The Quest: A Novel (17 page)

Purcell didn’t think so, but he also knew that Getachu didn’t need any evidence, except maybe to justify an execution to his superiors in Addis.

Purcell said, “I must ask you, General, to return our personal property, including our credentials and passports, and to provide us transportation to the capital.” He reminded Getachu, “We came here expecting to be treated as journalists, not as criminals.”

Getachu pointed out, “I think we have had this conversation.”

“I think we need to have it again.”

General Getachu looked at Colonel Gann, then said to his other guests, “Before we discuss your status, do you agree that this man deserves what he is to suffer?”

Purcell replied, “No, we do not. Colonel Gann was captured in uniform and he is to be treated as a prisoner of war under the Geneva Convention, which Ethiopia has signed.”

“That was the previous government.”

Gann said to Purcell, “Save your breath.”

“Excellent advice,” agreed Getachu.

Mercado cleared his throat and said, “General… if you agree to release us, we will write and sign statements of any wrongdoing that we may have engaged in. We will also write a press story praising your victory and your qualities as a leader. We also agree to have our passports held by your foreign office and to stay in Addis writing articles for the duration of this war.”

Getachu looked at Mercado. “Well, you are offering less than Mr. Purcell and Miss Smith have already offered.” He informed Mercado, “They offered to stay here with me for the duration of the war. I was looking forward to their company.”

Vivian took a deep breath, hesitated, then said, “General, if this is supposed to be an inquiry or a trial, it’s actually a farce.” She concluded, “You are keeping us here unlawfully and against our will, and our press offices and our embassies know where we are, and they will be making inquiries, if they haven’t already. Please provide us with transportation to the capital and please return our belongings.”

Getachu stared at her for a long time, then said, “But you look very good in the shamma.”

Vivian did not reply, but she held Getachu’s stare.

Finally, he said, “The Revolutionary Army came into possession of some interesting equipment which the Americans provided to the Royal Army. One such item was a device called a starlight scope. You know of this? A telescopic sight that allows one to see in the dark, which my sentries use in the watchtower to look for the enemy, outside and inside the camp.”

No one responded, and Getachu continued, “So it appeared—to my sentry at least—that you, Miss Smith, and you, Mr. Purcell, engaged in a behavior that did not please Mr. Mercado.” He asked, “Or did my sentry misunderstand what he saw?”

Again no one replied, and if anyone thought that Getachu had brought this up solely to amuse himself, Purcell knew otherwise.

Getachu said to Mercado, “So perhaps you will write in your confession that you discovered that Mr. Purcell and Miss Smith were spying for the Royalists.” He assured Mercado, “You need not write that about yourself. That would condemn you to death.”

Purcell glanced at Mercado, expecting that Mercado understood
that he needed to reply with a firm fuck you, but Mercado did not reply.

“Mr. Mercado?”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, General.”

“You do. And you should consider my offer.”

Again, Mercado made no reply.

Getachu glanced at his watch as though this was all taking more time than he’d allowed for it. He said, “To my mind, you are all guilty, but as I said to Mr. Purcell and Miss Smith last night, it is possible to make your punishment less severe.” He looked at Gann. “Even you, Colonel, could be spared from death.”

“As you spared Prince Joshua?”

“I’m glad to see that Mr. Purcell has told you everything, and I’m glad to see that you speak.”

“Go to hell.”

“There is no hell. And no heaven. There is no more than what you see here.”

Gann did not reply, and Getachu continued, “They taught me otherwise in the missionary school, but I did not believe them then or now. But I do believe in the use of earthly pain to punish bad behavior, or to make a person confess to his sins.” He pulled Gann’s riding crop from his pocket and said, “Or simply to give me pleasure.” He flexed the crop.

Gann stared at Getachu and they made eye contact.

Getachu stood and said to Gann, “So, the good headmaster beat me in that English school, and he taught me something. But not the lesson he thought. He taught me that some men can be broken with the whip, and some cannot. My spirit was not broken.”

