'These aren't my orders.' Vasari was almost apoplectic with fury.
'They come directly from--'
'I can't hear you, Cardinal Prefect, the radio's breaking up.'
Vasari was screaming now. 'You must come back, Father General. That is a direct order from the Holy Father.'
Torino listened to him for a moment longer, then turned off the radio. He rose and called Fleischer. 'Feldwebel, I want there to be total radio silence from now on. No incoming or outgoing calls.'
'But, Father General, the security protocol is to call in our position every two days.'
'In that case, change it. The Holy Father demands total discretion. There are those who want to stop my mission and no one must know where I am.' He handed the radio to Fleischer. 'Tell the Peruvian authorities you'll not be receiving any more calls, and that you'll only call in if there's an emergency. When you've done that I want this radio temporarily disabled.'
'Yes, Father General.'
'Good. Wake me at dawn.'
So, Cardinal Prefect Guido Vasari was sabotaging his mission, he thought. No doubt he was already pouring poison into the Holy Father's ear. That was the trouble with the Roman Catholic Church today: the leaders had no vision. But when he found the Garden of God and presented it to the Holy Father, they would understand. Then they would recognize him as the saviour of the Holy Mother Church.
Chapter 37.
The next morning
They heard it first: a rumble like distant thunder. Despite Falcon's warnings and Hackett's vigilance, the Mouth of Hell still took them by surprise. As the Discovery turned into a narrower, winding stretch of river the rough waters appeared calmer. Juarez leant over the prow and lowered the sounding pole, expecting the water to get shallower, a sign that rocks, rapids and a waterfall were imminent. But the water wasn't shallower. It was deeper.
Much deeper.
And the current was stronger. So strong that he had to grip the sounding pole to keep it in his grasp and trust in the harness he was wearing to avoid falling in. The current hauled the boat along and as Hackett struggled to slow it, the rumble became a roar. They turned a tight bend but even when they straightened and looked beyond the giant trees that lined the river they couldn't see anything. There was too much spray.
Then the waterfall was before them, and Ross heard Hackett mutter, 'Bollocks.'
It wasn't the drop into Hell they had expected but above them. The stretch of river ended abruptly. The Discovery was heading straight for a towering cliff from which water cascaded into the river. But that wasn't the only reason why Hackett was swearing. Between the boat and the waterfall there was a whirlpool as fierce as any Ross had ever seen. This was the Mouth of Hell and Ross understood now why Falcon had so christened it. At that moment, it appeared that anything caught in its vortex would be sucked into the underworld.
'What do we do?' Juarez shouted.
'Pull into the bank,' yelled Mendoza.
'Too many rocks,' replied Hackett, 'and I've got no control of the boat, anyway.'
'So what do we do? Jump off?' Zeb pointed to the two rowboats at the back. 'We could take those.'
Hackett laughed. 'If the Discovery's engines can't escape it--'
'Go faster,' ordered a voice behind them.
Sister Chantal was standing by the wheelhouse, frail and dishevelled. Her eyes were red-rimmed but clear.
'I've got it on full throttle. I can't go any faster.'
'Not backwards,' she said. 'Forwards. Go full speed towards it.'
'Sister, are you mad?' said Mendoza.
'If you want to live, do as I say. And do it now.'
'No way.'
'Do it,' said Ross. 'The direction tells us to rush into the Mouth of Hell.'
Hackett shook his head in disbelief. 'Have you seen that cliff? It's solid rock. If we manage to get past the whirlpool and avoid getting crushed by the waterfall we'll smash into the rock.'
'Go forward,' insisted Sister Chantal, 'as fast as you can. Head for El Velo de la Luz.'
Ross pointed at the cliff as the sunlight caught the waterfall, causing it to sparkle like a curtain of blindingly brilliant diamonds. 'El Velo de la Luz, the Veil of Light. Aim for the waterfall. Full speed ahead.' Hackett hesitated. 'Unless you've got a better idea?'
Hackett changed gear and steered the boat straight for the Mouth of Hell and the waterfall. 'Everyone, get under cover and hold on to something firm. This isn't going to be fun.'
The engines roared and the boat shot forward as though surfing a wave. Ross stood with the others in the galley as she sped towards the whirlpool's boiling waters. For one sickening moment, it appeared that the Mouth of Hell would swallow them whole but as the Discovery entered the whirlpool centrifugal forces pushed her to the outer lip, then threw her into the waterfall, where she was deluged. The jolt threw Ross to the floor, smashing his left hand. The pain was excruciating as he scrabbled to his feet. From their wide-eyed expressions he could tell that the others were as terrified as he was. To his surprise, Mendoza's eyes were closed and he was crossing himself. Even Sister Chantal looked frightened. Then everything darkened and he braced himself for the impact.
