A blockbuster thriller from bestselling author Matthew Reilly.
Four centuries ago, a precious idol was hidden in the jungles of Peru. To the Incan people, it is still the ultimate symbol of their spirit. To William race, an American linguist enlisted by the U.S. Army to decipher the clues to its location, it's the ultimate symbol of the apocalypse...
Carved from a rare stone not found on Earth, the idol possesses elements more destructive than any nuclear bomba virtual planet killer. In the wrong hands it could mean the end of mankind. And whoever possesses the idol, possesses the unfathomableand cataclysmicpower of the gods...
Now, in the foothills of the Andes, Race's team has arrivedbut they're not alone. And soon they'll discover that to penetrate the temple of the idol is to break the first rule of survival.
Because some treasures are meant to stay buried..and forces are ready to kill to keep it that way...
|Publisher:||St. Martins Press-3PL|
|Product dimensions:||5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 1.20(d)|
About the Author
Matthew Reilly is the bestselling author of Ice Station, Area 7, Scarecrow, Contest, Hell Island, Seven Ancient Wonders, Six Sacred Stones, The Five Greatest Warriors and Hover Car Racer. More than 3.5 million copies of his thrillers have been sold around the world, and he has also written several screenplays and published several magazine articles. Reilly was born in 1974 and studied law at the University of New South Wales. He lives in Sydney, Australia.
Read an Excerpt
By Matthew Reilly
St. Martin's PressCopyright © 1999 Matthew Reilly
All rights reserved.
Monday, January 4, 0910 hours
William Race was late for work. Again.
He'd overslept and then the subway had been delayed and now it was ten after nine and he was late for his morning lecture. Race's office was on the third floor of the old Delaware Building at New York University. The building had an ancient wrought-iron elevator that traveled at a snail's pace. It was quicker to take the stairs.
At thirty-one, Race was one of the youngest members of staff in the Ancient Languages Department at NYU. He was of average height — about five-foot-nine — and handsome in a very unassuming kind of way. He had sandy-brown hair and a lean physique. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses framed his blue eyes and an unusual facial mark — a triangular brown birthmark situated directly below his left eye.
Race hurried up the stairs, a thousand thoughts running through his mind — his morning lecture on the works of the Roman historian Livy, the parking fine from last month that he still had to pay, and the article that he'd read in the New York Timesthat morning saying that because 85 percent of people based their ATM numbers on important dates like birthdays and the like, thieves who stole their wallets — thus obtaining not only ATM cards, but also drivers' licenses containing the owners' dates of birth — were finding it easier to break into their bank accounts. Damn it, Race thought, he was going to have to change his PIN number.
He came to the top of the stairwell and hurried out into the corridor.
And then he stopped.
Two men stood in the hallway in front of him.
They were decked out in full battle dress, too — helmets, body armor, M-16s, the lot. One stood halfway down the corridor, nearer to Race. The other was stationed further down the hall. He stood rigidly to attention outside the door to Race's office. They couldn't have looked more out of place — soldiers in a university.
Both men snapped around immediately when they saw him burst out from the stairwell. For some reason, in their presence, Race suddenly felt inferior — somehow unworthy, undisciplined. He felt stupid in his Macy's sports coat, jeans and tie, carrying his clothes for a lunchtime baseball game in a battered old Nike sports bag.
As he approached the first soldier, Race looked him up and down — saw the black assault rifle in his hands, saw the velveteen green beret slouched on his head, saw the crescent-shaped patch on his shoulder that read "SPECIAL FORCES."
"Uh, hi. I'm William Race. I —"
"It's okay, Professor Race. Please go in. They're expecting you."
Race continued down the corridor, came to the second soldier. He was taller than the first one, bigger. In fact, he was huge, a mountain of a man — at least six-feet-four — with a soft handsome face, dark hair and narrow brown eyes that didn't miss a trick. The name patch on his breast pocket read "VAN LEWEN." The three chevrons on his collar indicated that he was a sergeant.
Race's eyes drifted to the man's M-16. It had a state-of-the-art PAC-4C laser sighting device mounted on its barrel and an M-203 grenade launcher attached to its underside. Serious stuff.
The soldier stepped aside promptly, allowed Race to enter his own office.
