The Last Secret Of The Temple Read Online Free PDF Page B

signs.
    'Sir?'
    Khalifa didn't reply.
    'Sir?' repeated Sariya, louder.
    'Sorry, Mohammed.' The detective laid aside the cane and turned towards his deputy. 'What have you got?'
    Sariya handed him the mud brick. Khalifa held it out in front of him, examining the decoration. As he did so his gaze kept flicking back down towards the cane, brow furrowed as if trying to remember something.
    'What?' asked Sariya.
    'Oh, nothing. Nothing. Just an odd coincidence.'
    He shook his head dismissively and smiled. Even as he did so, however, there was a hint of unease in his eyes, a faint echo of some deeper disquiet.
    Away to the right a large crow landed on a wall and stood staring at them, flapping its wings and cawing loudly.

T EL A VIV, I SRAEL
    Having changed into the police uniform, the young man walked swiftly through Independence Park towards the vast concrete rectangle of the Hilton Hotel. Around him families and young couples were out strolling in the cool evening air, chatting and laughing, but he took no notice of them, keeping his eyes focused firmly on the building in front of him, his forehead glistening with sweat, his lips quivering as he mumbled inaudible prayers to himself.
    He reached the hotel entrance and passed through into the foyer, a pair of security guards flicking him a cursory glance before noting his uniform and looking away again. He raised a trembling hand to wipe the dampness from his brow, then, in an extension of the same movement, reached beneath his jacket and tugged the first of the ripcords to arm the explosive. Terror, hatred, nausea, excitement – he felt them all. Beyond these, however, enveloping all else, like the outer shell of a Russian doll, was an ecstatic, trancelike euphoria, a searing bliss that hovered right at the very edge of his consciousness like a bright white flame. Revenge, glory, paradise and an eternity in the arms of the beautiful houris.
    Thank you for choosing me, Allah. Thank you for allowing me to be the vehicle of your vengeance.
    He crossed the foyer and passed through a set of double doors into a large, light-filled room where the wedding party was taking place. Music and laughter washed over him; a little girl ran up and asked if he wanted to dance. He shrugged her off and pushed his way through the guests, the world around him seeming to recede and evaporate like a coloured mist. Someone asked what he was doing there, if there was some problem, but he just continued forward, muttering to himself, thinking of his elderly grandfather, his little cousin killed by an Israeli bullet; his own life, empty, hopeless, choked with shame and impotent anger. And then he was beside the bride and groom. With a scream of mingled fury and joy, he reached down and yanked the second cord, unleashing a whirlwind of heat, light and metal ball-bearings that reduced himself, the newlyweds and everyone else within a radius of three metres to little more than a bloody vapour.
    At almost precisely the same moment three faxes were received in swift succession, one by the Jerusalem Office of the World Jewish Congress, one by the news desk of Ha'aretz, one by the Tel Aviv police. All were sent via a mobile network, making their precise place of origin impossible to trace, and all conveyed the same message: the bomb was the work of al-Mulatham and the Palestinian Brotherhood; it was in response to the continued Zionist occupation of the Palestinian homeland; so long as that occupation lasted, all Israelis, of whatever age or sex, would be held accountable for the atrocities inflicted on the Palestinian people.

L UXOR
    They remained at Malqata until almost seven p.m., by which point Anwar the pathologist still hadn't arrived. Rather than hang around any longer, Khalifa detailed a group of constables to guard the site and, accompanied by Sariya, set off to visit the dead man's hotel.
    'Knowing Anwar, we could be here till midnight,' he grumbled. 'Might as well do something useful with the