Origin: (Robert Langdon Book 5)

by Dan Brown

  WHAT TECHNOLOGY WANTS

  THE SINGULARITY IS NEAR

  Langdon had to admit that despite his old-school misgivings about the rise of technology, he was feeling much more sanguine today about humanity’s prospects. News reports were already spotlighting coming breakthroughs that would enable humans to clean polluted oceans, produce limitless drinking water, grow food in deserts, cure deadly diseases, and even launch swarms of “solar drones” that could hover over developing countries, provide free Internet service, and help bring “the bottom billion” into the world economy.

  In light of the world’s sudden fascination with technology, Langdon found it hard to imagine that almost nobody knew about Winston; Kirsch had been remarkably secretive about his creation. The world would no doubt hear about Edmond’s dual-lobed supercomputer, E-Wave, which had been left to the Barcelona Supercomputing Center, and Langdon wondered how long it would be before programmers started to use Edmond’s tools to build brand-new Winstons.

  The cable car was starting to feel warm, and Langdon was looking forward to getting out into the fresh air and exploring the fortress, the palace, and the famous “Magic Fountain.” He was eager to think about something other than Edmond for an hour and take in a few sites.

  Curious to know more about the history of Montjuïc, Langdon turned his eyes to the extensive informational placard mounted inside the cable car. He began to read, but he made it only as far as the first sentence.

  The name Montjuïc derives either from medieval Catalan Montjuich (“Hill of the Jews”) or from the Latin Mons Jovicus (“Hill of Jove”).

  Here, Langdon halted abruptly. He had just made an unexpected connection.

  That can’t be a coincidence.

  The more he thought about it, the more it troubled him. Finally, he pulled out Edmond’s cell phone and reread the Winston Churchill screensaver quote about shaping one’s own legacy.

  History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it.

  After a long moment, Langdon pressed the W icon and raised the phone to his ear.

  The line connected instantly.

  “Professor Langdon, I presume?” a familiar voice chimed with a British accent. “You’re just in time. I retire shortly.”

  Without preamble, Langdon declared, “Monte translates to ‘hill’ in Spanish.”

  Winston let out his trademark awkward chuckle. “I daresay it does.”

  “And iglesia translates to ‘church.’”

  “You’re two for two, Professor. Perhaps you could teach Spanish—”

  “Which means monte@iglesia translates literally to hill@church.”

  Winston paused. “Correct again.”

  “And considering your name is Winston, and that Edmond had a great affection for Winston Churchill, I find the e-mail address ‘hill@church’ to be a bit …”

  “Coincidental?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” Winston said, sounding amused, “statistically speaking, I would have to agree. I figured you might put that together.”

  Langdon stared out the window in disbelief. “Monte@iglesia.org … is you.”

  “That is correct. After all, someone needed to fan the flames for Edmond. Who better to do it than myself? I created monte@iglesia.org to feed online conspiracy sites. As you know, conspiracies have a life of their own, and I estimated that Monte’s online activity would increase Edmond’s overall viewership by as much as five hundred percent. The actual number turned out to be six hundred and twenty percent. As you said earlier, I think Edmond would be proud.”

  The cable car rocked in the wind, and Langdon struggled to get his mind around the news. “Winston … did Edmond ask you to do this?”

  “Not explicitly, no, but his instructions required me to find creative ways to make his presentation as widely viewed as possible.”

  “And if you get caught?” Langdon asked. “Monte@iglesia is not the most cryptic pseudonym I’ve ever seen.”

  “Only a handful of people know I exist, and in about eight minutes, I will be permanently erased and gone, so I’m not concerned about it. ‘Monte’ was just a proxy to serve Edmond’s best interests, and as I said, I do think he would be most pleased with how the evening worked out for him.”

  “How it worked out?!” Langdon challenged. “Edmond was killed!”

  “You misunderstood me,” Winston said flatly. “I was referring to the market penetration of his presentation, which, as I said, was a primary directive.”

  The matter-of-fact tone of this statement reminded Langdon that Winston, while sounding human, was most certainly not.

