the Source (2008) (14 page)

Despite his fatigue, Bazin felt good as he watched Kelly and the others shake hands with the Englishman and go their separate ways. In the sun his olive skin was already losing its sallow pallor, his hair was growing back and he felt strong for the first time in months.

He had been tailing Kelly, the nun and the student with bright red hair all the way from the States, and had let them out of his sight only when they'd checked into their hotel yesterday evening. Then he had wandered around the bars on the seamier side of town, recruiting help.

He preferred to work alone but in the past he'd occasionally brought in jackals and vultures for preparation, back-up and cleanup work. This was one of those occasions, except now he was doing it for a higher purpose.

'Is the notebook a treasure map?'

Bazin stepped out of the alleyway, adjusted his Panama hat and turned to the man beside him. The Peruvian's greedy eyes gleamed like jet. 'Let me worry about the book, Raul. You worry about getting the equipment, guns and men. You can have them by Wednesday noon?'

'Si. You will pay the men how much, senor?'

'What we agreed. No more, no less.'

For a second, Raul looked as if he might try to renegotiate, then he nodded. The man was an amateur but Bazin had no choice. He had to use him. He had no contacts in the area and time wasn't on his side. This might be God's work but it was the Devil's job finding reliable men willing to steal and kill for money.

Chapter
28.

Lima, the next day

The two anonymous black limousines left the Jesuit Residence and made their way through the wide boulevards of Lima. Tinted windows concealed the two passengers in the back seat of the lead car. A soundproof screen separated them from the driver.

'What if it doesn't work?' demanded Torino, as he listened to Bazin's plan.

Bazin smiled. 'It has to. And if anything goes wrong, I've built in a few contingencies.' He handed Torino a palmtop computer and explained how the device worked. 'The transmitter's global-positioning satellite technology will allow you to pinpoint their exact location on the map to within a few feet.'

Torino sensed new confidence in his half-brother. He was no longer simply accepting his tasks but embellishing them. 'We can't afford any mistakes. This must succeed.'

'It will.'

Torino pressed an intercom button and told the driver to stop. The car pulled into a side-street and came to a halt. 'Do it, Marco,' he said. Bazin got out and Torino leant out of the window. 'But keep me informed.'

The car drove off, entered Prolongacion Avenue and parked by a large colonial building bearing a brass plaque: Ministerio del Interior. His entourage emerged from the second car - his reed-thin, bespectacled personal assistant, and four tall men in anonymous grey uniforms. Before they reached him he told them to wait in the limousine. He entered the building alone.

The Peruvian Minister for the Interior afforded Torino the respect worthy of a visiting head of state. He greeted him personally, then escorted him into his imposing office and introduced him to the only other man in the room: the Peruvian government's lawyer. They exchanged pleasantries, then got down to business.

'First, let me assure you that we've signed the confidentiality agreement your lawyers sent from Rome. Whatever is discussed in this office stays here.'

Torino pulled a document out of his briefcase. It was sealed and stamped with the papal seal. 'That reassures me. I cannot stress enough how delicate this is. Though we favour Peru for our initiative, nothing has yet been officially decided. If this is leaked before the deal is finalized the Vatican will deny all knowledge. You understand?'

'Of course. We'll do nothing to jeopardize this opportunity. I spoke to our president earlier and he instructed me to give you every assistance in this matter. He would be here himself but he's on a trade visit to China.'

Torino handed the sealed document to the minister. 'This confirms that I speak for the pope.'

The minister broke the seal, scanned the letter and passed it to the lawyer. 'How can we help you, Father General?'

'As you know, the Vatican is an independent state within Italy. Ever since the Lateran Treaty of 1929 its unique sovereign status has been enshrined in law. This gives the Roman Catholic Church precious independence and authority to do as it thinks morally right, regardless of the host nation's politics.

'The Holy Mother Church is keen to extend its moral presence in the world. To that end we wish to found a second Vatican in the southern hemisphere, away from the staid conventions of Europe. In contrast to the ancient, urban splendour of Rome, this new Vatican will be a brand new eco-state. A spiritual retreat from the corruption of the modern world, the new Vatican state will be ecologically responsible and self-sufficient. This vision of the future will act as a beacon and an example to the world.'

'A new Eden?' said the minister.

Torino smiled. 'Exactly. Our preferred location is in Roman Catholic South America, and Peru is an excellent candidate. It's stable, neither too big nor too small. However, we are aware that a few years ago you agreed that the oil companies could develop swathes of the Amazon and build a pipeline. We are also aware that your country's international image has suffered because of this perceived neglect of the rainforest in pursuit of oil money.'

