The Lost Symbol Chapter 98-101

Part 98 Robert Langdon recaptured awareness with a devastating cerebral pain. Where am I? Any place he was, it was dim. Profound cavern dull, and completely still. He was lying on his back with his arms next to him. Confounded, he took a stab at moving his fingers and toes, calmed to discover they moved openly with no torment. What was the deal? Except for his cerebral pain and the significant dimness, everything appeared to be pretty much typical. Nearly everything. Langdon acknowledged he was lying on a hard floor that felt strangely smooth, similar to a sheet of glass. More unusual still, he could feel that the smooth surface was in direct contact with his exposed substance . . . shoulders, back, rear end, thighs, calves. Am I stripped? Baffled, he ran his hands over his body. Jesus! Where the hellfire are my garments? In the dimness, the spider webs started to lift, and Langdon saw blazes of memory . . . terrifying previews . . . a dead CIA specialist . . . the essence of an inked brute . . . Langdon's head crushing into the floor. The pictures came quicker . . . furthermore, presently he reviewed the nauseating picture of Katherine Solomon bound and choked on the lounge area floor. My God! Langdon sat straight as an arrow, and as he did, his temple crushed into something suspended just creeps above him. Torment detonated through his skull and he fell back, wavering close to obviousness. Sluggish, he came to up with his hands, grabbing in the dimness to discover the hindrance. What he discovered look bad to him. It appeared this present room's roof was not exactly a foot above him. What on the planet? As he spread his arms to his sides trying to turn over, both of his hands hit sidewalls. Reality currently occurred to him. Robert Langdon was not in a room by any means. I'm in a crate! In the dimness of his little, coffinlike holder, Langdon started beating uncontrollably with his clench hand. He yelled again and again for help. The dread that grasped him extended with each passing moment until it was grievous. I have been covered alive. The top of Langdon's unusual final resting place would not move, even with the full power of his arms and legs pushing upward in wild frenzy. The case, from everything he could tell, was made of overwhelming fiberglass. Sealed shut. Soundproof. Lightproof. Break confirmation. I will suffocate alone in this case. He thought of the profound well into which he had fallen as a little fellow, and of the startling night he spent stepping water alone in the murkiness of an endless pit. That injury had scarred Langdon's mind, troubling him with a staggering fear of encased spaces. Today around evening time, covered alive, Robert Langdon was experiencing his definitive bad dream. Katherine Solomon trembled peacefully on the floor of Mal'akh's lounge area. The sharp wire around her wrists and lower legs had just cut into her, and the smallest developments appeared to be just to fix her bonds. The inked man had severely thumped Langdon oblivious and hauled his limp body over the floor alongside his calfskin sack and the stone pyramid. Where they had gone, Katherine had no clue. The operator who had went with them was dead. She had not heard a sound in numerous minutes, and she thought about whether the inked man and Langdon were as yet inside the house. She had been attempting to shout for help, yet with each endeavor, the cloth in her mouth crawled back perilously nearer to her windpipe. Presently she felt moving toward strides on the floor, and she turned her head, daring to dream that somebody was coming to help. The monstrous outline of her captor emerged in the passage. Katherine pulled back as she flashed on the picture of him remaining in her family home ten years sooner. He slaughtered my family. Presently he walked toward her. Langdon was no place to be seen. The man hunkered down and held her around the midriff, lifting her generally onto his shoulder. The wire cut into her wrists, and the cloth stifled her quieted cries of agony. He conveyed her down the lobby toward the lounge, where, prior today, both of them had serenely tasted tea together. Where is he taking me?! He conveyed Katherine over the family room and halted straightforwardly before the enormous oil painting of the Three Graces that she had respected this evening. â€Å"You referenced you enjoyed this painting,† the man murmured, his lips basically contacting her ear. â€Å"I'm happy. It might be the exact opposite wondrous thing you see.