The desolation shocked Ross, but he consoled himself that he had at least stopped Torino escaping with the fragment. If he hadn't, the Superior General would have returned with more firepower, destroyed the hydra and taken control of the Source, abusing its power to glorify his church. He looked down at the rocks sealing the forbidden caves and saw a tiny trickle of phosphorescent water leak out of the caves into what was left of the contaminated stream. He thought of how a forest regenerates itself after fire and reassured himself that, so long as the Source was safe, the garden would return. Life would find a way.
So long as the Source was safe.
Looking across the charred expanse, he thought of how Torino had tried to possess this place, and an idea came to him of how to protect it from future interlopers – whether the Church, oil companies or civilization itself.
Something crackled in the backpack and he heard Zeb's muffled voice. 'Ross, are you there?'
He retrieved the radio and put it to his lips. 'Zeb, I'm in the garden. Where are you? Is Nigel okay?'
'We're in the passage between the garden and the sulphur caves. It's a tad warm but it's safe,' said Zeb. 'What about Marco and the Superior General?'
'Both dead.'
'The Source?'
'It's still there. So are the hydra and most of the nymphs. They're angry but okay.'
He looked across the expanse of the black lake to the far end of the garden as Zeb and Hackett emerged from the sulphur caves. He waved, then moved across the thick blanket of ash to join them.
When he reached them they embraced him.
'Everything's gone,' Hackett kept saying. 'I can't believe it. Everything out here's gone.' His horror encouraged Ross. He was confident that eco-warrior Zeb would support his plan to protect this place, but he needed Hackett's full commitment, too. Though clearly affected by the garden and its destruction, the Englishman had joined their quest seeking glory and gold, and had found them.
'What would you be prepared to do to protect this place and stop this happening again, Nigel?' Ross said, watching him carefully.
The Englishman frowned. 'What do you have in mind?'
After they had listened to Ross's plan, Zeb nodded and squeezed Hackett's hand. 'Come on, Nigel. What do you say?'
For a long time he stared down at her hand in his. Then he looked up at Ross. 'Okay.'
Ross narrowed his eyes. 'You do realize what this means, Nigel? It'll protect both this place and the lost city, but – and it's a big but – you'll never be able to tell anyone about your mother metropolis. You'll never have your glory.'
Hackett absorbed the implications. 'If you can live with keeping your geological discovery secret, then I can keep quiet about my great archaeological find.' He smiled. 'We didn't discover them anyway. Father Orlando found this place and Sister Chantal the lost city. We're merely looking after them. Keeping them safe.'
'What about the gold?'
'It won't be easy,' said Hackett, 'but I've got contacts.'
'We need to get back to civilization and get started then,' said Zeb. She pointed to the sulphur caves. 'We salvaged our backpacks and supplies before the garden went up.'
Ross was glad they had something, even if it was only a few supplies for the journey home. He was leaving with less than he had brought with him. As he replaced Sister Chantal's crucifix round his neck he remembered their euphoria when they had first arrived, and the moment when Sister Chantal had placed the crystal in his hand and told him it would cure Lauren. He had been so full of hope then, but everything had changed. All he cared about now was getting back to his wife and saying goodbye before it was too late.
'Let's get out of here,' he said, leading Hackett and Zeb towards the sulphur caves. 'Let's go home.'
82
JFK Airport, New York, a month later
Sam Kelly checked the arrivals board and saw that the United Airlines flight from Lima had landed. Although he was looking forward to seeing his son he felt apprehensive. When Ross had called from Lima to say he was coming home, the emptiness in his voice had broken his heart. When he had asked Ross if he had found anything in the jungle, his son's noncommittal answer had told him everything. It had been a wild-goose chase. The garden was a myth. There were no miracles.
Ross hadn't probed him about Lauren's condition, saying only, 'I assume there's been no improvement.'
Sam had purposely kept his response vague, volunteering little information on the phone, deciding to tell his son about the latest development face to face. However, he felt nervous now, waiting at the barrier, watching the passengers arrive through Customs. When he saw his son in the distance, lean, tanned and tired, the prospect of telling him the news weighed heavily on his heart.
Ross didn't notice his father at first because as he passed a newsstand he found himself staring into the face of Superior General Leonardo Torino. According to the Vatican, he had been missing for some weeks after embarking on a fact-finding mission into the jungles of South America. The Peruvian authorities were still working closely with Rome to trace his whereabouts, but hopes were now fading that the Superior General and his escort would ever be found. The pope was already mourning the loss of a fine priest and the Society of Jesus was considering a successor.
