The Quest: A Novel

replied, “Only if they have something better than my nine-millimeter Uzi.”
    Purcell led them up the road, and over the drainage ditch, to the ten-foot-high wall of tropical vegetation. He said, “Right about here.”
    Gann got on all fours, like a cat, and said, “Here is the trailhead.” They all crawled through the tangled brush onto a shoulder-wide trail, overhung with branches that formed a natural ceiling above their heads.
    The trail itself was clear, and it was obvious that this was a well-used route.
    Purcell said, “This could be the trail used by the villagers.”
    Gann agreed. “Someone is using it on a regular basis.”
    Vivian asked, “Does anyone but me think that those cats were sent by God to show us this trail?”
    Purcell assured her, “Only you, Vivian.”
    “Well.” She smiled. “I don’t think that either.”
    But Purcell thought she did. And maybe this time she was right.
    Gann said, “We will travel about twenty feet apart, but always within sight of one another. Maintain sound discipline, no smoking, and alert everyone if you hear something.”
    Mercado asked, “Where are we going?”
    Gann replied, “I don’t know, but we’ll make good time getting there.” He took Purcell’s map and looked at it. “Don’t see this trail.” He said, “We’ll see what we see, and we will fly by the seat of our pants.” He added, “We’re in the right area, and if we read the land correctly, I feel confident we can find at least one of the abandoned stone quarries, which may be a clue to the location of the black monastery.”
    Purcell was impressed with Colonel Gann’s outdoor skills, and he asked him, “Can we live off the land? I mean if the food runs out.”
    “I don’t much fancy jungle pickings, old boy.”
    “Me neither.”
    “Let’s make certain we can get back to Shoan before the victuals run out.” Gann informed them, “If everyone’s gone, there will be a food cache there for us.”
    Purcell said, “If
you’re
gone, where would we find that cache?”
    “You should look in the stone cisterns which are high up. This is the dry season, and they will be suitable for food storage.”
    “Which cistern?”
    “Don’t know, old boy. Each house has one. You’ll find the right one.”
    “Couldn’t they have left the food in the palace kitchen?”
    “We don’t know who will be coming around after the last person has left.” He explained, “Goats, chickens, and such will be left behind, and that draws hungry people.”
    “Well, let’s hope the Gallas don’t come around.”
    “More likely soldiers or partisans.” He added, “We need to be careful when we enter the village.”
    Mercado asked, “How will we actually get out of here after we’ve completed our mission?”
    “There is a Royalist partisan point about fifty K west of Shoan, and I can find it without a map. Been there. Chaps there will guide us to the French Somali border, as I mentioned.”
    Purcell asked, “And if you’re not with us to find that place?”
    “Dead, you mean?”
    “Or just not feeling well.”
    Gann smiled, then said seriously, “I’d advise you to walk to Gondar. You should be able to blend into the population, though it’s a bit tricky with all the Western tourists and businesspeople gone, and the soldiers everywhere. But it’s not impossible to do that.”
    Purcell suggested, “We could pose as journalists.”
    “There you are.”
    “What do we do after we blend?”
    “You should try to get to Addis by plane, or get someone with a truck to drive you over the Sudan border.” He handed the map back to Purcell and asked, “Have we covered everything?”
    “We have.”
    “Miss Smith? Any questions or concerns?”
    “No. Let’s go.”
    Gann, in military style, restated their mission objective. “We are looking for two things. One is the place where the Falashas meet the monks. We will look for signs of human presence—food waste, campfires, footprints, and all that. Our primary objective, not completely dependent on the first objective, is to find the black monastery.” He reminded them, “From Shoan, which is a few hours’ march south of here, give or take, to the meeting place is, as we know, a day’s march. From the meeting place to the monastery is, we believe, or assume, another day’s march.” He concluded, “If we find the meeting place, then we know we are a day’s march to the monastery—though we don’t know in which direction.” He