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occurs to me,” she said, “that your metasystems work essentially lets you calculate the weight of an entire

sandy beach . . . by weighing one grain at a time.”

“Yes, basically that’s right.”

“As you know, this little grain of sand has mass. A very small mass, but mass nonetheless.”

Trish nodded.

“And because this grain of sand has mass, it therefore exerts gravity. Again, too small to feel, but there.”

“Right.”

“Now,” Katherine said, “if we take trillions of these sand grains and let them attract one another to form . . .

say, the moon, then their combined gravity is enough to move entire oceans and drag the tides back and forth

across our planet.”

Trish had no idea where this was headed, but she liked what she was hearing.

“So let’s take a hypothetical,” Katherine said, discarding the sand grain. “What if I told you that a thought . .

. any tiny idea that forms in your mind . . . actually has mass? What if I told you that a thought is an actual

thing, a measurable entity, with a measurable mass? A minuscule mass, of course, but mass nonetheless.

What are the implications?”

“Hypothetically speaking? Well, the obvious implications are . . . if a thought has mass, then a thought exerts

gravity and can pull things toward it.”

Katherine smiled. “You’re good. Now take it a step further. What happens if many people start focusing on

the same thought? All the occurrences of that same thought begin to merge into one, and the cumulative mass

of this thought begins to grow. And therefore, its gravity grows.”

“Okay.”

“Meaning . . . if enough people begin thinking the same thing, then the gravitational force of that thought

becomes tangible . . . and it exerts actual force.” Katherine winked. “And it can have a measurable effect in

our physical world.”

CHAPTER 19

Director Inoue Sato stood with her arms folded, her eyes locked skeptically on Langdon as she processed

what he had just told her. “He said he wants you to unlock an ancient portal? What am I supposed to do with

that, Professor?”

Langdon shrugged weakly. He was feeling ill again and tried not to look down at his friend’s severed hand.

“That’s exactly what he told me. An ancient portal . . . hidden somewhere in this building. I told him I knew

of no portal.”

“Then why does he think you can find it?”

“Obviously, he’s insane.” He said Peter would point the way. Langdon looked down at Peter’s upstretched

finger, again feeling repulsed by his captor’s sadistic play on words. Peter will point the way. Langdon had

already permitted his eyes to follow the pointing finger up to the dome overhead. A portal? Up there?

Insane.

“This man who called me,” Langdon told Sato, “was the only one who knew I was coming to the Capitol

tonight, so whoever informed you I was here tonight, that’s your man. I recommend—”

“Where I got my information is not your concern,” Sato interrupted, voice sharpening. “My top priority at the

moment is to cooperate with this man, and I have information suggesting you are the only one who can give

him what he wants.”

“And my top priority is to find my friend,” Langdon replied, frustrated.

Sato inhaled deeply, her patience clearly being tested. “If we want to find Mr. Solomon, we have one course

of action, Professor—to start cooperating with the one person who seems to know where he is.” Sato checked

her watch. “Our time is limited. I can assure you it is imperative we comply with this man’s demands

quickly.”

“How?” Langdon asked, incredulous. “By locating and unlocking an ancient portal? There is no portal,

Director Sato. This guy’s a lunatic.”

Sato stepped close, less than a foot from Langdon. “If I may point this out . . . your lunatic deftly

manipulated two fairly smart individuals already this morning.” She stared directly at Langdon and then

glanced at Anderson. “In my business, one learns there is a fine line between insanity and genius. We would

be wise to give this man a little respect.”

“He cut off a man’s hand!”

“My point exactly. That is hardly the act of an uncommitted or uncertain individual. More important,

Professor, this man obviously believes you can help him. He brought you all the way to Washington—and he

must have done it for a reason.”

“He said the only reason he thinks I can unlock this ‘portal’ is that Peter told him I can unlock it,” Langdon

countered.

“And why would Peter Solomon say that if it weren’t true?”

“I’m sure Peter said no such thing. And if he did, then he did so under duress. He was confused . . . or

frightened.”

“Yes. It’s called interrogational torture, and it’s quite effective. All the more reason Mr. Solomon would tell

the truth.” Sato spoke as if she’d had personal experience with this technique. “Did he explain why Peter

thinks you alone can unlock the portal?”

