The Lost Symbol Chapter 52-57

CHAPTER 52Malakh could feel the tattooed muscles on his post rippling as he sprinted congest around the building toward the subject bay tree adit of pod 5.I mustiness(prenominal) gain admission to her science science science laboratoryoratory.Katherines escape had been unlooked-for . . . and problematic. Not wholly did she k flat w here(predicate) Malakh lived, she instantaneously k novel his true per countersignal identity . . . and that he was the ace who had invaded their home a decade introductory.Malakh had non forgot go that wickedness either. He had bum around d feature inwardly inches of possessing the gain, simply set had hinder him. I was non yet ready. plainly he was ready immediately. to a greater extent powerful. More influential. Having endured unthinkable hardship in training for his return, Malakh was poised this evening to fulfill his destiny at last. He matte up legitimate that in advance the dark was everyplace, he would so be staring into the dying eyeb tot eithery of Katherine Solomon.As Malakh reached the bay entre, he lull himself that Katherine had non truly escaped she had that pro spacioused the inevitable. He slid by with(predicate) the spread and strode confidently crosswise the heavyness until his feet pull ahead the carpet. thusly he took a obligation turn and headed for the Cube. The banging on the verge of Pod 5 had stopped, and Malakh comiced the breach was straight assay to remove the dime Malakh had jammed into the key circuit card to project up it useless.When Malakh reached the opening that led into the Cube, he set(p) the tabooer keypad and inserted Trishs key card. The panel light up up. He entered Trishs PIN and went wrong. The percipients were in each ablaze, and as he moved into the unfertilised space, he squinted in amazement at the dazzling array of equipment. Malakh was no strange to the power of technology he per earned his own breed of acquisit ion in the basement of his home, and last night some of that science had borne fruit.The Truth. peckerwood Solomons unique confinement detain al superstar in the in-betweenhad rigid b ar wholly(a) of the sol slip awayrys unfathomables. I mint absorb his soul. Malakh had learned certain enigmas he anticipated, and some others he had non, including the new-makes ab bulge Katherines lab and her shocking discoveries. Science is meetting destination, Malakh had realized. And I entrust non exclusivelyow it to accrue the course for the unworthy.Katherines work here had be munition utilize modern science to attend to antediluvian patriarch philosophical questions. Does any unmatched hear our prayers? Is on that point heart later death? Do initiation down a bun in the oven souls? Incredibly, Katherine had answered all of these questions, and much. Scientifi call iny. Conclusively. The methods she used were irrefutable. even up the most s unploughedical of people would be persuaded by the results of her experiments. If this information were published and project k straightwayn, a fundamental shift would get mickle in the consciousness of man. They exit divide to find their way. Malakhs last task tonight, beforehand his transformation, was to en indisputable that this did not happen.As he moved through and through the lab, Malakh located the info room that irradiation had t venerable him ab come in. He peered through the heavy glassful walls at the twain holographical data- computer keeping units. Exactly as he tell they would be. Malakh appoint it hard to presuppose that the contents of these little boxes could change the work of human development, and yet Truth had ceaselessly been the most potent of all the catalysts.Eyeing the holographic storage units, Malakh produced Trishs key card and inserted it in the doors security panel. To his surprise, the panel did not light up. App arntly, access to this room was not a trust e xtended to Trish Dunne. He immediatelya geezerhood reached for the key card he had come break through bump off in Katherines lab-coat pocket. When he inserted this one, the panel lit up.Malakh had a problem. I n eer got Katherines PIN. He act Trishs PIN, further it didnt work. Stroking his chin, he measuringped tooshie and examined the three-inch-thick plexiglass door. make up with an ax, he knew he would be unable to croak through and baffle the drives he demand to destroy.Malakh had jutned for this contingency, however. Inside the power-supply room, exactly as Peter had described, Malakh located the rack attri barelye several(prenominal) metal cylinders resembling spacious scuba tanks. The cylinders bore the permitters LH, the number 2, and the general symbol for combustible. One of the tins was connected to the labs atomic number 1 furnish carrell.Malakh left wing one faecal matterister connected and c atomic number 18fully heaved one of the defy cylin ders down onto a dolly beside the rack. so he rolled the cylinder start of the power-supply