The Covenant of Genesis_A Novel

by Andy McDermott

  “And then they got eaten by killer kangaroos,” said Chase ruefully.

  Nina put down the cylinders. “But we can find where they lived. Ribbsley’s translation said they built the city in a valley near the sea, and when they left they dammed up the valley and flooded it. So it’ll still be there—in a frozen lake under the ice.”

  “And how are we supposed to find that?” Sophia said skeptically.

  Nina grinned. “I know just the man to ask …”

  EIGHTEEN

  Sydney

  Hey, Nina!” cried Matt Trulli. “How’s it going?”

  “Kinda weirdly, to be honest,” Nina replied. They embraced, Nina kissing his cheek. “Great to see you again, Matt.”

  “Well, you timed it right,” said the pudgy, spike-haired Australian. “Another day and you’d have missed me—I’m off to Antarctica for three weeks! Flying out to the survey ship tomorrow. This your first time in Oz?”

  “Yeah. Seems a nice place, though.” She looked up at the Victorian Classical architecture of Sydney Hospital.

  “Nice place?” Trulli hooted in mock offense. “That the best you’ve got to say?”

  “Hey, c’mon,” Nina said, grinning, “I’m a New Yorker. Nothing compares!” She tipped her head toward the nearby statue: a large boar, dark all over its body except for the snout, which was the sculpture’s natural bronze. “I do like this, though.”

  “Oh, Il Porcellino?” he said with some pride. “Great little fella, everyone loves him. Rub his nose—it’ll bring you good luck.”

  “I could certainly use some.” Nina rubbed the pig’s snout, then touched her pendant for added fortune. “Il Porcellino, though? Doesn’t sound very Australian.”

  “Nah, the original’s from Italy—just like my grandad!” Trulli stroked the statue’s snout as well, then turned back to Nina. “So, what brings you down under?”

  “Long story.”

  “I’ve got time. Come on, we’ll take a stroll. The Opera House is just up the road—we’ll grab a coffee.”

  They headed north, toward the harbor. As they walked, Nina gave Trulli an abbreviated account of her recent discoveries and exploits—minus, for the moment, any mention of Sophia or Dalton. “Crikey,” Trulli muttered when she finished. “Sounds like these Covenant blokes are bad news.” He suddenly looked worried. “They won’t be coming after me now, will they?”

  “They won’t know we’ve met you,” Nina assured him. “Hopefully they don’t even know that we’re in Sydney. We were watching for people following us while we drove across the country. Didn’t see anyone suspicious.”

  Trulli glanced nervously over his shoulder, as if expecting to see assassins springing out from every corner. “Hope you’re right. The way you attract trouble, you really do need all the luck you can get.”

  “Luck, and the help of good friends,” she corrected. “Oh, by the way, how was the champagne?”

  “Oh, ripper, thanks! You said you’d send me a thank-you gift, and you weren’t kidding. Two cases of proper vintage bubbly shipped to my door? Hell of a nice surprise.”

  “Well, you did save our lives.”

  “By phone, too!” said Trulli. “Didn’t even have to get my feet wet, for a change.”

  “Hopefully you won’t have to this time, either,” said Nina as they reached the harbor front. Ahead, over the sparkling water, rose the impressive arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. She took in the sight. “Okay,” she admitted, “maybe, just maybe, that’s almost as good as the Brooklyn Bridge.”

  “Ah, give it a rest, Nina. We’ve got you beat and you know it. And you haven’t even seen the Opera House yet.”

  “Funny how you stop worrying about bad guys when your Aussie pride’s at stake,” Nina remarked with amusement.

  “Well, a man’s got to have his priorities!” Trulli smiled, then became more serious as they continued along the harbor. “So these Covenant guys, they’re looking for some lost city, but you think you can beat them to it. What do you need from me?”

  “Maps, to start with,” she told him. “UNARA did a complete radar survey of Antarctica not long ago, didn’t they?” The United Nations Antarctic Research Agency was a sister organization to the IHA, and Trulli’s current employer.

