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remained a force to be reckoned with.

Catching his breath, the young man told him, “I just . . . took a call . . . from your friend . . . Warren

Bellamy.”

“Oh?” The old man perked up. “About what?”

“He didn’t say, but he sounded like he was in a big hurry. He told me he left you a message on your voice

mail, which you need to listen to right away.”

“That’s all he said?”

“Not quite.” The young man paused. “He told me to ask you a question.” A very strange question. “He said

he needed your response right away.”

The old man leaned closer. “What question?”

As the young man spoke Mr. Bellamy’s question, the pall that crossed the old man’s face was visible even in

the moonlight. Immediately, he threw off his blanket and began struggling to his feet.

“Please help me inside. Right away.”

CHAPTER 64

No more secrets, thought Katherine Solomon.

On the table in front of her, the wax seal that had been intact for generations now lay in pieces. She finished

removing the faded brown paper from her brother’s precious package. Beside her, Langdon looked decidedly

uneasy.

From within the paper, Katherine extracted a small box made of gray stone. Resembling a polished granite

cube, the box had no hinges, no latch, and no apparent way inside. It reminded Katherine of a Chinese puzzle

box.

“It looks like a solid block,” she said, running her fingers over the edges. “Are you sure the X-ray showed it

was hollow? With a capstone inside?”

“It did,” Langdon said, moving next to Katherine and scrutinizing the mysterious box. He and Katherine

peered at the box from different angles, attempting to find a way in.

“Got it,” Katherine said as her fingernail located the hidden slit along one of the box’s top edges. She set the

box down on the desk and then carefully pried open the lid, which rose smoothly, like the top of a fine

jewelry box.

When the lid fell back, Langdon and Katherine both drew audible breaths. The interior of the box seemed to

be glowing. The inside was shining with an almost supernatural effulgence. Katherine had never seen a piece

of gold this large, and it took her an instant to realize that the precious metal was simply reflecting the

radiance of the desk lamp.

“It’s spectacular,” she whispered. Despite being sealed in a dark stone cube for over a century, the capstone

had not faded or tarnished in any way. Gold resists the entropic laws of decay; that’s one of the reasons the

ancients considered it magical. Katherine felt her pulse quicken as she leaned forward, peering down over

the small golden point. “There’s an inscription.”

Langdon moved closer, their shoulders now touching. His blue eyes flashed with curiosity. He had told

Katherine about the ancient Greek practice of creating a symbolon—a code broken into parts—and how this

capstone, long separated from the pyramid itself, would hold the key to deciphering the pyramid. Allegedly,

this inscription, whatever it said, would bring order from this chaos.

Katherine held the little box up to the light and peered straight down over the capstone.

Though small, the inscription was perfectly visible—a small bit of elegantly engraved text on the face of one

side. Katherine read the six simple words.

Then she read them again.

“No!” she declared. “That can’t be what it says!”

Across the street, Director Sato hurried up the long walkway outside the Capitol Building toward her

rendezvous point on First Street. The update from her field team had been unacceptable. No Langdon. No

pyramid. No capstone. Bellamy was in custody, but he was not telling them the truth. At least not yet.

I’ll make him talk.

She glanced back over her shoulder at one of Washington’s newest vistas—the Capitol Dome framed above

the new visitor center. The illuminated dome only accentuated the significance of what was truly at stake

tonight. Dangerous times.

Sato was relieved to hear her cell phone ring and see her analyst’s ID on the screen.

“Nola,” Sato answered. “What have you got?”

Nola Kaye gave her the bad news. The X-ray of the capstone’s inscription was too faint to read, and the

image-enhancing filters had not helped. Shit. Sato chewed at her lip. “How about the sixteen-letter grid?”

“I’m still trying,” Nola said, “but so far I’ve found no secondary encryption scheme that’s applicable. I’ve

got a computer reshuffling the letters in the grid and looking for anything identifiable, but there are over

twenty trillion possibilities.”

“Stay on it. Let me know.” Sato hung up, scowling. Her hopes of deciphering the pyramid using only a

photograph and X-ray were fading fast. I need that pyramid and capstone . . . and I’m running out of time.

