Robin Cook: Sphinx

There was a final lurch as the plane came to the gate. The sounds of the engines died away, and the passengers began opening overhead storage bins. Erica stayed in her seat and looked out at the crisp New England clouds. She remembered Lieutenant Iskander’s immaculate white uniform when he’d come to see her off from Cairo. He had told her the final result of that fateful night in Luxor: Ahmed Khazzan had died from gunshot wounds-a fact she’d known from the moment he’d been hit; Muhammad Abdulal was still in a coma; Yvon de Margeau had somehow received clearance and had flown out of the country, becoming a persona non grata in Egypt; and Stephanos Markoulis had just disappeared.

It all seemed so unreal now that she was in Boston. The experience saddened her, especially about Ahmed. The experience also made her question her ability to judge people, especially because of Yvon. Even after what had happened, he had had the nerve to telephone her from Paris when she’d returned to Cairo, offering her large sums to provide inside information about the tomb of Seti I. She shook her head in dismay as she gathered her carry-on belongings.

Erica allowed herself to be carried along by the crowd. She passed through the immigration control quickly and retrieved her baggage. Then she pushed out into the waiting area.

They saw each other at the same moment. Richard ran up and hugged her as Erica dropped her bags, forcing the people behind her to step over them. They held each other without speaking, their emotions balanced. Finally Erica pulled away. “You were right, Richard. I was over my head from the start. I’m lucky to be alive.”

Richard’s eyes filled with tears, something Erica had never seen. “No, Erica, we were both right and both wrong. It just means there is a lot we need to learn about each other, and believe me, I’m willing.”

Erica smiled. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it made her feel good.

“Oh, by the way,” said Richard, picking up her bags. “There’s a man here from Houston who wants to see you.”

“Really?” asked Erica.

“Yeah. He apparently knew Dr. Lowery, who gave him my phone number. He’s over there.” Richard pointed.

“My God,” said Erica. “It’s Jeffrey John Rice.”

As if on cue, Jeffrey Rice came over, taking off his stetson with a flourish.

“Sorry to interrupt you two at this time, but, Miss Baron, here’s your check for finding that Seti statue.”

“But I don’t understand,” said Erica. “The Egyptian government now owns the statue. You cannot buy it.”

“That’s just the point. It makes mine the only one outside of Egypt. Because of you it’s worth tons more than it was before. Houston is mighty pleased.”

Erica looked down at the ten-thousand-dollar check and burst out laughing. Richard, who did not really understand what was happening, saw her amazed expression and began laughing too. Rice shrugged, and still holding the check, led them out into the bright Boston sun.