“And I don’t see her being much help,” said Raoul.
“I have an idea,” said Yvon, lighting a cigarette. “Erica did see the faces of two of the three men involved in the killing.”
“That might be so, but I doubt if she could recognize them again.”
“True. But I don’t think it matters, if the killers think she can.”
“I’m not following you,” said Raoul.
“Would it be possible to let the Cairo underworld know that Erica Baron watched the murder and can easily identify the killers?”
“Ah,” said Raoul, his face reflecting sudden understanding. “I see what you are thinking. Using Erica Baron as a decoy to flush the killers into the open.”
“Precisely. There’s no way the police are going to do anything about Hamdi. The Department of Antiquities won’t do anything unless they’ve heard of the Seti statue, so Ahmed Khazzan won’t be involved. He’s the only official who could make it difficult for us.”
“There’s one major problem,” said Raoul seriously.
“What is that?” asked Yvon, drawing on his cigarette.
“It’s a very dangerous course. It probably means signing a death warrant for Mademoiselle Erica Baron. I’m sure they will kill her.”
“Could one protect her?” asked Yvon, remembering Erica’s narrow waist, her warmth, and her appealing earthiness.
“Probably, if we used the right person.”
“Are you thinking of Khalifa?”
“I am.”
“He’s trouble.”
“Yes, but he’s the best. If you want to protect the girl plus get the killers, you need Khalifa. The real problem is that he’s expensive. Very expensive.”
“That I don’t mind. I want and need that statue. I’m certain it will be the fulcrum I need. In fact, at this point I believe it’s the only way. I’ve been through all of Abdul Hamdi’s stuff that we have. Unfortunately, there is almost nothing about the black market.”
“Did you really think there would be?”
“It was a little too much to ask, I admit. From what Hamdi said in his letter to me, I thought it was possible. But get Khalifa. I want him to start tailing Erica Baron in the morning. Also, I think I’ll even spend some time with her myself. I’m not sure she’s told me everything.”
Raoul regarded Yvon with a disbelieving smile.
“Okay,” said Yvon. “You know me too well. There’s something I find very attractive about the woman.”
Reaching back over his shoulder, Stephanos Markoulis flipped off the lamp. The room was bathed in the soft blue glow of the moon that fell into the room through the French doors leading to the balcony.
“Athens is such a romantic city,” said Deborah Graham, pulling away from Stephanos’ embrace. Her eyes sparkled in the half-light. She was intoxicated by the atmosphere as well as the bottle of Demestica wine that lay empty on the nearby table. Her straight blond hair tumbled over her shoulders, and with a coquettish twist of her head she pulled it behind her ears. Her blouse was unbuttoned and the whiteness of her breasts contrasted sharply with her deep Mediterranean tan.
“I agree,” said Stephanos. His large hand reached out to massage her breasts. “That’s why I choose to live in Athens. Athens is for lovers.” Stephanos had heard the expression from another girl on another night and had said to himself at the time that he wanted to use the phrase himself. Stephanos’ shirt was also open, but it was always open. He had a broad chest covered with dark hair that served to set off his collection of solid gold chains and medallions.
Stephanos was very eager to get Deborah into his bed. He had always found Australian girls to be uncommonly easy and good lays. A number of people had told him that in Australia they acted very differently, but he did not care. He was content to ascribe his luck to the romantic atmosphere and his own prowess, but mostly the latter.
“Thank you for inviting me here, Stephanos,” said Deborah sincerely.
“My pleasure,” said Stephanos, smiling.
“Would you mind if I went out on your balcony for a moment?”
“Not at all,” said Stephanos, silently groaning at the delay.
Holding her blouse together, Deborah bounced toward the French doors.
Stephanos watched the undulating movement of her buttocks beneath her faded jeans. He guessed she was about nineteen. “Don’t get lost out there,” he called.
“Stephanos, this balcony is only three feet wide.”
“I see you pick up quickly on sarcasm,” said Stephanos. All at once he felt a flicker of doubt whether Deborah was going to come through. Impatiently he lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke forcefully toward the ceiling.
“Stephanos, come out here and tell me what I’m looking at.”
“Christ,” said Stephanos to himself. Reluctantly he got up and joined her. Deborah was leaning as far out as possible, pointing down Ermon Street.
“Is that Constitution Square I can just see?”
“That’s right.”
“And that’s the corner of the Parthenon,” said Deborah, pointing in the opposite direction.
“You’ve got it.”
“Oh, Stephanos, this is beautiful.” Gazing up at him, she put her arms around his neck and looked into his broad face. She had been excited by his appearance from the first moment he’d stopped her in the Plaka. He had deep laugh lines, which gave his face character, and a heavy beard that Deborah thought enhanced his masculinity.
She was still a little afraid of having agreed to come to this stranger’s apartment, yet there was something about being in Athens and not Sydney that made it all right. Besides, the fear added to the mood, and she was already incredibly excited.
“What kind of work do you do, Stephanos?” she asked, the delay increasing her anticipation.
“Does it matter?”
“I’m just interested. But you don’t have to tell me.”
“I own a travel agency, Aegean Holidays, and I do some smuggling on the side. But mostly I chase women.”
“Oh, Stephanos. Be serious.”
“I am. I have a comfortable travel business, but I also smuggle machine parts into Egypt, antiquities out. But as I said, I mostly chase women. It’s the one thing I never get tired of.”
Deborah regarded Stephanos’ dark eyes. To her surprise, the fact that he admitted to being a womanizer enhanced the forbidden exhilaration of the experience. She threw herself against him.
Stephanos was good at almost everything he did. He could feel her inhibitions relax. With a sense of satisfaction he lifted her and carried her into the apartment. Bypassing the living room, he took her directly into the bedroom. Without resistance he removed her clothes. She looked delicious totally naked in the blue room light.
Stepping out of his own trousers, Stephanos bent down and kissed Deborah gently on the lips. She reached out, wanting him to take her.
With shattering suddenness the phone next to the bed began to ring. Stephanos switched on the light to glance at the clock. It was almost midnight. Something was wrong.
“You answer it,” commanded Stephanos.
Deborah looked at him with surprise, but quickly picked up the receiver. She said hello in English, and immediately tried to give the phone to Stephanos, saying it was an international call. Stephanos motioned for her to keep the phone and silently told her to find out who was calling. Deborah obediently listened, asked who was calling, and then put her hand over the phone.
“It’s Cairo. A Monsieur Yvon Julien de Margeau.”
Stephanos snatched the phone, his face reflecting a sudden change from seeming playfulness to calculation. Deborah shrank back, covering her nakedness. Looking at his face now, Deborah realized she’d made a mistake. She tried to gather her clothes, but Stephanos was sitting on her jeans.