The Quest

They reached the airstrip, where a swirling ground mist obscured the runway and the hangars. Purcell said to Mercado, “It’s okay if you want to go back.” He added, “It’s not a bad idea to have a potential survivor.”

Mercado did not reply.

“Someone to carry on with the mission. Or tell our story.”

Mercado opened the door and got out of the taxi.

Purcell told the driver to wait, and to Vivian he said, “In case there’s a problem with the authorities. Or with Henry.”

“He’s not good in the mornings.”

“I wouldn’t know.” He got out of the taxi and walked to the hangar to file his flight plan. He found, to his surprise, that he was still annoyed with Henry-and with Vivian-about their coffee date. There was no reason for her to be alone with him. But as they all knew, there would be more such moments in the weeks ahead.

A young air force lieutenant sat behind a desk in the hangar office, smoking a cigarette. Signore Bocaccio had given Purcell a few flight plan forms and advised him how to fill them out, which Purcell had done in English, the international language of flight-except here, apparently.

The lieutenant looked at the flight plan, and it was obvious he couldn’t read it.

“Where go you?”

“Gondar.” Purcell pointed to the destination line of the form.

“Why?”

Purcell showed him his press credentials and his passport. “Gazetanna.”

The man pointed outside. “Who go you?”

“Gazetanna.” He held up two fingers.

The lieutenant shook his head. “No.” He waved his hand in dismissal.

Purcell took the carbon copy of the flight plan out of his pocket and put it on the desk. The Ethiopian birr had collapsed, but there was a fifty-thousand-lire note-about forty dollars-paper-clipped to the form.

The lieutenant eyed the money-about a month’s pay-then picked up his rubber stamp and slammed it on Purcell’s copy of the flight plan, then wrote the time on it. “Go!”

Purcell took his copy and exited the hangar.

Henry hadn’t taken the taxi back to the hotel, and he was talking to Vivian near the Navion. Purcell paid the cabbie, then walked to the aircraft.

Mercado asked, “Any problems?”

“Are we reimbursed for bribes?”

“There are no bribes in the People’s Republic. Only user fees.”

Vivian had her camera bag and said, “I was telling Henry that I dug up a wide-angle lens at the Reuters office, and they have a good lab for blow-ups.” She added, “And they don’t ask questions.”

“Good. Are we ready? Pit stop? Henry? How’s your bladder?”

“Everything down there works well.”

Purcell tapped his canvas bag and said, “I have an empty water carafe from the hotel if anyone needs to use it.” He asked Mercado, “Did you remember to buy binoculars?”

“I borrowed a pair from the press office.”

As Purcell walked to the wing, Mercado asked him, “What is this?” He pointed to the rocket pod.

“What does it look like, Henry?”

“A rocket pod. Are we attacking?”

As Purcell was explaining about the rocket pod, Mercado noticed bullet holes in the fuselage and pointed them out to everyone.

Purcell assured Vivian and Mercado, “Lucky hits.” He climbed onto the left wing from the trailing edge, unlatched the canopy, and slid it back. The odor of musty leather and hydraulic fluid drifted out of the cockpit. He reached down for Mercado, who took his hand and vaulted up onto the wing. Purcell said, “Pick any seat in the rear.”

“There are no seats.”

“Sit on the bean bags.”

Mercado climbed unhappily into the rear as Purcell reached down for Vivian and pulled her up. She squeezed into the cockpit and crossed over to the right-hand seat.

Purcell got in and slid the canopy closed. “All right, Henry, there is a seat belt back there.”

“I’m working on it.”

Purcell fastened his belt and Vivian did the same. He said, “The time written on our flight plan is six thirty-eight. We are supposed to be in Gondar in under three hours. Anything longer will raise questions from the guy who takes our flight plan at the other end. But we need to make some unauthorized detours, so it might be after ten when we land. I will blame headwinds.”

Mercado asked, “What if they know there are no headwinds?”

“They only know what is reported to them by other pilots who have landed. And I don’t think there is much traffic from Addis to Gondar.”

Purcell opened Signore Bocaccio’s chart and glanced at it. He said, “What I will do is run her up to twelve thousand feet, and try to get a hundred and fifty out of her. When we see Lake Tana, I will go as low and slow as I can around the areas where we think the black monastery could be located.” He added, “We’ll also take a look at the spa and the thing marked incognita. Vivian will take wide-angle photos, then at some point we need to climb to six thousand feet, which is Gondar’s elevation. With luck we will land in Gondar no later than ten A.M.”

Vivian said, “If anyone asks, what are we supposed to be doing in Gondar?”

“We’re doing an article on the ancient fortress city.”

Mercado said, “That’s a stretch, Frank.”

“Okay. We’re looking for an interview with General Getachu.”