The Genesis Secret: Read Free

bad shit, for a while. Don’t ya think?’
    Rob waited. He knew Steve hadn’t finished. Sure enough, Steve explained: ‘So I’m asking you, ever so politely, to go and look at this fucking dig in Turkey. If that’s OK with you.’
    Rob detected the sarcasm: it wasn’t hard. Helaughed. ‘OK, Steve. You’re the boss! I’ll go and look at some stones. When do you need me to go?’
    ‘Tomorra. I’ll email the brief.’
    Tomorrow? Not a lot of time. Rob started thinking about planes and packing. ‘I’m on the case, Steve. Thanks.’
    The editor paused, then came back on the line: ‘But, Rob…’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’m serious about this assignment. These aren’t just…boring old stones.’
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘It’s been in the news here already. You must have missed it.’
    ‘I don’t read the archaeological press.’
    ‘I do. It’s highly fashionable.’
    ‘So?’
    The sea air was warm. Steve went on: ‘What I mean is. This place in Turkey. What these Germans found…’
    Rob waited for Steve to elaborate.
    A long pause. Then at last his editor said, ‘Well…it’s not just bones and shit, Robbie. It’s something really quite weird.’

3
    On the plane to Istanbul Rob sipped at his watery gin and tonic in a little see-through plastic cup with a tiny swizzle stick. He read the print-out of Steve’s email, and some other stuff he had found on the Net about the Turkish dig.
    The site being unearthed was called Gobekli Tepe. For an hour Rob thought this was pronounced Teep, but then he saw a phonetic spelling on one his printouts: Tepe was pronounced Tepp-ay. Gobekli… Tepp-ay. Rob said it himself- ‘Gob-eckly Tepp-ay’ and then munched a mini pretzel.
    He read on.
    The site was apparently just one of a number of very old settlements presently being unearthed in Kurdish Turkey. Nevali Cori, Cayonu, Karahan Tepe. Some of them seemed incredibly ancient. Eight thousand years old or more. But was that really so ancient? Rob had no idea. How old was the Sphinx? Stonehenge? The pyramids?
    His gin and tonic finished, he sat back and thought about his lack of general knowledge. Why didn’t he know the answer to questions like this? Because, obviously, he didn’t have a university education. Unlike his colleagues who had degrees from Oxford and London and UCLA, or Paris or Munich or Kyoto or Austin or wherever, Rob had nothing but his brain and an ability to speed-read-to digest information quickly. He had fled education at the age of eighteen. Despite his single mother’s cries of despair, he had spurned the offers of several colleges and universities, and instead had gone straight into journalism. But who could blame him for this, really? Rob swallowed another mini-pretzel. He’d had no choice. His mum was on her own, his dad had stayed in America being a mean brutal bastard; Rob had grown up poor in the furthest reaches of dull suburban London. From an early age he’d wanted money and status as soon as they were available. He was never going to be like those rich kids he used to envy when he was a lad, able to take four years off to smoke dope and go to parties and drift into comfortable careers at a leisurely pace. He’d always felt a need to get a move on.
    The same desire for swift progression had governed his emotional life. When Sally came along, smiling and bonny and clever, he’d grabbed at the happiness, and the stability, she offered. The birth of their daughter, soon after their precocious marriage, seemed like a signal that what he haddone was a Very Good Thing. Only then had he realised, belatedly, that his kinetic career might be in conflict with settled domestic tranquillity.
    The El Al economy seat was as uncomfortable as ever. Rob sat back, and rubbed his eyes. Then he asked the stewardess for another gin and tonic. A pick-me-up, and a help-me-forget.
    Reaching in his bag beneath his feet Rob pulled out two books from Tel Aviv’s best bookshop, one on Turkish archaeology, and one on