Nelson Demille - The Quest

“Which is the truth, but not the whole truth.”

Mercado did not reply and they continued to walk back toward the Vatican Library, or, Purcell hoped, the offices of L’Osservatore Romano , or, better yet, lunch. He said, “I assume you didn’t mention the black monastery.”

“It didn’t come up.”

Purcell thought about this. If Henry were actually in league with someone or some group here in the Vatican who wanted him to look for the Holy Grail, then there must be another group here who didn’t want him to do that. Or the only people here whom Henry Mercado was working for were his editors at L’Osservatore Romano , and he, Purcell, was seeing conspiracies where there were only bureaucratic screwups or miscommunication. He wasn’t sure, but at some point, here or in Ethiopia, he’d know what, if anything, Henry was up to.

Mercado said, “Just as well. When Gann gets here, we’ll have this all straightened out, and I’m sure Colonel Gann can read a map far better than you or I.”

“Good point.”

“Would you like to go back to the library? There’s more.”

“The monk locked the door.”

“He’ll open it.”

“Let me buy you lunch.”

“All right…”

“The Forum.” Purcell explained his restaurant choice: “I’m waiting for a telex.”

Mercado looked at him and nodded.

They exited the Vatican through Saint Peter’s Square and hailed a taxi on the Borgo Santo Spirito, which took them to the Hotel Forum.

Purcell said, “Go on up and get us a table by the window, and a good bottle of wine.”

Mercado hesitated, then walked to the elevators.

Purcell went to the front desk and asked for messages. The clerk riffled through a stack of phone messages and telexes and handed him a sealed envelope.

He opened it and read the telex: ARRIVING FIUMICINO TONIGHT. WILL TAXI TO CITY. HOTEL UNDECIDED. WILL MEET YOU AT FORUM BAR, 6 P.M. I MISS YOU, V.

He put the telex in his pocket and walked to the elevator.

Well… no mention of Henry. Hotel undecided. Don’t meet me at the airport. See you at six. I miss you.

And, Purcell thought, I miss you too.

He rode up to the Forum restaurant and found Henry speaking on the maître d’s phone. Henry motioned to a table by the window, and Purcell sat.

Mercado joined him and asked, “Any messages?”

“No.”

Mercado looked at him and said, “It’s all right.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he nodded.

“I ordered the same amarone.”

“I thought we drank it all.”

“Do you feel that you are intellectually and spiritually prepared to go on this quest?”

“I do, actually.”

“And do you think Vivian will come with us?”

Purcell reminded Mercado, “You seem to think that the Holy Spirit has told her to go. So ask him. Or her.”

Mercado smiled.

Purcell suggested, “Let’s talk about something else.”

“All right. I just spoke to my office. Colonel Gann telexed. He can come to Rome right after the New Year and may be able to go to Berini with us.”

“Good. Did he mention Ethiopia?”

“He said he would go if he could get in.”

“Getting in is easy. Getting out, not so easy.”

“I assume he meant getting in without being rearrested.”

The wine came, and Henry poured it himself. He raised his glass and said, “Amicitia sine fraude-to friendship without deceit.”

“Cheers.”

The Forum bar was crowded when Purcell arrived at 5:30, so he took a table by the window and sat facing the entrance, nursing a glass of red wine.

This wasn’t the first time in his life that an ex-lover or estranged girlfriend had wanted to meet in a public place, and sometimes he’d suggested it himself. And maybe with Henry still in the picture, this was a good idea. In fact, he wasn’t sure himself what he wanted to happen tonight, except that he wanted Vivian to go with him-and Henry-to Ethiopia. And that, apparently, was what she wanted, though it had to be worked out if she was with him, or with Henry, or with neither.

In any case, despite Henry’s toast, Purcell had no guilt about deceiving Henry regarding Vivian’s arrival. In fact, Henry probably knew he’d heard from Vivian, and Henry understood that a three-person reunion would not be a good first step toward a return trip to Ethiopia. Purcell had made his separate peace with Henry Mercado, and now he’d do the same with Vivian. Eventually they’d all have a drink together and be civilized-even if Vivian decided to be with Henry. Actually, he was sure Henry would not take her back, even if she wanted that. Henry, like his Italian friends, had a monumental ego-and if he didn’t have an inferiority complex before, he’d acquired one in Ethiopia.

It was past 6 P.M., but Purcell knew she’d be late, though he had no idea what time her plane had arrived from Geneva. But the traffic from Fiumicino was always bad, and it was rush hour in Rome, and Christmas, and maybe she was looking for a hotel, which was difficult during the holy season.

He lit a cigarette and looked out at the Colosseum. Or maybe she’d changed her mind. And that was okay, too. Less complicated.

“Hello, Frank.”

He stood and they looked at each other. She hesitated, then put her hand on his arm. He leaned forward and they kissed briefly, and he said, “You’re looking very good.”

“You too.”

She was wearing a green silky dress that matched her eyes, and her long black hair framed her alabaster skin, and he remembered her as he’d seen her that night at the mineral spa when he realized he was taken with her.

“Frank?”

“Oh… would you like to sit?”

A hovering waiter pulled a chair out for her, she sat, and Purcell sat across from her. She said to the waiter, “Un bicchiere di vino rosso, per favore.”

They looked at each other across the table, then finally she said, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize or explain.”

“But I’d better do that.”

He smiled.

“I just needed to sort things out.”

“How did that work out?”

“Well, I’m here.”

That didn’t answer the question, but Purcell said, “Thank you for coming.”

“Did you throw my stuff out?”

“Tempted.”

The waiter brought her glass of wine and Purcell held up his glass. “Sono adirato.”

“Why are you angry?”

“I thought that meant, ‘I adore you.’ ”

She laughed and they touched glasses. She said, “Ti amo.”

“Me too.”

She put her hand on the table and he took it. They didn’t speak for a while, then she asked, “Did you come to Rome to see Henry?”

“I did.”

She nodded, then asked, “Does he know I’m here?”

“No.”

She nodded again and asked, “How is he?”

“Adirato.”

“Well… I don’t blame him… but… at least you two are talking.”

“I think he’s ready to talk to you.”

“That’s good. So he’s working for L’Osservatore Romano?”

“He is. Seems to enjoy it. Loves Rome.”

“I’m happy for him.”

“Any other feelings for him that I should know about?”

She shook her head.

“All right… but when you see him, you can work that out with him.”

“I will.” She added, “I’m sure he’s over it.”

“He said he was.”

She changed the subject and asked, “How long are you staying in Rome?”

“That depends. How long are you staying in Rome?”

“As long as you are.”

“All right.” He informed her, “I’ve resigned from the AP office in Cairo.”

“Why?”

“Because Charlie Gibson fired me.”