The liquid turned a deeper crimson, nearly black.
Holding the bowl in both palms, Mal'akh raised it over his head and gave thanks, intoning the blood eukharistos of the ancients. Then he carefully poured the blackened mixture into a glass vial and corked it. This would be the ink with which Mal'akh would inscribe the untattooed flesh atop his head and complete his masterpiece.
CHAPTER 82
Washington National Cathedral is the sixth-largest cathedral in the world and soars higher than a thirty-story skyscraper. Embellished with over two hundred stained-glass windows, a fifty- three-bell carillon, and a 10,647-pipe organ, this Gothic masterpiece can accommodate more than three thousand worshippers.
Tonight, however, the great cathedral was deserted.
Reverend Colin Galloway--dean of the cathedral--looked like he had been alive forever. Stooped and withered, he wore a simple black cassock and shuffled blindly ahead without a word. Langdon and Katherine followed in silence through the darkness of the four-hundred-foot- long nave's central aisle, which was curved ever so slightly to the left to create a softening optical illusion. When they reached the Great Crossing, the dean guided them through the rood screen--the symbolic divider between the public area and the sanctuary beyond.
The scent of frankincense hung in the air of the chancel. This sacred space was dark, illuminated only by indirect reflections in the foliated vaults overhead. Flags of the fifty states hung above the quire, which was ornately appointed with several carved reredos depicting biblical events. Dean Galloway continued on, apparently knowing this walk by heart. For a moment, Langdon thought they were headed straight for the high altar, where the ten stones from Mount Sinai were embedded, but the old dean finally turned left and groped his way through a discreetly hidden door that led into an administrative annex.
They moved down a short hallway to an office door bearing a brass nameplate:
THE REVEREND DR. COLIN GALLOWAY
CATHEDRAL DEAN
Galloway opened the door and turned on the lights, apparently accustomed to remembering this courtesy for his guests. He ushered them in and closed the door.
The dean's office was small but elegant, with high bookshelves, a desk, a carved armoire, and a private bathroom. On the walls hung sixteenth-century tapestries and several religious paintings. The old dean motioned to the two leather chairs directly opposite his desk. Langdon sat with Katherine and felt grateful finally to set his heavy shoulder bag on the floor at his feet.
Sanctuary and answers, Langdon thought, settling into the comfortable chair.
The aged man shuffled around behind his desk and eased himself down into his high-backed chair. Then, with a weary sigh, he raised his head, staring blankly out at them through clouded eyes. When he spoke, his voice was unexpectedly clear and strong.
"I realize we have never met," the old man said, "and yet I feel I know you both." He took out a handkerchief and dabbed his mouth. "Professor Langdon, I am familiar with your writings, including the clever piece you did on the symbolism of this cathedral. And, Ms. Solomon, your brother, Peter, and I have been Masonic brothers for many years now."
"Peter is in terrible trouble," Katherine said.
"So I have been told." The old man sighed. "And I will do everything in my power to help you."
Langdon saw no Masonic ring on the dean's finger, and yet he knew many Masons, especially those within the clergy, chose not to advertise their affiliation.
As they began to talk, it became clear that Dean Galloway already knew some of the night's events from Warren Bellamy's phone message. As Langdon and Katherine filled him in on the rest, the dean looked more and more troubled.
"And this man who has taken our beloved Peter," the dean said, "he is insisting you decipher the pyramid in exchange for Peter's life?"
"Yes," Langdon said. "He thinks it's a map that will lead him to the hiding place of the Ancient Mysteries."
The dean turned his eerie, opaque eyes toward Langdon. "My ears tell me you do not believe in such things."
Langdon did not want to waste time going down this road. "It doesn't matter what I believe. We need to help Peter. Unfortunately, when we deciphered the pyramid, it pointed nowhere."
The old man sat straighter. "You've deciphered the pyramid?"
Katherine interceded now, quickly explaining that despite Bellamy's warnings and her brother's request that Langdon not unwrap the package, she had done so, feeling her first priority was to help her brother however she could. She told the dean about the golden capstone, Albrecht Durer's magic square, and how it decrypted the sixteen-letter Masonic cipher into the phrase Jeova Sanctus Unus.
"That's all it says?" the dean asked. "One True God?"
"Yes, sir," Langdon replied. "Apparently the pyramid is more of a metaphorical map than a geographic one."
The dean held out his hands. "Let me feel it." Langdon unzipped his bag and pulled out the pyramid, which he carefully hoisted up on the desk, setting it directly in front of the reverend.
Langdon and Katherine watched as the old man's frail hands examined every inch of the stone-- the engraved side, the smooth base, and the truncated top. When he was finished, he held out his hands again. "And the capstone?"
Langdon retrieved the small stone box, set it on the desk, and opened the lid. Then he removed the capstone and placed it into the old man's waiting hands. The dean performed a similar examination, feeling every inch, pausing on the capstone's engraving, apparently having some trouble reading the small, elegantly inscribed text.
"`The secret hides within The Order,'" Langdon offered. "And the words the and order are capitalized."
The old man's face was expressionless as he positioned the capstone on top of the pyramid and aligned it by sense of touch. He seemed to pause a moment, as if in prayer, and reverently ran his palms over the complete pyramid several times. Then he reached out and located the cube- shaped box, taking it in his hands, feeling it carefully, his fingers probing inside and out.
When he was done, he set down the box and leaned back in his chair. "So tell me," he demanded, his voice suddenly stern. "Why have you come to me?"
The question took Langdon off guard. "We came, sir, because you told us to. And Mr. Bellamy said we should trust you."
"And yet you did not trust him?"
"I'm sorry?"
The dean's white eyes stared directly through Langdon. "The package containing the capstone was sealed. Mr. Bellamy told you not to open it, and yet you did. In addition, Peter Solomon himself told you not to open it. And yet you did."
"Sir," Katherine intervened, "we were trying to help my brother. The man who has him demanded we decipher--"
"I can appreciate that," the dean declared, "and yet what have you achieved by opening the package? Nothing. Peter's captor is looking for a location, and he will not be satisfied with the answer of Jeova Sanctus Unus."
"I agree," Langdon said, "but unfortunately that's all the pyramid says. As I mentioned, the map seems to be more figurative than--"
"You're mistaken, Professor," the dean said. "The Masonic Pyramid is a real map. It points to a real location. You do not understand that, because you have not yet deciphered the pyramid fully. Not even close."
Langdon and Katherine exchanged startled looks.
The dean laid his hands back on the pyramid, almost caressing it. "This map, like the Ancient Mysteries themselves, has many layers of meaning. Its true secret remains veiled from you."