The U.S. Embassy in Paris is a compact complex on Avenue Gabriel, just north of the Champs-Elysées. The three-acre compound is considered U.S. soil, meaning all those who stand on it aresubject to the same laws and protections as they would encounter standing in the United States.
The embassy's night operator was reading Time magazine's International Edition when the sound ofher phone interrupted.
"U.S. Embassy," she answered.
"Good evening." The caller spoke English accented with French. "I need some assistance." Despitethe politeness of the man's words, his tone sounded gruff and official. "I was told you had a phonemessage for me on your automated system. The name is Langdon. Unfortunately, I have forgottenmy three-digit access code. If you could help me, I would be most grateful."The operator paused, confused. "I'm sorry, sir. Your message must be quite old. That system wasremoved two years ago for security precautions. Moreover, all the access codes were five-digit.
Who told you we had a message for you?""You have no automated phone system?""No, sir. Any message for you would be handwritten in our services department. What was yourname again?"But the man had hung up.
Bezu Fache felt dumbstruck as he paced the banks of the Seine. He was certain he had seenLangdon dial a local number, enter a three-digit code, and then listen to a recording. But if Langdondidn't phone the embassy, then who the hell did he call?
It was at that moment, eyeing his cellular phone, that Fache realized the answers were in the palmof his hand. Langdon used my phone to place that call.
Keying into the cell phone's menu, Fache pulled up the list of recently dialed numbers and foundthe call Langdon had placed.
A Paris exchange, followed by the three-digit code 454.
Redialing the phone number, Fache waited as the line began ringing.
Finally a woman's voice answered. "Bonjour, vous êtes bien chez Sophie Neveu," the recordingannounced. "Je suis absente pour le moment, mais..."Fache's blood was boiling as he typed the numbers 4... 5... 4.
巴黎的美国大使馆设在一幢综合楼内，它位于香榭丽舍大街北面的一条大道上。这块三英亩的土地被视为美国的领土，也就是说这块土地上的人与在美国国土上的人受同样的法律的约束和保护。
大使馆的晚间接线员正在阅读国际版的《时代》杂志，忽然电话铃声响了起来。
"美国大使馆。"她接起电话。
"晚上好。"打电话的人用带着法国口音的英文说道。"我需要一些帮助。"那人虽然措辞有礼，但语调生硬，官腔实足。"有人告诉我你们的电话自动操作系统中有我的电话语音信息。我叫兰登。但不巧的是，我忘记了进入语音信箱的三位数密码。如果您能帮助我，我将万分感激。"接线员迷惑地愣在那里。"对不起，先生。您的语音信息一定是很久以前的了。那个系统已经在两年前为了安全防范而撤销了，而且所有的密码都是五位数的。是谁告诉您有语音信息的？"
"你们没有电话自动操作系统？"
"没有，先生。信息都由我们的服务部笔录下来。可以再说一下您的姓名吗？"
那人挂上了电话。
贝祖。法希在塞纳河边踱步，一言不发。他明明看见兰登拨了个当地的区号，又键入了三位数的密码，然后接听了录音留言。如果兰登没有打电话到大使馆，那么他到底打电话给谁了呢？
法希看着自己的手机，忽然意识到答案就在自己的手中。兰登是用我的手机打的那个电话。
法希打开手机菜单，调出新近拨出的号码，找到了兰登拨的那个电话。
一个巴黎的交换台，接着是三位数密码454.
法希重拨了这个号码。铃声响了起来，法希等待着。
终于电话那头传来了一个女人的声音。"您好，索菲。奈芙。"那是录音留言。"我现在不在，……"法希再拨4……5……4 的时候，觉得全身的血液都沸腾了。