The Source - Michael Cordy [58]
In his horror he turned to Sister Chantal and couldn't understand why she was still standing. Why she was unharmed. Then he realized that Panama had been shot. The force had thrown him to the deck, where he lay dead, his white hat and head merged into a bloody pulp that pooled, red and sticky, on the polished wood.
A second shot rang out and Pizza Face fell backwards into the river, a large hole in his forehead, surprise on his face. A third shot collapsed the last man, like a marionette with cut strings. He toppled overboard.
In the eerie silence that followed, Ross and the others stared at each other. Then Ross saw a figure on the nearby riverbank, waving a rifle. 'Hola,' the man shouted. 'You okay?'
Ross looked at Hackett, who nodded, while Zeb picked up his glasses, then dabbed at his wound. Sister Chantal smiled serenely at their saviour. 'God certainly moves in mysterious ways,' she said.
'Can I come aboard?' the man asked.
Juarez rushed to the wheelhouse and retrieved a rifle and a black pistol.
'Bit late for those now,' said Hackett.
Juarez put away the rifle but kept the pistol close to hand as he steered the Discovery to the bank. The man boarded, carrying his rifle over his shoulder and a large rucksack. He was tall and athletic with a handsome, world-weary face and sad eyes, his olive skin burnished by the sun. He didn't seem fazed to have dispatched three men. Waving away their thanks, he approached Hackett as if he was an old friend. 'Señor Nigel Hackett.'
When Hackett rose to his feet he resembled a provincial bank manager beside the swashbuckling stranger. 'Have we met?'
The man raised an eyebrow. 'Osvaldo Mendoza. I also have a boat that ferries tourists down the river. We met once in Lagunas.'
'Of course,' said Hackett. Ross almost smiled. It would be impolite and unBritish to snub the man who had just saved your life. Hackett extended his hand and Mendoza shook it. 'I don't know how we can repay you for coming to our assistance.'
'You can give me a lift to Iquitos, my friend. My boat is not as grand – or as memorable – as yours. That's why I'm here. It sank, and I was waiting to flag down the ferry to Iquitos when I saw your difficulty.' He gestured to the body still on board. 'Bandits don't usually operate so far from the drug fields of the Huallaga valley. What did they want?'
Hackett turned to Sister Chantal. 'Why didn't you give them the notebook? They would have killed us if Señor Mendoza hadn't turned up.'
'As I said before, they would have killed us anyway,' she said.
Mendoza grimaced. 'I fear she's right, señor. Those men don't let you live to complain to the police. What notebook did they want? It must be valuable.'
'It contains directions,' said Hackett, glaring at the nun.
'Directions?'
Hackett turned to Ross. 'How the hell did they even know about it? You told me no one else did.'
No one else should have known about the notebook, thought Ross. But one other person knew of Falcon's garden. Torino. The priest could have seen the book when he'd met Sister Chantal at Ross's house, then put two and two together. Ross found it hard to believe that a senior officer of the Church would hire murderous bandits to steal it but there seemed no other explanation. 'Perhaps one other person knows what we're looking for, but he can't find it without the notebook.'
'You mean—' started Sister Chantal. Ross flashed her a look and she stopped. Now was not the time to explain to Hackett and the others why a senior Catholic priest was involved.
'So we've got serious competition?' said Hackett.
'We had serious competition,' said Ross. 'With those men dead,