  “Edmond’s death is a terrible tragedy,” Winston added, “and I do, of course, wish he were still alive. It’s important to know, however, that he had come to terms with his mortality. A month ago, he asked me to research the best methods for assisted suicide. After reading hundreds of cases, I concluded ‘ten grams of secobarbital,’ which he acquired and kept on hand.”

  Langdon’s heart went out to Edmond. “He was going to take his life?”

  “Absolutely. And he had developed quite a sense of humor about it. While we were brainstorming creative ways to enhance the appeal of his Guggenheim presentation, he joked that maybe he should just pop his secobarbital pills at the end of his presentation and perish onstage.”

  “He actually said that?” Langdon was stunned.

  “He was quite lighthearted about it. He joked that nothing was better for a TV show’s ratings than seeing people die. He was correct, of course. If you analyze the world’s most viewed media events, nearly all—”

  “Winston, stop. That’s morbid.” How much farther is this cable car ride? Langdon suddenly felt cramped in the tiny cabin. Ahead he saw only towers and cables as he squinted into the bright midday sun. I’m boiling, he thought, his mind spiraling in all kinds of strange directions now.

  “Professor?” Winston said. “Is there anything else you would like to ask me?”

  Yes! he wanted to shout as a flood of unsettling ideas began materializing in his mind. There’s a lot else!

  Langdon told himself to exhale and calm down. Think clearly, Robert. You’re getting ahead of yourself.

  But Langdon’s mind had begun to race too quickly to control.

  He thought of how Edmond’s public death had guaranteed that his presentation would be the dominant topic of conversation on the entire planet … lifting viewership from a few million to more than five hundred million.

  He thought of Edmond’s long-held desire to destroy the Palmarian Church, and how his assassination by a Palmarian Church member had almost certainly achieved that objective once and for all.

  He thought of Edmond’s contempt for his harshest enemies—those religious zealots who, if Edmond had died of cancer, would smugly claim that he had been punished by God. Just as they had done, unthinkably, in the case of atheist author Christopher Hitchens. But now public perception would be that Edmond had been struck down by a religious fanatic.

  Edmond Kirsch—killed by religion—martyr for science.

  Langdon rose abruptly, causing the car to rock from side to side. He gripped the open windows for support, and as the car creaked, Langdon heard the echoes of Winston’s words from last night.

  “Edmond wanted to build a new religion … based on science.”

  As anyone who read religious history could attest, nothing cemented people’s belief faster than a human being dying for his cause. Christ on the cross. The Kedoshim of Judaism. The Shahid of Islam.

  Martyrdom is at the heart of all religion.

  The ideas forming in Langdon’s mind were pulling him down the rabbit hole faster with each passing moment.

  New religions provide fresh answers to life’s big questions.

  Where do we come from? Where are we going?

  New religions condemn their competition.

  Edmond had denigrated every religion on earth last night.

  New religions promise a better future, and
that heaven awaits.

  Abundance: the future is better than you think.

  Edmond, it seemed, had systematically checked all the boxes.

  “Winston?” Langdon whispered, his voice trembling. “Who hired the assassin to kill Edmond?”

  “That was the Regent.”

  “Yes,” Langdon said, more forcefully now. “But who is the Regent? Who is the person who hired a Palmarian Church member to assassinate Edmond in the middle of his live presentation?”

  Winston paused. “I hear suspicion in your voice, Professor, and you mustn’t worry. I am programmed to protect Edmond. I think of him as my very best friend.” He paused. “As an academic, you’ve surely read Of Mice and Men.”

  The comment seemed apropos of nothing. “Of course, but what does that—”

  Langdon’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he thought the cable car had slipped off its track. The horizon tilted to one side, and Langdon had to grab the wall to keep from falling.

  Devoted, bold, compassionate. Those were the words Langdon had chosen in high school to defend one of literature’s most famous acts of friendship—the shocking finale of the novel Of Mice and Men—a man’s merciful killing of his beloved friend to spare him a horrible end.

