Nelson Demille - The Quest

“Tell me.”

“Henry has solved the mystery of how the Holy Grail wound up in Ethiopia.”

“What difference does it make?”

“That was my point.” He lay down beside her and asked, “Do you believe that the actual Holy Grail is sitting in a black monastery in Ethiopia?”

“I told you I believe what Father Armano said to us. I believe that God led us to him, and him to us.” She also told him, “I believe that if we find the Grail, and if we believe in it, it will reveal itself to us. If we do not believe in it, it will not be real to us.” She made him understand, “It’s not the Grail by itself-it is our faith that heals us.”

This sounded to Purcell almost as complex as the doctrine of the Trinity, but he understood what she was saying. “All right… but do you believe that we should risk our lives to find it?”

She stayed silent a moment, then replied, “If this is God’s will… then it doesn’t matter what happens to us-it only matters that we try.”

Purcell glanced at her. He wondered if Mercado had told her what he’d said to him.

She asked, “Do you believe in this, Frank?”

“Henry says I do.”

“And you say…?”

“Depends on the day.”

“Then you shouldn’t be going to Ethiopia.”

“I am going.”

“Go for the right reasons.”

“Right.”

She moved closer to him and said, “There is another miracle. Us.”

“That’s one I believe in.” He asked her, “Would you like breakfast in bed?”

“It’s early for breakfast.”

“It’s two hours to get room service. You’re not in Switzerland anymore.”

She laughed and said, “I want you to fill the tub and make love to me in the water. That’s what I wanted you to do at the spa.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You did.”

“Never crossed my mind.”

“Do you think I take my clothes off in front of any man I just met?”

In fact, he’d thought that she and Henry were just being worldly and sophisticated, and maybe trying to shock his American sensibilities.

“Frank?”

“I thought that was a rhetorical question.” He got out of bed. “I’ll run the water. You call for coffee.”

He filled the tub and she came into the bathroom and they got into the steamy water together, facing each other. They moved closer, embraced, and kissed. She pressed her breasts against his chest, then rose up and came down on his erect penis. She gyrated her pelvis as she clung to him in the warm water, and they climaxed together.

They sat at opposite ends of the tub, and Vivian lay back with her eyes closed, breathing in the misty air.

He thought she’d fallen asleep, but she said softly, “It doesn’t matter what happens, as long as it happens to us together.”

“I believe that… but I want to make sure we’re not choosing death over life.”

“We are choosing eternal life.” She added, “As Saint Peter did.”

“Right… but I’m not a martyr, and neither are you. We’re journalists.”

She laughed. “Journalists go to hell.”

“Probably… and we’re not saints either, Vivian.”

“Speak for yourself.”

They sat back in the water with their eyes closed, and Purcell drifted off into a pleasant sleep. He thought he heard Vivian saying, “Take this cup and drink of it, for this is my blood.”

“Frank?”

He opened his eyes.

Vivian stood over him in a robe, holding a cup. “Have some coffee.”

He took the cup and drank it.

The Hassler Hotel sat high above the Spanish Steps, offering a panoramic view of Rome and the Vatican. It was Saturday, and the elegant rooftop restaurant was filled with well-heeled tourists, businesspeople, and celeb types, but Mercado had gotten them a choice table by the window.

Purcell had no doubt that Signore Mercado used his connection to L’Osservatore Romano all over town. No one actually read the paper, of course, but it was widely quoted over the wire, and its name had cachet, especially in Rome.

Henry Mercado and Colonel Sir Edmund Gann had arrived together from the Excelsior, and Gann, thin to begin with, looked like a man who’d been on starvation rations for a few months, which he had, and he hadn’t put on any weight in London. His tweed suit hung loosely and his skin had a prison pallor. As Purcell knew from firsthand experience, it took awhile before the body got used to food again.

Gann’s eyes, however, were bright and alert, and his demeanor hadn’t changed much. His mind had stayed healthy in prison, and his body just needed a few Italian meals. Then back to Ethiopia for another round with fate. Purcell wondered again what was driving Colonel Gann.

Purcell noticed that Henry had slipped into his British accent to make the colonel feel at home away from home, and Colonel Gann had now become Sir Edmund.

Mercado informed them that he’d briefed Sir Edmund over a few drinks at the Excelsior, but Purcell wasn’t sure how detailed that briefing had been. Sir Edmund, however, did seem to know that Miss Smith was now with Mr. Purcell, and that Mr. Mercado was okay with that-so there’d be no unpleasantness at dinner.

Cocktails arrived at the table, and Henry toasted, “To being alive and being together again.”

Vivian added, “And thanks to Sir Edmund for keeping us alive.”

They touched glasses and Sir Edmund said modestly, “Trying to save my own skin, actually, and I was glad for the company-and your assistance.”

Purcell was sure that Gann didn’t want to talk about his three months in an Ethiopian prison, so Purcell picked another unhappy subject. “I assume you heard about Prince Joshua.”

“I did.”

Gann didn’t seem to want to talk about that either, so they perused the menu. Purcell remembered that he was buying, and the prices, in lire, looked like telephone numbers. But he supposed he owed this to Colonel Gann for saving their lives, and he owed it to Henry for stealing his girlfriend.

The waiter came and they ordered. Henry found the same amarone at double the price of the Forum.

Mercado said to Vivian and Purcell, “I’ve told Sir Edmund that we have our visas, and I took the liberty of telling him that this black monastery may be of interest to us when we return.”

Gann reminded Purcell, “Last time we discussed this-in that ravine-I believe you said you were never going back.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” He added, “Actually, we’ve all lost our minds.”

Colonel Gann flashed his toothy smile. He thought a moment, then replied, “I grew up with King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, Mr. Purcell. And when I was a boy, my greatest dream was to join in a quest to find the Holy Grail.”

“So you’re crazy, too.”

Everyone laughed, and Gann continued, “Now, of course, I, like most rational men, do not believe any of this… but it is a wonderful story-it is the story of our unending search for something good and beautiful… which is why it appeals to us… to our hearts and our souls. And I loved those stories of Arthur and his knights, and they affected me deeply. And then I grew up.”

Everyone stayed silent, so Gann continued, “But those stories have stayed with me… and they are still part of me.”

Again no one spoke, then Mercado confessed, “I believe there was a King Arthur, and a Camelot. I also believe there was a round table of virtuous knights, and I believe they sought the Holy Grail.” He hesitated, then continued, “I also believe that Perceval and Gauvain found the Grail Castle in Glastonbury and sailed off into a fog with the Grail and returned it to Jerusalem.”

Again, no one spoke, then Gann said, “I don’t seem to remember the Jerusalem bit.”