Robin Cook - Sphinx

“Terrible,” said Stephanos. “Where are the old man’s papers?”

“You don’t spare words, Stephanos,” said Yvon with a smile. “Perhaps it is best. In any case, I want to know if you killed Abdul Hamdi.”

“If I had killed Hamdi, do you think I’d come down here to this hellhole?” said Stephanos with scorn. He despised men like Yvon who had never had to work a day in their lives.

Believing that silence could be useful with a person like Stephanos, Yvon made a big production out of opening a new pack of Gauloises. He offered them around, but Evangelos was the only taker. He reached for the cigarette, but Yvon teased him by keeping the cigarettes just out of his grasp so that he could make out the tattoo on Evangelos’ hairy, muscular forearm. It was a hula dancer with the word “Hawaii” just below it. Finally letting Evangelos take a cigarette, Yvon asked, “Do you go to Hawaii frequently?”

“I worked the freighters when I was a kid,” said Evangelos. He lit the Gauloise from a small candle on the table and sat back.

Yvon turned to Stephanos, whose impatience was showing. With careful movements Yvon lit his cigarette with his gold lighter before speaking. “No,” said Yvon. “No, I don’t think you’d come to Cairo if you’d killed Hamdi, unless you were worried about something, unless something went wrong. But to tell you the truth, Stephanos, I don’t know what to believe. You did come here very quickly. That’s a little suspicious. Besides, I have learned that Hamdi’s killers were not from Cairo.”

“Ah,” snapped Stephanos, exasperated. “Let me see if I get this right. You learn the killers weren’t from Cairo. From that information you decide that they obviously have to be from Athens. Is that your reasoning?” Stephanos turned toward Raoul. “How can you work for this man?” He tapped his forehead with his index finger.

Raoul’s dark eyes did not blink. His hands rested on his knees. He was prepared to move in a fraction of a second.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Yvon,” said Stephanos, “but you’ll have to look elsewhere for Hamdi’s killer. It wasn’t me.”

“Too bad,” said Yvon. “It would have answered a lot of questions. Do you have any thoughts as to who might have done it?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Stephanos, “but I have a feeling that Hamdi made himself a number of enemies. How about letting me see Hamdi’s papers?”

Yvon lifted his attaché case to the top of the table and put his finger on the latch. He paused. “One other question. Do you have any idea where the Seti I statue is?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Stephanos, looking hungrily at the case.

“I want that statue,” said Yvon.

“If I hear anything about it, I will let you know,” said Stephanos.

“You never gave me a chance to see the Houston statue,” said Yvon, watching Stephanos carefully.

Looking up from the case, Stephanos’ face gave a hint of surprise. “What makes you think I was involved with the Houston statue?”

“Let’s just say I know,” said Yvon.

“Did you learn that from Hamdi’s papers?” asked Stephanos angrily.

Instead of answering, Yvon flipped the latch of his case and dumped Hamdi’s correspondence onto the table. Leaning back, he casually sipped his Pernod as Stephanos quickly shuffled through the letters. He found his own to Abdul Hamdi and put it aside. “Is this all?” he asked.

“That was all we found,” answered Yvon, turning his attention back to the group.

“Did you search the place well?” asked Stephanos.

Yvon glanced over at Raoul, who nodded affirmatively. “Very well,” said Raoul.

“There has to have been more,” said Stephanos. “I cannot imagine the old bastard was bluffing. He said he wanted five thousand dollars in cash or he was going to turn the papers over to the authorities.” Stephanos went through the papers again, more slowly.

“If you had to guess, what would you think happened to the Seti statue?” asked Yvon, taking another drink of Pernod.

“I don’t know,” said Stephanos without looking up from a letter addressed to Hamdi from a dealer in Los Angeles. “But if it’s any help, I can assure you it’s still here in Egypt.”

An awkward silence prevailed. Stephanos was busy reading. Raoul and Evangelos glared at each other over their drinks. Yvon looked out the window. He too thought the Seti statue was still in Egypt. From where he was sitting, he could see the pool area, beyond which was the expanse of the Nile. In the middle of the river the Nile fountain was operating, sending a stream of water straight into the air. Multiple miniature rainbows appeared along the sides of the enormous jet of water. Yvon thought about Erica Baron and hoped that Khalifa Khalil was as good as Raoul said he was. If Stephanos had killed Hamdi and made a move against Erica, Khalifa was going to earn his pay.

“What about this American woman?” said Stephanos, seemingly reading Yvon’s thoughts. “I want to see her.”

“She’s staying at the Hilton,” said Yvon. “But she’s a bit edgy about the whole affair. So treat her gently. She’s the only connection I have with the Seti statue.”

“The statue is not my current interest,” said Stephanos, pushing the correspondence away. “But I want to talk to her, and I promise I’ll be my usual tactful self. Tell me, have you learned anything at all about this Abdul Hamdi?”

“Not much. He was originally from Luxor. He came to Cairo a few months ago to establish a new antiquities shop. He had a son who still has an antique business in Luxor.”

“Have you visited this son?” asked Stephanos.

“No,” said Yvon, rising. He’d had enough of Stephanos. “Remember to tell me if you learn anything about the statue. I can afford it.” With a slight smile, Yvon turned. Raoul stood up and followed.

“Do you believe him?” asked Raoul when they were outside.

“I don’t know what to think,” said Yvon, continuing to walk. “Whether I believe him is one question, whether I trust him is another. He is the biggest opportunist I’ve ever met, bar none. I want Khalifa to be briefed that he must be extremely careful when Stephanos meets with Erica. If he tries to hurt her, I want him shot.”

There was one fly in the room that repeatedly flew an erratic course between the two windows. It sounded noisy in the otherwise still enclosure, especially when it slammed against the glass. Erica looked around the chamber. The walls and ceiling were whitewashed. The only decoration was a smiling poster of Anwar Sadat. The single wooden door was closed.

Erica was sitting in a straight-backed chair. Above her was a light bulb suspended from the ceiling by a frayed black wire. Near the door was a small metal table and another chair like the one she was sitting on. Erica looked a mess. Her pants were torn at the right knee, with an abrasion beneath. A large stain of dried blood covered the back of her beige blouse.

Holding out her hand, she tried to judge whether her trembling was lessening. It was hard to say. At one point she had thought she was going to throw up, but the nausea had passed. Now she felt intermittent waves of dizziness, which she was able to disperse by closing her eyes tightly. There was no doubt she was still in a state of shock, but she was beginning to think more clearly. She knew, for example, that she had been taken to a police station in the village of Saqqara.

Erica rubbed her hands together, noticing that they became moist as she remembered the events in the serapeum. When Gamal first fell on her, she had thought she was trapped in a cave-in. She had made frantic attempts to free herself, but it had been impossible because of the narrow confines of the wooden stairway. Besides, the blackness had been so complete she hadn’t even been sure she had her eyes open. And then she had felt the warm, sticky fluid on her back. Only later did she find out it had been blood from the dying man on top of her.