Purcell thought Getachu’s mind was broken, and he saw what was coming, so he said, “General, we will not sit here and witness—”

Getachu slapped the crop on his desk. “Shut up!” He said to Gann, “I will spare your life if you drop your pants, as I did many times, and allow me to deliver thirty blows to your bare buttocks.” He added, “Here and now, leaning over this desk, in front of your friends.”

“I think it’s you, Mikael, who needs another good beating.”

Getachu literally shook with rage, then pulled his pistol, aimed it at Gann, and shouted, “I give you five seconds to do what I say!”

“You can give me five years and I will tell you to go to hell.”

“One—”

Purcell stood. “Stop this.”

The soldier behind Purcell pushed him down into his chair.

“Two.”

Vivian said, “Colonel, please. Just do what he wants… please…”

“Three.”

Mercado closed his eyes and lowered his head.

“Four.”

Gann stood and Getachu smiled. Gann turned, dropped his pants, and said, “Kiss my arse.”

Purcell thought he’d hear the loud explosion of the gun, but there was complete silence in the room.

Finally, Getachu let out a forced laugh, then said, “Very good, Colonel, you may sit.”

Gann pulled up his pants, but did not sit and kept his back to Getachu.

Getachu saw that Gann was not going to turn around, and he said, “You will not provoke me into giving you an easy death.”

Gann remained standing with his back to the general, and Getachu said something to the soldier, who came around and drove the butt of his rifle into Gann’s groin. Gann doubled over, and the soldier pushed him into his chair.

Getachu holstered his gun and put down the riding crop, but remained standing. “You all understand, I hope, that I can have each of you shot as spies.”

Vivian surprised everyone, and herself, by saying, “If that were true, you would have done it.”

Getachu looked at her and said, “It
is
true, Miss Smith, but as we discussed, there are some men—and women—who I would rather see broken than dead.” He reminded everyone, “And those who agree to serve the people’s revolution may also be spared.”

Mercado spoke up. “I did serve the revolution for many years, and I would be willing to serve it again with my written words—”

“Your written words are like adding your shit to a fire.”

Mercado seemed to shrink in his chair.

Getachu looked at Gann, who was obviously in extreme pain, and said, “Colonel, if you agree to become an advisor to my army—as you did for the former prince’s army—I will spare your life.”

Gann shook his head.

Getachu seemed frustrated with the man’s stubbornness and said, “I will take you to see your former employer and also his aides, who I am sure you know, and then you can decide if you wish to help the revolution or if you wish to assist the prince in his new duties.”

Gann did not reply, and Getachu said, “Or perhaps I will turn you over to the Gallas, and wash my hands of you.”

Purcell leaned toward Gann and said softly, “Just
say
you’ll do it.”

Gann shook his head, and Purcell wondered if Getachu really wanted or needed Colonel Gann’s military skills, or if he just wanted the satisfaction of seeing the Englishman—the knight—crawling to him before he killed him. Getachu had tried the carrot and the stick, and neither was working on Gann, who Purcell suspected knew Getachu’s game better than anyone.

Getachu’s field phone rang, he answered it, spoke briefly, then hung up and said, “My helicopter has arrived from Gondar.” He asked, “Would you all enjoy a ride to the capital?”

Purcell assumed there was a small catch, but the carrot sounded good. He said, “We’re ready to go.”

“So you said. But first I need some information from all of you. If you give me this information, you will be put on my helicopter and flown to the capital. If you do not give me what I am looking for, then a fate worse than death awaits you here.” He looked at Vivian and said, “Unless, of course, you enjoy the attention of thirty or forty men a day.”

Purcell knew these were not empty threats, but everyone seemed to have become numb to Getachu’s words, and Getachu sensed this as well, so he sat and lit a cigarette, then remembered to offer the pack to Purcell, who declined.

Getachu seemed deep in thought, then began, “A company of my
soldiers occupied the Italian spa, where they found empty cans of food and tire tracks.” He looked at Purcell. “You were there?”

Purcell replied, “We said we were.”

“Correct.” He continued, “My men also found fresh earth which they took to be a grave, and which they dug up.” He asked his guests, “Did you dig that grave?”

