Michael Cordy - The Source

Hackett digested this. Then he turned to Ross. 'Since we're getting to know each other, tell us how you came by the priest's notebook.' He pointed at Ross, Zeb and the sleeping shape of Sister Chantal. 'And what brought you three together.'

'It just happened,' said Ross, evasively.

Juarez rescued him. 'Why you gringos always want to find old ruins?'

'Because of their history,' said Hackett. 'And their gold.'

'You don't care about the curse of el abuelo?' 'The what?' said Ross.

Hackett raised an eyebrow, sneezed, then took a hit on his inhaler. 'The curse of el abuelo – the grandfather. Juarez's people believe it's dangerous to enter ruins because the curse of el abuelo will strike you. It's an unpleasant transference in which all the diseases of the gathered dead enter and infest the interloper's body.'

They laughed, but Juarez was indignant. 'It's true,' he protested.

Suddenly they were silenced by a distant, high-pitched wail.

'What the hell was that?' exclaimed Zeb.

Hackett's face had paled. 'The alarm on my boat.'

It stopped as abruptly as it had started.

'Must have been an animal or a malfunction,' said Mendoza.

'You're probably right,' said Ross. What else could it have been? No other human had reason to come this way. Except Torino. And he had no way of knowing where they were headed.

A rifle shot rang out, startling them.

'What the hell-'

Mendoza was standing, rifle nestled in his shoulder. 'Got him,' he said. 'That'll keep them away better than any grunting.'

Hackett arced the beam of his torch towards the river, and Ross saw, reflected in the light, countless unblinking eyes staring at them.

The next day they reached El Halo, a twenty-foot-diameter circle of black stone, veined with quartz that sparkled in the sun. According to Falcon, El Halo was the place where they should leave the boats and continue their journey on foot. From here, in Falcon's notebook, the directions became more cryptic – not least the next one: At El Halo use the arrow to set your course, then follow it through the jungle to La Barba Verde, the Green Beard.

After a sleepless night spent listening to the crocodiles, some had changed places on the boats before continuing on their voyage. Sister Chantal waved away Ross's concern for her. 'I'm okay.' Now, as they reached the distinctive circle of stone, Ross knew that the nun's interpretation would be of crucial importance. The lead boat had already reached the bank and was obscured by El Halo. When Ross's boat joined it, Hackett and Mendoza were unloading. He couldn't see the nun.

'Where's Sister Chantal?' he asked.

'She must have walked off,' Hackett suggested. 'She can't be far.'

Ross panicked. They were in the middle of the jungle and the one person who could direct them was missing. Then he saw her behind the black stone with her back to him.

'Where do we go from here, Sister?' he asked. She didn't reply. 'What does the next clue mean?'

Still no reply.

She stared at El Halo blankly, then began to stroke the stone. His heart sank.

When he stepped closer, he saw that she was studying marks carved into the stone, gate marks such as those a prisoner scratches on a cell wall to count the days, four vertical strokes crossed with a diagonal, representing five. Beside it was a single vertical stroke, indicating a total of six. There were also six sets of roman numerals. It took Ross a moment to work out that they represented dates, the most recent more than seventy years ago. Before he could process what he was seeing, Sister Chantal brushed her hands over them.

'I know where we are,' she said, to no one in particular, eyes sparkling. She clutched her crucifix. 'Give me a compass.'

Ross reached into his pocket and handed her his. She stroked the stone again. 'Feel it, Ross,' she said.

He touched the stone and felt a raised area, disguised by moss. His fingers described the shape of a triangle with a tail.

'What is it?' said Zeb.

'An arrow.'

'And it points south by south-east,' said Sister Chantal, studying the compass.

Ross checked the map on his GPS palmtop and tried to work out where the arrow might be pointing, but his screen showed only a blank expanse of uncharted virgin jungle.

'Follow me,' said Sister Chantal.

'Wait,' said Mendoza, turning back to the boats. 'I've got to get something.'

'Hurry,' said the nun, showing no trace of her earlier exhaustion. 'We're getting closer. I can sense it.'

The jungle was everything described in the Voynich. Noisy, hellish and hot. Juarez made everyone wear heavy shoes and watch each step because of the constant threat of fer-de-lance and other poisonous creatures. Cutting through the steaming undergrowth with heavy packs was slow, exhausting work. Sister Chantal leant on the others for support but led with almost manic vigour.

That night, after a hasty supper of fish and rice, they slept in hammocks suspended above the forest floor, shrouded in nets to keep out insects and other inquisitive jungle creatures drawn to their body warmth. Exhausted, listening to the constant chatter of the forest, Ross held his aching wrist and wondered about Lauren, his sadness tempered by excitement. Then he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next afternoon they reached a small lagoon backed by looming cliffs that blocked their path. Covered with trees and dense foliage, the high ridge of rock was another apparent dead end. Then the reinvigorated Sister Chantal called, 'Over here!'

She had walked fifty yards to their right and was pointing up at the cliff. Its fissures reminded Ross of the famous 'face' on Ayers Rock in Australia, with eyes, nose and mouth. Below the mouth a mass of vines and other greenery stretched to the ground like a beard: La Barba Verde.

Using machetes, Hackett and Mendoza cut through the greenery to reveal a large opening in the cliff face. Ross checked his watch, and when he led the others through the gap, he noted it was 1.58 p.m. The passage took them through a series of unusual caves, marbled and striated with fossils, minerals and ores. Under different circumstances he might have stopped for samples.

Eventually, they emerged on to a high shelf, overlooking a narrow valley that stretched to the far horizon. In the afternoon light it was a lush green paradise, splashed with exotic blooms of red, blue and other primary colours. There were fewer trees than there had been in the jungle and on the terrain above the valley. Ross had read once that when trees are burnt or chopped down in a forest, an abundance of other growth quickly fills the rich soil, exploiting the space and the sunlight filtering through the thinned canopy to the forest floor. What had thinned the trees here? He checked his watch again and noticed it was only two minutes past two, which was impossible. Many more than four minutes had passed since he'd last checked his watch, more like thirty. He then realized that the second hand had stopped. The rugged and expensive Tag Heuer had been a Christmas gift from Lauren, and Tags didn't just stop. He shook his wrist and turned to Zeb. 'What time do you make it?'

'Two minutes past two.'

Ross frowned. 'Nigel?'

Hackett glanced at his wrist. 'The same.' Then he tapped his watch. 'Hang on, it's stopped.'

'So has mine,' said Ross. 'It appears all our watches stopped at exactly the same time.' He pointed back at the ridge. 'Perhaps there was something magnetic in the caves we walked through.' He reached into his pack and checked the GPS on his palmtop computer. The screen gave a quick reading then fizzed, like a television with a faulty aerial. 'Wow,' he said. 'Whatever force it is, it's powerful enough to stop satellite signals too.' From this point on, then, they would be blind. Lost in space and time with no idea of where or even when they were. They were now totally dependent on Falcon's notebook – not just to find the garden but also their way back. 'Zeb, what does Father Orlando say we do next?'