Authors: Cordy| Michael
Chapter
38.
In idle moments Zeb found herself comparing Nigel Hackett with Osvaldo Mendoza and discovering, to her surprise - and concern - that the quirky Englishman intrigued her. Hackett was infuriating and a right royal pain in the ass, but undeniably interesting. How could he worry about the Discovery's being stolen in the middle of the jungle but row calmly down a narrow river infested with crocodiles?
Zeb wasn't calm, far from it. Not much scared her and she revered Mother Nature in all her diversity, but she hated crocodiles. Even more than snakes. And snakes scared the crap out of her. After the first few miles, though, she stopped counting the crocodiles. There were too many.
And it was getting dark.
She wasn't sure whether she preferred being able to see the beasts in all their hideous glory or just their shapes in the dusk. As night fell, the stars were reflected in the dark water and Zeb would have been lost in the beauty of the place, had it not been for the glassy eyes that broke the surface like twin periscopes, glowing ruby-red in the reflection of her torch. They remained motionless, but her light stirred up a hollow grunt. There were many such pairs of eyes and, as the boats passed them, the warning grunt arose. Zeb could barely see her companions and no one spoke. It was as though she was alone in the velvet dark.
Gradually, Zeb grew aware of light above and behind her. Over the jagged horizon of trees an orange disc appeared. She knew it was the moon but it felt like sunrise on another planet. As the stars dimmed, the water turned silver, and she became acutely aware that she was the alien in the unfamiliar environment.
In the half-light, she heard Juarez's voice, hushed but clear: 'Every crocodile has a different eye colour. Green and orange are common. This is the black caiman. Its eyes are clear but they look red because the light reflects off their blood vessels.'
Silence fell, only to be broken by another grunt. This time when Zeb moved her torch she saw that it had come from Juarez, crouched in the front of the boat. He was answered by a grunt from near the shore. 'I have confused them,' he whispered. 'They don't know if we're intruders or one of them.'
The river fell silent again.
Then Zeb heard a deeper grunt directly behind her. She twisted away, rocking the boat, and aimed her light in its direction, revealing a pair of eyes wider apart than any she had seen, red lights mounted on the end of a thick black log. If the distance between them was proportional to the size of the animal the creature had to be massive. Suddenly, there was a hard bump against the boat. It tipped alarmingly and Zeb lost her balance.
There was another bump, harder than the first.
She was going to fall into the river and called to Juarez for help but he was holding the oars. The water's chill made her gasp and she went under, kicking, panicking, desperate to get back into the boat. She had read that crocodiles didn't bite off limbs as a shark did, but gripped you in their crushing jaws and rolled you until you drowned or were too weak to fight. Then they dragged you to a submerged hollow in the riverbank and left you there with their other prey. Eventually, they returned and ate you. She had read stories of victims regaining consciousness in the reptile's watery lair, surrounded by rotting flesh . . .
Frantically she reached up to the boat, to where Mendoza was holding out his hand. Something touched her leg and she screamed. She kicked harder, adrenalin pumping through her.
Then she heard a deeper, louder grunt. Right behind her. The creature had to be huge. She had never felt such raw terror. Something gripped her shoulder, pulling her away from Mendoza. She screamed again and at that moment she knew she was close to death. She fought like a madwoman, trying to squirm out of the grip.
The grunt sounded again, close to her ear, chilling her, and she felt herself pulled out of the water. She struggled, but the grip was too tight. Then, through her panic, she heard, 'Calm down, Zeb. You're safe.' It was Ross. 'Nigel and I have got you. The big croc's moved off.'
As they laid her in the bottom of the boat, she found herself looking up into Hackett's concerned face. Despite the warm air, she was shivering. 'Gave us a bit of a scare there,' he said, wrapping a blanket round her.
She sat up. 'Gave you a scare?' she said, teeth chattering. 'Fuck! What happened? I could have sworn it got me. I heard it real close.'
Hackett pointed at Ross. 'The last couple of grunts weren't a croc. It was Ross.'
'Ross? But it was so real and so loud.'
'I thought I'd better make it sound bigger than the crocs in the water with you. Scare them off. You okay?'
'I guess.' She took a deep breath. 'Thanks. The water's refreshing but it's not a good night for a swim.'
Juarez navigated them through the infested waters until eventually they reached a clearer stretch of river. When he seemed satisfied that it was free of crocodiles he directed them to the bank where there was an elevated section, reached by a set of natural rock steps. 'We build a fire there and rest for the night.' He looked back at the dark river and its myriad red eyes. 'A big fire.'
Earlier
La Boca del Inferno took Torino's party by surprise, just as it had Ross's. However, when the soldier piloting the boat tried to slow down and throw it into reverse Torino said, 'Go straight ahead. Don't flinch. The Lord will protect us.'
Feldwebel Fleischer shook his head. 'But, Father General, it's dangerous. It'll soon be dark and your safety is our primary responsibility.'
'Have faith. We're on a sacred mission and the Lord is guiding me. No harm can come to us. Head straight for the waterfall.'
Torino could not know what fate awaited them. He had, however, studied the Voynich and the Inquisition Archives, and on the screen in his hand he could see the dot of Bazin's GPS transmitter somewhere beyond the whirlpool and the waterfall. Most importantly, Torino was convinced he was on a righteous mission for God, and it was not yet his time to die.
For a moment, as the boat thrashed in the churning water, he thought the sergeant would overrule him, but the pilot held his nerve and his course.
After the boat had thrust through the whirlpool, Torino breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't surprised, though. Even as the boat travelled down the dark, subterranean river within the cliff he knew God was protecting him. He also knew that Falcon and the conquistadors had survived the ordeal on simple rafts with nothing but faith to sustain them and that, according to the flashing dot on his palmtop screen, Ross Kelly's boat was somewhere ahead.
Soon they saw the Discovery neatly tucked against the left bank. The gleaming modern vessel was incongruous in the virgin-jungle setting and the soldiers raised their weapons.
Feldwebel Fleischer gestured at the computer in Torino's hand. 'This is the boat you've been tracking, Father General. Who are they?'
'The vessel belongs to enemies of the Holy Mother Church, who would do anything to stop my mission.'
'What is your mission, Father General? All we've been told is to escort you into the jungle and bring you back safely.'
'All will become clear, Feldwebel, but for now we must follow these people and ensure they do not thwart the Lord's purpose.'
'But how will we follow them? They're no longer on board and you were tracking the boat.'
Torino studied the blinking dot on his screen, his face grim. 'The Lord will guide me.' His eyes settled on the narrow stream winding its way into the jungle. Dragon-like creatures. 'Check there's no one on board, then disable their boat.'
Fleischer frowned. 'Is that necessary?'
'Are you questioning me?'
'No, Father General.'
'Then do as I say. Fill the boats with the weapons and supplies, then let's make our way down that stream.'
Chapter
39.
'That's incredible. Do it again,' said Hackett, lifting another bottle of beer from the cool river. Ross marvelled at how clean and uncreased Hackett's khaki safari suit was, despite all they had been through. Juarez did another of his long grunting crocodile noises and Ross copied it.
'How do you do it, Ross?' asked Mendoza. 'I can't make the same sound as Juarez and I've been trying for ages now. You did it first time.'
'I have perfect pitch, which means I can identify and reproduce any note I hear. I discovered it when I was in a church choir. It's not very useful, really, just a party trick.'
They had pulled the boats on to the bank and had had supper - tinned beans, rice and fish. They were now sitting round the fire drinking coffee and beer, letting off steam after the excitement of the day. Only Sister Chantal was asleep, curled up a few feet away.
'You used to sing in a church choir?' asked Zeb, astonishment written on her face.
'Only as a kid.'
'I used to go to church,' said Mendoza, popping a painkiller into his mouth. He sounded wistful and Ross remembered him crossing himself when the Discovery was in the Mouth of Hell. 'I still believe in God as my saviour.' His companions gawped - this was the man they had witnessed shoot three dead - but Mendoza ignored them. 'You believe in God, Ross?' he asked.
'I believe in good, not God.'
'How will you find absolution for your sins?'
Ross thought about this. 'By trying to take responsibility for my actions, I guess. I don't believe you can be absolved of your sins, as you put it. You can only try to make amends with good deeds. Overwrite the bad with the good.'
'Only the Church can wipe away your sins,' said Juarez, with an emphatic nod.
Ross laughed. 'You can't just go to church and ask some priest to wipe the slate clean. When you wrong a man you ask him for forgiveness, not God. You prove your remorse by your deeds, not prayers. We are what we do. One good deed can make a lot of difference to the world.'
'A good deed in the eyes of God or man?'
'Man, of course.'
'But how does man know good without the guidance of God?' asked Juarez.
'And how does man know God's guidance without the Church?' said Mendoza.
'Enough!' said Hackett, taking a swig of beer. 'Where were you brought up? Don't you know it's simply not done to discuss religion, politics or sex over the dinner table?' He turned to Mendoza. 'Let me ask you a much more interesting question. I don't mean to offend you, senor, but you were a soldier and we all saw what happened on the river near Iquitos. What's it like to kill a man?'
'What sort of question is that?' said Zeb, shocked.
Hackett raised his hands defensively. 'I qualified as a doctor, made a vow to do no harm, but I also served in the British Army and had military training. I've often wondered what it's like to take a life.' He flashed a crooked smile. 'Christ, during my divorce I fantasized about it. So tell me, senor, what's it feel like?'
For a long moment Ross thought he wasn't going to answer. Then Mendoza said, 'Killing one man is difficult. Killing the second is easier, the third easier still. Soon it's so easy life has no value any more. And when life has no value, nothing else does. Only what you believe. Your faith.' He smiled, almost sweetly, at Hackett. 'Stick to your Hippocratic oath, Dr Hackett. You'll sleep better for it.'
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.
Chapter
40.
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.'