'You can count me in,' said Zeb.
'Whoa, not so fast,' said Ross. He pointed to the notebook. 'Even if the garden does exist - and it's a big if - some of the clues are pretty cryptic, to say the least.'
'I can interpret them,' said Sister Chantal.
'Really? How come you're so confident?'
'I'm the Keeper. I've followed them in the past.'
'To get to the garden?' Ross frowned in disbelief. 'You've been there?'
'Yes.'
'So why do you need us to help you go back?'
'Because I'm old, the journey is difficult and it was a very long time ago.' She tapped the notebook. 'To find our way we'll need to follow this step by step.'
Ross rubbed his temples in frustration, unable to determine if the old woman was telling the truth or was a delusional fantasist. 'Sister, I want to believe your story. I really want to believe there's a miraculous garden out there that can save my wife. But if you think I'm going to leave Lauren in her current state, just because you say this garden exists and you've been there, you're wrong.'
'But what about your theory?'
'This isn't a science experiment. I can't leave my wife to check out an improbable hypothesis. I need more. I need proof.'
'I showed you the book.'
He shook his head.
She paused. 'I did have something that might have convinced you of the garden's healing power, but not enough. I used the last of it . . .' she levelled her beautiful eyes on Ross '. . . for Lauren.'
Ross's heart jumped. 'What are you saying?' Suddenly he remembered how he had found Sister Chantal kneeling by Lauren's bed - near the feeding tube. Then he remembered the nun's empty leather pouch. He felt sick. 'You gave her something?'
She gazed evenly at him. 'Only what I had left, which wasn't much. It was a futile gesture but I wanted desperately to make her well. I'd have given her more if I'd had it. I'm sure it'll have had some effect, but it won't cure her, I'm afraid.'
'What exactly did you give her?' demanded Zeb.
Ross jumped up and reached for the phone. Not only was the old nun delusional but she had poisoned his wife. 'What have you done? For Christ's sake, what have you done?' The phone rang as his hand touched it. He put it on speaker and glared at Sister Chantal. 'Ross Kelly.'
'Ross, it's Diana.' Lauren's mother sounded breathless. 'I'm calling from the hospital.'
Zeb's face turned pale and something cold uncoiled in Ross's stomach. 'What's wrong? What's happened?'
'Don't worry, Ross, it's good,' she said quickly. 'There's been a small but significant improvement. Lauren's off the ventilator. She's breathing for herself and the baby's getting oxygen. They've warned me not to get too excited because her prognosis hasn't really changed, but the baby's doing well.'
He was flooded with relief and shock. He continued to glare at the nun. 'When did they discover she was doing better, Diana?'
'Less than an hour ago.'
'Do they know how it happened?'
'Not yet. They're running tests - but the doctors said it was very unusual to get such a sudden improvement. Frankly it's a minor miracle, Ross.'
'I'll come over.'
'You don't need to. It's late and, like I said, they're running tests.
I'll stay with her till midnight. Why don't you come in first thing tomorrow morning?'
He glanced at his watch. It was late, and he wouldn't know any more until the test results were through. 'I'll do that, Diana. Thanks for letting me know.'
'See you tomorrow. Good night.'
He hung up, trying to process what had just happened. He didn't know whether to feel angry or grateful for the nun's meddling.
It was Zeb who broke the silence. 'You gave Lauren something from the garden?'
'Yes.'
'What?' demanded Ross.
'It doesn't matter. What matters is that it was all I had left, and it wasn't enough. We need more. A lot more.' She seemed suddenly very tired. 'Ross, I don't care how you explain Father Orlando's garden - religiously, scientifically, spiritually. Just know that it has the power to cure your wife and a lot more besides.' She slumped on to the chair beside him. 'And we haven't much time to find it. The medicine I gave Lauren was what I had saved for myself to help me make the arduous journey. I'm frail, and without me to interpret the directions I fear you'll never find it.' She smiled. 'So, whatever decision you make, Ross, make it soon. Because, with or without you, I'm going.'
Chapter 21.
