The Covenant of Genesis

So it came as a surprise when Ribbsley phoned less than twenty minutes later.

‘This is, uh, quite an honour, Professor,’ she said after introductions had been made.

‘Oh, the honour is all mine, Dr Wilde,’ Ribbsley replied. Nina couldn’t quite place his accent; there was an undertone that made her think his upper-class English manner was a hard-won affectation. Southern African, perhaps? ‘After all, it’s not every day one gets a request for assistance from the discoverer of Atlantis, and so many other great treasures. I visited the tomb of Arthur at Glastonbury just a month or so ago, in fact. They needed help with the Latin inscriptions - makes one wonder what on earth they teach these days, if something that simple poses a problem! But the tomb itself was quite impressive, so well done, well done.’

‘Thank you,’ said Nina, picking up a less subtle undertone, this one decidedly patronising. ‘But yes, I hope you’ll be able to help me. If you can spare the time.’

‘That depends what it is. I hope for the sake of your reputation it’s not Latin!’ He chuckled at his own joke.

‘No, it’s not,’ Nina told him, not feeling obliged to join in. ‘It’s related to some Atlantean text that was recently discovered. I see from your list of papers in the IJA that you’ve done a considerable amount of work on the subject.’

‘Well, I’d hardly be able to call myself the world’s top palaeolinguist with a straight face if I hadn’t!’ He laughed selfcongratulatingly again. ‘Mind you, I had a head start over the likes of Frome and Tsen-Hu and that imbecile Lopez. Hector Amoros asked me to do some preliminary work before the discovery of Atlantis was even officially announced. Benefits of having friends in high places.’

‘You knew Hector?’

‘In passing, poor chap. He was only an amateur, of course, but a moderately capable one.’

Nina held back a sharp comment that Amoros had actually held a Master’s degree in the subject. ‘This text . . . while we’ve found some Atlantean characters in it, there are others we haven’t been able to identify. I was hoping you might be able to look at it.’

‘I’d be delighted. Just email me what you’ve got, and I’ll cast an eye - or maybe even two! - over it as soon as I can.’

‘That’d be a huge help, Professor. Thank you.’

‘No problem at all, Dr Wilde. As I said, it’s an honour. Not everybody gets to change how we look at human history, after all.’

Was there a hint of jealousy under his bonhomie? But still, she’d managed to get his help. Someone of Ribbsley’s experience might spot in an instant something that had escaped her.

She certainly wasn’t going to send him everything she had, though, or even any of the photographs. Instead, she called up the picture of the tablet and carefully copied a single section of text including one of the V-shapes and the Atlantean numerals on to a sheet of paper, which she scanned and emailed to Ribbsley.

Thinking it would take some time for him to work on the text, she returned to her report. Again, she was surprised to get a call in short order.

He was less ebullient, more focused. ‘Dr Wilde. This text you sent me, it doesn’t appear to be an accurate transcript. I don’t see any Atlantean characters in it.’

Nina smiled; it was her turn to congratulate herself. ‘Really, Professor? It only took me a few minutes to find them, and I didn’t even know they were there.’ An exaggeration, but it had at least taken his smugness down a notch. ‘I could send you another scan, mark them for you . . .’

Ribbsley didn’t sound amused. ‘Or you could just show me. I assume you have a webcam.’

‘Er . . . yeah.’ It took a minute to set it up, but Nina was soon able to see him in a window. The overblown self-confidence in his voice was reflected in his face; he was looking down his nose at her, and she doubted it was solely because of the camera’s position. A smirk seemed permanently etched round his mouth; his hair, though greying and thinning, had been carefully styled to conceal both facts. In the background, she could see several framed photographs of him, always white-suited, shaking hands with international dignitaries.

‘There you are, Dr Wilde,’ said Ribbsley. ‘Now, if you’d care to point out what I’ve apparently been too blind to see?’

‘Of course, Professor.’ Nina held up the drawing. ‘These characters here, the ones arranged in blocks?’

‘What about them?’

‘They’re numbers. The forms are slightly different, but they’re definitely related to the Atlantean numerical system.’

Whatever reaction she’d expected from Ribbsley, it hadn’t been the stunned look he gave her, his confidence shaken - however briefly. ‘Numbers?’ he said, before repeating it more strongly. ‘Numbers! Of course!’ He examined his screen closely.

‘You see? The symbols definitely correspond to each successive power of the Atlanteans’ modified base eight system. They’re arranged differently, but the actual symbols are close enough—’

‘They are, they’re very close,’ Ribbsley interrupted. ‘Numbers! I should have seen it at once . .’ He seemed lost in thought for a moment before turning back to the camera. ‘Unfortunately, Dr Wilde, apart from the numbers, you know exactly as much as I do about this text. The other characters are completely unfamiliar.’ His gaze intensified. ‘Where did you say it was obtained?’

‘I didn’t,’ Nina told him pointedly. ‘That’s classified information, I’m afraid.’

He wasn’t pleased at being denied, but quickly covered it. ‘I understand. But without some hint of a point of origin, there’s really nothing more I can do to help. Would that I had the time to scour through records of every extinct language in my library in search of similarities, but alas . . .’

‘Alas, indeed,’ said Nina, wishing she could reach through the screen to slap the smugness off his face. ‘Still, thank you for your help anyway, Professor.’

‘Not at all. Again, an honour to speak to you. We really must meet in person sometime - I’m sure we’d have much to discuss. Goodbye.’

‘Good—’ Nina said, but Ribbsley had already terminated the link. ‘Bye, jerk,’ she added quietly.

She glanced at her laptop’s clock. Lunchtime. She’d been so occupied with work that she hadn’t realised she was hungry, but now she couldn’t deny it. Time to go and find something to eat.

Before she did, though, she called Chase’s cell phone again. Nothing. Still unobtainable.

Where the hell was he?

Chase trudged blearily through the airport gate. Unable to get a direct flight back to New York at short notice, he had been forced to cobble together an ad hoc itinerary, from Jakarta to Singapore, then on to Delhi, and - after a long wait for a connecting flight - to his current location, Dubai. He had another lengthy stopover before he could fly on to Paris, but at least from there it would be the last leg of his journey to New York.

He checked his watch. Midnight in Dubai, four p.m. in New York. He needed to talk to Nina; he had left a brief message on her office voicemail before he left Singapore to assure her that he was all right, but was looking forward to a longer conversation. First things first, though. Make his way to the departure area, check in, then find a way to kill time until the Paris flight boarded . . .

If he reached it. His tiredness vanished instantly, replaced by wariness, as he realised he was being watched. An Arab man in the uniform of the airport police stood nearby, accompanied by three large white guys in dark suits and mirrored sunglasses . . . and the mirrorshades were all pointing his way. One of the trio held up a sheet of paper as if comparing the picture on it to Chase’s face, then nodded.

That didn’t look good.

They approached him, the officer holding up a hand. ‘Mr . . . Chase?’

‘That’s right.’ The three men stepped forward, moving to surround him.

‘These men would like to talk to you.’

Chase eyed them, seeing himself reflected sixfold in the lenses. ‘You’re not going to make me miss my flight, are you, lads? It cost me a bloody fortune.’

‘You’ll be taking a different flight, Mr Chase,’ said one of the men. His accent was American.

‘Yeah? Where to?’

The man’s mouth was a cold, hard line. ‘Guantánamo Bay.’

‘Any word from Eddie?’

Nina looked up from her work to see Lola in the office doorway, a cup of coffee in her hand. ‘No, not yet,’ she said gloomily. She glanced at the windows to see with surprise that it was dark. ‘Whoa! What happened to the afternoon?’

The big-haired blonde smiled and came to her desk. ‘You were zoned out again. I wish I could do that - it must be great to be able to concentrate totally on one thing. I guess that explains why I’m the receptionist and you’re the boss!’

‘Until tomorrow.’

Lola handed her the coffee; Nina nodded in thanks. ‘That’s why I’m still here so late - Professor Rothschild sent me a big long list of admin stuff she wants to see tomorrow, so I’ve been collating it all. Do I still call her “Professor” if she’s not actually teaching, by the way?’

‘I have a feeling she’ll insist on it,’ Nina told her, sipping the coffee.

‘Yeah, I kinda got that impression. To be honest, I’m . . .’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’m not looking forward to her taking over.’

Nina laughed sarcastically. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘Yeah. But I don’t care what she says, you did just as good a job at running the IHA as Admiral Amoros.’

That went some small way towards improving Nina’s mood. ‘Thanks,’ she said with a smile.

‘Well, you looked like you needed it. And it’s my job to make sure you get what you need, after all!’ They shared an appreciative moment, then Lola regarded the printouts and documents on Nina’s desk. ‘Do you know how much longer you’ll be working?’

‘I’ll be a while. You go home, I’ll lock up. Or is Al still here?’

‘No, he went home. I made him go home. He was here all last night fixing the servers - he would have slept in the computer room if I hadn’t stood in the doorway and not let him back in.’

‘That sounds like Al all right,’ Nina said. ‘But don’t wait around for me.’

‘Okay.’ Lola returned to the door, then looked back. ‘Dr Wilde . . . don’t worry about tomorrow. I’m sure everything’ll be fine. And I’m sure Eddie’ll be fine too.’

‘I hope so. Thanks, Lola.’

‘No problem.’ She left, heading back to reception.

Nina took another sip of coffee, then switched on her desk lamp. Lola was right - she really had zoned out, fixated on the task at hand. Probably, she mused ruefully, so that she wouldn’t have to think about the two things currently worrying her: the future of her career once Rothschild took charge of the IHA, and, more important, what had happened to Chase.

She needed a break. Of course, she thought with amused self-awareness, her idea of a break wasn’t the same as other people’s. Forget going for a walk or having a snack; switching to a different kind of work was just as good as a rest.

She brought the picture of the clay tablet back up, absently toying with the pendant hanging from her neck, a scrap of an ancient Atlantean artefact turned good-luck charm, as she scrutinised different sections of the text for several minutes before finally leaning back. Maybe she was going about this in the wrong way. Rather than trying to translate the text, she might have more luck at figuring out the tablet’s purpose.

She closed her eyes, posing questions to herself. Why had it been made in the first place? To convey information, obviously. What kind of information? Something complex enough to need a permanent written record. Where was it found? In a boat.

Okay, so what kind of complex written information would you normally find in a boat?

Nina suddenly clutched her pendant, eyes wide. She knew what the tablet was.

She grabbed a pen, drawing each of the V-shapes from the photograph. Even though they faced in different directions, each formed a forty-five degree angle.

Like the shapes formed by the eight main points of a compass. The symbols were directions. Her pendant had been the subconscious clue, the orichalcum fragment once a part of an ancient Atlantean navigational instrument: a sextant. And the faint markings upon it were subdivisions, more accurate measurements.

Like the dots within the V-shapes. The lines gave the general heading, the dots a more precise bearing. The tablet was a chart: a navigational map for the mysterious sailors of over a hundred millennia earlier . . .

‘Damn,’ Nina whispered. If the start point was the Java Sea excavation site, then the end could be another settlement. If she could locate that . . .

Her enthusiasm rapidly faded. For one thing, she still had no idea of the meaning of the rest of the text. For another, it was unlikely the IHA would be willing to let her embark upon another expedition - even more so with Rothschild in charge.

But at least she’d discovered something . . .

A faint sound outside the office caught her attention. She looked up at the doorway. ‘Lola?’ No answer, though she heard a door closing. Lola must have just left. She shrugged and turned her attention back to the image on the monitor.

If it was a navigational chart, the symbolic characters could represent landmarks. Set sail in the indicated direction until you reached a particular landmark, then change course and head to the next. Assuming the excavation site was the start, then a traveller following the chart would first go roughly southwest, southwest again on a slightly different bearing to the triangle/tree/whatever symbol, another short stint in a similar direction, then an abrupt change to head southeast for a long distance. She needed a map . . .

Movement at her door. She glanced up, expecting to see Lola.

Instead, she saw a man with a knife.

A bloodied knife.

Nina jumped from her chair and snatched up her phone to call for security. But the swarthy, black-haired intruder reached her desk before she punched in the first digit, his glistening blade slashing through the cord. The phone went dead.

She threw the receiver at him. The man easily batted it aside and rounded the desk, coming for her. She ran the other way and raced for the door - but he was faster, tackling her before she reached it.

‘Help!’ she screamed at the corridor beyond the doorway. No answer but silence. ‘Help me!’

He slammed her face first against the floor. Dazed, nose bleeding, Nina was unable to resist as he seized her by her ponytail and hauled her upright. He gripped her tightly round the waist from behind; a moment later, the black blade was at her throat.

He dragged her back across the room. She tried to pull the knife away, hacking at his shins with one heel. He twisted and smashed her head and shoulder against the window. The glass cracked. As Nina cried out, he kicked the chair aside and shoved her against the desk. ‘The computer,’ he hissed. She couldn’t place the accent. ‘Wipe the drive. Use a secure delete, blank it.’

‘Who are you?’ Nina whispered.

In response, the blade’s edge pushed deeper. ‘Wipe the computer! Trash everything!’

Terrified, she obeyed, then moved the cursor to the ‘Secure Empty Trash’ menu option. She hesitated; he jerked the knife to one side. A trickle of hot blood ran down her neck. ‘Do it!’

She did. A warning message popped up: was she sure? The knife slid back, a lethal prompt. Hand shaking, she tapped the return key. A progress bar slowly filled up as the files were overwritten. Gone for ever.

The pressure on her neck didn’t slacken. ‘The photos weren’t on the IHA servers,’ her attacker said. ‘How did you put them on your computer?’

Nina didn’t answer immediately, as much out of fear as reluctance. He shoved her harder against the desk, making the lamp shake. ‘Memory card,’ she told him.

‘Where?’

‘In my jacket.’ She gestured at the chair. Her jacket was hung over its back.

The man turned his head to look, the blade lifting slightly—

Nina snatched up the lamp and smashed the bulb in his face.

He lurched backwards, one elbow hitting the window and widening the cracks. Nina spun and struck again, trying to bash the lamp’s heavy base against his skull, but his other arm came up to deflect it. She jumped back as he slashed at her with the knife - and hacked straight through the power cord, its severed end sparking as it hit the floor. The black blade was carbon fibre, non-conductive. Invisible to the UN’s metal detectors.

Nina dropped the lamp and threw herself across her desk. Papers scattered, the laptop’s hinge cracking under her. Her sleeve ripped as the tip of the blade whistled past, cutting a shallow gash in her bicep before stabbing into the wooden desktop.

She lashed out with one foot, catching him hard in the chest and sending him staggering backwards. Rolling off the desk, she ran for the door. ‘Help! Anyone!’

Nobody in the corridor. She rushed down it, heading for reception and the elevators beyond. But the security doors between reception and the elevators, installed to safeguard the IHA’s classified materials, were closed. Locked, a red LED confirming that she was trapped.

And her keys were in her jacket.

Nina changed direction, going to Lola’s desk. She could call security, raise the alarm—

She recoiled as she saw Lola slumped behind the desk, arms clenched to her stomach.

Blood was pooled beneath her.

Nina fought down nausea to pick up the phone - only to find that the coiled cord had been cut, bloody fingerprints smeared over the plastic. Lola must have tried to call for help . . . and paid the price.

The man barrelled from her office and charged down the corridor towards her.

No way out, except—

Clutching her ID badge, Nina ran to the server room. She swiped the badge at the reader as she grabbed the handle. The door rattled against the frame.

Too fast. The lock hadn’t had time to disengage before she tried to open it. The killer was sprinting straight at her. Another swipe. Come on—

A click. The handle moved. Nina shoved the door open and threw herself inside, spinning round to slam it shut. Without an ID card, the man wouldn’t be able to get into the server room - if she could close the door in time . . .

The door banged. But not against its frame.

Nina shoved it again. It flexed, but still wouldn’t close. ‘Shit!’ She looked down. The toe of a combat boot was wedged in the gap.

She threw herself against the door, trying to force it shut. But she knew it was futile. He was much bigger than her, sheer weight and brute force in his favour—

A whump as he threw himself against the other side, knocking her backwards. She tried to push back, but the nearest server rack was slightly too far away for her to brace her feet against it. Another blow. Nina’s soles squeaked over the linoleum floor as she fought for grip, but she couldn’t hold her position. One more attack, and he would be through . . .

She jumped away just as he lunged again. The door flew open, the intruder stumbling as he burst into the room - but Nina tripped too, the swinging door catching her and sending her tumbling into the server racks. She tried to pull herself up, her fingers finding purchase on the recessed handle of one of the drawer-like server blades above her.

The man was quicker to recover. He saw Nina on the floor and plunged the knife at her chest—

She yanked the server out of the rack. There was a splintering crack as the carbon fibre knife stabbed through the circuit board just above her head. The man tried to pull it out, but it was stuck, the server rattling in its frame.

Nina kicked at his knees, rolled to her feet and ran down the length of the server room. There was only one exit, the door through which she had entered. Even if she rounded the central island of workstations, her attacker would still reach it before her.

Unless he couldn’t see her.

There was a red fire alarm box on the back wall. She yanked its plastic handle, taking a deep breath. A whooping klaxon sounded, which would summon help - but it was the fire suppression system itself that could give her a chance to escape.

In a closed, windowless room inside a skyscraper, filled with banks of computers holding vital classified data, water was not an option as an extinguisher - it could potentially cause even more damage than a fire. Instead, valve heads in the ceiling spewed out powerful jets of halotron gas, a swirling white cloud rapidly filling the space.

And hiding Nina.

One hand over her nose and mouth, eyes half shut as the dense mist enveloped her, she ducked and moved as quickly as she could round the central workstations. The man coughed violently, caught unawares by the cold, choking vapours. He was still by the open server rack, trying to retrieve his knife. If she reached the door quickly enough, she could get out before he recovered.

If she could find the door. The fog was already so thick that she couldn’t even see an arm’s length ahead, the overhead lights just a faint, diffuse glow - and the red-lit exit sign above the door completely obscured. She groped blindly through the haze. The room wasn’t that big - surely it couldn’t be much further—

She bumped into a chair, which knocked against one of the desks. Something fell over, plastic clattering.

The coughing stopped. He knew where she was.

Nina sprang upright, no longer caring about stealth as she ploughed forward. One shin barked against something hard-edged; she ignored the pain, staggering on until her hand closed round the corner of a desk. The door could only be a few feet away. She looked up and saw a faint red glow. The exit sign. She rushed to it, outstretched hands finding the door.

Where was the handle, the handle—

There!

She rushed through into suddenly clear air. The security doors were still sealed; the fire marshals hadn’t had enough time to respond. She slammed the door, muffling the hiss of the gas jets, and ran for her office. Her attacker would hopefully lose several precious seconds trying to reach the exit. If she could find her keys and get back to the security doors before he emerged, she could take the stairs until she met the first responders coming up them—

She heard the hiss of gas over the fire alarm as she reached her office. He had opened the door - and would be coming after her.

Could she barricade herself in her office’s private bathroom? Maybe, but the door had only a simple bolt - a couple of good kicks would break it, and then she would be trapped in an even more confined space.

Phone—

Not her desk phone, its cable severed, but her cell. It had been on her desk before the fight - where was it now? She searched for it amongst the scattered papers. There - below the windows. If she could hold him off in the bathroom even briefly, the knowledge that she had called for help might force him to retreat before the building’s exits were secured . . .

She grabbed the phone and turned to run for the bathroom—

He was in the office.

No way she could reach the door. She backed up as he advanced. He no longer had the knife, but his fists were raised, ready to beat her, grab her, choke her.

Nina pulled her chair between them in a last-ditch attempt to block him. The man kicked it forcefully back into her. She thumped against the desk - and he grabbed her by the throat, thumbs gouging hard into her windpipe as he forced her to the floor.

She tried to scratch at his eyes, but his arms were longer than hers, her nails falling just short. His grip tightened. She clawed at his arms, his chest, but to no avail. The pain rose as she struggled to breathe, hands flailing over the carpet, the spilled papers—

Electrical flex—

With the last of her strength, Nina jammed the severed power cord into his eye.

There was a harsh electrical spark inside his eye socket - and the man sprang upright, reeling back against the window. The cracked glass broke, wind gusting through the jagged hole. He clutched his face, smoke coiling out from beneath his hands.

