Michael Cordy - The Source

'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.'

'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.'