After he had decided to seek out the garden, he had allowed himself a rush of hope, but now he felt flat and alone. At Xplore he had been able to draw on all the company's resources: surveys, tests and field personnel. Now he was in a strange country with only a frail, possibly insane nun, an intense PhD student and an ancient notebook of cryptic clues to help him.
He glanced to his left, where Zeb was engrossed in a history of Peru. Beside her, Sister Chantal lay back in her seat, mouth open, snoring. She had forsaken her habit and wimple for practical cotton trousers, walking boots and a fleece.
Zeb nudged him. 'You okay?'
'Yeah.'
'Don't worry about Lauren. She's in good hands.' As soon as they'd arrived in Lima, Ross had called his father, and again just before the domestic flight had taken off. Of course, there had been no change in Lauren's condition, but he couldn't stop worrying about whether he had done the right thing in leaving her. His nightmare was that before she died she would wake momentarily, call him, and he wouldn't be there to comfort her and say goodbye. Zeb tapped her book. 'This'll cheer you up. I know where Falcon started his journey.'
'We knew that already - in Cajamarca. That's why we're flying there.'
Zeb flashed him a withering look. 'I mean I know exactly where it started.'
He reached into his crumpled linen jacket and took out his notes. Falcon had written that the quest began in Cajamarca outside a place called La Prision del Rey, the king's prison. 'You know where La Prision del Rey is?'
'Yep.'
It did cheer him. If the first cryptic clue tallied with the real world, independent of any interpretation from Sister Chantal, it lent credibility to the other clues. Particularly as he hadn't yet found any place called La Prision del Rey in his guidebook.
'It goes back to the conquest of Peru by the Spanish, one of the most bizarre events in history. In 1532 Francisco Pizarro crossed the mountains from the coast, with fewer than two hundred men, and established himself in the great Inca plaza in Cajamarca. The Inca emperor, Atahualpa, with an unarmed retinue of thousands entered the plaza in good faith to meet the strange white men.
'Pizarro didn't meet Atahualpa, though. Instead he sent his chaplain, who approached the Inca and informed him that a certain God the Father had sent His Son, part of a Trinity, to Earth, where He was crucified. Before that happened, the chaplain explained, the Son, whose name was Jesus Christ, had conferred His power upon an Apostle, Peter, and Peter had passed that power, successively, to other men, called popes, one of whom had commissioned Charles the Fifth of Spain to conquer and convert the Inca and his people. Atahualpa's only hope of salvation, the chaplain concluded, was to swear allegiance to Jesus Christ and acknowledge himself a subject of Charles the Fifth.
'When he heard this, Atahualpa informed the chaplain that he, the Inca, was the greatest prince on earth and that he would be the subject of no man. This pope, he said, must be mad to talk of giving away countries that didn't belong to him. As for Jesus Christ who had died, the Inca was sorry, but - and here he pointed to the sun - "My God still lives in the heavens and looks down on His children." '
Ross smiled. He liked Atahualpa's style.
Zeb continued: 'The waiting conquistadors were hiding in the massive buildings that surrounded the square and, when the chaplain returned with the Inca's reply, Pizarro, his foot soldiers and cavalry erupted into the plaza. Muskets and cannons firing, they slaughtered between two thousand and ten thousand unarmed people that day and took the emperor prisoner.'
'All in the name of God and the Catholic Church, no doubt,' said Ross.
'No doubt. In captivity, Atahualpa spoke often with the Spanish and soon understood that, despite all talk of popes and Trinities, it was love of gold that brought the white men to his country. To gain his freedom he offered Pizarro enough gold - tears of the sun, as the Inca called it - to fill a room measuring seventeen by twenty-two feet to a height of nine feet. Soon afterwards Atahualpa was executed, but the king's ransom was paid and the chamber where it was measured, El Cuarto del Rescate, was said to be the one in which the Inca king was imprisoned - La Prision del Rey.'
Ross thumbed through his Lonely Planet guidebook and there, on , was the major tourist attraction in Cajamarca, the only Inca building left standing in the town - El Cuarto del Rescate.