Nina had felt some of the electric shock, but only a fraction of what the assassin had experienced. Still choking, she dragged herself up on the desk and looked round. He stared back - with only one eye, the other an oozing burnt hole. Agony was overcome by pure fury as he saw her—

With a yell of equal rage, Nina snatched up her battered laptop and swung it at his head.

Keys scattered as the machine smashed in his face, knocking him into the window . . .

Which gave way.

He toppled backwards over the sill and plunged screaming for over twenty storeys in a shower of glass - and hit the pointed top of a flagpole in the plaza below. The gilded wooden spike punched straight through his ribcage, his body slowly slithering down the pole on a trail of blood.

Bruised and bleeding, Nina staggered back to reception, where she held Lola until the fire marshals finally arrived.

10

Cuba

The American naval base at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, was a freak of international diplomacy. The land on which it stood granted in perpetual lease to the United States by a treaty with the then US-FRIENDLY republic in 1903, the base became a huge thorn in the side of the Castro regime following the revolution of 1959. But Cuba lacked the firepower to retake it by force or the legal authority to evict the occupants under international treaty law, so eventually settled for surrounding the base with cacti and landmines and trying to ignore its very existence. This suited the United States just fine, so for decades the name ‘Guantánamo Bay’ remained nothing more than a curious footnote for military and political historians.

Until 2002, when it became infamous around the entire world.

Chase had been to Cuba before, albeit undercover, during his military career, and had even very briefly passed through the US naval base between legs of a long flight. But following the tedious journey from Dubai, it wasn’t to the base proper that he was taken by the grim, taciturn men who had intercepted him.

It was to the notorious military prison.

An escort of armed Marines met their unmarked plane when it landed. Chase and the three men were put aboard a bus and driven round the ragged-edged bay, passing through ring after ring of high fences and security checkpoints to an isolated group of buildings near the island’s southern coast.

It was the most secure, most secretive, and most feared part of the entire facility, remaining active even when the rest of the detention centre had been closed down. Its only official name was nondescript, uninformative, yet somehow chilling. Camp 7.

The bus stopped outside a windowless single-storey structure. More Marines were waiting, and Chase and the suited trio were again surrounded by armed men before being taken into the building. It seemed to be the camp’s administrative centre, the small reception area dominated by warning notices and security cameras. A soldier sat in a booth behind a sheet of armoured glass, a metal door beside it. One of the men with Chase held up an ID badge; the soldier nodded and pushed a button. The door slid open.

Chase was led through and marched down a corridor to a door. ‘Room 101, is it?’ he asked. None of the mirror-shaded agents got the joke. ‘Oh well. You want me to go in?’

He took it from the lack of an answer that they did; unsure what to expect, he turned the handle and stepped through.

The room beyond was a small office, as grimly bland as the rest of the building. There was another door in the back wall, but Chase was for now only interested in the man behind the desk beside it. Black, in his fifties, close-cropped hair greying at the temples. Like the Marines he wore a tan utility uniform with a digital camouflage pattern, but his rank insignia revealed him to be an officer: a colonel. The nametape on his chest read ‘Morris’.

The colonel didn’t bother glancing up from the document he was reading as Chase entered, which annoyed him. ‘Ay up,’ he said loudly. ‘Well, I’m here. You going to bother telling me why?’

Morris finally looked at him. ‘Mr Chase?’

‘Yes?’

‘Mr Edward Chase?’

Chase gave him a toothy grin. ‘You’d look a bit of a tit if I said “No, Edgar Chase”, wouldn’t you?’

‘Are you Edward J. Chase?’ Morris impatiently asked.

‘Yeah, you got me. So now what? Fitting for an orange jumpsuit?’

‘I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mr Chase.’ Chase felt a jab of fear and worry. Had something happened to Nina? But that didn’t make sense - why would they bring him to Cuba?

But there was someone else he knew in Cuba - more specifically, in Guantánamo Bay . . .

Morris stood. ‘It’s about your ex-wife,’ he said, confirming Chase’s thought.

‘Sophia?’

‘Yes. I regret to inform you that Sophia Blackwood is dead.’

It took Chase a moment to respond, his feelings very mixed. ‘Can’t say I’m going to break down in floods of tears,’ he said, sarcastic callousness covering his other emotions. ‘She did try to kill me. And nuke New York.’

‘Which is why she was here. As the country’s biggest terror suspect since 9/11, she couldn’t be kept in the regular prison system. The other inmates would have killed her before the trial.’

‘So what happened?’

‘See for yourself.’ Morris went through the door at the office’s rear. Following him, Chase found himself in a small white-tiled morgue, stainless steel fixtures gleaming dully under the bright overhead lights.

On a table lay a body, covered by a sheet.

‘She tried to grab the sidearm from one of the Marine guards,’ said Morris, standing beside the head of the supine figure. ‘He was forced to fire to protect himself and others. The bullet hit her in the face at point-blank range.’ He took hold of one end of the sheet. ‘I should warn you that the damage was considerable.’

‘I’ve seen headshots before,’ Chase told him. But even he was caught off guard as Morris gently pulled back the sheet from her face - not so much at the carnage that was revealed, but by the knowledge that it had been inflicted upon someone he had once been very close to. Had loved.

Jaw tightening, he stepped closer. The entry wound was an inch below the outer corner of her right eye, the skin around the blood-encrusted hole discoloured and burned by muzzle flame at extremely close range. The right eye was missing, the eyelids sunken deep into the socket. The eyeball had probably been torn apart by splinters from the shattered cheekbone.

As for the other side of her face . . . most of it was gone.

He had seen similarly horrific wounds before. The bullet would have flattened and tumbled after the initial impact, breaking apart as it tore through the cheekbone and exploding outwards from the other side of her skull. Half the upper jaw was gone, the remains of the top lip hanging limply into a gaping dark space beneath. The left eye socket was nothing but a shredded mess.

He also knew from the bullet’s path, through her face rather than into her brain, that she had probably remained alive for several minutes afterwards.

‘Cover her,’ he said, voice flat. Morris lowered the sheet over the dark-haired figure. Chase regarded the slim shape for a long moment, then turned to the officer. ‘Why’d you bring me all the way here to see that? In fact, why’d you bring me here at all? We got divorced five years ago - I’m not her next of kin.’

‘Actually, you are.’ On Chase’s confused look, Morris led him back into the office. ‘Since she had no immediate family, she listed you as her sole beneficiary.’

‘Wait, she named me in her will?’ Chase said in disbelief. ‘Why the hell would she do that?’

‘I have no idea. All I know is that she did, which is why you were brought here - to take possession of her belongings and the relevant paperwork.’ He handed Chase a folder.

He opened it. The first item was indeed a will - he recognised Sophia’s signature immediately. And it did name him as both executor and sole beneficiary. ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said, puzzled, leafing through the rest of the documents, ‘does this mean I’m suddenly a billionaire? ’Cause Sophia was married to two really rich blokes, and after they died - I mean, after she killed them - she inherited all their money . . .’

Morris revealed a small hint of emotion, a faint smile. ‘Unfortunately not. As a terror suspect, all her financial assets were frozen when she was charged. Whether they’re ever freed or not is up to the Supreme Court. But I wouldn’t hold your breath.’

‘Yeah, I thought so.’ The majority of the other papers detailed the various frozen bank accounts around the globe. ‘Liechtenstein, the Caymans, Hong Kong . . . it’s like an offshore banking world tour.’ He spotted a Zürich bank address on one sheet with the number of a deposit box. ‘Didn’t know the Swiss gave out people’s bank details, though. Thought secrecy was their big selling point.’

‘They do when terrorists are involved. Like your ex-wife.’

Chase closed the folder. ‘You know, you could have told me what this was about in Dubai, instead of the whole bloody cloak and dagger business.’

‘Not my decision,’ Morris said. ‘But they wanted you to see the body and collect her belongings personally. As well as this.’ He gave another document to Chase.

‘What’s that?’

‘Death certificate. You’ll need it to make any claims concerning frozen assets.’

Chase looked at the certificate, then placed it in the folder. ‘Somehow, I don’t think it’d be worth the effort.’ He glanced back at the morgue. ‘What’re you going to do with . . .’ he almost said ‘the body’, but instead finished, ‘her?’

‘That’s up to you.’

‘Cremate her,’ Chase decided.

Morris nodded. ‘And the remains?’

‘I’m not taking them with me. What would I do, stick the urn on a shelf as a conversation piece? Just . . .’ He shook his head, already ashamed of the tasteless remark. ‘Just scatter them in the sea.’

‘And a service?’

‘She wasn’t religious. Just say that . . .’ He hesitated, trying to find the right words. ‘That whatever it was that went wrong, that made her do all those things, it’s over now. And that I’ll remember her as the person she was when we first met, not the one she turned into.’

‘I’ll make sure of it,’ said Morris quietly.

‘Okay, so what now?’ Chase asked after signing a release form. ‘How do I get back to New York?’

‘I assume the plane that brought you here will fly you on.’

‘It’d bloody well better,’ he growled. ‘I’m not paying for another flight . . .’

11

New York City

Nina took a deep breath as she paused at the door. As Rothschild had promised - or threatened - one of the first items on her agenda as the newly appointed Director of the IHA was to hold a formal inquiry into the events in Indonesia. But it had already expanded to cover what had happened the previous evening in the United Nations’ own headquarters. And Nina suspected that no matter what she said, Rothschild would find a way to make it reflect badly upon her.

At least she had heard from Chase, however briefly. But she hadn’t understood what had happened to him - all he’d said was that he was flying back to New York from Cuba. Cuba? But the important thing was that he was coming home.

Not in time to attend the inquiry, though. Another black mark against her in Rothschild’s book.

Steeling herself, adjusting her jacket, she entered the room.

The members of the inquiry were already present: three senior UN officials, a representative from the US State Department, and Rothschild. Once the proceedings got under way, it didn’t take long before Nina started to feel that she was on trial . . . with Rothschild as both prosecutor and judge.

‘So you say you have absolutely no idea of the identity of the man who attacked you last night?’ the elderly professor asked, eyes narrowing.

Nina held in her exasperation. She had already given a statement to the FBI, which in cases of serious crimes was granted jurisdiction within United Nations territory, and she knew full well that Rothschild had a copy. ‘As I’m sure you read in my statement,’ she answered, ‘no, I did not know his identity. Just as I did not know the identity of the pirates who attacked the Pianosa, or who hired them. I only know why they attacked, which was to steal the artefact the expedition discovered.’

‘But why would they do that?’ one of the UN officials asked. ‘What was so special about it?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is that it had writing on it in an unknown language. Unknown to me, I mean. Somebody obviously recognised it.’

The State Department representative flicked through his papers. ‘Dr Wilde, how could these, ah, conspirators have seen the artefact? You say that only a few of the expedition members saw it after it was brought to the ship.’

‘I uploaded digital photos of the artefact to the IHA via satellite link. By the time I got back to New York, all the data on the server had been erased by a virus - including the photos. I don’t believe for one moment that the timing was a coincidence. Someone knew the images were there, and planted the virus to destroy them - and used top-level access codes to do so.’

Rothschild’s already thin lips tightened still further. ‘Are you accusing someone within the IHA of planting the virus?’

‘No, because there isn’t anybody specific I can accuse. But the only way anybody outside the Pianosa could have known about the artefact is if they saw the photos I uploaded to the server. Once they realised what we’d found, they arranged for the pirates to steal the artefact itself, and at the same time wiped the IHA’s servers with the virus. If Eddie and I hadn’t survived, nobody at the IHA would even have known the artefact existed, because all evidence of its discovery would have been destroyed. But once they found out I had another copy of the photos, the conspirators,’ she said with a slightly mocking nod towards the man from the State Department, ‘sent a man to kill me and erase the copies. The same guy who ended up as a new flag in United Nations Plaza.’

‘These copies,’ the other UN official said, ‘where did you get them? I thought the pirates destroyed all your records of the expedition.’

‘Eddie - Mr Chase - recovered a camera’s memory card from the pirates. I brought it back to the UN so I could continue analysing the artefact.’

Rothschild leaned forward with the coldly pleased air of someone who had just successfully lured an animal into a trap. ‘And as a result, a man was killed right here in the Secretariat Building and a United Nations employee was severely injured.’

‘And I was attacked in my own office!’ Nina angrily reminded her, pointing at the cuts and grazes on her face. ‘Let’s not forget that part, huh? Has there been any news on Lola’s condition, by the way?’

‘Ms Gianetti is in a critical but stable condition,’ said Rothschild.

Nina sighed in relief. ‘Oh, thank God. I really thought she was going to die.’

‘That does seem to happen to people around you rather a lot, doesn’t it?’ Rothschild’s tone grew harder. ‘I’ve been reviewing your official reports on your IHA operations. The Pianosa expedition, Bill Raynes’s excavation team at Atlantis, Dr Lamb in England, two of the IHA’s own non-executive directors, Jack Mitchell, Hector Amoros himself . . . all dead. To say nothing of the shocking number of people who seem to have died as,’ her mouth twisted in distaste, ‘collateral damage.’

‘Jack Mitchell was a criminal and a traitor.’

‘And that entitles you to appoint yourself judge, jury and executioner?’

‘He was trying to kill us! Just like the guy last night. If I hadn’t stopped him, Lola would be dead by now, and so would I.’ She gave Rothschild a nasty look. ‘Which would make things a lot easier for you, wouldn’t it?’

‘I’m not sure I like your tone, Ms Wilde,’ said Rothschild.

‘I don’t really care, Mrs Rothschild,’ Nina replied, throwing the subtle insult back at her. ‘If I’d died, your job here would be much simpler, because you wouldn’t have to ask the obvious question about what happened last night.’

‘Which is?’ said the first UN official.

‘Which is, how did the man who attacked me know I had the photos? Only Eddie and I knew about the memory card. And I didn’t put the pictures on the server - I copied them straight to my laptop, so again there was no way for anyone to know about them. Only one other person in the entire world knew they existed . . . Gabriel Ribbsley.’

Rothschild sat ramrod-straight. ‘Dr Wilde,’ she said, voice clipped, ‘are you accusing Professor Gabriel Ribbsley of being involved in this conspiracy?’

‘I guess I am,’ Nina shot back. ‘Personal friend of yours, is he?’

‘As a matter of fact, he is. But that’s hardly relevant.’ She banged a hand on the desk. ‘You cannot sit here and accuse one of the world’s leading academics of being an accessory to attempted murder! The idea . . . it’s absolutely outrageous!’

‘Well, why don’t we give him a call, see if he’s got a good explanation for why a man tried to kill me just hours after I spoke to him?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Her hand banged down again. ‘Dr Wilde, this inquiry is not a criminal investigation - if you have any wild accusations to make, you should make them to the FBI.’

‘Oh, I already have, don’t worry,’ said Nina coldly.

‘But this inquiry is here to investigate the catastrophe of the Indonesian expedition, and, in my view, your entire career at the IHA. Regardless of the eventual outcomes, your previous operations establish a clear pattern of behaviour - one of reckless irresponsibility, a callous disregard for the lives of others and an utterly cavalier attitude towards the exploration of priceless historical sites.’

Nina was outraged. ‘What? Now wait a minute—’

‘No, you wait, Dr Wilde,’ Rothschild said, raising her voice as she held up a sheaf of papers. ‘These are your own accounts of your previous expeditions, and they make for alarming reading. You claim to be a scientist, but there’s precious little scientific investigation - just brute force and destruction. It’s archaeology by bulldozer - no, worse than that, archaeology by explosive. For everything you’ve discovered, much more has been lost for ever because of the violence you seem to attract.’

‘Well,’ Nina said through her teeth, ‘maybe the next time some asshole shoots at me, I should let him hit me so the bullets don’t chip anything!’

‘Which is exactly my point. There shouldn’t be people shooting at you. You are not an archaeologist, Dr Wilde. You are a glory hunter, a grave robber, using - no, abusing - your position at the IHA to embark on your own personal quests, without caring about the consequences. Wherever you go, chaos follows . . . and people die. Well, no more. This is something the IHA is no longer willing to tolerate.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning that, until a determination of your degree of culpability in the deaths of the expedition members can be made, as the Director of the International Heritage Agency I am suspending you from your post, without pay, effective immediately. The same goes for Mr Chase.’

Nina gaped silently at her for a moment before rage finally pushed the words from her mouth. ‘This is bullshit!’ she cried. ‘You don’t have that authority! Not without a review by the UN . . .’ She realised that both the UN officials now looked uncomfortable. ‘Son of a bitch,’ she muttered under her breath, before raising her voice again. ‘You’d already decided how this was going to end before I even walked in the room!’

‘The damage to the IHA, and to the United Nations, needed to be addressed as quickly as possible,’ one of the officials said feebly.

She glared at him. ‘Oh, so I get sacrificed on the altar of public relations, do I?’

The other official spoke up. ‘When the investigation clears you, you’ll be reinstated, of course.’

‘If the investigation clears you,’ Rothschild countered.

‘I’m sure it’ll be completely impartial and unbiased,’ said Nina bitterly. She stood. ‘Well, if I’m suspended, there’s no point my hanging around here, is there?’

‘There is one more thing, Dr Wilde,’ Rothschild said. ‘The memory card, the one with the pictures of the artefact . . . what happened to it?’

‘It got wiped,’ Nina answered.

‘So there are no more pictures of the artefact?’

‘No.’

‘I see.’ Rothschild pursed her lips. ‘Let us hope that means an end to the violence, then.’

‘Yeah,’ said Nina. ‘Let us hope.’

She turned away and left the room, closing the door behind her . . . then reached up to feel the memory card, still in her jacket pocket.

Still filled with anger, Nina gathered her possessions from her office, slamming books and journals and mementos of her past adventures into a cardboard box.

She paused as she picked up one particular souvenir - a framed photograph of herself at the White House, receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Victor Dalton for her part in saving New York from nuclear annihilation.

Dalton . . .

Following the FBI’s examination of the room, the telephone had been replaced along with the broken window. Nina hesitated, then: ‘What the hell.’ She called Lola’s replacement and asked to be put through to the President.

‘Of . . . the United States?’ came the uncertain reply.

‘That’s the one.’

It was a long shot; Nina had no idea if Dalton were even currently in Washington, and was sure he had an infinite number of other concerns. But she figured that she was owed a favour - at the very least, he could return her call.

The response was not immediate, giving her time to finish collecting her belongings. But eventually, the phone rang. ‘Hello?’

‘Dr Wilde?’ said a woman. ‘Please hold for the President.’

Another pause, then a click of connection. ‘Dr Wilde,’ said an instantly recognisable voice.

‘Mr President,’ she replied. ‘Thank you for taking my call.’

‘No problem at all. I could hardly keep a true American hero waiting, could I?’ He chuckled. ‘What can I do for you?’

Nina wondered for a moment how best to address the subject, deciding to get straight to the point. ‘Mr President, it’s about the appointment of Maureen Rothschild as the new Director of the International Heritage Agency. I don’t believe she is the right person for the job, and I think that her suspension of myself and Eddie Chase is completely unwarranted.’

‘Your suspension.’ For some reason, Dalton seemed unsurprised at the news. Surely he couldn’t already know about it?

‘Yes, sir. In my opinion, she made the decision based solely on her personal dislike of me, without any consideration of the damage it would cause to the IHA’s operations and its global security mission.’ Nina had a more forceful - and ruder - version of her argument circling in her head, but thought the diplomatic edit should do the trick.

Or not. ‘Dr Wilde,’ said Dalton, disapproval evident in his tone, ‘are you aware that Professor Rothschild was appointed as IHA Director on my personal recommendation to the Senate committee and the UN?’

‘Uh, no sir, I was not,’ Nina answered, startled.

‘She has my total confidence and support, as well as that of the United Nations. Are you saying that support is misplaced?’

‘I, er . . . Yes, quite frankly, Mr President,’ she said, a shudder running through her as she realised she had just challenged the most powerful man on the planet.

‘Then,’ said Dalton, tone even harder, ‘we’ll have to disagree, Dr Wilde. Professor Rothschild has my full backing. If her decision inconveniences you—’

‘Inconveniences?’