Sato arrived at First Street just as a black Escalade SUV with dark windows roared across the double yellow

and skidded to a stop in front of her at their rendezvous point. A lone agent got out.

“Any word yet on Langdon?” Sato demanded.

“Confidence is high,” the man said, emotionless. “Backup just arrived. All library exits are surrounded. We

even have air support coming in. We’ll flush him with tear gas, and he’ll have nowhere to run.”

“And Bellamy?”

“Tied up in the backseat.”

Good. Her shoulder was still smarting.

The agent handed Sato a plastic Ziploc bag containing cell phone, keys, and wallet. “Bellamy’s effects.”

“Nothing else?”

“No, ma’am. The pyramid and package must still be with Langdon.”

“Okay,” Sato said. “Bellamy knows plenty he’s not telling. I’d like to question him personally.”

“Yes, ma’am. To Langley, then?”

Sato took a deep breath and paced a moment beside the SUV. Strict protocols governed the interrogation of

U.S. civilians, and questioning Bellamy was highly illegal unless it was done at Langley on video with

witnesses, attorneys, blah, blah, blah . . . “Not Langley,” she said, trying to think of somewhere closer. And

more private.

The agent said nothing, standing at attention beside the idling SUV, waiting for orders.

Sato lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and gazed down at the Ziploc bag of Bellamy’s items. His key ring, she

had noticed, included an electronic fob adorned with four letters—USBG. Sato knew, of course, which

government building this fob accessed. The building was very close and, at this hour, very private.

She smiled and pocketed the fob. Perfect.

When she told the agent where she wanted to take Bellamy, she expected the man to look surprised, but he

simply nodded and opened the passenger door for her, his cold stare revealing nothing.

Sato loved professionals.

Langdon stood in the basement of the Adams Building and stared in disbelief at the elegantly inscribed

words on the face of the golden capstone.

That’s all it says?

Beside him, Katherine held the capstone under the light and shook her head. “There’s got to be more,” she

insisted, sounding cheated. “This is what my brother has been protecting all these years?”

Langdon had to admit he was mystified. According to Peter and Bellamy, this capstone was supposed to help

them decipher the stone pyramid. In light of those claims, Langdon had expected something illuminating and

helpful. More like obvious and useless. Once again, he read the six words delicately inscribed on the face of

the capstone.

The

secret hides

within The Order

The secret hides within The Order?

At first glance, the inscription appeared to be stating the obvious—that the letters on the pyramid were out of

“order” and that their secret lay in finding their proper sequence. This reading, however, in addition to being

self-evident, seemed unlikely for another reason. “The words the and order are capitalized,” Langdon said.

Katherine nodded blankly. “I saw that.”

The secret hides within The Order. Langdon could think of only one logical implication. “ ‘The Order’ must

be referencing the Masonic Order.”

“I agree,” Katherine said, “but it’s still no help. It tells us nothing.”

Langdon had to concur. After all, the entire story of the Masonic Pyramid revolved around a secret hidden

within the Masonic Order.

“Robert, didn’t my brother tell you this capstone would give you power to see order where others saw only

chaos?”

He nodded in frustration. For the second time tonight, Robert Langdon was feeling unworthy.

CHAPTER 65

Once Mal’akh had finished dealing with his unexpected visitor—a female security guard from Preferred

Security—he fixed the paint on the window through which she had glimpsed his sacred work space.

Now, ascending out of the soft blue haze of the basement, he emerged through a hidden doorway into his

living room. Inside, he paused, admiring his spectacular painting of the Three Graces and savoring the

familiar smells and sounds of his home.

Soon I will be leaving forever. Mal’akh knew that after tonight he would be unable to return to this place.

After tonight, he thought, smiling, I will have no need for this place.

He wondered if Robert Langdon yet understood the true power of the pyramid . . . or the importance of the

role for which fate had chosen him. Langdon has yet to call me, Mal’akh thought, after double-checking for

messages on his disposable phone. It was now 10:02 P.M. He has less than two hours.

Mal’akh went upstairs to his Italian-marble bathroom and turned on the steam shower to let it heat up.

