Michael Cordy - The Source

Ross lost count of the exotic creatures they encountered: golden-pelted monkeys, brilliantly coloured snakes, spiders the size of a man's hand. He was sure some must have been unclassified species. When he thought of the strange plants and animals he had seen since entering the Amazon, how commonplace the bizarre had become, Falcon's garden, with its exotic flora and fauna, seemed less and less inconceivable.

On the third day another ridge blocked their path. It was concave and topped with tooth-white rocks. Immediately Ross knew it must be the one other landmark he remembered from the notebook, La Sonrisa del Dios, the Smile of God.

It occurred to him then that the garden was protected by a number of concentric circles of high rock, like ripples when a stone is dropped into a pond. They had passed through the first via the fierce waterfall of El Velo de la Luz and the second by La Barba Verde. As Ross gazed at La Sonrisa del Dios, adrenalin surged through him. Was this the final barrier protecting Father Orlando's mythical garden?

As if reading his mind, Hackett asked, 'Are we almost there?'

'Yes,' Sister Chantal said. 'The cave system that leads to the garden cuts through the ridge beneath those white rocks.'

Ross checked his GPS again, hoping to determine his exact location, but two words filled the screen: Signal Error.

The sun was setting and, though Ross and Sister Chantal wanted to press on, the others decided to rest and tackle the caves in the morning. Ross feared his racing mind would keep him awake, but when he collapsed on to his hammock he fell instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep. Only Sister Chantal did not sleep that night. Clutching her crucifix she lay awake in the dark, listening to the sounds of the forest, waiting for dawn to break. Though she was consumed by fatigue, and her body ached, she couldn't relax. Not yet. She burnt with the need to reach the end of her long journey. She yearned to finish her ordeal, fulfil her promise and reap her elusive reward.

The next morning, Ross, Zeb, Hackett and Mendoza followed Sister Chantal to the cliff beneath the white rocks of La Sonrisa del Dios. She led them to a vertical fissure crowned with a natural arch and, one by one, they squeezed through the opening until they found themselves in La Catedral, the cathedral-like cave described in the Voynich. Shafts of sunlight illuminated the vast space and Ross saw dozens of small openings hundreds of feet above their heads, which shone like stars among the stalactites on the soaring vault of the roof. The shafts of sunlight picked out glittering, gilded veins in the rock walls.

'Gold,' said Mendoza, with greedy eyes.

Ross studied a vein. 'It looks like gold but I'm afraid it's pyrites, fool's gold.'

'Whatever it is, this is the band of gold that Father Orlando and the conquistadors followed to the garden,' said Sister Chantal. 'We must follow it, too.'

They had entered the vast cave on what amounted to a mezzanine level. Its ceiling, with the star-like apertures, rose above, and its floor was over an abrupt edge to their right, many feet below. A Boeing 747 could have parked in it with ease. Hell, a fleet of them could land and take off in it, Ross thought. The air was surprisingly hot, and tainted with a foul smell, which worsened as they went deeper. Ammonia made his eyes water and Hackett, sucking at his inhaler, was scrabbling in his medical bag for a surgical mask.

Deeper into the cave, the ground sloped down and the passage became narrower until they were walking in single file along a ledge. Now Ross could see the source of the overpowering stench. Over the abyss to his right there was a conical mountain of bat droppings. At least forty feet across and easily as tall, it rose from the floor below to its peak, a few feet from where they were standing. A rustling, clicking sound came from the mound and its dark surface was constantly moving. Every inch was beaded with writhing cockroaches, feeding on the waste. Zeb covered her face. The sight was almost worse than the smell, and Ross put his hand over his mouth to stop himself retching. Above the surgical mask Hackett's eyes showed his disgust. For a man who hated anything remotely dirty or sucio this was a nightmare.

In the darker corners of the ceiling, Ross spotted thousands of bats hanging from the rock. He dreaded the possibility of their waking suddenly and overwhelming them as they fled the cave in their thousands. He pointed upwards to warn the others, who instinctively pushed themselves closer to the wall, putting as much distance as they could between them and the edge.

The danger, however, came from below.

Hackett saw the sandy-coloured snake first, wriggling along the ledge, trying to evade them, but Zeb almost stepped on it. It reared and struck her thick walking boot. As it prepared to strike again Hackett kicked it away, inadvertently towards Mendoza, who jumped out of its path and lost his footing. Trying to regain his balance, he fell on then rolled off the ledge. He scrabbled frantically for a handhold on the sharp rock but gained only a momentary grip before he dropped into the seething mound of filth. He sank fast. Cockroaches covered his boots and lower leg, then swarmed up his body.

By the time Ross was on his knees and holding out his good hand, Mendoza was up to his neck in bat faeces. As his head sank below the cockroaches, he stared up at Ross, lips sealed, eyes wide with terror. Ross hung further over the ledge but couldn't reach his flailing right hand. Then an arm circled his waist and a rope tightened over his shirt.

'You're okay,' said Hackett. 'Zeb and I've got you.'

Eyes watering, nostrils stinging, Ross edged over till his face was inches from the filth and grabbed Mendoza's hand just as it disappeared. Mendoza's other hand reached for him and the sudden weight almost yanked his face into the mire. 'Pull me up!' he shouted.

His arm jerked so hard that Ross had to use his broken wrist to avoid dislocating his shoulder. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he felt the rope tighten round his waist and drag him up. Gradually, Mendoza emerged, and when his head cleared the surface he breathed out and gasped.

As they dragged him on to the ledge, Sister Chantal sprayed him with insect repellent. Lying there, he writhed like a madman, knocking Hackett's glasses and medical bag into the filth. His panic only abated after Hackett patted down his clothes, scattering the remaining cockroaches. As Mendoza recovered his composure and changed his clothes, Ross watched Hackett's medical bag and spectacles sinking beneath the seething cockroaches. He also saw the snake, writhing in its death throes. After a few seconds the mound had consumed it.

Zeb patted Hackett's shoulder. He was rubbing his hands as if to erase any trace of the cockroaches he had brushed off Mendoza. 'Thanks for kicking the snake away from me.' She gestured to his usually clean, pressed trousers and grinned. 'You should regard this as aversion therapy.'

Hackett smiled thinly. 'I've lost my glasses. I'm almost blind without them.'

'I can't believe a man like you doesn't have a spare set,' said Zeb.

'I do,' Hackett said. He pointed at the mound. 'It was in my medical bag.'

Mendoza stood up and helped Ross to his feet. 'That's the second time someone's saved my life. How's your wrist?'

Like my hand's coming off, he thought. 'It's fine,' he said.

They continued along the pyrites seams, descending until they reached another vast chamber, not as wide or as long as before but taller, illuminated by a single, distant opening above. A Manhattan skyscraper could have stood in that cavern and not protruded from the hole.

'Look,' said Hackett.

Ross's heart skipped a beat. A few yards from where they were standing, half concealed by stones, corroded but still recognizable, lay a metal helmet of the same peaked design used by the Spanish conquistadors, and a pewter goblet.