‘—then that’s unfortunate. But as Director, she has full authority. If you have a problem with that, you should take it up through proper UN channels, rather than trying to take advantage of your past service to this country for personal gain.’

‘That - that’s not why I—’ Nina began, but Dalton cut her off.

‘We both know that’s exactly why you called me, Dr Wilde. Now, I appreciate everything you’ve done in the past for the United States - I would hardly have awarded you the Medal of Freedom otherwise - but that does not grant you a hotline to the Oval Office to solve your personal problems. Do I make myself clear?’ When Nina couldn’t find an answer immediately, he sternly added, ‘Dr Wilde? Am I clear?’

‘Yes, Mr President,’ Nina mumbled, chastised.

‘Good. Now, I have business to attend to. Goodbye, Dr Wilde.’

The phone clicked, leaving Nina trembling in anger and humiliation, feeling as though she’d just been punched in the gut.

Dalton put down the phone, then turned his chair towards the windows looking out over the White House’s rose garden, a small but satisfied smile on his lips.

Nina Wilde and her fiancé had made themselves his enemies four months earlier, without even knowing it, by destroying a secret weapon controlled by his black-ops agent Jack Mitchell. In the overall scheme of things they were very minor enemies, with no power to harm him in any way, but Dalton had still taken a certain pleasure in arranging for the vast apparatus of the United States government to bedevil their lives. Tax audits and overzealous immigration checks had been petty compared to depriving the couple of their jobs, however. The moment he’d learned about Nina’s enmity with Rothschild, he’d seen an opportunity for something more hard-hitting.

Now it was done, he could focus on more pressing matters - in which, like the proverbial bad penny, Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase had turned up. With them out of the way, that left the Covenant of Genesis.

His smile vanished at the mere thought of the organisation. Now there was a dangerous enemy - and one that even with his vast resources he couldn’t yet deal with, not without being destroyed himself. How they had obtained such politically - and personally - damaging knowledge he had no idea. But they had, and as their representative, an Israeli, had calmly explained, they would use it without hesitation if he did not agree to their . . . request.

And what a request. If the public ever learned what he had done to appease the Covenant, it would end his career more quickly than the release of any of the organisation’s other information about his dealings.

Fortunately, he had at least been able to persuade the Covenant to let one of his operatives join them. One of his best operatives. A man who would find any possible opportunity to eliminate any threats to him . . . and maybe even shift the balance of power to where it belonged.

In his favour.

He turned back to his desk and picked up one particular phone. ‘Get me Michael Callum.’

The tall, granite-faced man, hair a bristling pure white, pushed a button on his secure cell phone to end the call. ‘That was the President,’ Callum told the other occupant of the luxurious Washington, DC hotel suite.

‘So I gathered,’ said Uziel Hammerstein, unimpressed, as he lit a cigar. Callum looked pointedly at the ‘no smoking’ sign by the door. The Israeli made a vaguely amused noise. ‘What, are you going to have me sent to Guantánamo for smoking?’

‘So what did your esteemed leader have to say?’ came an English-accented voice from the phone on the glass coffee table between the two men.

Callum frowned at the voice’s undisguised sarcasm. ‘You’ll be glad to know, Professor Ribbsley, that Nina Wilde is no longer a problem. She’s been fired, and the digital images of the tablet have been erased.’

‘Good,’ said Ribbsley. ‘I doubt she would have been able to translate any of the text, but once I knew I was looking at a navigational chart, it didn’t take long to work out where it led. She might have been able to do the same. Of course,’ he went on, his cutting tone returning, ‘if Hammerstein’s goon had done his job rather than letting her throw him out of a window . . .’

Hammerstein bared his teeth, the cigar clenched between them. ‘Careful, Professor. Just because we’ve agreed to your demands doesn’t mean I have to put up with any of your crap. Goldman wasn’t just a colleague, he was a friend.’

‘My condolences on your loss,’ said Ribbsley, in a deliberate monotone.

Callum regarded the Israeli coldly. ‘Your man shouldn’t even have been operating on our turf.’

Hammerstein leaned back in the leather armchair, blowing a smoke ring across the table at him. ‘The Covenant works wherever it has to, Callum. Our mission is more important than your politics.’ The white-haired man narrowed his eyes.

‘Speaking of your mission,’ said Ribbsley, ‘have the preparations started yet?’

‘Vogler is in Australia already,’ Hammerstein told him. ‘Zamal is on his way. Your flight is being arranged right now.’

‘First class, of course.’ Not a question: an expectation.

‘Yes, first class,’ said Hammerstein, sharing a contemptuous look with Callum.

‘Excellent. In that case, I’d better finish packing. See you down under, gentlemen.’

‘You shouldn’t have caved in to his demands,’ snapped Callum the moment the call ended.

‘We had no choice. We needed him to translate the tablet Vogler recovered from Indonesia - and we’ll need him to translate any new finds at the site.’

‘Even so, if it’d just been money he wanted, it wouldn’t have been a problem. Not even Ribbsley could be that greedy. But this . . .’

‘Ribbsley’s a man of very particular tastes. Unfortunately. Which is why we’re allowing you to act as . . . caretaker.’ A faint smile. ‘I assume Dalton has already authorised you to take care of things when the mission is completed.’ The Covenant leader stood. ‘I have to go. There’s a lot of work to do, and Australia is a very long flight away.’ He left the suite without any pleasantries of departure.

Callum stared at the door after it closed. Dalton had indeed granted him licence to take care of the problem of Ribbsley’s demands . . . and more besides. The Covenant had gone too far. This was a direct threat to the authority of the President of the United States, and had to be dealt with.

But subtly. The Covenant had enormous power behind it. He had to wait for the right opportunity, pick his moment, or the consequences could be ruinous.

When that moment came, though . . . he would be ready.

12

Chase entered the apartment and flopped down on the couch. ‘Hi, honey, I’m home. Don’t I get a kiss hello?’

‘Thank God,’ said Nina, hurrying in from the kitchen and kissing him. ‘I think we’ve both got a lot of catching up to do.’

‘Yeah,’ Chase said, taking in her cuts and bruises with a concerned expression. ‘You want to go first?’

‘No, you,’ she said, sitting beside him. ‘Why the hell were you in Cuba?’

‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t getting another of those.’ He nodded at the Fidel Castro figurine on a shelf, a ceramic cigar-box holder now used to store loose change. ‘No, I had words with those pirates - Bejo’s fine, by the way - and saw some bloke paying them off.’

‘What about the tablet?’

‘He took it. And your laptop.’

‘Damn. So this guy, was he Cuban? Did you follow him there?’

‘No, I was taken - by a bunch of your guys.’

‘My guys?’

‘Yanks. Three goons dressed like Agent Smith. They stuck me on a plane to Guantánamo Bay.’

‘What?’ Nina gasped. ‘Why would they take you there?’

‘Because I know someone there. So do you. Sophia. She’s . . . she’s dead.’

‘Oh,’ was Nina’s only immediate response. She had absolutely no love for Chase’s ex-wife, but could tell that however stoic he seemed outwardly he was affected within. ‘What happened?’

‘She tried to escape and got shot. They wanted me to see the body. It was a mess.’

She put her arm round him. ‘Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry . . . Are you okay?’

He didn’t answer for a moment. ‘I’m . . . I don’t know,’ he admitted, shaking his head. ‘It’s weird. I couldn’t stop thinking about her on the flight back.’

Nina’s face twitched in disapproval, but she managed to keep it from Chase, barely. ‘In what way?’

‘I’m going to miss her, in some weird way. I didn’t think I would after everything she did, but . . .’ He sighed, to his surprise feeling a weight growing on his heart the more he spoke. ‘She didn’t use to be like that. Not when I first met her - hell, I wouldn’t have married her if she had been. And I know that she blamed me for some of how she turned out.’

‘That’s crazy,’ Nina told him firmly. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’

‘No, but . . .’ Another sigh, and he stared down at the floor. ‘I’m pretty sure she did.’

‘Oh, Eddie . . .’ She hugged him sympathetically. ‘You can’t blame yourself for what happened to her. Any of it.’

Another moment of silence, then he looked at her. ‘So what about you?’ he asked, glad to change the subject.

Now it was Nina’s turn to recount recent events. ‘Wait, I got fired?’ asked Chase when she finished.

‘You weren’t fired, you were suspended,’ Nina corrected. ‘Although I kinda get the feeling Rothschild wants to make it the same thing. Miserable old bitch.’

‘Sod her - what about this bloke who tried to kill you and Lola? Have they found out who he was?’

‘No, nobody’s identified him yet. I’m not even sure what part of the world he was from; I didn’t recognise his accent.’

‘I recognised mine,’ said Chase. ‘The guy who paid off the pirates was Swiss.’

‘Swiss?’

‘Yeah. His name was Vogler. And he’s part of something called the Covenant of Genesis.’ He noticed Nina’s reaction. ‘You know what it is?’

‘Only in a biblical context,’ she said, sitting up thoughtfully. ‘In the Book of Genesis, God made a pact - a covenant - with Abraham. In return for acknowledging God - Yahweh, or Jehovah, depending how you translate the original Hebrew Tetragrammaton - as the one true and supreme deity, Abraham’s descendants would be granted everlasting ownership and rule of the land on which they lived.’

‘This Abraham’s not the one who sang about the Smurfs, I take it.’

‘Hardly. Didn’t you ever go to Sunday school when you were a kid?’

‘My nan tried to make me a few times. I’d just hang about until she’d gone, then bugger off to play with my mates.’

‘Y’know, that explains a lot . . . Anyway, Abraham’s a key figure in all three major religions that came out of the Holy Land: Judaism, Christianity and Islam. In fact, they’re collectively called the Abrahamic religions, after him.’

‘That’s what I like about you,’ said Chase. ‘It’s always an education.’

‘I do my best. Even if it’s an uphill struggle.’

‘Tchah!’

Nina grinned, then continued. ‘The three Abrahamic religions actually share a lot of common elements. The Jewish Torah is essentially the same as the first five books of the Old Testament, and the Koran regards the Torah and the Bible as holy books. As far as Genesis goes, the Koran has quite a lot of differences in the specifics, but the fundamental story’s the same - Adam and Eve, the expulsion from paradise, the Great Flood, Abraham . . . they’re all there, just interpreted differently by the three religions.’

‘Yeah, and hasn’t that caused trouble over the years.’

‘My fiancé, master of understatement. But as for what the Abrahamic covenant’s got to do with an artefact we found on the other side of the world, I’ve got absolutely no idea.’ She glanced at the memory card, which sat in the Castro cigar-box holder, half hidden by coins. ‘The language on the tablet wasn’t related to any used by the three religions, even the most ancient forms of Hebrew. And besides, the depth we found it at shows that it predates any of them by a long way. So why the Covenant of Genesis?’

‘Maybe they were big fans of Phil Collins,’ Chase suggested.

Nina managed a small laugh, then shook her head in puzzlement. ‘I don’t get it. What did the tablet say that was so dangerous to them that they’d try to kill us over it?’

‘You said it was some sort of chart,’ Chase reminded her. ‘Maybe we can figure out where it goes.’

‘But I don’t know how they measured distances. The numbers could be feet, miles, stadia, moon units . . . anything!’

‘Won’t know unless we try, will we?’ He stood, took Nina’s hand and led her to the small room she used as a study, picking up the memory card along the way.

Once Nina’s iMac was booted up, she copied the photos to it. ‘Maybe we should put that in a safety deposit box or something,’ she said of the card, not entirely joking.

‘Why’d you tell Rothschild that it got blanked?’

‘Because I don’t trust her. And not just because I don’t like her, either. She’s a friend of Ribbsley’s, and she did everything she could to play down the idea that he told someone I had the text. I wouldn’t put it past her to let him know that I still do. Oh, oh, and get this,’ she added excitedly, ‘I tried calling Ribbsley myself. And guess what? He’s suddenly become “unavailable”. Not even his college knows when he’s coming back. Kind of a coincidence, huh?’

‘He’s probably scared you might go to Cambridge and deck him.’

‘I was tempted, believe me. Okay, let’s see . . .’ She opened the close-up of the tablet, pointing out the different elements she had noticed. ‘These are the Atlantean numbers, with the compass bearings in front of them, and then I think these sections of text describe each successive destination. Only problem is, I’ve got no clue how to translate them.’

Chase examined the image. ‘Have you got that sea level program on here?’

‘GLUG? Yeah.’

‘Bring it up, put in the sea level from a hundred and thirty-five thousand years back. If it’s directions, it’ll help if we’re looking at the right map.’

Nina gave him an admiring glance. ‘Smart man.’

‘I’ll remember you said that, next time you tell me off for watching action movies.’

She ran the program and entered the figures, the sea level round Indonesia dropping by a hundred feet and causing islands to rise and swell, then placed a marker at the co-ordinates where the tablet was discovered. ‘All right,’ she said, flicking back to the digital photo, ‘if we assume for now that the dig site is the start point, then the first direction is between south and southwest.’ A look at the other bearings on the tablet narrowed things down. ‘These dots, they appear in groups of a maximum of eight, just like the Atlantean system. So if there are eight sub-bearings in each compass octant, that makes eight sets of eight, plus the eight cardinal bearings . . .’

‘Seventy-two,’ said Chase. ‘Just in case you needed any help.’

‘I think I can manage. So their navigational system worked to an accuracy of seventy-two “degrees” to a circle, meaning each dot equals five degrees. In which case,’ she said, going back to the map, ‘the first number takes you on a bearing of two hundred and ten degrees, which takes you . . .’

‘Here.’ Chase indicated a point. ‘That’s the first place where you’d reach land.’ He took a large atlas from a shelf and found the pages covering Indonesia. ‘Nearest town today would be this place, Merak.’ It was west of Jakarta, a headland marking the boundary between the Java Sea and the Sunda Strait, which separated the Indonesian islands of Sumatra and Java. He compared the paper map to the one on the computer. ‘The strait was a lot narrower back then.’

‘A hell of a lot,’ Nina agreed. ‘There’s only really one place where you’d be able to sail through, this channel here.’ She compared the two maps. ‘And it’s right on a bearing of two hundred and ten degrees from where we found the tablet!’

‘That’s a good start. So where next?’

Nina worked out the next bearing. ‘This direction, to the triangle-thing.’

‘What triangle-thing?’ Chase asked.

Nina moved the mouse cursor to it. ‘This triangle-thing. With the flower or the tree or whatever on top of it.’

‘You mean the volcano?’

She looked at him, surprised. ‘What?’

‘Well, it’s obviously a volcano, isn’t it? It’s a drawing of a mountain with smoke coming out - what else could it be?’

Nina slapped herself on the forehead. ‘I am such an idiot! How did I not see it?’ She zoomed in on the image. ‘I was so fixated on the idea of its being a symbolic character that I didn’t even think it might just be a simple pictogram.’ Another comparison of the two maps. ‘So, a volcano, which volcano . . .’

‘The really famous one?’ Chase suggested with a smile. ‘Krakatoa.’ He pointed it out in the atlas. What remained of the obliterated volcanic island lay at the centre of the southern half of the Sunda Strait.

‘That works for me.’ Nina quickly found another book and leafed through it to show Chase a nineteenth-century woodcut illustration: an almost cartoon-perfect volcanic cone, smoke rising in a plume from the summit. ‘The largest volcano on Krakatoa used to be huge. It’d make an unmissable landmark if you were travelling by sea.’

‘Well, if it really is using Krakatoa as a landmark,’ said Chase, ‘then you can work out all the distances, can’t you? If it says Krakatoa’s three hundred zogs or whatever from where we started, it should be a piece of piss to convert that into miles. Seeing as you’ve already got the directions, you’ll be able to work out exactly where it takes you.’

‘Again, smart man. I knew there was a reason why I wanted to marry you.’

‘I thought it was the screaming orgasms?’

‘Very funny. But let’s figure this out . . .’

Several minutes of work with pen, paper and protractor yielded a result, the course laid out by the ancient tablet travelling through the Sunda Strait and round the headland at the westernmost tip of Java, before crossing the expanse of the eastern Indian Ocean to . . .

‘Australia,’ Nina said, tapping the country’s North West Cape just above the Tropic of Capricorn. ‘That’s where the chart takes you. Whoever these people were, they reached as far as Australia. A long time before anyone else. The earliest known signs of human occupation only date back fifty thousand years. These people were there over eighty thousand years before that.’

Chase looked at the computer map. ‘They took a big risk, going straight across the sea like that. They could’ve just kept going along the Indonesian coast.’ The lower sea level meant that the eastern islands of Indonesia reached practically all the way to Australia, which itself had merged with New Guinea to extend the continent northwards to the equator.

‘They didn’t need to,’ Nina realised. ‘Why would they? They had the sailing skills and navigational abilities to cross the sea directly. It’d save them days, maybe even weeks. And they kept going.’ There were still more bearings on the tablet. A few more minutes, and the rest of the course was revealed, travelling down the western coast of Australia and using Shark Bay’s vast dogtooths and the Houtman Islands as landmarks before finally terminating at a point over a hundred miles north of the city of Perth. On the modern map, there was nothing of note about the spot, even the nearest small town a good twenty miles away.

‘That’s it?’ said Chase, unimpressed. ‘There’s not a lot there.’

‘There must have been something there,’ Nina said, more excited. ‘A settlement, maybe, or a port - something worth travelling all that way for.’ She zoomed in on the sea level map, bringing up the present-day position of the coast as a yellow outline. ‘It must have been in this bay - it’d give them shelter from the sea, and there’d be fresh water from this river.’ A closer zoom revealed individual contour lines. ‘Look how steep the sides of the bay are. They couldn’t have built a settlement right on the shoreline, they’d need somewhere flatter . . .’

She scrolled further inland. ‘Somewhere like that.’ Above the eastern end of the small bay was a gently sloping plain. ‘If you were building a settlement, it’s got everything you need - water, farmable land, sheltered access to the sea . . .’ Enthusiasm rose in her voice. ‘It was above sea level back then, and it’s still above sea level now . . . so if there was a settlement there, we might still be able to find it!’

‘You think it’s buried there?’

‘Yes! Absolutely! If we go there, we might be able to excavate it!’ She leaned back, already compiling a mental list of everything she might need.

‘Not wanting to piss on your chips,’ said Chase, ‘but I don’t think the IHA’s going to go for that right now.’

Nina snorted. ‘Who needs the IHA? This’d be proper archaeology, just a map and a shovel and a brush, no need for computers or submersibles or millions of dollars of hardware. I’ll show that shrivelled old bitch what being an archaeologist is really all about,’ she added, more to herself than to Chase.

‘Calm down, Lara,’ he said. ‘So you want to jet off to Australia to find the lost city of . . . of whoever the hell these people were?’

‘Why not? It’s not as though we’ve got anything else to do right now. We’re both suspended, remember?’

‘Yeah, but there was one thing the IHA was handy for - paying for everything!’

‘That’s what credit cards are for,’ said Nina. Chase decided not to tell her how much his flights had cost. ‘Come on, we can do this! We fly to Australia, check out the site, do some digging - the worst that can happen is that we don’t find anything, and even then at least we had a vacation to take our minds off everything.’ She stood, hands pressed together eagerly. ‘Whaddya say?’

He could tell from the almost manic glint in her eyes that she was not going to take no for an answer. ‘You do remember that there’s someone else trying to find it as well, right?’

‘The Covenant of Genesis? Maybe, if they’re even capable of figuring out where to look.’

‘We just did it in half an hour,’ he pointed out. ‘They’ve got the original tablet to work from, and you even told that Ribbsley guy about the numbers on it. What if that was the only thing they were missing?’

‘All the more reason to find it before them. Come on, Eddie! A few days, that’s all I’ll need. If there’s nothing there, then fair enough, that’s the end of the line. But if there is something there . . .’

‘Great. More flying,’ Chase complained. But she had a point; if there really was anything at the new site and the Covenant found it first, they would presumably destroy it, making all the deaths aboard the Pianosa even more meaningless. ‘Oh, all right. Let’s go to a land down under.’

Nina kissed him. ‘Thanks, Eddie.’

‘Just one thing, though - I’m not doing all the bloody digging!’

