The Catholic Herald - Christmastide

Page 4

4

SHORT STORY

DECEMBER 22, 2006 THE CATHOLIC HERALD

Fact: all the historical information in this story is true ... pretty much. Respected author Dr Brandon House staggered around the allpowerful book chain’s 9,000th branch, and for once it wasn’t the drink. The gunshot wound draining his life and strength, he fell into the thriller shelf and clasped with his bloodied hands a copy of The Michelangelo Puzzle , the best-selling novel about the Vatican’s attempts to cover-up UFO landings in order to suppress alien birth control technology. Dr House took one last look at his killer, and pondered his last thoughts in italics: “ If I die, the truth will die with me .” A mile away, Fr Robbie O’Langdon crossed the threshold of the dark, cold church of St Chirac, its interior poorly lit, with only a sinister pentagon formation of red candles giving light to the Gothic interior. Gregorian chants echoed around the building, and a lone, grave-looking monk knelt by the entrance. “By what purpose do you tread these walls of God?” the monk called out. “Do you come in His name?” “Er, I’m here for the Christmas party,” O’Langdon replied. The monk locked eyes with the stranger. “Oh right. Second door on the left.” “Thanks. Why are you talking in that strange medieval way? And what’s with the candles?” “Some American tourists are coming later, and we want to give them a decent show. Besides which, you can’t imagine how expensive these old places are to heat properly.” ‘You see, zees is no ordinary crime scene, Fr O’Langdon,” the policeman explained. “It is almost as if it eez designed to be a puzzle.” O’Langdon was with the chief of police at the grim murder site. With his own blood, Dr House had spelled out what could

The Da Vinci Formula

The scene is Borders bookshop at the Louvre, 10.15pm. A deadly act has been committed and a conspiracy (familiar to readers of a certain blockbuster novel) is about to unravel. By Ed West

only be a mysterious riddle about his death. “Oh foolish readership... Will believe any old rubbish.” He even had enough blood left to sign one of his own books to ensure

non-return, and then a note asking to cancel his milk round. Why there? What was the significance? O’Langdon wondered. He was not the only one: the gruff Parisian pulled on a Gauloise and looked sus

piciously at O’Langdon. It was already Thursday and the chief had put in a back-breaking eight-hour week, and he needed results quick if he was to get his pension at 40 and enjoy retirement with his

L OOKINGFOR P ARADISE ? C HEAPFLIGHTS , GENEROUSHOSPITALITYANDEASY ACCESSTO R OME ? T HENYOU ' RELOOKINGFOR V ILLA P ALAZZOLA ! In the past, the Villa’s breathtaking panorama and surrounding natural backdrop drew poets, mystics and religious. Today, its visitors are for the most part parish and diocesan groups, Christian organisations and individual tourists and families visiting Rome from the United Kingdom, Ireland, America and other English-speaking countries. The main attraction is Palazzola’s charming setting and practical location, which includes a stunning bird’s eye view of the papal summer palace in Castel Gandolfo, Lake Albano, the Mediterranean and Rome are just a few miles away. Added to this are comfortable rooms, a library with an open log fireplace, abundant hearty Italian cuisine, wine included with meals, 24-hour Internet service, wireless service in most en suite rooms and common room areas, a tennis court and swimming pool (1st May - 31st October only), and English speaking staff. The immediate surrounding area offers visitors several panoramic nature trails, excellent family-run trattorias, historic villages and lakeside recreational facilities, like sailing, paddle boats and privately operated volcanic sand beaches. The Roman seaside resorts of Anzio, Nettuno and Ostia are a mere 30-40 minutes away by car. Visit our website:www.palazzola.it Or email us for details on: direttore@palazzola.it Palazzola is open all year round and we are currently accepting bookings for summer, autumn, and Christmas and New Year 2007/8. During the winter months, from 20/11/2007 -20/12/2007 and from 7/1/2008 until 11/2/2008 we have exceptionally good prices. Contact us for details of conference,retreat and wedding packages.

three mistresses. “Why would a man go to all zat effort as he lay dying? Why not just write his killer’s name?” “I don’t know. It all sounds utterly implausible, doesn’t it?” “We know zat Monsieur ’ouse was due to meet you zis evening, and since the only man who saw you at your party iz ze Bishop of Southwark, and he iz a leetle confused, zat makes you the prime suspect.” Dr House had indeed asked to see O’Langdon that evening, but the reason was a mystery. The murder victim was a leading world expert in the symbolism of trashy massmarket paperbacks, and was due to publish his findings just next year. While O’Langdon was himself the author of many essays dealing with the subject of religious controversy in such bestsellers as Jesus the Freemason , The Knights Templar and the Third Reich , and Magdalene: Confessions of a Judean Working Girl. Although there was enough evidence to convict O’Langdon, the chief had come to the end of his three-hour work shift, and under French and European law, overtime was now considered a breach of human rights. So, they had to let him go, and O’Langdon wasted no time in getting to the bottom of the mystery. Dr House’s bloody clue –cleverly arranged as an anagram –had led him to the shop’s “Catholic Conspiracies” section; there he’d found some more blood written inside Did The Vatican Kill JFK ? instructing him to find a Swiss bank vault, inside which was a Times cryptic crossword, also drawn in Dr House’s blood, which, using a system of coding devised by the Bletchley Park team in 1940, pointed him to a fiendish level Sudoku board that revealed the exact Ordnance Survey grid digits of the home of Montague Teabag. Teabag, an effete English historian living on the outskirts of Paris, was a specialist on secretive brotherhoods, especially the Brotherhood of the Blockbuster, and the whereabouts of their mysterious, and totally unproven, Da Vinci Formula. (Afterwards O’Langdon noticed there was a bit of paper at the bottom of the

