Origin

The morning of the bombing, the voice told him, four prominent members of the Palmarian Church were in the Seville congregation for recruiting purposes. They were targeted specifically. You know one of them—Marco. The other three died in the attack.

Ávila’s thoughts swirled as he pictured his physical therapist, Marco, who had lost his leg in the attack.

Our enemies are powerful and motivated, the voice went on. And when the bomber could not gain access to our compound in El Palmar de Troya, he followed our four missionaries to Seville and took his action there. I’m so very sorry, Admiral. This tragedy is one of the reasons the Palmarians reached out to you—we feel responsible that your family became collateral damage in a war directed against us.

A war directed by whom? Ávila demanded, trying to comprehend the shocking claims.

Check your e-mail, the Regent replied.

Opening his in-box, Ávila discovered a shocking trove of private documents that outlined a brutal war that had been waged against the Palmarian Church for over a decade now … a war that apparently included lawsuits, threats bordering on blackmail, and huge donations to anti-Palmarian “watchdog” groups like Palmar de Troya Support and Dialogue Ireland.

More surprising still, this bitter war against the Palmarian Church was, it appeared, being waged by a single individual—and that man was futurist Edmond Kirsch.

Ávila was baffled by the news. Why would Edmond Kirsch specifically want to destroy the Palmarians?

The Regent told him that nobody in the Church—not even the pope himself—had any idea why Kirsch had such a specific abhorrence for the Palmarians. All they knew was that one of the planet’s wealthiest and most influential people would not rest until the Palmarians were crushed.

The Regent drew Ávila’s attention to one last document—a copy of a typed letter to the Palmarians from a man claiming to be the Seville bomber. In the first line, the bomber called himself a “disciple of Edmond Kirsch.” This was all Ávila had to see; his fists clenched in rage.

The Regent explained why the Palmarians had never shared the letter publicly; with all the bad press the Palmarians had gotten recently—much of it orchestrated or funded by Kirsch—the last thing the Church needed was to be associated with a bombing.

My family died because of Edmond Kirsch.

Now, in the darkened stairwell, Ávila stared up at Robert Langdon, sensing that the man probably knew nothing of Kirsch’s secret crusade against the Palmarian Church, or how Kirsch had inspired the attack that killed Ávila’s family.

It doesn’t matter what Langdon knows, Ávila thought. He is a soldier like I am. We have both fallen into this foxhole, and only one of us will climb out of it. I have my orders.

Langdon was positioned a few steps above him, aiming his weapon like an amateur—with both hands. Poor choice, Ávila thought, quietly lowering his toes onto a step beneath him, planting his feet, and staring straight up into Langdon’s eyes.

“I know you find it hard to believe,” Ávila declared, “but Edmond Kirsch killed my family. And here is your proof.”

Ávila opened his palm to show Langdon his tattoo, which, of course, was no proof at all, but it had the desired effect—Langdon looked.

As the professor’s focus shifted ever so briefly, Ávila lunged upward and to his left, along the curved outer wall, moving his body out of the line of fire. Precisely as anticipated, Langdon fired on impulse—depressing the trigger before he could realign the weapon with a moving target. Like thunder, the gunshot reverberated in the cramped space, and Ávila felt a bullet graze his shoulder before ricocheting harmlessly down the stone stairwell.

Langdon was already re-aiming the gun, but Ávila rolled in midair, and as he began to fall, he drove his fists down hard on Langdon’s wrists, forcing the gun from his hands and sending it clattering down the stairs.