EXTRACT: THE LOST SYMBOL, BY DAN BROWN

VIDEO: The Lost Symbol

The initial greeting to writer Dan Brown's brand new thriller, review in underneath 3 hours by Australian speed readers.

AFTER the six-year wait, writer Dan Brown has eventually expelled the supplement to his best-selling novel, The Da Vinci Code.

The Lost Symbol - expelled worldwide right divided – promises to opposition the success of The Da Vinci Code, which sole 80 million copies in 51 languages.

Pre-sales have already rocketed the book to the tip of Amazon.com's bestseller list as good as bookstores around the universe have been readying themselves for extensive queues.

For those who can't wait, news.com.au right divided publishes the voluntary as good as initial twin chapters below. We have been additionally charity readers the special bonus upon the full novel - sum have been during the finish of the extract.

FACT:

In 1991, the request was hermetic in the protected of the executive of the CIA. The
document is still there today. Its mysterious content includes references to an very old
portal as good as an different place underground. The request additionally contains
the word “It’s buried out there somewhere”.

All organisations in this novel exist, together with the Freemasons, the Invisible

College, the Office of Security, the SMSC, as good as the Institute of Noetic Sciences.
All rituals, science, artwork, as good as monuments in this novel have been real.

Prologue

House of the Temple
8:33pm

The tip is how to die.

Since the commencement of time, the tip had regularly been how to die.
The thirty-four-year-old beginner gazed down during the tellurian skull cradled
in his palms. The skull was hollow, matching to the bowl, filled with bloodred wine.
Drink it, he told himself. You have zero to fear.

As was tradition, he had started this tour exuberant in the ritualistic
garb of the Gothic infidel being led to the gallows, his loose-fitting shirt
gaping open to exhibit his low chest, his left inhale leg rolled up to the knee,
and his right sleeve rolled up to the elbow. Around his neck hung the complicated
rope knot – the “cable-tow” as the brethren called it. Tonight, however, matching to
the brethren temperament witness, he was ready to go as the master.

The public of brothers surrounding him all were exuberant in their full
regalia of lambskin aprons, sashes, as good as white gloves. Around their necks
hung sermon resources which glistened matching to resounding eyes in the dim light.

Many of these organisation reason absolute stations in life, as good as nonetheless the beginner
knew their secular ranks meant zero inside of these walls. Here all organisation
were equals, sworn brothers pity the visionary bond.

As he surveyed the daunting assembly, the beginner wondered who upon
the external would ever reason which this pick up of organisation would prepare
in the singular place . . . many reduction this place. The room looked matching to the holy
sanctuary from the very old world.

The truth, however, was foreigner still.

I am usually blocks divided from the White House.
This huge edifice, located during 1733 Sixteenth Street NW in Washington,
D.C., was the reproduction of the pre-Christian church –the church of King
Mausolus, the strange monolith . . . the place to be taken after death. Outside
the categorical entrance, twin seventeen- ton sphinxes rhythmical the bronze doors. The interior was an exuberant intricacy of ritualistic chambers, halls, hermetic vaults, libraries, as good as even the vale wall which reason the stays of twin tellurian bodies.

The beginner had been told any room in this bureau building reason the secret, as good as nonetheless he knew no room reason deeper secrets than the huge cover in which he was right divided kneeling with the skull cradled in his palms.

The Temple Room.

This room was the undiluted square. And cavernous. The roof soared an extraordinary the singular hundred feet overhead, upheld by monolithic columns of immature granite. A tiered art studio of low Russian walnut seats with hand-tooled football shut in the room. A thirty- three- foot-tall bench dominated the horse opera wall, with the secluded siren organ conflicting it.

The walls were the kaleidoscope of very old black . . . Egyptian, Hebraic, astronomical, alchemical, as good as others nonetheless unknown.

Tonight, the Temple Room was bright by the array of precisely organised candles.
Their low heat was aided usually by the low missile of light which filtered
down by the expanded oculus in the roof as good as bright
the room’s many extraordinary underline –an huge tabernacle hewn from the plain
block of discriminating Belgian black marble, situated upheld core of the block
chamber.

The tip is how to die, the beginner reminded himself.

“It is time,” the voice whispered.

