Covenant

21

Ethan quietly moved across to his right where a precarious ledge of sandstone jutted out from the main wall of the cliff. Thirty feet below, he could see the MACE tents rippling in the hot wind that scoured the desert plain.

A sense of doubt slithered through Ethan’s belly as he hesitated on the slope. Maybe Rachel was right: if the MACE guards spotted him, this would be over before it had begun. Still, if you’ve nothing to lose … Ethan took a breath, and moved down the slope.

The sedimentary rock was loose and offered precious little in the way of footholds. Ethan knew that if he dislodged rocks any larger than his fist, he would immediately be detected. Judging every footstep, he edged along the ragged pathway, descending with one eye fixed upon the soldiers.

One of them stood up and Ethan froze. The soldier seemed to be looking almost straight at him as he stretched his arms and scratched the back of his neck with one hand before retaking his seat at the game. Ethan crept forward and began to descend behind the two largest tents. Out of the sight of the camp guards, Ethan moved quickly down to the foot of the cliff and crouched to listen for sounds from within the camp.

The fabric of the tents rumbled and snapped in the wind. Ethan strained his hearing but could detect nothing. He moved across the rear of the nearest tent and peered across the camp. The soldiers were out of sight, but he could see one of the Hummers and the little white jeep nearby.

Ethan moved slowly out into the bright sunlight and across to the tent’s flaps. A fine breeze of sand particles gusted through the camp, whispering against the fabric. He shielded his face, turning sideways beside the entrance to the tent, and peered in between the flaps. Seeing that the gloomy interior was devoid of people, he slipped inside.

It took several seconds for Ethan’s eyes to adjust after the blazing sunlight. The interior of the tent throbbed with heat like an oven. Through the gloom he began to make out more digging tools scattered around and, in the center, a deep excavation.

Ethan knelt at the edge of the cavity, looking down at the unmistakable structure of a huge humanoid skeleton imprinted in the rocks of ages. This was where Lucy had discovered the remains, and he wondered why MACE would have gone to such lengths to conceal the site.

He took out his camera, shooting a dozen images of the cavity from various angles before moving back toward the entrance to the tent. If this tent contained the location of Lucy’s discovery, Ethan wanted to know what was in the other large tent opposite.

He reached the flaps and eased them aside, and his heartbeat shuddered as he looked straight into a pair of eyes.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“It’s in the other tent,” Rachel whispered, and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be down here,” Ethan told her, slipping out of the tent.

“Whose daughter is it who’s gone missing?” Rachel shot back.

A radio squawked beside him as the trooper laid down a winning hand, directing a hawkish grin at his companions from beneath his thick beard.

“Full house.”

A muted chorus of obscenities drifted from his companions as they tossed their hands into the center. The trooper gathered a handful of cash and then picked up the radio.

“Venom, go ahead.”

“Venom, this is Sentinel. We have information that your position may be compromised.”

The trooper’s eyes flicked across the nearby camp. “By whom?”

“A journalist, Ethan Warner. Is the compound secure?”

“My men are patrolling it as we speak,” the trooper lied.

“Report back when you can confirm.”

The trooper dropped the radio and picked up his rifle. “Spot check. Let’s go.”

Instantly, the other five men got up, checking their rifles. They were about to disperse when one of them looked out across the desert and raised an eyebrow. “Er, Brad? Boss?”

The soldiers turned to look in the same direction at a small group of desert nomads strolling nonchalantly across the sands nearby.

“Christ’s sake,” Brad said angrily. “There’s not supposed to be anyone out here; it’s a goddamn desert.”

“What do we do?” asked one of the soldiers.

Brad glared at him.

“What the hell do you think we do? Go with Kelsey and Archer and check the camp. Saunders, Dev, stay here with me.”

Brad walked out to the Bedouin men, confronting them.

“This is a restricted area,” he said, raising a hand to halt them.

The six Bedouin stopped and looked at the bearded soldier before turning to look at each other. A swift exchange in Arabic flitted like desert birdsong between them before the tallest man looked Brad in the eye.

“Yes, it is. It is our home, and you are trespassing.”

Brad glanced across his shoulder at the two troopers behind him.

“Oh me, oh my, so sorry,” he uttered before sneering at the Bedouin with undisguised contempt. “Take a walk back the way you came, Araboosh.”

The Bedouins’ faces hardened at the insult and their apparent leader shook his head slowly.

“It is not polite to speak to us in this way,” he replied.

Brad grinned coldly, revealing an unsightly gold canine that glinted in the hot sun. “My apologies, let me rephrase it. Piss off, Araboosh.”

The young Bedouin hesitated a moment longer and then as one they lunged forward, hands gripping long, slim blades that appeared as if by magic from beneath their robes. Instantly, the two soldiers flanking Brad raised their rifles and the Bedouin came to an abrupt halt.