The Covenant of Genesis

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