Sphinx

by Robin Cook

  “And how was the meeting, if you can call it that, arranged?”

  “A friend asked me if I’d see Stephanos.”

  “And who is this wonderful friend who sends you into the hands of a gangster?”

  “His name is Yvon de Margeau. He’s French.”

  “And what kind of friend is he?”

  Erica looked at Richard’s face, now flushed with anger. Still trembling from their experience, Erica did not know how to cope with his emotion.

  “I’m sorry about what happened,” she said, with mixed feelings about apologizing.

  “Well,” said Richard crossly, “I could repeat what you said last night when I tried to apologize about scaring you. Saying ‘sorry’ is supposed to make everything okay, but it doesn’t. You could have gotten us killed. I think your escapade has gone far enough. We’re going to the American embassy and you’re coming back to Boston if I have to drag you on the plane by your hair.”

  “Richard . . .” said Erica, shaking her head.

  An empty taxi was slowly picking its way along the crowded streets. Richard saw the car over Erica’s shoulder and hailed it as the crowds reluctantly parted. They climbed into the back seat without speaking, and Richard told the driver to go to the Hilton Hotel. Erica felt a combination of anger and despair. If Richard had taken it upon himself to direct the driver to the American embassy, she would have gotten out of the car.

  After ten minutes of silence, Richard finally spoke. His voice had mellowed slightly. “The fact is that you are not equipped for this kind of affair. You have to recognize that.”

  “With my background in Egyptology,” snapped Erica, “I think I’m superbly equipped.” Locked in traffic, the taxi inched past one of Cairo’s huge medieval gates, and Erica studied it first through the side, then the rear window.

  “Egyptology is the study of a dead civilization,” said Richard, lifting his hand in the air as if to pat her knee. “It has no relevance to the current problem.”

  Erica looked over at Richard. “Dead civilization . . . no relevance.” The words confirmed Richard’s concept of her work. It was belittling and infuriating.

  “You are trained as an academician,” continued Richard, “and I think you should accept that fact. This cloak-and-dagger routine is childish and dangerous. It’s a ridiculous risk for a statue, any statue.”

  “This isn’t just any statue,” said Erica angrily. “Besides, the issue is much more involved than you are willing to comprehend.”

  “I think it’s all too obvious. A statue worth a lot of money is unearthed. Such sums can explain all sorts of behavior. But it’s a problem for the authorities, not tourists.”

  Erica clenched her teeth, bristling at the label “tourist.” As the taxi started to move more quickly, she tried to understand why Yvon had allowed her to meet with Stephanos. Nothing seemed to make any sense, and she tried to decide what to do next. She had no intention of giving up, no matter what Richard said. Abdul Hamdi seemed to be the pivot. Then she remembered his son and her earlier resolve to visit his antique shop in Luxor.

  Richard leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Do you speak English?”

  The driver nodded. “A little.”

  “Do you know where the American embassy is?”

  “Yes,” said the driver. He looked at Richard in the rearview mirror.

  “We are not going to the American embassy,” said Erica, pronouncing each word carefully and loudly enough for the driver to hear.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to insist,” said Richard. He turned to speak to the driver.

  “You can insist on whatever you want,” Erica said evenly, “but that’s not where I’m going. Driver, stop the car.” She moved forward on the seat, pulling her tote bag onto her shoulder.

  “Keep driving,” Richard instructed, trying to pull Erica back into her seat.

  “Stop the taxi!” Erica shouted.

  The driver complied, pulling over to the side. Erica had the door open before the car reached a standstill, and leaped to the sidewalk.

  Richard followed, leaving the taxi unpaid. The irate driver drove slowly alongside as Richard overtook Erica and caught her arm. “It is time to stop this adolescent behavior,” he shouted, as if threatening an errant child. “We are going to the American embassy. You’re over your head. You’re going to get hurt.”

