Angels & Demons

Vittoria looked disappointed. "Money? Consulting, you mean?"

Langdon laughed, realizing how it must have sounded. "No. Money as in currency." He reached in his pants pocket and pulled out some money. He found a one-dollar bill. "I became fascinated with the cult when I first learned that U.S. currency is covered with Illuminati symbology."

Vittoria’s eyes narrowed, apparently not knowing whether or not to take him seriously.

Langdon handed her the bill. "Look at the back. See the Great Seal on the left?"

Vittoria turned the one-dollar bill over. "You mean the pyramid?"

"The pyramid. Do you know what pyramids have to do with U.S. history?"

Vittoria shrugged.

"Exactly," Langdon said. "Absolutely nothing."

Vittoria frowned. "So why is it the central symbol of your Great Seal? "

"An eerie bit of history," Langdon said. "The pyramid is an occult symbol representing a convergence upward, toward the ultimate source of Illumination. See what’s above it?"

Vittoria studied the bill. "An eye inside a triangle."

"It’s called the trinacria. Have you ever seen that eye in a triangle anywhere else?"

Vittoria was silent a moment. "Actually, yes, but I’m not sure…"

"It’s emblazoned on Masonic lodges around the world."

"The symbol is Masonic?"

"Actually, no. It’s Illuminati. They called it their ‘shining delta.’ A call for enlightened change. The eye signifies the Illuminati’s ability to infiltrate and watch all things. The shining triangle represents enlightenment. And the triangle is also the Greek letter delta, which is the mathematical symbol for—"

"Change. Transition."

Langdon smiled. "I forgot I was talking to a scientist."

"So you’re saying the U.S. Great Seal is a call for enlightened, all-seeing change?"

"Some would call it a New World Order."

Vittoria seemed startled. She glanced down at the bill again. "The writing under the pyramid says Novus… Ordo…"

"Novus Ordo Seculorum," Langdon said. "It means New Secular Order."

"Secular as in non religious?"

"Nonreligious. The phrase not only clearly states the Illuminati objective, but it also blatantly contradicts the phrase beside it. In God We Trust."

Vittoria seemed troubled. "But how could all this symbology end up on the most powerful currency in the world?"

"Most academics believe it was through Vice President Henry Wallace. He was an upper echelon Mason and certainly had ties to the Illuminati. Whether it was as a member or innocently under their influence, nobody knows. But it was Wallace who sold the design of the Great Seal to the president."

"How? Why would the president have agreed to—"

"The president was Franklin D. Roosevelt. Wallace simply told him Novus Ordo Seculorum meant New Deal."

Vittoria seemed skeptical. "And Roosevelt didn’t have anyone else look at the symbol before telling the Treasury to print it?"

"No need. He and Wallace were like brothers."

"Brothers?"

"Check your history books," Langdon said with a smile. "Franklin D. Roosevelt was a well- known Mason."

32

Langdon held his breath as the X-33 spiraled into Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci International Airport. Vittoria sat across from him, eyes closed as if trying to will the situation into control. The craft touched down and taxied to a private hangar.

"Sorry for the slow flight," the pilot apologized, emerging from the cockpit. "Had to trim her back. Noise regulations over populated areas."

Langdon checked his watch. They had been airborne thirty-seven minutes.

The pilot popped the outer door. "Anybody want to tell me what’s going on?"

Neither Vittoria nor Langdon responded.

"Fine," he said, stretching. "I’ll be in the cockpit with the air-conditioning and my music. Just me and Garth."

The late-afternoon sun blazed outside the hangar. Langdon carried his tweed jacket over his shoulder. Vittoria turned her face skyward and inhaled deeply, as if the sun’s rays somehow transferred to her some mystical replenishing energy.

Mediterraneans, Langdon mused, already sweating.

"Little old for cartoons, aren’t you?" Vittoria asked, without opening her eyes.

"I’m sorry?"

"Your wristwatch. I saw it on the plane."

Langdon flushed slightly. He was accustomed to having to defend his timepiece. The collector’s edition Mickey Mouse watch had been a childhood gift from his parents. Despite the contorted foolishness of Mickey’s outstretched arms designating the hour, it was the only watch Langdon had ever worn. Waterproof and glow-in- the-dark, it was perfect for swimming laps or walking unlit college paths at night. When Langdon’s students questioned his fashion sense, he told them he wore Mickey as a daily reminder to stay young at heart.

"It’s six o’clock," he said.

Vittoria nodded, eyes still closed. "I think our ride’s here."

Langdon heard the distant whine, looked up, and felt a sinking feeling. Approaching from the north was a helicopter, slicing low across the runway. Langdon had been on a helicopter once in the Andean Palpa Valley looking at the Nazca sand drawings and had not enjoyed it one bit. A flying shoebox. After a morning of space plane rides, Langdon had hoped the Vatican would send a car.

Apparently not.

The chopper slowed overhead, hovered a moment, and dropped toward the runway in front of them. The craft was white and carried a coat of arms emblazoned on the side—two skeleton keys crossing a shield and papal crown. He knew the symbol well. It was the traditional seal of the Vatican—the sacred symbol of the Holy See or "holy seat" of government, the seat being literally the ancient throne of St. Peter.

The Holy Chopper, Langdon groaned, watching the craft land. He’d forgotten the Vatican owned one of these things, used for transporting the Pope to the airport, to meetings, or to his summer palace in Gandolfo. Langdon definitely would have preferred a car.

The pilot jumped from the cockpit and strode toward them across the tarmac.

Now it was Vittoria who looked uneasy. "That’s our pilot?"

Langdon shared her concern. "To fly, or not to fly. That is the question."

The pilot looked like he was festooned for a Shakespearean melodrama. His puffy tunic was vertically striped in brilliant blue and gold. He wore matching pantaloons and spats. On his feet were black flats that looked like slippers. On top of it all, he wore a black felt beret.

"Traditional Swiss Guard uniforms," Langdon explained. "Designed by Michelangelo himself." As the man drew closer, Langdon winced. "I admit, not one of Michelangelo’s better efforts."

Despite the man’s garish attire, Langdon could tell the pilot meant business. He moved toward them with all the rigidity and dignity of a U.S. Marine. Langdon had read many times about the rigorous requirements for