Origin

As king, Julián knew he would probably not have the power to destroy this magnificent structure, and yet he had to admit he felt surprise that the people of Spain had permitted it to stand, especially considering the country’s eagerness to move past her dark past and into the new world. Then again, there were still those who longed for the old ways, and every year, on the anniversary of Franco’s death, hundreds of aging Francoists still flocked to this place to pay their respects.

“Don Julián,” the bishop said quietly, out of earshot of the others, as they walked deeper into the passageway. “Do you know why your father summoned us here?”

Julián shook his head. “I was hoping you would know.”

Valdespino let out an unusually heavy sigh. “I don’t have any idea.”

If the bishop doesn’t know my father’s motives, Julián thought, then nobody knows them.

“I just hope he’s all right,” the bishop said with surprising tenderness. “Some of his decisions lately …”

“You mean like convening a meeting inside a mountain when he should be in a hospital bed?”

Valdespino softly smiled. “For example, yes.”

Julián wondered why the king’s Guardia detail had not intervened and refused to bring the dying monarch out of the hospital to this foreboding location. Then again, Guardia agents were trained to obey without question, especially when the request came from their commander in chief.

“I have not prayed here in years,” Valdespino said, gazing down the firelit hallway.

The tunnel through which they were moving, Julián knew, was not solely the access corridor into the mountain; it was also the nave of an officially sanctioned Catholic church. Up ahead, the prince could begin to see the rows of pews.

La basílica secreta, Julián had called it as a child.

Hollowed out of the granite mountain, the gilded sanctuary at the end of this tunnel was a cavernous space, an astonishing subterranean basilica with a massive cupola. Rumored to have more total square footage than St. Peter’s in Rome, the underground mausoleum boasted six separate chapels surrounding its high altar, which was meticulously positioned directly beneath the cross atop the mountain.

As they neared the main sanctuary, Julián scanned the enormous space, looking for his father. The basilica, however, appeared totally deserted.

“Where is he?” the bishop demanded, sounding worried.

Julián now shared the bishop’s concern, fearing the Guardia had left the king alone in this desolate place. The prince quickly moved ahead, peering down one arm of the transept and then the other. No sign of anyone. He jogged deeper, circling around the side of the altar and into the apse.

It was here, in the deepest recesses of the mountain, that Julián finally spotted his father and came to an abrupt halt.

The king of Spain was completely alone, covered with heavy blankets, and slumped in a wheelchair.

CHAPTER 87

INSIDE THE MAIN sanctuary of the deserted chapel, Langdon and Ambra followed Winston’s voice around the perimeter of the two-story supercomputer. Through the heavy glass, they heard a deep vibrating thrum emanating from the colossal machine inside. Langdon had the eerie sense that he was peering into a cage at an incarcerated beast.

The noise, according to Winston, was generated not by the electronics but by the vast array of centrifugal fans, heat sinks, and liquid coolant pumps required to keep the machine from overheating.

“It’s deafening in there,” Winston said. “And freezing. Fortunately, Edmond’s lab is on the second floor.”

A freestanding spiral staircase rose ahead, affixed to the outer wall of the glass enclosure. On Winston’s command, Langdon and Ambra climbed the stairs and found themselves standing on a metal platform before a glass revolving door.

To Langdon’s amusement, this futuristic entrance to Edmond’s lab had been decorated as if it were a suburban home—complete with a welcome mat, a fake potted plant, and a little bench under which sat a pair of house slippers, which Langdon realized wistfully must have been Edmond’s.

Above the door hung a framed message.

Success is the ability to go

from one failure to another

with no loss of enthusiasm.

—WINSTON CHURCHILL

“More Churchill,” Langdon said, pointing it out to Ambra.

“Edmond’s favorite quote,” Winston chimed. “He said it pinpoints the single greatest strength of computers.”

“Computers?” Ambra asked.

“Yes, computers are infinitely persistent. I can fail billions of times with no trace of frustration. I embark upon my billionth attempt at solving a problem with the same energy as my first. Humans cannot do that.”

“True,” Langdon admitted. “I usually give up after my millionth attempt.”

Ambra smiled and moved toward the door.

“The floor inside is glass,” Winston said as the revolving door began turning automatically. “So please remove your shoes.”