Sphinx by Robin Cook

to her about going?”
    â€œNo, we never discussed it. I think she just assumed I couldn’t leave right now.”
    â€œMaybe it would show her that you care,” said Janice thoughtfully.
    â€œKnow that I care! My God, she knows I put a down payment on that house in Newton.”
    â€œWell, that may not be exactly what Erica has in mind, Richard. I do think that the problem is that you dragged your feet too long, so maybe going to Egypt is a good idea.”
    â€œI don’t know what I’ll do, but thanks, Janice.”
    Richard replaced the receiver and looked on his blotter at the patient list for the afternoon. It was going to be a long day.

 
CAIRO 9:10 P.M.
    Erica leaned back as the two attentive waiters cleared away their dishes. Yvon had been so crisp and short with them that Erica had almost been embarrassed, but it was obvious that Yvon was accustomed to efficient servants with whom, the less said, the better. They had dined sumptuously by candlelight on spicy local dishes that Yvon had ordered with great authority. The restaurant was romantically although inappropriately called the Casino de Monte Bello, and it was situated on the crest of the Mukattam Hills. From where Erica was sitting on the veranda she could look east into the rugged Arabian mountains that ran across the Arabian peninsula to China. To the north she could see the spreading veins of the delta as the Nile fanned out searching for the Mediterranean, and to the south she could see the river coming from the heart of Africa like a flat, shiny snake. But by far the most impressive vista was to the west, where the minarets and domes of Cairo thrust their heads through the mist that covered the city. Stars were emerging in the darkening silver sky just like the lights of the city below. Erica was obsessed with images of the Arabian Nights. The city projected an exotic, sensuous, and mysterious quality that forced the sordid events of the day to recede.
    â€œCairo has a very powerful bitter charm,” said Yvon. His face was lost in the shadows until the ember of hiscigarette became fiery red as he inhaled, illuminating his sharply cut features. “It has such an unbelievable history. The corruption, the brutalities, the continuity of violence, are so fantastic, so grotesque as to defy comprehension.”
    â€œHas it changed much?” asked Erica, thinking of Abdul Hamdi.
    â€œLess than people think. The corruption is a way of life. The poverty is the same.”
    â€œAnd bribery?” asked Erica.
    â€œThat hasn’t changed at all,” said Yvon, carefully tapping his cigarette over the ashtray.
    Erica took a sip of wine. “You’ve convinced me not to go to the police. I really have no idea if I could identify the killers of Mr. Hamdi, and the last thing I want to do is get caught up in a morass of Asian intrigue.”
    â€œIt’s the smartest thing you can do. Believe me.”
    â€œBut it still bothers me. I can’t help but feel I’m shirking my responsibility as a human being. I mean, to see a murder and then not do anything. But you think that my not going to the police will help your crusade against the black market?”
    â€œAbsolutely. If the authorities find out about this Seti statue before I can locate it, then any chance of its helping me penetrate the black market will be lost.” Yvon reached over and reassuringly squeezed her hand.
    â€œWhile you’re trying to find the statue, will you try to find out who killed Abdul Hamdi?” Erica asked.
    â€œOf course,” said Yvon. “But don’t misunderstand me. My motive is the statue and controlling the black market. I don’t fool myself into thinking I will be able to influence moral attitudes here in Egypt. But if I do find the killers, I will alert the authorities. Will that help assuage your conscience?”
    â€œIt will,” said Erica.
    Immediately below, lights came on, illuminating