The Lost Symbol Dan Brown

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Mal'akh parked in a dark corner near the elevators, lowered the divider between the driver's compartment and the passenger compartment, and slithered through the opening into the back of the limo. Once in back, he got rid of his chauffeur's cap and donned his blond wig. Straightening his jacket and tie, he checked the mirror to make sure he had not smeared his makeup. Mal'akh was not about to take any chances. Not tonight.

I have waited too long for this.

Seconds later, Mal'akh was stepping into the private elevator. The ride to the top was silent and smooth. When the door opened, he found himself in an elegant, private foyer. His host was already waiting.

"Dr. Abaddon, welcome."

Mal'akh looked into the man's famous gray eyes and felt his heart begin to race. "Mr. Solomon, I appreciate your seeing me."

"Please, call me Peter." The two men shook hands. As Mal'akh gripped the older man's palm, he saw the gold Masonic ring on Solomon's hand . . . the same hand that had once aimed a gun at Mal'akh. A voice whispered from Mal'akh's distant past. If you pull that trigger, I will haunt you forever.

"Please come in," Solomon said, ushering Mal'akh into an elegant living room whose expansive windows offered an astonishing view of the Washington skyline.

"Do I smell tea steeping?" Mal'akh asked as he entered.

Solomon looked impressed. "My parents always greeted guests with tea. I've carried on that tradition." He led Mal'akh into the living room, where a tea service was waiting in front of the fire. "Cream and sugar?"

"Black, thank you."

Again Solomon looked impressed. "A purist." He poured them both a cup of black tea. "You said you needed to discuss something with me that was sensitive in nature and could be discussed only in private."

"Thank you. I appreciate your time."

"You and I are Masonic brothers now. We have a bond. Tell me how I can help you."

"First, I would like to thank you for the honor of the thirty-third degree a few months ago. This is deeply meaningful to me."

"I'm glad, but please know that those decisions are not mine alone. They are by vote of the Supreme Council."

"Of course." Mal'akh suspected Peter Solomon had probably voted against him, but within the Masons, as with all things, money was power. Mal'akh, after achieving the thirty-second degree in his own lodge, had waited only a month before making a multimillion-dollar donation to charity in the name of the Masonic Grand Lodge. The unsolicited act of selflessness, as Mal'akh anticipated, was enough to earn him a quick invitation into the elite thirty-third degree. And yet I have learned no secrets.

Despite the age-old whispers--"All is revealed at the thirty-third degree"--Mal'akh had been told nothing new, nothing of relevance to his quest. But he had never expected to be told. The inner circle of Freemasonry contained smaller circles still . . . circles Mal'akh would not see for years, if ever. He didn't care. His initiation had served its purpose. Something unique had happened within that Temple Room, and it had given Mal'akh power over all of them. I no longer play by your rules.

"You do realize," Mal'akh said, sipping his tea, "that you and I met many years ago."

Solomon looked surprised. "Really? I don't recall."

"It was quite a long time ago." And Christopher Abaddon is not my real name.

"I'm so sorry. My mind must be getting old. Remind me how I know you?" Mal'akh smiled one last time at the man he hated more than any other man on earth. "It's unfortunate that you don't recall."

In one fluid motion, Mal'akh pulled a small device from his pocket and extended it outward, driving it hard into the man's chest. There was a flash of blue light, the sharp sizzle of the stun- gun discharge, and a gasp of pain as one million volts of electricity coursed through Peter Solomon's body. His eyes went wide, and he slumped motionless in his chair. Mal'akh stood up now, towering over the man, salivating like a lion about to consume his injured prey.

Solomon was gasping, straining to breathe.

Mal'akh saw fear in his victim's eyes and wondered how many people had ever seen the great Peter Solomon cower. Mal'akh savored the scene for several long seconds. He took a sip of tea, waiting for the man to catch his breath.

Solomon was twitching, attempting to speak. "Wh-why?" he finally managed.

"Why do you think?" Mal'akh demanded.

Solomon looked truly bewildered. "You want . . . money?"

Money? Mal'akh laughed and took another sip of tea. "I gave the Masons millions of dollars; I have no need of wealth." I come for wisdom, and he offers me wealth.

"Then what . . . do you want?"

"You possess a secret. You will share it with me tonight."

Solomon struggled to lift his chin so he could look Mal'akh in the eye. "I don't . . . understand."

"No more lies!" Mal'akh shouted, advancing to within inches of the paralyzed man. "I know what is hidden here in Washington."

Solomon's gray eyes were defiant. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Mal'akh took another sip of tea and set the cup on a coaster. "You spoke those same words to me ten years ago, on the night of your mother's death."

Solomon's eyes shot wide open. "You . . . ?"

"She didn't have to die. If you had given me what I demanded . . ."

The older man's face contorted in a mask of horrified recognition . . . and disbelief.

"I warned you," Mal'akh said, "if you pulled the trigger, I would haunt you forever." "But you're--"

Mal'akh lunged, driving the Taser hard into Solomon's chest again. There was another flash of blue light, and Solomon went completely limp.

Mal'akh put the Taser back in his pocket and calmly finished his tea. When he was done, he dabbed his lips with a monogrammed linen napkin and peered down at his victim. "Shall we go?"

Solomon's body was motionless, but his eyes were wide and engaged.

Mal'akh got down close and whispered in the man's ear. "I'm taking you to a place where only truth remains."

Without another word, Mal'akh wadded up the monogrammed napkin and stuffed it into Solomon's mouth. Then he hoisted the limp man onto his broad shoulders and headed for the private elevator. On his way out, he picked up Solomon's iPhone and keys from the hall table.

Tonight you will tell me all your secrets, Mal'akh thought. Including why you left me for dead all those years ago.

CHAPTER 30

SB level.

Senate basement.

Robert Langdon's claustrophobia gripped him more tightly with every hastening step of their descent. As they moved deeper into the building's original foundation, the air became heavy, and the ventilation seemed nonexistent. The walls down here were an uneven blend of stone and yellow brick.

Director Sato typed on her BlackBerry as they walked. Langdon sensed a suspicion in her guarded manner, but the feeling was quickly becoming reciprocal. Sato still hadn't told him how she knew Langdon was here tonight. An issue of national security? He had a hard time understanding any relation between ancient mysticism and national security. Then again, he had a hard time understanding much of anything about this situation.

Peter Solomon entrusted me with a talisman . . . a deluded lunatic tricked me into bringing it to the Capitol and wants me to use it to unlock a mystical portal . . . possibly in a room called SBB13.

Not exactly a clear picture.

As they pressed on, Langdon tried to shake from his mind the horrible image of Peter's tattooed hand, transformed into the Hand of the Mysteries. The gruesome picture was accompanied by Peter's voice: The Ancient Mysteries, Robert, have spawned many myths . . . but that does not mean they themselves are fiction.

Despite a career studying mystical symbols and history, Langdon had always struggled intellectually with the idea of the Ancient Mysteries and their potent promise of apotheosis.

Admittedly, the historical record contained indisputable evidence that secret wisdom had been passed down through the ages, apparently having come out of the Mystery Schools in early Egypt. This knowledge moved underground, resurfacing in Renaissance Europe, where, according to most accounts, it was entrusted to an elite group of scientists within the walls of Europe's premier scientific think tank--the Royal Society of London--enigmatically nicknamed the Invisible College.

This concealed "college" quickly became a brain trust of the world's most enlightened minds-- those of Isaac Newton, Francis Bacon, Robert Boyle, and even Benjamin Franklin. Today, the list of modern "fellows" was no less impressive--Einstein, Hawking, Bohr, and Celsius. These great minds had all made quantum leaps in human understanding, advances that, according to some, were the result of their exposure to ancient wisdom hidden within the Invisible College. Langdon doubted this was true, although certainly there had been an unusual amount of "mystical work" taking place within those walls.

The discovery of Isaac Newton's secret papers in 1936 had stunned the world by revealing Newton's all-consuming passion for the study of ancient alchemy and mystical wisdom. Newton's private papers included a handwritten letter to Robert Boyle in which he exhorted Boyle to keep "high silence" regarding the mystical knowledge they had learned. "It cannot be communicated," Newton wrote, "without immense damage to the world."

The meaning of this strange warning was still being debated today.

"Professor," Sato said suddenly, glancing up from her BlackBerry, "despite your insistence that you have no idea why you're here tonight, perhaps you could shed light on the meaning of Peter Solomon's ring."

"I can try," Langdon said, refocusing.

She produced the specimen bag and handed it to Langdon. "Tell me about the symbols on his ring."

Langdon examined the familiar ring as they moved through the deserted passageway. Its face bore the image of a double-headed phoenix holding a banner proclaiming ORDO AB CHAO, and its chest was emblazoned with the number 33. "The double-headed phoenix with the number thirty-three is the emblem of the highest Masonic degree." Technically, this prestigious degree existed solely within the Scottish Rite. Nonetheless, the rites and degrees of Masonry were a complex hierarchy that Langdon had no desire to detail for Sato tonight. "Essentially, the thirty- third degree is an elite honor reserved for a small group of highly accomplished Masons. All the other degrees can be attained by successful completion of the previous degree, but ascension to the thirty-third degree is controlled. It's by invitation only."

"So you were aware that Peter Solomon was a member of this elite inner circle?"

"Of course. Membership is hardly a secret."

"And he is their highest-ranking official?"

"Currently, yes. Peter heads the Supreme Council Thirty-third Degree, which is the governing body of the Scottish Rite in America." Langdon always loved visiting their headquarters--the House of the Temple--a classical masterpiece whose symbolic ornamentation rivaled that of Scotland's Rosslyn Chapel.

