Covenant

by Dean Crawford

  “The same time as they were mining for copper,” Ethan noted.

  “Exactly,” Rachel nodded. “Everything happened for them at once, and that’s what doesn’t fit with the rest of ancient history. At the same time, people here in the Levant were also beginning agriculture, forming a script, mining copper, and attempting to smelt bronze.”

  “Are there any other legends that match Sumer’s?” Ethan asked.

  “Plenty. In the Indian Ramayana, the Pushpaka Vimana of the god Ravana is described as a chariot that resembles the sun, that traveled everywhere at will like a bright cloud in the sky.”

  “You think that they saw a flying vehicle?” Ethan asked in amazement.

  “History is full of such records,” Rachel explained. “On Kimberly Mountain in western Australia, there are cave walls bearing paintings of several beings with round heads and huge black eyes. Calling the figures Wondjina, the Aborigines consider the beings extremely sacred. The Wondjina were drawn at least ten thousand years ago and bear little resemblance to any known Earth creature.”

  “Could be just the natives strung out on naturally occurring narcotics,” Ethan dismissed her.

  “In the Tassili Mountains in the Sahara Desert there are images of towering figures,” Rachel continued, “drawn at twice the height of humans and animals drawn alongside them. They also wear strange headpieces and there are flying discs hovering above them. Hopi Indian petroglyphs tell of ‘Star-Blowers’ who traveled the universe and visited Earth in the distant past. There is an ancient Peruvian legend about the goddess Orejona landing in a great ship from the skies near the site of the famous Nazca Lines, not to mention Native American ‘Thunderbirds,’ Arab djinni, and one of the first written accounts of a fleet of flying saucers from an Egyptian papyrus of Thutmose III, who reigned around four thousand years ago.”

  “I had no idea,” Ethan admitted.

  “Most people don’t,” Rachel said, “but ancient history is littered with such records, right down to images of flying discs with windows that were painted on rocks thousands of years ago. The extraterrestrial appearance is considered too radical by science, and so other explanations are created despite the obvious implications.”

  “You can hardly blame them,” Ethan said. “The idea that E.T. popped down to teach mankind to brew alcohol and then cleared off doesn’t sound like serious archaeology.”

  “No, but that’s the whole point,” Rachel said. “I wouldn’t have believed it either, but when you look at some of the artifacts, it’s virtually staring us in the face. Sumerian and Egyptian gods portrayed as humanoid with animal heads and wings are a good example. In Val Camonica in Italy there’s a cave painting of two men in suits holding strange objects that’s at least ten thousand years old. In Sego, Utah, there are seven-thousand-year-old petroglyphs of unmistakably alien humanoids drawn alongside ordinary-looking humans.”

  “Cave paintings are hardly solid evidence,” Ethan pointed out.

  Rachel shrugged and watched as Luckov made a carefully judged descending turn around the epic heights of Masada as he lined the aircraft up with Bar Yehuda airfield. Set on an isolated cliff in the Judean Desert, Masada’s precipices soared more than four hundred meters above the Dead Sea. Ethan could see the immense and seemingly impregnable fortress on its summit, built by King Herod and the site of the last stand of the Zealots against Imperial Rome.

  The de Havilland’s flaps whined down, the aircraft bobbing and plunging on thermals spiraling up from the hot desert below. Ethan watched with interest as Aaron and Safiya worked together, the scant runway of Bar Yehuda looming up before them as the scrubland whipped past below. Aaron flared the aircraft gently and set it down on the narrow strip as Safiya pulled the throttles back. The engine changed note to a rattling patter as they taxied off the runway alongside a scattering of dilapidated buildings erected from old corrugated iron and sandstone blocks sweltering in the heat.

  “This is it,” Aaron said, cutting the engine’s fuel switch.

  The engine shuddered to a stop, and the sudden silence that enveloped them was as deep as the timeless history of the land itself. An elderly man walked toward them from out of the desert as they disembarked, materializing ghostlike through rippling rivers of haze that obscured the horizon. He was dressed in traditional Bedouin garments to protect him from the heat and the winds that moaned across the empty wastes. Behind him walked several young men swathed in similar traditional clothes.

