Origin
Page 115
As the professor’s focus shifted ever so briefly, Ávila lunged upward and to his left, along the curved outer wall, moving his body out of the line of fire. Precisely as anticipated, Langdon fired on impulse—depressing the trigger before he could realign the weapon with a moving target. Like thunder, the gunshot reverberated in the cramped space, and Ávila felt a bullet graze his shoulder before ricocheting harmlessly down the stone stairwell.
Langdon was already re-aiming the gun, but Ávila rolled in midair, and as he began to fall, he drove his fists down hard on Langdon’s wrists, forcing the gun from his hands and sending it clattering down the stairs.
Bolts of pain ripped through Ávila’s chest and shoulder as he landed on the stairs beside Langdon, but the surge of adrenaline only fueled his intensity. Reaching behind him, he yanked the ceramic handgun from his belt. The weapon felt almost weightless after holding the guard’s pistol.
Ávila pointed the gun at Langdon’s chest, and without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
The gun roared, but it made an unusual shattering noise, and Ávila felt searing heat on his hand, realizing at once that the gun barrel had exploded. Built for stealth, these new metal-free “undetectables” were intended for only a shot or two. Ávila had no idea where his bullet had gone, but when he saw Langdon already scrambling to his feet, Ávila dropped his weapon and lunged at him, the two men grappling violently near the precariously low inner edge.
In that instant, Ávila knew he had won.
We are equally armed, he thought. But I have position.
Ávila had already assessed the open shaft at the center of the stairwell—a deadly drop with almost no protection. Now, trying to muscle Langdon backward toward the shaft, Ávila pressed one leg against the outer wall, giving himself enormous leverage. With a surge of power, he pushed Langdon toward the shaft.
Langdon fiercely resisted, but Ávila’s position afforded him all the advantage, and from the desperate look in the professor’s eyes, it was clear that Langdon knew what was about to happen.
Robert Langdon had heard it said that life’s most critical choices—those involving survival—usually required a split-second decision.
Now, brutally driven against the low edge, with his back arched over a hundred-foot drop, Langdon’s six-foot frame and high center of gravity were a deadly liability. He knew he could do nothing to counter the power of Ávila’s position.
Langdon desperately peered over his shoulder into the void behind him. The circular shaft was narrow—maybe three feet across—but it was certainly wide enough to accommodate his plummeting body … which would likely carom off the stone railing all the way down.
The fall is unsurvivable.
Ávila let out a guttural bellow and regripped Langdon. As he did, Langdon realized there was only one move to make.
Rather than fighting the man, he would help him.
As Ávila heaved him upward, Langdon crouched, planting his feet firmly on the stairs.
For a moment, he was a twenty-year-old at the Princeton swimming pool … competing in the backstroke … perched on his mark … his back to the water … knees bent … abdomen taut … waiting for the starting gun.
Timing is everything.
This time, Langdon heard no starting gun. He exploded out of his crouch, launching himself into the air, arching his back out over the void. As he leaped outward, he could feel that Ávila, who had been poised to oppose two hundred pounds of deadweight, had been yanked entirely off balance by the sudden reversal of forces.
Ávila let go as fast as he possibly could, but Langdon could sense him flailing for equilibrium. As Langdon arched away, he prayed he could travel far enough in the air to clear the opening and reach the stairs on the opposite side of the shaft, six feet below … but apparently, it was not to be. In midair, as Langdon began instinctively folding his body into a protective ball, he collided hard with a vertical face of stone.
I didn’t make it.
I’m dead.
Certain he had hit the inner edge, Langdon braced himself for his plummet into the void.
But the fall lasted only an instant.
Langdon crashed down almost immediately on sharp uneven ground, striking his head. The force of the collision nearly knocked him into unconsciousness, but in that moment he realized he had cleared the shaft completely and hit the far wall of the staircase, landing on the lower portion of the spiraling stairs.
Find the gun, Langdon thought, straining to hold on to consciousness, knowing that Ávila would be on top of him in a matter of seconds.
But it was too late.
His brain was shutting down.
As the blackness set in, the last thing Langdon heard was an odd sound … a series of recurring thuds beneath him, each one farther away than the one before.
It reminded him of the sound of an oversized bag of garbage careening down a trash chute.
CHAPTER 76
AS PRINCE JULIÁN’S vehicle approached the main gate of El Escorial, he saw a familiar barricade of white SUVs and knew Valdespino had been telling the truth.
My father is indeed in residence here.
From the looks of this convoy, the king’s entire Guardia Real security detail had now relocated to this historical royal residence.
As the acolyte brought the old Opel to a stop, an agent with a flashlight strode over to the window, shone the light inside, and recoiled in shock, clearly not expecting to find the prince and the bishop inside the dilapidated vehicle.
