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canister was still draining, the puddle of boiling liquid inside the data-storage room now covering the entire

floor, encircling the pedestals that supported the holographic storage units. A whitish mist now rose from the

boiling puddle as the liquid hydrogen began turning to gas . . . filling the small space.

Mal’akh raised the jug of Bunsen-burner fuel and squirted a healthy amount on the hydrogen canister, the

tubing, and into the small opening beneath the door. Then, very carefully, he began backing out of the lab,

leaving an unbroken stream of oil on the floor as he went.

The dispatch operator handling 911 calls for Washington, D.C., had been unusually busy tonight. Football,

beer, and a full moon, she thought as yet another emergency call appeared on her screen, this one from a gas-

station pay phone on the Suitland Parkway in Anacostia. A car accident probably.

“Nine-one-one,” she answered. “What is your emergency?”

“I was just attacked at the Smithsonian Museum Support Center,” a panicked woman’s voice said. “Please

send the police! Forty-two-ten Silver Hill Road!”

“Okay, slow down,” the operator said. “You need to—”

“I need you to send officers also to a mansion in Kalorama Heights where I think my brother may be held

captive!”

The operator sighed. Full moon.

CHAPTER 53

As I tried to tell you,” Bellamy was saying to Langdon, “there is more to this pyramid than meets the eye.”

Apparently so. Langdon had to admit that the stone pyramid sitting in his unzipped daybag looked much

more mysterious to him now. His decryption of the Masonic cipher had rendered a seemingly meaningless

grid of letters.

Chaos.

For a long while, Langdon examined the grid, searching for any hint of meaning within the letters—hidden

words, anagrams, clues of any sort—but he found nothing.

“The Masonic Pyramid,” Bellamy explained, “is said to guard its secrets behind many veils. Each time you

pull back a curtain, you face another. You have unveiled these letters, and yet they tell you nothing until you

peel back another layer. Of course, the way to do that is known only to the one who holds the capstone. The

capstone, I suspect, has an inscription as well, which tells you how to decipher the pyramid.”

Langdon glanced at the cube-shaped package on the desk. From what Bellamy had said, Langdon now

understood that the capstone and pyramid were a “segmented cipher”—a code broken into pieces. Modern

cryptologists used segmented ciphers all the time, although the security scheme had been invented in ancient

Greece. The Greeks, when they wanted to store secret information, inscribed it on a clay tablet and then

shattered the tablet into pieces, storing each piece in a separate location. Only when all the pieces were

gathered together could the secrets be read. This kind of inscribed clay tablet—called a symbolon—was in

fact the origin of the modern word symbol.

“Robert,” Bellamy said, “this pyramid and capstone have been kept apart for generations, ensuring the

secret’s safety.” His tone turned rueful. “Tonight, however, the pieces have come dangerously close. I’m sure

I don’t have to say this . . . but it is our duty to ensure this pyramid is not assembled.”

Langdon found Bellamy’s sense of drama to be somewhat overwrought. Is he describing the capstone and

pyramid . . . or a detonator and nuclear bomb? He still couldn’t quite accept Bellamy’s claims, but it hardly

seemed to matter. “Even if this is the Masonic Pyramid, and even if this inscription does somehow reveal the

location of ancient knowledge, how could that knowledge possibly impart the kind of power it is said to

impart?”

“Peter always told me you were a hard man to convince—an academic who prefers proof to speculation.”

“You’re saying you do believe that?” Langdon demanded, feeling impatient now. “Respectfully . . . you are a

modern, educated man. How could you believe such a thing?”

Bellamy gave a patient smile. “The craft of Freemasonry has given me a deep respect for that which

transcends human understanding. I’ve learned never to close my mind to an idea simply because it seems

miraculous.”

CHAPTER 54

Frantically, the SMSC perimeter patrolman dashed down the gravel pathway that ran along the outside of

the building. He’d just received a call from an officer inside saying that the keypad to Pod 5 had been

sabotaged, and that a security light indicated that Pod 5’s specimen bay door was now open.

What the hell is going on?!

As he arrived at the specimen bay, sure enough he found the door open a couple of feet. Bizarre, he thought.

