Fache sprinted down the Grand Gallery as Collet's radio blared over the distant sound of the alarm.

　　"He jumped!" Collet was yelling. "I'm showing the signal out on Place du Carrousel! Outside thebathroom window! And it's not moving at all! Jesus, I think Langdon has just committed suicide!"Fache heard the words, but they made no sense. He kept running. The hallway seemed never-ending. As he sprinted past Saunière's body, he set his sights on the partitions at the far end of theDenon Wing. The alarm was getting louder now.

　　"Wait!" Collet's voice blared again over the radio. "He's moving! My God, he's alive. Langdon'smoving!"Fache kept running, cursing the length of the hallway with every step.

　　"Langdon's moving faster!" Collet was still yelling on the radio. "He's running down Carrousel.

　　Wait... he's picking up speed. He's moving too fast!"Arriving at the partitions, Fache snaked his way through them, saw the rest room door, and ran forit.

　　The walkie-talkie was barely audible now over the alarm. "He must be in a car! I think he's in acar! I can't—"Collet's words were swallowed by the alarm as Fache finally burst into the men's room with his gundrawn. Wincing against the piercing shrill, he scanned the area.

　　The stalls were empty. The bathroom deserted. Fache's eyes moved immediately to the shatteredwindow at the far end of the room. He ran to the opening and looked over the edge. Langdon wasnowhere to be seen. Fache could not imagine anyone risking a stunt like this. Certainly if he haddropped that far, he would be badly injured.

　　The alarm cut off finally, and Collet's voice became audible again over the walkie-talkie.

　　"...moving south... faster... crossing the Seine on Pont du Carrousel!"Fache turned to his left. The only vehicle on Pont du Carrousel was an enormous twin-bed Trailordelivery truck moving southward away from the Louvre. The truck's open-air bed was coveredwith a vinyl tarp, roughly resembling a giant hammock. Fache felt a shiver of apprehension. Thattruck, only moments ago, had probably been stopped at a red light directly beneath the rest roomwindow.

　　An insane risk, Fache told himself. Langdon had no way of knowing what the truck was carryingbeneath that tarp. What if the truck were carrying steel? Or cement? Or even garbage? A forty-footleap? It was madness.

　　"The dot is turning!" Collet called. "He's turning right on Pont des Saints-Peres!"Sure enough, the Trailor truck that had crossed the bridge was slowing down and making a rightturn onto Pont des Saints-Peres. So be it, Fache thought. Amazed, he watched the truck disappeararound the corner. Collet was already radioing the agents outside, pulling them off the Louvreperimeter and sending them to their patrol cars in pursuit, all the while broadcasting the truck'schanging location like some kind of bizarre play-by-play.

　　It's over, Fache knew. His men would have the truck surrounded within minutes. Langdon was notgoing anywhere.

　　Stowing his weapon, Fache exited the rest room and radioed Collet. "Bring my car around. I wantto be there when we make the arrest."As Fache jogged back down the length of the Grand Gallery, he wondered if Langdon had evensurvived the fall.