The Quest: A Novel (41 page)

A
n hour out of Addis, Purcell spotted the great bend in the Blue Nile. He banked right and followed it north. Their airspeed was one hundred fifty, and the flight so far had been smooth except for some mountain updrafts. The smell of the coffee beans in the burlap bags was pleasant.

Purcell had been thinking about the logistics of their quest, the devils that were in the details. He said to Vivian, “If there is any problem when we land in Gondar, they may confiscate your film. And if they see we’ve been shooting wide-angle photos of the terrain, we will have some explaining to do.”

“I will hide the exposed rolls on my person.”

“They may look at your person.”

Mercado confided to them, “I once hid a roll of film in a place where the sun does not shine.”

“Don’t tempt me, Henry.” He added, “We don’t want the film found on us.” He suggested, “Maybe the coffee bags.”

Mercado replied, “The ground crew at Gondar will help themselves to a bag or two.”

Purcell noticed a taped rip in the headliner above the windshield where the Saint Christopher medal was pinned. He pulled back the tape and said, “We can also put the maps in there.”

Mercado pointed out, “Even if there is no trouble in Gondar, the authorities will do a thorough search of the cockpit when we leave the aircraft, and they will probably find that.”

Purcell did not reply.

Mercado continued, “If we deny any knowledge of the maps or the film, which together may look suspicious, then Signore Bocaccio will be down at police headquarters in Addis answering questions, while we are answering questions at Getachu’s headquarters in Gondar.”

Purcell thought about that. Henry made some good points. “What do you suggest?”

“I say we take a chance that there will be no problems at the Gondar airfield, and we should carry the exposed film and maps with us.” He added, “If there
is
a problem in Gondar, it is already waiting for us, and the film and the maps will be the least of our problems.”

Purcell’s instincts still told him not to carry around incriminating evidence in a police state. Especially with prior arrests hanging over their heads. But Henry Mercado had been at this game far longer than Frank Purcell. And there seemed to be no good choices.

Vivian said, “I will carry my exposed film in my bag.” She added, “Naked is the best disguise. As soon as you try to hide something, you get in trouble.”

Mercado commented, “You should know.”

Vivian ignored him and continued, “Frank will carry the maps.” She pointed out, “It’s not as though we’re carrying guns or a picture of the emperor.”

Purcell nodded. “Okay. We land in Gondar and take our things with us. I need to give our flight plan to the officer on the ground, then we take a taxi to town.”

Mercado, too, had some thoughts about their destination. “If Getachu somehow knows we have returned to his lair, I believe he will not reveal himself to us. He will watch to see what we are doing back in Ethiopia.”

Purcell replied, “I don’t think he’s that bright. I think he acts on his primitive impulses.”

“We will find out in Gondar.”

Vivian asked, “Can we change the subject?”

Purcell said, “Here’s another subject. When we begin our search for the black monastery, we should not drive from Addis to the north again. Agreed?”

Vivian agreed. “I would not do that again.”

“So,” Purcell said, “at some point, after we’ve finished our aerial recon, and when we think we have a few possible locations for the black monastery, we need to fly to Gondar, ditch the aircraft, and buy or rent a cross-country vehicle to go exploring.” He pointed out,
“From Gondar to the area we need to explore is about four to six hours—rather than three or four days cross-country from Addis.”

Mercado agreed. “Gondar should be our jump-off point.”

They continued on in silence. Purcell followed the Blue Nile north and maintained his airspeed and altitude.

Vivian announced, “I need to go.”

Mercado passed her the empty water carafe. She said, “Close your eyes. You too, Frank.” She pulled down her pants and panties and relieved herself.

Purcell said, “My turn. Close your eyes, Henry.” He unzipped his fly.

Vivian offered, “I’ll hold it for you so you can fly.” She laughed. “I mean the
carafe
.”

Purcell suspected that Henry was not amused. He held the wheel with his left hand and himself with the other, and Vivian held the carafe for him.

“Finished.”

She snapped the hinged lid of the carafe in place and passed it to Henry, who also used it. Indeed, Purcell thought, they would be in close quarters in the days and weeks ahead with many more close bonding moments. It was good that they were all friends.

