The Quest: A Novel

us with that.”
    “I believe I can.” He informed them, “I have a general idea where it is.”
    “So do we,” said Purcell, “based on what Father Armano said about his army patrol from Lake Tana to the black monastery, then being taken by foot to the Royalist fortress, then his escape forty years later and his walk that night to the Italian spa.” He suggested, “Maybe we could triangulate all of that if we had a good map.”
    Gann nodded again. “It’s a starting point.” He advised, “You ought to begin with aerial reconnaissance if you can.”
    Purcell informed him, “We might have access to a light plane in Addis.”
    “Good. That will save you time and effort, and help keep you out of the hands of the Gallas—or Getachu.”
    Mercado told Gann, “There are possibly some good Italian Army maps in the Ethiopian College in Vatican City.”
    “Excellent. I’d like to take a look at them.”
    “I’m working on that.”
    Gann also informed them, “There is a Falasha village in thevicinity, as I mentioned to Mr. Purcell at Getachu’s parade ground. These Jews may be a key to locating the black monastery.” He explained, “There seems to be some… ancient relationship there.”
    Vivian asked, “What is that relationship?”
    Gann further explained, “The royal family, of course, has Jewish blood from Solomon, and they are proud of that. Proud, too, that they, through the Coptic Church, are the keepers of the Ark of the Covenant, which presumably they are keeping safe for the Jews. The Jews there, the Falashas, see Jesus as a great Jewish prophet and they revere him, and presumably they also believe in the Holy Grail—the kiddush cup of Jesus’s last Passover meal.” He asked his companions, “Do you see the connection?”
    Everyone nodded.
    Gann continued, “Also, it would appear that the only connection the black monastery has with the outside world is through this Falasha village. Shoan.”
    Purcell inquired, “What sort of connection?”
    Gann replied, “A spiritual connection. But also a practical connection. Food, medical supplies—”
    “They have the Holy Grail,” Purcell reminded him. “Cures what ails you.”
    “Yes… well… good point.” He continued, “The monastery, like most monasteries, is self-sufficient, but even a monk needs new underwear now and then. Sandals and candles. And a bit of wine.”
    Purcell asked, “How do you know all this?”
    “We can discuss that in Ethiopia.”
    “All right.” Purcell said, “It would seem, then, that the Falashas know how to find the black monastery.”
    Gann replied, “My understanding is that there is a meeting place somewhere between the monastery and the village.”
    Purcell nodded. He had this feeling, as he’d had in Ethiopia, that he’d fallen through the rabbit hole. He said to Mercado, “This is a whole chapter in our book, Henry. Jews for Jesus.”
    Gann changed the subject. “Have you thought about how you will actually get into this walled monastery if you find it?”
    Purcell admitted, “We haven’t thought that far ahead—about pulling off a heist in a monastery filled with club-wielding monks.”
    Gann nodded. “Well… we can discuss that if or when the time comes.”
    “Right.” But the more Purcell thought about all this, the more he believed that time might never come. More likely, they’d wind up in Getachu’s camp again, or if they were really unlucky, they’d meet up with the Gallas. Henry and Vivian, however, believed they were chosen to find the Holy Grail, and that God would watch over them. As for himself, he half believed half of that.
    Purcell asked Gann, “If you can get back into Ethiopia, will you actually come with us to the monastery?”
    “Am I invited?”
    Vivian cautioned, “This would be more dangerous for you than for us.” She asked, “And how would you get into the country?”
    Gann reminded them, “I am officially a fugitive from Ethiopian justice, so I will not be applying for a return visa. I will acquire another identity and fly in from Cairo on a commercial flight.” He informed them, “I have access to everything I need in regard to a passport and a forged visa.”
    Vivian said, “Sounds risky.”
    “Not too.” He explained, “The security people at Addis airport are totally inept—except the ones who are corrupt.” He informed them, “That was how I flew in last time. I was Charles Lawson then, a Canadian citizen, and within a few days I was