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her or not to speak. “Nothing
that can’t wait till morningma’am. Have a good night.”
CHAPTER 125
In the silence of an elegant bathroom on the ground floor of the House of the Temple
Robert Langdon ran warm water into a tile sink and eyed himself in the mirror. Even in
the muted lighthe looked like he felt . . . utterly spent.
His daybag was on his shoulder againmuch lighter now . . . empty except for his
personal items and some crumpled lecture notes. He had to chuckle. His visit to D.C.
tonight to give a lecture had turned out a bit more grueling than he’d anticipated.
Even soLangdon had a lot to be grateful for.
Peter is alive.
And the video was contained.
As Langdon scooped handfuls of warm water onto his facehe gradually felt himself
coming back to life. Everything was still a blurbut the adrenaline in his body was finally
dissipating . . . and he was feeling like himself again. After drying his handshe checked
his Mickey Mouse watch.
My Godit’s late.
Langdon exited the bathroom and wound his way along the curved wall of the Hall of
Honor—a gracefully arched passagewaylined with portraits of accomplished Masons . .
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