Katherine shook her head. “I want to know who wrote this and where it’s located. Make the call.”
Trish frowned and headed for the door.
Whether or not this document would be able to explain the mystery of what her brother had told Dr. Abaddon, there was at least
one
mystery that had been solved today. Her brother had finally learned how to use the text-messaging feature on the iPhone Katherine had given him.
“And alert the media,” Katherine called after Trish. “The great Peter Solomon just sent his first text message.”
In a strip-mall parking lot across the street from the SMSC, Mal’akh stood beside his limo, stretching his legs and waiting for the phone call he knew would be coming. The rain had stopped, and a winter moon had started to break through the clouds. It was the same moon that had shone down on Mal’akh through the oculus of the House of the Temple three months ago during his initiation.
The world looks different tonight.
As he waited, his stomach growled again. His two-day fast, although uncomfortable, was critical to his preparation. Such were the ancient ways. Soon all physical discomforts would be inconsequential.
As Mal’akh stood in the cold night air, he chuckled to see that
fate
had deposited him, rather ironically, directly in front of a tiny church. Here, nestled between Sterling Dental and a minimart, was a tiny sanctuary.
LORD’S HOUSE OF GLORY.
Mal’akh gazed at the window, which displayed part of the church’s doctrinal statement:
WE BELIEVE THAT JESUS CHRIST WAS BEGOTTEN BY THE HOLY SPIRIT, AND BORN OF THE VIRGIN MARY, AND IS BOTH TRUE MAN AND GOD.
Mal’akh smiled.
Yes, Jesus is indeed both—man
and
God—but a virgin birth is not the prerequisite for divinity. That is not how it happens.
The ring of a cell phone cut the night air, quickening his pulse. The phone that was now ringing was Mal’akh’s
own
—a cheap disposable phone he had purchased yesterday. The caller ID indicated it was the call he had been anticipating.
A local call,
Mal’akh mused, gazing out across Silver Hill Road toward the faint moonlit outline of a zigzag roofline over the treetops. Mal’akh flipped open his phone.
“This is Dr. Abaddon,” he said, tuning his voice deeper.
“It’s Katherine,” the woman’s voice said. “I finally heard from my brother.”
“Oh, I’m relieved. How is he?”
“He’s on his way to my lab right now,” Katherine said. “In fact, he suggested you join us.”
“I’m sorry?” Mal’akh feigned hesitation. “In your . . . lab?”
“He must trust you deeply. He never invites
anyone
back there.”
“I suppose maybe he thinks a visit might help our discussions, but I feel like it’s an intrusion.”
“If my
brother
says you’re welcome, then you’re welcome. Besides, he said he has a lot to tell us both, and I’d love to get to the bottom of what’s going on.”
“Very well, then.
Where
exactly is your lab?”
“At the Smithsonian Museum Support Center. Do you know where that is?”
“No,” Mal’akh said, staring across the parking lot at the complex. “I’m actually in my car right now, and I have a guidance system. What’s the address?”
“Forty-two-ten Silver Hill Road.”
“Okay, hold on. I’ll type it in.” Mal’akh waited for ten seconds and then said, “Ah, good news, it looks like I’m closer than I thought. The GPS says I’m only about ten minutes away.”
“Great. I’ll phone the security gate and tell them you’re coming through.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll see you shortly.”
Mal’akh pocketed the disposable phone and looked out toward the SMSC.
Was I rude to invite myself?
Smiling, he now pulled out Peter Solomon’s iPhone and admired the text message he had sent Katherine several minutes earlier.
Got your messages. All’s fine. Busy day. Forgot appointment with Dr. Abaddon. Sorry not to mention him sooner. Long story. Am headed to lab now. If available, have Dr. Abaddon join us inside. I trust him fully, and I have much to tell you both. —Peter
Not surprisingly, Peter’s iPhone now pinged with an incoming reply from Katherine.
peter, congrats on learning to text! relieved you’re okay. spoke to dr. A., and he is coming to lab. see you shortly! —k
Clutching Solomon’s iPhone, Mal’akh crouched down under his limousine and wedged the phone between the front tire and the pavement. This phone had served Mal’akh well . . . but now it was time it became untraceable. He climbed behind the wheel, put the car in gear, and crept forward until he heard the sharp crack of the iPhone imploding.
