The Lost Symbol Chapter 110-112

Section 110 Chief Sato remained solitary in the examination, pausing while the CIA satellite-imaging division handled her solicitation. One of the extravagances of working in the D.C. zone 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 expert said. â€Å"No inclusion of those directions today around evening time. Would you like to make a reposition request?† â€Å"No much appreciated. 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 anteroom, 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 plan for the arrival to Langley, yet Simkins was in the lounge 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 floor covering. She shook her head, seeing nothing. â€Å"Crouch down,† Simkins said. â€Å"Look at the rest of the carpet.† She did. After a second, she saw it. The strands of the floor covering appeared as though they had been squashed down . . . discouraged along two straight lines as though the wheels of something substantial had been moved over the room. â€Å"The abnormal 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 pivoted gradually on its middle, similar to a spinning 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 darkness of Langdon's brain had gone back and forth. Afterward, a path of super hot sparkles was whirling, alongside the equivalent spooky, 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 sorrowful ringer started tolling some place out there. The chime rang endlessly, becoming stronger. It tolled all the more desperately 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 precious stone ceiling 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, be that as it may, 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 all out haziness, a tall, shadowy figure crossed the stage and took the platform. â€Å"Good morning,† the anonymous voice murmured into the mouthpiece. Everybody sat up, stressing to see who was tending to them. A slide projector flashed to life, uncovering a blurred sepia photographâ€a sensational château with a red sandstone veneer, high square towers, and Gothic embellishments. The shadow talked once more. â€Å"Who can disclose to me where this is?† â€Å"England!† a young lady proclaimed in the murkiness. â€Å"This exterior is a mix of early Gothic and late Romanesque, making this the quintessential Norman mansion 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 manor from an alternate point. The château's Seneca Creek sandstone towers overwhelmed the frontal area, yet out of sight, startlingly close, stood the grand, white, sectioned arch of the U.S. Legislative hall Building. â€Å"Hold on!† the young lady shouted. â€Å"There's a Norman manor 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 huge vaulted dance hall, outfitted with creature skeletons, logical presentation cases, glass containers with organic 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 exhibition hall. It was a blessing to America from a well off British researcher who, similar to our progenitors, accepted our youngster nation could turn into the place where there is illumination. He passed on to our ancestors an enormous fortune and requested that they work at the center of our country 'a foundation for the expansion and dispersion of information.' † He stopped a long second. â€Å"Who can disclose to me the name of this liberal scientist?† A bashful 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 dim 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 commendation. In the shadows, Langdon viewed with adoration as Peter dazzled the youthful personalities with a photographic voyage through the Smithsonian Institution's initial history. The show started with Smithsonian Castle, its storm cellar science labs, passages fixed with displays, a salon brimming with mollusks, researchers who called themselves â€Å"the guardians of crustaceans,† and even an old photograph of the stronghold's two most well known residentsâ€a pair of now-expired owls named Diffusion and Increase. The half-hour slide show finished with an amazing satellite photograph of the National Mall, presently fixed with huge Smithsonian exhibition halls. â€Å"As I said when I began,† Solomon taking everything into account, â€Å"James Smithson and our progenitors imagined our extraordinary nation to be a place where there is illumination. I accept today they would be pleased. 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 progenitors' fantasy for Americaâ€a nation established on the standards of information, astuteness, and science.† Solomon clicked off the slides to an enthusiastic round of acclaim. 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 mistreatment of Europe to set 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 passionately 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 put stock in God, yet in an all inclusive and liberal way. The main strict perfect they set forth was strict freedom.† He pulled the amplifier from the platform and walked out to the edge of the stage. â€Å"America's progenitors had a dream of a profoundly illuminated ideal world, in which opportunity of thought, training of the majority, and logical progression would supplant the obscurity 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 PDA, â€Å"I've been looking into 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 snickered. â€Å"Yes, well,† the young lady kept, dithering, â€Å"you just referenced 'obsolete strict notion,' and I can't help thinking that on the off chance that anybody is answerable for engendering obsolete notions . . . it would be the Masons.† Solomon appeared unflinching. â€Å"Oh? How so?† â€Å"Well, I've perused a great deal about Masonry, and I realize you have a ton of peculiar antiquated customs and convictions. This article online even says that Masons put stock in the intensity of an old supernatural insight . . . which can raise 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 augmenting. Solomon stifled a grin and asked the young lady, â€Å"Does it offer some other Wiki-astuteness about this enchanted 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 contemptible, the early adepts recorded their insight in code . . . shrouding its intense truth in a figurative language of images, fantasy, and moral story. Right up 'til the present time, this scrambled knowledge is every one of the a