Robin Cook: Sphinx

Nassif was several hundred feet away from the concession stand when he heard the clank of metal against stone. Immediately he pulled the rifle from his shoulder and dashed toward the partially open doorway to the lavatories. With the butt of the rifle he pushed the door completely open. Moonlight filtered into the small entryway.

Erica heard the door opening and smothered the oil lamp with her hand. She was about ten feet from the edge of the men’s room. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, and she could see the doorway to the vestibule. Her heart began to pound as it had when Richard entered her hotel room.

While she watched, a dark silhouette slipped into the room. Even in the partial light Erica could recognize the rifle. A feeling of panic began to grip her as the man slowly moved directly toward her. He was hunched over, moving like a cat stalking its prey.

With no idea what the man could see, Erica hugged the ground. He appeared to be looking directly at her as he reached the wall of the urinal. Then he stopped, and for what seemed like hours he stood there intently staring. Finally he reached out and grabbed a handful of loose dirt. Cocking his arm, he tossed the dirt into the recess. Erica closed her eyes as a portion of it hit her. The man repeated the action. Some of the pebbles clanked against the still-exposed sheet metal.

Nassif stood up. “ Harrah, ” he muttered. He was angry because he did not even get to shoot a rat.

Erica felt a small amount of relief, but noticed the man did not move away. He stood there looking at her in the darkness with his rifle back on his shoulder. Erica was perplexed until she heard the trickle of urine.

There was enough moonlight reflecting from the sail of the felucca for Erica to see the time. It was after one. The passage across the Nile was so smooth that she could have dozed. Crossing the river was the last hurdle, and she allowed her body to relax. She was sure Luxor was safe. The excitement of her discovery had superseded the harrowing experience in the tomb, and it was her anticipation of revealing her find that kept her awake.

Looking back toward the West Bank, Erica felt pleased. She’d climbed from the Valley of the Kings, passed the sleeping village of Qurna, and crossed the cultivated fields to the banks of the Nile without any problems. A confrontation with some dogs had been solved by merely bending down to pick up a stone. She stretched her tired legs.

The boat heeled against a puff of wind, and Erica looked up at the graceful curve of the sail across the star-strewn sky. She was not sure who she’d enjoy telling her discovery to the most: Yvon, Ahmed, or Richard. Yvon and Ahmed would be the most appreciative, Richard would be the most surprised. Even her mother would for once be genuinely pleased: she would never again have to make excuses at the country club for her daughter’s career choice.

Back on the East Bank, she was pleased to find the lobby of the Winter Palace Hotel deserted. She had to call out at the desk to raise a clerk.

The sleepy Egyptian, although taken aback by her appearance, gave her a key and an envelope without saying a word. Erica started up the broad carpeted stairway while the clerk looked after her, wondering what she could have been doing to get so dirty. Erica glanced at the envelope. It was Winter Palace stationery, addressed to her in a bold, heavy hand. When she reached the corridor, she put her finger into the corner of the envelope, tearing it open while she navigated around the remnants of the hotel construction. At her door, she was about to insert the key when she unfolded the letter. It was a meaningless scribble. Looking at the outside of the envelope, Erica wondered if it were some kind of joke. If so, she did not understand it or appreciate it. It was like getting a phone call and hearing the person hang up without speaking. It was somehow unnerving.

Erica looked at her door. If there was one thing she’d learned during the trip, it was that hotels were not safe places. She remembered finding Ahmed in her room, Richard’s arrival, her room being searched. With a renewed sense of uncertainty she pushed her key into the door.

Suddenly she thought she heard a noise. In her present state of mind, that was all she needed. Leaving the key dangling in its slot, Erica fled down the corridor. In her haste, her tote bag hit against a stack of building blocks with a resounding crunch. Behind her she heard her door being rapidly unlocked from within.

When Evangelos had heard the sound of the key, he had jumped up and rushed to the door. “Kill her,” shouted Stephanos, awakened by the noise. Drawing his Beretta, Evangelos whipped open the door in time to see Erica disappear down the main stairway.

She had no idea who was in her room, but she had no illusions about being protected by the sleeping clerk. Besides, he wasn’t even at the desk. She had to get to Yvon at the New Winter Palace. She ran out the back of the hotel into the garden.

In spite of his size, Evangelos could move like a hawk on the attack, especially when he concentrated. And when given an order for violence, he was like a rabid dog.

Erica ran through a flowerbed and reached the edge of the pool. Trying to run around it, she slipped on the wet tiles, falling on her side. Scrambling to her feet, she discarded her bag and began to run again. Footsteps were gaining on her.

Evangelos was close enough for an easy shot. “Stop,” he yelled, leveling his gun at Erica’s back.

Erica knew it was hopeless. There was still another fifty yards to the New Winter Palace. She stopped, exhausted, her chest heaving, and turned to look at her pursuer. He was only thirty feet away. She recognized him from the Al Azhar mosque. The huge laceration he had that day was now sutured, making him look like the Frankenstein monster. His gun was pointed at her, the muzzle hidden by an evil silencer.

Evangelos tried to decide what kind of shot he’d make. Finally, holding the gun out at arm’s length, he aimed for Erica’s neck and slowly began to pull the trigger.

Erica saw his arm extend slightly, and her eyes widened as she realized he was going to shoot even though she’d stopped as commanded. “No!”

The gun muffled by the silencer gave a soft thump. Erica felt no pain, and the image in front of her remained clear. Then the strangest thing happened. A small red flower blossomed in the center of Evangelos’ forehead, and he fell forward onto his face, the gun dropping from his hand.

Erica could not move. Her hands were motionless at her sides. Behind her she heard movement within the bushes. Then a voice: “You should not have been so clever about losing me.”

Erica slowly turned. In front of her was the man with the pointed tooth and hooked nose. “That was very close,” said Khalifa, motioning toward Evangelos. “I assume you are on your way to Monsieur de Margeau’s. You’d better hurry. There will be more trouble.”

Erica tried to speak but couldn’t. She nodded and stumbled past Khalifa, her gait unsteady on rubbery legs. She did not remember how she got to Yvon’s room.

The Frenchman opened the door, and she collapsed into his arms, mumbling about the shot, about being sealed in the tomb, about finding the statue. Yvon was calm, stroking her hair, sitting her down, telling her to start from the beginning.

She was about to begin when someone knocked at the door.

“Yes,” called Yvon, instantly alert.

“It is Khalifa.”

Yvon opened the door, and Khalifa propelled Stephanos into the room.

“You hired me to protect the girl and get the person who tried to kill her. Here he is.” Khalifa pointed toward Stephanos.

Stephanos looked at Yvon, then at Erica, who was surprised that Khalifa had been hired by Yvon to protect her, since Yvon had deliberately downplayed her risk. Erica began to feel uncomfortable.