The Da Vinci Code Book

[amoni]

hey guys
i was thinking
most of the people did not read the book to judge it but they read the illustrations by the coptic priests
would you like to read it?
i could put the copy right here
everyday like a chapter

how you like that?

[smile]

thank you Mariam
It's very nice idea go ahead please

[amoni]

allright smile
i will put it tomorrow morning
i hope we get ppl to read it

God bless you
keep smiling jesus loves you

[smile]

المشاركة الأصلية بواسطة Mariam_egypt_coptic

allright smile
i will put it tomorrow morning
i hope we get ppl to read it

God bless you
keep smiling jesus loves you

and jesus love you too dear

[amoni]

The Da Vinci Code


page1.
Fact:
The Priory of Sion__a European secret society founded in 1099 is a real organization.
in 1975 Paris's Bibloiotheque 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 National Headquarters at 243 Lexington Avenue in New York city.
All de******ions of artwork, architecture,documents, and secret rituals in this novel are accurate.



Prologue
Louvre Museum, Paris 10:46 pm
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.
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"
"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?"
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 ture 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 horor 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 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 has 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,

[amoni]

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 ate, He was trapped, and the doors could not be reopened for at least twenty minutes. By the time anyone got to hime, 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 breatren. He thought of the generations who had come bfore 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 cold 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 strenght. The desperate task before him, he knew, Would require every remaining second of his life


Chapter 1
Robert Langdon awoke slowly.
A telephone was ringing in the darkness-- atinny, unfamiliar ring. He fumbled for the bedside lamp and turned it on. Squinting at the surroundings he saw a plush renaissance bedroom with Louis furniture, hand-frescoed walls, and a colossal mahogany four-poster bed.
Where the hell am i?
The jacquared bathrobe haning 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 am 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 now on a crumpled flyer on his bedside table.
The American University Of Paris
Proudly presents
An Evening With Robert Langodn
Professor Of religious Symbology,
Harvard University
Langdon groaned. tonight's lecture-aslide show about pagan symbolism hidden in the stones of Chartres Cathedral

[smile]

Mariam wake up please and continue are you still sleeping

[Gregory]

I have this book translated into arabic

[amoni]

sorry guys
i had some work problems i will be back with it tomorrow ensha2llah

GOD BE WITH YOU ALL

[amoni]

next-some ridiculous line about "Harrison Ford in Harris tweed"-and because this evening he had figured it was finally safe again to wear his Harris tweed and Burberry turtleneck, he decided to take action.
"thank you, Monique,"Langdon said, standing prematurely and edging her away from the podium."Boston Magazine clearly had a for fiction." He turned to the audience with an embarrassed sigh. "and if i find which one of you provided that article, I'll have the consulate deport you."
The crowd laughed.
"well, folks, as you all know, i 'm here tonight to talk about the power of symbols.."
The ringing of Langdon's hotel phone once again broke the silence.
As expected, it was the concierge. "Mr. Langdon, again my apologies. I am calling to inform you that your guest is now en route to your room. I thought i should alert you."
Langdon was wide awake now. "you sent someone to my room?"
"I apologize, monsieur, but a man like this ... I cannot presume the authority to stop him."
"who exactly is he?"
but the concierge was gone.
Almost immediately, a heavy fist punded on Langdon's door.
Uncertain, Langdon slid off the bed, feeling his toes sink deep into the savonnerie carpet. He donned the hotel bathrobe and moved toward the door. "who is it?"
"Mr. Langdon? i need to speak with you." The man's English was accented-a sharp, authoritative bark. "My name is Lieutenant Jerome Collet. Direction Centrale Police Judiciaire."
Langdon paused. THE JUDICIAL POLICE? The DCPJ was the rough equivalent of the U.S. FBI
leaving the security chain in place. Langdon opened the door a few inches. The face staring back at him was thin and washed out. The man was exceptionally lean, dressed in an official-looking blue uniform.
"May I come in?" the agent asked.
Langdon hesitated, feeling uncertain as the stranger's sallow eyes studied him. "what is this all about?"
"My capitanine requires your expertise in a private matter."
"Now?" Langdon managed. "It's after midnight."
"Am i correct that you were scheduled to meet with the curator of the Louvre this evening?"
Langdon felt a sudden surge of uneasiness. He and the revered curator Jacques Sauniere had been slated to meet for drinks after Langdon's lecture tonight, but Sauniere had never shown up. "yes. How did you know that?"
"we found your name in his daily planner."
"I trust nothing is wrong."
The agent gave a dire sigh and slid a Polaroid snapshot through the narrow opening in the door.
When Langdon saw the photo, his entire body went rigid.
"This phot was taken less than an hour ago. Inside the louvre."
As langdon stared at the bizarre image, his initial revulsion and shock gave way to a sudden upwelling of anger.
"who would do this!"
"We had hoped that you might help us answer that very question, considering your knowledge in symbology and your plans to meet with him."
Langdon stared at the picture, his horror now laced with fear. The image was gruesome and profoundly starange, bringing with it an unsettling sense of Deja vu. alittle over a year ago, loangdon had recieved a photograph of a crpse and a similar request for help. Twenty-four hours later, he had almsot lost his life inside Vatican City. This phot was entirely different, and yet something about the scenario felt disquietingly familiar.
The agent checked his watch. "My capitaine is waiting, Sir."
Landon barely heard him. His eyes were still riveted on the picture. "This symbol here, and the way his body is so oddly..."
"positioned?" the agent offered.
Langdon nodded, feeling a chill as he looked up."I can not imagine who would do this to someone."
The agent looked grim. "you do not understand, Mr. Langdon. What you see in this photograph..." He paused. "Monsieur Sauniere did that to himself."

