The Genesis Secret

48

On the drive back to Sanliurfa they talked about the document, the reference to the Book of Enoch. Rob shifted gears, vigorously, as Christine shouted her theories across the rattling car.

‘The Book of Enoch is a piece of…pseudoscripture.’

‘Which means?’

‘That means it’s not part of the official Bible but it is regarded by some ancient branches of Christianity, like the Ethiopic Church, as being truly sacred.’

‘OK…’

‘The Book of Enoch is about 2200 years old and was probably written by Israelis, though we are not entirely sure.’ She stared ahead at the unrolling desert. ‘It was found amongst those documents preserved in what we know as “The Dead Sea Scrolls”.

‘The Book of Enoch describes a time when five fallen angels-the Five Satans, or the Watchers-and their minions came amongst early men. These angels were supposedly close to God but they could not resist the beauty of women. The daughters of Eve. So the bad angels took these women, and in return promised the human males the secrets of writing and building, of artistry and carving. These…demons also taught the women to “kiss the phallus”.’

Rob gazed across the car and managed a smile. Christine smiled back. ‘That’s the exact phrase the Book of Enoch uses,’ Christine said, drinking some water from a bottle. ‘Yuk. This water’s warm.’

‘Go on,’ said Rob. ‘The Book of Enoch.’

‘OK. Well…this intermarrying between demons and men created a race of evil raging giants, the Nephilim, again according to the Book of Enoch.’

Rob stared at the twilit road ahead. He wanted to comprehend what she was saying. He really wanted to. He tried hard. He got her to repeat it…but then he gave up. He couldn’t stop thinking about Lizzie. He wondered if they should call Cloncurry. But he knew that was stupid; they had to surprise him. They had to announce suddenly that that they had unearthed the secret-if they ever unearthed it: that was the way their plan worked.

But he was tired, sunburnt and frightened, and still feeling that spookiness of the desert. He could sense the nearness of the stones of Gobekli. Still out there in the wilderness. He remembered that carving of the woman, staked and pinioned, ready to be raped by the wild boars with the penises. He thought about the babies, screaming in their ancient jars.

And then he thought of Lizzie again, and Cloncurry-and tried to shunt the thought from his mind.

The conclusion of the drive was silent. And anxious. The Kurds said a muttered goodbye and went off to eat and drink; Rob and Christine parked the cars, wearily, and sloped quietly into the Hotel Haran. Rob carried the Black Book close to his chest, the exhaustion rippling through his arms.

But they didn’t have time to relax. Rob was tired, but he was febrile with determination, and he wanted to talk through his notes. As soon as they reached their hotel room, before Christine had even showered, he quizzed her again.

‘One thing I don’t understand is the jars. The jars with the babies, in Gobekli.’

Christine looked at him. Her deep brown eyes were loving, but bloodshot with tiredness but Rob persisted.

‘You mean…the mere fact they were jars. That confuses you?’

‘Yes. I always thought the culture around Gobekli Tepe was…what was the word Breitner used…aceramic? Without pottery. But then, suddenly, someone came along and taught these guys how to make jars, long before any other culture in the region. Long before anywhere else on earth.’

‘Yes, it’s true…’ Christine paused. ‘Except one place…There was one place that had pottery before Gobekli.

‘Yeah?

‘Japan.’ Christine was frowning. ‘The Jomon of Japan.’

‘The what?’

‘A very early culture. Aboriginal Japanese. The Ainu, who still live in northernmost Japan, may be related…’ She stood and rubbed her aching back, then went to the minibar, took out a cold bottle of water and drank, thirstily. Lying back down on the bed, she explained, ‘The Jomon came literally from nowhere. They were maybe the first to cultivate rice. And then they started producing sophisticated pottery-cordware it is called.’

‘How long ago?’

‘Sixteen thousand years ago.’

‘Sixteen thousand years ago?’ Rob stared across the room. ‘That’s more than three thousand years before Gobekli.’

‘Yes. And some people think the Jomons of East Asia may have learned their techniques from an even earlier culture. Like the Kondons of the Amur. Maybe. The Amur is a river north of Mongolia, where there are arguably signs of pottery going back even further. It is most mysterious. They come and they go, these peculiarly advanced peoples of the north. They are basic hunter-gatherers, yet suddenly they make a wild and irrational technological leap.’