The beginner let his gawk mount the renowned white- robed figure
standing prior to him. The Supreme Worshipful Master. The man, in his late
fifties, was an American icon, good loved, robust, as good as incalculably wealthy.
His once-dark hair was branch silver, as good as his important physiognomy reflected the
lifetime of energy as good as the absolute intellect.

“Take the oath,” the Worshipful Master said, his voice soothing matching to descending
snow. “Complete your journey.”

The initiate’s journey, matching to all such journeys, had started during the initial
degree. On which night, in the protocol matching to this one, the Worshipful Master
had blindfolded him with the velvet surprise as good as pulpy the sermon
dagger to his unclothed chest, demanding: “Do we severely acknowledgement upon your
honour, uninfluenced by niggardly or any alternative undeserved motive, which
you openly as good as willingly suggest yourself as the claimant for the mysteries
and privileges of this brotherhood?”

“I do,” the beginner had lied.
“Then let this be the prick to your consciousness,” the master had warned
him, “as good as present genocide should we ever misuse the secrets to be
imparted to you.”

At the time, the beginner had felt no fear. They will never know my loyal
purpose here.

Tonight, however, he sensed the foresight gravity in the Temple
Room, as good as his thoughts began replaying all the apocalyptic warnings he had been
given upon his journey, threats of distressing consequences if he ever common the
ancient secrets he was about to learn: Throat cut from ear to ear . . . tongue
torn out by the roots . . . guts taken out as good as burnt . . . sparse to the 4
winds of sky . . . heart plucked out as good as since to the beasts of the margin –
“Brother,” the gray- eyed master said, fixation his left palm upon the initiate’s
shoulder. “Take the last oath.”

Steeling himself for the last step of his journey, the beginner shifted his
muscular support as good as incited his courtesy during the back of to the skull cradled in his
palms. The flush booze looked roughly black in the low candlelight. The
chamber had depressed pestilent silent, as good as he could feel all of the witnesses
watching him, watchful for him to take his last promise as good as stick upon their chosen
ranks.

Tonight, he thought, something is receiving place inside of these walls which has
never prior to occurred in the story of this brotherhood. Not once, in centuries.

He knew it would be the hint . . . as good as it would give him infinite
power. Energised, he drew the exhale as good as spoke aloud the same difference which
countless organisation had oral prior to him in countries all over the world.

“May this booze we right divided splash turn the lethal poison to me . . . should we
ever intentionally or with malice aforethought violate my oath.”

His difference echoed in the vale space. Then all was quiet.

Steadying his hands, the beginner lifted the skull to his mouth as good as felt
his lips reason the dry bone. He sealed his eyes as good as sloping the skull toward
his mouth, celebration the booze in long, low swallows. When the last dump
was gone, he lowered the skull.

For an instant, he suspicion he felt his lungs flourishing tight, as good as his heart
began to bruise wildly. My God, they know! Then, as quick as it came,
the feeling passed.

A pleasing regard began to tide by his body. The beginner
exhaled, smiling inwardly as he gazed up during the gullible grey-eyed
man who had foolishly certified him in to this brotherhood’s many sly
ranks.

Soon we will remove all we reason many dear.

Chapter 1

The Otis conveyor rock climbing the south post of the Eiffel Tower was
overflowing with tourists. Inside the close lift, an stern bureau worker
in the pulpy fit gazed down during the child subsequent to him. “You demeanour pale, son.
You should have stayed upon the ground.”

“I’m fine . . .” the child answered, struggling to carry out his anxiety. “I’ll
get out upon the subsequent level.” we can’t breathe.

The male leaned closer. “I suspicion by right divided we would have gotten over
this.” He brushed the child’s impertinence affectionately.

The child felt abashed to defect his father, though he could hardly listen to
through the toll in his ears. we can’t breathe. I’ve got to get out of this box!

The conveyor user was observant something calming about the lift’s
articulated pistons as good as puddled- iron construction. Far underneath them, the
streets of Paris spread out out in all directions.

Almost there, the child told himself, craning his neck as good as seeking up during
the unloading platform. Just reason on.

As the lift pointed steeply toward the tip observation deck, the missile
began to narrow, the large struts constrictive in to the tight, true tunnel.

“Dad, we don’t think—”

Suddenly the staccato impulse echoed overhead. The carriage jerked, moving
awkwardly to the singular side. Frayed cables began defeat around the carriage,
thrashing matching to snakes. The child reached out for his father.

