The Genesis Plague (2010)

asked.
    ‘They couldn’t date it. Came up with an error.’
    Flaherty shrugged. ‘Okay. I guess that can happen, right?’
    ‘Shouldn’t,’ she said. ‘Any organic substance from 4000 BC should have plenty of carbon-14 in it.’
    ‘But isn’t there an age limit for those tests?’ Jason said.
    ‘Yeah, but—’
    ‘Well, what’s the limit?’ Flaherty asked her.
    She drew her lips tight and raised her eyebrows. ‘Typically the test is good for up to 50 or 60,000 years. After that, whatever carbon-14 is left in the specimen is usually too minuscule to measure.’
    It was Meat who cast rationale to the wind, saying matter-of-factly, ‘So maybe the snake is over 60,000 years old.’ Then he grinned and made his eyes go wide, saying in his best spooky voice, ‘Or maybe the demon snake was never alive to begin with.’

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

    Kudos to my wife, Caroline, for her diehard patience and encouragement, plus her keen guidance during this story’s conceptual development. Special thanks to my friends Greg Meunier and Gary Stephens for their technical input on all things military. Deepest gratitude to my uncompromising agent and publishing guru, Charlie Viney. Thanks to Doug Grad for his masterful editing skills. Cheers to Ian Chapman, Julie Wright, Jessica Leeke, Amanda Shipp and everyone at Simon and Schuster UK for their continued support. My stories would only be read in English if it weren’t for the global marketing savvy of International Literary Agency, so thanks to Nicki Kennedy, Sam Edenborough, Mary Esdaile, Jenny Robson, and Katherine West.

    Turn the page
    to read an extract from
    The Sacred Bones ,
    also by Michael Byrnes
    and available from Pocket Books …

1.
JERUSALEM
PRESENT DAY
    Salvatore Conte never questioned his clients’ motives. His many missions had taught him how to remain calm and keep focused. But tonight was different. Tonight he felt uneasy.
    The eight men moved through the ancient streets. Entirely clothed in black, each was armed with lightweight Heckler & Koch XM8 carbines equipped with 100-round magazines and grenade launchers. Padding along the cobblestone in soft boots, every man scanned his surroundings with infrared night-vision goggles. History loomed all around them.
    With an abrupt hand signal to hold position, Conte paced ahead.
    He knew that his team was just as apprehensive. Though Jerusalem’s name meant ‘City of Peace’, this place defined turmoil. Each silent road was bringing them closer to its divided heart.
    The men had travelled separately from a handful of European countries, convening two days earlier at an apartment leased in a quiet part of the Jewish Quarter overlooking Battei Makhase Square, their accommodation booked under one of Conte’s numerous aliases, ‘Daniel Marrone’.
    On arrival Conte had played tourist to familiarize himself with the web of alleyways and winding streets surrounding the thirty-five-acre rectangular monument in the centre of the fortified Old City - a massive complex of bulwarks and retaining walls standing thirty-two metres high that resembled a colossal monolith laid flat upon Mount Moriah’s steep ridge. Easily the world’s most contested parcel of real estate, the Islamic Haram esh-Sharif , or ‘Noble Sanctuary’, was more familiar by another name - Temple Mount.
    As the cover of buildings gave way to the towering western wall, he motioned two men forward. The wall-mounted floodlights cast long shadows. Conte’s men would blend easily into the dark pockets, but then so could the Israeli Defense Force soldiers.
    The endless dispute between Jews and Palestinians had made this the most heavily guarded city in the world. However, Conte knew that the IDF was rife with conscripts - teenage boys whose sole purpose was to fulfil three-year service requirements and no match for his hardened team.
    He peered ahead, his night-vision goggles transforming the shadows to eerie green. The area was clear except for two soldiers loitering fifty metres away. They were armed with M-16s, donning standard-issue olive-green fatigues, bulletproof vests, and black berets. Both men were smoking Time Lite cigarettes, Israel’s most popular - and, to Conte, most offensive - brand.
    Glancing over to their intended entry point at Moors’ Gate, an elevated gateway on the platform’s western wall, Conte quickly surmised there was no way to gain access to the Temple Mount without being detected.
    Shifting his fingers along the