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his secrets . . .”

“Where is he?!” she demanded. “Where is Peter?! Tell me! We did exactly what you wanted! We solved the

pyramid and—”

“No, you did not solve the pyramid. You played a game. You withheld information and brought a

government agent to my home. Hardly behavior I intend to reward.”

“We didn’t have a choice,” she replied, choking back the tears. “The CIA is looking for you. They made us

travel with an agent. I’ll tell you everything. Just let Robert out!” Katherine could hear Langdon shouting and

pounding in the crate, and she could see the water flowing through the pipe. She knew he didn’t have a lot of

time.

In front of her, the tattooed man spoke calmly, stroking his chin. “I assume there are agents waiting for me at

Franklin Square?”

Katherine said nothing, and the man placed his massive palms on her shoulders, slowly pulling her forward.

With her arms still wire-bound be hind the chair back, her shoulders strained, burning with pain, threatening

to dislocate.

“Yes!” Katherine said. “There are agents at Franklin Square!”

He pulled harder. “What is the address on the capstone?”

The pain in her wrists and shoulders grew unbearable, but Katherine said nothing.

“You can tell me now, Katherine, or I’ll break your arms and ask you again.”

“Eight!” she gasped in pain. “The missing number is eight! The capstone says: ‘The secret hides within The

Order—Eight Franklin Square!’ I swear it. I don’t know what else to tell you! It’s Eight Franklin Square!”

The man still did not release her shoulders.

“That’s all I know!” Katherine said. “That’s the address! Let go of me! Let Robert out of that tank!”

“I would . . .” the man said, “but there’s one problem. I can’t go to Eight Franklin Square without being

caught. Tell me, what’s at that address?”

“I don’t know!”

“And the symbols on the base of the pyramid? On the underside? Do you know their meaning?”

“What symbols on the base?” Katherine had no idea what he was talking about. “The bottom has no symbols.

It’s smooth, blank stone!”

Apparently immune to the muffled cries for help emanating from the coffinlike crate, the tattooed man

calmly padded over to Langdon’s day-bag and retrieved the stone pyramid. Then he returned to Katherine

and held it up before her eyes so she could see the base.

When Katherine saw the engraved symbols, she gasped in bewilderment.

But . . . that’s impossible!

The bottom of the pyramid was entirely covered with intricate carvings. There was nothing there before! I’m

sure of it! She had no idea what these symbols could possibly mean. They seemed to span every mystical

tradition, including many she could not even place.

Total chaos.

“I . . . have no idea what this means,” she said.

“Nor do I,” her captor said. “Fortunately, we have a specialist at our disposal.” He glanced at the crate. “Let’s

ask him, shall we?” He carried the pyramid toward the crate.

For a brief instant of hope, Katherine thought he was going to unclasp the lid. Instead, he sat calmly on top of

the box, reached down, and slid a small panel to one side, revealing a Plexiglas window in the top of the

tank.

Light!

Langdon covered his eyes, squinting into the ray of light that now streamed in from above. As his eyes

adjusted, hope turned to confusion. He was looking up through what appeared to be a window in the top of

his crate. Through the window, he saw a white ceiling and a fluorescent light.

Without warning, the tattooed face appeared above him, peering down.

“Where is Katherine?!” Langdon shouted. “Let me out!”

The man smiled. “Your friend Katherine is here with me,” the man said. “I have the power to spare her life.

Your life as well. But your time is short, so I suggest you listen carefully.”

Langdon could barely hear him through the glass, and the water had risen higher, creeping across his chest.

“Are you aware,” the man asked, “that there are symbols on the base of the pyramid?”

“Yes!” Langdon shouted, having seen the extensive array of symbols when the pyramid had lain on the floor

upstairs. “But I have no idea what they mean! You need to go to Eight Franklin Square! The answer is there!

That’s what the capstone—”

“Professor, you and I both know the CIA is waiting for me there. I have no intention of walking into a trap.

Besides, I didn’t need the street number. There is only one building on that square that could possibly be

relevant—the Almas Shrine Temple.” He paused, staring down at Langdon. “The Ancient Arabic Order of

Nobles of the Mystic Shrine.”

