The Quest: A Novel

by Nelson DeMille

  They sat on the red tile floor and Purcell broke out the maps. He told Gann, “We’ve flown over this area west of the road, on our way to and from Gondar, but as you know, we were not doing an aerial recon of this area. From what I remember, however, this is thick jungle, not much different from the area east of the road.” He added, “This map seems to confirm that.”

  Gann glanced at the map. “Yes, this whole area south of Tana is carpeted with dense growth.”

  Mercado asked him, “Do you remember any of that terrain from when you were here in ’41?”

  “I’m afraid not. We pushed up from the road and avoided the jungle.” He explained, “The Italian Army, too, avoided the jungle and kept mostly to the roads and the towns. When we took Gondar from them, they retreated into the hills and mountains to the north, not to the jungle.” He asked Mercado, “Did you experience the pleasure of jungle warfare when you were here?”

  Mercado replied, “I was an army war correspondent.” He confessed, “I fought mostly in the bars and brothels.”

  Vivian laughed, Gann smiled, and Purcell was afraid that Henry and Edmund were on the verge of swapping Gondar 1941 war stories, trying to discover if they knew the same bartenders and prostitutes, so he changed the subject and said, “What I do recall from our flyovers was that there was some high terrain to the west of here—what looked like rocky ridgelines coming through the treetops.”

  Gann nodded. “Two of the three obsidian quarries I’ve identified from speaking to the people in Shoan are west of here.” He informed them, “The villagers still visit the quarries for small pieces of obsidian to use for carvings or house ornamentation.”

  Vivian asked, “Could you find the quarries?”

  “I have a general idea where they are.”

  Mercado asked, “And you think the black monastery could be in proximity to these quarries?”

  Gann replied, “Perhaps.” He pointed out, “We don’t have much else to go on.”

  Purcell looked at Gann and asked, “Is it possible that Miriam said something to you, which if you thought about it…?”

  Gann considered the unfinished question, then replied, “The villagers who went out to meet the monks would always return with sacks of carved obsidian, which they would take to Gondar for sale.” He explained, “Crosses, saints, chalices… occasionally a Star of David, and now and then a carving of Saint George Cathedral in Addis.”

  Purcell informed him, “Vivian almost bought one of those in Rome.”

  Gann smiled and said to her, “You should have bought the one with the map etched on the bottom.”

  “I wish I’d known.”

  Mercado said, “So what you’re saying is that you think the monks carved these objects and gave them to the villagers in exchange for provisions.”

  “It would seem so.” He asked rhetorically, “What else do monks have to do all day?”

  Pray and drink, Purcell thought. He said to everyone, “Well, it seems that this quest has taken on some of the aspects of Arthur’s knights running around without a map or a clue looking for the Grail Castle.”

  Gann replied, “They actually found it, you know.”

  Purcell pointed out, “There are no jungles in England.”

  Vivian glanced at Purcell and said, “If we are meant to find it, we will find it. If we are not, we will not.”

  “Right.” Purcell asked, “If the monks’ sandals and candles have been cut off from Shoan, how long do you think these monks are going to last in the black monastery?”

  “Good question,” Gann replied. “I believe the monks are fairly self-sufficient in regards to food, though the villagers of Shoan would always bring something that the monks didn’t have. Wine, of course, but also grain for bread.” He surmised, “I don’t think there would be a lot of grain grown in the monastery or surrounding rain forest. So they will soon be needing their daily bread.”

  Purcell suggested, “I’d think a single loaf would do, and one fish.”

  Gann smiled.

  Mercado asked Gann, “Where do you think these monks come from? I assume they don’t reproduce there.”

  Gann replied, “No, they don’t. All gentlemen, as far as I know.” He told them, “It’s my understanding that the monks are chosen from monasteries all over Ethiopia. They understand that if they go to the black monastery, they will never leave there.” He reminded them, “Like the Atang who guards the Ark of the Covenant in Axum.” He concluded, “It’s a job for life.”

  Purcell said, “I have two observations about Ethiopia. One is that this place has been caught in a time warp, and the other is that with the emperor gone, they are free-falling into the twentieth century, and not ready for the landing.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He asked Gann, “What has drawn you to this place? I mean, aside from your princess.”

  Gann smiled, then replied, “It gets into your blood.”

  Purcell looked at Mercado, who said, “It is the most blessed and most cursed land I have ever been in.” He added, “It has biblical magnificence, complete with an apocalyptic sense of doom.” He concluded, “I hate the place. But I would come back.”

  “Send me a postcard.” Purcell returned to the earlier subject and said, “I think time is running out for the monks of the black monastery. They, unfortunately, can’t multiply the loaves and fishes, and history in the form of General Getachu is breathing down their burnooses. I would not be surprised if they are already gone, but if they’re not, they will be soon.”

  Everyone agreed with that, and Mercado said, “I would be content with just finding the black monastery.”

  Vivian said, “I would not.”

  They looked at the map in the fading light as they ate some bread and dates, and Gann asked, “Do you know how long the priest was marched from the black monastery to his fortress prison by the soldiers of Prince Theodore?”

