The Quest

  So, with or without the Holy Grail, they would make their way to French Somaliland, the closest safe haven, where many Westerners and Ethiopians on the run had gone. The French officials were good about providing assistance to anyone who reached the border. All they had to do was get there.

  Vivian said to him, in a soft voice, “You told me we would be friends.”

  “We are.”

  “You’ve barely spoken to me all morning.”

  “I’m not good in the morning.”

  She glanced back at Henry, who was concentrating on a photograph with the magnifier. She said to Purcell, “It will never happen again. I promise you.”

  “Let’s talk about this in Gondar.” He added, “I’m flying.”

  She looked at him, then turned her head and stared out the side of the canopy.

  They continued on, and Mercado said, “We have reached the point of no return on our journey.”

  Purcell replied, “Not yet. We have burned no bridges, and I can still fly back to Addis and say we had engine problems.”

  Mercado did not reply, but Vivian said, “Avanti.”

  Chapter 43

  Purcell spotted the single-lane road and followed it north. Off to his right front, he could see Shoan about ten kilometers away. He banked right and began descending, saying to his passengers, “I want Colonel Gann to know we are on the way.”

  As they got lower and closer, Mercado leaned forward with his binoculars. “I don’t see the vehicle.”

  Purcell replied, “We don’t know if that vehicle had anything to do with Gann.”

  Purcell flew over the village at four hundred feet and tipped his wings.

  Mercado said, “I saw someone waving.”

  “Did he have a mustache and a riding crop?”

  “He was wearing a white shamma… but it could have been him.”

  “Going native.”

  They flew over the spa, then Purcell banked right, to the area east of the single-lane road where most of their photographs had been taken of the jungle and rain forests that lay between Lake Tana and the area around the destroyed fortress—an area that Purcell estimated at more than a thousand square miles.

  Vivian had the large-scale maps on her lap, and Purcell asked her to hold up the one of the area below.

  She held the map for him, and he glanced at the circled sites, then banked east toward the first circle on the map. He dropped down to three hundred feet and slowed his airspeed as much as he could.

  Mercado was leaning between the seats, dividing his attention between the map and the view from the Plexiglas canopy.

  Purcell dropped lower as he approached the first site, marked Number One on the map, which had shown a light reflection in the corresponding photograph. He made a tight clockwise turn, then dipped his right wing so that it was not obstructing their view. Mia shuddered to warn him she was about to stall, and Purcell pushed in the throttle as he leveled his wings.

  Mercado lowered his binoculars. “I think I saw a pond… or maybe swampland.”

  Vivian agreed, “It was water. Not a glass roof.”

  Purcell said, “At least what we saw in the photograph was not an illusion, and we’ve also marked the map position correctly. That’s the good news.”

  Vivian agreed. “One of these circles will be the black monastery.”

  “If not, we have at least eliminated some locations.”

  They continued on to the next closest circle that showed a large cluster of palm trees in the photographs, and Purcell repeated his maneuvers. No one saw anything, so he made another pass, and this time Vivian said, “I definitely saw a body of water through the palms.”

  “Any shiny roofs?”

  “No.”

  Purcell moved on to the next circle on the map, Number Three, which Vivian pointed to on the corresponding photograph. He glanced at the photo and saw a very large cluster of palms, surrounded by much taller growth. This looked more promising and he pulled off some power and lowered his flaps as if he intended to land. The airspeed indicator bounced between sixty and sixty-five miles per hour.

  The cluster of palms was coming up fast at his one o’clock position and he dropped his right wing, causing the Navion to shudder, but giving Vivian and Mercado an unobstructed view as they passed by.

  Vivian shouted, “I saw something! A glint of light… not water.”

  Mercado agreed, and Purcell, too, had seen something, and it was definitely not water.

  He climbed as fast as he could, got to six hundred feet, and came around again, this time from the west so that the afternoon sun was at their back. He was higher than last time, so he could keep his nose down as he flew straight toward the cluster of palms.

  Vivian had taken the binoculars from Mercado and she was unbuckled and leaning over the instrument panel, staring through the front windshield.

  Purcell continued his dive until the last possible second, then pushed the throttle forward, pulled back on the wheel, and raised his flaps. The Navion continued downward for a few more seconds, then the nose slowly lifted and they leveled out over the jungle canopy at about two hundred feet, then began gaining altitude.

  Mercado said, “That was a bit close, old man.”

  “Right.” Purcell glanced at Vivian, who was sitting back in her seat with the binoculars in her lap. He asked, “See anything?”

  She nodded. “It was… black rock. Just rock.”

  Purcell nodded. That was what he thought he’d seen, too. A shiny outcropping of black rock—probably obsidian. “Well, there is black rock in this area.”

  Vivian said, “Father Armano mentioned a rock, a tree, a stream…”

  “Right. Lots of that down there.” He added, “We’ll check this out on the ground tomorrow.”

  He glanced at his watch. It had been three hours since they left Addis. They could keep flying over the area for maybe another half hour, and they should be able to recon all the sites marked on the maps, with maybe some time left over to look at anything else that seemed promising. They’d be late into Gondar again, but not two hours late as they’d been last time. He’d worry about that when they landed. The goal now was to complete the aerial recon, which, if they were very lucky, would reveal the location of the black monastery.