† With that, he connected and squeezed his palm into the correct side of the tremendous edge. To Katherine's stun, the painting turned into the divider, turning on a focal rotate like a spinning entryway. A shrouded entryway. Katherine attempted to wriggle free, yet the man held her solidly, bringing her through the opening behind the canvas. As the Three Graces turned shut behind them, she could see substantial protection on the rear of the canvas. Whatever sounds were made back here were obviously not intended to be heard by the outside world. The space behind the artwork was confined, more like a lobby than a room. The man conveyed her to the far side and opened an overwhelming entryway, helping her through it onto a little arrival. Katherine wound up looking down a tight incline into a profound storm cellar. She attracted a breath to shout, yet the cloth was gagging her. The grade was steep and restricted. The dividers on either side were made of concrete, flooded with a somewhat blue light that appeared to exude from underneath. The air that drifted up was warm and sharp, loaded down with a scary mix of scents . . . the sharp nibble of synthetic concoctions, the smooth quiet of incense, the natural musk of human perspiration, and, plaguing it every one of the, an unmistakable atmosphere of instinctive, creature dread. â€Å"Your science intrigued me,† the man murmured as they arrived at the base of the incline. â€Å"I trust mine dazzles you.† Section 99 CIA field specialist Turner Simkins hunkered in the haziness of Franklin Park and kept his watchful eye on Warren Bellamy. No one had taken the trap yet, yet it was still early. Simkins' handset signaled, and he enacted it, trusting one of his men had spotted something. Be that as it may, it was Sato. She had new data. Simkins tuned in and concurred with her anxiety. â€Å"Hold on,† he said. â€Å"I'll check whether I can get a visual.† He crept through the brambles wherein he was stowing away and looked back toward the path from which he had entered the square. After some moving, he at last opened a sight line. Good lord. He was gazing at a structure that resembled an Old World mosque. Settled between two a lot bigger structures, the Moorish exterior was made of sparkling earthenware tile laid in perplexing diverse plans. Over the three gigantic entryways, two levels of lancet windows looked as though Arabian bowmen may show up and open fire on the off chance that anybody moved toward excluded. â€Å"I see it,† Simkins said. â€Å"Any activity?† â€Å"Nothing.† â€Å"Good. I need you to reposition and watch it cautiously. It's known as the Almas Shrine Temple, and it's the central command of a magical order.† Simkins had worked in the D.C. zone for quite a while yet was curious about this sanctuary or any old supernatural request headquartered on Franklin Square. â€Å"This building,† Sato stated, â€Å"belongs to a gathering called the Ancient Arabic Order of Nobles of the Mystic Shrine.† â€Å"Never knew about them.† â€Å"I think you have,† Sato said. â€Å"They're an appendant body of the Masons, all the more ordinarily known as the Shriners.† Simkins shot a questionable look at the fancy structure. The Shriners? The folks who manufacture medical clinics for kids? He could envision no â€Å"order† less foreboding sounding than a society of givers who wore minimal red fezzes and walked in marches. All things considered, Sato's interests were substantial. â€Å"Ma'am, if our objective understands that this structure is in reality 'The Order' on Franklin Square, he won't need the location. He'll essentially sidestep the meet and go straightforwardly to the right location.† â€Å"My considerations precisely. Watch out for the entrance.† â€Å"Yes, ma'am.† â€Å"Any word from Agent Hartmann in Kalorama Heights?† â€Å"No, ma'am. You requested that he telephone you directly.† â€Å"Well, he hasn't.† Odd, Simkins thought, checking his watch. He's past due. Section 100 Robert Langdon lay shuddering, stripped and alone in all out obscurity. Deadened by dread, he was done beating or yelling. Rather, he had shut his eyes and was putting forth a valiant effort to control his pounding heart and his terrified relaxing. You are lying underneath a huge, evening sky, he attempted to persuade himself. There is nothing above you except for miles of all the way open space. This quieting perception had been the main way he had figured out how to endure an ongoing spell in an encased MRI machine . . . that and a triple portion of Valium. This evening, be that as it may, the representation was having no impact at all. The cloth in Katherine Solomon's mouth had moved in reverse and was everything except stifling her. Her captor had conveyed her down a thin incline and into a dull storm cellar hall. At the most distant finish of the lobby, she had witnessed a room lit with a ghostly ruddy purple light, yet they'd never made it that far. The man had halted rather at a little side room, conveyed her inside, and set her on a wooden seat. He had put her down with her bound wrists behind the seat back so she was unable to move. Presently Katherine could feel the wire on her wrists cutting further into her tissue. The agony scarcely enlisted close to the rising frenzy she was feeling over being not able to relax. The material in her mouth was slipping further into her throat, and she felt herself choking reflexively. Her vision began to burrow. Behind her, the inked man shut the room's solitary entryway and flipped on the light. Katherine's eyes were watering lavishly now, and she could no longer separate items in her quick environmental factors. Everything had become a haze. A twisted vision of brilliant substance showed up before her, and Katherine felt her eyes beginning to vacillate as she wavered on the brin