第 32 页

prevent himself from catching even a fleeting glimpse of his frightening predicament.

The space around him was small.

Very small.

Sixty seconds ago, with the double doors of the reading room crashing down, he and Katherine had followed

Bellamy into the octagonal console, down a steep set of stairs, and into the unexpected space below.

Langdon had realized at once where they were. The heart of the library’s circulation system. Resembling a

small airport baggage distribution center, the circulation room had numerous conveyor belts that angled off

in different directions. Because the Library of Congress was housed in three separate buildings, books

requested in the reading room often had to be transported great distances by a system of conveyors through a

web of underground tunnels.

Bellamy immediately crossed the room to a steel door, where he inserted his key card, typed a sequence of

buttons, and pushed open the door. The space beyond was dark, but as the door opened, a span of motion-

sensor lights flickered to life.

When Langdon saw what lay beyond, he realized he was looking at something few people ever saw. The

Library of Congress stacks. He felt encouraged by Bellamy’s plan. What better place to hide than in a giant

labyrinth?

Bellamy did not guide them into the stacks, however. Instead, he propped the door open with a book and

turned back to face them. “I had hoped to be able to explain a lot more to you, but we have no time.” He gave

Langdon his key card. “You’ll need this.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Langdon asked.

Bellamy shook his head. “You’ll never make it unless we split up. The most important thing is to keep that

pyramid and capstone in safe hands.”

Langdon saw no other way out except the stairs back up to the reading room. “And where are you going?”

“I’ll coax them into the stacks away from you,” Bellamy said. “It’s all I can do to help you escape.”

Before Langdon could ask where he and Katherine were supposed to go, Bellamy was heaving a large crate

of books off one of the conveyors. “Lie on the belt,” Bellamy said. “Keep your hands in.”

Langdon stared. You cannot be serious! The conveyor belt extended a short distance then disappeared into a

dark hole in the wall. The opening looked large enough to permit passage of a crate of books, but not much

more. Langdon glanced back longingly at the stacks.

“Forget it,” Bellamy said. “The motion-sensor lights will make it impossible to hide.”

“Thermal signature!” a voice upstairs shouted. “Flanks converge!”

Katherine apparently had heard all she needed to hear. She climbed onto the conveyor belt with her head

only a few feet from the opening in the wall. She crossed her hands over her chest like a mummy in a

sarcophagus.

Langdon stood frozen.

“Robert,” Bellamy urged, “if you won’t do this for me, do it for Peter.”

The voices upstairs sounded closer now.

As if in a dream, Langdon moved to the conveyor. He slung his daybag onto the belt and then climbed on,

placing his head at Katherine’s feet. The hard rubber conveyor felt cold against his back. He stared at the

ceiling and felt like a hospital patient preparing for insertion headfirst into an MRI machine.

“Keep your phone on,” Bellamy said. “Someone will call soon . . . and offer help. Trust him.”

Someone will call? Langdon knew that Bellamy had been trying to reach someone with no luck and had left a

message earlier. And only moments ago, as they hurried down the spiral staircase, Bellamy had tried one last

time and gotten through, speaking very briefly in hushed tones and then hanging up.

“Follow the conveyor to the end,” Bellamy said. “And jump off quickly before you circle back. Use my key

card to get out.”

“Get out of where?!” Langdon demanded.

But Bellamy was already pulling levers. All the different conveyors in the room hummed to life. Langdon

felt himself jolt into motion, and the ceiling began moving overhead.

God save me.

As Langdon approached the opening in the wall, he looked back and saw Warren Bellamy race through the

doorway into the stacks, closing the door behind him. An instant later, Langdon slid into the darkness,

swallowed up by the library . . . just as a glowing red laser dot came dancing down the stairs.

CHAPTER 60

The underpaid female security guard from Preferred Security double-checked the Kalorama Heights address

on her call sheet. This is it? The gated driveway before her belonged to one of the neighborhood’s largest and

quietest estates, and so it seemed odd that 911 had just received an urgent call about it.

As usual with unconfirmed call-ins, 911 had contacted the local alarm company before bothering the police.

The guard often thought the alarm company’s motto—“Your first line of defense”—could just as easily have

been “False alarms, pranks, lost pets, and complaints from wacky neighbors.”