Just then, the captain announced that the plane was starting its descent and, out of the window, Ross saw Cajamarca sitting high on the slopes of the eastern Andes, above the clouds and surrounded by forest. Beyond, in the far distance, he glimpsed what looked like the shore of a great green ocean: the Amazon.
As he dreamt of what he might find in its midst, he didn't notice a man staring at him from five rows back.
Chapter 25.
Rome
The Vatican's Sala Clementina was a tall room with a marble floor, the upper walls and high ceiling decorated with a fresco that seemed to stretch to Heaven itself. The Congregation for the Causation of Saints often used it to plead the case for their candidates. Today only three men occupied the large space: the three so-called popes, the most powerful men in Rome.
On the left, resplendent in the scarlet robes of his office, sat Cardinal Prefect Guido Vasari, the Red Pope. Tall and lean with a hooked nose and dark, hangdog eyes, he was head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the oldest and most powerful of the nine congregations in the Curia. Originally called the Inquisition, and tasked with ruthlessly protecting the Holy Mother Church from heresy, its role had evolved to promoting and safeguarding Catholic doctrine throughout the world. Many, however, still referred to the Cardinal Prefect by his original title: the Grand Inquisitor.
On the right, in sober black robes, sat Father General Leonardo Torino, the Black Pope, the Superior General of the Society of Jesus, the order founded by Ignatius Loyola and famed for its intellectual rigour and asceticism. Centuries ago, during the Counter-reformation, when the Inquisition had employed fear and torture to stem the flow of Protestantism, the Society of Jesus had favoured intellect and argument. Jesuits prided themselves on understanding the beliefs, customs and languages of potential converts better than they did themselves. This included the newest religion of all: science.
A stout, white-robed man sat at the head of the table, between Vasari and Torino: the pontiff.
Torino glanced at the other two and felt a surge of sympathy for Orlando Falcon. He imagined his brother Jesuit standing before these old men's predecessors, and his predecessor, trying to tell them what he had discovered. It must have been impossible. The Lord's emissaries on earth should be visionaries, not cautious old men who saw only obstacles. Torino rested his hands on the laptop and box file in front of him, hoping he had enough evidence to convince them to do what was necessary to reverse the Holy Mother Church's declining fortunes.
The Holy Father's watery blue eyes settled on his. 'You requested this meeting, Father General. Why?'
Torino opened his file and placed the pages on Father Orlando's trial and testimony before them. 'Four hundred and fifty years ago, our predecessors condemned a respected Jesuit priest to be burnt at the stake. His crime? He claimed to have discovered a garden of miracles for the Holy Mother Church.' He proceeded to summarize Falcon's trial and testimony.
'I don't understand, Father General,' said the pope, when Torino had finished. 'Since you became head of the Institute of Miracles you've been merciless with every claim. You're constantly telling me that although the Church needs miracles to show God's hand in the world, they must be scientifically proven examples that no one can deny. During your time in office you haven't ratified one miracle. Why are you interested in this priest's ancient claims?'
'Because I don't believe the Holy Mother Church should be forced, like a dog scrabbling for food, to seek out miracles. Instead she should be their inspiration, the wellspring from which they flow.' Torino held up a printout of Lauren Kelly's translation of the Voynich. 'This is a Yale academic's translation of the so-ca
lled Voynich Cipher Manuscript.'
'The Voynich?'
'The document that Father Orlando Falcon wrote while imprisoned by the Inquisition more than four centuries ago. The same Devil's book that the Church, especially the three men who held our positions at the time, denounced as the dangerous ramblings of a possessed man. The translation is almost identical to Falcon's original testimony recorded in the Inquisition Archives. It would appear that the text he wrote all those centuries ago was a coded language that has only now been understood. Why would Father Orlando have bothered to invent a complex language if his story was a lie, a heresy?'
'You walk in dangerous territory, Father General,' counselled the pope.
'Now is not the time to tread carefully, Your Holiness. Now is the time to be bold. If this miraculous Garden of God exists it has massive implications for the Church.'
