Nelson Demille - The Quest

Mercado and Vivian processed all that, and Mercado said, “I think we should go first to the places in the photographs that are possibly what we’re looking for.”

“I don’t want to traipse around the jungle for a week or two.” He reminded Mercado, “That is rough country, old man, and I don’t just mean the terrain. We want to minimize the walking, and not use up our provisions.”

Mercado replied, “I’ve done this sort of thing before, Frank.”

“Good. Then you agree.” He continued, “The Falashas may be more helpful than those photographs.”

“They may be the opposite of helpful-or they may all be gone.”

Vivian said, “Our first objective should be the spa.” She reminded them, “We said we’d bring back a relic… a bone of Father Armano.”

“You carry the bone.” He also said, “I will call Signore Bocaccio tonight about the availability of the plane. I’d like to go tomorrow.”

Mercado thought about that, then asked, “Are you saying that we’re leaving the aircraft in Gondar?”

“Well, it’s not going to fly itself back.” He assured Mercado, “I’ll telex Signore Bocaccio from the Goha and let him know he can pick up his plane in Gondar, and keep our security deposit.”

Neither Mercado nor Vivian replied.

“I don’t think we’ll be needing Mia one way or the other after we leave Gondar on our journey.”

Again, no one responded.

Purcell further explained, “There is no reason for us to return here. We don’t need any more photographs developed, and it is time we moved forward-before we get shut down by the authorities or by something outside our control.” He looked at Mercado and Vivian. “Caesar crossed the Rubicon and burned his bridges behind him. And that is what we will do tomorrow.”

Mercado said, “We should see what Sir Edmund has written to us. That may influence what we do next.”

“Let’s first have our own plan.”

“All right, Frank. We have a plan. Now please open the envelope.”

Purcell glanced around to see if anyone was paying too much attention to them, then tore open the envelope. He extracted a single piece of paper and looked at it.

Vivian asked, “What does it say?”

“It is… a poem.” He smiled, then said, “Titled, ‘The Explorer.’ ”

Mercado said, “That’s Kipling, if you don’t know.”

“Thank you.” He read, “Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges-Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!”

He looked up at Mercado and Vivian.

They stayed silent, then Vivian asked, “Is that it?”

“That is it-except for the signature.”

Mercado asked, “Did Sir Edmund sign it?”

“Actually, no, and neither did Rudyard Kipling.” He glanced at the signature and said, “It is signed, I. M. N. Sloan.”

“Who?”

“You gotta say it fast, Henry.”

Vivian said, “I am in Shoan.”

Purcell passed the note to her. “You win.”

She looked at it, then gave it to Mercado.

Purcell said, “We will join Sir Edmund in Shoan.”

Mercado had a dinner date and left them in the lounge. They sat without speaking for a while, then Vivian said, “I don’t want dinner. Let’s have a bottle of wine sent to our room.”

Purcell replied, “You can have one sent to your room.”

She didn’t reply.

He stood and said, “Good night.”

“Frank…”

He looked at her in the dim light and he could see tears running down her face.

She looked at him. “Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We will all stay friends, until we leave Ethiopia.”

She nodded.

He turned and left.

The Navion was available the next day for an overnight stay in Gondar and a return to Addis on the following day. Signore Bocaccio met them at the airport at noon to collect his rental fee and deliver the news. “This is unfortunately your last flight.” He explained, “This is causing me worry.”

“I’m the one flying this thing.”

Signore Bocaccio smiled, then said seriously, “I want no trouble with the government.”

“I understand.”

He advised, “You, too, should be careful with the government. They will be curious about your flights to Gondar.”

“We are journalists.”

“There is a commercial flight once a week. So perhaps they will want to know why you need my aircraft.”

“We don’t want to spend a week in Gondar.” Purcell asked, “How does that sound?”

“To me, it sounds good. To them… who knows?” He motioned toward Vivian and Mercado, who were standing near his aircraft. “You are nice people. Please be careful.”

“We’re not actually that nice.” Purcell paid him in dollars for the two-day rental and informed him, “Some of your coffee was stolen in Gondar.”

“It is there to be stolen.”

“Right.” He suggested to Signore Bocaccio that he meet them at the Hilton for dinner on their return from Gondar so that the Signore Bocaccio could release their security deposit.

“But you must let me buy you dinner, and I will keep the security deposit for the down payment on Mia.” He smiled.

Purcell returned the smile and suggested, “Seven P.M., but check at the desk for a telex from us in case we are delayed getting out of Gondar.”

The Italian looked at him. “Be careful.”

“See you then.”

Signore Bocaccio would actually be dining alone, but he had their two-thousand-dollar security deposit to keep him company-and also to pay for his commercial flight to Gondar to retrieve his aircraft.

Purcell was about to say arrivederci , but then said to Signore Bocaccio, “I have seen expats and colonials all over the world waiting for the right time to leave a place that has become unfriendly.” He advised him, “That time has arrived.”

Signore Bocaccio, the owner of coffee plantations and other things in Ethiopia, nodded. “But it is difficult. This is my home.” He told the American, “I love Africa.”

“It doesn’t love you anymore.”

He smiled. “It is like with a woman. Do you leave the woman you love because she is having difficulties with life?”

Purcell did not respond.

Signore Bocaccio informed Purcell, “My wife is Ethiopian. And my children. Would they be happy in Italy?”

“I saw many Ethiopians in Rome.”

“Yes, I know.”

“At least take a long vacation.”

“As soon as I leave, the government will take all I have.”

“They’ll take it anyway.”

“This is true… so perhaps a long vacation.” He smiled. “I will fly to Rome with my family in Mia.”

“Bad idea.” He suggested, “Bring your wife to dinner.”

“That is very kind of you.”

They shook hands and Signore Bocaccio wished them, “Buona fortuna.”

“Ciao.”

Purcell had already filed his flight plan for Gondar, and as a repeat customer with fifty thousand lire clipped to the form, he got his red stamp without attitude. The duty officer had written 12:15 as the departure time on the form, and that was fifteen minutes ago, so Purcell said to his flight mates, “Let’s hit it.”

Mercado and Vivian had loaded the luggage, which contained more than they needed for an overnight in Gondar, and most of what they needed for a few weeks in the bush, including a bottle of Moët for when they found the black monastery. Henry had also sent a hotel employee out early in the morning with three hundred dollars and a shopping list that included three backpacks, flashlights, and other camping equipment, all of which could be found in Addis’s many secondhand stores that were bursting with items sold by people who were getting out or who needed hard cash to buy food. The young hotel employee had found nearly everything on the list, including a compass. The only thing they needed now was food, which they could buy in Gondar, and luck, which could not be bought anywhere.