"Professor, did you notice the engraving on the ring's band? It bears the words `All is revealed at the thirty-third degree.' "

Langdon nodded. "It's a common theme in Masonic lore."

"Meaning, I assume, that if a Mason is admitted to this highest thirty-third degree, then something special is revealed to him?"

"Yes, that's the lore, but probably not the reality. There's always been conspiratorial conjecture that a select few within this highest echelon of Masonry are made privy to some great mystical secret. The truth, I suspect, is probably far less dramatic."

Peter Solomon often made playful allusions to the existence of a precious Masonic secret, but Langdon always assumed it was just a mischievous attempt to coax him into joining the brotherhood. Unfortunately, tonight's events had been anything but playful, and there had been nothing mischievous about the seriousness with which Peter had urged Langdon to protect the sealed package in his daybag.

Langdon glanced forlornly at the plastic bag containing Peter's gold ring. "Director," he asked, "would you mind if I held on to this?"

She looked over. "Why?"

"It's very valuable to Peter, and I'd like to return it to him tonight."

She looked skeptical. "Let's hope you get that chance." "Thanks." Langdon pocketed the ring.

"Another question," Sato said as they hastened deeper into the labyrinth. "My staff said that while cross-checking the concepts of the `thirty-third degree' and `portal' with Masonry, they turned up literally hundreds of references to a `pyramid'?"

"That's not surprising, either," Langdon said. "The pyramid builders of Egypt are the forerunners of the modern stonemasons, and the pyramid, along with Egyptian themes, is very common in Masonic symbolism."

"Symbolizing what?"

"The pyramid essentially represents enlightenment. It's an architectural symbol emblematic of ancient man's ability to break free from his earthly plane and ascend upward toward heaven, toward the golden sun, and ultimately, toward the supreme source of illumination."

She waited a moment. "Nothing else?"

Nothing else?! Langdon had just described one of history's most elegant symbols. The structure through which man elevated himself into the realm of the gods.

"According to my staff," she said, "it sounds like there is a much more relevant connection tonight. They tell me there exists a popular legend about a specific pyramid here in Washington--a pyramid that relates specifically to the Masons and the Ancient Mysteries?"

Langdon now realized what she was referring to, and he tried to dispel the notion before they wasted any more time. "I am familiar with the legend, Director, but it's pure fantasy. The Masonic Pyramid is one of D.C.'s most enduring myths, probably stemming from the pyramid on the Great Seal of the United States."

"Why didn't you mention it earlier?"

Langdon shrugged. "Because it has no basis in fact. Like I said, it's a myth. One of many associated with the Masons."

"And yet this particular myth relates directly to the Ancient Mysteries?"

"Sure, as do plenty of others. The Ancient Mysteries are the foundation for countless legends that have survived in history--stories about powerful wisdom protected by secret guardians like the Templars, the Rosicrucians, the Illuminati, the Alumbrados--the list goes on and on. They are all based on the Ancient Mysteries . . . and the Masonic Pyramid is just one example."

"I see," Sato said. "And what does this legend actually say?"

Langdon considered it for a few steps and then replied, "Well, I'm no specialist in conspiracy theory, but I am educated in mythology, and most accounts go something like this: The Ancient Mysteries--the lost wisdom of the ages--have long been considered mankind's most sacred treasure, and like all great treasures, they have been carefully protected. The enlightened sages who understood the true power of this wisdom learned to fear its awesome potential. They knew that if this secret knowledge were to fall into uninitiated hands, the results could be devastating; as we said earlier, powerful tools can be used either for good or for evil. So, in order to protect the Ancient Mysteries, and mankind in the process, the early practitioners formed secret fraternities. Inside these brotherhoods, they shared their wisdom only with the properly initiated, passing the wisdom from sage to sage. Many believe we can look back and see the historical remnants of those who mastered the Mysteries . . . in the stories of sorcerers, magicians, and healers."

"And the Masonic Pyramid?" Sato asked. "How does that fit in?"

"Well," Langdon said, striding faster now to keep pace, "this is where history and myth begin to merge. According to some accounts, by the sixteenth century in Europe, almost all of these secret fraternities had become extinct, most of them exterminated by a growing tide of religious persecution. The Freemasons, it is said, became the last surviving custodians of the Ancient Mysteries. Understandably, they feared that if their own brotherhood one day died off like its predecessors, the Ancient Mysteries would be lost for all time."

"And the pyramid?" Sato again pressed.

Langdon was getting to it. "The legend of the Masonic Pyramid is quite simple. It states that the Masons, in order to fulfill their responsibility of protecting this great wisdom for future generations, decided to hide it in a great fortress." Langdon tried to gather his recollections of the story. "Again, I stress this is all myth, but allegedly, the Masons transported their secret wisdom from the Old World to the New World--here, to America--a land they hoped would remain free from religious tyranny. And here they built an impenetrable fortress--a hidden pyramid-- designed to protect the Ancient Mysteries until the time that all of mankind was ready to handle the awesome power that this wisdom could communicate. According to the myth, the Masons crowned their great pyramid with a shining, solid-gold capstone as symbol of the precious treasure within--the ancient wisdom capable of empowering mankind to his full human potential. Apotheosis."

"Quite a story," Sato said.

"Yes. The Masons fall victim to all kinds of crazy legends."

"Obviously you don't believe such a pyramid exists."

"Of course not," Langdon replied. "There's no evidence whatsoever to suggest that our Masonic forefathers built any kind of pyramid in America, much less in D.C. It's pretty difficult to hide a pyramid, especially one large enough to hold all the lost wisdom of the ages."

The legend, as Langdon recalled, never explained exactly what was supposed to be inside the Masonic Pyramid--whether it was ancient texts, occult writings, scientific revelations, or something far more mysterious--but the legend did say that the precious information inside was ingeniously encoded . . . and understandable only to the most enlightened souls.

"Anyway," Langdon said, "this story falls into a category we symbologists call an `archetypal hybrid'--a blend of other classic legends, borrowing so many elements from popular mythology that it could only be a fictional construct . . . not historical fact."

When Langdon taught his students about archetypal hybrids, he used the example of fairy tales, which were recounted across generations and exaggerated over time, borrowing so heavily from one another that they evolved into homogenized morality tales with the same iconic elements-- virginal damsels, handsome princes, impenetrable fortresses, and powerful wizards. By way of fairy tales, this primeval battle of "good vs. evil" is ingrained into us as children through our stories: Merlin vs. Morgan le Fay, Saint George vs. the Dragon, David vs. Goliath, Snow White vs. the Witch, and even Luke Skywalker battling Darth Vader.

Sato scratched her head as they turned a corner and followed Anderson down a short flight of stairs. "Tell me this. If I'm not mistaken, pyramids were once considered mystical portals through which the deceased pharaohs could ascend to the gods, were they not?"

"True."

Sato stopped short and caught Langdon's arm, glaring up at him with an expression somewhere between surprise and disbelief. "You're saying Peter Solomon's captor told you to find a hidden portal, and it didn't occur to you that he was talking about the Masonic Pyramid from this legend?"

"By any name, the Masonic Pyramid is a fairy tale. It's purely fantasy."

Sato stepped closer to him now, and Langdon could smell her cigarette breath. "I understand your position on that, Professor, but for the sake of my investigation, the parallel is hard to ignore. A portal leading to secret knowledge? To my ear, this sounds a lot like what Peter Solomon's captor claims you, alone, can unlock."

"Well, I can hardly believe--"

"What you believe is not the point. No matter what you believe, you must concede that this man might himself believe that the Masonic Pyramid is real."

"The man's a lunatic! He may well believe that SBB Thirteen is the entrance to a giant underground pyramid that contains all the lost wisdom of the ancients!"

Sato stood perfectly still, her eyes seething. "The crisis I am facing tonight is not a fairy tale, Professor. It is quite real, I assure you."

A cold silence hung between them. "Ma'am?" Anderson finally said, gesturing to another secure door ten feet away. "We're almost there, if you'd like to continue." Sato finally broke eye contact with Langdon, motioning for Anderson to move on. They followed the security chief through the secure doorway, which deposited them in a narrow passage. Langdon looked left and then right.

You've got to be kidding.

He was standing in the longest hallway he had ever seen.

CHAPTER 31

Trish Dunne felt the familiar surge of adrenaline as she exited the bright lights of the Cube and moved into the raw darkness of the void. The SMSC's front gate had just called to say that Katherine's guest, Dr. Abaddon, had arrived and required an escort back to Pod 5. Trish had offered to bring him back, mostly out of curiosity. Katherine had said very little about the man who would be visiting them, and Trish was intrigued. The man was apparently someone Peter Solomon trusted deeply; the Solomons never invited anyone back to the Cube. This was a first.

I hope he handles the crossing okay, Trish thought as she moved through the frigid darkness. The last thing she needed was Katherine's VIP panicking when he realized what he had to do to get to the lab. The first time is always the worst.

Trish's first time had been about a year ago. She had accepted Katherine's job offer, signed a nondisclosure, and then come to the SMSC with Katherine to see the lab. The two women had walked the length of "The Street," arriving at a metal door marked POD 5. Even though Katherine had tried to prepare her by describing the lab's remote location, Trish was not ready for what she saw when the pod door hissed open.

The void.

Katherine stepped over the threshold, walked a few feet into the perfect blackness, and then motioned for Trish to follow. "Trust me. You won't get lost."

Trish pictured herself wandering in a pitch-black, stadium-size room and broke a sweat at the mere thought.

"We have a guidance system to keep you on track." Katherine pointed to the floor. "Very low- tech."

Trish squinted through the darkness at the rough cement floor. It took a moment to see it in the darkness, but there was a narrow carpet runner that had been laid down in a straight line. The carpet ran like a roadway, disappearing into the darkness.

