Extract from Spy Story

Shack fires in squatter settlements were a common sight for Daniel. A pressure stove would explode, a candle fall over, and a community would lose their life’s possessions, if not their lives.  Most squatter homes were made of cardboard and untreated timber that ignited like touchpaper.

The kiosk burned differently.  For a while it retained its shape, and Daniel realized it must have an inner shell of breezeblock and solid beams.  But as he watched, one rafter collapsed and the other members capsized into the form of a fiery cross.  He was reminded of old photographs of Ku Klux Klan lynchings.

Another memory sprang to mind, a memory so sharp he felt a chill at the back of his neck.  It invoked a similar scene, another night of flames and smoke but a night, above all, of terror.  And with startling clarity, his mind’s eye superimposed a further image on the burning kiosk, the face of an old friend with a unique smile.  Then, almost instantly, that image seemed to melt in the heat of the burning kiosk.