You’ve come a long way, baby.
Just over a year ago, Trish had quit her job as a metasystems analyst in one of the high-tech industry’s many cubicle farms. In her off-hours, she did some freelance programming and started an industry blog—“Future Applications in Computational Metasystem Analysis”—although she doubted anyone read it. Then one evening her phone rang.
“Trish Dunne?” a woman’s voice asked politely.
“Yes, who’s calling, please?”
“My name is Katherine Solomon.”
Trish almost fainted on the spot.
Katherine Solomon?
“I just read your book—
Noetic Science: Modern Gateway to Ancient Wisdom—and
I wrote about it on my blog!”
“Yes, I know,” the woman replied graciously. “That’s why I’m calling.”
Of course it is,
Trish realized, feeling dumb.
Even brilliant scientists Google themselves.
“Your blog intrigues me,” Katherine told her. “I wasn’t aware metasystems modeling had come so far.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Trish managed, starstruck. “Data models are an exploding technology with far-reaching applications.”
For several minutes, the two women chatted about Trish’s work in metasystems, discussing her experience analyzing, modeling, and predicting the flow of massive data fields.
“Obviously, your book is way over my head,” Trish said, “but I understood enough to see an intersection with my metasystems work.”
“Your blog said you believe metasystems modeling can
transform
the study of Noetics?”
“Absolutely. I believe metasystems could turn Noetics into real science
.
”
“
Real
science?” Katherine’s tone hardened slightly. “As opposed to . . . ?”
Oh shit, that came out wrong.
“Um, what I meant is that Noetics is more . . . esoteric.”
Katherine laughed. “Relax, I’m kidding. I get that all the time.”
I’m not surprised,
Trish thought
.
Even the Institute of Noetic Sciences in California described the field in arcane and abstruse language, defining it as the study of mankind’s “direct and immediate access to
knowledge beyond what is available to our normal senses and the power of reason.”
The word
noetic,
Trish had learned, derived from the ancient Greek
nous
—translating roughly to “inner knowledge” or “intuitive consciousness.”
“I’m interested in your metasystems work,” Katherine said, “and how it might relate to a project I’m working on. Any chance you’d be willing to meet? I’d love to pick your brain.”
Katherine Solomon wants to pick
my
brain?
It felt like Maria Sharapova had called for tennis tips.
The next day a white Volvo pulled into Trish’s driveway and an attractive, willowy woman in blue jeans got out. Trish immediately felt two feet tall.
Great,
she groaned.
Smart, rich, and thin—and I’m supposed to believe God is good?
But Katherine’s unassuming air set Trish instantly at ease.
The two of them settled in on Trish’s huge back porch overlooking an impressive piece of property.
“Your house is amazing,” Katherine said.
“Thanks. I got lucky in college and licensed some software I’d written.”
“Metasystems stuff?”
“A precursor to metasystems. Following 9/11, the government was intercepting and crunching enormous data fields—civilian e-mail, cell phone, fax, text, Web sites—sniffing for keywords associated with terrorist communications. So I wrote a piece of software that let them process their data field in a second way . . . pulling from it an additional intelligence product.” She smiled. “Essentially, my software let them take America’s temperature.”
“I’m sorry?”
Trish laughed. “Yeah, sounds crazy, I know. What I mean is that it quantified the nation’s
emotional
state. It offered a kind of cosmic consciousness barometer, if you will.” Trish explained how, using a data field of the nation’s communications, one could assess the nation’s
mood
based on the “occurrence density” of certain keywords and emotional indicators in the data field. Happier times had happier language, and stressful times vice versa. In the event, for example, of a terrorist attack, the government could use data fields to measure the shift in America’s psyche and better advise the president on the emotional impact of the event.
“Fascinating,” Katherine said, stroking her chin. “So essentially you’re examining a population of individuals . . . as if it were a
single
organism.”
“Exactly. A
metasystem
. A single entity defined by the sum of its parts. The human body, for example, consists of millions of individual cells, each
with different attributes and different purposes, but it functions as a single entity.”
Katherine nodded enthusiastically. “Like a flock of birds or a school of fish moving as one. We call it convergence or entanglement.”
Trish sensed her famous guest was starting to see the potential of metasystem programming in her own field of Noetics. “My software,” Trish explained, “was designed to help government agencies better evaluate and respond appropriately to wide-scale crises—pandemic diseases, national tragedies, terrorism, that sort of thing.” She paused. “Of course, there’s always the potential that it could be used in other directions . . . perhaps to take a snapshot of the national mind-set and predict the outcome of a national election or the direction the stock market will move at the opening bell.”
“Sounds powerful.”
Trish motioned to her big house. “The
government
thought so.”
Katherine’s gray eyes focused in on her now. “Trish, might I ask about the
ethical
dilemma posed by your work?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you created a piece of software that can easily be abused. Those who possess it have access to powerful information not available to everyone. You didn’t feel any hesitation creating it?”
Trish didn’t blink. “Absolutely not. My software is no different than say . . . a flight simulator program. Some users will practice flying first-aid missions into underdeveloped countries. Some users will practice flying passenger jets into skyscrapers. Knowledge is a tool, and like all tools, its impact is in the hands of the user.”
Katherine sat back, looking impressed. “So let me ask you a hypothetical question.”
Trish suddenly sensed their conversation had just turned into a job interview.
Katherine reached down and picked up a tiny speck of sand off the deck, holding it up for Trish to see. “It occurs to me,” she said, “that your metasystems work essentially lets you calculate the weight of an entire sandy beach . . . by weighing one grain at a time.”