The minister shuffled in his seat. 'How can we help you decide on Peru?'

'We would found the new Vatican in the Amazon, within a protected perimeter of virgin forest that will be maintained and conserved as God intended. You will cede this land to the Vatican and enshrine in perpetuity its status as a sovereign nation state in both international and Peruvian law. You will also undertake to protect its sovereignty.

'In return you'll receive competitive payment for the land and, as hosts of the second Vatican, you'll enjoy enhanced international status within the region and the world. You'll also restore your image by showing the world you care about conservation. In effect you'll be surrendering land of limited economic value in exchange for capital, prestige and international goodwill.'

The minister glanced at the lawyer, who nodded. 'That sounds reasonable.' The minister rose and approached a map on the wall.

'Is any part of the Peruvian rainforest off limits or earmarked for the oil companies?' asked Torino.

'Not specifically. If you wanted a particular tract of land we'd give you precedence over the oil companies.' He pointed at the map. 'In any case I can advise you on a prime parcel--'

'That won't be necessary. I'll know the land when I see it. The Lord will guide me to it.'

'Father General, you surely don't want to go into the jungle yourself?'

'I must.'

'It's a dangerous place, Father General.'

'God will protect me, and the Holy Father has supplied me with four Vatican soldiers.'

'The Swiss Guard?' The beginnings of an incredulous smile formed on the minister's lips. 'With all due respect, every government minister who goes into the interior is always accompanied by a team of highly trained Special Forces soldiers.'

'And I will be doing the same. They might wear colourful ceremonial dress and wield halberds but the Swiss Guard are anything but toy soldiers, Minister.'

'I meant no offence. It's just that if anything happened to the Superior General of the Society of Jesus while a guest in our country . . .'

Torino raised a hand. 'I understand.' Many underestimated the Vatican's small army, which had been made up of Swiss mercenaries since the sixteenth century. When Hitler's army had entered Rome in the Second World War, Swiss Guards had donned subdued grey uniforms and taken up positions behind machine-guns and mortars. The Germans did not move against the Vatican but the Guard, though vastly outnumbered, had been prepared to sacrifice their lives for the Holy Father. All members of the modern Swiss Guard were Catholics, aged between nineteen and thirty, over five feet eight inches tall, and trained in the professional Swiss army. Competition was fierce and the Vatican selected only the best. Each recruit vowed to defend the pope and the apostolic palace with his life. The four Swiss Guards assigned to Torino were elite soldiers who spoke Spanish and had relevant jungle training. 'Be assured, Minister, my men are more than capable of protecting me. But I would appreciate your co-operation in authorizing access to any weapons or equipment they may require while in your country.'

'Of course.' The minister took a piece of paper from the lawyer and handed it to Torino. 'This letter guarantees you safe passage through the country. It also authorizes you to requisition any equipment and transport you might need in your search, including any weapons or supplies for your men. Tell the local authorities your requirements and they'll arrange everything.' He gestured again to the lawyer, who produced three copies of a thick document. 'This is the agreement your lawyers in Rome finalized with ours yesterday. It gives the Vatican the right to claim up to twenty thousand hectares of virgin Peruvian rainforest at the price agreed.'

'Any land I choose?'

'So long as it's virgin forest and doesn't belong to anybody else.'

'What about native tribes?'

'We'll move them.'

'If I require more than twenty thousand hectares?'

'We just add a supplementary agreement.' The minister smiled. 'As you'll discover, Father General, there's a lot of jungle out there.'

Chapter
29.

Cajamarca, Thursday, 4.30 a.m.

Lauren had always accused Ross of being impatient, but he had never felt as impatient as he did kicking his heels in Cajamarca waiting for Hackett's return. Sister Chantal had retreated into a world of her own, using the opportunity to sleep and gather her strength. Zeb kept trying to reassure him, between reading everything she could find - as Lauren used to do when she was on holiday. But he couldn't relax. After he had purchased items on Hackett's list and explored Cajamarca for the third time he had pored over Falcon's notebook, trying to guess how long it would take to find the garden, if it existed. He was in limbo - neither by his wife's side nor on the trail seeking her cure - and desperate to move. Every day he called his father, every day Sam Kelly reported that there had been no change in Lauren's condition, and every day Ross had considered flying home.

Finally, Thursday morning arrived and Hackett picked them up outside the hotel in his silver Land Rover. It was still dark and the Southern Cross was visible in the sky.

Hackett was attired in pristine khakis, safari jacket, Indiana Jones hat and thick glasses. He greeted them, then stowed their bags on the roof rack. 'Please wipe your feet before getting into the car, then wind up the windows. I'm allergic to dirt. I'll put on the aircon when we're all in.'

