The Lost Symbol

Katherine still seemed fixated on the gold capstone, looking incredulous that the inscription was so unhelpful. She had taken the capstone out of the box, examined every side, and was now carefully putting it back in the box.

The secret hides within The Order, Langdon thought. Big help.

Langdon found himself wondering now if perhaps Peter had been misinformed about the contents of the box. This pyramid and capstone had been created long before Peter was born, and Peter was simply doing as his forefathers had told him, keeping a secret that was probably as much a mystery to him as it was to Langdon and Katherine.

What did I expect? Langdon wondered. The more he learned tonight about the Legend of the Masonic Pyramid, the less plausible it all seemed. I’m searching for a hidden spiral staircase covered by a huge stone? Something told Langdon he was chasing shadows. Nonetheless, deciphering this pyramid seemed his best chance at saving Peter.

«Robert, does the year 1514 mean anything to you?»

Fifteen-fourteen? The question seemed apropos of nothing. Langdon shrugged. «No. Why?»

Katherine handed him the stone box. «Look. The box is dated. Have a look under the light.»

Langdon took a seat at the desk and studied the cube-shaped box beneath the light. Katherine put a soft hand on his shoulder, leaning in to point out the tiny text she had found carved on the exterior of the box, near the bottom corner of one side.

«Fifteen-fourteen A.D.,» she said, pointing into the box.

Sure enough, the carving depicted the number 1514, followed by an unusual stylization of the letters A and D.

«This date,» Katherine was saying, sounding suddenly hopeful, «maybe it’s the link we’re missing? This dated cube looks a lot like a Masonic cornerstone, so maybe it’s pointing to a real

cornerstone? Maybe to a building built in 1514 A.D.?»

Langdon barely heard her.

Fifteen-fourteen A.D. is not a date.

The symbol

, as any scholar of medieval art would recognize, was a well-known symbature — a symbol used in place of a signature. Many of the early philosophers, artists, and authors signed their work with their own unique symbol or monogram rather than their name. This practice added a mysterious allure to their work and also protected them from persecution should their writings or artwork be deemed counterestablishment.

In the case of this symbature, the letters A.D. did not stand for Anno Domini. . they were German for something else entirely.

Langdon instantly saw all the pieces fall into place. Within seconds, he was certain he knew exactly how to decipher the pyramid. «Katherine, you did it,» he said, packing up. «That’s all we needed. Let’s go. I’ll explain on the way.»

Katherine looked amazed. «The date 1514 A.D. actually means something to you?»

Langdon winked at her and headed for the door. «A.D. isn’t a date, Katherine. It’s a person. »

CHAPTER 67

West of embassy row, all was silent again inside the walled garden with its twelfth-century roses and shadow house gazebo. on the other side of an entry road, the young man was helping his hunched superior walk across an expansive lawn.

He’s letting me guide him?

Normally, the blind old man refused help, preferring to navigate by memory alone while on the grounds of his sanctuary. Tonight, however, he was apparently in a hurry to get inside and return Warren Bellamy’s phone call.

«Thank you,» the old man said as they entered the building that held his private study. «I can find my way from here.»

«Sir, I would be happy to stay and help — »

«That’s all for tonight,» he said, letting go of his helper’s arm and shuffling hurriedly off into the darkness. «Good night.»

The young man exited the building and walked back across the great lawn to his modest dwelling on the grounds. By the time he entered his flat, he could feel his curiosity gnawing at him. The old man clearly had been upset by the question posed by Mr. Bellamy. . and yet the question had seemed strange, almost meaningless.

Is there no help for the widow’s son?

In his wildest imagination, he could not guess what this could mean. Puzzled, he went to his computer and typed in a search for this precise phrase.

To his great surprise, page after page of references appeared, all citing this exact question. He read the information in wonderment. It seemed Warren Bellamy was not the first person in history to ask this strange question. These same words had been uttered centuries ago. . by King Solomon as he mourned a murdered friend. The question was allegedly still spoken today by Masons, who used it as a kind of encoded cry for help. Warren Bellamy, it seemed, was sending a distress call to a fellow Mason.

CHAPTER 68

Albrecht Dьrer?