The Covenant of Genesis

marking what had once been the survey camp. There was still clean-up work to be done; the bodies of the men at the camp, or whatever was left of them, had to be found and buried, all evidence of the camp itself removed. Anything that could expose the Covenant had to disappear. Without trace.

Without exception.

‘Why did you call him Cardinal?’ the young woman asked.

‘Private joke,’ Ribbsley told her.

‘So who were they?’

He paused before reluctantly answering. ‘They’re . . . archaeologists. Of a sort. I occasionally help them with translations of ancient texts.’

‘I had no idea Cambridge professors made house calls for translation emergencies.’

‘They’re very competitive about their work. Cut-throat, you might say.’

‘Really?’ She arched an eyebrow and smiled wolfishly. ‘I’m intrigued.’

Ribbsley huffed. ‘They’re hardly your type . . . Lady Blackwood.’

Sophia Blackwood grinned. ‘I suppose not. Can you imagine what my father would say if I spent time with some bit of rough trade? He’s suspicious enough of you as it is.’

‘Now, for what possible reason could his lordship be suspicious of a Cambridge professor?’

Sophia leaned closer, her long dark hair brushing his shoulder as she slipped her hand between his legs. ‘I don’t know. Maybe because you’re secretly fucking his daughter?’ She cupped her fingers round his groin and squeezed gently.

He made a muffled noise deep in his throat. ‘That might be one reason, yes.’

She laughed, then tightened her grip slightly. ‘So, you aren’t going to tell me any more about those people?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Ribbsley, smiling back at her.

Tighter still. ‘Really?’

The smile vanished. ‘Ngh! No. Believe me, Sophia, this is one of those very rare occasions where ignorance really is bliss. Or at least safer.’

She withdrew her hand, turning away in feigned offended disappointment. ‘I see, Professor.’

‘Oh, don’t be like that, my lady,’ said Ribbsley, playing along with her game. ‘I’m sure I can make up for it somehow.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I recall that you have a reasonable ability with languages . . .’

‘Don’t go out of your way to praise me, Gabriel,’ she said sarcastically.

‘Compared to me, I meant. But you could help me with the translation - it’d save me a lot of time if you took care of the drudge work.’

‘Oh! Thrilling.’

‘You’ll find it interesting, trust me. The language is . . .’ He smiled. ‘Unique. Then afterwards, since we’re in Oman, a meeting with the Sultan, perhaps? I’ve met him before; I’m certain I can arrange something.’

Her perfect smile returned. ‘You know, that might do the trick.’

‘I thought it might.’

Her hand slid between his legs once more. ‘Although . . . I’m still terribly hurt that you wouldn’t tell me who those men were.’

He tensed for a moment, before her touch made it clear she was joking. ‘Some things in life have to remain mysterious, Sophia.’

Attention divided between flying the helicopter and the movement of her hand, Ribbsley didn’t pick up her low words over the clamour of the cabin. ‘Not for me, Gabriel. I always get what I want. Eventually.’

1

Indonesia: Eight Years Later

‘Shark!’

At almost a hundred feet beneath the Java Sea, daylight was diffused to a dusky turquoise cast, but there was still more than enough illumination for Nina Wilde to see the predator turn towards her. ‘Shark!’ she repeated, voice rising in pitch. ‘Eddie, do something!’

Eddie Chase swept past her, using the thrusters of his deep suit to place himself between his fiancee and the shark as he brought up his speargun. He aimed the .357 Magnum cartridge forming the spear’s explosive power- head at the approaching creature . . . then lowered it again.

‘What are you doing?’ Nina asked, green eyes wide with fear. ‘It’s coming right at us!’

‘It’s only a thresher. Don’t worry, it won’t do anything.’

‘But it’s fifteen feet long!’

‘It’s not even six. I know the helmet magnifies things, but Jesus!’

The shark came closer, mouth gaping to expose ranks of sharp triangular teeth . . . then turned its head almost dismissively and powered off into the murk.

‘See?’ said Chase. ‘Nothing to worry about. Now if it’d been something like a tiger shark, you’d know about it.’

‘How?’

‘’Cause I’d be shouting “Shit, it’s a fucking tiger shark, aargh!” and firing off spears as fast as I could load ’em!’ The balding, broken-nosed Englishman turned so that the lights on his deep suit’s polycarbonate body lit up the redhead’s pale face through her transparent bubble helmet. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, fine,’ Nina answered, with a slightly embarrassed smile. She had undergone dive training off the coast of Long Island, near her native New York, and was still getting used to the enormously more varied marine life of Indonesia. ‘It’s just that to me, “shark” equals “severed head popping out of a boat”.’

Chase chuckled, then a hint of concern came into his voice, even through the distortion of the underwater radio system. ‘How’s your leg?’

‘It’s . . . okay.’ It wasn’t technically a lie, as the bullet wound she had received to her right thigh four months earlier, now more or less healed, wasn’t actually hurting, but it had definitely stiffened up during the dive.

‘Uh huh.’ He didn’t believe her. ‘Look, if you want to go back to the ship . . .’

‘I’m fine, Eddie,’ Nina insisted. ‘Come on, let’s carry on with the survey.’

‘If you’re sure.’ Chase managed an approximation of a shrug through the deep suit’s bulky casing.

She gripped the flexible control stalk on her suit’s chest and used the thrusters to lift herself off the sea bed, using her finned feet to bring herself to a horizontal position before zooming away, Chase behind her.

Their survey took them along a circular route, taking twenty minutes to complete. Nina was disappointed that she failed to discover anything new - but that feeling vanished as they returned to the centre of the circle.

Almost a year earlier, a local fishing boat had, by chance, dredged up a handful of wood and stone artefacts from the sea floor. The Indonesian authorities quickly realised they were very old and hence potentially extremely valuable; the lucky fishermen had received a payment to persuade them to ‘forget’ exactly where they had made their discovery, so the site could be properly examined before opportunistic treasure hunters picked it clean.

The job of exploration fell to the United Nations’ International Heritage Agency. Nina, at the time the agency’s Director of Operations, had already been engaged in a project to chart in detail humanity’s expansion across the world in pre-history; the Indonesian find had the potential to pinpoint a date with great accuracy. It had taken several months for everything to be arranged, but now they were here.

And had made a discovery.

‘Nina, look at this!’ called Marco Gozzi over the radio. He and another scientist, Gregor Bobak, were using a