The Quest: A Novel

opened. He said, “If there’s a vehicle in the village, then there is a passable road into the village. Probably from the one-lane road we took.”
    Mercado replied, “I don’t remember seeing any road coming off that road.”
    Purcell said, “There wouldn’t be a road sign saying, ‘Shoan, population a few hundred Jews.’ ” He speculated, “The road might be purposely hidden.”
    Mercado agreed. “They don’t want visitors.”
    “Well, they are about to get three.” He said, “From what I see below, and from what we’ve experienced ourselves, most of this terrain is impassable, even for an all-terrain vehicle. What I suggest is that we have a driver in Gondar take us as far as the spa, and from there we’ll walk to Shoan. Should be a few hours.”
    No one replied.
    “I suggest we use Shoan as our base of operation and explore out from there.”
    Mercado said, “I’m not sure the Falashas would welcome our intrusion, old man. Nor would they be keen on us looking for the black monastery.”
    “Gann was telling us something. And I think what he was saying was, ‘Go to Shoan.’ ”
    Mercado informed him, “The English are not that subtle, Frank. If he wanted us to go to Shoan, he would have said, ‘Go to Shoan.’ ” He further informed Purcell, “That’s the way we speak.”
    “I think he was clear.”
    “What is clear to me is that we should avoid all human contact as we’re beating about the bush. Nothing good can come of us trying to get help from friendly natives.”
    “I hear you, Henry. But as we both know, you can usually trust the outcasts of any society.”
    “The Falasha Jews are not outcasts—they are people who just want to be left in peace as they have been for three thousand years.”
    “Those days are over.”
    “Apparently, but if Sir Edmund is correct about the Falashas and the monks, and if we engage the Falashas, we may find ourselves as permanent residents of the black monastery.”
    “There are worse places to spend the rest of your life, Henry.”
    Vivian had stayed silent, but now said, “I think you are both right to some extent.”
    “Meaning,” Purcell replied, “that we are both wrong to some extent.”
    She pointed out, “We could clear this up if Colonel Gann shows up.”
    No one responded to that.
    They continued south, toward Addis.
    Vivian said, “I think we are missing something.”
    “The carafe?”
    “There was something that Father Armano said… He gave us a clue, without knowing it.”
    Purcell, too, had had the same thought, and he’d tried to drag it out of his memory, but couldn’t.
    Vivian said, “It’s something we should have understood.”
    Mercado reminded them, “He didn’t want us looking for the black monastery or the Holy Grail, so he wasn’t giving us an obvious clue to where the monastery was located. But Vivian is correct and I’ve felt that as well. He told us something, and we need to understand what it was.”
    No one responded to that and they fell into a thoughtful silence. The engine droned, and the Navion bounced and yawed in the highland updrafts. Purcell scanned his instruments. This aircraft burnedor leaked oil. The engine probably had a couple thousand hours on it, and the maintenance was probably performed by bicycle mechanics.
    He glanced up at the Saint Christopher medal, which may have been the only thing that worked right in Signore Bocaccio’s aircraft.
    He tried to figure out if he’d taken leave of his senses, or if this search for the black monastery and the so-called Holy Grail was within the normal range of mental health. A lot of this, he admitted, had to do with Vivian.
Cherchez la femme
. His libido had gotten him into trouble before, but never to this extent.
    And then there was Henry. He not only liked Henry, but he respected the old warhorse. Henry Mercado was a legend, and Frank Purcell was happy that circumstances—or fate—had brought them together.
    And, he realized, the sum was more than the parts. He wouldn’t be here risking his life for something he didn’t believe in with any other two people. Also, they all had the same taste in members of the opposite sex. That ménage, however, was more of a problem than a strength.
    Vivian was sleeping, and so was Henry, curled up on the remaining two coffee bean bags.
    Within three hours of leaving Gondar, he spotted the hills around Addis Ababa, then saw the airstrip. The southern African sky was a pastel blue, and streaks of pink