book (47 page)

Jeova Sanctus Unus.

 

“That’s all it says?” the dean asked. “One True God?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Langdon replied. “Apparently the pyramid is more of a
metaphorical
map than a geographic one.”

 

The dean held out his hands. “Let me feel it.”

 

Langdon unzipped his bag and pulled out the pyramid, which he carefully hoisted up on the desk, setting it directly in front of the reverend.

 

Langdon and Katherine watched as the old man’s frail hands examined every inch of the stone—the engraved side, the smooth base, and the truncated top. When he was finished, he held out his hands again. “And the capstone?”

 

Langdon retrieved the small stone box, set it on the desk, and opened the lid. Then he removed the capstone and placed it into the old man’s waiting hands. The dean performed a similar examination, feeling every inch, pausing on the capstone’s engraving, apparently having some trouble reading the small, elegantly inscribed text.

 

“‘The secret hides within The Order,’” Langdon offered. “And the words
the
and
order
are capitalized.”

 

The old man’s face was expressionless as he positioned the capstone on top of the pyramid and aligned it by sense of touch. He seemed to pause a moment, as if in prayer, and reverently ran his palms over the complete pyramid several times. Then he reached out and located the cube-shaped box, taking it in his hands, feeling it carefully, his fingers probing inside and out.

 

When he was done, he set down the box and leaned back in his chair. “So tell me,” he demanded, his voice suddenly stern. “Why have you come to me?”

 

The question took Langdon off guard. “We came, sir, because you
told
us to. And Mr. Bellamy said we should trust you.”

 

“And yet you did not trust
him
?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

The dean’s white eyes stared directly through Langdon. “The package containing the capstone was sealed. Mr. Bellamy told you
not
to open it,

 

and yet you did. In addition, Peter Solomon himself told you
not
to open it. And yet you did.”

 

“Sir,” Katherine intervened, “we were trying to help my brother. The man who has him demanded we decipher—”

 

“I can appreciate that,” the dean declared, “and yet what have you achieved by
opening
the package? Nothing. Peter’s captor is looking for a
location,
and he will not be satisfied with the answer of
Jeova Sanctus Unus.
”

 

“I agree,” Langdon said, “but unfortunately that’s all the pyramid says. As I mentioned, the map seems to be more
figurative
than—”

 

“You’re mistaken, Professor,” the dean said. “The Masonic Pyramid is a
real
map. It points to a
real
location. You do not understand that, because you have not yet deciphered the pyramid fully. Not even close.”

 

Langdon and Katherine exchanged startled looks.

 

The dean laid his hands back on the pyramid, almost caressing it. “This map, like the Ancient Mysteries themselves, has many layers of meaning. Its true secret remains veiled from you.”

 

“Dean Galloway,” Langdon said, “we’ve been over every inch of the pyramid and capstone, and there’s nothing else to see.”

 

“Not in its current state, no. But objects change.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Professor, as you know, the promise of this pyramid is one of miraculous transformative power. Legend holds that this pyramid can change its shape . . . alter its physical form to reveal its secrets. Like the famed stone that released Excalibur into the hands of King Arthur, the Masonic Pyramid can transform itself if it so chooses . . . and reveal its secret to the worthy.”

 

Langdon now sensed that the old man’s advanced years had perhaps robbed him of his faculties. “I’m sorry, sir. Are you saying this pyramid can undergo a
literal
physical transformation?”

 

“Professor, if I were to reach out with my hand and transform this pyramid right before your eyes, would you believe what you had witnessed?”

 

Langdon had no idea how to respond. “I suppose I would have no choice.”

 

“Very well, then. In a moment, I shall do exactly that.” He dabbed his mouth again. “Let me remind you that there was an era when even the brightest minds perceived the earth as flat. For if the earth were round, then surely the oceans would spill off. Imagine how they would have mocked you if you proclaimed, ‘Not only is the world a sphere, but there is an invisible, mystical force that holds everything to its surface’!”

