The Lost Symbol Chapter 26-29

CHAPTER 26Professor Langdon? Sato said. You ensure like youve assuren a ghost. argon you authorize?Langdon hoisted his daybag higher onto his shoulder and laid his go past on top of it, as if somehow this might better hide the cube-shaped software package he was carrying. He could feel his face had gone ashen. Im . . . just worried ab turn out shot. Sato cocked her dubiousness, eyeing him askew.Langdon felt a sudden wariness that Satos involvement to night clock might relate to this flyspeck package that Solomon had entrusted to him. pricking had warned Langdon Powerful volume want to steal this. It would be dangerous in the wrong hands. Langdon couldnt imagine why the CIA would want a superficial box containing a talisman . . . or even what the talisman could be. Ordo ab chao?Sato stepped closer, her black look probing. I sense youve had a revelation?Langdon felt himself sudate now. No, non exactly.Whats on your mind?I just . . . Langdon hesitated, having no motif wha t to say. He had no in cristaltion of revealing the existence of the package in his bag, and til now if Sato took him to the CIA, his bag most certainly would be searched on the dash in. Actu tot all toldyy . . . he fibbed, I have a nonher idea about the forms on Peters hand.Satos expression revea guide nonhing. Yes? She glintd over at Anderson now, who was just arriving from greeting the forensics team that had finally arrived.Langdon swallowed hard and crouched down be stead the hand, wonde dodge what he could possibly bonk up with to identify them. Youre a teacher, Robertimprovise He took one last look at the seven tiny symbols, hoping for some sort of inspiration.Nothing. Blank.As Langdons eidetic memory glide through his mental encyclopedia of symbols, he could find only one possible point to make. It was something that had occurred to him initially, but had seemed unlikely. At the moment, however, he had to buy time to think.Well, he began, a symbologists first clue t hat hes on the wrong track when deciphering symbols and codes is when he starts interpreting symbols using multiple symbolic languages. For example, when I told you this text was Roman and Arabic, that was a poor analysis because I utilise multiple symbolic systems. The same is true for Roman and runic.Sato crossed her arms and arched her eyebrows as if to say, Go on. In general, communications are made in one language, not multiple languages, and so a symbologists first job with any text is to find a single consistent symbolic system that applies to the entire text.And you see a single system now?Well, yes . . . and no. Langdons experience with the rotational symmetry of ambigrams had taught him that symbols sometimes had meanings from multiple angles. In this case, he realized there was indeed a way to view all seven symbols in a single language. If we manipulated the hand slightly, the language will become consistent. Eerily, the manipulation Langdon was about to perform was one that seemed to have been suggested by Peters captor already when he verbalise the ancient tight adage. As above, so below.Langdon felt a chill as he reached out and grasped the wooden mean(a) on which Peters hand was secured. Gently, he morose the base upside down so that Peters extended fingers were now pointing straight down. The symbols on the palm instantly transformed themselves.From this angle, Langdon said, X-I-I-I becomes a valid Roman numeralthirteen. Moreover, the lie of the characters can be interpreted using the Roman alphabetSBB. Langdon assumed the analysis would elicit blank shrugs, but Andersons expression immediately changed.SBB? the chief demanded.Sato turned to Anderson. If Im not mis make forn, that sounds like a familiar numbering system here in the Capitol Building.Anderson looked pale. It is.Sato gave a grim smile and nodded to Anderson. Chief, follow me, please. Id like a devise in private.As Director Sato led Chief Anderson out of earshot, Langdon sto od alone in bewilderment. What the hell is going on here? And what is SBB XIII?Chief Anderson wondered how this night could possibly regain any stranger. The hand says SBB13? He was amazed any outsider had even heard of SBB . . . much less SBB13. Peter Solomons index finger, it seemed, was not directing them upward as it had appeared . . . but rather was pointing in quite the opposite direction. Director Sato led Anderson over to a quiet area more or less the bronze statue of Thomas Jefferson. Chief, she said, I trust you know exactly where SBB Thirteen is located?Of course.Do you know whats inside?No, not without looking. I dont