The driver shrugged, closed the Plexiglas divider, and turned his music back on.
Katherine shot Langdon an admonishing look as if to say: “Leave no trail
.
” She pointed out the window, directing Langdon’s attention to a black helicopter that was skimming in low, approaching the area.
Shit.
Sato was apparently dead serious about recovering Solomon’s pyramid.
As they watched the helicopter land between the Jefferson and Adams buildings, Katherine turned to him, looking increasingly worried. “Can I see your cell phone for a second?”
Langdon handed her his phone.
“Peter told me you have an eidetic memory?” she said, rolling down her window. “And that you remember every phone number you’ve ever dialed?”
“That’s true, but—”
Katherine hurled his phone out into the night. Langdon spun in his seat and watched as his cell phone cartwheeled and splintered into pieces on the pavement behind them. “Why did you do that!”
“Off the grid,” Katherine said, her eyes grave. “This pyramid is our only hope of finding my brother, and I have no intention of letting the CIA steal it from us.”
In the front seat, Omar Amirana bobbed his head and hummed along with his music. Tonight had been slow, and he felt blessed to finally have a fare. His cab was just passing Stanton Park, when the familiar voice of his company dispatcher crackled over the radio.
“This is Dispatch. All vehicles in the area of the National Mall. We have just received a bulletin from government authorities regarding two fugitives in the area of the Adams Building . . .”
Omar listened in amazement as Dispatch described the precise couple
in his cab. He stole an uneasy glance in his rearview mirror. Omar had to admit, the tall guy
did
look familiar somehow.
Did I see him on
America’s Most Wanted
?
Gingerly, Omar reached for his radio handset. “Dispatch?” he said, speaking quietly into the transceiver. “This is cab one-three-four. The two people you asked about—they are in my cab . . . right now.”
Dispatch immediately advised Omar what to do. Omar’s hands were trembling as he called the phone number Dispatch had given him. The voice that answered was tight and efficient, like that of a soldier.
“This is Agent Turner Simkins, CIA field ops. Who is this?”
“Um . . . I’m the taxi driver?” Omar said. “I was told to call about the two—”
“Are the fugitives currently in your vehicle? Answer only yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Can they hear this conversation? Yes or no?”
“No. The slider is—”
“Where are you taking them?”
“Northwest on Massachusetts.”
“Specific destination?”
“They didn’t say.”
The agent hesitated. “Is the male passenger carrying a leather bag?”
Omar glanced in the rearview mirror, and his eyes went wide. “Yes! That bag doesn’t have explosives or anything in—”
“Listen carefully,” the agent said. “You are in no danger so long as you follow my directions exactly. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is your name?”
“Omar,” he said, breaking a sweat.
“Listen, Omar,” the man said calmly. “You’re doing great. I want you to drive as slowly as possible while I get my team out in front of you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Also, is your cab equipped with an intercom system so you can communicate with them in the backseat?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Here’s what I want you to do.”
CHAPTER
74
The Jungle,
as it is known, is the centerpiece of the U.S. Botanic Garden (USBG)—America’s living museum—located adjacent to the U.S. Capitol Building. Technically a rain forest, the Jungle is housed in a towering greenhouse, complete with soaring rubber trees, strangler figs, and a canopy catwalk for more daring tourists.
Normally, Warren Bellamy felt nurtured by the Jungle’s earthy smells and the sunlight glinting through the mist that filtered down from the vapor nozzles in the glass ceiling. Tonight, however, lit only by moonlight, the Jungle terrified him. He was sweating profusely, writhing against the cramps that now stabbed at his arms, still pinned painfully behind him.
Director Sato paced before him, puffing calmly on her cigarette—the equivalent of ecoterrorism in this carefully calibrated environment. Her face looked almost demonic in the smoke-filled moonlight that streamed down through the glass ceiling overhead.
“So then,” Sato continued, “when you arrived at the Capitol tonight, and you discovered that I was already there . . . you made a decision. Rather than making your presence known to me, you descended quietly into the SBB, where, at great risk to yourself, you attacked Chief Anderson and myself, and you helped Langdon escape with the pyramid and capstone.” She rubbed her shoulder. “An interesting choice.”
A choice I would make again,
Bellamy thought. “Where is Peter?” he demanded angrily.
“How would
I
know?” Sato said.
“You seem to know everything else!” Bellamy fired back at her, making no attempt to hide his suspicion that she was somehow behind all this. “You knew to go to the Capitol Building. You knew to find Robert Langdon. And you even knew to X-ray Langdon’s bag to find the capstone. Obviously, someone is giving you a lot of inside information.”
Sato laughed coldly and stepped closer to him. “Mr. Bellamy, is
that
why you attacked me? Do you think I’m the
enemy
? Do you think I’m trying to steal your little pyramid?” Sato took a drag on her cigarette and
blew the smoke out of her nostrils. “Listen carefully. No one understands better than I do the importance of keeping secrets. I believe, as you do, that there is certain information to which the masses should not be privy. Tonight, however, there are forces at work that I fear you have not yet grasped. The man who kidnapped Peter Solomon holds enormous power . . . a power that you apparently have yet to realize. Believe me, he is a walking time bomb . . . capable of initiating a series of events that will profoundly change the world as you know it.”
“I don’t understand.” Bellamy shifted on the bench, his arms aching in his handcuffs.
