The Quest

Mercado laughed. “Learn to lie a bit, old man. You’re offensive when you don’t.”

“I’m learning from a master, Henry.”

“That you are.” He said to Purcell, “I was just telling Vivian the terms of her employment. All expenses paid, but no pay.”

“Right. Money is tight at the Vatican.”

Henry laughed, then informed him, “We try to keep the newspaper self-sufficient.”

“Sell tobacco ads.”

“The assignment is for one month.” He looked at both of them and said, “That should be enough time… one way or the other.”

Neither Purcell nor Vivian replied.

Mercado said, “I have a contract for each of you to sign.”

Purcell informed him, “I stopped signing contracts in bars years ago.”

Mercado laughed. “They’re in my office, old man. Not here.” He let them know, “Anything you write-or photograph-becomes the exclusive property of L’Osservatore Romano.”

“Who gets to keep the Holy Grail?”

“We will see.”

The waiter brought another round along with a plate of canapés. Main course.

Mercado announced, “By the way, I’ve informed the Vatican, by letter, of the death of Father Giuseppe Armano of Berini, Sicily, with copies of my letter to several Vatican offices, which is what one does in a bureaucracy, and a copy to the Ministry of War because the deceased was in the army serving the fatherland in Ethiopia.”

Purcell asked, “Have you had a response?”

“No.”

Vivian asked, “Did you relate the circumstances of his death?”

“Yes, of course, but I neglected to mention the black monastery or the Holy Grail.”

Purcell asked, “Did you use our names in the letter?”

“I did.” He explained, “I didn’t want them thinking I was hallucinating at the sulphur baths.”

Purcell said, “We’d like to see a copy of the letter.”

Mercado took a photostated page out of his pocket and handed it to Purcell. Purcell read it and saw it was a fairly straightforward account of what had happened that evening, though Father Armano’s tale had been condensed to a few lines about his capture by Ethiopian forces-though he’d actually been captured by Coptic monks-and his forty-year imprisonment in a Royal Army fortress. Purcell noticed, too, that Henry had not mentioned the nude bathing.

He passed the letter to Vivian and said to Mercado, “I would think someone would have replied to this.”

“Communication with the Vatican is usually one-way. Same with government ministries.”

“Yes, but they’d want more information.”

“Not necessarily.”

“How about a thank-you?”

“A good deed is its own reward.” He popped a canapé in his mouth, then said, “I wasn’t actually sure whom to notify, so I copied six Vatican offices, and I admit I am a bit surprised myself that no one from the Vatican has gotten back to me-though someone else did.”

“Who?”

“The order of Saint Francis. And they have no one in their files or records by the name of Giuseppe Armano of Berini, Sicily.”

Vivian looked up from Mercado’s letter.

Purcell asked him, “What do you make of that?”

“I’m not sure. Certainly Father Armano existed. We saw him. Or we saw someone.”

Vivian said, “A man lying on his deathbed does not make up a lie about who he is.”

Mercado agreed and said, “It gets curiouser.” He continued, “I called the Franciscans in Assisi to follow up and someone there said they’d get back to me, though they haven’t. Then I tried the Ministry of War, and some maggiore informed me that the 1935 war in Ethiopia was not his most pressing problem. He did say, however, that he’d make internal inquiries.”

Purcell thought about all this, then said to Mercado, “Things, I’m sure, move slowly in the Vatican bureaucracy, but you may hear back soon.”

“What is the date of my letter?”

Vivian looked at it and said, “Ten November.”

“Which,” Mercado said, “is less than a week after I arrived in Rome from London, and which is why, as you’ll see in the letter, I didn’t apologize for any delay in reporting this death to whomever I thought were the proper authorities.”

Purcell reminded him, “You told me you didn’t notify the Vatican.”

“I lied.” He smiled. “I didn’t like you then.” He added, “Now we are friends and partners in this great adventure and we have sealed our covenant with blood. Well… cheap wine. And we are, as they say, putting all our cards on the table.”

Purcell thought Henry was still holding a card or two. He asked, “What do you think is actually going on?”

Mercado drained his gin and tonic and replied, “Well, obviously, something is going on. Someone, perhaps in the Vatican, instructed the Franciscans to post a reply, and further instructed them to say there is no Father Armano.”

“Why?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, old man.”

Vivian said, “The Vatican knows who Father Armano is, and they know what Father Armano was doing in Ethiopia. And now they’re wondering how much we know.”

“That’s very astute, Vivian. And they will continue to wonder how much we know-what Father Armano’s last words were to us.”