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A hush fell across the crowd.

In total darkness, a tall, shadowy figure crossed the stage and took the podium. “Good morning,” the faceless

voice whispered into the microphone.

Everyone sat up, straining to see who was addressing them.

A slide projector flashed to life, revealing a faded sepia photograph—a dramatic castle with a red sandstone

facade, high square towers, and Gothic embellishments.

The shadow spoke again. “Who can tell me where this is?”

“England!” a girl declared in the darkness. “This facade is a blend of early Gothic and late Romanesque,

making this the quintessential Norman castle and placing it in England at about the twelfth century.”

“Wow,” the faceless voice replied. “Someone knows her architecture.”

Quiet groans all around.

“Unfortunately,” the shadow added, “you missed by three thousand miles and half a millennium.”

The room perked up.

The projector now flashed a full-color, modern photo of the same castle from a different angle. The castle’s

Seneca Creek sandstone towers dominated the foreground, but in the background, startlingly close, stood the

majestic, white, columned dome of the U.S. Capitol Building.

“Hold on!” the girl exclaimed. “There’s a Norman castle in D.C.?!”

“Since 1855,” the voice replied. “Which is when this next photo was taken.”

A new slide appeared—a black-and-white interior shot, depicting a massive vaulted ballroom, furnished with

animal skeletons, scientific display cases, glass jars with biological samples, archaeological artifacts, and

plaster casts of prehistoric reptiles.

“This wondrous castle,” the voice said, “was America’s first real science museum. It was a gift to America

from a wealthy British scientist who, like our forefathers, believed our fledgling country could become the

land of enlightenment. He bequeathed to our forefathers a massive fortune and asked them to build at the

core of our nation ‘an establishment for the increase and diffusion of knowledge.’ ” He paused a long

moment. “Who can tell me the name of this generous scientist?”

A timid voice in front ventured, “James Smithson?”

A whisper of recognition rippled through the crowd.

“Smithson indeed,” the man on stage replied. Peter Solomon now stepped into the light, his gray eyes

flashing playfully. “Good morning. My name is Peter Solomon, and I am secretary of the Smithsonian

Institution.”

The students broke into wild applause.

In the shadows, Langdon watched with admiration as Peter captivated the young minds with a photographic

tour of the Smithsonian Institution’s early history. The show began with Smithsonian Castle, its basement

science labs, corridors lined with exhibits, a salon full of mollusks, scientists who called themselves “the

curators of crustaceans,” and even an old photo of the castle’s two most popular residents—a pair of now-

deceased owls named Diffusion and Increase. The half-hour slide show ended with an impressive satellite

photo of the National Mall, now lined with enormous Smithsonian museums.

“As I said when I began,” Solomon stated in conclusion, “James Smithson and our forefathers envisioned our

great country to be a land of enlightenment. I believe today they would be proud. Their great Smithsonian

Institution stands as a symbol of science and knowledge at the very core of America. It is a living, breathing,

working tribute to our forefathers’ dream for America—a country founded on the principles of knowledge,

wisdom, and science.”

Solomon clicked off the slides to an energetic round of applause. The houselights came up, along with

dozens of eager hands with questions.

Solomon called on a small red-haired boy in the middle.

“Mr. Solomon?” the boy said, sounding puzzled. “You said our forefathers fled the religious oppression of

Europe to establish a country on the principles of scientific advancement.”

“That’s correct.”

“But . . . I was under the impression our forefathers were devoutly religious men who founded America as a

Christian nation.”

Solomon smiled. “My friends, don’t get me wrong, our forefathers were deeply religious men, but they were

Deists—men who believed in God, but in a universal and open-minded way. The only religious ideal they

put forth was religious freedom.” He pulled the microphone from the podium and strode out to the edge of

the stage. “America’s forefathers had a vision of a spiritually enlightened utopia, in which freedom of

thought, education of the masses, and scientific advancement would replace the darkness of outdated

religious superstition.”

A blond girl in back raised her hand.

“Yes?”

“Sir,” the girl said, holding up her cell phone, “I’ve been researching you online, and Wikipedia says you’re

a prominent Freemason.”

Solomon held up his Masonic ring. “I could have saved you the data charges.”

The students laughed.

