The Source - Michael Cordy [78]
He was close now to either realizing his dream of saving Lauren, or confirming his worst fear that this trek into the jungle had been a waste of precious time and lives. Sister Chantal claimed that from here they could reach the garden and be back in a week, and had seemed confident of doing so without a guide – without Juarez. Depending on how quickly they returned to civilization he could be back in the States in two or three weeks with whatever he found in the garden. His main concern now was the enigmatic Sister Chantal, the key to interpreting the final directions.
Mendoza coughed. 'I still can't believe what Juarez did for me.
'He was a brave and selfless man,' said Ross.
'But I'd thought he was a coward.'
'We are what we do,' said Ross, almost to himself. 'His last act defined him.'
Mendoza patted the earth with his hand. 'This man will go to heaven.'
'I won't argue with you on that one.'
After filling in the hole, they dragged a slab from the plaza, placed it over the mound, and Mendoza assembled a small pile of stones to mark the grave. Then they called to the others. Hackett came down, then he and Mendoza said simple prayers, while Zeb watched over Sister Chantal.
Later, they made a fire on the flat top of the ziggurat and prepared food. No one was hungry but they went through the motions, picking at their tinned beans and meat stew.
'How's Sister Chantal?' Ross asked.
'She's stirred a couple of times, but she's still out of it,' Hackett replied. 'Her blood pressure's okay, though. I think she just needs rest.'
Zeb was sitting by the baggage, frantically rooting through Sister Chantal's shredded pack. 'You okay, Zeb?' Ross called to her.
Zeb's eyes were bright and red-rimmed from crying. 'No,' she said quietly. 'I'm not.' She held up a pile of shredded, bloodstained paper, then Father Orlando's notebook, what was left of it. 'The backpack saved Sister Chantal's life but the notebook was in it. The jaguar tore it to pieces.'
Ross felt sick. 'Show me.'
The cruel irony was that the first pages were still legible and the last mismatched section had survived virtually untouched. It was only the middle of the book, the end pages of the first section – the crucial final directions to the garden – that had been obliterated. He took the torn pages from Zeb and knew immediately they couldn't be salvaged. He thought again of the strange plants carved at the base of the ziggurat and the story of the fountain. The metallic taste of disappointment flooded his mouth. The carved images had encouraged him earlier, but now they taunted him. Just when he was beginning to believe in Father Orlando's garden, just when he was getting close, it was to be denied him. 'The last directions are gone.'
'So?' said Hackett. 'We don't need them any more.'
'We do,' said Zeb. 'They were the most critical.'
'But this is it. This lost city is what we were looking for.' Hackett paused. 'Isn't it?'
'No,' said Ross. 'It's not.'
'What are you saying? Finding this place was a bonus? What's going on?'
Ross looked at Sister Chantal in her sleeping-bag. 'I don't know if it was a fluke or not but this isn't where Father Orlando's directions lead,' he said. 'In fact, he made no mention of this place in any of his writings.'
'But this is one of the biggest archaeological discoveries in history,' Hackett expostulated. 'Not just in South America, but the entire world. How can it not be where his directions lead? What could possibly be more important than this?'
'Or more valuable?' demanded Mendoza.
Zeb pulled some photocopied sheets out of her backpack and passed them to Hackett, then summarized the story in the Voynich. 'We're looking for a garden where