think its been used in decades.Well, youre going to open it up.Anderson did not appreciate being told what he would do in his own building. Maam, that may be problematic. Ill have to check the assigning roster first. As you know, most of the lower levels are private offices or storage, and security protocol regarding privateYou will unlock SBB Thirteen f or me, Sato said, or I will squall OS and send in a team with a battering ram.Anderson stared at her a long moment and then pulled out his radio, raising it to his lips. This is Anderson. I need someone to unlock the SBB. Have someone meet me there in five minutes.The voice that replied sounded confused. Chief, confirming you said SBB?Correct. SBB. delight someone immediately. And Ill need a flashlight. He stowed his radio. Andersons heart was pounding as Sato stepped closer, lowering her voice even further.Chief, time is short, she whispered, and I want you to get us down to SBB Thirteen as supplely as possible.Yes, maam.I also need something else from you.In addition to breaking and entering? Anderson was in no attitude to protest, and yet it had not gone unnoticed by him that Sato had arrived within minutes of Peters hand appearing in the Rotunda, and that she now was using the situation to demand accession to private sections of the U.S. Capitol. She seemed so far ahead of the curve tonight that she was practically defining it.Sato motioned across the room toward the professor. The duffel bag on Langdons shoulder.Anderson glanced over. What about it?I assume your staff X-rayed that bag when Langdon entered the building?Of course. All bags are scanned. I want to see that X-ray. I want to know whats in his bag.Anderson looked over at the bag Langdon had been carrying all evening. But . . . wouldnt it be easier just to ask him?What part of my request was un slide by?Anderson pulled out his radio again and called in her request. Sato gave Anderson her BlackBerry spread over and requested that his team e-mail her a digital copy of the X-ray as soon as they had located it. Reluctantly Anderson complied.Forensics was now collecting the divide hand for the Capitol Police, but Sato ordered them to deliver it nowadays to her team at Langley. Anderson was too tired to protest. He had just been run over by a tiny Japanese steamroller.And I want that ring, Sato called over to Forensics.The chief technician seemed ready to question her but thought better of it. He removed the gold ring from Peters hand, placed it in a clear specimen bag, and gave it to Sato. She slipped it into her jacket pocket, and then turned to Langdon.Were leaving, Professor. Bring your things.Where are we going? Langdon replied.Just follow Mr. Anderson.Yes, Anderson thought, and follow me closely. The SBB was a section of the Capitol that few ever visited. To reach it, they would pass through a sprawling labyrinth of tiny chambers and tight passages buried beneath the crypt. Abraham Lincolns youngest son, Tad, had one time gotten lost down there and almost perished. Anderson was starting to suspect that if Sato had her way, Robert Langdon might suffer a similar fate.CHAPTER 27Systems security specialist Mark Zoubianis had ever so prided himself on his ability to multitask. At the moment, he was seated on his futon along with a TV remote, a cordless phone, a laptop, a PDA, and a tumid bowl of Pirates Booty. With one eye on the muted Redskins game and one eye on his laptop, Zoubianis was speaking on his Bluetooth headset with a woman he had not heard from in over a year.Leave it to Trish Dunne to call on the night of a play-off game.Confirming her social ineptitude yet again, his former fellow had chosen the Redskins game as a perfect moment to chat him up and request a favor. After some brief small chat about the old days and how she missed his great jokes, Trish had gotten to her point she was trying to unmask a hidden IP address, probably that of a secure innkeeper in the D.C. area. The server contained a small text document, and she wanted access to it . . . or at the very least, some information about whose document it was. skillful guy, wrong timing, he had told her. Trish then showered him with her finest geek flattery, most of which was true, and forward Zoubianis knew it, he was typing a strange-looking IP address into his laptop. Zoubianis took one look at the number and immediately felt uneasy. Trish, this IP has a funky format. Its written in a protocol that isnt even publicly available yet. Its probably gov intel or military. multitude? Trish laughed. Believe me, I just pulled a redacted document off this server, and it was