The Bergamese Sect (51 page)

He looked at the others, breathless. ‘They’ve discovered the target’s missing,’ he gulped.

‘
Missing?’ repeated Walsh.

‘
Yeah. He must have made a run for it in the night.’

‘
Why?’

‘
Don’t know. Anyway, they’re heading for the bus station.’ Lewis gasped for another breath. ‘Trying to get the bus for Cachora.’

‘
How much of a head start does he have?’

‘
I’ve no idea. Last I saw him was about nine last night. Just before you arrived. Shit, why didn’t I put the alarm on
his
room?’

Walsh ignored Lewis’ self-depreciation. ‘What time’s the bus leave?’

‘
In about five minutes!’

‘
Fuck,’ Walsh exclaimed. He turned to Linsky. ‘Okay Linsky, you get after them. Just get on that bus, stay with them. If it comes to it, protect the target. And if we don’t show up in time, protect Sebastian from that girl too. We’ll try and find a quicker way there. To Cachora.’

‘
What quicker way?’

‘
I don’t know. Maybe if we can rent a car?’ Walsh’s eyes span around the hotel lobby, then back at Linsky’s wide-eyed expression. ‘Look, Steve,’ he said, ‘just get after them. Don’t lose them. We can’t afford to let that girl get there without us.’

Linsky nodded and pulled his bag onto his shoulder.

Lewis was rummaging in his inner pocket. He pulled out a wad of papers. ‘Maps,’ he said and handed them to Linsky.

‘
Thanks. Okay, I’ll see you in Cachora,’ Linsky said. ‘Or in the mountains.’

There was a worried look on Linsky’s face as he darted out of the hotel. The others watched as his figure disappeared into the gloomy torrent then strode over to the reception desk.

Chapter 29

The water came down in vertical sheets like a silver bead curtain. Drops the size of marbles. The noise was like radio static, but deeper, louder, and as penetrating as the rain itself. A permanent torrent of warm water ran down Matt’s face, blurring his vision, collecting in his mouth. His clothes, the insides of his boots, were drenched like he’d just stepped out of the rolling ocean.

Like a fire-eater, Matt spurted out another mouthful of water. He swept a hand across his brow, dislodging the beads of water that constantly ran into his eyes. Raising a huge machete above his shoulder, he slashed across the network of verdant fronds before him. The stalks and creepers snapped loudly, opening up another few feet of forest floor.

He took another step. Each one was difficult, laboured. The ground was like a swamp, a tight matrix of spongy moss and snaking rootlets. If he stopped for more than a moment, his boots would sink six inches into the wet cushion.

Each waterlogged step was compounded by the steep incline. He was descending into a huge rift in the mountains. Here and there, the ground was level for a few yards but then dropped away again precipitously. His shaky knees were aching with the exhaustion, the constant pounding of his joints.

But the discomfort was secondary to the nervousness in Matt’s chest. The solitude of his relentless battle with the trees had given him time to reconsider. He was now beginning to feel he’d made a terrible mistake. The mistake of going it alone. Not because the jungle worried him. That was surmountable. But because he had no idea what lay ahead; what this mysterious man would share with him.

It could be worthless nonsense. Perhaps that was what he feared. To find his enforced quest had no conclusion; no triumphant revelation. Or did he fear a real and shattering truth was hiding in the wilderness? Was he afraid to find all his preconceptions were wrong; that his notion of his place in the universe was defective? The thought made him shudder.

For a second he wanted Clara with him. Not for emotional support in his hour of enlightenment, but so he could hand her back the responsibility, push her forward to face the revelation herself. As she craved.

Brushing through a screen of palm fronds, Matt found a wall of tall bamboo blocking his path. The dense thicket was wide, lost to view on both sides. He squeezed through the thick stems, shimmying from space to space. Several times, he backtracked, the hollow poles crowding ever tighter around him. As he broke through the other side, the bamboo sprang together with a loud knock, closing like a giant clam.

He moved on, hacking further down into the valley. He could feel the temperature difference down here, the steep walls of the gorge retaining the heat like a ceramic oven. The thin air became stifling, even in the incessant downpour.

