The Covenant of Genesis

by Andy McDermott

  ‘She . . . has a point,’ Nina admitted reluctantly. ‘I can’t translate the language.’

  ‘You worked out enough to find this place.’

  ‘Those were numbers, Eddie. All I did was follow a map. But the inscription in that chamber is a whole lot more - and I won’t be able to work it out without help.’

  ‘Yeah, but her help?’ Chase objected. ‘First chance she gets, she’ll stab us in the back!’

  ‘Then we don’t give her the chance.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We need her, Eddie.’ Nina moved closer to the bed, looking Sophia in the eye. ‘Okay. We’ll take you with us. But let me make this perfectly clear - you do exactly what we tell you, and if you try to screw us over in even the tiniest way, we’ll dump you on the doorstep of the US embassy so you can go straight back to Guantánamo Bay . . . or I might even kill you myself.’

  Sophia raised an eyebrow. ‘You’d kill me?’

  ‘You’d be surprised what I can do when people piss me off.’

  ‘Ah, yes. That redhead temper again.’

  Nina gave her a smile devoid of all humour. ‘You better believe it. Do we have an understanding?’

  ‘We do indeed,’ said Sophia, nodding. ‘I’d shake hands, but . . .’ She jingled the chain holding her cuffed hands.

  ‘Well, Professor Ribbsley,’ said Nina, turning to him, ‘I take it you’ve got a key. Unless this is some sort of personal kink I’d rather not know about.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ Ribbsley said. ‘You have no idea just how powerful the Covenant really is.’

  ‘But I soon will, won’t I? The key? Unless you want Eddie to find it for me.’

  Ribbsley hurriedly delved into his trouser pocket, producing a key ring. Nina took it and went to the bed, Sophia turning to let her reach the chain. The first lock came away, the chain clinking on to the pillow; after another moment, one of the ratchets was opened, allowing Sophia to bring her arms out from behind her back.

  ‘Oh, that’s such a relief,’ she said, massaging her newly freed wrist. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind opening the other one . . .’ She held up her arms.

  Nina had other ideas. ‘Actually . . .’

  ‘Wait, what are—Hey!’ Sophia protested as the open bracelet rasped shut around her wrist once more.

  ‘You seriously think I’m going to let you run around loose?’ She moved back to the door. ‘While we’re at it, it’ll slow the Covenant down if Ribbsley doesn’t have his notes. Where’s his laptop?’

  ‘We can’t waste time, we need to get out of here,’ said Sophia. ‘The Covenant takes a very military approach to things - they won’t be eating for much longer.’

  ‘What about loverboy here?’ Chase asked, indicating Ribbsley. ‘We can’t drag him along as well.’

  ‘Knock him out,’ Sophia suggested. Ribbsley’s eyes bulged wide in fright.

  ‘Not kill him?’ asked Nina mockingly. ‘Very generous of you.’

  ‘He did get me out of Guantánamo, so I owe him that. As I said, I don’t want to see him get hurt.’ A look at Chase. ‘I’m sure you can do something relatively painless.’

  ‘No!’ Ribbsley cried, close to panic. ‘Sophia, please, don’t do this!’

  Chase shoved him back against the wall, hand gripping his throat. Ribbsley gagged. ‘Keep your bloody voice down!’

  ‘The laptop,’ Nina insisted. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ Sophia said. ‘It’s—’

  A noise from outside, boots crunching on sand and stone. Right at the door.

  ‘Professor Ribbsley?’ said a voice. Zamal. A long silent moment, tension rising . . .

  Ribbsley suddenly kicked at the fallen bucket. It flew up to clang noisily against the wall in a shower of flying ice, spilling a bottle of Bulgari aftershave from the bedside cabinet. Chase punched him hard across the jaw, dropping him limply on to the bed - but the damage had been done.

  ‘Ribbsley!’ Zamal shouted. ‘What’s going on?’

  Chase ran into the lounge, heading for the door. Before he could reach it, it opened and Zamal rushed inside - only to take a blow to the head that sent him reeling back against a counter.

  But he recovered fast, grabbing for his holstered gun. Chase charged, gripping his wrist just as he drew the gun and bashing his hand against the edge of the counter. Zamal snarled and jabbed a knee up at Chase’s groin, but the Englishman twisted sideways just in time to avoid a fight-ending blow.