As Ross closed the newspaper, a smaller article caught his eye and almost made him smile. According to Newsweek, Scarlett Oil had discovered large reserves of what they termed 'ancient oil' in Uzbekistan. Larger oil companies – including Alascon, which had recently terminated a partnership with Scarlett that would have given them shared rights – were now queuing up with large cheques to license Scarlett's patented technology for finding and economically extracting it.
Ross saw his father and waved. Sam was smiling, but as Ross got closer he saw strain on his father's face. Something had changed. They hugged and Ross felt tension in his father's shoulders. 'Good to see you, son. Good to have you back safe.'
'It's good to be back, Dad. How're Lauren and the baby?'
His father reached for his luggage. 'Come, let me drive you home. We'll talk in the car.'
'I want to go straight to the hospital, Dad.'
His father paused. 'You're exhausted. Why don't you go home first? Get some rest.'
'I want to see her now, Dad. I need to see her. Something's happened, hasn't it?'
His father appeared to brace himself, confirming Ross's worst fears. 'There's been a development, Ross. There's a difficult decision to make.'
83
Though still in the Sacred Heart Hospital, Lauren had been moved from the spinal-injuries unit to an isolated high-dependency room at the far end of the maternity wing. She had it to herself, except for the battery of monitors and equipment that kept her alive. She was lying in the same position as she had been when Ross had left her. The one discernible difference was the now prominent bump in her belly.
Since Lauren was no longer regarded primarily as a neurological case, Dr Greenbloom had handed over her care to an obstetrician, Dr Anna Gunderson. This confirmed to Ross that Lauren was now officially a lost cause. She wasn't even Gunderson's priority patient. The baby was. Lauren was little more than an incubator.
One small mercy, thought Ross, as he sat in her room with his father and Dr Gunderson, was that Lauren's mother was visiting her sister in New England for two days. He wasn't ready for her questions about where he had been.
'As your father's told you, Lauren's condition is deteriorating fast.' The doctor spoke softly as if she didn't want Lauren to hear. 'We're now in a critical phase. Lauren is lost to us but we're entering the period where the baby may be viable outside the womb. We could deliver it now, but the chances of its surviving undamaged are slim. Every extra day the baby stays in the womb the greater its chances.'
The doctor cleared her throat. 'We've administered steroids to develop its lungs, and medication to stop your wife going into premature labour, but I don't know how many more days we can hold on. We monitor Lauren's condition constant
ly and any further deterioration will mean we have to get the baby out. It's on a knife edge. We want to keep her in for as long as we can but only so long as Lauren can support her.'
'Her?'
'It's a girl.' She reached into a manila file on the sideboard beside her and handed Ross a black-and-white scan. 'This is your daughter.'
The image struck Ross with surprising force. He had always been more concerned about losing Lauren than the abstract concept of their baby. Even the earlier scan he had seen, at sixteen weeks, hadn't altered that view. This grainy picture was different, though. The baby was suddenly real.
A little girl.
His daughter.
He walked over to the bed and stroked Lauren's belly. He felt movement, which scared him. He had something to lose again. And something to gain. Raw hope was so much crueller than numb despair.
He turned back to the doctor. 'Every day my daughter stays in the womb, her chances increase?'
'Yes.'
'How much longer before she's safe?'
The doctor frowned. 'At least another three or four weeks.'
'How likely is it she'll get that?'
A pause. 'Extremely unlikely.'
'Given Lauren's current condition, how many more days do you think my daughter can stay in the womb?'
'Like I said, every day increases the odds on survival.'
'How many days?'
'It's hard to judge, Ross.'
'What's your best estimate?'
Another pause. 'Two, three. A week maximum.'
'So you want my permission to intervene and deliver the baby as soon as you think it's necessary?'
Gunderson nodded.
'Even though the chance of the baby's surviving undamaged is minimal?'
'Yes.'
Ross took a deep breath. 'Thank you for being so honest.'
Gunderson brushed a blonde hair from her face. 'Have you any more questions?'
'No, thanks. I've been away, and all I want now is some time alone with my wife. I'd like to stay with her tonight.'