The easy answer, Purcell thought, was,
Yes, so what?
But Getachu was not asking out of idle curiosity, and a better answer might be no. Vivian, however, had taken a photograph of the grave, and her camera was sitting on Getachu’s desk. Still, they could deny digging the grave, and he would have done so if it was only he and Vivian answering this psychopath’s questions; but Henry, he realized, was ready to say or do anything to save himself from death or torture. Some men, like Gann, could hang from a pole all night and say, “Kiss my arse.” Others, like Henry, cracked easy and early. But Purcell couldn’t judge Mercado unless he himself had been hanging from the next pole.

“Did you dig that grave?”

Purcell replied, “We did.”

“Who did you bury?”

“We buried who you dug up.”

“My men dug up the body of an old man, Mr. Purcell. I am asking you who it was.”

“A man we found dying in the spa.”

“Why was he dying?”

“He had a stomach wound.”

“How did he get this wound?”

“I have no idea.”

“Did you not speak to him?”

Purcell thought it was time to turn this over to Henry to see what, if anything, he had to say about this, so he replied, “The man spoke Italian and I do not.”

Getachu looked at Mercado. “Doctor Mato informs me that you speak Italian.”

Mercado nodded.

“Did you speak to this dying man?”

“I… I did… but, he died before I could… find out much about him.”

Purcell was not completely surprised that Mercado was keeping a secret from Getachu, because to Mercado it was a secret worth keeping.

Getachu looked long at Mercado. “If you are lying to me, I will find out and then we have no agreement, Mr. Mercado. And then… well, you have sealed your fate.”

Mercado kept eye contact with Getachu. “The man died without telling us who he was.”

Getachu kept staring at him, then shifted his attention to Vivian. “And Doctor Mato informs me that you speak Italian.”

“I do.”

“And what did this dying man say to you?”

Purcell wondered if Vivian would take this opportunity to repay Mercado for not firmly defending her against Getachu’s charges of spying. But women, Purcell had learned, are loyal to men who don’t deserve loyalty. On the other hand, it was Vivian who’d been disloyal first, and probably she was feeling as guilty as Henry was feeling angry. Sex has consequences beyond the act.

“Miss Smith?”

Vivian replied, “The man said nothing more to me than he said to Mr. Mercado.”

“How convenient. Well, let me tell you who I think this old man was. It could only have been Father Armano.” He looked at his guests. “As I’m sure he told you.”

No one replied, and Getachu continued, “Two nights ago, one of my artillery batteries bombarded the nearby fortress of Ras Theodore, who is of the family of my present guest, Joshua. Within this fortress was this Father Armano, who had been imprisoned there since the days of the Italian war.” He asked his guests, “Do you know this story?”

Vivian and Mercado shook their heads.

Getachu went on, “The bombardment attracted the attention of the Gallas, as it always does, and they descended on the fortress and massacred the Royalist survivors, though some managed to flee into the jungle. But my infantry company captured some of these men
and brought them here. In fact, you may have seen these soldiers of Ras Theodore hanging outside this tent alongside the soldiers of Ras Joshua.”

Getachu lit another cigarette, sipped some water, then continued. “But before they were brought here, they were brought back to their fortress. Why? To assist my men in determining the fate of Father Armano—and as they discovered, the prison cell of this priest was empty, and the captured soldiers could not identify a body as that of the priest. But they did find a Bible, in Italian, on the floor of his cell, with a hole in it—perhaps a bullet hole. So it is my assumption that the wounded man you discovered was Father Armano.” He looked at his guests closely, then asked Mercado directly, “Why do you think this priest who you came upon was so important?”

Mercado replied, “I don’t know.”

“Then I will tell you. Well, perhaps I won’t. You seem to have no information about this man or this matter, so we have nothing to discuss, and you have nothing to trade for your freedom or your lives.”

Purcell said, “I hope you had the decency to rebury the old man.”

“I have no idea if he was reburied, and I don’t care if the jackals eat his body. But it is interesting that you took the time and effort to give an unknown man a burial.”

“Interesting to you. Common decency to us.”

“I don’t like your attitude of moral superiority, Mr. Purcell. I had enough of that in school.”

“Apparently not.”

“Don’t provoke me.”