Langdon was confused. He was familiar with the Almas Temple, but he had forgotten it was on Franklin

Square. The Shriners are . . . “The Order”? Their temple sits atop a secret staircase? It made no historical

sense whatsoever, but Langdon was in no position at the moment to debate history. “Yes!” he shouted. “That

must be it! The secret hides within The Order!”

“You’re familiar with the building?”

“Absolutely!” Langdon raised his throbbing head to keep his ears above the quickly rising liquid. “I can help

you! Let me out!”

“So you believe you can tell me what this temple has to do with the symbols on the base of the pyramid?”

“Yes! Let me just look at the symbols!”

“Very well, then. Let’s see what you come up with.”

Hurry! With the warm liquid rising around him, Langdon pushed up on the lid, willing the man to unclasp it.

Please! Hurry! But the lid never opened. Instead, the base of the pyramid suddenly appeared, hovering above

the Plexiglas window.

Langdon stared up in panic.

“I trust this view is close enough for you?”The man held the pyramid in his tattooed hands. “Think fast,

Professor. I’m guessing you have less than sixty seconds.”

CHAPTER 102

Robert Langdon had often heard it said that an animal, when cornered, was capable of miraculous feats of

strength. Nonetheless, when he threw his full force into the underside of his crate, nothing budged at all.

Around him, the liquid continued rising steadily. With no more than six inches of breathing room left,

Langdon had lifted his head into the pocket of air that remained. He was now face-to-face with the Plexiglas

window, his eyes only inches away from the underside of the stone pyramid whose baffling engraving

hovered above him.

I have no idea what this means.

Concealed for over a century beneath a hardened mixture of wax and stone dust, the Masonic Pyramid’s final

inscription was now laid bare. The engraving was a perfectly square grid of symbols from every tradition

imaginable—alchemical, astrological, heraldic, angelic, magical, numeric, sigilic, Greek, Latin. As a totality,

this was symbolic anarchy—a bowl of alphabet soup whose letters came from dozens of different languages,

cultures, and time periods.

Total chaos.

Symbologist Robert Langdon, in his wildest academic interpretations, could not fathom how this grid of

symbols could be deciphered to mean anything at all. Order from this chaos? Impossible.

The liquid was now creeping over his Adam’s apple, and Langdon could feel his level of terror rising along

with it. He continued banging on the tank. The pyramid stared back at him tauntingly.

In frantic desperation, Langdon focused every bit of his mental energy on the chessboard of symbols. What

could they possibly mean? Unfortunately, the assortment seemed so disparate that he could not even imagine

where to begin. They’re not even from the same eras in history!

Outside the tank, her voice muffled but audible, Katherine could be heard tearfully begging for Langdon’s

release. Despite his failure to see a solution, the prospect of death seemed to motivate every cell in his body

to find one. He felt a strange clarity of mind, unlike anything he had ever experienced. Think! He scanned the

grid intensely, searching for some clue—a pattern, a hidden word, a special icon, anything at all—but he saw

only a grid of unrelated symbols. Chaos.

With each passing second, Langdon had begun to feel an eerie numbness overtaking his body. It was as if his

very flesh were preparing to shield his mind from the pain of death. The water was now threatening to pour

into his ears, and he lifted his head as far as he could, pushing it against the top of the crate. Frightening

images began flashing before his eyes. A boy in New England treading water at the bottom of a dark well. A

man in Rome trapped beneath a skeleton in an overturned coffin.

Katherine’s shouts were growing more frantic. From all Langdon could hear, she was trying to reason with a

madman—insisting that Langdon could not be expected to decipher the pyramid without going to visit the

Almas Temple. “That building obviously holds the missing piece to this puzzle! How can Robert decipher

the pyramid without all the information?!”

Langdon appreciated her efforts, and yet he felt certain that “Eight Franklin Square” was not pointing to the

Almas Temple. The time line is all wrong! According to legend, the Masonic Pyramid was created in the

mid-1800s, decades before the Shriners even existed. In fact, Langdon realized, it was probably before the

square was even called Franklin Square. The capstone could not possibly have been pointing to an unbuilt

building at a nonexistent address. Whatever “Eight Franklin Square” was pointing to . . . it had to exist in

1850.

Unfortunately, Langdon was drawing a total blank.