Tonight, as usual, the guard had arrived with no details about the specific concern. Above my pay grade. Her

job was simply to show up with her yellow bubble light spinning, assess the property, and report anything

unusual. Normally, something innocuous had tripped the house alarm, and she would use her override keys

to reset it. This house, however, was silent. No alarm. From the road, everything looked dark and peaceful.

The guard buzzed the intercom at the gate, but got no answer. She typed her override code to open the gate

and pulled into the driveway. Leaving her engine running and her bubble light spinning, she walked up to the

front door and rang the bell. No answer. She saw no lights and no movement.

Reluctantly following procedure, she flicked on her flashlight to begin her trek around the house to check the

doors and windows for signs of break-in. As she rounded the corner, a black stretch limousine drove past the

house, slowing for a moment before continuing on. Rubbernecking neighbors.

Bit by bit, she made her way around the house, but saw nothing out of place. The house was bigger than she

had imagined, and by the time she reached the backyard, she was shivering from the cold. Obviously there

was nobody home.

“Dispatch?” she called in on her radio. “I’m on the Kalorama Heights call? Owners aren’t home. No signs of

trouble. Finished the perimeter check. No indication of an intruder. False alarm.”

“Roger that,” the dispatcher replied. “Have a good night.”

The guard put her radio back on her belt and began retracing her steps, eager to get back to the warmth of her

vehicle. As she did so, however, she spotted something she had missed earlier—a tiny speck of bluish light

on the back of the house.

Puzzled, she walked over to it, now seeing the source—a low transom window, apparently to the home’s

basement. The glass of the window had been blacked out, coated on the inside with an opaque paint. Some

kind of darkroom maybe? The bluish glow she had seen was emanating through a tiny spot on the window

where the black paint had started to peel.

She crouched down, trying to peer through, but she couldn’t see much through the tiny opening. She tapped

on the glass, wondering if maybe someone was working down there.

“Hello?” she shouted.

There was no answer, but as she knocked on the window, the paint chip suddenly detached and fell off,

affording her a more complete view. She leaned in, nearly pressing her face to the window as she scanned the

basement. Instantly, she wished she hadn’t.

What in the name of God?!

Transfixed, she remained crouched there for a moment, staring in abject horror at the scene before her.

Finally, trembling, the guard groped for the radio on her belt.

She never found it.

A sizzling pair of Taser prongs slammed into the back of her neck, and a searing pain shot through her body.

Her muscles seized, and she pitched forward, unable even to close her eyes before her face hit the cold

ground.

CHAPTER 61

Tonight was not the first time Warren Bellamy had been blindfolded. Like all of his Masonic brothers, he

had worn the ritual “hoodwink” during his ascent to the upper echelons of Masonry. That, however, had

taken place among trusted friends. Tonight was different. These rough-handed men had bound him, placed a

bag on his head, and were now marching him through the library stacks.

The agents had physically threatened Bellamy and demanded to know the whereabouts of Robert Langdon.

Knowing his aging body couldn’t take much punishment, Bellamy had told his lie quickly.

“Langdon never came down here with me!” he had said, gasping for air. “I told him to go up to the balcony

and hide behind the Moses statue, but I don’t know where he is now!” The story apparently had been

convincing, because two of the agents had run off in pursuit. Now the remaining two agents were marching

him in silence through the stacks.

Bellamy’s only solace was in knowing Langdon and Katherine were whisking the pyramid off to safety.

Soon Langdon would be contacted by a man who could offer sanctuary. Trust him. The man Bellamy had

called knew a great deal about the Masonic Pyramid and the secret it held—the location of a hidden spiral

staircase that led down into the earth to the hiding place of potent ancient wisdom buried long ago. Bellamy

had finally gotten through to the man as they were escaping the reading room, and he felt confident that his

short message would be understood perfectly.

Now, as he moved in total darkness, Bellamy pictured the stone pyramid and golden capstone in Langdon’s

bag. It has been many years since those two pieces were in the same room.

