Read Online The Quest: A Novel by Nelson DeMille - Free Book Online

was so full of
detail
.”
    Mercado said to her, “Vivian, if you had forty years to work on a story, you would get the details down quite well.” He added, “He wasn’t actually lying to us. He had just deluded himself to the point where it became truth in his own mind.”
    Purcell wiped his face with his sleeve. The sun was a brutal yellow now. He asked Mercado, “Where do you think the story became delusional?”
    Mercado shrugged, then replied, “Maybe after the Lake Tana part. Maybe he had been captured by the Ethiopian army and they put him in jail as a prisoner of war.”
    Purcell asked, “But why lock him up for forty years? The war with the Italians ended within a year.”
    Again Mercado shrugged and replied, “I don’t know… the local ras, Prince Theodore, had captured an Italian enemy… a priest who they didn’t want to kill… so they threw him in jail and forgot about him.”
    Purcell pointed out, “But when the Italians won the war, the prince would have given Father Armano to them to curry favor, or for a price. Instead, they kept him locked in solitary confinement for four decades. Why?”
    Mercado conceded, “I suppose it is possible that Father Armano did find and enter this black monastery, and maybe the monks did kill the Italian soldiers who were with Father Armano, and that’s why the monks handed him over to the Ethiopian prince and had him put away for life—so he couldn’t reveal what they’d done, or reveal the location of the monastery.” He added, “They silenced a witness without killing him. Yes, I can see that happening if the witness was a priest.”
    Purcell suggested, “So maybe what the priest said is all true—except for the part about the Holy Grail and the lance dripping blood.”
    Mercado replied, “That’s very possible.”
    Purcell asked, “So should we look for this black monastery?”
    “It would be a dangerous undertaking,” said Mercado.
    “But,” said Purcell, “worth the risk if we’re actually looking for the Holy Grail.”
    “Yes,” agreed Mercado, “but the Holy Grail does not actually exist, Frank. It is a legend. A myth.”
    “I thought you were a true believer, Henry.”
    “I am, old boy. But I don’t believe in medieval myths. I believe in God.”
    Vivian was looking at Mercado thoughtfully and said to him, “I think, Henry, that you’re not so sure of what you’re saying.”
    “I am sure.”
    Purcell speculated, “Maybe you’re trying to cut us out of the deal, Henry. Or cut
me
out, and take your photographer along to look for the black monastery.”
    Mercado looked offended and said, “You’ve been in the sun too long.”
    “Look, Henry,” said Purcell, “you and I and Vivian all believe every word of Father Armano’s story, including him finding the Holy Grail in the monastery. But the problem is the Grail itself. The priest saw it, but is it actually
the
Grail? The cup used by Christ at the Last Supper? Or is it something that the monks
think
is the Holy Grail?”
    Mercado nodded. “That’s the most logical conclusion.” He asked rhetorically, “How many false relics are there in the Catholic Church?” He answered his own question: “Probably hundreds. Such as a piece of the true cross. The nails used to crucify Christ. A piece of his robe. That is what the priest saw—a false relic.”
    “Correct,” agreed Purcell. “But what we need to decide is whether or not we want to look for this black monastery, and the so-called Holy Grail. Is that enough of a story to risk our lives for?” He added, “Don’t forget what happened to…” He nodded toward the grave.
    Mercado glanced at the fresh earth, but didn’t reply.
    Vivian reminded them, “Father Armano said that the sacred blood healed his wound.”
    Purcell explained, “If you believe strongly enough, you can experience a psychosomatic healing of the body, and certainly of the mind. We all know this.”
    “Well… yes…” replied Vivian. “But he also