；　while　the　men　had　straw　mats；　and　women　were　forced　to　endure　additional　requirements　of　corporal　mortification。。。　all　as　added　penance　for　original　sin。　It　seemed　Eve's　bite　from　the　apple　of　knowledge　was　a　debt　women　were　doomed　to　pay　for　eternity。　Sadly；　while　most　of　the　Catholic　Church　was　gradually　moving　in　the　right　direction　with　respect　to　women's　rights；　Opus　Dei　threatened　to　reverse　the　progress。　Even　so；　Sister　Sandrine　had　her　orders。
Swinging　her　legs　off　the　bed；　she　stood　slowly；　chilled　by　the　cold　stone　on　the　soles　of　her　bare　feet。　As　the　chill　rose　through　her　flesh；　she　felt　an　unexpected　apprehension。
Women's　intuition？
A　follower　of　God；　Sister　Sandrine　had　learned　to　find　peace　in　the　calming　voices　of　her　own　soul。　Tonight；　however；　those　voices　were　as　silent　as　the　empty　church　around　her。
　
CHAPTER　8

Langdon　couldn't　tear　his　eyes　from　the　glowing　purple　text　scrawled　across　the　parquet　floor。　Jacques　Saunière's　final　munication　seemed　as　unlikely　a　departing　message　as　any　Langdon　could　imagine。
The　message　read：
13…3…2…21…1…1…8…5
O；　Draconian　devil！
Oh；　lame　saint！
　
Although　Langdon　had　not　the　slightest　idea　what　it　meant；　he　did　understand　Fache's　instinct　that　the　pentacle　had　something　to　do　with　devil　worship。
O；　Draconian　devil！
Saunière　had　left　a　literal　reference　to　the　devil。　Equally　as　bizarre　was　the　series　of　numbers。　〃Part　of　it　looks　like　a　numeric　cipher。〃
〃Yes；〃　Fache　said。　〃Our　cryptographers　are　already　working　on　it。　We　believe　these　numbers　may　be　the　key　to　who　killed　him。　Maybe　a　telephone　exchange　or　some　kind　of　social　identification。　Do　the　numbers　have　any　symbolic　meaning　to　you？〃
Langdon　looked　again　at　the　digits；　sensing　it　would　take　him　hours　to　extract　any　symbolic　meaning。　If　Saunière　had　even　intended　any。　To　Langdon；　the　numbers　looked　totally　random。　He　was　accustomed　to　symbolic　progressions　that　made　some　semblance　of　sense；　but　everything　here—the　pentacle；　the　text；　the　numbers—seemed　disparate　at　the　most　fundamental　level。
〃You　alleged　earlier；〃　Fache　said；　〃that　Saunière's　actions　here　were　all　in　an　effort　to　send　some　sort　of　message。。。　goddess　worship　or　something　in　that　vein？　How　does　this　message　fit　in？〃
Langdon　knew　the　question　was　rhetorical。　This　bizarre　muniqué　obviously　did　not　fit　Langdon's　scenario　of　goddess　worship　at　all。
O；　Draconian　devil？　Oh；　lame　saint？
Fache　said；　〃This　text　appears　to　be　an　accusation　of　some　sort。　Wouldn't　you　agree？〃
Langdon　tried　to　imagine　the　curator's　final　minutes　trapped　alone　in　the　Grand　Gallery；　knowing　he　was　about　to　die。　It　seemed　logical。　〃An　accusation　against　his　murderer　makes　sense；　I　suppose。〃
〃My　job；　of　course；　is　to　put　a　name　to　that　person。　Let　me　ask　you　this；　Mr。　Langdon。　To　your　eye；　beyond　the　numbers；　what　about　this　message　is　most　strange？〃
Most　strange？　A　dying　man　had　barricaded　himself　in　the　gallery；　drawn　a　pentacle　on　himself；　and　scrawled　a　mysterious　accusation　on　the　floor。　What　about　the　scenario　wasn't　strange？
〃The　word　'Draconian'？〃　he　ventured；　offering　the　first　thing　that　came　to　mind。　Langdon　was　fairly　certain　that　a　reference　to　Draco—the　ruthless　seventh…century　B。C。　politician—was　an　unlikely　dying　thought。　〃　'Draconian　devil'　seems　an　odd　choice　of　vocabulary。〃
〃Draconian？〃　Fache's　tone　came　with　a　tinge　of　impatience　now。　〃Saunière's　choice　of　vocabulary　hardly　seems　the　primary　issue　here。〃
Langdon　wasn't　sure　what　issue　Fache　had　in　mind；　but　he　was　starting　to　suspect　that　Draco　and　Fache　would　have　gotten　along　well。