84
Sitting in an uncomfortable chair, looking at Lauren and the scan, Ross obsessed about the opportunities he had had to save them. He remembered when he had held Lauren's cure. He recalled the Source bringing him back from the dead when he could have escaped with an abundance of healing crystals. But he had stayed to help the others and stop Torino controlling the Source because he had thought it was what Lauren would want him to do.
Gradually, as Ross listened to the lulling rhythm of the apparatus, his exhausted body overruled his racing mind. He slumped in the chair, exposing the heavy crucifix, and fell into a fitful sleep.
Hours later, he woke with a start, clutching the cross and sweating. In his dreams he'd relived his near-death epiphany and his vow to Lauren. Back then, in his heightened state, he had known Lauren was making him vow to protect the Source and sacrifice her. And in the surreal context of the garden it had seemed the painful but right thing to do. Even at the end, surveying the scorched Eden, ashamed of what man had done, he'd focused on a plan to protect the Source. In many ways he had done more to protect it and its creatures than he had to protect his own family.
At that time, and in that place, it had felt right. Now, in the sober gloom of a sterile hospital room, inches from his comatose wife, his vow to Lauren felt very different. Especially when he considered his daughter, growing in Lauren's belly. What difference would it have made if he'd taken some of the crystals for Lauren? How much damage would he have done to the Source or its ecosystem? He touched the crucifix and could almost hear Sister Chantal's voice: 'A vow is black and white. There's never a plausible excuse or justifiable reason to break it. You either keep a vow or break it. There's no middle ground. A vow is for ever.'
But what about your vow, Sister Chantal?
Sister Chantal had taken him to the garden for the express purpose of saving his wife. The Source was meant to save Lauren so she could become its protector, the Keeper, but instead Sister Chantal had placed that burden on his shoulders. He had become the Keeper. He studied the crude, ugly crucifix she had passed on to him, which Father Orlando had given her four and a half centuries ago, and rage built within him.
He considered all the pain it symbolized. Not just Christ's suffering but all the evil done in the name of religion. He thought of what Torino had done in the name of his church: harming Lauren, destroying the garden, abusing the Source. He thought of how Torino had used Bazin, offering redemption, but merely making him kill for a different master. Ross didn't see the cross bringing salvation to anyone – only suffering and damnation.
In his anger and despair he ripped it from his neck and threw it, with all his strength, across the room. The instant it hit the wall, narrowly missing the clock, he felt foolish and contrite.
The instruments by the bed began to beep.
Shit.
But the cross hadn't hit anything important. Had it?
Within seconds a nurse was rushing into the room.
Panicked but unable to help, Ross went to where the crucifix had fallen. The impact had dented it badly. He picked it up and, as he turned it in his hand, he noticed two things that dried his mouth: the welted seam at the back of the crucifix had buckled, revealing a hollow interior; and the second hand on the wall clock had stopped. Ross recalled Hackett dropping his watch into the pewter goblet, and how the shielding properties of its lead and tin had helped restart the mechanism. Then he remembered the reverence with which the nymphs had treated the cross. Had they sensed something?
With trembling fingers, Ross pulled back the malleable metal seam to reveal a crystalline sliver in the hollow. No larger than a toothpick, it glowed and pulsed with a life of its own. His heart raced. Father Orlando must have concealed it there when he had discovered the Source. He must have learnt somehow that certain metals could contain its magnetic and radioactive properties. The sliver of crystal would also explain how Father Orlando had healed his burnt feet after his first session of torture all those centuries ago, only forgoing its benefits when he realized that the Inquisition didn't regard his cure as proof of the existence of the garden, but as proof of possession by the Devil.
When Father Orlando had given the cross to Sister Chantal and told her to seek salvation within it in times of crisis, she hadn't understood he'd meant it literally. She had remained ignorant of the cross's secret for four and a half centuries. She can't have known about it, Ross thought, or she would have used it on Lauren when she first visited her in hospital.
Unless . . .
The thought sliced through his excitement like an icy draught. Sister Chantal had told him that the crystals in the tunnel only worked if they were of a certain size. This sliver was undoubtedly from the Source, but it was very small. Was it large enough to cure Lauren?
Ross re-formed the crucifix, sealing the seam. The instruments immediately stopped beeping, and the clock resumed ticking.
'That's strange,' said the nurse behind him. He turned and she smiled apologetically. 'Sorry about that. I'm not sure what happened but everything's fine and your wife's in no danger. I'll alert the technical team.' When she'd left the room, he clutched the crucifix to his breast and shifted his focus to Lauren's feeding tube.
The Source Page 35