"See with your feet," Katherine said, turning and walking off. "Just follow right behind me."

As Katherine disappeared into the blackness, Trish swallowed her fear and followed. This is insane! She had taken only a few steps down the carpet when the Pod 5 door swung shut behind her, snuffing out the last faint hint of light. Pulse racing, Trish turned all of her attention to the feeling of the carpet beneath her feet. She had ventured only a handful of steps down the soft runner when she felt the side of her right foot hit hard cement. Startled, she instinctively corrected to the left, getting both feet back on soft carpet.

Katherine's voice materialized up ahead in the blackness, her words almost entirely swallowed by the lifeless acoustics of this abyss. "The human body is amazing," she said. "If you deprive it of one sensory input, the other senses take over, almost instantly. Right now, the nerves in your feet are literally `tuning' themselves to become more sensitive."

Good thing, Trish thought, correcting course again.

They walked in silence for what seemed entirely too long. "How much farther?" Trish finally asked.

"We're about halfway." Katherine's voice sounded more distant now.

Trish sped up, doing her best to stay composed, but the breadth of the darkness felt like it would engulf her. I can't see one millimeter in front of my face! "Katherine? How do you know when to stop walking?"

"You'll know in a moment," Katherine said.

That was a year ago, and now, tonight, Trish was once again in the void, heading in the opposite direction, out to the lobby to retrieve her boss's guest. A sudden change in carpet texture beneath her feet alerted her that she was three yards from the exit. The warning track, as it was called by Peter Solomon, an avid baseball fan. Trish stopped short, pulled out her key card, and groped in the darkness along the wall until she found the raised slot and inserted her card.

The door hissed open.

Trish squinted into the welcoming light of the SMSC hallway.

Made it . . . again.

Moving through the deserted corridors, Trish found herself thinking about the bizarre redacted file they had found on a secure network. Ancient portal? Secret location underground? She wondered if Mark Zoubianis was having any luck figuring out where the mysterious document was located. Inside the control room, Katherine stood in the soft glow of the plasma wall and gazed up at the enigmatic document they had uncovered. She had isolated her key phrases now and felt increasingly certain that the document was talking about the same far-flung legend that her brother had apparently shared with Dr. Abaddon.

. . . secret location UNDERGROUND where the . . .

. . . somewhere in WASHINGTON, D.C., the coordinates . . .

. . . uncovered an ANCIENT PORTAL that led . . .

. . . warning the PYRAMID holds dangerous . . .

. . . decipher this ENGRAVED SYMBOLON to unveil . . .

I need to see the rest of the file, Katherine thought.

She stared a moment longer and then flipped the plasma wall's power switch. Katherine always turned off this energy-intensive display so as not to waste the fuel cell's liquid hydrogen reserves.

She watched as her keywords slowly faded, collapsing down into a tiny white dot, which hovered in the middle of the wall and then finally twinkled out.

She turned and walked back toward her office. Dr. Abaddon would be arriving momentarily, and she wanted to make him feel welcome.

CHAPTER 32 "Almost there," Anderson said, guiding Langdon and Sato down the seemingly endless corridor that ran the entire length of the Capitol's eastern foundation. "In Lincoln's day, this passage had a dirt floor and was filled with rats."

Langdon felt grateful the floor had been tiled; he was not a big fan of rats. The group continued on, their footfalls drumming up an eerie, uneven echo in the long passageway. Doorways lined the long hallway, some closed but many ajar. Many of the rooms down on this level looked abandoned. Langdon noticed the numbers on the doors were now descending and, after a while, seemed to be running out.

SB4 . . . SB3 . . . SB2 . . . SB1 . . .

They continued past an unmarked door, but Anderson stopped short when the numbers began ascending again.

HB1 . . . HB2 . . .

"Sorry," Anderson said. "Missed it. I almost never come down this deep."

The group backed up a few yards to an old metal door, which Langdon now realized was located at the hallway's central point--the meridian that divided the Senate Basement (SB) and the House Basement (HB). As it turned out, the door was indeed marked, but its engraving was so faded, it was almost imperceptible.

SBB

"Here we are," Anderson said. "Keys will be arriving any moment."

Sato frowned and checked her watch.

Langdon eyed the SBB marking and asked Anderson, "Why is this space associated with the Senate side even though it's in the middle?"

Anderson looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"It says SBB, which begins with an S, not an H."

Anderson shook his head. "The S in SBB doesn't stand for Senate. It--"

"Chief?" a guard called out in the distance. He came jogging up the hallway toward them, holding out a key. "Sorry, sir, it took a few minutes. We couldn't locate the main SBB key. This is a spare from an auxiliary box."

"The original is missing?" Anderson said, sounding surprised.

"Probably lost," the guard replied, arriving out of breath. "Nobody has requested access down here for ages."

Anderson took the key. "No secondary key for SBB Thirteen?"

"Sorry, so far we're not finding keys for any of the rooms in the SBB. MacDonald's on it now." The guard pulled out his radio and spoke into it. "Bob? I'm with the chief. Any additional info yet on the key for SBB Thirteen?"

The guard's radio crackled, and a voice replied, "Actually, yeah. It's strange. I'm seeing no entries since we computerized, but the hard logs indicate all the storage rooms in the SBB were cleaned out and abandoned more than twenty years ago. They're now listed as unused space." He paused. "All except for SBB Thirteen."

Anderson grabbed the radio. "This is the chief. What do you mean, all except SBB Thirteen?"

"Well, sir," the voice replied, "I've got a handwritten notation here that designates SBB Thirteen as `private.' It was a long time ago, but it's written and initialed by the Architect himself."

The term Architect, Langdon knew, was not a reference to the man who had designed the Capitol, but rather to the man who ran it. Similar to a building manager, the man appointed as Architect of the Capitol was in charge of everything including maintenance, restoration, security, hiring personnel, and assigning offices.

"The strange thing . . ." the voice on the radio said, "is that the Architect's notation indicates that this `private space' was set aside for the use of Peter Solomon."

Langdon, Sato, and Anderson all exchanged startled looks.

"I'm guessing, sir," the voice continued, "that Mr. Solomon has our primary key to the SBB as well as any keys to SBB Thirteen."

Langdon could not believe his ears. Peter has a private room in the basement of the Capitol? He had always known Peter Solomon had secrets, but this was surprising even to Langdon.

"Okay," Anderson said, clearly unamused. "We're hoping to get access to SBB Thirteen specifically, so keep looking for a secondary key."

"Will do, sir. We're also working on the digital image that you requested--"

"Thank you," Anderson interrupted, pressing the talk button and cutting him off. "That will be all. Send that file to Director Sato's BlackBerry as soon as you have it."

"Understood, sir." The radio went silent.

Anderson handed the radio back to the guard in front of them. The guard pulled out a photocopy of a blueprint and handed it to his chief. "Sir, the SBB is in gray, and we've notated with an X which room is SBB Thirteen, so it shouldn't be hard to find. The area is quite small."

Anderson thanked the guard and turned his focus to the blueprint as the young man hurried off. Langdon looked on, surprised to see the astonishing number of cubicles that made up the bizarre maze beneath the U.S. Capitol.

Anderson studied the blueprint for a moment, nodded, and then stuffed it into his pocket. Turning to the door marked SBB, he raised the key, but hesitated, looking uneasy about opening it. Langdon felt similar misgivings; he had no idea what was behind this door, but he was quite certain that whatever Solomon had hidden down here, he wanted to keep private. Very private.

Sato cleared her throat, and Anderson got the message. The chief took a deep breath, inserted the key, and tried to turn it. The key didn't move. For a split second, Langdon felt hopeful the key was wrong. On the second try, though, the lock turned, and Anderson heaved the door open.

As the heavy door creaked outward, damp air rushed out into the corridor.

Langdon peered into the darkness but could see nothing at all.

"Professor," Anderson said, glancing back at Langdon as he groped blindly for a light switch. "To answer your question, the S in SBB doesn't stand for Senate. It stands for sub."

"Sub?" Langdon asked, puzzled.

Anderson nodded and flicked the switch just inside the door. A single bulb illuminated an alarmingly steep staircase descending into inky blackness. "SBB is the Capitol's subbasement." CHAPTER 33

Systems security specialist Mark Zoubianis was sinking deeper into his futon and scowling at the information on his laptop screen.

What the hell kind of address is this?

His best hacking tools were entirely ineffective at breaking into the document or at unmasking Trish's mysterious IP address. Ten minutes had passed, and Zoubianis's program was still pounding away in vain at the network firewalls. They showed little hope of penetration. No wonder they're overpaying me. He was about to retool and try a different approach when his phone rang.

Trish, for Christ's sake, I said I'd call you. He muted the football game and answered. "Yeah?"

"Is this Mark Zoubianis?" a man asked. "At 357 Kingston Drive in Washington?"

Zoubianis could hear other muffled conversations in the background. A telemarketer during the play-offs? Are they insane? "Let me guess, I won a week in Anguilla?"

"No," the voice replied with no trace of humor. "This is systems security for the Central Intelligence Agency. We would like to know why you are attempting to hack one of our classified databases?"

Three stories above the Capitol Building's subbasement, in the wide-open spaces of the visitor center, security guard Nu�ez locked the main entry doors as he did every night at this time. As he headed back across the expansive marble floors, he thought of the man in the army-surplus jacket with the tattoos.

I let him in. Nu�ez wondered if he would have a job tomorrow.

As he headed toward the escalator, a sudden pounding on the outside doors caused him to turn. He squinted back toward the main entrance and saw an elderly African American man outside, rapping on the glass with his open palm and motioning to be let in.

Nu�ez shook his head and pointed to his watch.