“Yes, well,” the girl continued, hesitating, “you just mentioned ‘outdated religious superstition,’ and it seems

to me that if anyone is responsible for propagating outdated superstitions . . . it would be the Masons.”

Solomon seemed unfazed. “Oh? How so?”

“Well, I’ve read a lot about Masonry, and I know you’ve got a lot of strange ancient rituals and beliefs. This

article online even says that Masons believe in the power of some kind of ancient magical wisdom . . . which

can elevate man to the realm of the gods?”

Everyone turned and stared at the girl as if she were nuts.

“Actually,” Solomon said, “she’s right.”

The kids all spun around and faced front, eyes widening.

Solomon suppressed a smile and asked the girl, “Does it offer any other Wiki-wisdom about this magical

knowledge?”

The girl looked uneasy now, but she began to read from the Web site. “‘To ensure this powerful wisdom

could not be used by the unworthy, the early adepts wrote down their knowledge in code . . . cloaking its

potent truth in a metaphorical language of symbols, myth, and allegory. To this day, this encrypted wisdom is

all around us . . . encoded in our mythology, our art, and the occult texts of the ages. Unfortunately, modern

man has lost the ability to decipher this complex network of symbolism . . . and the great truth has been

lost.’”

Solomon waited. “That’s all?”

The girl shifted in her seat. “Actually, there is a little bit more.”

“I should hope so. Please . . . tell us.”

The girl looked hesitant, but she cleared her throat and continued. “‘According to legend, the sages who

encrypted the Ancient Mysteries long ago left behind a key of sorts . . . a password that could be used to

unlock the encrypted secrets. This magical password—known as the verbum significatium—is said to hold

the power to lift the darkness and unlock the Ancient Mysteries, opening them to all human understanding.’ ”

Solomon smiled wistfully. “Ah, yes . . . the verbum significatium.” He stared into space for a moment and

then lowered his eyes again to the blond girl. “And where is this wonderful word now?”

The girl looked apprehensive, clearly wishing she had not challenged their guest speaker. She finished

reading. “ ‘Legend holds that the verbum significatium is buried deep underground, where it waits patiently

for a pivotal moment in history . . . a moment when mankind can no longer survive without the truth,

knowledge, and wisdom of the ages. At this dark crossroads, mankind will at last unearth the Word and

herald in a wondrous new age of enlightenment.’ ”

The girl turned off her phone and shrank down in her seat.

After a long silence, another student raised his hand. “Mr. Solomon, you don’t actually believe that, right?”

Solomon smiled. “Why not? Our mythologies have a long tradition of magic words that provide insight and

godlike powers. To this day, children still shout ‘abracadabra’ in hopes of creating something out of nothing.

Of course, we’ve all forgotten that this word is not a toy; it has roots in ancient Aramaic mysticism—Avrah

KaDabra—meaning ‘I create as I speak.’ ”

Silence.

“But, sir,” the student now pressed, “surely you don’t believe that a single word . . . this verbum

significatium . . . whatever it is . . . has the power to unlock ancient wisdom . . . and bring about a worldwide

enlightenment?”

Peter Solomon’s face revealed nothing. “My own beliefs should not concern you. What should concern you

is that this prophecy of a coming enlightenment is echoed in virtually every faith and philosophical tradition

on earth. Hindus call it the Krita Age, astrologers call it the Age of Aquarius, the Jews describe the coming

of the Messiah, theosophists call it the New Age, cosmologists call it Harmonic Convergence and predict the

actual date.”

“December 21, 2012!” someone called.

“Yes, unnervingly soon . . . if you’re a believer in Mayan math.”

Langdon chuckled, recalling how Solomon, ten years ago, had correctly predicted the current spate of

television specials predicting that the year 2012 would mark the End of the World.

“Timing aside,” Solomon said, “I find it wondrous to note that throughout history, all of mankind’s disparate

philosophies have all concurred on one thing—that a great enlightenment is coming. In every culture, in

every era, in every corner of the world, the human dream has focused on the same exact concept—the

coming apotheosis of man . . . the impending transformation of our human minds into their true potentiality.”

He smiled. “What could possibly explain such a synchronicity of beliefs?”

“Truth,” said a quiet voice in the crowd.

Solomon wheeled. “Who said that?”