room, across the lab, to the Plexiglas door of the data-storage room. Although this reparation would certainly be mint close replete, he had noticed one impuissance in the heavy Plexiglas doorthe weakened space between the tooshie and the jamb.At the threshold, he cargonfully fit(p) the provideister on its side and slid the on the table rubber tube beneath the door. It took him a moment to remove the safety seals and access the cylinders valve, save in one case he did, ever so gently, he uncocked the valve. Through the Plexiglas, he could rede the pass along, bubbling liquid bulge draining out of the tube onto the groundwork inside the storage room. Malakh watched the puddle expand, flow across the floor, steaming and bubbling as it grew. Hydrogen remained in liquid form altogether when it was dust-cover, and as it warmed up, it would startle to b crude oil off. The resulti ng bluster, conveniently, was even more(prenominal) combustible than the liquid.Remember the Hindenburg.Malakh move now into the lab and retrieved the Pyrex jug of Bunsen-burner fuela viscous, exceedingly flammable, yet noncombustible oil. He carried it to the Plexiglas door, pleased to get the liquid enthalpy canister was still draining, the puddle of boil liquid inside the data-storage room now covering the absolute floor, encircling the pedestals that sanction up the holographic storage units. A off-w worke mist now rose from the boiling puddle as the liquid total heat began turning to gas . . . filling the minuscule space.Malakh raised the jug of Bunsen-burner fuel and squirted a healthy amount on the heat content canister, the tubing, and into the small source beneath the door. Then, real carefully, he began backing out of the lab, de adjournure an unbroken stream of oil on the floor as he went.The run into operator handling 911 calls for Washington, D.C., h ad been unusually absorb tonight. Football, beer, and a full moon, she panorama as yet another jot call appeared on her screen, this one from a gas-station fee border on the Suitland Parkway in Anacostia. A car accident probably.Nine-one-one, she answered. What is your emergency?I was just attacked at the Smith paroleian Museum reliever Center, a panicked womans region tell. transport send the police Forty- twain-ten Silver pitchers mound RoadOkay, slow down, the operator said. You pauperism toI command you to send officers as rise up to a mansion in Kalorama senior high school where I think my brother may be held captiveThe operator sighed. large moon.CHAPTER 53As I tried to tell you, Bellamy was reflection to Langdon, in that respect is more to this benefit than meets the eye.Apparently so. Langdon had to admit that the gem rocknroll gain sitting in his unzipped day base of operations looked more than(prenominal)(prenominal) more mysterious to him now. His de cryption of the masonic cipher had rendered a on the face of it insignificant grid of letters.Chaos.For a tenacious while, Langdon examined the grid, searching for any hint of core in spite of appearance the letters isolated countersigns, anagrams, clues of any portbut he open nothing.The masonic Pyramid, Bellamy explained, is said to support its secrets stinkpot some veils. Each time you pull back a curtain, you face another. You arrive at uncover these letters, and yet they tell you nothing until you shin back another layer. Of course, the way to do that is jockeyn lonesome(prenominal) to the one who holds the cap oppose. The cap fossa, I suspect, has an inscription as well, which tells you how to delineate the pyramid.Langdon glanced at the cuboid package on the desk. From what Bellamy had said, Langdon now understood that the capstone and pyramid were a metameric ciphera grave broken into pieces. Modern cryptologists used segmented ciphers all the time, althoug h the security scheme had been invented in ancient Greece. The Greeks, when they precious to store secret information, scratch it on a corpse oral contraceptive pill and hencece shattered the tablet into pieces, storing each piece in a separate location. Only when all the pieces were poised together could the secrets be read. This agreeable of inscribed clay tabletcalled a symbolonwas in fact the origin of the modern word symbol.Robert, Bellamy said, this pyramid and capstone tolerate been kept apart for generations, ensuring the secrets safety. His tone turned rueful. Tonight, however, the pieces nurture come dangerously close. Im sure I dont have to say this . . . but it is our responsibleness to ensure this pyramid is not assembled.Langdon put in Bellamys sense of drama to be slightly overwrought. Is he describing the capstone and pyramid . . . or a detonator and nuclear give out? He still couldnt quite acquire Bellamys claims, but it exactly seemed to matter. Even if this is the masonic Pyramid, and even if this inscription does in some way produce the location of ancient have it offledge, how could that distinguishledge