danbrown.thedavincicode-第20部分

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n　has　just　mitted　suicide！〃
　Fache　heard　the　words；　but　they　made　no　sense。　He　kept　running。　The　hallway　seemed　never…ending。　As　he　sprinted　past　Saunière's　body；　he　set　his　sights　on　the　partitions　at　the　far　end　of　the　Denon　Wing。　The　alarm　was　getting　louder　now。
　〃Wait！〃　Collet's　voice　blared　again　over　the　radio。　〃He's　moving！　My　God；　he's　alive。　Langdon's　moving！〃
　Fache　kept　running；　cursing　the　length　of　the　hallway　with　every　step。
　〃Langdon's　moving　faster！〃　Collet　was　still　yelling　on　the　radio。　〃He's　running　down　Carrousel。　Wait。。。　he's　picking　up　speed。　He's　moving　too　fast！〃
　Arriving　at　the　partitions；　Fache　snaked　his　way　through　them；　saw　the　rest　room　door；　and　ran　for　it。
　The　walkie…talkie　was　barely　audible　now　over　the　alarm。　〃He　must　be　in　a　car！　I　think　he's　in　a　car！　I　can't…〃
　Collet's　words　were　swallowed　by　the　alarm　as　Fache　finally　burst　into　the　men's　room　with　his　gun　drawn。　Wincing　against　the　piercing　shrill；　he　scanned　the　area。
　The　stalls　were　empty。　The　bathroom　deserted。　Fache's　eyes　moved　immediately　to　the　shattered　window　at　the　far　end　of　the　room。　He　ran　to　the　opening　and　looked　over　the　edge。　Langdon　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。　Fache　could　not　imagine　anyone　risking　a　stunt　like　this。　Certainly　if　he　had　dropped　that　far；　he　would　be　badly　injured。
　The　alarm　cut　off　finally；　and　Collet's　voice　became　audible　again　over　the　walkie…talkie。
　〃。。。moving　south。。。　faster。。。　crossing　the　Seine　on　Pont　du　Carrousel！〃
　Fache　turned　to　his　left。　The　only　vehicle　on　Pont　du　Carrousel　was　an　enormous　twin…bed　Trailor　delivery　truck　moving　southward　away　from　the　Louvre。　The　truck's　open…air　bed　was　covered　with　a　vinyl　tarp；　roughly　resembling　a　giant　hammock。　Fache　felt　a　shiver　of　apprehension。　That　truck；　only　moments　ago；　had　probably　been　stopped　at　a　red　light　directly　beneath　the　rest　room　window。
　An　insane　risk；　Fache　told　himself。　Langdon　had　no　way　of　knowing　what　the　truck　was　carrying　beneath　that　tarp。　What　if　the　truck　were　carrying　steel？　Or　cement？　Or　even　garbage？　A　forty…foot　leap？　It　was　madness。
　〃The　dot　is　turning！〃　Collet　called。　〃He's　turning　right　on　Pont　des　Saints…Peres！〃
　Sure　enough；　the　Trailor　truck　that　had　crossed　the　bridge　was　slowing　down　and　making　a　right　turn　onto　Pont　des　Saints…Peres。　So　be　it；　Fache　thought。　Amazed；　he　watched　the　truck　disappear　around　the　corner。　Collet　was　already　radioing　the　agents　outside；　pulling　them　off　the　Louvre　perimeter　and　sending　them　to　their　patrol　cars　in　pursuit；　all　the　while　broadcasting　the　truck's　changing　location　like　some　kind　of　bizarre　play…by…play。
　It's　over；　Fache　knew。　His　men　would　have　the　truck　surrounded　within　minutes。　Langdon　was　not　going　anywhere。
　Stowing　his　weapon；　Fache　exited　the　rest　room　and　radioed　Collet。　〃Bring　my　car　around。　I　want　to　be　there　when　we　make　the　arrest。〃
　As　Fache　jogged　back　down　the　length　of　the　Grand　Gallery；　he　wondered　if　Langdon　had　even　survived　the　fall。
　Not　that　it　mattered。
　Langdon　ran。　Guilty　as　charged。
　　
　Only　fifteen　yards　from　the　rest　room；　Langdon　and　Sophie　stood　in　the　darkness　of　the　Grand　Gallery；　their　backs　pressed　to　one　of　the　large　partitions　that　hid　the　bathrooms　from　the　gallery。　They　had　barely　managed　to　hide　themselves　before　Fache　had　darted　past　them；　gun　drawn；　and　disappeared　into　the　bathroom。
　The　last　sixty　seconds　had　been　a　blur。
　Langdon　had　been　standing　inside　the　men's　room　refusing　to　run　from　a　crime　he　didn't　mit；　when　Sophie　began　eyeing　the　plate…glass　window　and　examining　the　alarm　mesh　running　through　it。　Then　she　peered　downward　into　the　street；　as　if　measuring　the　drop。
　〃With　a　little　aim；　you　can　get　out　of　here；〃　she　said。
　Aim？　Uneasy；　he　peered　out　the　rest　room　window。
　Up　the　street；　an　enormous　twin…bed　eighteen…wheeler　was　headed　for　the　stoplight　beneath　the　window。　Stretched　across　the　truck's　massive　cargo　bay　was　a　blue　vinyl　tarp；　loosely　covering　the　truck's　load。　Langdon　hoped　Sophie　was　not　thinking　what　she　seemed　to　be　thinking。
