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〃Go。 Now。〃 Sophie gave him a grateful smile。 〃I'll see you at the embassy； Mr。 Langdon。〃
Langdon looked displeased。 〃I'll meet you there on one condition；〃 he replied； his voice stern。
She paused； startled。 〃What's that？〃
〃That you stop calling me Mr。 Langdon。〃
Sophie detected the faint hint of a lopsided grin growing across Langdon's face； and she felt herself smile back。 〃Good luck； Robert。〃
When Langdon reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs； the unmistakable smell of linseed oil and plaster dust assaulted his nostrils。 Ahead； an illuminated SORTIE/EXIT displayed an arrow pointing down a long corridor。
Langdon stepped into the hallway。
To the right gaped a murky restoration studio out of which peered an army of statues in various states of repair。 To the left； Langdon saw a suite of studios that resembled Harvard art classrooms—rows of easels； paintings； palettes； framing tools—an art assembly line。
As he moved down the hallway； Langdon wondered if at any moment he might awake with a start in his bed in Cambridge。 The entire evening had felt like a bizarre dream。 I'm about to dash out of the Louvre。。。 a fugitive。
Saunière's clever anagrammatic message was still on his mind； and Langdon wondered what Sophie would find at the Mona Lisa。。。 if anything。 She had seemed certain her grandfather meant for her to visit the famous painting one more time。 As plausible an interpretation as this seemed； Langdon felt haunted now by a troubling paradox。
P。S。 Find Robert Langdon。
Saunière had written Langdon's name on the floor； manding Sophie to find him。 But why？ Merely so Langdon could help her break an anagram？
It seemed quite unlikely。
After all； Saunière had no reason to think Langdon was especially skilled at anagrams。 We've never even met。 More important； Sophie had stated flat out that she should have broken the anagram on her own。 It had been Sophie who spotted the Fibonacci sequence； and； no doubt； Sophie who； if given a little more time； would have deciphered the message with no help from Langdon。
Sophie was supposed to break that anagram on her own。 Langdon was suddenly feeling more certain about this； and yet the conclusion left an obvious gaping lapse in the logic of Saunière's actions。
Why me？ Langdon wondered； heading down the hall。 Why was Saunière's dying wish that his estranged granddaughter find me？ What is it that Saunière thinks I know？
With an unexpected jolt； Langdon stopped short。 Eyes wide； he dug in his pocket and yanked out the puter printout。 He stared at the last line of Saunière's message。
P。S。 Find Robert Langdon。
He fixated on two letters。
P。S。
In that instant； Langdon felt Saunière's puzzling mix of symbolism fall into stark focus。 Like a peal of thunder； a career's worth of symbology and history came crashing down around him。 Everything Jacques Saunière had done tonight suddenly made perfect sense。
Langdon's thoughts raced as he tried to assemble the implications of what this all meant。 Wheeling； he stared back in the direction from which he had e。
Is there time？
He knew it didn't matter。
Without hesitation； Langdon broke into a sprint back toward the stairs。
CHAPTER 22
Kneeling in the first pew； Silas pretended to pray as he scanned the layout of the sanctuary。 Saint…Sulpice； like most churches； had been built in the shape of a giant Roman cross。 Its long central section—the nave—led directly to the main altar； where it was transversely intersected by a shorter section； known as the transept。 The intersection of nave and transept occurred directly beneath the main cupola and was considered the heart of the church。。。 her most sacred and mystical point。
Not tonight； Silas thought。 Saint…Sulpice hides her secrets elsewhere。
Turning his head to the right； he gazed into the south transept； toward the open area of floor beyond the end of the pews； to the object his victims had described。
There it is。
Embedded in the gray granite floor； a thin polished strip of brass glistened in the stone。。。 a golden line slanting across the church's floor。 The line bore graduated markings； like a ruler。 It was a gnomon； Silas had been told； a pagan astronomical device like a sundial。 Tourists； scientists； historians； and pagans from around the world came to Saint…Sulpice to gaze upon this famous line。
The Rose Line。
Slowly； Silas let his eyes trace the path of the brass strip as it made its way across the floor from his right to left； slanting in front of him at an awkward angle； entirely at odds with the symmetry of the church。 Slicing across the main altar itself； the line looked to Silas like a slash wound across a beautiful face。 The strip cleaved the munion rail in two and then crossed the entire width of the church； finally reaching the corner of the north transept； where it arrived at the base of a most unexpected structure。
A colossal Egyptian obelisk。
Here； the glistening Rose Line took a ninety…degree vertical turn and continued directly up the face of the obelisk itself； ascending thirty…three feet to the very tip of the pyramidical apex； where it finally ceased。
The Rose Line； Silas thought。 The brotherhood hid the keystone at the Rose Line。
Earlier tonight； when Silas told the Teacher that the Priory keystone was hidden inside Saint…Sulpice； the Teacher had sounded doubtful。 But when Silas added that the brothers had all given him a precise location； with relation to a brass line running through Saint…Sulpice； the Teacher had gasped with revelation。 〃You speak of the Rose Line！〃
The Teacher quickly told Silas of Saint…Sulpice's famed architectural oddity—a strip of brass that segmented the sanctuary on a perfect north…south axis。 It was an ancient sundial of sorts； a vestige of the pagan temple that had once stood on this very spot。 The sun's rays； shining through the oculus on the south wall； moved farther down the line every day； indicating the passage of time； from solstice to solstice。
The north…south stripe had been known as the Rose Line。 For centuries； the symbol of the Rose had been associated with maps and guiding souls in the proper direction。 The pass Rose—drawn on almost every map—indicated North； East； South； and West。 Originally known as the Wind Rose； it denoted the directions of the thirty…two winds； blowing from the directions of eight major winds； eight half…winds； and sixteen quarter…winds。 When diagrammed inside a circle； these thirty…two points of the pass perfectly resembled a traditional thirty…two petal rose bloom。 To this day； the fundamental navigational tool was still known as a pass Rose； its northernmost direction still marked by an arrowhead。。。 or； more monly； the symbol of the fleur…de…lis。
On a globe； a Rose Line—also called a meridian or longitude—was any imaginary line drawn from the North Pole to the South Pole。 There were； of course； an infinite number of Rose Lines because every point on the globe could have a longitude drawn through it connecting north and south poles。 The question for early navigators was which of these lines would be called the Rose Line—the zero longitude—the line from which all other longitudes on earth would be measured。
Today that line was in Greenwich； England。
But it had not always been。
Long before the establishment of Greenwich as the prime meridian； the zero longitude of the entire world had passed directly through Paris； and through the Church of Saint…Sulpice。 The brass marker in Saint…Sulpice was a memorial to the world's first prime meridian； and although Greenwich had stripped Paris of the honor in 1888； the original Rose Line was still visible today。
〃And so the legend is true；〃 the Teacher had told Silas。 〃The Priory keystone has been said to lie 'beneath the Sign of the Rose。' 〃
Now； still on his knees in a pew； Silas glanced around the church and listened to make sure no one was there。 For a moment； he thought he heard a rustling in the choir balcony。 He turned and gazed up for several seconds。 Nothing。
I am alone。
Standing now； he faced the altar and genuflected three times。 Then he turned left and followed the brass line due north toward the obelisk。
At that moment； at Leonardo da Vinci International Airport in Rome； the jolt of tires hitting the runway start