The Source - Michael Cordy [54]
'Any land I choose?'
'So long as it's virgin forest and doesn't belong to anybody else.'
'What about native tribes?'
'We'll move them.'
'If I require more than twenty thousand hectares?'
'We just add a supplementary agreement.' The minister smiled. 'As you'll discover, Father General, there's a lot of jungle out there.'
29
Cajamarca, Thursday, 4.30 a.m.
Lauren had always accused Ross of being impatient, but he had never felt as impatient as he did kicking his heels in Cajamarca waiting for Hackett's return. Sister Chantal had retreated into a world of her own, using the opportunity to sleep and gather her strength. Zeb kept trying to reassure him, between reading everything she could find – as Lauren used to do when she was on holiday. But he couldn't relax. After he had purchased items on Hackett's list and explored Cajamarca for the third time he had pored over Falcon's notebook, trying to guess how long it would take to find the garden, if it existed. He was in limbo – neither by his wife's side nor on the trail seeking her cure – and desperate to move. Every day he called his father, every day Sam Kelly reported that there had been no change in Lauren's condition, and every day Ross had considered flying home.
Finally, Thursday morning arrived and Hackett picked them up outside the hotel in his silver Land Rover. It was still dark and the Southern Cross was visible in the sky.
Hackett was attired in pristine khakis, safari jacket, Indiana Jones hat and thick glasses. He greeted them, then stowed their bags on the roof rack. 'Please wipe your feet before getting into the car, then wind up the windows. I'm allergic to dirt. I'll put on the aircon when we're all in.'
Allergic to dirt? Ross exchanged a glance with Zeb, but said nothing as he sat in the front passenger seat while Zeb and Sister Chantal made themselves comfortable in the back. He had to admire Hackett for choosing a vocation for which he was so apparently ill-suited: running tours into the Amazon jungle, probably the largest source of dirt in the world. Ross liked the eccentric Englishman, though. For all his reserve and odd habits, Hackett exuded old-fashioned integrity.
The journey to Kuelap took six hours. The rough road cut across the cloud forest and over a three-thousand-metre-high pass, then dropped steeply to the Río Marañón. Eventually, they stopped at a village called Tingo, south of Chachapoyas.
'We walk from here,' said Hackett. He looked at Sister Chantal. 'It's a pretty steep climb. Do you want to wait in the car?'
Sister Chantal didn't bother to answer, just got out, took Zeb's arm and began to walk. It was warm with a light, humid breeze and Ross could smell the red earth beneath his feet as they climbed. It took two more hours to reach the ruins, a thousand metres above Tingo, but when he saw the lost fortress he forgot his exhaustion and stared. The place was massive. According to Hackett, the fabulous ruined city was the largest pre-Inca construction in Peru. High above the left bank of the Río Utucamba the fort was set on a crumbling ridge. The battlements rose some sixty feet and stretched for nearly half a mile.
'This is Kuelap,' said Hackett, retrieving his inhaler from a pocket and taking a puff, 'the keystone of known Chachapoyan culture. Most Chachapoyan fortresses were built on high ridges like this one. They tower over the cloud forest and are known locally as La Ceja de la Selva, the Eyebrow of the Jungle.' Ross was surprised to see that they were virtually alone. He would have thought a place as spectacular as this would be teeming with tourists. While Zeb and Sister Chantal sat down to regain their breath, Hackett beckoned him to a tower situated at the highest point in the fort. It was twenty-seven feet high with crumbling steps to the top.
Standing atop the ancient fortress, almost ten thousand feet above sea level, he looked east. The jungles of the Amazon stretched out below him as far as he could see and, in the far distance, a ribbon of gleaming silver wound its way