 

“There’s a difference,” Langdon said, “between the existence of gravity . . . and the ability to transform objects with a touch of your hand.”

 

“Is there? Is it not possible that we are still living in the Dark Ages, still mocking the suggestion of ‘mystical’ forces that we cannot see or comprehend. History, if it has taught us anything at all, has taught us that the strange ideas we deride today will one day be our celebrated truths. I claim I can transform this pyramid with a touch of my finger, and you question my sanity. I would expect more from an historian. History is replete with great minds who have all proclaimed the
same
thing . . . great minds who have all insisted that man possesses mystical abilities of which he is unaware.”

 

Langdon knew the dean was correct. The famous Hermetic aphorism—
Know ye not that ye are gods?—
was one of the pillars of the Ancient Mysteries.
As above, so below . . . Man created in God’s image . . . Apotheosis.
This persistent message of man’s own divinity—of his hidden potential—was
the
recurring theme in the ancient texts of countless traditions. Even the Holy Bible cried out in Psalms 82:6:
Ye are gods!

 

“Professor,” the old man said, “I realize that
you,
like many educated people, live trapped between worlds—one foot in the spiritual, one foot in the physical. Your heart yearns to believe . . . but your intellect refuses to permit it. As an academic, you would be wise to learn from the great minds of history.” He paused and cleared his throat. “If I’m remembering correctly, one of the greatest minds ever to live proclaimed: ‘That which is impenetrable to us really exists. Behind the secrets of nature remains something subtle, intangible, and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion.’ ”

 

“Who said that?” Langdon said. “Gandhi?”

 

“No,” Katherine interjected. “Albert Einstein.”

 

Katherine Solomon had read every word Einstein had ever written and was struck by his profound respect for the mystical, as well as his predictions that the masses would one day feel the same.
The religion of the future,
Einstein had predicted,
will be a cosmic religion. It will transcend personal God and avoid dogma and theology.

 

Robert Langdon appeared to be struggling with the idea. Katherine could sense his rising frustration with the old Episcopal priest, and she understood. After all, they had traveled here for answers, and they had found instead a blind man who claimed he could transform objects with a
touch of his hands. Even so, the old man’s overt passion for mystical forces reminded Katherine of her brother.

 

“Father Galloway,” Katherine said, “Peter is in trouble. The CIA is chasing us. And Warren Bellamy sent us to you for help. I don’t know what this pyramid says or where it points, but if deciphering it means that we can help Peter, we need to do that. Mr. Bellamy may have preferred to sacrifice my brother’s life to hide this pyramid, but my family has experienced nothing but pain because of it. Whatever secret it may hold, it ends tonight.”

 

“You are correct,” the old man replied, his tone dire. “It
will
all end tonight. You’ve guaranteed that.” He sighed. “Ms. Solomon, when you broke the seal on that box, you set in motion a series of events from which there will be no return. There are forces at work tonight that you do not yet comprehend. There is no turning back.”

 

Katherine stared dumbfounded at the reverend. There was something apocalyptic about his tone, as if he were referring to the Seven Seals of Revelation or Pandora’s box.

 

“Respectfully, sir,” Langdon interceded, “I can’t imagine how a stone pyramid could set in motion
anything
at all.”

 

“Of course you can’t, Professor.” The old man stared blindly through him. “You do not yet have eyes to see.”

 

 

 

CHAPTER
83

 

In the
moist air of the Jungle, the Architect of the Capitol could feel the sweat now rolling down his back. His handcuffed wrists ached, but all of his attention remained riveted on the ominous titanium briefcase that Sato had just opened on the bench between them.

 

The contents of this case,
Sato had told him,
will persuade you to see things my way. I guarantee it.

 

The tiny Asian woman had unclasped the metal case
away
from Bellamy’s line of sight, and he had yet to see its contents, but his imagination was running wild. Sato’s hands were doing something inside the case, and Bellamy half expected her to extract a series of glistening, razor-sharp tools.