  “Sure did—it’s what I used to pick a test site for the project. The ice is over two and half miles thick in some places, but the satellite scans were still able to reach the bedrock. Any underground lakes should be on the map.”

  “Do you have a copy of GLUG on your computer?” He nodded. “Great. That should narrow things down.” She tried to visualize the frozen continent. “Is there any land down there that’s above the Antarctic Circle?”

  “Yeah. Actually, the test site’s above it—the Wilkes Coast. I picked it because it’s about as warm as the place gets, and it’s in Australian territory.”

  “All the comforts of home, huh?”

  They rounded a large apartment building, and for the first time the instantly recognizable stacked-seashell shape of the Sydney Opera House on its low headland was revealed to Nina. She had seen it many times in photographs and on TV, but viewed in person it was still a startling piece of design.

  “See? Now tell me you’ve got anything like that in New York,” Trulli gloated, seeing her expression.

  “The Guggenheim?” Nina suggested. He made a dismissive noise. “Oh, all right, I’ll give you a point. But just one.” They shared a smile.

  “Glad to hear it. But yeah, I should be able to help you find this lake, no problem. Then what?”

  “Right now, just finding the thing’s my first concern. Then Eddie and I can start worrying about what to do next.”

  “Where is Eddie, by the way?” Trulli asked.

  “He’s gone to visit an old friend …”

  Chase stared at the twin sawed-off shotgun barrels pointing at his chest. “Is that any way to say hello to an old friend?” he asked, hands raised.

  A figure emerged from the darkness behind the gun, regarding him suspiciously. “Eddie?” said the thick-necked man with the shaved head. “Eddie Chase?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  The shotgun was lowered, the man’s frown replaced by a sunny smile. “Why didn’t you say so, you stupid Pommie bastard? Come in, mate! Eddie Chase, fuck me!”

  “No thanks, you’re not my type,” said Chase, returning the grin and lowering his hands. “I’ve got someone with me—okay if she comes in?”

  “Sure, mate, sure!” The man stepped forward, revealing multiple tattoos. He squinted at the bright daylight, then raised a bushy eyebrow as the Englishman unlocked the handcuff bracelet he’d used to secure the annoyed Sophia to the run-down bungalow’s porch. “Public bondage, mate? Save that for the Mardi Gras.”

  “I didn’t want her doing a runner,” Chase explained.

  Sophia pulled her arm away from him, the empty bracelet dangling from her wrist. “Yes, because this charming neighborhood is exactly the kind of place where I want to start a new life.”

  The man looked her up and down, impressed. “Christ, Eddie. Is she a crimo or a supermodel?”

  “Definitely the first one,” Chase told him, leading her inside. “Sophia, this is an old mate of mine from the Australian SAS, Bob ‘Bluey’ Jackson. Bluey, this is … my ex-wife, Sophia.”

  “Ex-wife?” Bluey said. “You must have had termites in that fucking wooden blockhead of yours to let a cracker like her slip out of your hands!”

  “Oh, Bluey Jackson,” said Sophia icily. “You know, I think Eddie might have mentioned you.”

  “Oh, really?” Bluey puffed out his chest. “What’d he say?”

  “Nothing terribly memorable.” His face fell. “Though I do seem to recall something about—what was it, Eddie? Oh, yes. Appalling flatulence.”

  Bluey gave Chase a hurt look. “You told her about my Afghan squirts? Christ, mate, that was supposed to be something to keep between blokes!”

  Chase smirked. “Just be glad I d
idn’t tell her about the—”

  “All right, all right! Christ.” Bluey ushered them inside, surveyed the untidy front yard and the street beyond with a wary eye, then shut the door, plunging the interior into near darkness.

  “Why’s it so dark?” Chase asked.

  “We need to keep the windows covered. So we don’t get any stickybeaks seeing what we’re up to.”

  “And what are you up to these days?”

  “Still in the same line of work,” Bluey said as he led them through a door. “Just being a lot more high-tech about it.”

  “You’re not kidding,” said Chase as he took in the room’s contents. Several computers were lined up on a row of tables along one wall, connected to numerous scanners and color laser printers. A large laminating machine was whirring away in one corner, and there were several other pieces of equipment he couldn’t even identify.