Langdon shook his head.

“Professor, if your reputations are correct, then you and Peter Solomon both share an interest in this sort of

thing—secrets, historical esoterica, mysticism, and so on. In all of your discussions with Peter, he never once

mentioned to you anything about a secret portal in Washington, D.C.?”

Langdon could scarcely believe he was being asked this question by a high-ranking officer of the CIA. “I’m

certain of it. Peter and I talk about some pretty arcane things, but believe me, I’d tell him to get his head

examined if he ever told me there was an ancient portal hidden anywhere at all. Particularly one that leads to

the Ancient Mysteries.”

She glanced up. “I’m sorry? The man told you specifically what this portal leads to?”

“Yes, but he didn’t have to.” Langdon motioned to the hand. “The Hand of the Mysteries is a formal

invitation to pass through a mystical gateway and acquire ancient secret knowledge—powerful wisdom

known as the Ancient Mysteries . . . or the lost wisdom of all the ages.”

“So you’ve heard of the secret he believes is hidden here.”

“A lot of historians have heard of it.”

“Then how can you say the portal does not exist?”

“With respect, ma’am, we’ve all heard of the Fountain of Youth and Shangri-la, but that does not mean they

exist.”

The loud squawk of Anderson’s radio interrupted them.

“Chief?” the voice on the radio said.

Anderson snatched his radio from his belt. “Anderson here.”

“Sir, we’ve completed a search of the grounds. There’s no one here that fits the description. Any further

orders, sir?”

Anderson shot a quick glance at Sato, clearly expecting a reprimand, but Director Sato seemed uninterested.

Anderson moved away from Langdon and Sato, speaking quietly into his radio.

Sato’s unwavering focus remained on Langdon. “You’re saying the secret he believes is hidden in

Washington . . . is a fantasy?”

Langdon nodded. “A very old myth. The secret of the Ancient Mysteries is pre-Christian, actually.

Thousands of years old.”

“And yet it’s still around?”

“As are many equally improbable beliefs.” Langdon often reminded his students that most modern religions

included stories that did not hold up to scientific scrutiny: everything from Moses parting the Red Sea . . . to

Joseph Smith using magic eyeglasses to translate the Book of Mormon from a series of gold plates he found

buried in upstate New York. Wide acceptance of an idea is not proof of its validity.

“I see. So what exactly are these . . . Ancient Mysteries?”

Langdon exhaled. Have you got a few weeks? “In short, the Ancient Mysteries refer to a body of secret

knowledge that was amassed long ago. One intriguing aspect of this knowledge is that it allegedly enables its

practitioners to access powerful abilities that lie dormant in the human mind. The enlightened Adepts who

possessed this knowledge vowed to keep it veiled from the masses because it was considered far too potent

and dangerous for the uninitiated.”

“Dangerous in what way?”

“The information was kept hidden for the same reason we keep matches from children. In the correct hands,

fire can provide illumination . . . but in the wrong hands, fire can be highly destructive.”

Sato took off her glasses and studied him. “Tell me, Professor, do you believe such powerful information

could truly exist?”

Langdon was not sure how to respond. The Ancient Mysteries had always been the greatest paradox of his

academic career. Virtually every mystical tradition on earth revolved around the idea that there existed

arcane knowledge capable of imbuing humans with mystical, almost godlike, powers: tarot and I Ching gave

men the ability to see the future; alchemy gave men immortality through the fabled Philosopher’s Stone;

Wicca permitted advanced practitioners to cast powerful spells. The list went on and on.

As an academic, Langdon could not deny the historical record of these traditions—troves of documents,

artifacts, and artwork that, indeed, clearly suggested the ancients had a powerful wisdom that they shared

only through allegory, myths, and symbols, ensuring that only those properly initiated could access its power.

Nonetheless, as a realist and a skeptic, Langdon remained unconvinced.

“Let’s just say I’m a skeptic,” he told Sato. “I have never seen anything in the real world to suggest the

Ancient Mysteries are anything other than legend—a recurring mythological archetype. It seems to me that if

it were possible for humans to acquire miraculous powers, there would be evidence. And yet, so far, history

has given us no men with superhuman powers.”