not military. Zoubianis pulled up his terminal window and tried a traceroute. You said your traceroute died?Yeah. Twice. Same hop.Mine, too. He pulled up a diagnostic probe and launched it. And whats so interesting about this IP?I ran a delegator that tapped a search engine at this IP and pulled a redacted document. I need to see the rest of the document. Im happy to pay them for it, but I cant figure out who owns the IP or how to access it.Zoubianis frowned at his screen. Are you sure about this? Im running a diagnostic, and this firewall coding looks . . . pretty serious.Thats why you get the big bucks.Zoubianis considered it. Theyd offered him a fortune for a job this easy. bingle question, Trish. wherefore are you so hot on this?Trish paused. Im doing a favor for a friend.Must be a special friend.She is. Zoubianis chuckled and held his tongue. I knew it.Look, Trish said, sounding impatient. Are you good enough to unmask this IP? Yes or no?Yes, Im good enough. And yes, I know youre playing me like a fiddle.How long will it reserve you?Not long, he said, typing as he spoke. I should be able to get into a machine on their ne bothrk within ten minutes or so. Once Im in and know what Im looking at, Ill call you stomach.I appreciate it. So, are you doing well?Now she asks? Trish, for Gods sake, you called me on the night of a play-off game and now you want to chat? Do you want me to hack this IP or not? conveys, Mark. I appreciate it. Ill be waiting for your call. cardinal minutes. Zoubianis hung up, grabbed his bowl of Pirates Booty, and unmuted the game.Women.CHAPTER 28Where are they taking me?As Langdon hurried with Anderson and Sato into the depths of the C apitol, he felt his heart rate increasing with each downward step. They had begun their journey through the west portico of the Rotunda, descending a marble staircase and then doubling back through a wide doorway into the famous chamber directly beneath the Rotunda floor.The Capitol Crypt.The air was heavier here, and Langdon was already feeling claustrophobic. The crypts low ceiling and soft uplighting accentuated the robust girth of the forty Doric columns required to support the vast muffin floor directly overhead. Relax, Robert.This way, Anderson said, moving quickly as he angled to the remaining across the wide circular space. Thankfully, this particular crypt contained no bodies. Instead it contained several(prenominal) statues, a model of the Capitol, and a low storage area for the wooden catafalque on which coffins were laid for state funerals. The entourage hurried through, without even a glance at the four-pointed marble compass in the center of the floor where the Etern al Flame had in one case burned.Anderson seemed to be in a hurry, and Sato once again had her head buried in her BlackBerry. Cellular service, Langdon had heard, was boosted and broadcast to all corners of the Capitol Building to support the hundreds of government phone calls that took place here every day.After diagonally cut across the crypt, the group entered a dimly lit foyer and began winding through a convoluted series of hallways and dead ends. The warren of passages contained numbered doorways, each of which bore an naming number. Langdon read the doors as they snaked their way around.S154 . . . S153 . . . S152 . . .He had no idea what lay behind these doors, but at least one thing now seemed clearthe meaning of the tattoo on Peter Solomons palm. SBB13 appeared to be a numbered doorway somewhere in the bowels of the U.S. Capitol Building.What are all these doorways? Langdon asked, clutching his daybag tightly to his ribs and wondering what Solomons tiny package could possi bly have to do with a door marked SBB13.Offices and storage, Anderson said. Private offices and storage, he added, glancing back at Sato.Sato did not even glance up from her BlackBerry.They look tiny, Langdon said.Glorified closets, most of them, but theyre still some of the most sought-after real estate in D.C. This is the heart of the original Capitol, and the old Senate chamber is two stories above us.And SBB Thirteen? Langdon asked. Whose office is that?Nobodys. The SBB is a private storage area, and I must say, Im puzzled howChief Anderson, Sato interrupted without looking up from her BlackBerry. Just take us there, please.Anderson clenched his jaw and guided them on in silence through what was now feeling like a hybrid self-storage facility and heroic poem labyrinth. On almost every wall, directional signs pointed back and forth, apparently attempting to locate specific office blocks in this network of hallways.S142 to S152 . . .ST1 