And with the heat came the flies. Swarms so thick Matt had to swing his machete and rush, eyes closed, through the buzzing mass. They broke into hovering black patches, only to coalesce again behind him.

After another mile or so, he slashed his way through another barrier of dense bamboo. On a tree ahead, a dark shape was undulating, oscillating like waves of wind in a field of corn. Approaching, he discovered the object was a living clot of bees, draped from an overhanging branch, sheltered from the rain. It throbbed, changing shape convulsively, a menacing hum rising from its core. Large-bodied insects alighted on its teeming surface, others raced off into the canopy. One of the insects buzzed in Matt’s ear. He waved at it, but it continued to hover over him, darting from side to side effortlessly.

Suddenly, the nest droned louder, began to wobble, chunks of it falling away and dispersing into hazy clouds. They seemed to be amassing above his head, darting at him. Matt stepped back, ducked under the foliage and dragged himself up the incline. He stopped, took a few laboured breaths and began skirting around the bees’ lair.

Another hour hacking through the undergrowth and Matt heard a different sound mingling with the pitter-patter. Water, again, but this time a rushing sound. He was nearing the bottom of the valley, approaching the eroded gulley of the Yanama River.

It wasn’t long before the incline lessened and Matt could walk more easily. The dense forest seemed to thin slightly as he found himself on a flat expanse of ground above the river. He could see the other side of the gorge, a featureless wall of green treetops rising abruptly into the low-lying black cloud.

Around him, the trees were majestic. Tall and straight with feathery climbers drooping from their high branches. Parasitic plants infested every tree; ferns and orchids springing from the slippery trunks like feeding anemones, their colours wild and vivid.

The bench above the river was long, cut by a rough trail, but heavily overgrown. Matt walked its length, brushing from his hair the mosquitoes that seemed to be aggregating above the river. A high-pitched squeal hit his ears, like an excited monkey, but the sound was distant, masked by the whoosh of rain.

Some way up the valley, he came across a stone wall. Barely three feet tall, it was encrusted with lichens. Small plants stood among the rocks, their roots slowly breaking the stones apart. On top of the wall grew a thick matt of yellow grass. Further on there were other structures; rectangular, made of heavy rocks held together by crumbling mortar. The site was dilapidated, little more than a collection of foundations.

Eventually, the sad ruins ended. But there, on a cliff overhanging the gorge, an ancient stairway led up the side of the hill. The steps were overgrown and slippery, smashed in places.

Matt climbed up. After fifty yards or so, the steps disappeared and a wide clearing continued up a shallow bank. Nestling at the edge of the forest, at the base of the steep valley side, he saw a shack, dark in the shadow of the trees.

It was less than a shack. More like a shelter. Two triangular spaces formed by stripped logs, their roofs covered with a thick layer of shiny fronds. The walls were bamboo poles lashed together with twine. There was a door in the centre and two square, glassless window holes.

Matt hobbled up the bank and stepped up into the shelter. The vegetation on the roof muffled the sound of the rain. It was dim inside, the only light coming from a paraffin lamp standing on a wooden table. There was a camping stove in the corner, a kettle on the floor and cooking pots hanging from the wall. At the far end, grass and leaves were thrown down forming a coarse bed.

Matt moved further inside, crouching to peer out the small window hole. There was little light filtering through from the soaking forest.

A pile of objects, lying on a sheaf of reeds that served as a pillow, drew his attention. There was a rosary, a crucifix on a long chain and a small silver ring with an ornate symbol cast into it.

A shuffle from behind startled him. He span round.

In the doorway stood a woman. She was elderly, wrinkled and thin. Large folds of flaccid skin stretched between her neck and chin. Her hair was short and pure white, and shone like tinsel even in the dim light of the grey day. A round face and peaceful eyes gave her a compassionate look. She had an imposing stature, standing a full foot above the top of the door.

‘
Welcome Matt, I wasn’t expecting you so soon,’ she said in a soothing voice.

Matt stared at her speechless.

She stepped forward and dropped a large bag onto the floor by her feet. ‘Would you like some coca tea?’ she asked and bent down. Her hand disappeared into the bag and withdrew a handful of small, light-coloured leaves. She looked up at Matt. ‘Um?’ she asked.