That night, Ross slept on his decision, dreaming of his fragile family: Lauren and the baby, clinging to life; the baby trying desperately to enter the world, the mother fighting not to leave it.
While he slept, the assassin who had once been la mano sinistradel diavolo stealthily carried out his master's instructions.
First he attached digital taps to Ross's home phone lines.
Later, in the early hours of the morning, he entered the deserted corridors of the Sacred Heart Hospital wearing an orderly's uniform and carrying a black bag. When he was sure he was alone he entered room thirty-six of the spinal-injuries unit. As he approached the bed he checked the name on the chart and opened his bag. For a long moment he stared at the patient's inert form, listening to the rhythmic sound of the instruments that kept her alive. All the time his face remained expressionless, betraying no hint of what he was thinking. Eventually, he reached into the bag and did what the Father General had instructed him to do.
Then he cast a final glance at the bed and left. No one registered his presence, and if the bed's occupant had seen him she was in no position to tell.
Chapter 22.
Ross had hoped to wake having decided on a course of action, but he was as conflicted as he'd been when he'd gone to bed. And when he got to the hospital with his father, Lauren's neurologist didn't help matters.
'She's certainly improved,' said Greenbloom, 'although we don't know why. She can now breathe unaided and the swelling round the brainstem has lessened. The scans also revealed that some fractures on her damaged vertebrae are no longer visible, which again we can't explain. All this is good, but she's still in a deep coma, level one on the Rancho, and level three on the Glasgow coma scale.'
'How about the baby?'
'Its prognosis is marginally better,' the neurologist said cautiously.
'So what you're saying is, there's been a sudden improvement but the outlook hasn't changed?'
'Yes.'
Though Ross welcomed the removal of the ventilator, Greenbloom's analysis made it hard to feel upbeat. As he ate breakfast with his father in the small hospital canteen, he kept thinking about Father Orlando's garden. He waited for his father to finish his eggs and hash browns, then told him about it. He expected no-nonsense Sam Kelly to demand why he was even considering 'all that garbage'. Instead, he cradled his coffee cup in his large, calloused hands and frowned thoughtfully.
'All I know as a farmer is that nature's got a funny way of surprising you. So I'm not going to sit here and say there's no way the garden exists. Son, you're the one who left the farm to go to college. What's your education telling you? Could it exist?'
Ross considered his hypothesis again. 'I guess it's possible, in theory.'
'Could it help Lauren? I read somewhere that the jungles of the world are full of medicines and cures modern science doesn't yet know about.'
Ross thought of Lauren's improvement. 'Again, it's possible.'
'Possible sounds pretty good right now,' said his father. 'A hell of a lot better than what Dr Greenbloom keeps telling us.' He looked hard at Ross. 'Son, you've never been one to sit on your rump and wait for something to happen. What's stopping you now?'
'Leaving Lauren and the baby. If I search for this place I could be away, in the middle of nowhere, for at least a couple of months.'
Fire ignited in his father's usually calm eyes. 'I'll tell you one thing, son. If there was anything I could have done, however long a shot, to save your unborn brother all tho
se years ago, or your mother when the cancer took her, I'd have done it in a heartbeat.' He smiled sadly. 'You're lucky, son. You can do something. I don't know your profession too well, but I understand it involves finding stuff. It's what you do and you're good at it. If there's even the slightest chance this garden exists then you can find it. And if saving Lauren and Junior means leaving them for a few months, then go ahead. I'll be here to mind things. I'm selling the farm, anyway. My heart ain't in it any more and you don't want it. Old Lou Jackman's made me a decent offer and I'm going to retire. So, don't you worry about Lauren and my grandchild. Let Lauren's mother and me watch over them for a while.'
Ross felt a rush of gratitude and hope. Here was something he could do at last. 'You sure, Dad?'
'Hell, son, I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Say goodbye to Lauren, explain why you're going, then do your damnedest to save her. If you do nothing, you might regret it for the rest of your life.'
Filled with new purpose, Ross strode to Lauren's room and reached for his phone. The enthusiasm in Zeb Quinn's voice made him smile. 'Hey, Ross, have you decided yet?'
