The Quest

He let Vivian take a few more photos, then shouted, “That’s it!” He slid the canopy closed and latched it. The cockpit became quieter, but no one spoke. If they were disappointed in their aerial recon, they didn’t say so.

Purcell picked up a northwesterly heading and began climbing to Gondar’s elevation.

He had no idea what awaited them in Gondar, away from the relative safety of the capital. But if their last trip to Getachu territory was predictive, their search for the Holy Grail could be over in half an hour.

He had enough fuel to turn around and go back to Addis, but then he’d have no explanation for this flight.

He said, “We land in about twenty minutes.”

No one replied, and he continued on.

Chapter 38

Lake Tana was coming up on their left, and beyond the lake were the mountains of Gondar.

Purcell said, “We’ll catch Shoan on the way back.”

Mercado informed him, “You may not see anyone down there.” He explained, “There is a mass exodus of Falasha Jews under way.”

“I heard that. But why?”

“They feel threatened.”

“I know the feeling.” He reminded Mercado, “Gann said the Falashas have a special place in Ethiopian society.”

“Not anymore.”

Vivian asked, “Where are they going?”

“To Israel, of course. The Israelis have organized an airlift.” Mercado informed them, “Every Jew in the world has the right to emigrate to Israel under the Law of Return.”

It seemed to Purcell that everyone who could leave was leaving. Soon the only people left would be the Marxist government, the Russian and Cuban advisors, the peasants, and idiot reporters. And for all he knew, the monks of the black monastery were gone, too, along with the Holy Grail.

Mercado continued, “The Falashas are the only non-convert Jews in the world who were not part of the Diaspora. They are Ethiopians who have been Jewish since before the time of Sheba. Their ethnic origins are here, not Israel or Judea, so the Law of Return does not technically apply to them. But the Israeli government is welcoming them.”

“That’s good. But I hope they’re still in Shoan, because we’re going to put that on our itinerary.”

“I think you’re placing too much hope on Shoan for our mission.”

“We’ll see when we get there.”

At 10:20, Purcell spotted the fortress city of Gondar rising from the hills. It looked like some movie set from a fantasy flick that featured dragons and warlocks. The reality, however, was worse; it was General Getachu’s army headquarters.

The civilian-military airfield was perched on a nearby plateau, and without radio contact, Purcell had to swoop down to see the windsock, and for the tower to see him, making him feel like an intruder into enemy airspace.

The control tower turned on a steady green light for him, the international signal for “Cleared to land.”

He lined up on the north-south runway and began his descent.

Mercado said, “I don’t see a firing squad waiting for us.”

“They’re behind the hangar, Henry.”

Vivian suggested, “Can we stop with the gallows humor?”

As the Navion crossed the threshold of the long runway, Purcell snapped the throttle back to idle, and the aircraft touched down. “Welcome to Gondar.”

He let the Navion run out to the end of the runway as he looked around for any signs that they should turn around, take off, and fly to Sudan, or to French Somaliland, about two hundred fifty miles to the east.

Henry, too, was looking toward the hangars, and at the military vehicles nearby.

The Navion came to a halt, and Purcell taxied toward the hangars.

Vivian lifted her camera, but Mercado said, “You cannot take photos here.”

She put the camera in her bag.

Purcell noticed a C-47 military transport parked near one of the hangars, and he wondered if it was the same one that had blocked him from using the longer runway at the Addis airstrip. The tail number seemed to be the same, but he couldn’t be sure.

He taxied up to the hangar and killed the engine. The cockpit became quiet after four hours in the air, and it was easy now to speak, but no one had anything to say.

Purcell unlatched the canopy and slid it back, letting the cool mountain air into the stuffy cockpit. He said, “Take everything. Leave the carafe.”

He climbed onto the wing, then helped Vivian and Mercado out.

Four men in olive drab uniforms, wearing holsters, were watching them.

They knew the Navion, of course, and Purcell could see they had expected Signore Bocaccio to come out of the cockpit, or maybe Ethiopian pilots who had commandeered the Navion to shoot smoke rockets at the enemies of the state.

Purcell said to his companions, “The good news is that they seem surprised to see us.”

They all jumped down to the concrete apron and walked toward the four military men. One of the men, a captain, motioned them inside the hangar office. He took his seat behind a desk and looked at them.