The Quest

“We could walk for a year and not find it. We could pass within a hundred yards of it and miss it.”

“I’ll have the photographs developed and enlarged before noon tomorrow.”

“Good. And if we don’t see anything… then we need to start at a place we can easily find. Shoan.” He looked out the windshield. “In fact, there it is.”

He made a shallow left bank and began to descend.

As they got closer, they could see white farmhouses with corrugated metal roofs sitting in fields of crops. There were also what looked like fruit orchards, and pastures where goats roamed and donkeys grazed. There was also a horse paddock built around a pond. It looked peaceful, Purcell thought, an island of tranquility in a sea of chaos.

The village itself was nestled between two hills, and they could see a cluster of houses around a square. There were a few larger buildings, one of which Purcell thought could be the synagogue. Another large building at the edge of the village was built around a courtyard in which was a round pool and palm trees.

Mercado was looking through his binoculars and said, “Amazing.”

Purcell asked, “Do you see any people?”

“Yes… and I see… a vehicle… looks like a cross-country vehicle… maybe a Jeep or Land Rover.”

“Could it be military?”

“I really can’t say, Frank. Get closer.”

He glanced at his watch, then his airspeed. The phantom headwinds he’d reported on the northbound flight were real now, and they needed to get back to the flight plan and head directly toward Addis. “We’re heading back.”

He looked at his chart and compass and took a direct heading toward Addis Ababa with the throttle fully opened. He said, “If there’s a vehicle in the village, then there is a passable road into the village. Probably from the one-lane road we took.”

Mercado replied, “I don’t remember seeing any road coming off that road.”

Purcell said, “There wouldn’t be a road sign saying, ‘Shoan, population a few hundred Jews.’ ” He speculated, “The road might be purposely hidden.”

Mercado agreed. “They don’t want visitors.”

“Well, they are about to get three.” He said, “From what I see below, and from what we’ve experienced ourselves, most of this terrain is impassable, even for an all-terrain vehicle. What I suggest is that we have a driver in Gondar take us as far as the spa, and from there we’ll walk to Shoan. Should be a few hours.”

No one replied.

“I suggest we use Shoan as our base of operation and explore out from there.”

Mercado said, “I’m not sure the Falashas would welcome our intrusion, old man. Nor would they be keen on us looking for the black monastery.”

“Gann was telling us something. And I think what he was saying was, ‘Go to Shoan.’ ”

Mercado informed him, “The English are not that subtle, Frank. If he wanted us to go to Shoan, he would have said, ‘Go to Shoan.’ ” He further informed Purcell, “That’s the way we speak.”

“I think he was clear.”

“What is clear to me is that we should avoid all human contact as we’re beating about the bush. Nothing good can come of us trying to get help from friendly natives.”

“I hear you, Henry. But as we both know, you can usually trust the outcasts of any society.”

“The Falasha Jews are not outcasts-they are people who just want to be left in peace as they have been for three thousand years.”

“Those days are over.”

“Apparently, but if Sir Edmund is correct about the Falashas and the monks, and if we engage the Falashas, we may find ourselves as permanent residents of the black monastery.”

“There are worse places to spend the rest of your life, Henry.”

Vivian had stayed silent, but now said, “I think you are both right to some extent.”

“Meaning,” Purcell replied, “that we are both wrong to some extent.”

She pointed out, “We could clear this up if Colonel Gann shows up.”

No one responded to that.

They continued south, toward Addis.

Vivian said, “I think we are missing something.”

“The carafe?”

“There was something that Father Armano said… He gave us a clue, without knowing it.”

Purcell, too, had had the same thought, and he’d tried to drag it out of his memory, but couldn’t.

Vivian said, “It’s something we should have understood.”

Mercado reminded them, “He didn’t want us looking for the black monastery or the Holy Grail, so he wasn’t giving us an obvious clue to where the monastery was located. But Vivian is correct and I’ve felt that as well. He told us something, and we need to understand what it was.”

No one responded to that and they fell into a thoughtful silence. The engine droned, and the Navion bounced and yawed in the highland updrafts. Purcell scanned his instruments. This aircraft burned or leaked oil. The engine probably had a couple thousand hours on it, and the maintenance was probably performed by bicycle mechanics.

He glanced up at the Saint Christopher medal, which may have been the only thing that worked right in Signore Bocaccio’s aircraft.