Dan Brown - The Lost Symbol

The fixation this man had on the Solomon family was beyond fanatical, and yet Katherine saw nothing yet to suggest why .

It was then that she saw the photographs. The first showed Zachary standing knee-deep in azure water on a beach dotted with whitewashed houses. Greece? The photo, she assumed, could have been taken only during Zach’s freewheeling drug days in Europe. Strangely, though, Zach looked healthier than he did in the paparazzi shots of an emaciated kid partying with the drug crowd. He looked more fit, stronger somehow, more mature. Katherine never recalled him looking so healthy.

Puzzled, she checked the date stamp on the photo.

But that’s… impossible.

The date was almost a full year after Zachary had died in prison.

Suddenly Katherine was flipping desperately through the stack. All of the photos were of Zachary Solomon… gradually getting older. The collection appeared to be some kind of pictorial autobiography, chronicling a slow transformation. As the pictures progressed, Katherine saw a sudden and dramatic change. She looked on in horror as Zachary’s body began mutating, his muscles bulging, and his facial features morphing from the obvious heavy use of steroids. His frame seemed to double in mass, and a haunting fierceness crept into his eyes.

I don’t even recognize this man!

He looked nothing like Katherine’s memories of her young nephew.

When she reached a picture of him with a shaved head, she felt her knees begin to buckle. Then she saw a photo of his bare body… adorned with the first traces of tattoos.

Her heart almost stopped. “Oh my God…”

“Right turn!”Langdon shouted from the backseat of the commandeered Lexus SUV.

Simkins swerved onto S Street and gunned the vehicle through a tree-lined residential neighborhood. As they neared the corner of Sixteenth Street, the House of the Temple rose like a mountain on the right.

Simkins stared up at the massive structure. It looked like someone had built a pyramid on top of Rome’s Pantheon. He prepared to turn right on Sixteenth toward the front of the building.

“Don’t turn!” Langdon ordered. “Go straight! Stay on S!”

Simkins obeyed, driving alongside the east side of the building.

“At Fifteenth,” Langdon said, “turn right!”

Simkins followed his navigator, and moments later, Langdon had pointed out a nearly invisible, unpaved access road that bisected the gardens behind the House of the Temple. Simkins turned in to the drive and gunned the Lexus toward the rear of the building.

“Look!” Langdon said, pointing to the lone vehicle parked near the rear entrance. It was a large van. “They’re here.”

Simkins parked the SUV and killed the engine. Quietly, everyone got out and prepared to move in. Simkins stared up at the monolithic structure. “You say the Temple Room is at the top ?”

Langdon nodded, pointing all the way to the pinnacle of the building. “That flat area on top of the pyramid is actually a skylight.”

Simkins spun back to Langdon. “The Temple Room has a skylight ?”

Langdon gave him an odd look. “Of course. An oculus to heaven… directly above the altar.”

The UH-60 sat idling at Dupont Circle.

In the passenger seat, Sato gnawed at her fingernails, awaiting news from her team.

Finally, Simkins’s voice crackled over the radio. “Director?”

“Sato here,” she barked.

“We’re entering the building, but I have some additional recon for you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Mr. Langdon just informed me that the room in which the target is most likely located has a very large skylight.”

Sato considered the information for several seconds. “Understood. Thank you.”

Simkins signed off.

Sato spit out a fingernail and turned to the pilot. “Take her up.”

Like anyparent who had lost a child, Peter Solomon had often imagined how old his boy would be now… what he would look like… and what he would have become.

Peter Solomon now had his answers.

The massive tattooed creature before him had begun life as a tiny, precious infant… baby Zach curled up in a wicker bassinette… taking his first fumbling steps across Peter’s study… learning to speak his first words. The fact that evil could spring from an innocent child in a loving family remained one of the paradoxes of the human soul. Peter had been forced to accept early on that although his own blood flowed in his son’s veins, the heart pumping that blood was his son’s own. Unique and singular… as if randomly chosen from the universe.

My son… he killed my mother, my friend Robert Langdon, and possibly my sister.

An icy numbness flooded Peter’s heart as he searched his son’s eyes for any connection… anything familiar. The man’s eyes, however, although gray like Peter’s, were those of a total stranger, filled with a hatred and a vengefulness that were almost otherworldly.

“Are you strong enough?” his son taunted, glancing at the Akedah knife gripped in Peter’s hand. “Can you finish what you started all those years ago?”

“Son…” Solomon barely recognized his own voice. “I… I loved… you.”

“Twice you tried to kill me. You abandoned me in prison. You shot me on Zach’s bridge. Now finish it!”

For an instant, Solomon felt like he was floating outside his own body. He no longer recognized himself. He was missing a hand, was totally bald, dressed in a black robe, sitting in a wheelchair, and clutching an ancient knife.

“Finish it!” the man shouted again, the tattoos on his naked chest rippling. “Killing me is the only way you can save Katherine… the only way to save your brotherhood!”

Solomon felt his gaze move to the laptop and cellular modem on the pigskin chair.

SENDING MESSAGE: 92 % COMPLETE

His mind could not shake the images of Katherine bleeding to death… or of his Masonic brothers.

“There is still time,” the man whispered. “You know it’s the only choice. Release me from my mortal shell.”

“Please,” Solomon said. “Don’t do this…”

“ You did this!” the man hissed. “You forced your child to make an impossible choice! Do you remember that night? Wealth or wisdom? That was the night you pushed me away forever. But I’ve returned, Father… and tonight it is your turn to choose. Zachary or Katherine? Which will it be? Will you kill your son to save your sister? Will you kill your son to save your brotherhood? Your country? Or will you wait until it’s too late? Until Katherine is dead… until the video is public… until you must live the rest of your life knowing you could have stopped these tragedies. Time is running out. You know what must be done.”

Peter’s heart ached. You are not Zachary, he told himself. Zachary died long, long ago. Whatever you are… and wherever you came from… you are not of me. And although Peter Solomon did not believe his own words, he knew he had to make a choice.

He was out of time.

Find the Grand Staircase!

Robert Langdon dashed through darkened hallways, winding his way toward the center of the building. Turner Simkins remained close on his heels. As Langdon had hoped, he burst out into the building’s main atrium.

Dominated by eight Doric columns of green granite, the atrium looked like a hybrid sepulcher — Greco-Roman-Egyptian — with black marble statues, chandelier fire bowls, Teutonic crosses, double-headed phoenix medallions, and sconces bearing the head of Hermes.

Langdon turned and ran toward the sweeping marble staircase at the far end of the atrium. “This leads directly to the Temple Room,” he whispered as the two men ascended as quickly and quietly as possible.