Methodically, he stripped off his clothes, eager to begin his cleansing ritual.

He drank two glasses of water to calm his starving stomach. Then he walked to the full-length mirror and

studied his naked body. His two days of fasting had accentuated his musculature, and he could not help but

admire that which he had become. By dawn, I will be so much more.

CHAPTER 66

“We should get out of here,” Langdon said to Katherine. “It’s only a matter of time before they figure out

where we are.” He hoped Bellamy had managed to escape.

Katherine still seemed fixated on the gold capstone, looking incredulous that the inscription was so

unhelpful. She had taken the capstone out of the box, examined every side, and was now carefully putting it

back in the box.

The secret hides within The Order, Langdon thought. Big help.

Langdon found himself wondering now if perhaps Peter had been misinformed about the contents of the box.

This pyramid and capstone had been created long before Peter was born, and Peter was simply doing as his

forefathers had told him, keeping a secret that was probably as much a mystery to him as it was to Langdon

and Katherine.

What did I expect? Langdon wondered. The more he learned tonight about the Legend of the Masonic

Pyramid, the less plausible it all seemed. I’m searching for a hidden spiral staircase covered by a huge

stone? Something told Langdon he was chasing shadows. Nonetheless, deciphering this pyramid seemed his

best chance at saving Peter.

“Robert, does the year 1514 mean anything to you?”

Fifteen-fourteen? The question seemed apropos of nothing. Langdon shrugged. “No. Why?”

Katherine handed him the stone box. “Look. The box is dated. Have a look under the light.”

Langdon took a seat at the desk and studied the cube-shaped box beneath the light. Katherine put a soft hand

on his shoulder, leaning in to point out the tiny text she had found carved on the exterior of the box, near the

bottom corner of one side.

“Fifteen-fourteen A.D.,” she said, pointing into the box.

Sure enough, the carving depicted the number 1514, followed by an unusual stylization of the letters A and

D.

“This date,” Katherine was saying, sounding suddenly hopeful, “maybe it’s the link we’re missing? This

dated cube looks a lot like a Masonic cornerstone, so maybe it’s pointing to a real cornerstone? Maybe to a

building built in 1514 A.D.?”

Langdon barely heard her.

Fifteen-fourteen A.D. is not a date.

The symbol , as any scholar of medieval art would recognize, was a well-known symbature—a symbol

used in place of a signature. Many of the early philosophers, artists, and authors signed their work with their

own unique symbol or monogram rather than their name. This practice added a mysterious allure to their

work and also protected them from persecution should their writings or artwork be deemed

counterestablishment.

In the case of this symbature, the letters A.D. did not stand for Anno Domini . . . they were German for

something else entirely.

Langdon instantly saw all the pieces fall into place. Within seconds, he was certain he knew exactly how to

decipher the pyramid. “Katherine, you did it,” he said, packing up. “That’s all we needed. Let’s go. I’ll

explain on the way.”

Katherine looked amazed. “The date 1514 A.D. actually means something to you?”

Langdon winked at her and headed for the door. “A.D. isn’t a date, Katherine. It’s a person.”

CHAPTER 67

West of Embassy Row, all was silent again inside the walled garden with its twelfth-century roses and

Shadow House gazebo. On the other side of an entry road, the young man was helping his hunched superior

walk across an expansive lawn.

He’s letting me guide him?

Normally, the blind old man refused help, preferring to navigate by memory alone while on the grounds of

his sanctuary. Tonight, however, he was apparently in a hurry to get inside and return Warren Bellamy’s

phone call.

“Thank you,” the old man said as they entered the building that held his private study. “I can find my way

from here.”

“Sir, I would be happy to stay and help—”

“That’s all for tonight,” he said, letting go of his helper’s arm and shuffling hurriedly off into the darkness.

“Good night.”

The young man exited the building and walked back across the great lawn to his modest dwelling on the

grounds. By the time he entered his flat, he could feel his curiosity gnawing at him. The old man clearly had

been upset by the question posed by Mr. Bellamy . . . and yet the question had seemed strange, almost

meaningless.

Is there no help for the widow’s son?