The attack was mimed, of course, and yet its effect on camera was bloodcurdling. After the deathblow, the initiate--now "dead to his former self"--was lowered into his symbolic coffin, where his eyes were shut and his arms were crossed like those of a corpse. The Masonic brothers rose and mournfully circled his dead body while a pipe organ played a march of the dead.
The macabre scene was deeply disturbing.
And it only got worse.
As the men gathered around their slain brother, the hidden camera clearly displayed their faces. Langdon now realized that Solomon was not the only famous man in the room. One of the men peering down at the initiate in his coffin was on television almost daily.
A prominent U.S. senator.
Oh God . . .
The scene changed yet again. Outside now . . . nighttime . . . the same jumpy video footage . . . the man was walking down a city street . . . strands of blond hair blowing in front of the camera . . . turning a corner . . .the camera angle lowering to something in the man's hand . . . a dollar bill . . . a close-up focusing on the Great Seal . . . the all-seeing eye . . . the unfinished pyramid . . . and then, abruptly, pulling away to reveal a similar shape in the distance . . . a massive pyramidical building . . . with sloping sides rising to a truncated top.
The House of the Temple.
A soul-deep dread swelled within him.
The video kept moving . . . the man hurrying toward the building now . . . up the multitiered staircase . . . toward the giant bronze doors . . . between the two seventeen-ton sphinx guardians. A neophyte entering the pyramid of initiation.
Darkness now.
A powerful pipe organ played in the distance . . . and a new image materialized.
The Temple Room.
Langdon swallowed hard.
On-screen, the cavernous space was alive with electricity. Beneath the oculus, the black marble altar shone in the moonlight. Assembled around it, seated on hand-tooled pigskin chairs, awaited a somber council of distinguished thirty-third-degree Masons, present to bear witness. The video now panned across their faces with slow and deliberate intention.
Langdon stared in horror.
Although he had not seen this coming, what he was looking at made perfect sense. A gathering of the most decorated and accomplished Masons in the most powerful city on earth would logically include many influential and well-known individuals. Sure enough, seated around the altar, adorned in their long silk gloves, Masonic aprons, and glistening jewels, were some of the country's most powerful men.
Two Supreme Court justices . . .
The secretary of defense . . .
The speaker of the House . . .
Langdon felt ill as the video continued panning across the faces of those in attendance.
Three prominent senators . . . including the majority leader . . .
The secretary of homeland security . . .
And . . .
The director of the CIA . . .
Langdon wanted only to look away, but he could not. The scene was utterly mesmerizing, alarming even to him. In an instant, he had come to understand the source of Sato's anxiety and concern.
Now, on-screen, the shot dissolved into a single shocking image.
A human skull . . . filled with dark crimson liquid. The famed caput mortuum was being offered forth to the initiate by the slender hands of Peter Solomon, whose gold Masonic ring glinted in the candlelight. The red liquid was wine . . . and yet it shimmered like blood. The visual effect was frightful.
The Fifth Libation, Langdon realized, having read firsthand accounts of this 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."