The man pounded again and stepped into the light. He was immaculately dressed in a blue suit and had close-cropped graying hair. Nu�ez's pulse quickened. Holy shit. Even at a distance, Nu�ez now recognized who this man was. He hurried back to the entrance and unlocked the door. "I'm sorry, sir. Please, please come in."

Warren Bellamy--Architect of the Capitol--stepped across the threshold and thanked Nu�ez with a polite nod. Bellamy was lithe and slender, with an erect posture and piercing gaze that exuded the confidence of a man in full control of his surroundings. For the last twenty-five years, Bellamy had served as the supervisor of the U.S. Capitol.

"May I help you, sir?" Nu�ez asked.

"Thank you, yes." Bellamy enunciated his words with crisp precision. As a northeastern Ivy League graduate, his diction was so exacting he sounded almost British. "I've just learned that you had an incident here this evening." He looked deeply concerned.

"Yes, sir. It was--"

"Where's Chief Anderson?"

"Downstairs with Director Sato from the CIA's Office of Security."

Bellamy's eyes widened with concern. "The CIA is here?"

"Yes, sir. Director Sato arrived almost immediately after the incident."

"Why?" Bellamy demanded.

Nu�ez shrugged. As if I was going to ask?

Bellamy strode directly toward the escalators. "Where are they?"

"They just went to the lower levels." Nu�ez hastened after him.

Bellamy glanced back with a look of concern. "Downstairs? Why?" "I don't really know--I just heard it on my radio."

Bellamy was moving faster now. "Take me to them right away."

"Yes, sir."

As the two men hurried across the open expanse, Nu�ez caught a glimpse of a large golden ring on Bellamy's finger.

Nu�ez pulled out his radio. "I'll alert the chief that you're coming down."

"No." Bellamy's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'd prefer to be unannounced."

Nu�ez had made some big mistakes tonight, but failing to alert Chief Anderson that the Architect was now in the building would be his last. "Sir?" he said, uneasy. "I think Chief Anderson would prefer--"

"You are aware that I employ Mr. Anderson?" Bellamy said.

Nu�ez nodded.

"Then I think he would prefer you obey my wishes."

CHAPTER 34

Trish Dunne entered the SMSC lobby and looked up with surprise. The guest waiting here looked nothing like the usual bookish, flannel-clad doctors who entered this building--those of anthropology, oceanography, geology, and other scientific fields. Quite to the contrary, Dr. Abaddon looked almost aristocratic in his impeccably tailored suit. He was tall, with a broad torso, well-tanned face, and perfectly combed blond hair that gave Trish the impression he was more accustomed to luxuries than to laboratories.

"Dr. Abaddon, I presume?" Trish said, extending her hand.

The man looked uncertain, but he took Trish's plump hand in his broad palm. "I'm sorry. And you are?"

"Trish Dunne," she replied. "I'm Katherine's assistant. She asked me to escort you back to her lab."

"Oh, I see." The man smiled now. "Very nice to meet you, Trish. My apologies if I seemed confused. I was under the impression Katherine was here alone this evening." He motioned down the hall. "But I'm all yours. Lead the way."

Despite the man's quick recovery, Trish had seen the flash of disappointment in his eyes. She now suspected the motive for Katherine's secrecy earlier about Dr. Abaddon. A budding romance, maybe? Katherine never discussed her social life, but her visitor was attractive and well-groomed, and although younger than Katherine, he clearly came from her world of wealth and privilege. Nonetheless, whatever Dr. Abaddon had imagined tonight's visit might entail, Trish's presence did not seem to be part of his plan.

At the lobby's security checkpoint, a lone guard quickly pulled off his headphones, and Trish could hear the Redskins game blaring. The guard put Dr. Abaddon through the usual visitor routine of metal detectors and temporary security badges. "Who's winning?" Dr. Abaddon said affably as he emptied his pockets of a cell phone, some keys, and a cigarette lighter.

"Skins by three," the guard said, sounding eager to get back. "Helluva game."

"Mr. Solomon will be arriving shortly," Trish told the guard. "Would you please send him back to the lab once he arrives?"

"Will do." The guard gave an appreciative wink as they passed through. "Thanks for the heads- up. I'll look busy."

Trish's comment had been not only for the benefit of the guard but also to remind Dr. Abaddon that Trish was not the only one intruding on his private evening here with Katherine.

"So how do you know Katherine?" Trish asked, glancing up at the mysterious guest.

Dr. Abaddon chuckled. "Oh, it's a long story. We've been working on something together."

Understood, Trish thought. None of my business.

"This is an amazing facility," Abaddon said, glancing around as they moved down the massive corridor. "I've never actually been here."

His airy tone was becoming more genial with every step, and Trish noticed he was actively taking it all in. In the bright lights of the hallway, she also noticed that his face looked like he had a fake tan. Odd. Nonetheless, as they navigated the deserted corridors, Trish gave him a general synopsis of the SMSC's purpose and function, including the various pods and their contents.

The visitor looked impressed. "Sounds like this place has a treasure trove of priceless artifacts. I would have expected guards posted everywhere."

"No need," Trish said, motioning to the row of fish-eye lenses lining the ceiling high above. "Security here is automated. Every inch of this corridor is recorded twenty-four/seven, and this corridor is the spine of the facility. It's impossible to access any of the rooms off this corridor without a key card and PIN number."

"Efficient use of cameras."

"Knock on wood, we've never had a theft. Then again, this is not the kind of museum anyone would rob--there's not much call on the black market for extinct flowers, Inuit kayaks, or giant squid carcasses."

Dr. Abaddon chuckled. "I suppose you're right." "Our biggest security threat is rodents and insects." Trish explained how the building prevented insect infestations by freezing all SMSC refuse and also by an architectural feature called a "dead zone"--an inhospitable compartment between double walls, which surrounded the entire building like a sheath.

"Incredible," Abaddon said. "So, where is Katherine and Peter's lab?"

"Pod Five," Trish said. "It's all the way at the end of this hallway."

Abaddon halted suddenly, spinning to his right, toward a small window. "My word! Will you look at that!"

Trish laughed. "Yeah, that's Pod Three. They call it Wet Pod."

"Wet?" Abaddon said, face pressed to the glass.

"There are over three thousand gallons of liquid ethanol in there. Remember the giant squid carcass I mentioned earlier?"

"That's the squid?!" Dr. Abaddon turned from the window momentarily, his eyes wide. "It's huge!"

"A female Architeuthis," Trish said. "She's over forty feet."

Dr. Abaddon, apparently enraptured by the sight of the squid, seemed unable to pull his eyes away from the glass. For a moment, the grown man reminded Trish of a little boy at a pet-store window, wishing he could go in and see a puppy. Five seconds later, he was still staring longingly through the window.

"Okay, okay," Trish finally said, laughing as she inserted her key card and typed her PIN number. "Come on. I'll show you the squid."

As Mal'akh stepped into the dimly lit world of Pod 3, he scanned the walls for security cameras. Katherine's pudgy little assistant began rattling on about the specimens in this room. Mal'akh tuned her out. He had no interest whatsoever in giant squids. His only interest was in using this dark, private space to solve an unexpected problem.

CHAPTER 35

The wooden stairs descending to the Capitol's subbasement were as steep and shallow as any stairs Langdon had ever traversed. His breathing was faster now, and his lungs felt tight. The air down here was cold and damp, and Langdon couldn't help but flash on a similar set of stairs he had taken a few years back into the Vatican's Necropolis. The City of the Dead.

Ahead of him, Anderson led the way with his flashlight. Behind Langdon, Sato followed closely, her tiny hands occasionally pressing into Langdon's back. I'm going as fast as I can. Langdon inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the cramped walls on either side of him. There was barely room for his shoulders on this staircase, and his daybag now scraped down the sidewall.

"Maybe you should leave your bag above," Sato offered behind him.

"I'm fine," Langdon replied, having no intention of letting it out of his sight. He pictured Peter's little package and could not begin to imagine how it might relate to anything in the subbasement of the U.S. Capitol.

"Just a few more steps," Anderson said. "Almost there."

The group had descended into darkness, moving beyond the reach of the staircase's lone lightbulb. When Langdon stepped off the final wooden tread, he could feel that the floor beneath his feet was dirt. Journey to the center of the Earth. Sato stepped down behind him.

Anderson now raised his beam, examining their surroundings. The subbasement was less of a basement than it was an ultranarrow corridor that ran perpendicular to the stairs. Anderson shone his light left and then right, and Langdon could see the passage was only about fifty feet long and lined on both sides with small wooden doors. The doors abutted one another so closely that the rooms behind them could not have been more than ten feet wide.

ACME Storage meets the Catacombs of Domatilla, Langdon thought as Anderson consulted the blueprint. The tiny section depicting the subbasement was marked with an X to show the location of SBB13. Langdon couldn't help but notice that the layout was identical to a fourteen-tomb mausoleum--seven vaults facing seven vaults--with one removed to accommodate the stairs they had just descended. Thirteen in all. He suspected America's "thirteen" conspiracy theorists would have a field day if they knew there were exactly thirteen storage rooms buried beneath the U.S. Capitol. Some found it suspicious that the Great Seal of the United States had thirteen stars, thirteen arrows, thirteen pyramid steps, thirteen shield stripes, thirteen olive leaves, thirteen olives, thirteen letters in annuit coeptis, thirteen letters in e pluribus unum, and on and on.

"It does look abandoned," Anderson said, shining the beam into the chamber directly in front of them. The heavy wooden door was wide open. The shaft of light illuminated a narrow stone chamber--about ten feet wide by some thirty feet deep--like a dead-end hallway to nowhere. The chamber contained nothing more than a couple of old collapsed wooden boxes and some crumpled packing paper.