to ST70 . . .H1 to H166 & HT1 to HT67 . . . Langdon doubted he could ever find his way out of here alone. This place is a maze. From all he could gather, office numbers began with either an S or an H depending on whether they were on the Senate side of the building or the House side. Areas designated ST and HT were apparently on a level that Anderson called Terrace Level.Still no signs for SBB.Finally they arrived at a heavy firebrand security door with a key-card entry box.SB LevelLangdon sensed they were getting closer.Anderson reached for his key card but hesitated, looking uncomfortable with Satos demands.Chief, Sato prompted. We dont have all night.Anderson reluctantly inserted his key card. The steel door released. He pushed it open, and they stepped through into the foyer beyond. The heavy door clicked shut behind them.Langdon wasnt sure what he had hoped to see in this foyer, but the sight in front of him was definitely not it. He was staring at a descending stairway. Down again? he said, halt short. Theres a level under the crypt?Yes, Anderson said. SB stands for Senate Basement. Langdon groaned. Terrific.CHAPTER 29The headlights winding up the SMSCs wooded access road were the first the prevail had seen in the last hour. Dutifully, he turned down the volume on his portable TV set and stashed his snacks beneath the counter. Lousy timing. The Redskins were completing their chess opening drive, and he didnt want to miss it.As the car drew closer, the guard checked the name on the notepad in front of him.Dr. Christopher Abaddon.Katherine Solomon had just called to alert Security of this guests imminent arrival. The guard had no idea who this doctor might be, but he was apparently very good at doctoring he was arriving in a black stretch limousine. The long, sleek fomite rolled to a stop beside the guardhouse, and the drivers tinted window lowered silently.Good evening, the chauffeur said, doffing his cap. He was a powerfully built man with a shaved head. He was listening to the football game o n his radio. I have Dr. Christopher Abaddon for Ms. Katherine Solomon?The guard nodded. Identification, please.The chauffeur looked surprised. Im sorry, didnt Ms. Solomon call ahead?The guard nodded, stealing a glance at the television. Im still required to scan and log visitor identification. Sorry, regulations. Ill need to see the doctors ID.Not a problem. The chauffeur turned backward in his seat and spoke in hushed tones through the privacy screen. As he did, the guard stole another peek at the game. The Redskins were breaking from the huddle now, and he hoped to get this limo through before the next play.The chauffeur turned forward again and held out the ID that hed apparently just received through the privacy screen.The guard took the card and quickly scanned it into his system. The D.C. drivers license showed one Christopher Abaddon from Kalorama Heights. The photo depicted a handsome blond gentleman wearing a blue blazer, a necktie, and a satin pocket square. Who the hell w ears a pocket square to the DMV?A muffled cheer went up from the television set, and the guard wheeled just in time to see a Redskins player dancing in the end zone, his finger pointed skyward. I missed it, the guard grumbled, returning to the window.Okay, he said, returning the license to the chauffeur. Youre all set.As the limo pulled through, the guard returned to his TV, hoping for a replay.As Malakh drove his limo up the winding access road, he couldnt help but smile. Peter Solomons unfathomable museum had been simple to breach. Sweeter still, tonight was the second time in twenty-four hours that Malakh had broken into one of Solomons private spaces. Last night, a similar visit had been made to Solomons home.Although Peter Solomon had a magnificent country estate in Potomac, he spent much of his time in the city at his penthouse apartment at the scoop Dorchester Arms. His building, like most that catered to the super-rich, was a veritable fortress. High walls. Guard gates. Gu est lists. Secured underground parking.Malakh had driven this very limousine up to the buildings guardhouse, doffed his chauffeurs cap from his shaved head, and proclaimed, I have Dr. Christopher Abaddon. He is an invited guest of Mr. Peter Solomon. Malakh spoke the words as if he were announcing the Duke of York.The guard checked a log and then Abaddons ID. Yes, I see Mr. Solomon is expecting Dr. Abaddon. He pressed a button and the gate opened. Mr. Solomon is in the penthouse apartment. Have your guest use the last elevator on the right. It goes all the way up.Thank you. Malakh tipped his