The Lost Symbol Chapter 110-112

Part 110 Executive Sato remained solitary in the examination, pausing while the CIA satellite-imaging division prepared her solicitation. One of the extravagances of working in the D.C. territory was the satellite inclusion. With karma, one of them may have been appropriately situated to get photographs of this home today around evening time . . . perhaps catching a vehicle leaving the spot in the last half hour. â€Å"Sorry, ma'am,† the satellite specialist said. â€Å"No inclusion of those directions this evening. Would you like to make a reposition request?† â€Å"No much obliged. Too late.† She hung up. Sato breathed out, presently having no clue how they would make sense of where their objective had gone. She exited to the hall, where her men had sacked Agent Hartmann's body and were conveying it toward the chopper. Sato had requested Agent Simkins to accumulate his men and get ready for the arrival to Langley, yet Simkins was in the front room on all fours. He seemed as though he was sick. â€Å"You okay?† He looked up, an odd look all over. â€Å"Did you see this?† He pointed at the front room floor. Sato came over and looked down at the extravagant rug. She shook her head, seeing nothing. â€Å"Crouch down,† Simkins said. â€Å"Look at the snooze of the carpet.† She did. After a second, she saw it. The filaments of the floor covering appeared as though they had been squashed down . . . discouraged along two straight lines as though the wheels of something overwhelming had been moved over the room. â€Å"The unusual thing,† Simkins stated, â€Å"is where the tracks go.† He pointed. Sato's look followed the swoon equal lines over the lounge room cover. The tracks appeared to vanish underneath a huge floor-to-roof painting that hung alongside the chimney. What on the planet? Simkins strolled over to the artistic creation and attempted to lift it down from the divider. It didn't move. â€Å"It's fixed,† he stated, presently running his fingers around the edges. â€Å"Hold on, there's something underneath . . .† His finger hit a little switch underneath the base edge, and something clicked. Sato ventured forward as Simkins pushed the casing and the whole work of art turned gradually on its inside, similar to a rotating entryway. He raised his electric lamp and sparkled it into the dull space past. Sato's eyes limited. Here we go. Toward the finish of a short passage stood an overwhelming metal entryway. The recollections that had surged through the obscurity of Langdon's brain had traveled every which way. Afterward, a path of intensely hot sparkles was whirling, alongside the equivalent creepy, inaccessible murmur. Verbum significatium . . . Verbum omnificum . . . Verbum perdo. The reciting proceeded with like the automaton of voices in a medieval canticle. Verbum significatium . . . Verbum omnificum. The words currently tumbled through the unfilled void, new voices resounding surrounding him. Apocalypsis . . . Franklin . . . Apocalypsis . . . Verbum . . . Apocalypsis . . . All of a sudden, a sad chime started tolling some place out there. The chime rang endlessly, becoming stronger. It tolled all the more direly now, as though trusting Langdon would comprehend, as though asking his brain to follow. Part 111 The tolling ringer in the clock tower rang for three entire minutes, shaking the gem crystal fixture that hung over Langdon's head. Decades back, he had gone to addresses in this all around adored get together corridor at Phillips Exeter Academy. Today, in any case, he was here to tune in to a dear companion address the understudy body. As the lights diminished, Langdon sat down against the back divider, underneath a pantheon of director pictures. A quiet fell over the group. In complete haziness, a tall, shadowy figure crossed the stage and took the platform. â€Å"Good morning,† the nondescript voice murmured into the amplifier. Everybody sat up, stressing to see who was tending to them. A slide projector flashed to life, uncovering a blurred sepia photographâ€a sensational palace with a red sandstone veneer, high square towers, and Gothic embellishments. The shadow talked once more. â€Å"Who can reveal to me where this is?† â€Å"England!† a young lady pronounced in the obscurity. â€Å"This exterior is a mix of early Gothic and late Romanesque, making this the quintessential Norman manor and putting it in England at about the twelfth century.† â€Å"Wow,† the nondescript voice answered. â€Å"Someone knows her architecture.† Calm moans all around. â€Å"Unfortunately,† the shadow included, â€Å"you missed by 3,000 miles and a large portion of a millennium.† The room livened up. The projector currently flashed a full-shading, present day photograph of a similar château from an alternate point. The mansion's Seneca Creek sandstone towers ruled the forefront, however out of sight, startlingly close, stood the grand, white, segmented arch of the U.S. Legislative center Building. â€Å"Hold on!† the young lady shouted. â€Å"There's a Norman palace in D.C.?!