13

Australia

Shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare, Chase stepped out of the Land Rover Defender and surveyed the landscape. ‘As the Aussies say . . . crikey.’

Nina joined him, tugging down the brim of her baseball cap until it almost touched her sunglasses in order to shade her pale face. ‘I can see why.’

It was three days since their decision to make the long trip across the Pacific to Australia; three days of intensive preparation and expensive travel arrangements. But now they were finally there, having driven north from Perth, turning westwards off the main highway on to a rough track . . . and into a spectacular desert landscape. The rolling sands were a vivid yellow, almost like a child’s crayon drawing, and protruding from the dunes were dozens of angular limestone pillars, ranging from knee-height to some that towered over Chase. ‘They look like film props,’ he said, touching one to check that it wasn’t made of polystyrene and plaster.

Nina consulted her guidebook. ‘We’re fairly close to the Pinnacles Desert. It says it’s full of these formations - some of them are four metres tall. Must be a hell of a sight.’

‘We could take a detour and have a look,’ Chase suggested.

She regarded the strange rocks for a moment before shaking her head. ‘Let’s find the place we’re looking for first. Besides, it’s a national park - they might not want us carving it up in a jeep.’

‘Oh, so when you want to look at bits of old rock it’s a national emergency, but when I do . . .’ He grinned at her as they climbed back in. ‘Okay, so how much further to this place?’

‘The map says about . . . seven kilometres. Just over four miles.’

Chase looked at the track, which though winding and bumpy had so far been relatively easy for their 4x4 to negotiate. ‘Shouldn’t take us too long. What was the name of the place again?’

‘Trouble Cove,’ she said, with another look at the map. ‘Australia has such great place names! Hangover Bay, Useless Loop, Billabong Roadhouse . . .’ A cheeky glance at Chase. ‘Bald Head . . .’

‘Oi,’ he warned, swatting at her with one hand as he started driving. She giggled. ‘So what do you want to do when we get there?’

‘We should have plenty of time before sunset to look around before putting up the tent.’ Nina examined her notes, serious again. ‘If we concentrate on the area near the edge of the bay, that’s the most likely site.’

They continued along the track, desert sand gradually giving way to patches of vegetation as they drew closer to the coast, heathland speckled with bright flowers and low, wind-sculpted trees. Wildlife also appeared, a small group of kangaroos pausing in their leaping travels to watch the passing vehicle, and an emu popped its head up suspiciously from behind a bush before scurrying away. Though hot, it was certainly one of the most picturesque wildernesses they had travelled through.

Finally, they crested a rise, and saw the shimmering turquoise ocean. ‘Wow, look at that,’ said Nina, taking off her sunglasses for a better look. ‘That’s really—Aah!’ She jolted forward in her seat as Chase stamped on the brake, bringing the Defender to a sudden crunching halt. ‘Eddie! What the hell?’

He hurriedly reversed over the rise and pulled to a sharp stop. ‘Remember how I said the Covenant would be trying to find this place too?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I think they already have.’ He jumped out and hurried to the rear door, opening it to take a pair of powerful binoculars from their gear. ‘Come on. But keep low.’

Nina nervously followed him back up the track. Near the top, he dropped to his stomach and crawled under a scrubby bush. She did the same. One hand shading the lenses to prevent the sun from reflecting off them, Chase took a closer look at Trouble Cove.

‘What is it?’ Nina asked. ‘What do you see?’

‘That I won’t need to do any digging.’ He handed her the binoculars.

Nina scanned the area ahead. To her shock, it was bustling with activity. Grubby yellow excavators were digging out large trenches, men moving in behind them to clear away more sand and dirt with shovels. Parked nearby were several 4x4s and heavier flatbed trucks, presumably used to transport the earthmovers across the desert, as well as a rather incongruous Winnebago recreational vehicle. She also spotted several large tents on one edge of the dig. ‘Jesus.’

‘That’s a pretty serious operation,’ said Chase.

‘You’re not kidding.’

‘We need to get closer.’

‘We need to do what now?’

‘I want to get a better look at them,’ he clarified. ‘See if that guy Vogler’s there, if they really are these Covenant people.’

‘I don’t think they’re there to build vacation condos,’ Nina muttered. It was hard to tell from this angle, but there seemed to be something in the trenches.

‘Come on.’ Chase took back the binoculars and crawled down the other face of the slope, Nina behind him. They carefully made their way closer, staying low behind the patches of vegetation. The ground became rockier, the track entering a winding gulch marking the path of a long-dry river. Nina expected Chase to enter it to take advantage of the cover, but instead he crawled between the boulders along the top, following a ragged line of small bushes.

He stopped suddenly and flattened himself on the ground, gesturing for Nina to do the same. She heard the raucous sound of an engine.

‘Quad bike,’ said Chase, warily raising his head. Nina peered through the bushes. About a hundred yards ahead, she saw a man in desert camouflage bounding through the dunes on a fat-tyred little Kawasaki 4x4. A rifle was slung over his back. ‘He’s running a patrol - there’re more tracks on the ground. That must be their perimeter.’

Nina looked past him to the dig site. They were now about half a mile from its centre, close enough to make out the rattle and roar of the machines. ‘Eddie, give me the binoculars.’

She focused first on the trenches, seeing the remains of buildings at the bottom. Even through the encrustation of sand and soil, the similarity to the underwater ruin in the Java Sea was clear: the same curved walls, the same large, carefully placed bricks.

But her thrill of recognition was immediately blown away by her horror at what was being done to the ruins. The excavators weren’t merely clearing the dirt around them - they were ripping them apart. Even as she watched, another toothed steel bucket smashed one of the walls. As the machine pulled back, men came in to continue the destruction by hand.

‘Jesus,’ she hissed. ‘They’re just wrecking everything. They must be looking for something specific . . . and they don’t care what they destroy to find it.’ Panning across the site, she suddenly stopped when she saw an unmistakable figure standing at the edge of a trench. ‘Son of a bitch!’

‘What?’ Chase asked.

‘It’s Ribbsley!’ Dressed in a white suit and a Panama hat, the Cambridge professor was sipping from a plastic water bottle as he gazed at the devastation below. ‘The guy in white - that bastard’s overseeing the whole thing! And I led him right to it by telling him about the Atlantean numbers on the tablet.’ She let out a frustrated growl.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Chase assured her. ‘You didn’t know he was working for these arseholes.’

‘But I shouldn’t have trusted anyone, not after what happened. Shit!’ She returned the binoculars to him. ‘That’s archaeology by bulldozer, not anything I’ve ever done.’

‘Ay up,’ said Chase, finding the figure in white, then examining the men standing with him. ‘Vogler’s there too. Take a gander.’ Nina peered through the lenses once more. ‘The blond guy, right of your mate the Man from Del Monte. That’s him.’

She saw a man in desert camouflage, wearing sunglasses. He seemed to be about Chase’s age, mid-thirties. Two other men, similarly dressed, also stood nearby. They were both older than Vogler, one olive-skinned with cropped black wavy hair and a cigar in his mouth, the other goateed and apparently Middle Eastern, wearing a black military beret. ‘Who are the other guys?’

‘Dunno, but I’m guessing they’re in charge. They’re not getting their hands dirty.’

‘What are we going to do?’ Nina asked. ‘They beat us to the site. And the way they’re working, there won’t be anything left by the time they leave.’

‘Then we’ll have to get in there before they finish.’

‘Y’know, I think the guys with guns might have something to say about that.’

‘If they catch us. I think I can get us in there without being seen.’

‘And then what?’

He grinned. ‘What do you think? We’re going to find whatever it is they’re after. Before they do.’

Nina had expected the digging to stop at sunset. But it continued, glaring floodlights on poles casting a stark light over the excavators as they continued tearing open the ground. From the amount of earth that had been cleared since she and Chase arrived, she estimated that the dig had been going for at least a couple of days. Ribbsley and the Covenant had assembled their operation even more quickly than they had - and put vastly more resources behind it.

Lurking in the bushes, Nina and Chase observed the Covenant’s pattern of activities. There were always two men on quad bikes circling the perimeter, coming close to their position at one extreme and going right up to the edge of the cliffs at the other. It took slightly under two minutes for each man to complete half an orbit; two minutes to find a way into the site without being seen.

The sound of digging suddenly stopped. Nina saw some of the excavators pulling back. She took the binoculars. Another structure had been partly exposed at the end of the trench; one of the scoops had knocked a hole in the curved wall. A man shone a torch into it, then clambered through. ‘They’ve found something,’ she said.

‘Must be important,’ said Chase, seeing the other machinery stop. ‘Everyone’s downed tools.’

Nina kept watching. After a minute, the man emerged and climbed a ladder out of the trench, hurrying across the site to be met by Vogler and the two other leaders of the group. Some animated discussion followed, and then the trio went to the Winnebago. She had seen Ribbsley retreat to it earlier; he emerged again . . . but not alone. ‘Looks like Ribbsley’s got a girlfriend.’

A woman with short, spiky blond hair had also emerged from the RV, standing beside the professor with her back to Nina. A moment later, someone else entered her field of vision - a hard-faced, white-haired man. Unlike the other members of the Covenant, who all wore desert camouflage, he was dressed in nondescript civilian khakis. ‘And there’s someone else, some guy with white hair.’ There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn’t place what.

‘Let me see.’ Chase took a closer look through the binoculars. ‘She’s got a nice arse, whoever she is.’

‘Eddie!’

‘What? She does. Huh, Whitey doesn’t think so, though. He’s pretty pissed off, telling her to get back inside.’

Nina looked at Chase, surprised. ‘You can lip-read?’

‘A little bit. It’s handy when someone’s trying to tell you something while you’re being shot at.’ He tried to make out Ribbsley’s reply, but the brim of the Panama hat covered most of his face. ‘Looks like Ribbsley’s arguing with him.’ He looked briefly over at Vogler and his two companions. ‘Vogler’s saying . . . something about not wasting time, they need to . . . I think he said “translate the find”.’

Nina’s heart jumped. ‘They’ve found another artefact.’ She glared at the white-suited figure. ‘That son of a bitch lied to me. He knew what the language on the tablet was - he was probably already translating it when I spoke to him. All he needed to find this place was the numerical system.’

Chase watched as the white-haired man took out a pair of handcuffs. The woman raised her hands in protest. His expression darkened - then he lunged forward and punched her hard in the stomach. She dropped to her knees. Before she could recover, the man roughly yanked up her arms to cuff them behind her back.

Chase’s hands tightened on the binoculars. ‘The bastard just hit her,’ he growled as the blonde was dragged upright. Ribbsley was also angry - but not enough to intervene. Chase looked back at the trio. Vogler had an expression of mild distaste, while the cigar-smoking man’s face was carefully neutral. The bearded Arab, on the other hand, wasn’t bothering to conceal a cruel smirk. ‘And none of the others are trying to stop him. Fuckers.’ Half dragging the struggling woman back to the Winnebago, the white-haired man slammed her against the side of the vehicle before entering it and pulling her after him.

Ribbsley said something to Vogler, obviously complaining about his companion’s treatment. He received no sympathy, the Swiss man gesturing towards the newly uncovered structure. Trying to salvage some degree of authority, Ribbsley strode past Vogler, waving arrogantly for the others to follow.

Nina saw the white-haired man emerge from the Winnebago and go after the others. The blonde woman remained inside. ‘I’ve got to see what they’ve found. Once Ribbsley’s translated it, I don’t think they’ll leave it intact.’

Chase searched for the quad bike riders, seeing one of them coming into view off to the right. ‘Soon as this guy goes past, follow me down to that rock. Keep as low as you can.’ They waited as the rider continued his circuit. ‘Okay, go!’

He slithered quickly out from the bush. Nina followed more awkwardly, crawling in his wake as fast as she could. They dropped into a shallow, dusty ditch where Chase rose to a crouch, scurrying along until he reached another tangle of bushes. He popped his head up to check the way was clear, then shoved through them, snapping off a large branch to make Nina’s passage easier.

‘Okay, keep crawling,’ he said as he dropped and headed for the boulder, Nina following. ‘If I go “Hssst!” then drop flat and don’t move until I say - or someone starts shooting at us.’

Nina didn’t like the sound of that - but she liked the rising noise of the second quad bike even less. The rock loomed ahead, a ragged crescent lit from one side by spill from the floodlights.

She looked to the right. The quad bike’s headlight came into view, jolting over the sandy ground. Getting closer.

Chase was almost at the rock. Nina scrambled after him. Plants scratched her face as she brushed past them. The headlight grew brighter.

He would see them at any moment—

‘Hssst!’

Nina dropped flat. The headlight was coming straight at her. It got closer, closer, the engine a strident roar . . .

The Kawasaki veered away to pass on the other side of the boulder.

‘Roll!’ Chase ordered.

She did, plants crunching under her. Chase did the same, rolling round the rock after her. The quad bike’s rear lights cast an unreal glow over the ground; he stopped inside the boulder’s shadow, waiting until the red light faded before moving.

‘Okay, go!’ he hissed, pointing across the tracks to a ditch. Stooping, Nina hurried to it. Chase followed more slowly, backing over the tracks and sweeping the branch to cover their footprints. Even though he was trying to match the marks as closely as possible, if the riders slowed to look they would immediately notice the lack of any tread patterns, an erased line pointing at the intruders.

He just had to hope they didn’t slow down.

Another headlight, the other bike coming round the circuit.

‘Eddie, come on!’ Nina called. He was almost across, only the last few footsteps to remove.

Engine noise getting louder—

‘Come on!’

Done. He dropped the branch and leapt backwards to land beside Nina. The quad bike was almost on them. Its headlight swept across the path of their footprints, the hastily scrubbed patches standing out clearly . . .

The quad rasped past in a spray of sand, wiping out the evidence of their passage with a new set of tracks from its fat, knobbly tyres.

Nina blew dust from her face. ‘Jesus! Could you possibly have cut it any closer?’

‘I dunno. Want me to try again? Just run back across . . .’

She huffed. ‘Come on.’

They moved down the shadowed side of the ditch, heading for the thrum of a diesel generator ahead. Signalling for Nina to stay still, Chase crept up the stony slope for a look, then slid back down to her. ‘Looks like they’re taking a break - most of the men are over by the tents. There’s still a few hanging around, though, so we’ll need to be careful.’

‘You know which way to go?’

‘Yeah. There’s a trench - if we drop into it, we can go almost all the way round.’

They crawled up and took shelter behind the generator, checking there was nobody nearby before moving along behind a loose line of parked vehicles. One of them was Ribbsley’s Winnebago, a top-of-the-range model the size of a small bus. Chase hesitated as they reached it. ‘What?’ Nina asked.

‘We should help that woman. Even if she’s Ribbsley’s girlfriend, the rest of them weren’t big fans.’

‘Eddie, I know you always want to be the white knight and help damsels in distress,’ said Nina, ‘but you can’t right now. If we help her escape, what happens when they find out she’s missing? We can’t do anything - not yet, anyway. Maybe after we’ve found what we’re looking for.’

‘You’re all heart,’ Chase said, unimpressed. Nina gave him a dirty look, then continued onwards.

They reached the trench. Chase took another look at the surrounding area. A couple of men were working on an excavator’s engine, but their backs were to them. He looked past the machine at the tents. The rest of the men were eating, which would hopefully keep them occupied for a while. He also noticed that they appeared to be divided into three groups, seemingly on ethnic lines, and that each group favoured a different type of assault rifle - Belgian FN SCARs, Israeli TAR-21s and Swiss SIG SG-551s - although all shared the same 5.56mm ammo.

Before he could think about that any further, Nina nudged him. ‘Is it safe?’

‘Yeah, looks like it’s teatime. Think they’d mind if I blagged a sandwich?’

‘Let’s not find out.’ She climbed into the trench. Chase checked that the mechanics were still occupied, then followed.

Staying close to the wall, they advanced. The broken remains of buildings protruded from the trench floor, tracks from the excavators’ caterpillar treads running right through them. ‘I can’t believe this,’ Nina said, anger rising as they passed another smashed wall. ‘This isn’t archaeology, this is just vandalism. If it’s not what you’re looking for, destroy it.’

They reached the end of the trench. Chase climbed up first, then pulled Nina after him. They were close to the spot where the discovery had been made. Hiding behind a pile of sand, they crawled to the edge of the next trench and peered down.

A man stood outside the curved wall marking the trench’s end. Another two men were carrying a wooden reel of electrical cable, laying the line behind them as they reached the broken hole in the wall. They climbed through, unreeling more cable as they disappeared from view. Other lights were visible inside the buried structure: torch beams.

Nina could make out voices, but not clearly enough to hear what was being said. She was sure one of them was Ribbsley’s, though; the arrogant, affected English accent was quite distinctive. ‘Sounds like Ribbsley’s giving a lecture,’ she whispered to Chase.

‘About what?’

‘The translation, I guess. God, I hope he hasn’t figured it all out already.’

They moved back as the two men emerged from the hole and retreated up the trench. A short time later they returned, one carrying a pair of metal stands, the other two heavy-duty electric lamps. After another minute, the flitting torchlight was replaced by a constant, even glow. The men re-emerged and went back up the trench, the third man going with them.

Nina and Chase exchanged looks. If the occupants of the ruin left it as well, the way would be clear for them to climb down and go inside . . .

Ribbsley’s muffled voice kept talking, pausing occasionally as the others asked questions. After several minutes, there was movement. Vogler climbed out of the hole, followed by the two other Covenant leaders, then Ribbsley. He made a show of brushing dust off his suit as the white-haired man emerged behind him. ‘So you can translate the full thing, right?’ he asked Ribbsley. His accent was American.

‘Of course I can,’ Ribbsley replied sniffily, adjusting his hat. ‘I recognised most of the symbols on sight, and once I check my notes on my laptop I’ll be able to identify the others quickly enough. The numbers will be a nuisance, but now that I know they follow the Atlantean system it’s just a matter of converting them to base ten.’

‘Could this lead us to the origin of the Veteres?’ asked Vogler. Nina frowned at the odd word.

‘Possibly. But it won’t be as straightforward as finding this place. There are no bearings, no directions - it’s not a chart, like the object you obtained in Indonesia. It seems to be more of a record, a historical account left by the Veteres.’ Now dust-free, Ribbsley tugged imperiously at his lapels. ‘But I’ll crack it, I assure you. Now, I suggest a recess for supper; then I’ll get my laptop from the camper and return to work.’

‘Why waste time?’ demanded the bearded Arab. ‘Get it now.’

Ribbsley looked down his nose at him - an expression Nina remembered. She wasn’t the only person to whom he considered himself superior. ‘You may be willing to work all night on an empty stomach, Mr Zamal, but I’m certainly not.’ He set off along the trench, Vogler and the second of the Covenant members flanking him. Zamal and the white-haired man exchanged looks that made it clear they shared the same low opinion of the professor, then followed.

‘The bloke with white hair,’ said Chase once they were out of earshot, ‘I know him from somewhere.’

‘You too?’ Nina asked. ‘Any idea where?’

‘No. But I definitely recognise him.’ He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter for now. Soon as they’re out of sight, we’ll climb down.’

‘How long do you think we’ll have?’

‘Could be half an hour, could be five minutes. Depends how fast they eat.’

‘Somehow, I don’t think Ribbsley’s the kind of man who rushes his food,’ said Nina. She looked after the retreating men, puzzled. ‘Veteres . . . why would they use that as a name?’

‘You know what it means?’

‘Yes, it’s Latin - “Ancients” would probably be the closest translation. But the context it’s used in usually relates to family, like distant ancestors. I’ve never heard it in an archaeological sense.’

The group passed from view along the trench. Chase stood. ‘Maybe you’ll be able to figure it out once we’re inside. Come on.’

He lowered her down, then jumped to the bottom of the trench. Nina moved to the hole in the wall and glanced warily into it. It seemed empty - of life, at least.

But the answers to many questions waited within. She stepped inside.

14

The buried structure’s interior was dome-shaped, the design and construction practically identical to the ruin at the bottom of the Java Sea. But this was intact; apart from the section broken open by the excavator, the only damage was at the far side of the room, where a tall doorway was blocked by rubble.