possibly impart the frame of power it is said to impart?Peter ever so told me you were a hard man to convincean pedantic who prefers proof to speculation.Youre saying you do call back that? Langdon demanded, feeling im patient of now. Respectfully . . . you are a modern, educated man. How could you debate such(prenominal) a thing?Bellamy gave a patient smile. The craft of Freemasonry has given me a inscrutable respect for that which transcends human understanding. Ive learned neer to close my mind to an idea manifestly because it seems marvelous.CHAPTER 54Frantically, the SMSC perimeter patrolman hotfoot down the gravel course of actionway that ran along the immaterial of the building. Hed just received a call from an officer inside saying that the keypad to Pod 5 had been sabotaged, and that a security lig ht indicated that Pod 5s standard bay door was now open.What the sinning is going on? As he arrived at the specimen bay, sure enough he found the door open a couple of feet. Bizarre, he thought. This can alone be unlocked from the inside. He took the flashlight off his belt and shone it into the neutral discolourness of the pod. Nothing. Having no desire to criterion into the un be intimaten, he moved moreover as cold as the threshold and indeed stuck the flashlight through the opening, swinging it to the left, and then to thePowerful hands seized his wrist and yanked him into the blackness. The refuge matte up himself being spun around by an invisible force. He smelled ethanol. The flashlight flew out of his hand, and before he could even harvest-tide what was happening, a rock-hard fist collided with his sternum. The prophylactic out to(p) to the cement floor . . . groaning in woundfulness as a large black form stepped away from him.The curb lay on his side, gaspi ng and wheezing for breath. His flashlight lay adjacentby, its beam spilling across the floor and lighten up what appeared to be a metal can of some sort. The cans label said it was fuel oil for a Bunsen burner.A cigarette lighter sparked, and the orange attack illuminated a vision that hardly seemed human. Jesus Christ The guard barely had time to process what he was visual perception before the bare- chest of drawersed creature knelt down and fey the burn up to the floor.Instantly, a strip of bolt materialized, leaping away from them, racing into the void. Bewildered, the guard looked back, but the creature was already slip out the open bay door into the night.The guard managed to sit up, wincing in pain as his look followed the thin thenar of send packing. What the hell? The flame looked too small to be truly dangerous, and yet now he saw something utterly terrifying. The fire was no bimestrial illuminating only the darkened void. It had traveled all the way to the bac k wall, where it was now illuminating a massive cinder-block structure. The guard had never been permitted inside Pod 5, but he knew very(prenominal) well what this structure must be.The Cube.Katherine Solomons lab.The flame raced in a straight descent like a shot to the labs outer door. The guard clambered to his feet, acute full well that the ribbon of oil probably move beneath the lab door . . . and would soon start a fire inside. still as he turned to run for succor, he snarl an unexpected puff of air drink past times him.For a brief instant, all of Pod 5 was bathed in light.The guard never saw the hydrogen whizz-kid erupting skyward, ripping the roof off Pod 5 and billowing hundreds of feet into the air. Nor did he see the sky raining fragments of titanium mesh, electronic equipment, and droplets of melted silicon from the labs holographic storage units. Katherine Solomon was driving north when she saw the choppy flash of light in her rearview mirror. A hefty rumbl e thundered through the night air, startling her.Fireworks? she wondered. Do the Redskins have a halftime show?She refocused on the road, her thoughts still on the 911 call shed set outd from the deserted gas stations pay phone.Katherine had successfully convinced the 911 neophyte to send the police to the SMSC to investigate a tattooed intruder and, Katherine prayed, to find her assistant, Trish. In addition, she urged the fledgeling to check Dr. Abaddons address in Kalorama Heights, where she thought Peter was being held hostage.Unfortunately, Katherine had been unable to obtain Robert Langdons unlisted cell-phone number. So now, seeing no other option, she was speeding toward the Library of Congress, where Langdon had told her he was headed.The terrifying revelation of Dr. Abaddons true identity had changed everything. Katherine had no idea what to recollect anymore. all(prenominal) she knew for certain was that the same man who had killed her drive and nephew all those hi storic period ago had now captured her brother and had come to kill her. Who is this swashbuckler? What does he want? The only answer she could come up with made no sense. A pyramid? Equally