The Covenant of Genesis

  Chase ducked back into the guardhouse. ‘Go that way,’ he said, pointing at the doorway opposite. ‘Go on, go!’ As Sophia set off he stopped by the body, looking for extra magazines, but saw none. They were probably in the dead man’s pack, and he didn’t have time to search. Instead, he ran after Sophia, water dripping on to him from high above as he left the shelter.

  Hammerstein looked at the two dead men, a twinge of fury twisting his lips. He had known them for years, trained them, commanded them on numerous missions for the Covenant . . . and now they were gone, cut down by a surprise ambush. Which meant that his third man was also dead - he would never have allowed his weapon to be taken as long as there was life in his body.

  He briefly raised his head above the parapet, seeing that Chase had retreated, then turned to the two remaining members of his squad - like their late comrades, former members of the Israeli Special Forces or Mossad, true believers in the Covenant’s cause. And like Hammerstein himself, they would want vengeance. An eye for an eye.

  But with caution. They had underestimated Chase; he might have left active military service some years earlier, but he was clearly not out of practice.

  Hammerstein spat out the stub of his cigar and raised his rifle, like those of his men a menacing black Tavor . . . but with an extra attachment. Beneath the barrel was the broad tube of an M203 40mm grenade launcher. He loaded it, pulling back the sliding barrel to cock it with a clack. ‘I want them dead,’ he hissed.

  Chase quickly caught up with Sophia. ‘Did you get them?’ she asked.

  ‘Got two, but there’s at least three more. How’s your side?’

  ‘Still hurting - but I don’t think anything’s broken.’

  ‘Good, ’cause you’re going to have to keep up. I can’t support you and shoot at the same time.’

  ‘As sympathetic as ever.’ She increased her pace, gritting her teeth. The swirling steam grew thicker, rivulets of hot water cutting channels through the ice in the pit below. ‘Do you have a plan?’

  Chase pointed at the steam cloud. ‘If we can lose them in that, we can double back and get Nina. Then we’ll head for the hole in the dam and get the fuck out of here.’

  ‘That’s not a plan,’ Sophia complained as they crossed a bridge. ‘That’s an objective. Plans generally have some how amongst the what.’

  ‘God, you’re as pedantic as her! Okay, the how is that we kill these Covenant arseholes and don’t get shot by them. That do you?’

  ‘It’s the best I’ll get, I suppose.’ She let out a faint laugh. ‘This is rather like how we first met, don’t you think?’

  ‘Don’t even start—Shit!’ Chase pushed Sophia aside as a chunk of falling ice the size of his head smashed on the flagstones just in front of them. Another, larger lump landed with a splash in a steaming channel that had been melted through the ice beneath the bridge. ‘Jesus, that was close!’

  Sophia looked up, flinching as droplets of cold water fell on her face. ‘It’s turning into a bloody monsoon!’

  ‘Hope the ceiling holds,’ said Chase. He checked for their pursuers. ‘Shit, they’re coming! Leg it!’

  They ducked into another guardhouse. Chase looked through one of the slit-like windows. Three men were coming after them, moving in a protective ‘leapfrog’ formation: two taking up positions to cover the third as he overtook them, then the rearmost man repeating the cycle.

  He crossed to the doorway to the right of where they had entered. Off to the left was the arena-like area he’d noticed earlier, the icy expanse riddled with twisting trenches carved by hot water. Clouds of steam wafted over it, thick enough to obscure the view. A bridge ahead crossed over a broad passage divided by two deep, winding channels of glossy ice, more steam rising from them. On the bridge’s far side was a larger building - abutting the hypogeum’s outer wall. ‘If we get across there, we can get outside and head back to the temple.’

  Sophia shook her head. ‘If they haven’t killed Nina by now, they’ll have captured her.’

  ‘They might not have found her. I’ve got to look - and I don’t want to hear any more fucking arguments,’ he said as she opened her mouth to object. ‘We’re doing it.’ He moved back across the guardhouse to observe the Covenant advance, then pointed along the bridge. ‘Okay, you go first - keep down below the wall. I’ll be right behind you.’

