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In
London
lies
a
knight
a
Pope
interred
.
Langdon
felt
shaky
as
he
inched
deeper
into
the
circular
room
.
This
had
to
be
the
place
.
In
a
rubbish
-
strewn
alley
very
close
to
Temple
Church
,
Rémy
Legaludec
pulled
the
Jaguar
limousine
to
a
stop
behind
a
row
of
industrial
waste
bins
.
Killing
the
engine
,
he
checked
the
area
.
Deserted
.
He
got
out
of
the
car
,
walked
toward
the
rear
,
and
climbed
back
into
the
limousine
’
s
main
cabin
where
the
monk
was
.
Sensing
Rémy
’
s
presence
,
the
monk
in
the
back
emerged
from
a
prayer
-
like
trance
,
his
red
eyes
looking
more
curious
than
fearful
.
All
evening
Rémy
had
been
impressed
with
this
trussed
man
’
s
ability
to
stay
calm
.
After
some
initial
struggles
in
the
Range
Rover
,
the
monk
seemed
to
have
accepted
his
plight
and
given
over
his
fate
to
a
higher
power
.
Loosening
his
bow
tie
,
Rémy
unbuttoned
his
high
,
starched
,
wing
-
tipped
collar
and
felt
as
if
he
could
breathe
for
the
first
time
in
years
.
He
went
to
the
limousine
’
s
wet
bar
,
where
he
poured
himself
a
Smirnoff
vodka
.
He
drank
it
in
a
single
swallow
and
followed
it
with
a
second
.
Soon
I
will
be
a
man
of
leisure
.
Searching
the
bar
,
Rémy
found
a
standard
service
wine
-
opener
and
flicked
open
the
sharp
blade
.
The
knife
was
usually
employed
to
slice
the
lead
foil
from
corks
on
fine
bottles
of
wine
,
but
it
would
serve
a
far
more
dramatic
purpose
this
morning
.
Rémy
turned
and
faced
Silas
,
holding
up
the
glimmering
blade
.
Now
those
red
eyes
flashed
fear
.
Rémy
smiled
and
moved
toward
the
back
of
the
limousine
.
The
monk
recoiled
,
struggling
against
his
bonds
.