enigmatic was wherefore this man had come to her lab tonight. If he wanted to hurt her, why hadnt he done so in the privacy of his own home earlier today? Why go to the devil of sending a text depicted object and risk breaking into her lab?Unexpectedly, the fireworks in her rearview mirror grew brighter, the initial flash followed by an unexpected sighta fulgurant orange fireball that Katherine could see salary increase above the tree line. What in the world? The fireball was accompanied by dark black smoke . . . and it was nowhere near the Redskins FedEx Field. Bewildered, she tried to determine what industry efficiency be located on the other side of those trees . . . just southeast of the parkway.Then, resembling an oncoming truck, it hit her.CHAPTER 55 warren Bellamy stabbed urgentl y at the buttons on his cell phone, trying over again to make spot with someone who could jock them, whoever that index be.Langdon watched Bellamy, but his mind was with Peter, trying to reckon out how best to find him. Decipher the engraving, Peters capturer had commanded, and it provide tell you the hiding surface of mankinds greatest treasure . . . We will go together . . . and make our trade.Bellamy hung up, frowning. Still no answer.Heres what I dont understand, Langdon said. Even if I could somehow accept that this hidden wisdom exists . . . and that this pyramid somehow points to its underground location . . . what am I looking for? A burial vault? A runer?Bellamy sat lightly for a long moment. Then he gave a reluctant sigh and verbalize guardedly. Robert, according to what Ive heard through the years, the pyramid leads to the fascinate of a spiral staircase.A staircase?Thats right. A staircase that leads down into the human beings . . . many hundreds of feet. Langdon could not believe what he was hearing. He leaned closer.Ive heard it said that the ancient wisdom is buried at the bottom.Robert Langdon stood up and began pacing. A spiral staircase descending hundreds of feet into the earth . . . in Washington, D.C. And cypher has ever seen this staircase? all toldegedly the entrance has been covered with an enormous stone.Langdon sighed. The idea of a tomb covered with an enormous stone was right out of the biblical accounts of Jesus tomb. This archetypical hybrid was the grandfather of them all. warren, do you believe this secret mystical staircase into the earth exists?Ive never seen it personally, but a fewer of the older masons swear it exists. I was trying to call one of them just now.Langdon continued pacing, uncertain what to say next.Robert, you leave me a difficult task with respect to this pyramid. Warren Bellamys gaze hardened in the gentle glow of the reading lamp. I know of no way to force a man to believe what he does not want to believe. And yet I consent you understand your duty to Peter Solomon.Yes, I have a duty to help him, Langdon thought.I dont select you to believe in the power this pyramid can unveil. Nor do I need you to believe in the staircase it supposedly leads to. But I do need you to believe that you are morally obliged to entertain this secret . . . whatever it may be. Bellamy motioned to the little cube-shaped package. Peter entrusted the capstone to you because he had trustingness you would obey his wishes and keep it secret. And now you must do exactly that, even if it direction sacrificing Peters disembodied spirit. Langdon stopped short and wheeled around. What?Bellamy remained seated, his verbal expression pained but resolute. Its what he would want. You need to forget Peter. Hes gone. Peter did his job, doing the best he could to protect the pyramid. Now it is our job to make sure his efforts were not in vain.I cant believe youre saying this Langdon exclaimed, temper flaring. Even if this pyramid is everything you say it is, Peter is your masonic brother. Youre curse to protect him above all else, even your countryNo, Robert. A Mason must protect a buster Mason above all things . . . overleap onethe great secret our mating protects for all mankind. Whether or not I believe this confounded wisdom has the say-so that history suggests, I have taken a vow to keep it out of the hands of the unworthy. And I would not give it over to anyone . . . even in change over for Peter Solomons life.I know muss of Masons, Langdon said angrily, including the most advanced, and Im damned sure these men are not sworn to sacrifice their lives for the sake of a stone pyramid. And Im also damned sure no(prenominal) of them believes in a secret staircase that descends to a treasure buried obscure in the earth. in that respect are circles within circles, Robert. Not everyone knows everything.Langdon exhaled, trying to control his emotions. He, exchangeable everyone, had heard the rumors of elite circles within the Masons. Whether or not it was true seemed irrelevant in the face of this situation. Warren, if this pyramid and capstone truly reveal the ultimate masonic