  Perched on a stool by the laminator was a petite Asian woman. From her features, Chase guessed she was Vietnamese, in her early thirties. Although she was pretty, her pinched, sour expression detracted from her looks. She glared at the new arrivals. “Bluey! Who are they?”

  Bluey put the shotgun down on a table and went to her. Sophia eyed the weapon, edging almost imperceptibly closer; Chase firmly interposed himself. “It’s all right, he’s an old mate,” Bluey said, his tone conciliatory. “Eddie Chase.”

  “Eddie Chase?” The woman perked up. “Oh, Eddie Chase! The one who helped you?”

  “That’s the one. If it hadn’t been for him, we’d never have met. Eddie, this is my wife, Hien.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Chase. Hien hopped off the stool and shook his hand vigorously.

  “Nice to meet you too!” she said. “Bluey talks about you. Says you’re …” She screwed up her face again, trying to remember. “Ah! ‘Not a bad bloke for a smelly Pom.’”

  Chase gave Bluey a look. “Cheers, mate.”

  “Don’t you just love her?” Bluey said through a sheepish grin.

  “Although I have to say, Eddie,” Sophia piped up, “there certainly were occasions when you could have spent more time in the shower.”

  “I should’ve got a gag to go with those handcuffs,” Chase muttered.

  Bluey chuckled. “Now I see why she’s your ex, mate. So … what can I do you for? I’m guessing this isn’t just a social visit.”

  “’Fraid not. Someone’s after us, and we need help.”

  Bluey’s eyes narrowed, and he moved back toward the shotgun. “What kind of someone? Police?”

  “No, more like mercs. But mercs with some very high-up connections.”

  Bluey put a hand on the gun, eyeing the door. “You weren’t followed, were you?”

  Chase shook his head. “No, I checked. But they’re not going to give up.”

  “So you need new IDs, right?” He looked back at Hien, who now had an odd expression on her face as she regarded Sophia. “What’s up?”

  Hien didn’t answer. Instead, she raised one hand to block out Sophia’s blond hair … and her eyes widened in shock. She yelled in Vietnamese, prompting the confused Bluey to pick up the shotgun, then ran to a computer. A few seconds of typing, and Google brought up a page full of pictures of Sophia with long dark hair, taken at the time of her arrest in New York. “Terrorist! She’s that terrorist! With a nuclear bomb!”

  “Jesus!” said Bluey, recognition crossing his face. He pointed the shotgun at Sophia, who sighed and raised her hands. “She bloody is, too! Eddie, what the fuck are you doing bringing her here? We’d be up shit creek far enough if we got caught making new IDs for refugees—but fucking terrorists?”

  “Hey, I’m not exactly happy about it either,” Chase told him. “If it’d been up to me, I would’ve left her with the bad guys.”

  “Oh, thank you, Eddie,” Sophia said coldly. “Good to know where we all stand.”

  “But we need her, which means we need to get her an ID so she can travel. And we’ll probably need new passports and stuff ourselves to be on the safe side.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?” Hien demanded.

  “Me and Nina, my fiancée. Nina Wilde.” Chase saw them both react to the name. “Yeah, that Nina Wilde. Discoverer of Atlantis? Found the tomb of King Arthur? You know the one.”

  “Jesus,” Bluey said with a half-disbelieving, half-admiring whistle. “And she’s your fiancée? Y’know, mate, for an ugly bugger you don’t half pick up some cracking sheilas.” Hien scowled. “But they’re nothing compared to you, darlin’!” he hurriedly added with a big smile.

  “Why do you need help from a terrorist?” demanded Hien, not mollified.

  “The bad guys needed her—we’re trying to stop them,” said Chase, deciding to simplify the explanation. “They’re looking for something, and we need to find it before they do. If we don’t … well, we’re dead, pretty much. And that’s why we need your help.”

  “And what happens after? To her?” Hien jabbed an angry finger at Sophia.

  “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” Chase admitted.