  “Shalom aleichem, Ayeem,” Aaron greeted the elderly man, and they embraced briefly.

  “Aleichem shalom,” the Bedouin replied, before looking at Ethan and Rachel.

  Ayeem’s face was lined with crevices and gulleys like those of the desert, his skin scorched a deep mahogany by the harsh caress of a thousand suns. He greeted them warmly, shaking Ethan’s hand with both of his own and gently kissing Rachel’s cheek.

  “I have heard much about you,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice. “Aaron has told me only good things. Now we must hurry, if we are to reach the place you seek.”

  “How far is it?” Ethan asked.

  “Perhaps five miles from here, just inside the edge of Israel’s controlled zone,” Ayeem replied. “It is not safe to travel at night here.”

  “Why not?” Rachel asked as Ethan shouldered his rucksack.

  “Israel does not trust us,” Ayeem replied. Anger glittered in his eyes, and for a brief instant Ethan wondered about the Bedouin’s motivations. “They fear that they cannot tell between us and those who would harm them. We must find what you are looking for and return here before sundown.”

  Aaron gestured to a small jeep parked nearby. “Ayeem will drive you to the site. We’ll wait here for you.”

  “What are your friends here for?” Rachel asked, looking at the quiet knot of Bedouin gathered nearby. “They can’t all fit in the jeep.”

  “You will see,” Ayeem replied smoothly, the glitter returning briefly to his eyes as he gestured for them to follow him. “Now, come.”

  Aaron glanced at Ethan. “Try to keep your nose out of trouble, okay?”

  Ethan decided not to respond and followed Ayeem and Rachel toward the jeep. He could hear Rachel and the Bedouin talking as he walked.

  “Do you know the spot where Lucy disappeared? Have you been there before?”

  “I know the land as I know every line on my hand,” Ayeem said with a smile.

  Ethan got into the passenger seat of the jeep as Ayeem clambered in and started the engine. As they turned away from the airfield, he saw the little group of Bedouin striking out on foot across the sweltering desert wastelands. Within minutes, they were lost amid the haze as though they had vanished through time itself.

  MACE HEADQUARTERS

  JERUSALEM

  Spencer Malik sat in an office overlooking a military compound surrounded by thick concrete walls tipped with razor wire glinting in the sunlight. A slowly rotating ceiling fan did little to alleviate the suffocating heat as he wafted a thick wad of papers across his face.

  He stared incredulously at Cooper and Flint standing before him, one with a rapidly swelling black eye and the other leaning on a table, cradling his stomach in one hand.

  “We just didn’t expect him to do that,” Cooper complained.

  “You didn’t expect me to cut your salary either,” Malik said in disgust. “Where did they go?”

  “They didn’t say,” Flint muttered. “They just ran, both of them.”

  Malik regarded the two men for a moment and then looked down at an open file on his desk, scanning the details with interest. Rafael had worked swiftly.

  “Ethan Warner, born 1978, Chicago, Illinois,” he murmured. “Former correspondent.”

  Cooper nodded.

  “Warner was an officer in the United States Marines, trained at Quantico, rifleman. Had a reputation for reckless actions in the field and a disregard for political authority. Several commendations for valor in Afghanistan for leading attacks and charge
s on Taliban positions. He also served in Iraq during the invasion, before working as a war correspondent in Bogotá, Colombia, in the Balkans, and here in Israel.”

  Malik scanned the areas of the document concerning Ethan’s work in the Gaza Strip. His reading came to an abrupt halt as he digested several of the last paragraphs.

  “Joanna Defoe,” he muttered, glancing out of the window. “His fiancée.”

  “Disappeared somewhere in the Gaza Strip,” Cooper said. “She was presumed abducted by insurgents although no group claimed responsibility. Warner spent two years searching for her before blaming the Israeli government for their lack of assistance in protecting foreign workers. That’s why they’ve been tailing him since he arrived. He left Israel after his outburst, and disappeared off the radar until now.”