  Zamal used the shift in Chase’s balance to thrust away from the counter. Both men lurched across the room, still grappling for the gun as they crashed into the RV’s kitchen area. Zamal’s gun hand came up, the weapon shaking as he strained to break free. Chase fought back, pushing him round . . . and inadvertently pointing the gun at the two women as they entered the lounge. Nina yelped and dropped to the carpet below the line of fire, Sophia hastily retreating behind an armchair.

  Chase shoved Zamal back. The gun swung back and forth as they struggled. Nina scrambled forward on her hands and knees as the barrel waved towards her.

  Zamal punched Chase in the side. He flinched, giving the Arab the chance to turn and force him down on the kitchen counter, left hand clamping round his throat. A cutlery rack toppled over, its contents clashing across the stainless steel. Zamal twisted his wrist, trying to point the gun at Chase’s head . . .

  Chase punched him again, but Zamal blocked the blow with his upper arm as he pushed Chase down harder. Spilled cutlery jabbed at the side of his head. He threw another punch, with no more success, then clawed at the counter, searching desperately for a knife as Zamal’s grip tightened.

  His fingers closed round a cold metal handle. He snatched it up, striking at Zamal’s face—

  It wasn’t a knife.

  It wasn’t even a fork. It was only a spoon, the back of the rounded head striking Zamal’s brow with an almost comical smack! that brought a mocking look from Chase’s opponent.

  The look changed instantly to one of enraged pain as Chase rolled the spoon over in his hand and jabbed it at the bearded man’s eye as if trying to scoop it out of his head. Zamal roared and jumped back. Chase leapt up, both men spinning round - and pointing the gun at Nina again. She shrieked and dived out of the way, landing behind the RV’s driving seat.

  Ribbsley appeared in the bedroom door, wielding the champagne bottle. He saw Chase and Zamal battling for the gun and ran at them, raising the bottle like a club.

  Sophia jumped out from behind the chair, grabbing a black leather briefcase with her cuffed hands. ‘Gabriel!’ He froze, the bottle held high, and looked round at her in surprise. ‘Take this!’ She swung the briefcase and hit him in the chest. Ribbsley stumbled, dropping the bottle, and fell through the open door to land on his back in the sand outside. The case thumped down beside him. ‘Nina! You’ve got the keys! Drive!’

  Nina realised that she still had Ribbsley’s key ring - and on it was one key with the fat black plastic head of a remote locking system. With a worried look at the struggling men, she dropped into the driving seat and shoved the key in the ignition.

  Chase kicked back with one foot to give himself leverage on the refrigerator, throwing Zamal against the wall. He smashed the other man on the cheek with the point of his right elbow, then managed to get a grip on the gun. Zamal responded by punching him in the ribs. Chase grunted in pain. He elbowed Zamal in the head again, trying to wrench the gun away—

  Zamal realised he was in danger of losing his weapon - and squeezed the trigger.

  The shot punched through the Winnebago’s roof. Chase yelled as his hand was burned - the heel of his palm had been partly covering the automatic’s ejection port. He let go, and Zamal twisted his wrist around to point the gun at his head, pulling the trigger again—

  Clink.

  No shot. Chase’s grip on the gun’s slide had stopped it from cycling properly, needing a manual operation to complete the reloading action.

  Chase took
immediate advantage of the misfire to slam a sledgehammer punch into the Arab’s stomach. Zamal bent at the waist as the wind was knocked out of him, and took a follow-up blow to the face.

  The engine started. ‘Go!’ Sophia yelled. Nina released the handbrake, put the Winnebago into drive, stamped on the accelerator . . .

  And the seventeen-ton vehicle wallowed as its wheels spun in the sand.

  The movement sent Chase and Zamal reeling across the lounge. Sophia snatched up the champagne bottle, waiting for a chance to strike.

  Nina tried again, pushing down the pedal more gently. The Winnebago rocked, then gained traction and jolted forward. She swung the steering wheel to bring the enormous RV towards the dirt track away from the coast.

  The gunshot had attracted attention. Through the windscreen, she saw men running towards them. Grimacing, she shoved the accelerator down harder.