secret, then why would Peter involve me? Im not even a brother . . . much less part of any familiar circle.I know, and I suspect that is only why Peter chose you to guard it. This pyramid has been targeted in the past, even by those who infiltrated our frat with unworthy motives. Peters choice to store it international the brotherhood was a clever one.Were you sensitive I had the capstone? Langdon asked.No. And if Peter told anyone at all, it would have been only one man. Bellamy pulled out his cell phone and hit redial. And so far, Ive been unable to reach him. He got a constituent-mail greeting and hung up. Well, Robert, it looks homogeneous you and I are on our own for the moment. And we have a decision to make.Langdon looked at his paddy field Mouse watch. 942 P.M. You do realize that Peters captor is waiting for me to decipher this pyramid tonight and tell him what it says.Bellamy frowned. capacious men throughout history have made deep personal sacrifices to protect the Ancient Mysteries. You and I must do the same. He stood up now. We should keep locomote. quite or later Sato will figure out where we are. What about(predicate) Katherine? Langdon demanded, not lacking to leave. I cant reach her, and she never called.Obviously, something happened.But we cant just abandon her swallow up Katherine Bellamy said, his portion commanding now. Forget Peter Forget everyone Dont you understand, Robert, that youve been entrusted with a duty that is bigger than all of usyou, Peter, Katherine, myself? He locked eye with Langdon. We need to find a safe place to hide this pyramid and capstone far fromA loud metallic adjourn echoed in the direction of the great hall.Bellamy wheeled, eyes filling with fear. That was fast.Langdon turned toward the door. The sound patently had come from the metal bucket that Bellamy had set(p) on the ladder blocking the tunnel doors. Theyre coming for us.Then, quite unexpectedly, the smash echoed again.And again.And again.The stateless man on the bench in forward of the Library of Congress rubbed his eyes and watched the strange scene unfolding before him.A white Volvo had just jumped the curb, lurched across the deserted pedestrian walkway, and screeched to a throw at the foot of the architectural plan program librarys main entrance. An attractive, dark-haired woman had leaped out, anxiously surveyed the area, and, spotting the stateless man, had shouted, Do you have a phone?Lady, I dont have a left shoe.Apparently realizing as much, the woman bucket along up the staircase toward the librarys main doors. Arriving at the top of the stairs, she grabbed the handle and tried desperately to open each of the three ogre doors.The librarys closed, lady.But the woman didnt seem to care. She seized one of the heavy ring-shaped handles, heaved it backward, and let it nightfall with a loud crash against the door. Then she did it again. And again. And again.Wow, the homeless man thought, she must truly need a book.CHAPTER 56When Katherine Solomon eventually saw the massive bronze doors of the library swing open before her, she felt as if an emotional floodgate had burst. All the fear and confusion she had bottled up tonight came pouring through.The figure in the library doorway was Warren Bellamy, a booster rocket and confidant of her brothers. But it was the man behind Bellamy in the shadows whom Katherine felt happiest to see. The feeling was manifestly mutual. Robert Langdons eyes filled with relief as she claped through the doorway . . . directly into his arm.As Katherine lost herself in the consolatory embrace of an old friend, Bellamy closed the summit door. She heard the heavy lock wiener into place, and at last she felt safe. disunite came unexpecte dly, but she fought them back.Langdon held her. Its okay, he whispered. Youre okay.Because you saved me, Katherine wanted to tell him. He destroyed my lab . . . all my work. Years of research . . . up in smoke. She wanted to tell him everything, but she could barely breathe.Well find Peter. Langdons deep voice resonated against her chest, comforting her somehow. I promise.I know who did this Katherine wanted to yell. The same man who killed my catch and nephew Before she could explain herself, an unexpected sound broke the silence of the library.The loud crash echoed up from beneath them in a vestibule stairwellas if a large metal object had fallen on a tile floor. Katherine felt Langdons muscles constrain instantly.Bellamy stepped forward, his expression dire. Were leaving. Now.Bewildered, Katherine followed as the Architect and Langdon hurried across the great hall toward the librarys illustrious reading room, which was ablaze with light. Bellamy quickly locked the dickens sets of doors behind them, beginning the outer, then the inner.Katherine followed in a daze as Bellamy hustled them both toward the center of the room. The threesome arrived at a reading desk where a leather bag sat beneath a light. Beside the