The Da Vinci Code

could pass the torch. Saunière gazed up at the walls of his opulent prison. A collection of the

world's most famous paintings seemed to smile down on him like old friends. Wincing in pain, he summoned all of his faculties and strength. The desperate task before him, he knew, would require every remaining second of his life.

CHAPTER 1

Robert Langdon awoke slowly. A telephone was ringing in the darkness—a tinny, unfamiliar ring. He fumbled for the bedside lamp and turned it on. Squinting at his surroundings he saw a plush Renaissance bedroom with Louis XVI furniture, hand-frescoed walls, and a colossal mahogany four-poster bed.

Where the hell am I.

The jacquard bathrobe hanging on his bedpost bore the monogram: HOTEL RITZ PARIS. Slowly, the fog began to lift. Langdon picked up the receiver. "Hello." "Monsieur Langdon." a man's voice said. "I hope I have not awoken you." Dazed, Langdon looked at the bedside clock. It was 12:32 A.M. He had been asleep only an hour, but he felt like the dead. "This is the concierge, monsieur. I apologize for this intrusion, but you have a visitor. He insists it is urgent." Langdon still felt fuzzy. A visitor. His eyes focused now on a crumpled flyer on his bedside table.

THE AMERICAN UNIVERSITY OF PARIS

proudly presents

AN EVENING WITH ROBERT LANGDON PROFESSOR OF RELIGIOUS SYMBOLOGY, HARVARD UNIVERSITY Langdon groaned. Tonight's lecture—a slide show about pagan symbolism hidden in the stones of Chartres Cathedral—had probably ruffled some conservative feathers in the audience. Most likely,