Michael Cordy - The Source

'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.

Ross woke with a start. A pearlescent moon still hung in the sky, but, when he looked over the lost city to the horizon, a soft glow told him dawn was imminent. He couldn't remember falling asleep but he felt alert and fresh. He also felt compelled to act.

He stood up, stepped round the sleeping Hackett and Mendoza, passed Zeb's still form and knelt beside Sister Chantal. He shook her gently until she opened her eyes.

'Wake up,' he murmured. 'We've got to go.'

'Where?' She touched the bruise on her head, dazed, disoriented and frightened.

He kept his voice soft but firm. 'You get up now and take us to Father Orlando's garden, or we turn back and go home.'

She reached out her hand. 'Where's the notebook?'

'It's ruined. There are no more directions. It's up to you now. You say you're the Keeper, that you've been to the garden before. Now's the time to prove it.'

'What about the others?'

'They'll be with us.'

'But they can't-'

'I don't care about secrecy any more. Your plan to use this place to distract them didn't work. Juarez is dead.'

Her eyes widened. 'Juarez is dead?'

'The jaguar that attacked you killed him. We're in the middle of nowhere – literally – and there are two choices. We go on to the garden together or we go home. We're depending on you. Lauren's depending on you.'

'All the directions are destroyed?'

He handed her the notebook. 'See for yourself.'

She rubbed her head, thinking. 'The others can come only if they vow to tell no one of the garden and to take nothing from it.'

'They'll make that promise.'

'There might be one other way to find the garden, but I need a compass.'

'Here's mine.' He reached into his pocket. 'I doubt it'll work, though. There's some strange magnetic field here. The GPS is out and our watches have stopped.'

'Give it to me.'

He glanced at it, then at the rising sun. Wherever the needle was pointing, it sure as hell wasn't magnetic north. 'Like I said, it's not working.'

She took it, sat up and smiled. 'Follow the needle.'

'What do you mean?'

'Follow the needle. It should lead us to the garden.'

He took the compass from her. Normally when a compass wasn't working correctly the needle became erratic. This one wasn't. It pointed firmly in one direction. It wasn't north but it was steady. His pulse quickened. Was the interference coming not from the ore-riddled ridge they had passed through but from the garden – or the source? 'You sure this will lead us there?'

She nodded, eyes sparkling.

'Good.' Ross hardly dared to believe they were continuing the quest. 'In that case, I'll wake the others.' Within an hour they were ready to leave. They climbed the path out of the valley to the high shelf above, then turned in the direction of the compass needle. As they were about to re-enter dense jungle, Ross looked back. From this elevation, the valley again seemed lush but unremarkable, its secret concealed beneath the vegetation. He strained to glimpse the ziggurat to no avail.

Then he caught a glint of light, the reflection of the sun on metal or glass, coming from the high shelf near the ridge. He wondered what it could be, then pushed it from his mind and followed the others into the jungle. Father General Leonardo Torino lowered his binoculars and squinted in the early-morning sunlight. For the first time since Iquitos he could see Ross Kelly and the others. It took all his self-control to prevent the relief showing on his face.

'How did you know they would be here, Father General?' said Fleischer. 'We found their trail in the jungle but how did-'

'I told you, Feldwebel, we're on a sacred mission. The Lord is guiding us.' Torino fixed him with his most intense stare. 'Did you doubt me?' Fleischer and his men bowed their heads and crossed themselves. Torino raised his binoculars and focused on the spot where he'd seen Kelly. 'However, the Lord may need our help from here, Feldwebel. We must follow our quarry and not lose them in the jungle.'

'I understand, Father General.' He pointed to one of his men, a shorter, muscular man with thick eyebrows and a jagged scar on his right cheek. 'Weber, keep close, but make sure you aren't seen. Leave a trail for us to follow. If your pack's too heavy, share its weight with Petersen and Gerber.'

'It's fine, sir. I can move fast enough to track them.'

'Good.' Fleischer reached into his pack, pulled out a pair of basic two-way radios and handed one to Weber. They switched them on and both crackled into life, unaffected by whatever force had stopped their watches. 'Keep us informed.'

As Torino and the others watched Weber hurry along the high shelf after Kelly's party, not one noticed the lost city in the valley below, slumbering beneath its blanket of green.

Juarez was in their thoughts as they hacked their way through the steaming jungle over the next two and a half days. They missed his alert presence and nimble ability to thread a path through the densest forest. Even the immaculate Hackett was dishevelled. They slept by night, suspended above the forest floor in hammocks, sheltered beneath tarpaulins to keep out the rain. By day, they moved at a slow but determined pace, oblivious of any trail they left.