Anderson shone his light on a copper plate mounted on the door. The plate was covered with verdigris, but the old marking was legible:

SBB IV

"SBB Four," Anderson said.

"Which one is SBB Thirteen?" Sato asked, faint wisps of steam curling out of her mouth in the cold subterranean air.

Anderson turned the beam toward the south end of the corridor. "Down there."

Langdon peered down the narrow passage and shivered, feeling a light sweat despite the cold.

As they moved through the phalanx of doorways, all of the rooms looked the same, doors ajar, apparently abandoned long ago. When they reached the end of the line, Anderson turned to his right, raising the beam to peer into room SBB13. The flashlight beam, however, was impeded by a heavy wooden door.

Unlike the others, the door to SBB13 was closed.

This final door looked exactly like the others--heavy hinges, iron handle, and a copper number plate encrusted with green. The seven characters on the number plate were the same characters on Peter's palm upstairs.

SBB XIII

Please tell me the door is locked, Langdon thought.

Sato spoke without hesitation. "Try the door."

The police chief looked uneasy, but he reached out, grasped the heavy iron handle, and pushed down on it. The handle didn't budge. He shone the light now, illuminating a heavy, old- fashioned lock plate and keyhole.

"Try the master key," Sato said.

Anderson produced the main key from the entry door upstairs, but it was not even close to fitting.

"Am I mistaken," Sato said, her tone sarcastic, "or shouldn't Security have access to every corner of a building in case of emergency?"

Anderson exhaled and looked back at Sato. "Ma'am, my men are checking for a secondary key, but--"

"Shoot the lock," she said, nodding toward the key plate beneath the lever.

Langdon's pulse leaped.

Anderson cleared his throat, sounding uneasy. "Ma'am, I'm waiting for news on a secondary key. I am not sure I'm comfortable blasting our way into--"

"Perhaps you'd be more comfortable in prison for obstructing a CIA investigation?"

Anderson looked incredulous. After a long beat, he reluctantly handed the light to Sato and unsnapped his holster.

"Wait!" Langdon said, no longer able to stand idly by. "Think about it. Peter gave up his right hand rather than reveal whatever might be behind this door. Are you sure we want to do this? Unlocking this door is essentially complying with the demands of a terrorist." "Do you want to get Peter Solomon back?" Sato asked.

"Of course, but--"

"Then I suggest you do exactly what his captor is requesting."

"Unlock an ancient portal? You think this is the portal?"

Sato shone the light in Langdon's face. "Professor, I have no idea what the hell this is. Whether it's a storage unit or the secret entrance to an ancient pyramid, I intend to open it. Do I make myself clear?"

Langdon squinted into the light and finally nodded.

Sato lowered the beam and redirected it at the door's antique key plate. "Chief? Go ahead."

Still looking averse to the plan, Anderson extracted his sidearm very, very slowly, gazing down at it with uncertainty.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Sato's tiny hands shot out, and she grabbed the weapon from him. She stuffed the flashlight into his now empty palm. "Shine the damned light." She handled the gun with the confidence of someone who had trained with weapons, wasting no time turning off the pistol's safety, cocking the weapon, and aiming at the lock.

"Wait!" Langdon yelled, but he was too late.

The gun roared three times.

Langdon's eardrums felt like they had exploded. Is she insane?! The gunshots in the tiny space had been deafening.

Anderson also looked shaken, his hand wavering a bit as he shone the flashlight on the bullet- riddled door.

The lock mechanism was now in tatters, the wood surrounding it entirely pulverized. The lock had released, the door now having fallen ajar.

Sato extended the pistol and pressed the tip of the barrel against the door, giving it a push. The door swung fully into the blackness beyond.

Langdon peered in but could see nothing in the darkness. What in the world is that smell? An unusual, fetid odor wafted out of the darkness.

Anderson stepped into the doorway and shone the light on the floor, tracing carefully down the length of the barren dirt floor. This room was like the others--a long, narrow space. The sidewalls were rugged stone, giving the room the feel of an ancient prison cell. But that smell . . . "There's nothing here," Anderson said, moving the beam farther down the chamber floor. Finally, as the beam reached the end of the floor, he raised it up to illuminate the chamber's farthest wall.

"My God . . . !" Anderson shouted.

Everyone saw it and jumped back.

Langdon stared in disbelief at the deepest recess of the chamber.

To his horror, something was staring back.

CHAPTER 36

"What in God's name . . . ?" At the threshold of SBB13, Anderson fumbled with his light and retreated a step.

Langdon also recoiled, as did Sato, who looked startled for the first time all night.

Sato aimed the gun at the back wall and motioned for Anderson to shine the light again. Anderson raised the light. The beam was dim by the time it reached the far wall, but the light was enough to illuminate the shape of a pallid and ghostly face, staring back at them through lifeless sockets.

A human skull.

The skull sat atop a rickety wooden desk positioned against the rear wall of the chamber. Two human leg bones sat beside the skull, along with a collection of other items that were meticulously arranged on the desk in shrinelike fashion--an antique hourglass, a crystal flask, a candle, two saucers of pale powder, and a sheet of paper. Propped against the wall beside the desk stood the fearsome shape of a long scythe, its curved blade as familiar as that of the grim reaper.

Sato stepped into the room. "Well, now . . . it appears Peter Solomon keeps more secrets than I imagined."

Anderson nodded, inching after her. "Talk about skeletons in your closet." He raised the light and surveyed the rest of the empty chamber. "And that smell?" he added, crinkling his nose. "What is it?" "Sulfur," Langdon replied evenly behind them. "There should be two saucers on the desk. The saucer on the right will contain salt. And the other sulfur."

Sato wheeled in disbelief. "How the hell would you know that?!"

"Because, ma'am, there are rooms exactly like this all over the world."

One story above the subbasement, Capitol security guard Nu�ez escorted the Architect of the Capitol, Warren Bellamy, down the long hallway that ran the length of the eastern basement. Nu�ez could have sworn that he had just heard three gunshots down here, muffled and underground.

There's no way.

"Subbasement door is open," Bellamy said, squinting down the hallway at a door that stood ajar in the distance.

Strange evening indeed, Nu�ez thought. Nobody goes down there. "I'll be glad to find out what's going on," he said, reaching for his radio.

"Go back to your duties," Bellamy said. "I'm fine from here."

Nu�ez shifted uneasily. "You sure?"

Warren Bellamy stopped, placing a firm hand on Nu�ez's shoulder. "Son, I've worked here for twenty-five years. I think I can find my way."

CHAPTER 37

Mal'akh had seen some eerie spaces in his life, but few rivaled the unearthly world of Pod 3. Wet Pod. The massive room looked as if a mad scientist had taken over a Walmart and packed every aisle and shelf with specimen jars of all shapes and sizes. Lit like a photographic darkroom, the space was bathed in a reddish haze of "safelight" that emanated from beneath the shelves, filtering upward and illuminating the ethanol-filled containers. The clinical smell of preservative chemicals was nauseating.

"This pod houses over twenty thousand species," the chubby girl was saying. "Fish, rodents, mammals, reptiles." "All dead, I hope?" Mal'akh asked, making a show of sounding nervous.

The girl laughed. "Yes, yes. All very much dead. I'll admit, I didn't dare come in for at least six months after I started work."

Mal'akh could understand why. Everywhere he looked there were specimen jars of dead life- forms--salamanders, jellyfish, rats, bugs, birds, and other things he could not begin to identify. As if this collection were not unsettling enough on its own, the hazy red safelights that protected these photosensitive specimens from long-term light exposure gave the visitor the feeling he was standing inside a giant aquarium, where lifeless creatures were somehow congregating to watch from the shadows.

"That's a coelacanth," the girl said, pointing to a big Plexiglas container that held the ugliest fish Mal'akh had ever seen. "They were thought to be extinct with the dinosaurs, but this was caught off Africa a few years back and donated to the Smithsonian."

Lucky you, Mal'akh thought, barely listening. He was busy scanning the walls for security cameras. He saw only one--trained on the entry door--not surprising, considering that entrance was probably the only way in.

"And here is what you wanted to see . . ." she said, leading him to the giant tank he had seen from the window. "Our longest specimen." She swept her arm out over the vile creature like a game-show host displaying a new car. "Architeuthis."

The squid tank looked like a series of glass phone booths had been laid on their sides and fused end to end. Within the long, clear Plexiglas coffin hovered a sickeningly pale and amorphous shape. Mal'akh gazed down at the bulbous, saclike head and its basketball-size eyes. "Almost makes your coelacanth look handsome," he said.

"Wait till you see her lit."

Trish flipped back the long lid of the tank. Ethanol fumes wafted out as she reached down into the tank and flipped a switch just above the liquid line. A string of fluorescent lights flickered to life along the entire base of the tank. Architeuthis was now shining in all her glory--a colossal head attached to a slithery mass of decaying tentacles and razor-sharp suckers.

She began talking about how Architeuthis could beat a sperm whale in a fight.

Mal'akh heard only empty prattling.

The time had come.

Trish Dunne always felt a bit uneasy in Pod 3, but the chill that had just run through her felt different.

Visceral. Primal. She tried to ignore it, but it grew quickly now, clawing deeply at her. Although Trish could not seem to place the source of her anxiety, her gut was clearly telling her it was time to leave.

"Anyhow, that's the squid," she said, reaching into the tank and turning off the display light. "We should probably get back to Katherine's--"

A broad palm clamped hard over her mouth, yanking her head back. Instantly, a powerful arm was wrapped around her torso, pinning her against a rock-hard chest. For a split second, Trish went numb with shock.

Then came the terror.

