Novel

[Camelo]

Softhacker wait to read, i'll upload it now

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FACT:
The Priory of Sion - a European secret society
founded in 1099 - is a real organization. In 1975
Paris's Bibliotheque Nationale discovered
parchments known as Les Dossiers Secrets,
identifying numerous members of the Priory of
Sion, including Sir Isaac Newton, Botticelli, Victor
Hugo, and Leonardo Da Vinci.
The Vatican prelature known as Opus Dei is a
deeply devout Catholic sect that has been the
topic of recent controversy due to reports of
brainwashing, coercion, and a dangerous practice
known as "corporal mortification." Opus Dei has
just completed construction of a $47 million
World Headquarters at 243 Lexington Avenue in
New York City.
All descriptions of artwork, architecture,
documents, and secret rituals in this novel are
accurate.

---

Louvre Museum, Paris 10:46 P. M.
Renowned curator Jacques Sauniere staggered
through the vaulted archway of the museum's
Grand Gallery. He lunged for the nearest painting
he could see, a Caravaggio. Grabbing the gilded
frame, the seventy-six-year-old man heaved the
masterpiece toward himself until it tore from the
wall and Sauniere collapsed backward in a heap
beneath the canvas.
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As he had anticipated, a thundering iron gate fell
nearby, barricading the entrance to the suite. The
parquet floor shook. Far off, an alarm began to
ring.
The curator lay a moment, gasping for breath,
taking stock. I am still alive.He crawled out from
under the canvas and scanned the cavernous
space for someplace to hide.
A voice spoke, chillingly close. "Do not move."
On his hands and knees, the curator froze,
turning his head slowly.
Only fifteen feet away, outside the sealed gate,
the mountainous silhouette of his attacker stared
through the iron bars. He was broad and tall,
with ghost-pale skin and thinning white hair. His
irises were pink with dark red pupils. The albino
drew a pistol from his coat and aimed the barrel
through the bars, directly at the curator. "You
should not have run." His accent was not easy to
place. "Now tell me where it is."
"I told you already," the curator stammered,
kneeling defenseless on the floor of the gallery.
"I have no idea what you are talking about!"
"You are lying." The man stared at him, perfectly
immobile except for the glint in his ghostly eyes.
"You and your brethren possess something that is
not yours."
The curator felt a surge of adrenaline. How could
he possibly know this?
"Tonight the rightful guardians will be restored.
Tell me where it is hidden, and you will live." The
man leveled his gun at the curator's head. "Is it a
secret you will die for?"
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Sauniere could not breathe.
The man tilted his head, peering down the barrel
of his gun.
Sauniere held up his hands in defense. "Wait," he
said slowly. "I will tell you what you need to
know." The curator spoke his next words
carefully. The lie he told was one he had
rehearsed many times... each time praying he
would never have to use it.
When the curator had finished speaking, his
assailant smiled smugly. "Yes. This is exactly
what the others told me."
Sauniere recoiled. The others?
"I found them, too," the huge man taunted. "All
three of them. They confirmed what you have
just said."
It cannot be! The curator's true identity, along
with the identities of his three senechaux, was
almost as sacred as the ancient secret they
protected. Sauniere now realized his senechaux,
following strict procedure, had told the same lie
before their own deaths. It was part of the
protocol.
The attacker aimed his gun again. "When you are
gone,
I will be the only one who knows the
truth."
The truth.In an instant, the curator grasped the
true horror of the situation. If I die, the truth will
be lost forever.Instinctively, he tried to scramble
for cover.
The gun roared, and the curator felt a searing
heat as the bullet lodged in his stomach. He fell
forward... struggling against the pain. Slowly,
Sauniere rolled over and stared back through the
bars at his attacker.
The man was now taking dead aim at Sauniere's
head.
Sauniere closed his eyes, his thoughts a swirling
tempest of fear and regret. The click of an empty
chamber echoed through the corridor. The
curator's eyes flew open.
The man glanced down at his weapon, looking
almost amused. He reached for a second clip, but
then seemed to reconsider, smirking calmly at
Sauniere's gut. "My work here is done."
The curator looked down and saw the bullet hole
in his white linen shirt. It was framed by a small
circle of blood a few inches below his
breastbone. My stomach.Almost cruelly, the bullet
had
missed his heart. As a veteran of la Guerre
d'Algerie, the curator had witnessed this horribly
drawn-out death before. For fifteen minutes, he
would survive as his stomach acids seeped into
his chest cavity, slowly poisoning him from
within.
"Pain is good, monsieur," the man said. Then he
was gone. Alone now, Jacques Sauniere turned
his gaze again to the iron gate. He was trapped,
and the doors could not be reopened for at least
twenty minutes. By the time anyone got to him,
he would be dead. Even so, the fear that now
gripped him was a fear far greater than that of
his own death.
I must pass on the secret.
Staggering to his feet, he pictured his three
murdered brethren. He thought of the
generations who had come before them... of the
mission with which they had all been entrusted.
An unbroken chain of knowledge.
Suddenly, now, despite all the precautions...
despite all the fail-safes... Jacques Sauniere was
the only remaining link, the sole guardian of one
of the most powerful secrets ever kept.
Shivering, he pulled himself to his feet.
I must find some way... .
He was trapped inside the Grand Gallery, and
there existed only one person on earth to whom
he could pass the torch. Sauniere gazed up at the
walls
of his opulent prison. A collection of the
world's most famous paintings seemed to smile
down on him like old friends.
Wincing in pain, he summoned all of his faculties
and strength. The desperate task before him, he
knew, would require every remaining second of
his life.