The Lost Symbol

As he wound deep into the garage, he scanned for security cameras. Nothing. Apparently, those who lived here were neither the kind of people who broke into cars nor the kind of people who appreciated being watched.

Mal’akh parked in a dark corner near the elevators, lowered the divider between the driver’s compartment and the passenger compartment, and slithered through the opening into the back of the limo. Once in back, he got rid of his chauffeur’s cap and donned his blond wig. Straightening his jacket and tie, he checked the mirror to make sure he had not smeared his makeup. Mal’akh was not about to take any chances. Not tonight.

I have waited too long for this.

Seconds later, Mal’akh was stepping into the private elevator. The ride to the top was silent and smooth. When the door opened, he found himself in an elegant, private foyer. His host was already waiting.

“Dr. Abaddon, welcome.”

Mal’akh looked into the man’s famous gray eyes and felt his heart begin to race. “Mr. Solomon, I appreciate your seeing me.”

“Please, call me Peter.” The two men shook hands. As Mal’akh gripped the older man’s palm, he saw the gold Masonic ring on Solomon’s hand. the same hand that had once aimed a gun at Mal’akh. A voice whispered from Mal’akh’s distant past. If you pull that trigger, I will haunt you forever.

“Please come in,” Solomon said, ushering Mal’akh into an elegant living room whose expansive windows offered an astonishing view of the Washington skyline.

“Do I smell tea steeping?” Mal’akh asked as he entered.

Solomon looked impressed. “My parents always greeted guests with tea. I’ve carried on that tradition.” He led Mal’akh into the living room, where a tea service was waiting in front of the fire. “Cream and sugar?”

“Black, thank you.”

Again Solomon looked impressed. “A purist.” He poured them both a cup of black tea. “You said you needed to discuss something with me that was sensitive in nature and could be discussed only in private.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your time.”

“You and I are Masonic brothers now. We have a bond. Tell me how I can help you.”

“First, I would like to thank you for the honor of the thirty-third degree a few months ago. This is deeply meaningful to me.”

“I’m glad, but please know that those decisions are not mine alone. They are by vote of the Supreme Council.”

“Of course.” Mal’akh suspected Peter Solomon had probably voted against him, but within the Masons, as with all things, money was power. Mal’akh, after achieving the thirty-second degree in his own lodge, had waited only a month before making a multimillion-dollar donation to charity in the name of the Masonic Grand Lodge. The unsolicited act of selflessness, as Mal’akh anticipated, was enough to earn him a quick invitation into the elite thirty-third degree. And yet I have learned no secrets.

Despite the age-old whispers — “All is revealed at the thirty-third degree” — Mal’akh had been told nothing new, nothing of relevance to his quest. But he had never expected to be told. The inner circle of Freemasonry contained smaller circles still. circles Mal’akh would not see for years, if ever. He didn’t care. His initiation had served its purpose. Something unique had happened within that Temple Room, and it had given Mal’akh power over all of them. I no longer play by your rules.

“You do realize,” Mal’akh said, sipping his tea, “that you and I met many years ago.”

Solomon looked surprised. “Really? I don’t recall.”

“It was quite a long time ago.” And Christopher Abaddon is not my real name.

“I’m so sorry. My mind must be getting old. Remind me how I know you?”

Mal’akh smiled one last time at the man he hated more than any other man on earth. “It’s unfortunate that you don’t recall.”

In one fluid motion, Mal’akh pulled a small device from his pocket and extended it outward, driving it hard into the man’s chest. There was a flash of blue light, the sharp sizzle of the stun-gun discharge, and a gasp of pain as one million volts of electricity coursed through Peter Solomon’s body. His eyes went wide, and he slumped motionless in his chair. Mal’akh stood up now, towering over the man, salivating like a lion about to consume his injured prey.

Solomon was gasping, straining to breathe.

Mal’akh saw fear in his victim’s eyes and wondered how many people had ever seen the great Peter Solomon cower. Mal’akh savored the scene for several long seconds. He took a sip of tea, waiting for the man to catch his breath.

Solomon was twitching, attempting to speak. “Wh-why?” he finally managed.

“Why do you think?” Mal’akh demanded.

Solomon looked truly bewildered. “You want. money?”

Money? Mal’akh laughed and took another sip of tea. “I gave the Masons millions of dollars; I have no need of wealth.” I come for wisdom, and he offers me wealth.