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.”
“We have no information for you, General. May we leave?”
Getachu seemed not to hear him, and he sat back in his chair and said, “I will be open with you, and perhaps you will do the same for me.” He looked at each of them, then said, “The black monastery. You know of this place. What is in it, I do not know, nor do I know its exact location. But Father Armano knew its location and he may have told you something of this.” He looked at Purcell, then Vivian, then Mercado, and said, “I hope for your sake that he did.”
Mercado said, “He did not.”
“I will ask you again later. But for now, I will explain to you my interest in the black monastery.” He leaned forward and said, “The Provisional Revolutionary government is interested in selling precious objects to museums and churches outside the country. The government is selling most of the emperor’s trinkets now. We need the money for food and medicine for the people. But when a very old regime ends, some people become upset. Nostalgic. Some people are fond of kings and emperors and aristocrats on horses — as long as it’s not in their own country. You understand? The end of the empire is a historical necessity. And gold and jewels are worthless in a modern state. We need capital. And we are acquiring it in the only way we can. The traditional way of revolutionary governments. We rob the rich of their baubles. A few suffer. Many gain. The churches, especially, are better off without their gold. They can concentrate more on God and saving souls without the worry of keeping their property intact. Everyone benefits. So in exchange for any information you might have on the location of this monastery — and what is in it — I will allow you all to return to the capital, including Colonel Gann, who will be dealt with at a higher level, and therefore dealt with less severely than I would here at the front.” He added, “You all have my word on that.”