"Great work tonight," Sato said. "Now get some sleep. You've earned it."
"Thank you, ma'am." Nola hesitated.
"Was there something else?"
Nola was silent a long moment, apparently considering whether or not to speak. "Nothing that can't wait till morning, ma'am. Have a good night."
CHAPTER 125
In the silence of an elegant bathroom on the ground floor of the House of the Temple, Robert Langdon ran warm water into a tile sink and eyed himself in the mirror. Even in the muted light, he looked like he felt . . . utterly spent.
His daybag was on his shoulder again, much lighter now . . . empty except for his personal items and some crumpled lecture notes. He had to chuckle. His visit to D.C. tonight to give a lecture had turned out a bit more grueling than he'd anticipated.
Even so, Langdon had a lot to be grateful for.
Peter is alive.
And the video was contained.
As Langdon scooped handfuls of warm water onto his face, he gradually felt himself coming back to life. Everything was still a blur, but the adrenaline in his body was finally dissipating . . . and he was feeling like himself again. After drying his hands, he checked his Mickey Mouse watch.
My God, it's late.
Langdon exited the bathroom and wound his way along the curved wall of the Hall of Honor--a gracefully arched passageway, lined with portraits of accomplished Masons . . . U.S. presidents, philanthropists, luminaries, and other influential Americans. He paused at an oil painting of Harry S. Truman and tried to imagine the man undergoing the rites, rituals, and studies required to become a Mason.
There is a hidden world behind the one we all see. For all of us.
"You slipped away," a voice said down the hall.
Langdon turned.
It was Katherine. She'd been through hell tonight, and yet she looked suddenly radiant . . . rejuvenated somehow.
Langdon gave a tired smile. "How's he doing?"
Katherine walked up and embraced him warmly. "How can I ever thank you?"
He laughed. "You know I didn't do anything, right?"
Katherine held him for a long time. "Peter's going to be fine . . ." She let go and looked deep into Langdon's eyes. "And he just told me something incredible . . . something wonderful." Her voice trembled with anticipation. "I need to go see it for myself. I'll be back in a bit."
"What? Where are you going?"
"I won't be long. Right now, Peter wants to speak with you . . . alone. He's waiting in the library."
"Did he say why?" Katherine chuckled and shook her head. "You know Peter and his secrets."
"But--"
"I'll see you in a bit."
Then she was gone.
Langdon sighed heavily. He felt like he'd had enough secrets for one night. There were unanswered questions, of course--the Masonic Pyramid and the Lost Word among them--but he sensed that the answers, if they even existed, were not for him. Not as a non-Mason.
Mustering the last of his energy, Langdon made his way to the Masonic library. When he arrived, Peter was sitting all alone at a table with the stone pyramid before him.
"Robert?" Peter smiled and waved him in. "I'd like a word."
Langdon managed a grin. "Yes, I hear you lost one."
CHAPTER 126
The library in the House of the Temple was D.C.'s oldest public reading room. Its elegant stacks burgeoned with over a quarter of a million volumes, including a rare copy of the Ahiman Rezon, The Secrets of a Prepared Brother. In addition, the library displayed precious Masonic jewels, ritual artifacts, and even a rare volume that had been hand-printed by Benjamin Franklin.
Langdon's favorite library treasure, however, was one few ever noticed.
The illusion.
Solomon had shown him long ago that from the proper vantage point, the library's reading desk and golden table lamp created an unmistakable optical illusion . . . that of a pyramid and shining golden capstone. Solomon said he always considered the illusion a silent reminder that the mysteries of Freemasonry were perfectly visible to anyone and everyone if they were seen from the proper perspective.
Tonight, however, the mysteries of Freemasonry had materialized front and center. Langdon now sat opposite the Worshipful Master Peter Solomon and the Masonic Pyramid. Peter was smiling. "The `word' you refer to, Robert, is not a legend. It is a reality."
Langdon stared across the table and finally spoke. "But . . . I don't understand. How is that possible?"
"What is so difficult to accept?"
All of it! Langdon wanted to say, searching his old friend's eyes for any hint of common sense. "You're saying you believe the Lost Word is real . . . and that it has actual power?"
"Enormous power," Peter said. "It has the power to transform human kind by unlocking the Ancient Mysteries."
"A word?" Langdon challenged. "Peter, I can't possibly believe a word--"
"You will believe," Peter stated calmly.
Langdon stared in silence.
"As you know," Solomon continued, standing now and pacing around the table, "it has long been prophesied that there will come a day when the Lost Word will be rediscovered . . . a day when it will be unearthed . . . and mankind will once again have access to its forgotten power."
Langdon flashed on Peter's lecture about the Apocalypse. Although many people erroneously interpreted apocalypse as a cataclysmic end of the world, the word literally signified an "unveiling," predicted by the ancients to be that of great wisdom. The coming age of enlightenment. Even so, Langdon could not imagine such a vast change being ushered in by . . . a word.
Peter motioned to the stone pyramid, which sat on the table beside its golden capstone. "The Masonic Pyramid," he said. "The legendary symbolon. Tonight it stands unified . . . and complete." Reverently, he lifted the golden capstone and set it atop the pyramid. The heavy gold piece clicked softly into place.
"Tonight, my friend, you have done what has never been done before. You have assembled the Masonic Pyramid, deciphered all of its codes, and in the end, unveiled . . . this."
Solomon produced a sheet of paper and laid it on the table. Langdon recognized the grid of symbols that had been reorganized using the Order Eight Franklin Square. He had studied it briefly in the Temple Room.
Peter said, "I am curious to know if you can read this array of symbols. After all, you are the specialist."
Langdon eyed the grid. Heredom, circumpunct, pyramid, staircase . . .
Langdon sighed. "Well, Peter, as you can probably see, this is an allegorical pictogram. Clearly its language is metaphorical and symbolic rather than literal."
Solomon chuckled. "Ask a symbologist a simple question . . . Okay, tell me what you see."
Peter really wants to hear this? Langdon pulled the page toward him. "Well, I looked at it earlier, and, in simple terms, I see that this grid is a picture . . . depicting heaven and earth."
Peter arched his eyebrows, looking surprised. "Oh?"
"Sure. At the top of the image, we have the word Heredom--the `Holy House'--which I interpret as the House of God . . . or heaven."
"Okay."
"The downward-facing arrow after Heredom signifies that the rest of the pictogram clearly lies in the realm beneath heaven . . . that being . . . earth." Langdon's eyes glided now to the bottom of the grid. "The lowest two rows, those beneath the pyramid, represent the earth itself--terra firma--the lowest of all the realms. Fittingly, these lower realms contain the twelve ancient astrological signs, which represent the primordial religion of those first human souls who looked to the heavens and saw the hand of God in the movement of the stars and planets."