Includes over twenty color photos showing important locations, landmarks, and artwork, taking readers from Paris to London and beyond!
The greatest conspiracy of the past two thousand years is about to unravel.
Robert Langdon, professor of religious symbology at Harvard, is in Paris to give a lecture. At the reception that follows, he is scheduled to meet with a revered curator from the world-famous Louvre museum. But the curator never shows up, and later that night Langdon is awakened by authorities and told that the curator has been found dead. He is then taken to the Louvre—the scene of the crime—where he finds out that baffling clues have been left behind.
Thus begins a race against time, as Robert Langdon becomes a suspect and, with the help of French cryptologist Sophie Neveu, must decipher a mystifying trail of clues that the two come to realize have been left specifically for them. If Robert and Sophie cannot solve the puzzle in time, an ancient truth could be lost forever—and they themselves might end up as collateral damage.
Praise for the adult edition of The Da Vinci Code
“WOW . . . Blockbuster perfection. An exhilaratingly brainy thriller. Not since the advent of Harry Potter has an author so flagrantly delighted in leading readers on a breathless chase and coaxing them through hoops.”—The New York Times
“A new master of smart thrills. A pulse-quickening, brain-teasing adventure.”—People
About the Author
Date of Birth:June 22, 1964
Place of Birth:Exeter, New Hampshire
Education:Phillips Exeter Academy 1982; B.A., Amherst College, 1986; University of Seville, Spain
Read an Excerpt
Robert Langdon awoke slowly.
A telephone was ringing in the darkness—a tinny, unfamiliar ring. He fumbled for the bedside lamp and turned it on. Squinting at his surroundings, he saw a plush bedroom with antique eighteenth-century furniture, hand-frescoed walls, and a colossal mahogany four-poster bed.
Where am I?
The jacquard bathrobe hanging on his bedpost bore the monogram Hotel Ritz Paris.
Slowly, the fog began to lift. Sitting up, he gazed tiredly into the full-length mirror across the room. The man staring back at him was a stranger—tousled and weary, his usually sharp blue eyes hazy and drawn. A dark stubble was shrouding his strong jaw, and around his temples the gray highlights were advancing, making their way deeper into his thicket of coarse black hair.
He picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Monsieur Langdon?” a man’s voice said. “I hope I have not interrupted you?”
Dazed, Langdon looked at the bedside clock. It was 12:32 a.m. He had been asleep only an hour; he felt like the dead.
“This is the concierge, monsieur. I apologize for this intrusion, but you have a visitor. He insists it is urgent.”
Langdon still felt fuzzy. A visitor? His eyes focused on a crumpled flyer on his bedside table.
The American University of Paris
an evening with robert langdon
professor of religious symbology,
harvard university, usa
Langdon groaned. His books on religious paintings and symbols had made him a reluctant celebrity in the art world, and tonight’s lecture—a slide show about pagan symbolism hidden in the stones of Chartres Cathedral—had probably ruffled some conservative feathers in the audience. Most likely, some religious scholar had trailed him home to pick a fight.
“I’m sorry,” Langdon said, “but I’m very tired and—”
“Mais, monsieur,” the concierge pressed, lowering his voice to an urgent whisper. “Your guest is an important man. He is even now en route to your room.”
Langdon was wide awake now. “You sent someone to my room?”
“I apologize, monsieur, but a man like this . . . I cannot presume the authority to stop him.”
“Who exactly is he?”
But the concierge was gone.
Almost immediately, a heavy fist pounded on Langdon’s door.
Langdon slid off the bed, feeling his toes sink deep into the carpet. He donned the hotel bathrobe and moved toward the door. “Who is it?”
“Mr. Langdon? I need to speak with you.” The man’s English was accented—a sharp, authoritative bark. “My name is Lieutenant Jérôme Collet. Direction Centrale Police Judiciaire.”
Langdon paused. The Judicial Police? Why would the DCPJ, roughly equivalent to the FBI, be coming to see him?
Leaving the security chain in place, he opened the door a few inches. The face staring back at him was thin and washed out. The man was lean, dressed in a blue uniform.
“May I come in?” the agent asked.
Langdon hesitated, feeling uncertain. “What is this all about?”
“My capitaine requires your expertise in a private matter.”
“Now?” Langdon managed. “It’s after midnight.”
“Am I correct that you were scheduled to meet with the curator of the Louvre this evening?”
Langdon felt a sudden surge of uneasiness. He and the revered curator Jacques Saunière had made an appointment to meet for drinks after the lecture—but Saunière had never shown up. “Yes. How did you know that?”
“We found your name in his daily planner.”
“I trust nothing is wrong?”
The agent gave a dire sigh and slid a Polaroid snapshot through the narrow opening in the door.
When Langdon saw the photo, his entire body went rigid.
“This photo was taken less than an hour ago. Inside the Louvre.”
As Langdon stared at the bizarre image, his initial revulsion and shock gave way to an upwelling of anger.
“We hoped that you might help us with what has happened, considering your knowledge of symbology and your plans to meet Saunière.”
Langdon’s horror was now laced with fear. “This symbol here,” he began, “and the way his body is so oddly . . .”
“Positioned?” the agent offered.
Langdon nodded, feeling a chill as he looked up. “I can’t imagine who could do this to someone.”
The agent’s face was grim. “You don’t understand, Mr. Langdon. What you see in this photograph . . .” He paused. “Monsieur Saunière did that to himself.”
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I love it even from the title