Bellamy would never forget that painful night. The first of many for Peter. Bellamy had been asked to come

to the Solomon estate in Potomac for Zachary Solomon’s eighteenth birthday. Zachary, despite being a

rebellious child, was a Solomon, which meant tonight, following family tradition, he would receive his

inheritance. Bellamy was one of Peter’s dearest friends and a trusted Masonic brother, and therefore was

asked to attend as a witness. But it was not only the transference of money that Bellamy had been asked to

witness. There was far more than money at stake tonight.

Bellamy had arrived early and waited, as requested, in Peter’s private study. The wonderful old room smelled

of leather, wood fires, and loose-leaf tea. Warren was seated when Peter led his son, Zachary, into the room.

When the scrawny eighteen-year-old saw Bellamy, he frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Bearing witness,” Bellamy offered. “Happy birthday, Zachary.”

The boy mumbled and looked away.

“Sit down, Zach,” Peter said.

Zachary sat in the solitary chair facing his father’s huge wooden desk. Solomon bolted the study door.

Bellamy took a seat off to one side.

Solomon addressed Zachary in a serious tone. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I think so,” Zachary said.

Solomon sighed deeply. “I know you and I have not seen eye to eye for quite some time, Zach. I’ve done my

best to be a good father and to prepare you for this moment.”

Zachary said nothing.

“As you know, every Solomon child, upon reaching adulthood, is presented with his or her birthright—a

share of the Solomon fortune—which is intended to be a seed . . . a seed for you to nurture, make grow, and

use to help nourish mankind.”

Solomon walked to a vault in the wall, unlocked it, and removed a large black folder. “Son, this portfolio

contains everything you need to legally transfer your financial inheritance into your own name.” He laid it on

the desk. “The aim is that you use this money to build a life of productivity, prosperity, and philanthropy.”

Zachary reached for the folder. “Thanks.”

“Hold on,” his father said, putting his hand on the portfolio. “There’s something else I need to explain.”

Zachary shot his father a contemptuous look and slumped back down.

“There are aspects of the Solomon inheritance of which you are not yet aware.” His father was staring

straight into Zachary’s eyes now. “You are my firstborn, Zachary, which means you are entitled to a choice.”

The teenager sat up, looking intrigued.

“It is a choice that may well determine the direction of your future, and so I urge you to ponder it carefully.”

“What choice?”

His father took a deep breath. “It is the choice . . . between wealth or wisdom.”

Zachary gave him a blank stare. “Wealth or wisdom? I don’t get it.”

Solomon stood, walking again to the vault, where he pulled out a heavy stone pyramid with Masonic

symbols carved into it. Peter heaved the stone onto the desk beside the portfolio. “This pyramid was created

long ago and has been entrusted to our family for generations.”

“A pyramid?” Zachary didn’t look very excited.

“Son, this pyramid is a map . . . a map that reveals the location of one of humankind’s greatest lost treasures.

This map was created so that the treasure could one day be rediscovered.” Peter’s voice swelled now with

pride. “And tonight, following tradition, I am able to offer it to you . . . under certain conditions.”

Zachary eyed the pyramid suspiciously. “What’s the treasure?”

Bellamy could tell that this coarse question was not what Peter had hoped for. Nonetheless, his demeanor

remained steady.

“Zachary, it’s hard to explain without a lot of background. But this treasure . . . in essence . . . is something

we call the Ancient Mysteries.”

Zachary laughed, apparently thinking his father was joking.

Bellamy could see the melancholy growing now in Peter’s eyes.

“This is very difficult for me to describe, Zach. Traditionally, by the time a Solomon is eighteen years of age,

he is about to embark on his years of higher education in—”

“I told you!” Zachary fired back. “I’m not interested in college!”

“I don’t mean college,” his father said, his voice still calm and quiet. “I’m talking about the brotherhood of

Freemasonry. I’m talking about an education in the enduring mysteries of human science. If you had plans to

join me within their ranks, you would be on the verge of receiving the education necessary to understand the

importance of your decision tonight.”

Zachary rolled his eyes. “Spare me the Masonic lecture again. I know I’m the first Solomon who doesn’t

want to join. But so what? Don’t you get it? I have no interest in playing dress-up with a bunch of old men!”

His father was silent for a long time, and Bellamy noticed the fine age lines that had started to appear around