  Zamal and Chase traded more blows, neither willing to relinquish their grip on the other as they staggered back and forth across the room. Sophia was still waiting for a clear strike. ‘Eddie!’ she said impatiently, holding up the bottle. ‘Turn him round!’

  Chase saw what she had in mind, and with a furious burst of strength forced Zamal’s back towards her. The bottle flashed down, smashing over the Arab’s head and showering Chase with frothing champagne. Zamal’s knees buckled.

  ‘Waste of a Cuvée Winston,’ said Sophia, almost sadly, before moving to the door and holding it open. ‘Throw him out!’

  Chase half dragged the groaning Zamal across the room. ‘Okay, mate,’ Chase grunted. ‘Holiday’s over.’

  The track ahead curved, low limestone embankments rising on both sides. Nina threw the RV into the bend without slowing, the front bumper clipping the outer bank.

  Chase lurched, Zamal grabbed him - and both men toppled out through the open door.

  16

  Chase landed on top of Zamal, knocking the breath from both of them as they rolled to a stop in the Winnebago’s dusty wake.

  Chase recovered first, coughing. The Arab was lying prone a few feet away.

  He still had the gun.

  Zamal realised this at the same moment as Chase. He tugged the slide to unjam it and brought the weapon round—

  Chase punched him so hard that his beret flew off. This time, Zamal stayed down. ‘Guess the champagne went to your head,’ Chase said. He looked round to see the Winnebago retreating into the desert - and one of the quad bikes swerving off its patrol route after it.

  It wasn’t the only vehicle in pursuit. He could hear the second quad bike cutting through the excavations behind him - and the rasp of a third Kawasaki starting up. All that, plus shouting from the camp as the rest of the Covenant forces mobilised, told him that he really needed to be somewhere else.

  He pulled the gun from Zamal’s limp hand and staggered painfully after the Winnebago.

  Nina found the switch for the headlights. The bumpy desert landscape lit up before her.

  A noise to one side, an engine. In the mirror she saw one of the quad bikes bounding towards her. And something picked out by the headlight’s glare above the handlebars, a line of dark metal in the rider’s hand—

  ‘Shit!’ Nina gasped, ducking as flame spat from the rifle’s barrel. Bullets punctured the Winnebago’s slab-like side. ‘Eddie, keep down!’ No answer. ‘Eddie?’

  Sophia took cover behind Nina. ‘He fell out!’

  ‘He what?’ She was about to stamp on the brake when another burst of gunfire deterred her. Instead, she increased speed, the RV pitching over each bump like a ship in heavy seas. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Eddie can look after himself.’

  ‘Well, I hope we can!’ Another turn was coming up fast, a bank channelling the Winnebago to the right. Sophia grabbed the fat leather seat for support as Nina turned hard, feeling the big, top-heavy vehicle begin to tip over. ‘Whoa!’ She had to ease off . . .

  ‘If you could keep all the wheels on the ground, it’d be helpful,’ Sophia said dryly as the RV dropped heavily back down, loose objects clattering round the cabin behind them.

  ‘It’d be even more helpful if you’d shut your goddamn yap!’ The track curved back to the left, rising out of a little gully. She swung the wheel back, the Winnebago rolling even harder.

  Where was the quad bike? Nina checked the mirrors, seeing no sign of it behind them.

  Engine noise, very close, too close—

  It wasn’t behind them. It had drawn level, zooming over the rise in a straight line to catch up while she had been forced to weave through the gully. She looked sideways to see it just yards away, the rider swinging the rifle round in one hand, aiming at her . . .

  Nina ducked, hauling on the wheel to slew the Winnebago off the track at the quad bike. The rider fired a burst before he was forced to swerve away, shattering the side window and ripping a pair of bullet holes in the panoramic windscreen, a web of silver cracks obscuring Nina’s view.

  ‘Sophia!’ she yelled, the RV ripping through bushes before she swung it back on to the track. ‘I can’t see ahead! I need you to—’

  A red cylinder flew past her head and smashed through the damaged windscreen; one of the Winnebago’s fire extinguishers. ‘Is that better?’ Sophia asked, dropping into the passenger seat.

  ‘Oh, just fine,’ Nina growled as a gritty wind blew through the new hole. But at least she could see again. She looked for the quad bike. Its headlight was now in the mirror - it had been forced to drop in behind them to avoid a stand of trees.

