The Lost Symbol Chapter 58-61

Section 58 The shyly nicknamed unstable Key4 had been created by Special Forces explicitly for opening bolted entryways with negligible blow-back. Comprising principally of cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine with a diethylhexyl plasticizer, it was basically a bit of C-4 folded into paper-slender sheets for addition into doorjambs. On account of the library's understanding room, the dangerous had worked impeccably. Activity pioneer Agent Turner Simkins ventured over the destruction of the entryways and filtered the huge octagonal space for any indications of development. Nothing. â€Å"Kill the lights,† Simkins said. A subsequent specialist found the divider board, tossed the switches, and dove the room into dimness. As one, every one of the four men came to up and yanked as the night progressed vision headgear, changing the goggles over their eyes. They stood unmoving, looking over the understanding room, which currently emerged in shades of luminescent green inside their goggles. The scene stayed unaltered. No one made a scramble for it in obscurity. The escapees were likely unarmed, but then the field group went into the live with weapons raised. In the haziness, their guns anticipated four threatening bars of laser light. The men washed the pillars every which way, over the floor, up the far dividers, into the overhangs, examining the haziness. Periodically, an insignificant look at a laser-located weapon in an obscured room was sufficient to incite moment give up. Evidently not today. Still no development. Specialist Simkins lifted his hand, motioning his group into the space. Quietly, the men fanned out. Moving warily up the inside walkway, Simkins came to up and flipped a switch on his goggles, initiating the freshest expansion to the CIA's arms stockpile. Warm imaging had been around for a considerable length of time, yet ongoing advances in scaling down, differential affectability, and double source mix had encouraged another age of vision improving gear that gave field operators vision that verged on superhuman. We find in obscurity. We see through dividers. Also, presently . . . we see back in time. Warm imaging gear had gotten so touchy to warm differentials that it could recognize not just an individual's area . . . be that as it may, their past areas. The capacity to see into the past frequently demonstrated the most important resource of all. What's more, this evening, indeed, it demonstrated its value. Operator Simkins now saw a warm signature at one of the understanding work areas. The two wooden seats luminesced in his goggles, enlisting a rosy purple shading, demonstrating those seats were hotter than different seats in the room. The work area light's bulb sparkled orange. Clearly the two men had been sitting at the work area, however the inquiry currently was in which bearing they had gone. He discovered his answer on the focal counter that encompassed the huge wooden support in the room. A spooky impression, gleaming ruby. Weapon raised, Simkins advanced toward the octagonal bureau, preparing his laser sight over the surface. He hovered until he saw an opening in the side of the comfort. Did they truly corner themselves in a bureau? The specialist filtered the trim around the opening and saw another sparkling imprint on it. Plainly somebody had gotten the doorjamb as he dodged inside the support. The ideal opportunity for quietness was finished. â€Å"Thermal signature!† Simkins yelled, pointing at the opening. â€Å"Flanks converge!† His two flanks moved in from inverse sides, successfully encompassing the octagonal comfort. Simkins pushed toward the opening. Still ten feet away, he could see a light source inside. â€Å"Light inside the console!† he yelled, trusting the sound of his voice may persuade Mr. Bellamy and Mr. Langdon to leave the bureau with their hands up. Nothing occurred. Fine, we'll do this the other way. As Simkins moved nearer to the opening, he could hear a surprising murmur thundering from inside. It seemed like hardware. He delayed, attempting to envision what could be making such a clamor in such a little space. He crawled nearer, presently hearing voices over the sound of hardware. At that point, similarly as he showed up at the opening, the lights inside went out. Much obliged to you, he thought, changing his night vision. Bit of leeway, us. Remaining at the edge, he looked through the opening. What lay past was unforeseen. The comfort was to a lesser extent a bureau than a raised roof over a precarious arrangement of steps that dropped into a room underneath. The specialist pointed his weapon down the steps and started plunging. The murmur of apparatus became stronger with each progression. What the heck is this spot? The room underneath the perusing room was a little, modern looking space. The murmur he heard was without a doubt hardware, in spite of the fact that he was uncertain about whether it was running in light of the fact that Bellamy and Langdon had initiated it, or on the grounds that it went nonstop. In any case, it obviously had no effect. The escapees had left their obvious warmth marks on the room's solitary exitâ€a substantial steel entryway whose keypad indicated four clear fingerprints shining on the numbers. Around the entryway, fragments of shining orange shone underneath the doorjamb, demonstrating that lights were enlightened on the opposite side. â€Å"Blow the door,† Simkins said. â€Å"This was their departure route.