Chapter 1

           RobertLangdonawokeslowly.

           Atelephonewasringinginthedarkness–atinny,unfamiliarring.Hefumbledforthebedsidelampandturnediton.SquintingathissurroundingshesawaplushRenaissancebedroomwithLouisXVIfurniture,hand-frescoedwalls,andacolossalmahoganyfour-posterbed.

           WherethehellamI?

           Thejacquardbathrobehangingonhisbedpostborethemonogram:HOTELRITZPARIS.

           Slowly,thefogbegantolift.

           Langdonpickedupthereceiver.«Hello?»

           «MonsieurLangdon?»aman’svoicesaid.«IhopeIhavenotawokenyou?»

           Dazed,Langdonlookedatthebedsideclock.Itwas12:32A.M.Hehadbeenasleeponlyanhour,buthefeltlikethedead.

           «Thisistheconcierge,monsieur.Iapologizeforthisintrusion,butyouhaveavisitor.Heinsistsitisurgent.»

           Langdonstillfeltfuzzy.Avisitor?Hiseyesfocusednowonacrumpledflyeronhisbedsidetable.

           THEAMERICANUNIVERSITYOFPARIS

           proudlypresents

           ANEVENINGWITHROBERTLANGDON

           PROFESSOROFRELIGIOUSSYMBOLOGY,HARVARDUNIVERSITY

           Langdongroaned.Tonight’slecture–aslideshowaboutpagansymbolismhiddeninthestonesofChartresCathedral–hadprobablyruffledsomeconservativefeathersintheaudience.Mostlikely,somereligiousscholarhadtrailedhimhometopickafight.«I’msorry,»Langdonsaid,«butI’mverytiredand–»«Mais,monsieur,»theconciergepressed,loweringhisvoicetoanurgentwhisper.«Yourguestisanimportantman.»

           Langdonhadlittledoubt.