A Turkish Air Force plane streaked across the sky. Christine added one more thought. ‘I was wondering, this morning, about the size of the hominids, the large ones. The bones we found.’
‘Go on…’
‘Well…Your theory that there might be a link with Central Asia, that fits. In a way.’
‘How?’
‘The largest hominid ever found was in Central Asia. Gigantopethicus. Absolutely enormous: an apeman maybe nine foot tall. Like a kind of…yeti…’
‘Seriously?’
His girlfriend nodded. ‘They lived around three hundred thousand years ago. They might have survived longer-and some think that Gigantopethicus might have survived long enough-for memories to persist in Homo sapiens. Memories of enormous apemen.’ She shook her head. ‘But of course this is very fanciful. What’s more likely is that Gigantopethicus died out due to competition from Homo sapiens. No one is quite sure what happened to Gigantopethicus. However…’ She paused, leaning on her spade like a farmer contemplating his fields.
The obvious conclusion dawned on Rob. He took out his notebook, and scribbled excitedly. ‘What you mean is, maybe there is a third explanation, right? Maybe Gigantopethicus did evolve-but into a much more serious rival to Homo sapiens. Isn’t that possible, too?’
Christine nodded, frowning. ‘Yes. It is possible. We have no evidence either way.’
Rob went on. ‘So. Let’s just say that did happen. Then that new hominid-that would be a very large, aggressive and highly intelligent hominid, wouldn’t it? Something evolved to cope with harsh and brutal conditions. A fierce competitor for resources.’
‘Yes. I agree. It would.’
‘And this large, aggressive hominid would also have an instinctive fear of nature, of endless lethal winters, of a cruel and severe God. And it would have a desperate need to propitiate.’
Christine shrugged, as if she didn’t quite follow this latest concept; but she didn’t have time to reply, because Radevan was calling them over. Even as Rob reached the scene, Christine was already on her hands and knees, scraping at more remains.
Three large dirty jars were lying by Radevan’s feet.
They were marked with sanjaks.
Rob knew at once what the jars would contain. And he didn’t have to tell Christine, but she was cracking one of the jars open, anyway, with the handle of a trowel. The ancient jar crumbled and a slimy, fetid-smelling thing oozed into the dust: a half-mummified, half-liquefied baby. The face was not quite as intact as the babies they had found in the Edessa Vault. But the scream of terror and pain on the tiny child’s face was just the same. It was another child sacrifice. Another infant buried alive in a jar.
Rob tried not to think of Lizzie.
Some of the Kurds had spotted the jar, and the remains. The dead and rotting baby. They were pointing, and arguing. Christine asked them to continue digging. But they were shouting now.
Mumtaz approached Rob. ‘They say it is dangerous here. This place is cursed. They see the baby and they say they must go. The water will be here soon.’
Christine pleaded with the men, in English and Kurdish.
The men gabbled at Mumtaz and he interpreted. ’They say the water comes. To bury these bodies and that is good. They say they go now!’
Christine protested again. The argument continued. Some of the Kurds dug, some just stood and debated. The sun rose all the time, hot and menacing. The spades and trowels lay unused, glinting in the merciless light. The sun was baking the small slimy corpse of the baby. That obscene little package of flesh. Rob had an enormous urge to bury it again, to cover up the obscenity. He knew he was close to unlocking the puzzle, but he also felt close to some kind of nervous surrender. The tension was hideous.
And then the tension worsened. Some of the Kurds, led by Mumtaz, came to a decision: they refused to go on. Despite Christine’s pleadings, three of them climbed the slopes of the valley, and got into the second Land Rover.
Mumtaz looked in Rob’s direction as they left, a strange, wistful glance. Then the car accelerated away into the dust and the haze.
But four men still remained, including Radevan. And with the last of her charm, and the last of Rob’s dollars, Christine persuaded them to complete the task. So they all picked up the discarded shovels, and together they dug. They dug for five hours, sideways across the valley, shifting enough dry, yellow soil to expose what was necessary, and then moving on.
They uncovered parts of maybe thirty skeletons lying next to the jars. But these were no ordinary skeletons. They were a mixture of the large hominids and the hybrid men and the little huntergatherers. All jumbled together, promiscuously and wildly. And all of the skeletons showed damage: signs of violent death. Vicious cracks in the skull, spear-holes in pelvic bones. Broken arms, broken femurs, broken heads.
They had uncovered a battlefield. A terrible site of slaughter and conflict. They had uncovered the Valley of Killing.
Christine looked at Rob. He looked back and said, ‘I think we’re done here. Don’t you?’
Christine nodded solemnly.
Rob reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The sensation was almost elation. He felt it in his lungs and in his heart. He had worked it out: he had deciphered the great secret Cloncurry had been born to conceal. The Genesis Secret. And that meant Rob had power over Cloncurry, at last. Rob was going to win his daughter back.
Anxious-but hopeful for the first time in these bitter weeks-he keyed in the number. He was about to phone Cloncurry and demand his daughter’s immediate return when he heard a voice.
‘Well, hello.’
Rob swivelled. A figure was standing on the crest of the hill above them, between the valley and the westering sun. The sun behind the figure was so bright Rob couldn’t make out who it was. He squinted and raised his arm.
‘Have I put on weight? How depressing. Surely you recognize me?’
Rob felt his blood congeal with fear.
Jamie Cloncurry was standing on the hill above them, with a gun in his hand. The gun was aimed at Rob. The killer had two large men beside him. Big Kurds with black moustaches, also conspicuously armed. These two thugs were holding a small figure between them bound and strapped.
Lizzie! Alive, but evidently frightened, and gagged very tightly.
Rob stared to his left and right at Radevan and his friends-seeking their help.
Cloncurry chortled. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t expect any assistance there, Mr Robbie.’ With a languid gesture, he signalled at Radevan.
Radevan nodded, obediently. He turned and stared at Rob and Christine, and then rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. ‘Englishman much money. Dollars and euros. Dollars and euros…’ Then he gestured to his friends and the rest of the Kurds dropped their tools and walked away from Rob and Christine, nonchalantly deserting the couple. Leaving Rob and Christine to their fate.
Rob watched-slack-jawed, defeated, and desolate-as the Kurds calmly loped up the hill towards the last Land Rover. Radevan reached in the boot of the car and took out the Black Box. He carried it over to Cloncurry and laid it in the dust beside Lizzie. Cloncurry smiled and nodded, and Radevan walked back to the car, jumped in the front seat, and the car was driven away with a spin of wheel dust, taking with it the shotguns and the pistol.
The orange dust hung in the air, reproachfully, as the vehicle disappeared over the sunburnt horizon, leaving Rob and Christine alone and defenceless in the bottom of the valley.
Above them stood Cloncurry, armed, with the other two Kurds. The killer had his four-wheel-drive parked a few hundred yards away, silver and glittering in the desert light. He had obviously approached on foot, to surprise them. And it had worked.
They were trapped. Lizzie knelt, gagged and bound, in the dust, staring at her father with wild and puzzled eyes. Imploring him to save her.