† It took eight seconds to embed and explode a sheet of Key4. At the point when the smoke cleared, the field-group operators ended up peering into an abnormal underground world referred to here as â€Å"the stacks.† The Library of Congress had miles and miles of shelves, the greater part of them underground. The unlimited columns of racks resembled a â€Å"infinity† optical dream made with mirrors. A sign reported TEMPERATURE-CONTROLLED ENVIRONMENT Keep this entryway shut consistently. Simkins pushed through the disfigured entryways and felt cool air past. He really wanted to grin. Could this get any simpler? Warmth marks in controlled situations appeared like sun powered flares, and right now his goggles uncovered a sparkling red smear on a railing up ahead, which Bellamy or Langdon had taken hold of while running past. â€Å"You can run,† he murmured to himself, â€Å"but you can't hide.† As Simkins and his group progressed into the labyrinth of stacks, he understood the playing field was tipped so intensely in support of himself that he would not require his goggles to follow his prey. Under typical conditions, this labyrinth of stacks would have been a good concealing spot, however the Library of Congress utilized movement initiated lights to spare vitality, and the criminals' getaway course was currently lit up like a runway. A limited portion of brightening extended into the separation, avoiding and weaving as it went. All the men ripped off their goggles. Flooding ahead on all around prepared legs, the field group followed the path of lights, zigging and crossing through an apparently perpetual maze of books. Before long Simkins started seeing lights glimmering on in the haziness up ahead. We're picking up. He pushed more earnestly, quicker, until he heard strides and toiled breathing ahead. At that point he saw an objective. €Å"i have visual!† he hollered. The slender type of Warren Bellamy was obviously raising the back. The demurely dressed African American lurched through the stacks, clearly exhausted. It's no utilization, elderly person. â€Å"Stop in that spot, Mr. Bellamy!† Simkins hollered. Bellamy continued running, turning sharp corners, weaving through the lines of books. Every step of the way, the lights continued going ahead over his head. As the group drew inside twenty yards, they yelled again to stop, yet Bellamy ran on. â€Å"Take him down!† Simkins told. The specialist conveying the group's nonlethal rifle raised it and discharged. The shot that propelled down the walkway and folded itself over Bellamy's legs was nicknamed Silly String, yet there was nothing senseless about it. A military innovation concocted at Sandia National Laboratories, this nonlethal â€Å"incapacitant† was a string of gooey polyurethane that turned stone hard on contact, making an unbending snare of plastic over the rear of the outlaw's knees. The impact on a running objective was that of sticking a stick into the spokes of a moving bicycle. The man's legs seized midstride, and he pitched forward, colliding with the floor. Bellamy slid another ten feet down an obscured passageway before grinding to a halt, the lights above him gleaming unceremoniously to life. â€Å"I'll manage Bellamy,† Simkins yelled. â€Å"You prop up after Langdon! He should be up ahead someâ€â€  The group chief halted, presently observing that the library stacks in front of Bellamy were all completely dark. Clearly, there was nobody else running before Bellamy. He's separated from everyone else? Bellamy was still on his chest, breathing intensely, his legs and lower legs all went head to head with solidified plastic. The specialist strolled over and utilized his foot to turn the elderly person over onto his back. â€Å"Where is he?!† the operator requested. Bellamy's lip was seeping from the fall. â€Å"Where is who?† Operator Simkins lifted his foot and set his boot solidly on Bellamy's immaculate silk tie. At that point he inclined in, applying some weight. â€Å"Believe me, Mr. Bellamy, you would prefer not to play this game with me.† Part 59 Robert Langdon felt like a cadaver. He lay recumbent, hands collapsed on his chest, in all out haziness, caught in the most bound of spaces. In spite of the fact that Katherine lay close by in a comparative situation close to his head, Langdon couldn't see her. He had his eyes shut to keep himself from getting even a brief look at his startling difficulty. The space around him was little. Small. Sixty seconds back, with the swinging doors of the perusing room slamming down, he and Katherine had followed Bellamy into the octagonal support, down a lofty arrangement of steps, and into the startling space underneath. Langdon had acknowledged without a moment's delay where they were. The core of the library's dissemination framework. Looking like a little air terminal things dissemination focus, the course room had various transport b