the Source (2008) (20 page)

Chapter
44.

Juarez and Hackett went first down the wide steps, followed by Ross and Mendoza. Before he descended into the pungent darkness, Ross glanced back at the nun, trying in vain to read her inscrutable expression. Had she been there before? Did she know whatwas down there?

At the end of the first flight, the air was cooler but the smell stronger. Ross took out his own torch and shone it into the darkness. They followed the steps down three more returns until they came to a small antechamber and an open portal. Stone brackets that had once held flaming torches lined the walls. In the Maglite beam, Ross saw that the portal led into a large chamber with a passage down the centre, lined on each side with rows of stone shelves, stacked six high. Each contained what appeared to be a stone coffin. He shuddered.

'They were probably for the bodies of the more prestigious sacrificial victims,' said Hackett. 'Minus the hearts, of course.'

Ross saw Juarez's shoulders tremble. The Peruvian hated ruins, so to him this place must be terrifying. And at that moment, in the claustrophobic tomb surrounded by the remains of those who had died in agony more than a thousand years ago, he had some respect for the curse.

Suddenly Juarez yelped and Ross almost dropped his torch. 'Mirada! Mirada! Oro! Oro!' Look! Look! Gold! Gold!

'Fuck!' said Hackett.

Ross turned his beam to meet Juarez's - and saw it. Not piles of treasure strewn around in decadent abandon, as the movies showed, but blocks, each one laid out with architectural precision. The ingots formed a six-foot-high version of the ziggurat they were standing in. A few were missing. Who took them? he wondered. The survivors fleeing to found new cities and new civilizations? Sister Chantal?

Mendoza whistled. 'How much is this worth?'

Hackett was wheezing with excitement. He patted his jacket for his inhaler, took a puff and collected himself. 'The last time I checked, gold was about six hundred and fifty dollars an ounce.' He picked up an ingot. 'Each of these must weigh at least four or five hundred ounces and there are hundreds, if not thousands.'

'So we're all rich, yes?' said Juarez.

'Very,' said Mendoza. 'Hundreds of millions of dollars rich. But how do we move it?'

'The river's only a day and a half away,' said Hackett, replacing the ingot. 'We take some now and get suitable transport, then come back for the rest.'

Ross felt strangely detached from the find. It was thrilling, and he wasn't immune to the giddy prospect of limitless wealth, but this wasn't the treasure he was seeking. He thought of how the ancient inhabitants of this place had spilt blood and presented their gold to save what they regarded as far more precious: the fountain, their city and their lives. He, too, would gladly give up his share of gold to save what he loved.

'Ross, where are you going?'

'To get some fresh air and tell Zeb and Sister Chantal what we found.'

'But don't you want to stay and talk about what to do with it?'

'It's not going anywhere.'

Hackett frowned. 'This is an amazing discovery, Ross, yet you don't seem excited.'

'Of course I'm excited. I just think we can decide what to do with it outside.'

'I come with you,' said Juarez. 'I like gold but I don't like this place.'

'Me too,' said Mendoza.

'We may as well all go, then.' Hackett sounded sulky.

Ross walked back to the stairs. As he passed the coffins, he felt Juarez tense. At the same time, he sensed something to his right: a sudden shift in the air, and a feral smell that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He swivelled round.

Juarez was frozen to the spot, staring into the dark recesses behind the coffins. 'El abuelo,' he rasped, as if his vocal cords no longer obeyed him.

In the beam of Ross's torch a black shape moved behind the coffins and two hungry, malevolent eyes stared at him.

Then it roared and sprang.

Ross dropped to his knees as the creature leapt at Mendoza. Then Juarez, the man who was seemingly scared of his own shadow, jumped in front of Mendoza and fired off a shot. It missed and the beast hit the Peruvian, knocking him to the ground and ripping at his throat. Juarez screamed and Ross felt something warm splash his face. As Hackett levelled his pistol and Mendoza raised his rifle, both trying to get a clear shot without hitting Juarez, Ross kicked at the beast with his Timberlands. His steel toecaps connected with hard muscle and the black creature growled in the torchlight, then shot past him.

Hackett rushed to Juarez, who was clutching his throat, eyes staring into the dark. The pyramid of gold was spattered with blood.

'I need a gun,' said Ross, grabbing Juarez's and racing after the animal.

'Where's it gone?' said Mendoza.

