The Lost Symbol

sacrament in John Quincy Adams’s Letters on the Masonic Institution. Even so, to see it happen. . to see it calmly witnessed by America’s most powerful men. . this was as arresting an image as any Langdon had ever seen.

The initiate took the skull in his hands. . his face reflected in the calm surface of the wine. «May this wine I now drink become a deadly poison to me,» he declared, «should I ever knowingly or willfully violate my oath.»

Obviously, this initiate had intended to violate his oath beyond all imagination.

Langdon could barely get his mind around what would happen if this video were made public. No one would understand. The government would be thrown into upheaval. The airwaves would be filled with the voices of anti-Masonic groups, fundamentalists, and conspiracy theorists spewing hatred and fear, launching a Puritan witch hunt all over again.

The truth will be twisted, Langdon knew. As it always is with the Masons.

The truth was that the brotherhood’s focus on death was in fact a bold celebration of life. Masonic ritual was designed to awaken the slumbering man inside, lifting him from his dark coffin of ignorance, raising him into the light, and giving him eyes to see. Only through the death experience could man fully understand his life experience. Only through the realization that his days on earth were finite could he grasp the importance of living those days with honor, integrity, and service to his fellow man.

Masonic initiations were startling because they were meant to be transformative. Masonic vows were unforgiving because they were meant to be reminders that man’s honor and his «word» were all he could take from this world. Masonic teachings were arcane because they were meant to be universal. . taught through a common language of symbols and metaphors that transcended religions, cultures, and races. . creating a unified «worldwide consciousness» of brotherly love.

For a brief instant, Langdon felt a glimmer of hope. He tried to assure himself that if this video were to leak out, the public would be open-minded and tolerant, realizing that all spiritual rituals included aspects that would seem frightening if taken out of context — crucifixion reenactments, jewish circumcision rites, mormon baptisms of the dead, catholic exorcisms, islamic niqab, shamanic trance healing, the Jewish Kaparot ceremony, even the eating of the figurative body and blood of Christ.

I’m dreaming, Langdon knew. This video will create chaos. He could imagine what would happen if the prominent leaders of Russia or the Islamic world were seen in a video, pressing knives to bare chests, swearing violent oaths, performing mock murders, lying in symbolic coffins, and drinking wine from a human skull. The global outcry would be instantaneous and overwhelming.

God help us. .

On-screen now, the initiate was raising the skull to his lips. He tipped it backward. . draining the blood-red wine. . sealing his oath. Then he lowered the skull and gazed out at the assembly around him. America’s most powerful and trusted men gave contented nods of acceptance.

«Welcome, brother,» Peter Solomon said.

As the image faded to black, Langdon realized he had stopped breathing.

Without a word, Sato reached over, closed the briefcase, and lifted it off his lap. Langdon turned to her trying to speak, but he could find no words. It didn’t matter. Understanding was written all over his face. Sato was right. Tonight was a national-security crisis. . of unimaginable proportions.

CHAPTER 118

Dressed in his loincloth, mal’akh padded back and forth in front of peter solomon’s wheelchair. «peter,» he whispered, enjoying every moment of his captive’s horror, «you forgot you have a second family. . your Masonic brothers. And I will destroy them, too. . unless you help me.»

Solomon looked almost catatonic in the glow of the laptop sitting atop his thighs. «Please,» he finally stammered, glancing up. «If this video gets out. .»

«If?» Mal’akh laughed. «If it gets out?» He motioned to the small cellular modem plugged into the side of his laptop. «I’m connected to the world.»

«You wouldn’t. .»

I will, Mal’akh thought, enjoying Solomon’s horror. «You have the power to stop me,» he said. «And to save your sister. But you have to tell me what I want to know. The Lost Word is hidden somewhere, Peter, and I know this grid reveals exactly where to find it.»

Peter glanced at the grid of symbols again, his eyes revealing nothing.

«Perhaps this will help to inspire you.» Mal’akh reached over Peter’s shoulders and hit a few keys on the laptop. An e-mail program launched on the screen, and Peter stiffened visibly. The screen now displayed an e-mail that Mal’akh had cued earlier tonight — a video file addressed to a long list of major media networks.

Mal’akh smiled. «I think it’s time we share, don’t you?»

«Don’t!»

Mal’akh reached down and clicked the send button on the program. Peter jerked against his bonds, trying unsuccessfully to knock the laptop to the floor.

«Relax, Peter,» Mal’akh whispered. «It’s a massive file. It will take a few minutes to go out.» He pointed to the progress bar:

SENDING MESSAGE: 2 % COMPLETE.

«if you tell me what i want to know, i’ll stop the e-mail, and nobody will ever see this.»

Peter was ashen as the task bar inched forward.

SENDING MESSAGE: 4 % COMPLETE.

Mal’akh now lifted the computer from Peter’s lap and set it on one of the nearby pigskin chairs, turning the screen so the other man could watch the progress. Then he returned to Peter’s side and laid the page of symbols in his lap. «The legends say the Masonic Pyramid will unveil the Lost Word. This is the pyramid’s final code. I believe you know how to read it.»

Mal’akh glanced over at the laptop.

SENDING MESSAGE: 8 % COMPLETE.

Mal’akh returned his eyes to Peter. Solomon was staring at him, his gray eyes blazing now with hatred.

Hate me, Mal’akh thought. The greater the emotion, the more potent the energy that will be released when the ritual is completed.

At Langley, Nola Kaye pressed the phone to her ear, barely able to hear Sato over the noise of the helicopter.

«They said it’s impossible to stop the file transfer!» Nola shouted. «To shut down local ISPs would take at least an hour, and if he’s got access to a wireless provider, killing the ground-based Internet won’t stop him from sending it anyway.»

Nowadays, stopping the flow of digital information had become nearly impossible. There were too many access routes to the Internet. Between hard lines, Wi-Fi hot spots, cellular modems, SAT phones, superphones, and e-mail-equipped PDAs, the only way to isolate a potential data leak was by destroying the source machine.

«I pulled the spec sheet on the UH-60 you’re flying,» Nola said, «and it looks like you’re equipped with EMP.»

Electromagnetic-pulse or EMP guns were now commonplace among law enforcement agencies, which used them primarily to stop car chases from a safe distance. By firing a highly concentrated pulse of electromagnetic radiation, an EMP gun could effectively fry the electronics of any device it targeted — cars, cell phones, computers. According to Nola’s spec sheet, the UH-60 had a chassis-mounted, laser-sighted, six-gigahertz magnetron with a