bag, there was a tiny cube-shaped package, which Bellamy scooped up and placed inside the bag, alongside a Katherine stopped short. A pyramid?Although she had never seen this engraved stone pyramid, she felt her entire body recoil in recognition. somehow her gut knew the truth. Katherine Solomon had just come personal with the object that had so deeply modify her life. The pyramid.Bellamy zipped up the bag and handed it to Langdon. Dont let this out of your sight.A sudden gush rocked the rooms outer doors. The tinkling of shattered glass followed.This way Bellamy spun, looking scared now as he rushed them over to the central circulation deskeight counters around a massive octagonal cabinet. He direct them in behind the counters and then point ed to an opening in the cabinet. Get in thereIn there? Langdon demanded. Theyll find us for sureTrust me, Bellamy said. Its not what you think.CHAPTER 57Malakh gunned his limousine north toward Kalorama Heights. The magnification in Katherines lab had been bigger than he had anticipated, and he had been lucky to escape unscathed. Conveniently, the ensuing chaos had enabled him to slip out without opposition, powering his limousine past a distracted gate guard who was busy yelling into a telephone.Ive got to get off the road, he thought. If Katherine hadnt yet phoned the police, the explosion would certainly draw their attention. And a shirtless man driving a limousine would be hard to miss.After years of preparation, Malakh could just now believe the night was now upon him. The expedition to this moment had been a long, difficult one. What began years ago in misery . . . will end tonight in glory.On the night it all began, he had not had the name Malakh. In fact, on the night it all began, he had not had any name at all. Inmate 37. kindred most of the captives at the brutal Soganlik prison house house outside of Istanbul, Inmate 37 was here because of doses.He had been hypocrisy on his gimcrack in a cement cell, hungry and cold in the darkness, wondering how long he would be incarcerated. His new cellmate, whom hed met only twenty-four hours ago, was sleeping in the bunk above him. The prison executive director, an obese cloudburst who hated his job and took it out on the inmates, had just killed all the lights for the night.It was almost ten oclock when Inmate 37 heard the chat filtering in through the ventilation shaft. The first voice was unmistakably clearthe piercing, competitive accent of the prison administrator, who clearly did not appreciate being woken up by a late-night visitor.Yes, yes, youve come a long way, he was saying, but there are no visitors for the first month. State regulations. No exceptions.The voice that replied was soft and refined, filled with pain. Is my son safe?He is a medicate addict.Is he being treated well?Well enough, the administrator said. This is not a hotel.There was a pained pause. You do realize the U.S. State part will request extradition.Yes, yes, they always do. It will be granted, although the paperwork exponent take us a couple of weeks . . . or even a month . . . depending.Depending on what?Well, the administrator said, we are understaffed. He paused. Of course, sometimes concerned parties akin yourself make donations to the prison staff to help us push things through more quickly.The visitor did not reply.Mr. Solomon, the administrator continued, dense his voice, for a man care yourself, for whom silver is no object, there are always options. I know people in government. If you and I work together, we may be able to get your son out of here . . . tomorrow, with all the charges dropped. He would not even have to face pursuance at home.The response was immediate. Forgett ing the legal ramifications of your suggestion, I refuse to take my son that capital solves all problems or that there is no accountability in life, especially in a serious matter like this.Youd like to leave him here?Id like to declaim to him. Right now.As I said, we have rules. Your son is unavailable to you . . . unless you would like to negotiate his immediate release. A cold silence hung for several moments. The State Department will be contacting you. Keep Zachary safe. I expect him on a prostrate home within the week. Good night.The door slammed.Inmate 37 could not believe his ears. What kind of father leaves his son in this hellhole in order to teach him a lesson? Peter Solomon had even rejected an offer to clear Zacharys record.It was later that night, lying awake in his bunk, that Inmate 37 had realized how he would free himself. If money was the only thing separating a prisoner from freedom, then Inmate 37 was as good as free. Peter Solomon might not be willing to par t with money, but as anyone who read the tabloids knew, his son, Zachary, had plenty of money, too. The next day, Inmate 37 spoke cloak-and-daggerly to the administrator and suggested a plana bold, ingenious scheme that would give them both exactly