André Vernet—president of the Paris branch of the Depository Bank of Zurich—lived in a lavishflat above the bank. Despite his plush accommodations, he had always dreamed of owning ariverside apartment on L'lle Saint-Louis, where he could rub shoulders with the true cognoscenti,rather than here, where he simply met the filthy rich.

　　When I retire, Vernet told himself, I will fill my cellar with rare Bordeaux, adorn my salon with aFragonard and perhaps a Boucher, and spend my days hunting for antique furniture and rarebooks in the Quartier Latin.

　　Tonight, Vernet had been awake only six and a half minutes. Even so, as he hurried through thebank's underground corridor, he looked as if his personal tailor and hairdresser had polished him toa fine sheen. Impeccably dressed in a silk suit, Vernet sprayed some breath spray in his mouth andtightened his tie as he walked. No stranger to being awoken to attend to his international clientsarriving from different time zones, Vernet modeled his sleep habits after the Maasai warriors—theAfrican tribe famous for their ability to rise from the deepest sleep to a state of total battlereadiness in a matter of seconds.

　　Battle ready, Vernet thought, fearing the comparison might be uncharacteristically apt tonight. Thearrival of a gold key client always required an extra flurry of attention, but the arrival of a gold keyclient who was wanted by the Judicial Police would be an extremely delicate matter. The bank hadenough battles with law enforcement over the privacy rights of their clients without proof thatsome of them were criminals.

　　Five minutes, Vernet told himself. I need these people out of my bank before the police arrive.

　　If he moved quickly, this impending disaster could be deftly sidestepped. Vernet could tell thepolice that the fugitives in question had indeed walked into his bank as reported, but because theywere not clients and had no account number, they were turned away. He wished the damnedwatchman had not called Interpol. Discretion was apparently not part of the vocabulary of a 15-euro-per-hour watchman.

　　Stopping at the doorway, he took a deep breath and loosened his muscles. Then, forcing a balmysmile, he unlocked the door and swirled into the room like a warm breeze.

　　"Good evening," he said, his eyes finding his clients. "I am André Vernet. How can I be of serv—"The rest of the sentence lodged somewhere beneath his Adam's apple. The woman before him wasas unexpected a visitor as Vernet had ever had.

　　"I'm sorry, do we know each other?" Sophie asked. She did not recognize the banker, but he for amoment looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

　　"No...," the bank president fumbled. "I don't... believe so. Our services are anonymous." Heexhaled and forced a calm smile. "My assistant tells me you have a gold key but no accountnumber? Might I ask how you came by this key?""My grandfather gave it to me," Sophie replied, watching the man closely. His uneasiness seemedmore evident now.

　　"Really? Your grandfather gave you the key but failed to give you the account number?""I don't think he had time," Sophie said. "He was murdered tonight."Her words sent the man staggering backward. "Jacques Saunière is dead?" he demanded, his eyesfilling with horror. "But... how?!"Now it was Sophie who reeled, numb with shock. "You knew my grandfather?"Banker André Vernet looked equally astounded, steadying himself by leaning on an end table.

　　"Jacques and I were dear friends. When did this happen?""Earlier this evening. Inside the Louvre."Vernet walked to a deep leather chair and sank into it. "I need to ask you both a very importantquestion." He glanced up at Langdon and then back to Sophie. "Did either of you have anything todo with his death?""No!" Sophie declared. "Absolutely not."Vernet's face was grim, and he paused, pondering. "Your pictures are being circulated by Interpol.

　　This is how I recognized you. You're wanted for a murder."Sophie slumped. Fache ran an Interpol broadcast already? It seemed the captain was moremotivated than Sophie had anticipated. She quickly told Vernet who Langdon was and what hadhappened inside the Louvre tonight.

　　Vernet looked amazed. "And as your grandfather was dying, he left you a message telling you tofind Mr. Langdon?""Yes. And this key." Sophie laid the gold key on the coffee table in front of Vernet, placing thePriory seal face down.

　　Vernet glanced at the key but made no move to touch it. "He left you only this key? Nothing else?

　　No slip of paper?"Sophie knew she had been in a hurry inside the Louvre, but she was certain she had seen nothingelse behind Madonna of the Rocks. "No. Just the key."Vernet gave a helple............