The Quest: A Novel Part 43

Mercado did not reply, and Purcell did not ask him again.

Purcell found Shoan on the map, and looked at the terrain below, then turned farther east. He picked out the single-lane north-south road that they'd used when they were looking for the war and found the spa. He noticed on the map that Shoan was only about thirty kilometers east of the road, located on high ground that showed on the map as agricultural, surrounded by dense vegetation. If Gann was correct about the village supplying the black monastery with candles and sandals, then Shoan should be a day or two's walk to the meeting place. The monastery, too, could be a day or two's walk to this meeting place. Therefore, Shoan could be a four-day walk to the monastery. But in what direction?

He looked again at the terrain map. They had narrowed it down a bit, but the area was still thousands of square kilometers, and most of it, according to the maps, was covered with jungle and forest.

Vivian asked, "What are you looking at?"

"I'm looking for a black dot in a sea of green ink."

"It's down there, Frank. And we will find it."

"We could walk for a year and not find it. We could pa.s.s within a hundred yards of it and miss it."

"I'll have the photographs developed and enlarged before noon tomorrow."

"Good. And if we don't see anything... then we need to start at a place we can easily find. Shoan." He looked out the windshield. "In fact, there it is."

He made a shallow left bank and began to descend.

As they got closer, they could see white farmhouses with corrugated metal roofs sitting in fields of crops. There were also what looked like fruit orchards, and pastures where goats roamed and donkeys grazed. There was also a horse paddock built around a pond. It looked peaceful, Purcell thought, an island of tranquility in a sea of chaos.

The village itself was nestled between two hills, and they could see a cl.u.s.ter of houses around a square. There were a few larger buildings, one of which Purcell thought could be the synagogue. Another large building at the edge of the village was built around a courtyard in which was a round pool and palm trees.

Mercado was looking through his binoculars and said, "Amazing."

Purcell asked, "Do you see any people?"

"Yes... and I see... a vehicle... looks like a cross-country vehicle... maybe a Jeep or Land Rover."

"Could it be military?"

"I really can't say, Frank. Get closer."

He glanced at his watch, then his airspeed. The phantom headwinds he'd reported on the northbound flight were real now, and they needed to get back to the flight plan and head directly toward Addis. "We're heading back."

He looked at his chart and compa.s.s and took a direct heading toward Addis Ababa with the throttle fully opened. He said, "If there's a vehicle in the village, then there is a pa.s.sable road into the village. Probably from the one-lane road we took."

Mercado replied, "I don't remember seeing any road coming off that road."

Purcell said, "There wouldn't be a road sign saying, 'Shoan, population a few hundred Jews.' " He speculated, "The road might be purposely hidden."

Mercado agreed. "They don't want visitors."

"Well, they are about to get three." He said, "From what I see below, and from what we've experienced ourselves, most of this terrain is impa.s.sable, even for an all-terrain vehicle. What I suggest is that we have a driver in Gondar take us as far as the spa, and from there we'll walk to Shoan. Should be a few hours."

No one replied.

"I suggest we use Shoan as our base of operation and explore out from there."

Mercado said, "I'm not sure the Falashas would welcome our intrusion, old man. Nor would they be keen on us looking for the black monastery."

"Gann was telling us something. And I think what he was saying was, 'Go to Shoan.' "

Mercado informed him, "The English are not that subtle, Frank. If he wanted us to go to Shoan, he would have said, 'Go to Shoan.' " He further informed Purcell, "That's the way we speak."

"I think he was clear."

"What is clear to me is that we should avoid all human contact as we're beating about the bush. Nothing good can come of us trying to get help from friendly natives."

"I hear you, Henry. But as we both know, you can usually trust the outcasts of any society."

"The Falasha Jews are not outcasts-they are people who just want to be left in peace as they have been for three thousand years."

"Those days are over."

"Apparently, but if Sir Edmund is correct about the Falashas and the monks, and if we engage the Falashas, we may find ourselves as permanent residents of the black monastery."

"There are worse places to spend the rest of your life, Henry."

Vivian had stayed silent, but now said, "I think you are both right to some extent."

"Meaning," Purcell replied, "that we are both wrong to some extent."

She pointed out, "We could clear this up if Colonel Gann shows up."

No one responded to that.

They continued south, toward Addis.

Vivian said, "I think we are missing something."

"The carafe?"

"There was something that Father Armano said... He gave us a clue, without knowing it."

Purcell, too, had had the same thought, and he'd tried to drag it out of his memory, but couldn't.

Vivian said, "It's something we should have understood."

Mercado reminded them, "He didn't want us looking for the black monastery or the Holy Grail, so he wasn't giving us an obvious clue to where the monastery was located. But Vivian is correct and I've felt that as well. He told us something, and we need to understand what it was."

No one responded to that and they fell into a thoughtful silence. The engine droned, and the Navion bounced and yawed in the highland updrafts. Purcell scanned his instruments. This aircraft burned or leaked oil. The engine probably had a couple thousand hours on it, and the maintenance was probably performed by bicycle mechanics.

He glanced up at the Saint Christopher medal, which may have been the only thing that worked right in Signore Bocaccio's aircraft.

