Nelson Demille - The Quest

Vivian said, “It is beautiful.” She turned to Purcell. “Frank?”

He kept staring where they were looking, but he saw nothing.

“Frank?” Vivian seemed concerned. “Do you see it?”

He didn’t reply.

Mercado kept staring at the spot. “How do you not see it?”

“There is nothing there.”

Vivian again looked at him, then back at the spot between the candles. “Frank… do you feel it?”

“I don’t… I can’t see anything, Vivian.” He looked at her, then at Mercado, realizing they were sharing the same hallucination.

Tears began running down Vivian’s face. “Frank… you must see it. Why can’t you…?”

He stepped up to the table and reached his hand out between the candles, but there was nothing there.

Vivian said to Purcell, “Do you want to see the cup or do you want to be proven right?”

Purcell stood there, not knowing what to say or what to do. Finally, he said, “I want to see it, and believe it.”

Mercado opened Vivian’s backpack and he pulled the skull out and quickly unwrapped it.

Purcell said to him, “Henry, what are you doing?”

Vivian replied, “We have brought Father Armano home.”

“No, put that back.”

But Mercado had set the skull on the table, in the center, facing the seat of Christ, and Christ’s cup.

Purcell drew a deep breath and reached for the skull, and he felt something touch the back of his hand. He felt it again, and he looked at his hand, where two drops of red glistened in the candlelight.

He stared at the two red drops that were now running down to his wrist, then he looked past his hand, and sitting on the table was a small bronze goblet that he had not seen before.

He kept staring at it, to be sure it was there, and he said to Vivian and to Mercado, “I can see it.”

He held the back of his hand toward Vivian and Mercado and Vivian smiled. Mercado, too, smiled, and said, “We were worried about you, Frank.”

Vivian said to him, “I was never worried about you. You just needed to believe in your soul what your heart already knew.”

Purcell nodded.

The three of them looked up toward the ceiling, and they all saw the lance, suspended in air, and as they watched, a red drop formed on the tip and fell into the cup.

They heard something behind them and they turned. Coming out of the darkness of the gallery, between the columns, were figures moving toward them. As the figures got closer, they could see that they were men in monks’ robes and cowls, walking two by two. The monks came closer, then separated, left and right, and stood in a line behind them, but seemed not to notice them though they were only a few feet away.

The monks all dropped to their knees, facing the long table, then bowed their heads and began praying silently.

Vivian took Purcell and Mercado by the arm and turned them around, facing the table, and they dropped to their knees. Vivian took their hands again and they all bowed their heads.

Vivian said softly, “We have come a long way and we are not afraid.”

Purcell didn’t know if she was speaking to him, to the monks, or to God. But whatever fear he felt at seeing the monks vanished, and he squeezed her hand. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Mercado said, “I told you, Frank, we have been chosen.”

Vivian said, “We can go home now.”

Purcell nodded. He was ready for that journey home.

Frank Purcell sat on a bench and lit a cigarette. A cold wind blew down from the Gianicolo-the hill of Janus-and the Vatican gardens were nearly deserted on this overcast afternoon in February.

It was time to leave Rome, but before he left he wanted to see Vivian and Henry.

Henry had suggested dinner at Etiopia, but Purcell had suggested the Vatican park, after Henry left work. This needed to be short, sweet, and non-alcoholic.

It was 5:30, and Henry was late as usual, but Purcell saw Vivian coming down the path. She spotted him, smiled, waved, and quickened her pace.

He stood and they hesitated for a moment, then hugged and did an air kiss.

He said, “I’ve saved a seat for you.”

She smiled and sat, and he sat at the far end of the bench. He put out his cigarette.

She asked, “Can I have one of those?”

“You shouldn’t.” But he held out his Marlboros and she took one. He leaned toward her and lit it with a match that flickered in the wind.

She inhaled and let out a stream of smoke and breath mist. “It’s cold.”

“Spring is coming.”

They both stayed silent awhile, then realizing they might never have another moment alone on a park bench, or anywhere, she said, “He needs me.”

He didn’t reply.

“And you don’t.”

“I think we’ve had this conversation.”

“If I change my mind, can I come back?”

He was supposed to be tough and say, “No.” But he said, “Yes.”

“But you’ll be taken by then.”

Again he didn’t reply.

“Can we remain friends?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

They stayed silent and Purcell looked across the dark, windy park at the Ethiopian College.

Vivian saw where he was looking and said, “I still haven’t developed any of the photographs.” She asked, “Are you going to write about… our quest?”

He thought that the world did not need to know what he, Vivian, and Mercado knew. Nor did the monks need the world to know. “I think we should all close the book on Ethiopia and move on.”

She nodded. “That is our beautiful and sad secret.”

“Right.”

She asked him, “Would you ever go back?”

“If I found the right photographer.”

She laughed, then asked him, “How are your job prospects?”

“Probably better than yours.”

She smiled.

“I’m looking for something in the States.” He stayed silent a moment and said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home.”

“Let me know how I can contact you.”

“Will do.” He glanced at his watch. “Must be a late-breaking story on the Holy Year.”

She smiled again and said, “Why don’t you come to dinner with us?”

“Thanks, but I really do have to meet someone.”

“How long will you be in Rome?”

“I leave tomorrow.”

She looked at him.

“I’m going to London tomorrow to meet Colonel Gann’s family. He has an ex-wife who was fond of him, and two grown children.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

“The British embassy still has no word on the body.”

“He’s in heaven, Frank.”

“Right.” He asked her, “Did Henry get that skull to the right people?”

“He did.” She suggested, “Maybe we could meet in Berini.”

Purcell didn’t know who she meant by “we.” He said, “I’ll let you know when I’m going.”

“I’ll be your translator.”

He smiled at her. They both stayed silent, then he asked her, “Tell me again why they let us go.”

“Because they knew we were chosen.”

“So was Father Armano, and he spent forty years in a cell.”

“The Falashas are all gone from Shoan, and the monks were leaving the black monastery with the Grail.”

“Right.” It was more than the monks thinking they were chosen.

He looked again at the Ethiopian College where a group of monks were entering, and he thought back to the black monastery, which was now abandoned. The monks had packed a dozen donkey carts, and presumably taken the Holy Grail and the Lance of Longinus with them, though Vivian somehow got the impression that the Lance was spectral, and appeared by itself wherever the Grail was.