‘What do you mean? Irrational?’

‘This is not the most promising territory for early civilization. Siberia, inner Mongolia, the far north of Japan. These places are not the warm, sunny fertile crescent. These are the freezing and intractable lands of north Asia. The Amur basin is one of the coldest places on earth in the winter.’ She gazed at the bare hotel ceiling. ‘In fact I’ve sometimes wondered, could there have been one protoculture north of there? In Siberia? Now lost to us? Some culture that was influencing all these tribes? Because otherwise it is too bizarre…’

Rob shook his head. He had his notebook flat on his lap; pen poised. ‘But maybe they didn’t go, Christine. These cultures. Mmm? Maybe they didn’t disappear.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The skulls, they look Asiatic. Mongoloid. Maybe these eastern cultures didn’t vanish. They just moved…west. Could there be some link between these advanced Asiatic tribes and Gobekli?’

Christine nodded, and yawned. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Yes, I guess. Jesus, Rob, I’m tired.’

Rob mentally admonished himself. They hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours; they’d done as much as they could. He was pushing Christine too hard. He said sorry and came over, and lay down besides her on the bed.

‘Robbie, we will save her,’ said Christine. ‘I promise.’ She hugged him. ‘I promise.’

Rob shut his eyes. ‘Let’s sleep.’

The next morning Rob was woken by a dream of great violence. He dreamed for a few moments he was being hit, being pummelled by Cloncurry, but when he woke he realized it was drumming: real drumming. Men were walking down the dark streets of Sanliurfa, outside the hotel, banging big bass drums, rousing people for the pre-dawn meal. The traditional Ramadan ritual.

Rob sighed and tilted his wristwatch, which was lying on the bedside table. It was just 4 a.m. He stared at the ceiling and listened to the thumping and booming of the drums, while Christine snored gently next to him.

Two hours later Christine was nudging him awake in return. He stirred, feeling sluggish. He got up and showered in bracingly cold water.

Radevan and his friends were waiting outside. They helped stow the Black Book in the boot. Rob ate a hardboiled egg and some pitta bread in the car as they rattled across the desert to the Valley of the Slaughters. They didn’t have time to linger for breakfast at the hotel.

Rob watched the Kurds as they dug. It was as if they knew their job was nearly over, whatever happened: they were demob happy. This was the last day. Tomorrow morning the time was up. Whatever happened. Rob’s stomach twisted with the tension.

At eleven Rob climbed the hill next to the valley and gazed across the flat, silvery lakewater of the Great Anatolian Project. It was no longer in the distance but only about a mile away, and the water seemed to be accelerating, pouring over hills and filling the dales. The levee would defend them, but the encroaching flood was still a menacing sight. There was a small shepherd’s hut on top of the levee. Like a sentinel, protecting them from the waters.

He sat down on a boulder and made some more notes, threading the precious pearls of evidence onto the necklace of the narrative. One quote kept striking home. He remembered his father, in the Mormon church, reciting it. From Genesis Chapter 6: ‘And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them…that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose…’

For half an hour he scribbled, and crossed out, and scribbled again. He was nearly there; the story was nearly finished. Shutting the notebook, he turned and paced down the hill into the valley. He found Christine lying flat on the ground, as if she was asleep. But she wasn’t asleep: she was staring hard and flat across the dust.

‘I’m looking for anomalies,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘And I’ve found some. There!’ She stood up and clapped her hands and the young Kurds stared at her. ‘Please, gentlemen,’ she said. ’Soon you can go home to your families and forget about the madwoman from France. But just one more effort, please. Over there.’

Radevan and his friends picked up their shovels and followed Christine to another corner of the valley.

‘Dig down straight down. Here. And not too deep. Dig wide and shallow. Thank you.’

Rob went to find his spade so he could join in. He liked digging with the Kurds. It gave him something to do other than worry about the possible pointlessness of what they were doing. And Lizzie. And Lizzie and Lizzie and Lizzie.

As they dug, Rob asked Christine about the Neanderthals. She had been explaining how she had worked on several sites where Neanderthals had lived. Like Moula-Guercy, on the banks of the Rhone, in France.