The man groped across her chest, grabbing her key card and yanking down hard. The cord burned the back of her neck before snapping. The key card fell on the floor at their feet. She fought, trying to twist away, but she was no match for the man's size and strength. She tried to scream, but his hand remained tightly across her mouth. He leaned down and placed his mouth next to her ear, whispering, "When I take my hand off your mouth, you will not scream, is that clear?"

She nodded vigorously, her lungs burning for air. I can't breathe!

The man removed his hand from her mouth, and Trish gasped, inhaling deeply.

"Let me go!" she demanded, breathless. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Tell me your PIN number," the man said.

Trish felt totally at a loss. Katherine! Help! Who is this man?! "Security can see you!" she said, knowing full well they were out of range of the cameras. And nobody is watching anyway.

"Your PIN number," the man repeated. "The one that matches your key card."

An icy fear churned in her gut, and Trish spun violently, wriggling an arm free and twisting around, clawing at the man's eyes. Her fingers hit flesh and raked down one cheek. Four dark gashes opened on his flesh where she scratched him. Then she realized the dark stripes on his flesh were not blood. The man was wearing makeup, which she had just scratched off, revealing dark tattoos hidden underneath.

Who is this monster?!

With seemingly superhuman strength, the man spun her around and hoisted her up, pushing her out over the open squid tank, her face now over the ethanol. The fumes burned her nostrils.

"What is your PIN number?" he repeated. Her eyes burned, and she could see the pale flesh of the squid submerged beneath her face.

"Tell me," he said, pushing her face closer to the surface. "What is it?"

Her throat was burning now. "Zero-eight-zero-four!" she blurted, barely able to breathe. "Let me go! Zero-eight-zero-four!"

"If you're lying," he said, pushing down farther, her hair in the ethanol now.

"I'm not lying!" she said, coughing. "August 4! It's my birthday!"

"Thank you, Trish."

His powerful hands clasped her head tighter, and a crushing force rammed her downward, plunging her face into the tank. Searing pain burned her eyes. The man pressed down harder, driving her whole head under the ethanol. Trish felt her face pressing into the fleshy head of the squid.

Summoning all of her strength, she bucked violently, arching backward, trying to pull her head out of the tank. But the powerful hands did not budge.

I have to breathe!

She remained submerged, straining not to open her eyes or mouth. Her lungs burned as she fought the powerful urge to breathe in. No! Don't! But Trish's inhalation reflex finally took over.

Her mouth flew open, and her lungs expanded violently, attempting to suck in the oxygen that her body craved. In a searing rush, a wave of ethanol poured into her mouth. As the chemicals gushed down her throat into her lungs, Trish felt a pain like nothing she had ever imagined possible. Mercifully, it lasted only a few seconds before her world went black.

Mal'akh stood beside the tank, catching his breath and surveying the damage.

The lifeless woman lay slumped over the rim of the tank, her face still submerged in ethanol. Seeing her there, Mal'akh flashed on the only other woman he had ever killed.

Isabel Solomon.

Long ago. Another life.

Mal'akh gazed down now at the woman's flaccid corpse. He grabbed her ample hips and lifted with his legs, hoisting her up, pushing forward, until she began to slide over the rim of the squid tank. Trish Dunne slithered headfirst down into the ethanol. The rest of her body followed, sloshing down. Gradually, the ripples subsided, leaving the woman hovering limp over the huge sea creature. As her clothing got heavier, she began to sink, slipping into the darkness. Bit by bit, Trish Dunne's body settled on top of the great beast. Mal'akh wiped his hands and replaced the Plexiglas lid, sealing the tank.

Wet Pod has a new specimen.

He retrieved Trish's key card from the floor and slipped it in his pocket: 0804.

When Mal'akh had first seen Trish in the lobby, he'd seen a liability. Then he'd realized her key card and password were his insurance. If Katherine's data-storage room was as secure as Peter had implied, then Mal'akh was anticipating some challenges persuading Katherine to unlock it for him. I now have my own set of keys. He was pleased to know he would no longer have to waste time bending Katherine to his will.

As Mal'akh stood up straight, he saw his own reflection in the window and could tell his makeup was badly mangled. It didn't matter anymore. By the time Katherine put it all together, it would be too late.

CHAPTER 38

"This room is Masonic?" Sato demanded, turning from the skull and staring at Langdon in the darkness.

Langdon nodded calmly. "It's called a Chamber of Reflection. These rooms are designed as cold, austere places in which a Mason can reflect on his own mortality. By meditating on the inevitability of death, a Mason gains a valuable perspective on the fleeting nature of life."

Sato looked around the eerie space, apparently not convinced. "This is some kind of meditation room?"

"Essentially, yes. These chambers always incorporate the same symbols--skull and crossed bones, scythe, hourglass, sulfur, salt, blank paper, a candle, et cetera. The symbols of death inspire Masons to ponder how better to lead their lives while on this earth."

"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."

CHAPTER 39

Robert Langdon stared 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."

CHAPTER 40

What's taking Trish 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.

CHAPTER 41

Robert Langdon studied 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!"

CHAPTER 42

The African American man 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 Nu�ez," 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." Nu�ez 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 Nu�ez?"

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."

"Peter is in terrible trouble. His hand . . ."

"I know." Bellamy sounded grim. "That's not the half of it, I'm afraid."

They reached the end of the lit section of corridor, and the passageway took an abrupt left. The remaining length of corridor, wherever it went, was pitch-black. "Hold on," Bellamy said, disappearing into a nearby electrical room from which a tangle of heavy-duty orange extension cords snaked out, running away from them into the darkness of the corridor. Langdon waited while Bellamy rooted around inside. The Architect must have located the switch that sent power to the extension cords, because suddenly the route before them became illuminated.

Langdon could only stare.

Washington, D.C.--like Rome--was a city laced with secret passageways and underground tunnels. The passage before them now reminded Langdon of the passetto tunnel connecting the Vatican to Castel Sant'Angelo. Long. Dark. Narrow. Unlike the ancient passetto, however, this passage was modern and not yet complete. It was a slender construction zone that was so long it seemed to narrow to nothing at its distant end. The only lighting was a string of intermittent construction bulbs that did little more than accentuate the tunnel's impossible length.

Bellamy was already heading down the passage. "Follow me. Watch your step."

Langdon felt himself fall into step behind Bellamy, wondering where on earth this tunnel led.

At that moment, Mal'akh stepped out of Pod 3 and strode briskly down the deserted main corridor of the SMSC toward Pod 5. He clutched Trish's key card in his hand and quietly whispered, "Zero-eight-zero-four."

Something else was cycling through his mind as well. Mal'akh had just received an urgent message from the Capitol Building. My contact has run into unforeseen difficulties. Even so, the news remained encouraging: Robert Langdon now possessed both the pyramid and the capstone. Despite the unexpected way in which it had happened, the crucial pieces were falling into place. It was almost as if destiny itself were guiding tonight's events, ensuring Mal'akh's victory.

CHAPTER 43

Langdon hurried to keep pace with Warren Bellamy's brisk footsteps as they moved without a word down the long tunnel. So far, the Architect of the Capitol appeared far more intent on putting distance between Sato and this stone pyramid than he did on explaining to Langdon what was going on. Langdon had a growing apprehension that there was far more going on than he could imagine.

The CIA? The Architect of the Capitol? Two Thirty-third-degree Masons? The shrill sound of Langdon's cell phone cut the air. He pulled his phone from his jacket. Uncertain, he answered. "Hello?" The voice that spoke was an eerie, familiar whisper. "Professor, I hear you had unexpected company."

Langdon felt an icy chill. "Where the hell is Peter?!" he demanded, his words reverberating in the enclosed tunnel. Beside him, Warren Bellamy glanced over, looking concerned and motioning for Langdon to keep walking.

"Don't worry," the voice said. "As I told you, Peter is somewhere safe."

"You cut off his hand, for God's sake! He needs a doctor!"

"He needs a priest," the man replied. "But you can save him. If you do as I command, Peter will live. I give you my word."

"The word of a madman means nothing to me."

"Madman? Professor, surely you appreciate the reverence with which I have adhered to the ancient protocols tonight. The Hand of the Mysteries guided you to a portal--the pyramid that promises to unveil ancient wisdom. I know you now possess it."

"You think this is the Masonic Pyramid?" Langdon demanded. "It's a chunk of rock."

There was silence on the other end of the line. "Mr. Langdon, you're too smart to play dumb. You know very well what you've uncovered tonight. A stone pyramid . . . hidden at the core of Washington, D.C. . . . by a powerful Mason?"

"You're chasing a myth! Whatever Peter told you, he told you in fear.

The Legend of the Masonic Pyramid is fiction. The Masons never built any pyramid to protect secret wisdom. And even if they did, this pyramid is far too small to be what you think it is."

The man chuckled. "I see Peter has told you very little. Nonetheless, Mr. Langdon, whether or not you choose to accept what it is you now possess, you will do as I say. I am well aware that the pyramid you are carrying has an encrypted engraving. You will decipher that engraving for me. Then, and only then, will I return Peter Solomon to you."

"Whatever you believe this engraving reveals," Langdon said, "it won't be the Ancient Mysteries."

"Of course not," he replied. "The mysteries are far too vast to be written on the side of a little stone pyramid."

The response caught Langdon off guard. "But if this engraving is not the Ancient Mysteries, then this pyramid is not the Masonic Pyramid. Legend clearly states the Masonic Pyramid was constructed to protect the Ancient Mysteries." The man's tone was condescending now. "Mr. Langdon, the Masonic Pyramid was constructed to preserve the Ancient Mysteries, but with a twist you've apparently not yet grasped. Did Peter never tell you? The power of the Masonic Pyramid is not that it reveals the mysteries themselves . . . but rather that it reveals the secret location where the mysteries are buried."

