Sato wondered if she should wait for a medical team to extract Langdon, but she knew she didn't have time. I need to know what he knows.
"Turn out the lights," she said. "And find me some blankets."
The blinding sun had vanished.
The face had also disappeared.
The blackness had returned, but Langdon could now hear distant whispers echoing across the light-years of emptiness. Muffled voices . . . unintelligible words. There were vibrations now . . . as if the world were about to shake apart.
Then it happened.
Without warning, the universe was ripped in two. An enormous chasm opened in the void . . . as if space itself had ruptured at the seams. A grayish mist poured through the opening, and Langdon saw a terrifying sight. Disembodied hands were suddenly reaching for him, grabbing his body, trying to yank him out of his world.
No! He tried to fight them off, but he had no arms . . . no fists. Or did he? Suddenly he felt his body materializing around his mind. His flesh had returned and it was being seized by powerful hands that were dragging him upward. No! Please!
But it was too late.
Pain racked his chest as the hands heaved him through the opening. His lungs felt like they were filled with sand. I can't breathe! He was suddenly on his back on the coldest, hardest surface he could imagine. Something was pressing on his chest, over and over, hard and painful. He was spewing out the warmth.
I want to go back.
He felt like he was a child being born from a womb. He was convulsing, coughing up liquid. He felt pain in his chest and neck. Excruciating pain. His throat was on fire. People were talking, trying to whisper, but it was deafening. His vision was blurred, and all he could see was muted shapes. His skin felt numb, like dead leather.
His chest felt heavier now . . . pressure. I can't breathe!
He was coughing up more liquid. An overwhelming gag reflex seized him, and he gasped inward. Cold air poured into his lungs, and he felt like a newborn taking his first breath on earth. This world was excruciating. All Langdon wanted was to return to the womb.
Robert Langdon had no idea how much time had passed. He could feel now that he was lying on his side, wrapped in towels and blankets on a hard floor. A familiar face was gazing down at him . . . but the streams of glorious light were gone. The echoes of distant chanting still hung in his mind.
Verbum significatium . . . Verbum omnificum . . .
"Professor Langdon," someone whispered. "Do you know where you are?"
Langdon nodded weakly, still coughing.
More important, he had begun to realize what was going on tonight.
CHAPTER 113
Wrapped in wool blankets, Langdon stood on wobbly legs and stared down at the open tank of liquid. His body had returned to him, although he wished it had not. His throat and lungs burned. This world felt hard and cruel.
Sato had just explained the sensory-deprivation tank . . . adding that if she had not pulled him out, he would have died of starvation, or worse. Langdon had little doubt that Peter had endured a similar experience. Peter is in the in-between, the tattooed man had told him earlier tonight. He is in purgatory . . . Hamistagan. If Peter had endured more than one of those birthing processes, Langdon would not have been surprised if Peter had told his captor anything he had wanted to know.
Sato motioned for Langdon to follow her, and he did, trudging slowly down a narrow hall, deeper into this bizarre lair that he was now seeing for the first time. They entered a square room with a stone table and eerie-colored lighting. Katherine was here, and Langdon heaved a sigh of relief. Even so, the scene was worrisome.
Katherine was lying on her back on a stone table. Blood-soaked towels lay on the floor. A CIA agent was holding an IV bag above her, the tube connected to her arm.
She was sobbing quietly.
"Katherine?" Langdon croaked, barely able to speak.
She turned her head, looking disorientated and confused. "Robert?!" Her eyes widened with disbelief and then joy. "But I . . . saw you drown!"
He moved toward the stone table.
Katherine pulled herself to a seated position, ignoring her IV tube and the medical objections of the agent. Langdon reached the table, and Katherine reached out, wrapping her arms around his blanket-clad body, holding him close. "Thank God," she whispered, kissing his cheek. Then she kissed him again, squeezing him as though she didn't believe he was real. "I don't understand . . . how . . ."
Sato began saying something about sensory-deprivation tanks and oxygenated perfluorocarbons, but Katherine clearly wasn't listening. She just held Langdon close.
"Robert," she said, "Peter's alive." Her voice wavered as she recounted her horrifying reunion with Peter. She described his physical condition--the wheelchair, the strange knife, the allusions to some kind of "sacrifice," and how she had been left bleeding as a human hourglass to persuade Peter to cooperate quickly.
Langdon could barely speak. "Do you . . . have any idea where . . . they went?!"
"He said he was taking Peter to the sacred mountain."
Langdon pulled away and stared at her.
Katherine had tears in her eyes. "He said he had deciphered the grid on the bottom of the pyramid, and that the pyramid told him to go to the sacred mountain."
"Professor," Sato pressed, "does that mean anything to you?"
Langdon shook his head. "Not at all." Still, he felt a surge of hope. "But if he got the information off the bottom of the pyramid, we can get it, too." I told him how to solve it.
Sato shook her head. "The pyramid's gone. We've looked. He took it with him."
Langdon remained silent a moment, closing his eyes and trying to recall what he had seen on the base of the pyramid. The grid of symbols had been one of the last images he had seen before drowning, and trauma had a way of burning memories deeper into the mind. He could recall some of the grid, definitely not all of it, but maybe enough?
He turned to Sato and said hurriedly, "I may be able to remember enough, but I need you to look up something on the Internet."
She pulled out her BlackBerry.
"Run a search for `The Order Eight Franklin Square.' "
Sato gave him a startled look but began typing without questions.
Langdon's vision was still blurry, and he was only now starting to process his strange surroundings. He realized that the stone table on which they were leaning was covered with old bloodstains, and the wall to his right was entirely plastered with pages of text, photos, drawings, maps, and a giant web of strings interconnecting them.
My God.
Langdon moved toward the strange collage, still clutching the blankets around his body. Tacked on the wall was an utterly bizarre collection of information--pages from ancient texts ranging from black magic to Christian Scripture, drawings of symbols and sigils, pages of conspiracy- theory Web sites, and satellite photos of Washington, D.C., scrawled with notes and question marks. One of the sheets was a long list of words in many languages. He recognized some of them as sacred Masonic words, others as ancient magic words, and others from ceremonial incantations.
Is that what he's looking for?
A word?
Is it that simple?
Langdon's long-standing skepticism about the Masonic Pyramid was based largely on what it allegedly revealed--the location of the Ancient Mysteries. This discovery would have to involve an enormous vault filled with thousands upon thousands of volumes that had somehow survived the long-lost ancient libraries in which they had once been stored. It all seemed impossible. A vault that big? Beneath D.C.? Now, however, his recollection of Peter's lecture at Phillips Exeter, combined with these lists of magic words, had opened another startling possibility.