The Quest: A Novel

shattered structures and came to an almost undamaged building that measured about ten feet on each side. It was the only building whose door was intact and closed. The door was rusted steel and there was a hasp on it, but the lock was gone. At the bottom of the door was a steel pass-through with an open bolt.
    Purcell said, “Looks like a prison to me.”
    Purcell stepped over several disjointed skeletons that lay near the door and pushed on it, but it would not give. Gann joined him and together they put their shoulders to the door, but it was stuck, probably rusted shut.
    Vivian suggested using the pass-through at the bottom, and Purcell knelt and pushed on it until it squeaked open.
    Vivian, too, knelt and said, “I’ll go.” No one objected, so she shucked her backpack but kept her camera, and squeezed her slim body into the opening. Her legs and feet disappeared and the door fell shut.
    They all waited for her to call out, but there was only silence.
    Finally, Purcell banged on the door. “Vivian!”
    “Yes… come in.”
    Purcell went first, followed by Mercado and Gann.
    They all stood in the middle of the dirt floor and looked around at the small, stone prison cell. The floor was covered with debris, and the roof was gone except for a single sheet of corrugated steel. There was a small opening high up one wall, and under the opening was a cross that had been etched into the stone.
    Vivian said, “Forty years… my God.”
    She reached up and touched the cross. “What incredible faith.”
    Purcell and Gann looked at each another. Mercado said, “Indeed, this man was a saint and a martyr.”
    Purcell wanted to point out that it was other Christians who’d put the priest here, but he’d exhausted his theological arguments.
    Vivian took a dozen photographs of the cell, then suggested they all observe a silent minute of prayer.
    They had been mostly silent anyway, and Purcell had no problem with this as long as they could do it standing, which they did.
    Vivian said, “Amen.”
    Purcell said, “This, I think, solves the mystery of how Father Armano escaped the Gallas.”
    They looked around the sparse cell in case they missed something, like a note scratched in the wall or, Purcell hoped, a map or instructions directing them to the black monastery. He reminded everyone that Getachu’s soldiers had been here five months ago, and said, “This place has been picked clean.” Purcell suggested, “We should get out of this cell.”
    Gann agreed. “This is not a good place to be if anyone comes round.”
    Gann crawled out first with his Uzi, followed by Mercado, Vivian, and Purcell. Gann suggested, “We can take a short lunch break, then move on to our next objective.”
    They found a shady spot along a wall and sat on the ground. They broke out some bread and dates, but no one seemed to want the dried meat, perhaps because of the smell of death on the bones all around them.
    Gann said, “We need to find a stream. Shouldn’t be too difficult, but sometimes it is. Don’t drink from the ponds. But a wash is all right.”
    Mercado said, “I saw some berries on the trail. And fruit of some sort.”
    “Yes, some are good. Some will kill you.”
    Vivian asked, “Do you know which is which?”
    “Not actually.” He admitted, “Never could get them right.”
    Purcell suggested, “Henry can be our taster.”
    “After you, Frank.”
    Gann asked Purcell for the area map. He studied it and said, “I see you’ve got six numbered circles here.” He asked, “Are they numbered in order of importance?”
    Purcell replied, “Sort of. But not really.”
    “All right, then… we’ll do them geographically.” He studied the map again and said, “Unfortunately, I don’t see any marked trails, but all of these places are within fifty kilometers of this fort… and there will be trails converging on this fort. We need to find the various trailheads, then decide which one to take.” He looked up from the map. “But these six points are not necessarily connected by trails, or by open terrain. So if we have to cut brush and vines, this could take… well, I’m afraid a month. Or more.”
    “Unless,” Mercado pointed out, “we get lucky on the first try.”
    “Yes, of course. But you understand, old boy, none of these little circles here could be the place we are looking for.”
    “In fact,” Purcell said, “I don’t think any of them are.”
    No one responded to that, and Purcell continued, “As