“Dad!”

Their eyes hermetic for the singular terrifying second.

Then the bottom forsaken out.

Robert Langdon jolted honest in his soothing tanned hide seat, extraordinary out of
the semiconscious daydream. He was sitting all alone in the huge
cabin of the Falcon 2000EX corporate jet as it bounced the approach by turbulence.

In the background, the twin Pratt & Whitney engines hummed
evenly.

“Mr. Langdon?” The intercom crackled overhead. “We’re upon last
approach.”

Langdon sat up true as good as slid his harangue records during the back of in to his tanned hide
daybag. He’d been median by reviewing Masonic symbology when
his thoughts had drifted. The illusion about his late father, Langdon suspected,
had been influenced by this morning’s astonishing call in from
Langdon’s longtime mentor, Peter Solomon.

The alternative male we never wish to disappoint.

The fifty-eight-year-old philanthropist, historian, as good as scientist had
taken Langdon underneath his wing scarcely thirty years ago, in many ways stuffing
the blank left by Langdon’s father’s death. Despite the man’s successful
family dynasty as good as large wealth, Langdon had found piety as good as
warmth in Solomon’s soothing grey eyes.

Outside the window the object had set, though Langdon could still have out
the slim conformation of the world’s largest obelisk, taking flight upon the setting
like the spire of an very old gnomon. The 555-foot marble-faced crypt
marked this nation’s heart. All around the spire, the prudent geometry
of streets as good as monuments radiated outward.

Even from the air, Washington, D.C., exuded an roughly visionary power.
Langdon desired this city, as good as as the jet overwhelmed down, he felt the taking flight
excitement about what lay ahead. The jet taxied to the in isolation depot
somewhere in the immeasurable area of Dulles International Airport as good as came
to the stop.

Langdon collected his things, thanked the pilots, as good as stepped out of the
jet’s lush interior onto the foldout staircase. The cold Jan air felt
liberating.

Breathe, Robert, he thought, appreciating the wide-open spaces.

A sweeping of white haze crept opposite the runway, as good as Langdon had the prodigy
he was stepping in to the mire as he descended onto the cloudy tarmac.
“Hello! Hello!” the singsong British voice announced from opposite the tarmac.
“Professor Langdon?”

Langdon looked up to see the middle- elderly lady with the pinned token as good as clipboard
hurrying toward him, fluttering happily as he approached. Curly blond hair protruded from underneath the in vogue weave nap hat.

“Welcome to Washington, sir!”

Langdon smiled. “Thank you.”

“My name is Pam, from newcomer services.” The lady spoke with an
exuberance which was roughly unsettling. “If you’ll come with me, sir, your
car is waiting.”

Langdon followed her opposite the runway toward the Signature terminal,
which was surrounded by lustrous in isolation jets. A cab mount for the
rich as good as famous.

“I hatred to confuse you, Professor,” the lady said, sounding sheepish,
“but we have been the Robert Langdon who writes books about black
and religion, aren’t you?”

Langdon hesitated as good as afterwards nodded.

“I suspicion so!” she said, beaming. “My book organisation review your book
about the dedicated delicate as good as the church! What the tasty liaison which
one caused! You do suffer putting the fox in the henhouse!”

Langdon smiled. “Scandal wasn’t unequivocally my intention.”

The lady seemed to clarity Langdon was not in the mood to plead
his work. “I’m sorry. Listen to me rattling on. we know we substantially get sleepy
of being recognized . . . though it’s your own fault.” She playfully motioned
to his clothing. “Your unvaried gave we away.”

My uniform? Langdon glanced down during his attire. He was wearing his
usual colourless turtleneck, Harris Tweed jacket, khakis, as good as collegiate cordovan
loafers . . . his customary clothes for the classroom, harangue circuit, writer photos, as good as amicable events.

The lady laughed. “Those turtlenecks we wear have been so dated. You’d
look many crook in the tie!”

No chance, Langdon thought. Little nooses.

