Robin Cook - Sphinx

“Look, Yvon,” said Stephanos at length. “It is ridiculous for you and me to be at odds with each other. You’re angry at me because I sold the first Seti statue to the man from Houston. But all I did was get the statue from Egypt to Switzerland. There really is no competition between us. You want to control the black market. Fine. I just want to protect my corner. I can get your stuff out of Egypt with a time-tested method. We should work together.”

Erica looked quickly at Yvon to see his reaction. She wanted to hear him laugh and tell Stephanos that he was all wrong, that he, Yvon, wanted to destroy the black market.

Yvon ran his fingers through his hair. “Why were you threatening Erica?” he asked.

“Because she had learned too much from Abdul Hamdi. I wanted to protect my route. But if you two are working together, then everything’s fine.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with Hamdi’s death and the disappearance of the second statue?” asked Yvon.

“No,” said Stephanos. “I swear it. I hadn’t even heard about the second Seti statue. That was what worried me. I was afraid I was being closed out and that Hamdi’s letter would get to the police.”

Closing her eyes, Erica let the truth sweep over her. Yvon was no crusader. His idea of controlling the black market meant controlling it for his own ends, not for the benefit of science, Egypt, or the world. His passion for antiquities superseded any moral issue. Erica had been duped, and more aggravating still, she could have been killed. Her fingernails dug into the couch. She knew she had to get away. She had to tell Ahmed about Seti’s tomb.

“Stephanos did not kill Abdul Hamdi,” said Erica suddenly. “The people who killed Abdul Hamdi are the people here in Luxor who control the source of the antiquities. The Seti statue was brought back here to Luxor. I’ve seen it and I can lead us to it.” She was careful to use the word “us.”

Yvon looked back at Erica, a little surprised by her sudden recovery. She smiled at him reassuringly. Her instincts for self-preservation gave her unexpected power. “Furthermore,” said Erica, “Stephanos’ route through Yugoslavia is far better than trying to get things from Alexandria in cotton bales.”

Stephanos nodded as he began talking with Yvon. “Smart woman. And she’s right. My method is far better than packing antiquities in cotton bales. Was that really what you had planned? My God, it would last for one or two shipments at the most.”

Erica stretched. She knew that she had to convince Yvon that she had personal interests in antiquities. “Tomorrow I can show you the location of the Seti statue.”

“Where is it?” asked Yvon.

“In one of the unmarked tombs of the nobles on the West Bank. It is very difficult to describe its location. I’ll have to show you. It’s above the village of Qurna. And there are a number of other very interesting pieces.” Erica fished in the pocket of her jeans for the gold Seti pendant. She pulled it out and tossed it casually onto a table. “My fee for finding the Seti statue will be for Stephanos to get this pendant out of the country for me.”

“This is exquisite,” Yvon said, examining the necklace.

“There are many more pieces there, some much better than that. The pendant was the one I could afford. Now, I for one would like to bathe and get some rest. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve had quite a night.” Erica went over to Yvon and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was the hardest thing she’d done. She thanked Khalifa for helping her in the garden. Then she boldly walked to the door.

“Erica…” said Yvon calmly.

She turned. “Yes?”

There was a silence. “Perhaps you should stay here,” said Yvon. It was apparent he was debating what to do with her.

“Tonight, I’m too tired,” said Erica. The implication was obvious. Stephanos smiled behind his hand.

“Raoul,” called Yvon, “I want to make sure Miss Baron is safe tonight.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” said Erica, opening the door.

“Just to be sure,” said Yvon, “I want Raoul to go with you.”

Evangelos’ body was still lying in the moonlight by the pool as Erica and Raoul walked back toward the Winter Palace. He looked like he was sleeping, except for the pool of dark blood that ran from under his head and dripped into the water. Erica averted her face as Raoul went over and checked to see if Evangelos was really dead. Suddenly she noticed Evangelos’ semiautomatic pistol still lying on the tiles.

Erica stole a glance at Raoul. He was struggling to turn Evangelos over. Without looking at Erica, he spoke. “God, Khalifa is fantastic. He got him between the eyes.”

Erica reached down and picked up the gun. It was heavier than she expected. Her finger curled around the trigger. She detested the instrument, and it frightened her. She had never held a gun before, and the knowledge of its lethal capabilities made her tremble. She did not delude herself. She knew she could never pull the trigger, but she turned and looked at Raoul, who was standing up and brushing his hands. “He was dead before he hit the ground,” said Raoul, turning toward Erica. “Ah, I see you found his gun. Hand it to me and I’ll put it in his hand.”

“Don’t move,” said Erica slowly.

Raoul’s eyes danced back and forth between the gun and Erica’s face. “Erica what-?”

“Shut up. Take off your jacket.”

Raoul complied, tossing his blazer on the ground.

“Now, pull your shirt over your head” commanded Erica.

“Erica…” said Raoul.

“Now!” She extended Evangelos’ gun to arm’s length.

Raoul yanked his shirt from his trousers and with some difficulty pulled it over his head. Beneath his shirt he had on a sleeveless undershirt. Strapped under his left was a small pistol. Erica moved around behind him and took the gun from the holster. She threw it into the pool. Hearing it hit the water, she hesitated, fearful Raoul would be angry. Then the absurdity of the idea caught her. Of course he was going to be angry. She was holding a gun on him!

She had Raoul replace his shirt so he could see where he was going. Then she ordered him to walk around to the front of the hotel. He tried to talk, and she told him again to shut up. Erica thought how ridiculously easy it was in gangster movies to incapacitate a man by hitting nothing. If Raoul had turned around, he could have taken the gun. But he didn’t, and they walked single file through the shadows around to the front of the hotel.

Several antique street lights cast a pale glow over a row of taxis parked along the curb of the curved driveway. The drivers had long since departed for the night, their principal job being to run back and forth between the hotel and the airport. But since the last flight arrived at nine-ten P.M., there was nothing for them to do. Tourists preferred the romantic carriages for transport in and around the town.

With Evangelos’ gun trembling in her hand, Erica marched Raoul along the line of aged taxis, glancing in at the ignitions. Most of the keys were in place. She wanted to get to Ahmed, but had to decide what to do with Raoul.

The lead car was similar to the others, with the exception of tassels lining the rear window. The keys were in the ignition.

“Lie down,” commanded Erica. She was terrified someone would walk out of the hotel.

Raoul took it upon himself to step sideways onto the close-clipped lawn.

“Hurry up!” said Erica, trying to sound angry.

Leaning on his palms, Raoul lay down. He kept his hands under him, ready to spring, his confusion dissolving into anger.

“Arms out in front of you,” said Erica. She opened the door to the taxi and got in behind the vinyl-coated steering wheel. A pair of soft red plastic dice hung from the dash.