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I
’
m
trapped
in
a
Salvador
Dali
painting
,
he
thought
.
Langdon
strode
to
the
main
entrance
–
an
enormous
revolving
door
.
The
foyer
beyond
was
dimly
lit
and
deserted
.
Do
I
knock
?
Langdon
wondered
if
any
of
Harvard
’
s
revered
Egyptologists
had
ever
knocked
on
the
front
door
of
a
pyramid
and
expected
an
answer
.
He
raised
his
hand
to
bang
on
the
glass
,
but
out
of
the
darkness
below
,
a
figure
appeared
,
striding
up
the
curving
staircase
.
The
man
was
stocky
and
dark
,
almost
Neanderthal
,
dressed
in
a
dark
double
-
breasted
suit
that
strained
to
cover
his
wide
shoulders
.
He
advanced
with
unmistakable
authority
on
squat
,
powerful
legs
He
was
speaking
on
his
cell
phone
but
finished
the
call
as
he
arrived
.
He
motioned
for
Langdon
to
enter
.
«
I
am
Bezu
Fache
,
»
he
announced
as
Langdon
pushed
through
the
revolving
door
.
«
Captain
of
the
Central
Directorate
Judicial
Police
.
»
His
tone
was
fitting
–
a
guttural
rumble
…
like
a
gathering
storm
.
Langdon
held
out
his
hand
to
shake
.
«
Robert
Langdon
.
»
Fache
’
s
enormous
palm
wrapped
around
Langdon
’
s
with
crushing
force
.
«
I
saw
the
photo
,
»
Langdon
said
.
«
Your
agent
said
Jacques
Saunière
himself
did
–
»
«
Mr
.
Langdon
,
»
Fache
’
s
ebony
eyes
locked
on
.
«
What
you
see
in
the
photo
is
only
the
beginning
of
what
Saunière
did
.
»