  She got on her knees, sloshing through puddles. Chase looked through the narrow window, but saw no sign of the approaching men. ‘Shit,’ he whispered, moving to the doorway and glancing out. Now he saw them - or rather, two of them, a black gun barrel pointing towards the guardhouse round the end of a wall as the top of another hunched man’s hood bobbed towards it.

  If the last trooper was advancing, then where the hell was the man who had taken point?

  He leaned out further, trying to find him—

  Fire bloomed from the rifle’s muzzle. Chase jerked back as bullets pitted the stone beside his head. But he had seen enough to know that the third man was not coming along the walkway towards him - which meant he had crossed the junction to another bridge parallel to the one Sophia was traversing.

  He rushed to the other doorway, seeing that Sophia was just past the halfway point. Poking his head out, he finally spotted the third man. He was on the other bridge, kneeling at the parapet with his rifle at the ready.

  He wasn’t firing bullets. Chase recognised the attachment below the barrel, saw Hammerstein tilting the weapon upwards to give the grenade a perfect firing arc . . .

  ‘Sophia!’ he yelled. ‘Grenade! Run!’

  He jumped out from cover, swinging his rifle towards Hammerstein as Sophia sprang forward like a sprinter off the blocks—

  Hammerstein fired.

  The grenade shot from the launcher - to explode against the bridge’s central support.

  The ancient civilisation had built its structures to survive the elements . . . but not high explosives. Pulverised rubble blew outwards, debris scattering over the ice.

  The bridge fell.

  Chase started shooting - just as the floor dropped out from under him. Flying stones pummelled his body. He glimpsed Sophia falling into one of the channels in the ice before he tumbled into the other one, sliding helplessly down its curved side to splash through the steaming water at its bottom.

  The remains of the bridge crashed down behind him, blocking the channel. He staggered to his feet. Hammerstein was watching him from the other bridge.

  Gun moving—

  Chase fired first. Hammerstein ducked. But he was already shouting to his comrades. Chase tried to climb out of the channel, but the walls of recently melted ice were too slick.

  No way out, no way to retreat. He was boxed in.

  Hammerstein reappeared, another man running up to him, rifle ready—

  Chase slammed the spikes on his boots into the glossy ice - and hurled himself into a headlong dive down the channel, skidding along almost frictionlessly as if on a waterslide.

  Bullets tore into the ice, water spraying up - but behind him as he shot under the bridge.

  Arms outstretched, spray in his face, Chase skidded down the channel. A curve rose ahead - he hurtled round it, flying up the wall like a human bobsleigh before landing back in the water and zooming onwards. More gunfire as the Covenant members ran to the other side of the bridge after him, but it quickly stopped as he swept out of sight behind the wall of ice.

  Another channel shot past where a hot tributary had carved its own path. He was coming into a maze. Steam overhead, and shadows - the passage had taken him beneath one of the hypogeum’s roofed sections.

  The ice suddenly dropped away, the hot water having melted all the way down to the stone. Chase came to a stop in a foot-deep pool with a huge splash. Shaking water out of his rifle’s barrel, he stood, quickly taking in his surroundings. He was in a roughly circular bowl in the ice, the surface over ten feet above him, out of reach. As well as the channel that had brought him here, there were several others
; the widest, stone at its bottom rather than ice, was carrying the flowing water away. Most of the others were feeding it, streams running from them into the pool.

  One, though, had dried up, crystalline sparkles along its floor. As far as he could tell, it headed back in the general direction of the collapsed bridge - and Sophia.

  He sloshed out of the pool and hurried into the frozen channel.

  One of Hammerstein’s men ran back to him. ‘No good, sir - I lost sight of him.’

  Hammerstein glowered at the wrecked bridge. He had seen Sophia Blackwood trying to jump from it as it fell - but she had landed on the far side of the rubble, out of sight. For the moment, she was unreachable.

  But not for long. ‘Follow me,’ he said, climbing over the wall and dropping on to the ice below, then climbing down into the nearest channel. ‘We’re going after them.’