‘Do you think they interbred with Homo sapiens?’

‘Possibly.’

‘But I thought there was a theory that they just died out? The Neanderthals?’

‘There was. But we also have evidence that they may have bred with humans.’ Christine sleeved the sweat from her face. ‘The Neanderthals may even have raped their way into the human gene pool. If they were dying out, unable to compete for food or whatever, they would have been desperate to preserve their own species. And they were bigger than Homo sapiens. Albeit possibly more stupid…’

Rob watched a bird circling in the air: another vulture. He asked a second question. ‘If they did interbreed, might that have altered the way humans behaved? Human culture?’

‘Yes. One possibility is cannibalism. There is no record of organized cannibalism in the human repertoire before about 300,000 BC. Yet the Neanderthals were definitely cannibalistic. So…’ She tilted her head, thinking. ‘So it is possible the Neanderthals might have introduced some traits of their own. Like cannibalism.’

A Turkish Air Force plane streaked across the sky. Christine added one more thought. ‘I was wondering, this morning, about the size of the hominids, the large ones. The bones we found.’

‘Go on…’

‘Well…Your theory that there might be a link with Central Asia, that fits. In a way.’

‘How?’

‘The largest hominid ever found was in Central Asia. Gigantopethicus. Absolutely enormous: an apeman maybe nine foot tall. Like a kind of…yeti…’

‘Seriously?’

His girlfriend nodded. ‘They lived around three hundred thousand years ago. They might have survived longer-and some think that Gigantopethicus might have survived long enough-for memories to persist in Homo sapiens. Memories of enormous apemen.’ She shook her head. ‘But of course this is very fanciful. What’s more likely is that Gigantopethicus died out due to competition from Homo sapiens. No one is quite sure what happened to Gigantopethicus. However…’ She paused, leaning on her spade like a farmer contemplating his fields.

The obvious conclusion dawned on Rob. He took out his notebook, and scribbled excitedly. ‘What you mean is, maybe there is a third explanation, right? Maybe Gigantopethicus did evolve-but into a much more serious rival to Homo sapiens. Isn’t that possible, too?’

Christine nodded, frowning. ‘Yes. It is possible. We have no evidence either way.’

Rob went on. ‘So. Let’s just say that did happen. Then that new hominid-that would be a very large, aggressive and highly intelligent hominid, wouldn’t it? Something evolved to cope with harsh and brutal conditions. A fierce competitor for resources.’

‘Yes. I agree. It would.’

‘And this large, aggressive hominid would also have an instinctive fear of nature, of endless lethal winters, of a cruel and severe God. And it would have a desperate need to propitiate.’

Christine shrugged, as if she didn’t quite follow this latest concept; but she didn’t have time to reply, because Radevan was calling them over. Even as Rob reached the scene, Christine was already on her hands and knees, scraping at more remains.

Three large dirty jars were lying by Radevan’s feet.

They were marked with sanjaks.

Rob knew at once what the jars would contain. And he didn’t have to tell Christine, but she was cracking one of the jars open, anyway, with the handle of a trowel. The ancient jar crumbled and a slimy, fetid-smelling thing oozed into the dust: a half-mummified, half-liquefied baby. The face was not quite as intact as the babies they had found in the Edessa Vault. But the scream of terror and pain on the tiny child’s face was just the same. It was another child sacrifice. Another infant buried alive in a jar.

Rob tried not to think of Lizzie.

Some of the Kurds had spotted the jar, and the remains. The dead and rotting baby. They were pointing, and arguing. Christine asked them to continue digging. But they were shouting now.

Mumtaz approached Rob. ‘They say it is dangerous here. This place is cursed. They see the baby and they say they must go. The water will be here soon.’

Christine pleaded with the men, in English and Kurdish.

The men gabbled at Mumtaz and he interpreted. ’They say the water comes. To bury these bodies and that is good. They say they go now!’

Christine protested again. The argument continued. Some of the Kurds dug, some just stood and debated. The sun rose all the time, hot and menacing. The spades and trowels lay unused, glinting in the merciless light. The sun was baking the small slimy corpse of the baby. That obscene little package of flesh. Rob had an enormous urge to bury it again, to cover up the obscenity. He knew he was close to unlocking the puzzle, but he also felt close to some kind of nervous surrender. The tension was hideous.

