Nelson Demille - The Quest

“Why?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, old man.”

Vivian said, “The Vatican knows who Father Armano is, and they know what Father Armano was doing in Ethiopia. And now they’re wondering how much we know.”

“That’s very astute, Vivian. And they will continue to wonder how much we know-what Father Armano’s last words were to us.”

Again Purcell thought about this. He wasn’t a believer in grand conspiracies or a fan of those who did believe in them. But Father Armano had, in effect, spelled out a Vatican conspiracy to steal the Holy Grail. It would follow, then, that there still existed a conspiracy of silence regarding what seemed to be an ongoing Vatican mission to relieve the Coptic Church of their Holy Grail.

Vivian asked Mercado, “Will you do any further follow-up?”

“That would not be a wise thing to do.”

She nodded.

Purcell commented, “It would have been wiser for someone in the Vatican to just say, ‘Thank you, we will notify next of kin, and God bless you.’ ”

Mercado nodded. “That would have been the wise thing for them to do. But I suspect my letter caused some worry and they decided to… what is the expression? Stonewall it.”

Purcell also pointed out, “Maybe you shouldn’t have sent the letter at all.”

“I thought about that. About not tipping my hand. But then the job in Rome came up with L’Osservatore Romano, and I thought ahead to writing about this, so I couldn’t very well reveal this story in an article months or years later without having to explain why I’d kept this information to myself.”

Purcell suggested, “Your letter to the Vatican may actually be the reason you’re working in and for the Vatican.”

Mercado looked at Purcell. “Interesting.”

“And,” Purcell pointed out, “why Vivian and I are now working for the Vatican.”

“Actually, you’re working for the Vatican newspaper, Frank, but I won’t split hairs with you.”

Vivian was taking this all in, then said to Mercado, “You did the right thing, Henry, by reporting Father Armano’s death.”

“Yes, you can never do wrong by doing right.” He suggested, “Let’s put conspiracy aside and think this could be typical bureaucratic indifference, coupled with bad record-keeping in all departments.” He added, “The Italians, like the Germans, would just as soon not be reminded of the 1930s and ’40s.”

Purcell replied, “That could explain the indifference of the Ministry of War. But not the Vatican.”

Mercado did not reply.

Vivian said, “Father Armano was real, and we are going to make sure that his suffering and death are acknowledged by the people who sent him to war.”

Mercado looked at her, and it seemed to Purcell that Henry was just noticing the change in his former playmate.

Vivian continued, “We will go to Berini and find his family.”

“That is the plan,” Mercado agreed, and ordered another round.

Vivian had two full glasses of red wine in front of her, and Purcell was still working on his last Jack Daniel’s, and he wondered where Henry put all that gin.

They spoke awhile about the timing of their trip to Berini, then Ethiopia, and how they’d approach the problem of covering their assignments while actually trying to find the black monastery, which was in Getachu territory.

Vivian surprised everyone and herself by saying, “I hope Getachu gets arrested and shot before we get there.”

Mercado informed her, “Men like that do not get eaten by the revolution. They do the eating.”

Vivian nodded, then said, “Maybe we should not be asking Colonel Gann to come with us.”

Mercado suggested, “Let’s discuss that further when we see him.”

Vivian got up to use the ladies’ room and Purcell said to Mercado, “As I mentioned to you in your office, these entry visas are not necessarily exit visas.”

“And as I said to you, save your paranoia for Ethiopia.”

“I’m practicing.”

Mercado changed the subject and said, “She looks very happy.”

Purcell did not respond.

“I told you, old man, I’m over it, and I’m over the anger as well.” He asked, “Can’t you tell?”

“We don’t need to have this conversation.”

“It’s not about us, Frank. And it’s not even about her. It’s about our… assignment.”

“We all understand that. That’s why we’re here.”

“I’d like us to be truly friends.”

“How about close colleagues?”

“I didn’t steal her from you, old boy. You stole her from me.”

“You sound angry.”

“Put yourself in my shoes. I’m hanging there from a fucking pole, and what do I see? Fucking .”

“You’re drunk, Henry.”

“I am… I apologize.”

“Accepted.” Purcell stood. “And if you mention the name Jean one more time, I am going to clock you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

Mercado stood unsteadily and offered his hand to Purcell. Purcell saw Vivian coming back, so he took Mercado’s hand.

Vivian asked, “Are we leaving?”

“We are.”

She said to Henry, “We had a long drive from Florence. Thank you for drinks.”

“Thank our newspaper.”

She looked at him and suggested, “You should turn in.”

He leaned toward her, she hesitated, then they did an air kiss on both cheeks. “Buona notte, signorina.”

“Buona notte.”

Purcell took Vivian’s arm and they left.

As the doorman signaled for a taxi, Vivian said, “I’ve never seen him so drunk.”

Purcell did not respond.

She glanced at Purcell. “Well… I only knew him a few months.”

The taxi came and they got in. Purcell said, “Hotel Forum.”

They stayed quiet on the ride to the hotel, then Vivian said, “If I hadn’t met him, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Purcell lit a cigarette.

She took his hand. “Did something happen when I was gone?”

“No.”

“I love you.”

He took his hand out of hers and put his arm around her shoulders. He said to her, “You once told me to go to hell.”

“I was so angry at you.” She mimicked him: “I think I could have done this on my own. Can we save this for the Hilton bar?” She said, “Bastard.”

He drew her closer and she put her head on his shoulder. She said, “It was my idea to invite you along.”

“I thought it was God’s plan.”

“It was. I just went along with it.”

“What’s the rest of the plan?”

The taxi stopped. “Forum.”

She said, “To get upstairs and get our clothes off.”

“Good plan.”

The golden domes and crosses of the churches caught the first rays of the rising sun, and Purcell watched the dawn spreading over the city.

He looked back at Vivian lying naked in the bed, her skin as white as the sheets, making her appear wraithlike.

“Come to bed, Frank.”

He sat at the edge of the bed and she ran her hand over his back. She said, “You were talking in your sleep.”

“Sorry.”

She sat up and said, “I dreamt that we were at the mineral baths, and we were swimming, and we made love in the water.”

Purcell wondered where Henry was, but he didn’t ask.

“And then we went back to the Jeep, and Father Armano was there… and we were still naked…”

“Sounds like a Catholic schoolgirl’s nightmare.”

She laughed, then stayed silent awhile. “Why did he have that skull?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it a warning?”

“I’m not good at symbolism, Vivian.”

“What did you dream about?”

“Henry, in the Vatican archives. A nightmare.”