The Trespass(111)

The DCI broke into his thoughts. “Can you feel it?” Moran said.

“Say what?” Farrell’s voice came from behind.

“A heaviness in the air? Yes, if that’s what you mean,” Dracup said. He noticed that he had slowed down, his legs somehow reluctant to take him any further. His breathing was laboured, yet they were on a flat trajectory. It was becoming more difficult to see the way ahead; the strange luminescence of the waterfall and its environs had faded to a thin, faint twilight.

Dracup paused. “Here.” He bent and examined the ground. In the thickening dust were the clear imprints of a child’s feet. Dracup straightened and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Natasha!” The sound was muted, as if an invisible fog had descended, trapping his voice and returning it void.

Moran pointed. “Do you see what I see?”

Sara took Dracup’s arm. For the first time, Dracup hesitated. About a hundred metres ahead of them, two giant gates rose up from the cavern floor towards the distant roof. Dracup tilted his head but the apex was out of sight, lost in the enveloping darkness.

Farrell let out a low whistle. “That sure ain’t part of the Korumak setup, huh?”

Dracup took a step forward. “No. No, I don’t think it is. Sara?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never been here. I’ve heard rumours, but –”

“What sort of rumours?” Moran was beside her, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“Beyond the gate of God,” Dracup muttered. “The body was laid to rest outside the gate.” He turned to Moran. “Potzner’s expert was partly correct – but the reference wasn’t to Babylon.” He felt a creeping sense of awe. There was no doubting the evidence before them. He was speaking very quietly now, almost to himself. “The reference was to Eden.”

They approached the towering structure. Dracup stretched out a hand and placed it on one of the upright supports. It felt cool to the touch. His finger came away marked with a residue of carbon.

“Fire?” Moran was examining the metalwork.

“Sure,” Farrell said slowly. He was looking up, soaking it all in. “This gate was guarded by fire.”

All heads turned to the American. Sara was nodding, tight-lipped.

“When they were expelled from the garden, God placed an angel with a flaming sword to guard the gates of Eden.” Farrell shrugged. “It’s all there in the book of Genesis.”

“But they’re open now,” Dracup muttered. “And look.” He pointed to the continuing line of footprints. “She’s in there somewhere.” He began to follow the prints along the length of the gate until he came to the point of entry where the two great elevations separated. He beckoned. “Over here.”

“I’m sorry.” Sara backed away. “I can’t. It’s forbidden.”

“Then stay put,” Dracup told her. “There’s no need for you to follow.” He was conscious of a new sensation; a fragrance emanating from beyond the gate, a sweet, almost sickly smell. Its enticement was powerful.

“Can’t you feel it?” Sara was trembling. “You mustn’t go in.”

“I’ll stay with you, ma’am,” Farrell offered. To Dracup he said, “Go right ahead, Prof. I’ll watch out for her.” He smiled awkwardly.

Dracup felt a momentary pang of disquiet. There was something in Farrell’s demeanour –

Then Moran spoke. “There’s no time for this. We go in fast and get out fast.”

Dracup ran a hand absently through his hair. “Right then,” he said, with more conviction than he felt. “We’ll meet you back here as soon as.” He retraced the footprints to the opening between the gates. His hand was on the cold material of the giant upright, Moran’s feet crunching through the dead soil to join him.

And together they stepped into Eden.





Sara watched the receding figures. There was nothing more she could do here. Someone else needed her now. “Farrell. I have to find my brother. Will you help me?”

She looked at the American and realised with a shock exactly what it was that she had seen in his eyes. Confirming her thoughts, Farrell reached out and placed his hand gently on her cheek. “You don’t have to ask. You know I will.”





Chapter 40





The blighted subterranean landscape enveloped Dracup and Moran like a shroud. What little conversation had taken place between the two men had quickly been relegated to wordless glances and grunts of effort. The deepening layers of ash – and other remains Dracup didn’t care to examine too thoroughly – impaired their progress. He grimaced each time the pressure of his weight produced a dull crack underfoot; bone or bough, it evoked the same feeling of horror and loathing. A dead place. And then there was the cloying, sickly smell inhibiting his breathing with every faltering step. It reminded Dracup of childhood summer days, when the summer sun had over-ripened what little fruit remained hanging from the trees or lay, wasp-ridden and wasted, on the water-starved grass of his parents’ orchard.