The Lost Symbol

“Runic alphabets are composed solely of straight lines. Their letters are called runes and were often used for carving in stone because curves were too difficult to chisel.”

“If these are runes,” Sato said, “what is their meaning?”

Langdon shook his head. His expertise extended only to the most rudimentary runic alphabet — Futhark — a third-century Teutonic system, and this was not Futhark. “To be honest, I’m not even sure these are runes. You’d need to ask a specialist. There are dozens of different forms — Hälsinge, Manx, the ‘dotted’ Stungnar —”

“Peter Solomon is a Mason, is he not?”

Langdon did a double take. “Yes, but what does that have to do with this?” He stood up now, towering over the tiny woman.

“You tell me. You just said that runic alphabets are used for stone carvings, and it is my understanding that the original Freemasons were stone craftsmen. I mention this only because when I asked my office to search for a connection between the Hand of the Mysteries and Peter Solomon, their search returned one link in particular.” She paused, as if to emphasize the importance of her finding. “The Masons.”

Langdon exhaled, fighting the impulse to tell Sato the same thing he constantly told his students: “Google” is not a synonym for “research.” In these days of massive, worldwide keyword searches, it seemed everything was linked to everything. The world was becoming one big entangled web of information that was getting denser every day.

Langdon maintained a patient tone. “I’m not surprised the Masons appeared in your staff’s search. Masons are a very obvious link between Peter Solomon and any number of esoteric topics.”

“Yes,” Sato said, “which is another reason I have been surprised this evening that you have not yet mentioned the Masons. After all, you’ve been talking about secret wisdom protected by an enlightened few. That sounds very Masonic, does it not?”

“It does. and it also sounds very Rosicrucian, Kabbalistic, Alumbradian, and any number of other esoteric groups.”

“But Peter Solomon is a Mason — a very powerful Mason, at that. It seems the Masons would come to mind if we were talking about secrets. Heaven knows the Masons love their secrets.”

Langdon could hear the distrust in her voice, and he wanted no part of it. “If you want to know anything about the Masons, you would be far better served to ask a Mason.”

“Actually,” Sato said, “I’d prefer to ask someone I can trust.”

Langdon found the comment both ignorant and offensive. “For the record, ma’am, the entire Masonic philosophy is built on honesty and integrity. Masons are among the most trustworthy men you could ever hope to meet.”

“I have seen persuasive evidence to the contrary.”

Langdon was liking Director Sato less and less with each passing moment. He had spent years writing about the Masons’ rich tradition of metaphorical iconography and symbols, and knew that Masons had always been one of the most unfairly maligned and misunderstood organizations in the world. Regularly accused of everything from devil worship to plotting a one-world government, the Masons also had a policy of never responding to their critics, which made them an easy target.

“Regardless,” Sato said, her tone biting, “we are again at an impasse, Mr. Langdon. It seems to me there is either something you are missing. or something you are not telling me. The man we’re dealing with said that Peter Solomon chose you specifically.” She leveled a cold stare at Langdon. “I think it’s time we move this conversation to CIA headquarters. Maybe we’ll have more luck there.”

Sato’s threat barely registered with Langdon. She had just said something that had lodged in his mind. Peter Solomon chose you. The comment, combined with the mention of Masons, had hit Langdon strangely. He looked down at the Masonic ring on Peter’s finger. The ring was one of Peter’s most prized possessions — a Solomon family heirloom that bore the symbol of the double-headed phoenix — the ultimate mystical icon of Masonic wisdom. The gold glinted in the light, sparking an unexpected memory.

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.