The Quest

Mercado smiled, then asked, “Are you sure Vivian wants to go?”

“She said so in her letter.”

“Have you heard from her?”

“I have not.”

“Can you contact her?”

“I’ll try her last known address. A P.O. box in Geneva.”

Mercado nodded and said, “Tell her to come to Rome.”

Purcell replied, “Tutte le strade conducono a Roma.”

“Did you practice that?”

“I did.” Purcell asked, “Are you all right with this?”

“I told you, old man, I’m over it.”

Purcell didn’t think so, and he had issues of his own with Vivian.

Mercado, in fact, asked, “Are you all right with Vivian coming along?”

“No problem.”

“I’m not sure I’m understanding your relationship.”

“That makes two of us. Probably three.”

“All right… By the way, how did you make out with that lady? Jean?”

“She had to go back to England.” Purcell added, “She did nothing but talk about you.”

Mercado smiled.

Purcell asked, “What do you think our chances are of actually getting a visa?”

“I think you were right about the regime change. They seem to want to smooth things over with the West.”

“They’re just playing the third world game-flirting with the West while they’re in bed with the Russians.”

“Of course. But that could work for us.”

Purcell asked, “Would you be suspicious if those visas were granted?”

“ ‘Will you walk into my parlor? said the spider to the fly.’ ”

“Precisely.”

“Well, if you want my opinion, old man, this whole idea is insane. But I think we’ve decided, so save your paranoia for Ethiopia.”

“Right.”

“And have you thought about why you are going back into the jaws of death?”

“I already told you.”

“Again, please.”

“To find the Holy Grail, Henry, to heal my troubled soul. Same as you.”

“Well, we should save this discussion for when Vivian joins us.”

Purcell did not reply.

Mercado poured two more gins and said, “I’m going to ask Colonel Gann to join us in Rome.”

“Why?”

“I think he’d be a good resource before we set out. Also, I’d like to see him and thank him.”

“Me too.”

“I want you to buy him a spectacular dinner at the Hassler.”

“Don’t you have an expense account, Henry?”

“Yes, a rather good one, which is why they’re putting me up at the Excelsior until I find an appartamento.”

It seemed to Purcell that Henry Mercado had more influence at L’Osservatore Romano than his office or his job would indicate. The thought occurred to him that Henry had spoken to someone here about their Ethiopian adventure, including-contrary to what Mercado had told him-the appearance and death of Father Giuseppe Armano. If that were true, then someone here had probably gotten excited about pursuing this story. And maybe Henry had been stringing his bosses along, like the old trickster he was, sucking silver out of the Vatican treasury. And he’d been at it for a few months, and the time had come to put up or get out.

Purcell asked, “Will you do a piece on Father Armano for your paper?”

“Of course. But not until we get back, obviously. And you?”

“I work here, Henry. Remember?”

“That’s right.” He drained his glass. “We’ll do a series of stunning articles together-yours in English and mine in Italian, and they will be translated into every world language, and you will achieve the fame and respect that has always eluded you, and I will add to my global reputation.”

Purcell smiled.

“We’ll do the talk show circuit. Who carries the Grail?”

“Vivian.”

“Yes, the pretty girl. And we’ll do a slideshow with her photography.”

Neither man spoke, and Purcell thought about what would actually happen if they did find the black monastery and somehow got possession of the Coptic monks’ Holy Grail. He said to Mercado, “Be careful what you wish for.”

Mercado changed the subject. “It would be very good if Colonel Gann could come along.”

“The Ethiopian government would love to see him.”

“I mean, if he could be pardoned or cleared of all charges.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Perhaps he could offer his services as a military advisor.”

“That’s a long shot, Henry. And I’m sure he’s not interested.”

“We’ll find out at our reunion. I’ll get Gann’s contact information in the UK, and call or write him. I’ll suggest early January for our reunion.”

“I’ll be here.”

“And Vivian, too, I hope.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“And we’ll go to Sicily where it’s warmer, and visit Father Armano’s village and find his people.”

“That would be a good first step on our journey.”

“It is the right thing to do,” Mercado agreed. “Meanwhile, if you are not too busy, I will meet you day after tomorrow at eight A.M., at the Vatican archives, and show you what I’ve found.”

“It doesn’t really matter, Henry. We are going forward on faith.”

“Indeed, we are. But you might find this interesting, and even informative and useful. Good background for your story.”

“Our story.”

“Our story.” He asked Purcell, “Have you written anything not for immediate publication?”

“I have.”

“Good. Saves us some work. Leave out the illicit sex for L’Osservatore Romano.”

Purcell did not smile.

Mercado asked, “Will you be in Rome for Christmas?”

“I’m undecided.”

“Where is home?”

“A little town in upstate New York.”