Security warden Claude Grouard simmered with rage as he stood over his prostrate captive in frontof the Mona Lisa. This bastard killed Jacques Saunière! Saunière had been like a well-loved fatherto Grouard and his security team.

　　Grouard wanted nothing more than to pull the trigger and bury a bullet in Robert Langdon's back.

　　As senior warden, Grouard was one of the few guards who actually carried a loaded weapon. Hereminded himself, however, that killing Langdon would be a generous fate compared to the miseryabout to be communicated by Bezu Fache and the French prison system.

　　Grouard yanked his walkie-talkie off his belt and attempted to radio for backup. All he heard wasstatic. The additional electronic security in this chamber always wrought havoc with the guards'

　　communications. I have to move to the doorway. Still aiming his weapon at Langdon, Grouardbegan backing slowly toward the entrance. On his third step, he spied something that made himstop short.

　　What the hell is that!

　　An inexplicable mirage was materializing near the center of the room. A silhouette. There wassomeone else in the room? A woman was moving through the darkness, walking briskly toward thefar left wall. In front of her, a purplish beam of light swung back and forth across the floor, as ifshe were searching for something with a colored flashlight.

　　"Qui est là?" Grouard demanded, feeling his adrenaline spike for a second time in the last thirtyseconds. He suddenly didn't know where to aim his gun or what direction to move.

　　"PTS," the woman replied calmly, still scanning the floor with her light.

　　Police Technique et Scientifique. Grouard was sweating now. I thought all the agents were gone!

　　He now recognized the purple light as ultraviolet, consistent with a PTS team, and yet he could notunderstand why DCPJ would be looking for evidence in here.

　　"Votre nom!" Grouard yelled, instinct telling him something was amiss. "Répondez!""C'est mot," the voice responded in calm French. "Sophie Neveu."Somewhere in the distant recesses of Grouard's mind, the name registered. Sophie Neveu? Thatwas the name of Saunière's granddaughter, wasn't it? She used to come in here as a little kid, butthat was years ago. This couldn't possibly be her! And even if it were Sophie Neveu, that washardly a reason to trust her; Grouard had heard the rumors of the painful falling-out betweenSaunière and his granddaughter.

　　"You know me," the woman called. "And Robert Langdon did not kill my grandfather. Believeme."Warden Grouard was not about to take that on faith. I need backup! Trying his walkie-talkie again,he got only static. The entrance was still a good twenty yards behind him, and Grouard beganbacking up slowly, choosing to leave his gun trained on the man on the floor. As Grouard inchedbackward, he could see the woman across the room raising her UV light and scrutinizing a largepainting that hung on the far side of the Salle des Etats, directly opposite the Mona Lisa.

　　Grouard gasped, realizing which painting it was.

　　What in the name of God is she doing?

　　Across the room, Sophie Neveu felt a cold sweat breaking across her forehead. Langdon was stillspread-eagle on the floor. Hold on, Robert. Almost there. Knowing the guard would never actuallyshoot either of them, Sophie now turned her attention back to the matter at hand, scanning theentire area around one masterpiece in particular—another Da Vinci. But the UV light revealednothing out of the ordinary. Not on the floor, on the walls, or even on the canvas itself.

　　There must be something here!

　　Sophie felt totally certain she had deciphered her grandfather's intentions correctly.

　　What else could he possibly intend?

　　The masterpiece she was examining was a five-foot-tall canvas. The bizarre scene Da Vinci hadpainted included an awkwardly posed Virgin Mary sitting with Baby Jesus, John the Baptist, andthe Angel Uriel on a perilous outcropping of rocks. When Sophie was a little girl, no trip to theMona Lisa had been complete without her grandfather dragging her across the room to see thissecond painting.

　　Grand-père, I'm here! But I don't see it!

　　Behind her, Sophie could hear the guard trying to radio again for help.

　　Think!

　　She pictured the message scrawled on the protective glass of the Mona Lisa. So dark the con ofman. The painting before her had no protective glass on which to write a message, and Sophieknew her grandfather would never have defaced this masterpiece by writing on the painting itself.

　　She paused. At least not on the front. Her eyes shot upward, climbing the long cables that dangledfrom the ceiling to support the canvas.

　　Could that be it? Grabbing the left side of the carved wood frame, she pulled it toward her. Thepainting was large and the backing flexed as she swung it away from the wall. Sophie slipped herhead and shoulders in behind the painting and raised the black light to inspect th............