book (31 page)

enclosure
became the
symbol
for that letter.

 

The scheme was so simple, it was almost infantile.

 

 

 

Langdon double-checked his handiwork. Feeling confident the decryption key was correct, he now turned his attention back to the code inscribed on the pyramid. To decipher it, all he had to do was to find the matching shape on his decryption key and write down the letter inside it.

 

 

The first character on the pyramid looked like a down arrow or a chalice. Langdon quickly found the chalice-shaped segment on the decryption key. It was located in the lower left-hand corner and enclosed the letter
S
.

 

Langdon wrote down
S
.

 

The next symbol on the pyramid was a dotted square missing its right side. That shape on the decryption grid enclosed the letter
O
.

 

He wrote down
O
.

 

The third symbol was a simple square, which enclosed the letter
E
.

 

Langdon wrote down
E
.

 

S O E . . .

 

He continued, picking up speed until he had completed the entire grid.

 

Now, as he gazed down at his finished translation, Langdon let out a puzzled sigh.
Hardly what I’d call a eureka moment.

 

Bellamy’s face showed the hint of a smile. “As you know, Professor, the Ancient Mysteries are reserved only for the truly enlightened.”

 

“Right,” Langdon said, frowning.
Apparently, I don’t qualify.

 

 

 

CHAPTER
50

 

In a basement
office deep inside CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, the same sixteen-character Masonic cipher glowed brightly on a high-definition computer monitor. Senior OS analyst Nola Kaye sat alone and studied the image that had been e-mailed to her ten minutes ago by her boss, Director Inoue Sato.

 

Is this some kind of joke?
Nola knew it was not, of course; Director Sato had no sense of humor, and the events of tonight were anything but a joking matter. Nola’s high-level clearance within the CIA’s all-seeing Office of Security had opened her eyes to the shadow worlds of power. But what Nola had witnessed in the last twenty-four hours had changed her impressions forever of the secrets that powerful men kept.

 

“Yes, Director,” Nola now said, cradling the phone on her shoulder as she talked to Sato. “The engraving is indeed the Masonic cipher. However, the cleartext is meaningless. It appears to be a grid of random letters.” She gazed down at her decryption.

 

 

“It must say
something,
” Sato insisted.

 

“Not unless it has a second layer of encryption that I’m not aware of.”

 

“Any guesses?” Sato asked.

 

“It’s a grid-based matrix, so I could run the usual—Vigenère, grilles, trellises, and so forth—but no promises, especially if it’s a onetime pad.”

 

“Do what you can. And do it fast. How about the X-ray?”

 

Nola swiveled her chair to a second system, which displayed a standard

 

security X-ray of someone’s bag. Sato had requested information on what appeared to be a small pyramid inside a cube-shaped box. Normally, a two-inch-tall object would not be an issue of national security unless it was made of enriched plutonium. This one was not. It was made of something almost equally startling.

 

“Image-density analysis was conclusive,” Nola said. “Nineteen-point-three grams per cubic centimeter. It’s pure gold. Very, very valuable.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Actually, yes. The density scan picked up minor irregularities on the surface of the gold pyramid. It turns out the gold is engraved with text.”

 

“Really?” Sato sounded hopeful. “What does it say?”

 

“I can’t tell yet. The inscription is extremely faint. I’m trying to enhance with filters, but the resolution on the X-ray is not great.”

 

“Okay, keep trying. Call me when you have something.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“And, Nola?” Sato’s tone turned ominous. “As with everything you have learned in the last twenty-four hours, the images of the stone pyramid and gold capstone are classified at the highest levels of security. You are to consult no one. You report to me directly. I want to make sure that is clear.”

 

“Of course, ma’am.”

 

“Good. Keep me posted.” Sato hung up.

 

Nola rubbed her eyes and looked blearily back at her computer screens. She had not slept in over thirty-six hours, and she knew damn well she would not sleep again until this crisis had reached its conclusion.

 

Whatever that may be.

 

Back at the Capitol Visitor Center, four black-clad CIA field-op specialists stood at the entrance to the tunnel, peering hungrily down the dimly lit shaft like a pack of dogs eager for the hunt.

 

Sato approached, having just hung up from a call. “Gentlemen,” she said, still holding the Architect’s key, “are your mission parameters clear?”

 

“Affirmative,” the lead agent replied. “We have
two
targets. The first is an engraved stone pyramid, approximately one foot tall. The second is a smaller, cube-shaped package, approximately two inches tall. Both were last seen in Robert Langdon’s shoulder bag.”

 

“Correct,” Sato said. “These two items must be retrieved quickly and intact. Do you have any questions?”

 

“Parameters for use of force?”

 

Sato’s shoulder was still throbbing from where Bellamy had struck her
with a bone. “As I said, it is of critical importance that these items be retrieved.”

