With that, he turned and strode out.

As Garza exited the apartment, Bishop Valdespino stared after him, frowning.

“Is something wrong?” the prince asked, eyeing the bishop closely.

“Yes,” Valdespino replied, turning back to Julián. “I’ve been taking confessions for fifty years. I know a lie when I hear one.”

CHAPTER 34

ConspiracyNet.com

BREAKING NEWS

ONLINE COMMUNITY ERUPTS WITH QUESTIONS

In the wake of Edmond Kirsch’s assassination, the futurist’s massive online following has erupted in a firestorm of speculation over two urgent issues.

WHAT WAS KIRSCH’S DISCOVERY?

WHO KILLED HIM, AND WHY?

Regarding Kirsch’s discovery, theories have already flooded the Internet and span a wide range of topics—from Darwin, to extraterrestrials, to Creationism, and beyond.

No motive has yet been confirmed for this killing, but theories include religious zealotry, corporate espionage, and jealousy.

ConspiracyNet has been promised exclusive information about the killer, and we will share it with you the moment it arrives.

CHAPTER 35

AMBRA VIDAL STOOD alone in the cabin of the water taxi, clutching Robert Langdon’s jacket around her. Minutes ago, when Langdon asked why she had agreed to marry a man she barely knew, Ambra had replied truthfully.

I was given no choice.

Her engagement to Julián was a misfortune she could not bear to relive tonight, not with everything else that had happened.

I was trapped.

I’m still trapped.

Now, as Ambra looked at her own reflection in the dirty window, she felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness engulf her. Ambra Vidal was not one to indulge in self-pity, but at the moment her heart felt brittle and adrift. I’m engaged to a man who is involved somehow in a brutal murder.

The prince had sealed Edmond’s fate with a single phone call only an hour before the event. Ambra had been frantically preparing for the arrival of the guests when a young staff member had rushed in, excitedly waving a slip of paper.

“¡Señora Vidal! ¡Mensaje para usted!”

The girl was giddy and explained in breathless Spanish that an important call had just come in to the museum’s front desk.

“Our caller ID,” she squeaked, “said Royal Palace of Madrid, and so of course I answered! And it was someone calling from the office of Prince Julián!”

“They called the front desk?” Ambra asked. “They have my cell number.”

“The prince’s assistant said he tried your mobile,” the staffer explained, “but they couldn’t get through.”

Ambra checked her phone. Odd. No missed call. Then she realized that some technicians had just been testing the museum’s cellular jamming system, and Julián’s assistant must have called while her phone was disabled.

“It seems the prince got a call today from a very important friend in Bilbao who wants to attend tonight’s event.” The girl handed Ambra the slip of paper. “He hoped you would be able to add one name to tonight’s guest list?”

Ambra eyed the message.

Almirante Luis Ávila (ret.)

Armada Española

A retired officer from the Spanish navy?

“They left a number and said you can call back directly if you want to discuss it, but that Julián was about to go into a meeting, so you probably won’t reach him. But the caller insisted that the prince does hope this request is not an imposition.”

An imposition? Ambra smoldered. Considering what you’ve already put me through?

“I’ll take care of it,” Ambra said. “Thank you.”

The young staffer danced away as if she’d just relayed the word of God Himself. Ambra glared at the prince’s request, irritated that he would think it appropriate to exert his influence with her in this way, especially after lobbying so hard against her participation in tonight’s event.

Once again, you leave me no choice, she thought.

If she ignored this request, the result would be an uncomfortable confrontation with a prominent naval officer at the front door. Tonight’s event was meticulously choreographed and would attract unparalleled media coverage. The last thing I need is an embarrassing tussle with one of Julián’s high-powered friends.

Admiral Ávila had not been vetted or placed on the “cleared” list, but Ambra suspected that demanding a security check was both unnecessary and potentially insulting. After all, the man was a distinguished naval officer with enough power to pick up the phone, call the Royal Palace, and ask the future king for a favor.

And so, facing a tight schedule, Ambra made the only decision she could make. She wrote Admiral Ávila’s name on the guest list at the front door, and also added it to the docenting database so a headset could be initialized for this new guest.

Then she went back to work.

And now Edmond is dead, Ambra reflected, returning to the present moment in the darkness of the water taxi. As she tried to rid her mind of the painful memories, a strange thought occurred to her.

I never spoke directly to Julián … the entire message was relayed through third parties.

The notion brought with it a small ray of hope.

Is it possible that Robert is right? And that maybe Julián is innocent?

She considered it a moment longer and then hurried outside.

She found the American professor standing alone on the bow, hands on the railing as he stared out into the night. Ambra joined him there, startled to see that the boat had left the main branch of the Nervión River and was now skimming northward along a small tributary that seemed less of a river than a perilous channel with high muddy banks. The shallow water and tight quarters made Ambra nervous, but their boat captain seemed unfazed, racing along the narrow gorge at top speed, his headlight blazing the way.