And then the tension worsened. Some of the Kurds, led by Mumtaz, came to a decision: they refused to go on. Despite Christine’s pleadings, three of them climbed the slopes of the valley, and got into the second Land Rover.

Mumtaz looked in Rob’s direction as they left, a strange, wistful glance. Then the car accelerated away into the dust and the haze.

But four men still remained, including Radevan. And with the last of her charm, and the last of Rob’s dollars, Christine persuaded them to complete the task. So they all picked up the discarded shovels, and together they dug. They dug for five hours, sideways across the valley, shifting enough dry, yellow soil to expose what was necessary, and then moving on.

They uncovered parts of maybe thirty skeletons lying next to the jars. But these were no ordinary skeletons. They were a mixture of the large hominids and the hybrid men and the little huntergatherers. All jumbled together, promiscuously and wildly. And all of the skeletons showed damage: signs of violent death. Vicious cracks in the skull, spear-holes in pelvic bones. Broken arms, broken femurs, broken heads.

They had uncovered a battlefield. A terrible site of slaughter and conflict. They had uncovered the Valley of Killing.

Christine looked at Rob. He looked back and said, ‘I think we’re done here. Don’t you?’

Christine nodded solemnly.

Rob reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The sensation was almost elation. He felt it in his lungs and in his heart. He had worked it out: he had deciphered the great secret Cloncurry had been born to conceal. The Genesis Secret. And that meant Rob had power over Cloncurry, at last. Rob was going to win his daughter back.

Anxious-but hopeful for the first time in these bitter weeks-he keyed in the number. He was about to phone Cloncurry and demand his daughter’s immediate return when he heard a voice.

‘Well, hello.’

Rob swivelled. A figure was standing on the crest of the hill above them, between the valley and the westering sun. The sun behind the figure was so bright Rob couldn’t make out who it was. He squinted and raised his arm.

‘Have I put on weight? How depressing. Surely you recognize me?’

Rob felt his blood congeal with fear.

Jamie Cloncurry was standing on the hill above them, with a gun in his hand. The gun was aimed at Rob. The killer had two large men beside him. Big Kurds with black moustaches, also conspicuously armed. These two thugs were holding a small figure between them bound and strapped.

Lizzie! Alive, but evidently frightened, and gagged very tightly.

Rob stared to his left and right at Radevan and his friends-seeking their help.

Cloncurry chortled. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t expect any assistance there, Mr Robbie.’ With a languid gesture, he signalled at Radevan.

Radevan nodded, obediently. He turned and stared at Rob and Christine, and then rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. ‘Englishman much money. Dollars and euros. Dollars and euros…’ Then he gestured to his friends and the rest of the Kurds dropped their tools and walked away from Rob and Christine, nonchalantly deserting the couple. Leaving Rob and Christine to their fate.

Rob watched-slack-jawed, defeated, and desolate-as the Kurds calmly loped up the hill towards the last Land Rover. Radevan reached in the boot of the car and took out the Black Box. He carried it over to Cloncurry and laid it in the dust beside Lizzie. Cloncurry smiled and nodded, and Radevan walked back to the car, jumped in the front seat, and the car was driven away with a spin of wheel dust, taking with it the shotguns and the pistol.

The orange dust hung in the air, reproachfully, as the vehicle disappeared over the sunburnt horizon, leaving Rob and Christine alone and defenceless in the bottom of the valley.

Above them stood Cloncurry, armed, with the other two Kurds. The killer had his four-wheel-drive parked a few hundred yards away, silver and glittering in the desert light. He had obviously approached on foot, to surprise them. And it had worked.

They were trapped. Lizzie knelt, gagged and bound, in the dust, staring at her father with wild and puzzled eyes. Imploring him to save her.

But Rob knew he couldn’t save her. He knew what was going to happen next. And it wasn’t going to be a heroic rescue.

Cloncurry was going to kill Lizzie in front of him. He was going to sacrifice Rob’s firstborn, here in this wilderness, as the crows and the buzzards circled in the sky. His daughter was going to die, cruelly and brutally, in the next few minutes, and Rob would be forced to watch.