LORD’S HOUSE OF GLORY. 4 page

“It looks like a death shrine,” Anderson said.

That’s kind of the point. “Most of my symbology students have the same reaction at first.” Langdon often assigned them Symbols of Freemasonry by Beresniak, which contained beautiful photos of Chambers of Reflection.

“And your students,” Sato demanded, “don’t find it unnerving that Masons meditate with skulls

and scythes?”

“No more unnerving than Christians praying at the feet of a man nailed to a cross, or Hindus chanting in front of a four-armed elephant named Ganesh. Misunderstanding a culture’s symbols is a common root of prejudice.”

Sato turned away, apparently in no mood for a lecture. She moved toward the table of artifacts. Anderson tried to light her way with the flashlight, but the beam was beginning to dim. He tapped the heel of the light and coaxed it to burn a little brighter.

As the threesome moved deeper into the narrow space, the pungent tang of sulfur filled Langdon’s nostrils. The subbasement was damp, and the humidity in the air was activating the sulfur in the bowl. Sato arrived at the table and stared down at the skull and accompanying objects.

Anderson joined her, doing his best to light the desk with the weakening beam of his flashlight.

Sato examined everything on the table and then placed her hands on her hips, sighing. “What is all this junk?”

The artifacts in this room, Langdon knew, were carefully selected and arranged. “Symbols of transformation,” he told her, feeling confined as he inched forward and joined them at the table. “The skull, or caput mortuum, represents man’s final transformation through decay; it’s a reminder that we all shed our mortal flesh one day. The sulfur and salt are alchemical catalysts that facilitate transformation. The hourglass represents the transformational power of time.” He motioned to the unlit candle. “And this candle represents the formative primordial fire and the awakening of man from his ignorant slumber—transformation through illumination.”

“And . . . that?” Sato asked, pointing into the corner.

Anderson swung his dimming flashlight beam to the giant scythe that leaned against the back wall.

“Not a death symbol, as most assume,” Langdon said. “The scythe is actually a symbol of the transformative nourishment of nature—the reaping of nature’s gifts.”

Sato and Anderson fell silent, apparently trying to process their bizarre surroundings.

Langdon wanted nothing more than to get out of the place. “I realize this room may seem unusual,” he told them, “but there’s nothing to see here; it’s really quite normal. A lot of Masonic lodges have chambers exactly like this one.”

“But this is not a Masonic lodge!”Anderson declared. “It’s the U.S. Capitol, and I’d like to know what the hell this room is doing in my building.”

“Sometimes Masons set aside rooms like this in their offices or private homes as meditation

spaces. It is not uncommon.” Langdon knew a heart surgeon in Boston who had converted a closet in his office into a Masonic Chamber of Reflection so he could ponder mortality before going into surgery.

Sato looked troubled. “You’re saying Peter Solomon comes down here to reflect on death?”

“I really don’t know,” Langdon said sincerely. “Maybe he created it as a sanctuary for his Masonic brothers who work in the building, giving them a spiritual sanctuary away from the chaos of the material world . . . a place for a powerful lawmaker to reflect before making decisions that affect his fellow man.”

“Lovely sentiment,” Sato said, her tone sarcastic, “but I have a feeling Americans might have a problem with their leaders praying in closets with scythes and skulls.”

Well, they shouldn’t, Langdon thought, imagining how different a world it might be if more leaders took time to ponder the finality of death before racing off to war.

Sato pursed her lips and carefully surveyed all four corners of the candle lit chamber. “There must be something in here besides human bones and bowls of chemicals, Professor. Someone transported you all the way from your home in Cambridge to be in this precise room.”

Langdon clutched his daybag to his side, still unable to imagine how the package he carried might relate to this chamber. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary here.” Langdon hoped that now at last they could get to the business of trying to find Peter.

Anderson’s light flickered again, and Sato spun on him, her temper starting to show. “For Christ’s sake, is it too much to ask?” She plunged her hand into her pocket and yanked out a cigarette lighter. Striking her thumb on the flint, she held out the flame and lit the desk’s lone candle. The wick sputtered and then caught, spreading a ghostly luminescence throughout the constricted space. Long shadows raked the stone walls. As the flame grew brighter, an unexpected sight materialized before them.