Chapter 2


One Mile away, the hulking albino named Silas imped through the front gate of the luxurious brwonstone residence on Rue La Bruyere. The spiked cilice belt that he wore around his thigh cut into his flesh, and yet his sould sang with satisfaction of service to the lord.
Pain is good.
His red eyes scanned the lobby as he entered the residence. Empty. He climbed the stairs quietly, not wanting to awaken any of his fellow numeraries. His bedroom door was open; locks were forbidden here. He entered, closing the door behind him.
The room was spartan-hardwood floors, apine dresser, a canvas mat in the corner that served as his bed. He was a visitor here this week, and yet for many years he had been blessed with a similar sanctuary in New York City.
The Lord has provided me shelter and purpose in my life. Tonight, at last, Silas felt he had begun to repay his debt. Hurrying to the dresser, he found the cell phone hidden in his bottom drawer and placed a call.
"yes?" a male voice answered.
"Teacher, i have returned."
"Speak,"the voice commanded, sounding pleased to hear from him.
"All four are gone. The three senechaux... and the Grand Master himself."
there was a momentary pause, as if for prayer. "then i assume you have the information?"
"All four concurred. Independently."
"and you believed them?"
"Their agreement was too great for coincidence."
An excited breath. "Excellent. I had feared the brotherhood's reputation for secrecy might prevail."
"The prospect of death is strong motivation."
"so, my pupil, tell me what i must know."
Silas knew the information he had gleaned from his victims would come as a shock. "Teacher, all four confirmed the existence of the clef de voute.. the legendary keystone."
He heard a quick intake of breath over the phone and could feel the Teacher's excitement. "The keystone. Exactly as we suspected.
According to lore, the brotherhood had created a map of stone-a clef de voute.. or keystone-an engraved tablet that revealed the final resting place of the brotherhood's greatest secret... information so powerful that its protection was the reason for the brotherhood's very existence.
"when we possess the keystone," the teacher said, " we will be only one step away."

[amoni]

"We are closer than you think. The keystone is here in Paris."
"Paris? incredible. It is almost too easy."
Silas relayed the earlier events of the evening... how all four of his victims, moments before death, had desperately tried to buy back their godless lives by telling their secret. Each had told Silas the exact same thing-that the keystone was ingeniously hidden at a precise location inside one of Paris's ancient churches-the Eglise de Saint-Sulpice.
"inside a house of the lord," the teacher exclaimed.
"how they mock us!"
"As they have for centuries."
The teacher fell silent, as if letting the triumph of this moment settle over him. Finally, he spoke. "you have done a great service to God. We have waited centuries for this. You must retrieve the stone for me. Immediately. Tonight. You understand the stakes."
Silas knew the stakes were incalculable, and yet what the Teacher was now commanding seemed impossible. "But the church, it is a fortress. especially at night. How will i enter?" with the confident ton eof a man of enormous influence, the Teacher explained what was to be done.
When Silas hung up the phone, his skin tingled with anticipation.
One hour, he told himself, grateful that the teacher had given him time to carry out the necessary penance before entering a house of God. I must purge my soul of today's sins.
The sins committed today had been holy in purpose. Acts of war against the enemies of God had been committed for centuries. Forgiveness was assured.
Even so, Silas knew, absolution required sacrifice.
Pulling his shades, he stripped naked and knelt in the center of his room, Looking down, he examined the spiked cilice belt clamped around his thigh. All true followers of the way wore this device-a leather strap, studded with sharp metal barbs that cut into the flesh as a prepetual reminder of christ's suffering. The pain caused by the device also helped counteract the desires of the flesh.
although Silas already had worn his cilice today longer than the requisite two hours, he knew today was no ordinary day. Grasping the buckle, he cinched it one notch tighter, wincing as the barbs dug deeper into his flesh. Exhaling slowly, he savored the cleansing ritual of his pain.
Pain is good, Silas whispered, repeating the sacred mantra of father josemaria Escriva-the teacher of all teachers.
Although Escriva had died in 1975, his wisdom lived on, his words still whispered by thousdands of faithful servants around the globe as they knelt on the floor and performed the sacred practice known as "corporal mortification."
Silas turned his attention now to a heavy knotted rope coiled neatly on the floor beside him. The discipline. The knots were caked with dried blood. Eager for the puriifying effects of his own agony, Silas said a quick prayer. Then, gripping one end of the rope, he closed his eyes and swung it hard over his shoulder, feeling the knots slap against his back. he whipped it over his shoulder again, slashing at his flesh. Again and Aagain, he lashed.
Castigo corpus meum.
Finally, he felt the blood bein to flow.

Chapter 3