The Covenant of Genesis Page 9

  A large man with a crooked scar running from his temple to his cheek threw open the gambling den’s door and strode towards the hut, shouting angrily. Chase pushed Bejo down, then froze. He was in shadow, his clothes dark, but the pirate was only a few feet away as he banged on the door. If he looked to the side, even for a moment, his eyes would adjust enough to make out the shapes hiding there.

  But he didn’t, instead continuing to hammer at the door. The man inside said something that was unmistakably the equivalent of ‘Give me another minute!’ This didn’t satisfy the scarred pirate, who kicked the door open and stomped inside. A yelp, some thumping, and then the interrupted lover was flung out into the open, trousers round his ankles. The door slammed shut. The bearded man yelled a half-hearted insult at the hut, then gathered up his dignity and his pants before trudging back to join the men in the gambling den.

  Chase and Bejo remained still until he was inside, then crept round the back of the love shack. The next shack contained only a man sprawled across a bunk, snoring and drooling, with an overturned bottle of whisky beside him. Not Latan. Then a dark, empty shell of a hut, its ceiling half collapsed. They were running out of places to search . . .

  A new noise. Not from the pirates - from the sky. A helicopter.

  Chase and Bejo dropped flat behind some rusting fuel drums as several men emerged from the largest shack. A fierce wind whirled round the camp as the chopper appeared over the trees. The men were armed, but not on alert. They were obviously expecting the new arrival.

  Chase finally spotted Latan, emerging from a small hut at the edge of the derelict settlement. Carrying a canvas bag in one hand, the pirate leader was tugging a shirt over his bare shoulders with the other. He joined his men, and they moved to an open area near the treeline as the helicopter switched on its spotlight and descended.

  ‘Wait here,’ Chase told Bejo. ‘Seriously, don’t move.’ He checked that nobody else was coming from the buildings, then quickly crawled on his stomach to another pile of abandoned junk closer to the landing site. He wanted to get a good look at whoever Latan was meeting.

  The helicopter touched down, two men in dark jungle camouflage fatigues and bearing SIG assault rifles jumping out from either side, clearly unimpressed by the pirates facing them. As the rotor blades wound down, a third man emerged and surveyed the scene before striding towards Latan. About Chase’s age, mid to late thirties, he guessed; tall, blond, eyes commanding. A professional soldier.

  ‘Are you . . . Mr Vogler?’ Latan called over the falling noise of the helicopter.

  The blond man stopped a few feet from him. ‘I am.’

  ‘Where is our money?’

  ‘Where are the items?’ Vogler countered. His English was crisp and precise. Chase knew the accent: Swiss.

  Latan opened the bag, showing him Nina’s laptop and the clay tablet. ‘Here. But . . .’ His momentarily hesitant expression suggested that he knew he was about to chance his luck, but was greedy enough to try anyway. ‘We want more money. None of my men were supposed to die.’

  ‘Ironic,’ said Vogler, unconcerned. ‘I was actually thinking about cutting your payment. I heard a rumour from Jakarta that there were survivors - and our deal was that you eliminate everyone aboard.’

  ‘We kill everyone,’ Latan insisted.

  ‘Then you completed the deal as agreed - and you will accept the agreed payment.’ Vogler gave him a cold look. ‘I’m sure your friend in Singapore explained that. Trying to deceive the Covenant of Genesis would be very dangerous.’ Chase made a mental note of the odd name - the pirates’ paymasters? ‘We would usually have done a job like this ourselves, but time was a factor. So be grateful for the work . . . and the money.’

  He gestured to one of his men. The soldier reached into the helicopter, taking out a briefcase and bringing it to him.

  ‘Your payment,’ said Vogler, opening the case and showing its contents to Latan. Chase couldn’t see how much was inside, but Latan’s eager expression suggested it was plenty. ‘Now, give me the artefact.’

  Latan dumped the canvas bag at his feet. Vogler crouched and examined the items inside, then looked up sharply. ‘What about the cameras?’

  ‘We saw no cameras,’ said Latan. ‘They must have sunk with the ship.’

  Vogler regarded him unblinkingly. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘We saw no cameras,’ Latan repeated. Vogler didn’t appear convinced, but after a moment he zipped up the bag and handed over the briefcase.

