The Templar Prophecy Read Online Free PDF Page A

it.’
    â€˜The story of your life, then.’
    Hart took a second sip of his drink. This one he held for even longer. Amira was an Aquarius, he told himself. An idealist. She viewed humanity as a mass that needed to be saved. Not as a collection of individuals, each with their own eccentricities and modes of behaviour. Hart, a Robin Hood Aries of the old school, thought he understood this. But it blindsided him every time.
    His phone buzzed, saving him from having to respond. He retrieved it from his shirt pocket and squinted at the display. ‘I need to take this. It’s my mother.’
    â€˜We’re on a plane, John. Using mobile phones is forbidden.’
    â€˜My mother doesn’t know that.’
    Hart moved away from Amira and went to stand by the porthole. He stared at the passing clouds as if they might hold the answer to some question he had not as yet managed to formulate.
    â€˜Yes, Mum. I’m all right, Mum. The Syrians just decided to throw us out, that’s all. Nothing heavier than that. No, Mum. They didn’t imprison us. They didn’t torture us. They didn’t hold us to ransom.’
    There were pauses in between each answer whilst Hart attempted to digest the question. His mother was crowding the line in her panic. She was in the early stages of dementia, and still frighteningly aware. He could feel Amira staring at the back of his head, but he refused to turn round.
    â€˜I’m sorry? What did you just say? You’re handing me over to Clive? Why would you do that, for Pete’s sake?’
    Hart sighed. He signalled to Amira for a pen and paper. He stood with the phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder and began to write.
    â€˜Yup. Okay, Clive. Yup. I got that.’ There was a long pause whilst he scribbled something down in longhand. ‘Thank you for passing on the message. Yes. Thanks. I’m glad my mother’s all right. Seriously. Yes. I know you’re doing everything you can in the circumstances. I appreciate that. And yes, I’ll sendyou the cheque as we agreed. Thank you, Clive. Thank you. Would you please pass me back to Mum for a moment?’
    The connection ended and Hart stared at his phone.
    â€˜Who is Clive?’ said Amira.
    â€˜My honorary stepfather. Or so he likes to call himself.’
    â€˜Did he just hang up on you?’
    â€˜No. He hasn’t got the imagination. The connection broke. Or Clive pressed the off switch before he had time to listen to what I was asking him. I’m used to it. He does it all the time.’ He blew air out through his lips. ‘Both of them are off their trolley. Only in subtly different ways. My mother chemically, Clive genetically. But it no longer matters. The damage has been done.’
    â€˜What damage?’
    Hart shook his head. He motioned for Amira to precede him back to their seats. She eased her way through to the window and he sat down beside her. He spent a long time rearranging the cup on his tray whilst Amira stared at him.
    â€˜John. What is this damage you’re talking about?’
    Hart rubbed his forehead, his elbows outspread like butterfly wings. ‘It concerns my father.’
    â€˜Clive?’
    â€˜No. My real father. My American father. James Hart.’
    â€˜Your American father? I didn’t know you were American. You never told me you were American. You don’t sound American. You don’t even look American.’
    â€˜That’s because I’m not American. My mother is English. I was born in the Bristol Royal Infirmary. My father left mymother when I was three years old. Some sort of breakdown, apparently. But then I no longer know what to believe when it comes from my mother. Half of what she tells me stems from memories she can’t be sure she ever really had. One thing I do know, though: my father now lives in Guatemala. Under a false name.’
    â€˜Why would he use a false name?’
    â€˜Maybe