'Are you still in?' he asked.
'You bet. Are we going or what?'
'Yes,' he said. 'We're going.'
Her tone changed. 'You're okay about leaving Lauren?'
'Yes.' He tried to quash his doubts and match her enthusiasm. 'But only because I'm doing it for her.'
Chapter 23.
Overalls discarded, Marco Bazin sat on his bed in the Best Western Motel, a few yards from the Sacred Heart Hospital, and waited for Ross Kelly to reappear on his screen. The pictures on his laptop and the sound in his earphones came from the wireless surveillance camera and microphone he had concealed last night in the picture frame above Lauren Kelly's bed. Torino believed that whatever plans Ross had, he would open his heart to his comatose wife.
When the Superior General had called yesterday evening Bazin had been waiting in a Manhattan hotel. His instructions had been both cryptic and explicit: a treacherous nun had joined forces with the atheist geologist and together they posed a mortal danger to the Holy Mother Church. They threatened to expose and abuse a sacred place of great power that rightfully belonged to the Church - and only the Church. At first, Ross was simply to be followed, but if he threatened to publicize any details of his quest Bazin was to apprehend the nun and silence him. Permanently.
After he had placed a simple digital listening device on the Kellys' home phone line, Bazin had gone straight to the hospital and concealed the surveillance equipment. In the last two decades the demands of his profession had become increasingly sophisticated. No longer was it sufficient to be expert in handling lethal weapons. Survival now depended on proficiency in a range of relevant technologies.
Bazin sat up straight, suddenly alert.
On screen, Ross entered the room and sat beside his wife. The tender way he held her hand aroused in Bazin a spark of emotion, which he quickly suppressed. He pressed the record button on the laptop and accessed Torino's private email, sending him the encrypted video files in real time. If Ross revealed anything it would be now.
There was a knock at his door.
The sound penetrated his headphones. 'I don't need Housekeeping. My room's fine,' he called.
Knock, knock.
'I said no, thanks.'
Knock, knock.
Frowning, Bazin took off the headphones, reached for the Glock beside his bed and walked to the door. He peered out of the peephole. The person was standing too close, blocking his view. He slipped the latch and opened the door. 'I don't need--'
Click.
Before Bazin could step back into the room, a gun, not unlike his own, had been levelled at his temple.
'Drop the piece. Nice and slow.'
Bazin did as he was told.
'Oh, my, this is too easy. I heard you got the big C, lost a nut or something. Didn't figure la mano sinistra del diavolo had become a total pussy, though. Step back into the room.' The man kicked Bazin's gun through the door then closed it.
It was Vinnie Pesci, the Gambini family's American enforcer. Don Gambini had hired Bazin in the past. Since he had pledged his allegiance to Torino, Bazin had kept a low profile, careful to use a variety of passports and identities, but he had always known the day would arrive when his old life caught up with him. 'What do you want, Vinnie? I've retired. I paid back the money the Gambinis gave me for the last hit.'
'That's not how it goes. No one retires until Don Gambini says so. Anyway, he figures you're full of shit and working for the Trapanis now.'
'I told you, I've retired.'
'Oh, yeah?' Pesci indicated the laptop and headphones on the bed. 'You're working for someone. Here's the thing. The old man wants the left hand of the Devil - in a bag. And what Don Gambini wants, Don Gambini gets.'
Bazin said nothing. In the past Pesci would never have dared come alone.
Pesci reached into his jacket and drew out a surgeon's saw and a folded plastic sheet, which he threw on to the floor. 'I always admired your style so you can see this as homage to la mano sinistradel diavolo. You know the score. Lay out the sheet and I'll do it quick. Just like you used to. Fuck about and I'll cut off your hand while you're still breathing.'
'Don't do this, Vinnie. Don't make me kill you.'
Pesci laughed at that. 'Kill me? What the fuck you talkin' about?'
'I can't let you kill me before I've had absolution.'
Pesci levelled his gun at Bazin's groin. 'I'll give you absolution, pal. Lay out the plastic and kneel like a good Catholic boy. Or I'll make you kneel. You hear what I'm saying?'
