The Quest

No one had anything else to say, and Purcell was sure that each of them was thinking about what had transpired in Getachu’s office. It had been a very unpleasant experience, he thought, but it could have gone worse, though not better. In any case, everyone seemed relieved that it was over, even if it wasn’t.

Finally, Gann said, “The man’s a bloody lunatic.”

No one argued with that, and Gann added, “Ungrateful bastard. Got a decent education from the good Church of England missionaries, and he complains about a few strokes on his arse. Did him more good than harm, I’m sure.”

Purcell smiled despite the fact that little Mikael had grown up fucked up and was looking for payback. And he didn’t have to look too far.

Vivian admitted, “I was very frightened.”

Purcell wanted to tell her she did fine, but that was Henry’s job, though Henry wasn’t speaking to her. Mercado, in fact, was glancing nervously up at the soldiers with the automatic rifles.

Gann noticed Mercado’s anxiety and assured him, “We’re not getting off that easily, Mr. Mercado.”

Mercado did not reply.

Vivian looked at Purcell and said, “You gave me courage, Frank.”

He didn’t reply.

Vivian said to Gann, “You’re very brave.”

“Thank you, but you were seeing more anger than bravery.” He added, “Men like that are taking over the world.”

That might be true, Purcell thought. He’d seen the Getachus of Southeast Asia, and they seemed to be springing up everywhere. Or maybe they’d been around since the beginning of time. He’d written about these men and about their so-called ideologies without comment or judgment. He reported. Maybe, he thought, if he got out of here, he should start being more judgmental. But then he’d sound like Henry Mercado.

Purcell looked at Mercado, who was sitting on a pile of fresh earth, staring off into space, unaware that there was probably a rotting corpse under his ass. No one had told Henry how brave he’d been. Maybe because he hadn’t been. But he had lied, boldly and recklessly, to Getachu about Father Armano. And Vivian had loyally backed him up on that lie. It was a good lie and the right lie, but Purcell knew that Mercado had lied for the wrong reason. So, this being the private moment that Getachu had offered them, he said to Mercado, “You put us in some jeopardy, Henry, by lying about the priest.”

Clearly, Henry Mercado had nothing to say to Frank Purcell, but he replied for everyone’s benefit, “Getachu has no way to discover the truth.”

“Well, he does if he hangs us all from a post for a few days.”

Mercado said impatiently, “It may have occurred to you that even if I told him what little we knew, he wouldn’t have released us.”

“Right. In fact we’d be here forever. But you’re not answering my question, Henry. Why did you risk lying to him about Father Armano and the black monastery?”

Mercado replied sharply, “You know damned well why.”

“I do, but if we do get out of here, none of us should be coming back to find the black monastery.”

Mercado glanced at Gann and said to Purcell, “I don’t know if we’re getting out of here or if I’m ever coming back, but I don’t want them to find it.”

Henry Mercado, Purcell knew, was comforted by thinking he was protecting the Holy Grail from the Antichrist, or whatever, and he could go to his martyrdom happy in the knowledge that when he met Jesus he could say, “I saved your cup.”

Colonel Gann could feel the tension between the two men, and he knew the cause of it, which was a very old story; one chap had cuckolded the other, and to make matters worse, the lady in question was not declaring herself for one or the other. Awkward, he thought, and though he was sure he had far greater issues to worry about, it made him uncomfortable nonetheless.

To clear the air on at least one thing, however, Gann said, “As I’ve acknowledged to Mr. Purcell, I know about the black monastery, and though it’s well hidden in the jungle, Getachu will eventually find it. You can be sure of that.”

No one responded, and Gann continued, “As you may also have heard, perhaps from this Father Armano, there is a legend that this monastery is the resting place of the Holy Grail.”

Again, no one responded, and Gann went on, “Can’t say I believe in all that, but I can assure you that whenever the revolutionary bastards here show up at a church or monastery, the priests and monks make off with their earthly treasures.”

Purcell figured as much. There were two things the churches were good at: acquiring gold and keeping gold. Half the world’s priceless religious objects had been on the lam at one time or another. And there was no reason to think that this would be any different when the Ethiopian revolutionaries got close to the black monastery. Same if Henry Mercado or Vivian got close. Poof! The Grail disappears again.