  He said to Vivian, “Map.”

  She held the map toward him, and he looked at it, trying to determine what heading to take to get to the next circle on the map.

  Vivian was glancing out the windshield, then suddenly shouted, “Look!” She dropped the map.

  Purcell looked quickly through the windshield. Passing across their front was a helicopter, about a half mile away. “Shit!”

  Mercado said, “I think he may have seen our maneuvers.”

  “You think?” Purcell had no way of knowing if the helicopter just happened to be in the area, or if it was sent to track them. He said, “If he has a radio, and I’m sure he does, he has radioed ahead to Gondar Airport.”

  Vivian said, “Maybe he didn’t see us.”

  “We saw him, he saw us.”

  Purcell watched as the helicopter turned northwest, toward Gondar, which was where they were supposed to be heading. So Purcell took the same heading, but stayed to the left of the helicopter, and kept his distance at about half a mile.

  Vivian asked, “How will he know it was us?”

  Purcell informed her, “There are not too many black-painted vintage Navions in East Africa, Vivian. Probably one.”

  She nodded.

  Mercado said, “We actually have done nothing illegal.”

  Purcell reminded him, “We didn’t do anything illegal last time we wound up in jail here, and this time we are suspiciously diverting from the flight plan.”

  “Quite right.” Mercado asked, “What do we do?”

  Purcell watched the helicopter. He was flying at the same altitude, and he had definitely slowed his speed relative to the Navion, and the distance was closing. Purcell throttled back and the Navion
slowed.

  “Frank?”

  “Well… what we don’t do is continue on to Gondar Airport where a reception committee will be waiting for us.”

  No one replied to that, then Mercado announced, “We need to fly to French Somaliland.” He asked, “Can we do that?”

  Purcell glanced at his fuel gauge. “The fuel should not be a problem.” But they could have other problems with that idea.

  Purcell saw that the helicopter had also reduced its speed to maintain the distance between the aircraft. He understood that the helicopter pilot wanted the Navion to follow him into Gondar.

  Mercado suggested, “You may want to turn east now.” He reminded Purcell, “French Somaliland is that way.”

  “Right.”

  Vivian was slumped in her seat. She said softly, “It’s over. We never got a chance…”

  Mercado said comfortingly, “We will come back.”

  Purcell noticed that the helicopter had slipped to the right and was higher now, so that Purcell had a side view of it, and the pilot had a better view of the Navion.

  Mercado said, “We have to turn east, old man.” He asked, “Can we outrun this helicopter?”

  “Depends on too many unknowns…” Purcell said to Vivian, “Give me the binoculars.”

  She gave them to him and Purcell focused with his left hand while he flew with his right. The helicopter was olive drab, definitely military, and on the side of the fuselage was a red star. He said, “It’s a Huey… UH-1D… saw a million of them in ’Nam…” In fact, this was the same type of helicopter that Getachu had used, and maybe it was the same one that had taken them to prison in Addis. He added, “His top speed would be about the same as ours.” He lowered the binoculars and said, “Also, I can see a door gunner.”

  “A what?”

  “A fellow sitting in the door opening with a mounted machine gun. Probably an M-60, and there is probably another one on the other side.” He added, “I don’t see anyone in the cabin, so General Getachu is not on board.”

  No one replied.

  Purcell noticed that the distance between him and the helicopter was again closing. He was barely doing seventy miles per hour, and the helicopter pilot, of course, could do zero if he wanted to, so Purcell was going to pass alongside that machine gun unless he turned.

  Mercado said again, “You really need to turn, Frank.”

  “Right… but I’m thinking this guy will follow us toward French Somaliland, and even if I can outrun him, I can’t outrun a stream of 7.62-millimeter machine-gun rounds.”

  Vivian drew a deep breath. “Oh, God…”

  Purcell continued, “Also, even if I could stay out of his machine-gun range, he will radio for support, and the Ethie Air Force might scramble some kind of fighter aircraft.”

  Mercado processed all that and said, “We have no choice then… we must continue on to Gondar.”

  Purcell told them, “I don’t think we’re going to be as lucky in General Getachu’s headquarters as we were last time.”

  No one replied, but then Mercado said again, “We’ve done nothing illegal.” He had an idea and said firmly, “We will jettison everything that is incriminating—the camera, the maps, the photographs, the film… our camping gear—everything.”

  Purcell replied, “That goes without saying, Henry. But I have to tell you both—Getachu knows, or will know, what we are doing here, and he will not hesitate to use any means that comes into his sick mind to get us to tell him everything he wants to know.”

  Vivian put her hands over her face. “Oh my God…”

  Purcell continued, “And if he also asks us about Colonel Gann, one of us will eventually say Shoan.”

  Vivian was visibly shaken, but she sat up in her seat, took a deep breath, and said, “I would rather die trying to get away.”

  Purcell agreed. “That would be preferable to what awaits us in Gondar.” He asked, “Henry?”

  Mercado did not respond.

