The Quest: A Novel (22 page)

He’d been there once before and easily found the press office on a narrow street lined with bare trees. The windows of the buildings cast squares of yellow light on the cold ground.

He was fifteen minutes late, which in Italy meant he was a bit early, but maybe not in Vatican City. The male receptionist asked him to be seated.

The offices of
L’Osservatore Romano
were housed in a building that may have preceded the printing press, but the interior was modern, or had been when the paper was founded a hundred years before. Electricity and telephones had been added, and the result was a modern newspaper that published in six languages and was a mixture of real news and propaganda. And not surprisingly, the pope made every issue.

A lot of articles focused on the persecution of Catholics in various countries, especially Communist Poland. Occasionally the paper covered the plight of non-Catholic Christians, and Purcell recalled that Henry Mercado had been in Ethiopia to write about the state of the Coptic Church in the newly Marxist country, as well as Ethiopia’s small Catholic population. Now Henry was writing press releases about the Holy Year. Purcell was sure that Mercado would like to return to Ethiopia to continue his important coverage. And hadn’t Henry promised General Getachu a few puff pieces about the general’s military prowess?

Mercado came into the waiting room wearing a cardigan over his shirt and tie. They shook hands and Mercado showed Purcell into his
windowless office, a small room piled high with books and papers, giving it the look of a storage closet. He could see why Henry was in Harry’s Bar at 4
P.M.

Mercado shut off his IBM electric typewriter and said, “Throw your coat anywhere.” He spun his desk chair around and faced his guest who sat in the only other chair. Purcell asked, “Mind if I smoke?”

Mercado waved his arm around the paper-strewn room and replied, “You’ll set the whole Vatican on fire.”

But he did have a bottle of Boodles in his desk drawer and he poured into two water glasses.

Mercado held up his glass and said, “Benvenuto.”

“Cheers.”

They drank and Mercado asked, “Are you here to tell me you’ve come to your senses?”

“No.”

“All right.” He informed Purcell, “Then I’ve decided to go to Ethiopia.”

Purcell was not completely surprised that Mercado had changed his mind. In fact, he hadn’t. Whatever it was that had taken hold of him that night at the mineral spa still had him, and Henry, like Vivian, had been transformed by Father Armano and by that admittedly strange experience that Henry and Vivian took as a sign.

Mercado continued, “But I can’t promise you that I will go any farther than Addis. I am not keen on going back into Getachu territory.”

“I thought you wanted to write a nice piece about him.”

“I do. His obituary.” He tapped a stack of papers on his desk and said, “I am calling in favors and pulling some strings to get you and Vivian accredited with L’Osservatore Romano.”

“Good. I just lost my AP job.”

“How did you do that?”

“Easy.”

“All right, we will be covering the religious beat, of course, and your starting salary is zero, but all expenses are paid to and in Ethiopia.”

“And back.”

“Your optimism amazes me.” He asked, “Should I finalize this?”

“Where do I sign?”

Mercado finished his gin and contemplated another, then reminded Purcell, “This will all be moot if we can’t get visas.”

“It’s a good first step.”

“And L’Osservatore Romano will look good on our visa applications.”

“Si.”

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.”

“Friends? Family? Old girlfriends?”

“All of the above.”

“Then go home.”

“How about you?”

“Christmas in Rome.”

“Could do worse.”

“If you’re around, I’ll get us in the back door for Christmas Eve Mass at Saint Peter’s. You need a papal blessing.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Mercado stood. “I’ll see you day after tomorrow. Your name will be at the library door.”

Purcell stood and put on his trench coat. On their way out, he said, “It doesn’t matter if we never even get into Ethiopia, or if we do, it doesn’t matter what happens there. It matters that we try.”

“I’ve lived my life that way, Frank.” He reminded Purcell, “This will be my third trip to Ethiopia, and I nearly got killed the first two times.” He added, “As they say, boats are safe in the harbor, but that’s not what boats are made for.”

Purcell left the offices of
L’Osservatore Romano
and walked along
the lane lined with bare trees. It was dark now, but the narrow streets were lit, and with no place to go, he walked farther into the papal enclave until he reached the open spaces of fields and gardens behind the basilica.

He found a bench by a fountain—the Fountain of the Eagle—and sat. He lit a cigarette and watched the tumbling water.

The troubling thought came to him that Henry Mercado might be right about Frank Purcell’s motives. That somewhere, deep in his mind or his soul, he believed what Henry and Vivian believed. And what Father Armano believed. And he believed it because it was impossible.

F
rank Purcell and Henry Mercado sat at a long table in a private reading room within the large Vatican Library. The windowless room was nondescript except for a few obligatory religious portraits hanging on the yellowed plaster walls. Three ornate lamps hung from the high ceiling, and Jesus Christ hung from a wooden cross at the end of the room.

On the long mahogany table, neatly arranged documents were enfolded in green felt, and Mercado informed Purcell, “I assembled all of this over the last month or so. Some of these parchments and papyri are almost two thousand years old.”

“Can I smoke?”

“The library monks will execute you.”

Purcell took that as a no. Also, it was interesting that Henry had spent so much time here.

Mercado had a briefcase with him that he emptied onto the table, and Purcell could see pages of handwritten notes.

Mercado gave him a notebook to use, then motioned toward the documents and said, “I employed the services of the library translators—classical Greek and Latin, Church Latin, Hebrew—”

“I get it.”

“We will begin at the Last Supper.”

“Coffee?”

“After the Last Supper.” He explained to Purcell, “I’m not only trying to prove the existence of the Grail, but also to plot its long journey from Jerusalem to Ethiopia.”

“Why?”

“This will be useful information when we write our series of articles. And perhaps a book. Have you thought about a book?”

“I have.”

He also informed Purcell, “When we’re finished here, we will go to the Ethiopian College, which is here in Vatican City.”

“Why is it here?”

“Good question. The answer is, the Italians and the Vatican have had a long interest in Ethiopia, going back to the arrival in Rome of Ethiopian pilgrims in the fifteenth century. Interest was renewed when the Italians colonized Eritrea in 1869, then tried to conquer neighboring Ethiopia in 1896, then invaded again in 1935.”

“Did you also cover the 1896 war?”

Mercado ignored that and continued, “The Ethiopian College is also a seminary where the Vatican trains and ordains Catholic priests, and instructs lay people, mostly Ethiopian, to go to Ethiopia and spread the Catholic faith.”

“And maybe to look for the Holy Grail.”

Mercado did not respond to that but informed Purcell, “The Ethiopian College has a good library and a cartography room with some rare ancient maps of Ethiopia and some hard-to-find modern ones, made in the 1930s by the Italian Army. We can use those maps to narrow down the location of the black monastery, based on what we know from Father Armano.”