This can only be unlocked from the inside. He took the flashlight off his belt and shone it into the inky

blackness of the pod. Nothing. Having no desire to step into the unknown, he moved only as far as the

threshold and then stuck the flashlight through the opening, swinging it to the left, and then to the—

Powerful hands seized his wrist and yanked him into the blackness. The guard felt himself being spun around

by an invisible force. He smelled ethanol. The flashlight flew out of his hand, and before he could even

process what was happening, a rock-hard fist collided with his sternum. The guard crumpled to the cement

floor . . . groaning in pain as a large black form stepped away from him.

The guard lay on his side, gasping and wheezing for breath. His flashlight lay nearby, its beam spilling across

the floor and illuminating what appeared to be a metal can of some sort. The can’s label said it was fuel oil

for a Bunsen burner.

A cigarette lighter sparked, and the orange flame illuminated a vision that hardly seemed human. Jesus

Christ! The guard barely had time to process what he was seeing before the bare-chested creature knelt down

and touched the flame to the floor.

Instantly, a strip of fire materialized, leaping away from them, racing into the void. Bewildered, the guard

looked back, but the creature was already slipping out the open bay door into the night.

The guard managed to sit up, wincing in pain as his eyes followed the thin ribbon of fire. What the hell?! The

flame looked too small to be truly

dangerous, and yet now he saw something utterly terrifying. The fire was no longer illuminating only the

darkened void. It had traveled all the way to the back wall, where it was now illuminating a massive cinder-

block structure. The guard had never been permitted inside Pod 5, but he knew very well what this structure

must be.

The Cube.

Katherine Solomon’s lab.

The flame raced in a straight line directly to the lab’s outer door. The guard clambered to his feet, knowing

full well that the ribbon of oil probably continued beneath the lab door . . . and would soon start a fire inside.

But as he turned to run for help, he felt an unexpected puff of air sucking past him.

For a brief instant, all of Pod 5 was bathed in light.

The guard never saw the hydrogen fireball erupting skyward, ripping the roof off Pod 5 and billowing

hundreds of feet into the air. Nor did he see the sky raining fragments of titanium mesh, electronic

equipment, and droplets of melted silicon from the lab’s holographic storage units.

Katherine Solomon was driving north when she saw the sudden flash of light in her rearview mirror. A deep

rumble thundered through the night air, startling her.

Fireworks? she wondered. Do the Redskins have a halftime show?

She refocused on the road, her thoughts still on the 911 call she’d placed from the deserted gas station’s pay

phone.

Katherine had successfully convinced the 911 dispatcher to send the police to the SMSC to investigate a

tattooed intruder and, Katherine prayed, to find her assistant, Trish. In addition, she urged the dispatcher to

check Dr. Abaddon’s address in Kalorama Heights, where she thought Peter was being held hostage.

Unfortunately, Katherine had been unable to obtain Robert Langdon’s unlisted cell-phone number. So now,

seeing no other option, she was speeding toward the Library of Congress, where Langdon had told her he

was headed.

The terrifying revelation of Dr. Abaddon’s true identity had changed everything. Katherine had no idea what

to believe anymore. All she knew for certain was that the same man who had killed her mother and nephew

all those years ago had now captured her brother and had come to kill her. Who is this madman? What does

he want? The only answer she could come up with made no sense. A pyramid? Equally confusing was why

this man had come to her lab tonight. If he wanted to hurt her, why hadn’t he done so in the privacy of his

own home earlier today? Why go to the trouble of sending a text message and risk breaking into her lab?

Unexpectedly, the fireworks in her rearview mirror grew brighter, the initial flash followed by an unexpected

sight—a blazing orange fireball that Katherine could see rising above the tree line. What in the world?! The

fireball was accompanied by dark black smoke . . . and it was nowhere near the Redskins’ FedEx Field.

Bewildered, she tried to determine what industry might be located on the other side of those trees . . . just

southeast of the parkway.

Then, like an oncoming truck, it hit her.

CHAPTER 55

Warren Bellamy stabbed urgently at the buttons on his cell phone, trying again to make contact with

someone who could help them, whoever that might be.

Langdon watched Bellamy, but his mind was with Peter, trying to figure out how best to find him. Decipher

the engraving, Peter’s captor had commanded, and it will tell you the hiding place of mankind’s greatest

treasure . . . We will go together . . . and make our trade.

