The Quest: A Novel (57 page)

He climbed down from the tree and made his way back to the trail. He informed them, “Farther west is triple-canopy jungle, and I suggest we head there.”

Gann nodded. “That is also where I’m told an old quarry exists.”

Mercado pointed out, “We’ve been traveling the better part of the day, and the villagers apparently traveled one day to the meeting spot, and we are at the end of that time period.”

Gann informed him, “Traveling time is not distance, nor vice versa. If you know where you are going, you probably know how to get there by the quickest and most direct route.”

Purcell assured everyone, “We can’t be lost if we don’t know where we’re going.”

They continued on the trail, which now turned to the south, and they saw no intersecting trails to the west. Gann did not want to do any backtracking, which he said was a waste of time and energy, and also a sign of desperation that would lead to bad morale.

Vivian said, “Avanti.”

The sun was below the highest trees and the jungle light took on that strange quality of shadowy darkness before dusk.

They knew they needed to stop for the night, but there was no suitable clearing, so they set up camp on the narrow trail.

Gann posted a guard—Mercado, Vivian, Purcell, and himself—for two hours each, until first light, when they would move on.

They had not found water, and their canteens were nearly empty.
Gann said, “Our first goal tomorrow is water. Without water we will have to sample some of these fruits we see, and edible and poisonous often look similar.” He smiled. “It’s the jungle trying to kill you.”

They spent a restless night sleeping on the bare ground of the path, head to toe, listening to the night sounds of the jungle.

The second day was more or less a repeat of the first, but they found a small, vine-choked stream and filled their canteens.

Purcell noticed that the trails seemed to meander, and most of them headed north, south, or east. Every time they picked up a trail to the west, it turned in another direction, as though the god of the jungle did not want them heading west into the higher ground and the great triple-canopy jungle.

Purcell thought that Mercado was starting to drag, and he suggested to Gann that they slow their pace, which Gann did, but then an hour later Gann picked up his pace. Gann, Purcell thought, was driven, but maybe not the way Vivian and Mercado were driven to find the monastery and the Grail; Gann was driven by Rudyard Kipling—something hidden. Go and find it. If they’d told Gann they were looking for a basketball court in the jungle, he’d have been as enthused as he was to find the Holy Grail. Well… maybe not that enthused. But this had become a challenge for Colonel Sir Edmund Gann. Also, of course, he wanted to save the Grail from the godless Marxists. Then he could meet his princess in Jerusalem, and have a whiskey at the King David Hotel. Next stop, his club in London, where his friends would have to coax the story out of him. Bottom line, Purcell was glad they had Gann with them, but he was starting to wonder if Gann was with them or if they were with Gann.

As for himself, Purcell sometimes felt he was just along for the ride, though he knew there was more to his motives. Vivian was one reason he was here in this godawful place, and Vivian might also be his second and third reason. He wasn’t normally that good a boyfriend. So there were other and more complex reasons for this journey into the literal heart of darkness.

The tropical dusk spread over the rain forest, and they again set up camp on the trail they were on.

Purcell was one of the few war correspondents in Vietnam who had been allowed to travel with a team of the Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol—the Lurps, as they were called. The sergeant of the ten-man team had told him, “Short patrol. Ten days.”

Ten days, deep inside enemy territory in a very hostile environment. He was younger then, and the Lurps had every advanced piece of field equipment known to man, plus enough dried rations to last twice as long as the patrol. They also carried the best weapons the army could offer, and they had three radios if the feces hit the fan, as they said.

Here, however, in the jungles of Ethiopia, they were very much on their own, and none of them knew the jungle, except maybe for Gann, and Purcell was beginning to have doubts about that. Also, the goal here was not recon; it was to find the Holy Grail of Holy Grails—
The
Holy Grail—and that was the only reason they were not heading for the French Somaliland border, which in any case was the other way.

Days three and four were more trail walking, except now they had made their way west, and the jungle had become triple canopy, and it was hotter, more humid, and darker. The only good difference was that the underbrush had thinned out and they could wander off the claustrophobic trail if they wanted to and walk between the towering trees.

