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in front of her on the carpet. In the silence, the pounding of Katherine’s heart seemed loud enough to give her

away. Silently, she stepped out of her shoes and inched to her left, sidestepping off the carpet. The cement

felt cold under her feet. She took one more step to clear the carpet.

One of her toes cracked.

It sounded like a gunshot in the stillness.

Only a few yards away, a rustle of clothing suddenly came at her out of the darkness. Katherine bolted an

instant too late and a powerful arm snagged her, groping in the darkness, hands violently attempting to gain

purchase. She spun away as a viselike grip caught her lab coat, yanking her backward, reeling her in.

Katherine threw her arms backward, slithering out of her lab coat and slipping free. Suddenly, with no idea

anymore which way was out, Katherine Solomon found herself dashing, dead blind, across an endless black

abyss.

CHAPTER 46

Despite containing what many have called “the most beautiful room in the world,” the Library of Congress

is known less for its breathtaking splendor than for its vast collections. With over five hundred miles of

shelves—enough to stretch from Washington, D.C., to Boston—it easily claims the title of largest library on

earth. And yet still it expands, at a rate of over ten thousand items per day.

As an early repository for Thomas Jefferson’s personal collection of books on science and philosophy, the

library stood as a symbol of America’s commitment to the dissemination of knowledge. One of the first

buildings in Washington to have electric lights, it literally shone like a beacon in the darkness of the New

World.

As its name implies, the Library of Congress was established to serve Congress, whose venerated members

worked across the street in the Capitol Building. This age-old bond between library and Capitol had been

fortified recently by the construction of a physical connection—a long tunnel beneath Independence Avenue

that linked the two buildings.

Tonight, inside this dimly lit tunnel, Robert Langdon followed Warren Bellamy through a construction zone,

trying to quell his own deepening concern for Katherine. This lunatic is at her lab?! Langdon didn’t even

want to imagine why. When he had called to warn her, Langdon had told Katherine exactly where to meet

him before they hung up. How much longer is this damned tunnel? His head ached now, a roiling torrent of

interconnected thoughts: Katherine, Peter, the Masons, Bellamy, pyramids, ancient prophecy . . . and a map.

Langdon shook it all off and pressed on. Bellamy promised me answers.

When the two men finally reached the end of the passage, Bellamy guided Langdon through a set of double

doors that were still under construction. Finding no way to lock the unfinished doors behind them, Bellamy

improvised, grabbing an aluminum ladder from the construction supplies and leaning it precariously against

the outside of the door. Then he balanced a metal bucket on top. If anyone opened the door, the bucket would

crash loudly to the floor.

That’s our alarm system? Langdon eyed the perched bucket, hoping Bellamy had a more comprehensive plan

for their safety tonight. Everything had happened so fast, and Langdon was only now starting to process the

repercussions of his fleeing with Bellamy. I’m a fugitive from the CIA.

Bellamy led the way around a corner, where the two men began ascending a wide staircase that was

cordoned off with orange pylons. Langdon’s daybag weighed him down as he climbed. “The stone pyramid,”

he said, “I still don’t understand—”

“Not here,” Bellamy interrupted. “We’ll examine it in the light. I know a safe place.”

Langdon doubted such a place existed for anyone who had just physically assaulted the director of the CIA’s

Office of Security.

As the two men reached the top of the stairs, they entered a wide hallway of Italian marble, stucco, and gold

leaf. The hall was lined with eight pairs of statues—all depicting the goddess Minerva. Bellamy pressed on,

leading Langdon eastward, through a vaulted archway, into a far grander space.

Even in the dim, after-hours lighting, the library’s great hall shone with the classical grandeur of an opulent

European palace. Seventy-five feet overhead, stained-glass skylights glistened between paneled beams

adorned with rare “aluminum leaf”—a metal that was considered to be more precious than gold at one time.

Beneath that, a stately course of paired pillars lined the second-floor balcony, accessible by two magnificent

curling staircases whose newel posts supported giant bronze female figures raising torches of enlightenment.

In a bizarre attempt to reflect this theme of modern enlightenment and yet stay within the decorative register

of Renaissance architecture, the stairway banisters had been carved with cupidlike putti portrayed as modern

scientists. An angelic electrician holding a telephone? A cherubic entomologist with a specimen box?

