The Covenant of Genesis

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. ‘Guantanamo 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