Nelson Demille: The Quest

Vivian stopped and said, “There is the rock.”

He caught up to her and looked west into the setting sun. Spread out to their front was a deep depression in the ground that covered acres of land. There were a few trees growing in the sunken ground, but it was mostly open. In the deep, wide depression grew brush, crawling vines, and tropical flowers, but he could also see acres of black rock coming through the ground growth. An old stone quarry.

Vivian pointed, “The rock.”

On the far side of the abandoned quarry, about a hundred yards away, was a great black monolith-a quarried slab of rock, about twenty feet high and ten feet wide, that had been shaped by human hands, but never transported from here. The late afternoon sun highlighted the black luster on its top edge. Purcell didn’t understand how Vivian could have seen it from where they were sitting.

He heard a noise behind him, pushed Vivian down, drew his revolver, and knelt facing the sound.

Gann and Mercado came up the rise and saw them.

Gann said, “There you are. Don’t shoot, old boy. We’re still friends.”

Purcell put the revolver in his cargo pocket and waved them up the slope.

Gann asked, “What have you found?”

“A quarry.”

Vivian said, “We have found Father Armano’s rock.” She pointed.

Mercado and Gann looked across the quarry and Gann said, “Yes, a quarry. Good scouting.”

Mercado was staring at the black monolith on the far edge of the rock quarry. He looked at Vivian and asked, “How do you know?”

“Henry, that is the rock.”

Gann spotted the carved rock and said, “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

The sun slipped below the tall monolith, and a shadow spread across the expanse of the ancient quarry.

Purcell said, “It’s not going anywhere. Let’s camp here, and we’ll take a look in the morning.”

Vivian nodded. “I knew it was here, Frank.”

Purcell looked at her, then looked downslope from where they’d come. Impossible.

She put her hand on his arm. “No, not impossible.”

They awoke before dawn and ate the last of their bread and dates, leaving only some dried goat meat, which Purcell thought would taste like steak when they were near starvation.

Purcell knew they would run out of food before they got to Shoan, but he wasn’t sure they would be starting back today. Not with that black monolith staring them in the face. He looked out across the quarry. It was still too dark to see the black slab-but it was there.

They would have to make a decision; should they look next for Father Armano’s tree? Then his stream? Purcell was almost certain that Vivian was right-this was the rock.

Purcell asked the question on everyone’s minds. “Do we press on from that rock, or do we head back to Shoan and return here when we’re reprovisioned”

No one replied, except Vivian, of course. “We did not come this far to turn back.”

Purcell reminded her, “We’re about to eat the last goat.”

“We need only water.”

“Easy to say on a stomach full of dates.” He asked, “Henry?”

Mercado looked at Vivian. “We continue on.”

Gann agreed and said, “We won’t starve to death.” He informed them, “Snakes. Easy to lop their venomous heads off with a machete.” He further informed them, “You squeeze the buggers and get a good half pint of blood into your cup. Meat’s not bad, either.”

Purcell suggested, “Let’s talk about water.” He told them, “In the gypsum quarries where I grew up, there was lots of ground water. In fact, it needed to be pumped out.”

Gann agreed, “Should be good water down there.”

“So,” Purcell asked, “are we all agreed that we’ve found the rock?”

Everyone agreed.

“And that we have to now look for a tree-which could be long gone after forty years?”

Vivian said, “We will find the tree. And the stream. And the black monastery.”

“Good.” Purcell said, “Father Armano did not let us down.” He said to Mercado, “Cool the champagne.”

Mercado smiled weakly. The man did not look well since they began this hike in Shoan, a week ago, Purcell thought. In fact, his face was drawn and his eyes looked dark and sunken. Purcell handed Mercado his last piece of bread and said, “Have this.”

Mercado shook his head.

Purcell threw the bread on his lap, and Vivian said, “Eat that, Henry.” She picked it up and held it to his lips, but he shook his head. “I’m all right.”

Vivian put the bread in his backpack.

Purcell and Gann looked at the map in the dim light. Gann said, “I can see nothing on this map that indicates an abandoned quarry, so I’m not quite sure where we are… but I would guess here…” He pointed to the map where the dark green was a little lighter, an indication that the cartographers had noted the more sparse vegetation shown on the aerial photographs.

Gann continued, “The elevation lines indicate that beyond the quarry, the ground becomes lower and sinks into a deep basin, with dense growth.”

Purcell said, “Regarding Father Armano’s stream, I don’t see any streams.”

Gann reminded him, “You will only see on the map what could be seen from the aerial photographs.” He added, “Which is not much.”

Vivian let them know, “I don’t care what is on the maps. We need to see what is out there .” She pointed at the black rock.

“Good point,” Purcell agreed. He stood. “Let’s go.”

Everyone slipped on their backpacks and they began picking their way down the terraced slope of the rock quarry. The black obsidian was slippery in places, and the vines were treacherous on the downslope.

Purcell glanced at Mercado, who seemed to be doing all right downhill.

The rocky floor of the quarry was about twenty feet down, and near the bottom they saw water flowing out of the rocks. They stopped and washed their faces and hands in the cool ground water, and drank it directly from its source, then filled their canteens. They sat on a rock ledge and waited, as Gann suggested, for the water to rehydrate them.

Vivian looked out at the black slab at the far edge of the quarry. The sun had peeked over the trees behind them, and the rays now illuminated the east-facing side of the rock. Vivian pointed. “Look.”

They all looked at the twenty-foot-tall slab, and they could now see that the face of it had been etched with a cross.

Vivian said, “We are close.”

They all stood, except for Mercado, who was still sitting, looking at the cross on the rock.

Vivian said to him, “Come on, Henry. We’re almost home.”

He nodded, stood, and smiled for the first time in days.

They continued down to the floor of the quarry, then began making their way across the uneven rock and tangled growth.

Gann said, “By the look of this place, I’d say it has been abandoned for a very long time.”

Purcell wondered if this was where the black stone had come from to build the monastery. He assumed it was. Or had they done again what they were good at-making false assumptions, misinterpreting evidence, and tailoring the clues to fit their theories? Maybe not this time. Somewhere inside him, Purcell felt that they had arrived at the threshold of the black monastery.

They reached the opposite side of the quarry and began climbing the terraced rock. It was not a difficult climb, but they all realized they were weaker than they thought.

The black monolith was set back from the edge of the quarry, and they stood looking at it, and at the cross that they could now see had been deeply cut into the stone by a skilled stone carver. It wasn’t a Latin cross, Purcell noted, but a Coptic cross.