Covenant (15 page)

“Let me go,” she begged weakly.

She saw the doctor smile, the shadows around his face creasing.

“Soon, I shall do just that,” he said. “And then you will be truly free.”

Lucy struggled against the man holding her down, looking at him with pleading eyes blurred with tears of fear and frustration as the room faded to black before her and the pain in her body drifted away into oblivion. With the last vestiges of her conscience, she heard the doctor speak into his voice recorder.

“I must hurry, and prepare her for surgery.”

HERZLIYA AIRFIELD
TEL AVIV, ISRAEL

T
his isn’t a good idea.”

Rachel sat next to Ethan in the rear of an open-topped jeep as Aaron Luckov drove them alongside ranks of light aircraft parked on the servicing pan of the airfield.

“Trust me, this is the quickest way to find out what happened to Lucy,” Ethan said.

“Assaulting our escort and disobeying an order from the Israeli Foreign Ministry?”

Aaron Luckov spoke over his shoulder above the noise of the engine.

“The whole Negev Desert is controlled by the military for training purposes. If there’s anything they want to keep hidden, it’ll be out there somewhere.”

“Not you too?” Rachel asked.

It was Ethan who replied. “There is no real reason for MACE to prevent us from having a look around unless they’re afraid of what we might stumble across.”

“Maybe they don’t want an investigative journalist poking around in their own backyard.”

“Possibly,” Ethan conceded. “Neither Shiloh Rok nor Spencer Malik like me being here. But what bothers me more is that this is not the first time people have gone missing from the Negev under suspicious circumstances.”

Rachel’s green eyes locked onto Ethan’s, a wisp of her dark hair blowing in front of her face.

“What do you mean?”

This time it was Aaron who replied. “The Negev Desert is a large area, but there are one or two hot spots where people seem to vanish regularly and your daughter was working in one of them. In the past few years several scientists have vanished without trace into the wilderness.”

“Somebody,” Ethan said, “may have been working out here before Lucy arrived.”

Luckov changed the jeep’s direction, aiming toward a bright-red-and-white aircraft parked nearby.

“We’re going to meet an old friend,” Luckov said. “He’s a member of the Bedouin tribes living in the Negev, near Masada. A number of Bedouin have also disappeared over the years in the area where Lucy was working, and this man’s son was one of them.”

Rachel frowned. “That’s not quite the same as Western scientists being abducted.”

“No,” Ethan agreed, “but this Bedouin vanished at exactly the same time as Lucy did.”

The jeep rolled to a halt alongside the aircraft, Luckov killing the engine. Ethan turned to see Safiya Luckov clamber from the interior of the plane, smiling brightly.

“Good morning and thank you for flying Luckov Air.”

The aircraft was a de Havilland DHC-2 Beaver. A huge Pratt & Whitney Wasp radial engine powered the fifty-year-old vintage machine, its broad wings sweeping across the top of a boxlike cockpit with simple windows. Aaron and Safiya had flown tourists across the Israeli wilderness for almost a decade, the business their main source of income.

“Are we all set?” Aaron asked, glancing at Ethan and Rachel.

“Let’s go,” Ethan replied. “I want to be back before sundown.”

The interior of the aircraft was filled with canisters of water and a row of seats on either side of the fuselage. Ethan and Rachel buckled themselves in as Aaron and Safiya settled into the cockpit. A few minutes later, and the entire airframe rattled under the torque of the spluttering engine as Aaron taxied onto the runway and applied full power. After a brief take-off roll the Beaver rotated gently and surged into the hot sky.

Rachel looked out of the opposite window at the city of Tel Aviv in the distance, a chaotic sprawl of metal and glass stark against the hazy blue strip of the Mediterranean. Safiya turned in the cockpit and pointed to headphones dangling from clips against the fuselage wall along with several parachutes, and Ethan and Rachel promptly donned the sets.

