Robert Langdon looked out the window of the private jet as it prepared to land in Washington. Aha, he thought, within hours I will have the secrets of the universe. We must be deep in the heart of the Freemason's Hall, only yards from Capitol Hill in Washington, where an unnamed initiate is drinking wine from a skull. The race against narcolepsy had begun.Ģ.30pm: A rash of italics mysteriously appears across the page. The courier stepped back, his face blanched with fear. Instead I drew a hand, the Hand of Mysteries. So what difference should an extra three and a half hours have made? And yet I sensed there was not a minute to lose if I was to save the free world from the Rogue Freemasons. "I was being followed."įive long years have I been waiting for this moment, years in which the Christian church has been strangely indifferent to the news that the body of Mary Magdalene has been found under the pyramid outside the Louvre. One leg of his trousers is rolled up to the knee. 12.01pm: The motorcycle courier arrives at the door.
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