Origin (63 page)

Two Guardia agents lingered nearby, just out of earshot.

“Ambra,” the prince began quietly. “My marriage proposal to you … I’m so sorry.”

Ambra was confused. The prince’s televised proposal was the last thing on her mind tonight.

“I was trying to be romantic,” he said, “and I ended up putting you in an impossible situation. Then, when you told me you couldn’t have children … I pulled away. But that wasn’t the reason! It was because I couldn’t believe you hadn’t told me sooner. I moved too quickly, I know, but I fell for you so fast. I wanted to start our lives together. Maybe it was because my father was dying—”

“Julián, stop!” she interrupted. “You don’t need to apologize. And tonight, there are many more important things than—”

“No, there’s nothing more important. Not to
me
. I just need you to know how deeply sorry I am about how everything happened.”

The voice she was hearing was that of the earnest and vulnerable man with whom she had fallen in love months ago. “Thank you, Julián,” she whispered. “That means a lot.”

As an awkward silence grew between them, Ambra finally mustered the courage to ask the hard question she needed to ask.

“Julián,” she whispered, “I need to know if you were involved tonight in any way with the murder of Edmond Kirsch.”

The prince fell silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with pain. “Ambra, I struggled deeply with the fact that you spent so much time with Kirsch preparing this event. And I strongly disagreed with your decision to participate in hosting such a controversial figure. Frankly, I was wishing you had never met him.” He paused. “But no, I
swear I had absolutely no involvement in his murder. I was utterly horrified by it … and that a public assassination took place in our country. The fact that it happened only a few yards from the woman I love … has shaken me to my core.”

Ambra could hear the truth in his voice and felt a rush of relief. “Julián, I’m so sorry to ask, but with all the news reports, the palace, Valdespino, the kidnapping story … I just didn’t know what to think anymore.”

Julián shared with her what he knew about the convoluted web of conspiracy surrounding Kirsch’s murder. He also told her about his ailing father, their poignant meeting, and the rapidly deteriorating state of the king’s health.

“Come home,” he whispered. “I need to see you.”

A flood of conflicting emotions surged through her heart as she heard the tenderness in his voice.

“One more thing,” he said, his tone lightening. “I have a crazy idea, and I want to know what you think.” The prince paused. “I think we should call off our engagement … and start all over.”

The words sent Ambra reeling. She knew the political fallout for the prince and for the palace would be substantial. “You … would
do
that?”

Julián laughed affectionately. “My dear, for a chance to propose to you again someday, in private … I would do absolutely anything.”

THERE ARE THIRTY-THREE
“Shakespeare gardens” in existence worldwide. These botanical parks grow only those plants cited in the works of William Shakespeare—including Juliet’s “rose by any other name” and Ophelia’s bouquet of rosemary, pansies, fennel, columbines, rue, daisies, and violets. In addition to those in Stratford-upon-Avon, Vienna, San Francisco, and Central Park in New York City, there is a Shakespeare garden located alongside the Barcelona Supercomputing Center.

In the dim glow of distant streetlights, seated on a bench among the columbines, Ambra Vidal finished her emotional phone conversation with Prince Julián just as Robert Langdon emerged from the stone chapel. She handed the phone back to the two Guardia agents and called over to Langdon, who spotted her and approached through the darkness.

As the American professor strolled into the garden, she couldn’t help but smile at the way he’d tossed his suit jacket over his shoulder and rolled up his shirtsleeves, leaving the Mickey Mouse watch fully displayed.

“Hi there,” he said, sounding utterly drained, despite the lopsided grin on his face.

As the two of them walked around the garden, the Guardia officers gave them space, and Ambra told Langdon about her conversation with the prince—Julián’s apology, his claims of innocence, and his offer to break off their engagement and start dating all over again.

“A real Prince Charming,” Langdon said jokingly, although he sounded sincerely impressed.

“He’s been worried about me,” Ambra said. “Tonight was hard. He wants me to come to Madrid right away. His father is dying, and Julián—”

“Ambra,” Langdon said softly. “You don’t need to explain a thing. You should go.”

Ambra thought she sensed disappointment in his voice, and deep
inside she felt it too. “Robert,” she said, “can I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course.”

She hesitated. “For
you
personally … are the laws of physics enough?”

Langdon glanced over as if he had expected an entirely different question. “Enough in what way?”

