The Complete Works of William Blake

From the private collection of

EDMOND KIRSCH

On loan to

LA BASÍLICA DE LA SAGRADA FAMÍLIA

Carrer de Mallorca, 401

08013 Barcelona, Spain

“I don’t understand,” Ambra said. “Why would an outspoken atheist lend a book to a church?”

“Not just any church,” Langdon countered. “Gaudí’s most enigmatic architectural masterpiece…” He pointed out the window, into the distance behind them. “And soon to be the tallest church in Europe.”

Ambra turned her head, peering back across the city to the north. In the distance—surrounded by cranes, scaffolding, and construction lights—the unfinished towers of Sagrada Família shone brightly, a cluster of perforated spires that resembled giant sea sponges climbing off the ocean floor toward the light.

For more than a century, Gaudí’s controversial Basílica de la Sagrada Família had been under construction, relying solely on private donations from the faithful. Criticized by traditionalists for its eerie organic shape and use of “biomimetic design,” the church was hailed by modernists for its structural fluidity and use of “hyperboloid” forms to reflect the natural world.

“I’ll admit it’s unusual,” Ambra said, turning back to Langdon, “but it’s still a Catholic church. And you know Edmond.”

I do know Edmond, Langdon thought. Enough to know he believes Sagrada Família hides a secret purpose and symbolism that go far beyond Christianity.

Since the bizarre church’s groundbreaking in 1882, conspiracy theories had swirled about its mysteriously encoded doors, cosmically inspired helicoid columns, symbol-laden facades, magic-square mathematical carvings, and ghostly “skeletal” construction that clearly resembled twisting bones and connective tissue.

Langdon was aware of the theories, of course, and yet never gave them much credence. A few years back, however, Langdon was surprised when Edmond confessed that he was one of a growing number of Gaudí fans who quietly believed that Sagrada Família was secretly conceived as something other than a Christian church, perhaps even as a mystical shrine to science and nature.

Langdon found the notion highly unlikely, and he reminded Edmond that Gaudí was a devout Catholic whom the Vatican had held in such high esteem that they christened him “God’s architect,” and even considered him for beatification. Sagrada Família’s unusual design, Langdon assured Kirsch, was nothing more than an example of Gaudí’s unique modernist approach to Christian symbolism.

Edmond’s reply was a coy smile, as if he were secretly holding some mysterious piece of the puzzle that he was not ready to share.

Another Kirsch secret, Langdon now thought. Like his hidden battle with cancer.

“Even if Edmond did loan his book to Sagrada Família,” Ambra continued, “and even if we find it, we will never be able to locate the correct line by reading it page by page. And I really doubt Edmond used a highlighter on a priceless manuscript.”

“Ambra?” Langdon replied with a calm smile. “Look at the back of the card.”

She glanced down at the card, flipped it over, and read the text on the back.

Then, with a look of disbelief, Ambra read it again.

When her eyes snapped back up to Langdon’s, they were filled with hope.

“As I was saying,” Langdon said with a smile, “I think we should go there.”

Ambra’s excited expression faded as quickly as it came. “There is still a problem. Even if we find his password—”

“I know—we lost Edmond’s phone, meaning we have no way to access Winston and communicate with him.”

“Exactly.”

“I believe I can solve that problem.”

Ambra eyed him skeptically. “I’m sorry?”

“All we need is to locate Winston himself—the actual computer that Edmond built. If we no longer have access to Winston remotely, we’ll just have to take the password to Winston in person.”

Ambra stared at him as if he were mad.

Langdon continued. “You told me Edmond built Winston in a secret facility.”

“Yes, but that facility could be anywhere in the world!”

“It’s not. It’s here in Barcelona. It has to be. Barcelona is the city where Edmond lived and worked. And building this synthetic intelligence machine was one of his most recent projects, so it only makes sense that Edmond would have built Winston here.”

“Robert, even if you’re right, you’re looking for a needle in a haystack. Barcelona is an enormous city. It would be impossible—”

“I can find Winston,” Langdon said. “I’m sure of it.” He smiled and motioned to the sprawl of city lights beneath them. “This will sound crazy, but seeing this aerial view of Barcelona just now helped me realize something…”

His voice trailed off as he looked out the window.

“Would you care to elaborate?” Ambra asked expectantly.

“I should have seen it earlier,” he said. “There’s something about Winston—an intriguing puzzle—that has been bothering me all night. I think I finally figured it out.”

Langdon shot a cautious glance at the Guardia agents and then lowered his voice, leaning toward Ambra. “Will you just trust me on this?” he asked quietly. “I believe I can find Winston. The problem is that finding Winston will do us no good without Edmond’s password. Right now, you and I need to focus on finding that line of poetry. Sagrada Família is our best chance of doing that.”

Ambra studied Langdon a long moment. Then, with a bewildered nod, she looked toward the front seat and called, “Agent Fonseca! Please have the pilot turn around and take us to Sagrada Família right away!”

Fonseca spun in his seat, glaring at her. “Ms. Vidal, as I told you, I have my orders—”

“Agent Fonseca,” interrupted the future queen of Spain, leaning forward and locking eyes with him. “Take us to Sagrada Família, right now, or my first order of business when we return will be to have you fired.”