“The crypt entrance is just ahead,” Beña said, motioning past the stairs toward a darkened void to the left of the altar. As they pressed onward, Langdon spotted a faint golden glow that seemed to emanate from a hole in the floor.
The crypt.
The group arrived at the mouth of an elegant, gently curving staircase.
“Gentlemen,” Ambra said to her guards. “Both of you stay here. We’ll be back up shortly.”
Fonseca looked displeased but said nothing.
Then Ambra, Father Beña, and Langdon began their descent toward the light.
Agent Díaz felt grateful for the moment of peace as he watched the three figures disappear down the winding staircase. The growing tension between Ambra Vidal and Agent Fonseca was becoming worrisome.
Guardia agents are not accustomed to threats of dismissal from those they protect—only from Commander Garza.
Díaz still felt baffled by Garza’s arrest. Strangely, Fonseca had declined to share with him precisely who had issued the arrest order or initiated the false kidnapping story.
“The situation is complex,” Fonseca had said. “And for your own protection, it’s better you don’t know.”
So who was issuing orders? Díaz wondered. Was it the prince? It seemed doubtful that Julián would risk Ambra’s safety by spreading a bogus kidnapping story. Was it Valdespino? Díaz wasn’t sure if the bishop had that kind of leverage.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Fonseca grunted, and headed off, saying he needed to find a restroom. As Fonseca slipped into the darkness, Díaz saw him take out his phone, place a call, and commence a quiet conversation.
Díaz waited alone in the abyss of the sanctuary, feeling less and less comfortable with Fonseca’s secretive behavior.
CHAPTER 70
THE STAIRCASE TO the crypt spiraled down three stories into the earth, bending in a wide and graceful arc, before depositing Langdon, Ambra, and Father Beña in the subterranean chamber.
One of Europe’s largest crypts, Langdon thought, admiring the vast, circular space. Exactly as he recalled, Sagrada Família’s underground mausoleum had a soaring rotunda and housed pews for hundreds of worshippers. Golden oil lanterns placed at intervals around the circumference of the room illuminated an inlaid mosaic floor of twisting vines, roots, branches, leaves, and other imagery from nature.
A crypt was literally a “hidden” space, and Langdon found it nearly inconceivable that Gaudí had successfully concealed a room this large beneath the church. This was nothing like Gaudí’s playful “leaning crypt” in Colònia Güell; this space was an austere neo-Gothic chamber with leafed columns, pointed arches, and embellished vaults. The air was deathly still and smelled faintly of incense.
At the foot of the stairs, a deep recess stretched to the left. Its pale sandstone floor supported an unassuming gray slab, laid horizontally, surrounded by lanterns.
The man himself, Langdon realized, reading the inscription.
ANTONIUS GAUDÍ
As Langdon scanned Gaudí’s place of rest, he again felt the sharp loss of Edmond. He raised his eyes to the statue of the Virgin Mary above the tomb, whose plinth bore an unfamiliar symbol.
What in the world?
Langdon eyed the strange icon.
Rarely did Langdon see a symbol he could not identify. In this case, the symbol was the Greek letter lambda—which, in his experience, did not occur in Christian symbolism. The lambda was a scientific symbol, common in the fields of evolution, particle physics, and cosmology. Stranger still, sprouting upward out of the top of this particular lambda was a Christian cross.
Religion supported by science? Langdon had never seen anything quite like it.
“Puzzled by the symbol?” Beña inquired, arriving beside Langdon. “You’re not alone. Many ask about it. It’s nothing more than a uniquely modernist interpretation of a cross on a mountaintop.”
Langdon inched forward, now seeing three faint gilded stars accompanying the symbol.
Three stars in that position, Langdon thought, recognizing it at once. The cross atop Mount Carmel. “It’s a Carmelite cross.”
“Correct. Gaudí’s body lies beneath the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel.”
“Was Gaudí a Carmelite?” Langdon found it hard to imagine the modernist architect adhering to the twelfth-century brotherhood’s strict interpretation of Catholicism.
“Most certainly not,” Beña replied with a laugh. “But his caregivers were. A group of Carmelite nuns lived with Gaudí and tended to him during his final years. They believed he would appreciate being watched over in death as well, and they made the generous gift of this chapel.”
“Thoughtful,” Langdon said, chiding himself for misinterpreting such an innocent symbol. Apparently, all the conspiracy theories circulating tonight had caused even Langdon to start conjuring phantoms out of thin air.
“Is that Edmond’s book?” Ambra declared suddenly.
Both men turned to see her motioning into the shadows to the right of Gaudí’s tomb.
“Yes,” Beña replied. “I’m sorry the light is so poor.”
Ambra hurried toward a display case, and Langdon followed, seeing that the book had been relegated to a dark region of the crypt, shaded by a massive pillar to the right of Gaudí’s tomb.
“We normally display informational pamphlets there,” Beña said, “but I moved them elsewhere to make room for Mr. Kirsch’s book. Nobody seems to have noticed.”