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- Дэн Браун
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- Код да Винчи
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- Стр. 172/436
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André
Vernet
–
president
of
the
Paris
branch
of
the
Depository
Bank
of
Zurich
–
lived
in
a
lavish
flat
above
the
bank
.
Despite
his
plush
accommodations
,
he
had
always
dreamed
of
owning
a
riverside
apartment
on
L
’
lle
Saint
-
Louis
,
where
he
could
rub
shoulders
with
the
true
cognoscenti
,
rather
than
here
,
where
he
simply
met
the
filthy
rich
.
When
I
retire
,
Vernet
told
himself
,
I
will
fill
my
cellar
with
rare
Bordeaux
,
adorn
my
salon
with
a
Fragonard
and
perhaps
a
Boucher
,
and
spend
my
days
hunting
for
antique
furniture
and
rare
books
in
the
Quartier
Latin
.
Tonight
,
Vernet
had
been
awake
only
six
and
a
half
minutes
.
Even
so
,
as
he
hurried
through
the
bank
’
s
underground
corridor
,
he
looked
as
if
his
personal
tailor
and
hairdresser
had
polished
him
to
a
fine
sheen
.
Impeccably
dressed
in
a
silk
suit
,
Vernet
sprayed
some
breath
spray
in
his
mouth
and
tightened
his
tie
as
he
walked
.
No
stranger
to
being
awoken
to
attend
to
his
international
clients
arriving
from
different
time
zones
,
Vernet
modeled
his
sleep
habits
after
the
Maasai
warriors
–
the
African
tribe
famous
for
their
ability
to
rise
from
the
deepest
sleep
to
a
state
of
total
battle
readiness
in
a
matter
of
seconds
.
Battle
ready
,
Vernet
thought
,
fearing
the
comparison
might
be
uncharacteristically
apt
tonight
.
The
arrival
of
a
gold
key
client
always
required
an
extra
flurry
of
attention
,
but
the
arrival
of
a
gold
key
client
who
was
wanted
by
the
Judicial
Police
would
be
an
extremely
delicate
matter
.
The
bank
had
enough
battles
with
law
enforcement
over
the
privacy
rights
of
their
clients
without
proof
that
some
of
them
were
criminals
.
Five
minutes
,
Vernet
told
himself
.
I
need
these
people
out
of
my
bank
before
the
police
arrive
.
If
he
moved
quickly
,
this
impending
disaster
could
be
deftly
sidestepped
.
Vernet
could
tell
the
police
that
the
fugitives
in
question
had
indeed
walked
into
his
bank
as
reported
,
but
because
they
were
not
clients
and
had
no
account
number
,
they
were
turned
away
.
He
wished
the
damned
watchman
had
not
called
Interpol
.
Discretion
was
apparently
not
part
of
the
vocabulary
of
a
15
-
euro
-
per
-
hour
watchman
.
Stopping
at
the
doorway
,
he
took
a
deep
breath
and
loosened
his
muscles
.
Then
,
forcing
a
balmy
smile
,
he
unlocked
the
door
and
swirled
into
the
room
like
a
warm
breeze
.
«
Good
evening
,
»
he
said
,
his
eyes
finding
his
clients
.
«
I
am
André
Vernet
.
How
can
I
be
of
serv
–
»
The
rest
of
the
sentence
lodged
somewhere
beneath
his
Adam
’
s
apple
.
The
woman
before
him
was
as
unexpected
a
visitor
as
Vernet
had
ever
had
.
«
I
’
m
sorry
,
do
we
know
each
other
?
»
Sophie
asked
.
She
did
not
recognize
the
banker
,
but
he
for
a
moment
looked
as
if
he
’
d
seen
a
ghost
.