“Look!” Anderson said, pointing.

In the candlelight, they could now see a faded patch of graffiti—seven capital letters scrawled across the rear wall.

VITRIOL

“An odd choice of word,” Sato said as the candlelight cast a frightening skull-shaped silhouette across the letters.

“Actually, it’s an acronym,” Langdon said. “It’s written on the rear wall of most chambers like this as a shorthand for the Masonic meditative mantra: Visita interiora terrae, rectificando

invenies occultum lapidem.”

Sato eyed him, looking almost impressed. “Meaning?”

“Visit the interior of the earth, and by rectifying, you will find the hidden stone.”

Sato’s gaze sharpened. “Does the hidden stone have any connection to a hidden pyramid?”

Langdon shrugged, not wanting to encourage the comparison. “Those who enjoy fantasizing about hidden pyramids in Washington would tell you that occultum lapidem refers to the stone pyramid, yes. Others will tell you it’s a reference to the Philosopher’s Stone—a substance alchemists believed could bring them everlasting life or turn lead into gold. Others claim it’s a reference to the Holy of Holies, a hidden stone chamber at the core of the Great Temple. Some say it’s a Christian reference to the hidden teachings of Saint Peter—the Rock. Every esoteric tradition interprets ‘the stone’ in its own way, but invariably the occultum lapidem is a source of power and enlightenment.”

Anderson cleared his throat. “Is it possible Solomon lied to this guy? Maybe he told him there was something down here . . . and there really isn’t.”

Langdon was having similar thoughts.

Without warning, the candle flame flickered, as if caught by a draft. It dimmed for a moment and then recovered, burning brightly again.

“That’s odd,” Anderson said. “I hope no one closed the door upstairs.” He strode out of the chamber into the darkness of the hallway. “Hello?”

Langdon barely noticed him leave. His gaze had been drawn suddenly to the rear wall. What just happened?

“Did you see that?” Sato asked, also staring with alarm at the wall.

Langdon nodded, his pulse quickening. What did I just see?

A moment earlier, the rear wall seemed to have shimmered, as if a ripple of energy had passed through it.

Anderson now strode back into the room. “No one’s out there.” As he entered, the wall shimmered again. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, jumping back.

All three stood mute for a long moment, staring in unison at the back wall. Langdon felt another chill run through him as he realized what they were seeing. He reached out tentatively, until his fingertips touched the rear surface of the chamber. “It’s not a wall,” he said.

Anderson and Sato stepped closer, peering intently.

“It’s a canvas,” Langdon said.

“But it billowed,” Sato said quickly.

Yes, in a very strange way. Langdon examined the surface more closely. The sheen on the canvas had refracted the candlelight in a startling manner because the canvas had just billowed away from the room . . . fluttering backward through the plane of the rear wall.

Langdon extended his outstretched fingers very gently, pressing the canvas backward. Startled, he yanked his hand back. There’s an opening!

“Pull it aside,” Sato ordered.

Langdon’s heart pounded wildly now. He reached up and clutched the edge of the canvas banner, slowly pulling the fabric to one side. He stared in disbelief at what lay hidden behind it. My God.

Sato and Anderson stood in stunned silence as they looked through the opening in the rear wall.

Finally, Sato spoke. “It appears we’ve just found our pyramid.”

CHAPTER39

Robert Langdonstared at the opening in the rear wall of the chamber. Hidden behind the canvas banner, a perfectly square hole had been hollowed out of the wall. The opening, about three feet across, appeared to have been created by removing a series of bricks. For a moment, in the darkness, Langdon thought the hole was a window to a room beyond.

Now he saw it was not.

The opening extended only a few feet into the wall before terminating. Like a rough-hewn cubbyhole, the recessed niche reminded Langdon of a museum alcove designed to hold a statuette. Fittingly, this niche displayed one small object.

About nine inches tall, it was a piece of carved, solid granite. The surface was elegant and smooth with four polished sides that shone in the candlelight.

Langdon could not fathom what it was doing here. A stone pyramid?

“From your look of surprise,” Sato said, sounding self-satisfied, “I take it this object is not

typical within a Chamber of Reflection?”

Langdon shook his head.