It never came.
Instead the sound fell away, became muffled, as if someone had closed a door. He moved to the deck. They were no longer under the waterfall but in a tunnel inside the cliff. The river evidently didn't end in the whirlpool and the cliff face, but continued into the rock. He guessed that this area of the jungle was riddled with subterranean rivers, the lower ones fed by the whirlpool.
As if on Charon's ferry to the underworld, they travelled down the dark waterway. No one spoke. Ross's main fear was that the river would descend deeper and spill them into an abyss.
They emerged, eventually, into a small pool. When Ross looked back he saw they had come through a ridge of rock that curved round on both sides as far as he could see, resembling the edge of a large crater. The contours were disguised beneath trees and thick foliage but from this angle its shape was clear. Ahead, a narrow stream meandered into the jungle.
'Let me see your hand,' Hackett said. Ross winced as the doctor felt it. 'Looks like you've fractured your wrist. It's nastier than it looks and could take a while to heal.' He went to his cabin and returned with a black medical bag. 'Ideally, you'd have an X-ray to find out if you need surgery and then we'd put it in plaster, but that's not an option here. If I put it in a tight bandage and you limit the use of the hand, it should be okay for now.'
'Senor Hackett,' said a voice from the wheelhouse.
'What is it, Juarez?'
'The radio's not working. I can't find anything wrong with it but it's dead. Probably got damaged back there.'
Hackett was bandaging Ross's hand and wrist. 'A buggered radio means we're stuck out here with no means of communicating with the outside world. We're on our own. Be grateful you haven't broken a leg.'
Zeb was studying Falcon's directions and a copy of the Voynich translation. 'We've got to carry on down that stream, but even I can see it's too narrow for the Discovery.'
Ross pointed to her two dinghies, each about eight feet long. 'How about those?'
Hackett nodded. 'Three to a boat. And whatever we need to take with us.' He turned to Juarez and Mendoza. 'Why don't you two get them down and start transferring supplies and equipment? Take the guns and machetes, too.'
'I'll help,' said Zeb.
Sister Chantal was sitting in the galley, eyes closed. Ross rested his good hand on her shoulder. 'You okay?'
She opened her eyes, focused on him and smiled. 'Yes,' she said. 'I'm fine.' He studied her anxiously. Falcon's directions were even more cryptic from this point.
For the next hour and a half they transferred all they needed from the Discovery to the two dinghies. Ross, Sister Chantal and Hackett would travel in one boat, Mendoza, Zeb and Juarez in the second. Finally, as they were boarding, Hackett returned to the Discovery. He had a key in his hand.
'What ar
e you doing?' asked Mendoza. 'You've already battened down the hatches and locked the doors.'
Hackett inserted the key in a black box by the wheelhouse and turned it. 'Arming the alarm.'
Zeb laughed and Ross couldn't restrain a smile. Hackett had been so stoic in handling the attack by the bandits and negotiating the Mouth of Hell that Ross had almost forgotten his obsessive habits. Genuine crises seemed not to faze the Englishman, but minor concerns elicited disproportionate anxiety.
Zeb got into her boat. 'Nigel, I can understand you closing her up to keep out animals, but an alarm? Who the fuck's going to steal her out here?'
'You can't be too careful,' said Hackett. He sounded hurt.
'But who the hell's going to hear the alarm out here?' said Zeb.
'It's a deterrent, and it's my boat,' he said.
Zeb returned to her notes and the Voynich translation. 'Our guiding priest warns us that this waterway is filled with dragon-like creatures.'
'Crocodiles,' said Sister Chantal.
'Makes sense,' said Hackett calmly.
'Shit,' said Zeb.
'Juarez, you know about Amazon crocodiles,' said Hackett. 'They shouldn't trouble us in the boats, should they?'
'No,' said Juarez, with reassuring confidence, as the two boats set out in convoy. Then, after a pause: 'But we must be careful if there are many of them.'
Ross shifted uncomfortably on the small seat. The wooden planks that formed the boat's hull seemed thin and insubstantial. 'How many crocodiles might there be in an infested river?'
'Two or three,' said Juarez.
Ross relaxed a little.
'Hundred,' clarified Hackett.
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 su
stain 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.
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