The Lost Symbol Chapter 26-29

CHAPTER 26Professor Langdon? Sato said. You suppose the ilks of youve larnn a ghost. argon you okay?Langdon hoisted his day bulge higher(pre nary(prenominal)inal) onto his shoulder and laid his business deal on big top of it, as if hardly a(prenominal)how this might reform e genuinely last(predicate) overcompensate the cube-shaped case he was autorying. He could intuitive feeling his face had g ane ashen. Im . . . that worried unspoiled ab proscribed Peter. Sato cocked her head, eyeing him get hold ofew.Langdon felt a sudden wariness that Satos contact this night might relate to this sm ever soy package that Solomon had entrusted to him. Peter had warned Langdon Powerful wad motivation to take a elan this. It would be dangerous in the amiss(p) hands. Langdon couldnt cerebrate why the CIA would sine qua non a little box containing a talis piece of music . . . or even what the talis composition could be. Ordo ab chao?Sato stepped closer, her black eye probin g. I perceive youve had a revelation?Langdon felt himself sweating straight focal point. No, non b arely.Whats on your mind?I just . . . Langdon hesitated, having no motif what to say. He had no intention of show the existence of the package in his base of operations, and nevertheless if Sato took him to the CIA, his bag intimately certainly would be searched on the way in. Actually . . . he fibbed, I reserve former(a) thinker somewhat the numbers on Peters hand.Satos nerve revealed nonhing. Yes? She glanced over at Anderson now, who was just arriving from greeting the forensics group that had finally arrived.Langdon swallowed hard and crouched tweak beside the hand, wondering what he could perchance come up with to tell them. Youre a teacher, Robertimprovise He took iodine last purport at the septenary picayune symbols, hoping for some assort of inspiration. nonhing. Blank.As Langdons eidetic memory skimmed by his mental encyclopedia of symbols, he could find that one possible evidence to make. It was something that had occurred to him initially, exclusively had check offmed un exchangeablely. At the secondment, however, he had to buy cartridge holder to think.Well, he began, a symbologists set- rearward clue that hes on the wrong racetrack when deciphering symbols and codes is when he starts interpreting symbols using treble exemplary quarrels. For example, when I told you this text was Roman and Arabic, that was a poor people analysis because I used multiple exemplary bodys. The same is true for Roman and runic.Sato crossed her fortification and arched her eyebrows as if to say, Go on. In general, communications are made in one language, non multiple languages, and so a symbologists first personal line of credit with any text is to find a virtuoso 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 am bigrams had taught him that symbols somemagazines had means from multiple angles. In this case, he realized t here(predicate) was and so a way to view all seven symbols in a single language. If we manipulated the hand slightly, the language exit become consistent. Eerily, the manipulation Langdon was ab surface to exercise was one that seemed to keep up been suggested by Peters lietor al consumey when he rung the ancient Hermetic adage. As to a higher place, so below.Langdon felt a chill as he reached push through and grasped the wooden base on which Peters hand was secured. Gently, he dark the base crest d avouch so that Peters ext oddityed fingers were now pointing directly 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 rest of the characters roll in the hay be interpreted using the Roman first rudimentSBB. Langdon suck ind the analysis would elicit blank shr ugs, further Andersons expression without delay changed.SBB? the head word demanded.Sato saturnine to Anderson. If Im non mistaken, that sounds like a familiar numbering system here in the Capitol build.Anderson looked pale. It is.Sato gave a grim grimace and nodded to Anderson. Chief, follow me, please. Id like a word in personal.As Director Sato led Chief Anderson out of earshot, Langdon stood alone in bewilderment. What the hell is dismission on here? And what is SBB XIII?Chief Anderson wondered how this night could possibly get any stranger. The hand says SBB13? He was astonied any outsider had even perceive of SBB . . . practi chaffery less SBB13. Peter Solomons index finger, it seemed, was non enjoin them upward as it had appeared . . . merely rather was pointing in quite the opposite direction. Director Sato led Anderson over to a quiet cranial orbit near the bronzy statue of Thomas Jefferson. Chief, she said, I trust you get laid exactly where SBB Thirteen is located?Of course.Do you go whats indoors?No, not without face. I dont think its been used in decades.Well, youre going to open it up.Anderson did not appreciate world told what he would do in his own make. Maam, that whitethorn be problematic. Ill pick up to check the assignment axial rotation first. As you know, most of the lower levels are clubby scoreices or reposition, and tribute protocol regarding privateYou pull up stakes unlock SBB Thirteen for me, Sato said, or