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The
man
glanced
down
at
his
weapon
,
looking
almost
amused
.
He
reached
for
a
second
clip
,
but
then
seemed
to
reconsider
,
smirking
calmly
at
Saunière
’
s
gut
.
«
My
work
here
is
done
.
»
The
curator
looked
down
and
saw
the
bullet
hole
in
his
white
linen
shirt
.
It
was
framed
by
a
small
circle
of
blood
a
few
inches
below
his
breastbone
.
My
stomach
.
Almost
cruelly
,
the
bullet
had
missed
his
heart
.
As
a
veteran
of
la
Guerre
d
’
Algérie
,
the
curator
had
witnessed
this
horribly
drawn
-
out
death
before
.
For
fifteen
minutes
,
he
would
survive
as
his
stomach
acids
seeped
into
his
chest
cavity
,
slowly
poisoning
him
from
within
.
«
Pain
is
good
,
monsieur
,
»
the
man
said
.
Then
he
was
gone
.
Alone
now
,
Jacques
Saunière
turned
his
gaze
again
to
the
iron
gate
.
He
was
trapped
,
and
the
doors
could
not
be
reopened
for
at
least
twenty
minutes
.
By
the
time
anyone
got
to
him
,
he
would
be
dead
.
Even
so
,
the
fear
that
now
gripped
him
was
a
fear
far
greater
than
that
of
his
own
death
.
I
must
pass
on
the
secret
.
Staggering
to
his
feet
,
he
pictured
his
three
murdered
brethren
.
He
thought
of
the
generations
who
had
come
before
them
…
of
the
mission
with
which
they
had
all
been
entrusted
.
An
unbroken
chain
of
knowledge
.
Suddenly
,
now
,
despite
all
the
precautions
…
despite
all
the
fail
-
safes
…
Jacques
Saunière
was
the
only
remaining
link
,
the
sole
guardian
of
one
of
the
most
powerful
secrets
ever
kept
Shivering
,
he
pulled
himself
to
his
feet
.
I
must
find
some
way
…
.
He
was
trapped
inside
the
Grand
Gallery
,
and
there
existed
only
one
person
on
earth
to
whom
he
could
pass
the
torch
.
Saunière
gazed
up
at
the
walls
of
his
opulent
prison
.
A
collection
of
the
world
’
s
most
famous
paintings
seemed
to
smile
down
on
him
like
old
friends
.
