Covenant (46 page)

Sheviz stared at Ethan, taking in his uncompromising expression before speaking.

“I will help,” he said quietly.

Ethan nodded slowly. “Start talking.”

“I work for an organization in the United States called the American Evangelical Alliance. They called me some months ago to conduct experiments in America using DNA extracted from the fragmentary remains of a Nephilim, a fallen angel, that I discovered in Iraq three years ago. I had tried in the past to conduct genetic transfer studies, requesting through normal channels permission to conduct the procedures, but the Ethics Board of the American Medical Association refused me. I was due to return to Israel when the AEA stepped in and provided me with a cover for my work.”

“What connection does MACE have to all of this?”

“MACE provided me with security and equipment under the guise of experiments in battlefield trauma prevention. They did so in Washington DC at first and then here in Israel after it became too difficult to maintain secrecy.”

“The reason why scientists like Lucy disappeared from the Negev,” Ethan realized. “You abducted them when they found useful remains. What’s MACE’s endgame?”

Sheviz’s features screwed up in distaste as he spoke.

“They are bent on procuring the profits of war. MACE is here to sell their unmanned aerial drones to Israel. In order to assure their success, they are supplying explosives to the insurgent groups here to continue the war.”

“And the church provides the finance for your gruesome little experiments?” Ethan asked.

“Money,” Sheviz agreed, “equipment and premises from which to operate. We conducted several tests in America on drug addicts who were less likely to be reported missing, but they were unsuccessful. Only one subject survived but he was severely impaired afterward.”

Ethan felt himself recoil inwardly at the surgeon’s choice of clinical words.
Tests. Subjects. Impaired.

“Go on.”

Sheviz spoke quietly.

“After the fourth patient succumbed it was decided that we could no longer use drug addicts and so I was secretly flown here by MACE in their private jet. We needed new material from which to extract fresh DNA. I had heard from contacts at the Hebrew University about Lucy Morgan working in the Negev and had followed her work closely. I advised that she might find fresh remains near Masada, where once Neolithic villages had existed. When she succeeded, I called in MACE to abduct her and secure the remains. I then used the finds as leverage to effect further abductions and obtain clean bodies.”

“And killed them in the process,” Lieutenant Ash snarled.

“What about the remains that Lucy found?” Ethan asked.

“Ah, yes,” Sheviz said, “a fine specimen of a Nephilim, a fallen son of God. I’ve found fragmentary remains in Iraq and India before now, but never a complete specimen. They are aboard a MACE jet at Ben Gurion airport, bound for the United States.”

Lucy Morgan eased herself away from her mother.

“You’ve found other remains?” she stammered.

Sheviz smirked at her despite his pain.

“You scientists, you think you know everything but you miss so much. Remains of Nephilim have been found before but discounted by science as aberrations or lost to history. My team and I have excavated such remains in the ruins of ancient cities several times in the past. We searched for years in the deserts, the jungles, and the mountains, only ever discovering fragmentary bones, but the DNA we extracted from them was unlike any terrestrial signature, the genetic code of God locked into them for all eternity. The evidence of angels, of the Nephilim on Earth, litters our earliest civilizations. They are out there right now, just waiting to be found by those of sufficient faith to locate them.”

“Those remains aren’t the result of some biblical fantasy, no matter how much you want to believe it,” Lucy snapped. “That’s why your sick little experiments don’t work.”

“What’s a Nephilim?” Lieutenant Ash asked. “What’s this about?”

Ethan answered before Sheviz could speak.

“It’s just a fossil that has black-market value,” he said quickly. “These lunatics think it’s the remains of an angel. How were you doing this, Sheviz?”

“We used stem cells extracted from the Nephilim, reverse engineered to their embryonic state, to replace the nucleus of egg cells provided by Lucy Morgan. Our intention was to place those fertilized eggs in vitro into Lucy, inducing a viable pregnancy. She would carry the son of God in her womb, launching the Second Coming and the final solution to the covenant between man and God.”

“What the hell would MACE have to do with all of this?” the lieutenant asked.

Sheviz sneered at Lieutenant Ash as he spoke.

“MACE has been abducting people for years and hiding them away, before negotiating their release for ransom. They’ve made a tidy sum for themselves all over the world, mimicking insurgent groups and corrupt police forces, and use an assassin to erase any trace of their deception. I have heard them refer to him as Rafael.”

Ethan shook his head in disbelief. “I might have known.”

“That’s insane,” Lieutenant Ash said. “They’d never have gotten away with it.”

“Yes, they could,” Ethan said. “Desperate, wealthy parents make an easy target for predatory companies like MACE. They needed the extra income when the supply of arms contracts dried up in the United States after the Iraq War fiasco.” Ethan shook his head, amazed that he hadn’t thought of it before. “They wouldn’t have to worry about a damn thing unless someone looked into it and got too close, and then they’d have to …”

Ethan’s voice trailed off.

“Ethan?”

Rachel’s voice reached him as though from the other side of the universe. Ethan stared vacantly as an image of Joanna appeared in his mind’s eye, clearer and sharper than ever before, her face watching him from a crowded but blurred street. Her gaze was boring into his, driving into and through him with an unshakable, unbearable certainty.

The world shifted beneath his feet and he collapsed sideways, grabbing the edge of the gurney for support as his legs quivered beneath him. Rachel jumped up to his side, holding his shoulders.

“How long has MACE been working in Gaza and Israel?” Ethan asked Lieutenant Ash in a feeble voice.

“Four years, maybe five.”

Ethan looked at Damon Sheviz.

“Where else has MACE done this?”

“South America, maybe North America too.”