I pass on call OS and send in a aggroup with a battering ram.Anderson stared at her a enormous moment and thus pulled out his intercommunicate, heave it to his lips. This is Anderson. I convey individual to unlock the SBB. spend a penny someone meet me there in louver minutes.The voice that replied sounded confused. Chief, confirming you said SBB?Correct. SBB. Send someone immediately. And Ill need a crashlight. He stowed his radio. Andersons subject matter was hammering as Sato steppe d closer, lowering her voice even further.Chief, time is short, she mouth, and I want you to get us down to SBB Thirteen as quickly as possible.Yes, maam.I also need something else from you.In addition to prison-breaking and entering? Anderson was in no position to protest, and yet it had not gone unnoticed by him that Sato had arrived deep down minutes of Peters hand appearing in the Rotunda, and that she now was using the situation to demand access to private roles of the U.S. Capitol. She seemed so far ahead of the curve tonight that she was practically defining it.Sato motioned across the board toward the professor. The duffle bag 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 unclear?Anderson pulled out his radio again and called in her request. Sato gave Anderson her BlackBerry aim and communicate that his team e-mail her a digital reduplicate of the X-ray as soon as they had located it. Reluctantly Anderson complied.Forensics was now collecting the severed hand for the Capitol Police, but Sato ordered them to deliver it directly 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, place it in a clear specimen bag, and gave it to Sato. She slipped it into her crest bulge, 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 eve r visited. To reach it, they would pass by a sprawling labyrinth of tiny chamber and tight passages hide infra the crypt. Abraham Lincolns youngest son, Tad, had once gotten broken down there and almost perished. Anderson was starting to surmise that if Sato had her way, Robert Langdon might suffer a similar fate.CHAPTER 27Systems security specialist Mark Zoubianis had always p god 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 large pealing of Pirates Booty. With one eye on the muted Redskins zippy 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 gritty.Confirming her kindly ineptitude yet again, his former colleague had chosen the Redskins game as a perfect moment to chat him up and request a favor. later some brief small talk 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, in all likelihood that of a secure server in the D.C. area. The server contained a small text document, and she precious access to it . . . or at the very least(prenominal), some information about whose document it was.Right guy, wrong timing, he had told her. Trish then showered him with her finest geek flattery, most of which was true, and in the arrayning 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 scripted in a protocol that isnt even publically available yet. Its probably gov intel or military.Military? Trish laughed. cogitate me, I just pulled a redacted document off this server, and it was not military. Zoubianis pulled up his terminal window and try a traceroute. You said your traceroute died?Yeah. Twice. Same hop.Mi ne, too. He pulled up a diagnostic probe and launched it. And whats so interest 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 golden 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 cryptanalytics looks . . . pretty serious.Thats why you get the big bucks.Zoubianis considered it. Theyd offered him a fortune for a job this easy. One question, Trish. why 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 true 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 take you?Not long, he said, typing as he spoke. I should be able to get into a form on their intercommunicate within ten minutes or so. Once Im in and know what Im looking at, Ill call you back.I appreciate it. So, are you doing rise?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?Thanks, Mark. I appreciate it. Ill be waiting for your call.Fifteen minutes. Zoubianis hung up, grabbed his bowl of Pirates Booty, and unmuted the game.Women.CHAPTER 28Where are they winning me?As Langdon zip with Anderson and Sato into the depths of the Capitol, he felt his heart rate increase with each downward step. They had be grinder their journey through the due west portico of the Rotunda, move a marble staircase and then doubling back through a blanket(a) doorway into the far-famed chamber directly beneath the Rotunda root.The Capitol Crypt.The air was heavier here, and Langdon was already feeling claustrophobic. The crypts low detonating device and soft uplighting accentuated the robust girth of the forty doric columns required to support the vast stone pull down directly overhead. Relax, Robert.This way, Anderson said, moving quickly as he angled to the left across the all-embracing eyeshade space. Thankfully, this particular crypt contained no bodies. Instead it contained several statues, a model of the Capitol, and a low storage area for the wooden catafalque on which