  Malik nodded.

  “It says here that Ethan Warner is with this Morgan woman searching for her daughter,” Malik murmured thoughtfully. He leaned back in his chair, using the file to waft cool air once more onto his face. “Where is he now?”

  “We just heard that both Warner and Morgan were observed boarding a private aircraft leaving Herzliya airfield,” Cooper replied.

  Malik looked sharply at him. “Destination?”

  “Masada. The flight plan is controlled, sir, so they can’t fly anywhere within the Negev that is restricted.”

  Malik’s eyes narrowed and he looked again at Warner’s file.

  “He was a soldier and war correspondent,” he said softly. “He’ll be used to digging around where he’s not wanted and he’s got nothing to lose. Contact the team at the site and make sure that he doesn’t get the opportunity to nose around the area, understood?”

  “Yes, sir. And if they’re already there?”

  Malik glanced out of the window for a moment. “Restrain them until further notice.”

  The two men turned instantly for the door, limping and shuffling out of sight. Malik stood from his desk and walked across to an open window that looked out over the compound and the city beyond. Men like Ethan Warner were a liability: trained, capable, yet highly unpredictable and with a tendency toward self-destruction.

  “Whatever it is that you want, Mr. Warner,” he said to himself thoughtfully, “don’t cross me to get it.”

  “Problems, Spencer?”

  Malik turned to see Bill Griffiths leaning against the doorframe of the office.

  “Just some journalist nosing into things he shouldn’t,” Malik said dismissively. “Is the excavation complete?”

  Griffiths nodded, brushing dust off the broad rim of his hat.

  “The specimen will be packaged this afternoon at the site and then transported to Ben Gurion Airport in the morning. I’ve pulled my team out and they’ll return to the States tomorrow. I take it that the remains will be flown out the same day?”

  “The jet will be waiting,” Malik confirmed. “As far as customs are concerned, the consignment contains medical equipment, brought here by the same aircraft from the United States four weeks ago, being returned to the supplier. All of the paperwork is in order.”

  Griffiths nodded again. “And the rest of my payment?”

  “Sent once the specimen leaves Israel safely,” Malik said. “Our administration department will take care of the transfers. Talk to them if you have any issues. My only concerns right now are security and discretion.”

  Griffiths examined his hat for a moment before speaking. “How did you come about the remains?”

  “They were found by men working at the site; it happens from time to time during demolition training,” Malik said, shuffling some papers on his desk. “I take it that no further specimens have been found?”

  “None,” Griffiths replied. “We’ve dug several areas but the remains appear to be a single burial. Incredible luck, that they should have been exposed by a demolition team.”

  “They weren’t there to play Indiana Jones,” Malik muttered. “The sooner this is resolved, the happier I’ll be.”

  Griffiths raised an eyebrow, and Malik instantly regretted his candor as the fossil hunter spoke.

  “I’m surprised that the remains weren’t destroyed by the explosives your men were using. If enough rock had been shattered away to expose the bones, then I’d have thought that the bones themselves would have been blasted to pieces.”

  Malik leveled Griffiths with a long, hard look.

  “Indeed, and it’s your good fortune that we contracted you to excavate them afterward. Perhaps you would prefer us to use another specialist, if you have any doubts about your involvement?”

  Griffiths twiddled his hat between his fingers for a moment and then shook his head.

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

  NEGEV DESERT

  3 MILES NORTHWEST OF BAR YEHUDA

  The site where Lucy was working is just on the edge of the floodplain.”

  Ayeem Khan pointed ahead toward a canyon that sliced through the sandstone cliffs, eroded by the passing of an ancient river. Now parched, Ethan could visualize how the river system would once have streamed from the highlands to spill onto a broad, lush plain.

  The Bedouin had parked the jeep inside a nearby wadi, hidden behind an outcrop of rock that marked the turning point in the extinct river’s course and the entrance to the canyon. Deep shadow enveloped them as they moved into its maw, the sheer walls dwarfing them and the air suddenly cool.