Without waiting for an answer, she dropped the leaves into a kettle of water and placed it on the camping stove. She took a blade of dry grass from the table, lit it in the flame of the lamp, and ignited the stove.

‘
Who are you?’ Matt found himself saying. There was a confusion whirling in his head, an indistinct fear.

The woman turned to him. ‘Don’t worry, Matt,’ she said. ‘You‘ve come to the right place. I’ve been waiting for you.’

‘
Why have you brought me here?’ Matt asked.

‘
To hear the truth.’

‘
What truth?’

‘
There’s plenty of time for that, Matt. Be patient, and have some tea.’

Matt shook his head.

‘
No?’ the woman asked. She looked disappointed. ‘It really is the most excellent tonic, Matt. It will do you good after your long journey. Awaken you. It’s good for the altitude sickness, too. I don’t make it too strong.’ She threw a finger toward the door of the shelter. ‘They used to grow coca here, you know? In Inca times.’

Matt was looking for words, but none came. He continued to stare at the woman, nonplussed.

She took a spoon and stirred the leaves in the kettle. Then she fetched two cups from the corner and put them on the table. Looking through the door again, a slight frown crossed her wrinkled face. ‘You are alone?’ she asked.

‘
Yes. I left the others. I grew suspicious.’

‘
That was probably wise. So, it’s just you and I. That’s cosy.’ She returned to the brewing tea.

Matt backed away. The pain in his arm was stabbing at him. He bent and sat down, pulling himself backward to lean on the far wall of the shelter.

The woman was busy over the stove, watching the bright leaves circling slowly. She seemed incredibly calm considering the secrets in her charge. And in no hurry to divulge them. This wasn’t what Matt had expected at all.

‘
What are you doing way out here?’ he asked.

She looked up from the tea and smiled. The smile that grandmothers gave their grandchildren. Knowing, tender but in a way, pitying. ‘How many payphones did you see on your way down from Choquequirao?’ she asked.

Matt shook his head. ‘None.’

‘
These days, you can’t live within civilisation without being a noticeable part of it. Telephones, computers, credit cards, cash machines, cameras on every street corner. You can’t hide from powerful people in that kind of environment, Matt. I made the only choice I could.’

Matt nodded.

The tea boiled and the woman turned the stove off. With a rag, she picked up the steaming kettle and sloshed hot liquid and softened leaves into the two cups.

‘
Are you sure you won’t have some tea?’

Matt could feel a chill coming on, now that he was beginning to dry out. A shiver went through him. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘just a little.’

It didn’t have much flavour, similar to the green tea you got in Chinese restaurants. Slightly bitter, slightly tannic, but refreshing and warm. Matt sipped it eagerly.

The woman sat crossed legged on the wooden floor warming her hands on her cup. She looked over her shoulder at the open doorway. ‘This is a terrible downpour,’ she said. ‘I fear the rain will last for days. It’ll be difficult getting out of the valley when we leave.’ She took a sip of tea.

Matt eyed her with a spark of annoyance. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I thought you had something to tell me?’

The woman looked at him like he was a child demanding a birthday gift. Then she smiled fondly. ‘Yes, I do. But first, I’d like to apologise for bringing you into this. It was the only way I could be sure someone would listen to me, rather than silence me.’

‘
I don’t see why you need me for that. If you’ve something to say, you could say it to anyone.’

‘
That’s not so, Matt. You see, you’re now more than just an innocent bystander. You’ve been initiated.’

‘
I haven’t been initiated.’

‘
Oh, but you have. I don’t know what you went through to get here, Matt, but I’m sure you’ve spent the last two weeks with killers after you. You’ve heard of things you find unbelievable, learnt of intrigues you thought were pure fantasy, and grown suspicious of people you thought were honest. You haven’t come through all this without realising there’s a truth to be told. A damaging truth. Why else would you be here?’

‘
I was curious, that’s all.’

‘
Nonsense. You’re here because you know there’s something worth hearing. And that’s why I sent you on the journey in the first place. To initiate you. Now I think you’re prepared for the truth.’