'Up the steps,' said Ross. 'To Zeb and Sister Chantal.'

Chapter
45.

Zeb had been grateful for the time alone with Sister Chantal. She had no desire to go down those dark stairs into the fetid bowels of the ziggurat and she wanted to quiz the nun on the forsaken city. 'What will they find down there?' she asked.

'Gold.'

'How do you know?'

'Because I do.'

'How? Have you been here before?' Zeb's frustration was growing. 'Why can't you ever just give a straight answer?'

'Because whatever I say won't change what you believe. What does it matter how I know anything? You now know that water from Father Orlando's garden once flowed here. You and Ross have seen the fountain, the carvings of the story and the plants from the Voynich. You have seen proof of the garden's existence, and once the others have found the gold we can leave them and go in search of it. That's all that matters.'

'How close is it from here?'

'A few days' walk.'

'You're sure it's still there?'

A look of fear crossed the nun's features. 'It must be.'

Zeb was studying the carved image of the dried-up fountain. 'But what if--'

She was silenced by a muffled scream and a gunshot that issued from the darkened stairs. She stood up and pulled Sister Chantal to her feet. Another scream. Sister Chantal walked to the stairs and Zeb followed her. As she looked down into the gloom, a black shape leapt, snarling, at the nun, slashing with its claws, throwing her to the floor. Then Ross appeared and fired a shot into the air. The huge cat darted for the doorway and disappeared outside.

As Zeb rushed to Sister Chantal, Ross ran to the exit, raised the rifle and fired into the fading light.

'You get it?' Zeb called.

'It was too fast.' He ran back to help Zeb prop Sister Chantal against the wall. Blood flowed from a cut on her cheek and she had a large contusion on her forehead. Her right shoulder bore two shallow slashes where claws had torn her cotton shirt but, luckily, her shredded backpack had taken the brunt of the attack.

'What the hell was that?' said Zeb.

'A melanistic jaguar.'

'A what?'

'A black-pigmented jaguar. A panther.'

He sounded distracted and Zeb stared up at him. 'There's blood all over your face. You okay?'

'It's not mine,' Ross said, in a monotone. He was holding Sister Chantal's wrist. 'She's out cold and her pulse is weak.'

Zeb helped him lay her on her back, then loosened her collar. 'We'd better get Nigel.'

When she turned, a dazed Mendoza and an ashen-faced Hackett were walking up the stairs, carrying Juarez between them.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. As Hackett tried to staunch Juarez's bleeding, he knew his friend was close to death, and that he was powerless to prevent it. As he opened Juarez's shirt to examine the wounds in his throat and chest, he thought of all the times over the last three years they had sat together on the Discovery, drinking Cusquena beer and talking about their dreams.

Juarez had been born in a remote Amazonian village close to the Ecuadorian border but had always longed to see Europe and North America. Hackett had promised that when he returned to London, having found fame and fortune in the Amazon, he would take Juarez with him. Only last night, asleep in his hammock, Hackett had dreamt of lecturing to the Royal Geographical Society. As the great and good applauded, the beautiful Zeb Quinn - who no longer mocked his idiosyncrasies but understood, admired and desired him - stood at his side.

But now his friend would never leave the jungle to live his dreams and, although Hackett had discovered his lost city and its gold, his own dreams of glory seemed hollow too.

Juarez gripped his arm and tried to speak. 'I'm not scared,' he rasped. 'I'm not a coward.'

'I know, my friend,' said Hackett.

'No, you're not,' Mendoza concurred. 'You're the bravest man I ever met. You saved my life.'

Juarez gripped Hackett's arm tighter, a smile playing on his lips. Finally his face relaxed. Hackett closed his eyelids and laid him on the floor. 'He's gone.'

'I'm sorry,' said Ross.

'So am I,' said Hackett. Zeb was kneeling over Sister Chantal, tears in her eyes. As he watched, she put a hand to her mouth.

'What do we do now?' asked Mendoza.

Hackett sighed. 'I don't know.'

Ross laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Nigel, there's nothing more you can do for Juarez. Why don't you attend to Sister Chantal while Osvaldo and I bury our friend? Then we'll build a fire.'

Hackett nodded numbly. 'I want him buried deep,' he said fiercely. 'I don't want any animals getting to him.'