vault on which Dr House had written: “Ask Montague Teabag, he’ll explain everything.”) “According to legend,” Teabag explained as he sipped Earl Grey from his immaculate fine china tea set, “a legend dating back

spent many years investigating the secrets of downmarket fiction, but was terrified that the Church might get hold of it. And so he devised a code so ingenious that only the Keepers of the Brotherhood would know

‘Teabag pointed to a reproduction of The Last Supper’

‘Churning out conspiracy theories about Catholics’

‘They went back to Paris to look for the next clue’

to a 1988 article, the Brotherhood has been around for centuries, entrusted with the sole aim of guarding the secrets of the publishing industry.” Teabag delicately pointed to a reproduction of Da Vinci’s “Last Supper”. “You see, as well as painting and inventing helicopters and stuff, Leonardo Da Vinci also

it. Among the Keepers in history are the greats of literature –Swift, Dickens, Archer –and many even put codes in their work to symbolise the sacred beliefs of the Brotherhood. Finnegan’s Wake actually makes sense if you use the Fibonacci sequence to rearrange the words. And central to this was Da Vinci’s Formula, the

holy grail of publishing. Brandon House was the Master Keeper of the Brotherhood, and in his final words, he must have been leading us to the Grail.” “But who would want the Grail enough to kill?” “Optimus Exigo Dei. Literally ‘God’s best seller’, they’re a shadowy secret society of publishers established to oppress women, the third world, disabled people, the Palestinians etc. They have twisted the true meaning of publishing to churn out mindless doorstoppers with outlandish conspiracy theories about Catholics, masons and the Illuminati. Even Da Vinci could not have foreseen such a powerful group.” O’Langdon was astounded. “How do you know all this this? Have you studied ancient scrolls, missing gospels?” “A taxi driver told me, but he swore he’d heard it from a man in his local who saw a documentary on cable television once. “He also said that the Brotherhood employs a 6’4” albino to go around in a black cape killing their enemies, even though that’s obviously the last person you’d use as a hit man. “But after murdering the Master Keeper, Optimus Exigo Dei may be close to finding the Da Vinci Formula!” “And possession of the formula would make them the most powerful men in publishing!” “Yes, and with it the movie rights, DVDs, spinoffs and even merchandising, so that they could become more dangerous than any other group in history!” O’Langdon took out the parchment from the Swiss bank vault and handed it to Teabag. On it was a map or Britain and a big “X” in Scotland, with a crude “secret thing here” in crayon. “The final mystery,” Teabag gasped, “perhaps written in the hand of Da Vinci himself.” The picturesque old church on the outskirts of Edinburgh seemed strangely familiar to O’Langdon, and he wasn’t sure if it brought back eerie, but significant memories of his childhood, or if it had just been used too often in films. Waiting for a party of tourists to leave, the two men inched down into the chamber below the altar, O’Langdon rather worried that they’d find a bit of House’s blood explaining that they had to go all the way back to Paris to look for the next clue. However they were not alone. “But, but... you’re the albino!” O’Langdon cried at the man now pointing a gun his way. “Actually I prefer ‘pigmentally challenged’. And now at last I have the final piece of the jigsaw.” He fired one shot at O’Langdon’s chest, knocking him to the ground. “But we don’t even have the Da Vinci Formula,” O’Langdon coughed. “There is no formula, I’m afraid, it was all concocted by our marketing department. You see; we have a big title coming out next year about a conspiracy revolving around the Catholic Church. “With your funny foreign names, strange rituals and non-violent social conservatism, you make an irresistible subject for our target market. “We really need the Secret First Course of the Last Supper to sell well in 2007, and after the Da Vinci Code lawsuit, we thought we’d need to up the ante for this year’s publicity drive.” Leaving O’Langdon dying on the floor, the assassin and Teabag chuckled and made their escape through the chamber. Minutes later, O’Langdon’s eyes slowly opened and, reaching under his jacket to feel the wound, he pulled out a bullet-holed copy of Dan Brown’s latest pot-boiler, which he’d been reading on the coach. And though some say his survival was an act of God, others point out that it was The Da Vinci Code ’s convoluted plot, extensive dialogue and overlong pseudo-historical waffle that saved O’Langdon from the assassin’s bullet that day.