 

“Understood.” The four men turned and headed into the darkness of the tunnel.

 

Sato lit a cigarette and watched them disappear.

 

 

 

CHAPTER
51

 

Katherine Solomon
had always been a prudent driver, but now she was pushing her Volvo at over ninety as she fled blindly up the Suitland Parkway. Her trembling foot had been lodged on the accelerator for a full mile before her panic began to lift. She now realized her uncontrollable shivering was no longer solely from fear.

 

I’m freezing.

 

The wintry night air was gushing through her shattered window, buffeting her body like an arctic wind. Her stockinged feet were numb, and she reached down for her spare pair of shoes, which she kept beneath the passenger seat. As she did, she felt a stab of pain from the bruise on her throat, where the powerful hand had latched on to her neck.

 

The man who had smashed through her window bore no resemblance to the blond-haired gentleman whom Katherine knew as Dr. Christopher Abaddon. His thick hair and smooth, tanned complexion had disappeared. His shaved head, bare chest, and makeup-smeared face had been unveiled as a terrifying tapestry of tattoos.

 

She heard his voice again, whispering to her in the howl of wind outside her broken window.
Katherine, I should have killed you years ago . . . the night I killed your mother.

 

Katherine shivered, feeling no doubt.
That was him.
She had never forgotten the look of fiendish violence in his eyes. Nor had she ever forgotten the sound of her brother’s single gunshot, which had killed this man, propelling him off a high ledge into the frozen river below, where he plummeted through the ice and never resurfaced. Investigators had searched for weeks, never finding his body, and finally decided it had been washed away by the current out to the Chesapeake Bay.

 

They were wrong,
she now knew.
He is still alive.

 

And he’s back.

 

Katherine felt angst-ridden as the memories flooded back. It was almost exactly ten years ago. Christmas Day. Katherine, Peter, and their mother—her entire family—were gathered at their sprawling stone
mansion in Potomac, nestled on a two-hundred-acre wooded estate with its own river running through it.

 

As was tradition, their mother worked diligently in the kitchen, rejoicing in the holiday custom of cooking for her two children. Even at seventy-five years of age, Isabel Solomon was an exuberant cook, and tonight the mouthwatering smells of roast venison, parsnip gravy, and garlic mashed potatoes wafted through the house. While Mother prepared the feast, Katherine and her brother relaxed in the conservatory, discussing Katherine’s latest fascination—a new field called Noetic Science. An unlikely fusion of modern particle physics and ancient mysticism, Noetics had absolutely captivated Katherine’s imagination.

 

Physics meets philosophy.

 

Katherine told Peter about some of the experiments she was dreaming up, and she could see in his eyes that he was intrigued. Katherine felt particularly pleased to give her brother something positive to think about this Christmas, since the holiday had also become a painful reminder of a terrible tragedy.

 

Peter’s son, Zachary.

 

Katherine’s nephew’s twenty-first birthday had been his last. The family had been through a nightmare, and it seemed that her brother was only now finally learning how to laugh again.

 

Zachary had been a late bloomer, frail and awkward, a rebellious and angry teenager. Despite his deeply loving and privileged upbringing, the boy seemed determined to detach himself from the Solomon “establishment.” He was kicked out of prep school, partied hard with the “celebrati,” and shunned his parents’ exhaustive attempts to provide him firm and loving guidance.

 

He broke Peter’s heart
.

 

Shortly before Zachary’s eighteenth birthday, Katherine had sat down with her mother and brother and listened to them debating whether or not to withhold Zachary’s inheritance until he was more mature. The Solomon inheritance—a centuries-old tradition in the family—bequeathed a staggeringly generous piece of the Solomon wealth to every Solomon child on his or her eighteenth birthday. The Solomons believed that an inheritance was more helpful at the
beginning
of someone’s life than at the end. Moreover, placing large pieces of the Solomon fortune in the hands of eager young descendants had been the key to growing the family’s dynastic wealth.

 

In this case, however, Katherine’s mother argued that it was dangerous to give Peter’s troubled son such a large sum of money. Peter disagreed.

 

“The Solomon inheritance,” her brother had said, “is a family tradition that should not be broken. This money may well force Zachary to be more responsible.”

 

Sadly, her brother had been wrong.

 

The moment Zachary received the money, he broke from the family, disappearing from the house without taking any of his belongings. He surfaced a few months later in the tabloids:
TRUST FUND PLAYBOY LIVING EUROPEAN HIGH LIFE
.

 

The tabloids took joy in documenting Zachary’s spoiled life of debauchery. The photos of wild parties on yachts and drunken disco stupors were hard for the Solomons to take, but the photos of their wayward teen turned from tragic to frightening when the papers reported Zachary had been caught carrying cocaine across a border in Eastern Europe: