The Covenant of Genesis

‘’Cause you can’t cover both ears with only one hand!’ He clapped both palms to his head. Mark got his point and hurriedly fell to his knees, putting down the laptop and jamming his fingers into his ears.

The charge exploded, the noise overpowering even with his eardrums protected, a single bass drumbeat deep in his chest cavity. The ground beneath him jolted. He had involuntarily closed his eyes; when he opened them again, he saw a plume of smoke rising from the base of the bluff. In the distance, two more eruptions rose above the shimmering haze in seeming slow motion. After a few seconds, the thunderclaps of the other blasts reached him.

A fine rain of dust and tiny pebbles hissed down round the two men. Mark picked up the laptop again, blowing dirt off the screen. The first results were coming through, the geophones confirming that they were receiving sonar reflections. It would take a few minutes to gather all the data, then longer for the computer to process it, but things looked promising so far.

Muldoon peered down the slope. ‘Too close to the surface,’ he grumbled as he wiped sand from his face.

Mark stood beside him, examining the incoming data intently. ‘It’s working just fine.’ He flinched as another tremor passed beneath his feet. ‘What was that?’

‘Can’t be the other charges, they weren’t powerful enough . . .’ Muldoon tailed off, sounding worried. Mark looked up, concerned. The shuddering was getting worse—

The ground under his feet collapsed.

Mark didn’t even have time to cry out before the breath was knocked from him as he dropped down the slope amidst a cascade of stones and dust. All he could do was try to protect his face as he bounced off the newly exposed rocks, pummelled from all sides—

Something hard hit his head.

The first of his senses to recover, oddly, was taste. A dry, salty taste filled his mouth, something caking his tongue.

Mark coughed, then spat out a mouthful of sand. The back of his head throbbed where the stone had hit him. He tried to sit up, then decided it was probably a better idea to remain still.

A muffled sound gradually resolved itself into words, a voice calling his name. ‘Mr Hyung! Where are you? Can you hear me?’

Muldoon. He actually sounded genuinely concerned, though Mark’s faculties had already recovered enough to realise the sentiment was professional rather than personal. Muldoon’s job was to look after the specialist; an injury on his watch would reflect badly upon his record.

‘Here,’ he tried to say, but all that came out was a faint croak. He spat out more revolting dust, then tried again. ‘I’m here.’

‘Oh, thank Jesus.’ Muldoon clambered over loose stones towards him. ‘Are you hurt?’

Mark managed to wipe his eyes. He grimaced at the movement; he was going to have some real bruises tomorrow. ‘I don’t think so.’ He turned his head to see the slope down which he’d tumbled. ‘Wow. That’s new.’

Muldoon looked up, surprise on his face as he registered the change in the landscape. The landslide had exposed a large opening in the side of the bluff, a deep cave. ‘Lucky you didn’t fall straight down into it. It’d probably have killed you.’ He held up a water bottle. ‘Here. Can you move?’

Mark gratefully took the bottle, swallowing several large mouthfuls, then gingerly moved his legs. ‘I think I’m okay. What about the computer?’

Muldoon held up the screen, which in addition to being cracked was no longer attached to the rest of the machine. ‘I don’t think the warranty’ll cover it.’

‘Damn,’ Mark sighed.

Muldoon helped him up. ‘Sure you’re okay?’

‘My knee hurts, but I think I’m fine apart from that.’

‘I dunno.’ Muldoon examined the back of his head. ‘You’ve got a big cut there, and if you were knocked out you might have a concussion. We could call for the chopper to come pick you up, get you to hospital in Salalah.’

‘I’m fine,’ Mark insisted, even as he spoke wondering why he wasn’t taking Muldoon up on his offer of an immediate trip out of the desert. ‘Can you see the rest of the laptop? I might be able to recover the data on the hard drive.’

Muldoon snorted, but turned to hunt for it. Mark looked the other way, towards the cave entrance. It was hard to believe that the relatively small explosive charge could have opened up such a large hole.

Unless the gap had been there all along . . .

That thought was brushed aside as he spotted the rest of the broken laptop just inside the cave entrance. ‘Here,’ he told Muldoon, limping towards it. It looked battered, but unless the hard drive had actually been smashed open it ought to be salvageable.

He crossed into the shadow of the cave and picked up the computer. Eyes adjusting to the low light, he examined the casing. It was more or less intact, dented but not actually broken. The experiment might not be a total loss after all.

Cheered slightly by the thought, Mark glanced deeper into the cave . . .

And was so surprised by what he saw that he dropped the laptop again.

Muldoon clapped Mark on the back. ‘Well, son, I had my doubts about you . . . but you’re gonna make us all very rich.’

‘Not quite how I planned, though,’ said Mark.

‘Doesn’t matter how a man gets rich, just that he does!’

Muldoon had joined him in the cave, and been equally stunned by what lay within - though he had recovered from his amazement rather more quickly, radioing the rest of the survey team to demand a rendezvous right now. One of the other men had a digital camera; once they too had overcome their astonishment and obtained photographic proof of their discovery, they returned to the camp to send the images back to Houston via satellite.

Mark couldn’t help thinking events were moving too fast for comfort. ‘I still think we should inform the Omanis.’

‘You kidding?’ said Muldoon. ‘First rule of working out here: never tell the Arabs about anything until the folks at home have okayed it. That’s why the company has all those high-powered lawyers - to make sure our claims are one hundred per cent watertight. And that’s just for oil. For this . . . Jesus, I don’t even know where to start. We’re gonna be famous, son!’ He laughed, then ducked into the tent housing the communications gear.

‘Maybe.’ Mark drank more water, not wanting to get his hopes up. For a start, he was sure that Braxoil would take full control of his discovery. The Omani government would certainly also lay claim to anything found within their borders.

But still, he couldn’t help fantasising about the potential fame and fortune . . .

He finished the water, then followed Muldoon into the tent. The survey team’s six other members were already inside, flicking through the digital photos on another laptop. Debate about exactly what they had found was still ongoing, but the overall consensus was much the same as Muldoon’s: it was going to make them all very rich.

‘Of course,’ said one of the men, a New Zealander called Lewis, ‘since it’s my camera, that means copyright on the photos is mine.’

‘Company time, company photos, fellas,’ said Muldoon.

‘Yeah, but personal camera,’ Lewis insisted.

‘Guess we’ll have to let the lawyers work that out.’

‘If anyone ever bothers getting back to us,’ said a laconic Welshman, Spence. ‘I mean, we sent the things three hours ago.’

‘What time is it in Houston?’ Mark asked.

Muldoon looked at his watch. ‘Huh. After ten in the morning. Still no reply?’

Lewis switched to the laptop’s email program. ‘Nothing yet.’