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15 September 2009 @ 11:39 pm
Chapter 1 - A Lecture  

Title:  The Da Vinci Code
Chapter:  A Lecture
Professor Samara Karrington is in Paris to hear a lecture from her good friend Robert Langdon. But how can one simpel lecture turn into a fiasco?
Disclaimer: I do not own The Da Vinci Code or the screenplay. They belong to Dan Brown, Akiva Goldsman, Columbia Pictures, Ron Howard, and everyone else that is not me. Did I get everybody?


Chapter 1

Professor Samara Karrington sat among a crowd of students, academics, and regular people at the American University of Paris. She arrived in Paris yesterday to sit in on a lecture that her friend Robert Langdon was going to give. And from her impression of Paris, it was going well. “Check. Check. Can you hear me?” asked Langdon. “Okay, you can hear me,” he said. There were many agreements from the audience. Langdon began his lecture. “Symbols are a language that can tell us of our past. As the saying goes, a picture can speak a thousand words. But which words?” he asked as images appeared behind him. “Interpret this symbol. First thing comes to mind. Go.” A white pointed hat appeared.

“Hatred. Racism,” said one student.

“Ku Klux Klan,” said another.

“They would disagree with you in Spain. There, they’re priests’ robes,” said Langdon, widening the picture. “Now this? Fast,” he said, bringing up a picture of a pitchfork.

“Evil,” said a male student.

La fourche du Diable,” said a Spanish student.

“The Devil’s pitchfork,” translated someone.

Langdon widen the picture. “Poor old Poseidon. That is his trident. A symbol of power for millions of ancients. Now this.” This time it was a picture of the Madonna and Child.

“Madonna and Child.”

“Faith. Christianity.”

“Or the pagan god Horus and his mother Isis, made centuries before Christ’s birth,” Samara called out. Langdon smiled, recognizing her voice.

“How we view our past determines actively our ability to understand the present. So, how do we sift truth from belief? How do we penetrate years of historical distortion to find the original truth? How do we write our own histories, personally or culturally, and thereby define ourselves? That will be our discussion tonight,” said Langdon, pressing on through the lecture.

After the lecture, Samara sneaked backstage to find Langdon. “You were wonderful, Robert,” she said, hugging him.

“Samara, when did you get into Paris? I didn’t even know you were coming,” Langdon said.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she answered.

“Well, you accomplished that. Come on, join me at the book signing,” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her out front. He took another glance at her. Samara was a couple inches shorter than he was, with long strawberry blonde hair and emerald eyes. She was very beautiful and he was nervous to be around her. He sat down at a table with copies of his latest book Symbols of the Sacred Feminine, and Samara pulled up a chair somewhat behind him. After he chatted with an American woman, Samara noticed a short, slightly balding man push his way up to the table. “Professor, I am Lieutenant Collet of the Direction Centrale Police Judiciaire,” the man said.

“The DCPJ?” asked a startled Samara. The man ignores her. “Would you take a look at this photo please?” he asked, handing Langdon a photo. Samara watched as Langdon turned white. “Robert, what is it?” she asked, looking over his shoulder. What she saw was a crime scene photo of a murdered man.

“My captain had hoped, considering your expertise, and the markings on the body, you might assist us,” said Collet. Samara looked at Langdon, who was instinctively looking at her.

“May my friend come? She is also a professor of religious symbology,” asked Langdon. Collet looked at Samara. “Certainly,” he responded, lifting Langdon’s coat. As they walked towards the doors, Collet continued, “ It was taken less than an hour ago. Inside the Louvre.”

“Who is he?” asked Samara, not recognizing the dead man.

“Jacques Sauniere, the Louvre’s curator,” Collet answered.

“I was supposed to have a drink with him earlier tonight, before the lecture,” said Langdon.

“Yes, we know. We found your name in his daily planner. Was he in good health?”

“I’m sorry?” asked a confused Langdon.

“When you had these drinks with him?”

“He never showed up. I waited over an hour,” answered Langdon as he looked at the picture again.

“Why would someone do this to him?” asked Samara.

“Yeah, why would he?” asked Langdon.

“Ah, You misunderstand, Madame, Professor. He was shot, yes. But what you see in the photograph, Monsieur Sauniere did to himself,” said Collet, opening a car door. Langdon and Samara look at each other in disbelief.