the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Protruding from his chest was a blade. Blood flowered at his white
tunic, mingling with the red of the cross he wore. He looked down at
himself, confused, as if wondering how the weapon had got there. Below
him in the courtyard Altaïr was wondering the same thing. Then the
Templar was swaying and Altaïr saw a figure behind him. A figure he
recognized: Maria.
She smiled, shoved the spy forward from the courtyard wall and let
him tumble heavily to the ground below. Standing there, her sword
dripping blood, she grinned at Altaïr, shook it, then replaced it in her
sheath.
‘So,’ she said, ‘you had the Apple all along.’
He nodded. ‘And now you see what kind of a weapon it could be in
the wrong hands.’
‘I don’t know if I’d call yours the right hands.’
‘No. Quite right. I will destroy it … or hide it. Until I can find the
archive, I can’t say.’
‘Well, look no further,’ she said. ‘You’re standing on it.’