Dr. John Bernstein was sitting in the high-backed leather chair behind Race's desk, looking very uncomfortable. Bernstein was a white-haired man of fifty-nine and the head of the Ancient Languages Department at NYU, Race's boss.
There were three other men in the room.
Two soldiers, one civilian.
The two soldiers were dressed and armed in much the same manner as the guards outside — fatigues, helmets, laser-sighted M-16s — and they both looked extremely fit. One appeared to be a little older than the other. He held his helmet formally, wedged firmly between his elbow and his ribs, and he had close-cropped black hair that barely reached his forehead. Race's sandy-brown hair fell constantly down into his eyes.
The third stranger in the room, the civilian, was seated in the guest's chair in front of Bernstein. He was a big man, barrel-chested, and dressed in shirtsleeves and trousers. He had a pug nose and dark heavy-set features that were weathered with age and responsibility. And he sat in his chair with the calm assurance of someone who was used to being obeyed.
Race got the distinct impression that everyone had been waiting in his office for some time.
Waiting for him.
"Will," John Bernstein said, coming around the desk and shaking his hand.
"Good morning. Come on in. I'd like you to meet someone. Professor William Race, Colonel Frank Nash."
The barrel-chested civilian extended his hand. Strong grip.
"Retired. Good to meet you," he said, looking Race over. He then indicated the two soldiers. "This is Captain Scott and Sergeant Cochrane of the U.S. Army Special Forces Group."
"Green Berets," Bernstein whispered respectfully in Race's ear.
Then Bernstein cleared his throat. "Colonel — er, I mean, Doctor — Nash is from the Tactical Technology Office at the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. He's come here seeking our help."
Frank Nash handed Race his photo-ID card. Race saw a mug shot of Nash with the red DARPA logo on top of it and a whole lot of numbers and codes beneath it. A magnetic strip ran down one side of the card. Beneath the photo were the words "FRANCIS K. NASH, U.S. ARMY, COL.(RET)." It was a pretty impressive card. It screamed: important person.
Uh-huh, Race thought.
He had heard of DARPA before. It was the primary research and development arm of the Department of Defense, the agency that had invented the Arpanet, the military-only precursor to the Internet. DARPA was also famous for its participation in the Have Blue project in the 1970s, the top-secret Air Force project that had resulted in the construction of the F-117 stealth fighter.
In fact, truth be told, Race knew a little more about DARPA than most, for the simple reason that his brother, Martin, worked there as a design engineer.
Basically, DARPA worked in partnership with each of the three branches of the U.S. armed forces — the Army, the Navy and the Air Force — developing high-technology military applications appropriate to the needs of each force: stealth technology for the Air Force, ultra-high-tensile body armor for the Army. Such was DARPA's status, however, that its accomplishments often became the stuff of urban legend. It was said, for example, that DARPA had recently perfected the J-7 — the mythical A-frame rocket pack that would ultimately replace the parachute — but this had never been proved.
The Tactical Technology Office, however, was the spearhead of DARPA's arsenal, the jewel in its crown. It was the division in charge of developing the bigstuff — high-risk/high-return strategic weaponry.
Race wondered what DARPA's Tactical Technology Office could possibly want with the Ancient Languages Department at NYU.
"You want our help?" he asked, looking up from Nash's photo-ID card.
"Well, actually, we came here specifically seeking your help."
My help, Race thought. He lectured in ancient languages — mainly classical and medieval Latin — with a little bit of French, Spanish and German on the side. He couldn't think of a single thing that he could help DARPA with.
"What sort of help?" he asked.
"Translating. Translating a manuscript. A four-hundred-year-old Latin manuscript."
"A manuscript ..." Race said. Such a request wasn't unusual. He was often asked to translate medieval manuscripts. It was unusual, however, when it was asked in the presence of armed commandos.
"Professor Race," Nash said, "the translation of the document in question is a matter of extreme urgency. In fact, the document itself is not even in the United States yet. It is en route as we speak. What we would require of you is to meet the document at Newark and translate it in transit to our destination."
"In transit?" Race said. "To where?"
"I'm afraid that is something I am unable to tell you at this stage."
Race was about to argue when suddenly the door to the office opened and another Green Beret entered. He carried a radio pack on his back and he walked quickly over to Nash, whispered softly in his ear. Race caught the words: "— been ordered to mobilize."
