Free Sphinx by Robin Cook Page A

and Tutankhamen!”
    Inhaling deeply on his cigarette, Yvon regarded Erica questioningly. His thin lips pressed together tightly as he blew the smoke from his nostrils.
    â€œHieroglyphics are my specialty,” said Erica defensively.
    â€œIt’s impossible for Seti’s and Tutankhamen’s names to be on the same statue,” said Yvon flatly.
    â€œIt is strange,” continued Erica, “but there is no doubt in my mind. Unfortunately, I did not have time to translate the rest. My first thought was that the statue was a fake.”
    â€œIt was no fake,” said Yvon. “Hamdi would not have been killed for a fake. Couldn’t you have mistaken Tutankhamen’s name for another?”
    â€œNever,” said Erica. She found a pen in her bag, drew the coronation name of Tutankhamen on her cocktail napkin, and pushed it toward Yvon defiantly. “That was carved in the base of the statue I saw.”
    Looking at the drawing, Yvon smoked in thoughtful silence. Erica watched him.
    â€œWhy was the old man killed?” she said finally. “That’s what seems so senseless. If they wanted the statue, they could have taken it. Hamdi was there by himself.”
    â€œI have no idea,” admitted Yvon, looking up from the drawing of Tutankhamen’s name. “Perhaps it has something to do with the curse of the pharaohs.” He smiled. “About a year ago I’d traced a route for Egyptian antiquities to a middleman in Beirut, who obtained the pieces from Egyptian pilgrims going to Mecca. No sooner had I made the contact than the gentleman was killed. I’m wondering if it has something to do with me!”
    â€œDo you think he was killed for the same reasons as Abdul Hamdi?” asked Erica.
    â€œNo. Actually, he was caught between Christian and Muslim bullets. Still, I was on my way to see him when it happened.”
    â€œIt is such a senseless tragedy,” said Erica sadly, again thinking of Abdul.
    â€œIt is indeed,” agreed Yvon. “But remember, Hamdi was no innocent bystander and he knew the stakes. That statue was priceless, and in the middle of all this poverty, money can move mountains. That’s the real reason it would be a mistake for you to go to the authorities. It’s hard to find someone you can trust under the best of circumstances, and when that kind of money is involved, the police themselves may not act with honesty.”
    â€œI’m not sure what I should do,” said Erica. “But what are your plans, Yvon?”
    Taking another draw on his Gauloise, he let his gaze wander around the tastelessly decorated lounge. “Hopefully, there will be some information in Hamdi’s correspondence. It’s not much, but it’s a start. I’ve got to find out who killed him.” Turning back to Erica, his face took on a more serious expression. “I very well might need you to make the final identification. Would you do that?”
    â€œOf course, if I can,” said Erica. “I really didn’t get a very good look at the killers, but I’d really like to help.” Erica thought about what she’d said. The words sounded so trite. But Yvon did not seem to notice. Instead, he reached across and gently grasped her wrist.
    â€œI am very pleased,” he said warmly. “Now I must go. I’m staying at the Meridien Hotel, suite 800. That’s on the island of Roda.” Yvon paused, but his hand still lightly gripped Erica’s wrist. “I would be quite happy if you would agree to have dinner with me tonight. This day must have given you a terrible impression of Cairo, and I would like to show you the other side.”
    The unexpected offer flattered Erica. Yvon was unreasonably charming and could probably dine with any one of a thousand women. His interest was obviously the statue, but her own reactions were confusing.
    â€œThank you, Yvon, but I’m exhausted. I’m still