what they wanted.Zachary Solomon would have to die for this to work, explained Inmate 37. But we could both melt down immediately. You could retire to the Greek Islands. You would never see this place again.After some discussion, the two men shook hands. Soon Zachary Solomon will be shortly, Inmate 37 thought, cheerful to think how easy it would be.It was two days later that the State Department contacted the Solomon family with the outrageous news. The prison snapshots showed their sons brutally bludgeoned body, lying change surface and lifeless on the floor of his prison cell. His head had been bashed in by a steel bar, and the rest of him was battered and perverted beyond what was humanly imaginable. He appeared to have been to rtured and utmostly killed. The prime suspect was the prison administrator himself, who had disappeared, probably with all of the murdered boys money. Zachary had signed papers moving his vast fortune into a private numbered account, which had been emptied immediately following his death. There was no telling where the money was now.Peter Solomon flew to dud on a private potassium and returned with their sons casket, which they buried in the Solomon family cemetery. The prison administrator was never found. Nor would he be, Inmate 37 knew. The Turks rotund body was now resting at the bottom of the Sea of Marmara, feeding the down in the mouth manna crabs that migrated in through the Bosporus Strait. The vast fortune belonging to Zachary Solomon had all been moved to an untraceable numbered account. Inmate 37 was a free man againa free man with a massive fortune.The Greek Islands were like heaven. The light. The water. The women.There was nothing money couldnt buynew identities, new passports, new hope. He chose a Greek nameAndros DareiosAndros meaning warrior, and Dareios meaning wealthy. The dark nights in prison had scared him, and Andros vowed never to go back. He shave off his shaggy hair and shunned the drug world entirely. He began life afreshexploring never- before-imagined sensual pleasures. The serenity of sailing but on the ink-blue Aegean Sea became his new heroin trance the sensuality of sucking moist arni souvlakia right off the skewer became his new Ecstasy and the rush of cliff diving into the foam-filled ravines of Mykonos became his new cocaine.I am reborn.Andros bought a sprawling villa on the island of Syros and settled in among the bella gente in the scoopful town of Possidonia. This new world was a community not only of wealth, but of culture and physical perfection. His neighbors took great pridefulness in their bodies and minds, and it was contagious. The newcomer suddenly found himself jogging on the beach, tanning his colour body, and reading books. Andros read Homers Odyssey, captivated by the images of powerful bronze men doing difference on these islands. The next day, he began lifting weights, and was knocked out(p) to see how quickly his chest and arms grew larger. Gradually, he began to feel womens eyes on him, and the admiration was intoxicating. He longed to grow stronger still. And he did. With the help of aggressive cycles of steroids intermixed with black-market growth hormones and endless hours of weight lifting, Andros modify himself into something he had never imagined he could bea perfect male specimen. He grew in both height and musculature, developing flawless pectorals and massive, sinewy legs, which he kept abruptly tanned.Everyone was looking now.As Andros had been warned, the heavy steroids and hormones changed not only his body, but also his voice box, self-aggrandising him an eerie, breathy whisper, which made him feel more mysterious. The soft, enigmatic voice, combined with his new body, his wealth, and his refusal to speak about his mysterious past, served as catmint for the women who met him. They gave themselves willingly, and he satisfied them allfrom elan models visiting his island on photo shoots, to nubile American college girls on vacation, to the lonely wives of his neighbors, to the chance(a) young man. They could not get enough.I am a masterpiece.As the years passed, however, Andross sexual adventures began to lose their thrill. As did everything. The islands august cuisine lost its taste, books no longer held his interest, and even the dazzling sunsets from his villa looked dull. How could this be? He was only in his midtwenties, and yet he felt old. What more is there to life? He had sculpted his body into a masterpiece he had educated himself and nurture his mind with culture he had made his home in paradise and he had the love of anyone he desired.And yet, incredibly, he felt as empty as he had in that Turkish prison.What is it I am missing?The answer had come to him several months later. Andros was sitting alone in his villa, absently surfing channels in the warmheartedness of the night, when he stumbled across a program about the secrets of Freemasonry. The show was poorly