The Quest: A Novel

and the Huey’s tail boom began swinging left and right.
    Purcell did not change course and continued to fly straight at the unstable helicopter. He could see the door gunner through the billowing smoke, but the man, undoubtedly terrified, had let go of his machine gun and the barrel was hanging loose.
    The Huey began a slow roll to the right, then suddenly inverted and dropped like a stone into the jungle canopy below, just as the Navion passed through the airspace that the helicopter had occupied a second before. There was a barely audible explosion behind them as Purcell gave it full throttle and began to climb hard.
    Purcell turned off the firing switch, slapped away the plastic aiming disc, then said to Vivian, “It’s over.”
    She rose slowly back into her seat.
    He asked, “Mind if I smoke?”
    No one replied, and he lit a cigarette, noticing that his hand was shaking.
    He glanced at Vivian. Her skin, already pale, was now stark white. “Are you okay?”
    She nodded.
    “Henry?”
    No reply.
    Vivian turned in her seat. “Henry? Henry?” She leaned farther into the rear compartment. “Are you all right? Did you get hit?”
    “By what?”
    Vivian watched him awhile, then turned around.
    Purcell kept the throttle open and the Navion continued to climb.
    Mercado asked, “What happened?”
    Vivian replied, “The helicopter… crashed.”
    He didn’t reply.
    Vivian looked at Purcell. “Now what?”
    “Well… the French Somaliland option is again open. But that’s over two hours from here… and the Ethiopian Air Force may be looking for us shortly.”
    Mercado seemed to be fully aware now, and he cleared his voice and asked, “Do you think the helicopter pilot had time to radio anyone?”
    Purcell didn’t think the pilot even had time to piss his pants after the first smoke rocket went over his head. He replied, “I don’t thinkso. But the helicopter is now obviously out of radio contact, so Gondar will be looking for him, and for us.”
    Mercado stayed silent, then said, “I don’t see that we have any option other than French Somaliland… or perhaps Sudan. How far is that?”
    Purcell glanced at his flight chart. “The Sudan border is less than two hundred miles—maybe an hour-and-a-half flight. But the Ethie Air Force won’t hesitate to pursue over the Sudan border, though they probably won’t pursue over the French territory’s border.”
    Mercado seemed to be thinking, then said, “I will vote for the French border.” He reminded everyone, “We will receive a better reception there than in Sudan.”
    Purcell nodded, then glanced at Vivian. “Your vote?”
    She had already thought about it and said, “Shoan. Can you land there?”
    Purcell thought about that. The single-lane road was too narrow, with towering trees on both sides. The open pastures, however, were a possibility.
    Mercado said, “I’m not sure I’m following you, Vivian.”
    “You are, Henry.” She let them both know, “We are not leaving Ethiopia. We came here to find the Holy Grail.”
    Mercado pointed out, “We are now hunted fugitives. We have just committed murder.”
    Purcell corrected him. “I engaged a hostile aircraft.”
    “Call it what you will, old man, if it makes you feel better as they put the noose around your neck.” He said to Vivian, “We need to get out of here.”
    “We will, when we finish what we came here to do.”
    Purcell was still heading east, toward French Somaliland, and if they decided to change course to Sudan, they had to do it soon, before Sudan became a longer flight than the French territory. He said to Vivian, “You have two choices, and landing in Shoan is not one of them.”
    “How do you know you can make it to a border before the Ethiopian Air Force shoots us down?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Then
land
. In Shoan. How far is it?”
    “Maybe… twenty or thirty minutes.”
    She pointed out, “Colonel Gann is there. Waiting for us. The black monastery is down there, also waiting for us.”
    Purcell thought about that. Vivian was crossing the thin line between bravery and insanity—or obsession at best. But she made good arguments.
    He was about three thousand feet above the ground and climbing. Airspeed was a hundred miles per hour in the climb, but he could get a hundred fifty in a descent. He banked right and the Navion began turning south.
    Mercado asked, “What are you doing?”
    “We are landing in Shoan, Henry.” To be completely honest, he added,