　〃Sophie；　there's　no　way　I'm　jump…〃
　〃Take　out　the　tracking　dot。〃
　Bewildered；　Langdon　fumbled　in　his　pocket　until　he　found　the　tiny　metallic　disk。　Sophie　took　it　from　him　and　strode　immediately　to　the　sink。　She　grabbed　a　thick　bar　of　soap；　placed　the　tracking　dot　on　top　of　it；　and　used　her　thumb　to　push　the　disk　down　hard　into　the　bar。　As　the　disk　sank　into　the　soft　surface；　she　pinched　the　hole　closed；　firmly　embedding　the　device　in　the　bar。
　Handing　the　bar　to　Langdon；　Sophie　retrieved　a　heavy；　cylindrical　trash　can　from　under　the　sinks。　Before　Langdon　could　protest；　Sophie　ran　at　the　window；　holding　the　can　before　her　like　a　battering　ram。　Driving　the　bottom　of　the　trash　can　into　the　center　of　the　window；　she　shattered　the　glass。
　Alarms　erupted　overhead　at　earsplitting　decibel　levels。
　〃Give　me　the　soap！〃　Sophie　yelled；　barely　audible　over　the　alarm。
　Langdon　thrust　the　bar　into　her　hand。
　Palming　the　soap；　she　peered　out　the　shattered　window　at　the　eighteen…wheeler　idling　below。　The　target　was　plenty　big…an　expansive；　stationary　tarp…and　it　was　less　than　ten　feet　from　the　side　of　the　building。　As　the　traffic　lights　prepared　to　change；　Sophie　took　a　deep　breath　and　lobbed　the　bar　of　soap　out　into　the　night。
　The　soap　plummeted　downward　toward　the　truck；　landing　on　the　edge　of　the　tarp；　and　sliding　downward　into　the　cargo　bay　just　as　the　traffic　light　turned　green。
　〃Congratulations；〃　Sophie　said；　dragging　him　toward　the　door。　〃You　just　escaped　from　the　Louvre。〃
　Fleeing　the　men's　room；　they　moved　into　the　shadows　just　as　Fache　rushed　past。
　　
　Now；　with　the　fire　alarm　silenced；　Langdon　could　hear　the　sounds　of　DCPJ　sirens　tearing　away　from　the　Louvre。　A　police　exodus。　Fache　had　hurried　off　as　well；　leaving　the　Grand　Gallery　deserted。
　〃There's　an　emergency　stairwell　about　fifty　meters　back　into　the　Grand　Gallery；〃　Sophie　said。　〃Now　that　the　guards　are　leaving　the　perimeter；　we　can　get　out　of　here。〃
　Langdon　decided　not　to　say　another　word　all　evening。　Sophie　Neveu　was　clearly　a　hell　of　a　lot　smarter　than　he　was。
　　
　CHAPTER　19
　
　The　Church　of　Saint…Sulpice；　it　is　said；　has　the　most　eccentric　history　of　any　building　in　Paris。　Built　over　the　ruins　of　an　ancient　temple　to　the　Egyptian　goddess　Isis；　the　church　possesses　an　architectural　footprint　matching　that　of　Notre　Dame　to　within　inches。　The　sanctuary　has　played　host　to　the　baptisms　of　the　Marquis　de　Sade　and　Baudelaire；　as　well　as　the　marriage　of　Victor　Hugo。　The　attached　seminary　has　a　well…documented　history　of　unorthodoxy　and　was　once　the　clandestine　meeting　hall　for　numerous　secret　societies。
　Tonight；　the　cavernous　nave　of　Saint…Sulpice　was　as　silent　as　a　tomb；　the　only　hint　of　life　the　faint　smell　of　incense　from　mass　earlier　that　evening。　Silas　sensed　an　uneasiness　in　Sister　Sandrine's　demeanor　as　she　led　him　into　the　sanctuary。　He　was　not　surprised　by　this。　Silas　was　accustomed　to　people　being　unfortable　with　his　appearance。
　〃You're　an　American；〃　she　said。
　〃French　by　birth；〃　Silas　responded。　〃I　had　my　calling　in　Spain；　and　I　now　study　in　the　United　States。〃
　Sister　Sandrine　nodded。　She　was　a　small　woman　with　quiet　eyes。　〃And　you　have　never　seen　Saint…Sulpice？〃
　〃I　realize　this　is　almost　a　sin　in　itself。〃
　〃She　is　more　beautiful　by　day。〃
　〃I　am　certain。　Nonetheless；　I　am　grateful　that　you　would　provide　me　this　opportunity　tonight。〃
　〃The　abbé　requested　it。　You　obviously　have　powerful　friends。〃
　You　have　no　idea；　Silas　thought。
　As　he　followed　Sister　Sandrine　down　the　main　aisle；　Silas　was　surprised　by　the　austerity　of　the　sanctuary。　Unlike　Notre　Dame　with　its　colorful　frescoes；　gilded　altar…work；　and　warm　wood；　Saint…Sulpice　was　stark　and　cold；　conveying　an　almost　barren　quality　reminiscent　of　the　ascetic　cathedrals　of　Spain。　The　lack　of　decor　made　the　interior　look　even　more　expansive；　and　as　Silas　gazed　up　into　the　soaring　ribbed　vault　of　the　ceiling；　he　imagined　he　was　standing　beneath　the　hull　of　an　enormous　overturned　ship。
　A　fitting　image；　he　thought。　The　brotherhood's　ship　was　about　to　be　capsized　forever。　Feeling　eager　to　get　to　work；　Silas　wished　Sister　Sandrine　would　leave　him。　She　was　a　smal