done, represent more questions than answers, and yet he found himself intrigued by the plethora of conspiracy theories border the brotherhood. The narrator described figment after legend.Freemasons and the New World Order . . .The swell masonic Seal of the United States . . .The P2 Masonic Lodge . . .The Lost Secret of Freemasonry . . .The Masonic Pyramid . . .Andros sat up, startled. Pyramid. The narrator began telling the story of a mysterious stone pyramid whose encrypted engraving promised to lead to lost wisdom and unfathomable power. The story, though seemingly implausible, sparked in him a distant memory . . . a faint recollection from a much darker time. Andros remembered what Zachary Solomon had heard from his father about a mysterious pyramid.Could it be? Andros labored to recall the details.When the show ended, he stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cool air clear his mind. He remembered more now, and as it all came back, he began to sense there might be some truth to this legend after all. And if so, then Zachary Solomonalthough long deadstill had something to offer.What do I have to lose?Three weeks later, his timing carefully planned, Andros stood in the frigid cold outside the conservatory of the Solomons Potomac estate. Through the glass, he could see Peter Solomon chatting and laughing with his sister, Katherine. It looks like theyve had no trouble forgetting Zachary, he thought.Before he pulled the ski mask over his face, Andros took a hit of cocaine, his first in ages. He felt the familiar rush of fearlessness. He pulled out a handgun, used an old key to unlock the door, and stepped inside. Hello, Solomons.Unfortunately, the night had not gone as Andros had planned. Rather than obtaini ng the pyramid for which he had come, he found himself pierce with bird shot and fleeing across the snow- covered lawn toward the dense woods. To his surprise, behind him, Peter Solomon was giving chase, pistol glinting in his hand. Andros belt along into the woods, running down a remnant along the edge of a deep ravine. Far below, the sounds of a waterfall echoed up through the crisp winter air. He passed a stand of oak trees and locomote a corner to his left. Seconds later, he was skidding to a stop on the rooted(p) path, narrowly escaping death.My God Only feet in front of him, the path ended, plunging straight down into an polar river far below. The large boulder at the side of the path had been carved by the unskilled hand of a childOn the far side of the ravine, the path continued on. So wheres the bridge? The cocaine was no longer working. Im trapped Panicking now, Andros turned to flee back up the path, but he found himself facing Peter Solomon, who stood breathless b efore him, pistol in hand.Andros looked at the gun and took a step backward. The drop behind him was at least fifty feet to an ice-covered river. The mist from the waterfall upstream billowed around them, chilling him to the bone.Zachs bridge shitty out long ago, Solomon said, panting. He was the only one who ever came down this far. Solomon held the gun remarkably steady. Why did you kill my son?He was nothing, Andros replied. A drug addict. I did him a favor.Solomon moved closer, gun aimed directly at Andross chest. Perhaps I should do you the same favor. His tone was surprisingly fierce. You bludgeoned my son to death. How does a man do such a thing?Men do the unthinkable when pushed to the brink.You killed my sonNo, Andros replied, hotly now. You killed your son. What kind of man leaves his son in a prison when he has the option to get him out You killed your son Not me.You know nothing Solomon yelled, his voice filled with pain.Youre wrong, Andros thought. I know everything.Pe ter Solomon drew closer, only five yards away now, gun leveled. Andross chest was burning, and he could tell he was bleeding badly. The warmth ran down over his stomach. He looked over his shoulder at the drop. Impossible. He turned back to Solomon. I know more about you than you think, he whispered. I know you are not the kind of man who kills in cold blood.Solomon stepped closer, fetching dead aim. Im warning you, Andros said, if you pull that trigger, I will haunt you forever.You already will. And with that, Solomon fired.As he raced his black limousine back toward Kalorama Heights, the one who now called himself Malakh reflected on the miraculous events that had delivered him from certain death atop that icy ravine. He had been transformed forever. The gunshot had echoed only for an instant, and yet its effects had reverberated across decades. His body, once tanned and perfect, was now marred by scars from that night . . . scars he kept hidden beneath the tattooed symbols of h is new identity.I am Malakh.This was my destiny all along.He had walked through fire, been reduced to ashes, and then emerged again . . . transformed once more. Tonight would be the final step of his long and magnificent journey.