Michael Cordy - The Source

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Why the hell am I still alive?

He felt hands under him and realized he was still moving. He opened an eye. The light was even more dazzling than before. Above him, the crystalline ceiling of the tunnel sparkled with increased intensity. He turned his head and saw no sign of the dark chamber or the infested holes and passageways. Relief coursed through him. The nymphs had taken him further up the tunnel, beyond the rock worms.

He glanced at his feet and his relief turned to excitement. The tunnel was ending. He was rounding a corner and passing through a wide portal into a chamber of such brilliance that it made the tunnel appear gloomy by comparison. Had he any breath left he would have gasped. The whole place seemed to pulse as if its phosphorescent walls and ceiling were alive; he could see small glowing creatures in the lattice of crystal that encrusted the walls. It was warmer here too. He heard a rushing sound, looked up and saw water falling from the high ceiling through an opening concealed behind crystalline, chandelier-bright stalactites. It filled a small pool in the middle of the chamber, which fed the stream that ran down the tunnel into the garden, but before it reached the pool it hit an object so dazzling that the spray ricocheting off its surface fizzed and sparked like electricity. But it was the object itself, and what appeared to be growing from it, that commanded Ross's attention.

Even as he coughed up blood and felt his chest contract for the last time, tears stung his eyes. In all his years studying the natural wonders of the world he had never seen anything so beautiful. He felt a burst of gratitude. If he had to die, if he had to leave Lauren and never know their child, then at least he had seen this. As the darkness claimed him and his heart stopped beating, he smiled at the irony of dying now, here – in the presence of what had given birth to all life on this once barren planet. The Sacred Heart Hospital, Bridgeport, Connecticut As Ross Kelly lay dying, Lauren lay comatose in her hospital bed in Connecticut, watched over by her mother. The unborn child inside her womb now weighed more than one and a half pounds. Although it looked normal on the scans, many of its vital organs, particularly its lungs, were still underdeveloped.

It would be difficult for a baby so premature to survive undamaged outside the womb but, amazingly, with the help of ventilators, monitors and medication, it could be delivered in a few weeks and live. It would need to spend time in hospital but the truth was that, although its current chances of survival were slim, they were now significantly better than those of either its mother or its father.

PART FOUR

The Source

68

By the next morning the rain had stopped and the sky was as clear and blue as it can be in the rainforest. Sitting with Hackett and Zeb, Sister Chantal couldn't help but contrast the frantic buzz of activity coming from Torino's men with their own quiet despair. Last night's escape attempt had been disastrous in its futility. In their hurry they hadn't seen the trip-wire in the rain and the alarm had sounded before they could reach the passage to the sulphur caves. The soldiers had rounded them up in minutes.

When Torino and Bazin had told them Ross was dead she had seen her own shock and disbelief reflected in Zeb's and Hackett's eyes. Juarez's death had been terrible but no one had purposely killed him. Ross, however, had been shot. Not only had Bazin murdered him, but Torino – the Superior General of the Society of Jesus – had sanctioned it. It appeared there was nothing he would not do in the name of protecting his precious Church.

Hackett looked exhausted. All his dreams had been dashed. He would never return to his lost city and reveal its treasures to the world. Zeb seemed equally subdued. She had come on a grand adventure to save her friend and discover the mythical place described in the Voynich. But things hadn't turned out as she'd hoped. As for Sister Chantal's long-cherished dream of fulfilling her vow, it took all her self-control not to bow her head and weep. She glanced at the mound of stones where Father Orlando was buried. Was this how she would end her long vigil, fruitlessly, without passing on her burden?

'I hope Lauren never wakes up,' said Zeb. Her unkempt red hair no longer made her look feisty and individual, just young and vulnerable. 'She'd hate to think Ross died trying to save her. Nigel, I bet you wish you were back in your lost city and had never set foot in this "miraculous garden".' She spat the last two words.

He managed a rueful grin. 'Wouldn't have missed it for the world. My only regret is that I came to protect you and made a bit of a hash of it.'

She reached across with her bound hands to pat his arm. 'You didn't do so bad. You saved me from the snake when we passed that mound of bat shit.'

'I suppose.' He shrugged and gazed out across the garden to where two soldiers were cleaning their guns and refuelling the flame-throwers. Torino, Bazin and Fleischer stood in a huddle by the tents. 'The question is, what's going to happen to us now?'

Sister Chantal sighed. 'Whatever the Superior General has planned,' she said. 'We'll find out soon enough.' Torino paced outside the tents. 'I want everything in place before we go up again. Are the devices ready?'

Feldwebel Fleischer nodded. 'Gerber has placed all the thermite and napalm to achieve the maximum effect you asked for.'

Bazin frowned. 'You're not really going to use them, are you, Father General?'

His half-brother was beginning to annoy Torino. He hoped Bazin wouldn't become a problem and interfere with his plans. 'Relax, Marco, it's just a contingency.' He rested a hand on Fleischer's shoulder. 'Feldwebel Fleischer understands. It's a scorched-earth policy to ensure no one can use this unusual garden and its creatures to harm the Church. Prevent its falling into enemy hands, so to speak.'

Bazin nodded, apparently satisfied.

Torino turned back to the sergeant. 'How do I activate them?'

Fleischer handed him a matt-black box, no bigger than a radio. On one featureless face was a green light diode and a flip switch, which covered a red button. 'Gerber has fitted the devices with wireless detonators. Flick the switch to arm the device and reveal the detonator button. You can press it as soon as the green light comes on.'

'How about getting up the tunnel?'

'We're going to round up two of the nymphs now, Father General.'

'If they don't co-operate, shoot them and get two more. They'll soon learn. And when we go up this time I don't just want to get past the worms. I want to destroy as many of them as possible.'

'They'll be easier to kill when they're still,' said Fleischer. 'Shotguns worked best last time. And we'll load the Heckler amp; Kochs with armour-piercing rounds.'

'Good,' said Torino. 'Come and tell me once you've got everything ready, Feldwebel.'

When Fleischer left to talk to his men, Torino pulled Bazin closer and lowered his voice. 'The new Vatican will be built around whatever's up that tunnel, and its miracles used for the good of the Church. To do the most good, however, we must keep it secret. No one must know about the source of these miracles, except the Holy Mother Church. This is holy work, Marco, and you are privileged to be part of it.'

Bazin indicated the three prisoners. 'What about them? How can we be sure they won't talk when we leave?'

Torino narrowed his eyes. 'No one will leave.'

'Is it necessary to kill them?'

It amused Torino that his half-brother, a remorseless assassin when he had killed for money, should worry now about killing for a righteous cause. 'No one will leave,' he said again.

'The soldiers?'

'They have a purpose for now. But once their job is done, only you and I will leave here. You understand? Only you and I can be trusted to protect the purity of this place. If you do this, Marco, if you fulfil this sacred task, your sins will be wiped out and the Holy Father himself will bless you for your work in claiming this shrine for the Holy Mother Church.' He paused. 'You still need redemption, don't you, Marco?'

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