The Quest: A Novel (19 page)

He looked at Vivian sitting at the side of the ravine, closer to Mercado than to him. They made eye contact, and she held it, then looked away.

He wondered what she was thinking or feeling. Probably he’d never know, and that was just as well.

Another group of soldiers appeared at the top of the ravine, and it was obvious that something was going to happen, and probably not anything good.

Vivian suddenly moved closer to Mercado and grabbed his arm. “Henry…”

Mercado appeared more aware of the soldiers, thought Purcell, than of Vivian’s hold on him. Purcell could hear her say softly, “I love you… please forgive me.”

Mercado seemed to notice her for the first time, and he hesitated, then asked, “Are you truly sorry?”

“I am.”

“Then I will forgive you.”

She put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.

Purcell assumed that Mercado’s absolution didn’t include him, even if he asked for it, but he didn’t think he needed forgiveness, so he didn’t ask. He did, however, want to say something to Vivian, in case this was the last time they’d see each other. But what he wanted to say, he couldn’t say, so he turned away and looked at the soldiers, who were speaking rapidly and glancing down at the prisoners at the bottom of the ravine.

Mercado spoke some Amharic, but he seemed preoccupied, so Purcell asked Gann, “Can you understand what they’re saying?”

“A bit… I think you three are going to be taken somewhere else.”

“Why do you think that?”

“The leg shackles are for traveling, old boy. When they tie your hands behind your back, you know you’re not going far.”

Purcell knew this made sense, but he pointed out, “Your legs are also shackled, Colonel.”

“Yes, I noticed. Can’t say why, though.”

Henry and Vivian seemed oblivious to what was going on, but then one of the soldiers shouted to them, “Come! Come!” He motioned for all of them to climb out of the ravine.

They all looked at one another, then stood and began climbing up the slope, dragging their chains with them as the soldier kept shouting, “Come! Come!”

They reached the top of the ravine and stood among the soldiers, who seemed indifferent to them. Purcell noticed that in the distance, where he’d spotted the helipad, an American-made Huey sat with its rotor spinning.

The soldier in charge pointed to the helicopter and shouted, “Go! Go!”

Purcell looked at Gann, expecting that he’d be pulled aside, but one of the soldiers gave Gann a push and shouted, “Go!”

Vivian and Mercado joined hands and began running as fast as their chains allowed. Purcell and Gann followed. Four soldiers accompanied them, urging them to move faster. Vivian stumbled and Mercado helped her up, and they continued toward the helicopter.

Vivian and Mercado reached the open door of the aircraft and were pulled aboard. As Purcell got closer, he could see a large red star painted on the olive drab fuselage—the red star of the revolution, which he knew covered the old emblem of the Lion of Judah.

Gann scrambled aboard without help, and Purcell followed.

Vivian called out over the noise of the engine and rotors, “Pilot says we’re going to Addis!” She flashed a big smile and shouted, “
Avanti!
”

The helicopter lifted, pivoted, and headed south toward Addis Ababa.

H
ello, Henry.”

Henry Mercado didn’t turn toward the voice behind him, but he did glance into the bar mirror.

Frank Purcell took the empty stool beside Mercado and ordered a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. He said, “You look well.”

“Is this an accident?”

“I heard you were in Rome.”

Mercado did not reply.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I was just leaving.”

The bartender poured Purcell’s drink and he raised his glass. “Centanni.”

Mercado called for his tab.

Purcell stirred his drink and said, “I left you a note at the Addis Hilton.”

“I was taken directly from the prison to the airport.”

“Vivian left you a note, too.”

He didn’t reply.

Mercado’s bill came and he put a twenty-thousand-lire note on the bar, which Purcell reckoned was about three drinks at Harry’s Bar prices.

It was four in the afternoon, and the quiet, elegant bar was not yet in full swing. A few perfunctory but tasteful Christmas decorations were placed here and there.

Outside, the Via Veneto was crowded with cars and people as always, but maybe more so, thought Purcell, because of the Christmas season. The sky was low and gray, and the air was damp, so he wore a trench coat, but he noticed that Mercado was wearing only a tweed sports jacket, which seemed too big for him. In fact, Henry did not
look well and there was a lot of space between his neck and his collar and tie. They’d both lost their Ethiopian tans, and Mercado’s skin looked as gray as the winter sky.

Mercado slid off his stool and said, “I’m living at the Excelsior, and usually at the bar there.”

“I know.”

“Then you also know not to run into me there.”

Purcell nodded and said, “Merry Christmas, Henry.”

Mercado turned toward the door, then turned back and said, “All right, I will ask you. How is she?”

“
Where
is she might be a better question.”

“All right,
where
is she?”

“Don’t know. She left me in Cairo, end of October. Said she had business in Geneva, and she’d be back in two weeks. What’s today?”

Mercado stood there awhile, then asked, “How long have you been here?”

“Two days. Let me buy you a drink. I came to Rome to see you.”

“Why?”

Purcell slid off his stool and took Mercado by the arm. “I need ten minutes of your time. I have some good news about Colonel Gann.”

Mercado hesitated, then let Purcell steer him to a table by the window. Purcell called out to the bartender, “Another round, please.”