“Then perhaps you would like to reassess your previous claims regarding the legend of a Masonic Pyramid hidden in Washington?” Her tone now was almost smug.

“Director,” Langdon replied instantly, “this little pyramid is not the Masonic Pyramid.”

“So it is merely coincidence that we found a pyramid hidden at the heart of the U.S. Capitol in a secret chamber belonging to a Masonic leader?”

Langdon rubbed his eyes and tried to think clearly. “Ma’am, this pyramid doesn’t resemble the myth in any way. The Masonic Pyramid is described as enormous, with a tip forged of solid gold.”

Moreover, Langdon knew, this little pyramid—with its flat top—was not even a true pyramid. Without its tip, this was another symbol entirely. Known as an Unfinished Pyramid, it was a symbolic reminder that man’s ascent to his full human potential was always a work in progress. Though few realized it, this symbol was the most widely published symbol on earth. Over twenty billion in print. Adorning every one-dollar bill in circulation, the Unfinished Pyramid waited patiently for its shining capstone, which hovered above it as a reminder of America’s yet-unfulfilled destiny and the work yet to be done, both as a country and as individuals.

“Lift it down,” Sato said to Anderson, motioning to the pyramid. “I want a closer look.” She began making room on the desk by shoving the skull and crossed bones to one side with no reverence whatsoever.

Langdon was starting to feel like they were common grave robbers, desecrating a personal shrine.

Anderson maneuvered past Langdon, reached into the niche, and clamped his large palms on either side of the pyramid. Then, barely able to lift at this awkward angle, he slid the pyramid toward him and lowered it with a hard thud onto the wooden desk. He stepped back to give Sato room.

The director repositioned the candle close to the pyramid and studied its polished surface. Slowly, she ran her tiny fingers over it, examining every inch of the flat top, and then the sides. She wrapped her hands around to feel the back, then frowned in apparent disappointment. “Professor, earlier you said the Masonic Pyramid was constructed to protect secret information.”

“That’s the legend, yes.”

“So, hypothetically speaking, if Peter’s captor believed this was the Masonic Pyramid, he would believe it contained powerful information.”

Langdon nodded, exasperated. “Yes, although even if he found this information, he probably would not be able to read it. According to legend, the contents of the pyramid are encoded, making them indecipherable . . . except to the most worthy.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Despite Langdon’s growing impatience, he replied with an even tone. “Mythological treasures are always protected by tests of worthiness. As you may recall, in the legend of the Sword in the Stone, the stone refuses to give up the sword except to Arthur, who was spiritually prepared to wield the sword’s awesome power. The Masonic Pyramid is based on the same idea. In this case, the information is the treasure, and it is said to be written in an encoded language—a mystical tongue of lost words—legible only to the worthy.”

A faint smile crossed Sato’s lips. “That may explain why you were summoned here tonight.”

“I’m sorry?”

Calmly, Sato rotated the pyramid in place, turning it a full 180 degrees. The pyramid’s fourth side now shone in the candlelight.

Robert Langdon stared at it with surprise.

“It appears,” Sato said, “that someone believes you’re worthy.”

CHAPTER40

What’s takingTrish so long?

Katherine Solomon checked her watch again. She’d forgotten to warn Dr. Abaddon about the bizarre commute to her lab, but she couldn’t imagine the darkness had slowed them down this much. They should have arrived by now.

Katherine walked over to the exit and heaved open the lead-lined door, staring out into the void. She listened for a moment, but heard nothing.

“Trish?” she called out, her voice swallowed by the darkness.

Silence.

Puzzled, she closed the door, took out her cell phone, and called the lobby. “This is Katherine. Is

Trish out there?”

“No, ma’am,” the lobby guard said. “She and your guest headed back about ten minutes ago.”

“Really? I don’t think they’re even inside Pod Five yet.”

“Hold on. I’ll check.” Katherine could hear the guard’s fingers clicking on his computer keyboard. “You’re right. According to Ms. Dunne’s key-card logs, she has not yet opened the Pod Five door. Her last access event was about eight minutes ago . . . at Pod Three. I guess she’s giving your guest a little tour on his way in.”

