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"Whether I'm entitled or not," Katherine said, "my brother is all I have left of my family. Nobody knows him better than I do, so if you tell me what the hell happened, maybe I can help you. We all want the same thing--what's best for Peter."
Dr. Abaddon fell silent for several long moments and then began slowly nodding as if Katherine might have a point. Finally, he spoke. "For the record, Ms. Solomon, if I decide to share this information with you, I would do so only because I think your insights might help me assist your brother."
"Of course."
Abaddon leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "Ms. Solomon, as long as I've been seeing your brother, I've sensed in him a deep struggle with feelings of guilt. I've never pressed him on it because that's not why he comes to me. And yet yesterday, for a number of reasons, I finally asked him about it." Abaddon locked eyes with her. "Your brother opened up, rather dramatically and unexpectedly. He told me things I had not expected to hear . . . including everything that happened the night your mother died."
Christmas Eve--almost exactly ten years ago. She died in my arms.
"He told me your mother was murdered during a robbery attempt at your home? A man broke in looking for something he believed your brother was hiding?"
"That's correct."
Abaddon's eyes were appraising her. "Your brother said he shot the man dead?"
"Yes."
Abaddon stroked his chin. "Do you recall what the intruder was looking for when he broke into your home?"
Katherine had tried in vain for ten years to block out the memory. "Yes, his demand was very specific. Unfortunately, none of us knew what he was talking about. His demand never made sense to any of us."
"Well, it made sense to your brother." "What?" Katherine sat up.
"At least according to the story he told me yesterday, Peter knew exactly what the intruder was looking for. And yet your brother did not want to hand it over, so he pretended not to understand."
"That's absurd. Peter couldn't possibly have known what the man wanted. His demands made no sense!"
"Interesting." Dr. Abaddon paused and took a few notes. "As I mentioned, however, Peter told me he did know. Your brother believes if he had only cooperated with the intruder, maybe your mother would be alive today. This decision is the source of all his guilt."
Katherine shook her head. "That's crazy . . ."
Abaddon slumped, looking troubled. "Ms. Solomon, this has been useful feedback. As I feared, your brother seems to have had a little break with reality. I must admit, I was afraid this might be the case. That's why I asked him to come back today. These delusional episodes are not uncommon when they relate to traumatic memories."
Katherine shook her head again. "Peter is far from delusional, Dr. Abaddon."
"I would agree, except . . ."
"Except what?"
"Except that his recounting of the attack was just the beginning . . . a tiny fraction of the long and far-fetched tale he told me."
Katherine leaned forward in her seat. "What did Peter tell you?"
Abaddon gave a sad smile. "Ms. Solomon, let me ask you this. Has your brother ever discussed with you what he believes is hidden here in Washington, D.C. . . . or the role he believes he plays in protecting a great treasure . . . of lost ancient wisdom?"
Katherine's jaw fell open. "What in the world are you talking about?"
Dr. Abaddon heaved a long sigh. "What I am about to tell you will be a bit shocking, Katherine." He paused and locked eyes with her. "But it will be immeasurably helpful if you can tell me anything you may know about it." He reached for her cup. "More tea?"
CHAPTER 23
Another tattoo.
Langdon crouched anxiously beside Peter's open palm and examined the seven tiny symbols that had been hidden beneath the lifeless clenched fingers.
"They appear to be numbers," Langdon said, surprised. "Although I don't recognize them."
"The first is a Roman numeral," Anderson said.
"Actually, I don't think so," Langdon corrected. "The Roman numeral I-I-I-X doesn't exist. It would be written V-I-I."
"How about the rest of it?" Sato asked.
"I'm not sure. It looks like eight-eight-five in Arabic numbers."
"Arabic?" Anderson asked. "They look like normal numbers."
"Our normal numbers are Arabic." Langdon had become so accustomed to clarifying this point for his students that he'd actually prepared a lecture about the scientific advances made by early Middle Eastern cultures, one of them being our modern numbering system, whose advantages over Roman numerals included `positional notation' and the invention of the number zero. Of course, Langdon always ended this lecture with a reminder that Arab culture had also given mankind the word al-kuhl--the favorite beverage of Harvard freshmen--known as alcohol.
Langdon scrutinized the tattoo, feeling puzzled. "And I'm not even sure about the eight-eight- five. The rectilinear writing looks unusual. Those may not be numbers."
"Then what are they? Sato asked.
"I'm not sure. The whole tattoo looks almost . . . runic."
"Meaning?" Sato asked.
"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-- Hlsinge, 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.
He had lured Katherine Solomon to his home this afternoon for one reason only--to determine if she had information that could assist him . . . perhaps a family secret that might help Mal'akh locate what he sought. Clearly, however, Katherine's brother had told her nothing of what he had been guarding all these years.
Even so, Mal'akh had learned something else from Katherine. Something that has earned her a few extra hours of life today. Katherine had confirmed for him that all of her research was in one location, safely locked inside her lab.
I must destroy it.
Katherine's research was poised to open a new door of understanding, and once the door was opened even a crack, others would follow. It would just be a matter of time before everything changed. I cannot let that happen. The world must stay as it is . . . adrift in ignorant darkness.
The iPhone beeped, indicating Katherine had left a voice mail. Mal'akh retrieved it.
"Peter, it's me again." Katherine's voice sounded concerned. "Where are you? I'm still thinking about my conversation with Dr. Abaddon . . . and I'm worried. Is everything okay? Please call me. I'm at the lab."
The voice mail ended.
Mal'akh smiled. Katherine should worry less about her brother, and more about herself. He turned off Suitland Parkway onto Silver Hill Road. Less than a mile later, in the darkness, he spotted the faint outline of the SMSC nestled in the trees off the highway to his right. The entire complex was surrounded by a high razor-wire fence.
A secure building? Mal'akh chuckled to himself. I know someone who will open the door for me.