  “Do not speak loudly,” Ayeem said softly as they moved.

  “How much do you know about the security company, MACE?” Ethan whispered.

  “They are unpleasant people. They regard us Bedouin as less than human. Our people have been attacked by MACE soldiers for walking their livestock too close to military compounds.”

  “Private security companies can work almost entirely without fear of legal action,” Ethan replied.

  “How come?” Rachel asked.

  “Governments often contract private security firms to undertake menial work such as guarding military sites. Should anything illegal happen, the government can pass the blame onto the security company, who are privately held and thus cannot be prosecuted by the government. The whole thing goes through the civil courts, and the security companies have become wealthy over the years and can afford the best counsel, overwhelming the prosecution. It happened regularly in Iraq after the invasion.”

  Ayeem’s voice hissed like a knife through the air as he spoke. “Our people cannot afford to take these companies to court for the things that they have done. It is, how do you say, swept under the carpet? And this area is renowned for people disappearing.”

  “This has happened before?” Rachel asked.

  “The Negev Desert is as vast as it is mysterious,” Ayeem said. “A number of unwary travelers have disappeared into its wastelands, never to be seen again.”

  “Like Lucy?” she asked in dismay. “You think that she’ll never be seen again?”

  “Lucy is different,” Ayeem said soothingly. “We have a trail to follow, and it will lead us to her. Be patient.”

  Rachel was quiet for a moment, and then noticed something on the ground beside her. She reached down and picked up what looked to Ethan like a small piece of stone.

  “Pottery,” she said, examining it as she walked. “Probably been here for a thousand years. I wouldn’t mind betting you’d find worked metals out here if you looked hard enough.”

  “How old would they be?” Ethan asked.

  “There’s a Chalcolithic copper mine in the Timna Valley in the southern Negev,” Rachel answered, “that was being mined at least six thousand years ago. There are copper axes in museums that are over seven thousand years old in Europe and America. How could man have invented such metallurgy at the same time in so many different places?”

  “Silence,” Ayeem whispered, climbing up lithely over loose rubble.

  As he followed Ayeem and Rachel, Ethan found himself able to study Rachel for the first time unnoticed.

  Rachel
was attractive in an unconventional way, he decided. Her long dark hair framed her features perfectly, her skin was as unblemished as fresh snow, and he’d seen enough of her clear green eyes to know that he’d liked whatever he’d seen there. Her knowledge of history and her determination to find her daughter attracted him even further. If the situation had been any different, he might have even considered … An image of Joanna drifted briefly through his mind and silenced his thoughts. A thin trickle of self-loathing dribbled through his guts as he pictured her suffering somewhere, and he pushed himself angrily up the slope.

  “Stay low,” Ayeem cautioned, waving them to keep their heads down.

  Ethan followed the Bedouin to the lip of the slope, peering over the edge and down onto a broad plain that stretched away beneath a shimmering blanket of heat toward the Dead Sea.

  The camp below them consisted of two large khaki tents pitched at the base of the low cliffs amid a scattering of desiccated trees. Beside the tents were parked two Humvees and a small white jeep. On the far side of the camp, six men in black uniforms sat idly on wooden crates playing cards and smoking, assault rifles scattered around them.

  “Is this the site?” Ethan asked.

  “Yes,” Ayeem confirmed. “Several of us saw Lucy’s camp while we were traveling out on the plains. You could see her lights for miles at night.”

  “Probably why she was found so easily.”

  Rachel looked at Ethan sharply. “She was hardly expecting to be abducted.”

  “Out here, you need to expect just about anything.”

  Ethan retrieved a pair of small binoculars from his rucksack and focused them on the camp. He saw shovels, two pickaxes, and a number of buckets scattered on the hot earth near the tent closest to the cliff face.

  “Why are they digging?” he asked Ayeem. “They haven’t built entrenchments, and if they’re guarding a perimeter, then why are they camped against the escarpment?”

  “I don’t know,” the Bedouin said.

  Ethan handed the binoculars to Rachel and pulled a camera from his rucksack. “I’m going down for a look.”