† â€Å"Since 1855,† the voice answered. â€Å"Which is the point at which this next photograph was taken.† Another slide appearedâ€a high contrast inside gave, delineating a monstrous vaulted assembly hall, outfitted with creature skeletons, logical showcase cases, glass containers with natural examples, archeological ancient rarities, and mortar throws of ancient reptiles. â€Å"This wondrous castle,† the voice stated, â€Å"was America's first genuine science historical center. It was a blessing to America from a well off British researcher who, similar to our progenitors, accepted our juvenile nation could turn into the place where there is illumination. He gave to our ancestors an enormous fortune and requested that they work at the center of our country 'a foundation for the expansion and dissemination of information.' † He delayed a long second. â€Å"Who can reveal to me the name of this liberal scientist?† A shy voice in front wandered, â€Å"James Smithson?† A murmur of acknowledgment undulated through the group. â€Å"Smithson indeed,† the man in front of an audience answered. Dwindle Solomon presently ventured into the light, his dark eyes blazing energetically. â€Å"Good morning. My name is Peter Solomon, and I am secretary of the Smithsonian Institution.† The understudies broke into wild adulation. In the shadows, Langdon viewed with appreciation as Peter enamored the youthful personalities with a photographic voyage through the Smithsonian Institution's initial history. The show started with Smithsonian Castle, its cellar science labs, passages fixed with displays, a salon loaded with mollusks, researchers who called themselves â€Å"the caretakers of crustaceans,† and even an old photograph of the manor's two most well known residentsâ€a pair of now-expired owls named Diffusion and Increase. The half-hour slide show finished with a noteworthy satellite photograph of the National Mall, presently fixed with gigantic Smithsonian historical centers. â€Å"As I said when I began,† Solomon taking everything into account, â€Å"James Smithson and our progenitors imagined our incredible nation to be a place where there is illumination. I accept today they would be glad. Their extraordinary Smithsonian Institution remains as an image of science and information at the very center of America. It is a no nonsense, working tribute to our ancestors' fantasy for Americaâ€a nation established on the standards of information, insight, and science.† Solomon clicked off the slides to an enthusiastic round of praise. The houselights came up, alongside many enthusiastic hands with questions. Solomon approached a little red-haired kid in the center. â€Å"Mr. Solomon?† the kid stated, sounding bewildered. â€Å"You said our progenitors fled the strict abuse of Europe to build up a nation on the standards of logical advancement.† â€Å"That's correct.† â€Å"But . . . I was under the impression our progenitors were sincerely strict men who established America as a Christian nation.† Solomon grinned. â€Å"My companions, don't misunderstand me, our ancestors were profoundly strict men, yet they were Deistsâ€men who trusted in God, yet in a general and liberal way. The main strict perfect they set forth was strict freedom.† He pulled the receiver from the platform and walked out to the edge of the stage. â€Å"America's progenitors had a dream of a profoundly edified perfect world, in which opportunity of thought, training of the majority, and logical progression would supplant the dimness of obsolete strict superstition.† A light young lady in back lifted her hand. â€Å"Yes?† â€Å"Sir,† the young lady stated, holding up her phone, â€Å"I've been investigating you on the web, and Wikipedia says you're an unmistakable Freemason.† Solomon held up his Masonic ring. â€Å"I could have spared you the information charges.† The understudies chuckled. â€Å"Yes, well,† the young lady kept, faltering, â€Å"you just referenced 'obsolete strict notion,' and I can't help thinking that on the off chance that anybody is liable for spreading obsolete notions . . . it would be the Masons.† Solomon appeared undeterred. â€Å"Oh? How so?† â€Å"Well, I've perused a great deal about Masonry, and I realize you have a ton of odd antiquated ceremonies and convictions. This article online even says that Masons have confidence in the intensity of an old otherworldly shrewdness . . . which can lift man to the domain of the gods?† Everybody turned and gazed at the young lady as though she were nuts. â€Å"Actually,† Solomon stated, â€Å"she's right.† The children all spun around and confronted front, eyes enlarging. Solomon smothered a grin and asked the young lady, â€Å"Does it offer some other Wiki-insight about this mystical knowledge?† The young lady looked uncomfortable now, however she started to peruse from the Web website. â€Å"'To guarantee this incredible shrewdness couldn't be utilized by the dishonorable, the early adepts recorded their insight in code . . . shrouding its intense truth in a figurative language of images, fantasy, and purposeful anecdote. Right up 'til the present time, this scrambled shrewdness is each of the a