The Covenant of Genesis by Andy McDermott Page B

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