  Mercado replied, “As I mentioned, the priest did not comment on it, so I’m assuming it was a day or two’s march.”

  “All right. We now know that the travel time from here to the fortress is at most four hours. Therefore, let’s say the monastery is no more than a day’s march west of here. In open country, or on a good trail, either of which would be known by the soldiers, that would be… let’s say a ten-hour march at a brisk pace of four K an hour, will give us forty K to the monastery.”

  Vivian reminded them, “The monks brought Father Armano to the soldiers. The soldiers were not at the monastery.”

  “Quite right. And we don’t know where the soldiers were in relation to the monastery. But let’s use fifty K total.” He drew a half circle on the map, with the center of the radius starting at the spa and ending at the road. “There we are.” He asked, “What is that formula to find the area of a circle?”

  There was an embarrassed silence, then Mercado said, “If that were a rectangle and not a half circle, it would be five thousand square kilometers… so if we nip off the curved part of the semicircle, it would be about… let’s say, four thousand square kilometers… give or take.”

  “All right.” Gann stared at the map. “That’s a good amount of territory to be walking.”

  Purcell suggested, “It’s not really the square kilometers that are important. It’s the trails and the few clues we have, including maybe the quarries, that will determine where we look.”

  “Quite right,” Gann agreed. “And we can’t be sure that the priest was marched for only one day. It could have been two.”

  Purcell asked Gann, “How long were the villagers actually gone when they left Shoan to go to the meeting place?”

  Gann stayed silent, then said, “I have heard it was two days. A day there, and a day to return.” He added, “No part of the walk would be made in the dark, so let’s say it was a ten-hour walk, an overnight rest, and ten hours back to Shoan.”

  Purcell produced the adjoining map that showed Shoan, and they tried to extrapolate from these two known locations—the village an
d the spa—walking times and distances west of the road, to see what intersected or overlapped.

  Purcell was concerned that they were once again making false assumptions, misinterpreting clues, and being too clever, but this time, based on his conclusion that Father Armano was heading for the black monastery when they found him at the spa, he felt a bit more confident that they were narrowing it down.

  Gann asked an interesting question. “Did the priest comment in any way about the spa? Did he say anything such as, ‘What is this?’ ”

  Everyone thought about that, and Mercado said, “Now that you mention it, he did not, which in retrospect seems a bit odd.”

  Vivian said, “He did say something… that Henry may have been asleep for.” She thought a moment, then said, “He asked, ‘Dov’è la strada?’ Where is the road?”

  No one responded, and Vivian continued, “I didn’t think anything of it. He seemed to be delirious.”

  Purcell said, “Well, if nothing else, that confirms he was looking for the road he remembered. The question is, which way was he going to take it? North? South? Or was he just going to cross it and continue west to the monastery?”

  Gann said, “We don’t know, but we do know that he had come from the monastery to the fortress on a trail that ended at or crossed the road, and that is what we’d like to find tomorrow.” He added, “I would put my bet on this trail being either close to here, or farther south, toward Shoan. And I base that on the traveling time of the villagers.”

  Again, everyone seemed to agree and they all looked at the maps, and Gann penciled in a few more marks.

  Purcell suggested they’d done enough mental exercise, and that they should sleep on it. He lit a cigarette and passed around his canteen of fermented fruit juice.

  They made small talk about other things and Purcell told Gann about the Navion and Signore Bocaccio, whose Mia was now a heap of burned and twisted metal. Purcell said, “I hope he and his wife had a good meal at the Hilton.”

  Vivian said, “I feel awful that we couldn’t telex him.”

  “I think he got the message that we were not returning.” He asked Gann, “Would two thousand dollars compensate him for the aircraft?”

  Gann assured everyone, “People are selling what they can for whatever they can get, and they are fortunate to get any buyers.” He added, “Something such as an aircraft has no buyers, and the government would have expropriated it anyway.”

  Purcell said, “That’s what I thought.” He assured Vivian, “Signore Bocaccio is happy.”

  Gann asked Purcell, “How did you learn to fly?”

  “Private lessons. I started in high school, in upstate New York. There was an aerodrome there. Lessons were fourteen bucks an hour, and I made fifteen a week working for the weekly newspaper.” He added, “Had a buck left over for cheap dates and cheap wine.”

  Gann smiled. “How many hours did you have to invest in this?”

  “The flying or the dates?”

  “The flying, old boy.”

  “Well, twenty dual would allow you to solo. Then twenty solo would allow you to take the test for a license.”

  “I see. And why didn’t you get into something along those lines?”

  “Well…” Purcell looked at Vivian and Mercado. “Well, I never actually took the test.”

  Mercado asked, “Do you mean you don’t have a license?”

  “Didn’t need one here. No one asked.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “I ran out of money.” He said, “I’ll bet you couldn’t tell.”

  Vivian laughed and said to everyone, “Can’t you tell he’s joking with us?” She looked at him. “Frank?”

  “Right. Just kidding.”

  Mercado pointed out, “It’s moot in any case. We’ve burned the plane, and we will not be renting another.”