'We'll make sure of it, senor,' said Mendoza. 'I'll say a prayer, and we'll put a stone on top of the grave.'

Hackett hesitated a little longer, then relinquished his friend to them and moved to examine Sister Chantal.

'How is she?' said Zeb.

Hackett checked Sister Chantal's cuts, contusion and breathing. 'She's concussed, but she appears to be breathing regularly. Her cuts are superficial and the bump on her head looks nastier than it is.' He reached for his medical bag. 'I'll check her blood pressure, then we'll make her comfortable and let her rest.'

'It'll be dark soon,' said Ross. 'I vote we spend the night on the flat top of this pyramid. We can build a fire there and it should be easier to keep away any more unwelcome visitors. If you guys can get Sister Chantal and our baggage to the top, Osvaldo and I'll look after Juarez.'

Chapter
46.

'You want some strong painkillers for your wrist?' asked Mendoza, popping a tablet into his mouth.

'No, thanks,' said Ross, welcoming the pain as he helped Mendoza lower Juarez's body into the hole they had dug in the soft earth behind the pyramid. It distracted him from the gathering dusk and from what they were doing. In burying Juarez he felt as if he was burying a part of himself. He had come here to save Lauren but already his quest had cost four lives: those of the three bandits who had tried to hijack them and now Juarez. As he shovelled earth into the grave, he thought of the strange carvings at the base of the ziggurat and felt a little consoled.

He was close now to either realizing his dream of saving Lauren, or confirming his worst fear that this trek into the jungle had been a waste of precious time and lives. Sister Chantal claimed that from here they could reach the garden and be back in a week, and had seemed confident of doing so without a guide - without Juarez. Depending on how quickly they returned to civilization he could be back in the States in two or three weeks with whatever he found in the garden. His main concern now was the enigmatic Sister Chantal, the key to interpreting the final directions.

Mendoza coughed. 'I still can't believe what Juarez did for me.

'He was a brave and selfless man,' said Ross.

'But I'd thought he was a coward.'

'We are what we do,' said Ross, almost to himself. 'His last act defined him.'

Mendoza patted the earth with his hand. 'This man will go to heaven.'

'I won't argue with you on that one.'

After filling in the hole, they dragged a slab from the plaza, placed it over the mound, and Mendoza assembled a small pile of stones to mark the grave. Then they called to the others. Hackett came down, then he and Mendoza said simple prayers, while Zeb watched over Sister Chantal.

Later, they made a fire on the flat top of the ziggurat and prepared food. No one was hungry but they went through the motions, picking at their tinned beans and meat stew.

'How's Sister Chantal?' Ross asked.

'She's stirred a couple of times, but she's still out of it,' Hackett replied. 'Her blood pressure's okay, though. I think she just needs rest.'

Zeb was sitting by the baggage, frantically rooting through Sister Chantal's shredded pack. 'You okay, Zeb?' Ross called to her.

Zeb's eyes were bright and red-rimmed from crying. 'No,' she said quietly. 'I'm not.' She held up a pile of shredded, bloodstained paper, then Father Orlando's notebook, what was left of it. 'The backpack saved Sister Chantal's life but the notebook was in it. The jaguar tore it to pieces.'

Ross felt sick. 'Show me.'

The cruel irony was that the first pages were still legible and the last mismatched section had survived virtually untouched. It was only the middle of the book, the end pages of the first section - the crucial final directions to the garden - that had been obliterated. He took the torn pages from Zeb and knew immediately they couldn't be salvaged. He thought again of the strange plants carved at the base of the ziggurat and the story of the fountain. The metallic taste of disappointment flooded his mouth. The carved images had encouraged him earlier, but now they taunted him. Just when he was beginning to believe in Father Orlando's garden, just when he was getting close, it was to be denied him. 'The last directions are gone.'

'So?' said Hackett. 'We don't need them any more.'

'We do,' said Zeb. 'They were the most critical.'

'But this is it. This lost city is what we were looking for.' Hackett paused. 'Isn't it?'

'No,' said Ross. 'It's not.'

'What are you saying? Finding this place was a bonus? What's going on?'

Ross looked at Sister Chantal in her sleeping-bag. 'I don't know if it was a fluke or not but this isn't where Father Orlando's directions lead,' he said. 'In fact, he made no mention of this place in any of his writings.'

