No escape, Mr. Langdon.
Simkins turned to the two agents he had told to join him on the platform. “Identification and weapons out. These trains are automated, but they all have a conductor who opens the doors. Find him.”
The train’s headlamp now appeared down the tunnel, and the sound of squealing brakes pierced the air. As the train burst into the station and began slowing down, Simkins and his two agents leaned out over the track, waving CIA identification badges and straining to make eye contact with the conductor before he could open the doors.
The train was closing fast. In the third car, Simkins finally saw the startled face of the conductor, who was apparently trying to figure out why three men in black were all waving identification badges at him. Simkins jogged toward the train, which was now nearing a full stop.
“CIA!” Simkins shouted, holding up his ID. “Do NOT open the doors!” As the train glided slowly past him, he went toward the conductor’s car, shouting in at him. “Do not open your doors! Do you understand?! Do NOT open your doors!”
The train came to a full stop, its wide-eyed conductor nodding repeatedly. “What’s wrong?!” the man demanded through his side window.
“Don’t let this train move,” Simkins said. “And don’t open the doors.”
“Okay.”
“Can you let us into the first car?”
The conductor nodded. Looking fearful, he stepped out of the train, closing the door behind him. He escorted Simkins and his men to the first car, where he manually opened the door.
“Lock it behind us,” Simkins said, pulling his weapon. Simkins and his men stepped quickly into the stark light of the first car. The conductor locked the door behind them.
The first car contained only four passengers—three teenage boys and an old woman—all of whom looked understandably startled to see three armed men entering. Simkins held up his ID. “Everything’s fine. Just stay seated.”
Simkins and his men now began their sweep, pushing toward the back of the sealed train one car at a time—“squeezing toothpaste,” as it was called during his training at the Farm. Very few passengers were on this train, and halfway to the back, the agents still had seen nobody even remotely resembling the description of Robert Langdon and Katherine Solomon. Nonetheless, Simkins remained confident. There was absolutely no place to hide on a subway car. No bathrooms, no storage, and no alternative exits. Even if the targets had seen them board the train and fled to the back, there was no way out. Prying open a door was almost impossible, and Simkins had men watching the platform and both sides of the train anyway.
Patience.
By the time Simkins reached the second-to-last car, however, he was feeling edgy. This penultimate car had only one passenger—a Chinese man. Simkins and his agents moved through, scanning for any place to hide. There was none.
“Last car,” Simkins said, raising his weapon as the threesome moved toward the threshold of the train’s final section. As they stepped into the last car, all three of them immediately stopped and stared.
What the . . . ?!
Simkins raced to the rear of the deserted cabin, searching behind all the seats. He spun back to his men, blood boiling. “Where the hell did they go?!”
CHAPTER
79
Eight miles
due north of Alexandria, Virginia, Robert Langdon and Katherine Solomon strode calmly across a wide expanse of frost-covered lawn.
“You should be an actress,” Langdon said, still impressed by Katherine’s quick thinking and improvisational skills.
“You weren’t half bad yourself.” She gave him a smile.
At first, Langdon had been mystified by Katherine’s abrupt antics in the taxi. Without warning, she had suddenly demanded they go to Freedom Plaza based on some revelation about a Jewish star and the Great Seal of the United States. She drew a well-known conspiracy-theory image on a dollar bill and then insisted Langdon look closely where she was
pointing
.
Finally, Langdon realized that Katherine was pointing
not
at the dollar bill but at a tiny indicator bulb on the back of the driver’s seat. The bulb was so covered with grime that he had not even noticed it. As he leaned forward, however, he could see that the bulb was illuminated, emitting a dull red glow. He could also see the two faint words directly beneath the lit bulb.
—
INTERCOM ON
—
Startled, Langdon glanced back at Katherine, whose frantic eyes were urging him to look into the front seat. He obeyed, stealing a discreet glance through the divider. The cabby’s cell phone was on the dash, wide open, illuminated, facing the intercom speaker. An instant later, Langdon understood Katherine’s actions.
