Page 107 of The Lost Symbol

The woman now pointed across the plaza to an illuminated “Metro” sign nearby. “The Blue Line goes directly there. We want King Street Station!”

Omar felt a surge of panic. Oh no.

The man turned back to Omar and handed him entirely too many bills for the fare. “Thanks. We’re all set.” He hoisted his leather bag and ran off.

“Wait! I can drive you! I go there all the time!”

But it was too late. The man and woman were already dashing across the plaza. They disappeared down the stairs into the Metro Center subway station.

Omar grabbed his cell phone. “Sir! They ran down into the subway! I couldn’t stop them! They’re taking the Blue Line to Alexandria!”

“Stay right there!” the agent shouted. “I’ll be there in fifteen seconds!”

Omar looked down at the wad of bills the man had given him. The bill on top was apparently the one they had been writing on. It had a Jewish star on top of the Great Seal of the United States. Sure enough, the star’s points fell on letters that spelled MASON.

Without warning, Omar felt a deafening vibration all around him, as if a tractor trailer were about to collide with his cab. He looked up, but the street was deserted. The noise increased, and suddenly a sleek black helicopter dropped down out of the night and landed hard in the middle of the plaza map.

A group of black-clad men jumped out. Most ran toward the subway station, but one came dashing toward Omar’s cab. He yanked open the passenger door. “Omar? Is that you?”

Omar nodded, speechless.

“Did they say where they were headed?” the agent demanded.

“Alexandria! King Street Station,” Omar blurted. “I offered to drive, but—”

“Did they say where in Alexandria they were going?”

“No! They looked at the medallion of the Great Seal on the plaza, then they asked about Alexandria, and they paid me with this.” He handed the agent the dollar bill with the bizarre diagram. As the agent studied the bill, Omar suddenly put it all together. The Masons! Alexandria! One of the most famous Masonic buildings in America was in Alexandria. “That’s it!” he blurted. “The George Washington Masonic Memorial! It’s directly across from King Street Station!”

“That it is,” the agent said, apparently having just come to the same realization as the rest of the agents came sprinting back from the station.

“We missed them!” one of the men yelled. “Blue Line just left! They’re not down there!”

Agent Simkins checked his watch and turned back to Omar. “How long does the subway take to Alexandria?”

“Ten minutes at least. Probably more.”

“Omar, you’ve done an excellent job. Thank you.”

“Sure. What’s this all about?!”

But Agent Simkins was already running back to the chopper, shouting as he went. “King Street Station! We’ll get there before they do!”

Bewildered, Omar watched the great black bird lift off. It banked hard to the south across Pennsylvania Avenue, and then thundered off into the night.

Underneath the cabbie’s feet, a subway train was picking up speed as it headed away from Freedom Plaza. On board, Robert Langdon and Katherine Solomon sat breathless, neither one saying a word as the train whisked them toward their destination.

CHAPTER 77

The memory always began the same way.

He was falling . . . plummeting backward toward an ice-covered river at the bottom of a deep ravine. Above him, the merciless gray eyes of Peter Solomon stared down over the barrel of Andros’s handgun. As he fell, the world above him receded, everything disappearing as he was enveloped by the cloud of billowing mist from the waterfall upstream.

For an instant, everything was white, like heaven.

Then he hit the ice.

Cold. Black. Pain.