The contents of the room had fared less well, though. From the dust covering everything, Nina knew it hadn’t been the result of the Covenant’s work. Whatever had caused everything to tumble and scatter across the floor had happened centuries ago, even millennia. It appeared more like the result of an earthquake than deliberate destruction.

The chamber seemed to have been a storage area, shelves of brick and long-corroded wood toppled and broken, contents smashed on the ground. Stark shadows radiated outwards from the two lamps at the chamber’s centre, bringing the debris into sharp relief. As Chase kept watch on the trench, Nina knelt to examine the dusty artefacts. ‘This is like the one we found underwater,’ she said, holding up a broken clay cylinder. This too had a closely wound groove spiralling up its length. There were others nearby, most also damaged, but she spotted one that was intact and picked it up. One end had a hole at its centre, while the other had a short inscription in the unknown language running around it.

‘What is it?’ Chase asked.

‘No idea.’ A perusal of other cylinders showed that each inscription was different. She put down the object, then moved to the lamps . . . and saw what they had been brought to illuminate. ‘Oh, my God. Eddie, look at this.’

Chase crossed the room, debris crunching under his boots. ‘Okay, so now we know what that lot were looking for.’

A section of the wall had been covered with a layer of plaster, creating a smooth surface. Parts were cracked, and some sections had broken off . . . but most of it was still intact, revealing line after line of ancient writing.

Nina recognised numbers within the text, and a handful of symbolic characters, but the rest of it was as impenetrable as the words on the clay tablet. Excited, she took out her camera.

‘Careful with the flash,’ Chase warned. ‘We don’t want anyone to see it.’

She switched off the flash, then started taking pictures. ‘This is amazing,’ she said. ‘A record of an unknown race . . .’

‘If there’s a little picture of a UFO in there,’ said Chase, stepping past her to look more closely, ‘then I’m right, and they’re aliens.’

‘They’re not aliens.’ She used the zoom to capture images in more detail. ‘Eddie, your shadow’s in the shot.’

‘Sorry.’ He backed away, the rubble filling the doorway catching his attention. ‘Hey, check this out. This didn’t collapse. Somebody blocked it off.’

Chase was right, Nina saw; the large bricks in the opening were too regularly aligned to have been tumbled there by any natural means. She turned in place, examining the rest of the chamber. ‘There’s no sign of any bodies. It must have been sealed from outside.’ A thought occurred, and she went to the inscription on the wall. ‘This might be a final record, a sort of time capsule. Something they left for others to find after they moved on.’

‘Question is, does it say where they went?’ Something caught Chase’s eye, a glint of metal across the room, and he went to pick it up. ‘Oh, ’ello. This look familiar?’

‘It does.’ It was a cone of copper sheet, scratched and dented, but unlike the flattened one they had found in Indonesia this one still had its shape. ‘Any sign of what it might have been used for?’

He prodded at the shattered objects on the floor. ‘No. Everything’s wrecked.’

‘See if there’s any more of them.’ Nina ran a fingertip along the ancient plaster, surprised at its even application and smoothness. Like the building itself, it had been made with a precision and care that was rare in early civilisations - and unknown in the era of pre-history from which it seemed to have come. Who had built it? Who were these people . . . and why was the mysterious Covenant of Genesis so determined to conceal them?

‘I don’t see anything,’ Chase said from the other side of the room. ‘There’s more of those cylinders, and some clay tablets, but they’re all broken.’ He picked his way back to the hole, glancing out at the trench - then retreated sharply. ‘Shit! They’re coming back! Hide, hide!’

‘Where?’ Nina gasped, looking round in panic as Chase vaulted a pile of bricks and hunched down in the deep shadows behind it. Pinned in the light from both lamps, there was no way she could cross the chamber to join him without being seen by the approaching men, and none of the fallen shelf stacks appeared to offer enough cover to hide behind.

No choice—

She hopped over the closest and flattened herself along the length of its shadowed side - and clapped both hands over her mouth to hold in a yelp of pain as something stabbed into her left buttock.

Vogler entered the chamber first, Ribbsley following - and complaining. ‘This is ridiculous. For the supposed guardians of civilisation, you’re remarkably lacking in it. How’s a man supposed to work without getting a decent meal?’

The others came in behind him. ‘The Triumvirate voted to continue with the work as quickly as possible,’ said Zamal.

‘Two out of three,’ Ribbsley said irritably. ‘At least Vogler here showed some courtesy. Not like you and Hammerstein. And you wouldn’t even have voted at all if he hadn’t opened his mouth.’ He glared at the white-haired American. ‘He’s not even a member of the Covenant, so why he gets any say I have no idea. There’s no reason even for him to be here.’

‘You know that was part of the deal, Professor,’ said Vogler. ‘But please, the sooner we start, the sooner we will be finished.’

‘Oh, very well.’ Still annoyed, Ribbsley crossed the room, pausing to pick up a couple of the clay cylinders - including the one Nina had examined earlier. ‘“Wind sea” - no, “sea of wind, seasons, wind,”’ he read from the inscription on the first. ‘“Winds of the seasons of the sea of wind”, I suppose.’ He checked the other. ‘And “fish of the sea of wind”. The usual gibberish. Why did they make so many of these things just to hold one line of meaningless text?’ He put them back down and continued across the chamber to stand before the text on the wall - barely four feet from Nina. Another step, and he would see her . . .

Instead, he opened up his laptop computer, cradling it in one arm as he peered at the text on the wall, then brought up a list of words written in the ancient language. ‘Let’s see . . . ah, I was right - the first line is a title of sorts. I was only missing a couple of words. Something along the lines of “The account of the final days of the people of the one great tree”, although the syntactic structure is different. It’s a very logically constructed language, actually - reminds me of Esperanto—’

‘Is that what the Veteres called themselves?’ Zamal interrupted. He moved forward for a closer look. Nina held her breath, tears in her eyes from the stabbing pain, hearing his footsteps getting nearer—

‘Don’t block the light,’ Ribbsley snapped, waving him back. Zamal scowled, but obeyed. ‘They seem to have a great deal of reverence for trees - it’s a word that’s appeared a lot in the texts you’ve brought me over the years. Perhaps they worshipped them.’

‘Pagans,’ Zamal sneered.

‘Maybe, but their beliefs certainly lasted for much longer than Islam’s been around, hmm?’ Smirking at the frowning Arab, he returned to the translation. ‘Ah! Now this is interesting. It says they left here a long time before to . . . to “escape the beasts”.’

‘Beasts?’ asked Hammerstein, glancing round the room and fingering his holstered gun as if expecting some animal to jump out. Chase, watching through a small gap in the pile of rubble, tensed.

‘That’s the closest translation. Although I can’t imagine what kind of beasts would be terrorising them in Australia. Giant wombats, perhaps!’ He laughed, then looked back at the wall. ‘But these beasts, whatever they were, were dangerous enough to drive them out of this settlement. They sailed for many days, probably weeks, to . . . to “the land of wind and sand”.’ They all exchanged puzzled looks.

‘Are you sure that’s what it says?’ the white-haired man demanded.

‘Yes, I’m positive,’ said Ribbsley testily. He jabbed a finger at the inscription, Nina just able to see him indicate particular symbols from her awkward position. ‘Wind, sand, land. Absolutely unmistakable.’

Zamal scratched his beard thoughtfully. ‘Wind and sand. A desert.’

‘But that could be anywhere,’ Vogler said. ‘A journey of weeks by sea could have taken them to Asia, Arabia, even Africa.’

‘Let’s hope the rest of the text is more enlightening.’ Ribbsley read on. ‘They built a new home, a “great city” in a valley near the sea with “tiny mountains of fire” - well, that’s the symbol for a volcano, although I don’t know how one could be tiny.’ He scanned through several more lines. ‘I think you will definitely find this part fascinating. It says they lived in peace in their city for many years - until their god drove them out.’

‘Their god?’ asked Hammerstein.

‘It’s actually a concatenation of several words and symbols - literally, it reads “the one great tree”. I misunderstood the context in the title, but there’s nothing else it can mean here. A supreme being, one that punished them for . . . “giving the gift of God to the beasts”.’

As Ribbsley had expected, that aroused considerable interest in the other men. ‘What gift?’ said Zamal.

Ribbsley gave him a patronising sigh. ‘Perhaps if you’d let me finish, I might be able to tell you. Now, it says their god punished them by “taking the sea”, which I assume means a fall in sea level, so we should be able to match the date to the onset of an ice age, and sending wind and sand to kill the trees . . . and they had to leave the city before the wind and sand killed them too.’ A pause as he checked his laptop. ‘They tried to . . . “preserve”, I suppose, to preserve the city by closing . . . no, “sealing” the valley so the river would grow and be covered by . . . oh, what a surprise. Wind and sand. I must say, they did have the most banal and repetitive prose style.’

‘It sounds like they flooded their city,’ Hammerstein suggested. ‘Blocking a valley to make the river grow - they built a dam. What else does it say?’

‘It seems,’ said Ribbsley, ‘that after they left their city, they came back here. But not everyone made it - they lost a lot of people, and also . . . oh, Mr Zamal, I think you’ll appreciate this part. It says that during the voyage, they lost many of “the voices of the prophets”.’

The Arab looked stung. ‘Prophets?’

‘That’s what it says. Well, well. They have something in common with Islam after all!’

‘Blasphemy,’ growled Zamal. ‘They may have called them prophets, but they were not the servants of Allah.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Ribbsley, clearly amused at having found a way to rile him. ‘But it’s still an intriguing thought, isn’t it?’ He turned back to the text. ‘Once they made it back here, the beasts soon attacked. They tried to, ah . . . something about a “safe wall” - oh, of course. They tried to fortify the settlement. But there were too many of the beasts, so they . . . hmm. Interesting.’

‘What happened to them?’ Vogler asked. ‘Does it say where they went next?’

‘Wherever they meant to go, I don’t think they got very far.’ He raised his free hand, turning and sweeping it theatrically around the chamber. Nina squashed herself harder against the rubble, the pain increasing. ‘This seems to be where they made their last stand. The chamber is associated with something called “the tree of the gift” - apparently they couldn’t take it with them, so they buried it and left a message in the hope that their people might find it again in the future.’

Hammerstein pointed at the text. ‘Is that the message?’

‘So it seems. But there’s certainly no tree in here. As for what happened to the Veteres . . . well, that’s where the story ends. They never came back, so either they settled elsewhere - or were all killed trying to escape these beasts.’

‘But we know there definitely is another settlement,’ said Vogler. ‘Their city. If we can locate it, we can destroy it.’

‘After I’ve the chance to explore it,’ Ribbsley said, closing his laptop. ‘That was our deal. I may not be able to share it with the world, but at least I’ll have discovered something nobody else has ever seen. Not even Nina Wilde.’

Nina’s heart almost stopped at the unexpected mention of her name. She was terrified that Ribbsley had spotted her, but then he continued: ‘Of course, we have to find it first, which means working out exactly where this “land of wind and sand” is.’ A pause, then a camera flash lit the room, followed by another as Ribbsley photographed sections of the inscription. Behind him, Vogler and Hammerstein traded suggestions as to the location.

Chase, meanwhile, overheard another conversation as Zamal and the American, standing near the hole in the wall, conversed in low voices. ‘Once he learns where the city is,’ said Zamal, ‘his job will be done. And then . . . you can kill his woman.’

‘That’ll make my boss very happy,’ the white-haired man replied.

‘And you too?’

‘I wouldn’t say happy. But there’ll be some . . . job satisfaction.’

Zamal smirked, then looked round as Ribbsley finished taking his photographs. ‘That should be enough to work from for now,’ the professor announced. ‘But now, gentlemen, perhaps I could finally be allowed to have some supper?’

‘I have no objections,’ said Vogler. ‘And I don’t think the Triumvirate needs to call a vote.’ Hammerstein shook his head, while Zamal merely shrugged.

‘Excellent. Then if you don’t mind, I’ll go and find out what Fortnum & Mason have in store for me tonight.’ The laptop under his arm, Ribbsley crossed the chamber and climbed out through the hole. The others followed him.

Nina waited as long as she could bear, then jumped up, flapping at the object embedded in her backside. ‘My ass, my ass!’ she hissed through gritted teeth as she hopped about in pain. ‘There’s something stuck in my ass!’

‘Ah, you never want to try new things,’ Chase whispered jovially as he glanced through the hole to make sure the men had left, then came over.

‘Get it out, get the damn thing out!’ She let out a keening moan. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s a needle.’ He reached for it. ‘Hold still, let me just . . .’

She stifled a shriek as he tugged it out, her eyes flooding with tears. ‘Oh, ow, son of a fuck, oww!’

‘It’s a big one,’ said Chase, holding up the bloodied needle, a good four inches long, to show her.

‘And it’s been in here for thousands of years! I’ve probably caught some extinct disease off it.’

He patted her arm. ‘I’ll give you a jab when we get back to the Landie. But we need to go - I heard them say that as soon as Del Monte finds this city, they’re going to kill his girlfriend. We’ve got to rescue her.’

‘How? He’ll be with her by now!’

‘I’ll come up with something.’ He moved back to the hole. Nina started to follow, then picked up the two clay cylinders that Ribbsley had examined. ‘What’re you doing?’ Chase asked impatiently.

‘Ribbsley translated the text on them.’

‘So?’

‘So, it’ll give me something to work from - I’ve got to try to translate the rest of the inscription before he does!’ She dropped both cylinders into a pocket and joined him. Nobody was outside, the way clear.

They retraced their path through the camp. The two mechanics had joined the other men in their evening meal - and so, Chase saw as they climbed cautiously from the trench, had the three Covenant leaders, the white-haired man . . . and Ribbsley. ‘Come on, hurry up,’ he said as they reached the parked vehicles. ‘We can grab his girlfriend and make a run for it before he gets back.’

Nina still wasn’t convinced of the wisdom of the rescue mission, but said nothing. They reached the Winnebago, which had lights on inside it. Chase tried to peek through a window, but the curtains were drawn. ‘Okay, wait here,’ he told Nina. ‘I’ll go in and get her. If anyone looks like they’re coming this way, knock on the door.’

‘And then what?’

‘One step at a time. Back in a tick.’ He opened the side door and darted inside.

The Winnebago’s interior was large enough to be divided into individual rooms. Chase found himself in a well-appointed lounge, an expensive hamper open on a table. There was a wine-bottle-sized space amongst the contents, so he guessed Ribbsley had gone to get a corkscrew, or ice.

Which meant he would be back very soon.

Nobody was in the front of the RV, and he could see that the bathroom was unoccupied, which left another door at the rear of the lounge - the bedroom. He went to it, turned the handle, stepped inside—

And froze in shock.

The blonde woman on the bed stared back at him in equal surprise, but recovered more quickly. ‘Hello, Eddie,’ said Sophia Blackwood.

15

‘Sophia,’ said Chase, ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’ ‘I might ask you the same,’ she replied, her near-flawless face - its only imperfection a scar across one cheek, courtesy of Nina - and aristocratic voice exactly as he remembered them, despite the very different hairstyle. ‘Although rather less coarsely.’

‘No, I mean what are you doing here, still breathing?’

‘It’s a long story.’ She changed position, revealing that her hands were still cuffed behind her back - and attached to a short chain fixed to the bed. ‘I’d tell it to you, but I’m not exactly sitting comfortably.’

‘Didn’t know you were into bondage.’

Sophia gave him a once very familiar look of annoyance. ‘It’s hardly by choice. My, ah, associates have this funny idea that given half a chance, I’d try to escape.’

‘Or kill them.’

‘That would be the other half of the chance.’ She rattled the chain. ‘I assume you came in here looking for someone to rescue. Don’t stop on my account.’

Chase laughed mockingly to cover the whirling confusion of his feelings. ‘Yeah, right. Last time I saw you, you shot me with a poison dart!’

‘Yes, I thought you might bring that up. Would it help if I said I was really very sorry?’

A noise - Nina rapping on the door. ‘Shit! Someone’s coming.’

Sophia rattled the chain again, now with a calculating smile. ‘It’d be terrible if I shouted to the entire camp that you were here.’

‘I could just kill you.’

‘Cold-blooded murder of a defenceless woman? Not really your style.’

Now it was his turn to smile, icily. ‘I’ve got a piece of paper that says you’re already dead. I’d just be making it official.’

Another knock, more frantic, then the Winnebago’s door opened and Nina rushed inside. ‘Eddie, what’re you doing?’ she said, seeing him in the bedroom and hurrying over. ‘Ribbsley’s—Gah!’

‘Nina as well?’ said Sophia, arching an eyebrow. ‘Quite the reunion we’ve got going on.’

‘You told me she was dead!’ Nina spluttered to Chase.

‘Yeah, looks like they were a bit quick with the death certificate. Where’s Ribbsley?’

‘On his way back!’ She tugged at his arm. ‘Come on, we’ve got to go!’

Sophia shook the chain once more. ‘A-hem.’

Nina stared at her. ‘Are you kidding me?’

‘If you don’t, I’ll raise the alarm.’

‘Too late now anyway,’ said Chase, hearing movement outside. He pulled Nina into the bedroom and shut the door. A moment later, they felt the Winnebago shift on its suspension as someone entered the lounge.

‘Oh, Sophia,’ called Ribbsley in a sing-song voice, ‘I’m ba-ack! Sorry about the wait, but I needed to get some more ice. Still, pleasures are greatest in the anticipation, as the saying goes.’ He opened the bedroom door—

Chase yanked him inside. The ice bucket he was carrying fell to the floor, ice cubes scattering as the champagne bottle in it bounced across the room. Chase drew back his other fist to punch him.

‘Don’t hurt him!’ Sophia ordered, concern in her voice. Chase gave her a surprised look, but lowered his hand.

Ribbsley stared at Chase in fear, then saw Nina behind him. His eyes widened. ‘Dr Wilde?’

Nina stepped round Chase - and punched Ribbsley square in the face. ‘That was for telling the Covenant about the photos of the tablet, you son of a bitch! A friend of mine almost died because of you.’ She moved back, eyeing Sophia. ‘Okay, now will somebody tell me what the hell is going on here? Starting with why you’re still alive?’

‘I have Gabriel to thank for that,’ Sophia said, looking at Ribbsley as he clutched his nose. ‘The Covenant needed him to translate the text and lead the expedition to find this place. He had a condition - for me to be freed from Guantánamo. Since the Covenant have influence over certain people in high places, they were able to arrange it.’ She glanced at Chase. ‘How exactly did they do it?’

‘They showed me a body with half its face missing and said it was you,’ he said grimly. ‘They must have found someone who looked a lot like you - then killed her to take your place.’

‘Really? She must have been a very good likeness if she was able to fool you.’ Sophia’s expression revealed nothing more than mild interest at the revelation.

Nina was more emotional. ‘You don’t care that some innocent woman was murdered to get you out of jail? No, of course you don’t. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.’

‘Except him, apparently,’ Chase said, pushing Ribbsley into a corner. ‘Why’s he so special, Sophia?’

‘Why do you think, Eddie?’ Sophia asked. ‘He loves me. He has done for years, ever since I was his student at Cambridge.’

‘Eddie?’ said Ribbsley, regarding Chase with a look now less of fear than of distaste. ‘Eddie Chase?’

Chase grinned at him and nodded. ‘’Ow do?’

‘This?’ Ribbsley cried, his Rhodesian accent growing stronger as he became more agitated. ‘This is the man you left me to marry? This, this . . . thug?’

‘Prefer “yob” myself,’ said Chase mildly.

Ribbsley ignored him. ‘I cannot believe this, Sophia! What on earth could you possibly have seen in him? He’s just some crude, uneducated, loutish . . . Neanderthal!’

‘Hey!’ Nina snapped. ‘You’re talking about my fiancé, asshole!’

He sneered at her. ‘Ah, that famous New York charm. That explains what you see in him, I suppose. You’re about on a par in terms of class.’

‘Oh, do be quiet, Gabriel,’ Sophia chided. He looked stung. ‘Nina, I assume you’re here looking for the same thing as Gabriel and the Covenant - the lost civilisation of the Veteres.’ She sighed. ‘Such a pretentious name. But the thing is, Gabriel has a rather considerable advantage. He knows their language, and you don’t. But if you free me . . . I can give you a way to negate that advantage instantly. Because I know it too.’

