Peter was still behind him now, speaking words that Mal'akh could barely fathom. "I lied to you," he was saying. "You left me no choice. If I had revealed to you the true Lost Word, you would not have believed me, nor would you have understood."
The Lost Word is . . . not the circumpunct?
"The truth is," said Peter, "the Lost Word is known to all . . . but recognized by very few."
The words echoed in Mal'akh's mind.
"You remain incomplete," Peter said, gently placing his palm on top of Mal'akh's head. "Your work is not yet done. But wherever you are going, please know this . . . you were loved."
For some reason, the gentle touch of his father's hand felt like it was burning through him like a potent catalyst that was initiating a chemical reaction inside Mal'akh's body. Without warning, he felt a rush of blistering energy surging through his physical shell, as if every cell in his body were now dissolving.
In an instant, all of his worldly pain evaporated.
Transformation. It's happening. I am gazing down upon myself, a wreck of bloody flesh on the sacred slab of granite. My father is kneeling behind me, holding my lifeless head with his one remaining hand.
I feel an upwelling of rage . . . and confusion.
This is not a moment for compassion . . . it is for revenge, for transformation . . . and yet still my father refuses to submit, refuses to fulfill his role, refuses to channel his pain and anger through the knife blade and into my heart.
I am trapped here, hovering . . . tethered to my earthly shell.
My father gently runs a soft palm across my face to close my fading eyes.
I feel the tether release.
A billowing veil materializes around me, thickening and dimming the light, hiding the world from view. Suddenly time accelerates, and I am plunging into an abyss far darker than any I have ever imagined. Here, in the barren void, I hear a whispering . . . I sense a gathering force. It strengthens, mounting at a startling rate, surrounding me. Ominous and powerful. Dark and commanding.
I am not alone here.
This is my triumph, my grand reception. And yet, for some reason, I am filled not with joy, but rather with boundless fear.
It is nothing like I expect.
The force is churning now, swirling around me with commanding strength, threatening to tear me apart. Suddenly, without warning, the blackness gathers itself like a great prehistoric beast and rears up before me.
I am facing all the dark souls who have gone before.
I am screaming in infinite terror . . . as the darkness swallows me whole.
CHAPTER 123
Inside the National Cathedral, Dean Galloway sensed a strange change in the air. He was not sure why, but he felt as if a ghostly shadow had evaporated . . . as if a weight had been lifted . . . far away and yet right here.
Alone at his desk, he was deep in thought. He was not sure how many minutes had passed when his phone rang. It was Warren Bellamy.
"Peter's alive," his Masonic brother said. "I just heard the news. I knew you'd want to know immediately. He's going to be okay."
"Thank God." Galloway exhaled. "Where is he?"
Galloway listened as Bellamy recounted the extraordinary tale of what had transpired after they had left Cathedral College.
"But all of you are okay?"
"Recuperating, yes," Bellamy said. "There is one thing, though." He paused.
"Yes?"
"The Masonic Pyramid . . . I think Langdon may have solved it."
Galloway had to smile. Somehow he was not surprised. "And tell me, did Langdon discover whether or not the pyramid kept its promise? Whether or not it revealed what legend always claimed it would reveal?"
"I don't know yet."
It will, Galloway thought. "You need to rest."
"As do you."
No, I need to pray.
CHAPTER 124
When the elevator door opened, the lights in the Temple Room were all ablaze.
Katherine Solomon's legs still felt rubbery as she hurried in to find her brother. The air in this enormous chamber was cold and smelled of incense. The scene that greeted her stopped her in her tracks. In the center of this magnificent room, on a low stone altar, lay a bloody, tattooed corpse, a body perforated by spears of broken glass. High above, a gaping hole in the ceiling opened to the heavens.
My God. Katherine immediately looked away, her eyes scanning for Peter. She found her brother sitting on the other side of the room, being tended to by a medic while talking with Langdon and Director Sato.
"Peter!" Katherine called, running over. "Peter!"
Her brother glanced up, his expression filling with relief. He was on his feet at once, moving toward her. He was wearing a simple white shirt and dark slacks, which someone had probably gotten for him from his office downstairs. His right arm was in a sling, and their gentle embrace was awkward, but Katherine barely noticed. A familiar comfort surrounded her like a cocoon, as it always had, even in childhood, when her protective older brother embraced her.
They held each other in silence.
Finally Katherine whispered, "Are you okay? I mean . . . really?" She released him, looking down at the sling and bandage where his right hand used to be. Tears welled again in her eyes. "I'm so . . . so sorry."
Peter shrugged as if it were nothing of consequence. "Mortal flesh. Bodies don't last forever. The important thing is that you're okay."
Peter's lighthearted response tore at her emotions, reminding her of all the reasons she loved him. She stroked his head, feeling the unbreakable bonds of family . . . the shared blood that flowed in their veins.
Tragically, she knew there was a third Solomon in the room tonight. The corpse on the altar drew her gaze, and Katherine shuddered deeply, trying to block out the photos she had seen.
She looked away, her eyes now finding Robert Langdon's. There was compassion there, deep and perceptive, as if Langdon somehow knew exactly what she was thinking. Peter knows. Raw emotion gripped Katherine--relief, sympathy, despair. She felt her brother's body begin trembling like a child's. It was something she had never witnessed in her entire life.
"Just let it go," she whispered. "It's okay. Just let it go."
Peter's trembling grew deeper.
She held him again, stroking the back of his head. "Peter, you've always been the strong one . . . you've always been there for me. But I'm here for you now. It's okay. I'm right here."
Katherine eased his head gently onto her shoulder . . . and the great Peter Solomon collapsed sobbing in her arms.
Director Sato stepped away to take an incoming call.
It was Nola Kaye. Her news, for a change, was good.
"Still no signs of distribution, ma'am." She sounded hopeful. "I'm confident we would have seen something by now. It looks like you contained it."
Thanks to you, Nola, Sato thought, glancing down at the laptop, which Langdon had seen complete its transmission. A very close call.
At Nola's suggestion, the agent searching the mansion had checked the garbage cans, discovering packaging for a newly purchased cellular modem. With the exact model number, Nola had been able to cross-reference compatible carriers, bandwidths, and service grids, isolating the laptop's most likely access node--a small transmitter on the corner of Sixteenth and Corcoran--three blocks from the Temple.
Nola quickly relayed the information to Sato in the helicopter. On approach toward the House of the Temple, the pilot had performed a low-altitude flyover and pulsed the relay node with a blast of electromagnetic radiation, knocking it off-line only seconds before the laptop completed its transfer.