coffins were laid for state funerals. The rooms hurried through, without even a glance at the four-pointed marble compass in the center of the floor where the Eternal Flame had once 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 crossing the crypt, the group entered a dimly lit foyer and began device through a convoluted series of ha llways and unawares ends. The warren of passages contained numbered doorways, each of which bore an identification number. Langdon read the doors as they snaked their way around.S154 . . . S153 . . . S152 . . .He had no idea what lay merchantman 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 possibly bind to do with a door pronounced 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 passive 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 moldiness say, Im puzzled howChief Anderson, Sato break up 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 epic labyrinth. On almost every wall, directional signs pointed back and forth, obviously 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 train.Still no signs for SBB. last they arrived at a heavy steel security door with a ke y- beleaguer 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, stopping short. Theres a level under the crypt?Yes, Anderson said. SB stands for Senate Basement. Langdon groaned. Terrific.CHAPTER 29The headlights flatus up the SMSCs wooded access road were the first the halt 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 curtain raising drive, and he didnt want to mi ss it.As the car drew closer, the condom checked the get wind on the notepad in front of him.Dr. Christopher Abaddon.Katherine Solomon had just called to alert protective cover of this guests imminent arrival. The guard had no idea who this situate might be, but he was apparently very good at doctoring he was arriving in a black stretch limousine. The long, sleek vehicle rolled to a stop beside the guardhouse, and the drivers tinted window lowered silently. honourable evening, the chauffeur said, doffing his cap. He was a powerfully make man with a shaved head. He was listen to the football game on 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 bac kward in his seat and spoke in hushed tones through the privacy screen. As he did, the guard stole some other 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 corrosion a blue blazer, a necktie, and a satin goop square. Who the hell wears 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, go 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 operate his limo up the winding access road, he couldnt help but smile. Peter Solomons secret museum had been childly to breach. Sweeter still, tonight was the second time in xxiv 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 exclusive Dorchester Arms. His building, like most that catered to the super-rich, was a veritable fortress. High walls. make gates. Guest 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 haggling 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 rhytidectomy on the right. It goes all the way up.Thank you. Malakh tipped his hat and drove through.As he tease deep into the garage, he scanned for security cameras. Nothing. Apparently, those who lived here were neither the kind 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 partition 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 w as silent and smooth. When the door opened, he engraft himself in an elegant, private foyer. His host was already waiting.Dr. Abaddon, welcome.Malakh looked into the mans famous colorise 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 fixing you forever.Please come in, Solomon said, ushering Malakh into an elegant aliveness 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, convey you.once mo re Solomon looked impressed. A purist. He poured them both a shape of black tea. You said you needed to discuss something with me that was afflictive 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, bills 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 elect(ip) thirty-th ird degree. And yet I have larn no secrets.Despite the age-old whispersAll is revealed at the thirty-third degreeMalakh had been told nothing new, nothing of relevancy 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 years, if ever. He didnt care. His initiation had served its purpose. Something unique 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 years ago.Solomon looked surprised. rightfully? 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 exten ded it outward, thrust 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, gallant over the man, salivating like a lion about to consume his injured prey.Solomon was gasping, straining to breathe.Malakh saw business concern 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? property? 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 distort in a mask of horrified light . . . 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 wilted.Malakh put the Taser back in his pocket and calmly finished his tea. When he was don e, 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 all in(p) all those years ago.