"When?" Nash said.
"Ten minutes ago, sir," the soldier whispered back.
Nash looked down quickly at his watch. "Damn it."
He swung back to face Race.
"Professor Race, we don't have much time, so I'm going to give this to you straight. This is a very important mission, a mission that seriously affects the national security of the United States. But it is a mission that has a very short window of opportunity. We must act now. But in order to do that, I need a translator. A medieval Latin translator. You."
"I have a car waiting out front"
Race swallowed. "I don't know ..."
He could feel everyone's eyes on him. He felt suddenly nervous at the prospect of traveling to destination unknown with Frank Nash and a team of fully armed Green Berets. He felt like he was being railroaded.
"What about Ed Devereux at Harvard?" he said. "He's a lot better at med-Latin than I am. He'd be faster."
Nash said, "I don't need the best and I don't have the time to travel up to Boston. Your brother mentioned your name to us. He said you were good and that you were in New York and quite frankly, that's all I need. I need someone close who can do the job now."
Race bit his lip.
Nash said, "You'll have a bodyguard assigned to you for the entire mission. We'll pick up the manuscript at Newark in about thirty minutes and get on the plane a few minutes after that. If all goes well, you'll have the document translated by the time we land. You won't even have to get off the plane. And if you do, you'll have a team of Green Berets looking after you."
Race frowned at that.
"Professor Race, you won't be the only academic on this mission. Walter Chambers from Stanford will be there; Gabriela Lopez from Princeton; and also Lauren O'Connor from —"
Lauren O'Connor, Race thought.
He hadn't heard that name in years.
Race had known Lauren back in his college days at USC. While he had studied languages, she had majored in science — theoretical physics. They'd dated, but it had ended badly. Last he heard, she'd been working at the Livermore Labs in their nuclear physics department.
Race looked at Nash. He wondered just how much Frank Nash knew about Lauren and himself — wondered if he had dropped her name deliberately.
The thing was, if he had, then it worked.
If Lauren was anything, she was street-smart. She wouldn't go on a mission like this without a good reason. The fact that she had agreed to be a part of Nash's adventure gave it instant credibility.
"Professor, you will be amply compensated for your time."
"It's not that —"
"Your brother is also part of the mission team," Nash said, taking Race by surprise. "He won't be coming with us, but he'll be working with the technical team at our offices in Virginia."
Marty, Race thought. He hadn't seen him in a long time — not since their parents had got divorced nine years ago. But if Marty was also involved, then maybe ...
"Professor Race, I'm sorry, but we have to go. We have to go now. I need an answer from you."
"Will," John Bernstein said, "this could be a tremendous opportunity for the university —"
Race frowned at Bernstein, cutting him off. Then to Nash: "You say it's a matter of national security?"
"And you can't tell me where we'll be going."
"Not until we get on the plane. Then I can tell you everything."
And I'm going to have a bodyguard, Race thought. You usually only need a bodyguard when somebody wants to kill you.
The office was silent.
Race could feel everyone waiting for his response. Nash. Bernstein. The three Green Berets.
He sighed. He couldn't believe what he was about to say.
"All right," he said. "I'll do it."
Race walked quickly down the corridor behind Nash, still dressed in his jacket and tie.
It was a cold and wet winter's day in New York and as they made their way through the maze of corridors toward the westernmost gate of the university, Race caught the occasional glimpse of the heavy rain falling outside.
The two Green Berets who had been in the office walked ahead of him and Nash; the other two — the two who had been out in the corridor — walked behind. Everyone was moving quickly. It felt to Race like he was being pulled along by a strong current.
"Will I get a chance to change into something a little less formal?" he asked Nash. He had brought his sports bag along with him. It had his change of clothes inside it.
"Maybe on the plane," Nash said as they walked. "All right, now listen carefully. See the young man behind you. That's Sergeant Leo Van Lewen. He'll be your bodyguard from here on in."
Race looked behind himself as he walked, saw the mountain-sized Green Beret he had seen earlier. Van Lewen. The Green Beret just gave him a curt acknowledging nod as his eyes swept the corridor all around them.
Nash said, "From now on, you're a real important person and that makes you a target. Wherever you go, he goes. Here. Take this."
