Nelson Demille - The Quest

She warned them, “He has a long memory and a great capacity for cruelty and revenge. Do not fall into his hands again.” She added, “But you know that.”

As for Prince David, Miriam had no illusions that Getachu would be treating him well, but she felt or hoped that after she was out of Getachu’s reach, and she was in Israel, Getachu would release her brother, and the nieces and nephew, under pressure from the Israelis and the UN, and hopefully under orders from his own superiors in Addis. Purcell thought that was a possibility, but he was sure that David, if he ever did arrive in Israel, would be a broken man. As General Getachu himself had indicated, shooting a man is easy; breaking a man is more fun-especially if the man or woman was an arrogant aristocrat, or an annoying journalist.

Miriam suggested to her guests, “Perhaps you can write about what you have seen here. And perhaps you will mention my brother and my nieces and nephew. That could be helpful for their release.”

They all promised they would do that when they left Ethiopia. And they would keep that promise-if they left Ethiopia.

Miriam thanked them, and then painted for them a grim picture of post-revolutionary Ethiopia for their lead story. “The land is laid waste by war, and by locusts and drought, sent by God. Famine has killed too many to count, and millions more hang by a thread. Pestilence is spreading across the land and the people have withdrawn into themselves. Churches are looted and monks lock themselves in their monasteries. All this is punishment by God for what we have allowed the godless men in Addis to do. God is testing us, and we must show him that we remain true to him. Only then will we be saved by God.”

No one spoke, and Gann, Purcell thought, looked both embarrassed and proud of his princess. Clearly, there was a great cultural divide between them, but they were both righteous and decent people, and what separated them was not as great as what divided them. Love conquers all, as Vivian said.

Coffee was served with some sort of concoction of goat’s milk, honey, and almonds.

Miriam said, “Trade with Gondar and other cities has been greatly reduced since the troubles began. So we have only what we have. But that is more than they have in the places where the drought and the locusts have killed the land.” She forced a smile and added, “In any case, we are all going to the land of milk and honey.” She asked if anyone had been to Israel, and Mercado and Purcell had, and they painted a bright picture for Miriam that seemed to comport with what her English knight had already told her.

Purcell had encountered a few former aristocrats or landed gentry and former capitalists in the bars of Hong Kong and Singapore, and in the capitals of Western Europe, and most of them were indignant that they’d been innocent victims of some revolution or another. Almost all expressed a sense of loss, and what they all had in common was a stunned disbelief that the world had changed so much, or had gone so mad. Born to rule or born to great wealth, these refined refugees could not understand or accept that the lowest elements of society-the Getachus-were the most recent mutation of social Darwinism, and that the former lords and masters were the dodo birds in the process of natural selection and extinction.

Princess Miriam, Purcell thought, was a nice person, and he was sure that she and her family had never knowingly hurt anyone. In fact, they’d sent Mikael Getachu, and probably other poor children, to school. But the two greatest scapegoats in the history of the world were the nobility and the Jews-and if you were both, you had a serious problem.

Gann switched to another subject and informed everyone, “Obsidian was quarried in these mountains since ancient times and sent down the Nile on barges to Egypt, where it was prized for its strength and its ability to be polished to a high black luster. We’ve all seen the Egyptian statuary carved from obsidian in museums. It’s difficult to work with, and it is rarely seen as a building material, except in floors, such as the one in this room, which could be a thousand years old.”

Purcell wasn’t sure where this was going, but then Gann said, “The quarries in this area have not been worked for hundreds of years, and they are mostly overgrown and lost to memory. But there are a few that I’ve identified, and on the theory that this black monastery is built of obsidian-which is so heavy that it can’t be transported too far-I think we should have a look around these three ancient quarries which I’ve identified on a map.”

Everyone nodded, except Miriam, who clearly didn’t want to participate in any discussion about finding the black monastery.

It occurred to Purcell that, as Vivian said, they were close, and with some luck and brains they could actually be seeing what Father Armano saw forty years ago-high black walls rising out of the jungle in front of them. But was the monastery now deserted? He suspected that it was, especially after the Jewish elders of Shoan told the monks that they were all leaving. Gone, too, would be the Grail, of course. But if he, Vivian, Mercado, and Gann found the monastery, that would be enough for him and maybe for his companions. The journey would be over, and the Grail-as it had a history of doing-would be gone, but safe from the world which had grown evil.

But if they reached the walls of the monastery and a reed basket was lowered… well, forewarned was forearmed.

Dinner was over, and everyone stood. The long night had begun, and at dawn they would begin their quest for fame, fortune, salvation, a good story, a Grail rescue mission, inner peace, or whatever was driving them into the dark interior.

If, indeed, they had been chosen for this journey, then the answer to why they’d been chosen was waiting for them.

They rose before dawn and met in the courtyard, where Miriam had coffee, fruit, and bread for them.

They carried their backpacks and equipment, and what was left behind would be burned along with the Navion, to hide any traces that they’d been in the village.

Vivian and Purcell had slept in the same room, but not in the same bed. So they were friends.

The sky was beginning to lighten, and Purcell could see it was going to be a clear day. No one spoke much, because there was little to say that hadn’t already been said, and also because there were no words equal to the moment of heading off into the unknown.

Purcell, Vivian, and Henry thanked Miriam for her hospitality and promised to meet again under better circumstances. She seemed sorry to see them go, Purcell thought, but probably relieved, too. She didn’t hand them a map to the black monastery, but she did say, “If God wants you to find this place, you will.” She also assured them, “Edmund will be your guide in the jungle. Please be his guide in the ways of God.”

Henry and Vivian said they would.

They left Colonel Gann to say his own good-bye to his lady, and they went through a back door and into a flower garden.

They had as much food with them as they could carry, which consisted mostly of boiled eggs, bread, dates, and dried meat, all of which Gann assured them was high in nutrition, and would last a week. They each carried two canteens; one of water, one of the purple juice, which Purcell had come to enjoy. Henry had his Moët, of course, and Vivian had her camera. Purcell was in charge of the maps.