Katherine frowned. Apparently. The news was a bit odd, but at least she knew Trish wouldn’t be long in Pod 3. The smell in there is terrible. “Thanks. Has my brother arrived yet?”

“No, ma’am, not yet.”

“Thank you.”

As Katherine hung up, she felt an unexpected twinge of trepidation. The uneasy feeling made her pause, but only for a moment. It was the same exact disquiet she’d felt earlier when she stepped into Dr. Abaddon’s house. Embarrassingly, her feminine intuition had failed her there. Badly.

It’s nothing, Katherine told herself.

CHAPTER41

Robert Langdonstudied the stone pyramid. This isn’t possible.

“An ancient encoded language,” Sato said without looking up. “Tell me, does this qualify?”

On the newly exposed face of the pyramid, a series of sixteen characters was precisely engraved into the smooth stone.

Beside Langdon, Anderson’s mouth now gaped open, mirroring Langdon’s own shock. The security chief looked like he had just seen some kind of alien keypad.

“Professor?” Sato said. “I assume you can read this?”

Langdon turned. “Why would you assume that?”

“Because you were brought here, Professor. You were chosen. This inscription appears to be a code of some sort, and considering your reputation, it seems obvious to me that you were brought here to decipher it.”

Langdon had to admit that after his experiences in Rome and Paris, he’d received a steady flow of requests asking for his help deciphering some of history’s great unsolved codes—the Phaistos Disk, the Dorabella Cipher, the mysterious Voynich Manuscript.

Sato ran her finger over the inscription. “Can you tell me the meaning of these icons?”

They’re not icons, Langdon thought. They’re symbols. The language was one he had recognized immediately—an encrypted cipher language from the seventeenth century. Langdon knew very well how to break it. “Ma’am,” he said, feeling hesitant, “this pyramid is Peter’s private property.”

“Private or not, if this code is indeed the reason you were brought to Washington, I am not giving you a choice in the matter. I want to know what it says.”

Sato’s BlackBerry pinged loudly, and she yanked the device from her pocket, studying the incoming message for several moments. Langdon was amazed that the Capitol Building’s internal wireless network provided service this far down.

Sato grunted and raised her eyebrows, giving Langdon an odd look.

“Chief Anderson?” she said, turning to him. “A word in private, if I may?” The director motioned for Anderson to join her, and they disappeared into the pitch-black hallway, leaving Langdon alone in the flickering candlelight of Peter’s Chamber of Reflection.

Chief Anderson wondered when this night would end. A severed hand in my Rotunda? A death shrine in my basement? Bizarre engravings on a stone pyramid? Somehow, the Redskins game no longer felt significant.

As he followed Sato into the darkness of the hall, Anderson flicked on his flashlight. The beam was weak but better than nothing. Sato led him down the hall a few yards, out of sight of Langdon.

“Have a look at this,” she whispered, handing Anderson her BlackBerry.

Anderson took the device and squinted at the illuminated screen. It displayed a black-and-white image—the X-ray of Langdon’s bag that Anderson had requested be sent to Sato. As in all X-rays, the objects of greatest density appeared in the brightest white. In Langdon’s bag, a lone item outshone everything else. Obviously extremely dense, the object glowed like a dazzling jewel in a murky jumble of other items. Its shape was unmistakable.

He’s been carrying that all night? Anderson looked over at Sato in surprise. “Why didn’t Langdon mention this?”

“Damned good question,” Sato whispered.

“The shape . . . it can’t be coincidence.”

“No,” Sato said, her tone angry now. “I would say not.”

A faint rustle in the corridor drew Anderson’s attention. Startled, he pointed his flashlight down the black passageway. The dying beam revealed only a deserted corridor, lined with open doors.

“Hello?” Anderson said. “Is somebody there?”

Silence.

Sato gave him an odd look, apparently having heard nothing.

Anderson listened a moment longer and then shook it off. I’ve got to get out of here.

Alone in the candlelit chamber, Langdon ran his fingers over the sharply carved edges of the pyramid’s engraving. He was curious to know what the message said, and yet he was not about to intrude on Peter Solomon’s privacy any more than they already had. And why would this

lunatic care about this small pyramid anyway?

“We have a problem, Professor,” Sato’s voice declared loudly behind him. “I’ve just received a new piece of information, and I’ve had enough of your lies.”