Nash handed Race an earpiece and a wraparound throat microphone. Race had only ever seen them on TV before, on footage of SWAT units. You strapped the throat mike around your neck and the microphone picked up the vibrations of your voice box.
"Put it on as soon as you get in the car," Nash said. "It's voice-activated, so all you have to do is talk and we'll hear you. If you get in any trouble, just say the word and Van Lewen here will be at your side in seconds. You got that?" "Got it."
They came to the western entrance of the university, where two more Green Berets stood guard at the door. Nash and Race stepped past them, out into the pouring rain.
It was then that Race saw "the car" that Nash had said was waiting out front.
On the gravel turnaround in front of him stood a motorcade.
Four police motorcycle outriders — two at the head of the line of cars, two at the rear. Six plain-looking olive-colored sedans. And wedged in the middle, cocooned by the outriders and the sedans, were two heavy-duty armored vehicles — Humvees. Both were painted black and they each had deeply tinted windows.
At least fifteen heavily armed Green Berets stood with M-16s at the ready all around the motorcade. The pouring rain hammered down against their helmets. They didn't seem to notice.
Nash hurried over to the second Humvee and held the door open for Race. Then he handed Race a thick manila folder as he stepped inside the big vehicle.
"Take a look," Nash said. "I'll tell you more when we get on the plane."
The motorcade sped through the streets of New York.
It was mid-morning, but the eight-car procession just raced through the soaking city streets, whipping through intersection after intersection, getting green lights all the way out of the city.
They must have set the traffic lights like they did for the President when he visited New York, Race thought.
But this was no presidential procession. The looks on the faces of the people on the sidewalk said it all.
This was a different kind of motorcade.
No limousines. No flapping flags. Just two black heavily armored Humvees hovering in the middle of a line of drab olive cars, slicing their way through the pouring rain.
With his bodyguard seated beside him and his earpiece and throat mike now in place, Race stared out the window of the speeding Humvee.
Not many people could claim to have experienced a clear passage out of New York City in the middle of the mid-morning rush, he thought. It was a strange experience; otherworldly. He began to wonder just how important this mission was.
He opened the folder that Nash had given him. The first thing he saw was a list of names.
Excerpted from Temple by Matthew Reilly. Copyright © 1999 Matthew Reilly. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Repeated typos throughout, someone diid a search and replace with the word DIE, whichcomes up frequently.
Very good read BUT SO MANY TYPOS. Does anyone proof read these books?
Not quite as good as his Scarecrow or Jack West novels - but still a great book.
I enjoyed this read. Its an easy quick read that is always moving. Cliched cast and plot for sure but done with eough originality to hold its own. When you stay up till 4am to discover what happens then you know you have a good read.
This was my first Matthew Reilly read, and quite frankly I'm not anxious for more. Reilly does present a fairly exciting, far-reaching scenario. But much of the plot is juvenile and shallow, and this Australian writer has a lot of research to do about US military and government terminology and organization. Trying to straddle the line between science fiction, adventure, and government conspiracy/mystery seems a little beyond Reilly's grasp. 'Temple' passed the time, but left me wondering if it had been time well-spent.
Not the best Reilly book I have read, but excellent non the less. Plot seems to drone on just a little to long. Our hero has to save the world from one to many evil vilians.
In your typical thriller you've got one major bad guy the hero has to overcome. But in this story, and it's the first like this I've read, there are scores of bad guys aiming for the same goal, often defeated by the hero but also duking it out between themselves. The result is an action packed story from beginning to end. More than that, o good portion of the story is an acient account that is read by Race, the story's protagonist. At first I thought the ancient accounts would slow the pace and distract from the modern day storyline, but they wre just as action filled and served as great background for the actions of the characters in the present. They also help create a depth to the story that might otherwise be missing. By no means a short book, but still a very fast read. Great reading all around.
Temple is the best book written to this day. Reilly does not only hold the action and suspense in the moedrn day, but back in the time of the Spanish Conquerers. This book is a must have. So action-packed, I read it in one sitting.
