“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.