He probed his memory banks for anything that could possibly fit the

time line. Eight Franklin Square? Something that was in existence in 1850? Langdon came up with nothing.

The liquid was trickling into his ears now. Fighting his terror, he stared up at the grid of symbols on the

glass. I don’t understand the connection! In a petrified frenzy, his mind began spewing all the far-flung

parallels it could generate.

Eight Franklin Square . . . squares . . . this grid of symbols is a square . . . the square and the compass are

Masonic symbols . . . Masonic altars are square . . . squares have ninety-degree angles. The water kept

rising, but Langdon blocked it out. Eight Franklin . . . eight . . . this grid is eight-by-eight . . . Franklin has

eight letters . . . “The Order” has eight letters . . . 8 is the rotated symbol for infinity . . . eight is the number

of destruction in numerology . . .

Langdon had no idea.

Outside the tank, Katherine was still pleading, but Langdon’s hearing was now intermittent as the water was

sloshing around his head.

“ . . . impossible without knowing . . . capstone’s message clearly . . . the secret hides within—”

Then she was gone.

Water poured into Langdon’s ears, blotting out the last of Katherine’s voice. A sudden womblike silence

engulfed him, and Langdon realized he truly was going to die.

The secret hides within—

Katherine’s final words echoed through the hush of his tomb.

The secret hides within . . .

Strangely, Langdon realized he had heard these exact words many times before.

The secret hides . . . within.

Even now, it seemed, the Ancient Mysteries were taunting him. “The secret hides within” was the core tenet

of the mysteries, urging man kind to seek God not in the heavens above . . . but rather within himself. The

secret hides within. It was the message of all the great mystical teachers.

The kingdom of God is within you, said Jesus Christ.

Know thyself, said Pythagoras.

Know ye not that ye are gods, said Hermes Trismegistus.

The list went on and on . . .

All the mystical teachings of the ages had attempted to convey this one idea. The secret hides within. Even

so, mankind continued looking to the heavens for the face of God.

This realization, for Langdon, now became an ultimate irony. Right

now, with his eyes facing the heavens like all the blind men who preceded him, Robert Langdon suddenly

saw the light.

It hit him like a bolt from above.

The

secret hides

within The Order

Eight Franklin Square

In a flash he understood.

The message on the capstone was suddenly crystal clear. Its meaning had been staring him in the face all

night. The text on the capstone, like the Masonic Pyramid itself, was a symbolon—a code in pieces—a

message written in parts. The capstone’s meaning was camouflaged in so simple a manner that Langdon

could scarcely believe he and Katherine had not spotted it.

More astonishing still, Langdon now realized that the message on the capstone did indeed reveal exactly how

to decipher the grid of symbols on the base of the pyramid. It was so very simple. Exactly as Peter Solomon

had promised, the golden capstone was a potent talisman with the power to bring order from chaos.

Langdon began pounding on the lid and shouting, “I know! I know!”

Above him, the stone pyramid lifted off and hovered away. In its place, the tattooed face reappeared, its

chilling visage staring down through the small window.

“I solved it!” Langdon shouted. “Let me out!”

When the tattooed man spoke, Langdon’s submerged ears heard nothing. His eyes, however, saw the lips

speak two words. “Tell me.”

“I will!” Langdon screamed, the water almost to his eyes. “Let me out! I’ll explain everything!” It’s so

simple.

The man’s lips moved again. “Tell me now . . . or die.”

With the water rising through the final inch of air space, Langdon tipped his head back to keep his mouth

above the waterline. As he did so, warm liquid poured into his eyes, blurring his vision. Arching his back, he

pressed his mouth against the Plexiglas window.

Then, with his last few seconds of air, Robert Langdon shared the secret of how to decipher the Masonic

Pyramid.

As he finished speaking, the liquid rose around his lips. Instinctively, Langdon drew a final breath and

clamped his mouth shut. A moment later, the fluid covered him entirely, reaching the top of his tomb and

spreading out across the Plexiglas.

He did it, Mal’akh realized. Langdon figured out how to solve the pyramid.

The answer was so simple. So obvious.

Beneath the window, the submerged face of Robert Langdon stared up at him with desperate and beseeching

eyes.

Mal’akh shook his head at him and slowly mouthed the words: “Thank you, Professor. Enjoy the afterlife.”