They sat across from each other, and Mercado glanced at his watch. “I’m meeting someone at five.”

“Okay. Well, I just heard from a guy named Willis at the AP office in Addis. You know him? He says that Gann has been released from jail and will be flying to London in time for Christmas.”

Mercado nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Me, too. Only in a place like Ethiopia can you be condemned to death, then released on bail and allowed to leave the country.”

“I’m sure the British government paid dearly for their knight errant.”

“Right. Money talks, and the Revolutionary government needs money, so they sold Gann. Works for everyone.” He also informed Mercado, “The bad news is that Gann has to return to Addis after
the holidays for a hearing on his appeal or he forfeits his bail.” He smiled. “I don’t think he’ll be making that trip.”

Mercado smiled in return. “If he does, he
deserves
a firing squad.”

“
Two
firing squads.”

Mercado said, “It’s important for these people to save face. Before they kicked me out, I got handed a five-year sentence for my association with counterrevolutionaries.”

“Only five? When are you supposed to report back?”

“I’m not clear about that.” He asked Purcell, “How about you?”

“I just did that week in the slammer.”

“Then a week of house arrest in the Hilton.”

“Correct.”

“With Vivian.”

“Correct.”

“You both got off easy.”

“Right.” He reminded Mercado, “You’re the one who got caught sleeping with Gann. Vivian and I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well, I’m sure you did in the Hilton.”

Purcell changed the subject. “We should go see Gann in London.”

Mercado kept to the subject, “I didn’t do anything wrong and I spent a month in the foulest prison I’ve ever seen, while you and Vivian—”

“Was it that long? Well, we’ve both been in worse places.”

“Where did you go after you left Addis?”

“I went to Cairo.”

“Alone?”

“No.” Purcell explained, “It wasn’t our choice to go there… or to go together,” which was partly a lie. He said, “Cairo seems to be the dumping ground for people expelled from Ethiopia.” He asked, “Where did they send you?”

“Cairo.”

“I wish I’d known you were there.”

“I was there two hours and took the first flight to London.” Mercado asked, “Why did you stay?”

“I needed a job. So I contacted the AP office, and the bureau chief, Gibson, was looking for a freelancer.” He added, “He’s expecting another war with Israel, and I am a very good war correspondent.”

Mercado didn’t respond to that, nor did he ask why Vivian stayed in Cairo. In fact, she had told Purcell she was excited about photographing the pyramids and all that, plus she wanted to be his photographer if another war broke out. Also, they were in love.

The waiter brought their drinks and Purcell saw that Henry was still drinking gin and Schweppes. Purcell raised his glass and Mercado hesitated, then did the same. Purcell said, “To freedom.”

“And life.”

They touched glasses and sat back in their chairs and watched Rome go by.

Rome, Purcell had noticed, wasn’t as garishly decorated for Christmas as, say, London or New York. He’d like to be in one city or another for the holiday, and he had thought he’d be with Vivian, but that didn’t look likely. Christmas in Cairo would not be festive.

He thought back to Addis. The whole two weeks had a surreal feeling. They’d all been taken from the helicopter in separate vehicles, still in chains, to the grim central prison and kept in separate cells, unable to communicate. Some prosecutor with a loose grasp of English had interrogated him every day and told him that his friends had all confessed to their crimes, whatever they were, and had implicated him.

The prison had an enclosed courtyard, with a gallows, and one or two men were hanged each day. He asked Mercado, “Did you have a room with a view of the hangings?”

“I did. Hoped I’d see you.”

They both smiled.

Purcell lit a cigarette and stirred his drink.

After a week in prison, with no bath or shower, rancid food, and putrid water, a nice lady from the American embassy arrived and escorted him, still barefoot and wearing his
shamma
, to a waiting car and took him to the Hilton a few blocks away.

The lady, Anne, had instructed him to stay in his room, which the hotel had held for him and were billing him for. She didn’t suggest a bath, but she did suggest he call a doctor to his room for a checkup. In answer to his questions about Vivian, Gann, and Henry Mercado, she replied, “Miss Smith is here. The others remain in custody.”

She offered to walk him to the front desk, but he declined, and she handed him his passport and wished him luck.

He walked barefoot in his
shamma
to the front desk, where the clerk said, “Welcome back, Mr. Purcell,” and gave him his key.

His room had been searched and most of his possessions had been taken, including his notebooks, but that was the least of his problems.

He had waited a full day before calling Vivian, and they met in her room for drinks because they were both confined to quarters, and in any case neither of them wanted to run into their colleagues in the bar, or the security police in the lobby.

Vivian, too, had had her room ransacked and all her film had been taken, which made her angry, but she, too, understood that their real problem was getting out of Ethiopia.

As he’d finished his drink, she’d reminded him, “As I said, nothing is going to happen between us here.”

“I understand.”

Later, in bed, she told him, “When they release Henry…”

“I understand.”

“Sorry.”

“Me too.”

But they didn’t release Henry, and a week later Purcell and Vivian were officially expelled from Ethiopia and found themselves on an EgyptAir flight to Cairo.

Purcell said to Mercado now, “Vivian and I made daily inquiries to the British embassy about you and Gann, and they assured us you were both well, and they were working on your release.” He added, “We were worried about you.”