  “Richard,” said Erica, tapping his chin with her index finger, “you go to the American embassy if you want. I’m going to Luxor. Believe me, the embassy can do nothing at all about this, even if they were so inclined. I’m going to go to Upper Egypt and do what I came here for.”

  “Erica, if you persist, I’m going to leave. I’ll go back to Boston. I mean it. I’ve come all the way over here, and it doesn’t seem to matter to you. I just cannot believe it.”

  Erica didn’t say anything. She just wanted him to leave.

  “And if I do leave, I don’t know what will happen to our relationship.”

  “Richard,” said Erica quietly, “I am going to Upper Egypt.”

  With the afternoon sun low in the sky, the Nile appeared like a flat ribbon of silver. Sudden highlights sparkled from the surface where gusts of wind stirred the water. Erica had to shield her eyes from the sun to distinguish the timeless form of the pyramids. The sphinx looked as if it were made of gold. She was standing on the balcony of her room at the Hilton. It was almost time to leave. The management had been overjoyed at her decision to vacate her room, because as usual, they had overbooked. Erica had packed and her single suitcase was ready. The travel desk in the lobby had arranged a booking for her on the seven-thirty sleeper south.

  The thought of the trip managed to dull the fear of the last few days and alleviate her feelings about fighting with Richard. The Temple of Karnak, the Valley of the Kings, Abu Simbel, Dendera—these were the reasons she had come to Egypt. She would go south, see Abdul’s son, but concentrate on viewing the fabled monuments at first hand. She was glad Richard had decided to leave. She would not think about their relationship until she returned home. Then they would see.

  Checking the bathroom for the final time, Erica was rewarded by finding her cream rinse behind the shower curtain. She shoved it in her bag and checked the time. It was a quarter to six. She was about to leave for the train station when the phone rang. It was Yvon.

  “Did you see Stephanos?” he asked cheerfully.

  “I did,” said Erica. She allowed an awkward pause. She had not called because she was angry he had subjected her to such danger.

  “Well, what did he say?” asked Yvon.

  “Very little. It was what he did that was important. He had a gun. We had just met at the Al Azhar mosque when a huge bald man appeared who looked like he’d been beaten. He told Stephanos that someone named Khalifa was there. Then all hell broke loose. Yvon, how could you have asked me to meet such a man?”

  “My God,” said Yvon. “Erica, I want you to stay in your room until I call back.”

  “I’m sorry, Yvon, but I was just leaving. In fact, I’m leaving Cairo.”

  “Leaving! I thought you were officially detained,” said Yvon with surprise.

  “I’m not supposed to leave the country,” said Erica. “I called Ahmed Khazzan’s office and informed them I was going to Luxor. It was fine with them.”

  “Erica, stay until I call back. Is your . . . boyfriend planning on going with you?”

  “He’s returning to the States. He was as upset about meeting Stephanos as I was. Thanks for calling, Yvon. Keep in touch.” Erica hung up the phone very deliberately. She knew Yvon had used her as bait in some way. Although she be
lieved in Yvon’s crusade against the antiquities black market, she did not like being used. The phone rang again but she ignored it.

  It took over an hour for the taxi to go from the Hilton to the central railway station. Although Erica had carefully showered for the trip, within fifteen minutes her blouse was soaked with perspiration and her back stuck to the hot vinyl seat cover.

  The railway station stood in a busy square behind an ancient statue of Ramses II, whose timeless appearance was in sharp contrast to the mad rush-hour commotion. The inside of the station was jammed with people, ranging from businessmen in Western clothes to farmers carrying empty produce containers. Although Erica was aware of some stares, no one tried to accost her, and she moved easily through the crowds. There was a short line in front of the sleeping-car window, and Erica had no trouble purchasing her ticket. She planned to break her trip at a small village called Balianeh and do a little sightseeing.

  At the large kiosk she bought a two-day-old Herald Tribune, an Italian fashion magazine, and several popular books on the discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb. She even bought another copy of Carter’s book, even though she’d read it many times.