hat and drove through.As he wound deep into the garage, he scanned for security cameras. Nothing. Apparently, those who lived here were neither the motley of people who broke into cars nor the kind of people who appreciated being watched.Malakh parked in a dark corner near the elevators, lowered the divider between the drivers compartment and the passenger compartment, and slithered through the opening into the back of the limo. Once in back, he got rid of his chauffeurs cap and donned his blond wig. Straightening his jacket and tie, he checked the mirror to make sure he had not smeared his makeup. Malakh was not about to take any chances. Not tonight.I have waited too long for this.Seconds later, Malakh 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.Malakh looked into the mans 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 Malakh gripped the older mans palm, he saw the gold Masonic ring on Solomons hand . . . the same hand that had once aimed a gun at Malakh. A voice whispered from Malakhs distant past. If you pull that trigger, I will haunt you forever.Please come in, Solomon said, ushering Malakh into an elegant financial support room whose expansive windows offered an astonishing view of the Washington skyline.Do I smell tea steeping? Malakh asked as he entered.Solomon looked impressed. My parents always greeted guests with tea. Ive carried on that tradition. He led Malakh 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.Im glad, but please know that those decisions are not mine alone. They are by vote of the Supreme Council.Of course. Malakh suspected Peter Solomon had probably voted against him, but within the Masons, as with all things, money was power. Malakh, 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 Malakh 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 whispersAll is revealed at the thirty-third degreeMalakh had been told nonentity 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 Malakh would not see for days, if ever. He didnt care. His initiation had served its purpose. Something unequaled had happened within that Temple Room, and it had given Malakh power over all of them. I no longer play by your rules.You do realize, Malakh said, sipping his tea, that you and I met many historic period ago.Solomon loo ked surprised. Really? I dont recall.It was quite a long time ago. And Christopher Abaddon is not my real name.Im so sorry. My mind must be getting old. Remind me how I know you? Malakh smiled one last time at the man he hated more than any other man on earth. Its unfortunate that you dont recall.In one fluid motion, Malakh pulled a small device from his pocket and extended it outward, driving it hard into the mans 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 Solomons body. His eyes went wide, and he slumped motionless in his chair. Malakh stood up now, towering over the man, salivating like a lion about to consume his injured prey.Solomon was gasping, straining to breathe.Malakh saw fear in his victims eyes and wondered how many people had ever seen the great Peter Solomon cower. Malakh 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? Malakh demanded.Solomon looked truly bewildered. You want . . . money?Money? Malakh 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 Malakh in the eye. I dont . . . understand.No more lies Malakh shouted, advancing to within inches of the paralyzed man. I know what is hidden here in Washington.Solomons gray eyes were defiant. I have no idea what youre talking aboutMalakh 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 mothers death.Solomons eyes shot wide open. You . . . ?She didnt have to die. If you had given me what I demanded . . .The older mans face contorted in a m ask of horrified recognition . . . and disbelief.I warned you, Malakh said, if you pulled the trigger, I would haunt you forever. But youreMalakh lunged, driving the Taser hard into Solomons chest again. There was another flash of blue light, and Solomon went completely limp.Malakh 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?Solomons body was motionless, but his eyes were wide and engaged.Malakh got down close and whispered in the mans ear. Im taking you to a place where only truth remains.Without another word, Malakh wadded up the monogrammed napkin and stuffed it into Solomons mouth. Then he hoisted the limp man onto his broad shoulders and headed for the private elevator. On his way out, he picked up Solomons iPhone and keys from the hall table.Tonight you will tell me all your secrets, Malakh thought. Including why you left me for dead all those years ago.