Chapter One
Robert Langdon
awoke slowly.
A telephone was ringing in the darkness a tinny, unfamiliar ring. He fumbled
for the bedside lamp and turned it on. Squinting at his surroundings he saw a
plush Renaissance bedroom with Louis XVI furniture, hand frescoed walls, and a
colossal mahogany four poster bed.
Where the hell am I?
The jacquard bathrobe hanging on his bedpost bore the monogram:
HOTEL RITZ PARIS.
Slowly, the fog began to lift.
Langdon picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Monsieur Langdon?" a man's voice said. "I hope I have not awoken
you?"
Dazed, Langdon looked at the bedside clock. It was 12:32 A.M. He had been asleep
only an hour, but he felt like the dead.
"This is the concierge, monsieur. I apologize for this intrusion, but you
have a visitor. He insists it is urgent."
Langdon still felt fuzzy. A visitor? His eyes focused ...
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