"No. Only a few more steps, actually. Through one last door. I'll open it now."
Solomon let go of him for a moment, and as he did so, Langdon swayed, feeling light-headed. Unsteady, he reached out for stability, and Peter was quickly back at his side. The sound of a heavy automatic door rumbled in front of them. Peter took Langdon's arm and they moved forward again.
"This way."
They inched across another threshold, and the door slid closed behind them.
Silence. Cold.
Langdon immediately sensed that this place, whatever it was, had nothing to do with the world on the other side of the security doors. The air was dank and chilly, like a tomb. The acoustics felt dull and cramped. He felt an irrational bout of claustrophobia settling in.
"A few more steps." Solomon guided him blindly around a corner and positioned him precisely. Finally, he said, "Take off your blindfold."
Langdon seized the velvet hoodwink and tore it from his face. He looked all around to find out where he was, but he was still blind. He rubbed his eyes. Nothing. "Peter, it's pitch-black!"
"Yes, I know. Reach in front of you. There's a railing. Grasp it."
Langdon groped in the darkness and found an iron railing.
"Now watch." He could hear Peter fumbling with something, and suddenly a blazing flashlight beam pierced the darkness. It was pointed at the floor, and before Langdon could take in his surroundings, Solomon directed the flashlight out over the railing and pointed the beam straight down.
Langdon was suddenly staring into a bottomless shaft . . . an endless winding staircase that plunged deep into the earth. My God! His knees nearly buckled, and he gripped the railing for support. The staircase was a traditional square spiral, and he could see at least thirty landings descending into the earth before the flashlight faded to nothing. I can't even see the bottom!
"Peter . . ." he stammered. "What is this place!" "I'll take you to the bottom of the staircase in a moment, but before I do, you need to see something else."
Too overwhelmed to protest, Langdon let Peter guide him away from the stairwell and across the strange little chamber. Peter kept the flashlight trained on the worn stone floor beneath their feet, and Langdon could get no real sense of the space around them . . . except that it was small.
A tiny stone chamber.
They arrived quickly at the room's opposite wall, in which was embedded a rectangle of glass. Langdon thought it might be a window into a room beyond, and yet from where he stood, he saw only darkness on the other side.
"Go ahead," Peter said. "Have a look."
"What's in there?" Langdon flashed for an instant on the Chamber of Reflection beneath the Capitol Building, and how he had believed, for a moment, that it might contain a portal to some giant underground cavern.
"Just look, Robert." Solomon inched him forward. "And brace yourself, because the sight will shock you."
Having no idea what to expect, Langdon moved toward the glass. As he neared the portal, Peter turned out the flashlight, plunging the tiny chamber into total darkness.
As his eyes adjusted, Langdon groped in front of him, his hands finding the wall, finding the glass, his face moving closer to the transparent portal.
Still only darkness beyond.
He leaned closer . . . pressing his face to the glass.
Then he saw it.
The wave of shock and disorientation that tore through Langdon's body reached down inside and spun his internal compass upside down. He nearly fell backward as his mind strained to accept the utterly unanticipated sight that was before him. In his wildest dreams, Robert Langdon would never have guessed what lay on the other side of this glass.
The vision was a glorious sight.
There in the darkness, a brilliant white light shone like a gleaming jewel.
Langdon now understood it all--the barricade on the access road . . . the guards at the main entrance . . . the heavy metal door outside . . . the automatic doors that rumbled open and closed . . . the heaviness in his stomach . . . the lightness in his head . . . and now this tiny stone chamber. "Robert," Peter whispered behind him, "sometimes a change of perspective is all it takes to see the light."
Speechless, Langdon stared out through the window. His gaze traveled into the darkness of the night, traversing more than a mile of empty space, dropping lower . . . lower . . . through the darkness . . . until it came to rest atop the brilliantly illuminated, stark white dome of the U.S. Capitol Building.
Langdon had never seen the Capitol from this perspective--hovering 555 feet in the air atop America's great Egyptian obelisk. Tonight, for the first time in his life, he had ridden the elevator up to the tiny viewing chamber . . . at the pinnacle of the Washington Monument.
CHAPTER 129
Robert Langdon stood mesmerized at the glass portal, absorbing the power of the landscape below him. Having ascended unknowingly hundreds of feet into the air, he was now admiring one of the most spectacular vistas he had ever seen.
The shining dome of the U.S. Capitol rose like a mountain at the east end of the National Mall. On either side of the building, two parallel lines of light stretched toward him . . . the illuminated facades of the Smithsonian museums . . . beacons of art, history, science, culture.
Langdon now realized to his astonishment that much of what Peter had declared to be true . . . was in fact true. There is indeed a winding staircase . . . descending hundreds of feet beneath a massive stone. The huge capstone of this obelisk sat directly over his head, and Langdon now recalled a forgotten bit of trivia that seemed to have eerie relevance: the capstone of the Washington Monument weighed precisely thirty-three hundred pounds.
Again, the number 33.
More startling, however, was the knowledge that this capstone's ultimate peak, the zenith of this obelisk, was crowned by a tiny, polished tip of aluminum--a metal as precious as gold in its day. The shining apex of the Washington Monument was only about a foot tall, the same size as the Masonic Pyramid. Incredibly, this small metal pyramid bore a famous engraving--Laus Deo-- and Langdon suddenly understood. This is the true message of the base of the stone pyramid. The seven symbols are a transliteration!
The simplest of ciphers.
The symbols are letters.
The stonemason's square--L
The element gold--AU
The Greek Sigma--S
The Greek Delta--D
Alchemical mercury--E
The Ouroboros--O
"Laus Deo," Langdon whispered. The well-known Latin phrase--meaning "praise God"--was inscribed on the tip of the Washington Monument in script letters only one inch tall. On full display . . . and yet invisible to all.
Laus Deo.
"Praise God," Peter said behind him, flipping on the soft lighting in the chamber. "The Masonic Pyramid's final code."
Langdon turned. His friend was grinning broadly, and Langdon recalled that Peter had actually spoken the words "praise God" earlier inside the Masonic library. And I still missed it.
Langdon felt a chill to realize how apt it was that the legendary Masonic Pyramid had guided him here . . . to America's great obelisk--the symbol of ancient mystical wisdom--rising toward the heavens at the heart of a nation.
In a state of wonder, Langdon began moving counterclockwise around the perimeter of the tiny square room, arriving now at another viewing window.
North.
Through this northward-facing window, Langdon gazed down at the familiar silhouette of the White House directly in front of him. He raised his eyes to the horizon, where the straight line of Sixteenth Street ran due north toward the House of the Temple.