  The sound of bullet impacts echoed up the cabin from the Winnebago’s rear. ‘What the hell’s he shooting at?’

  ‘The tyres, maybe?’ Sophia suggested with considerable sarcasm. ‘Or the gas cylinders? Or the hundred gallons of fuel?’

  Another burst of gunfire - then a low whoomph reached them from the bedroom as something ignited. ‘Or your boyfriend’s napalm aftershave,’ said Nina frostily. They turned to see flickers of flame through the bedroom door.

  ‘Maybe it is a little overpowering,’ Sophia quickly agreed.

  ‘That’d better not have been the only fire extinguisher you just threw out the window.’

  ‘I think there’s another one.’ Sophia made her way unsteadily back down the length of the bucking vehicle.

  Nina checked the mirror again. The quad bike was still tucked in behind them - and further back, she spotted other lights racing through the desert. ‘Oh, God, Eddie, where are you?’

  Chase was having quad bike problems of his own. The nearest bike was closing fast, the cyclops glare of its headlight casting his long running shadow into the night ahead. Still running, he twisted and fired off a shot. It hit the bike’s front with a metallic crack.

  But it caused no damage. The bike kept coming. He turned to shoot again—

  Too slow. The Kawasaki swept past - and the rider kicked him square in the back, hurling him face first to the ground. The gun spun from his hand. Spine on fire, he rose to his hands and knees as the quad bike made a skidding turn to come back round for another attack.

  Where was the gun? It couldn’t have landed more than a few feet away . . .

  The bike charged straight for him. He crawled forward, hands sweeping back and forth through the sand, finding nothing but stones.

  The light was blinding, from his low viewpoint looking like a locomotive about to crush him.

  Sand, stones—

  Metal!

  Chase snapped up the gun and fired just above the headlight. There was a startled scream, and the rider fell backwards - then the quad bike veered sharply, hitting a rock and flipping over to barrel across the sand—

  Straight at Chase.

  He threw himself sideways, rolling over and over as the tumbling bike slammed down beside him, showering him with grit and broken bodywork. It bounced a couple more times before finally coming to rest on its side.

  Pain rippled up Chase’s back, but he fought through it and stood, looking towards the camp
. The other quad bike was still coming, and he could see more headlights moving along the track.

  He limped to the battered bike and pulled it back on to all four wheels. The engine had stalled; he mounted the saddle and tried the starter. It whined in protest, the engine reluctantly turning over on the third attempt.

  He could see the Winnebago’s rear lights in the distance - and something else, a flickering glow through its rear window that looked suspiciously like a fire. ‘Oh, Christ,’ he moaned as he twisted the throttle, the engine revving raggedly. ‘What’s she done now?’

  ‘Have you found the fire extinguisher?’ Nina shouted down the Winnebago’s cabin.

  ‘Yes!’ came the answer from the bedroom.

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s on fire!’

  ‘Oh, that’s, that’s . . .’ Nina struggled for words. ‘So not good,’ was all she could come up with. She looked back, seeing Sophia making a hasty exit from the bedroom as a curtain caught light behind her. ‘You’ve got a kitchen and a bathroom back there - throw some water on it!’

  ‘In what?’ Sophia snapped, holding up a teacup.

  ‘How about pans? Don’t you cook?’

  ‘Of course I don’t cook! What am I, a peasant?’

  Nina’s scathing reply was cut off when she saw the quad bike trying to overtake again. She turned to force the rider off the track. He dropped back slightly, but had no trouble riding up the low embankment flanking the trail - unlike the Winnebago, which shook violently.

  And in the other mirror, she could see two more quad bikes charging across the desert . . .

  Chase was gaining rapidly on the lumbering RV, cutting straight across the sand to intercept it. The first quad bike had gone wide, trying to overtake - he guessed that the rider planned to get far enough ahead to stop and take a head-on shot at the driver.

  He wasn’t going to let that happen.

  The third quad was about fifty metres behind, following him. Even though he knew its rider was armed with a rifle, Chase doubted he would take a shot . . . yet. At speed over rough terrain, firing one-handed, he would have only slightly more chance of hitting than if he fired up into the air hoping the bullet would come down on his head.