The hand that went up belonged to a tiny Asian boy whose soft features suggested he might be Nepalese or

Tibetan. “Maybe there is a universal truth embedded in everyone’s soul. Maybe we all have the same story

hiding inside, like a shared constant in our DNA. Maybe this collective truth is responsible for the similarity

in all of our stories.”

Solomon was beaming as he pressed his hands together and bowed reverently to the boy. “Thank you.”

Everyone was quiet.

“Truth,” Solomon said, addressing the room. “Truth has power. And if we all gravitate toward similar ideas,

maybe we do so because those ideas are true . . . written deep within us. And when we hear the truth, even if

we don’t understand it, we feel that truth resonate within us . . . vibrating with our unconscious wisdom.

Perhaps the truth is not learned by us, but rather, the truth is re-called . . . re-membered . . . re-cognized . . .

as that which is already inside us.”

The silence in the hall was complete.

Solomon let it sit for a long moment, then quietly said, “In closing, I should warn you that unveiling the truth

is never easy. Throughout history, every period of enlightenment has been accompanied by darkness,

pushing in opposition. Such are the laws of nature and balance. And if we look at the darkness growing in the

world today, we have to realize that this means there is equal light growing. We are on the verge of a truly

great period of illumination, and all of us—all of you—are profoundly blessed to be living through this

pivotal moment of history. Of all the people who have ever lived, in all the eras in history . . . we are in that

narrow window of time during which we will bear witness to our ultimate renaissance. After millennia of

darkness, we will see our sciences, our minds, and even our religions unveil the truth.”

Solomon was about to get a hearty round of applause when he held up his hand for silence. “Miss?” He

pointed directly to the contentious blond girl in back with the cell phone. “I know you and I didn’t agree on

much, but I want to thank you. Your passion is an important catalyst in the coming changes. Darkness feeds

on apathy . . . and conviction is our most potent antidote. Keep studying your faith. Study the Bible.” He

smiled. “Especially the final pages.”

“The Apocalypse?” she said.

“Absolutely. The Book of Revelation is a vibrant example of our shared truth. The last book of the Bible tells

the identical story as countless other traditions. They all predict the coming unveiling of great wisdom.”

Someone else said, “But isn’t the Apocalypse about the end of the world? You know, the Antichrist,

Armageddon, the final battle between good and evil?”

Solomon chuckled. “Who here studies Greek?”

Several hands went up.

“What does the word apocalypse literally mean?”

“It means,” one student began, and then paused as if surprised. “Apocalypse means ‘to unveil’ . . . or ‘to

reveal.’ ”

Solomon gave the boy a nod of approval. “Exactly. The Apocalypse is literally a reveal-ation. The Book of

Reveal-ation in the Bible predicts an unveiling of great truth and unimaginable wisdom. The Apocalypse is

not the end of the world, but rather it is the end of the world as we know it. The prophecy of the Apocalypse

is just one of the Bible’s beautiful messages that has been distorted.” Solomon stepped to the front of the

stage. “Believe me, the Apocalypse is coming . . . and it will be nothing like what we were taught.”

High over his head, the bell began to toll.

The students erupted into bewildered and thunderous applause.

CHAPTER 112

Katherine Solomon was teetering on the edge of consciousness when she was jolted by the shock wave of a

deafening explosion.

Moments later, she smelled smoke.

Her ears were ringing.

There were muffled voices. Distant. Shouting. Footsteps. Suddenly she was breathing more clearly. The cloth

had been pulled from her mouth.

“You’re safe,” a man’s voice whispered. “Just hold on.”

She expected the man to pull the needle out of her arm but instead he was yelling orders. “Bring the medical

kit . . . attach an IV to the needle . . . infuse lactated Ringer’s solution . . . get me a blood pressure.” As the

man began checking her vital signs, he said, “Ms. Solomon, the person who did this to you . . . where did he

go?”

Katherine tried to speak, but she could not.

“Ms. Solomon?” the voice repeated. “Where did he go?”

Katherine tried to pry her eyes open, but she felt herself fading.

“We need to know where he went,” the man urged.

Katherine whispered three words in response, although she knew they made no sense. “The . . . sacred . . .

mountain.”

Director Sato stepped over the mangled steel door and descended a wooden ramp into the hidden basement.

One of her agents met her at the bottom.