‘Sophia!’ said Ribbsley, horrified. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Sorry, darling, but I need to put my best interests first.’ She looked back at Nina and Chase. ‘There’s another reason why I’d prefer you to find it before the Covenant. The moment Gabriel’s job is done . . . they’ll kill me.’

‘She’s right,’ said Chase. ‘I heard that white-haired bloke talking about it.’

‘Wouldn’t that be a shame,’ Nina muttered.

‘They won’t,’ said Ribbsley, pushing out his chest. ‘I won’t let them.’

Sophia sighed. ‘For God’s sake, Gabriel. Are you really that full of yourself ? If it ever got out that I’d been spirited from Guantánamo and was still alive, it would spark the biggest witch-hunt in American history. And you know where it would end.’ She gave him a meaningful look. ‘So once you find what the Covenant are looking for, Callum will kill me.’

‘Callum!’ Nina exclaimed, the memory finally coming to her. ‘I knew I’d seen him before. Eddie, don’t you remember? At the US embassy in London - he was one of the guys working with Jack Mitchell!’

The name and face connected for Chase too. ‘But I thought he worked for DARPA?’

‘Jack lied about working for them, so maybe this guy did too.’

‘You already know him? My my, such a small world,’ said Sophia sarcastically. ‘But no, he doesn’t work for DARPA. His name’s Michael Callum, and he handles very, very black operations for certain parts of the American government. But now you see why I’m extremely motivated to help you. I’m already officially dead - I’d prefer not to be that way for real.’

Nina almost laughed. ‘Do you seriously think that I want to help you? You tried to kill us and nuke New York!’

‘Oh, you’re not still holding a grudge about that, are you?’ Sophia sighed. ‘Besides, you need me. Do you want to spend fifteen years puzzling out the Veteres language, like Gabriel did, or would you like a head start?’

‘Sophia, don’t do this,’ Ribbsley warned. Chase shoved him back against the wall. ‘I can protect you!’

‘Sorry, Gabriel, but Eddie can do a much better job.’ She addressed Nina again. ‘I can also tell you everything I know about the Covenant. I can help you . . . if you help me.’

‘Bollocks to that,’ said Chase. ‘We can’t trust you. Besides, Nina’ll be able to figure all this out without any help.’ He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Nina?’

She stood in silence, regarding Sophia with a calculating expression. ‘Nina!’ Chase repeated. ‘Hang on, you’re not seriously thinking about saying yes, are you?’

‘She . . . has a point,’ Nina admitted reluctantly. ‘I can’t translate the language.’

‘You worked out enough to find this place.’

‘Those were numbers, Eddie. All I did was follow a map. But the inscription in that chamber is a whole lot more - and I won’t be able to work it out without help.’

‘Yeah, but her help?’ Chase objected. ‘First chance she gets, she’ll stab us in the back!’

‘Then we don’t give her the chance.’

‘What?’

‘We need her, Eddie.’ Nina moved closer to the bed, looking Sophia in the eye. ‘Okay. We’ll take you with us. But let me make this perfectly clear - you do exactly what we tell you, and if you try to screw us over in even the tiniest way, we’ll dump you on the doorstep of the US embassy so you can go straight back to Guantánamo Bay . . . or I might even kill you myself.’

Sophia raised an eyebrow. ‘You’d kill me?’

‘You’d be surprised what I can do when people piss me off.’

‘Ah, yes. That redhead temper again.’

Nina gave her a smile devoid of all humour. ‘You better believe it. Do we have an understanding?’

‘We do indeed,’ said Sophia, nodding. ‘I’d shake hands, but . . .’ She jingled the chain holding her cuffed hands.

‘Well, Professor Ribbsley,’ said Nina, turning to him, ‘I take it you’ve got a key. Unless this is some sort of personal kink I’d rather not know about.’

‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ Ribbsley said. ‘You have no idea just how powerful the Covenant really is.’

‘But I soon will, won’t I? The key? Unless you want Eddie to find it for me.’

Ribbsley hurriedly delved into his trouser pocket, producing a key ring. Nina took it and went to the bed, Sophia turning to let her reach the chain. The first lock came away, the chain clinking on to the pillow; after another moment, one of the ratchets was opened, allowing Sophia to bring her arms out from behind her back.

‘Oh, that’s such a relief,’ she said, massaging her newly freed wrist. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind opening the other one . . .’ She held up her arms.

Nina had other ideas. ‘Actually . . .’

‘Wait, what are—Hey!’ Sophia protested as the open bracelet rasped shut around her wrist once more.

‘You seriously think I’m going to let you run around loose?’ She moved back to the door. ‘While we’re at it, it’ll slow the Covenant down if Ribbsley doesn’t have his notes. Where’s his laptop?’

‘We can’t waste time, we need to get out of here,’ said Sophia. ‘The Covenant takes a very military approach to things - they won’t be eating for much longer.’

‘What about loverboy here?’ Chase asked, indicating Ribbsley. ‘We can’t drag him along as well.’

‘Knock him out,’ Sophia suggested. Ribbsley’s eyes bulged wide in fright.

‘Not kill him?’ asked Nina mockingly. ‘Very generous of you.’

‘He did get me out of Guantánamo, so I owe him that. As I said, I don’t want to see him get hurt.’ A look at Chase. ‘I’m sure you can do something relatively painless.’

‘No!’ Ribbsley cried, close to panic. ‘Sophia, please, don’t do this!’

Chase shoved him back against the wall, hand gripping his throat. Ribbsley gagged. ‘Keep your bloody voice down!’

‘The laptop,’ Nina insisted. ‘Where is it?’

‘Oh, very well,’ Sophia said. ‘It’s—’

A noise from outside, boots crunching on sand and stone. Right at the door.

‘Professor Ribbsley?’ said a voice. Zamal. A long silent moment, tension rising . . .

Ribbsley suddenly kicked at the fallen bucket. It flew up to clang noisily against the wall in a shower of flying ice, spilling a bottle of Bulgari aftershave from the bedside cabinet. Chase punched him hard across the jaw, dropping him limply on to the bed - but the damage had been done.

‘Ribbsley!’ Zamal shouted. ‘What’s going on?’

Chase ran into the lounge, heading for the door. Before he could reach it, it opened and Zamal rushed inside - only to take a blow to the head that sent him reeling back against a counter.

But he recovered fast, grabbing for his holstered gun. Chase charged, gripping his wrist just as he drew the gun and bashing his hand against the edge of the counter. Zamal snarled and jabbed a knee up at Chase’s groin, but the Englishman twisted sideways just in time to avoid a fight-ending blow.

Zamal used the shift in Chase’s balance to thrust away from the counter. Both men lurched across the room, still grappling for the gun as they crashed into the RV’s kitchen area. Zamal’s gun hand came up, the weapon shaking as he strained to break free. Chase fought back, pushing him round . . . and inadvertently pointing the gun at the two women as they entered the lounge. Nina yelped and dropped to the carpet below the line of fire, Sophia hastily retreating behind an armchair.

Chase shoved Zamal back. The gun swung back and forth as they struggled. Nina scrambled forward on her hands and knees as the barrel waved towards her.

Zamal punched Chase in the side. He flinched, giving the Arab the chance to turn and force him down on the kitchen counter, left hand clamping round his throat. A cutlery rack toppled over, its contents clashing across the stainless steel. Zamal twisted his wrist, trying to point the gun at Chase’s head . . .

Chase punched him again, but Zamal blocked the blow with his upper arm as he pushed Chase down harder. Spilled cutlery jabbed at the side of his head. He threw another punch, with no more success, then clawed at the counter, searching desperately for a knife as Zamal’s grip tightened.

His fingers closed round a cold metal handle. He snatched it up, striking at Zamal’s face—

It wasn’t a knife.

It wasn’t even a fork. It was only a spoon, the back of the rounded head striking Zamal’s brow with an almost comical smack! that brought a mocking look from Chase’s opponent.

The look changed instantly to one of enraged pain as Chase rolled the spoon over in his hand and jabbed it at the bearded man’s eye as if trying to scoop it out of his head. Zamal roared and jumped back. Chase leapt up, both men spinning round - and pointing the gun at Nina again. She shrieked and dived out of the way, landing behind the RV’s driving seat.

Ribbsley appeared in the bedroom door, wielding the champagne bottle. He saw Chase and Zamal battling for the gun and ran at them, raising the bottle like a club.

Sophia jumped out from behind the chair, grabbing a black leather briefcase with her cuffed hands. ‘Gabriel!’ He froze, the bottle held high, and looked round at her in surprise. ‘Take this!’ She swung the briefcase and hit him in the chest. Ribbsley stumbled, dropping the bottle, and fell through the open door to land on his back in the sand outside. The case thumped down beside him. ‘Nina! You’ve got the keys! Drive!’

Nina realised that she still had Ribbsley’s key ring - and on it was one key with the fat black plastic head of a remote locking system. With a worried look at the struggling men, she dropped into the driving seat and shoved the key in the ignition.

Chase kicked back with one foot to give himself leverage on the refrigerator, throwing Zamal against the wall. He smashed the other man on the cheek with the point of his right elbow, then managed to get a grip on the gun. Zamal responded by punching him in the ribs. Chase grunted in pain. He elbowed Zamal in the head again, trying to wrench the gun away—

Zamal realised he was in danger of losing his weapon - and squeezed the trigger.

The shot punched through the Winnebago’s roof. Chase yelled as his hand was burned - the heel of his palm had been partly covering the automatic’s ejection port. He let go, and Zamal twisted his wrist around to point the gun at his head, pulling the trigger again—

Clink.

No shot. Chase’s grip on the gun’s slide had stopped it from cycling properly, needing a manual operation to complete the reloading action.

Chase took immediate advantage of the misfire to slam a sledgehammer punch into the Arab’s stomach. Zamal bent at the waist as the wind was knocked out of him, and took a follow-up blow to the face.

The engine started. ‘Go!’ Sophia yelled. Nina released the handbrake, put the Winnebago into drive, stamped on the accelerator . . .

And the seventeen-ton vehicle wallowed as its wheels spun in the sand.

The movement sent Chase and Zamal reeling across the lounge. Sophia snatched up the champagne bottle, waiting for a chance to strike.

Nina tried again, pushing down the pedal more gently. The Winnebago rocked, then gained traction and jolted forward. She swung the steering wheel to bring the enormous RV towards the dirt track away from the coast.

The gunshot had attracted attention. Through the windscreen, she saw men running towards them. Grimacing, she shoved the accelerator down harder.

Zamal and Chase traded more blows, neither willing to relinquish their grip on the other as they staggered back and forth across the room. Sophia was still waiting for a clear strike. ‘Eddie!’ she said impatiently, holding up the bottle. ‘Turn him round!’

Chase saw what she had in mind, and with a furious burst of strength forced Zamal’s back towards her. The bottle flashed down, smashing over the Arab’s head and showering Chase with frothing champagne. Zamal’s knees buckled.

‘Waste of a Cuvée Winston,’ said Sophia, almost sadly, before moving to the door and holding it open. ‘Throw him out!’

Chase half dragged the groaning Zamal across the room. ‘Okay, mate,’ Chase grunted. ‘Holiday’s over.’

The track ahead curved, low limestone embankments rising on both sides. Nina threw the RV into the bend without slowing, the front bumper clipping the outer bank.

Chase lurched, Zamal grabbed him - and both men toppled out through the open door.

16

Chase landed on top of Zamal, knocking the breath from both of them as they rolled to a stop in the Winnebago’s dusty wake.

Chase recovered first, coughing. The Arab was lying prone a few feet away.

He still had the gun.

Zamal realised this at the same moment as Chase. He tugged the slide to unjam it and brought the weapon round—

Chase punched him so hard that his beret flew off. This time, Zamal stayed down. ‘Guess the champagne went to your head,’ Chase said. He looked round to see the Winnebago retreating into the desert - and one of the quad bikes swerving off its patrol route after it.

It wasn’t the only vehicle in pursuit. He could hear the second quad bike cutting through the excavations behind him - and the rasp of a third Kawasaki starting up. All that, plus shouting from the camp as the rest of the Covenant forces mobilised, told him that he really needed to be somewhere else.

He pulled the gun from Zamal’s limp hand and staggered painfully after the Winnebago.

Nina found the switch for the headlights. The bumpy desert landscape lit up before her.

A noise to one side, an engine. In the mirror she saw one of the quad bikes bounding towards her. And something picked out by the headlight’s glare above the handlebars, a line of dark metal in the rider’s hand—

‘Shit!’ Nina gasped, ducking as flame spat from the rifle’s barrel. Bullets punctured the Winnebago’s slab-like side. ‘Eddie, keep down!’ No answer. ‘Eddie?’

Sophia took cover behind Nina. ‘He fell out!’

‘He what?’ She was about to stamp on the brake when another burst of gunfire deterred her. Instead, she increased speed, the RV pitching over each bump like a ship in heavy seas. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Eddie can look after himself.’

‘Well, I hope we can!’ Another turn was coming up fast, a bank channelling the Winnebago to the right. Sophia grabbed the fat leather seat for support as Nina turned hard, feeling the big, top-heavy vehicle begin to tip over. ‘Whoa!’ She had to ease off . . .

‘If you could keep all the wheels on the ground, it’d be helpful,’ Sophia said dryly as the RV dropped heavily back down, loose objects clattering round the cabin behind them.

‘It’d be even more helpful if you’d shut your goddamn yap!’ The track curved back to the left, rising out of a little gully. She swung the wheel back, the Winnebago rolling even harder.

Where was the quad bike? Nina checked the mirrors, seeing no sign of it behind them.

Engine noise, very close, too close—

It wasn’t behind them. It had drawn level, zooming over the rise in a straight line to catch up while she had been forced to weave through the gully. She looked sideways to see it just yards away, the rider swinging the rifle round in one hand, aiming at her . . .

Nina ducked, hauling on the wheel to slew the Winnebago off the track at the quad bike. The rider fired a burst before he was forced to swerve away, shattering the side window and ripping a pair of bullet holes in the panoramic windscreen, a web of silver cracks obscuring Nina’s view.

‘Sophia!’ she yelled, the RV ripping through bushes before she swung it back on to the track. ‘I can’t see ahead! I need you to—’

A red cylinder flew past her head and smashed through the damaged windscreen; one of the Winnebago’s fire extinguishers. ‘Is that better?’ Sophia asked, dropping into the passenger seat.

‘Oh, just fine,’ Nina growled as a gritty wind blew through the new hole. But at least she could see again. She looked for the quad bike. Its headlight was now in the mirror - it had been forced to drop in behind them to avoid a stand of trees.

The sound of bullet impacts echoed up the cabin from the Winnebago’s rear. ‘What the hell’s he shooting at?’

‘The tyres, maybe?’ Sophia suggested with considerable sarcasm. ‘Or the gas cylinders? Or the hundred gallons of fuel?’

Another burst of gunfire - then a low whoomph reached them from the bedroom as something ignited. ‘Or your boyfriend’s napalm aftershave,’ said Nina frostily. They turned to see flickers of flame through the bedroom door.

‘Maybe it is a little overpowering,’ Sophia quickly agreed.

‘That’d better not have been the only fire extinguisher you just threw out the window.’

‘I think there’s another one.’ Sophia made her way unsteadily back down the length of the bucking vehicle.

Nina checked the mirror again. The quad bike was still tucked in behind them - and further back, she spotted other lights racing through the desert. ‘Oh, God, Eddie, where are you?’

Chase was having quad bike problems of his own. The nearest bike was closing fast, the cyclops glare of its headlight casting his long running shadow into the night ahead. Still running, he twisted and fired off a shot. It hit the bike’s front with a metallic crack.

But it caused no damage. The bike kept coming. He turned to shoot again—

Too slow. The Kawasaki swept past - and the rider kicked him square in the back, hurling him face first to the ground. The gun spun from his hand. Spine on fire, he rose to his hands and knees as the quad bike made a skidding turn to come back round for another attack.

Where was the gun? It couldn’t have landed more than a few feet away . . .

The bike charged straight for him. He crawled forward, hands sweeping back and forth through the sand, finding nothing but stones.

The light was blinding, from his low viewpoint looking like a locomotive about to crush him.

Sand, stones—

Metal!

Chase snapped up the gun and fired just above the headlight. There was a startled scream, and the rider fell backwards - then the quad bike veered sharply, hitting a rock and flipping over to barrel across the sand—

Straight at Chase.

He threw himself sideways, rolling over and over as the tumbling bike slammed down beside him, showering him with grit and broken bodywork. It bounced a couple more times before finally coming to rest on its side.

Pain rippled up Chase’s back, but he fought through it and stood, looking towards the camp. The other quad bike was still coming, and he could see more headlights moving along the track.

He limped to the battered bike and pulled it back on to all four wheels. The engine had stalled; he mounted the saddle and tried the starter. It whined in protest, the engine reluctantly turning over on the third attempt.

He could see the Winnebago’s rear lights in the distance - and something else, a flickering glow through its rear window that looked suspiciously like a fire. ‘Oh, Christ,’ he moaned as he twisted the throttle, the engine revving raggedly. ‘What’s she done now?’

‘Have you found the fire extinguisher?’ Nina shouted down the Winnebago’s cabin.

‘Yes!’ came the answer from the bedroom.

‘And?’

‘It’s on fire!’

‘Oh, that’s, that’s . . .’ Nina struggled for words. ‘So not good,’ was all she could come up with. She looked back, seeing Sophia making a hasty exit from the bedroom as a curtain caught light behind her. ‘You’ve got a kitchen and a bathroom back there - throw some water on it!’

‘In what?’ Sophia snapped, holding up a teacup.

‘How about pans? Don’t you cook?’

‘Of course I don’t cook! What am I, a peasant?’

Nina’s scathing reply was cut off when she saw the quad bike trying to overtake again. She turned to force the rider off the track. He dropped back slightly, but had no trouble riding up the low embankment flanking the trail - unlike the Winnebago, which shook violently.

And in the other mirror, she could see two more quad bikes charging across the desert . . .

Chase was gaining rapidly on the lumbering RV, cutting straight across the sand to intercept it. The first quad bike had gone wide, trying to overtake - he guessed that the rider planned to get far enough ahead to stop and take a head-on shot at the driver.

He wasn’t going to let that happen.

The third quad was about fifty metres behind, following him. Even though he knew its rider was armed with a rifle, Chase doubted he would take a shot . . . yet. At speed over rough terrain, firing one-handed, he would have only slightly more chance of hitting than if he fired up into the air hoping the bullet would come down on his head.

But the odds would improve dramatically at closer range.

A boulder leapt into his headlight beam; he dodged it, then angled back at the Winnebago. It was definitely on fire, burning curtains whipping from the bullet-smashed rear window.

Chase leaned into the dusty wind and forced the throttle to its limit.

Nina was thrown against the wheel as the Winnebago hit a large hump, rocking sickeningly. Sophia fell on to the lounge’s leather couch, clinging to its padded arm.

The RV hadn’t taken the landing well: something was grinding under the floor. The wheel felt heavier in Nina’s hands. Either the power assistance was failing, or the steering had been damaged.

‘How’s the fire?’ she called.

Sophia glanced back. The flames had now spread into the main cabin. ‘Getting bigger! Where’s the bike?’

‘Getting closer!’ The quad bike had drawn level again. Then it surged past, sweeping across the sand to cut in just ahead of the RV. Nina yelped, swerving to avoid it - realising a moment too late that she would have been better off trying to hit it. By the time she straightened, the Kawasaki was clear and pulling away. The rider’s rifle stood out in the headlights, slung over his back. ‘Dammit!’

The trail ahead dipped, dropping into another gully. The quad held its speed as it slithered round a corner, but Nina was forced to brake to prevent the Winnebago from running wide and hitting the wall. The grinding grew louder as she pulled the wheel, but mechanical concerns paled against the knowledge that the rider ahead was gaining ground to set up an ambush - while the two other bikes were catching up from behind.

Chase saw the Winnebago ahead, picked out by little running lights along its length - and the trail of smoke behind it, glowing red in the RV’s tail lights. He was almost on it - but he realised he didn’t have a plan for what to do when he caught up. If Nina and Sophia stopped to escape the burning vehicle, the rider behind him would shoot them - and there was no way the compact quad bike could carry three people.