Sato arched her eyebrows. “That’s not entirely true.”

Langdon hesitated, realizing that for many religious people, there was indeed a precedent for human gods,

Jesus being the most obvious. “Admittedly,” he said, “there are plenty of educated people who believe this

empowering wisdom truly exists, but I’m not yet convinced.”

“Is Peter Solomon one of those people?” Sato asked, glancing toward the hand on the floor.

Langdon could not bring himself to look at the hand. “Peter comes from a family lineage that has always had

a passion for all things ancient and mystical.”

“Was that a yes?” Sato asked.

“I can assure you that even if Peter believes the Ancient Mysteries are real, he does not believe they are

accessible through some kind of portal hidden in Washington, D.C. He understands metaphorical symbolism,

which is something his captor apparently does not.”

Sato nodded. “So you believe this portal is a metaphor.”

“Of course,” Langdon said. “In theory, anyway. It’s a very common metaphor—a mystical portal through

which one must travel to become enlightened. Portals and doorways are common symbolic constructs that

represent transformative rites of passage. To look for a literal portal would be like trying to locate the actual

Gates of Heaven.”

Sato seemed to consider this momentarily. “But it sounds like Mr. Solomon’s captor believes you can unlock

an actual portal.”

Langdon exhaled. “He’s made the same error many zealots make—confusing metaphor with a literal reality.”

Similarly, early alchemists had toiled in vain to transform lead into gold, never realizing that lead-to-gold

was nothing but a metaphor for tapping into true human potential—that of taking a dull, ignorant mind and

transforming it into a bright, enlightened one.

Sato motioned to the hand. “If this man wants you to locate some kind of portal for him, why wouldn’t he

simply tell you how to find it? Why all the dramatics? Why give you a tattooed hand?”

Langdon had asked himself the same question and the answer was unsettling. “Well, it seems the man we are

dealing with, in addition to being mentally unstable, is also highly educated. This hand is proof that he is well

versed in the Mysteries as well as their codes of secrecy. Not to mention with the history of this room.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Everything he has done tonight was done in perfect accordance with ancient protocols. Traditionally, the

Hand of the Mysteries is a sacred invitation, and therefore it must be presented in a sacred place.”

Sato’s eyes narrowed. “This is the Rotunda of the U.S. Capitol Building, Professor, not some sacred shrine to

ancient mystical secrets.”

“Actually, ma’am,” Langdon said, “I know a great number of historians who would disagree with you.”

At that moment, across town, Trish Dunne was seated in the glow of the plasma wall inside the Cube. She

finished preparing her search spider and typed in the five key phrases Katherine had given her.

Here goes nothing.

Feeling little optimism, she launched the spider, effectively commencing a worldwide game of Go Fish. At

blinding speed, the phrases were now being compared to texts all over the world . . . looking for a perfect

match.

Trish couldn’t help but wonder what this was all about, but she had come to accept that working with the

Solomons meant never quite knowing the entire story.

CHAPTER 20

Robert Langdon stole an anxious glance at his wristwatch: 7:58 P.M. The smiling face of Mickey Mouse

did little to cheer him up. I’ve got to find Peter. We’re wasting time.

Sato had stepped aside for a moment to take a phone call, but now she returned to Langdon. “Professor, am I

keeping you from something?”

“No, ma’am,” Langdon said, pulling his sleeve down over his watch. “I’m just extremely concerned about

Peter.”

“I can understand, but I assure you the best thing you can do to help Peter is to help me understand the mind-

set of his captor.”

Langdon was not so sure, but he sensed he was not going anywhere until the OS director got the information

she desired.

“A moment ago,” Sato said, “you suggested this Rotunda is somehow sacred to the idea of these Ancient

Mysteries?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Explain that to me.”

Langdon knew he would have to choose his words sparingly. He had taught for entire semesters on the

mystical symbolism of Washington, D.C., and there was an almost inexhaustible list of mystical references in

this building alone.

America has a hidden past.

Every time Langdon lectured on the symbology of America, his students were confounded to learn that the

true intentions of our nation’s forefathers had absolutely nothing to do with what so many politicians now

claimed.

America’s intended destiny has been lost to history.

The forefathers who founded this capital city first named her “Rome.” They had named her river the Tiber