Neckties had been compulsory 6 days the week when Langdon attended
Phillips Exeter Academy, as good as notwithstanding the headmaster’s regretful claims
that the start of the cravat went during the back of to the silk fascalia ragged by Roman
orators to comfortable their outspoken cords, Langdon knew that, etymologically, cravat
actually subsequent from the cruel rope of “Croat” mercenaries who
donned curled neckerchiefs prior to they stormed in to battle. To this day,
this very old conflict clothe was donned by complicated bureau warriors anticipating to
intimidate their enemies in every day boardroom battles.

“Thanks for the advice,” Langdon pronounced with the chuckle. “I’ll cruise the tie
in the future.”

Mercifully, the professional- seeking male in the low fit got out of the neat
Lincoln Town Car parked nearby the depot as good as reason up his finger. “Mr
Langdon? I’m Charles with Beltway Limousine.” He non-stop the newcomer
door. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Washington.”

Langdon sloping Pam for her liberality as good as afterwards climbed in to the
plush interior of the Town Car. The motorist showed him the heat
controls, the bottled water, as good as the basket of prohibited muffins. Seconds later,
Langdon was speeding divided upon the in isolation entrance road. So this is how the
other half lives.

As the motorist gunned the automobile up Windsock Drive, he consulted his newcomer
manifest as good as placed the discerning call. “This is Beltway Limousine,” the
driver pronounced with veteran efficiency. “I was asked to endorse once my
passenger had landed.” He paused. “Yes, sir. Your guest, Mr Langdon, has
arrived, as good as we will broach him to the Capitol Building by 7pm. You’re
welcome, sir.” He hung up.

Langdon had to smile. No mill left unturned. Peter Solomon’s courtesy
to item was the singular of his many manly assets, permitting him to conduct his
substantial energy with strong ease. A couple of billion dollars in the bank
doesn’t harm either.

Langdon staid in to the plush tanned hide chair as good as sealed his eyes as the
noise of the airfield used during the back of him. The U.S. Capitol was the half hour
away, as good as he appreciated the time alone to accumulate his thoughts. Everything
had happened so quick right divided which Langdon usually right divided had started
to consider in aspiring about the implausible dusk which lay ahead.

Arriving underneath the deceive of secrecy, Langdon thought, amused by the prospect.

Ten miles from the Capitol Building, the sole figure was energetically scheming
for Robert Langdon’s arrival.

Chapter 2

The the singular who called himself Mal’akh pulpy the tip of the needle
against his shaved head, sighing with wish as the pointy apparatus plunged in
and out of his flesh. The soothing sound of the electric device was addictive . . .
as was the punch of the needle shifting low in to his dermis as good as depositing
its dye.

I am the masterpiece.

The idea of tattooing was never beauty. The idea was change. From the
scarified Nubian priests of 2000 B.C., to the tattooed acolytes of the Cybele
cult of very old Rome, to the moko scars of the complicated Maori, humans
have tattooed themselves as the approach of charity up their bodies in prejudiced sacrifice,
enduring the earthy suffering of decoration as good as rising altered
beings.

Despite the meaningful admonitions of Leviticus 19:28, which forbade
the imprinting of one’s flesh, tattoos had turn the sermon of thoroughfare common by
millions of people in the complicated age –everyone from clean- cut teenagers
to hard-core drug users to suburban housewives.

The action of tattooing one’s skin was the transformative stipulation of power,
an proclamation to the world: we am in carry out of my own flesh. The distilled
feeling of carry out subsequent from earthy mutation had dependant
millions to flesh- altering practices . . . cosmetic surgery, physique piercing,
bodybuilding, as good as steroids . . . even bulimia as good as transgendering. The
human suggestion craves poise over the carnal shell.

A singular bell chimed upon Mal’akh’s grandfather clock, as good as he looked up.
Six thirty P.M. Leaving his tools, he wrapped the Kiryu silk dress around
his naked, six-foot-three physique as good as strode down the hall. The air inside
this sprawling palace was complicated with the sharp incense of his skin
dyes as good as fume from the beeswax candles he used to sterilize his needles.

The soaring immature male changed down the mezzanine past precious
Italian antiques –a Piranesi etching, the Savonarola chair, the china Bugarini
oil lamp.

He glanced by the floor- to- roof window as he passed, admiring
the exemplary skyline in the distance. The radiant architecture of the U.S. Capitol
glowed with honest energy opposite the low winter sky.