The man behind cut his options still further as gunfire cracked across the desert. He looked back. The undamaged Kawasaki had gained ground, its rider close enough to attempt a shot. He was resting the rifle’s barrel on the handlebars, shooting from the hip. Not very accurate - but if he got any closer, he wouldn’t need to be.

The Winnebago was just ahead, its roof almost level with the top of the gully. He steered parallel to it.

A second shot tore past, closer.

He was alongside—

Chase squeezed the last ounce of power out of the quad - and turned sharply, leaping off the edge of the gully.

The bike cleared the gap, landing on the Winnebago’s roof—

And fell through it, steel and aluminium instantly buckling under the weight.

The RV’s back end collapsed, side panels bowing outwards as the entire rear wall broke loose and crashed aflame on to the trail. The quad bike fell on to the bed, pitching Chase over the handlebars. He smashed through the scorched partition wall in a shower of sparks to land on his back in the lounge.

Sophia regarded him in surprise. ‘Ay up,’ Chase said with a dazed wave.

‘What the hell was that?’ Nina shrieked.

‘Just my ex-husband making a typically overblown entrance,’ Sophia told her.

Nina looked back. ‘Eddie!’

‘Hi, love. With you in a minute,’ he said, brushing away stinging embers before going to the bedroom door.

Behind him, Sophia saw the gun lying amongst the splinters. She hurried across the room to pick it up, glancing calculatingly after Chase.

Chase entered the devastated bedroom, looking through the gaping hole where the rear wall had been to see the pursuing rider swinging on to the trail behind them as the RV climbed out of the gully. He reached for the gun - to find nothing there. ‘Buggeration and fu—’

The rider lined up the rifle—

Chase threw himself down amongst the debris, taking cover behind the quad bike on the bed as a three-round burst ripped into the Winnebago’s mangled tail-end. A few seconds later came another crackle of gunfire, the bullet impacts lower down.

Chase knew why. He was aiming at the tyres.

He poked his head up, seeing the rider steering towards the Winnebago’s side for a better firing angle - and realised with alarm that his own battered Kawasaki was now on fire. Worse still, a broken metal spar had punctured its fuel tank, a dribble of petrol seeping into the mattress . . . which was burning in several places. ‘Fuckery!’ he concluded.

No way to put out the flames. He had to get rid of the quad-bike before the fuel tank ignited.

The engine was still burbling. Chase jumped up and grabbed the handlebars, pulling the bike around as he blipped the throttle. The rider saw him and swung back, switching targets from the rear wheels to the Englishman—

Chase twisted the throttle.

The quad bike surged from the bed as he dropped flat, flying out of the flame-licked back of the RV straight at the other bike. The trail of leaking fuel spattered through the flames - and ignited, an arc of fire rushing after the quad bike as it tumbled at the screaming rider . . .

The bikes collided, the fiery streak catching up an instant later. Chase’s bike blew to pieces in a fireball that lit up the surrounding desert, the explosion of the second quad following almost simultaneously.

Burning fragments rained down on Chase. He weathered the pain, waiting until the heat of the fireball had faded before opening his eyes . . . to see a fat tyre bounding along the trail after him, engulfed in flames.

‘Shit!’ he gasped, rolling aside just as the blazing wheel careered past and bounced off the partition wall, spinning back at him. He yelped and hurled himself on to the burning mattress as it flew over his head into the desert night.

Rubbing frantically at his arms where hairs had caught light, Chase leapt through the hole in the wall, running past Sophia to the kitchen area. ‘Ow, ow, fuck! Water, I need water!’ He reached the sink and turned on the taps, splashing water over himself.

Nina looked back. ‘Eddie, are you okay? What happened?’

‘Wheel,’ he gasped. ‘On fire.’

‘Was it rolling down the road?’ Sophia asked.

Chase gave her a less-than-amused glare, shaking off the water. His forearms were covered with mottled red blotches, but none of the burns seemed serious. ‘Got the guy behind you.’

‘There’s another one in front,’ Nina told him.

‘Yeah, I know.’ He turned, gaze darting over the strewn debris on the floor. ‘I had a gun . . .’

‘This gun?’ asked Sophia. Chase froze as he saw the automatic in her cuffed hands, aimed at his chest. She looked him in the eye, smiled slightly . . . then flipped it round and held it out to him.

He snatched it from her. ‘You’re welcome,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I just wanted to prove that you can trust me.’

‘I wouldn’t trust you any more than I could cough up a dog.’

She sniffed. ‘Charming as ever, I see.’

He ignored her, quickly checking how many bullets remained in the magazine before joining Nina. ‘How far ahead is he?’

She pointed down the track. The last quad bike had now gained a lead of over a hundred yards, a dust trail glowing like a nebula in its rear lights.

Chase checked the speedometer. For all the noise coming from the RV’s transmission, it was barely managing thirty miles an hour over the rough terrain. The rider would have just enough time to slam his quad bike to a stop, take aim at the driver and fire before the Winnebago reached him . . .

‘Keep driving,’ he said to Nina, hunching down in the passenger-side footwell. ‘The moment he stops, tell me.’

‘What’re you going to do?’

He waggled the gun. ‘What do you think? Just don’t slow down.’

Sophia returned to the couch, bracing herself. ‘Can I remind you both that we’re still on fire?’

‘Feel free to bail out whenever you like,’ Nina shot back. The quad bike was still pulling away, but now drifting over to one side of the trail . . .

Brake lights flared.

‘He’s stopping, he’s stopping!’ she yelled.

‘Drive straight at him!’ Chase ordered.

Nina pushed the accelerator down harder, each bump pounding the wallowing RV. The quad bike slewed to a stop, its rider swinging his rifle from his back. ‘Eddie, he’s got a gun—’

‘I know! Keep going!’

The rifle rose . . .

Chase sprang up and fired as fast as he could pull the trigger, shattering the windscreen. Bullets kicked up dirt around the Kawasaki, the Winnebago juddering too much for him to get a proper fix - but that wasn’t why he was shooting.

It was to distract the other man, forcing him to switch to a more dangerous target.

Chase.

Click. Empty magazine.

The rider changed his aim—

Chase dived to the floor as a burst of rifle fire ripped through the remains of the windscreen. ‘Hit him!’ he roared.

The gunman saw that he’d missed, switched back to his original target - and realised that she was driving the massive RV right at him.

Nina cringed in her seat, shutting her eyes—

The gunman hurled himself aside as the Winnebago’s flat nose slammed into the quad bike like an express train, smashing it apart. There was a jolt as the front wheel ran over something, followed a moment later by another as the rear wheel did the same.

‘Oh God, oh my God!’ Nina shrieked, flapping her hands in near-panic. ‘I ran him over!’

‘No, he got out of the way,’ said Sophia, looking back. ‘Although I don’t know why you care. He was trying to kill you.’

‘Maybe because I’m not a psycho?’ She took the wheel again and checked the mirrors. More lights, some distance behind - but closing. Full-size 4x4s racing after them. ‘Eddie! How much further to our jeep?’

Chase looked ahead. ‘Not far.’ He jumped up. ‘Nina, let me drive!’

‘What’re you doing?’ she asked as they traded places.

‘I’m gonna find out if you can drift a Winnebago!’ The ground ahead was littered with large rocks, the track dropping into the gully. ‘Hang on!’ Nina looked dismayed, but grabbed the bullet-ripped passenger seat.

Chase kept his foot down hard on the accelerator as the Winnebago reached the gulch - then sharply raised it. The RV’s front end dipped heavily with the sudden loss of power . . . as he turned hard and yanked on the handbrake.

With a shuddering crunch of gravel and sand beneath the tyres, the Winnebago skidded round in a handbrake turn, moving practically sideways as he dropped into the gully. The burning RV’s rear end clipped the steep wall. It stopped abruptly, almost throwing Chase and Nina from their seats. Chase looked up to see the other wall of the gulch barely a foot beyond the windscreen. ‘All right!’ he crowed. ‘Thank you, action movies!’

He kicked open the driver’s door, waving for Nina and Sophia to follow. ‘Okay, so you’re fast and furious,’ said Nina, confused, as they ran through the gulch. ‘But how does that help us?’

‘’Cause that thing’s going to blow up—’

There was a bright orange flash and a loud whump of igniting fuel, followed a second later by a much more violent explosion as the Winnebago’s propane tanks detonated, knocking them to the ground.

‘Any second,’ Chase finished. Behind them, the huge RV was engulfed in flames, completely blocking the gully. ‘They’ll have a job getting through that - and they’ll have to go a long way round to get past those rocks.’

‘Where’s your truck?’ Sophia asked.

‘Just up here.’ The Land Rover was parked off one side of the track. They ran to it and piled in, Chase quickly swinging the 4x4 round to race back towards the distant highway. He checked the mirror. The pursuing vehicles had indeed been stymied by the blazing hulk of the Winnebago, and it would take several minutes for them to skirt the field of boulders. ‘Don’t think they’ll catch up.’

Sophia held up her cuffed hands. ‘In that case, perhaps you could take these off ?’

Nina toyed with the key. ‘Once we’re out of here. And once we find out what the hell’s going on.’

‘I’ll tell you everything I know. When we’re safe.’

‘How often does that happen?’ said Chase, driving the Land Rover off into the night.

Zamal’s seething rage came to a boil as he limped back to the camp, his jaw aching from Chase’s punch. He had been opposed to bringing Sophia Blackwood along from the very beginning, but to his disgust Vogler and Hammerstein had caved in to Ribbsley’s lust-driven demand, arguing that without him they would be unable to take advantage of the chart Nina Wilde had discovered.

Pathetic! Considering how much money Ribbsley had taken from the Covenant over the years he had been translating Veteres texts for them, he should have been grateful not to have been dragged from his Cambridge home and forced to do the work at gunpoint.

And now the decision had backfired horribly: Blackwood had escaped. With Nina Wilde!

Zamal blamed Vogler; he might not have always agreed with his predecessor, Jonas di Bonaventura, but he respected him - and knew he would not have given in to Ribbsley. The protégé did not match up to his mentor.

He reached the encampment and found the others waiting for him. ‘I don’t care what deals you made,’ he snarled at Ribbsley. ‘When I catch your woman, I’ll kill her.’

‘She’s got to be found,’ said Callum. ‘If anyone realises she’s still alive—’

‘Blackwood is your problem,’ said Vogler dismissively. ‘Not ours. Dr Wilde is our biggest threat. We can assume she saw the inscription.’

‘Then we have to eliminate her before she translates it.’ Hammerstein shot Vogler a cold look. ‘If those pirates you hired had actually done their job and killed everyone on the Pianosa—’

‘Blaming each other isn’t helping us find them,’ said Callum, stepping into the centre of the group. ‘We need to get organised, right now—’

Zamal grabbed him by the collar. ‘Do not tell us what to do, American,’ he snarled, before pushing him back. ‘You are only here because we allow you to be. Do not forget who is in charge.’ Callum said nothing, regarding him with an expressionless, basilisk gaze.

‘He’s right, though,’ said Vogler. ‘We have to find them. And we’ll have to destroy this site, tonight. Professor, have you got all the information you need from the chamber?’ Ribbsley nodded. ‘Good. Then keep working on it. And Professor . . .’ An almost apologetic look. ‘I’m afraid that Ms Blackwood is now a threat to the Covenant. She can’t be trusted.’

‘I’m glad we agree on something,’ Zamal hissed. The three Covenant leaders walked away, Callum following.

Ribbsley remained still, however, looking down at the object in his hands - the briefcase. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say she can’t be trusted,’ he said to himself with a hint of a smile, opening it. Inside was his laptop.

Containing all his research.

Sophia had known full well what was in the case - and deliberately kept it from Nina and Chase. The smile became a full one. ‘I wouldn’t say that at all . . .’

17

‘So,’ said Nina to Sophia, ‘what’s your story?’ ‘Yeah,’ Chase added. ‘And what the hell did you do to your hair?’

After reaching the highway, they had driven towards Perth for some distance before turning off the main road and back towards the coast. It was a slower, less direct route south, but also one with - they hoped - less chance of anyone looking for them.

Now, not long after sunrise, they were the morning’s first patrons of a small truck-stop diner. The only other person in the ramshackle building was the middle-aged waitress, who after serving coffee to the new arrivals retreated behind the counter to read a romance novel to the scratchy accompaniment of an old jukebox in one corner.

‘Not my idea, I can assure you,’ Sophia said, running her hands through her spiky hair. Both handcuff bracelets were now fastened round one wrist so as not to attract attention. ‘Blonde really isn’t my colour. Though it could have been worse.’ She glanced at Nina’s red hair. ‘But Callum insisted, on the off-chance that some random outback passer-by might see my real hair and go, “Wait a minute, that’s the sheila who tried to blow up New York! I thought she was dead!” ’

‘But, unfortunately, you’re not,’ said Nina.

‘Ooh, your repartee cuts like paper,’ Sophia sneered, giving Nina a disdainful look - then spotting her engagement ring. For a moment she seemed both shocked and angry before her contemptuous mask came back down. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re getting married.’

‘We’re getting married,’ Nina told her with an icy smile.

‘We did think about inviting you,’ Chase added, ‘but then you died.’

‘Speaking of which,’ said Nina, ‘how about you tell us why the Covenant arranged for you to be snuck out of Guantánamo.’

Sophia sat back. ‘Part of that comes down to why I was put in there in the first place.’

‘Because you’d’ve been killed before you ever got to trial in a regular prison,’ said Chase.

She sniffed. ‘Hardly. Do you really think anybody would have cared if Large Marge had shanked me in the shower? That way, they would have avoided an incredibly long, costly and complex trial that would have exposed America’s border security as a hopeless pork-barrel shambles. After all, despite all the billions of dollars they’ve spent on Homeland Security, the only thing that stopped a nuclear explosion was a balding Yorkshireman sticking his hand in the mechanism.’ She glanced at Chase’s left forearm and the long X-shaped scar running along it.

‘And it still hurts,’ Chase rumbled.

Nina made a disgusted sound. ‘I can’t believe this. You tried to be the biggest mass murderer in history, but you’re talking about it like . . . like it was nothing.’

Sophia shrugged. ‘What do you want me to do, cackle maniac-ally and proclaim that the world has not seen the last of Sophia Blackwood? I had a plan. It failed. I was caught. By you. Obviously I was . . . rather angry about that at the time.’ She gave them a dark look that made it clear embers of resentment still burned within her. ‘But that was then - and there are other people I’ve had more reason to be angry at since. Specifically . . . Victor Dalton.’

‘The President?’ asked Nina, puzzled. ‘Why him?’

‘He put me in Guantánamo - even though I’d already been kept in a regular high-security prison for months. Hardly the nicest surroundings . . . but it was like a stay at the Dorchester compared to Camp 7. And it was practically the first thing he did after his inauguration. Do you know why?’

‘He thought you needed to work on your tan?’ Chase suggested.

‘Ah, that rapier wit. So there is something you and Nina have in common,’ said Sophia. ‘No, Eddie. The reason he sent me to Guantánamo is that I was a threat to him. I could destroy his presidency, just like that.’

Nina eyed her dubiously. ‘Oh, yeah? How?’

‘Do you remember the night we first met?’

‘Sure. René Corvus’s yacht.’

‘Yes. I was with Richard Yuen. And Victor - Senator Dalton, as he was at the time - was there as well.’

Nina nodded, remembering the evening. ‘Yeah. And?’

‘And later that evening, he and I had a . . . private meeting in one of the cabins.’

Chase coughed on his coffee. ‘You shagged the President?’ he blurted. The waitress glanced up from her book.

‘Eddie!’ Nina cried, batting his arm.

‘Eloquently put, as ever,’ Sophia said. ‘But yes, I did.’

Chase shook his head. ‘Bloody hell. And you did it with your ex-husband, current husband and future husband all on the boat at the same time. Just can’t get enough, can you?’

‘Oh, Richard knew about it. And so did René. They just didn’t know about each other knowing.’

Nina’s head was spinning. ‘Why? Why did you do it?’

‘Business, of course. He hadn’t won the party’s nomination yet, but he was by far the leader in the polls. So both Richard and René thought - once I put the idea into their heads - that having a little, ah, influence over the next President of the United States would be very useful.’

‘You recorded it,’ Chase realised. ‘You hid a camera somewhere and taped the whole thing.’ He made a face. ‘That’s really, really . . . gross. I mean, I’ve met the man. He’s not exactly George Clooney.’

Sophia smirked. ‘It’s funny, Eddie - a lot of my friends said exactly the same thing when I married you.’

Nina shook her head. ‘No, this is insane. There is no way that you enticed Victor Dalton into bed and recorded the whole thing. He had the Secret Service with him, for God’s sake!’

‘The Secret Service doesn’t just protect the presidential candidates,’ said Sophia. ‘It protects their secrets. Why do you think it’s called that? All men of power have their lusts, their addictions, their perversions - they come with the kind of personality that craves power in the first place.’

‘Perfect match for you, then,’ said Chase.

‘Can we stop talking about - about lusty addicted perverts?’ Nina demanded. ‘So you made a recording. Then what?’

‘Then, I kept it very close to me,’ Sophia continued. ‘Do you remember in Shanghai, Eddie, that I took us to Richard’s office to open his safe?’

‘He had your passport in there,’ Chase recalled.

‘Yes, but I could have got it at any time. I really went to pick up a memory stick with a list of all Richard’s less-than-legal campaign contributions, not just to Dalton but to several other politicians as well - and also the digital recording. I had it with me in New York and Botswana, and then when I went to Switzerland with Richard I put it in a bank deposit box.’

‘And it’s still there, I bet,’ said Nina.

‘Yes. Which is why Dalton wanted me as far out of sight as possible. If I were in the normal system, I’d have visitation rights, access to counsel, lawyers - people I could conceivably tell about the recording and use to arrange its release to the media.’

‘Which would kill Dalton’s career stone dead. The President, having an affair with the terrorist who tried to nuke New York . . .’

‘Exactly. But since Dalton declared me an enemy combatant as soon as he took office, he could ship me off to Cuba where I was denied all those things. Which was why when Gabriel got the Covenant to demand my release, Callum came as well - as my executioner. I have knowledge that can bring down the President, so I can’t be allowed to live.’ She smiled, a broad, mocking grin. ‘Oh, by the way, now that you know about the recording, the same applies to you. You’ve just become enemies of the most powerful man in the world. Congratulations!’ She took in their stunned expressions with smug satisfaction. ‘Although from what I picked up from Callum, I gather that you already were.’

‘What?’ Nina gasped.

‘I don’t know the details - he didn’t exactly confide in me. Something to do with you sabotaging a black operation.’

Nina and Chase exchanged worried looks, thinking back to the events of four months earlier. ‘Dalton knew about it?’ Chase asked.

‘Of course he knew,’ said Sophia with a hint of impatience. ‘Presidents always know, otherwise why bother having them? The man at the top gives the orders.’

‘Except when the Covenant do,’ Nina said, fixing Sophia with a questioning stare. ‘You said you’d tell us about them. So, who are the Covenant? And how do they have the power to tell the President what to do?’

Sophia took a long sip of coffee, the silence in the room broken by the crackle of the jukebox changing records. ‘Obviously, I don’t know everything,’ she said at last. ‘They don’t exactly regard me as a confidante. Even Gabriel was reluctant to tell me too much. But,’ she went on, leaning closer, ‘I have my ways.’

‘Yeah, we know,’ Nina muttered. ‘Just the facts, okay?’

‘Very well,’ said Sophia sourly. ‘The Covenant of Genesis is a black operations unit - but one that doesn’t belong to any country. It was established to protect the mutual interests of three very old, very powerful and very wealthy . . . well, organisations isn’t quite the right word.’

‘Do you mean, like the mafia or something?’ Chase asked.

Sophia laughed. ‘I suppose there are some people who’d say that. But no, the right word is actually . . . faiths.’

It took Nina a moment to take in Sophia’s full meaning. ‘Wait, what? You mean, faiths as in religions?’

Sophia nodded. ‘Three religions - all different, but with a common origin. Three leaders, one from each religion, sharing control. Vogler represents Christianity, specifically the Roman Catholic Church. Hammerstein is an Israeli, representing Judaism. And Zamal, a Saudi, comes from the fount of Islam. Between them, they have one mission - to suppress all knowledge of something that threatens everything they believe in.’

