Covenant

19

Spencer Malik sat in an office overlooking a military compound surrounded by thick concrete walls tipped with razor wire glinting in the sunlight. A slowly rotating ceiling fan did little to alleviate the suffocating heat as he wafted a thick wad of papers across his face.

He stared incredulously at Cooper and Flint standing before him, one with a rapidly swelling black eye and the other leaning on a table, cradling his stomach in one hand.

“We just didn’t expect him to do that,” Cooper complained.

“You didn’t expect me to cut your salary either,” Malik said in disgust. “Where did they go?”

“They didn’t say,” Flint muttered. “They just ran, both of them.”

Malik regarded the two men for a moment and then looked down at an open file on his desk, scanning the details with interest. Rafael had worked swiftly.

“Ethan Warner, born 1978, Chicago, Illinois,” he murmured. “Former correspondent.”

Cooper nodded.

“Warner was an officer in the United States Marines, trained at Quantico, rifleman. Had a reputation for reckless actions in the field and a disregard for political authority. Several commendations for valor in Afghanistan for leading attacks and charges on Taliban positions. He also served in Iraq during the invasion, before working as a war correspondent in Bogotá, Colombia, in the Balkans, and here in Israel.”

Malik scanned the areas of the document concerning Ethan’s work in the Gaza Strip. His reading came to an abrupt halt as he digested several of the last paragraphs.

“Joanna Defoe,” he muttered, glancing out of the window. “His fiancée.”

“Disappeared somewhere in the Gaza Strip,” Cooper said. “She was presumed abducted by insurgents although no group claimed responsibility. Warner spent two years searching for her before blaming the Israeli government for their lack of assistance in protecting foreign workers. That’s why they’ve been tailing him since he arrived. He left Israel after his outburst, and disappeared off the radar until now.”

Malik nodded.

“It says here that Ethan Warner is with this Morgan woman searching for her daughter,” Malik murmured thoughtfully. He leaned back in his chair, using the file to waft cool air once more onto his face. “Where is he now?”

“We just heard that both Warner and Morgan were observed boarding a private aircraft leaving Herzliya airfield,” Cooper replied.

Malik looked sharply at him. “Destination?”

“Masada. The flight plan is controlled, sir, so they can’t fly anywhere within the Negev that is restricted.”

Malik’s eyes narrowed and he looked again at Warner’s file.

“He was a soldier and war correspondent,” he said softly. “He’ll be used to digging around where he’s not wanted and he’s got nothing to lose. Contact the team at the site and make sure that he doesn’t get the opportunity to nose around the area, understood?”

“Yes, sir. And if they’re already there?”

Malik glanced out of the window for a moment. “Restrain them until further notice.”

The two men turned instantly for the door, limping and shuffling out of sight. Malik stood from his desk and walked across to an open window that looked out over the compound and the city beyond. Men like Ethan Warner were a liability: trained, capable, yet highly unpredictable and with a tendency toward self-destruction.

“Whatever it is that you want, Mr. Warner,” he said to himself thoughtfully, “don’t cross me to get it.”

“Problems, Spencer?”

Malik turned to see Bill Griffiths leaning against the doorframe of the office.

“Just some journalist nosing into things he shouldn’t,” Malik said dismissively. “Is the excavation complete?”

Griffiths nodded, brushing dust off the broad rim of his hat.

“The specimen will be packaged this afternoon at the site and then transported to Ben Gurion Airport in the morning. I’ve pulled my team out and they’ll return to the States tomorrow. I take it that the remains will be flown out the same day?”

“The jet will be waiting,” Malik confirmed. “As far as customs are concerned, the consignment contains medical equipment, brought here by the same aircraft from the United States four weeks ago, being returned to the supplier. All of the paperwork is in order.”

Griffiths nodded again. “And the rest of my payment?”

“Sent once the specimen leaves Israel safely,” Malik said. “Our administration department will take care of the transfers. Talk to them if you have any issues. My only concerns right now are security and discretion.”

Griffiths examined his hat for a moment before speaking. “How did you come about the remains?”

“They were found by men working at the site; it happens from time to time during demolition training,” Malik said, shuffling some papers on his desk. “I take it that no further specimens have been found?”

“None,” Griffiths replied. “We’ve dug several areas but the remains appear to be a single burial. Incredible luck, that they should have been exposed by a demolition team.”

“They weren’t there to play Indiana Jones,” Malik muttered. “The sooner this is resolved, the happier I’ll be.”

Griffiths raised an eyebrow, and Malik instantly regretted his candor as the fossil hunter spoke.

“I’m surprised that the remains weren’t destroyed by the explosives your men were using. If enough rock had been shattered away to expose the bones, then I’d have thought that the bones themselves would have been blasted to pieces.”

Malik leveled Griffiths with a long, hard look.

“Indeed, and it’s your good fortune that we contracted you to excavate them afterward. Perhaps you would prefer us to use another specialist, if you have any doubts about your involvement?”

Griffiths twiddled his hat between his fingers for a moment and then shook his head.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”