  ‘Then our business is concluded,’ he said, lifting the bag and turning for the helicopter. He paused, looking back. ‘I hope I have no reason to see you again, Mr Latan. If there is anything you wish to say, now is the time.’

  Latan had already opened the case and was flicking through the banknotes inside, but Vogler’s words wiped the avaricious smile from his face. ‘No, nothing,’ he managed to say.

  ‘Good.’ Vogler and the two soldiers climbed back aboard the chopper, which brought its rotors to full power and took off in a whirlwind of leaves, disappearing over the dark jungle.

  Chase kept his eyes fixed on Latan. Some of the other men eagerly tried to grab their shares out of the case, but Latan snapped it shut. Disappointed, they headed back to the large shack, while their leader returned to the smaller building from which he had come. Chase waited until everyone was back inside, then rejoined Bejo.

  ‘Okay, I’m going to have words with Latan. You keep hiding here until I come back. Unless everything goes pear-shaped - then you run like buggery!’

  ‘Pear-shaped?’ Bejo asked, puzzled.

  ‘You’ll know. Don’t take any chances - just run. Okay, see you soon.’ Leaving Bejo hiding amongst the barrels, he crept across the camp to Latan’s hut.

  ‘Got you, you bugger,’ he muttered as he looked under a half-closed shutter to see Latan’s hard features in the dimly lit room beyond. The pirate leader had claimed the best - or least worst - shack for his own private use, and done the same regarding its other occupant. He sat shirtless on a bed, an attractive young woman in a tight red minidress stroking his back as she whispered in his ear. Soft music was playing from an iPod connected to a small pair of speakers.

  Chase also saw the briefcase - and an AK propped up in a corner. It was within reach of the bed, but if Latan was preoccupied with the woman . . .

  He went to the door and peered through a crack. The woman unzipped her dress and shrugged it off her shoulders, Latan’s hands groping her bare breasts. It was a good job he’d made Bejo stay behind; the clunk of his jaw dropping would have alerted the entire village.

  The pirate was still within an arm’s length of the Kalashnikov. Chase frowned. Come on, you horny bastard, move away . . .

  The pair finally changed position, the woman lying prone on the bed with the now-naked Latan on top of her. She let out a little grunt of discomfort as he thrust into her.

  Chase opened the door, and advanced carefully across the wooden floor with the knife in one hand. The couple faced away from him, the AK just out of Latan’s reach. All Chase had to do was get to the gun before the pirate realised he was there—

  The floor creaked beneath his foot.

  Latan was preoccupied, but the woman turned her head - and squealed at the sight of the knife.

  Training kicking in, Latan lunged for the rifle.

  If he fired even a single shot, the other pirates would be alerted—

  Too far away to make a grab for the gun, Chase grabbed something else instead.

  Latan gasped like a choking cat as Chase’s free hand clamped round his genitals. The pirate’s twitching fingers stopped just short of the AK-47. Chase pulled. The fingers hurriedly withdrew.

  ‘This isn’t my usual sort of thing, by the way,’ said Chase. ‘Just so you know.’ He nodded at the woman, who was pinned beneath Latan and watching fearfully. ‘Sorry to interrupt, love. Don’t mind me.’

  ‘I fucking kill you!’ the pirate rasped.

  ‘Takes a l
ot of balls for someone in your position to make threats,’ Chase told him amiably, ‘but you don’t have ’em.’ He tightened his grip, and Latan gave a strangled groan. ‘So this guy who hired you, Vogler - who is he and where do I find him?’

  ‘Fuck you - gnngh!’

  ‘You won’t have anything to fuck with if you don’t tell me,’ said Chase, jabbing the point of his knife against the pirate’s testicles, drawing blood. ‘Last chance. Or I’ll fucking feed them to you.’

  ‘Never met him before tonight!’ Latan moaned. ‘He talked to me through a middleman in Singapore last night.’ He glanced at the briefcase. ‘Hired us to get the computer and the tile with writing on it, then sink ship.’

  ‘Why did he hire you? What’s so important about that tablet?’

  ‘Don’t know, he didn’t say!’

