The Covenant of Genesis

‘Gabriel,’ said di Bonaventura, indicating the Arab, ‘this is Husam al Din Zamal, formerly of the Saudi General Intelligence Directorate.’ He nodded at the cigar-smoking man. ‘And Uziel Hammerstein, previously of Mossad.’

The suited man raised a faintly mocking eyebrow. ‘A Saudi spy working with an Israeli spy? To say nothing of your background, Jonas. The Covenant of Genesis really does make for strange bedfellows.’

Di Bonaventura ignored the comment. ‘Husam, Uziel,’ he went on, ‘this is Professor Gabriel Ribbsley from Cambridge University in England.’

The men shook hands. ‘And don’t forget,’ added Ribbsley, chest swelling smugly, ‘the world’s leading authority in ancient languages. Whatever that amateur Philby in New York might think. And as for Tsen-Hu in Beijing . . . hah!’ He looked past Zamal and Hammerstein at the cave mouth, voice becoming more businesslike. ‘Which is why you need me here, I imagine. So, what have you found?’

Hammerstein spoke first, voice low as if to keep what he was about to say a secret even from the wind. ‘Our friends in the American NSA alerted us to a photo intercept from an oil company survey team. Their computers had performed a routine analysis of the images - and identified the language of the Ancients.’

‘Oh, please,’ said Ribbsley mockingly. ‘You’re still calling them that? How tediously prosaic. I use “Veteres” myself - I’m sure Jonas can appreciate at least the Latin.’

Hammerstein drew impatiently on his cigar. ‘As soon as we realised what they had found, we arranged for a computer virus to be introduced through an NSA back door into the company’s servers to erase the photos, then locked out the survey team’s satellite link to isolate them. After that—’

‘We destroyed them and the site,’ cut in Zamal bluntly.

Ribbsley looked towards the darkened opening. ‘So, you just decided to bomb the site. I see.’ A pause, then he wheeled about on one heel, voice dripping sarcasm. ‘And what exactly did you expect me to learn from a smouldering crater?’

‘We still have copies of the survey team’s photographs,’ said di Bonaventura. He beckoned a younger man, another blond European, to approach. The soldier held up a manila envelope.

Ribbsley dismissed it. ‘Happy snaps taken by oily-thumbed roughnecks are hardly going to be helpful.’ He reached under the brim of his hat to knead his forehead with his fingertips. ‘Do you know why translating this language has been so hard? Why it took eight years for me to work out even the basics?’ He lowered his hand and glared at Zamal. ‘Because every time the Covenant finds even the tiniest scrap of anything new, they blow it up and kill everyone in the vicinity!’

‘That is the Covenant’s purpose,’ Zamal said angrily.

‘Yes, if you take the most literal, block-headed interpretation possible.’ Ribbsley let out a theatrical sigh. ‘Flies, honey, vinegar, catch . . . can anyone rearrange these words into a well-known phrase or saying?’

‘You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?’ offered the soldier with the envelope, a Germanic accent to his clipped English.

Ribbsley clapped his hands. ‘Top marks! Jonas, who is this prodigy?’

‘Killian Vogler,’ said di Bonaventura. ‘My protege.’ A note of challenge entered his words, as if daring Ribbsley to continue mocking him. ‘I will soon be retiring from the Covenant for a new position in Rome - Killian will take my place in the Triumvirate.’

Ribbsley backed down, slightly. ‘A new position? Still in pectore, I assume . . . Well then, I hope this young gentleman keeps the saying he just recited in mind once he takes your place.’ Vogler gave him a sardonic look. ‘The next time you make a discovery like this, Mr Vogler, perhaps you might consider allowing me to examine the site before you blow it to pieces? If I can decipher more of the language, I may be able to locate other sites - before they’re stumbled upon by random passers-by whom you then have to kill.’

‘I will bear it in mind, Mr Ribbsley,’ said Vogler with a humourless smile.