At 8:32, Purcell spotted Lake Tana, nestled among the hills. The altimeter read eleven thousand eight hundred feet, and the lake looked like it was about six thousand feet below, which put the lake’s altitude at about a mile high. In the hazy distance, about twenty miles north of the lake, would be Gondar.

He pointed out the big lake to his passengers and said, “We’ve made good time, so we may be able to snoop around for an hour.”

Purcell began his descent. Within half an hour they were about a thousand feet over the terrain, and the altimeter read sixty-three hundred feet above sea level.

He made a slow banking turn over the lake’s eastern shore, and Henry, who had a map spread out in the rear, said, “I can see the monastery of Tana Kirkos that Colonel Gann mentioned. See it on that rocky peninsula jutting into the lake?”

Vivian saw it and took a photo through the Plexiglas.

Mercado said, “Somewhere along that lakeshore is where Father Armano’s battalion made camp, almost forty years ago.”

The lake was ringed with rocky hills, which Purcell knew was very defensible terrain for Father Armano’s decimated battalion. The monastery of Tana Kirkos, he thought, was also defendable because of its position on a rocky peninsula. The black monastery, however, was safe because it was hidden. Even from up here.

He made another slow banking turn and said, “We will see if we can find the spa.”

Mercado peered through the canopy with his binoculars and Vivian had her nose pressed against the Plexiglas. “There! See it?”

Purcell lowered his right wing and reduced his airspeed. Below, off his wingtip, he could clearly see the white stucco spa complex and the grassy fields around it. He saw the main building where they’d parked the Jeep and found Father Armano, and he spotted the narrow road that they’d driven on to get there. He wondered again why he’d turned off that bush-choked road at exactly that spot.

Vivian said excitedly, “There’s the sulphur pool!”

Purcell stared at the pool, then glanced at Vivian. A whole confluence of events had come together down there on that night, and from up here, in the full sunshine, it was no more understandable than it was in the dark.

Vivian said, “It looks so beautiful from here.” She took several pictures and said, “We will go back there to find Father Armano’s remains.” She reminded them, “The Vatican needs a relic.”

Purcell had no comment on that and said, “We will continue our walk down memory lane.”

He turned the aircraft north and said, “The scene of the last battle.”

Below were the hills where the last cohesive Royalist forces, led by Prince Joshua, had camped and fought, and died. Purcell dropped to two hundred feet. All the bright tents of the prince’s army were long gone, and all that remained were scattered bones and skulls in the rocky soil.

Mercado said, “A civilization died there.”

Purcell nodded.

The hills still showed the cratered shell holes on the bare slopes, and those scars and the bones were all the evidence left of what had happened here while he, Vivian, and Henry were bathing at the Italian spa. If they had arrived a day earlier—or a day later—who knows?

They flew farther north to Getachu’s hills. The army had decamped long ago, and only the scarred earth of trenches and firing positions remained to suggest that thousands of men had been there.

Purcell could not determine where Getachu’s headquarters tent had been, but then he saw where Getachu had hanged the soldiers with commo wire, and he spotted the ravine where they had all been shackled, and the helipad where they had been lifted out of this hell.

Purcell got lower and slower and they could see the natural amphitheater—the parade ground—and Purcell was certain that Vivian and Henry saw the ten poles that were still sticking out of the ground. But no one pointed this out. And neither did anyone point out the wooden platform where he and Vivian had clung to each other in what they both believed was their last night on earth.

Unlike the spa, this scene, from this perspective, made the events of that night more understandable.

Vivian did not take photographs and she turned away from the Plexiglas.

Henry, of course, had nothing to say, but Purcell would have liked to know what he was thinking.

Purcell circled around toward the plateau between the two camps. To their left he spotted the ridgeline that they’d all climbed to get away from the Gallas, and the peak where Henry and Colonel Gann had picked the wrong time to take a nap. He banked to the right, and the wide grassy plateau spread out before them between the hills.

Vivian asked him, “Is that where we were?”

“That’s it.”