  Chase frowned. Latan was probably telling the truth. ‘What about this . . . this Covenant of Genesis?’ he asked instead. ‘What is it?’

  He felt Latan tense. ‘I - I can’t tell you!’

  ‘Oh, you can,’ Chase said. ‘Get up.’ The woman turned over, arms clutched protectively over her chest, as the pirate leader crawled backwards off her. Chase did a double take as he saw there was more to Latan’s companion than met the eye. ‘Whoa,’ he said, amused. ‘You’re no lady - you’re a man, baby, a man!’ He withdrew the knife so the pirate could sit up. ‘So you’re into ladyboys, eh? And I thought pirates preferred Roger the cabin boy—’

  The ‘woman’ suddenly sprang to life, whipping up both feet flat against Latan’s chest and shoving him backwards with surprising force. Latan slammed into Chase, whose grip on the pirate’s jewels was jolted loose as he staggered back. With a roar, the naked man whirled to face his attacker.

  Chase brought up the knife to defend himself - but instantly changed his plans as he saw the transsexual reach for the gun. Her hand closed round it—

  The knife thunked deeply into the battered old weapon’s wooden grip, transfixing the ladyboy’s hand. She screamed - and her finger clenched convulsively on the trigger. The AK-47 blasted a spray of bullets into the ceiling. Shouts rose outside as the other pirates heard the gunfire.

  Chase punched Latan in the face, knocking him down, and ran.

  7

  Chase sprinted through the little settlement. He passed the rusting fuel drums - Bejo was gone. The kid had done the right thing and got the hell out; now it was his turn.

  Yelling from the large shack. He snatched up the handle of a broken oar and smacked it into the face of the first pirate to emerge, ducking round the shack’s side as more pirates jumped over the fallen man and came after him. He saw the sea ahead, the jetty extending out into the darkness. Maybe rigging the RIB hadn’t been such a good idea - he could have used it to escape—

  A man ran out on to the walkway in front of him. He saw Chase and raised his gun.

  Chase hurled himself through an open window into the neighbouring hut: the pirates’ makeshift kitchen. He landed on a table, which collapsed in a shower of rice and clanging metal bowls. He jumped up, finding himself beside the sizzling wok as the pirate appeared at the window and brought his AK to bear.

  Chase snatched up the wok and whipped it round, its contents sluicing out. Boiling fat splashed across the walls - and the pirate’s face. The man screamed as his skin instantly blistered.

  A door across the room crashed open. Still holding the wok, Chase spun to see two more men rush in. Neither had a gun - but one saw the meat cleaver on a bench near the hanging goat and ran to pick it up.

  The other man, a thick-necked, heavily tattooed thug in a string vest, charged at Chase, knotted hands outstretched—

  Chase let him close in - then slammed the wok against the side of his head. The sturdy metal bowl rang like a gong, but that was nothing compared to the sizzling hiss as the hot metal burned the pirate’s cheek like a branding iron. He collapsed, overcome by pain.

  The second man approached more warily, the cleaver in his hand. Chase heard shouting outside. It wouldn’t take the others long to realise where he was . . . and surround him.

  A frying pan against Kalashnikovs. Not good. He had to get out into the open.

  The pirate wasn’t going to let him. He came closer, swinging the hefty blade. Chase jumped back, bringing the wok up like a shield. Another swipe, aiming for Chase’s hand. Metal clashed against metal - and the wok’s bowl broke off the handle to hit the floor with a hollow bong.

  He retreated, throwing the handle at the pirate’s face. The man swatted it away, then gripped the cleaver with both hands as they circled each other. Chase bumped against a bench, knocking over a plastic bottle of cooking oil. The glutinous liquid blurped out, spattering on the floor.

  The pirate swung.

  Chase threw himself backwards, the tip of the blade ripping his shirt across his left pectoral before it struck a metal pole supporting the roof, hacking clean through it at a steep angle. The top half of the pole clanged to the floor, the roof creaking.

  Men rushed through the open door—

  Chase flipped the plastic bottle at the naked flame of the gas hob.

  The oil ignited, the bottle bursting open and showering liquid fire across the kitchen. The pirates who had just entered were engulfed, hideous screams filling the room as they staggered blindly in a futile attempt to escape the searing fat.