'But this is one of the biggest archaeological discoveries in history,' Hackett expostulated. 'Not just in South America, but the entire world. How can it not be where his directions lead? What could possibly be more important than this?'

'Or more valuable?' demanded Mendoza.

Zeb pulled some photocopied sheets out of her backpack and passed them to Hackett, then summarized the story in the Voynich. 'We're looking for a garden where plants like this grow.'

'You came all this way, into the largest rainforest in the world, to find a garden?' said Hackett.

'Yes.'

Hackett studied the photocopies. 'These plants are like the ones on the carvings here.'

'Exactly,' said Ross. 'Which means we're probably close.'

Hackett frowned, trying to understand. 'The garden must be pretty special.'

'That's what we're hoping,' said Zeb. 'Father Orlando called it the Garden of God.'

'How is it special?' asked Mendoza.

Ross kept his eyes focused on Hackett. 'We're hoping it has healing properties, as in the Voynich story.'

'Healing properties?' Hackett snorted. Ross recognized his own initial scepticism in the doctor's face. Hackett stared into the fire. 'Let me guess, you think the plants are somehow linked to the water from the fountain here. You think the spring once came from this miraculous garden.'

'It fits,' said Ross. 'The spring could have been fed via an underground stream, which flowed from the garden and then got blocked. Perhaps the people were dependent on the water, or whatever was in it, and became sick when it dried up.'

Hackett was shaking his head.

'You think the garden is close to here?' said Mendoza, clearly intrigued.

'Yes,' said Ross.

'If it exists,' said Hackett, 'what do we do about this place and the gold? Which, by the way, does exist.'

'The gold will wait for us,' said Mendoza. He gave a decisive nod. 'I'm coming with you, Ross.'

'You don't have to. It'll be dangerous. According to the story, all the surviving conquistadors died in the garden. Only Father Orlando survived to tell the tale.'

Mendoza laughed. 'If it's safe enough for an old nun, a man with a broken wrist and a young woman, it's safe enough for me. I'm coming.'

'Hang on,' said Hackett. 'This is madness. We've already lost Juarez in finding this place. Why put anyone else at risk looking for some mythic Shangri-La?'

'None of you has to come with me,' said Ross. 'I'm sorry about Juarez, I really am, but finding this garden was the reason I came here.'

'And you, Zeb?' demanded Hackett. 'You're committed to finding it, too?'

'Yes.'

'Then I've no choice but to go too, I suppose,' said Hackett, and gave a weary sigh. 'The garden sounds like a load of guff, but we should stay together.' He looked at Zeb. 'If it's dangerous you'll need someone to take care of you.'

For the first time that evening Zeb smiled. 'Someone like you, Nigel?'

Hackett bristled. 'Someone exactly like me - someone careful and cautious. I'm not losing anyone else on this trip.'

'This discussion is academic, anyway,' Ross said quietly. He held up Father Orlando's damaged notebook. 'The crucial section, containing the final directions to the garden, is unreadable.'

'Can't you remember any of them?' said Mendoza.

'All I can remember is one of the last landmarks, something called La Sonrisa del Dios, the Smile of God. After that I think we find ourselves in a cave system. But I've no idea how to find La Sonrisa del Dios, whatever it is.' He turned to Zeb. 'How about you?'

'I remember it being a good three days' walk from La Barba Verde to La Sonrisa del Dios, with only the stars to guide us. But I've no idea which stars.'

'So, what are you saying?' said Hackett. 'We're stuffed?'

'Yes.' Ross was suddenly desperate to get away from the cursed city. 'That's exactly what I'm saying.'

That night on the ancient ziggurat, sitting under the stars surrounded by the ruins of a civilization that had been dead for more than a thousand years, was the loneliest Ross could remember.

While the others slept by the fire he kept watch, Juarez's rifle cradled in his lap. Despite his exhaustion, he knew he wouldn't sleep. It wasn't his aching wrist that kept him awake but the suffocating feeling of time crushing him. He thought of Lauren in the States and of the life growing inside her womb. In a few weeks it would be six months, two-thirds of the way through the pregnancy. In another three months it would be due. These next weeks were critical, and yet they seemed insignificant against the centuries of history that surrounded him.

Turning away from the crackling fire, he stared into the humid, enveloping dark, wishing he could believe in some merciful higher power. Tomorrow he would leave this forsaken place, go home and accept whatever happened. His great quest was over.