“Enough
spiritually
,” she said. “Is it enough to live in a universe whose laws spontaneously create life? Or do you prefer … God?” She paused, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, after all we’ve been through tonight, I know that’s a strange question.”

“Well,” Langdon said with a laugh, “I think my answer would benefit from a decent night’s sleep. But no, it’s not strange. People ask me all the time if I believe in God.”

“And how do you reply?”

“I reply with the truth,” he said. “I tell them that, for
me
, the question of God lies in understanding the difference between codes and patterns.”

Ambra glanced over. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Codes and patterns are very different from each other,” Langdon said. “And a lot of people confuse the two. In my field, it’s crucial to understand their fundamental difference.”

“That being?”

Langdon stopped walking and turned to her. “A
pattern
is any distinctly organized sequence. Patterns occur everywhere in nature—the spiraling seeds of a sunflower, the hexagonal cells of a honeycomb, the circular ripples on a pond when a fish jumps, et cetera.”

“Okay. And codes?”

“Codes are special,” Langdon said, his tone rising. “Codes, by definition, must carry
information
. They must do more than simply form a pattern—codes must transmit data and convey meaning. Examples of codes include written language, musical notation, mathematical equations, computer language, and even simple symbols like the crucifix. All of these examples can transmit meaning or information in a way that spiraling sunflowers cannot.”

Ambra grasped the concept, but not how it related to God.

“The other difference between codes and patterns,” Langdon continued, “is that codes do not occur naturally in the world. Musical notation does not sprout from trees, and symbols do not draw themselves in the sand. Codes are the deliberate inventions of intelligent consciousnesses.”

Ambra nodded. “So codes always have an intention or awareness behind them.”

“Exactly. Codes don’t appear organically; they must be created.”

Ambra studied him a long moment. “What about DNA?”

A professorial smile appeared on Langdon’s lips. “Bingo,” he said. “The genetic code.
That’s
the paradox.”

Ambra felt a rush of excitement. The genetic code obviously carried
data
—specific instructions on how to build organisms. By Langdon’s logic, that could mean only one thing. “You think DNA was created by an intelligence!”

Langdon held up a hand in mock self-defense. “Easy, tiger!” he said, laughing. “You’re treading on dangerous ground. Let me just say this. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had the gut sense that there’s a consciousness behind the universe. When I witness the precision of mathematics, the reliability of physics, and the symmetries of the cosmos, I don’t feel like I’m observing cold science; I feel as if I’m seeing a living footprint … the shadow of some greater force that is just beyond our grasp.”

Ambra could feel the power in his words. “I wish everyone thought like you do,” she finally said. “It seems we do a lot of fighting over God. Everyone has a different version of the truth.”

“Yes, which is why Edmond hoped science could one day unify us,” Langdon said. “In his own words: ‘If we all worshipped gravity, there would be no disagreements over which way it pulled.’”

Langdon used his heel to scratch some lines on the gravel path between them. “True or false?” he asked.

Puzzled, Ambra eyed his scratchings—a simple Roman-numeral equation.

One plus eleven is ten?
“False,” she said immediately.

“And can you see
any
way this could be true?”

Ambra shook her head. “No, your statement is definitely false.”

Langdon gently reached out and took her hand, guiding her around to where he had been standing. Now, when Ambra glanced down, she saw the markings from Langdon’s vantage point.

The equation was upside down.

Startled, she glanced up at him.

“Ten equals nine plus one,” Langdon said with a smile. “Sometimes, all you have to do is shift your perspective to see someone else’s truth.”

Ambra nodded, recalling how she had seen Winston’s self-portrait countless times without ever grasping its true meaning.

“Speaking of glimpsing a hidden truth,” Langdon said, looking suddenly amused. “You’re in luck. There’s a secret symbol hiding right over there.” He pointed. “On the side of that truck.”

Ambra glanced up and saw a FedEx truck idling at a red light on Avenue of Pedralbes.

Secret symbol?
All Ambra could see was the company’s ubiquitous logo.

“Their name is coded,” Langdon told her. “It contains a second level of meaning—a hidden
symbol
that reflects the company’s forward motion.”

Ambra stared. “It’s just letters.”

“Trust me, there’s a very common symbol in the FedEx logo—and it happens to be pointing the way forward.”

“Pointing? You mean like … an arrow?”

“Exactly.” Langdon grinned. “You’re a curator—think negative space.”