'But it can't exist,' Cardinal Prefect Vasari said, reaching for Falcon's testimony. 'Father Orlando claimed, essentially, to have discovered the Garden of Eden in a primitive jungle, in the midst of savages. Eden can't have been in the New World among heathens. And his strange creatures and bizarre plants are far removed from any description in the Bible. He tried to rewrite Genesis, for heaven's sake.'
Torino nodded. 'If it exists, though, its power could restore the Holy Mother Church's standing in the world.'
'It can't,' insisted the Cardinal Prefect. 'It goes against doctrine, undermines the scriptures and threatens the Church.'
'All the more reason why we can't allow anyone else to find it,' countered Torino. He turned to the pope. 'Holy Father, many people currently believe that the Voynich records a harmless myth. But if they knew it had been written by the sole survivor of a mission to find Eldorado, a Jesuit priest who was tortured because of what he claimed to have discovered, then it would, at the very least, embarrass the Church. At worst, it might encourage others to find this garden. Its existence might undermine the Bible and our doctrine. It could erode the Church's already declining relevance. Think about the miraculous healing powers Falcon claimed for his garden. Who needs the Church if people no longer fear death or disease?'
He raised a finger. 'But if we found it, we could mould it to fit our doctrine and bring glory to Rome. We could claim its power as our own. The Holy Mother Church would no longer need to seek out miracles as proof of God's hand on earth. She would control them. Rome would again be a dominant force in the world.'
'Why are you so sure this place exists?' the pontiff asked.
'Because Orlando Falcon wrote directions to his garden in a separate notebook, which, unfortunately, is now in the possession of an atheist, Dr Ross Kelly, the husband of the academic who deciphered the Voynich. Dr Kelly is a geologist and has already flown to Peru to search for the garden.'
'What?' The pope and the Cardinal Prefect sat forward.
'Of course, he may find nothing, but what if he does discover something?'
Torino briefed them on all he knew, omitting any reference to Bazin. He had always kept his assassin half-brother secret and now was not the time to reveal their relationship. He explained that Lauren Kelly had translated the Voynich manuscript, except for one key section, which she believed contained a map. She had been injured in a burglary, jeopardizing publication of a complete translation. He had subsequently approached her husband and gained his verbal agreement to see her notes. 'But the nun changed his mind.'
'What nun?'
'A Sister Chantal. She visited Dr Kelly and convinced him that Falcon's garden wasn't a fantasy and might contain a cure for his wife. She gave him Father Orlando's notebook.'
'How did she get hold of it? Who is this Sister Chantal?'
Torino reached into his box file. He took out a letter and a small carved box. 'A few days ago my office received this request from one of our Aids hospices in Uganda. They want the Institute of Miracles to investigate an apparent intervention. Two of their terminal patients, twin boys, have been cured simultaneously and spontaneously. On the same day, one of the nuns disappeared from the hospice. When questioned, the boys claimed that she had made them tea, using something from this box.' He handed it to the pope. 'Look at the carving.'
'I see flowers.'
'They're not ordinary flowers. You'll see flowers like that in only one place: the Voynich Cipher Manuscript.'
Silence.
'According to our research, the sister who disappeared had been with the hospice for twelve years, and two other hospices before that, but her order has no record of her earlier life. None. Her name? Sister Chantal.' The two men remained silent but Torino had their complete attention. 'All we know with certainty is that she's linked to Father Orlando and the Voynich. Whoever this mysterious rebel nun is, Dr Ross Kelly now has the notebook containing the directions, and is already searching for the garden to find a cure for his wife.'
He powered up his laptop, turned the screen towards them and played scenes of Ross Kelly in his comatose wife's hospital room: explaining that the garden revealed in Lauren's translation of the Voynich might hold a cure for her; telling her that they were going to find the garden; kissing her goodbye and asking for her blessing.
'How did you get this?' demanded Vasari.
'I have an ally, a servant of the Church, who keeps me informed.'
The Holy Father frowned. 'You have someone spying on Dr Kelly?'
'I prefer to see it as watching and listening. He wants only to serve the Church, as we all do.'
