Nelson Demille - The Quest

He pulled back on the throttle and the airspeed bled off, and the Navion sank lower above the triple-canopy jungle. He was starting to recognize the warning signs of a stall in this aircraft, but its flight characteristics were still unpredictable.

He got down to two hundred feet and Vivian said, “It’s all going by too fast.”

He explained, “If we go low, we can see things in better detail, but everything shoots by fast no matter how slow I go. If we go high, the ground looks like it’s going by slower, but we can’t see smaller objects.”

“Thank you, Frank. I never realized that.”

“I’m telling you this because you are in charge of photography. What do you want?”

“I need altitude for the wide-angle lens. I’ll get the photos enlarged and we can go over them with a magnifier.”

“Okay. Meanwhile, if you’ll look to your one o’clock position, I see something.”

Henry learned forward and they all looked to where Purcell was pointing. He picked up the nose to slow the aircraft, and up ahead, to their slight right, they could see a break in the jungle canopy, and inside the clear area were broken walls and burned-out buildings. If they hadn’t known it was intact five months before, they’d have thought it was an old ruin-except that the jungle had not yet reclaimed the clearing.

Purcell thought of the priest. He’d escaped death here, then walked out of his prison into the jungle. And something-God, memory, or a jungle path-led him west, to the Italian spa. But he wasn’t heading for the spa. It hadn’t been built when he’d been captured, according to Gann and to the map, which did not show the spa. So what was it that took him west to that spa and to his rendezvous with three people who themselves did not know about the spa? Probably, Purcell thought, a jungle path, or a game trail. If he asked Vivian or Henry, the answer was simple: God led Father Armano to them. Purcell thought he’d go with the game trail theory.

Vivian shot a few photos as they approached, then the ruined fortress shot by and she said, “Can we come around higher?”

“We can.” He climbed as he began a wide, clockwise turn.

In a few minutes, the fortress came into view again off their right side at about a thousand feet.

As Vivian took photos, she asked, as if to herself, “Can you imagine being locked in a cell in the middle of the jungle for forty years?”

Purcell wanted to tell her that if they found the black monastery, she might find out what that’s like.

More importantly, he had confirmed another detail of Father Armano’s story. Also, they’d fixed a few points of this tale-the east shore of Lake Tana, the spa, and the fortress. Now all they had to do was find the black monastery which they believed was in this area.

He looked at the thick, unbroken carpet of jungle and rain forest below. He’d once ridden in an army spotter plane in Vietnam, and the pilot had told him, “There are enemy base camps under that triple canopy. And thousands of men. And we can’t see anything.”

Right. Which was why the Americans defoliated and napalmed the jungle. But here, there were hundreds of thousands of acres of thick, pristine jungle and rain forest, and there could have been a city under that canopy and no one would ever see it. Also, they had only a vague idea where to look.

Mercado was having similar thoughts and said, “This is a rather large area of jungle.”

“You noticed?”

“A clue might be that old map we saw in the Ethiopian College.”

“Henry, please.”

“And the stained glass window at the Hilton.”

“You’re sounding oxygen-deprived.”

“What they have in common is that they show palm trees. And if you look, you won’t see many clusters of palms down there.”

Purcell glanced out the canopy. True, there weren’t many palm trees, but… that wasn’t a very solid clue. He said, “Okay, we’ll keep an eye out for palms. Meanwhile, we have about a half hour before we need to head for Gondar, so I’ll make ascending corkscrew turns and Vivian will begin shooting everything below as we climb.” He suggested to her, “Try to overlap a bit-”

“I know.”

“Good. Up we go.” He pushed in the throttle and the Navion began to climb. Purcell said to Mercado, “Use the field glasses, and if you see any abnormalities below, bring it to my and Vivian’s attention.” He told them, “I’m going to slide open the canopy so Vivian can get clear shots.” He unlatched the canopy and slid it open a few feet, and the roar of the engine filled the cabin.

Vivian unfastened her seat belt, leaned forward, and pointed her camera through the opening.

They circled the area east of Lake Tana-the forested land that matched up with Father Armano’s story, which began on the east shore of the lake and ended at his fortress prison. The lakeshore was known, though not the exact location of the priest’s starting point along the eighty-mile shoreline. And the fortress was no longer incognita. What was incognita, however, was everything under that jungle canopy, including the black monastery.

Purcell looked down at the land below. There seemed to be no man-made break in the green carpet of jungle. But they knew that.

Vivian, believing in Henry’s inspiration about the palm trees, took lots of photos of palm clusters. There were a few small ponds below, and she also focused on them because the priest had mentioned a pond within the walls of the monastery.

As for the tree, the stream, and the rock, as Gann had pointed out, there were lots of trees, and a rock would not be visible unless it was huge, or sat in a clearing. Purcell and Mercado saw streams on the map, but they were not visible through the thick jungle.

Purcell thought about the Italian Army cartographers who’d created dozens of terrain maps based on their aerial photography. They’d spotted the fortress, and a few other man-made objects on their photographs that they’d transferred to their maps. But they had not spotted the black monastery, or anything else they might have labeled “incognita.”

Needle in a haystack. Monastery in a jungle.

The key, he thought, might be the village of Shoan. He looked at his watch. It was almost 10 A.M. and they needed to head for Gondar, or they’d be unexplainably late on a flight from Addis.

He let Vivian take a few more photos, then shouted, “That’s it!” He slid the canopy closed and latched it. The cockpit became quieter, but no one spoke. If they were disappointed in their aerial recon, they didn’t say so.

Purcell picked up a northwesterly heading and began climbing to Gondar’s elevation.

He had no idea what awaited them in Gondar, away from the relative safety of the capital. But if their last trip to Getachu territory was predictive, their search for the Holy Grail could be over in half an hour.

He had enough fuel to turn around and go back to Addis, but then he’d have no explanation for this flight.

He said, “We land in about twenty minutes.”

No one replied, and he continued on.

Lake Tana was coming up on their left, and beyond the lake were the mountains of Gondar.

Purcell said, “We’ll catch Shoan on the way back.”

Mercado informed him, “You may not see anyone down there.” He explained, “There is a mass exodus of Falasha Jews under way.”

“I heard that. But why?”

“They feel threatened.”

“I know the feeling.” He reminded Mercado, “Gann said the Falashas have a special place in Ethiopian society.”

“Not anymore.”

Vivian asked, “Where are they going?”

“To Israel, of course. The Israelis have organized an airlift.” Mercado informed them, “Every Jew in the world has the right to emigrate to Israel under the Law of Return.”