Typical Peter, Langdon thought, gathering his things. «Okay, thanks for the ride.»
The first few raindrops began to fall as Langdon reached the top of the gracefully arched concourse that descended to the new «underground» visitors entrance.
The Capitol Visitor Center had been a costly and controversial project. Described as an underground city to rival parts of Disney World, this subterranean space reportedly provided over a half-million square feet of space for exhibits, restaurants, and meeting halls.
Langdon had been looking forward to seeing it, although he hadnt anticipated quite this long a walk. The skies were threatening to open at any moment, and he broke into a jog, his loafers offering almost no traction on the wet cement. I dressed for a lecture, not a four-hundred-yard downhill dash through the rain!
When he arrived at the bottom, he was breathless and panting. Langdon pushed through the revolving door, taking a moment in the foyer to catch his breath and brush off the rain. As he did, he raised his eyes to the newly completed space before him.
Okay, Im impressed.
the capitol visitor center was not at all what he had expected. because the space was underground, langdon had been apprehensive about passing through it. a childhood accident had left him stranded at the bottom of a deep well overnight, and langdon now lived with an almost crippling aversion to enclosed spaces. but this underground space was. . airy somehow. Light. Spacious.
The ceiling was a vast expanse of glass with a series of dramatic light fixtures that threw a muted glow across the pearl-colored interior finishes.
Normally, Langdon would have taken a full hour in here to admire the architecture, but with five minutes until showtime, he put his head down and dashed through the main hall toward the security checkpoint and escalators. Relax, he told himself. Peter knows youre on your way. The event wont start without you.
At the security point, a young Hispanic guard chatted with him while Langdon emptied his pockets and removed his vintage watch.
«Mickey Mouse?» the guard said, sounding mildly amused.
Langdon nodded, accustomed to the comments. The collectors edition Mickey Mouse watch had been a gift from his parents on his ninth birthday. «I wear it to remind me to slow down and take life less seriously.»
«I dont think its working,» the guard said with a smile. «You look like youre in a serious hurry.»
Langdon smiled and put his daybag through the X-ray machine. «Which way to the Statuary Hall?»
The guard motioned toward the escalators. «Youll see the signs.»
«Thanks.» Langdon grabbed his bag off the conveyor and hurried on.
As the escalator ascended, Langdon took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. He
gazed up through the rain-speckled glass ceiling at the mountainous form of the illuminated Capitol Dome overhead. It was an astonishing building. High atop her roof, almost three hundred feet in the air, the Statue of Freedom peered out into the misty darkness like a ghostly sentinel. Langdon always found it ironic that the workers who hoisted each piece of the nineteen-and-a-half-foot bronze statue to her perch were slaves a Capitol secret that seldom made the syllabi of high school history classes.
This entire building, in fact, was a treasure trove of bizarre arcana that included a «killer bathtub» responsible for the pneumonic murder of Vice President Henry Wilson, a staircase with a permanent bloodstain over which an inordinate number of guests seemed to trip, and a sealed basement chamber in which workers in 1930 discovered General John Alexander Logans long-deceased stuffed horse.
no legends were as enduring, however, as the claims of thirteen different ghosts that haunted this building. the spirit of city designer pierre lenfant frequently was reported wandering the halls, seeking payment of his bill, now two hundred years overdue. the ghost of a worker who fell from the capitol dome during construction was seen wandering the corridors with a tray of tools. and, of course, the most famous apparition of all, reported numerous times in the capitol basement an ephemeral black cat that prowled the substructures eerie maze of narrow passageways and cubicles.
Langdon stepped off the escalator and again checked his watch. Three minutes. He hurried down the wide corridor, following the signs toward the Statuary Hall and rehearsing his opening remarks in his head. Langdon had to admit that Peters assistant had been correct; this lecture topic would be a perfect match for an event hosted in Washington, D.C., by a prominent Mason.
It was no secret that D.C. had a rich Masonic history. The cornerstone of this very building had been laid in a full Masonic ritual by George Washington himself. This city had been conceived and designed by Master Masons George Washington, Ben Franklin, and Pierre LEnfant powerful minds who adorned their new capital with Masonic symbolism, architecture, and art.
Of course, people see in those symbols all kinds of crazy ideas.