It was late afternoon when the London sun broke through and the city began to dry. Bezu Fachefelt weary as he emerged from the interrogation room and hailed a cab. Sir Leigh Teabing hadvociferously proclaimed his innocence, and yet from his incoherent rantings about the Holy Grail,secret documents, and mysterious brotherhoods, Fache suspected the wily historian was setting thestage for his lawyers to plead an insanity defense.

　　Sure, Fache thought. Insane. Teabing had displayed ingenious precision in formulating a plan thatprotected his innocence at every turn. He had exploited both the Vatican and Opus Dei, two groupsthat turned out to be completely innocent. His dirty work had been carried out unknowingly by afanatical monk and a desperate bishop. More clever still, Teabing had situated his electroniclistening post in the one place a man with polio could not possibly reach. The actual surveillancehad been carried out by his manservant, Rémy—the lone person privy to Teabing's trueidentity—now conveniently dead of an allergic reaction.

　　Hardly the handiwork of someone lacking mental faculties, Fache thought.

　　The information coming from Collet out of Chateau Villette suggested that Teabing's cunning ranso deep that Fache himself might even learn from it. To successfully hide bugs in some of Paris'smost powerful offices, the British historian had turned to the Greeks. Trojan horses. Some ofTeabing's intended targets received lavish gifts of artwork, others unwittingly bid at auctions inwhich Teabing had placed specific lots. In Saunière's case, the curator had received a dinnerinvitation to Chateau Villette to discuss the possibility of Teabing's funding a new Da Vinci Wingat the Louvre. Saunière's invitation had contained an innocuous postscript expressing fascinationwith a robotic knight that Saunière was rumored to have built. Bring him to dinner, Teabing hadsuggested. Saunière apparently had done just that and left the knight unattended long enough forRémy Legaludec to make one inconspicuous addition.

　　Now, sitting in the back of the cab, Fache closed his eyes. One more thing to attend to before Ireturn to Paris.

　　The St. Mary's Hospital recovery room was sunny.

　　"You've impressed us all," the nurse said, smiling down at him. "Nothing short of miraculous."Bishop Aringarosa gave a weak smile. "I have always been blessed."The nurse finished puttering, leaving the bishop alone. The sunlight felt welcome and warm on hisface. Last night had been the darkest night of his life.

　　Despondently, he thought of Silas, whose body had been found in the park.

　　Please forgive me, my son.

　　Aringarosa had longed for Silas to be part of his glorious plan. Last night, however, Aringarosa hadreceived a call from Bezu Fache, questioning the bishop about his apparent connection to a nunwho had been murdered in Saint-Sulpice. Aringarosa realized the evening had taken a horrifyingturn. News of the four additional murders transformed his horror to anguish. Silas, what have youdone! Unable to reach the Teacher, the bishop knew he had been cut loose. Used. The only way tostop the horrific chain of events he had helped put in motion was to confess everything to Fache,and from that moment on, Aringarosa and Fache had been racing to catch up with Silas before theTeacher persuaded him to kill again.

　　Feeling bone weary, Aringarosa closed his eyes and listened to the television coverage of the arrestof a prominent British knight, Sir Leigh Teabing. The Teacher laid bare for all to see. Teabing hadcaught wind of the Vatican's plans to disassociate itself from Opus Dei. He had chosen Aringarosaas the perfect pawn in his plan. After all, who more likely to leap blindly after the Holy Grail thana man like myself with everything to lose? The Grail would have brought enormous power toanyone who possessed it.

　　Leigh Teabing had protected his identity shrewdly—feigning a French accent and a pious heart,and demanding as payment the one thing he did not need............