Langdon nodded, his thoughts drifting now.
"You have a funny look on your face," she said.
"Oh, I don't know. For some reason I was just remembering how I used to canoe out into the middle of the lake late at night, lie down under the stars, and think about stuff like this."
She nodded knowingly. "I think we all have a similar memory. Something about lying on our backs staring up at the heavens . . . opens the mind." She glanced up at the ceiling and then said, "Give me your jacket."
"What?" He took it off and gave it to her.
She folded it twice and laid it down on the catwalk like a long pillow. "Lie down."
Langdon lay on his back, and Katherine positioned his head on half of the folded jacket. Then she lay down beside him--two kids, shoulder to shoulder on the narrow catwalk, staring up at Brumidi's enormous fresco.
"Okay," she whispered. "Put yourself in that same mind-set . . . a kid lying out in a canoe . . . looking up at the stars . . . his mind open and full of wonder."
Langdon tried to obey, although at the moment, prone and comfortable, he was feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion. As his vision blurred, he perceived a muted shape overhead that immediately woke him. Is that possible? He could not believe he hadn't noticed it before, but the figures in The Apotheosis of Washington were clearly arranged in two concentric rings--a circle within a circle. The Apotheosis is also a circumpunct? Langdon wondered what else he had missed tonight.
"There's something important I want to tell you, Robert. There's another piece to all this . . . a piece that I believe is the single most astonishing aspect of my research."
There's more? Katherine propped herself on her elbow. "And I promise . . . if we as humans can honestly grasp this one simple truth . . . the world will change overnight."
She now had his full attention.
"I should preface this," she said, "by reminding you of the Masonic mantras to `gather what is scattered' . . . to bring `order from chaos' . . . to find `at-one-ment.' "
"Go on." Langdon was intrigued.
Katherine smiled down at him. "We have scientifically proven that the power of human thought grows exponentially with the number of minds that share that thought."
Langdon remained silent, wondering where she was going with this idea.
"What I'm saying is this . . . two heads are better than one . . . and yet two heads are not twice better, they are many, many times better. Multiple minds working in unison magnify a thought's effect . . . exponentially. This is the inherent power of prayer groups, healing circles, singing in unison, and worshipping en masse. The idea of universal consciousness is no ethereal New Age concept. It's a hard-core scientific reality . . . and harnessing it has the potential to transform our world. This is the underlying discovery of Noetic Science. What's more, it's happening right now. You can feel it all around you. Technology is linking us in ways we never imagined possible: Twitter, Google, Wikipedia, and others--all blend to create a web of interconnected minds." She laughed. "And I guarantee you, as soon as I publish my work, the Twitterati will all be sending tweets that say, `learning about Noetics,' and interest in this science will explode exponentially."
Langdon's eyelids felt impossibly heavy. "You know, I still haven't learned how to send a twitter."
"A tweet," she corrected, laughing.
"I'm sorry?"
"Never mind. Close your eyes. I'll wake you when it's time."
Langdon realized he had all but forgotten the old key the Architect had given them . . . and why they had come up here. As a new wave of exhaustion engulfed him, Langdon shut his eyes. In the darkness of his mind, he found himself thinking about universal consciousness . . . about Plato's writings on "the mind of the world" and "gathering God" . . . Jung's "collective unconscious." The notion was as simple as it was startling.
God is found in the collection of Many . . . rather than in the One.
"Elohim," Langdon said suddenly, his eyes flying open again as he made an unexpected connection.
"I'm sorry?" Katherine was still gazing down at him.
"Elohim," he repeated. "The Hebrew word for God in the Old Testament! I've always wondered about it."
Katherine gave a knowing smile. "Yes. The word is plural."
Exactly! Langdon had never understood why the very first passages of the Bible referred to God as a plural being. Elohim. The Almighty God in Genesis was described not as One . . . but as Many.
"God is plural," Katherine whispered, "because the minds of man are plural."
Langdon's thoughts were spiraling now . . . dreams, memories, hopes, fears, revelations . . . all swirling above him in the Rotunda dome. As his eyes began to close again, he found himself staring at three words in Latin, painted within the Apotheosis.
E PLURIBUS UNUM.
"Out of many, one," he thought, slipping off into sleep.
Epilogue
Robert Langdon awoke slowly.
Faces gazed down at him. Where am I?
A moment later, he recalled where he was. He sat up slowly beneath the Apotheosis. His back felt stiff from lying on the hard catwalk.
Where's Katherine?
Langdon checked his Mickey Mouse watch. It's almost time. He pulled himself to his feet, peering cautiously over the banister into the gaping space below.
"Katherine?" he called out.
The word echoed back in the silence of the deserted Rotunda. Retrieving his tweed jacket from the floor, he brushed it off and put it back on. He checked his pockets. The iron key the Architect had given him was gone.
Making his way back around the walkway, Langdon headed for the opening the Architect had shown them . . . steep metal stairs ascending into cramped darkness. He began to climb. Higher and higher he ascended. Gradually the stairway became more narrow and more inclined. Still Langdon pushed on.
Just a little farther.
The steps had become almost ladderlike now, the passage frighteningly constricted. Finally, the stairs ended, and Langdon stepped up onto a small landing. Before him was a heavy metal door. The iron key was in the lock, and the door hung slightly ajar. He pushed, and the door creaked open. The air beyond felt cold. As Langdon stepped across the threshold into murky darkness, he realized he was now outside.
"I was just coming to get you," Katherine said, smiling at him. "It's almost time."
When Langdon recognized his surroundings, he drew a startled breath. He was standing on a tiny skywalk that encircled the pinnacle of the U.S. Capitol Dome. Directly above him, the bronze Statue of Freedom gazed out over the sleeping capital city. She faced the east, where the first crimson splashes of dawn had begun to paint the horizon.
Katherine guided Langdon around the balcony until they were facing west, perfectly aligned with the National Mall. In the distance, the silhouette of the Washington Monument stood in the early-morning light. From this vantage point, the towering obelisk looked even more impressive than it had before.
"When it was built," Katherine whispered, "it was the tallest structure on the entire planet."
Langdon pictured the old sepia photographs of stonemasons on scaffolding, more than five hundred feet in the air, laying each block by hand, one by one.
We are builders, he thought. We are creators.
Since the beginning of time, man had sensed there was something special about himself . . . something more. He had longed for powers he did not possess. He had dreamed of flying, of healing, and of transforming his world in every way imaginable.