Mal’akh stood beside the tank, catching his breath and surveying the damage.

The lifeless woman lay slumped over the rim of the tank, her face still submerged in ethanol. Seeing her there, Mal’akh flashed on the only other woman he had ever killed.

Isabel Solomon.

Long ago. Another life.

Mal’akh gazed down now at the woman’s flaccid corpse. He grabbed her ample hips and lifted with his legs, hoisting her up, pushing forward, until she began to slide over the rim of the squid tank. Trish Dunne slithered headfirst down into the ethanol. The rest of her body followed, sloshing down. Gradually, the ripples subsided, leaving the woman hovering limp over the huge sea creature. As her clothing got heavier, she began to sink, slipping into the darkness. Bit by bit, Trish Dunne’s body settled on top of the great beast.

Mal’akh wiped his hands and replaced the Plexiglas lid, sealing the tank.

Wet Pod has a new specimen.

He retrieved Trish’s key card from the floor and slipped it in his pocket: 0804.

When Mal’akh had first seen Trish in the lobby, he’d seen a liability. Then he’d realized her key card and password were his insurance. If Katherine’s data-storage room was as secure as Peter had implied, then Mal’akh was anticipating some challenges persuading Katherine to unlock it for him. I now have my own set of keys. He was pleased to know he would no longer have to waste time bending Katherine to his will.

As Mal’akh stood up straight, he saw his own reflection in the window and could tell his makeup was badly mangled. It didn’t matter anymore. By the time Katherine put it all together, it would be too late.

CHAPTER 38

«This room is masonic?» sato demanded, turning from the skull and staring at langdon in the darkness.

Langdon nodded calmly. «It’s called a Chamber of Reflection. These rooms are designed as cold, austere places in which a Mason can reflect on his own mortality. By meditating on the inevitability of death, a Mason gains a valuable perspective on the fleeting nature of life.»

Sato looked around the eerie space, apparently not convinced. «This is some kind of meditation room?»

«Essentially, yes. These chambers always incorporate the same symbols — skull and crossed bones, scythe, hourglass, sulfur, salt, blank paper, a candle, et cetera. The symbols of death inspire Masons to ponder how better to lead their lives while on this earth.»

«It looks like a death shrine,» Anderson said.

That’s kind of the point. «Most of my symbology students have the same reaction at first.» Langdon often assigned them Symbols of Freemasonry by Beresniak, which contained beautiful photos of Chambers of Reflection.

«And your students,» Sato demanded, «don’t find it unnerving that Masons meditate with skulls and scythes?»

«No more unnerving than Christians praying at the feet of a man nailed to a cross, or Hindus chanting in front of a four-armed elephant named Ganesh. Misunderstanding a culture’s symbols is a common root of prejudice.»

Sato turned away, apparently in no mood for a lecture. She moved toward the table of artifacts. Anderson tried to light her way with the flashlight, but the beam was beginning to dim. He tapped the heel of the light and coaxed it to burn a little brighter.

As the threesome moved deeper into the narrow space, the pungent tang of sulfur filled Langdon’s nostrils. The subbasement was damp, and the humidity in the air was activating the sulfur in the bowl. Sato arrived at the table and stared down at the skull and accompanying objects.

anderson joined her, doing his best to light the desk with the weakening beam of his flashlight.

Sato examined everything on the table and then placed her hands on her hips, sighing. «What is all this junk?»

The artifacts in this room, Langdon knew, were carefully selected and arranged. «Symbols of transformation,» he told her, feeling confined as he inched forward and joined them at the table. «The skull, or caput mortuum, represents man’s final transformation through decay; it’s a reminder that we all shed our mortal flesh one day. The sulfur and salt are alchemical catalysts that facilitate transformation. The hourglass represents the transformational power of time.» He motioned to the unlit candle. «And this candle represents the formative primordial fire and the awakening of man from his ignorant slumber — transformation through illumination.»

«And. . that?» Sato asked, pointing into the corner.

Anderson swung his dimming flashlight beam to the giant scythe that leaned against the back wall.

«Not a death symbol, as most assume,» Langdon said. «The scythe is actually a symbol of the transformative nourishment of nature — the reaping of nature’s gifts.»

Sato and Anderson fell silent, apparently trying to process their bizarre surroundings.

Langdon wanted nothing more than to get out of the place. «I realize this room may seem unusual,» he told them, «but there’s nothing to see here; it’s really quite normal. A lot of Masonic lodges have chambers exactly like this one.»

«But this is not a Masonic lodge!»Anderson declared. «It’s the U.S. Capitol, and I’d like to know what the hell this room is doing in my building.»

«Sometimes Masons set aside rooms like this in their offices or private homes as meditation spaces. It is not uncommon.» Langdon knew a heart surgeon in Boston who had converted a closet in his office into a Masonic Chamber of Reflection so he could ponder mortality before going into surgery.

Sato looked troubled. «You’re saying Peter Solomon comes down here to reflect on death?»

«I really don’t know,» Langdon said sincerely. «Maybe he created it as a sanctuary for his Masonic brothers who work in the building, giving them a spiritual sanctuary away from the chaos of the material world. . a place for a powerful lawmaker to reflect before making decisions that affect his fellow man.» «lovely sentiment,» sato said, her tone sarcastic, «but i have a feeling americans might have a problem with their leaders praying in closets with scythes and skulls.»

Well, they shouldn’t, Langdon thought, imagining how different a world it might be if more leaders took time to ponder the finality of death before racing off to war.

Sato pursed her lips and carefully surveyed all four corners of the candle lit chamber. «There must be something in here besides human bones and bowls of chemicals, Professor. Someone transported you all the way from your home in Cambridge to be in this precise room.»

Langdon clutched his daybag to his side, still unable to imagine how the package he carried might relate to this chamber. «Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary here.» Langdon hoped that now at last they could get to the business of trying to find Peter.

Anderson’s light flickered again, and Sato spun on him, her temper starting to show. «For Christ’s sake, is it too much to ask?» She plunged her hand into her pocket and yanked out a cigarette lighter. Striking her thumb on the flint, she held out the flame and lit the desk’s lone candle. The wick sputtered and then caught, spreading a ghostly luminescence throughout the constricted space. Long shadows raked the stone walls. As the flame grew brighter, an unexpected sight materialized before them.

«Look!» Anderson said, pointing.

In the candlelight, they could now see a faded patch of graffiti — seven capital letters scrawled across the rear wall.

VITRIOL

«An odd choice of word,» Sato said as the candlelight cast a frightening skull-shaped silhouette across the letters.

«Actually, it’s an acronym,» Langdon said. «It’s written on the rear wall of most chambers like this as a shorthand for the Masonic meditative mantra: Visita interiora terrae, rectificando invenies occultum lapidem.»