“Your Highness!” the man exclaimed, jumping to attention. “Your Excellency! We’ve been expecting you.” He eyed the beat-up car. “Where is your Guardia detail?”
Langdon was already re-aiming the gun, but Ávila rolled in midair, and as he began to fall, he drove his fists down hard on Langdon’s wrists, forcing the gun from his hands and sending it clattering down the stairs.
Bolts of pain ripped through Ávila’s chest and shoulder as he landed on the stairs beside Langdon, but the surge of adrenaline only fueled his intensity. Reaching behind him, he yanked the ceramic handgun from his belt. The weapon felt almost weightless after holding the guard’s pistol.
Ávila pointed the gun at Langdon’s chest, and without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
The gun roared, but it made an unusual shattering noise, and Ávila felt searing heat on his hand, realizing at once that the gun barrel had exploded. Built for stealth, these new metal-free “undetectables” were intended for only a shot or two. Ávila had no idea where his bullet had gone, but when he saw Langdon already scrambling to his feet, Ávila dropped his weapon and lunged at him, the two men grappling violently near the precariously low inner edge.
In that instant, Ávila knew he had won.
We are equally armed, he thought. But I have position.
Ávila had already assessed the open shaft at the center of the stairwell—a deadly drop with almost no protection. Now, trying to muscle Langdon backward toward the shaft, Ávila pressed one leg against the outer wall, giving himself enormous leverage. With a surge of power, he pushed Langdon toward the shaft.
Langdon fiercely resisted, but Ávila’s position afforded him all the advantage, and from the desperate look in the professor’s eyes, it was clear that Langdon knew what was about to happen.
Robert Langdon had heard it said that life’s most critical choices—those involving survival—usually required a split-second decision.
Now, brutally driven against the low edge, with his back arched over a hundred-foot drop, Langdon’s six-foot frame and high center of gravity were a deadly liability. He knew he could do nothing to counter the power of Ávila’s position.
Langdon desperately peered over his shoulder into the void behind him. The circular shaft was narrow—maybe three feet across—but it was certainly wide enough to accommodate his plummeting body … which would likely carom off the stone railing all the way down.
The fall is unsurvivable.
Ávila let out a guttural bellow and regripped Langdon. As he did, Langdon realized there was only one move to make.
Rather than fighting the man, he would help him.
As Ávila heaved him upward, Langdon crouched, planting his feet firmly on the stairs.
For a moment, he was a twenty-year-old at the Princeton swimming pool … competing in the backstroke … perched on his mark … his back to the water … knees bent … abdomen taut … waiting for the starting gun.
Timing is everything.
This time, Langdon heard no starting gun. He exploded out of his crouch, launching himself into the air, arching his back out over the void. As he leaped outward, he could feel that Ávila, who had been poised to oppose two hundred pounds of deadweight, had been yanked entirely off balance by the sudden reversal of forces.
Ávila let go as fast as he possibly could, but Langdon could sense him flailing for equilibrium. As Langdon arched away, he prayed he could travel far enough in the air to clear the opening and reach the stairs on the opposite side of the shaft, six feet below … but apparently, it was not to be. In midair, as Langdon began instinctively folding his body into a protective ball, he collided hard with a vertical face of stone.
I didn’t make it.
I’m dead.
Certain he had hit the inner edge, Langdon braced himself for his plummet into the void.
But the fall lasted only an instant.
Langdon crashed down almost immediately on sharp uneven ground, striking his head. The force of the collision nearly knocked him into unconsciousness, but in that moment he realized he had cleared the shaft completely and hit the far wall of the staircase, landing on the lower portion of the spiraling stairs.
Find the gun, Langdon thought, straining to hold on to consciousness, knowing that Ávila would be on top of him in a matter of seconds.
But it was too late.
His brain was shutting down.
As the blackness set in, the last thing Langdon heard was an odd sound … a series of recurring thuds beneath him, each one farther away than the one before.
It reminded him of the sound of an oversized bag of garbage careening down a trash chute.
CHAPTER 76
AS PRINCE JULIÁN’S vehicle approached the main gate of El Escorial, he saw a familiar barricade of white SUVs and knew Valdespino had been telling the truth.
My father is indeed in residence here.
From the looks of this convoy, the king’s entire Guardia Real security detail had now relocated to this historical royal residence.
As the acolyte brought the old Opel to a stop, an agent with a flashlight strode over to the window, shone the light inside, and recoiled in shock, clearly not expecting to find the prince and the bishop inside the dilapidated vehicle.
“Your Highness!” the man exclaimed, jumping to attention. “Your Excellency! We’ve been expecting you.” He eyed the beat-up car. “Where is your Guardia detail?”
