The Quest: A Novel

mountain air into the stuffy cockpit. He said, “Take everything. Leave the carafe.”
    He climbed onto the wing, then helped Vivian and Mercado out.
    Four men in olive drab uniforms, wearing holsters, were watching them.
    They knew the Navion, of course, and Purcell could see they had expected Signore Bocaccio to come out of the cockpit, or maybe Ethiopian pilots who had commandeered the Navion to shoot smoke rockets at the enemies of the state.
    Purcell said to his companions, “The good news is that they seem surprised to see us.”
    They all jumped down to the concrete apron and walked toward the four military men. One of the men, a captain, motioned them inside the hangar office. He took his seat behind a desk and looked at them.
    Purcell noted that the captain was wearing the red star insignia of the new Marxist state, but he had probably worn the Lion of Judah six months ago. Hopefully, this guy was not Getachu’s nephew, and hopefully he spoke the international language of flight, and also believed in the international brotherhood of men who took to the skies. Or he was an asshole.
    The captain asked, in good English, “Who are you?”
    Purcell replied, “We are journalists from Addis and friends of Signore Bocaccio.”
    “What is your business here?”
    “We are here to see the ancient city of Gondar.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it is famous.”
    The captain thought about that, then said, “Your flight plan, passports, and credentials.”
    Purcell gave him the flight plan, and everyone gave him their passports and press cards. He studied each passport, then checked their names against a typed list. Purcell, Vivian, and Mercado glanced at each other.
    The captain looked at their press cards, then handed everything back to Purcell and informed him, “There is a landing fee.”
    “What is it today?”
    The captain stared at him, then asked, “What do you have?”
    “Lire.”
    “Fifty thousand.”
    Purcell said to Mercado, “Pay the gentleman, Henry.”
    Mercado looked both relieved and annoyed. He took a fifty-thousand-lire note out of his wallet and gave it to the captain.
    The captain asked, “How long are you here?”
    “A few hours.”
    “A long flight for a few hours in Gondar.”
    Vivian replied, “I am a photographer.” She tapped her camera bag. “We are taking preliminary photographs today, and if our newspaper likes them, we will be back to do a photographic essay of the ancient city.”
    The captain stared at her, and he seemed to be processing that information. He asked Purcell, “What other business do you have here?”
    “None.”
    “Do you know anyone here?”
    “No one.” Except General Getachu, of course, but that wasn’t worth mentioning.
    The captain looked at them for a long time, then said, “If a military situation develops, the Provisional Revolutionary Air Force has the right to make use of your aircraft, as I am sure Signore Bocaccio told you.”
    “We understand.”
    “Are you here to report on the war?”
    “Not today.”
    “What is your next destination?”
    “Addis.”
    The captain informed them, “Your fuel tanks will be filled in your absence and you will pay for the fuel in Western currency.” He reminded them, “You will file a flight plan for Addis, and there will be a takeoff fee.”
    “I understand.”
    “You will see me—Captain Sharew—before you take off.”
    “All right.”
    “You may leave.”
    They walked toward the door.
    “Wait!”
    They turned and Purcell saw that Captain Sharew was looking at their flight plan. He said to Purcell, “It has been over four hours since you left Addis.”
    “We had headwinds.”
    Captain Sharew pointed to the C-47 outside his window and informed them, “That aircraft left from the same airstrip after you. He arrived two hours ago and reported no headwinds.” He asked, “Did you deviate from your flight plan?”
    “Actually, I misread the chart, and I’m unfamiliar with the terrain, so I was lost for about an hour.”
    “So, headwinds
and
lost. You are an unlucky pilot.”
    “Apparently.”
    “I will be taking note of your total fuel consumption from Addis.”
    “Note that we started with only three-quarters fuel.”
    “Perhaps someone at Addis will remember that.”
    “I’m sure they will.”
    The captain kept staring at them, then said, “You may leave.”
    They turned and exited the hangar.
    Mercado said, “He is not buying headwinds and lost, Frank.”
    Purcell had spotted the