He tried to figure out if he'd taken leave of his senses, or if this search for the black monastery and the so-called Holy Grail was within the normal range of mental health. A lot of this, he admitted, had to do with Vivian. Cherchez la femme. His libido had gotten him into trouble before, but never to this extent.

And then there was Henry. He not only liked Henry, but he respected the old warhorse. Henry Mercado was a legend, and Frank Purcell was happy that circ.u.mstances-or fate-had brought them together.

And, he realized, the sum was more than the parts. He wouldn't be here risking his life for something he didn't believe in with any other two people. Also, they all had the same taste in members of the opposite s.e.x. That menage, however, was more of a problem than a strength.

Vivian was sleeping, and so was Henry, curled up on the remaining two coffee bean bags.

Within three hours of leaving Gondar, he spotted the hills around Addis Ababa, then saw the airstrip. The southern African sky was a pastel blue, and streaks of pink sat on the distant horizon.

Vivian was awake now, and she glanced in the rear to see Mercado still asleep. She said to Purcell, "I had a dream..."

He didn't respond.

"You and I were in Rome, and I was the happiest I've ever been."

"Did we have the Grail with us?"

"We had each other."

"That's good enough."

He throttled back and began his descent.

Chapter 40.

Vivian came out of the Reuters news office carrying three thick manila envelopes in her canvas tote, which contained a total of ninety-two eight-by-ten photographs.

Purcell and Mercado met her outside and they walked toward Ristorante Vesuvio, which claimed to be the best Italian restaurant in Africa, and probably the only one named after an Italian volcano.

To add to the surreal and almost comic quality of Addis Ababa, the street was lined with Swiss Alpine structures, which seemed to fit the mountainous terrain, but which Mercado thought were grotesque parodies of the real thing. He explained, "The Emperor Menelik II, who founded Addis, commissioned a Swiss architect to design the city, and I think the Swiss chap had a bit of fun with the emperor."

"You get what you pay for," Purcell said.

They went into Vesuvio and took a table in the back. Mercado said, "This place has been here since the Italian Army conquered the city."

Purcell observed, "The decor has not changed."

"They took down the portrait of Mussolini. It used to be right above your head."

"Where was the portrait of the emperor?"

"Also above your head."

"What's above my head now?"

"Nothing. The proprietor is waiting to see who survives the Derg purges."

"The Italians are very practical."

Vivian gave an envelope to Purcell and one to Mercado, and they slid out the enlarged photographs. They all sat silently, flipping through the matte-finish color prints.

A few of the photos showed part of the wing, and some were almost straight-down shots, showing only a green carpet of jungle without wing or horizon, and these were not easy to orient, but they did penetrate into the jungle. All in all, Vivian had done a good job, and Purcell said, "You could work for the Italian cartography office."

"And you could work for the Italian Air Force."

Purcell looked closely at a few photos, studying the sizes, shapes, tones, and shadows of the terrain features. He said, "We'll look at these with a magnifier and good light in one of our rooms."

Mercado looked up from his photos and said, "We did not see anything that could be a man-made structure when we were in the air, and I don't think we will see anything more in these photographs than the Italian cartographers did forty years ago." He pointed out, "The monastery is hidden. By overhanging trees."

Purcell reminded him, "Father Armano said that sunlight came through the opaque substance used in the roof of the church. If sunlight came through, then the roof can be seen from the air."

Mercado nodded reluctantly, but then said, "That was forty years ago. Those trees have grown."

"Or died."

Vivian was looking closely at the photos in her hands. "Father Armano also mentioned green gardens, and gardens do not grow well under a triple-canopy jungle. So what I think is that the monastery is hidden by palms-palm fronds move in the breeze and block the sun, but they also let in some sunlight."

Purcell observed, "We're back to palms."

"Makes sense."

"All right. But I don't remember Father Armano saying anything about palms."

Vivian reminded him, "He did say that on the doors of the church were the symbols of the early Christians-fish, lambs, palms."

"That's not actually the same as palm trees overhead."

"I know that, Frank, but..." She studied a photo in her hand.

Purcell thought, then said, "All right... in Southeast Asia, from the air, or in aerial photographs, palm fronds were a good camouflage. They create a sort of illusion because of their shape, movement, and the shadows they cast. They break up the image on the ground and fool the eye. Photographs, though, capture and freeze the image, and if you're a good aerial photo a.n.a.lyst, you might be able to separate the reality from the optical illusion."

Vivian looked at him. "Did you make that up?"

"Some of it." He said. "Okay, let's concentrate on cl.u.s.ters of palms. Also, there is something called glint."

Vivian asked, "What is glint?"

"If you buy me lunch, I'll tell you."

"I'll buy you two lunches."

The waiter came by, an authentic Italian who, like Signore Bocaccio, hadn't bought his ticket to Italy yet. Most of what his customers wanted on the menu was no longer available, but pasta was still plentiful, he a.s.sured them, though the only sauce today was olive oil. There was also a small and diminishing selection of wine, and Mercado chose a Chianti that had tripled in price. He said to his luncheon companions, "I miss Rome."

Purcell asked, "What makes you say that?"