The man's wife had stepped back and was now seated on the bed, silently looking on with the hospice worker.
Over the course of the next sixty seconds, the man's shallow breathing grew faster, until all at once, as if the man himself had chosen the moment, he simply took his last breath. Everything stopped.
It was over.
The wife and hospice worker quietly comforted each other.
Nothing else happened.
After a few seconds, Peter glanced over at Katherine in apparent confusion. Wait for it, she thought, redirecting Peter's gaze to the capsule's digital display, which still quietly glowed, showing the dead man's weight.
Then it happened.
When Peter saw it, he jolted backward, almost falling out of his chair. "But . . . that's . . ." He covered his mouth in shock. "I can't . . ."
It was seldom that the great Peter Solomon was speechless. Katherine's reaction had been similar the first few times she saw what had happened.
Moments after the man's death, the numbers on the scale had decreased suddenly. The man had become lighter immediately after his death. The weight change was minuscule, but it was measurable . . . and the implications were utterly mind-boggling.
Katherine recalled writing in her lab notes with a trembling hand: "There seems to exist an invisible `material' that exits the human body at the moment of death. It has quantifiable mass which is unimpeded by physical barriers. I must assume it moves in a dimension I cannot yet perceive."
From the expression of shock on her brother's face, Katherine knew he understood the implications. "Katherine . . ." he stammered, blinking his gray eyes as if to make sure he was not dreaming. "I think you just weighed the human soul."
There was a long silence between them.
Katherine sensed that her brother was attempting to process all the stark and wondrous ramifications. It will take time. If what they had just witnessed was indeed what it seemed to be--that is, evidence that a soul or consciousness or life force could move outside the realm of the body--then a startling new light had just been shed on countless mystical questions: transmigration, cosmic consciousness, near-death experiences, astral projection, remote viewing, lucid dreaming, and on and on. Medical journals were filled with stories of patients who had died on the operating table, viewed their bodies from above, and then been brought back to life.
Peter was silent, and Katherine now saw he had tears in his eyes. She understood. She had cried, too. Peter and Katherine had lost loved ones, and for anyone in that position, the faintest hint of the human spirit continuing after death brought a glimmer of hope.
He's thinking of Zachary, Katherine thought, recognizing the deep melancholy in her brother's eyes. For years Peter had carried the burden of responsibility for his son's death. He had told Katherine many times that leaving Zachary in prison had been the worst mistake of his life, and that he would never find a way to forgive himself.
A slamming door drew Katherine's attention, and suddenly she was back in the basement, lying on a cold stone table. The metal door at the top of the ramp had closed loudly, and the tattooed man was coming back down. She could hear him entering one of the rooms down the hall, doing something inside, and then continuing along the hall toward the room she was in. As he entered, she could see that he was pushing something in front of him. Something heavy . . . on wheels. As he stepped into the light, she stared in disbelief. The tattooed man was pushing a person in a wheelchair.
Intellectually, Katherine's brain recognized the man in the chair. Emotionally, her mind could barely accept what she was looking at.
Peter?
She didn't know whether to be overjoyed that her brother was alive . . . or utterly horrified. Peter's body had been shaved smooth. His mane of thick silver hair was all gone, as were his eyebrows, and his smooth skin glistened as if it had been oiled. He wore a black silk gown. Where his right hand should have been, he had only a stump, wrapped in a clean, fresh bandage. Her brother's pain-laden eyes reached out to hers, filled with regret and sorrow.
"Peter!" Her voice cracked.
Her brother tried to speak but made only muffled, guttural noises. Katherine now realized he was bound to the wheelchair and had been gagged.
The tattooed man reached down and gently stroked Peter's shaved scalp. "I've prepared your brother for a great honor. He has a role to play tonight."
Katherine's entire body went rigid. No . . .
"Peter and I will be leaving in a moment, but I thought you'd want to say good-bye."
"Where are you taking him?" she said weakly.
He smiled. "Peter and I must journey to the sacred mountain. That is where the treasure lies. The Masonic Pyramid has revealed the location. Your friend Robert Langdon was most helpful."
Katherine looked into her brother's eyes. "He killed . . . Robert."
Her brother's expression contorted in agony, and he shook his head violently, as if unable to bear any more pain.
"Now, now, Peter," the man said, again stroking Peter's scalp. "Don't let this ruin the moment. Say good-bye to your little sister. This is your final family reunion."
Katherine felt her mind welling with desperation. "Why are you doing this?!" she shouted at him. "What have we ever done to you?! Why do you hate my family so much?!"
The tattooed man came over and placed his mouth right next to her ear. "I have my reasons, Katherine." Then he walked to the side table and picked up the strange knife. He brought it over to her and ran the burnished blade across her cheek. "This is arguably the most famous knife in history."
Katherine knew of no famous knives, but it looked foreboding and ancient. The blade felt razor sharp.
"Don't worry," he said. "I have no intention of wasting its power on you.
I'm saving it for a more worthy sacrifice . . . in a more sacred place." He turned to her brother. "Peter, you recognize this knife, don't you?"
Her brother's eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
"Yes, Peter, this ancient artifact still exists. I obtained it at great expense . . . and I have been saving it for you. At long last, you and I can end our painful journey together."
With that, he wrapped the knife carefully in a cloth with all of his other items--incense, vials of liquid, white satin cloths, and other ceremonial objects. He then placed the wrapped items inside Robert Langdon's leather bag along with the Masonic Pyramid and capstone. Katherine looked on helplessly as the man zipped up Langdon's daybag and turned to her brother.
"Carry this, Peter, would you?" He set the heavy bag on Peter's lap.
Next, the man walked over to a drawer and began rooting around. She could hear small metal objects clinking. When he returned, he took her right arm, steadying it. Katherine couldn't see what he was doing, but Peter apparently could, and he again started bucking wildly.
Katherine felt a sudden, sharp pinch in the crook of her right elbow, and an eerie warmth ran down around it. Peter was making anguished, strangled sounds and trying in vain to get out of the heavy chair. Katherine felt a cold numbness spreading through her forearm and fingertips below the elbow.
When the man stepped aside, Katherine saw why her brother was so horrified. The tattooed man had inserted a medical needle into her vein, as if she were giving blood. The needle, however, was not attached to a tube. Instead, her blood was now flowing freely out of it . . . running down her elbow, forearm, and onto the stone table.
"A human hourglass," the man said, turning to Peter. "In a short while, when I ask you to play your role, I want you to picture Katherine . . . dying alone here in the dark."