  Despite the cold, Chase was sweating, steam filling the darkened ice channel. The large building was, he guessed, where the volcanic vent emerged; the Veteres had presumably used it to supply this part of their city with hot water, an ancient form of central heating. Nina would be fascinated, he knew, but his concerns were more prosaic.

  Foremost on his mind: how the hell was he going to get out of this maze?

  The channel twisted and coiled, others splitting off it to form a confusing labyrinth. Unable to get his bearings from the cavern’s ceiling, he was no longer sure if he was heading in the right direction to find Sophia - or even if the passage he was following joined up with hers. He had tried to climb out, but again the smooth, slippery walls defeated him.

  He moved on. In places the walls between channels were thin enough to become almost transparent; in others, they were more like mirrors, his reflection rippling confusingly around him. The beam from his gun’s light bounced off the glittering walls, making it seem as though there were dozens of men prowling through the ice around him . . .

  He stopped, statue-still.

  One of the lights was still moving.

  Chase flicked off the spotlight. The passage plunged into near darkness, the all-pervading blue of the cavern coming faintly through the surrounding ice. The moving light paused, casting faint echoes of itself all around.

  Chase took his best guess of the gunman’s true position, then crept into the gloom.

  The trooper looked cautiously round. He was sure he had seen a light - which had then disappeared - but the distortion of the surrounding ice walls made it hard for him to be sure of its exact location. Gun raised, he lifted his radio. ‘This is Reiss,’ he whispered. ‘I’m in the eastern part of the covered section - are either of you near me?’

  Hammerstein responded quietly. ‘No - I’m at the south end, and Munk is north of me.’

  ‘I just saw a light go out - he’s here, close by.’

  ‘We’ll come to you. Be careful. Out.’

  Reiss clipped the radio back to his belt, then moved step by step along the passage, his gun’s spotlight illuminating the way. Steam curled past as he rounded a corner and entered an intersection, other channels twisting away in different directions.

  He advanced, pointing the light down each passage in turn. Movement in one - he snapped the gun to it, before realising it was just the glint of his own beam. Tensing, he continued his sweep, moving onwards to check a second channel, a third . . .

  A shadowy figure behind a translucent wall—

  Reiss fired - and the thin wall burst apart, shattered chunks cascading everywhere to reveal . . .

  Nothing.

  He aimed his spotlight at the ragged hole, seeing another shiny wall of ice beyond it. His radio crackled. ‘Reiss!’ called Hammerstein. ‘Did you get him?’

  Reiss unclipped the radio. ‘No, it was just a reflec—’

  Chase stepped up behind him and snapped his neck with a brutal crack.

  The soldier collapsed, head lolling horribly. ‘Ice to see you,’ said Chase in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, immediately wishing he’d thought of something better. He took the magazine from the dying man’s TAR-21, then continued deeper into the maze.

  ‘Reiss!’ Hammerstein shouted. ‘Reiss, answer!’

  No reply. But the abruptness with which he had been cut off told Hammerstein his subordinate was dead. ‘Man down,’ he warned his remaining team member. ‘Munk, watch yourself. These tunnels are like a damn hall of mirrors - don’t fire unless you’re sure it’s him.’

  ‘Roger,’ replied Munk. He had increased his pace through the maze on hearing gunfire, but the sudden termination of Reiss’s message brought him to a sudden stop. The echoes made it hard to judge, but the loudness of the shots suggested they had been no more than twenty metres away, to the east.

  The channel he was traversing curved in that direction. He peered round the corner. No sign of anyone. He rounded the bend and moved warily along the frozen passage, his distorted reflections slithering along the glassy walls alongside him. The gun’s spotlight beam flickered back at him, diamond-glints trapped within the ice. He stopped, listening.

  A faint crunching. Boots on ice. Close by.

  It couldn’t be Hammerstein; the noise was coming from the wrong direction. And there was no sign of another spotlight.

  Chase.

  Munk brought his gun up to his shoulder, the scope’s glowing dot a floating holographic point. Ahead, the channel he was in criss-crossed another. Another muffled crump, another step by his quarry. Getting closer . . .

