The Lost Symbol (Robert Langdon) Read Online Free PDF Page B

mystical conspiracy.
    “Fun,” Langdon said, “but hardly convincing. If you draw enough intersecting lines on a map, you’re bound to find all kinds of shapes.”
    “But this can’t be coincidence!” the kid exclaimed.
    Langdon patiently showed the student that the same exact shapes could be formed on a street map of Detroit.
    The kid seemed sorely disappointed.
    “Don’t be disheartened,” Langdon said. “Washington
does
have some incredible secrets . . . just none on this street map.”
    The young man perked up. “Secrets? Like what?”
    “Every spring I teach a course called Occult Symbols. I talk a lot about D.C. You should take the course.”
    “
Occult
symbols!” The freshman looked excited again. “So there
are
devil symbols in D.C.!”
    Langdon smiled. “Sorry, but the word
occult,
despite conjuring images of devil worship, actually means ‘hidden’ or ‘obscured.’ In times of religious oppression, knowledge that was counterdoctrinal had to be kept hidden or ‘occult,’ and because the church felt threatened by this, they redefined anything ‘occult’ as evil, and the prejudice survived.”
    “Oh.” The kid slumped.
    Nonetheless, that spring, Langdon spotted the freshman seated in the front row as five hundred students bustled into Harvard’s Sanders Theatre, a hollow old lecture hall with creaking wooden benches.
    “Good morning, everybody,” Langdon shouted from the expansive stage. He turned on a slide projector, and an image materialized behind him. “As you’re getting settled, how many of you recognize the building in this picture?”
    “U.S. Capitol!” dozens of voices called out in unison. “Washington, D.C.!”
    “Yes. There are nine million pounds of ironwork in that dome. An unparalleled feat of architectural ingenuity for the 1850s.”
    “Awesome!” somebody shouted.
    Langdon rolled his eyes, wishing somebody would ban that word. “Okay, and how many of you have ever been to Washington?”
    A scattering of hands went up.
    “So few?” Langdon feigned surprise. “And how many of you have been to Rome, Paris, Madrid, or London?”
    Almost all the hands in the room went up.
    As usual.
One of the rites of passage for American college kids was a summer with a Eurorail ticket before the harsh reality of real life set in. “It appears many more of you have visited Europe than have visited your own capital. Why do you think that is?”
    “No drinking age in Europe!” someone in back shouted.
    Langdon smiled. “As if the drinking age
here
stops any of you?”
    Everyone laughed.
    It was the first day of school, and the students were taking longer than usual to get settled, shifting and creaking in their wooden pews. Langdonloved teaching in this hall because he always knew how engaged the students were simply by listening to how much they fidgeted in their pews.
    “Seriously,” Langdon said, “Washington, D.C., has some of the world’s finest architecture, art, and symbolism. Why would you go overseas before visiting your own capital?”
    “Ancient stuff is cooler,” someone said.
    “And by ancient stuff,” Langdon clarified, “I assume you mean castles, crypts, temples, that sort of thing?”
    Their heads nodded in unison.
    “Okay. Now, what if I told you that Washington, D.C., has
every
one of those things? Castles, crypts, pyramids, temples . . . it’s all there.”
    The creaking diminished.
    “My friends,” Langdon said, lowering his voice and moving to the front of the stage, “in the next hour, you will discover that our nation is overflowing with secrets and hidden history. And exactly as in Europe, all of the best secrets are hidden in plain view.”
    The wooden pews fell dead silent.
    Gotcha.
    Langdon dimmed the lights and called up his second slide. “Who can tell me what George Washington is doing here?”
    The slide was a famous mural depicting George Washington dressed in full Masonic regalia standing before an odd-looking contraption—a