Nelson Demille - The Quest

Purcell looked up the narrow ridge. It was a steep rise, comprised of large jagged red rocks, and between the rocks was more brown scrub brush.

Gann said, “Good cover and concealment, not passable on horseback.” He asked, “Are we ready?”

Purcell looked at Mercado, who nodded without enthusiasm.

They began the climb, picking their way up the ridge between the large rocks. Now and then they had to squeeze sideways between close rock formations, which assured them that Gallas on horseback could not follow-though Gallas on foot could.

About halfway up the ridge, they stopped for a rest and sat in the shade of a large rock formation.

Gann, noticed Purcell, seemed okay, though he wasn’t a young man. But he had been hardened by a few wars and he’d probably pushed himself harder than this the night before, trying to rally the prince’s army.

Purcell looked at Mercado. He, too, had experienced hardships, but those hardships had taken their toll.

Vivian was wiping Mercado’s face again, but Purcell noticed that Mercado was barely sweating, which was not a good sign.

Vivian herself seemed in decent shape, but her arms and face were burning red from the sun. Purcell took off his bush jacket, leaving him in a sweat-soaked T-shirt. He pitched the bush jacket toward her and said, “Drape that over your head.”

She hesitated, then picked up the khaki jacket and threw it back to him.

Colonel Gann had climbed onto a tall rock and was scouting the terrain through his field glasses. He said, “The Gallas are coming together… perhaps two or three hundred of them… heading down into the valley. They’ll harass the remnants of the Royal Army… and if they think the army is very weakened, they’ll go in for the kill.”

No one had anything to say about that, but everyone felt relieved that the Gallas had shifted their attention to the retreating army.

Purcell was hoping he’d see some signs of the Provisional Revolutionary government army in pursuit of the Royalists. That would save them a long hike. He asked Gann, “Do you see any signs of the army?”

Gann kept scanning as he replied, “No. They’re letting the Gallas do the work. Lazy beggars.” He added, “Bunch of damned Marxists.”

Vivian said to Gann, “If we reach the Provisional Army, we can pass you off as a journalist.”

Purcell added, “But you need to take off your royal insignia, and get rid of that gun and lose the riding crop.”

Gann replied, “I appreciate the offer. But my presence will endanger you.” He added, “They’ll know who I am, even without the royal insignia on my uniform, and then they can shoot me as a spy instead of as a Royalist.” He informed them, “I’d rather be shot as a soldier.”

Purcell didn’t see what difference it made, but Colonel Gann did, and he made a good point-about him endangering them all. Also, their safe-conduct pass from the Provisional government in Addis had only three names on it, and one of those names wasn’t Colonel Sir Edmund Gann.

Purcell looked at Mercado, who hadn’t said anything on the subject. “What do you think, Henry?”

Mercado replied, “We should cross that bridge when we come to it. We’re still in a bad situation.”

Gann agreed, and said, “I’ll try to get you as close as I can to the army lines, then I’ll scoot off.”

Vivian asked him, “To where?”

He informed them, “Most of the Amharic peasants around here are loyal to the emperor, and I’ll look for a friendly village.”

No one replied, but Purcell didn’t think much of Colonel Gann’s plan. In fact, Purcell thought, Colonel Gann probably didn’t think much of it either. Most likely he would die of thirst, hunger, or disease in the hills or in the jungle. But the Gallas would not get him. Not as long as Colonel Gann had his service revolver and one bullet left. Purcell said to Gann and to Mercado and Vivian, “I think we should stay together. Maybe we can find this Prince Theodore, or some other ras.”

Gann said, “Nonsense. You have press credentials and a safe-conduct pass. Your best bet is the Provisional government forces, and they are close by.”

Again, no one replied, but then Purcell said, “Let’s play it by ear. Ready?”

Everyone stood and they continued up the ridge. Within half an hour, they reached the summit, which gave them a clear view of the surrounding terrain.

The sun was almost overhead now, and there wasn’t much shade, but Mercado lay down in a sliver of shadow at the base of a tall rock. Vivian knelt beside him and put her damp, sweaty handkerchief over his face.

Gann was scanning the terrain with his field glasses, and he said, “I can see soldiers dug in on the ridgelines.” He passed the glasses to Purcell.

Below was a grassy plateau, like an alpine meadow, between them and the hills to the north, and rocky ridges ran from the hills to the plateau.

Purcell focused on the closest ridge, less than a kilometer away, and saw a group of uniformed men. They’d piled up some rocks to construct a safe firing position, and he thought he saw the long firing tube of a mortar protruding above the rock. He looked farther up the ridge at the next summit and saw more gun positions.

Gann said, “The bulk of the Provisional Army are in those hills.” He told them, “They attacked us in force last night, right there on that plateau, and we inflicted a good number of casualties on them. Unfortunately, they had heavy mortars and they pounded us through the night.”

Purcell nodded. That’s what they’d seen from the spa.

Gann went on, “At daybreak we expected another attack, and I was preparing for it, but panic had set in, and the troops started deserting. And once that starts, it’s impossible to stop.”

Purcell asked Gann, “Was the prince paying you enough for this?”

Gann thought about that, then replied, “A soldier’s pay is never enough. You must also believe in the cause.”

Purcell reminded him, “You’re a mercenary.” He added, “An honorable profession, I’m sure. But not one that believes in causes.”

Gann informed everyone, “I was here in 1941 with the British Expeditionary Force that drove out the Italians.” He added, “I developed a fondness for Ethiopia and the people. And the monarchy. The emperor. He’s a remarkable man… the last in a three-thousand-year-old line of succession.”

“Right,” said Purcell. “The last.”

Gann turned the question around and asked, “Why are you here?”

Purcell replied, “To cover the war.”

“Are they paying you enough for this?”

“No.” He suggested, “Let’s get moving.” He looked at Vivian, who was kneeling beside Mercado and blocking the sun from him. “Is he all right?”

“No.”

Purcell said, “Try to wake him, Vivian.”

“No. He needs sleep.”

“It’s all downhill to the plateau.”

Gann suggested, “Look, I’m not going with you into the army lines, so I’ll stay here with him and you two make contact with the government forces, then come back for him with an army medic and a few men to carry him.” He added, “I’ll scoot off before you get up here.”

Purcell thought that was a good idea, but Vivian said, “I’m not leaving him.”

Gann explained, “You’re not leaving him. You’re going for help.”

Purcell said to her, “You can stay here, too. I don’t need company.”

Mercado was awake now and he sat up with his back against the rock. He’d heard the discussion and said to Vivian in a weak voice, “Go with Frank.”

“No. I’m staying with you.” She knelt beside him and put her hand on his forehead. “You’re burning…”

Purcell looked at Gann and they both knew that Mercado was close to heatstroke.