Bellamy hung up, frowning. Still no answer.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Langdon said. “Even if I could somehow accept that this hidden wisdom

exists . . . and that this pyramid somehow points to its underground location . . . what am I looking for? A

vault? A bunker?”

Bellamy sat quietly for a long moment. Then he gave a reluctant sigh and spoke guardedly. “Robert,

according to what I’ve heard through the years, the pyramid leads to the entrance of a spiral staircase.”

“A staircase?”

“That’s right. A staircase that leads down into the earth . . . many hundreds of feet.”

Langdon could not believe what he was hearing. He leaned closer.

“I’ve heard it said that the ancient wisdom is buried at the bottom.”

Robert Langdon stood up and began pacing. A spiral staircase descending hundreds of feet into the earth . . .

in Washington, D.C. “And nobody has ever seen this staircase?”

“Allegedly the entrance has been covered with an enormous stone.”

Langdon sighed. The idea of a tomb covered with an enormous stone was right out of the biblical accounts of

Jesus’ tomb. This archetypal hybrid was the grandfather of them all. “Warren, do you believe this secret

mystical staircase into the earth exists?”

“I’ve never seen it personally, but a few of the older Masons swear it exists. I was trying to call one of them

just now.”

Langdon continued pacing, uncertain what to say next.

“Robert, you leave me a difficult task with respect to this pyramid.” Warren Bellamy’s gaze hardened in the

soft glow of the reading lamp. “I know of no way to force a man to believe what he does not want to believe.

And yet I hope you understand your duty to Peter Solomon.”

Yes, I have a duty to help him, Langdon thought.

“I don’t need you to believe in the power this pyramid can unveil. Nor do I need you to believe in the

staircase it supposedly leads to. But I do need you to believe that you are morally obliged to protect this

secret . . . whatever it may be.” Bellamy motioned to the little cube-shaped package. “Peter entrusted the

capstone to you because he had faith you would obey his wishes and keep it secret. And now you must do

exactly that, even if it means sacrificing Peter’s life.”

Langdon stopped short and wheeled around. “What?!”

Bellamy remained seated, his expression pained but resolute. “It’s what he would want. You need to forget

Peter. He’s gone. Peter did his job, doing the best he could to protect the pyramid. Now it is our job to make

sure his efforts were not in vain.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this!” Langdon exclaimed, temper flaring. “Even if this pyramid is everything

you say it is, Peter is your Masonic brother. You’re sworn to protect him above all else, even your country!”

“No, Robert. A Mason must protect a fellow Mason above all things . . . except one—the great secret our

brotherhood protects for all mankind. Whether or not I believe this lost wisdom has the potential that history

suggests, I have taken a vow to keep it out of the hands of the unworthy. And I would not give it over to

anyone . . . even in exchange for Peter Solomon’s life.”

“I know plenty of Masons,” Langdon said angrily, “including the most advanced, and I’m damned sure these

men are not sworn to sacrifice their lives for the sake of a stone pyramid. And I’m also damned sure none of

them believes in a secret staircase that descends to a treasure buried deep in the earth.”

“There are circles within circles, Robert. Not everyone knows everything.”

Langdon exhaled, trying to control his emotions. He, like everyone, had heard the rumors of elite circles

within the Masons. Whether or not it was true seemed irrelevant in the face of this situation. “Warren, if this

pyramid and capstone truly reveal the ultimate Masonic secret, then why would Peter involve me? I’m not

even a brother . . . much less part of any inner circle.”

“I know, and I suspect that is precisely why Peter chose you to guard it. This pyramid has been targeted in the

past, even by those who infiltrated our brotherhood with unworthy motives. Peter’s choice to store it outside

the brotherhood was a clever one.”

“Were you aware I had the capstone?” Langdon asked.

“No. And if Peter told anyone at all, it would have been only one man.” Bellamy pulled out his cell phone

and hit redial. “And so far, I’ve been unable to reach him.” He got a voice-mail greeting and hung up. “Well,

Robert, it looks like you and I are on our own for the moment. And we have a decision to make.”

Langdon looked at his Mickey Mouse watch. 9:42 P.M. “You do realize that Peter’s captor is waiting for me