The Lost Symbol

One story above the subbasement, Capitol security guard Nuñez escorted the Architect of the Capitol, Warren Bellamy, down the long hallway that ran the length of the eastern basement. Nuñez could have sworn that he had just heard three gunshots down here, muffled and underground.

There’s no way.

“Subbasement door is open,” Bellamy said, squinting down the hallway at a door that stood ajar in the distance.

Strange evening indeed, Nuñez thought. Nobody goes down there. “I’ll be glad to find out what’s going on,” he said, reaching for his radio.

“Go back to your duties,” Bellamy said. “I’m fine from here.”

Nuñez shifted uneasily. “You sure?”

Warren Bellamy stopped, placing a firm hand on Nuñez’s shoulder. “Son, I’ve worked here for twenty-five years. I think I can find my way.”

CHAPTER 37

Mal’akh had seen some eerie spaces in his life, but few rivaled the unearthly world of Pod 3. Wet Pod. The massive room looked as if a mad scientist had taken over a Walmart and packed every aisle and shelf with specimen jars of all shapes and sizes. Lit like a photographic darkroom, the space was bathed in a reddish haze of “safelight” that emanated from beneath the shelves, filtering upward and illuminating the ethanol-filled containers. The clinical smell of preservative chemicals was nauseating.

“This pod houses over twenty thousand species,” the chubby girl was saying. “Fish, rodents, mammals, reptiles.”

“All dead, I hope?” Mal’akh asked, making a show of sounding nervous.

The girl laughed. “Yes, yes. All very much dead. I’ll admit, I didn’t dare come in for at least six months after I started work.”

Mal’akh could understand why. Everywhere he looked there were specimen jars of dead life-forms — salamanders, jellyfish, rats, bugs, birds, and other things he could not begin to identify. As if this collection were not unsettling enough on its own, the hazy red safelights that protected these photosensitive specimens from long-term light exposure gave the visitor the feeling he was standing inside a giant aquarium, where lifeless creatures were somehow congregating to watch from the shadows.

“That’s a coelacanth,” the girl said, pointing to a big Plexiglas container that held the ugliest fish Mal’akh had ever seen. “They were thought to be extinct with the dinosaurs, but this was caught off Africa a few years back and donated to the Smithsonian.”

Lucky you, Mal’akh thought, barely listening. He was busy scanning the walls for security cameras. He saw only one — trained on the entry door — not surprising, considering that entrance was probably the only way in.

“And here is what you wanted to see. ” she said, leading him to the giant tank he had seen from the window. “Our longest specimen.” She swept her arm out over the vile creature like a game-show host displaying a new car. “Architeuthis.”

The squid tank looked like a series of glass phone booths had been laid on their sides and fused end to end. Within the long, clear Plexiglas coffin hovered a sickeningly pale and amorphous shape. Mal’akh gazed down at the bulbous, saclike head and its basketball-size eyes. “Almost makes your coelacanth look handsome,” he said.

“Wait till you see her lit.”

Trish flipped back the long lid of the tank. Ethanol fumes wafted out as she reached down into the tank and flipped a switch just above the liquid line. A string of fluorescent lights flickered to life along the entire base of the tank. Architeuthis was now shining in all her glory — a colossal head attached to a slithery mass of decaying tentacles and razor-sharp suckers.

She began talking about how Architeuthis could beat a sperm whale in a fight.

Mal’akh heard only empty prattling.

The time had come.

Trish Dunne always felt a bit uneasy in Pod 3, but the chill that had just run through her felt different.

Visceral. Primal.

She tried to ignore it, but it grew quickly now, clawing deeply at her. Although Trish could not seem to place the source of her anxiety, her gut was clearly telling her it was time to leave.

“Anyhow, that’s the squid,” she said, reaching into the tank and turning off the display light. “We should probably get back to Katherine’s —”

A broad palm clamped hard over her mouth, yanking her head back. Instantly, a powerful arm was wrapped around her torso, pinning her against a rock-hard chest. For a split second, Trish went numb with shock.

Then came the terror.

The man groped across her chest, grabbing her key card and yanking down hard. The cord burned the back of her neck before snapping. The key card fell on the floor at their feet. She fought, trying to twist away, but she was no match for the man’s size and strength. She tried to scream, but his hand remained tightly across her mouth. He leaned down and placed his mouth next to her ear, whispering, “When I take my hand off your mouth, you will not scream, is that clear?”