The Lost Symbol

But it was too late. The smell of ethanol approached on her right. And now it grew stronger. Katherine struggled to stay calm, forcing herself to override the instinct to run. Carefully, slowly, she took one step to her left. The faint rustle of her clothing was apparently all her attacker needed. She heard him lunge, and the smell of ethanol washed over her as a powerful hand grabbed at her shoulder. She twisted away, raw terror gripping her. Mathematical probability went out the window, and Katherine broke into a blind sprint. She veered hard to the left, changing course, dashing blindly now into the void.

The wall materialized out of nowhere.

Katherine hit it hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. Pain blossomed in her arm and shoulder, but she managed to stay on her feet. The oblique angle at which she had collided with the wall had spared her the full force of the blow, but it was little comfort now. The sound had echoed everywhere. He knows where I am. Doubled over in pain, she turned her head and stared out into the blackness of the pod and sensed him staring back at her.

Change your location. Now!

Still struggling to catch her breath, she began moving down the wall, touching her left hand quietly to each exposed steel stud as she passed. Stay along the wall. Slip past him before he corners you. In her right hand, Katherine still clutched her cell phone, ready to hurl it as a projectile if need be.

Katherine was in no way prepared for the sound she heard next — the clear rustle of clothing directly in front of her. against the wall. She froze, stock-still, and stopped breathing. How could he be on the wall already? She felt a faint puff of air, laced with the stench of ethanol. He’s moving down the wall toward me!

Katherine backed up several steps. Then, turning silently 180 degrees, she began moving quickly in the opposite direction down the wall. She moved twenty feet or so when the impossible happened. Once again, directly in front of her, along the wall, she heard the rustling sound of clothing. Then came the same puff of air and the smell of ethanol. Katherine Solomon froze in place.

My God, he’s everywhere!

Bare-chested, Mal’akh stared into the darkness.

The smell of ethanol on his sleeves had proven a liability, and so he had transformed it into an asset, stripping off his shirt and jacket and using them to help corner his prey. Throwing his jacket against the wall to the right, he had heard Katherine stop short and change direction. Now, having thrown his shirt ahead to the left, Mal’akh had heard her stop again. He had effectively corralled Katherine against the wall by establishing points beyond which she dared not pass.

Now he waited, ears straining in the silence. She has only one direction she can move — directly toward me. Even so, Mal’akh heard nothing. Either Katherine was paralyzed with fear, or she had decided to stand still and wait for help to enter Pod 5. Either way she loses. Nobody would be entering Pod 5 anytime soon; Mal’akh had disabled the outer keypad with a very crude, yet very effective, technique. After using Trish’s key card, he had rammed a single dime deep into the key-card slot to prevent any other key-card use without first dismantling the entire mechanism.

You and I are alone, Katherine. for as long as this takes.

Mal’akh inched silently forward, listening for any movement. Katherine Solomon would die tonight in the darkness of her brother’s museum. A poetic end. Mal’akh looked forward to sharing the news of Katherine’s death with her brother. The old man’s anguish would be long-awaited revenge.

Suddenly in the darkness, to Mal’akh’s great surprise, he saw a tiny glow in the distance and realized Katherine had just made a deadly error in judgment. She’s phoning for help?! The electronic display that had just flickered to life was hovering waist high, about twenty yards ahead, like a shining beacon on a vast ocean of black. Mal’akh had been prepared to wait Katherine out, but now he wouldn’t have to.

Mal’akh sprang into motion, racing toward the hovering light, knowing he had to reach her before she could complete her call for help. He was there in a matter of seconds, and he lunged, arms outstretched on either side of her glowing cell phone, preparing to engulf her.

Mal’akh’s fingers jammed into a solid wall, bending backward and almost breaking. His head collided next, crashing into a steel beam. He cried out in pain as he crumpled beside the wall. Cursing, he clambered back to his feet, pulling himself up by the waist-high, horizontal strut on which Katherine Solomon had cleverly placed her open cell phone.