 

Suddenly a light source flickered inside the case, growing brighter, illuminating Sato’s face from beneath. Her hands kept moving inside, and the light changed hue. After a few moments, she removed her hands, grasped the entire case, and turned it toward Bellamy so he could see inside.

 

Bellamy found himself squinting into the glow of what appeared to be some kind of futuristic laptop with a handheld phone receiver, two antennae, and a double keyboard. His initial surge of relief turned quickly to confusion.

 

The screen bore the CIA logo and the text:

 

SECURE LOG-IN

 

USER: INOUE SATO

 

SECURITY CLEARANCE: LEVEL 5

 

Beneath the laptop’s log-in window, a progress icon was spinning:

 

ONE MOMENT PLEASE . . .

 

DECRYPTING FILE . . .

 

Bellamy’s gaze shot back up to Sato, whose eyes were locked on his. “I had not wanted to show you this,” she said. “But you’ve left me no choice.”

 

The screen flickered again, and Bellamy glanced back down as the file opened, its contents filling the entire LCD.

 

For several moments, Bellamy stared at the screen, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. Gradually, as it began to dawn on him, he felt the blood draining from his face. He stared in horror, unable to look away. “But this is . . .
impossible
!” he exclaimed. “How . . . could this be!”

 

Sato’s face was grim. “You tell
me,
Mr. Bellamy.
You
tell me.”

 

As the Architect of the Capitol began to fully comprehend the ramifications of what he was seeing, he could feel his entire world teetering precariously on the brink of disaster.

 

My God . . . I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake!

 

 

 

CHAPTER
84

 

Dean Galloway
felt alive.

 

Like all mortals, he knew the time was coming when he would shed his mortal shell, but tonight was not the night. His corporeal heart was beating strong and fast . . . and his mind felt sharp.
There is work to be done.

 

As he ran his arthritic hands across the pyramid’s smooth surfaces, he could scarcely believe what he was feeling.
I never imagined I would live to witness this moment.
For generations, the pieces of the symbolon map had been kept safely apart from one another. Now they were united at last. Galloway wondered if this was the foretold time.

 

Strangely, fate had selected two non-Masons to assemble the pyramid. Somehow, this seemed fitting.
The Mysteries are moving out of the inner circles . . . out of darkness . . . into the light.

 

“Professor,” he said, turning his head in the direction of Langdon’s breathing. “Did Peter tell you
why
he wanted you to watch over the little package?”

 

“He said powerful people wanted to steal it from him,” Langdon replied.

 

The dean nodded. “Yes, Peter told me the same thing.”

 

“He did?” Katherine said suddenly on his left. “You and my brother
spoke
about this pyramid?”

 

“Of course,” Galloway said. “Your brother and I have spoken on many things. I was once the Worshipful Master at the House of the Temple, and he comes to me for guidance at times. It was about a year ago that he came to me, deeply troubled. He sat exactly where you are now, and he asked me if I believed in supernatural premonitions.”

 

“Premonitions?” Katherine sounded concerned. “You mean like . . .
visions
?”

 

“Not exactly. It was more visceral. Peter said he was feeling the growing presence of a dark force in his life. He sensed something was watching him . . . waiting . . . intending to do him great harm.”

 

“Obviously he was right,” Katherine said, “considering that the same
man who killed our mother and Peter’s son had come to Washington and become one of Peter’s own Masonic brothers.”

 

“True,” Langdon said, “but it doesn’t explain the involvement of the CIA.”

 

Galloway was not so sure. “Men in power are always interested in greater power.”

 

“But . . . the CIA?” Langdon challenged. “And mystical secrets? Something doesn’t add up.”

 

“Sure it does,” Katherine said. “The CIA thrives on technological advancement and has always experimented with the mystical sciences—ESP, remote viewing, sensory deprivation, pharmacologically induced highly mentalized states. It’s all the same thing—tapping the unseen potential of the human mind. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Peter, it’s this: Science and mysticism are very closely related, distinguishable only by their approaches. They have identical goals . . . but different methods.”