“You don’t
need
to understand. You need to obey. Right now, my only hope of averting a major disaster is to cooperate with this man . . . and to give him exactly what he wants. Which means, you are going to call Mr. Langdon and tell him to turn himself in, along with the pyramid and capstone. Once Langdon is in my custody, he will decrypt the pyramid’s inscription, obtain whatever information this man is demanding, and provide him with exactly what he wants.”
The location of the spiral staircase that leads to the Ancient Mysteries?
“I can’t do that. I’ve taken vows of secrecy.”
Sato erupted. “I don’t give a damn
what
you’ve vowed, I will throw you in prison so fast—”
“Threaten me all you like,” Bellamy said defiantly. “I will not help you.”
Sato took a deep breath and spoke now in a fearsome whisper. “Mr. Bellamy, you have no idea what’s really going on tonight, do you?”
The tense silence hung for several seconds, finally broken by the sound of Sato’s phone. She plunged her hand into her pocket and eagerly snatched it out. “Talk to me,” she answered, listening carefully to the reply. “Where is their taxi now? How long? Okay, good. Bring them to the U.S. Botanic Garden. Service entrance. And make sure you get me that god-damn pyramid and capstone.”
Sato hung up and turned back to Bellamy with a smug smile. “Well then . . . it seems you’re fast outliving your usefulness.”
CHAPTER
75
Robert Langdon
stared blankly into space, feeling too tired to urge the slow-moving taxi driver to pick up the pace. Beside him, Katherine had fallen silent, too, looking frustrated by their lack of understanding of what made the pyramid so special. They had again been through everything they knew about the pyramid, the capstone, and the evening’s strange events; they still had no ideas as to how this pyramid could possibly be considered a map to anything at all.
Jeova Sanctus Unus? The secret hides within The Order?
Their mysterious contact had promised them answers if they could meet him at a specific place.
A refuge in Rome, north of the Tiber.
Langdon knew the forefathers’ “new Rome” had been renamed Washington early in her history, and yet vestiges of their original dream remained: the Tiber’s waters still flowed into the Potomac; senators still convened beneath a replica of St. Peter’s dome; and Vulcan and Minerva still watched over the Rotunda’s long-extinguished flame.
The answers sought by Langdon and Katherine were apparently waiting for them just a few miles ahead.
Northwest on Massachusetts Avenue.
Their destination was indeed a refuge . . . north of Washington’s Tiber Creek. Langdon wished the driver would speed up.
Abruptly, Katherine jolted upright in her seat, as if she had made a sudden realization. “Oh my God, Robert!” She turned to him, her face going white. She hesitated a moment and then spoke emphatically. “We’re going the wrong way!”
“No, this is right,” Langdon countered. “It’s northwest on Massachu—”
“No! I mean we’re going to the wrong
place
!”
Langdon was mystified. He had already told Katherine how he knew what location was being described by the mysterious caller.
It contains ten stones from Mount Sinai, one from heaven itself, and one with the visage of Luke’s dark father.
Only one building on earth could make those claims. And that was exactly where this taxi was headed.
“Katherine, I’m certain the location is correct.”
“No!” she shouted. “We don’t need to go
there
anymore. I figured out the pyramid and capstone! I know what this is all about!”
Langdon was amazed. “You understand it?”
“Yes! We have to go to Freedom Plaza instead!”
Now Langdon was lost. Freedom Plaza, although nearby, seemed totally irrelevant.
“Jeova Sanctus Unus!”
Katherine said. “The One True God of the Hebrews. The sacred symbol of the
Hebrews
is the Jewish star—the Seal of Solomon—an important symbol to the Masons!” She fished a dollar bill out of her pocket. “Give me your pen.”
Bewildered, Langdon pulled a pen from his jacket.
“Look.” She spread the bill out on her thigh and took his pen, pointing to the Great Seal on the back. “If you superimpose Solomon’s seal on the Great Seal of the United States . . .” She drew the symbol of a Jewish star precisely over the pyramid. “Look what you get!”
Langdon looked down at the bill and then back at Katherine as if she were mad.
“Robert, look more closely! Don’t you see what I’m
pointing
at?”
He glanced back at the drawing.
What in the world is she getting at?
Langdon had seen this image before. It was popular among conspiracy theorists as “proof” that the Masons held secret influence over our early nation. When the six-pointed star was laid perfectly over the Great Seal of the United States, the star’s top vertex fit perfectly over the Masonic all-seeing eye . . . and, quite eerily, the other five vertices clearly pointed to the letters
M-A-S-O-N.
“Katherine, that’s just a coincidence, and I still don’t see how it has anything to do with Freedom Plaza.”
“Look again!” she said, sounding almost angry now. “You’re not looking where I am
pointing
! Right there. Don’t you see it?”
An instant later, Langdon saw it.
CIA field-operations leader Turner Simkins stood outside the Adams Building and pressed his cell phone tightly to his ear, straining to hear the conversation now taking place in the back of the taxi.
Something just happened.
His team was about to board the modified Sikorsky UH-60 helicopter to head northwest and set up a roadblock, but now it seemed the situation had suddenly changed.
Seconds ago, Katherine Solomon had begun insisting they were going to the wrong destination. Her explanation—something about the dollar bill and Jewish stars—made no sense to the team leader, nor, apparently, to Robert Langdon. At least at first. Now, however, Langdon seemed to have grasped her meaning.
“My God, you’re right!” Langdon blurted. “I didn’t see it earlier!”
Suddenly Simkins could hear someone banging on the driver’s divider, and then it slid open. “Change of plans,” Katherine shouted to the driver. “Take us to Freedom Plaza!”