Movies, that is. The blurb about being the best action movie you'll ever read is right. The action moves so quickly that when you're turning to the next page, you're keeping yourself cool from the breeze. William Race is the reluctant member of an American military team on a race against time to discover the "Spirit Of The People", a Central American idol possessed of unique properties, before neo-Nazis get their hands on it to create an unbelievably-powerful weapon. There are double- and triple-crosses aplenty in this thrill-ride of a novel. Highly recommended, but not necessarily high-brow.
One of my favorite books written by one of my favorite authors.
I have always enjoyed Matthew Reilly's books and this one is no exception. If you like history, mystery and adventure this ones for you.
...if you are a twelve year old boy. Matthew Reilly makes Clive Cussler seem like James Joyce. The Publisher's Weekly review above is dead on. The book is cartoonish with ridiculous action sequences one after the other. Having said that, the book is reasonably well written and an enjoyable diversion if you're in the mood for a cheesy action adventure to while away an airline flight or a day at the beach. If you have a teenager that you want to encourage to read, pick up a copy of this book for them. They will enjoy it.
I agree with some of the other reviews that I read. This novel was a bit over the top. Race survived more terror than Indiana Jones. But Hey! I don't care. Sometimes I like reading just for entertainment's sake. What I certainly missed was some character development. More than two thirds of the way through the book, I felt as though I knew the ancient characters better than the ones currently in action. I want to grieve when someone is sent to judgement... Subplotting was at a minimum also. As far as straight up action, unrivaled adventure, and computer game imagery are concerned, this book has it. Long Live Matt Reilly! He'll be a goodun' in a little bit!
Temple is very fast paced, like Ice Station, I could not put it down, finished the book in two days! One major downfall is that, the storyline is more like a Hollywood movie. You know, the hero gets everything, accomplishes incredible feats, it's beyond me since the main character is a professor/linguist from NYU! At least in Ice Station, Shane Schofield was a commander of a Marine Force recon unit, not a college profressor fighting hostile assassins! Anywho, I recommended Temple for those who enjoyed Ice Station, but keep ur expectations low, since Temple is no way near as good as Ice Station. Mr. Reilly please write faster, can't wait till the next book!
Fantastic. Non-stop action. A times the narrative began to slow and teetered on the edge of boredom, but almost as if Reilly was reading my mind, he changed it up, never letting me fully fall into the doldroms of boredom.Recommended to fans of Indiana Jones-esque adventures!
Another great read from Reilly who is quickly becoming one of my favorite authors. As all of his books it action paced from page one. I loved the book within the book.
could have used a bit more story and a little more action. while i enjoyed the book it also seemed about 100 pages too long. i don't know, the story was decent, but i could have used more of the background mythology and less random shooting. interesting, but kind of bland overall.
Temple was reccomended to me because I was looking at Michael Crichton books at the book store. Matthew Reilly quickly became one of my favorite authors! I am a fan of the classics and a good nonfiction but what I truly love is a fast-paced enthralling novel that I simply can't put down. I love it when a book is so intriguing I simply can't go to bed and every one of Reilly's novels does that. It simply is a great action story and super fun read.
the first one i read by matt reilly. boy, breathtaking action,things happen in seconds, one can't read as fast as things are happening. this would make a great movie (this book literally exhausted me just reading it! a fast paced movie would be balm on the eyes)
This had me dreaming of an overseas holiday, because this is quintessentially an "Airport Novel" -- it has all the elements: a search for lost treasure, exotic locations (Peru), lots of carefully enumerated military hardware, conspiracies, Nazis, not to mention continuous, breathtaking and incredible (i.e. impossible to believe) action. Somewhat endearingly, Reilly often uses italics when describing some moment of particularly hard to believe action, as though he can hardly believe it himself. Let it be said that, although this ain't literature, it did have me reading it from start to end in one (long) day. Enthrallingly diverting. Perfect for your next holiday. [Jan 2001]
If I was the publisher, I would be SO embarassed by the typos I would quit. I am available if you need someone to read every word. The story was predictable, but fine.
Matthew Reilly does not know how to write a dull boring book. This one has more action and cliff hangers than I could count.The author has interesting characters and villans and always picks interesting locales.I would suggest reading Ice Station then Area 7 so that you get a feel for his style.Those 2 books also introduce you to his common character "Scarecrow" I found the nice thing was that you don't necessarily have to read them in any order. He is a great action writer and I hope he has a long career ahead.