The Lost Symbol

“Come again?” Langdon shifted uneasily in his chair, suddenly fearing that the trauma of the evening had left Peter disorientated and confused.

“Robert, legend has always described the Masonic Pyramid as a map — a very specific map — a map that could guide the worthy to the secret location of the Lost Word.” Solomon tapped the grid of symbols in front of Langdon. “I guarantee you, these symbols are exactly what legend says they are. a map. A specific diagram that reveals exactly where we will find the staircase that leads down to the Lost Word.”

Langdon gave an uneasy laugh, treading carefully now. “Even if I believed the Legend of the Masonic Pyramid, this grid of symbols can’t possibly be a map. Look at it. It looks nothing like a map.”

Solomon smiled. “Sometimes all it takes is a tiny shift of perspective to see something familiar in a totally new light.”

Langdon looked again but saw nothing new.

“Let me ask you a question,” Peter said. “When Masons lay cornerstones, do you know why we lay them in the northeast corner of a building?”

“Sure, because the northeast corner receives the first rays of morning light. It is symbolic of the power of architecture to climb out of the earth into the light.”

“Right,” Peter said. “So perhaps you should look there for the first rays of light.” He motioned to the grid. “In the northeast corner.”

Langdon returned his eyes to the page, moving his gaze to the upper right or northeast corner. The symbol in that corner was ↓.

“A downward-pointing arrow,” Langdon said, trying to grasp Solomon’s point. “Which means. beneath Heredom.”

“No, Robert, not beneath,” Solomon replied. “Think. This grid is not a metaphorical maze. It’s a map. And on a map, a directional arrow that points down means —”

“South,” Langdon exclaimed, startled.

“Exactly!” Solomon replied, grinning now with excitement. “Due south! On a map, down is south. Moreover, on a map, the word Heredom would not be a metaphor for heaven, it would be the name of a geographic location.”

“The House of the Temple? You’re saying this map is pointing. due south of this building?”

“Praise God!” Solomon said, laughing. “Light dawns at last.”

Langdon studied the grid. “But, Peter. even if you’re right, due south of this building could be anywhere on a longitude that’s over twenty-four thousand miles long.”

“No, Robert. You are ignoring the legend, which claims the Lost Word is buried in D.C. That shortens the line substantially. In addition, legend also claims that a large stone sits atop the opening of the staircase. and that this stone is engraved with a message in an ancient language. as a kind of marker so the worthy can find it.”

Langdon was having trouble taking any of this seriously, and while he didn’t know D.C. well enough to picture what was due south of their current location, he was pretty certain there was no huge engraved stone atop a buried staircase.

“The message inscribed on the stone,” Peter said, “is right here before our eyes.” He tapped the third row of the grid before Langdon. “This is the inscription, Robert! You’ve solved the puzzle!”

Dumbfounded, Langdon studied the seven symbols.

Solved? Langdon had no idea whatsoever what these seven disparate symbols could possibly mean, and he was damned sure they were not engraved anywhere in the nation’s capital. particularly on a giant stone over a staircase.

“Peter,” he said, “I don’t see how this sheds any light at all. I know of no stone in D.C. engraved with this. message.”

Solomon patted him on the shoulder. “You have walked past it and never seen it. We all have. It is sitting in plain view, like the mysteries themselves. And tonight, when I saw these seven symbols, I realized in an instant that the legend was true. The Lost Word is buried in D.C. and it does rest at the bottom of a long staircase beneath an enormous engraved stone.”

Mystified, Langdon remained silent.

“Robert, tonight I believe you have earned the right to know the truth.”

Langdon stared at Peter, trying to process what he had just heard. “You’re going to tell me where the Lost Word is buried?”

“No,” Solomon said, standing up with a smile. “I’m going to show you.”

Five minutes later, Langdon was buckling himself into the backseat of the Escalade beside Peter Solomon. Simkins climbed in behind the wheel as Sato approached across the parking lot.

“Mr. Solomon?” the director said, lighting a cigarette as she arrived. “I’ve just made the call you requested.”

“And?” Peter asked through his open window.

“I ordered them to give you access. Briefly.”

“Thank you.”

Sato studied him, looking curious. “I must say, it’s a most unusual request.”

Solomon gave an enigmatic shrug.

Sato let it go, circling around to Langdon’s window and rapping with her knuckles.

Langdon lowered the window.