Langdon wondered what Bernini would have thought.

“We’ll talk over here,” Bellamy said, leading Langdon past the bulletproof display cases that contained the

library’s two most valuable books—the Giant Bible of Mainz, handwritten in the 1450s, and America’s copy

of the Gutenberg Bible, one of only three perfect vellum copies in the world. Fittingly, the vaulted ceiling

overhead bore John White Alexander’s six-panel painting titled The Evolution of the Book.

Bellamy strode directly to a pair of elegant double doors at the center rear of the east-corridor wall. Langdon

knew what room lay beyond those doors, but it seemed a strange choice for a conversation. Notwithstanding

the irony of talking in a space filled with “Silence Please” signs, this room hardly seemed like a “safe place.”

Located dead center of the library’s cruciform-shaped floor plan, this chamber served as the heart of the

building. Hiding in here was like breaking into a cathedral and hiding on the altar.

Nonetheless, Bellamy unlocked the doors, stepped into the darkness beyond, and groped for the lights. When

he flipped the switch, one of America’s great architectural masterpieces seemed to materialize out of thin air.

The famous reading room was a feast for the senses. A voluminous octagon rose 160 feet at its center, its

eight sides finished in chocolate-brown Tennessee marble, cream-colored Siena marble, and apple-red

Algerian marble. Because it was lit from eight angles, no shadows fell anywhere, creating the effect that the

room itself was glowing.

“Some say it’s the most striking room in Washington,” Bellamy said, ushering Langdon inside.

Maybe in the whole world, Langdon thought as he stepped across the threshold. As always, his gaze first

ascended straight up to the towering central collar, where rays of arabesque coffers curled down the dome to

an upper balcony. Encircling the room, sixteen bronze “portrait” statues peered down from the balustrade.

Beneath them, a stunning arcade of archways formed a lower balcony. Down at floor level, three concentric

circles of burnished wood desks radiated out from the massive octagonal circulation desk.

Langdon returned his focus to Bellamy, who was now propping the room’s double doors wide open. “I

thought we were hiding,” Langdon said, confused.

“If anyone enters the building,” Bellamy said, “I want to hear them coming.”

“But won’t they find us instantly in here?”

“No matter where we hide, they’ll find us. But if anyone corners us in this building, you’ll be very glad I

chose this room.”

Langdon had no idea why, but Bellamy apparently wasn’t looking to discuss it. He was already on the move

toward the center of the room, where he selected one of the available reading desks, pulled up two chairs, and

flipped on the reading light. Then he motioned to Langdon’s bag.

“Okay, Professor, let’s have a closer look.”

Not wanting to risk scratching its polished surface with a rough piece of granite, Langdon hoisted his entire

bag onto the desk and unzipped it, folding the sides all the way down to reveal the pyramid inside. Warren

Bellamy adjusted the reading lamp and studied the pyramid carefully. He ran his fingers over the unusual

engraving.

“I assume you recognize this language?” Bellamy asked.

“Of course,” Langdon replied, eyeing the sixteen symbols.

Known as the Freemason’s Cipher, this encoded language had been used for private communication among

early Masonic brothers. The encryption method had been abandoned long ago for one simple reason—it was

much too easy to break. Most of the students in Langdon’s senior symbology seminar could break this code

in about five minutes. Langdon, with a pencil and paper, could do it in under sixty seconds.

The notorious breakability of this centuries-old encryption scheme now presented a couple of paradoxes.

First, the claim that Langdon was the only person on earth who could break it was absurd. Second, for Sato

to suggest that a Masonic cipher was an issue of national security was like her suggesting our nuclear launch

codes were encrypted with a Cracker Jack decoder ring. Langdon was still struggling to believe any of it.

This pyramid is a map? Pointing to the lost wisdom of the ages?

“Robert,” Bellamy said, his tone grave. “Did Director Sato tell you why she is so interested in this?”

Langdon shook his head. “Not specifically. She just kept saying it was an issue of national security. I assume

she’s lying.”