Langdon turned to see the OS director marching in, BlackBerry in hand and fire in her eyes. Taken aback, Langdon looked to Anderson for help, but the chief was now standing guard at the door, his expression unsympathetic. Sato arrived in front of Langdon and thrust her BlackBerry in his face.

Bewildered, Langdon looked at the screen, which displayed an inverted black-and-white photograph, like a ghostly film negative. The photo looked like a jumble of objects, and one of them shone very brightly. Though askew and off center, the brightest object was clearly a little, pointed pyramid.

A tiny pyramid? Langdon looked at Sato. “What is this?”

The question seemed only to incense Sato further. “You’re pretending you don’t know?”

Langdon’s temper flared. “I’m not pretending anything! I’ve never seen this before in my life!”

“Bullshit!” Sato snapped, her voice cutting through the musty air. “You’ve been carrying it in your bag all night!”

“I—” Langdon stalled midsentence. His eyes moved slowly down to the daybag on his shoulder. Then he raised them again to the BlackBerry. My God . . . the package. He looked more closely at the image. Now he saw it. A ghostly cube, enclosing the pyramid. Stunned, Langdon realized he was looking at an X-ray of his bag . . . and also of Peter’s mysterious cube-shaped package. The cube was, in fact, a hollow box . . . a small pyramid.

Langdon opened his mouth to speak, but his words failed him. He felt the breath go out of his lungs as a new revelation struck him.

Simple. Pure. Devastating.

My God. He looked back at the truncated stone pyramid on the desk. Its apex was flat—a small square area—a blank space symbolically awaiting its final piece . . . that piece which would transform it from an Unfinished Pyramid into a True Pyramid.

Langdon now realized the tiny pyramid he was carrying was not a pyramid at all. It’s a capstone. At that instant, he knew why he alone could unlock the mysteries of this pyramid.

I hold the final piece.

And it is indeed . . . a talisman.

When Peter had told Langdon the package contained a talisman, Langdon had laughed. Now he realized his friend was right. This tiny capstone was a talisman, but not the magic kind . . . the far older kind. Long before talisman had magical connotations, it had another meaning— “completion.” From the Greek telesma, meaning “complete,” a talisman was any object or idea that completed another and made it whole. The finishing element. A capstone, symbolically speaking, was the ultimate talisman, transforming the Unfinished Pyramid into a symbol of completed perfection.

Langdon now felt an eerie convergence that forced him to accept one very strange truth: with the exception of its size, the stone pyramid in Peter’s Chamber of Reflection seemed to be transforming itself, bit by bit, into something vaguely resembling the Masonic Pyramid of legend.

From the brightness with which the capstone shone on the X-ray, Langdon suspected it was made of metal . . . a very dense metal. Whether or not it was solid gold, he had no way of knowing, and he was not about to let his mind start playing tricks on him. This pyramid is too small. The code’s too easy to read. And . . . it’s a myth, for heaven’s sake!

Sato was watching him. “For a bright man, Professor, you’ve made some dumb choices tonight. Lying to an intelligence director? Intentionally obstructing a CIA investigation?”

“I can explain, if you’ll let me.”

“You will be explaining at CIA headquarters. As of this moment, I am detaining you.”

Langdon’s body went rigid. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“Deadly serious. I made it very clear to you that the stakes tonight were high, and you chose not to cooperate. I strongly suggest you start thinking about explaining the inscription on this pyramid, because when we arrive at the CIA . . .” She raised her BlackBerry and took a close-up snapshot of the engraving on the stone pyramid. “My analysts will have had a head start.”

Langdon opened his mouth to protest, but Sato was already turning to Anderson at the door. “Chief,” she said, “put the stone pyramid in Langdon’s bag and carry it. I’ll handle taking Mr. Langdon into custody. Your weapon, if I may?”

Anderson was stone-faced as he advanced into the chamber, unsnapping his shoulder holster as he came. He gave his gun to Sato, who immediately aimed it at Langdon.

Langdon watched as if in a dream. This cannot be happening.