  The time passed quickly, and she heard her train announced. A Nubian porter with a wonderful smile took her bag and stowed it at the foot of her berth. The porter told her that they did not expect the car to be full, so she could spread her things out over two seats. She put her tote on the floor and leaned back with the Herald Tribune.

  “Hello,” said a pleasant voice, slightly startling her.

  “Yvon,” she said, truly surprised.

  “Hello, Erica. I’m amazed I found you. May I sit down?”

  Erica picked up her reading material from the seat next to her.

  “I took a chance you were going south by train. All the flights had been booked for some time.”

  Erica gave a half-smile. Although she was still angry, she couldn’t help but be a little flattered that Yvon had followed her, obviously with some effort. His hair was disheveled, as if he had been running.

  “Erica, I want to apologize for whatever happened when you met Stephanos.”

  “Nothing really happened. What bothered me was what could have happened. You must have had some idea, because you said to meet him in a public place.”

  “Indeed I did, but I was only concerned because of Stephanos’ reputation with women. I didn’t want you to be subjected to any uncomfortable overtures.”

  The train lurched slightly, and Yvon stood, looking up and down the aisle. Satisfied that the train was not pulling out, he sat back down.

  “I still owe you a dinner,” said Yvon. “That was our deal. Please stay in Cairo. I have learned some things about the killers of Abdul Hamdi.”

  “What?” asked Erica.

  “That they were not from Cairo. I have some photos I’d like you to see. Perhaps you could recognize one.”

  “Did you bring them?”

  “No, they are at the hotel. There wasn’t time.”

  “Yvon, I’m leaving for Luxor. I’ve made up my mind.”

  “Erica, you can go to Luxor whenever you wish. I have a plane. I can fly you there tomorrow.”

  Erica looked down at her hands. Despite her anger, despite her misgivings, she could feel her resolve weakening. At the same time, she was tired of being protected, taken care of.

  “Thank you for the offer, Yvon, but I think I’ll go by train. I’ll call you from Luxor.”

  There was the sound of a whistle. It was seven-thirty.

  “Erica . . .” said Yvon, but the train began to move forward. “All right. Call from Luxor. Perhaps I’ll see you there.” He dashed down the aisle and jumped from the train, which was now picking up speed.

  “Damn,” said Yvon as he watched the train slide from the station. He turned into the busy waiting room. By the exit he met Khalifa.

  “Why aren’t you on that train?” snapped Yvon.

  Khalifa smiled slyly. “I was told to follow the girl in Cairo. Nothing was said about taking a train to the south.”

  “Christ,” said Yvon, walking toward a side door. “Follow me.”

  Raoul was waiting in the car. He started the engine when he saw Yvon. Yvon held open a rear door for Khalifa then climbed in after him.

  “What happened in the mosque?” asked Yvon as they pulled out into the traffic.

  “Trouble,” said Khalifa. “The girl met Stephanos, but Stephanos had posted a guard. In order to protect her, I had to break up the meeting. I had no choice. It was a bad location, almost as bad as the serapeum yesterday. But in deference to your sensibilities, there was no killing. I shouted a few times and fired off a couple of shots and cleared out the whole mosque.” Khalifa laughed contemptuously.

  “Thank you for considering my sensibilities. But tell me, did Stephanos threaten or make any move against Erica Baron?”

  “I don’t know,” said Khalifa.

  “But that was what you were supposed to find out,” said Yvon.

  “I was supposed to protect the girl, then learn what I could,” said Khalifa. “Under the circumstances, protecting the girl took all my attention.”

  Yvon turned his head and watched a bicyclist go by, balancing a large tray of bread on his head and making better time than they were in the car. Yvon felt frustrated. Things were going poorly, and now Erica Baron, his last hope for the Seti statue, had left Cairo. He looked at Khalifa. “I hope you’re ready to travel, because you’re going to Luxor tonight by air.”