'Take care you do nothing to shame Rome, Father General,' said the pope.
'I'd never do anything to harm the Holy Mother Church, but if Kelly finds this garden and tells the world of its existence, he could destroy Rome.'
Vasari leant forward. 'You really think the geologist will find a miracle cure for his wife?'
'I fear he'll find a great deal more than that.'
'Like what?'
Torino narrowed his eyes. 'The miracle of creation. The scientific answer to the Book of Genesis.' He turned again to the pope. 'Holy Father, six months ago you announced the Holy Mother Church's revised position on evolution. You rejected Darwin's theory and embraced intelligent design. You enshrined in doctrine the Roman Catholic Church's belief that God, not evolution, is behind the creation and development of life.'
'Yes.'
'In the Inquisition Archives, Father Orlando spoke of something he called the radix, the source. In the garden its brilliance attracted the gold-hunting conquistadors and got them killed. Falcon was vague about what exactly it was, but he claimed it was the power behind the miraculous garden.'
'Your point is?'
'On the video, Kelly mentioned a theory - a hypothesis - to explain scientifically how Father Orlando's miraculous garden could exist,' Torino said. 'Kelly's theory is even bolder than the one Father Orlando dared in his blasphemous testimony: that this Garden of God and its source might be the origin of all life on earth. Forget Darwin and evolution. If Kelly finds this garden, he won't just be able to save his wife, demonstrating that miracles are independent of any church, he might also be able to show where, when and how life began on earth. He may be able to prove scientifically the theory of evolution - make it fact. Our doctrine will be in shreds. Religion relies on mystery, on faith. These revelations will render the Church as we know it, and all of us, redundant.'
The horror on the pope's face was almost comical but Torino didn't laugh. 'So what do you suggest we do?' demanded the pontiff.
'We turn the threat into an opportunity. We find the garden first and control it.'
'How?'
Torino had considered every option: from kidnapping the nun to stealing the book to threatening Ross Kelly. But he couldn't tell the pope any of this. So he lied: 'My scholars have managed to translate most of the final section of the manuscript. It gives directions to the garden and, with your blessing, I intend to seek it myself.'
'But you have duties.'
'None greater than this. I will set aside two months. No more.
I have already arranged for Father Xavier Alonso to fulfil my responsibilities in that time.'
'You intend to race the geologist to the garden?'
'Yes.'
'Let's say you find it,' said Vasari. 'What do we do with it?'
Torino reached into his box file and pulled out three copies of the same document. He handed one to each man and kept the last for himself. 'These are a list of options, depending on what is found.' He smiled as he watched them read the bullet points. Their fear had been replaced with excitement. 'As you can see, the opportunities are limitless. So long as we manage everything carefully.'
The pope's pale eyes locked on to Torino's. 'I demand only one thing, Father General. Regardless of what you find, I as the Holy Father must see and hear nothing that contravenes doctrine. Doctrine must be sacrosanct. I must not be put in a position where I have to deny anything. Papal infallibility cannot be compromised. You understand?'
'Perfectly. I assure you that if the garden exists it will bring only glory to you and the Holy Mother Church.'
The pope nodded slowly. 'Good. How do we control this place? Surely, it will belong to whichever government owns the land.'
Torino smiled. 'The Cardinal Prefect has already supplied an excellent solution to that.'
Vasari raised an eyebrow. 'I have?'
'Yes. Your brilliant plan to bolster our presence in the world by founding a second Vatican state in the southern hemisphere.'
Vasari understood immediately. 'You can claim to be searching for the ideal location to build the Vatican of the New World. Even if Falcon's garden doesn't exist and you find nothing, the Church won't suffer. We've nothing to lose.'
'And everything to gain,' said the pope, slowly. 'If you do find something we can incorporate it into the new Vatican and legally claim it as our own.' Torino remained silent, letting them own the plan. The pope turned to Vasari, who shrugged and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Then the pontiff levelled his unblinking gaze on Torino. 'Take whoever and whatever you need. Do whatever's necessary, but keep us briefed. And be careful, Father General.'
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