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 Rio 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 through the green. This vast, open space felt a million miles from home and the claustrophobic confines of Lauren's hospital room. His constant sadness and guilt at leaving her were compounded by the wish that she could see this. But he felt something else too: the stirring of hope. He allowed himself to imagine that Falcon's garden might be somewhere in the viridian expanse – and a cure. From that ancient vantage-point anything seemed possible.
Hackett pointed to a well-worn road that led down to the basin. 'Your priest's next few directions lead us east towards the river. That road's been the only passage down to the Amazon for centuries so I suspect the trail will follow it to Tarapoto, then on to Yurimaguas on the Rio Huallaga, which eventually connects with the Amazon itself. I'm in radio contact with Juarez, our guide, and when we know exactly where on the river your priest's directions lead, I'll call him and get him to pick us up for the next leg of the journey.' He pointed towards the Amazon. 'I suspect the directions will come into their own when we find ourselves in that uncharted sea of green.'
For some moments both men stood in silence, gazing across the vast expanse, lost in their thoughts.
'Can you hear it?' said Hackett, eventually.
Ross listened to the breeze. 'Hear what?'
'The call,' Hackett said, a smile forming on his lips. 'The call to adventure.' As the gleaming silver Land Rover drove away from Tingo, a mud-spattered Toyota Land Cruiser set off behind it.
'Why we follow these gringos? They know where to find gold?'
Marco Bazin put down the binoculars. 'You're following them, Raul, because I'm paying you to. Keep your distance but don't let them out of your sight.' He took off his Panama and scratched his head. In the rear-view mirror he caught sight of the man sitting behind him, oiling his gun. More boy than man, his long, dark face was ravaged by acne. 'You know what to do? All of you?' He had to keep the contempt from his voice.
'Si,' they mumbled, and smirked at each other.
Bazin locked eyes with the man-boy oiling his gun. 'Remember, you only get the rest of the money when the job's done.' He was grateful to be unknown in these parts, but his reputation had had its uses in the past. If these amateurs had known who he was – who he had once been – they would show him more respect.
Bazin checked his expensive new phone for a signal, then cursed his stupidity: though no bigger than a cell phone, it used state-of-the-art satellite technology so it should work anywhere on the planet. He called Torino's identical phone. The Jesuit answered on the third ring.
'They're on the move,' said Bazin.
'Don't let them out of your sight. I'll follow when I've finished in Lima.'
30
Yurimaguas 'Which is your boat, Nigel?' asked Zeb, in a bored drawl. 'Let me guess.' She pointed to a gleaming white vessel that stood out from the other grubby ferries and dilapidated steamboats berthed in the sleepy river port. 'That one.'
'How did you know?' said Hackett.
'Call it a wild guess.'
The journey from Kuelap to Yurimaguas had taken the best part of two days, and the roads had been as rough as any Ross had encountered. Even in the Land Rover the last six-hour stretch from Tarapoto had been an unpaved, gut-wrenching ride. It wasn't just the length of the journey that frayed tempers but being stuck for so long together in a car. Zeb might have had an ordered mathematical mind but she cared nothing for tidiness and liked to stick her feet on the dashboard when she took her turn in the front. She seemed almost to enjoy provoking Hackett, who was too polite to retaliate.
Hackett parked by the boat, and when Ross opened the car door the air was a good five to ten degrees warmer and more humid than it had been in the mountains. He got out and stretched his legs. Looking at the immaculate boat, he understood for the first time what 'shipshape' meant. Brass letters spelt out the name Discovery on the blindingly white hull, and when they boarded every surface was polished brass or varnished teak.
'What a lovely boat,' said Sister Chantal.
Hackett beamed with pride. 'The Discovery's a custom-built seventy-footer, powered by two hundred-and- fifty horsepower Detroit diesels.'
'How many berths?' said Ross.
'Six cabins.'
Ross breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone would have their own space.
A small, wiry man with smiling brown eyes, honeyed skin and thick black hair stepped from the engine room. His white T-shirt and blue jeans were as spotless as the boat.
Hackett introduced him as Juarez. 'The irony is that I left England to come to the jungle and seek out ancient ruins, whereas Juarez comes from the jungle and wants to visit the great cities of Europe and North America. He hates ruins, regards them as dead places. Nevertheless, he helps me with the boat and acts as our guide. He speaks fluent English, Spanish and Quechua and knows the Amazon – river and jungle – as well as anyone. He's also a damn good cook.' Hackett pointed down one of the side aisles. 'Follow me. I'll show you to your cabins.'
As Hackett took them round the boat, no one noticed a tall man in a Panama walk past the Discovery. Twice. The second time he came so close to the edge of the dock that when he bent to tie his laces, he could easily have touched the hull.
Each tiny cabin was as neat and clean as Ross had expected, and had an adjoining shower room. A neat pile of equipment and supplies was laid out on each bed, including a tightly rolled hammock and mosquito net, with cans of full-strength insect repellent. 'Use it liberally,' said Hackett, 'even in your cabin. Before we leave the boat and go into the jungle Juarez will explain how to use the hammock and the mosquito net to stop yourself being eaten alive.'
'This boat looks expensive. How often is it chartered?' Ross asked, when Hackett had shown the others to their rooms.
'Not often enough. I survive by renting it to the oil companies and occasionally the pharmaceutical giants. It seems everyone's looking for treasure in the Amazon, whether it's gold, oil or the next cure for cancer.' He pointed to a chest on the deck. 'That's full of tennis balls and baseball caps with company logos on them. Tennis balls are all the rage with the kids around these parts and the oil companies give them out as freebies. It's good PR, apparently. Alascon Oil's red ones are the current craze.'
Ross groaned inwardly at the thought of Underwood and Kovacs.
'I'll leave you to freshen up,' said Hackett. 'Yurimaguas is one of the gateways to the jungle. If my reading of the next directions is correct we'll follow the Rio Huallaga through Lagunas, then join the Rio Maranon and head east. Eventually we'll join the main river, the Amazonas, which will take us into the heart of the jungle.'
Hackett left and Ross slumped on to his bed. He reached into his wallet for a photograph taken on his