In his mind - and nightmares - Bazin had gone through this moment many times, wondering what he could do to save himself if ever la mano sinistra del diavolo came for him. His answer was always the same: not a lot. Unless the killer made a mistake.
Fortunately Pesci had. A big one. He hadn't unfolded the plastic before he'd dropped it on to the floor. Bazin picked it up and threw it out in front of him. It billowed like an opaque sail, momentarily screening him from Pesci. In that instant Bazin leapt low and hard at the other man. Before Pesci could get off a shot Bazin had located his solar plexus with his left hand and his windpipe with the right. The blow to the solar plexus incapacitated him. The one to the windpipe killed him.
Standing over Pesci's body, Bazin felt no elation. Not only was he in more need of absolution than ever now but he knew Gambini would send another Vinnie Pesci to hunt him down, then another, until sooner or later he would be wrapped in black plastic and buried. If he wanted to live long enough for absolution he'd have to find somewhere on Earth where Gambini and his other enemies from his old life couldn't find him.
One of the two phones by his bed began to ring. He wondered who could be calling him. Then he realized it was the phone Torino had given him. Only the priest knew the number.
'Are you watching?' His half-brother sounded breathless with excitement.
Bazin glanced at the laptop. 'I can see Kelly talking to his wife.'
'You haven't been listening?'
'I've been kinda busy.'
'Listen to what they're saying, then go back over the recordings but tell no one what you hear. After that I need you to do something. And if you do this right I promise you that the Holy Father himself will absolve you of your sins.'
Bazin gazed down at Pesci's still twitching corpse. 'What do I have to do?'
'Kelly and the false nun who visited him yesterday are leaving the country. They're taking someone with them - an academic called Quinn. I have matters to arrange in the Vatican, but I want you to follow them and not let them out of your sight.'
'Where are they going?'
'Listen to what Ross is telling his wife. It explains everything. Stay with him and the nun wherever they lead you. They'll be going off the beaten track, into the jungle. Can you handle that?'
Bazin thought of Gambini's people and the countless others who would be hunti
ng for him. He thought of disappearing into the jungle. Then he thought of the Holy Father offering him redemption. He smiled. 'Yes,' he said. 'That works for me.'
PART TWO
Terra Incognita
Chapter 24.
Peru
South America's third largest country lies just south of the equator, on the north-west coast of South America, and is divided into three main areas: the narrow Pacific coastal strip to the west, which includes the capital, Lima; the central mighty Andes mountain range, which runs like a distorted spine down the western side of the continent; and the eastern section, which covers more than half of the country and forms the western part of the fabled Amazon basin.
Overlapping the borders of nine countries and covering a significant proportion of South America, the Amazon basin dwarfs even a relatively large country like Peru. Its legendary river cuts across the entire continent, from the Peruvian Andes in the west to the Atlantic Ocean in the east, a distance of more than four thousand miles. The Amazon, including its tributaries, holds an astonishing fifth of the world's fresh water - more than the next six largest rivers combined - and its flow is so powerful that it dilutes the salt water of the Atlantic more than a hundred miles from the shoreline. Manau, an island in the river's mouth, is as large as Denmark.
The Amazon jungle is no less awe-inspiring. It extends over 1.2 billion acres - of which only a fraction has been explored - and accounts for more than half of all the rainforest in the world. Teeming with life, it hosts a diversity of organisms found nowhere else on Earth: more than two million insect species, a hundred thousand plant, two thousand fish and six hundred mammal - and these are just the ones that are known. New species are discovered every year. The Amazon is also the source of many rare and valuable minerals.
Reading these facts in his guidebook both discouraged and encouraged Ross Kelly as his domestic Aerocondor flight flew across the Andes from Lima's Aeroporto Internacional Jorge Chavez to the Northern Highlands. The sheer scale of the Amazon emphasized how difficult it would be to find what he was seeking, but it also promised that anything could be lost in its massive, uncharted forest, including Falcon's magical garden. Most of all, though, it made him grasp the enormity of his task.
the Source (2008) Page 9