‘Professor Ribbsley, thank you very much,’ Ribbsley snapped. He snatched the envelope from Vogler’s hand and riffled through the contents. ‘Well, it seems consistent with the other sites - the remains of the other sites, that is. And the characters on the tablet in this photo do match the Veteres alphabet. But there’s nothing I haven’t already seen.’ He looked back at the cave. ‘What else is in there?’

Di Bonaventura nodded to Vogler. ‘Killian will show you. You may as well get to know each other - I’m sure you will be working together again in the future . . .’

Ribbsley emerged from the cave just ten minutes later, disappointed and angry.

‘Nothing,’ he said, shooting an accusing glare at Zamal. ‘Absolutely nothing worthwhile was left intact. Just more scraps.’ In one hand he had a clay cylinder about two inches in diameter, fine grooves encircling its length - up to the point where it ended in a jagged break. He dropped it to the ground at his feet; it shattered. ‘A complete waste of my time.’

‘For which you are being very well rewarded,’ di Bonaventura reminded him. ‘And you still have the photographs of the site.’

‘I already told you, there’s nothing new on them. I’ll be able to translate the text properly once I can check my notes, but I could read enough to know it’s nothing of interest.’ He looked at his helicopter. The young woman was still in the cockpit, clearly bored. ‘Well, since there’s nothing more for me here, I’ll be going. I do hate the desert.’ He irritably brushed some sand off his white cotton sleeve.

‘I’ll walk you to your helicopter, Gabriel,’ said di Bonaventura. Ribbsley started towards the aircraft without even looking back at the others, di Bonaventura beside him. ‘What were you thinking?’ said the soldier in a quiet growl once they were out of earshot.

‘About what?’

‘Bringing your - your girlfriend with you. Are you mad? Zamal would have shot her without a thought just for being here, and Hammerstein would not have tried to stop him.’

Ribbsley smiled. ‘Ah, but I knew you’d be in charge, Jonas.’

‘Not for much longer. Once I go back to Rome, all I can do is advise. Killian will be making the decisions in the Triumvirate. And despite my teaching, he is still young enough to see the world in absolutes. And one of those absolutes is that anyone who could reveal the secret of the Veteres to the world is a threat to be eliminated.’

‘Don’t even think about hurting her,’ said Ribbsley, a sudden hardness in his voice.

Di Bonaventura regarded him with mild surprise. ‘She’s that important to you? Interesting.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘No threat intended, Gabriel, I assure you,’ di Bonaventura said with a placatory smile. ‘She just seems younger than I expected.’ He took a closer look as they approached. ‘How old is she? Twenty-one? ’

‘Twenty-two.’

‘And you are now . . . ?’

‘Her age isn’t the important issue,’ snapped Ribbsley defensively, forcing the older man to hide his amusement. ‘What matters is her personality.’

By now di Bonaventura could see that Ribbsley’s passenger was extremely beautiful, with a toned body to put many a model to shame. ‘But of course.’

‘She’s quite incredible, actually,’ Ribbsley continued, his tone softening as he gazed at her. ‘An exceptionally cultured and refined woman. And as you know, I’m a man of very refined tastes.’

Di Bonaventura caught the scent of over-liberally applied Bulgari cologne. ‘And expensive ones.’

‘Which is why I put up with you calling me across continents at a moment’s notice. The Covenant pays far better than Cambridge!’ Both men chuckled, then shook hands as they reached the chopper. ‘Well, good luck with the new post, Jonas. Maybe I’ll pop in to see you next time I’m in the Eternal City.’

‘I look forward to it.’ Di Bonaventura stood back as Ribbsley climbed into the cockpit, quickly and expertly running through the pre-flight sequence. The rotors groaned to life, rapidly picking up speed. The soldier moved back out of the whirling sandstorm.

‘Goodbye, Cardinal!’ shouted Ribbsley, giving di Bonaventura a jaunty wave. The helicopter left the ground, wheeled about and headed south.

Di Bonaventura watched it go, then returned to the cave, looking in the direction of the ragged craters