Chase leaned closer, intrigued. ‘Which is?’

‘I, ah . . .’ Sophia hesitated. ‘I don’t actually know.’

‘You don’t know?’ Nina snapped.

‘Gabriel wouldn’t tell me,’ said Sophia, folding her arms huffily. ‘That was something I couldn’t get out of him. I was only helping him with the translations. All I know is that it’s very old, it involves people he calls the Veteres, and that the Covenant is using him to locate all traces of them - so they can be destroyed.’

‘How long’s he been working for them?’

‘A long time; longer than I’ve known him. At least fifteen years. But the Covenant’s been around for a lot longer, more like fifty years.’

‘That means that whatever it is they’re trying to hide, they’ve been very good at it,’ Nina realised.

‘Very good - and very ruthless. They kill anyone who finds any evidence of the Veteres. I was with Gabriel at a site in Oman about eight years ago; I didn’t know what was going on at the time, but now I’ve realised that the Covenant must have destroyed it, and killed the people who discovered it.’

‘Doesn’t sound very religious,’ said Chase. ‘What happened to the whole “Thou shalt not kill” thing?’

‘I imagine they pay it about as much attention as we do.’

‘Hey!’ Nina protested. ‘I haven’t killed anyone!’ Chase and Sophia looked at her. ‘Well, not deliberately . . . And they were all trying to kill me!’

‘I’m sure Saint Peter will accept that as an excuse,’ said Sophia.

Chase put a reassuring hand on Nina’s back. ‘So now what do we do? If three really powerful religions want us dead, and now the President of the United bloody States wants us dead too, then we’ve got a big problem!’

‘The way to stop Dalton is simple enough,’ said Sophia. ‘Go to Switzerland, get the recording, and release it to the media. He’ll be out of the White House within a week.’

‘There’s an easier way,’ Chase said. ‘You just walk into the nearest TV studio and say, “Hey, guys, I’m still alive! You’ll never guess who let me out of Guantánamo . . .” ’

She frowned. ‘Just one slight problem with that plan, Eddie. I’d be arrested. And then I’d be killed. Getting rid of Dalton doesn’t help me if I’m dead.’

‘I dunno,’ said Nina, ‘I don’t see any downsides.’

Sophia glared poisonously at her as Chase chuckled. ‘Even if we get the recording,’ he said, ‘and get rid of Dalton, that still leaves the Covenant. How do we get them off our backs?’

‘The same way as Dalton,’ said Nina decisively, sitting upright. ‘We find what they’re afraid of before they do, and expose it to the world.’

‘That simple, hmm?’ Sophia said, raising an eyebrow.

‘That simple,’ Nina repeated. ‘We’ve got the photos I took of the inscription; we’ve got your knowledge of the language; we’ve got . . . whatever the hell this is,’ she added, taking out one of the grooved clay cylinders and holding it up to the light. ‘That’s just as much as the Covenant.’

‘Gabriel will still be able to translate the text,’ said Sophia. ‘I was only assisting him - he knows much more than me.’

‘You mean you’re actually admitting to an inadequacy?’ Nina scoffed, leaning back in her seat - only to jump in pain. ‘Ow!’

‘What?’ Chase asked.

‘Son of a . . . I just sat on where that needle jabbed me in the ass!’

‘So it wasn’t a bite from a funnel-web spider?’ asked Sophia. ‘What a shame.’

There was another crackle from the jukebox as the record changed again. ‘A funnel-web?’ Nina growled, rubbing her aching backside. ‘I’d have thought your kind of spider was a black . . . widow . . .’ She tailed off, holding up the cylinder - then whirling to look at the jukebox. ‘Jesus!’

Chase followed her gaze as the next song started. ‘Is that “The Safety Dance”? Bloody hell, I haven’t heard that in years.’

‘Not the record!’ Nina exclaimed, staring with growing excitement at the cylinder. ‘I know what this is!’

‘You do?’ Sophia asked.

‘Yes! But I need somewhere I can work - we’ve got to find a motel, get a room.’

‘Three in a bed, eh?’ said Chase suggestively.

‘Eddie! And we need something else.’ She called across the room to the waitress. ‘Excuse me - can you tell me how to get to the nearest hardware store?’

Travelling south towards Perth, they reached a small town that was home to a motel - and a hardware store.

Nina worked at their motel room’s small desk, which soon resembled a cross between a craft fair disaster and a mad scientist’s lab. The trip to the store had resulted in the purchase of several sheets of card, duct tape, a length of wooden dowel, a lamp stand, an electric screwdriver . . . and a set of large needles of the kind used to repair canvas and other heavy fabrics.

‘You think it’ll work?’ asked Chase.

‘Soon find out. I’m almost finished.’ She tore off a piece of tape and used it to fix the screwdriver to the side of the desk with its empty chuck pointing upwards, then pushed a short piece of dowel on to one of the screwdriver’s bits, having previously drilled a hole into one end. When it was on as far as it would go, she used another piece of tape to secure it, then inserted the bit into the chuck. Switching the screwdriver to its lowest setting, she experimentally pulled the trigger. The dowel spun with a low whirr.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘that part works. Now, let’s see about the rest . . .’

She picked up a cone made from a sheet of card, taping it to the metal stem of the lamp stand by its narrow end. Once it was in place, she took one of the needles and carefully inserted it eye-first into the point of the cone before using more tape to hold it there. Then she slid the lamp stand across the desk, poising the needle above the piece of dowel . . .

‘All we need’s a dog,’ said Chase, with some pride at what Nina had managed to assemble, ‘and we’ve got His Master’s Voice.’

Sophia regarded the construction incredulously. ‘You’ve built a gramophone?’

‘That’s right,’ Nina replied, picking up the cylinder. ‘That’s what this is - it’s an audio recording! The groove’s like the one on a record, or more like an old wax cylinder, I suppose. There have been examples of pottery accidentally recording ambient sounds while they were being inscribed with a stylus on the potter’s wheel - I think the people who made this developed the technique into something with practical applications.’ She indicated the cone. ‘They used copper rather than cardboard, but the principle’s the same - the cone’s used to pick up the vibrations of sounds and transmit them through the needle on to the soft clay when the recording’s being made, and then amplify them like a loudspeaker when the fired, hardened cylinder is played back. And I know the size of the needle they used because, well, I got one stuck in my butt.’

Chase peered at the second cylinder on the desk. ‘So what did they record on them?’

‘Voices, presumably. Religious sermons, speeches by their leaders . . . maybe even songs.’ Nina carefully lowered the cylinder on to the makeshift turntable, sliding the dowel into the hole at its base. ‘Soon find out.’

For once, Sophia actually seemed unsettled. ‘So you’re saying that if this works, we might hear a hundred-thousand-year-old voice?’

‘A hundred and thirty thousand, if my dates are right. That’s well over half as long as humans have even existed.’

Chase grinned. ‘Who says it’s human? Maybe it’s aliens talking.’

‘It’s not aliens,’ said Nina in professional exasperation. She moved the lamp stand until the needle’s tip lightly touched the start of the groove near the cylinder’s top. ‘Okay. Here we go . . .’

Holding her breath, she switched it on.

The cylinder rotated, the screwdriver’s motor whining and grumbling at the extra weight . . . but even over the noise, they clearly heard something emerge from the improvised loudspeaker.

A voice. But like nothing they had ever heard before.

‘Fuck me,’ said Chase, suppressing an unexpected shiver. ‘Are you sure that’s not an alien?’

Nina had a similar response to the unnatural sound, a low, almost sinister moaning - but the sensation running up her spine was as much a tingle of excitement as it was the shock of the unknown. ‘It’s not at the right speed,’ she realised, stopping the motor and adjusting the settings before moving the needle back to the starting point. ‘Let’s try again.’

This time, the voice sounded more like the product of a human larynx, though still slurred. It formed four distinct sounds - words, Nina assumed - before pausing, then speaking again.

‘It’s still not at the right speed,’ said Sophia, now fascinated. ‘It needs to go faster.’

Nina increased the screwdriver’s speed and restarted the motor. The voice spoke again, now revealed as male - though with a strange sonorous reverberation to it. She strained to listen, picking out another sound beneath the speech, a faint, almost mechanical squeaking or groaning.

The speech lasted for a minute before the needle finally reached the end of the groove and scraped across the cylinder’s base. Nina hurriedly switched off the screwdriver.

‘What was he was saying?’ Chase wondered.

‘Hopefully I’ll be able to figure that out - and that it’ll be something useful,’ Nina told him as she delicately lifted the cylinder from its makeshift spindle. ‘Give me the other one.’

The recording on the second cylinder lasted slightly longer, recorded by a different man with a faster pattern of speech - though still with the same odd, throaty echo to his words. It began with three words rather than four, followed by a pause before the speaker continued.

Nina played the beginning back, then regarded the cylinder thoughtfully. Inscribed around its top were three words in the ancient language. ‘What if . . . what if the first words on each recording are like a title?’ she thought out loud, removing it from the screwdriver and laying it beside the first. ‘So that whoever’s listening knows they’ve got the right cylinder?’ She thought back to the chamber. ‘Ribbsley knew what these symbols were; he translated them. What did he say?’

Chase tried to remember. ‘Something about the sea. And wind.’

‘Sea of wind,’ said Nina, Ribbsley’s words coming back to her. She examined the first cylinder more closely. ‘Wind! Damn it, I should have figured that out already. Look!’ She pointed. ‘This symbol, the three horizontal lines with the top one curling back on itself - it’s a representation of the wind!’

Sophia was dubious. ‘In a cartoon, perhaps.’

‘Maybe, but that visual shorthand came from real life originally - it’s how dust or sand look if they’re being blown along a plain. Or a beach, and we know these people lived along the sea. Which means that this wavy line is, well . . . wavy! It’s their symbol for the sea. Wind and sea, together - sea of wind.’ She examined the remaining characters. ‘The last one is also wind, and the third one’s not symbolic, it’s a word.’ She tried to recall what Ribbsley had said. ‘Seasons! “Sea of wind, seasons, wind.” Whatever that means.’

‘Maybe it’s a weather report,’ Chase suggested. ‘The prevailing winds’ll be different depending on the time of year. Useful thing to know if you’re planning on sailing across the Indian Ocean.’ Both women looked at him, impressed. ‘Yeah, that’s right. I’m not just an awesome sex machine.’ Now they exchanged knowing looks. ‘Oi!’

‘What does the other cylinder say?’ Sophia asked.

‘Something similar - “fish of the sea of wind”, I think. Although the sentence structure’s reversed from English. It’s literally “wind sea, fish”. Like the way the first cylinder uses a hierarchical structure almost like database cataloguing. The main subject is “sea of wind”, category “seasons”, subcategory “wind”. For an ancient language it’s actually very efficient.’

‘They’re not the same,’ Chase remarked.

‘What?’

‘The words for “wind”. They weren’t the same. Not the way Captain Caveman pronounced them.’

Nina replayed the start of the recording. Chase was right. Though the first and last words were written identically, the intonation of each was different. She played the second recording again. The pronunciation of the word matching the symbol for ‘wind’ was the same as its first use on the other cylinder.

‘Is it significant?’ Sophia wondered.

‘It could be,’ said Nina. ‘Some languages like Mandarin put a lot of emphasis on intonation.’ She turned the first cylinder in her hands, comparing the first and last inscribed symbols. ‘They look exactly the same, but have different pronunciations . . .’ Her face lit up. ‘Of course! They’re heterophones!’

Chase lifted a questioning eyebrow. ‘Ways for straight men to talk to each other?’

‘No, Eddie. It’s from Greek, it literally means “different sound”. Like “wind” as in blowing air, and “wind” as in winding up a watch - the written words look the same, but the meaning changes in speech depending on pronunciation. So one of the symbols here does mean “wind” in the weather sense, but the other’s something else.’ Nina held the two cylinders next to each other, the wind symbols almost touching. ‘Maybe the word that appears with “sea” is a modifier. It’s not literally “the sea of wind”, but something the Veteres would know from the context.’

‘Stormy sea?’ Sophia suggested.

Nina considered it, then shook her head. ‘It’s too transitory. I dunno, it seems more like a name, something descriptive, like the Yellow Sea.’

‘It must be something connected to wind, though,’ Chase pointed out. ‘Otherwise why would they use the same symbol?’

She nodded. ‘So what else would the wind have meant to an ancient civilisation? Apart from allowing them to sail, what does the wind do to them?’

‘Same thing it does to us,’ said Chase. ‘Makes you cold.’

‘Cold,’ said Nina, mulling it over. ‘The Sea of Cold, a cold sea.’

‘But all seas are cold if you’re in open water and the wind’s blowing, even in the tropics,’ said Sophia. ‘There must be more to it than that.’

‘There is.’ Nina sat upright as the answer struck her. ‘They lived in the tropics. It never gets cold - even during an ice age, the temperature at the equator would still be in the mid-sixties. But when the Veteres left Indonesia, they headed south, to Australia - and according to the inscription, they went on to somewhere else to build their city. “The land of wind and sand”, Ribbsley said. But since he didn’t know about the heterophones, he got it wrong. If the alternative pronunciation does mean “cold”, then they went to a land of cold and sand. A cold land.’ She smiled. ‘We’re in the southern hemisphere - what’s the coldest land you can think of ?’

‘Antarctica,’ Chase and Sophia said simultaneously.

‘Right! And if you go back a hundred and thirty thousand years, temperatures were several degrees higher than today. Antarctica would still have been cold - but habitable along the coasts. It’d be like living in Alaska, or Siberia. Tough - but survivable.’

‘Where does the sand come into it, though?’ Chase asked. ‘I mean, Antarctica’s not exactly famous for its beaches.’

‘It’s another mistranslation,’ said Sophia. ‘Or rather, a misinterpretation - not by us, but by the Veteres.’

‘What do you mean?’ Nina asked.

‘Think about it. If you’ve lived your entire life in a hot, coastal climate, and then you move to Antarctica, you’re going to experience a certain amount of culture shock. Everything is different. And one thing you will certainly never have seen before is snow. It’s made of fine grains, it covers the ground, the wind picks it up and blows it . . . so you’re going to compare it to something with which you’re familiar.’

‘Sand!’ said Chase. ‘The land of cold sand . . . that’s what they called snow. Cold sand!’

‘So they did go to Antarctica,’ Nina said excitedly. ‘They left Australia and headed south, across what they called the Cold Sea . . . and built a new city there, away from the “beasts”.’

Sophia looked surprised. ‘What beasts?’

‘Dunno,’ said Chase. ‘And your boyfriend didn’t know either. But they sounded pretty nasty.’

‘Some sort of predators,’ Nina added. ‘Ribbsley thought they wiped out the Veteres who returned to Australia after leaving their city . . . which would definitely fit with Antarctica’s being its location,’ she realised. ‘The higher temperatures a hundred and thirty thousand years ago were a blip, relatively speaking, only lasting a couple of thousand years; they were followed by an ice age. And if the temperature fell at the equator, you can imagine how much colder it got at the poles. They had to leave, or freeze to death.’

‘And then they got eaten by killer kangaroos,’ said Chase ruefully.

Nina put down the cylinders. ‘But we can find where they lived. Ribbsley’s translation said they built the city in a valley near the sea, and when they left they dammed up the valley and flooded it. So it’ll still be there - in a frozen lake under the ice.’

‘And how are we supposed to find that?’ Sophia said sceptically.

Nina grinned. ‘I know just the man to ask . . .’

18

Sydney

‘Hey, Nina!’ cried Matt Trulli. ‘How’s it going?’ ‘Kinda weirdly, to be honest,’ Nina replied. They embraced, Nina kissing his cheek. ‘Great to see you again, Matt.’

‘Well, you timed it right,’ said the pudgy, spike-haired Australian. ‘Another day and you’d have missed me - I’m off to Antarctica for three weeks! Flying out to the survey ship tomorrow. This your first time in Oz?’

‘Yeah. Seems a nice place, though.’ She looked up at the Victorian Classical architecture of Sydney Hospital.

‘Nice place?’ Trulli hooted in mock offence. ‘That the best you’ve got to say?’

‘Hey, c’mon,’ Nina said, grinning, ‘I’m a New Yorker. Nothing compares!’ She tipped her head towards the nearby statue: a large boar, dark all over its body except for the snout, which was the sculpture’s natural bronze. ‘I do like this, though.’

‘Oh, Il Porcellino?’ he said with some pride. ‘Great little fella, everyone loves him. Rub his nose - it’ll bring you good luck.’

‘I could certainly use some.’ Nina rubbed the pig’s snout, then touched her pendant for added fortune. ‘Il Porcellino, though? Doesn’t sound very Australian.’

‘Nah, the original’s from Italy - just like my grandad!’ Trulli stroked the statue’s snout as well, then turned back to Nina. ‘So, what brings you down under?’

‘Long story.’

‘I’ve got time. Come on, we’ll take a stroll. The Opera House is just up the road - we’ll grab a coffee.’

They started northwards, heading towards the harbour. As they walked, Nina gave him a potted account of her recent discoveries and exploits - minus, for the moment, any mention of Sophia or Dalton. ‘Crikey,’ Trulli muttered when she finished. ‘Sounds like these Covenant blokes are bad news.’ He suddenly looked worried. ‘They won’t be coming after me now, will they?’

‘They won’t know we’ve met you,’ Nina assured him. ‘Hopefully they don’t even know that we’re in Sydney. We were watching for people following us while we drove across the country. Didn’t see anyone suspicious.’

Trulli glanced nervously over his shoulder, as if expecting to see assassins springing out from every corner. ‘Hope you’re right. The way you attract trouble, you really do need all the luck you can get.’

‘Luck, and the help of good friends,’ she corrected. ‘Oh, by the way, how was the champagne?’

‘Oh, ripper, thanks! You said you’d send me a thank-you gift, and you weren’t kidding. Two cases of proper vintage bubbly shipped to my door? Hell of a nice surprise.’

‘Well, you did save our lives.’

‘By phone, too!’ said Trulli. ‘Didn’t even have to get my feet wet, for a change.’

‘Hopefully you won’t have to this time, either,’ said Nina as they reached the harbour front. Ahead, over the sparkling water, rose the impressive arch of Sydney Harbour Bridge. She took in the sight. ‘Okay,’ she admitted, ‘maybe, just maybe, that’s almost as good as the Brooklyn Bridge.’

‘Ah, give it a rest, Nina. We’ve got you beat and you know it. And you haven’t even seen the Opera House yet.’

‘Funny how you stop worrying about bad guys when your Aussie pride’s at stake,’ Nina remarked with amusement.

‘Well, a man’s got to have his priorities!’ Trulli smiled, then became more serious as they continued along the harbour. ‘So these Covenant guys, they’re looking for some lost city, but you think you can beat them to it. What do you need from me?’

‘Maps, to start with,’ she told him. ‘UNARA did a complete radar survey of Antarctica not long ago, didn’t they?’ The United Nations Antarctic Research Agency was a sister organisation to the IHA, and Trulli’s current employer.

‘Sure did - it’s what I used to pick a test site for the project. The ice is over four kilometres thick in some places, but the satellite scans were still able to reach the bedrock. Any underground lakes should be on the map.’

‘Do you have a copy of GLUG on your computer?’ He nodded. ‘Great. That should narrow things down.’ She tried to visualise the frozen continent. ‘Is there any land down there that’s above the Antarctic Circle?’

‘Yeah. Actually, the test site’s above it - the Wilkes Coast. I picked it because it’s about as warm as the place gets, and it’s in Australian territory.’

‘All the comforts of home, huh?’

They rounded a large apartment building, and for the first time the instantly recognisable stacked-seashell shape of the Sydney Opera House on its low headland was revealed to Nina. She had seen it many times in photographs and on TV, but viewed in person it was still a startling piece of design.

‘See? Now tell me you’ve got anything like that in New York,’ Trulli said gloatingly, seeing her expression.

‘The Guggenheim?’ Nina suggested. He made a dismissive noise. ‘Oh, all right, I’ll give you a point. Just one, mind.’ They shared a smile.