Langdon did a double take.

"Decipher the engraving," the voice continued, "and it will tell you the hiding place of mankind's greatest treasure." He laughed. "Peter did not entrust you with the treasure itself, Professor."

Langdon came to an abrupt halt in the tunnel. "Hold on. You're saying this pyramid is . . . a map?

" Bellamy jolted to a stop now, too, his expression one of shock and alarm. Clearly, the caller had just hit a raw nerve. The pyramid is a map.

"This map," the voice whispered, "or pyramid, or portal, or whatever you choose to call it . . . was created long ago to ensure the hiding place of the Ancient Mysteries would never be forgotten . . . that it would never be lost to history."

"A grid of sixteen symbols doesn't look much like a map."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Professor. But regardless, you alone have the power to read that inscription."

"You're wrong," Langdon fired back, picturing the simplistic cipher. "Anyone could decipher this engraving. It's not very sophisticated."

"I suspect there is more to the pyramid than meets the eye. Regardless, you alone possess the capstone."

Langdon pictured the little capstone in his bag. Order from chaos? He didn't know what to believe anymore, but the stone pyramid in his bag seemed to be getting heavier with every passing moment.

Mal'akh pressed the cell phone to his ear, enjoying the sound of Langdon's anxious breathing on the other end. "Right now, I have business to attend to, Professor, and so do you. Call me as soon as you have deciphered the map. We will go together to the hiding place and make our trade. Peter's life . . . for all the wisdom of the ages."

"I will do nothing," Langdon declared. "Especially not without proof Peter is alive."

"I suggest you not test me. You are a very small cog in a vast machine. If you disobey me, or attempt to find me, Peter will die. This I swear." "For all I know, Peter is already dead."

"He is very much alive, Professor, but he desperately needs your help."

"What are you really looking for?" Langdon shouted into the phone.

Mal'akh paused before answering. "Many people have pursued the Ancient Mysteries and debated their power. Tonight, I will prove the mysteries are real."

Langdon was silent.

"I suggest you get to work on the map immediately," Mal'akh said. "I need this information today."

"Today?! It's already after nine o'clock!"

"Exactly. Tempus fugit."

CHAPTER 44

New York editor Jonas Faukman was just turning off the lights in his Manhattan office when his phone rang. He had no intention of picking up at this hour--that is, until he glimpsed the caller- ID display. This ought to be good, he thought, reaching for the receiver.

"Do we still publish you?" Faukman asked, half serious.

"Jonas!" Robert Langdon's voice sounded anxious. "Thank God you're there. I need your help."

Faukman's spirits lifted. "You've got pages for me to edit, Robert?" Finally?

"No, I need information. Last year, I connected you with a scientist named Katherine Solomon, the sister of Peter Solomon?"

Faukman frowned. No pages.

"She was looking for a publisher for a book on Noetic Science? Do you remember her?"

Faukman rolled his eyes. "Sure. I remember. And thanks a million for that introduction. Not only did she refuse to let me read the results of her research, she didn't want to publish anything until some magical date in the future."

"Jonas, listen to me, I don't have time. I need Katherine's phone number. Right now. Do you have it?"

"I've got to warn you . . . you're acting a little desperate. She's great looking, but you're not going to impress her by--"

"This is no joke, Jonas, I need her number now."

"All right . . . hold on." Faukman and Langdon had been close friends for enough years that Faukman knew when Langdon was serious. Jonas typed the name Katherine Solomon into a search window and began scanning the company's e-mail server.

"I'm looking now," Faukman said. "And for what it's worth, when you call her, you may not want to call from the Harvard Pool. It sounds like you're in an asylum."

"I'm not at the pool. I'm in a tunnel under the U.S. Capitol."

Faukman sensed from Langdon's voice that he was not joking. What is it with this guy? "Robert, why can't you just stay home and write?" His computer pinged. "Okay, hold on . . . I got it." He moused through the old e-mail thread. "It looks like all I have is her cell."

"I'll take it."

Faukman gave him the number.

"Thanks, Jonas," Langdon said, sounding grateful. "I owe you one."

"You owe me a manuscript, Robert. Do you have any idea how long--"

The line went dead.

Faukman stared at the receiver and shook his head. Book publishing would be so much easier without the authors.

CHAPTER 45

Katherine Solomon did a double take when she saw the name on her caller ID. She had imagined the incoming call was from Trish, checking in to explain why she and Christopher Abaddon were taking so long. But the caller was not Trish.

Far from it.

Katherine felt a blushing smile cross her lips. Could tonight get any stranger? She flipped open her phone.

"Don't tell me," she said playfully. "Bookish bachelor seeking single Noetic Scientist?"

"Katherine!" The deep voice belonged to Robert Langdon. "Thank God you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay," she replied, puzzled. "Other than the fact that you never called me after that party at Peter's house last summer."

"Something has happened tonight. Please listen." His normally smooth voice sounded ragged. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this . . . but Peter is in serious trouble."

Katherine's smile disappeared. "What are you talking about?"

"Peter . . ." Langdon hesitated as if searching for words. "I don't know how to say it, but he's been . . . taken. I'm not sure how or by whom, but--"

"Taken?" Katherine demanded. "Robert, you're scaring me. Taken . . . where?"

"Taken captive." Langdon's voice cracked as if he were overwhelmed. "It must have happened earlier today or maybe yesterday."

"This isn't funny," she said angrily. "My brother is fine. I just spoke to him fifteen minutes ago!"

"You did?!" Langdon sounded stunned.

"Yes! He just texted me to say he was coming to the lab."

"He texted you . . ." Langdon thought out loud. "But you didn't actually hear his voice?"

"No, but--"

"Listen to me. The text you received was not from your brother. Someone has Peter's phone. He's dangerous. Whoever it is tricked me into coming to Washington tonight."

"Tricked you? You're not making any sense!"

"I know, I'm so sorry." Langdon seemed uncharacteristically disorientated. "Katherine, I think you could be in danger."

Katherine Solomon was sure that Langdon would never joke about something like this, and yet he sounded like he had lost his mind. "I'm fine," she said. "I'm locked inside a secure building!"

"Read me the message you got from Peter's phone. Please."

Bewildered, Katherine pulled up the text message and read it to Langdon, feeling a chill as she came to the final part referencing Dr. Abaddon. "`If available, have Dr. Abaddon join us inside. I trust him fully . . .' "

"Oh God . . ." Langdon's voice was laced with fear. "Did you invite this man inside?"

"Yes! My assistant just went out to the lobby to get him. I expect them back any--"

"Katherine, get out!" Langdon yelled. "Now!"

At the other side of the SMSC, inside the security room, a phone began ringing, drowning out the Redskins game. The guard reluctantly pulled out his earbuds one more time.

"Lobby," he answered. "This is Kyle."

"Kyle, it's Katherine Solomon!" Her voice sounded anxious, out of breath.

"Ma'am, your brother has not yet--"

"Where's Trish?!" she demanded. "Can you see her on the monitors?"

The guard rolled his chair over to look at the screens. "She hasn't gotten back to the Cube yet?"

"No!" Katherine shouted, sounding alarmed.

The guard now realized that Katherine Solomon was out of breath, as if she were running. What's going on back there?

The guard quickly worked the video joystick, skimming through frames of digital video at rapid speed. "Okay, hold on, scrolling through playback . . . I've got Trish with your guest leaving the lobby . . . they move down the Street . . . fast-forwarding . . . okay, they're going into Wet Pod . . . Trish uses her key card to unlock the door . . . both of them step into Wet Pod . . . fast- forwarding . . . okay, here they are coming out of Wet Pod just a minute ago . . . heading down . . ." He cocked his head, slowing the playback. "Wait a minute. That's odd."

"What?"

"The gentleman came out of Wet Pod alone."

"Trish stayed inside?"

"Yes, it looks that way. I'm watching your guest now . . . he's in the hall on his own." "Where is Trish?" Katherine asked more frantically.

"I don't see her on the video feed," he replied, an edge of anxiety creeping into his voice. He looked back at the screen and noticed that the man's jacket sleeves appeared to be wet . . . all the way up to his elbows. What in the world did he do in Wet Pod? The guard watched as the man began to move purposefully down the main hallway toward Pod 5, clutching in his hand what looked like . . . a key card.

The guard felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "Ms. Solomon, we've got a serious problem."

Tonight was a night of firsts for Katherine Solomon.

In two years, she had never used her cell phone inside the void. Nor had she ever crossed the void at a dead run. At the moment, however, Katherine had a cell phone pressed to her ear while she was dashing blindly along the endless length of carpet. Each time she felt a foot stray from the carpet, she corrected back to center, racing on through the sheer darkness.

"Where is he now?" Katherine asked the guard, breathless.

"Checking now," the guard replied. "Fast-forwarding . . . okay, here he is walking down the hall . . . moving toward Pod Five . . ."

Katherine ran harder, hoping to reach the exit before she got trapped back here. "How long until he gets to the Pod Five entrance?"

The guard paused. "Ma'am, you don't understand. I'm still fast-forwarding. This is recorded playback. This already happened." He paused. "Hold on, let me check the entry event monitor." He paused and then said, "Ma'am, Ms. Dunne's key card shows a Pod Five entry event about a minute ago."

Katherine slammed on the brakes, sliding to a halt in the middle of the abyss. "He already unlocked Pod Five?" she whispered into the phone.

The guard was typing frantically. "Yes, it looks like he entered . . . ninety seconds ago."

Katherine's body went rigid. She stopped breathing. The darkness felt suddenly alive all around her.

He's in here with me.

