The group backed up a few yards to an old metal door, which Langdon now realized was located at the hallway’s central point — the meridian that divided the Senate Basement (SB) and the House Basement (HB). As it turned out, the door was indeed marked, but its engraving was so faded, it was almost imperceptible.
SBB
«Here we are,» Anderson said. «Keys will be arriving any moment.»
Sato frowned and checked her watch.
Langdon eyed the SBB marking and asked Anderson, «Why is this space associated with the
Anderson looked puzzled. «What do you mean?»
«It says SBB, which begins with an
Anderson shook his head. «The
«chief?» a guard called out in the distance. he came jogging up the hallway toward them, holding out a key. «sorry, sir, it took a few minutes. we couldn’t locate the main sbb key. this is a spare from an auxiliary box.»
«The original is missing?» Anderson said, sounding surprised.
«Probably lost,» the guard replied, arriving out of breath. «Nobody has requested access down here for ages.»
Anderson took the key. «No secondary key for SBB Thirteen?»
«Sorry, so far we’re not finding keys for
The guard’s radio crackled, and a voice replied, «Actually, yeah. It’s strange. I’m seeing no entries since we computerized, but the hard logs indicate all the storage rooms in the SBB were cleaned out and abandoned more than twenty years ago. They’re now listed as unused space.» He paused. «All except for SBB Thirteen.»
Anderson grabbed the radio. «This is the chief. What do you mean, all
«Well, sir,» the voice replied, «I’ve got a handwritten notation here that designates SBB Thirteen as ‘private.’ It was a long time ago, but it’s written and initialed by the Architect himself.»
The term
«The strange thing. .» the voice on the radio said, «is that the Architect’s notation indicates that this ‘private space’ was set aside for the use of Peter Solomon.»
Langdon, Sato, and Anderson all exchanged startled looks.
«I’m guessing, sir,» the voice continued, «that Mr. Solomon has our primary key to the SBB as well as any keys to SBB Thirteen.»
Langdon could not believe his ears.
«Okay,» Anderson said, clearly unamused. «We’re hoping to get access to SBB Thirteen specifically, so keep looking for a secondary key.»
«Will do, sir. We’re also working on the digital image that you requested — »
«Thank you,» Anderson interrupted, pressing the talk button and cutting him off. «That will be all. Send that file to Director Sato’s BlackBerry as soon as you have it.» «understood, sir.» the radio went silent.
Anderson handed the radio back to the guard in front of them.
The guard pulled out a photocopy of a blueprint and handed it to his chief. «Sir, the SBB is in gray, and we’ve notated with an
Anderson thanked the guard and turned his focus to the blueprint as the young man hurried off. Langdon looked on, surprised to see the astonishing number of cubicles that made up the bizarre maze beneath the U.S. Capitol.
Anderson studied the blueprint for a moment, nodded, and then stuffed it into his pocket. Turning to the door marked SBB, he raised the key, but hesitated, looking uneasy about opening it. langdon felt similar misgivings; he had no idea what was behind this door, but he was quite certain that whatever solomon had hidden down here, he wanted to keep private.
Sato cleared her throat, and Anderson got the message. The chief took a deep breath, inserted the key, and tried to turn it. The key didn’t move. For a split second, Langdon felt hopeful the key was wrong. On the second try, though, the lock turned, and Anderson heaved the door open.
As the heavy door creaked outward, damp air rushed out into the corridor.
Langdon peered into the darkness but could see nothing at all.
«Professor,» Anderson said, glancing back at Langdon as he groped blindly for a light switch. «To answer your question, the
«Sub?» Langdon asked, puzzled.
Anderson nodded and flicked the switch just inside the door. A single bulb illuminated an alarmingly steep staircase descending into inky blackness. «SBB is the Capitol’s subbasement.»
CHAPTER 33
Systems security specialist mark zoubianis was sinking deeper into his futon and scowling at the information on his laptop screen.
W
His best hacking tools were entirely ineffective at breaking into the document or at unmasking Trish’s mysterious IP address. Ten minutes had passed, and Zoubianis’s program was still pounding away in vain at the network firewalls. They showed little hope of penetration.
«Is this Mark Zoubianis?» a man asked. «At 357 Kingston Drive in Washington?»
Zoubianis could hear other muffled conversations in the background.
«No,» the voice replied with no trace of humor. «This is systems security for the Central Intelligence Agency. We would like to know why you are attempting to hack one of our classified databases?»
Three stories above the Capitol Building’s subbasement, in the wide-open spaces of the visitor center, security guard Nuсez locked the main entry doors as he did every night at this time. As he headed back across the expansive marble floors, he thought of the man in the army-surplus jacket with the tattoos.
As he headed toward the escalator, a sudden pounding on the outside doors caused him to turn. He squinted back toward the main entrance and saw an elderly African American man outside, rapping on the glass with his open palm and motioning to be let in.
nuсez shook his head and pointed to his watch.
The man pounded again and stepped into the light. He was immaculately dressed in a blue suit and had close-cropped graying hair. Nuсez’s pulse quickened.
Warren Bellamy — Architect of the Capitol — stepped across the threshold and thanked Nuсez with a polite
