Nelson Demille - The Quest

A young woman wearing a green shamma came out of the vehicle, and they all followed Gann as he walked toward the lady.

Gann announced, “This is Miriam.”

She nodded her head.

Purcell looked at her. She was about early thirties, maybe younger, with short curly black hair. Her features were distinctly Semitic, though her skin was very dark, and her eyes were a deep brown. All in all, she was a beautiful woman.

Gann introduced his friends who’d dropped in unexpectedly, and she took each person’s hand and said, “Welcome.”

Gann didn’t say this was his girlfriend, but it was, and that explained a few things. Always cherchez la femme , Purcell knew.

Gann asked his visitors, “Are you being pursued?”

Purcell replied, “Possibly by air.”

“All right then… we will bury the aircraft in palm fronds.” He looked at Miriam, who said in good English, “I will see to that.”

Gann let them know, “Miriam is… well, in charge here.” He explained, “She’s a princess of the royal blood.”

Purcell had had a few experiences with Jewish princesses, but he understood that this was different.

Mercado said to Princess Miriam, “We are sorry to intrude, your highness.”

“Please, I am just Miriam.”

Mercado bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Purcell reminded everyone, “Sir Edmund actually invited us.”

Gann replied, “I did, didn’t I? Glad you understood that. Well, here you are. So let’s be off.” He opened the door of the Land Rover for his princess, and said to everyone, “If the aircraft doesn’t blow up, your luggage will be along shortly.”

Purcell, Mercado, and Vivian squeezed into the rear of the Land Rover. Gann got behind the wheel and turned toward the village, saying, “I’m afraid Shoan will look a bit deserted, as you may have noticed when you flew by a few days ago. Most everyone has gone to Israel. Just a dozen or so left, and they’ll be heading off soon.”

No one responded to that, and Gann put his hand on Miriam’s shoulder and said, “But they’ll all be back. You’ll see. A year or two.”

Miriam didn’t reply.

They entered the small village of about fifty stucco houses, and except for the tin roofs and unpaved streets, Purcell thought he could be back in Berini. No church, however, but he did see the building on the small square that he’d seen from the air, and indeed it was the synagogue, with a Star of David painted in blue over the door.

The square was deserted, and so was the narrow street they turned down, which ended at the edge of the village. Purcell saw the large house he’d also seen from the air, which turned out to be the princess’s palace.

Gann stopped the vehicle under a stand of tall palms and said, “Here we are.”

Everyone got out and Gann opened a small wooden door in the plain, windowless façade. Miriam entered, then Gann waved his guests in.

It wasn’t that palatial, Purcell saw, but the whitewashed walls were clean and bright, and the floor was laid with red tile. Niches in the walls held ceramic jars filled with tropical flowers. They followed Miriam and Gann through an open arch into a paved courtyard where the round pool that Purcell had seen from the air sat among date palms. Black African violets grew beneath the palms, and bougainvillea climbed the walls of the other wings of the house.

Gann indicated a grouping of teak chairs and they sat.

A female servant appeared and Miriam said something to her and she left, then Miriam said to her guests, “I can offer you only fruit drinks and some bread.”

Purcell informed her, “We have about a hundred pounds of coffee beans in the aircraft. Please consider that our houseguest gift.”

Miriam smiled, turned to Gann, and said something in Amharic.

Gann, too, smiled, and Purcell had the feeling that Colonel Gann had briefed the princess about his friends.

Vivian said, “This is a beautiful house.”

“Thank you.”

Purcell went straight to the obvious question and asked Gann, “So, how did you two meet?”

Gann replied, “I was a friend of Miriam’s father back in ’41. Met him in Gondar after we kicked out the Italians.” He explained, “The Falashas own most of the weaving mills and silver shops in Gondar, and the bloody Fascists took everything from them because they are Jews, and arrested anyone who made a fuss about it. I found Sahle in a prison, half dead, and gave him a bit of bread and a cup of gin. Put him right in no time.” He continued, “Well, Sahle and I became friends, and before I left in ’43, I came to Shoan to see the birth of his daughter.” He looked lovingly at Miriam. “She is as beautiful as her mother.”

Vivian smiled and asked Miriam, “Are your parents… here?”

“They have passed on.”

Gann said, “Miriam has an older brother, David, who unfortunately went to Gondar on business a few months ago, and has not returned.” He added, “He is said to be alive in prison.” He added, “Getachu has him.”

The servant returned with a tray of fruit, bread, and ceramic cups that held purple juice. Everyone took a cup and the servant set the tray on a table. Miriam spoke with the woman, then said to her guests, “The aircraft is being hidden, and your luggage has arrived.” She also assured Mr. Purcell that the coffee beans were with the luggage, and coffee would be served later.

Gann raised his cup and said, “Welcome to Shoan.”

They all drank the tart juice, which turned out to be fizzy and fermented.

Gann said, “You must tell me everything.”

Purcell replied, “Henry is good at telling everything.”

Mercado started with their separate arrivals in Addis, and his finding Signore Bocaccio and his aircraft. Gann nodded, but he seemed to know some of this, and Purcell was impressed with the Royalist underground, or whatever counterrevolutionaries Gann was in touch with.

Mercado then described their aerial recon, and Vivian’s wonderful photography, and remembered to thank Gann for the maps, but forgot to compliment Purcell on his flying. Purcell noted, too, that Henry didn’t tell Sir Edmund that he, Henry Mercado, had recently fucked Frank Purcell’s girlfriend. But that wasn’t conversation for mixed company, though Henry might mention it later to Sir Edmund, man to man.

Purcell looked at Gann, then at Miriam, then at Mercado and Vivian. He hoped he was as lucky when he hit sixty. He thought, too, of Signore Bocaccio with his Ethiopian wife and children. If all went well-which it would not-they’d be in Rome in a few weeks; he, Vivian, Henry, Colonel Gann, Miriam, and the Bocaccio family, sitting in Ristorante Etiopia, drinking wine out of the Holy Grail. That was not going to happen, but it was nice to think it.

Henry was getting to the good part-the part where Frank Purcell shot down an armed Ethiopian Air Force helicopter. Henry said to Purcell, “Perhaps you’d like to tell this, Frank.”

Purcell understood that this was a good story for a bar, far away from Ethiopia. But here, it was not a good story. In fact, he had put them all in mortal danger. Though in Ethiopia, that was redundant.

“Frank?”

“Well, I think this chopper was looking for us, and I think our old friend General Getachu had sent him. So the game was up, one way or the other, and we-I-decided to take this guy out.”

Gann asked, “Do you have weapons with you?”

“No.” He explained about the rocket pod, and his creative use of the smoke markers. He didn’t go into detail, but he did say, “I rode in a lot of Hueys in ’Nam, covering the war, and I saw them using smoke rockets.” He added, “Looked easy.” He also explained, “We were dead anyway. Or worse than dead if we landed in Gondar.”