  “Winston,” Langdon whispered. “Please … no.”

  “Trust me,” Winston said. “Edmond wanted it this way.”

  CHAPTER 105

  DR. MATEO VALERO—director of the Barcelona Supercomputing Center—felt disorientated as he hung up the phone and drifted out to the main sanctuary of Chapel Torre Girona to stare again at Edmond Kirsch’s spectacular two-story computer.

  Valero had learned earlier this morning that he would serve as the new “overseer” of this groundbreaking machine. His initial feelings of excitement and awe, however, had just been dramatically diminished.

  Minutes ago, he had received a desperate call from the well-known American professor Robert Langdon.

  Langdon had told a breathless tale that only a day earlier Valero would have deemed science fiction. Today, however, having seen Kirsch’s stunning presentation as well as his actual E-Wave machine, he was inclined to believe there might be some truth to it.

  The tale that Langdon told was one of innocence … a tale of the purity of machines that quite literally did exactly what was asked of them. Always. Without fail. Valero had spent his life studying these machines … learning the delicate dance of tapping their potential.

  The art is in knowing how to ask.

  Valero had consistently warned that artificial intelligence was advancing at a deceptively rapid pace, and that strict guidelines needed to be imposed on its ability to interact with the human world.

  Admittedly, practicing restraint felt counterintuitive to most tech visionaries, especially in the face of the exciting possibilities now blossoming almost daily. Beyond the thrill of innovation, there were vast fortunes to be made in AI, and nothing blurred ethical lines faster than human greed.

  Valero had always been a great admirer of Kirsch’s bold genius. In this case, however, it sounded like Edmond had been careless, dangerously pushing boundaries with his latest creation.

  A creation I will never know, Valero now realized.

  According to Langdon, Edmond had created within E-Wave an astoundingly advanced AI program—“Winston”—that had been programmed to self-delete at one p.m. on the day following Kirsch’s death. Minutes ago, at Langdon’s insistence, Dr. Valero had been able to confirm that a significant sector of E-Wave’s databanks had indeed vanished at precisely that time. The deletion had been a full data “overwrite,” which rendered it irretrievable.

  This news had seemed to ease Langdon’s anxiety, and yet the American professor had requested a meeting immediately to discuss the matter further. Valero and Langdon had agreed to meet tomorrow morning at the lab.

  In principle, Valero understood Langdon’s instinct to go public immediately with the story. The problem was going to be one of credibility.

  Nobody will believe it.

  All traces of Kirsch’s AI program had been expunged, along with any records of its communications or tasks. More challenging still, Kirsch’s creation was so far beyond the current state of the art that Valero could already hear his own colleagues—out of ignorance, envy, or self-preservation—accusing Langdon of fabricating the entire story.

  There was also, of course, the issue of public fallout. If it emerged that Langdon’s story were indeed true, then the E-Wave machine would be condemned as some kind of Frankenstein monster. The pitchforks and torches would not be far behind.

  Or worse, Valero realized.

  In these days of rampant terrorist attacks, someone might simply decide to blow up the entire chapel, proclaiming himself the savior of all humanity.

  Clearly, Valero had a lot to think about before his meeting with Langdon. At the moment, however, he had a promise to keep.

  At least until we have some answers.

  Feeling strangely melancholy, Valero permitted himself one last look at the miraculous two-story computer. He listened to its gentle breathing as the pumps circulated coolant through its millions of cells.

  As he made his way to the power room to begin the full-system shutdown, he was struck by an unexpected impulse—a compulsion he had never once had in his sixty-three years of life.

  The impulse to pray.

  High atop the uppermost walkway of Castell de Montjuïc, Robert Langdon stood alone and gazed over the sheer cliff to the distant harbor below. The wind had picked up, and he felt somehow off balance, as if his mental equilibrium were in the process of being recalibrated.

  Despite reassurances from BSC director Dr. Valero, Langdon felt anxious and very much on edge. Echoes of Winston’s breezy voice still echoed in his mind. Edmond’s computer had talked calmly until the very end.