They know we’re in this cab . . . they’ve been listening to us.
Langdon had no idea how much time he and Katherine had until their taxi was stopped and surrounded, but he knew they had to act fast. Instantly, he’d begun playing along, realizing that Katherine’s desire to go to Freedom Plaza had nothing to do with the pyramid but rather with its being a large subway station—Metro Center—from which they could take the Red, Blue, or Orange lines in any of six different directions.
They jumped out of the taxi at Freedom Plaza, and Langdon took over, doing some improvising of his own, leaving a trail to the Masonic Memorial in Alexandria before he and Katherine ran down into the subway station, dashing past the Blue Line platforms and continuing on to the Red Line, where they caught a train in the opposite direction.
Traveling six stops northbound to Tenleytown, they emerged all alone into a quiet, upscale neighborhood. Their destination, the tallest structure for miles, was immediately visible on the horizon, just off Massachusetts Avenue on a vast expanse of manicured lawn.
Now “off the grid,” as Katherine called it, the two of them walked across the damp grass. On their right was a medieval-style garden, famous for its ancient rosebushes and Shadow House gazebo. They moved past the garden, directly toward the magnificent building to which they had been summoned.
A refuge containing ten stones from Mount Sinai, one from heaven itself, and one with the visage of Luke’s dark father
.
“I’ve never been here at night,” Katherine said, gazing up at the brightly lit towers. “It’s spectacular.”
Langdon agreed, having forgotten how impressive this place truly was. This neo-Gothic masterpiece stood at the north end of Embassy Row. He hadn’t been here for years, not since writing a piece about it for a kids’ magazine in hopes of generating some excitement among young Americans to come see this amazing landmark. His article—“Moses, Moon Rocks, and
Star Wars
”—had been part of the tourist literature for years.
Washington National Cathedral,
Langdon thought, feeling an unexpected anticipation at being back after all these years.
Where better to ask about One True God?
“This cathedral
really
has ten stones from Mount Sinai?” Katherine asked, gazing up at the twin bell towers.
Langdon nodded. “Near the main altar. They symbolize the Ten Commandments given to Moses on Mount Sinai.”
“And there’s a lunar rock?”
A rock from heaven itself.
“Yes. One of the stained-glass windows is called the Space Window and has a fragment of moon rock embedded in it.”
“Okay, but you can’t be serious about the last thing.” Katherine glanced over, her pretty eyes flashing skepticism. “A statue of . . . Darth Vader?”
Langdon chuckled. “Luke Skywalker’s dark father? Absolutely. Vader is one of the National Cathedral’s most popular grotesques.” He pointed high into the west towers. “Tough to see him at night, but he’s there.”
“What in the world is Darth Vader doing on Washington National Cathedral?”
“A contest for kids to carve a gargoyle that depicted the face of evil. Darth won.”
They reached the grand staircase to the main entrance, which was set back in an eighty-foot archway beneath a breathtaking rose window. As they began climbing, Langdon’s mind shifted to the mysterious stranger who had called him.
No names, please . . . Tell me, have you successfully protected the map that was entrusted to you?
Langdon’s shoulder ached from carrying the heavy stone pyramid, and he was looking forward to setting it down.
Sanctuary and answers.
As they approached the top of the stairs, they were met with an imposing pair of wooden doors. “Do we just knock?” Katherine asked.
Langdon had been wondering the same thing, except that now one of the doors was creaking open.
“Who’s there?” a frail voice said. The face of a withered old man appeared in the doorway. He wore priest’s robes and a blank stare. His eyes were opaque and white, clouded with cataracts.
“My name is Robert Langdon,” he replied. “Katherine Solomon and I are seeking sanctuary.”
The blind man exhaled in relief. “Thank God. I’ve been expecting you.”
CHAPTER
80
Warren Bellamy
felt a sudden ray of hope.
