Mercado pointed out, “Even if there is no trouble in Gondar, the authorities will do a thorough search of the cockpit when we leave the aircraft, and they will probably find that.”
Purcell did not reply.
Mercado continued, “If we deny any knowledge of the maps or the film, which together may look suspicious, then Signore Bocaccio will be down at police headquarters in Addis answering questions, while we are answering questions at Getachu’s headquarters in Gondar.”
Purcell thought about that. Henry made some good points. “What do you suggest?”
“I say we take a chance that there will be no problems at the Gondar airfield, and we should carry the exposed film and maps with us.” He added, “If there is a problem in Gondar, it is already waiting for us, and the film and the maps will be the least of our problems.”
Purcell’s instincts still told him not to carry around incriminating evidence in a police state. Especially with prior arrests hanging over their heads. But Henry Mercado had been at this game far longer than Frank Purcell. And there seemed to be no good choices.
Vivian said, “I will carry my exposed film in my bag.” She added, “Naked is the best disguise. As soon as you try to hide something, you get in trouble.”
Mercado commented, “You should know.”
Vivian ignored him and continued, “Frank will carry the maps.” She pointed out, “It’s not as though we’re carrying guns or a picture of the emperor.”
Purcell nodded. “Okay. We land in Gondar and take our things with us. I need to give our flight plan to the officer on the ground, then we take a taxi to town.”
Mercado, too, had some thoughts about their destination. “If Getachu somehow knows we have returned to his lair, I believe he will not reveal himself to us. He will watch to see what we are doing back in Ethiopia.”
Purcell replied, “I don’t think he’s that bright. I think he acts on his primitive impulses.”
“We will find out in Gondar.”
Vivian asked, “Can we change the subject?”
Purcell said, “Here’s another subject. When we begin our search for the black monastery, we should not drive from Addis to the north again. Agreed?”
Vivian agreed. “I would not do that again.”
“So,” Purcell said, “at some point, after we’ve finished our aerial recon, and when we think we have a few possible locations for the black monastery, we need to fly to Gondar, ditch the aircraft, and buy or rent a cross-country vehicle to go exploring.” He pointed out, “From Gondar to the area we need to explore is about four to six hours — rather than three or four days cross-country from Addis.”
Mercado agreed. “Gondar should be our jump-off point.”
They continued on in silence. Purcell followed the Blue Nile north and maintained his airspeed and altitude.
Vivian announced, “I need to go.”
Mercado passed her the empty water carafe. She said, “Close your eyes. You too, Frank.” She pulled down her pants and panties and relieved herself.
Purcell said, “My turn. Close your eyes, Henry.” He unzipped his fly.
Vivian offered, “I’ll hold it for you so you can fly.” She laughed. “I mean the carafe.”
Purcell suspected that Henry was not amused. He held the wheel with his left hand and himself with the other, and Vivian held the carafe for him.
“Finished.”
She snapped the hinged lid of the carafe in place and passed it to Henry, who also used it. Indeed, Purcell thought, they would be in close quarters in the days and weeks ahead with many more close bonding moments. It was good that they were all friends.
At 8:32, Purcell spotted Lake Tana, nestled among the hills. The altimeter read eleven thousand eight hundred feet, and the lake looked like it was about six thousand feet below, which put the lake’s altitude at about a mile high. In the hazy distance, about twenty miles north of the lake, would be Gondar.
He pointed out the big lake to his passengers and said, “We’ve made good time, so we may be able to snoop around for an hour.”
Purcell began his descent. Within half an hour they were about a thousand feet over the terrain, and the altimeter read sixty-three hundred feet above sea level.
He made a slow banking turn over the lake’s eastern shore, and Henry, who had a map spread out in the rear, said, “I can see the monastery of Tana Kirkos that Colonel Gann mentioned. See it on that rocky peninsula jutting into the lake?”
Vivian saw it and took a photo through the Plexiglas.
Mercado said, “Somewhere along that lakeshore is where Father Armano’s battalion made camp, almost forty years ago.”
The lake was ringed with rocky hills, which Purcell knew was very defensible terrain for Father Armano’s decimated battalion. The monastery of Tana Kirkos, he thought, was also defendable because of its position on a rocky peninsula. The black monastery, however, was safe because it was hidden. Even from up here.
He made another slow banking turn and said, “We will see if we can find the spa.”
Mercado peered through the canopy with his binoculars and Vivian had her nose pressed against the Plexiglas. “There! See it?”
Purcell lowered his right wing and reduced his airspeed. Below, off his wingtip, he could clearly see the white stucco spa complex and the grassy fields around it. He saw the main building where they’d parked the Jeep and found Father Armano, and he spotted the narrow road that they’d driven on to get there. He wondered again why he’d turned off that bush-choked road at exactly that spot.
Vivian said excitedly, “There’s the sulphur pool!”
Purcell stared at the pool, then glanced at Vivian. A whole confluence of events had come together down there on that night, and from up here, in the full sunshine, it was no more understandable than it was in the dark.
Vivian said, “It looks so beautiful from here.” She took several pictures and said, “We will go back there to find Father Armano’s remains.” She reminded them, “The Vatican needs a relic.”
Purcell had no comment on that and said, “We will continue our walk down memory lane.”
He turned the aircraft north and said, “The scene of the last battle.”
Below were the hills where the last cohesive Royalist forces, led by Prince Joshua, had camped and fought, and died. Purcell dropped to two hundred feet. All the bright tents of the prince’s army were long gone, and all that remained were scattered bones and skulls in the rocky soil.
Mercado said, “A civilization died there.”
Purcell nodded.
The hills still showed the cratered shell holes on the bare slopes, and those scars and the bones were all the evidence left of what had happened here while he, Vivian, and Henry were bathing at the Italian spa. If they had arrived a day earlier — or a day later — who knows?
They flew farther north to Getachu’s hills. The army had decamped long ago, and only the scarred earth of trenches and firing positions remained to suggest that thousands of men had been there.
Purcell could not determine where Getachu’s headquarters tent had been, but then he saw where Getachu had hanged the soldiers with commo wire, and he spotted the ravine where they had all been shackled, and the helipad where they had been lifted out of this hell.
Purcell got lower and slower and they could see the natural amphitheater — the parade ground — and Purcell was certain that Vivian and Henry saw the ten poles that were still sticking out of the ground. But no one pointed this out. And neither did anyone point out the wooden platform where he and Vivian had clung to each other in what they both believed was their last night on earth.
Unlike the spa, this scene, from this perspective, made the events of that night more understandable.