Purcell told Gann, “As I said, the monastery would not be at the end of a trail. It could be that we need to walk off the trail and through the rain forest to find it.”

Gann replied, “If that’s true, then what we are dealing with is a trackless expanse, in which any direction is possible, but only one direction will lead us to where we wish to go.”

“Right. But maybe that’s the best way to cover some of these four thousand square kilometers.”

Gann suggested a break and they sat and looked at the map, which showed the same sea of green ink as it had last time they looked at it.

Gann was trying to determine what ground they had already covered, and he drew pencil lines on the map, saying, “We’ve gone in circles a bit, I think.”

“In fact, that snake back there looked familiar.”

“Hard to tell with snakes, old boy.”

Vivian reminded everyone, “A rock, a tree, a stream. And perhaps a cluster of palm trees.”

No one had been talking about those possible clues since Vivian mentioned them four days ago, but everyone had been at least alert to what seemed so important back in Addis.

Here in the bush, however, the reality changed, or reality became altered. The mind played tricks, as it does in the desert or at sea. The eye sees, and the ear hears, but the mind interprets. They had been so thirsty the day before that they all kept spotting things that were not there, especially water.

Also, they had not seen any signs of human presence since the first day when they’d found the wide trail. This was a good and bad thing. Humans were the most dangerous animals in the jungle, but the Grail seekers needed to go where other humans—Falashas and monks—had gone to meet. They had not even found evidence of a campfire or a dropped or discarded item made by man.

Henry pointed out, “Father Armano did not walk for four or five days from the monastery to the fortress.”

Gann said, “This priest was with soldiers who obviously knew the terrain, and they quick-marched this chap directly to the fortress and into his little cell.” He added, “But I am certain we are still within the area that we agreed at the spa would be the most likely territory for this monastery.” He further added, “That comports, too, with the travel time of the villagers to the meeting place.”

Purcell commented, “I didn’t realize how big four thousand square kilometers was.”

Mercado also pointed out, “For all we know, the monks picked a meeting place that was very far from their monastery. Maybe three or four days away.”

Gann replied, “Well, I hope not.”

Purcell said, “Let’s stick with the logical theory that the monks do not want to walk more than a day to meet the Falashas.” He added, “The monks are carrying
stone
knickknacks, for God’s sake.”

“Quite right,” Gann agreed.

Vivian was not much into theory or speculation, Purcell noticed, and she didn’t contribute to the men’s attempts to overthink and outthink themselves.

Gann noticed this and said to her, “Should we be waiting for divine inspiration?”

Vivian replied, “You can’t wait for it. It comes when it comes.” She added, “You can pray for it, though.”

“I’ve done that.”

“Try again,” she suggested.

As for the other group dynamics, Purcell had noticed that Henry seemed to have lost interest in Vivian—or in impressing her. There is nothing like exhaustion, thirst, hunger, and fear to get the old libido and weenie down, Purcell knew.

He hoped Henry would hold up, and that Vivian would not have to nurse her ex-lover again. But if it happened, that was all right.

They discussed security and possible run-ins with dangerous people.

Gann said, “The Gallas don’t much fancy the jungle, and we’ve seen no hoofprints or horse droppings. The Gallas’ home is the desert, and they only drop by places such as this after a battle.” He let them know, “The Royalist partisans are operating to the west, and the counterrevolutionaries are mostly in the Simien Mountains around Gondar, so there is no reason for Getachu’s soldiers to be here either. He has his hands full elsewhere.” He assured them, “We have the jungle all to ourselves.”

Purcell reminded him, “We’ve seen three army Hueys fly over.”

“I actually counted four. But these are normal north-south flights from Gondar to Addis, and vice versa.” He assured them, “The army has neither the fuel nor the helicopters for reconnaissance.”

Purcell reminded him, “They have one less helicopter than they used to have.”

“Quite right.”

He also reminded Gann, “Yesterday, a helicopter was going east-west.”