Inside the Jungle, Director Sato had just received a phone call from a field agent and had immediately flown into a tirade. “Well, you damn well
better
find them!” she shouted into her phone. “We’re running out of time!” She had hung up and was now stalking back and forth in front of Bellamy as if trying to decide what to do next.
Finally, she stopped directly in front of him and turned. “Mr. Bellamy, I’m going to ask you this once, and only once.” She stared deep into his eyes. “Yes or no—do you have any idea where Robert Langdon might have gone?”
Bellamy had more than a good idea, but he shook his head. “No.”
Sato’s piercing gaze had never left his eyes. “Unfortunately, part of my job is to know when people are lying.”
Bellamy averted his eyes. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Architect Bellamy,” Sato said, “tonight just after seven P.M., you were having dinner in a restaurant outside the city when you received a phone call from a man who told you he had kidnapped Peter Solomon.”
Bellamy felt an instant chill and returned his eyes to hers.
How could you possibly know that?!
“The man,” Sato continued, “told you that he had sent Robert Langdon to the Capitol Building and given Langdon a task to complete . . . a task that required
your
help. He warned that if Langdon failed in this task, your friend Peter Solomon would die. Panicked, you called all of Peter’s numbers but failed to reach him. Understandably, you then raced to the Capitol.”
Bellamy could not imagine how Sato knew about this phone call.
“As you fled the Capitol,” Sato said behind the smoldering tip of her cigarette, “you sent a text message to Solomon’s kidnapper, assuring him that you and Langdon had been successful in obtaining the Masonic Pyramid.”
Where is she getting her information?
Bellamy wondered
. Not even Langdon knows I sent that text message.
Immediately after entering the tunnel
to the Library of Congress, Bellamy had stepped into the electrical room to plug in the construction lighting. In the privacy of that moment, he had decided to send a quick text message to Solomon’s captor, telling him about Sato’s involvement, but reassuring him that he—Bellamy—and Langdon had obtained the Masonic Pyramid and would indeed cooperate with his demands. It was a lie, of course, but Bellamy hoped the reassurance might buy time, both for Peter Solomon and also to hide the pyramid.
“Who told you I sent a text?” Bellamy demanded.
Sato tossed Bellamy’s cell phone on the bench next to him. “Hardly rocket science.”
Bellamy now remembered his phone and keys had been taken from him by the agents who captured him.
“As for the rest of my inside information,” Sato said, “the Patriot Act gives me the right to place a wiretap on the phone of anyone I consider a viable threat to national security. I consider Peter Solomon to be such a threat, and last night I took action.”
Bellamy could barely get his mind around what she was telling him. “You’re tapping Peter Solomon’s phone?”
“Yes. This is how I knew the kidnapper called you at the restaurant. You called Peter’s cell phone and left an anxious message explaining what had just happened.”
Bellamy realized she was right.
“We had also intercepted a call from Robert Langdon, who was in the Capitol Building, deeply confused to learn he had been tricked into coming there. I went to the Capitol at once, arriving before you because I was closer. As for how I knew to check the X-ray of Langdon’s bag . . . in light of my realization that Langdon was involved in all of this, I had my staff reexamine a seemingly innocuous early-morning call between Langdon and Peter Solomon’s cell phone, in which the kidnapper, posing as Solomon’s assistant, persuaded Langdon to come for a lecture and also to bring a small package that Peter had entrusted to him. When Langdon was not forthcoming with me about the package he was carrying, I requested the X-ray of his bag.”
Bellamy could barely think. Admittedly, everything Sato was saying was feasible, and yet something was not adding up. “But . . . how could you possibly think Peter Solomon is a threat to national security?”
“Believe me, Peter Solomon
is
a serious national-security threat,” she snapped. “And frankly, Mr. Bellamy, so are
you
.”
Bellamy sat bolt upright, the handcuffs chafing against his wrists. “I beg your pardon?!”
She forced a smile. “You Masons play a risky game. You keep a very,