“It looks very nice from up here.”

“Everything does.” He pointed. “That’s the ridge we climbed to go get help from General Getachu.”

It sounded funny in retrospect and Vivian laughed. “What were we thinking?”

“Not much.”

He turned east and flew the length of the plateau between the hills where the armed camps had once been dug in.

Something caught his eye in the high grass ahead: a dozen Gallas on horseback riding west toward them.

Mercado saw them, too, and said, “Those bastards are still here.” He suggested to Purcell, “Fire your rockets at them.”

“They’re not my rockets. And they’re only smoke markers.”

“Bastards!”

Henry, Purcell thought, was recalling Mount Aradam, where the Gallas had almost gotten his balls.

The Gallas saw the aircraft coming toward them, and Purcell was about to bank right to get out of rifle range, but he had a second thought and put the Navion into a dive.

Vivian asked, “What are you doing? Frank?”

Mercado called out, “For God’s sake man—”

Purcell got as low and slow as he dared, and the Gallas sat placidly on their horses, staring at the rapidly closing airplane. They must have seen the rocket pod, Purcell thought, because they suddenly began to scatter. A few horses reared up at the sound of the howling engine, and a few riders were thrown off their mounts.

Purcell got lower and gunned the engine as he buzzed over them. He banked sharply to the right to avoid giving them a retreating target, then flew over the Royalist camp and dropped lower toward the valley to put the hills between himself and the line of fire of the very angry Gallas.

Mercado shouted above the noise of the engine, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Looking for my Jeep.”

“Are you insane?”

“Sorry. I lost it.”

Vivian took a deep breath. “Don’t do that again.”

Purcell headed southeast along the jungle valley and said, “We will look for Prince Theodore’s fortress.”

He reduced his airspeed and his altitude as he followed the valley, which widened into a vast expanse of green between the neighboring hills.

Mercado leaned between the two seats with the map of the area and said, “Here is incognita.” Purcell glanced at the map, then looked through the surrounding Plexiglas to orient himself. He made a slight right turn and said, “Should be coming up in a few minutes at about one o’clock.”

He pulled back on the throttle and the airspeed bled off, and the Navion sank lower above the triple-canopy jungle. He was starting to recognize the warning signs of a stall in this aircraft, but its flight characteristics were still unpredictable.

He got down to two hundred feet and Vivian said, “It’s all going by too fast.”

He explained, “If we go low, we can see things in better detail, but everything shoots by fast no matter how slow I go. If we go high, the ground looks like it’s going by slower, but we can’t see smaller objects.”

“Thank you, Frank. I never realized that.”

“I’m telling you this because you are in charge of photography. What do you want?”

“I need altitude for the wide-angle lens. I’ll get the photos enlarged and we can go over them with a magnifier.”

“Okay. Meanwhile, if you’ll look to your one o’clock position, I see something.”

Henry learned forward and they all looked to where Purcell was pointing. He picked up the nose to slow the aircraft, and up ahead, to their slight right, they could see a break in the jungle canopy, and inside the clear area were broken walls and burned-out buildings. If they hadn’t known it was intact five months before, they’d have thought it was an old ruin—except that the jungle had not yet reclaimed the clearing.

Purcell thought of the priest. He’d escaped death here, then walked out of his prison into the jungle. And something—God, memory, or a jungle path—led him west, to the Italian spa. But he wasn’t heading for the spa. It hadn’t been built when he’d been captured, according to Gann and to the map, which did not show the spa. So what was it that took him west to that spa and to his rendezvous with three people who themselves did not know about the spa? Probably, Purcell thought, a jungle path, or a game trail. If he asked
Vivian or Henry, the answer was simple: God led Father Armano to them. Purcell thought he’d go with the game trail theory.

Vivian shot a few photos as they approached, then the ruined fortress shot by and she said, “Can we come around higher?”

“We can.” He climbed as he began a wide, clockwise turn.

In a few minutes, the fortress came into view again off their right side at about a thousand feet.

As Vivian took photos, she asked, as if to herself, “Can you imagine being locked in a cell in the middle of the jungle for forty years?”