Langdon gasped, recalling the eerie whisper of Peter's captor: It really hasn't dawned on you yet, has it? Why you were chosen?
Now, in one terrifying moment, Langdon's thoughts snapped into focus and the fog lifted.
All at once, Langdon's purpose here was crystal clear.
Ten miles away, driving south on Suitland Parkway, Mal'akh heard a distinctive vibration on the seat beside him. It was Peter Solomon's iPhone, which had proven a powerful tool today. The visual caller ID now displayed the image of an attractive middle-aged woman with long black hair.
INCOMING CALL--KATHERINE SOLOMON
Mal'akh smiled, ignoring the call. Destiny pulls me closer.
He had lured Katherine Solomon to his home this afternoon for one reason only--to determine if she had information that could assist him . . . perhaps a family secret that might help Mal'akh locate what he sought. Clearly, however, Katherine's brother had told her nothing of what he had been guarding all these years.
Even so, Mal'akh had learned something else from Katherine. Something that has earned her a few extra hours of life today. Katherine had confirmed for him that all of her research was in one location, safely locked inside her lab.
I must destroy it.
Katherine's research was poised to open a new door of understanding, and once the door was opened even a crack, others would follow. It would just be a matter of time before everything changed. I cannot let that happen. The world must stay as it is . . . adrift in ignorant darkness.
The iPhone beeped, indicating Katherine had left a voice mail. Mal'akh retrieved it.
"Peter, it's me again." Katherine's voice sounded concerned. "Where are you? I'm still thinking about my conversation with Dr. Abaddon . . . and I'm worried. Is everything okay? Please call me. I'm at the lab."
The voice mail ended.
Mal'akh smiled. Katherine should worry less about her brother, and more about herself. He turned off Suitland Parkway onto Silver Hill Road. Less than a mile later, in the darkness, he spotted the faint outline of the SMSC nestled in the trees off the highway to his right. The entire complex was surrounded by a high razor-wire fence.
A secure building? Mal'akh chuckled to himself. I know someone who will open the door for me.
CHAPTER 24
The revelation crashed over Langdon like a wave.
I know why I am here.
Standing in the center of the Rotunda, Langdon felt a powerful urge to turn and run away . . . from Peter's hand, from the shining gold ring, from the suspicious eyes of Sato and Anderson. Instead, he stood dead still, clinging more tightly to the leather daybag that hung on his shoulder. I've got to get out of here.
His jaw clenched as his memory began replaying the scene from that cold morning, years ago in Cambridge. It was six A.M. and Langdon was entering his classroom as he always did following his ritual morning laps in the Harvard Pool. The familiar smells of chalk dust and steam heat greeted him as he crossed the threshold. He took two steps toward his desk but stopped short.
A figure was waiting there for him--an elegant gentleman with an aquiline face and regal gray eyes.
"Peter?" Langdon stared in shock.
Peter Solomon's smile flashed white in the dimly lit room. "Good morning, Robert. Surprised to see me?" His voice was soft, and yet there was power there.
Langdon hurried over and warmly shook his friend's hand. "What in the world is a Yale blue blood doing on the Crimson campus before dawn?"
"Covert mission behind enemy lines," Solomon said, laughing. He motioned to Langdon's trim waistline. "Laps are paying off. You're in good shape."
"Just trying to make you feel old," Langdon said, toying with him. "It's great to see you, Peter. What's up?"
"Short business trip," the man replied, glancing around the deserted classroom. "I'm sorry to drop in on you like this, Robert, but I have only a few minutes. There's something I needed to ask you . . . in person. A favor."
That's a first. Langdon wondered what a simple college professor could possibly do for the man who had everything. "Anything at all," he replied, pleased for any opportunity to do something for someone who had given him so much, especially when Peter's life of good fortune had also been marred by so much tragedy.
Solomon lowered his voice. "I was hoping you would consider looking after something for me."
Langdon rolled his eyes. "Not Hercules, I hope." Langdon had once agreed to take care of Solomon's hundred-fifty-pound mastiff, Hercules, during Solomon's travels. While at Langdon's home, the dog apparently had become homesick for his favorite leather chew toy and had located a worthy substitute in Langdon's study--an original vellum, hand-calligraphed, illuminated Bible from the 1600s. Somehow "bad dog" didn't quite seem adequate.
"You know, I'm still searching for a replacement," Solomon said, smiling sheepishly.
"Forget it. I'm glad Hercules got a taste of religion."
Solomon chuckled but seemed distracted. "Robert, the reason I came to see you is I'd like you to keep an eye on something that is quite valuable to me. I inherited it a while back, but I'm no longer comfortable leaving it in my home or in my office."
Langdon immediately felt uncomfortable. Anything "quite valuable" in Peter Solomon's world had to be worth an absolute fortune. "How about a safe-deposit box?" Doesn't your family have stock in half the banks in America?
"That would involve paperwork and bank employees; I'd prefer a trusted friend. And I know you can keep secrets." Solomon reached in his pocket and pulled out a small package, handing it to Langdon.
Considering the dramatic preamble, Langdon had expected something more impressive. The package was a small cube-shaped box, about three inches square, wrapped in faded brown packing paper and tied with twine. From the package's heavy weight and size, it felt like its contents must be rock or metal. This is it? Langdon turned the box in his hands, now noticing the twine had been carefully secured on one side with an embossed wax seal, like an ancient edict. The seal bore a double-headed phoenix with the number 33 emblazoned on its chest--the traditional symbol of the highest degree of Freemasonry.
"Really, Peter," Langdon said, a lopsided grin creeping across his face. "You're the Worshipful Master of a Masonic lodge, not the pope. Sealing packages with your ring?"
Solomon glanced down at his gold ring and gave a chuckle. "I didn't seal this package, Robert. My great-grandfather did. Almost a century ago."
Langdon's head snapped up. "What?!"
Solomon held up his ring finger. "This Masonic ring was his. After that, it was my grandfather's, then my father's . . . and eventually mine."
Langdon held up the package. "Your great-grandfather wrapped this a century ago and nobody has opened it?"
"That's right."
"But . . . why not?"
Solomon smiled. "Because it's not time."
Langdon stared. "Time for what?"
"Robert, I know this will sound odd, but the less you know, the better. Just put this package somewhere safe, and please tell no one I gave it to you."
Langdon searched his mentor's eyes for a glint of playfulness. Solomon had a propensity for dramatics, and Langdon wondered if he wasn't being played a bit here. "Peter, are you sure this isn't just a clever ploy to make me think I've been entrusted with some kind of ancient Masonic secret so I'll be curious and decide to join?"
"The Masons do not recruit, Robert, you know that. Besides, you've already told me you'd prefer not to join."