  “Whatever you say,” said Khalifa. “This job is getting interesting.”

  Day 4

  BALIANEH 6:05 A.M.

  “Balianeh in one hour,” said the porter through the curtain of her berth.

  “Thank you,” said Erica, sitting up and pulling back the drape covering a small window. Outside, it was very early daybreak. The sky was a light purple and she could see low desert mountains in the distance. The train was moving rapidly, with slight to-and-fro movements. The tracks ran right along the edge of the Libyan desert.

  Erica washed at her small sink and put on a bit of makeup. The night before, she’d tried to read one of the books on Tutankhamen that she’d purchased at the station, but the train’s movements had cradled her instantly asleep. It was some time in the middle of the night that she had awakened long enough to turn off the reading light.

  They served an English breakfast in the dining car as the first tentative rays of sunlight cleared the eastern horizon. As she watched, the sky changed from purple to a clear light blue. It was incredibly beautiful.

  Sipping her coffee, Erica felt as if a burden had lifted from her shoulders; in its place was a euphoric sense of freedom. She felt as if the train were hurtling her back in time, back to ancient Egypt and the land of the pharaohs.

  It was a little after six when she detrained at Balianeh. Very few passengers got off, and the train departed as soon as the last foot touched the platform. With some difficulty Erica checked her suitcase at a baggage window, then walked out of the station into the bright bustle of the small rural town. There was a gaiety in the air. The people seemed much happier than the oppressive crowds of Cairo. But it was hotter. Even this early in the morning Erica could feel the difference.

  There were a number of old taxis waiting in the shade of the station. Most of the drivers were asleep, their mouths gaping. But when one spotted Erica, they all got up and began chattering. Finally a slender fellow was pushed forward. He had a large untrimmed mustache and a ragged beard, but he seemed pleased with his luck and made a bow in front of Erica before opening the door to his 1940-ish taxi.

  He knew a
few words of English, including “cigarette.” Erica gave him a few and he immediately agreed to serve as her driver, promising to return her to the station to catch the five-P.M. connection to Luxor. The cost was five Egyptian pounds.

  They headed north out of the town, then turned away from the Nile to the west. With his portable radio lashed to the dash so that its aerial could stick out of the missing window on the right, the driver smiled his contentment. On either side of the road stretched a sea of sugarcane, broken by an occasional oasis of palm trees.

  They crossed a foul-smelling irrigation ditch and passed through the village of El Araba el Mudfuna. It was a sorry collection of mud-brick huts built just beyond the reach of the cultivated fields. There were few people in evidence except for a group of women dressed in black carrying large water jars on their heads. Erica looked at them again. They were wearing veils.

  A few hundred yards beyond the village the driver halted and pointed ahead. “Seti,” he said without taking the cigarette from his mouth.

  Erica climbed out of the car. So here it was. Abydos. The place Seti I chose to build his magnificent temple. Just as Erica started to get out her guidebook, she was set upon by a group of youths selling scarabs. She was the first tourist of the day, and only by paying her fifty-piaster entrance fee and advancing into the temple proper could she free herself from their insistent chatter.

  With the Baedeker in hand she sat on a limestone block and read the section on Abydos. She was familiar with the site but wanted to be certain which sections had been decorated with hieroglyphics during the reign of Seti I. The temple had been finished by Seti’s son and successor, Ramses II.

  Unaware of Erica’s plans to visit Abydos, Khalifa stood on the platform at Luxor waiting for the passengers to disembark. The train had pulled in on time and was greeted by a huge throng who eagerly pressed in on the train. There was a lot of commotion and shouting, particularly by the hawkers selling fruit and cold drinks through the windowless openings of the third-class coaches to the passengers continuing on to Aswan. Those people detraining and those boarding jostled each other in a mounting frenzy because whistles began to blow. Egyptian trains ran on time.