Beneath Federal Hall – Manhattan – 10:58 a.m.
The floor of the rotunda shuddered again—subtle, but unmistakable. Beneath Langdon and Katherine's feet, the stone circle shifted clockwise with a low mechanical click. Dust wafted upward from the seams in the marble, as though the building itself were exhaling after centuries of silence.
The man in the charcoal coat stepped closer, lowering his gun—but not his guard.
"You're not supposed to be here," he muttered. "But maybe... it's always been you." Langdon's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" He paused. "A guide. Like Janus before me. But less forgiving." The man reached into his coat and produced a small tuning fork. He struck it gently against his knee and lowered it toward the glowing circle. The hum changed pitch—sharpening, rising—until the entire room vibrated with eerie resonance.
With a loud click, the stone floor began to descend.
Langdon instinctively grabbed Katherine's hand as they dropped into darkness— on a circular platform lowering slowly down a stone shaft carved centuries earlier.
Around them, concentric inscriptions glowed faintly in phosphorescent paint— Latin phrases, Franklin's personal maxims, geometric patterns that morphed as the light shifted.
Katherine exhaled slowly. "He designed a spiral descent… like a memory palace." Langdon nodded. "Each layer encoded with increasing complexity. The deeper you go, the closer you get to… what? Enlightenment?" "No," the man said behind them, eyes fixed below. "Truth." The platform finally clicked into place with a final thud.
They stood in a large, domed chamber—a forgotten vault deep beneath Manhattan. The air was dry, surprisingly temperate. In the centre of the room stood a tall, metallic spire—not modern, but ancient in design. It resembled a Tesla coil merged with a Gothic altar. At its base: five triangular steps and a circular indentation.
Katherine's eyes widened. She reached into her bag and withdrew the cube.
"It fits," she whispered.
Langdon touched the spire. It was warm. "Is it a transmitter?" The man stepped forward. "It's more than that. This was Franklin's final experiment—an architecture of thought. He believed that human consciousness could imprint upon space if focused through a noetic lens." Katherine placed the cube into the cradle.
Instantly, the chamber vibrated.
The walls flickered to life with light and sound—holograms or projections dancing in the air. Latin and English letters scrolled rapidly, interspersed with harmonic patterns, symbols from ancient Kabbalah, Masonic sigils, and mathematical spirals.
Then, a voice.
Deep. Resonant. Male. Unmistakable.
"If you are hearing this, you have tuned yourself to the frequency of intention.
This is Benjamin Franklin…" Katherine gasped.
Langdon went still.
The voice continued:
"The city above you is an experiment. A vessel. A tuning fork for collective will.
If aligned—if harmonized—it will become a transmitter of potential. Human thought will shape reality." The voice paused, then concluded:
"But beware. If abused, it will enslave minds, not free them. The resonance of tyranny and fear is louder than that of truth." The projection dimmed.
Katherine's eyes filled with tears. "He wasn't building a city… he was building a mirror for the human soul." Langdon turned to the man in the coat. "And Janus wanted this released?" He shook his head. "No. He wanted it protected. Because the wrong minds would use this to control the world." A rumble echoed above.
The man pulled a device from his pocket—a transmitter.
"They already found us." Langdon stared at the cube, still pulsing in its cradle. "Then we'd better decide.
Do we hide it again… or let the truth out?" The man looked at them for a long moment.
And nodded.