  “Then you should!” She indicated the handcuffs. “You think she’s going to try to escape—what happens if she does? We’ll have helped! I’m not going to be part of that. Helping people start a new life is one thing, but this? No!”

  “I wouldn’t have come if there was any other choice. But you’re the only people who can help us.” Chase gave Bluey a pointed look. “As a favor.”

  “Aw, Christ, mate, that’s not fair,” said Bluey plaintively. “If it was just you, then no problem. But …”

  “You owe me, Bluey,” Chase insisted. “Like you said, you wouldn’t have met Hien if it hadn’t been for me.”

  Bluey chewed his bottom lip, then turned to his wife. “Hien …”

  “No!” She turned on her heel and stalked out.

  “Back in a minute,” he told Chase and Sophia, before following Hien and closing the door behind him. Shrill shouting came through the wood.

  “Well, this takes me back,” said Sophia, listening. “You know, I rather miss married life.”

  “Yeah, but your arguments ended with a gunshot,” Chase reminded her.

  “Oh, only twice. I must say, she’s got an awfully big voice for such a little woman. No wonder he carries a shotgun in his own house. What exactly did you do to help him, by the way?”

  “Got him out of some legal trouble,” Chase said evasively.

  “What kind?”

  “The putting-a-bullet-into-someone-he-shouldn’t-have kind.”

  “Really?” Sophia seemed almost impressed. “And I thought I knew all your dark secrets. So you helped cover up a murder, did you?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” said Chase, uncomfortable at the memory. “The guy was a total scumbag—he deserved it. He was an Afghan warlord who was robbing every refugee who came through his territory, and raping and killing anyone who didn’t pay up. Problem was, he could get away with it because he was one of our Afghan warlords who was supposed to be helping us fight the Taliban.”

  “But your friend Bluey took matters into his own hands, I assume.”

  “Yeah. We were coming back from an op when we ran into this arsehole and his men beating up some refugees. Bluey told him to stop, he told us to fuck off and let him get on with it … so Bluey shot him. Then his men tried to kill us, so we shot them as well.”

  “And then you lied about what happened on the official report, I take it.”

  “I said that the guy pulled a gun on Bluey, so it was self-defense. The politicos weren’t happy about their ‘trusted ally,’”—the words dripped with sarcasm—“getting killed by one of our guys, but the refugees backed us up, seeing as we’d just saved their lives, so that was the end of that. If I hadn’t, Bluey’d still be in some shithole Afghan prison right now.”

  “How very noble of you,” said Sophia, with equal sarcasm.

  “What the fuck would you know about being noble?” Chase snapped. “Kill a bad guy to protect an inn
ocent—I’d do it again in a second. Remember that.” The last words were delivered with a clear undertone of threat. Sophia took the hint and remained silent.

  The shouting stopped and the door opened again. Bluey entered, red-faced. Behind him, Hien’s expression was black with anger, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “All right, mate,” said Bluey with exaggerated heartiness, “we’ve, uh, reached an agreement. We’ll help you out.” Hien muttered something through clenched lips. “So long as this means we’re all square. Sorry, Eddie, but, well …”

  “That’s okay. I understand.” Chase extended his hand, and Bluey shook it. Hien’s scowl deepened, but she said nothing more.

  “So, what do you need?” asked Bluey. He indicated the machines around him. “You name it, we can do it.”

  “Passports?”

  “Just tell us the country! Got Australian, American, British, Canadian, Russian … even rustle you up a North Korean one if you fancy.”

  “British’ll do us,” Chase said. “What about the biometrics?”

  Hien snorted derisively, pride in her work momentarily overcoming her displeasure. “Biometrics? Hah! Cracked them before they even came into use.”

  “Wonders of the Internet, mate,” said Bluey. “We’ve got friends all over the world who share this stuff around. Takes governments ages to change anything, but every time they do, somebody’ll bust it open in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “And how long’ll it take to make new passports?”

  “Less than twenty-four hours,” Bluey told him with a halfhearted grin. “Just need to take some pictures, pick a name, get your biometrics, all that. Anything else?”

  “Credit cards’d be useful.”