“Well, as long as they keep going, and don’t hover about, then they’re not looking for anything.”

“I think they’re looking for us, Colonel.”

“I doubt that. They think you’ve flown off to Somaliland.” He asked, “Why in the world would you stay here after you’ve shot down an army helicopter?”

“I’ve been asking myself that very question.”

Gann smiled and said, “Well, let’s press on.”

On day five, Mercado said, “We need to head to Shoan.” He reminded everyone, “We are running out of food.”

And Henry was running out of gas, Purcell knew. And they were all dehydrated and covered with insect bites and heat sores.

Mercado reminded Gann, “Regroup, refit, and strike out again.”

Gann nodded, but not very enthusiastically. He said, “I feel we should push on just a bit more… perhaps to the south, to a line parallel with Shoan. We might have more luck that way.” He added, “Then we can head east toward the road, and Shoan.”

Mercado had no reply.

Purcell said, “We could be south of Shoan already.”

“That’s possible.”

Mercado pointed out, “If we just head due east, we will intersect with the road.”

Gann reminded him, “We can’t go due
any
direction, old boy.” He pointed out, “This is not the desert or the tundra.” He reminded Mercado, “We’re in the bush, you know.”

Mercado insisted, “We have passed the point of no return in regards to food.”

“Not quite yet. But we’re close.”

“This is how people die.”

“Well,” Gann agreed, “that is one way. There are others.” He belatedly asked Mercado, “How are you feeling, old boy?”

Mercado hesitated, then said, “I can make it back to Shoan.”

“Good.” Gann also said, “We must be careful not to get injured or ill.”

Purcell agreed, “Let’s try not to do that.” He asked Vivian, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right.”

Purcell looked into the dark, triple-canopy jungle. “Let’s get off the trail and walk between the trees.” He took a compass heading to the south.

They left the trail, and headed south through the rain forest. The terrain had looked deceptively open between the trees, but as they traveled it, it became clear that they had to cut brush and vines, and the carpet of undergrowth, that had looked low, was actually knee-high in most places.

After about an hour, they realized they weren’t making good progress, and they also realized that by leaving the trail, they’d effectively lost it, and also lost any trail in the trackless expanse. It was like walking through a great columned building, Purcell thought, with a green-vaulted ceiling and a carpet of wait-a-minute vines. Rays of sunlight penetrated the triple canopy in places, and they found themselves unconsciously walking toward the spots of sun-dappled ground cover.

The darkness was getting deeper, and the sun was no longer penetrating into the forest. It was jungle dusk, and they began looking for a place to stop for the night.

Vivian said, “Look. A cluster of palms.”

They looked to where she was pointing to the west and they saw the distinctive trunks of palms, with their fronds buried in the surrounding growth.

They made their way to the palms, where the ground was more clear, and they sat with their backs to the palm trunks.

Gann looked up and said, “Doesn’t seem to be anything edible up there.”

Purcell handed him a cloth bag. “Have a date.”

They drank the last of their water and took stock of their food, which they estimated would last one more day.

Gann and Purcell looked at the map and they both agreed they were between twenty and thirty kilometers west of the road, though they couldn’t determine if they were north or south of Shoan. And Shoan was another thirty kilometers east of the road.

Gann said, “We are a long day’s march to Shoan.” He added, “Unless we run into rough country.”

Purcell said, “That was encouraging until ‘unless.’ ”

They all agreed they’d head back to Shoan in the morning.

Vivian stood and said, “Be right back.”

Everyone assumed she’d gone off to relieve herself, but she kept walking, and Purcell was concerned that she was becoming delirious and had seen another mirage. He couldn’t call out to her because they needed to be quiet, so he stood and caught up with her.

“Where are you going?”

“I saw a glint.”

“Really?”

“Right over here.”

He let her lead him farther into the tight undergrowth.

The ground was rising, he noticed, and he recalled the high, rocky ground he’d seen when he flew over this area, returning from Gondar.

The undergrowth began to thin, and he felt rocks beneath his feet.