Michael Cordy - The Source

'But, Father General, this will delay us by a day. Are you sure they're necessary?'

'I understood from the Holy Father that you were committed to helping me fulfil my mission unquestioningly. Is that your understanding, too, Feldwebel?'

'Yes, it is, Father General.'

'Then I suggest you do exactly as I ask. And, trust me, these extra precautions are as much for your benefit as mine.' Torino glanced up at the sun and basked in its warmth. The Lord was smiling down on him. Then his eyes dropped to the screen in his hand, the dot moving north-east. 'Hurry,' he said. 'I want to leave within twenty-four hours.'

Over the next few days, as the Discovery sailed down the Amazon, Ross became increasingly concerned about Sister Chantal. Since the attack she had been steadily withdrawing into herself. As each day passed, she was increasingly distant and spent more and more time in her cabin.

Every day they navigated by the compass bearings in Falcon's book, and every night they followed his star charts. On day three, they reached two small headlands that appeared to curve towards each other as they rose above the jungle: Los Cuernos del Toro, the Bull's Horns.

Here, Falcon's directions instructed them to turn off the reassuring main river into the maze of tributaries. Directly linked to the Amazon, they were large rivers in their own right, and bore signs of man's encroachment. In small villages, which a few years ago would have been untroubled by the modern world, they saw children wearing baseball caps and T-shirts, playing with the ubiquitous oil-company tennis balls. Even further into the forest they saw vast areas being cleared for oil pipelines: men wearing bright yellow hard hats were operating bright yellow earthmovers, cutting swathes through the emerald green jungle, exposing earth as red as a bloody wound.

'Bastards,' said Zeb. 'Can't they see what they're doing? Why is everybody in the oil business so fucking short-sighted?'

'Because the world needs oil,' retorted Ross. 'Almost everything we use – everything you use, Zeb – comes from petroleum products. Shampoo, toothpaste, lip balm, non-stick frying-pans, CDs and DVDs, golf balls, not to mention everything made from any type of plastic.'

'But what about the consequences? When will the world decide that the remaining jungle is more precious than oil?'

He couldn't answer that. If Lauren could see this she would be as horrified as Zeb was. It shocked him, too. He knew that man had eroded a vast proportion of rainforest in the last few years; he had read the statistics. But seeing it at close quarters, how efficiently their machines cut through the trees, made him understand why Sister Chantal had been so concerned about preserving the garden. How much longer would it be before those yellow earthmovers reached it? Assuming, of course, it existed.

Eventually they found themselves in virgin forest, and as the boat wound through the narrowing waterways Juarez called from the wheelhouse: 'Don't swim in the water here.'

'Why?' asked Zeb. 'Piranha?'

'Worse. Candiru.'

'What?'

Hackett grimaced. 'Tiny catfish. They're really nasty creatures, especially if you're a bloke. That's why I put condoms on your list.'

'I don't understand,' said Ross.

'A candiru will swim up the urethra, open the spines on its head like an umbrella and anchor itself halfway up the penis, blocking it so you can't piss. Forget the horrific pain. Without surgery – major surgery – your bladder will burst and you'll die. Not a nice way to go.'

Unconsciously Ross crossed his legs – as did every man on board.

As they moved deeper into the maze, the back of his neck tingled, as if unseen eyes were watching him constantly from the jungle. Not one pair but thousands. He flapped at flies and mosquitoes the size of small birds, all apparently immune to insect repellent. A brace of blind river dolphins passed the boat. He saw a giant anaconda make its way lazily through the water and slither up the riverbank, its scales glistening in the sunlight before it disappeared into the jungle. He checked his phone. No signal. His father couldn't contact him if Lauren's condition changed. He felt a sudden surge of anxiety, followed by a strange elation. He had no choice now but to focus on the job in hand. Nevertheless, this beautiful, dangerous paradise would be an easy and inhospitable place to get lost.

Suddenly he was acutely aware of the importance of Falcon's directions and found himself looking for Sister Chantal. Though she hadn't helped much so far, they would need her to clarify the more cryptic directions. Mendoza lounged on the shaded part of the deck, holding his head, Zeb was reading in the galley, Hackett and Juarez were at the helm. It was almost four in the afternoon. Sister Chantal liked a siesta after lunch but she was usually around by three.

Zeb glanced up from her book. 'What is it?'

'Have you seen Sister Chantal?'

'She's probably in her cabin. Why?'

He lowered his voice. 'I want to ask her about the directions.'

'I'll come with you.'

Zeb knocked on Sister Chantal's door and heard, 'Is it time?' She opened the door to reveal the blinds drawn, the cabin in half-darkness and Sister Chantal lying on the bed. Her eyes were closed. 'Is it time?' the nun asked again, apparently half-asleep or in a trance. 'Is my burden to be lifted?'

'It's okay, Sister. We'll come back later. Sorry we disturbed you.'

The following morning, the Discovery reached another of the landmarks featured in Falcon's book. Zeb looked at the distinctive sugarloaf-shaped mound, rising above the skyline of forest trees, and consulted her compass. 'We should head in that direction,' she said, pointing to a channel where the water was rougher.

Juarez ran to the front of the boat and used a long pole to sound the depth of the swirling river. 'Okay, Senor Hackett,' he shouted to the wheelhouse, then pointed downriver to where the water frothed white. 'Mind the rocks.'

Ross studied the geological map on his palmtop computer and felt a frisson: they were entering a part of the jungle where the on-screen information was extrapolated but not known. They were now in true terra incognita where the earth's crust was probably ancient pre- Cambrian rock, unchanged for billions of years. The model supported his hypothesis for Falcon's garden and gave him hope.

Zeb came over to him and pulled him away from the others. 'From here this river gets more and more wild until it comes to what Falcon warns is La Boca del Inferno, the Mouth of Hell. He's written PELIGRO, danger, then told us to rush into the Mouth of Hell to pass beyond El Velo de la Luz, the Veil of Light, whatever that means. Perhaps the Mouth of Hell is a waterfall.' She thumbed through the translation. 'Yes, he talks about one here.'

Ross nodded. 'But what's the Veil of Light? We've got to warn Hackett.'

Hackett and the others agreed that the Mouth of Hell probably was a waterfall.

'What do we do about it?' asked Mendoza.

'Go carefully,' said Hackett, grimly. 'And where's Sister Chantal? I haven't seen her all day.'

'She's tired,' said Zeb. 'Catching up on some rest.'

'You'd better warn her it'll get pretty bumpy soon.'

When Ross and Zeb knocked on the door, they heard, 'Come in.' Once again Sister Chantal was lying on her bed with the blinds drawn. 'Sister,' said Ross, 'we've got to ask you about the directions. About La Boca del Inferno. It's important.'

'Come closer,' she said, in a faraway voice.

Ross stepped into the room. 'I also need to ask you about El Velo de la Luz. Father Orlando Falcon said there was danger. Do you know why?'

'Come closer,' she said. 'Let me see your face.' A fine sheen of perspiration beaded her forehead and her eyes seemed focused on a point beyond his face. 'You're here,' she said, with a smile. 'I knew my sacrifice would be rewarded.'