Robin Cook - Sphinx

Yvon put his arm around Erica as they strolled, and Erica allowed her own hand to cover his. Again she felt self-conscious. It had been a long time since she had been with any man besides Richard.

“A Greek named Stephanos Markoulis arrived in Cairo today,” said Yvon, stopping by the balustrade. They gazed at the dancing lights reflected on the water’s surface. “And I believe he will call and try to see you.” Erica looked up questioningly.

“Stephanos Markoulis deals in Egyptian antiquities in Athens. He rarely comes to Egypt. I don’t know why he is here, but I would like to find out. Ostensibly he’s come because of Abdul Hamdi’s murder. But he might be here because of the Seti statue.”

“And he wants to see me about the murder?”

“Yes,” said Yvon. He continued to avoid looking at Erica. “I don’t know how he is involved, but he is.”

“Yvon, I don’t think I want to have any more to do with the Abdul Hamdi affair. Frankly, the whole business frightens me. I’ve told you everything I know.”

“I understand,” said Yvon soothingly, “but unfortunately, you are all I’ve got.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

Yvon turned to her. “You are the last connection to the Seti statue. Stephanos Markoulis was involved somehow with the sale of the first Seti statue to the man in Houston. I’m worried he’s involved with the present statue. You know how important it is to me to stop this rape of antiquities.”

Erica looked over toward the gay lights of the Hilton. “The man from Houston who bought the first Seti statue also arrived today. He was waiting for me in the Hilton lobby this afternoon. His name is Jeffrey Rice.”

Yvon’s mouth tightened perceptibly.

“He told me,” continued Erica, “that he was offering ten thousand dollars to anyone who could merely tell him where this second Seti statue is so he could buy it.”

“Christ,” said Yvon. “That’s going to turn Cairo into a circus. And to think I’ve been worried whether Ahmed Khazzan and the antiquities service were going to find out about the existence of this statue. Well, Erica, this means I’ve got to work fast. I can understand your feelings about involvement, but please do me the favor of seeing Stephanos Markoulis. I need to know more about what he’s up to, and you may be able to help. With Jeffrey offering that kind of money, I think we can be sure the statue is still available. And if I don’t move quickly, it too is going to disappear into some private collection. All I ask is that you see Stephanos Markoulis and then tell me what he says. Everything he says.”

Erica looked at Yvon’s pleading face. She could sense his commitment and knew how important it was that the fabulous Seti I statue be preserved for the public.

“You’re sure it will be safe?”

“Of course,” said Yvon. “When he calls, arrange to meet in a public place, so you don’t have to worry.”

“All right,” she said, “but you’ll owe me another dinner.”

“ D’accord, ” said Yvon, kissing Erica-this time on the lips.

Erica studied Yvon’s handsome face. A warm smile lingered at the corners of his mouth. She wondered for a moment if he wasn’t using her. Then she chided herself for her own suspiciousness. Besides, it was possible she was using him.

Returning to her room, Erica felt better than she had during the whole trip. Yvon had aroused her in a way that she had not experienced for a long time, since even the physical aspect of her relationship with Richard had not been totally satisfying for a number of months. And Yvon was capable of making his sexual desires seem secondary to a meaningful relationship. He was willing to wait, and that made her feel good. Outside her room she inserted her key quickly and swung the door open widely. Everything appeared in its place. Remembering hundreds of movies she’d seen, she wished she had made some provision to determine if someone had entered her room. Turning on the lights, she strode into the bedroom. It was empty. She checked the bathroom, smiling at her own sense of melodrama.

Then, sighing with relief, Erica gave her door a shove, and it closed with a resounding thud followed by the reassuring click of the American-made hardware. She kicked off her shoes, turned off the air conditioning, and opened the balcony door. The floodlights on the pyramids and sphinx had been turned off. Returning to her room, she took her jersey dress off over her head and hung it up. In the distance she could hear the traffic that still plied the Korneish-el-Nile, despite the hour. Otherwise the hotel was silent. It was while she was removing her eye makeup that she heard the first unmistakable sound at her door.

She stopped moving, staring at her image in the mirror. She was dressed in her bra and panties, with the eye makeup gone from one eye. In the distance the usual auto horns sounded, followed by silence. She held her breath, her ears straining. Again she heard the muted sound of metal hitting metal. Erica felt the blood drain from her face. Someone was pushing a key into the lock of her door. The realization made her turn slowly around. The night bolt on the hall door was undone. Erica was paralyzed. She couldn’t make herself lunge for the dead bolt. She was afraid that she would not be able to close it before the door was opened. The tumblers in the lock clicked again.

Then, as she watched, the doorknob began slowly to turn. Erica looked at the lock on the bathroom door. It was a mere button on the handle, and the door itself was a thin panel. Again, the isolated sound of the key being forced made her look back at the slowly turning door handle. Like a frightened animal’s her eyes raced around the room for escape. The balcony! Could she cross over to the neighboring terrace? No, she’d have to swing out over a nine-story drop. Then she remembered the telephone. She ran across the room on silent feet and yanked the receiver to her ear. She heard a distant ring. Answer, she shouted silently, please answer.

There were a few final clicks from the door, different from the others, heralding the full penetration and rotation of the key. The door was unlocked, and without another sound it cracked open, allowing a strip of harsh light from the hall to knife into the room. Erica dropped on her knees. Throwing the phone receiver onto the bed and flattening herself on the floor, she wriggled under the bed.

From beneath the spread she could just see the base of the door as it opened. A buzzing sound came from the phone. Erica knew the phone would give her away, a telltale sign she was hiding! A man came into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. As Erica watched in an agony of terror he walked toward the bed and out of Erica’s line of vision. She was afraid to move her head. Above her she heard the receiver replaced. The intruder then silently walked back into her line of vision and apparently checked the bathroom.

Cold sweat formed on Erica’s face as she watched the feet go to the closet. He was searching for her! The closet door opened, then closed. Coming back to the center of the bedroom, the man stopped, his shoes no more than five or six feet from Erica’s head. Then they come forward: step by step, stopping by the bed. She could have touched him-he was that close.

Suddenly the bedspread was pulled up, and Erica was looking up into a man’s face.

“Erica, what in the world are you doing under the bed?”

“Richard!” Erica screamed, and burst into tears.

Although Erica was still too shaken to move, Richard pulled her from beneath the bed and dusted her off.

“Really,” he said with a grin. “What are you doing under the bed?”

“Oh, Richard,” said Erica, suddenly throwing her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad it’s you. I can’t tell you how glad I am.” She pressed herself against him, holding him tight.