“It’ll be about twenty minutes before we run south for Be’er Sheva. Then we’ll head east for Bar Yehuda airfield,” Safiya said, jabbing over her shoulder with one thumb. “The IDF control the airspace very tightly here, and will intercept any aircraft that strays from its flight path. Bar Yehuda is an old airstrip two miles from Masada, and also the lowest airfield in the world.”

Ethan listened as Aaron spoke to air traffic control in the warbling dialect of Hebrew. After a few exchanges with the controller, Ethan felt the Beaver bank left, turning to avoid the built-up urban areas and heading out over the broad and rolling hills of Israel.

“You okay?” Ethan asked Rachel as the aircraft banked over.

“Daughter’s been abducted, we’re flying into God knows what, and you’ve assaulted our escort—I couldn’t be better,” Rachel uttered. “Where is Gaza?” she asked Safiya.

Safiya pointed out of her window ahead, toward the starboard wing.

“Out there, to the right and in front of us.”

Ethan unclipped his seat buckle, joining Rachel in looking out over the Gaza Strip as it appeared through the haze ahead.

Although there was no singular marker at the edge of the Strip, it was still clearly defined by a band of undeveloped no-man’s-land that separated Israel from its entrapped neighbor. Whereas the greenery of Israel was speckled with modern buildings and farmlands, the Strip was a morass of densely packed sandstone, narrow roads, alleys, and derelict buildings baking beneath the sun, like a medieval city stranded in the twenty-first century.

“That small town almost below us is Sderot, a place often hit by makeshift Qassam missiles and rockets fired from within Gaza,” Safiya said, gesturing to the little town far below. “If we flew overhead, we’d be intercepted by Israel’s fighter jets and shot down within minutes.”

“The Gaza Strip looks so small,” Rachel commented.

“It feels it too, when you’re in there,” Ethan replied, moving back to his own seat and tapping Luckov on the shoulder. “Who is the Bedouin we’re going to meet?”

“Ayeem Khan,” Luckov said, keeping one eye on the skies ahead. “He’s a Bedouin elder. Safiya and I have known him for some time.”

“Can he be trusted?”

“Absolutely. The guide who went to search for Lucy was Ahmed Khan, Ayeem’s eldest son.”

The jumbled sprawl of the Gaza Strip and the elegant greenery of Israel fell far behind them into a thickening haze that obscured the horizon. Beneath, the green symmetry of occupied land gave way to the random swirls of desert plains, wadis, gulleys, and canyons that split the epic landscape in winding eddies of erosion. The major roads six thousand feet beneath them vanished, turning instead into lonely threads of dark tarmac winding their way across the vast wilderness of timeless sand and stone. Occasional dusty tracks veered off from the highways into open desert peppered with lonely thorn scrub and isolated trees.

Under Luckov’s skilled control the Beaver cruised over the vast desert wastes for almost twenty minutes, Safiya pointing out various towns like Be’er Sheva, an oasis of glittering buildings encrusted like jewels into the ancient desert. Ahead, Ethan could see the broad blue line of the Dead Sea appearing through the haze as Aaron Luckov responded to the chattering air traffic commands and began to descend. Leaning out of his seat, Ethan could see below them a vast canyon system carved by long-extinct rivers, opening out onto a parched floodplain that had probably once fed into the Dead Sea itself. A barely discernable airstrip scarred the terrain ahead of the aircraft, close to the sparkling expanses of the Dead Sea.

“So, Karowitz thinks that Lucy was right about finding alien remains,” Ethan said to Rachel. “When do you think that these beings started helping mankind?”

“The Sumerian culture in Mesopotamia is the earliest known civilization,” she said. “They began building their cities and mining copper around the same time as Amerindians in what is now Michigan and Wisconsin, around six thousand years ago.”

“They were definitely the first?” Ethan asked.

“Sumer was our Eden,” Rachel said, “the cradle of civilization. They used agriculture, invented the wheel, centralized government, set up social stratification, kept slaves, and organized warfare. They were experts in astronomy and mathematics and their cuneiform script existed almost six thousand years ago.”

“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.