  But the sudden inferno reached Chase too as it spread to the spilled oil on the floor. His dark jeans were still wet from his swim, but the fire leapt up to light the drops of splattered grease on his clothes. ‘Oh, shit!’ he gasped, jumping back and swatting at his burning leg. He bumped against the hanging carcass, setting it swinging.

  The pirate with the cleaver took another swipe, forcing him back towards the blaze. Chase was now cut off from the door, and his opponent was between him and the nearest window. The dead goat caught fire. He flinched away as it swung back and forth, looking for an opening, a weapon. Nothing. The pirate advanced, flames reflecting dully from the cleaver’s blade as he pulled it back for another strike—

  Chase plunged his hand into the carcass and spun it round, a shield of meat and bone. The cleaver hacked deep into the dead animal with a crack of breaking ribs. He felt intense heat on the back of his head as his hair started to burn, but held firm as he slammed the flaming goat into the other man’s face and knocked him backwards, jolting the cleaver from his grip.

  A crack. The ceiling beam from which the carcass was suspended broke. Chase threw himself sideways as it fell, landing perilously close to the rapidly spreading fire.

  He jumped up. The pirate also recovered, looking much less confident without his weapon. Seeing a chance, Chase ran at him.

  The other man grabbed the severed length of metal pole and whipped it up like a baseball bat. Chase raised an arm just in time to protect his head from the blow, but still took a jarring hit to the elbow.

  The pirate swung again. The pole whacked against Chase’s kneecap. He stumbled and fell. Before he could recover, another fierce strike smashed painfully down across his back. Powerful hands seized him by the throat.

  Thumbs dug into his neck, choking him. The pirate hauled him round to look him in the eye, triumph clear in his expression as he tried to crush Chase’s windpipe—

  Chase clapped both his cupped hands hard against the pirate’s ears, rupturing his eardrums. The pressure on his throat disappeared as the pirate screamed - but Chase didn’t let go, gripping the other man’s head and yanking it sharply downwards.

  On to the broken end of the support pole.

  The sharp spike of metal pipe stabbed straight through the pirate’s eye socket and punched into his skull.

  ‘You’ll need more than an eyepatch to cover that,’ Chase told the dead man as he stood. The fire had spread to the walls and ceiling, the shack being consumed around him.

  The only exit was one of the windows. He jumped through it, landing on the waterfront walkway.

  Two men on the jet
ty saw him. Opened fire.

  Chase ran past the burning shack as bullets ripped into it, blazing splinters spraying out in his wake. Ahead was the covered dock at the edge of the settlement. If he ran into the darkened jungle, an environment in which he had plenty of survival and combat experience, he should be able to escape the pirates - but that would give Latan a chance to escape and warn his paymaster . . .

  The option was removed as someone fired at him from the treeline. The surviving pirates had spread out to form a perimeter, trapping him inside. Latan, thinking tactically. The pirate leader wasn’t fleeing, but had organised his forces to catch the man who had attacked and humiliated him.

  More shots, more shouts. They were closing, hounds after the fox.

  Foxes. Bejo ran to him, frightened eyes wide. ‘Mr Eddie!’

  ‘When I said run, I meant away, not towards!’

  ‘They found the boat!’ Bejo gasped. More bullets seared past. The only place they could go was into the dock. Chase crashed through the double doors, slamming them shut behind himself and Bejo. The planks would provide no protection against bullets, but at least they would be out of sight for a few seconds.

  Bejo turned in a rapid, panicked circle. ‘Oh, very bad, very very bad! What do we do?’

  The cruiser was tied up in front of them. Chase looked to its bow.

  The .50-cal—

  He grabbed the handrail and jumped up. The ammo belt was still hanging from the machine gun, but it was almost spent, maybe twenty rounds remaining.

  He heard movement outside, Latan bellowing instructions as the pirates ran to the doors.

  Chase looked frantically round. There was a toolbox on the deck, a ball of twine amongst its contents. He snatched it up and tied the end to the Browning’s trigger, then looped it round the rear grip before running to the side of the boat. ‘Bejo! Get in the water!’