  He switched off the light, not wanting to give Chase any advantage. Reflections became sinister twisted shadows as he slowly advanced. He reached the intersection and looked round the first corner.

  Movement. His heart thumped. A figure was creeping along the passage. But it rippled as it moved, merely a reflection. The channel twisted sharply; Chase was round the corner . . .

  Munk stepped out, taking aim at where he would emerge, the red dot hovering at head height as the reflection turned—

  Shots tore through the ice, ripping into Munk’s head and chest. He fell, his dying thought the realisation that the reflection hadn’t been a reflection at all - it was Chase’s silhouette, the Englishman on the other side of the thin wall of ice . . .

  Hammerstein heard the shots. Not far away. But had it been Munk firing, or . . .

  ‘Munk,’ he said into the radio. ‘Munk, respond.’ Silence. ‘Munk!’

  It had been Chase. Hammerstein spat a Hebrew curse and reloaded the grenade launcher. If it took overkill to bring him down, so be it.

  28

  Two down, one to go, but even with the improved odds Chase didn’t feel like celebrating. The man he had just killed wasn’t the leader, Hammerstein - which meant he still had to face the most dangerous member of the unit.

  He moved on through the ice tunnels. The steam grew steadily thicker; the icy walls started to drip, water building up on the floor. Ahead, Chase saw the corner of a stone wall protruding through the ice - he had reached the building’s entrance. From inside came an irregular rushing hiss that reminded him of a steam locomotive. Whatever it was, it was violent, and loud.

  Water dripped on to him as he went through the entrance, feet splashing in puddles. The heat was rising to sauna-like levels.

  There was only one other way out that he could see. He followed it, steam swirling as the hissing noise grew louder. The stench of sulphur hit his nose, and he realised the cause - heat from the volcanic vent was melting the ice, which was draining into the fumarole, flashing into steam and blasting back out again in angry spurts.

  He heard another hiss to one side. The builders had apparently channelled the heat to different places; more steam huffed forcefully from a vent in the floor. Clambering over a slushy mound, Chase saw two more exits from the underground room. Both seemed equally dense with drifting vapour. ‘Eeny, meeny, miney . . . mo,’ he decided, pointing at the right-hand opening. Hefting the gun, he entered the billowing steam.

  Hammerstein wiped his forehead. Being too hot in the Antarcti
c was the last thing he had expected, but the steam was getting thicker, corroding the maze around him. He saw he was approaching a wall, the clammy ice passage leading into a structure.

  He switched off his gun’s light in case it gave Chase advance warning, then moved inside.

  The room Chase entered was already dark enough without the steam further obscuring his vision - but a diffuse blue glow told him there was an opening above. A chimney for the fumarole?

  The noise was coming from below, loud enough to make the room tremble with each enraged blast. There was obviously some kind of larger vent in the floor through which the steam was escaping; he decided to give it a wide berth, free hand outstretched to grope for the wall.

  Despite the heat, there was still plenty of ice in the room; his fingers brushed over icicles, water dripping from their tips. Something loomed out of the mist, a bench rising to waist height, more icicles dangling from its overhanging top. He sidestepped it, moving on—

  He wasn’t sure what made him stop - some sixth sense, the hairs on his neck rising as he got the feeling he had just passed uncomfortably close to something unseen. He looked round, another gusting jet of steam dissipating to reveal . . .

  Hammerstein, barely two feet away, looking back at Chase with the same expression of jangled combat awareness.

  They both whirled—

  Their rifles clashed against each other like swords, too close to bring them to bear. Both men fired anyway, the shots forcing each to flinch back.

  Chase swept up his gun, trying to yank Hammerstein’s weapon out of his hands by using the magazine as a makeshift hook. He succeeded - but the rifle’s strap snagged on Chase’s sights.

  And by raising his arms, he had opened himself up to a different kind of attack.

  Hammerstein punched Chase in the stomach, hard enough for the blow to hurt even through his coat. He lurched backwards, fumbling to keep his hold on the TAR-21 - but slammed into the jutting bench, the gun slipping from his hand. Both rifles clattered to the floor.