IT'S BURIED OUT THERE SOMEWHERE.
WHO KNOWS THE EXACT LOCATION?
ONLY WW.
Although nobody knew exactly what was buried out there, most people believed the WW was a reference to William Webster. Nola had heard whispers once that it referred in fact to a man named William Whiston--a Royal Society theologian--although she had never bothered to give it much thought.
Rick was talking again. "I've got to admit, I'm not really into artists, but I think this guy Sanborn's a serious genius. I was just looking online at his Cyrillic Projector project? It shines giant Russian letters from a KGB document on mind control. Freaky."
Nola was no longer listening. She was examining the paper, where she had found the third key phrase in another posting.
Right, that whole section is verbatim from some famous archaeologist's diary, telling about the moment he dug down and uncovered an ANCIENT PORTAL that led to the tomb of Tutankhamen.
The archaeologist who was quoted on Kryptos, Nola knew, was in fact famed Egyptologist Howard Carter. The next posting referenced him by name.
I just skimmed the rest of Carter's field notes online, and it sounds like he found a clay tablet warning the PYRAMID holds dangerous consequences for anyone who disturbs the peace of the pharaoh. A curse! Should we be worried? :)
Nola scowled. "Rick, for God's sake, this idiot's pyramid reference isn't even right. Tutankhamen wasn't buried in a pyramid. He was buried in the Valley of the Kings. Don't cryptologists watch the Discovery Channel?"
Parrish shrugged. "Techies."
Nola now saw the final key phrase.
Guys, you know I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but Jim and Dave had better decipher this ENGRAVED SYMBOLON to unveil its final secret before the world ends in 2012 . . . Ciao.
"Anyhow," Parrish said, "I figured you'd want to know about the Kryptos forum before you accused the CIA director of harboring classified documentation about an ancient Masonic legend. Somehow, I doubt a man as powerful as the CIA director has time for that sort of thing."
Nola pictured the Masonic video and its images of all the influential men participating in an ancient rite. If Rick had any idea . . .
In the end, she knew, whatever Kryptos ultimately revealed, the message definitely had mystical undertones. She gazed up at the gleaming piece of art--a three-dimensional code standing silently at the heart of one of the nation's premier intelligence agencies--and she wondered if it would ever give up its final secret.
As she and Rick headed back inside, Nola had to smile.
It's buried out there somewhere.
CHAPTER 128
This is crazy.
Blindfolded, Robert Langdon could see nothing as the Escalade sped southward along the deserted streets. On the seat beside him, Peter Solomon remained silent.
Where is he taking me?
Langdon's curiosity was a mix of intrigue and apprehension, his imagination in overdrive as it tried desperately to put the pieces together. Peter had not wavered from his claim. The Lost Word? Buried at the bottom of a staircase that's covered by a massive, engraved stone? It all seemed impossible.
The stone's alleged engraving was still lodged in Langdon's memory . . . and yet the seven symbols, as far as he could tell, made no sense together at all. The Stonemason's Square: the symbol of honesty and being "true."
The letters Au: the scientific abbreviation for the element gold.
The Sigma: the Greek letter S, the mathematical symbol for the sum of all parts.
The Pyramid: the Egyptian symbol of man reaching heavenward.
The Delta: the Greek letter D, the mathematical symbol for change.
Mercury: as depicted by its most ancient alchemical symbol.
The Ouroboros: the symbol of wholeness and at-one-ment.
Solomon still insisted these seven symbols were a "message." But if this was true, then it was a message Langdon had no idea how to read.
The Escalade slowed suddenly and turned sharply right, onto a different surface, as if into a driveway or access road. Langdon perked up, listening intently for clues as to their whereabouts. They'd been driving for less than ten minutes, and although Langdon had tried to follow in his mind, he had lost his bearings quickly. For all he knew, they were now pulling back into the House of the Temple.
The Escalade came to a stop, and Langdon heard the window roll down.
"Agent Simkins, CIA," their driver announced. "I believe you're expecting us."
"Yes, sir," a sharp military voice replied. "Director Sato phoned ahead. One moment while I move the security barricade."
Langdon listened with rising confusion, now sensing they were entering a military base. As the car began moving again, along an unusually smooth stretch of pavement, he turned his head blindly toward Solomon. "Where are we, Peter?" he demanded.
"Do not remove your blindfold." Peter's voice was stern.
The vehicle continued a short distance and again slowed to a stop. Simkins killed the engine. More voices. Military. Someone asked for Simkins's identification. The agent got out and spoke to the men in hushed tones.
Langdon's door was suddenly being opened, and powerful hands assisted him out of the car. The air felt cold. It was windy.
Solomon was beside him. "Robert, just let Agent Simkins lead you inside."
Langdon heard metal keys in a lock . . . and then the creak of a heavy iron door swinging open. It sounded like an ancient bulkhead. Where the hell are they taking me?!
Simkins's hands guided Langdon in the direction of the metal door. They stepped over a threshold. "Straight ahead, Professor."
It was suddenly quiet. Dead. Deserted. The air inside smelled sterile and processed.
Simkins and Solomon flanked Langdon now, guiding him blindly down a reverberating corridor. The floor felt like stone beneath his loafers.
Behind them, the metal door slammed loudly, and Langdon jumped. The locks turned. He was sweating now beneath his blindfold. He wanted only to tear it off.
They stopped walking now.
Simkins let go of Langdon's arm, and there was a series of electronic beeps followed by an unexpected rumble in front of them, which Langdon imagined had to be a security door sliding open automatically.
"Mr. Solomon, you and Mr. Langdon continue on alone. I'll wait for you here," Simkins said. "Take my flashlight."
"Thank you," Solomon said. "We won't be long."
Flashlight?! Langdon's heart was pounding wildly now.
Peter took Langdon's arm in his own and inched forward. "Walk with me, Robert."
They moved slowly together across another threshold, and the security door rumbled shut behind them.
Peter stopped short. "Is something wrong?"
Langdon was suddenly feeling queasy and off balance. "I think I just need to take off this blindfold."
"Not yet, we're almost there."
"Almost where?" Langdon felt a growing heaviness in the pit of his stomach.
"I told you--I'm taking you to see the staircase that descends to the Lost Word."
"Peter, this isn't funny!"
"It's not meant to be. It's meant to open your mind, Robert. It's meant to remind you that there are mysteries in this world that even you have yet to lay eyes upon. And before I take one more step with you, I want you to do something for me. I want you to believe . . . just for an instant . . . believe in the legend. Believe that you are about to peer down a winding staircase that plunges hundreds of feet to one of humankind's greatest lost treasures."
Langdon felt dizzy. As much as he wanted to believe his dear friend, he could not. "Is it much farther?" His velvet hoodwink was drenched in sweat.