“Yes, basically that’s right.”
“As you know, this little grain of sand has
mass
. A very small mass, but mass nonetheless.”
Trish nodded.
“And
because
this grain of sand has mass, it therefore exerts
gravity
. Again, too small to feel, but there.”
“Right.”
“Now,” Katherine said, “if we take trillions of these sand grains and let them attract one another to form . . . say, the
moon,
then their combined gravity is enough to move entire oceans and drag the tides back and forth across our planet.”
Trish had no idea where this was headed, but she liked what she was hearing.
“So let’s take a hypothetical,” Katherine said, discarding the sand grain. “What if I told you that a
thought
. . . any tiny idea that forms in your mind . . . actually has
mass
? What if I told you that a thought is an actual
thing,
a measurable entity, with a measurable mass? A minuscule mass, of course, but
mass
nonetheless. What are the implications?”
“Hypothetically speaking
?
Well, the obvious implications are . . . if a thought has mass, then a thought exerts gravity and can pull things toward it.”
Katherine smiled. “You’re good. Now take it a step further. What happens if many people start focusing on the
same
thought? All the occurrences of that same thought begin to merge into one, and the cumulative mass of this thought begins to grow. And therefore, its gravity grows.”
“Okay.”
“Meaning . . . if enough people begin thinking the same thing, then the gravitational force of that thought becomes tangible . . . and it exerts actual force.” Katherine winked. “And it can have a measurable effect in our physical world.”
CHAPTER
19
Director Inoue Sato
stood with her arms folded, her eyes locked skeptically on Langdon as she processed what he had just told her. “He said he wants you to unlock an ancient portal? What am I supposed to do with
that,
Professor?”
Langdon shrugged weakly. He was feeling ill again and tried not to look down at his friend’s severed hand. “That’s exactly what he told me. An ancient portal . . . hidden somewhere in this building. I told him I knew of no portal.”
“Then why does he think
you
can find it?”
“Obviously, he’s insane.”
He said Peter would point the way.
Langdon looked down at Peter’s upstretched finger, again feeling repulsed by his captor’s sadistic play on words.
Peter will point the way.
Langdon had already permitted his eyes to follow the pointing finger up to the dome overhead.
A portal? Up there? Insane.
“This man who called me,” Langdon told Sato, “was the
only
one who knew I was coming to the Capitol tonight, so whoever informed
you
I was here tonight, that’s your man. I recommend—”
“Where I got my information is not your concern,” Sato interrupted, voice sharpening. “My top priority at the moment is to cooperate with this man, and I have information suggesting
you
are the only one who can give him what he wants.”
“And
my
top priority is to find my friend,” Langdon replied, frustrated.
Sato inhaled deeply, her patience clearly being tested. “If we want to find Mr. Solomon, we have one course of action, Professor—to start cooperating with the one person who seems to know where he is.” Sato checked her watch. “Our time is limited. I can assure you it is imperative we comply with this man’s demands quickly.”
“How?” Langdon asked, incredulous. “By locating and unlocking an ancient portal? There
is
no portal, Director Sato. This guy’s a lunatic.”
Sato stepped close, less than a foot from Langdon. “If I may point this out . . . your
lunatic
deftly manipulated two fairly smart individuals
already this morning.” She stared directly at Langdon and then glanced at Anderson. “In my business, one learns there is a fine line between insanity and genius. We would be wise to give this man a little respect.”
“He
cut off
a man’s hand!”
“My point exactly. That is hardly the act of an uncommitted or uncertain individual. More important, Professor, this man obviously believes you can help him. He brought you all the way to Washington—and he must have done it for a reason.”
“He said the only reason he thinks I can unlock this ‘portal’ is that
Peter
told him I can unlock it,” Langdon countered.
“And why would Peter Solomon say that if it weren’t true?”
“I’m sure Peter said no such thing. And if he did, then he did so under duress. He was confused . . . or frightened.”
“Yes. It’s called interrogational torture, and it’s quite effective. All the more reason Mr. Solomon would tell the truth.” Sato spoke as if she’d had personal experience with this technique. “Did he explain
why
Peter thinks you alone can unlock the portal?”
Langdon shook his head.
“Professor, if your reputations are correct, then you and Peter Solomon both share an interest in this sort of thing—secrets, historical esoterica, mysticism, and so on. In all of your discussions with Peter, he never once mentioned to you anything about a secret portal in Washington, D.C.?”
Langdon could scarcely believe he was being asked this question by a high-ranking officer of the CIA. “I’m certain of it. Peter and I talk about some pretty arcane things, but believe me, I’d tell him to get his head examined if he ever told me there was an ancient portal hidden anywhere at all. Particularly one that leads to the Ancient Mysteries.”
She glanced up. “I’m sorry? The man told you
specifically
what this portal leads to?”
“Yes, but he didn’t have to.” Langdon motioned to the hand. “The Hand of the Mysteries is a formal invitation to pass through a mystical gateway and acquire ancient secret knowledge—powerful wisdom known as the Ancient Mysteries . . . or the lost wisdom of all the ages.”
“So you’ve
heard
of the secret he believes is hidden here.”
“A lot of historians have heard of it.”
“Then how can you say the portal does not exist?”
“With respect, ma’am, we’ve all heard of the Fountain of Youth and Shangri-la, but that does not mean they exist.”
The loud squawk of Anderson’s radio interrupted them.
“Chief?” the voice on the radio said.
Anderson snatched his radio from his belt. “Anderson here.”
“Sir, we’ve completed a search of the grounds. There’s no one here that fits the description. Any further orders, sir?”