Mal’akh put the car back in park and stared out at the distant silhouette of the SMSC.
Ten minutes.
Peter Solomon’s sprawling warehouse housed over thirty million treasures, but Mal’akh had come here tonight to obliterate only the two most valuable.
All of Katherine Solomon’s research.
And Katherine Solomon herself.
CHAPTER
26
Professor Langdon?”
Sato said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you okay?”
Langdon hoisted his daybag higher onto his shoulder and laid his hand on top of it, as if somehow this might better hide the cube-shaped package he was carrying. He could feel his face had gone ashen. “I’m . . . just worried about Peter.”
Sato cocked her head, eyeing him askew.
Langdon felt a sudden wariness that Sato’s involvement tonight might relate to this small package that Solomon had entrusted to him. Peter had warned Langdon:
Powerful people want to steal this
.
It would be dangerous in the wrong hands.
Langdon couldn’t imagine why the CIA would want a little box containing a talisman . . . or even what the talisman could be.
Ordo ab chao?
Sato stepped closer, her black eyes probing. “I sense you’ve had a revelation?”
Langdon felt himself sweating now. “No, not exactly.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I just . . .” Langdon hesitated, having no idea what to say. He had no intention of revealing the existence of the package in his bag, and yet if Sato took him to the CIA, his bag most certainly would be searched on the way in. “Actually . . .” he fibbed, “I have another idea about the numbers on Peter’s hand.”
Sato’s expression revealed nothing. “Yes?” She glanced over at Anderson now, who was just arriving from greeting the forensics team that had finally arrived.
Langdon swallowed hard and crouched down beside the hand, wondering what he could possibly come up with to tell them.
You’re a teacher, Robert—improvise!
He took one last look at the seven tiny symbols, hoping for some sort of inspiration.
Nothing. Blank.
As Langdon’s eidetic memory skimmed 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 symbologist’s first clue that he’s 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 used 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 symbologist’s 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.” Langdon’s 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 Peter’s captor already when he spoke the ancient Hermetic adage.
As above, so below.
Langdon felt a chill as he reached out and grasped the wooden base on which Peter’s hand was secured. Gently, he turned the base upside down so that Peter’s 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 numeral—thirteen. Moreover, the rest of the characters can be interpreted using the Roman alphabet—SBB.” Langdon assumed the analysis would elicit blank shrugs, but Anderson’s expression immediately changed.
“SBB?” the chief demanded.
Sato turned to Anderson. “If I’m not mistaken, 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. I’d like a word in private.”
As Director Sato led Chief Anderson out of earshot, Langdon stood alone in bewilderment.
What the hell is going on here? And what is SBB XIII?
Chief Anderson wondered how this night could possibly get any stranger.
The hand says SBB13?
He was amazed any outsider had even heard of SBB . . . much less SBB13. Peter Solomon’s 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 near the bronze statue of Thomas Jefferson. “Chief,” she said, “I trust you know exactly where SBB Thirteen is located?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know what’s inside?”
“No, not without looking. I don’t think it’s been used in decades.”
“Well, you’re going to open it up.”
Anderson did not appreciate being told what he would do in his own building. “Ma’am, that may be problematic. I’ll have to check the assignment roster first. As you know, most of the lower levels are private offices or storage, and security protocol regarding private—”
“You will unlock SBB Thirteen for me,” Sato said, “or I will call 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. Send someone immediately. And I’ll need a flashlight.” He stowed his radio. Anderson’s 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 quickly as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I also need something else from you.”
In addition to breaking and entering?
Anderson was in no position to protest, and yet it had not gone unnoticed by him that Sato had arrived within minutes of Peter’s hand appearing in the Rotunda, and that she now was using the situation to demand access 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 Langdon’s shoulder.”
Anderson glanced over. “What about it?”
“I assume your staff X-rayed that bag when Langdon entered the building?”