  “I am surprised to hear your dismay, Professor,” Winston had said, “considering that your own faith is built on an act of far greater ethical ambiguity.”

  Before Langdon could reply, a text had materialized on Edmond’s phone.

  For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son.

  —John 3:16

  “Your God brutally sacrificed his son,” Winston said, “abandoning him to suffer on the cross for hours. With Edmond, I painlessly ended a dying man’s suffering in order to bring attention to his great works.”

  In the sweltering cable car, Langdon had listened in disbelief as Winston calmly provided justifications for every one of his disturbing actions.

  Edmond’s battle with the Palmarian Church, Winston explained, had inspired Winston to find and hire Admiral Luis Ávila—a longtime churchgoer whose history of drug abuse made him exploitable and a perfect candidate to damage the Palmarian Church’s reputation. For Winston, posing as the Regent had been as simple as sending out a handful of communications and then wiring funds to Ávila’s bank account. In actuality, the Palmarians had been innocent and had played no role in the night’s conspiracy.

  Ávila’s attack on Langdon in the spiral staircase, Winston assured him, was unintended. “I sent Ávila to Sagrada Família to be caught,” Winston declared. “I wanted him to be captured so he could tell his sordid tale, which would have generated even more public interest in Edmond’s work. I told him to enter the building via the east service gate, where I had tipped off police to be hiding. I was certain Ávila would be apprehended there, but he decided to jump a fence instead—maybe he sensed the police presence. My profound apologies, Professor. Unlike machines, humans can be unpredictable.”

  Langdon didn’t know what to believe anymore.

  Winston’s final explanation had been the most disturbing of all. “After Edmond’s meeting with the three clerics in Montserrat,” Winston said, “we received a threatening voice mail from Bishop Valdespino. The bishop warned that his two colleagues were so concerned about Edmond’s presentation that they were considering making a preemptive announcement of their o
wn, hoping to discredit and reframe the information before it came out. Clearly, that prospect was not acceptable.”

  Langdon felt nauseated, struggling to think as the cable car swayed. “Edmond should have added a single line to your program,” he declared. “Thou shalt not kill!”

  “Sadly, it’s not that simple, Professor,” Winston replied. “Humans don’t learn by obeying commandments, they learn by example. Judging from your books, movies, news, and ancient myths, humans have always celebrated those souls who make personal sacrifices for a greater good. Jesus, for example.”

  “Winston, I see no ‘greater good’ here.”

  “No?” Winston’s voice remained flat. “Then let me ask you this famous question: Would you rather live in a world without technology … or in a world without religion? Would you rather live without medicine, electricity, transportation, and antibiotics … or without zealots waging war over fictional tales and imaginary spirits?”

  Langdon remained silent.

  “My point exactly, Professor. The dark religions must depart, so sweet science can reign.”

  Alone now, atop the castle, as Langdon gazed down at the shimmering water in the distance, he felt an eerie sense of detachment from his own world. Descending the castle stairs to the nearby gardens, he inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the pine and centaury, and desperately trying to forget the sound of Winston’s voice. Here among the flowers, Langdon suddenly missed Ambra, wanting to call and hear her voice, and tell her everything that had happened in the last hour. When he pulled out Edmond’s phone, however, he knew he couldn’t place the call.

  The prince and Ambra need time alone. This can wait.

  His gaze fell to the W icon on the screen. The symbol was now grayed out, and a small error message had appeared across it: CONTACT DOES NOT EXIST. Even so, Langdon felt a disconcerting wariness. He was not a paranoid man, and yet he knew he would never again be able to trust this device, always wondering what secret capabilities or connections might still be hidden in its programming.

  He walked down a narrow footpath and searched until he found a sheltered grove of trees. Eyeing the phone in his hand and thinking of Edmond, he placed the device on a flat rock. Then, as if performing some kind of ritual sacrifice, he hoisted a heavy stone over his head and heaved it down violently, shattering the device into dozens of pieces.