Anderson now came to Langdon and removed the daybag from his shoulder, carrying it over to the desk and setting it on the chair. He unzipped the bag, propped it open, and then hoisted the heavy stone pyramid off the desk and into the bag, along with Langdon’s notes and the tiny package.

Suddenly there was a rustle of movement in the hallway. A dark outline of a man materialized in the doorway, rushing into the chamber and approaching fast behind Anderson. The chief never saw him coming. In an instant, the stranger had lowered his shoulder and crashed into Anderson’s back. The chief launched forward, his head cracking into the edge of the stone niche. He fell hard, crumpling on the desk, sending bones and artifacts flying. The hourglass shattered on the floor. The candle toppled to the floor, still burning.

Sato reeled amid the chaos, raising the gun, but the intruder grabbed a femur and lashed out with it, striking her shoulder with the leg bone. Sato let out a cry of pain and fell back, dropping the weapon. The newcomer kicked the gun away and then wheeled toward Langdon. The man was tall and slender, an elegant African American whom Langdon had never seen before in his life.

“Grab the pyramid!” the man commanded. “Follow me!”

CHAPTER42

The African Americanman leading Langdon through the Capitol’s subterranean maze was clearly someone of power. Beyond knowing his way through all the side corridors and back rooms, the elegant stranger carried a key ring that seemed to unlock every door that blocked their way.

Langdon followed, quickly running up an unfamiliar staircase. As they climbed, he felt the leather strap of his daybag cutting hard into his shoulder. The stone pyramid was so heavy that Langdon feared the bag’s strap might break.

The past few minutes defied all logic, and now Langdon found himself moving on instinct alone. His gut told him to trust this stranger. Beyond saving Langdon from Sato’s arrest, the man had taken dangerous action to protect Peter Solomon’s mysterious pyramid. Whatever the pyramid may be. While his motivation remained a mystery, Langdon had glimpsed a telltale shimmer of gold on the man’s hand—a Masonic ring—the double-headed phoenix and the number 33. This man and Peter Solomon were more than trusted friends. They were Masonic brothers of the highest degree.

Langdon followed him to the top of the stairs, into another corridor, and then through an unmarked door into a utilitarian hallway. They ran past supply boxes and bags of garbage, veering off suddenly through a service door that deposited them in an utterly unexpected world—a plush movie theater of some sort. The older man led the way up the side aisle and out the main doors into the light of a large atrium. Langdon now realized they were in the visitor center through which he had entered earlier tonight.

Unfortunately, so was a Capitol police officer.

As they came face-to-face with the officer, all three men stopped, staring at one another. Langdon recognized the young Hispanic officer from the X-ray machine earlier tonight.

“Officer Nuñez,” the African American man said. “Not a word. Follow me.”

The guard looked uneasy but obeyed without question.

Who is this guy?

The three of them hurried toward the southeast corner of the visitor center, where they arrived at a small foyer and a set of heavy doors blocked with orange pylons. The doors were sealed with masking tape, apparently to keep the dust of whatever was happening beyond out of the visitor center. The man reached up and peeled off the tape on the door. Then he flipped through his key ring as he spoke to the guard. “Our friend Chief Anderson is in the subbasement. He may be injured. You’ll want to check on him.”

“Yes, sir.” Nuñez looked as baffled as he did alarmed.

“Most important, you did not see us.” The man found a key, took it off the key ring, and used it to turn the heavy dead bolt. He pulled open the steel door and tossed the key to the guard. “Lock this door behind us. Put the tape back on as best as you can. Pocket the key and say nothing. To anyone. Including the chief. Is that clear, Officer Nuñez?”

The guard eyed the key as if he’d just been entrusted with a precious gem. “It is, sir.”

The man hurried through the door, and Langdon followed. The guard locked the heavy bolt behind them, and Langdon could hear him re-applying the masking tape.

“Professor Langdon,” the man said as they strode briskly down a modern-looking corridor that was obviously under construction. “My name is Warren Bellamy. Peter Solomon is a dear friend of mine.”

Langdon shot a startled glance at the stately man. You’re Warren Bellamy? Langdon had never met the Architect of the Capitol, but he certainly knew the man’s name.

“Peter speaks very highly of you,” Bellamy said, “and I’m sorry we are meeting under these dreadful circumstances.”

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 683