  Purcell looked out the windshield and saw that he was only about five hundred yards behind and to the left of the helicopter. He could now see the left door gunner leaning out, attached to his harness, looking back at them, with the machine gun pointed at the Navion.

  He slid the Navion to the right to get directly behind the helicopter, but the pilot also slid to the right, so his door gunner could keep them in sight. Purcell knew he couldn’t play this game with a highly maneuverable helicopter, so he maintained his position, but reduced his airspeed as low as he could without going into a stall. He needed time to think.

  Vivian said to him, “Frank… we have to get away from him. Can you do that?”

  He was already considering his options. If he made a sudden dive left or right, one or the other door gunners could easily blow them out of the sky. If he climbed, he could possibly pass over the helicopter, and if he kept directly in front of him and got some distance, the door gunners might not be able to swivel their guns that far to the front—but the helicopter pilot only had to swivel his aircraft to give one or the other of his gunners an easy shot at the retreating Navion.

  His only chance was to go into a dive—to get into the blind spot below the pilot and the door gunners. He’d have the dive speed he needed to possibly get beyond the accurate range of the machine guns before the helicopter pilot could position his aircraft to give one of his gunners a shot.

  Vivian put her hand on his shoulder. “Frank?”

  He asked Mercado, “Have you come to a decision, Henry? Run or follow this asshole to Gondar?”

  Again, Mercado did not reply.

  Purcell looked at the distant horizon. Lake Tana was coming up, and so was Gondar. It was possible, he thought, that the Ethiopian Air Force had already scrambled fighters or more helicopters to make sure they didn’t lose them. He was a few minutes away from having no options left.

  Mercado said, “Run.”

  “Okay…” He looked at his airspeed and altimeter and considered what to do, and how best to do it. His rate of descent in a dive would be greater than the Huey’s, and his airspeed, too, would be greater. But, as he said, he couldn’t outrun a bullet.

  The helicopter was nearly hovering now, about three hundred yards away, and he saw the left door gunner making a sweeping motion with his arm, indicating that the Navion should pass and get in front of the helicopter on the approach into Gondar.

  That was not what Purcell wanted to do, and it suddenly became clear to him what he needed to do. And he’d known this almost from the beginning.

  He reached up and moved the plastic aiming disc on its flexible arm so that it was in front of his face.

  Mercado asked in a forcibly controlled voice, “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Are you insane?”

  Purcell moved the switch under the instrument panel to the “Fire” position.

  Vivian watched him, but said nothing.

  The helicopter was less than two hundred yards away, and the door gunner kept waving his arm for the Navion to pass.

  Purcell dipped his right wing as though he were going to bank right, and the helicopter pilot, who’d either seen this or heard from his left door gunner, slid his helicopter to the right to keep the Navion on his left.

  Purcell pushed forward on the throttle and shoved his rudder hard right, causing the Navion to yaw right, with its nose now pointed at the helicopter. He lined up the helicopter in the red concentric circles of the plastic disc and pushed the firing button, praying that the electrical connection to the rocket pod was working.

  The rocket shot out of the pod with a rushing sound and trailed a white smoke stream toward the Huey, less than two hundred yards away now.

  Vivian let out a startled sound and Mercado shouted, “Oh God!”

  The rocket went high over the helicopter, just missing the rotor shaft.

  The door gunner seemed frozen behind his machine gun.

  Purcell fired the second roc
ket, which went low, passing between the landing skids and the cabin, right under the door gunner’s feet.

  The door gunner fired a long burst of rounds at the Navion and the tracers streaked over the Plexiglas canopy. Vivian screamed and dove onto the floor.

  The helicopter pilot made the instinctive mistake of taking evasive action, which threw off the aim of his gunner and gave Purcell a better shot at the Huey as it tilted away from him and slipped sideways and downward. Purcell again kicked the rudder to yaw farther right, and pushed hard on the control wheel to lower the Navion’s nose. He kept looking through the plastic disc as the Huey again passed into the concentric circles. The door gunner fired again, and Purcell heard the unmistakable sound of a round impacting the aircraft. He pushed the red button once, then again, firing his last two rockets.

  The first smoke rocket sailed through the open cabin, past the head of the door gunner, and the second rocket hit the Plexiglas bubble and burst inside the cockpit. Billows of white smoke poured out the hole in the bubble and through the open doors of the Huey.

  The pilots were either injured or blinded by smoke, or something critical was damaged in the cockpit, and the Huey’s tail boom began swinging left and right.

  Purcell did not change course and continued to fly straight at the unstable helicopter. He could see the door gunner through the billowing smoke, but the man, undoubtedly terrified, had let go of his machine gun and the barrel was hanging loose.

  The Huey began a slow roll to the right, then suddenly inverted and dropped like a stone into the jungle canopy below, just as the Navion passed through the airspace that the helicopter had occupied a second before. There was a barely audible explosion behind them as Purcell gave it full throttle and began to climb hard.

  Purcell turned off the firing switch, slapped away the plastic aiming disc, then said to Vivian, “It’s over.”

  She rose slowly back into her seat.

  He asked, “Mind if I smoke?”

  No one replied, and he lit a cigarette, noticing that his hand was shaking.