  “But I’ll take you flying in New York.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Purcell stood and said to Vivian, “Take a walk with me.”

  Gann cautioned, “Do not go far, and be back no later than dark. And don’t forget your revolver.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vivian stood and Mercado looked at her. “I don’t think this is a wise thing.”

  “Don’t fret, Henry.”

  Purcell led Vivian into the hallway and back to the lobby, then out to the courtyard. They walked along the colonnade then down the steps to the gardens.

  The sky was deep purple now, with streaks of red and pink, and night birds began to sing. A soft breeze blew down from the mountains and they could smell the tropical flowers.

  Purcell said, “I thought we would make love here.”

  “I know exactly what you are thinking.”

  “Sometimes I think about a cocktail.”

  “You’re rather basic, you know.”

  “Thank you.”

  They continued their walk and Vivian asked him, “Who was it?”

  “Who was who…? Oh… in Rome.”

  “Yes, in Rome.”

  “Well… I’m not sure who it was. An English lady.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “In her hotel bar.”

  “Did you go to her hotel, or yours?”

  They were actually the same place, but he could imagine that Vivian would not like to think they’d all used the same bed. He replied, “Hers.” He also said, “I thought you had left for good.”

  “You should have known better. But I understand, and I forgive you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And when we get back to Rome, if I go off shopping, I hope you don’t think I’ve left you for good, and go off and fuck another lady you’ve met in the elevator or somewhere.”

  “Right. That won’t happen.” He glanced up at the sky. “It’s getting dark.”

  She took his arm and led him around the statue of the two-faced Janus. She said, “For security reasons, we must keep our clothes on, but I suggest you drop your pants.”

  He liked that suggestion and pulled his pants and underwear down as she knelt in front of him. Vivian said, “We will learn a new Italian word today. Fellatio.” She put his now erect penis in her mouth and showed him the meaning of the word.

  On the way back to the spa hotel, she said, “There is a romance in classical ruins—something hauntingly beautiful about a great edifice returning to nature.”

  “Right.” He said to her, “We need to find some privacy tomorrow night.”

  “I don’t think that will happen again out in the bush.”

  “Well… let’s see.”

  “I’m embarrassed as it is that Henry and Colonel Gann know what we’ve been up to.”

  “I don’t think they do.”

  “I don’t think they could have missed hearing your moaning echoing through the colonnade.”

  “Really?”

  They got back to the lobby, which was very dark now. At the far end of the big room lay the bones of the slaughtered men, where Father Armano had also lain dying.

  Vivian said to him, “Tomorrow we go to where Father Armano was going. Do not be cynical—he will show us the way.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “Do you know what that statue was?”

  “The two-faced guy?”

  “That was Janus, the Roman god of the New Year—he faces back and forward.”

  “I get it.”

  “This is January.”

  “Right.”

  “Which reminded me of something. When I was in boarding school, which was English-run, I read a very beautiful passage—something that George VI said in his Christmas message to the English people, in the darkest year of the war. He said to them, ‘I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year, Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown. And he replied, Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.’ ”

  “That is very beautiful.”

  “Pu
t your hand into the hand of God, Frank.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “You will.”

  They rejoined the others.

  Chapter 50

  They rose before dawn and had some bread and boiled eggs as they waited for better light.

  The night had been long and uncomfortable, and the jungle sounds had kept them awake. Purcell began to wonder if anything short of the Holy Grail was worth getting eaten by mosquitoes and listening for Gallas.

  Vivian seemed cheerful, and that annoyed him.

  Gann, too, seemed ready to get moving, but Henry didn’t look well, and Purcell was a bit concerned about him. But if Henry complained, Purcell would remind him whose idea this was. Or was this his own idea?

  The dawn came and they left the relative comfort of the spa hotel and walked down the steps. They moved quickly across the field and through the brush, then looked up and down the road. Gann said in a whisper, “I will cross first, then one at a time.”

  Gann crossed the narrow road and knelt in the brush on the far side. Mercado followed, and then Vivian and Purcell brought up the rear.

  They beat the bush on the side of the road, looking for an obvious trail—a trail that Father Armano might have taken to his imprisonment forty years ago, and which he may have been looking for again before he died in the spa. Dov’è la strada? But even Gann couldn’t find an opening in the wall of tangled vegetation that lined the road.

  Gann said, “We will walk on the road, though I’d rather not.” He instructed them, “The drainage ditch here is partially filled with dirt, as you see, and choked with brush. But we will dive into it if we hear a vehicle, or the sound of hoofbeats.”

  Especially hoofbeats, Purcell thought.

  “We will continue until we’ve found a trail that will take us into the interior of this rain forest.” He said, “I suggest we try south, toward Shoan.”

  They began their walk south on the old Italian road that Purcell, Mercado, and Vivian had driven from Addis what seemed so long ago. The road, as Purcell recalled, was hard-packed, and he could now see evidence of the tar and gravel that the Italian Army had laid forty years before. But when Father Armano had walked the road—if he had walked it—the Italian engineers had not yet gotten this far. More important, any trails intersecting this road may have been more obvious forty years ago, before this area had become less traveled and less populated.