The Lost Symbol

I need to speak with you at once. Please call me this morning as soon as you can at 202-329-5746.

Peter

Langdon immediately dialed the number, sitting down at his hand-carved oak desk to wait as the call went through.

«Office of Peter Solomon,» the familiar voice of the assistant answered. «This is Anthony. May I help you?»

«Hello, this is Robert Langdon. You left me a message earlier — » «Yes, Professor Langdon!» The young man sounded relieved. «Thank you for calling back so quickly. Mr. Solomon is eager to speak to you. Let me tell him you’re on the line. May I put you on hold?»

«Of course.»

As Langdon waited for Solomon to get on the line, he gazed down at Peter’s name atop the Smithsonian letterhead and had to smile. Not many slackers in the Solomon clan. Peter’s ancestral tree burgeoned with the names of wealthy business magnates, influential politicians, and a number of distinguished scientists, some even fellows of London’s Royal Society. Solomon’s only living family member, his younger sister, Katherine, had apparently inherited the science gene, because she was now a leading figure in a new cutting-edge discipline called Noetic Science.

All Greek to me, Langdon thought, amused to recall Katherine’s unsuccessful attempt to explain Noetic Science to him at a party at her brother’s home last year. Langdon had listened carefully and then replied, «Sounds more like magic than science.» katherine winked playfully. «they’re closer than you think, robert.»

Now Solomon’s assistant returned to the phone. «I’m sorry, Mr. Solomon is trying to get off a conference call. Things are a little chaotic here this morning.»

«That’s not a problem. I can easily call back.»

«Actually, he asked me to fill you in on his reason for contacting you, if you don’t mind?»

«Of course not.»

The assistant inhaled deeply. «As you probably know, Professor, every year here in Washington, the board of the Smithsonian hosts a private gala to thank our most generous supporters. Many of the country’s cultural elite attend.»

Langdon knew his own bank account had too few zeros to qualify him as culturally elite, but he wondered if maybe Solomon was going to invite him to attend nonetheless.

«This year, as is customary,» the assistant continued, «the dinner will be preceded by a keynote address. We’ve been lucky enough to secure the National Statuary Hall for that speech.»

The best room in all of D.C., Langdon thought, recalling a political lecture he had once attended in the dramatic semicircular hall. It was hard to forget five hundred folding chairs splayed in a perfect arc, surrounded by thirty-eight life-size statues, in a room that had once served as the nation’s original House of Representatives chamber.

«The problem is this,» the man said. «Our speaker has fallen ill and has just informed us she will be unable to give the address.» He paused awkwardly. «This means we are desperate for a replacement speaker. And Mr. Solomon is hoping you would consider filling in.»

Langdon did a double take. «Me?» This was not at all what he had expected. «I’m sure Peter could find a far better substitute.»

«You’re Mr. Solomon’s first choice, Professor, and you’re being much too modest. The institution’s guests would be thrilled to hear from you, and Mr. Solomon thought you could give the same lecture you gave on Bookspan TV a few years back? That way, you wouldn’t have to prepare a thing. He said your talk involved symbolism in the architecture of our nation’s capital — it sounds absolutely perfect for the venue.»

Langdon was not so sure. «If I recall, that lecture had more to do with the Masonic history of the building than — » «Exactly! As you know, Mr. Solomon is a Mason, as are many of his professional friends who will be in attendance. I’m sure they would love to hear you speak on the topic.»

I admit it would be easy. Langdon had kept the lecture notes from every talk he’d ever given. «I suppose I could consider it. What date is the event?»

The assistant cleared his throat, sounding suddenly uncomfortable. «Well, actually, sir, it’s tonight.»

Langdon laughed out loud. «Tonight?!»

«That’s why it’s so hectic here this morning. The Smithsonian is in a deeply embarrassing predicament. .» The assistant spoke more hurriedly now. «Mr. Solomon is ready to send a private jet to Boston for you. The flight is only an hour, and you would be back home before midnight. You’re familiar with the private air terminal at Boston’s Logan Airport?»

«I am,» Langdon admitted reluctantly. No wonder Peter always gets his way.

«Wonderful! Would you be willing to meet the jet there at say. . five o’clock?»

«You haven’t left me much choice, have you?» Langdon chuckled.

«I just want to make Mr. Solomon happy, sir.»