Allergic to dirt? Ross exchanged a glance with Zeb, but said nothing as he sat in the front passenger seat while Zeb and Sister Chantal made themselves comfortable in the back. He had to admire Hackett for choosing a vocation for which he was so apparently ill-suited: running tours into the Amazon jungle, probably the largest source of dirt in the world. Ross liked the eccentric Englishman, though. For all his reserve and odd habits, Hackett exuded old-fashioned integrity.

The journey to Kuelap took six hours. The rough road cut across the cloud forest and over a three-thousand-metre-high pass, then dropped steeply to the Rio Maranon. Eventually, they stopped at a village called Tingo, south of Chachapoyas.

'We walk from here,' said Hackett. He looked at Sister Chantal. 'It's a pretty steep climb. Do you want to wait in the car?'

Sister Chantal didn't bother to answer, just got out, took Zeb's arm and began to walk. It was warm with a light, humid breeze and Ross could smell the red earth beneath his feet as they climbed. It took two more hours to reach the ruins, a thousand metres above Tingo, but when he saw the lost fortress he forgot his exhaustion and stared. The place was massive. According to Hackett, the fabulous ruined city was the largest pre-Inca construction in Peru. High above the left bank of the Rio Utucamba the fort was set on a crumbling ridge. The battlements rose some sixty feet and stretched for nearly half a mile.

'This is Kuelap,' said Hackett, retrieving his inhaler from a pocket and taking a puff, 'the keystone of known Chachapoyan culture. Most Chachapoyan fortresses were built on high ridges like this one. They tower over the cloud forest and are known locally as La Ceja de la Selva, the Eyebrow of the Jungle.' Ross was surprised to see that they were virtually alone. He would have thought a place as spectacular as this would be teeming with tourists. While Zeb and Sister Chantal sat down to regain their breath, Hackett beckoned him to a tower situated at the highest point in the fort. It was twenty-seven feet high with crumbling steps to the top.

Standing atop the ancient fortress, almost ten thousand feet above sea level, he looked east. The jungles of the Amazon stretched out below him as far as he could see and, in the far distance, a ribbon of gleaming silver wound its way through the green. This vast, open space felt a million miles from home and the claustrophobic confines of Lauren's hospital room. His constant sadness and guilt at leaving her were compounded by the wish that she could see this. But he felt something else too: the stirring of hope. He allowed himself to imagine that Falcon's garden might be somewhere in the viridian expanse - and a cure. From that ancient vantage-point anything seemed possible.

Hackett pointed to a well-worn road that led down to the basin. 'Your priest's next few directions lead us east towards the river. That road's been the only passage down to the Amazon for centuries so I suspect the trail will follow it to Tarapoto, then on to Yurimaguas on the Rio Huallaga, which eventually connects with the Amazon itself. I'm in radio contact with Juarez, our guide, and when we know exactly where on the river your priest's directions lead, I'll call him and get him to pick us up for the next leg of the journey.' He pointed towards the Amazon. 'I suspect the directions will come into their own when we find ourselves in that uncharted sea of green.'

For some moments both men stood in silence, gazing across the vast expanse, lost in their thoughts.

'Can you hear it?' said Hackett, eventually.

Ross listened to the breeze. 'Hear what?'

'The call,' Hackett said, a smile forming on his lips. 'The call to adventure.'

As the gleaming silver Land Rover drove away from Tingo, a mud-spattered Toyota Land Cruiser set off behind it.

'Why we follow these gringos? They know where to find gold?'

Marco Bazin put down the binoculars. 'You're following them, Raul, because I'm paying you to. Keep your distance but don't let them out of your sight.' He took off his Panama and scratched his head. In the rear-view mirror he caught sight of the man sitting behind him, oiling his gun. More boy than man, his long, dark face was ravaged by acne. 'You know what to do? All of you?' He had to keep the contempt from his voice.

'Si,' they mumbled, and smirked at each other.

Bazin locked eyes with the man-boy oiling his gun. 'Remember, you only get the rest of the money when the job's done.' He was grateful to be unknown in these parts, but his reputation had had its uses in the past. If these amateurs had known who he was - who he had once been - they would show him more respect.

Bazin checked his expensive new phone for a signal, then cursed his stupidity: though no bigger than a cell phone, it used state-of-the-art satellite technology so it should work anywhere on the planet. He called Torino's identical phone. The Jesuit answered on the third ring.

'They're on the move,' said Bazin.

'Don't let them out of your sight. I'll follow when I've finished in Lima.'