Origin

“This is a screenshot of a text message Bishop Valdespino received tonight,” she whispered. “Read it. I guarantee it will change your mind.”

CHAPTER 80

DESPITE THE PAIN coursing through his body, Robert Langdon felt strangely buoyant, almost euphoric, as the helicopter thundered off the roof of Sagrada Família.

I’m alive.

He could feel the adrenaline build up in his bloodstream, as if all of the events of the past hour were now hitting him all at once. Breathing as slowly as possible, Langdon turned his attention outward, to the world beyond the helicopter windows.

All around him, massive church spires reached skyward, but as the helicopter rose, the church dropped away, dissolving into an illuminated grid of streets. Langdon gazed down at the sprawl of city blocks, which were not the usual squares and rectangles but rather much softer octagons.

L’Eixample, Langdon thought. The Widening.

Visionary city architect Ildefons Cerdà had widened all the intersections in this district by shaving the corners off the square blocks to create mini plazas, with better visibility, increased airflow, and abundant space for outdoor cafés.

“¿Adónde vamos?” the pilot shouted over his shoulder.

Langdon pointed two blocks to the south, where one of the city’s widest, brightest, and most aptly named avenues cut diagonally across Barcelona.

“Avinguda Diagonal,” Langdon shouted. “Al oeste.” To the west.

Impossible to miss on any map of Barcelona, Avinguda Diagonal crossed the entire width of the city, from the ultramodern beachside skyscraper Diagonal ZeroZero to the ancient rose gardens of Parc de Cervantes—a ten-acre tribute to Spain’s most celebrated novelist, the author of Don Quixote.

The pilot nodded his confirmation and banked to the west, following the slanting avenue westward toward the mountains. “Address?” the pilot called back. “Coordinates?”

I don’t know the address, Langdon realized. “Fly to the fútbol stadium.”

“¿Fútbol?” He seemed surprised. “FC Barcelona?”

Langdon nodded, having no doubt the pilot knew exactly how to find the home of the famed Barcelona fútbol club, which was located a few miles farther up Avinguda Diagonal.

The pilot opened the throttle, now tracing the path of the avenue at full speed.

“Robert?” Ambra asked quietly. “Are you okay?” She studied him as if perhaps his head injury had impaired his judgment. “You said you know where to find Winston.”

“I do,” he replied. “That’s where I’m taking us.”

“A fútbol stadium? You think Edmond built a supercomputer at a stadium?”

Langdon shook his head. “No, the stadium is just an easy landmark for the pilot to locate. I’m interested in the building directly beside the stadium—the Gran Hotel Princesa Sofía.”

Ambra’s expression of confusion only deepened. “Robert, I’m not sure you’re making sense. There’s no way Edmond built Winston inside a luxury hotel. I think we should take you to the clinic after all.”

“I’m fine, Ambra. Trust me.”

“Then where are we going?”

“Where are we going?” Langdon stroked his chin playfully. “I believe that’s one of the important questions Edmond promised to answer tonight.”

Ambra’s expression settled somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“Sorry,” Langdon said. “Let me explain. Two years ago, I had lunch with Edmond at the private club on the eighteenth floor of the Gran Hotel Princesa Sofía.”

“And Edmond brought a supercomputer to lunch?” Ambra suggested with a laugh.

Langdon smiled. “Not quite. Edmond arrived for lunch on foot, telling me he ate at the club almost every day because the hotel was so convenient—only a couple of blocks from his computer lab. He also confided in me that he was working on an advanced synthetic intelligence project and was incredibly excited about its potential.”

Ambra looked suddenly heartened. “That must have been Winston!”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“And so Edmond took you to his lab!”

“No.”

“Did he tell you where it was?”

“Unfortunately, he kept that a secret.”

The concern rushed back into Ambra’s eyes.

“However,” Langdon said, “Winston secretly told us exactly where it is.”

Now Ambra looked confused. “No, he didn’t.”

“I assure you, he did,” Langdon said, smiling. “He actually told the whole world.”

Before Ambra could demand an explanation, the pilot announced, “¡Ahí está el estadio!” He pointed into the distance at Barcelona’s massive stadium.

That was fast, Langdon thought, glancing outside and tracing a line from the stadium to the nearby Gran Hotel Princesa Sofía—a skyscraper overlooking a broad plaza on Avinguda Diagonal. Langdon told the pilot to bypass the stadium and instead take them up high over the hotel.