“Perhaps,” Bellamy said, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed to be struggling with something. “But

there is a far more troubling possibility.” He turned to look Langdon in the eye. “It’s possible that Director

Sato has discovered this pyramid’s true potential.”

CHAPTER 47

The blackness engulfing Katherine Solomon felt absolute.

Having fled the familiar safety of the carpet, she was now groping blindly forward, her outstretched hands

touching only empty space as she staggered deeper into the desolate void. Beneath her stockinged feet, the

endless expanse of cold cement felt like a frozen lake . . . a hostile environment from which she now needed

to escape.

No longer smelling ethanol, she stopped and waited in darkness. Standing dead still, she listened, willing her

heart to stop pounding so loudly. The heavy footsteps behind her seemed to have stopped. Did I lose him?

Katherine closed her eyes and tried to imagine where she was. Which direction did I run? Where is the door?

It was no use. She was so turned around now that the exit could be anywhere.

Fear, Katherine had once heard, acted as a stimulant, sharpening the mind’s ability to think. Right now,

however, her fear had turned her mind into a tumbling torrent of panic and confusion. Even if I find the exit, I

can’t get out. Her key card had been lost when she’d shed her lab coat. Her only hope seemed to be that she

was now a needle in a haystack—a single point on a thirty-thousand-square-foot grid. Despite the

overwhelming urge to flee, Katherine’s analytical mind told her instead to make the only logical move—no

move at all. Stay still. Don’t make a sound. The security guard was on his way, and for some unknown

reason, her attacker smelled strongly of ethanol. If he gets too close, I’ll know it.

As Katherine stood in silence, her mind raced over what Langdon had said. Your brother . . . he’s been taken.

She felt a bead of cold sweat materialize on her arm and trickle down, toward the cell phone still clenched in

her right hand. It was a danger she had forgotten to consider. If the phone rang, it would give away her

position, and she could not turn it off without opening it and illuminating the display.

Set down the phone . . . and move away from it.

But it was too late. The smell of ethanol approached on her right. And now it grew stronger. Katherine

struggled to stay calm, forcing herself to

override the instinct to run. Carefully, slowly, she took one step to her left. The faint rustle of her clothing

was apparently all her attacker needed. She heard him lunge, and the smell of ethanol washed over her as a

powerful hand grabbed at her shoulder. She twisted away, raw terror gripping her. Mathematical probability

went out the window, and Katherine broke into a blind sprint. She veered hard to the left, changing course,

dashing blindly now into the void.

The wall materialized out of nowhere.

Katherine hit it hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. Pain blossomed in her arm and shoulder, but she

managed to stay on her feet. The oblique angle at which she had collided with the wall had spared her the full

force of the blow, but it was little comfort now. The sound had echoed everywhere. He knows where I am.

Doubled over in pain, she turned her head and stared out into the blackness of the pod and sensed him staring

back at her.

Change your location. Now!

Still struggling to catch her breath, she began moving down the wall, touching her left hand quietly to each

exposed steel stud as she passed. Stay along the wall. Slip past him before he corners you. In her right hand,

Katherine still clutched her cell phone, ready to hurl it as a projectile if need be.

Katherine was in no way prepared for the sound she heard next—the clear rustle of clothing directly in front

of her . . . against the wall. She froze, stock-still, and stopped breathing. How could he be on the wall

already? She felt a faint puff of air, laced with the stench of ethanol. He’s moving down the wall toward me!

Katherine backed up several steps. Then, turning silently 180 degrees, she began moving quickly in the

opposite direction down the wall. She moved twenty feet or so when the impossible happened. Once again,

directly in front of her, along the wall, she heard the rustling sound of clothing. Then came the same puff of

air and the smell of ethanol. Katherine Solomon froze in place.

My God, he’s everywhere!

Bare-chested, Mal’akh stared into the darkness.

The smell of ethanol on his sleeves had proven a liability, and so he had transformed it into an asset,

stripping off his shirt and jacket and using them to help corner his prey. Throwing his jacket against the wall

to the right, he had heard Katherine stop short and change direction. Now, having thrown his shirt ahead to

the left, Mal’akh had heard her stop again. He had effectively corralled Katherine against the wall by