In an instant, Katherine realized that the only light in the entire space was coming from her cell phone, illuminating the side of her face. "Send help," she whispered to the guard. "And get to Wet Pod to help Trish." Then she quietly closed her phone, extinguishing the light. Absolute darkness settled around her.

She stood stock-still and breathed as quietly as possible. After a few seconds, the pungent scent of ethanol wafted out of the darkness in front of her. The smell got stronger. She could sense a presence, only a few feet in front of her on the carpet. In the silence, the pounding of Katherine's heart seemed loud enough to give her away. Silently, she stepped out of her shoes and inched to her left, sidestepping off the carpet. The cement felt cold under her feet. She took one more step to clear the carpet.

One of her toes cracked.

It sounded like a gunshot in the stillness.

Only a few yards away, a rustle of clothing suddenly came at her out of the darkness. Katherine bolted an instant too late and a powerful arm snagged her, groping in the darkness, hands violently attempting to gain purchase. She spun away as a viselike grip caught her lab coat, yanking her backward, reeling her in.

Katherine threw her arms backward, slithering out of her lab coat and slipping free. Suddenly, with no idea anymore which way was out, Katherine Solomon found herself dashing, dead blind, across an endless black abyss.

CHAPTER 46

Despite containing what many have called "the most beautiful room in the world," the Library of Congress is known less for its breathtaking splendor than for its vast collections. With over five hundred miles of shelves--enough to stretch from Washington, D.C., to Boston--it easily claims the title of largest library on earth. And yet still it expands, at a rate of over ten thousand items per day.

As an early repository for Thomas Jefferson's personal collection of books on science and philosophy, the library stood as a symbol of America's commitment to the dissemination of knowledge. One of the first buildings in Washington to have electric lights, it literally shone like a beacon in the darkness of the New World.

As its name implies, the Library of Congress was established to serve Congress, whose venerated members worked across the street in the Capitol Building. This age-old bond between library and Capitol had been fortified recently by the construction of a physical connection--a long tunnel beneath Independence Avenue that linked the two buildings. Tonight, inside this dimly lit tunnel, Robert Langdon followed Warren Bellamy through a construction zone, trying to quell his own deepening concern for Katherine. This lunatic is at her lab?! Langdon didn't even want to imagine why. When he had called to warn her, Langdon had told Katherine exactly where to meet him before they hung up. How much longer is this damned tunnel? His head ached now, a roiling torrent of interconnected thoughts: Katherine, Peter, the Masons, Bellamy, pyramids, ancient prophecy . . . and a map.

Langdon shook it all off and pressed on. Bellamy promised me answers.

When the two men finally reached the end of the passage, Bellamy guided Langdon through a set of double doors that were still under construction. Finding no way to lock the unfinished doors behind them, Bellamy improvised, grabbing an aluminum ladder from the construction supplies and leaning it precariously against the outside of the door. Then he balanced a metal bucket on top. If anyone opened the door, the bucket would crash loudly to the floor.

That's our alarm system? Langdon eyed the perched bucket, hoping Bellamy had a more comprehensive plan for their safety tonight. Everything had happened so fast, and Langdon was only now starting to process the repercussions of his fleeing with Bellamy. I'm a fugitive from the CIA.

Bellamy led the way around a corner, where the two men began ascending a wide staircase that was cordoned off with orange pylons. Langdon's daybag weighed him down as he climbed. "The stone pyramid," he said, "I still don't understand--"

"Not here," Bellamy interrupted. "We'll examine it in the light. I know a safe place."

Langdon doubted such a place existed for anyone who had just physically assaulted the director of the CIA's Office of Security.

As the two men reached the top of the stairs, they entered a wide hallway of Italian marble, stucco, and gold leaf. The hall was lined with eight pairs of statues--all depicting the goddess Minerva. Bellamy pressed on, leading Langdon eastward, through a vaulted archway, into a far grander space.

Even in the dim, after-hours lighting, the library's great hall shone with the classical grandeur of an opulent European palace. Seventy-five feet overhead, stained-glass skylights glistened between paneled beams adorned with rare "aluminum leaf"--a metal that was considered to be more precious than gold at one time. Beneath that, a stately course of paired pillars lined the second-floor balcony, accessible by two magnificent curling staircases whose newel posts supported giant bronze female figures raising torches of enlightenment.

In a bizarre attempt to reflect this theme of modern enlightenment and yet stay within the decorative register of Renaissance architecture, the stairway banisters had been carved with cupidlike putti portrayed as modern scientists. An angelic electrician holding a telephone? A cherubic entomologist with a specimen box? Langdon wondered what Bernini would have thought. "We'll talk over here," Bellamy said, leading Langdon past the bulletproof display cases that contained the library's two most valuable books--the Giant Bible of Mainz, handwritten in the 1450s, and America's copy of the Gutenberg Bible, one of only three perfect vellum copies in the world. Fittingly, the vaulted ceiling overhead bore John White Alexander's six-panel painting titled The Evolution of the Book.

Bellamy strode directly to a pair of elegant double doors at the center rear of the east-corridor wall. Langdon knew what room lay beyond those doors, but it seemed a strange choice for a conversation. Notwithstanding the irony of talking in a space filled with "Silence Please" signs, this room hardly seemed like a "safe place." Located dead center of the library's cruciform- shaped floor plan, this chamber served as the heart of the building. Hiding in here was like breaking into a cathedral and hiding on the altar.

Nonetheless, Bellamy unlocked the doors, stepped into the darkness beyond, and groped for the lights. When he flipped the switch, one of America's great architectural masterpieces seemed to materialize out of thin air.

The famous reading room was a feast for the senses. A voluminous octagon rose 160 feet at its center, its eight sides finished in chocolate-brown Tennessee marble, cream-colored Siena marble, and apple-red Algerian marble. Because it was lit from eight angles, no shadows fell anywhere, creating the effect that the room itself was glowing.

"Some say it's the most striking room in Washington," Bellamy said, ushering Langdon inside.

Maybe in the whole world, Langdon thought as he stepped across the threshold. As always, his gaze first ascended straight up to the towering central collar, where rays of arabesque coffers curled down the dome to an upper balcony. Encircling the room, sixteen bronze "portrait" statues peered down from the balustrade. Beneath them, a stunning arcade of archways formed a lower balcony. Down at floor level, three concentric circles of burnished wood desks radiated out from the massive octagonal circulation desk.

Langdon returned his focus to Bellamy, who was now propping the room's double doors wide open. "I thought we were hiding," Langdon said, confused.

"If anyone enters the building," Bellamy said, "I want to hear them coming."

"But won't they find us instantly in here?"

"No matter where we hide, they'll find us. But if anyone corners us in this building, you'll be very glad I chose this room."

Langdon had no idea why, but Bellamy apparently wasn't looking to discuss it. He was already on the move toward the center of the room, where he selected one of the available reading desks, pulled up two chairs, and flipped on the reading light. Then he motioned to Langdon's bag. "Okay, Professor, let's have a closer look."

Not wanting to risk scratching its polished surface with a rough piece of granite, Langdon hoisted his entire bag onto the desk and unzipped it, folding the sides all the way down to reveal the pyramid inside. Warren Bellamy adjusted the reading lamp and studied the pyramid carefully. He ran his fingers over the unusual engraving.

"I assume you recognize this language?" Bellamy asked.

"Of course," Langdon replied, eyeing the sixteen symbols.

Known as the Freemason's Cipher, this encoded language had been used for private communication among early Masonic brothers. The encryption method had been abandoned long ago for one simple reason--it was much too easy to break. Most of the students in Langdon's senior symbology seminar could break this code in about five minutes. Langdon, with a pencil and paper, could do it in under sixty seconds.

The notorious breakability of this centuries-old encryption scheme now presented a couple of paradoxes. First, the claim that Langdon was the only person on earth who could break it was absurd. Second, for Sato to suggest that a Masonic cipher was an issue of national security was like her suggesting our nuclear launch codes were encrypted with a Cracker Jack decoder ring. Langdon was still struggling to believe any of it. This pyramid is a map? Pointing to the lost wisdom of the ages?

"Robert," Bellamy said, his tone grave. "Did Director Sato tell you why she is so interested in this?"

Langdon shook his head. "Not specifically. She just kept saying it was an issue of national security. I assume she's lying."

"Perhaps," Bellamy said, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed to be struggling with something. "But there is a far more troubling possibility." He turned to look Langdon in the eye. "It's possible that Director Sato has discovered this pyramid's true potential."

CHAPTER 47

The blackness engulfing Katherine Solomon felt absolute.

Having fled the familiar safety of the carpet, she was now groping blindly forward, her outstretched hands touching only empty space as she staggered deeper into the desolate void. Beneath her stockinged feet, the endless expanse of cold cement felt like a frozen lake . . . a hostile environment from which she now needed to escape.

No longer smelling ethanol, she stopped and waited in darkness. Standing dead still, she listened, willing her heart to stop pounding so loudly. The heavy footsteps behind her seemed to have stopped. Did I lose him? Katherine closed her eyes and tried to imagine where she was. Which direction did I run? Where is the door? It was no use. She was so turned around now that the exit could be anywhere.

Fear, Katherine had once heard, acted as a stimulant, sharpening the mind's ability to think. Right now, however, her fear had turned her mind into a tumbling torrent of panic and confusion. Even if I find the exit, I can't get out. Her key card had been lost when she'd shed her lab coat. Her only hope seemed to be that she was now a needle in a haystack--a single point on a thirty- thousand-square-foot grid. Despite the overwhelming urge to flee, Katherine's analytical mind told her instead to make the only logical move--no move at all. Stay still. Don't make a sound. The security guard was on his way, and for some unknown reason, her attacker smelled strongly of ethanol. If he gets too close, I'll know it.

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