The Quest: A Novel

you’re doing.”
    “What did Vivian think?”
    “She was excited when you did your flyby.” He added, “You saw her.”
    “I did.”
    “Yes. And we could see you in the cockpit.”
    “And how did I look, Henry?”
    “Sorry?”
    “Did I look happily surprised to see Vivian on your bedroom balcony?”
    Mercado did not answer the question, but said, “Hold on, old man. We had coffee, waiting to see you. I hope you don’t take that as anything other than what it was.”
    Purcell stared at him, but didn’t reply.
    Mercado was not enjoying this moment as much as he’d thought he would. It would have been much better if Vivian and Purcell had already had a tiff about this, followed by Purcell being sulky at cocktails or dinner.
    Mercado didn’t want to protest too much, but he said, “We’re all civilized, old man.” He reminded Purcell, “We’re going to be in close quarters when we get into the bush.” He immediately regretted his choice of words.
Get into the bush
. Freudian slip? He suppressed a smile.
    “All right.” Purcell let him know, “It’s nothing.”
    Nothing?
Mercado wanted to tell him, “I fucked her, actually,” but that would wreck the whole deal. So instead, he said, “She’s very attached to you, Frank.”
    “End of discussion.”
    “In fact, you should have this discussion with her.”
    Purcell didn’t respond, but he was getting annoyed with Mercado. The subject of Vivian was not a happy one between them, and Mercado’s familiarity would have earned him at least a punch in the gut, as he’d told him in Rome. But Purcell didn’t want to upset the mission. Also, he liked Henry.
    Mercado said to him, “I’m not sure, but I think you were flying too slow as you passed by.”
    “Let me pilot the aircraft, Henry.”
    “I’m thinking about
me
, old man. Your passenger. And Vivian.”
    “Don’t worry about it.” Purcell informed him, “If it makes you feel better, Signore Bocaccio was impressed with my flying skills.”
    “Good. But will he let you fly it again?”
    “He’s thinking about it.”
    “We need that plane.” Mercado asked, “And how is Signore Bocaccio? Is he trying to pretend that the Marxists haven’t taken charge and that his privileged life will continue as usual?”
    “No, I think he gets that it’s over.”
    “He sounds more realistic than many of my colonial compatriots around the world.”
    “Right.”
    “The old world order is finished.”
    “Indeed it is.” Purcell informed Mercado, “Signore Bocaccio wants to know if our newspaper wants to buy Mia.”
    “Who?”
    “The airplane. Mia.”
    “Oh… I don’t think so.”
    “Please ask.” He explained, “Signore Bocaccio wants to get out.”
    “He should. And you should tell him we’re considering buying his aircraft so he will let us continue renting it.”
    “I may have led him to believe that.”
    “You are devious, Frank.”
    “
Me?
You just told me to con him.”
    Their breakfast came and Purcell said, “On the taxi ride to the airstrip, I saw children with distended stomachs.”
    Mercado stayed quiet a moment, then said, “Sometimes I weep for this land.”
    “If you’d seen what I saw in Cambo, you’d weep for that land, too.” He looked at Mercado. “We could weep for the whole world, Henry, but that won’t change the world.”
    Mercado nodded. “When you get to be my age, Frank, you start to wonder… what the hell has gone wrong?”
    “It’s all gone wrong.”
    “It has. But then you see… well, Father Armano. And these UN relief people. And all the aid volunteers and missionaries who come to places like this to do good. To help their fellow human beings.”
    “That is a hopeful thing.”
    “For every Getachu, there is a decent human being trying to soften the world’s suffering.”
    “I hope so.” Purcell asked, “When will the good guys win?”
    “When the last battle is fought between the forces of good and evil. When Christ and the Antichrist meet at Armageddon.”
    “Sounds like a hell of a story. I hope I get to cover it.”
    “We cover it every day, Frank.”
    Purcell nodded.
    Purcell wasn’t as hungry as he’d thought, and he drank his coffee and lit a cigarette.
    Mercado was looking up at the stained glass and said, “It doesn’t actually show Solomon and Sheba in the act.”
    “You have to use your imagination.”
    “I think that scene would bring in the customers.”
    “Or the police.” Purcell asked, “Have you heard