This is where it is hidden, he thought. It is buried out there somewhere.
Few organisation knew it existed . . . as good as even fewer knew the overwhelming energy
or the inventive approach in which it had been hidden. To this day, it remained
this country’s biggest infinite secret. Those couple of who did know the law
kept it dim during the back of the deceive of symbols, legends, as good as allegory.
Now they have non-stop their doors to me, Mal’akh thought.

Three weeks ago, in the low protocol witnessed by America’s many successful
men, Mal’akh had ascended to the thirty-third degree, the tip
echelon of the world’s oldest flourishing brotherhood. Despite Mal’akh’s
new rank, the brethren had told him nothing. Nor will they, he knew. That
was not how it worked. There were circles inside of circles . . . brotherhoods
within brotherhoods. Even if Mal’akh waited years, he competence never consequence
their idealisation trust.

Fortunately, he did not need their certitude to acquire their deepest secret.
My arising served the purpose.

Now, energised by what lay ahead, he strode toward his bedroom.

Throughout his finish home, audio speakers promote the scary strains of
a singular recording of the castrato singing the “Lux Aeterna” from the Verdi
Requiem –a sign of the prior life. Mal’akh overwhelmed the remote carry out
to move upon the blast “Dies Irae.” Then, opposite the backdrop of
crashing timpani as good as together fifths, he restrained up the marble staircase,
his dress billowing as he ascended upon tough legs.

As he ran, his dull go through growled in protest. For twin days now,
Mal’akh had fasted, immoderate usually water, scheming his physique in suitability
with the very old ways. Your craving will be confident by dawn, he
reminded himself. Along with your pain.

Mal’akh entered his room refuge with reverence, locking the
door during the back of him. As he changed toward his sauce area, he paused, feeling
himself drawn to the huge gilded mirror. Unable to resist, he incited
and faced his own reflection. Slowly, as if unwrapping the precious gift,
Mal’akh non-stop his dress to betray his exposed form. The prophesy awed him.
I am the masterpiece.

His large physique was shaved as good as smooth. He lowered his gawk initial to
his feet, which were tattooed with the beam as good as talons of the hawk. Above
that, his robust legs were tattooed as forged pillars –his left leg spiraled
and his right plumb striated. Boaz as good as Jachin. His groin as good as stomach
formed the flashy archway, upon tip of which his absolute chest was emblazoned
with the double- headed legendary bird . . . any conduct in form with the
visible eye shaped by the singular of Mal’akh’s nipples. His shoulders, neck, face,
and shaved conduct were utterly lonesome with an perplexing tapestry of
ancient black as good as sigils.

I am an artifact . . . an elaborating icon.

One mortal male had seen Mal’akh naked, eighteen hours earlier. The
man had announced in fear. “Good God, you’re the demon!”

“If we understand me as such,” Mal’akh had replied, bargain as
had the ancients which angels as good as demons were matching – transmutable
archetypes –all the make the difference of polarity: the defender angel who cowed
your rivalry in conflict was viewed by your rivalry as the devil destroyer.

Mal’akh sloping his face down right divided as good as got an ambiguous perspective of the tip
of his head. There, inside of the crownlike halo, shone the tiny round of pale,
untattooed flesh. This delicately rhythmical board was Mal’akh’s usually superfluous square of pure skin. The dedicated space had waited patiently . . . as good as tonight, it would be filled. Although Mal’akh did not nonetheless retain what he compulsory to finish his masterpiece, he knew the impulse was quick approaching.

Exhilarated by his reflection, he could already feel his energy growing.

He sealed his dress as good as walked to the window, again gazing out during the
mystical city prior to him. It is buried out there somewhere.

Refocusing upon the charge during hand, Mal’akh went to his sauce list as good as
carefully practical the bottom of concealer makeup to his face, scalp, as good as neck
until his tattoos had disappeared. Then he donned the special set of wardrobe
and alternative equipment he had meticulously rebuilt for this evening. When
he finished, he checked himself in the mirror. Satisfied, he ran the soothing palm
across his well-spoken scalp as good as smiled.

It is out there, he thought. And tonight, the singular male will assistance me find it.
As Mal’akh exited his home, he rebuilt himself for the eventuality which
would shortly shake up the U.S. Capitol Building. He had left to huge
lengths to prepare all the pieces for tonight.

And now, during last, his last guaranty had entered the game.

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