The Quest: A Novel

Mercado had a flair for drama and stage setting. He was, in fact, a performer. An illusionist. Purcell could see it in some of Henry’s writing. There were never any hard facts—just suggestions of fact, mixed with his profound insights. Henry manipulated words the way he manipulated people. Purcell had no doubt that Henry’s epiphany in the Gulag was real, but Henry’s inner pagan had remained the same. If Henry Mercado wasn’t a Catholic journalist, he’d probably be a magician or a wizard. Purcell didn’t think that Vivian would again fall under his spell, but Henry would use her guilt to his advantage.
    He had a second wine and looked at the patrons in the bar mirror. Ethiopia was disgorging large chunks of its population, especially theentrepreneurs and the professional class, and also the old aristocracy who had escaped hanging and shooting, as well as the Coptic and Catholic clergy who felt threatened by the godless revolutionaries. Ethiopia was, in fact, a replay of the French and Russian revolutions; an isolated ruling elite had lost touch with the people, and with reality, so the people had brought reality to the palaces and churches. The three-thousand-year-old established order was crumbling, and for this reason, the Holy Grail was up for grabs.
    It was only a matter of time, he thought, before the revolutionaries located the black monastery; it was well hidden, but nothing can be hidden forever, though he knew that the lost cities of the Mayans had remained undiscovered for hundreds of years in jungles far smaller than those of Ethiopia.
    But no matter who found the monastery, he was sure that the Holy Grail, or whatever else was there, would be spirited away before the first intruders got over the walls. And yet…
    He took the bronze goblet out of his trench coat and looked at it.
    The proprietor, an Italian, looked at it also, then nodded toward his clientele and said in English, “Ethiopian junk.”
    Not wanting the man to think he was a gullible tourist, Purcell informed him, “This is the Holy Grail.”
    The proprietor laughed. “What you pay for that?”
    “Twenty thousand.”
    “Too much. Ten.”
    “This can turn wine into the blood of Christ.”
    The proprietor laughed again, then said, “Okay, for twenty is good.”
    Purcell left a ten on the bar, walked out into the sunshine, and headed for Etiopia.

Chapter 22
    P urcell spotted Vivian and Mercado sitting in the rear of the dark restaurant. They weren’t tête-à-tête, but they did seem at ease, talking and smiling.
    He brushed past the hostess, walked to the table, and said, “Sorry I’m late.”
    Mercado replied, “You’re a bit early, actually.”
    Purcell did not shake hands with Mercado or kiss Vivian; he sat, still wearing his trench coat. Henry, he noticed, was looking a bit more trendy in a black leather jacket and black silk shirt.
    Vivian said, “Henry has brought me up to date.”
    “Good.”
    There was a bottle of wine on the table, and Henry poured into an empty glass for Purcell, then raised his glass and said, “Ad astra per aspera. Through adversity to the stars.”
    Purcell wondered how many Latin toasts Mercado had in him.
    They touched glasses, and Vivian proposed, “To peace and friendship.”
    Purcell lit a cigarette and scanned the room. The place looked as if it had been decorated with the stuff from the blankets, including the blankets themselves that hung on the walls. The tables were half empty, and the clientele seemed to be mostly African and well dressed, probably, Purcell thought, the cream of Ethiopian society who’d washed up on the banks of the Tiber.
    Vivian, trying to keep the conversation going, said, “Henry told me about the research he’s done in the Vatican archives.”
    Purcell didn’t respond.
    Mercado said to her, “Frank was unimpressed.”
    Vivian waited for Purcell to respond, then said, “Odd that they wouldn’t let you into the Ethiopian College.”
    Mercado assured her, “I’ll work that out.” He added, “That is the type of practical research that would appeal to Frank’s practical mind.”
    Mercado and Vivian continued their two-way conversation, the way they had before Purcell arrived, and Purcell knew he was not being civilized or sophisticated, and this probably pleased Mercado to no end. So to avoid a scene later with Vivian and to avoid giving Mercado the satisfaction of seeing him uncomfortable in this situation, Purcell said, “Henry and I have