The Quest: A Novel

getting out of Gondar.”
    The Italian looked at him. “Be careful.”
    “See you then.”
    Signore Bocaccio would actually be dining alone, but he had their two-thousand-dollar security deposit to keep him company—and also to pay for his commercial flight to Gondar to retrieve his aircraft.
    Purcell was about to say
arrivederci
, but then said to Signore Bocaccio, “I have seen expats and colonials all over the world waiting for the right time to leave a place that has become unfriendly.” He advised him, “That time has arrived.”
    Signore Bocaccio, the owner of coffee plantations and other things in Ethiopia, nodded. “But it is difficult. This is my home.” He told the American, “I love Africa.”
    “It doesn’t love you anymore.”
    He smiled. “It is like with a woman. Do you leave the woman you love because she is having difficulties with life?”
    Purcell did not respond.
    Signore Bocaccio informed Purcell, “My wife is Ethiopian. And my children. Would they be happy in Italy?”
    “I saw many Ethiopians in Rome.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    “At least take a long vacation.”
    “As soon as I leave, the government will take all I have.”
    “They’ll take it anyway.”
    “This is true… so perhaps a long vacation.” He smiled. “I will fly to Rome with my family in Mia.”
    “Bad idea.” He suggested, “Bring your wife to dinner.”
    “That is very kind of you.”
    They shook hands and Signore Bocaccio wished them, “Buona fortuna.”
    “Ciao.”
    Purcell had already filed his flight plan for Gondar, and as a repeat customer with fifty thousand lire clipped to the form, he got his red stamp without attitude. The duty officer had written 12:15 asthe departure time on the form, and that was fifteen minutes ago, so Purcell said to his flight mates, “Let’s hit it.”
    Mercado and Vivian had loaded the luggage, which contained more than they needed for an overnight in Gondar, and most of what they needed for a few weeks in the bush, including a bottle of Moët for when they found the black monastery. Henry had also sent a hotel employee out early in the morning with three hundred dollars and a shopping list that included three backpacks, flashlights, and other camping equipment, all of which could be found in Addis’s many secondhand stores that were bursting with items sold by people who were getting out or who needed hard cash to buy food. The young hotel employee had found nearly everything on the list, including a compass. The only thing they needed now was food, which they could buy in Gondar, and luck, which could not be bought anywhere.
    Purcell jumped on the wing and helped Mercado up, then took Vivian’s hand and pulled her onto the wing. They looked at each other a second, then she released his hand and climbed into the cockpit and over to the right-hand seat.
    Purcell got in, hit the master switch, and checked his flight controls, then pumped the throttle and hit the starter. The engine fired up quickly, and he checked his instrument panel. Oil pressure still low.
    Mercado said, “It’s a bit tight back here with the luggage.”
    Vivian said to him, “Do not disturb the pilot when he is doing his pilot stuff.”
    Purcell said, “Seat belts.”
    He released the handbrake and brought the Navion around. He saw Signore Bocaccio standing beside his old Fiat, waving to them. He returned the wave, then slid the canopy closed and taxied toward the end of the longer runway, which was clear of traffic this afternoon.
    Vivian asked him, “Do I need to pray to Saint Christopher?”
    He didn’t reply.
    Vivian had been trying to engage him in light banter all morning, but he wasn’t in the mood. She’d been good enough not to call him in his room last night, or knock on his door, and he was fairly certain she hadn’t spoken to Mercado about the new sleeping arrangement because Henry seemed himself.
    Purcell ran the engine up, checked his controls and instruments again, then wheeled onto the runway. “Ready for takeoff.” He pushed the throttle forward and the Navion began its run.
    The aircraft lifted off and Purcell began banking right, north toward Gondar. To his right lay Addis Ababa, a city he would probably never see again, or if he did, it would be from a prison cell—unless they gave him the same view of the courtyard and gallows.
    Purcell steered the Navion between two towering peaks, then glanced back at what he hoped was his last look at Addis Ababa.
    Henry, as it