The doctor’s voice trailed off as Ethan spoke.

“Joanna was tracking the movements of hostage takers and guerrilla groups in Colombia, writing reports on the corruption of governments and police forces. We barely got out of the country after receiving anonymous death threats. Shortly afterward we came to Israel and Joanna began working on the same thing in Gaza and the West Bank.” Ethan looked at Lieutenant Ash. “She was sure that someone was behind the abductions, but she never got to the bottom of it.”

Rachel put her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe she did but never got the chance to tell you.”

Ethan’s voice was a whisper in his own ears as he looked at her.

“MACE. The Defense Intelligence Agency must have suspected them before we even left Washington. You were right. They weren’t interested in finding Lucy or Joanna, they just wanted the remains found and MACE investigated without arousing the suspicions of Congress.”

Rachel nodded slowly.

“MACE has strong connections with the administration,” she said. “The encumbent president’s campaign could be derailed if any evidence of MACE’s activities here were leaked to the press.”

“All lies lead to the truth,” Ethan murmured. He looked up, shaking himself from his sudden torpor. “We need to stop them, now.”

Lieutenant Ash nodded.

“We were tipped off,” he said to Ethan. “Someone let us know where Lucy was.”

“If that’s so,” Ethan said, “then MACE’s operation may be collapsing. We need to find Byron Stone.”

“I’ll radio General Aydan and let him know about this,” Lieutenant Ash replied. “Do we know where he is?”

Ethan looked at Bill Griffiths, who had walked into the room with Aaron Luckov.

“MACE has a private jet, a Gulfstream V550, waiting to leave Ben Gurion International.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” Ethan said. “I need to stop that jet from taking off.”

“What about him?” Lieutenant Ash asked, jabbing a finger at Sheviz.

Ethan turned to the lieutenant and whispered in his ear.

“Ayeem Khan lives near Bar Yehuda,” he said simply. “Don’t forget the videotape.”

Lieutenant Ash turned and called to his men.

“Time to move out!”

Lucy Morgan moved to stand before Ethan.

“I’m coming too,” she said.

“This could be dangerous,” Ethan said, “and I don’t know if—”

“I wasn’t asking,” Lucy snapped. “I want to see these bastards go down, understood?”

S
pencer Malik strode into Wadi al-Joz even as the distant sound of small-arms fire echoed off the ancient stone walls around him. He quickened his pace, and saw IDF cordons ahead near the entrance to the quiet little street where the MACE warehouses stood.

The Israeli Defense Force had moved swiftly. Malik didn’t know how the operation had become exposed, and could only assume that everything had unraveled in Washington somehow. It mattered little. Soon, it would all be over.

He carried a bag filled with vegetables bought from a local market nearby, and he wore traditional Palestinian dress that helped to conceal his features and detract attention from himself. Among the vegetables in the bag was a large pistol, just in case anyone attempted to stop him in his mission.

Malik turned, entered a familiar apartment building, and climbed up the stairwell, slipping the pistol out of the bag and setting the safety catch to Off. The stairs opened out onto a single corridor that held four doors, two on each side, marked with hastily scrawled numbers on bits of paper tacked to the cheap wood.

He moved silently between the doors, seeking the first on the left, and hugged the wall alongside it. He looked down at the thin strip of daylight beneath the bottom edge of the door for several moments, waiting to see any telltale moving shadows crossing the light. None came.

“Rasheed,
keef halak?
How are you?” he whispered through the door.

There was a brief pause before a reply came.

“
Salaam.
Enter.”

Malik opened the door and entered the apartment to see a Palestinian standing over a sniper rifle mounted on a tripod facing a broad open window. The weapon was pointing down to the MACE warehouse visible below on the street.

“
Salaam,
Rasheed,” Malik said. “You have done well.”

Rasheed nodded and backed away from the rifle as Malik put his pistol into a shoulder holster and lay down behind the rifle, sighting through it. Even as he did so, he saw the doors to the MACE warehouse open and figures appear in the bright sunlight, escorted by IDF troops. Malik settled in behind the weapon, gripping the trigger and controlling his breathing.

He saw Ethan Warner and Rachel Morgan lingering just inside the building, along with surgeon Damon Sheviz. Malik smiled, and aimed carefully at Ethan’s head. He heard Rasheed’s footsteps behind him.

“Time, Mr. Warner, for you to become another tragic statistic,” Malik said. “Which one shall I kill first, Rasheed?”

Malik flinched in shock as Rasheed’s face smashed down onto the tiles alongside him, his nose exploding in a burst of blood as the Arab’s eyes stared lifelessly into his. Malik reached down for his pistol, yanking it from its holster as he jumped to his feet and turned to see an Arab in traditional Bedouin dress flash toward him in a blur like a phantom, the apartment door still swinging open from where he had slipped silently inside.

An iron-hard forearm clubbed Malik’s pistol to one side, and before he could react the equally hard edge of one hand scythed across his throat. Malik felt his eyes bulge as he staggered backward and tripped over the sniper rifle, crashing down onto his knees.

Malik, choking and his eyes flooding with tears, scrambled for the door of the apartment. A tiny, sharp pain pierced the underside of his elbow and Malik gasped as his body twitched and jerked uncontrollably as though electric currents were rocketing through his tendons. Another hand clamped across his face, yanking him up before pinning his back to a wall.

The Bedouin glared at him, and Malik’s bowels flipped as he stared into Rafael’s eyes. A blade flickered in the light as Rafael whipped it up against Malik’s neck, the cold steel resting on the pulsing thread of an artery.

“Salaam,”
Rafael whispered. “We shall work together, you and I.”