Origin

• Pope Clemente had active stigmata on both palms that regularly bled when he had visions.

• Several Palmarian popes were officers of the Spanish military with strong Carlist ideals.

• Palmarian Church members are forbidden from speaking to their own families, and several members have died on the compound from malnutrition or abuse.

• Palmarians are banned from (1) reading books authored by non-Palmarians, (2) attending family weddings or funerals unless their families are Palmarians, (3) attending pools, beaches, boxing matches, dance halls, or any location displaying a Christmas tree or image of Santa Claus.

• Palmarians believe the Antichrist was born in the year 2000.

• Palmarian recruitment houses exist in the USA, Canada, Germany, Austria, and Ireland.

CHAPTER 69

AS LANGDON AND Ambra followed Father Beña toward the colossal bronze doors of Sagrada Família, Langdon found himself marveling, as he always did, over the utterly bizarre details of this church’s main entrance.

It’s a wall of codes, he mused, eyeing the raised typography that dominated the monolithic slabs of burnished metal. Protruding from the surface were more than eight thousand three-dimensional letters embossed in bronze. The letters ran in horizontal lines, creating a massive field of text with virtually no separation between the words. Although Langdon knew the text was a description of Christ’s Passion written in Catalan, its appearance was closer to that of an NSA encryption key.

No wonder this place inspires conspiracy theories.

Langdon’s gaze moved upward, climbing the looming Passion facade, where a haunting collection of gaunt, angular sculptures by the artist Josep Maria Subirachs stared down, dominated by a horribly emaciated Jesus dangling from a crucifix that had been canted steeply forward, giving the frightening effect that it was about to topple down onto the arriving guests.

To Langdon’s left, another grim sculpture depicted Judas betraying Jesus with a kiss. This effigy, rather strangely, was flanked by a carved grid of numbers—a mathematical “magic square.” Edmond had once told Langdon that this square’s “magic constant” of thirty-three was in fact a hidden tribute to the Freemasons’ pagan reverence for the Great Architect of the Universe—an all-encompassing deity whose secrets were allegedly revealed to those who reached the brotherhood’s thirty-third degree.

“A fun story,” Langdon had replied with a laugh, “but Jesus being age thirty-three at the time of the Passion is a more likely explanation.”

As they neared the entrance, Langdon winced to see the church’s most gruesome embellishment—a collosal statue of Jesus, scourged and bound to a pillar with ropes. He quickly shifted his gaze to the inscription above the doors—two Greek letters—alpha and omega.

“Beginning and end,” Ambra whispered, also eyeing the letters. “Very Edmond.”

Langdon nodded, catching her meaning. Where do we come from? Where are we going?

Father Beña opened a small portal in the wall of bronze letters, and the entire group entered, including the two Guardia agents. Beña closed the door behind them.

Silence.

Shadows.

There in the southeast end of the transept, Father Beña shared with them a startling story. He recounted how Kirsch had come to him and offered to make a huge donation to Sagrada Família in return for the church agreeing to display his copy of Blake’s illuminated manuscripts in the crypt near Gaudí’s tomb.

In the very heart of this church, Langdon thought, his curiosity piqued.

“Did Edmond say why he wanted you to do this?” Ambra asked.

Beña nodded. “He told me that his lifelong passion for Gaudí’s art had come from his late mother, who had also been a great admirer of the work of William Blake. Mr. Kirsch said he wanted to place the Blake volume near Gaudí’s tomb as a tribute to his late mother. It seemed to me there was no harm.”

Edmond never mentioned his mother liking Gaudí, Langdon thought, puzzled. Moreover, Paloma Kirsch had died in a convent, and it seemed unlikely that a Spanish nun would admire a heterodox British poet. The entire story seemed like a stretch.

“Also,” Beña continued, “I sensed Mr. Kirsch might have been in the throes of a spiritual crisis … and perhaps had some health issues as well.”

“The notation on the back of this title card,” Langdon interjected, holding it up, “says that the Blake book must be displayed in a particular way—lying open to page one hundred and sixty-three?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Langdon felt his pulse quicken. “Can you tell me which poem is on that page?”

Beña shook his head. “There is no poem on that page.”

“I’m sorry?!”

“The book is Blake’s complete works—his artwork and writings. Page one sixty-three is an illustration.”