The Lost Symbol (Robert Langdon) by Dan Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

words left Langdon confused. “Then what the hell is this about?”
    The man paused for several seconds. “As you may know, there exists within this city an ancient portal.”
    An ancient portal?
    “And tonight, Professor, you will unlock it for me. You should be honored I contacted you—this is the invitation of your lifetime. You alone have been chosen.”
    And you have lost your mind.
“I’m sorry, but you’ve chosen poorly,” Langdon said. “I don’t know anything about any ancient portal.”
    “You don’t understand, Professor. It was not
I
who chose you . . . it was
Peter Solomon
.”
    “What?” Langdon replied, his voice barely a whisper.
    “Mr. Solomon told me how to find the portal, and he confessed to me that only one man on earth could unlock it. And he said that man is
you
.”
    “If Peter said that, he was mistaken . . . or lying.”
    “I think not. He was in a fragile state when he confessed that fact, and I am inclined to believe him.”
    Langdon felt a stab of anger. “I’m warning you, if you hurt Peter in any—”
    “It’s far too late for
that,
” the man said in an amused tone. “I’ve already taken what I need from Peter Solomon. But for his sake, I suggest you provide what I need from
you.
Time is of the essence . . . for
both
of you. I suggest you find the portal and unlock it. Peter will point the way.”
    Peter?
“I thought you said Peter was in ‘purgatory.’”
    “As above, so below,” the man said.
    Langdon felt a deepening chill. This strange response was an ancient Hermetic adage that proclaimed a belief in the physical connection between heaven and earth.
As above, so below.
Langdon eyed the vast room and wondered how everything had veered so suddenly out of control tonight. “Look, I don’t know how to find any ancient portal. I’m calling the police.”
    “It really hasn’t dawned on you yet, has it? Why you were chosen?”
    “No,” Langdon said.
    “It
will,
” he replied, chuckling. “Any moment now.”
    Then the line went dead.
    Langdon stood rigid for several terrifying moments, trying to process what had just happened.
    Suddenly, in the distance, he heard an unexpected sound.
    It was coming from the Rotunda.
    Someone was screaming.

CHAPTER 10
    Robert Langdon had entered the Capitol Rotunda many times in his life, but never at a full sprint. As he ran through the north entrance, he spotted a group of tourists clustered in the center of the room. A small boy was screaming, and his parents were trying to console him. Others were crowding around, and several security guards were doing their best to restore order.
    “He pulled it out of his sling,” someone said frantically, “and just
left
it there!”
    As Langdon drew nearer, he got his first glimpse of what was causing all the commotion. Admittedly, the object on the Capitol floor was odd, but its presence hardly warranted screaming.
    The device on the floor was one Langdon had seen many times. The Harvard art department had dozens of these—life-size plastic models used by sculptors and painters to help them render the human body’s most complex feature, which, surprisingly, was not the human face but rather the human hand.
Someone left a mannequin hand in the Rotunda?
    Mannequin hands, or
handequins
as some called them, had articulated fingers enabling an artist to pose the hand in whatever position he wanted, which for sophomoric college students was often with the middle finger extended straight up in the air. This handequin, however, had been positioned with its index finger and thumb pointing up toward the ceiling.
    As Langdon drew nearer, though, he realized this handequin was unusual. Its plastic surface was not smooth like most. Instead, the surface was mottled and slightly wrinkled, and appeared almost . . .
    Like real skin.
    Langdon stopped abruptly.
    Now he saw the blood.
My God!
    The severed wrist appeared to have been skewered onto a spiked wooden base so that it would stand up. A